Innocent

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/30358428.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: Gen
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships: Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin, Lucius
Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Remus Lupin & Nymphadora Tonks,
Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody & Nymphadora Tonks, Draco Malfoy &
Severus Snape
Characters: Sirius Black, Harry Potter, Remus Lupin, Kreacher (Harry Potter), Albus
Dumbledore, Nymphadora Tonks, Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy,
Narcissa Black Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, Marlene McKinnon, Peter
Pettigrew, Other(s), Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Sirius Black Raises Harry
Potter, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of Innocent Series
Collections: Solid Harry Potter Reads, Awesome Reads, Platinum - HP, Other__Stuff,
my heart is here, Cherry Lemonade will have spare time eventually!,
TBR, HP_Incomplete_Fics, Hp enjoyed, Collections
Stats: Published: 2021-03-30 Words: 487,540 Chapters: 80/80
 Innocent
by MarauderLover7

Summary

Mr and Mrs Dursley of Number Four, Privet Drive, were happy to say they were perfectly
normal, thank you very much. The same could not be said for their eight year old nephew, but
his godfather wanted him anyway.

Translation into Português brasileiro available: Innocent by SBluemoon

 The prisoner

"Is that seat taken?" Sirius Black asked.

"No," said a scrawny boy with messy, black hair said. "You can sit down if you like."

"Thank you," Sirius said, sitting.

"You're welcome," said the sandy-haired boy by the window. He turned and gave Sirius a
half-smile and then quickly went back to staring at the platform.

"You're Black, aren't you?" the black haired boy said.

Sirius sighed but didn't deny it. "I'm Sirius," he said, picking at his robes.

"James," James Potter said, grinning. He held out his hand and Sirius shook it. "That's
Remus-" Remus – the boy by the window - turned again and gave Sirius a real smile this time
and shyly offered his hand. Sirius shook it, smiling back. "-and we don't know her name."
Sirius turned noticing the other occupant of the compartment for the first time. It was a girl
with bright red hair, green eyes and a miserable, teary expression.

She sniffled what could have been a greeting or what could have been nothing at all and
Sirius nodded in her general direction before he turned back toward James and Remus.

Remus had produced a battered copy of The Standard Book of Spells and was now reading it
with a fascinated expression. James peered over at the page and wrinkled his nose. "Urgh.
Curse of the Bogies," he said with a delicate shudder.

"Curse of the what?" Sirius asked, eyes wide.

James poked Remus. "Hey, Remmy, show Sirius."

Remus looked up, startled. "Pardon?" James tugged the book out of the other boy's hands
and passed it to Sirius who made a face at the gruesome picture and pushed it away. James
gave the heavy tome back to Remus with a grin.

Sirius watched their casual interaction with a twinge of jealousy. The only friends he'd ever
had were his awful cousins and the spoilt pureblood children his parents forced him to be
nice to when their social circle got together. The compartment door slid open to admit a
gangly boy with greasy hair. Sirius opened his mouth to say hello but the boy went straight to
the crying girl as if she was the only one there. Feeling lonelier than ever, Sirius made a face
and turned back to James and Remus. "How long have you two known each other?"

"About ten minutes," James said, shrugging. Sirius felt marginally better.

Remus marked his page and glanced at his watch. "Twelve minutes, actually."

James laughed. "Fine. We'll call it eleven."

"I'm telling you it's twelve," Remus said.

"Eleven," James sang, lying down on his seat. The crying girl and her friend gave him an
annoyed look and shifted over to make room for his feet.

Sirius grinned. "I'd be listening to – Remus, was it? – he's got a watch." He and the sandy
haired boy shared a grin.

"Fine," James said, making a face at the ceiling of the compartment. "Twelve minutes."

"Thirteen, now actually," Remus corrected, looking apologetic.

James groaned and then perked up. "Slytherin?" he said in response to something the Snape
boy had said. "Who'd want to be in Slytherin?" he asked sitting up. "I think I'd leave,
wouldn't you?"

Sirius saw Remus swallow and look away. His own smile faded. "My whole family have been
in Slytherin," he said. And he would be too; it was expected, regardless of what he wanted.

"Blimey. And I thought you seemed all right!" James said, without the slightest malicious
inflection in his tone.

Sirius found himself grinning and he could see Remus' mouth twitching. There was just
something about James, something about his casual, friendly manner that was contagious.
"Maybe I'll break the tradition. Where are you headed if you get the choice?"

James lifted an invisible sword-

-and toppled off his seat, dead, his face suddenly ten years older. Beside him lay Lily,
unmoving, her green eyes staring without seeing. Remus turned to Sirius, hatred etched onto
his pale, suddenly twenty-one-year old face. "It wasn't me!" Sirius shouted. "No, Moony, I
wouldn't! I didn't kill them! I'm innocent, I swear!"

Sirius Black's eyes snapped open and he sat up, panting. "I swear," he whispered, fully awake
now. A feeling of loss crept over him as it did whenever he thought of James and Lily. He
doubted he'd ever get over their deaths but he thought, in time, he could at least accept it if
the Dementors would leave him alone, if they would stop reminding him of the emptiness
that resided in the place where his heart had used to be.

He got to his feet ignoring the wasted feelings in his arms and legs. He tried to exercise as
much as possible; when he wasn't sleeping, he was pacing. His cell was seven strides from
one wall to the other and he knew every dull, grey brick, every rust spot on his iron barred
doors and every speck of dirt or dust that covered the ground. "Innocent," he muttered as he
walked.

The woman in the cell opposite his cackled, pressing her gaunt face up against her cell bars.
Sirius paused to give her a pitying look – she'd only been there a month and was already
insane – and then turned and strode back the other way.
On the seventh trip up his cell, he paused to pick up his sharp rock and used it to etch another
small line into the wall behind him. There were two-thousand, six-hundred and fifty-one –
now fifty-two – marks on the wall.

The human guards thought he was mad – after all, he'd been imprisoned exactly two-
thousand, six-hundred and fifty days – and though they'd tried, they hadn't yet been successful
in figuring out what the extra two marks represented. If they'd asked, Sirius would have told
them the marks were a record of the number of days that he and James and Lily had been
apart, but they hadn't asked and Sirius had been left to dwell on his memorial to the two best
people he'd ever known in solitude.

"Or at least a semblance of solitude," he muttered as the woman in the cell opposite his
squealed and swatted at an invisible insect; real insects tended to stay clear of Azkaban. Her
shouting got louder as she smacked her arms – presumably the 'insects' were landing on her –
and then began to scratch herself. Her arms, her legs, even her cheeks were red and raw by
the time she came to her senses. She pressed her palm to her shin and it came away red. She
screamed.

Sirius shuddered and forced himself to keep pacing, though it did little to block out the noise;
her shrieking was getting other prisoners worked up. Aside from the guards, the lack of
warmth and the fact that he shouldn't be there in the first place, the inconsistency was one of
the things Sirius hated most about Azkaban; one moment, things were quiet, the next, what
seemed like every prisoner on the island was screeching or talking to themselves. Sirius
covered his ears – stone and not much else made for one hell of an echo – but he was still
able to sense footsteps.

"Found her!" a dark-skinned guard called, skidding to a halt with his back to Sirius' cell.
"Merlin, would you look at the mess she's made?"

His partner arrived a moment later and pocketed his wand, staring at the bleeding woman. He
ran a hand through his straw coloured hair. "Doesn't Parkinson usually give her a potion or
something?"

The first guard swore. "He does. It's on my desk in the guardroom."

"Reckon we need it?"

"Nah. She's mad anyway."

Both guards stared at the woman. "Godric, they creep me out."

"I'm terribly sorry. We prisoners do try to be as aesthetically pleasing as possible," Sirius said
dryly. His voice cracked from lack of use, but he still thought he sounded witty enough. Both
guards jumped.

"Don't get smart with me, Black," the blond one said, jabbing a finger in Sirius' direction.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Sirius began to pace again.

"Mental, the lot of them," the other muttered. "Stop your pacing, Black. You're getting
everyone worked up."

Sirius snorted as he walked. "It's not me. It's her-" He nodded toward the bleeding woman
who was now rocking back and forward. "-the prisoners can smell the blood."

"Good Godric I hate this place," the blond said with a shudder.

"Me too," Sirius muttered.

"That's enough out of you," the blond guard snapped. "Get a Dementor, would you, Jordan? I
think Black's forgotten his place." Sirius retreated to the back corner of his cell as one of the
guards disappeared. "Not so brave now, are you?"

Sirius glared at him. "I happen to like my soul where it is."

"Well, aren't you a funny one," said the guard, who Sirius hated more and more with each
passing second.

"Not as funny as I used to be," Sirius croaked, tracing one of the lines on his wall with a
wasted finger.

"That cell," said the other guard, who had returned with a Dementor behind him. "Black."
The hooded figure glided forward, wrapping one of its skeletal hands around the iron bars of
Sirius' cell.

Sirius shivered, reaching for his threadbare blanket. Flashes of that night, the night his world
ended, danced before his eyes. James, glasses askew and face forever frozen in shock, Lily,
pale and still, with tears not yet dry on her cheeks, Harry, crying, his little face stained with
blood, Hagrid, sobbing as he patted Sirius' shoulder and took away the first of the only two
people Sirius had left, and though he'd never seen it, Remus, sobbing in an office that
resembled Dumbledore's when he heard what had happened... And then his memory fogged
over, leaving him with that familiar empty feeling and making him wonder if they were ever
real at all. If they'd ever existed, or if they'd just been a dream. "Innocent," he whispered. "I'm
innocent." You killed them. "No... no!"

He focused on Peter's face, the one face that would never fade from his memory, and with
Peter came everything else; Lily and James – who was holding Harry – surrounded by
tendrils of pale silvery magic as Peter's shrill voice promised to keep them safe, that sick
feeling he'd had as he left Remus' house to check on Peter, the little smile on Peter's face as
he blew up the street and the panic he'd felt when he almost hadn't got his Shield Charm up in
time. "I'm innocent," he growled.

He opened his eyes and sat up, unable to recall closing them, or lying down. The guards were
still there, watching him through the bars with identical, revolted expressions. The Dementor,
though, appeared to have lost interest in him and floated toward the woman's cell. Her
whimpers ceased and she crawled forward, reaching out to it with red-stained hands. Sirius
felt the temperature drop and knew what was going to happen before it did. He looked away,
swallowing bile as the Dementor drew in a rattling breath.
The guards yelled out and spun, but they weren't quick enough; the woman collapsed to the
floor of her cell, a blank expression on her face. "Get back to your post," the blond guard
snarled, giving the Dementor a vicious prod with his wand. The darker guard, who was
retching a little ways down shivered at it glided past and, once he could stand upright again,
fished around in his pocket and produced a Chocolate Frog. Sirius stared with longing as the
guard stuffed it into his mouth.

"This never would have happened if Parkinson was here," he said, wiping his mouth. The
smell clinging to his robes made Sirius wrinkle his nose.

"So you're saying this is my fault?"

"You did forget her potion."

The other guard let loose with a string of swear words and then unlocked the woman's cell.
"Put her on her bed," he told his comrade.

"I don't think anyone deserves this," the darker guard said shakily, hoisting the woman into a
sitting position.

"I don't think I deserve the paperwork that's going to come from this!" the other said angrily.
Sirius was dying to hit him; a woman had been Kissed and the bastard was worried
about paperwork?! "So where is Parkinson today?"

"I heard he was having one of the Malfoy brats over for lunch. Lucky bastard-"

"Lucky? Those little beasts are a handful-"

"No, not that. I pity any bloke who has to make small talk with Lucius Malfoy's spawn. I just
meant he's lucky 'cause he gets off work." The woman keeled over with a quiet moan.

"Bloody buggering- help me, would you?" The two guards grabbed an arm each and lifted
the woman over to her poor excuse for a bed; it was a pile of ragged blankets and a mouldy
pillow. "I don't reckon it's worth it – Parkinson getting off work, I mean," said the blond
guard as he wiped his hands on his robes. "Which kid's he entertaining?"

Sirius found himself listening raptly. He didn't get news about the outside world very often.
He could probably count on one hand the number of conversations he'd overheard in
Azkaban, and so far, this was most interesting since he'd heard about Alice and Frank,
because he actually knew who they were talking about; his cousin Narcissa had married the
Malfoy heir and it seemed Lucius was just as big a git now as he had been two-thousand, six-
hundred and fifty-seven days or so ago, when Sirius had last seen him.

"The older one. Hyde or something." The name stirred something in Sirius' memory. He had
a vague recollection of a Daily Prophet report about a year before Harry was born, about his
cousin almost miscarrying her first-born son.

"Ah, yes. Lucius Malfoy's miracle child. The other Boy-Who-Lived."

"No, he should be The-Boy-Who-Lived," said the dark-haired guard. "Potter came after."
"Potter?" Sirius asked, perking up at the familiar name.

The guards gave him smug looks as they exited the cell opposite his. "The boy who destroyed
your master, Black. Didn't you ever hear what happened?"

"Of course I heard," Sirius said, retreating back into his corner. "I just didn't realise he had
such a ridiculous nickname. 'Boy-Who-Lived'. James and I used to call him 'Dark Lord's
Downfall'." Sirius shut his mouth then, before he could let anything about the prophecy slip.

"You've got some nerve," the blond guard spat. "Talking about them." Sirius wiped spittle off
his cheek and turned to face the wall, tracing the lines again. Godric he missed them. The
guard laughed. "That shut him up."

"He has a point, though," the second guard said. "Maybe someone should give Potter a new
nickname."

"Why?"

"Cause now there'll be two Boys-Who-Lived at Hogwarts, in the same year, no less."

The other laughed. "A Potter and two Malfoys... and there'll probably be a Weasley or two...
the school isn't going to know what hit them!"

They both laughed at the joke – which really wasn't that funny in Sirius' opinion – and then
the darker guard spoke up. "Come on. If we've got any hope of getting home at a decent hour
we'd better start on that damned paperwork."

The blond guard slumped, following his companion out of Sirius' line of sight.

Sirius slept fretfully that night, if he slept at all; it was often hard to tell in Azkaban.

He dreamed that a boy, a boy who looked just as James had at eleven - messy hair and all -
came to stand outside his cell while he slept. In the dream, Sirius woke and the boy looked at
him with disappointed eyes - which were flickering between James' hazel and Lily's green - as
he ran a finger over the bars of the cell. "You've failed me," he said, scratching at a piece of
rust.

"No," Sirius said. Damn those bloody guards for talking about James and Harry. "No,
please!"

"Failed," the boy, who could have been James or his godson – and frankly, Sirius didn't know
which scared him more – repeated. And then, he turned and walked away.

Sirius didn't think; he leapt to his feet, determined to follow, no matter the cost. He
transformed into Padfoot and stuck his head through the bars of his cell. The boy vanished
around a corner. He whined and wriggled his body through the bars. Wait! he thought as
orange flakes of rust were prised off the bars and fluttered to the ground like snow or
embedded themselves in his shaggy fur. He changed back on the outside and looked around
for the boy. "Wait!" he shouted again.
"It's too late for that," he heard.

"No, damn you! Wait!" Sirius shouted. He forced his wasted muscles to move and after his
eighth step, a small part of his mind noted – even if he was dreaming - it was the furthest he'd
walked in a straight line in seven years.

"Failed..."

"Wait!"

Sirius woke up with a yell. He was standing waist deep in cold, salty water. "What the hell?"
He stared at his sopping clothes and, after employing more of his favourite swear words,
clambered back onto the rocky ground where he collapsed, shivering.

All right, he told his racing mind. All right, so I had a dream, where I broke out of my cell as
a dog and then I wake up and I'm out and just about ready to swim back to shore. Either I'm
free, or I've lost my mind. He found himself leaning toward the latter, but that didn't explain
why his thoughts were clearer than they had been in years or why he was wet... So I'm free
then...

"How the bloody hell did that happen?" he asked the overcast sky. It disdained to answer.
Sirius scowled and then decided he didn't care. What mattered was that he was free. And that
he wasn't going back to his cell. Ever. Partially because he doubted he'd be able to find it
again, and partially because he didn't want to find it again. I need to get off the island
somehow...

Wand, was his next coherent thought. Before I can do anything, I need a wand. My
wand. And he knew how to get it.

One of the most strictly enforced Wizarding Laws stated that a wand – being an incredibly
powerful and, at times, volatile, magical object – once in the custody of an Auror or Hit-
Wizard, could not be destroyed without a court order. Another curious fact about this
particular law was that it was not public knowledge. Only those who had been trained in
either Wizarding Law or Wizarding Law Enforcement were supposed to know, because it was
such an effective threat.

When Sirius graduated from Hogwarts, he and James had joined the Department of Magical
Law Enforcement, where they studied for a year and a half to become Aurors. Usually, it took
three years to get through the rigorous Auror Training Program, but with help from Mad-Eye,
a lot of sleepless nights and the fact that the Wizarding world was at war and the Ministry
needed everyone available to be fighting, Sirius – along with James – had been able to do it
in half the time.

Because of this training, it just so happened that Sirius knew of the laws regarding wand-
snapping, and because of an arsehole named Bartemius Crouch, is just so happened that
Sirius filled the requirements; he had been denied any form of trial and whisked off to
Azkaban by the next available Portkey, which meant his wand should have been filed away in
the prison guardroom with the short-term prisoners' belongings...
Without conscious thought – he suspected it was very much a survival instinct by this point –
Sirius transformed. A few minutes later, at the entrance to Azkaban's guardroom, a huge,
black, bear-like dog that was thin to the point of emaciation, slipped past a pair of Dementors.

Another ten minutes saw Sirius back down on the rocky beach, pocketing a thin wooden stick
and a small mirror that he had had in his pocket when he was arrested. He'd already tried to
call James with it and he'd seen a glimpse of James' smiling face before it became too much
and he ended the connection.

He hadn't bothered trying to Apparate; there would likely be wards against it, and even if
there weren't, his mind wasn't focused enough for him to do it without Splinching
himself. Looks like I'm swimming after all, he thought grimly as he transformed back into
Padfoot. It really wasn't that far – he could see land from where he was - but the water was
rough and there was so much of it, and it was so open...

He shook himself. Seven years. Seven years, he'd spent, locked up for a crime he hadn't
committed. In fact, he'd probably done enough time in prison to compensate for every bad
thing he'd ever done, thought about doing, or would do in the future. While he wouldn't have
ever broken out on his own, there was no way he'd willingly go back to life in that hell-hole
when freedom was so close.

There hadn't been much point in him escaping before now, or even trying to; Peter was
probably cowering under a rock somewhere where Sirius would never find him, or he would
be as soon as he heard that he'd broken out, Harry – who Hagrid had said was going to Lily's
sister Petunia – was probably counting down the years he had left until he could go to
Hogwarts, and Remus... since he hadn't visited or made any attempts to contact Sirius,
probably didn't know that Peter was the traitor and, Sirius guessed, would have spent the last
seven years mourning Lily, James and the rat and dwelling on his hatred for Sirius.

I'll have to find them, Sirius thought. Harry, to see if he's happy, Peter, to prove I'm innocent
and once I've done that I can find Moony, to explain everything, to apologise... And that's not
going to happen if I don't get my arse off this bloody rock.

Sirius took a deep breath and waded out into the murky water.

"Mrs Peterson!"

"What, Dudley?"

"Harry's copying my worksheet!"

Mrs Patricia Peterson had been a teacher at St Grogory's Primary School for seventeen years.
Since eleven of these years had been spent in the same classroom teaching Year Four
children, it was safe to say Mrs Peterson had seen her fair share of eight-and-nine-year-olds.
She had thought herself well-equipped to deal with any child. And then she had met Harry
Potter.

"Potter, are you copying your cousin's worksheet?"

"No, Mrs Peterson," the boy said quietly.

"Don't lie," Dudley told his cousin.

"Says you," Potter muttered. Mrs Peterson couldn't for the life of her remember when she'd
started addressing the boy as 'Potter' instead of 'Harry'. She supposed she had picked it up
from the rest of the class and, since it didn't seem to make a difference to the boy, she hadn't
bothered to correct herself.

"Mrs Peterson!" Dudley wailed, scrunching up his round face.

"That's enough!" Mrs Peterson gave Linda back her worksheet and walked over to the boys'
desk. "Dudley, you don't need to keep shouting at me because I was already listening and,
Potter, I've told you I won't tolerate lying in my classroom." Some of the other students
sniggered as Potter flushed.

"I'm not lying, Mrs Peterson," he said, staring up at her with those big, bespectacled green
eyes.

How a child could look so pitiful while being such a monster was beyond her, but somehow,
Potter pulled it off. He was unnaturally polite, which she didn't buy for a moment; the boy
was probably trying to win her over as he had won Mrs Baddams last year. "Worksheet," she
said briskly, holding out her hand.

He passed it over without a word. She checked it, noting the lack of working out and passed
it back. "Detention today at lunch," she said. Dudley sniggered. Potter, if it was possible,
looked relieved and nodded.

"Dudley, worksheet," she said. He passed it to her and found the answers the same as the
Potter boy's had been, also with no working out. "Excellent work as usual. Yes, Katrina?" She
saw Potter's hand tighten around his pencil as she walked away.

She gave them five more minutes to work on their maths problems. "You can do the rest for
homework," she told the class. "Now, who's going to write the best story?" Everyone looked
at Katrina, who blushed and ducked her pig-tailed head. "You have one hour to write and the
topic is... wishes. Get started." She retreated to her desk as pencils started scratching on desk-
tops.

Mrs Peterson watched her class with a warm smile. Felicity would no doubt write something
about horses, Malcolm was fond of stories about football stars, while Linda like dancers and
Hannah liked cats. She was almost excited to read their stories; under her careful eye, the
quality of her students' writing had improved significantly and the absence of bothersome
spelling and grammatical errors made reading their work almost enjoyable.

Mrs Peterson watched them all for a moment longer- smiling at the way Gordon pulled a face
every time he had to erase something and the way Hannah sighed and rubbed graphite off her
left hand every so often – before she pulled her copy of Oliver Twist out of her desk drawer.
It was one of her favourite books, though, as a teacher, it broke her heart to see Oliver – even
if he was just a character – living in such horrible conditions; little food, no family and forced
into what could only be described as slavery... it made her cry every time.

"Mrs Peterson?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, Gordon?"

"It's past an hour," the boy said, sucking on the end of his pencil. She became aware that most
of the class had put their pencils down and were watching her. Potter, at the back of the
classroom, was the only one not looking in her direction. He was reading his story with a
funny expression she couldn't quite place.

"So it has," she said marking the page. "I expect good things from these," she said as she
collected them, "since I gave you an extra fifteen minutes. Thank you, dear. If you've given
me your story, you can go to lunch." With a collective whoop, her class charged out, leaving
Potter sitting in his chair. "Story," she said holding out an impatient hand.

"What would you like me to do?" he asked.

"Lines today," she said with a sigh as she straightened the pile of stories. "'I will not copy
other people's work'. Twenty times should do it and then you can go to lunch."

"Yes, Mrs Peterson," Potter said, tearing sheet of paper out of his workbook.

Odd that he never argues... I suppose he knows it wouldn't work, or perhaps he knows he
deserves it... She sat back down at her desk and pulled Potter's story towards her.

Once, there was a boy called James, Potter had written. James lives with his mum and dad.
Every morning James wakes up in his bedroom and goes to the kitchen where his mum gives
him breakfast. His dad drives him to school and after school his mum and dad take him to the
park. After they get home from the park, they help James with his homework. Every night,
James' mum makes dinner and it tastes good. Sometimes James helps because he wants to,
not because he has to. They all eat at the table together and sometimes James has second
helpings. At night, they tell stories and they tuck James into his bed and tell him they love
him. James tells them he loves them back and then he goes to sleep. If he has a bad dream, he
gets to tell them about it and sleep in their bed until he feels better. James doesn't need to
wish for anything because he already has everything.

"Potter."

"Yes, Mrs Peterson?" Potter put his pencil down and looked up.

"You don't need to call me Mrs Peterson every time we talk," she said irritably. "We've
discussed this."

"Sorry, Mrs Peterson- I mean, sorry."

"Apology accepted. Come over here, please. I'd like to talk to you about your story."

"My-my story?"
"Yes, now, aside from the fact that I gave you an hour and you've barely written a paragraph,
you haven't stuck to the topic. What did I say you had to write about?"

"Wishes, Mrs Peterson." So he had been listening.

"Yes, and what did you write about?"

"Wishes coming true."

"No, Potter, you didn't." Potter opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again.
"You wrote about things that happen every day, when I wanted you to write about something
you wish could happen." Potter had the audacity to look confused. "Things that don't happen
all the time," she said, trying to get him to understand.

Potter frowned. "But I don't get to spend time with my parents."

"Why not?" She knew the boy lived with his Aunt and Uncle but had always thought it was
because his parents were incapable of looking after him. Mrs Peterson had heard a rumour
that the father was a drunk and the mother unfaithful, a woman who wouldn't know what real
love looked like if it invited itself to tea. It would certainly explain why Potter had turned out
the way he had.

"They're dead."

She felt a twinge of pity for the boy she didn't particularly like. "Is that what you meant?" He
nodded. "Well, Isuppose that counts but the rest of the story is just about your life with your
Aunt and Uncle. That's not very creative."

"You think it's just like my life with-?" Potter seemed to realise he was talking out loud and
stopped. "Right," he said stiffly, his jaw clenched. "Should I write it again?"

"No, no." Mrs Peterson swallowed, the phrase 'If looks could kill' running through her head
as Potter glared and then walked stiffly back to his desk and sat down. "No. Another ten lines
will do. 'I will follow instructions'." Potter picked up his pencil, which snapped in his hand.
He looked up and jumped about a foot out of his seat, eyes wide.

"What are you looking at, Potter?"

"N-nothing," he said, not looking at her. He picked up one of his pencil halves and started to
write, though he sneaked furtive glances in her direction when he thought she wasn't looking.

Mrs Peterson was midway through Piers' story about pirates when there was a knock on the
classroom door. "Come in," she said without looking up. She scribbled a comment on the
story – Piers was a wonderfully imaginative boy, but he did tend to write about fighting quite
a lot – and pulled another piece of work over.

"Hello, Patricia, do you still have my poetry antholo-?"

"Hello, Sue, no, I don't," Mrs Peterson said looking up from Emma's story about becoming a
princess. "Anne had it. Why are you staring?"
"Blue," Sue said faintly. "Why is your hair blue?"

"My hair?" Sue nodded. A horrible suspicion formed in Mrs Peterson's mind. "Potter!" she
screeched. "What did you do?!" Potter paled, staring at her with wide green eyes, but he
didn't answer. "I'll have to write home about this," she told him as Sue slipped out of the
classroom, looking as if she was trying not to laugh. "Now, what did you do to my wig?!"

"I-I didn't..." Potter stammered. "I didn't touch your hai- er... wig, I swear." But he didn't look
sure of that. In fact, e looked a little worried.

You did it you little monster, I know you did, she thought viciously. "I'm sending you home.
You're to give this report to your Aunt and I'll be calling tonight to make sure you do."
Potter's expression was horrified.

She pulled a pen out of her tin and wrote, Dear Mrs Dursley,

I don't know how or why it happened, but your nephew has somehow managed to turn my wig
blue.

I have suspended him from this afternoon's lessons as punishment – he will need to catch up
in his own time.

I trust you to take any extra disciplinary action you deem necessary,

Yours Sincerely,

Patricia Peterson.

She folded the paper in half and stuffed it into an envelope which she addressed to Mrs
Dursley. "Here," she said, thrusting it at the now terrified Potter. "Take that home for your
Aunt to read."

"Y-yes, Mrs Peterson," he stammered, placing the envelope into his schoolbag.

"And remember, I'll be calling tonight to follow it up." Potter nodded and fled.

Mrs Peterson had no way of knowing it would be the last time he ever passed under her
classroom doorway.
 Escape from Privet Drive

"Ow! Dudley, stop!" cried the smaller of the boys who were tussling on the grass under a
large tree. The blond woman with them glanced up at the sound, shifted on the park bench
and slowly lowered her pale eyes back to the magazine she was reading.

The bigger boy, Dudley, tightened his grip on a chunk of his cousin's messy, black hair and
gave him shake for good measure. "Make me," he sang, a grin spreading across his pink face.

Harry glanced up at his aunt, who was pointedly ignoring them and then back at his
tormentor. He sighed and pinched Dudley's fat arm. His cousin howled and let go while
Harry rolled away and sprang to his feet, ready to- "What did you do?" his Aunt Petunia
demanded, hurrying over.

"He-He hurt me-e-e!" Dudley wailed, scrunching up his face. Aunt Petunia inspected the
little red mark on his arm, kissed it better and rounded on her nephew.

"He pulled my hair," Harry said defensively.

"Perhaps if it wasn't so long, he wouldn't have been able to," she snapped. She grabbed a
handful in her bony fingers and gave a tug, rather harder than her son had. Tears –real ones,
not fake ones like Dudley's – sprang up in Harry's eyes. "It needs a cut. Tonight, I'll-"

"M-mum!" Dudley sobbed.

"I know, Popkin," she said, adopting a kinder tone the minute she stopped talking to Harry.
"Here, up we get." Dudley reached up to her, obviously wanting to be carried. Aunt Petunia
took her son's hand instead. She'd long since stopped carrying him, claiming he was too old
for that. Harry suspected it had more to do with his cousin's size, and that if Dudley wasn't so
fat, his Aunt would still carry him everywhere. "Don't come back until you've thought about
what you've done," she called without turning. Dudley looked over his shoulder as the pair of
them left the playground and gave Harry a smug look.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry muttered, kicking the grass. He swiped his tears away, made his
way over to the swings and sat down, one hand wrapping around the chain, his feet making
holes in the bark-chips. He already knew what he'd done wrong – he'd hurt Dudley – but
there was no way he was going back to Number Four for quite some time; he knew from past
experience that, the moment he got home, he'd be locked in his cupboard for the night and
being bored at a playground was better than being bored at home.

"Excuse me?" Harry looked up, startled, to see a tall man – yes, it was definitely a man, even
if he was wearing a dress - with shaggy, shoulder-length black hair standing next to him. The
man's grey eyes were distant and intense all at once and vaguely familiar but Harry didn't
know where from. "Is that seat taken?" the man asked quietly, pointing to the other swing.
His voice was friendly, but scratchy as if he hadn't used it in a while; it matched the man's
gaunt appearance.
"No," Harry said. "You can sit down if you like," he added, when the man made no move to
do so. He was just staring at Harry, looking happy and sad at the same time.

"Thank you," the man said, sitting. Harry nodded and went back to staring at his trainers.
"My name's Padfoot."

"Harry," Harry said, frowning slightly as he looked up. "Do I know you from somewhere?"
he heard himself ask.

"Maybe," the man – Padfoot – said nonchalantly. "I've been on the news recently."

"Oh," Harry said. He'd heard that tone before – Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon used it when
people came to the house – it meant he wasn't lying, but that he was leaving something out.
"What for?"

Padfoot was quiet for a long time. "I broke out of prison," he admitted, with a sheepish smile.
Harry's eyes widened. He leapt off the swing, backing away from the strange man with the
strange name in his strange clothes. Harry's eyes flicked toward the general area of his house.
He was fast thanks to years of practice at running away from Dudley but he didn't think he
would be able to get there before Padfoot caught him. "I'm not going to hurt you, Harry,"
Padfoot said, patting the swing. Harry watched him warily. "I promise," Padfoot said smiling
as he patted the seat again. "I just want to talk."

Harry sat, unable to help but feel a little suspicious. "Why?"

"You seem like a nice kid. Maybe we can be friends."

"Friends?" Harry asked, his eyebrows shooting up. He'd never had a friend before. Dudley
had made sure of that. "But you- prison-" He was a little tempted to befriend the man, purely
to see the look on his Aunt's face is he bought this criminal in his strange, dirty clothes home.

Padfoot sighed. "Have you ever been in trouble for doing something you didn't do?" Harry
nodded slowly. That happened to him all the time. Once, he had been running away from
Dudley and his gang and ended up on the roof of the school kitchens. He had no idea how it
had happened – all he could think was that when he'd jumped to hide behind the big rubbish
bins, the wind had caught him. And, only last week he'd had to take that school report home
to inform the Dursleys about the incident with Mrs Peterson's wig; today was the first day
since then that he'd been let out of his cupboard. "It was like that."

"Did it help that you told them you didn't?" If they were anything like the Dursleys, it
wouldn't have.

"I didn't have a chance," Padfoot said, fiddling with his frayed sleeve. "No one listened
because they were so bloody- er... angry," he amended with a quick glance at Harry who
smirked, "and they wouldn't have believed me anyway."

"I believe you," Harry offered. Padfoot didn't seem like the sort of person who deserved to be
locked up.
"Thanks, kid," Padfoot said, smiling. Harry nodded. "So, what about you? Ever broken out of
prison?" Harry laughed and shook his head. His cupboard was more or less a prison but he
wasn't meant to talk about it. "What do you like to do, then?"

"Er..." Harry said, "well, I cook a lot." He didn't particularly enjoy cooking – at least not for
the Dursleys – but he'd rather cook than weed the garden or help Dudley tidy his spare
bedroom.

"Do you read?" Padfoot asked. "Play any sports?"

Harry hesitated. He was always picked last in team games – just last week, Ben Forster who
had a broken arm had been chosen before him – and he was always the first one out in games
like dodge-ball, not due to lack of skill, but because Dudley and his gang always targeted him
first, even if they were on the same side. "I suppose I like sports but I don't get to play very
often and Dudley doesn't read so we don't have many books."

"Why don't they buy you your own books?" Padfoot asked slowly. Harry shrugged. Padfoot
stared at him. "Your clothes," he said finally, running a hand over his chin, "were they
Dudley's?" Harry nodded, plucking a loose strand off his too-big jumper. "Do you have
anything that's yours?"

"There's nothing wrong with hand-me-downs," he said dutifully repeating Aunt Petunia's
words. He started to kick the bark-chips again.

"Never said there was," Padfoot said quickly. He was quiet for a bit and then asked, "If you
could have one thing – anything – what would it be?"

Harry, who'd never been asked such a question before wasn't quite sure what to say. He took
a moment to think about his answer and then said, "My parents." He didn't really mind that
he was talking to a complete stranger. Padfoot watched him sadly. "They died in a car crash
when I was a baby."

"C-car-crash?" Padfoot choked. "A car crash?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I don't remember it but that's where I got my scar." He brushed his
fringe aside but Padfoot didn't look, which was odd. Most people Harry met seemed
fascinated by it, even if he didn't show it first. Harry felt himself liking Padfoot more by the
moment. He, aside from Mrs Figg, was the only person who didn't treat him like dirt, or,
alternatively, with awe, neither of which Harry particularly liked.

"Car crash?" Padfoot said again, louder this time. Harry couldn't quite place his tone, but at a
guess, he would have said he was shocked and maybe even angry. "They told you it was a car
crash?!" Harry nodded apprehensively; he'd spent enough time around his cousin and Uncle
to recognise a tantrum brewing. Padfoot stood suddenly. "Are you coming?" he asked,
already striding across the grass.

Harry got up and followed after a moment's hesitation; he'd expected yelling – what for he
didn't quite know – and he didn't quite know what to make of this calm fury. "Where are we
going?"
"Your house," Padfoot said briskly.

"My-my house?" Harry repeated, just to make sure he'd heard right.

Padfoot didn't answer; he was muttering about something called Dumbledore and stupid
muggles, neither of which made any sense to Harry. He walked without talking all the way
down Magnolia Road – Harry jogging to keep up – then hesitated on the corner of Magnolia
Crescent. "Which way now?" he asked.

"I'm not supposed to bring strangers home," Harry said.

"I know your aunt," Padfoot said impatiently. "Petunia, isn't it? Tall, skinny woman. Married
to Vernon, a fat bloke with no neck and an ugly moustache."

"That's them," Harry said, trying not to laugh. He led Padfoot – who was still muttering about
car crashes - down Magnolia Crescent, through the side alley onto Wisteria Walk and then
onto Privet Drive. At this point Padfoot seemed to recognise the street and led Harry all the
way to Number Four's driveway. He paused by the door and then, with an oddly triumphant
look, jabbed the doorbell.

"James didn't even own a damn car!" he growled as they waited.

"James?" Harry said. "Wait, did you know my-?"

"Took you long enough!" he heard Aunt Petunia say as the locks on the door clicked. "Go
apologise to Diddy and then you can go and stir the- Oh!" she said, as she opened the door
and saw Padfoot. Her pale eyes narrowed as they drifted over his unusual clothes, and then
up to his face. Aunt Petunia never forgot a face. "What did you do?" she hissed, spotting
Harry who froze in the driveway.

"I d-" Harry stammered.

"A car crash?" Padfoot said softly. Aunt Petunia paled. "You told him that Lily and James
died in a car crash?"

"Get inside," she snapped, jabbing a bony finger at Harry. "Go to your cu- room," she said,
her eyes flicking to Padfoot. "That Dumbledore man promised your kind would leave us
alone. You aren't welcome here." Harry, who was walking very slowly toward the door, -
trying to hear as much as possible - wondered who or what Padfoot's 'kind' was.

"I'm not welcome in a lot of places at the moment," Padfoot said, folding his arms.

"Inside!" Aunt Petunia snapped at Harry, who had just bent to tie his shoelace to buy himself
more time to listen.

"They didn't even own a car!" Padfoot said, throwing his arms up in the air.

"I'll call the police," she told him.

"Try," Padfoot said, twirling a long wooden stick – which he'd pulled from somewhere in his
clothes - between his long fingers.

"Put that away," Aunt Petunia said, her voice shaking ever so slightly. "I don't want any of...
of... that here."

"Any of what?" Harry asked.

"I said inside!" she shrieked. Mrs Farey from Number Seven across the street looked up.
Harry scampered into the house, ducking the swipe she aimed at his ear. "You too," Aunt
Petunia said to Padfoot. "I'm not discussing this out here." Harry darted down the hallway
and into his cupboard. He closed the door most of the way but left a small crack which he
pressed his ear to. "And make sure you wipe your shoes on the mat. You're filthy."

"A car crash?" Harry heard Padfoot say loudly as soon as the front door clicked shut.

"Keep your voice down," Aunt Petunia snapped. "Yes, we told the boy it was a car crash.
What else were we supposed to say? That a lunatic blew them up?" Harry's hand moved up to
trace the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. Blew them up...?

"That's exactly what you should have told him! He has a right to know why he's living here, a
right to know why his parents are dead! They died to save him and you told him it was an
accident?!" Harry took a deep breath and realised with a jolt he'd stopped breathing.

"We didn't have a choice," Aunt Petunia said frostily. "We want him normal, like Dudley."
There was no doubt who she was talking about. "Telling him stories like that would make
him wonder why they were killed and we don't like questions. He'd push us and we'd have to
tell him the whole freaky story, about my unnatural sister, the Snape boy and that wretched
Potter."

"And what's wrong with that?" Padfoot demanded.

"I not having any of that in this house," Aunt Petunia said shrilly. "When we took him in, we
swore to put a stop to all of that freakish nonsense. Telling him things like that would
encourage unnatural behaviour and-"

"What about when he goes to Hogwarts?" Padfoot asked. "Everyone knows his story,
everyone but him, apparently-"

"That doesn't matter. He's not going."

"Not going?!" Padfoot shouted sounding angry again. "What in the name of Merlin's toenails
do you mean he's not bloody going?!"

"I won't have one in the house," Aunt Petunia said, with an air of finality.

"You can't just decide that. You can't just ignore it and hope it'll all go away."

"It seems to be working well so far," Aunt Petunia snapped, "and I'll thank you not to tell me
how to raise my own nephew."
Padfoot's reply was lost in the sound of the front door flinging open. "Evening, Petunia dea-"
Harry heard his uncle say. "Who's this?"

"I'm a friend of Lily's," Padfoot said before Aunt Petunia could say anything. "We've met
before-"

"You!" Uncle Vernon roared. Harry could tell, just from the volume of his voice that his face
was already purple. "You! Get out of my house!"

"I've come to talk to you about Harry," Padfoot said calmly.

"Get out!" Uncle Vernon bellowed again. "BOY!" Harry jumped at being addressed, lost his
footing and tripped out of his cupboard, landing sprawled in the hallway. He stared at the
glossy black shoes in front of him and slowly looked up to see his Uncle's purple face. I knew
it, he thought dazedly. "What did you do?!"

"Nothing," Harry said hastily, scrambling to his feet.

"What did you tell him?!" Uncle Vernon shouted, spraying Harry with spittle. His meaty hand
grabbed Harry's baggy shirt and gave him a shake.

"Enough!" Padfoot shouted. There was a bang and Uncle Vernon released Harry with a yell
and stepped back, cradling his now very red fingers. Harry took a step back and straightened
his glasses. Padfoot looked furious, but not, Harry didn't think, at him. "You and your wife,"
he snarled at Uncle Vernon, "out. I need to talk to Harry."

"This is my house!" Uncle Vernon shouted, his moustache quivering. "You can't tell me what
to do!"

"Oh, I think I can," Padfoot growled, twirling his stick. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon gave
both Harry and Padfoot one last look of pure hatred and stalked down the hall and into the
kitchen. "Are you all right?" Padfoot asked Harry, tucking the stick into a pocket of his dress.

"I'm fine."

Padfoot didn't look convinced but he didn't push the point. "How much did you hear?" he
asked.

"Something about a car crash but not much else," said Harry, not meeting Padfoot's grey
stare.

"I could always tell when James was lying and you've inherited his face," Padfoot said
conversationally. "How much did you really hear?"

"All of it," Harry admitted sheepishly.

"I thought so." Padfoot sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "This is not going the
way I thought it would," he muttered before letting out another sigh.

"You planned this?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Planned? Nah, I just- It wasn't- You were supposed to be happy," he sighed. "You were
supposed to be playing pranks on your Aunt and Uncle with your cousin! You were supposed
to know all about your mum and dad! You were supposed to be excited, because you've only
got two and a half years until Hogwarts!"

"Sorry," Harry said quickly.

"It's not your fault," Padfoot said, looking shocked. "It's theirs." He jabbed a finger in the
direction of the kitchen, where Harry could hear his Aunt and Uncle arguing. "They want you
to be 'normal'... What a load of hippogriff dung."

"Hippo-what?"

"Hippogriff- Never mind." Padfoot began to mutter under his breath about 'James', 'Lily',
'Dursley', 'Dumbledore' and 'Aurors'.

"Erm... Mr Padfoot...?"

Padfoot blinked and then laughed. "Just Padfoot, Harry."

"Did you really know my parents?"

Padfoot looked down at Harry with a sad smile. "You look a lot like your dad, you know," he
said, "but you have your mum's eyes."

"Really?" Harry asked, hoarding this knowledge away.

Padfoot nodded and pulled a small mirror out of his pocket. "James Potter," he said softly and
then turned it toward Harry. The mirror was clearly not a mirror. Harry decided it was a sort
of pocket television - though he didn't know how that was possible, since every telly he'd
ever seen was bulky - because when he looked into it, he saw his father. James Potter was a
handsome, messy-haired man with a long nose, bright hazel eyes and a happy, friendly smile.
James waved and then turned to laugh at someone Harry couldn't see. "Can I see my mum
too?"

"It doesn't work like that, kiddo," Padfoot said apologetically.

Harry was a little disappointed but he nodded. He'd seen a few photographs of his mother
when he helped Aunt Petunia clean out the attic, but she'd been younger than he was in most
of them. "What were they like?"

"Lily was... well, she was brilliant. Beautiful inside and out and probably the nicest person
I've ever met, though she did have a bit of a temper. James... was funny and brave... stubborn
too. Bit of a prat at times but aren't we all? He was the best friend anyone could ever have."

"Were you close?"

"They were my family," Padfoot croaked. He cleared his throat loudly and was quiet for a
moment. Harry waited patiently. "Your dad and I were so close people thought we were
brothers, and your mum and I had a rocky start but she was like my sister by the end."
"So are we related?" Harry asked.

Padfoot smiled. "Second cousins – your great grandparents are the same as mine; Cygnus and
Violetta Black." He swallowed, looking decidedly nervous. "I'm also your godfather... They -
your mum and dad – wanted me to look after you if anything ever happened to them. But
then, well, I was arrested and Dumbledore brought you here."

"But now you're free," Harry said, wondering if Padfoot was saying what he thought he was
saying.

"Not free," Padfoot said, "but I am out of prison." He stared at his feet for a long time and
then looked up again, seeming agitated. "Under normal circumstances, I'd never ask this;
you're – what – eight and a half? And I'm trying to evade Aurors and the rest of the Ministry,
but if you want... another home-"

"Another home?" Harry asked, his voice climbing an octave. "As in, away from the
Dursleys?"

"It's fine if you don't want to," Padfoot said quickly.

"I want to!" Harry half-shouted.

"Really?" Padfoot asked, beaming. Harry nodded emphatically. "Are you sure? I don't know
what state the house is in yet, and it might be dangerous – like I said, there are people after
me-"

"I want to," Harry said, hardly believing what he was hearing. He'd always dreamed that an
unknown relative would come and take him away and now, Padfoot, his dad's best friend,
was offering to do just that.

"I have no idea what to do with a kid," Padfoot continued. "Moony always said I'd make a
terrible father..."

"You can't be any worse than the Dursleys," Harry said bluntly.

Padfoot grinned a little ruefully. "I guess not." He paused, running a hand over his cheeks.
"Merlin, this visit is definitely not going the way I thought it would."

"What...?"

"I was going to come and see you," Padfoot admitted, "maybe get to know you a bit. And
then I was going to go into hiding while I figured out how to make everyone else see that I'm
innocent. After that I would have come back and made you the same offer as I am now."

"I can help you prove you're innocent," Harry said.

"I appreciate the gesture, Harry," he said with a snort, "but me adopting you is going to look
pretty bad. Everyone will think I've kidnapped you for Voldemort-"

"Who?"
Padfoot sighed. "I keep forgetting you don't know, but I don't have time to tell you now. I
need to leave before someone sees me here and calls the D.M.L.E.-"

"The what?" Harry asked.

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Padfoot said. He waved a hand to cut off Harry's
exclamations of "Magic!" and "You can't say that word here; Uncle Vernon hates it". "If
you're coming, you'd better pack." Harry pulled open the door of his cupboard. "I-is that a
bed?" Padfoot spluttered, peering in. Harry shrugged, grabbed his rucksack and started
tossing clothes into it. "You-They make you sleep in here?"

Harry shrugged again, stuffing a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks into a pocket. "I'm ready,"
he announced a moment later, hoisting his rucksack on.

Padfoot was staring at the spider in the corner of the roof. He shook himself. "Here, let me,"
he said, reaching for Harry's bag. Harry stared at him. "Here," Padfoot said impatiently. Harry
passed it over with a curious look at his godfather. Padfoot slung it over his shoulder and led
Harry down the hall and into the kitchen.

Dudley was playing with Glen, his tortoise; the poor creature was currently being flown over
Dudley's empty plate, accompanied by noises better suited to a rocket-ship than a reptile.
Aunt Petunia hadn't touched her food at all, but kept sipping at her glass of water, while
Uncle Vernon – whose plate was empty – drummed his thick fingers on the table. All three of
them looked up at Harry and Padfoot.

"Leaving are you?" Aunt Petunia said waspishly, her pale eyes darting over Padfoot.

"Yes."

"About time," Uncle Vernon grumbled.

"I'm taking Harry with me."

"Taking the boy?" Aunt Petunia said, sounding puzzled. "Where?"

"I'm going to live with him," Harry said.

"You can't."

"I'm his godfather," Padfoot said indignantly. "If he wants to live with me, you can't stop
him." Aunt Petunia's lips thinned. Her chair scraped as she stood and left the room. Everyone
watched her go. She returned about thirty seconds later with a pink tinge in her cheeks and a
crumpled letter which she handed to Padfoot. She sat down again, studiously avoiding Uncle
Vernon's eyes. Padfoot read the letter quickly and then passed it back. "I'm still taking him."
Dudley, who was craning his neck to try to read it slipped off his seat. Harry turned his laugh
into a cough and swore he saw his godfather's mouth twitch.

"But the protection... he won't be safe..." Aunt Petunia said, looking at Harry.

"I can take care of him," Padfoot said, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder.
Aunt Petunia pursed her lips as though she doubted this but all she said was, "I suppose I'll
need to call Mrs Figg and tell her you won't be coming over tomorrow."

"We won't be sending you money," Uncle Vernon said. "If you want the boy, you can pay for
him."

"Money won't be a problem," Padfoot assured them. He looked down at Harry. "Would you
like a minute to say goodbye?"

"Bye," Harry told the Dursleys. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Padfoot press his lips
together to keep from laughing.

"So, wait... you're leaving?" Dudley said, picking himself up off the floor.

"Yep," Harry said.

Dudley frowned and then stuck out his pink hand. "Bye, then."

Harry shook it feeling rather silly. "Yeah, bye. Bye, Glen," he added for good measure as
Aunt Petunia flung her arms around her son.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Padfoot muttered over Aunt Petunia's wailed praise for
Dudley's manners. "All set, kid?" Harry grinned, nodding. The two of them left the kitchen
followed by Uncle Vernon who was humming under his breath and looked as if he might
break out in a jig at any moment. As they walked down the familiar hallway, Harry took one
last glance at his cupboard and smiled slightly. Padfoot followed his gaze. "You sure this is
everything?" he asked, tapping the strap of Harry's rucksack.

"Pretty sure," Harry said, grinning. He was leaving Privet Drive! It was actually happening!
He cast a quick look at his Uncle who opened the front door, looking the happiest Harry had
ever seen him. Harry followed Padfoot outside and turned, racking his brain for something to
say; what did one say at the end of seven and a half years of mutual dislike? Thank you,
maybe...? Harry thought. But for what? No sooner than Harry opened his mouth to say 'Bye'
again, Uncle Vernon snapped the door closed. Well that makes things easier.

"Git," Padfoot muttered with a dark look at Number Four. "Ah, well. Not our problem
anymore." Harry took one last look at Number Four before following Padfoot down his
Aunt's perfectly kept garden path. "Are you hungry or can you wait?"

"I can wait," Harry said shrugging.

"Excellent." He sighed loudly. "I wasn't going to worry about it but I've got you now... I think
we'll have to go to Gringotts before we do anything. I'm just about out of money and
security's going to get tighter once they realise I've got you... How to get there...?"

"Get where?"

"London," Padfoot said with a grin that lit up his thin face. "More specifically, Diagon
Alley."
 Gringotts Wizarding Bank

"Die-where?"

"Diagon Alley," Padfoot laughed. "It's where Gringotts is."

"Gringotts?"

"The bank. Just wait up a moment." Padfoot stopped and pulled his stick out of his pocket.
He started talking to himself in another language – one that sounded made up in Harry's
opinion – and then tapped his arm.

"How did you do that?!" Harry asked, astonished. Padfoot was now blonde with blue eyes
and a rounder face than he had had before.

"Hold still," Padfoot said, tapping Harry's head.

"What do I look like?" Harry asked excitedly. Padfoot waved his stick again and a mirror
appeared. Harry took it, surveying his new face. His hair was as messy as ever, but it was a
light brown colour and his eyes were blue instead of green. "How did you do that?" Harry
asked again.

"Magic," Padfoot said, twirling his stick.

"Magic's not real," Harry said automatically. But how else could he have done all those
things? a little voice in his head argued.

"Why not?" Padfoot asked reasonably.

"Just... because," Harry finished lamely.

"It's real," Padfoot promised.

Harry watched him, not quite convinced. "Can you show me more?"

Padfoot thought for a moment, had a quick look around and then waved his stick.

"Wingardium Leviosa." Harry felt the ground vanish beneath his feet. He looked down and
noticed, with a quiet shout of surprise, that he was floating. He was well above Padfoot's
head and when he kicked his feet all they touched was air. "Believe me yet?" Padfoot asked,
grinning. Harry nodded, not sure he trusted himself to speak, and felt himself slowly being
lowered to the ground. "Good, because I might have had to leave you there otherwise."

Harry laughed shakily. "So you're a..."

"A what?"

"...wizard?" Harry said quietly.

"I am."

"And is that a wand?" He stared at the wooden stick with newfound respect.

"It is."

"Can I try?" he blurted.

"With my wand?" Padfoot thought for a moment and then shrugged. "Sure."

Harry accepted it gingerly, half expecting it to bite him. "What do I do?"

"Try... say 'Lumos'."

"Lumos," Harry said. There was a tiny white light at the tip of Padfoot's wand, so small he
could hardly see it. "Is that what it's supposed to do?"

"Usually it's bigger," Padfoot said, shrugging, "but my wand's always been unpredictable for
other people."

"Lumos," Harry said again, giving it a wave. The wand tip lit up until it was almost blinding.

"'Nox'!" Padfoot said, shielding his eyes.

"Nox!" Harry said quickly. The wand extinguished, as did all the streetlights within thirty feet
of them. Harry pressed the wand back into Padfoot's hand.

"You're going to be one hell of a wizard," Padfoot said shaking his head.

"I'm not a wizard," Harry said. Padfoot's lips twitched, as if he knew something Harry didn't.
"I can't be!"

"Really? You've never made anything strange happen before, done something you couldn't
explain later?"

Harry's eyes widened. "That's magic?"

Padfoot grinned. "Probably. You can tell me all about it on the way to London. Stand back."

"How are we getting to London?" Harry asked as Padfoot stuck out his wand. "Do you have a
magic car?"

With a loud bang, a purple, triple-decker bus materialised. Harry stared at it with wide eyes.
"Not quite," Padfoot said casually. "Two please," he said, passing a giant gold coin and four
silver ones to the squat, neatly shaven man who'd just emerged from the bus.

"But-" Harry stammered, staring at the bus that had appeared from nowhere. "But-"

"Later," Padfoot promised.

"Thank you, sir," the man wheezed, pocketing Padfoot's strange money. "Welcome to the
Knight Bus. I'm Jeremy Phillips and I'll be your conductor this evening. Where is it you
gentlemen are headed?"

"London. The Leaky Cauldron," Padfoot said. "Come on, kid." Harry stumbled onto the bus
after his godfather, unable to help but smile a little. While the Dursleys had called him 'boy'
to avoid saying his name, Padfoot addressing him as 'kid' was done with the same inflection
as 'Harry' and wasn't malicious at all. It was nice, Harry thought, to be addressed like a
human being.

"Have you got any luggage?"

"Just this," Padfoot said, shrugging a shoulder to show Harry's rucksack.

"Any preference about seating?"

"We won't be sleeping... somewhere we can talk without interrupting other passengers would
be brilliant."

"Follow me," Jeremy said as the bus jerked. Harry would have fallen over if Padfoot hadn't
caught him. They were led up a wobbly staircase to the top storey of the bus, which had four
poster beds fixed to the floor. "Take your pick," Jeremy said. "I'll be downstairs if you need
me, but otherwise, enjoy your trip and I'll let you know when we arrive at the Leaky
Cauldron."

"Thank you," Padfoot said, flopping onto the closest bed. Harry sat down on the one beside
it. Jeremy descended the staircase with a little wave as the bus jerked again. It took off
quickly, weaving through traffic that Harry was certain hadn't been on Privet Drive.

"Is this safe?" he asked, his hands fisted into the bedspread.

"It helps if you don't look out the windows," Padfoot said. Harry – who had just yelped as the
bus missed a pair of runners – was inclined to agree. "So, tell me about any magic you've
used." Padfoot was sitting up now, watching Harry with an expression of interest.

"Er... Okay, well," Harry said, "last week I think I turned my teacher's wig blue..."

Harry wasn't sure how long they were actually aboard the bus for, but the time passed
quickly; Harry told Padfoot about Mrs Peterson and since Padfoot seemed genuinely
interested, he also told him about the time he'd ended up on the kitchen roof.

"Do you remember how you got up there?" Padfoot asked once he'd stopped laughing.

Harry shook his head. "I thought it was the wind."

"I reckon you Apparated," Padfoot said thoughtfully. Harry made a face at the new word but
didn't comment. He stored it away in the 'ask later' compartment of his head. "If you'd
levitated yourself, you would have realised what was happening- aargh!" He flew off the bed
and onto the floor with a thump as the bus stopped suddenly. Harry only avoided the same
fate by grabbing hold of the bedpost.
"Leaky Cauldron, London!" Jeremy shouted up the stairs.

"That's us," Padfoot said gingerly, pushing himself off the ground. Harry kept his expression
carefully blank, not wanting to laugh. Padfoot noticed. "Oh, go on," he said with a grin. "It
must have looked stupid."

"No, it... well, yeah," Harry admitted, trying and failing to choke back a laugh as he scooped
his rucksack up.

"Thought so," Padfoot said with a grin as he led Harry down the narrow spiral staircase.

"Thanks," Harry said to Jeremy as they hopped of the bus and into the chilly February night.

"Have a good night." The Knight Bus vanished with a bang that made Harry jump backward.

"This way," Padfoot said, his mouth twitching.

"Just laugh," Harry said, falling into step beside him. "You let me, before."

But Padfoot didn't. Instead, he smiled. "You're so much like Lily."

Harry beamed. I'm like my mum... he thought happily. I look like Dad, but with Mum's eyes
and personality... It was strange to be so excited about being compared to people that - before
tonight - he'd known nothing about. People were always telling Dudley he was like Uncle
Vernon, and while Harry had always laughed – he'd hate to be compared with his Uncle –
he'd always been a touch jealous too, that Dudley was like one of his parents.

"Where are you going, Harry?" Padfoot asked. Harry spun and saw his godfather standing ten
paces back, struggling to keep a straight face.

"To Dragon Alley?"

"Diagon," Padfoot said, definitely laughing now. "Come here." Harry walked back and gave
his godfather a sheepish smile before he was steered through the door of a dingy looking pub.
Inside smelled vaguely of smoke, and since it was almost dinner time, was full of noisy
patrons. "Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron," Padfoot muttered, keeping a hand on Harry's
shoulder as they made their way through the masses of people.

"What is that?!" Harry whispered, staring at a short creature with a long nose, pointed ears
and sharp, black eyes.

"A goblin," Padfoot muttered. "Don't stare, don't stare, they don't like- Nope, he's seen us."
The goblin smiled to reveal pointed, white teeth and waved one long fingered hand in their
direction. Padfoot waved back, shuddering. "They're scary and they know it," he told Harry
as they wove through the crowd. "Very professional though, goblins," he said. "And lucky for
us, too."

"What do you mean?"

Padfoot thought for a minute. "The less you know, Harry," he said quietly, "the safer you are.
At least for now," he added when Harry's expression darkened. "I've got a lot to explain to
you, but now isn't the time. Excuse me," he said gruffly. A woman muttered something and
stepped aside. Padfoot guided Harry into a small, walled courtyard, empty save for a rubbish
bin and a haughty-looking cat. Harry cast a dubious look around as Padfoot stepped forward.
"I can never remember the combination," he grumbled, prodding the wall with his wand.

"Combination?"

"You need it to get into Diagon Alley. Three up... one across or two...?" Padfoot muttered. He
was quiet for a moment and then, "Oh, yes. Got it. Stand back, Harry." He lifted his wand and
then stopped. He turned back to Harry with a speculative look on his face. "Once we're in
Diagon Alley, I need you to stay close, all right?" Harry nodded. "Keep calling me Padfoot, if
you have to introduce yourself, don't mention your last name – I'll explain later," he said with
a grimace. "And, no matter what happens, do not let anyone see your scar." Harry's hand
moved up to trace the familiar shape on his forehead. "Other than that, we should be fine;
hopefully, no one knows I've got you yet and we can be gone before they're any the wiser."

"And then you'll explain everything?"

"Marauder's honour," Padfoot said with a wink.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Let me guess: later?"

"Bright kid," Padfoot remarked to no one in particular as he tapped his wand on the courtyard
wall. With a rumble, a brick started to shake and wriggled out of place, leaving a hole. Even
as Harry watched the hole grew, and more bricks moved until he and Padfoot were standing
in a huge archway. The pub was still behind him – he could still smell the pipe smoke and
hear the chatter – but on the other side of the archway he could see a cobbled street winding
every which way. "Welcome to Diagon Alley," Padfoot said as they stepped through.

Harry didn't know where to look first; despite the time, there were still quite a few people
massing outside shops and crowding around stalls. All of them were wearing dresses like
Padfoot's, and quite a few had pointy hats. Aside from that, they didn't look all that different
from any other person Harry had ever seen. They certainly didn't all have long beards or
warty noses, though Harry did see one austere looking woman with a bright red handbag who
was clutching a toad. Behind Harry, Padfoot sighed.

"It's nice to be back," he murmured. "This way."

Harry followed a little reluctantly, keen to have a look around. He stayed close to his
godfather – it would be all too easy to get lost in this – but his eyes wandered where his feet
couldn't; he saw a spindly old man selling cauldrons, a pretty young witch selling protective
amulets and a red-haired boy a bit older than Harry was on what appeared to be a broomstick,
being chased by his mother and another boy who looked exactly the same, who was laughing
as he apologised to the people the boy on the broom had knocked over. After them came two
other redheaded children – a boy - who looked about Harry's age and a girl who was a bit
younger, who knocked into Padfoot with a squeak.
"Sorry," said the boy as he and his sister ran past them.

"Not a problem," Padfoot said, his eyes fixed on the boy on the broomstick.

"Is he flying?" Harry asked, staring after the family; the mother had caught up and was
shouting at her son.

Padfoot nodded and smiled a little wistfully. "That's something James and I would have
done," he said staring at the sulky looking twin. "Except it would have been Moony chasing
us, not James' mum."

"Moony?"

"One of your dad's old friends," Padfoot said, starting to walk again. Harry didn't. "He's-
Harry?" Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Padfoot turn and walk back toward him. He
was saying something Harry didn't hear; Harry was too busy looking at the stall selling
newspapers. On the front page of every one was a picture of Padfoot – with dark hair like he
had had when Harry'd first met him - below the headline 'HAVE YOU SEEN THIS
WIZARD?'. Harry didn't know whether to be more stunned by that, or by the fact that the
picture was moving, like a miniature, soundless television.

"Is that you?" Harry said through numb lips when Padfoot was close enough to hear him.

"Yes. Harry-"

"What did you do?" Harry asked, wondering what he could have possibly done to end up on
the front page of the newspaper.

"I'm innocent, remember," Padfoot said. Harry nodded automatically. "I... It's a long story,"
he said with a grimace, pushing his hair out of his face. Padfoot took a deep breath, looking
pained. "I'll tell you now if you want me to – I don't like having to put this off any more than
you do – but it'll make much more sense if you let me explain a few other things first, and I'd
rather not do that here, for your sake."

Harry nodded slowly. "All right."

Padfoot sighed, and the stiff set of his shoulders relaxed. "Thanks, kiddo," he said, his voice
as sincere as the hand now resting on Harry's shoulder.

"Are we going to the bank?"

Padfoot nodded. "And the sooner we're done there, the sooner we can get home."

"Which way do we go?" Harry asked.

"This way." They'd only gone another hundred paces before Harry saw the bank and
wondered how he'd missed it. Gringotts – as the large golden letters above the door
proclaimed – was a huge building made of snowy-white marble. Standing either side of the
burnished bronze doors, wearing scarlet and gold uniforms, were goblins. Harry didn't stare
this time, but his eyes did widen when they bowed them through the doors. Inside, they were
faced with another pair of doors, glossy silver this time. Engraved upon them was a message
which Harry paused to read:

Enter, stranger, but take heed,

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors,

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware,

Of finding more than treasure there.

"What does it mean 'more than treasure'?" Harry whispered as another pair of goblins bowed
them through the silver doors. Inside, a counter ran all the way around - separated only by
golden doors that no doubt led to vaults – behind which sat more goblins.

"Gringotts vaults are protected by all sorts of things," Padfoot whispered back as they crossed
the vast marble hall to get to a free counter; most of the other goblins were weighing
gemstones or coins or writing in thick ledgers. "All sorts of hexes and wards... I think they've
even got a dragon or two."

"A dragon?" Harry exclaimed and then clapped his hands to his mouth as the shout echoed.
Several of the goblins looked up, their black eyes glinting. "Sorry," Harry said in what was
hardly more than a whisper, yet carried to the corners of the hall. Padfoot smiled at him and
together they approached a goblin.

"Excuse me," Padfoot said politely.

The goblin didn't acknowledge them; he continued writing in his book for a further minute
before he finally looked up. "Yes?"

"I've come to make a withdrawal," Padfoot said.

"From which vault?" the goblin asked, showing his pointed teeth.

"My family vault," Padfoot said carefully. "The Black vault."

"Mr Black," the goblin said, looking interested. "Yes, I do see it now, even if it has been years
since you were last here. I suppose you don't have access to your private vault key anymore."
Padfoot stayed quiet and Harry followed his example. The goblin smiled nastily. "I'm a little
surprised you've come at all... surely you know there's a reward for your capture?"
"I'm not here to make trouble," Padfoot said in a quiet but firm tone. "I came to get my gold
and leave." The goblin said nothing. Padfoot frowned. "I wouldn't have come at all if I'd
realised how much things had changed."

"Changed how?" the goblin asked, twining his long fingers together.

"I never thought I'd meet a goblin more interested in wizarding affairs than in the satisfaction
of an old client," Padfoot said coolly. The goblin at the counter next to theirs made an angry
noise and dropped the rubies he was holding. They scattered all over the counter and spilled
onto the floor but the goblin was too busy listening to pick them up.

"Wizarding affairs are profitable these days," their goblin said with a cruel smile.

"So is helping me," Padfoot said.

"Is that a bribe, Mr Black?" the goblin asked, showing his pointed teeth again.

"If you want to be blunt. I'd call it a reward for a professional approach to a delicate
situation."

The goblin smiled. "How large is this... reward?"

"It would depend on how professional you are."

"We can be very professional," the goblin promised, tracing patterns onto the pages of his
ledger with one long nail.

"In that case, I'll have to insist on a permanent interest rate rise for the Black vault of say...
five percent?"

The goblin's eyes widened but he quickly smoothed his expression. "Seven," he said
shrewdly.

"Five," Padfoot said firmly, "as well as five percent of what I'm withdrawing today. I promise
you it's a substantial amount."

"Very well." The goblin stared at him a moment longer, and then his eyes flicked down to
Harry. "Follow me." The goblin hopped down from his chair and joined them at the front of
the counter. On the ground, they were about the same height, though the goblin's head was
almost twice as large as Harry's and his legs were only half the length.

Another goblin appeared beside them holding a bag of metal-sounding objects. "Here,
Gurbock," he said passing it over.

Their goblin – Gurbock – nodded his thanks and the other goblin dashed off again. "That
reminds me, I'll need bags," Padfoot said as the three of them crossed the hall.

"It'll cost you," Gurbock said, smiling in a way that made Harry shiver.
Padfoot thought for a moment, not really seeming surprised. "I'll give you a galleon for as
many bags as I need," he said eventually.

"Two."

"All right," Padfoot said, winking at Harry who smiled after a moment's hesitation; he wasn't
sure that he liked goblins. The goblin led them through a golden door and Harry, who had
been expecting marble or something equally expensive was surprised to find they were in a
narrow stone passageway, lit only by torches on the walls. Gurbock whistled and a cart came
hurtling around a corner, attached to the little railway tracks Harry had just noticed on the
floor. "In you get," Padfoot said, ushering Harry into the cart. Padfoot clambered in next and
then the goblin and then, with no visible prompting, they were off.

Gurbock didn't steer at all – something which unnerved Harry – yet the cart navigated its way
through a maze of passages. Several times, the cart dropped suddenly, or veered off sharply to
one side and Harry, convinced he was about to fall out, had latched on to his godfather.
Padfoot, thankfully didn't seem to mind; if he'd done the same to Aunt Petunia or Uncle
Vernon, they probably would have saved the cart the trouble and just pushed him off. "Will
we see a dragon?" Harry asked as they sped through the darkness.

"That's what clinkers are for," Padfoot answered, waving a hand at the bag in Gurbock's fist.
"The older the vault, the more protection it has."

"Is yours old?"

"One of the oldest, I'd imagine," Padfoot said rather dryly, "except for goblin owned vaults."

"Quite right, Mr Black," Gurbock said approvingly as he adjusted the bag of clinkers in his
lap.

After one particularly steep dip in the track that made Harry glad he hadn't eaten yet, the cart
slowed to a stop beside a torch-lit platform. They climbed out, Harry a little unsteadily, and
then something cold was pressed into his hand.

"Shake it," Padfoot murmured, giving him a gentle nudge. Harry did, and so did Padfoot and
Gurbock and soon the little platform was echoing with a high pitched metallic ring.

"Follow me," Gurbock called, leading them down a narrow passageway Harry hadn't noticed.
They passageway wasn't lit at all, though they did pass an adjoining passage which was
glowing in orange light. Harry walked into the back of the goblin a few times – unable to see
- before they finally came out into a circular room. Torches flared into life on the walls. There
was only one door, a large, round, bronze one with Black carved into it.

Gurbock walked right up to it and pressed his hand against it. With a grinding sound, the
entire room spun; the vault door was now covering the entrance to the passage they'd entered
through, while the vault itself was now open. Harry's mouth fell open. In one corner was a
collection of expensive looking heirlooms – armour, a set of bloodstained daggers, a chest
overflowing with jewellery, and leather bags the size of Harry's rucksack, all filled with
rubies and diamonds and sapphires. The rest of the room – which was about as big as
Number Four, Privet Drive, was filled with piles of gold, silver and bronze coins, stacked as
tall as Padfoot. Right at the back of the vault was another bronze door, open only wide
enough for Harry to be able to see the glint of more treasure through it.

"I'll be needing those bags, Gurbock," Padfoot said sounding a little dazed. Gurbock dug
around in the pockets of his scarlet jacket and produced three leather bags, each the size of
the bag he'd kept the clinkers in. "Extension charms?" Padfoot asked, accepting them.

"Each will hold around two-thousand galleons," Gurbock said. "You did say a large
withdrawal, did you not?"

"Yeah," Padfoot said faintly, accepting one of the bags. "What's the conversion rate into
muggle money at the moment?"

"Approximately five pounds to a galleon," the goblin said.

Harry's eyes widened and then widened again when Padfoot tossed him a bag and told him to
fill it with the gold coins. Harry stared at his godfather, who stepped forward – stumbled on
an emerald that was the size of his head - and scooped a whole handful of coins into his bag.
After a moment, Harry followed suit, but threw in some of the silver and bronze coins too. It
took them almost ten minutes to fill all three bags yet they'd hardly made a dent in the piles
of treasure. Gurbock shuffled to the door, pressed his palm against it and it slid back into
place, sealing Padfoot's vault.

"How much room do you have in your rucksack?" Padfoot asked.

"Dunno. A bit," Harry said.

"Do you mind if we put this-" Padfoot hefted the bags of gold, "-in there?" Harry shook his
head. Padfoot opened one of the bags he was holding and took out three of the gold coins
which he passed to Harry - who accepted them gingerly, aware he'd never had so much
money in his life - and pocketed another three for himself. "That should be enough to see us
home," he said, retying the bag. "Hold still," he said, opening the top of Harry's rucksack.
Harry felt him drop the bags of coins in; not only did he hear the jingle of coins but his
rucksack also tripled in weight.

"Clankers," Gurbock said importantly, dealing them out again. Harry shook his. A roar
echoed through the tunnels, much closer than Harry would have liked.

"Is that a dragon?" he whispered, moving closer to his godfather. Padfoot nodded, not
seeming worried at all. The three of them set off down the cramped passageway again, and
when they passed the glowing tunnel, Harry swore he saw a spiny tail disappearing around a
corner at the far end. Gurbock led them back to the cart and a quick ride later, they were
getting out again, blinking in the torch-light.

"Here, let me," Padfoot said, shouldering Harry's rucksack as they walked up the sloped path
toward the golden doors.

"Thanks," Harry said, brushing his sweaty fringe out of his face.
"Well, well," the goblin said, looking from Padfoot to Harry. He took a step closer, lifting one
long nailed finger to brush a strand of Harry's hair off of his forehead. Padfoot froze.
"This is an unexpected turn of events."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Padfoot said stiffly.

"Oh, I'm quite sure you do." Gurbock gave Padfoot a feral smile which he then turned on
Harry. "Even among goblins your story is legendary, Harry Potter."

He knows me... I don't even look like me! Harry stared. "How...?" he said, looking at the
goblin, who was still smiling.

Padfoot had gone white, but even as Harry watched he regained colour and drew himself up
to his full height. "Would you like his autograph now or the next time we visit?" Padfoot said
coldly. Gurbock looked a little insulted. "Or, would you like to skip that part altogether and
do your job?"

Gurbock watched them both curiously for a very long time. "This way, Mr Black," the goblin
said at last, his black eyes glittering in the light of the marble hall. Padfoot looked relieved,
and the instant Gurbock turned around, he gestured for Harry to flatten his fringe.

"I'd like one bag converted into muggle money," Padfoot said, his voice still cold. "And you
can take your five percent from that."

Gurbock accepted the offered bag and disappeared behind the counter with it. Padfoot
seemed on edge the entire time they waited and sighed in relief when the goblin returned and
passed over a stack of twenty pound notes. Padfoot tucked those into a pocket in his dress.
"Do you not want your key, Mr Potter?" Gurbock asked, as they turned away from the
counter.

"My what?" Harry asked, frowning at the goblin.

"I think he means the key to your Gringotts vault," Padfoot said.

"I-I have a vault?"

"James and Lily wouldn't have left you with nothing," Padfoot said, shaking his head as if
Harry were mad.

"You are entitled to the small fortune in vault six-hundred and eighty-seven," Gurbock said.
"The contents of the Potter family vault will become available to you when you come of
age."

"Er..." Harry said, looking at Padfoot, who shrugged, "I guess I'll take my key now, then, if
I'm allowed to?"

"Identification won't be necessary," Gurbock said, eyeing Harry's scar. "Wait here, please."
He returned a moment later carrying a small golden key. "When you wish to access your
vault, present this to the goblin at the counter." Harry nodded and pocketed it. "Have a good
evening," Gurbock said, with another curious look at Harry.
Padfoot nodded stiffly. "Thank you," Harry said. As they left, Harry got the impression that
Padfoot was walking as fast as was possible without running; Harry was almost jogging to
keep up. Outside, Diagon Alley was now almost empty and rather dark and this seemed to
make Padfoot jumpy; he kept staring at shadows, constantly checking to make sure Harry
was nearby and his knuckles were white around his wand.

"How did he know who I was?" Harry asked as they headed back toward the pub they'd come
in through.

Padfoot glanced around and then leaned closer. "Your scar," Padfoot said, very quietly.

"My scar?" Harry whispered, trying to decide which of his thousand questions to ask first.

Padfoot nodded. "I know how frustrating this must be," he said with a grimace. "If we'd had
more time, I would have explained everything to you before we came, but it won't take
Dumbledore long to realise I've got you and then he'll come looking..."

"Who's Dumbledore?"

"Headmaster of Hogwarts," Padfoot said, starting to walk again. "A good friend of mine, and
of your mum and dad. He's also the last person we want to see right now."

"Why?"

"He doesn't know I'm innocent. You'd be back with your Aunt and Uncle and I'd be back in
my cell before either of us knew what was going on."

"And he knows you've got me?"

"If he doesn't already, he will soon," Padfoot said grimly.

 Padfoot's tale

Padfoot and Harry stood before a door covered in peeling black paint. At least Harry assumed
it was a door; there was a silver snake knocker and a doorbell alongside but no doorhandle.
Padfoot tapped it with his wand and it swung open. "This is home," Padfoot said grimly.

Home, Harry thought, smiling as he stepped inside - the floorboards under the carpet
squeaked - and cast a glance around. It was very dark; he couldn't see anything outside
Padfoot's circle of wandlight. The place stank like old newspapers, mould and dust and every
step that either Harry or Padfoot took made the floor creak horribly. I still like it here better
than I did at the Dursleys, he thought, squinting at a lumpy-looking umbrella stand.

Portraits covered peeling wallpaper and their eyes seemed to follow Harry and Padfoot. It
sounded as though they were whispering, but Harry was fairly sure it was actually his trainers
in the dust. They passed a set of double doors on the left, which had tarnished, silver serpent
handles, and a door on the right with a matching one.

"Kreacher must have died," Padfoot whispered cheerfully, as he looked at the footsteps they
were leaving.

"Kreacher?" Harry asked.

"My mum's old house elf." They both jumped as the stairs creaked. "This place is a mess," he
breathed, looking around.

"When were you last here?" Harry whispered, thinking it was hardly surprising that Aunt
Petunia cleaned so regularly if houses could end up like this.

Padfoot thought for a moment. "I was sixteen, I reckon." He ran a hand over his face. "I never
thought I'd be back."

"Why not?"

"I hated it here," he said with a little laugh. "Are you opposed to sleeping downstairs tonight?
I don't know what state the bedrooms are in and-"

"Down here's fine," Harry whispered.

"The kitchen's probably the best place," Padfoot murmured, leading Harry to the end of the
hall. "Watch your step."

They descended a narrow, creaky staircase which led into a cavernous kitchen. There was an
enormous table in the middle of the room, and chairs. As they entered, something small and
grey scurried across the floor and hid under a chair. Padfoot flicked his wand at it and there
was a high pitched squeal and a puff of dust.

"What was that?" Harry asked.

"Dust bunny," Padfoot said. "The house is probably infested."

"Are they dangerous?"

"Not unless you're carpet." Padfoot jabbed his wand in the direction of movement on the far
side of the kitchen and there was another faint squeal. Padfoot had another quick look around
and strode over to a small cabinet that rested against the wall by the stairs. "Can you hold my
wand, please?" Harry held it like a torch so that Padfoot could see; he shifted a few things in
the cabinet and then pulled out an old newspaper and a long piece of wood. "Over here."
Harry followed his godfather to a big fireplace.

"Do you have matches?" Harry asked, watching him scrunch the newspaper up.

"I have a wand," Padfoot said, gesturing for it. Harry passed it over immediately, eager to see
more magic. A moment later, a warm fire was crackling in the grate. Padfoot used his wand
to clear the floor by the fireplace and then, to Harry's amazement, conjured a pair of bright
red sleeping bags. "Do you want anything?" Padfoot asked as Harry kicked off his shoes and
slid into his sleeping bag. "Food or a drink?"

"No, thanks." They'd had sandwiches and hot chocolate on the Knight Bus on the way back.
"Padfoot?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"I was... Is... is it later yet?"

Padfoot stared at the dancing flames. "I suppose so," he said grimly, picking a thread out of
his sleeping bag. Harry sat straighter, eyes fixed on his godfather. "Everything starts at
Hogwarts, really, where students go to learn magic. I got my letter at eleven, like all magical
kids and so did your mum and dad, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew." His hands tightened
into fists at the mention of the last name. "I met your mum and dad and Remus on the train
and Peter after Sorting – we were all Sorted into the same House. We – the boys – became
friends and called ourselves the Marauders.

"While we were going through school, a wizard named Voldemort started gaining power. He
was evil and had decided to cleanse the world of anyone he didn't think was magical enough.
At first it was just whispers. Propaganda about muggleborns and a stories that a group called
the Death Eaters that was recruiting. One of my old teachers was one. Git." He sighed.
"Things started to get particularly bad toward the end of my sixth year; people were going
missing, Voldemort was recruiting students and killing muggles for the fun of it... It was a
mess."

"Muggles?" Harry asked with a shiver, pulling the hood of his sleeping bag up a little higher.

"Non-magical folk, like your Aunt and Uncle. Anyway, Dumbledore, the man we were
talking about in Diagon Alley, formed an organisation, The Order of the Phoenix, to fight
back. I joined in my seventh year and so did your mum and dad, Remus and Peter.
"Your mum and dad got married, Lily trained to be a Healer, James and I went through the
Auror Training Program – Aurors are Dark Wizard Catchers, like the Muggle equivalent of
policemen, I suppose - and in our spare time, we fought against Voldemort. About a month
before you were born, Dumbledore was in a job interview when a Seer made a prophecy...
about you."

"Me?" Harry asked. "What did it say?"

"Ask me again in a year or two," Padfoot said evasively. "One of Voldemort's spies heard the
prophecy, or part of it, and Voldemort set out to find you."

"He wanted me?"

"Your mum and dad went into hiding in August, trying to keep you safe. We – me, Moony
and Peter – visited almost daily or James just about went mad, being cooped up all the time.
You were safe enough – you lived at Hogwarts for most of the time but your mum got sick of
it. Said she wanted to find somewhere they could live safely, without people coming and
going all the time. Dumbledore, Moony and I found a house in Godric's Hollow, a little
cottage and they moved in just before you turned one. None of us were allowed to visit for a
while because we didn't want to draw attention to the place, but eventually things went back
to normal and we visited all the time.

"There was a constant guard of Order members living in the house - me and Moony, mostly,
but others too - to keep it safe. Dumbledore worried one of them might say something,
though, or they'd be tortured into saying something; we knew there was a spy in our ranks,
although no one wanted to suspect anyone else, and it was only a matter of time before word
got out about where Lily and James were. Late in October, Dumbledore suggested they put
the place under the Fidelius Charm."

"The what?"

"It's a spell that hides a secret inside a living soul. I was going to be the Secret Keeper, the
one who would know where they were. I was planning to go into hiding too, but what got me
was that I was such an obvious choice. I knew the second Voldemort heard about the charm,
he'd come after me and I also knew, that if he tortured me, I might tell him where they were."
He laughed once, without humour. "I decided to be clever," he spat. "I convinced Lily and
James to change Secret Keepers at the last minute, to Peter. He was weak, the last person
Voldemort would ever think to come after. He agreed to it and we cast the spell. The plan was
that Voldemort would still come after me, but if he caught me, I wouldn't be able to tell him
where you were.

"The night after we cast the spell, Peter ran off to Voldemort and told him where to find Lily
and James. I was staying at Remus' that night - he was... sick - and I had a feeling. I went to
check up on Peter and found his house empty, with no signs of a struggle. I arrived at your
place a moment later and found it ruined. James," Padfoot choked, "was- dead- in the
hallway- Lily- you were sitting in your crib- staring at your mum and-" Padfoot drew in a
shuddering breath and then his face closed over and he took several slow deep breaths, his
eyes not quite there. "Hagrid took you from me," Padfoot said finally, sounding a little too
calm. "He had orders from Dumbledore to take you to your Aunt. The second he left, I went
after Peter. I hunted for two days until I finally tracked him down."

"What happened?" Harry asked; Padfoot had started to tremble.

"He shouted that I was the one to betray your mum and dad, that I was the one who handed
them to Voldemort and when I lifted my wand to curse him into the ground, he blew the street
up. He killed thirteen muggles – I only survived because I got a Shield Charm up in time –
and amidst all the chaos, he transformed into a rat and disappeared into the sewers. Hit
Wizards arrived within minutes and found me on my knees, laughing at the hole in the
ground."

"And they took you to prison?" Harry asked.

Padfoot shuddered. "Yes."

"What happened to Voldemort? You never said..."

"He vanished. I don't know what you did but you stopped him. People say he died, but I don't
think that's right-"

"So he'll come back?"

"One day, I think," Padfoot said, staring into the dying fire.

Harry digested this in silence. "And Peter? Will he come back too?"

"Not if he's smart," Padfoot growled, his eyes glinting dangerously.

"Why did he become a rat?" Harry asked.

"He's what wizards call an Animagus. It means he can turn into an animal at will."

"Yes, but why did he choose to be a rat?"

"He didn't. It's all based on personality. How we didn't see it, I'll never understand," Padfoot
muttered and Harry got the impression he wasn't talking to him.

"Are you an Animagus too?" Harry asked through a yawn.

"I am," Padfoot said with a small smile.

Harry perked up. "Really? What animal?"

"I'll show you." Harry fixed his godfather with an expectant look. As Padfoot smiled, his
teeth grew, his ears stretched taller, black fur grew over his face, his fingers retracted into his
hands and then-

"Brilliant," he said, staring at his godfather. Padfoot barked and bounded forward, tail
wagging, to lick Harry's face. Harry laughed and patted his head. Padfoot changed back.
"You're you again!" Harry exclaimed.

"Who else would I be?" Padfoot asked.

"I mean your hair," Harry said. "And your eyes. You look like you did at the playground, not
like you did at Diagon Alley."

"Side effect of transformation," Padfoot said, shrugging. "It destroys all the charms I cast
earlier because I have to go back to looking like me." That didn't make much sense to Harry
at all but he was too tired to think about it in any detail. He yawned, fighting to keep his eyes
open. Padfoot climbed back into his own sleeping bag. "Do you like to explore?" Padfoot
asked as they both lay there, watching the fire.

Harry shrugged, his eyes slipping shut. He'd always been good at finding hiding places at
school and at Number Four, mainly so he'd have somewhere to go when Dudley went 'Harry
Hunting'. "Why?" he asked sleepily.

"We'll explore the house tomorrow," Padfoot said. "I haven't been here for ten years so I don't
know how much has changed and then we'll need to start cleaning to make this place
liveable; we can't sleep in the kitchen every night." Padfoot started to say something else but
sleep claimed Harry before he could finish.

Something poked Harry. He frowned without opening his eyes. Aunt Petunia never comes
into my cupboard, he thought, rolling over. Something poked him again. "All right, I'm up,"
he mumbled forcing his eyelids open. "Aargh!" Standing over him was a pale blob with big
eyes and bigger ears. Harry crawled backwards, hands searching for his glasses.

"What is this in Mistress' house?" the thing asked in a voice like a bullfrog's croak.

It can talk! Harry thought, his fingers closing around his glasses. He jammed them onto his
face and Padfoot's dusty kitchen came into focus, as did the creature in front of him. It was
perhaps one of the ugliest things he'd ever seen. It was roughly human shaped – though only
half the size - but with long arms and legs, a larger than natural head and a bulbous, snout-
like nose. Folds of skin hung off its bony frame and it was naked, except for a grey loincloth.
Harry glanced at Padfoot's empty sleeping bag, feeling his fear spike. He was used to being
alone, but not in unfamiliar places. "W-who are you?"

"The brat wants to know Kreacher's name!" the thing said, looking revolted. "Kreacher
doesn't talk to brats, oh no. Kreacher's poor Mistress would never forgive Kreacher." The
thing turned its big, bloodshot eyes on Harry who scrambled to his feet and backed away.

Harry watched it carefully, positioning himself on the opposite side of the dusty table. He was
fairly sure he could outrun it if he had to, but he'd never seen anything like it before which
meant it was probably magical. "Padfoot!" he called, hoping his godfather was nearby.

"Is there another brat here? Kreacher didn't hear it, but little beasts can be silent..." The thing
mumbled something Harry couldn't understand and then let loose a blood-curdling shriek:
"Thieves!" it shouted. "Thieves in the House of Black!"
Harry edged toward the stairs. He heard a loud CRACK! and out of the corner of his eye saw
the thing disappear. Harry turned and sprinted up the stairs. A small part of Harry's mind
wondered if the creature in the kitchen had done anything to his godfather but he discarded
that with a shiver. Padfoot was a wizard. He'd be safe. He skidded into the hallway, which
was empty too and the layer of dust on the staircase leading to the first floor was undisturbed.
"Padfoot?" Harry called.

"Who's there?" screeched a woman's voice. Harry jumped, barely managing to stifle a yell as
the curtains on the wall in front of him flew open of their own accord. "Who dares disturb the
Noble and Most Ancient House of Black? Name yourself!"

"H-Harry," Harry said, his eyes darting around to try to locate the source of the noise.

"What is your family name, Harry?" she asked haughtily.

"My family-?"

"You father's name."

"James."

"James what?"

"Potter. James Potter."

"Oh. Him."

"Er... yes?"

"Harry Potter, did you say?" the voice asked, sounding curious now. "The boy who defeated
the Dark Lord?"

"Er... I guess so," Harry told the empty corridor.

"Come here, Harry Potter," she said imperiously. Harry walked toward the sound of the
voice. "There's not much of you," she sniffed. "You're just a boy. What are you doing in my
house?" Harry finally found the speaker. It was a portrait of an old woman with grey hair and
cold black eyes. He blinked a few times, just to convince himself that the portrait was in fact
speaking and to him. "How did you get in?" the woman asked, shifting in her chair. "I'll have
to get Kreacher to update the security."

"Through the door," Harry said, not understanding the question.

"Liar!" she shrieked. Harry jumped and tripped. "Only a Black can open the door to the home
of my fathers! How did you come here?!"

"Well, Padfoot's last name is Black-" Harry said from the floor.

The woman released a scream of pure rage. "Him! Oh, yes, it would be him! Blood-traitor!
Abomination! Shame of my flesh!" Harry didn't dare move. "Kreacher!" she shouted.
"Kreacher!" There was a loud CRACK! and then the thing from the kitchen appeared beside
Harry, who could only stare.

"Kreacher is here, Mistress," the thing said, stroking the screaming portrait. "Mistress needn't
worry-"

The front door swung open and then there was a quiet creaking noise. Padfoot was standing
there, blond again, holding a paper bag. "What in Merlin's name is going on in here?" he
asked.

"You!" the woman in the portrait screamed, her eyes popping. "You! How dare you show
your traitorous face here! Shame of my blood! Ungrateful! Blood-traitor! Freak!"

Padfoot, who'd looked startled at the commotion in the hallway, dropped the bag he was
holding and ran forward to wrench the curtain over the portrait. The screaming subsided as
soon as the portrait was covered. "Master has returned," Kreacher croaked, grovelling at
Padfoot's feet. "Master broke his mother's heart," he muttered. "Master doesn't belong here,
oh no, and Kreacher doesn't want to serve nasty Master."

"That's enough, Kreacher," Padfoot snapped. "Go to your cupboard and stay there until I deal
with you." The thing glared at Padfoot but vanished with another CRACK! Harry was staring
at the place where the thing had vanished.

"What was that thing?" he asked.

"Kreacher," Padfoot said, looking irritated. "The portrait's of my mother- Oh, portraits!"
Padfoot said, his eyes widening. "Kreacher!" Kreacher returned with another loud CRACK!
and a dirty look.

"Master's grown even more fickle than Kreacher remembers. Do this, Master says, and then
takes it back just after, oh, yes, such a temperamental little-"

"Shut up." Kreacher gave them both a withering look. "In one of the bedrooms upstairs,
there's a portrait of Phineas Nigellus - he was Hogwarts Headmaster. I want you to burn it.
Now. And any others paintings that could tell anyone we're here. Before they have a chance
to tell anyone. I forbid you from telling them why. And I forbid you from saying anything
about me or Harry while you do it. Understand?" The elf gave him a look of loathing and
vanished again. Harry stared at his godfather. "Phineas Nigellus has a portrait in the
Headmaster's office. My parents used to have him keep track of me. The last thing we need,
though, is him telling Dumbledore where we are before we get proper security on this place."

"You mean all portraits can talk?"

"In the Wizarding World," Padfoot said. Harry blinked, trying to make sense of all this. "It
isn't a problem as long as they can't leave the house. How about we head down to the
kitchen?" Padfoot suggested. "I don't want to set Mum off again."

Harry nodded fervently, watching the portrait out of the corner of his eye. Padfoot grabbed
the bag and the two headed down to the kitchen. "So what's Kreacher?" Harry asked as
Padfoot restarted last night's fire.

"He's a house elf," Padfoot said, getting up. Behind him, the fire crackled cheerfully. "Nasty
little sod – not all of them, just this one. I thought he'd died when I saw the state of this place.
"I ducked out to get food – I thought you'd be hungry. Kreacher must have heard me leaving
and come to investigate."

"What do house elves do?"

"Old wizarding families have them to cook and clean, some even look after kids." Padfoot
glanced around the filthy kitchen with distaste. "I don't think Kreacher's done either for years.
Do you like apples?" he asked, digging around in the bag. Harry nodded. "Are you sure? I
bought oranges and pears too, just in case-"

"Apples are fine," Harry said, a little shocked; usually he just ate what he was given. He
accepted it with a shy smile. "Thanks." He traced patterns on its shiny green skin with a dirty
fingernail before looking up again. "Why was the portrait talking? Is it alive?"

"I'd say some of my mother's evil seeped into the walls while she was living here," Padfoot
said, curling his lip. Harry stared around, half expecting Padfoot's mother's ghost to appear.
"That aura stayed here when she died and someone's obviously embedded that into a painting
to keep Kreacher happy."

"You really hate it here, do you?" Harry said quietly.

Padfoot sighed. "My mother was a hag I was never good enough for, and I loved my brother
but we were very different people. Kreacher used to follow me around and tell me how much
my mother hated me. My... father wasn't home much but when he was he was usually
drunk..." Harry winced. He had seen Uncle Vernon drunk once and it wasn't something he'd
forget any time soon. "It's hard not to see things as they were," Padfoot said, shrugging. "That
fireplace, for example, was where I lost my first tooth because I slipped getting out of the
Floo. My mother smacked me over the head for bleeding on the rug that used to be there and
I spent the rest of the day in my room.

"The table," he continued with a wave of his hand, "was where my father beat me in front of
all of my relatives for getting into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin..." Padfoot turned to stare
at the cabinet that held the firewood and smiled slightly. "That cabinet," he said, grinning
now, "is where I had to hide Remus and James because they arrived to surprise me for my
birthday, and all my relatives showed up."

"My dad came here?"

"Several times?" Padfoot said, nodding.

Harry smiled. "How long did they have to hide?"

"Four and a half hours I think it was," Padfoot said, smirking. "It's a good thing they were
both skinny or they'd never have fit. Right, no more talking until you finish your apple and I
finish mine." Harry stared down at the untouched fruit in his hand, bemused. He'd forgotten it
was there.

"What are we doing after we eat?" Harry asked.

"You ask a lot of questions," Padfoot said.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly.

"I never said it was a bad thing." Padfoot looked amused, Harry was relieved to see. "We're
going exploring," he added and then frowned suddenly. "And I thought I said no talking."
Harry grinned.

"Ah, Minerva! To what do I owe the pleasure?" Albus Dumbledore asked, tucking a half-
finished declination for the position of Minister into his desk drawer; Millicent was planning
to retire at the end of the year and wanted him to take her place. He looked up, the smile
slipping off his face. "Is something wrong?" His usually stern Transfiguration Professor was
looking rather flustered; her black hair was falling out of its immaculate bun and her robes
were creased from extended wear.

"Harry Potter wasn't at Arabella Figg's today," she said briskly.

"I see," he said, his lips twitching. "Would you care for a lemon drop?"

She batted the bowl of sweets away. "He wasn't in the car when they left and he didn't come
back with them either," she said, folding her arms.

"Are you upset that he was left behind," Dumbledore asked gently, "or that you didn't get to
see him at Arabella's?"

She conjured a chair and sat down. "I checked the home," she admitted, a little defiantly. "He
wasn't there. Albus, I've just got a feeling that something isn't right; if he wasn't there and he
wasn't with his relatives..." Her eyes found the newspaper article on his desk, the one with
Sirius Black's picture on it.

"Sirius could not have taken the boy," he said, seeing at last what had upset her. "The wards-"

"Are failing," she said. "I could barely feel them, even as a cat."

Albus' eyebrows rose. Animals had better senses than humans did and were exponentially
better at detecting magical activity. "You're sure?" he asked, knowing even as he said it that
Minerva would never come to him unless she was certain.

"Of course I am."

Albus sat quietly, letting the last few minutes sink in. He'd grown complacent after the War,
and not needed to make overly authoritive decisions for a long time. Finally, his mind fought
its way out of its detached stupor. He turned to Minerva. "I need you to get to Augusta
Longbottom's house as soon as possible. Keep her and Neville safe until I arrive."
"And the others?"

"Safe for the moment, I think."

Minerva nodded stiffly. "What should I tell Augusta? She'll hardly be pleased when I show
up on her doorstep."

"That I am searching for answers and will inform her when I find them. She may raise any
problems with me when I arrive."

Minerva nodded stiffly and swept out of the office. Albus got to his feet and strode over to
the fireplace. Reasons the wards could have failed bounced around in his head, and worry
waltzed around his insides. Surely Sirius couldn't have taken the boy... best to be certain,
however... "The Hog's Head," he said firmly, stepping into the green flames.

"Albus?"

"Good evening, Aberforth," Albus said, running past his brother. "I know this is terribly rude
of me, but manners must come second to time tonight."

"Wha-"

As soon as he was outside, Albus fixed an image of Petunia Dursley's house in his mind and
Disapparated. He stumbled a little upon his arrival in the Dursley's driveway, but didn't allow
that to stop him; he strode up the garden path and pressed the doorbell, all the while casting
his mind out. The door swung open. "Whatever you're selling, we're not interested," said a
large man with a bushy moustache and very little neck.

"Good evening, Vernon," Albus said politely.

The man's small eyes narrowed as he took in Albus' purple robes. "What do you want?"

"May I come in?"

"No."

"Vernon! Who's at the door?" Albus saw Petunia Dursley appear in the hallway behind her
husband and pale at the sight of him. "You," she said.

"Me," Albus said smiling pleasantly. "Is Harry home?"

"What do you want with the boy?" she asked, pursing her lips.

"To speak with him," Albus said, noting that she'd gone a shade paler.

"You can't," she said.

"He isn't here," Vernon said gleefully.

"I beg your pardon?" Albus said calmly, adjusting his hat.
"He isn't here."

"Where else would he be?" Albus asked, fearing the answer.

"His godfather took him." A cold, sick feeling settled itself in Albus' stomach, making him
rather glad he hadn't eaten.

"When?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"Last night," Petunia said. "I sent you a letter this morning," she added unwillingly. "To tell
you he's gone and that we don't want anything more to do with him or you or any of your
kind."

"I'll keep an eye on the post," Albus said. "And I'll make the effort not to bother you in the
future, but for now, I'm already here and have a few questions to ask yet." Both Dursleys
made disapproving noises. "Can you describe the man?"

"Tall, black hair," Vernon said.

"Filthy," was his wife's contribution.

Albus drew his wand, making both muggles hiss. "Is this him?" He waved his wand, causing
a smoky image of Sirius Black to form in the space between them.

"That's him," Petunia said. "Thinner though."

"And you just let him take the boy?"

"He wanted him," Vernon said shrugging. "We didn't."

"He's his godfather," Aunt Petunia said. "He's legally entitled to the boy and the boy seemed
happy to go with him." She paused, eyeing him critically and then glanced around to see that
they weren't being watched. "Are you done here? I don't want the neighbours asking
questions tomorrow."

Albus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was little point in asking if they'd been
given Harry's new contact details. "Yes," he said. The door slammed shut in his face. He
turned and walked away from the doorstep. Somehow, his wards had failed, or Sirius had
found a way around them. And now he had Harry.

Albus set off down the street searching for any magical traces he could find. There were
several overlapping sets of Appearance Alteration Charms, specifically, those taught in the
Auror Training Program. Sirius, what have you done...? A little further up Privet Drive he
found marks left by a Hover Charm and a Light Spell, and beside them, the equivalent of
magical tyre tracks. Without hesitation, Albus flung out his wand.

BANG. "Welcome to the Knight Bus. My name is Je- Professor Dumbledore?!"

"Good evening, Jeremy," Albus said, giving his past student a strained smile. "I am in need of
assistance and think you might be able to help."
"Yeah, er... sure," he said looking a little startled. "We can take you anywhere-"

"London, please. To the Ministry," Albus said, pressing a galleon into his hand.

"Is the Floo Network down?" Albus chuckled. "I'm serious!" Jeremy said.

"No, I'm merely in the mood for an alternate form of transportation." Jeremy gave him a
skeptical look. "Did you pick up a man and a boy here last night?" Albus asked as he settled
himself on the end of a four-poster bed.

Jeremy frowned. "Yeah," he said thoughtfully. "Yeah, we did. How'd you know that?"

"A story for another day. Could you describe them, please?"

"Blond, both of them," Jeremy said, squinting. "Blue eyes too, I think. The man was... tall-ish
– not quite as tall as you, but close - with a round face and the kid was scrawny with glasses."

"Indeed. And where did you take them?"

"Leaky Cauldron the first time," Jeremy said, steadying himself against Albus' four-poster as
the bus took off. "Second time we got them from the Leaky Cauldron and took them to Kings
Cross Station."

"Did they enter the station?"

"I don't think so, no," Jeremy said slowly. "They crossed to the other side of the road as soon
as they were off."

But they could have doubled back... or they could have kept walking... You always were too
clever for your own good, Sirius. "Ha- Happy? The boy, was he happy?"

"Seemed like it. They were laughing when they got on and off, both times." Jeremy peered
out the window. "We're here, sir."

"Thank you, Jeremy," Albus said, spying the peeling phone box. "Have a good evening."

"You too, Professor," Jeremy said, bemused, as Albus strode off the bus and into the night.

Ten minutes later, Minister Millicent Bagnold collapsed into her chair and fixed Albus with a
stunned look. She was an older witch - though still young compared to Albus - with blond
hair that was fading to white and very thin lips that were perpetually pursed. "The Ministry
will do everything it can," she said in her brisk voice. "I'll send Aurors to Mrs Pettigrew's
home immediately, and to Mrs Longbottom's later tonight." She wrote something down and
then paused. "You're sure about the others?"

"Both are perfectly capable of protecting themselves, but I will present the offer when I
visit." Millicent passed the note to a small owl that was perched by the window and it flew
out of the office.

"Will you join the search yourself?"

"When I have the time," Albus said. He owed Harry that much, and Lily and James too; he
knew it was Sirius' fault they'd died, but perhaps if he'd been a little more forceful in his offer
to be their Secret-Keeper- He shook his head to clear it.

"I'll have the Department of Magical Records monitor the Deaths list," she said quietly. Albus
closed his eyes. "And the Department of Management and Control of Magical Children will
monitor Harry Potter's Trace. It might take some time to find, given they don't usually bother
with the files of children under eleven but exceptions can and will be made... Is Black
capable of installing wards that block the Trace?"

"Perhaps," Albus said tiredly, but hope was beginning to stir inside him. "He was a gifted
student, though it would surprise me if he thought of it so quickly. He's already used magic
around the boy."

"Then he's already slipped up. Let's hope he does so again and we can have Potter back to his
family by morning. I'll be required to launch a proper investigation," Millicent said. Albus
nodded. "And I can't do that without an explanation. What will the public story be?"

Albus sighed and ducked as an owl bearing a green envelope flew in. "The truth. That Harry
Potter was kidnapped by Sirius Black. Jeremy Philips, the conductor of the Knight Bus saw
them."

"They were on the Knight Bus? That's a bold move for Black."

"Hidden in plain sight," Albus said with a sigh. "He's always been clever."

"Reckless though."

"With any hope, that's what will catch him," Albus said. "He was a Gryffindor after all."

"Was he really? I'd have picked him for Slytherin."

"I'm afraid that side of him was buried so deep that even our Sorting Hat couldn't find it,"
Albus said sadly. He stood, tucking a loose strand of his beard into his belt. "I'm afraid you
must excuse me, Millicent. There are others I need to talk to regarding the events of last
night."

"Of course," she said, getting up to open the office door. "You'll be in contact, I take it?"

"Expect my owl in the morning. And if the Aurors find anything before then-"

"I'll let you know," she promised.

 The Boy-Who-Disappeared

For all that Aunt Petunia had seemed to hate Padfoot's wand the day before, Harry thought
she might have made good use of one herself; the quarter-of-an-inch thick dust that covered
everything vanished with a flick of Padfoot's wrist, and a murmured spell was all that was
needed to scrub the faded wallpaper clean and replaster it, or have the sponges polish the
grimy windows all by themselves. It was odd - very odd - to go from being oblivious to
magic's existence one day, to living with someone who used it for even the most mundane
tasks the next.

There were three bathrooms in Grimmauld Place and the only thing that worked was a single
shower on the second floor. If either of them wanted to use the toilet, they had to go to the
public bathroom in the small park across the road. Padfoot insisted on magical disguises -
like the ones they'd used the night before - that changed with each trip, and also insisted they
change clothes each time, which was easier said than done.

Harry only had a pair of faded, too-big jeans, a pair of baggy shorts and a few of Dudley's
oversized shirts, and the only clothes Padfoot owned was the dirty dress - which wizards
called robes - he'd worn the day before, and whatever he could find in the house; he'd
received an odd look from a woman at the park for wearing his brother's embroidered
waistcoat and pinstriped trousers and an odder look from the man who served them at the
supermarket.

Kreacher had disapproved of Padfoot's attire too, but for completely different reasons. "The
blood-traitor's trying to pretend he's a Black again," he muttered. "Oh, yes, Kreacher knows.
Kreacher sees it. Oh, but if poor Mistress and Master Regulus were to see... Master Regulus
would die of shame to see his fine clothes on Master's ungrateful back. They say he went to
Azkaban for murder, oh, Kreacher doesn't doubt it, he always had a nasty temper, and to
think Master Regulus' best waistcoat is being worn by cruel, murdering Master-"

"Oh, shut up," Padfoot snapped, tugging at the offending article. It was rather tight - it
seemed Padfoot had broader shoulders than his brother - and Padfoot didn't seem to like
wearing it much at all if his grimace was anything to judge by. "Manere Frigus," he muttered,
tapping one of the cupboards inside the pantry. "Ah, finally."

"What'd you do?"

"Refrigeration Charm." Harry looked over with interest but it looked like a normal cupboard
to him. Curious, he reached out and then pulled his hand away from the cold. "Could you
pass the milk?" he asked Harry.

"Not even a please," Kreacher said in his croaky voice from the pantry doorway, watching the
pair of them. "Not that the brat deserves it, but Mistress would still be so ashamed to see her
blood talking like a wretched mudblood-"

"What's a mudblood?" Harry asked.

Padfoot dropped the milk. It landed on his foot and spilt everywhere, soaking his socks and
the pin-striped trousers. Kreacher let out a shriek, snapped his fingers and the mess vanished.

"Don't say that word," Padfoot said in a rather scary voice. "Not ever. Do you understand?"
Harry nodded, feeling very small. "Get off, Kreacher," Padfoot said irritably, kicking the elf
away; Kreacher was lying at his feet, inspecting the damage done to the trousers. Padfoot
sighed. "That word is... well... a rather nasty name for a witch or wizard born into a muggle
family." Padfoot's face darkened. "Like your mum."

"What do you call them, then?"

"Muggleborns. Did you hear that, Kreacher? I forbid you from using the m-word - that
particular m-word - ever again." Kreacher looked like he'd been forced to drink something
particularly unpleasant. He skulked out of the pantry, muttering under his breath. "I really am
sorry about him," Padfoot said, staring at the elf's back with dislike.

"Is he always like that?"

"Pretty much. He-" There was a croaky scream from upstairs, a loud thump and then Mrs
Black's horrid portrait began to shriek. Padfoot looked a little afraid but he stood and slipped
out of the pantry, his wand clutched in his hand. "Stay here," he told Harry in a quiet voice
and crept up the stairs. There was another shrill yell and thump.

Harry waited a moment before he sneaked over to the stairs and peered up. He couldn't see
anything but the wall at the top, so he risked the ascension. He couldn't see the main hallway
- the dining room walls blocked it from view - and so when nothing immediately attacked, he
ventured out a little further and glanced around the corner.

A lumpy umbrella stand zoomed past and landed with a thump and a puff of dust. Something
beneath it squealed. Kreacher let out a little triumphant noise and Padfoot, who Harry spotted
at the bottom of the stairs, let out a laugh as Kreacher sent the umbrella stand after another
dust bunny.

"Harry!" he called. "You can come up if you'd like!" Harry stepped out into the hallway a
little guiltily. "That was fast," Padfoot commented, raising an eyebrow. Harry didn't say
anything but felt his face flaming up. He wondered what Padfoot would say; Uncle Vernon
would have sent him to his cupboard by now. Padfoot gave him a contemplative look - leaned
out of the way as the umbrella stand flew by - and then said, "Next time, you should wait
longer before showing yourself. It's not as suspicious." Harry stared. "And stomping about, or
pretending to be out of breath is something you might want to consider," he added
thoughtfully. "Just for effect."

"You're not... You don't-"

"I don't what?" Padfoot asked, patting the stair beside him.

Harry sat a little nervously. "You're not angry?"

"Erm... no..." Padfoot said. His expression flickered and he looked troubled. "I'm really not
cut out for this whole parenting thing, am I?" Before Harry had a chance to answer that, he
shrugged and let out a bark-like laugh. "Tell you what: you eat your vegetables tonight with
dinner and we'll call it even. Deal?"

"Er... okay," Harry said.

Padfoot frowned. "I'm definitely doing it wrong. You should have found that unreasonable."

"Sorry?" Harry said.

"Don't apologise, it's not your fault." Harry stared at him. Padfoot was quiet - the only noises
were those made by Kreacher and the dust bunnies popping out of existence - and then said,
"Fuck it." Harry's eyebrows climbed but he didn't appear to notice. "-I'll do this guardian
thing my way. I'll be as reasonable as I damn well want and you can just deal with that."

"Erm..."

"And I'd appreciate if you didn't use that word I used before," Padfoot added, looking
sheepish. "Your mother would kill me."

"Would would my dad think?" Harry asked curiously.

"He'd find it funny," Padfoot said, smiling slightly. "He and Remus probably would have had
a bet going about which word I'd let slip first, or how old you'd be before I corrupted you."

The reaction fit with the laughing face Harry had seen in Padfoot's mirror the night before.
Slowly, he was building an idea of what his parents had been like, and the more he found out
- which was still reasonably little - the more he wished he'd had the chance to know them.

Padfoot sniggered from next to him. Harry followed his gaze to Kreacher, who was trying to
squash another dust bunny. "Why doesn't he just use magic?" Harry asked, thinking about
Padfoot dealing with them last night.

"House elves and dust bunnies are mortal enemies," Padfoot said, shrugging. "Some house
elves just want them gone, others get rather-" Kreacher shrieked. "-well, rather like Kreacher,
and figure a painful death's better, I suppose."

"Mortal enemies?"

"A house elf lives to please," Padfoot said, and they both watched as Kreacher stomped on
one of the little grey creatures. "A dust bunny is living proof that an elf's failed to keep the
house clean. They take it as a personal insult."

"But Kreacher's been here for years," Harry said. "Shouldn't they all be gone by now?"

Padfoot thought for a moment. "No. After my mother died, I think Kreacher recognised on
some level - a very deep, subconscious level, mind - that he wasn't serving anyone anymore.
House elves only take pride in their work when someone's around to appreciate it - or punish
them for not doing it. Now that we're here, he'll take some pride in the house."
"What are dust bunnies?" Harry asked, his eyes following one as it hopped past with
Kreacher in close pursuit. "Are they alive?" They were quite small - the size of mice rather
than rabbits - and grey, with long ears and round bodies.

"Not really. They're magic," Padfoot said. "A muggle house gets dirty if it's not looked after,
right?" Harry nodded. "Same with wizarding houses. The wards weaken a bit, if there are
any, and magical residue leaks out and forms those." He pointed at one of the bunnies which
was contentedly nibbling on a patch of frayed carpet. "When they - die isn't quite the right
word but it's the only one I can think of - the magic goes back into reinforcing the house and
its occupants."

"So the - did you call them wards?" Padfoot nodded. "Are weak?"

"I'll need to do something about them soon," Padfoot said thoughtfully. "But getting rid of
dust bunnies is probably a good start."

Harry watched Kreacher stamp another one into the carpet. "How?"

Padfoot grinned wickedly and then it wasn't a man sitting there, but a large, shaggy dog.
Harry jumped. That was going to take time to get used to. Padfoot leapt up and barked at
Harry, his tail wagging and then went bounding after a dust bunny.

Between them, Kreacher and Padfoot seemed to have things under control so Harry watched
for a bit - and laughed when Padfoot skidded in a patch of dust and made a yelping noise that
sounded impressively like a swear word - and was then coerced into playing a game of tag
with his dog-godfather, while Kreacher continued to wage war on the dust bunnies.

If the day was any indication of what was to come, Harry thought he was going to enjoy
living with Padfoot very much indeed.

Remus Lupin had thought his life was about as bad as it was possible to get. He'd spent the
past month at a werewolf camp, trying to talk sense into Greyback - who was getting restless
again, and had bitten a girl a month back - and had returned only a week ago, with a number
of new scars for his efforts, to learn that Sirius Black, his old friend-turned-enemy, had
escaped from Azkaban; very little wizarding news got through to the camps, unfortunately.
As if this all wasn't bad enough, things had become a thousand times worse by the arrival of a
weary - and for the first time since Remus had known him - scared - Professor Dumbledore.

"I don't want the Aurors here," Remus said. "I can handle Sirius if it comes to it."

"I'd thought as much," Dumbledore said quietly and then fell silent.

"It doesn't make sense!" Remus said, his voice muffled because his face was buried in his
scarred hands. "Sirius-" Remus had decided long ago that he would still call Sirius 'Sirius',
for the same reasons he had called Voldemort 'Voldemort'. "-didn't have to tell the muggles he
was taking Harry. It would have made more sense to just kidnap him."
"I fear Sirius may have been unhinged by his time in Azkaban," Professor Dumbledore said,
his eyes lacking their usual twinkle. "What makes sense to him may seem like insanity to us."

"Sirius was always a little mad," Remus admitted, a shadow of a smile crossing his face
before he remembered what had happened and he forced it off. "But I don't understand why
he took him! Harry killed Voldemort, somaybe Sirius wants revenge but if he was going to
kill him then he'd have done it by now, surely? He wouldn't have even bothered to 'adopt'
him, he'd have just killed him and run."

"You are forgetting the prophecy."

Remus had to think for a moment. James had sat him and Sirius down years ago and
explained in an unusually serious voice that Voldemort was after Harry. Peter hadn't visited
that day - he'd been sick - and so he didn't know about it. Remus wished bitterly that Sirius
had been the one who was sick and Peter had heard it instead. Lily and James might still-

No. I won't think about that. Remus forced his thoughts back to the prophecy. It took him a
moment to remember it, and then a moment longer to identify the part Dumbledore was
talking he did, his heart gave a little leap.

"'Either must die at the hand of the other'," he breathed.

Dumbledore looked older than Remus had ever seen. "It is possible, of course, that Sirius
killing Harry on Voldemort's orders would fulfil this," he said heavily. "But Voldemort, as we
know, takes prophecy very seriously. Sirius doubtless told him the entire thing when he
swapped sides, and, if I am correct, Voldemort will want to kill Harry himself. Sirius will
merely keep him captive until that time comes."

"So Sirius won't hurt him," Remus said.

Dumbledore closed his eyes. "We have no guarantee of that. The only thing we can assume -
and even then, not safely - is that Harry is alive."

"We have to find him," Remus said, throwing himself to his feet to pace.

"Do you know anything that might help us find them?"

"Are you asking if he's contacted me?" Remus said, stopping mid-step. "Are you saying I'm
helping him?"

"Remus, sit down," Dumbledore said with a sigh. Remus sat. "I said nothing of the kind. I'm
asking for your help, because you know him better than anyone else."

"I thought I knew him," Remus muttered. He sighed loudly, throwing his head back. "You
said he went to London?" he asked. "Is Enid safe?"

"Mrs Pettigrew is under guard," Dumbledore assured him. "She will be moved to a safe
house within the week."
"And Alice and Frank's boy. Neville?" Remus asked, worried Sirius might be out to fulfil the
prophecy.

"Minerva is there now." Remus nodded, relieved. "I have had it confirmed that Sirius visited
the Leaky Cauldron."

"I don't think he'd have gone in to see Tom," Remus said dryly. "He would have gone to
Diagon Alley."

"Not Knockturn?"

Remus scrunched up his mouth and shook his head. "I can't see any reason for him to go
there, especially if Harry was with him. Children stand out in Knockturn Alley." Dumbledore
nodded. "So he probably went for money," Remus said, staring at the ceiling of his living
room. "I know no one was looking for Harry yet, but even so... to take him out in public was
risky, and not something he would have done if he didn't have to."

"Why money? Sirius didn't seem to care for it all that much during the Order days."

"He doesn't, I don't think, but he's not foolish enough to think he can get by without it. And
money is the only thing at Diagon Alley that can't be ordered by owl."

"I'll ask the Ministry to send people there first thing tomorrow. Anything else?"

"If I'm right about him going to Gringotts for money then he's probably planning to stay in
one place for a while... that makes me think he still has Harry with him... has anyone checked
his old flat?"

"I made enquiries at the Ministry," Dumbledore said. "It was reclaimed a year after he was
sent to Azkaban. His belongings were taken as evidence and are being held in a Ministry-
owned storage facility. The flat is currently inhabited, and under guard by Aurors in case
Sirius decides to return."

"But he hasn't yet?"

"Not as far as the Ministry or I are aware. Can you think of anywhere else Sirius would be
compelled to stay?"

"Hogwarts, maybe? James, Peter, Sirius and I knew it better than anyone... there's no reason
for him to go there, though. If Harry'd been at school he might have but he's not..." Remus
thought hard for a moment. Potter Manor had been destroyed in the War and Lily and James'
cottage in Godric's Hollow was in no state to be inhabited. "The only other one I can think of
is Grimmauld Place and Sirius hated-"

"It's empty," Dumbledore said. "Alastor searched it himself on Saturday and then again on
Monday-" Harry was taken on Tuesday though, Remus thought. Dumbledore seemed to read
his mind. "Marlene was told to keep an eye out and we've heard nothing."

Remus nodded and then sighed. "I really can't think where else he might have gone,
Professor."
"Thank you for your help, then, Remus. I need to get back to Hogwarts, but I'll be in contact;
your insight into how Sirius thinks could well find Harry."

"That's it?" Remus asked flatly.

"For now. I daresay the Aurors will have questions for you but they'll be another day away,
yet, I think-"

"This is the only way I get to help? Answering questions?"

"The only way? Remus, you've been invaluable."

"I want to be out there helping," Remus said. "I want to be looking for him. He's James and
Lily's son! He's my godson!"

"Pardon?"

"The night Harry was born, James and Sirius broke into the St Mungo's administration room
and put me down as Harry's godmother. It's not quite legal but James wouldn't have done it if
he didn't mean it." Remus said all of this very quickly, too agitated to care that his usual calm
demeanour was slipping and that he was very close to shouting.

"Ah, yes, I do remember you telling me that-"

"So do I. It was the night you took Harry to his aunt's house," Remus said bitterly.

"Remus, you know why I couldn't give you custody of the boy..." Dumbledore said.

"I can understand you wanting to keep him safe, and wanting him to grow up out of the
public eye," Remus said frustrated; they'd had this argument a number of times in the past.
"I don't understand why you forbade me to have any contact with him. And I certainly don't
know why I couldn't get to know him after Sirius broke out; Harry would have been safer
with me! You could have put up wards – maybe not as strong as they were with Petunia, but
strong enough – and I would have been able to protect him."

"Remus, you know why I couldn't do that-"

"I'm dangerous for one night a month. He could have gone to Arabella's, or back to his aunt's
for the full moon and stayed with me for the rest of the time! I-"

"The Ministry would not have approved," Dumbledore interrupted.

"Since when have you cared what the Ministry do and don't like?" Remus said.

"The last thing we needed was for the Ministry to worry about your ability to care for him
and remove him from your custody and mine."

"The last thing we needed was for Sirius to bloody kidnap him!" Remus shouted. With a
shaky breath he leaned back against the wall. "I'm sorry, Professor," he said, burying his face
in his hands.
"There is no need to apologise," Dumbledore said, resting a hand on Remus' trembling
shoulder. With it, Remus was surprised to find, was a scent of guilt. So Professor
Dumbledore wishes things had been different now too... "You being upset is understandable,
and you being angry is even more so. I really do need to get back to the school but I'll see
what I can do about getting you involved with the search."

"Thank you," Remus said, his voice muffled. "There's Floo Powder on the mantel."

"Yes, I remember. Take care, Remus, and let me know if you think of anything else.
Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts." There was a whooshing sound and then he was gone.
Remus slid down the wall to the floor and began to cry.

Harry ran into the library, eyes looking for a hiding place. He immediately discounted the
bookshelf covered walls – he'd never get to the top in time – the desk was fixed to the wall so
hiding under that wouldn't work... Harry ran out onto the second floor landing, nearly
bowling Kreacher over in the process.

"Sorry," he said hastily as the elf glared at him. Padfoot had threatened to free him after one
particularly nasty comment and Kreacher was a little edgy around the pair of them now, even
though Padfoot had no intention of following through with it; Padfoot had explained to Harry
that Kreacher would remain in the house, if only so he didn't go running off and tell the
Ministry of Magic where Harry and Padfoot were. Harry, resigned to Kreacher's company for
the foreseeable future, was determined to be civil, despite not liking the elf awfully much.

"The Potter brat needs to watch where he's going," Kreacher said to the moth-eaten carpet.
"Kreacher could have been hurt. Not that Master would have cared. Master's a heartless
wretch-"

"Do you think you could take me downstairs with your Apprarating thing?" Harry asked
breathlessly. Yesterday afternoon, Padfoot had played around with a tapestry in the drawing
room and managed to bind Kreacher to Harry. While the elf now had to obey Harry's orders,
Harry, who was well used to being ordered around, felt it was politer to ask. "Please?" he
added.

"The brat has legs but he wants Kreacher to do his moving for him, oh, yes. Poor Mistress
would weep to see Kreacher used as a form of transport-"

"I'm hiding from Padfoot," Harry said. "It's a game." And if Padfoot finds me, he wins, but if
he can't, I win." Harry had learned very quickly that Kreacher liked Padfoot about as much as
Padfoot liked Kreacher, which wasn't much at all. He'd learnt that either would do anything to
spite the other; Padfoot liked to talk louder than was necessary about how horrible his mother
had been and Kreacher liked to try to find loopholes in the simplest orders. "He won't have
realised I can get downstairs, because he's on the first floor."

"Master doesn't like to lose," Kreacher said gleefully. He fixed Harry with a curious look and
then held out his hand. Harry took it. Kreacher's bony fingers tightened on his and then they
were both being squeezed. Harry's ears popped and he felt like he was being pulled through a
tube and then, before he was fully aware of it, he was standing in the kitchen. He grabbed the
edge of the table for fear of toppling over.

"Thanks," he panted, trying to re-orient himself.

"At least the brat has manners," Kreacher muttered.

Harry ignored this and set about making tea. He figured that by the time Padfoot realised he
wasn't upstairs, tea would be ready and they could have a break before they went back to
cleaning. "Would you like some?" he asked Kreacher as he fumbled with the polished silver
teacups in the dresser. Kreacher stared as if he'd never seen Harry before. "Kreacher?"

"No," Kreacher said slowly. "No, Kreacher is too busy for tea. Master would never let
Kreacher rest for tea."

"Padfoot won't mind," Harry said, carrying everything back to the kitchen bench.

"No, no tea," Kreacher said. His ears flapped as he shook his head. "The Potter brat should sit
down. Kreacher will pour. Master would never forgive Kreacher if the little brat burned
himself on the kettle." The elf wandered over and shooed Harry away from the bench.
"Master likes scones with his tea," Kreacher muttered. "Oh, yes, Kreacher remembers, scones
with jam."

"Do you want help?" Harry asked, getting up from his place at the kitchen table.

"No, no. Kreacher lives to serve the House of Black," Kreacher said, snapping his fingers.
Flour, sugar and eggs floated from the pantry. Harry was suddenly very glad they'd emptied
and re-stocked the pantry the day before, since Kreacher probably would have made scones
regardless of whether the ingredients were fresh or not.

When Padfoot finally came downstairs – almost an hour after Harry and Kreacher – Harry
was on his third scone and his teacup was almost empty. "Figured it out, did you?" Harry
asked, spreading more jam onto his scone.

"No," Padfoot grumbled, having recovered from looking surprised. "I thought you might
have been somewhere in my old bedroom."

"Why'd you come downstairs then?"

"I smelled food," Padfoot said with a sheepish smile. Harry sniggered and passed him a
teacup. "You've been productive."

"Thank Kreacher," Harry said, taking a bite of his scone.

"Kreacher?" Padfoot said, freezing with his spoon suspended over the sugar pot. He shot a
look at the now rather depleted plate of scones. "Kreacher made the scones?" he asked
sharply.

"And the tea," Harry said, unfazed.

"So he is good for something," Padfoot said, frowning at Kreacher's den. "Who'd have
known?" Harry frowned too, but at his godfather. Padfoot noticed and sighed, making a face.
"Thank you, Kreacher," he called. Kreacher mumbled something from behind his den door.
Harry's expression cleared instantly, making Padfoot grin.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Your mum used to use that same look when James and I were invited to Ministry events and
had to make conversation with stuffy old politicians." Harry grinned. "Some of them were the
most conceited bastards I've ever met and all of them were so boring they could put an
insomniac into hibernation but we still had to be nice." Harry laughed into his teacup.
Padfoot stared at him for a moment, then at his own untouched teacup and then at the plate of
scones. "These had better not be poisoned," he said warningly. Harry snorted tea up his nose.

They spent the rest of the day in the first floor bathroom - like the rest of the house, snakes
seemed to be a prevalent decoration; the cabinet handles, door-knob, taps and showerhead
were all serpentine - trying to restore it to some level of functionality. Padfoot had had
Kreacher help - the elf had managed to get the toilet working again - but he'd also had driven
them both mad with his endless muttering, so Padfoot had sent him away again.

"This reminds me of detention," he said fondly, spraying the sink with a jet of soapy water
from his wand.

"They made you clean sinks?" Harry asked in disbelief.

Padfoot smiled at his shocked expression. "The entire Prefect's Bathroom," he said ruefully.
"And we weren't allowed to use magic, either."

"What did you do to earn that?" Harry asked, dropping his sponge.

Padfoot smiled in a way that Harry was getting to know very well; sheepish, but with no trace
of regret for doing whatever it was he'd done. "It was James' idea," he said. "The Slytherin
Prefect – Yaxley, I think his name was – was a real arse to us... always calling James and me
blood-traitors and giving Moony a hard time because he had hand-me-down robes... Prongs
already fancied your mum-"

"Is Prongs my dad?" Harry asked, confused.

Padfoot looked shocked. "I haven't told you that yet?" Harry shook his head. Padfoot
groaned. "Sorry, kiddo, yes, James was Prongs. Remus was Moony – you know that one –
I'm Padfoot and Peter was Wormtail."

"Hang on," Harry said, staring at his godfather. "Your name isn't Padfoot?"

"Er... no," Padfoot said. Harry stared at him. "It's Sirius. Surely you've heard Kreacher say
it?"

"Sirius Black," Harry mused, attacking a particularly stubborn piece of soap scum with his
sponge. "No, I haven't; he only calls you 'Master'." Padfoot – Sirius – sniggered. "So why did
you have nicknames?"

"For our Animagus forms."

"Padfoot for a dog, Wormtail for a rat... What were Moony and Prongs?"

"Moony was... a wolf," Padfoot said, his expression changing slightly. "Prongs was a stag."

"Was my mum an Animagus too?" Padfoot shook his head. Harry took a moment to absorb
this. Then: "So what did you do to the Prefect's Bathroom?"

Padfoot grinned. "As I was saying, Yaxley was a real git. He thought he was better than your
mum, because he had wizarding relatives and she didn't - remember the m-word?"

Harry nodded and then laughed. "He didn't like her because her parents weren't magical?
That's stupid."

"That's what the whole war was about," he said gravely. Harry's eyebrows shot up. "But
you're completely right; it is stupid. We decided to get back at him for that."

"How?"

"I wanted to put something in his food," Padfoot said, testing to see if the tap worked.
Orange, rusty water sprayed in all directions out of the serpent's mouth and he hastily turned
it off again and shook like a dog. "Make him grow a beard, turn his hair pink, something like
that. Prongs didn't think that was good enough. I can't remember if it was Moony or your dad
that did it, but someone got their hands on a live squid – we put a few charms on it to make it
smarter and able to survive in bathwater, and we also spelled its ink to be sticky - and
managed to get it into the pipes just before Yaxley's bath."

"Where'd it go wrong?"

"What makes you think it did?"

"You said you got caught," Harry said.

"I blame Moony," Padfoot sniffed. "As our researcher he should have mentioned that the
charms we cast on the squid to add qualities to its ink would react with the Engorgement
Charms in the bubble taps."

"So what happened?" Harry asked, trying not to laugh at the image that was forming in his
head.

"The squid grew," Padfoot said with a barking laugh. He touched the tap with his wand again,
muttering something under his breath and then turned it on. It ran normally, with nice, clear
water. "The thing had no idea what was going on and sprayed ink everywhere – extra sticky
ink, I might add-"

"Did it get Yaxley?"

"Oh, yes," Padfoot said happily. "Yes, I don't think he was properly clean for a month. But it
also got us; Prongs, Moony, Peter and I trailed ink from the Prefect's Bathroom to our
dormitory." Harry winced sympathetically. "Old Minnie was not happy when she found out."

"Minnie?"

"Professor Minerva McGonagall," Padfoot said. "Head of Transfiguration and also the Head
of Gryffindor House."

"Was she strict?" Harry asked. Her title certainly implied it.

"Yes, but fair, too, even if we didn't think so at the time. You'll see what I mean in a few
years."

"When?"

"When you go to Hogwarts," Padfoot said, giving him a funny look. "Didn't we talk about
this during dinner?"

"Right," Harry said, remembering. He gave his godfather a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

Padfoot grinned, picking up his sponge. "Don't worry about it. But, when you get there – to
Hogwarts, I mean – make sure you have a look in the lake."

"Why?"

"Let's just say a certain, very large cephalopod with extremely sticky ink now calls the lake
home..."

"Bloody buggering hell," Padfoot said emphatically on the third day. He dropped a
newspaper onto the table.

"What?" Harry said, lowering his spoon.

"I'd half hoped Dumbledore and the Ministry would want to keep this quiet."

"This?"

"That I kidnapped you," Padfoot said with a strained smile. He sighed at the paper and
pushed it toward Harry. "They've organised a search."

Harry stared at his photo on the front page of the newspaper, which was right beside one of
Padfoot, snarling at the photographer. "How did they get my school photo? And why's it
moving?" He remembered the day it had been taken; earlier in the day, Dudley had shoved
him and he'd shoved Dudley back, just in time for Mrs Peterson to see.

She'd lectured him on treating his classmates with respect and proceeded to keep him in her
sight for the rest of the day to make sure he wasn't going to hurt anyone else. She'd been
standing behind the photographer when Harry's photo was taken, glaring at him. It really
wasn't surprising that Harry's photographic-self looked so terrified.

"Your Aunt must have had a copy," Padfoot said, sounding distracted. "And they'll have
enchanted it to move because wizards aren't used to still photographs."

"Huh," Harry said, beginning to read the article:

The kidnapping of Harry Potter, the child we all know as 'The Other Boy Who Lived'
(pictured above) has put doubts about safety from He Who Must Not Be Named's followers
into the minds of the magical community for the first time in seven years. It is believed that
mass murderer Sirius Black (also pictured above) approached Potter at a playground near
his Little Whinging home on Tuesday night and persuaded him to leave his muggle relatives,
who, thankfully, were not harmed during the abduction.

Albus Dumbledore was responsible for sending the boy to live with the muggles in the first
place and is now facing open criticism from the public for not moving the boy sooner. "The
Potter boy should have been moved as soon as Black escaped," said one witch from Bath.
"Or at the very least, the house should have been placed under Auror supervision."

In his statement last night, Albus Dumbledore admitted he himself had thought Harry would
be safe in the wards he set up around the Little Whinging home shortly after the defeat of He
Who Must Not Be Named. Junior Curse Breaker William Weasley spoke to reporters after
investigating the property: "I don't know what happened," said Weasley. "As far as I can tell,
the wards were fully operational on Tuesday night and started to decay very late Tuesday or
possibly even early Wednesday. All I know is they're gone now." He also stated that the wards
were "strong" and that such rapid decay "isn't normal". Clearly Black is behind it.

After leaving the Little Whinging household, it is believed Black altered his and Potter's
appearance before hailing the Knight Bus which took them to the Leaky Cauldron in London.
Jeremy Philips, the Knight Bus Conductor conversed with the two without noticing anything
unusual. "They seemed nice to me, like a normal father and son," he said during his interview
this morning. "I didn't suspect a thing, but I suppose that's a good thing, because I don't have
any special training. I might have ended up like Pettigrew."

Staff from Gringotts Wizarding Bank confirmed Black and Potter visited and made a
withdrawal from the Black family vault, though no figure has been given to Aurors or
reporters. When questioned on the topic, staff refused to give any details other than the fact
the two were there, due to everything else being "private". Aurors are currently investigating
the possibility of Black having a goblin accomplice but so far, the goblins are adamant they
will not to become involved in wizarding affairs.

Black and Potter's whereabouts remain unknown though they are believed to have stayed in
Britain. In a statement this morning, Minister Bagnold "urge[s] anyone with any information
about either Black or Potter to contact the Auror Office immediately." She also "remind[ed]
the public that Black is in possession of his wand and so should not be approached directly."

In addition to the investigation led by the Department Of Magical Law Enforcement, wealthy
Ministry benefactor Lucius Malfoy has agreed to finance a search led by volunteers: "I find it
heart-breaking," said Mr Malfoy as he left the Ministry last night, "that a child as young and
helpless as little Harry Potter is in the possession of a man like Sirius Black. As a father of
two boys the same age as young Potter, I felt it was my moral duty to assist in any way
possible. My wife and I both feel that a little of our gold is a small price to pay for Potter's
rescue." Mr Malfoy has also stated he will be joining the search himself when he has the time
and is pushing for others to do the same: "I do not believe a few hours of my time, or
anyone's time for that matter, is more important than the life of a child. Anyone interested in
helping may contact me via owl and I will assign them an appropriate role in the search."

Until he is found, our thoughts go out to Harry Potter who is no doubt terrified, and to his
muggle relatives, who must have been shaken by the abduction.

"Shaken?" Harry said, choking back a laugh. "Did they talk to the Dursleys at all?"

"Hmm?" Padfoot said, still sounding distant. "Oh, probably not," His chair scraped as he got
up to make himself a cup of tea. "Do you want one?" Harry shook his head. "What did you
think of the rest of it?" Padfoot asked guardedly, gesturing toward the paper.

"I don't know," Harry said, staring at the headline: THE BOY WHO DISAPPEARED.
"Everyone seems really worried..."

"I told you there'd be people after us," Padfoot said, sitting down again.

"I just didn't realise there were so many people who'd be looking..." Harry said, scratching
polish off the table with his fingernail. Padfoot blew on his steaming tea before looking up at
Harry again. "They don't even know me!"

He was surprised to see that Padfoot looked upset. "I've made a real mess of this," Padfoot
said, dropping his head into his hands.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, staring at his soggy cereal.

"Stupid," he muttered. "I should have just left you there." Harry stared at his godfather, who
was still face down on the table. He waited a few seconds for Padfoot to say something, but
he didn't. Hurt and confused, Harry pushed his chair away from the table and stood. Padfoot
made a funny sniffing noise and then looked up, confused. "Harry?" he asked, looking
puzzled.

Harry turned and walked up the kitchen stairs. He didn't know if he was happy or sad that he
couldn't hear Padfoot's footsteps behind him.
 A safe place

Sirius knocked gently on his old bedroom door. "Harry?" There was no response. "Can I
come in, kiddo?" He waited out on the landing for a few seconds and then got impatient. If
he didn't want me to come in, he would have said something. Let's just hope he's a brooder
like Prongs and not a shouter like Lils... or me for that matter.

"Harry, I'm coming in," he said, reaching for the doorknob. Sirius twisted it, only to find it
stuck. He frowned and tried again, but this time, the snake's head bit him. What in the name
of Merlin's skinny ankles...? "Did you lock the door? Harry?" He tried the door again. "This
isn't funny, kid." With a loud sigh, he pulled his wand and tapped the door. There was a click
and then it swung open.

Sirius stepped into the room as Padfoot and took a cautious sniff. He smelled dust, and a faint
trace of both his and Harry's scents, but those were at least a day old. The window wasn't
open and a glance told Sirius that it was still rusted shut. He checked under the bed and desk
without hope, and even went through his old wardrobe and dressers.

"Harry?" he called after changing back. Maybe he went into Reg's room, but I don't think
either of us have gone in there since we came here... Sirius had no sooner stepped out onto
the landing when his bedroom door swung shut and locked again. He jumped a foot in the air,
and immediately glanced around to make sure no one had seen. He was sure that – wherever
he was - James was laughing. "Kreacher!" he called irritably. CRACK! "Are you the one
locking the doors? And I order you to tell the truth."

"Kreacher's been tending his Mistress," Kreacher croaked, sinking into a bow. "Kreacher
likes his Mistress, oh yes, Kreacher's Mistress doesn't ask Kreacher foolish questions, oh no."

"A yes or no was all I wanted," Sirius said coolly. "Have you seen Harry? I know he came up
here but he's not where I thought he was."

"Kreacher hasn't seen the brat."

"Unhelpful little bastard," Sirius muttered. "Bugger off then, back to my hag of a mother."

"You shouldn't talk to him like that," said a quiet voice. Definitely Lily's son.

Sirius looked up immediately, ears twitching to find the source of the sound. There was a
CRACK! as Kreacher Disapparated – Sirius glared at the spot where he'd vanished –
followed by three loud clicks. He tried the door to his room and found it had unlocked again,
and that the doorknob was just plain silver. There were several faint clicks downstairs that
echoed up – presumably more doors unlocking – and then Sirius said, "So it was you locking
the doors?"

"I didn't mean to," Harry said, his voice trembling slightly.
But you obviously didn't want to be found until now... so you accidentally locked every door
in the house. James would be proud. With a quiet chuckle, Sirius crossed the landing and
pulled open the door of the cupboard opposite his bedroom. Sitting there, amidst a hell of a
lot of dust and some moth-eaten pillowcases, was Harry. Sirius didn't even bother to hide
how relieved he was to find him.

"What are you doing in the cupboard?" he asked gently, taking in the tight set of Harry's jaw
– very similar to James' – and the resigned scent that was coming off him in waves. Definitely
a brooder.

"Sitting," Harry said, fiddling with his shoelace.

"Why in here, though?" Sirius asked, sitting down opposite him. Harry seemed to think about
answering but then shook his head. "All right, then," he said. "We'll skip that one. When are
you coming out?" Harry stared at him oddly and then mumbled something. "Sorry, kid, didn't
quite catch that."

Harry's cheeks were slowly turning red. "I said that's not usually up to me," he said, staring at
the floor of the cupboard.

Sirius closed his eyes as a picture of a small cupboard filled with dust, spiders and - most
noticeably - a small bed, popped into his head. "I see."

"Sorry," Harry said hastily. Sirius opened his eyes and was shocked to see his godson looking
anxious.

"What for?" he asked calmly.

"Er..." Harry said, looking lost, "I'm not really sure. Sorry's usually enough."

Sirius sighed. "You don't have anything to apologise for, kiddo, that's why you can't think of a
reason."

"Oh," was all Harry said. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Sirius trying to decide how to
bring up whatever had upset his godson, and Harry staring at his shoes. "So I can come out of
here, then?" Harry asked finally.

"Of course," Sirius said, chuckling. "I'm still not sure why you came in here in the first
place."

Harry smiled for a moment, but that quickly developed into a thoughtful look. "Habit, I
suppose," he mumbled, getting up.

Sirius nodded. "As soon as the bathroom's decent, we'll see about fixing you a bedroom. That
way, if you want to be alone, you don't have to sit in a cupboard." He didn't manage to stop
his lips from twitching as he said that, though it really wasn't funny.

Harry watched him curiously. "So you aren't taking me back to the Dursleys?"

"No," Sirius said, frowning. "Why would I do that?"

"In the kitchen... you said you should have left me there," Harry said, staring at his feet again.

Aha. "I didn't mean I don't want you around," Sirius said, ruffling his godson's dusty hair. "I
meant that you deserve better than to be stuck in this dreary old place with only me and
Kreacher for company." Harry stared at him, mouth agape. "Don't you agree?" Harry shook
his head vigorously, displacing the dust and making Sirius sneeze. "All we've done for three
days is clean," Sirius said, frowning as they descended the stairs. "Kreacher's rude to you and
I have no idea how to be a parent figure. How can this possibly be better?" Harry was
laughing now. "What?" he asked. Harry stumbled down the last step and landed on the floor.
"Harry!?"

"I'm okay," Harry said, still laughing.

Sirius grumbled to himself, feeling a little left out of Harry's joke. Harry picked himself up
off the landing and - with a massive grin on his face – continued down the stairs. "What's so
funny?" Sirius whined as they reached the first floor landing.

"It's not really funny," Harry said.

"You're laughing," Sirius pointed out.

"Better to laugh than cry, I guess," Harry said with a shrug. He said this with maturity far
beyond his eight-and-a-half years and Sirius had to make an effort to keep his mouth from
falling open.

"I think we're overdue for a talk," Sirius said slowly.

Harry's eyes brightened and he assumed an expression much more appropriate for his age.
"Really?" he asked excitedly. "What about?"

"What it was like for you growing up," Sirius said shrewdly.

Harry's expression changed from open and eager to unreadable before Sirius could fully
comprehend it. "It was boring," Harry said carefully, not moving from his place at the top of
the next flight of stairs. "Like I said, I'm happier here."

Sirius might have been convinced if he hadn't said something very similar to Remus
seventeen years earlier; early in second year after the truth about Remus' Furry Little Problem
came out, Sirius had asked him what it was like to grow up with his condition. Remus had
answered and then asked Sirius the same question in regards to his Dark family.

Sirius had told him eventually – after a considerable amount of prodding – and had actually
felt better, though he'd been embarrassed to learn James had woken up midway through
Remus' story and heard all of his. In the end, it had brought them – him, Remus and James –
closer. Merlin I miss them. He turned back to his evasive-looking godson. "How about this:
you tell me about growing up Dursley, and then you can ask me something."

"It's like I said," Harry muttered without meeting his eyes. "Boring."
"I'll be the judge of that," Sirius said in a tone appropriate for trying to settle a cornered wolf.
"You obviously aren't one to share everything with someone just because they ask and that's
not a bad way to be-"

"Then what's the problem?" Harry asked.

"You can't go around keeping everything to yourself either," Sirius said gently. "Maybe
you've had to until now, but since we're all each other's got for the foreseeable future, it might
be nice if we were on the same page."Trust, he added silently, watching Harry think. You've
never had anyone trust you before, have you, or had anyone to trust?

His former comparison to a cornered wolf suddenly seemed all the more appropriate; Harry
assumed an expression uncannily similar to one of Remus' during first year. It only seemed
natural that his thought processes would follow the same line; he could like someone, and
deem them a friend without necessarily trusting them. And Sirius knew all too well that
Remus' attitude had come from relying on himself, and himself alone until it had become
instinctive. What did they do to you? he thought toward his godson.

"You said I get one question for answering yours?" Harry said.

"A question, a favour, whatever."

"And it can be anything?"

"Anything at all."

Harry frowned, looking thoughtful. Sirius would have bet anything that he was deciding if it
was worth it. "Can I save it?"

"If you'd like to," Sirius said.

"Okay," Harry said.

"Okay," Sirius said a little surprised. He'd honestly expected Harry would need more time to
adjust to the idea of sharing.

Harry sat down on the carpeted landing and pulled his knees to his chest. "What do you want
to know?" he asked warily.

Sirius followed his example and sat with his back pressed against the banister that overlooked
the entrance hall. "What are you willing to tell me?" Harry shrugged, a gesture Sirius was
beginning to recognise as an evasive technique. "How about you start with your cousin?"

Harry's mouth twitched. "Dudley and I don't get along very well. I think we did when we
were little; I remember playing hide and seek around the house and I remember we used to
build blanket forts in the living room. Dudley was always treated better though. He never had
to do jobs around the house and he always got presents for his birthdays and for Christmas..."
Sirius wondered if that meant Harry had never had presents before. When he thought about
how little Harry had brought from Petunia's, he decided - grimly - that he probably hadn't. "-
he's allowed to watch television and I'm not... that sort of thing."
"I know what television is," Sirius said proudly. Harry gave him an odd look. Sirius hid a
smile, wondering how long it would take Harry to work out that wizards couldn't use
ecklictricky like muggles. "Dudley got new things, while you got hand-me-downs," Sirius
said, remembering their conversation at the playground. "Is that right?"

Harry nodded. "And if I hit him, I'd get in trouble, but if he hit me, he wouldn't. I- he- At
school, he's-" Harry paused, looking thoughtful. "Er... Padfoot? Am I going back to school?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, St Grogory's is back in Little Whinging and we're... er... well, in London."

"Bloody hell," Sirius said aloud. He'd completely forgotten that Harry, who was raised as a
muggle, would have gone to a muggle school. "Erm... Do you want to go to school?"

"Er... well, not really," he said.

"You won't miss your friends?" An odd expression flickered over Harry's face and he shook
his head. Sirius wondered at that didn't say anything. Not yet. "That's easy then. No more
school."

For a moment, Harry looked delighted but then a look of horror flickered over his face.
"What about Hogwarts?"

"What about it?"

"Will they still let me go? I'll be behind everyone."

"You can have lessons with me," Sirius said. "That's what pureblood kids do and none of
them ever have problems." Harry looked relieved. "Now, what were you saying about
school? This St Gargoyle place."

Harry laughed. "St Grogory's," he said. "Er... well, Dudley and his gang had it out for me a
bit."

"How so?" Harry shrugged. Sirius' eyes narrowed. "Did they ever punch you or your friends,
or try to drown you in a toilet?"

"No, they never tried to drown me," Harry said with an edgy laugh.

"Punches?" Sirius pressed.

"Sometimes," Harry said shrugging.

"Your friends too?"

His cheeks took on a red tinge. "Just me."

Aha. "Tell me about your friends," Sirius said, watching Harry carefully out of the corner of
his eye.
Harry fidgeted. "There... er... there isn't much to tell," he said finally.

There were several questions Sirius wanted to ask but didn't; he'd save them for another time.
"What were the teachers like?" he asked instead.

"I had Mrs Baddams the year before last and she was all right. She liked me better than
Dudley, I mean. Aunt Petunia talked to Mrs Peterson before term started." He wrinkled his
nose. "She never liked me."

"She's the one with the blue wig, right?"

"Yeah," Harry said looking sheepish.

Sirius didn't bother to hide his grin. "You're quite the wizard, kid. You're eight-and-a-half and
you've already flown or Apparated, changed the colour of your teacher's hair, almost blinded
Privet Drive and locked every door in the house."

"You're loads better," Harry said. "You could do all of that if you wanted to and you're an
Animagus."

"I couldn't do any of that at eight," Sirius said.

"Eight-and-a-half," Harry said.

"Irrelevant." Harry scowled but when he glanced away, his mouth twitched. "What about at
home?"

"Home?"

"What's your aunt like?"

Harry shrugged. "My hair bothered her."

"She used to complain about James' hair too," Sirius said. Harry's eyes lit up. "She wouldn't
let him in any of her wedding photos because his hair was 'as freaky as the rest of him'. Lily
was rather put out with her about that. I think Vernon was only allowed in one of Lily's
wedding photos, right at the back and that's only because Lily was too nice to cut him out
altogether." That drew a laugh out of Harry. "What about your Uncle?"

"You saw what he's like," he said with another shrug.

"He's never abused you, has he?" Sirius asked cautiously, thinking back to the looming figure
of Vernon Dursley shaking his nephew.

Harry shook his head vigorously. "He didn't like me but he never, I dunno, beat me or
anything." Harry hesitated and then added, "Dudley hit me every now and then."

"Badly?"

"A few bruises."

"Ever had a broken bone?" Harry shook his head. Sirius let out a breath he didn't know he'd
been holding. "Whose idea was the cupboard?"

"Dunno," Harry said.

"Why don't you have one of the upstairs rooms?" Sirius had stayed at Number Four several
times, back when it had belonged to Lily's parents, not her sister and knew they had at least
two spare bedrooms upstairs and one downstairs.

"I'd be in the way," Harry said with an odd expression. "I'm always in the way."

"Not here you're not," Sirius said firmly. "So you just slept in the cupboard?" Harry's
expression became thoughtful, as if he were trying to decide how to word what he was about
to say. "You'd better not lie to me," Sirius warned.

Harry's expression and scent became guilty. "I wasn't supposed to talk about it," he said by
way of explanation. Sirius waited. "Yeah," Harry said finally.

"You slept there?"

"I spent most of my time there," he admitted. "If I wasn't doing housework or at school,
anyway." Sirius wasn't sure what his face looked like but Harry was compelled to add, "I
didn't have to talk to them and they didn't have to talk to me."

"Sounds like a good system," Sirius said after a pause.

Harry shrugged. "It worked."

"You mentioned housework?"

"Cooking, cleaning and gardening, but only in the back garden." Sirius lifted an eyebrow. It
was a gesture Remus had used against him and James, and one that always seemed to get
results. "Aunt Petunia didn't want the neighbours talking."

For some reason, that made Sirius smile. It wasn't that it was funny, or that he agreed that
neighbours couldn't be trusted. It was that, despite everything else that had happened, Petunia
Evans - now Dursley - was exactly the same woman that Sirius had terrorised the first time
they'd met.

"Did you earn much pocket money?" he asked, grinning. Harry's pause was enough of an
answer. Sirius' smile started to slip but he caught it and fixed it in place. "No? Well, as of
now, you get a galleon a week."

"But- Why?" Harry looked stunned.

"Because we've got a lot of cleaning ahead of us and you deserve a reward for helping." From
the look on his face, Sirius could see this was a completely new concept for his godson. "It'll
be good for you; you'll learn how to manage money and how to save up for things."

"A galleon's too much," Harry said at once. "Gurbock said that was five pounds!"
"I know what a galleon's worth, kiddo," Sirius said, grinning.

"But-"

"But nothing," Sirius said, still grinning. Harry kept mumbling his disagreement. "Otherwise
I'll make it two galleons a week." That shut his godson up. Another thought that had evaded
him recently brought itself to his attention again. "Speaking of galleons, we need to hide
them."

Harry cocked his head. "Them?"

"The money we took out on Tuesday night. We can't just leave a fortune sitting in your
rucksack," Sirius said. "We'll leave some of it there, obviously, but we should spread the rest
around a bit."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Just in case we have to leave in a hurry."

"But we're safe here, aren't we?"

Sirius debated between being honest, or being comforting. He's just spent the past Merlin-
know-how-long being honest with me. Besides, I've been honest with him so far, he
thought, and he's still coping. "I don't know," he said. "Anyone that knows me knows I hated
this place but after they finish searching the places I dolike, they'll start searching anywhere
else I'm associated with. After that it's only a matter of time before they stop by."

"What'll we do?" Harry asked.

"Make it safe."

Shortly after their conversation on the landing, Padfoot and Harry returned to the kitchen.
Padfoot went straight to Harry's rucksack - which had been resting in a chair at the table since
they moved in - and retrieved his bags of money. "Are you up for hiding?" he asked.

Harry's eyes widened. "Me?"

"No, the kid behind you," Padfoot said, smirking. "Yes, you," he said, ruffling Harry's hair.

"I s'pose," Harry said.

"Excellent. Try to put an equal amount on each floor so-"

"Padfoot, there are two thousand galleons in each bag," Harry said.

"Fifty galleons and a few muggle bank notes is plenty. You can leave what's left in here and
I'll sort it out later." Padfoot's expression flickered as he thought of something.
"And don't hide each coin individually." Harry laughed. "Got all that?" Harry nodded. "Good.
I'll be in the library if you need me."
"The library?"

"It's a place with books," Padfoot said seriously. "Very dusty books, I might add and-"

"I know what a library is," Harry said, exasperated.

"One would hope so." Harry made a face. "I'll be researching," Padfoot said. "I want to make
sure we don't end up with any surprise visitors."

It took Harry longer than he'd expected to hide the coins around the house but he was happy
with the results. He'd even had the foresight to borrow a piece of parchment and a quill from
the study on the ground floor to record all of his hiding places.

"All done?" Padfoot asked when he walked into the library. Harry made his way to the large,
curved couch where his godfather was sitting surrounded by dust and books and passed him
the piece of parchment. One sleeve of Padfoot's jumper was smeared with dust; he'd
obviously used it to clean the table he was working at. "What's this?"

"A list of where I hid everything," Harry said, leaning on the arm of the couch. He'd never
have dared do it at the Dursleys.

"Smart kid," Padfoot said, looking pleased. He marked the page of the heavy book he was
reading and looked at the parchment. "Tin in the pantry," he read aloud, "filing cabinet in the
ground floor study, vase on the drawing room bookshelf, dresser in the guest bedroom,
bedside table in the master bedroom and," Padfoot smiled, "a pillowcase in the cupboard on
the fourth floor."

"Are they good?"

"Very," Padfoot said, nodding. "One suggestion though: move the stash from the dresser in
the bedroom to somewhere in here. It's easier to get to that way."

Harry shrugged. "All right." Then he frowned. "Why?"

"There's a fireplace in here," Padfoot said, gesturing to it, "and it and the one in the drawing
room aren't connected to the Floo Network but they're connected to the kitchen fireplace
which is connected to the Floo Network. If we have to leave-"

"What's the Floo Network?"

"I suppose it's a bit like the muggle underground," Padfoot said after a moment of thought.
"Except we use fireplaces, not stations."

"How do trains fit in a fireplace?" Harry asked.

Padfoot laughed. "They don't."

"Then what carries you?"

"The fire."
"But- don't you- I mean- fire's hot," he finished lamely.

Padfoot didn't laugh as Harry half-expected and a small grateful smile touched his face. "It
is," he agreed. "We use Floo Powder to make it harmless. It's still warm, obviously, but it
can't burn you. You throw it in, say where you're going and the fire... takes you there... it's
sort of hard to explain."

"Do we have any Floo Powder?" Harry asked eagerly.

"No," Padfoot said. "I threw it all out a few days ago." Harry's face fell. "It has a use-by date
and I've seen some nasty results when people use it without realising that."

"Like what?"

"Like worse than Splinching," Padfoot said grimly.

"Splinching?"

"When people Apparate – disappear from one place and appear almost instantly in another-"
he said, forestalling Harry's next question, "-sometimes, if they aren't concentrating, they
leave pieces of themselves behind." Harry felt a disgusted expression settle itself on his face
as he pictured a pair of legs lying abandoned in the middle of a street that resembled Privet
Drive. "It's not pretty," Padfoot said grimly. "I saw it quite a bit when I was an Auror; we'd be
chasing someone who'd be so desperate to get away that they wouldn't be focused enough
and... well..."

"Urgh," Harry said, wrinkling his nose.

Padfoot made a face and then frowned suddenly and scribbled something down on his own
piece of parchment. "I remembered a ward," he said in response to Harry's confused look. He
wrote something else. "And we'll need to buy more Floo Powder," he added with a grin
before Harry could ask. Then he sighed. "I think we'll have to go back to Diagon Alley soon."

"Really?" Harry asked excitedly. Padfoot nodded. "Can we have more of a look around this
time?"

"I'd like to take you to Quality Quidditch Supplies," Padfoot said thoughtfully. "Eight-and-a-
half and you probably don't know what a Bludger is!"

"Is that bad?" harry asked tentatively.

"James is probably rolling in his grave," Padfoot said, his lips twitching. "And Lily will be
furious that we've been living together for almost a week and I haven't taught you anything."

"You've taught me loads!"

"Not really," Padfoot said. "I've taught you things that any wizarding kid knows from birth.
You were just behind... Tell you what; we'll get wards and maybe even a Fidelius Charm up
today or tomorrow and after that, I'll start giving you lessons."
"Magic lessons?" Harry asked excitedly.

"Amidst other things. Here, you'll need this."

Harry accepted his godfather's wand with an eager smile and resisted the urge to wave it and
see what would happen. "What for?"

"Fidelius Charm," Padfoot murmured, flicking through a heavy book.

"The charm my parents used?" he coughed.

"That's the one- Aha." Padfoot started skimming through a page of tiny writing.

"How does it work?"

"It's like an Unbreakable Vow," Padfoot said, and then sighed. "An Unbreakable Vow is-"

"Pretty self-explanatory, I'd think," Harry said.

Padfoot smiled. "There are three sets of people. There's the Secret - the person or people the
charm's protecting - the Secret Keeper and there's a- well, in Unbreakable Vows they're called
Bonders but that's the wrong word in this scenario. More like... a witness. They leave midway
through so they aren't actually in on the secret."

"So who's what?" Harry asked.

"You're the Secret," Padfoot said. "I'm the Secret Keeper and Kreacher can be our witness."

Harry shifted one of the books surrounding Padfoot and sat down on the edge of the table. "Is
he allowed to be?"

"I don't see why not."

"Does it only protect the house? The charm, I mean."

"Unfortunately, yes. Once we – or you, in this case – leave the boundary - I'm thinking that'll
be the front steps - we're fair game again."

"So we're stuck here?" Harry asked. He'd rarely been allowed out at Number Four and he
certainly preferred Padfoot's company to the Dursleys', so he didn't think that would be too
bad. Padfoot had just mentioned a trip to Diagon Alley though, and Harry was eager to go.
He brightened, however, when Padfoot answered.

"No. I think we'll just have to be careful," Padfoot said. "It'll mean disguises when we go out
and we'll need some sort of back-up plan if either of us is recognised."

"But can't you Apparate like Kreacher?"

"I can. You can't."

"I'll just stay next to you then," Harry said, shrugging.

"That might not always be possible. What if we were somehow separated, or if there was a
duel?"

"Dunno," Harry said. "Couldn't I help?"

"Not yet. But we'll add that to the list of things I have to teach you: Duelling." Padfoot
grinned. "We can clean the dining room – it's not like we'll be having people over anyway –
and use that as a training room... You'll probably need a wand, too." Harry's eyes brightened
at the idea. A wand! Padfoot pulled another book toward him and read a few paragraphs. "I
suppose there's always the Floo," he said, more to himself than Harry. "But you'd have to find
a fireplace and then you'd have to say 'Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place'." His godfather
snorted and snapped the book shut. "On second thoughts, perhaps not."

"Would it break the Fidelius Charm?"

"It would mean they know where to find us-" Padfoot said. He reached into his pocket,
frowned and then extended a hand to Harry. Harry passed his wand back and Padfoot flicked
it, making a book fly out of the shelves and land with a thump on the table. They both
coughed in the resulting cloud of dust. "-but I don't think they'd be able to get to us. They'd
probably block the Floo Network and catch us the next time we went out." To himself more
than Harry he muttered, "I suppose there are always Portkeys..."

"What's a Portkey?"

"Portkey," Padfoot said. "It's sort of like Apparition but you need to be touching something.
Unfortunately, if someone got a hold of the Portkey, it would bring them straight here... there
are ones with passwords but they're more to stop the Portkey triggering before you want it
to."

"But if they didn't know the password they couldn't use it."

"No, but they could find out where it was going."

"How?"

"When you create a Portkey – you're supposed to register them, firstly, but no one does – you
have to imagine the place you it'll take you. It's a lot like Apparating in that way. And, since
you put so much energy into picturing that location, anyone with a bit of training - an Auror
for instance - can see where it is and that would break the Fidelius Charm, since I'd be the
one making the Portkey."

"So we're trapped, basically?"

"As long as we aren't seen by anyone when we go out, we're fine."

"And if we are?"

"Then we're trapped," Padfoot said, grumpily. "But if we don't do this, it's only a matter of
time before someone realises this is the only place with a connection to me that hasn't been
checked, and unfortunately, no ward's strong enough to keep the Aurors out when they come
looking."

Harry absorbed this and then frowned thoughtfully. "Hey, Padfoot?" Padfoot raised an
eyebrow. "D'you think maybe I could be Secret Keeper? We could swap-"

"No! No! No, absolutely not!" Padfoot shouted, leaping to his feet, his eyes wild and not
quite focused.

"Sorry," Harry said in a small voice. "I was just-"

"I know," Padfoot said, seeming to remember where he was. He took a deep breath and sank
to the floor, right where he was, despite the couch being only a few inches away. "Sorry," he
said in a flat voice. "Sorry, I shouldn't have shouted."

"It's fine," Harry said, a little anxiously.

"No, it's not. It's not your fault..." he managed to get out. "I shouldn't have... I mean... it's
just..."

"Just what?" Harry asked tentatively.

Padfoot looked up with haunted grey eyes. "The switch didn't go so well last time," he said,
his voice catching slightly.

Suddenly, Padfoot's reaction seemed far more understandable."Right," Harry said, feeling
incredibly guilty for even suggesting it. "Sorry... didn't think about that."

"I know... it's not your fault. It's just- urgh!" He aimed a kick at the couch. "Stupid Peter! And
stupid me for even suggesting the whole damn thing in the first place!" The bookshelves
trembled and Harry could feelsomething thrumming in the air around them. "I'm sorry, all
right!" Padfoot shouted at the roof. "I'm sorry I didn't get there earlier and I'm sorry I trusted
him! I'm s-sorry I made you t-trust him!" Everything around Harry – the books, the
parchment, the ink wells – flew off the table and crashed against the bookshelves. The chairs
and desks that lined the wall by the door fell noisily and the fireplace made a rumbling sound.

"Padfoot?" Harry asked.

Padfoot's eyes focused on him and his lower lip trembled once. The library stilled again. "I'm
so sorry, Harry," he croaked. Something in his tone made Harry fairly sure he wasn't
apologising for shouting. A single tear ran down Padfoot's cheek. He brushed it away,
looking astounded. Padfoot stared at the water on his hand and then he closed his eyes. More
tears leaked out and his shoulders shook, but he didn't make a sound.

Harry, without thinking, slid off the arm of the couch and went to sit on the carpet beside his
godfather, who was holding his head in his hands. Padfoot didn't move. "It's not- I don't
blame you," Harry said.

"You should," Padfoot said, without looking up.

I don't think he's had a chance to be upset since they died... Harry realised with a little
jolt. He was chasing Peter and then he went to Azkaban... and from what he's told me about
prison, he was too busy trying to remember that he was innocent to be properly sad about
them. And he hasn't cried here... we're both still in the kitchen at night and I haven't heard
him.

"I don't remember my parents, but from what you've told me of them, they wouldn't want you
to blame yourself," Harry said in the same tone, trying to be as calm as Padfoot had been
when he'd found him in the linen cupboard.

"Probably not," Padfoot said, his voice muffled. "Lils would have smacked me and told me
enough was enough by now. And Prongs..." He laughed weakly, but it didn't seem forced.
"Prongs would have told me I was a prat and done or said something to make me laugh." He
finally looked up and his eyebrows rose as he took in the room. "Oops," he said sheepishly,
taking in the mess. Harry laughed. "I'm sorry for shouting," Padfoot said.

Harry shrugged. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," he said, drying his eyes with the back of his hand. He sniffed once and then
blinked. "I'm sorry." He offered Harry a small smile which Harry returned. "I think I'm going
soft." He shook his head, apparently bemused. "If Prongs and Moony were here, I'd never
hear the end of it," he said, and then paused, as if waiting for them to speak.

The silence was almost unbearable.

"So," Harry said, hesitantly in a quiet voice that seemed far, far too loud, "er... Secret
Keepers...?"

"Yes," Padfoot said, keeping his voice steady, though Harry sensed it took a little effort.
"Why do you think it should be you?"

Harry opened his mouth to say 'because I'm the last one anyone would suspect' and then
clamped it shut again. "Well," he said seriously, "when it comes down to it," he said instead,
"I'm not the one who needsprotection."

Padfoot frowned. "I don't think that's quite right, kiddo."

"It is," Harry insisted. "The worst they'll do to me is send me back to the Dursleys or foster
me out to a wizarding family. I'd survive - I might not like it, but I'd be safe and looked after
until I go to Hogwarts. Ifyou're caught, you'll go straight back to Azkaban. This way, even if
they catch me, you're still safe."

"It's a huge commitment for you to take on," Padfoot pointed out.

Harry shrugged. "I can keep a secret."

"Can you now?" Padfoot asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah," Harry said. "I do it all the time."

"What secrets?" Padfoot demanded.

"Not from you," Harry said, grinning and rolling his eyes. "I meant from the Dursleys."

"Like what?" Padfoot repeated, curious now.

Harry shrugged. "I used to sneak out of my cupboard to get food, or watch television when
they went out."

"James' son through and through," Padfoot said proudly. "This is a big secret, though, not
something like sneaking food. Are you sure you can be trusted?"

"Of course! Even if I couldn't, it's not exactly like there's anyone for me to tell, is there?"

Padfoot nodded thoughtfully. "All right," he said finally, looking serious. "You'll be Secret
Keeper, at least until you start school, and then we'll reassess it... you're sure about this?"
Harry nodded. "All right. See that book there - the big green one?"

"Yeah?"

"Chapter seven. Get reading."

"Yes, Master!" Harry said in what he thought was a fairly good imitation of Kreacher.

"Don't call me 'Master'... Catch."

Harry looked up just in time to catch the green book. "Defensive Measures for the
Paranoid?" Harry read, laughing.

"You never met my father," Padfoot said darkly. "Of course, he'd never say 'paranoid'.
'Prepared' was his favourite word. Anyway, chapter seven's for the Secret Keeper."

Harry flipped the book open and began to read.

 Return to Diagon Alley

"I trust everyone here remembers Remus Lupin?" Dumbledore said, beaming around at his
staff. It was the Easter holidays - not that that affected Remus terribly much, but the
Hogwarts staff members had been quite busy until then.

"Of course," McGonagall said, favouring her old pupil with a smile, while Flitwick waved
happily. "It's nice to see you again, Remus."

"You too, Professors," Remus said nodding at them both. He smiled around at the others;
Sprout, his old Herbology professor, Hagrid, who'd hugged him when he arrived, Emmeline
Vance who was teaching Defence, and Professor Quirrell, the young Muggle Studies teacher.
The last, though, he was not pleased to see.

"Lupin," Snape said curtly.

Snivellus. The thought came unbidden, before Remus could quite smother it. Damn you,
James. You always did say you would corrupt me. "Snape."

"Now, I trust we all know why we're here," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair.

"To discuss the Potter boy," Snape said, with loathing in his tone. "I still fail to see how this
affects me, Headmaster. I'm paid to teach, not chase James Potter's mentally unstable best
friend - and any children he may or may not have kidnapped - around the country."

"I'm asking for your help, Severus," Dumbledore said in a pleasant, but firm tone. Black eyes
met blue and a moment passed before Snape looked away and sighed but didn't argue any
further. Remus was surprised at that, but then again, they weren't fifteen any more. Perhaps
Snape had grown up as much as he had. "I trust you're still in contact with Lucius Malfoy?"

"It would be remiss of me not to be, after he 'honoured' me with custody over his son in the
event of his death."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said jovially. "Draco, isn't it?" Snape nodded. "He'll be at
Hogwarts-?"

"The year after next," Snape said curtly. "Along with his brother."

The year after next... Remus thought. "And Harry."

The occupants of the room turned to look at him. "If the boy survives," Snape said, looking
unhappy.

"He will be," Remus said. It was a slim hope that Sirius would keep Harry alive because of
the prophecy, but it was hope nonetheless and Remus was clinging to it with everything he
had.
Dumbledore cleared his throat gently. "Back to Lucius, Severus; I want you to join his search
for the boy."

"And when might I find the time to do that, Headmaster? Might I remind you that I have a
N.E.W.T. class oftwelve this year and with examinations a mere two months away-"

"I am well aware, Severus," Dumbledore said, holding up a hand. "But perhaps an hour each
Sunday could be set aside." Snape harrumphed and folded his arms. Dumbledore fixed Snape
with a thoughtful look. "At the very least," he said finally, "make inquiries about the search's
progress." Snape watched him, stony faced. "Lucius will be more open with you than anyone
else."

Snape seemed to slump. "Very well, Headmaster."

"Thank you." Dumbledore said sincerely. "Remus, I would also advise you to make contact
with Lucius Malfoy."

"Pardon?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I know you and Lucius have had strained relations in the past-"
That was sugar-coating it in Remus' opinion. "-but while you've been of great use to the
Ministry in the past two months, their search is exclusive to Aurors and Hit Wizards and last I
heard, you wanted to be actively searching."

"Well, yes, but-"

"Might I suggest you volunteer to search the muggle world?" Dumbledore continued. "That
way, you needn't have much to do with Lucius at all."

"I'll owl him when we're finished here," Remus said decisively.

"Excellent. Minerva, have you had any luck at Number Four?"

"I've visited three times since February as you well know," she said stiffly. "None of the
neighbours saw anything. It came as a surprise to most of them that the muggles even had
another child!"

Dumbledore frowned. "It seems I will need to revisit Petunia Dursley after all." He sighed. "I
imagine she'll be most unhappy."

Snape's lips twitched. "I imagine so, Headmaster."

Dumbledore gave him a searching look and then smiled slightly. "Ah, yes. I had forgotten."

Remus shared a look with McGonagall who looked just as puzzled as he felt. "Have there
been any further theories as to why the boy was taken?" Flitwick squeaked.

Dumbledore looked to Remus. "If Sirius had wanted Harry dead, he would have been dead
by now," he said unwillingly, though it was true. "The fact that they're hiding makes me fairly
sure Harry's still alive." And the prophecy, of course.
"He'll be a Death Eater," Professor Sprout said sadly. "That poor little boy."

"If Sirius wanted to whisk him away and raise him as a Death Eater, he wouldn't have told the
Dursleys he was taking Harry," Remus pointed out. "They both would have just disappeared.
No, he's keeping him safe so that he can hand him over to Voldemort."

Mirrored on the faces around him were expressions of mingled pity, worry and - in Snape's
case - revulsion. "That's all very well and good, Lupin," the Potions Master said. "But how
long until Black tires of waiting and decides to kill him himself?" Flitwick trembled and fell
off his chair. "Well, Lupin?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Remus asked heavily.

"I merely thought," Snape said silkily, "given your history, that Black might have come to
you, looking for help... or an accomplice, perhaps..."

"Severus, really!" Professor McGonagall said, flaring up in Remus' defence. Hagrid stood up,
looking angry and then sat down when Dumbledore shook his head. "You're not fifteen
anymore!"

"I'm aware, thank you, Minerva!" Snape said, bristling.

"Then do make an effort to act your age!" she snapped. "The Headmaster was friends with
Black too and I don't see you implicating him! Or me, for that matter!" One of the silver
devices on the table in the corner was whirring madly. "Do you think, perhaps, that as his
teacher, I taught him everything he knows? That I'm hiding Black and Potter in my office as
we speak?"

"No," Snape said sulkily. "But he's..."

"A werewolf?" Remus asked tiredly.

Snape gave him a look of pure hatred. "They're dark creatures. Everyone knows that."
Emmeline's face contorted but Remus shook his head at her.

"Oh?" Professor McGonagall's lips were dangerously thin. "I'd have thought you of all
people, Severus, would know better than to judge people based on their pasts." Snape opened
his mouth to protest, but didn't seem able to find the words. Remus had to concede that it was
rather funny to watch a thirty-year-old man being lectured by his elderly colleague. "Or do I
need to remind you of your less than exemplary record? Or that your questionable past arises
from your own choices, while Remus' arose from circumstances he had no control over-"

"Minerva, that's quite enough," Dumbledore said, quietly. Professor McGonagall subsided,
her face bright red.

"It's all right, Headmaster," Snape said, his face unreadable. "I spoke out of hand." Remus
raised his eyebrows. Snape smiled nastily. "And I daresay Minerva's merely trying to get her
own back... the loss of the House Cup five years running must be taking its toll..."
McGonagall's nostrils flared and she shot Snape an angry look. Dumbledore chuckled. "After
all, Gryffindors are renowned for their pride..."

"And Slytherins their humility," Remus said wryly. Professor Quirrell laughed nervously.

"Indeed," Snape said, giving him a sharp look. "Are we done here, Headmaster? I have
essays to mark tonight if I am to find time to speak with Lucius tomorrow."

"You may leave, Severus, assuming the others have nothing to add." Dumbledore looked
around the room but everyone shook their heads. Snape got up and left the office, his black
robes billowing out behind him.

He still looks like a bat, Remus thought, amused. "Am I needed, Professor?" he asked.

"No, Remus, you may leave." Dumbledore gestured to the office door. "Good luck with that
letter."

"I'll need it," Remus said morosely.

"I'll walk yeh down," Hagrid said unexpectedly, getting to his feet.

The pair said their goodbyes and left, and as they were headed down the staircase, Remus
asked, "Is everything all right, Hagrid?"

Hagrid patted Remus' shoulder rather clumsily. "Yeh looked like yeh coulda done with
company."

Remus smiled. "Perhaps," he admitted. "Thank you." Remus didn't end up going straight
home. He found himself seated in Hagrid's hut, with a steaming, flowerpot-sized mug of tea
in front of him. "Thank you," he said again.

Hagrid just waved an enormous hand. "'S no trouble at all," he said.

Remus added a liberal amount of sugar to his tea and stirred it with a spoon the size of a hand
trowel. "So how have you been? It's been a while since I've visited-"

"Yeh've bin busy," Hagrid said, not at all concerned. "An' good, thanks. Up ter my usual
business, I s'pose." Hagrid got up and pulled a batch of rock-cakes from the oven and set
them down on the table in front of Remus. Fang raised his head hopefully and wandered over
to rest his head in Remus' lap, glancing at the cakes every few seconds. "Fang!"

"It's quite all right," Remus said, giving the boarhound a scratch behind the ears. He felt a
little nostalgic, but also a little pleased when the dog whined happily; he'd been taught where
to scratch dogs, by a dog- He stopped that thought in its tracks and took a hasty sip of tea.

There was a knock on the door. "Hagrid?"

"Do yeh mind?" Hagrid asked, glancing at the door.

"Not at all," Remus said.

"Help yehrself to a cake," Hagrid said, getting up to open the door.

Remus, who had years of experience of dealing with Hagrid's cooking, took one and while
Hagrid was fumbling with the lock, cut it with a murmured, "Diffindo", and fed most of it to
Fang while Hagrid wasn't looking.

"How are yeh, Charlie, Tonks?"

"Wotcher, Hagrid," said a girl's friendly voice.

"Good, thank you," a boy said pleasantly. "Are you busy? We thought we might stop by and
see how you've been."

"Tha' was nice of yeh!" Hagrid said. His tone turned a little sad. "I've got Remus-"

"Feel free to invite them in, Hagrid," Remus called. "I don't mind."

Hagrid turned and beamed at Remus - who smiled in response - and then stepped back to
allow two older students - seventh years if Remus had to guess - inside. The girl tripped on
the welcome mat and the boy caught her without any sign of conscious thought. Clearly this
happened a lot. The early April sun followed them in.

"Hello," the boy, a stocky redhead in Gryffindor robes - and a Quidditch Captain badge -
called with a cheery wave. He crossed the hut and offered Remus his hand. "Charlie
Weasley."

"Remus Lupin. I know your parents, I think," Remus said, smiling. He didn't mention that it
was only because he had known Gideon and Fabian Prewett - and by extension their older
sister, Molly - in the war.

Charlie gestured to the Hufflepuff girl - she was slim with a heart-shaped face and short,
vivid yellow hair - beside him. "This is Nymphadora Tonks," he said with a wicked grin.

The girl turned on him, looking annoyed - her hair turned a bright tomato red as if to match
her mood - then rolled her eyes and looked back to Remus, seeming curious. "It's just Tonks,"
she said irritably. Her hair went back to yellow as she offered him her hand. "Nice to meet
you anyway."

"You too," Remus said. "Are you aware that your hair just changed colour?"

"My hair?" the girl asked. Her hair began to flash - red, blue, green, purple, orange, pink,
black, white and back to yellow again before the cycle repeated. "I'm not quite sure what you
mean." Remus smiled and a moment later she smiled back. "I'm a Metamorphmagus," she
explained and as she did so her hair grew, became curly, switched to dreadlocks and then
returned to the short, spiky style it had been before.

"Impressive," Remus said. Then he frowned. "Did you say Tonks?"

"Yes, and if you call me Nymphadora I'll-"

"You aren't Ted and Andy's daughter?" he asked, wondering how many Metamorphmagus
girls of roughly the right age there were with a bizarre first name and a familiar last one.

"I thought I knew you somewhere!" she said triumphantly, drowning out Charlie's, "Ah, rock-
cakes! Er... Yum..."

"I went to school with your mother's... sisters," he said, not able to bring himself to talk about
Sirius.

"I see," Nymphadora said, looking curious. "Then you would have known Sirius Black."

Remus winced. "I did, yes." He, Sirius and James had used to babysit her, in fact. He didn't
say this but he was unable to help himself asking, "Do you still enjoy Potions?"

Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"

Remus ended up telling her that he had babysat her before and ended up recounting one
particularly eventful visit; she'd been brewing them potions - sugary water, actually - and
James had taken it upon himself to charm them all to show the effects she said they'd have.
Remus had ended up with spotty, pink skin and a ridiculously high voice, Sirius with a
unicorn's horn and hooves and James himself with cat ears and a tail. The little girl had found
it all terribly amusing. She'd then talked Sirius into hiding and taken on his appearance. Both
he and James had played along - though they'd noticed immediately that it wasn't him,
because when had Sirius ever worn one of Ted Tonks' old football shirts? - until she'd gone
back to her usual self.

Charlie was howling by the time Remus had finished and he slopped tea all over himself but
hadn't noticed or didn't care. Nymphadora - Remus couldn't bring himself to think of her by
her last name, feeling it would be impolite - was laughing too, her hair a pleasant orange that
almost matched Charlie's; she'd seemed to recall various parts of the story as they went -
she'd been around eight at the time, and old enough to remember. Hagrid had brought a tin of
treacle fudge over and was beaming around at everyone as he refilled their mugs. Fang had
gone to drool on Charlie.

Remus found himself enjoying himself and feeling lonely all at the same time; on one hand,
it was nice to be in such a friendly environment, listing to the friendly banter between the two
seventh years but on the other hand, it reminded him all too strongly of when he, James,
Sirius, Peter and even Lily had been that age.

A few years could change everything, Remus knew all too well, and he found himself
wondering whether the pair opposite him would be safe from life's cruelty, if they'd be forced
to live through it - like he had - or if they'd be killed by it - like James, Lily and Peter had
been. He didn't let himself think about either of them following Sirius' path. But Sirius had
seemed friendly at seventeen too...

"Just so you know," Padfoot warned, pausing with his hand on the door to Ollivander's Wand
Shop, "this bloke is creepy. And he knows... well, everything."
"He'll know who we are?" Harry asked.

"I'd be surprised if he didn't," Padfoot said.

"Shouldn't you wait out here, then?" Harry said, shooting Padfoot a nervous look.

"Nah. Besides, you getting a wand is like you taking your first steps, or saying your first
word. I have to be there, it's my job." Harry decided they'd leave if there was any possibility
of the man calling the Aurors. "In you go."

Harry stepped into the tiny shop, almost stumbling; he was taller, today, as part of his
disguise. Inside was dusty - Harry was well used to dust now - with a counter only a few feet
inside the door. Behind that were shelves stocked with thousands of boxes. Padfoot slipped in
behind him and closed the door. He cast a doubtful look at the spindly chair in the corner
before he sat down gingerly. He sat mostly facing Harry and the counter, but every few
seconds his eyes would flick to the window to make sure no one was coming. It was the first
time they'd been in the magical world since that night in February and both were a little on
edge.

"Good morning," a soft voice said, making Harry start. Harry heard Padfoot suck in a breath
behind him and then shift.

"Er... hello," Harry said, looking to his godfather for help.

Padfoot just grinned and mouthed, "I told you."

Harry turned back to the man. He was old, with pale, misty eyes and wispy white hair. Mr
Ollivander lifted Harry's hand and examined it. He was yet to blink. "I wondered if I would
see you at all, Mr Potter," Mr Ollivander said softly. He turned his silvery eyes on Padfoot.
"There are some rather unsavoury rumours going around at the moment."

"We've heard," Padfoot said grimly.

"You have your mother's eyes," Mr Ollivander said turning his attention back to Harry. "It
seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches
long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." Mr Ollivander let Harry's hand
fall. "Your father on the other hand, used a mahogany wand. Phoenix feather. Pliable. A little
more power and excellent for transfiguration. I do say he favoured it..."

Mr Ollivander brushed Harry's fringe - blond today - away from his scar. Harry resisted the
urge to bat his hand away and flatten his hair. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did this..."
he said. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. A powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong
hands...if I'd known then what it was going into the world to do..." He sighed and looked
back to Padfoot. "Cypress, wasn't it? Fifteen inches."

"And dragon heartstring," Padfoot said carefully.

"Another powerful wand, if in a different way. And not an evil wand, at least not to start
with..." He gave Padfoot a piercing look.
"It was never an evil wand," Padfoot said quietly.

"You still have it then?" Padfoot hesitated and then nodded. "May I see it?" Mr Ollivander
asked.

"As long as you promise to give it back to me, unharmed," Padfoot said sternly.

"Yes, yes. It was a loyal wand, I seem to remember. I doubt I could resell it even if I wanted
to and it would be a shame to destroy something so lovely." Padfoot gave Harry a look and
passed his wand to the old man who stroked it and held it to his ear. Everything was quiet for
a moment and Harry took the time to contemplate the sanity of the wandmaker and then Mr
Ollivander sighed and passed the wand back to Padfoot.

"No, it was never an evil wand," he said with a distant smile. "Well now, Mr Potter. You're
here rather earlier than is normal but with you being who you are, I cannot find it in myself to
be surprised..." He produced a tape-measure from a pocket in his robes. "Which is your wand
arm?"

"Right," Harry said; Padfoot had let him try his wand to perform a few basic charms, though
Padfoot's wand was rather unpredictable. Sometimes, it would hardly do anything at all but
on other occasions it would enhance Harry's spell significantly, like it had the night they left
Privet Drive.

"Hold it out... yes... now stay there."

"Hold on," Padfoot said. He waved his wand and Harry shrank a good few inches, back to his
normal size.

Mr Ollivander gave them both curious looks. "That could have made things difficult," he said
finally, and then smiled. "It always was a good wand for non-verbal spells." Padfoot nodded.
Mr Ollivander brandished the tape-measure and stepped toward Harry again. "I trust your
guardian has briefed you on the rudiments of wandlore?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "The wand chooses the wizard, right?"

"So you were listening that day," Mr Ollivander said to Padfoot. "I was never sure... Yes, Mr
Potter, that is essentially it. Each wand is unique in the same way that each wizard is unique."
The tape measure was now measuring between Harry's nostrils and Harry went cross-eyed
trying to watch it. A badly smothered guffaw from the corner made glare over at Padfoot.
"We use a variety of wand-woods here, and the cores are Dragon Heartstring, Unicorn Hair or
Phoenix Feather..."

He continued to chatter as he measured Harry - why the width of the space between his eyes
was important Harry had no idea - and then Mr Ollivander stepped back. "That will do." The
tape-measure dropped to the ground and coiled up, like a snake. He flitted behind the counter.
For a moment, Harry feared he might be going to call the Ministry, but he returned within a
few seconds clutching a stack of boxes. Harry relaxed. "Try this one, Mr Potter." Harry
accepted a slim, black wand. "Ebony and Unicorn hair. Twelve inches. Precise." Harry
thought that sounded like a girl's wand but he gave it a wave anyway.
The inkwell on the counter exploded, soaking Harry and Mr Ollivander. Padfoot was
chuckling from his corner. "I don't think it likes me," Harry said.

"That wand doesn't seem to like anybody," Mr Ollivander said, dabbing at his robes with a
handkerchief. He gestured for Harry to put the wand down. "Perhaps this one," he said,
offering Harry a slightly crooked wand. "Maple and Phoenix feather. Seven inches. Rather
whippy." This time, Harry had hardly raised the wand before it was snatched away from him.
"Pear and Dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Lithe." This one burned Harry's hand when he
tried to hold it. He swore under his breath - in the two months he and Padfoot had been living
together, he'd learned some good ones - and handed it back to the wandmaker.

Padfoot seemed to be enjoying himself, watching Harry reject and be rejected by what must
have been forty wands. He'd tried every core Ollivander's offered, and at least one of each of
the types of wood and he was beginning to feel Mr Ollivander was running out of words
synonymous with 'springy'. Harry'd also managed to destroy half the store; he'd set the
counter on fire, vaporised one of the legs of Padfoot's chair, collapsed one of the shelves and
made a substantial hole in the roof when one of the wands had released what could only be
described as a lightning bolt.

"A difficult customer," Mr Ollivander said, growing happier and happier with each rejection.
"No worry, we will find you a perfect match... Perhaps something more unusual... Yes, I don't
see why not..." He disappeared and returned a moment later clutching a black box. "Holly
and Phoenix feather. Eleven inches. Nice and supple."

Harry took the wand. The moment he touched the smooth wood, heat rushed through his
fingers and up his arm, but it was pleasant, not like the burning sensation from the pear wand.
He also recognised the feeling; it was the same tingling feeling he'd had before he ended up
on the roof of the school kitchens, before Mrs Peterson's wig had turned blue, and the same
feeling he'd had when he locked all of the doors at home in his first week living with Padfoot.
"I can feel it," Harry said uncertainly.

"Give it a wave," Mr Ollivander breathed, hardly visible behind the pile of wand boxes on the
counter.

Harry did and a stream of red and gold sparks burst from the end of it and fizzled in the air
around him. Padfoot was beaming. "Oh bravo!" Mr Ollivander cried. "Yes indeed. Very
good... and curious. Yes, very curious."

"What's curious?" Harry asked, passing the wand back - a little reluctantly - so that Mr
Ollivander could wrap it.

"I remember every wand I've sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. And it just so happens that
the Phoenix who gave this feather gave another - just one other. It is very curious indeed that
you should be destined for this wand, when its brother, why, its brother gave you that scar."
Harry shared a look with Padfoot who looked troubled. "Curious how these things happen... I
think it is safe to say we can expect great things from you, Mr Potter. After all, He Who Must
Not Be Named did great things too... terrible, yes, but great."
Harry shivered. Padfoot was right. This man was creepy. "What did I feel when I picked the
wand up?" Harry asked as he paid.

"Your magic," Mr Ollivander said, looking pleased with the question. "Wands are only a
medium, after all. A very powerful medium, mind, but a medium nonetheless. They have a
magic of their own, but it cannot be harnessed without a wizard. A wizard, however, can have
magic without a wand."

Mr Ollivander passed him the brown package that was his wand and bowed them from his
shop - though only after Padfoot had re-cast the charm to make Harry taller again.

"That was interesting," Harry said.

"Always is," Padfoot said. "Unwrap your wand. As of now, it goes everywhere with you."

Harry did just that and tucked the wand into the back pocket of his jeans. Padfoot looked like
he was going to say something funny but thought better of it. "Where are we going now?"

"Floo Powder," Padfoot said. "There used to be a peddler by the Apothecary but I think that's
gone..." They wandered for almost ten minutes before they finally found a stall near the Ice
Cream Parlour. Padfoot sent Harry to get ice cream while he bought a bag of the sparkly
powder and an owl order address from the peddler. "An owl next, I think," Padfoot said.
"Then we're set up for owl orders and we won't need to come out as often."

"I saw an Owl Emporium before," Harry said around a mouthful of his sundae.

"Eeylops?" Padfoot asked.

Harry shrugged. "I think so."

"From memory, that was down the Leaky Cauldron end." Padfoot led Harry down the street
and into the Emporium. Harry hesitated, his foot half in the door; it was dark inside, lit only
by oil lamps scattered at random intervals and the small amount of natural light that came in
through the door. All around them were glistening pairs of eyes, the sound of rustling feathers
and quiet hooting.

"Hello, there," a witch said, making her way over to them. "Do you need help or are you
happy looking?"

"We're looking for an owl," Padfoot said.

Harry snorted and then ducked, laughing as Padfoot tried to smack the back of his head.
"Don't blame me, you said it!"

Padfoot scowled and tapped the top of Harry's head. "They aren't dead at all, are they?
They're hiding in there, mocking me."

"Who's dead?" the witch asked, looking worried.

"Er... My last owl," Harry said, hurriedly assuming a stricken expression. Padfoot choked.
"Oh, I'm sorry, love," she said, patting his shoulder. She shot Padfoot a dirty look for
laughing. Harry nodded, trying to look miserable. "I know it's hard losing a pet... they'll
always have a special place in your heart though, and I've always found it's best to ease the
pain by finding another pet to keep you company."

"Yeah... er... that's what I was hoping," Harry said. "And I've always liked owls."

"So have I," the witch said. "I've always found them to be intelligent creatures, much smarter
than cats or dogs - or Merlin forbid, toads - and much more practical. Muggles seem to think
dogs can carry newspapers, but I've yet to see it." Padfoot growled quietly. The witch gave
him a funny look. "Can I get you a drink, sir?"

"No," Padfoot said. "You could show us the owls though. That'd be great."

"Are you looking for anything particular?" the witch asked.

"An owl," Harry said, with a sly look at his godfather.

"He's off to Hogwarts this year," Padfoot lied, nodding in Harry's direction.

"Oh, enough said," the witch said brightly. "You'll be sending packages and letters regularly,
I'd imagine?" Harry grinned, nodding. "You'll need something strong, then," the witch said,
tapping her chin. "Something from our larger range..." She clicked her tongue in thought and
then smiled. "We've got a few eagle owls," she suggested. "They're popular among the
purebloods."

"Yes, I know," Padfoot said tersely. "I'd prefer something a little different." The witch looked
curious about his reaction. Harry tried to think of an excuse, but Padfoot beat him to it. "His
last owl was an eagle owl," he murmured to the witch, tilting his head in Harry's direction.

"In that case," she said hurriedly, "we have great horned owls. They're a little rarer."

Padfoot shook his head. "They scare me," he said. "Something about the eyes... they always
look like they're frowning." Personally, Harry had nothing against horned owls but he said
nothing. It was a shared owl, so they should both agree on it.

"We sold our last barred owl on Monday," she said frowning. "And we don't get any more
until next week." Her eyes brightened. "Do you know what, though? We do have something a
little rarer if you're interested."

"What?" Harry asked.

"We've got a snowy owl in at the moment. She's only young but some people like them better
that way, since they're easier to train."

Padfoot and Harry shared a look. "Can we see her?" Padfoot asked.

"Of course." The witch led them through the shop, occasionally shooing one of the free
roaming birds out of her way, until they reached a slightly brighter section. There were a
number of younger owls - even some cages set up with nesting mothers - and they found the
owl sitting imperiously on a perch at the back.

Harry would never have guessed she was a snowy owl; she was grey, and every picture he'd
ever seen had shown snowy owls as white. She was covered in an uneven coat of downy grey
feathers, though her wings were speckled with black and white. Her golden eyes turned on
them, almost haughtily, and Harry almost had to laugh at the way her demeanour contrasted
her motley appearance.

"She's certainly different," Padfoot said, looking amused.

"She'll be stunning when she loses her baby feathers though," the witch said. The owl clicked
her beak as if agreeing.

"Can she fly?" Padfoot asked.

"Of course."

"That's all that matters, then," Padfoot said, shrugging. He turned to Harry. "What do you
think?" The owl nibbled his finger and rubbed her beak against his hand. Padfoot smiled.
"How much?"

"Ten galleons," the witch said.

"For an owl?" Padfoot asked, arching an eyebrow.

"She's a rare breed," the witch said.

"Fair enough," Padfoot said, fishing in his pocket for the coins.

The witch helped them find a cage that would still be large enough for her when she'd
finished growing, and talked Harry - since Padfoot had got bored and was now poking an
irritable-looking barn owl - through the basics of caring for her. They also bought some Owl
Treats that the woman said would help with training.

They left the shop and all three of them blinked in the daylight. "Let the owl out," Padfoot
said. Harry did and she hopped out and perched on Padfoot's shoulder. He had a quick look
around and, once he'd ensured there was no one around said, "Tell her the home address and
have us meet her there."

"Can't you?"

"Not if you want her to find it."

It took Harry a moment to realise what he meant. Then he nodded. "Okay, er... Could you
meet us at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place?" Harry felt rather silly but the owl hooted
once and took off, her wing clipping Padfoot's nose.

"Excellent." Padfoot shrunk the cage and tucked it into a pocket. "She would have been a
pain to carry around," he explained. Harry nodded. The headed up the street again. Harry had
thought they were going to the bookshop but apparently educating him in the matters of
Quidditch was higher on Padfoot's list of priorities; he was quite literally dragged through the
door by his eager godfather.

Inside was larger than Harry had expected. It was brightly lit, and brightly decorated. One
wall - the one that included the storefront window - had broomsticks of every size and make
mounted to the reddish wooden panelling that was consistent throughout the entire store. The
second wall was dedicated to equipment - large red balls that Padfoot called Quaffles, black
ones called Bludgers and tiny Golden Snitches, as well as heavy wooden Beater's bats,
gloves, goggles, boots and every type of padded, protective gear ever to exist.

The other two walls were dedicated to the Quidditch league, with large team banners, team
posters and posters of individual players. On shelves below these were books - either about
the teams or about individual players - and various merchandise; there were common things
like hats, scarves, badges of every shape and size and figurines and there were also
autographed robes, bats and balls.

Padfoot dragged him over to a display table by the counter, where little plastic figurines were
flying over a scaled down pitch. "See him? The one hovering in the middle?" Harry nodded.
"He's the Seeker..." Padfoot set about explaining the rules of the game. It was easy enough to
follow, Harry thought, and he was keen to try it, though he wasn't sure when he'd get the
chance.

"Sorry, love," a middle-aged woman said, stumbling over a container of broom-polish.

"S'okay," Harry muttered absently, still watching the little figures.

"And you wonder where Dora gets it from," a round-bellied man told her affectionately.

The woman harrumphed and for a moment looked quite intimidating; she was tall with grey
eyes, brown hair and high cheekbones. The man - her husband, Harry decided - winked. The
woman's face softened entirely as she smiled.

"Hey, kid, come have a look at these," Padfoot called. He was standing by a broom display,
pointing at a barrel of golden balls.

"Are they Snitches?" Harry asked, reaching for one.

Padfoot caught his hand. "Don't touch one unless you're buying it," he warned. "They've got
flesh-memories and the last thing anyone wants is a Snitch that doesn't recognise them."
Harry put his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't be tempted to touch. Padfoot laughed at
him. "You're definitely your Mum's."

"What do you mean?"

"James would have begged to buy one by now."

"I thought you said Dad played Chaser?"

"He did, but he played Seeker too; he was a Seeker to start with though because there were
no Chaser positions available when we were second years. From third year until sixth he
played Chaser and then in seventh he went back to Seeker."

"Why?"

"Davey Gudgeon was the year above us - played Beater until his third year and then there
was an incident with the Whomping Willow and his hand-eye coordination wasn't good
enough for Beating so he took up Seeking instead."

"Incident with the Willow?" Harry repeated.

"It's a tree at Hogwarts. There was a game trending through our second year to see who could
get closest... we Gryffindors always excelled, of course, but Gudgeon nearly lost an eye. It
stopped after that..."

"Lost an eye?!"

"The tree hit him," Padfoot said, shrugging. "Very messy."

"Isn't Seeking harder than Beating? I mean, the Snitch is smaller."

"Yes, but the Snitch isn't trying to hit you. If you miss a Bludger though and it flies into
you..." Harry winced; earlier, he'd seen one of the figurines hit by a black ball the size of a
ball-bearing. The figurine had lost an arm (though Padfoot had assured him that was an
exaggerated effect and the worst that really happened was a fracture). "Anyway, Prongs
played Seeker when he left because no one else could - the only one interested was a first
year and everyone knows firsties can't play."

They drifted over to look at broomsticks - Padfoot was curious about how they'd improved in
the last seven years. The woman who'd tripped over earlier was there with her husband; "I
still think we should get her the owl," she said, inspecting a sleek broomstick.

"Dromeda, I'm telling you, she'll want the broom, not a bird. Besides, she's already got that
ruddy cat-"

"Yes, Ted, but what's a broom going to help her with?" the woman said, dodging another
display. "Owls are practical-"

"Dromeda, she studies hard. She'll have to if she's ever going to be accepted by the
D.M.L.E.." The woman nodded. "We should get her something fun."

"This is why you're the favourite," the woman said accusingly.

"Of course," the man said. "It wasn't my idea to name her Nymphadora..." Padfoot's head
snapped up and his face drained of all colour. The woman shoved her husband, laughing.
"Excuse me?" A shop assistant appeared. "We'd like to order a Comet two-sixty."

"Excellent choice," the man said, grinning. "We're out of stock for the moment, unfortunately,
but we'll be getting some in on the sixteenth-"
"That's fine," the woman said smiling. "As long as it's ready to put on my daughter's bed by
the twenty-fourth-"

Harry didn't hear the rest; Padfoot grabbed him and dragged him behind a shelf stacked with
broom compasses. "You know them?" Harry guessed.

"The woman's my cousin," Padfoot said. Harry took another skeptical look. He didn't think
she looked like Padfoot at all except for maybe the eyes, but then, he didn't resemble Dudley.
They waited until her back was turned and then slipped out of the shop door and blended in
with the holiday crowd.
 Victims of war

It was always cold and windy in Azkaban, Draco thought grumpily, as he tried in vain to
smooth his hair down. He, Mother and Hydrus stepped away from the rusted key that was
their Portkey and headed up the narrow stone path that wound up the side of the cliff face.

At the top of that there was a big, grey archway that marked the edge of the prison - Draco
had been daunted by it the first time he came but it no longer scared him at all - and then the
path split into three.

The left headed off to the rows of cells, where Draco hadn't ever been before; Mother never
let him go and Hydrus didn't want to, the right path went to the guardroom where Mother said
they kept the prisoners' things - Draco hadn't been there either - and the middle path went to a
big, grey stone building.

At either side of the entrance were Dementors. They were the only thing in Azkaban that
wasn't grey, and they wore big black robes with a hood and made Draco feel awfully cold no
matter how many layers he wore.

The inside of the building was grey too but it wasn't windy and the Dementors weren't
allowed inside. Draco liked it much better. There was a big rusty gate that led to the rest of
the building but Draco knew from previous visits that the guards had to let them in.

Mother rang a little bell that hung from a lamp fitting and then they waited - Hydrus
shivering and tightening his travelling cloak compulsively, Mother looking at her nails and
then her hair and Draco trying to copy Mother by looking at his own nails - until footsteps
approached and a tall, blond guard appeared on the other side. His robes were black like a
Dementor's.

"Hi there," he said.

Mother gave a twitch of her lips that wasn't a quite a frown but was close. "I was expecting
Ernest."

"He wasn't feeling well," the guard replied. "Went home about an hour ago. Who're you here
for?"

"My sister. Madam Lestrange," Mother said.

"Let me grab my cloak and I'll be right out," he said.

"Right out?" Mother asked.

"To take you to her cell," the guard replied, looking puzzled.

Mother's expression soured slightly. "Did Ernest not tell you about the visiting procedure?"

"Visiting procedure?"
"Ernest allows Bellatrix and I to meet in one of the interview rooms."

The guard frowned. "That's not prison policy, Mrs-"

"Malfoy," Mother said, arching an eyebrow.

The guard paled slightly but said, "Mrs Malfoy, we don't allow prisoners to leave their cells.
You're more than welcome to visit your sister but-"

"And what of my sons?" Mother asked. The guard frowned at Draco and Hydrus, as if he'd
forgotten they were there. Draco frowned back. "Are you suggesting I allow them to be
exposed to the other prisoners? To the Dementors?"

The guard let out a noisy breath. "Bloody hell," he said.

"Watch your mouth around my children," Mother said coolly.

"Sorry. Look, since you've got your kids, I'll make the exception, but just this once, and just
'cause it's Easter."

Mother smiled politely and he let them through the gate and further into the building. He said
something to one of the guards - several of them were sitting around a large table playing
Exploding Snap while Mother looked on in disgust - and then turned back to them and said,
"Jordan and Carrow'll bring her in."

"Alecto," Mother said, looking surprised as one of the guards - a woman Draco noticed, and
an ugly one at that - stood.

"Mrs Malfoy," the woman replied, bobbing her head. She followed the other guard, a dark-
skinned man out through the gate.

"Follow me," their guard said. "Room Four's free."

"Thank you," Mother said. "Keep up," she called to Hydrus and Draco.

"I don't even want to see Aunt Bella," Hydrus muttered.

Draco glanced ahead to make sure Mother wasn't listening and said, "Neither." Aunt Bella, to
put it simply, was mad, and rather scary.

The guard unlocked a door with a tap of his wand and let them inside. Mother settled herself
on the only chair in the room and began to look at her nails again. "Where are we supposed to
sit?" Hydrus asked the guard.

The guard looked at them stupidly and then muttered something about going chairs. He left
the room. "Not very bright, is he?" Draco asked. Hydrus sniggered. "I mean, what's the point
of being a wizard if you never use your wand?"

"A Mudblood for sure," Mother said dismissively. They waited in silence and then the door
opened and the woman Mother had greeted before walked in, followed by Aunt Bella. Aunt
Bella was a tall woman with tangled black hair, hooded eyes and a heavy jaw.

The left sleeve of her prisoner's robes was torn - as always - so that she could show off her
Dark Mark. When the guards showed signs of staying, Mother folded her arms, wearing an
expression that unnerved even Father.

"Are we not entitled to our privacy?" she asked, arching an eyebrow in a way Draco could
not yet manage.

The male guard frowned at her. "It's not safe-"

"This is my sister," Mother said, incredulously. The guards shifted uncomfortably. "I have my
wand," she said with a pointed look in their direction. They shuffled out and Mother cast a
Silencing Charm on the room as soon as the door clicked shut, and then she tucked her wand
into her pocket and hugged Aunt Bella.

Hydrus went next and then Draco - who noticed she smelled like rocks and sweat and dead
things - and then they sat.

"You look more and more like your father each time I see you," Aunt Bella said, staring at the
space between Hydrus and Draco. They exchanged an uncertain look.

"Thank you, Aunt Bella," Hydrus said finally.

"A good looking man," Aunt Bella said, crossing the room to look more closely at Hydrus,
"your father is. He's not much use for anything else, unfortunately, but Cissy's always gone
for looks rather than practicality."

"Enough," Mother said in a sharp tone.

Aunt Bella pinched Hydrus' face between her thumb and a bony finger and twisted his head
to better see it. "You've got your Mummy's eyes," she said, staring at him. "And her nose. I
never could manage to turn mine up the way she can."

"Bella," Mother said warningly.

"Relax, Cissy," Aunt Bella said, releasing Hydrus as she tottered over to Draco. He sat very,
very still. "I'm just getting reacquainted with my nephews' faces. Dementors are bad for the
memory, you know." She gave a mad little laugh and seized Draco's face, her unkempt
fingernails digging into his cheeks. He resolved to have a bath the moment he arrived home.

"You look like Daddy too," she said. Draco gave her a weak smile, not sure what to say.
"With Mummy's smile!" Aunt Bella exclaimed. "I suppose yours is just as rare..." She made a
tsking noise and her dark eyes met Draco's grey ones. "You know, those could almost be
Black eyes."

"Black eyes?" Draco dared ask as Aunt Bella let him go.

"My eyes." Aunt Bella's eyes were a dull, dead grey. Draco shivered and fervently hoped not.
"Regulus' eyes, but you probably don't remember him. I don't suppose you've ever met Andy
or Sirius?" Both Draco and Hydrus shook their heads. "They've got some self respect at
least," Aunt Bella commented.

"Of course."

"How is Andy? Still married?"

"I wouldn't know," Mother replied.

"You went to her wedding, didn't you?"

Mother's cheeks turned a pale pink. "That was years ago, Bella."

"But you still went."

"I had to see if she was happy," Mother answered, staring at her hands.

"If marrying a Mudblood is the cost of happiness, I'd rather be miserable," Aunt Bella said
primly. "I suppose it doesn't really matter if Andy's happy or not anymore." Mother didn't say
anything. "And Sirius?" Aunt Bella continued. "Has he been caught?"

"No, but he's bound to slip up, and when he does, Lucius-"

"Bound to slip up?" Aunt Bella cackled. "Our tricky little cousin?"

"Well, yes, he's mad-"

"Mad?" Aunt Bella asked. "Oh, no, he's not mad. I had the cell two away from his for three
years, remember? Everyone else would scream all through the night, but no sound ever came
from his cell, except for a whispered name in his sleep but there was nothing mad about it, I
assure you. They had to move him to a different cell," she said, her lip curling, "one with
more Dementor exposure and even then..."

"They say he served the Dark Lord," Mother murmured.

Aunt Bella snorted. "Him?" she asked derisively. "No, Cissy. I don't know what happened
with the Potters, but it wasn't our dear cousin that did it." Mother stared at her hands, which
were clasped neatly in her lap. Aunt Bella remained on her feet. "Has there been news?" she
asked after a slight pause. Her voice was breathless, excited.

"Nothing," Mother said.

Aunt Bella's face fell slightly. "He's alive, Cissy. I know He is."

"You've said so before," Mother said gently.

"Yet you still don't believe me! Why don't you believe me, Cissy-" Aunt Bella asked
plaintively.

"There's no proof," Mother said curtly.

"Have you looked?"

"For what, Bella?" Mother asked.

"Anything."

"There is nothing," Mother said. "Not even rumours to suggest He even exists. If there were,
Lucius would stop at nothing-"

"Lucius," Aunt Bella sneered and then opened her mouth again but Mother was quicker.

"Don't you dare insult my husband!" Mother snapped. Draco almost smiled; whenever Father
said something rude about Aunt Bella, Mother defended her just as vehemently.

"And why not?" Aunt Bella demanded. "What has he done, Cissy, for our Master?"

"Your Master," Mother said quietly.

"Excuse me?!"

"I said He's your Master, Bella, not mine," Mother said loudly. "I never took the Mark."

"But-but you want him back, don't you?" Aunt Bella asked. Suddenly, she looked like the
younger sister, even though Draco knew she was a year older than Mother.

"Of course I do," Mother said, getting to her feet suddenly. She began to pace. Draco and
Hydrus exchanged a look, having never seen her so agitated. "But think, Bella! The name
Malfoy has always garnered respect from the Wizarding community but it's at an all time
high. Lucius has power over the fools at the Ministry and is perfectly placed should anyone
hear anything about the Dark Lord's location. If he were to be caught serving the Dark Lord -
who may or may not even be alive - he would lose everything."

"The Dark Lord rewards those who are dedicated-"

"At the moment, there is no Dark Lord!" Mother cried, stopping in front of Aunt Bella. "And
until there is, until we can be certain, I will not throw everything we've worked so hard, and
lied so hard to get!" Aunt Bella looked like she'd been slapped. She sat down in the empty
seat and Mother sat down in hers. "How is Rodolphus?" Mother asked after a tense pause.

"Still in the cell next to mine," Aunt Bella said dismissively.

"And Rabastan?"

She gave a careless shrug. "Couldn't say."

"And how have you been?" Mother asked. Aunt Bella shrugged again. "Here," Mother said,
passing Aunt Bella her wand.

Aunt Bella took it, a peaceful expression settling on her face. She gave it a wave and
conjured a set of colourful, glowing lights.
"I've missed my magic," she whispered, reaching out with one claw-like hand to touch one of
the lights. She waved Mother's wand again and they vanished. She seemed to struggle for a
moment and then reluctantly passed the wand back. "Thank you." Mother inclined her head
as she pocketed it. Aunt Bella sighed noisily and said, "And thank you for this too, Cissy."

Mother gazed around the interview room and inclined her head again. "I still hate the thought
of you trapped in here, Bella, you know that. Anything I can do to make it easier-"

"It's not supposed to be easy," Aunt Bella replied. "It's a sacrifice, Cissy, and He will know
what I have given for Him, that I am His most loyal, most faithful-"

Mother got to her feet and went to hold Aunt Bella's hands. "I know He will," she said softly.
"I just hope it's worth the price."

Harry held out a piece of bacon. The owl - he and Padfoot had named her Hedwig - accepted
it with a hoot and let him detach the Prophet from her leg. Harry unrolled the paper and
scanned the front page, stroking the owl with his other hand; she was still quite downy but
her head was now more white than grey.

His eyes widened and Hedwig hooted indignantly when the petting stopped. "Apparently I'm
dead," Harry told the stirring, sleeping-bag-encased lump that was Padfoot.

"Oh?" Padfoot said sleepily, trying to flatten his tousled hair.

"They're holding a memorial service at Diagon Alley for me tomorrow morning."

"What's the date today?"

"Sixteenth," Harry said, checking the paper by-line.

"Exactly two months," Padfoot mused. "Does this mean they've stopped looking?"

"No, Lucius Malfoy's still recruiting on page three. He's paying for any information and
offering a thousand galleons to anyone who finds us."

"Bastard. Now we'll have all the lowlifes looking too."

Harry sighed and turned the page. "Oh, wait, I can't be dead; it says here we were at last
night's Cannons game."

"Ooh! Who won?"

"Not the Cannons," Harry said, apologetically.

"Damn," Padfoot said, looking unsurprised. He yawned again and stumbled over to join
Harry at the table. "What's for breakfast?"

"I made bacon and eggs," Harry said.

"I could go for eggs," Padfoot admitted, glancing at Harry's half-full plate.

Harry shielded his breakfast with an arm and used the other one to point at the stove. "Get
your own." Hedwig stole a lump of bacon off his plate, clicked her beak and flew across the
room to perch on the mantel.

Padfoot chuckled. "Do you want tea or juice or anything?"

"Juice sounds good," Harry said hopefully. Padfoot flicked his wand and a bottle of juice
came soaring out of the pantry to land in front of Harry. Glasses from the cupboard followed
half a second later. "Thanks," Harry said, pouring himself a glass. "Do you want one too?"

"Yes, thanks," Padfoot said, his voice muffled; he'd retrieved a fork and was eating straight
from the fry-pan.

Harry sipped his juice and flipped the page. "The Minister's retiring early," Harry said.
Padfoot came to read over his shoulder.

"End of the month," Padfoot murmured. "Bet the Ministry loves that; they've only got a week
and a bit to choose a successor." He made a face. "The Prophet needs to get their priorities
straight. The Minister's retiring and yet the front page is dedicated to us. Poor Bagnold's been
shunted to page seven and doesn't have as much as a photograph to thank her for nine years
of hard work."

"Was she a good Minister?"

"About as good as they come. Cornelius Fudge is going to be a joke."

"Who?"

"That's who the papers say'll be next," Padfoot said, grimacing as he tapped the article. "Him
or Dumbledore and Dumbledore won't take the position."

"Do you know Fudge?"

"I did. He was with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes when James and I
were going through the Auror Training Program. Nice enough bloke but he's... I dunno...
just... I wouldn't have picked it."

"Who do you reckon it should be, then?" Harry asked, scraping the last few scraps of egg
onto his fork.

Padfoot thought for a moment. "All I know of the current Ministry is what's been in the
papers these last three weeks," he warned. "But I'd have to say either Kingsley Shacklebolt -
he's an Auror and an old Order member - or Amelia Bones... They'd never be picked though."

"Why not?"

"Too young. Kingsley went through a few years before I did. He graduated at the end of my
third- wait, no, he was with Gid and Fab... end of my fourth year," he amended. "He spent a
few years travelling and then came back. We did the Auror Training Program together.
Amelia was the year below us... she went through with Marlene, Frank and Alice."

"More Order members?" Harry guessed. Padfoot nodded. Harry opened his mouth to ask
about them but from the grim set of Padfoot's mouth knew it could be nothing good. He
sipped at his juice instead.

The two headed upstairs (after Harry coaxed Kreacher into doing the dishes) into what had
been the dining room. Padfoot had shrunk the table and chairs and put them in the dresser for
safe-keeping, effectively clearing the floor space. He'd also added Cushioning Charms to the
walls, windows, floor and ceiling to absorb any stray spells that they might need to cast.

In one corner was a cauldron and a bookcase, loaded with potions ingredients and various
books on spells and brewing. Harry hoped it would be wand work today; in the week or so
he'd had his wand, Padfoot had been teaching him less history and less potions and had been
trying to teach him basic charms and the theories behind them. He thought, a little dejectedly,
that he was probably overdue for one of the less interesting lessons.

Padfoot, however, said, "Can you light up your wand for me?"

Harry drew his wand; this was one of the first spells Padfoot had taught him and he was fairly
confident about using it. "Lumos," he said. A bulb of light flashed out, illuminating the room
in blinding white. Harry flinched. "Nox!" The light vanished and the lamps on the walls
extinguished.

Padfoot re-lit the lamps with a wave of his own wand. "Not bad," he said. "Try for a bit more
control though. Less light, and hold it."

Harry nodded. "Lumos," he said again.

"Dim it down," Padfoot yelped, covering his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry!" The wand tip dimmed slowly until it was emitting a faint white glow.

"Better," Padfoot said approvingly. "Now, try to put it out without doing the lamps."

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Nox," he said. The light disappeared.

"Excellent," Padfoot said. "Could you feel the difference?"

"Er... no," Harry said. "But I could see it."

Padfoot chuckled. "Fair enough. There's another charm - Reparo-"

"The fixing one?" Padfoot had done that so many times since they moved in that Harry was
fairly sure he could mimic the incantation and wand movement perfectly.

"Have you tried it?" Harry shook his head. "Go on then."

"There's nothing to fix in here."

"Rubbish," Padfoot said, glancing around quickly. "Diffindo," The curtains severed and fell in
a dusty heap. "Fix that," Padfoot said while Harry laughed.

"Reparo," Harry said tentatively. There was another puff of dust but nothing more.

"Say it like you mean it," Padfoot told him. "You don't ask magic to do things. You tell it to."

"Reparo," Harry said. The curtains fixed themselves back together but there was a large line -
like a scar - where the cut had been.

"Not bad," Padfoot said. He severed the curtains again and had Harry practice until he could
manage it consistently, though it still left a scar. "We'll go over the theory behind that later,"
Padfoot told him, unconcerned. He was quiet for a moment, apparently deciding what to
teach Harry next and then said, "Have you heard of Finite Incantatem?"

"Didn't you cast it on that coat-rack that tried to punch you...?"

Padfoot grimaced. "Basically, it'll undo or end a spell."

"Any spell?"

"No. Some are resistant by nature, some are resistant by design. It doesn't work very well on
injuries or on potion induced effects either but it's still damn useful... I think the best way to
teach you this one, is to teach you some basic jinxes at the same time."

Harry looked up, excited. "Jinxes?"

"I was thinking you could practice on Kreacher," Padfoot said. Harry laughed, a little tempted
– Kreacher had been rather foul lately - but shook his head. "I thought as much," he said
wryly. "I'm prepared to sacrifice my own short term well-being in order to give you a living
target."

"I don't want to jinx you!" Harry thought that would be a very poor way to repay Padfoot for
everything he'd done so far.

"I'm not going to be teaching you anything nasty; these are jinxes and very mild hexes."
Padfoot grinned mischievously. "When we move onto real hexes, we'll definitely be using
Kreacher."

They were there for the majority of the day. Harry tried a Tickling Hex, a Jelly-Legs Curse, a
Finger-Twitch Charm that made it very difficult for an opponent to hold their wand, a charm
that made opponents dance and one that locked the opponent's legs together. He had no luck
with the Tickling Hex or the Jelly-Legs Curse but he picked up on the various Binding spells
and on the Reversal Charm quickly.

"Good," Padfoot wheezed as Harry removed a charm that made opponents cough
uncontrollably. "Better than before." Padfoot conjured himself a glass of water and sat down
on the floor.
"Is that it?" Harry asked, flopping down next to him. He brushed his sweaty hair out of his
face and pushed his glasses up. He hadn't been moving around much at all, but his arm ached
from holding his wand up and he had the beginnings of a headache.

"One more," Padfoot said, standing.

Harry groaned and stood up. "Which one?"

"Your choice." Padfoot let his hands fall down by his sides and took a deep breath.
"Whenever you're ready," he said wincing slightly.

"Petrificus Totalus," Harry said. Padfoot stiffened and swayed. Harry felt a little smug that
he'd managed it first time. There was a muffled thump as Padfoot hit the Cushioning Charms
on the floor. "Finite Incantatem," he said.

Padfoot stretched and pushed himself into a sitting position. "Good," he said. "Stronger that
time."

"How can you tell?"

"It's tighter. Weaker body binds are elastic; they give a little if you push and some even break
if you can get your magic between you and the spell. That one had less give than the others,
less space for me to get my magic in."

"So you could have broken that?"

Padfoot hesitated. "Yes, I could have, and so could any Auror or Hit Wizard." Harry's face
fell. "We'll work on it though," Padfoot promised. "Give it a few more weeks and we'll have
it strong enough that not even Dumbledore himself could break free of it." Harry gave him a
doubtful look.

"Wandless magic'll still break it, but wandless magic'll break almost anything," Padfoot said.
"Body-Binds are simple. Simple in principle and simple in execution. They aren't hard to get
right."

"Wow, thanks," Harry said with a grimace.

Padfoot smiled and ruffled his hair. "You're already better at jinxes than I was at eight. Andy
didn't teach me until I was ten." He smiled a little sadly. "When you get to Hogwarts, you'll
be advanced for your age, I have no doubts of that. Until then, though, you're a kid in a world
of adults, and no matter how good you get, they've got more experience, more control and
more power than you're going to have for the next few years.

"I don't want you hurt because you're overconfident. Better that you're wary and surprise
them with a well-placed jinx than you going in, wand blazing, thinking you can beat them all.
I've been there, done that and trust me, it'll only work once." Padfoot stood and winced,
rubbing his back. "Can you be bothered cleaning tonight?"

"I suppose," Harry said shrugging as he tucked his wand into his pocket. "Which one?"
Since they'd moved in, Harry and Padfoot had fixed and cleaned two bathrooms, the kitchen,
the library, one of the bedrooms on the third floor - despite this, both were still sleeping in the
kitchen - and the training room. "Reg's room, I think," Padfoot said. "We can get you settled
in properly."

Harry beamed, excited at the prospect of having his own room. It wasn't that he particularly
minded camping in the kitchen with Padfoot but he'd never had a bedroom before. His
excitement petered out a moment later; he'd only been in Regulus's room two or three times
but he knew it was very large and very, very dusty and was probably going to take a
considerable amount of time to clean.

Padfoot glanced out the window at the sky; it was a pale purple and getting darker by the
minute. "Kreacher." CRACK! "We're going to head upstairs in a moment. Could you have
dinner ready for us in about an hour-" Padfoot glanced at Harry. "-please?"

Kreacher's bloodshot eyes flicked between the two of them and he appeared to choke on an
insult - Padfoot had forbidden him from saying anything rude, though he still managed on
occasion - and then he vanished with another CRACK!

Padfoot turned to Harry. "I'll race you upstairs," he said, grinning.

"What? Now?" Harry asked as the shaggy, black dog dashed out of the room. "Cheater!"
Harry called after him. "Kreacher!" CRACK! "Can you Apparate me upstairs? To Regulus'
room." Harry asked. "Please?" Kreacher gave him a peevish look but held out his bony arm
without complaint. "Thanks," Harry said, grasping it.

The room distorted. He was being tugged, stretched, condensed and twisted all at once and
then Regulus' dark room materialised around them.

"Thanks, Kreacher," Harry gasped. The elf cast a fearful look around the room and vanished
without another word.

"I beat you!" he heard Padfoot shouting from out on the landing.

"Beat me?" Harry asked, pulling open the door. Padfoot whipped out his wand, swearing all
the while and then slumped when he saw Harry standing there, staring at him in awe. Even
Uncle Vernon hadn't had such a comprehensive vocabulary.

Padfoot scowled. "You're not to use any of those words or I'll Scourgify your tongue. And
how did you get up here? You were behind me!"

"Kreacher," Harry said, grinning.

"And you call me a cheater," Padfoot grumbled, walking into the room. He waved his wand
and the lamps on the walls lit.

Harry stared. The room was bigger in the light, and all the more ominous; the lights were
casting distorted shadows on the walls. The dark green curtains were moth-eaten but
effectively blocked all but a thin beam that shone onto a painted Black family crest.
Below that was the bed, perfectly made with a dull grey cover and matching pillows. Harry
stared around; the slightly open wardrobe revealed meticulously folded clothes and the desk
and bookcase were neatly organised.

"Very neat, Reg," Padfoot said, following his gaze.

"You're one to talk," Harry said, his voice almost a whisper.

Padfoot grinned. "I'm neat, but Reg is another thing altogether." He picked a frame off of the
bedside table and wiped it with his sleeve. "That's him there," he said, nodding at a thin boy
surrounded by his green-clad teammates. Harry thought he could have picked him; Regulus
had the same dark hair, grey eyes and proud look as his brother.

Next to that photo was another frame, silver again. It showed Padfoot and Regulus, both in
their Hogwarts robes with a man and a woman behind them. The four of them were standing
on the staircase, with the elf heads beside them.

After a moment Harry was able to recognise the woman as their mother, though quite a few
years younger than she was in the portrait downstairs. She had a proud but not overly pretty
face and with them standing next to each other, Harry could see a lot of her looks had gone to
her younger son. Padfoot - who looked about sixteen - looked a lot like his father; tall, well-
built and handsome.

Orion and Walburga Black took turns smiling proudly at Regulus' green and silver tie, and
scowling at Padfoot's red and gold one. Padfoot was scowling too, looking very much like
he'd rather be somewhere else, but even as Harry watched, Regulus gave him a little nudge
and a small smile.

The photograph-Padfoot smiled back as if he couldn't help himself and flung an arm over his
brother's shoulders. Both boys laughed and grinned at the camera while Mr and Mrs Black
watched disapprovingly.

"You were close, weren't you?" Harry asked, setting the photo down.

"He wasn't ever as much of a brother to me as Prongs and Moony were, but he was more than
Peter was, even before I knew Peter was a spy... so yes. We were very close growing up but
then I became a Gryffindor and he was a Slytherin and he started sitting with Bella and Cissy
instead of me at family functions."

"But you still got along?"

"Better than you'd think. It wasn't always easy - more often than not I wanted to hex his
Slytherin arse - but we managed. I stayed in contact with him after we left school which is
saying something, I suppose. Some of the Order didn't like that very much but James talked
them around." He sighed and gave the photo a sad smile. "You can do the newspaper
clippings, if you'd like. I'll tackle the desk."

Harry sat down on the edge of the bed and was instantly surrounded by a cloud of dust.
"Argh!" he choked, his eyes watering.
"Oops," Padfoot said. "Exsugo." He held his wand over the bed like Harry had seen Aunt
Petunia hold her hoover over the kitchen floor. What was left behind was faded green
bedding and pale silver pillows. "Better?"

Harry sneezed again but nodded and Padfoot crossed the room to the desk and began to rifle
through. Harry turned his attention to the wall. "They're all about Voldemort."

"Yeah," Padfoot said, scowling as he torched scraps of parchment with his wand. "That's not
all of them either - I ripped them all down when I was fourteen and tore them into tiny little
pieces."

Harry scanned the walls and shivered. Man Disappears, Family Found Dead, Mysterious
Wizard Gathering Followers were common titles. Others were more specific.

"Anything interesting?" Padfoot was leafing through a huge book titled Nature's Nobility: A
Wizarding Genealogy.

Harry squinted at the faded clippings. "This one's about the deaths of a Mr and Mrs Smith.
One about Helen Meadowes and Alexander McKinnon and two about Dorcas Meadowes -
one about a messed up assassination and one about her death-" Harry checked the dates, "-
about a month later."

"Dorcas," Padfoot said softly.

"You knew her?"

"Of course. She was in the original Order with me and your mum and dad. Voldemort tried to
kill her but someone tipped Dumbledore off and he moved her in time. She died a month
later. Voldemort killed her personally."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. Padfoot shrugged. "Her sister disappeared at the same time. Helen, is
that right?"

"It must be. She wasn't a part of the Order so I never met her. She died too?"

"Vanished, it says here."

"Just like Dearborn," Padfoot murmured.

"They found her partner's body. It says here his name was Alexander McKinnon."

Padfoot sighed heavily. "I remember Alex. I remember all of the McKinnons."

"All of them?"

"Alex had a brother – Simon – and a- a sister. Marlene. Curtis and Patricia were their parents.
Curtis was killed, then Alex and then the rest of them died just after your first birthday..." He
shook himself. "What else is there?" Harry read the next article and froze. "Harry?"

"Mum and Dad," Harry whispered.

 The Floo fiasco

"What?" Padfoot said, dropping Nature's Nobility which landed with a thud. "That's not
possible! Reg died first!"

"Not that. Something about an attack on their home," Harry said.

"On Potter Manor?"

Harry nodded. "A few days after Curtis McKinnon's body was found, according to this."

"That's right," Padfoot whispered. "Merlin, we were so lucky."

"What happened?"

"Reg came over. We fought about something, I don't remember what - it probably wasn't
important." Padfoot smiled guiltily. "I was in such a foul mood I spent the rest of the day
throwing furniture around my flat. Prongs and Moony were worried because I hadn't been
answering their firecalls.

"I shouted at both of them when they showed up, so Moony set about making tea and James
left and came back a moment later with you - you were only a few weeks old - and Lily." He
smiled. "You could always cheer me up... all of us, actually. You and the Longbottom boy
were always brought to Order meetings, partially because no one trusted babysitters and
partially because you were both so happy all the time... you reminded us what we were
fighting for.

"Anyway, your mum and dad were just about to leave – Peter was supposed to be visiting -
when Dumbledore showed up on the verge of tears and said there'd been an attack on the
Manor and they were missing. Lily comforted him - poor bloke just about died when he saw
them sitting in my living room - and James alternated between making jokes about the whole
thing and discussing which hexes to use on the bastards when he next saw them."

"So what happened?"

"You stayed at my flat with Remus while James, Lils, Dumbledore and I went back to the
Manor and packed up your things. Dumbledore moved you into one of the spare teacher's
rooms at Hogwarts and you lived there until you moved to Godric's Hollow."

Harry nodded. And we lived there until Halloween, he finished in his head. "It's strange."

"What is?"

"To hear about all of this. Even though I was there, I was too little to remember anything-"

Padfoot picked up the copy of Nature's Nobility and waved it at him. "Of course you were;
you were only this big." Harry stared at the scrap of paper which had just fallen out of the
book. "Are there any other articles?"
"Not about them," Harry answered. "What does that paper say?"

Padfoot frowned and retrieved it. "Another newspaper clipping. 'Double Arrest: Father and
Son attack Ministry Official'," he read, his face scrunching up and then frowned and lobbed
the book into the rubbish bag, but he kept the clipping and stared at it for a few more
moments. "My mother probably used it as a bookmark."

Padfoot offered it to him. Staring back at him was a rather scary looking man with a thin
face, thick, matted hair and dark eyes that looked in opposite directions. He bared his teeth -
or the ones that were left - at Harry and lunged for whoever was holding the camera. Two
wizards stepped forward to restrain him. In the background, clinging to a dilapidated house,
shouting and making rude hand gestures, was an older man who looked a bit like a monkey.
Harry had to hide a smile when he saw Regulus had circled the hand gesture.

Padfoot had retrieved Nature's Nobility and was flicking through it carelessly. He read a page
in silence and then snorted. He flicked to a page closer to the end of the book and passed it to
Harry. "Here. You might find that interesting."

The Potter Line, proclaimed golden letters at the top of the page. Harry sank onto the bed,
entranced and traced the red, silver and black coat of arms with shaking fingers. Around the
edges of that were golden words that formed a triangle.

"Padfoot?"

Padfoot was frowning at the clipping about the arrest. "Hmm?"

"What does 'Aut viam inveniam aut faciam' mean?"

"It's about the only Latin I know," Padfoot said with a wry smile. "'I'll either find a way or
make one' is the rough translation. It suited James perfectly, I assure you." Harry smiled and
re-read the words several times to commit them to memory and had a quick read of the Potter
family's history.

"Are we keeping it?" he asked when he was bored.

"The book? Nah, we've got about five in the house." Harry lobbed it into the rubbish bag and
went to join Padfoot by the desk. "Could you sort through these?" Padfoot asked.

"What do I do with them?"

"If they sound interesting, keep them. If not..." Padfoot jerked his thumb in the direction of
the rubbish bag. Padfoot, still holding that paper clipping, wandered over to sit on the bed
and look at the articles there.

Harry sat down amidst a pile of books. Past Ministers: the Infamous and the Inspiring went
into the rubbish bag, but the rest of the books were fairly interesting. Moste Potente
Potions looked complicated and rather dark - the pictures in particular made Harry cringe -
but there were some useful sounding potions in it.
Regulus, for whatever reason, had marked the page of one called 'Dementor's Draught' which
forced the drinker to relive their worst memories and also acted as a slow poison - the drinker
would live for up to a year with general lethargy, recurring nausea and frequent mood
changes unless treated. Some even died from it. The book offered no remedies, however.
Harry wrinkled his nose and set that one aside; they'd keep it, he decided, but he'd be happy if
he never needed to read it again.

There was also An Advanced Guide to Protective Wards which had no specific pages marked
but had obviously been read a number of times; the spine was creased and the edges of the
pages were soft and rounded with wear. There was a box-set of Applications of Defensive
Magic, but only the volume on dark creatures had been read; the others were all in pristine
condition.

"Harry?" Harry glanced up. "Is there a book there on wizarding artefacts over there with
you?" Harry shiftedTraces and Auras: See The Magic Around You and grabbed a book
thinner than the others in the pile, titledHistory's Most Magical Wizarding Artefacts.

"This one?"

"Yeah, I thought I saw that. Flick through. See if you can find me an ugly ring with a black
stone."

Harry opened the book and scanned the contents. "Er... there's Morgana's ring. It has healing
properties, or something."

"Nah, that's not it."

"That's the only ring," Harry said. "As far as stones go... there's the Philosopher's Stone and
the Resurrection Stone."

Padfoot shook his head. "The article says Marvolo Gaunt thought his name and his ring
would protect him. Are you sure there's no Peverell ring in there?"

"Pretty sure," Harry said apologetically. "You can check-"

Padfoot shook his head again. "How about Slytherin's ring?"

"Slytherin only had a locket," Harry said, opening to the locket's page.

Padfoot made a face and held up the clipping of the old Gaunt making hand gestures. "I
thought Reg had circled the ring," he said. Only then did Harry notice the man was in fact
wearing a ring, just as Padfoot had described; ugly with a black stone. "It seemed like
something he would do. More so than him circling the hand gesture anyway. Maybe we were
more similar than I ever thought-"

CRACK!

"Dinner!" Padfoot and Harry exclaimed happily as Kreacher appeared, holding two bowls of
soup.
"French onion?" Harry asked hopefully, setting the book aside.

Kreacher bobbed his head. "Kreacher knows the brat is partial to it."

"Thanks," Harry said, accepting a bowl and a spoon from the elf.

"I've told you not to call him brat," Padfoot growled. Kreacher froze. "Call him Harry or
Master."

"I don't mind," Harry said, trying to avert another round of pointless bickering. Padfoot rolled
his eyes. Harry glanced at Kreacher, but the elf didn't look back; he was staring at the book
next to Harry, the one with the picture of the locket, and wearing a horrified expression.
"Kreacher?"

Kreacher made on odd shrieking sound, shoved the second bowl at Padfoot and
Disapparated. Padfoot waved his wand at the spilt soup. "Mad elf," he grumbled. Harry was
inclined to agree.

Kreacher was elusive after that. Weeks passed and April became May and even then he rarely
spoke, even to insult them, and he spent the majority of his time skulking around in the
drawing room on the first floor, polishing the cabinets and mumbling to himself.

"He's cracked," Padfoot was prone to saying, every time either of them poked their head in to
check on him.

Kreacher would mutter, "The family mustn't know, oh no," and became increasingly hysteric
if either of them asked too many questions.

Padfoot's room– which hadn't been cleaned for almost thirteen years – was taking much
longer; they'd uncovered a nest of doxies there – Harry had been bitten and spent two days in
bed while Padfoot fussed over him – and a set of robes in the wardrobe – which had been a
prank present from James - were supposed to hug the wearer but had tried to strangle Padfoot
instead. He'd set them on fire in retribution.

Aside from that, however, things were going well. They'd finished cleaning Regulus' room
and replaced the old curtains, quilts and pillows with new ones - red mostly - and Padfoot had
repainted the walls - the same white as they had been - so no traces of the Black family crest
remained. Padfoot had even duplicated a Gryffindor banner from his old room - which they
were in the process of cleaning - and hung it above Harry's desk with the promise they'd
change it if he wasn't made a Gryffindor.

Harry's lessons were also going well. Padfoot had covered some history, going over
Dumbledore's fight with Grindelwald and also the war against Voldemort. Harry had also had
some success with potions; he'd made a cure for boils properly after three attempts, he'd made
a potion that induced babbling for an hour, a basic sleeping drought and a simple colour-
change potion that acted similarly to muggle hair-dye; Padfoot had sported bright blue hair
for days after Harry slipped it into his afternoon cup of tea.
Harry, who knew his godfather had a good sense of humour and had done much worse during
his school days, had expected a laugh and a half-hearted reprimand. Instead, Padfoot had
beamed and taken him out for ice cream as soon as the potion wore off.

Harry had also been getting better with the jinxes and minor hexes Padfoot had taught him.
His Body-Bind was quite strong and he had managed to perform a half-decent Tickling Hex;
Padfoot had immediately tried to teach him the more complex Tickling Charm, which Harry
was absolutely hopeless at.

Padfoot had also taught him a very simple Soap Spell - a more manageable spell than
the Scourgify Padfoot was always threatening to use if Harry swore - that was useful for
cleaning - since Kreacher wasn't cleaning at all - and a Polishing Charm so that he could help
around the house. The house itself was coming along, though slowly.

"So how do I do it again?" Harry asked.

"Hold on." Padfoot kicked his sleeping bag, though he hadn't been using it - since they'd
cleaned Regulus' room up, Padfoot had been sleeping as a dog at the end of Harry's bed -
away from the hearth. "All right, so, you take a handful of Floo Powder, throw it in the fire
and then say where it is you want to go. Keep your eyes closed and try not to fidget too
much."

"Okay," Harry said. He was a little nervous about travelling through fire, but he was also
eager to try it.

"It's easy," Padfoot said. "I learned when I was about four. Just be very clear about what
you're saying. I'll see you in the library."

Harry nodded again. Padfoot grinned and held the little pot out to him. Harry took a handful
and tossed it in the fire. The flames flared green. Padfoot nodded. Harry stepped into the
grate and immediately breathed in a mouthful of hot ash. "Lib-ra-ar-ry," he coughed. Padfoot
made a grab for him but Harry was already being pulled.

He was spinning and the fire was roaring around him, blinding green and hot, but it wasn't
burning him. He squirmed and knocked his knee against something hard, and then his
elbow. How long is this going to take? Harry wondered. Surely getting upstairs should only
take a few seconds.

Suddenly the green was gone and he was falling; he threw his arms out in front of him to stop
his fall and felt his left wrist crack. His glasses flew off his nose. Tears sprung into his eyes,
blurring his vision more than usual and he sat up, cradling his hand. He was still very dizzy
and his knee and elbow hurt but they were nothing compared to his throbbing wrist. His ears
were still ringing.

"Hey, kid! Are you all right?!"

"I hate the Floo network," Harry muttered, wiping his eyes. Then he froze. That wasn't
Padfoot's voice. And the library was carpeted, not hard wood. He wiped the last of the tears
away and looked around. He was in a dark, smoky room filled with people. The roaring
sound was still there, but now Harry realised that was people talking. Some part of him
recognised the Leaky Cauldron. "This- this isn't the library," he heard himself say. And then
what had happened sunk in. He hurriedly smoothed his fringe down to hide his scar and,
upon finding them, stuffed his glasses into his pocket.

"Do you think he's concussed?" Two pairs of hands pulled him to his feet.

"How am I supposed to know?" a girl asked. "Ron, go get Mum."

"You get Mum!" another boy's voice answered.

"Don't worry about it," Harry said quickly, unable to see them without his glasses on, but
unless he was going mad, he thought he could see a lot of red. "I'm fine."

"Then why are you holding your wrist?" the girl challenged.

"I'm fine," Harry said again. "I'm going to be late."

"Where are you going?" one of the boys asked.

"To meet my...er... dad."

"Where is he?"

"Florish and Blotts," Harry said. "He's... er... picking up my... er... school books. Mum sent
me to help him."

"Are you going to Hogwarts?" the girl asked wistfully.

"Er... yeah, start this year," Harry said.

"Us too!" two of the boys said in unison. Harry winced. "What House?"

"Dunno," Harry said. "I really have to go though. Thanks again."

"Bye," the girl and one of her brothers said.

"See you at school," the other two said.

Harry, still cradling his wrist, managed to find his way to the door and out into the little
courtyard that led to Diagon Alley. As soon as he established there was no one there he
jammed his glasses back on, pulled his wand out, checked his pockets for money - he had a
sickle and a few knuts - and evaluated his options.

He didn't know how to open Diagon Alley - both times they'd come, Padfoot had done it - or
he probably would have gone to ask Mr Ollivander for help, but asking someone else to open
it would draw attention to him. He could Floo back but he wasn't feeling overly confident
with that, and, as Secret Keeper, it probably wouldn't do for him to be shouting their home
address to the crowded bar. That left muggle London. He would have to walk; a sickle wasn't
going to get him very far at all amongst muggles.
Harry reluctantly put his wand away, pulled the hood of his jacket up so it covered his face
and ducked back into the bar. Three red-haired children were telling their plump mother
about a strange boy and the Floo. The girl looked up as he walked in but he carefully avoided
eye contact and she looked away again. Unfortunately, in his attempts to appear
inconspicuous, Harry collided with another redhead who was coming out of the bathroom.

"Oh, it's you," the boy said. He was short and chubby - maybe a few inches smaller than
Harry - with a long, freckly nose, blue eyes and bright red hair. He looked to be about Harry's
age. "Weren't you meeting your dad? And where'd you get glasses?"

"Er..." Harry cast a fearful glance over his shoulder.

The boy's eyes widened. "I know who you are!"

"Shh!" Harry hissed. He stuffed his wand in his pocket and dragged the boy into a corner.

"I thought you were dead!" the boy exclaimed.

"Shh!" Harry said again.

"Sorry," the boy whispered. He looked at Harry. "This is so weird!"

"I was never here," Harry said, desperate. "Please!"

"All right," the boy said. "Don't get your wand in a twist."

"Thanks," Harry said, relieved.

"No problem." The boy hesitated and then held out his hand. "I'm Ron. Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter," Harry said softly and let go of his wrist to shake it.

"Are you hurt?" Ron asked, glancing at his wrist.

"I'm fine," Harry said.

"I could ask- Mum's just over there if you want-"

"It's fine," Harry said again. "Really."

Ron glanced at his wrist again but didn't say anything more on the topic. "Why are you
here?" he asked instead. "Did you escape?"

"No," Harry said a little coolly. "I got lost in the Floo."

"My brother George did that once," Ron said with an easy grin. "Fred was doing his nut. I
thought he might marry the little old witch that brought him back, he was so happy."

"Who're-?" Harry asked, momentarily distracted from his own troubles.

"My brothers. They're over there." Harry had a surreptitious look over his shoulder at the
twin boys sitting at the table with their mother and sister. The sister kept glancing in their
direction, nervously, but every time Harry met her eyes, she turned around again. He was just
grateful she had the sense to stay quiet. Ron frowned suddenly. "Are you really going to
Hogwarts this year?" he asked. "Or did you just say it so we'd leave you alone?"

"I-" But Harry never got to answer. A woman at the bar turned around curiously and spied the
pair of them. She looked at him for a moment and then her eyes widened and she let out a
shriek and slopped her drink all over herself.

"It's Harry Potter!" she screamed.

Harry threw Ron an apologetic look and bolted. He made it out onto the street but what
seemed like half the pub had followed. "Wait, Potter!" one witch was shouting.

"He's mine!" screamed a wizard.

Harry had never been so scared in his life. He ran past a muggle couple and was almost hit by
a woman on a bicycle as he bolted across Charing Cross Road. He couldn't even get to his
wand because he was supporting his wrist.

"Potter!"

"Did someone- Harry?" a man in torn jeans asked as he ran past. Harry ignored him, but he
heard the man start to run too.

He ducked down a side street between a shabby inn and a Chinese restaurant and then around
another one, which took him to a high walled courtyard behind a bar. He glanced down two
alleys trying to guess which one would get him out of there and in the end headed left; his
followers had their wands out and were trying to stop him.

Harry felt fear twist his insides as he turned another corner, but there was something else
there too, besides fear. Something warm, something alien yet familiar all at the same
time. Magic, Harry realised. But how am I supposed to use it? Accidental magic had always
been just that; accidental.

"Potter, come here!" bellowed a woman.

Harry gathered the magic he could feel building and prepared to use it. "Stupefy!" one wizard
shouted.

He was forced to turn another corner and ran straight into a rubbish bin. It fell over with a
loud bang and Harry landed on his wrist again with a shout of pain. His magic vanished. He
heard footsteps and fumbled for his wand but couldn't get it before a pair of torn jeans walked
into his line of sight and a sandy-haired man knelt down beside him. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Harry lied. His good hand wrapped around his wand. The man made a noise that might
have been amusement and tapped Harry's left arm with his own wand. Bandages wound
around his wrist and tied themselves neatly. "Thanks," he muttered.
"He's got him!"

Harry let go of his wand and let the man help him to his feet. As soon as he was standing, the
man stepped between him and the crowd. Harry reached for his wand again.

"Who threw that Stunner?!" the man who'd helped him demanded.

"That's Harry Potter!"

"I know bloody well who it is!" the man shouted back at them, sounding annoyed. "And he's
been the victim of this whole Sirius Black mess, not the perpetrator, so I'll thank you not to
throw spells at an eight year-old!" Harry didn't wait to hear the rest. The man seemed
sufficiently distracted, and so did the others so he slipped down another side street and took
off running again. His wrist didn't hurt nearly as much as it had but he was still worried about
getting home.

He followed the alley to a busy street that Harry thought was Shaftesbury Avenue. He pulled
his hood up again and slipped into the crowd. Aunt Petunia had always told him to stay
where he was if he got lost but he was fairly sure that advice was only useful if the person
looking for him had a vague idea of where he was. Besides, if Padfoot couldn't find him,
neither could the other witches or wizards.

He walked a short distance from a young, dark-haired woman - close enough that anyone else
would mistake them for family, but far enough away that it wouldn't unnerve her - the way
he'd used to do when he was younger; he'd liked to pretend he wasn't related to the Dursleys,
if only for a few minutes.

He wasn't quite sure where he was going and he wasn't thick enough to start asking for
directions to Grimmauld Place, so he just walked, trying to put as much distance between
him and the Leaky Cauldron as possible.

He's alive, he's alive, he's alive, he's alive, Remus sang to himself, even as he shouted at the
people who'd attacked Harry. He knew that Harry was alive of course, because the
Department of Magical Records had not reported his death, but that had done little to allay
Remus' fears. He's alive, he's al-

"He's gone!" one witch screeched. "You let him get away!"

Remus turned and swore. "Harry!" he called, ducking down a sidestreet. Harry was nowhere
in sight. Remus ran a hand through his hair, agitated and sniffed the air. There was a faint
smell of fear, determination and something that was almost James, almost Lily and almost
Sirius but was none of them, lingering down a street to his right. He followed without
hesitation and came out on a busy muggle road.

The scent was harder to track here, with more people, but Remus reasoned he couldn't have
gone far yet and had to be around somewhere... Children... Remus thought, glancing around.
There was a blond boy standing with an old man that appeared to be his grandfather, a dark
haired boy trailing a little girl with pigtails - for a moment Remus thought it might be him but
the boy's hair was too flat - another boy was waiting by a bus-stop, but he was too chubby...
Remus thought with a pang, of Peter. Another boy bumped into him and stopped to say
something - an apology, he thought - before hurrying after a woman who Remus presumed
was his mot- Hold on.

The boy had his hood up - which drew attention to start with - and was holding his wrist at an
odd angle, as if it was sore. Remus was fairly sure the clothes were the ones Harry had been
wearing, and the woman he was walking near was not walking as if she had a child.

She wasn't glancing in his direction every few moments, or holding his hand, or even making
any indication that he was there at all. She didn't look angry, either, as if they'd had a fight
and so was ignoring him. The boy took a wary glance around and Remus saw glasses
flashing beneath the hood.

Found him. Remus hurried after, unwilling to scare Harry into running, but he wasn't
prepared to lose him either, and Sirius could show up at any moment. Until Sirius did show
up, though, Harry wasn't in any immediate danger and he was likely to lead Remus all the
way to where they'd been living.

Harry's 'mother' vanished into a bakery so Harry picked another parent figure - a short,
balding man, this time - and followed him instead. This man walked almost all the way down
the street and then wandered into a telephone box. Harry pressed on. He wasn't sure how long
he'd been walking but he found himself on Charing Cross Road again, and he was fairly sure
he knew his way from there to Kings Cross Station.

He joined the end of a line of school kids who'd just got off a bus. The teacher was talking to
one interested boy at the front but everyone else was talking amongst themselves and no one
seemed to notice Harry. He threw his hood off - their jumpers were a bright blue and his
jacket was green but it was close enough.

He followed them until they stopped at Bedford Square and then continued past. "Hey, kid!"
he heard. Harry ignored it and kept walking. "Potter!" His head twitched in the direction of
the voice before he winced, realising he should have just ignored it. A large man appeared
next to him and grabbed his upper arm with a hairy hand. Harry tried to prise the fingers off.
"None of that, now," he said. "You're gonna buy me a new house."

"I've only got a sickle," Harry protested, struggling.

The man snorted. "Malfoy's got a bit more'n a sickle for anyone that brings 'im you."

"Let me go," Harry said.

"Nuh uh."

"Let go!" he yelled.

"Is everything all right?" a woman with a large handbag asked, giving them a strange look.

"I warned you we'd go home if you weas naughty so don't pretend to be surprised." Harry
tried to twist free but couldn't. "If y'don't stop fighting, I'll tell your mother!" the man
shouted. "And she's already gonna be plenty mad at you for gettin' hurt!" Harry blinked. The
woman seemed appeased and walked away. "Now, stop making such a scene," the man said
in a low voice. He pulled Harry down a dim sidestreet and started to reach for his wand.
Harry twisted free, and this time it worked. He didn't stop to ponder his good luck though,
and took off at a run. "You little berk!" the man bellowed. "Pedis Offensio!" Harry stumbled
and fell. His wrist twinged.

He was hauled roughly to his feet by his bad arm. His other arm, however, was free. He
grabbed his wand out of his back pocket and cast the first spell that came to mind, not caring
that is was a cleaning spell. "Saponum!" Large, glossy bubbles formed in the man's mouth
and stung his eyes. He cursed, using a word Harry'd never even heard Padfoot use and Harry
managed to get free again. He ran down another narrow alleyway, around a corner, and
skidded to a stop in front of a dead end wall.

Harry was reasonably good at not drawing attention to himself. Remus had almost lost him a
while back, at least until he spotted the green jacket in the midst of all the blue ones. The
school Harry had been walking with vanished into a large park and then a man appeared and
grabbed Harry's arm.

Remus tore his wand out of his pocket - Harry was struggling and looked frightened which
was a good enough incentive for him to blast this very large, very hairy man back to
wherever he'd come from- and then a woman was in the way. Remus lowered his wand. She
exchanged words with the pair and moved away, giving him an odd look as she passed.

The man dragged Harry into an alleyway. Remus' heart was in his throat. He broke into a run
but something - approaching from the other direction - beat him there.

It was a dog. An enormous bear-like dog with shaggy black fur. He froze, but it didn't seem to
have noticed him. Remus forced himself to move faster. He ran around the corner, almost
losing his footing - in... bubbles? - and continued down and around another corner-

There was a loud BANG, like a car backfiring and the alley exploded; Remus was thrown off
his feet, his wand landing several yards away. The man holding Harry was thrown into a wall.
The walls themselves were trembling and dust and chunks of grey brick rained down. Harry
himself was unharmed, but he was looking around warily, wand out.

And then Remus saw him striding calmly toward James and Lily's son. Sirius. The man who
had ruined everything. The man who had destroyed his entire world in a matter of hours. The
man who had destroyed itagain only a few weeks ago. He was thinner than Remus
remembered, but not as thin as he'd expected, or as dirty. He was cleanly shaven, his hair was
washed and he was dressed not dissimilarly to Remus in jeans and a shirt. His expression,
however, was murderous. Remus reached for his wand.
"Oh, thank Merlin," he heard Sirius say as he reached Harry. Harry was pulled into a tight
hug - one that he appeared to be returning - and then Sirius let him go.

"How-?" Harry asked, weakly.

Sirius said something in a low voice and the only word Remus caught was 'creature'. Sirius
knelt to check on the man he'd attacked. Remus almost had his wand - his fingers were
brushing the smooth wood of its handle - and neither Sirius or Harry knew he was there.
Sirius checked the hairy man's pulse, Summoned an old pizza box from a rubbish bin by the
wall, tapped it once and after a flare of blue light, the man vanished. A- a Portkey? Remus
wondered and then shook his head.

Sirius turned back to Harry and frowned. "What happened to your wrist?" Remus heard
Harry say something about the Floo and held his arm out for Sirius to look at. Remus lifted
his wand, and then Sirius said, "Moony."

His head snapped up just as Remus Disarmed him. Harry jumped and gave Remus a betrayed
look. "Moony," Sirius said again, urgently, moving in front of Harry as if Remus was the
threat. "Moony, please." The name sent daggers through him, a thousand times more painful
than any full moon. "You don't understand," Sirius said.

Remus opened his mouth to say the spell that would kill Sirius but what came out was, "How
did you know it was me?"

"You always do a funny little bow on your bandages," Sirius said, never breaking eye contact.
"Moony-"

"Don't call me that!" Still, Remus made no move to actually attack. His hand seemed frozen,
his wand trained on Sirius's heart.

"Remus, then. Please. I know what you think and you're wrong. It wasn't me. It never was. It
was Peter-"

"Don't talk about him!" Remus shouted. "You're a traitor-"

"Peter was the traitor!" Harry yelled. "He killed my parents!"

"Sirius killed your parents, Harry, not Peter. Peter's dead. Sirius killed him and he's going to
try to kill yo-"

Harry stepped out from behind Sirius and put himself between the two adults. "I've been
living with Padfoot for months," he said, holding Remus' eyes with his own eyes, eyes that
were so much like Lily's, "and I'm fine. He isn't trying to hurt me, he's-"

"Get out of the way, please, Harry," he said, trying to get a clear shot at Sirius.

"No," Harry said.

"Harry, move."
"No," Harry said again.

That's what did it; Harry, Harry who looked so much like James standing in front of Sirius,
to protect him, as if Sirius wasn't responsible for everything that had gone wrong in both
Harry and Remus' lives, as if he wasn't responsible for the deaths of Lily, James and Peter.
"Dormio," he murmured, and flicked his wand in Harry's direction. It was regrettable, but he
couldn't risk Harry getting in the way of something more sinister.

He saw that Sirius recognised the Sleeping Spell – of course he would recognise it; he and
James had used it to get Remus to sleep after full moons - and didn't act to move Harry out of
the way. It was for the best, and he seemed to realise that. I think he cares for him on some
level at least, Remus thought, and wasn't quite sure how to feel about that.

Harry's eyes widened - he looked utterly terrified, in fact - but he didn't move. He winced as
the spell was about to hit him- but the pale blue light fizzled out inches from his chest.
Remus' eyes widened. What's Sirius been teaching him?! Sirius, however, looked just as
shocked. Accidental magic, perhaps, Remus thought, glancing at Harry who now looked
determined. But why's he protectin- Sirius made a dive for his wand.

Remus shot a Stunner at him but it missed, deflected by some unseen force. Harry, Remus
thought tiredly. Sirius's hand closed around his wand. Remus shot another spell at him, a
Disarmer this time, but Sirius rolled out of the way. Remus slashed at the air, sending spell
after spell at his old friend but none made contact.

"Moony, please just listen," Sirius panted.

"Don't call me that!" Remus said, throwing another hex. Sirius sought cover behind an
overturned rubbish bin. "Coward," Remus spat. He was forced to block a spell from Harry - a
Body Bind - and then a more pressing Disarmer from Sirius. He sent Sirius into hiding
behind another rubbish bin with Binding spell, sent sparks in Harry direction as a distraction,
and then stepped around effectively backing Sirius into a corner. Finally.

"Moony," Sirius said, eyes wide as Remus sent his wand flying. "Please."

"Petrificus Totalus!" he heard from behind him. He blocked the spell easily but the
distraction was enough. A blur of black fur streaked between his legs, knocking him over.
Harry had retrieved Sirius' wand and held it out to him. Sirius transformed, his fingers
closing around his wand and Harry threw his arms around his waist. CRACK!

Remus sent a Stunner at the place where they vanished but he was too late. The red sparks
exploded on the alley wall. Remus spun, growling in frustration and came face to face with
two men. Aurors, if the round, golden badges they wore chained to their robes were any
indication.

"Where's Harry Potter?" one of them demanded. "The Trace said he was here."

"You've just missed him," Remus told them curtly. "Sirius Black took him. Again."
The pair exchanged glances. "We're going to have to ask you to come with us," said the one
with yellow eyes.

"What for?" Remus asked, tucking his wand into his pocket.

"We've spent the last hour following his Trace all over this side of London and yet somehow,
you're here, before us..." The one with blue eyes prodded Remus in the chest with his wand.
"How's that possible? Are you working with Black?"

"Excuse me?" Remus asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"What my colleague is try-" the yellow-eyed man began but he never finished; Remus
crossed the distance between them and punched him square in the face.
 Of mice and men

"Oi, Draco! Look!" Hydrus shouted as his broomstick went whooshing past.

"Yes, you're very fast," Draco said, rolling his eyes as he returned to his book.

"Faster than you!"

"Are not!" Draco said, indignant.

Hydrus swooped one of the peacocks which squawked and ran away, feathers ruffled. "Stupid
bird."

"Mother told you not to do that," Draco said, shifting against his tree.

"I'll race you," Hydrus said, ignoring that last comment.

"My Comet's upstairs."

"Then go get it, prat." Hydrus was hovering now, though he was still a fair way above Draco,
with one hand resting on a tree branch.

"Father said not to use that word." Hydrus ignored that too and waited for a proper response.
"I'm reading," Draco told him as he turned a page. "Do shut up and leave me alone."

"I want to race," Hydrus said, frowning.

"I told you; I'm reading," Draco repeated.

"You're just scared you're going to lose," Hydrus said.

"I am not! I just don't feel like it right now!"

"Baaawwwk!" Hydrus said. "Bawk, bawk, baaawwwk! Chicken!"

"You're the one flapping your arms," Draco pointed out.

Hydrus stopped at once. "Come and race me," he whined.

"No," Draco said, adopting an equally whiny tone.

"I'll tell Father!"

"You wouldn't disturb him." Draco turned another page.

Hydrus landed lightly beside him. "I'll do it," he said.

"Fine." He was bluffing and they both knew it. Father had sent them outside because he was
busy and they had specific instructions not to bother him.
"Come race," Hydrus said, stomping his foot.

"No." Draco had to duck as his brother kicked a chunk of grass at him. Leaves followed that,
and then Hydrus' left trainer. "I said no!" Draco shouted, on his feet now. He dodged the right
trainer, threw it back and then Hydrus threw his broomstick. Draco bolted then, before he
could find anything heavier, and sought shelter in the branches of a tree in the courtyard.
Hydrus appeared a moment later having reclaimed his broomstick, though not his shoes; his
socks were covered in mud.

I hope he forgets and trails mud all through the Manor, Draco thought darkly, staring down
at his brother. Hydrus poked his head through the double doors that led back inside and then
shrugged, climbed back on his broomstick and zoomed out of the courtyard and back to the
main part of the grounds. Thank Merlin, Draco thought, though he made no move to climb
down. Maybe I'll just stay here... He opened his book and skimmed through, trying to find his
page again - he'd had to close it fairly quickly. He'd just settled against the trunk when a loud,
brassy clang echoed out through the courtyard door. Brilliant, Draco thought darkly.

The upstairs hall window, which was only a foot or so above him flew open and hit the
outside wall with a bang that almost made Draco fall out of the tree. "Boys!" Mother called.
Draco sat very, very still. "Draco? I saw you come in. Where are you?"

Draco swallowed. "Here," he called.

Mother looked down at him, surprised. "What are you doing in a tree?"

"Reading," Draco said weakly, holding up his book.

Mother watched him for a moment and then smiled slightly. "Dobby's busy with me up here,"
she said. "Would you answer the door, please?"

"Yes, Mother," Draco said obediently, trying not to look annoyed. Stupid Dobby. He should
be able to leave Mother for a few minutes and do what he's supposed to. He scrambled down,
wandered inside through the double doors and then through more double doors into the foyer.

"Why couldn't they Floo, whoever it is?" Draco grumbled. He knew the answer though. One
did not Floo in to or out of the Manor without Father's leave; the fireplace was charmed to
reject anyone who didn't have the right password. Said password changed with Father's
whims, and bothered Mother incredibly; Draco had personally seen three occasions in the
past year where she'd said an outdated password and been spat out by the fireplace. Father
had slept in the guest rooms those nights.

The bell clanged again as he passed a portrait of his great grandfather Casius Malfoy. Draco
wrenched the door open. "Yes?" he said. Severus Snape was standing on the doorstep, ready
to tug the bell cord again. Draco's eyes widened at the sight of his godfather. "Sorry! I didn't
realise it was you, sir, or I wouldn't- Sorry!"

"One apology was sufficient," Severus said, sweeping past him into the foyer.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Draco babbled, closing the door.
"What are you reading?" Severus asked, waving a hand at Draco's book.

"Magical Theory," Draco said holding it up.

"Waffling's book?"

"Yes, sir."

"A good book," Severus said, nodding his approval. "Informative, but not overwhelmingly so
if memory serves."

"Yes, sir."

"Is Lucius home?"

"Yes, sir."

Severus gave him a look that might have been one of amusement. "Your vocabulary seems
rather limited today, Draco."

"Yes-er-I-" Draco felt his cheeks heat. "Sorry."

"No matter," Severus said, smiling ever so slightly. "Would you take me to see your father,
please?"

"Yes, sir." Severus was definitely smiling now. "I think he was in his study." Draco led him
up the hall, through the double doors on the right and up another hall. "Father?" Draco called,
knocking on the elegant wooden door.

"I thought I told you not to bother me, Draco," Father called back sharply.

Draco looked to Severus for help. "Might I have a word, Lucius?" Severus said.

The door opened. "Leave us, Draco," Father said. Severus nodded a goodbye and followed
Father into the office.

I'm the one that let Severus in, Draco thought, scowling. I should be allowed to hear. Smiling,
Draco stomped down the hall and then tiptoed back and pressed his ear to the door.

"...arrested." Severus was saying.

"And I suppose it expects me to pay its bail," Father said sounding amused. "Brandy?"

"No, thank you."

There was a clink as Father poured himself a glass and then he said, "I won't pay a knut. The
Lupin monstrosity can rot for all I care."

"He was released this morning," Severus said bitterly. "All the charges were dropped."

"Two weeks in office and Cornelius Fudge has already blundered."

"I have no love for Fudge but I wouldn't call Lupin's release a blunder, given the
circumstances."

"Circumstances?" Father asked. His tone made Draco shiver.

"It was Rufus Scrimgeour he punched. I daresay most people have had the desire to rearrange
his face - the man is utterly incorrigible - but Lupin had also managed to gain custody of the
Potter boy, according to witnesses."

"Had?"

"No doubt you've seen this morning's paper."

"I'm aware the boy was spotted in the Leaky Cauldron. He ran out-"

"-and was found by Lupin if Dumbledore is to be believed," Severus said.

"Indeed?" Lucius said so softly Draco hardly heard.

"The Ministry's trying to keep it quiet."

"Which means it'll be in the Prophet first thing tomorrow morning," Father said, his voice
dripping contempt. He sighed. "I assume Lupin lost the boy."

"He escaped and was re-claimed by Black."

"We wouldn't even need to rely on inconveniences like Lupin if the Ministry would just let
the Dementors look, but they can't, of course... not when they might attack the Potter boy
instead." His tone, which was angry when he was talking about the Dementors, dwindled into
a sigh when he was talking about Potter. "He's probably no safer with him anyway, and at
least a Dementor would be capable of subduing a nine-"

"Eight."

"Pardon?"

"The boy is eight. Like Draco." Draco froze at the sound of his own name. Father was quiet
for a long time, long enough that Draco began to worry that they had realised he was there.
He was just about to move when Father cursed.

"I'd hoped to have nothing to do with Lupin," he said. There was another clink. "That was the
point of giving him reign over muggle London."

"Clever of you," Severus said.

"I can't claim credit," Father said sourly. "He asked for the position." Severus said nothing.
"Still, he's determined to find the boy which suits my purposes and he's promised to bring the
boy here, should he be recovered."
"I'd have thought he'd take him to Dumbledore." Draco thought Severus sounded surprised
but he couldn't be sure.

"I won't have the boy in that old fool's custody," said Father, disgusted. "If Harry Potter is
what we think he is, having him near Dumbledore is just as bad as having him near Black..."
Mother had told Father what Aunt Bella said about Black not serving the Dark Lord and
Father had gone from disliking Black, to loathing him. "The Ministry are no better." He was
quiet for a bit and then, "Where was Lupin last you heard?"

"Going back to his cave or whatever it is he calls home," Severus said venomously. Draco'd
never heard his godfather talk that way and it scared him. "For all we know, last night's
events were staged and he's off to meet up with Black."

"Still going on about that, Severus?" Father asked.

"Lupin would forgive Black's treachery in a heartbeat if he thought it would let him get to
know Potter's son," Severus said scathingly.

"Pettigrew was the traitor." His tone became rather pointed. "Though with how things turned
out, I'd almost believe he betrayed us too."

"Perhaps," Severus said sounding annoyed. "But Black's was the betrayal that mattered in the
end. He must have been feeding information to the Dark Lord with myself and Pettigrew.
And, Black was the Secret Keeper. Potter was too proud to trust his life to a worthless little
worm like Pettigrew-"

"Worthless?!" a shrill voice said angrily. There was a loud thump, like a chair being knocked
over and a yelp of pain. Draco pressed his ear closer to the door.

"Put that away, Severus," Father said impatiently.

"You seem to have something of a vermin problem," Severus said stiffly.

"Now, now," Father said, amused. "Is that any way to speak about old friends? Why don't you
tell him what you've just told me?"

Draco jumped as a third voice spoke. "Sirius never betrayed anyone. I was the Secret
Keeper," a man's squeaky voice said.

"You?" Severus snarled.

"Severus, sit down," Father snapped. "You're not still sore about Potter's Mudblood, are you?"

"Of course not," Severus said coldly. "Merely surprised. It's not every day a dead man shows
up. If you qualify for a man." There was a cry of outrage, presumably from the third man.

"Severus," Lucius said warningly.

"My apologies, Pettigrew." Draco sensed the words were painful for his godfather to say.
The other man spoke up again. "You always were a slimy bast-Ow!"

"James Potter isn't around to protect you anymore," Severus said silkily. "And it would seem
that's your own fault." The third man mumbled something Draco didn't hear. "Clever of you,
really, to get Potter to swap."

"Peter doesn't deserve the credit," Father said, laughing. "It was Black who suggested it!"

"So Black's not completely innocent," Severus muttered.

"Yes, yes," Father said impatiently. "You can keep hating him. What interests me now is how
you're still alive, Peter. He was just getting to that when you arrived, Severus."

"I-it was easy, really," the man - Peter - squeaked.

"Obviously, if you managed to pull it off," Snape muttered.

"I shan't tell it if you're going to be rude," Peter said.

There was a pause. "Continue," Severus said curtly.

"I'd made arrangements with the Dark Lord-" Draco listened eagerly. "-that once Lily and
James were dead, he'd come to my house and k-kill Sirius when he came to check on me.
We'd planned to use Polyjuice Potion - the Dark Lord would take one of Sirius' hairs and go
to D-Dumbledore, distraught, and kill him. I'd deal with Remus, m-make it look like an
accident, like he'd scratched himself to death."

"Clever," Father said approvingly. Draco nodded importantly on the other side of the door;
Father was impressed so he should feel impressed too.

"I was w-waiting for him to return, though, when my arm went cold. You both know what I'm
talking about. I went straight to Godric's Hollow and found Lily and James dead, b-but Harry
was alive. I realised what had happened and was about to end the boy's life-"

"And why," Father asked in a voice that made Draco shiver, "would you have done that,
Peter?"

"Because the Dark Lord-"

"The Dark Lord was already destroyed," Father said, a little unhappily. Peter whimpered.
"Why would you destroy his successor?"

"W-what?"

There was a loud slapping noise, like a hand on a desk. "Harry Potter is the next pure-blood
champion," Father said. "He must be. He has some muggle blood from his rotten mother-"
Severus snarled, obviously for his hate of muggle blood. "-but there are spells that can be
done to fix that-"

"C-champion?" Peter squeaked.

"How else could he have defeated the Dark Lord at the age of one, if not for dark magic?"
Father asked. There was a swishing sound, like robes around ankles and Draco gathered
either Father or Severus was pacing; this Peter didn't sound like the pacing type.

"I d-don't-"

"And why else would Dumbledore have removed him from the wizarding community?"
Father said.

"I-I don't-"

"Fear, Peter, that's why. If the Potter child could defeat the greatest wizard of all time, what
chance does an old fool like Dumbledore have?"

"Dumbledore is considered one of the greatest-" Severus began.

"He can't hear you here, Severus, there's no need to defend him," Father said impatiently.
"Well, Peter?"

"N-none."

"That's right," Father said in a condescending tone. "And if Black's not Dark, which you -
here and alive - seem to indicate, then he's undoubtedly taken Potter to try to turn him 'good'.
Needless to say, the Potter boy must be rescued from Black before he does too much
damage."

"You're already serving him," Severus said, sounding stunned.

"The Dark Lord always rewarded loyalty handsomely," Father said. "Doubtless Potter will be
the same once he is old enough." There was silence from inside the office. "Continue with
your story, Peter," Father said at last.

"W-well, I was going to kill Harry - but that was very, very wrong," he added hastily, "-when
Sirius s-showed up. I could have taken him, but then Hagrid was there too-"

"Dumbledore's pet oaf," Father said.

"I-I transformed and fled." He was stuttering rather a lot, but Draco didn't think he was
scared; it sounded like excited stuttering. "I didn't know what to do. I knew Sirius would be
looking for me, but I could smell he'd already been to my house so I knew I'd be safe there, at
least for a little while. In the morning, Dumbledore showed up.

"W-we collected Remus and Dumbledore sat us down in his office and told us what had
happened. Sirius spent the next few days looking for me, not that he had much choice.
Without me he had no proof that there'd ever been a swap. N-not even Dumbledore knew. He
tracked me down eventually, which was always bound to happen, I s-suppose."

"I lured him to a crowded street, shouted that he'd betrayed Lily and J-James and then, while
he was reaching for his wand, I blew everything up. My wand too, unfortunately, but it made
it look authentic. I'd hoped it would kill Sirius b-but he got a Shield Charm up in time, the b-
bastard. I cut off my finger to make it look like Iwas the one who'd died, and then I
transformed in the confusion and hid in the sewers." He laughed breathlessly. "I watched as
they dragged him off to Azkaban."

"Yet this is the first time you've been seen for seven years," Severus said.

"Sirius was out of the way," Peter said, "but if I showed up in Diagon Alley people would
recognise me-"

"You think too highly of yourself," Severus said. "You are remarkably forgettable."

"I have an Order of Merlin-"

"For dying," Father said. "And you failed at that. I think Severus has made a good point. Why
now, Peter?"

"W-with Sirius out, it isn't safe for me anymore. No doubt he's told the boy what really
happened. N-no one's going to listen to Sirius, not now, but they might listen to H-Harry."

"You haven't answered the question. Why now?"

"The brother of the b-boy I live with met Harry yesterday. That's too close."

"You've been living with the Weasleys?" Father asked. Draco just knew he was sneering. "Of
all the places, Peter..."

"What choice did I have? I know they're blood-traitors but that's n-not new to me. If I'd
shown up here you'd have d-drowned me!"

Father chuckled. Severus didn't. "I do hope you realise Arthur Weasley will be wondering
why one of his sons is missing a pet. And if word reaches Black-"

"I'm not stupid!" Peter said shrilly. "I replaced myself. I even cut the t-toe off."

"So what is it you want from me?" Father asked.

"Protection," Peter said piteously. "N-"

"What is Master doing listening at doors?" Dobby asked, though he'd had the sense to
whisper.

Draco bit down on his tongue to stop from screaming. He grabbed Dobby by the wrist and
dragged him down the hall, past the bathroom to the large window that looked into the
courtyard. "I forbid you to ever tell anyone about that," Draco whispered fiercely. "This never
happened."

"Yes, young Master," the elf squeaked, looking frightened.

"Good," Draco said. "Now... go get me something to eat."

Severus didn't give himself time to think. He added everything he had learned in the past
hour to a cauldron in a room in the outer corridors of his mind, the way he might add other
potions ingredients. He left it there to simmer. It would remain there until he was ready to
deal with it. For the time being, he had a task.

Thank goodness it's a Saturday, he thought as he stepped out of his fireplace. He glanced at
the pile of unmarked work on his desk. They won't be marked tonight, unfortunately. He
sighed; he'd been hoping to get those done.

He scooped Medicinal Mixes off his bookshelf, Summoned his cauldron and potion kit and
established himself in the brewing room adjacent to his quarters. Skele-Gro he would be able
to get from Madam Pomfrey - one of the small travel bottles, I think - but the Nerve Tonic
and Essence of Gecko he would need to make himself.

Neither were tricky - he'd be able to have both done by morning - but they did require a
certain attention to detail. Severus got to work, chopping, squeezing, crushing, pouring and
stirring. Stirring most of all.

And one pinch of dried gecko tongues. He stirred thrice - clockwise, counter-clockwise and
then clockwise again and the potion turned a murky green. Finally. Severus glanced at the
sky outside which was beginning to lighten.

He conjured a flask, filled it, and then set it beside the phial of Nerve Tonic. "Evanesco," he
murmured, pointing his wand at his cauldron. He packed up, placed his two concoctions in a
small wooden chest and returned to his sleeping quarters. He fell straight into his bed, not
caring to change his robes or take off his shoes.

Lucius must think I'm a fool, he thought bleakly. A bottle of Skele-Gro, Essence of Gecko and
Nerve Tonic. Not Tonic for nerves, he'd said, but Tonic to fix damaged nerves. Though I
daresay Pettigrew could find use for either, jittery thing that he is. And Lucius wanted a Pain-
Reduction Remedy too... Severus smiled nastily.Pettigrew will have to do without.

Pettigrew... Reluctantly, Severus freed his memories of the afternoon from the cauldron he'd
left them in. To find him alive was one thing. To find out that he had been the Secret Keeper,
though...

Severus had known from the outset that Pettigrew had joined the Dark Lord's cause. He was
just the type; power-hungry and a little scared. We all were. Even Lucius. It had all seemed
like fun, like a game, and then his classmates had started to choose sides too.

Potter and his gang had joined Dumbledore midway through their seventh year. Lily too. It
was utterly like her - and really, as a muggleborn, what choice had she had? - though Severus
had always hoped otherwise. He'd warned Potter then, that Pettigrew was the spy, not
outright, never outright - it would have meant his life and he wasn't about to die for Potter -
but either Potter had been too stupid to understand his hints or too proud to believe anything
but the best of his chubby, traitorous friend.

Outside school, Pettigrew had continued to feed the Dark Lord information. Dates, plans,
locations... anything his little rat-ears picked up on. In return, he was never hurt during a
duel, only Stunned. Severus had broken his arm once though. He'd told everyone it was an
accident and they'd believed him.

Severus had joined Dumbledore's side after hearing the prophecy and learning that the Dark
Lord was out to kill Lily. He never said a word about Pettigrew, lest he draw suspicion back
on himself; he'd never liked Pettigrew, going through school, spineless thing that he was, and
he'd liked him less once he became a Death Eater because it meant he had to put up with him
more often, and because his actions were putting Lily in danger.

He would have been the first one the Dark Lord questioned and his betrayal would have been
the death of him. Instead, he foiled plans where he could, and tried to undo the damage
Pettigrew had done. He'd never suspected Black to be the traitor despite his other - and
numerous in Severus' opinion - faults, at least not until he'd heard that Potter and Lily were
dead and Black was missing.

Aside from anything else, Black had never been subtle, and Severus struggled to believe that
he could have missed the fact that Black was spying for the Dark Lord. What other options
were there, though? Black was arrested and taken to Azkaban, Pettigrew was dead and Lily...
It had come as a shock - and a painful one at that, worse than any torture he'd ever
experienced - to learn Lily was dead.

News of Potter's death had hurt too, strangely, but nowhere near enough to let Severus
forgive him. He hated James Potter dead more than he had alive and he was happy to leave it
that way. But now, as it turned out, Severus had not heard anything about Black spying for
the Dark Lord, because Black such a thing had never happened. Black was not the traitor. He
was guilty of a thousand other things, of course; breaking out of prison - he belonged there,
whether he'd killed those muggles and Pettigrew or not - kidnapping and deliberate evasion
of justice, to name a few. But Black hadn't killed Lily.

It put Severus in a rather sticky situation. He'd rather liked how things were; Potter was dead
and Severus hoped he'd stay that way. He'd come to terms with his grief over Lily's death,
although not his guilt. He didn't think he'd ever stop trying to make it up to her, however, and
he had reconciled himself with that. Black - popular, Quidditch-star, good-looking, Black -
was hated by everyone and had spent the majority of his adult life behind bars with only
Dementors for company.

The thought brought a smile to Severus' face. Lupin had remained free but certainly not
unpunished; he'd looked old the last time Severus saw him, and while some of his Marauder-
induced boldness remained, the majority had been crushed by the past seven years, which
he'd spent alone. Pettigrew, he'd believed dead, a fate Severus had thought he thoroughly
deserved.

But he wasn't. And it was him that had killed Lily. And only Pettigrew himself, Lucius,
Severus, Black and possibly the Potter boy knew. The last two would be apprehended before
they got the chance to speak, so it really only left three. Lucius had clearly seen an ulterior
purpose for helping Pettigrew and, so, while it suited him, Lucius wouldn't tell a soul.
Pettigrew's life depended on his silence so he'd never tell anyone either. That left Severus.
And if Severus told, they'd know it had been him.
What would Dumbledore think, though, if Severus were to keep something this big from
him? He owed the man his life, but telling him would mean doing Black a favour and that
would be unbearable. As they were prone to doing in times of indecision, Severus' thoughts
flicked to Lily and what she would do, what she would want. Since he was the one that had
taken away her ability to do or say things herself, he would do it on her behalf.

Lily would want her son safe, Severus knew immediately. And Black too. She was... fond of
him. The thought made his skin crawl. I wonder what she'd make of this Dark Lord
business... He shook his head; he could well imagine and it wasn't pleasant. It was simply
ludicrous that anyone could believe the offspring - Severus still hated that thought - of James
Potter and Lily Evans could be evil. The child was no doubt as arrogant and spoiled as his
saintly father, but not Dark.

And, if Black's innocent, I can't imagine Potter's son is in danger from anything but Black's
lack of maturity. And wherever it is they're hiding, they've yet to be found. Yesterday being the
exception of course, but Lupin was the only one there and given half a chance, Black would
have talked him around.

Severus' thoughts soured. It seems I was wrong about that too; Lupin's either a very good
actor or he doesn't know the truth. He sighed loudly and rolled into his pillow. Yet again,
Potter's son and friends are meddling with my life!

"Hydrus! Draco! Come downstairs. I have presents for the both of you," Father called.

Draco and Hydrus glanced at Mother. "Go," she said, sighing. She closed the book she'd been
reading them with a quiet snap.

Both boys got up and sprinted down the hall, around the corner and downstairs, where Father
was waiting. He frowned. "Malfoys do not run," he said coolly.

"Yes, Father," Hydrus said immediately, looking stricken.

"Sorry," Draco added.

Father smiled slightly. "I have decided that you both need to learn what it is to have control
over another living thing. Some would call it responsibility."

"But not you," Hydrus said.

Father inclined his head. "No, not me."

"Father, that's what Dobby's for," Draco said, arrogantly.

"Dobby belongs to the family, not to you," Father reminded him. "These, however, are
yours." Father held out two small, brown shapes.

"It's a rat," Hydrus said flatly.

"It is your rat," Father said, passing him one of the two. His was slightly larger than the one
Father gave Draco, and slightly darker in colour. Otherwise, there was little difference
between them. Draco cradled his carefully, with two hands. "You'll have to be careful.
They're not toys. Don't squeeze it," Father warned as Hydrus lifted his up, curiously.

"I wasn't going to," Hydrus said.

Draco stared at his curiously. He didn't like rats much; once, when he was younger, he'd got
lost in the cellar and spent the night listening to them squeak. Father had put up wards the
next day to keep them out, but the damage was done. This one seemed friendly enough,
though. Its whiskers twitched as it sniffed his fingers.

"What are they called?" he asked.

"That's for you to decide."

Hydrus was quiet. "Bosworth," he said finally, with a little grin. "Like the cheese."

His rat squeaked. "I don't think he likes it," Draco said.

"It's a rat," Father said coldly. "Of course it likes it. And yours, Draco?"

"Roquefort. They can both be like cheeses."

Draco's rat squeaked too. "Yours doesn't like it either," Hydrus said.

"Does so!"

"Enough petty bickering," Father said. "They both like their names and that is that. He glared
at both rats as if to make his point. "Play nicely now."

"I'll show you the house," Hydrus decided, cradling the rat carefully in his hands. "This room
that we're in," he told Bosworth, while Draco stared, "is the foyer. Those stairs lead to the
upstairs hallway where my bedroom and Draco's bedroom and Mother and Father's bedroom
and the library and the guest rooms are." Hydrus strode toward the double doors on the right
into the hallway and stared explaining the rules about Father's office.

Roquefort squeaked at Draco. "What?" he asked it. "I'm not giving you a tour." The rat
squeaked again, as if to ask why. "Because you're a rat, stupid."

The more time Draco spent with his rat, the more he disliked it; all Roquefort wanted to do
was sleep and he had an unfortunate habit of biting Draco's things, and if Draco tried to stop
him, Draco's fingers. Hydrus on the other hand, refused to be separated from Bosworth.

He'd claimed the small wooden potion chest that Severus had brought to the Manor earlier
that week and stuffed it with blankets; Father had been furious when he heard Hydrus
planned to let the rat sleep on his pillow. Roquefort wasn't allowed on Draco's pillow either -
Father had forbidden it, but Draco wasn't keen on the idea anyway - and he slept in the cage
Draco had made Dobby buy.
"Draco, look!" Hydrus called, walking past with Bosworth sitting on his shoulder; to start
with, Hydrus' gait had been too uneven and the rat had often squealed before sliding slowly
and inevitably down his back but it seemed they'd mastered it.

Draco watched jealously and poked the sleeping lump in his pocket. "Why can't you do that?"
he asked Roquefort; he too had tried to teach his rat to sit on his shoulder but Roquefort had
fallen off after a few yards, bitten Draco when he tried to pick him up, and refused to be
handled for the rest of the day.

"I will attack the Potters this time next week," the Dark Lord said in his cold, high, voice.
"They will, I presume, have returned by then."

His red eyes turned to Pettigrew who trembled. "That is correct, My Lord. James said they'll
be leaving St Mungo's tomorrow."

"Which is when they'll feel most vulnerable," the Dark Lord said. "Let them sit and grow
confident again."

"Yes, My Lord."

"You will organise a meeting time with them, Wormtail," he ordered. "A time when they will,
without doubt, be there. And the boy. The boy must be there." Pettigrew bowed. "Leave." He
left. The Dark Lord turned his terrible eyes on Severus. "I suppose you are wondering why I
have called you here."

"I'm sure My Lord has his reasons," Severus said, not meeting his eyes. He felt a light,
probing touch in his mind and did nothing to resist it. In fact, he titled his head and met those
red eyes. The Dark Lord's consciousness crept in as a snake. He could even feel its scales -
cool, smooth and a little slimy - as it slithered through the dungeon that was his mind.

There were thousands of corridors, cold, dark and unwelcoming - most ended in doors that
would deposit an intruder on the outside of his mind. Others simply ended. Some never did.
Some had doors which led to storerooms of potion ingredients, or potions themselves. Some
rooms were empty. Only one path would take anyone into the depths of his mind and it was a
long journey, with corridors that doubled back on each other, and so many forks it was
almost too difficult to bother with.

Of course, Severus was not foolish enough to frustrate the Dark Lord. The moment the Dark
Lord had ventured in, his mind had re-shaped itself to form a dungeon identical to that of
Hogwarts'. The Dark Lord, as a former Slytherin, knew his way around perfectly. Severus
feigned disappointment. The Dark Lord stopped in several of the storerooms along the way.

In one, he glanced at the array of unlabelled potions with interest and his tongue flickered
out to taste the fumes of an Essence of Euphoria. In another, his Legillimency took a human
form and he strode over to peruse the shelves of ingredients. He picked up a jar of daisy roots
and tossed it to the floor - the Dark Lord could be gentle when he wanted to, but unexpected
gestures were a good way of testing one's defences. Severus winced, knowing the Dark Lord
would see it, as the jar shattered into nothing on the stone floor.
Satisfied, the Dark Lord continued into the office that Severus had moved into only days
before, when Slughorn moved out. Severus had remodelled the core of his mind to show the
office instead of the Slytherin Common Room for the sake of security; those that might try to
force their way into his mind were not likely to be as intimately familiar with the Head of
Slytherin's office as they were with the Slytherin Common Room.

Jars lined the walls, as did bottles of potions and each contained a thought, memory or
emotion. The Dark Lord scooped up a small jar of pollen from a tiger lily and opened it. A
memory of Severus and Lily paddling in the little river that ran through their thicket emerged.

The Dark Lord watched with interest and then placed the jar back on the shelf and picked up
a roll of bright green snakeskin. The Sorting Hat's voice booming 'SLYTHERIN!' echoed
through the stone room. Another object - a phial labelled Veritaserum this time - was chosen
at random and opened. Severus heard his seventeen-year-old self pledging his allegiance to
the Dark Lord. Smiling now, the Dark Lord swept over to the gleaming silver cauldron that
was simmering in the corner.

The Dark Lord glanced with slight amusement at the ragged cloth beside it. "You polish your
cauldrons even here, Severus?" Severus didn't respond because he didn't trust his voice.

The Dark Lord dipped a hand into the cauldron - which contained a potion of Severus'
thoughts - and Severus heard snatches of his voice; ...didn't wash his hands... potion's useless
now... find my office so easily?... be better defended than this... too powerful... My
Lord... Seeming pleased, the Dark Lord backed out of his head.

Severus sank to his knees, his eyes on the floor. Already, his mind was reshaping itself into the
maze-like labyrinth it usually was. Already his magic was scouring the surfaces and floors
the Dark Lord had touched. The memories that had been disturbed were righting themselves
and settling into their usual places.

And he'd succeeded; the Dark Lord had knocked over that jar of daisy roots - those were in
fact just a figment of his imagination - but the powdered bumblebee stings on the shelf above
it were not. They contained the memories of his true reasons for siding with Dumbledore and
remained untouched, as did the pellets of muggle rat poison that were the memories of the -
unheeded - warnings he'd given Potter about Pettigrew in their seventh year.

In another storeroom, a packet of cactus barbs that contained his memories of his mother -
who was very like a cactus; not necessarily pretty, but resilient, practical and prickly - lay
innocently in a drawer only a few feet from the Essence of Euphoria the Dark Lord had
looked at and surrounded by other pretend ingredients and potions. The ragged cloth the
Dark Lord had asked about held his memories of the conversation with the Sorting Hat, as he
begged it to put him in Gryffindor with Lily.

Better yet, the potion in the cauldron that contained his thoughts worked rather like water
and oil, with two distinct layers, and the Dark Lord had not suspected a thing as he ran his
hand through the top layer. Severus was almost giddy with success but didn't show it; he hid
that memory in a small phial that contained a clear liquid - it was pure alcohol - sometimes
used in Befuddlement Draughts or Healing Potions - but looked like water, and while it might
make him feel good, too much would certainly kill him.
"Rise, Severus," the Dark Lord said.

Severus stood. "My Lord," he said, inclining his head. "You found what you were looking
for?"

He still looked pleased - Severus knew he was happy that his memories of becoming a Death
Eater had been stored in a phial of 'Veritaserum'. It wasn't Veritaserum, of course. It was
water - necessary if one wanted to survive, nothing more - but it looked the same and had no
smell that the human nose could pick up on, so the Dark Lord wouldn't know any different. "I
did."

"I'm glad I've been useful to you, My Lord."

"There is more," the Dark Lord said softly.

"More, My Lord?"

"It concerns your... fondness... for the Potter Mudblood."

"She was a good friend to me growing up," Severus said carefully. "Nothing more."

"Such lies, Severus. I saw the memories." Severus resisted the urge to snort; his most
significant memories of Lily were his most fiercely protected, tucked away in obscure places;
in a jar with the petals of the blossom she'd scared her sister with on the day they first talked,
in a potion that was the same green as her eyes, in a jar of dried heather because that had
been her mother's name, in a jar of the roots of a gorse bush because that's what he'd sat
under after his Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. exam... The Dark Lord had seen none
of those.

"Forgive me, My Lord, but I have some small talent with Legillimency and consequently
understand the futility of attempting to deceive one who is vastly more gifted than I."

The Dark Lord seemed to consider that for a moment. "Even so, Severus," he said finally,
"you will be saddened by her death."

"Is it... not possible to... spare her?"

"She has made it clear that her loyalties lie with Dumbledore," the Dark Lord replied,
watching him carefully. Severus gave a jerky nod. He was on dangerous ground here and they
both knew it. "She dies next week. Do with that what you will. Leave. Send Lucius in."

"Yes, my Lord." Severus bowed and swept out of the room. "Lucius," he said, nodding. Lucius
passed him, his pale face unreadable.

Do with that what you will... Severus repeated the words in his head. So he knows. Knows or
suspects. It's a test. Lily was as good as dead unless he did something and if he did, he was
dead. Give me a stupid Master over a clever one any day, Severus thought bitterly.

"Bad news?"
Not so much any more... A plan formed in Severus' head. What if both Lily and I can survive
this?

"Sev? Was it bad?" When Regulus Black joined partway through his seventh year - it had
come as a shock to Severus, who'd always picked the younger Black to be a bystander in the
war - they had become friends of sorts, despite Severus' loathing for his brother.

"Bad enough," he said.

Regulus fell into step beside him. "What happened?"

Severus knew Regulus - despite them being on opposite sides of the war - would hate for
harm to come to Black or his friends, and he also knew if anyone could tip them off without
giving everything away, it would be him.

"Another murder plot," Severus said, working to sound bored.

"Who?" Regulus asked, his shoulders stiffening.

"Potter and Lily," Severus said. "And their son."

"Why didn't you just say 'The Potters'?" Regulus asked, puzzled. "They're married."

A fact I work awfully hard to try to forget. Regulus, of course, would remember it vividly
because Potter had invited him. "Oh, yes."

"When?"

"When what?"

"When's the attack?" Regulus asked, his grey eyes oddly bright.

"This time next week. Pe-plans-" Severus said smoothly, "have been made to ensure they'll be
there at the proper time." For the very same reason that this was likely to work, Severus also
couldn't reveal Pettigrew's true nature; Regulus was prone to having fits of gallantry -
Severus supposed it was a side-effect of growing up with Black - and if he told Black, the
Dark Lord would kill him. Since Regulus was as good a friend as Severus had had since Lily,
he wasn't about to do that-

"Enough," Severus said and the dream-memory halted. With a wave of his hand the dark
corridor disappeared taking Regulus with it. "Wake up," he told himself.

Severus opened his eyes after dreaming of the war for the fifth time in as many nights after
seeing Pettigrew again. It made sense, that after seeing the man who had betrayed Lily,
Severus would find himself remembering when he had betrayed the Dark Lord in order to
save her. It didn't mean he had to like it.

War memories were hard to deal with at the best of times, particularly when they came
unbidden. This one at least, had ended reasonably well; Severus had gone to visit Draco -
who had only been about two months old on the night of the attack - and Hydrus, who had
been only ten months old.

Not only had he met the child he was secondary guardian to - since he'd already met Hydrus -
but he was also in Lucius' presence and could not be blamed for the plan being foiled. And it
had indeed been foiled; Severus later learned that Regulus had staged a fight with Black and
drawn Potter, Lily, Potter's son and even Lupin to his brother's apartment, and out of harm's
way. The Dark Lord's trust in Severus had been renewed, thus giving him more freedom, and
with that freedom, he had served the Order.

Beyond that memory, things were not so happy; Regulus had died a week later - Severus
never learned how and he didn't think the Dark Lord had either; Regulus' Dark Mark's magic
had informed him - and Severus had had to take the news to Walburga Black and endure her
misery for the best part of an hour.

That brought back memories too; the house elf had been distraught to hear Severus talk about
his Master's death. Even now Severus could hear its croaky wailing and see its big, bloodshot
eyes...

He blanked his mind with Occlumency, focusing on the grey stone walls of his dungeon-mind
but the thoughts were still there, just hidden. He sighed and rolled over, trying to get back to
sleep, though he suspected it was a futile endeavour.
 An unlikely allegiance

Ostendere me omnia, Harry thought. His vision flickered and there was a flash of colour and
then Harry's vision flickered again and went back to normal.

"The brat is not being even close that time," Kreacher croaked. He had returned to his active
dislike of Padfoot and his tolerance of Harry after helping Padfoot find Harry earlier that
month; Grimmauld's wards were so comprehensive that they tracked anyone leaving the
house via magical means and Kreacher had been able to read them at Padfoot's request.

Padfoot was much nicer to the old elf as a result - and because he was back to cooking and
cleaning - and even tolerated his obsession with the drawing room.

"Not at all?" Harry asked.

"Not at all," Kreacher told him. "Clearly Master's ineptitude is catching. Kreacher just hopes
Kreacher does not catch it too-"

"I'm trying, all right?" Harry snapped.

"Apparating's hard," Padfoot had warned him when Harry approached him with the idea a
few weeks earlier. "Quite a few grown wizards can't even manage it, but then, house elves
can Apparate before they can walk."

Padfoot was watching now, with an over-done sulky expression; Harry had warned him to
look upset about the whole thing to keep Kreacher happy, because the only way he'd got
Kreacher to agree to it, was by telling him that Padfoot thought it was a bad idea.

Padfoot actually thought it was a very good idea, because, while he was limited by the wards,
Kreacher wasn't and Padfoot hoped he could pass that skill onto Harry. Padfoot had tried to
get Kreacher to teach him how to see the wards and Apparate through them – so he could
teach Harry instead - but it had resulted in a shouting match, and animosity between the pair
for days until Harry, who was sick of Padfoot being moody and Kreacher's muttering, forced
them to drop it.

"The brat insists on wasting Kreacher's time," Kreacher muttered.

Frowning, Harry clutched his wand - house elves didn't need wands but all wizards did – and
muttered the incantation again; if he had any hope of Apparating in Grimmauld Place, he'd
need to see the wards. House elves, according to Kreacher, could see them naturally, but
people required an incantation and it had taken Harry almost a week to find one.

Finally, he'd found it in the book they'd found in Regulus' room, titled Traces and Auras: See
The Magic Around You. It was an interesting read in Harry's opinion, and none of the
incantations required a wand, only concentration and innate magical ability. So far, it was the
concentration that Harry was struggling with.
"Try saying them out loud," Padfoot suggested.

"The book says to think them," Harry snapped.

"Try it," Padfoot said patiently.

"Ostendere me omnia," Harry said, rolling his eyes at his godfather. His mouth fell open. The
entire room had come to life and was pulsing with light and magic.

"Is it working?" Padfoot asked. His magic, Harry noticed, was a brilliant red colour, and it
looked like the sea on a rough day, constantly swirling around him, surging and massing at
various points and then gone and somewhere else the next. Kreacher was a soft green, so pale
it was almost white, and brittle, Harry thought, though he couldn't explain why or how if he
tried. His magic didn't move much but it was very concentrated.

Harry himself was red and gold, made of tiny sparks, like the ones that had come out of his
wand the day he bought it. Even the walls had magic; he could see the complex weave of
Orion Black's murky green and black magic in thin, wire-like strands, Padfoot's interwoven
crimson and here and there and Harry's own red and gold, presumably from the Fidelius
Charm.

The warding moved as a whole entity, pulsing. Harry now understood what Kreacher had
said about them being alive, but he didn't understand how in Godric's name he was supposed
to find a hole in them. "Finite," he said. The colour faded and then the training room was
back to its normal - and now comparably dull - state. "It's brilliant," he said. "And sorry for
snapping." Padfoot smiled.

"It-" But what Padfoot was about to say, Harry never found out. Right at that moment, there
was a loud pop outside and a hooded figure dressed all in black appeared in the street. The
figure dropped his hood and revealed a man with black hair to his shoulders - almost like
Padfoot's - and a sallow face. The other features were distinguishable, but Padfoot's jaw
dropped. "No," he gasped, running over to the window to get a better look.

"Who is it?" Harry wanted to know, following his godfather to the window.

The man glanced at Number Thirteen and then at Number Eleven. Then he turned and stared
at Number Twelve. He would be able to see it, of course, since the Fidelius Charm didn't
actually hide the house; usually the Fidelius Charm was entwined with others that did, but
Padfoot had said that making Number Twelve vanish would draw attention to it, and Harry
was inclined to agree.

What the Fidelius Charm did hide, was Harry and Padfoot; someone could walk into Number
Twelve and search every room and never find either of them, because, as long as Harry and
Padfoot were inside the house, the charm would conceal their existence. Padfoot had said
Dumbledore himself could stand in the same room as them and not know they were there.

"That," Padfoot growled, "is Snivellus."

Harry stared. "That's him? What's he doing here?"

Padfoot whistled loudly; after listening to the sales witch in Diagon Alley, Padfoot had
attempted to train Hedwig so that he could prove dogs were better companions. She'd learned
to come when she was called, but disdained - privately, Harry didn't think it was necessary
for an owl to learn to hoot on command or chase its tail – to learn the other tricks Padfoot had
attempted to teach her to do. He'd bragged about the victory for days.

A moment later she flew into the training room and landed on the window seat. Padfoot had
Summoned writing equipment from the other side of the room and was writing a note. Harry
got a glimpse as he passed it to the owl.

What do you want? it said in Padfoot's neat, rather pointy hand.

Harry opened his mouth to ask if confirming that they were there – even though he couldn't
find them unless Harry told him where they were - was a good idea but he thought it might be
a bit too late for that; Snivellus - Snape was his real name, Harry remembered - was watching
Number Twelve with an odd mix of glee and loathing, and seemed to be deciding whether to
come inside or not. "Send the quill too," Harry suggested.

Padfoot nodded stiffly and gave Hedwig the quill. Harry opened the window and she flew
out, startling Snape. He wrote something down and sent it back.

Padfoot opened the note at once and Harry craned his neck to read it. To talk, Snape had
written in a messy scrawl.

Then talk, Padfoot wrote.

Inside.

Come in, then. Hary could hear the challenge in those words.

Am I able to?

Try.

Snape stared at the note for almost a minute before he scribbled something back. I believe I'll
require an escort.

"What do you think?" Padfoot asked Harry, his eyes never once leaving the man on the street.

"Er... I dunno - can we trust him?"

Padfoot snorted but then his expression became thoughtful. Send your wand back with the
owl, Padfoot wrote on the back or the scrap of parchment.

"You're letting him in?" Harry asked.

"He knows where we are," Padfoot said, "but he's not bound by the Fidelius Charm so he can
tell whoever he wants that we're here. No one would be able to find us, but I don't even want
them looking. If we tell him the secret, he's bound by it and he won't be able to say anything."
"Oh." Harry looked back out the window at Snape, who was glaring between Padfoot's note
and the house.

A moment later, Hedwig returned with a long wand made of reddish wood. Break it and I
will kill you with my bare hands, said the note accompanying it.

"Red Oak," Padfoot murmured, tossing the parchment aside. "And Dragon Heartstring, I
think."

"How do you know?"

He snorted, shoving it into his pocket. "The number of times Prongs and I stole this thing...
I'll tell you about it later. Our... guest... is waiting." Harry and Padfoot made their way to the
front door. "Obscuro," Padfoot said calmly. A blindfold appeared, covering Snape's eyes. The
other man seemed annoyed but he didn't fight it. Padfoot and Harry walked down, took one
of Snape's arms each and led him up the stairs and into the house. They took him into the
study and Padfoot locked the door with a charm and closed the curtains.

Only then did he take the blindfold off. Snape's cold black eyes trailed over the room, taking
in the closed door, the covered windows and then finally came to land on Padfoot, with
loathing. They moved to Harry a moment later. The man looked like he'd been slapped. Harry
stared back at him, defiant. Snape's eyes moved to his eyes instead of his face and hair and
then he swallowed and looked away.

"How did you find us?" Padfoot demanded.

"I had a dream," Snape said in a curt voice. Harry found his eyes drawn to the man's hooked
nose and greasy hair. Both were just as bad as Padfoot had always said.

"You dreamed about the house?" Padfoot said flatly.

"Your brother, actually." Snape said. "I was the one who told your mother he'd died. Did you
know that?" Padfoot bared his teeth. "Apparently not. I remembered your elf and this house.
How else could you trick the Trace? You aren't stupid, Black, but you aren't competent
enough to set up wards that could throw off a Ministry-order monitoring charm, nor are you
competent enough to get by without magic-"

"Yes, but how did you know?"

"You opened the window," Snape drawled.

"No, I asked-"

"I heard you the first time, Black," Snape said impatiently. "I listen, you see. It's quite a
useful skill-"

Padfoot snarled and took a step closer to the other wizard. "So help me, Snivellus-"

"I suspected you might be here," Snape said with a nasty smile. "But nothing more, at least
not until you sent your bird out. I've been told time and time again, assured, that you loathe
this house so very much that you'd never dream of setting a foot inside." Snape's expression
soured. "I did suggest you might be drawn to the house, if only for the neighbours, but
Dumbledore assured me that was not the case, that the house had been checked before you
took the boy-" Snape's eyes flicked to Harry. "- and had been watched ever since."

"If only for the neighbours?" Padfoot asked, puzzled.

"Surely you know," Snape drawled. Padfoot and Harry exchanged bemused looks. Snape
eyed them both before lifting an eyebrow. "Fascinating. It seems, Black, that your powers of
observation are as pathetically limited as they were the last time we met-"

"Why did you come?" Padfoot asked coldly. "Why alone? I'd have thought you'd bring a
hundred Dementors, Dumbledore and the Ministry."

"Don't tempt me," Snape said, his dark eyes glinting. "There's still nothing more I would like
than to hand you over to the Dementors, Black."

"So why haven't you?" Harry asked while Padfoot seethed.

Snape watched him curiously. "I happen to know the truth."

"You?" Padfoot snarled.

"Me," Snape said with a nasty smile that showed his yellowing teeth. "I'd never have picked
you for a traitor, Black-"

"I'm touched," Padfoot said, in a tone that suggested he was anything but.

Snape glowered at him. "A murderer, yes - how could I not? - but never a traitor. Not to
Potter anyway. And then, as it happens, I ran into an old school friend of ours. One I'd
believed dead."

"Peter," Padfoot hissed. One of the lamps on the wall exploded. "Where? Where was he?"

"He could be anywhere by now, I'm sure," Snape said with a glance at the lamp. "This was
two weeks ago."

"Reparo," Harry muttered. The lamp fixed itself, though it resembled a mosaic more than the
smooth glass dome it had been before. Snape looked at him for a moment and then turned
back to Padfoot.

"So you figured it out," Padfoot said. He Summoned an armchair from the corner and sank
into it. "Who else knows?"

"No one," Snape said.

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" Padfoot asked, incredulous. "After everything that
happened between us in school, I'm supposed to believe you'd do us a favour, Snivellus?"

Snape's eyes flicked to Harry. "Believe what you will," he said curtly.
Padfoot struggled with himself for a moment, growled once and then, looking rather annoyed
asked, "Why?"

"For the same reasons you've said nothing," Snape said. "There's no evidence but my word or
yours. Dumbledore might believe me, or perhaps even Lupin, but that accomplishes nothing.
They cannot get you a pardon. Even if the Ministry were to believe you were not the Secret
Keeper, they'll still charge you with everything else you've done. If you have any hope of
freedom, they'll need to realise they're wrong themselves. Only once they're tripping over
their apologies will you have any hope." He looked like he hoped that day would never come.

"And for them to realise they're wrong, I need Peter," Padfoot muttered.

"Precisely. And even if I were to tell the Ministry anything, or have someone tell them on my
behalf, they would no doubt trace the rumour back to me and I will be forced to explain why
I am defending you. The Ministry is utterly incompetent but even they could not overlook an
old Death Eater working to absolve a supposedly active one..." He shook his head. "I worked
hard to redeem myself after the war and I will die before I throw that away for the likes of
you."

Padfoot watched Snape like a dog might watch a cat; Snape was clearly the prey but Padfoot
didn't want a nose full of claws either. "Then why have you come here at all?" he asked
finally. "Why not just stay quiet and pretend you know nothing?"

Snape's eyes flicked to Harry again. "I had to check on the boy."

"Since when do you care about James' son?" Padfoot asked.

There was a pause. Snape's eyes met Harry's again. "I do not care for Potter's spawn," he said
finally, looking away. "But while you're guiltless of killing Potter an-" He cleared his throat.
"-The Potter's, you have other crimes. I will not have a child - any child - in an environment
where they are not comfortable."

"I am," said Harry at once. Snape looked at him. "Comfortable, I mean."

"You enjoy Black's company?"

"He's loads better than the Dursleys."

A flicker of irritation passed over Snape's face at the mention of the Dursleys but it was gone
again a moment later. "Very well." He looked back to Padfoot. "Will he be attending
Hogwarts?"

"Of course!" Harry and Padfoot said together.

"I've done what I came for then," Snape said, brushing dust off his robes. He turned to Harry.
"Know now that I will treat you as I would any other student." Harry nodded. Warning
received. He'll hate me because he hates Padfoot and Dad.Snape held out his hand. For a
moment Harry thought he wanted Padfoot to shake it, but he merely said, "My wand."
"You'll stay quiet about what happened here?" Padfoot asked, extracting the wand from his
pocket.

"As I've said, I have no desire whatsoever to implicate myself." Padfoot waved his own wand
and the door opened. "That also means, should you slip up and find yourself back in
Azkaban, you can expect no help from me."

"I wouldn't want it anyway," Padfoot said.

Harry privately agreed but he elbowed his godfather nonetheless. Padfoot scowled. They
walked Snape to the front door and then Padfoot passed him his wand and sent him on his
way.

"Arse," Padfoot muttered, glowering at Snape's retreating figure. "'Expect no help from me',"
he said in a bad imitation of Snape's drawl.

"I thought you said you didn't want it," Harry said, his lips twitching.

Padfoot huffed. "I don't. He didn't have to say it, though." He wrinkled his nose. "You know, I
don't think he's washed his hair since I last saw him."

"And then," Padfoot said with tears in his eyes, "Prongs walked right up to Snivellus and
sprayed him with shampoo!" Harry laughed. Snape's visit the day before had seemed to make
Padfoot want to relive all of his Snape-based memories. Not that Harry minded in the least;
he was happy to hear any stories about his dad, his godfather and - if Padfoot was to be
believed - the man that was his 'godmother', Remus Lupin - who Padfoot assured him was not
usually as he had been in London.

It troubled him a little to hear how cruel they'd been to Snape, but - with prodding - Padfoot
had also revealed that Snape was capable of giving as bad as he got, if not worse. Still,
having heard what he'd heard, he didn't find it hard to see why Snape had hated Padfoot and
his dad, or why they had hated him.

"Here," Padfoot said.

Harry, who had been reading over the Black family tapestry - and given up on making sense
of the unfamiliar names and instead begun counting the members (there were nearly five
hundred) - glanced up.

"Er... thanks?" Harry said, peering at a cracked pair of reading glasses.

Padfoot chuckled. "Consider it an advanced birthday present."

"I know just where to put them too," Harry said, dropping them into the rubbish bag.

"You aren't keeping them?" Padfoot asked in falsely injured tones.

Harry snorted. "I'll keep mine, thanks."

"I think they were my grandmother's," Padfoot said with a shudder. "They'd probably bite or
something anyway. Horrible woman."

"Seems to run in the family," Harry said. "Except for maybe Regulus."

"Yeah-Hey!" Padfoot spun, ready to grab him but Harry'd anticipated this and moved out of
reach. "You evil, little-" Padfoot muttered.

"Little what?" Harry asked innocently.

"Boy. Evil, little boy." Harry grinned. "Here- Ow!" Padfoot said, dropping a silver snuff-box
which appeared to have bitten him. He examined his hand, his expression curious; as they
watched his skin turned brown and crusty. "Must be Wartcap powder, in there," he said
finally, tapping his hand with his wand. He levitated the box into the rubbish bag. An Order
of Merlin, First Class, awarded to Padfoot's grandfather followed it a moment later.

"Services to the Ministry?" Harry asked.

"He gave them a lot of gold," Padfoot said dismissively, gesturing for Harry to put it back in
the bag.

There was another copy of Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. "How many of these
things have you got?" Harry asked; so far they'd come across one in Regulus' room, one in
the downstairs study, one in the library and now another one here.

"Who knows," Padfoot said, shrugging. "But any chance my mother had to remind herself of
her spotless bloodlin- Oi!" A spindly, silver thing had just come crawling out of the cabinet
and was trying to stab Padfoot with one of its pointed legs. He crushed it with the book; it let
out a high pitched squeal before Padfoot picked it up gingerly and threw it into the rubbish
bag. The book followed.

Kreacher let out a whimper. "There are two other copies in this house," Padfoot said,
shooting the elf an irritated glance.

Kreacher had spent the majority of the morning standing in the doorway to see what they
were throwing out. He'd made attempts to rescue things; some, like a photo of Walburga
Black, Padfoot hadn't let him keep ("There's a massive one downstairs!" he'd said before
ordering Kreacher out of the room), but others, like a golden ring that bore the Black crest,
Harry had persuaded Padfoot to let him have. Kreacher had sobbed for almost five minutes
when he learned it was his to keep forever and even bowed to Harry before he stole
downstairs to tuck it away in his den behind the boiler.

"Eurgh," Padfoot said. "Look at this thing." A heavy golden locket landed in his lap. Harry
shivered for no real reason. There was a large 'S' made of emeralds on the front of it but
otherwise it was fairly plain.

Harry tried and failed to open it, frowned and tossed it back to Padfoot. "It won't open."
"It's probably just got a picture of my mother or grandmother in it," Padfoot said, but he
couldn't open it either. "Ah well." Harry held the rubbish bag open and Padfoot lobbed it in.
Kreacher wailed. "What?" Padfoot asked annoyed.

"The-the locket," Kreacher managed. He tottered into the room and scooped the locket out of
the bag.

"Put that down," Padfoot said.

Kreacher dropped the thing immediately but it seemed to pain him. "Could Kreacher... keep
the locket?" he asked Harry.

"We already gave you a ring," Padfoot said.

"Kreacher will give back the ring," Kreacher said, crawling over to grip the cuffs of Padfoot's
jeans. "Kreacher will give back the book and the photo of Mistress Cissy and Mistress Bella
if Kreacher can have the locket."

"No," Padfoot said. "The locket's going in the rubbish." Kreacher picked the thing up and
clutched it to his chest. Padfoot wrestled it out of the old elf's grasp and Kreacher burst into
tears. "Stop that," Padfoot said, irritated, tossing the locket back into the rubbish bag.
Kreacher glared at him and then looked beseechingly at Harry. "You're not getting it,"
Padfoot said. The elf let out a croaking sob.

"Why do you want it?" Harry asked. "Why's it better than that ring?"

"Kreacher promised," the elf wheezed. Harry frowned and looked uncertainly at Padfoot,
who was frowning too.

"Promised what?" Padfoot asked. "Tell me."

The elf quivered but couldn't disobey. "To destroy it. Kreacher promised Master, yes he did,
but now he's failed, yes he has, and mean Master, nasty Master won't let Kreacher have it!"
The elf threw himself on the ground with a wail.

"What Master?" Padfoot asked. "Kreacher, stop crying."

Kreacher sat up sniffling. "M-Master Regulus," the old elf wailed. A tear leaked out of one
bulbous eye and he threw himself on the ground shrieking. "Bad Kreacher!" he croaked,
slamming his head into the ground.

"Kreacher, sit still!" Padfoot ordered. "No more punishments unless I say so!" Kreacher froze
and looked up at them both with red-rimmed eyes. "What did Master Regulus tell you?"

"To destroy the locket," the elf moaned, pulling the locket out of the bag. "Master Regulus-"

"Drop that. Yes, we know, the locket was Master Regulus'," Padfoot said impatiently. "I want
you to tell me everything you know about this locket and what Reg had to do with it."
"Master," Kreacher said in a very thin voice, "was a naughty boy. Master broke Mistress'
heart when he ran away to live with blood-traitors. Master Regulus was a good boy, and
proud and happy and knew what was due to his bloodline and to the noble name of Black."

"Yes," Padfoot said, rolling his eyes, "we know."

"Master Regulus had been watching the Dark Lord for years," Kreacher said, almost
reverently. Harry grimaced, thinking of all the clippings they'd stripped off the wall. "When
Master Regulus was sixteen-"

"Seventeen," Padfoot muttered.

Kreacher and Harry both shot him dirty looks. "Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord and he
was happy, he was proud to serve. And one day, a year after he joined, Master Regulus came
down to the kitchen to see Kreacher and Master Regulus... Master Regulus said the Dark
Lord required an elf."

"An elf?" Padfoot said, frowning at Harry, but his eyes weren't in focus.

"An elf," Kreacher agreed pitifully, "and Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. Master
Regulus said it was an honour, for Kreacher and for Master Regulus, and that Kreacher must
be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do, and then c-come home." Kreacher
began to rock, his thin arms wrapped around his scrawny legs, his breath coming in pitchy
gusts.

"So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what they were to
be doing but Kreacher and the Dark Lord went to a cave. A cave by the sea, and beyond the
cave was a cavern and inside the cavern was a lake. A great, black lake. There was a boat,
and the Dark Lord and Kreacher used the boat to get to an island."

Harry was feeling nauseated. Padfoot looked uneasy. "Then what?" Padfoot asked in a quiet,
almost gentle tone.

"There was a-a b-basin full of potion on the island." Kreacher trembled. "The Dark Lord
made Kreacher drink it... Kreacher drank and Kreacher saw terrible things. Kreacher's insides
burned. Kreacher cried for Master Regulus and for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord
only laughed and made Kreacher drink it all... Kreacher drank the potion... the Dark Lord
dropped a locket into the empty basin... He filled it with more potion. And then the D-Dark
Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island."

Kreacher sniffed and wiped his running nose. "Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the
island's edge and he drank from the black lake... and hands... dead, cold hands came out of
the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface."

"Hands?" Padfoot asked sharply. "What hands?"

"Hands!" Kreacher sobbed. "Cold, dead hands!"

"Just hands?"
"People. Witches and wizards," Kreacher whispered, his eyes filmy.

"Inferi," Padfoot muttered, his mouth pulling down at the corners.

"What are Inferi?" Harry asked.

"Reanimated cor- Dead people who can walk and attack people." Harry's mouth fell open
with revulsion. "Were they Inferi, Kreacher?" Padfoot pressed.

"Kreacher doesn't know. Kreacher never knew!"

"All right!" Padfoot said hastily. "How did you get away? Did you Apparate?"

Kreacher nodded his ugly head. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to come home, so Kreacher
came home."

"What did Reg do?"

"Master Regulus was worried, very worried. He told Kreacher to hide and to stay in the
house. One night, it was a little while later, Master Regulus came to visit Kreacher again.
Master Regulus was disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell. Master Regulus told Kreacher
to- to-" Kreacher sniffled and stopped talking.

"To what?" Padfoot asked.

"Kreacher promised. Kreacher promised Master Regulus... none of the family... Master...
family."

Harry was confused but Padfoot seemed to understand. "Tell Harry," he told the elf. Padfoot
caught Harry's eye. "If you're all right to hear the rest?"

Harry nodded. Padfoot left the room. "So...er... then what?"

Kreacher edged closer, his croaky voice coming almost silently. "Master Regulus told
Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord.
Krecher did and Master Regulus drank the potion... first he ordered Kreacher to swap the
lockets and re-fill the basin... Master R-Regulus had a locket just the same as the Dark Lord's
locket... and he told Kreacher the locket must be destroyed... made Kreacher promise..."

"Then Master Regulus drank it, drank it all and ordered Kreacher to leave... without him... to
never tell Mistress... and Kreacher watched as Master Regulus was dragged... under the
water... and... and..." Kreacher wailed and threw himself on the ground, fists pounding the
carpet.

"Kreacher, sit up," Harry said. "What happened when you came home?"

"Mistress was sick with grief. Mistress didn't know why Master Regulus could never come
home - all Mistress knew was that he wouldn't - because Kreacher had been f-f-forbidden,
Kreacher had promised never to tell any of the family about what had happened in the c-
cave." Both Kreacher and Harry turned to the locket at that point, where it was lying
innocently on the floor by the rubbish bag.

"Kreacher tried to destroy the locket, Kreacher could feel its evil but nothing Kreacher did
made any mark. Kreacher was sure the key to destroying the locket was to open the locket
but nothing Kreacher did... so many powerful spells... Nothing worked... Kreacher failed!"

"It's all right," Harry said, quickly. "We won't throw the locket out, I promise, all right?"
Kreacher halted mid-sob and glanced up. "Do you know why Regulus wanted to destroy the
locket?"

"Kreacher doesn't know. Kreacher only knows Master Regulus wanted it destroyed. Kreacher
tried!"

"I know!" Harry said, trying to calm him down. "You've er... done very well. I'll erm... maybe
I can talk to Padfoot - to Master Sirius - and see if he can try to destroy it."

Kreacher threw himself on the floor at Harry's feet with a wail. Harry petted him awkwardly
on the head until Padfoot came back and gently but firmly sent Kreacher to his cupboard to
calm down.

When Kreacher was gone, Harry explained what had happened in the cave. Padfoot looked
exceptionally grim, and when Harry finished, he sat down on the couch and massaged his
temples.

"Does Kreacher know the name of the potion he drank?"

"I don't think so," Harry said. "Why?"

"I was hoping to find an antidote for it."

"For Kreacher? It's a bit late, isn't-"

"For me."

"For you-?" Harry blinked. "You aren't going to try it?"

"I want to know what Reg was doing stealing Voldemort's necklace," Padfoot said with a
shrug.

"Maybe he thought it looked nice?"

"It's ugly though." They both glanced at the locket. "Obviously it's important. Kreacher says
it feels evil, and I don't know whether you noticed, kiddo, but you shivered when you
touched it."

"I did?"

Padfoot nodded grimly. "I didn't think anything of it, but now... Look, whatever it is, it's
important enough for Reg to die for, and if Kreacher's tried to destroy it, there's obviously
some fairly dark magic keeping it alive."

"It's alive?!" Harry yelped.

"Not alive like you or me, but it's not a blackened piece of metal yet, either, is it? It's not
natural." One of the emeralds flashed as Harry titled his head.

"Why's it so important?" he asked, picking it up.

"Voldemort hid it in a cave, on an island guarded by Inferi, in the vilest potion he could find.
Obviously he thought it was worth protecting... Reg knew why, but he'd never leave that sort
of information lying around."

"But he did," Harry said slowly. "There was that book- the book with the Dementor's Draught
page marked." Padfoot frowned. "I'll bet you anything that's the potion Kreacher drank. And
the other book, the one that had the locket in it, remember? You wanted me to look for that
ring."

Padfoot stood and walked out of the room. When he returned, he was holding a pile of books
- Harry could only imagine how he'd found them, given the disorganised state of the library -
that Harry remembered from the day they'd cleaned Regulus' room. Harry reached for the one
with the locket in it and Padfoot flicked through the potions book until he found the
Dementor's Draught.

"It doesn't say anything about the locket being evil," Harry said. "It only says it was
Slytherin's."

"So it's had something done to it," Padfoot mused.

"Regulus might have left another clue," Harry said, "or maybe Kreacher-"

"If Reg was going to leave any hints, he'd have left them with everything else. He probably
thought it was too dangerous."

"But he had all these lying around," Harry said, refusing to be discouraged. "He might-"

Padfoot shook his head. "Dementor's Draught isn't that unusual - it used to be used as a
sedative in Azkaban before they brought actual Dementors in. Its use was outlawed in the
early seventies because its effects are stronger than those of a normal Dementor, but lots of
dark wizards used it in the war. And Regulus liked to read, so a book on old wizarding
artefacts wouldn't have seemed unusual, and neither would these." Padfoot waved a hand at
the books on warding and defensive magic.

Harry slumped. "So he'd have kept it quiet? Whatever the locket is? He didn't tell anyone?"

Padfoot shook his head slowly. "That's not... No, I don't think so." Padfoot stood up suddenly
and started to pace. "From what Kreacher's said, I don't think Reg was ever planning to get
out alive..." Harry shivered at that, trying to imagine what it would be like to knowingly walk
to his own death. "Why else would he take Kreacher with him but not make him drink it? No,
he had to know or at least think it was a possibility and he'd want someone to understand why
he did it..."

"Who?"

Padfoot was quiet for a long time and then, "Voldemort."

"Very funny."

"No, really," Padfoot said, slowly. "Who else could he tell? Anyone he trusted would be in
danger and why would he tell someone he didn't trust?"

"But Voldemort? If that locket's as important as you think, Voldemort would have killed him
as soon as he heard!"

Padfoot frowned. "Maybe he told him afterward - delayed the message somehow..."

"What d'you mean?"

"If you had a secret, an important one, and you had to share it, but couldn't tell anyone, how
would you do it?"

"Write it down?" Harry said after a few moments. "Did he have a diary or something?"

"No. I... er... I used to take it and read it and eventually he just gave up. Even if he had, I
doubt he'd want Voldemort reading it..." They both shivered. "How about a note? Somewhere
safe, where only Voldemort would find it."

"And information on where to find the note's not too dangerous to leave lying around," Harry
said. "Is it? He might have left something - another note, a photograph, something."

"I'm going to have a look around," Padfoot said, standing immediately. "We didn't throw
anything out that was interesting or unusual so chances are it's around here somewhere. You
might go through everything we've been sorting today, just to make sure."

Harry turned to the bag of things they'd removed from the cabinet and rifled through. Nothing
seemed even remotely significant and he tossed everything back in, disappointed. He glanced
at the locket.

"What are you?" he asked it. It disdained to respond. Curious, Harry decided to try looking at
it magically - after his success yesterday, he'd been looking at all sorts of things from a
magical point of view. "Ostendere me omnia," he whispered, and felt his vision shift. The
room came to life around him - the tapestry on the wall glowed a pale green, the rubbish bag
a mix of silver, blue and maroon. Harry could see his own red and gold sparks.

And then there was the locket. Black, like a shadow, but it wasn't as if light was blocked, it
was as if it was sucking light in. Green and silver flickered inside the black, so faintly that it
was hardly there, and never in the same spot for more than a second. Harry dropped it, his
skin crawling. Kreacher was right, though he hadn't really doubted it. It was evil. "Finite," he
muttered and the magic vanished - it was still there, but not to his eyes.
"What are you?" he asked again. The emeralds glinted wickedly. Harry picked it up again and
held it rather gingerly at arm's length as he tried to pry it open again. It didn't work. Harry
frowned. "Open," he told it, frustrated. "Open. Open." It did, and so did the door.
 Visitors

Harry jumped and looked at the doorway but Padfoot wasn't there. Frowning, he turned his
attention back to the locket and dropped it in surprise. There was an eye in each window, dark
and intelligent, watching him.

The eyes sent a strange, tingling sensation through his scar. Harry was frozen. The eye
flashed and turned red and slitted, and then it spotted Harry. He watched and slowly drew his
wand out of his pocket.

"Don't try it," the locket hissed.

"What?" Harry asked, shocked.

"The best you can hope is to shoot sparks at me, boy, perhaps not even that."

"Petrificus Totalus!" he said defiantly. Nothing happened.

"I told you not to bother." A moment later, Padfoot's head bloomed out of the locket and his
body followed. He was too solid to be a ghost, and he wasn't transparent either. Harry was
still reasonably new to the whole concept of magic, but he was fairly certain this
was not normal. "You're weak," Locket-Padfoot told him.

"I-what?" Harry said, puzzled.

"Can't even defend yourself against a locket. I don't know why I even bother."

"Bother with what?"

"With you, idiot boy. I only took you in to keep a promise to your father. It's not worth it. I
should have left you with your Aunt. I'd take Azkaban over this. At least there I didn't have to
put up with children and house elves." Harry frowned. "Have I upset you, kiddo? Let me
guess, you miss your mother and father? I do too. And I actually knew them. Thanks to you,
they're gone. You killed them. You're the reason they're dead."

Harry shivered and his scar tingled again.

"Who are you?" he asked Locket-Padfoot.

"I'm your godfather, Harry Potter." Harry shivered again. Locket-Padfoot and opened his
arms. "Come here," he said. Harry took a step backward. "Harry, come here." Harry shook
his head. "Harry, now."

"No," Harry said, taking another step back.

"I just want a hug," Padfoot said smoothly.

"Padfoot!" Harry called over his shoulder.

"Stop calling me! I'm right here!"

If Locket-Padfoot didn't like it then Harry thought that was a very good reason to keep doing
it. "Padfoot!"

"Shut up!" Locket-Padfoot took a step toward Harry who threw another Body-Bind at him.
The spell passed right through, as if it was smoke, though he looked far too solid for that.
Locket-Padfoot reached for Harry, who dashed out of the door and slammed it shut. There
was a thump on the other side. Harry put all of his weight against it, desperately trying to
keep whatever it was contained. It thumped again, almost knocking him over. Another
thump, and the door groaned. Footsteps. Harry tensed.

There was a loud - almost deafening - scream from the drawing room and then everything fell
silent. Harry waited for a few seconds and peeked under the door. He couldn't see anything
and it was still quiet so he tentatively took a step away. He waited and then when things were
still quiet, pushed the door open.

The locket was sitting innocently in the middle of the drawing room floor, a few feet from
where it should have been, and it was still open, the dark eyes watching his every move. He
scratched his scar absentmindedly and took another step forward, wand still raised and then,
suddenly, the locket snapped shut and all but blew the room apart. He was knocked off of his
feet, back out onto the landing and lost track of things for a few moments.

Next thing he knew, Padfoot was leaning over him, face pale.

"Kiddo?" Harry's scar prickled and without thinking, he wrenched his arm free and rolled
away, wand raised. "Harry? What's going on? I heard shouting and-"

"The locket," Harry said, rubbing his forehead. "I don't know how, or why, but it opened. You
came out of it, you were talking to me, but it wasn't you..."

Both glanced into the drawing room, which had been destroyed. It was as if a bomb had gone
off, but without the fire, if one didn't count the scorches on the walls from the burst lamps.

Things had been blown off the walls, the windows were shattered, as was the glass on the
cabinets, the Black tapestry was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, the couches had been
overturned - one had a large hole in it, with stuffing pouring out - and the rubbish bag had
exploded in a mass of paper, metal and little pieces of wood.

Glass crunched under Padfoot's trainers as he stepped into the room. He reached for the
locket, swore loudly and then retracted his hand.

"What?" Harry asked, stumbling forward, wand raised.

"It's hot." Padfoot prodded the locket with his own wand and it floated off the ground to sit in
the air between them. "What exactly were you doing?" he asked, examining the locket with
narrowed eyes. It was unharmed.

"I don't know! I was just trying to open it."

"How?"

"I don't know!" Harry cried again. "I was pulling it but it wouldn't open so I got frustrated
and told it to open and inside- inside-" His eyes widened. "The note! Regulus' note!"

"You found it?" Padfoot asked, eyes wide.

"No- Yes- Maybe-"

"Harry, you aren't making any sense."

Everything seemed to be making perfect sense to Harry, though. "What if the note's in the
fake locket?"

"Of course," Padfoot breathed.

"If it was just about taking the locket," Harry said, saying the words as they popped into his
head, "he wouldn't have bothered with the switch. He wanted Voldemort to find it."

"We'll have to go," Padfoot said.

"Go?"

"To the cave. Maybe Voldemort hasn't found the note yet-"

"It's been nine years," Harry said doubtfully.

"Yes, but he's been dead for most of them."

"But... if it's that important-"

"He wouldn't want to draw attention to it," Padfoot said. "If he'd gone skulking off to a cave
in the middle of nowhere every few weeks, someone would have noticed. Even Death Eaters
aren't that thick. And, even if hedid check on it, who's to say he opened it? Even if there's just
a word or two in there... something to go on. It'll be worth it."

"And if there's not? What if he's already been there and read it?"

"There's no way of knowing without being there," Padfoot said. "There's got to be a way of
seeing if the locket's there before drinking the Dementor's Draught. If we do that and the
locket's not there, we can leave again without disturbing anything."

"And if it is?"

Padfoot smiled grimly. "I spent seven years living with Dementors," he said. "I can handle it.
Besides, Kreacher's been a few times now, and we've got all of Reg's old things... It's not like
we're unprepared."

"We? I can go?" Harry asked, unable to believe his ears.

"Personally, I'd rather you stay here," Padfoot said. "But..."

"But what?"

Padfoot brushed Harry's fringe aside, revealing his scar. "But," he sighed, "you've probably
got more of a right to be there than I do."

"So I can go?" Harry repeated, stunned.

"There'll be rules," Padfoot warned. "You'll stay on the shore. You won't be allowed to come
with me on the boat, or to the island." Harry opened his mouth to protest but Padfoot's
expression said he wasn't open to negotiation and that was rare enough that Harry shut his
mouth again and nodded. "You'll learn the spells I think you'll need."

"What spells?"

"I'll write a list," Padfoot said. "And lastly, if things go badly, like they did for Reg and
Kreacher, and I tell you to get the hell out, you'll listen."

"And what, leave you there?"

"If it comes to it," Padfoot said, his expression unwavering.

"But-"

"Harry, if you can't handle it, you won't be going," Padfoot said. Slowly, Harry nodded.
"Lovely," Padfoot said, clapping his hands together as if Harry'd agreed to wash the dishes
instead of leaving him to die. The mood lightened so abruptly Harry felt a little startled.
"Now, help me clean this mess up."

They spent the rest of the afternoon fixing the drawing room and setting up a safe place for
the locket. In the end, Padfoot restored one of the drawing room cabinets and sent Harry to
comb the rest of the house for other things they could put in there so the locket wouldn't stand
out as much.

After that was done, Padfoot cast a number of spells on the cabinet to keep the locket safe;
there was an Alarm Spell which would ring if anyone touched the cabinet, a Shield Charm to
protect the cabinet or its contents from being damaged, a Permanent Sticking Charm on the
cabinet's feet to stop it from being bumped, moved or stolen, a complex Locking Charm on
the door of the cabinet, and an Attention-Diversion Charm on the cabinet to make it seem
insignificant.

Even so, Harry didn't like it and was very much looking forward to finding out what it was
and how to destroy it.

Two days later, Harry was in the library, poring over Regulus' old copy of The Standard Book
of Spells, Grade One - Padfoot's, Harry had learned, had been destroyed three days into his
first year in an incident involving fireworks and James' owl, and his parents had refused to
buy him another one - when Padfoot came in. He sat down across from Harry and fixed him
with an unyielding grey stare.
"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

"Well enough," Padfoot said with a sigh. "Are you sure you want to come with me to this
cave?"

Harry hesitated for a moment and then nodded. "Positive."

Padfoot sighed again, seeming unsurprised and pulled a scrap of parchment out of his robes.
"Before you're coming anywhere, you need to know all of this," he said. "All right?"

Harry glanced over what was actually quite a comprehensive list:

- Fire-Making Spells

- Light Charm

- Severing Charm

- Stickfast Hex

- Body-Binds

- Trip Jinx

- Apparition

"All of it?" Harry asked, his eyebrows shooting up. "I have to be able to Apparate?" Padfoot
fixed him with a steady look and Harry sagged into his seat. "I was just checking."

"Some of it you might be able to learn on your own," Padfoot said. "Some, like the Light
charm and the Body-Binds, you already know." Harry cheered slightly at that thought, but
knew Apparition was going to be the hardest thing. He still struggled with the non-verbal
magic-seeing incantation, for Merlin's sake! "The rest I'll teach you. Any questions?" Harry
shook his head.

"Excellent. And," Padfoot said, "let's agree now that neither of us are going to get worked up
over this. We'll go when we're ready, not before." Harry nodded, privately thinking that could
be years from now if Padfoot didn't change his mind about the list.

"I don't want you missing sleep over this, or getting stressed. That goes for me too. If I seem
worried - and that might just be because we've got the entire Ministry looking for us - feel
free to give my nose a swat or hex me or something. And, if at any point you feel like you
can't handle what we've got to do, you let me know. Deal?" Padfoot held out his hand.

Harry shook it. "Deal."

"Brilliant." Padfoot got up, browsed the library for a bit - all the while grumbling about the
lack of organisation of the shelves - and then selected a heavy book called, When The Dead
Walk.
He shuddered at the picture on the cover and opened it, scanning the contents with a frown.
Harry closed his book and shifted closer to his godfather so that he could read too. Padfoot
flicked through until he found the page he was looking for and then pushed the book between
them.

Inferi are corpses, reanimated to perform a sorcerer's bidding. Unlike Zombies, they have no
ability to think for themselves, though they share the same rotting, grey skin, the same
inability to articulate correctly and the same mainly-human appearance. Inferi are territorial
and so make excellent guards, with the only person that is truly safe from them being their
creator.

They are aggressive if provoked but are often selective with their victims, choosing to attack
the highest perceived threat first. They are also resistant to many spells, curses and hexes due
to their rotted nerve endings. Inferi are considered nocturnal and so will rarely be seen
during day hours; sunlight along with fire is one of the few things able to hinder these
humanoid creatures.

Below was a particularly graphic - moving - photograph of a witch being attacked by a tall
Inferius. Harry shuddered, feeling sick, and even Padfoot looked revolted. The passage
continued on but the Harry didn't understand what it was saying so he gave up on that and
returned tohis book.

He flicked to the index and searched for Fire-Making spells. There was an entire chapter on
elemental magic and while water, plant and ice magic wasn't going to be terribly useful,
Harry thought wind magic would certainly be worth knowing, and so would fire. He read for
at least an hour on the theory and then left to go and practice in the drawing room fireplace
since the library one was already lit.

Making fire, as Harry quickly learnt, was remarkably easy, but controlling it was not. Padfoot
managed to save the drawing room couches and Harry agreed rather sheepishly, that he'd use
the training room in the future. A little surprisingly - or maybe not, given what Padfoot had
done in his own childhood - he wasn't at all mad.

"Just disappointed," Padfoot said, examining the slightly scorched curtains. Harry felt like his
stomach was in his feet. He'd have much preferred anger. "Next time you want to set
something on fire," he said sternly, "at least try to get that sodding tapestry."

Harry blinked and then a little disbelieving laugh slipped out of his mouth. Padfoot winked,
ruffled his hair and headed back upstairs to the library, leaving Harry staring after him.

"Wotcher, Lupin," a cheerful voice said.

Remus turned, smiling. "Hello, Nymphadora- sorry, Tonks."

"Much better," she said, her hair returning to the purple it was today. She hesitated and then
said, "I read in the Prophet you found Harry Potter."
He's alive, he's alive, he's alive... Those two words had been a constant mantra in his head
ever since that day in London. "And that he escaped?" Remus asked ruefully.

"Yes, that too. It's true then?" Remus nodded, his good mood fading somewhat. "Poor kid."

"If the Ministry had been there five minutes sooner we would have had them both," Remus
sighed. He was still incredibly annoyed over that and though he tried to keep it out of his
voice, it still came through.

Nymphadora gave him a sly look. "Is that why you hit that Auror?"

Remus glanced at her sideways and smiled slightly. "It's remarkable how many people know
about that." And it was, considering the Prophet hadn't published that part of the story.

"Dad's with the Ministry," she said, shrugging. "Muggle Relations. He was one of the first
people there after they took you."

"I see."

"Are you still volunteering, or are you not allowed to?"

"No, I'm still searching but Lucius Malfoy's becoming harder and harder to take orders from."
He had begun to refuse letting Remus onto the Manor grounds and if Remus asked why,
always responded with a smooth comment about not wanting a broken nose like poor Rufus
Scrimgeour. They'd been conducting their meetings through the Manor gates, lately.

"I've met him a few times - he's my uncle, did you know?" Remus, who did know this,
nodded. "Utter bastard and my aunt's a snob, or at least I think so. Mum doesn't seem to know
what to think and Dad's smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself." Remus smiled
slightly.

"Tonks!"

Nymphadora and Remus spun to face a boy in Slytherin robes. Remus' hand closed around
his wand, just in case, but she didn't seem at all worried. "Wotcher, Tom!" she said brightly.

"Hi- Who're you?" he asked, spotting Remus. He seemed to be deciding whether to reach for
his own wand.

"This is Remus Lupin," Nymphadora said quickly, apparently noticing Tom's wariness.

Surprisingly, he didn't ask anything more than that; Remus supposed he trusted
Nymphadora's judgement, and thought, maybe, House rivalry might have died down a little...
Or perhaps Tom was just an exception. "Have you seen Weasley?"

"Which one?" Nymphadora asked, looking mischievous.

Tom scowled. "Not Joseph. Why anyone would look for that git is beyond me." Nymphadora
made a sound that Remus took to mean she agreed.
"You mean Roger?" she asked with eyes just wide enough to make Remus think she was up
to something. Tom made an annoyed noise which confirmed his theory. "No? Well, let's try
the cousins then... Percy?"

"Charlie," Tom sighed.

"Oh! You wanted our Weasley." Tom pursed his lips. "He's with the girls," Nymphadora said.
"Not sure where."

"Very helpful," Tom muttered, rolling his eyes. "Thank you... Nymphadora," he said, and
took off without another word.

"Durban!" Nymphadora shouted. Tom threw a grin at her over his shoulder and kept running.
"Slytherins!" she huffed.

"You're welcome to go after him," Remus said, beginning to walk again.

"I'll get him later," she said, shrugging.

"All right," he said, continuing forward. Nymphadora made a funny noise, as if to point out
that Remus was walking toward a wall and then decided against it.

"Are you here to see Dumbledore?" she asked instead.

"Yes, I am," he said, lifting a tapestry that concealed a staircase that would take him up two
floors. Dumbledore's office moved every year - Remus suspected it was to keep students and
teachers alike on their toes - and this year, it was on the third floor.

"I never knew that was there," she said, her dark eyes widening. She followed him through,
expression curious, but she stumbled on the step. She jumped right back up again, her hair a
very pale pink, before Remus could even offer to help. "I'm horrendously clumsy," she
sighed. "It's all my mother's fault." She glanced around with interest. "Where does this come
out?"

"Third floor. By that suit of armour that swears at everyone," Remus said.

Nymphadora laughed. "Charlie learned everything he knows from that."

"He can thank James and Sirius," Remus said, smiling slightly. "They taught Rudy
everything."

"Sirius... as in... Black?" Nymphadora asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Remus said bitterly.

"And James... not James Potter?" she asked.

"Yes, another of my friends," Remus said, smiling now.

"I think I remember him," she said thoughtfully. "He's Harry Potter's father?"
"Yes."

She nodded thoughtfully. "And Rudy?" she asked.

"It's self explanatory, really," Remus said, lips twitching.

"I don't... Rudy...?"

"Because he's rude," Remus said. He twisted his mouth. "Sirius has always had something of
a fascination with name puns."

"He'd probably have a field day with mine," she said darkly. "Not that I'm ever intending to
meet Mum's cousin, but still..."

"He used to say you were an 'adorable' child," Remus said, remembering suddenly.

Her mouth dropped open and her hair turned a bright, sunny yellow as she laughed. "Dora...
adorable... That's awful!" she cried.

"It is. But when your own name's Sirius..."

"What was your pun?" she asked.

"I didn't have one like 'adorable' but he made up a rhyme at some point in first year." She
watched him expectantly until he gave in with a sigh. "Loony, loopy, Lupin."

Nymphadora laughed. "That's one of Peeves' favourites!"

Somehow, that didn't surprise Remus. "James gets credit for that," he said, grinning despite
himself. "James' pun had something to do with 'pottering' around - if he was walking too
slowly, for example," he added, forestalling her next question. That joke had stopped in sixth
year when James decided it might hurt his chances with Lily, but it had been earned a place in
Sirius' speech at James' wedding.

"The three of you sound so funny," she said, smiling. Her mouth twisted a little. "Even
Black."

"There were four of us, actually. Peter Pettigrew was our friend as well."

"The boy- man that Black...?"

"Yes," Remus said quietly.

"I'm sorry," Nymphadora said.

"It was years ago," Remus said. Although it feels like it was yesterday.

Remus pushed a place on the seemingly solid wall in front of them and it slid open. "What
the fuck are you doing there?!" Rudy demanded, his armour creaking. "Don't you sodding
ignore me, you bastard! I asked what the fuck you were doing!" He shook his shield at them.
"And you, slag! Come bloody back and look at me when I'm bloody speaking!"

"It seemed funny back then," Remus muttered as they rounded a corner, "but he's hardly
setting a good example for the first years."

"He's made someone cry every year I've been here," Nymphadora said cheerfully. "And he
bothers Filch terribly but Dumbledore says he's a part of school history and all that..."

Remus shook his head, unsurprised. "So how's school?" He'd last seen her in early April, but
now, N.E.W.T.s were imminent, if they weren't already happening; he remembered the first
week of June as an extremely stressful one.

"I had my Potions exam yesterday," she said, smiling. "I think that went well enough; it was
free choice on what we brewed so I did stages one to four of the Wolfsbane Potion. I was
going to do one to four of Veritaserum but three people in my class chose that, so I went for
something a little different."

"Impressive," Remus said faintly. "I-I've heard it's rather complex."

"It's not too bad," she said thoughtfully. "Stage five is probably the hardest and I didn't have
to do that."

Remus managed to swallow. "What's next as far as exams go?"

"Charms tomorrow," she said. "Transfiguration the day after – which is easy, thank Merlin! -
then Defence and Herbology on Friday."

"So you're just revising today?"

"Procrastinating, really," she sighed, waving a hand at Remus. "I told Alfred I'd meet him in
the library straight after breakfast to go over Charms but here I am, talking to you."

"Tell Alfred I'm sorry," Remus said apologetically.

"He won't even notice. He's mooning after Jaquiline Gamp but everyone knows she fancies
Pius Thicknesse."

"I see," Remus said, having no clue who any of these people were.

"Honestly, I think it's ridiculous, fussing over who fancies who like we're eleven again." She
threw her hands up in the air and her hair turned an odd shade – like a mix between green and
orange. "If someone likes someone, they should just come out and say it."

"Blunt," Remus observed.

"I want to be an Auror, not a politician," she said with a shrug.

"Are you sure?" Remus asked, grinning. "You seem to have some fairly strong opinions."
"Positive," she said with a shudder. "And I don't think that I have 'strong opinions'. I just
think that people should act their age."

"You act far older than seventeen," Remus said.

"No, I don't," she said, her hair turning pink. "It just seems like it because everyone else is
busy acting like first years."

Remus disagreed, but couldn't be bothered trying to argue, since they'd reached the stone
gargoyle that was the entrance to Dumbledore's office. "Lupin," the gargoyle said.
"Password?"

"You're on first name terms with Dumbledore's gargoyle?" Nymphadora asked, impressed.

"Don't ask," Remus said, flushing slightly. "It has a lot more to do with James and Sirius than
it does with me."

"I remember Potter and Black! Say hi to them for me, would you?" the gargoyle said.

"Er..." Remus said, his eyes darting to Nymphadora's uncomfortable expression. "Sure."

"I'll see you later," Nymphadora said holding out her hand. Remus shook it, giving her a
warm smile - and tried to ignore the way her eyes widened as she took in his scars, though
thankfully she didn't comment - and then she set off down the corridor, tripping a little on the
hem of her robes.

"Do I have to wait for you all day?" the gargoyle complained.

"No, sorry. Lemon Drop."

"Kept me waiting for nothing. And here I was thinking you didn't know the password..."

"You'd have let me in anyway."

The gargoyle winked and leapt aside. The wall behind it parted, revealing an extremely
familiar stone staircase. Remus stepped on, and a moment later found himself standing
outside Dumbledore's office door.

He reached for the brass knocker but a deep voice called, "Come in!" before he had a chance
to touch it.

Shaking his head, Remus stepped into the office. "Good morning, sir," he said, shutting the
door.

"Ah, Remus! I thought perhaps you'd got lost!"

"No, just distracted."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Have a seat, dear boy." Remus conjured himself an armchair and sat.
"Would you care for a sweet?"
"No, thank you. I just had breakfast."

"Draco," Mother said mildly.

Draco stopped playing with the buttons on his waistcoat at once. "Sorry, Mother," he said,
letting his hand fall to his side.

She gave him a gentle smile. "Do make an effort tonight."

"I will," he said, waiting until she turned away to grimace.

"Draco, I mean it," she warned, turning back to him. "I don't want a repeat of last time. I
couldn't look Audra Crabbe in the eye for weeks."

"It was one pudding," he protested weakly. "I didn't even mean to blow it u-" Mother caught
and held his gaze. "Yes, Mother," he said, picking at his silver-embroidered waistcoat. "I'm
sorry. It won't happen again."

"I should think not," she said coolly.

"Now, now, Narcissa," Father said, striding into the drawing room. He was dressed similarly
to Draco, in black trousers, a black waistcoat embroidered with silver and long black robes.
Hydrus walked in after him, dressed in an identical garb to Draco's, but green instead, like
Mother's dress robes. "Accidents happen to the best of us." His eyes met Draco's identical
ones. "Isn't that right, son?"

"Yes, Father," Draco said, relieved. "I promise it won't happen again."

"Speaking of promises, Father, I know Bosworth will behave," Hydrus whined, petting the rat
who was in its usual place on his shoulder.

"I've said no," Father said crossly. "Take him upstairs and leave him there." Hydrus let out a
loud, angry noise and stomped back upstairs. "Go and fix your hair," Father told Draco.

"Yes, Father," Draco muttered and fled. He walked quickly - not daring to run but Father was
in a bad mood - out of the drawing room, down the corridor to the foyer and then up the large
staircase, down another long hallway and into his bedroom. He crossed the room, ignoring
Roquefort's squeaks from inside his cage, and ducked into his bathroom.

His reflection stared back; a thin face with a pointed chin and his father's grey eyes. His
father's face, just like Aunt Bella had said during their last visit, though not quite as
blank. I'm getting better at it, though, he thought proudly. Better than Hydrus, anyway.

He reached for the little silver pot on the marble bench-top and scooped up a lump of gel.
"Bit much, isn't it?" his mirror asked.

"No," Draco snapped, sleeking a loose hair into place. When he was finished, he looked just
like the photographs he'd seen of his father at a young age. Even his expression matched;
calm and content, if a little bored. Good, now- CRACK! "Dobby!" Draco gasped, jumping
away from the little elf. "Don't do that!"

"Dobby is sorry, young Master," the elf squeaked, sinking into a hasty bow that made his ears
flap, "but Master is sending Dobby to be getting young Master and is telling him to be quick,
sir."

"I'm going as fast as I can," Draco said, annoyed.

"Master is saying now, young Master," Dobby said, his huge, green eyes wide as he wrung
his filthy pillowcase.

"All right," Draco snapped. He grabbed the elf's skinny forearm and his bathroom spun,
distorted and then disappeared altogether to be replaced by the drawing room. Draco
stumbled, gasping for air, but a strong hand on the back of his robes didn't let him fall. Dobby
vanished again.

"And you remember my youngest; Draco," Father said, squeezing his shoulder to the point
that it was painful. Draco blinked, his vision readjusting.

"Yes, but not so young anymore; happy birthday, Draco," fat, old Roderick Crabbe said,
scratching his pointed beard.

"Thank you," Draco said politely; he wasn't supposed to add a 'sir' when he was talking to the
Crabbes or Goyles because they weren't purebloods, although they liked to claim otherwise.

Audra nodded. "He was responsible for the pudding incident, was he not?" Draco's cheeks
burned but his father's hand wouldn't let him move an inch.

Mother laughed loudly. It was a high, tinkling sound, like ice shattering. "I'd forgotten about
that," she said bestowing Audra with a smile. The other woman returned it before her
attention was claimed by two-year-old Cyril. Mother shot Draco a pointed, though not angry,
look.

"Do you remember my Vincent, Draco?" Roderick asked.

"Yes," Draco said, casting a wary glance over at his brother and the stout boy with a pudding-
bowl haircut. They'd met a number of times in the past; Draco wasn't terribly fond of the
larger boy but he'd always gravitated toward Hydrus so it wasn't an issue.

The fireplace flared green and tall, square-jawed Ernest Parkinson stepped out, followed by
his thin, sickly-looking wife Sonja and his daughter Pansy who had dark hair like her father,
big brown eyes like her mother and a button nose that came from neither parent.

They'd just finished greetings when the Greengrasses arrived; rotund, little Marius, his
beautiful wife Parmenia and their daughters; Daphne was the eldest - the same age as Draco -
blond with a long face and her twin sisters Astoria and Vivienne who were a year younger.

They both had dark hair but the similarities ended there; Astoria was tiny in height and build
while Vivienne was taller - almost as tall as Daphne - with blue eyes quite unlike Astoria's
hazel.

The Notts arrived shortly after; old, silver-haired Leopold, young, brunette Eleanor and her
daughter Catherine. Theodore wasn't Eleanor's son - his mother had died a few days after he
was born - but he was there too; he was a lanky boy with an overbite who was a few months
older than Draco.

Everyone wished him a happy birthday with varying degrees of sincerity and Draco nodded
politely and thanked them all accordingly. The Gamps - the biggest pure-blood family aside
from perhaps the Weasleys - weren't coming for which Draco was grateful; where the
Weasleys had sons, the Gamps had daughters and they were giggly and annoying and Draco
didn't want them at his birthday dinner.

Hamish was the only male Gamp and he was older than Draco and preferred his sisters' and
cousins' company. Last were the Goyles - who had never been on time as long as Draco had
known them.

The Bulstrodes weren't going to be there either, but that was okay because Millicent terrified
Draco; she was big enough to eat him if she wanted to, but she was also much smarter than
people assumed. She'd told him she was more Slytherin than he was, and Draco, in anger, had
accidentally blown up his pudding. The worst part was he thought she might be right, even if
neither of her parents had been Death Eaters like Father.

"Terribly sorry, Lucius," Aloysius said, stepping out of the fire. He was a thin man, cleanly
shaven and with little hair left on his head. "Clementina's running late again. How are you,
Roderick, Ernest, Leopold?" There was a general murmur of 'good'. "Oh! And Marius! How
are you? I didn't see you there."

"I'm well, thank you, Aloysius," Marius said, bowing his head.

"Mother's on her way," tall, solid Gregory grunted as he clambered out of the fireplace.
"Happy birthday," he said to Hydrus.

"It's not my birthday," Hydrus said, rolling his eyes. "It's Draco's."

"Happy birthday," Gregory said, turning to Draco, who simply nodded.

Aloysius watched his son with a grimace. "Shall we adjourn to the dining room? Clementina
will find her way there, I'm sure."

Everyone held their breath. "You would do well to remember that this is my house," Father
said dangerously, "and therefore my place - and not yours, Aloysius - to make such
statements." The room had gone deadly quiet. Aloysius opened his mouth to say something
but Gregory shook his head once, and then he shut it. "Shall we adjourn to the dining room?"
Father asked silkily.

"Yes," Parmenia said with a gracious smile that diffused the tension. "Come, Marius, girls."

"Hydrus, lead the way," Mother said with a strained smile.

"Yes, Mother," Hydrus said with a charming smile.

"Draco, see that Dobby's keeping to schedule."

"Yes, Mother." Draco ducked out the right side door while everyone else went left. He
walked down the dim hallway and down the cellar stairs. He entered the cellar - Draco didn't
think he'd ever known it to hold wine, though - and headed through the adjacent door quickly,
not wanting to linger since there was something about the cellar that he'd never liked; it was
always very cold down there, and it was always darker than anywhere else in the Manor. He
walked - because Malfoys didn't run, Father had said - down another corridor and then
through another door into the kitchen.

"Young Master!" Dobby exclaimed bowing, as Draco perched on the edge of the worn
wooden table in the centre of the room.

"Mother said to ask if you're on schedule," Draco said, sniffing curiously at the room; the
oven was glowing orange and he could smell fresh bread, potato and meat. There was a pot of
something delicious simmering on the stove and a set of knives were slicing carrots,
tomatoes, lettuce, cucumber and the like on the bench.

"Mistress could have called Dobby," Dobby said, shaking his head. "Young Master shouldn't
have tired himself. Dobby knows how the young Master doesn't like the cellar."

"I'm not scared of the cellar," Draco growled.

The little elf patted his knee tentatively before tottering over to check the soup. "Young
Master can tell Mistress Dobby will be ready in time, sir," Dobby squeaked, clicking his
fingers to send the vegetable knives into the sink (which was currently filling with soapy
water).

"Good. And get rid of the tomatoes. I don't eat them." Dobby made a little sobbing noise and
hurried over to the chopping board.

Draco was able to slip into the dining room unnoticed, just like a good host should. The only
person who seemed to realise he was there at all was Hydrus, who rolled his eyes and went
back to his spiel about broomsticks. Theodore seemed genuinely interested but neither
Vincent or Gregory seemed to have much idea what was going on. Draco went and sat in the
empty seat between his brother and Daphne.

"We've both got Comet two-sixties," Hydrus boasted, glancing around at the other children.
"Father wants us ready for the house team."

"At Hogwarts?" Gregory asked, frowning.

"Of course at Hogwarts, you idiot!" Draco said.

"Or Durmstrang," Hydrus said. "Father's still trying to talk Mother into it." Draco was quietly
certain that in this, Father wouldn't succeed. Mother didn't often argue with him, but when
she did, she won.
"I didn't think first years were allowed on the house teams," Theodore said tentatively.

"They are at Durmstrang," Hydrus said.

"Everything's allowed at Durmstrang," Daphne said, rolling her eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco asked.

"Just that Karkaroff is more relaxed than Dumbledore is," Daphne said, tossing her hair over
her shoulder.

"Are you really going to Durmstrang?" Pansy asked unhappily, staring from Draco to Hydrus.

Draco shrugged. "Wherever we go, we'll be playing Quidditch."

"Clarice says first years aren't allowed broomsticks," Astoria said primly.

Hydrus snorted. "Father's very influential at the school. If we do go to Hogwarts, he'll apply
for a position on the Board of Governors."

"Can he do that?" Theodore asked, looking awed.

"Of course," Draco said, waving a hand. "All this business with Harry Potter's put him in
Dumbledore's good books. I bet I'll have a place on the team before I've even unpacked my
broomstick. And who's Clarice?" Pansy rolled her eyes and started up a different
conversation with Hydrus.

"Our step-sister," Daphne said proudly. "She and Bertram were from Mother's first marriage."
Draco sneaked a glance at Parmenia Greengrass, who was tracing the back of her husband's
hand while she laughed at a joke Clementina was telling. "How old are they?"

"They'll be fourteen in on the twenty-fifth of June," Astoria chirped from beside her sister.
"Clarice is going to be an Unspeakable and Bertram's going to be a professional Quidditch
player."

"What position?"

"Chaser," said Vivienne. "And if he doesn't get in, he'll be a reporter for the Daily Prophet."

"Perhaps he'll work with Father on the Harry Potter search," Draco said.

Vivienne glanced at Father and frowned. "Perhaps," she said.

"Are they going to find him do you think?" Astoria asked looking nervous. "They say he's
dead."

"Who, Harry Potter? The Prophet says he's dead," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Shows how
much they know. I don't think he's dead, and neither does Father."

"Mother and Father say he's powerful," Daphne whispered. Vivienne nodded.
"He is," Draco said. "Father thinks he'll be the next Dark Lord."

"Is that why Sirius Black took him?" Daphne asked.

Draco shrugged, fairly sure that he wasn't supposed to know as much about Sirius Black as
he did. "Do I look like Sirius Black or Harry Potter to you?" he asked instead.

"No," Daphne said.

"Then why in Merlin's name would I know?" he asked coldly.

"There's no need to be rude about it," Astoria said, folding her arms. "She was just asking."

Draco ignored her. "What makes you think I'd know?" he asked again.

"Well, your father's involved," Daphne said condescendingly. "Anyone with the intelligence
of a Mountain Troll might think you knew something."

"Well, I don't," Draco said, using his frosty voice to mask his lie.

"Oi! Greengrass."

All three girls turned around. "Which one?" Astoria asked.

"Daphne. You're hoping for Slytherin, right?" Hydrus asked.

She shrugged. "Either Slytherin or Ravenclaw."

"Told you," Theodore muttered.

"How did you know?" Vivienne asked, sounding interested.

He shrank under everyone's scrutiny. "It's not hard- Everyone here wants that."

"I don't want to be in Ravenclaw," Hydrus drawled.

Draco nodded. "I want Slytherin."

"There's nothing wrong with Ravenclaw," Vivienne said, and Astoria nodded angrily from the
chair beside her. "Mother thinks I'll be a Ravenclaw."

"And I suppose you're looking to go there too?" Pansy asked Astoria, looking mildly
revolted. She'd never liked the twins much.

"I won't be in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff," Astoria said coolly. "I'd be happy with either of the
others. You're thinking Slytherin, aren't you, Theodore?"

"Yes," Theodore said and then hesitated and added, "but Ravenclaw's not a bad alternative."
The twins beamed. Draco rolled his eyes; if Father had seen him doing that, he'd have been
subjected to lessons on how to control his facial expressions. Clearly the Greengrass family
weren't as proper as they'd used to be. "Vincent, Gregory?"
"Slytherin," both grunted.

"Me too," Pansy said loudly, not wanting to be forgotten. "Mother was a Ravenclaw but
I'd hate to be put there," she said with a nasty glance at Astoria and Vivienne. "Ravenclaws
are weak." All three Greengrass girls and Theodore made noises of disagreement. "They are,"
Pansy said, watching her mother with narrowed eyes; Sonja Parkinson had just returned from
the bathroom looking paler than usual and a little clammy. "They're weak." The others
exchanged glances - Pansy's mother was sick and there was nothing the Healers could do for
her - and stayed silent.

"Well," Daphne said with a cautious glance at Pansy, "I suppose this little group will be
sticking together. That's nice, isn't it?"

"'That's nice, isn't it?'" Draco drawled, mimicking her. "Are you sure you're not angling for
Hufflepuff, Greengrass?"

The others - except for Daphne, who blushed - laughed. Draco leaned back in his chair, smug
and completely content.
 Heading home

Charlie leaned forward so that he could see around Alison Pemberly's head; she'd played
chess and then Exploding Snap with them until about an hour ago and then she'd gone
unnaturally quiet and turned toward the window.

Dawn Carter, the soon-to-be-former Head Girl had been unabashedly sobbing for the last half
hour, much to the amusement of everyone in the compartment, though the ribbing had been
more subdued than in previous years; even Tom Durban - a Slytherin - had only made a few
jibes before shuffling over to put an arm around her.

Charlie glanced at the buildings which were becoming more and more frequent and then
settled back into his seat again, scratching Canis' ears for good measure. Tonks' little cat
purred and leaned into the touch and Tonks herself peered over the top of the book she was
reading and glared at them both. The cat stopped purring immediately and glared back until
Tonks hid behind her book again.

Charlie, determined to make the most of his remaining time on the train, pulled out his
sketchbook and - with a few pats as coercion - was able to rest it on Canis. He flicked
through to his half-finished dragon and - once he'd located his stick of charcoal - added
another line that would form the basic structure of the dragon's wing.

He frowned and added another line and then moved the book back a little. He muttered a
quick spell to siphon the charcoal off and tried again. After the third repeat of this, Tonks
huffed noisily and yanked the book out of his grip. Canis made a swipe for her hand but
missed.

"Oi!"

"This looks fine to me," she said, examining the sketch.

"Hold it up," Charlie said. She did. He stared at it with narrowed eyes and then nodded.
"That's actually not bad," he said,

"For a Gryffindor," Tom drawled.

Charlie grinned. "You should put your reading glasses on, Durban. If you could see it
properly, you might appreciate it for the work of art it really is." Tom chuckled.

"Oh, so now you like it?" Tonks muttered. Charlie winked at her and tugged the sketchbook
from her hands. He added spines down the dragon's back and along it tail and was just
shading the wing membranes when Dawn let out a particularly loud sob and the train slowed
noticeably.

Tonks stuffed her book into her trunk and pulled it down from the luggage rack - almost
knocking Alison's head off in the process - and snatched Canis off of Charlie's lap. Before the
little cat could even realise it was his despised owner that was holding him, Tonks had stuffed
him into his wicker basket and shut the lid. A furious hissing came from inside but she
latched it without any trouble.

By the time the train had come to a complete stop, everyone's things were down, making for
very little leg-room and Dawn and Alison actually climbed over Tom's trunk to reach Tonks.
Tonks looked surprised; the only time she and the other girls had ever spent much time
together was in the library, studying, or on train rides, like this, but she accepted the hugs
with a bemused smile and the girls hugged Charlie, waved at Tom and then went on their
ways.

Tonks and Charlie were the last to leave because Charlie knew she'd have no hope of
navigating the train until most of the students were on the platform.

"That's it," Tonks said with a sad little smile as she and Charlie hopped off the train.

"Not for me," Charlie said, passing Canis' basket down to her. It hissed as Tonks grabbed it
and she poked her tongue out at it. "I'll come to see Perce and the twins off next year and then
Ron two years later and Ginny the year after that."

"Not if you go dragon-taming," she said with a smile. "Norway, isn't it?"

"Romania," he said. "And that's a big if. Bill had to fight for days to let Mum let him go
to London."

"London and Romania aren't that different," Tonks said thoughtfully. Charlie gave her a
disbelieving look. "They're not. I don't think it matters where you are, it's the fact that you're
not home."

"Maybe," Charlie said, not quite convinced. He reached out and caught Tonks as she
stumbled over a first year. Canis hissed again from his basket.

"Sorry," she called cheerfully as the boy flushed and hid behind his parents. Charlie laughed.
"Oh, shut up."

"Nymphadora! Hey, Nymp-"

"Call me 'Nymphadora' one more time..." Tonks muttered, spinning around. Her blue hair
turned purple and then red. She sighed when she spotted Booth and Williams fighting
through the crowd to get to them and her hair went back to blue.

"So they get away with calling you by your first name?" Charlie asked, playfully indignant.

"They're Hufflepuffs," she muttered. "They're too polite to know better." She tugged his
Gryffindor scarf, tripped on her own feet and nearly strangled him with it. Charlie gasped.
"Gryffindors," she said recovering, "on the other hand, do it for the thrill."

"Thrill?"

"Oh, come on, there's always a very good chance you'll get an earful or a hex. How many
detentions did I get this year?"
"Less than in previous years," Charlie said.

"Still considerably more than you," she said, proudly. "Wotcher," she added as Booth and
Williams appeared beside her.

"Hi, Nymph- er- Tonks, sorry," Williams said.

"Hi," Booth said.

"Weasley," Williams added. Charlie supposed these two were to him what Dawn and Alison
were to Tonks; friends of hers and therefore friends of his, but only really by association.

"Hey."

"Charlie! Charlie - oh, sorry, Ron - Charlie, over here!" Charlie could see Mum and the rest
of the family - minus Dad and Bill - waving frantically from beside a pillar.

"That's me," Charlie said, grinning. He waved back to let Mum know he'd seen them, gave
Tonks a quick hug and nodded at Booth and Williams. "I'll see you all later."

"Make sure you remember to write!" Tonks said at once. "If you don't, I'll write to Tom and
make him make you write back!"

"Tom won't write," Charlie laughed. "When's he ever answered a letter?"

"Even more reason for you to write. Between the pair of you-" Tom wanted to be a dragon
Healer and would probably go to Romania with Charlie. Charlie was glad he'd have a
familiar face there, and thought Tom was too, but Tom was too much of a Slytherin to admit
it. "- I want a letter a week! I don't want to have to go all the way to Norway-"

"Romania."

"Whatever. It's still a long way away and I don't want to have to go all the way there just to
give you a talking to!"

"If that's what it takes to get you to visit..."

"Prat."

"Bye, Canis," he said, tapping the basket. The cat mewled curiously. Tonks scowled and he
hissed.

"Shut up," she said, giving the basket a little shake. She gave Charlie one last hug and then
vanished into the crowd with the other two.

Charlie parted a sea of fourth year girls and made his way toward his family. Before he could
reach Mum, however, a small, skinny figure collided with him. "Charlie!" Ginny cried.

"Gin," he said, ruffling her hair. She flattened it and pulled away, wrinkling her nose. He
scooped her off the ground and tossed her over his shoulder easily, like he would with his
broom on the way back from practice. She squealed and kicked. Charlie pretended to the
struggle was too much and set her down again, puffing dramatically. "What happened, kiddo?
You've grown since Christmas!"

"I'm taller than Ron now," she said happily, seizing his hand.

"With the way he eats? I don't believe it."

"It's true," she said, towing him toward the rest of the family. "Look." She released him and
went to stand beside Ron and was indeed taller.

Mum hugged him tightly and then fussed over his hair. "Dad's come straight from work - he'll
meet us at the car."

"He didn't have to do that," Charlie said, touched.

"He wanted to," Mum said, smiling. "Oh, Charlie, I can't believe I've got two sons out of
school!"

"You've got lots of sons out of school," Fred pointed out, ushering her out of the way so he
and George could hug Charlie. "It's holidays."

"But when it's not-" Mum said.

"You've still only got Perce," George said. "We haven't started yet and neither's ickle
Ronnikins."

"They call you ickle now?" Charlie asked, laughing as he turned his attention to his youngest
brother. Ron wore an odd expression – as if he didn't know whether he wanted to smile at
Charlie or scowl at Fred and George – but the grin won out, splitting his freckled face.

"Yeah," he said a little ruefully. "I'm the shortest Weasley."

Charlie hugged him. "You're the shortest male Weasley," he corrected. And privately, he
didn't think it would be for much longer; Bill, Percy and Ginny had always been tall and thin
for their respective ages, though Bill was about average height now and he suspected Ginny
would stop growing early and be short like Mum. He and the twins had always been shorter
and stockier. Ron fit into neither group; he seemed to have gained a little weight – his face
was a little rounder than Charlie remembered it being at Christmas – but if that weight was
there to stay, Tonks wasn't a Metamorphmagus. "Ginny's the shortest female."

"Ginny's the only female," George said. Ginny scowled.

"I don't know," Fred said. "If Perce grew his hair out..."

"Where is Percy?"

"Dunno," Ron said, straining to see through the crowd.

"Don't bother looking," Fred told him.

"Yeah," George said, grinning, "leave that to the taller Weasleys."

Ron made a face and then said, "There he is!"

"What?" Fred demanded.

"Where?" George asked.

"Clearly height isn't everything..." Ron said slyly as Ginny dashed off into the crowd.

Five minutes later they were all - well, minus Bill but he'd be there for dinner - off. Mum,
Dad, George and Ginny sat in the front seat; Ginny was on Dad's lap and kept moving so he
had to look around her to see the road. George was watching Dad drive with a shrewd
expression, and every now and then he would turn and share a look with Fred. If Charlie
didn't know better, he'd swear they were trying to learn how to drive the thing... And then he
shook his head; playful as the twins were, he didn't think they'd try anything like that.

Charlie himself was between Percy - who was looking out the window, clearly missing
school already - and Ron who was talking animatedly about a trip to Diagon Alley.

"-in the Leaky Cauldron and this boy fell out of the fireplace, right."

"Right," Charlie muttered, not really listening.

"Well, we didn't think anything of it at the time but do you know who it was?"

"No, do tell," Charlie said, yawning.

"It was Harry Potter!" Ginny shrieked from the front seat. Dad jumped and had to swerve at
the last moment or he would have crashed the car.

"Ginny! Not while your father's driving!" Mum said crossly.

"Sorry," Ginny said, not looking sorry at all. She climbed over George, over the back of the
seat and wedged herself in between Ron and Fred. "Tell him about it, Ron," she said, her
brown eyes bright.

Charlie was listening with interest now; he knew quite a bit about the Potter-Black case
because Tonks wanted to be an Auror and had often regaled him with newspaper articles.
Ron nodded eagerly. "So he came out of the fireplace and talked to us for a bit and then he
left and I went to the bathroom but when I came back, I walked right into him again. He was
wearing his glasses this time, though, and I recognised him and he told me not to tell and then
some lady saw him too and then he ran."

"We were interviewed and everything," Ginny said huffily. "I thought the reporters were so
rude. He seemed really nice and all they care about is a story for their silly paper."

"We didn't tell them anything," Ron said proudly. "And then Mum got in a fight with a
reporter that tried to follow us home."
"It was wicked," Fred said. "She had her wand out and everything."

"Didn't know you had it in you, Mum," Charlie said, impressed. Mum looked rather flattered.

"What else has been going on?" Percy asked.

"The gnomes are back," Mum sighed.

"Dad helped Ron and I-"

"Ron and me," Percy corrected. Fred booed him.

"Dad helped Ron and me," Ginny continued, smiling at Percy, "build a house for them in the
backyard."

Charlie grinned. "Can you show me when you get home?"

"First thing," Ron said, nodding. "But the painting's bad."

"Blame Ginny for that," Fred said.

"It looks like a Unicorn threw up on it," George said. "All bright and sparkly."

"It looks nice," Ginny said defensively. Fred, George and Ron exchanged looks.

"I'm sure it does," Charlie said, shifting so he could grin at Dad in the rear-view mirror.

"No more school work," Alfred said. "And do you know what?"

Tonks pulled her eyes off of Charlie - who'd just been hugged by his little sister Ginny - and
laughed. "What?"

"I'm actually going to miss it," Alfred said, pulling a face.

"I'm not," Keith said. "I'm going to join our local Quidditch team and teach the younger kids
how to play."

Alfred's eyes brightened at that. "Do you reckon I could help?" Alfred, Tonks knew, wanted a
job in the Department of Management and Control of Magical Children.

"Sure," Keith said, shrugging.

"Brilliant- Oh, that's Bec." He waved at a tall girl with short blond hair - Alfred's younger
sister Louise was there too - hugged Tonks, shook Keith's hand and dragged his trunk toward
them.

Tonks waved at Rebecca who smiled and waved back; she'd been Head Girl in Tonks' fifth
year. "It's nice of her to come and get them," she said.

Keith shrugged. "She doesn't have much choice, since Alfred failed his Apparition test."
"She could have made them catch the Knight Bus," Tonks pointed out.

"I guess." He fidgeted, looking quite nervous. "So, got any plans for the summer?"

"I'm spending some time with Mum and Dad," Tonks said, smiling at the thought. "Mum's
offering a few galleons if I help her out at the bank so I might do that for a bit and Dad says
I'm always welcome at the station so I'll probably be there quite a bit too. How about you?"

"Quidditch, like I said," Keith muttered. He scuffed his trainer on the ground and then looked
up hopefully. "I was wondering, though, if you'd like to catch up at some point?"

"Of course!" she said. "We aren't about to fall out of contact, Keith."

"Great," Keith said, smiling.

"Just send me an owl or something to say you aren't busy." She checked her watch and made
a face. "I've got to go - I told Dad I'd be there by five..."

"Yeah, that's fine. I told Mum I'd help her with dinner." They hugged and then he vanished
into the throng of students and Tonks headed back toward the train.

She used the window as a mirror and lengthened her hair until it rested on her shoulders,
made it brown and changed her eyes to a nice blue - the same colour her hair had just been.
She left her face as it was - pale and heart-shaped - returned her nose to its usual shape -
small and buttony - and then, willed a smattering of freckles into existence. She examined
herself critically, shrugged and grabbed her trunk.

She knew it would be easier to Disapparate from the platform, but nostalgia made her want to
walk out into the muggle world one last time, so she set off through the crowd.

This is it, she thought sadly, facing the wall. She took a last glance over her shoulder at the
scarlet steam engine and then squared her shoulders. She lifted her trunk and Canis' basket
and strode through. A muggle man gave her an odd look and then shook his head and walked
away. It's funny how muggles go out of their way to ignore magic, she thought, smiling
slightly as she headed through the station.

"Are you still there?" she asked Canis, who hissed again. "You're just lucky I didn't leave you
at school," she told him. He hissed again. "Yes, well I don't like you much either."

"Mother, we're late!" a little girl screeched, hauling her mother toward the barrier Tonks had
just come out of. "Bertram and Clarice are probably the last ones there!"

The mother, a tall, willowy woman with dark hair - the little girl looked a lot like her, but
smaller - sighed and said, "Go ahead then, Astoria, and let them know we're on our way."

"Why does she get to go?" a blond girl demanded as the little one ran off with a delighted
yell.

"You're welcome to go too," the woman replied calmly. The blond gave the woman a
suspicious look and ran after the little dark-haired girl. "Are you going too, Vivienne?"
"No," said the third girl who was also dark-haired. "If Clarice gets more time with Edmond,
she'll be happier all holidays."

The woman laughed. "Is that so?"

"Yes," the little girl said matter-of-factly. She saw Tonks looking and smiled. Tonks smiled
back and then collided with something soft and dropped Canis' basket. It burst open and the
cat stuck his head out and glanced around the station before darting away.

"Watch it!" a heavy man with a bushy moustache said.

"Sorry!" she said, righting her trunk.

"As you should be," an equally large woman said. "Youths these days! No respect for anyone
anymore. She's as bad as that boy of yours-"

Tonks prepared herself to be berated, but the man's expression changed dramatically at the
mention of this mysterious boy. He seemed to forget about Tonks altogether.

"He's gone!" the man said brightly as they walked away. "Clearly you haven't been reading
the papers, Marge..."

Tonks picked Canis' basket off the station floor and set it on top of her trunk. "Here," the girl
said, holding Canis out.

"Thank you," Tonks said. Canis hissed at her and sank his claws into the girl's jumper.
"Sorry," she said, prying the little cat free. "He's not very well behaved."

"What's his name?"

"Canis."

"That's a funny name."

"Vivienne!" the woman said, looking embarrassed. "I'm terribly sorry-"

"It's all right," Tonks said cheerfully, stuffing her cat back into his basket. She winked at the
girl. "I gave him a funny name on purpose." She smiled and the mother seemed to relax a bit.
"Thanks again," Tonks said, gathering her things.

The pair continued towards the platform, while Tonks headed out of the station and into
muggle London. She pulled her trunk and Canis' basket down an alley, checked for muggles
and then Apparated into a storage room in the studio. Canis yowled, making her jump.

She swore and steadied the box of tapes she'd almost knocked over. Tonks spent a moment in
the darkness with her ear pressed up against the door and once she'd decided there was no
one there, stepped out into the bright hallway.

She was waiting by the lift - Canis was still grumbling in his basket - when it opened and
three people stepped out. Two were very professional looking, a man and a woman, both with
short, sleek hair and pinched expressions. The third stopped when he saw her. "Dora!" Jim
said, giving her a bright, very white smile.

"Jim!" Tonks said, delighted. He and Dad had worked together since she was born and she'd
spent a lot of time in the studio as a kid. She dropped her trunk so she could give him a hug.

"I thought you might have been too old for hugs," he said, letting her go.

"Never," she said. "How've you been?"

"Not too bad, thanks," Jim said. "Dawes - you know Kevin Dawes, the weatherman?"

"I think Dad's talked about him," Tonks said, frowning.

"Dad's talked about him..." Jim said, shaking his head. "Of course he has; he's the longest
serving weatherman in London!"

"When did he join the station?"

"A few years back," Jim said. He shook his head. "Anyone would think you didn't watch the
news."

"I don't always," she said, shrugging.

"You must be in the minority. My brother can't pull his kids away from the television.
Anyway, Dawes is retiring in March and he's training me up to take his place." He
straightened his tie importantly.

"Brilliant," Tonks said.

He smiled. "I'm looking forward to it – I've only done the weather a few times, and most of
those were years ago, before Dawes worked at this station. Here, we're blocking the hall." He
picked her trunk up and led her down the corridor. "I hear you've just finished school?"

"I have."

"Makes me feel old," he said ruefully. "I still remember when you were five and wore that big
knitted hat everywhere."

Tonks was startled into laughter. "I remember that," she said; until she'd turned seven, she
hadn't had proper control of her Metamorphmagus abilities and had had to wear the hat
everywhere to cover her hair, which had been - and still was - the part of her that changed
most readily.

"You wouldn't take it off, even in summer," he said fondly. "So how's it feel?"

"What? Being free of the hat? It's great."

"No, you duffer. Finishing school."

"Oh." She laughed. "A bit sad, really, but I think I'm ready to face the real world."

"Know what you're going to do?"

She tried to remember the name for muggle law enforcers and couldn't. A conversation from
a few weeks back drifted through her head. "Politics," she said, to buy herself time. And it
sounds like that, too... pilates? Pol-something...

"Politics? You? Really?"

She laughed. "No, not really. I was thinking I might join the police force."

He chuckled. "Now that I'll believe. Here we go."

Tonks blinked at the door that said Ted Tonks. "It's moved. When-?"

"Last week," Jim said. "Some idiot from advertising decided he wanted a better office so your
dad swapped."

"Why?"

"Because Parker would have quit otherwise and he's too valuable," Jim sighed. "Ted doesn't
mind much, I don't think. He's only here on afternoons anyway." He knocked and pushed the
door open.

"That and the less space I have, the tidier I have to be," Dad said as they walked in.

Tonks took one look at the desk and smiled. "Dad, you don't know how to be tidy."

Dad hugged her. "I do so."

"I've never seen it," she said. She cleared a little patch on the desk and put the basket down.
"Besides, I'm a slob and I certainly didn't get it from Mum."

"True," Dad said. His eyes landed on Jim and he chuckled. "Oh, Jim, you didn't need to carry
that. You should have made her do it."

"It's fine, really," Jim said. "Besides, she carried the cat." Canis hissed to remind everyone he
was there.

The phone rang. Dad had to shift several folders and his briefcase to get to it. "Ted Tonks
speaking," he said. "Yeah, there's room." He gestured wildly with one hand. Tonks recognised
the old gesture and grabbed a blank sheet of paper and a muggle pen and passed them to him.
He smiled and fumbled with the lid. "Mmmhmm." He scribbled something down and then
paused. "No!"

"What's happening?" Tonks whispered but he waved a hand to quiet her.

"Yes... Yes... Yes, send through the details... No, but I'll see what I can do... All right. Thanks,
Sean." He hung up and let out a gusty breath.
"Sean Green?" Tonks asked. Sean was an old school friend of Mum and Dad's. He was a
Slytherin - cunning to the core and talented, according to Mum - but the few times Tonks had
met him he'd been nice too, and had no prejudices against muggles or muggleborns. A lot like
Tom, really. To prove that, he'd gone into Muggle Liaisons, like Dad had, and he worked
part-time with the Ministry and part-time with a muggle newspaper, to moderate what
wizarding events muggles were exposed to, and how those events were presented.

Dad nodded. "Did you see anything suspicious when you were at the train station?"

"No, why?"

"A woman was at... erm... killed."

"Where?!" Tonks asked. "At the station?!"

"Just outside," Dad said, looking pale.

"Did they catch whoever did it?" Jim asked.

"No. He disappeared." Dad met Tonks' eyes. "Right into thin air." She nodded to show she'd
understood. "But they're looking."

Jim shivered. "It's uncanny how criminals do that. Anyone would think they were magical or
something."

Tonks baulked and clamped down on her instincts before her hair could turn bright pink for
embarrassment, or perhaps white for shock. "Let's just hope our side have magic too, then,"
Dad said with an easy smile. He pulled a stack of papers toward him, added a note about the
death, checked his watch and then said, "I'm on in five."

"Tie," Jim said as he stood.

Dad adjusted the offending article - it was black with little gold-yellow diamonds on it to
show his house pride - and combed his hair out of his face with his hand.

"Tuck the back of your shirt in," Tonks said critically.

Dad rolled his eyes. "I'll be sitting down anyway," he said, even as he fixed it.

The three of them left Dad's office, though they said goodbye to Jim just before reaching the
set - he needed to find Dawes before he went on.

"So what happened?" Tonks asked, nervously.

"A woman was taken."

"Taken by who?"

"Greyback," Dad said, his eyes flashing. Tonks closed her eyes for a moment. "Someone
recognised him and contacted the Aurors. They're looking now. She'll either be found dead,
or found bitten."

"Why are you telling everyone she's dead, then? She might be alive!"

"She's a muggle," Dad said heavily. "They've got half the Ministry searching and the other
half trying to cover everything up; she's been declared dead in the muggle world, which is
what I've got to present tonight and I'm supposed to ask her family to come to a police station
tomorrow, where they'll speak with a team from Muggle Liasons."

"That's awful!" Tonks exclaimed. Dad nodded grimly. They set off again, only to turn a
corner and stop when they spotted a woman hovering near the studio entrance. "Mum?"
Tonks said.

"Surprise," Mum said a little sheepishly, glancing at Dad.

"I didn't know you were coming!" Tonks ran to her mother and hugged her. Next thing she
knew, both of them were on the ground.

"Was that you or me?" Mum asked.

"Both," Dad said helpfully, pulling them to their feet.

Tonks laughed but Mum squawked and flapped a hand. "Hair!" she said. "Nymphadora!"

"Sorry, sorry!" She scrunched up her face and her hair went back to the shoulder-length
brown style it had been before, though it was tinged with red - from her mother's use of her
name. She always relaxed around family - or magical folk in general, really - and found her
Metamorphmagus abilities behaved accordingly.

Mum gathered her up in another hug. "I can't believe you're finished. It's going to be so
wonderful to have you back at home again."

Tonks exchanged an exasperated look with Dad but she tightened her arms around Mum.
"You'll get sick of me being around," Tonks assured her. "Eating all your food, getting in your
way, making the house messy..."

"Your father already does all of that," Mum said fondly.

"You'll be out of a job," Tonks told Dad, who chuckled.

"I'll manage."

"How was the train ride home?" Mum asked. "I'll bet you're starving; I remember the food
coming early-"

"You're fussing, Dromeda," Dad said with a smile.

"I've got my baby girl home," Mum said, folding her arms. "I'm allowed to."
"Baby?" Tonks asked. "I'm legally an adult!" Mum and Dad both gave her amused looks and
then Dad wrapped an arm around Mum and led her down the corridor to the set. Tonks
followed behind, muttering to herself about babies and delusional parents.

Harry landed with a thump. Padfoot jumped and fell off his chair. "What the hell just
happened?" he asked, disgruntled.

Harry was a little winded but couldn't feel any other damage. "Hit the wards," he gasped,
managing to sit upright. After learning that Padfoot and Harry intended to destroy the locket,
Kreacher had all but reversed his personality; he was now fairly polite - though he still had
his moments - had taken on all of the cooking and cleaning there was to be done, and with a
lot of coaxing from Padfoot, agreed to come with them to the cave.

He'd also become a much better Apparition instructor, and Harry, had managed to Apparate
for the first time last week, almost two and a half months after he'd started learning. Finally,
the daily lessons were beginning to pay off; he'd been able to repeat the feat several times,
but not with any consistency yet. Finite.

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"Good." Padfoot clambered back into his chair and shooed Harry off the table. Grinning
Harry climbed down, retrieved his wand from the ground and thought, Ostendere me omnia.
His vision flickered and in addition to what he could see with his eyes, he could see his
magic, Padfoot's, the faint white glow, flecked with Harry's red and gold where he'd tried to
Apparate before, and more on the table where he'd landed, covering an oblivious Padfoot.
There were streaks of pale red hanging in the air where Padfoot had Summoned books the
day before and then there was the web of wards.

Fiercely intricate - stranded with thin lines of murky green-black that was Padfoot's dad's
magic - and the red that belonged to his godfather, there were more shades than Harry had
ever seen and would ever be able to name. It was like a skin made of a thousand different
fibres, clinging perfectly to the roof, walls and floor, but it was also alive, rippling and
pulsing and every now and then, a hole would appear and be gone a second later. He didn't
need a second though, if he timed it right.

Harry steeled himself, one foot already beginning to twist. Another hole appeared, just above
the door and Harry spun on the spot, mentally throwing himself at it, the rest of his mind
already focusing on the ground floor study. Harry swore when he hit a hard surface and again
when he bounced off of it and landed on the carpet. Finite.

Feeling rather dizzy, he made a mental note to thank his godfather for his much-expanded
vocabulary. He picked himself up off the ground, rummaged through the desk for a few rolls
of parchment, grabbed two quills and an inkwell, stuffed the whole lot in his robe pockets
and then mentally murmured the spell that would let him see magic. He waited and then leapt
through a fluctuating gap in the warding, hoping to make it back to the library.
"Oof!" For the second time in as many minutes, Padfoot found himself on the floor, though
this time, Harry was there with him.

Finite, Harry thought and the magic vanished to his eyes. "Sorry," he said, laughing as
Padfoot lifted him off.

"Not a prob-" Padfoot made a funny choking sound and then doubled over, laughing.

"What?" Harry asked, emptying the contents of his pockets on the table.

"You've left your eyebrows and eyelashesbehind," Padfoot chortled.

Harry lifted a hand and traced his forehead. The skin was completely smooth, or at least
lower down was – his scar was still there. His eyelids were smooth too. He patted his ears to
make sure they were still there - he'd done that the day before last - and while Padfoot had re-
attached it without any trouble, it still itched terribly. "Can you fix it?"

"Nope," Padfoot said without even looking up.

If Harry had had eyebrows, they would have arched. "What do you mean?"

"Well, kiddo, 'nope' is synonymous with 'no' which is basically a way of me saying I can't or
won't do something. In this context-"

"I meant why not?"

"Ah, but you didn't say it." Padfoot grinned at him and the sight of Harry caused him to start
chuckling again. Harry's eyes narrowed. "And I can't fix it because I don't know any hair
growth charms."

"None?" Harry asked.

"Actually, that's a lie: I know one hair charm, if you're interested..." Harry watched him
expectantly. Padfoot tilted his head and watched Harry thoughtfully. "You know, a beard
might actually suit you..." Harry clapped his hands to his chin and turned away before
Padfoot actually did it. Padfoot just laughed.

Harry retreated across the room, keeping a hand in front of his face the entire time and up and
down one of the bookcase-walls, searching for a book that might help. Beauty Fixes, Finishes
and Flourishes To Have Your Wizard Fantasising seemed like an unfortunately named book
but did contain a whole chapter on the eye and eyebrow region of the face.

Harry passed the book to Padfoot who glanced over the page before pulling his wand and
muttering the incantation. Harry's face itched horribly and his eyes watered - growing
eyelashes wasn't exactly pleasant - and then it stopped. His forehead started to tingle as
Padfoot cast another spell, and then the sensation faded. He lifted a hand to feel the results.

"It feels okay," he said tentatively.

Padfoot glanced at him and frowned slightly. "I think your left eyebrow might be a little bit
wonky," he said critically, and with a slight grin. Harry frowned and reached up to touch it
again. Padfoot's grin widened and then he glanced at his stomach which had just growled
loudly.

"Do we have any birthday cake left?"

"Dunno," Harry said, shrugging, but all thoughts of wonky eyebrows vanished and a small
smile forced itself onto his face; three days ago, it had been Harry's ninth birthday. Harry
hadn't really known what to expect - Dudley was always horribly spoilt, and had been given
thirty presents from his parents alone last year (a figure which would undoubtedly have risen
this year) while Harry was lucky to get even a pair of socks.

He thought Padfoot, like the Dursleys (although Padfoot was certainly nicer about it), had
done more than enough for him already, giving him a place to live, clothes - new ones, to
replace most of Dudley's awful ones - food and had also been giving him magic lessons.

As a result, Harry had been stunned when Padfoot presented him with a large supply of
sweets, several books of spells, an Auror-quality target dummy and a new pair of trainers.
The sweets alone had cost more than all of the presents Harry had ever received from the
Dursleys and to top it off, Padfoot had had Kreacher help him bake and ice a birthday cake,
which they'd surprised Harry with after dinner.

"Kreacher!" Padfoot called. The elf Apparated in and Padfoot requested birthday cake for
both of them. Kreacher bowed and even made an odd facial expression that might have been
a smile before vanishing so easily that Harry could only watch enviously. Kreacher didn't
leave his ears or - though he didn't have them - eyebrows behind.

Padfoot seemed to know what he was thinking; he was very obviously fighting a smile. Harry
made a face and flopped down on the couch where he'd been that morning. This morning,
he'd been reading Simple But Effective Spells For Sticky Situations - which had been one of
his birthday presents - but Harry could only spend so much time with his head in a book each
day, so instead he played with the solid gold puzzle they'd found in Orion Black's office.

Padfoot said it had belonged to Regulus when he was a few years younger than Harry, and
that when one put all the pieces together, it formed a small snake that would slither when
touched. Harry, however, had been trying for quite some time and was yet to make anything
that even faintly resembled a snake and it was frustrating him as much as his attempts at
Apparition.

"How's it going?" Padfoot asked as Harry tried to force two jagged, circular pieces together.
Harry glowered at him. "Oh, that well?"

"Shut up."

"There's always reading," Padfoot said. "Can't be too prepared, you know." Harry threw a
piece of the puzzle at him, but even as Padfoot threw it back and he lifted a hand to catch it,
those words rang in his ears and Harry's stomach gave an unpleasant jolt at the reminder of
what was to come.
 The cave

Harry's insides relaxed and he let go of his godfather's hand. Finite, he thought quickly; there
was magic everywhere, in every colour, shape, style and concentration he could imagine and
it was almost overpowering.

The extra sight dropped away and he glanced around curiously. The streets were nearly
empty with only a few local witches and wizards drifting between stores. None spared either
Harry or Padfoot any attention.

"Nicely done," Padfoot said, looking around with a strange expression. He ran a hand through
his short, blond hair. "It hasn't changed a bit."

"Is that the Shrieking Shack?" Harry asked, nodding to a dilapidated building, which rested
alone – far away from any of the other buildings - on a hill above the rest of the village.

"It is," Padfoot said. As they watched, a roof tile slid off and shattered in the grass.

"And that's where you and Dad and Moony and Peter went to transform?" Harry glanced at
the boarded windows, and wondered if Padfoot, James and Moony had put them up to keep
other witches and wizards away while they were Animagi.

"It was like our hideout, yeah," Padfoot said after a pause. Harry knew he was leaving
something out but didn't say anything. "I'll take you inside sometime." But not today, Harry
knew. They had other things to do today. "Come on, Honeydukes is this way." Harry took
another curious look around and followed his godfather.

"What does the incantation 'Pedis Offensio' do?"

"Tripping jinx," Harry answered promptly.

"Wind charm?"

"Er... 'Ventus'."

"If I wanted to make something explode..."

"'Bombarda'," Harry said after a moment. He hadn't actually managed that one yet, but
Padfoot said he was close.

"'Diffindo'?"

"Severing Charm."

"Stickfast He-"

"That's... er... Oh! 'Colloshoo'," Harry said.

Padfoot stared at him for a moment, nodded once and waved Harry into a brightly coloured
store. Inside was incredible. Harry didn't know where to look first. Padfoot grinned at the
sight of Harry's face and pressed a galleon into his hand.

"Buy what you want." Harry hardly dared to believe his luck.

"You're joking?!" he said.

Padfoot gave him a patient smile. Hardly able to believe his luck, Harry darted off to look at
one of the displays. He'd been given Chocolate Frogs and a bag of Sugar Quills for his
birthday, but the rest of the sweets were all new to him, although he had heard of Bertie Botts
because Padfoot had told him once that he and James had fed the bad ones to other students
between lessons. After they'd charmed them to resemble the good ones, of course.

He prodded at a box of Bellyflies – 'Flutter realistically inside your stomach for hours!' – and
then went to investigate a lollipop the size of his head, which changed flavour as it was eaten.
In the end, Harry bought a little of everything.

"Someone's got a sweet tooth," the woman at the counter said, chuckling when Harry
deposited a large box of Chocolate Frogs, a tin of Bertie Botts, a pack of Droobles, four
Liquorice Wands, a bag of Fizzing Whizbees and packet of Sherbet Witch's Hats on the
bench.

"Like father like son," Padfoot told the witch, obviously meaning James, but she didn't know
that; Padfoot had his arms full with four massive blocks of chocolate, an enormous box of
Bertie Botts, a handful of Chocolate Frogs and a large Cauldron Cake.

He shifted his bounty and passed the witch another galleon. They stuffed their purchases into
Harry's rucksack - which was almost overflowing - and made their way out into the warm
streets.

Padfoot offered Harry his arm. Harry took it, feeling a little relieved that he wouldn't have to
get them back so soon after Apparating them there. Padfoot spun on the spot.

They landed on Number Twelve's doorstep. Padfoot tapped the door once and it swung open.
Harry kicked it shut once they were both inside and then Padfoot removed the Appearance
Alteration Charms they had on.

The hall was much nicer than it had been when they'd first moved in; they'd gotten rid of that
atrocious umbrella stand and Padfoot had charmed the lamps on the walls and the large
overhead chandelier to turn on whenever someone walked in – that way, it wasn't dark all the
time. The lamp light also reduced the severity of the dark green wallpaper.

They'd removed the worn carpet altogether and discovered floorboards underneath, which
they'd spent hours polishing and repairing. No matter what they tried, one floorboard just
inside the door always squeaked and they'd given up on that, deciding Padfoot's father had
charmed it to give warning of visitors, and that it might actually be useful.
Padfoot had moved the portraits of his ancestors - all save for his mother whose portrait was
they hadn't been able to get down - to the linen cupboard upstairs. Kreacher's den had been
relocated to the same place and he was thoroughly enjoying the larger space and the company
of generations of Blacks.

"Kreacher!" Harry called. Mrs Black opened her mouth but Padfoot yanked the curtain back
into place before she could articulate as much as 'filth'. CRACK! Kreacher sank into a bow at
the sight of the two of them, still a little stiffly but Harry suspected that had more to do with
his age than anything else. "We'll leave after lunch," Harry told him.

"Kreacher will be ready," Kreacher said reluctantly, wiping his bony hands on the pillowcase
Padfoot had given him to replace his loincloth. His attitude toward Padfoot was steadily
improving and while there were, of course, strained moments between the pair – and Harry
thought that was why Padfoot hadn't asked for Apparition lessons from the elf yet, so as not
to destroy their fragile neutrality – and lingering qualms from Padfoot's childhood, most of
the animosity was gone. Harry suspected it had a lot to do with the regularity and quality of
Kreacher's cooking.

"Good," Padfoot said. He stopped suddenly and Harry almost walked into the back of him.
"Have you been cooking?" he asked delightedly.

"Kreacher is making food for hungry Master and the brat-" Kreacher smiled at Harry almost
cheekily as he said it and Harry grinned back. "-oh yes, Kreacher is a good elf." Harry perked
up at the mention of food. Padfoot was already halfway down the hall, heading for the
kitchen stairs.

"Thanks, Kreacher," Harry said, thrilled, and sprinted after his godfather.

Kreacher was already there when he arrived, serving Padfoot sandwiches and pouring juice.
Harry sat down, accepted a glass from the elf and dug into his own lunch. He was nervous
but he pushed that down; he'd need all his strength for what they were about to do.

Despite knowing that, however, both Harry and Padfoot were only able to eat half of what
they usually would and Kreacher didn't eat at all. The elf's movements were getting shakier
and his croaky voice shriller with every passing moment.

"Empty your rucksack," Padfoot told Harry, taking a nervous sip of his juice. "Just leave the
sweets on the table and we'll sort them out when we get home."

Harry did that, keeping only three of the enormous blocks of chocolate in there; the fourth he
gave to Padfoot who opened it, fumbling with the wrapper.

While Padfoot ate, Harry filled a thermos with hot chocolate, and then filled three water
bottles and added them to his rucksack too; Kreacher had said there was no way to conjure
water in the cave so Harry and Padfoot were going to try to carry it in.

And, if the water evaporated, there was always the hot chocolate, which would hopefully help
to fight the effects of the potion; chocolate reduced the effects of Dementors after all. Harry
also sent Kreacher upstairs to retrieve the container of fireworks they'd bought the day
before.

Padfoot pulled his mirror out of his robes and murmured, "James Potter." James appeared as
he always did, smiling and laughing. "Today's the day," Padfoot told him, his voice lacking
its usual on-the-verge-of-laughter quality.

Padfoot told James everything; Harry often heard him talking to the mirror at night. James
couldn't speak back, but that didn't seem to matter, because he was there.

"Hi, Dad," Harry said softly. James waved.

Padfoot swallowed. "Wish us luck," he said. James laughed soundlessly. Padfoot glanced at
Harry who was watching the mirror hungrily and then pocketed it.

Finally, they were ready.

Padfoot, who was wearing Harry's rucksack, took one of Kreacher's shaking hands and Harry
took the other. Kreacher twisted on the spot and Harry felt himself being pulled.

"Urgh!" he heard, and a splash, then a squeak and Padfoot cursed.

"Is this it?" Harry asked, opening his eyes. He couldn't see a thing but he could hear water
gurgling quietly, hear Kreacher's nervous breathing and hear his own voice echoing. He
shivered. Kreacher made a terrified wheezing sound from somewhere to his right.

"Lumos," Padfoot breathed. Pale wandlight lit the cavern. The walls were damp and caught
the light, glittering in a way that made Harry shiver again. Padfoot was clambering out of a
small pool in the ground with a wary expression on his face and dried his wet legs with a
quick spell. Harry lit his own wand.

"Ostendere me omnia," Harry whispered. He knew he didn't need to say it aloud but his own
voice was better than the eerie silence. He ignored his red and gold, Padfoot's crimson and
Kreacher's pale green and focused on the new magic.

His mouth fell open. Lines of green and sliver pulsed on the stone, like veins. Harry
immediately recognised it as the same magic that he'd seen in the locket, only there had been
black in the locket and there wasn't here.

"Where now?" Padfoot asked Kreacher.

"There," Harry and Kreacher said together, pointing to what Padfoot must think was a blank
stretch of wall. "It's... glowing," Harry murmured; there was far less green magic there, only
silver, extremely faint however, and in the shape of an archway.

There were peculiar splatter marks too; some were pale green and some a misty silver -
different to the rest of the silver, which was glittery. Though he'd never seen the misty silver
before, both it and the green were strangely familiar.

"So the pool is the way out?" Padfoot asked.

Kreacher nodded. "The Dark Lord is making Kreacher swim the first time, through the crack
in the rock. When Master Regulus is coming here, Kreacher brought him straight to this
cave."

"Why not just take us straight through?" Padfoot asked quietly.

Kreacher trembled. "The lake is always changing," he whispered. "Never in the same place.
Kreacher is not wanting to disturb them, oh no!"

"All right," Padfoot said. "How do we get through, then?"

"The way is hidden," Kreacher croaked. "But it opens for blood."

"Blood?" Harry asked, paling. So that's what the splatter marks are... The green is Kreacher, I
think... and the silver... Regulus?

Padfoot wrinkled his nose but didn't seem overly fussed. "Where?" was all he said.

"I can-" Harry began, but Padfoot just rolled his eyes.

Kreacher guided him over to the wall and then Padfoot pointed his wand at his palm and said,
"Sectum." A line sprung up on his hand, red to Harry's normal eyes, and bright, constantly
moving scarlet to Harry's magic-enhanced vision. Padfoot smeared his palm on the rock and
then healed the injury with a tap of his wand: "Sana. Novum Cutis."

There wasn't even a scar left, but the silver of the archway flared so brightly that Harry
snapped his eyes shut and mentally shouted, Finite!

When he opened them again, the archway was glowing dimly and then it simply vanished.
He and Padfoot stared through the black opening; Kreacher let out a wail and latched onto the
back of Harry's robes.

"Kreacher, you'll stay here," Padfoot said after a pause. Harry looked at him in surprise.
"Look at him, he's terrified," Padfoot said. Harry found himself fighting a smile; that, if
anything, showed how far Padfoot and Kreacher had come in the months since finding the
locket.

"Master is... good... kind Master," the elf sniffled.

"I mean stay here, though. I don't know what state I'll be in when we get back but it's more
than likely Harry will need help." Kreacher nodded, his ears flapping. "If something happens
to me, your priority is to get Harry out, all right? That is an order."

Kreacher sniffed. "Are you sure you're up for this?" Padfoot asked Harry. Harry swallowed
and nodded. "We'll see you when we get back, then," he told the elf. With that, Padfoot strode
through the opening. Harry darted through after him.

There was, as Kreacher had said, a lake and the water was so dark it was indistinguishable
from the cave walls. The cave itself was so high Harry couldn't tell where it ended and so
deep that he couldn't make out the far wall either.
What he could make out, thought, was a green glow - the island, presumably - right out in
what was probably the middle of the lake.

Harry turned to get one last look at Kreacher but the wall had already sealed itself again.
Padfoot turned to Harry, his face serious in the wand light.

"Don't touch the water," he said. Harry nodded. "I want you to stay here."

"Here?" Harry asked. His voice echoed into the still darkness.

"You agreed."

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Harry," Padfoot said sternly.

"I didn't think you were going to be alone! I thought Kreacher would go too-"

"He's told us both the stories enough times," Padfoot said calmly. That was true. Harry could
probably tell it in as much detail as the elf could. "It'll be all right."

"But... what if it isn't?" Harry's green eyes scanned the cave mistrustfully.

Padfoot shook his shaggy, black head. "If something goes wrong, there's not a lot Kreacher
would be able to do to help me." Again, Harry had to see the truth in that. He fixed Harry
with another serious look.

"Remember what you promised." Harry swallowed and nodded. "And don't do anything
stupid. If it comes to it, I want you to get out as quickly as possible. You'll have to pay with
blood to get back to where Kreacher is, but you can do it. Get him to take you home. Wait
until this time tomorrow night, and if I'm still not home, I want you to find Remus."

"Remus?" Harry repeated.

"There's a letter in my bedroom-"

"You aren't planning to die, are you?" Harry cried.

"No!" Padfoot said, so determinedly that Harry believed him. "No, I most certainly am not.
I'm just making sure we've got a back-up plan. The letter will explain everything to him and
it names him as your guardian. Do you understand?" Harry nodded. Padfoot slipped the
rucksack off and passed Harry the container of fireworks. "Just in case you or I need a
distraction," he said.

Once Padfoot had undone the Shrinking Charm on it, he put the rucksack back on. "It'll be all
right, kiddo," he promised. Harry prayed he would be right. Padfoot tapped Harry with his
wand and said, "Frigus Ignis." It was a Fire-Freezing Charm, so that, if it came to it, he could
incinerate the place where he was standing and be unharmed.
Padfoot repeated the spell on himself, hugged Harry tightly and set off around the lake,
keeping to the narrow path.

Ostendere me omnia. The entire cavern came to life and Harry was not entirely surprised to
see the wards and charms protecting this one were much stronger than they were in the cave
they'd arrived in. The gaps in the wards were much, much smaller and did not occur as
frequently as the ones at Grimmauld Place.

He was impressed Kreacher had managed to escape twice. The lake was another matter
altogether; he could see the Inferi, ghostly shapes, floating just beneath the surface.

They glowed with magic - Voldemort's silver and green was there, as well as a pale colour
unique to each of them - a different sort of pale than Kreacher's, though, Harry knew - that
had surely been their own magic once upon a time.

Harry's eyes flicked to the swirling red mass that was Padfoot. He'd begun to walk rather
peculiarly, with one leg kicking out over the ledge with each step. It took Harry a moment to
realise he was looking for the invisible chain Kreacher had mentioned.

The chain though, wasn't invisible to Harry. He could see it, stretching under the water from a
hook on the wall and quite a way down, it connected to a tiny boat.

"It's in front of you. Further. Further. About three feet in front of- there!" he called across the
water. His voice wasn't loud but it echoed impressively and Padfoot jumped when he heard.

He thought he saw Padfoot nod - though it was hard to tell through the magic - and then he
walked forward confidently and felt through the air until his hands clamped around the chain.

He tapped it twice with his wand - once to make it visible, once to raise the boat, Harry
thought, if Kreacher's stories were to be believed and they were certainly right so far. Padfoot
clambered in and the boat took off at once - Padfoot's yelp echoed too - toward the middle of
the lake.

Harry watched, hardly daring to breathe until Padfoot was safely on the island. It was so quiet
Harry could hear his footsteps as he approached the basin that Kreacher had told them about.
There was a flash of red magic as Padfoot conjured a goblet and then he called, "Cheers!"

"Yeah. Cheers," Harry called back, his voice shaking slightly.

Everything was silent. Harry waited. After a few minutes, he heard a whimper from the
island and a moment later, Padfoot screamed. His magic was flickering more than usual,
Harry noticed, and felt his worry peak. It went quiet and then Harry heard a quiet groan and
Padfoot talking.

"No worse than Dementors..." floated across the lake to Harry's ears. Then, "I didn't mean to!
Prongs, I'm sorry. Lily...!" He whimpered again. Harry heard a thump as he took off the
rucksack and the sound of a lid unscrewing, though he wasn't sure if it was a water bottle or
the thermos. "No worse than Dementors," Padfoot insisted. His hoarse voice echoed through
the cave. He moved to fill the goblet again. And then another. And another after that.
He was on his seventh, and Harry was just wondering how full the basin was when there was
a flash and a clatter. "Padfoot?"

"Oops," Padfoot said and then there was a heavy thump; the red dropped closer to the island.

"Padfoot!?" Harry shouted. He clapped his hands to his mouth but none of the Inferi-lights
showed any signs of moving. There was a long silence. No, please, no. No, no, no, no, no, no,
no-

"I'm all right, kiddo," Padfoot called back, his voice sounding extremely weak.

Harry let out the breath he'd been holding. "Are- Are you finished?"

There was a scuffling sound and Padfoot's red moved over to the basin, then, "No."

"You have to keep drinking," Harry told him.

"I don't want to."

"I know, but you have to. That's why we ca-"

There was a clink and a slurping sound. "I can't," he called pitifully.

Harry wondered if there was any way to send the boat back to the shore so that he could get
to the island. After a moment's thought, though, he was forced to concede that - if it was even
possible - he didn't know how to do it. He let out a little noise of frustration and turned back
to Padfoot, who was hunched over a goblet of potion, mumbling.

"Padfoot?" he called.

"James?" Padfoot called, his voice climbing an octave. "James, where are you?"

"I'm not- Padfoot, I-"

"You sound younger... I suppose that's what happens when you die, right? You can be any age
you want... I'm sorry."

"Er... It's fine," Harry said quickly. "It's fine, just drink."

There was a quiet slurping sound and then the red mass that was Padfoot quivered. "I can't.
James, I can't-"

"It's all right," Harry said, scared now. What am I supposed to do when he's over there and
I'm over here?!"Just... just drink."

"I can't, Prongs." Short of tipping the damn thing down his throat - which Harry couldn't get
over there to do anyway - Harry was out of options. Padfoot was hallucinating for Merlin's
sake! He was in pain. What was Harry supposed to do? "Sorry," Padfoot murmured. "Oh,
Lily, I'm so sorry. Reg... Reg, I tried, I should've made you come with me..."
"Padfoot - Sirius - I need you to listen to me," Harry said desperately.

"You've never exactly been easy to ignore, James," Padfoot said, sounding weak.

"I need you to drink."

"You drink it," Padfoot snapped. "It fucking hurts."

"I know, I'm sorry." Harry swallowed. "But please... for Da- Jam- er... me and Lily? For Reg?
For Remus?" Padfoot whimpered. "And... er... Kreacher and Harry."

"Harry," he heard from the island. The mass of red moved closer to the basin again and then
there was another scraping sound. Everything was silent again. Another few minutes filled
only with gulps and moans passed.

If Harry had to guess, he would say Padfoot had had ten goblets now. Surely it's nearly
empty... Padfoot collapsed with a loud, rattling breath that echoed over the water and then
everything was silent.

"No," Harry breathed. "No! Padfoot!" he shouted. There was no response. Padfoot's magic
was very still, and dimmer than before. "Padfoot! Padfoot, wake up, wake up,
please! Please." Still nothing. "Finite Incantatem!" Harry said urgently, waving his wand in
Padfoot's direction.

It might have been the wrong spell, or it might have had something to do with the distance,
but nothing happened.

"Finite Incantatem! Please!" Harry took a step forward, thinking he'd swim if he had to,
when Padfoot stirred. "Padfoot!"

"Water," Padfoot croaked.

"The rucksack," Harry said. "It's in the rucksack, Padfoot, and there's hot chocolate and-"

"Water's gone... I can't-" There was silence - Harry thought he heard the thermos open - and
then, "I'm still thirsty. Really, really thirsty. I need... water. There's water here. A whole lake
of it..."

"No!" Harry screamed, his voice cutting through the darkness. "No, no water!"

"But..."

"NO! Don't move!" The red mass stopped. Harry needed a way to distract him until he came
back to his senses. "There's a locket in the basin," Harry said, thinking quickly. "Open it - the
locket. There's a note, isn't there? What does it say?"

"My throat... Thirsty..."

"I know. The note'll make it better. It's... er... magic."

There were a few indistinguishable noises then: "T-to the Dark Lord..." Padfoot croaked. "I
know I will be dead... long before... you read... this... but I want you... to know that... it was-it
was... I... who discovered your... secret... I have... stolen... the real... H-Horcrux-" That was it,
Harry knew. That was what they had come for. "-and... intend to... destroy it... as soon as... I
can... I face death... in the... hope... that when you meet... your match... you will be...
mortal...once... more... R...A...B..." Harry knew he'd never forget those words, even if he
lived to be a hundred or older, even; Padfoot said wizards had longer life-spans than muggles.
"It's not better... water..."

"No, you can't!"

"But-"

"Put the note back in the locket. Padfoot, I need you to put it back." He knew what the note
said now and Regulus deserved to have Voldemort read that letter. Harry almost smiled at the
thought.

"Can I-" Padfoot was gasping and his words caught in his throat, which sounded dry.

"Refill the basin," Harry said. "Please?"

"Done," Padfoot said a moment later. "Water. I need... please..." Harry could hear his
breathing now, and it sounded painful. There was a flash of red and Padfoot's magic surged
and then almost faded, but for a small, bright red core. He'd transformed; Harry could hear
him panting, hear his claws on the stone.

"Sit!" he called desperately as Padfoot trotted toward the water. "Stay where you are! No!" It
was too late, though. Padfoot had stuck his nose in the water and was lapping up as much as
he could. "Padfoot, no!" Harry shouted, but the Inferi were already moving. One grabbed the
dog around the neck.

Padfoot snapped at it and chased it back into the water with a weak growl. More were
flocking to the island, though - the closest ones to Harry were now thirty yards away. The
entire lake's surface was rippling.

Unbidden, Harry's mind flashed back to something he'd read in When The Dead Walk. Inferi
often attacked the greatest threat first. At the moment, that was Padfoot - the bearlike dog
was snapping at another one - but that could be changed.

Don't do anything stupid, Padfoot had said earlier.

Yeah, well you didn't exactly listen when I told you not to drink, Harry thought, frowning.

He summoned his courage, grabbed a firework and bellowed, "Incendio!" before tossing it
into the air. It exploded a moment later in a shower of blue sparks above his head. He
grabbed another firework and after lighting it, tossed it as far as he could toward the middle
of the lake.
BANG! Green and red lights sizzled and popped and then hissed when they hit the water.
Several of the Inferi were now drifting his way. But not enough, he thought, grimly.

He took a deep breath and then stepped forward and stuck the tip of his trainer into the edge
of the lake. A few more of the eerie shapes were headed for him now. Harry took another
deep breath, and ran out into the lake, planning to go until he was knee deep.

He skidded on a submerged rock and floundered in the water before he managed to find his
feet again and sprinted back to the shore before anything could catch him.

Almost every Inferius in the lake was headed for him now. Padfoot was still fighting as a dog
and he was having no trouble at all. It was Harry who needed to be worried, now, and he was.
Fear threatened to overwhelm him, but they'd studied for this. They'd practiced. Fire, he
thought. They hate fire. And light.

"N-nox," he whispered, through chattering teeth. His wandlight went out, though he could
still see everything - the Inferi, really, were all that mattered - perfectly clearly with his
magic-vision. "Lumos Maxima," he said a moment later as the first few got close enough to
be a threat. The white, water-logged hands that had been reaching for him recoiled and their
owners shrieked as white light bloomed out of his wand tip.

Harry quickly lit another firework and tossed it out in front of him while the creatures were
distracted. It exploded and probably would have done him considerable damage if it weren't
for Padfoot's Fire-Freezing Charm. As it was, he was knocked off his feet.

He scrambled back up and had a quick glance at the island. Padfoot was back in human form,
stuffing things into the rucksack and every few seconds he'd blast an Inferius off the island
and back into the water. Harry lit another firework and tossed it toward the edge of the lake.

The firecracker burst in a shower of multicoloured sparks, making more of the creatures
shriek. Still, more were coming - far, far too many - and Harry was beginning to think that
thinking he could handle them was not only optimistic but downright impossible.

"Ventus!" he shouted and sent two whizzing away. He could see several massing in one spot
so he used another Wind Charm to send a firework in their direction.

"Incendio Pila!" he heard Padfoot shout. A moment later, a huge fireball exploded in front of
Harry. The entire container of fireworks exploded and Harry was knocked over again.

This time he hit the wall, and with enough force that the wind was knocked out of him. His
wand landed nearby. Harry struggled to get upright but couldn't. He did manage to wrap his
fingers around his wand.

"Incendio," he gasped, pointing at the nearest Inferius. It burst into flames and Harry felt sick
but the fire went out as soon as the creature dove back into the water. It went dark and then
pale blue light burned his eyes.

He was forced to release his magic-vision and found himself staring up at the ghostly figure
of an Inferius. It stank, like rotting fish, its hair was stringy, its teeth sharp - though most
were missing - and its pale eyes were glazed over.

Harry crawled backwards, trying to get far enough away to be able to use his wand.
"Petrificus Totalus," he yelled. It dropped with a thud but another moved forward to take its
place, its robes hanging off in tatters, teeth bared in a feral smile.

It was a child, too, and couldn't have been older than nine when it died. No older than I
am... "Pedis Offensio!" he said frantically and it tripped. He backed away but its hand latched
onto his arm and his back had just hit the cave wall.

Another fireball exploded closer to the water's edge - from Padfoot, which meant Padfoot
was still alive, thankfully - but it wasn't close enough to help Harry.

"Nox," he said, and waited until the creature had tightened its grip almost unbearably and
then he screamed, "Lumos Maxima!" The Inferius screamed and Harry wrenched his arm
free. His shoulder popped painfully and his arm began to tingle but he gritted his teeth,
kicked it in the face and sent it soaring back to the lake with a Wind Charm.

"Harry! Where are you?!" Padfoot called hoarsely.

"H-here!" Harry called back, still shivering. He couldn't feel his left arm at all now, but it
twinged every now and then with what he was sure was pain.

"Where's here!?" Harry saw another fireball go up and then he heard, "Bombarda Maxima!"
Several Inferi flew into the air and landed with splashes.

"Here!" Harry shouted desperately. Harry got a glimpse of his godfather, who was held by
three Inferi. "Incendio!" Harry shouted. One burst into flames, making the other let go, and
Padfoot punched the third hard enough to make it let go. Harry's eyes met his for a moment
and then Padfoot started forward. A moment later he was obscured by a mass of white.

How many are there!? Harry wondered, horrified. A freezing hand tightened around his neck
and Harry had to drop his wand to fight it off. Lights flashed in front of his eyes and he
couldn't breathe.

His good hand scrabbled uselessly against the thing's rotting flesh. Harry tried to shout for
help, but couldn't. Suddenly, it was gone altogether. Padfoot had come; Padfoot - in dog form
- had tackled it to the ground, teeth bared, ears back.

The pair went skidding across the stone floor, Padfoot snapping, but then, somehow, it got its
hand around his throat too. Harry picked up his wand but he couldn't think of a spell. Panic
had blanked his mind. In desperation he dropped his wand again and grabbed its ankle, trying
to pull it off.

His hand kept slipping on its slimy skin. Padfoot was human again and trying to prise its
fingers off but he was slowly going red and he was struggling to breathe, struggling to say
something, when- BANG!
All Harry saw was orange, and he wasn't cold anymore, he was burning, despite Padfoot's
charm. It was uncomfortably hot and he could taste smoke, hear Inferi screaming,
hear Padfoot screaming and then his ears popped and he couldn't hear anything but Merlin
did it hurt.

He landed roughly. He'd lost Padfoot, and the creature's ankle was gone from his grip as well.
He felt pressure on his left arm, though he couldn't tell if it was Padfoot or an Inferius, hot or
cold.

He grabbed his wand to try to fight it off but he was being squeezed, everything was being
squeezed and he couldn't move, couldn't fight it off, and he was going to die...

And then it stopped.

 St Mungo's

"Padfoot," was the first thing Harry said. He opened his eyes and was dazzled by bright, fiery
lights. He snapped his eyes shut again. He'd seen enough fire.

"Young Master, Master Harry." His ears were still ringing, so it sounded funny, but Harry
recognised the voice.

"Kreacher?" Harry asked, aware of shuffling footsteps around him. Harry opened his eyes to
see Kreacher looking terrified, wringing his hands together. He looked perilously close to
tears. "What?" Harry croaked, recognising the hallway of Grimmauld Place. It was just the
two of them.

"Kreacher?" Harry's voice was bordering on hysteric. "Kreacher, where's Padfoot?!

Kreacher!? Kreacher where is he!?" The old elf came to pat Harry's back awkwardly and
Harry appreciated the gesture but his back was far too sore to be petted.

"Kreacher is only following orders-" the elf began, his ears quivering.

"Where's Padfoot?!" Harry demanded, trying to look around the elf.

"Master is saying to bring Young Master to safety," Kreacher said, flinching.

"You mean- You didn't- He's not- He's not still there?!" The elf nodded slowly. "Why didn't
you bring him with us?!" Harry shouted, his temper flaring. "He was right there!" Only he
hadn't been; he and the Inferius had been blown back by the blast as surely as Harry had.

"Master is calling Kreacher and telling him to take Master Harry home, to be safe," Kreacher
said, sniffing.

"No!" Harry shouted, his voice cracking. "No, he can't have stayed! That's why I distracted
them in the first place! So that he'd get out! So we'd both get out!"

"Kreacher is just doing what he's being told," the elf wailed.

"I don't care! You should never have left him!" Harry yelled. "I didn't nearly die just to leave
him there!" The lamps on the walls shattered. "It's not fair! He was supposed to make it out!"
He turned to the elf. "Take me back!"

Kreacher screwed his face up. He was obviously fighting conflicting orders. Finally, his face
relaxed. "Master is saying to be keeping Master Harry safe-"

"I don't give a damn! Take me back. Please!" Harry added desperately.

"Kreacher musn't be doing that, oh no," the elf said with more conviction now. Harry eyed his
wand, which had slipped out of his fingers when they arrived. Fine. Fine, I'll go myself, then,
he thought, determined, but then Kreacher snatched it up. "Kreacher promised," Kreacher
said, sniffing again.
"We can't just leave him!" Harry shouted, reaching for it with his good arm. His back
twinged. "Give me my wand! How am I supposed to fight them when you've got my wand!?"
Kreacher vanished with a CRACK! and when he returned a few seconds later, Harry's wand
was not with him. "Kreacher!" Harry bellowed. "Take me back!"

"Kreacher cannot be doing that, oh no," the elf said sadly. "Kreacher is to be keeping Master
Harry safe."

Harry still couldn't move his left arm and he didn't have his wand but his magic was flaring
out; the remaining lamps shattered, as did the majority of the crystals on the chandelier. They
rained down on Harry and Kreacher and the elf hurriedly fabricated a shield to protect them.
Harry wouldn't have cared if the crystal had hit them.

"Take me back," he ordered.

"No," Kreacher said, folding his arms.

"We can still save him!" Harry said urgently. He couldn't even stand up but he'd fight
somehow. Kreacher's eyes filled with tears and he shook his ugly head. "It's not too late!"
Kreacher looked uncomfortable. "It's not! Take me back! I can help him!"

The front door burst open and Mrs Black's horrid portrait dropped off the wall and she started
screaming. More crystal fell and this time it did hit them. Kreacher stared, wide-eyed and
pressed a hand to a cut on his cheek. Slowly, he raised his other hand and the door closed.

Harry was fuming, but the elf would not be persuaded. "No," he'd say each time. Harry knew
he'd have to punish himself for it but he didn't really care. Kreacher had left Padfoot to die.
He deserved it. Mrs Black screamed on.

"I'll walk then," he said and tried to stand, but he didn't seem able to. Kreacher watched him
try and fail to stand for a bit; each time he fell, gasping, and once he landed on his left arm
and couldn't stop himself from screaming. Kreacher sat with him and patted his right hand -
since everything else hurt - until Harry was able to move again.

"Can you help me get into the study?" he said stiffly, since he couldn't do it himself. Kreacher
looked delighted to have an order he could follow and let Harry grab his arm.

They reappeared in the middle of the room and even the smooth landing had Harry hissing in
pain. Kreacher flapped about uselessly, not sure what was wrong. Harry wasn't sure himself,
and only knew he was sore. The furniture had all been overturned and quite a few books had
come off the shelves. Harry would fix that later.

"The window seat, please," Harry said. "I want to know when Padfoot gets home."

Kreacher looked at him worriedly but levitated him over to the window seat and set him
down as gently as possible. Harry peered out at the street, half expecting to see Padfoot
striding up at any moment. He didn't let the other half of him tell him about its expectations.
Kreacher hovered nearby, peeking out occasionally too, but mostly he was sneaking worried
looks at Harry. Finally, he announced he was going to get Harry something to eat.
"I forbid you to punish yourself," Harry called after him. He was still angry Kreacher hadn't
taken him back but his anger wasn't at Kreacher anymore, just at the circumstances, and at
Padfoot for getting himself left behind.

Padfoot still wasn't home after three hours of waiting. Had Harry felt up to it, he would have
been pacing. He was feeling terrible, though, inside and out. Every part of him ached and he
didn't think he'd ever felt so tired in his entire life. He felt guilty and nauseated and physically
hurt as well; he was bruised everywhere and his throat was sore from being strangled.

His left arm still wasn't working. It wasn't broken, Harry didn't think, but he didn't know what
was wrong with it. It's all right. Padfoot will fix it when he gets home. He'd told Kreacher the
same thing too, whenever the elf expressed any concern over Harry's wellbeing.

Harry had also written out Regulus' note from memory; he could still hear Padfoot's voice
asking for water, and reading the letter and he'd decided writing it down might make it go
away. It hadn't, but it had been worth a try. He'd had Kreacher search the library for anything
on Horcruxes, but since neither of them knew what they were, they weren't sure where to
look and in the end, Harry had decided that could wait until Padfoot got home as well.

Harry fell asleep just after midnight, but not for long - he'd dreamed he was back in the cave
and set one of the armchairs on fire. Kreacher had brought him more food which Harry
turned down and they'd both sat by the window until morning. Hedwig had joined them at
some point and perched on Harry's knee. She'd shed all of her baby feathers now and while
Harry appreciated her company, it wasn't the company he wanted just then. He wanted his
godfather.

"Kreacher, can you heal this?" Harry asked, wearily, pointing to a particularly painful bruise.

Kreacher shook his head. "Kreacher has been thinking... Kreacher talked to Mistress...
Kreacher thinks Master Harry might be needing to see Healers."

"No," Harry said stubbornly. "It's fine. Padfoot can heal me when he gets home." Kreacher
patted his knee - the one Hedwig wasn't resting on - and wandered out.

By mid-morning, Harry was starting to think he might need healing. He could walk again -
just - but his back was stiff and bruised and his arm was starting to ache in a way Harry was
fairly sure wasn't healthy. He called Kreacher back and asked him to retrieve the letter to
Remus from Padfoot's bedroom. As he'd hoped, there was an address on it. Outskirts of
Peaslake, Padfoot had written. Small cottage at the edge of Hurtwood Forest.

Harry decided to leave the letter behind - Padfoot would be back, so there was no need to
transfer Harry into anyone else's care. He didn't bother taking anything with him - chances
were it would be confiscated before it had a chance to be useful - and so just after lunch,
Harry hobbled out of the study and into the hallway, where Kreacher was repairing the
chandelier.

"Kreacher," Harry said quietly. Kreacher wandered over. "Can you take me to Remus Lupin's
cottage at the edge of Hurtwood Forest? It's on the outskirts of Peaslake. Drop me and come
home." Kreacher nodded. "Wait for Padfoot - tell him where I've gone as soon as he gets
home-" Harry's voice wavered. "-all right?"

Kreacher offered Harry his arm.

Harry woke up disoriented. He was somewhere white, but his last memory was of Remus
Lupin's doorstep.

"What?" he tried to say, though it came out garbled. His throat felt scratchy and someone
pushed a cup of water into his hand. He took a sip, but all he could hear was Padfoot begging
for water and the cup slipped out of his hand. He asked after his godfather but no one
answered him and he fell asleep not long after.

The next time he opened his eyes it was to see who was fighting. He'd yet to work out where
he was but there was a door and through it he could see two men arguing. One was a tall man
with sandy hair - Harry thought he resembled what he remembered of Remus but couldn't be
sure - while the other was equally tall with platinum blond hair and a haughty expression.

"Excuse me," Harry said quietly. The sandy haired man - it was indeed Remus - spun quickly.
The other man grabbed his arm but Remus pushed him off.

"If you'll excuse me, Lucius," Remus said coolly.

"He's only allowed one visitor at a time," the blond - Lucius - said.

"Yes," Remus agreed, "and that would be me."

"You work for me," Lucius snapped.

"To find Harry. And I've done that. He's right there." Remus closed the door in Lucius' face.
"How do you feel?" Remus asked kindly, sitting down beside Harry's bed.

"Tired," Harry said, yawning; now that things were quiet again, he thought he could go back
to sleep. "It's nice to finally meet you, though, sir."

"Remus is fine, thank you, Harry."

"Nice to meet you anyway." He held out a limp hand, which Remus shook gently. "What
happened?" Harry asked, staring at the older wizard's hand. His question came out garbled
but Remus understood.

He flushed and shook his sleeve forward a few inches to cover the worst of the scarring. Now
that Harry looked, there were scars on his face, too. Like mine, Harry thought sleepily,
though there wasn't any particular shape to Remus', he had far more, and his were better
healed; Harry's scar still looked fresh, even after almost eight years. "An... incident when I
was younger," he said finally. "Nothing you need to be worried about."

"Okay," Harry murmured and yawned again. "Why'm I so tired?"

"Healing potions tend to take a lot out of you," Remus said, with a slight smile. "And the
younger you are, the worse it is, I'm afraid."

"I'm not young," Harry murmured sleepily. "I'm nine."

"I know," Remus said. "But..."

Harry didn't hear the rest, but that was when the dreams of the cave started.

Harry woke on a number of other occasions - to drink potions for the Healers - he'd decided
he was in St Mungo's - to eat, to go to the bathroom, or to talk to Remus. To begin with, the
conversations were short and fairly awkward – Remus had wanted to know why, in his sleep,
he shouted, "Fire, they hate fire," (a statement that was usually followed by Harry's accidental
magic flaring and something catching fire) and "Take me back! I can help him!"; Harry had
pretended not to remember the dreams, but he didn't think Remus bought the lie.

Despite that, they had quickly warmed to each other; Harry's only other company was a fussy
Healer and the silent Aurors who guarded his door.

Lucius - the man Remus had fought with - had visited once but Harry hadn't liked him - his
cold demeanour and colder eyes were rather off-putting - and had pretended to fall asleep.
Lucius had stopped talking and left not long after.

Harry had had other visitors while he slept. Two he'd been disappointed to miss; Dumbledore,
for obvious reasons, and also one of Remus' friends, who'd come by with a change of robes.
Harry would have liked to meet one of the friends of his parents' old friend.

Two, he'd been relieved to have slept through; one from a hoarde of reporters from various
publications (Remus told him they'd been terribly upset to find him asleep) and one from a
Ministry woman from the Department of Management and Control of Magical Children.

He and Remus were joking about Healers, the terrible hospital food and bad tasting potions in
no time, and then they moved onto more substantial conversations like what had happened
after Harry arrived at his house, what sorts of things Harry could look forward to at Hogwarts
in two year's time, what sorts of things Harry liked to do and what things Remus liked to do.

They never spoke about Padfoot, or Harry's life after leaving the Dursleys and Harry got the
idea that Remus had been told not to talk about it, rather than made the decision on his own;
he'd just about swallowed his tongue when Harry asked him if Padfoot had been in the
papers.

"No," Remus replied quickly. His brown eyes darted to the door and then back to Harry. "No
one's heard anything." Harry wasn't sure if that was good or bad, given the last time he'd seen
his godfather, he was trying to fight off several Inferi. He's safe. He has to be... But then why
hasn't he tried to visit, or sent Kreacher with a message? an annoying little voice in the back
of his head asked. What if he's not all right? "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Harry said. "Why am I still here?"

"Because no one knows what to do with you," Remus said, smiling slightly. "Short of locking
you up in a vault at Gringotts, we don't know how to keep you safe."

"Safe? Am I in danger?"

Remus shifted. "You clearly don't see Sirius as a threat, Harry, but the rest of us-"

"He's not dangerous," Harry said hotly.

"You're the only one that can vouch for that," Remus said gently.

"That's because you didn't listen the first time," Harry muttered. "You tried to capture him."

Remus' expression flickered. "I'd be willing to talk to him now," he said. Harry couldn't tell if
he was lying or not. "If you could set up a meeting place for the two-"

"Three," Harry corrected quietly. "Three of us."

"Harry, that wouldn't be safe," he said.

"Yeah, because I might get in the way while you try to curse him!" Harry said.

"Harry-" Remus began. Harry glared at him and Remus sighed loudly and closed his mouth.
Harry rolled over into his pillows. "Harry," Remus said again a moment later. Harry ignored
him and made a quiet snoring sound. "I know you're awake," Remus told him, but Harry
ignored him.

"Remus." The speaker was behind Harry and though he didn't turn around to see who it was,
he was curious about the owner of the deep, calm voice.

"Sir," Remus said.

"He's asleep?"

"He was pretending to begin with, but I think he might be now. Then again, maybe not; he
usually chatters. A lot like James, really."

The other man let out a quiet sigh. "I'd hoped to speak with him before tomorrow."

Tomorrow? Harry wondered, his breath catching. He remembered to let out a snore, just in
case Remus was paying attention.

"Should I wake him up?" Remus asked.

"No, let him sleep for now. If you could fetch me once he's awake, though-"

"Of course."

Harry made another snoring sound. "Has he said anything?"

"Not really. Something about Sirius being a wonderful godfather. He saw right through my
offer to meet up with him. It was strange, though, sir, because he said something about
getting in the way if I tried to curse him."

"Words and actions are two very different things, Remus."

"I know, sir, but when I found them in London it was similar; Harry was trying to protect
Sirius, not get away from him." The other man made a thoughtful sound. "It's just... strange."
They were both quiet - Harry snored - and then Remus said, "Sir, do you think it's possible
we might be missing something? Children are perceptive. If-"

"There was a time where you too would have stepped between Sirius and a curse," the man
said gently. "And a child is far easier to lie to than a friend of ten years."

"Right," Remus said, his voice oddly thick. "I'm sorry, it was a stupid question."

"I've yet to hear a stupid question, and I do not think there is anything wrong with wishful
thinking, dear boy, but one must remind himself not to drift out of reality." There was a sigh,
but Harry couldn't tell who it had come from. "Our ability to use magic has enabled us to see
possibilities where muggles perhaps could not," the man said, "but it has also blinded us to
impossibilities, which muggles, I'm afraid, are all too capable of seeing."

The other man left shortly after - Harry heard him exchange a few polite words with the
Aurors outside - but Remus stayed behind. His breathing was very slow and very deep, and
every now and then he would make a soft shuddering sound. It took Harry a moment to
realise he was crying. Harry almost moved to speak to him but bit down on his tongue and
snored again.

He had a lot to think about.

Harry gasped and opened his eyes. The cave faded into his hospital room. Remus was
snoring quietly in the chair beside the bed, and the empty chair beside his was smoking.
Harry muttered a curse he'd heard Padfoot use once and tossed his glass of water on it. It
hissed. Harry sighed and collapsed back into his pillows.

Remus' watch said it was eleven o'clock but in Harry's sterile hospital room, it was
impossible to tell whether it was morning or night because there were no windows.

Harry had come to a conclusion about two things. Firstly, he needed to get home and back to
Padfoot, who might or might not be there and who might or might not be alive. Secondly, he
would do what he could for Remus. From the conversation he'd overheard the night before,
he was confident Remus would be willing to listen to the truth and perhaps even believe it.

Padfoot had given him specific instructions never to talk to anyone about it until they had
Peter as proof, or - Merlin forbid - Padfoot was caught and needed to testify. If the truth was
spread around, people would have time to find reasons why it couldn't have happened, and
Padfoot would be sent back to Azkaban. Harry had decided, though, that Remus deserved to
know and thought - whether he believed it or not - that he would keep the story quiet.
He eyed Remus, wondering if it would be rude to wake him up. He cleared his throat. Remus
snorted quietly and mumbled something. Harry's eyes narrowed and he cleared his throat
again, louder this time. Remus twitched and his eyes opened slowly.

"I must have dozed off," he said, smoothing his creased occurred to Harry that Remus had
been wearing those same robes for three days now and the ones he'd been wearing before that
had been the ones he'd been in when Harry arrived on his doorstep. "Have you been home
since you brought me here?"

"No, but Matt's planning to come by at some point today with a clean set of robes," Remus
said with a smile. His smile faded and was replaced by a more intense look. "I don't think I've
told you, but did you know you have your mother's eyes?"

"I've been told," Harry said, with a smile as he noted Remus' suspiciously bright eyes. "And I
look like Dad, right?"

"Right," Remus said, smiling again. He got up and stretched. "I'm just going to go let
Dumbledore know you're awake and then I'll be back; he's been waiting to speak with you all
morning. Would you like anything?" He eyed the smouldering chair. "More water?"

"Yes, please," Harry said. "And food?"

Remus chuckled and left. Harry's thoughts drifted to Padfoot again and whether he was
home. Surely he was... if not... No, he has. He's there. He's the one waiting on me, now,
surely. Either way I won't know until I get home... If Remus believed him, he could probably
borrow a few sickles for the Knight Bus and be at Grimmauld in a few hours.

Remus returned not long after with a cup of water and a packet of crisps, both of which he
offered to Harry. "Here." Harry stared at the water, hearing Padfoot's begging, but he really
was thirsty and he downed it all in a mouthful. The crisps didn't last long either. "Do you
enjoy living with your godfather?" Remus asked carefully.

Harry's eyebrows rose; he hadn't been expecting Remus to talk about this, but it would
certainly lead into the conversation he needed to have.

"Well, yeah."

Remus seemed to be expecting a longer answer. When Harry didn't offer anything else he
asked, "Does he tell you much about your parents?"

Harry nodded. "Loads. I feel... almost like I know them, now, I guess." Harry thought Remus
had been surprised to hear that too, though he hid it well.

"Is that good or bad?"

He shrugged. "Both. It was weird to not know anything about them but then, the more I learn,
the more I miss what I could have had, I suppose."

Remus' smile was sad. A frown flickered over his worn features before he hid it behind a
calm expression. "Not know anything about them?"
"The Dursleys weren't about to talk about it," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I didn't even know
what magic was until I met Padfoot. The Dursleys told me Dad was a drunkard and that Mum
was a freak; not right in the head was Uncle Vernon's way of putting it."

"James- a- a drunkard?!" Remus exclaimed. He didn't seem to know whether to laugh, cry or
hit something.

"Padfoot told me he was an Auror and Mum was a Healer."

"At least he was honest about something," Remus muttered.

"He's been honest about a lot of things," Harry said, folding his arms.

"You do know that Sirius – Padfoot to you-"

"And you," Harry couldn't help adding.

"That was a long time ago," Remus said quietly. "Did he tell you he broke out of prison?"

"It was one of the first things he told me when I met him."

"You do know that breaking out of prison is illegal, don't you, Harry?" Remus said strictly.
Padfoot always had said he'd been one to follow rules.

"Well, yeah, but not in this case."

"What do you mean?"

"He shouldn't have gone to prison in the first place," Harry said, "so, really, he's not breaking
any laws by leaving a place he's not supposed to be."

"Why wasn't he supposed to be there?"

Harry's heart began to race. This is it... "Because he didn't do it."

"I'm afraid I can't agree with you there," Remus said, anger seeping into his voice.

"He was framed!"

"By who?" Remus asked, sounding curious though his tone was still hard.

"Peter," Harry spat.

"Peter?" Remus said, sounding too surprised to be angry. "Peter's dead. Sirius... he... killed
him." Harry opened his mouth to protest but Remus pressed on. "There was a charm set up,
called the Fidelius Charm. What it does is-"

"I know what a Fidelius Charm is," Harry said, fighting to hide a smile.

Remus frowned. "Then Sirius must have told you he was the Secret Keeper. He was the only
person who knew and could reveal James and Lily's location."
"He wasn't. They swapped."

"Who swapped?"

"Padfoot. He thought Peter would be the perfect Secret Keeper because no one would suspect
him. He planned for Voldemort to come after him, but even if he was caught, Mum and Dad
would be safe."

"Sirius told you that Peter was the Secret Keeper?" Remus repeated. Harry nodded. "Did he
tell you he was at my house the night Lily and James were...?"

"Who, Peter?"

"No, Sirius."

"Yeah, he said you were sick." Remus' eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. Harry ignored
this. "He left because he had a bad feeling about Peter and wanted to see that everything was
okay... and it wasn't."

"Peter's dead, though," Remus said.

"He isn't."

"Peter wasn't a spy. He wasn't brave enough."

"Yeah, so no one would suspect him."

"Sirius was the Secret Keeper," Remus said. "Everyone knew... it was always going to be
him."

"Which is why he swapped," Harry said. "I mean, it's a bit pointless if everyone knows, isn't
it?"

"Peter's dead," Remus repeated, looking quite flustered. "Sirius is guilty."

"Remus?" There was an old, bearded man standing in the doorway of Harry's room. "Are you
feeling well?"

"I think I need some fresh air," Remus said, getting up. Harry couldn't blame him. Padfoot
always said his life had ended that Halloween night and Harry was fairly sure Remus' had
too. Talking about it couldn't be any easier for Remus than it was for Padfoot.

"Moony," Harry called as he left. Remus stiffened and turned. Harry looked suspiciously at
the old man, not yet sure whether he could trust him or not. "He's not dead. You just think he
is because it wasn't... er... Peter... who got away."

"Harry, I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Remus said, looking tired.

"It was Wormtail," Harry said significantly.

"Wormtail?" Remus repeated. "As in Wormtail?"

Harry glanced at the old man again. "He... erm... ratted them out," he said, trying to be
cryptic, yet make sure Remus understood.

It seemed Remus did. "You're sure?" he asked, having gone exceptionally pale. He looked
close to fainting, but there was also something in his brown eyes that hadn't been there all
week. It looked suspiciously like hope.

"Positive," Harry said. The old man was looking between them, confused.

"So... man's best friend...?"

"Was just that," Harry said nodding. "The best friend."

"And all that time spent in... the kennel...?"

"He shouldn't have been there." Remus nodded and fled the room.

"Well, you two certainly had a lot to say to each other," the bearded man said, taking Remus'
empty seat.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, since he didn't know the man's name.

"He's been keeping you company, I believe?" Suddenly, Harry recognised the voice. This was
the man who had come to talk to Remus while Harry had pretended to sleep.

"Yes, sir."

"Why is it you went to his home last week, Harry?" the man asked, leaning forward. His blue
eyes seemed to see through Harry.

"He was a friend of my parents'," Harry said uneasily. And Padfoot's.

"He was indeed. He, your father, another boy called Peter-" Harry managed to suppress a
growl just in time. "-and Sirius Black were thick as thieves, to coin a muggle phrase."

"You knew them too?" Harry asked, interested. It seems everyone in the Wizarding world
knew my parents.

"I did. I was the Headmaster at the school they attended."

"You're Dumbledore," Harry said.

"I am indeed," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling. It seemed hard to believe that this
cheerful, grandfatherly man could be the same one Padfoot had always talked about with
reverence. That he was the only man Voldemort had ever feared. The old man sighed. "I must
admit, I was hoping to meet you under better circumstances."

"I wasn't planning to meet you for a few years, yet," Harry said, a little apologetically.
"And yet here we are. Odd how these things happen, isn't it?" Dumbledore said pleasantly.
Two women and a man appeared in the doorway. The man was short and round, with
rumpled grey hair and a lime green bowler hat. He was wearing the oddest assortment of
clothing Harry had ever seen; a pinstriped suit, scarlet tie, a long blue travelling cloak and
bright purple boots.

One of the witches accompanying him looked equally strange; she was a short, squat witch
who looked rather like a toad, and must have been in her early thirties but she was dressed
like a six-year-old girl, with a pink bow in her curly hair and a matching dress and cardigan
ensemble. The other witch had a square jaw, short blond hair that was turning grey, and was
wearing a plain black robe with buttons that reached her throat.

"Oh my," said the square-jawed witch when she spied Harry. The look of shock and sadness
she wore softened her tough expression immediately. "He looks so much like James." Harry
was beginning to think his father had known everyone there was to know. The witch shook
herself. "Sorry. My name is Amelia Bones, Mr Potter. I'm from the Department of Magical
Law Enforcement."

"Hi," Harry said, wiping his sweaty palms on his blanket.

"Dolores Umbridge," the other witch said in a girlish voice. "Department of Management and
Control of Magical Children, and Junior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic." Harry
nodded, fairly sure it was her visit he'd pretended to sleep through.

"Cornelius Fudge, Mr Potter," said the wizard, puffing out his chest. "Minister for Magic."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Harry said, feeling very nervous now.

"We have a few questions, for you, Harry," Amelia Bones said, conjuring herself a chair
beside Dumbledore's. Dolores Umbridge conjured one for herself, and one for the Minister.
"Do you need to use the bathroom or have something to eat or drink before we begin?"

"No, I'm all right, thanks."

Amelia Bones nodded and produced a blank piece of parchment, a quill and a little pot of ink
from somewhere in her robes. "Very well. Now, some of this may be difficult for you to talk
about, but please try to answer to the best of your ability."

"Answer what?" Harry asked warily.

"Some questions we have," Bones said patiently. "Please try to answer to the best of your
ability."

Harry swallowed. "All right."

 Questions and answers

Icy hands tightened around his throat. Sirius had no choice but to transform back so that he'd
be able to use his own hands and try to get the wretched thing off. He couldn't. It was too
strong and that foul brew of Voldemort's was hardly a Pepper-Up Potion. His vision was
already flickering. It was only a matter of time before he was unconscious.

His eyes flicked to his godson; Harry had latched onto the Inferius' ankle and was trying to
pull it off. It wasn't working terribly well, but it was a nice sentiment. Have to...get him
out, he thought, glancing at Harry again as he tried to pry the Inferius off.

"Kreacher," he managed to gasp. There was a pause and then the archway flared silver.
Kreacher stumbled through, clutching his arm, and his bulbous eyes locked with Sirius'.
"Help," Sirius wheezed. Kreacher lifted his hands and the world caught fire. The Inferius
holding Sirius screeched and loosened its hold. "Get Harry, Kreacher! Get Harry home! Get
him-" It was then that Kreacher's fire, which had been burning steadily, exploded.

Sirius was immediately thankful that he'd put Fire-Freezing Charms on Harry and himself; if
he hadn't, they'd both certainly be dead by now. Sirius saw Harry flung away and then he too
was soaring. He landed in the lake and lay stunned for a moment but he didn't stick around;
the Inferi were stumbling blindly, shrieking in pain as they tried to get back to the water and
he knew from Auror training to take every advantage he was given, even if moving was the
last thing he felt like. He saw Harry and Kreacher vanish but everything else was so loud he
hardly heard it.

He snatched his wand off of the ground ran for the archway. He stumbled a few times and
was sorely tempted to just stay there and let death claim him. Then, he'd shook his head and
forced himself up again. He wiped his cheek on the stone - he had a nasty cut there - and
bolted through the second it cleared.

He tried to Disapparate, couldn't, and so he walked reluctantly into the pool, took a deep
breath and dove under. The water was freezing and Harry's rucksack, light as it was with only
chocolate and empty containers, was doing its best to weigh him down. He was cold, sore,
out of breath and had swallowed a hell of a lot of sea water when he clambered out onto a
rocky outcrop.

He couldn't move, couldn't stand. He was violently sick and that - if it was possible - made
him feel even worse. The last thing he felt like doing was Apparating, but he knew Harry
would be worrying and would probably do something stupid, like go back to the cave if
Sirius didn't get home. Sirius pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and did an
awkward little twist, unable to even stand before he Disapparated.

He ended up in a hallway that vaguely resembled his own and sighed, relieved, tucking his
wand back into his pocket. He heard footsteps running toward him and managed a smile;
Harry was safe. Then, he passed out.
"Your name is Harry James Potter, is that correct?"

"Yes," Harry said, though he did wonder what would have happened if he said no.

"You're nine years old?"

"As of three weeks ago."

"You grew up with your muggle relatives in Little Whinging?"

"Yes," Harry said again.

"And you were kidnapped earlier this year by Sirius Black?"

"No," Harry said.

"Liar," Umbridge said, her eyes bulging. "You have been living with Black!"

"I never said I hadn't," Harry answered coolly. "I just said I wasn't kidnapped."

"How would you explain what happened to you, Mr Potter?" Bones asked after silencing her
colleague with a glare.

"He offered me a different home and I agreed," Harry said, all too aware of Dumbledore's
piercing eyes resting on his face.

"Why did you agree?" Bones pressed, her quill scribbling furiously.

"Because he's my godfather and I wanted to."

"He didn't threaten you or your family in any way?"

"You mean the Dursleys? They were really the ones threatening him."

"And how do you explain your condition, Mr Potter?"

"What condition?"

"When Mr Lupin brought you here a week ago, you were in rather poor health," Bones said,
picking at her robes. "Are you aware you had strangle marks on your neck, and extensive
bruising on your back?"

Harry almost laughed. Almost. "Yeah, I am," he said. "Why?"

"Did your godfather give you those?"

"Of course not!" Harry growled.

"How about the hand prints on your arms?"

"No."
"So you don't know how you got them?" Umbridge asked disbelievingly.

"Er... No, I do."

"Do share," Bones said.

"No, thanks."

"If you're being abused," Umbridge began, "then-"

"I'm not," Harry said, cutting her off. "What's the next question?" There was a pause and
Harry wondered if they'd let him off without an explanation.

"Can you explain the dreams you have?" Harry stifled a groan; that was an even worse
question. "Your Healer tells us you're a fitful sleeper and that you... say things." Harry's
stomach had taken up residence in his feet. What had he said? He swallowed his fear,
however, and merely shrugged.

"Do I?" he asked.

"Yes," Umbridge said. "And set things on fire."

"That's odd," Harry said flatly. No one pressed the issue. He wiped his sweaty palms on the
bedsheets.

"Where have you been living?" the Minster asked, excited. There was a collective intake of
breath from all of the adults as they waited for his answer.

"I can't tell you."

Fudge swelled but was silenced by one of Umbridge's hands on his arm. "You can trust us,"
she said, with a smile that Harry saw as predatory. "We want to help you, Mr Potter, but we
can't do that unless you trust us."

Harry met her eyes, unafraid and was pleased to see her recoil slightly. "Come now, Harry,"
Fudge said with a false laugh. "We're on your side, the good side. All we want is for you to
be safe and sound and to have Black back where he belongs."

"Where's that?" Harry asked.

"Azkaban, of course," Fudge said, looking a little flustered.

"Then I'm afraid our definitions of where P-Sirius belongs differ, Minster."

"He's a criminal!" Umbridge snapped. "A danger to the wizarding world and to you! Where is
he hiding?!"

Oh, yes, awfully dangerous. The man only tackled an Inferius for me. "I can't tell you," Harry
said, unable to decide if he was having fun, or if he was terrified.
"Are you aware that by not telling us, you're breaching Wizarding Law?" Bones said sternly.

"Yes," Harry replied, crossing his arms defiantly.

Everyone was quiet and then Dumbledore spoke, changing tact. "Are you aware that your
godfather has done terrible things, Harry?"

"I know you think he has." Harry knew he was pushing it but he wasn't about to tell them
everything and he certainly wasn't going to lie down and let them bully him into telling them.

Dumbledore opened his mouth and then closed it. "Madam Bones, Madam Umbridge,
Headmaster," Fudge said, standing. "I would like to speak with you outside."

Harry watched as the four of them left the room, and as Fudge dismissed the Aurors on
guard. I don't like this at all, he thought, as the door clicked shut. He stayed in his bed, trying
not to worry until he heard shouting from outside. Quickly, he peeled back his covers and
crept to the door, pressing his ear against the crack at the bottom.

Fudge was talking. "But that's just it, Dumbledore! He's a child! He won't be able to defend
against it!"

"He's a child!" Dumbledore thundered. "Cornelius, as Minister, you have a moral duty to-"

"Hem hem."

"Dolores?" Dumbledore asked politely.

"It's not illegal," Umbridge's voice said primly. Harry had to strain his ears to hear her.

"No, it's not, but it's frowned upon, Minster," Bones said, sounding upset.

"No one needs to know," Fudge said earnestly. "He won't be hurt, he won't know what's
happening and we'll have Black. Surely that's worth it, Dumbledore?"

"The boy will think he's betrayed his godfather," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Let him," Umbridge said. "It's for the best."

"He seems to genuinely care for Black," Bones said softly. "He'd be crushed!"

"It's for the best," Fudge insisted. "The boy is clearly misinformed about Black's past, or he
would have been itching to tell us everything."

"There are no long term effects," Umbridge said.

"No physical ones, perhaps," Dumbledore said. "But mentally? The mind of a child is a
fragile thing. There are reasons there are laws against teaching children Occlumency and
administering anything more than a brush of Legillimency-"
"It's Veritaserum, not Legillimency!" Harry didn't know what either of those things were but
neither sounded as if they'd be good for him. "And we'll feed it to him, not simply go
charging into his head!"

"It takes away Harry's free will!" Bones said.

"His free will is uncooperative! What choice do we have?! We can't afford to have Black on
the loose, Dumbledore. He's a danger. This is the closest we've come to a lead on Black since
the Lupin fiasco in May! You can't just expect me to leave it! I'd be sacked!"

"You could be sacked for using Veritaserum on a minor," Dumbledore said quietly.

"It's a chance I'll have to take," Fudge said. There was silence and then, "Come now,
Dumbledore. I don't likethe idea-" Could have fooled me, Harry thought darkly. "-but I don't
have a choice!"

"We always have choices, Cornelius." But Fudge had won. Harry was sure of it.

Harry scrambled back into bed as the voices in the corridor died down. His eyes darted all
over the room, but it was futile. There was no way to escape; there were no windows, no
holes or vents in the ceiling or walls and the only door other than the one that Harry had been
listening at was the one into his bathroom. Short of flushing himself down the toilet, he didn't
have anywhere to go.

Panic bubbled away inside him as he waited. He had a few stressful minutes to ponder what
he was going to do before Dumbledore, Bones, Fudge and Umbridge returned. The last was
holding a tea tray.

"Ah, good," Fudge said. "You're still here."

"Where else would I be?" Harry asked, glaring mistrustfully at him. At least Dumbledore and
Bones had tried to defend him.

Fudge looked stumped and Harry swore Dumbledore's beard twitched. No one spoke, but
Umbridge busied herself fussing with the tea – no doubt adding the Veritaserum,
whatever that was- and Bones picked lint off her robes. Harry watched Umbridge, trying to
stay calm, but inside, he was screaming.

His eyes kept flicking to the door but he doubted he could get there before one of the four
stopped him. And it probably wouldn't go down terribly well. A small, irrational part of his
mind kept praying that Padfoot would come and save him, but that wasn't likely. Padfoot
might not even be hom- He's there. He has to be. And I have to be there too.

"Tea's ready," Umbridge said perkily. I'll bet it is, Harry thought, glaring at her. One of the
teacups shattered. She screamed, and the other three jumped, startled. That was me, Harry
realised. He tried to make another one break but couldn't. Umbridge mopped herself up and
plastered her smile back on. "I do hope you're thirsty, Mr Potter."
"Not really," Harry said, trying to be nonchalant. Whatever was in there would make him
betray Padfoot. He wasn't even going to smell it.

There was a knock on the door outside. "Professor Dumbledore? Harry?" It was Remus. He
was wearing different robes than before. "Is everything all right in there?" No! Harry shouted
mentally. It bloody well isn't!The door opened and Remus walked in, looking worried. If
Harry wasn't used to living with Padfoot, he probably would have missed the near silent
sniffing noises Remus was making. He's a wolf Animagus, Harry remembered. So he can
smell how I'm feeling.

"Sorry," he said, spotting Harry's 'guests'. "I didn't mean to interrupt..." He gave Harry a
questioning look and Harry, for only a second, let his fear show on his face, and let his eyes
flick toward the tea tray. Remus frowned and looked back to Dumbledore. "I just...er..."

Dumbledore seemed to understand that he had smelled something too, though how, Harry
didn't know. Padfoot had said no one knew about their Animagus forms.

"It's quite all right, Remus," he said. "We were just about to have tea, if you'd care to join us.
You know Amelia and Cornelius, I believe." Remus nodded. "This is Madam Dolores
Umbridge from the Department of Management and Control of Magical Children. Dolores,
this is Remus Lupin."

Umbridge stiffened and looked at Dumbledore as if he was mad. And then she looked at
Remus, seeming revolted and afraid all at once.

"A pleasure," Remus said curtly.

"Indeed. Tea, Mr Potter?" Umbridge said, holding a cup out toward him.

"No, thank you," Harry said, noticing Remus was staring at the teacup; he must have smelled
it as it went past him. He looked up at Harry, a little concerned.

"Perhaps something else, then? You must be thirsty."

"No, I-"

"Come now, Mr Potter. Pick something."

Harry knew it was only a matter of time before they forced him to drink it. "Well... the tea's
already made, I suppose."

"It is indeed," Umbridge said brightly, passing him the cup. He managed to take it with
steady hands, but only just. "Drink up." Harry shifted in his bed, bringing his blanket covered
knees up between him and the others. He pretended to take a sip and then set the cup down in
his lap.

"Good, isn't it?" Fudge asked. Harry nodded. "Drink it before it gets cold." Harry took
another pretend sip, but this time he couldn't stop his hands from shaking and slopped some
of the tea onto his sheets. The white material quickly turned a pale brown.
"Careful!" Umbridge squawked.

Harry took another sip, and this time, instead of spilling the tea, he dabbed a corner of the
sheet in. Its absorbed more tea. Harry quickly folded it to hide the mess.

"Are you sure there's not anything you can tell us about your godfather?" Bones asked gently.

"Positive," Harry muttered, dipping another section of the sheet into the tea.

"Are you drinking?" Fudge asked, looking concerned. Harry showed him the almost empty
teacup. "Good, good. Where have you been living?"

"It's a secret," Harry said. He took another pretend sip and then set the cup down on the table
beside his bed.

"I'm the Minister for Magic, Harry," Fudge said, brightly. "If you can't trust me, who can you
trust?" Harry didn't miss the little frown on Dumbledore's wizened face.

"I don't know, sir," he said.

The adults exchanged glances. "Well?" Fudge asked. He was twirling his bowler hat in his
hands. "Where is Black hiding?"

Harry thought, very quickly and made a decision. "Do you know what a Fidelius Charm is,
Minister?" he asked quietly.

Everyone seemed to slump. Harry felt a little thrill. They had, of course, assumed that
Padfoot was the Secret Keeper. They'd be more determined than ever to find him now, but
they wouldn't find him unless Harry told them where to look. "Yes, I'm familiar with it,"
Fudge sighed. "Amelia, would you-"

"Scrimgeour?" Fudge inclined his head. "Of course, Minister, I'll inform him at once. It was a
pleasure to meet you, Harry." She nodded at the others and strode out.

"Who's Scrimgeour?" Harry asked.

"Is he here in London, Harry?" Fudge pressed. "Can you tell us that?"

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again; he didn't want to tell them too much. "I
can't say," he said after a moment.

"Do you go to Diagon Alley often?"

"Not really. I've been three times."

"How long did it take you to get there?"

Harry shrugged. "It was different each time." And it had been; the first was from the
Dursleys, the second was from Grimmuald, but Padfoot had Apparated them and the third
time had been through the Floo Network.
Fudge's face fell, but not for long. "Can you describe the house?" Harry shook his head.

"Is it in a muggle neighbourhood?" Umbridge asked.

"Yeah," Harry said cautiously.

Fudge looked ready to burst with excitement. "What's nearby? Any distinctive buildings or
landmarks?"

"There's... er... a bus stop," Harry lied. "And a... big tree."

"What kind of tree?"

"I don't know."

"Does Black ever meet with anyone? Any of the Death Eaters?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No."

"Does he write many letters?"

"No."

"Do you know anything that might help us catch him?"

"No."

"Do you want Sirius caught, Harry?" Dumbledore asked softly.

"No," Harry said.

"Well," Umbridge said. "Admirable as your loyalty is, you might want to think about the fact
that he doesn't seem to mind that you've been caught, Mr Potter. Would he protect you just as
well if the situations were reversed, do you think?"

"Yes," Harry said without hesitation.

She looked irritated. "I think we're done here. Minister?"

"Yes, I think so. Thank you, Harry. Dumbledore, you'll stay with him?" Fudge asked.

"I'm afraid I'm needed at the school," Dumbledore said, standing. "Term starts next week,
after all. Remus, could you-?"

"Of course, sir," Remus said. "I'll stay with Harry, Minister."

Umbridge didn't look happy about that at all, but Harry didn't much care what she thought.
"Very well," Fudge said. He put his bowler hat back on top of his head. "I'll walk you out.
Dolores, are you heading back to the Ministry?"

"No, Minister," Umbridge said. "But I could use a walk."

"We'll be off then," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "It was wonderful to meet you, Harry."

"You too, sir," Harry said, smiling at Dumbledore, whom he'd decided he liked.

"I'll be in tomorrow, I think."

Harry nodded. Fudge offered Harry his hand. Harry shook it cautiously. "Goodbye, Harry.
Thank you for your cooperation today." Harry nodded again but it was a rather jerky motion.
Fudge didn't seem to notice.

"I'll be back soon, Mr Potter," was all Umbridge said. Harry, who remembered she worked
with magical children, didn't like the sound of that at all.

"All right," he said. "Bye."

Dumbledore swept out with Fudge just behind. Umbridge gave Remus one nasty look and
flounced out after them. The door clicked shut. Remus, who had been sitting rather stiffly,
relaxed, but only slightly.

"Were you telling the truth about Sirius and Peter, earlier?" he asked, looking nervous.

"Yes."

Remus took a deep breath and a relieved smile spread across his face, followed almost
immediately by a troubled, sympathetic look. "It wasn't your fault, you know."

"What?"

"The tea. It made you say those things. You had no way of contr-"

"The tea didn't make me say anything," Harry said. "I only pretended to drink."

"You knew," he said sounding shocked. "I did wonder when I sme- saw how worried you
were, but when you accepted it and started to drink I thought you mustn't know after all. So
you lied?"

"Lied?"

"The potion - Veritaserum, it's called - is a truth serum. You'll tell anyone anything they ask."

Harry stared at the cup and fervently thanked Merlin and the Hogwarts founders that he
hadn't consumed any. "You could smell it, couldn't you?" he asked.

"Veritaserum doesn't have a smell," Remus said quietly. Harry frowned at him. He smiled a
little ruefully. "It doesn't. That's what tipped me off. Even water has a smell but Veritaserum
smells like... nothing."

Another question presented itself to him. "Dumbledore knew you could smell it," he said,
frowning.
"He did, yes," Remus said slowly.

"Why does Dumbledore know you're an Animagus, but doesn't know about my dad, Padfoot
or Pettigrew?"

"What makes you think I'm an Animagus?" Remus asked, looking stunned.

"Padfoot told me," Harry said.

"Did he now?" Remus muttered.

"Well?" Harry asked. "Why does Dumbledore know?"

"What makes you think he does?" Harry gave him a flat stare. Remus smiled. "You look an
awful lot like James when you do that." Harry grinned. "And even more like him when you
do that," Remus said, laughing. "I'll bet you drive Padfoot up the walls."

"You called him Padfoot," Harry said, instantly sidetracked.

Remus looked stunned and then nodded. "I-I suppose I did."

"So you believe me?"

He let out a noisy breath. "I hope you realise that by telling me what you told me earlier, you
forced me to rethink the past eight years of my life." Harry grimaced. "But yes, I do. I've
always somewhat questioned Sirius' ability to kill James and Lily but I've never been able to
find another explanation, any other way it could have happened... they hadn't even talked
about swapping, though. Not to me, anyway." His tone was slightly bitter.

"That's Padfoot's second biggest regret," Harry said quietly. Remus raised an eyebrow. "The
first is swapping Secret Keepers, obviously, but the second is not telling you straight away;
Dad wanted to, but Mum wanted to do it in person. I think you were supposed to have lunch
or dinner or something the next day, where they would have told you-" Harry realised he was
babbling and clamped his mouth shut.

"Dinner," Remus whispered. "It was dinner." He cleared his throat. "I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"Well, they found Peter's finger..."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Padfoot thinks he cut it off after he blew up the street."

Remus closed his eyes and nodded. "And then he'd have escaped into the sewers, right?"

"Yes, actually."

"And Sirius laughed. That's what the reports say. That he laughed." Remus opened his eyes.
"I think I'd laugh too if I was outsmarted by Peter." He sighed. "Why didn't we see it before?
He was a rat!"
"Padfoot said something similar."

"I'll bet he did." Remus sighed. "Harry, I don't believe he would have, but I have to ask... It
wasn't Sirius who injured you, was it?"

"No," Harry said. Remus looked relieved, but not terribly surprised. "Why do people keep
asking that?"

"Will you tell me what it was that did hurt you?"

"Er... I don't think so, no," Harry said.

Remus frowned suddenly. "Where is Sirius?" he asked and Harry knew he wasn't asking
where they'd been living, but rather why Sirius hadn't been the one to give Harry medical
help or take him to the Healers.

"Why?" Harry asked defensively, fighting to keep a calm expression.

"Because from the way you talk about him, and the way you defend him and the way you
defended each other that day in London, I think it's reasonable to deduce you care about each
other." Harry nodded. "And from what I knew - or know, I suppose - of Sirius, he wouldn't
leave you in the state you arrived at my cottage in unless he was incapable of doing
something about it, or didn't know about it, and I highly doubt it was the latter."

Harry shrank into his pillows. "We were separated," he said.

"I'd worked out that much. What happened?"

"I can't- I don't know if I'm allowed to say," Harry said, fiddling with a lose thread on his
pillowcase.

Remus let out a gusty breath. "Is there any way you can contact him?"

Kreacher, was Harry's first idea. He'd considered calling the elf several times in the past
week but they'd be able to trace him to the Black family and Grimmauld Place through the
Department of Regulationand Control of Magical Creatures. "I- maybe," Harry said. "Why?"

Remus glanced at the door and lowered his voice. "Because, before we stage any sort of
escape, I'd like to be certain he's where he should be."

"He will be. He is," Harry said firmly. "And did you say escape?"

Remus smiled half-heartedly. "It won't be easy to get you home," he said in a whisper,
glancing at the door again. "You're being watched like a Snitch as it is and the second we
leave here, the Trace will reactivate."

"You mean it's off?"

"Places where a lot of magic is used - here, Hogwarts, Gringotts, the Ministry, Diagon Alley -
tend to confuse the Trace. There are wards that do the same thing." Harry nodded, thinking of
Grimmauld. "The streets of muggle London, however..."

"Right," Harry said. "If we left from here, though, would we be able to get away without the
Trace?"

"As long as any magic you used was performed inside this building, yes." Remus made a
face. "But the warding-"

Harry smiled. "I think I know a way home," he said.

"Oh?"

"I'd need a wand," Harry added.

Remus lifted an eyebrow. "To do what?"

"I can't tell you," Harry said. "Not yet, at least."

"Usually those words ended with me in detention," Remus muttered, shaking his head. "The
number of times James said them...So you think you can get out?"

"If I have a wand."

Remus exhaled noisily. "If I gave you mine..." he said, pulling a slender beech wand from his
shabby robes. "How would you get it back to me?"

"Er... well..." Harry thought about that and had to admit he had no idea.

Remus shook his head suddenly. "That isn't going to work."

"I didn't suggest anything!"

"It wouldn't matter anyway. I can't give you my wand because the Aurors-" Remus jerked his
head at the door. "-check everyone's wands on the way in and out. They'd know about it as
soon as I tried to leave and I'd be dragged off to Azkaban, even if you somehow got free."

"Let's not do that, then," Harry said, quickly. "Not unless you've got a spare that you can
hide..."

"No," Remus said a little apologetically.

They sat in silence and then Harry said, "Maybe... maybe you could go get my wand."

"You have- Of course you do. Sirius never has cared much for tradition. You want me to get
your wand?"

"Well, I can't exactly fetch it, can I?" Harry asked with a grimace.

"No," Remus said wryly. "I suppose not... Where is it?"

"Er..." Where would Kreacher have put it after he took it from Harry? "I'm not completely
sure."

"Helpful."

"It was confiscated," Harry said defensively.

"By Sirius?"

"No. By- by our housekeeper."

"I always did say Sirius needed taking care of, but a housekeeper..." He chuckled once and
then his expression turned remarkably serious. "Would I be right in assuming, then, that if
your housekeeper took your wand, then it's somewhere in your house?"

"Probably, yeah," Harry said, wincing.

"Ah."

That, Harry thought, summarised the situation quite nicely.

Sirius' eyes flicked open and he became uncomfortably aware that he was not in his own bed,
or in any of the beds in his house. His bed didn't have flowery pillows or embroidered
sheets. His room didn't have cream and pink wallpaper. His room did, however, have moving
photographs. So this is a magical home, at least. He reached for his wand but it wasn't in his
pocket. Damn.

He examined the photograph on the bedside table. It showed a boy - he looked about ten -
and a woman - who Sirius guessed was his mother. Both had the same dark hair and eyes and
the same cheeky smile. I know that smile, Sirius realised, but he couldn't think how.

He climbed out of bed and stumbled over to the door, his muscles seizing painfully. He was
out of breath by the time he got there and sank to his knees. The lethargy was like being in
Azkaban again, and he hated it. He felt weak and he felt tired and this was after copious
amounts of chocolate, hot chocolate and seven years of practice against Dementors. He
supposed there was a reason they'd outlawed the use of Dementor's Draught, and why, when
it had been used, prisoners had only been given a tiny mouthful.

He called Voldemort every rude name he could think of and then pushed himself to his feet,
using the doorknob for support. The moment his hand touched the knob, a high, ringing noise
started.

He heard quick, quiet footsteps and then a woman's voice said, "Get away from the door."
Sirius forced his legs to obey and backed off a few steps. "Not far enough," she snapped. "Go
and sit on the bed."

Sirius did what he was told, but it was a struggle. He heard a muttered spell and then the door
clicked and swung open. A tall woman - she was only a few inches shorter than he was -
stepped into the room. She had the same dark hair and eyes as the pair in the photograph. She
resembled the woman from the photograph - she was, perhaps, prettier and her face was
thinner - but she certainly wasn't smiling. Sirius eyed her wand, which was trained directly on
his chest. Her hand didn't shake, even slightly. In her other hand, was Harry's rucksack.

"Hello," he said - though it came out as more of a croak - and fixed a weak smile on his face,
though he looked and felt like a mess; his robes were torn and rumpled, his hair was matted
and he stank of salt and Inferi. He was also exceptionally thirsty.

"I think this is yours," she said, tossing the rucksack at him. It was damp, inside and out and
the chocolate was waterlogged but he shoved a row into his mouth anyway. It was salty.

"Fanks," he said, stuffing another chunk in. She didn't seem to know what to make of him.
"Your nephew?" he asked, nodding at the photograph.

"No," she said stiffly.

Sirius tried again. "Nice... nice house you've got here." She gave him a flat look. Sirius
winced as something inside him twinged. "Do...do you... kidnap people often?"

"You're one to talk." Sirius frowned. Does that mean she knows who I am...? he wondered. It
must, and that's why she's so wary. The woman came a few more steps into the room. Or not
so wary. She pushed her fringe out of her face and folded her arms, waiting for him to say
something. "Where's Harry?" she asked finally.

"Safe," Sirius said hoarsely. Or at least I hope so.

Her brown eyes narrowed and slid over his bruised arm, the cut on his cheek, his general
state of disarray and came to rest on his neck, which he knew was bruised from being
strangled. "

I know better than to trust your definition of safe," she said coolly.

"Clearly you know me so well," Sirius said, attempting to sound sarcastic but it came out
sounding rather pathetic.

"Better than most," she said, her eyes narrowing again.

"Who... who are you?"

"You don't recognise me?" she asked, actually smiling now, but it was bitter. "Sirius, I'm
wounded." So she wasn't bluffing, Sirius thought grimly, squinting at her. She did seem
vaguely familiar, but then, so had her house when he Apparated into it... he didn't even know
how long ago that had been.

"You wouldn't happen to have... water... a glass of water, would you?" he asked hopefully.
Her eyes narrowed again but she waved her wand and conjured a glass. She filled it and
passed it to him. Sirius practically inhaled it and looked up, eyes begging for more. She
paused and then waved her wand again. He went through another five glasses before he was
remotely sated and set it down on the bedside table. "I'm afraid... I've still got... absolutely no
idea... who you are."
She shifted, looking a little smug and a little hurt. As she did, Sirius got a whiff of her. Her
scent, too, was vaguely familiar, and he was more inclined to trust that than his eyes. He
sniffed again, trying to be casual about it. His eyes widened.

"Mar...Marlene?!" Her eyes narrowed again and Sirius knew he was right. Then his mouth
fell open. "FUCK!" His throat protested, but he was dead, so it didn't matter. He flopped back
down onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. "I never got out, did I?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm...I'm dead, aren't I?" She stared at him. Oh, Harry, I hope you didn't see it. I hope you're
safe. Godric damn it! I promised everything would be all right! "Aren't I!"

"No," she said slowly.

"Go get... James... James. And Lily," Sirius told her. "Oh, and Reg."

"Reg?"

"Regulus. Brother... My brother," Sirius said impatiently. Comprehension dawned on her face
for a moment, and then it was replaced by confusion as he kept rambling. "No one else. Lily,
James and Reg. Wait... I'll... I'll do it." He pulled his mirror out of his pocket with trembling
fingers and said, "James Potter." James' smiling face appeared and Marlene started. "Hey, I...
er... I'm at Marl-" Sirius said, choking up a little; it was partially emotion and partially
tiredness. James just smiled.

"Sirius!" Marlene snarled. "You're not dead," she said, sounding as if she wished otherwise.

James still didn't seem able to talk to him, so he supposed it was possible. Sirius put his
mirror down on the bedspread and turned to look at her.

"Then why are you... here?"

"Because I live here, you git," she said, annoyed.

"But you died."

"Almost," she whispered, then her voice hardened. "If you hadn't been so busy running
around after Voldemort perhaps you'd know that."

"So you're alive?" She rolled her eyes. "And I'm alive?"

"You were half dead when you showed up in my hallway," she said curtly. Sirius stuffed his
mirror back into his pocket. "I sort of hoped you'd die on the first night but you didn't."

"First-?"

"You've slept like the dead for three days but I assure you, you're very much alive." She fixed
him with a speculative look. "For now."
Sirius didn't doubt that she was capable of killing him. "But Malfoy..." he said. "I was there,
one of the first ones at your house. It was ruined." He'd never quite recovered from that day
in August.

She gave him a bitter smile. "Malfoy was there," she agreed. "He decided to gloat for a bit, as
he always does and he- I..." She drew herself upright. "I was being tortured." Without
thinking, Sirius reached for her but she flinched and retreated back toward the door. "I lost
my short term memory. I thought I was still at Hogwarts... in my sixth year, I think.

"I recall telling Malfoy I'd tell McGonagall and see to it that he got a detention. Then his
house elf showed up and started prattling on about his son. He turned around to tell the thing
to go away and I grabbed my wand, threw myself out of the window and Disapparated."

"Muggles found me near my parents' old house and took me to a muggle hospital, but muggle
medicine was useless in letting me get my memory back. I probably blew the Statute of
Secrecy about forty times, calling everyone muggles, saying I'd miss Quidditch, asking for
my wand - they confiscated it when I arrived."

"There was a television in my room, though, and when Lily and James were killed I saw it on
the muggle news - not properly of course, but I filled in the blanks - and I snapped out of it. I
started to remember little things, but I knew I still needed help so I stole my wand back and
took myself to St Mungo's."

"Dumbledore was notified and came to fill me in on what had happened in the months I'd
been in muggle hospital. I found out you were a traitor-" She spat the word. "-that you'd
killed Peter and that Harry'd been sent to live with Lily's awful sister. Remus came to visit
me... he was distraught, not that you'd care..."

She sighed. "I was getting better. I was remembering things and I was going to help, going to
testify against Death Eaters in all the trials and then- and then... I- Alice and Frank showed up
in my ward. I couldn't handle it. I checked out as soon as the Healers proclaimed me healthy
and I moved in here."

"And you've been alone, all this time?" Sirius asked quietly. That wasn't the Marlene he knew
at all; she'd always loved to be around people.

"I had a cat but it died last year," she said shortly. Her face hadn't changed the entire time; her
jaw had been set, her eyes not-quite-there. It was a look Sirius was very familiar with, after
having spent years in Azkaban.

"What... what did the world do to you, Marly?" he asked hoarsely.

Her blank expression twisted into an angry one at the old nickname and her wand spat out a
stream of pink and gold magic. "The world?" she asked, coldly furious. "The world did
nothing to me, Sirius, it was you and your Death Eater pals." Sirius wasn't sure what to say to
that. He wasn't a Death Eater, but knowing Marlene, he'd be Stunned or Silenced before he
could even get the words out. Instead, he just waited. This seemed to annoy her. "Are you just
going to sit there?" she asked.
"What else should I... be doing?" Sirius asked, rubbing absently at a particularly painful
bruise at his throat. "I'll talk... if you want me to-"

"I don't want you to talk to me."

"Liar," was all he managed to say as his head throbbed painfully.

"Excuse me?"

"You're... excused, but you're still lying. If you didn't want to... talk, you'd have handed me
straight to... them... the Dementors, or killed me yourself."

"Are you complaining?" she asked.

"Not at all... Just wondering... Am I allowed to talk to you or not?" Talking was the last thing
he felt like doing but if she was willing to listen, he didn't see that he had much choice.

A wary expression crossed her face. "You have two minutes."

 Moony and Padfoot

Remus was very, very still. "You would trust me?" he asked, finally. He looked like he might
cry.

Harry nodded, praying he wouldn't regret this, praying Remus honestly believed him, instead
of just saying he did. Remus wouldn't be able to tell anyone where Sirius was because of the
Fidelius Charm, but he could still overwhelm Padfoot and drag him out.

Harry gestured for Remus to come closer - there was no way he would risk this being
overheard - and breathed, "We've been living at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."

Remus' eyes widened. "You're joking!" Harry shook his head. "And no one's thought to look
there since before you were taken because we all know how much he hated it..." Remus
shook his head again. "I did consider- have you- your neighbour?"

"Our neighbours?" Harry asked puzzled. I'm pretty sure Snape said something about that
when he visited.

"You don't know?" Remus asked.

"Know what?" Harry asked.

"About Marlene."

"She's dead," Harry said. "She died in the war."

Remus shook his head, smiling but said no more on the topic. "Number Twelve," he
continued thoughtfully. "That explains the Trace too... the Ministry wouldn't detect as much
as a sneeze because that old place is so heavily warded."

"You've got no idea," Harry muttered.

"Unbelievable," Remus said. "I'd been wondering how Sirius was getting by without magic.
Turns out he hasn't been at all." He smiled. "Thank you, Harry, for telling me."

"You won't say anything, will you?" Harry asked, nervous. He thought he trusted Remus, but
it was still better that he didn't know about the Fidelius Charm; Remus likely believed Harry
had lied to Fudge when he mentioned it now that he knew Harry hadn't taken the
Veritaserum.

"No," Remus assured him.

"Thanks."

Remus stood. "I'll go now. You might be home by tonight."

Harry couldn't stop the hopeful smile that plastered itself onto his face.
Remus slipped his robes off and stuffed them into his pocket before he left the reception area
so that when he left the hospital, he was wearing a faded pair of jeans - he really did need
new ones - and a worn shirt. No one gave him a second glance as he walked - seemingly out
of thin air - to join the sea of muggles.

He ducked down a side alley beside a bookshop and, upon checking for any muggles, pulled
his wand out and spun on the spot, focusing on the small park opposite Number Twelve
where he, James and Peter had often met with Sirius during the holidays, and later, where
they'd come so Sirius could meet with Regulus.

It looked just as he remembered it; a square of sparse grass surrounded by hedges and a rusty
iron fence. He stepped out of a cluster of bushes, smoothed his robes and strode out and
across the street.

He could see Number Twelve but he had to fight to keep it in his sight; his eyes tried to
wander to the houses either side. That wasn't a new security measure – Orion Black had put
that up, along with several others in the summer after third year to try to stop James, Remus
and Peter from visiting.

Remus headed up the worn stone steps. The door was black with a snake knocker, but neither
looked as grimy as the rest of the house; he thought the door had been repainted, and the
knocker polished.

Remus reached for the doorbell and thought better of it. He gave the door a push but it didn't
budge. He tapped it once with his wand, muttering, "Alohomora." It swung open and Remus
stepped into the black hallway. The door clicked shut behind him, making him jump. He
summoned his Gryffindor courage and took a step forward. The floor creaked loudly.

The entire hallway lit up. Remus jumped and looked around for Sirius, or perhaps the
housekeeper Harry had mentioned, but neither were there. It must be charmed, he thought,
glancing at the walls. The house didn't look quite as sinister in the warm orange light; the
walls were green, not black, and the floor was no longer a bottomless pit, but dark
floorboards. Remus took another tentative step forward.

When nothing happened, he took another and tried to remember the layout. He still had no
idea where he was going by the time he reached the bottom of a staircase. There was another
staircase off to his left but that was heading down. Remus frowned.

"Up we go, then," he muttered. The stairs didn't creak as he'd half expected them to and it
occurred to him that Sirius - and possibly Harry - had done quite a bit of work to make the
house liveable.

The first floor was quiet, as was the second and the third. Remus was beginning to wonder
whether he should have checked downstairs first when he reached the fourth floor and heard
voices coming out of a slightly ajar door.

He knocked quietly and pushed the door open. "Harry?" he heard someone say hoarsely.
Sirius was struggling to get out of his bed, while an elderly house elf tried to push him back
down. His hopeful, almost desperate expression faded when he saw Remus. The elf made a
startled noise and stopped fighting Sirius; instead, its bloodshot eyes narrowed and it took a
step toward Remus, hands raised menacingly.

Remus quickly threw his wand down and held his hands up so that Sirius could see they were
empty; if Harry was wrong, and Sirius actually was a murderer, then this was the stupidest
thing he'd ever done.

"Kreacher," Sirius said, picking up his own wand. He trained it on Remus.

"I'm a little disappointed, Sirius," Remus said, trying to hide how nervous he was. "No hug.
Not even a handshake to greet your old friend." Sirius' wand lowered a little, but not much.

"Old friend?" he asked weakly, managing to stand this time, though he held the bedpost for
support. "Last time we saw each other, you didn't want to be friends." Remus frowned. "And,
if memory serves, you greeted me in much the same way; with a wand."

"Hypocrisy has always been something of a problem of mine," Remus admitted. Sirius
smiled faintly and lowered his wand; his arm was shaking and he could hardly hold it still.
"You look awful." And he did. The Sirius he'd seen in London a few months back hadn't
looked like he'd spent seven years of his life in Azkaban.

This one did; he was wearing rumpled, bloodstained, singed robes, he had a week's worth of
beard and his hair was matted. He was also pale, sweaty and his eyes were feverish. Remus
also spotted bruises on his neck, like the ones Harry had had.

"What happened to you?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Delusional," the elf croaked.

Sirius shot it a look. "Where's Harry? Is he all right?" Sirius tried to look around Remus and
swayed on his feet. He had to sit down on the bed. Remus tried to take a step toward him,
concerned, but the elf made an angry noise and wouldn't let him get any closer.

"Harry's in St Mungo's," Remus said, backing away. Sirius lost what little colour he had.
"He's perfectly fine, though he wasn't when he arrived at my cottage."

Sirius' pinched expression eased somewhat. "Why did he send you?"

"Who says he did?"

"You'd never have found me if he hadn't," Sirius said, with certainty. Remus wondered at
that, but all curiosity on the matter left his mind when Sirius picked up his own wand again.
Remus glanced at his own discarded wand. He had no intention of using it, but he felt bare
without it. "Why are you here? Have you come to arrest me?"

"Put that down," Remus said, nodding to Sirius' shaking hand. Sirius frowned at him and
tried to steady his hand. "No, I haven't."
"What?" Sirius said, lowering his wand again.

"I think Harry would be rather put out with me if I did."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Sirius' tired face. "He's a good kid."

"I know."

Sirius gave him a curious look and then shook his head. "I know you didn't want to hear it
that day in London, but if you're willing to listen I'll tell you about-"

"Peter?" Remus asked.

Sirius' mouth fell open. "You know?!" That seemed to be too much for Sirius' already weak
voice; he made a choking sound and cleared his throat several times. Finally, he looked back
up at Remus, still seeming stunned.

"Close your mouth, Sirius, you look like a Dementor."

Sirius' mouth snapped shut. "Harry," he said after a moment.

"Harry," Remus agreed.

"I can't believe you sat still long enough for him to explain," Sirius said, chuckling.

His laughs turned into coughs and he had to sit down again. Remus watched him, concerned,
and this time the elf was so busy forcing a hot mug into Sirius' hands that Remus was able to
approach the bed.

When Sirius had finished whatever was in the cup and stopped coughing, Remus said, "Of
course I listened. You didn't see his face; do you remember that look James used to get-"

"I remember every look James used to get," Sirius said softly.

Remus smiled slightly. "The one where he had something important to say-"

"-where his jaw set and he wasn't actually frowning but you just knew he felt like it?"

"The very same," Remus said.

"When Harry does it, his eyes flash like Lily's used to," Sirius said

"I know," Remus said.

"So you believe us- me?"

"Enough to come here and throw my wand away." Remus said.

Sirius gave him a shrewd look. "Do you actually believe me, or are you just hoping?"
"I'm not used to anyone reading me so easily anymore," Remus said, sitting down on the edge
of Sirius' bed. "And a bit of both, I think. It certainly makes sense; Peter was always busy, or
away - he never got hurt on missions... When do you think he turned?"

"A year before? Maybe he never turned, and was always like that. I don't know. Does it
matter?"

"Not really," Remus admitted. "I was just wondering."

"I hate him," Sirius whispered. Any doubts Remus still had about whether Sirius' story was
true or not evaporated with those three words, because in them was loathing, betrayal and
buried much, much deeper, pain. Emotion that deep couldn't be faked. "And I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For thinking you were the spy. For ever believing that you would do less for them than I
would. For not telling you as soon as we made the swap."

Remus inclined his head. "I'm sorry too, for thinking so poorly of you. And I'm sorry I never
visited you, or wrote." He swallowed. "Even if you were guilty, I owed you that much."

"It's all right," Sirius said. "Oh, just so you know..." He pulled back both of his sleeves and
though his forearms were bruised, he very obviously had not been Marked. Remus pulled
back his own sleeves to show his scarred arms. Sirius nodded and then winced. For a
moment, Remus thought we was about to be sick but he took a deep breath and accepted
another drink from the elf. "I'm going to hate hot chocolate by the end of this," Sirius
muttered, staring at his cup with a wrinkled nose.

Remus opened his mouth to ask what had happened to him again - it didn't look like any
normal sickness - but he knew Sirius would just ignore the question.

"Friends?" he asked instead, holding out his hand.

"Brothers," Sirius said, shaking Remus' hand. Suddenly, he looked uncertain. "If-if you still-"

"Of course, Padfoot," Remus said, rolling his eyes. He hugged Sirius - gently because of how
frail he looked - and then pulled back. "You're not contagious, are you?"

"Nah," Sirius said. "It's just food poisoning." He glanced at the elf. "I don't know how you
did it."

"Kreacher is spending months recovering, though Kreacher is not experienced like Master
Sirius, and Kreacher is not knowing to have chocolate."

"Months?" Sirius groaned. "I can't spend months in bed!"

"You spent years in Azkaban," Remus pointed out.

"I paced," Sirius sighed. "Drove everyone mad - er, madder."

"Still can't go without your daily walk?"

Sirius shook his head. "I end up chewing the furniture."

It would take time, Remus knew, until things went back to the way they'd been, but the ease
with which they fell back into old patterns reassured him that the lack of James and Peter, and
the seven - almost eight - years without contact had not ruined their friendship. The
foundations were still there - corroded in places - but there. They could fix it.

Sirius pulled a box of Chocolate Frogs off of his bedside table, unwrapped one and stuffed it
in his mouth. "Chocolate's bad for dogs," Remus said quietly.

Sirius grinned. "I'm already sick." He tossed a sweet at Remus, who caught it reflexively.

"That and you have insides more stable than a cast iron cauldron," he muttered, unwrapping
the Frog.

"There is that," Sirius agreed. He was quiet and then said, "So Harry's in St Mungo's?"

"Yes." Remus glanced at his watch and swore. "He's probably wondering where I am."

"What ward in St Mungo's?" Sirius asked casually.

"Queen Mauve's Paediatric Ward on the fourth- I know that look," Remus said warningly.
"Sirius-"

Sirius quickly assumed an innocent expression that would probably have fooled anyone else.
"What?"

"You can hardly stand," Remus said.

Sirius frowned. "I'll manage."

"Don't be thick," Remus said bluntly.

"I can't leave him there, Moony," Sirius whispered.

"I'm not asking you to. I can have him home tonight if you'll give me his wand."

"You'd... you'd help?" Sirius asked.

"That's why I'm here."

"But the Ministry-"

"I don't give a damn what the Ministry thinks."

"Dumbledore, though? Surely he's-"

"Dumbledore wants what's best for Harry and that's to have him happy and safe. The
Ministry's had little luck finding him here, so Voldemort certainly won't be able to - if or
when he returns - and from the way Harry's been snapping at anyone who insults you, I'd say
he rather enjoys your company, so that covers the happy part. Now... his wand?"

Before Sirius could say anything, the elf vanished. He reappeared only a second later -
making Sirius wince again - cradling Harry's wand to his chest.

"I'll look after it," Remus promised. Kreacher passed it over and bowed slightly before
retreating back behind Sirius. Remus tucked it into his pocket and retrieved his own from the
floor. "I should go."

Sirius nodded. "Do you want me to see you out?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "Stay in bed, Sirius. I'll be back in a while."

Remus left the room as Kreacher forced another mug of hot chocolate into Sirius' hands. I
will get him to tell me what he and Harry were doing, he told himself. And then I'll see if I
can do something for those bruises.Remus let himself out of the house and shut the door with
a wave of his wand. He had a definite spring in his step as he set off to the right, past Number
Eleven, and realised he hadn't felt this cheerful in years.

He Disapparated at the end of the street and found himself in the same alley - by the
bookstore - that he'd left from. Remus patted his pockets to check he still had both wands and
then he approached the ugly dummy in the window of Purge and Dowse Ltd. "I'm here to
visit Harry Potter."

The dummy nodded slightly and Remus strode through the glass into the St Mungo's
reception area, where he was immediately intercepted by Mad-Eye Moody. "Lupin," the
grizzled Auror said.

"Mad-Eye," Remus said, smiling as he passed over his wand.

The Auror's scarred mouth twitched. "Here to see the boy?"

"Yes, why?"

"Some Ministry witch was talking to him earlier," Mad-Eye said, passing the wand back.
"Sounds like they're moving him in the morning."

Not if I have anything to do with it. Remus' eyebrows climbed. "Where?"

"Back to the muggles," Mad-Eye said. "Apparently the kid wasn't too happy. The Healers
called Dumbledore in. He's with him now, asked me to send you up."

Remus said a quick goodbye and headed to the nearest lift. As he waited for it, he thought it
probably would have been quicker to take the stairs. He turned away just as the doors opened.
Rolling his eyes, he stepped inside and jabbed the button for the fourth floor.

It stopped twice - once on the first floor and once on the third to admit a Healer in lime green
robes and a witch in black - Remus nodded a hello to Mary MacDonald and her sister Susan
who usually treated him if he had a bad full moon - and then stepped out into the fourth floor
corridor and took the first set of double doors on the left into another corridor, labelled Queen
Mauve's Paediatric Ward.

The walls were covered with unicorns and dragons, and painted pixies followed his progress
down the hall, pulling funny faces. Remus knew it reasonably well; his mother had been a
Healer - she'd quit after he was bitten - and was able to fix him from home most times, but
occasionally she'd brought him here.

His room had been down the right side hall which a sign proclaimed was for Creature
Induced Injuries, while Harry was being kept in a room at the end of the General
Admissions corridor. After the Aurors had checked his wand, Remus stepped into the room
and was met by a rather bizarre sight; the contents of Harry's dinner tray had been ignored
and placed on his bedside table while the tray itself rested on Harry's knees, between him and
Dumbledore, and had a rather complex looking card tower on it.

The ends of Dumbledore's beard were blackened and Harry's nose was covered in soot.

As Remus shut the door, the tower exploded and Harry burst out laughing. "Was that you or
me?" Dumbledore asked.

"I... er... I'm not sure," Harry said.

"Both take a bean then," Dumbledore said brightly.

There was a rustle and then Harry put something in his mouth and made a face. "Dirt," he
said.

Dumbledore was slower about choosing his. "I do hope this is strawberry," he said. "I myself
happened across a vomit flavoured one in my youth and lost my liking for them." There was
a pause and then Dumbledore reached for a tissue and spat something into it. "Now I
remember why; raw meat."

"Urgh."

"My sentiments exactly, dear boy. You may start the next one." Remus cleared his throat as
Harry picked up a card. Both looked up rather guiltily, apparently noticing Remus for the first
time. "Ah, Remus!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "Bertie Botts Every Flavour Bean?"

"No, thank you," Remus said with a smile. "I had an unfortunate experience with an
earthworm flavoured one a few years back..."

"Dudley made me eat a worm once," Harry said, pulling a face. Dumbledore watched him
with interest, eyes twinkling. He shrugged. "It wasn't as bad as you'd think."

"Sirius could always eat anything too," Remus said, remembering to swap his smile for a
grimace at the last moment.

Something in Harry's eyes dimmed and for a moment his mind was obviously not in his little
hospital room. Dumbledore glanced at Remus, worried, and Remus shrugged back.
"Yeah," Harry said with a fake laugh. He hastily placed a card down and said, "Your turn,
Professor."

Dumbledore added another card. "This will have to be my last game, dear boy. Minerva was
unhappy that I left at all."

"Sorry," Harry said.

"I don't mind in the least," Dumbledore assured him.

"Thank you, sir."

Dumbledore smiled to acknowledge the gratitude and then waved a hand at the foundations
of their card-tower. "I believe it's your turn, Harry." Harry nodded, his face scrunched up with
concentration as he set a card atop Dumbledore's and waited for a few moments. They
continued exchanging cards and the tower took shape again.

Remus was struck by nostalgia, and remembered James and Sirius having regular games of
Exploding Snap, or using the cards to build towers, and as they grew, models of the Shrieking
Shack or Gringotts Bank. Somewhere at home he had a photograph of the small scale
Hogwarts they'd built early in seventh year.

Harry was the one who caused it to explode this time as he tried to balance a card atop
another one. He let out a yelp as it combusted beneath his fingers and then picked a bean
from the box Dumbledore offered. Harry surveyed the little green bean, and looking slightly
more apprehensive than he had the time before, put it in his mouth. He relaxed a moment
later and said, "Mint."

Dumbledore smiled and swept the cards into a pile with a wave of his hand. He set the box of
beans on top. "You may keep these," he said kindly, passing them to Harry.

"Like- like a present?" Harry asked, staring at him, stunned.

"Are you not accustomed to presents?" Dumbledore asked, frowning.

"Padfoot's the only one who's ever-" he cut off, flushing. Remus curled his hands into fists
and then shoved them in his pockets.

Dumbledore's frown deepened. "I see. Perhaps I'll have a word with Petunia about that when
we drop you home in the morning."

"No, please don't. Sir. They-" Harry seemed to think better of what he was about to say and
closed his mouth.

"We'll speak more in the morning," Dumbledore said after a moment. He shook Harry's hand
and said, "Remus, a quick word?" Remus followed the Headmaster out of the hospital room,
feeling as if he was fifteen again and in trouble. Surely he doesn't know what I'm
planning... "I trust Alastor found you?"

"Yes, sir," Remus said carefully. "He said Harry didn't take the news of moving terribly well."
"It is often hard to take news well when you're being shouted at," Dumbledore sighed,
"although that news would have been hard to hear regardless of who it came from."

"He's all right about it now?"

"Perhaps not, but he's accepted it." Remus didn't say anything. "I had hoped you might
accompany us in the morning," Dumbledore continued.

"Me?"

"Harry has come to trust you. He will be far more willing to participate if you are there."

"So you're using me to make him go along with it?" Remus asked.

"I'd merely hoped you'd make what will be a difficult situation easier by providing a
modicum of familiarity," Dumbledore said gently.

That made Remus feel a little better. "Difficult situation?"

"Harry is fond of his godfather," Dumbledore said, frowning slightly, "and not, if I am
correct, of his Aunt, Uncle and cousin."

"I got that impression too," Remus said.

"I also believe that the feeling is mutual and as such, I have not informed Petunia."

"You're just going to show up?"

"I feel that might be best," Dumbledore said unhappily. "I do not wish to believe the worst,
but were I to give them warning, they may make excuses or simply not be home when we
drop by. We cannot afford to take that chance because it may give Sirius an opportunity to
take Harry back." Privately, Remus didn't think Sirius was in any state to take anyone back,
but he didn't say so. "I also intend to speak to Petunia about the possibility of you having
Harry for weekends. That will be easier if you are present, I believe."

"Why now?" Remus asked and he didn't have to fake his slightly bitter tone.

"Because he has been exposed to our world," Dumbledore said with a quiet sigh. "Admittedly
rather sooner and rather more abruptly than I had hoped but that cannot be changed. I do not
think he would take it well if we were to tear all of that away in the space of a few hours."

"Probably not."

"Are you willing to take on the responsibility?"

"Yes, sir," Remus said.

"Splendid," Dumbledore said, beaming. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"What time?"
"Nine will do," Dumbledore told him. He set off down the corridor, his bright orange hat
almost brushing the ceiling.

Remus swallowed, feeling a little guilty for what he was about to do and then pushed that
down. If Dumbledore knew the truth, he wouldn't mind. Merlin, he'd probably help
me! Remus laughed quietly - the Aurors on guard gave him odd looks - and stepped back into
Harry's room, closing the door behind him.

"Did you get it?" Harry asked excitedly. Remus pulled out the wand and passed it over.
"Thanks." Harry tucked it out of sight, under his pillow and then glanced up at Remus
apprehensively. "Did you... was Padfoot home?"

"He was." Harry's face lit up with relief. Then he frowned slightly. "I was perfectly civil,
Harry," Remus added.

Harry's expression cleared. "He's still at home, then?"

"He's not really in any condition to be moving," Remus said.

"What's wrong with him?" Harry demanded, looking more like James in that moment than
Remus had ever seen.

"Shh," Remus said, glancing at the door.

Harry looked mortified by his mistake. "Sorry! Is he hurt?"

"A few cuts and bruises," Remus said. Harry's expression flickered. "He claims to have food
poisoning as well, but that's probably from all the chocolate he seems to have been eatin-
Harry?" Harry had gone very pale and worry was wafting off him in waves.

Harry glanced at Remus. "You can smell it, can't you?"

"How-"

"You sniff," Harry said. "I don't think you realise you do it, but you do."

"Most people don't notice."

"Most people don't live with dog-men."

Remus smiled and, with the ease of experience, twisted the topic. "True... Speaking of dog-
men, yours is eager to see you." Harry's face brightened again and the last of Remus' guilt for
plotting to break him out faded; anything that made a nine-year old look that happy - and
didn't involve explosives - couldn't be a bad thing.

"You should go, then," Harry said after a moment.

"Oh?" Remus asked.

"So they don't suspect you." Remus smiled slightly. "I mean, if you leave and five minutes
later I'm not here, it'll be pretty obvious what happened. If you go now, though, you can go
home and be there when they start asking questions."

"And what do you suggest I answer with?"

"You're the Marauder," Harry said, shrugging. "Padfoot says you can talk your way out of
anything."

"Almost anything," Remus said. Harry lifted an eyebrow. "James and Sirius were always
been good at seeing through me." Or smelling, more like, but I could usually do the
same... Smelling lies generally required a conscious effort though, unless the person was a
bad liar. The better they were, the harder it was to pick up on, which made it easy to miss
what was actually being said. There was no point knowing someone was lying if one didn't
know what they were lying about. As a result, Remus relied on his ears and eyes if he could.

"I bet they were," Harry said, with a small smile that made Remus wonder what stories Sirius
had told him. He didn't ask. "I suppose it's a good thing it's not either of them you've got to
convince."

"A very good thing," Remus agreed, smiling. He shifted in his chair. "Where will I meet you,
then?"

"Meet me?"

"I told your godfather I'd bring you home," Remus said, raising an eyebrow. "You don't
expect me to leave you wandering around London on your own, do you?"

"Hopefully I won't need to wander at all," Harry said, rather ambiguously. "But all right..."

"You're late," Harry said, startling Remus; Remus, as planned, had gone home and stayed
there for several hours after arranging to meet Harry at nine. It was probably only a few
minutes past, but Harry had been dying to get inside and see his godfather. Remus said he
said he had food poisoning... I'll bet my wand he's still sick from that awful potion. Harry
thought, with an anxious glance toward Number Twelve.

"Dumbledore came to my cottage to tell me you'd vanished," Remus said. "No one saw or
heard anything, apparently," he added, looking a little impressed. "The hospital masked the
Trace and the wards erased the magic you left there; it's bad for the patients, apparently.
Fudge was furious. And, all they found was a tea-stained sheet under the bed."

"Oh, that," Harry said, shifting under Remus' scrutiny.

"Yes, that. I wondered where you were putting it." Harry quirked his lips but couldn't manage
a proper smile now that they were so close to home and he didn't know what to expect of
Padfoot. Remus had mentioned he was sick, but how badly? "Dumbledore found it funny, I
think."
Guilt squirmed in his stomach. "He was at St Mungo's again?"

"Yes," Remus said, making a face. "He doesn't seem able to stay at Hogwarts today; he's at
the Ministry now, I think."

"Does he think you're at home?"

Remus shook his head. "I told him I'd be patrolling London tonight." He shook his head again
and muttered, "I still can't believe I lied to him."

"Sorry," Harry said. "It's my faul-"

"I chose this willingly," Remus said gently. "It's more that I can't believe he believed me; the
only secret I've ever been able to keep from him is the Animagus secret and that's not really
mine."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "You're a wolf, aren't you?"

"Well, yes-"

"And Dumbledore knows," Harry said, frowning, "so that doesn't make any sense-"

Remus' expression closed over completely. "Sirius is probably worried sick," he said,
glancing at his watch. All thoughts of wolves and Dumbledore fled. "Ready?" Remus asked,
noticing Harry's hopeful face. Harry walked beside Remus, hoping no one was looking, or - if
they were - that they didn't notice he was wearing his hospital pyjamas.

He was just about to burst with- not excitement, he didn't think, but something; it seemed to
take them forever to cross the road and walk up Grimmauld's front steps, but he didn't dare
run in case anyone was watching.

Remus reached into his pocket for his wand so that he could open the front door but he was
too slow and Harry's wand was already in his hand. He rapped it on the door like he'd seen
Padfoot do, feeling safe to use magic now that he was inside the Fidelius Charm and
protected by the house's wards. Nothing happened. Irritated he tapped it again and whether
he'd done it right that time or it was his desperation responding, the door swung open slowly.

Harry gave it an impatient push and burst into the hallway so quickly the floorboard didn't
have time to make its usual loud creak and merely chirped, though it went off again for
Remus who followed him in at a much more sedate pace. The lamps flared to life.

"... can walk. I'm not crippled-" he heard Padfoot saying impatiently from somewhere down
the hall. There was a pause and then, "Harry?"

"Padfoot!" Harry shouted, running forward. There was a loud crash from down in the kitchen
and loud footsteps and then Harry collided with his godfather midway down the kitchen
stairs.

"Thank Merlin," Padfoot said hoarsely, hugging him. He pulled back, looking Harry over for
injuries and seemed happy enough. Harry was doing the same and was not at all pleased with
what he saw - or felt for that matter; Padfoot was much thinner than he'd been a week ago.

"What happened to you?" Harry asked, staring at his Godfather's hollow cheeks, faded
bruises and straggly beard.

Padfoot's laughed half-heartedly. "The undead. Except for this one," he added, pointing to his
cheek. "This one's from Marlene."

"I thought you said you didn't know the neighbours," Remus said to Harry, approaching a
little hesitantly.

"She lives next door?" Harry asked. Padfoot grinned.

"Is she in on this-" Remus gestured around the house, "-too?"

"I told her just about everything except the Animagus secret and where we've been living,"
Padfoot said ruefully, "so I should think so. Once she cools down, at least. She was... er...
unhappy when I left-" He rubbed the bruise without seeming to think about it, "-but she'll be
fine in a week or two."

"And what in Godric's name do you mean the undead?!" Remus asked suddenly.

"It was a joke," Padfoot said, not looking at Harry.

Remus pursed his lips. "Sirius Orion-"

"Your middle name's Orion?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Padfoot said in a somewhat amused, somewhat exasperated tone. "And I expect you'll
be hearing it a lot now that Moony's around."

"Why? Do you say it often?" Harry asked Remus.

"Only when I'm in trouble," Padfoot muttered and then doubled over coughing.

So yes, Harry thought.

"Where's the nearest seat?" Remus asked.

"Dunno. The kitchen, probably," Harry said, nodding down the stairs.

"Come on," Remus said, manoeuvring Harry out of the way so he could help a still-coughing
Padfoot. Harry trailed behind, worried.

Kreacher was in the kitchen when they entered, righting a chair that Padfoot had obviously
knocked over in his hurry to get to Harry and mopping what appeared to be spilt hot
chocolate. The table was still covered in sweets from Padfoot and Harry's visit to
Honeydukes just over a week ago.
Kreacher paused when they walked in, taking in Padfoot with an exasperated expression,
Remus with a curious one and Harry with a smile. Harry smiled back and almost sat down in
the chair next to the one Remus had just forced Padfoot into, but when he spotted the hot
chocolate on the stove, headed there instead. He filled a cup and set it down in front of
Padfoot who scowled at him but drank.

"Would you like one?" Harry asked Remus.

"Yes, thank you," Remus said. Harry filled two silver teacups and set one down in front of
Remus and kept another for himself. Remus made a face at the teacup and made no move to
take it. Padfoot chuckled quietly. Remus eyed the sweets on the table. "No wonder you're
sick," he said. "There is such a thing as too much sugar." He eyed the cup in Padfoot's thin
hands.

"This is my first one since you left this afternoon," Padfoot said, sipping at his drink.

"Oh?" Remus asked, glancing at the sponge in Kreacher's hand.

"I didn't even get a mouthful of that one," Padfoot said. Remus sighed. "What's in your
pocket, kiddo?" Harry looked down, remembering for the first time, that his pyjama pocket
had the Exploding Snap set and Bertie Botts Beans from Dumbledore. He pulled them out
and showed them to Padfoot, cheerfully explaining the rules of the game. Padfoot smiled.
"We'll have to play sometime. I used to be quite the cardsman."

"That's not a word," Remus said with a grin.

"Find a better word to describe it, then," Padfoot told him, grinning back.

"Pyrotechnic?" Remus suggested. He reached for the tea cup without seeming to think about
it and then pulled back at the last second.

"Git," Padfoot said.

"Mutt."

Padfoot's eyes narrowed. "So we're playing this game, are we?"

Remus grinned. "No, let's not."

"You know I'd win," Padfoot said happily.

"Would not," Remus said, amused.

"He would," Harry said a little apologetically. "He and his mother have had loads of practice
since we moved in."

"I thought she was-"

"Dead?" Padfoot said. "Yes, she is, thank Merlin. She's got a portrait though." Padfoot said,
glanced at Harry. Padfoot's eyes sometimes seemed a little empty - an after-effect of
Azkaban, Harry knew - but they seemed livelier than they had been in a while - despite his
sickness - and that happiness looked like it might be there to stay. "A rather unhappy portrait,
at the moment."

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Er..." Padfoot watched him expectantly. "After... er... Kreacher
and I got back and you weren't with us... I... er... yeah." He glanced at Remus, not sure how
much to say in front of him.

"Accidental?" Padfoot asked.

"Dunno," Harry admitted. "It wasn't deliberate, if that's what you mean. She can join
Kreacher in his cupboard."

"There was a Permanent Sticking Charm on that."

"Not anymore," Harry said with a shrug.

"Keeping secrets, are we?" Remus asked, amused.

"Maybe. If we're talking about secrets, though, what about you being a wolf?" Harry asked.

Padfoot choked on nothing in particular. Remus glanced over at him and then back to Harry.
"What about being a wolf, Harry?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Harry admitted. "It's just... strange. You changed the subject at St Mungo's and
again in the park."

Padfoot laughed into his silver teacup. Remus turned on him, exasperated. "I can't believe
you didn't-"

"Yes, but it's not mine to-"

"I know," Remus sighed. "Thank you, I suppose, but now-"

Padfoot scowled. "He won't-"

"He might."

"How would you know?"

"How would you?" Remus countered.

"Because I've been living with him. And neither James or Lily were bothered at all. I mean, if
he was Snivellus'spawn then maybe, but-"

"I'm going to leave you to talk," Harry decided, knowing when he was needed and when he
wasn't.

"Where are you going?" Padfoot asked, surprised.

He was going to try to figure out what they were hiding with this wolf business. "I'm going
to... er... clean my room."

He headed for the stairs and made it up about two when Padfoot and Remus both shouted,
"NO!" Padfoot's shout, admittedly, was weaker than Remus', but it still startled Harry.

"What?"

Padfoot looked mildly amused. "Whenever James was going to do something incredibly
stupid or dangerous - more often than not we were with him," he added, jerking his head at
Remus, "he'd tell Charlus and Dorea-"

"Your grandparents, Harry-"

"He knows who his grandparents are, Moony," Padfoot said, rolling his eyes. Harry grinned.
"Anyway, cleaning his room was always his excuse."

"Always," Remus added, for effect.

"You mean you don't trust me?" Harry asked, his lips twitching; despite the time apart,
Padfoot and Remus seemed to have fallen into the easy camaraderie that that Padfoot had
always described with a wistful tone.

"Never trust a Potter who says he's going to clean his room," Padfoot and Remus recited,
before Padfoot said, "James was so tidy that he never had to clean anyway and you're so
messy that you'd never bother to clean."

"I really am going to clean my room," Harry lied.

Neither seemed to believe him. "If I hear one explosion, or one scream of pain..." Padfoot
said warningly.

"Then your duty as godfather will be fulfilled and it'll be the proudest day of your life,"
Remus told Padfoot, snorting.

Padfoot opened his mouth and closed it again. "Point." He turned back to Harry. "I don't
know what you're planning but please try not to make too much mess because I'm in no state
to clean." He eyed Kreacher who was rummaging through the cupboards.

"And be careful," Remus added. Padfoot tried to conceal a laugh in a cough. "What?"

Padfoot muttered something that made Remus scowl, but Harry didn't hear what it was.
"You've been warned," Padfoot called after Harry, who took the stairs, two at a time,
laughing. Harry, now on the ground floor, hung around at the top of the staircase. Listening at
doors or the tops of staircases was a rather unfortunate, incurable habit he'd picked up at the
Dursleys, but it had certainly come in useful lately.

"Your drink's going to go cold, Moony," Padfoot said.

"Oh, shut up." Remus laughed. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it was a sabotage attempt."
"But you do."

"Yes. Turns out your mother just had poor taste in tea sets."

"My mother had poor taste in everything."

They both chuckled - Padfoot's turned into coughs - and Harry, who had no idea what they
were prattling on about, shrugged and continued on his way upstairs.
 The aftermath

She'd known he'd escaped from Azkaban; Mad-Eye and then Dumbledore had both visited in
February and told her to keep an eye out in case he tried to visit the house he so despised.
Until then, she hadn't known the significance of the house next door and had simply assumed
the owners didn't get out much. Sort of like her.

She was still furious about the fact that she'd lived next to his childhood home, and no one
had told her, though it explained why Lupin had looked so grim when he dropped by every
now and then. She'd kept a vigilant watch on Number Twelve all day Tuesday - the day of the
kidnapping, she'd later learned - except for an hour at night, when she'd gone to visit Alice,
Frank and Mary, and then kept her vigil all day Wednesday and even into Thursday in case he
dropped by.

On Thursday night, Mary had quite calmly passed her the paper, where she read that he had
taken Harry and her fragile world had cracked even more, because she knew what that meant.
It meant Harry was dead.

And then he had told her otherwise.

She'd listened to his story, thrown him his wand and told him to get the hell out of her house
if he liked his face the way it was. He'd protested and she'd punched him and he'd got the
point and left after that. She'd gone and made herself a strong cup of tea, and managed to
convince herself it never happened.

That a half-dead Sirius Black hadn't actually Apparated into her hallway on Sunday night
slept for three days and then woken to tell her a crazy story about Peter Pettigrew and the
Potters. That had lasted for about a day, a beautiful denial that was shattered when she
plucked up the courage to go back to the guest room for the first time since he'd left, and
found the bed slept in.

She'd spent three days reassessing her feelings. It wasn't fair, that after eight years of loathing
the man - of being convinced she was done with him - that all it had taken was an hour in his
company for her to begin to revert to old patterns; being torn between whether to hex him
into a thousand pieces, or kiss him. It was for that reason she didn't dare trust a word he'd
said.

She was always too forgiving where he was concerned, too soft, too weak to keep her own
feelings out of it and make a decision with her head. She'd wanted to believe him so badly
that she almost had, until she'd forced herself to reason it though, found proof that his story
wasn't possible; Sirus had spoken as if Pettigrew was still alive, something that couldn't be
true, because there was no way that a man could have escaped the street without being
noticed, and Pettigrew had not been a small man. Nor did he strike her as a traitor – he'd
relied on the other Marauders for protection too much to try to live without them.

Sirius though, had always been bold. Bold enough to try to lie to her when he was injured and
at her mercy. Bold enough to swap sides, and clever enough that no one suspected him until it
was too late. Clever enough to have resisted the Dementors and spent his time in prison
plotting to escape and coming up with an almost believable explanation of his own
innocence.

Pettigrew's finger was a nice touch; it was something a traitor might do to fool everyone into
thinking he was dead, while he went into hiding. But going into hiding wasn't possible
because there'd been no way for him to escape and nowhere or way for him to hide, given
that his face had been on the front of the paper, along with the Potters' and Sirius' until mid-
November.

If Sirius had been able to explain that, she might have believed him. Luckily, he hadn't and
she'd seen his story for the lie it was. She thoroughly regretted not killing him when she had
had the chance. While he slept, she'd convinced herself she couldn't kill him because she
wanted answers. Then he'd woken and it was her answering his questions instead, and she
still hadn't killed him.

He'd made her feel so alive. Her heart beat, usually a dull, necessary murmur in her chest,
had been loud and irregular. Her mind, usually limited to thoughts like when she'd next see
Alice, what she should eat for dinner and what room of the house had gone more than a few
hours without rigorous cleaning had been tested both by the previously-forgotten spells she'd
used, and by Sirius himself, once he was awake. It had been terrifying.

She'd loved every moment.

Her house, the sanctuary she'd sought at the end of the War had slowly, and without her
knowing it, become her own personal prison. She'd gone away to hide from the outside world
because she couldn't bear to lose anyone else - not that she had many people to lose by that
point - yet somehow, she'd still managed; she'd lost herself, and it was after seeing Sirius
again that she'd realised.

That, more than anything else, was why she'd let him live. Oh, he'd done awful things and
she'd kill him for them later, but he'd given her her life back, so she'd allowed him to keep his
for the time being.

In the past, the only people she'd had any real contact with were those associated with Alice
and Frank at St Mungo's – Lupin didn't really count because she only saw him once or twice
a year - and for the past year, her weekly visits had become monthly ones. The only other
time she left the house was to buy food. That, she'd decided, had to change.

On the fourth day after Sirius had left, Marlene had re-subscribed to the Daily Prophet - hers
had expired years ago and she hadn't bothered to renew it - so that she could watch for signs
of Sirius; she had decided that she would be the one to catch him and then she would take
him to Remus Lupin, and then they could kill him together. She'd never been close to Lupin
but he had as much of a claim on Sirius' life as she did and while she was no Hufflepuff, it
was only fair.

Her first edition of the Prophet in almost four years had been enlightening. Firstly, she'd
learned that Harry had been found - around the time that Sirius appeared in her house, which
was interesting - that he'd been taken to St Mungo's and that he'd escaped. She'd also learned
that there was an official search for Sirius and Harry - two actually, one run by the Ministry
and one run by Lucius Malfoy, though both were about to merge into one.

It wasn't even a choice, really, it was something she'd decided the moment she found out
Harry was alive - and back in the hands of his traitorous godfather - and simply needed to act
on. So, on the sixth day after Sirius had left, Marlene gathered her newly returned Gryffindor
courage and Flooed to Hogwarts to speak to the Headmaster. To say he'd been surprised to
see her was an understatement; he had looked absolutely floored and then had beamed and
told her everything she wanted to know.

She'd left shortly after, with a quick hello to her equally stunned Head of House and a
sobbing Hagrid, headed for the house of a man who she'd never, ever thought she'd willingly
track down.

"Marlene McKinnon. Your father and I are old acquaintances." The boy exchanged a dubious
glance with the rat on his shoulder and shoulder and extended a small, pale hand.

"Hydrus Malfoy," he said. "This is Bosworth." The rat squeaked as if in greeting.

"A pleasure," she said politely, nodding to both the boy and his pet.

"Father didn't say he was expecting anyone today," he added, giving her a suspicious look.
"He said to leave him alone."

"He'll see me," Marlene assured him. The boy looked a little surprised and then doubtful and
then he unlatched the gate. She let him lead her up to the house and inside, her in silence,
compulsively gripping her wand, and him chattering to the rat about going flying.

"Wait here," the boy said. Marlene stood patiently, staring around the foyer with disgust
because Lucius - and likely his wife, Narcissa - deserved little better than a dirty cell in
Azkaban, yet they were living like wizarding royalty. It had taken her a while to reconcile
with the idea of facing him again, for the first time since that horrible night in August eight
years ago.

All the stress was worth it, however, to see Lucius baulk at the sight of her waiting in his
fancy hallway, and see his lips tighten as she patted his son on the head and thanked him for
letting her inside. The boy had been so busy talking to his rat that he hadn't noticed her wand
casually resting by his neck – though he'd looked irritated that she'd touched him - but Lucius
certainly had. He had swallowed once and given her a nod that she took to mean Warning
received, before he spun and led her into his office.

"Nice house for a murderer," she commented.

"The Ministry has pardoned my actions during the War because I was not myself," Lucius
said flatly.

"Funny what money's capable of, isn't it?"

Lucius didn't seem to think so. "What can I do for you, McKinnon?" he asked coolly.
She twirled her wand between her fingers - a not-so-subtle-warning - and said, "You can give
me a role in your search." His pale eyebrows rose, as if he hadn't been expecting to hear that.
She laughed, a sharp, cruel sound. "You didn't honestly think I stopped by to say hello, did
you?"

"I can allocate you a position in the muggle world," he said curtly, ignoring her last comment.
"You've worked with Lupin before, I believe."

There was no point in denying what he already knew, but she didn't like the fact that he was
referring to the Order. "I have," she said. "But I don't want a job searching muggle London. I
want a position in the wizarding world because that's where they'll be hiding." Sirius wouldn't
last long without magic, she knew.

"I'm afraid we don't have any positions available in that-"

"Rubbish," she snapped. "I've been reading the papers. I know your search makes room for
whoever the Department of Magical Law Enforcement tells you to make room for. I'm here
now, telling you to make room for me."

"I was not aware you had a position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Lucius
said snidely. He fixed a rather scary looking smile on his aristocratic face and shuffled a few
pieces of parchment on his desk. "Unfortunately, Ms McKinnon, your demand will be
ignored."

"You can't do that!" she said furiously.

"Oh, but I can. This is my search."

You bigoted, egotistical arse, she thought, giving him her best glare. She was a little out of
practice, having been alone for so long but, while he didn't flinch, his smug look faded. She
hid a small, victorious smile.

"We'll see about that." She smiled politely, just to make him wonder what she was going to
do next and then stood. "I'll see myself out," she told him. He nodded stiffly. "Give my
regards to your house elf, too," she added. "I'm rather fond of him, for obvious reasons."

She had the pleasure of seeing shock and anger cross Lucius' usually unreadable face and
then she walked out of the office and shut the door behind her with a sharp snap.

Half an hour later, Marlene was sitting in Amelia Bones' office at the Ministry of Magic,
being served a strong cup of tea.

"Sorry to arrive like this," Marlene said; Amelia had been on her way out of the office when
she arrived.

"Dinner can wait. What can I do for you?" Amelia asked briskly. She'd been shocked and
pleased to see Marlene; usually they ran into each other at St Mungo's and that was it. The
last time they'd spoken properly was in February about Sirius' escape and before that they
hadn't had a proper talk since she helped Marlene move into Number Thirteen.
Marlene fought two equally strong desires and then said, "Harry. You were there - the paper
said you saw him."

"Yes."

"Can you tell me about him?" Marlene asked in a small voice.

Amelia's gave her an understanding smile. "He has Lily's eyes and nose and her temper too, I
think, but his was better controlled. Or maybe he was just scared. The rest of him is James.
When I walked in and saw him..."

"And his personality?" Marlene asked, trying to build a picture of the boy in her mind. She'd
asked Dumbledore if she could raise him, but by the time she'd been released from St
Mungo's, he was already settled in with Lily's sister and Dumbledore wouldn't be swayed.
Given her lonely existence for the past seven years, Dumbledore had probably been right to
refuse her but it was still strange to have no idea what the boy she'd once considered raising
even looked like.

"It's hard to say," Amelia said. "I wasn't there long and the circumstances were... not ideal."
Her tone darkened significantly. Marlene opened her mouth to ask about it but Amelia's jaw
was set and Marlene decided not to bother. Ravenclaws could be just as stubborn as
Gryffindors if they were so inclined, and at the moment, Amelia appeared to be.

"Harry's not the only reason I came," she admitted after a moment.

"Of course he isn't," Amelia said, not looking surprised at all. "What else can I help you
with?"

"I want a position in the D.M.L.E.," Marlene said, fixing the other witch with a steady look.

"Done," Amelia said simply.

"Just like that?"

"Marlene, I've known you for years, both in the Order and out," Amelia said, rolling her eyes.
"Admittedly, I haven't seen much of you recently but I'm sure you're still very capable and
you did extremely well in your N.E. ." She hesitated and then added, "I'm just surprised
you've gone this long without searching for a job."

"I inherited a lot," Marlene mumbled.

"I know that, but goodness, don't you get bored? What have you been doing all these years?"

"Not a lot," she admitted, her cheeks reddening. "Cleaning, mostly."

"Cleaning?" Amelia asked flatly. Marlene nodded. "You poor thing. Dumbledore told us all-"

"Us?"

"The ones that are left," Amelia said, adding sugar to her tea cup.
"Oh. What did Dumbledore say?"

"To give you time," Amelia said, stirring her drink. "But goodness, if I'd known you'd spent
the last eight yearscleaning I probably would have done something about it before now-"

"It hasn't bothered me before now," Marlene said, staring at her hands.

Amelia gave her a doubtful look and then shook her head. "I'm glad you've finally seen sense,
then."

"So am I."

"Now, we've got a position in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office - do you remember
Gideon and Fabian?"

"Of course."

"Their sister's husband, Arthur Weasley works there. Or there's always the Animagus
Registration Department. Or maybe-"

"I want to be a Hit Wizard," Marlene said. "Or Witch, I suppose."

Amelia stared at her. "You-"

"Me," Marlene said. "I want to be out there doing something, Amelia, not stamping
parchment and sending owls."

"They only take the best," Amelia said.

"I know."

"Gryffindors," Amelia sighed. "I can get you into the Auror Training Program."

"I said Hit Witch, not Auror-"

"I can't just give you a position in the Hit Wizard Training Program," Amelia said, rolling her
eyes. "Poole would have my head."

"Poole?"

"Co-leader of the office."

"Co-leader?"

"Hit Wizards lead dangerous lives," Amelia said. "It's highly probable that they'll be hurt or
killed and after Prof- I mean, Caradoc Dearborn vanished, they opted to have numerous
leaders. Currently, we have Thomas Poole, Victoria Knight and Maurice Lloyd. They're all
very capable, I assure you."

Marlene vaguely recognised the names; they'd been a few years above her at Hogwarts. "I
have no doubt," she said. Lloyd had been a Gryffindor, and Head Boy, and the other two had
been Ravenclaws, like Amelia. "So when do I start?" Marlene ducked as an owl flew in and
dropped a roll of parchment on Amelia's desk.

"The next Program intake is in four days," Amelia said absently, signing the parchment.
"You're lucky, actually. It's the first intake for a few years."

"Hasn't there been interest?" Marlene asked, surprised.

"The Program only takes trainees every three years," Amelia replied. "They made exceptions
during the war, and then for a few years after to get numbers up again, but things are back to
normal now." She passed the parchment back to the owl which hooted its thanks and flew out
again, ruffling Marlene's hair.

"How long will it take me to make it into the-?"

"Depends," Amelia said, cutting her off, "on your progress." Marlene nodded. "I suggest you
go over your N.E.W.T. textbooks. Now, this tells you about the Auror Training Program and
this one's about Hit Wizard Training Program-" Marlene accepted a pair of pamphlets, one
maroon and the other dark green. "-and this-" Amelia passed her a thin booklet. "-tells you
about the jobs in general."

"Thank you."

Amelia took a sip of her tea. "Now, on the first day, be here at seven, ready to start at eight.
The order changes each time, but you'll do a preliminary test to assess your character and
then there's physical testing. You'll be required to Side-Along Apparate with one of the
Aurors three times in an hour over a variety of distances, hold a Shield Charm for ten minutes
and also complete whichever spells you're told to do." She paused and took another sip of tea.
"If you don't mind me asking, Marlene, why do you want to be a Hit Witch?"

"It has a shorter training period," Marlene said. "It's only a year, isn't it?"

"It is. If you're looking for Black, though-"

"Who says I am?" Marlene demanded.

"All I was going to say was that the Auror pathway might be a better choice," Amelia said
gently. "Hit Wizards will be called in to detain Black. Aurors are involved in tracking him
too."

"Oh." Marlene stared at her tea.

"Either way," Amelia continued, "I would recommend you have a chat with Scrimgeour and
with Poole and decide which pathway you think is best."

"This is like my careers advice meeting with McGonagall," Marlene said, smiling slightly.

"I hope this one turns out better," Amelia said, lifting an eyebrow. "I'd hate to see you go
back to cleaning."
After Remus left the day before, Harry had told his godfather everything that happened in the
cave - Padfoot's memory was sketchy, particularly on the contents of the note - and then spent
the night in Padfoot's room, coaxing his godfather to tell him stories from their school-days in
the hope that he'd let something about the wolf secret slip. Unfortunately, Padfoot either
knew what Harry was trying to do and picked his words carefully, or was well used to
keeping whatever it was hidden and Harry learned nothing about Remus.

Harry had woken early the next morning, sweaty and with a sore throat. Kreacher had been
standing over him, concerned. Harry had very quickly noticed the smoking desk chair and
resolved not to go back to sleep. Instead, he and Kreacher had talked quietly until Padfoot
started to stir in the next room.

Padfoot had woken feeling just as bad as he had before, Harry was certain, but had tried not
to show it; he'd got up, determined not to spend the day in bed and had promptly collapsed on
the way downstairs to breakfast. Harry had been worried out of his mind, and spent the entire
day pacing around Padfoot's bedroom - pausing occasionally to try to get him to drink hot
chocolate - which had resulted in him and Kreacher getting covered in the hot, sticky liquid
and very little going in Padfoot's mouth - and shooting spells at the dummy in the training
room downstairs.

Remus had owled, explaining he couldn't come because Malfoy was keeping him busy with
the search, and that he was being watched by the Ministry – particularly the Umbridge
woman Harry had so disliked – who suspected (admittedly correctly) that Remus had
somehow helped Sirius steal Harry out of St Mungo's. He'd said he'd come by the next day,
instead.

Padfoot had woken the next day and seemed better, if tired. For Harry, it was the first night
since the visit to the cave that he hadn't set something on fire, though he'd still dreamed.
Harry and Kreacher had helped Padfoot into the library – because he insisted on reading
about Horcruxes - and set him up on the couch with a large pile of books on Dark magic and
the copy of Regulus' note.

Harry had left him to it, since it meant he'd have a chance to read up on wolves.

He waited patiently for Padfoot to become immersed in whatever he was reading – he didn't
seem able to find what he was looking for and was soon flipping impatiently through the
indexes of various books - and then got up to search the bookshelves. So what do I know
about Remus? he mused, trying to decide where to start. He's a wolf, or he said he was, and
Padfoot did too, a while ago I think. It has to be a magical ability, or he wouldn't be so
secretive about it... maybe a rare talent, or something illegal...

He's got enhanced senses like Padfoot, but he's not an Animagus... how's that even
possible?! Harry thought for a moment. Maybe he takes a potion that turns him into a
wolf... Deciding that was a good place to start, Harry browsed the shelves until he found a
promising book titled An Encyclopaedia Of Modern Potions.

He had to stand on a chair to get it down – he laughed at himself for not thinking to use his
wand - and then settled at the table, flicking through the index for 'wolf'.
'Wolfsbane' was the only entry. Page three-hundred and ninety four... Harry thought, leafing
through.

The Wolfsbane Potion, the page said, was invented by potioneer Damocles Belby, as a coping
mechanism for lycanthropy. Belby began work on the potion in 1980, after his wife Louise
was bitten by a werewolf. In 1984, he succeeded in creating a potion that allows werewolves
to keep their human minds during their monthly transformation. The ingredients required
are... Harry shut the book and pushed it aside, thinking potions had been the wrong way to
go.

Werewolves seemed to be a common theme in all of the other books he checked, though; they
were inFantastic Beasts And Where to Find Them, Britain's Magical Fauna and there was a
picture of one in a book with a Latin title Harry couldn't understand, about human to animal
transfiguration. Unfortunately, they seemed to be the only type of magical wolf around. Harry
had been sure he'd find his answers in Where Wizards and Wolves Collide but that had been
all about werewolves too.

Harry slumped in his chair, irritated, and convinced he'd missed something. It was possible,
he supposed, that Remus was a werewolf, but he hardly seemed the type. He was friendly and
polite, if a little withdrawn from wizarding affairs - why else would he live so far away from
anyone else...?

Unless... Harry straightened and grabbed Where Wizards and Wolves Collide. He skimmed
the introductory chapter which gave an abbreviated summary of what the rest of the book
contained and then leaned back, the pieces clicking together in his head. Maybe Remus lives
so far away so he doesn't hurt anyone... Remus did seem like the type to put others before
himself; Harry had seen him do so at St Mungo's, rarely leaving Harry's side, even to go
home.

Harry ran over everything else he knew about Remus and tried to make it fit with his
theory. He likes tea, but that's not really relevant... he has an enhanced sense of smell and
hearing. And scars, Harry thought, remembering Remus' hands; the book had said
werewolves without access to victims on full moons were prone to self-mutilation. His
nickname's Moony... it all fits!

Harry glanced at his godfather, who had fallen asleep on the couch and smiled, though he was
rather puzzled. Two things still didn't make sense about his werewolf theory; the first was
that Remus was a nice person, while all of the books made werewolves out to be dangerous
monsters. The books could be wrong though, I suppose. People think Padfoot's a mass
murderer after all... Or maybe Remus is the exception... he's a good werewolf.

Either way, Harry decided he didn't much care; Remus had been perfectly friendly to Harry
so far, and Padfoot had never mentioned anything potentially evil about him in any of the
stories he'd told, except for his tendency to spend too much time reading - a habit Harry was
beginning to pick up - and fondness for large amounts of chocolate. The other thing that
didn't make sense was Animagi.

It doesn't make any sense for Dad, Padfoot and Pettigrew to have become Animagi.
Obviously Remus was a werewolf first or he'd have become an Animagus with them... I can't
see them leaving him out of anything that big... so perhaps it was because of him. Maybe they
all wanted to be animals together... But that's dangerous. Padfoot's certainly not a werewolf
so maybe they never went with him on full moons but then what's the point...?

Harry found the answer to that too, after half an hour poring over a thick book
called Contagious Creatures. They aren't dangerous to non-humans! That had to be it; his
dad, Padfoot and Pettigrew had become Animagi to keep Remus company on full
moons! That's why Remus said the secret wasn't his to keep, because he wasn't an Animagus.
And Dumbledore knows he's a werewolf because they would have had to make arrangements
while he went to school... The Shrieking Shack!

Harry rolled off his chair and ran over to retrieve Famous Wizarding Locations from the shelf
and excitedly pulled the book open to the Hogsmeade chapter; he and Padfoot had gone
through this several times, to give Harry an idea of where his stories were taking place.
Harry's mind wandered back to when he and Padfoot had been in Hogsmeade – that was
almost two weeks ago, now.

Harry remembered his own voice, "And that's where you and Dad and Moony and Pettigrew
went to transform?"

"It was like our hideout, yeah." That had been Padfoot.

So they spent some time there, but I was wrong... maybe the windows were boarded to keep
Moony in instead of keeping other witches and wizards out. A slow smile spread across
Harry's face as he read the passage relevant to the Shrieking Shack. According to the book, it
had been bought by a young Hogwarts Professor in early 1971 and abandoned - but not re-
sold - only a month later with complaints it was haunted. Padfoot said he started school that
year, Harry thought, his smile widening, though it dimmed somewhat when he read about
villagers hearing tortured howls and cries every now and then.

That must have been Remus... Harry retrieved Hogwarts: A History from another shelf,
pausing to smile at the messy scrawl in the front cover that said it had been Padfoot's.
Judging by the fresh pages, smooth spine and the sharp corners of the front cover, it had not
been opened except to let an eleven-year-old-Padfoot write his name in it.

Harry flicked to 1971 - skipping the list of graduates and their houses since he didn't know
any of them anyway - and glanced over the 'notable events' section. Nothing really stood out;
it was Albus Dumbledore's fifteenth year as Headmaster, Hogwarts acquired a new ghost,
Argus Filch was hired as caretaker, the Whomping Willow was planted and Peeves the
poltergeist - who Harry had heard a lot about from Padfoot - had blown up the house-point
hourglasses - which used to be in the Great Hall - prompting them to be repaired and moved
into the Entrance Hall.

A little disappointed that nothing terribly exciting had happened as far as Remus was
concerned, Harry snapped the book shut, put everything he'd used back into their proper
places - that is, wherever there was room for them - and headed downstairs to fetch a cup of
hot chocolate for his godfather.

"Wasshappnin?" Padfoot asked groggily, as Harry shook him awake.

"You fell asleep."

Padfoot glanced around the library, bemused. "Huh."

"Here," Harry said, passing him the cup. Padfoot wrinkled his nose. "It'll make you better,"
he said.

"For Salazar's sake," he muttered. "Thank you, then."

Harry sniggered. "It isn't that bad."

Padfoot's eyes narrowed. "I will never drink hot chocolate again after this," he vowed. "And I
might not eat chocolate, either." He took a sip and pulled a face but managed to swallow. The
rest of the cup was downed in another few seconds; Padfoot had told Harry he preferred to
get unpleasant things over quickly instead of drawing them out.

"How far away do you think Remus is?" Harry asked casually. He was eager to test his
theory, though he wasn't sure how; Remus had been evasive so far when it came to answering
questions. "The later just said today."

"Dunno," Padfoot said, checking his watch. "Depends how long his meeting with Malfoy
took-" The doorbell clanged. Padfoot shook his head. "That's him. Kreacher!" CRACK!
"Could you let Moony in and tell him he's a prat?" Kreacher gave Padfoot an odd look but
bowed low and Disapparated.

There was the usual squeak of floorboards to let them know Remus was inside. Harry and
Padfoot made their way downstairs at their own pace - Padfoot went in dog-form, his tail
wagging weakly - and found Remus waiting in the hallway. His back was to them, and he
was looking interestedly into the training room. Padfoot changed back, sagged and caught the
banister for support.

'Why am I a prat?" Remus asked, turning.

"You could have just come in," Padfoot said. "Ringing the doorbell, honestly."

"I didn't want to be rude. And are you training an army here, Sirius?" Harry saw his eyes
were fixed on the muggle dart boards taped to the walls, the Auror-Standard Training
Dummy and the faint shimmer of Cushioning Charms on the walls and floor.

"Yes," he said with a grin. "My own little Death Eater army. Haven't you been reading the
papers?"

Remus chuckled. "Any recruits?"

"And old house elf and my best mate's kid. Why? Would you like to join?"

"Will it last longer than the other organisations you've come up with?"

"Our Canine Club lasted all through sixth year!" Padfoot protested.
"The Unicorn Association lasted about twenty seconds, if that," Remus said slyly.

Padfoot shrugged. "We got a better offer." Remus smiled and shook his head. "Are you
hungry?"

"Famished, actually. I had Dumbledore knocking on my door at seven to tell me what's been
going on at the Ministry so I missed breakfast."

"Kreacher's making pies for lunch," Harry said. Remus' eyes brightened.

"Did old Dumbles have anything interesting to say?" Padfoot asked.

"Sirius," Remus said weakly, "you can't keep calling him that."

"Why not?" Padfoot asked, while Harry laughed.

"Because."

"That's a rubbish answer," Padfoot said, waving his wand to light the kitchen properly; the
only lamp lit was over by the counter where Kreacher was working.

"Chances are I'll meet with him and that name will slip out by accident," Remus insisted as
they sat.

"He'd find it funny, I think," Padfoot said chuckled. From what Harry'd seen of Professor
Dumbledore, he was inclined to agree. Padfoot's chuckles turned into coughs and Harry and
Remus sat in anxious silence, waiting for him to finish.

"What happened to you?" Remus asked when Padfoot stopped. Harry glanced at Padfoot and
then away quickly.

"Are those pies ready, Kreacher?" Padfoot asked, clearing his throat. Kreacher snapped his
fingers and three plates floated over.

"Thanks," Harry said. Padfoot nodded.

"It looks wonderful, Kreacher." Remus said, slicing his pie open. "But don't change the
subject."

Padfoot sighed. "We were... looking for something of Regulus'. A- a note. He- it was... well
protected."

"By...?" Remus prompted when neither of them said anything.

"Inferi," Padfoot said. "And Dementor's Draught."

"Very funny," Remus snapped. Harry and Padfoot exchanged glances and then Harry cleared
his throat.
"You saw my injuries," Harry said. "Bruises in the shapes of hands and fingers, remember?"
Remus had gone a nasty shade of white and pushed his pie away.

"Please tell me-" Padfoot pushed his lunch around his plate and shook his head. Remus
looked at Harry who looked back. "What in Merlin's name were you thinking?!" he
demanded.

"That-"

"Sirius, Harry is nine," Remus said loudly. "Inferi!? You shouldn't even have gone, let alone-!
What the bloody hell were you thinking?!"

"Maybe that I needed the help?" Padfoot shot back. "Who else would have come with me?"

"Well-"

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Padfoot said, rather condescendingly. "Yes, perhaps it was
irresponsible of me-" Remus snorted loudly. "- but I would have died if he hadn't been there."
Harry and Padfoot's eyes met, briefly, in silent acknowledgement. "And if I had to do things
over, I'd still take him with me." Moony mumbled something about how no, Padfoot wouldn't
take Harry, and what about him? "You?" Padfoot asked. "You weren't there!" He paused to
cough violently.

"Sirius-"

"No!" Sirius choked out, coughing once to clear his throat. "There was no one else. I took
him then, and I'd do it again-" And Harry would go again, if it came to it. "-if only so he
knows where I am-"

"And if you had died?" Remus asked, shaking his head. "Would you want Harry to see that?"

"No," Sirius said. "Of course I fucking wouldn't. But I'd rather he see that, than be sitting here
alone, not sure what's happened, or when I'm going to come home. I know, intimately, what
it's like to wait." Padfoot's eyes were oddly empty. Harry didn't like it. "I know that didn't
work so well in the end," he said, suddenly talking to Harry, "and I am so, so unbelievably
sorry about that-"

"'S all right," Harry mumbled. "I don't remember much of it anyway." And that was true; he'd
been so tired, in pain and so scared that he couldn't remember much more than Hedwig in the
study, his accidental magic in the hallway and shouting at Kreacher a lot.

"At least we got Mum's portrait down," Padfoot said. He winked. "I'd have gone missing a
long time ago if I'd known you'd do that." Harry, oddly, found himself grinning. Padfoot
turned back to Remus. "We took Cadogan's pony, all right?" he said. Harry frowned at the
unfamiliar expression but Remus seemed to understand. "I don't like that that was the way it
had to happen but it's done and we're still here. That's got to count for something, surely?"

Remus stared at his hands for a long time. "So the fire... it was to keep the Inferi away?"
"How do you know about the fire?" Padfoot demanded, but there was no anger behind it. He
seemed surprised, and a little relieved that Remus had asked such a mundane question. Harry
sank into his chair.

"Harry's dreams about it. How's the room been when you wake up?" Harry shrugged. Padfoot
gave him a sharp look and Harry knew he'd have to explain later. Remus' eyes flicked
between the two of them and dropped the topic. "I take it you were the one who drank,"
Remus said, nodding at Padfoot.

"I'm not that irresponsible!" Padfoot complained.

Remus arched an eyebrow, but he was wearing a half-smile. It faded quickly. "How- how...
much?"

"Ten goblets," Harry said quietly and felt the little of his lunch he'd managed to eat try to
make a reappearance. T-to the Dark Lord, Padfoot's broken voice mumbled in his head.

"Was it?" Padfoot asked, paling for a moment.

"Ten... no wonder you're drinking all the hot chocolate." Remus shook his head. "So what
was it you were looking for?"

"The name of something of Voldemort's." Remus stared. Padfoot ran a hand over his chin.
"Have you ever heard of a Horcrux?"

Harry's head snapped up in time to see Remus shake his head. "Sorry, no. What is it?"

"No idea."

All three of them managed to finish enough of their lunches to satisfy Kreacher and then
Harry took Remus upstairs to see the locket. Remus stared at it for a long time and then
shrugged, still at a loss, but curious. They joined Padfoot in the library, where the three of
them picked a book and settled down to read.

Padfoot and Moony talked quietly the whole time – Harry didn't know how they were able to
read as well – about a whole range of things. Harry struggled to read – he'd done enough of
that that morning – and ended up staring at the same sentence for minutes without taking it in
or listening to the conversations; sometimes it was Remus apologising for not visiting
Padfoot in Azkaban, other times it was Padfoot asking about Remus' jobs and girlfriends but
it always seemed to come back to Horcruxes.

They were there for the rest of the day; Kreacher brought dinner to the library and even sat
with the for a while, though he didn't read. He polished the Black ring Padfoot had let him
keep and finally, after a lot of deliberation – and some prodding from Padfoot – slipped it
onto his bony finger. Every time he spoke to any of them after that, he'd make a small gesture
with his hand as if to remind them it was there.

Much later that night – or perhaps it was early the next morning – they gave up on the books
because they'd found nothing and went back downstairs to have a cup of tea before bed – and
Remus going home, respectively. The conversation had switched to Malfoy now, the man that
Harry remembered was funding the search to find him.

"I said Malfoy's got control," Remus said. "He's pulled a few strings with Fudge, I think, and
now he's got the Aurors dancing to his tune as well as the rest of us." Remus sighed. "Mad-
Eye's furious, apparently – I don't think he even wanted the searches to combine - but
Scrimgeour's never listened to Mad-Eye-" Padfoot snorted in a way that made Harry think
this wasn't news.

"Why doesn't he join Malfoy's search then?" Padfoot asked.

"Mad-Eye, submit to the likes of Malfoy?" Remus asked incredulously. "Not likely. All of the
experienced Aurors are working with the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical
Creatures to find Greyback anyway."

"Greyback?" Padfoot asked.

Harry could have sworn Remus' eyes flicked to him for a moment. He watched him back and
then shrugged and filled the kettle. "He's attacking people again. Three in the past month."

"Again?" Padfoot asked.

"Oh, you wouldn't know," Remus said. "He's been active on and off since the war ended, just
to remind people he's out there. I go to the camps every January to see how things are going
and try to... erm... curb his enthusiasm."

"You?" Padfoot asked softly.

"Who else?" Remus asked, sighing. Padfoot didn't say anything but he didn't look terribly
happy either.

Harry pulled the kettle off of the stove, and winced as his hand brushed the hot silver. Bad
idea to not pay attention, he told himself as he held his hand under cold water from the tap.
The burn had reminded him of something though; with everything happening that afternoon,
he'd forgotten to ask Remus about the whole werewolf thing.

Harry added tea leaves and water to the silver, Black embossed teapot and fetched three cups
- he'd deliberately picked a porcelain one for Remus, instead of a silver one - and carried the
whole lot over to the table.

"Thank you," Remus said to Harry, glancing at his cup and then at Padfoot. Padfoot shrugged
and poured tea for Remus and then for himself.

"No problem. Thanks," Harry added, as Padfoot passed the teapot.

Padfoot and Moony continued to talk about Malfoyt and the search as they drank, about
Malfoy and the search. Remus was intending to tell Malfoy he'd been tipped off about a
sighting of Harry and Sirius near the Dursley's home to draw suspicion away from London.
Harry listened with interest and waited for Remus to finish his drink; Harry had finished his
own already and was waiting for the right moment to offer him another cup.
Finally, Remus set his cup down and it made an empty noise. Harry reached for the teapot
and poured himself another cup.

"Would you like some?" he asked, holding the teapot out.

"Yes, thank you," Remus said. Harry pushed it toward him. A funny expression crossed
Remus' face. "Would you mind pouring for me?" he asked. Harry filled the cup with a sly
grin.

"Sorry," he said, "I forgot about the silver thing." He took a sip of his own tea and waited for
the reaction. It was well worth it. Padfoot blinked. Rapidly. And he'd spat half of his tea out.
Remus' reaction was even better. His face was white and he'd gone perfectly still, his teacup a
few inches from his mouth, tilted as if to drink from. Hot tea fell onto the table but Harry
doubted he was aware of that. "Er... Remus?"

Padfoot set his teacup down, louder than he'd probably meant to and cleaned the spill with a
wave of his wand. Then he tugged the cup from Remus' tight grip and set it down. "I think
you've broken him," he told Harry.

"Are you sure? Can we... how do we fix him?" Harry asked, feeling a little guilty now.

"Oh, that's easy," Padfoot said and gave Remus a slap. Harry winced.

Remus' eyes came sharply back into focus and landed on Padfoot. "I thought you said-"

"I did. I don't know-"

"How do you know?" Remus asked Harry quietly.

"Know what?" Harry asked, confused.

"About my... about silver."

"Oh, I... er... read about it." Remus' head hit the table with a thump.

"You read?" Padfoot asked, looking amused. "You never read."

"I wanted to know," Harry said defensively. He glanced at Remus. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-
Are you all right?" Harry asked.

"Brilliant," Remus groaned into the table.

"Then why-?" Padfoot gave Harry a nudge and shook his head.

"Chin up, Moony old chap," Padfoot said.

"No," Remus said into the table.

Padfoot rolled his eyes, grinning. "You would have told him eventually."
"I know," Remus said, his voice muffled, "but I could have prepared myself for that instead
of having it sprung on me." He looked up and glowered at Padfoot. "Again."

"It must be a Potter thing," Padfoot said brightly. Remus rolled his eyes.

"Can I talk?" Harry whispered. Padfoot chuckled. Harry turned to Remus. "Do you, I mean,
do you mind if I call you Moony?" he asked.

Remus blinked looking thrown by the sudden change in topic. "I... er... I suppose not, no."

"Thanks," Harry said happily.

Moony and Padfoot seemed to have been having a silent conversation - Harry remembered
Padfoot telling him they'd used to do it to disturb Peter or make a teacher nervous - and
turned to Harry in unison.

"What else do you know about, other than the silver?" Padfoot asked carefully, his grey eyes
flicking toward Moony.

"Not a lot. I know you have heightened senses," Harry offered. "And... er... a bit of a... erm...
problem... on full moons."

"A bit of a problem," Moony said with a humourless laugh as his head dropped onto the table
again. "If there was any doubt whose son he was..."

"It's gone now," Padfoot said, his eyes very bright.

"And I know you used to go to the Shrieking Shack to transform," Harry said. "I used to think
it was just for Animagus transformations but I worked it out. That's why you did it, isn't it?"
he asked, turning to his godfather. "To keep Moony company?"

Padfoot nodded. "James and I used to call it Remus' furry little problem-"

"As a joke-" Moony added.

"It wasn't a joke," Padfoot said, scowling. "Moony here quite liked to whine," he told Harry,
jerking his head toward an exasperated Moony, "about all of his problems - still does, by the
looks of things - and the day we confronted him about it, Prongs said it was nothing more
than a furry little problem." Moony made a little noise of disagreement. "And it's still just
that," Padfoot said firmly. Moony made a face. "The name stuck."

"Most people were under the impression I owned a badly behaved rabbit," Moony sighed.

"James and I had a lot of fun encouraging that rumour," Padfoot said with a wolfish grin.

Moony huffed at Padfoot and then turned to Harry, brown eyes wide and earnest. "Look,
Harry, the reality of the situation is that I'm dangerous-"

"On full moons," Harry said. "Yeah, I know." Padfoot beamed.

"Yes, but-"

"But what?"

"He's got nothing, kiddo," Padfoot said, grinning at a stunned Moony. "Absolutely nothing."

"I've got something," Moony said hotly. "It's called lycanthropy and-"

"And it's only transferrable on full moons," Padfoot told him shortly.

"That's not proven," Moony protested. "They don't know the consequences yet-"

"What do you want, Moony?" Padfoot asked, exasperated. "You were saying yesterday that
you've been begging Dumbledore to give you custody of Harry for years and now all of a
sudden you're too dangerous to spend time with him?"

"Well, I..." Moony frowned and closed his mouth. Harry sniggered.

"As Harry's legal guardian-"

"A position obtained through illegal practices," Moony muttered.

"Hush," Padfoot told him. "As I was saying, as Harry's legal guardian, it falls to me to decide
who I'm comfortable having around him."

"I'm right here!" Harry said. "I can make those decisions for myself, thanks."

"Do you agree with me?" Padfoot asked.

"Well, yeah, of course I-"

"Then be quiet," Padfoot said, with a grin. "As I was saying, I- we are more than happy to
have you around, Moony."

Moony swallowed. "I've needed this," he said.

"What, someone to keep the self-loathing to a minimum?" Padfoot teased.

"Yes," Moony said bluntly. He turned back to Harry. "You will not, under any circumstances
come near me on a full moon. Am I clear?"

For now, Harry decided, wondering how old one had to be to become an Animagus. "Yeah,
you're clear."

"Good," Padfoot said. "Now, as far as full moons are concerned..." he said excitedly.

"Have you always been this sadistic, Padfoot?" Moony asked dryly. "Getting excited over the
prospect of me in pain?"

"No, you git," Padfoot said. "Now that you know I'm not a murdering lunatic, I can come out
with you again."
Harry didn't think he'd ever seen anyone smile as hugely as Moony did then.
 Mirrors at the Ministry

"Keith?" Tonks said, a little surprised as she pulled open the front door.

"Hey," he said, running a hand over his short, neatly styled hair. "This is for you." He passed
her a pale pink rose.

"Oh!" she said, blushing. She was fairly sure her hair was the same colour as the flower.
"Thank you." She hugged him. "I'd invite you in but I'm practically on my way out."

"What time do you have to leave?" he asked.

She checked her watch. "Five minutes if I'm going to be there on time, and I don't want to be
late on my first day."

"Oh," he said, looking a little disappointed. "Well, what time do you finish?"

"Five today, and then I'm meeting Mum and Dad at the studio and we're going out to dinner."

"How about tomorrow?" he asked.

"Eight until five tomorrow as well, but I'm not doing anything afterward."

"Would you like to go out?" he asked hopefully.

She smiled. "Sure."

"How does Hogsmeade sound?"

"Meet at six?" she asked.

"Sounds brilliant," he said, beaming.

She checked her watch. "All right, sorry, but I've got to finish getting ready."

"Yeah, that's fine," he said.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Have a good day today."

"Thanks. You too." Tonks ducked back inside as he set off down the street. She put the rose
in a vase by the sink where it had access to sunlight and crossed to the kitchen table where –
after a moment of sadness - she vanished her half-finished breakfast.

Oddly, her appetite seemed to increase and not fade when she was nervous, and she was
certainly nervous; her hair had been lime green for days. She grabbed her rucksack - which
had a drink bottle and a sandwich in it - added an apple and swung it over her shoulder.
"Bye, Mum!" she called. She got a sleepy reply from her parents' bedroom - Dad had already
left but Mum probably wouldn't be up for another hour - and then, pausing only to check her
appearance in the hallway mirror, tossed Floo Powder into the fireplace and said, "Ministry
of Magic!"

The flames began to clear and then she stopped moving altogether. Tonks stepped out, tripped
on her hem and fell flat on her face in the Ministry atrium. A brilliant start to the day, she
thought, dazedly, letting a twitchy little wizard help her off the polished wood floor.

"Thank you," Tonks said, staring around. She'd been to the Ministry several times but it felt
different coming as an adult and not a little girl clutching her father's hand.

"Not a problem, dear," the little wizard said. He flashed a badge at the witch at the security
stand and she nodded and waved him through.

"What can I do for you?" the witch asked, spotting Tonks.

"I'm an Auror trainee," she said, pulling her acceptance letter out of her rucksack.

"Good for you," the witch said. "Hold still, please." She waved a long, golden rod up Tonks'
front and back and then nodded, satisfied. "Wand, please." Tonks passed it over after a
moment's hesitation. She felt bare without it and watched nervously as the witch placed it on
a strange brass device. A moment later it had procured a small sheet of parchment. "Twelve
and a half inches, pear, with a dragon-heartstring core. You've had it for seven years, yes?"

"Yes," Tonks said. The witch copied the parchment with a tap of her own wand and impaled
one on a spike behind the counter. She signed the second piece and passed it and Tonks' wand
back.

"Give that to Scrimgeour," she said.

"Thank you," Tonks said, stuffing both into her pocket. She hurried through a set of golden
gates behind the stand and waited patiently for a lift to arrive.

"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic
Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services," a cool female voice
said. Tonks spent the lift ride trying to get her hair to resemble something other than one of
the cacti her mother kept on the kitchen windowsill. She was met with limited success; she
managed to change the colour from green to a golden blonde but the spiky texture refused to
change. She didn't bother trying to change her eyes much and left them a bright green.

The lift doors opened and Tonks stepped out - taking care not to trip - into a corridor lined
with doors. She glanced at the windows through which she could see a rather vicious
blizzard. It took her a moment to remember this part of the Ministry was still underground
and it couldn't possibly be real.

She followed the hallway around a corner and through a set of heavy oak doors and came out
in a very claustrophobic section. There were about fifty people squeezed into a very small
space; about thirty of those people were trainees, another ten looked to be qualified Aurors
and the rest simply seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Line up!" a loud voice growled. A man, not much taller than Tonks limped past, wand
raised. She got a glimpse of one, very blue eye and a lot of dark grey, tangled hair before his
back was to her. "Line up!" he shouted, shooting sparks into the air with his wand. The
babble stopped immediately. "Single file, against the wall! Now!"

Tonks hurried to do what she was told, as did everyone else; the thirty or so trainees flattened
themselves against the wall, clearing the hallway and allowing the Aurors to better access to
their respective cubicles.

"I had it, thank you, Alastor," a man with bushy eyebrows, a mane of tawny hair and sharp
yellowish eyes said stiffly. The Auror who'd shouted turned to look at him. For the first time,
Tonks got a good look at him, and was more than a little intimidated; he was limping because
he was missing a leg and had a roughly carved wooden one in its place. His face was had
more scars and pockmarks than smooth skin and his mouth was little more than a grim line
above his chin.

His most distinguishing feature, however, was a bright blue eye that seemed to be moving in
its socket of its own accord; his other eye was small and dark and glanced around
suspiciously, and it was then Tonks knew that this could only be Mad-Eye Moody, one of
Britain's most acclaimed Aurors.

"Appearances are deceiving, aren't they, Scrimgeour?" he growled. Tonks glanced at the
yellow-eyed man, who she knew must be Rufus Scrimgeour, the Head of the Auror
Department. An ugly expression flickered over Scrimgeour's face.

"Now," she heard him snap, "when we call your name, follow Aurors Blackburn and Finch-"
a stocky, blond man with a thick beard and a short, dark-haired woman nodded to them, "-to
the end of the corridor, and they will give you directions. Are there any questions?"

"Who do we give these to?" a woman asked, holding her wand identification slip up.

"You'll give those to Auror Moody once you're down there," he said, jerking his head in
Moody's direction.

"Allen, Jeanette," Moody said. A heavy woman with short brown hair jumped and extracted
herself from the line. "Brown, Michael." A lanky man with a pointed moustache. "Bulkes,
Burt." A short, weedy man with a weak chin. "Clarke, Melvin." A man with big blue eyes
and mousy hair that looked like he should still be in Hogwarts. "Dale, Trixia." A blond
woman wearing bright pink robes. "Edwards, Nicole." A very tall woman with a long black
plait. "Gaspar, Jerimiah." A man with dreadlocks. "Hill, Wesley..." And on they went.

Moody had clearly done this before; he knew exactly how long to wait between names and
only once did he falter on a name and that was, "McKinnon, Marlene." She was a tall woman
with short, straight, brown hair. There was nothing overly distinguishing about her, but
Moody wasn't the only one who'd looked up; several of the other Aurors had leant out of their
cubicles to get a look at her.
McKinnon's eyes flicked around the room, and then, without any acknowledging of any of
them, she walked after "Lowesly, Travis." Moody - who looked like he'd seen a ghost - shook
himself and called, "Moore, Hector."

Tonks was one of four people left. It came as a relief when her name was finally called and
she stumbled down the corridor. It was a dead end with only two doors; one was closed and
said Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, where Charlie's dad worked and the other was a
broom cupboard.

"Tonks was it?" the female Auror asked.

"Yes," Tonks said, offering her hand.

"Auror Finch," she said.

"Auror Blackburn," said the man. She shook his hand too. "In you go." Tonks stepped into
the small broom cupboard and glanced over her shoulder. Auror Finch nodded at her. Tonks
kept walking, and just as she was about to hit the back wall, she found herself on a landing,
looking down a flight of stairs. She descended slowly, making an effort not to trip, and came
out in a large room, where the other trainees were huddled, chatting quietly.

There were two doors labelled Lecture Hall 1 and Lecture Hall 2 on the left and opposite
those was a door labelled Examination Room and next to that Common Room. Along the back
wall were another seven doors;Defensive and Offensive Combat, Stealth and Tracking,
Warding and Protective Enchantments, Wizarding Relations and Law, Plants and Poisons,
Concealment and Disguises and Fitness and Healing.

Tonks joined the other trainees in the middle of the room and listened to the nervous chatter -
it was like she was eleven and about to be Sorted again. Moody limped down the stairs once
the final trainees were through, flanked by Aurors Finch and Blackburn.

"Constant vigilance!" he shouted, making most of them jump. "That's what we'll be teaching
you here- Put that away." His blue eye was focused on one of the trainees, who'd procured a
piece of parchment and a quill. She squeaked and stuffed it into her pocket. "It's not an easy
program," he continued in his growling voice. "Some of you won't make it to graduation.
Some of you won't make it in the real world."

Not me, Tonks thought. I'm going to be an Auror. A good one.

"Allen to Lewis," Moody said, "you'll be in here, doing the physical testing first. Scrimgeour
will be down in a moment. Lowesly to Yaxley, you're mental and with me." One boy
sniggered at this. Tonks rolled her eyes and went to join the mental testing group on the right
of the hall. Moody joined them a moment later and led them through the door
labelled Examination Room. Inside was another room, reasonably large with a single,
unlabelled door on the left, and extensive - obviously conjured - screening on the right.
"Yaxley, you're up."

Yaxley was a woman with long blond hair and squinty eyes. She'd been a Slytherin at
Hogwarts in Tonks' year and had always liked to give Charlie a hard time about his second
hand robes and books. Tonks hadn't liked her much. Yaxley flashed a white smile at Moody
who watched her without expression. The smile faded slightly and she walked through the
curtains to the other side of the screen.

"Wait until you're called," Moody said to the rest of them as he too vanished through the
curtains. Whispers broke out at once.

"What sort of tests do you think we'll have to do?" a man with crooked teeth asked.

"Didn't you read the pamphlet?" a woman said, rolling her eyes. "They do a series of tests
and ask questions to assess our character. Once we pass that, we complete the physical
examination. I'm Florence Prewett, by the way," she said, waving to everyone. A woman on
Tonks' right - was it MacDonald? Makiller? - glanced up sharply but didn't say anything. A
moment later, she went back to staring at the opposite wall.

Tonks knew the name - Prewett had been a Ravenclaw in seventh year when Tonks was in
fifth – but the face was unfamiliar. Without the name, she wouldn't have recognised her at all;
her dark hair was longer, her skin paler, as if she hadn't been outside for a long time. Her eyes
were a little haunted.

"Hector Moore," said a man on Tonks' other side.

"James Thompson," said a Ravenclaw that Tonks knew from Hogwarts. He looked just as she
remembered, down to the mole on his neck.

"Mary Wright," said a woman who'd been on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team three years ago.

"Lori Patel," said a woman Tonks had never seen before.

"Tonks," Tonks said, shrugging. The woman who'd looked at Florence Prewett looked up
again. Tonks looked at her curiously and she looked away, pale all of a sudden.

"Tonks?" Lori Patel asked dubiously. "Is that your first name or your last?"

"Last," she said. Those who'd gone to Hogwarts with Tonks smiled amongst themselves and
got back to introductions.

While Benjamin 'Wandless' Wellington who had been a Prefect in her first year at Hogwarts
explained his nickname - a long and far-fetched story involving a dragon, a vampire and a
Nose-Biting Teacup that Tonks wasn't sure she believed - Yaxley re-emerged looking shaken,
and Moody took Mary Wright into the sequestered area.

"How'd it go?" Florence Prewett asked eagerly.

"Anyone that asks me questions gets an immediate fail," Yaxley said, flouncing over. She was
shunned after that, left at the outskirts of the group and looked rather irritated about it.

When Wright emerged, Yaxley grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the main group.
Tonks wondered idly if she knew Wright was a muggleborn and a Gryffindor to boot. They
formed their own little huddle and talked - presumably, though no one could or wanted to
hear what they were saying - about the mental tests. Wellington emerged and Tonks didn't
even have time to feel nervous before she was summoned.

"Good luck!" Florence whispered. Tonks managed to flash her a quick smile and moved
woodenly - thankfully she managed to stay upright - over to the screened area. She pushed
through the curtains and stopped.

What must have been half of the Auror office was sitting there, watching her. They were
sitting in a semi-circle, facing a simple wooden chair. "Wotcher," she said nervously.

"Sit," Moody growled at her, limping over to pull the curtains closed.

"You're Nymphadora Tonks?" a woman with an eye-patch asked.

"Yes," she said, flopping down into the chair. Her feet were a few from the ground so she
willed her legs to grow a bit; she wasn't about to sit through this swinging her legs like a
child.

"Wand identification," a wizard missing three fingers said, holding his hand out toward her.
She rummaged around in her rucksack and pulled out the parchment she'd been given in the
atrium. It was a little creased but still readable. "Pear and dragon-heartstring. Twelve and a
half inches. You've had it for seven years?"

"Yes," she said again.

"Do you remember the day you bought it?" he asked. His voice was rather nasally.

"Yes."

"Can you describe what happened when it chose you?"

"Sparks came out of the end," she said nervously.

"What colour were the sparks?"

"Rainbow," she said.

The wizard wrote something down on a clipboard and passed it to the next Auror - a witch -
in line. "You received five N.E.W.T.s, yes?"

"Yes," she said.

"O's in Herbology, Transfiguration and Potions and E's in Defence Against the Dark Arts and
Charms, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Your Transfiguration mark is the second highest we've ever had," the witch said, consulting
the parchment in front of her. Tonks beamed. "Very impressive, very impressive indeed." She
passed the clipboard along.
The next wizard, an absolutely enormous man with a mop of dark curly hair, stood and
retrieved a large mirror from behind his chair. Tonks didn't recognise the language but it had
the words tidn ih ebla mina ehtt ube cafru oyt on wohsi etched into the gilded frame.

"What do you see?" he asked in a deep voice that matched his appearance perfectly.

"Me," she said timidly, glancing at her pale reflection. She willed a bit more colour into her
cheeks.

"Look closer."

Tonks did, and still saw only herself. "I don't see anything-"

"Nothing?" a witch with a beaky nose said sharply.

"Well, no, not nothing," she said, as the Aurors exchanged significant looks. "I see me, but
you said I'm not supposed-"

The man holding the mirror snorted and turned it towards him. He nodded once and turned it
toward the witch with the hooked nose and she frowned, nodding.

"What do you see?" he asked, turning it back towards Tonks.

"Myself," she said flatly.

"Proudfoot," Moody barked, tilting his head toward the back of the room. Another Auror got
up and retrieved another mirror, while the curly-haired Auror sat down, glowering.

"What do you see?" the Auror - Proudfoot - said, holding up what was a significantly smaller
mirror; this one was only about as long as the length of Tonks' forearm to the tips of her
fingers. This one had ees ottna wu oye caf ehtu oy wohsi etched into its equally elaborate
frame.

Tonks glanced into the glassy surface. "Me?" she said.

"Is that a statement or a question?" he asked.

"Statement," she said, with a little more confidence.

"There's nothing different about you? You don't look older or younger, or have different
coloured hair or eyes?" he asked shrewdly.

"No," she said. "I look like I do now."

"You're being completely truthful?"

"Of course!" she said, scandalised. "Maybe if you'd tell me what I'm supposed to be seeing-"

"Are you an Occlumens?" one wizard in Healer's robes asked suddenly.

"No." Tonks flushed. "I tried to learn when I was fourteen but I didn't have the patience-"
"Miss Tonks," said a bright eyed witch as Proudfoot sat down, "these mirrors are from a set
of seven magical mirrors, made by a very powerful wizard named Narcissus. The mirror
Auror Taure showed you is charmed to reveal one's Animagus form. The one Auror
Proudfoot had is designed to instil confidence by presenting your face as you wish it
looked." If wonder if that's what inspired Snow White, she thought absently. "If you're not
seeing anything, then it suggests you're perfectly happy with your current appearance - which
defies human nature - and that you have no potential Animagus form. For a student as
talented with Transfiguration as you seem to be-"

"Oh!" Tonks said loudly. "I think I know why it's not working." Twenty three - Tonks did a
quick head-count - pairs of eyes latched onto her. "I'm a Metapmorphmagus."

One wizard - she would have bet her Comet Two-Sixty that he'd been a Ravenclaw - leaned
forward in his seat and watched her intently, beaming. "Can you show us? Please?" Tonks
scrunched up her face and turned her hair jet black and then had it go orange and back to the
blond it had been.

"Impressive," Moody said, "but I wasn't aware we were testing her ability to disguise
herself." Tonks flushed and clamped down on the instincts that were trying to turn her hair
pink with embarrassment.

The other Aurors looked chastised. "Well," the witch with the eye-patch said, looking
flustered, "that certainly explains it. Yes. We'll just- Yes- Savage?"

"Are you able to perform a Patronus Charm?" an Auror with scar running from his left
temple to his right cheek asked.

"I can get a fairly pathetic shield up," she said, grimacing. "Nothing that would hold off a
Dementor or Lethifold, I don't think."

"What happy memory do you use?"

Well that's a little personal, she thought, slightly affronted. "The day I got my Hogwarts
letter."

One of the Aurors scribbled that down. "Why? Don't you like it at home?"

Tonks blinked. "No, I love it at home," she said earnestly.

"Then why were you so happy to leave?"

"I was happy to be learning magic," she said.

"Did you stay in contact with your parents while you were at school?"

"Of course! I wrote weekly, sometimes more depending on how things were."

"Any siblings?"

"No."
"Just you and your parents, then?"

"Yes." Questions were coming from all directions now and it was quite overwhelming.

"Who's your favourite?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your favourite parent? Your mother or you father?"

"Neither-"

"So you don't like them?"

"Let me finish," she said irritably. They watched expectantly. "I love them equally-"

"Rubbish-"

"It's not rubbish!"

"You must like one more than the other-"

"No, I don't!"

"If you had to kill one of them, which would it be?"

"Excuse me?!" No one said anything. "Why in Merlin's name would I want to do that?!"

"It's purely academic."

"Neither," she said, folding her arms.

"But say you had to-" one pressed.

"Why do I have to?" she demanded.

"Say they've done something awful-"

"Like what?"

"They've broken the law."

"Then they deserve a trial not death," she snapped. Moody watched her curiously.

"How much do you know about the war?" one wizard asked suddenly.

"Enough," she said, confused by the sudden topic change.

"You know what Death Eaters are?"

"Of course." Her aunts and uncles had been just that. And Sirius, her mother's cousin.
"Say your parents were Death Eaters then... which would you kill?"

"But they're not," Tonks said, rolling her eyes. Everyone waited for a response anyway. "The
Death Eaters in the war all got trials." All of them except Sirius. "My parents would get the
same."

"But if they couldn't," one said.

"You asked which I would kill," she told them. "I'm not inclined to kill either unless you can
give me an adequate reason."

"Say you're made an Auror," one man with a long ponytail said, "and your Head of
Department instructs you to kill one of them. Which would it be?"

"If I'm likely to get those sorts of instructions then I don't know that working as an Auror is
something I'm terribly keen on anymore," she said irritably.

Quite a few of them nodded. Moody was actually smirking. "Purely academic," he reminded
her. "But say you were given the order-"

"I wouldn't do it."

"You'd defy an order?" he asked gruffly.

"If a life was at stake," she said flatly.

"Insubordination is not a quality we look for," he told her.

"I shouldn't think the desire to kill is one either," she snapped.

"Watch it," a witch at the back warned her.

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Any more questions?"

"You've been given a wand," one of them said shrewdly, "and it's only capable of performing
one of the three Unforgivables."

"Right," she said edgily. Merlin's beard, they're a morbid lot, aren't they?

"Facing you, is an enemy-"

"Not my parents?" she asked sarcastically.

"No," the witch with the eye-patch said, stifling a laugh. "Just an enemy. He or she - it doesn't
matter which - has a wand too. Both of you are in a sealed room. You cannot Floo in or out,
or Apparate, and your wand - rather obviously - will not allow you to create a Portkey. In
order to escape, you must subdue your opponent. How do you do it?"

"My wand will only perform Unforgivables?" Tonks asked, wrinkling her nose.

"That is correct."
"I'd subdue them in some other way," she said. "Punch them, perhaps."

"That's assault."

"It's not preferable," she told them, "but it's a nicer alternative than using one of those awful
curses."

"You're an Auror, out on a mission when your partner is rendered unconscious. They won't
respond to any spells and there is no one in the vicinity to help you. Without immediate help,
your partner will die, but if you leave, the mission is compromised and the target will escape.
What do you do?"

"Take my partner back," she said.

"Why?"

"Because if a fellow Auror dies, then everyone in the department will be affected by their
death in some way and won't be performing at their best. Also, it takes three years to train the
replacement, while it almost certainly shouldn't take three years to track down the person -
target - again."

Tonks waited apprehensively for one of them to disagree with her, but Taure - the one who'd
held up the first mirror - only said, "You're approached by a known criminal while you're off-
duty. They want to trade legal immunity for information on another target. What do you do?"

"Have them surrender their wand," she said. "If they genuinely want to help then they won't
need it. From there I'd take them somewhere safe - maybe the Ministry holding cells. If I was
familiar with the case I'd question them myself. If not, I'd find someone better suited to the
role."

"Do you have a criminal record?"

"Do detentions count?" she asked, suddenly worried.

Several people laughed. "No. Your parents are Andromeda Black Tonks and Theodore Tonks,
is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Do either of them have a criminal record?"

"Not that I know of," she said honestly.

"Does anyone in your family have a criminal record?"

Tonks closed her eyes briefly. "Yes," she said.

"Who?"
They didn't look surprised, she noticed. So they know, she thought glumly. They just want me
to say it. "My aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange. Her husband, Rodolphus Lestrange. Mum's cousin,
Sirius Black."

"They're the only ones?"

"The charges to the Malfoys never stuck," she said, shrugging.

Moody smiled wryly. "Have you had recent contact with any of your family?"

"I've never met the Lestranges," she said, "and I haven't seen Sirius Black since I was ten. I
bumped into the Malfoys in Diagon Alley a while back, though."

"Say the first thing that comes to mind. Muggle."

"Grandparents."

"Witch."

"Wizard."

"Hogwarts."

"School."

"Broom."

"Quidditch," Tonks said.

"Snitch."

"Seeker."

"Seeker."

"Charlie."

"Azkaban."

"Dementor."

"McKinnon," Mad-Eye called.

Marlene made her way over to the curtains, relieved. The boy who'd been trying and failing
to make small talk with her slumped but she ignored him. Mad-Eye gave her a curious look
and allowed her to step through. Inside were twenty three Aurors, most of whom she knew by
sight if not name. She dropped into the seat in the centre of the area and crossed her ankles.

"Wand identification," a wizard said. She passed him the parchment she'd been given at the
security desk. "Fir and dragon-heartstring. Fourteen inches. You've had it for seventeen
years?"

"I have."

"How did you know the wand chose you?"

"Pink and gold came out of the end."

"In what form?"

"Ribbons."

"You received six N.E.W.T.s, yes?"

"Yes," she said.

"O's in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms and Potions, E's in Transfiguration,
Herbology and Muggle Studies, is that correct?"

"It is."

Augustus Taure - Marlene had dated him when she was in fourth year and he was in third -
stood and fetched a large mirror from behind his chair. Marlene frowned, trying to read the
words tidn ih ebla mina ehtt ube cafru oyt on wohsi but settled for remembering them. She
could look them up later.

"What do you see?" he asked.

Marlene frowned. It wasn't her own reflection in the mirror. It was enormous, staring down
its muzzle at her with gleaming tawny eyes. It had a sandy brown coat - perhaps a little
darker than was normal and long legs that ended with deadly looking paws. "A- a lion.
Lioness."

Several of the Aurors muttered amongst themselves but when Marlene chanced a look at
Mad-Eye, he was smiling. He waved a hand at another Auror - Marlene recognised Proudfoot
and had a vague recollection of Sirius complaining about his name, saying it was too close to
his Marauder nickname - who brought another, smaller mirror forward.

"What do you see?" Proudfoot said. Again, she had no luck with the words in the frame but
memorised them, in the hope of researching them later.

"Myself," she said, squinting at the mirror. "But I'm different. Younger." Her hair was shorter,
like it had been back in her Order days, and neater, and her eyes were brighter. Her skin
wasn't as pale - she'd still been playing a bit of Quidditch in those days - and the lines around
her eyes and the corners of her mouth that she'd begun to notice in the last year, were non-
existent.

Was she imagining it, or had Mad-Eye just given her a pitying look? Now, more than ever she
was interested in finding out what the mirror actually did.
"Are you able to perform a Patronus Charm?" Savage asked. Marlene blinked; he had a new
and rather ropy looking scar on his face that he certainly hadn't had when she'd last seen him.
Admittedly, that was at a Ministry function nine years ago - Sirius had forced her to attend -
so it was probably reasonable to assume he'd changed.

"I haven't tried for years," she said honestly.

"Do you remember what form it was?"

"It used to be a dog," she said. She'd always associated that with Sirius, for some reason,
likely because his Patronus had been a dog too. "I think it's probably changed by now,
though."

"Can you show us?" Savage asked.

Marlene hunted for a happy memory and was unsurprised to find there weren't many of them.
"Expecto Patronum," she murmured, giving her wand a flick. Some silvery mist floated out
of the end of her wand but not much else happened. She focused on her memory harder but it
made little impact. The Aurors were glancing amongst themselves. This is just embarrassing,
she thought, flushing slightly.

"No matter, Ms McKinnon-"

No matter? she thought crossly. I don't think so. "Expecto Patronum," she snapped. The very
same lioness she'd just seen in the mirror barrelled out and roared - soundlessly - before it
flickered and vanished.

"Very good," a witch with an eye-patch said. Marlene hadn't seen her before, but she'd
probably recognise the name when she heard it; she looked only a few years older than
Marlene herself and so had probably trained with James and Sirius. Marlene chanced another
look at Mad-Eye and his expression was definitely pitying. She turned her back on him and
re-folded her legs. "What was the memory?"

"The day my little brother was born," she said.

"You remember it?"

"I was eight."

"Do you have any other siblings?"

"Yes." But you'd be better off using past-tense.

"Who?"

"An older brother."

"Who's your favourite?"

"I loved them equally."

"Loved?"

"They're dead," she said flatly.

"Parents?" Marlene nodded stiffly and stared at her hands. "Are you glad?"

Her head snapped up. "Pardon?"

"Are you glad they're dead?"

"No," she snapped.

"You miss them, then."

"Obviously."

"Do you have a husband?" Marlene shook her head. "Partner?"

"Interested are you, Glade?" she asked coolly.

Glade flushed. They'd never dated but that wasn't for lack of trying on his part. He'd pestered
her all through seventh year and she had received a rather humbling insight into what Lily's
first six years of Hogwarts had been like. "Children?"

"No."

"Anyone?" Mad-Eye asked.

Marlene's jaw clenched. "A few friends," she said curtly.

"Who?"

"Alice and Frank. Mary. Neville."

"Which of them-"

"You've been given a wand," Mad-Eye interrupted loudly. The others looked at him,
surprised. "It's only capable of performing one of the three Unforgivables."

"Is that even possible? A wand can't be limited to three spells."

"This one is. Facing you, is an enemy. He or she - it doesn't matter which - has a wand too.
Both of you are in a sealed room. You cannot Floo in or out, or Apparate, and your wand -
rather obviously - will not allow you to create a Portkey. In order to escape, you must subdue
your opponent. How do you do it?"

"Wandless magic."

"You can do wandless magic?"

"No," Marlene said.

"You can't use something you don't have," Proudfoot said.

"I don't have a wand limited to using the Unforgivables," she said.

"It's hypothetical-"

"So's my ability to use wandless magic."

"You're an Auror, out on a mission when your partner is rendered unconscious. They won't
respond to any spells and there is no one in the vicinity to help you. Without immediate help,
your partner will die, but if you leave, the mission is compromised and the target will escape.
What do you do?"

"Create a Portkey to send my partner to St Mungo's," she said. "I'd send a message back to
whoever's in charge of the raid or mission or whatever you'd like to call it, letting them know
what's happened and requesting back-up. I'd then engage the target."

"That's risky."

"The only life I'd be risking is my own," she replied.

"You're approached by a known criminal while you're off-duty. They want to trade legal
immunity for information on another target. What do you do?"

"Take their wand and bring them back to the Ministry for questioning."

"Do you have a criminal record?"

"No."

"Where are those papers?" the witch with the eye-patch said fussily. "Madam Bones said
she'd send them-"

"Your parents were Patricia Macmillan McKinnon and Curtis McKinnon, is that correct?"
Mad-Eye asked, before she could find them.

"Yes."

"Do either of them have a criminal record?" the witch with the eye-patch asked, giving Mad-
Eye a suspicious look as she stopped searching.

"No."

"Does anyone in your family have a criminal record?"

"What family?" she asked.

"When was the last time you saw Sirius Black?" Mad-Eye asked.

I should have known this would come up as soon as I saw you, she thought, glowering at
Mad-Eye. "This morning," she said in her frostiest tone yet. "He was in the paper."
Thankfully none of them pushed it.

"Say the first thing that comes to mind. Muggle."

"Harold and Heather," she said with a sad twist of her mouth.

"Witch."

"Magic."

"Hogwarts."

"Dumbledore."

"Broom."

"Nimbus."

"Snitch."

"James."

"Seeker."

"Davey."

"Azkaban."

"Sirius." Several of the Aurors exchanged looks. Marlene could feel Mad-Eye's eyes - both of
them - on her back.

"Gryffindor."

"Lion."

"Green."

"Lily." Mad-Eye glanced at her and then away.

"Charms."

"Flitwick."

"Dark Arts."

"Voldemort." Quite a few of the Aurors made startled noises and the wizard who'd asked
about her wand fell off his seat.

Savage consulted the parchment in front of him, obviously put off by her last answer and
chose a safe word. "Chocolate Frog."
"Card," she said dully.
 Puddifoot's and post-boxes

Tonks waited nervously; it was the end of her second day as an Auror trainee and they'd be
finding out who'd made it past the preliminary testing.

"This is so exciting," Tonks said, growing slightly so that she could see over the other
trainees' heads. She'd passed everything in her practical with ease - she'd spent the last two
months studying for them - and had been reassured by the character testing after speaking
with the other trainees.

They were designed, she'd heard someone saying, to put the trainee on the spot - thus the
sudden changes in topic - put them under pressure - thus the large audience - and to trigger an
emotional response - thus the personal and often frustrating questions.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Florence said. Tonks noted with concern that she was looking
rather green.

"At least you managed to keep your Shield Charm up," Ben said gloomily. His Shield Charm
had worn off ten seconds before it was supposed to.

"McKinnon!" McKinnon - she hadn't told anyone her first name and no one remembered it -
slipped out of the crowd and off to the side, where Moody was waiting. Tonks shuffled back
a few steps, eager to learn more about the older woman.

"Mad-Eye," she heard McKinnon say back. None of the trainees knew a thing about her
because she'd kept to herself for the last two days, yet everywhere she went, she had Moody's
constant attention. Tonks was fairly certain he'd choose her to train.

"How've you found it?"

"Fine."

"Is it hard?"

"Yes," McKinnon said, sounding surprisingly emotional, though Tonks couldn't for the life of
her work out why. "I just- I look at Plants and Poisons and I can't help but think of- of-" She
took a deep breath. "I remember hearing all the stories of the Program and now I'm the one
here, when I shouldn't be. It should be them." McKinnon sounded almost hysterical. Moody
looked impassive. "Does-does it get easier?"

"Not really," Moody said with a loud sigh. "You just get better at coping."

"... right, Nymphadora?" Tonks whipped around.

"Don't call me that," she muttered. "It's Tonks."

"Were you even listening?" Ben asked.

"Shh," she said, turning back to look at McKinnon and Moody.

"... you already. There's not much more I can impart on you-"

"It's all right," McKinnon said. "It'd probably be showing favouritism anyway." Moody
grunted and then lowered his voice, saying something about Hit Witches. "No," McKinnon
said. "Definitely an Auror, now."

"Knew you were too sensible for the Hit Team," he muttered. He clapped her on the shoulder
and limped off. McKinnon watched him, smiling slightly and then spotted Tonks, who
flushed and looked away, daring only to watch her out of the corner of her eye. McKinnon's
face became impassive - Tonks wondered if she was perhaps an Occlumens to have that
much self-control - and she joined the crowd of trainees, promptly ignoring Yaxley's attempts
to find out what Moody had wanted.

While they waited, three trainees were singled out by Aurors and asked to leave. Tonks didn't
know any of them - they'd obviously been in the other group - but she felt a little sorry for
them nonetheless. Then, Aurors started calling names.

Yaxley was partnered with an Auror named Louisson - she'd looked pleased with that - Lori
Patel and Mary Wright joined with the witch with the eye-patch - McDuff was her name -
Ben was sent over to an intimidating looking Auror named Shacklebolt, Florence was paired
with Auror Finch who was also Melvin Clarke's mentor, McKinnon was paired with Robards,
Trixia Dale and Wesley Hill were given to Auror Blackburn and Michael Brown was
assigned to someone called Hemsley.

More and more of the other trainees were paired off - some had an Auror to themselves,
others were paired - and Tonks was growing increasingly nervous when finally-

"Nymphadora Tonks," a growling voice called. Tonks could hardly believe her ears. She was
too stunned to even bother telling Moody not to call her Nymphadora. "Come on,
Nymphadora, I don't have all day!" he barked.

"Sorry," she said, hurrying over. She stumbled but thankfully didn't fall and extended her
hand the moment she reached him. "It's a pleasure to be working with you, sir-"

"None of this sir, nonsense," he growled, shaking her hand surprisingly gently. "Find
something else to call me."

"Okay-" she said hesitantly.

"Good. Training starts tomorrow. Be at my house at four."

"In the afternoon?" she asked, stymied.

"In the morning. We'll be visiting a friend of mine." Moody didn't strike her as the type to
have many friends but she didn't say anything. "Four," he said and then limped away.

It was only after he'd left that it occurred to her that she had no idea where his house was.
"Oh, Merlin," she muttered. She glanced around but most of the other Aurors had either left
or were busy with their trainees. He's going to kill me! How do I even contact him? Surely
someone in the Ministry would know but who should I as- "Sorry!" she said, bouncing off
someone.

"It's all right," McKinnon said, helping her up.

"Sorry. I'm dead clums- You were talking to Auror Moody before, weren't you?" she asked,
her eyes lighting up. McKinnon frowned at her.

"Why?"

"He's my mentor. I'm Tonks. You're a... friend of his, aren't you?"

"I suppose."

"Do you know where he lives?"

McKinnon blinked. "Why?"

"He told me to meet him there tomorrow morning but he didn't say where and I thought,
maybe since you knew him-"

"I used to know where to find him," she said. "That was years ago, though."

"Where?" Tonks asked hopefully. McKinnon shook her head.

"If he's still in the same house, I'm a flobberworm."

"Oh," Tonks said, disappointed.

"Your hair's just gone blue," McKinnon told her. Amazingly, she looked close to smiling.

"It does that," Tonks said, starting to panic again; she could see her fringe turning a sickly
greenish-orange colour. "Thanks for trying-"

"Talk to Dumbledore," McKinnon said unexpectedly. "If anyone knows where he is, it's him."

"Thank you," Tonks said, throwing her arms around the other woman. "Thank you, thank
you, thank you-"

"It's yellow," McKinnon said, picking at a strand of her hair. "How in Merlin's name do you
do that?"

"I'm a Metamorphmagus," Tonks said, still beaming.

"What did you say your name was?" McKinnon asked again, eyes wide.

"Tonks."

McKinnon blinked. "Ted and Andy's daughter?"

"How did you know?" Tonks asked.

"I babysat once," she said, flushing. Tonks cast her mind back, trying to remember but
couldn't; she remembered a lot of people coming and going from her parents' house during
the War. She remembered Remus Lupin and James Potter well because they, other than
Sirius, had been the most frequent visitors. She also had a faint recollection of a red-haired
woman and of a rather pudgy man, but not of McKinnon. "Sorry, that's probably not exactly
what you want to hear-"

I'll bet she knew Sirius Black, then, and probably Remus Lupin too, Tonks thought. She didn't
say anything, though - Remus Lupin hadn't minded, but he'd been nothing but friendly from
the outset - not when McKinnon, who hadn't talked to anyone but Moody for two days,
finally seemed to be relaxing a little. Tonks forced a laugh. "It doesn't bother me. I'd better go
if I'm going to see Dumbledore in time, though..." she said a bit awkwardly.

McKinnon looked faintly relieved. "I suppose I'll see you around, then," she said. "It was nice
to meet you again."

"You too," Tonks said. She waved goodbye to Florence and Ben and hurried up the stairs and
out through the broom cupboard entrance. She Flooed home from the atrium, changed
hurriedly - she had to meet Keith in Hogsmeade at six - and wrote a quick note to remind
Mum and Dad that she wouldn't be home for dinner; she'd told them but Mum had a tendency
to forget and would worry. She wasted five minutes searching for her money bag only to find
it under her sleeping cat.

"You knew I'd need it tonight, didn't you, you evil little-" Canis hissed and took a sleepy
swipe at her ankle.

She Apparated to Hogsmeade and paid a post owl to carry a brief letter to Dumbledore
warning him of her visit and headed up the dark road to the castle. She was pleasantly
surprised to find Dumbledore waiting for her at the gates.

"Wotcher, Professor. I'm sorry to come on such short notice," she said when she saw him.

"Not a problem," Dumbledore said, beaming. "Shall we head to my office?"

"It won't take long. It's just one question," she said. Dumbledore inclined his head. "Where
does Auror Moody live? I was told you'd probably know-"

"You're quite right," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "Might I ask why you need to know?"

"Oh, right, sorry. He's my mentor-"

"Congratulations, my dear!" Dumbledore said, beaming.

"Thank you," Tonks said, smiling back.

"I'll be sure to notify Pomona."

"I owled her to say I made it in, but not that I've passed the preliminary testing," Tonks said.
"If you could pass that along, that'd be wonderful."

"Consider it done. Now, as for Alastor: are you familiar with Brighton?"

"Yes," Tonks said. Dad had done a news story there the summer before last and she'd got to
go with him.

"Just off Albion Hill is a street named Phoenix Rise. You will find Alastor there."

"How do I know which house is his?"

"There will be an abundance of dustbins out the front," Dumbledore said with an odd
expression. "A simple Body-Bind ought to do it."

"Brilliant," Tonks said happily; she wasn't sure what he meant about Body-Binds but then,
Dumbledore had always been a bit strange. "Thank you so much, sir," Tonks said happily.

"Not a problem, not a problem," Dumbledore said kindly. "Are you certain I cannot tempt
you to stay for dinner?"

"No, I'm having dinner with a friend, actually," she said apologetically. "Thank you again,
sir."

"I'll pass your message onto Pomona. Enjoy dinner." With that, Dumbledore swept back
inside the school gates, shut them with a tap of his wand and departed with a wave. Tonks,
who couldn't be bothered walking all the way back to Hogsmeade, Disapparated.

She materialised in front of The Three Broomsticks with a quiet pop and glanced around.
Loud chatter was coming from inside and lamp light was shining merrily through the
windows but she couldn't see Keith anywhere. A glance at her watch told her it was just after
six. He arrived about a minute later, just at Tonks was beginning to get nervous.

"Hi!" she said, waving.

"Hey," he said, hugging her. "You look different."

"I always look different," she said cheerfully.

"True."

"So, how was your day?"

"Boring. What about yours?"

"Brilliant," she said, grinning. "I made it in, and you'll never guess who my mentor is!"

"Who?"
"Mad-Eye Moody!" she said happily. "I've just spent the afternoon trying to find out where he
lives; I've got to be there at four o'clock tomorrow morning."

"That's awful!" Keith said.

Tonks shrugged. "Aurors could be called in at any time, so I may as well get used to it."

He gave her a dubious look. "If you say so. Where do you want to eat? I was thinking Madam
Puddifoot's."

"That pink place, with the fairies?" she asked.

"Cherubs, actually."

"Oh." Until this point, she hadn't quite been sure whether she and Keith were dating; they'd
gone out several times since school ended, but she hadn't been sure whether it was as friends
or as something else, as the flower he'd given her yesterday seemed to indicate. This, she was
fairly sure, confirmed it. She'd never been to Madam Puddifoot's and while Charlie had told
her a number of horror stories - leaving her with absolutely no desire to go anywhere near the
place - Keith seemed eager and she couldn't bring herself to say no. "Yeah, I suppose-"

"Great." They chatted on the way down the road; Keith was still working for his local
Quidditch team and was having particular trouble with the under twelves. "After you," Keith
said, pulling the door open when they arrived.

"Thanks," Tonks said, stumbling into the room. It was warm inside, at least, though she
wasn't a fan of the decoration; everything was covered in pink or a deep reddish-purple and
was either frilly, lacy, or heart-patterned. Candles burned on each of the tables, emitting
heart-shaped puffs of smoke that smelled suspiciously like flowers. Charlie was right, she
thought darkly, forcing a smile in Keith's direction. Cherubs fluttered over to lead them to an
empty table and then a stout woman wearing glittery red robes bustled over with menus.

She scanned the menu and picked a dish with an Italian name; it seemed like the least
nauseating item, even if it did have heart-shaped pasta. Keith ordered a chicken-something
and they both ordered some sort of strawberry drink and then Puddifoot tottered off. "Isn't it
great?" Keith said happily, glancing around the room.

"It's certainly not like anywhere I've ever been," she said. "I take it you've been here before?"

"Once in fifth year with Dawn," he said. "She really seemed to like it." Tonks opened her
mouth to reply and received a face full of confetti for her trouble. Keith laughed as Tonks
spat into her napkin and glowered at the cherub. "So what sort of things did you have to do in
the tests?"

Tonks happily filled him in, talking excitedly about the physical tests – she'd splinched a
chunk of her hair and hastily regrown it before her assessor had noticed - as well as the odd
questions they'd asked and the mirrors.

"I think they're what inspired Snow White," she said thoughtfully.
"Pardon?" Keith asked.

"Snow White," Tonks said. "It's a muggle fairytale, and there's this mirror-"

"I've got no idea what you're talking about," he said apologetically.

"That's all right," she said. "I'll lend you my old muggle fairytale book-"

"I'm not reading muggle fairytales," he said, laughing. "I'll just take your word for it."

"All right," she said, little put-out.

"Did I tell you about the under twelves team?"

"Yes," she said, but he told her again anyway. Their food and drinks came not long after; the
drinks were so sweet she couldn't manage more than a mouthful but the pasta was good,
though she was a little disconcerted by the pale pink sauce.

They talked about Quidditch while they ate - Tonks was an avid Harpies fan, while Keith
preferred the Tornados - and endured the cherubs; Tonks was fairly sure she'd accidentally
consumed several mouthfuls of confetti by the time she'd finished her meal, and her drink had
a layer of soggy paper floating on top. Finally, she got sick of the little golden creature and
Stunned it.

"What are you doing?" Keith demanded, looking horrified.

"I'll let it out before we leave," she said, stuffing the cherub in the sugar pot. He gave her a
doubtful look but didn't say anything else on the matter.

Sometime later, Madam Puddifoot brought out coffee and bowls of strawberry ice-cream, and
then Tonks released the thoroughly disgruntled cherub and stood, fishing around in her bag
for a galleon.

"Nymph- sorry, Tonks - why are you paying?"

"For dinner," she said, setting a galleon down on the table.

He picked it up and pressed it back into her hand. "I'm paying."

"Don't be thick," she said. "I'm paying for what I ate."

"But I want to," he said, looking injured.

"Sorry, what?" she asked, bemused. He took the opportunity to throw his two galleons down
on the table and steer her to the door.

"A gentleman always pays for the lady," he said as she wrapped her scarf around her neck.

Tonks snorted. "I'm hardly a lady, Keith."

"I'm being polite," he insisted. She rolled her eyes and tucked her galleon into a spare pocket.
"Thank you, then," she sighed. "But next time, I'm paying." He laughed as if she'd told an
absolutely hilarious joke.

"What do you want to do now?" he asked.

She checked her watch. "I think I should go home, actually."

"What?" he asked, his face falling. "Why?"

"Well it's ten now," she said reasonably, "and I have to be at Moody's by four."

"Can't you stay for another hour?"

"Not if I want to sleep tonight," she said, stifling a yawn. "And if I don't, I'll be horrendous
tomorrow, which won't exactly endear me to Moody."

"All right, then," he said grudgingly. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

Her eyebrows climbed. "Tomorrow?"

"You're not doing anything, are you?"

"Well, no," she admitted. "I suppose that'll work. What would you like to do?"

"I know this place in Diagon Alley," he said brightly. "Do you want to meet in the Leaky
Cauldron at six?"

Tonks checked her watch again and nodded - she really needed to go if she didn't want a
repeat of the O.W.L. incident; she'd been so grumpy she'd hexed no less than seven of her
classmates in a day and received three detentions, each from a different teacher.

"Six is fine," she said. "It was nice to see you again tonight."

"I'm already looking forward to tomorrow," he said. She hugged him goodbye.

"See you then." She Disapparated straight to her bedroom.

"Nymphadora!" Mum called.

"Don't call me Nymphadora!" she shouted back.

"What have I told you about Apparating into the house?!"

"Not to do it," she said wearily, pulling open her bedroom door to reveal a cross-looking
Mum. "Sorry."

"Don't make me tell you again." Tonks nodded absently but was fairly sure this wouldn't be
the last time it happened. "How'd everything go?" Mum asked.

"I made it!" she said, beaming. Mum wrapped her in a tight hug. "And I've been partnered
with Moody-"
"Mad-Eye?" Mum asked, looking thoughtful. "He trained S- someone I used to know." Tonks
noticed the slip but didn't say anything. "I've heard he's a bit..." Mum floundered, looking for
a word. "Odd," she said finally, looking pleased with herself.

"He seemed all right," Tonks said, shrugging.

"Good, good," Mum said distractedly. "And how'd your date go with that boy - Kevin? When
do I get to meet him?"

"Keith," Tonks said. "And it wasn't a date." Well it was, she amended, but Mum doesn't need
to know that. She deliberately left Mum's last query unanswered.

"Of course not, love," Mum said, smiling. "I'll see you in the morning, then."

"Actually, you won't," Tonks said apologetically. "Moody said to be at his house at four."

"It's not enough that my husband's out and about at all hours with his job," Mum said,
throwing her hands up, "but now you are too."

"Sorry," Tonks said sheepishly.

Mum harrumphed. "I suppose we'll see you at dinner then, Nymphadora."

"Don't call me that! And no, you won't."

"It's your name- What do you mean no?"

"It's a stupid name." Mum folded her arms, eyes flashing.

"It's a beautiful name."

"It's a pureblood name. You did it to spite your horrible family-"

"I did no such thing," Mum snapped. "I chose it because I liked it, Nymphadora, and for no
reasons other than that."

"It's a stupid name," she muttered. "About dinner-"

"Yes," Mum said sternly. "About dinner?"

"I said I'd see Keith," Tonks said, waiting for the explosion.

"Oh," Mum said in a completely different tone to the one she'd been expecting. She almost
would have preferred shouting to the sly smile that had settled on Mum's face. "All right,
then. But I want to meet him soon."

"'All right, then?'" she repeated incredulously. "That's it?"

"Contrary to what you seem to believe, Nymphadora-" Tonks ground her teeth. "-I don't
actually want to clash with you about everthing."
"I know that," Tonks muttered. Mum wrapped an arm around her and gave her shoulders a
squeeze. Tonks couldn't help the little smile that plastered itself onto her face and she
wrapped an arm around Mum and squeezed back. "It is a stupid name, though." Mum took a
deep breath in through her nose. "Admit it," Tonks said, rocking into her.

Mum stood and kissed her forehead. "Good night, Nymphadora."

"Just admit-"

"I thought I told you to clean these up," Mum said, pointing an accusing finger at the pile of
old textbooks on the floor.

"I needed them for Auror trials," she said.

"Which are over, now."

"Well, yeah, now they are."

"I want them put away- In fact, this whole room could use a good clea-"

"Well, I'm exhausted, so I'm going to go to bed now. Good night." Mum shook her head and
continued out of the room. "Love you," Tonks called after her.

"You too," Mum called back sounding... amused?

Tonks flopped back onto her bed, and then a horrible realisation crept over her; Mum had
brought up her messy room to distract her from the name argument. And it had worked.

"Mum!" she cried, outraged.

"I said goodnight, Nymphadrora."

This has to be it, Tonks thought, glancing at the house with no less than four large dustbins
lined up outside the front door. She checked her watch - five minutes until she was officially
due - and found herself wishing she'd stayed in bed for those extra five minutes. She lit her
wand and headed up the path, impressed with how neatly the grass was cut; she'd picked
Moody to be fairly untidy.

A quiet rattle behind her drew Tonks' attention. She twisted, wand raised and to her
bemusement found she was being followed by a muggle post-box, a post-box which had
resided innocently on the footpath until now. It hopped after her, clunking noisily.

"What in Merlin's- Ah!" The post-box collided with her and knocked her to the ground. She
glanced toward the house, wondering if Moody was behind it but the windows of the house
were dark. The post-box was now doing its best to pin her to the path. She shuffled
backwards and cast a hasty, "Impedimenta!" but the spell didn't seem to have any effect.

With no other alternative, she rolled out of the way as the post-box threw itself down on the
ground and landed with a noisy bang. She got to her feet quickly and flicked her wand at it,
trying to Banish it back to the street where it belonged, but it seemed resistant.

She gave up on physically trying to push it back across the yard when it tried to bite her; only
her Metamorphmagus abilities saved her fingers by allowing them to shrink an inch. Irritated,
she gave it a jab with her wand and transfigured it into a button. It fell to the ground with a
quiet ringing sound and proceeded to hop toward her. She picked it up and while the button
squirmed violently, it couldn't escape her fist. She then continued toward the house.

She lifted her hand to knock on the front door but it was pulled open before her hand touched
the wood.

"You're late," Moody growled, stepping aside so she could come in. She checked her watch,
which said she was only a few seconds late. She smothered her irritation.

"Sorry," she said, passing him the hopping button. "I was caught up." He limped out the front
door and restored it to its usual form and place while she waited in the hallway.

"Not bad," he said when he came back. "Next time it won't be so easy."

"That was- that was a test?"

Moody smiled faintly and led her into the house. Tonks got the idea that he'd just moved in;
there were boxes lining the walls of the already narrow hall and stacked into every available
corner. They ended up in his sitting room; it was a small room with an air of being half-
unpacked; there were only two couches and rickety coffee table and a bookshelf laden with
more boxes than books.

"Sit," he said. She perched tentatively on the couch. "None of that. Put your feet up, or lie
down." She stared at him. "While you're my trainee, you're to treat this house - or any house
I'm living with - as your own. You can choose one of the guest rooms and use it when you
want. You can use my laundry room and my kitchen but if you eat something, you replace it."

She nodded, stunned. "You'd trust me?" Everything she'd ever heard about Moody suggested
he was an incredibly private, incredibly paranoid man.

"We'll be working together for the next three years," he said bluntly. She noticed he hadn't
said yes. "I don't want any of this tip-toeing around each other. You have a question, ask it.
You want to say something, say it. Am I clear?"

"Yes," she said, remembering to leave off the 'sir' at the last moment. She had a feeling, if
Mad-Eye really was as forward as he was acting, that they'd get along just fine.

He left the room and came back carrying two cardboard boxes. The first was labelled Baby
Photos and the second Dog Food/Toys. She wondered if she was supposed to help him
unpack.

"Here." He shoved the Baby Photos box into her hands.

"I-Thank you?"
"Open it." She did. Inside was - as the box's label suggested - a collection of photo albums,
frames and piles of photographs of babies.

"Who are they of?" she asked.

"No idea," he said. She blinked confused. Mum was right. He's odd. "Pass the photo album."

She picked it up and the entire layer of frames, albums and photographs lifted with it. It was
all stuck together, like some sort of bizarre sculpture. Underneath it, however, was a
collection of files - Ministry files if the stamps were to be believed - and articles cut from
various newspapers and magazines. Fascinated, she set the album-sculpture aside and with a
half-glance at Moody who didn't seem to mind, had a quick look at the files.

"They're all about Harry Potter and Sirius Black," she said after a moment.

"They are," he said gruffly. "On days with a 'T' in them, that's what you'll be doing. So that's
Tuesday, Thursday and-"

"Saturday," she said. "Got it."

"I like it when I get smart ones," he said, sounding almost pleased. "There's a search,
currently run by Lucius Malfoy. You're familiar with it?"

"Of course." She'd been following the Potter-Black search for months.

"You're joining. You do everything he tells you to," Moody said. "And then you report back
to me. If anything strange is happening, I want to know about it. If you hear anything about
Potter or Black, I want to know the second he does. If they're caught, I want to know where
and when, and if you catch them, you bring them straight to me."

"So I'm like a spy?" Tonks said, her eyebrows raising.

"I like it when I get smart ones," he said again and then leaned towards her. "I don't trust
Malfoy further than I can throw him, and at my age, that's not far."

Tonks nodded eagerly. "If I'm a spy, just how secret is this? Do I have to use a fake name, or-
"

"You'll present yourself as Theodora Tock. It's close enough that you'll respond to it. As for
secrets, this is between us. Anyone asks, you've got no part in the search. On Tuesdays,
Thursdays and Saturdays I've got you doing my laundry, or unpacking the boxes in my
house."

"But the Ministry-"

"Lucius Malfoy's got the entire Ministry in his pocket, right alongside his lacy handkerchief
and I don't like it," Moody barked. "Until I decide he's got no ulterior motive, I need people
to keep an eye on him, and this is a good way for you to get experience in the field. Do you
think you can handle it?" Tonks nodded vigorously.
"Fridays are entirely dedicated to your training. We'll be spending it in the place we've been
for the last few days." She noticed he hadn't given a location, and wondered if he thought
anyone was actually listening. Moody pushed the Dog Food/Toys box toward her.

Tonks packed up the Baby Photos box properly - Moody nodded his approval - before
reaching for the other box. This one had a stack of tinned food, an old collar, and a fluffy
duck toy that squeaked when she touched it. She grabbed the duck and again, the whole layer
lifted out to reveal files. A brief look through told her it was about werewolves, and, more
specifically, Fenrir Greyback.

"This is my current case," he said, "and the reason I can't watch Malfoy as closely as I'd like.
On days with an 'N' in them, you'll be with me working on this, or with the other trainees,
learning what you'll need to make it in this job."

"What are we doing today?" she asked.

"What is today?" Moody asked, sounding irritated.

"Thursday-"

"It's a day with a 'T'."

"So I'm doing Potter-Black things?" she asked. "Already?"

"No time like the present. I'll give you half an hour to establish a look for Tock and a few
personality quirks and then we'll go get you a place in your uncle's search."

Half an hour later, Tonks emerged from the small bathroom Moody had directed her to. She
peered around the corners into the hallway; Moody had jumped out at her, shouting "Constant
vigilance!" twice while she was getting ready and she was feeling a bit twitchy.

Moody, however, was waiting in the sitting room and nodded in approval when she entered.
She was several inches taller than she usually chose to be, with brown eyes and reddish
brown hair. Her nose was straight and not overly long, her face was neither thin or round, she
was neither chubby or thin and she was altogether very plain.

She'd also changed clothes; Moody had several wardrobes full of every size and style of
clothing – muggle or wizarding, and for both genders – 'just in case'. She'd ignored to
obvious paranoia and gone along with it, picking out a set of navy robes.

"Name?" Moody said.

"Theodora Tock," she said in a voice slightly deeper than her own.

"Blood status?"

"Hal- no, wait- Muggleborn."

"Favourite colour?"
"Would anyone really ask that, do you think?" Tonks asked in her normal voice.

"Be prepared for anything."

"Okay, erm... blue."

"Blue? Why blue?"

"Because... er... I went to Beauxbatons."

"Pouvez-vous parler français?" he growled.

"Is that French?" Tonks asked, making a face.

"At least you know that much," Moody sighed. "You can't get by without French at
Beauxbatons, so stick with Hogwarts. Your favourite colour can be blue because you were in
Ravenclaw."

"Fine."

"Play Quidditch?"

"No, I was too busy studying."

"A bit stereotypical but it'll do." He asked her several more questions - her parents' names,
what subjects she took, how many N.E.W.T.s she received - and then seemed satisfied. "Just
remember to stay in character." She nodded. "Time to go then." He ushered her through the
house, out into the back garden and then offered her his arm. She took it tentatively.
"Remember, constant vigilance. If we're attacked upon arrival, conjure a Shield Charm and
get inside. If one of us is killed-"

"I thought you said we were visiting your friend?" Tonks said, alarmed.

"You can never be too careful," Moody said. He twisted on the spot, pulling her with him.

He landed easily but Tonks lost her footing and ended up on her back on the grass, staring at
the dark, starry sky and the almost-full moon. They appeared to be at the edge of a forest, but
looking closer she realised they were only a few yards away from a small cottage.

Neat bushes lined the outside walls and some sort of vine had climbed the pale stone exterior,
though it had been cut away from the windows. Round white stones rested in the grass,
forming a path from the forest - separated from the house only by a low picket fence - to the
front door. The front door itself was sheltered by a small extension of the roof, supported by
thin wooden beams.

"Are you sure they're expecting us?" she asked, glancing at the house. It certainly looked and
sounded like its occupants were asleep. Moody ignored her and limped not toward the door,
but the window. "What are you doing?" she asked as he flicked his wand. The window
opened soundlessly. "There's a door-"
"Never do what you're expected to do," Moody whispered. He waved his wand several times,
chanting under his breath and then snorted. "Mind the bushes." With surprising agility, he
pulled himself through the window and landed almost silently on the other side. I must be
mad, Tonks thought before climbing through after him.

"Lumos," she whispered, once she was inside. There was a large, well-stocked bookshelf on
her right, and a mantel laden with photographs on her left. Two couches, an armchair and a
table rested in the middle of the room and a kitchen bench and dining table with four seats
was on the far side of the room. It was very tidy.

"This way," Moody said, heading to the right, where there was an opening that seemed to
lead to a hallway. His leg was almost silent on the wooden floor and while she made a bit of
noise - she tripped over an umbrella stand by the door - they made it out of the main room
without much trouble. "And put that light out."

"They are expecting us, aren't they?" she asked a little nervously, as Moody limped down the
hall. Her question was answered when Moody pushed open a door and led her into a dark
bedroom and a soft snore came from the bed.

No, she realised, wincing. Moody's friend has no idea we're coming.

The bed's occupant was a man - not the little old lady she'd half expected after seeing the neat
house and garden - but he was so thoroughly cocooned in his blankets that she couldn't tell
much more about him.

Moody walked around to the side of the bed, leant right over him and roared, "CONSTANT
VIGILANCE!"

It scared Tonks, so she could only imagine how Moody's poor friend could be feeling; he
awoke, starting so violently that he tumbled out of bed. He managed to grab his wand on the
way down and fired a spell at Moody that missed by several inches and left a scorch mark on
the ceiling.

"Fuck," he said weakly. Tonks thought he sounded vaguely familiar and wondered if he was
another Auror. "Mad-Eye?"

"Do you have any idea how easy it was to get inside?!" Moody bellowed.

"Is something wrong?" the man said, yawning.

"Yes! You've got no protection or warding whatsoever! I could have killed you and you
wouldn't even know!"

"Oh, well if that's all..." he said sleepily, climbing back into bed. Moody tore the covers off
and he made a little noise of protest. "Bloody hell!" he said. "What?"

"Toast," Moody said.

"Toast?" the man asked, as if he'd never heard of such a thing.

Yes, I definitely know him from somewhere, Tonks though, squinting at him, but she really
couldn't make much of him out.

"And scrambled eggs," Moody said. "Get moving."

"Sod off, Mad-Eye," he said, rolling into his pillows. Moody flicked his wand and the lamps
in the room lit up. The man sat up, looking extremely dishevelled, and blinked owlishly.
"Who are you?" he asked, frowning at Tonks. Tonks could only stare. It was Remus Lupin.

"Theodora Tock," she said, managing to stifle a cheerful 'Wotcher' at the last minute.
Theodora didn't do that.

"Remus Lupin," he said, sighing. He glanced at Moody. "What's this about?"

"I'll tell you once I've eaten," Moody said.

"Toast and eggs, did you say?" Lupin asked, having obviously realised he wasn't going to get
back to sleep any time soon. He rolled out of bed with a sigh and slipped out of the room in
just his pyjama trousers. Moody snorted and limped after him. Tonks followed wordlessly,
unable to believe what had just happened.

She and Moody seated themselves at Lupin's little dining table and watched as he turned on
the stove. He walked back down the hallway a moment later.

"If he's gone back to bed-" Moody growled to himself, but never finished because Lupin
came back wearing a thin t-shirt and gave Moody a look that made Tonks think he'd
somehow heard him.

"Has something happened?" Lupin asked, waving his wand to send three glasses of orange
juice over to the table.

"Just need a word with you about Malfoy's search."

"And that couldn't have waited until a more sociable hour?"

"I was hoping you'd be a good example to my trainee," Moody growled. "You, Potter and
Pettigrew were always the most vigilant and I can't visit them for obvious reasons." Lupin
turned back to the stove.

"Was I a good example?" he asked a moment later, scratching absently at a large scar on his
arm.

"Yes, of what not to do."

"Glad to be of service."

Lupin's eyes landed on Tonks. "Congratulations on making it into the Program," he said with
a genuine, if sleepy, smile.

"Thank you," she said in Tock's voice.

"Mad-Eye's a good mentor. He taught me quite a bit."

"You'd never know it," Moody grumbled. Tonks hardly heard him but Lupin seemed to, and
had a small, somewhat mischievous smile on his face when he turned around.

"I am curious, though," Lupin continued mildly.

"About?" Tonks asked.

"Do you have as much of an aversion to Theodora as you do to Nymphadora?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Tonks squeaked. Lupin gave her a knowing look. She glanced at Moody
for help, but he didn't look at her; he had an odd expression - almost fond, yet irritated - on
his face.

"I'd forgotten about that," Moody said, shooting a glare at Lupin, who seemed to be fighting a
smile. Lupin turned back towards the stove and loaded a plate with eggs.

"Yes," he said, "well, constant vigilance, Mad-Eye."

 Old grudges

"So the old codger's broken into my house, scared me awake at five-thirty in the morning on
the day of a full moon and demanded- Stop laughing, Sirius, it's not funny! - breakfast!"
Padfoot wasn't the only one laughing at poor Moony; Harry was doubled over his plate in
stitches, his glasses perilously close to slipping off and landing in his mashed potato.

"It is funny," Padfoot said, wiping tears of mirth out of his eyes. Harry thought it was nice to
see him laughing again; he'd been oddly subdued lately and while Moony assured Harry it
was just the Dementor's Draught, Harry wasn't convinced it was only that; Padfoot had
looked thoughtful, not depressed, and had taken to sitting in the study on the ground floor,
staring out the window.

"Shut up and drink your hot chocolate," Moony shot back. They both glowered at each other
and then Padfoot's mouth twitched.

"All right," he said. "It's not funny at all." Harry snorted quietly; he thought it was one of the
funniest things he'd ever heard. "What happened next?"

"Mad-Eye questioned me on every development in Malfoy's search for you two," Moony
sighed, pushing his peas around his plate. "You remember Andy's daughter Nymphadora?"

"Of course," Padfoot said, rolling his eyes. "Andy is my cousin, you know-"

"She's an Auror trainee-"

"What?!" Padfoot yelped. His fork dropped onto the table with a clatter. "But she's only ten-"
He stopped talking and started counting fingers. "Oh, Merlin."

"She finished school in June," Moony said quietly. "Please drink your hot chocolate."

Padfoot shivered and drank; they'd discovered that the physically debilitating aspect of the
Dementor's Draught wore off after a week and a bit with the right care - gallons of hot
chocolate and lots of rest - but that the effects lingered, emphasising feelings like guilt,
misery and nostalgia and hindered happy feelings. Even that, though, was only based on
observation; Padfoot didn't talk about it.

"It's weird how time passes when you're in Azkaban," Padfoot said. He set his cup down and
managed a weak smile.

"Yes," Moony agreed dryly, after a strained pause. "I imagine it came as a shock for you to
get out and discover time hadn't stopped." Both Moony and Harry waited to see how Padfoot
would respond to that. A shadow came over his face and he was quiet for a few moments
before he forced a laugh.

"So," he said, with what Harry thought was a very fake smile, "what was Dora doing at your
house?"
"She's joining Malfoy's search," Moony said.

"Mad-Eye's letting his trainee rub shoulders with Malfoy?" Padfoot asked, dropping his fork
again. Moony smiled faintly.

"Neither of them said as much so this is pure speculation but I'd say Mad-Eye doesn't like
that there's no Auror influence in the search." He paused to dunk a strip of beef into his gravy
while Padfoot nodded thoughtfully. "They wanted me to put in a good word - say she's my
nephew or something - but Malfoy's rather unhappy with me after everything I said at St
Mungo's and my endorsement's probably reason enough for him to reject her... She's
approaching him on her own tomorrow morning."

"Bet Mad-Eye was annoyed."

"Serves him right for breaking in," Moony said, stabbing a piece of beef with his fork. Harry
and Padfoot looked at each other and then hastily back at their plates.

They finished dinner in relative silence - Moony's expression grew more and more pained
and it was easy for Harry to remember that he would become a wolf in a few short hours –
and Padfoot's grew uncannily serious, as if he was thinking about something of great
importance. Harry poked at his potato.

"Is he all right?" Harry asked Padfoot as Moony vanished into the fireplace after dinner.

"He's always a bit off the day before," Padfoot assured him. "Another hot chocolate, thank
you, Kreacher," he added. A steaming cup floated over almost instantly.

"Are you sure you should go?" Harry asked.

"Hmm?" Padfoot said, somewhat distantly.

"I asked if you're all right to go," Harry sighed.

"Oh," Padfoot said, coming back to the present. "Yeah, I'll be fine, kiddo." He grinned as if to
prove his point.

"And I can't come?" Harry wheedled.

"No," Padfoot said in a no-nonsense tone. "Tonight's going to be tricky enough without a
human there."

"So next time?"

"Nice try, kiddo," Padfoot said, ruffling his hair.

"Worth a try," Harry said, shrugging.

Padfoot shook his head, smiling. "Are you going to be all right? I haven't really left you alone
before-"
"You left me alone after the cave," Harry said.

Padfoot made a face and gestured for Harry to follow him upstairs. "Yes, and you ended up in
St Mungo's for a week."

"There aren't any Inferi around," Harry said as they started up the main staircase. "Those elf
heads that used to hang here were scary enough but I never saw them attack anyone."

Padfoot laughed. "My Uncle Alphard said Kreacher's mother was a piece of work."

"Which one was she?" Harry asked as they passed the library.

"The one with the lopsided ears."

Harry laughed. "No, really."

"I am serious," Padfoot said laughing. "In every way."

Harry grimaced. "None of the elf heads had lopsided ears."

"Did so," Padfoot said, pushing the door to his bedroom open.

"Did not." Harry followed him in and flopped down on the end of his bed. Padfoot dug a
rucksack out from under his desk and crossed to the dresser.

A change of clothes were carefully folded and arranged to Padfoot's liking and then he
retrieved a spare pillow and a blanket from the cupboard in the corner - they'd had to find a
different place to store their spare bedding after Kreacher moved into the linen cupboard on
the landing. Padfoot folded the blanket as well as he could, shrank the pillow and then left the
room to fetch his toothbrush.

Harry took Padfoot's mirror off of the bedside table and murmured, "James Potter." James'
smiling face appeared. "Hi," Harry said. James waved at him and said something to someone
Harry couldn't see. "Hi, Mum," he added, because though he'd never seen her, he was almost
positive she was with James. James beamed.

"Padfoot told me the story about the Acromantula on the full moon, Dad," he said, a little
shyly. "I thought it was really funny but Moony said you were furious when you found out,
Mum." James laughed and said something over his shoulder. "It's a full moon tonight."

"You're missing out, Prongs," Padfoot called, returning with his toothbrush, toothpaste and
food he'd obviously raided from the kitchen. All were deposited into his now rather full
rucksack.

"Bye," Harry whispered, passing the mirror to his godfather. James waved again.

"I've got to go, Prongs, no time to chat unfortunately but I know you're watching us from
wherever you are so keep an eye on your kid-" Padfoot grinned at Harry. "-tonight. Keep him
in line and all that. I'll say hi to Moony for you, shall I?" Padfoot's voice wavered ever so
slightly and he muttered a goodbye before tucking his mirror into his pocket. "Shut up," he
muttered.

"What?" Harry said.

"Nothing, nothing... Now," Padfoot said, shouldering his rucksack, "please behave tonight.
No brewing if you don't mind. You can practice your spells if you'd like but only in the
training room and nothing flammable or explosive, got it?"

Harry rolled his eyes - the Dursleys had also been under the impression that Harry couldn't be
left alone without destroying something - but nodded. It seemed fair, especially since
Harry was still prone to lighting things on fire while he slept; Padfoot had put a Fire-Freezing
Charm on his bedroom.

"Keep your wand on you at all times, don't answer the door - Moony's the only one who rings
the doorbell anyway and he'll be indisposed tonight - don't leave the house, and if anything
goes wrong, send a message with Hedwig - she'll be able to cover the distance in about an
hour."

"Okay," Harry said, shrugging.

"Good," Padfoot said. "There's food if you're hungry, books if you're bored or you could talk
Kreacher into playing Exploding Snap or Snitch-and-Seeker-" That was what wizards called
Hide-and-Seek, Harry had learned. "-or get him to tell you a story or-"

"Padfoot," Harry said laughing, "it's fine."

"Oh, and make sure you're in bed at a reasonable hour. Kreacher can make you breakfast if
you're up early but I should be home by about seven anyway-"

"Padfoot," Harry said.

"I know I've forgotten something," Padfoot muttered, crossing to the door.

"Forgotten something?" Harry asked, trailing after him. "I think you've just recited an entire
parenting textbook!"

Padfoot ignored that and then said, "Aha! Don't go near the Floo or that bloody locket."

"I won't," Harry assured him. "Say hi to Moony for me."

"I will," Padfoot said. And then, almost as if he was speaking to himself, said, "There. How's
that for responsible guardianship?"

"Surprisingly good," Harry offered.

"I'll see you in the morning," Padfoot said with a smug smile.
Padfoot pushed the back gate open and walked slowly along the stone path that led to the
forest. A slight breeze ruffled his fur and the grass under his paws felt better than he could
have imagined after so long inside. He'd missed the simplicity of the world when he was like
this, too; he'd had a lot on his mind lately but none of that seemed to matter to him at the
moment. It was particularly nice not to feel the effects of the Dementor's Draught, which
chattered away at him constantly.

He let out a happy, doggy sigh and trotted forward. He was a few yards into the trees when a
large, sandy mass emerged and growled quietly. Padfoot barked a greeting, refusing to let
Moony's lingering pain ruin his brilliant mood, and the wolf's ears twitched.

He loped over and jammed his cold nose into Padfoot's shoulder. Padfoot's tongue lolled out
and he nudged the wolf's neck and gave his ear a nip. Moony snorted. Padfoot backed off a
little; Moony was taller than he had been all those years ago and probably not used to
company anymore.

Moony came over to sniff him again and then his ears perked up and his tail began to wag
slowly; he had recognised Padfoot and was happy to see him. Padfoot could smell it. Moony
bounced closer and gave Padfoot an excited bump and nipped his ear the way Padfoot had
done before. Padfoot barked and Moony barked back.

Moony remained excited - he chased Padfoot and Padfoot chased him for a good few minutes
- until he stopped suddenly. Padfoot ran into his side but he didn't even notice. Moony turned
his large head to look at Padfoot. Brown eyes - which looked remarkably human - met grey
ones and Moony made a soft woofing sound and flattened his ears against his skull.

Padfoot backed away, recognising the potential danger sign both instinctually and from the
memories of full moons long ago. Moony didn't attack though. He made the noise again and
then whined and looked around, his tail drooping. Only after Moony had taken several more
looks around did Padfoot understand.

He was looking for Prongs.

That ruined Padfoot's good mood pretty quickly, although he wasn't in a bad mood, just a sad
one. Padfoot barked once, quietly, and sat down, resting his head on his paws. Moony
whimpered again. Padfoot let out a sighing noise and then whined once. Moony's tail was
well and truly between his legs now and his entire body seemed to slump.

He came over and nudged Padfoot's side with his nose and then he tilted his head back and
howled a loud, mournful note to the moon and to the stars because the stag wasn't there,
because the stag never would be again.

There was no anger this time, as there had been other times when one of them couldn't make
it. The wolf knew this was different. Padfoot could smell it, the grief, and the longing and the
pain. Moony howled again and Padfoot stood, padded over to the wolf's side and joined his
lament.

Quite a while later, when the howling had stopped, the wolf began to glance around again,
this time looking near their paws instead of head-level. He was looking for Wormtail.
Padfoot bared his teeth and let out a long snarling sound. Moony watched curiously but after
a moment, he seemed to understand. He bared his own teeth - significantly longer and
pointier than Padfoot's - and growled once before he turned and walked into the underbrush,
his nose to the ground.

He was looking for Wormtail, for the traitor. For the one who'd destroyed their pack. Padfoot
followed eagerly, excited at the prospect of a hunt, though the human in him knew the traitor
wasn't anywhere near here. His teeth stayed bared, ready to tear the rat - or any other rat they
came across - to shreds.

"Has there been news, Albus?" Minerva whispered.

Dumbledore shook his head and Fawkes let out a mournful cry. Severus managed not to roll
his eyes, but only just; it had been a week since the boy vanished from his St Mungo's room.
Severus had thought Lupin was a prime candidate for that but he'd been home when
Dumbledore went to visit less than five minutes later and supposedly cleaning up the remains
of a late dinner which indicated he'd been there for quite some time, instead of at the hospital,
stealing James Potter's son.

It irked a bit. Severus would have liked someone to blame for Dumbledore's incessant
worrying. The magical residue analysis had been useless; the wards at St Mungo's destroyed
magical residue because it could affect patients with magical ailments. As such, there was no
way of knowing when or how Potter had escaped, or who had been there to help him.

Severus had given up trying to understand how it had happened, and decided Black had
managed something supposedly impossible - like his escape from Azkaban - yet again. That
someone as mediocre as Black could accomplish something as... not mediocre... bothered
Severus more than he cared to admit.

"I'm sure the boy is fine," Severus said impatiently. "He was alive as of a week ago, which
indicates Black may not be as determined to kill him as we originally thought."

Minerva gave him a look that suggested he was being deliberately obtuse. "You've never had
one positive thing to say about Sirius Black in all the time I've known you, Severus," she said
a little thickly, "and you choose nowof all times to begin?"

"It was hardly a positive thing," Severus said stiffly. "I'm merely thoroughly tired of hearing
old news spoken about as if it's new."

Minerva bristled. "There is a child missing, Severus. Surely even you-"

"Minerva," Dumbledore said quietly, though he looked troubled.

Severus' lip curled. Missing children were not a matter to be taken lightly, even if this child in
particular seemed to make a habit of conveniently vanishing from where he was supposed to
be. A troublemaker like his wretched father, Severus thought scathingly.
He had, of course, considered a visit to Grimmauld Place. It would be the responsible thing to
do, given the circumstances, but three things had stopped him. Firstly, Black and Potter - both
of whom ranked in the top ten of Severus' most loathed list (Pettigrew, Potter, Black, the
Dark Lord, Lupin, Tobias Snape, the Longbottom boy, Bellatrix, Potter's spawn and Petunia
Evans) - resided there.

Secondly, it wasn't his business whether the Potter boy was safe - dubious though safety was
with Black as a guardian. He had no valid reason to drop by other than to ease his own
infuriating conscience, which kept reminding him that he had promised Dumbledore - and
later Lily Evans' grave - that he would protect the boy.

Thirdly, if something was amiss and the Potter boy wasn't there, or he was injured, he would
become Severus' problem, at least for the immediate future. That too was unacceptable. He
can rot, Severus thought irritably as both Dumbledore and Minerva talked in quiet, anxious
voices. They both can.

Harry was just taking his glasses off for bed when the doorbell clanged through the house.
Mrs Black's portrait started to complain from the linen cupboard on the landing but it seemed
she'd mellowed since being moved there - Kreacher was the only one she ever had any
contact with and apparently that suited her - because Harry hadn't heard her shriek since
arriving back from St Mungo's.

He jammed his glasses back on, snatched up his wand and hissed, "Kreacher!" Kreacher
materialised a moment later, in the middle of Harry's dark bedroom. "Don't answer the door,"
Harry told him.

"Master Sirius gave Kreacher his orders," Kreacher said. "Master was specific as always."
His voice dropped and he muttered - half to himself, half to Harry - in somewhat grudging,
somewhat admiring tones. "So specific, in fact, that Kreacher cannot even go on the ground
floor tonight, though Kreacher is sure Master has his reasons."

"Yeah, he does," Harry assured the elf.

The doorbell rang again and Mrs Black called for Kreacher to answer it. Kreacher twitched,
as if he was about to do as he was told but then visibly restrained himself; he was only
allowed to follow the portrait's orders if he asked Padfoot for permission first. The doorbell
rang a third time. Kreacher left to calm his poor Mistress and Harry crossed to the window to
try to see who it was.

He squinted, trying to make out the figure in the dim glow of the street light. He couldn't tell
if it was a man or a woman, how old they were, or how tall. He couldn't even tell what they
were wearing; they just looked like a shadow. Probably just a muggle salesman, he thought,
trying to calm himself down.

Odd hours to come at, but that's fine. The figure moved as Harry watched and then extended
an arm. Harry assumed it was to tug on the string that rang the doorbell. They'll go away
when no one answers.
The sound of the front door opening, and the sound of someone stepping onto the squeaky
floorboard just inside the door, drifted up the stairs. Harry thought he might be sick. Gripping
his wand so tightly his knuckles were white, he ran out onto the landing and peered over the
banister where he could see the end of the ground floor hallway illuminated by the lamps that
came on whenever someone entered the house.

A dark figure walked into view, peering down the stairs at the dark kitchen and then began to
tilt their head up. Harry threw himself down onto the floor. His existence should be concealed
by the Fidelius Charm but he wasn't taking any chances. He counted to five and then crawled
forward, looking between the rails instead of over them this time, but the intruder was gone.

The lamp light from downstairs guttered out and plunged the house into darkness again.
There was a low curse from the stairwell and then a faint white light lit up on the second
floor.

Harry opened Kreacher's cupboard door, grabbed the elf with no more explanation than,
"Shh!" and dragged him into his room. He closed the door as much as he could without it
actually clicking shut in the hopes it would muffle any noise - thought Ostendere me omnia -
and then span on the spot.

They landed in the dark, but it was warm and the quiet gurgle of water told Harry he'd
brought them to the right place. Kreacher snapped his fingers and a little candle sitting atop
the boiler flared into life.

"There's someone in the house," Harry breathed.

"An intruder in the House of Black!" Kreacher croaked, looking stricken. He snapped his
fingers again and a heavy, copper saucepan appeared in his hand. Harry stared at him.
"Master Harry will stay here and safe," he croaked.

"Where are you going?" Harry whispered. The menacing look in Kreacher's eyes was enough
of an answer as he flicked a hand at the door and it popped open. "You can't go alone!" Harry
said, scrambling out of the den after him. Kreacher, unlike Harry, wasn't protected by the
Fidelius Charm.

"Kreacher is capable of protecting his home and his Master," Kreacher said, hefting the pan.
He took a step toward the kitchen stairs and let out a quiet shriek. Harry jumped and knocked
one of the chairs over.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"Magic," Kreacher croaked. "Sent to find us."

"They know we're here?" Harry asked, alarmed. "But the Fidel-" Kreacher's bony fingers
wrapped around Harry's forearm and then they were in Harry's bedroom again. The lamps on
the walls were blazing merrily. Harry shivered; the intruder must have left them on.
"Kreacher, what-?" he whispered.
"Quietly, Master Harry," Kreacher said edging toward the door. Harry tip-toed after him and
peered out onto the landing. It was clear, and the pair crept out to the top of the stairs. A dark
shape moved on the third floor, headed down. Kreacher lifted his pan determinedly and
moved silently onto the stairs. Harry followed, wand aloft.

They were moving faster than the intruder, who seemed to be checking each room on the way
down. Kreacher stopped suddenly midway down the stairs - Harry walked into the back of
him with a quiet, "Oof! Sorry!" - and glanced around the next bend in the stairs.

The intruder, a tall shadow, was on the first floor landing, looking into the drawing room.
Without hesitation, Kreacher snapped his fingers and the intruder fell to the floor with a
thump. Their wandlight went out, plunging the landing back into darkness.

"You didn't kill them, did you?" Harry whispered.

Kreacher made a strange noise that could have been a laugh - though Harry wasn't sure that
house elves couldlaugh - and prowled forward to nudge the prone form onto its back with his
foot, seeming satisfied. Suddenly, the pan dropped. It landed disturbingly close to the
intruder's head and rang dully when it hit the carpet.

Kreacher keeled over with a high-pitched moan, clutching his head. Harry took a step
forward, not entirely sure what was happening, at least until the intruder's rigid body relaxed
and they sat up and lifted their wand.

"Digitum Moverum!" Harry yelled and the intruder's fingers twitched uncontrollably. The
wand dropped silently to the carpet and Harry dove for it, only to be shoved - quite hard, out
of the way. He couldn't see the intruder - his back was to them - but he knew one spell that
might be effective. "Lumos Maxima!" he shouted.

His wand lit up brilliantly, blinding Harry but also the intruder; there was a curse and the
sound of movement behind him. He spun, ready to use another spell and then his stomach
lurched and he found himself staring at the carpet. Kreacher was still keening on the ground.

"Did no one ever inform you it was rude to attack house guests?" a snide voice asked. The
lamps on the walls sputtered into life and Harry found himself looking into the eyes of a
flushed, rather disgruntled Snape.

Harry wasn't sure whether to be relieved or terrified. "We... er... don't get many visitors. Sir,"
he added hastily.

"After such a warm welcome, one can only imagine why," Snape said in a voice laced with
sarcasm. Harry pushed his glasses up - gravity was trying its best to pull them off his face -
and tried to look as unruffled as he could given that he was dangling six feet in the air by his
ankle; his sock was just brushing the ceiling.

It's not exactly polite to wander into someone else's house unannounced, he thought, but
didn't dare voice it.
"I suppose your troglodytic godfather is waiting to ambush me on the next level?" Snape
continued, sounding bored.

"Er... No," Harry promised, though he had no idea what 'troglodytic' meant. "Your spell
would have picked that up, wouldn't it?" Snape looked surprised and then inclined his head.
"Could you maybe let me down, please? Sir." Snape stooped to examine the copper pan
Kreacher had armed himself with and then straightened to meet Harry's eyes.

"Can you and your elf be trusted not to assault me?" Harry glanced at Kreacher, who was
curled up and obviously in pain, but quiet.

"Yes." Snape flicked his wand and Harry dropped to the ground, not gently, but not as hard as
he should have. He immediately scrambled over to Kreacher's side. "What did you do to
him?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Snape said, his expression unreadable.

"It's not nothing!" Harry said, watching Kreacher's eyes flicker beneath his eyelids, like he
was experiencing a particularly bad nightmare. The elf whimpered. "You've hurt him!"
Snape's eyes widened just enough for Harry to notice but he regained control quickly.

"I did nothing of the kind."

Liar, Harry thought, glaring at him. He gave Kreacher's arm a squeeze and the elf's eyes
snapped open. They landed on Harry and then fluttered shut again, but it was peaceful this
time. Harry took a moment to make sure he was breathing and then relaxed. He shot another
glare at Snape, whose face was blank.

"I require a word with Black."

"He's not here," Harry said. "Sir."

"And where might he be?" Snape's eyes, cold and dark bored into Harry's.

"Out," Harry said, meeting his gaze squarely.

"I see," Snape said, his expression turning from mildly irritated to almost furious. "And when
will he next grace you with his presence?"

"Morning," Harry said.

Snape's lip curled. "He left you alone, overnight?"

"I have Kreacher," Harry said defensively. Snape's eyes flicked to Kreacher's limp form and
he didn't need to say anything for Harry to know what he was thinking.

Several expressions flitted over his pallid face and then he said, "Pack a bag."

"What?" Harry asked.

"You will return to Hogwarts with me," Snape said. "I will bring you back in the morning
when I come to speak with Black."

"I can't go to Hogwarts!" Harry said. "I'm not old enough, and people would recognise me!
And what if Padfoot came back and I wasn't here?! I-"

"I will not let you stay here alone," Snape said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Harry argued anyway.

"Let me?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. Snape actually flinched. Harry wondered why but
didn't ask. "With all due respect, sir, I really don't think that's up to you." His voice was the
perfect mix between Padfoot's sarcasm and Moony's polite disbelief. Harry was quite proud
of himself. "I was told not to leave the house-"

"You are nine years old. You are not old enough to spend the night alone."

"I had Kreacher," Harry snapped.

"No longer."

And whose fault is that? Harry thought scathingly.

"Pack a bag," Snape repeated.

"You'll... Do you promise to bring me back in the morning?" Harry asked tentatively.

"It seems Black's stupidity is contagious," Snape remarked and then said more loudly, "I have
already made that clear, Potter."

"What about Kreacher?" Harry asked stubbornly.

Snape glanced at the sleeping house elf. "He'll have a headache when he wakes."

"But he'll be okay?" Harry pressed.

Snape gave him a look that had Harry scurrying upstairs to pack his rucksack.

"I thought most children slept at night," Snape remarked from his corner.

Harry looked up tiredly. They'd Flooed directly to Snape's quarters in the dungeons of
Hogwarts - at first Harry thought Snape was going to lock him up until morning - some six
hours ago. Harry had, despite his guilt for going against one of the few rules Padfoot had set,
made it through without getting lost or hurt.

Snape's quarters were dark and simple; green carpet (which Harry had got ash on) covered
the floor and the walls were dull grey stone, though one was decorated with a Slytherin
banner and the other was comprised solely of a bookshelf.
There was a black leather couch next to that, a lumpy bed in one corner, a door opposite
which led to a small bathroom, and a desk and cabinet in another corner. There were another
two doors - one alongside the cabinet and desk, and one embedded in the bookshelf wall (the
shelf arched around it) - that Snape had not told Harry about and he had known better than to
ask.

Snape had conjured a camp bed right beside the bathroom door and directed Harry there
immediately before settling onto his couch. He obviously had no intention of sleeping while
Harry was in the room and Harry was much the same.

He could imagine nothing worse than having a nightmare and having to explain why he'd set
Snape on fire, or accidentally telling Snape about the Horcruxes (whatever they were) or
having to be woken by Snape at six-thirty to go home.

Harry fiddled with the pieces of Regulus' snake puzzle, pleased he'd had the foresight to bring
it and said, "I'm not tired." That lie may have fooled Snape - though Harry somehow doubted
it - but the yawn that followed well and truly gave him away.

He stuffed the puzzle back into his rucksack and pulled out the book he'd brought so that he
had something to hide behind. Snape sneered and looked back to the papers he was marking
with an irritated expression.

"Tell me, Potter-" he said suddenly. Harry started - Snape had hardly spoken to him all night -
and glanced up. "-how long a Polyjuice Potion should take to brew." Harry blinked. He'd
never heard of a Poly-whatever-it-was Potion before.

"I don't know, sir," he said, peeking over the top of his book.

"If I were to tell you it was an extremely complex and delicate potion..." Snape prompted.

"A long time then, I suppose," Harry said tentatively. Snape smiled viciously and scribbled a
large 'T' on the parchment he was holding.

"You are nine years old, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said nervously. Snape added a comment beneath that and picked up another
piece of parchment. His dark eyes flicked back and forward for a few moments and then he
etched another 'T' onto that parchment with a flourish. "What do those letters mean?" Harry
blurted. "I've never seen them used as a grade-"

"Wizards have a different grading system than muggles," Snape said.

"Oh." That made sense. "What do they stand for?"

"Outstanding, Exceeds Expectations, Acceptable, Poor, Dreadful and Troll."

"Troll?" Harry asked.

"It is synonymous with Gryffindor," Snape remarked, scribbling something down on the
parchment he was holding.
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying Gryffindors are trolls?" he asked carefully. Snape
marked something with an 'A' and glanced up.

"Not at all," he said slowly, and fixed Harry with a look that Harry couldn't read but felt
mocked by nonetheless. "I'm merely saying their ability in my subject could be rivalled by a
creature with a brain no larger than your fist."

Harry made a fist and stared at it for a few seconds before saying, "They can't be that bad."

Snape's lip curled. "Talented Potions students are few and far between and the only one I've
known who came from Gryffindor finished school before you were born."

"If you think students are stupid, why do you teach?" Snape scratched another mark - and 'E'
this time - onto an essay. Harry waited.

"If you're expecting me to justify my choices to you, Potter, then you're as delusional as your
father and godfather." Harry frowned and glanced back at his book; it was about Dementors,
something Harry had taken to reading about to try to find a solution other than chocolate that
would fully heal Padfoot.

Snape gave him a superior look and grabbed another roll of parchment. After a moment,
Harry glanced up again and fixed Snape with a speculative look.

"Yes, Potter?" Snape asked, sounding resigned. Harry flushed and looked down.

"Nothing."

"How extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter. It would seem the penchant to waste
my time is genetic." Harry swallowed a rude comment.

"Sorry," he muttered instead. His eyes flicked up to Snape again.

"What?" Snape asked, sounding irritated.

"Could- could I ask you something?"

"Just like your father, indeed," Snape sneered. "Always assuming I have nothing better to do
than entertain your every whim-" Harry bit down on his tongue to stop himself from telling
Snape to shut up about his father.

"Could you tell me about Dementors?" Harry asked. Snape's face drained of colour.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, sounding stunned.

"Well, I'm reading about them, but I thought maybe if you explained it I might be able to
understand better-" He always learnt faster when he had a chance to practice – if it was a
spell or potion – or when Padfoot talked him through it. He envied Padfoot a bit, for being
able to read something and so it. "-and I can't ask Padf- Sirius-" He could not, of course,
mention Moony. "-so I thought that maybe you-?"
"There is nothing I can tell you that you will not find in your book," Snape said stiffly. "And
as for asking Black, I see no reason why you should not. He is surely an expert by now."
Harry frowned. "Although, if I remember correctly, Black's retention skills have always been
somewhat... lacking." That was one comment too many.

"Why are you so horrible to them?" Harry asked. He didn't recall grabbing it, but his wand
was in his hand, spitting sparks. "I know you didn't get along with Dad and Padfoot in school,
but-"

"How touching," Snape said softly. "James Potter's son has taken his father's place as Black's
number one defender." Harry glowered at him. Snape met his eyes, rolled up the parchment
he was reading and set his quill down. He got to his feet and swept over to Harry's camp bed
and bent so that he and Harry were the same height. "Allow me to shatter any delusions you
have, Potter; Black is a monster. He was capable of murder at the age of sixteen and your
precious father was no better."

"Padfoot wouldn't-" Harry protested.

"Wouldn't he?" Snape sneered, showing his yellow teeth. "Black, Potter and Lupin - who the
Headmaster tells me you became fond of during your time in St Mungo's - plotted to kill me
in our fifth year. They should have been expelled. Your guardian may have been wrongfully
imprisoned over the whole Secret Keeper fiasco, but let there be no doubt he belonged there."

"You're wrong," Harry said, furiously. He pushed it down with an effort. Not long now - I can
go home in ten minutes. I just have to stay-

"I assure you I'm not." Snape smiled nastily. "The truth hurts, doesn't it, Potter." Snape
straightened and turned back toward the couch.

"I think you're jealous," Harry said, glaring at him.

Snape's sneer faltered just enough for Harry to know he'd hit a nerve but then he said,
"Obviously. However did you guess I've always aspired to be an obnoxious toerag?"

"Padfoot's not an obnoxious toerag!" Harry snapped.

"I wasn't talking about your godfather," Snape said with another nasty smile.

"My dad wasn't either!"

"As far as I know, Potter, you've never really met the man. Surely you can't think you know
better than those of us who have had the... pleasure..." Snape's lip curled, "of doing so."

But-but Dad was good. Dad was an Order member. "Padfoot said-"

"Your godfather worshipped the ground your saintly father walked on," Snape continued
mercilessly. "He wouldn't be able to see a fault in James Potter if it were a bludger that flew
into the side of his overly large head."
"SHUT UP!" Harry shouted. Several heavy books exploded off of the bookshelf and the
Slytherin banner swayed in a non-existent wind. The papers Snape was marking flew out of
their neat pile and scattered.

"I say-" a portrait of a sallow faced woman on Snape's desk exclaimed. Harry stuffed his
book back into his rucksack and stood.

"Potter, what-" Harry ignored him, stalked toward the fireplace, grabbed a handful of Floo
Powder, and vanished.
 Into the wolf's den

"Harry!" Padfoot, who had been pacing in front of the kitchen table, looked up, stepped
forward and intercepted Harry as he came out of the fire. "Cupboard!" he said, waving a hand
at a rather green Kreacher, who bowed unsteadily and vanished with far more noise than
usual.

"You're here?" Harry asked, paling. He hadn't thought Padfoot would be home for a while
yet. He'd hoped to get rid of Snape without there being a confrontation between the snarky
Professor and his godfather.

There go my chances of that, he thought grimly.

"Where in Merlin's name have you been?!" Padfoot demanded, looking truly angry for one of
the first times Harry had ever seen. He pulled Harry into a tight hug and then let him go and
held him by the shoulders. "Kreacher doesn't remember anything - he didn't even know you
were gone!"

"I had him reading the wards again to find out where you'd got to! I thought you knew better
than to just go wandering off, especially without leaving me a note! Did you forget about
Hedwig?" Harry had and was sure Padfoot could read that right off of his face. "Don't you
remember what happened last time you went in the Floo!?"

"Yes, I remember," Harry snapped. His shock at finding Padfoot home early - and supremely
irritated - had vanished and his bad mood had returned. Padfoot looked taken aback at his
tone and then frowned.

"Don't get shirty with me, Harry. I asked you not to leave the house, I trusted you to do what
you were told-"

"It wasn't my fault!" Padfoot arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, really? Whose fault was it, then? Mine? Moony's? Kreac-" Snape chose that moment to
step out of the fireplace. Padfoot's wand was at his throat in an instant.

"Nice to see you're back where you're supposed to be, Black," he said, pushing it down.

"You," Padfoot snarled. "You took Harry?" Snape's eyes flicked to Harry, who wanted nothing
more than to sink into the floor. At least Padfoot wasn't angry with him now.

"How is the elf?" Snape asked, rolling his own wand between his fingers.

"What did you do to him?" Padfoot asked.

"Nothing permanent," Snape said with a nasty smile.

"What do you want?" Padfoot asked after a moment of silence. Harry sank into a chair, his
eyes shifting between his godfather and Snape.
"To know why you were off... marauding... while the boy was here."

"And that's your business for what reason?" Padfoot asked coolly. "You didn't want to
implicate yourself, or help, last I knew, Snape. Why the change of heart?"

"Because someone has to care for the boy and it is becoming increasingly obvious that you're
not capable."

"You can't help yourself, can you?" Padfoot asked with a grimace. "You just have to stick that
oversized snout of yours into other people's business." Snape's face turned a pale pink, but his
voice was no less venomous.

"I know where you were last night."

"Congratulations. Remind me again why it's your concern?"

"I saw the moon," Snape sneered. "Anyone who's not a complete dunderhead could work out
what you were doing."

"How in Merlin's name did you manage it, then?" Padfoot asked, looking genuinely
astonished. Snape's face turned pinker.

"You should be locked up," he snarled. "The only reason you're not is because someone else
would have to put up with Potter's spawn and it's far more convenient to inflict you on each
other than on innocent members of the public-"

"I hope you don't mean yourself when you say innocent."

"I certainly didn't mean you."

"Your last visit was to tell me I was innocent," Padfoot sneered. "Remember?" Snape's eyes
narrowed. "So are you a liar, or just fickle? Because I can't think of any other explanat- ack!"
Snape stepped forward and caught Padfoot by the throat.

Harry launched himself over, trying to get between them but Snape waved his wand and
Harry was sent stumbling backwards. When he tried to move, he found his shoes stuck to the
floor. He bent to undo his shoelaces but they were stiff, like wire and wouldn't unknot. He
also found he couldn't speak. Meanwhile Snape's hand was back around Padfoot's throat, and
Padfoot's wand was at Snape's.

"Give me a reason, Black. 'Innocent' or not, I'll do it." Snape pressed his wand into Padfoot's
neck.

"Killing me would somewhat ruin your innocence," Padfoot said, his voice about as strong as
it could possibly be, given his constricted airway. "And then you'd need to make
arrangements for Harry. And then, of course," Padfoot choked, "would come the questions
about how you knew where to find Harry and me, and what the circumstances of my death
were."

"Excuses can be made."

"Certainly," Padfoot agreed in a surprisingly civil tone. "But how quickly? When there are
several hours between my recorded time of death in the Department of Magical Records'
birth and death registry and you coming forward, they'll get suspicious." Snape's hand
tightened. "And they'll be more than suspicious when you get a mention in my will."

"What?"

"To Snivellus Snape," Padfoot said, his eyes glinting, "I leave the book Killer Curses so the
next person he kills can have a more exciting death than the one he gave me. Commutatio
Donum Mortis." A silver star fizzled out of his wand tip, alarmingly close to Snape's face.

"Undo it," Snape growled, releasing Padfoot and shoving him back. Several chairs went
tumbling to the ground and Padfoot collided with the table with a painful thud.

"No," he said, quite calmly.

"Now."

"Sod off, Snivelly. When have I ever listened to you?"

"You would do well to listen to me," Snape said. "I may not kill you, but I can still turn you
over to the Dementors." Padfoot shivered, his expression distant. A moment later, he smiled.

"You wouldn't dare," Padfoot said. Snape looked as confused about that as Harry was.

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

"No," Padfoot said, picking himself up off of the ground. He placed himself between Snape
and Harry. "Because I'll tell them all about you."

"You won't have the chance."

"Won't I? I rather think they'll want me brought to trial. It restores confidence in the system,
you see. And they'll want me questioned. You don't really think they'd send me back to
Azkaban before figuring out how I escaped, do you? And they'll want to know where I lived,
and how I avoided them for as long as I did. I'm sure I could find some way to slip your name
into the conversation."

"I'll take you straight to the Dementors. You'll be Kissed the moment they see you." Snape's
smile was all yellow teeth.

"That'd be unfortunate. For you. I don't know if you know this, Snivellus, but a Kissed person
is considered dead." Snape's smile slid off his face. "If I'm Kissed, my will would be brought
out and you'll be implicated." Padfoot was smiling pleasantly now. "If you act against me,
Snivellus, your life is ruined." Padfoot didn't look overly upset at the prospect. Snape's wand
spat black and green sparks. Harry might have taken a step backward if his shoes weren't
stuck.

"And Lupin?" Snape asked softly. "I can't attack you directly, Black, but you've always been
protective of your pet." Now Padfoot's wand was spitting sparks. "I could out him for
conspiring with you." Snape's eyes flashed with suppressed glee. Harry thought he saw terror
pass over Padfoot's face but it was gone a moment later and he didn't think Snape had noticed
it at all.

"Conspiring with me?" Padfoot asked, looking puzzled. "Remus?"

"Don't tell me he's not-" Snape began impatiently.

"The last time I saw him," Padfoot said in a disbelieving tone, "he could have quite happily
killed me and not felt guilty at all."

"Indeed?" Snape asked. "Explain then, Black, where you were last night, if not crouched on
the other side of a reinforced door, whispering comforts to your furry friend."

"You think I'd go anywhere near him as a human, on a full moon?" Padfoot asked, looking
stunned. "I think the potion fumes have muddled your brain!"

"You never answered my question," Snape said menacingly.

"Not that it's any of your business," Padfoot mumbled, "but you're obviously not about to
leave this alone..." He swallowed, glanced briefly in Harry's direction as if urging him to play
along, and then whispered, "I was dealing with my own... problems."

"And what problems might those be, Black?" Snape sneered. Padfoot righted one of the
fallen chairs and sank into it.

"A few nights before Harry's birthday in July, I went out to buy him a birthday present. It was
night - I didn't want Harry guessing where I was - and I was leaving the Leaky Cauldron
when I was attacked." He looked up at Snape. "You've heard of Greyback, I'm sure?"

Snape, who looked uncertain, nodded. Padfoot pulled the collar of his t-shirt down to reveal a
nasty scar on his neck.

"Impressive, isn't it? I was able to stop the bleeding, but that sort of a bite can't be healed."

"You're a werewolf?" Snape looked a little afraid now, but also skeptical.

"Oh, yes," Padfoot said. He bared his teeth and Harry could have sworn they were longer and
pointier than usual, and that his eyes had darkened slightly. Snape inched backwards. "It's not
so bad, most of the time. Full moons are by far the worst."

"Liar," Snape said.

"You're a Legillimens, aren't you?" Padfoot asked. "Have a look. Watch me transform."

Snape's eyes narrowed and then Padfoot winced, but seemed to be focusing on something.
After a moment, Snape blinked and moved his head to the side, while Padfoot slumped back
into his chair.

"The boy is coming with me," Snape said.

"You can't do that," Padfoot said firmly, leaping to his feet. "I'm his guardian-"

"Your kind are unable to obtain ownership of children that are not your own," Snape hissed.

"I'm not a danger to him. I killed the last wolf that came near him!" Snape looked startled.
"You know he was in hospital, don't you?" Padfoot said. "Greyback sent one of his lot after
Harry. It wasn't a full moon, though. They were only supposed to capture him. We put up a
bit more of a fight than they expected." Padfoot smiled that very toothy smile again. "Harry
was hurt so I sent him to Remus by Portkey-"

"So you admit he helped you? Your kind band together as I seem to recall-"

"I had limited options as you can imagine, and while Remus might hate me, I trusted him to
do the right thing for Harry. As for banding together... I tracked the wolf that attacked us back
to the camp he was housed at, killed him and then stole Harry back from St Mungo's. After
Azkaban, a hospital was nothing." Padfoot smiled and Snape leaned away from him.

"I worried about tonight after everything that's happened so I left Harry here, with Kreacher,
and went a long way away to transform. Turns out I needn't have worried. Nothing attacked
me." His eyes darkened. "It seems the danger was here, instead."

"The boy isn't safe," Snape said, looking pale.

"That's hardly true," Padfoot scoffed. "I remove myself on full moons and I'm harmless the
rest of the time." His eyes flicked to Snape. "Unless I'm provoked."

Snape flicked his wand at Harry who found he could move and talk again. "A new home can
be arranged for you, Potter, if you so desire."

"And where would he go?" Padfoot asked. "If you thought he was better off with his aunt
than he is with me, you'd have tried to take him last time you visited. And unless you want to
take him, which I'm positive isn't the case-"

"I asked the boy, Black, not you."

"I don't want a new home," Harry said coolly. "My parents trusted P- Sirius to look after me.
I trust him too."

"This is the only time I will offer my assistance," Snape said, his black eyes boring into
Harry's green ones. Harry stared right back. Snape was the first to look away. "Idiot boy."

"Don't talk to him that way," Padfoot growled. Snape gave him a look of utter loathing. He
grabbed a handful of Floo Powder with a superior expression, as if daring Padfoot to
comment on it, and vanished in a whirl of green flames.

"Holy Hufflepuff," Padfoot said, looking stunned. Harry sank into the chair next to him,
unable to believe what had just happened. "Snape thinks I'm a werewolf. I told Snape I was a
werewolf!" Padfoot laughed weakly and ran his hands through his hair.
Harry let out a little stunned laugh too. "I almost believed you myself." Padfoot looked rather
pleased with himself. "What's Legi-whatever it was?"

"Legillimency. Muggles would call it mind-reading."

"He read your mind?!" Harry exclaimed.

"Only what I showed him, kiddo."

"Which was...?"

"My first ever Animagus transformation." Padfoot grimaced. "It was... unpleasant."

"Does it hurt?"

"Oh, yes. Only the first time, though," Padfoot said. "After that, your magic and your body
are sort of used to it. Werewolves aren't quite as lucky."

"And the scar?" Harry asked.

"James was in hiding and Peter was sick-" Padfoot's face contorted briefly. "-or at least that's
what we believed at the time. I went with Remus, alone. He was trying out a potion made by
Belby, a bloke we'd known at school. The potion was supposed to calm him down but it had
the opposite effect and I couldn't leave him alone or he'd start attacking himself." He pulled a
face.

"When we got back in the morning we were both pretty mangled. Your mum and dad patched
us up but the healing was so delayed I was left with this." Padfoot ran a hand over his neck.
"It's pretty impressive if I do say so myself, although that's the first time I've ever actually
been believed when I told someone I got it from a werewolf."

"And your teeth? They were sharper." Padfoot smiled and Harry saw the teeth grow longer.

"I've been an Animagus for years," he said. His teeth shrank and grew as Harry watched.
"Internal organs and bone structures - minus teeth, of course - have to be done all at once, but
things like ears, eyes, teeth and fur can be done individually with enough practice." He
smiled.

"Your dad worked out how to grow antlers about a month before Halloween. Thought it was
terribly funny until Lily started hanging things on them." Harry laughed but it turned into a
yawn mid-way through. Padfoot noticed. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

"Er..."

"I suppose Snivelly sat you down on one of those horrible Potions stools and took himself off
to bed, did he?" Padfoot asked angrily.

"No, he didn't," Harry said. "He made me a camp bed. I just didn't want to sleep... in case...
yeah."
"Oh, kiddo," Padfoot sighed. He opened his arms and Harry went over for a hug. "You can
sleep today, if you'd like?" Harry shrugged. Padfoot watched him carefully for a moment and
then let him go, stretched, and made his way over to the stove. "Are you hungry, then?"

"Starving," Harry admitted.

"Does porridge sound all right?" Harry nodded, stifling another yawn. He dozed while
Padfoot dug through the cupboards, muttering to himself. "Where's the saucepan?" he asked a
moment later.

"What?" Harry forced his eyelids open; they'd been slowly slipping shut.

"The big copper one," Padfoot said, examining the empty hook with narrowed eyes. Harry
smiled sheepishly.

"Kreacher had it. It's on the second floor landing."

"Ah, that's right," Padfoot said, snapping his fingers. "I tripped on it when I was looking for
you." Harry grimaced. "Dare I ask what it's doing there?" Harry shrugged. "Accio pan."
There was a metallic ringing from upstairs and then a thud before it whizzed down the stairs
and into the kitchen. Padfoot caught it, muttered a quick charm that cleaned it and wandered
into the pantry. Harry pulled his glasses down so that he could rub his eyes. He traced the
wooden grain of the table to keep himself awake...

"Harry?" Padfoot's exasperatedly amused tone made Harry think that wasn't the first time
he'd been called.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said I'm sorry for snapping at you."

"Oh. S'okay," Harry said, yawning. Padfoot smiled at him and turned back to the stove.

"I would have been angry, obviously-" Padfoot's voice seemed to be coming from a long way
away."-but the Dementor-"

Next thing Harry knew, he was falling. He let out a little shout of surprise but there was
nothing to catch. The kitchen floor was remarkably soft, or maybe he was too tired to care.
He tried to push himself up before Padfoot noticed - he'd be laughed at for sure - but oddly,
Padfoot was already there, pushing him down into something soft.

"Is porridge ready?" Harry mumbled. Padfoot laughed and gently removed his glasses.
"What're you doing?" Harry reached, trying to get them back, but his hand only caught air.

"Sleep, kiddo," Padfoot said. He shrank into a black, furry blob which leapt up onto Harry's
blanket covered - Harry wondered where that had come from - legs. Harry wasn't sure how
that was even possible - because he was fairly sure he was lying on the kitchen floor - but he
wasn't about to argue. Maybe Padfoot had moved him. Padfoot made a noise that was a woof
crossed with a whine and then a cold, wet nose nudged Harry's hand.
He fell asleep petting the soft fur of Padfoot's ears.

Remus lay on his couch, feet dangling off the end because he was slightly taller than it was
long, and brushed his damp eyes. In the eight years since it had happened, he'd more or less
recovered from the grief that had come with losing Lily and James.

His wolf-self, however, had hardly given the stag a thought since that Halloween night,
except perhaps to wonder why he wasn't there or to hope that he'd show up next time. And
then - while Remus the man already knew it - Remus the wolf had learned from his old pack-
mate that the stag was gone.

It was like losing James all over again.

He'd managed to hold himself together while Sirius patched up a graze on his shoulder and
made him eat breakfast - which was accompanied by tea containing a Comforting Concoction
that dulled the aches from transforming. The moment Sirius vanished into the fireplace - with
strict instructions that Remus rest - Remus had shuffled over to the couch and buried his face
in his hands.

He thought he'd fallen asleep at one point, but any good that may have done him had already
been undone by him crying. His eyes were sore and puffy, his voice was hoarse and he ached
on the inside now as well as the outside. Sirius had said he and Harry would be over for
dinner but that was still hours away and so Remus found himself staring out the window at
the clouds.

Two quiet pops pulled his attention away from a cloud shaped like a Golden Snitch. He saw
two figures appear and walk stealthily out of the tree line toward the house. Remus didn't
know whether the promise of company made him happy - he really didn't have all that many
visitors - or made him want to cry some more.

His senses were sharper than an average wizard's, and were even better in the days
immediately before and after a full moon. As a result, he could easily see Nymphadora's
shock of tomato red hair and the bright blue of Mad-Eye's magical eye. He could also hear
Mad-Eye whispering gruff instructions that had something to do with rope and his chimney.

Groaning, Remus reached for his wand, tapped his throat and thought, Sonorus.

He pushed himself off of the soft cushions and into a sitting position and then said, "IF YOU
TRY TO CLIMB DOWN MY CHIMNEY, MAD-EYE, I SWEAR TO MERLIN I'LL LIGHT
A FIRE!" He heard a delighted laugh from Nymphadora and a muttered curse from Mad-Eye.
"THE DOOR'S UNLOCKED," Remus added hoarsely, before wordlessly adding, Finite.

A moment later, Mad-Eye burst in through the door - Remus was actually surprised he'd
listened - and started shouting about how dangerous it was to leave doors unlocked.
Nymphadora trailed in after him, looking annoyed, but not, Remus didn't think, at Mad-Eye
or him.
"Wotcher," she muttered over Mad-Eye's voice. Remus nodded in her direction and then
turned back to the Auror.

"Mad-Eye," Remus said, tiredly, trying to get him to shut up; shouting wasn't helping his
headache at all. "Mad-Eye!"

"... very least a security question to see if you've let in the right person! Anyone could just
walk in, pretending to be me and-"

"Silencio," Remus snapped, flicking his wand at the old Auror. Mad-Eye fell silent, looking
outraged. "Constant vigilance, Mad-Eye. What if that hadn't been a harmless spell? What if I
wasn't Remus Lupin? You've just walked - and brought your trainee, I might add - into a
seemingly unprotected house and not even paused to consider it might be a trap-"

Mad-Eye waved his wand in a complex twist and cleared his throat; obviously he'd broken
the Silencing Charm.

"I'll have you know I cast every detection charm known to Aurors - and even some they don't
know about - before I put as much as a splinter of this leg through tha-"

"Moody!" Nymphadora said loudly, her hair changing from its bright red to a brighter red
that seemed to have more orange in it than before. Both Remus and Mad-Eye turned to look
at her. Her hair acquired a slightly pink tinge - for embarrassment perhaps? - but her eyes
flashed defiantly. "Shut up!"

Remus saw a grin flash over Mad-Eye's scarred face but it was quickly gone, replaced by a
neutral expression. He fixed both eyes on Nymphadora, who fidgeted, her hair now well and
truly pink.

"It's been a long time since anyone's spoken to me like that." Nymphadora looked about
ready to sink into Remus' floor. "I've missed it." She blinked. Remus was having a hard time
holding back laughter. "Honesty will get you everywhere with me, lass," he continued. "I
think I've told you that before... Constant vigilance!" Remus had known Mad-Eye too long to
be surprised - though the noise made his head throb again - but poor Nymphadora jumped
and almost fell over.

"Right," she muttered, her face and hair bright pink. She didn't seem able to bring herself to
look at either of them. "Well, erm... we came here to talk to Lupin-" Her eyes flicked over to
him and then back to Mad-Eye. "-not to bicker with him so... er... maybe we should do that?"

"Talk about what?" Remus asked tiredly.

"Well-" Nymphadora said. The fire flared green and Remus thought for one horrified moment
Sirius and Harry might come through. "Are you expecting someone?" she asked. He checked
his watch and shook his head; they weren't due for a while yet. A moment later, the flames
died down. Remus stared at it, confused and shook his head again.

"Must be broken."
"Damn Ministry," Mad-Eye growled. Remus and Nymphadora glanced at each other and
silently decided not to point out that Mad-Eye worked for them.

"Right," Remus said hastily. "So you wanted to talk?"

"The girl's just been to see Malfoy," Mad-Eye said, waving his wand at Remus' armchair. It
didn't react at all and Mad-Eye seemed to decide it was safe enough to sit on. The worn
leather groaned quietly. Nymphadora glanced at the two of them and sat down on the end of
Remus' couch that was closest to Mad-Eye.

"Oh," Remus said. He'd forgotten about that in the face of the full moon, and now - more
pressingly - his headache. "How did it go?" Mad-Eye and Nymphadora exchanged grim
looks. Remus laughed without humour. "That well?" he asked wryly. "Did you get a place at
all?"

"Yes," Nymphadora sighed. "I got just what I needed, actually." Remus glanced at Mad-Eye
but his face wasn't giving anything away.

"So what's the problem? And," he added, feeling a little nervous all of a sudden, "why does it
concern me?"

Nymphadora grimaced. "He wants me to replace you."

"What do you mean?" Remus asked slowly.

"In the search," Nymphadora said, her hair turning a dark purplish blue. "He runs the magical
search, obviously, and you've been running the muggle one, right?"

"Right," Remus agreed. "But only because no one else wants to do it."

"Until now," she said a little apologetically. Remus arched an eyebrow and the whole story
came tumbling out: "I couldn't very well tell him I was a pureblood. He'd see through that in
a heartbeat because I'm fairly sure the man could recite that stupid book - Nature's Royalty or
whatever it is - and I didn't want to say I was a half-blood in case he started asking questions
about Mum so I opted for muggleborn. And muggleborns are very knowledgeable when it
comes to the muggle world."

"Ah," Remus said.

"The git made it very clear that he despises me," Nymphadora continued, pursing her lips,
"but apparently, muggleborns are the lesser of two evils-"

Remus forgot to breathe for a moment. No, if he'd told her, she wouldn't be sitting here. And
surely Mad-Eye would have warned me...

"Did he explain why?" Remus asked stiffly.

"No," Nymphadora said, frowning. "Now that you mention it, he didn't." She grinned. "What
did you do, eh? Trip over his peacock? Say thank you to his house elf?" She chuckled at her
own joke but neither Remus or Mad-Eye joined her.
"Something like that," Remus said, gesturing for her to continue.

She looked a little disconcerted. "Right. Erm... well, since he was generous enough to give
me a job in his search, he thought he might ask a little favour in return. He wants me to
replace you as- actually, he wants you gone altogether." She made an apologetic face.

"He wants me out of the search altogether?" Remus repeated.

"Not straight away." Nymphadora looked pained. "He told me to ask you to teach me
everything you know, and to pass on your contacts. He says you've got a month or two at
most." Remus tried not to look too delighted. He was thoroughly sick of Lucius Malfoy and
his stupid prejudices, and he didn't really want to waste too many more hours searching for
people he knew exactly how to find.

"We," Mad-Eye said loudly, "think otherwise."

Remus blinked. "What?"

"Theodora Tock was invented in a few hours, lad. She can vanish just as quickly."

"But then your job-" Remus began, looking at Nymphadora.

"What job?" Mad-Eye barked.

"Her spy job," Remus said. "You won't be able to do it, will you?"

"Spy job?" Mad-Eye growled. "Who said anything about a spy job?! Who've you been
talking to, Lupin?"

Remus shrugged. "It's just logical that if you're sending her in undercover then you don't want
her recognised, or traced back to the Auror Department. Unless the Ministry's made some
sort of deal with Sirius and you're sending Nymphadora in to make sure he isn't found-" Mad-
Eye snorted. "-then it's fairly likely she's there to get information on Malfoy." Mad-Eye
seemed to deflate. Nymphadora's hair was growing steadily pinker. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Mad-Eye grunted and said, "Saves me explaining everything at least. You're involved now,
whether you like it or not. I expect full cooperation, am I understood?"

"What do I have to do?"

"I know what finding Potter means to you," Mad-Eye said in a tone that was almost gentle.
"I'm not about to take that away." Remus was oddly grateful despite the fact it didn't matter.
"But we need Nymphadora-" Nymphadora cleared her throat loudly. "- in a position that gets
her close to Malfoy."

"And...?"

"You don't like my uncle, do you?" Nymphadora asked.

"Not particularly, no."

She smiled. "Then how would you feel about having nothing to do with him ever again?"V
Before Remus could ask what she meant, her hair was fair like Remus', her eyes were brown
and she'd shot up several inches.

"His nose is longer," Mad-Eye said, glancing at her. "And his face is thinner."

Remus stared at Nymphadora, who now looked uncannily like him. "I have a scar on my
right cheek," he managed.

"Hmm," she said, scrunching up her face. "Better?"

"You want to be me?" he asked.

"It gives me an excuse to be close to Lucius Malfoy," she said in his voice. Absently, Remus
thought that he should either find this very funny, or mortally offensive, but couldn't seem to
get past the shock. "He doesn't like you, but he tolerates you. I can lie to him, earn his trust. I
can tell him whatever he needs to hear. You can still search for Harry Potter and Sirius Black.
You just can't go near Malfoy. Good deal, eh?"

"I went to school with him," Remus said. "It's highly likely he'll know you aren't me,
and if you managed to convince him otherwise, you'd have to put up with all sorts of bigotry
until you could win him over. Which you can't. His reasons for hating me aren't personality
or opinion based." Nymphadora looked curious but didn't say anything. "As much as I don't
like it, I think you replacing me is the better option."

"You're sure, lad?" Mad-Eye asked. Remus pretended to look torn and then nodded.

"Could you... perhaps... keep me in the loop? If you hear anything about Harry...?"

"Of course we can!" Nymphadora exclaimed. Remus hid a grin; now he'd be able to warn
Sirius if the search got too close. "But you're still involved for now. I need you to teach me
about the search and the people in it."

"I can start teaching you tomorrow," he said. Nymphadora glanced at Mad-Eye.

"Saturday has a 'T' in it."

"It does." To anyone else, that would have made no sense at all. Remus, however, hid a smile;
Mad-Eye had used the same system with James and Sirius.

"Okay," she told Remus with a smile. "Where would you like to meet?"

They'd just discussed details for the next day and Remus had supplied tea and biscuits when
there was a loud tapping at the window. A stunning - though rather small - snowy owl was
perched on his kitchen windowsill. Remus thought he vaguely recognised it but couldn't say
where from.

He stood to let it in and a scrap of parchment was promptly pressed into his hand. The owl
flew over to Remus' own owl's perch for a drink. Strix was off delivering letters to Arabella
and Dirk saying Remus was unwell, and could they please patrol London today.
"Didn't I teach you anything?!" Mad-Eye roared as Remus unfolded the parchment. "Never
open something without checking it for curses first!"

Remus ignored him, eyes scanning over shaky, childish writing.

Moony,

Padfoot won't wake up. Sorry to bother you, but I didn't know who else to go to for help.

Harry.

It took Remus a moment to remember how to breathe.

"Lupin?" Nymphadora said, exchanging a worried glance with Mad-Eye. "Are you all right?"

"No," Remus said. He held the parchment up, but didn't hold it still in case Mad-Eye tried to
read it. "A friend of mine...er-" Remus said the first thing that came to mind. "-had a rough
night."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Nymphadora asked.

"Hufflepuffs," Mad-Eye muttered. Nymphadora shot him an irritated look.

"No, thank you," Remus said. The snowy owl screeched at him. "I need to go. Tomorrow
should still be fine, I just need to sort this out-"

"Are you sure there isn't-"

"Leave him to it, Nymphadora. We're off anyway. Can't have my trainee late. Scrimgeour'd
never let me forget it." He ushered her out and there were two quiet pops. Remus took a
quick look out the window to make sure they were actually gone.

Heart pounding, he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and croaked, "Number Twelve,
Grimmauld Place."
 Feuds and fairy eggs

"Where have you been?" Prewett whispered as Tonks sidled into the room, late. Scrimgeour
glanced at her, and then his yellow eyes flicked over to where Mad-Eye was standing,
looking like he'd been there the whole time. Tonks waited until Scrimgeour was distracted by
a question from the Brown boy.

"Let's just say I know where the 'Mad' in 'Mad-Eye' comes from," she muttered. Marlene
turned away, hiding a smile; James had said something very similar after he and - Marlene
forced herself to think the name - Sirius' first proper lesson with the Auror.

"He stopped to interrogate the wizard who checks wands in the atrium, and then he took us
down to Broom Regulation and Control to throw off anyone who might want to follow us -
for Merlin knows what reason! - to ask whether there were any laws about putting
enchantments on your own broomstick."

"Of course there are," Marlene told her. Wellington and Clarke, who were on Prewett's other
side, looked stunned to hear her speak. "Quidditch players have been sacked for doing that!"

"Oh, that's right!" Clarke exclaimed. "Dmitri-"

"Who?" Prewett asked blankly.

"He used to play Seeker for the Montrose Magpies," Clarke said impatiently. Marlene's
eyebrows rose. Melvin Clarke was one of the most painfully shy people she'd ever met, yet
he was talking passionately about Quidditch of all things. They might get on better than she'd
thought. "He was sacked because he put a charm on his Cleansweep to make it repel anything
that weighed more than a Snitch. Bagman - he used to play for the Wimbourne Wasps - got
his nose broken because it repelled him into one of the goalposts."

"That's exactly what the bloke at the desk said," Tonks replied, sighing. "And then Moody
said, 'Do I look like a Quidditch Player to you?!'-" She managed to mimic his voice uncannily
well. "-and things sort of went downhill from there."

"But you missed this morning's session too," Prewett pressed.

"So did you," Clarke pointed, suddenly shy again.

"I missed the first half an hour," Prewett snapped. Clarke looked like he wanted to sink into
the floor. "And I already told you: I slept in." Wellington sniggered.

Tonks made a face. "If you must know," she said a little irritably, "Moody had me unpacking
boxes."

"Boxes?" Wellington asked doubtfully.

"He's just moved house," Tonks sighed. "And of course, he doesn't want them all unpacked in
case he needs to leave again in a hurry, but he didn't tell me that until I'd unpacked and
resized all of his books and he only wanted certain ones out. I did it wrong yesterday, so he
had me come back..." The other three made faces and didn't notice when Tonks caught Mad-
Eye's eye and winked. Marlene did.

"Maybe you could ask to swap mentor?" Prewett suggested.

Tonks shook her head. "Nah, I'll manage. So, what were you lot doing while I was playing
removalist?"

"Well, training, obviously. But yesterday we were catching up with family," Prewett said
grimly.

"Apparently Sirius Black might come after her cousin," Clarke told them.

"That'd be exciting," Wellington said.

Marlene held her tongue. Just. Idiot. None of you would stand a chance against
Sirius. Marlene knew that for a fact because they'd duelled this morning; each Friday training
session was going to begin with an hour of duelling. Wellington was slow, and took too long
to decide what to use, though the spells he did use were very powerful.

Prewett had looked like she might have been a decent duellist - still nowhere near as good as
Marlene remembered Sirius being - but she'd seemed a little out of things. Clarke had the
potential to be very, very good, if he could get over his apparent aversion to hurting people;
he'd hit Marlene with a Body-Bind and then cast a Cushioning Charm almost immediately so
she wouldn't be uncomfortable when she hit the floor. It was a nice sentiment, but a waste of
time, and during the war, it probably would have cost him his life.

"It would be terrifying, actually," Prewett said icily. "And I think they've got enough to deal
with without this hanging over them." Clarke looked sad.

"I agree," Marlene said quietly.

"You know Aunt Alice?" Prewett asked carefully.

"We shared a dormitory." That was as much as she was willing to share, but thankfully,
Prewett didn't ask any more.

"Did you ever meet Mrs Longbottom?" Clarke asked. Marlene nodded. Clarke chewed his lip
for a moment, as if debating whether to say something or not. "Is she always so...?"

"Cranky?" Marlene supplied. Prewett rolled her eyes. "Yes. You get used to it, though."

"How?"

Marlene shrugged. "Time. She rarely takes to anyone straight away." Except for Alice. Alice
could have said or done anything and got away with it... That's just Alice, though. Or was.
Now she doesn't say or do much at all.
"Well aren't you two cheerful?" Tonks said, grinning. Wellington sniggered. "Melvin, Mrs
Longbottom might be a bit... difficult, but there are worse people to work for. Believe me,"
she muttered. Marlene looked up despite herself, wondering what it was the Mad-Eye had the
girl doing; she hadn't bought the boxes story, although she did believe the Broom Regulation
and Control one. "And, McKinnon, you look like someone's died! Sirius won't get to them if
they've got Aurors with them."

The Tonks girl clearly meant this to be comforting. Marlene found it distressing, however;
Alice and Frank had been Aurors. They'd started training in their seventh year and qualified a
year later. They'd been two of the best, and that hadn't saved them when Bellatrix Lestrange
came knocking. The look on Prewett's face told Marlene that they were thinking along the
same lines.

"Right," Marlene said flatly and stalked off to find someone else to stand with. She
discounted the rest of the trainees almost immediately, and - since her own mentor wasn't
around - went to stand by Mad-Eye.

"McKinnon," he said, glancing at her with his real eye. His magical one was watching Tonks.

"Mad-Eye," she replied. Her voice cracked a little. The other eye swivelled and fixed itself on
her face.

"Everything all right?" he asked gruffly.

"No... yes. I- just wanted a quieter place to stand."

"Hmm." She didn't bother asking if he minded; if he did, he'd have said something already.
"What do you think of Robards?"

"I like him," she said, grateful for a topic that didn't make her want to cry.

"Thought you might," Moody said, looking pleased.

"What do you think of the Tonks girl?"

"She'll do," he said.

Marlene raised an eyebrow. "You like her that much?"

Mad-Eye glanced at Tonks again and shrugged.

"So what did we miss this morning?" Tonks asked, glancing over to where McKinnon was
standing with Moody. She looked more relaxed with him than she had with them, so Tonks
supposed she was all right, though she did wish she knew what they'd done wrong. Perhaps
she'd ask Moody about it later.

"Well, we duelled," Ben said. "That was fun. The rest was boring."
"I thought it was important," Melvin said shyly, glancing at Tonks and then at Florence.
"Auror Scrimgeour and Madam Bones talked to us about our responsibilities as Aurors and
things we can and can't do."

"Like what?" Florence asked, pushing her dark hair out of her face.

"Well, we can't make an arrest without another Auror there until we're second years," Melvin
said, squinting as he tried to remember. "There's a list of spells and curses that we'll be
expelled from the Program for using without special permission. If we break the law we'll be
punished more severely than any other witch or wizard and... er... I've forgotten something..."
He trailed off, frowning.

"We can't break wands," Ben supplied.

"That's right!" Melvin said, snapping his fingers. Tonks and Florence exchanged bewildered
looks. "If it's life or death they'll make an exception, of course - they do with most things -
but otherwise you have to hold a trial and everything."

"So snapping wands is just a threat?" Florence asked, looking amazed.

"Pretty effective one," Tonks muttered. "I-"

"Quiet down!" Scrimgeour called from the front of the room. "This afternoon, you will learn
how to set up and use one of the most useful objects you will ever encounter in your career as
an Auror." Tonks straightened immediately, curious to see what the object was.

She couldn't see past Ben's shoulder and so made her legs grow a few inches. Florence was
short - even when compared to Tonks' normal height - and scowled as she went shooting up.
Melvin was short too - probably fairly close to Tonks in height - and just looked at her
wonderingly.

Scrimgeour passed a cloth bag to one of the Aurors. It clinked quietly, as if there were
galleons inside. Florence seemed to hear it too and caught Tonks' eye.

"What is it?"

"Dunno; it's in a bag," she muttered back.

The Auror walked through the crowd, offering the bag to each of the trainees in turn. "Take
one," he said when he reached Tonks. She reached in and fished out a round, shiny object.
For a moment she thought it might actually be a galleon, but it was too heavy, much too
thick, and the last galleon Tonks had seen, certainly hadn't had a chain connected to it.

She turned it over in her hands. It was gold, like a galleon, but it also had a large black 'M'
inlaid in its face, the legs of which were balanced on a pair of scales. A wand ran through the
middle, and sparks from its tip - coloured silver and bronze - littered the rest of the gold
surface. Around the edge were the words FORTITUDE, VIRTUS, DETERMINATIO ET
INTELLIGENTIA.

"Does anyone know Latin?" Tonks whispered.

Ben, who had his - whatever it was - clenched in his hand and was rattling it by his ear, shook
his head. Florence was holding hers up to her eye and squinting at it and didn't appear to hear
Tonks. Melvin, who was cradling his close to his chest, as if he was afraid someone might
take it, or that he might drop it, shook his head.

"Has anyone missed out?" Scrimgeour asked. There was silence. He cleared his throat
importantly. "Courage, virtue, determination and intelligence," he said in a loud, clear voice.
"That is the Auror's code. Forget it, and you will not last long in this field of work. So that
you do not forget it, you will be required to say these words each time you wish to use the
object in your hand." Scrimgeour looked around at them all. "Well, go ahead."

Tonks had a look around and met the puzzled eyes of several other trainees. She muttered the
words and watched in amazement as two hinges grew out of one edge and a line split the
seamless side. It opened with a click and she took a brief glance at it before her attention was
called elsewhere.

"Courage, virtue, determination and intelligence," Florence murmured, though hers was
already open. "Like the four Houses. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Ravenclaw."

"Slytherins are determined?" Ben asked derisively. "More like sneaky and self-important."

"That isn't true," Melvin said softly.

"They're rotten, all of them," Ben said.

"Hardly," Tonks scoffed. "My Mum's a Slytherin and so's one of my best friends!"

Ben looked scandalised. "You're kidding!"

"No," Tonks said, frowning.

"You do know they're evil, don't you?" Ben asked. "Every witch or wizard who went dark has
been in Slytherin."

"That's not true!" Florence snapped. "People can be dark if they weren't a Slytherin first!"

"Name one," Ben said, glowering at her. Florence opened her mouth to say something but
didn't seem able to say it. Ben towered over her with a smug smile. Tonks stuffed her object
into her pocket so she wouldn't break it. Melvin took a step forward, as if to protect Florence,
but Tonks beat him to it, hitting Ben's shoulder. Hard. He looked down at her, a little
surprised.

"Sirius Black, that's who," she barked. "He was in Gryffindor and he's probably the worst of
them all, if you don't include You-Know-Who!" Or Lucius Malfoy. "So don't you tell me it's
only Slytherins who've-"

"So now you're saying Gryffindors are evil?" Ben had his wand out now, and was pointing it
at Tonks.

She whipped out her own. "Don't be thick," she growled. "I only said-"
"And Sirius Black wasn't even in Gryffindor! He was a Slytherin! Everyone knows that!"

"Sirius was not a Slytherin!" Tonks bellowed, vaguely aware that they were drawing attention
from other trainees and the Aurors now. She didn't particularly care. "Everyone assumes he
was because they, like you, are too bigoted to look past prejudices!"

"So Gryffindors are bigots now?!" Ben roared.

"No!" Tonks shouted. "You're a bigot!"

"How dare yo-"

"ENOUGH!" Tonks jumped. Moody, Scrimgeour and Ben's mentor Shacklebolt were
standing beside them. Moody grabbed the back of Tonks' robes and hauled her - rather
roughly - to the back of the room. She tripped once, and lost her footing but Moody kept
moving. A quick glance back showed her that Ben was trailing behind Shacklebolt, also
headed over. Scrimgeour was addressing the other trainees. Florence, Melvin and even
McKinnon were all watching her with worried expressions.

"Bow to your opponent," Moody told her.

"Bo- What?" Tonks asked, turning to look at him. Moody pushed her head down and she
bowed, but managed to glance up and see Ben was doing the same. Moody released her and
stepped back. There was no one immediately around Ben either.

"When you're ready," Scrimgeour said.

"When we're ready what- Oi!" Tonks said, dodging a jet of yellow light.

"Duel!" Moody barked at her.

"Expelliarmus!" Ben shouted.

Tonks' wand few out of her hand but she reached for it and caught it (though her arm had
grown several inches to make that possible).

"Parva Digitum!" she said firmly.

There were no visible changes to Ben's appearance, of course, but the spell didn't take long to
make its effects obvious; a peculiar expression crossed Ben's face – Tonks imagined having a
body part shrink suddenly was rather disconcerting if one wasn't used to it – and he swayed
where he was standing. He took a step, perhaps trying to steady himself, and then tumbled to
the ground. It was, after all, rather difficult to balance without one's big toes.

He glowered at her from the ground while everyone was still trying to work out exactly what
she'd done, though she thought Moody knew, because of his eye.

"Incarcerous."
Ben seemed to snap out of his daze. "Protego Ignis!" A fiery shield sprang up in front of him
and burned the ropes before they could touch him. He didn't try to stand. That was clever of
him, and stupid at the same time. Dad had told Tonks once that – whether it be in a duel, a
wrestle or in an argument – she should never fight from the ground. "Trying to hit me while
I'm down?" Ben panted. "You're just as slimy as your Slytherin pals. Limus Velo!"

Tonks couldn't help shrieking as she was doused from head to toe in a thick layer of green
slime. It didn't taste like anything in particular, but she didn't like it in her mouth, and while it
didn't actually sting her eyes, she didn't want it in them either.

She spat some out of her mouth and said, "Aguamenti!" Ben already had a Shield Charm up
but she wasn't aiming for him. She was focused on rinsing herself because she'd much rather
be wet than slimy. "Tussio!"

Ben doubled over, coughing uncontrollably for a few moments, but he flicked his wand once,
obviously doing a non-verbal counter charm and then flicked his wand again. Tonks stepped
out of the way and tripped on her own feet. Ben hesitated, apparently considering his options,
and then said, "Suffocio!"

At almost the same time, Tonks leapt to her feet and said, "Expelliarmus!" No sooner than
she'd got the words out, an invisible hand clasped around her throat and began to squeeze.
She tried to pry it off, but nothing was there. Horrified, she looked at Ben, who'd been
knocked onto his back, Disarmed, and around at the other Aurors, who were talking amongst
themselves; well, shouting, actually, in Moody's case, but she couldn't hear what about, only
see him throwing his hands in the air.

Finite Incantatem, she thought shakily, pointing her wand at herself. It did nothing.
Desperate, she thought of the hardest type of skin she could grow, and concentrated on giving
herself dragon scales that might be more resistant to the squeezing. That worked a little
better. If it hadn't, she might have had to give herself gills and conjure a bucket of water. She
was able to take a tentative breath. "Finite Incantatem," she tried again, verbally this time.
The pressure eased entirely and she gasped in a lungful of air.

When she was certain the effects of the spell were gone, she changed her neck back to skin
and reversed the spell on Ben's toes. Moody limped over.

"Well done," he said quietly.

"Trainee Tonks, if you'd join us over here, please." She and Moody joined Scrimgeour,
Shacklebolt and Ben, who was looking sulky, but standing at least. "Now," Scrimgeour said
in clipped tones, "that you've exercised some of your volatility, perhaps you will be able to
calmly explain the problem. Trainee Tonks, as the winner, you've won the right to speak
first."

Tonks opened her mouth and abruptly changed her mind. She wasn't a first year who went
running to her Head of House the moment she had a problem. Hufflepuffs – and she was a
Hufflepuff, and proud of it – didn't tell on people unless it was absolutely necessary. This
wasn't. She could shout some sense into Ben later, without humiliating him more than losing
the duel had done.
"Ben can go first," she said. The Aurors raised their eyebrows, almost in unison, and Ben
ploughed right into the silence.

"She," he said, in a deeply accusing tone, "called Gryffindors evil, lied about Sirius Black and
then called me a bigot!"

Tonks folded her arms and gave him the withering look that she'd seen McGonagall use. Ben
flinched and Tonks thought that was probably because she'd adopted McGonagall's nose, lips
and eyes when making that face.

"You did these things?" Scrimgeour asked, turning his yellow eyes on her. She met them
curiously, wondering if she would be able to make her own look that way, and then realised
they were waiting for an answer.

"I did call him a bigot," she said, shrugging.

"Not the others?"

"Nope," she said, popping the 'p'. "I told him that Slytherins weren't evil-"

"Are so," Ben muttered.

"-not all of them, anyway," she continued, as if she hadn't been interrupted. "And I also told
him that Sirius Black was in Gryffindor when he was at school, to prove my point that not all
Gryffindors are good."

"Sirius Black was not-" Ben started.

"Sirius Black was a Gryffindor, lad," Moody said, sounding very tired all of a sudden.

"Are you sure?" Ben asked, looking doubtful.

"I trained him," Moody grunted. "Him and James Potter. Gryffindors, the both of them."

Ben looked stricken. "But-but Slytherin-"

"You have a problem with Slytherin?" Scrimgeour asked, in a very quiet voice. Tonks would
have bet her place in the Program that he had been one himself and had to choke back a
laugh.

"Yes, I do," Ben said, his eyes challenging.

"Come with me," Scrimgeour said coolly. He limped away. "Shacklebolt!" Shacklebolt
gestured for Ben to follow and strode after the Head Auror.

"How's the throat?" Moody asked.

"You knew?" Tonks demanded. "I could have died!"

"Fainted. The spell wears off when the target passes out, or when a verbal counter charm is
spoken." That, Tonks had to admit, was clever; how was someone supposed to speak a
counter charm when the spell robbed them of air? "Scrimgeour wanted to see what you'd do."

"Why?"

"Because when a trainee's under pressure, you get a very good idea of their character. Do
they panic? Do they give up? Do they fight it? Scrimgeour likes to know these things."

Tonks sighed. "Did I pass?"

"No," Moody said. Tonks opened her mouth to say something but he beat her to it. "You
didn't fail either." He winked and limped away, leaving her standing there, trying to work out
what the hell he'd just said. Florence and Melvin descended on her a moment later and
several of the other trainees approached to congratulate her.

"Thanks," she muttered, hoping they'd leave her alone. And they did, eventually, when Auror
Blackburn called everyone's attention back to the little objects.

Tonks pulled hers out of her pocket. It was still open and she had a chance to have a proper
look this time. A thin, round panel stood vertically out of the middle. On each side was a
normal clock face. Inside that, however, were two semi-circles. One ran along the top inside
half, and had numbers from zero to one-hundred and eighty, and the other ran along the
bottom inside half and had the numbers zero to sixty.

There were fourteen hands in total, on each side; two were a bright coppery colour and
seemed to be for the watch part. Eight of the other hands were split into four different
colours, with there being two of each of bronze, black, silver and gold. The remaining four
hands were these colours, but significantly smaller than the others.

The inside of the two halves of the object rested perpendicularly to the clock-thing and were
just polished gold with an indent that would enclose the clock faces when the object closed.

"What is it?" Tonks asked Florence, who shrugged and shook hers.

"Firstly," Blackburn called, "this is a Secure Communication and Identification Device with
Coordinate Clock, otherwise known as the S.C.I.D.C.C., or, the Sidekick. Your mentor will
teach you how to add details to the outside of the Sidekick. Should a witch or wizard ask you
for identification, that is what you will show them.

"This," he said, lifting his own open Sidekick and pointing to the clock faces, "is the
Coordinate Clock. One side of it will show the time at your current location, as well as your
geographical position. Bronze is East, black is West, silver is North and gold is South. They
show you your position in degrees with the top set of numbers, and in minutes on the bottom
set of numbers. Seconds are shown by the smaller hand of that colour, also on the bottom set
of numbers."

Auror Finch stepped up. "The other side of the Coordinate Clock is for your partner, or, in
your case, your mentor. Most of the time, it will show where your mentor is - don't bother
looking now; they haven't been set up yet-" Dale blushed, her cheeks turning the same colour
as the pink robes she wore. "- but it can also be used to arrange meetings. If they need you at
a certain place, at a certain time, the clock hands will point at the meeting time and the other
hands will show the place. You can also move yours to call them somewhere."

Another Auror – Proudfoot, Tonks thought it was – replaced Finch. "The inside of the device
– not the Coordinate Clock – are not decorated yet. We will teach you a spell in a moment
that will enable you to leave your own symbol on another Sidekick. When the owner of the
other Sidekick states the password – chosen by you – they will be able to talk to you through
the device."

I wonder if these are based on telephones... Tonks mused. Several others seemed to be
thinking the same thing; she caught the word several times and then a hand shot into the air.
Tonks thought it was Brown. "These aren't based on muggle telephones, are they?"

"Every time," Finch muttered and passed another witch a galleon.

"They act similarly, but were not designed with telephones in mind," Proudfoot said.
Everyone waited. He sighed. "They are based on a pair of mirrors that two former Aurors
used to communicate during the war." Proudfoot's eyes flicked to Moody, who nodded
sharply. Tonks wondered what that was about.

"Now, if you'll lift your wand like this," an Auror with an eyepatch – Tonks thought her name
might have been McDuff – said, stepping forward, "and say Imprima..."

"No, James, I didn't- Reg- Lily, please-"

"Wake up," Harry muttered, shaking Padfoot. "Padfoot, please wake up."

"James, no... It wasn't me, I couldn't-"

"Harry?!"

Thank Merlin! Harry ran out onto the landing and stuck his head over the banister. "Up here!"
he called. He caught a glimpse of Moony's pale face and then there were footsteps on the
stairs. A few seconds later, Moony appeared, looking worried and out of breath.

"Where is he?" he asked, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"In here." Moony followed him into the bedroom and then hurried over to the bed.

"Remus," Padfoot said restlessly. Harry and Moony both started. "Remus, it wasn't me, it was
Peter... Moony, no, no! Please! James! James, I'm sorry-"

Moony shook himself, pulled out his wand and said, quite firmly, "Rennervate."

Padfoot gasped and his eyes flew open. Harry and Moony immediately set about calming him
down; yes, he was in Harry's room, no, he was not allowed to get up and Moony would hex
him if he tried, yes, he did have to eat the Chocolate Frog Harry had retrieved from his
bedside table, even if he didn't want to. The card was Dumbledore, which made Padfoot
scowl and start muttering about Snape again.

"Snape?" Moony asked, puzzled. "What's he got to do with anything?"

"Snape was here," Harry said.

"Git," Padfoot muttered, sinking back into Harry's pillows.

"He- Snape was here?!" Moony repeated, tossing another Chocolate Frog at Padfoot. "Eat
that." Padfoot scowled but that was the only resistance he offered. "Why the hell was Snape
here?"

Harry sighed and began to explain the night's events as best he could. He left out everything
that had happened when he and Snape were at Hogwarts. He wasn't sure how much of that
was real, and how much of it he'd dreamed; he was fairly confident that Padfoot hadn't tried
to kill Snape, but that was a strange thing to make up. Harry had decided not to think about it.

Padfoot added comments when Harry forgot something, but mostly he stayed quiet and ate
his chocolate. By the time Harry had finished talking, Padfoot had fallen asleep again, but
seemed rather more peaceful than he had been before.

"I wish I could have seen Snape's face," Moony whispered, gesturing for Harry to follow.

"It was funny," Harry admitted. He glanced at Padfoot. "Will he-"

"He'll be perfectly fine. He just needs to rest." Harry trailed out of the room after Moony. "Do
you have any Pepper-Up Potions on hand?"

"For Padfoot?"

"For me. I've got a terrible headache." Moony paused. "Pepper-Up Potion probably isn't a bad
idea for Sirius either, though, if we can find some. Where does Sirius keep the medical
potions?"

"Er..."

Moony looked mildly amused. "Very helpful, Harry, thank you." Harry flushed. "Where does
he keep Potions ingredients, then? It's probably quicker to brew some than waste time
looking for it."

"In the training room," Harry said. "There's a cauldron there too."

"After you," Moony said, gesturing to the stairs.

By seven o'clock that evening, Kreacher was up and about again, though he still complained
about a headache. He could be heard skulking around, cursing Snape under his breath with a
loathing formerly reserved for Padfoot.
Padfoot - who'd also woken - encouraged this behaviour the moment he became aware of it.
He was rather weak - Moony said it was a Dementor's Draught relapse brought about by a
lack of sleep and the stress of Snape's visit - but in reasonably good spirits.

"You aren't pale, at least," Moony commented. Padfoot - who was red-faced from a Pepper-
Up Potion - gave him a flat look. The effect was somewhat ruined by the steam billowing out
of his ears.

"Celery for Master Sirius?" Kreacher asked.

"No, thank you, Kreacher," Padfoot said, picking at his bread roll.

"Celery for Master Harry?"

"No-" Both Moony and Padfoot gave Harry warning looks. "Er... I mean, yes, thanks."

"None for me, thank you, Kreacher," Moony said before Kreacher could ask. "Although, if
you've got more of that shepherd's pie..." Kreacher bowed and scurried back to the bench.

"Shameless," Padfoot said, shaking his head.

"You're going to tell me off for having a third helping when you and Harry have both already
had one?"

Padfoot pretended not to hear and Moony seemed to decide arguing would involve more
effort than it was worth. The kitchen was quiet except for the sounds of Kreacher loading
another plate for Moony, and the occasional crunch of Harry's celery; at some point in the
near future, he was going to need to learn the spell Padfoot used to make things disappear.

Vegetables like carrot, potato, peas and pumpkin he quite liked, but celery, broccoli and
Brussels sprouts were things he'd rather not eat if given the option.

He'd never had a problem with vegetables at the Dursleys, but that was because they hadn't
eaten vegetables very often - Uncle Vernon didn't like 'rabbit food' - and because Harry had
been so hungry that he hadn't cared what he was eating. Things were different now.

"Oi," Padfoot said hoarsely, pointing a finger at Harry. Harry felt his cheeks heat up and
stopped trying to hide his celery under his potato skins.

Moony chuckled. "At least he's creative."

"What do you mean?" Padfoot asked.

Moony was very obviously fighting a smile. "Olives," he said simply.

Padfoot grimaced. "Ah."

"Olives?" Harry asked.

"You've never had the dubious pleasure of attending a pureblood function," Padfoot sighed.
"Birthdays are usually all right - as far as food goes, anyway; the company's still horrible -
but the dinner parties, which people have for no reason other than to show off and gossip
about the families that couldn't make it, always serve the worst food."

"It's all expensive, exotic stuff." Padfoot wrinkled his nose. "Changes each time, usually, but
there were always - at least when I was growing up – olives. " He shuddered.

"Olives stuffed with fairy eggs. They were foul. Doesn't matter how talented the house elves
were, they always tasted terrible. And they weren't even finger foods; they were always put
down in front of you, and you were expected to eat them. Most house elves wouldn't serve
you dinner until your plate was empty."

"And how did you avoid eating them?" Moony pressed, wearing a smile that Harry presumed
meant he already knew.

"Threw them at whoever was bothering me most at the time," Padfoot said, winking at Harry.
"Then, in third year - because I knew a bit more magic - I learnt how to make them explode...
They taste foul, but they look good splattered on Slytherins." He grinned.

"And, what's even better is that Mum usually caught me and sent me to bed early for bad
behaviour." He looked oddly reminiscent. "Reg used to sneak me food afterwards, so I didn't
go hungry, and that of course, provided an incentive to do the same thing next time." He
turned to Harry, grinning again. "Now, eat your vegetables."

Harry hesitated, though only for a second, and threw a piece at him. It bounced off Padfoot's
nose and landed on the table in front of him. Padfoot stared at it in disbelief - as if unable to
believe what Harry had just done - and then burst out laughing.

Harry grinned at Moony, who sighed and accepted his pie from Kreacher. Padfoot settled
shortly after and said nothing more about the celery, which remained mostly untouched on
Harry's plate.

Harry helped Kreacher with the dishes while Moony made Padfoot drink more Pepper-Up
Potion and several mugs of hot chocolate and then put him to bed.

"Dishes are not for the Master to be doing," Kreacher said afterward, as he and Harry trooped
upstairs for bed. "Mistress never made Kreacher's Masters do the housework-"

Harry shrugged. "How are you feeling? And I want you to tell the truth."

Kreacher pressed a trembling hand to his head. "Kreacher feels well enough to fulfil his
duties to the House of Black."

"I asked how you feel, not what you think you can you sore? Tired?"

Kreacher looked both thoughtful and unnerved. Harry wondered if that was the first time he'd
ever been asked that.

"Both," he said finally, in his bullfrog's voice. "But Kreacher is-"

"Why don't you go to bed?" Harry suggested. Gratitude flashed in Kreacher's large eyes but it
was quickly smothered.

"Kreacher mustn't," he said reluctantly. "Such an act would be worthy of clothes, oh yes.
What would Mistress say if she knew Kreacher had gone to bed before Kreacher's Masters-"

"Kreacher," Harry said firmly. "Go to bed." Kreacher visibly struggled with the order. It was
the first one he'd tried to resist for quite a while. "Padfoot's already in bed," Harry continued,
trying to be persuasive. "And I'm heading there now."

"The Masters' guest is still about," Kreacher said, glancing at the library door as they passed
it, as if Moony might suddenly appear.

"That's fine," Harry said, shrugging again. "Moony can do what he wants." Kreacher wrung
his hands in his tea-towel. They continued up the last two staircases in silence. "Go on,
Kreacher," Harry said, nodding at the cupboard.

Before Kreacher could answer, Moony emerged from Padfoot's room. He glanced at the pair
of them, his eyes lingering on Kreacher before they flicked back to Harry.

"Do you mind if I sleep on the couch?"

"Er... no, that's fine," Harry said. "You're staying?"

"Kreacher's clearly not back to his usual self yet," Moony said, giving the elf a kind smile.
"He's not in any condition to be up in the middle of the night if something goes wrong."

Kreacher began to protest, but Harry cut him off. "Like what? Are you expecting something
to happen?"

"I bloody hope not," Padfoot called from the next room.

"Not at all," Moony said easily. "But none of us expected anything to go wrong today, did
we?"

"You said Kreacher's not up to it," Harry said slowly. Kreacher made an indignant noise next
to him. "Are you? You didn't get any sleep last night and you had your transformation-"

"I got three hours of sleep," Moony replied with another smile. "And I'm well used to
transforming by now. I've had twenty-five years of practice."

"Kreacher will make Mister- Mister- Mister's-" Kreacher faltered, obviously unsure what to
address Moony by.

"Remus is fine, Kreacher."

"Mister Remus. Kreacher will make Mister Remus' bed, and fetch towels-"

"That won't be necessary, thank you, Kreacher," Moony said gently, but firmly. "Harry can
show me where everything is." Kreacher gave them one last, pitiful look and then slouched
into his cupboard, muttering about Snape affecting his ability to serve.

"You can have one of the spare bedrooms," Harry said, leading the way back down the stairs.
"That one," he said, pointing at the one furthest from the stairs, "needs new bedding, but you
can have either of these."

Moony refused to sleep in Padfoot's parents' old room and unwillingly ("You don't have to do
this, Harry, the couch would be fine...") selected the third bedroom. He pulled his shoes off
and sat down at the end of the bed. Harry waited in the doorway, wondering if he'd protest
any more.

Instead, Moony said, "If you need anything, I'm right here."

"Thanks," Harry said, and although he was touched by the offer, he was very much hoping he
wouldn't have to take Moony up on it.

"Good night," Moony said, flopping back onto the mattress.

Harry wished him a good night and headed back up to his own room.
 Bad dreams

Harry woke up in a bad mood. He'd spent the night tossing and turning, dreaming that that
Padfoot really was a werewolf and that he'd tried to eat Snape while Moony, and to his even
greater horror, James – who'd looked a lot like he usually did in the mirror – laughed cruelly.
All the while, Snape's voice had whispered, Black is a monster. He was capable of murder at
the age of sixteen and your precious father was no better.

He'd spent the early hours of the morning sitting cross legged in bed – afraid to go back to
sleep – with Hedwig perched on his knee, and climbed out of bed the moment he heard
Kreacher moving across the landing.

Breakfast was a cheerful affair and Harry found his mood improving with each passing
minute; Kreacher, having rested well the night before, cooked enough food to serve ten
Dudleys. Padfoot's health seemed to have improved dramtically overnight – though that
worried Harry more than it comforted him – but Kreacher still shoved a steaming mug into
his hand the moment he came downstairs.

"Slow news day," Padfoot commented, glancing at the Prophet. "Some git's made the front
page for winning some Witch Weekly award."

"It's not Gilderoy Lockhart again?" Moony asked, accepting a cup of tea from Kreacher.

"Yeah, why?" Padfoot said. "Do you know him?"

"Yes, and so do you, Sirius. He was in Hufflpuff, remember? Our year."

"He was?" Padfoot asked blankly. Harry reached for the butter and caught a glimpse of the
handsome wizard on the front of the paper. Padfoot snapped his fingers. "He's the one who
fawned over Slughorn, isn't he? Thank Merlin he didn't make it to N.E.W.T. level or I
would've had to drop the subject." Moony smiled and added sugar to his tea. "I'm thinking of
the right one, aren't I?"

"How many other people do you know that fawned over Slughorn?" Moony asked wryly.

"Well, Lily," Padfoot said. Harry's head snapped up. "Except she didn't care about him much,
it was more that he liked her-"

"'Didn't care about him much?'" Moony repeated, looking stunned. "This is Lily we're talking
about here-"

"She liked him," Padfoot said, flapping a hand, "but she didn't like the attention, so they
negated each other. Who else liked Slughorn...?"

"Snape?" Moony suggested. Harry glowered at him, because the name had sent his almost-
forgotten dream rushing back to the forefront of his mind. Padfoot growled, sounding rather
like his Animagus self.
"Bloody Snivellus," Padfoot muttered, setting his mug down rather harder than was
necessary. Kreacher heard the name and started smashing eggs against the side of the frying
pan with vigor.

"Language, Sirius," Moony said, glancing in Harry's direction.

"He doesn't like the git either," Padfoot said dismissively. Harry snagged another piece of
toast from the plate in the middle of the table and stood.

"Thanks for breakfast, Kreacher," he said, and hurried up the stairs and out of the kitchen.

Padfoot came up half an hour later – Moony had gone to meet with Padfoot's cousin's
daughter – and peered into Harry's room. Harry was trying to see how high he could stack the
Exploding Snap cards Dumbledore had given him. It wasn't exactly calming, but the
imminent danger of being burned was a pretty good distraction.

"Are you all right, kiddo?" Padfoot asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Yeah, fine," Harry said, carefully leaning two cards against each other. "Why?"

"You left rather abruptly," Padfoot said. Harry could feel the grey stare but didn't look up to
meet it; it was easier to pretend to be distracted. The intensity of it was a little unnerving,
though, and Harry had a sudden suspicion he was about to find out what had been bothering
his godfather for the past few days – aside from the obvious Dementor's Draught, of course.

"Yeah," Harry said, "erm... bathroom."

Padfoot's expression cleared immediately. Harry felt a twinge of guilt but forced it away.
Padfoot sniffed curiously. Harry winced and deliberately knocked over his tower, hoping the
smoke would mask his scent. As he'd hoped, Padfoot wrinkled his nose and sneezed. Harry
brushed soot off his hands and collected the reforming cards. Padfoot didn't need to know
he'd had a stupid dream. Snape was probably lying anyway. I bet he'd love the idea of me
worrying about this.

Padfoot seemed to think for a moment and then, to Harry's surprise, said, "Can I play?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said, blinking.

Padfoot came in and sat down. They stared at each other for a few moments. "Er... What are
we playing?"

Harry laughed. "Well, there's the game I played with Dumbledore, or-"

"The one with the Bertie Bott's?" Padfoot asked, grinning.

Harry nodded and set down the stack of cards. "I've got some in my-"

"Accio," Padfoot said, flicking his wand at the bedside table. "But don't tell Moony or
Kreacher we had sweets so soon after breakfast." Harry nodded. There was a quiet banging
noise from inside the drawer, as if the box of beans was trying to escape. A moment later, the
drawer burst open with a bang and the beans shot toward them. Harry snagged them out of
the air. Padfoot's eyebrows rose as Harry set the beans on the carpet between them.

"What?" Harry asked. Padfoot stared at him for a moment and shook his head.

"Nothing." Harry decided to drop the matter, since Padfoot had done the same for him before.

"You can start." Padfoot grinned and reached for a card. One glue flavoured bean and one
cinnamon one later, Padfoot cleared his throat. Harry looked up expectantly.

"So," Padfoot said, not reaching for a card despite it being his turn.

He's definitely about to say something important, Harry thought.

"I was thinking-" Harry had to swallow the smart comment he would usually have made
because Padfoot didn't look to be in the mood. "-that I might go out this afternoon, and you
wouldn't be able to come-"

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, seizing the topic change with interest.

"It's been two weeks since the cave..." Padfoot said, still looking rather distant.

"Did you find something about Horcruxes?" Harry asked warily.

"No." Padfoot frowned unhappily. "None of the books from Reg's room had anything in
them, so I'm going through the rest of the library now." Harry wasn't sure what to say to that,
so he didn't say anything. "This is about... Marlene."

"What about her?" Harry asked curiously.

Padfoot took a deep breath and then words came rushing out. "It's been two weeks and I think
Marlene has probably calmed down by now, so I thought I might go and talk to her again."
Already, Padfoot looked as though he'd thrown off a large burden. Harry was pleased, and
jealous at the same time, even though Padfoot had been worrying for a few days and Harry
had only had a morning.

"Right," Harry said. "So?"

"So this is something that really needs to be done. She should have calmed down a bit, but if
I leave it much longer, it'll be a much harder job than it needs to."

"And?" Harry asked, still not sure what the problem was.

"And I have to go alone. You can't come."

Harry frowned at him. "Why not?"

"If it came to spells – which, with Marlene is always a possibility," Padfoot said with a
grimace, "then it could set the Trace off and bring the entire D.M.L.E. barging in. That's the
last thing we need, particularly since they know I own a house in the area."
Harry could see a gaping flaw in that logic and didn't hesitate to point it out: "But then
Marlene will know, won't she? Where to find us, I mean."

"She might," Padfoot said. "But hopefully she believes me enough that she won't go running
off to call the Aurors. I can explain the rest of it to her and then it won't matter that she
knows. Even then, she won't be able to find us in here until you tell her the Secret."

"Right," Harry muttered.

"I've invited Moony back after he's done with Nymphadora and he thinks he'll be back in the
early afternoon. He can watch you while I go out-"

"Watch me?"

"Well, yeah," Padfoot said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I sort of thought that after Snape
taking you, you might not want to be here by yourself-"

"No, I want to," Harry said. Padfoot's eyebrows arched. "I mean, Snape's not likely to come
back, is he? And Kreacher's here."

Padfoot's face darkened. "Yes, because that worked so well last time."

"It'll be fine," Harry hedged. "You should talk to her. If it works out, maybe she could – I
dunno - come to dinner or something."

Padfoot's eyes brightened again. "You're sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all," Harry said honestly, because right now, he thought he needed some time alone
and while Kreacher was easy enough to keep busy, Padfoot was less so; he'd give Harry time
alone if he asked for it, but then he'd want to know why and Harry couldn't explain that, not
yet. "You should go."

Padfoot nodded seriously and then grinned, reaching for a card. "Why don't we finish the
game first, though?"

"Would you like a drink?" Remus asked as they claimed his usual table in the corner.

Nymphadora frowned at him and took the seat opposite. "You drink on duty?"

"I was going to suggest a butterbeer," he said with a wry smile.

"Oh." She flushed. "Well, I suppose if you're having one..."

She stuck a hand into her pocket but Remus shook his head. "I'll buy," he said.

"I hate owing people," she muttered. "It's not like I can't afford it; even trainees get six
hundred galleons a month-"
"I think I should become an Auror," Remus muttered, though he knew perfectly well that
they'd never take him. Nymphadora laughed and pulled out three sickles. Remus' heart sank
as he stared at the little silver coins. "Are you certain?" he asked weakly. "I'd much rather pay
than take your money."

"I don't like charity," she said with a grin, pushing the coins into his hand.

Oww, Remus thought, forcing a smile onto his face. Oww, bloody oww! Remus took the
money and went to order, all but throwing the coins at Tom when he got there.

"Dittany?" Remus asked between clenched teeth. Tom vanished beneath the counter for a
moment and then popped up and pressed the bottle into Remus' good hand. He poured it over
the burn, which smoked and vanished. "Thank you," he said, passing the bottle back.

Tom gave him a gummy smile and added something to the little piece of parchment he kept
on how much he owed Remus; Remus tended to pay in galleons and since Tom knew about
his condition, Tom counted that as advanced payment for the thing he ordered. He still had
several 'free' drinks on his account. They chatted while Tom filled two mugs and Tom ribbed
him about showing up with a girl, much to Remus' embarrassment.

"It isn't like that," he said firmly, though his face felt rather hot. "She's just a friend." And
then, because he wasn't even sure that they were friends, added, "Colleague."

The mention of colleagues turned the conversation to work and Remus wasn't about to start
getting into that with Tom – fond as he was of the old barman – so he deftly turned the
conversation back on Tom and how business was. Tom talked cheerfully and passed the mugs
over the counter. It was with some relief that Remus headed back to the table.

"Are you friends?" Nymphadora asked as he sat down again.

"I worked here for a few years," Remus said, passing her butterbeer over. "Tom was friends
with my father, arranged my first job."

"You didn't stay on?"

"I couldn't. The war was happening. I had things to do, and while Tom's neutral with
everybody, most of the Death Eaters that came through knew perfectly well who I was."

Nymphadora – midway through taking a sip of her drink – choked. "They did? How?"

"I went to school with them," Remus said, knowing better than to mention the Order, or Peter.
"And- Ah! This is one of ours." He lifted a hand to wave Debbie over. She approached
slowly, her dark eyes never on one person or place for more than a few seconds. They landed
on Nymphadora, narrowed, and then met Remus'. He nodded to show her it was okay.

"Remus," she said in a voice that wavered a little.

"Debbie," he said with a warm smile. "How are you?"

"I've been... better," she said, suddenly blinking away tears.

He reached out and squeezed her hand; she'd been bitten back in June and two nights ago had
been her third full moon. The full moon was hard for any werewolf. For a middle-aged
woman that had been a muggle until very recently, it was even harder. "Are you still able to
work today?"

"Yes," she said, twisting her hands in the material of her dress. "Yes, thank you."

"Would you like a drink?"

"No, thank you," she said, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear. "Where would you
like me to look today, Remus?"

"Just locally, thank you, Debbie. And don't overwork yourself." She bobbed her head in a nod
and was gone.

"Are you related?" Nymphadora asked at once.

"No," Remus said, a little thrown by the question. "Why, do we look alike?"

"No," Nymphadora said, frowning. "There's just something about her..."

"We have a lot in common," Remus told her. "She went through some fairly difficult things a
few months back. I've been helping her quite a bit." Nymphadora smiled. Her eyes scanned
the pub, perhaps searching for more of the volunteers, when she stiffened. "Are you all
right?" Remus asked, glancing around for whatever had upset her.

She didn't have a chance to answer that question but the answer presented itself fairly quickly
because Lucius Malfoy swept over to the table, flanked by his wife. Remus could see the two
Malfoy boys wrestling with something small and brown a few feet away.

"Lupin," Malfoy said, in what could only be described as a sneer. "Hard at work, I see." His
eyes flicked to the butterbeer in front of Remus.

"Mr Malfoy," Nymphadora said, beaming.

"Tock," he said, far more politely. "You've been treated well enough?" His eyes flicked to
Remus again.

"Call me Theodora," she said, still smiling. Narcissa gave her a sharp look and then turned to
her children, who were still struggling. "And of course I have. Lupin here's been a perfect
gentleman." Remus heard the subtle, mocking tone she adopted for those last two words and
saw her roll her eyes. Malfoy seemed to like that, because he smirked and gave Remus a look
that he would have interpreted to mean his time was limited even if he wasn't in on the plan.
Gently, Nymphadora kicked Remus under the table, as if to apologise. He kicked her back.

"You're learning quickly, I trust?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, sir!" she said eagerly.

"He doesn't like the noise!" one of the Malfoy boys was saying to his mother. Remus had
absolutely no idea which was which from appearance alone and didn't think Malfoy would
appreciate it if he started sniffing his sons... Now there's an idea...he thought smothering a
grin.

"I did tell you-"

"I promised Pansy I'd bring him," one of them said, cutting in snottily.

"And if Hydrus gets to bring Bosworth, I should get to bring Roquefort," the other – who had
to be Draco, then – whined. Remus was amused; were they talking about cheese?

"Fine," she said mildly. "Bring them with you, but if I see as much as a whisker between here
and the cafe, I will not hesitate to send you back to the Manor. Am I understood?"

"Of course, Mother," Hydrus said, sweet and smiling all of a sudden, as he stowed something
in his pocket. "He'll be good, I promise." Draco gave her an equally sweet smile and nodded,
patting his own pocket.

Malfoy noticed Remus looking at the boys and his polite expression – Nymphadora was
saying something about she and Remus going to Norfolk (Remus had to hide a bewildered
look) – froze in place. He, unlike his children and wife, were close enough that Remus could
smell- was it fear?

"Narcissa, dear," he said, holding up a pale hand to stop Nymphadora's chatter, "take the boys
ahead, would you? Tell the Parkinsons I'll be along shortly."

Of course, Remus thought scathingly. Wouldn't want your children breathing the same air as
me, would you, Malfoy? It wasn't particularly surprising; Malfoy hadn't used the Scrimgeour
excuse since June, yet they were still holding meetings through the bars of the Manor gates.

"Of course," Narcissa said calmly. "Miss Tock, Mr Lupin." She gave her sons an imploring
look.

"Goodbye," Draco said in a polite, if frosty tone. Remus didn't miss the sulky look he gave
his mother.

"Goodbye," Hydrus said in a sneering tone that he must have inherited from his father and
then the three of them swept out with a swish of expensive robes.

Nymphadora and her uncle exchanged a few more words and then he sneered his goodbyes –
just as his son had – and left the crowded pub.

"Idiot," Nymphadora said, her voice lifting an octave as it reverted back to normal. "Sorry
about the perfect gentleman thing," she added hastily. "I just thought-"

"No offence taken," Remus assured her. "You're quite a good liar."

"Er... thanks?" she said, looking unsure whether to be pleased by that comment or insulted.
"You're welcome."

She decided to take it as a compliment. "What do you mean quite good? I think
I'm very good."

Remus smiled at the teasing tone. "Modest too." She grinned at that. "Unfortunately, I've met
better."

"Who?" she demanded at once.

"Why, me," he said, taking a sip of his drink.

"You, eh?" she asked, not looking certain about whether he was joking or not. "How-"

Before she had a chance to form any of the questions she obviously wanted to ask, three
people approached the table. Remus would have bet the contents of his Gringotts vault –
which, admittedly, was not much - that they'd been waiting for Malfoy to leave.

The first was a boy Remus had known for several years now. Matthew Rosier been bitten by
Greyback near the end of the war to punish his father for marrying a muggle. As a new
werewolf at the time he'd received his Hogwarts letter, Matt had decided not to go and so his
parents had paid Remus to teach him instead, although Remus would happily have done it for
free.

The second was Arabella Figg, the Squib woman who'd been a part of the Order and who'd
lived next door to Lily's sister to keep an eye on Harry. As always, she smelled strongly of
cats and mothballs but Remus found the scent oddly comforting, instead of repulsive.

The third was Dirk Cresswell, who, unlike Remus' other helpers, had no trouble finding work
and held a position in the Goblin Liason Office. He'd conveniently not mentioned that to
Malfoy when he volunteered and so Malfoy - who had no idea that Dirk was a actually a very
capable wizard - had judged him on his muggleborn blood status and the fact that he could
only work weekends and shunted him into the muggle search.

"Where's Deb?" Matt asked, glancing around. He had helped Remus a lot with integrating her
into wizarding society and helping her cope with her lycanthropy, and was quite fond of the
older woman.

"She's already been and left." Matt's face fell. "Everyone, this is Theodora Tock. She'll be
working with us from now on."

"Wo- Hello," Nymphadora said, grinning at the others.

"Hi," Matt said, flopping down in the seat next to Remus'. He gave her a charming smile.
"I'm Matt."

"Arabella Figg," Arabella said kindly.

"Dirk Cresswell."
"You work at the Ministry, don't you?" Nymphadora said, squinting at him.

Dirk smiled. "Yes, indeed, Miss Tock-"

"Theodora's fine," she said, far more naturally than she had with Malfoy.

Matt glanced at the pair of them and then leaned toward Remus. "How was yours, then?"

"The best one for a while," Remus said honestly. "Yours?"

"Boring," Matt said, scratching his arm, where Remus was sure he had a cut or bruise of
some sort. "I had about an hour before the tranquilisers kicked in." Matt's mother Robin
worked as a veterinarian and had access to animal medicines that Matt had been using
effectively for several years.

Most werewolves wouldn't dream of using muggle remedies; they had to be injected, not
ingested like a potion and they also prolonged the recovery period in the days after the moon.
Even now, Matt looked a little bleary-eyed, but he'd always said – and firmly – that it was
worth it.

"You're still using them, then?"

"We had to switch the type and up the dosage this time," he said, shrugging. "Bloody wolf
was getting resistant." He scratched his arm again and yawned.

"May I?" Remus asked. Matt smiled gratefully and rolled up his sleeve. Remus vanished the
dressing – Robin's work, he was certain - with a tap of his wand and healed the cut with
another tap. Matt wasn't bad with Healing Charms but his mother liked to help and he let her,
at least until his injuries bothered him too much.

"Cheers," Matt said. His gaze flicked to Nymphadora, who was being regaled with a tale
about one of Arabella's many cats. "Is she...?" Remus shook his head. "Didn't think so," Matt
said. "What's her story, then?"

"Ask her yourself," Remus told him, grinning.

"All right," Matt said, lounging back in his chair. "Oi, Tock." Nymphadora looked up
curiously. "What's your story, then?"

"What?" she asked, but Dirk and Arabella both grinned.

"Well, my Mother's a muggle, Arabella here's a Squib and so's Debbie, who Remus said you
met earlier, and Dirk's muggleborn. Remus here's just an all round nice person.
What'd you do to insult the mighty Malfoy?"

"Muggleborn," Nymphadora said, glancing at Remus who inclined his head slightly.

"I knew I liked you," Dirk said, smiling at her. She smiled back.
Dirk left shortly after to patrol the area around King's Cross Station but the other two ordered
their own drinks and hung around, discussing Harry and Sirius for quite a while.

Eventually, Arabella left to catch a muggle bus that would take her around the city and let her
keep an eye on things, and Matt slipped out to do rounds of the muggle street outside the
Leaky Cauldron; one of Malfoy's men was already set up in the corner, nursing a firewhiskey,
his eyes flicking between the door and the fireplace, watching, but not really taking anything
in. He was a few years older than Remus and not the brightest galleon in Gringotts, but that
didn't bother Remus at all anymore, now that he didn't want Sirius caught.

"Where'll we go?" Nymphadora asked as they set off down Charing Cross Road.

"We'll just walk around the busier streets until lunchtime and then go back to the Leaky
Cauldron and meet up with everyone again."

"And then what?"

"Have lunch," Remus said with a shrug. "Discuss anything suspicious and then designate
duties and head out again."

"What if Debbie or Arabella find Sirius? They can't use magic to catch him, can they?"

"Neither are defenceless," Remus assured her. Debbie was much stronger than she looked and
Arabella's handbag was heavy enough to knock someone as big as Hagrid out. "If they spot
Sirius, they've got a piece of parchment that's charmed to fly straight to me. That's why I stay
in the city. I can get the message quickly and Apparate straight there if I need to. They've also
both got a Portkey that'll take them home if they need it."

"They're all going to be furious with me when I take your job, aren't they?" she sighed.

"No," he said honestly. Well, Matt and Debbie might be, but Remus intended to tell them
enough about what was going on to keep them happy. "They aren't here for me. They're here
to find Harry."

"If you're sure..."

"I'm positive," Remus said. "Now, mind you keep an eye out for any nine-year old boys."
Nymphadora instantly glanced around, as if she thought Harry might wander out of one of
the shops. They walked in silence for a moment, with Nymphadora staring suspiciously at all
children between the ages of seven and twelve – Mad-Eye would be proud, Remus thought.
"Nym- Theodora," he said. She glanced up at him. "You're scaring people."

Nymphadora jumped and gave a mother and her son an apologetic look. "Oops."

"Look," he encouraged, "but don't stare. Or glower. Or whatever it is you were doing."

"Right," she muttered, the roots of her hair flashing pink for a moment before she seemed to
notice and controlled the urge. "So how've you been?"

"Since yesterday?" Remus asked, chuckling. She flushed but pressed on.
"Was your friend all right?"

"Fine," Remus said, "thank you." Before she could ask any more on the matter, he said,
"What did you cover in the Program yesterday?"

"Sidekicks," she said, flashing something small and gold at him before it vanished into her
pocket again. "They're brilliant. I can't remember what the acronym stands for but it's like a
watch, a muggle phone and a compass all at once."

"You're enjoying it, then?"

"We haven't done much, yet. I think I've spent more time with you than I have in Ministry
lessons, but yeah, so far it's pretty good."

"Have you got a good group?"

She shrugged. "A few gits, but there are always a few of those. Florence and Melvin are great
and I thought Ben was all right but he turned out to be a bit of a prat-"

"What happened?"

"He started sprouting rubbish about Slytherins being evil and Gryffindors always being the
good guys."

"No, not always," he sighed, thinking of Peter. "And I've known a few good Slytherins, but
I've also known some rather horrible ones."

"So you think Slytherins are evil too?" Nymphadora asked, bristling. Her hair was still brown
but had a distinct reddish tinge to it.

"When I was at school, I hated them," Remus said honestly. "Lucius Malfoy, Samuel Avery,
Evan Rosier, Bellatrix Black – well Lestrange, now... can you blame me?" Nymphadora
winced at that last name but her expression was set. "At the same time, I knew your mother. I
knew Regulus Black and Emmeline Vance – brilliant people, the three of them."

"You know Professor Vance?" Remus blinked, having forgotten Emmeline would have taught
Nymphadora. Then he nodded. "But you still think Slytherins are mostly-"

"I think that Slytherins are more likely to be drawn in by offers of power than others because
they're ambitious and have good self-preservation instincts," Remus told her calmly. "If I was
in school again, I can't say I would have treated the lot I was in with any better, but that
doesn't mean I'm proud of it." She was still watching him with a mulish expression.

"I'd have thought you would understand where I'm coming from."

"I do. Very much so. You don't know me well enough yet to understand that I have a very
deep, ingrained hate of prejudice. I have always done my best to trust people until I'm given a
reason not to. Unfortunately, when I was in school, I was given those reasons and responded
in kind."
"Why did you have to respond at all?" she asked. "Why not just leave them alone?" He
smiled sadly. It was a nice solution, but a naive one.

"For the same reason you've just argued with me about Slytherins." He smiled to show her
that he didn't view that as offensive, but she didn't smile back. "Belief," he told her.
"Voldemort and his followers were spreading one set of beliefs. I had a different set, one that
I believed in strongly enough to fight for, to die for even. One that I wouldn't abandon, even
if it was dangerous – that's the Gryffindor in me, I suppose."

"I suppose so," she agreed, with a smile and something in her eyes that he eventually
identified as awe. It made him uncomfortable. "And Moody shares your convictions, doesn't
he?"

"Some," Remus agreed carefully. "Why?"

"You aren't an Auror, but you've had his training. It makes sense if you fought together."
Remus nodded reluctantly.

"I can see why Mad-Eye chose you."

"McKinnon said that too," Nymphadora said, frowning. "I don't get it."

"You've got a good set of morals and you've got a brain that you use. If you've got those,
you're set. With Mad-Eye at least." She flushed. "And did you say McKinnon?"

"Do you know-" She shook her head. "You must have, because she knew Sirius..."

"Marlene McKinnon?" Remus pressed.

"Her first name's Marlene?" Nymphadora asked.

"It is if we're talking about the same person," Remus said, his heart racing. "What does she
look like? How did you meet her?"

"She's a trainee, too. And... she's tall," Nymphadora said thoughtfully. "Brown hair and eyes.
She- Oh! Come with me!" She grabbed his arm and towed him into a side alley. She tripped
on a beer bottle and grabbed Remus for support. "Oops," she said brightly. "Sorry! She looks
like this," she said, changing before his eyes. The face before him did indeed belong to
Marlene.

Fuck, was his first thought. His second was that he needed to get a message to Sirius
immediately, just in case he got impatient and left before Remus returned. I can't send a
Patronus in case Nymphadora sees... or if Sirius is somewhere that people might see him...
I'll have to go myself... skip lunch. His eyes narrowed at the thought; his stomach was
beginning to rumble now but they weren't due back at the Leaky Cauldron for another hour,
yet. Maybe I can have something at Grimmauld...

Just then, Nymphadora pointed out a little, fluffy dog that a Muggle had coloured bubblegum
pink. Poor creature, Remus thought, looking at it. It reminded him of something James and
Sirius had once done to Mrs Norris, and also of something he and James had once done to
Sirius when he fell asleep as Padfoot. If Sirius could see it, he'd probably subject us all to a
spiel on canine rights. Or laugh. Remus eyed the dog again and chuckled. Yes, he'd laugh.

He and Nymphadora continued through London chatting amicably, although Remus found
himself distracted with worry over Marlene and Sirius.

"Are you all right?" Nymphadora asked, her eyes scanning his face. He could smell concern
wafting off of her. Remus hesitated, wondering whether he should make an excuse and leave,
or whether he should just be patient and leave later, from the pub.

"I-" Her eyes widened and she shoved a hand into her pocket.

"It's burning," she said wonderingly. "Can I-"

"Go ahead," Remus said.

"Wait here," she told him, and went to stand a few yards away. She put the thing she'd dubbed
a Sidekick to her mouth and whispered something Remus didn't catch and then Mad-Eye's
voice boomed out of it.

"What attacked you in Brighton?" Several muggles paused to stare and Nymphadora hastily
pressed the Sidekick to her ear the way Remus had seen muggles do with the small, portable
telephones they carried.

"A post box," she said, looking bewildered.

"Are you alone?!" Nymphadora winced and held the thing at an arm's length. Remus was
sure her ears were ringing.

"You know," she said, "for a man who's so obsessed with secrecy, you're awfully loud. Like a
pureblood using a telephone," she muttered, catching Remus' eye. He grinned, remembering
the story James had told him about using the telephone at the Evans' house the first time he
stayed there.

"Answer the question!"

She jumped. "Lupin's here, but I am otherwise."

It was quiet and then Mad-Eye said, "There was a boy here."

"Erm... wonderful," Nymphadora said, looking bewildered again. "And that's important
because-"

"Because the boy was looking for you," Mad-Eye's voice said.

"For me?"

"Williams, he said his name was. Do you know him?"

"Keith?" she asked incredulously. "Keith was at the Ministry? What did he want?"
"He wanted you! Weren't you listening?"

"What did he want with me?" Nymphadora asked patiently. Remus was impressed. He'd
probably have shouted by now.

"To talk to you. Something about you not returning an owl last night," Mad-Eye said gruffly.
Nymphadora grimaced.

"What did you tell him?"

"Told him whatever he wanted wasn't any of my business, and where you were wasn't any of
his."

Nymphadora winced. "How'd that go?"

"He got stroppy," Mad-Eye said cheerfully. "So I sent him away."

"Away?"

"To look you." Mad-Eye's voice was quite... well, mad. He sounded as though he might start
giggling at any moment.

"Where's he meeting us?" Nymphadora asked, resigned. She threw Remus an apologetic
look. Remus shrugged to show he didn't mind, but took a step back. Talking to Mad-Eye was
always delicate, but after a while, people learned to navigate their way through conversations.
Nymphadora was still inexperienced, but Remus was not and knew she'd just made a mistake.
What was coming would be loud.

"Meeting you!" Mad-Eye roared. Nymphadora squeaked and dropped her Sidekick. Several
muggles looked over. "He's not meeting you anywhere!"

"But- you said-" Nymphadora looked at Remus for help. He just shrugged.

"He could be lying about knowing you! He might be a spy sent by Malfoy! The boy could be
an impostor! Constant vigilance! None of my spells picked anything up, but Polyjuice can't
be detected without a saliva sample and I couldn't risk him getting suspicious-"

Nymphadora groaned. "But I do know him. He's not a spy-"

"You can't know that! He could be tailing you as we speak. Are there any boys of your age
nearby? Best get your wand out, just in case. Now, there's a Cloaking Charm that-" She
covered her face with her hand and let out a slow breath that was a sigh and a growl mixed
together and then snapped the device shut. Remus stared at her, amazed.

"I have to go," she said. "I'm really, really sorry about this, but-"

"It's fine," Remus said with a wry grin. "I know what he's like."

"I'm with Moody tomorrow and Mond-"

"I only do mornings on those days anyway," Remus said. "I'll owl you about Tuesday, if
you'd like?"

"Yes, please," she said and then winced. "Uh oh," she said, glancing at her Sidekick, which
Remus thought was probably burning again.

"Go," Remus advised. She hurried down an alley – stumbled once and caught herself on a bin
– and then he heard the telltale pop of her Disapparating.

Remus checked his watch and nodded to himself. He had twenty minutes until he was due to
meet the others. He could Apparate to Grimmauld, warn Sirius and then come back in time
for lunch. He slid his wand out of his pocket and walked down the side street Nymphadora
had just used. He walked until there were no muggles in sight – either in the mouth of the
alley, in the alley itself, or looking out of windows that overlooked the alley – and then turned
on the spot.

As was becoming habit, he Apparated into the bushes in the park opposite Grimmauld, but
this time - instead of walking straight out - walked to the far left gate and around,
approaching from Number Eleven's side. If Marlene saw him, he could always claim he was
on patrol, but he'd rather avoid being seen by her altogether, if he could manage it.

As a result, he didn't loiter on the doorstep, but simply let himself inside. It was rude, but
given the circumstances, he could make an exception. The floorboards creaked as he stepped
into the hallway, and he heard quiet feet move upstairs. A moment later, a messy black head
peeked over the banister of the fourth floor landing, and then ducked out of sight again.

"Harry?" Remus called. Green eyes and a wand slowly moved over again, and then Harry
blinked.

"Moony," he said, sounding surprised. "Padfoot said you were going to be out until after
lunch."

"Where is Padfoot?" Remus asked, dreading the answer.

"Out," Harry said. "He went to Marlene's."

"Already?" Remus asked, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. "How long
ago?"

"I dunno. An hour and a bit, maybe?" He could already be in Azkaban for all we
know, Remus thought, closing his eyes for a moment. There was a loud pop in front of him
and then Harry was standing right there. Remus blinked, startled, though he'd seen Harry
Apparate before. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"Marlene's an Auror. Well, a trainee, but-"

"But then Padfoot..." Remus thought Harry might be sick. "We've got to do something!"

"Harry," Remus said. Harry, who was already halfway to the door, stopped. "There's nothing
you can do for him right now."
"But- I have to- It's my fault-" Remus would want to know more about that later, but there
wasn't time for it now; Harry was still heading for the door.

"What would Sirius say if you set off the Trace and got yourself caught?"

"That it was a bloody inconvenience," Harry said, sounding remarkably like Sirius as he did
so. His hand, which had been reaching for the handle, dropped back to his side.

"Language," Remus corrected absently. "But yes." His mind was working again, spitting out
a plan as it had used to do for pranks at school. "I want you and Kreacher to make this place
look like it did when you first moved in."

"How's that supposed to he-"

"Think, Harry," he said, his worry manifesting itself as impatience. "They'll come looking
here – they'd be stupid not to – and if they find it tidy, with the pantry stocked, beds made and
the walls painted, they'll know you've been here."

"Right," Harry muttered.

"You have ten minutes," Remus said, holding Harry's eyes, "to do as much as you can, and
then you need to leave. Kreacher needs to stay, and pretend he's been here alone the whole
time."

"Leave?" Harry asked, looking aghast. "But- Where-"

"My cottage. Apparate there – that won't set off the Trace because you'll be leaving from here
– and find somewhere to hide. Do not use magic after that. If they find you there, Apparate to
Hogsmeade. There's a shop there called Honeydukes-"

"Yeah, I know," Harry said.

"One of us will meet you there. If we're not there by seven o'clock tonight, find Snape."
Harry's face scrunched up and Remus got a whiff of dislike and was it... fear? "Harry."

"Yeah, all right," he said, but he didn't look happy about it. It was a very James-ish look.
"Will you get Padfoot?"

"I'll do what I can." Remus hugged him, aware that this could possibly be the last time he
ever saw Harry – unless someone decided to let Harry visit him and Sirius in Azkaban, which
was highly unlikely – and then gripped his wand firmly and headed for the door. "Ten
minutes!" he called over his shoulder.

"Kreacher!" he heard Harry shout.

Please don't be too late, please don't be too late, Remus chanted. He reached the door and
cast several Appearance Altering Charms before he stepped out and blinked in the daylight. I
certainly won't make it back in time for lunch, he thought, shutting the door. He ran toward
Number Thirteen. Please don't be too late, please...
 Hide and seek

Harry didn't waste any time. He called Kreacher, explained everything in three short, rather
terse sentences and then dragged him upstairs. Even as they ran up, the portraits came
zooming down out of Kreacher's cupboard. Mrs Black screeched at Harry as she passed him
on the stairs, and almost knocked him over.

"Everything that's red - except for what's in Padfoot's room - needs to be green," Harry said,
shoving open the door of his bedroom. Kreacher clicked his fingers at the bedding. "And
dusty," Harry added. Kreacher looked like he might cry. "Kreacher, please! This is
important!" Harry said as he tore the Gryffindor banner off of his wall. "That needs to be a
Slytherin one. Green and silver, with a snake!" Kreacher did that and hung it back up, but he
seemed to be struggling with the idea of dust.

"Kreacher can't, Kreacher doesn't know how- Kreacher cleans-"

Harry opened one of his desk drawers and rubbed his hand in the bottom of it, gathering dust.
His fingers also brushed something hard and cold, which turned out to be the vault key he'd
been given when he and Padfoot went to Gringotts. He stuffed that in his pocket, just in case.

"Here," he told Kreacher, offering him his dusty hand. "Make more." Kreacher's eyes
brightened and he clicked his fingers. The fine layer of dust thickened and then became a
lump. When it was roughly the size of Harry's desk, Kreacher clapped and it exploded,
layering itself onto the bed, the curtains, the desk and the carpet. Harry checked his watch.
Eight minutes left.

Thinking there were probably things that he and Padfoot would need, Harry grabbed his
rucksack from under his bed – it clinked quietly, reminding him that they had left a bit of
money in the front pocket back in February – and raced over to his wardrobe.

An assortment of clothes was shoved in, rather unceremoniously, as were the sweets in
Harry's bedside table, Regulus' golden snake puzzle and Harry's Exploding Snap set, which
was right beside them. Kreacher shooed him out of the room and replaced the dust that had
been disturbed by Harry's footsteps.

Hedwig, who'd been perched in Padfoot's room flew out to see what the fuss was about only
to be coerced back into her cage by Harry and carried out onto the landing. By the time he'd
managed to settle her – she was flapping her wings and clicking her beak, obviously
displeased by the dust – Kreacher had finished Padfoot's room.

Since Harry would disturb the dust if he went inside, Kreacher Summoned the things he'd
need; a set of Padfoot's clothes for Harry to pack, and the photograph of Padfoot and Regulus
(and their parents too, Harry supposed) from beside Padfoot's bed, since it was the only one
not permanently attached to the wall.

Kreacher ushered Harry down the stairs and then followed, walking backwards, his bony
hands almost blurred as they controlled a whirlwind of dust and grime, and also levitated
Hedwig's cage.

"Break the bathroom tiles and the taps," Harry said, "and make the doorknobs loose. And we
should break the lamps-"

"Kreacher remembers," Kreacher said. "Kreacher will handle things." Harry nodded and
headed down the next flight of stairs so as to not interfere. He stopped in the library and
stuffed all the books that were out back into the shelves and grabbed the little stash of muggle
money he and Padfoot kept there.

He also tipped all the Floo Powder they had into the fire and lit it with a hasty, "Incendio."

Four minutes.

Harry dashed out again, down another flight of stairs and into the drawing room, where he
put more books away and burnt more Floo Powder. He was on his way out the door when he
skidded to a halt and turned reluctantly. The locket gleamed at him from inside its cabinet.

"Kreacher?" Harry called. CRACK! Hedwig screeched and flapped her wings. The cage
rocked in Kreacher's grip and Harry quickly relieved him of it. "I'm taking the locket, just in
case we can't come back. Can you-" Before he could even ask properly, Kreacher made an
odd hand motion, cancelling the protective charms. The cabinet swung open. Harry seized the
locket and the copy of Regulus' note and shoved them both into his rucksack.

A glance at his watch told him it was time to go. He hugged Kreacher tightly and got an
awkward pat on the back in return – Kreacher was trying to drape cobwebs like Aunt Petunia
had draped tinsel at Christmas.

"Don't forget the troll's leg downstairs," Harry said quickly and then, gripping his wand with
one hand and Hedwig's cage with the other, murmured, "Ostendere me omnia." Colours
danced in front of his eyes and then he twisted, concentrating as hard as he could on the
doorstep of Moony's cottage, since that was the only part of it he remembered.

Cool wind rushed over him, ruffling his hair, and Harry could smell the forest, though he
couldn't say quite what it smelled like. Hedwig nibbled on the bars of her cage, as if
reminding him she was there. He undid the latch and she launched herself out and into the
sky before circling down to land in a tree at the bottom of the garden. She glared at Harry for
a moment and then began to clean her feathers.

Figuring she was safe enough, Harry decided to ensure his own safety and tried the
doorknob. The door swung open. Clearly Moony was isolated enough that he wasn't worried
about anyone breaking in. Harry had another look over his shoulder and stepped inside,
shutting the door behind him.

The cottage was small – the entire thing would probably fit in the kitchen of Number Twelve
– but it was bright and welcoming. Certainly it was more welcoming than Number Twelve
had been. There was a hallway to Harry's right and the front door had opened straight into a
room that was a sitting room mixed with a kitchen.
Moony had said to hide, but Harry didn't think he was in any immediate danger – Padfoot and
Moony were another story but he shoved that thought away - and he was curious; the large
collection of photographs on Moony's mantel had certainly drawn his attention. He set the
cage and his rucksack down by the couch and walked over.

Some were recent. There were several of Moony and two people Harry thought might be his
parents; the woman had his sandy hair and brown eyes and then man was tall like Moony and
had the same nose and smile. There was one of Moony and a boy – he was younger than
Moony but quite a bit older than Harry – who had dark hair and eyes and a friendly smile.

Some were older photos, taken before Harry was born; in some of them, Moony only looked
a few years older than Harry was now. There was one of Moony and James at a Quidditch
game - the Cannons, Harry thought, spotting a glimpse of his godfather's bright orange face
as he peeked over James' shoulder. There was also one of Moony and his fellow Gryffindor
Prefect. It was a pretty girl with bright green eyes and red hair.

He had a niggling feeling that he knew her and so moved his attention to another photograph,
hoping to see her again.

The next photo was one of all four Marauders - the same one that Padfoot had in his bedroom
at Number Twelve – and Harry knew it well. The one after that was of a large group of
people - Harry recognised Dumbledore, his dad, Padfoot, Moony - he growled at Peter's short
figure, making the man hide behind Padfoot - and Amelia Bones.

The red-haired woman was there again. Right beside his father, smiling at him. He knew
now, who it must be. Since he could put it back up and Moony wouldn't even know he'd
moved it, Harry pulled the photo frame down so that he could get a better look at the picture.
Shaking, he reached out to trace his parents' faces. Both of them smiled and waved at him. He
was used to seeing James smile and wave, but Lily was new to him.

I do have my mother's eyes.

Harry sat down – he thought his legs might give out – on Moony's couch, the photograph
resting in his lap. For a moment, all thoughts of Moony and Padfoot and the danger they
could be in, faded.

He thought the photograph was of the Order of the Phoenix; both Padfoot and James were
wearing black t-shirts with Phoenixes on them and Dumbledore had a real Phoenix perched
on his shoulder. An enormous bearded man – Harry was almost certain he was a giant - kept
looking at it and reaching out with a forearm sized finger to pat its plumed head.

Movement where his parents were standing drew his attention back; Moony and Padfoot
were stomping each other's feet, and while his father clearly found it funny, his mother was
pursing her lips and shooting them disapproving looks. Finally, she seemed to have had
enough and turned – presumably to tell them off – when James stomped, admittedly gentler
than Moony and Padfoot had been, on her foot. Padfoot gave him a thumbs up from over her
shoulder.
Harry watched with baited breath to see what Lily would do; Padfoot had always mentioned
her temper, but also mentioned what a kind person she was. Harry was expecting her to either
shout at James, or just let it go. He wasn't expecting her to grin and stop on his foot, the way
she did. James grinned - the same grin he always gave Harry and Padfoot through the mirror -
and flung an arm over her shoulders. A wedding ring glinted on his hand, almost as bright at
his smile.

Meanwhile, Moony was talking to Padfoot, but Padfoot was very obviously not listening; he
was staring hard at a dark-haired witch, who appeared oblivious on Peter's other side. Or
would have, if her eyes didn't keep flicking in his direction. Lily noticed and elbowed
Padfoot who straightened and flicked his wand at Peter, as if that had been the intention all
along. Harry laughed out loud as photo-Peter's hair turned a vivid shade of green.

Harry had a quick look at the photo's other occupants but they weren't nearly as interesting as
his parents and their friends. Even the red-haired twins - Harry thought they looked a bit like
Ron from the Leaky Cauldron and were pulling a number of ridiculous poses - failed to hold
his attention for long. Harry found his eyes drifting back to the left side of the photo.

Peter was looking indignant, and James and Padfoot swapped pleased looks and high-fives
behind Lily's head while Moony repaired the damage. The dark haired witch Padfoot had
been staring at earlier had edged closer to Padfoot since he last looked, and then, with a wave
of her wand, turned his hair blue. A round faced witch and a man with a kind smile both
laughed. Padfoot pulled a face at them.

Harry thought he could have watched for hours, but was disturbed only a few seconds later
by a quiet rustle. His head snapped up. It was only a barn owl, perched near the kitchen
window, but it did remind him that he was supposed to be hiding, and of
course, that reminded him of Padfoot and Moony's predicament and made worry start to
gnaw on his insides again. Harry returned the photograph to its home above the fireplace and
began to look for somewhere to hide.

Remus took a deep breath, squeezed his wand for reassurance and opened Marlene's front
door. It swung open soundlessly to show a white walled hallway with pale floorboards. The
only thing in sight that wasn't neutrally coloured was a large, faded Gryffindor banner.

He'd been here before – while he and Marlene had never been particularly close, he'd felt
obliged to visit her once or twice a year – and so knew his way around reasonably well. It
was only now, however, that he realised that the layout of Number Thirteen was identical to
that of Number Twelve; there was a door on either side of the hallway and further ahead on
the right he could see the staircase that went up to the rest of the house and on the left he
could see the one that went down to the kitchen.

"Homenum Revelio," he whispered.

The entire hallway fell into darkness – to Remus' eyes at least – and the walls and floors
became little more than faint, almost transparent outlines. Someone glowed bright orange,
like a fire, from the room to Remus' left, but the rest of the house was empty. He hoped it was
Sirius.
He let the spell slip away, just as a familiar voice said, "Marlene?"

"Sirius!" Remus burst into a room that was positioned exactly where Sirius' training room
was in Number Twelve. In Number Thirteen, however, it was a large, bright sitting room,
where he and Marlene had sat on the rare occasions he'd visited. This room, unlike the
training room, had a fireplace. Standing in front of one of the flowery couches – Remus was
almost certain Marlene hadn't picked those - and holding a half-full cup of tea, was Sirius.
Remus sagged with relief.

"Harry?" he asked, staring at Remus. "What-"

"It's me, you git," Remus said impatiently. He'd chosen to make himself look like Harry
because it would make other people underestimate him, and because it would conceal his
own involvement in this. Sirius stared at him.

"Moony? But, why-?"

"Marlene's an Auror trainee, Sirius," he said, wasting no time. "We've got to go, now-"

"Harry's safe?" Sirius said, setting his tea down.

"Yes, he's fine. He'll meet us at my house."

"Your-"

"Yes, mine!" Remus said. "If you'd already been taken, it seemed probable that Aurors would
be back to search the area, and – because they'd have to be thick not to – Number Twelve."

"Right," Padfoot muttered. "But-"

"Everything's taken care of, except you," Remus barked, grabbing him. "Let's-"

The fireplace chimed and green flames swelled. He and Sirius exchanged horrified looks and
then Sirius was the one pulling Remus out of the sitting room and down the hall.

"Wha-" Remus heard from the room they just vacated, and then the door opened with a bang
and Marlene charged out, eyes blazing, wand aloft. Sirius made a little despairing noise and
flicked his wand at the front door, which popped open. A jet of red light – either a Stunner or
a Disarmer, Remus thought, and either could ruin everything at this point – flew toward them.
Remus' wand was lifted and he had the incantation for a Shield Charm on his lips when
Sirius' bloomed out, negating the necessity. His hand knocked Remus' wand down.

"Wh-"

"The Trace," Sirius hissed.

"But- Oh!" The Trace wouldn't go off, and they would know he wasn't really Harry. And if
they knew that, they could analyse any spells he'd used and follow the magical residue back
to him, which would lead them to the real Harry, possibly before he and Sirius could get to
him. "What about this, though?" he asked, as Sirius cast another Shield Charm and Marlene
was forced to dive out of the way as her spell flew back and scorched the wall. "These spells
should set it off."

"Can't be helped," Sirius said. "But if you don't leave any magic behind, they can't prove a
thin- Ventus!" Marlene tumbled over, giving them enough time to get out of the house. Sirius
jumped the four front steps but Remus was too short in his spell-altered body to be sure that
he could make it that far, and had to run down them.

"Incarcerous!"

"Protego Ignis!" Sirius said, and the ropes Marlene had sent at them were destroyed by the
burning shield. "Marlene-"

"What were you doing in my house?" she snarled, lifting her wand. Oddly, however, no more
spells came at them. Remus suspected she'd remembered they were standing in a muggle
street.

"I wanted to talk to you," Sirius said, sounding remarkably calm. "Obviously you're not in a
talking mood-"

"Oh, really?" she snapped.

"-which is fine," Sirius continued hastily. "We'll come back another day-"

"We most certainly won't," Remus hissed.

"-when you're more inclined to... er... not... well, hex us." He dropped his voice. "Look
scared, Moony. Grab my arm. So," he said loudly, as Remus edged closer and wrapped a
small hand around Sirius' forearm, "we'll just be going..."

Marlene's eyes widened and she made a motion with her wand that Remus recognised as
some sort of Binding Hex. Sirius, thankfully, blocked it at the last moment, with a jab of his
wand. Her eyes narrowed and she flicked her wand several more times. He and Sirius were
forced to separate as a bright orange spell whizzed toward them.

Remus doubted it was anything overly dangerous, since Marlene wouldn't want to hurt him at
least (he was supposed to be Harry), but he doubted he wanted to be hit by it either. Sirius
conjured a spherical shield that absorbed a pink hex and allowed Remus to get back to his
side.

"Lovely seeing you," Sirius said cheerfully, though his voice was strained. "Hold tight," he
muttered to Remus, and cast a quick look in Number Twelve's direction, obviously thinking
of Harry. "Oh, and good luck with Auror training." Marlene's mouth fell open. She might
have said something but Remus didn't hear it; Sirius had spun on the spot and pulled Remus
along with him.

"Couldn't help yourself, could you?" Remus asked once they were steady; Sirius had brought
them to King's Cross Station where they very quickly became a part of the crowd. It was
disconcerting, because Remus, who was used to looking down on people because of his
height, found himself staring at everyone's elbows. He was just grateful both he and Sirius
were wearing jeans and didn't stand out. "You just had to mention the Aurors-"

"Didn't have a choice, did I?" Sirius muttered. Remus didn't have much idea where they were
going, but Sirius seemed to. "She was so surprised she didn't even try to stop us- Security
camera." Sirius ducked his head, and indicated that Remus should do the same.

"Done this before, have you?" Remus asked.

"Twice," Sirius said. "The first morning I had Harry, we didn't have food so I ducked out to
buy that, but I stopped by here to make sure I knew my way around."

"Why?"

"Situations like this," he said, shrugging. "If you want to hide from wizards, where better
than in the muggle world?"

"When was the second time?"

"After you found Harry in May. When we escaped, we came here, caught a train and then a
bus and then walked home."

"How do you think of these things?"

"I'm just fantastically clever," Sirius said, but he looked distracted.

"What's the real reason?" Remus asked, laughing; he thought Sirius' history as an Auror
probably had more to do with it.

"Hmm?" Sirius said, not appearing to hear him. He was silent for a moment and then looked
up, eyes guilty and worried. "You're sure Harry's safe?"

"Positive," Remus said. "He's probably hiding under my bed, waiting for us to get there."

"Cupboard."

"What?"

"He'll be in a cupboard," Sirius sighed. He paused and then: "And you're sure-"

"Sirius, he'll be fine."

"Shut up."

"What?"

"Not you- Never mind. If Harry's not fine, I blame you."

"You do that," Remus said, a little disconcerted. Sirius poked his tongue out and guided him
along a strange, zig-zagging path. "Padfoot, why are we walking like this?"
"Cameras."

"But we only ducked-"

"That one can't be avoided." Sirius sighed and glanced at Remus, looking resigned. "You
wouldn't happen to have any muggle money, would you?"

"Yes, actually," Remus said, reaching into a pocket of his jeans.

"You're joking." Sirius had stopped walking to stare at him.

"I was patrolling today," Remus said, pulling out several muggle coins. "I always take a few
pounds when I go, just in case." Sirius shook his head, looking unable to believe his good
luck, and guided Remus over to buy tickets.

"Where to?" the woman at the counter asked, giving Sirius a smile. She blushed when he
smiled back and ignored Remus entirely. They exchanged the usual pleasantries – though
Remus could tell from Sirius' voice that he just wanted to buy the tickets and be done with it
– and so Remus leant against the wall and watched the muggles go about their lives.

Everything was remarkably uneventful, at least until he noticed four people in dark cloaks in
various places around the station; one was sitting on a bench, next to a muggle business man.
One was exchanging words with a muggle policeman and another with a conductor. The
fourth was chatting with random muggles, and seemed to be holding a photograph.

How did they find us so quickly? Remus thought, horrified. The answer presented itself
immediately; Marlene. She would have had a Sidekick, like Nymphadora's, and contacted the
Auror Office immediately. They'd obviously examined the traces left by Sirius' Apparition
and been led here.

"Siri- Dad," Remus said loudly, tugging on Sirius' sleeve. Sirius glanced down, looking
anxious. "We... er... there... I have to go to the bathroom."

"Really?" Sirius asked, giving Remus a puzzled look. "Can... er... you wait until we get
home?"

"No," Remus said, tilting his head in the direction of the Aurors. "Now." Sirius swore.

"Right," he said. "Sorry," he told the lady at the ticket booth. "We'll... er... be back in a
minute." He guided Remus away. "We won't have time to catch a train," Sirius said.

"Doesn't matter. We'll Apparate around a bit, try to lose them that way."

"Hogsmeade's best, then," Sirius said. "Come on, we need somewhere private or we'll scare
the muggles."

"We should have changed your face," Remus hissed as they ran toward the bathrooms.

"In front of all the muggles?" Sirius shot back. "Or while we were with Marlene? And," he
said, "your face, right now, is probably being looked for just as much as mine."
"Fuck, right," Remus said, running an agitated hand through the messy hair that so resembled
Harry's. A man in a suit gave him a scandalised look and then glowered at Sirius.

"Stop swearing," Sirius told him. "You're making me look like a bad paren- Shut up!" he
hissed. Remus decided to ignore that, this time.

"You are a bad- Oh, all right," he said, grinning, when Sirius gave him a plaintive look.
"Sorry."

"Ha," Sirius said under his breath. "Told you."

"Who-?" Remus began.

"Don't worry about it." There was only one man in the bathroom when they entered, and he
was drying his hands. They waited until he'd left and then Sirius locked the door with a
charm that would wear off in thirty seconds. "Hogsmeade?" he asked, and held out his arm.

Remus nodded and then Sirius spun. The grey bathroom tiles they were standing on swirled
and darkened and became the muddy road that connected Hogsmeade and the school.

"Come on," he said, walking toward the trees that lined the road.

"Wait," Sirius said, pulling off his shoes.

"Sirius, what in Merlin's-"

"Shh." Sirius grinned and with a flick of his wand, dropped his shoes. They landed with a
squelch and a spray of muck. Sirius murmured another spell and the shoes took off along the
road toward the village.

"Footprints," Remus said softly and then shook himself. "Do you actually think of
everything?"

"Eighteen years of friendship and you haven't worked that out yet?" Sirius asked archly.
Remus thought it was more like ten or eleven, given Sirius' time in Azkaban but didn't say so.
"My, my, Moony, how the mighty have fallen-"

"Yes, yes, it's tragic," Remus said impatiently, making Sirius laugh. "Here, we should get off
the road." He headed into the trees on the left, knowing they'd lead them into the main part of
the Forbidden Forest; the trees on the right were too sparse to provide any real shelter and the
forest on that side ended not far from where they were. Sirius didn't say anything but the
quiet sound of socks in mud told Remus he was following.

"Disgusting," Sirius said when they were far enough into the trees that they couldn't see the
road anymore. Remus turned to find Sirius sitting on the ground, peeling off his ruined socks.
"Evanesco," he said darkly, and then leaned back against a tree trunk. "So, where to,
Moony?"

"Get up, you git," he said, nudging Sirius with his shoe. "We can't go anywhere if you're
sitting down."
"We can't go anywhere if we don't know where we're going," Sirius countered, making no
move to stand.

"We're not going anywhere," Remus told him after a moment. Sirius blinked and then his
eyebrows came together. Remus -recognising the danger signs - hurried to explain. "My
search team are probably all wondering where I am. You being seen in London will be all
over tomorrow's Prophet and none of them are thick enough to look past the fact that I was
missing at the same time."

"So where will you go?"

"To meet up with them." Remus checked his watch. "I'll be half an hour late but I can just tell
them I got caught up-"

"Why don't you tell them you were with me?" Remus stared at him. "No, really," Sirius
continued, looking eager. "Tell them you tracked me and Harry to Grimmauld Place and then
I ran – because I'm so deviously clever, of course-"

"Of course," Remus agreed, fighting to keep a straight face.

"I really don't like it when you look like Harry," Sirius said, pouting. "He's much nicer than
you, so your cruelty takes me by surprise-"

"Constant Vigilance!" Remus couldn't help saying in a loud whisper; he had the sense not to
shout when there could be Aurors in the area. Sirius glowered at him. Remus grinned. "What
were you saying?"

"That I'm deviously clever-"

"At the train station you said fantastically-"

"Yes, that too. Now, you should tell them that you were tracking me and I just disappeared.
You searched Grimmauld Place because you know my mother used to live there and found
nothing. If you're in a bad enough mood when you meet them for lunch, they'll have no
trouble believing you."

"That's not actually a bad idea," Remus said. "Although it might be better to just say I saw
you at King's Cross."

"Whatever works," Sirius said, shrugging.

"And the bad mood part might be easier said than done." It was like they were back in
Hogwarts, evading Filch after a well executed prank. The stakes were higher but that just
made everything all the more enjoyable; Remus was sure James would approve – for him, the
risk of being caught had always been the best part.

"I'll put that Flea Jinx on you," Sirius offered. "That'll ruin your mood." Remus shuddered.

"Don't you-" There were eight quiet pops. Both men froze, their heads snapping up in the
direction of the noise – which, admittedly was quite far away, but still cause for worry.
"Think they'll buy the footprints?" Remus wasn't sure why he was whispering but he couldn't
quite bring himself to speak normally.

"They can't risk not following them," Sirius whispered back. "They'll have to split up. You
have to go."

Remus nodded. "I'll meet you at my house?"

"I s'pose so," Sirius said.

"If I'm not there in two hours, assume I've been caught and find somewhere else to go. I'll do
the same for you." Sirius nodded. "Do me a favour, though?"

"What?"

"Don't get caught."

Sirius grinned and vanished into the foliage. Remus could hear him muttering – it almost
sounded as if he was arguing with himself. Remus didn't have time to dwell on that now,
though. He turned to the nearest tree and began to climb. Only when he was well above the
ground did he pull out his wand and reverse the Appearance Charms he was wearing, and
resize his clothes. He conjured a mirror to check his appearance, vanished the mirror and then
prepared to Disapparate.

He was a little unsteady on his branch – he'd never had a problem with heights, exactly, but
he'd never had James and Sirius' confidence either – but Aurors would be searching for
magical traces on the ground, not in the trees. He managed to spin on the spot.

He saw rather than felt himself falling sideways – a large branch rushed toward his face – but
it vanished into blackness before it could cause a problem.

"Homenum Revelio," Gawain murmured. He nodded once to himself. "Someone's upstairs.

Stay behind me, McKinnon."

"Yes, sir," Marlene breathed, stepping into the house behind Gawain. Her wand was clenched
tightly in her fist and her eyes refused to stay focused on anything for more than a few
seconds. The floor creaked and she jumped.

"You all right, McKinnon? You seem jumpy."

"Do I?" she hissed. "That's odd. I can't imagine why I might be jumpy. It's not like Sirius
Black was in my house this morning-" She cut off as something moved upstairs.

Gawain stopped so suddenly that she walked into the back of him and bounced off. Dust
puffed up around them, revealing scuffed floorboards. When she looked up, Gawain's face
was only inches from hers, his eyes bright green and intent.

"McKinnon, I will ask this once, and once only," he said in a tone that was somehow hard
and gentle all at once. "Can you do this?"
She opened her mouth but he held up a hand. His smallest finger had been blown off in the
war and he'd told her he hadn't healed it so that it would serve as a reminder to stay alert. It
was his own version of 'Constant vigilance', she supposed, but he hadn't yet taken to shouting
it randomly.

"Truthfully, please, McKinnon," he said in the same stern, soft voice. "I will think nothing
less of you if you're unable to do this and it will not affect your training, but if you're going to
be a liability I need to know-" And there was that disconcerting honesty; it was the thing she
most loved about her mentor. He wouldn't lie to her, not to spare her feelings, not to keep her
safe.

He was blunt and she liked that, though it reminded her uncannily of James and even Sirius,
neither of whom had ever been afraid to say what they thought – though James had had more
tact than Sirius. She supposed the similarities weren't really surprising; Gawain had been
trained by Charlus Potter – James' father, who was something of a legend in the D.M.L.E –
and James and Sirius had grown up influenced by the same man. Thankfully, Gawain had a
very limited sense of humour – nothing at all like the other three – and he wasn't so similar
that she was completely lost to nostalgia and unable to function. It was a delicate balance.

Gawain cleared his throat.

"I can do this," she said honestly.

"You're not afraid of him?" he asked. His eyes continued to scan the hallway, but for now
they were alone.

"No," she said. And she wasn't. Sirius, Merlin knew why, had seen her twice and made no
move to kill her either time because he'd wanted to talk. If anything, he'd seemed afraid
of her.

And so he bloody well should be, she thought.

Gawain considered her for a moment. She wasn't sure how much he'd been told about Sirius'
past and how she fit into it – she certainly hadn't brought it up – and that was probably why
his thoughtful expression changed into one of disbelief; why should he believe she wasn't
scared?

Sirius had blown up one friend, arranged the deaths of a man he considered a brother and a
woman who'd been like his sister, broken out of a supposedly impenetrable wizarding prison
and then kidnapped the son of his old, dead friends. And he'd shown up at her house, twice,
though no one knew about the first.

"Why are you so jumpy, then, if not for fear?"

"I don't want to give him another chance to slip through the cracks," she said. "I want him- I
want him caught."

"Caught?" he asked.
"Dead," she admitted after a moment, clenching her fists. She might have closed her eyes if
she hadn't been keeping a lookout for Sirius, or any traps he might have left behind.

"We need him alive, McKinnon. There are things we need to know. About Azkaban, for
example, and how he's been evading us. Who's helping him, how did he get through the
wards on Harry Potter's muggle home? Lots of people still want his account of Halloween all
those years ago – he never had a trial, remember?"

"I remember." She also remembered Sirius' account, the one he'd told her after he nearly died
in her hallway. The one that might actually convince the idiots at the Ministry if he was given
a chance to talk to them. Or convince them by buying his way free with the help of people
like Lucius Malfoy. She didn't think she could bear it if that happened, if Sirius walked free –
truly free – after everything. "I still want him dead."

"You can want something without acting on it."

"And if I do?" she asked quietly.

"It could mean your expulsion from the Program." That, she was aware of, but her expulsion
would mean that Sirius was dead, and that was why she'd joined the Aurors in the first place.
Her face must have given away some of what she was thinking because Gawain sighed and
ran a hand over his day-old beard. "McKinnon-"

"I'm not about to kill him on sight, sir," she said stiffly. She'd take him to Lupin, first, so that
they could do it together. It would be a private sentencing.

"When would you do it then? Would you wait to kill him when he's asleep in his cell in
Azkaban, helpless?" She didn't say anything. Gawain shook his head. "I haven't known you
long, McKinnon, but I know you're better than that."

Her lips quirked up into what wasn't quite a smile and her eyes, absurdly, filled with tears –
probably, she thought, because she knew that Gawain didn't lie. He truly believed that.

"I don't think so, sir."

"I think you're wrong. Aurors save lives, they don't take them." He stared at her beseechingly,
but she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She swallowed and stared at the dusty floor.
"You could be a good Auror, McKinnon."

She offered him that same, not-quite-a-smile and stepped around him. Wand aloft, she started
off down the hallway again. Gawain said nothing more and walked after her. He overtook her
before she'd gone more than a few steps and glanced back, as if he might say something, but
didn't.

Because he was looking at her, he didn't see the large, lumpy and very dusty thing in his path
and walked straight into it. It fell with a crash and started screaming. Marlene cast a hasty
Shield Charm but nothing came at them. She was forced to let it drop so that she could clamp
her hands over her ears.
"Filth!" the thing was screaming. "Filth in the House of Black!" Gawain waved his wand and
the lumpy thing – which appeared to be a troll's leg upon closer inspection – vanished. The
screeching continued: "Intruders! Mudbloods and blood-traitors, I can smell them!" Marlene
swallowed, a little disconcerted; she was a blood-traitor, and Gawain had had muggle parents.
"Out, filth! Kreacher!"

"We're Aurors," Gawain called, getting back to his feet and joining the search for the
screaming.

"Then you should know that trespassing is illegal!" the woman's voice shrieked. "Or at least
have the decency to send a pureblood!"

"There," Gawain said, pointing to a portrait, framed by grubby curtains.

"I'm a pureblood," Marlene said, glancing at Gawain, who nodded.

"It's McKinnon isn't it?"

"Erm... yes. Are you Mrs-"

"I knew it! Slag! Filthy blood-traitor! Consorting with that Potter and his Mudblood wife,
and him! Oh, I remember you, poisoning his mind like you're poisoning my house! You and
that Potter and that other dirty-blooded b-"

CRACK! A small, dirty shape materialised between them and the portrait. Gawain released a
Stunner but moved his wand at the last minute so that it hit the wall instead of what appeared
to be a house-elf. He had enormous grey eyes, a large, snout-like noise and was dressed only
in a greying loincloth.

"Kreacher! Get this filth out of my House! The House of my fathers, forever soiled by these
two- two-"

"Silencio," Marlene said. The woman's eyes bulged and painted spit burst from her thin lips.

"How dare you! How dare you use magic on me in my own home! I'll have you reported,
locked up in Azkaban like the waste you are! Kreacher! Fetch ink and parchment!" The elf
hesitated and then scurried off down the hallway, stirring up dust as he went.

"Let's go," Gawain said, hurrying after the elf. Marlene had no objections to anything that
would keep her away from the portrait. The woman kept screaming. Obviously she was
immune to Silencing Charms.

They cornered the elf in a dusty study, where he was rummaging through an old desk. He
looked up when they came in, seeming afraid.

"We're not going to hurt you," Gawain said, crouching down to the elf's height. "We've just
got some questions."

"What kind of questions, Kreacher wonders," the elf said, watching them warily. "Kreacher is
a good elf and Mistress is good and Kreacher and Mistress have done nothing to deserve this
invasion, oh no. Mistress always did say that-"

"Your Mistress," Gawain said gently. "Is she the woman in the portrait?"

"Oh, yes," the elf called Kreacher said.

"That's Mrs Black? Sirius Black's mother?"

"Broke her heart, Master did," Kreacher said, looking angry all of a sudden. "Master Regulus
was a good boy, he knew what was due to the name of Black. Master Sirius brought the
family shame with his wicked ways, running away to live with blood-traitors and Mu- Mu-
Mudbloods." He shuddered, as if saying the word had hurt him and then shrieked, "Bad
Kreacher!" Before either Marlene or Gawain could respond, he'd seized a dusty paperweight
and started beating it against the side of his bald head.

"Accio," Marlene said, before Gawain had the chance. The paperweight flew out of his hands
and Marlene caught it easily; she hadn't been a Keeper for nothing. Kreacher gave her a
spiteful look but didn't pick anything else up. She set it back down on the desk.

"Do you live here alone, Kreacher?" Gawain pressed, gently.

Kreacher drew himself up. "Kreacher lives with Mistress. Kreacher is not alone."

"He means-" The word 'people' died in Marlene's mouth. She didn't think that would go down
well. "He means to ask if Sirius and Harry have been here," Marlene said.

"M-Master?" Kreacher asked.

"That's right," Gawain said. "Your Master Sirius. Have you seen him?"

"Kreacher doesn't know where Master is," Kreacher said flatly. "The papers say Master is a
murderer now. Master always had such a temper, Kreacher remembers, oh yes. Dangerous,
Master is. Kreacher heard he stole the Potter boy. A brat, Kreacher is sure." Marlene looked
at Gawain, who was frowning.

"Do you mind if we search the house?" Gawain asked.

Kreacher looked angry but seemed to realise he couldn't stop them. He did, however, fold his
thin arms and glower at them.

"Kreacher and his Mistress Black have nothing to hide," he said in his croaky voice. "The
Aurors won't find any servants of the Dark Lord here, oh no."

With that, he collected the parchment, quill and ink he'd been sent to find and trotted out of
the room to soothe his still screaming Mistress. Gawain let out a groan and pushed himself
off of the dusty carpet.

"Mad elf," he muttered. Marlene agreed wholeheartedly.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?"

"Hard to say." Gawain brushed dust off of his robes. "If Black has been living here –
miserable as this place is-" he added, glancing at the cobwebbed roof, "- then he's probably
ordered the elf not to say anything. It's also possible that Kreacher's telling the complete
truth." He ran a hand over his beard again. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing toward the door.

They spent almost an hour searching for any traces of Sirius or Harry but found nothing.
They went through every room – each was as dusty as the last – and found nothing to suggest
that anyone had lived there for a very long time. Gawain had even cast a spell to detect
magical activity that had occurred in the house but even that proved a waste of time.

"Is it possible they hid the traces?" Marlene asked as they trooped back downstairs. "I know
erasing leaves signs and I know there are spells to hide magic's use, but are there any spells
that can actually hide magic?" Gawain thought for a moment.

"Fidelius Charm, might, I suppose. Scrimgeour said Potter mentioned that when he was under
Veritaserum." He pursed his lips and his eyes froze over, showing just what he thought of
Veritaserum being administered to a nine year old.

"He what!?" she snarled. "When?"

"St Mungo's in August. Courtesy of Minister Fudge, or so I'm told." Angry as she was about
that, she forced it down.

"Is there any way to check if there's an active Fidelius Charm in an area?"

"I'd say you'd have to be in on the Secret or it would defeat the point."

"Is there one here?"

"Why would I know?" he asked, looking exasperated.

"Experience?" she suggested. "Does this look like the sort of place that someone would hide-
"

"Not long term,' Gawain replied. "It's filthy."

"But wouldn't the Fidelius Charm make it look this way? To throw us off the trail?"

"It doesn't work like that. The Fidelius Charm is – in the simplest terms possible – a lot like a
very powerful, slightly altered Disillusionment Charm that will only work in a particular
area. It hides all traces of a person's existence; you can't see them, hear them, smell them,
touch them... It hides them. It doesn't create disguises. Or dust," he added, glancing at the
floor.

"Is it possible for a house to be under the Fidelius Charm and not be invisible?"

"Most Fidelius Charms are combined with a spell to make the building invisible to those who
aren't in on the Secret. It's an extra precaution."

"But this house isn't invisible."

"It is to muggles, but not to us," Gawain said. "It's extensively warded – there are Notice-Me-
Not Charms on the outside and the windows are one-way; they'll let you see out but not in."

"But none of them were put up by Sirius," Marlene asked dejectedly.

"The warding is so complex we couldn't ever be certain," Gawain said. "But from what I
could tell, no."

"So they're not here?"

"If they were using a Fidelius Charm, they could be standing two feet away and we'd never
know." Gawain gave her a tight smile and it took Marlene a moment to realise that was his
idea of a joke. She laughed, once, half-heartedly. "No, I don't think they're here. If they ever
were, it was a long time ago." He ran a finger through the dust on the banister and made a
disapproving noise.

"So we're done here?"

"Well and truly. Hopefully the others have saved us some tea." Marlene's house, conveniently
located next door, had become a temporary Auror base; when she and Gawain had come into
Number Twelve, others had been examining Sirius' Apparition traces on the street, and also
the magic he'd used inside. She hoped those Aurors had had more luck than she and Gawain
but something told her that was a futile hope.

They descended the last flight of stairs in silence that was shattered the moment they reached
the hallway again.

"Kreacher told them Kreacher had nothing to hide," the elf croaked, scuttling past.

"Yes," Gawain said kindly. "I'd like to thank you for your coop-"

Marlene didn't catch the rest; Mrs Black must have heard them speaking, because her abusive
screams started up again. She sincerely hoped there was still tea at her house.
 Family matters

"Remus!" Matt exclaimed, looking worried and relieved all at once. "What's going on?
Where-"

"Sirius," Remus said, sinking into the nearest chair.

"You found him?" Dirk asked, taking a look at Remus' face.

"I found him," Remus confirmed.

"Where's Theodora?" Arabella asked. "She wasn't hurt, was she? Not on her first day?"

"She wasn't feeling well, so I sent her home." Remus' eyes flicked to Matt as he said it; Matt
had been a werewolf long enough to know how to detect a lie, but thankfully, he either didn't
notice, or was going to bring it up when they were alone. "I was over near Kings Cross –
thought I might find you, Dirk, and we'd come back together." Another lie, but Matt didn't
react to that either. "Then, in the station, a boy who looked a lot like Harry and a man that
looked a lot like Sirius showed up."

"Did you alert the Ministry?"

"They were already there," Remus said. "But given what happened last time, I wasn't
particularly keen on working with them." Everyone knew about the Scrimgeour episode and
Matt even chuckled.

"So did you catch them?" Matt asked curiously.

"With all the muggles around?" Remus asked with a bitter laugh. "No. I followed them,
though. They were buying train tickets when Harry said something about the bathroom. They
went in and I waited outside – one man came out, but that was it. I waited for a few minutes,
and then decided to have a look, but when I checked, it was empty." Arabella's face fell. Matt,
however, looked shrewd.

"And then you came back here?" Remus nodded and sighed.

"So Theodora said she was sick and left, minutes before you ran into Sirius Black?" Dirk
asked.

Arabella gasped. "You don't think she's helping him-?"

"No," Remus said flatly.

"It's a bit suspicious, though, don't you think?" Dirk pressed. Arabella nodded.

"She seems like a lovely young lady, and it might just be a coincidence, but it is worth
looking into, don't you think, Remus?"
"If Remus thinks she's trustworthy, she probably is," Matt said.

"Oh, but-" Arabella began.

"I'll talk to her about it," Remus said after a moment.

"Mind you're careful," Arabella said. "If she is with Sirius Black, she could turn nasty."

Remus struggled to keep a serious expression – the idea of a nasty Nymphadora made him
want to laugh – and nodded. Arabella and Dirk seemed appeased.

"What should we do for the rest of the day, then?"

"Sirius could be anywhere right now-" That wasn't a lie, either; he was probably taking a
roundabout route to Remus'. "-and the Ministry have hopefully caught on and are doing what
they can." Arabella snorted to show what she thought of that. "They won't want us underfoot,
and if we start interfering in the wizarding search Malfoy will... well, Malfoy will have
something to say about it, I'm sure."

"There's an understatement," Matt muttered. Dirk chuckled.

"So what should we do?" Dirk asked. Remus checked his watch.

"Go back to wherever you were this morning and patrol until three. If you don't hear
anything, go home."

"And tomorrow?"

"Meet here as usual."

"Are you all right, Remus?" Arabella asked.

"Er... Shaken," Remus said.

"You look like you could use a drink," Matt said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"That's a good idea," Arabella said. "Nothing too strong, though. He needs to relax, not fall
asleep." Matt grinned at her and fished around in his pocket for coins.

"You two staying?"

"No," Dirk said. "If he was at Kings Cross, he might come back." He waved and left.

Arabella shook her head and departed with a, "You look after him, Matthew."

Matt grinned and wandered over to the bar, leaving Remus sitting alone, cautiously hopeful
that everyone had believed him, and that Sirius and Harry were both safe.

"Butterbeer?" Remus asked, grinning.

"Yeah," Matt said. "It's not my fault Arabella assumed I meant firewhiskey when I said
'drink'. Tom's coming by with sandwiches, but I put those on your account."

"Thank you," Remus said, not minding in the least; he was bloody starving.

"So you found Sirius?" Remus sighed and nodded, taking a sip of is drink. "Were you
afraid?"

"Terrified," Remus murmured. For him. Matt cocked his head thoughtfully.

"I doesn't make sense," he said finally, tracing the wet sides of his mug.

"What doesn't?"

"You were terrified," Matt said, frowning. "That's true. But-"

"But what?" Remus asked carefully. Matt wrinkled his nose.

"You smell like a forest. Like mud, and sap. And a person who's not Theodora. According to
your story, though, you never left Kings Cross, never talked to any of the Aurors – any other
people for that matter." Remus sighed and had another mouthful of butterbeer. "I don't
understand why you lied."

"I didn't lie," Remus said.

"By omission." Remus, unable to argue with that, inclined his head.

"Are you angry?" he asked. Matt's expression was closed – which was unusual for him – and
his scent was muted.

"No. I just don't understand." Remus thought quickly, constructing a lie in his mind.

"The person you can smell is-"

"Black," Matt whispered, leaning toward him. Remus baulked.

"What? No-" Matt frowned and held up a hand. "I-"

"Please just let me talk." Remus took a deep breath, unable to believe what was happening.

"All right," he said cautiously.

"I know what Potter - Harry – smells like, from when I dropped a change of robes at St
Mungo's for you." Remus didn't say anything. "And then, he escaped. Black spirited him
away with his evil powers, or whatever it was the Prophet said. Also according to
the Prophet, neither of them have been spotted since."

"Sirius has always been cunning," Remus mumbled.

"Not cunning enough, apparently," Matt said quietly, "because ever since St Mungo's, you've
smelled like Harry and someone else, who I'd bet my magic is Sirius Black." Remus didn't
know what to say. He opened his mouth and closed it several times.

"I-" he tried, but just then, Tom appeared and placed a plate of sandwiches down between
them. Then, he gave them a gappy smile and went back to the bar, but Remus' words were
gone. A glance at the plate told him his appetite was too.

"It's all right," Matt said, smiling. Remus blinked, stunned to see what appeared to be a
genuine smile on his face. He smelled genuine too. "I know better than anyone that things are
complicated sometimes. I figure if I'd needed to know, you would have told me by now."

"When- when did you... grow up?" Remus asked. The Matt he'd watched grow up had always
been easy-going, but had also hated to be excluded from even the most trivial things. "Why
aren't you... well, demanding an explanation?"

"Do you want me to?" Matt asked, grinning.

"Not particularly, no," Remus admitted, still stunned.

"I thought as much." Matt laughed at the look on Remus' face. "Look, you hated Black. I
smelled it, every time his name was mentioned. It was like the air was set on fire. It burned,
Remus. I didn't even have to try to smell – you know what a pain that is – because it was so
overwhelming. I know you're a reasonable liar but even you couldn't have faked that."

"And?" Remus asked tiredly.

"It's gone. I talk about Black and if I'm not looking for a scent, I don't find anything. If I am,
you smell... content. I don't know what he told you - and I'm not asking to - but obviously
things aren't the way they appear to be. If you believe him... well... I believe you. I mean,
you're alive, aren't you?"

"I am indeed," Remus said, chuckling.

"Good thing too," Matt added. "I've grown rather fond of you over the years. You're like the
uncle I never had – not that I'd have wanted the uncle I could have had-" he added hastily.
Remus, who'd known Evan Rosier, had to agree. "-you're much better." Remus smiled and
reached for a sandwich.

"Thank you," he said. Matt grinned and picked one off the plate as well.

"So what are you doing here?" Remus blinked at the odd question.

"I'm having a lunch of sorts with a disturbingly perceptive friend of mine."

"That isn't what I meant. I meant, why are you still bothering with Malfoy? If I were you, I'd
have buggered off as soon as I could. I mean, why waste your time searching for someone
you know how to find?"

"And give myself away?" Remus asked wryly. "If I'd stopped searching for Harry after he
makes a suspicious escape from St Mungo's, Malfoy would have suspected I was involved."
"He wouldn't be wrong though, would he?" Matt asked with a wicked grin.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Remus said, with dignity. He couldn't help
winking, however. Matt laughed, and Remus felt his heart lighten; Dumbledore and Matt
were the two it had been hardest – morally and literally – for him to lie to about this whole
thing. Having one know the truth – or some of it – and not condemn him for it, was, well,
wonderful. "But you see why I can't just quit." Matt nodded thoughtfully.

"So you'll just play along?"

"Not quite," Remus said with a small smile. "He's planning to replace me."

"What!?"

"That's what Theodora's here for." Matt choked on his mouthful of butterbeer and gestured
for Remus to continue. "Malfoy's set her up to take my place – after I teach her enough to do
so, of course."

"And he told you all of this?" Matt asked doubtfully.

"No. She did."

"What?"

"She's a good sort," Remus said, shrugging. Matt shook his head.

"Apparently. Bloody hell, when did things get so complicated?"

"We can thank our mutual friend for that," Remus said sarcastically, lifting his drink. Matt's
mug clinked against his.

"May the horrible sod rot in hell." They both drank.

"Speaking of Greyback," Remus said, swallowing a bite of his lunch. "I'm leaving after
Christmas."

"Same. Until February again?"

"Do you think you can handle two months?" Remus asked, watching Matt for his reaction.

"Yeah, I reckon. Do you think it's worth asking Debbie?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing." They both sighed.

"I'm not looking forward to that conversation," Matt said ruefully.

"I'm not looking forward to explaining to Malfoy where half of his search team's gone."

"If you get Tock up to scratch, we can pretend it's a side-effect of you being laid off." Remus
tucked that thought away for consideration. Matt downed the last of his butterbeer and stood.
"Well, I'm off to patrol. Where should I look?"
Remus smiled. "Wherever you like."

"So you enjoyed Paris, then?" Tonks gritted her teeth.

"Paris," she said flatly. "Yes."

"What was it your mentor had you doing? He didn't say." Keith smiled at her from behind his
menu and she returned it, though it felt a little forced.

"Yes," she said darkly, "he's a bit obsessed with secrecy." She'd told Moody as much too,
when they spoke earlier. Shouted might be a more accurate word, actually; he'd been rather
unhappy with her about ending the charm on her Sidekick before he was done talking and her
temper had responded in kind. "And... erm... he had me investigating a Veela."

"A Veela? Shouldn't that be left to the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical
Creatures?"

"Well, sort of, I suppose. There was a bloke from Veela Relations with me, and a woman
from the French Ministry-"

"It's probably a good thing you were in Paris."

"Why?"

"The Evening Prophet said Black was spotted in London around lunchtime."

"I know," she growled. She was still furious about that. "What's your point?"

"You were far away from Black."

"I know," she said again. The fringe she was wearing tonight turned red. "How's that a good
thing?"

"Well," Keith said, giving her hair a wary glance, "it means you were safe."

"It also means I missed out on a chance to catch him," she said, her irritation at Moody
returning.

"I'm glad you did," Keith said softly. "I don't want you in any danger."

"That's sweet," Tonks said, offering him a proper smile this time, "but unrealistic. I'm an
Auror. I'm bound to do something dangerous sooner or later."

"But you'll have other people with you, right? People that'll look after you?"

"I'll have people around to help me," she said. "But I don't need babysitters. I can take care of
myself."
"You're new to being an Auror," Keith said slowly. "You hardly know anything compared to
the rest of them."

"So, by that logic, you hardly know anything about Beating because you aren't a professional
Quidditch player," she snapped. Keith bristled.

"I've had experience! I-"

"And I haven't? I got into plenty of duels through school, remember?" Keith leaned back in
his chair, looking stunned. "What?" she asked irritably.

"This is our first fight," he said softly.

No, it's not... Oh. Maybe he means... as a couple? That was a strange thought. Tonks sighed.

"It's not a fight," she said. "It's me being grumpy because I've had a long day." Keith reached
across to take her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Sorry," she said in a small voice.

"That's okay," he said, and then looked worried. "But- you aren't grumpy at me, are you?"

"No," she said. "We're fine."

"Good," Keith said, looking relieved. He kept hold of her hand and reached for his menu with
the other. "What do you want to eat?"

"Dunno." She reached for her own menu, scanned it briefly and then set it down. "Just a
burger, I think."

Keith waved someone over to take their orders – he had fish and chips and they both asked
for butterbeers – and then the waiter was gone, leaving Tonks thinking how much simpler –
and in her opinion, nicer – this place was than Madam Puddifoot's, where they'd been four
times in total now; there was not a trace of sickly pink wallpaper, or lacy pillows on the seats.
There wasn't a heart in sight, and the best thing about it, was the lack of those stupid cherubs
and their confetti.

"Nymphadora?" Keith called. "Nymph-"

"You know I prefer Tonks," she said, snapping out of her thoughts.

"Why is that?" he asked. "I don't think you've ever said."

"Because Nymphadora's a stupid name."

"I think it's nice."

Tonks sighed. "You and Mum are going to get along wonderfully."

"Do you think so?" Keith asked, looking nervous all of a sudden. "What about your dad?"

"Dad gets along with everyone."

"What's his job? He's not an Auror too, is he?" He looked positively terrified at the thought.

"Muggle Relations at the Ministry," Tonks said, hiding a grin. "And he also works at a
muggle television station."

"So he likes muggles, then?"

"He's muggleborn," Tonks said shrugging. "His whole family – aside from me and Mum –
are muggles, so yeah, he does like them."

"So all your relatives-"

"Are muggles. At least on Dad's side. Mum's side are... er... purebloods. We don't see them
much."

"Why not? Don't you get along?"

"No," Tonks said bluntly. Keith squeezed her hand. "What about your family?" If Keith
realised she was drawing the conversation away from her mother's relatives, he didn't say
anything.

"They're nothing special," he said. "Mum used to be a Healer but she stopped working when I
was born. Dad's with Cleansweep – he makes brooms. Both of them were only-children so I
don't have any cousins but I see my grandparents a lot; they're all magical."

Conversation lapsed after that, but it wasn't too bad, because their food and drinks arrived.
Keith showed every indication of wanting to keep holding hands but had to give up when it
got too hard to eat. They both laughed about that and then got to talking about dating history;
Tonks had fancied a boy from her muggle primary school and they'd sat together at lunch
everyday for a week before he decided to eat with Ashley White instead. Keith, as Tonks
knew, had dated Dawn Carter for three months in fifth year before deciding to stay friends.

Keith laughed at the idea of Tonks in a muggle primary school and stories of that entertained
them all through dessert.

"I never went to one of those primate schools," he said once she'd finished telling him a story
about the time she tripped and knocked over three other people at her primary school
graduation ceremony.

"Primary," Tonks corrected, grinning.

"Yes, those. Mum taught me from home and then when Alfred moved next door I had lessons
with him. My mum and his mum shared the teaching."

"No wonder the two of you were so close," Tonks said. Keith shrugged. "How is Alfred, by
the way?"

"Busy. He got into his Department for Magical Children or whatever it is, so he's been
learning his way around. I'm surprised you haven't seen him anywhere, actually, since you're
both at the Ministry."
"The Ministry's a big place," Tonks said. "And I'm generally having lessons in the Auror
Department, or I'm not there at all."

"True." Keith leaned out of the way as their plates were Summoned from the kitchen. "Have
you heard from anyone else since school?"

"Well, you of course," Tonks said, making Keith grin. "And I've seen Charlie and Tom, but
not since we had lunch before my Auror tests. I think I'm having dinner with them tomorrow
night."

"I wanted to see you tomorrow," Keith said, looking upset.

"We'll do something another night," she assured him.

"Are they still going away?"

"I haven't heard – the pair of them are hopeless when it comes to keeping in touch."

"You're not the best either," he said, lifting an eyebrow. "I'm still waiting for you to send
Helga back." Helga was Keith's owl, who made – if Tonks had to guess – at least four trips to
her house each day.

"I was already in bed by the time she came," Tonks sighed.

"Surely you saw her this morning, though?"

"Yeah, but I had to leave early. I was planning to write back tonight."

"I thought something might have happened." Tonks didn't say anything. Keith checked his
watch. "Are you ready to go? I thought we could go back to yours?"

"My house?"

"Yeah. I'd like to meet your mum and dad." Tonks was a little surprised. "If that's all right, of
course-"

"That should be all right," she said, blinking. "Yeah. Er... we'll just pay and go, then?"

"I'll pay," he corrected.

"Keith-"

"I'm being polite," he insisted. "Just say thank you."

"Thank you," she said. "But I'm making lots as a trainee. Next time I want to pay. For both of
us."

"You know I won't let you."

"Next time," she promised, getting to her feet. Unfortunately, she tripped on her robes and
plonked right back down.
"Are you all right?"

"Fine," she said, getting up again. "Completely fine, just clumsy." It was a small price to pay,
really, for her ability to change height and weight at a moment's notice. She actually thought
she did pretty well staying upright for a girl who had different length legs every day.

"I like your fringe, by the way," he said. "It looks nice." Tonks stared, thrown by the sudden
change in topic.

"Thanks," she said uncertainly. "So, shall we go?"

"Yeah." Keith left a handful of coins on their table – Tonks scowled – and they slipped out
into the cold street.

Tonks had always thought Diagon Alley was creepy at night and tonight was no different; it
was dark, with only a few lamps burning, quiet, since all of the shoppers had gone home, and
the large signs – which were usually so colourful during the day – left long, spiky shadows
on the cobbled ground.

"It's weird, isn't it? Eerie," she said, pulling her gloves out of her pocket. Keith paused,
midway through putting on his scarf, and grinned.

"I'll protect you," he said. Tonks rolled her eyes, not bothering to say anything. "You aren't
actually scared, are you?" he asked hopefully.

"No," she said, amused. "Why?"

"I just thought it might be a good excuse to hold your hand," he mumbled, flushing.

"Why do you need an excuse?" Tonks asked, reaching out to grab his gloved hand. He
smiled. Tonks hesitated and then ploughed right forward with her next sentence, figuring that,
no matter what he said back, she'd know where they stood. "I mean, we are dating, aren't
we?"

"Yeah," Keith said nodding.

There's no chance that this will ruin our friendship, then, she thought; that was the only
reason she'd held off saying it for so long, otherwise she'd have said it weeks ago.

"I quite like you, you know," she continued. Odd, that her hair stayed blond now, when she'd
just said something like that, yet it went a brilliant pink if she tripped or shouted at Moody.

"I really like you, too," he said. They stared at each other for a while and then Keith cleared
his throat and looked away. "So... er... should we go?"

"Yeah," Tonks said, staring at the ground to hide her smile. "Do you want to Side-Along-?"

"Nah, it makes me sick," he admitted. "I know where it is. I- do you... er... just want to meet
there?"
"If that's best for you, sure," she said. Keith nodded. Tonks, on impulse, leaned across and
kissed him. He started and looked up, surprised. "See you in a minute," she said, grinning and
then, before he could do more than stare at her, she twisted on the spot.

She Apparated into her front garden – Mum would be so pleased she hadn't come straight
into the house – cheeks pink and hair probably a similar colour. She clambered out of Mum's
flowerbed – that, Mum would not be so happy about – and made her way to the front door.
She'd just knocked when a flustered Keith showed up.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she said back, grinning.

The door opened and Dad appeared, looking confused. It was probably her use of the front
door that was doing it.

"Dora?" His eyes flicked to Keith and he smiled politely.

"Hi, Dad," she said. "This is Keith."

"Hi," Keith said, looking nervous. "It's nice to meet you." Dad offered his hand and Keith
shook it.

"You too. Hufflepuff, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"None of that. Ted's fine. I was in Hufflepuff too."

"Who is it?" That was Mum, peering out of the living room. She spotted Keith before Tonks
and came out to introduce herself. "Andromeda Tonks," she said, holding out her hand. Keith
shook it and Mum turned to Tonks, smiling; despite having been out of pureblood circles for
many years now, Mum had retained some of their niceties and had probably expected Keith
to kiss her hand – she'd told Tonks once, years ago, that that was the traditional greeting for a
witch and wizard who'd never met.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs Tonks." Unlike Dad, Mum didn't ask him to call her by her first
name.

"And you. I must say, it's about time; I've been asking Nymphadora to bring you around for
weeks."

"Really?" Keith asked, giving Nymphadora a sideways look. She flashed him a small smile.
"Well, I'm glad to finally be here."

"Are we really going to just stand here in the doorway?" Tonks asked. "Let's go inside, eh?"

"Of course," Mum said, stepping back to let them in. "How was training, dear?"

"Interesting," Tonks said. "I... er... went to Paris."

"Paris?" Dad echoed. "What in Merlin's name were you doing there?"

"A mess with a Veela," Tonks sighed. "Meanwhile Sirius was spotted in London and every
Auror was called out of the office to look for him."

"Where were you in Paris?" Mum asked curiously.

"Er..."

Mum clicked her tongue. "It doesn't matter what eyes you use, you don't see a thing, do you?"

"I use my eyes!" she said defensively. "Constant vigilance and all that. You know what I did
see?"

"What?" Dad and Keith asked together.

"A pink dog," Tonks said. "It was brilliant. Like my animal soul mate-"

"Tea, anyone?" Mum asked, sounding tired all of a sudden.

"Yes, if you're making it," Keith said.

"I'll have one, Dromeda," Dad said.

"No thanks," Tonks said brightly. She grabbed Keith's arm. "While Mum's getting that ready,
I'll show you the house."

She led him down the hall, pointing at doors on the way. "That's the living room... the
bathroom... the kitchen's just through there... that's Mum's study... the second bathroom...
Mum and Dad's room... my room... the spare room... and that door goes out to Dad's garden."

A loud yowl followed her last words.

"Is that your cat?" asked Keith, who'd known Canis at school. Tonks tapped the door with her
wand to unlock it and pulled it open. Canis trotted forward, tail in the air and then paused.
His eyes darkened and his ears folded back as he and Tonks stared at each other. He hissed –
unsurprisingly – and slunk forward, hardly sparing Keith a glance as he passed them.

"He's been grumpier than usual, lately," Tonks said, glaring after him; Canis had reached the
kitchen and Mum's coos were echoing out.

"Do you think he misses school?"

"Dunno. He probably misses being able to wander wherever he wants. I think he misses
Charlie though. And probably Hagrid and Filch."

"Filch?" Keith asked in disbelief.

Tonks shrugged. "The man likes unpleasant cats and unpleasant cats like him."

"Nymphadora! Bring Keith down for tea!"

"If she calls me that one more time," Tonks muttered under her breath, "I swear to Merlin
that-"

"Hmm?" Keith said.

"Nothing," she sighed. "This way."

Lights are on. That's a good sign, right?

Padfoot prowled forward, listening carefully. He heard Remus' tense laugh, followed by a
small noise of amusement from Harry. There were no other scents around and no other
voices, so Padfoot thought it was safe to go inside.

He barked once, knowing Remus would hear it, and then bounded forward to scratch at the
front door. There were footsteps inside and then the door opened slowly. Brown eyes peered
out. Padfoot wedged his head through the gap and stood up on two legs, like Sirius might,
and woofed a greeting.

"About time," Remus muttered, but he was grinning and relief was coming off him in waves.
He stepped aside and Padfoot dropped back to the ground and walked in. Footsteps were the
only warning he had, before two arms caught him around the neck and a Harry-shaped-mass
collided with him at full force.

"I'm sorry! I never thought- I just- It's my fault! It's all my-"

His fault? How in Merlin's name did he work that one out? Padfoot shook his head, whined
totshow he disagreed and licked his godson's face. He even lifted a paw to pat awkwardly at
Harry's back – hugs weren't exactly easy to return as a dog.

Eventually Harry let go and Padfoot changed back into Sirius. A shadow bloomed in his
mind – it was the Dementor's Draught – but he shoved it away. Harry stared at him, eyes
enormous and bolted toward the fire, startling Hedwig, who'd been perched on the mantel.
She want to sit on the back of one of the kitchen chairs instead and gave them a disapproving
look.

He's afraid of me, a voice that sounded a bit like his whispered.

Shut up, Sirius snapped, knowing it was the potion that had made him think that. He's
probably goot a perfectly good reason. "Harry?" Sirius asked.

"Magic," Harry said, backing toward the mantel. His eyes landed on the little bowl of Floo
powder Remus kept there. "You just- the Trace!"

Told you, Sirius told the voice. "Relax, kiddo. It won't set it off."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked. He glanced at the front door as if he expected Aurors to come
charging in at any moment.
"Positive," Sirius promised. "It's undetectable magic, which is why you're supposed to
register."

"Otherwise Animagi might do stupid, dangerous things, like run around with werewolves,"
Remus said sombrely. Sirius pulled a face and sat down on the couch, pretending not to see
the wink that Remus gave Harry.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, staring at the floor.

"For what?" Sirius asked, swapping a confused look with Remus.

"I told you to go early. If I hadn't-"

"I would have gone anyway," Sirius told him. Remus' lips thinned but he appeared to be
fighting a smile.

Yes, the voice agreed. Because you're stupid, selfish-

"Shut up." Harry gave him an odd look. "Sorry. You didn't force me to go anywhere, kiddo. I
did that all on my own." Harry opened his mouth to argue but Sirius held up a hand. "I don't
want to hear any more about it. It's not your fault and we're all safe. All right?"

"All right," Harry agreed, without much conviction. He gave Sirius one more wary look and
then came to sit beside him.

"Well done for making it here, by the way," Remus added. Harry offered him a small smile.

"How did things go after we separated?" Sirius asked Remus. "Did they believe you?" Remus
sombre expression wasn't faked this time.

"Nymphadora and Debbie weren't there and Dirk and Arabella fell for it, but Matt knows."

"Explain," Sirius growled, fear prickling in his chest. He's betrayed you, the voice murmured.
"Now."

"He could smell it," Remus sighed, sitting down on the couch opposite the one Sirius and
Harry were on. "He doesn't know specifics," he added hastily. "Just that we're in contact and
that you obviously aren't an evil Death Eater that's training Harry up to replace Voldemort."
Sirius wrinkled his nose. "He's not one to go running to the Prophet or anything."

"Who is he?"

"Matthew Rosier." Sirius stiffened.

"Any relation to Evan?"

"Nephew," Remus replied evenly. He stood and retrieved a photograph of himself and a
younger boy who looked remarkably like Evan Rosier, though Sirius didn't think Rosier had
ever smiled so sincerely. There were other, smaller differences he noticed, like the boy's nose
and jaw, and the fact that he was wearing muggle clothing. Sirius supposed it was a bit like
comparing Andy and Bella. "They never met, though," Remus continued. "Matt's father was
a blood-traitor and Matt was bitten by Greyback as punishment."

"Hang on," Sirius said, recognising the face; it had been younger when he'd last seen it. "Is he
the werewolf kid you teach? The one that didn't go to Hogwarts?" Remus inclined his head.
Sirius paused to think. Logically, he knew the boy probably wasn't a boy anymore – just as
Nymphadora and Harry had not stayed the children they'd been before Azkaban – but he still
felt he had to ask. "How old is he now?"

"Nineteen."

Sirius set the photograph down and tried not to show how much that answer rattled him;
sometimes, he thought he'd done well recovering from Azkaban's effects. He was still thin,
but he was healthy at least, his face wasn't waxy or yellow anymore, and Harry – simply by
being there – was able to provide companionship and a distraction on Sirius' bad days – those
were getting further and further apart. Other times, like now, he was reminded rather abruptly
that – while his world had stopped while he was in prison – the world outside had continued
at its usual pace.

"Who's Greyback?" Harry asked. Sirius wondered if he'd asked it to distract Sirius, or if he
was genuinely curious. He thought it might be both. "You mentioned him to Snape," he said,
looking at Padfoot, "and you were talking about him in the kitchen the other day."

"Greyback is a werewolf, Harry," Remus said. "Quite possibly the most savage one alive
today. He was the one who attacked me when I was young. At first I thought it was an
accident, that he'd just lost control. Later, I learned he'd done it to punish my father. My
father was very high up in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,
you see, and Greyback wanted him to pass a law-"

"What law?" Harry asked. And there's Lily's patience, Sirius thought fondly.

"I was getting to that," Remus said, smiling; Sirius thought he might be thinking the same
thing. Harry flushed. "A law that gave him instant guardianship over underage werewolves.
My father refused, for all the good it did; Greyback bites children anyway and when their
parents can't handle the lycanthropy, Greyback takes them away and raises them in his
camps, to hate and fear wizards."

"Why?"

"Because with enough werewolves following him, he could overthrow the wizarding
population, or so he believes."

"Overthrow- He- Why?" Harry seemed to be struggling to understand.

"You haven't been in the wizarding world long enough to appreciate how deeply some of the
prejudices run," Remus told Harry gently. "My kind – werewolves – are hated and feared.
Some of that can be blamed on Greyback and his followers, but much of it was around long
before his time." Harry, Sirius noticed, still looked blank. Remus glanced at Sirius, who
gestured for him to continue, and sighed.
"Greyback thought werewolves were treated unfairly and that something should be done
about it. Oddly enough, he started out with the right idea, although that's about as right as he
ever got; he thought, if he infected a handful of people, that he could force the wizarding
world to see that our two species aren't so different.

"We have – as you said just the other day, Harry – 'a bit of a problem' every month, but we're
human the rest of the time. He thought if he created new werewolves, that they could attest to
that. Some of them did. Others of them hated him for what he'd done to them.

"He went about it the wrong way from the very beginning, of course, but when he attempted
to bite the Minister of the time - a man named Nobby Leach - any of the progress he might
have made was undone. He spent a month in Azkaban – he never actually hurt the Minister,
after all – and when he was released, he'd changed. It wasn't a lack of understanding that was
the problem, it was people themselves."

"Where in Merlin's name did you hear that?" Sirius demanded.

"The camp," Remus sighed. "One of the men there is Greyback's first victim. He's an
absolute nutter, always going on about how his poor 'father' was forced to spend a month in
Azkaban."

"A month," Sirius said, rather bitterly. "Yes, poor fucking Greyback." Remus smiled without
humour and Harry was pale.

"What happened next?" Harry whispered, edging ever so slightly closer to Sirius as he asked.
Sirius reached out and put an arm around him and the soft warmth of Harry's jumper helped
to chase away some of his irritation. He wasn't even sure who he was irritated with, though
he suspected it might be an effect of the Dementor's Draught.

"Greyback started building his army," Remus said. "When Voldemort came along, he offered
Greyback victims in return for service-"

"Service?"

"To keep his followers and his enemies in line. People were afraid of Greyback and fear,
unfortunately, is a great motivator. Few people were prepared to challenge Voldemort because
they were afraid he'd set Greyback on their families. His followers were extremely loyal
because those who weren't, were at risk of the same thing."

"How come Greyback liked Voldemort?"

"Protection, partially, but-"

"Free food," Sirius muttered, wrinkling his nose.

Remus twisted his mouth. "Indeed. The other reason is that their goals were aligned. Thank
Merlin it never got to this stage, but if Voldemort had won, I'd have been morbidly interested
to see how long the 'peace' would have lasted; Greyback would have turned on Voldemort the
moment his... support... stopped being useful, and Voldemort would have turned on Greyback
at the first sign of betrayal." Harry shivered against Sirius' side.

"Did-" Harry bit his lip, hesitating and then ploughed forward. "The camp you talked about...
Did you... When you weren't at Hogwarts, were you...?"

"I stayed with my parents – in this very cottage, actually." Harry twitched, apparently
surprised, and glanced around again. "They were... about as understanding as anyone could
be. My mother was a Healer and she took care of me, and my father, as I mentioned, worked
in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and so had access to a lot
of information concerning werewolves. He was in contact with a number of witches and
wizards who were developing cures." Remus chuckled. "The number of things he had me try
over the years..."

Sirius scratched the scar on his neck. Remus caught the movement and grimaced.

"Did any of them work?"

"None of the cures. There is, however, a potion, called the Wolfsbane-"

"I know about that one,' Harry said. Sirius stared at him. He didn't even know about that one,
but he knew a man named Belby had been working on a potion with that name. "A guy made
it for his wife so that she could keep her mind on full moons." Sirius and Remus shared a
surprised but impressed look.

"How-?" Sirius asked.

"I knew Moony wasn't an Animagus so I was looking for other things that could turn him into
a wolf," Harry said, shrugging. "Potions seemed like a fair guess. I mean, you can make
someone's hair change colour, so why not the rest of them? It was the only potion under
'wolf'."

"So Belby finally worked it out, did he?" Sirius asked; he'd been present for a few of the not
so successful trials.

"He did," Remus confirmed. "It's ridiculously expensive and it's complicated, but it does
work. I imagine it's similar to being an Animagus, but as I'm not an Animagus, I can't be
certain."

"I've got the money," Sirius said immediately.

So you have to buy your friends, do you?

"Sirius-"

I'm not listening to you.

"Moony, you wouldn't be protesting if you'd seen how much I have."

"You wouldn't," Harry agreed.

"Having you around has much the same effect anyway," Remus said. "Although, it could be
different this time if I'm angry about James instead of upset."

"Well, the offer's standing," Sirius said. Remus smiled.

"So, the camps?" Harry prompted.

"Sorry, Harry. No, to answer your question. I didn't spend any time in the camps until I joined
the Order." He smiled. "I was very lucky that my parents could handle my condition, and that
they were willing to. Your parents, Harry, would no doubt have taken it in their stride, and
your grandparents – on either side, actually, even though Lily's parents were muggles, would
have learned to cope, I think – but not many other families would have."

"Mine wouldn't have," Sirius said.

No, and why should they? You're useless, a waste of space-

James didn't think so, Sirius thought, firmly. What he considered his real family - the Potters
- would have, as Remus had said, accomdated him. The Blacks – minus Regulus – were a
different story.

"They'd have been glad to see me go. In fact, they'd probably have-"

"Sirius, Harry doesn't need to hear about unpleasant-"

"He knows most of it," Sirius said, flapping a hand. "He's met the portrait of my mother. And
Kreacher's come along way since we moved in."

"Even so," Remus said, pursing his lips, "it's probably better that he doesn't hear-"

"I'm not a baby," Harry said quietly, looking at Remus.

If Sirius hadn't had his arm around Harry, hadn't had physical proof that Harry was there, he'd
have sworn – on his life - the speaker was James. Remus, too, looked rattled, but composed
himself quickly.

"Harry, if I believed that, I wouldn't have told you about Greyback," he said. "I'm just
suggesting that Sirius shouldn't tell you everything - about that, at least."

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Because, as your godfather, it's his job to shelter you from stories like that."

"So you think I shouldn't hear about kids being sent to bed hungry because their relatives
don't like them, or told not to ask questions-" The worst part wasn't what Harry was saying. It
was the way he said it; not angrily, or bitterly, but calmly – with a hint of exasperation that
made Sirius think he cared more about the impact the words would have on Remus, than
about the things that had happened. It made Sirius want to break something. "-or locked in a
cupboard for a week-"
Remus' head snapped around. "I never knew that," he said, staring at Sirius. "Why- why
didn't you ever say anything?"

"He's not talking about me," Sirius said through clenched teeth.

You left him there, you let that happen...

"And he left off that he was told that James and Lily died in a car crash, and that
he hadn't been told that he was magical," Sirius said, doing his best to ignore the potion.
Everything seemed to go silent. It hadn't been overly loud before – it had just been them
talking – but somehow the lack of noise seemed more pronounced.

"No..." Remus said, turning to look at Harry, who shrugged, but held his gaze. Remus
swallowed noisily, not seeming sure what to say. His eyes were very bright.

"If the way the Dursleys gave me to Padfoot was any indication," Harry murmured, "then I
think they'd have given me to Greyback even if I wasn't a werewolf." Remus sank into the
back of his couch.

"I'm so, so very sorry. I didn't know," he whispered, shaking his head. Harry shrugged. "I
knew they were unpleasant but... Harry, I swear, if I'd had any idea, I would have done...
well, something. Probably kidnapped you myself, before this prat could."

He flashed a smile at Sirius to show there was no sting behind the words, but it didn't reach
his eyes; he was obviously still quite shaken. Sirius couldn't blame him. He had been too.

Harry shrugged. "It doesn't matter now. Not really." He gave Sirius a brilliant smile and
Sirius squeezed his shoulder.

"But-" Remus began, but Sirius caught his eye and shook his head; Harry had shrugged
several times in the last few minutes and Sirius knew him well enough to recognise it as a
warning sign. Remus swallowed again. "Have you told him about the night you ran away?"
he croaked finally, looking at Sirius. Sirius inclined his head.

"But not specifics." If he ever told Harry about that night, it wouldn't be until he was much,
much older. Remus nodded and looked relieved.

The three of them were silent. Remus was staring at nothing in particular and opened his
mouth to say something several times before thinking better of it. Harry was watching the
photographs on Remus' mantel with an unreadable expression. Sirius was thinking, rather
morbidly, about what a messed up pair he and his godson were- all three of them, actually.

But we're healing. Slowly, but we're getting there. And Harry's young. Young enough that the
years of his life that he remembers the best will be good ones. Sirius silently promised to
make sure of that.

Remus cleared his throat and looked at Harry. Harry watched him curiously.

"You know," he said, "I had a horrible aunt too." Harry cocked his head and Remus smiled
ruefully. "Aunt Catherine. I think she 'died' some twenty times during my years at Hogwarts
to excuse my monthly absences. It was petty, but it made up, somewhat, for the way she
treated me. She didn't approve of my being a werewolf, you see."

Harry was smiling slightly and seemed to realise that Remus was trying to make amends for
suggesting Harry was too young to hear certain stories. Sirius also supposed, that Harry -
whose relatives hadn't approved of him being a wizard - could relate.

"Now who's sharing childhood traumas?" Sirius muttered.

"I always was a hypocrite," Remus said wryly.

"She deserved every 'death' Remus gave her," Sirius told Harry; he'd met Remus' Aunt
Catherine over the Easter holidays in his third year. He and Remus had cast a trickly little
charm on her chocolate eggs which made them impossible to bite into; they'd enjoyed several
minutes of watching the egg contort out of the way of her mouth – to her great irritation –
and then made it explode, coating her in sticky, strawberry scented goo. "Horrible cow."

Harry muttered something that sounded like, "Aunt Marge."

"Hmm?" Sirius asked.

Harry shrugged. "Nothing."

Nothing my arse. I'll ask later, when you think I've forgotten. Sirius hid a grin. Just you wait.

"Catherine moved to France a few years ago," Remus said, rather cheerfully. "Haven't seen
her since."

"How are your parents?" Sirius asked. As he said it, he realised that Remus lived alone here,
and that his parents hadn't been wealthy enough to buy another house without selling the one
they owned. Remus wasn't well enough off to buy it from them, either. Sirius winced. "I'm
sorry, Moony-" he began.

See, you can't even open your mouth without being insensitive.

Shut up!

"It's all right – you didn't know." Remus took a deep breath. "My mother actually was sick, in
the end." He laughed bitterly. "Cancer. It's a muggle disease but she was muggleborn, so..."
He cleared his throat. "She died three years ago. My father wasn't ever the same. Matt – the
same Matt that knows now, Sirius-" he added, "- helped me look after him until..."

"I'm sorry," Sirius said, feeling like a complete prat.

"It's all right," Remus assured him.

It was silent again. This time, Sirius plotted ways that he could coax a story about Aunt
Marge out of his godson; when he'd got the truth about Lily's sister's family out of him, Harry
had been rather emotional and thus more willing to speak. That and Sirius had promised him
a story or favour in return – which Harry had not yet asked for, Sirius realised – but he didn't
think that would work this time.

He glanced sideways; Harry was frowning at his trainers and smelled thoughtful. Sirius
couldn't identify any scents stronger than that, but that wasn't surprising; sometimes – but
certainly not always - when a person was deep in thought, the emotions they were feeling
didn't always become physical, because the person was so focused, mentally.

What did interest Sirius was that Harry had quite willingly shared some of the worse details
about the Dursleys with Remus. He didn't think Harry was suddenly opening up – he was still
a reasonably private person. Perhaps Harry was feeling emotional now? He'd had a big day,
after all. Or perhaps he was just starting to trust Remus. Remus was easy to trust and he'd
known Harry for a few weeks now. Or perhaps-

"The cupboard," Remus said quietly, breaking the silence.

"What?" Harry and Sirius asked together.

"You said he'd be in a cupboard," Remus murmured, looking at Sirius. "That was why, wasn't
it?"

"Oh," Sirius said, understanding now. "Er, yeah."

"You were right, you know," Remus added. "He was in the spare room."

Sirius smiled and turned to look at Harry, who'd suddenly gone very still; no doubt he was
embarrassed. He blinked and the smile slipped off. Harry's face was not red, but the colour of
parchment.

"What is it?" Sirius asked, twisting to get a better look at his face. Harry swallowed and his
eyes darted from Sirius to Remus.

"I- er..." He swallowed again and ran a hand through his hair, in an agitated sort of manner,
rather than in the habitual manner James had had. Harry cleared his throat and stood.
"There's... er... something I think you should see."
 An ingenious plan

"I don't know," Moony muttered; he and Padfoot were holding a whispered conversation a
few feet behind Harry.

"What do you mean you don't know?!" Padfoot hissed. "It's your bloody house! Surely you
know everything that's in it!"

Moony was silent for a moment and then a soft, "Oh!" escaped him.

"What?" Padfoot asked, but Moony didn't say anything.

Harry opened the door to the spare bedroom. He felt odd doing this – it wasn't his house, after
all, and he really shouldn't be leading the other two around in it as if it was – but he thought
that showing and then telling would work better than telling and then showing. He just hoped
that Moony wouldn't mind Harry going through his things; he hadn't meant to find the box. It
just sort of... happened, he thought guiltily.

Harry headed straight for the cupboard he'd hidden in earlier.

"This was your parents' old room, wasn't it?" Padfoot asked Moony.

"A guest room now," Moony replied, as Harry pulled a large box out into the middle of the
room. "It is," he said, more to himself than anyone else.

Harry lifted the cardboard lid off, set it down and then reached in and pulled out a mirror the
size of a small book.

"Do you mind?" he asked Moony, nervously. Moony shook his head and gestured for Harry
to do as he pleased; he seemed to have forgotten how to talk. Wordlessly, Harry passed the
mirror to Padfoot.

"That's not possible," he whispered. His hands trembled. "I saw him. You saw him." Harry bit
his lip and fished another object out of the box. It was a photograph, the same photograph
that he and Padfoot had been seeing through the mirror for the last few months. Harry had
been right about Lily being there. She was standing off to one side, out of the mirror's line of
sight, apparently talking to James. Padfoot stared at it and let out a noisy breath. "So, this is
where it went, huh?"

"Where what-"

"Lily and James' things," Padfoot said softly. "How did you end up with everything?"

"Peter 'died'," Moony said, "and you went to Azkaban... Rightfully, it should have gone to
you, Harry, but Dumbledore said your aunt wouldn't have any of it in the house."

"No surprises there," Harry muttered, glancing at the photograph of his parents again. Both
beamed and waved at him. He waved back, shyly.
"I'd forgotten all of this was in here," Moony murmured, crouching down beside the box. He
pulled out a dusty textbook and then tossed it back in. "I didn't want any of it, to be honest –
too many painful memories – but it was that or the Ministry get everything..."

"Can we put it away?" Padfoot asked, dropping the mirror back into the box. His voice
sounded rather shaky. "There's- we'll go through it later, but-"

"Not now," Moony croaked, nodding. Harry slowly replaced the photograph. Moony picked
the lid up and covered the box again. He carried it back to the cupboard and closed the door,
while Harry watched. He was curious about the box but he was prepared to wait; he'd waited
eight years already, hadn't he? And he'd had longer ot get over the shock of finding it than the
other two.

Harry followed Padfoot back out into the main part of the cottage. Padfoot sat down on the
couch and put his head in his hands. For a moment Harry thought he might be crying, but he
wasn't making any noise and he wasn't shaking. Moony re-entered a moment later, glanced at
Padfoot, and went straight to the kitchen bench at the back of the room.

There was some rummaging through cupboards as Moony searched for matches and then a
frustrated sigh. Moony, very apologetically, asked Harry to go outside and into the forest until
he could only just see the cottage, count slowly to one hundred and then come back.

"Sorry, couldn't risk the Trace," Moony said sheepishly, as Harry walked in. "Here."

"Thanks," Harry said, taking the tea cup. He sat down next to Padfoot, who had his own
mirror out and was staring into its dark screen; it appeared to be showing the side of the box.
"Padfoot?"

"Yeah, kiddo?" Padfoot asked, looking up.

"Are you-"

"Fine," Padfoot said, with an attempt at a smile. "Thanks, Moony," he added, as Moony
passed him a steaming cup.

Harry and Moony made feeble attempts at starting a conversation again but Padfoot didn't
even seem to hear them and Harry could see Moony's heart wasn't in it. I did this, he thought,
glancing between the pair of them. I upset them. And I sent Padfoot to Marlene's. Snape
would say he deserved it but Snape's a git. And Kreacher...

"Sorry," he said. "What was I saying?"

"Hmm?" Moony asked. "Sorry, I missed that."

"Never mind." Harry stood up and took his tea to the kitchen bench. "Am I allowed to go for
a walk?" he asked.

"I don't see why not," Moony said. "Just... er... stay within sight of the cottage, all right?"
"Fine," Harry said. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and strode toward the
door.

"Harry." Harry turned slowly to look at Padfoot. "Do you have your wand, just in case?"
Harry nodded and fled.

He paced several laps of the garden, ventured into the forest and out again and eventually
wound up under an old tree at the bottom of the garden. He wedged himself into the earthy
gap between two knarled roots and stared out at the forest without really seeing, plucking at
the grass that grew near his trainers.

Much later, when the sky was dark and the waning moon had been up for several hours,
Padfoot came to join him.

"I'm sorry," he said, without preamble, as he joined Harry at the base of the tree. Harry
cocked his head and squinted to try to focus on Padfoot's face. It was too dark to make out his
expression.

"For...?" Harry asked, confused.

"Everything," Padfoot said miserably. "I promised you a good life when I took you form your
aunt and uncle-"

"It is a good life," Harry said at once. "I love living with you."

"Thanks, kiddo," he said and then sniffed. "It's this stupid potion – it's like there's a Dementor
living in my head or something and it makes me... think things sometimes." Harry didn't say
anything; this was the first time Padfoot had spoken about it. "One minute I'm happy and then
all of a sudden I'm miserable. I can't control it."

"The hot chocolate helps, but it's in my head. I don't know what I'm supposed to do about it
and I'm terrified that I'm going to go mad before it wears off, because it's there all the time.
It's better when I'm a dog, but the moment I change back, it's there again. Not even real
Dementors were like that; they came and went but this is there full time-"

"How do you fight Dementors?" Harry asked suddenly, staring at the trees. "I know you treat
their effects with chocolate, but how do you actually fight them?" He never had picked that
book about Dementors up again after his disastrous night at Snape's.

"They don't particularly like fire," Padfoot said, shrugging. He'd calmed down quite a bit.
"But usually a Patronus will do it."

"A what?"

"It's a spell. It- it basically conjures a... protector, out of your happy memories."

"So why don't you cast one?" Harry asked.

"Your Trace," Padfoot said. His teeth flashed in the darkness; he was grinning. The mood
swings were rather disconcerting.
"Padfoot-"

"I know, I know. Couldn't help myself." Padfoot sighed. "A few reasons. The first is I'm sort
of starved for happy memories at the moment. There's you and Moony, of course – oh, and
Kreacher, I suppose - but even without this... thing in my head, everything else is sort of...
well, fucked."

"I'm sorry about Marlene," Harry said.

"I don't think any of us could have seen that coming. I mean, who just gets up and joins the
Aurors after eight year at home, alone?" Padfoot chuckled. It was strained, but it was still a
laugh. "Anyway, the second and more important reason is that a Patronus is a physical thing.
It's not going to do much good inside my- head..." Padfoot jumped to his feet.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I've got to talk to Remus –I don't even know if it's possible, but I might have an idea!" He
dashed back toward the house, shouting for Moony. Harry stared after him, completely and
utterly confused, and also a little concerned. The potion had never made him happy before.

Harry stood, deciding he'd better make sure Padfoot was all right.

Padfoot did indeed seem to be all right. When Harry entered, he looked up, beamed, and then
went back to talking animatedly to Moony.

"- but is it possible?" he asked, leaping up to pace.

"I've never heard of anything like this," Moony said, but he looked interested.

"Well, obviously," Padfoot said pompously. He flopped back down onto the couch. "Someone
as ingeniously clever as myself only comes along once every few millennia." He was
practically shaking with excitement, though. "You don't have any books on either, do you?"

"I have one on basic Occlumency," Moony said, shifting over so Harry could sit down beside
him; Padfoot was up and down so much that Harry was in danger of being sat on if he was on
the other couch.

"Really?" Padfoot asked, looking stunned. "What were you doing with that?"

"Attempting to suppress my wolfish side on full moons. I needed another solution after..."

"Any luck?" Padfoot asked, looking amused, despite the reference to Halloween.

"Some," Moony admitted. "I did actually manage to separate my human mind from my wolf
one – I locked my human mind in a cage of silver – but I couldn't block it off completely
because the wolf is me. I ended up with a splitting headache because I was trying to act on
both at once. Thankfully, Belby finally got his act together and made the Wolfsbane potion
workable and I could use that every few months to give myself a break."
"Genius," Padfoot said. Then, he grinned. "What are the odds that two ingeniously clever
people are born in the same-"

"If you finish that sentence, I won't show you where I keep the book," Moony warned. Harry
sniggered. Padfoot pouted. "And you'll certainly want the book, because you won't have
access to Grimmauld's library for at least a few days." Padfoot opened his mouth, and sucked
in a noisy breath. Moony and Harry waited.

"Fine," he said, exhaling.

"It's in the bookcase in my bedroom," Moony said. Padfoot bounded to his feet. "Fetch,"
Moony added. Padfoot arched an eyebrow and disappeared into the other part of the cottage.

"You shouldn't have said that," Harry told Moony.

"What could he possi-" At that moment, a black mass of fur bounced back into the room,
with Moony's book held securely between his teeth. "Sirius!" Moony squawked, while Harry
roared with laughter. "Put it down- drop it! You're getting it all wet!" Padfoot dropped the
book in Moony's lap and gave him an enormous lick on the cheek before jumping up. His
wagging tail hit Harry's shoulder.

"Padfoot," Harry said, swatting his tail as it knocked his glasses.

"I forgot what a prat you are," Moony lamented, drying his face and then the book with his
sleeve. "Other than this morning, you've been so quiet... and well-behaved," he added,
shoving Padfoot's nose away from the book. "You're not having this back until you
transform." Padfoot whined. "And get off! You're crushing us both!"

He gave Padfoot's shoulder a push. Padfoot hardly moved. In fact, he stretched, and sat down,
draped across the pair of them, and began to nose the book again.

"I give up," Moony said. He managed to extract himself and stood. As he turned toward the
kitchen, Harry thought he saw a smile.

"Here," Harry laughed, reaching for the book. Padfoot turned around so that he was facing
Harry. "Tell me when you want the page turned." He opened the book, resting it against the
arm of the couch and Padfoot started to read. Whenever he wanted the page turned, he'd
make a quiet whuffing noise and Harry would oblige.

Moony suddenly stopped whatever he was doing in the kitchen and disappeared into the
hallway. Assuming he was just using the bathroom, Harry went back to turning pages.
Several minutes later, however, there was a quiet click, and Moony vanished down the hall
again, holding what looked suspiciously like a camera. Harry scowled but it was too late to
do anything now – the picture had already been taken - and he was too comfortable to move
anyway.

Padfoot whined and nudged his hand and Harry settled back into the couch.
Harry and Padfoot spent three nights at Moony's cottage, just to be sure they wouldn't arrive
home while the Aurors were searching it. Moony had been out with Malfoy's search on the
Sunday and Monday mornings so that no one would get suspicious and so Harry and Padfoot
had had the cottage to themselves for those times.

Harry was still curious about the box of his parents' things – particularly because he was
sleeping in that bedroom, while Padfoot had taken the couch in the living room – but wasn't
eager to bring it up again. He figured he'd wait until either Padfoot or Moony remembered it.

Padfoot still seemed intrigued by his Occlumency idea – Harry didn't completely understand
it because Padfoot got so excited when he talked about it that he stopped making sense – and
spent quite a lot of time poring over Moony's Occlumency book. He often did that in the
afternoons, when Moony was around to keep Harry entertained – otherwise, Harry was left to
struggle with Regulus' stupid puzzle.

Moony taught Harry how to play real Exploding Snap and also played Dumbledore's game.
When they weren't doing that, Moony would take him for walks through the forest and tell
him stories about his years at Hogwarts. Sometimes Padfoot joined them for the walks –
sometimes he'd go as a human and he and Moony would bicker about who came up with the
idea for what prank, or who said what, and other times he'd go as a dog and chase hares and
birds for Harry's amusement.

With the exception of not being able to go home, and not knowing how Kreacher was, life
was pretty good.

Rough hands shook Sirius awake on Tuesday morning.

"Wasgoinon?" he asked, blinking himself awake. Remus was standing over him, looking
terrified.

"Get up! Get up!" Sirius was hauled unceremoniously off the couch and shoved out the front
door. His wand landed with a clatter on the stone path and his pillow and blanket followed
with a whump. The door slammed shut and then there were quick, thumping footsteps and
the sound of another door slamming.

What the bloody hell is going on? Sirius thought groggily, sliding down the door to the
ground.

He doesn't want you, the Dementor's Draught whispered.

There was a whooshing sound, the sound of something hitting Moony's floorboards and then
a cheerful voice said, "Sorry, I've got ash all over the place!" Sirius grabbed his wand.

He's betrayed you.

"Don't worry about it-"

"Let me help; I know a charm-"

"No!" Moony shouted. "I... er... here, let me get a dustpan. Would you like anything? Food?
A drink?"

Looks like she's here for a while, then. Sirius groaned and let his head fall back against the
door.

"What was that?" the woman asked.

"Wind," Remus said.

"Oh, right. Er... I'll have tea if you're offering." There were noises inside – footsteps, Remus
sweeping, the woman sitting down on one of the couches or maybe the armchair and also of
running water and a match being lit; Remus had bought some when he was out so that Harry
didn't need to go outside whenever they made tea. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No," Remus said. "Is Mad-Eye visiting too?"

Mad-Eye? No, it can't be... Sirius stuffed his blankets and pillows into the bushes that grew
against the house and then got up as quietly as he could and crept around the back of the
cottage so that he could peek through the window above the kitchen bench. He hoped Remus
didn't mind he was somewhat trampling a shrub with clumps of white flowers to do so. Just
as he tried to look in, however, the window opened and Hedwig was shooed out. Her wing
clipped his cheek and he swore, ducking down.

"What are you doing?" Remus hissed in a voice too low for anyone but Sirius to hear. "If she
sees you, we're both dead! And get off of my geraniums!" It seems Remus does mind, Sirius
thought, sniggering. Remus made a frustrated noise and snapped the window shut.
"Something seems to have been attacking my garden," he heard Remus say.

"I suppose you live close enough to the forest that things can just wander in," the woman –
who Sirius suspected might be his cousin's daughter – said. He was desperate to talk to her, if
that was the case – how often did he get that chance? – but wasn't sure how to go about that.

Unless...

Yes, he thought. That'll work. I can talk to her and mortify Moony at the same time. Serves
him right for throwing me outside.

Sirius transformed and ran back around the front as a dog, and then continued down the stone
path through the little gate that led to the forest. He ran until he couldn't see the house
anymore and then transformed back and began casting spells to change his appearance, his
voice, and his clothes; he transfigured his pyjama bottoms into a pair of long lacy robes and
several pebbles into various pieces of gaudy jewellery.

He turned two more leaves – brown ones this time - into shoes and then tucked his wand into
his pocket and headed back through the forest. It took him longer as a human but if he ran,
he'd look ruffled and that wouldn't do if he wanted this to work. He practiced his walk on the
way back, until it was just the way he remembered it.
He took a deep breath, lifted his chin and pushed the door open.

"Remus, darling," he said, not looking at either of them. He could smell Remus' shock and
horror but it quickly changed into suspicion and then changed again into an odd mix between
amusement and irritation.

He doesn't want you here, the potion whispered.

I'm not even me, so shut up, Sirius snapped. Astoundingly, it did. It had been a little weaker
these past few days, ever since he'd come up with his idea, as if it knew its time was almost
up. At least he hoped it was. There was a chance that it might not work.

"I really do wish you had come. It was lovely; there were all these little birds and I even saw
a badger – a badger, Remu- Oh."

He allowed himself to look at Nymphadora – and it was her, because who else did he know
that could have bright white hair and not look older than eighteen? If he remembered
correctly, her hair went white when she was surprised. She certainly looked it; her mouth was
hanging open and her eyes – dark like Ted's – were wide.

"Remus?" Sirius said accusingly. "Who is this? I thought you told me you weren't dating
anyone!"

"I'm Tonks," Nymphadora said faintly. "And, we aren't-"

"A pleasure." Sirius said, holding out a hand for her to shake. Nymphadora looked at the
long, purple nails Sirius had given himself and then shook. "Well," he huffed, looking at
Remus, who still looked stunned, "I can see my useless nephew isn't about to introduce us.
Honestly, I don't know where his manners are this morning! I'm Catherine Lupin. I do hope
Remus has at least offered you tea, dear."

"Y-yes," Nymphadora stuttered, sitting back down. "And breakfast." She gestured to her cup
and plate of eggs. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise you had-" She shot Remus an apologetic look. "I
can meet you at the Leaky-"

"Nonsense!" Sirius exclaimed. "Now, is it just Tonks or does something come before or after
it?"

"Just Tonks," Nymphadora said.

Sirius clicked his tongue. "What were your parents thinking? Tonks is no name for a young
lady." He glanced at Remus who looked mortified. Perfect, Sirius thought. "Well?" he said.
"Aren't you going to offer me a cup of tea and a plate of eggs too?" Remus stared. "And get
my chair."

"Right." Remus stood up, face flaming, and pulled Sirius' chair out for him.

"Thank you, lovely," Sirius said, batting his eyelashes as he sat down.
"You're welcome," Remus said in a sugar-sweet voice that told Sirius that – if Nymphadora
hadn't been there – he would have throttled him instead. Remus walked over to the kitchen,
filled a cup, loaded a plate and brought both back. "So. How was your walk?"

"It was wonderful," Sirius said. On the inside, he was laughing so hard he was crying. On the
outside, he was sure he looked like a pomous, older woman. "Next time you
simply must come with me."

"Y-yes," Remus said. "I'll do that." Sirius beamed at him. Remus stabbed his eggs.

"So," Sirius said, loading a tiny mouthful onto his fork. "How do you know Remus,
Tonks? Are you dating him? I assure you, you can do better." Remus' forehead hit the table
with a thump. "Dear, you'll get food in your hair. Sit up properly... there's a good boy." Remus
looked longingly at his fork, as if he might stab Sirius with it.

"We're not dating," Nymphadora said. "We work together."

"Oh! You must be working for the Malfoy boy!"

"Yes," Nymphadora said carefully. Sirius was impressed she'd managed to keep her hair one
colour for the whole conversation.

"Lovely," Sirius said, daintily nibbling a piece of egg off of the end of his fork. "You know,
Remus, this silver really could use a good polish."

"It's not silver," Remus said. "It's steel. It doesn't need polishing."

"I suppose this is one of your muggle contraptions," Sirius said, glaring at his fork as if it had
mortally offended him.

"Just eat," Remus sighed.

"I will," Sirius said haughtily. "I'm just making sure you're aware that I'm not happy about
this steel situation." Nymphadora chuckled into her teacup. Sirius grinned into his. "So, are
you any closer to finding that awful Black boy?"

Nymphadora looked at Remus. "Not really," he said.

"I remember him," Sirius told Nymphadora in the proud way old women have. "Good friends
with Remus here. Such a charming boy. Good blood – the son of two Blacks if I remember
rightly. Handsome boy, too," he couldn't help adding. "Such a shame, really, that he turned
out so horrid! I never would have thought he'd do all those terrible things. I hear he's stealing
children now!"

"Yes, he took Harry," Remus said. "James and Lily's son. Do you remember them?"

"James... Oh, yes! The Potter boy!" Sirius added, as if Nymphadora didn't already know that.
"Lovely child, good blood, like Black, but he had horrendously untidy hair and those silly
glasses – I don't know why his parents didn't take him to St Mungo's and just have his eyes
fixed."
"You can't fix eyes," Remus said, smiling for the first time.

Nymphadora nodded. "You just put a spell on in the place of glasses and it has to be
reinforced every few hours."

"Is that right?" Sirius asked.

"James was always scared it'd wear off somewhere he couldn't renew it," Remus said. Sirius
had to fight not to smile. He'd forgotten about that.

"Scared?" he said instead. "And that boy was a Gryffindor, wasn't he? Goodness, how
ridiculous. The Evans girl was a Gryffindor too, wasn't she? Brave girl, that one. You all went
to school together, didn't you?" Remus nodded. "Very clever, wasn't she? How Potter
managed to win her over is beyond me!"

"Patience," Remus said dryly.

"Perhaps," Sirius said primly, struggling to keep a smile off again. "But I suppose she was a
muggleborn girl and he was a pureblood... it's not very often that happens, is it?" As he'd
hoped, Nymphadora cleared her throat. Sirius mentally praised himself; Remuc could argue
all he wanted, but Sirius was ingeniously clever.

"My parents are like that," she said.

"Are they really?" Nymphadora nodded. "And they're happily married?" Sirius asked, curious
to hear about his favourite cousin. "Blood's never been a problem?"

"Not for them. Mum's family doesn't like it, but we don't see them."

"Hardly surprising," Sirius sniffed, cheering on the inside. "I'd be upset if any daughter of
mine married below her social class... No offence, dear."

"None taken," Nymphadora said frostily. Sirius took a sip to hide his grin; Nymphadora was
close to her parents, then.

"Well, thank you very much for the breakfast, Remus dear, and it was... interesting to meet
you, Tonks." Nymphadora smiled but it was more like a grimace. Sirius didn't blame her;
Aunt Catherine was an offensive woman, and he'd played her perfectly.

"Where are you going?" Remus asked, looking relieved he was leaving.

"To have a lie-down before my Portkey leaves," Sirius snapped, doing his best impersonation
of a cranky old witch.

"You'll be gone when I come home, then?" Remus asked.

"My house elf will be fussing as it is," Sirius said. "And I, quite frankly, think I have
performed my family duties. You're doing... ah, not well, but you're not dead, I suppose, so
that's got to count for something." Nymphadora looked angry. "Yes, it's time I went home.
Lovely as my walk was this morning, I smell like a forest and that simply won't do; I have a
friend coming for dinner tonight. A very dear friend, and I shudder to imagine what he'd
think if he saw me looking like this in my own home!"

"I'm sure he'd be horrified," Remus said, but his eyes were gleaming; he'd got the message
that he was invited to dinner.

Sirius stuck his nose in the air, pulled open the door to the spare room and marched in. He
heard Remus laughing and apologising to Nymphadora in the main part of the cottage and the
sound of them clearing the table. Without magic, he hoped. In the room Sirius was in,
however, a very nervous looking Harry was sitting stiffly in bed. Oddly, he wasn't wearing
his glasses and it was strange to see him without them.

"Oh dear," Sirius said, still using Aunt Catherine's voice. It's times like this that I love
magic. "I thought this was the bathroom."

"The... er... the bathroom's next door," Harry said.

"Thank you." Sirius turned, as if he was about to leave, and then stopped. "Do I know you?"
Sirius asked, frowning at Harry.

"I don't think I've seen you before," Harry said apologetically.

"Hmph. Are you Remus' son? He never told me about any son-"

"I'm his nephew."

"Remus is an only child."

"No, he isn't," Harry said. His hand had disappeared under his pillow, where Sirius thought he
might have put his wand. "Get Remus, he'll tell you."

"Very good," Sirius said approvingly.

"Sorry, what?" Harry asked.

"The Leaky Cauldron!" Nymphadora's voice said and the Floo whooshed in the main part of
the house. Remus' voice said it shortly after.

"It's me, kiddo," Sirius said, grinning. Harry twitched at the name but continued to look
politely confused.

"Who's me?" Harry asked.

"Sirius." Harry's eyes narrowed.

"I don't believe you." He hesitated and pulled out his wand. Sirius swore. "I heard people in
the other room. You're an Auror, aren't you?"

"Kiddo, whatever you do, don't use that wand."

Harry's wand didn't move. "What pet did Dudley have on the night we left Privet Drive?"

"How the bloody hell am I supposed to know?!" Sirius grumbled. "Was it a toad?" Harry's
expression hardened. "No, a tortoise! It was a tortoise!" Harry continued to look suspicious.
"I have a feeling you and Mad-Eye are going to get on splendidly, if you ever have the
chance to meet," Sirius said, running a hand through his hair. "Here, watch. Don't hex me."
He morphed into Padfoot and Harry relaxed.

"Why were you dressed like an old lady?" Harry asked, looking disgusted.

Sirius barked a laugh and transformed again so that he could answer. Harry burst out
laughing; Sirius looked like himself again but he was still wearing Aunt Catherine's lacy
black robes, heavy necklaces and ugly rings, since they weren't part of him, and hadn't been
undone after his transformation.

"Oh, shut up," he told Harry, who was clutching his stomach. Harry promptly ignored him.
"Fine," he muttered. "You want to laugh? I'll make you laugh."

"N-no!" Harry protested, as Sirius dove onto the bed and started to tickle him.

Remus stepped out of the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron and almost trod on Nymphadora,
who'd fallen flat on her face. He offered her a hand, which she accepted, blushing, and they
made their way over to the usual table. Arabella and Matt were already there – Dirk didn't
come on Tuesdays and Debbie only did afternoons on Tuesdays – and waved them over.

"How are you doing, Tock?" Matt asked. "Remus?"

"Good, thank you," Nymphadora said.

"Are you feeling better? Remus said you were sick on Saturday," Arabella said, giving her a
sympathetic smile. Nymphadora shot Remus a grateful look, while Remus was a little
perturbed about Arabella's acting abilities; she'd spent the last two days (since Nymphadora
hadn't been there) asking whether they should trust her, and whether Remus had had a chance
to ask about the way she'd disappeared just before Sirius 'showed up'.

"I'm feeling a lot better, thank you. My mother was glad for an excuse to fuss, I think." She
shifted uncomfortably. "How've you all been?"

"Well, Mr Tibbles..." Arabella started to tell Nymphadora a story about one of her cats;
whether she trusted her or not, Nymphadora was a willing set of ears for Arabella.

Matt was looking sharper today; the effects of his full moon medication had worn off fully
now. He finished the last of the toast he had in front of him and pushed his plate away.

"He's safe, then?" he murmured, sniffing. Remus thought Harry was right; most people
wouldn't notice the movement unless they knew to look for it. Remus inclined his head. "And
that's still a good thing?" Remus nodded again. Matt grinned. "Just making sure."

"What are you grinning about?" Arabella asked.

"Remus is just telling me about his houseguest," Matt said easily.

"Oh," Nymphadora said, her expression darkening. "Her."

"Her?" Matt mouthed, looking confused.

"My Aunt Catherine," Remus said cheerfully. "Horrible woman. She's leaving today, thank
Godric." He caught Matt's eye and winked. Matt's eyes widened and then he sniggered,
obviously understanding.

"I'll stay with buses again today, Remus?" Arabella asked.

"If you'd like." Arabella stood and gave Remus a very pointed look before tilting her head at
Nymphadora. Remus nodded and Arabella adjusted her handbag and left.

"Where should I go?" Matt asked.

"King's Cross is probably a good place to look," Remus said.

"But not to find," he heard Matt whisper. Nymphadora didn't hear it. Remus glanced up at
Matt, and grinned, shaking his head. Matt grinned back and sauntered out of the pub.

"Ready?" Remus asked Nymphadora. She nodded and stood.

"We're just walking again, right?" Remus inclined his head. "So, have I missed anything? I
didn't get a chance to ask with your aunt there..."

"I assume you've heard about Saturday?" Remus asked, pushing the pub door open.

She grimaced. "Moody's promised not to call me away today, no matter what happens...
Speaking of Saturday, though, I might actually know more about it than you. Remember
McKinnon that we were talking about?"

"Marlene?" Remus asked, pretending to look surprised.

"I've got to remember that," she muttered. "But yes, her." Nymphadora glanced around and
lowered her voice. "Apparently, Sirius was in her house-"

"You're kidding! Is she all right?" Remus asked quickly. "Was she hurt?"

"She's fine," Nymphadora said, scuffing one of her shoes on the pavement as they waited to
cross the road. "Apparently, though, she lives right next door to Sirius' Mum's old place."

"I knew that," Remus admitted. There was no point denying it since he'd been to both places
in his school years. And far more recently, but she doesn't need to know that...

"I suppose you would," Nymphadora said, sounding thoughtful.

"I assume they searched it," Remus said carefully. Nymphadora nodded. "Did they find
anything? Does it look like he and Harry have been there?"
"No," she said, her face falling. Her hair had a slightly blue tinge to it. "Apparently there's a
grumpy painting, a crazy old house elf and lots of dust but not much else."

"Are they still searching it?" She shook her head.

"The last search was last night. Nothing's changed since the first one, so they've given up.
Sirius is probably overseas by now."

"Probably," Remus agreed, sighing for effect.

"Lupin!"

"Oh, brilliant," Remus groaned. "First Aunt Catherine-" Other than the left out references
about werewolves, Sirius had done an uncannily good job of being her (which Remus
couldn't wait to tease him about). "-and now him." Nymphadora gave him a brief,
sympathetic look before her expression became haughty; Lucius Malfoy was striding toward
them, alone this time.

"Theodora," Malfoy said, giving her a polite smile.

"Mr Malfoy," Nymphadora replied, in a tone which matched his. "How are you, sir?"

"I need a word with Lupin, if that's all right."

I am right here, you know, Remus thought irritably. Instead, he smiled.

"Take as long as you need," Nymphadora said, smiling at Malfoy, as if she was relieved he
was taking Remus away. "He can find me later."

"Where will you be?" Remus asked.

"You're the lead searcher," she said, arching an eyebrow. "I'm sure you'll work it out."

Malfoy smirked and gestured for Remus to follow him. He glanced back at Nymphadora who
mouthed, "Sorry!" and "I'll be here!" at him. He gave her a reassuring smile and followed
Malfoy back to the Leaky Cauldron.

"I've been thinking-" Malfoy began, sitting down at a table in the corner of the room. There
were several witty responses Remus could have used but he swallowed all of them and sat
down instead. "-about the Potter boy."

"What about him?" Remus asked carefully.

"You got to know him in the hospital, did you not?"

"I suppose so," Remus said. "Why?"

"What was the boy like?"

"He seemed fond of Sirius," Remus offered, since several people could confirm that. "And he
got on well with Dumbledore..."

Malfoy sneered. "Did he?"

"Yes. Why the sudden curiosity?" Remus couldn't help asking.

"That's no concern of yours," Malfoy said coolly. "Based on what you saw, which House do
you think he would fit into at Hogwarts?"

Remus had no idea. "I only knew him for a week-"

"Intelligence was – if I remember correctly – your singular, redeeming quality, Lupin,"

Malfoy drawled. "I would be troubled to learn you'd lost that too." Malfoy watched him for a
moment. "An answer, please, Lupin."

"Give me a moment to think about it," Remus snapped.

Where would Harry belong? He wasn't overly bookish but, but he was still reasonably clever,
maybe clever enough for Ravenclaw, but Remus couldn't be certain. He was loyal to Sirius -
if his behaviour at St Mungo's had been any indication - and had worked hard to try to find a
solution to the Dementor's Draught problem, like a Hufflepuff might.

His loyalty could also be a Gryffindor trait, particularly because Harry had been willing to
step between Sirius and an unknown spell of Remus' back in May. He was brave too, for
going to the cave, and the way he'd wanted to go to Marlene's the moment he heard Sirius
was in danger showed the rashness of Gryffindors...

But then, Harry was also used to keeping secrets; that wasn't necessarily a Slytherin trait,
because Remus had been used to secrets by that age too, but it could be... Harry'd tricked
everyone with the tea in St Mungo's and he'd lied to them as well, which was a decidedly
Slytherin thing to do, or so Remus thought. Loyalty was a Slytherin trait too; they were good
at self-preservation, and if Harry didn't want to go back to his aunt and uncle's, Sirius was his
best bet.

And he didn't like to be treated like a child – he'd made that obvious several times now – but
that was a trait that could belong to any of the Houses; a Ravenclaw's thirst for knowledge, a
Hufflepuff's desire for equality, a Gryffindor's want to be included, no matter what, or a
Slytherin's fear of being overlooked.

"I really don't know," he said, and made a mental note to ask Sirius this very question at some
point tonight.

"Guess," Malfoy snapped.

"Gryffindor," he said after a moment. Malfoy looked irritated. "Or maybe Slytherin."

"He's not plain enough for Hufflepuff," Malfoy said, nodding. "And he seemed to like
company too much to be a Ravenclaw, or so I'm assuming. He must have been desperate to
have someone around if he was willing to put up with you for an entire week."
"Hufflepuffs are anything but plain," Remus muttered, thinking of Nymphadora. "And if you
knew all of this, why did you ask?"

"I wanted another opinion. The Minister suggested Gryffindor or Slytherin, his Junior
Undersecretary thought Hufflepuff or Gryffindor and Dumbledore thought Gryffindor or
Slytherin."

"Why do you want to know?" Remus asked again.

"I already told you that was none of your concern," Malfoy drawled. "Resume your
searching. I have things to do."

Malfoy strode out to the courtyard that connected the pub to Diagon Alley. Remus watched
him go, wondering what in Godric's name he was up to.

For a moment, Remus considered following him but decided it wasn't worth it. He'd just have
to remember to keep a closer eye on Malfoy from now on.

Sighing, he got to his feet and left the pub, headed back to where he hoped Nymphadora was
still waiting. He could use some good company after that little ordeal.

"Lucius?" Narcissa knocked once on her husband's study door and then pushed it open.
Lucius was sitting at his desk – that was hardly surprising – but what did surprise her was the
man standing before the desk. "Hello, Severus," she said, arching an eyebrow.

"Narcissa," he said, bowing slightly. Narcissa gave Lucius a suspicious look but he didn't see
it; he only sought Severus' counsel when something was troubling him, or if there was
something wrong with Draco. Since she knew Draco was currently harassing Dobby in the
kitchen – though she'd told him not to treat the elf that way – and was therefore perfectly
happy, it was obviously the former.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, going to stand beside Lucius. She picked up his hand and
gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Continue with what you were saying, Severus," Lucius said. Severus looked mildly annoyed
to be ordered around but said nothing.

"There is nothing more I can tell you," he said. "The Hat is protected by ancient magic from
any spells or potions that might change its mind. It cannot be tricked. I've heard of it taking a
child's preferences into account but I believe that to be rumour. If a child does not belong
somewhere, it will not place them there."

"You're certain?"

"Positive," Severus said, giving a jerky nod.

"Dobby!" Dobby appeared with a CRACK! He bowed deeply to each of them in turn. "Show
Professor Snape out."
"This way, sir," Dobby squeaked, leading Severus to the door.

"Always a pleasure, Lucius," Severus said. "Narcissa."

Narcissa waited until the door had closed behind the pair before she turned to Lucius.

"Well?" she snapped. "I'm as fond of Severus as you, Lucius, but the last time he was here, it
was to help you make that horrible little man into a pet for our sons-"

"It'll have to be the hard way," Lucius murmured. "I'd feared that would be the case..."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing for you to worry about, dear."

"I'll be the judge of that." She suddenly spotted the books on his desk. "The Four Founders?"
she read. "History Of The Houses? Going For Gold: A Gryffindor's Story? Are you finally
agreeing?" She'd fought long and hard with Lucius over whether the boys chould go to
Hogwarts (her preference) or Durmstrang (his preference). Lucius had been oddly quiet about
that these past few months, which usually meant Narcissa had won.

"And if I have?"

"Then it's about time," she told him. Lucius grimaced. She, of course, knew he wouldn't have
agreed with her unless there was something in it for him. Since she hadn't yet stopped talking
to him (as she would have if he was still set on Durmstrang by mid-September) or sent him to
sleep in the guest room instead of their room, it wasn't any reason she was aware of. "But
why are you interested in Gryffindor? What are you planning?"

"Harry Potter will be in either Gryffindor or Slytherin," he said.

"The point, Lucius?" she asked wearily.

"Well," he said, looking a little nervous now. "There are two possible Houses, and we have
two sons..."

"No," she said flatly.

"This is not for discussion, Narcissa," he said, strict all of a sudden. Bossing her around was
likely to make her resist him and he seemed to remember that a moment later. He took her
hand and this time, his tone was soft and persuasive. "We need Harry Potter on our side and
there is no better way to accomplish this than with the boys-"

"They are our sons," she snapped, tearing her hand out of his. "They are not chess pieces in
your silly political games, Lucius! If you want him befriended, do it yourself!"

"How do you suggest I do that, while he's hidden away with Black?" he asked flatly.

"I don't know, and nor do I particularly care," she told him. "Perhaps you can apply for the
Defence position when he starts Hogwarts."
"Dumbledore would never allow it."

"So you have enough time to try to train one of our sons to behave like a Gryffindor but not
enough time to try to win over an old man?" Lucius glared at her. "An old man, who, I might
add, is fond of second chances."

"Everything will be-"

"If you say 'fine', Lucius, I swear I'll never speak to you again. It will not be fine. Your plan,
correct me if I am wrong, is to set our family up to follow the Potter boy, yes?"

"Yes."

"And - let's ignore the fact that he's a third of your age – you claim this boy will be the next
pureblood Champion?"

"Yes."

Narcissa shook her head. "If you think he'll give a damn about us and our ways after a few
years with my muggle-loving cousin, you're delusional. The fact that you think there's a
chance of him ending up in Gryffindor proves that. He'll grow up echoing Dumbledore's
beliefs, and Sirius' and all we'll get out of it is a blood-traitor son and a stain on the Malfoy
name! We have nothing to gain, and everything to lose!" She took a deep breath.
"Even if Harry Potter turns out to be the next Dark Lord, what happens if or when your
former Lord returns, as Bella thinks he will-?"

"Bella's mad-"

"Bellatrix is my sister, and I will not tolerate insults about her while I am within hearing," she
said coldly. "And what if, Lucius? Would we rejoin him and forsake Potter, or would we rely
on Potter to protect us?"

"We would rejoin him," Lucius said.

Narcissa let out a moan. "Then you would you sign your own son's death warrant? Anyone
associated with the Potter boy will be destroyed!"

"Were it to come to that, Draco would be in a prime position to gather information on Potter,
something the Dark Lord would – were he to return – reward him greatly for."

"It's Draco, then?" she asked, feeling her heart freeze a little. Draco had always seemed the
stronger of the two, though that probably had a lot to do with Hydrus' disastrous birth. He
oldest son had been so tiny back then, so fragile. She'd never seen Draco quite that delicate,
but she had seen him small; she'd arranged to have him early because she'd been afraid of the
birthing complications. Though small, Draco had been infinitely stronger. She didn't think he
was strong enough for this, though.

"Draco is younger. He is easier to manipulate."

"Information or not, if the Dark Lord returns, Draco will be a blood-traitor," she whispered.
"A Gryffindor. You said it yourself, that Hat cannot be fooled! He'll be a true Gryffindor, and
too honourable to spy on a the Potter boy, particularly if they've befriended each other!"

"If he's too honourable to turn sides, then where better to stand than at Potter's shoulder?"
Narcissa stared. "But do not forget, Narcissa, Pettigrew was a Gryffindor who was willing to
spy," Lucius pointed out. A dry sob escaped Narcissa's throat before she could stop it.

"You want Draco, your son, to end up like that wretched man? That's the life you imagine for
him?! Lucius, listen to yourself! You're suggesting we allow – no, we force one of our sons to
be a blood traitor! Even if the Dark Lord doesn't return, he'll always be that; a Malfoy in
Gryffindor... it's a disgrace, Lucius!"

"How better to stir the Potter boy's sympathies?"

"Why must it be his sympathies? Why not his respect?"

"We will have his respect if he's made a Slytherin. If he's in Gryffindor, we'll need his
sympathies. I'm am preparing for either outcome."

"I won't allow you to do this," she said. "My entire family was torn apart by blood-traitors, in
case you've forgotten." She certainly hadn't. Even now, she was confused about it, and
worried that she might not have made the right choice when she'd forsaken Andy. Andy had
won freedom.

Narcissa had won her sister and husband's Lord, a man she'd never liked much at all and only
followed – not served, ever – because he believed the same things that she had been told to
believe growing up, and because she hadn't wanted to die (which, until Harry Potter came
along, had been the punishment for resisting him).

"We will handle Draco when the time comes."

A bleak laugh bubbled out of her mouth. "Handle him? Handle a Gryffindor?" Her next laugh
was more like a sob. "Handle him the way Aunt Walburga did Sirius? With constant abuse
until he runs away? I won't lose my son like that." Narcissa felt a tear trickle down the side of
her face. She didn't brush it away. She wanted Lucius to see it and know he'd upset her.

"Then what do you suggest?"

"That you stop trying to play both sides!" she said, angry now. "Pick Potter and commit to
loving muggles like Dumbledore, or wait for the Dark Lord-"

"The Dark Lord is gone."

"Then serve no one," she said, wiping the tears off of her cheeks. "Live the life we've made
for ourselves. Let our sons find their own Houses-"

"And if they're Hufflepuffs?"

"Then so be it," she said venemously. "Better they find their way there on their own than be
forced into a House by their idiot father." Lucius flushed an ugly pink colour and stood so
abruptly that his chair fell over.

"I will not be spoken to like that-"

"And I will not let you use my sons! If I hear any more of this nonsense, I'll tell them what
you're planning and that will be the end of it!"

"You could, but you won't," Lucius said.

"I think you'll find there's not much I wouldn't do to protect my sons," she told him. "And if it
is you they need protecting from, then so be it."

Then, leaving Lucius to ponder that, she swept out and closed the door behind her.
 Want and need

"Draco," Lucius said, "would you check on Dobby's progress, please?"

"Make Hydrus do it," Draco said, scowling at his father.

"It's my birthday," Hydrus whined.

"That was weeks ago. Besides, you made me do it on my birthday dinner, so he can do it on
his."

A week ago, he'd never have argued, and particularly not with company around; the
Parkinsons, Greengrasses, Notts, Bulstrodes, Goyles, Crabbes and Shafiqs all looked stunned
to hear Draco speaking so disrespectfully. Narcissa sighed quietly.

She hadn't said anything more to Lucius about his foolish plan to make Draco a Gryffindor
after their initial discussion two weeks ago. Lucius, likewise, had been silent on the matter,
but this time, it did not indicate a win for her.

This time, it meant Lucius was going ahead with his plan, and trying to do so without
drawing her attention.

Idiot, she thought, watching her husband out of the corner of her eye. Lucius was, by no
means, an unintelligent man. Quite the opposite, in fact. He just had an unfortunate habit of
forgetting that no matter how clever he was, she was cleverer.

"Draco," Lucius said mildly. "I believe I asked you." Hydrus smirked and some of the other
children laughed at Draco's expense.

They'll turn against him, she thought, watching her youngest son sadly. Even Gregory and
Vincent – neither of whom were what she would call academically gifted – knew that
Gryffindor was bad, while Slytherin was good. The Greengrass girls were the only ones who
might not be overly bothered by him not being in Slytherin. Narcissa might have taken some
small comfort in that, but she knew Draco wasn't overly fond of any of the girls. Daphne, in
particular, seemed to annoy him.

She was smirking at Draco now, as he stalked around one of the couches - which had been
pushed against the wall to clear the floor in front of the fireplace - and through the double
doors.

"Goodness!" Clementina said, staring after Draco. "Who does he think he is, talking to
Lucius like that? If you ask me, Narcissa, he needs a lesson to remind him where his manners
are."

Narcissa smiled. "But no one did ask you, Clementina," she said, and in such a level, pleasant
voice that it took several seconds for the others to hear the insult. Clementina gaped at her.
"Is Draco not feeling well?" Pansy asked. "Is that why he's behaving oddly?"

"That's exactly it," Narcissa told the girl. Her smile was genuine this time – she rather liked
Pansy, after all. "He's not himself at the moment." She gave Lucius a sharp look that,
unfortunately, he didn't see.

"He's not sick!" Hydrus said to Gregory, Vincent and Theodore in a loud whisper. "He's
pretending! He just wants to ruin my birthday dinner." Thankfully, Sonja chose that moment
to clap a hand to her mouth and walk quickly out of the room, so none of the adults had been
paying much attention to Hydrus' words.

"Hydrus," Narcissa said warningly, as Ernest ran after his wife. Pansy's narrowed eyes
followed the pair of them and Narcissa felt a pang of sympathy for the poor girl. Narcissa
moved a step closer to her oldest son and gave him a look, which, unlike Lucius, he didn't
miss. He muttered a sulky apology and then led the other children out of the drawing room.

Dinner was pleasant enough; there were enough people there that conversation never lapsed
and Dobby's cooking was wonderful. Though little Cyril did make a terrible mess with his
icecream, there were no explosions; Narcissa had worried about that when she saw Draco
sitting between Millicent and Daphne.

After dinner, everyone ended up scattered throughout the house; Lucius and some of the
other adults had gone to his study to talk about more serious matters than dinner table
conversation usually allowed. Ernest Parkinson and his sister Nola – whose last name was
now Shafiq – had gone, and so had Roderick and Audra Crabbe, Aloysius and Clementina
Goyle, Magnus and Theodosia Bulstrode and Leopold Nott.

As all of them wore the Dark Mark, it was reasonably easy to deduce what it was they were
talking about – Harry Potter as the new Dark Lord - and Narcissa – who sometimes listened
in and sometimes did not – had decided to join the rest of their guests in the drawing room.
She thought she'd heard more than enough about Harry Potter lately.

Eleanor was chatting with her step-son while he played with his baby sister; Lucius thought it
was dangerous for Theodore to be so openly smitten by little Catherine but Narcissa thought
it was sweet. All three Greengrass girls and Nadia Shafiq – who was the same age as Daphne
- were having a whispered conversation over by the fireplace and seemed oblivious to
anything else that was happening.

Vincent and Gregory were hovering by the corner table – upon which was a plate of sweets
and baked goods Dobby had prepared – and a few feet from them, Hydrus, Draco, Pansy and
Millicent had pulled together four of the armchairs and were talking. On the opposite side of
the room on one of the couches, Parmenia and Marius Greengrass and Nishith Shafiq were
talking about a mutual friend of theirs – both Marius and Nishith worked in the Department
of Magical Discoveries at the Ministry – and so it was that Narcissa found herself sitting with
Sonja Parkinson.

"Thank you for tonight," Sonja said, wincing as she shifted in her armchair. Narcissa picked
up a pillow from the couch she was sitting on and passed it to the other witch. She accepted it
with a weak but genuine smile and tucked it behind her back. "I haven't seen Pansy this
happy in a long time."

As if to prove her mother's point, Pansy started laughing at something Millicent had said.
Narcissa noticed that Hydrus looked disgruntled about it and that Draco was smirking.

"We don't have people over anymore," Sonja continued, shifting again. "Ernest's usually
working and I just can't do it by myself." Narcissa wasn't sure what facial expression was
appropriate. She settled for an understanding look. "Soon I won't even be able to come to
things like this."

"You'll manage, I'm sure," Narcissa murmured.

"That's what everyone says. I know they're just being polite. I see the way they look at me."
She smiled gently. "Not talking about it, or pretending everything's fine doesn't change
anything. I'm dying. The Healers don't think I've got even a year left."

"So little time?" Narcissa breathed. Sonja was only a few years older than she was.
Sometimes that was hard to remember, though; with her drawn face, lank, colourless hair and
nearly skeletal appearance, Sonja looked decades older.

"It's a relief, to be honest," Sonja said, with a small, sad smile. "It's been five years and I'm
tired."

"You have so much to live for," Narcissa murmured. "There's Ernest and Pansy... Sonja, what
about Pansy?"

"She'll be happier with me gone," Sonja said, watching her daughter as she spoke. Narcissa
knew Pansy sometimes struggled with her mother's illness, but surely that wasn't true... "You
don't believe me," Sonja said. "But it's true. My daughter hates me."

"Nonsense-"

"It's true. Sometimes, I can almost convince myself that it's better for her – if she hates me,
she won't miss me when I'm gone... Have you ever lost someone dear to you, Narcissa?"
Sonja asked softly.

"You know that I have," Narcissa said. Aside from never taking the Mark, she and Sonja had
three main things in common. They had both lost their fathers during the war – that, in fact,
was what had brought them together again; Sonja was Narcissa's cousin on her mother's side,
but Narcissa's father and her uncle had never liked each other – she'd never been given a
reason why. After Narcissa's father's death, her mother had gone to her estranged brother for
support and they'd managed to patch things up before he died a year later.

The second thing they had in common was that they'd lost a sibling to the war; Narcissa had
lost Bella to Azkaban, while Evan, Sonja's brother, was actually dead. The third was that each
had an estranged, blood-traitor sibling – Narcissa's was Andy, Sonja's was Cornelius, who'd
married a muggle woman.
"And do you remember the pain? The grief?" Narcissa nodded curtly and clasped her hands
in her lap. "Perhaps, it's best if Pansy doesn't feel that."

"You sound as if you're trying to convince yourself."

"I am... Have you seen anyone die, before?"

"I've seen dead people," Narcissa said. Four of Dumbledore's men had been captured and
brought to the Manor the night before the Dark Lord was destroyed. Two of the four – the
Prewett twins – had escaped, though she knew they'd been killed shortly after. The other two
- Caradoc Dearborn, her old Defence teacher, and Benjy Fenwick, the Head Boy she'd
swooned over in her second year – had been blown to smithereens by Evan. Narcissa
remembered the entire Manor trembling; Draco had been taking his first wobbly steps and
fallen over.

She'd gone downstairs to see what was happening – after leaving Draco and Hydrus with
Dobby – and found Lucius, Evan, Ernest, Abraxas and Severus all standing, shocked, in the
blackened, bloodied cellar, which had since been Scourgified, but she still hated it down
there. Someone – probably Rosier, since he'd made the mess – had been responsible for
leaving Fenwick's remains where Dumbledore's followers would find them. There hadn't
been enough left of Dearborn to return.

"But I've never actually seen anyone die," she said, coming back to the present. "Have you?"

"No." Sonja looked nervous. "Did you feel anything for them? The dead people you saw?"

"I was sad. It was their own fault and it had to be done, but it was a waste of life. They had
friends and families and futures..."

"But you didn't grieve?" It was times like this that Narcissa was reminded that Sonja had
been in Ravenclaw.

"No," Narcissa murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before she clasped her
hands together again. It had been sad and shocking, yes – it wasn't every day she saw her
Defence teacher splattered on the walls of her cellar – but it hadn't been a personal loss.

"Then perhaps it's good that Pansy hates me."

"You don't really believe that," Narcissa said, watching the older woman's face carefully.

Sonja smiled sadly. "No, I don't. But I want to..."

"Why?" Narcissa had to ask.

"Because I want what's best for Pansy. I don't want her to hurt."

"Then why don't you just let her hate you?"

"Because it's not me she hates. It's the fact that I'm sick, that I'm dying. She's too young to
make the distinction yet, but I know and I don't want her to hate me. I'm going to lose her
soon enough anyway I want my daughter to be mine for as long as I can have her. It's selfish,
I know, but-"

"But not an unreasonable desire," Narcissa murmured.

"I've written her letters, you know," Sonja admitted, dabbing at her eyes, which were
beginning to look teary. "For all of her birthdays, and for Christmases and for her first day of
Hogwarts... And Ernest has promised to tell her that I loved her, so that she will always
know... And perhaps in time, she will forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive."

"Of course there is. I'm her mother, and I'm about to abandon her."

"You're victims of circumstance-"

"Of course we are. Doesn't mean I'm not abandoning her. I'm her mother. I'm supposed to be
there for her, to take care of her, and I won't be." Narcissa didn't know what to say. "That's
why I've tried not to be jealous that she's so much like her father. They gravitate towards each
other – probably would, even if I was healthy – and they're going to need that, need each
other soon enough."

"Tried?" Narcissa asked.

"It doesn't always work, of course. I am jealous, sometimes. I never say anything though, to
either of them. That wouldn't be fair, and it would be irrational. It makes sense for Pansy to
lean on the more stable parent." A small laugh burbled out of her pale lips. "A child's
intuition, some would call it. Maybe she'll be a Ravenclaw after all."

"Do you not want her in Slytherin?"

"Frankly, I don't care where she goes, as long as she's happy." Sonja's eyelids began to droop;
Narcissa might have been alarmed if this was a rare occurrence, but she'd seen Sonja do this
many times before. "She's got a hard few years ahead of her, and I want her surrounded by
people that will support her. If she finds that in Hufflepuff, so be it. I just want her taken care
of."

"You know that... when it comes to it... Lucius and the boys and I will always be here for her,
and for Ernest, of course."

"I know. I know that." Sonja's eyes fell shut and she slumped back into her seat. "Thank you,"
she breathed. Narcissa watched as her body relaxed into sleep, though a small frown
remained on her face. Narcissa studied Sonja for a moment and then conjured a blanket and
tucked it around her.

"Thank you," a voice at her shoulder said. "I was just about to come and do that." Narcissa
turned, surprised, and then smiled – a little sadly, but she couldn't help it –at Pansy, whose
dark eyes were fixed on her mother. "She's dying, you know," Pansy said in a detached sort of
way, still watching Sonja.
"I know," Narcissa said softly.

"She's weak," Pansy said.

"I think she's very strong," Narcissa said. "She's been sick for five years now, but she's still
here, still fighting."

"But she's losing."

"It's very tiring to be sick all the time."

"That's what Daddy says," Pansy muttered. She took a last look at her mother and then her
eyes flicked to Narcissa. "Well, thank you for the blanket, Mrs Malfoy." Narcissa inclined her
head and Pansy went back to her armchair next to Hydrus. The six children – because
Hydrus, Draco, Pansy and Millicent had since been joined by Vincent and Gregory – started
talking again, as if Pansy had never left.

They were good at that now – Narcissa had personally seen to it that both of her boys would
not talk about Sonja to Pansy unless Pansy brought it up first, and even then, only if they
could reply without offending her. Vincent and Gregory had likely been told not to say
anything at all by their parents, and Millicent was clever enough to judge the situation for
herself and act accordingly.

Sonja shifted and croaked her daughter's name in her sleep.

We're not all that different, Narcissa thought toward Sonja. We both want what's best for our
children.

The trouble was, Narcissa – after two weeks of almost constant contemplation of her options
– still had no idea what was best.

After Flooing home from Moony's two weeks ago, Harry and Padfoot had settled right back
into Grimmauld Place. There had been cleaning to do – thankfully, a simple Vacuuming
Charm took care of the dust and cobwebs Kreacher had conjured, and most of the damage
had been magically caused and could be fixed with a quick Reparo or Finite Incantatem.

The cleaning brought back memories of February, when they'd first moved in, but there were
a few key improvements; firstly, Kreacher was willing to help – he'd been ecstatic to have
them home and regaled them with tales of the Aurors' visits – and provided them with regular
meals. Secondly, Harry and Padfoot knew each other better this time and so weren't as edgy
around each other as they had been back then and thirdly, Moony was around whenever he
wasn't out searching for them and was quite happy to provide help or just company whenever
one of them needed it.

With most of the cleaning and repair work done in the first few days of being home, things
had gone back to a state of restfulness that Harry hadn't had since before the cave incident; he
still had nightmares - either about Padfoot trying to kill Snape or about the cave - but since
his room was spelled against fire and he was reasonably sure Snape had been lying, there was
no need to worry about either of those and the dreams grew further apart as September drew
on.

Padfoot was in a ridiculously chipper mood all the time – or perhaps it was just normal, and
seemed unusual after the Dementor's Draught – because he had either Harry or Moony
around him for the entire day, and because he was working on his plan to cure himself; Harry
now knew that involved Occlumency and the Patronus Charm Padfoot had mentioned that
night at Moony's. He'd only had one sick day since they'd got home, and he'd spent that
researching, so it wasn't a complete loss.

When Padfoot wasn't working on his cure, he was teaching Harry various jinxes and odd
spells that wouldn't be in the Hogwarts curriculum but were useful to know anyway; Padfoot
didn't want Harry to arrive at Hogwarts, knowing everything and then be bored as a result.
Moony had somehow procured his old homework planner – according to Padfoot, he'd had
one every year at Hogwarts – so they knew what general areas of study to avoid.

On the days that Moony only worked half a day with the search, he took Harry's lessons to
give Padfoot more time to research. Moony took teaching a little more seriously than Padfoot
did – Harry had blown up a cauldron and Moony had made him write four inches on possible
reasons why, and on how to avoid any such incidents in the future, where Padfoot would have
just laughed – but he was a good teacher and Harry was learning lots.

By the end of Spetember, they'd covered some of the better known magical creatures – things
like dragons, werewolves, vampires, merfolk (which were apparently not pretty at all),
unicorns and fairies – and Moony had also thought Harry should learn some very simple
healing potions and spells – Harry could now successfully brew a Pepper-Up Potion, a potion
that fixed headaches – which Padfoot often needed if he was messing around with
Occlumency – and a spell that would fix small cuts and bruises. Moony also – secretly –
taught Harry several spells that Padfoot hadn't covered yet, and as such, hadn't known that
Harry knew about until Harry used them against him.

"Tempus Admonius," Harry whispered. A small, glowing clock face appeared in the air in
front of him. He flicked his wand to set the clock to the right time – one minute from then –
and tapped the clock face, which shimmered and disappeared. Harry sat down and picked up
the pieces of Regulus' puzzle again – he'd managed to make the snake's head and the last inch
of its tail.

Two rooms over, the toilet flushed and then Padfoot wandered back in, humming to himself
and sat down. Within a few seconds, he was once again engrossed in his copy of the Evening
Prophet and didn't even notice Harry sneaking glances at him.

When the minute was up, a shrill ringing noise – similar to that of a normal, muggle alarm
clock – started. Padfoot yelped and covered his ears; Harry didn't blame him – he'd cast the
spell at Padfoot's chin level.

"Finite," Padfoot yelled, flicking his wand over his shoulder. The ringing continued. Padfoot
looked over at Harry, who was trying – and failing – to keep a straight face; he'd obviously
remembered the charm could only be deactivated when it was touched by a wand. Harry
could see the faint glimmer of the spell but he thought that was only because he knew where
to look. "Where is it?" Padfoot asked, with a wry grin.

Harry leaned over and tapped the shimmering charm with his wand. It silenced immediately.
Another tap and the spell vanished completely, as it was designed to do; Harry had still not
learned how to Vanish things, because Padfoot – in a rare display of maturity – had decided
there were more dangers associated with learning it now than there were benefits.

"Is being able to Vanish vegetables off of your dinner plate really worth the risk that you
might accidentally shout 'Evanesco' in a duel and Vanish your opponent?" he'd asked. Harry
had been scared enough by that prospect that he'd promised – without prompting – not to
attempt it until he was told how to, whether that ended up being at either at Hogwarts in
several years time, or by Padfoot or Moony.

"You should have seen your face," Harry chuckled, tucking his wand back into his jeans.

"Did it look like yours did when I changed your room the other night?" Padfoot asked slyly.
Harry grimaced; while he'd been asleep, Padfoot had moved all of the furniture in his
bedroom around and so, when Harry had climbed out of bed the next morning, still half
asleep, he'd walked into the wall because that was where the door was supposed to have been.
Padfoot had been standing in the actual doorway, laughing at him.

"Probably, yeah," Harry muttered, trying not to grin too widely. Padfoot barked a laugh and
ruffled Harry's hair.

"Shall we call it a truce, then?"

"Truce," Harry agreed.

"On each other," Padfoot said solemnly. "Moony's fair game."

"Agreed," Harry said, laughing.

"Merlin you're starting to sound like Sirius," Moony commented from the doorway. He'd
given up on the doorbell when Padfoot stopped answering it and just invited himself in now.

"How?" Harry asked, curiously.

"When you laugh," Moony said, draping his worn cloak over a seat "I can't explain it... you
just sound like him."

"His voice is all James'," Padfoot argued.

"I didn't say anything about his voice, just his laugh," Moony said.

"Right..." Padfoot said, arching an eyebrow. He flung an arm over Harry's shoulder as Moony
pulled one of the chairs from the desk around and sat. "Well, kiddo, if you laugh like me, at
least you've got one damn attractive laugh." Harry couldn't help it; he laughed. "So," Padfoot
continued, looking at Moony. "How was searching? Did you find that poor, innocent Sirius
Black and his evil godson?"
"Well-" Moony began.

"I think it's the other way around," Harry said helpfully. "I think I'm supposed to be the
innocent one."

Padfoot frowned as if he was actually thinking about it. "Are you- No... No, I'm positive
you're the evil one."

"Yeah, actually, maybe that's right..." Harry grinned and added, "Sorry, Moony."

"That's quite all right," Moony said, his mouth twitching. "And no, we didn't find either of
you. Matt was devastated," Moony joked, his eyes gleaming. "He was quite put out about it
at lunch, actually. He thinks you must have someone on the inside..."

"Where in Merlin's name did he get that idea?" Padfoot asked, grinning.

"I'm sure I have no idea," Moony sniffed. "Of course, Matt being Matt, he thought it was a
good idea to share this theory with the rest of the group. Arabella's still certain it's
Nymphadora and I think Dirk agrees but he's subtler about it." Moony sighed, as if he wasn't
sure whether to be amused or not.

"Is she still going to take over?" Harry asked.

"I'm not going in tomorrow – day of the full moon and all that – but she's got Auror things on
Fridays anyway, so I've given her free reign on Saturday, since I won't be there then, either,"
Moony said. "There's not much to do to be honest, so I'm certain she'll handle it admirably
but it'll be a good chance to test her. Depending on how she goes, she might take over soon."
He fiddled with a loose thread on his jumper and glanced up. "Have you made any progress
with your Patronus?"

"No," Padfoot said. "I did a bit of mind-shaping this morning but that's it until Saturday."

"Why? Last night you said you were close."

"I am close," Padfoot said, beaming. "Very close. But the full moon's tomorrow
and if something doesn't work, I don't want to leave you to fend for yourself."

"Sirius-" Moony said, looking uncomfortable.

"Hush, Moony," Padfoot said. "I'm being noble. Don't ruin it." Moony bit his lip. "I can see
you're thinking of ruining it," Padfoot said. "Don't do it!"

"I just- if you can get better-"

"And you've done it anyway," Padfoot said, sounding resigned. "Nobility ruiner."

"Sorry," Moony said. Harry was trying not to laugh at the pair of them.

"You couldn't help it," Padfoot said, grinning. "I can deal with an extra day. I just need to find
something to do to keep me occupied tomorrow."
"I might have something we can do," Moony said.

"Oh no," Padfoot said hastily. "You'll make us do boring things, like rearrange the library, or-
"

"The library does need to be rearranged," Moony muttered, "you said so yourself."

"I did, but that doesn't mean I'm doing it," Padfoot retorted. Harry managed to turn a laugh
into a cough at the last minute; he wasn't going to take sides on this one, particularly because
– not matter which side he picked – he'd end up helping.

"Hypocrite. And it's not something boring."

"Well, not to you," Padfoot said, "but we're normal people, Moony. We don't want to
rearrange the library."

"I never said anything about the library!"

"Did so! You said it needed rearranging!" Padfoot turned to Harry. "He'll make us rearrange
all of these," he said, gesturing to the shelves around them, "and then, when we've finished
that, he'll send us upstairs to clean your room-"

"I only did that a week ago!" Harry protested.

"I know," Padfoot said. "Horrible, isn't it!" He glared – though there was no real force behind
it – at an exasperated Moony. "He's-"

"Oh, shut up, Padfoot," Moony said, rolling his eyes. Padfoot continued to complain
dramatically so Moony talked over him. "I was actually going to suggest we go through a
certain box that's been tucked away in my spare bedroom for far too long," he said loudly.

That shut Padfoot up.

"Jordan, name one of the twelve properties of dragon's blood." Jordan - who had, until that
moment, been laughing at something one of the Weasleys said – jerked and looked up.

"Uh..." he said. "Well, my Dad got into this fight in the Leaky Cauldron once and he put
dragon's blood – I mean, it was a steak, but steaks have blood, right? – on his face to make it
better."

"I asked for a property of dragon's blood, not your father's life story," Severus snapped, and
took five points from Gryffindor.

"He gave you a property though!" one of the insufferable Weasley brats piped up.

"Five points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn," Severus said. Yaxley and Joffs, who
were sitting at a desk at the back of the room, sniggered. "And no, Mr Weasley, he did not.
He did, however, hint at one. Yes, Miss Fawley?"
"Dragon's blood has healing properties," Fawley said, smirking in the Gryffindors' general
direction.

"Ten points to Slytherin," Severus said. "You should all be writing this down! Spinnet!" The
girl squeaked. "I trust you know of another property because I can think of no other reason
for you to be speaking with Miss Johnson during my class."

"Erm..." Spinnet played with a strand of her hair, looked up – seemed alarmed to find Severus
was watching her – and then looked down again. "Well, sir, dragon's blood is used in
potions."

"Name one such potion." The entire Gryffindor side seemed to hold their breath.

"Blemish Blitzer," Spinnet said tentatively. Severus curled his lip. Jordan and the Weasleys
groaned.

"If I had wanted a specific brand, I would have asked for it," he said. Spinnet's upper lip
trembled. "If you intend to pass this year, you need to learn to follow instructions. Another
five points from Gryffindor for failing to do so. My, my, Gryffindor is suffering today..."

He was about to take more points – probably ten this time, because he really did loathe the
twins – from one of the Weasleys for wearing such an insolent expression in his classroom
but he was interrupted by a soft knock on the classroom door. Frowning, Severus did a quick
count of the class, but they were all present. Severus strode over to the door and pulled it
open.

"Severus." Narcissa Malfoy held out a pale hand for him to shake and he did so. He didn't
allow her to see how surprised he was.

"Narcissa." Severus stepped out of the classroom and – after a brief debate about whether it
was better to be able to keep an eye on his class (particularly since it contained two
Weasleys) – closed the door. He just hoped he didn't regret it. Narcissa looked faintly
surprised. "What can I do for you?" She looked lost for a moment and then took a deep breath
and smoothed her robes.

"I'm sorry for interrupting your class," she said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "I only
wanted to inform you that I was here and that I need to speak with you, when it is
convenient."

"Does the Headmaster know of your presence here?"

"I did not inform him I was coming," she said, shaking her head. "But that does not mean he
doesn't know."

How true, Severus thought, allowing himself to smirk.

"I had Dobby Apparate inside your office – I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Severus said, though he did a little. He was more interested in what had brought
Narcissa here, alone, and via house elf; it was not something most purebloods would even
think of, let alone consent to. "What is it you need?"

She glanced at the classroom door and then said, "It can wait until the end of the lesson."

"After which I have a double period with my N.E.W.T. class." Her face fell just enough for
him to notice. "One moment," Severus told her. He strode back inside, startling the class. "I
am required elsewhere." It was better not to give them an estimated time – not that Severus
had one anyway – because that kept them on their toes and meant they were more likely to
behave. "While I am not here, you are to look up the twelve uses of dragon's blood in your
textbooks and write a summary. You will hand it to me, complete, when I return."

"Sir?" Poole had her hand up. "How long does it have to be?" Sometimes, Severus wondered
why the girl had been placed in his House and not Filius'.

"An inch per use," he said curtly. Quite a few students – and not only the ones from
Gryffindor – groaned. "You may share textbooks if necessary, and confer amongst
yourselves, but the work is to be your own. If you do not have the equipment required to
complete the task, I suggest you borrow some from someone else." And then, because he
wouldn't put it past his Slytherins to with-hold parchment or ink from those Gryffindors that
would not have thought to bring their own, added, "No one leaves this room until I have
collected everyone's summary."

"But, Professor-" Joffs whined.

"No one leaves until I have collected everyone's summary," Severus repeated. "Do not make
me say it again." Students started pulling out textbooks and parchment and quills. He waited
until most of them were working – or doing a passable imitation of work – before he slipped
out of the classroom again. Narcissa was waiting patiently. "We will speak in my office,"
Severus said, gesturing for her to follow.

"Thank you for doing this," she said, sounding remarkably sincere. Severus had nothing to
say to that – if he did reply, he might accidentally incite a menial, continuous exchange of
pleasantries; Narcissa was in an odd mood today. Severus pushed open the door to his office
and allowed Narcissa past. She took a curious glance at the potions and ingredients lining the
shelves but her gaze did not linger; she'd probably had a good look when she arrived.

"Sit," he said curtly, gesturing to the seat in front of the desk, as he took his own chair.

"Is there any chance of us being overheard?" she asked nervously. "Is anyone likely to come
searching for you?" Severus cast a non-verbal Muffliato at the office door, as well as several
other protective and privacy wards. It would, perhaps, have been easier to take her into his
quarters – accessible through a door that was hidden behind one of the ingredient shelves –
but, while he trusted Narcissa more than Lucius, he was not prepared to trust her that much.

"Not anymore," he told her.

"I-" Narcissa began and then seemed to lose her nerve. "Oven cleaner."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Dragon's blood," she said blithely. "It can be used as oven cleaner." Severus blinked. He was
aware of that, of course, but couldn't for the life of him fathom how she knew that. Narcissa
was clever, yes, but not at Potions – she'd only just managed to scrape an A in her Potions
O.W.L., if Severus remembered correctly – and he wasn't sure how a witch who'd probably
had house elves her entire life would know anything about oven cleaners.

"It can, yes," Severus managed to say. He wondered if she'd brought it up to throw him off. If
so, it had certainly worked.

"It's funny the thing you remember from school, isn't it?" she said quietly. "I think it's the
only thing I remember from Potions lessons, other than the time Bella was sent to the
Hospital Wing because Slughorn knocked a cauldron over with that enormous stomach of
his." Severus remembered that too. It had probably been the highlight of his fifth year; fifth
year had been a bad year.

"I take it you have more to say, however," Severus said, still stymied that she knew about
oven cleaner.

"I do, yes." She clasped her hands in her lap. "I am in need of... advice. You know that I love
my husband, don't you, Severus?"

"Of course," Severus said, and then inched his chair back, just in case. She smiled slightly,
and he wondered if she knew what he was thinking. "Was the fact ever in doubt?"

"I hope not," she said, bristling slightly. "But, then again, he does not know that I am here and
I must ask you to keep what you are about to learn a secret."

"And if I do not?" he asked neutrally. Narcissa looked lost.

"Well," she said, looking remarkably close to breaking down there and then. "Well- I-"

"Whatever you say will be held in the utmost confidence," Severus assured her; Dumbledore
didn't count. Astoundingly, her eyes filled with tears, and her shoulders slumped, as if a
burden had been lifted.

"Draco will be in Gryffindor," she whispered. Severus stared at her, wondering how that was
even possible. The boy was as Slytherin as it was possible to be. "I assume Lucius is planning
to alter his personality?" That was the only possible explanation.

"He is," Narcissa said, looking irritated.

"May I ask why?" he asked finally, unsure of how he was feeling.

"So that he can be close to Harry Potter."

"I see," was all Severus said, but his mind was reeling. "And you're telling me this why?"

"Because I don't know what to do," she whispered. "What if Harry Potter isn't Sorted into
Gryffindor? Draco would be there for nothing! What if Harry Potter's dead, and he doesn't
even show up to school-?"
"Harry Potter is alive," Severus said. Narcissa sat perfectly still. "Dumbledore has people
situated in the Department of Magical Records and the boy's name is yet to show up. And
Lucius told me you knew about Pettigrew."

"I do," she said stiffly.

"Then why would you think Harry Potter is dead?"

"If Lucius is right, and he's the next Dark Lord, then it would make sense for Sirius to kill
him. Sirius always fought for Dumbledore, remember-"

"I remember," Severus said, and then sighed. "Harry Potter will not be a Dark Lord, not with
Black raising him. He will be a Gryffindor, I have no doubt of that. So, unless Lucius is
willing to bend his proud neck and follow Dumbledore's Golden Boy, placing Draco in
Gryffindor is a useless act."

"But Potter is powerful," Narcissa argued. "He killed the Dark Lord!"

Lily's sacrifice did that, Severus thought irritably. Instead, he simply said, "The Dark Lord is
not dead." Narcissa's eyes widened, but he couldn't decipher her expression.

"Has he contacted you-?"

"No," Severus said. "I base that on Dumbledore's word only-" Narcissa at least, had more
respect for Dumbledore than Lucius did; she didn't sneer or make any disparaging comments.
"-but Dumbledore is rarely wrong about matters this important."

"No," Narcissa said. Severus couldn't be certain if she was agreeing with him, or if she was
speaking a thought she'd had aloud. "He's gone-"

"Gone, yes," Severus agreed. "But not dead. He will return, and he will want Harry Potter
and all those who stand beside him destroyed."

"I said this to Lucius," she said, suddenly, squeezing her eyes closed. "I didn't think- I was
only trying to make him see sense-" Her eyes opened and flicked to Severus' face. "Severus,
please, speak to him. Tell him-"

"I have tried," Severus said flatly. "More times than I can count, but Lucius has little regard
for Dumbledore's opinions."

"But Draco will be killed! Killed or forced to spy-"

"That remains true, no matter which House he is placed in. With Lucius as his father, he will
be pressed into service as soon as he is old enough. To refuse would be treason. There are
only two options here, Narcissa, and they are life, or death." Narcissa's chin trembled.

"I just want him safe..."

"Then you've chosen life. Draco will serve the Dark Lord, as will Hydrus, presumably-"
Narcissa's expression twisted into one of distaste and then smoothed a second later. Severus
wondered whether he'd seen it at all. "And, as Lucius will not listen to reason, it seems Draco
will serve from Gryffindor, unless you can persuade your husband to give the position to
Hydrus instead." Narcissa was staring at her lap. Severus thought she was fighting tears
again. Mutely, she shook her head.

"Either way, a son of mine will become a blood-traitor and then be forced to spy," she
whispered. Personally, Severus would prefer it if Drace was not the blood traitor, but didn't
say so. "But it will be Draco. Hydrus is too set in his ways. Draco is younger, easier to
influence..." It was probably safer for Draco, too, Severus conceded; Bellatrix, as Hydrus'
godmother, would want nothing to do with Hydrus if he was placed in Gryffindor, while
Severus would continue to tolerate his own godson. She took a slow, shuddering breath and
put her face in her hands. "My son, my poor son..."

Yes, Severus thought, and was surprised to find how miserable he felt; he'd always taken an
interest in Draco, of course, but it he'd been careful not to get too attached. He and the
Malfoys were on opposing sides, after all. And now they definitely were, because Draco was
going to be a spy for the Dark Lord, stuck in Gryffindor for seven long years and have to put
up with the Potter brat.

Perhaps the Dark Lord would try to have Draco kill Potter... and then, Draco would become
more than just something to be wary of. He'd be a threat, and threats would have to be dealt
with. Poor Draco. If he doesn't serve the Dark Lord, he'll be killed. If he does, he'll probably
be killed anyway, and I could even be the one to have to do it.

"'... where better to stand than at Potter's shoulder'? Oh, Lucius..." Narcissa murmured, a
moment later. Severus pulled himself out of his own thoughts and glanced across the desk at
her. Tears were still running down her pale cheeks, but otherwise, she looked remarkably
composed. "Teach him," she said, more to herself than to him, he thought.

"Teach him what?"

"To lie. To notice things," she said. The words seemed to be torn from her against her will,
but she said them with conviction. It was... odd. "Teach him to survive, like you have."
Severus just stared. "You fooled Dumbledore, for Salazar's sake! Teach him to do the same!"
She leaned forward and gripped the front of his robes. "Please, Severus. Train him to be a
spy, so when the Dark Lord returns, Draco will be ready, will know what to do. Please."

"This is what you want?" he asked stiffly.

"Yes," she whispered, but her expression and tone said the opposite.

"And what about what Draco wants?" Severus asked softly, though it was more to buy
himself time. Narcissa took another shuddering breath.

"What he needs is more important."

 Revisiting the past

"But, but sir-" Severus spluttered.

"You already agreed, did you not?" Dumbledore asked, as infuriatingly calm as ever.

"Yes," Severus said stiffly. "I didn't have a choice, then-"

"You will keep your word. There are dangerous times ahead for young Mr Malfoy and he will
fare better through them with your guidance."

"That's just it, Headmaster," Severus said irritably, turning hard on his foot so that he could
pace the other way. "I see no reason to be modest about the fact that I am - quite possibly -
the best Occlumens around today. Any student of mine could well surpass me, particularly if
they're given training from childhood-"

"It is possible, yes," Dumbledore said, picking up a letter from the Minister's Office – a letter
that was likely from Fudge himself.

"And you want to give that to the other side?!" Severus demanded. "You want me to
personally train someone who will be spying on you and the Potter br- er... boy-"

"You are assuming Sirius will allow Harry to go to Hogwarts," Dumbledore sighed, watching
Severus over the top of his letter. "And that he will be Sorted into Gryffindor-"

"Of course he will be," Severus sneered. "James Potter's son in Slytherin... The idea of him in
anything but Gryffindor is ridiculous-"

"And what of Lily's son?" Dumbledore asked, cutting him off again. "Could he belong to
Slytherin?"

"He's Potter's son," Severus hissed, making Dumbledore sigh. "And Black's godson. He will
be in Gryffindor-"

"I hope so," Dumbledore sighed. "But you forget the boy managed to fool us into thinking he
had consumed Veritaserum-" Dumbledore's blue eyes flashed; Severus knew he had stopped
answering the Minister's letters through September, as punishment for that moral trespass, at
least until he realised that had the potential to cause more harm than good. He was answering
letters again, if the one on his desk was any indication, but he was still furious, Severus had
no doubts. "-and escape from a heavily warded room while two Aurors were stationed
outside."

"The escape was probably Black," Severus said, knowing full well it had been, because Black
had told him so.

"Probably," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "but the tea on the sheets was all Harry."
"Yes, but-" Severus stopped short. "That's not the point!" he said, furiously, while
Dumbledore chuckled and resumed reading his letter. "The point is, you're telling me to give
specialty lessons to Draco, to give him my skills, so that he can then use them against us!"

"That is exactly what I'm asking, Severus, yes."

Severus called Dumbledore every rude name he could think of – unfortunately, that seemed
to amuse the old man, particularly when he had to Summon a dictionary to check one of the
words. Severus didn't know which one, since he'd said them all so quickly. With one last snarl
at the Headmaster, whose beard was twitching as he consulted the dictionary, Severus stalked
out and slammed the door behind him.

Kreacher had been coming and going from the training room all day, keeping them supplied
with tea and hot chocolate – for Padfoot, just in case – and scones and biscuits and
sandwiches and anything else any of them wanted. He seemed to understand that this was as
difficult for them as going through Black family heirlooms was for him. There was certainly
more laughter associated with this job, however.

They'd already sorted through quite a few of the photographs; there were some of James as a
baby, some of him and two people that Padfoot said were Harry's grandparents, and there
were also some muggle photos of Lily as a child. Some of them had Aunt Petunia in them –
Harry noticed the photographs of his mother and aunt together stopped when Lily was about
nine.

There was one photo of a young Lily – who was perhaps ten – paddling in a little stream
wearing an enormous hat on her head and an even bigger smile. Beside her, with his face
blocked by the brim of Lily's hat, was a dark-haired boy. It was a boy because the clothes
were certainly not girl's clothes. Padfoot and Moony thought it might have been a cousin or a
neighbour, but without his face, it was hard to know.

Most of the other photographs were from his parents' years at Hogwarts; there was one of
James being chased by a suit of armour in first year – which Padfoot proudly claimed he'd
taken - and one of Moony standing in a doorway, grinning and holding a broomstick.

"See that," Padfoot said, pointing into the room behind photo-Moony. Harry squinted and
could make out what appeared to be an upside-down room; the floor was starry and the roof
was stone, with tables affixed to it. There were people still eating at the tables, and flying
around below them were two dark-haired boys on broomsticks.

"It was brilliant," Moony said, grinning. "We took our broomsticks to dinner – I still can't
believe no one asked us about it-"

"Knew better by then," Padfoot said knowingly.

"- we ate, and then, when we'd finished, I cast a charm to flip the room, and then another one,
which was like an enormous Shield Charm an inch from all of the walls and floors."
"Best part was," Padfoot chortled, "was that no one noticed until we jumped on our
broomsticks and flew out! Everyone was stuck there until the teachers worked out how to get
everyone down – they didn't know why their counter-charms kept bouncing off! Eventually, a
few of them cast simultaneously and broke the Shield Charm, but it took them a good few
hours, didn't it, Moony?"

"It was two in the morning by the time they got down, I think," Moony agreed, smiling. "And
we'd had the run of the school for hours. Everyone was so tired, lessons were cancelled the
next day!"

"I'll bet everyone loved that," Harry said, grinning.

"I think we got detentions every night for two weeks-"

"Three," Moony said.

"Oh, three then," Padfoot said sheepishly. "And we lost twenty points each, but it was worth
it. What's the next photo?"

The next photograph was of a twelve-year old Lily at some sort of party – Moony said
something about a 'Slug Club' – and then there was one of all four Marauders – at about age
thirteen - and a pretty barmaid in a pub somewhere. Then there was one of Lily – also about
thirteen – lying upside down off of the end of her bed, tickling a blond girl with the ends of
her red hair, while a round faced girl and a young Marlene laughed.

Then, there was one of James and Padfoot having a snowball fight – the snowballs kept
hitting the camera, which Moony had apparently been holding – one of a Quidditch match,
with James and Padfoot zooming around the pitch and one of Lily – who was maybe fourteen
or fifteen now – with the same blond girl from one of the other photographs. And, with Lily's
arm wrapped around his shoulders, was a much younger, semi-smiling, Snape.

"That's Mary MacDonald," Moony said, pointing at the blond girl. "And you know Snape."

"Were they friends?" Harry asked, watching as Lily released both Snape and Mary so that she
could wave at Harry. Snape watched her with a sulky expression and then glared at Harry.
Mary just smiled and shot wary glances at Snape every few seconds. Moony and Padfoot
shared a look.

"They were for the first few years," Padfoot said eventually. "I wouldn't have called them
close – her friends tolerated him and his friends wouldn't even look at her so that made things
hard – but yeah, I suppose you could have called them friends. Or, at least, he wasn't as much
of a git to her as he was to the rest of us. Then he did something to upset her and she saw
what a git he really was and everything sort of fell apart."

Moony cleared his throat and began to explain the next photograph; it was of James and
Moony in a cavernous room – there were house elves at the edges of the room, looking
anxious, so Harry guessed it was a kitchen - standing at the head of at least seventy, human
sized gingerbread men. As Harry watched, Padfoot and Peter, who were each riding on the
shoulders of their own gingerbread – iced in red instead of James and Moony's white – led a
charge.

"We had battles all through the school," Padfoot said fondly. "It was just a distraction,
though; that night, we sent our soldiers to each of the common rooms and all of the teachers'
quarters and had them take everyone out onto the grounds."

"What was out there?" Harry asked.

"Blankets and campfires. And then a fireworks display," Moony said, grinning. He dug
through the pile of photographs and pulled one out. It showed fireworks exploding in the
dark, starry sky. Below it, outlined by the fires Moony had mentioned, were the staff and
students of Hogwarts, as well as the gingerbread men.

Harry spied Dumbledore off to one side, chatting amicably with several of the animated
biscuits, and laughed. Every few seconds, an arm would reach across – in front of whoever
was holding the camera – and point at Lily, who was sitting with three other girls and smiling
up at the fireworks.

"That's Prongs' arm, in case you hadn't guessed," Padfoot said, as if he'd read Harry's mind.
"And there, we've got Mary, your mum, Alice and Marlene."

"Did you get a detention for this?"

"One for every gingerbread man," Moony said wryly. "But it was split between the four of us
– worked out to about forty each – and McGonagall was so impressed by our spell-work she
didn't take points."

"Good old Minnie," Padfoot said fondly. "That's her there." He pointed to the back of a witch
in a tartan dressing gown. "There's a better photograph here, somewhere, surely..." He went
through the pile and pulled one out. "Aha! End of seventh year."

The photo showed the four Marauders and Lily – each of whom were wearing a red and gold
scarf – as well as McGonagall; she was wedged between Padfoot and Moony – who were
both grinning madly. James, Peter and Lily were in the front – James was crouching because
he was obviously taller – and was laughing; Padfoot was trying to force a Gryffindor scarf
over McGonagall's hat. She was wearing an expression that Harry had seen animals wear
when they played with small children.

James and Lily's wands emerged after the photographs – he found, to his surprise, that he'd
featured in quite a few of the later ones - and Padfoot spent a half-hour twirling James'
between his fingers and telling the stories to explain where each and every dent, scratch and
chip in the polish had come from.

When Padfoot put them down, Harry picked them up and held them carefully. He could see
old fingerprints on the grips of both wands and wondered whether they belonged to his
parents, or if they'd been left there when they were put in the box.
Padfoot and Moony got caught up in a friendly argument about whether the dent in the grip
had come from the time Lily threw James' wand out of the Charms classroom window for
making it rain lilies, or from the time James and Padfoot upset a Bowtruckle in Herbology,
resulting in it breaking his thumb and attempting to break his wand before Padfoot could
restrain it.

James' Chocolate Frog Card album emerged from the box a moment later. Padfoot accepted
it, flicked through impatiently and then set it down on the table with a sigh.

"He never did find Morgana," he said sadly. Moony and Harry shared a confused look but
Padfoot refused to explain and continued to dig through the box. There was an old Snitch that
flapped feebly and gave up. Sirius picked it up and whispered something that sounded like a
spell but it didn't respond. Padfoot nodded as if he'd expected nothing less.

Beneath that was a photograph, separate from all of the rest. It showed the five of them - Lily,
James, Moony, Padfoot and Peter - out in the grounds, with Hogwarts castle and the
Quidditch Pitch behind them. All three of them wanted a copy of that one, and so Padfoot
copied it with a wave of his wand. Harry and Moony exchanged a look when Padfoot chased
photo-Peter out of his copy with his wand, but neither said anything.

Padfoot had started to struggle with the Dementor's Draught at that point, so he'd gone to sit
in the kitchen with Kreacher – presumably to have hot chocolate – while Harry and Moony
lay on the training room floor, talking. When Padfoot came back, looking calmer, they'd sat
up and resumed sorting.

Next was a large pile of books – Harry thought the box must have some sort of charm on it to
have everything fit inside of it because there were at least twenty books – that had belonged
to his parents. Some were just general books while others were obviously school textbooks;
quite a few had Lily Evans printed neatly in the front cover, or had conversations between the
Marauders scrawled in the margins of the page.

Harry pulled out a piece of folded, lime green fabric which Padfoot identified as Lily's Healer
robes. Harry held them carefully, unable to believe that his mother had once worn them, put
her hand through the sleeves, kept her wand in the pocket. Unable to help himself, he held the
fabric to his nose but he couldn't smell anything other than dust. He dropped the robes to one
side, ignoring the pitying look he could feel from Padfoot and hastily picked up something
else.

It was a small wooden box with a little metal clasp on it. Something rattled inside when he
shook it gently, but he couldn't open it. He passed it to Moony who tried the latch, swore, and
dropped it.

"Silver," he said through clenched teeth, showing them the small, but rapidly spreading burn
on his thumb. Padfoot got up and ran out of the room.

"Why's it turning black?" Harry asked worriedly. "Does it usually-"

"Silver's worse when it's close to a full moon," Moony said, cradling his hand. "Oww. Since
it's tonight-"
"Here," Padfoot said, passing Moony a small bottle. Moony dripped some onto the burn and
let out a small, relaxed sigh. While Moony was seeing to his burn, Padfoot inspected the box.
He turned it upside down several times, and frowned at it, and then grinned and muttered,
"Aut viam inveniam aut faciam." Moony made a little annoyed noise in the back of his throat.

"I should have thought of that."

Padfoot smiled and lifted the lid. Inside was a confusing tangle of jewellery. There was a
simple golden chain with a large ruby pendant that Moony said he remembered Dorea Potter
wearing on formal occasions, a watch with a complicated face that had been Charlus Potter's
before it had been James', and a collection of rings.

One was Lily's engagement ring, a ruby with diamonds surrounding it and one was her
wedding ring, a simple gold band with a diamond. Another was silver, and Padfoot said he
and James had received them when they graduated from the Auror Training Program. Moony
decidedly didn't touch that one. The last was plain gold, and obviously a man's ring.

It was decided that it must have been Harold Evans' since both Moony and Padfoot were
positive it wasn't James'; apparently Lily had engraved James' wedding ring to read 'Mischief
Managed', while James had inscribed Lily's eternity ring with '1307', since that was the
number of times he'd asked her out before she'd said yes. Neither ring was there, though.

"You won't find them," Moony said quietly, while Padfoot searched the little box again.

"Why not?"

"I- I made sure they were with them," Moony said, his voice wavering slightly. Padfoot's eyes
filled with tears.

"Thank you," he whispered. Moony nodded.

"With them?" Harry asked tentatively.

"In their graves, kiddo," Padfoot said and then glanced at Moony. "I assume-" Padfoot
cleared his throat and paused for a moment. "-they were buried?"

"In Godric's Hollow," Moony said, nodding.

Where we lived, Harry thought. He wondered if their house was still there, and if it was,
whether they'd take him to see it. Part of him was curious, wanting to see the place where so
many funny stories were set, and another part of him didn't want to go anywhere near it,
because of what had happened there.

"Can-" Harry began and then bit his lip. "Can we maybe, I mean- if it's not-" He took a deep
breath. "Could we visit, maybe?" he said in a rush.

"Of course," Padfoot said at once. "Now that we know where to find them, we can go
whenever you'd like."

"You'll have to be careful," Moony said. "Malfoy's got someone stationed there full time."
"Halloween," Padfoot said, snapping his fingers. "Everyone else will be in costumes, so no
one will look twice at us."

"Perfect," Moony said. Harry agreed; Halloween was only three weeks away. By then,
Padfoot would have hopefully healed himself and Moony would have recovered from the full
moon.

"You can go as a werewolf," Padfoot said seriously, looking at Moony.

"Oh, very funny," Moony laughed, lightening the mood. "Isn't it bad enough I have to spend
tonight as one?"

"Moony," Padfoot said, looking concerned, "you're always a werewolf..."

"That's not- I didn't mean that I'm not- I-" Moony threw his hands in the air. "I give up."

Padfoot sniggered and pulled a little box of badges out of the larger box; there was a Prefect
badge, a Quidditch Captain badge, two Head badges, a Healer's badge, and an Auror
Identification badge. Each badge had at least three stories associated with them, which
Padfoot happily told; Moony seemed to withdraw into himself more as the afternoon drew on
and only added comments here and there.

By the time the sun set, Moony was in an incredibly bad mood – he was lying on his back
with an arm over his eyes, facing the ceiling – and growled if Harry or Padfoot came too
close or talked to loudly. Padfoot, by contrast, had grown more animated as the afternoon
drew on and by the time he assisted Moony down to the kitchen fireplace to go home, he was
practically bouncing.

"Sadistic bastard," Moony muttered and then, holding his pile of Lily and James' things, said
his address and vanished.

"Please try to stay here tonight," Padfoot said to Harry as they headed upstairs so that Padfoot
could pack. "And if anything happens, you can try to reach me through the mirror-" Harry
had been given James' mirror, the partner to Padfoot's own "-or you can send a message with
Hedwig, all right?"

"All right," Harry muttered, flushing. Padfoot grinned and stuffed a change of robes into his
rucksack before hoisting it onto his shoulder.

"I'll see you in the morning, then."

"What, no list of rules I have to follow?" Harry asked.

"Nah," Padfoot said, hugging him. "Most of that was the Dementor's Draught talking."

"What, it made you responsible?" Harry joked.

"No, it made me think I was a bad guardian, so I set rules to shut it up." Padfoot ruffled
Harry's hair and trotted out of the room, humming to himself.
"McKinnon," Arabella Figg said curtly.

"Arabella," Marlene replied politely.

The older woman's expression twisted and she continued past without another word, heading
in the direction of her brother's ward. Marlene watched her go, a little irritated; Arabella Figg
still hadn't forgiven her for taking Tufty all those years ago. Marlene hadn't cared at the time
and didn't care now, though she thought Arabella was being petty. Besides, she'd known Lily
better than Arabella had, and Arabella had already had a dozen cats while Marlene had had
no one.

Tufty had died the year before, at the ripe old age of eleven and she'd gone to the Potter's
cottage in Godric's Hollow and buried him under the birch tree in their front yard, where she
remembered he'd liked to climb for fun - he'd had a prime view of the Apparition point, and
also liked to watch the muggles living their daily lives - and for survival; Lily had often
mentioned he'd climbed it to escape baby Harry's early magic, and that he'd spent a day there
after Sirius bought Harry a broom for his first birthday.

That tree was where Marlene had found him, half-starved - shortly after her release from St
Mungo's - when she'd gone with Dumbledore, Arabella, Hagrid and Lupin to salvage what
they could of Lily and James' things. There were a number of things Marlene regretted in her
life, but taking Tufty wasn't one of them.

She glanced after Arabella, shook her head and continued down the corridor. She knew St
Mungo's better than her own home, so she wasn't paying much attention to where she was
going but ended up in the right place anyway.

"Hi," she said softly, sitting down in the chair between Alice and Frank's beds. "How are you
two today?" She waited for a moment. "That's good." Another pause. "I'm good, thank you.
Mad-Eye sends his regards- Oh, yes, the Program's wonderful, thank you, Frank." Some
days, she wouldn't talk to them at all. She'd just sit at their bedsides, waiting for them to start
the conversation. Other days, she'd sit next to Alice and she'd just talk about anything and
everything.

Even now, Marlene had no secrets from her best friend, except for Sirius showing up at her
house. On days like today, Marlene would hold a single-sided conversation; a small part of
her hoped that Alice and Frank were still sane on the inside and simply trapped in their
bodies, and she tried to tell them the things they'd want to know.

"No, Alice," she said with a laugh. "I haven't worked with whatever that is. I assume it's some
type of plant?" She paused. "Because it's always a plant, silly." She laughed.

Alice sighed softly and let out a small, "Hmm," sound.

"Fine," Marlene said. "It's not always plants. Just mostly." Alice stared at the ceiling. "You're
laughing on the inside," Marlene whispered, patting her hand. Alice whimpered and pulled
her hand away, looking around for Marlene but not seeing her. "Sorry," Marlene murmured.
"Pardon?" she asked, turning to Frank. "I told you last time," she said, smiling. "Gawain."
She waited. "Yes, Gawain Robards. What other Gawain is there?" Alice shifted on her bed.
"No, only in my head. To his face I call him 'sir'. I don't think he'd mind if I did call him by
his first name, though; we've been working together for a month now. I know. Time flies,
doesn't it? October already... No, I'm not any closer to catching him."

Stupid Sirius. The Apparition traces he'd left had finished on the Hogsmeade road. Aurors
had looked in the village itself – and found a pair of shoes, enchanted to walk on their own –
and in the surrounding forests, but found nothing. Unless he was living somewhere nearby, he
would almost certainly have Disapparated again, but no one had been able to find where
from, and therefore, had no way of knowing where he'd gone.

To add insult to injury, Harry's Trace hadn't registered any magic all afternoon – or at all,
since the event – meaning that the little boy either hadn't been Harry (which was unlikely) or
that Sirius had somehow managed to ward against it. Number Twelve hadn't proved
significant in any way, and while Marlene had kept an eye on it in the weeks since, just in
case, no one had come or go using the door.

She supposed anyone could visit while she was out with Gawain, or at the Ministry but there
wasn't much she could do about that. She'd considered setting up a Surveillance Charm, but
hadn't been able to bring herself to do it; she wasn't that paranoid-

Something poked her shoulder.

"Marlene?" Marlene pulled out her wand and turned to face- Neville. The poor boy looked
terrified. He glanced at her wand and lowered his hand.

"Sorry," she said, blinking. Neither Alice or Frank seemed to have noticed her distraction.
She plastered a smile on and gave Neville a quick hug. "Must have dozed off. Have you been
there long?"

"It was the third time I'd called you," he said shyly.

"Sorry, love. Hello, Augusta," she said, nodding to Frank's stern mother. The older witch
strode through the doors of the ward - vulture hat, blood-red handbag and all - and nodded
back. Prewett followed her in and smiled sadly when she spied Marlene.

"Do you ever go home?" Prewett asked, coming to stand beside her.

"Only to sleep," Marlene said, with a small smile back. Her estimation of Prewett had grown
significantly in the last few weeks; she'd seen her dedication to the Program and
determination to do well, seen her grown more comfortable around the other trainees – well,
Clarke and Tonks – and seen the way that she treated the all four Longbottoms.

Prewett had a tendency to worry about Neville and Augusta in particular – which she had
been doing so much of late that she'd made herself sick a few days before – and that had
made Marlene – who also cared about them – like her a little bit more.

"Hi, Mum," Neville whispered. Alice's blank eyes wandered before they finally landed on her
son. She mumbled something and tapped the bedside table. Neville smiled, opened the
drawer and pulled out a bright, yellow sweet wrapper. Tears pricked Marlene's eyes as
Neville whispered a thank you, tucked the wrapper into his robe pocket and went to join his
grandmother over by Frank's bed.

Marlene decided it was time to leave. Since Prewett was inside, it came as no surprise to find
Auror Finch standing guard in the corridor outside. Shacklebolt, her Auror partner, was there,
and Wellington was with him, looking sulky; he was still rather unpopular with most of the
Auror Department after his fight with Tonks about Slytherins and Gryffindors.

"Hello," she said to the three of them, and then frowned. "Where's Clarke?"

"Mrs Longbottom wanted tea," Auror Finch sighed.

"Ah," Marlene said, her lips twitching. "Well, I'll leave you to it."

"Is Robards here with you?" Auror Shacklebolt asked.

"No," Marlene said and didn't offer any more explanation than that. She still wasn't sure how
much Aurors were allowed to know about each other's assignments. "I'm off to meet with
him now."

"But it's almost six," Wellington said, surprised out of his sulky state.

"We're working a night shift tonight." Gawain's current assignment was to keep an eye on a
Knockturn Alley entrepreneur who charged a significant fee to supposedly bring people back
from the dead. What he'd really did, however, was create Inferi that would attack the
customers the moment they'd paid him.

He operated by night and was surprisingly clever; while Marlene and Gawain knew the truth
of what he was up to, none of his clients were willing to turn him in, and those that might
have been, ended up dead before they had the chance. It was looking more and more like they
were going to have to go undercover and pretend to be clients, but that was understandably
difficult, because it would mean getting their hands on a body.

"You'd best be off, then," Auror Finch said. She checked her watch and poked her head into
Alice and Frank's ward. "Florence, you're free to go."

"I'm going to stay as long as they do," Prewett murmured. Finch nodded and pulled the door
shut.

"Can I go too?" Wellington asked. Shacklebolt considered him for a moment and then
nodded.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning at my cubicle."

"Yes, sir. Are you heading this way, McKinnon?"

"For a while," she said. "I have to make a stop before I leave, though."

"Why is everyone still angry at me?" Wellington asked as they walked.

"Because you're a bigot," Marlene told him flatly. "People aren't just going to change their
minds and suddenly decide you were right all along. You aren't right." Wellington was
looking sulky again. Marlene resisted the temptation to ask if he was four years old or twenty
four. "You were a Gryffindor. Be brave enough to admit you were wrong, and start to change
the way you see the world."

"Why do I have to change?"

"It's that or be left behind," she told him, leading the way down a hallway she knew well. "I
know what I'd pick."

"How do you know I was wrong?" he asked.

"You said Sirius Black wasn't in Gryffindor. He was. You should know that, since he was only
a few years ahead of you at school." She rolled her eyes. "You shared a Common Room for
three years for Godric's sake." Wellington's lips moved silently.

"Wait," he said stopping. "Not Sirius, as in Sirius and James?"

"Yes," she said. "That Sirius. Played Beater, had a brother in Slytherin. Honestly, how many
Sirius Blacks do you think there are running around Britain?"

"That's him?" Wellington repeated, looking stunned.

"How in Merlin's name did you get the N.E.W.T.s required for the Program if you couldn't
work that out?" Marlene asked him, rolling her eyes.

"But-but he was cool!"

"Yes, he was."

"How do you know so much about him?" Wellington asked.

Marlene glanced at him over her shoulder. "I'll leave you to figure that out." She knocked
once and opened the door. "See you on Friday. I suggest you rethink a few things between
now and then."

"Yeah," Wellington agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. "And hey, thanks."

"For what?"

"Talking to me. No one else has since the fight."

Marlene knew for a fact that wasn't true but she thought she'd already given him a hard
enough time today. She just nodded at him, walked into Mary's room and closed the door.

"Is this a bad time?" she asked, watching Mary make the hospital bed.

Mary glanced up, blank-faced and then remembered to smile; during Marlene's seventh year,
Mary's family - for all that Mr and Mrs MacDonald had tried to protect them - had been
attacked by Death Eaters. Her parents had been killed but Mary and her younger sister had
survived, though at a price; Susan had been left a Squib, while the curse intended to stop
Mary's heart had only affected her figurative heart and so ruined her ability to feel strong
emotions.

She couldn't get upset and she couldn't love or hate, couldn't get excited or silly over little
things and couldn't mourn. She'd retained just enough personality to want to make a
difference by becoming a Healer and so she had. Her professional - for lack of another word -
nature had made her successful but she herself was a resident of St Mungo's long-term ward
and under near constant supervision.

Susan MacDonald was that supervisor, and as usual, was only a few feet from her sister –
sitting on her own bed - in unassuming black robes that seemed to swallow her wispy figure.
She gave Marlene a small smile.

"Your timing's fine," Mary replied, smoothing out a crease in the pillowcase. She took a step
toward Marlene and just like that, Susan was up and hovering at her shoulder. "Are you
hungry? I'm about to take dinner to Frank and Alice-"

"No, I've just been," Marlene said. "Neville and Augusta are there, though." Susan's careful
expression brightened slightly but Mary seemed unimpressed.

"That's nice, I suppose. I don't really have time for a chat unless you're coming, Marlene."

"That's all right," Marlene said, too used to Mary's blunt demeanour to take offence. "I'm on
my way out anyway. I just wanted to say hello."

"Well, you've said it."

"I have," Marlene agreed, smiling slightly. "I'll see you next time." Mary flicked her wand at
her Healer's kit which floated over from a table in the corner.

"We'll be here," Mary said with a smile. Marlene knew she wasn't actually looking forward to
it - she couldn't - but when she wanted to be, Mary could be convincing. She'd learned a
variety of friendly facial expressions that made people more comfortable around her. She and
Susan swept past - Susan with a little nod, because Susan rarely spoke to anyone but her
sister - leaving Marlene alone in the room.

She was a little worried that Wellington might have waited so she decided to waste a few
minutes. Marlene crossed to the little desk on Mary's side of the room to look at the
collection of photographs Susan had put there; she'd hoped to get an emotional response out
of her sister, but none of the three photographs had triggered one.

One was of the MacDonald family, likely at the beginning of Mary's fourth - and Marlene's
third - year if Mary's haircut was anything to go by. The second was of Mary, Lily and Snape
in their fifth year - Lily was wearing her Prefect badge, and was still friends with Snape - and
the third was a copy of the photograph Marlene had somewhere at home. It was Mary,
Marlene, Alice and Lily at the end of Marlene's fifth year - so Mary's sixth - in one of the
school carriages.
She picked it up, looking sadly at the girls in the picture, who had been so carefree back then,
so innocent and - in Lily and Alice's cases - so alive.

Mary smiled shyly at the camera - she'd been mostly recovered from the incident with
Mulciber by then - Alice waved happily and blew a kiss - the picture had been taken by Frank
after all - Lily grinned and then glanced out the window, her expression transforming into a
scowl before she ducked out of the way and swapped seats with photo-Marlene; Sirius and
James had stuck their heads through the carriage window - James talked to Lily, who rolled
her eyes, while Sirius stole a kiss from Marlene-

Someone knocked on the door. She slammed the picture back onto Mary's desk and turned
away.

"Yes?" she demanded. The door swung open revealing - to her great surprise - Lupin of all
people.

"I'm looking for Healer Mac- McKinnon?"

"Lupin," she said, nodding. Once, she'd have trusted him with her life - and still probably
would if it came to it - but despite that, they'd never been close, or even on first name terms.
It was strange, really, when one considered how friendly she'd been with James and Sirius.
"What are you doing here?"

"The full moon was two nights ago," he said, grimacing. She knew all about his condition of
course. All of the Order had. He hesitated and then stepped further into the room. "I've
patched myself up as best as I could but I need something for the pain and those sorts of
potions are beyond my ability range..." He gave a little self-depreciating shrug.

"Mary's just gone to see Alice and Frank," Marlene said.

"Oh," he said. "Thank you."

"Do you know how to get there?" she asked.

He smiled gently. "I might not come as regularly as you do, but I'm hardly unfamiliar with
this place."

"Right," she said. Lupin smiled and walked out. She hurried after him. "I hear you're with the
search." He inclined his head. "I'm looking too. I joined the Aurors." She wasn't sure why she
was telling him all of this. Maybe it was because she knew he'd understand; he'd known
Sirius too. He knew what the betrayal felt like. "I'm going to find him, and kill him."

"I didn't think Aurors were allowed to-"

"They're not."

"Oh," Lupin said.

Azkaban was just he way he remembered it. There was the rocky, windy beach and the path
that led up the side of the cliff and then split into three. There was the guardroom - where
he'd retrieved his wand and mirror from - the main building – where prisoners were taken for
questioning – and then, to the left of both of those was the actual prison area.

Azkaban was as grey as he remembered, and the Dementors were just as black as they glided
past his cell. His cell was the same, too, with the markings on the wall, the rusty bars and the
tiny window that overlooked island's graveyard and the stormy ocean.

Merlin, it's tiny in here, he thought, pacing around the tiny cell. It's a wonder I didn't go
mad...

A Dementor glided past again. That had been the first part of this process; binding the
Dementor's Draught in a physical form – well, not physical, but there really wasn't a better
way to describe it – so that, at the very least, he was able to differentiate it from his own
thoughts. That was something he'd had trouble with for quite some time, particularly since
there were no books to tell him how to do so. Maybe he'd write one.

The second part of his plan had been to create Azkaban. It was logical, because – as far as he
was concerned – that's where Dementors belonged. Azkaban was also a place he was familiar
with, and, while it also had plenty of places to hide, there was also plenty of space for him to
move around.

The third part of his plan had been to insert himself into his own head; the books he'd read
said that Occlumency landscapes were often seen as if they were a photograph – with the
person whose mind it was looking down or in, instead of standing there themselves. Sirius,
though, needed to be inside for this. That had been the hardest part, taking him the entirety of
September; it was beyond weird to walk around in his own mind.

Once inside, he'd needed to get control of his magical abilities; he'd started by trying to
transform into Padfoot. That was something that came naturally to him when he was in
Azkaban, and something that he could do without a wand. All he needed was his magic. It
had taken him a while, but he'd managed it on the first of October after two days of trying.
He'd then had moved on to fashioning himself a wand, which he'd managed – and even got
sparks out of – on the Thursday before the October full moon.

It was now the following Thursday – it had been a rough full moon and he and Remus had
needed the time to recover – almost mid-way through October and he was ready to attempt
the last stage of his plan.

Sirius, still in his cell, pulled his wand out of his pocket and thought, Alohomora. The cell
door clicked and slid open, which was promising. He stepped out, stretching. It was
unbelievably liberating to be able to come and go from his cell as he pleased.

As expected, the Dementors sensed that he was on the move – just as they would if this was
the real Azkaban – and flocked to where he was standing. He'd prepared his happy memories
for this specifically, so he didn't panic; he thought of Harry agreeing to live with him, of
Moony apologising, of Moony bringing Harry home from St Mungo's, of Kreacher being
nice as he was most of the time now, of James and Lily and Reg - because damn it, he didn't
have to be sad every time he thought of them.

Expecto Patronum, he thought, and hoped it would work despite the non-verbal charm.

His Patronus was still Padfoot – that was hardly surprising, given how he'd relied on his dog-
form to protect him from these very creatures during his real stint in Azkaban. The enormous
dog, glowing so blue it was almost white, burst out of the tip of his wand and bounded
toward the Dementors, scattering them. Padfoot trotted back, tail wagging so fast and so
brightly it was dizzying.

The Dementors crept forward again. Sirius gave the Patronus access to every happy memory
he had; he was in his mind, after all. There were happy memories all over the place –
scattered, yes, and some happier than others – but there. Padfoot glowed white now. Sirius
wanted to close his eyes to protect them but he wasn't sure what sort of effect that would
have, so he gritted his teeth and endured it; surely it couldn't actually be hurting his real eyes,
since this was all happening inside his head.

The Dementors began to fade.

Yes, Sirius hissed. Padfoot glowed brighter – if that was even possible – fuelled by Sirius'
triumph. The Dementors didn't actually vanish. Padfoot simply glowed so brightly they
weren't there anymore. The light to chase the darkness away, he thought fiercely happy; it
was as if his ability to be happy had been shoved to the furthest, darkest corners of his mind –
which now resembled the stormy North Sea – and was now released.

Joy and excitement and love and hope and trust and elation and confidence and life came
rushing back to him.

Padfoot glowed so brightly that Sirius couldn't see anything at all but he was too content to
care.
 Changing faces

"Theodora? Er... Tock?"

"What are you doing in my bedroom?" Tonks asked fuzzily. She knew the voice; it belonged
to Remus, but she had no idea what he was doing here. Someone laughed loudly. "And don't
call me that name."

"Dora," Remus said, sounding amused, "you need to wake up. You're squashing Arabella."

Tonks opened her eyes. Everything was blurry and dark, but her eyes adjusted quickly. She
was in the Leaky Cauldron, at lunch time – if the crowd was anything to judge by. The thing
she'd thought was her pillow was actually Arabella's shoulder, and she'd had her neck bent at
an odd angle to rest there.

"Oww," she said, rubbing it. She scanned the faces across the table – Dirk's and – for once -
the astoundingly elusive Debbie's, to find Remus'. "And you called me Dora."

"I wasn't sure which you were referring to when you said 'that name'," Remus said,
shrugging.

"Mmm. You call call me Dora if you like." She yawned, rubbed her eyes, and then glanced at
the empty chair next to hers. "Where'd Matt go?"

"He was laughing too much. He went to settle down," Debbie said, almost fondly. She
seemed to like Matt and Remus more than she did Arabella, Dirk or Tonks. "'Leave me alone,
Helga' was hard enough for him, and then you made the comment about the bedroom and we
sent him away."

"What did I say about Helga?" Tonks asked warily.

"You told her to leave you alone," Dirk said, shrugging. "And you almost took me out,
swatting at something."

"Well," Remus said, "now that we're all awake, are we ready to keep going?" Tonks flushed,
and had to make an effort to stop her hair turning the same colour.

Remus dealt out his instructions – Debbie was to wait for Matt and tell him his when he
stopped laughing – and then they left.

"I'm really sorry," Tonks said dejectedly. "I didn't mean-"

"The Program's demanding," Remus said with a kind smile. "I know people who've done it
and fallen asleep in worse places than the Leaky Cauldron, I assure you."

"Like where?" she asked, curious depite herself.

Remus thought for a moment. "The worst one is probably the Floo – this was after nearly
three days without sleep, mind, because of the Program, and also the war. Sirius fell asleep in
the Floo on the way to training, missed the Ministry and ended up in a little old witch's
cottage in Somerset. We were all frantic – James in particular, because they always met in the
atrium and then went to training together – thought he might have been intercepted by Death
Eaters or something-"

"Maybe he was," Tonk suggested, though privately, she admired Remus; to be able to talk
about something like that in an amused, even fond way was nothing short of astounding. She
generally cursed Sirius' name when she spoke about him, if she spoke about him at all. When
she said this to Remus, he smiled.

"It's not admirable at all, really," he said. He offered her another small smile. "I actually have
trouble remembering that I'm supposed to hate him, sometimes. It can be very confusing."

"Have you ever woken up somewhere strange?"

"More times than I can count. Two weeks ago, I woke up in the forest behind my house."

She grinned. "Sleepwalking, eh?"

"Something like that," he agreed, with a return grin.

"How's your collarbone, by the way?"

"Fully fixed," he said, prodding it. "I've got a friend who's very good with healing magic,
thankfully, and he managed to get all of the pieces back together." He gave her a wry smile.
"Extremely painful, but that's what Painkilling Potions are for... Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," she said, shrugging.

"Who's Helga?"

"Oh," Tonks said, with a grimace. "I should have known you'd want to know that. She's
Keith's owl." Remus knew about Keith – he'd come into the Leaky Cauldron one morning
and she'd had to hide, just in case he recognised her. It was unlikely, given how bad he was at
recognising her when she didn't have brightly coloured hair, but she'd wanted to be safe.

"Are you not speaking at the moment?" Remus asked.

"No, we are," she said quickly. "But I've stopped replying to owls after eleven at night
because Mad-Eye always has me up early for a briefing on days with 'N's in them. Keith
doesn't seem to get that I need to sleep, or I start falling asleep and snapping at everyone.
And, when I don't let the owl in after eleven, she taps at my window, and when I do let her in,
she pesters me until I write back."

"And once you write back, the whole process starts again," Remus said ruefully. "Am I
right?"
"I swear, Keith doesn't sleep," she joked. "He just sits awake all night, waiting for letters.
Maybe it's just me. A normal girlfriend would stay up all night, writing back." Remus
chuckled.

"If he wanted a normal girlfriend, you were the wrong girl to pick," he said, smiling, as they
crossed the road.

"Are you calling me strange?" she demanded, trying to fight a smile.

"You're not what I'd call ordinary," he said, looking a little apologetic.

"No, probably not," she agreed, grinning. She took a quick look around and – since there
were no muggles around – made her hair flash brightly. Remus laughed again.

"When did you start calling him Mad-Eye, by the way?" he asked. Tonks frowned, trying to
think back.

"I'm not entirely sure. It just sort of happened..." She grinned. "Maybe I'm spending too much
time with you."

"Maybe," Remus agreed, his lips twitching.

"So, any troublesome owls in your life at the moment?" she asked.

"No, thank Merlin." He smiled. "Aunt Catherine comes by every now and then, though."
Tonks, from what Remus had said to her, had gathered that he wasn't overly fond of his aunt.
He hadn't explained all of the reasons behind it, but she supposed it was reasonably personal
and hadn't pressed him.

"I think I'll keep Helga," Tonks said fervently.

"Well damn," Remus said. "I was going to suggest a switch." Tonks glanced at him, laughing.
"What?" he asked.

"You've been happier lately," she said. As if to confirm what she'd just said, he grinned.

"It's the little things," he said. "A friend was sick and now he's better, my collarbone's fixed,
soon, I won't have to put up with Malfoy ever again, I've got a part-time teaching job... things
like that."

"The Malfoy part sounds especially good," she said enviously.

"Yes," he said, grinning. "Thank you very much for that, by the way."

"You should be extremely grateful," she said, shaking her head at him. "As of the new year,
you'll be free of him."

"The new year?" Remus asked, sobering immediately.

"Yep," she said. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing..." he said. "It's just further away than I expected." He smiled, but something was
off about it. "I'd hoped to be free of Malfoy sooner..."

Tonks' eyes skimmed over a boy and his father. Nope, she thought. Not Sirius. She looked
back to Remus, who was frowning thoughtfully.

"He said the new year when I spoke with him... Are you sure everything's all right?"

He sighed. "I was planning to go away after Christmas, but I might have to stick around a bit
longer. It's nothing to worry about. I'll just have to make other arrangements."

"Where are you going?"

"To visit an old acquaintance. I see him every year."

"You sound so excited," she teased.

"He's horrible," Remus said, shuddering, as they dodged a cluster of muggles who were
waiting at a bus stop. "But it keeps him happy, and that's what's important. What have you
been doing in the Program, lately?"

"Subtle," she told him. He grimaced and she decided to answer anyway. "We did this obstacle
course the other day, to build our fitness levels, and then we had to learn how to cast
Diagnostic Charms..."

Remus, as it turned out, was familiar with Diagnostic Charms, and they spent most of the
afternoon discussing various types and then progressed to talking about healing charms.
Those were a weak area of Tonks' so she listened eagerly; she and the other trainees would be
covering more of this sort of magic next Friday and she wanted to do well, since Scrimgeour
had hinted at an upcoming assessment.

After the day with Remus, searching – there was still no sign of Sirius, unfortunately – she'd
Apparated home to pack an overnight bag; she was sleeping at Mad-Eye's because they were
starting early the next day and he wanted time to brief her before; there was a chance they
might actually be dealing with werewolves tomorrow, and, though the full moon was not for
another week and a half, Mad-Eye thought there were some things she needed to be aware of.

"Nymphadora!"

"Sorry!" she called through her bedroom door. She really needed to work out how to
Apparate quietly. "And don't-"

"Keith's here!"

"He- what?" Tonks stopped searching for her favourite, baggy t-shirt and pyjama pants - she
was sure she'd hung them on her desk chair that morning... - as someone knocked on her
door. "Hang on," she said. "I'm... er... changing."

"Oh, sorry," Keith said.

Tonks pulled on the first clean clothes she touched – a skirt, a t-shirt and a leather jacket –
and erased Tock's face, giving herself bright blue hair, brown eyes and a long nose. She
kicked Tock's conservative robes under her desk.

"Come in," she called as she pulled on long, warm socks and a pair of boots. Keith entered,
with Canis trotting at his heels; her evil cat had taken a strange liking to him in the last week.
"Sorry about the mess. I didn't know you were coming," she said, kissing him. If she had, she
might have stuffed all of her loose clothes in her cupboard or something. Or, she might have
just kept him out of her room. "How long have you been waiting?"

"Your mum let me in when she got home," he said. "An hour and a bit maybe? I'm not sure.
We had tea."

"Right," she said faintly, and then shook herself. "So, what's going on?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to see you." She smiled at him and nudged Canis away from a pair of
jeans that she'd probably wear tomorrow. He hissed at her and stalked over to sit beside
Keith, who was perched on the end of her unmade bed. "Where are you off to?" he asked.

"Mad-Eye's," she said absently. "It'll mean I get an extra hour of sleep tonight, which I need
badly; I fell asleep today!"

"I think they make you work too hard in the Program," he said. "You're out every day-"

"I'm making lots," she said, shrugging. She paused, tring to remember where she'd left her
money bag and then gave up and Summoned it. It had been buried under her pyjama pants.
She beamed and Summoned those and her t-shirt too. "And it's interesting."

"So if you're at Mad-Eye's tonight, you aren't free?"

"No, I'm due there in-" She checked her watch. "-ten minutes."

"Maybe I'll owl you tonight. Where does he live?"

"I don't know that I'm allowed to tell you that-"

"Why not?"

"Because Mad-Eye didn't even tell me where he lived. I had to find out. He's paranoid." She
closed her rucksack and went to sit next to him on the bed. Canis glowered at her and flicked
his tail. Keith sighed.

"And you can't tell me what you were doing today, can you?"

"No," she said apologetically. "I was undercover."

"How about tomorrow?"

"We're investigating a werewolf," she said, relieved to be able to tell him something. His face
fell.
"You're only a trainee," he whispered. "You're not ready for that."

"If I wasn't ready, Mad-Eye wouldn't be taking me," she said, folding her arms; this was an
argument they'd had more times than she could count. "Besides, I have to get experience
somehow. I know you don't like it-"

"So why do you do it?"

"Er..." She wondered if this was a trick question, or if he'd asked it without thinking it
through. "Because it's my job..."

"I mean the whole Auror thing," he said, kissing her cheek. She shifted a little closer to him
and took his hand. "Explain it to me."

"Why do you play Quidditch?" she asked, smiling. "I do it because it's interesting, and I
enjoy it, and because I can help people."

"Mmm," he said, drawing a little circle on her hand with his thumb. "I suppose I'll see you
tomorrow, then?"

"I have to go into the Ministry tomorrow afternoon. They figured we've settled in enough to
train us on days other than Friday. It's only for an hour," she said hastily, watching his
expression. "And then I'll see you afterward? At about seven thirty? Just in case it runs late?"

"Seven thirty?"

"They have to make the sessions early or late so that everyone can make it," she said,
shrugging. "Is that all right for you?"

"Yeah, I'll meet you at the Ministry, all right?" he said, sounding considerably brighter.

"Sounds brilliant." She grimaced at her watch and grabbed her rucksack. "I've really got to go
now or I'll be late." She kissed him and then they walked to the front door – she called a
goodbye to Mum as she went - kissed again on the doorstep and then went their separate
ways.

She slung her rucksack over one shoulder and Disapparated, praying that Mad-Eye's front
garden would leave her alone; the last time she'd visited, his dustbins had attacked her – she'd
remembered Dumbledore's advice from back in September, and bound them with a Body-
Bind – and the time before that, his grass had wound around her shoes and tripped her up.
She'd set his garden on fire in retaliation.

She passed the post-box without incident, and headed up the path. It didn't try to envelope her
feet, as it had done once before, so that was a good sign. The dustbins stayed where they
were and the neatly trimmed grass didn't start to grow alarmingly quickly.

Oh, thank Merlin, she thought, reaching the front door. She knocked once, waited, and then
lifted her hand to knock again, when something pulled her feet out from under her.
"Bloody hell," she hissed, trying to free her legs from the garden hose which was coiling
around them like a constrictor. "Mad-Eye!" she called irritably; she was certain the he was
standing on the other side of the door, watching her with his magical eye. "Relashio!" The
hose was around her chest now, and had pinned one arm to her side. "Relashio," she tried
again. The nozzle lifted up, the way a snake might lift its head. If it had had eyes, it would
have been staring at her.

She had a horrible premonition of what was to come.

"Oh, no you-" she began, when a jet of freezing water hit her in the face. She spluttered and
coughed and, after several seconds of spray, managed to flick her wand at the tap. The flood
of water stopped, thankfully. "Finite Incantatem," she said, through chattering teeth. The hose
went limp and she managed to wriggle away and scramble to her feet.

Mad-Eye was standing in the doorway, one eye on the large puddle by his doorstep and the
limp hose, the other on her. She glowered at him.

"You're early," he growled, nodding his approval. She groaned. "You know where the shower
is, don't you?"

"Y-yes," she said, shivering. He stood aside to let her in. Dripping, she stalked inside and
almost slipped the moment her wet boot touched the floorboards. She caught herself on the
wall and – without looking at Mad-Eye, who she just knew was laughing at her – proceeded
toward the bathroom very, very carefully.

"Do you mind if I stand here... with you?"

"Go ahead," Tonks said neutrally. Wellington gave her a tentative smile and glanced at
Marlene, who nodded. Prewett gave him a rather chilly look, but if she had a problem with it,
she didn't mention it.

"I was a Slytherin," Clarke said, matter of factly. "That doesn't... bother you?"

"A bit," Wellington said. Marlene smiled at the Gryffindor honesty. "But I'm working on it."
Clarke beamed and held out his hand. Wellington shook it without hesitation.

"Good evening," Taure said, striding into the room; they were working on Concealment and
Disguises today, or so she assumed – that's what room they were in. Fifteen cauldrons lined
one wall and shelves of ingredients, potion bottles and books lined the one adjacent to it.

On the wall opposite the cauldrons were two rows of twenty cubicles, obviously intended as
changerooms. Racks of clothing lined either side of the door Taure had just come in through.
The middle of the room, where the trainees were gathered, was wide open space.

"Welcome to your first Concealment and Disguises lesson. I'm Auror Taure – most of you
met me in the interview process; I was the one with the animal mirror."

"Why is it tonight?" Dale asked, putting one pink-nailed hand in the air.
"It's after hours so it doesn't affect your daily routine with your mentors. It is on tonight,
because tonight is Wednesday and Wednesdays are for Concealment and Disguises.
Thursdays will be for Stealth and Tracking... you get the idea. Fridays are still full training
days; they will cover general skills, or cover one of the seven specialised skill areas in more
detail than we will in these hourly sessions. There will also be two hours every Friday
dedicated to the development of a skill of your choice – they'll tell you more about that later."

"Your mentors have a copy of Friday's rotation so ask them if you're interested. If not, just
show up and do what everyone else does." Several people laughed. "So, what we do here, in
this room is fairly self-explanatory if you read the sign on the door when you walked
through. We'll be teaching you a variety of muggle and magical techniques. Which one you
prefer to use is up to you – they all have their advantages, or we wouldn't teach them – but
you will be expected to maintain some level of proficieny in all of them."

"Today, we'll be doing a fairly simple preliminary task. You're being given access to anything
in this room; all of the potions, all of the cauldrons and ingredients – I wouldn't recommend
brewing anything, though, because I'm only giving you ten minutes to be ready - all of the
clothes and jewellery, all of the muggle hair dyes and cosmetics... anything in this room. No
wands, though. Your job is to make yourself unrecognisable."

"When your ten minutes is up, I'll line you all up and one by one, you'll stand up in front of
the other trainees. They have three chances to guess who you are and give a reason as to why
they think so. In this activity, youwant your fellow trainees to fail. Claim a cubicle and get
ready. If you finish before the ten minutes is up, stay there anyway. Time starts now. Tempus
Admonius."

Marlene was a little stunned that his lecture cut off so quickly. She shook herself, hurried
over to a cubicle and closed the door. Inside was a full length mirror, several hooks for
clothing and a bench-top with a sink and a box of muggle make-up.

Marlene pulled out her wand to cast an Appearance Altering Charm and then remembered
Taure had said no wands. She grumbled under her breath, set her wand down on the table in
her cubicle and ran out again. She spent a moment browsing the clothes racks and then
grabbed a few things – all too aware that time was precious – and took them back to her
cubicle. She didn't stay though and headed for the shelves of potions.

Each bottle had a label stuck to it that named the potion, its effects and how long they would
last. Feeling as though she could kiss the person who'd spent the time doing that, she grabbed
a potion that would give her blond hair, one that would make her a little shorter, one that
would make her gain bit of weight, one that would make her look five years younger – since
she was one of the oldest trainees - and one that would change her nose shape.

She balanced them precariously in her arms on the way back to her cubicle, shut the door and
began to gulp them down. While they changed her appearance – which was an odd feeling,
since so many things were happening at once – she changed into a long skirt, a flowery
button-up shirt and a knitted cardigan, since they were things she'd never wear. She added a
few touches of make-up – which was significantly harder than she'd thought it would be –
and then leaned back against the bench to wait.
It was only ten seconds later that a shrill ringing noise started – whoever was in the cubicle
next to Marlene's screamed – and Taure called them out.

Marlene walked out of her cubicle at the same time as everyone else. Quite a few people
were easily recognisable; Dale had replaced her usual pink with blue and had darkened her
hair but otherwise looked exactly the same, while Gaspar had changed everything except for
his dreadlocks. Others looked completely different; someone had turned themself into a little
old lady, and another person looked a lot like a man who played for the Chudley Cannons.

Marlene joined the others in line while Taure brought a thin girl with long blond hair, big
blue eyes and a very white smile up to the front of the class.

"Patel," someone called. The girl's face fell and she nodded and was sent back into the line.
The next person came forward – the little old woman, who no one managed to guess the
identity of – and then the next.

"McKinnon," someone said, when a dark haired woman with green eyes and a nose like
Snape's shuffled up.

No, Marlene thought as the witch shook her head.

"Prewett," another trainee called.

"No," the witch said in a wheezy voice; she was the first one who'd spoken – everyone else
just shook their head – but her voice wasn't familiar.

"Edwards." The witch smiled, showing several missing teeth, and shook her head.

"Bad luck," she wheezed, and clutched at her shawls as she shuffled off of the stage. She
came to stand beside Marlene.

"Who are you?" Marlene whispered.

"That'd be giving things away," the witch said, with another gappy smile. "Play by the rules,
McKinnon."

"I'm not McKinnon," Marlene whispered back. The witch just smiled cheerily as Marlene
stepped up.

"Wright," someone said. She shook her head.

"McKinnon," said a short, squat woman in the front row. Marlene's eyes narrowed and she
nodded. The woman looked satisfied as she passed Marlene on the way up.

"Told you," the witch with missing teeth whispered when Marlene rejoined the line. No one
guessed the squat witch's identity, but the tall man who followed was Bulkes – which the
squat woman also guessed. She identified the one after too, which was Edwards.

"Clarke," Marlene said, taking the third and final guess for the man who looked like a
Quidditch player. He grinned and gave her a thumbs up, before coming to stand next to her.
The session was running fifteen minutes late by the time it ended, but Marlene didn't mind.
The squat woman who'd guessed so many of the other trainees turned out to be Prewett,
while the witch with the teeth missing was Tonks.

"How did you guess it was me?" Marlene asked both of them, as she used her wand to take
the make-up off her face. Prewett just shrugged. Tonks, though, answered.

"You have the same eyes," she said, shrugging. "Same shape, same colour, same look in
them. And you stand the same. Very straight backed."

"How do you notice these things?" Marlene asked, astonished. The potions were starting to
wear off and she felt herself grow several inches. Next to her, Prewett slimmed down but
didn't grow at all.

"I've pretended to be a lot of people," Tonks said. Her face rearranged as she spoke. "If you
want to get away with it, you have to pay attention to these things."

"What do you actually look like?" Prewett asked Tonks curiously.

"I don't really know," she said. She grew a tiny bit – until her head was at Marlene's nose
level – her nose became buttony with a few faint freckles and her face was heart shaped, like
Marlene remembered Andy's being. Her hair flickered through several colours, as if she
couldn't decide which of them it was supposed to be, and her eyes were doing the same thing.
"A bit like this," she said, her hair and eyes still flashing. She had Ted's smile.

Marlene noticed she kept the smile and the heart shaped face but the rest of her features
rearranged again. Prewett looked absolutely fascinated.

"Could you become an animal?" Prewett asked. "You could be an Animagus with a hundred
forms!"

"I'll never be an Animagus," Tonks said. "The mirror during the testing didn't work for me.
But I think I could make myself a cat or something... it's be hard though. I'd have to change
everything individually, so it probably wouldn't work..."

"But you can change multiple things at once," Prewett said. "You do things together all the
time."

"Yeah, external things," Tonks said. "And sometimes bones, if I want my arms or legs to
grow, but being an animal would mean changing hundreds of things at once..."

"Maybe that could be your skill," Marlene suggested. "To learn how to do that. It's a bit
unusual, but I'm sure they'll be accommodating... It'd be a useful skill to have." Tonks' eyes
brightened. Marlene smiled, and ducked into a cubicle to change. Prewett and Tonks did the
same. They continued talking anyway.

"What are you going to do, McKinnon?" Prewett's voice asked.

"Wandless magic would be cool," she admitted. She'd always wanted to learn how to do that.
"You?"
"Occlumency," Prewett said immediately.

"Got something to hide?" Marlene called over the cubicle wall.

"A few stories from Hogwarts," Prewett said. She was grinning if her tone was anything to go
by. Then she went quiet and added, "I just like the idea of control." Marlene's mind
immediately jumped to the situation with Neville and Augusta and wondered if that was what
she meant.

"Florence?" That was Clarke.

"In here," Prewett called.

"Sorry!" he said. "Auror Finch wants us when you're done, though." Marlene wrapped her
scarf around her neck and stepped out of her cubicle, startling Wellington, who was waiting
with Clarke.

"Good Godric!" he said, clutching his chest. "Give a man some warning, would you?"

"Constant vigilance!" Tonks called from her cubicle. The other three exchanged bemused
looks but Marlene understood and chuckled to herself. Tonks emerged a moment later and
shared a small smile with Marlene.

"I'm off," she announced. Her green fringe flopped into her face and she glared at it until it
shrank out of the way. Marlene shook her head, amused, as Tonks waved and walked off,
managing to trip on a pair of trainers someone had left on the floor.

"We'd better go too," Prewett said, wandering out of her cubicle. She smiled at Clarke.
"Where's Finch?" He flushed and led her away. Wellington trailed after them - obviously
needed by Shacklebolt - but not quite sure whether he was forgiven enough to walk beside
them again yet.

Marlene checked her cubicle to make sure she hadn't left anything behind and then headed
out of the Concealment and Disguises room, toward the broom cupboard exit.

Rough hands grabbed Matt's shirt and hauled him into a dim sidestreet before he knew what
was happening. He tried to pull the hands off and when that didn't work, reached for his
wand, which was in his back pocket.

"Relax, boy," a hoarse, growling voice said. The speaker's foul breath blew into his face and
Matt almost retched; partially due to the awful smell, and partially due to the fact that he'd
recognised the speaker.

"Sir," he said, and stopped struggling immediately. He even dipped his head slightly.
Greyback released him and stepped back. "Is everything all right?"

"Is now," he said, with a feral smile. Matt didn't like the look of it one bit and Greyback
probably picked that up in his scent, because the smile widened. "I'm being followed."
"By who?" Matt asked.

"Aurors. Damn wizards, think they're better'n us, think they've got the right to follow me, to
interfere with the cause." Matt said nothing. "It's your lucky day, boy."

"Why?" Matt asked cautiously.

"Because you get to help." Greyback's eyes gleamed in the light from a muggle restaurant.
"Do something for me, in return for all I've given you." Matt gave Greyback a stony look,
secretly praying that Remus was with him; Remus had been there every other time he'd been
around Greyback, and – more importantly – knew how to handle him. "It's an easy job,
really."

"I don't want any trouble with the Aurors," Matt said.

"Neither do I. That's where you come in. Change my face a bit with that wand of yours and
then walk me to the Leaky Cauldron."

"Why can't you Apparate?"

"No wand," Greyback said, shrugging. "I don't want it taken away, now do I?"

"Why are you out in the first place?" Matt dared to ask. Greyback watching him for a
moment, as if deciding whether he was trustworthy or not.

"I've been visiting your siblings."

"Which ones?" Matt asked warily.

"One's a muggle," Greyback said.

Debbie. Matt fought several, strong protective urges. In the end, he shoved his hands in his
pocket so that he didn't strangle Greyback. That could end badly.

"Older woman I gifted in June. She was found and taken to St Mungo's before I could get her
to the camp. It's taken me this long to track her down again. She's been spending time with
Lupin." Greyback's lip curled when he said Remus' name. Matt felt his dislike for Greyback
increase – if that was even possible. Greyback laughed, an odd, growling sound. "I forgot
you're one of his little pets."

"Who are the others?"

"You know them better'n I do, probably."

"I meant the... siblings you've been looking for."

"Get casting," Greyback said, poking Matt hard in the chest with a long nailed finger. Matt
fumbled with his wand, trying to remember the spells Remus had taught him for this sort of
thing. "The second one is a wizard boy I gifted back in August. He's a few years younger'n
you. Parents tried to keep him." Greyback laughed again. "They've since changed their
minds. Third is a girl from about a year back. Witch – managed to fight me off-" Greyback
actually sounded impressed. "-but not before I got her. No idea who or where she is."

Good for her, Matt thought, suppressing a grin. He flicked his wand and gave Greyback
reddish hair and blue eyes. Greyback inspected a strand of his hair and nodded.

"Maybe she doesn't want to be found," Matt said boldly.

"She'll slip up eventually and then I'll find her and bring her back to the rest of her brothers
and sisters. Now, walk with me."

"I have to-"

"Walk," Greyback said. Matt had the strangest urge to roll onto his back and submit – he
always did, when Greyback used his 'alpha' voice. They left the alley together and Matt
instinctively took the lead; after all of the searching, he could probably find his way around
muggle London with his eyes closed. "That's them," Greyback said, nodding at a couple
sitting at a bus stop across the road. It was hard to tell their heights when they were sitting,
but both were solidly built and dark haired. "Followed me here. Trying to find the camps but
they can't."

Of course they can't, Matt thought, unsurprised. No werewolf loyal to Greyback – which was
most of them – would ever give him up, and those that were neutral had more to gain by
keeping him around. At the very least, they would always have a home, and food and
company. Those that hated Greyback – like Matt and Remus and Debbie did – could tell, but
wouldn't, because they would be guilty by association, or charged for assisting Greyback's
numerous and appalling crimes. They'd also be dooming the others.

Remus had told Matt once, a few years back when Matt had considered going forward, that it
wasn't worth it. Matt trusted Remus' judgement and so did his parents, and so they'd stayed
quiet, whilst doing what they could to stop Greyback biting people; they'd had some success,
too, or had been having, with only one or two victims a year.

This year, there'd already been triple that – and probably more Matt hadn't heard about; he
only found out through Remus, who only found out when a victim was brought to St Mungo's
and wanted to talk to someone. Surprisingly few people did.

"You know where you're going?" Greyback asked, slinging an arm around Matt's shoulders;
the Aurors had glanced their way.

"Yes," Matt said irritably; he'd have to burn this jumper when he got home, and it was one of
his favourites. "The Leaky Cauldron's just here."

"Good boy," Greyback said.

"Are you going straight back to the camp?" Matt asked. The look Greyback gave him was
amused.

"Depends," he said.
"On?" Matt hedged.

"Well, I might get lost..."

Matt growled. The full moon wasn't for another week and a half but Greyback was still
capable of doing damage when he was in his human form. He'd never bitten anyone in his
human form – that Matt knew of anyway – but he had kidnapped people and saved them for
the full moon – either to feed to people at the camps, or to bite – or simply beaten them, to
prove that he could.

"Just go back to the camp," Matt said. "Consider it a favour to me, for getting you past them."
He jerked his head in the direction of the bus stop and took the opportunity to shrug
Greyback's arm off at the same time.

"Favour?" Greyback growled. "I don't owe you anything! I created you!"

"Yeah, thanks," Matt said sarcastically, forgetting for a moment who he was with.

"Where's your respect?" Greyback demanded, seizing him by the neck. It wasn't an unusual
gesture; it was a sign of dominance that he often used at the camp. "Without me-"

"Without me, you're not going to be able to get rid of them," Matt said, cutting him off. "So
let me go and I'll walk you to the pub and you can Floo home."

He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong – well, all right, he was, but he wasn't sure whether it
was the words or his tone that had made Greyback angrier – but Greyback's hand tightened
and all of a sudden, Matt couldn't breathe. He pulled at one of Greyback's fingers and had the
satisfaction of hearing it snap and Greyback make a small, pained noise. Spots danced in
front of Matt's eyes as he pulled on another finger, but there was no way he was going to be
able to break them all before he passed out.

"You'd do well to remember that Lupin isn't your leader; I am, and I won't be treated without
the proper respect."

"Please," Matt choked. "Sir, I-" Greyback laughed, and it occurred to Matt that he was about
to die.

"Oh, you're sorry now, I'm sure," Greyback said, squeezing a little more tightly. Something –
likely Greyback's fist – hit Matt hard in the cheek. "Not sorry enough, though, I don't think."

Matt fought the blackness - he really did – and lost.

"Remus! Remus, wake up!"

Remus groaned and opened one eye. His bedroom was much brighter than it should have
been at – he consulted his watch, which was on his bedside table – two-forty in the morning.
He closed his eye again and buried his face in his pillow.
"What are you doing in my bedroom?" he asked. The irony did not escape him; it was the
same question she'd asked... two days ago, now, when she'd fallen asleep during lunch.

"Get up!" Nymphadora said, shaking his shoulder. "Remus, please... Mad-Eye did what he
could-" Something was wrong with her voice. It was shaky, and she smelled... upset.

Alarmed, he rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow. He squinted at her face, which
was blurry but quickly came into focus. Her hair was straggly and a dull brown, so dark it
was almost black. Her eyes were a blue-grey colour, swimming with tears and her face was
ghostly pale.

"What's wrong?" he asked, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. Surely they haven't
caught Sirius... Maybe something happened to Mad-Eye, or Andy or Ted...

"M-Matt-" Nymphadora choked. It was the last name Remus had expected to hear.

No. No, no, no... Remus snatched his wand up and was halfway to his bedroom door when
Nymphadora spoke.

"He's alive," she said. Remus stopped and closed his eyes, thankful beyond words that she'd
started with that. He felt like crying with relief but he didn't. He just looked at her
expectantly. She got the hint. "Mad-Eye took him to St Mungo's, but.. his family- I thought-
Mad-Eye said you-"

"I need to change," Remus said, letting instinct take over; he hadn't had a wake-up like this
since his Order days but the old patterns were still there. He called on them now, as she she
hurried out of the room to wait in the hallway. Remus forced himself to get dressed. "What
happened, N- Dora?" There was a little sob on the other side of the door.

"We were tracking someone. A werewolf called Greyback. He's been in the papers."

"I know Greyback," Remus said flatly.

"He'd- Oh!" She hiccoughed and jumped back a step as Remus emerged. Apparently, he'd
startled her into crying.

Damn it. Remus had always been terrible around crying people. Even when Harry had cried
as a baby – admittedly, not often – it had made him uncomfortable, and he'd passed him off to
Lily, James or Sirius; Peter had made him cry more, usually.

"Hey," he said awkwardly, patting her shoulder. "It's... er... okay." She let out another loud
sob and flung her arms around his neck. Remus froze and then managed to pat her back
again. "It's okay," he said again, because he didn't know what else to say; he could give
advice in any situation, except when there were tears involved.

"He almost died!" she said. "They were just walking... Greyback must have threatened him or
something – that's why we didn't interfere straight away, because Matt seemed safe and we
didn't want him hurt because of us - but then he just attacked him! Mad-Eye handled the
muggles who were watching and I hexed Greyback-"
"Good," Remus said darkly. Nymphadora looked up and gave him a watery, half-hearted
smile. "What with?"

"Diffindo," she said, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. "It cut along his knuckles and
he let go and ran away." She pulled back, dabbing at her cheeks with her sleeve. "I'm sorry...
it was all so awful... and I'm so tired." Personally, he was just relieved she'd stopped crying.

"Come on," Remus said, steering her down the hall. He forced her into the armchair and left
her there, while he put the kettle on. While it boiled, he wrote a letter to Robin and Cornelius,
explaining what had happened and that he'd meet them at St Mungo's. Nymphadora poured
herself tea and had finished it by the time he sent the letter off with Strix. She'd calmed down
considerably and seemed embarrassed about her little break-down.

He led her out into the garden and Apparated them both to an alley close to the entrance to St
Mungo's. Nymphadora led him to Matt's ward – ridiculously enough, he was in the Creature
Induced Injuries ward on the first floor – where they found a grim Mad-Eye and a cheerful
Matt. Mad-Eye nodded to him and led Nymphadora out, leaving Remus and Matt alone.

Tears stung Remus' eyes – though Matt was grinning, he was pale and looked fragile in his
hospital pyjamas. It reminded Remus of the first time he'd met him; Matt had only been
eleven, then, and recently bitten. Remus stumbled over to hug him. Matt hugged him back
and - though he was now in hospital pyjamas - Remus could still smell Greyback on him.

"Are you all right?" he asked, pulling over the chair Mad-Eye had vacated.

"Never better," Matt croaked, grinning. "Did you see that Auror's eye?" His good mood was
almost too much for Remus to take.

"N- The Auror said you almost died," Remus said thickly. "How-Why are you smiling?"

"Cheering Charms," Matt said brightly. "Forced onto me, I'm afraid." He grinned. "It's bloody
terrible." Remus had to laugh.

"How do you really feel?"

"Happy," Matt said, still wearing an enormous smile. "Without the charms, I think I'd feel...
murderous, actually... but I can't be sure. I just feel like smiling. It's awful."

"Finite," Remus said, taking pity on him.

"Thank Godric," Matt said, losing the smile immediately. "My bloody face was starting to
hurt." He was quiet for a moment and then, "Yep, pretty damn murderous." Remus chuckled
again. "I'm going to tear Greyback to shreds the next time I see him... bloody bastard- Did
they tell you what happened?" He almost sounded drunk, but that was probably the
Painkilling potions; they tended to make people loopy.

"He attacked you," Remus said. He was beginning to wonder if taking the Cheering Charms
off had been such a good idea after all.

"He came up to me, asked me for my help and then, I asked one tiny little favour-"
"Which was?"

"That he goes straight back to the camp and doesn't stop to attack anyone on his way home.
And-" Matt's voice died. He cleared his throat and had a drink from the cup on his bedside
table. "And then, the son of a bludger grabs me by the throat like I'm a rabbit or something! I
mean, I was helping him. Not willingly, but I wasn't rude about it. Well, fine, maybe a bit, but
that's not reason for him to try to bloody kill me!" Matt shook his head. "Merlin, I hate
wizarding medicine. I can't feel my neck... do you know how odd that is? It's like I'm two
people..."

"What were you doing out in the first place?" Remus asked patiently.

"There was this girl," Matt said, grimacing. Remus arched an eyebrow. "We got talking when
I was laughing at Theodora the other day and agreed to meet up again."

"And?" Remus asked. Matt wrinkled his nose.

"And she's working in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures
because she strongly believes that magical creatures are inferior in every way and need to be
put back in their place."

"Sounds like a lovely girl," Remus sighed, clapping Matt on the shoulder. Matt snorted.

"Yep, one of a kind."

"And not your kind."

"Nope." Matt flopped back into his pillows. They were both quiet and then Matt said, "So.
January and February are going to be fun."

"You're not still going to go?" Remus asked, stunned.

"Of course I am. You and Deb-" Matt's scent, which Remus hadn't really been monitoring
until that point, turned panicky all of a sudden. It was so strong it made him sneeze. "Is Deb
all right?"

"Debbie?" Remus asked, conjuring a handkerchief. "I assume so." He wiped his nose and
Vanished it. "Why?"

"That's where he'd been," Matt said, lowering his voice. "Visiting our 'siblings'. I think one of
them was Deb. He said she was your pet- What if-?"

"Are you all right here?" Remus asked, standing. Matt nodded emphatically. "I owled your
parents-"

Matt's lip trembled and very quietly, said, "Thanks."

"-they'll be here soon, I think. I'll owl you when I know about Debbie, and I'll come back to
see you tomorrow, all right?"
"All right," Matt said. "Hey, Remus?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for coming," Matt said sincerely. He was smiling, but it wasn't his usual cheeky
smile. Remus hadn't seen it since he'd told Matt he'd be teaching him how to use magic.

"There's no need to thank me," Remus said.

"I woke you up."

"Actually, an Auror did that." Matt opened his mouth again but Remus cut him off, gently.
"You're welcome." Matt's usual grin was back. Remus ducked out of the room. The hallway
was empty – he supposed it was three in the morning – but he found Mad-Eye and
Nymphadora waiting in an adjacent hallway. Nymphadora smelled like tears again but looked
composed. He wondered if she was using her Metamorphmagus abilities to hide it.

"Thank you," Remus said to both of them.

"Don't mention it," Mad-Eye said gruffly. "Seems like a good kid."

"He is." Remus hesitated and then said, "Would you mind waiting with him until his parents
arrive? Just in case?"

Mad-Eye shook his head. "No, I don't mind. Nymphadora, could you get me a cup of tea?"

"Don't call me that!" she snapped. Her hair turned a bright red – brighter than Remus had
ever seen it go – and then, less than a second later, turned pink. "Sorry!" she said looking
mortified. "I'll just- Sorry!" She gave Mad-Eye an apologetic look, but he didn't seem to
mind. "I''l see you on Saturday, Remus," she said, and then hurried off to find the elevator.

"Stressed," Mad-Eye said to no one in particular. Remus nodded. "I haven't asked you so far,"
Mad-Eye said, "but after this... I need to know anything you know about Greyback. Where's
he living? How does he choose his victims?"

"I know a lot about Greyback," Remus said. "And I'll be happy to tell you anything you'd like
to know about his history, but not toni- this morning. His victims are random. Muggle or
magical doesn't matter and neither does gender. He tries to bite them young so he can raise
them away from their families, but he's also been known to bite older people."

"And where's he living?"

"I won't tell you that." Mad-Eye frowned at him but Remus didn't apologise. "I know you
don't discriminate," he said. "But could you say the same for your colleagues? The camp is
far enough from populated areas that the werewolves living there don't pose a threat to people
on full moons unless they deliberately position themselves. They're safer, and you're safer, if
they stay where they are." Mad-Eye's mouth was set in a grim line but he nodded.

"And Greyback? You couldn't give us him?"

"I'd love to, but I can't," Remus said. "Not after tonight. He'd assume it was Matt-"

"We can protect him."

"Not well enough," Remus said bluntly. "Let this die down, and then I'll see what I can do.
Until then, I think it's best for you to back off a little. The more you push, the more
unpredictable and dangerous Greyback will get."

"So we do nothing?"

"You wait," Remus said. Mad-Eye gave him a considering look. "I've really got to go,"
Remus said. "There's something Matt's asked me to check for him." Mad-Eye looked like he
wanted to ask, but restrained himself. "If I could offer you one more bit of advice...?"

"Go ahead," Mad-Eye grumbled.

"Don't let Nymphadora back in that room if you don't want her role as Tock compromised." It
was only a matter of time before someone looked Matt's medical records up and found out
about his last hospitalisation – eight years ago, after being bitten – and Mad-Eye would be
discrete, while making use of the information. He nodded once, to show he'd understood and
then Remus left.

He'd check on Debbie – he hoped, fervently, that she was all right – and then, with a bit of
luck, still have time to go back to bed for a few hours.
 Life after death

"Matt made it home, then?" Sirius asked, as Remus Flooed into the kitchen midway through
dinner. Kreacher handed him a loaded plate, which Remus took gratefully and sat down in
the seat opposite Harry, who was listening intently.

"No problems," Remus said, accepting a drink from Kreacher. "Debbie's spending the night
there just in case but no one's seen or heard anything of Greyback since the attack."

That had been a week ago; Sirius had been up early - something he hadn't done regularly
since before Azkaban - when Remus stumbled out of the fireplace and startled Sirius into
spilling his tea. Remus had launched into a long, complicated and only semi-coherent
explanation of the previous night's events. They hadn't seen much of him since, because he'd
been with the search during the days, and at Matt's bedside in St Mungo's until late at night.

"Well, where Greyback's concerned, no news is good news," Sirius said. He gestured to
Kreacher to bring him a second helping, which Harry had already started on.

"I certainly hope so," Remus agreed.

"Is Debbie still mad?"

"Furious," Remus said, with a slight smile. "He had the nerve to invite himself into my own
home and try to tell me what to do and then he goes and nearly kills Matthew!" he said in a
poor imitation of a woman's shrill, angry voice. "Honestly, I thought he wanted to convince
me to join, him, not turn me against him!"

"You're terrible at voices," Sirius said, smirking. Remus poked his tongue out, causing
Kreacher to tut. Remus gave him an apologetic look and Sirius' smirk widened.

Dinner was a quiet affair; Harry and Sirius had finally given in and spent the past few days
rearranging the library, so there wasn't much to talk about. Sirius had even – after being
caught up in one of his fussy moods – conjured little labels for the shelves. After the
intensive research required to help him cast his mental Patronus, and the days spent stacking,
sorting and re-shelving books, Sirius would be quite happy to not touch another book for
quite some time.

Harry's lessons, therefore, consisted of brewing and spellwork, which Sirius thought suited
him just fine; Harry did a lot better with practical work than he did with theory. They'd
duelled a little bit today, using only the spells he'd been taught so far. Harry had lost
spectacularly, but his reflexes were impressive and so was his ability to think on his feet. He'd
be good with practice, Sirius was sure of it.

By the time Kreacher brought out pudding – chocolate mousse, which Sirius declined –
they'd told Remus all of this, and he, in turn, had filled them in on the happenings in the
search. There was very little to report, Sirius was pleased to note.
"I've managed to get tomorrow afternoon off," Remus said.

"Are we still going, then?" Harry asked, pausing with his spoon halfway to his mouth.

"Do you still want to?" Sirius asked. Harry nodded emphatically and Sirius grinned and
reached over to ruffle his hair. "Then we'll go." Harry smiled.

"He's in serious danger of being spoiled rotten," Remus commented, much later that night,
when Harry had gone to bed.

"In serious danger, is he, Moony?" Sirius asked slyly and then shook his head. "Nah, he's
not." Sirius' eyes narrowed and he felt a surge of loathing. "His aunt and uncle saw to that. I
couldn't spoil Harry if I tried."

"And you are trying," Remus said, grinning.

"Am not! We don't get out enough for me to buy him much and when we do, he insists on
paying with his own pocket money." Sirius shook his head. "We went out for ice cream the
other day and he paid for my cone!" Remus chuckled. "Trust me, it's not actually possible to
spoil him."

"I didn't say spoiling him was a bad thing," Remus said.

"You made it sound that way," Sirius told him. Remus grinned. "Speaking of spoiling..."

"What?" Remus asked in a tone that Sirius knew came from years of experience of dealing
with Sirius when he had an idea.

"Can we have Christmas at your house?"

"At my-?" Remus looked stunned. "Why? Neither of us can cook without magic and it
wouldn't be fair to ask Harry to do it again." He'd had to cook most of their meals while he
and Sirius were staying there after the incident with Marlene in September.

"We can eat here," Sirius said immediately. "Kreacher wants to do the cooking anyway, I
think, but maybe we could spend the afternoon at your place?"

"Why?" Remus asked. "What do I have that you don't have here? This place is huge!"

"Is that a no?" Sirius asked.

"No," Remus grumbled. "I just don't understand."

"So it's a yes?"

"Yes," Remus sighed.

"Brilliant," Sirius said happily.

"Are you going to explain now?" Remus asked, when he didn't say anything more on the
matter.

"Nope," Sirius said, grinning. "I'm being mysterious."

"You're being annoying," Remus muttered.

"Mysterious," Sirius argued.

"Annoy- Urgh, never mind," Remus sighed, leaning forward to hit his forehead against the
wood of the kitchen table. Sirius glanced at him and sniggered. "How are we getting there
tomorrow?" Remus asked, his face still pressed against the table.

"Portkey, maybe?" Remus looked up. "I haven't really thought about it."

"Fine for the way there, but wouldn't that set off the Trace on the way home?"

"Damn it!" Sirius muttered. "Whose idea was that stupid tracking spell anyway? I'd like to
give them-"

"A talking to?" Remus suggested.

"No, a good hard kick in the-"

"Padfoot!" Remus said, looking appalled.

"What? Harry's not here to be corrupted, so I figure it's fine." Remus chuckled and shook his
head. "Do youhave any suggestions for travel?"

"Knight bus?"

"In costumes?" Sirius asked skeptically. He knew the Knight Bus had odd customers but
costumes was pushing it. If nothing else, people would remember them.

"Forget I mentioned that one," Remus muttered. He was wearing an odd expression and
Sirius would have bet a substantial amount of gold that Remus was imagining himself on the
Knight Bus, in a costume. They were both silent for several minutes. "We could Floo,"
Remus suggested reluctantly.

Portkey, no. Apparition, no. Knight Bus, no. Brooms, no – even if we had brooms, Harry's
never flown before. Muggle transport, no – it'd take too long. Flooing... could work, Sirius
was forced to concede.

"Damn," he muttered.

"Damn indeed," Remus said, massaging his temples. "But what choice do we have?"

Never once did he look at the statue as he walked through the village. He saw it change out of
the corner of his eye but didn't look back, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the church and the
graveyard beyond.

He approached the graves silently. It was a cold morning, so there was no one around. That
was good. Some people might react oddly if they saw him there.

He didn't kneel. He hadn't, not once, in all the years he'd been coming here. He just stood and
read the inscriptions on the headstone. This was more a habit than anything, since he knew
every word on them, now.

He didn't allow himself to think of the people that lay beneath the ground. Not their faces, not
their voices. Not any of the memories he had of either of them.

"It-" His voice caught. Not out of grief or anything like that, but merely because he hadn't
spoken in a long time. He cleared his throat and tried again. "It was nothing personal."

That was all he ever said while he was here. He didn't apologise – why should he? He didn't
have anything to apologise for. He didn't try to explain, either. There wasn't any point to that.
But, somehow, it seemed important that they knew it wasn't personal.

It hadn't been. It had been survival, nothing more, nothing less. And he was good at
surviving.

He nodded once at the graves and then turned and walked away, out of the graveyard. He
needed to get back before he was missed. Not once did he so much as glance at the statue on
the way to his Apparition point.

The statue made him cry every time he saw it and this time was no different.

So young... Theyd been so young when they'd died. It wasn't fair. Lily and James had been
good people. The best people. And Harry... poor, little Harry, had been sent to live with
muggles. And he'd have stayed there, too, if Sirius hadn't come for him. Poor, poor Harry. He
pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes on his way to the graveyard.

He walked carefully between the rows and, when he arrived at the familiar one, bent down.
He pulled a bunch of flowers out of his coat pocket and arranged them on the bare grave.

He'd been given the morning off to collect the flowers and the afternoon off to bring them
here. They were nice flowers. Nice flowers for nice people.

He found himself needing his handkerchief again.

He paused in the village square to give the war memorial time to change. When it had, he
edged forward, slowly, to rest his hand on a smaller, cold, stone hand. He stood there in
silence for a long time – probably too long, but no one was paying him any attention anyway.

Eventually, he pulled away and continued toward the church. He strode toward the kissing
gate, not paying even the slightest bit of attention to any of the costumed muggles. They
would assume he, too, was in costume, and ignore him in turn. If they did glance his way, it
would be to try to work out what he was dressed as. They could form whatever conclusions
they liked. He didn't care. He had other things on his mind today.

He pushed the kissing gate open and continued along a familiar route. A bright bunch of
flowers already rested there and he felt the slightest smile creep onto his face.

He knelt to the right of the headstone and bowed his head, murmuring things – apologies,
mostly, but also promises and every now and then, a curse, but those had no real force behind
them. He conjured a flower which he lay down to the right of the others and then moved to
the left side of the grave. He murmured a few more words – there were no apologies or
promises this time, only curses – and then stood and made his way out.

His fingers brushed stone fingers again, before he left for good.

She paused by the statue and looked at it. She'd never been able to do that before. It was nice,
in a sad way. She stared into the stone eyes of the statues and whispered an apology, and then
a promise.

She repeated the same words to the grave, which felt more binding - since that was where
they were buried - but less personal, since she didn't have to hold eye contact with something
that couldn't blink.

She conjured a bunch of lilies to add to the flowers that already covered the grave and lay
them just to the left, since there was already a flower –separate from the others – on the right.

She began to talk about her life – where she was living, who her friends were, where she was
working – just in case they could somehow hear her. She'd want news too, or death would be
frightfully boring.

"I'll get him," she murmured, arranging the leaves of one of her flowers. When it looked the
way she wanted it to, she stood and brushed dirt off of her jeans.

As she walked back past the statue, back in the village square, she stopped again and cupped
a tiny, chubby, stone cheek in her hand. She rested her other hand on the place where two
hands – one of which was smaller than hers, the other slightly bigger – met. "I promise...
and... I miss you."

Unsurprisingly, there was no answer. She wiped her eyes – which were suspiciously damp –
on the back of her glove and left.

A man and a woman approached the grave and smiled sadly at the flowers resting there, and
then at each other. The woman transfigured a stick that was lying nearby into three lilies.
There were already quite a few of those; a few pale pale pink lilies with spotted throats and a
single white one. None were a bright orange-yellow with red throats, like hers.

The woman set them down and bowed her head, thinking of the people that lay beneath the
stone. Beside her, the man murmured a string of apologies and conjured a cluster of purple
hyacinths. He knelt and placed them beside hers but didn't stand for several minutes. He ran
his hand over the names cut into the marble, and the words along the bottom of the headstone
before he stood slowly.

She didn't comment on his tears, nor he on hers. She simply inclined her head to tell him she
was ready to go and strode over to visit the statue near the kissing gate. The man made his
way there too, but took a different route, one that bypassed two other graves. He conjured
flowers for them too – the same purple hyacinths – murmured more apologies and then
joined the woman outside the graveyard, by the statue.

He offered her his arm and they left together.

"Here," Padfoot said, holding out a hand. "Let me do that."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, passing his tie over. Padfoot untangled it, wrapped it around his
own neck and, with all of the ease of experience, tied it, took it off, and passed it back.

Harry secured it around his neck and then pulled on the dark cloak he'd been given to wear; it
had belonged to Regulus when he was a bit younger than Harry – who was still short for his
age – and Padfoot had given it a higher collar for tonight's purposes, and also charmed the
inside to be the same red as the tie. Harry was also wearing a pair of Regulus' old dinner
clothes; a white ruffled shirt, a black and silver waistcoat and a set of black trousers.

"Smile," Padfoot told him, pulling out his wand. Harry found he couldn't, so he bared his
teeth instead. Padfoot muttered something and Harry felt an odd tingling in his mouth. "Just
watch your tongue and lips," Padfoot said. Harry used his tongue to trace his newly-
sharpened canines.

"They're sharp," he said, testing the words out. His teeth didn't really change the way he
spoke, though they would catch on his lip if he wasn't careful. Still, if he had blood on his
mouth, he'd look even more vampirish...

"They're supposed to be." Moony, like Harry, was wearing a set of old dinner clothes, though
his had belonged to his Padfoot's dad. Moony had made them a little baggier, conjured
himself a heavy leather coat and also a hat and eyepatch. He'd also used the charm that
Padfoot had once jokingly threatened Harry with to give himself a beard, and had done
something to make his hair longer. It rested just below his ears, now, which Harry was used
to seeing on Padfoot, but thought looked strange on Moony.

Padfoot was dressed as a werewolf, since Moony had refused to do it himself. He'd cast a
charm to put an illusion of a scar on his face and was wearing a shredded shirt that showed
off the real scar on his neck and a pair of scruffy jeans. He'd done a partial transformation –
like he had when Snape visited – to give himself pointy teeth and hairy hands and feet. He'd
used his wand to make his fingernails grow and to make his ears pointed, which had amused
Moony.

"Werewolves do believe in personal hygiene, you know," Moony said, glancing at the
fingernails. "You could take someone's eye out with those."
"Now that could be fun..." Padfoot said, grinning scarily; his teeth were quite disconcerting.
Harry felt a momentary stab of pity for Snape, but it vanished quickly. Moony secured a
pouch to his belt; inside, was enough Floo Powder to get the three of them home again.

"Let's go, then," Padfoot said, leading the way down to the kitchen. He patted the back pocket
of his jeans, where his mirror was. "I'll go through first and tell you when it's safe to follow."
Harry held James' – well, it was his now – mirror up.

"Be careful," Moony warned.

"When am I ever not?" Padfoot said, scooping up a handful of Floo Powder from the box on
the mantel.

"Well," Harry and Moony said simultaneously, "there was-"

"Potter Cottage," Padfoot said. He stuck his tongue out at them as he was swallowed by the
flames.

"Which time were you going to mention?" Moony asked, with a wry smile.

"Dunno," Harry said sheepishly. "Probably the time-"

"Kiddo? Moony?" Padfoot's face appeared in the mirror. Behind him was a wall covered in
peeling, creamy yellow wallpaper.

"We're here," Harry said, positioning the mirror so that Padfoot would be able to see both him
and Moony.

"Everything's fine here. Count to ten and come through." The mirror went blank. Harry
tucked his into a pocket on the inside of his cloak and then stepped forward to grab a handful
of Floo Powder. He used his other hand to tuck his glasses into the pocket of his trousers,
where his wand was.

He tossed the Floo Powder into the fire, smiled at Moony, and then said, "Potter Cottage!" He
was tugged away by the fire – he remembered to keep his elbows tucked against his side, but
they got bumped anyway. The fire spat him out and he tripped on the hearth and would have
landed face first on the carpet if Padfoot hadn't predicted that and darted forward to catch
him.

"Thanks," he said, rubbing ash off his face. He pulled his glasses out and pushed them back
into their usual place. The room came into focus. The walls were those he'd seen through the
mirror, and the carpet was as dusty as Grimmauld's had been when they first moved in.

To his right were three dusty armchairs and a couch – wide enough for two, maybe three
people – behind which was a large window that looked out on an overgrown front garden. To
his left was a door, through which he could see a kitchen and a dining table and straight
across from him, on the other side of the sitting room was an empty bookcase – it was likely
that the books had all gone into Moony's box - and another armchair. To the right of those
was an archway which led into a hallway.
"Out of the way, kiddo," Padfoot said, steering Harry away from the fire as Moony stepped
out of it. His exit was far more dignified than Harry's had been. Harry shook Padfoot loose –
gently – and walked out of the sitting room and into the hallway, where he was immediately
met by the side of a small staircase.

The stairs took up most of the hall-space, but there was a pram pushed up against the wall to
the left of the front door. Harry walked around to the front of the staircase and looked up. It
was very quiet upstairs.

No surprises there, he thought wryly.

Harry glanced back the way he'd come. There were five doors coming off of the hall; the first
led into the sitting room where he could hear Padfoot and Moony talking quietly. The second
was the front door and the third was to the cupboard under the stairs. The fourth led into the
kitchen, which he'd already had a peek at from the sitting room and the fifth looked like it led
to a bathroom; he could see a dusty floor and tiled walls.

With one last, cautious glance over his shoulder, Harry gripped the banister and made his way
up the stairs. He was careful to test every step before he trusted it with his weight – slight as
that was – because they probably hadn't been used in eight years.

Up the top was a landing with three doors coming off it. The far left door was open and
showed what Harry thought must have been his parents' bedroom. The middle room had two,
large bunk-beds squeezed into it. On the right, closest to the stairs, was a closed door; the
only closed door in the cottage.

I wonder why they've closed it, he thought, brushing dust off the doorknob. He felt a stab of
guilt for being curious about what was behind it, and then shook himself. This is- was my
home. If anyone has a right to look inside, it's me... Harry twisted the knob and pushed the
door open. Cold air blew into his face.

"...thought he was in the bathroom," he heard Padfoot say from downstairs, and then, more
loudly, "Harry?"

It very dark inside, but his eyes adjusted quickly and Harry found himself frozen in the
doorway staring at the destroyed nursery. There was a crib in the back, right corner, its sides
bowed as if something had exploded inside of it. The roof was missing in places – pieces of
rubble still littered the worn, mouldy carpet but Harry got the impression that most if it had
been cleaned up. The walls adjacent to the crib were in a similarly ruined state and that was
where the cold night air was coming in.

Boxes and a comfortable looking chair had been shoved to one side of the door, and toys and
children's books from a ruined shelf above the crib had been placed wherever there was room
for them. A tiny broomstick which was snapped half had been shoved under the crib, and a
mobile – with little wooden Quidditch players – lay inside the crib, in several pieces.

There were noisy footsteps behind Harry, who started and whipped around. It was Padfoot,
with Moony just behind him. Padfoot looked from Harry to the nursery and the colour
drained from his face.
Harry found himself wrapped in a tight hug – a hug which just so happened to steer him out
of the doorway and enable Moony to close the door again. Harry was grateful. He'd had no
desire to stand there any longer, but hadn't been able to tear his eyes away, or get his legs to
move.

How in Godric's name did I live through that?

"You don't need to see that," Padfoot said gently, but firmly.

"That- that was my room, wasn't it?" Harry said, when he'd found his voice. He still hadn't let
go of Padfoot, though; he didn't think he could, yet. Hearing Padfoot tell the story was one
thing. Seeing the room – the roomhe'd blow apart when he'd destroyed Voldemort – and the
relics of his old life, the life he'd never had the chance to live, was another thing altogether.
And, until he'd calmed down, Padfoot was a safe thing to hold on to. "That's where
Voldemort tried to k-kill me." Harry felt Padfoot's upper body twist, as if he'd turned to look
at Moony.

"Yes," Padfoot said in a very muted voice, and shifted again. "Are you still all right to go to
the graveyard?"

"Yeah," Harry said, releasing Padfoot a little. When he was certain his legs would hold him,
he released Padfoot completely.

"Are you sure?" Moony asked. Harry noticed his nostrils were flaring slightly. Harry looked
away from Moony but Padfoot was doing the same thing.

"I said I'm fine," Harry said. This time, he saw the look they exchanged – though Moony's
was only half a look, with his eyepatch - and panic prickled inside his chest. "C'mon," he
said, worried Padfoot might send him home.

"I know you're lying, you know," Padfoot said, almost conversationally. Harry was
reasonably sure his heart had taken up residence in his shoes, along with his feet. He
considered lying about lying, but Padfoot would smell that. And, if he didn't, Moony would.

"I know," Harry muttered.

"As long as we're clear," Padfoot said and gestured for Harry to head downstairs. Harry didn't
know whether to feel relieved that he was still allowed to go, or disappointed that he hadn't
been sent home; if he'd reacted that strongly to his old nursery, how would he react to the
place where his parents were buried? Moony seemed to know what he was thinking; he
placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

In the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, Moony took his hand off Harry's shoulder and
paused to dig through the pockets of his leather coat.

"Aha," he said, showing Harry and Padfoot a rusty house key. "I found my old set this
morning," he explained, shoving it into the lock. He twisted it and the door groaned as it
opened.
They filed out into the front garden while Moony locked the door again, just in case, and then
carefully navigated through grass that was up to Harry's waist. They took the most direct
route to the front fence, knowing they were likely to be noticed if they dawdled. Padfoot
vaulted over first. Moony gave Harry a leg-up and Padfoot helped him down on the other
side, while Moony jumped like Padfoot had.

From there, it was a simple matter of blending in with the other costumed muggles; Harry
spotted a boy in a lion suit, a girl dressed like a rabbit and a man wearing a clown costume so
colourful it was almost hard to look at.

"Look!" said a boy dressed like a ghost. His mother, who was a witch, peered into the bag he
was holding. Moony's nose twitched.

"This way," he said, nudging Harry and Padfoot toward the house the boy had just walked
away from.

"What did he get?" Harry asked curiously.

"Chocolate," Moony said.

"We have chocolate at home- Gah!" Padfoot jumped – making Harry jump - and pulled his
wand out. The skeleton he'd brushed swang harmlessly in the breeze, its plastic bones
clicking quietly. Moony chuckled and Padfoot put his wand back into his pocket.

"Bit twitchy are we, Padfoot?" Moony asked lightly, ringing the doorbell.

"I am a wanted criminal," Padfoot muttered; there were footsteps inside. "And, in case you
need reminding, my last few outings haven't ended terribly well."

"Hello!" a plump muggle woman said. Padfoot – who'd been looking rather grim – gave her a
winning smile. Harry glanced at Moony, who was smiling too, and followed suit; he'd never
dressed up for sweets on Halloween, so he wasn't quite sure how to go about it.

You would have, if you'd grown up here, a little voice whispered. Harry told it to shut up.

"Well, don't you three look dashing!" she said, beaming at them. She vanished inside for a
moment and then returned with four Mars Bars; Harry and Moony got one each and the
woman blushed before shoving two into Padfoot's hands and hurrying back inside. There was
a breathless giggle on the other side of the door. Harry, Moony and Padfoot exchanged
bemused looks – Padfoot actually looked quite pleased with himself – and retreated back to
the street.

"Unbelievable," Moony said, as Padfoot gave each of them one of his chocolate bars; he still
wasn't eating chocolate again after his Dementor's Draught ordeal. Harry, however, had no
problems with chocolate and unwrapped one of his.

They stopped twice more because Padfoot wanted sweets that weren't chocolate. One of the
houses was a muggle one, and they got a handful of boiled lollies each and the other house
belonged to a woman dressed like a witch.
"Abra Kadabra!" she said, waving her wand. Padfoot and Moony flinched but recovered
quickly. Harry stared at them, confused.

"Sorry," Moony said smoothly. "We thought you said something else."

"Something unforgivable," Padfoot said, watching her closely. The woman clapped a hand to
her mouth and Padfoot nodded, as if to himself. Moony, likewise, seemed to know what was
going on. Harry still had no idea. "Particularly in this village."

"Sweet Merlin!" she said. Harry realised she must be a real witch. "I'm so sorry! Most of my
visitors are muggles and those that aren't don't know about- I thought you were muggles," she
finished in a whisper. "Otherwise I would never have-"

"It's quite all right," Moony said calmly. "You just took us by surprise."

"Well, I imagine so!" She peered down at Harry. "I should have guessed... those fangs look a
little too realistic to be those silly plastic teeth muggle children put in their mouths." Her eyes
flicked to Padfoot and she cleared her throat nervously. "You- you're not really...?"

"A werewolf?" Padfoot asked. The woman leaned away from him and nodded. "No. I'm not."
The smile she gave them was much friendlier.

"Just hold on," she said, and turned back into the house.

"Cow," Padfoot muttered.

"Padfoot!" Moony hissed.

"What's wrong with saying Abra-?" Harry started, but then the witch was back and he had the
sense to stay quiet.

"Here," she said, giving them each a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. "Now-"

"Thanks for the sweets," Padfoot said abruptly. "Have a good night."

"Oh," she said, her face falling a bit. "Well, good night, then." She went inside and they
trooped back down the path. Padfoot muttered insults under his breath as he tore his box of
Bertie Bott's open. Harry couldn't actually hear what he was saying but his scowl was
ferocious and every now and then Moony would look up, startled. Harry found himself
wishing he had better hearing.

"Padfoot!" Moony said, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. "Aside from being
rude, I'm reasonably sure that's anatomically impossible."

"Yes, but it's an interesting concept," Padfoot said darkly. "Honstly, who talks about that
spell here? And asking if I was a werewolf before she brought us sweets! What would it
matter? She-"

"What's wrong with Abra Kadabra?" Harry asked, when his curiosity smothered his
amusement at Padfoot's indignant speech.
"It sounds like a real spell," Moony said.

"A very bad spell," Padfoot added. Harry didn't ask for any more details - both of their tones
suggested that was a bad idea – and they didn't offer any.

Padfoot continued to mutter under his breath – this, at least, was conscious and not at all like
the muttering he'd done under the influence of the Dementor's Draught. Moony, meanwhile,
had opened his box of beans and was sniffing them. When he'd found and separated two blue
ones – Harry'd never seen ones that colour before – he tossed them at Padfoot, who caught
them in his mouth.

"Eurgh!" Padfoot spluttered, while Moony tucked the box back into his pocket. "Soap? You
gave me soap?"

"Serves you right," Moony said. The corners of his mouth twitched and he winked at Harry.
"Without magic, it was the next best thing." Padfoot smiled reluctantly. They rounded a
corner and came into a town square. Its only real distinguishing feature was a war memorial,
which costumed muggles walked around without really noticing. Harry supposed they saw it
every day. "Ah," Moony said, staring at it. "Padfoot, I should warn you..."

"Warn me about what?" Padfoot asked.

"The war memorial," Moony said slowly. "It... changes." Padfoot gave it a curious look and
strode forward. Harry made to follow but Moony's hand stopped him. "Just give him a
moment," Moony said gently.

"What is it?" Harry asked, watching Padfoot, who'd just gone very still and had reached out
to touch the obelisk, which - now that they were a bit closer - Harry could see was carved
with names.

"You," Moony said, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

Me...?

"Moony, I- Oh." As they drew level with the war memorial, it changed into a statue of two-
three people; he'd only just noticed the baby in the woman's arms. James was tall – roughly
Padfoot's height, and maybe a tiny bit shorter than Moony – with hair as messy as Harry's
was. And, as he looked at his father's face in person – stone, admittedly, but still – he could
very well understand why people said they looked alike.

Unlike most of the photographs Harry had seen, James wasn't grinning. He was smiling, a
gentle, contented smile and had one arm around Lily's shoulders and one of his hands resting
on top of hers. Lily's face was almost as familiar to Harry as James' after sorting through the
box of their old things; he had quite a few pictures with her in them in his bedroom.

Even with her hair and eyes coloured the grey of the stone they were carved into, she was still
very pretty. Her smile, like James', was a little more subdued than Harry was used to, but no
less happy. And she was smiling down at the messy-haired toddler in her arms.
Harry recognised himself immediately - he had a few of his baby photos now too – and felt
his face fall. Here, even more so than in the photographs, he looked just like every other baby
he'd ever seen – though with James' hair. Here, his statue-self was wearing the same
contented smile as his parents. Here, he still had his parents, and – though they weren't part of
the statue – he'd also had Padfoot and Moony.

That Harry's gone, though. He died with Mum and Dad.

Harry hugged himself and glanced around to see what Moony and Padfoot were doing.
Padfoot was staring at the statue with a sad sort of intensity and had one of his hands resting
on the place where James and Lily's hands met, over statue-Harry's knee. With a jolt, it
occurred to Harry that he was allowed to touch the statue and he tentatively reached out to do
so. His mother's other hand – the one that was supporting statue-Harry's back and legs – was
cold and smooth.

He curled his fingers over hers and reached for James' hand, which was resting on Lily's
upper arm. All the while, statue-Harry smiled happily, mocking him.

"Kiddo?" Padfoot said softly. Harry jumped and let go. "Moony says the church-" He paused
to clear his throat. "The church is this way." He held out one arm and Harry ducked under it
and hugged Padfoot hard around the waist. "I know," Padfoot said, ruffling his hair. "I know."

"I hate him," Harry said into the side of Padfoot's shredded shirt. Tears pricked his eyes but
refused to fall. Harry didn't know whether he meant Voldemort or Peter or even baby-Harry,
for looking so stupidly happy.

All Padfoot said was, "I know."

"They're here," Remus said quietly. Sirius thought he would have noticed it without his help;
it was a large, white marble headstone with James and Lily's names and dates. There were
also what appeared to be several fields worth of flowers; there were some brightly coloured
wildflowers, a cluster of pink lilies, some purplish flowers, a single white lily and a bunch of
red and gold lilies.

"Minnie," Sirius croaked, drawing Remus' attention to the red and gold flowers.

"Probably," Remus said, and Sirius had to admire his composure; Remus had remained calm
all night, while Sirius had been struggling to control his mood. He'd even got a bit teary at the
sight of the statue, but didn't think either of the other two had noticed.

"Should we have brought flowers?" Harry asked in a slightly panicky voice. Sirius couldn't
believe he'd forgotten.

Just as he himself was starting to panic, Remus said, "No. Look, they've got plenty there
already." Sirius thought he was rather missing the point.

"Remus-!"
"Bring some next time," Remus said pointedly, his eyes flicking to Harry.

Oh...

"Yeah," Sirius said, trying to sound convincing. "You can be in charge of remembering that,
kiddo." Harry - who seemed to have calmed down - nodded determinedly. Even if Harry
forgot, Sirius wouldn't.

They're going to be the best damn flowers anyone's ever had, he promised. Harry, meanwhile,
had knelt down in front of the headstone, to read an inscription that had been hidden by the
other tributes. The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death, Sirius read and then glanced
up.

"You chose it?" he asked Remus, who was surreptitiously trying to wipe his eyes on his
sleeve.

"Yes," Remus said, grimacing because he'd been caught.

"What does it mean?" Harry asked.

"It means that they embraced death," Remus answered after a pause. And they had; James
had been found in the hallway, wandless, and Lily had been upstairs in front of Harry's crib.
While no one but Voldemort or Harry had truly been there that night to see what had really
happened, Sirius didn't think it took a genius to work out the rough order of the night's
events. "That they were brave, that they defeated death by dying."

Death was a friend for them, Sirius thought, remembering one of the tales from his and
Regulus' old storybook. He shook himself. Well, not quite, but they weren't afraid... A
conversation from his and James' Auror exam drifted through his memory, one where James
had seriously contemplated coming back as a ghost to watch over his son. Of anything but
abandoning Harry, that is.

And he's not abandoned. He's got me and Moony now, Prongs, don't worry. And then, the
volume of Sirius' thoughts dropped, until it was almost a whisper. And I know I can't replace
you, or be what you would have been. But I can be there for him. I can take care of him, make
sure he knows how brilliant you were. Sirius swallowed.

You bought him life, both of you. He wiped his eyes, not because he was ashamed of his tears,
but because he could no longer see and it was uncomfortable. I'm going to make bloody sure
that it's a life worth living. Sirius' eyes flicked to Harry, who was still tracing Lily and James'
names, and then back to the grave. I promise you.

"I promise," he heard Remus murmur. Sirius glanced over; Remus was watching the back of
Harry's head and had tears running down his pale cheeks. Sirius was reasonably sure that he'd
just promised something similar. On the ground, Harry had started to tremble and Sirius
didn't think it was from the cold.

He knelt down at his godson's side and gripped his shoulder. As he had by the statue, Harry
leaned closer and wrapped his arms around Sirius. Harry sniffled and for a moment, Sirius
saw tears dribbling out of Lily's eyes, behind James' glasses. Then, Harry hid his face in
Sirius' shirt, and unlike at the statue, or on the landing in James and Lily's cottage, he didn't
seem inclined to let go.

"You ready?" Sirius asked Remus over his shoulder. Remus nodded, wiping his cheeks. Sirius
adjusted Harry's arms around his neck and scooped him off the ground.

It's not as easy as parents make it look, he thought, trying not to drop Harry as he stood up.
Remus was hovering nearby, just in case, but his help wasn't necessary.

Sirius didn't think or whisper a goodbye; he spoke to James and Lily every night before he
fell asleep. He'd probably talk to them again tonight. And maybe he was a little bit mad –
everyone had always said so, after all – but sometimes, he'd swear they could hear him, and
that they were talking back, somewhere he couldn't hear them.

Remus slung an arm over his shoulders – careful not to knock Harry, who Sirius thought
might actually have fallen asleep – and they made their way toward the kissing gate.

A gust of wind – and a warm one at that, considering it was October – blew gently against
their faces and Harry shifted slightly, his head lolling back into Sirius' shoulder. His tears had
not yet dried on his face but he wore a slight smile, which widened as a second gust of wind
ruffled his dark hair.
 A forgotten favour

November's full moon fell on the tenth, which was Padfoot's birthday. Padfoot hadn't
mentioned his birthday at all – Moony later wondered aloud to Harry that he didn't want to
turn thirty – but Moony had remembered it and so had Kreacher, who'd been the one to tell
Harry.

Harry and Moony had arranged a trip to Diagon Alley a few days before, telling Padfoot that
Moony was going to give Harry a grammar and spelling lesson at his cottage; that was
something Padfoot was quite happy not to have any part in if Moony was willing to do it.
Harry had had to have his appearance changed at Grimmauld however, because of the Trace,
and then sneak out, all without Padfoot noticing. In the end, they'd had Kreacher set Mrs
Black's portrait off which distracted Padfoot while Harry and Moony left.

Diagon Alley was reasonably uneventful. With Christmas next month, it had been busy and
so they'd been able to blend in easily. Moony'd spotted two of Lucius Malfoy's searchers; one
they had avoided entirely, and the other Moony had gone up to say hello to, introducing
Harry as his nephew.

They'd chosen a few books, quite a few sweets – though not any chocolate – and then Harry
had reluctantly picked out a few pranking items, knowing full well that he'd probably be the
victim they were used on. They'd also ventured out into muggle London so Moony could
peruse a pet shop.

"Keeping tradition alive," Moony murmured as they made their way to the counter, carrying a
box of dog biscuits – Harry had chosen those - a squeaky red ball and a jumper made to fit a
dog. Harry had let Moony pay for those, since he had no muggle money, but had insisted on
helping to pay for the things they bought in Diagon Alley.

They'd gone back to Moony's by Floo, wrapped and hidden everything, and then – to Harry's
horror – he really had been subjected to a grammar and spelling lesson.

On the day of Padfoot's birthday, Harry had helped Kreacher organise breakfast in bed and
then Moony came over at lunchtime with the presents. For all that Padfoot had been secretive
about his birthday, he'd been unbelievably excited to learn they'd bought him presents; Harry
thought he'd torn the wrapping paper off with more enthusiasm than even Dudley had ever
managed.

Padfoot was pleased with the sweets and the books; one was an updated copy of Quidditch
Through The Ages(since Padfoot was a little behind on the league after Azkaban) and the
others were Producing Plants: An Advanced Guide (which Moony thought Padfoot would
enjoy, though Harry couldn't work out why) and Mind Games: Occlumency And
Legillimency. Padfoot spent several minutes assessing each pranking item and was
unnervingly quiet as he did so; Harry just knew he was planning something.

The dog-jumper and ball were received in good humour – Padfoot chuckled and transformed
to try both out – but paused when he reached the biscuits.
"You got-" he said, looking at Moony.

"Harry picked those, actually," Moony told him.

"You're kidding," Padfoot said, staring between them, the box still clenched tightly in one
hand.

"I'm serious," Moony told him. "Why?"

"I'm Sirius," Padfoot said and then hefted the box. "These are the ones Prongs always
bought."

"You're kidding," Moony said.

"I'm Sirius," Padfoot said, winking. His expression changed remarkably quickly, from joking
to sincere. "Thank you," he said. "I didn't think I'd get another box of these."

"It's all right," Harry muttered, a little embarrassed that the present he'd chosen as a joke had
turned out to have such a great sentimental value. Padfoot set the box down with the others
and Harry made sure to remember the name so that he could get Padfoot another lot for
Christmas.

Kreacher made them an early dinner – since Moony needed to get home before he started to
transform – and afterward he brought out the vanilla cake he and Harry had spent the
morning making. They sang happy birthday and gulped down a slice of cake each; Padfoot
also had a few dog biscuits and coerced Harry into trying one. They were surprisingly
tolerable, but Moony refused outright and got rather snappy when Padfoot tried to press the
point.

When both Moony and Padfoot were gone, and Kreacher was downstairs cleaning the
kitchen, Harry found himself alone and bored; his first full moon had been eventful – due to
his kidnapping by Snape – and he'd been so exhausted on his second one – because they'd
spent the day sorting through his parents' things – that he'd gone straight to bed.

This time, he had nothing to do. He managed to spend an hour helping Kreacher; though
Kreacher was used to Harry's help in the kitchen by now, he still didn't particularly like the
idea, though he coped. When Harry mentioned wanting to cook something, however,
Kreacher became rather distressed and shooed Harry out so that he could do it himself;
Kreacher didn't seem to understand that Harry was more interested in the process of cooking
– which would take time – than in the outcome.

And so it was, that Harry found himself in the library, lying on the couch, staring at the roof.

I bet Padfoot and Moony are having fun, he thought, pushing his glasses up; they were trying
to slide down his nose. I wonder what they do on full moons... do they sit around and bark at
each other – can they understand each other? - or sleep, or go for walks...

Suddenly curious, Harry sat up and rolled off the couch.

A minute or so later, he was back in the library, clutching his mirror.

"Padfoot," he said, and then pulled a face. His reflection pulled one back. "Oops. Er... Sirius
Black." The mirror shimmered and then Harry could see Moony's garden and in the distance,
his picket fence and the forest; Padfoot must have left it somewhere – probably leaning
against the spare bedroom window if the view was any indication – where he would be able
to see it from the garden.

Unfortunately, neither of them were in the garden. Harry's face fell a little and he squinted at
the forest, trying to make out shapes, but nothing presented itself to him. He let the image
fade – it was clever, he thought, the way the mirror sensed its user's intentions - and put the
mirror on the table.

Disappointed, but thoughtful, Harry went back downstairs, hoping he could pester Kreacher
into letting him help again.

Padfoot was late home the next morning. He Flooed home just after nine, when Harry was
about to go through the fire himself to see what was going on. He was supporting a pale,
semi-conscious Moony and sporting a set of painful looking cuts around his nose and mouth.
Harry ran forward to help and together, they managed to get Moony into one of the chairs.

"Morning," Padfoot said, touching a cut close to his eye. His hand came away bloody.

"Morning," Harry said, hurrying over to the pantry. His hand closed around a bottle of
Dittany.

"Oh, brilliant," Padfoot said, spotting it. "Do you mind doing it? I can't really see..." Harry
unscrewed the bottle while Padfoot took a seat and tilted his head back. Harry sat on the table
and carefully dripped Dittany into each of the cuts. It was obvious now, that they were bite
marks.

"There," he said, as the cuts hissed and closed over. One on the side of Padfoot's nose left a
scar but the rest healed seamlessly.

"Cheers, kiddo."

"Is Moony-?"

"'M fine," Moony groaned. Padfoot snorted.

"It was a bad transformation, both times," he said to Harry.

"'M right here," Moony muttered without opening his eyes. "Can hear you."

"I know," Padfoot said cheerfully. "And you'd hear me even if I whispered, so there's really
no point in pretending." Moony mumbled something that Harry thought might have been a
swear word. Padfoot looked confused – obviously he hadn't understood it either – and then
shrugged.

"Anyway, he only had a small graze on his shoulder because I got snappy when he did this-"
Padfoot waved a hand at his healed face. "-and I healed that already." Moony muttered
something else and Padfoot chuckled. "I've dosed him with Comforting Concoctions and
Painkilling Potions and a Cramp Cure but he's still a bit drowsy."

"Mmph," Moony said. Harry smiled.

"I figure we'll keep him here until he wakes up, and in the meantime, we can have breakfast-"

"Nnngh."

"What?" Harry asked, bemused.

"He doesn't want to eat," Padfoot said. "But that's too bad," he added, poking Moony's
shoulder. Moony twitched and, several seconds later, lifted a hand to swat in Padfoot's
direction. "So, what's for breakfast?"

Harry fetched the croissants he and Kreacher had made the night before and put them in the
oven to warm up. The smell of cooking lured Kreacher downstairs and he sent Harry back to
the table while he made tea and saw to the heating. Padfoot inhaled his breakfast and then
coaxed Moony into eating a few bites of his croissant. Moony woke up a little and ate with a
bit more enthusiasm when Kreacher set a plate of bacon and sausages down in front of him;
Harry'd noticed he liked meat more when a full moon was approaching or had just been.

"So what do you do on full moons?" Harry asked, nibbling on a piece of his croissant.

"Run around in the forest, mostly," Padfoot said.

"Wait for it to end," Moony groaned, resting his head on his arms. "Wish to have never been
born."

"They aren't that bad," Padfoot said, rolling his eyes. "He's just cranky," he told Harry, who
wasn't sure if Moony was joking or not.

"I can hear you!"

"I know," Padfoot said cheerfully. Moony groaned. Padfoot refilled their teacups. "Back at
Hogwarts we used to explore the grounds and the village, but we're a bit limited with space;
if we go too far into Hurtwood, there's a chance we might run into muggles and since it's only
me now... Well, we stay pretty close to home. It's all pretty uneventful, really."

"I almost bit your face off," Moony said into the table.

"Details," Padfoot said. Moony gave him a two-fingered salute. Harry sniggered into his
teacup. "Why do you ask?" Padfoot asked, looking thoughtful.

"Just curious," Harry lied. Padfoot arched an eyebrow.

"He's lying," Moony said. Harry shot him an irritated look but Moony was still resting his
head on the table. Padfoot's lips were twitching.

"Well?" he asked.
"I told you: I'm just-"

"Lies!" Moony groaned. Harry groaned too, and sank back into his chair.

"Fine," Harry said reluctantly. "I was wondering if, maybe, I mean, you don't have to, but-"

"Spit it out," Padfoot said, looking entertained.

"Could you maybe teach me to be an Animagus?" Harry said, wincing.

"No!" Moony said, finally looking up again. He looked quite upset. "It was bad enough when
Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail did it. It's too dangerous for you to be running around after
me-"

"There'd be two of us," Harry said, gesturing to Padfoot, who was still silent on the matter;
that gave Harry hope, because the idea hadn't been shot down straight away. "He'd be safer
too-" He'd thought about this last night.

"Assuming you're something big enough," Moony said. "Padfoot, tell him it's a dangerous
idea." Harry noticed he'd said it was a dangerous idea, not a bad one.

"The risk's what makes it fun," Padfoot murmured, and Moony fell silent. He was wearing an
odd expression, now, one that Harry couldn't decipher. "And if we taught him, it'll be at least
a year-"

"Year?" Moony asked. "It took you three!"

"We didn't have a teacher," Padfoot said. "We didn't know what books were helpful – the
library didn't have the ones that were, remember?" Moony nodded reluctantly. "And then we
didn't know which method to use and-"

"You've made your point," Moony said curtly.

"Is that a yes?" Harry asked hopefully.

"No," Padfoot said. "It's still incredibly complex magic, no matter what method you choose –
well above anything you're capable of yet. I think in a few years it's probably a good idea –
and Merlin knows it's a damn useful skill to have – but right now... there's no real reason not
to, but there isn't really a good reason to do it." Harry nodded – he'd prepared for this.

"All right," he said. Padfoot nodded and picked up his tea cup and Moony put his head back
down onto his arms. "Then I'm calling in my favour." Moony looked up, confused. Padfoot
looked confused too, for a moment, but he eventually remembered the favour Harry was
referring to.

He swore, rather loudly and then leaned back in his chair and said, "Bloody hell. As your
guardian, I'm either doing something very right, or very wrong."

"Wrong," Moony said at once. Padfoot poked his tongue out. "And what favour?"
"When we first moved here," Padfoot sighed, "there was a misunderstanding that led to me
getting Harry to tell me everything about his aunt, uncle and cousin. He wasn't keen on the
idea so I told him that he could ask me something. I said it could be a question, a favour or
anything else he wanted to ask." He smiled at Harry, who grinned back.

"Should have known you'd made some stupid deal," Moony muttered. Harry hid another
smile; there was no venom behind it, it was just Moony being grumpy for the sake of being
grumpy. Padfoot didn't seem offended either and Harry supposed he was used to post-full-
moon-Moony. "So you're teaching him?" Moony asked flatly, but he didn't look angry, just
worried.

"I'm a man of my word," Padfoot said. Oddly, this made Moony grin.

"Then you should be extremely grateful it's this he's asking for."

"Why?" Padfoot and Harry asked together.

"Padfoot, you promised him anything. It's not an Unbreakable Vow, but there are still quite a
few things he could have asked you to overlook or help him with without being
unreasonable."

"Point taken," Padfoot said.

"I should hope so," Moony said, and Harry coughed to hide a laugh.

"All right, kiddo," Padfoot said. "I'll make you a deal."

"What deal?"

"I'll honour the favour – no changing it or saving it now," he added hastily. Moony laughed –
his head was back down – and Padfoot pulled a face at him. "I'll help you, regardless of when
you start learning," he said. Harry beamed. "But, if you want to start learning now, you're
funding it. You have to buy everything. If you put this off for a couple of years, until you're
eleven, I'll buy everything you think you need."

Harry thought for a moment. When Padfoot put it that way, it was tempting to wait. But, then
again, if he started learning now, it'd cost him, sure, but he'd still have help and he could
well be an Animagus by the time he was eleven.

"So if I learn now, I have to pay," Harry clarified. Padfoot nodded. "Using my own money?"

"That's sort of implied, yes. And I'll know if you take anything from our stashes," he warned.

"I wouldn't steal it!" Harry said indignantly. He thought a moment longer and then grinned as
a thought occurred to him.

"What?" Padfoot asked warily; Harry was still grinning.

"I'll pay," Harry said.

"Of course you will," Padfoot sighed. "And might I ask how? You get a galleon a week in
pocket money and yes, we've been here a while now, but books on Animagi don't come cheap
and the books you'll need to understand the books on Animagi don't come cheap either."

"And you've been spending some of it," Moony muttered.

"It won't be a problem," Harry assured them both.

"All right," Padfoot said with a smug look; he thought he'd won. Harry knew better. "Get
dressed and we'll take you down to Diagon Alley and we'll see how far you can get with
thirty galleons."

"We're not taking him anywhere, Padfoot," Moony grumbled as Harry stood up. "You can go
book-shopping to your heart's content. I am going home."

"Is Moonbeam tired?" Padfoot asked in a baby-voice. "Poor little-"

"Sirius, I swear to Godric if you finish that sentence, I really will bite your face off."

"I'm an idiot," Padfoot groaned as Harry stepped into his vault and scooped a handful of
galleons into a small leather pouch.

"You forgot about this, didn't you?" Harry said, gesturing at the vault his parents had left for
him.

"Idiot," Padfoot repeated, pretending to bang his forehead on the stone walls. "And you're too
smart for your own good."

"I'll have to be if I'm going to have any luck with this," Harry said, brushing a strand of
brown hair out of his face; today, he was a short boy with brown hair and brown eyes.

"James and Lily are probably laughing at me, right now," Padfoot whispered, with a wary
look at Gurbock, who made no sign that he'd heard.

Fifteen minutes later they found themselves in Florish and Blotts, browsing through the dusty
shelves for the books they were after. Padfoot pulled Brew Or Bewitch: The Animagus
Choice off of a shelf and passed it to Harry.

"If you want to use the spell method," Padfoot said, "you're going to need to learn Latin."

"Which one did you do?"

"Spell method," Padfoot said. "But we used the potion one at the start because we couldn't get
the damn meditation process to work."

"But you don't know Latin," Harry said, remembering an old conversation.

"Nope."
"Then how-"

"James learned enough to help us out. You don't need to be fluent or anything, but you do
need to be able to translate a paragraph properly."

"Damn," Harry said.

"Bad luck, kiddo," Padfoot said, and passed him an enormous book called Polish your
Pronunciation and Gild your Grammar. Harry also grabbed an English to Latin Dictionary.
Padfoot added A Guide to Major Animal Families and their Characteristics to Harry's pile.

"I can't find Embracing Your Inner Beast," Padfoot said after another half an hour of walking
around the shop.

"Do we need it?"

"Hello, there!"

"Hi," Harry mumbled.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" asked a wizard with a badge that proclaimed him 'Store
Manager'.

"Yes, actually," Padfoot said. "I'm looking for a book called Embracing Your Inner Beast."

"Embracing Your Inner Beast..." the Manager murmured, before his blue eyes brightened. "I
know the one."

"Do you have it?" Padfoot asked.

"Do we have it?" the Manager asked, looking insulted. "Of course we do!"

"Brilliant," Padfoot said, smiling at Harry over his shoulder. "I'd like that, and the four of
those, then, thanks."

"I'm not permitted to just hand out copies of that particular text," the Manager said. "If you
fill out the application form, we can get a copy to you as soon as it's approved, or you can
drop by the Improper Use Of Magic Office and pick one up in person. It covers complex
magic-"

"And this one doesn't?" Padfoot asked, gesturing to Brew Or Bewitch.

"That one covers the procedure only, and talks about the advantages and disadvantages
associated with each of the methods," the Manager said importantly. "The one you're after
actually provides you with information that enables you to apply the procedures and begin
the transformation process. With it, you could become an Animagus."

"That's sort of the point," Padfoot said, rolling his eyes.

"The Ministry uses the book to monitor anyone who's attempting to transform. With that
information, they can check in on those practicing to make sure that they're going about it in
a safe and legal manner."

Uh oh, Harry thought.

"Right," Padfoot said. "I'll pick it up after work tomorrow then."

"Very good, sir. Are you still after those four?"

The Manager took the books from Harry – whose arms were beginning to ache – and led
them to the counter. While he was ahead, Harry slipped his money bag into Padfoot's hand,
and Padfoot used it to pay.

"So what do we do?" Harry muttered, as they left the shop clutching two wrapped books
each.

"Peter ended up with our old copy, since he was the last to manage it, so that's out," Padfoot
muttered, leading the way down the street. "Going to the Ministry's out of the question. They
do wand checks and magical signature analysis if you register and there's no way I'm risking
that... There's one place we could try..."

"Where?"

Padfoot tipped a shoulder at a dark space between two shops. A sign there said, Knockturn
Alley. Harry could just make out people moving in the dim light.

"They've got a bookshop, I think," Padfoot said. "Walpole's. The Ministry's been trying to
shut it down for years – since before I started Hogwarts - but somehow it stays open..."

"Would they have the book?"

"Probably," Padfoot admitted. "I've never been there myself but the fact that the Ministry
wants to restrict access to it probably means that Walpole wants to share it with everyone."

"So are we going?"

Padfoot glanced around and tugged Harry into a corner. He shrunk the book parcels with a
tap of his wand and shoved them into one of his pockets. He then rapped Harry on the head
with his wand and started to mutter under his breath. Harry felt himself stretching upward
until he was tall – nearly Padfoot's height – and a beard itched on his chin.

"Weird," he said, looking at one of his enormous hands. His voice was deep and a little
croaky.

"Kids don't go down there," Padfoot explained, turning his wand on himself; he made his hair
black again, and streaked it with silver. "Except for maybe Death Eater kids. Stay close to me
– don't wander, don't talk to anyone. Let me handle it. All right?"

"Erm... sure."
"Keep your wand out." Harry took a tentative step after him and almost fell. Padfoot
managed to steady him and then tapped him once more. Harry's beard turned silver instead of
brown. "Keep a hand on my shoulder to help you walk. You can be my father."

Together, they made their way off of the main street and down into Knockturn Alley.

The first thing that Harry noticed was the smell; it was a cold, mouldy sort of odour and
seemed to permeate the entire street. The second thing was the lack of shoppers. There were
plenty of people around, but they weren't walking the streets; they were lingering in the
doorways of shops, and in little alcoves. One woman was holding a box of what looked
alarmingly like dried, human ears.

Harry shuddered and moved as close to Padfoot as he could without walking into him. Harry
only tripped once, and was instantly surrounded by people trying to help him.

"Back off," Padfoot warned, raising his wand. Several ugly woman and an old man stepped
back, murmuring about just wanting to help. "Just wanted to help yourselves to his money
bag, you mean," Padfoot growled. "This way, Father," he said. It took Harry a moment to
realise Padfoot was addressing him. He gripped his wand and followed, holding Padfoot's
shoulder for support.

Walpole's was a dingy little shop that Harry would have walked right past if Padfoot hadn't
pointed it out. It was wedged between an impressive looking apothecary and a shop that sold
illegal and exotic animals; Harry thought he could see a large green dragon's egg in the
window, and a rather scary looking creature that was a mix between a bird and a lizard.

Walpole's was lit by oil lamps which cast sinister shadows on the shelves. The floor was
creaky, pale wood and the shelves were full of dark, leather bound books, not unlike those in
the library at Grimmauld Place. It was much darker than Flourish and Blott's.

"Wait here," Padfoot said, stopping beside a wall; Harry figured he could lean on it because
he still felt a little wobbly on his feet. "I'll buy it and then we'll go. Do not leave the shop."

"Okay," Harry whispered back. Padfoot vanished between two rickety shelves.

"Can I help you with something?" A tall woman glided out from behind a shelf, startling
Harry. She had a high, almost musical voice with a strong Irish accent and her long, dark hair
trailed on the floor behind her. Her most stand-out feature, however, was her face. She looked
like Padfoot had when Harry'd first met him; skeletal, with sunken eyes and waxy skin that
was orange in the lamp-light.

"Er..." Harry said, tearing his eyes away from her. "Er... no. I'm just- Oh, here it is." He
grabbed a book off the shelf and held it up. "I've been looking for this one for ages."

"I see," the woman purred. "Is that all you're after today?"

"Yes- no. My... er... son's just-"

"Do I make you nervous?" she asked, looking sour all of a sudden.
"You?" Harry asked, too puzzled by the question to be nervous about lying. "No. Why?" Her
face cleared and she gave him a small smile.

"Merely curious. I know I am not as desirable as my French cousins."

"French...?"

"The Veela," she said, shaking her head. Her dark hair rippled down her back and stirred a
little dust on the shop floor. "They are more beautiful, yes?"

"I've never seen one," Harry said honestly, though he thought she was probably right; she was
no beauty to look at, but she did seem nice. She gave him another small smile.

"What is your name?"

"Har- Harold." She considered him for a moment and then held out a hand. Harry tucked the
book under his elbow so that he could shake it. The handshake was a bit clumsy because
Harry wasn't used to his large hands, but she seemed to appreciate the gesture. "What's
yours?" Harry asked.

"Keira," she said slowly, tilting her head to examine him better. Harry shifted.

"Got it!" Padfoot exclaimed, emerging from behind a shelf. He paused and paled a little when
he saw her. She, oddly, had done the same. Harry glanced between them. "Are you ready to
go, Father?" Padfoot asked.

"Er... sure," Harry said. Keira gave him an uncertain smile.

"Allow me to show you gentlemen to the counter." She turned and swept down one of the
aisles.

"Are you all right?" Padfoot hissed.

"Fine," Harry said. "Why?" Padfoot just shook his head. "Oh, we have to buy this." Harry
passed Padfoot the book he'd picked off the shelf.

"What's this?" Padfoot muttered out of the side of his mouth.

"I'll explain later."

Keira showed them to a woman at the counter. Like Keira, she was no beauty; she had a hairy
chin, a large wart on her forehead and squinty blue eyes. She gave them a welcoming smile,
though, and Harry thought she seemed friendly enough too.

"Odd choice," she murmured, looking at the titles. The book Harry had picked up was Secrets
Of The Darkest Art. He flushed and Padfoot gave him an odd look. "It's a galleon each for
those." Harry passed the coins over and Keira gave him another curious glance. He looked
back at her, confused. "Wrap those for me, dear, would you?" the woman asked.
"Yes, Madam Walpole," Keira murmured. They exchanged places behind the counter and the
Madam Walpole gave her a fond smile before going off to return books to their shelves.
Padfoot watched Keira's every move, looking interested.

"Do I make you nervous?" she asked Padfoot in the same sour tone as she had used with
Harry.

"A little," he said, shrugging, "but you seem all right so far." Keira surprised Harry by
smiling faintly.

"I was just thinking the same thing," she said.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"No magic can hide my face," she said, waving a slender hand over her cheeks. "And so, no
one can hide their face from me. Do you understand?"

"No," Harry said.

"Yes," Padfoot said, and swore. She smiled again and passed their wrapped books over the
counter. Padfoot tapped them with his wand and tucked them into his pocket with the others.
He kept his wand out, pointed at her, though. Harry made a small noise of protest, but
Padfoot shook his head. Keira glanced at the wand and then at Padfoot's face.

"Not all prisoners are guilty," she said, "just as not all banshees are evil." Padfoot cocked his
head and then lowered his wand.

"I see," he said.

"See what?" Harry dared to ask. Neither answered him. Keira led them to the door; Harry
held onto Padfoot again. Moments before she opened it, she turned and gave them another
one of her smiles.

"Thank you," she said, glancing at Padfoot before her eyes came to rest on Harry. "Thank you
for not being nervous."

"Er... you're welcome," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was nice to meet you," he
added.

"It was nice to meet you too, Harry," she said, smiling. "Perhaps you will come back one
day."

"Thanks," Padfoot said to her. She opened the door and bowed them out. Only when they
were out on the street again, did Harry realise she'd called him Harry and not Harold. He
turned around, half expecting to see her standing there with a wand levelled. Instead, Keira
smiled again and vanished into the shadowy depths of the shop. "So, Secrets Of The Darkest
Art? Something you want to tell me about?"

"She wanted to know why I was standing around and I just grabbed it off of the shelf," Harry
muttered. "Sorry, okay?"
Padfoot's shoulder shook under Harry's hand as he laughed. Harry pulled a face at the back of
Padfoot's head and they made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron so that they could Floo
home.

Remus had assumed his standard, post-full-moon position, lying on his couch, staring at the
roof. As was also becoming standard, he was disturbed.

He'd been dozing when he'd heard the window creak. Assuming it was just Strix, he'd settled
back in, but then he'd heard a thump and footsteps.

"Yes, Dora?" he asked, and the footsteps stopped.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Only you and Mad-Eye come in through the window and I couldn't hear his leg."

"Fair enough," she said, moving into his line of sight; she tripped on her feet as she did so,
and landed clumsily on the couch opposite his.

"Why did you use the window, by the way?" he asked.

"Mad-Eye's orders. Keep you on your toes. Are you all right? You're pale..."

"Tired," Remus said. "And if you don't mind me saying, you look rather pale yourself." She
scrunched up her face and forced colour into her cheeks.

"Better?"

"Honestly?" he asked. She nodded. "You look sunburned." Her hair flashed pink and the pink
in her cheeks faded to a healthier shade. "I thought you had the Program this afternoon."

"We went to Azkaban this morning," she said quietly. Her hair turned a dull grey and her face
went a chalky colour. "They gave us the rest of the day to recover."

"Is it that bad?" Remus asked.

"It's freezing out there, and it's windy and oh, Remus, it's the most horrible place I've ever
been! I thought I was going to go mad and I was only there for a few hours! There's no colour
at all! Everything's grey!" She paused suddenly. "You've never been?"

"No. Why?"

"You're so... worldly... I just assumed -"

"You assumed I'd gone to satisfy my curiosity?" he asked, smiling. Her hair was pink again,
and she nodded. "It's flattering that you think I'm so adventurous," he said. She grinned. "But
no, unfortunately – or fortunately, really – I've never been to, or had any desire to visit
Azkaban."
"Well, I wouldn't recommend it."

Neither would Sirius, Remus thought.

"Noted," he said and then glanced at her pale face again. "Would you like some chocolate? It
helps."

"Mad-Eye gave me some," she said, shaking her head.

"How much?" Remus asked. He took an inconspicuous sniff and then sneezed; she smelled
like death, if that was possible, and also, very faintly of chocolate, indicating that – while
she'd had some – it probably hadn't been much. He was surprised at Mad-Eye, who was
usually generous with remedies of any sort.

"A whole block."

"Did you eat it all?" he asked shrewdly.

"Well, I sort of shared it," she said sheepishly. "Ben and Melvin only needed a bit but
McKinnon and Florence found it pretty tough..."

"And so, being the good Hufflepuff you are, you shared," Remus surmised. "So I repeat,
would you like some?"

She gave him a guilty, slightly pleading smile which Remus took to mean yes. He Summoned
– because he didn't feel like moving – a block of Honeydukes' best and offered it to her. She
offered to pay for it, but Remus refused – even more adamantly than he might have because
she was offering sickles again and he was not in the mood. She finished – admittedly, he
helped a fair bit – the whole block in a few minutes and he was amused to notice her hair had
changed from grey to a rich brown.

"So," he said, crushing the foil into a ball, "did you come for my chocolate or is there
something else I can help you with?"

"The chocolate," she said, grinning, and then sobered. "Actually, I wanted to see if you were
all right."

"I'm fine," he said automatically. "Why wouldn't I be?" Unfortunately, his voice chose that
moment to struggle.

"You tell me," she said, narrowing her eyes. Then she sighed. "It's just that you've missed a
few days with the search lately and I thought, since I had the afternoon off... If it's none of my
business, that's fine, but I thought I should make sure you were all right."

Remus felt mild irritation at being babied, but it was weak in comparison to how touched he
was; he could count on two hands the number of people who had ever expressed such
genuine concern for him. He could count on one hand those that were still alive. In fact, he
was touched enough to share several half-truths.
"On Halloween," he said, noticing that she looked surprised that he was offering the
information, "I was visiting Lily and James. It's always a hard day for me... I wouldn't have
been much use searching at all, I'm afraid." She gave him a sad look.

"And then yesterday I wasn't feeling well so I thought I'd better not push it and I'm glad I
didn't. I had a pretty uncomfortable night, to be honest. I think I'm on the mend though." She
smiled. "I'm almost positive it's a twenty-four hour thing." As in, twenty four hours a day,
every day. But she doesn't need to know that.

"And the one about a month ago?" she asked gently.

"Something similar," he said. "I've been stressed about Harry and Sirius-" Which was not,
technically a lie. "-so that probably hasn't helped, but it's all right, really."

"If there's anything I can do to help-"

"I'll keep it in mind," he said smiling.

"Speaking of assisted recovery and everything," she said a moment later, "have you heard
from Matt? Is he-"

"He'll be back next week," Remus told her. She looked relieved.

"Good," she said. "It's been so quiet without him around... Did you know?" Remus knew
exactly what she was talking about.

"Yes," he said, watching her carefully. "Does it worry you?"

"No," she said thoughtfully. He believed that she believed that but thought time would tell
whether it was true or not. "I just..." She cocked her head. "Did it surprise you when you
found out?"

"I don't really remember," Remus said, because that was the easiest answer.

"It surprised me," she admitted. "He didn't seem like the type, or... I don't know, I just didn't
see it coming."

"It's always the last ones you expect," Remus told her, because he couldn't help himself.
 An overdue explanation

Secrets Of The Darkest Art was a source of Padfoot's amusement for almost a month. Harry
didn't know how he could find it even remotely humourous after the first day, but he did.
Harry thought he'd have stopped sooner if Harry wasn't so embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

The first few weeks, at least twice a day, he took to doing impressions of Harry; he'd stand
around somewhere, and wait for either Harry or Moony to ask what he was doing, before
doing a passable imitation of Harry's stuttering and producing the book from somewhere
nearby.

By the beginning of December, he'd progressed to reading the blurb aloud in a sinister voice
– Harry thought he'd heard it enough times to recite it – and, by mid-December, he was brave
enough to actually open the book; with Padfoot being Padfoot, it had only been a matter of
time.

Harry was in the kitchen, poring over Embracing Your Inner Beast for instructions on how to
make the potion that – if he made it properly – would allow him to see his animal-form. He'd
decided to use the spell method – which involved the creation of a spell that would change
him into an animal – but use the potion to find his form, instead of the meditation, which
Padfoot firmly maintained did not work.

Padfoot was in the seat opposite him, holding Secrets Of The Darkest Art and reading from
the contents page; Harry knew from the blurb that it contained quite a bit of dark, destructive
magic and was seriously thinking about using some of it to get rid of the stupid book. Moony,
who was in the seat next to Padfoot's - and was having a late lunch, courtesy of Kreacher –
was thoroughly amused by the whole process.

"Oh, look," Padfoot said. "Necromancy. Very useful, don't you think, Moony?"

"Shut up," Harry muttered, without looking up from the page he was reading. He sensed
rather than saw Padfoot's grin.

"Very," Moony agreed tiredly, winking at Harry, who quickly looked down again. Moony had
been entertained by the story of how they found the book and impressed that Harry had
managed to befriend a banshee. Moony leaned over to read something else off the page. "And
the Unforgivables are here. How nice. Brilliant book choice, Harry, I must say."

"Truly commendable," Padfoot agreed. Harry pulled a face at him and silently promised to
slip something into Padfoot's tea that afternoon.

"Tell me again how you found this one?" And something in Moony's tea too, he thought.

"What are the Unforgivables, anyway?" Harry asked.

"Read chapter four and find out," Padfoot said slyly. Harry pulled another face and Padfoot
pulled one back. "And then-" Padfoot made a funny choking noise and set the book down on
the table.

"What?" Harry and Moony asked.

Padfoot swallowed once, grey eyes wide, and turned the book around so that they could see
it. Then, he pointed to chapter seven. Written there, on the contents page, was The Horcrux.

Harry was as stunned as the others – no point denying that – but through his shock, he
uncovered another emotion. Vindication.

"Look, a chapter about Horcruxes," he said archly, in the same tone both Padfoot and Moony
had used before. "Interesting topic, don't you think? Worth reading about at the very least?
Good thing we bought-"

"Oh no you don't," Padfoot said. "Don't you even try to justify-"

"Don't start," Moony said wearily; the full moon had only been two nights ago and he was
still recovering. "Just read." Padfoot pulled a face at him – and then rolled his eyes at Harry,
who was still feeling smug – before pulling the book over again and flicking through to the
specified page.

"The Horcrux," Padfoot began in a spooky voice. "Through-"

"Sirius," Moony sighed.

"You're no fun," Padfoot whined but he read on in his normal voice. "Throughout history,
man has always sought immortality and of the available methods, the creation of a Horcrux
has proven to be the most effective of these." He looked up and arched his eyebrows at them
before continuing. "The first known Horcrux was created in Ancient Rome by the wizard
Longinus, who served the emperor of the time. Longinus killed the emperor and used his
death to secure his own immortality and his place as emperor."

"What are they, though?" Moony asked, though he looked fascinated. Padfoot shrugged and
kept reading.

"Longinus' death was a true accident; he was engaged in battle when a fire – believed to be
Fiendfyre - destroyed the hiding place of his Horcrux. Almost simultaneously – scholars
argue there was a conspiracy in motion - his lung was pierced with an arrow and, believing
himself to be immortal, Longinus refused help, ordering his healers to help the other soldiers.
He died from his wound the next day... Cheerful read, this," Padfoot muttered, and then
cleared his throat.

"It is believed Longinus revealed the secrets to his long rule to Wahankh, an Egyptian priest,
who lived for an astounding three hundred and fifty years, almost twelve times the life-
expectancy of that period. Wahankh's writings reveal a "secret life" which he kept hidden in
an amulet he wore on his person and this is believed to be the second Horcrux to ever exist in
the history of wizarding-kind."
"Horcruxes, being simpler to make in ancient times due to the harsh lifestyle and the
frequency of wars, were prevalent for several hundred years. Wizards of significance were
assumed to have one as a precaution and this was accepted by the wizarding community. By
the sixteen-hundreds, Horcruxes were less common, however, and by the seventeen-
hundreds, they were frowned upon, before a cross-continental law was established in
seventeen-eighty-six, banning the creation of Horcuxes."

"The Department of Mysteries belonging to the British Ministry of Magic, the Chinese
Department of Magical Exploration and the North American Magical Anomalies Sector all
united in the early eighteen-hundreds to purge the world of Horcruxes and their creators... we
get it, all the evil gits died," Padfoot said to the book. "Now, what are they?"

"You've got the book," Moony said. Padfoot scowled and fell silent, scanning the page. After
a moment, his eyes stopped moving; he was staring, rather than reading.

"Fuck," Padfoot whispered.

"Did you find it?"

"Yep," Padfoot said faintly; his face had turned the colour of parchment, his jaw was so tight
that Harry half-expected his teeth to crack and he was holding the book so tightly that his
knuckles were white.

"Well, what is it?" Harry demanded. "Is it something bad?"

"You might say that."

"Well?" Moony asked impatiently.

"It's soul," Padfoot said, with enormous eyes. "It's a piece of soul in an external container."

"Tell me that's a joke," Moony said, while Harry stared at Padfoot, horrified. "Padfoot?"

"One must split the soul through an act of deliberate murder, and ensure no remorse is felt..."
Padfoot read. "Remorse mends the damage..." His eyes flicked back and forward; obviously
he was only reading certain parts of the book. "Should the caster follow the correct
instructions, they will be able to embed half of their soul in another object. Throughout
history, wizards have chosen objects of significance to guard their souls, some even choose
animals or people... So long as the soul and its shelter are intact, the creator cannot die."

"That's disgusting," Moony said flatly. "Who kills someone to prolong their own life?!"

"Never mind that!" Harry said feeling ill. "If that's true, then we've got a piece of Voldmort's
soul sitting in the drawing room!"

"Holy Hufflepuff," Padfoot said weakly. "I touched the damn thing! And no wonder it
attacked you, after what you did to him."

"Does this mean he's definitely coming back?" Harry asked, rubbing his scar. He wasn't quite
able to keep the trepidation out of his voice. "I mean, if he's got a Horcrux then he's immortal,
isn't he? He can't die."

"And either must die at the hand of the other..." Padfoot murmured, glancing at Moony.
Moony's eyes widened.

"You don't think...?"

"It's possible, isn't it?" Padfoot murmured. "If the second part isn't actually about him-"

"It could be about his soul," Moony finished. "Yes, it's possible."

"Who? And who's dying?" Harry interrupted.

"Voldemort, hopefully," Padfoot said, with a grim smile.

"Does it say anything about destroying it?" Moony asked, tapping the book. Padfoot picked it
up again and browsed through for several minutes. The revolted, disbelieving look on his
face was almost comical, or would have been, if Harry didn't know that he was probably
learning how to extract souls.

"There are two ways," Padfoot announced, finally. "The first is remorse - fat chance
of that ever happening..." Moony snorted. "And the other is to put the Horcrux beyond
magical repair."

"But magic can fix everything," Harry said. Padfoot's mouth turned down.

"No," Moony said. "Not everything."

"-thought they might have slowed down a bit because Christmas is only twelve days away,
but apparently not," Dora said.

"At least you won't get bored," Remus said.

"I don't mind," she said, jamming her hands into her pockets; they were probably cold. His
were nice and warm, though he wasn't wearing gloves. A slightly warmer than normal body
temperature had its advantages in winter, though it was unpleasant in summer. "I knew it
would be intensive. I'm just a bit surprised. I had more spare time when I was doing my
N.E.W.T.s."

Remus chuckled. "Be thankful you aren't in the accelerated Program. James and Sirius were
studying every day and I had other friends who were in the Program during their N.E.W.T.
year..."

"And Keith thinks I work a lot."

Remus chuckled again. "Are you still seeing too much of Helga?"

"Yes," she said. "But it makes up for not seeing much of Keith himself at the moment, so it's
all right."
"Are you fighting?" Remus asked, concerned.

"No, just busy," she sighed. They separated around a line of school children and then came
back together again. "I have training all day tomorrow and then I'm at Mad-Eye's tomorrow
night-"

"Go home," Remus said.

"What?"

"Go home," he repeated. "Surprise Keith or something. Have a break." She looked tempted
but shook her head.

"I can't! I'm here to work-"

"It's one o'clock now. We've got ten minutes until lunch and then a few more hours of
walking this same route." Remus couldn't wait until the new year, when he'd no longer have
to do it. "You won't be missing much."

"Last time I left early Sirius showed up," Dora said, frowning.

"Personally, I think that probably traumatised him as much as it did me," Remus said, giving
her a small smile. She slipped on a patch of concealed ice and he caught her arm without
breaking pace. She grinned and thanked him. "It's all right. He'll be lying low for a while
yet."

"But-"

"Go on," Remus said. "I've had you cover my missed shifts more times than I can count. I can
handle a few hours alone."

"It wouldn't be right-" The roots of her hair were turning an odd turquoise colour; obviously
it indicated indecision.

"Dora," he said, smiling. "Go." She bit her lip. "Dora."

"Remus." He waited. "Fine!" she huffed. "Fine, I'll go. But you'd better not run into Malfoy.
And if Sirius shows up, so help me Merlin-"

"It'll be fine," Remus assured her. She seemed to deflate.

"Thanks," she said, offering him a smile. He smiled back and then she pulled a face.
"Arabella's going to think I've run off to play with Sirius."

"No, she- well, all right, she probably will-"

"Just when she was starting to like me again, too," Dora laughed and then sighed.

"I'll tell her your mum's sick," Remus said. "That one always works."
"Tell her my cat's sick," Dora suggested, grinning.

"You want her to believe the story," Remus told her, "not go rushing to your house to help
you nurse your cat."

She laughed and then, looking thoughtful, added, "With Canis it would take two."

"You actually have a cat?" Remus asked, surprised.

"He's a horrible little creature," she said cheerfully.

Well, that explains why she never smells like one, Remus thought.

"Are you sure-"

"Positive," Remus said. "Now go home, before I take you myself."

She pulled a face at him and glanced around for muggles before vanishing with a popping
sound. Remus smiled at the place where she'd Disapparated and then continued along the
street they'd been walking.

The last fifteen minutes of his search-route was boring without her but not unpleasant. He
made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron at lunch time to find it packed with customers.
Thankfully, Arabella, Debbie and Dirk had already secured a table and had ordered a plate of
sandwiches to share.

"Where's Theodora?" Arabella asked, pursing her lips.

"Where's Matt?" Remus asked at the same time. They both laughed and Debbie and Dirk
looked amused.

"Haven't seen him," Arabella said, shrugging.

"Theodora's mother owled," Remus countered. "She's not well, so Dora's gone home to make
sure she's all right. I told her to have the afternoon off." Arabella pursed her lips and it was
clear to Remus what she was thinking, though thankfully she didn't voice it; after Remus had
agreed to 'talk' to Dora – a talk which had involved him explaining that Arabella was
suspicious of her – he'd told Arabella that she was trustworthy, and that he didn't want to hear
any more unfounded accusations. Thus far, she'd listened and kept her mouth shut.

"I'm going to go," Debbie announced, standing up. "I'll search the streets around the outside
of the pub, if that's all right?"

"Perfectly fine," Remus said, smiling at her.

"You don't want lunch?" Dirk asked. Debbie shook her head; spending lots of time in the pub
made her uncomfortable, because -though she was a werewolf - she was still technically a
muggle.

"See you all tomorrow," she said.

Remus, Arabella and Dirk talked about non-search related things while they waited for Tom
to bring them lunch. Matt still hadn't arrived by the time the sandwiches had and Remus was
beginning to feel uneasy. Matt was easily distracted, though he usually tried to stay in
contact. Arabella seemed certain that he'd stopped searching to talk to a girl somewhere and
while Remus agreed that it was possible, he'd have expected a message if that was the case.

"Here's lunch," Tom said, setting down a plate loaded with sandwiches. "Also, I've got a
message for you, Remus, from that boy who comes in lots... Matthew?"

"Did he come in?" Remus asked.

"Been and gone," Tom said, nodding. "'Bout twenty minutes before you lot started getting
here." He gestured to Dirk and Arabella who were eating with relish.

"Was he alone?" Arabella asked, swallowing.

"No," Tom said. "He-"

"Ha!" Arabella said, returning to her lunch. "Told you, Remus. He's fine."

"-was with his father," Tom continued. Remus' sense of unease peaked. "Mr Matthew-"
Remus assumed Tom was referring to Matt's father. "-was in a bit of a rush, but the lad had
the time to give me this." He passed over a piece of scrunched parchment, which Remus
opened and smoothed out on the table.

Remus, it said, in Matt's messy scrawl; he'd always had the most abysmal handwriting, and
this was worse than usual, because it had obviously been written quickly. Gone camping.
Matt.

Remus thanked Tom, who shuffled back to the bar, where a line was beginning to form.
Remus re-read the message several times, sure Matt had meant more than what he'd said, but
had no idea what. Was it some sort of code? Or, had Cornelius actually taken his son
camping? If so, why hadn't Robin been with them? Or had Tom forgotten to mention that?

Arabella and Dirk had eaten their fill while he contemplated the parchment on the table -
though they'd left him quite a few sandwiches that he picked at half-heartedly – and left
together almost immediately after, discussing a new law that Dirk's Department was trying to
get through the Wizengamot.

Remus sat alone, pondering the four words Matt had left him, when a shadow moved over
him. He looked up, and then hastily rearranged his frown into a smile, although this was the
last person he felt like talking to. Malfoy smiled back, coolly.

"Lupin," he said.

"Lucius," Remus replied mildly. "How are you?"

"Healthy," Malfoy said, pulling a blond hair off of his robes. He pulled out the chair Dirk had
occupied and sat, wearing his usual sneer. Remus didn't wait for him to ask back; he knew it
would never happen.
"How can I help you?"

"I'm not pleased with the progress the search has made, frankly," Malfoy said, curling his lip.
"I'd expected results, and yet, nine months in we're no closer to having either of them."

"I know," Remus said, trying to sound frustrated. It wasn't all that hard; he really didn't like
Malfoy. "So what are you planning to do about it?"

"Keep a closer eye on the searchers." Remus' stomach flopped unpleasantly. "You'll look into
mine, I'll look into yours. That way I'll be certain that you're not protecting any of them.
You'll tell yours that I'm interested to see where my money's going-" The way that he sneered
made Remus think that he didn't care much at all. "- and I'll tell mine that you've been
promoted and will be spending a little bit of time with all of them to learn the routine."

"So I'll be spying on them?" he asked. Malfoy nodded.

"You'll be investigated yourself," he added casually. "Some of my search team will be

instructed to investigate you while you're investigating them and I'll also judge you based on
the way your team of misfits performs without you directing them... if they catch Black a day
after you leave the group, I'll know you've been holding them back." His grey eyes glinted.
Unlike Sirius', which were a warm grey, Malfoy's were like steel; cold and hard. "Should that
be the case, I'll see to it that you share a cell."

"Who'll be leading the muggle search then?" Remus asked, as if he didn't know already.

"Tock... That is, if you think she can handle it."

"She's capable," Remus admitted grudgingly.

"Good," he sneered. "I must go – I don't want to catch anything." Remus rolled his eyes. "I'll
have more information for you tomorrow morning. You're to be here at eight and then we'll
discuss a day for our weekly meetings." He swept away and Remus pulled a face at his back.
He was partly relieved, though; Malfoy had effectively set Dora up to take his place, and he'd
surely be released from his job as a searcher as soon as the investigation was finished.

If he was quick about it, he could get the screening process done before Christmas and that
would leave him free to go to the camp without having his every move monitored-

Gone camping.

Remus stuffed the note into his pocket and launched out of his seat.

"Excuse me," he said, stepping around a woman who was waiting to order. "Tom! The man
Matt was with, what did he look like?"

"Nymphadora!" Mum shouted.

"Don't call me that! And what?" Tonks shouted back, pulling away from Keith.
"Door!" She sighed and stood, giving Keith an apologetic look. He shrugged, but she thought
he looked a little disgruntled. He stood too, and followed her out of her bedroom and into the
hall. As she walked, she tried to work out who could possibly be coming to see her, and why
it couldn't wait until tomorrow; it was almost nine.

She stopped abruptly and Keith stepped forward, as if to protect her, before recognising the
visitor.

"There you are," Mad-Eye growled. Mum turned around, looking relieved; she'd probably
been trying to make small talk, which Mad-Eye would have been abysmal at. Mum retreated
back to the sitting room, where Tonks heard Dad ask who was there.

"Er... yeah," she said. "Wotcher."

"Let's go," he said, and limped out again.

"Go?" she asked. "Where? Why?"

"Constant vigilance!" he bellowed, turning back around. "You should always be ready to
move at a moment's notice. I won't say where in case unwelcome ears are listening." His blue
eye lingered on Keith long enough for Tonks to notice before moving away again. "As for
why, because I said so!" Keith jumped.

"Fine," she said. "Just let me Summon my cloak." She flicked her wand down the hallway
and her cloak came zooming toward her. Canis was holding onto it for dear life; obviously
he'd been sleeping on it when she Summoned it. She pried his claws free and dropped him
back onto the ground. He immediately wound himself around Keith's legs and mewled until
Keith picked him up.

"It's nine o'clock!" Keith protested, as she put her cloak on. Canis snuggled into his arms, and
managed to glower at Tonks while doing so.

"And? Mad-Eye asked.

"So you can't force her to work now! Don't go," Keith said, turning to Tonks. "It can wait
until morning."

"Can it?" she asked Mad-Eye.

"No," he growled, but he actually looked a little bit worried. Tonks had a thousand questions
she wanted to ask, but she didn't think Mad-Eye would take it well if she asked them in front
of her boyfriend.

"Of course he'd say that," Keith muttered.

"I have to go," she said, grimacing. "Sorry."

"I swear you're always working," he sighed, stroking Canis' furry head.
"At least we got the afternoon," she said, offering him a smile. He smiled back. Tonks left
both Keith and Mad-Eye waiting while she went to explain what she knew – which was very
little – to Mum and Dad. When she returned to the hallway, Keith was still holding Canis,
and both of them were glaring at Mad-Eye, though Canis' glare was on her the moment she
moved into his line of sight.

"What time will you be back?" Keith asked her.

"Can't say," Mad-Eye told him. "No use waiting around for her, though, I'll tell you that
much."

"Sorry," Tonks told him. Keith just sighed.

"Nymphadora!" Mad-Eye said impatiently.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I'll... er... see you later."

"Bye," Keith said gloomily, and leaned in for a kiss. Tonks hesitated, wondering what Mad-
Eye would have to say about that sort of romantic display, but in the end decided he could
just deal with it. Mad-Eye had other ideas. As she leaned in, Mad-Eye grabbed her arm and
Disapparated them both away.

"Mad-Eye!" she exclaimed, when the squeeze of Apparition ended. She tripped and landed
on something soft and cold; snow. She shot right back up, only to have the snow start to seep
in through her socks. She really should have worn shoes.

"Get up," he said, hauling her to her feet.

"What's going on?" she asked using his arm to steady herself.

"You'll see," he said, leading her into the house. Of all the things she expected to find waiting
there for her, Remus had been the last. And yet, there he sat, looking scared and defiant and
uncomfortable all at once.

"Remus?" she asked.

"Dora," he said absently. Mad-Eye limped out, leaving them alone. Tonks muttered a hasty
charm to dry her socks and sat down next to him on the couch.

"Wotcher. What's wrong?" she asked.

"Quite a bit," he said grimly. "I need to tell you something."

"Well?" she asked after a pause.

"I'm sorry for disrupting your evening," he said in a very small voice. He looked so miserable
that she had to smile a little.

"It's fine," she said. "But I guessing there's more to it than that. So what's going on?"
"Oh Merlin," he muttered. "Well, you know how Matt's a werewolf?"

"Yes," she hedged. "Is he all right?"

"No. But I have to tell you something about myself first."

"Are you a vampire?" she asked.

"What? No," he said, shaking his head. She flushed.

"Sorry, stupid question," she muttered. "I just thought you were about to confess to being a
magical creature- Never mind."

"I am," he said, still sounding off. "I'm a magical creature. I'm a... er..." He muttered the last
word.

"Speak up," she said, frowning. "I missed that." He groaned and buried his face in his hands.
He inhaled noisily.

"I am a werewolf," he said finally. And there it was again; fear, and defiance. It was an odd
mix, and suddenly it occurred to her that Remus – Remus, who'd been so sure of his morals
that he was prepared to die for them in the war, and Remus, who seemed so quietly confident
in the way he led his search team – was afraid of her. Or, afraid of what she'd think.

"My," she said, pressing her hands to her chest, and allowing her hair to grow several inches
and turn a bright tomato red. "What big eyes you have, grandmother." Remus stared at her.
"And what big ears you have," she prompted. "No? Big teeth? What if Mad-Eye comes in,
wielding an axe?"

"What?" he managed to say.

"Little Red Riding Hood," Tonks said. "It's a muggle-"

"I know what it is," he said, still staring at her. "I just can't believe you've said it."

"I was a big fan of muggle fairytales," she admitted. "I always wanted to be a princess – is
that odd? A princess or an Auror... odd combination, I suppose, but it made sense to me... not
that Little Red Riding Hood's a princess, but-"

"How can you be taking this so well?" Remus demanded. She frowned.

"Did you expect me to take it badly?" she asked.

"Yes!"

"Really? Why?" She laughed, but she was a little hurt that he'd thought that. "Do I seem like
the type to judge you for something like that?"

"No," he muttered. "I suppose not." He laughed a little shakily. "Sorry."

"You should be," she said. "But I forgive you." He smiled gratefully. "So how long have you
been a werewolf?"

"I was four when Greyback bit me," he said, a little tersely. Since Remus was about Sirius'
age – roughly thirty, Tonks thought – that meant he'd been a werewolf for twenty six-years.
"Twenty-five years," he added.

Twenty-nine, then, she amended.

"Huh," she said. And then something else clicked. "So that's why you've been sick so much?"
He grimaced and nodded. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

"Why do you think?" he asked, rubbing his temples. "I'm a monster-"

"Rubbish," she said flatly. "I did some reading when I found out that I'd be helping Mad-Eye
with the Greyback case and as far as I can tell, you're no more dangerous than any other
human when you're not in wolf form."

"We have better senses," Remus protested. "That's a tactical advantage-"

"Sure it is," she said. "But none of those are actually going to cause any damage on their
own."

"Our bites-"

"Haven't been proven to transmit lycanthropy when you're in human form," she said. Remus'
eyes narrowed.

"You really did read," he said.

"Of course I did. Good thing too, or you might have been successful in planting those few
seeds of doubt... I don't get it; do you want me to be afraid of you?"

"I want you to understand the extent of my condition," he said. "So many people treat it like a
joke-"

"But do you want me to be afraid of you?"

"Of course not!" he said. "But if you were, I'd understand completely."

"Well," she said, dropping her eyes, "there's one thing I'm a little bit worried about."

"What?" Remus asked. His expression was unreadable.

She glanced up with a pig-snout nose and said, "I'm afraid you'll huff and puff and blow my
house down."

"Very funny," Remus said irritably, while she laughed.

"It was a good one," she insisted, clutching her sides. He smiled reluctantly and then she
forced herself to be serious. "Now that you've told me that, what's wrong with Matt?" Remus'
slight smile slipped right off of his face and he leaned back into the couch.

"You know about Greyback's camp?" he asked wearily.

"So it does exist?" Tonks asked. Remus gave her an odd look. "I thought it might have been a
myth," she said defensively. "It sounds surreal."

"It exists," he assured her. "And surreal is a very good word for the things that happen there."

"You've been?" she asked.

"I have."

"So you know where to find Greyback-"

"Dora," Remus said. "I'm not giving you that information. Mad-Eye asked me the same thing
when he was assigned the Greyback case, and again when Matt was attacked. If I thought
more harm than good could come of it, I'd give him up in a heartbeat, but it's not worth it."

"Fine," she said, deflating.

"Matt's at the camp," he said.

"What?" she asked. "After Greyback nearly killed him?! What's he thinking?!"

"I doubt he had much say in it at all, to be honest. Generally we go after Christmas and stay
until Febraury, which keeps Greyback happy but he's obviously feeling threatened by Matt at
the moment – Merlin knows why - and wants him somewhere he can keep him in
submission. And obviously he'd worried enough that he's forced him to be there a week
early-"

"So we'll steal him back. You know where to find him, and-"

"And then what?" Remus sighed. She wondered if he'd already considered it and had to admit
that he probably had. "Hide him? Greyback would find him eventually and he does not take
defiance well."

"So you're leaving him there?"

Remus muttered something about Hufflepuff and then, more loudly, said, "No. I'm going
early too, to make sure things are under control. Hopefully that upsets Greyback enough to
keep him at the camp for the entire time we're both there and that'll reduce his victims, at
least in the short term."

"But... what about the search?" Tonks asked. Remus laughed humourlessly.

"Funny you should ask. I bumped into Malfoy this afternoon-"

"Of course you did," she groaned. "Did he ask where I was?"

"No, actually."

"Probably assumed I was sick of your company," she said, grinning. He smiled. "Hang on. He
knows about you being a werewolf, doesn't he?" Remus nodded stiffly. "That's why he
doesn't like you." Remus nodded again.

"And speaking of Malfoy, he's decided to investigate everyone involved in the search."

"When?" Tonks asked, resigned.

"I'm supposed to start tomorrow morning," Remus sighed.

"Tomorrow?" Tonks asked, pulling her knees up to her chest. "But I thought you were going
to go after Matt- Oh."

"You're supposed to take over my job," he said. "I'm sure Malfoy will get around to telling
you eventually, but maybe now you can prepare for it."

"And then I'll stay in the position, won't I?" she asked. Remus nodded, his expression
unreadable. She felt another stab of guilt for taking his job. "I'm really-"

"Don't worry about it."

"How-?"

"I could smell it," he said.

"Oh." Several other little things about his condition clicked into place, but she ignored them
for the time being. "So what are you going to do about tomorrow? You can't risk Matt, but if
you leave now it'll look like-"

"I'm running. Exactly. You see my problem... and Matt's, really, because it's going to look like
he's run from the investigation too." Tonks pulled a loose thread out of her sock.

"What a mess," she sighed.

"I'm going to try to talk Greyback into having a word with Malfoy," Remus said. "I don't
know how much it'll help but it's worth a try-"

"Do you think that'll work," Tonks asked doubtfully. "Malfoy sort of has it in for you..."

"I'd noticed," Remus muttered. He gave a tense laugh and ran his hands through his hair.

"Maybe you could- never mind. You can't really put it off, can you?"

"Not initially. Possibly the day after next but until I know what shape Matt's in..."

"You have to go," she said. He nodded, looking unhappy. "If only there were two of you...
maybe I could be you..." she suggested, her eyes brightening.
"I had thought of that," Remus admitted. "But I'm not asking that of you. You're already
living two lives and it's too much-"

"The alternative is you being arrested for conspiring with Sirius," she argued. "It's not ideal,
but I could manage-"

"No," he said gently, but with iron resolve. "What I need you to do is pretend to be revolted
that I'm a werewolf and tell Malfoy that Matt and I have gone to stay at Greyback's camp for
an undetermined period of time." Tonks pursed her lips; there were so many ways that could
go wrong.

"When are you leaving?" she asked.

"As soon as you get sick of me and go home," he said, gesturing to the table, which had a
battered suitcase leaning against it. "I've already told everyone who needs to know what's
going on, but if you could keep an eye on Debbie for me-"

"Debbie? Why-?" Something clicked in her head. "Is she...?"

"You'd have found out after Christmas anyway," Remus muttered. "Yes. I've convinced her to
stay for the time being, but once I can be certain that the situation at the camp is under
control then she'll join us there."

"If it wasn't for Malfoy's stupid investigation, it would have just looked like they followed
you out of the search," Tonks growled. Then she glanced up at Remus. "I suppose I should
look for more people to help me, shouldn't I?"

"People to help Tock," Remus reminded her. "But yes, since you're about to lose half of the
team..."

"Right," she said, beginning a mental list of people who might be interested.

"Sorry," he said again.

"It's nothing," she said, giving him a small smile to prove she meant it. "So when do you
want me to see Malfoy?"

"I was supposed to meet him at eight in the Leaky Cauldron," Remus said. "If you could be
there around that time, then perhaps you could explain that Matt and I have gone, and then
he'll promote you and complain that I'm not there." She nodded. "If I'm asking too much, let
me know," Remus said suddenly. "It's not too late to make other arrangements-"

"Remus, it's fine," she said, rolling her eyes. "I can deal with things here. You make sure that
Matt's all right."

"Thank you," he said weakly. "I'm sorry to have to ask this of you-"

"Don't worry about it."

"If you need to contact me, Strix can find me," he said, stretching as he stood.
"Strix?" she asked.

"My owl." He reached for his suitcase and it suddenly occurred to Tonks how exhausted he
looked. She wondered if he was just worried, or if the full moon was coming. "He'll be at my
cottage in case Debbie needs him and you'll be able to get in through the kitchen window,
because I'm leaving that open so Strix can hunt... I know you're not averse to breaking in..."
She grinned sheepishly. "You could probably just Floo in, if that's easier, but-"

"Remus!" she interrupted, rolling her eyes. "Go, before I take you myself." He smiled and
surprised her by giving her a quick hug.

"I'm so sorry that it's come to this, Dora," he said, letting her go. "And thank you so much,
for everything you're doing-"

"Remus," she said. "Go."

"I'm going," he said, shrinking his suitcase. He stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans and went
to say goodbye and thank you to Mad-Eye.

Once he was gone, Tonks joined Mad-Eye, who was having a Firewhiskey in the kitchen -
she had a cup of tea instead – and explained everything.

"I thought he'd tell you eventually," Mad-Eye muttered.

"About him being a werewolf?"

"Mmm. I'm sure he's told you that I taught him during the war – not as an Auror, just as a
fighter." She nodded. "There were others, too, and he refused to let them trust him until they
knew. Most took it pretty well, I remember, but there were one or two who looked like they
might cause trouble, at least until Potter and Black sat them down. Or Evans... that girl was
formidable."

"Evans?" Tonks asked.

"Well, Potter to everyone else, but she was Evans when I met her-" Mad-Eye stiffened and
reached into one of his coat pockets. His Sidekick emerged and he growled the pass phrase to
open it. "Scrimgeour," he growled. "What do you want?"

"I'm going to go," Tonks whispered, as Scrimgeour began to list a number of activities he had
planned for the next few training sessions. Usually, she might have been intrigued enough to
stay and listen but tonight she was tired and worried for Remus and Matt.

"Hang on," Mad Eye said, and Scrimgeour sighed and fell quiet. "Do you need me to take
you home, Nymphadora?"

"Don't call me that," she muttered. "And no, thanks. I can find my way."

"I'll be watching for you to get there," he said, tapping his Sidekick.

Damn, she thought.

"All right," she said. Mad-Eye nodded at her and she slipped out of the kitchen.

"Are you able to talk now?" Scrimgeour asked, sounding peevish.

"As a matter of fact, I am," Mad-Eye said. Tonks could almost hear Scrimgeour's eye-roll as
she left the house and hoped that their bickering would last for a few more minutes.

Hopefully, that was all she'd need.

 Taking risks

"I'm a terrible person for doing this," Tonks muttered as she squeezed through Remus' kitchen
window. The owl on the perch above the sink – Strix, presumably – ruffled its feathers and
shuffled over as she toppled through. It hooted as she knocked a plate off of the dish-rack.
Remus really had left in a hurry if he'd left it full. "Damn it," she muttered; she'd stepped on
one of the shards in the dark and it had stabbed her through her sock.

She fixed the plate with a muttered, "Reparo." It was a spell she'd known since she was five
and had been using since she got her wand; before that, she'd had to steal Mum's or borrow
Dad's. She put the plate back with the others and then headed toward the hallway, only to
notice that her sock now felt rather sticky.

She lit her wand to inspect the damage and found that she had a decent cut on the bottom of
her foot; the plate had gone right through her sock. Sighing, she grew another layer of skin
over her foot, vanished the blood and fixed her sock. Figuring it was stupid to put out her
wand – since she'd probably walk into one of the couches or something – she left it lit. No
one but her – and Strix, she supposed – was home, and there wasn't anything to gain by trying
to find her way around in the dark.

So much for being sneaky, she though with a sigh. Oh well...

She moved across the sitting area and into the hallway, headed for the door at the end of the
corridor.

Remus Apparated to his usual point in Gwydir forest. The forest itself looked as it usually did
this time of year; white, with green leaves peeking out from under the snow. A dark shape –
another werewolf, Remus assumed, because he could hear a beating heart and no one else
would be moving around in this area at this time – emerged from the trees and came toward
him. He stood perfectly still as the other person approached. There was a noisy sniff and
Remus felt warm breath on his face.

He could have lit his wand, but drawing a wand was something to be done with caution
around the camp; some werewolves didn't take it well. Instead, he waited for his eyes to
adjust, which didn't take long, and once they had, he had reasonably good vision.

Up close, the other person – a man – was recognisable. He was large and bald and only had
one eye because he'd lost the other one in a fight with Greyback years ago, earning him the
nickname 'Cyclops'. No one – Remus included – knew his real name, but it was a poorly-kept
secret that he was from a pureblood family. Remus made a mental note to ask Sirius about
purebloods fitting the description because Sirius had been to enough functions as a boy that
he'd probably be able to identify him.

Then, Remus had the depressing revelation that it was going to be a very long time before he
saw either Sirius or Harry again.
"Sad to be back?" Cyclops asked.

"Does it show?" Remus said, wryly.

"A bit," Cyclops replied. The right side of his face was too scarred to move properly but the
left side became a grin. "How've you been, Lupin?"

"Not too bad," Remus said politely. "You?"

"The same," he said, shrugging. Remus smiled.

"May I?"

"Better you than me. I'll see you in a month or two, I suppose." Cyclops never actually
ventured into the camp. He was one of five sentries and the only one to patrol full time. He
slept in strange little shelters he'd built in or under trees and either hunted or foraged for his
own food or had it brought to him by one of the women in the pack.

"I'll visit, I'm sure," Remus said. "I always seem to." He could only take so much of the main
building. Last time they'd been here, he and Matt had borrowed one of Cyclops' shelters for a
few nights, after being unable to spend another moment in the main building.

Cyclops smiled and waved him on his way. Remus carefully picked his way through the
trees, relying on his sense of smell more than his eyes because the forest looked the same.
About a minute after leaving Cyclops, Remus started to see the first cottages and another
minute after that, the main building appeared out of the night.

It was a monstrous, rectangular building, at least ten times the size of Remus' cottage –
probably more – but despite that, there was only a single, small door.

The werewolf guarding it – an older woman that Remus had seen before but never met –
looked up as he approached, sniffed, and then nodded and let him pass. Remus turned the
doorknob and stepped inside. He patted his pocket to ensure his suitcase was still there but it
was probably too late to go back even if it wasn't.

The door opened into a large hall. Four long tables with benches – like those in the Great Hall
at Hogwarts, only these had people of all ages sitting in them and not just students – took up
most of the floor, but the middle two benches had been shortened to make room for an
enormous, throne-like chair. In that chair sat Greyback, whose head snapped up as Remus
walked in.

"Remus," he said, baring his teeth in a very poor imitation of a smile. "I've been expecting
you for hours now."

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Fenrir," Remus said. Some of the people at the tables started
whispering; most of them called Greyback 'sir' or 'father'. Fenrir probably seemed
disrespectful compared to that. Remus was glad; he didn't want anyone mistaking it for
familiarity instead of simple rudeness. "My departure wasn't expected so I had a few things
that needed to be sorted out first, as you can doubtless appreciate."
"Of course," Greyback said. "I'm nothing if not understanding."

"Of course," Remus said, arching an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to ask where Matt was –
he couldn't see him amongst the people at the tables – and then thought better of asking in
front of an audience.

"Your room's ready for you, just so you know," Greyback continued, sweeping a hand over to
the left side of the room. There were no walls inside the main building; there were only a
continuous line of doorways, so close together that the right-side frame of one was the left-
side frame of the one next to it. Through them, were partially visible bedrooms. While each
room only appeared to be a few feet wide and a few feet deep, they'd been magically enlarged
so that even the smallest bedroom had a bed, dresser, table and a small bathroom containing a
shower, toilet and sink.

Each doorway had a small, numbered plaque above it. Remus' was 37 because he was the
thirty-seventh person that Greyback had bitten.

"Why don't you put your things away and join the rest of us?" Greyback said.

Remus knew when to be rude and when to do what he was told. This was a time to listen. The
people at the tables watched him as he walked to his room and continued to watch - through
the doorway – when he was inside. He pulled his suitcase out of his pocket, resized it and put
it on one of the two chairs he had at his little table. He wished, fervently, for a door, but knew
that was never going to happen.

Once, years ago, he'd pointed out that privacy was a basic human right, and Greyback had
countered – not entirely incorrectly – that they weren't actually human and then had wanted
to know what it was Remus was trying to hide from his pack. Remus hadn't breached the
subject since and was still door-less. Even the bathroom lacked a door; there was a curtain
instead.

Remus took one last, resigned look at the room before returning to the hall.

"All settled in?" Greyback asked.

No. Remus nodded.

"It's been a long time since you were here," Greyback said. "How about a tour to help you get
your bearings again." It wasn't a question so Remus shrugged. He waited for Greyback to call
one of his 'children' over but Greyback himself stood and stretched, drawing everyone's
attention. Several even stood, as if to protect him. "We won't be long," Greyback assured
them all. "Come, Remus." Remus followed him out through the single door and into the
snowy night.

Greyback made straight for the trees and kept walking until they were out past the boundaries
of the camp; they'd passed one of the sentries on the way. Remus looked around to see if Matt
was being kept on the outskirts as some sort of punishment but couldn't see anything to
suggest that that was true.
"Now," Greyback said in a very nasty voice. "We need to talk."

"About?" Remus asked, leaning back against a tree.

"You and your little pets," he snapped. "You've got two now - that I know of - and I don't like
it. The Rosier boy was supposed to be mine-"

"I don't claim ownership," Remus said, folding his arms.

"But you have it!" Greyback shoved him. Remus winced as a knobbly piece of bark poked
him in the back and made a show of smoothing his jumper because he knew it would annoy
Greyback. "I had to go and find Debbie – although I'm sure you already know that – instead
of having her seek me out! You're interrupting the natural process!"

"So I wasn't supposed to help her adjust?" Greyback opened his mouth and closed it. "And
how was a muggle supposed to find you?" Greyback gave him a stony look. "And, I thought
you liked it when your vic-" Greyback swelled at the word. "Er... Gifted lived through their
first full moon." Greyback's face twisted. "Without my help, Debbie wouldn't have," Remus
said tersely. "She tore herself to pieces on her first night and I had to use every bit of healing
knowledge I possess to save her in the morning."

"She should have been here."

"Perhaps," Remus said neutrally. "But she wasn't. You, on the other hand, were. Why
weren't you with her? Surely, as the father, you owed it to your newest child to be there when
she needed you the most-"

"I had the rest of the pack-"

"None of whom were in any danger without you here," Remus said flatly. "If Debbie looks to
me for guidance, instead of you, then it's probably because I did guide her. You didn't, but
you could have. That's your problem, not mine, as far as I'm concerned." Greyback's hand
was around Remus' throat in an instant. Remus could see a long scar on the back of his hand
and wondered if that was there from when Dora had saved Matt. He hoped so.

"I am your Alpha-"

"Then why should it matter if people follow me?" Remus asked politely. "I follow you, don't
I?"

"Do you?" Greyback snarled.

"Is my undying loyalty not appare-" Remus said sarcastically but was cut off by increased
pressure on his throat.

"Things are going to change," Greyback growled. "I've put up with your rubbish for years
and my patience has run out. You'll call me 'sir' or 'father', just like your brothers and sisters
do. You'll do what I say, when I say, and you won't challenge it."

"And if I do?"
"You're only useful to me if you're loyal to me," Greyback said in the same nasty voice he'd
used earlier. "If you're not, then you're just taking up space and being a bad influence for your
brothers and sisters." He squeezed until Remus couldn't breathe.

Remus – who'd had enough, pulled his wand out of his pocket and thought, Depulso.

Greyback soared off him and landed in a pile of snow. He was back on his feet in an instant,
but didn't come any closer; he stared warily at Remus' wand, which was still out. He either
didn't have his own with him, or wasn't confident about being better of faster in a duel than
Remus was.

"Why don't you stop with the threats and strangulation and just tell me what you want?"
Remus said, leaning back against the tree.

Greyback looked murderous but said, "You're threatening my leadership."

"You think I want to challenge you?" Remus asked, incredulously. Greyback snarled. "I
assure you I don't."

"You've collected two of my pack!"

"And collecting them, as you so distastefully put it, took me eight years," Remus pointed out.
"I have no intention of trying to challenge you, but if I did, it would take me
another eighty years to have enough people to make it worth the effort. And in another eighty
years, it's highly probable that you'll be dead and I'll be too old to care. So-"

"So you've thought about it?" Greyback snarled.

"Of course I have," Remus said. "It's no secret that I don't approve of what you're doing here,
Greyback. I considered overthrowing you in the Christmas of nineteen eighty one." That had
been a dark time in Remus' life. "I was going to kill you and then come and live out here so
that I could dedicate my otherwise meaningless life to the rehabilitation of the children you
bite." Greyback smelled furious. Remus didn't entirely blame him; he'd just admitted to
wanting to murder him.

"Then, of course," Remus continued, "I had some sense smacked into me – both figuratively
and literally." McGonagall had slapped him for thinking such a thing, and then held him
while he choked out all of his half-formed plans to rule the pack, or break into Azkaban and
kill Sirius himself, or learn Necromancy so that he could bring Lily and James and Peter
back, or steal Harry back from his aunt and uncle. She and Dumbledore had talked some
sense back into him and he'd snapped out of his grief-prompted madness. "I have not had any
intention of overthrowing you since then, I promise."

And that was true. As much as he thought most of Greyback's victims would be better off
away from the camp and Greyback, he knew they'd struggle; most of them had been raised by
Greyback, and the older werewolves in a pack environment. They'd have no idea how to live
in the real world and while a large part of Remus wanted to help anyway, he knew,
realistically, that he didn't have the space, time or money to help them all. They'd end up a lot
worse off than they were now if he tried. Greyback, of course, wouldn't like that sort of logic,
so Remus couldn't say it.

"I'll take your word for it," Greyback spat, still seething. "But if you put as much as a paw out
of line - if you challenge me once, or do something I don't like - then I'll destroy you, and
your little pets." He bared his teeth. "You got that?"

"I've got it, yes," Remus said with a shiver that was only partially due to the cold. "Can I see
Matt, now?"

"Of course," Greyback said, his teeth still glinting in the dark. "Any suspicious behaviour,
remember. I won't hesitate. Can't afford to."

"I heard you the first time," Remus said, pocketing his wand. He approached Greyback
slowly but Greyback let him pass. "And I think it's safe to say that there's nothing suspicious
about concern for my friend. So... Matt."

It was Harry and Padfoot's third trip to Wolple's; they'd been once, earlier in the week to pick
up a book that might help them destroy the Horcrux. Unfortunately, it hadn't, and Padfoot had
tried everything and so they were back again.

"...the object with you?" Keira asked.

"No," Padfoot sighed. "I just need-"

"I can't help you much if all you tell me is 'beyond magical repair'," she said throwing her
hands up in the air. Harry didn't think she was truly angry – he thought she was enjoying the
challenge – but she was certainly frustrated. "At least tell me what it is."

"We can't," Harry said, drawing her dark gaze.

"And why not?" she asked coolly.

"Look," Padfoot said, tersely, "we just need to know how to damage something so badly that
no amount of help – muggle or magical – can fix it." Then he seemed to realise he was being
abrupt and grinned. "Is that so hard?"

"Yes," Keira said.

"It was a- Never mind." She didn't have much of a sense of humour, Harry was beginning to
notice. It seemed Padfoot had noticed too. "Can you think of any books that might help us
with that?"

Personally, Harry thought they should just go with Remus' idea, which was to let him bite it
on a full moon; there was no cure for lycanthropy. Padfoot, though – and also Remus to a
degree – had wanted to look for a less unpredictable solution, since there had been no studies
on the effects of a werewolf bite on non-living objects.
When they'd mentioned that, Harry had immediately imagined the locket sprouting fur and
fangs and trying to bite them all, and that had made him wary, but impatience was soothing
that worry. Padfoot also, for some reason, wanted a solution that would allow Harry to
destroy the Horcrux.

Keira was silent for a moment and then glided over to a shelf. Irreversible
Incantations and Everlasting Enchantments were in her skeletal hand when she returned.

"Something like these?" she asked, offering them a book each. Padfoot flicked
through Everlasting Enchantments and then passed it back and shook his head.

"We need something destructive, not a permanent anti-rust charm, or a spell that ties a knot
that can't be undone."

"If you would just tell me what-" Keira said and then cut off as another customer entered the
shop. Madam Wolpole shuffled over to the woman, who was tall and blond and Keira
lowered her voice before continuing. "If you could just tell me what you're looking for, then I
could be more helpful."

"It's dark," Padfoot whispered back. "A very evil object that we want to get rid of. That's as
much as I can tell you."

"Is it an object, or is it living?" Keira asked, brushing her long hair over one shoulder.

Harry exchanged a look with Padfoot. Padfoot still had dark hair and grey eyes but he was
wearing a pair of rectangular glasses, his eyebrows were thicker than usual and his hair stuck
up a bit like Harry's – though not nearly as badly - instead of being shaggy, like usual. He
also had a moustache. It was still Padfoot, though, and they were able to communicate
wordlessly almost as easily as usual.

"Hard to say," Harry said finally.

"It either is or it isn't," Keira said. Harry and Padfoot exchanged another look. Then she
sighed. "Magically irreparable... dark magic – and I mean dark, not a cutting charm or the
Imperius Curse – could work. Otherwise, some sort of magical creature is probably your best
chance. Dragon's fire might do it, or a basilisk's venom, or perhaps a werewolf bite, although
none of those are things you'd have access to."

You'd be surprised, Harry thought, hiding a smile. Padfoot still looked uncertain. Keira's eyes
widened slightly.

"I've just thought of something. Does your mysterious object have ears?"

"What? No," Padfoot said, while Harry said a quiet by firm, "Yes."

"Which is it?" Keira asked, frowning.

"Yes," Harry said. Padfoot had never spoken to the locket, but Harry had. He wouldn't forget
that in a hurry.
"It doesn't have ears," Padfoot muttered.

"No, but it can hear," Harry argued.

"Then perhaps I could help you," Keira said, with a somewhat predatory smile. "Or one of
those awful plants... Mandrakes, they're called."

"Awful? They're supposed to be useful," Padfoot said, frowning.

"Oh very," Keira said, suddenly looked menacing. "For killing banshees. If you want one of
those then I will not help you." Her expression lightened somewhat. "If you want my help,
however, that could be arranged." Her usual, small smile made an appearance.

"You'd... what, scream at it?" Padfoot asked, and then chuckled.

"If it would help," she said, shrugging.

"Excuse me," a soft voice said. Harry moved out of the way of the blond woman that had
entered earlier. She cleared her throat and Padfoot, who'd been staring at her, jumped.

"Sorry, Ciss- miss. Sorry," he said, moving to stand beside Harry and Keira. She gave him a
cool look and pulled down two books, titled Sword And Sorting Hat, and Golden Children.
She gave them all a haughty look – Harry supposed it wasn't underserved, since Padfoot was
gawking at her and both he and Keira were staring at her trying to work out what it was about
her that had worried Padfoot – and made her way back to the counter.

"She's my cousin," Padfoot whispered, one she was out of earshot. "Narcissa. Married to
Malfoy," he added, with a significant look at Harry. Harry pulled a face.

"So?" Keira asked impatiently. "Will you require my help?"

"I don't know," Padfoot said slowly. "We might have to open it first, and it's only opened
once. Maybe if we lock you in a room with it again, kiddo," he added, nudging Harry, "then
we've got half a chance..."

"How would we keep it open, though?" Harry asked. "It closed on its own, last time, and we
couldn't be there while you were with it, Keira-"

"It seems you have some things to work out first," she said, smiling. "But know that you may
accept my offer at any time."

"Thanks," Harry said. Padfoot nodded.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" she asked, cocking her head to her side.

"Yes," Padfoot said. "I've got a friend who's in grave need of reading material." Keira smiled
again.

"Did you have anything in mind?"

A few hags leered at her but Narcissa's glare kept them from coming any closer. Her face was
usually enough to keep them away – everyone in Knockturn Alley knew who she was and not
to bother her – but she'd changed her face and robes the moment she left Wolpole's. She was
now short, with red hair, brown eyes and as many freckles as there were Weasleys.

She knew it was Sirius in the bookshop, and that the man he was with was probably Harry
Potter in disguise. She hadn't recognised Sirius by sight, but the moment he'd laughed that
bark-like laugh, she'd known; he was her cousin, and while they'd never been close, they'd
spent a lot of time together at family events, and then – once they were older - at school.

She wondered what it was they'd been discussing so intently with the banshee. Sirius always
had attracted the strangest friends; first Lupin, then the mudblood that married Potter, and
now this woman.

Sirius and the Potter boy left five minutes after she did. Sirius had a bulky package tucked
under one arm and was talking in a low voice to the Potter boy. Narcissa, unfortunately,
couldn't hear what was being said, but the Potter boy smiled and nodded. She walked after
them, at a distance, content to watch. This time.

Lucius would probably be furious – in fact, he would be beyond furious, considering he was
currently having a meeting about his search with Lupin in the Leaky Cauldron – but that was
too bad. Narcissa had her own agenda this morning.

The pair ducked into a dim sidestreet and Narcissa waited for the sound of Apparition but
none came. Sirius emerged again, but the man he'd been with was gone. In his place was a
blond boy, with eyes the same green as Evans' had been; Narcissa had been horribly jealous
of the mudblood's eyes all through her schooling.

Yes, she thought, watching as he hurried after Sirius. It's definitely the Potter boy.

Sirius and Potter left Knockturn Alley and she left after them, curious. She was curious about
Sirius, who – though he wasn't wearing his own face - looked remarkably healthy and
cheerful for a man who'd only been out of Azkaban for ten months. She was slightly more
interested in Potter, however. There were so many rumours surrounding him that she wanted
the chance to see whether they were true or not.

She knew, after five minutes of following him that Severus had been correct; he was no Dark
Lord. Dark Lords didn't chat happily with their godfathers, or laugh or smile as much as he
did. And, while Potter seemed comfortable around magic and had a wand sticking out of his
back pocket, he didn't seem overly powerful. Certainly not powerful enough to have
destroyed the Dark Lord as a baby.

She did notice that he was reasonably mature – grudgingly, she had to admit that he was more
mature than either of her children; when he and Sirius went to the Apothecary, he took charge
and directed Sirius to various displays but wasn't bossy about it the way Hydrus and Draco
would have been.

The ingredients were none that went together in any potion that she recognised, but then,
she'd always been terrible at Potions. He'd also paid for everything they bought there, which
she thought was odd. Perhaps Sirius didn't have any money. She'd assumed he would have
had access to the Black vault, but maybe they were using James Potter's vault instead.

After the visit to the Apothecary, they made a quick trip to the Magical Menagerie; they
bought owl treats and she followed them in under the pretence of buying treats for the boys'
rats.

She lost them outside, sadly, and took a guess about which direction they might have gone. It
turned out to be a very good one; she spotted Sirius again, waiting outside a small
Honeydukes shop which only sold chocolate; the Honeydukes sweets weren't quite as popular
in Diagon Alley due to competition from Sugarplum's Sweets. Potter, however, was nowhere
in sight.

Naricissa hesitated for a moment and then slipped past Sirius and into the shop. It was busy -
Christmas was only a few days away so people were buying last minute presents – but it was
a small shop and there were only two blonds in the room. One was an older man and the
other was Potter. He was clutching several slabs of chocolate and sampling some of the
squares the store offered in little bowls on the shelves.

It occurred to her suddenly, how easy it would be to simply reach out and take him. Before he
could even protest, they'd be far away and there was very little anyone would be able to do
about it, Potter or Sirius included. She and Lucius could raise Potter as their own – claim he
was a relative of hers – and ensure he got into Slytherin. Draco wouldn't need to spy, and if or
when the Dark Lord returned, he could decide whether he wanted Potter dead, or serving
him.

But what if the Dark Lord did want him dead? She and the boys – and possibly even Lucius –
would grow attached to him. Could they sentence him to death, just like that? Would they
risk their own lives for him, or try to protect him? Would the Dark Lord then brand them as
traitors and kill them too? Or would the Ministry find him with them, and convict her and
Lucius for helping Sirius? Would Sirius find him first, as he had at St Mungo's, and steal him
back? And, would he be content with just having Potter back again, or would he take revenge
on them?

Or, should she just leave him to Sirius? Just let him become a Gryffindor, as Severus
predicted, and have Draco join him there? Should she let Draco lose all of his old friends, and
possibly even his brother upon his arrival at Hogwarts in order to befriend Harry Potter? He'd
gain some useful skills from Severus, but was the cost worth it?

Draco would learn to lie and spy and shield his thoughts. She'd never know if he was being
honest with her or not. She'd never be completely sure which side he'd picked. She'd lose him
to the Dark Lord, or she'd lose him to Harry Potter; she'd accepted that as a possibility, even
if Lucius hadn't. That was why she'd asked for Severus' help in the first place, so that if he did
befriend Potter, Draco would be able to hide it. But was that worth-

"Oops," said a young voice. Potter was holding two festively wrapped packages –
presumably the chocolate –and was staring up at her apologetically. "Sorry."
"It's all right," she said coolly, brushing off her robes. Potter looked so guilty that she gave in
and offered him a very small smile. He offered her a shy smile in return and said a polite
goodbye. Again, she was grudgingly forced to admit that he was a lot kinder than her sons
would have been.

He dodged her and ran out to rejoin Sirius, who ruffled his hair and took the packages with an
expression of distaste. It was an expression she knew, even on the unfamiliar face; it was the
same one that Sirius had worn permanently through functions, and when he'd been presented
with a plate of fairy-egg olives. She wondered when he'd stopped liking chocolate.

Potter laughed – presumably at the expression on Sirius' face – and - as she watched through
the shop window - continued to smile as he and Sirius set off down the street again.

She watched Potter's smile with longing; her sons wore similar expressions, but none were
quite the same; they smirked, or smiled but they never grinned. They never looked so relaxed
or happy for the sake of being happy. It was something she'd been told never to do, because it
wasn't proper, and it was the same thing that she and Lucius had told Hydrus and Draco. But
it was the way Sirius had looked with his friends as a child, and the way Andy had looked
with Ted – carefree and happy.

She wanted that for Draco and her chest warmed a little. It was worth it. Harry Potter would
be in Gryffindor and so would Draco. And then, with the skills that he'd learn from Severus,
Draco would have the ability to pick his own side and conceal the truth from the side he
didn't pick. And he could be happy - Harry Potter was lying to the rest of the world by going
out in disguise but he seemed happy enough – because he would have made the choice for
himself.

Lucius and Hydrus would believe Draco was a Gryffindor who served the Dark Lord, and
that was all. If Draco sided with Potter, they'd never know; she hadn't told either of them
about Draco's lessons with Severus and neither had Draco or Severus, so they wouldn't know
that he could lie well. She'd know better, but if Draco was happy then she could deal with
whichever side he picked.

Besides, by the time Draco had to make a decision, he'd have enough of Severus' skills that
he'd be able to look her in the face and lie. She wouldn't know any more or less than he told
her and – while she'd never believed it herself – she'd been told that ignorance was bliss. Just
this once, she hoped it could be.

"Can I help you, Madam?" a witch with the Honeydukes emblem on her robes asked.

"Oh," Narcissa said. "Yes, thank you." She chose two blocks of chocolate; one with silver
wrapping, one with gold wrapping and a large block of Honeydukes' finest. Then, as an
afterthought she also selected a small box of assorted chocolates. "These." She paid and the
witch wrapped them for her and waved her from the shop.

On her way to meet Lucius – who was probably waiting for her – she spied Sirius and Potter
again, reading the price sign at Fortescue's. She hesitated for a moment, and then reversed the
charms on her appearance. One little girl gaped at her and tugged on her mother's sleeve, but
no one else had noticed.
She strode directly up behind Potter and Sirius and cleared her throat. Potter looked up
curiously, while Sirius turned around slowly. She knew he must have recognised her but he
didn't show it.

"Can I help you?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"I assume you're the boy's guardian?" she asked. Sirius inclined his head. "I suggest you keep
him closer. Letting him go alone into shops is risky. Anyone could take him."

I nearly did.

"I see," Sirius said. "Was that all?"

"Yes." She turned and started to walk away, but then she stopped and called over her
shoulder. "With Black still loose, no child's safe. I'd hate to see him taken."

She waited for a witty retort; as much as she'd loathed it – because they were usually directed
at her – she'd always admired Sirius' quick wit. When none was forthcoming, she turned
around completely to see if he'd even heard her, but they'd vanished. She smiled, pleased to
have rattled him; it wasn't something she'd ever been particularly good at. Bella had been
much better.

She was also impressed that he'd taken the warning; it seemed he'd matured in Azkaban, or
maybe it had been taking Potter that had done it. Once, he might have taken the risk of
staying.

She still had a small smile on her face when she met Lucius, who was looking irritated.

"Where have you been?" he asked. She raised an eyebrow.

"Hello to you too," she said. Lucius glowered at her. Narcissa waited.

"Sorry," Lucius said finally, and kissed her forehead. He gestured to the packages in her arms.
"What have you bought?"

"Books and rat treats. And chocolate," she said. "One for the boys and one for Bella."

"You have four Honeydukes packages," Lucius noted.

"I thought maybe I'd send something to Andy this year," she said quietly.

"To the bloodtraitor?" Lucius asked, looking puzzled.

"Bloodtraitor seems to be a lesser crime now that we're turning our son into one," she said
pointedly. "To me, at least." Lucius still looked blank. "How was your meeting?"

"Productive," he admitted. "Lupin was about as tolerable as it's possible for someone like him
to be and I've got the details of each of his searchers so that I can arrange meetings with
them. Here, let me." Lucius shrank the parcels and tucked them into a pocket of his robes.
Then, he offered her his arm, which she took and they set off down the busy street. "What
else did you do this morning?"

"I saw Sirius and the Potter boy," she said. Lucius stopped.

"You what?!" Narcissa tugged on his elbow to keep him walking. "Where are they? Why
didn't you fetch me?"

"They left," she said, shrugging. "And I didn't fetch you because if I'd wanted to capture
them, I'd have been able to do so alone." Or maybe not; Sirius had always been talented with
a wand, but then, he'd always had a habit of underestimating her.

"You didn't-" Lucius shook his head. "Narcissa, you aren't making sense: why wouldn't you
want them caught?"

"I was watching them," she said.

"Watching- You could have watched them when they were your prisoners! How could you
just let them walk free?!" he hissed, stopping again. She knew he wouldn't understand her
reasons so she just let him rant. "Has it escaped your attention that it's our money funding the
search?! What would people say if they heard about-?"

"Frankly, Lucius, if you're stupid enough to tell anyone then you deserve whatever people
would say about you," she said. He just stared at her. "Now, did you want to get Hydrus the
black robes or the emerald ones?"
 A delicate balance

"... gobstone, pawn, Merlin Chocolate Frog Card and..." Draco hesitated. "A rock?"

"Is that a question or a statement?" Severus asked.

"Statement?" Draco asked.

"It is a bezoar," Severus corrected. "But better. We'll use ten objects next time." Draco's face
scrunched up, as if he was calling Severus rude names in his head. "Is that a problem?"

"No, sir," he muttered.

"Are you aware that you blink when you lie?" Severus asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It wasn't a lie," Draco muttered, very obviously trying not to blink this time. Severus didn't
call him out on it, however; the more he practiced lying without blinking, the more natural it
would become. As long as he didn't stop blinking altogether when he lied; that would be just
as telling. Draco fidgeted. Severus imagined him fighting the urge to speak his mind – as he
was being encouraged to do these days – and stay quiet – as he'd been raised to do his entire
life. "What's the point of all of this?" Draco demanded, unable to stay quiet anymore.

"We're spending time together," Severus told him. He felt as excited about it as Draco looked.

"Why?" Draco asked, folding his arms.

"That's what godfathers do, apparently," Severus sneered, thinking of Black. Draco glared at
him. "Say it, Draco." Draco got a strangely thoughtful look on his face, which darkened to a
scowl.

"We never used to," he said.

"You are at a critical stage in your development," Severus said. "You have a lot to gain from
my presence."

"Like what?" Draco asked sulkily. "The only skills you've got are to do with potions but you
don't teach me any of that. All we do is play stupid memory games!"

"If you cannot remember five objects after ten seconds of looking at them, then how do you
hope to follow potions instructions?" Severus asked. Draco didn't say anything. "I set the
activities," Severus said in a tone of finality. "If I want to play 'stupid' memory games, then
that is what we'll do."

"Can I at least bring Roquefort next time?" Draco asked.

"The only rats I allow in my quarters are dead ones for potions," Severus said flatly. Which
was true, but he might have made an exception if he could be sure that it was Hydrus who
had Pettigrew; he wasn't sure which boy had the real rat, and which had the man-in-disguise.
The only ones who did were Pettigrew himself, Lucius and possibly Narcissa. There was no
way that he'd risk letting Pettigrew into one of his and Draco's sessions.

"Fine, he'll stay home," Draco huffed, folding his arms.

"Good," Severus said. "I w-"

CRACK! Draco started and fell off his chair, while Severus hid his shock behind a calm
mask. He also hid his irritation; he didn't like the fact that Lucius' house elf could access his
quarters at any time.

"Young Master Draco," the thing squeaked, bowing deeply. "Professor Severus sir. Dobby is
being sent by Mistress to fetch his young Master. Mistress is needing him to be ready for
tonight, sir," he added, looking at Severus with enormous green eyes.

"Go," Severus told Draco, who looked torn between his forming loathing of time with Snape
and the fact that it was Dobby who was offering him his escape. Dobby offered his thin arm
and Draco took it.

The pair vanished and Severus leaned back in his chair and sighed.

Lupin,

You've had time to settle into the new search and so, as discussed yesterday, I have recorded
the names of those involved in the magical search and the dates you are to investigate each of
them. Do something similar with those in your search party and send it to me as soon as
possible.

Lucius Malfoy.

"What?" Remus said aloud. The owl who'd delivered it gave him a haughty look and flew off.

Matt glanced over, looking puzzled and Remus shook his head. Matt went back to the card
game he was playing with Greentooth – a twelve year old muggle girl who - in a fit of Dora-
like stubbornness - refused to respond to Sarah, her real name. She'd supposedly developed
an infatuation with Matt, though both Remus and Matt were reasonably sure she was spying
on them for Greyback. She didn't know that they knew, however, which was entertaining on
one level, but was still more irritating than anything else.

Remus read and re-read the letter but it still didn't make any sense; he and Malfoy hadn't
spoken for almost a week and he certainly hadn't been searching since then.

So Malfoy's made a mistake... Pretty big mistake to make, though... Maybe the letter wasn't
meant for me... Although it's addressed to me. He frowned thoughtfully. But there wasn't an
address on the envelope, just my name... which means I was definitely supposed to get it...

But he should also know that I'm away... and in this, it doesn't sound like he does... Dora was
supposed to have told him, but perhaps she hadn't... That wouldn't explain the letter, but it
would be a start. He stood and Greentooth's head immediately snapped up.
"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Out," Remus said, catching Greyback's eye; he was lounging in his throne. He, too, had
looked over as soon as Remus stood and was watching with a frown.

"Where? Can I come?" Greentooth asked, looking eager.

"Maybe next time," Remus said. He held Greyback's gaze until Greyback nodded and tapped
his wrist. Remus understood; he could go, but there'd be trouble if he was out for too long.

"You didn't say where," Greentooth whined.

"Got any rope?" Matt asked; he had formed half-serious plans to tie Greentooth to a tree
somewhere and leave her there. Remus was ashamed to admit that the idea was getting more
and more tempting.

"No," Remus said, answering both of them at once. Matt and Greentooth assumed
unnervingly similar, disappointed expressions. "Will you be all right?" he asked Matt. Matt
shrugged and nodded.

Remus said goodbye to Matt – and to Greentooth too, he supposed – and left the main
building. Greyback's eyes were on him the whole time. Outside, he was forced to explain
himself to Bluefoot and Silverear – members of Greentooth's pack, who'd named themselves
after coloured body parts in Greyback's honour – and was forced to endure several minutes of
questions as they walked him to the camp border.

Silverear was easily the smartest of the two but he was also the youngest, only ten compared
to Bluefoot's fourteen; Remus – who had years of experience deflecting conversation – was
able to avoid answering most of their questions with very little effort. And, by avoiding
questions, he wasn't lying and so didn't have to worry about his scent giving him away.

They left him at the border, with specific instructions to check in with them as soon as he
returned. Remus thanked them – a little sarcastically – and Disapparated before they could
tell him anything else.

Home was his first stop. He intended to collect Strix and write to Mad-Eye so that he could
arrange a meeting with Dora; that was an easier way of doing it than wandering around
London and hoping to bump into her.

As he walked in the front door, however, it became immediately apparent that he needn't
bother; he could smell her in his sitting room, and hear movement in the hallway.

He closed the door – and revelled in the luxury of such a simple act - and considered going to
say hello, but decided it would be easier to let her come to him; her rucksack was resting on
his table, which meant she'd have to return to this part of the cottage.

Remus had only just made himself comfortable – the softness of a couch was another thing
he'd missed – when footsteps announced her return. She didn't even see him until she was a
few feet away.
Remus had plenty of time to observe her, however; her hair was a deep blue colour and she
was wearing a pair of jeans and what appeared to be one of his old jumpers. In her arms was
almost every article of clothing he owned – minus the things he'd taken to the camp. When
she did spot him, she shrieked and dropped everything, and her hair turned a blinding white.

"Good afternoon," he said, giving her a bemused smile and a nod.

"Remus!" she exclaimed. Her hair turned lime green which Remus guessed was a mix of
happiness and something – which, going by her scent – he thought might have been guilt.
"You scared me! What are you doing here?" She hugged him and sat down. "Is Matt okay?"
she asked. "What happened to your face?"

"In reverse order," he said, "Greyback is responsible for this-" He gestured to his black eye
and the cut on his jaw. "-but it was probably my fault for provoking him." Remus had spent a
lot of time in the past week pushing the boundaries Greyback had given him so that he'd
know what was acceptable and what wasn't. It probably wasn't overly intelligent of him, but
it was useful information, and worth the painful warning Greyback had given him. "Matt's as
good as he could be, given the circumstances and as for what I'm doing here... I'm more
interested to know why you're here, although I suspect it has something to do with the strange
letter I received this morning."

"Letter?" she asked.

"From Malfoy," he explained. "He wanted to follow up on yesterday's discussion-" He wasn't

surprised at all to see that she seemed to know what he was talking about. "-which I found
puzzling because I didn't see Malfoy yesterday."

"That's odd," she said, very unconvincingly.

"Dora..." he said and she winced. Her hair was now more green than yellow. "Care to
explain?"

"Not particularly," she admitted, and Remus smiled slightly. She sighed and fiddled with a
loose thread in the jumper. "I've been pretending to be you," she said, staring at her lap.

"I'd figured that much out," he said wryly.

"And Matt," she added in a small voice. That, he hadn't known.

"Dora-" he started.

"It was my choice," she said defensively.

"Thank you," he said. She blinked and her hair flashed white and then orange.

"I don't- you're not angry?"

"Angry?" he laughed. "You're doing me and a very good friend of mine an enormous favour
of your own accord. I'd be stupid to be anything other than grateful." He grinned. "Even if
you are stealing my clothes." She hugged herself – actually, Remus realised – she hugged the
jumper she was wearing.

It was a bright red knitted one that Aunt Catherine had sent him for his seventeenth birthday.
He'd worn it once for the sake of it – James had forced him to, thinking it was funny (and
Remus supposed it had been) – and once to the Quidditch final in his seventh year; house
pride and all that. Though it was actually very comfortable, he hadn't worn it since – partially
because it was too bright to suit his tastes – and partially to spite Aunt Catherine.

"Borrowing your clothes," she corrected. "Besides, if I'm you, then they're actually mine."

"I do hope you haven't been wearing that while you've been me," he said, nodding at the
jumper.

"Twice," she said, and Remus pulled a face. "What? It's nice!"

"It's yours," he said. "As long as you never wear it again while you're being me."

"Done," she said, beaming and then gave him a wary look. "Are you sure you're not angry?"

"Positive," he said. "I'm worried that you might be overworking yourself-"

"I can handle it," she assured him. He stared at her face for a moment, trying to see if there
were any dark circles forming, or if her eyes were sleepy, but gave up; she was perfectly
capable of hiding anything like that. "So how long are you back?"

"A few hours, maybe," Remus said, thinking that – since he was already away from the camp
– he might as well go and visit Sirius and Harry. "Why?"

"Have you had lunch?"

"No," he said. She bounced to her feet.

"Brilliant," she said. She flicked her wand at the dropped pile of clothes and they soared into
her rucksack. "Let's go then: I'm paying."

"Are you sure?" he asked, standing.

"Let me put it this way," she said, hauling her rucksack on. "I'm going to ask you lots of
questions about being you and about Matt – because now that you know, it's not strange for
me to ask you these things-" Remus laughed. "-and I can either reward you for your
participation, or you can pay for your own lunch and help me anyway." She gave him a
winning smile.

"You know I'd help you anyway," he said.

"I know. Which is why I insist on paying... And," she added, "if you insist on paying for your
own, I'll insist on paying for mine. With sickles." Remus couldn't help grimacing. "I'm so
sorry about that, by the way. I didn't know back then but I was thinking about it the other day
and felt terrible. Oh! That's another reason for me to pay; I'm making it up to you."
Her cheerful mood was infectious and so different to the grim intensity of the camp. Remus
found himself grinning and offering her the pot of Floo Powder.

"Someone's in the house," Padfoot whispered. Harry froze and several of the nightshade
berries he was holding slipped out of his hands. They dropped onto the floor and rolled away
but Harry didn't really mind. He wiped his hands on his robes and drew his wand.

"Who?" he breathed. Padfoot rolled his eyes.

"If I knew, I'd have said," he muttered, and the corner of his mouth twitched. He didn't smile
though; he looked tense and worried and wad dropped the small hand trowel he'd been using
in favour of his wand. Harry stared at it and tightened his grip on his own wand. He
swallowed and glanced at Padfoot. They both rose as quietly as possible; Harry was careful
not to disturb his cauldron, or Padfoot's pot of soil.

"Are they upstairs?" Padfoot shook his head.

"I heard the Floo," he whispered.

"Could it be Moony?" Harry asked hopefully; he'd missed him.

"It could," Padfoot said, nodding, "but he's supposed to be at the camp... Not to say he can't
leave, of course, but I'd have expected him to write..."

"Padfoot? Harry?" It was Moony, or at least it sounded like him. Harry relaxed and lowered
his wand. Padfoot grinned briefly, but kept his up.

"We're up here!" Padfoot called, and then Harry could hear his footsteps too. Moony strolled
in, wearing a broad smile but Harry noticed, that he had a blackened eye and a cut on his
face.

"What happened?" Harry asked, stepping towards him. Padfoot, however, caught his
shoulder. Moony's smile faltered.

"What did you go as on Halloween?" he asked.

"A pirate," Moony said at once, smiling again. Harry shrugged Padfoot's hand off and ran to
hug Moony. Moony hugged him back. "And it was Greyback," he said, answering Harry's
question. "You wouldn't believe how much I've missed the two of you," he said. "Even if the
Mad-Eye-style welcome is all I get-"

"I was just making sure," Padfoot said, shooing Harry away so that he could hug Moony too.
Harry started collecting the nightshade berries he'd dropped.

"Constant vigilance?" Moony asked, grinning.

"Something like that," Padfoot agreed, as he flopped back down. Moony sat with a little more
decorum.
"It's probably not a bad idea," Moony said thoughtfully. "I've just come from lunch with Dora
and you wouldn't believe what's she's been up to..." It turned out that Dora – who Harry'd
heard a reasonable amount about from Moony – had been pretending to be Moony to keep
Malfoy from getting suspicious about Moony's absence. Padfoot could believe this, and
found it extremely funny – as did Harry - but also a little worrying.

"We'll have to establish safety questions," he said thoughtfully. "Can't have us wandering up
to her in Diagon Alley, thinking she's you."

"Firstly," Moony said, "when are you ever in Diagon Alley?" Padfoot opened his mouth.
"And secondly, if you did go, it's more than likely that I'd be there with the two of you."

Though Harry thought Moony was making a very good point, Padfoot still asked him several
questions that could apparently be used to identify him later.

"What are you working on, Harry?" Moony asked, refusing to answer Padfoot's last question
("Where did you hide your chocolate at the end of seventh year?") Harry - who'd managed to
find every berry and was now attempting to weigh them on a set of old scales - looked up.

"My Form-Revealer," he said, dropping a handful in. "Well, my second one – I messed the
first one up."

"Moony," Padfoot whined.

"A hollowed out copy of Decoding The Solar System," he sighed, before turning back to
Harry. "What stage are you at?"

"Stage two," Harry said, dodging as the potion bubbled and spat out a bit of purple liquid.

"Decoding The- That's the one Peter spilled the Firewhiskey all over, isn't it?" Padfoot asked.

"Which is why you couldn't smell it out like you did with my pre-Christmas stash," Moony
told him, grinning.

"Damn it!" Padfoot exclaimed. Harry and Moony both looked at him. "Prongs and I had a
bet," Padfoot explained. "I thought you'd found somewhere outside the dorm to hide it but he
insisted it was inside but too well hidden to be found... Looks like I owe him a galleon."
Harry and Moony exchanged a look, unsure of what to say. "Remind me to pay you later,
kiddo," Padfoot said.

"Me?" Harry asked, dropping in another handful of berries. The potion turned a darker
purple.

"I can't exactly pay James, can I?" Padfoot asked. "But if I had, the money would have gone
into his vault and that's gone to you so logically-"

"Don't argue," Moony advised, as Harry opened his mouth. "Just take the money."

Padfoot laughed and tapped one of the seedlings in his pot with his wand. He checked
something in Producing Plants: An Advanced Guide, shook his head and flicked his wand
again and then glanced over to see what Harry was doing. "Remember, kiddo, just the two
handfuls-"

"I know," Harry said, sheepishly; he'd added three the time before and the potion had turned
black and highly poisonous. They'd dipped the locket in it, just to see whether it'd do
anything but it hadn't; they hadn't taken Keira up on her offer yet. If anything, the locket had
come out looking shinier, which made Padfoot speculate about whether it was goblin-made
(that hadn't made any sense to Harry, so he'd just nodded).

"I don't remember you lot using nightshade," Moony said to Padfoot, as he used his wand like
a watering can.

"Yes, you do," Padfoot said. Harry stared as the seedlings grew several inches and started to
sprout buds and leaves. "The extra went into my potion kit and the next lesson we were
making that stupid Sickness Cure and-"

"Oh," Moony said, in a very different tone. "The elderberries."

"The what?" Harry asked.

"Elderberries," Padfoot said ruefully, "look a lot like nightshade to second years that haven't
had any sleep the night before." Harry grimaced. "I put in what I thought were elderberries
and Prongs was feeling a bit off after our long night, so he had a few mouthfuls when
Slughorn wasn't watching."

"Poisoned himself," Moony said, almost fondly. "Spent a night in St Mungo's and then three
days in the Hospital Wing under constant supervision. He almost died – we were all terrified
at the time-"

"I didn't go to lessons for three days because I was sitting with him," Padfoot said. "I think I
left once to add something to the potion because Peter couldn't be trusted to do it but other
than that-"

"People thought you'd been poisoned too," Moony chuckled, and then turned back to Harry.
"Once we knew James was going to be all right, the whole thing became terribly funny; as far
as the students were concerned, Lily'd got sick of James and poisoned him, and the staff were
just as confused. Poor Madam Pomfrey couldn't for the life of her work out how James had
managed to eat nightshade berries, since they're not used at Hogwarts until fourth year, when
you cover poisons and antidotes..."

"And we weren't about to enlighten her about that," Padfoot said, grimacing. "She wrote a
very angry letter to the apothecary in Diagon Alley that the three of us – because obviously
James was in no state to do anything about it – went to great lengths to intercept." Harry
laughed, well able to imagine it – well, Moony and Padfoot certainly – as he stirred his
potion again.

"Stop," Padfoot said, taking the stirring rod away from him; the potion was still a dark, inky
purple, but its consistency was like that of water instead of syrup. Padfoot checked his watch.
"Is it wrong?" Harry asked, moving back immediately. Moony shuffled back with him.

"No, it's right," Padfoot said. "Any more stirring could ruin it though. The nightshade makes
it volatile."

"Oh," Harry said, peering at the still potion. Padfoot cast a quick charm that cleaned the
stirring rod and set it back down. Harry checked Embracing Your Inner Beast for the next set
of instructions; he'd never made it this far before. "It says to let it sit for forty minutes and
then to add the boggart blood... Is that right?"

"Is that what the book says?" Padfoot asked.

"Yes," Harry said, checking again to make sure.

"Then yes, that's right," Padfoot told him, smirking. "Just a note for next time; it's always a
good idea to check your watch the moment you complete a step of the instructions."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because," Moony said, "it's not uncommon for the next step to tell you to leave it for a
specific amount of time. And you get the best results when you're closer to that time than if
you're a minute off. The Wolfsbane Potion, for example, needs to sit for exactly seventy
minutes and if you're not within ten seconds of that, the entire thing is rendered useless. It's
why I've always struggled with it."

"This one's a bit more forgiving," Padfoot told Harry; obviously he'd seen Harry's panicky
expression. "You've got a window of about ten minutes instead of ten seconds." Harry relaxed
slightly. "The closer you are, though, the better the potion will be." Harry's head was starting
to hurt and he felt a stab of dread for seven years of Potions under Snape's glare when he got
to Hogwarts.

He wondered if Moony'd guessed what he was thinking because he said, "Potions a very easy
subject to get good at." Harry stared at him. "It is. It's all about precision. Some of it is skill-
based – particularly understanding the interactions of ingredients – and some of it is
technique-based, but the majority of it is precision, and being able to follow instructions."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Harry admitted. "Tempus Admonius," he said, flicking his wand.
He used Padfoot's watch to set the proper time and then nodded, pleased with his handiwork;
he'd set the Alarm Charm on his wrist, where it would be impossible to ignore.

"What do you say to lunch while you're waiting?" Padfoot asked, giving his plants one last
look. Harry nodded enthusiastically and bounded to his feet. Padfoot laughed. "Moony?"

"I've eaten," Moony said, holding up a hand.

"More food for us then," Padfoot said, grinning. "But come down anyway."

"Why?" Moony asked; he was already getting to his feet.

"Why? For the pleasure of my company, of course," Padfoot said. Harry checked his potion
again before following them out of the room.

"... olive. You like olives," Millicent said. Draco was – yet again – stuck next to her at dinner.
Thankfully, however, she was so determined to pull Pansy out of her subdued state that she
hadn't said a word to him all night. Draco was perfectly fine with that, but he could tell Pansy
was fed up with Millicent's attention.

"Just leave her alone," he said, doing what he'd been told to do lately; speaking his mind.
Millicent lifted an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

Daphne, however, who was on Draco's other side, turned around immediately and asked,
"Why do you care?"

"I just-" Draco couldn't explain it, though. He didn't know why he'd said anything.

"'I just'," Daphne mocked, and then laughed. Draco shifted, uncomfortable. "You've been
strange tonight, Draco. Are you feeling all right?"

"Not really," Draco said. He wasn't feeling sick or tired, though. Just confused about the way
he'd been acting lately. And confused, because that was the way he was being told to act, so
clearly it wasn't wrong. It felt it, though, and he didn't know what to do.

"What's wrong?" Daphne asked, cocking her head to the side.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, because he didn't know what to say. Otherwise, he
might have said something; that, he was reasonably sure, would only make things worse. And
then he'd be even more confused. He groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"Draco?" That was Pansy. And she must be worried if she was talking; her mother hadn't
been well enough to come tonight, and so Pansy'd been very quiet and trying very hard to
ignore them all. "What's wrong?"

"My head hurts," he mumbled.

"Mrs Malfoy!" A chair scraped and the Draco felt cool hands on his hair.

"Draco?" That was Mother. "Are you all right?" He shook his head. "Are you able to walk?"
He nodded and let Mother help him up. She led him out of the dining room and into the
sitting room and then guided him to a couch.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he said, before she could ask what the problem was.
She pulled his hands away from his face and then felt his forehead.

"You're not warm."

"I don't think I'm sick," he said, looking at her for the first time. She arched an eyebrow and
flicked her wand. She frowned and then did it again. This time he felt a sensation like hands
on his skin and recognised the spell as a Diagnostic Charm. He'd never known Mother to cast
one before, though. Usually Dobby did it; Mother wasn't very good at healing magic.

"I don't think you're sick either," she said, tucking her wand into a sleeve of her silky dress
robes.

"Unless you did the charm wrong," he mumbled, saying what he thought again; questioning
Mother was a very brave thing to do and he wasn't entirely sure why he'd done it. He wished
he was sick, because then he'd have an excuse to go home and sleep.

"Unless I did the charm wrong," she agreed. Draco stared at her; Mother never admitted any
weaknesses. He stared even more when she added, "And that is a distinct possibility." Then
she smiled, as if she knew how thrown he was – and she probably did - and added, "Wouldn't
you agree, Draco?"

"Yes," he said, because that's what she seemed to want. Instead, she raised her eyebrows
again.

"Is that what you really think?" she asked. "Or are you just saying what you think I'd like to
hear?"

"I don't know," he said.

"Do you think I'm good at medical magic?" she asked. Draco didn't know what to say; it
would be rude to tell her 'no' and she'd always encouraged good manners, but she'd also been
encouraging him to tell the truth, even if others didn't want to hear it.

"I don't know," he said after several long seconds of deliberation.

"I've asked you to tell me the truth," she said sternly.

"No," he said.

"No, what?"

"No, I don't think you're good at medical magic," he mumbled. She smiled and Draco didn't
know how to feel.

He felt like crying – except Malfoys didn't cry – but maybe he should because Father had told
him just the other day not to hide his feelings. But if one of the other children saw him, then
they'd hold it over him for years. And Draco'd always been told not to care what others
thought about him – if they were thinking about him (either good things or bad things) that
was good, because it meant he'd made an impression - but lately Mother had told him that
other people had feelings and thoughts too and that he should listen to them, and that he
should make sure people only had good things to say about him.

He felt like screaming – Malfoys were allowed to do that, sometimes – but it wasn't proper.
He was supposed to behave and not carry on or use the few swear words that some of the
older purebloods had taught him. That could upset people and he was supposed to watch out
for other people's feelings now. But, he was also supposed to do what he wanted to do,
without worrying about whether it upset people or not, but how would that ensure people
thought good things about him?

"Draco?" Mother asked.

"My head hurts," he said again, and then he fainted.

"You took your time," Bluefoot said, folding his arms. Silverear and Greentooth flanked him,
standing the same way.

"I had a lot to do," Remus said, folding his own arms. Bluefoot stepped forward, hand
suddenly lifted as if he was going to grab Remus' throat. Remus didn't move, but he glared as
hard as he could. Bluefoot was only about a yard away when he thought better of it and
backed off again. "I should think so," Remus said. Greentooth bared her teeth and stepped
forward to smell him.

"You smell clean," she said accusingly.

"I had a shower," he told her, gesturing to his still-damp hair. He'd used a lot of soap to
eradicate Harry, Sirius and Dora's scents; Dora's in particular would be incredibly dangerous
to have on him. Remus was on delicate ground with Greyback but that could become a lot
worse if he found out Remus was friendly with the woman who'd maimed him to save Matt
in October.

"Trying to hide something?" Silverear asked.

"You'll never know," Remus said. All three of them bristled. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like
to let Greyback know I've returned."

"I'll do it," Greentooth said at once.

"I'm capable, I assure you," Remus said.

He hadn't expected that to deter her so it didn't particularly surprise him when she and the
other two formed a triangle around him and escorted him into the building. Remus kept his
head up, trying to look as unaffected by it as possible. Hardly anyone was looking anyway;
dinner had been served and most were fully focused on that. Those that weren't were listening
to Greyback, who was – as usual – lounging in his throne.

"...Diagon Alley in London," he was saying. Remus groaned, causing Bluefoot to snarl at
him; this story was told almost nightly at the camp. Greyback had bitten a girl a while ago
and had not been able to find her since. Remus was impressed; it wasn't easy to hide from
Greyback. Unfortunately for Greyback's mystery girl, however, she'd hidden herself so
effectively that Greyback had become obsessed with her and with the idea of finding her.

"...I wasn't planning to gift anyone that night but then she walked past, looking so small
and afraid." Remus snorted; most people looked edgy if they were in Diagon Alley at night,
especially if they were young and alone. And Greyback probably had been planning to bite if
he'd positioned himself in Diagon Alley during a full moon.

"I knew I never wanted her to look that way again and I knew I could help her," Greyback
said. Greentooth sighed happily from beside Remus. Remus snorted again and she turned
around, looking furious. Remus looked away hurriedly and spotted Matt, sitting with some of
the older women on the other side of the room.

Matt gave him a thumbs up and Remus shrugged and nodded. Matt nodded once and patted
the seat beside him and Remus shook his head. Matt tipped one shoulder and Remus tilted his
head at Greyback. Matt nodded once more and gave the woman beside him – her name was
Candice – a sheepish look; she'd been distracted by their silent conversation. Remus looked
back to Greyback, who'd got to his feet and was pacing.

"... fought. Already it was clear that my gift was making her powerful; one small bite and
already she was brave, she was fighting."Greyback turned to his audience. Remus didn't
know what was more sickening; the story, Greyback's obvious pleasure, or the fact that
almost everyone in the room was hanging off Greyback's every word. "She managed to get
me off – quick with her wand, she was – and by the time I'd oriented myself, she'd vanished."

"Where is she now?" one boy – Remus thought his name was Rednose or something similar –
called.

Gone, Remus thought dully. Like smoke in the wind.

"Gone," Greyback said. "Like smoke in the wind." The women Matt were with sighed and he
looked distinctly frustrated when Remus glanced in his direction. "I'm searching though, for
your lost sister. My lost daughter. I'll find her and bring her home, my children."

"Thank you, Father," Greentooth murmured from beside Remus. She wasn't the only one
who'd said it, either; Greyback's obsession seemed to be contagious. Remus hoped for the
mystery girl's sake that she was either very far away, or very well hidden; if she was found
and brought to the camp, she'd be watched so closely by all of her adoring 'siblings' that she'd
never get away again.

"Greentooth," Greyback said, spotting Greentooth, Bluefoot, Silverear and Remus. Everyone
else seemed to take that as a signal to start eating again. Remus approached before any of the
other three had a chance to drag him forward.

"Greyback," Remus said, as the other three tipped their heads back. Greyback held each of
them by the throat – much more gently than he'd ever done with Remus or Matt – and then
released them. They melted through the crowd and disappeared out through the door again.

"Son," Greyback said imperiously. "Welcome home."

"Back," Remus said, folding his arms.

"What?"
"Welcome back." Remus told him. "Not welcome home."

"I thought I told you that I wouldn't stand for any threatening-"

"It's an indication that I don't want to be here," Remus snorted. "I don't think I could be
any less threatening-"

Greyback's fist collided with his cheek. It wasn't entirely unexpected but it still hurt and
Greyback had hit hard enough to push Remus back a few steps. Remus winced and rubbed
his face, but Greyback seemed to have wanted a more dramatic reaction. It suddenly occurred
to Remus that Greyback was testing him as much as he was testing Greyback.

That could be very dangerous, he thought, taking the punch as a dismissal. He crossed the
room and took a seat next to Matt – Candice and the others left when they saw him coming -
who wordlessly passed over his cup of water.

"Thank you," he said, pressing the cold glass against his face.

"No problem," Matt said, his eyes on two of the younger children over – they were only four
and were quite wild. "So where were you?"

Remus glanced over his shoulder and leaned closer. "Dora's been covering for us with
Malfoy, but Malfoy was getting suspicious. She thought it might be good if he saw me today
– just to show I haven't just run off – and that gives your story credibility too... She sends her
greetings by the way."

"Theodora?" he asked. Remus nodded. "That's nice of her."

"She-" A large, hairy hand closed around Remus' shoulder and then meaty breath was in his
face. Matt's shoulder was likewise held.

"Just a warning, sons," Greyback said. "You're looking awfully suspicious."

Remus had several sarcastic retorts he was dying to use but he bit his tongue and tried to look
as dignified as it was possible to look with a glass of cold water pressed up against his sore
face.

Matt, unfortunately, had other ideas.

"Suspicious, Father?" he asked. "I think you need your eyes tested."

"What were you talking about?" Greyback snarled.

"A friend," Matt snapped.

"Another pet?" Greyback asked, glaring at Remus. "Not my-"

"She's human," Remus said tiredly, turning the glass; the side was beginning to get warm.
"Would you mind going away?"
"Sick of me, are you?" Greyback asked, squeezing Remus' shoulder painfully. Remus
assumed – from Matt's wince – that he'd done the same to Matt.

"Yes," Matt said. Greyback growled and Matt winced again.

"That and it's awfully hard to look suspicious with you hovering over us," Remus added,
channelling Sirius.

Thankfully, Greyback seemed to realise he was being mocked – and that he stood no chance
of winning a battle of wits with either of them – and left with one more shoulder-squeeze as a
warning. Remus knew they'd pay for it later but couldn't bring himself to care.

"Two months left," Matt muttered, brushing the place Greyback had touched his jumper.

Remus groaned and leaned back in his seat, glass still pressed against his cheek.
 Merry mayhem

"Nymphadora! Keith was just about to go and pick you up!" Roberta exclaimed.

"He's too slow," she joked. She hesitated and then hugged her boyfriend's mother. "Merry
Christmas, Roberta."

"Merry Christmas, dear," Roberta said. "You look lovely, by the way," Tonks beamed; she
was wearing Remus' red jumper, had pale green skin, bright green eyes and silver, fluffy hair
that greatly resembled tinsel. "Here, give me those," she said, waving to the bag of presents
in Tonks' arms. Tonks offered the bag and with a wave of Roberta's wand, it was gone,
zooming into the sitting room, where Tonks and Keith had set up the tree a few weeks back.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome, dear. Just let me- Keith! Nymphadora's here!" Tonks' smile slipped a little;
she hated that name. Two sets of footsteps hurried down the hallway. Alfred was the first to
emerge, closely followed by Keith. "Keith, have you introduced-"

"Wow! Wicked skin!" Roberta looked worried but Alfred was quick to calm her down. "Don't
worry, Rob," Alfred said, throwing his arms around Tonks, narrowly beating Keith, who'd
just moved to do the same. Keith looked mildly annoyed and wrapped her in a hug as soon as
Alfred released her. "Nymphadora and I have been friends for years. In fact, I think I was the
one who introduced her to Keith back in first year." Keith rolled his eyes and kissed Tonks'
cheek.

"Wotcher," Tonks murmured.

"Hi," he said, smiling. He stepped back, but kept an arm around her.

"Aren't you two cute," Alfred commented, making Tonks blush and Keith beam.

"Be nice, Alf," Roberta warned and then smiled at Tonks. "They're gorgeous." Alfred poked
his tongue out at her and she smacked his shoulder. "Lunch is about ten minutes away, so you
three keep yourselves occupied until then."

"We will. Thanks, Mum," Keith said. Roberta disappeared into the kitchen, where Tonks
could hear others talking.

"Should I go and say hello?" she asked.

"It's just Lou, Bec and my mum," Alfred said, flapping a hand. "You can see them at lunch."
He turned to Keith. "Would you like to finish the game?" Keith took a not-so-subtle look at
Tonks and shook his head.

"What game?" she asked.

"We were playing chess," Keith said.

"I was playing chess," Alfred corrected. "You were trying to sabotage yourself so you could
go get Nymphadora-"

"You can finish if you'd like," she said, grinning at them both. "I don't mind."

"You'll be bored," Keith said.

"I'll be watching," she told him. Keith grimaced as if he couldn't understand how anyone
could find that fun, and Tonks supposed he couldn't; he was the sort that needed to be
physically doing something or he'd get bored. "And maybe I'll help," she added. "If you were
sabotaging yourself, you'll need my help to win."

"It wasn't sabotage! I've only lost two pieces," Keith protested, but his competitive side had
kicked in and he allowed them to lead the way to the sitting room where the Williams' ornate
chess table sat.

Five minutes later, Keith had lost interest and was complaining of boredom from a nearby
armchair. Tonks had taken over and was holding her own against Alfred, and also catching up
with him; she'd only seen him once – briefly – since school ended. He complained about his
supervisor in the Department of Management and Control of Magical Children.

"Horrible little toad of a woman," he said, directing his knight onto a square that was
currently occupied by her bishop. "I don't think she even likes children, but apparently she's
worked there for seventeen years... She's got the most annoying voice..."

"No! Not there, you idiot!" Tonks' castle shouted. "Can't you see his pawn?!"

"Oh, right. Sorry... er... can you go to F4 instead?"

"I don't know," her castle asked snarkily. "Can I?"

"And," Alfred continued, taking the castle that she'd just moved, "she wears so much pink
that even you'd find her hard to look at." That description made Tonks remember something
from about a month ago.

"I think I know her," she said, frowning. "She was in the lift and she told me my hair was
ugly."

"Sounds like her," Alfred said darkly. "Bloody Umbridge." Keith immediately came to Tonks'
defence; he alternated between insulting the Umbridge woman and telling Tonks her hair was
beautiful.

"Thanks," she said, grinning at him, as her knight dragged Alfred's queen off the board.

Just as Alfred managed to manoeuvre himself into a last-minute stalemate - it had seemed
like Tonks was about to win until then win – Roberta called them all for lunch. Alfred
cheered and hurtled down the hallway and Tonks made to follow but was held back by Keith.

"I'm sorry," he said. Tonks cocked her head.

"For what?"

"Alfred. I didn't want him to come, but-"

"Don't be thick," she said. "You two always do Christmas together." She smiled. "It's fine. It's
actually wonderful to see him."

"It's just... It's our first Christmas as a couple..."

"It is," she agreed, kissing his cheek. "But that doesn't mean we can't share our time with
other people." She'd already seen Tom and Charlie this morning, and after lunch she was
supposed to go into the Ministry for a training exercise which would be followed by food
provided by the mentors; she'd watched Mad-Eye blow up three cakes and set another on fire
in an attempt to get the icing to stay on. Dinner was meant to be with her muggle relatives
and she also needed to find time to drop Remus' present at his cottage; she didn't want to risk
posting it.

"I suppose not," he said.

"Keith!" Roberta called again. "Bring Nymphadora down for lunch!"

"Coming!" Keith called, taking Tonks' hand.

Tonks spent lunch wedged between Keith, and Alfred's older sister Rebecca in a seat directly
opposite Keith's dad, Greg. Since the Booths and Williams' saw each other nearly every day,
Tonks was the centre of attention and had questions thrown at her from all sides of the table.
She told them what she could about Auror training, and about Mad-Eye, and also a bit about
the other trainees.

They all laughed when she told them about Auror Finch buying Florence an alarm clock
because she'd slept in and missed so many morning training sessions, and again when she
told them about Dale being attacked by a pink flower in the Plants And Poisons unit; Dale no
longer wore pink, only purple. They all shuddered when she told them about Azkaban. She
was relieved when Alfred started to talk about his Apparition test – he'd finally passed - and
drew everyone's attention away.

They unwrapped presents afterward; Tonks had suspected the Booths would be there and so
had bought something small for each of them, and she had also bought things for Keith and
his parents.

Keith immediately donned the Tutshill Tornados jumper she'd bought him, and Roberta and
Greg thanked her for the box of chocolates.

Alfred's present to Tonks was a Sneakoscope (she'd given him a book written by a muggle
psychologist) and Keith's present to her was a glass statue. It depicted a thicket of trees, a
small stream that was charmed to look like it was flowing, and a small, thin figure that was
paddling its feet in the water.
"It's a nymph," he said, pointing to the figure that was roughly the size of Tonks' biggest
finger. "For your name."

"Is it really the best idea to give me something so breakable?" she asked, laughing. He
laughed too. As touched as she was by the thought he'd obviously put into it, why in Merlin's
name did it have to be a nymph?

Those thoughts, of course, made her feel exceptionally guilty, and she carefully set the statue
down so that she could hug him.

"Do you like it?" he asked, as Louise admired it. She paused, looking for words that could
accurately describe her feelings towards it.

"It's pretty," she said finally, smiling; it was pretty, but that was probably the only nice thing
she could say about it. It was highly breakable – she hadn't been kidding when she'd asked
him if it was a good idea to buy it for her – and it was a nymph. For Nymphadora, her stupid
name.

Keith beamed and Tonks put the statue back in its box, to 'keep it safe'.

Thankfully, Alfred chose that moment to offer Keith his present and Tonks was able to get
away with it.

I must make sure Mum never sees this.

Charlie and Bill had always been close. It probably came with being significantly older than
any of the others. Percy had his books – though Bill tried to include him as much as possible
– the twins had each other and Ron and Ginny were the youngest and tended to band
together, though they always seemed to have time for their older siblings; Ron tended to tag
along whenever he was allowed to but seemed to think of himself as a burden while Ginny
had a talent for making the others tag along with her.

Charlie had grown significantly closer to both of them since leaving school, however; it was
the longest he'd ever spent with them at once, since he'd started school, because back then
they'd been too young to spend any real time with. A few summers ago, he'd taught Ron to
fly properly and taught Ginny how to draw. She'd wanted to learn to fly too but teaching Ron
had been challenging enough and so Charlie'd refused.

She hadn't talked to him for days and then – for no reason he'd been able to pinpoint – had
suddenly forgiven him. She'd taken long walks, which Charlie secretly suspected she was
using to hide somewhere and plot her revenge; every time she'd been asked about it, she'd got
this smug look on her face and refuse to answer. While she still took long walks, she hadn't
asked about flying lessons for years, even though she was probably old enough now. Charlie
assumed she'd lost interest and so continued teaching her to draw.

Charlie'd had almost six months with them now and he'd thoroughly enjoyed getting to know
them better. Ron had been given a chess set for his birthday and Charlie and Bill had taught
him the game. Charlie had spent a lot of time playing chess with him, and was ashamed to
admit that a ten year old now beat him more times than Charlie beat Ron.

Since Charlie was living at home again, he, Ron and Ginny also spent a lot of time together
helping Mum out around the house. Ginny helped with a lot of the cooking – which Ron
refused to do – but she also helped with the chickens, which was one of Charlie's jobs. Ron
had obviously had a lot of practice de-gnoming, because he proved himself capable every few
weeks when he and Charlie were sent to do that. Ginny wasn't allowed anywhere near the
gnomes, becuse Mum was worried she'd learn the swear words that the twins had taught
them. Charlie was fairly sure she knew them all anyway, but he wasn't going to be the one to
tell Mum that.

Despite their developing closeness, however, Charlie and Bill were still closer age-wise and
had been confiding in each other for years. For that reason, it was his room – since Bill was
staying at home again over Christmas – that Charlie went to the moment the owl arrived; he
and Bill had shared Charlie's room since Bill had started Hogwarts, because Bill's old room
had gone to Ginny.

"Yeah?" Bill asked as Charlie walked in. Bill had his back to the door and was leaning out the
window; Charlie could see Errol disappearing into the distance.

"Look," Charlie said, fanning himself with his letter. It wasn't the best fan; he'd read it so
many times that the parchment was beginning to go soft.

"What is it?"

"A letter," Charlie said, waggling his eyebrows.

"For...?" Bill asked impatiently.

"Me, stupid," Charlie told him. Bill rolled his eyes. "It's my acceptance from Romania," he
added. "I leave on the third." Instead of looking happy for him, or whooping or hugging him,
Bill looked shocked and then angry.

"Romania?" he asked. "But you can't-"

"This says I can," Charlie said, waving the parchment again.

"But-"

"What's wrong with you?" Charlie asked, frowning. "I thought you'd be excited for me.
Romania's what I've always wanted-"

"I got a promotion at the bank," Bill said, gesturing to the window. "I'm taking a position in
Egypt and I leave on the second. That was my acceptance with Errol."

"Congratulations," Charlie said. "Bet Mum's pleased."

"Well," Bill said. "You see, I haven't exactly-"

"Oh no," Charlie groaned, suddenly filled with dread. They were both leaving home within a
day of each other, and neither of them had told Mum yet; he'd been planning to do it at dinner
when the entire family was together and – more importantly – Dad was there to calm Mum
down.

"Oh yes," Bill said. "I'm telling them at dinner. I don't think I can put it off for much-"

"I'm telling them at dinner!" Charlie said. "I've been planning this for just the right time and
now I've got my confirmation I can prove that I'm in-"

"I thought you hadn't got the position," Bill groaned, flopping onto his bed. "I thought you
would still be around to help Mum when I left-"

"I thought you'd start coming home more," Charlie admitted. "Maybe even move back in to
keep Mum happy-" Bill snorted and Charlie had to admit it had been a long shot; he knew
Bill liked freedom too much to move back in with the rest of the family.

"Look," Bill said, "I leave the day before you do, so it's only fair that I get to tell them first-"

"They knew I was applying for this," Charlie countered. "Mum asked if I'd heard anything
just the other day-"

"Then she won't be as surprised when you tell her. In fact," Bill said, "it'll be better if you let
me go first because she'll be so surprised by my news that yours'll calm her down-"

"Or she'll be so distraught that she's losing you that she won't let me go." Bill grimaced. "See-
"

"I should tell her first," Bill insisted.

"Shove off," Charlie said. "I've actually got my confirmation letter."

There was silence between them. Bill gave him a stony look and Charlie realised he must
have said something important... He had his confirmation. Bill didn't, yet, which meant that
Charlie would be able to answer any and all of Mum's questions. But, if Bill was planning to
tell the family at dinner, then that meant his letter was probably due back soon. Charlie
decided it must be going to London and not Egypt. And, now that Bill knew Charlie's news,
he'd tell Mum as soon as he got it. Possibly before.

Both of them lunged for the bedroom door at the same time. Charlie's head collided with
Bill's shoulder and Charlie's elbow caught Bill's stomach.

They both grunted and Charlie staggered back, clutching his head, while Bill doubled over,
wheezing. Charlie, though, had taken worse hits in Quidditch and forced himself to keep
moving while Bill was distracted.

"Get back here!" Bill huffed, reaching for him, but Charlie was too quick. He twisted out of
the way and launched himself through the door. His letter was still clutched in his fist. He
flung himself toward the landing when a rope suddenly tangled itself around his legs and he
went down.
"What's going on up there?! Fred, George-"

"We're here, Mum!" one of the twins called back from somewhere downstairs.

"Oi!" Charlie said as Bill hurried past, still clutching his chest. Charlie's wand was in his
pocket but he didn't draw it; Bill had seen and learned some reasonably incapacitating things
since he joined the curse-breaking team at Gringotts. So, instead of his wand, Charlie pulled
off his trainer and flung it at Bill. It hit his shoulder and as he stumbled, Charlie grabbed his
ankles.

"Mum!" Bill called. "Mum! Where are you? I've got something to tell you! Get off!" he said,
trying to kick Charlie's hands off.

"In the laundry room, Bill!" Mum called back.

Charlie pulled himself up - still clutching Bill's legs for dear life – and bellowed, "Mum!"

"Yes, Charlie dear?" she called, sounding tired; she'd been cooking all morning to make sure
Christmas dinner would be unforgettable. Charlie was pretty sure it would be, for several
reasons.

"I got my-"

"No!" Bill shouted, clapping a hand over Charlie's mouth. Charlie licked him, and Bill pulled
a face but didn't let go.

"What, dear?" Mum asked.

"Don't worry, Mum. He was talking to me! But you'll never guess what's-" Charlie bit down
on his hand. "Ow!"

"Are you all right, Bill dear?"

Bill was examining his red hand and Charlie shoved him away and dove down the stairs.
Charlie hit the ground floor running, only to collide with Fred. Or George. He wasn't sure.
Either way, they both went sprawling.

"Watch it!" Fred – Charlie could now seen that he was wearing a knitted jumper with an 'F'
on it (though it was possible they'd swapped again) – said.

"You all right, Freddie?" George asked, looking up from the kitchen table; he appeared to
have been trying to modify a Christmas cracker. From the ground, Charlie made a mental
note not to touch those at dinner.

"I was just tackled by this great buffoon," Fred replied, taking George's offered hand up. "In a
hurry, Charlie?"

"Yeah, sorry," Charlie said, getting to his feet alone; George hadn't offered him a hand, but he
supposed he had run Fred over. "Got to talk to Mum-"
With a war cry, Bill tackled him to the ground again. Charlie fell, crushed by his older
brother. Groaning he looked up in time to see Fred and George exchange evil, identical grins
and join the pile with war cries of their own. All the air whooshed out of Charlie, but
thankfully, both twins had attached themselves to Bill. Charlie began to inch free.

"Fred! George!" Mum shouted from the laundry room. Ron, Percy and Ginny all peered out
of the sitting room, obviously disturbed by the noise.

"Honestly," Percy said, shaking his head. "Come on, Ron, let's leave them to it." Ron gave
them a look, as if he was tempted to join, but then he looked at Percy and nodded. They
disappeared.

"Ow! Fred, get off!" Bill complained.

Ginny, however, was still watching, with a wide grin on her face. Charlie knew what was
coming before it happened; Ginny started toward them, hair streaming out behind her.

"Bloody-" one of the twins began.

"Enough!" Mum screeched, emerging from the laundry room. Ginny didn't slow down; she
sped right on past them all and up the stairs, as if she'd intended to do so all along.

"Mum!" Bill and Charlie said in unison.

"Not a word from either of you!" Mum said, planting her hands on her hips. "It's bad enough
that Fred and George are behaving like animals, but to have the pair of you encourage it-"

"Oi!" George protested. "We didn't start-" Mum held up a hand and he fell silent – wisely, in
Charlie's opinion.

"And I haven't even started on what a bad example you're all setting for Ron and Ginny-"

"Right," Bill said, "sorry. But, Mum-"

"-who are they supposed to look up to-"

"Well ickle Ronnikins is so short he sort of has to look up to all of us, whether we're behaving
or not," Fred pointed out. Mum swelled.

"Mum," Charlie said, trying to show her the letter, but George was sitting on his hand.

"Muriel and Bilius are going to be here in an hour and if you're not helping, you're in the way.
Now go." Fred and George scrambled to their feet and took off upstairs, pausing to grab the
cracker they'd been working on. "You too," Mum told Bill and Charlie.

"But, Mum-" Bill said.

"Not a word," she warned. "Now, upstairs with both of you. And so help me, if there's as
much as an argument between the pair of you tonight-"
"Here-" Charlie said, thrusting the letter at her. She didn't take it.

"I really don't have time for this, Charlie," she said, throwing her hands up in the air.

"I got-" Bill started but Charlie elbowed him.

"Enough!" she said again. "Stop this childish fighting and go upstairs!" She spun on her heel
and disappeared back into the laundry room before either of them could say another word.

"I'm telling her at dinner," Charlie told Bill.

"Yeah, after me," he said.

"Fat chance-" Charlie said hotly. "You-"

"Upstairs now!" came from the laundry.

Neither needed telling twice.

Outdoor space was what Remus had and Sirius did not. The reason Sirius wanted outdoor
space became very quickly apparent when he and Harry stepped out of the fireplace; Sirius
had sent Hedwig with a message saying that Remus had to come home for Christmas or
Sirius and Harry would visit him at the camp.

It sounded like just the sort of thing Sirius would do – Remus liked to think Harry would
have more sense – and so Remus had made arrangements with Greyback to leave the camp
for a few hours; Matt had sneaked home the night before to spend Christmas with his parents.

"Merry Christmas," Harry said, hugging Remus. Harry was in an exceptionally good mood;
the scent was radiating off him.

"Merry Christmas," Remus said, and then stared at the sleek broomstick in Harry's hand; it
was obviously the reason for the cottage-visit. "Is that for me?" he teased, as Harry leaned it
against the couch beside the two brooms Sirius had carried in.

"Er," Harry said, looking to Sirius for help; poor Harry was too polite and not possessive
enough to make a big deal over it, but he was obviously stumped as far as responses went.

"Sod off, Moony," Sirius said, grinning. "That's his. Yours is here." He waved one of the
other broomsticks – the one with a small red ribbon tied around the end. Before Remus could
stutter out a thank you, or go to inspect the broom any closer, Sirius had given him a hug him
around a tower of wrapped presents.

"You smell like dog biscuits," Remus said, laughing; it was reasonably obvious what Harry'd
bought him. Sirius laughed and passed him all four parcels. "There's more on top of the
broom?" he asked, stunned.

"They're not all for you," Sirius told him. "The small one's for Matt – we were going to send
it with Hedwig but this way's easier – the heavy one's the thing you requested for Dora, the
thin one is only yours until February, but the bigger one's all yours."

Remus put the parcels for Matt and Dora on the table and pulled the paper off the thin
package. It was one of the mirrors – Remus didn't know whether it was Sirius' or Harry's but
he supposed it didn't matter, because either way he'd be able to talk to them.

"Are you sure you want to give me this?" he asked.

"It's only yours until February," Sirius warned him. "Then Harry'll need it back."

"Thank you," Remus said, incredibly touched that Harry'd even thought of it. Suddenly, the
remaining five weeks at the camp were looking far brighter.

"No problem," Harry said, grinning.

Remus set it down on the table and opened the other present. His hand came into contact with
something soft and wet and he recoiled. The present thumped to the ground and Sirius and
Harry roared with laughter; it was a raw steak, in the spirit of his and Sirius' Animagus-
themed presents (a tradition which had started in fifth year). He laughed and pulled his wand
out to Vanish it, but Sirius plucked it out of his hand.

"Trace, Moony."

"Right," Remus said, feeling silly. Harry – who'd tensed at the sight of the wand – relaxed.
Remus carried the steak to the bin and disposed of it and the wrapping paper, as well as the
plastic that protected his other gifts. He washed his hands at the sink and opened the two
other – clean – boxes that had been wrapped with the steak.

One of them contained a large amount of chocolate – Remus was extremely pleased with that
– and the other held two books and yet another box. One book was the next in a series by one
of his favourite authors and one was a muggle cookbook. Harry grinned when he opened that
one and Remus grinned back.

"Is this a hint that you'd like to visit more often?" he asked.

"Nah, you're just a bloody awful cook," Sirius said. Remus poked his tongue out and Harry
laughed at the pair of them. Inside the third box was what appeared to be one of everything
from Gambol and Jape's.

"Really?" he asked, holding up a small packet of odourless itching powder.

"We thought you might like to keep Greyback in line," Sirius said innocently.

Odourless, Remus thought, entertained. That's brilliant...

"Anyone would think I was still fifteen," he said, grinning like a maniac as Harry showed
him a hair-loss potion; Remus was imagining the possibilities for the full moon and had no
doubt those thoughts had been in Harry and Sirius' thoughts when they'd bought them.

"Could be interesting," Sirius said, looking worryingly thoughtful.

"What?" Remus asked; Harry had taken one look at Sirius and smirked.

"Nothing," Harry said, looking at Remus with big eyes. Sirius looked smug.

"Rubbish." Harry just grinned and Remus let it go; if it was important, he'd find out
eventually. He thanked both of them for the presents and made a quick trip to his desk drawer
to retrieve the things he'd got each of them.

"Merry Christmas," he said, as Sirius shredded the paper on his gift.

"You got me something?" Harry asked wonderingly. Sirius paused to stare at Harry and then
smile at Remus.

"Of course," Remus said, smiling at him; it was hard not to smile when Harry smelled so
happy, though Remus wasn't sure what to make of the smell of surprise. Had he not been
expecting presents? Harry beamed and tore into the paper, revealing an enormous box of
Bertie Bott's – Remus knew for a fact that he'd run out – a new watch – Harry's current watch
was quite battered and several sizes too big (he suspected it might have come from Harry's
cousin) – and three photo frames, so that Harry had somewhere to store the photographs of
Lily and James.

Remus couldn't afford to buy Harry a broomstick like Sirius could, but Harry didn't seem to
mind; he enthusiastically swapped watches and offered his beans around – Sirius took some,
though Remus didn't.

Sirius was laughing over the books Remus had picked out – one was a seven-hundred page
monstrosity dedicated entirely to Sirius' life and speculation about his escape from Azkaban.
They hadn't even got Sirius' birthdate right, let alone any other facts and Remus had picked it
purely for entertainment purposes. The other – titled Magical Mother was also for Sirius'
entertainment. Sirius was – predictably – amused that Remus had bought him a book for
women but was also intrigued; there were some interesting spells in there. One, for example,
was a charm that made dirty socks chase their wearer until they were put in the wash.

But, interested as Sirius was in the contents of the book, both Remus and Harry had to endure
several minutes of Sirius doing motherly impressions; he alternated between his horrible old
bat of a mother and an impression of what could have been Dorea, Lily or even Remus' own
mother. Perhaps it was a mix of them all.

Things settled down after that and Remus caught them up on what had happened at the camp
since he last saw them. That had only been two days ago, so admittedly it wasn't much. In
turn, Harry and Sirius filled him in on things at Grimmauld Place; Harry had made a mistake
with his Form-Revealer and blown up the training room – he had a large burn on his arm that
looked exceptionally painful and that was after Sirius had healed it – Sirius had finished
magicking his seedlings and wanted Remus to help them pick the best one; they were going
to Godric's Hollow after dinner to plant it on Lily and James' grave. And, apparently,
Kreacher had been up all night preparing enough food to feed a small army in lieu of
tonight's Christmas dinner.
"Kreacher wants us home by six," Sirius said, and Harry – to Remus' amusement –
immediately checked his new watch.

"It's three-fifteen now," he announced, smiling at them. Sirius bounced to his feet and rubbed
his hands together.

"We're going to need at least an hour to teach you how to fly," he added, looking at Harry,
who Remus thought might explode with excitement. "Come on."

"You got me a Nimbus?" Remus asked, picking up his new broom and getting a good look at
it for the first time. Sirius grinned. "Sirius, this must have cost-"

"Lots," Sirius said, shrugging. "But I got a good deal because I bought all three at the same
time."

"You actually went in to buy them?" Remus asked faintly. Spending that amount of money in
one lot was bound to have attracted quite a bit of attention. And the last thing Sirius needed
was attention.

"I was disguised as Ludo Bagman," Sirius said, grinning, as crossed the sitting room; Harry
was already waiting by the door. Remus laughed and admired the golden writing that said his
broomstick was a Nimbus 1700. "No one thought it was strange at all."

They found a patch of snow that was reasonably long – just in case anyone crashed – and also
quite flat, because it would make taking off and landing a bit easier. Sirius talked Harry
through the broom-bonding process – Harry's broom shot into his hand the moment he said
'up', which Remus thought boded well for the rest of the afternoon – while Remus bonded his
own broomstick.

It had been so long since he'd flown; his mother hadn't let him fly as a boy and it was James
and Sirius who'd taught him how in first year. He hadn't flown since his Order days, but when
he hovered on the Nimbus – which was much sturdier than he remembered his old
Cleansweep being – it felt good.

"What model do you have, Harry?" Remus asked, as Sirius looked over Harry's grip with a
critical eye.

"Galaxy," Sirius answered. "And that's good, kiddo." Remus frowned.

"A Galaxy? I thought they stopped making those years ago, after that player died-"

"They haven't been as popular since then," Sirius said ruefully, as Harry paled. "It's the git's
own fault for using one in a league game. They're good brooms – nice and light, brilliant for
manoeuvres, and bloody quick – but they're not game brooms." Harry still looked unsure.
"You'll be fine, kiddo," Sirius said. "Everyone has to start somewhere, and Moony and I will
make sure nothing goes wrong."

Remus mounted his broom while Sirius helped Harry and then they both hovered nearby
while Sirius had Harry rise slowly – only to about six feet off the ground - and hover. Harry
looked comfortable enough, but still a little nervous.

"You're doing well," Remus said encouragingly. "Now lean forward slightly and you'll move
forward. If you want to stop-"

"Lean back," Sirius finished. "But not too hard, or you'll do a flip and panic."

Flanked by Sirius and Remus, Harry managed to fly forward, stop and then do a slow turn.
Both men stayed close to his sides to make sure he stayed on, though he seemed to be coping.

After another fifteen minutes of slow, low-level flying, Sirius deemed Harry capable of flying
without them pinned to his sides; Remus and Sirius shot up until they were at least thirty feet
and Harry, surprisingly, followed. Sirius did a lazy loop backwards and then pulled to a stop
beside Remus.

"Bludger," he said, prodding Remus' shoulder, and then he was off; it was a game they'd
played for years – particularly when they'd had odd numbers, or only two of them were able
to be there. The aim was to catch the other person and touch them – which made them the
Bludger. Most people stopped playing before they reached Hogwarts but James and Sirius
had played all through their Hogwarts years – James had even incorporated the game into
Quidditch trainings – and sometimes added rules; one-handed flying, side-seated position and
time-limits were ways of keeping it interesting. It was how Remus had learned to fly.

"Help me catch him," he said to Harry, who was sitting astride his Galaxy, looking perplexed.
Remus didn't wait for a response before zooming after Sirius; Harry would follow at his own
pace.

Harry's own pace turned out to be alarmingly quick; he shot past Remus like a bullet, headed
directly for Sirius. Remus urged his broom to go faster, just in case; Harry was probably
feeling overconfident, given how well he'd done so far. Sirius glanced back and his eyes
widened comically before he swept around in a large arc to throw Harry off. Remus flew
toward Sirius – who was now coming right for him – only to have Harry appear out of
nowhere and tap Sirius' shoulder.

Sirius tapped him back immediately, and then Harry seemed to understand; Harry tapped him
once more and pelted off at breakneck speed, laughing madly. Sirius and Remus exchanged a
look and Remus took off after Harry – away from Sirius, who was kind enough to give him a
few seconds to get ahead.

Harry, however, didn't seem to need any help at all. Sirius had been right when he said the
Galaxy was fast and brilliant for manoeuvres; Harry managed to dodge every one of Sirius'
half-hearted touches until they were no longer half-hearted. Remus knew the instant Sirius
started playing properly, but Harry didn't seem to have noticed; he twisted his broom out of
the way of Sirius' reach and then corkscrewed upwards. Sirius flew after him and Remus,
realising he was well outmatched, returned to the ground to get a better view.

What followed was probably the most impressive aerodynamic display Remus had ever seen;
Sirius had been a good player – maybe even good enough to play for the league if not for
Aurors and the Order – and seemed to have retained most of his skills, despite Azkaban.
Harry was a natural – obviously something that he'd inherited from James – and Remus
thought he'd seemed so slow to begin with was because he'd been smothered by Remus and
Sirius' hovering.

Without them pinned to his sides, Harry had unlimited space and nothing to hold him back.
Sirius obviously had the better broomstick and years of experience to call upon but in the
end, it wasn't enough; in an attempt to throw Sirius, Harry dove straight down at a
dangerously fast pace and Sirius – being Sirius – followed.

Remus had his wand out, ready to cast a Cushioning Charm but remembered in time that he
couldn't, without setting off the Trace. He watched helplessly as Harry plummeted – even
Sirius had snapped out of his competitive mode and was still following, but was much slower
and looking concerned – and then, just when Remus winced, Harry pulled up sharply only
inches from the ground.

It was a near thing; the front of his broom snagged a few blades of grass, and Harry wobbled
but managed to stay on and upright. Next thing Remus knew, he'd zoomed up in a spiralling
pattern and Remus relaxed, though his heart still seemed to be in his throat. Sirius wasn't
going fast enough to pull out of the dive properly, and so he pulled up and did a practiced roll
off, landing on the snow beside Remus.

"Unbelievable," Remus said, looking up at Harry. "James couldn't have pulled that off."

"James could've with the right broom," Sirius said, but he looked impressed. "Should've
known he'd be a natural when his grip was right straight away."

"Should've," Remus agreed.

"Padfoot?" In a blur that made Remus tense up again, Harry was down and hovering at head-
level, looking worried. "Are you all right?"

"Come here," Sirius said, waving Harry over. Harry complied instantly, obviously concerned.
"Closer." Harry moved forward a little bit. Sirius reached out an arm and Remus knew what
was coming before it did. Apparently, so did Harry; the moment Sirius touched his arm with
a smug, "Bludger", Harry touched him right back and launched himself into the sky.

Sirius swore and flopped back onto the snow, laughing. They both watched as Harry flew
around up high and then Remus turned to Sirius.

"Reckon he'll play when he gets to school?"

"If he flies like that I don't think he'll have a choice," Sirius said, grinning. "Old Minnie'll
strap him to a broom herself."

"Do you really think so?" Remus asked, sobering.

"Well, yes," Sirius said. "You know what she's like-"

"Not that. What if Harry's not in Gryffindor?"

"Then she'll probably give him detentions during tryouts," Sirius said, but he looked
thoughtful. "Why? Don't you think he will be?"

"I don't know," Remus said, watching as Harry twisted mid-loop and zoomed off in the
opposite direction. "I think he will be, but surely you've thought about it-"

"'Course I have," Sirius said, drawing patterns in the snow. It had started to look vaguely like
the Hogwarts coat of arms by the time Sirius spoke again. "I want him to be in Gryffindor...
but if he's not-"

"Would you be disappointed?" Remus asked.

"A bit," Sirius said. "Not with him, just about the fact that he won't get to see the common
room, or have Minnie as a Head of House..."

"Same," Remus admitted. "Not with him, but just..."

"With the situation," Sirius finished. "Yeah. But the Sorting Hat knows what it's doing; it put
me in Gryffindor, didn't it?" Remus nodded, though the question had been rhetorical. "It'll put
him where he belongs, and if that's Slytherin, well, good for him. He's still my godson and I'll
still want him and look after him if he-"

"-has Snape for a Head of House," Remus finished.

"Urgh, I'd forgotten that," Sirius said. "But yes, even then." Remus glanced at Sirius out of
the corner of his eye; Sirius was watching Harry fly around with an affectionate smile on his
face. It was the look James had worn when he found out Lily was pregnant. Remus turned
away before Sirius saw him smiling. Sirius thought, had obviously smelled it. "What?" he
asked.

"Nothing," Remus said.

"What?" Sirius insisted, flicking snow at him.

"Padfoot, you git!" Remus laughed, wiping snow off his face. "Nothing."

"Sod off, Moony, it wasn't nothing."

"Was so," Remus said, flinging a clump of snow at Sirius. If his him on the side of the head
and Sirius yelped when it made contact with his ear.

"... hear people?"

Sirius - who'd gathered an enormous clump of snow that was probably destined for Remus'
face – froze, and so did Remus.

"I thought I did," a familiar voice said. "He's not supposed to be here, though."

"Where else would he be?" a man's voice asked.

"I thought he was away at the moment," Dora said.

"Harry!" Remus hissed, thankful that Harry was flying low at the moment and could hear
him. "Forest! Now!"

Harry didn't question it; he took off at his fastest pace yet. Next to Remus, Sirius was
fidgeting; the second Harry reached the treeline, Sirius shrunk his broomstick and stuffed it
into his pocket.

"Remus?"

Remus didn't say anything to her, but he heard a thump near the door. He was just thankful
they'd chosen a place to fly that wasn't easily seen from any of the windows.

The door opened a moment later and Remus looked around for Sirius, but all he could see
was a familiar, shaggy black dog making its slow way toward the forest.

"Remus!" Dora exclaimed, and then stopped. The man she was with stopped too. "What is
that?"

"Stray dog," Remus said, surreptitiously trying to clear Sirius' imprint in the snow with his
shoe. "Maybe even a wolf. Things wander out of the forest all the time."

"No," Dora said, "I mean that." She was pointing at his Nimbus and looked impressed.

"Oh," he said. "It was a Christmas present."

"You've got a good friend somewhere," she commented.

"A very good friend," he agreed.

"A Nimbus 1700," her friend commented. "Not quite as good as the Cleansweep Five but it's
decent." Dora gave him an incredulous look.

"Not quite as..." Dora muttered. "You're kidding, aren't you? This is supposed to be the best
broom out there!" Her friend look sulky, and Dora looked faintly annoyed; her hair was a
reddish orange and clashed with – the red jumper he'd given her. He was amused to see her
wearing it, but it did look festive against her green skin. Keith opened his mouth – quite
possibly to argue further – but Dora talked over him. "How does it fly?" she asked.

"Brilliantly," Remus said. "You're welcome to try it. Either of you," he added.

"Really?" Despite what he'd just said, Keith looked rather excited by the prospect.

"Go ahead," Remus said.

Keith set the broom down and said, "Up." It shot right into his hand and he mounted it. He
grinned at Dora and shot into the sky. He was a good flyer, but Remus thought he'd have been
more impressed if he hadn't just seen a nine year old who was quite possibly a better flyer.
Dora pulled out her wand and cast an Impervius Charm on the back of her jeans. Remus
hadn't been able to do one on himself with Harry around and so he'd probably be quite damp
when he got up.

"Does he play?" Remus asked.

Dora nodded as she sat down and said, "Locally at the moment but he's trying out for the
Tornados in July."

"Is something wrong?" Remus asked. Dora looked over at him and pulled a face.

"Is it that obvious?"

"You smell... off."

"Oh," she said. When she thought Remus wasn't looking, she sniffed her arm. When he
chuckled, her hair turned a vivid pink and so did her face. "I was just seeing if I could- stop
laughing!" He might have stopped if she hadn't been laughing too.

"So is everything all right?" he asked, when they'd both calmed down.

"Training was a disaster," she sighed. "Keith insisted on coming with me, even though
I told him he wouldn't be able to watch. Mad-Eye was furious that I'd even brought him, and
he made him wait in the Atrium until we'd finished the lesson. And then there was the party,"
she said ruefully. "He didn't really know anyone and the prat felt threatened by Melvin and
Ben-" She said this with equal amounts of exasperation and affection. "- seemed to
think I'd feel threatened if he talked to Florence and then McKinnon..." She shook her head.
"I'm sort of grateful she was there." She smiled sheepishly. "Keith started to make a
disparaging comment about Mad-Eye and she pounced... She was ruthless, actually. I'd
probably have been nicer about it, but he got the point pretty quickly..."

Remus had spent enough time around Sirius – who had often been on the receiving end of a
telling off by Marlene – to feel a stab of sympathy for Keith. He also knew, however, that –
while she was often blunt – Marlene was very rarely unjustified in what she said. As such,
Remus could do much more than grimace.

"So how's your Christmas been?" Dora asked in a forcedly cheerful voice.

"Good, actually," Remus said, a little apologetically. Dora laughed.

"I have something for you," she added, swinging her rucksack over her shoulder. She
unzipped it and handed over a parcel wrapped in rainbow paper. It was so very Dora that
Remus couldn't help smiling.

"Thank you," he said, tearing the paper off. Several shapeless lumps fell out. Three turned out
to be socks, which Remus was badly in need of; Dora, of course, was perfectly aware of that
because she had access to his clothing at the moment. Another was a simple grey t-shirt.

"It looks good on you," she said, grinning at him. Remus laughed and unfolded the last. Four
books toppled out, but he ignored those for the time being. It was a navy jumper and was so
ridiculously soft that Remus had to resist the urge to put it on there and then. "That's to make
up for the one I stole," she told him.

"It was a present," he said, gesturing to the jumper in question.

"It was bribery," she told him. "Remember? But I still felt bad. Here." She picked up the four
books that he'd dropped. Remus laughed. The Three Little Pigs, Little Red Riding Hood, The
Wolf And The Seven Kids and the popular wizarding fairytale The Wolf And The
Mooncalf were the books she'd bought.

She really doesn't mind, he realised, grinning.

"Thank you," he said again, referring to both the presents and the way she was handling the
knowledge of his condition.

"No problem," she said, seeming to understand.

"Accio," he said, flicking his wand at his cottage. And then, because he didn't want a book-
sized hole in his house, he added, "Aperio." The front door opened in time and the present
he'd had Sirius pick up on his behalf zoomed into his hand, narrowly missing Keith, who'd
chosen that moment to fly low. Remus passed it to Dora without further ado and she tore into
it with enthusiasm to rival Sirius'. Her enthusiasm was not diminished when she saw what it
was; a heavy, leather-bound book.

"Human Chameleon," she said, tracing the embossed title. Her eyes were enormous and her
hair was the brightest yellow Remus had ever seen it go. "Remus," she whispered, flipping to
the contents page, "where in Merlin's name did you find this?"

"Would you believe me if I told you that a friend of mine bought it from a banshee?" That
earned him a laugh; he didn't think she did believe him. "You don't have it, do you?"

"Have it-?" she choked. "No, of course I don't! Remus, there were only ten copies ever made!
I've read booksabout this book!"

"I thought you might find it useful," he said, smiling. "Matt chipped in-" And so had Sirius
and Harry, because it really was a rare and very expensive book. "-because you've done so
much for us..." Sirius had just wanted to buy her something, since his time in Azkaban had
taken away his ability to do so for several years. "-this whole Malfoy thing's just been mad-"

"I can learn so much from this," she said, hugging the book to her chest. "They haven't been
able to find me a teacher for the Special Skill in the Program, but with this... notes from other
Metamorphmagi... I can teach myself! Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She
beamed and carefully cast a Hover Charm on the book; she obviously didn't want it damaged
by the snow. Once that had been done to her satisfaction, Remus found himself in possession
of an armful of deliriously happy Dora.

"I feel bad for just getting you clothes and books now," she said thickly, into the side of his
arm.
"No, I like what you bought me," he assured her. "They- Are you crying?" he asked
incredulously, trying to get a look at her face; all he could see was her sunny hair.

"No," she said, sniffing as she pulled back. She wiped her cheeks on her sleeve and then
added, "Well, maybe a little bit."

Charlie opened the kitchen window and gulped in a few breaths of fresh air; Fred and George
hadn't been able to get whatever it was they'd been trying with the Christmas crackers to
work, and had set a dungbomb off under Great-Aunt Muriel's chair to make up for it. The
entire kitchen stank like-

"- should know better! I like a joke as much as the next person but you've taken it too far this
time! It's absolutely disgraceful behav- Would you stop laughing, Bilius!"

Uncle Bilius attempted to smother a laugh – he did this by stuffing his fist into his mouth.
Everyone at the table – except for Muriel (who'd left in a fit of rage), Mum and Percy -
snickered.

Dad seemed to sense the danger and stood, with a hasty, "Have I shown you my plug
collection, Bilius?" Uncle Bilius leapt to his feet and followed Dad out. Charlie made to
follow but Mum's eyes landed on him and he couldn't bring himself to go through with it.

He sat, instead, while Mum continued to shout at Fred and George: "-inappropriate! I
have never-"

"I dunno, Mum-" Fred said thoughtfully.

"-I think it was pretty appropriate-" George chimed, nodding at Fred.

"The old bat had it coming," Fred said, entirely unrepentant.

"She's just lucky it was only the one. We've got another three upstairs-"

Charlie felt the colour drain from his face; next to him, Bill had gone an odd, greyish colour.
Both stood simultaneously. Charlie grabbed Ron while Bill threw Ginny over his shoulder
and Percy was already at the bottom of the stairs.

They made it to Ginny's room – something she complained about as she dangled over Bill –
when Mum exploded. Percy slammed the door shut and fell against it, his glasses slightly
askew. Charlie put Ron down and Bill tossed a squealing Ginny onto her bed. Charlie found a
comfortable patch of floor, where he was immediately leapt upon by Ginny - he tickled her
until she went away – and joined by Ron, who'd found a deck of Exploding Snap cards.

Bill and Percy – who'd been talking in low voices by the door – joined them and they played
several rounds before Mum – who'd calmed down considerably, came to fetch them for
pudding.

Fred and George were nowhere to be seen and Dad was back and whispered to them all -
while Mum was conveniently at the counter and out of earshot - that Uncle Bilius had gone
home and wished them all a happy Christmas. The smell of dungbombs lingered, seeming to
fuel Mum's irritation every time she took a breath. She sliced the pudding a little too
forcefully and the colour in her cheeks refused to drain out.

Bill seemed to have noticed this, and while Dad and Ginny were clearing the table, turned to
Charlie and said, "What was it that you wanted to tell Mum, Charlie?"

Charlie knew it was a challenge, a dare and he knew that – no matter what he did now, he'd
lose; if he said nothing, Bill would certainly share his news and Charlie'd be the one telling
her that she was losing two sons. However, telling Mum about Romania when she was in this
sort of mood could have potentially fatal consequences.

Unlike Bill, Charlie wasn't smart – and he was aware of that – but he liked to think he was
slightly braver than Bill. And, because he was brave, not smart, Charlie reached into his
pocket and produced his letter for Mum to read.
 The fight

Lupin,

I require your conclusion on the trustworthiness of my Surrey search team members and
several hours of your time to present my own findings on those in your team. I will be at the
Leaky Cauldron at 2pm tomorrow. Kindly arrive on time.

Lucius Malfoy.

Tonks scrawled a hasty 'thank you' to Remus - who'd probably had to go home to get Strix so
that he could send this to her – all the while cursing the excellent tracking skills of Malfoy's
ruddy owl. Strix gave Canis – who was coiled on Tonks' pillow – a cool look before holding
his leg out for her to attach the letter to. He hooted once and launched himself out of the
window and into the sky.

She closed the window and watched him disappear into the clouds - at least until she
remembered that she was supposed to be getting ready for training. She hastily swapped
Matt's jumper and jeans – Lucius had been inspecting 'Matt' today - with her own torn jeans
and a Weird Sisters t-shirt. She was just pulling on socks when a tap on the window startled
her.

She fell off her bed, knocking her elbow on her bedside table on the way down. Muttering
curses at Canis, who'd started to purr, she got up to let Helga in.

"Hi, girl," she said. Helga – Keith's screech owl – swooped past her to perch on the back of
Tonks' desk chair; Tonks had stopped hanging clothes there after Helga's sharp claws
destroyed her Harpies jumper.

Tonks used her reflection in the window to choose a face for the night; blue hair, red eyes and
freckles. The transformation only took her a few seconds – she'd been studying Human
Chameleon at every spare moment since Christmas (though there hadn't been many, what
with training, Keith, her three lives in the search and saying goodbye to Tom and Charlie,
who'd left for Romania the day before last...) – but apparently it was too long for Helga. She
didn't like being ignored. She hopped up and down, flapping her wings and hooting madly.

While Tonks wasn't overly fond of Helga, she didn't really want her eaten either; Canis had
stood, stretched and prowled forward to sit on the edge of Tonks' bed. And, while he was
small, Tonks had no doubt that Canis would come out as the victor.

She sighed and took the letter and Helga immediately chirped happily and settled down.
Canis sat, tail twitching, as his eyes flicked between Tonks and Helga.

I miss you so much. Can't wait for tomorrow. Love you.

Keith.
Tonks stared at Keith's messy writing, not sure whether she felt more shocked, horrified or
happy. She flopped back onto her bed. Canis hissed and darted out of the room.

"Bloody Malfoy," she muttered; thanks to him, she'd no longer be able to get to Keith's
Quidditch game. They'd been planning to have dinner afterward, to make up for not having
seen each other since Christmas... but that couldn't happen anymore.

She groaned and grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill and wrote a lengthy apology letter;
she filled about four inches – with reasonably small writing – but didn't actually manage to
say much; she obviously couldn't give him a proper reason so the majority of the letter
consisted of apologies and wishing him luck for the game tomorrow. She sent if off with
Helga and sighed again, looking at the letter for a different reason; Keith had said he loved
her.

That made her happy – who didn't like to be told they were loved? – but it also worried her;
they'd been dating six months, yes, but she didn't think she was ready to say it back. Would
he expect her to? Would it upset him when she didn't?

Oh, Merlin, she thought, flinging an arm over her face. Why does everything have to be so
hard? She did her best to shove those thoughts to the back of her head; she was too tired to
think about it right now – too tired to think about much at all, really – and forced herself to
get up. It was so very tempting to just pull her blankets over and go to sleep. She missed
sleep.

But if I sleep now, Mad-Eye will show up to drag me there. She pulled on her rucksack, which
had a pair of Remus' clothes in it for tomorrow, and also an outfit for her to wear as Tock. It's
easier if I just go.

Hopefully she'd sleep tonight... assuming Mad-Eye let her; she was staying at his house -
ready for an early training session – but the last few times she'd stayed over, he'd crept into
her room at some Merlin-cursed hour and woken her up with a shouted, 'Constant vigilance!'

Mum had spoken to the goblins at work and had them teach her an Anti-Apparition Charm,
which Tonks hadn't yet been able to remove; it was Mum's not-so-subtle way of telling her to
use the door instead of Apparating straight in.

Mum called her into the kitchen as she made her way to the front door; she was sitting at the
table, staring at a neatly wrapped present, and holding a small, worn piece of parchment.

Andy, it said; Tonks had read it - and had it read to her - many times.

Merry Christmas.

Cissy.

The present had arrived on the morning of the day after Christmas – Dad was in Ireland with
work and Mum was too afraid to open it without him there, though Tonks had offered to sit
with her, or even open it for her. Poor Mum was convinced there was a secret message hidden
in the brief letter and had spent ages reading and re-reading the stupid thing. Dad was due
home tomorrow, thankfully, and Tonks hoped he could talk some sense into Mum; Merlin
knew she'd had no luck.

"Are you sleeping here tonight?" Mum asked.

Tonks shook her head and said, "Mad-Eye's." Mum watched her for a moment and then stood
and pulled her into a hug. Tonks hugged her back, a little bewildered. "Are you all right?"

"You look tired, dear," Mum said, looking at her face. Tonks altered her features and Mum
frowned. "If they're working you too hard at the Ministry, I don't have a problem with going
to talk to them-"

"No," Tonks said, letting her head rest against Mum's shoulder. "It's not the Ministry, it's
other... things."

"Like?" Mum asked archly, releasing her.

Like pretending to be Remus and Matt and Tock. She'd take on the burden again in a heartbeat
but she honestly couldn't wait for Malfoy to sack 'Remus' – and wishing for that to happen
made her feel exceptionally guilty – so that she'd be able to have some more time to herself;
'Remus' investigation was going slower than she'd predicted, or maybe 'he' was doing such
good work that Malfoy's decided to not to fire 'him'. She couldn't say anything about that to
Mum, though; Mad-Eye, Remus and herself were the only ones who knew about the search,
and she and Remus were the only ones who knew about her pretending to be him and Matt.

"Just... stuff," she said lamely.

"Well," Mum said, "if 'stuff' doesn't settle down, I'll dose you up with a Sneezing Solution
and make you stay home."

"You'd make me sick?" Tonks demanded.

"If I had to," Mum said, folding her arms. Tonks made a mental note to start checking her
food for spells and potions like Mad-Eye did. "Now, go to work, get a good night's sleep and
I'll see you after Keith's game tomorrow night." Tonks' insides squirmed with guilt about
Keith again, but she didn't correct Mum; Mum could believe she was still going to see him –
it was certainly easier than trying to explain that she was working again.

"How can you be so bossy now, but not be able to open a present from your sister?" Tonks
wondered aloud. Mum's grey eyes narrowed and Tonks, recognising the danger signs said,
"Well, I'm off. See you tomorrow, love you!" and bolted from the room and out the front
door.

"I can't-" Florence gasped, struggling to get out of Tonks' grip. "Tonks, let go."

"Nice try," Tonks said cheerfully.

"I'm serious!" Florence shouted. The other trainees - who were grappling with their
opponents nearby – looked over. "Let go."
A little surprised, and a little put off by everyone staring, Tonks released her hold on
Florence. Florence sank to the ground, shaking, and Tonks was alarmed to see how pale she
was. Tonks helped her over to the side of the room, where they wouldn't be in anyone's way,
and crouched down beside her. Florence's face was scrunched up and she was hugging
herself.

"What's wrong?" Tonks asked worriedly. She looked up for Mad-Eye, hoping he might be
able to help her but he was following another Auror out of the room, looking irritated. "Are
you feeling sick?"

"What do you think?" Florence snapped.

"When did it start?" Tonks asked, refusing to be deterred; she was often grumpy when she
was sick too.

"I've been feeling off all day," Florence said, shivering. "It's getting worse, though..." Tonks
put a hand on her forehead which was sweaty and quite warm.

"Do you want to see the Healer or something?"

"No," Florence said, "I think I'm probably just tired."

"It could be whatever Ben's got," Tonks said; they hadn't seen him for a few days, but
Shacklebolt had told Finch who'd told Florence and Melvin who'd told Tonks that he was
really sick.

"I really hope not," Florence groaned. "Do you know if Ben ever felt like he'd been trampled
by a Hippogriff?"

"No, I don't," Tonks said, smothering a laugh at Florence's dramatic response. Florence
seemed to know, because her eyes narrowed. "Would you like me to take you home?"

"I'm sick, not crippled," Florence muttered. "But thanks for the offer." Tonks smiled and
stood back as Florence stood – which seemed to take a lot of effort – and walked over to
Auror Finch. A short conversation later, Florence walked out clutching her head.

Tonks joined Edwards and McKinnon – the first she managed to throw off with a bit of effort
– Edwards was very tall and quite solid – but she had no luck against McKinnon. Both of
them were able to throw her off with ease.

"So who taught you to wrestle?" Tonks asked McKinnon as they retrieved their rucksacks
from the corner of the room.

"I had an older brother," McKinnon said, with a very small, distant smile. Tonks stared;
McKinnon never spoke about her family. The reason for that, though, was reasonably
obvious now; it hadn't escaped Tonks' notice that McKinnon had said 'had'. "And some rather
exuberant friends. I also played Quidditch and did some other... work... when I was about
your age." Tonks knew better than to ask about that – she knew she wouldn't be given any
details – but she knew it was something to do with the war, and that Remus had been
included in whatever it was. She wondered, absently, how he was doing, and if he'd got her
'thank you' letter yet.

Tonks and McKinnon left the Defensive and Offensive Combat room together; Mad-Eye still
wasn't back, so Tonks figured he was waiting for her upstairs. The stairs that led up to the
broom cupboard exit were crowded like always, but unusually, the crowd didn't seem to be
moving.

"Augustus? What's going on?" McKinnon asked, snapping her fingers to get the attention of
one of the Aurors.

"He's got his wand out!" someone said eagerly; Tonks thought it might have been Lori Patel.

"Moody's going to destroy him!" Michael Brown said, beaming.

"Excuse me! Sorry, Trixia, excuse me." The crowd rippled and slowly parted to let Melvin
through. "Tonks!" he said, when he saw her. "I think you should see this-"

"What's happening?" McKinnon asked sharply.

"Her- Sorry, your boyfriend's here," Melvin said.

"Keith?" Tonks said stupidly.

Melvin was too polite to say anything and just nodded, but McKinnon rolled her eyes and
said, "Who else could he be talking about? He's the only one, isn't he?"

"What in Godric's name is he doing here?" Then, worried that something might be wrong,
Tonks started to squeeze through the crowd. Melvin was saying something to McKinnon in a
low voice. "Excuse me, sorry, excuse me- MOVE!" Edwards shuffled out of the way, but
most of the others were still milling around. "Parva Digitum Omnia," she muttered, flicking
her wand. The entire mob – herself, McKinnon and Melvin included, unfortunately, due to
her non-specific casting – wobbled and then fell as one, with a loud screech. Tonks merely
grew her toes back and hopped over the other Aurors and trainees. "Sorry," she said, wincing
when she saw Scrimgeour had been caught by the hex too.

She could hear loud voices in the hallway; one was certainly Mad-Eye's and if Melvin was
right, the other belonged to Keith. She didn't think she's ever heard him shout before.

"- right to keep me from going down-"

"I have every right, boy! You-"

Tonks shoved the partially open door and tripped through it. Keith – and it was him – tucked
his wand away and ran forward to help her up. Mad-Eye watched them, frowning.

"Wotcher," she said dazedly. "What are you doing here?"

"Breaking and entering," Mad-Eye growled.

"I came to see you," Keith said, shooting Mad-Eye an angry look. "And then I got intercepted
by Moody-"

"Auror Moody," Mad-Eye snapped. Tonks gave him a dark look. "-and if I hadn't intercepted
him-"

"I was only-"

"Shut up!" Tonks yelled. "Talk one at a time-"

"I'll go first," Keith said instantly. "So-"

"Not here!" Tonks said. She grabbed Keith's hand and Mad-Eye's arm and led them both
down the hall and into Mad-Eye's cubicle. "Do you two have any idea how much of a scene
you were causing?"

"He was causing the scene!" Keith said, pointing at Mad-Eye, who folded his arms and said
nothing. "I came to see you-"

"What about?"

"This," Keith said, pulling out the note she'd written him that afternoon. "You didn't even
give me a reason, you just said you can't do something that's been planned for days." Tonks
sighed.

"Then what?"

Keith looked troubled that she'd changed the subject but said, "Then I tried to go down to see
you but an Auror told me I couldn't, so I asked her to get you for me but she came back
with him and he wouldn't let me talk to you and he refused to take a message to you."

"Of course he did," she said, confused about why that was a problem. "I was in a lesson."

"I'm your boyfriend!"

"I'm her teacher," Mad-Eye growled. He frowned, suddenly, pulled out his Sidekick, and then
snorted and shoved it back into his pocket.

"He could have let you out to talk to me," Keith said, giving Mad-Eye another angry look.

"I was in a lesson," she said again still not sure why he was so worked up. "That letter isn't
about anything so urgent that you couldn't have waited for a few minutes." Keith's brown
eyes widened.

"I can't believe you're taking his side!" he said furiously.

"I was in a lesson! If you want to talk, that's fine, but I wouldn't expect you to call time in a
Quidditch game just because I wanted a word-"

"But I would," he said, looking hurt. Mad-Eye made an odd sound.

"Look, Mad-Eye was probably grumpy-" Mad-Eye growled and Tonks rolled her eyes. "- and
maybe a bit blunt but I don't think he was being unreasonable by asking you to wait-"

"He didn't ask me to wait! He told me to go home!" Tonks gave Mad-Eye an exasperated
look, but he didn't seem to care.

"I said I'd tell her you stopped by," Mad-Eye said, "and give her the choice of following it
up."

"I have every right to be here," Keith said angrily.

"Actually-" Tonks started, wincing.

"I can't believe you're siding against me!"

"Keith, I'm just-"

Keith shook his head. "I'll owl you, okay?" he said, sounding hurt, and left.

"Okay," she said quietly. She wanted to run after him but she knew that would probably make
things worse; he'd want her to apologise, and while she was sorry for upsetting him, she
wouldn't change anything if she had the chance to do so. Her hair – which had been orange –
turned a pale blue and she flopped down into Mad-Eye's desk chair, suddenly feeling very
tired. Mad-Eye gave her an uneasy look, as if he expected her to shout at him. She wanted to,
but her rational side knew it wouldn't help much and that she'd probably feel even worse
afterward.

"It takes a special person to date a trainee," Mad-Eye said after a long silence.

"What?" she croaked, looking up at him.

"Dating's tricky for normal people," he said awkwardly. "We're not normal people. We work
long hours and we study technical branches of magic that most people struggle with and
we're always in danger. That's not easy for a partner to handle."

"That makes me feel better," she muttered, rolling her eyes. Mad-Eye limped over to the
spare seat just inside the door and sat down.

"It wasn't supposed to," he said in the gentlest growl she'd ever heard him use. "It was
supposed to make you see sense."

"So... what? Keith's not special?" she asked hotly.

"That's not what I meant," Mad-Eye said, sounding tired. He opened his hipflask, sniffed the
inside and took a sip. "He plays Quidditch?"

"Yes," Tonks said tentatively.

"But not professionally? And he doesn't work?"

"He trains a younger team-"

"Doesn't count," Mad-Eye said. "Point it, he's got too much time, and you've got too little.
I've had a few trainees in my time and those that dated people who lasted were usually with
someone who was also training for something. That way, the other person's got a distraction
when things are busy-"

"Like what?" Tonks asked. Mad-Eye lifted a scarred hand and began to count his fingers.

"I had one girl who dated a professional Quidditch player, two boys who've dated Healers
and one girl who dated a boy in the Department of Mysteries. And there was another boy
who had... they never called it dating but it was obvious to everyone else... she was involved
in the war effort."

"So... what? Keith and I won't last unless he becomes a Healer?" she asked flatly. "That's
rubbish-"

"At the moment, he's got too much time and not enough maturity to handle dating a trainee.
He thinks of you as a normal person and you're not normal. You're a trainee. You're not better
or worse, but you're different and the sooner he realises that and either learns to live with it or
decides he can't, the better things will be for both of you." Tonks couldn't argue with the fact
that she was different and she didn't like the rest of what he'd said but she suspected it was
true.

"You could make things easier for him, you know," she said. "Maybe if you were nice-"

"I'm mean to everyone," Mad-Eye said, gingerly placing his Sidekick on his desk.

"Not to me," Tonks said, and Mad-Eye's mouth twitched.

"All partners, then."

"All of them?" Tonks asked miserably.

"Except two," Mad-Eye amended.

"Why?" Tonks asked, smiling slightly.

"They were special," he said quietly.

"Who were they?" she asked.

"One was a Healer... I think I've told you about Evans before." Tonks nodded. "I don't think
the other would want to be named."

"Why not?" Mad-Eye just shook his head and glanced at his Sidekick. "You should probably
open that," she said. Mad-Eye gave her an unhappy look and muttered the opening phrase.

"AUROR MOODY!" Scrimgeour bellowed.

"Scrimgeour?" Moody growled. "What can I help you with?"

"Find your trainee and bring her to the broom cupboard," Scrimgeour said, sounding milder
now that Mad-Eye had responded. Tonks shrank in her seat and Mad-Eye gave her a
thoughtful look. "There are twenty people that need to be set right."

"You can't fix whatever she's done?" Mad-Eye asked.

"I'm sure we could but as you're aware, Moody, human transfiguration is something that
needs to be dealt with carefully and I'd like to get home at a reasonable hour."

"More importantly," Mad-Eye said loudly. "How was she even able to land her spell?"

"We weren't expecting-"

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Mad-Eye boomed and then in his normal voice, "We're
coming."

Moony whimpered and stretched out on his bed, waiting for the last of the pain to fade. It did,
slowly, burning as it went, but finally he was able to handle moving. He stepped off the bed
and over to the bathroom, where Remus had thought to leave a bowl of water; transforming
often made him thirsty.

Moony used the floor space to stretch again, which got rid of the last of the pain, then looked
around for his packmate, but his packmate wasn't there. He whined and then growled. Maybe
his packmate was planning to leave again. Maybe Moony would be alone again. Moony's tail
fell between his legs and he wedged himself under the bed and curled up.

Moony had just started to bite his own forelegs – partially out of boredom and partially out of
anger at his packmate for leaving him - when pair of big, grey-brown paws appeared in his
doorway. Moony pinned his ears back and growled.

It was the owner of the scent that was all over this place. Remus didn't like the scent, and
Moony didn't either, though Moony had more respect for the alpha than Remus did. Alphas –
even bad alphas – should be followed. The alpha peered under the bed and huffed at Moony,
before baring his teeth: Come out, or I'll make you.

Moony wriggled out and the alpha inspected the damage to his legs. Moony was inspecting
the damage that Remus had done; one of the alpha's ears, his tail and one of his shoulders
were bald. They stared at each other for a long time and then the alpha huffed again and
Moony averted his eyes.

Another huff – this one followed by a bark – and Moony knew to follow. The alpha led him
into the big room where Remus spent most of his time and then outside, where Remus came
and left from. Other wolves were there, but not Moony's packmate.

He bounced up to one black wolf and smelled her too late; she turned around and snapped at
him. He snorted at her and went to inspect another who was dark furred and about the right
size. This time, he took care to smell first. It was a packmate – the man-boy that Remus spent
time with – though not the one Moony'd been looking for. He nudged the pup's flank.

The pup started and growled at him. Moony whined and the pup's ears pricked up. He trotted
forward, tail wagging, to lick Moony's ear. Moony's tongue lolled out and he sat patiently as
the pup inspected his hurt legs and then took his turn inspecting a painful smelling cut on the
pup's back.

Both sat down in the snow under a tree – pressed against each other for warmth – and
watched as the rest of their pack socialised. The younger pups frolicked in the snow and
followed the alpha around, while the older wolves had killed a hare and were fighting over
scraps. Several of the elders were sleeping, though a pale golden wolf was alert and looking
around.

When she spotted Moony and the pup, she extracted herself and made her way over. Moony's
hackles rose and he and the pup stood, ready, but they needn't have worried. Once she got
closer, Moony recognised her smell. She was the elder that Remus and the pup took care of.
Even as a wolf, she still smelled of the outside world; she'd only arrived that morning. He
greeted her and she greeted him back shyly, before repeating the same greeting with the pup.

The three of them settled down again and things were relatively peaceful, at least until the
alpha returned. Moony thought he'd come to see how the elder was doing; the alpha barked at
her and sniffed her ears – which made her look afraid – and then he backed off and came to
stand before Moony instead.

Moony huffed at him and put his ears back – go away – but the alpha ignored the silent
message. The alpha snapped and Moony yelped as pain shot through his ear. The alpha's bite
wasn't playful like his packmate's often was, or even a warning. It was an assertion – I can do
whatever I like – and Moony didn't like it. Still, Moony knew better than to retaliate; Remus
might have had a chance with his wand or his wits but neither Remus or Moony had a chance
in a physical fight.

Moony whined and pressed his ear against the snow to stop the stinging. The alpha made a
funny noise that was a cross between a growl and a wheeze. Then he did it again. Remus
would have called it laughing. Moony backed away and the alpha moved on.

The younger pups who had been following him, however, didn't. The elder took one look at
them, dismissed them and licked Moony's hurt ear, surprising him. The pup growled at the
younger pups and pressed himself closer to Moony and the elder.

The younger pups barked and huffed amongst each other and then advanced; the alpha had
shown he had no regard for Moony, the pup or the elder and so the younger pups probably
wanted to assert themselves. Moony stood – their heads only reached the underside of his
chest – but there were six of them. The pup was taller than them too – they were at his
shoulder – and after a moment's hesitation, the elder stood as well.

The younger pups all looked their small leader; she had a fawn coat and was known to
Remus as Greentooth. To Moony she was the beta. She snorted and a spindly silver pup, an
enormous one with a dark grey coat and another smaller one with russet fur extracted
themselves from her pack and advanced toward the pup, who looked unnerved but held his
ground.

The beta sent the other two in the elder's direction. That left her facing Moony. She bared her
teeth and circled forward. Moony snapped his teeth together, warning her to stay back.

The beta didn't listen and Moony resigned himself to a fight. He bared his own teeth and
prowled around, keeping her opposite him at all times, with at least two yards between them.

Moony wasn't aware of much else – he heard others growling around him but didn't know
who - and it was hard to tell how long he and the beta circled each other – Moony's
timekeeping abilities weren't anywhere near as good as Remus' – but eventually, the beta got
bored and lunged.

Despite that, Moony was the first to cause any harm; his teeth grazed the beta's leg and she
yelped. It' didn't deter her for long, though; she caught his tail and then his back leg in quick
succession.

After that, it was all a blur of teeth and blood and snarling, though it was obvious to Moony
that he was losing. Moony had more experience being a wolf, but he'd never fought to kill.
The beta had, and had probably learned to fight from the alpha.

After a few painful – but not overly effective – bites, the beta managed to get her teeth
around Moony's already-injured foreleg. He crumpled. The beta moved to stand over him.

The pup was busy with the beta's three pups, and the elder had submitted to the pups she was
facing. No one was coming to help him.

The beta's stained, red muzzle and gleaming teeth moved into Moony's line of sight and then
everything was black.

"Open," Padfoot said, throwing the locket at the training room wall. It hit with a dull thud –
the Cushioning Charms had been destroyed when Harry blew up his Form Revealer and
Padfoot hadn't put them back up yet – and bounced onto the ground. Padfoot Summoned it
back into his hand and threw it again. "Open."

Harry was lying on the floor, hoping that his Animagus form would spontaneously come to
him; he'd been deterred by his two failures with the Form Revealer and was reluctant to start
a third. He hastily closed his eyes; watching Padfoot get angry with the locket wouldn't help.

"Open, you stupid-" Padfoot dropped the locket and stepped on it again and again. Harry
realised he'd opened his eyes and shut them again. Everything was quiet for a moment.
Unnerved, Harry opened one eye and saw Padfoot trying to prise the locket open; Padfoot
had tried this many times before. "Right," Padfoot said, "I'm off, before I go mad." He threw
the locket down and stalked out, muttering to himself about things to pack and how much he
hated the locket.

He was back a few minutes later, rucksack in hand.

"I thought you'd gone," Harry said, rolling onto his side. Padfoot grinned.

"Seen anything yet?"

"Darkness," Harry said gloomily. "Maybe I'm a big, black dog like you." Padfoot barked a
laugh and crouched to ruffle his hair.

"Or maybe you're as blind in your head as you are physically." Harry scowled. "Why don't
you start on stage one while I'm gone," Padfoot suggested. "It's a better way to spend your
time than meditating, I promise you."

"Maybe," Harry said reluctantly. "How long do you think you'll be tonight?"

"Dunno. Longer if I get lost," Padfoot joked.

"I thought you said the tracking spell worked," Harry said, frowning.

"It did." Padfoot made a face. "I think... It's a finicky little charm." Padfoot glanced out the
window. "I need to go." He called Kreacher to take the locket away and left with a, "Stage
one, kiddo."

"Fine," Harry said. "Be careful!" he added, for all the good that it would do.

Everything was black, because an enormous bundle of dark fur had just slammed into the
beta and dragged her to the ground. Moony stood as quickly as he could, ready to fight again
if he had to, though that didn't look likely; the beta was struggling, pinned by the front paws
of Moony's packmate. For the first time ever, Moony saw her look afraid.

Padfoot snorted at her and snapped his teeth together a few inches from her face. She
flinched, and the second Padfoot released her, she limped off, ears back and tail down. Her
packmates stopped harassing the pup and the elder to pay attention to the new threat.
Padfoot's hackles rose and he snarled. They were quick to follow the beta after that.

One of Padfoot's front paws was bloodied, but otherwise he seemed as cheerful as ever. He
greeted Moony with a loud bark, while his tail danced back and forward. Moony made a
whuffing noise in response and Padfoot trotted over, nose twitching. He whined at the sight
of Moony's front legs – Moony wasn't too happy with the way they looked either, but Remus
could deal with that later – and then his shaggy head snapped up; he'd noticed the elder and
the pup. Both of them were watching with wary curiosity.

Before Moony could bark or do something to tell them that Padfoot was a packmate, Padfoot
had bounced over to introduce himself.

Moony made a small, amused noise and limped over to join his packmates, truly glad – for
the first time – that he hadn't stayed under Remus' bed all night.
 A perspective on problems

Since their fight at the Ministry in early January, things had been good between Tonks and
Keith. She'd rushed Malfoy through his report and made it to the last half of Keith's game to
surprise him, and they'd gone out to dinner to celebrate his team's win. He'd apologised for
the way he behaved and she'd apologised – she wasn't entirely sure what for, but felt that he'd
deserved an apology – and, with Mad-Eye's advice still lingering in her head, she'd done what
she could to make things better between them.

She'd sworn him to secrecy and then, slowly over several weeks, told him what she could –
and also several things she shouldn't have – about being a trainee. She told him about the
Greyback case, and the legendary camp where he kept his victims. She told him how
Greyback had been quiet lately, though she and Mad-Eye couldn't work out why. She told
him that she was also working undercover on the Potter-Black case and that was the reason
she'd been so busy lately. She didn't tell him that she'd been working for Malfoy, however,
and she also didn't tell him that she'd been pretending to be three people instead of one, or
who those people were.

In turn, he'd made an effort to be understanding when she had to cancel a date, and was also
making an effort to be nicer to her friends. Unsurprisingly, he and Melvin got along
swimmingly, brought together by their love of Quidditch, and Florence was less opinionated
than Ben or McKinnon, who Keith tolerated and was tolerated – barely, in McKinnon's case –
by.

By the end of January, life had finally settled into a routine – with the only irregularity being
Malfoy's random and often inconvenient demands of Tock or Remus.

Keith was sitting beside Melvin on the couch in Tonks' sitting room – he'd been unusually
quiet today, but Tonks figured he'd tell her what was bothering him eventually. Both he and
Melvin were looking at Quidditch Quarterly – though Melvin was supposed to be studying
for the Stealth and Tracking test they had in four days. Florence and Tonks were spread out
on the floor, writing revision notes.

"What are the seven ways you can track someone?" Tonks asked. "I've got sight, sound and
spells, but-"

"Smell," Florence said, immediately; she'd been in Ravenclaw, after all. "Touch, by magical
traces, and with Legillimency."

"That's right," Tonks said, scribbling them down. "Thanks."

"Stealth and Tracking, right?" Florence said.

"Yes," Tonks said slowly. "What about it?"

"S and T," Florence said. "Sight, sound, smell and spells and then touch, traces and
telepathy."
"Telepathy?" Tonks laughed.

"Legillimency," Florence said, shrugging. She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. "Don't
ask why; I know it's wrong, but it works, so-"

"Wait, what was that?" Melvin asked.

Florence and Tonks shared a look, wordlessly deciding whether it was worth repeating.
Eventually, Tonks sighed and relayed the information and Melvin nodded before his attention
drifted back to the magazine.

"Name a tracking spell," Florence said. Tonks groaned; Stealth and Tracking was her weakest
subject in both theoretical and practical applications.

"That one..." Tonks said vaguely, squinting into the distance as she tried to remember.

"Very helpful, thank you," Florence said, smirking. "Full marks for that-"

"You've been spending too much time with McKinnon," Tonks groaned, trying to read her
notes out of the corner of her eye.

"Answer the question, Nymphadora," she goaded.

"Don't call me..." Tonks muttered darkly. Florence ignored her. "Fine. The Faux Feather
Charm."

"Which...?"

"Allows one to track an owl over any distance and provides the caster with an exact set of
Apparition coordinates upon the owl's return," Tonks recited.

"Disadvantages?"

"Even the simplest ward will displace the charm and render it useless," Tonks said. "Which is
why it's not used much. Incantation?"

"Sequitur Pinnam," Florence shot back. "How's it cast?"

"Start with the wand on the owl's head and move it down the back, between the wings,
stopping in line with the- Oi!" In a move almost too quick for Tonks to register, Florence had
grabbed Tonks' notes and hidden them behind her back.

"You were cheating."

"Was not!"

"Stopping in line with the what, then?" Florence asked.

"The... er... the..."

"That's what I thought." Tonks snatched her notes back and poked her tongue out at Florence,
who laughed. "It's the secondary coverts, in case you were interested." Tonks grimaced.
"Okay, now ask me something."

"Er... name one important stealth spell."

"The Cushioning Charm," Florence said.

"How would you use it?"

"Cast it on the outsides of your clothes and the bottom of your shoes to muffle any noises you
might make," she said confidently. "How would you find someone who was Disilliusioned?"

"You might be able to hear them, you might see a slight shimmer where they're standing or
you could cast something like a Homenum Revelio to reveal their presence," Tonks said.

"Goo-" Florence reached into her pocket and pulled out her Sidekick. Melvin had done the
same. They shared a look and whispered the passwords – Keith obligingly put his fingers in
his ears, as Tonks made him do whenever her Sidekick went off.

"That's odd," Melvin said. "The clock hands are just spinning around."

"Probably a panic signal if she's not somewhere she can talk... Do you have a map?" Florence
asked, sitting up. Tonks grabbed a street directory off Dad's bookcase, which was in the
corner of the room and brought it back. Florence muttered a few coordinates, and traced what
looked like a map of London before looking up at Melvin. "That's Knockturn Alley," she said
quietly.

That obviously meant something to Melvin – though not to Tonks or Keith, who exchanged
confused and, in Tonks' case, worried looks.

"Lonsall?" Melvin asked. Aurors Finch and Shacklebolt had been reassigned to another case
– one which Tonks knew little about – because in the eleven months Sirius had been loose,
he'd made absolutely no attempt to get close to the Longbottoms.

"Must be," Florence said, getting up. She flicked her wand and all of her books and
parchment stacked themselves neatly into her rucksack; Tonks watched enviously, having
never been able to manage any sort of tidying charm. Melvin's things hadn't even made their
way out of his rucksack before he'd been distracted by Keith's Quidditch magazine so he had
little to pack up.

"Would you like me to go with you?" Tonks asked. Keith sucked in a breath.

"No," Florence said, glancing in Keith's direction; he'd let out a relieved sigh. "We'll go to the
Ministry and let someone know what's going on and then work from there."

"Thanks for having us over," Melvin said. "Do you mind if we use the fireplace?"

"Of course not!" Tonks said. "Be careful, both of you, and let me know when everything's
okay."
"We will," Florence said, giving her a hug, as Melvin vanished into the Floo. "I'll be in
touch!"

"Be careful!" Tonks said again, as Florence vanished.

"Are they going to be okay?" Keith asked, patting the couch next to him. Tonks went and sat
down, curling into his side.

"I hope so," she said, snaking an arm around his waist. "I hope Auror Finch-"

"Nymphadora," Keith said, looking unusually serious. Tonks had given up trying to correct
him with her name; aside from anything else, he'd know that she didn't like the statue he'd
bought her for Christmas, and she didn't want to hurt his feelings. "I was wondering if I could
ask you something." Tonks shifted away so that she could see his face.

"What?" she asked.

"Please don't get angry, or upset," he said, holding up his hands. "Just listen, and then you can
have your say, all right?"

"All right," she said warily. Keith swallowed and she wondered what it was. Did he have bad
news? He must, if he thought she'd get angry or upset. Maybe he was breaking up with her, or
maybe-

"I think you should quit the Program." Her mouth fell open. "Please, listen," he pleaded.
Tonks swallowed several angry responses and frowned at him, arms folded over her chest.
But, she didn't say anything. "Thank you. Look, everything you've told me about the Program
is great – I feel like I know what's going on now, you know? And I know how much you
enjoy it-"

"Then why would you even ask-" she began, feeling angry and hurt, but more than anything,
betrayed.

"Because I'm worried about you. You've got two cases on the go, as well as lessons
for seven different subjects and I know you've been tired lately-"

"And that means I should quit?" she asked flatly.

"Look, life's about balancing, and you haven't been able to do that-"

"I'm balancing," she said defensively.

"Nymphadora-"

"Don't call me that," she snapped. "I know things are busy at the moment, but I chose this. I
worked hard to get in and as much as I appreciate-" That word was hard to get out. "-your
concern, this is my future we're talking about. I'm not just going to quit-"

"What about our future?" he asked quietly.

"Our- as a couple?" He nodded.

"It's important, right?"

"Of course it is!" she said, throwing her hands up. He twitched, startled. "That's why I told
you everything. Iwant you to understand- I thought you did understand."

"I do," he said. "Sort of. And better than I did before... It's just... I'm worried about you. What
if you don't come home one day-"

"It's an occupational hazard," she mumbled.

"Exactly," he said. "That's not fair to you or to me."

"No," she conceded. "But it's something I've accepted and that you should too-"

"And time together?" he asked. "I get that you're busy and things have actually been better
lately, but I don't want to be pushed aside. I want to be your priority. I deserve to be your top
priority."

"You do," she agreed, and then winced, because this was going to sound absolutely terrible
no matter how she put it. "But you can't be with everything else that's going on, and I'm sorry
that that's the way it is, but-"

"This is why you should quit," he said persistently.

"I'm not quitting," she said, and he looked angry for the first time.

"You're everything to me – you are the most important person in my life-" Tonks stared at
him, feeling extremely uncomfortable with that declaration; surely his parents were more
important to him than she was? She hoped that was the case. "-but to you, I'm just something
to keep you entertained while you're not with the Program and then I'm a burden the rest of
the time."

"That's complete and utter rubbish!" she snapped. She was so hurt that he could think that of
her and knew that she had two options; she could cry, or she could shout. She picked the
latter. "If that was true, then why the bloody hell would I have told you about the Program?
Why would I have introduced you to my friends, or-"

"All right, maybe that was taking it a bit-"

"Far?" she asked furiously. "Do you think so?"

"Look-"

"No, you look," she said. "I'm quite happy to talk to you about anything that's on your mind –
even if I may not particularly like what you've got to say – but I'm not just going to sit here
and let you insult me and tell me I don't care about you." She stood and stalked out of the
room.
"Where are you going?" he asked, hurrying after her.

"To find something else to entertain me," she said. She knew it was nasty and that he already
felt terribly guilty – one look at his face was evidence of that – and that she'd probably feel
awful for saying that to him later, but right at that moment, she was too angry to care.

She was also aware that she was probably overreacting but she didn't care about that either.
She flicked her wand at the front door which leaped open, and stalked out into the muddy
front garden. She slipped, landing in the muddy, grassy, snowy mess on the ground, picked
herself up and Disapparated.

Remus glanced over his shoulder to check that he hadn't been followed out of the main
building. He hadn't – which was remarkable, in his opinion, given how closely Greentooth
had been watching him since the full moon – and that was good, because he'd spent all of
yesterday with Sirius and Harry, and Greyback was beginning to get suspicious again.

What he doesn't know won't hurt him, he thought hopefully.

Since Remus was still quite battered after the full moon, with his shredded arms, scratched
ear and what he suspected was a strained hamstring, he was quite keen to keep Greyback as
complacent as possible. That was even harder because Matt had sneaked home today for
some time with his parents and if Greyback found out, he'd likely be furious with both of
them. Debbie, thankfully, spent so much time in her room that she wasn't guilty by
association and had been more or less left alone.

Remus checked his pockets to make sure he still had the letter from Malfoy – apparently he
wanted to meet with Remus first thing tomorrow morning, and since he'd been given such
short notice, Remus couldn't afford to put off posting it - and then he turned on the spot.

He Apparated onto his doorstep, breathing in the calming, familiar scent of home. He pulled
out his wand, tapped the lock and the door swung open.

He stepped inside... and found Dora curled up on his couch, fast asleep. Remus closed the
door as quietly as possible and tiptoed in as well as he could with his hamstring in its current
condition. He wondered what she was doing here and - more importantly - why she smelled
of tears. He would have liked to talk to her, but he couldn't afford to waste time; Greyback or
Greentooth could realise he was missing at any moment and that would have serious
repercussions for him and for Matt. He was also a little afraid that she'd cry...

He crept over and tried to tuck the letter into her hand, but her fingers were too limp to hold
it. He bent her fingers carefully, and slid the letter in, but it slipped right through. He made a
little noise of frustration and was trying to put it in her other hand, when she stirred.

"Damn it," he muttered, stepping back so he wouldn't scare her. She jumped anyway, and
gave him a bleary look.

"Keith?" she mumbled. "How did you find me?"

"It's Remus, actually," Remus said apologetically. "I've got a letter for you."

She blinked and rubbed her eyes and Remus pressed the letter into her hand. Remus shifted a
strip of his bandage so that he could get a look at his watch .

"Oh, it is you," she said. Then she jumped again and her hair turned a brilliant pink, so bright
it was almost blinding, though oddly, Remus found it welcome after the dull camp. "I'm so
sorry!" she said, fully awake now. "I didn't think you'd- I just needed somewhere to-"

"Dora," he said firmly. "Relax. You're more than welcome to use my couch."

"Thanks," she muttered. Remus looked at his watch again, but this time, she noticed. "What
happened to your arms?" she asked, pushing herself up into a sitting position. "Did
Greyback-"

"No. Some of it was me, but most of it was caused by a little savage called Greentooth."

"It looks pretty bad," she said, wincing, but she hadn't seemed overly horrified by the fact that
some of it was self inflicted. He was grateful for that, though her concern made Remus fidget
and try to hide his arms behind his back.

"It would have been a lot worse if Greentooth had had her way," he said, shrugging.

To his horror, she gave a bleak laugh, and then started to sob. Remus froze. He wanted to
comfort her, so he'd have an excuse not to go back to the camp, but he also wanted to get as
far as possible from her tears. And, with each passing second, it grew more and more likely
that Greyback would discover he was missing. Remus glanced at his watch again, grimaced
and sat down next to her.

"Hey," he said, giving her shoulder a tentative pat. "Dora, I'm fine. All in one piece-"

"It's n-not that," she sniffed.

"Oh," Remus said, at a loss, now. "Was it something else I-"

"I'm so s-stupid-d," she said. Remus silently prayed for help, and for her to stop crying, and
patted her shoulder again.

"Dora, you're a very intelligent young wom-"

"Stop b-being nice to me," she said, which completely confused Remus. He decided to keep
his mouth shut this time, and just rubbed her back. "Y-you're b-being attacked at the c-camp
and you h-hate it there but you haven't c-complained once and then h-here I am c-crying
about s-stupid things l-like b-boyfriends when I h-have absolutely n-no right to complain
about anything- What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you," Remus assured her. Except for the fact that you're crying and
it's making me uncomfortable. "You just need to calm down."
"Why-" She hiccoughed and looked at him with teary grey eyes and hair that was pink for
embarrassment and a sickly green for guilt. "Why do I always cry around you?"

"I really don't know," he replied.

"If I'm w-with anyone else, I'm all right, but with you I just-" He glanced at his watch –
feeling extremely rude for doing so and winced. He'd been away for ten minutes, now. "Do
you need to go?" she asked. It seemed she'd spotted the movement.

"I'm afraid so," Remus said, wincing again.

"It's okay," she said, giving him a small smile, as she wiped the last of her tears away. Remus
let out a little sigh of relief. "It was nice to have some good company for a few minutes, at
least."

"Tell me about it," Remus mumbled, thinking that – despite the tears – she was the best
company he'd had all day; Matt had left before Remus woke and Debbie hadn't left her room.
He checked his watch again.

"And there I go again," Dora said, exasperatedly. "Your problems are so much worse than
mine... Merlin, I must drive you mad!" Remus smiled and shook his head and she grinned.
He had to admire her composure; most people didn't recover from an emotional breakdown
as quickly as she – now twice – seemed able to. "Just... I dunno... kick me or something next
time."

"I'm not going to kick you, Dora," he said, shaking his head at her again. Then he smiled
ruefully. "Though Imight get a kick or two if I don't get back in the next few minutes."

"Is it really that bad?" she asked, and Remus got a strong whiff of guilt, fury – presumably at
Greyback - and irritation, that he suspected was directed internally.

"I'd love to say I'm exaggerating," he said, pulling a face. "But yes, it is that bad. Worse
today," he added as an afterthought.

"Why?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Matt's not there. He's gone home for the day," Remus hastened to add, forestalling the
thousands of questions he could tell she'd been about to ask. "Which is perfectly fair, because
I come and go regularly, but it still makes for an unpleasant few hours." He checked his
watch again. "Why am I still here?" Dora, didn't answer him – though Remus hadn't really
expected her to – and was instead giving him a speculative look.

"I could arrange for Matt to go with you, if you'd like," she said suddenly. Remus cocked his
head to the side. Her features shifted and then a different, but still familiar face was looking
back at him. Matt's face.

Remus was sorely tempted to take her up on her offer; if he Apparated them, she'd still have
no idea where they were and wouldn't be able to find the camp again, even accidentally. It
would be dangerous but she was an Auror – well, an Auror trainee – so he wasn't even going
to bring that up.

"You let me cry all over you," she said persuasively. "It's the least I can do."

Remus glanced at his watch again and said, "It's a pretty awful place to go, but if you want to
come, I'm not going to try to stop you."

She'd probably try to follow anyway, and he did have a problem with that; Sirius had found
him – he'd told Remus yesterday that he'd used a simple, but rather temperamental tracking
spell, which had been attached to Hedwig. The False Feather Charm... or something similar,
Remus thought Sirius had called it. It was a spell he claimed to have learned early in his
Auror training, which meant Dora quite probably knew it. And, if she used it to find him, it
would work, and she could accidentally – because he doubted she'd do it on purpose – let the
location slip to Mad-Eye, who'd then be duty bound to investigate.

"You won't stop me?" she asked, beaming at him.

"No, though I'll warn you to be careful, and to follow my instructions." She nodded,
accepting this easily. Remus checked his watch again. "If you're coming, you need to get
ready, and quickly," he said, and she hurried down toward his bedroom to change.

"It's in a forest?" Tonks whispered, not sure what she'd expected. Remus had never exactly
described the camp to her, but she'd imagined buildings, not just snow and trees. It was eerie
though, which she had expected; aside from the wind, she and Remus were the only things
making any noise, and it was starting to get dark, so everything was shadowy.

"Were you expecting Hogwarts?" Remus muttered, sounding amused, as he limped along
beside her.

"No, I- Where do you sleep?" she asked. "Do you have a den or something?"

"You'll see soon enough," he said, and she was surprised how quickly he'd changed; back at
his cottage, he'd been reasonably relaxed (once she stopped crying, at least) but now his
shoulders were stiff and his tone was slightly harder than she was used to.

"Why are you limping?" she asked; she'd thought he'd moved a little gingerly when they
made their way into the garden to Apparate, but it was much more pronounced here.

"Hamstring," he replied, grimacing. "Greentooth again," he added, before she could ask.
"Now, remember to-" Remus stopped abruptly, moving ever so slightly to stand in front of
her. Tonks squinted into the trees, but couldn't see a thing.

"What is it?" she breathed.

"It's time to see if those charms worked," he whispered back. He'd cast a variation of a
Notice-Me-Not Charm on her scent – something she hadn't even known was possible – which
wouldn't stop it from clinging to things she touched, but would stop anyone from smelling it
on her. Or so they hoped. "If anything happens, get out of here. Do you understand?" Tonks
nodded.

Remus began to walk forward again, and Tonks followed him, being careful not to slip in the
snow. They'd only gone a few more paces when three figures emerged, seemingly out of
nowhere, startling Tonks. One of them – a girl – laughed at her surprise.

"Lupin, Rosier," said the largest figure. He was tall, broad-shouldered with whiskers, matted
grey hair and a very nasty smile. She immediately recognised Fenrir Greyback. "We've been
looking for you," he growled softly. Tonks shivered; the wind was blowing from behind him,
and she could smell his sour, meaty breath from here.

"Greyback," Remus replied. "Greentooth." Tonks assumed that was the middle girl – maybe
four or five years younger than Tonks - with straggly, blond hair and brown eyes.
"Yellowpaw." Yellowpaw was a tiny little thing, with very long, blond hair and huge eyes.
The moment Remus spoke to her, however, her face contorted and she snarled. Tonks stared
at her.

"Did you sneak out?" Greentooth asked, pouting at Tonks. "I wanted to play cards and I
couldn't find you."

"We didn't sneak anywhere," Remus said curtly, before Tonks could think of something to
say. "And we'd bedelighted to play cards with you later." Tonks frowned at Remus,
wondering why he was treating her so harshly; even if she had hurt him, she was only a little
girl.

"So where were you?" Greyback asked, watching them carefully. Tonks tried not to squirm.

"Walking," Remus said. Yellowpaw snarled again and Tonks gave her an alarmed look; she
was quite wild.

"You were recruiting, weren't you?" Greyback snarled, though Tonks thought he looked a
little afraid.

"Recruiting who?" Remus asked, sounding frustrated. "The squirrels? A pine martin,
maybe?"

"Don't you get smart with me..." Greyback warned, as both Greentooth and Yellowpaw made
angry noises (Remus had just mentioned hedgehogs).

"Terribly sorry," Remus said. "I'll try to keep the conversation at a level you can follow."
Greyback howled and charged forward incredibly quickly.

So quickly, that Tonks was too stunned to do anything about it. Remus seemed to have been
expecting it, however, and drew his wand just in time. Greyback skidded to a stop, inches
from Remus. Remus pressed his wand into Greyback's shoulder, making him step back.

"Well," Remus said, twirling his wand between his fingers. "I think I've lost my desire to
walk any further. Matt?" Tonks nodded. Remus gestured for her to follow and stepped around
Greyback and the girls. Trying to look as if none of this was new to her, Tonks walked after
him. His limp was barely noticeable and she suspected he was trying very hard not to let it
show.

Tonks was relieved that they weren't followed when they left; Greyback scared her, and
Remus scared her when Greyback was around, because she was worried he was going to get
himself hurt.

"What was that?" she breathed when she thought the others were well out of earshot.

"I told you things were different here," he said, sounding much more like his normal self. "I'd
forgotten you'd met him, though." He sounded angry.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"It's not your fault," he said, looking abashed. He'd stopped walking. "It's mine; upon
reflection, it was stupid of me to bring you here when your scent's familiar to him. I didn't
even think about-"

"Remus, calm down," she said. "He didn't notice anything back there-"

"Only because we're both wearing Notice-Me-Not Charms," he said, looking agitated. "He
might not smell you on us, but we're bound to touch something, or have our scents caught by
the wind-"

"Is your sense of smell really that strong?" she asked.

"That's what you got out of what I just said?" She gave him a sheepish smile and he just
shook his head. "Do you still want to come?" he asked.

"I'm already here," she said, smiling.

"Come on, then," he sighed, gesturing for her to follow again. "We're probably safer inside."

It turned out Tonks had been right to expect buildings, and she felt a new wave of
embarrassment over her comment about dens; in the middle of a rough ring of cottages was
an absolutely enormous building.

"No windows?" she asked, looking at it.

Remus gave her a tight-lipped smile and led her over toward a door. Two men sniffed them –
both Tonks and Remus held their breath – but after a suspicious look and a follow-up sniff,
they were allowed inside.

A large group of people were milling around near the door, taking off damp jumpers and
soggy shoes; Tonks assumed they'd just come inside. Tonks and Remus squeezed past, and
Tonks knocked into several of them – most of whom turned around and snapped or growled
at her – before they made it into clear space.
Inside was bigger than she'd imagined, and made her wonder if magic had been used to
stretch the room. It reminded her a bit of Hogwarts, with the long tables and constant chatter,
although she could tell at once that this was a much grimmer place than Hogwarts had ever
been.

"Are they doorways?" she whispered, well aware that most of these people had very good
hearing.

"You're number sixty four," Remus said, and it was then that Tonks noticed each one had a
number above them. Sixty four was almost directly opposite the door they'd just come in
through. They both crossed the room – Tonks bumped into even more people, and tripped on
the leg of an ugly throne – and slipped inside. Tonks turned to close the door... and found
there wasn't one.

Remus had gone straight to a large rucksack and pulled out one of Matt's jumpers. Though he
was on the other side of the bedroom, he only needed to take one step to be able to pass it
right to her.

"Where's the door?" she said, taking the jumper from him. "Don't you have any privacy, or-"

"I told you things were different here," Remus said again, far more grimly than he had before.

"But- but privacy's a basic human right-" she started.

"We're not human," Remus said bitterly. Tonks opened her mouth to argue, and found that
technically, she couldn't.

"Do you really believe that?"

"We're werewo-"

"Do you believe that you aren't human?" she said. Remus looked a little surprised by the
question.

"I don't know," he said after a moment, and then gave her a curious look. Tonks wondered
what he was thinking about, and then he shook his head. "Put that on," he said, nodding at the
jumper. Tonks pulled off the jumper she'd transfigured back at Remus' cottage and replaced it
with Matt's. Remus' nose twitched and he nodded. "Much better." Tonks transfigured her old
jumper into a silver ring and went to put it on. Remus started to laugh.

"What?" she asked. "No one'll look twice at it." Remus pulled a face and picked the ring up.
He held it for a few seconds and then dropped it back into Tonk's hand. Then, he showed her
his palm, which had an angry red, circular burn on it. "Oh," she said.

"Yes," he said, looking a little bit pained, but more amused than anything.

"You didn't have to burn yourself," she said exasperatedly. "What should I make it into?"

"You know what?" Remus said. "Leave it as a silver ring, and we'll put it on Greyback's
stupid chair. Then, when he sits down, he'll burn his ar-"
"Are you serious?" she asked.

"Assuredly not," Remus said, with a smug little smile that made her think she was missing
something. "But I do think this is a good idea."

He talked her into it relatively easily, and they left Matt's room talking in whispers; Remus
was telling her about making Greyback's fur fall out on the full moon. Remus even cast a
spell on the ring to get rid of both of their scents; Remus smelled it and said it just smelled
faintly of a lot of other people (probably those that she'd bumped) and he levitated it onto the
throne. Tonks had a quick look around, but no one was paying them any attention.

They went to his room – number thirty seven – so that Remus could also change jumpers, and
put a few drops of Dittany on his hand. Then, with a grimace, Remus led her back into the
main area.

"We can't stay in there?" Tonks asked.

"It's too suspicious," Remus said, rolling his eyes to show what he thought of that. They
chose a spot at the end of the bench on the left (since that was close to both Remus and Matt's
rooms) and also because it was several yards from anyone else.

"Does Greyback let you do anything?" she asked.

"Breathe," Remus answered. "If he's in a good mood, that is." He didn't appear to be joking.

"Wow," she said.

"You saw what he was like," Remus sighed. "He hates me." He didn't sound overly upset
about that, though that didn't surprise her; someone like Remus shouldn't care what a monster
like Greyback thought of him.

"It's not just that, though, is it?" she said. There was something else about it, something that
she couldn't quite place.

"I'm afraid I don't-"

"He's afraid of you," she said; Remus' use of the word had made everything click together.
"Isn't he?" Remus didn't seem surprised by Tonks' revelation. Remus inclined his head
slowly. "Why?" she asked, and then thought that might have been a tactless thing to say. "Not
that you aren't... er... frightening, just that you-"

"Matt," Remus said, putting so much emphasis on the word that Tonks grinned. "Firstly, I'm
very frightening-"

"That's what I said," Tonks replied, snickering.

"Well good," he retorted, grinning and she laughed. "And secondly," he said, sobering, "while
I'm more than happy to explain it all to you, this isn't the place to do it."
"It's why Greyback's been so quiet lately, though, isn't it?" she pressed in a lower voice. "No
one's seen him in London – or anywhere really – for over a month now." And a month and a
bit ago, Remus had made his hasty departure to save Matt. "Mad-Eye and I have been trying
to figure it out- how were we so thick? It's because ofyou-"

"I might be a contributing factor," he admitted. Tonks leaned back, impressed.

"Well damn," she said, giving him a wry smile. "That means the case is going to go nowhere
for another few weeks."

"Sorry about that." Remus opened his mouth, as if he was going to say something else. Then,
he looked as if he'd thought better of it. Just as Tonks sighed and prepared to ask what it was,
Remus spoke: "Perhaps you could use the time to sort out your boyfriend problems."

He said it gently, giving her the perfect opening to talk about it if she wanted to, but also let
her know that she didn't have to talk about it if she didn't want to. Something in Tonks' chest
still deflated at the reminder.

"Perhaps," she agreed glumly, and Remus gave her a sympathetic look. "I- no. I shouldn't
keep dumping all of my problems on you. You've got enough to worry about."

"It's actually refreshing to hear about problems I can do something to help fix," he said with a
wry smile. "But if you don't want to talk about it, I won't pry."

"Thanks," she said.

"How's training?" he asked, clearly thinking this was a less touchy subject. It wasn't, after
what Keith had said about wanting her to quit, but she appreciated Remus' effort.

"It's good," she said finally. "I've got a Stealth and Tracking test in four days, which I'm a bit
worried about-"

"Do you know about the False Feather Charm?" he asked randomly.

"Faux Feather, I think it is, but yes. Why?" Remus just smiled and shook his head.

"How's Mad-Eye?"

"Good," she said, and proceeded to tell him about Mad-Eye's latest trap on his garden;
muggle gnomes that had attacked her with little hammers and tripped her with their fishing
line wire. "I swear he keeps buying new ones, because they're irreparable by the time I'm
finished with them, yet every time I go back, there are ten more!" Remus chuckled.

"And the search?" he asked. "How's that going?"

"No Sirius or Harry, but you're almost out of a job," she said apologetically. Remus didn't
seem overly fussed about that, but she supposed he'd had a long time to get used to it, and
he'd had a taste of what life without the search would be like while he was here. "By the end
of next week, I think Malfoy will have sacked-" She dwindled off, because for some strange
reason, she was the only one talking. Remus had gone very still.
A door slammed, and Tonks wondered if Greyback had returned. He wasn't by the door, but
Greentooth and Yellowpaw, as well as several other children of similar ages were positioned
in front of it like bodyguards.

"What's-" she began in a whisper, but Remus shook his head and she fell silent; his eyes were
glued to Greyback, who Tonks could now see standing in front of his throne. In his hand, was
the silver ring.

"She's here," he said. Tonks didn't need to look at Remus to know he was just as horrified as
she was.

"I thought you spelled my scent off of it," she breathed, without looking at him.

"I did," Remus hissed back. "I don't know how-" Greyback held the ring to his nose and
inhaled deeply. Tonks was sure his fingers must be burning, but he didn't appear to care.

"Come forward, my sweet," Greyback said. "I know you're here." Tonks stayed very, very
still. Everything was silent again. "You want to play games?" Greyback asked. "Greentooth!
No one comes in or out until She's found."

Next to her, Remus swore.

 Greyback unhinged

"Lupin!"

"Yes!" both Remus and Dora replied. Her – well, Matt's – face flooded with colour, but
thankfully her hair didn't change at all. He wondered absently if she'd learned better control
from the book he'd given her for Christmas.

"Sorry," Dora muttered. "Habit." Thankfully, Greyback either hadn't heard her, or didn't think
anything of it.

"You too, Rosier."

Remus and Dora approached Greyback's throne. Remus stood with his arms folded, while
Dora had her hands in her pockets; she was probably trying to hide every bit of skin that she
could, in case Greyback could smell her. If the charm on the ring had failed, it was possible
that their Notice-Me-Not Charms hadn't worked properly either. Remus was worried – very
worried – for Dora's safety and felt like a prat for bringing her here, though he couldn't for
the life of him work out how Greyback knew that she was here.

Greyback sniffed Dora first. She looked remarkably calm – even exasperated – under the
scrutiny, while Remus prayed for her safety.

"Who are you even looking for?" Dora asked, cringing away slightly as Greyback sniffed her
short, dark hair.

"Her. Your lost sister." Remus almost laughed. Greyback wasn't looking for Dora at all; he
was looking for his mystery girl – Remus and Matt had dubbed her Smoky because of the
whole 'smoke in the wind' thing. "I can smell her on the ring... it's faint but I'm attuned to it,
to her- I know she put this here!" Greyback was wearing the ring now and Remus hoped that
it was causing him a lot of pain. "It's a message, a symbol of her defiance, I know it is!" The
charms on Dora seemed to have held because he shoved her away – Remus growled – and
moved onto sniffing Remus. A few seconds later, Remus was also dismissed and he led Dora
back to their seats.

They watched as Greyback singled people out – seemingly randomly – and sent them to
stand in a corner. When Greyback had gone through the hundred-and-something people in the
room and singled out about twenty but still not found Smoky, he went a little bit mad. He
seized one of the older women by her scarf and dragged her forward.

"Where is She?" he snarled, shaking her.

"I don't know, Father," the woman said, bowing her head. "I swear, I haven't seen her-"
Greyback flung her away and started on a little boy.

Dora was trembling – with fear or rage, Remus didn't know – and was watching the scene in
front of them, unable to look away.
"We've got to get you out of here," Remus muttered, drawing her eyes to him.

"This is my fault, though," she whispered. "I-"

"No," Remus said. "He's not looking for you."

"But he said-"

"He bit a girl a while back," Remus said, leaning closer to her, so that they wouldn't be
overheard. "And somehow, she's managed to keep herself hidden. Greyback's become
obsessed, and I don't know how, but it'sher scent that he's picked up on."

"Yes," she breathed, "on my jumper."

"You probably brushed against her getting through the doors," Remus said, remembering.
"And when you put on Matt's jumper, the one you were wearing left the protection of the
Notice-Me-Not. Besides, if it was just you, then he wouldn't have singled them out." He tilted
his head toward the group that Greyback was still harassing.

"I should be doing something to help-" she said, and gasped and looked away when Greyback
punched a man so hard that he fell over. One of the women who hadn't been singled out
screamed, and then backed away when Greyback glanced in her direction.

"Matt," Remus said, holding Dora's eyes. "There is nothing you can do. If Smoky comes
forward, fine, but I doubt she will-"

"Smoky?"

"The girl. We know for a fact that she didn't put the ring there because we did, and she's
already proven that she's smart. If she was ever here-" Remus had to admit that it was
possible that Greyback was imagining things "-she's probably far away by now and that
means Greyback's not going to be able to find her."

"That's bad?" Dora asked.

"That's potentially fatal," Remus said grimly. "For all parties involved."

"Everyone to their rooms," Greyback snarled, dropping the neck of the man he'd been
questioning. "We'll do this individually."

"Sixty four," Remus breathed in Dora's ear as they stood. "Go straight to the bathroom and
Apparate out – I'll handle things here."

"But-" Dora fell quiet as Greentooth walked past them.

"Coming?" Greentooth asked, gleefully. Remus didn't know whether it was because
Greyback had a chance to find Smoky, or if it was because she'd obviously disrupted an
important conversation. Knowing her, it could have been either. Thankfully, Dora seemed to
realise Greentooth was talking to her, and nodded.
Then – and Remus had to admit she had a fairly good handle on Matt's behaviour – she gave
Remus one last, slightly worried look and walked toward Matt's room without waiting for
Greentooth. Remus was pleased to see Greentooth looking disgruntled by this, as she
vanished into her own room, sixty-six. Remus, meanwhile, was praying that Dora would
listen to him and leave.

Remus didn't waste any time going to his room once Dora was gone. He went straight into his
tiny bathroom and pulled the curtain across. Then he closed the toilet lid and sat down on that
because there wasn't enough room for what he wanted to do otherwise.

"Expecto Patronum," he murmured, thinking of Sirius and Harry. His werewolf burst out into
the room and skidded almost comically to avoid colliding with the shower, though Remus
thought he probably would have gone straight through the wall instead of into it. The
werewolf lifted his nose and sniffed before baring his glowing blue teeth and growling
silently. He then attempted to prowl around on the very limited floorspace.

"Moony," Remus said, getting his attention. The Patronus padded over and Remus allowed
him to sniff the back of his hand; Moony's nose was both warm and cold at the same time,
and Remus' heart lightened a little. It was – though this was hardly surprising - like touching
a happy memory. "I need you to find Matt," Remus whispered, "and tell him to come back
now. He needs to Apparate straight into his bathroom and then stay in his room until
Greyback comes to see him. Greyback'll ask some odd questions and Matt should answer
them to the best of his ability. Matt shouldn't say anything about being away today because
Greyback thinks he's been here." The werewolf stretched and walked toward the wall. "Tell
him it's urgent," Remus added, as the Patronus streaked away.

Remus sighed, feeling lonely again and then got up, pushed the curtain back, and went to lie
on his bed.

Please, please go home, he thought toward Dora. He thought she would – Auror trainees
were supposed to follow instructions – but one only had to look at Sirius and James to know
that hadn't always been true. Dora was no different; she'd shown that she had a strong
independent streak and while he admired it at times, it worried him now. Please, he thought.

"Rosier!"

Matt, still slightly disoriented from Apparition, poked his head out through the curtain.
Greyback was standing there, eyes feverishly bright and breath coming in wheezy pants.

"Hold on," Matt said and retreated back into the bathroom. He fell against the stone wall of
his shower, taking deep breaths.

That was bloody close, he thought and took a moment to compose himself. He flushed the
toilet for good measure and then flung the curtain back and wandered into his bedroom.
Greyback was still waiting.

"You showered," Greyback said, eyeing his wet hair.

"I thought you'd be a while," Matt said, folding his arms; Greyback didn't need to know he'd
done that at home. He was glad he had; the last thing he needed was Greyback smelling his
parents on him.

"I never said you could shower-"

"I don't recall you saying I couldn't, either," Matt retorted. It seemed Greyback hadn't,
because – while he looked frustrated – he didn't argue. He did, however, grab Matt's neck and
force him to sit down on the edge of the bed. Matt yelped as something burned the side of his
neck; when Greyback released him, and started to pace – giving Matt the impression that this
was going to be some sort of interrogation – Matt could see what appeared to be a silver ring
gleaming on Greyback's hairy hand.

He's lost it, Matt thought. He's actually gone mad. He wondered what had triggered it and if
Remus had had any part in it.

"Where were you today?" Greyback asked as he paced.

"With Remus," Matt said confidently; he and Remus had made a pact years ago now, that
they'd cover for the other's absence in situations like this. "Though I don't know why you're
asking, because you saw us-"

"Where did you go after your walk in the forest?" Greyback snapped, and Matt breathed a
sigh of relief; his bluff hadn't been called. That was also worrying; Matt hadn't been there
today, so if Greyback had seen them, as his response seemed to indicate, then why did he
think Matt had been there? Remus was a good liar, but not that good.

"Back here," Matt said, deciding to play along. Maybe Greyback really had gone mad, and
had imagined him all day. Matt wasn't about to question it. "Remus and I sat down and talked
about decidedly non-suspicious things until-" Matt took a chance and gestured at Greyback.
"-this happened."

Whatever 'this' bloody is... Matt thought. Greyback, however, seemed to understand, and
Matt couldn't believe his luck.

"Did you see or smell anything suspicious, Matthew-"

"Oh, it's Matthew again, is it?" Matt asked, arching an eyebrow. "It's beenRosier for weeks
now-"

"Don't disrespect me!" Greyback snarled, stopping his pacing. Matt shrank back. "And
answer my question, boy. Did you see or smell anything-"

"No," Matt said. "I didn't-"

"Where is She?" Greyback asked, seizing Matt by the throat again.

"I don't bloody know," he retorted, managing to prise Greyback's hands off; they were
shaking, which was odd. Perhaps the silver was really starting to hurt him, or perhaps he'd
lost his strength with his sanity. "But as I've pointed out, I've been with Remus all day –
doing non-suspicious things, mind – and since the rest of our lovely siblings avoid us like
they're humans and we're you-" Greyback seemed pleased by the comparison and Matt hid a
frown, upset that his barb hadn't bothered Greyback. "-we haven't had any contact with
anyone else."

"So you don't know?" Greyback asked.

"I haven't the foggiest where she might be," Matt said. "Didn't I just say that?"

"You can go back outside." Greyback, bizarrely, still looked cheered about Matt's twisted
compliment.

You're a nutter, Matt wanted to say. A complete and utter lunatic... But he didn't, and he
followed Greyback out into the main area again. Greyback immediately went into the next
room over while Matt scanned the area for Remus. Remus' eyes brightened when Matt sat
down, though Remus was giving him a curious look.

"Expecting someone else?" Matt asked. Remus looked amused by that, but also relieved.
Matt decided not to ask. "So what the hell's going on here? I mean, it's a madhouse normally,
but this..."

"He thinks Smoky's here," Remus replied.

"Is she?" Matt asked.

"Not as far as I can tell," Remus said.

"And what's with the ring?" Matt asked, scratching at the burn on his neck.

"He thinks she left it for him." Matt rolled his eyes.

"Did she?"

"No," Remus said, and again Matt decided not to ask. It had obviously been an interesting
day. "How are Robin and Cornelius?"

"They send their greetings," Matt said, shrugging.

"Was it nice to be home?" Matt smiled.

"Unbelievably," he said. "I mean, I stopped by for about ten minutes on Christmas before we
went to my Aunt's - which was great - but actually staying home... First thing I did was start
slamming doors. Mum thought I'd lost it." Remus chuckled.

"It's nice to have a day where nothing strange happens, isn't it?"

"This tonight's more than made up for it," Matt said ruefully, and then frowned. "Although
there was one strange thing..."

"What?"
"Well, I had a shower to get rid of the smell of this place and then when I went looking for
clothes that didn't stink like Greyback, there weren't any."

"He does stink," Remus muttered.

"He does, but that's not what I meant. I meant that all of my clothes seem to have gone
missing," Matt said. "The ones that aren't here, at least. How does that even happen? Mum
said there must have been a break-in but who steals clothes for Merlin's sake?"

"Who indeed?" Remus murmured, apparently finding the whole thing very funny.

Tonks materialised in the kitchen, figuring that at nine-thirty, no one would be around to tell
her off for it; things were beginning to get busy for Mum at the bank again, with the end of
financial year only two months away and Dad was always in bed early because of his odd
hours. They should both have been fast asleep.

They weren't, however and as soon as Tonks saw outlines of people, she adjusted her face
into one that didn't look like Matt's, and that didn't look worried or scared. Mum, Dad, and
Keith were sitting at the table, each clasping a cup of tea and talking in low, worried voices.
Then, a second after she Apparated in, the resounding CRACK startled them all. Dad slopped
tea down his front, while Keith fell off his seat. Mum, on the other hand, didn't appear to
have been startled by her sudden entrance, but was obviously unimpressed.

"Nymphadora Gladys Tonks!" Tonks hated her first name with a passion, but there was also a
very good reason why she used her last name and not her middle one. "Where in Merlin's
name have you been?" Mum asked, enclosing her in a tight hug.

"I went out," Tonks said, shooting Keith a look. Most of her anger had faded, but it was clear
that they had a lot to discuss.

"You should've left a note," Dad said, collecting everyone's teacups. He kissed her on the
head as he made his way to the sink. "I'm glad you're okay, Dora."

"So am I," Mum said, squeezing her again. "Though I'm sure I've told you about Apparating
into the house before..." she said in a dangerously low voice.

Tonks hastily extracted herself from the hug, before Mum squeezed so her tightly that she
broke something. Keith was hovering awkwardly in the corner and Dad, who'd finished with
the teacups, took a look at each of them.

"'Dromeda, would you help me find that shirt, now?" Mum looked over at him, frowning.

"I told you I put it in your wardrobe," she said.

"Are you sure-"

"I'm positive, Ted," Mum sighed. "If you weren't so untidy, then perhaps you'd be able to find
it without my help." She walked out, apparently unaware that Dad had brought the shirt up to
give Tonks and Keith some time alone. Mum was as cunning as the best of them, but Dad had
years of experience dealing with her and knew how to get his way when he needed to.
Mum usually picked it up, but always seemed to miss his subtle manipulations if he used
self-depreciation. To Hufflepuffs like Dora and Dad, humility came naturally, while Mum –
as a Slytherin – still didn't seem able to get her head around the concept that someone would
be self-depreciating if it wasn't absolutely essential. Dad winked at Tonks on his way out.

"So you're okay?" Keith asked.

"I've been better," she said honestly. She was a little shaken by what she'd seen at the camp as
well as worried for Remus and guilty for leaving him, even though that's what he'd asked her
to do. And then, of course was all of her irritation at Keith for saying the things he had that
afternoon, and also a myriad of other feelings that she couldn't be bothered dealing with right
now. "Have you been here the whole time?" Keith shifted, not meeting her eyes.

"You just walked out. I thought maybe you'd just gone somewhere to calm down, but then
you didn't come back... I was really scared," he said in a small voice.

"Sorry for scaring you," she said, feeling a little stab of guilt.

"So where did you go?" he asked. His eyes drifted over the jeans she was wearing, and the
jumper of Matt's. Thankfully, when she'd changed from being Matt, she'd taken on the
appearance of a tall, curvy woman who filled them out well enough for them to pass as
women's clothing. "Because you weren't wearing that when you left."

"I changed," she said lamely.

"Yeah, I'd worked that out," he said. "Look, about earlier-"

"Don't worry about it," she sighed, walking out of the kitchen.

"No, not that. I still want you to think about quitting," he said, following her out. It was
strange to be babied by Keith less than ten minutes after she'd had Remus treating her like an
adult, like an Auror. Unsurprisingly, she didn't particularly like it.

"I'm not going to quit, Keith," she said, pushing her bedroom door open. Her afternoon and
evening at the camp had left her with a stronger sense of morality than ever. He didn't seem
to have heard. He'd picked something up off her floor.

"Nymphadora?" he said. Tonks cringed. It was a pair of boxer shorts. She'd bought a few
pairs back when she started pretending to be Remus and Matt – she hadn't borrowed those,
that was for sure.

"This is going to sound really stupid," she began, as Keith dropped them and picked up a pair
of Matt's baggy jeans; she'd been in such a hurry this morning with Keith and Florence and
Melvin coming over that she'd just dropped everything on her bedroom floor. Usually she
was careful with her disguise clothes, and – in a rather un-Tonks-ish manner that she'd
developed – kept them all folded in one of the drawers in her dresser. She wondered if she
was channelling Tock, who'd always struck her as the tidy type, or perhaps Remus.
"Whose are they?" Keith asked, shaking the jeans at her. "There's no way they're yours."

"They could be," she said, folding her arms. "I can be any shape or size that I want." He just
stared at her. "But no, they're not mine."

"Whose are they?" he repeated darkly.

"I can't tell you his name," she said. "He's the person I'm undercover as. I sort of borrowed-"
Because she didn't want to tell him that she'd broken into his house and raided his wardrobe.
"-his things."

"Even those?" Keith asked, nudging the boxers with his shoe.

"No," she said irritably. "Those are mine."

"Right," he said, not looking as if he believed her.

"They are." She scanned his face. "Keith?"

"Is that where you went tonight? To see him?"

"What? No," she said, and he seemed to believe her this time. He was quiet for a painfully
long time. When he looked up, he was frowning and looked troubled. "Keith?"

"I can't," he choked, throwing the jeans down. "Nymphadora, I'm sorry, I can't take it."

"Keith, what-?"

"You didn't tell me it was a man you were undercover as!"

"I don't see how it matters-" she began.

"It just does, all right," he said, running a hand through his short hair. "It's- I don't like it, that
you- no. Just no."

"It's my job," she said. "It's a little odd, sure, and it's a bit awkward for me, but I have to-"

"No, you don't," he said. "Quit."

"I'm not-"

"I was thinking while you were out tonight," he said, sitting down on her bed. She shoved a
few books back so that she could perch on the edge of her desk. "And I came to the
conclusion that it has to be me or the Program."

"Please don't make me choose," she whispered. "It can work – I know it can, if we try-"

"It shouldn't be this hard," he said, aiming a kick at one of the shoes that was lying on her
floor. "We shouldn't have to try to make this work, it should just-"

"Happen?" she said flatly. He nodded. "I don't think any couple 'just happen', Keith."
"Maybe not," he conceded. "But you can't deny things would be easier if you weren't
working."

"No," she said, folding her arms. "I can't." She watched him for a moment. "That's what you
want? An easy relationship?"

"Don't you?"

"It would be nice," she said. "But it's not going to be that way."

"Not with the Program," he corrected. "But aren't I worth more than that?"

"Aren't I worth the effort of putting up with the Program?" she countered, feeling desperate
tears stinging her eyes. "If you love me like you say you do, then shouldn't you be willing to
try a bit longer? We'll sort something out-"

"I do love you," he said at once. "Nymphadora-"

"The Program," she whispered. Somewhere, behind all of the swirling confusion, she was
aware that his use of her name was probably what gave her the ability to make the hardest
decision in her life, to date. She'd been pretty sheltered.

"I- what?"

"I choose the Program," she repeated, brushing at her eyes, but she didn't seem to be able to
stop the slow but steady dribble of tears. "I'm sorry, Keith, but if you force me to choose,
that's what it'll be." He gaped at her.

"But- you can't- I- we-" He fell silent, looking confused. She wondered if he'd been expecting
her to choose him, and if she was a bad person because she hadn't.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "Keith, I-" He shook his head and stood, obviously keen to leave
as quickly as possible. "Keith," she whispered. "We can make it work with the Program. I
don't want to have to choose-"

"You already did," he said, and spun on the spot. He'd obviously intended it to be a quick –
and possibly dramatic – departure, but Mum's Anti-Apparition spells caught him and he was
flung back onto her bedroom floor. He'd managed to Splinch his ear and half of his left hand
which Tonks reattached.

She didn't plead anymore, because he'd obviously made his choice and he was right – she had
made hers - but she did try to talk to him; they'd been friends before they dated and for a few
seconds she entertained the thought that they could at least preserve their friendship. Keith
didn't respond to any of her feeble attempts at starting conversation again, however, and that
hope was quickly extinguished.

The second his ear and hand were fixed, he pulled away from her, stood, and left without
saying a thank you, or anything for that matter. Tonks felt like something inside of her had
shrivelled up and died. Her hair grew long and lank and black and she was still crying as she
Vanished the blood he'd left behind.
She hadn't loved him – not quite – but she thought she'd been close. She felt horrible about
losing him as both a boyfriend and a friend, guilty for not choosing him and even guiltier for
how hurt he'd looked. She flicked her wand at the door to lock it; she wasn't in the mood to
have Mum or Dad come in. She slid off the desk and into bed, where she shoved a purring
Canis off of her pillow and cocooned herself in bedding.

Canis hissed at her from the ground and leapt up again, looking irate. He continued to hiss
and make angry cat noises, and lash his tail back and forward from beside her covered knees,
but Tonks didn't care. A moment later, however, his ears pricked up again and his tail stopped
moving. Then, to her complete and utter shock, he tentatively made his way over her knees,
around her elbow and sat down on her collarbone.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" she sniffed, wiping her eyes again. Canis just gave
her a haughty look - as if to warn her this was a one-time thing - and adjusted himself so that
his tiny body was coiled between her ear and her shoulder, and the top of his head was
pressed against her chin. "Thanks," she muttered, and Canis gave her a dismissive look
before he coiled up again. She was so surpsrised that she'd even stopped crying.

It was to the sound of his quiet heartbeat that she managed to drift into a fitful sleep.

She and Keith were sitting in Madam Puddifoot's, and the cherub was sprinkling confetti over
her, but for once, she didn't mind.

"Marry me?" Keith said, passing her a ring. Tonks spun it around on the table and watched
until it toppled and lay flat and silver against the pink tablecloth.

"I can't," she said. "We just broke up."

"You want to break up?" Keith asked, his face crinkling. Tonks nodded.

"I'm sorry," she said, passing the ring back. When it touched his hand, however, he howled
and when Tonks looked up, it wasn't Keith anymore. It was Greyback.

"I do," he said, slipping the ring on with a savage grin.

"No," she said, backing away. The cherub threw confetti at her, hindering her retreat but she
managed to fight her way free to the door. "No, I don't want to marry you!"

"Why not, Nymphadora?" Greyback asked, prowling forward. Tonks shoved the door open,
but it didn't open out into the main street of Hogsmeade as it should've. Instead, it opened
into a room filled with shelves and shelves of boxer shorts. She picked a direction and ran.
She couldn't see him anymore, but she knew that Greyback was still nearby and that made
her wary.

"Where is She!?" she could hear him shouting.

Tonks rounded another corner, and then another, and then tripped around a third. A strong
arm steadied her and Tonks relaxed. It was Remus. He kept a firm grip on her arm and led
her forward, and when Tonks pulled her eyes away from his calm face, she saw Greentooth
and Yellowpaw in bridesmaid dresses, gliding toward an alter, where Greyback was waiting.
Matt, Charlie and Tom were all in dress robes, watching proudly from the side.

"Remus," Tonks said, trying to pull free. "I can't marry Greyback!"

"It's just nerves," he told her.

"No. Remus, please-" Remus smiled, as if he hadn't heard a word she'd said, and passed her
hand to Greyback before going to join Charlie and the others. "Charlie, Tom!" she shouted
desperately, but they just smiled at her. "No!" she said, trying to pull free of Greyback.

Mad-Eye emerged from somewhere off to the side and began to recite vows in his growling
voice.

Tonks woke up, gasping, and didn't sleep again that night.

"Happy birthday, Mum," Harry said, tracing a hand over his Lily's name. In honour of the
occasion, Sirius had charmed his hair the same deep red as Lily's, given him a generous
amount of freckles but left his eyes the same bright green as always.

"Thirty, Lils," Sirius whispered. "Or you would be." Lily'd never aged past twenty one in his
mind, and he doubted she ever would. "Godric," he said. "When did we get old?" He could
hear them; Lily would have sighed and said she didn't know, while James would have
laughed and pointed out that he and Remus were still twenty nine. Sirius was also aware that
thirty wasn't really that old; it was just... an adult age.

There were flowers on the grave again today; a single white lily, as there had been on
Halloween, and a bunch of orange roses – Sirius suspected that if he counted them, there
would be thirty. He knew Marlene well enough to suspect she was responsible for those and
felt both a pang of sadness and a stab of relief that they'd missed her visit. The flower he,
Harry and Remus had planted on Christmas was faring well.

It was a lily, white, with orange and yellow spots in its throat. At the base of the plant were
thick, green stems, which Sirius had added himself, with the help of the book Remus bought
him for his birthday. At the moment, the stems were only a few inches high, but with time,
they'd grow into antler-like structures that – if Sirius had done everything right – would curl
over and encase the lily. Sirius had thought the design was appropriate and had layered the
stems with charms that would protect the flower and allow the plant to grow, even if it was
snowing.

Sirius cleared a patch of snow with his shoe and eased himself down onto the frozen dirt. A
moment later, he shuffled over to make room for Harry, who sat down beside him.

"All right, kiddo?"

"Fine," Harry said, giving Sirius a sleepy smile; neither of them had slept the night before,
because they'd been working on Harry's Form-Revealer, which had been at its most delicate
stage and needed constant supervision. It had been done successfully, thankfully, and Sirius
thought this one might actually work. They'd know for sure in early March.

Sirius pulled his mirror out of his rucksack and lay it down on the snowy ground with a
murmured, "Harry Potter." Their reflections – lit by the light from the lamp posts around the
graveyard - swirled until they were replaced with darkness. Sirius and Harry waited for a
moment and then Sirius ended the contact and put his mirror away.

A very tired, very stressed Remus – Sirius hadn't seen him that bad since N.E.W.T. week –
had contacted them at an uncivilized hour this morning to say something about Greyback, a
ring and a girl called Smoky. Neither Sirius or Harry had understood all that much of the
story but Sirius at least, had understood the outcome; Remus would need to lie low until the
aftermath settled, which meant that he wouldn't be able to visit for a few days, and he
wouldn't be able to contact them.

"Do you think she knows?" Harry asked quietly, looking at the grave.

"Knows what?" Sirius asked.

"That it's her birthday," Harry said, looking up at Sirius with Lily's eyes.

"Yeah," Sirius said. "I reckon she does. Not an awful lot got past your mum."

"What did?" Harry asked. Sirius almost said 'Peter' but thought better of it. They were
probably both thinking it, but there was no need to say it aloud.

"James," he said, grinning. Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well, the fact that he fancied her. She
thought it was a joke or something, I think." Harry already knew that James had spent years
trying to win Lily over, and that she'd spent years turning him down, and so that probably
wasn't news to him. "Funny, really, that she was so perceptive with the rest of our love lives
and so completely clueless about her own."

"How'd she figure it out?" Harry asked. Sirius stared.

"I haven't told you?"

"No," Harry said, frowning; he was obviously thinking back. "I just know they started going
out in your last year of school."

"I can't believe I haven't told you this," Sirius muttered. Just when he thought he'd been an
exemplary godfather, a massive lapse like this would pop up. Harry shrugged. "There was an
incident," Sirius said, launching – not unwillingly - into the story. He told Harry about
Professor Gurdan – their seventh year Defence teacher – and his eventful first lesson of the
year, and how Sirius and Lily had suddenly found themselves rather... attached to each other.

"It was entirely Peter's fault," Sirius added, and – fond as he was of Lily – he was still
extremely grateful that it had only taken three days for Pomfrey to separate them. He then
filled in what he knew of the following day, right up until the morning that James kissed Lily
in the common room – Harry pulled a face at that – and scared the hell out of Sirius, Remus
and Peter.

"Three days was all it took?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Well, four," Sirius said.

"Isn't that... I dunno, a bit quick?" Harry asked, looking troubled.

"A bit," Sirius said. "They'd known each other for years, though, and once your mum saw
that James wasn't a complete git she changed her mind about him pretty quickly. Don't get me
wrong – it was weird at first; Lily kept waiting for James to... revert, or something, and he
wasn't quite himself for a few more days because he was so terrified that he'd scare her off."

Harry smiled but didn't have anything to say on the matter. Sirius could have continued with
the recount but decided to save it for another time. Lily finally working out her feelings for
James had been a little pool of light in an otherwise dark year and Sirius didn't think Harry
was ready to hear every horrible detail of the war just yet. There were things that had
happened in seventh year that he still had trouble accepting. And he was thirty. An adult.

Harry's eyes were distant and so Sirius – unable to help himself – poked his godson in the
side. Harry jumped and looked up and Sirius couldn't hide his grin in time.

Well, sort of an adult.

 Ulterior motives

"Ready?" Remus asked Matt, who snorted.

"I was ready a few seconds after I got here," he said. Remus grinned and closed his suitcase.
Matt's rucksack was already packed and leaning against Remus' bed, and Matt had been
bouncing up and down for the last hour, obviously very eager to get home.

Home, Remus thought, happily, as they grabbed their things and left Room 37. Goodbye for
another year, he thought, not sorry in the least to see the last of it. He'd be sleeping with the
door closed tonight and every night for weeks to come if past years were any indication,
simply because he could.

"Do you reckon Deb's ready?" Matt asked, scanning the main area for her. Remus had a look
too, and spied Greentooth wrestling with Silverear, as well as Greyback who – unusually –
was not on his throne and was at the table instead, with that stupid ring and a werewolf
named Eric. They'd been studying it for almost a week now – and both had the burns to show
it – though Remus didn't understand why. Eric was intelligent – he was one of the few at the
camp who'd attended Hogwarts, and had been in Ravenclaw too - but apparently not
intelligent enough to realise he was wasting his time.

Greyback suspected an insider was helping Smoky stay one step ahead, but Remus not only
knew this not to be true (since he and Dora were responsible for the ring, and were certainly
not in league with the mysterious Smoky) but thought it was pointless; he'd Vanished both his
and Dora's scents from the ring, and no magic could bring them back. Still, it had kept
Greyback busy and Remus and Matt had been able to spend their last days at the camp in
relative peace.

"Can you see her?" Remus muttered and Matt shook his head. "Should we try her room?"

"Can't hurt," Matt said, leading the way over to Debbie's room. She was indeed inside and
was sitting on the edge of her bed, waiting for them. She smelled nervous, but determined
and she murmured a quiet hello as she absently smoothed a crease in her skirt. Remus
watched her for a moment, feeling strange. Next to Remus, Matt was frowning, and Remus
took comfort in the fact that he wasn't the only disconcerted one.

It took Remus a moment to realise why he felt that way; it was because Debbie wasn't
wearing shoes, and she had a scarf tied around her bedpost, and she had a flower in a vase -
that someone must have conjured for her – resting on her bedside table.

"You're not coming with us," Remus said, staring at her. Debbie wouldn't meet his eyes; she
stared fixedly at her hands, which were clasped in her lap. "Are you?"

"No," she said quietly, still not looking at either of them.

"Why?" Remus asked gently, as Matt exclaimed, "Are you mad?" That, of all things, got
Debbie to look up.
"No," she said, rather frostily.

"Seems like it," Matt said. Remus wrinkled his nose; hurt and anger warred in Matt's scent
and it was like inhaling hot ash. "After everything Greyback's said and done to us, you're
going to-"

"Matthew," Remus said, and Matt stopped and stared at him. Remus rarely called him by his
first name, and Matt knew he'd gone too far when Remus did. Matt appeared to think things
over and deflated the more he thought.

"I suppose I'll see you next year, then" Matt said quietly, stepping forward, as if to hug
Debbie.

"I suppose so," Debbie said, not moving to accommodate him. Matt's arms fell back to his
side and he stalked out without another word. "Are you going to tell me I've made a huge
mistake?" she sneered, turning to Remus. "That I don't understand-"

"No," Remus said simply, before she could say anything else. "I'll admit to being curious
about your motivations, but it's not my place to question your choices." Aside from anything,
it would feel wrong; Debbie was old enough to be his mother. While she was still relatively
new to being a werewolf, she wasn't new to living. She knew what was best for herself.

"No, it's not," she said, and Remus was a little taken aback.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. "You seem-"

"Mad?" she asked crossly. "I'm not mad! I happen to like it here, thank you very much. No
one judges me, and there are other people here that can't use magic and they fit in just fine,
so-"

"I'd never intended to say 'mad'," Remus said curtly.

"You don't like that I'm staying here-"

"I don't like that anyone stays here," Remus said.

"I knew it!" Debbie exclaimed.

"It's hardly a secret," Remus said, irritated, and then calmed himself down. "Look, if you
want to stay, that's your business and I don't have a problem with that but I do have a problem
with you getting angry with me over nothing."

"Matthew did."

"I'm not Matt," Remus pointed out, and Debbie fell silent.

"I like it here," she said at last, in a quiet, almost defensive voice, as if she expected Remus to
blow up at any moment. "It's... nice." Nice was... well, maybe not the last word that Remus
would use to describe the camp, but it was certainly up there with peaceful, fun and inviting.
"It's like an enormous family and I- I belong here. I haven't belonged anywhere since I was
bitten."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Remus said. "Matt and I always tried to make sure you felt
included-"

"I know," she said in a tone that gave nothing away. Remus couldn't tell if she was grateful
for their help, or if she was mocking him. "Richard and Nancy have done a better job of that
than you ever did." That stung, though Remus couldn't say he was surprised; Richard and
Nancy were from Rooms 4 and 18, respectively. They were among Greyback's oldest and
most loyal... children. Remus hoped, for Debbie's sake, that they'd been sincere about the
friendship they'd offered and hadn't approached her due to instructions from Greyback, to
draw away one of Remus' little 'pets'.

"It sounds like you'll be well looked after, then," Remus said.

"I will be," she agreed, in a tone that made Remus feel guilty; he and Matt had tried to spend
as much time with Debbie as possible since she arrived at the camp, but hadn't wanted
Greyback to start targeting her as well. They'd had to keep their distance at times, though
Remus hadn't seen this as a problem because Debbie had spent most days in her room.

Upon reflection, while it was 'suspicious' for Matt and Remus to be anywhere other than the
main area, the camp's other occupants didn't have those limitations and he now realised that it
had given Greyback, Nancy and Richard time to plant the seeds of doubt and friendship in
Debbie's mind. Should he have protected her from that? Could he have protected her from
that? Remus suspected it was a lose-lose situation, though that didn't make it any easier.

"Good," he said, because he couldn't think of anything else to say, but she was clearly waiting
for a response.

"It is," she said, and then stood. Remus hoped for a moment that she was going to give him a
hug goodbye, but all she said was, "I'm going to find Nancy. See you next year." And then
she walked out, leaving him standing there, suitcase in hand. He sighed – at no one in
particular – and left to find Matt.

By the time he found Matt – who was glaring at Greyback from a nearby table - Remus was
in a reasonably good mood again; he thought Voldemort himself could come back and it
wouldn't be able to completely destroy Remus' happiness at the prospect of going home. It
was unspoken between them that they wouldn't discuss Debbie yet – not for fear of getting
upset, but because the last thing they needed was to have Greyback overhear and make
trouble when they were trying to leave.

Matt stood immediately and they shared a grim look before approaching Greyback, who was
still with Eric. Greentooth was sitting nearby, shooting Greyback resentful looks; obviously
she wasn't allowed near them while Eric was working.

"Yes?" Greyback asked, looking away reluctantly. Eric made a little humming noise and
flicked his wand. The ring started to tremble, and Remus tore his eyes away before he could
be caught staring.
"We're going home," Remus said.

"Both of you?" Greyback asked.

"Both of us," Matt said, nodding. "We thought leaving separately would be too suspicious."

More like dangerous, Remus thought, but he had to choke back a laugh.

"Hmm," Greyback said, and then growled; the ring was fading. "What have you done?!" he
snarled, grabbing Eric's jumper. Eric pushed his glasses up – the gesture, oddly, reminded
Remus of Harry and James – and pointed at the ring.

Remus was horrified to see that it had now become a jumper, and then relaxed, slightly. It
was the one Dora had been wearing before she transfigured it to look like Matt's. Greyback
couldn't trace it back to any of them; not Matt, not Dora and not Remus.

"Until next time, then," Greyback said, after almost a minute of silence spent contemplating
the jumper. He offered them his hand, and – seeing no way to avoid it – both Remus and Matt
shook it. Greyback squeezed Remus' fingers, and his sharp nails cut into the back of his hand.
Remus, who already had a split lip, black eye and several large, brightly coloured bruises,
was not pleased about the addition to his collection of injuries, but didn't say anything. He'd
be home soon. That was all that mattered. "And no suspicious behaviour," Greyback said,
releasing him. Remus let his hand fall to his side, even though he wanted to inspect the
damage. "Because I'll know, and I'll find you."

"Noted," Remus said, and they left the main building. Remus took a deep breath, breathing in
the earthy forest smells. "Free for another year," Remus said, immensely cheered by the
thought.

"Yeah," Matt said, looking troubled.

"What?" Remus asked, glancing over.

"I think I might know who Smoky is."

"What?" Remus asked, stopping completely. Matt had stopped too, and glanced behind them
at the main building, which was now only just visible though the trees.

"That jumper," Matt said. "I've seen it before. The girl who owns it is an Auror – she's the
one that saved me that day in London – the one who cut Greyback's hand."

"Are you sure it's the same one?" Remus asked, positive that that jumper was Dora's, because
he'd seen her wear it several times in the past, and equally positive that Dora wasn't Smoky.

"I'm sure," Matt said. "When I woke up in St Mungo's, the Auror – you know the bloke with
the funny eye? - was telling her to go to you and she was definitely wearing that jumper. The
knitting patterns made me dizzy," he added. Remus was quiet, but still positive that Dora
wasn't Smoky. They started to walk again, and made it past Cyclops without any trouble. "Do
you think we should talk to her?" Matt asked, as Remus was preparing to Disapparate.
"The Auror girl?" Remus asked, steadying himself. "About what? If she is Smoky, she's not
about to admit it."

"Not that," Matt said, shaking his head. "She saved my life, so it's probably fair that we return
the favour." Remus gave him a blank look. "If I remember that jumper on her, then Greyback
definitely will and he'll start looking for her. And then it's not about if he finds her, it's
about when." Remus heard an odd choking noise and realised a few seconds later that he'd
been the one that made it. "You know the Auror, though, right?" Matt pressed. "You could
pass along the warning."

"Yes," Remus said faintly. "Yes, I think that's a very good idea."

"I swear to Salazar that when I next see Rita Skeeter I am going to hang her in our cellar by
her ridiculous curls and feed her leeches until she looks like the parasite that she is!" Narcissa
snarled, slamming the latest copy of Witch Weekly down on the table in the tearoom on the
top floor or St Mungo's.

Lucius didn't seem at all pleased by the article that had been published either; Malfoy's
Magical Malady: Unfortunate, Or Unavoidable? was Skeeter's latest article. Draco had been
in and out of St Mungo's with migraines and mental instability since he collapsed at the
pureblood Christmas function. Somehow, Skeeter had managed to get her tentacles onto his
admission records, and had quotes from Draco's personal Healer about what was wrong with
him. Narcissa had had since seen to it that that Healer was not only kept away from Draco,
but had lost his job at the hospital.

Skeeter also implied in her article, that Draco's illness was caused by inbreeding. While
Narcissa was furious about the breach of confidentiality, Lucius had been most angered by
the insult to his bloodline.

"Perhaps we should just feed her to the leeches," Lucius suggested idly, while Narcissa took a
moment to admire the deadly glint in his eyes. "We could always ask Draco," he added, when
she didn't say anything. Then he paused, and looked troubled. "Do Gryffindors seek
revenge?"

"They'll retaliate, I think," Narcissa said, thinking back to the books she'd been reading lately,
and what she knew of Gryffindors; mainly Sirius and his friends. "Sirius snapped Uncle
Orion's wand the night he left... but revenge... no. I think forgiveness is their preferred course
of action." She sighed and Lucius reached across the table to take her hand. "What are we
doing, Lucius?" she asked, giving him a small, sad smile.

"Sitting in a tearoom that's in dire need of renovation," Lucius said, curling his lip. "Perhaps a
donation is in order..."

"Perhaps," she agreed. "But you know that's not what I meant."

"Do I?" he asked, smirking.

"Draco-"
"-will recover," Lucius assured her. "And quickly, since you insist on bringing him to this...
well, call it what you will."

"I'm teaching him to depend on others," she said calmly.

"Your own worry's not a factor, of course," Lucius drawled. She smiled, not deigning to
answer, and let him win this one. She knew he thought she was weak for allowing her
concern to show. She didn't care. "Besides, aren't Gryffindors supposed to flourish in difficult
times? It seems to me that he'd be better without help."

Narcissa sighed; bringing Draco to the hospital when he felt ill would teach him to depend on
others. But, that could occur in a trusting, Gryffindor way, or in a strategic, opportunistic
Slytherin way. Leaving Draco to struggle through on his own could bring out hidden reserves
of Gryffindor strength and bravery, or it could also make Draco wary and aloof and force him
to embrace his Slytherin independence.

Really, Gryffindor and Slytherin were two sides of the same galleon and Narcissa had
becoming uncomfortably aware of that fact in the past few months. It was a bitter potion to
swallow, because she'd always believed the two Houses to be incredibly different. It was both
humbling and embarrassing to be forced to question everything she'd been taught as a girl,
and she desperately wished she had someone to talk to about it.

That, of course, was very Gryffindor-ish and she'd been forced to consider that Draco wasn't
the only one whose personality was beginning to change. At first she'd brushed off the worry,
but as time dragged on and she guided her youngest son toward a more Gryffindor frame of
mind, she could no longer deny that the things she was impressing on him had taken root in
the corners of her mind. It scared her.

The Healers speculated that immense mental and emotional stress were causing Draco's
headaches and fainting spells – though they did not, of course, know the cause – and that he
was almost constantly on the verge of a mental breakdown. Narcissa thought that if things
continued the way they were going, he might not be the only one.

Lucius cleared his throat and she came back to herself with a little jolt of surprise. Lucius was
giving her an unreadable look, and she wondered how much of her distraction he understood.
Hopefully, he'd think it was worry for Draco. Still, best to not take risks. She assumed her
own mask; blank and disapproving, and a little colder than it was warm.

"Shall we go back?" she asked. "The Healers might need rescuing." They'd left Hydrus and
Draco in Draco's hospital room. The boys had been immersed in a game of chess, but that
was quite some time ago, now. They'd probably finished and whoever had lost – they were
evenly matched, so it could have been either of them – would be taking out his bad mood on
his brother, and whichever Healer was unfortunate enough to stray into the room.

"A rescue mission, Narcissa?" Lucius asked, arching a pointed eyebrow. "How very noble of
you."

"Noble indeed," she murmured, and hoped that Lucius never changed; Hydrus would need a
strong, Slytherin role model and she now doubted that he'd find it in her.
And all of this because Sirius Black stole Harry Potter, she thought, though she didn't blame
either of them all that much. The pair she'd seen in Diagon Alley back in December were
innocents. Victims of circumstance and the Dark Lord and the parasites that disguised
themselves as reporters. No, it wasn't their fault. The blame for her family's situation rested
solely on three pairs of shoulders; the Dark Lord's, her husband's and of course, her own. She
could admit that much. Narcissa felt drained, all of a sudden. "Are you coming, Lucius?" she
asked, standing.

Lucius mirrored her, and she took his hand and together they left the tearoom. Narcissa
played the memory of Harry Potter's carefree smile over and over in her head and hoped to
Merlin that seeing Draco smile like that one day would be worth the mess they'd created.

"Watch it!" a man snapped, shoving Lucius out of the way. A small, dark haired figure
hurried after him.

"Excuse me," Lucius drawled, infuriated that someone – probably a mudblood, knowing the
standards around here – could be so rude to him, "but I wasn't the one running."

"Lucius?" the man asked, spinning around.

"Ernest," Lucius replied, surprised.

"Narcissa," Ernest added distractedly, spying her beside Lucius. "I didn't see you-"

"Hello, Ernest," Narcissa said in a calm voice. "Hello, Pansy." Ernest's daughter muttered a
greeting and Lucius curled his lip when Ernest didn't tell her to speak up. She was a
pureblood and should know better than to mumble.

"Pansy," Ernest said, and she glanced up at him. "Why don't you meet me there?" The girl
nodded and hurried away without another word. "Sonja's... not well," Ernest said, running a
hand through his hair. "She- I don't-" The man was a wreck. He'd actually started to tremble
and he looked lost. Lucius sneered.

"You should be with your family," Narcissa said softly, but firmly as she shot Lucius a look.
It was the one she used when the boys wanted to take their rats out in public, and he
wondered what he'd done to earn it.

"I- yes," Ernest said, and Lucius thought he saw tears in the other man's eyes as he said
goodbye and ran off.

"How utterly pathetic," Lucius commented. "The man's completely forgotten himself."

"I think it's understandable," Narcissa said sharply. Then, before Lucius could even respond,
she'd added, "I certainly hope you'd look a little lost if it was me that was dying."

"Well," Lucius said, "I-" He paused, unsure how to answer her. It was a given that he'd be
upset if something happened to Narcissa, but he wouldn't show it the way Ernest had.
"Close your mouth, Lucius," she quipped. "It's unbecoming." Lucius snapped his mouth shut
and glowered at her.

"I'd be put out if you were dying," he said stiffly, clenching his hand around his cane.

"I should think so," she told him and marched off toward Draco's hospital room. Lucius
trailed after her, filled with grudging admiration; not many people could disarm him, and of
the few that could, fewer could do it with words. Hydrus had a lot to learn from Lucius, in
Lucius' opinion – what Draco learned was negligible, at least until he was Sorted
and then Lucius could begin conditioning him – but he also thought Hydrus had a lot to learn
from Narcissa. The woman was formidable, even more so, Lucius believed, than her lunatic
sister.

When he arrived in Draco's private room, Narcissa had indeed rescued a Healer; the man
thanked her shakily and fled out of the room, past Lucius. Lucius entered to find Narcissa had
already made herself at home; she and Hydrus were setting the chessboard, and Draco was
propped up in bed, reading a book.

Lucius stood at Hydrus' shoulder and watched the game. Unlike Lucius, Narcissa never went
easy on the boys when they played; she'd told Lucius once that if they wanted to win, they'd
have to earn it. And, while Hydrus was a good chess player for his age, his mother had
experience to back herself up with.

"No," Lucius said, unable to help himself.

"What?" Hydrus said, glancing up.

Lucius waved his cane at the board and said, "See the bishop? You'd be better moving your
knight there, to D3. There's even a pawn to be had."

"Knight to D3," Hydrus said, after a moment. Narcissa's eyes narrowed as the horse kicked
the pawn down. Then her eyes flicked up to meet Lucius', challenging him, and Lucius
couldn't hold back his smirk.

"Out of the way," he told Hydrus, and Narcissa's mouth curved upward.

"I'm playing!" Hydrus said angrily.

"No longer," Lucius said, nudging his son out of his chair.

"Father-"

"You may play the winner," Lucius said and Hydrus stalked over to the edge of Draco's bed
and sat down to watch.

"Bishop to A6," Narcissa said.

"Bishop to A6," Lucius echoed, and had the satisfaction of seeing her scowl as another of her
pieces was dragged away. Lucius was confident about besting her in this area, at least;
Narcissa could handle individuals but Lucius had always preferred to operate on a larger
scale. It showed. Within a few moves they were tied again and within a few more, Lucius was
winning.

When Narcissa's last piece – other than her king – was taken, she sighed. For a moment,
Lucius wondered if she'd knock her king down before he could checkmate it. Then he shook
himself. This was his wife and she never surrendered. She did quite well with her single king;
she was able to focus on that piece, and that piece alone, which suited her type of strategy.
Lucius lost a knight and three pawns and was wondering whether he ought to have left her
with another piece as a distraction, when he finally cornered her.

"Checkmate," he said smoothly. Narcissa seemed to have expected it, because she lifted a
finger and knocked her king over without hesitation. He toppled with a grumble and Lucius'
pieces cheered.

"I'm playing father," Hydrus announced, his pale face set with determination. Narcissa
vacated her seat and met Lucius' eyes once more before she went to sit with Draco. "And I
want white." Lucius twisted the board; he preferred to play with white too, meaning it was a
very good thing Hydrus had those same instincts.

"Manners, Hydrus," Narcissa said, without looking away from Draco, who'd put his book
down and was curled up at his mother's side.

"Thank you," Hydrus said to Lucius, glowering at his mother; it was the same look Lucius
had given her in the corridor. Narcissa smiled and stroked Draco's hair. Lucius shook his
head. Narcissa thought that affectionate gestures – hugs, hair-stroking, that sort of thing –
were important for Draco's Gryffindor development.

Children outgrew physical affection at the age of five - or so Lucius' father had told him - and
didn't resort back to it until they had a partner. Proper children should make do with the
occasional pat on the back, or clasp of the shoulder, or they risked becoming dependent.
Lucius had survived that upbringing and so had Narcissa and the generations of purebloods
that came before them.

But, Draco wasn't going to be a normal pureblood. He was to be a Gryffindor. A blood traitor.
Physical affection was something they thrived on, as far as Lucius could tell.

Lucius turned away from the scene before him and back to Hydrus and the chess match. He
agreed with Narcissa's methods of conditioning Draco for Gryffindor, but that didn't mean he
had to watch.

"Tea?"

"No, thank you, sir." It was a little odd for Dumbledore to offer Remus tea in his own home,
but that was probably just Dumbledore. Remus fiddled with the fraying sleeve of his robes
for a short moment before looking up. "Is it just me, or does this all seem a little... familiar?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in a sad way – if that was even possible. It hadn't escaped either
wizard's notice that on this day a year ago, they'd sat in the same places and Dumbledore had
given Remus the news of Harry's kidnapping.
"Familiar, indeed," Dumbledore said quietly. He pulled a sweet out of his pocket and offered
it to Remus, who shook his head. Dumbledore popped it in his mouth.

"So is this a social visit, sir," Remus asked, "or is there an ulterior motive?" Dumbledore's
beard twitched and Remus continued with a small, wry smile. "Because last time you showed
up in my sitting room..."

"Would you call a well-meaning, but doubtless annoying, intrusion an ulterior motive?"
Dumbledore asked pensively.

"I don't know, sir," Remus said.

"Nor do I," Dumbledore said, smiling as he sucked on his sweet. They both sat in
companionable silence and then Dumbledore said, "No, I have no bad news to give but
thought, Remus, that company might not be unwelcome after your time away. Forgive me if-"

"No," Remus said. "Sir, your company's very welcome. I- thank you." Dumbledore – not
knowing that Remus had Sirius and Harry – had taken time off from the school to come and
ensure that Remus was all right, and that he wasn't feeling too lonely.

"Minerva and Hagrid send their greetings," Dumbledore added, his eyes twinkling.

"Tell them thank you," Remus said, and Dumbledore inclined his head. "Who's winning the
cup at the moment?" Remus added, curious.

"Slytherin," Dumbledore said, smiling slightly.

"I imagine Snape's happy," Remus sighed.

"Not at all," Dumbledore replied. "I asked him to complete a task for me several months ago
and I fear he's yet to forgive me."

"What task?" Remus asked, doubting very much that he'd get an answer.

"This and that," Dumbledore said vaguely, and Remus smiled. "I was sorry to hear of your
fallout with Lucius."

"My fallout?" Remus asked cautiously.

"I know it wasn't in the note you sent," Dumbledore said, his beard twitching again. "But I
have other ways of hearing information, Remus. I understand you caused quite a scene in the
Leaky Cauldron on Monday."

"I'm not in the search anymore," Remus offered. He knew about the note – he'd written a note
to Dumbledore telling him that Malfoy had sacked him (once the note telling him he'd been
sacked had come through from Dora) – but the rest of it was news to him. He'd – or she'd -
caused a scene? Now he had two things he needed to talk to her about; Greyback and Malfoy.

"I'd gathered," Dumbledore said. "It wasn't right of him to insult you, Remus, but..." Insult
me? Lucius insulted me... and Dora... caused a scene. He didn't know how he felt about that;
torn between feeling touched, vindicated and embarrassed – hopefully Dora hadn't said or
done anything too bad while she was him. "... I thought you wanted to be out there
searching?" Dumbledore finished gently. Remus' insides gave a guilty squirm.

"I didn't want to search," Remus said. "I wanted to find."

"I understand it's frustrating-"

"It's been a year," Remus said. And he'd been with Harry for almost six months of that year,
and with Sirius for just over five months. "The search is no closer to finding either of them
and it's wasting my time." He looked down at his shoes so Dumbledore wouldn't read the
guilt or anything else that could give him away off his face.

"Remus-"

"I've thought about this," Remus said quietly. "I know what I'm doing." Sort of.

"If you're certain."

"I am."

"What will you do with your time?" Dumbledore asked, looking concerned. "The Rosier boy
no longer needs lessons and you won't be working anymore-"

"I'll find something."

"Come September, we'll be in need of a Muggle Studies teacher," Dumbledore said shrewdly.
"There's always that."

"I think I'm better suited to teach Care Of Magical Creatures," Remus joked, and earned a
chuckle from Dumbledore. "What's wrong with Quirrell?"

"He's taking time off to travel," Dumbledore said. "I think he's growing restless in the
Muggle Studies job – he's after something a little more 'hands on', or so I've been told and he
hopes to get the experience required while he's abroad."

"Good for him," Remus said, nodding. "But if Quirrell's getting restless..." Dumbledore
chuckled; Quirrell had graduated from Hogwarts a few years after Remus and had always
been incredibly quiet and studious. While Remus was hardly a rambunctious personality, he
did like a bit of excitement.

"Perhaps Defence Against the Dark Arts?" Dumbledore offered with a sigh. "Davey's
beginning to have trouble with his eyesight and I suspect it'll only get worse as the end of
term draws nearer. We'll be in need of another Defence teacher soon, and I fear I'm beginning
to exhaust my list of contacts."

"And you'd want me?" Remus asked.

"I've made similar proposals to Sturgis Podmore and Thomas Rattler, but yes, Remus. Your
addition to the faculty would be a welcome one." Remus opened his mouth. "Even,"
Dumbledore added, guessing his next comment, "with your condition. Arrangements can be
made as they were when you were a student yourself."

"Rattler?" Remus asked, instead of saying something self-depreciating. Dumbledore seemed

to know that he'd stopped himself, and smiled.

"Thomas went through with the Prewett twins." Remus could vaguely remember a short,
blond man with a friendly voice. He thought he'd been a prefect. "Ravenclaw prefect,"
Dumbledore continued. "Very bright."

"Is he an Auror?"

"He was a Hit Wizard until two years ago and now he's working closely with Amelia in the
Department of Magical Law Enforcement." Remus nodded slowly. "And you know Sturgis,
of course." Sturgis had been a member of the Order and quite good friends with Benji
Fenwick and Emmeline Vance.

"How is Bean?" Remus asked, his mouth twitching. Sirius had given him the nickname when
Marlene joined the Order; Sturgis had taken a liking to her that Sirius hadn't liked much at
all. They'd all moved past that – Marlene had shouted at Sirius until he apologised – but the
nickname had stayed. Dumbledore looked torn between amusement at the reminder, and
sadness – obviously he knew where 'Bean' had come from. "Still with Wizarding Law?"

"And enjoying it too," Dumbledore said. Remus chuckled. Even in the Order days, Sturgis –
a Slytherin, and proud of it – had been argumentative, and prone to bringing up obscure
wizarding laws as points of debate during quiet patrols or at Order meetings. Despite his
expertise in theory, however, Sturgis was still a formidable opponent, and knew all sorts of
unusual spells that he'd come across in various legal cases. "I doubt I'll be able to pry him
away to teach."

"He'd be a good teacher, though," Remus said.

"He would," Dumbledore agreed. Dumbledore watched Remus' face for a moment, and then
looked disappointed. "You're not interested? I thought you'd always wanted to teach-"

"I have," Remus said. "It's just- right now things are sort of... messy." Unwilling to expand on
that comment, Remus added, "Maybe in a year or two?"

"I may hold you to that," Dumbledore said, looking amused.

"And here I was believing there were no ulterior motives..."

"None at all, dear boy," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "Though I did come bearing stories
for you about Hogwarts' newest resident troublemakers."

"Oh?" Remus asked, intrigued despite himself; it was obviously a diversionary tactic –
perhaps Dumbledore had sensed Remus' unwillingness to talk about overly serious things
today – and Remus wondered whether Dumbledore was getting worse at distracting him, or if
he was getting better at spotting the subtle manipulations.
"Poor Argus has had to relocate to the Ground Floor," Dumbledore said in a grave voice. His
beard twitched and Remus arched an eyebrow, inviting him to continue. "There was an
incident with two rather spirited first years, a Dungbomb and his old office..."
 A moment of clarity

"Here," Padfoot said, passing him a cup. Harry gulped it down, grimacing at the bitter taste. It
was March, and his Form Revealer was finally ready. They'd watered it down – Padfoot had
said something about the mind of a child, and Harry had remembered the conversation
Dumbledore had had with Fudge and Umbridge at St Mungo's when they talked about
Veritaserum – which would hopefully stop it from doing any damage to Harry.

What that meant, however, was that it would take longer for him to find his form. Or, for his
form to find him. Padfoot likened it to wands, where the form chose the wizard, and not the
other way around.

"See you when I wake up," Harry said, already feeling the potion pulling him toward sleep.

"Night, kiddo," Padfoot said, and Harry felt a hand in his hair before he slipped away.

It was dark, wherever he was. He waited for his eyes to adjust and when they did, he could
see trees. Harry suspected a forest – a forest was a good place to find animals.

Or to be found by animals. He wasn't fussed either way, though he felt silly in his pyjamas.
He sat down on the exposed root of a large tree and waited. Padfoot had warned him that
quite a few animals would come to see him before the right animal did. Harry was expecting
there to be more animals because of the weaker dose and Padfoot had also said that an
animal might not pick him on its first visit. Harry hadresigned himself to a long night.

The hare was the first to appear. It was black, with grey markings around its eyes and a white
smudge between its ears. The white smudge was uncannily similar to the scar that rested on
Harry's forehead. The hare hopped forward, ears swivelling and nose twitching and it
occurred to Harry that it was only a young one; its ears were still quite short and it was
smaller and fluffier than an adult would be. Harry shifted slightly and held out a hand but
that startled it and it darted away.

Nothing came for a while after that, and Harry wondered whether he'd managed to scare his
form away. What if he was supposed to be a hare, and it didn't come back? Or, what if it had
chosen him and he hadn't realised? All Padfoot had said was that he'd know. But what if he
didn't?

The next animal to appear was an owl, which inched out of a hole in a tree trunk. He didn't
know what sort of owl it was, but like the hare, it was black, with a white mark – a feather,
between its large eyes – where his scar would be. It was downier than Hedwig had been when
they'd first bought her, and Harry wondered whether it could even fly. It ruffled its feathers
and clicked its beak at him and Harry wondered whether that meant he'd been picked.

An owl would be a decent form, even if it wasn't something he'd predicted; they seemed too
wise for him. He wouldn't complain, though; he'd be able to fly whenever he wanted, and it
would be a good disguise. Harry spent a few moments entertaining himself with the
possibility, but when he glanced back up at the branch, it was gone.
Harry shot to his feet and went to have a look, but no signs of it remained. Not a feather, or
even the hole it had come out of were anywhere to be seen. Confused, and feeling like he'd
have a serious headache when this ordeal was over, Harry sat down again and waited.

The next animal to emerge was the one he'd expected a visit from at some point, and the one
he dreaded being picked by, and also dreaded not being picked by. It was a young stag with a
dark brown coat and only a few inches of antler starting to grow on its head. Despite that, it
trotted forward with its head held high. It gave its tail a little wag and pushed its nose into
Harry's outstretched hand, but Harry didn't feel as if he'd been picked. He thought the young
stag just wanted to butt heads with something. Up close, Harry could see a discoloured patch
of fur in the shape of a lightning bolt.

Eventually, the stag seemed to get bored with him and pranced off – though it did glance back
at one point, and Harry got the impression it was looking for admiration. He gave it a little
wave and it vanished with a satisfied toss of its head.

Harry was expecting something large – since the animals had all become progressively
bigger – and so was surprised when something slithered over his bare foot. It was a black
snake – a viper, he thought – and he immediately froze; Dudley had once found a grass snake
in the back garden and Aunt Petunia had shrieked at him to stand still until it went away. It
hissed at him and wrapped itself around his ankle. Again, Harry didn't feel like he'd been
picked; he thought it wanted to unnerve him, but Harry knew he couldn't be poisoned in a
dream and so wasn't afraid of it.

It too, seemed to want attention, because its tongue kept flicking against Harry's pyjama
covered leg, and it kept moving, just to make sure his attention was wholly focused on it. Like
the stag had, however, it seemed to get bored and slithered away after a few moments.

After the snake was a blackbird, which – like the hare – was frightened away the moment
Harry moved. After that was a cat, which had judged him with large, green eyes before
flicking its tail and sauntering away again. There had even been a dog that vaguely
resembled Padfoot's dog form, with its black fur, lean build and seemingly limitless energy;
the dog had bounded over and started to lick Harry's face, before coaxing him to chase it
around for a bit. The dog, vanished like the owl had, when Harry wasn't looking.

"Would you sit still!" Remus said, throwing a piece of toast at Sirius. "Honestly, if you're that
worried, just go and check on him-"

"I don't want to-"

"Disrupt the process," Remus said, rolling his eyes. "You've said." Sirius pulled a face and
kept pacing. Harry had taken the potion last night before bed so that he wouldn't lose any
time. In theory, anyway; Sirius had been up at six – as he was most mornings – and had
expected Harry to wake up not long after. Remus had arrived at nine and Harry was still
asleep, or Sirius assumed he was; he hadn't come bounding downstairs to share his news.

Sirius picked up the toast Remus had thrown, Vanished it, and kept pacing.
"Sirius!" Remus said exasperatedly. "Sit!" Sirius sat and then cursed himself for doing so. He
leapt back to his feet – making Remus laugh all the harder - and threw himself into his chair,
scowling. "I'm so glad you never outgrew that," Remus said, wiping tears of mirth from his
eyes.

"Sod off, Moony," Sirius said, raising two fingers in his direction. Without hesitation – Sirius
wondered if he'd anticipated it – Remus flicked his wand and Sirius' fingers snapped together.
Sirius wiggled them and then pulled out his wand and muttered, "Finite Incantatem." Oddly,
it didn't work, and they stayed stuck together.

"It's in that book of parenting spells I bought you for Christmas," Remus said, as Sirius
attempted to pry his fingers apart. "If you want the counter-charm, go and look it up."

"You could do it for me," Sirius said hopefully.

"I could," Remus agreed. "But I'm not going to. This'll keep you occupied for a few minutes
at least." He helped himself to another piece of toast. Sirius glowered at him but Remus didn't
seem to notice or care.

"Fine," Sirius grumbled and stomped out. He walked upstairs to fetch the book instead of
Summoning it – Remus was right that it was a good way to kill time – but he didn't stay in
the library. He carried the book upstairs and settled himself in Harry's desk chair, beside the
bed. Harry lay very still, occasionally making small, indistinguishable noises. It was
unnerving because Harry – like James – was usually a very vocal, very restless sleeper.

Sirius flicked past the introduction – interesting as some of the spells might be, he didn't need
to know the life story of the witch who'd written it – and though several chapters of
household charms and recipes before he reached the Dealing With Children section.

"Broccoli Bashing Charm?" Sirius muttered under his breath. The illustration showed a child
being attacked by her vegetables – it appeared it wasn't limited to broccoli - until she gave in
and ate them. A side-note warned parents to be careful; the charm was countered by saliva on
the vegetable, not by actual consumption and clever children could work this out. He shook
his head and skimmed through until he found the page he was looking for. "Disrespectful
Digit Jinx. Huh."

Apparently the usual Finite hadn't worked because the spell was aimed at older children – or
husbands, according to the author – who would be able to counter it easily. Sirius had to
admire the logic behind that and found the counter spell at the bottom of the page. He
grimaced and pulled his wand out of his pocket.

"Disrespectful digits: discouraged," he said, feeling like a complete prat. It worked though,
thankfully, and he had a bit more of a look through the book before he shut it and moved a
few things to make room for it on Harry's bedside table. Sirius checked his watch – the one
Regulus had been given when he turned seventeen. Sirius' – which he'd received from
Charlus and Dorea – was probably locked up in a Ministry facility with the rest of the things
he'd owned before Azkaban.
It was now eleven, meaning Harry had been asleep for nearly thirteen hours. Sirius didn't
think anything could have gone wrong with the potion – he'd supervised it every step of the
way – but he didn't remember it taking this long for James or Peter to find their forms. Peter
had only been out three and a half hours, and James had taken four hours. Sirius didn't know
exactly how long he'd taken, but he knew he'd taken longer than Peter but significantly less
time than Harry.

"You all right in there, kiddo?" Sirius asked. There was a noise behind him and Remus
walked in. Sirius wiggled his fingers at him.

"Stupid counter phrase, isn't it?" Remus said, chuckling. He cleared a space on Harry's desk
and sat down. Sirius adjusted his chair so that he could see them both.

"Bloody ridiculous," Sirius agreed. "Back when we did this, how long was I-?" He gestured
at Harry, who squeaked. Both of them looked at him, but he showed no signs of waking.

"Four hours, three minutes," Remus answered. Sirius looked over, impressed.

"You remember that?"

"You would too if you'd had James hopping up and down, counting every second over four
hours," Remus said, sounding fondly exasperated.

"Prat," Sirius said, grinning; no one had ever mentioned this to him before. Remus smiled too
and then looked over at Harry. "Why isn't he awake yet?"

"Probably a combination of the dose and his age," Sirius said reluctantly. "But there's so little
research that's been done on this that it's hard to say."

"The dose?"

"He had a diluted potion. I figure it's best not to give kids a strong dose of anything that
affects their head."

"I must say I'm proud that you thought about that."

"Sod off," Sirius said, for the second time that morning. Remus grinned.

"And age?"

"This is all guesswork," Sirius warned him. "But because he's young I think maybe his
personality's not fully formed... he's still developing. So maybe – if my theory's right – there
are more possible forms. All theoretical, though," he sighed, while Remus nodded
thoughtfully. "And even if I'm right, thirteen hours is still a long time."

After a quivering, black mouse that Harry scared away just by looking at, Harry was
beginning to get worried, though he'd been relieved it wasn't the mouse; that would have
been too similar to Wormtail for his liking.
He didn't have much grasp on how quickly time was passing here, but he did know that he'd
been watching animals for a very long time and still hadn't found his. What if he'd already
been chosen – the stag, the dog and the snake had all approached him and hung around for a
bit – and not realised?

Harry wished he could wake up and talk to Padfoot about it, but that wasn't an option,
because the potion was enchanted to keep him asleep until he found his form.

Harry waited, growing more and more nervous with each passing moment, when finally
another animal moved into Harry's line of sight. It was a wolf and a young one, like the other
animals had been; it was lanky, with big ears and big paws that it was yet to grow into, and
thick black fur that was just as untidy as Harry's hair.

He held out a hand and it considered him for a long moment before it stepped forward to sniff
him. Harry scratched its ear – the way Padfoot liked to have his scratched – and was
rewarded by its tail starting to wag. Then, without warning, it pulled free and loped off.

Harry sighed and watched it disappear into the undergrowth.

A very long time later, a falcon dove out of the tree tops. It had sleek, black feathers and large
dark eyes and it came to perch on a lower branch than the owl or blackbird had done. It
looked down its sharp beak at him, assessing him and then screeched. Harry jumped, but it
didn't move. Tentatively, he stood and approached it. It watched him the whole time and
allowed him to stroke its feathery head.

Suddenly, it lifted a clawed foot and raked him across the nose. Harry stepped back, shielding
his face; blood – not an alarming amount, but enough to know that it would probably scar if
it was a real injury and not a dream one – dripped onto his hands.

"What was that for?" he demanded, but the falcon was gone. "Bloody menace," he muttered,
wiping his face on his sleeve. He turned, intending to reclaim his seat, but found it already
occupied. The wolf was back, watching him with bright, greenish brown eyes. Harry
wondered if it was going to attack him too, and sat down where he'd been standing, a safe
distance away. The wolf sat too.

They eyed each other warily for a few moments, and then something hit the ground beneath
the wolf's paws. It was blood, dripping from a long cut on the wolf's nose.

"Bloody menace," Harry muttered, twitching. It was the first coherent noise he'd made, and
Sirius jerked in his seat. Remus also appeared surprised; he'd jumped and knocked a shoe off
Harry's desk – Merlin only knew what it was doing up there in the first place. Harry was
bleeding from a rather nasty cut on his nose.

"It must be a Potter thing," Remus sighed. James had been hurt finding Prongs; apparently,
Prongs had chosen him by charging, and James, being the brave prat that he was, had held his
ground. He'd split his forehead and woken up with an enormous headache, though thankfully,
Remus and Sirius had been able to heal the damage. "Would you like me to get the Dittany?"
"Nah. Kreacher!" Kreacher Apparated in with a noisy CRACK and bowed to them both,
before letting out a wordless shriek at the sight of Harry. He didn't even need to be told to get
the Dittany; he vanished and reappeared a few seconds later with his skinny arms wrapped
around the entire chest of healing supplies Sirius kept in the pantry.

"Kreacher's poor brat," Kreacher croaked, pulling things out of the chest before Sirius could
get a word in. "Kreacher will-"

"Put that away," Sirius said, wrestling a Decongestion Draught away from Kreacher. "He's
hurt, not sick. All he needs is a few drops of Dittany-" Kreacher, like most house elves, were
very good at treating common illnesses, but next to useless with injuries any worse than a
bruise. The only exception Sirius had ever met was Noddy, the house elf who'd lived with the
Potters when James was growing up. She'd known how to deal with grazes, burns and even
broken bones, though Sirius supposed she'd have had to if she'd helped raise James.

"Kreacher, I don't think that's necessary," Remus said kindly, as Kreacher snatched up an
enormous bandage and made his way over to the bed.

"Honestly," Sirius said, rolling his eyes.

He threw the Dittany at Remus, who caught it but didn't apply it just yet – it was best to wait
until Harry woke up – and took the bandage away from his distressed house elf. Funny as it
might have been to watch Kreacher wrap Harry's face in bandages – which Sirius had no
doubt had been his intention – it would have been a complete waste of a bandage. Someone –
probably Remus – would have greater need of it than Harry.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Sirius said pointedly. He threw everything back into the chest and
deposited it in Kreacher's arms. "Put this away, would you?"

"We'll look after Harry," Remus assured him, and Kreacher left.

"He's a lunatic," Sirius said fondly, shaking his head at the place where Kreacher had just
Disapparated. "Not as foul as he used to be, but still every bit as loopy-"

"I think Harry's waking up," Remus said, and Sirius hurried over. Sure enough, Harry was
stirring. He shifted a few times, and muttered something about blood before he gasped and
sat bolt upright. He seemed confused, initially – that was to be expected – but Sirius passed
him his glasses and that helped considerably.

"Did you come early?" he asked Remus, looking surprised.

"It's twelve, kiddo," Sirius told him, and Harry blinked.

"Lie back down for a moment," Remus added. "I'll fix your nose."

"My- I thought I dreamed that!" Sirius pushed him down gently and Remus dripped Dittany
onto the cut.

"Thanks," Harry said, as Sirius Vanished the blood. A thin scar remained on the bridge of
Harry's nose, a little lower than where his glasses rested. Remus added another drop of
Dittany but the scar stayed. They shrugged at each other, while Harry went cross eyed, trying
to see the tip of his nose. "What's wrong?" he asked, sitting back up.

"Small scar," Sirius told him.

"I thought you'd Vanished my nose or something," Harry said, relaxing, though he felt it, just
to make sure. Sirius sniggered.

"I might not be quite as good at healing magic as Sirius, but it's hard to go wrong with
Dittany," Remus said, chuckling. Harry gave him an apologetic look, which Remus accepted
with a grin.

"So?" Sirius asked, sitting down on the edge of Harry's bed.

"So what?" Harry asked, cocking his head.

"So what are you?" Sirius asked, rolling his eyes.

"Oh!" Sirius waited expectantly and then Harry grinned and said, "Guess."

"What are our options?" Remus asked, while Sirius muttered about little monsters, and evil
godchildren. Harry poked his tongue out at him, eyes dancing, and took a moment to answer.

"Hare, wolf, cat, owl, stag, blackbird, mouse, dog, falcon and snake," Harry said, very
quickly. Sirius, who'd been hoping to smell the answer, wondered if he'd done that way on
purpose.

"Not a mouse," Remus said, and Harry shook his head. Sirius was relieved about that. He'd
have accepted it if he'd had to, of course but he was happy not to have to. It was too close to
Wormtail.

"Not a hare either," Sirius said. "They're too timid."

"So are blackbirds," Harry said.

"Was your form the one that attacked you?" Sirius asked, and Harry shook his head.

"Not an owl, or falcon, then."

"Says who?" Harry asked.

"They're the only things that could have made a cut that neat," Remus said, obviously
following Sirius' line of thought. "And I can't honestly see you as a cat."

"Which leaves wolf, stag, dog or snake," Sirius said thoughtfully. "You're too warm to be a
snake." Both Harry and Remus gave him odd looks. "What?" Sirius asked. "It's true. Besides,
you think he could have a mop like this-" He waved at Harry's messy hair. "-and not have
fur?"

"Are you a snake?" Remus asked.

"No," Harry said. Sirius gave them both smug looks and Remus rolled his eyes.

"So wolf, stag or dog..." Sirius said quietly. He looked up, caught Remus' eye and smiled.

"Wolf," Harry said, scratching his nose absently. Sirius grinned. Remus looked surprised but
pleased. "A black one," Harry added. "It looks a bit like you, Padfoot." Sirius' eyes were
stinging. He hugged Harry and used the time to blink until the stinging feeling went away.
Remus hugged him next and when he'd been released, Harry ran a hand through his hair and
said, "Do you think Dad's disappointed?" Remus and Sirius shared a look, silently asking the
other who wanted to deal with the question.

"Why would you think that?" Sirius asked, frowning at him. Harry mumbled something about
not being a stag. "Ah," Sirius said. Then, he smacked Harry, who jumped and looked at him
like he'd lost it. "Don't be thick," Sirius said, throwing an arm around his godson's thin
shoulders. Harry shifted a little closer. "James would be incredibly proud – is incredibly
proud. I'm sure he's sobbing like a big girl's blouse, wherever he is." Remus laughed and
Harry smiled reluctantly.

"So he wouldn't mind that I'm not like him?" Harry asked.

"Absolutely not," Sirius said firmly. Harry could have been a slug and James would still be
thrilled. "I think he'd be happy that you were a bit different, actually. And so would your
mum; one James Potter was enough for her, I think." Remus laughed. While Harry shared a
lot of his father's traits, he was also very different; he was a lot more mature than James had
been at eleven (that was when Sirius had first met him and so he had no earlier reference
point) and he had an ego that was at least ten times smaller. He was also nowhere near as
naughty, which Sirius was unbelievably grateful for. "Don't you like your form?"

"No, I do," Harry said, grinning, though it faded after a moment. "You're both dogs and now
I'm one too, it's just... Dad-"

"-would be feeling pretty smug about his choice of godfather," Sirius said, grinning. "And
godmother," he added, glancing at Remus, who pulled a face. "The only thing he'd be upset
about is not being here to tell you this himself. He's proud of you, kiddo, trust me."

Harry looked thoughtful and Sirius thought they'd convinced him, at least for the time being;
no doubt he'd think about it a bit more and find a concern they hadn't addressed, but Harry
wasn't very good at keeping his feelings bottled up, so they'd know if or when he did think of
something else.

"Could I maybe have breakfast?" Harry asked. "Or lunch," he amended, glancing at his
watch.

"Hungry, are you?" Remus asked, smiling.

"Starving," Harry admitted.

"Kreacher's probably preparing something now," Sirius said. "Go on." He stood so that Harry
could get out of bed. Harry did and bounded out of the room with Sirius and Remus only a
few steps behind. "You owe me a galleon," Sirius muttered; Remus had thought there was a
very good possibility that Harry's form would be a stag. It was easy to see where Remus was
coming from and Sirius probably would have agreed with him if not for the confidence
difference between father and son.

James' confidence had been that not-arrogant-but-close-to-it type, and he had been proud of
his antlers, worn them like a crown; that, as well as the size of them was where the nickname
Prongs had come from. Harry's confidence was quieter than James' and much harder to see -
and occasionally it wasn't there at all – and Sirius imagined that if Harry's form had antlers,
he'd spend all of his time worrying about whether he was holding his head properly, and if it
was possible to hide or remove them. Antlers, quite simply, were too flashy to suit Harry.

And so, Sirius had bet against Remus, saying that not only would Harry not be a stag, but that
he wouldn't be a dog; while Harry shared several canine qualities, he wasn't quite... playful
enough to be a dog. A wolf was a bit more serious than a dog – though they still had a playful
streak . Sirius hadn't guessed wolf at all – hadn't even considered it, actually - but he thought
it fit rather nicely.

"I'll pay you tomorrow," Remus muttered back, grinning.

Harry bounced down the last few kitchen steps, where Kreacher pounced on him and started
to cast diagnostic charms, before deeming him healthy and passing him a loaded plate.

Remus was passed a cup of tea and took the seat opposite Harry. Sirius stayed at the bottom
of the stairs, watching his godson, who was picking at his food, looking thoughtful. He felt
Sirius' stare, looked up, and smiled, before returning to his breakfast with more enthusiasm.
Sirius continued to watch, a sad, proud smile on his face.

I hope you can see him, Prongs.

This lesson, Draco had been told to rearrange Severus's shelves of ingredients. Draco had
complained but Severus had been adamant - actually, he'd told Draco to beg, and Draco was
too proud to do that, even if it would get him out of the job.

"Is there any particular way you want it, sir?"

"I want you to be able to find anything up there at a moment's notice," Severus said, and went
back to marking essays. Draco grumbled under his breath and started to take things down. "Is
everything all right?" Severus asked. There were a number of things Draco could have
replied with but he bit his tongue and nodded. "Then I see no need for you to be making any
noise."

Draco's fist tightened around the phial of spider's venom he was holding. It shattered. Glass
cut his palm and tinkled as it hit the stone floor, while the venom dribbled down his arm and
dripped onto his shoes.

"Sorry," he mumbled as Severus swept over to clear away the mess. It was gone with a flick
of his wand and then he grabbed Draco's wrist inspected his palm. He summoned two small
bottles from the cabinet on the far side of the room. The contents of one made a ghostly
spider crawl out of the cut and along Draco's forearm before it disappeared, while the other
was just Dittany, and healed the cut instantly.

"Wouldn't want you to be poisoned, would we?" Severus asked, tracing his wand along the
smooth skin. "Merlin knows you're frail enough as it is." Draco snatched his hand back.

"Are you calling me weak?"

"So quick to expect an insult," Severus tutted, but his eyes were bright; "I was merely
alluding to-"

"The Healers say I'm getting better," he said defensively. "I haven't been in for two weeks,
now."

"And I suppose you think that's admirable?" Severus drawled. "I haven't been to St Mungo's
in years."

"You came to visit me," Draco said. "The day before I was released." Severus made a soft,
choking noise. Draco grinned.

"I had forgotten," he said.

"Apparently," Draco muttered.

"Get back to work," Severus snapped, lowering himself into his chair. He scribbled
something on a piece of parchment and Draco wondered if Severus was going to take his foul
mood out on one of his students. He suspected the idea should have appealed to him far more
than it did. It actually made him feel rather guilty.

"How long have you been here?" Severus asked, quite some time later. This was a common
question, and so Draco knew better than to say he didn't know.

"Erm..." Draco paused, a jar of butterfly wings halfway to the shelf he wanted to put it on.
"Two hours, perhaps?"

"One hour, twenty minutes," Severus sneered. "You must be having more fun than you let on
if you think time's passed that quickly."

Draco scowled and slammed the jar down. Severus's quill began to scratch again.

Five minutes later - Draco was sure, because he'd started to count under his breath - a loud
CRACK echoed through the office and Severus knocked over his inkwell with a curse.

"Dobby," Draco said, and even smiled a bit. He'd appreciated Dobby more lately; things
weren't confusing with Dobby - all he wanted was orders, not opinions or for Draco to
complete strange tasks - and because Dobby was the one who came to rescue Draco from his
visits with Severus.
"Dobby is sorry," Dobby said, giving Severus a pleading look. "Dobby knows that Master
wanted longer than Dobby has given them, but Dobby is being sent to collect Master Draco.
Mistress Sonja is dying, sir."

"She's been dying for months," Severus sighed. Dobby's ears flapped as he shook his head.

"Sir does not understand," he said shrilly. "Mistress is dying today! Mistress Pansy and
Master Ernest is most upset, sir, and Dobby's Mistress Narcissa is sending him to be getting
the young master."

"She's dead?" Draco asked blankly. He'd known she was sick - even Greg and Vince knew,
and they were thick - but he'd never imagined her dying.

"'Tis most sad, little master!" Dobby said, wringing his hands. "Dobby fears he will have to
be mopping the drawing room for all the tears." Draco looked at Severus, who was looking
grim.

"Go," he said. Draco dropped the griffin mane hairs he was holding and grabbed onto Dobby.
Severus turned back to his marking as Dobby turned on the spot.

Draco found himself standing in the drawing room; Dobby pried Draco off him and hurried
out of the room. Ernest was sitting in one of the armchairs, his head buried in his hands.
Mother had a hand on his knee and was speaking quietly, while Father sat beside her. His face
was completely unreadable.

Pansy was sitting on the other side of the room with Hydrus. She was sitting unnaturally still
with her hands clasped tightly in her lap and as Draco moved closer, he noticed that she was
also shaking.

"- then I told Goyle that there's no way he could outfly me; honestly," Hydrus said, "has he
seen the size of himself-"

"Hi," Draco said quietly; Pansy didn't appear to hear him.

"Oh, it's you," Hydrus said. "Did you hear about Mrs Park-"

"I heard, thank you," Draco said loudly, before Hydrus could say anything else. "I'm sorry,
Pansy." He sat down on the arm of the chair - something Hydrus wasn't allowed to do, but
Draco could - and put his hand on her shoulder. She squeaked and looked up.

"Draco," she muttered. "Hello."

"He said he was sorry," Hydrus said, and Draco saw her face crumple.

"I must have missed that," she said in a low strained voice. Draco squeezed into the chair
next to her and hugged her, but she pushed him away; he'd learned, recently, that hugs made
people feel better, but few of their friends seemed to know this. Draco was secretly convinced
that he and Mother had stumbled across a rare form of magic. Still, he couldn't blame Pansy
for wanting her space. He climbed back on to the arm of the chair.
"Did you miss what I said too?" Hydrus demanded.

"Sorry," Pansy mumbled.

"I forgive you," Hydrus drawled. "What I said was-"

"Hydrus," Draco said. "Shut up."

"I'm telling Mother you said that," Hydrus said, looking furious.

Draco ignored him; at the mention of the word 'mother', Pansy had buried her face in her
hands. A glance over at Ernest showed that he was still in the same position. Draco patted her
knee - the way Mother was doing - but Pansy kicked him away. Not hard, though.

"Are you crying?" Hydrus asked gleefully, trying to get a look at her face; his anger at Draco
was apparently forgotten in the face of this new development. "Draco, look! Wait until we tell
the others that she cried in front of us!" Pansy seemed to be trying to calm herself down;
Hydrus' reaction wasn't surprising – purebloods didn't cry, or if they did, it wasn't in front of
anyone. It made them look weak. Draco, however, though crying was perfectly reasonable at
a time like this.

"I'm not telling anyone anything," he said, folding his arms. "She can cry if she wants to."
Hydrus ignored him as Pansy wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

"Would you like a handkerchief, Pansy?" Hydrus cackled. Something in Draco snapped.

"Just shut up!" Draco shouted. "Can't you see she's upset?!" Hydrus gawked at him. Pansy
was looking down at her hands again, so he couldn't see her face.

"You're more upset than she is about the whole thing," Hydrus drawled, recovering. "It
wasn't our mother."

Pansy burst into tears again, and Hydrus smirked. It was strange; Draco had been confused
for months about what to say and how to act. He'd spent five minutes giving thought on how
to greet everyone before the last pureblood function, and he'd hesitated before responding to
things, just in case he accidentally offended someone. But at that moment, everything was
clear and he didn't hesitate before he launched himself at Hydrus.

Hydrus screamed as they tumbled into the back of the armchair and it tipped over. Pansy
gave a little hiccough of surprise, and looked horrified by Draco's behaviour. He didn't care.

"Get off!" Hydrus cried. "Father! Mother! Help!" Draco stood up, disgusted.

"I wasn't going to hit you," he said, looking down at his brother, who was curled in a ball,
looking dishevelled. He'd wanted to give him a bit of a fright, that was all, and from the looks
of things, he'd succeeded.

"What is going on!?" Father demanded, seizing Draco's shoulder in an uncomfortably tight
grip. Draco turned around, wincing – not out of fear, but because Father was hurting him.
Ernest – like Pansy – looked stunned, but beside him, Mother looked... Draco wasn't sure.
Not proud, but something similar. Triumphant, maybe. And worried for Hydrus, of course.

"He attacked me," Hydrus said furiously. "I feel dizzy, Father; I think I hit my head!"

"You did not," Draco snapped, though he was a little worried. "We were on the armchair
when we hit the ground- ah." Father squeezed his shoulder again. Hydrus tried to stand and
fell over.

"I can't get up," he said pitifully. "Everything's spinning." Mother hurried over and crouched
beside him. She brushed his hair back, looked into his eyes – which Draco thought focused
on her a little too easily for Hydrus to be as dizzy as he claimed – and then helped him up.
She called Dobby, who took hold of both of them and Disapparated. Draco saw Hydrus smirk
before he vanished.

He's not really hurt, Draco thought, and was relieved and then angry. He's putting it on to get
me into trouble!

Father watched them and then turned to Draco, looking just as angry as Hydrus had.

"He deserved it," Draco said, but somehow he didn't expect Father to understand. Father
glanced at Ernest and then at Draco.

"We will discuss this later," he said in a voice as sharp as glass and louder than was
necessary; he probably wanted Ernest to know that Draco wasn't going to get away without
punishment.

"Fine," Draco said, shrugging Father's hand off. Father gave him a searching look and then
strode back to his chair. Draco sat down on the edge of Pansy's again.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked, looking horrified. "You attacked your own brother!"

"He deserved it," Draco said again. He'd stick by that response; this was the first thing he'd
done in a long time without thinking about. Everything had seemed clear. He hadn't
questioned himself, or questioned what everyone else would think. Surely that meant he was
right.

I think I am, he thought tentatively.

Pansy didn't seem to know what to make of his response. She stared at him for a long time,
through big, watery brown eyes and then looked away, sniffing.

"I don't care that you're crying," Draco offered, as her shoulders shook. "I'd be upset if it was
my mother." Pansy let out a little trembling breath. "And I'm not going to tease you about it."
Her hands clenched in her lap. "I really am sorry, Pansy."

"I think I'd like that hug now," she choked.

 Nowhere to run

Harry was lying on his stomach in the drawing room, watching the little golden snake
wriggle around on the carpet. He'd finally got around to finishing Regulus' snake puzzle – it
was a nice distraction from all the reading about spell creation that Padfoot was making him
do before the next step of his Animagus process.

Padfoot thumped down the stairs and entered and Harry quickly looked back to the book he
was supposed to be reading. Padfoot chuckled.

"Still playing with that thing?" he asked, nudging the snake with his trainer. It reared up and
Padfoot stepped back. Its golden fangs struck air and then it went back to slithering around.
"How's the book?"

"Dunno," Harry said. Padfoot raised an eyebrow. "I... er... haven't started it yet." Padfoot
laughed and flicked his wand at the cabinet where they kept the locket. He pulled it out and
draped it over the arm of one of the couches. "Do you have another idea?"

"Maybe," Padfoot sighed; he'd put the locket in the cabinet about a month ago and left it there
because he'd run out of ways to try to destroy it. "Moony suggested using something
corrosive last night, and I've done some reading today, so I thought I might give it a try." He
pulled his wand and muttered something – Harry watched intently – but nothing happened.
"Comedus," he said, frowning.

"What's it supposed to do?"

"Cover the target in a corrosive layer," Padfoot said, making a jabbing motion with his wand.
"Maybe it's Comedum," he said uncertainly, and then tried that. "You know what? I'm going
to go and get the book." He gave the locket a dirty look and stalked out.

Harry went back to watching the snake, which had made it to the base of the couch. He
reached out and grabbed the tip of its tail to drag it back, but it didn't seem to like that; it
turned around and bit him.

Harry swore and let go, but its mouth was clamped tightly around the skin on his wrist. He
gave it a little shake, which hurt, and then held his arm up, hoping the snake would drop off,
but it refused to.

"Get off," he muttered, wincing. "Let go." He tried to prise its mouth open but it wouldn't
move. "Come on," he wheedled. "Open up. Just open- yes!" The snake dropped back to the
carpet and slithered around, apparently content. Harry sucked on the bite, which was bleeding
and rubbed his forehead, which had started to itch.

"It's Comedo," Padfoot called from the stairs. "Comedo, not Comedus-" Harry looked up in
time to see him freeze in the doorway.
"What?" Harry asked, following his gaze. His mouth fell open and he scrambled to his feet.
Bright green eyes and gleaming hazel eyes followed him. "Padfoot?" Padfoot's wand was out
and Harry hesitated before drawing his own and moving to stand beside his godfather.

"Hello, Harry," Lily said, holding a hand out. Harry looked up at Padfoot, whose face was
set, and lowered his wand a little. Her voice was gentle, almost nervous. "Hello, Sirius."

"It talks," Padfoot breathed, staring at the locket, which lay open behind them. Padfoot was
deathly pale.

"Of course, Padfoot," James said, and Harry thought he had a very warm voice. He wondered
if that's what they'd actually sounded like. "And we listen too. We know your heart, your
thoughts."

"We know everything," Lily said, smiling at Harry. "Come here, sweetheart." Harry took a
tentative step toward his mother, but Padfoot's hand clamped down on his shoulder. A very
ugly expression appeared on her pretty face. "Give me my son, Sirius."

"No," Padfoot said.

"Padfoot," James said. "He's not yours." Padfoot's hand spasmed on Harry's shoulder. "Give
him to us. You know we're better parents than you could ever be."

"He's not your son," Lily said coolly, and her eyes flashed red. Padfoot flinched.

"I don't know what we were thinking, making you godfather," James added. "You're not fit to
care for my son. You're a fugitive. A criminal. What sort of life is that for a child? He doesn't
know any other children, there's just you and Remus and that mad elf of yours."

"Do you think he's actually happy?" Lily asked. Padfoot's hand tightened on Harry's shoulder,
and his wand dangled uselessly at his side.

"He does!" James laughed, but it was a horrible sound; nothing like the laugh Harry had
imagined. "I can't believe how stupid you are!"

"Shut up!" Harry said.

"He should have stayed with Petunia," James told Padfoot.

"He wanted to stay," Lily said. "But how was he supposed to say no? You didn't give him a
choice, did you, Sirius-"

"I chose Padfoot," Harry said firmly, and both Lily and James gave him disappointed looks.

"We're here now," Lily said. "Don't you want parents, Harry? A family? We can give you
that. You won't have to hide anymore. You'll be safe."

"No more risks," James added, looking every inch the concerned father.

"The risk's what makes it fun," Padfoot whispered.

"Fun?" Lily said shrilly, while James looked horrified. "Siriu-"

"Bombarda Maxima," Padfoot said, his voice surprisingly strong. The couch exploded and
Harry covered his eyes. Lily and James screamed and so did another voice; this one was
higher pitched and made Harry's scar feel like it was on fire. The rest of him was fine,
though; Padfoot was shielding him.

A moment later, the screaming had stopped and Padfoot put a hand on Harry's shoulder.
Harry looked up. Padfoot was pale and looked scared – which unnerved Harry – but mostly
unharmed; the back of his robes were smoking, and his hem was on fire but he stepped on
that to put it out, even as Harry watched.

"Are you okay?" Padfoot asked hoarsely. Harry nodded. Together, they turned to face the
ruined room. There was a lot of soot and some burning fabric where the couch had been, but
not much else. The explosion had blown the Black tapestry off the wall and shattered the
glass in the cabinets. The pot of Floo powder on the mantel was burning a vivid green, and
Harry's book was a singed mess. Padfoot bent to examine something golden on the ground.

"Is it dead?" Harry asked, stepping forward.

"Reparo," Padfoot murmured and then lifted up Regulus' wriggling snake. Harry's heart sank;
if the snake had survived...

He kicked the ashes that remained of the couch and sure enough, the locket was there,
glinting an evil gold. It was dented and the chain was melted in places, but it repaired itself as
Harry watched.

"Padfoot," he said, nudging the locket with his foot. Padfoot looked over and swore at length.
Harry learned several new words, but he doubted any of them were appropriate for him to use
in any situation.

"Right," he said, dropping the snake, which slithered away. "Right. Kreacher!" Kreacher
Apparated in and then looked taken aback at the mess.

"Kreacher is hearing the bang, oh yes," Kreacher said, "but Kreacher is not expecting...
Kreacher hears noise all the time." Harry supposed that was true, especially since Padfoot had
started trying to destroy the locket. "Are the Masters well?"

"Fine," Harry said, as Padfoot sighed.

"Is Master Sirius having an argument with the couch?" Kreacher asked tentatively.

"That," Padfoot said, jabbing a finger at the locket. Kreacher scowled. "We're going out. Fix
this." Padfoot seemed to realise he was being blunt and then added, "Please, Kreacher."
Kreacher patted his elbow, bowed at them both and set to work.

Harry had so many questions he wanted to ask; was Padfoot okay – not physically, but
mentally – why had Lily and James thought Harry wasn't happy living with Padfoot, and why
had they questioned Padfoot's parenting skills? Why had Padfoot attacked when he did, after
waiting for so long? And, the one he was dying to ask: was that what they'd really sounded
like?

All he said however was, "Where are we going?"

"To see Keira," Padfoot said, scooping up the locket with a look of revulsion.

"Now?" Harry asked. "It's eight-thirty-"

"Knockturn Alley doesn't close until late," Padfoot said. "Come on." Harry didn't miss the
way his voice had started to quiver. Harry hugged him and then thought, Ostendere me
omnia, and Apparated upstairs to get his cloak and trainers.

Is that...? It was.

It was her jumper – the one she and Remus had turned into the silver ring at the camp two
months ago – and it was currently stretched over Greyback's wide shoulders. He was sitting
at a muggle bus stop, watching her.

He'd been after her since Remus left the camp. She and Mad-Eye had been following him –
she'd been careful to keep her distance – but about a week ago, he'd started to show up in
unexpected places, when she was off-duty. And he only seemed to show up when she was
alone, and it was starting to worry her.

He saw her looking and waved. Tonks pretended not to see him and walked back inside,
hoping that Remus hadn't left yet; they'd just had dinner and she'd given him an update on the
search (it was still disappointingly quiet).

Remus had left; their table was empty and he wasn't talking with Tom the barman. She'd been
planning to walk home before she went to the Ministry – she still had half an hour until
training started at nine-thirty - but there was no way she was going to try that with Greyback
lurking outside. She tried to contact Mad-Eye with her Sidekick, but he didn't respond. That
wasn't uncommon; he did it to annoy Scrimgeour.

She wouldn't be able to Apparate – there were Anti-Apparition spells on the pub to stop
people leaving before they paid – and so she decided she'd have to Floo. When she
approached the fireplace, however, the pot of powder wasn't there, and the small fire that
usually burned had been doused.

"Floo's closed," Tom said as he shuffled past her, holding a tray of butterbeer.

"Closed?" she asked, tripping over her own feet as she followed him. "Why?" Tom shrugged.
Tonks bit her lip and glanced at the pub door. Then she shook her head and left through the
back door; she'd Apparate from Diagon Alley. The courtyard was packed, which she thought
was unusual; it was nine o'clock on a Wednesday night.

"What's going on?" she asked a witch.

"I don't know," the witch replied, tossing her blond curls. "It'd better be good, though – they
made me leave before I could pay Madam Malkin-"

"They?"

"Aurors," the witch said, looking put out. "Come on, Rob," she said, grabbing a man's sleeve.

"Aurors?" Tonks muttered, and grew a few inches. The brick wall that led to Diagon Alley
was open and through it, lines of Aurors were talking to people as they left.

"Everyone out!" a witch in maroon robes bellowed, shoving through the crowd. "Go home.
You can come back tomorrow-"

"Auror McDuff!" Tonks called, but the witch didn't hear her and she was forced back into the
pub with everyone else. A crowd was gathered around the fireplace, complaining loudly that
it was closed, and an even larger crowd was moving through the doors. Tonks knew a chance
when she saw it; she squeezed into the centre of the crowd and Disapparated - thinking of the
Ministry entrance because there wasn't much point in her going home now - the moment she
was outside.

She hurried straight into the telephone box as soon as she steadied; she doubted Greyback
could have followed her but she didn't want to take any risks. She punched in the Auror code
and relaxed once the telephone box was underground.

"Wand, please," the witch on wand-checking duty said through a yawn. Tonks hesitated; she
knew Greyback wasn't around but she still wasn't keen on relinquishing her wand. "Wand,
please," the witch repeated impatiently.

"Don't bother," a voice called. McKinnon and Florence were walking toward her.

"Wand, please," the witch said, looking annoyed.

"She's not going through," McKinnon snapped and the witch gave her an angry look.
McKinnon ignored it.

"I'm not?" Tonks asked.

"Training's cancelled," Florence said. "Merlin knows why, but the entire floor's empty."

"Was it something to do with Diagon Alley?" Tonks asked.

"Diagon Alley? Florence asked, looking worried. "Why?"

"I was just at the Leaky Cauldron and everyone was being sent home-"

"Auror Finch was investigating a shopkeeper in Knockturn Alley," Florence moaned. "It
wasn't supposed to be dangerous; she was just going to walk around with a Dark Detector...
Something must have gone wrong-" Auror Finch was about as unlucky as Tonks was clumsy;
the day Tonks had gone to the camp, Auror Finch had needed to be rescued and had spent a
week in St Mungo's recovering from a nasty curse.
"If the level's empty, she's obviously not dealing with the problem alone," McKinnon pointed
out.

"Obviously, McKinnon, but if the level's empty, it's got to be something pretty bad," Florence
shot back. "I'm going to get Melvin. I'll see you two later." She ran toward one of the
fireplaces, shouted Melvin's address and vanished. Tonks and McKinnon exchanged a look.

"If they need us," McKinnon said, "then they'll contact us." She tossed her Sidekick up and
caught it. "But otherwise, it's an early night." Tonks laughed nervously and McKinnon gave
her an odd look. She strode toward the fireplace and then glanced back. "Are you coming?"

"I might stay here," Tonks said.

"Why? McKinnon asked, puzzled.

"Just..." Tonks waved her hand at the atrium. "It's safe here."

"Safe?"

"Yeah," Tonks said. "I'm going to wait for Mad-Eye." She'd sleep at his house tonight, which
she was sure would be fine, but she didn't want to invite herself in, only to be attacked by him
when he arrived home later. It was easier to wait.

McKinnon watched her for a long moment and then something behind Tonks moved. She
jumped, wand up, and turned to face it. It was just a poster on the wall which had come loose.
She turned back around in time to see McKinnon holding her wand thoughtfully.

"You did that?" Tonks asked weakly, not sure whether to be relieved or angry; she'd thought
before that McKinnon sensed weakness like a Niffler sensed treasure.

"Who's following you?" McKinnon asked.

"Who says-"

"You're jumpy," McKinnon said. "Which means you either saw or heard something that's got
you scared, or it means that someone's following you. And, since you think it's safe here, it
means there's something out there that you're not keen to be exposed to, and the fact that
you're not going home probably means that you want to keep your family safe. That indicates
a physical danger, rather than danger because of something you know." Tonks sighed. "So
who is it?"

Tonks looked around and almost missed the figure standing in the visitor's entry telephone
box. She didn't know how long he'd been there, but she didn't think it mattered. Somehow,
he'd followed her.

"Oh my Merlin," she whispered, her voice cracking.

"Who's that?" McKinnon asked sharply, lifting her wand. The door of the telephone box
opened and something silver flew through the air toward them. McKinnon caught it and
paled. Tonks craned her neck to see; it was one of the visitor's badges and where the name
should have been it said Im Watching. Where the purpose of the visit usually was it
said, Lookout. She had no doubt it was supposed to say 'I'm watching' and 'look out', but the
badge-making magic had obviously changed it slightly. Even so, the message was pretty
clear.

She looked up again, but the telephone box was empty.

"Tonks?" McKinnon said.

"Have you heard of Fenrir Greyback?" Tonks asked shakily.

"Don't lose that," Sirius said warningly, as Keira showed them out of the shop. The locket
was clutched tightly in her green hand and Sirius hoped that it would be destroyed by
tomorrow morning. "And be careful," he added.

"I can handle a piece of jewellery," she said, lifting her chin. She knew what the locket was
now – he'd given in and he and Harry had explained the concept of Horcruxes – and so she
knew it was more than just a necklace. He wondered if the understatement was her idea of a
joke.

Harry looked puzzled too, but all he said was, "Thanks, Keira." Keira gave them both a wide
smile and closed the door.

It was still outside Walpole's; there were no other shoppers and most of the shops appeared to
be closed, despite it only being a bit after nine.

"Ready to go?" he asked. Harry – who looked like a middle-aged man – nodded. Sirius
offered his arm and Harry took it, and then he twisted on the spot, thinking of Grimmauld's
doorstep. They didn't move, though; all that happened was that Sirius did a stupid little
pirouette and Harry fell over.

"Why didn't it work?" Harry asked, accepting Sirius' hand up.

"Dunno," Sirius replied.

"Ostendere me omnia," Harry muttered, and his eyes widened behind his glasses.

"Is it warded?" Sirius asked, frowning; they'd Apparated in with no trouble only about half an
hour ago. Harry nodded, looking stunned. "Ostendere me omnia," Sirius said quietly. He'd
never tried the spell before, but he'd helped Harry learn how to do it. Light flared before his
eyes and when he looked up, there was a quivering rainbow net in the sky that extended as far
as he could see. "Wow," he said and then looked at Harry, who was a mass of red and gold
sparks. Interestingly, his magic was smaller than his current body; it looked like it would fit
perfectly into Harry's usual height and build, though. Sirius himself was red- but he'd think
about all that later. "Is it always like this?"

"No," Harry said, looking troubled.

"Can you get through?"

"No," Harry said. "There are too many layers. Every time one bit moves, another fills it... Do
you think-"

"-it's for us?" Sirius finished. Finite, he added, because it was starting to hurt his eyes. "I'd
like to say no."

"But you can't, can you?" Harry asked, taking a step closer to him.

"No, I can't," Sirius agreed. Harry shivered.

"So what do we do?"

"Thanks again," Tonks said miserably, following McKinnon out of the Three Broomsticks.
McKinnon hadn't thought it was safe for her to stay at the Ministry and had offered to let her
stay at her house until Mad-Eye could come up with a better idea.

"No problem," McKinnon replied, brushing soot off her robes. "Hopefully this throws him
off a bit."

"Hopefully," Tonks agreed, but if Greyback had tracked her to the Ministry, then he'd
probably be able to find her at McKinnon's. McKinnon offered Tonks her arm and spun on
the spot. Tonks was being squeezed - Side-Along was infinitely worse than normal
Apparition - and then the pressure stopped.

Tonks fell over, though McKinnon managed to keep her footing. They were in a small park –
muggle by the looks of it – surrounded by terrace houses.

"Is this where you live?" Tonks asked, looking around. Ben, Melvin and Florence had all
visited before but Tonks had been running errands for Malfoy as Tock and hadn't been able to
make it.

"Number Thirteen," McKinnon said, gesturing for Tonks to follow. She led her out of the
park, across the road and unlocked a plain door with a tap of her wand. There were a few
people around but none of them were big enough to be Greyback. They both went inside and
then McKinnon locked the door, which made Tonks relax a bit.

The hallway was narrow but bright. It had white walls and pale wooden floorboards and a
faded Gryffindor banner dangled beside a door on the right. It was also very clean.

"You can have the guest room there-" McKinnon said, waving her hand at the door beside the
banner. "-or the one upstairs."

"Upstairs is further from the door," Tonks said with a joking smile, but she was serious. "Do
you mind if I take my rucksack up?"

"Go ahead," McKinnon said. "I'm going to make dinner. Do you-"

The doorbell rang loudly and Tonks' heart froze. She exchanged a horrified look with
McKinnon, who was frowning.
"Please tell me you were expecting someone," Tonks squeaked.

"No," McKinnon said, stepping forward.

"What are you doing?!" Tonks hissed, pulling her wand out.

"Answering the door," McKinnon said, lifting her own wand. The doorbell rang again. "Stand
somewhere out of sight." Tonks ducked into the guest room and half-closed the door. She
peeked out through the gap, wand ready, just in case. McKinnon opened the door, wand first.

"Lupin," McKinnon said, dropping her wand. Relief hit Tonks like a bludger.

"Are you expecting someone else?" Remus asked mildly.

"Yes, actually," McKinnon said briskly. "I'm glad it's you instead. Would you like to come
in?"

"That's probably best," he said. "Where's Dora?"

"Here," Tonks said, stepping out of the guest room. Remus smiled at her, but his eyes were
worried.

"You two know each other?" McKinnon asked, locking the door.

"Yeah," Tonks said. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going home-"

"I was doing my own little patrol," he admitted, and Tonks's insides gave a guilty squirm.
"Sirius lived next door when he was growing up and I thought maybe... I don't know what I
thought. No one was there except for Kreacher."

"Who's-"

"The house elf," McKinnon sighed.

"It was stupid," Remus mumbled. "I'd deluded myself into thinking they'd be there, but
they're not... As I was leaving, though, I saw the pair of you scurrying inside and it worried
me, so I thought I'd come and see if there was anything I could do to help."

"You're welcome to stay," McKinnon said. "You're probably going to be more useful than I
am if Greyback does show up. You've got experience handling him."

"Lucky me," Remus muttered. McKinnon laughed, and Tonks stared; McKinnon didn't laugh
very often. "So it is Greyback?" he asked, looking at Tonks.

"He followed me to the Ministry," Tonks said. "I didn't want to go home, so McKinnon
offered to let me stay here."

"He followed you to the Ministry?" Remus repeated, looking aghast.

"He was wearing my jumper," Tonks added, and Remus seemed revolted, but not surprised.
She wasn't either, really; Greyback had worn the ring for days, apparently.

"And he left her this." McKinnon tried to give him the badge but he didn't take it.

"It's silver," Remus said. McKinnon snatched the badge back.

"I forgot, Lupin, I'm so-"

"You know?" Tonks asked; Remus and McKinnon didn't seem awfully close and Remus
wasn't the type to tell everyone about his condition.

"You know?" McKinnon asked, looking as surprised as Tonks. Her eyes flicked between
them. "How exactly do you two know each other?" Remus and Tonks shared a look, but were
saved from trying to explain anything by McKinnon jumping and pulling out her Sidekick.
"May I-?"

"Go ahead," Remus said, while Tonks nodded. McKinnon disappeared down the hallway.
"Does Mad-Eye know about the Ministry?"

"I haven't been able to reach him."

"Oh." Remus looked troubled.

"Will you stay tonight?" Tonks blurted. "Please?" she added in a smaller voice. "McKinnon
said it's all right."

"Sure," he said after a moment. "Also, I think it's best if Matt introduced us." Tonks nodded.

"I've got to go," McKinnon said, reappearing.

"What's happened?" Tonks asked.

"Gawain's called me in," she said. "That's all I can say at the moment, but you'll know about
it soon enough, I think. You're both welcome to stay here – I don't know when I'll be back but
there's food downstairs. I'll tell Mad-Eye what's going on if I see him. Look after her," she
told Remus.

"We'll go back to mine," Remus said. He was very pale, Tonks noticed, and she wondered if
he was scared, or if it was something else. Tonk was relieved that he'd offered that, though;
she wouldn't have felt right about staying in McKinnon's house while McKinnon was out.

"I'll let them know," McKinnon promised. "I'm sorry to run out like this- if it
was anything else- I'll come by to check on you tomorrow, all right?"

"Be careful!" Tonks called, as McKinnon hurried out the front door. There was a pop and she
was gone. "Are you okay?" Tonks asked, looking at Remus. He didn't look well at all.

"Fine," he said, sounding a bit off.

"What do you think she's needed for?" Tonks asked. It must be important, whatever it was, or
McKinnon would have stayed with her. Maybe Finch was in a lot of trouble in Diagon Alley.
Tonks shut the door again, and had a quick look outside. Thankfully, she couldn't see anyone
out there. Maybe she'd managed to shake Greyback for the night.

"I'm not sure," he said, but she didn't quite believe him. In fact, he seemed to be arguing with
himself. "Is that all you've got with you?" he asked, after several long seconds. Tonks nodded
and fiddled with the strap of her rucksack. Remus smiled. It was genuine, but she thought it
was a struggle for him to keep it there. Something about McKinnon's exit had rattled him.
"Let's get you home then."

Padfoot knocked on the window of Walpole's, while Harry kept watch. Keira's pale face
appeared and a moment later the door opened.

"It isn't morning yet," Keira said, frowning at them. Padfoot slipped past her into the shop,
and Harry followed. Keira looked puzzled but had the sense to close the door. "Yes?"

"We think the Aurors are here for us." Keira's eyebrows disappeared into her dark hair. "I
need parchment, a quill and your most recent copy of Wizarding Law," Padfoot said.

"Wizarding Law?" Harry asked, but Padfoot shook his head. Keira drifted away and returned
a moment later with everything Padfoot had asked for. Padfoot began to write.

"Are you happy living with me, Harry?" he asked a few minutes later.

"Is this because of the locket-"

"Are you happy? The truth."

"I'm happy," Harry said, a little scared. Padfoot folded the letter and tucked it into the book.
Then he scribbled something else onto another piece of parchment and gave that and the book
to Keira.

"Could you send the book to the first address on there?" he asked. "Do it in the morning, and
only once you've had it confirmed that we've been caught. Please don't let it be intercepted.
Keep the locket safe. If I'm Kissed, or sent back to Azkaban, send it to the second address.
He'll know what it is." Keira nodded and placed a hand on Padfoot's shoulder and he offered
her a small, nervous smile. Then, she hugged Harry and disappeared into the back room.

"I don't- why are you writing letters?" Harry asked. "Shouldn't we be trying to escape?"
Padfoot gave him a look that Harry didn't know how to interpret; it was nervous, worried and
excited all at once.

"We're not running this time, kiddo."

"All settled?" Remus asked leaning in the doorway of his guest room.

"Yeah," Tonks said, playing with the sleeve of the pyjamas he'd leant her. "Thanks."
"Good night," he said. His smile strained – she thought he was worried – but it drew an
answering smile out of her anyway. Then he pulled the door closed and she heard his
footsteps retreat up the hallway. The room seemed empty without him there, and her worry
about Greyback, about Auror Finch, about McKinnon and about Mad-Eye, who still wasn't
answering his Sidekick came creeping back. She pulled the covers up and settled into her
pillow, though she doubted she'd sleep well tonight.

"Stop where you are, Black!"

Sirius stopped and lifted his hands up slowly to show he wasn't holding his wand. Beside
him, Harry had gone very still.

Please don't let this be a mistake, he thought. Please, please, please...

It seemed the entirety of the D.M.L.E. had come to see them. It was ridiculous, but
reassuring; he'd been right not to consider trying to fight his way out. Once he might have - it
probably would have seemed like a grand adventure - but he wasn't about to risk Harry's
safety and he'd grown up and gained enough sense to realise it would probably end with him
being killed or captured. Since he'd rather be captured than die, and capture seemed
inevitable, it was best to be caught on his own terms.

And, while he was never going to walk into the Ministry and hand himself in, he wasn't about
to run away from a situation like this one. Marlene's had been different; she'd have killed him
if he'd stayed, Remus had been involved, and Harry hadn't been with them, all of which
would have made things hard.

This, though, was almost too easy. He could go quietly, and get a trial...

The locket was a nasty piece of work, but it had been right about Harry deserving more than
to be cooped up in Grimmauld. The Ministry would be too curious about Sirius' escape and
how he'd managed to hide from them this long to kill him or have him Kissed. That meant
he'd get a chance to talk - something he hadn't been given eight years ago - and he still
remembered enough about wizarding law from his Auror days to ensure he was listened to.
Being listened to didn't necessarily mean that things would work out, though...

Please, please, please, please be the right thing to do. Please, please-

"Step away from the boy, Black!" Harry's eyes met his.

"It'll be all right, kiddo," he said. Harry nodded, though it was obvious he didn't believe it.

"Black! Step away from the boy!"

"You ready?" Sirius asked.

"Not really," Harry said, attempting to smile.

"Do you remember what I told you?"

"Yeah," Harry said. He hesitated and then said, "Love you, Padfoot."

"Love you too, kiddo," Sirius said. His throat was absurdly tight. Harry gave him a small,
grim smile and Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. Then, Harry turned and walked toward
the Aurors. He did it slowly; he had the sense not to run at them and a few feet before he
reached them, he stopped and pulled their wands out of his pocket. The Aurors all flinched
but Harry turned them around and offered them to the closest Auror. Sirius recognised Lyra
Finch, who'd gone through the Program at the same time as him and James.

"Thank you," she said cautiously. She took them, and then several Aurors converged on
Harry, blocking him from Sirius' view.

"We've got him!" someone shouted, and then there was a pop of Disapparition. Sirius felt
quite alone all of a sudden, despite the many Aurors surrounding him.

No one seemed to know what to do with him. They were all staring as if he was something
that had crawled out of the Forbidden Forest; they were equally fascinated and terrified.
Sirius could have said several witty or rude things, but he decided to wait.

"Petrificuls Totalus! Incarcerous!"

Sirius fell with a grunt and landed hard on his side. The Aurors were murmuring amongst
each other but no one had moved to approach him.

Please, please don't be a mistake-

"One move, Sirius, and I'll kill you on the spot," a fierce voice said in his ear as he was
hauled into a sitting position. "Finite." The Body-Bind came off, allowing him to sit more
comfortably.

"I don't doubt it," he said.

Marlene made a sound that might have been a laugh.

Please, please, please.

Tonks sighed and rolled over, grabbing her wand off the bedside table.

"Tempus," she said, and a ghostly clock flickered into existence. It was just after midnight,
and had only been ten minutes since she'd last cast the charm. "Damn it," she muttered, and
flicked her wand again to make the clock go away. She hadn't managed to get to sleep yet,
and it was driving her mad.

She took out some of her frustration on her pillow – by punching it – and then rolled onto her
back with a huff. The door opened slowly and a figure poked its head in. Tonks clenched her
fingers around her wand.

"Remus?" She lit her wand and Remus' guilty face came into focus.
"I didn't know if you were a restless sleeper or if you were awake," he said sheepishly.

"I'm awake."

"Can't sleep?" he asked, coming in to sit on the end of the bed. She shook her head. "Neither
can I." They sat in a tired, worried silence for a few seconds and then Remus stood. "I'm
going to make a cup of tea. Would you like one?"

"Yes, please," she said, tossing back the covers.

She followed him out into the dark sitting room. He seemed to know his way around without
a light, while Tonks managed to trip over an armchair even with her wand. Remus chuckled
and lit the stove with matches, which she thought was strange but didn't comment on. Tonks
dropped into a seat at the table, yawning – she felt tired now, but she knew she'd be wide
awake the second she climbed back into bed.

The kettle's bubbling grew louder and louder and Remus fetched tealeaves and cups. Tonks
drummed her fingers on the table.

"Thanks," she said as a steaming cup was set down in front of her.

"No problem."

Remus sat and didn't attempt to make conversation - he seemed wrapped up in his own
thoughts – but that didn't bother Tonks. She thought they were probably thinking the same
things anyway, so what was the point of talking? She sipped at her tea.

She was getting tired; the tea was warming her from the inside, and it was late and the chair
was comfortable and Remus was there keeping her safe and keeping her sane. She put the cup
down before she could drop it and her eyes started to drift shut. Remus said something in a
quiet voice but she didn't really hear him. A moment later, she started so violently that she
knocked her teacup over. If Remus had been pale before, then he was positively ghostly now.
He didn't even seem to have noticed the tea dripping onto the floor.

"Did you hear it too?" he breathed. Tonks barely heard him over her pounding heart;
something had made a popping sound outside and at this hour of the night, when Remus'
cottage was as isolated as it was, it could only be Greyback.
 Marlene's revenge

"He's still not answering," Dora said, dropping her Sidekick into her lap. "Do you think it's
bad, whatever's going on down there?"

"I don't know," Remus said, but he was fairly sure he did; he hadn't been lying when he'd told
Marlene and Dora that Grimmauld had been empty except for Kreacher. He also knew that
Marlene wasn't one to run out on a commitment - like looking after Dora – unless there was a
very good reason. And, from what Remus knew of Marlene, that reason could only be Sirius.

He didn't know where Sirius was, or if Harry was with him, and he didn't know whether he'd
managed to escape or if he'd been caught. Worse was that there was nothing Remus could do
for him – or them, if Harry was with Sirius. As if their potential predicament wasn't bad
enough, there was also the fact that Greyback was after Dora. Unlike Sirius and Harry,
Remus had been able to do something about that. She seemed comforted by having him
around and Remus felt better because he knew where she was and that she was safe.

Or sort of safe; after hearing Greyback Apparate into the garden, they'd moved to the couch
and stayed there all night, both too worried to sleep, but so far, Greyback hadn't approached
the house.

Greyback had spent the night in Remus' garden and it hadn't escaped Remus' notice that he'd
chosen to sit in the exact spot where he'd bitten Remus all those years ago. Dora had wanted
to leave as soon as Greyback arrived, but Remus had talked her out of it; if they Flooed, one
of them would be alone in the house for a few seconds, and that could be fatal. Greyback
would also hear the address they were going to, and be able to follow them. If they
Apparated, he'd just find them again – he'd found them so far, though Remus couldn't work
out how – and they really didn't have anywhere else to go.

And Marlene said she'd come by to check on us, Remus added mentally. Hopefully she'd
bring others with her and they could... catch Greyback? Take Dora – and Remus, because he
was involved now too - to a safe house? He didn't know.

There was a tap at the window and Dora yelped. It was only Strix though, bringing
the Prophet. Remus flicked his wand at the window which opened long enough for Strix to
get in and then slammed shut and dropped the paper in Remus' lap and alighted on the arm of
the couch beside Dora for a pat. She stroked his feathers absently, and then stood.

"Where are you going?" Remus asked.

"I'm going to get a book," she said through a yawn. "Will you be okay?"

Remus nodded. She left and he unfolded the paper. His heart stopped. SIRIUS TROUBLE
FOR BLACK, was the headline and took up most of the front page. Remus lurched to his feet
with the paper scrunched up in his fist, and went to the sink to splash water on his face. He
looked at the paper again but the headline still hadn't changed.
Guess it's true then, he thought and collapsed into a chair at the table. His hands were
trembling as he spread the paper out to read.

Sirius Black was caught by Aurors in Diagon Alley last night, putting an end to his fourteen
months on the run from Ministry officials. Black was taken into the Ministry's custody and is
being kept in a secure but unknown location. Harry Potter was also found and taken to a safe
location that has not been named for his safety.

Black was spotted by one of the Ministry's Aurors in Knockturn Alley, quite by chance. The
evil magic radiating off him was enough to trigger a Dark Detector held by said Auror, and
once Black was otherwise engaged, she called in her co-workers to secure the alley. When
Black and Potter made their way back to the main street, his evil had been masked, but he
was still, thankfully recognisable. Aurors are investigating the shop in question to determine
whether concealment charms were used to hide Black's evil-

Remus couldn't read any more. He dropped the paper like it was some sort of slimy,
poisonous bug and went to splash more water on his face.

He wiped his eyes and then swore, jumped and stumbled backward; standing on the other
side of the kitchen window was Greyback. He was smiling in a way that showed all of his
teeth and promised pain, and his eyes were so bright they were almost feverish.

Remus stood very still, gasping. Greyback just watched him.

"Remus?" Dora was back, holding Human Chameleon. "What are you looking at?"

"He was-" Greyback was gone, but obviously still around somewhere; Remus hadn't heard
him Apparate. "Greyback was there-" Remus said through numb lips. "Outside the window."
Dora whipped out her wand and looked around nervously as if she expected Greyback to
jump out from behind a couch. It honestly wouldn't have surprised Remus at this point.

This is getting ridiculous, he thought, shivering. They were safe inside the house for the
moment, but Greyback was getting braver. He'd be happy to toy around with them for a bit
but Remus knew he'd get bored. Once that happened, it was only a matter of time before he
reversed one of the charms on the windows or doors, or Apparated inside. Or maybe he'd just
blow a hole in the side of the cottage and come in that way.

And when that happened, things would get ugly. Greyback wasn't going to want to negotiate.
It would be a fight – magical or physical, depending on how he was feeling. Maybe it would
even be a combination. Remus had saved Greyback several times over the years by refusing
to hand him over to the Aurors or Dumbledore. He didn't like it, and it wasn't for any reason
other than to protect the people living at the camps, but he'd done it.

Now though, with him and Dora being threatened, and Greyback's presence preventing
Remus from finding Sirius and Harry, Remus was sorely tempted to do whatever it took to
get rid of him. And, with things in their current state, Remus could only imagine that would
involve Greyback dying or being captured.
It'll have to be captured, Remus thought grimly; Greyback's death would create more
problems than it would solve. Even his capture would threaten everyone at the camp. Though
there could be a way around that...

The next hour was spent in silence broken only by the sound of Dora's Sidekick semi-closing
and opening – it was a nervous habit she seemed to have developed overnight, though it was
a sensible one, since it kept it within reach – and of pages turning; both Dora and Remus
were immersed in their respective books, though not as deeply immersed as they might have
been. Remus was keeping an ear out for Greyback and regularly checked the doors, windows
and corners of the room, just in case.

"Remus," Dora said, as he turned a page.

"Hmm?"

"Is he still out there?" Remus stood and peeked out the window.

"Yes." He'd returned to the place under the tree and was staring intently at the house.

"Where?"

"Just under the tree," Remus said, giving her an odd look. Her eyes flicked down to her
Sidekick, which was open in her lap. Remus quirked an eyebrow and she nodded. Remus
could have cried with relief. "At the bottom of my garden, where he's been all night," Remus
added, and could only just hear whispering through the Sidekick.

"Do you think he has his wand?" Dora asked. That's good. Give them as much information as
possible without tipping Greyback off.

"Probably," Remus said. "He Apparated in, didn't he?"

"Yeah, I s'pose. Do you think we're safe in here?"

"For now. When he decides he wants to come in, that's when we'll have a problem, and
frankly, I'm amazed he's waited this long."

"Do you think the Aurors are coming, Remus?" Dora asked in a very small, obviously
distressed voice. She was putting it on; her scent was actually rather calm, but Remus was
sure Greyback would be thrilled to think he was getting to her.

"I don't know," he said, trying to sound miserable. "Even if they do, his senses are so good
they'd have no chance of catching him." Remus didn't think that was true; if they could catch
Sirius, they could catch Greyback. It was more that he needed to convey the message about
his senses, as a warning.

"Get him into the house." Mad-Eye's voice was so low that Remus could hardly hear it. Dora
didn't seem to have heard it at all. Mad-Eye added something else that was too quiet even for
Remus, but he couldn't very well ask Mad-Eye to repeat it or Greyback would overhear him
asking. Remus mumbled a made-up word.
"What?" Dora asked. Remus smiled.

"Send a message once he's inside and we'll Apparate in and trap him," Mad-Eye said.

"I said we'll sort something out," Remus said. He used his wand to write, Mad-Eye says to
lure him inside, send a message with your Sidekick and then presumably keep him distracted
long enough for them to trap him. Dora nodded, eyes wide and Remus flicked his wand. The
letters dissolved into the air. "Hopefully," he said, to keep their fake conversation going. They
fell silent and then Remus thought of something. "Why don't you have a shower or
something?"

"A-" Dora lifted an eyebrow and he gave her a beseeching look. She nodded slowly. "That
sounds wonderful, actually. Will you-"

"I'll be fine," he said. She stood, holding her Sidekick and crossed the room. Her hair grew up
to expose the back of her neck and then, as if someone was standing behind her with a quill
and James' old invisibility cloak – Remus wondered absently what had happened to that – the
words Be careful appeared. Then she lightened her skin again and vanished into the hall.

Remus waited until he heard water running and then he stood and waved his wand at the
front door, which popped open. Greyback was waiting on the doorstep.

"About time," he said, leering at Remus. Remus held his wand up; it was a warning, but not
threatening. Greyback's wand was in his fist as his side, but his knuckles were white. "I must
say, I expected you to invite me in earlier." Remus was disconcerted that Greyback had
known what he would do before he himself had known, and it must have shown on his face
or in his scent, because Greyback wheezed a laugh.

"I'm going to put my wand on the kitchen table," Remus said. "Then you're going to do the
same."

Greyback appeared to think about it, but it didn't take long. Greyback was a competent
wizard but they both knew he'd have to be lucky to beat Remus in any magical challenge.
They also both knew that Greyback would easily win any physical confrontation, and that
Remus was therefore giving up any advantage he might have. Greyback turned his wand
around and then passed it to Remus, who took it.

"Is that smart?" Remus asked, stepping backward, just in case Greyback decided he wanted it
back.

"You're too honourable to attack me without provocation," Greyback said.

"Am I?" Remus asked, though he knew it was true. Greyback made himself at home on the
couch he and Dora had just vacated while Remus put their wands on the kitchen bench; best
to keep them as far from Greyback as possible, even if it did mean they'd be far away from
Remus too. He deliberately knocked the kettle off the bench; if Dora hadn't realised Greyback
was inside, hopefully she'd interpret the noise as a message.
"Take a seat," Greyback said, patting the couch beside him. Remus put the kettle away and
opted for the armchair instead. "Now. Do you remember what I said about suspicious
behaviour?" Remus gave him a stony look. "I'm a patient man, Lupin-" Remus snorted and
Greyback's lip curled. "-but I've run out of patience. You're running around with Aurors now.
Do you honestly think they can protect you?" There was a thump from the bathroom. "Or
maybe you're protecting them."

"Maybe," Remus said.

"I'd say I'm sorry," Greyback said. "Except I'm not." Greyback pulled another wand out of his
scruffy robes and Remus' breath caught. "I'm not going to kill you," Greyback cooed, getting
up. He patted Remus' head – Remus leaned away, but wasn't about to make a run for it while
Greyback had a wand in his face. "I'm just going to make sure you can't interfere." He leered
at Remus again. "Pity you were too honourable to hold onto those wands, huh?"

"Go on, then," Remus said. "Stun me." He figured Mad-Eye couldn't be far away. He trusted
Greyback not to kill him – Greyback wouldn't have bothered lying about that – and Dora had
her wand and her Sidekick, so she'd be safe until Mad-Eye arrived. Even if Greyback
Disarmed her – which Remus didn't want to think about – he'd want to talk to her before he
did any serious damage.

"Stun you?" Greyback laughed. "No, son. You're going to listen. You're going to hear her die
and know it's your fault. You're-"

Several things happened at once: the water in the bathroom stopped, the Aurors Apparated
around the house in perfect synchronisation – all Remus heard was one loud, almost echoing
pop – and Remus snatched the wand out of Greyback's hand. It never would have worked if
Greyback wasn't distracted by all the noises. Greyback let out a howl of fury and threw
himself at Remus, who managed to get the wand up in time.

"Protego!" Greyback hit the Shield Charm and bounced off. He crashed into the coffee table,
which broke and then launched himself back to his feet and stood, chest heaving, eyes wild,
and teeth bared. Strix hooted uneasily.

If looks could kill, Remus thought, holding the wand steady. The bathroom door clicked and a
floorboard creaked. Remus' head snapped in that direction and out of the corner of his eye, he
saw Greyback lunge. He turned back but he was too slow-

"Stupefy!" Dora cried, appearing in the doorway. Greyback dropped where he stood and a
moment later, Remus' front door burst off its hinges and Mad-Eye barged in, followed by six
others.

"Incarcerous," he barked, without breaking stride, and ropes twined themselves around
Greyback's still form. Remus flopped back into his armchair. Dora sat down where she was,
in the hall doorway, with a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a sob. Mad-Eye
ordered the other Aurors out again – one kindly fixed the door on the way, while two stopped
to lift Greyback – and went over to Dora.
Remus glanced over to make sure he and Dora were distracted and then he lifted Greyback's
wand and whispered the incantation he'd found that afternoon. Greyback sagged even more,
if that was possible, and Remus knew it had worked; Greyback would have no recollection of
Remus' role in his capture - he'd think that he'd been caught outside Marlene's house in
London (since Greyback must have made it there at some point, or he wouldn't have known
that Remus was involved and to visit the cottage) – and that Remus had been called by the
Aurors because he knew Greyback.

Greyback would remember Remus offering to remove the pack's location from his mind and
would remember accepting the offer – Remus had actually removed that information so the
Aurors wouldn't be able to find the camp. Not only did that protect the camp – which had
been Remus' biggest qualm with having Greyback arrested – but it also left Remus on neutral
terms with Greyback, which meant Remus would be able to return to the camp.

And, since Remus knew Voldemort would be back eventually – due to the Horcrux – it was
crucial that Remus didn't completely alienate himself from Greyback and the pack. He could
make him mad, certainly - he did that regularly - but he didn't want to damage his already
unstable relationship with Greyback beyond repair. Having him arrested would certainly do
so.

"Are you hurt, Lupin?" Mad-Eye asked, limping over with Dora behind him.

"No, I'm fine," Remus said. Dora caught his eye. She didn't smile or speak, but she didn't
need to. Remus understood, and he thought she understood him too. He went to retrieve his
and Greyback's wands from the kitchen bench and caught another glimpse of the paper.

Sirius and Harry. He was ashamed to admit he hadn't spared them much thought in the last
hour. He wondered if Mad-Eye would know what was going on, or if he'd have to go to
Hogwarts to get the news from Dumbledore. Maybe I could even stop by at Marlene's...

"Who does that belong to?" Dora asked, frowning at the third wand in Remus' hand. Remus
pocketed his own.

"These two were Greyback's."

"He had two?" Mad-Eye asked, looking troubled. He made a grabbing motion and Remus
passed them over. Mad-Eye examined them and tucked them into his robes for safekeeping.
"We should go; Scrimgeour will want to talk to the pair of you."

"I really think I should-" Mad-Eye fixed both his real and his magical eye on Remus.

"The Ministry's the place you want to be, lad," he said, giving Remus a very pointed look.
"Trust me."

"My apologies, friends," Albus said, waving his wand.

"The nerve of people these days!" Phineas Nigellus' portrait exclaimed as a web of magic
affixed itself to his portrait, and all of the others; they'd be able to talk to Albus, but they
wouldn't be able to hear his responses and they wouldn't be able to see him either. A very old
charm, cast long before Albus' Headship ensured they didn't discuss what they saw or heard
in the office, but with the conversation he was about to have...

It's better to be safe.

One of the silver trinkets on the table in the corner of Albus' office flashed a bright white.
Fawkes looked over, curious, but he'd been living in the office too long to be startled by it.

"Come in!" he called. The door flung open and Severus stalked in.

"You wanted to see me, Dumbledore?" he asked, dropping into the chair on the other side of
Albus' desk.

"I did," Albus replied. "I have a task for you, Severus."

"Wonderful," Severus said, looking as if he thought it was anything but wonderful. Albus
couldn't really blame him; the last thing Albus had asked of him – aside from the usual
requests like speaking politely to other staff members, and not terrorising students
(particularly first years, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs) – had been to give lessons to young
Draco Malfoy. He didn't think Severus had forgiven him for that yet, which was a pity,
particularly because of what he was about to ask.

"Have you seen the Prophet today, Severus?" Albus asked, stalling.

"You know I rarely bother with that drivel," Severus sneered.

"I admit the stories can be rather lucrative, but they do have an excellent crossword-"

"What was in the paper?" Severus bit out.

"Sirius and Harry were caught last night." Severus paled. "The boy is safe," Albus said.

"And Black?" Severus asked, looking nervous. "Has he been Kissed?"

"Are you concerned, Severus?" Albus asked. "I'd have thought you of all people would
welcome the news that the man responsible for Lily Potter's death has been apprehended."
Severus gave him a glare that fell short because he still looked anxious. Albus wondered at
that – he himself didn't much care about Sirius' welfare and Albus knew he was more
forgiving than Severus had ever been. "No," he said finally. "Sirius is safe in Ministry
custody." Severus snorted at that, though Albus couldn't be sure why.

"The task, Dumbledore?" Severus asked impatiently, after a pause.

"Ah," Albus said. "Yes. I've had a letter from Dolores Umbridge. She wants Harry out of the
Ministry and into a suitable home by tomorrow night-"

"Absolutely not!" Severus snarled, leaping to his feet. "I am not taking the boy! He can go
back to his aunt-"
"Sit down, Severus," Albus said, amused. "I would never ask you to adopt the boy – for your
sake and for his." Severus hesitated and then sat down. "I do intend to return Harry to Petunia
and Vernon-"

"Then what am I here for?"

"I'll be spending the majority of my time at the Ministry until this custody mess is sorted,"
Albus sighed. "I wouldn't put it past Dolores to give the boy to the first wizarding family that
showed an interest."

"Surely there are laws prohibiting-"

"There are if the child in question has parents or any other form of guardian. Currently, Harry
Potter does not. Not legally," Albus amended, when Severus' mouth fell open. "Which means
the Ministry is liable to do as they please, and Sirius is liable to point out that James and
Lily's wishes were to have Harry live with him. Were either the Ministry or Sirius to
gain legal control over Harry..."

"So what are you going to do?" Severus asked, looking apprehensive. Albus produced a stack
of documents from his desk drawer. "Forgery!? You're going to forge-"

"Petunia is a better guardian for the boy than anyone the Ministry will find-" Ideally, Albus
would have given the boy to Remus – he thought they'd both like that – but the Ministry
would never allow it. "-even if she did only take him out of duty and not love. No one can
argue that a blood relative has no claim to him, and legal documents from the muggle world
are respected in our world. I should have had her sign them years ago, when she first took the
boy in, but with everything else going on... I never imagined anything like this could come to
pass..."

"Is that really the best place for the brat?"

"He will be safe," Albus said grimly. Last year had been an eye opener for him about Harry's
childhood; the boy hadn't seemed fond of his relatives, nor they of him. Albus had hoped to
give Harry a happy childhood, and it seemed he'd failed, but he had succeeded in sheltering
Harry from the wizarding world and his fame – until Sirius barged into their lives and ruined
that – and in keeping him safe.

Now, Dumbledore knew better than to think that anything but safety awaited Harry at the
Dursleys. He felt absolutely wretched that he would be forcing the boy back to a home where
he had not been particularly happy and where familial love was buried so deeply that it rarely
showed on the surface. It wasn't fair to the boy who'd lost so much and been through so
much, but that and a weekly respite was the best Albus could offer him until he started
Hogwarts.

"Safer than he would with a magical family?" Severus asked doubtfully. "He's been exposed-
"

"He will stay with Remus on weekends – without the Ministry knowing, of course," Albus
said. "And yes; once Voldemort returns, Harry will find no safer place than with his aunt and
uncle, behind the wards."

"They were destroyed when Black-"

"They can be recast." Albus fully intended to do that, and he'd also cast one to keep Sirius
out, though that probably wouldn't matter; now that the Ministry had him, Sirius was either
going to be Kissed or locked away and so it was highly unlikely that he'd come after Harry
ever again.

"I still fail to see where I come into this, Headmaster."

"Petunia will need the situation explained to her. She will be reluctant to take the boy back
and we cannot afford to let the Ministry see that. She must fill these out-" Albus slid the
forms over to Severus. "-and then you will both travel to this address." He passed Severus a
business card belonging to a Squib solicitor who was a good friend of his. He'd be willing to
help, Albus knew, and he'd keep quiet. "You will then join me at the Ministry to sort this
mess out."

"You want me to go?" Severus asked, flinging the card away. "You might be busy, but why
me? Why not Minerva or your precious Lupin or even McKinnon-"

"Petunia knows you," Albus said; he'd anticipated this response.

"I'm the boy who stole her sister," Severus spat.

"She knows you," Albus repeated. "Petunia will be far more willing to accept this from a
familiar face, and if nothing else, she will believe that you have Lily's son's best wishes at
heart." Severus did not look happy about things, but Albus hadn't expected him to. He was
scowling fiercely, obviously thinking very hard. Albus popped a sweet into his mouth and
sucked on it while he waited. One minute.

Two.

When Severus looked up, he looked so furious that Albus knew he'd agreed to do it. He
gathered the papers into his arms without a word and made to leave.

"Thank you, my boy," Albus said, smiling at his back.

"I hope you choke on that lemon drop," Severus snarled, and left.

Petunia,

If you don't want to read this now, please don't throw it away yet. There are some things you
need to know.

Harry and I have been captured by the Ministry. I don't know what's going to happen to me,
but I can make guesses where Harry's concerned. There'll be a dispute over his custody, a
dispute which Dumbledore's almost certainly going to drag you into. I know you hate our
world, and so I'm apologising in advance for all of this.
I know you don't want Harry and I know you don't think you owe either of us anything but I'm
going to ask you to take him back anyway. Believe me when I say I wouldn't ask if I could
think of a better solution. I promise I'll be back for him. If I get a trial, that'll be soon. If
things don't go according to plan, it might be a bit longer.

The book has a chapter on how muggle laws and our world's laws relate. If you're going to
take Harry back, reading it might not be a bad idea.

Sirius Black.

Petunia had read it so many times that the parchment had gone soft. She'd received the owl
this morning – Vernon, thankfully, had been at work and Dudley had been at school – and
hadn't been able to make the awful creature leave without taking the parcel and note it had
been carrying.

The note and the parcel – which, according to the note contained a book – had been taken
straight to the cupboard under the stairs and hidden under the tiny bed that still lived there.
She'd gone and cleaned the kitchen and then her curiosity had got the better of her and she'd
gone back for the note.

Mostly, it troubled her. She knew Sirius Black had a bad reputation but since she knew he
hadn't actually kidnapped the boy, she suspected most of his crimes were exaggerated. It
seemed, the rest of the world hadn't worked that out, however – Petunia supposed they didn't
have her ability to distinguish between lies and the truth – and so Sirius had been arrested,
and Harry with him, which was unfortunate. She didn't care much for the boy, but she bore
him no ill will, particularly since he was no longer hers to worry about.

Except maybe now he is again. Sirius' mention of custody was ridiculous; the boy should be
his, was his. He wanted him and Petunia didn't. It wasn't complicated and she was not at all
looking forward to being dragged into the middle of their strange politics over something so
ridiculous-

The doorbell rang and Petunia jumped. She placed the letter back in the cupboard under the
stairs on her way to the door. She really didn't want to answer it. She had a horrible suspicion
it would be Dumbledore or some other freak, come to take her to court.

No manners, any of them, she thought angrily. She pulled open the door and froze.

"Petunia," the Snape boy – man now – drawled. He'd traded his ugly, ill-fitting smock for a
set of black robes, but his greasy hair, hooked nose and glittering black eyes were the same.
He was holding a pile of paperwork.

"You," she managed.

"May I come in?" he asked, looking past her into the house. "I doubt you'd want the
neighbours to see me on your doorstep." He gave her a nasty smile. "They might ask
questions." Yes. The neighbours. Petunia shook herself.

"Come in, then," she snapped and Snape strode past her.
"Is there a place we might talk?"

"The sitting room," she said unwillingly. She couldn't be sure if she was glad Vernon wasn't
around to see this, or if she wanted him there for support. Snape sat down and Petunia closed
the blinds before sitting down across from him. "What do you want?" she asked, when he
didn't say anything.

He smirked, as if she'd somehow proved him right, and said, "Sirius Black has been
arrested."

"I suppose that's good news, is it?" she asked waspishly. "What are those?" Snape dropped
the papers onto the coffee table and pushed them toward her. "Adoption papers," she said,
frowning at him.

"The Ministry of Magic-"

"Don't say that word!"

"The Ministry," Snape said, and paused long enough for her mind to fill in the other two
words, "are working – as we speak – to have Potter sent to live with a wiz- non-muggle
family. Dumbledore is opposed to that, for reasons I'm certain you don't care much about."

"These are dated for November nine years ago," she said, looking at the forms.

"The Ministry wouldn't dare take Potter from his legal guardians, even if they are muggles."

"You're assuming I want the boy."

"I'm assuming you want the boy safe," Snape snapped. "Though that might be giving you
more credit than you deserve." He let he comment hang and then said, "Fill those out, then
we'll be off to Dumbledore's solicitor and off to the Ministry. You can have the br- boy home
tonight."

"No," Petunia said, making a decision. It wasn't a decision about what she was going to do,
but it was a decision that she needed more time to think about what she was going to do.

"No?" he asked incredulously.

"You heard me," she said crossly. "I happen to have made plans for today."

"Un-make them," he told her.

"No. I'm free tomorrow. You can come back then."

"This is your nephew-"

"I know what's at stake," she said. Snape glared at her for a long time and then sighed.

"I'll be back at nine o'clock tomorrow morning," he said flatly. "By that time, you will have
filled those out and you will be ready to see the solicitor. Am I clear?"
"Nine thirty."

"I said nine-"

"I have to take Dudders-" Petunia cleared her throat. "-Dudley to school. Nine thirty."

"Nine thirty," he spat. "In the meantime, work on those." He didn't wait for her to offer to
show him out; he just vanished with a pop, right before her eyes.

Petunia made herself a cup of tea and sipped at it while she re-read Sirius' note and the
chapter of the book that he'd recommended. Despite herself, she was interested, and she had
an plan formed by the time she'd finished; she very much doubted it was what Sirius had
intended when he sent the book, but Petunia didn't much care what he'd intended, because
neither he or Harry would be her problem ever again after this.

She'd found herself a way out, and one that didn't involve taking Harry back. Sirius would
have to find somewhere else to keep the boy while he waited for his trial or whatever it was
he was after. Dumbledore and Snape would be angry when she refused to go along with their
plans, but she didn't care. They couldn't force her to play along. All she needed was her own
solicitor to set things in motion and then she'd be able to walk out. She'd be free.

She picked up the phone and dialled Richard Polkiss' number. It rang a few times and then
she heard him pick up.

"Polkiss Solicitors-"

"Richard," she said, before he could say anything more, "it's Petunia Dursley."

"Mrs Dursley? Did you want to speak with Helen? Our home number's-"

"No," she said. "I want to speak with you."

"About?" he asked. She knew from his tone that she had his attention.

"I was speaking to Elizabeth Hill – Gordon's mother?" Petunia said idly. "She told me
something very interesting about y-"

"I see," Richard said, his voice climbing an octave. "I... er... thank you for calling me directly.
Helen shouldn't- can't believe Liz told-" He seemed to compose himself. "Was there
something you needed help with?"

"As a matter of fact there is."

"McKinnon!" Marlene froze and tried to look calm. Her wand and Gawain's badge seemed to
be burning her through her pocket, however, and she felt hot, flushed with an odd mix of fear
and fury.

"Tonks," Marlene said, relaxing a little, when she spotted the source of the voice. She
approached Tonks, who was waiting outside Scrimgeour's office with Lupin. Both looked
tired and a little the worse for wear and Marlene remembered Greyback; she hadn't given him
much thought except for telling Mad-Eye about Tonks' predicament. "Did Greyback-"

"He's caught," Tonks said tiredly, and Lupin squeezed her shoulder. She smiled up at him and
then turned her attention back to Marlene. "What about you? Why'd you rush out?"

"You haven't seen the paper?" Marlene asked.

"No," Tonks said, frowning. Lupin, Marlene noticed, had stiffened. She caught his eye and he
inclined his head.

"And you didn't wonder why everyone's going mad?" Marlene asked, gesturing to the
mayhem around them. There were reporters all over the place and Aurors running around like
there were chimeras after them.

"I thought it was because of Greyback," Tonks said, frowning. "What's going on?"

"They've caught Sirius," Marlene said, keeping her voice and expression neutral. Tonks
gasped, but Lupin looked unsurprised, though his expression hardened a bit.

"You're joking!" Tonks exclaimed. She turned and threw her arms around Lupin. "Remus,
isn't that wonderful! First Greyback, now Sirius-"

"Is Harry here too?" Lupin asked, looking troubled.

"We got them both," Marlene said, after a moment's hesitation; no one was supposed to say
anything, but it was Lupin. She could trust Lupin. "He's in with Amelia and Dumbledore."
Lupin's head snapped up. Tonks was watching him with a pitying expression.

Scrimgeour's door flew open and the man limped into the doorway. Another Auror slipped
past, looking grim. "Trainee Tonks! And Mr Lupin, I believe?"

"Yes, sir," Lupin said, and shook his hand. Scrimgeour eyed him for a moment, as if trying to
work out whether they'd met before, but Lupin was too busy glancing in the direction of
Amelia's office to notice.

"Congratulations," Scrimgeour said, directing the comment more at Tonks than Lupin. "This
morning's events are a promising start to your Auror career, if you ask me." Tonks beamed,
and something in Marlene's chest twisted a bit; he'd said the same thing to her about her
apprehension of Sirius in Diagon Alley and she was only minutes from throwing it all away.
"Come in, both of you." Tonks bounced past him, looking pleased.

"Auror Scrimgeour," Marlene said, before Lupin could follow. Scrimgeour appeared to notice
Marlene for the first time. She gave him a charming smile. "Sir, could I borrow Lupin for a
few minutes?"

"Well..." Scrimgeour said, frowning. "A few minutes, McKinnon," he said, sighing. Marlene
suspected it was only last night's success that made him agree. "Less, if you can manage it."
He closed the door and then Marlene couldn't hear a word; the offices were generally warded
to keep sound from escaping.
"Do you remember the conversation we had in St Mungo's?" she said, before Lupin could ask
what she wanted to talk about. He frowned for a moment, and then his eyebrows shot up.

"About Si- him?" Lupin sniffed once and then frowned again. "You mean you're-"

"I'm going down there now," she said quietly. "I'm going to finish this."

"You're going to kill-"

"Keep your voice down!" she hissed, though he hadn't really said it that loudly.

"Here?" he breathed. "Now? Marlene-"

"Are you with me or not?" Lupin seemed frozen. He was obviously thinking very hard about
his options.

"I-"

"Yes, or no?"

"Marlene-"

"Are you done out here?" Scrimgeour asked, pulling his office door open again. Lupin
seemed to have forgotten how to talk.

"Yes, sir," Marlene said, smiling at the older Auror. "Thank you."

She turned and left, headed straight for the elevators. She could hear Lupin stammering
something to Scrimgeour, but since no one followed, she assumed he hadn't given her away.

She took the elevator to level nine and took the doorway on the left of the door that led into
the Department of Mysteries. She took the stairs down to the tenth level and walked calmly
but quickly through a narrow corridor until she reached a wall that wasn't really a wall. She
walked right through it and shivered; two Dementors stood – well, floated – before a lift. One
drifted forward, scabby hand outstretched and Marlene pulled Gawain's Auror badge out of
her robe pocket. This would never work if there were Aurors on guard, but Marlene had
known there wouldn't be. The Dementor paused and then moved aside.

Bad memories swirled in the back of her mind but they were dim, drowned out by other
thoughts. She was about to become a murderer. That wasn't a happy thought, but it wasn't a
bad one either – did Sirius even count as human? - and so the Dementors left it alone. She
stepped into the lift and slid back the concealed panel that displayed ten colourful buttons.
She pressed the white one, and the lift jerked and sped backwards before dropping suddenly.
If she'd pressed any of the others, an alarm would have gone off.

Dark stone rushed past her face and it grew colder and colder and darker and darker until the
lift stopped and she was blinded by white light. She stepped out and was immediately greeted
by two Dementors, but she flashed the badge again and they backed off.

"Take me to Sirius Black," she said, pleased that her voice barely shook.
Sirius was cold. He had a slightly higher than normal body temperature thanks to Padfoot,
but this wasn't the sort of cold that was fixed by body heat. No, this was Dementor cold.
Azkaban cold, though thankfully without the wind.

His cell was seven paces by seven paces, with a single, heavy door and no windows or other
openings. The door had a small, barred hole in it – so Aurors could make sure he was still
inside without having to open the door – and the doorhandle was on the outside. Two
Dementors stood on either side of the door, though on the outside. That was something at
least, that he didn't have to share his cell with them.

Everything in the cell was white – the walls, the floor, the bed, the chairs and the table (all the
furniture was fixed to the floor with a Permanent Sticking Charm) – which made it the
perfect backdrop for horrific, Dementor induced memories. Still, he'd take this stark white to
Azkaban's grey every time.

Sirius' door opened and closed. He was staring at the wall - wondering whether Harry was
safe and hoping someone had called Remus or Dumbledore in to comfort him – feeling
absolutely miserable thanks to the Dementors and really wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone.
Maybe if he pretended he was asleep-

"I know you're awake." Sirius rolled over so quickly he tumbled off his pathetically narrow
excuse of a bed. A smile ghosted over Marlene's face, apparently before she could smother it.
It was gone a moment later.

"You've woken up next to me enough times to tell the difference," Sirius said, rubbing his
shoulder. She looked like he'd slapped her. He climbed off the floor and sat down on the edge
of the bed, watching her. She watched him back. "Why are you alone? You're just a trainee-"

"Dementors are blind," she said, and tossed something gold at Sirius. It landed on the bed
next to him and he picked it up. It was round and quite heavy, with the D.M.L.E. motto and
logo on the front of it. There was also a name: Auror Gawain Robards. Sirius felt his heart
sink and he looked up at Marlene, but she was still standing by the door, looking calm.

"Stealing?" he asked, with a shaky laugh. "Aren't Aurors supposed to be the good guys?"

"You're one to talk," she shot back and then added in a softer voice, "Besides, it won't be the
worst thing I do today." She watched him with a horrible, detached sort of curiosity. "Are you
going to beg?" Sirius shook his head. She didn't look surprised. "You know you deserve it,
don't you?"

Yes, I deserve it. He knew she wouldn't actually kill him – she'd probably just curse him, and
he certainly deserved that. I made them swap to Peter, I-

"Shut up," Sirius muttered, and then sighed; this was like the Dementor's Draught all over
again- He laughed; it could be dealt with – fixed, even – the same way!

"You really are mad, aren't you?" Marlene asked, looking at him in a way that was almost
pitying.
"Not at all," he said, and the look was definitely pitying.

"Goodbye, Sirius," she said, and pulled out her wand. Sirius stood up slowly – he didn't want
to startle her into attacking him – and moved across the cell until he was behind the table.
That might give him a bit of protection. Maybe.

"This is a mistake," he told her, keeping his eyes on her wand. It wasn't pointed at him yet,
but when it was, he'd need to be ready; he'd tackle her and tie her up. And then... escape?
With a wand and Auror identification, he could go anywhere.

But I want a trial, he thought glumly. And I won't get that if I keep running. He'd stay then.
He'd pass Marlene over to the next Auror that came to visit him. She'd lose her job, but she'd
lose if she went through with this anyway. And he could use the fact that he hadn't tried to
escape as a gesture of goodwill.

"Is it?" she asked in a hard voice.

"Yes," he said. "And I can prove it." He'd transform, and then, even if she was still doubtful,
she'd listen. "I'm going to show you-"

"Show me?" she scoffed. Sirius took a step away from the table so he wouldn't hit it when he
changed. "Don't move!" she said. He put his hands up to calm her down.

"I'm just going to-"

"I said don't move." Her wand was aimed directly at his chest and he knew that if he started
to shift now, she'd panic and attack him. He let out a little helpless growl, and her hand
twitched; her wand was aimed at his face now. He watched her warily, and – though her wand
didn't move at all – her expression softened. "I'm sorry it's come to this."

She'll hex me, he thought grimly, and braced himself. Then her conscience'll kick in and she'll
feel bad and we'll have a chance to talk-

"Avada Kedavra," she whispered and Sirius could only watch - fascinated, and too stunned to
move - as green light blossomed out of the end of her wand.
 Friends lost and found

The door burst open behind Marlene, just as Sirius hit the floor. She twisted, wand up and
ready. It was Gawain and she hesitated. He didn't.

"Expelliarmus!" he said and her wand soared out of her hand and landed somewhere behind
her. "Incarcerous," he said, looking grim, and Marlene didn't fight as the ropes wound around
her.

It's done, she thought, glancing at where Sirius lay unmoving. Finally. She thought she was
in shock – she'd just killed someone – and she'd used an Unforgivable – her mouth felt foul,
like she'd eaten dirt, or licked the floor of a public toilet - but she felt relieved at the same
time. Not because he was dead, but because she'd finally fulfilled her duty. She'd expected to
feel happy about it, but she didn't.

She hadn't wanted to kill him, in the end - the moment she'd seen him again, she'd been
plagued by doubts – what if he was innocent, what if Lily and James wouldn't want the traitor
dead, what would Harry think, was revenge worth losing the life she'd spent the last few
months building for herself? – but she'd had to. It had needed to happen. Her doubts hadn't
exactly made it easy, or fun, though.

Fun. Merlin I was stupid to think his death would be a happy occasion. She'd always
imagined it would be but now... she couldn't convince herself. She'd spent months living for
this moment and now it fell pitifully short of her expectations. She snorted a laugh and
Gawain threw a disgusted, disappointed look in her direction, which made her heart sink
again. Was it worth it? she wondered. She knew from Gawain's cold expression that he
wouldn't want to hear her justifications – weak as she thought they'd be. In his eyes, it was
murder.

It was murder, Marlene's conscience – who sounded a bloody lot like Lily
(a very disappointed Lily) – whispered. He was defenceless. He didn't have anywhere to run,
to hide.

"He deserved it," she said in a small voice, but she wasn't sure he had, not like this. Maybe
she should have given him the chance to at least fight back. Lily didn't answer, but Gawain
did; he was halfway to Sirius' body when he turned.

"Did he?"

"Yes," Marlene insisted. She shifted in her ropes so that she could lean against the wall of the
cell. It didn't escape her notice that last night, Sirius was the one who'd been in this position.
Last night, Sirius had been alive. "He killed them- he was a murderer!"

"And now you're no better," Gawain told her. There was none of his usual wry humour in his
eyes, none of his usual warmth. Marlene felt very cold, and not just because of the
Dementors outside. Gawain picked up his badge, which was lying on the table and pocketed
it. "Do you regret it?" he asked, watching her carefully.
She hadn't had doubts that this course of action was the right one until she'd walked into the
cell. She'd seen it in Sirius' eyes that he hadn't thought she'd go through with it, seen the
lingering faith that she wouldn't truly hurt him. His trust in her had belonged to her Sirius – a
man who'd died long before today – not to the monster with his face who lay under the white
table in the white cell. But the monster hadn't acted like a monster. He hadn't fought back,
he'd only tried to talk to her. She'd thought for a moment that maybe, just maybe, her Sirius
was still there. She'd hesitated. Apologised.

"I'm sorry it's come to this," she'd said. And then she'd had to remind herself that she was
supposed to want him dead, that she had a duty to go through with it, even if it would cost her
everything. She'd lifted her wand and only long honed instincts had kept her hand steady.
And then she'd forced out those words, those filthy, foul tasting words and ended it. Ended
him. It should have felt like the right thing to do, but it felt like betrayal.

You're being ridiculous. Sirius was a traitor. We were on different sides. It's not- it can't be
betrayal. It had to happen.

She took a deep breath and tried to justify things. Harry was safe, and she was safe and Sirius
wouldn't hurt anyone ever again... or so she hoped. It would be very like him to haunt her.

And with that thought, she burst into tears and started to laugh all at once.

Gawain looked alarmed and stepped toward her and then resolutely away. His eyes hadn't
softened at all, and no doubt he thought she was just as mad as the cell's former occupant. He
turned away from her, which hurt, and crouched down beside Sirius. Marlene wanted to tell
him that she hadn't really wanted to kill Sirius, that in the end, she'd done it out of a sense of
obligation, not bloodlust. That she hadn't enjoyed it and that she wasn't happy, didn't feel any
better now.

"It had to be done," she said, in a wobbly voice. She looked at Sirius, sprawled on the floor
beside Gawain and tried to hate him – then, maybe she'd be able to feel like she'd done the
right thing - but couldn't. It was hard to hate a dead man and harder still to hate one she'd
killed herself. She let out a hysterical sob, but Gawain didn't pay her any attention; he was
waving his wand over Sirius, doing Merlin knew what.

"Rennervate," Gawain murmured.

"It won't work," Marlene said flatly. "He's dead."

Except he wasn't.

Dead men didn't gasp and let out spluttering coughs. Dead mean didn't roll over and vomit.
Dead men didn't wipe their mouths on their sleeves and slowly, shakily push themselves
upright.

Sirius Black wasn't dead.

Marlene couldn't hate a dead man, but she had no trouble with a living one. She'd had her
doubts about killing him but that didn't mean she wanted him alive.
"What have you done?" Marlene demanded, thrashing against her ropes. "Gawain, what have
you done!? He's supposed to be dead!" She was crying again, but these weren't hysterical,
confused tears. They were angry, confused tears partially because she'd failed, and partially
because part of her – not a very big part, but part of her nonetheless – was relieved.
"Gawain!"

It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to be dead and she was supposed to feel
uncertain, maybe even guilty about it, but she'd have got over that. Now, she'd used an
Unforgivable on an unarmed man, been caught doing it – Gawain would have seen the green
light through the cell door window – and didn't have anything to show for it. She broke into
loud, frame-shaking sobs, straining uselessly against her bindings.

"W-why?" she asked. "What did I- W-why aren't you dead?" she snapped, glaring at Sirius
though blurry eyes. He looked so shaken and sad that she obviously wasn't going to get an
answer from him. He stared at her for a moment and then turned away abruptly and staggered
over to his little bed. He flopped down and rolled over to face the wall. His shoulders were
trembling. "Gawain, why?" she choked.

"You have to mean it," Gawain said, coming to sit beside her.

"But I did- I did mean it, I s-swear," she whispered. But she hadn't. She'd had doubts. She'd
been acting out of duty, not passion or defence. Duty might be enough for a Death Eater, but
not for her. She thought that was a good thing, but it didn't feel like it right now. It felt like
failure.

"I told you you were better than that," he said, wrapping her in a hug. Ridiculously, that made
her cry all the harder.

"I'm n-not, though. I want h-him dead- you should be dead!" she said to Sirius' back.

"If that was true," Gawain said, coolly, "then he would be."

"He's not but he should be," she corrected. "I'm going to be expelled from the Program, even
though I failed."

"No," Gawain said, pulling away from her.

"W-What?" she asked, brushing her cheeks.

"You'll be fined – you're going to donate a very large amount of money to St Mungo's or
some other charity. You're also going to do your best to make it through the Program- better,
actually. I want you to be the top of the class." Marlene stared at him; neither punishment was
unreasonable. In fact, they seemed light; Marlene was already ranking highly in the class, and
she donated to St Mungo's regularly. "And," Gawain said, "you're going to promise me that
you will never try something like this again." She gave him a stony look. "You cast the spell
but you didn't mean it, and that's good enough for me to offer you a second chance, but if you
can't promise me this, then you're not worth saving."
She'd just risked losing her job, her friends- her life, to kill Sirius. She wasn't going to do that
was being given a second chance – one she hadn't expected and one she didn't deserve – and
she was going to use it.

"I promise I won't kill him myself," she said slowly. She could promise that. She could want
him dead without arranging it herself. "But I'm not about to stop the Ministry if they decide
to have him Kissed."

"I wouldn't ask you to," Gawain said. "But do you promise?"

"I promise," she said.

"Good girl," he said. He Summoned her wand, untied her, and passed it over. "So you'll stay
quiet and I'll stay quiet and we'll keep your punishment between us. That only leaves one
small problem." He glanced at Sirius again. "Black."

"Robards." Sirius' voice was muted and shaky and he didn't roll over to face them.

"Are you okay?"

"What do you think?" Sirius reply would have had more sting if his voice hadn't broken on
the last word. Gawain didn't seem to know how to respond; he was frowning thoughtfully at
Sirius' back.

"Are you hurt?" Gawain asked after a pause. Sirius didn't reply for a moment.

"Fine," Sirius said tersely. His voice was off, but Marlene, absently, didn't think she could
blame him for that. "And I'm not pressing charges."

"Why not?" Marlene demanded. "What's in it for you?"

"Absolutely nothing," Sirius snapped. "And as for why... I'm crazy, remember?"

"I'm not complaining, Black," Gawain said incredulously, "but I'm finding it hard to believe
that you won't twist this to get your way, somehow."

"That sounds like complaining to me," Sirius remarked. Anger and confusion and sadness
pierced Marlene; it was something Sirius – her Sirius – would have said.

"Thank you," Gawain said slowly, and gestured for Marlene to stand. She did, and Sirius
didn't move or say anything back. He remained facing the wall as they left.

Sirius hadn't thought Marlene was capable of killing him. Oh, he'd known that she was
capable of killing – she'd killed a Death Eater to save a pregnant Lily during their Order days
– but not killing him. He'd expected – if she ever got the upper hand in a confrontation – that
she'd hex him, and hand him over to Dumbledore or the Ministry. She'd talked about killing
him before and while he'd believed that she wanted him dead, he'd never thought that she'd be
willing to act on it herself. Accepting that would have meant accepting Marlene as the enemy
– not in the way that Lily and James had been 'enemies', but rather the way that Voldemort
and Dumbledore had been.

Sirius hadn't wanted Marlene as an enemy. He'd loved her back in the Order days, though
he'd never admitted it to anyone until after her 'death'; amidst the crying and shouting and
swearing and destruction of his possessions with the nastiest hexes he could think of at the
time, he'd confessed to James. Not even Marlene had known. And, despite thinking she was
dead for seven years and going to Azkaban, Sirius' feelings – though slightly less powerful
than they had been – remained.

He rolled over and winced. He suspected he had one, maybe two broken ribs from where he'd
hit the floor. He didn't remember falling, but he'd gone from standing up to lying down so he
assumed that was what had happened. Carefully, he slid his robes off and pulled up his
jumper and t-shirt. He let out a pained whistle and grimaced. His side was covered in a nasty
yellowish purple bruise and an angry, mottled red bruise covered the skin over his heart,
where her curse had hit him.

Well damn, he thought and wondered if he should have said anything to Gawain when he'd
asked if Sirius was hurt. Injuries like this certainly wouldn't be easy to hide and they'd be
even harder to explain.

He'd deluded himself into thinking that her own feelings might still be there somewhere.
Sirius realised now that they were either buried deep beneath layers of hatred and resentment,
or that they'd been destroyed entirely by what she thought he'd done. Old affection wasn't
going to help him, and he'd almost died for thinking so. It had been stupid and reckless, and
he wouldn't underestimate her again; her spell – her Killing Curse - had hit him. Some
lingering doubt – which, to be honest, he could probably thank the Dementors for – had
weakened the spell. It wasn't something he could rely on again and he suspected that if she'd
been just a tiny bit madder when she'd cast, he wouldn't be alive to be contemplating all of
this.

There's a cheerful thought.

He'd never be able to hate her – how could he, when he'd have done the exact same thing if it
was Peter? – but he could stop himself from actively liking her. She'd be an old acquaintance,
and above all a threat. She'd be nothing else to him. Hoping for her to accept his story and
forgive him and suggest they pick up where they'd left things eight years ago would only
make Sirius miserable, or get him killed.

She's the enemy now, he thought, feeling shaky but determined. He wondered, briefly if
he should tell someone about the attack – wasn't that what enemies did? – and then
disregarded the thought. My life for her job, he thought, and that hadn't been his reasoning at
the time but it seemed fair from his new non-friendly vantage point.

With that sorted, Sirius turned his attention to the Dementors. He hadn't slept well – all right,
at all – overnight because of them, but they weren't affecting him much while he was awake,
other than to make him feel cold, or make him think something depressing on occasion. He'd
been the same for his first day in Azkaban, and then everything had hit him like a rampaging
Hippogriff on his second night in prison. He didn't intend to let that happen this time; he
needed to be as mentally sound as possible while he was dealing with the Aurors.

He wasn't going to tell anyone about Peter just yet – that was something to hint at, and then
bring out at his trial – but he couldn't refuse to share other details or they'd decide he was a
waste of time. It would be a very delicate process. He hoped Remus came to visit; he knew
he wouldn't get any news of Harry from anyone else.

Sirius took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, willing himself to fall deeper and deeper into
his mind. Azkaban bloomed, like an ugly grey flower and Sirius was standing on grey stone,
instead of lying on his lumpy bed. He pushed open the door of his cell and stepped out.

He rifled through a few happy memories until he found one happy enough. Expecto
Patronum, he thought, focusing on Christmas with Harry and Remus. He thought of how it
had felt to be back on a broom again, and the way Harry's face had looked while he was
flying and on the way Remus had shed the weight of the camp and smiled and laughed. Sirius
remembered what it had felt like to have a family again and then Padfoot burst out of his
wand and into the darkness.

Just like he had when he'd got rid of the Dementor's Draught, Sirius opened his mind to the
Patronus and gave it access to every happy memory he had. It glowed, casting warm, silvery
light over Azkaban's ruins and the stormy North Sea.

Stay here, he whispered, and Padfoot wagged his tail and ran off. Sirius laughed; the Patronus
was spreading its protection to the perimeters of the island – which was what Sirius wanted -
but it had directly disobeyed his command. He supposed it was poor wording on his part.

He watched, smiling, as Padfoot passed through a happy memory; Remus' speech on Lily and
James' wedding day echoed in his mind-body's ears, and Sirius saw Lily's vibrant hair, the
flash of James' glasses, and heard his own bark-like laugh. Padfoot was white now, glowing
like the star Sirius as named after and he loped off down the cliff path to the beach. Sirius
grinned and opened his eyes.

"Aargh!" Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, leaped back. Sirius yelped – Fudge had
been leaning right over him – and pushed himself upright. It hurt, but he tried not to let it
show.

"I don't know what you've lost, Minister," Sirius said, as Fudge hid behind Rufus Scrimgeour
and Amelia Bones, "but I doubt it's up my nose." His attempt at humour fell pitifully short;
Fudge was too thick to see the humour in it, Scrimgeour had a rather dry sense of humour
and Amelia's sense of humour was entirely Ravenclaw and so incomprehensible to everyone
else.

"We have questions for you, Black," Scrimgeour said in his brittle voice.

"Thought you might," Sirius said. He heaved himself to his feet and the three of them
flinched. He rolled his eyes and sat down in the chair at the table on the furthest side of the
room and gestured to the seats opposite. "Have a seat." The three of them exchanged uneasy
looks, though Scrimgeour looked mildly amused – unless Sirius was imagining it – and sat.
Fudge had already recovered from his earlier shock.

"So," he said. "I bet you never expected to end up here, Black, did you? I bet you thought you
were going to evade us forever."

"You might remember I was an Auror, Minister," Sirius said politely. "I know exactly where
the Ministry's captives are taken so I did in fact, expect I'd end up here." Fudge's face turned
a brilliant shade of purple. Sirius didn't know whether it was from anger or embarrassment.
"And no. Fun as our little game of Snitch and Seeker's been, I was getting rather tired of
running. I'm an innocent man, and I think it's time that was recognised." None of them
seemed to know what to say to that.

"An innocent man?" Amelia said finally, looking cautious. "Mr Black-"

"Sirius is fine," Sirius interrupted; they'd been in the Order together, and hearing her call him
'Mr Black' was too strange to handle.

"Sirius then," she said slowly, frowning at him. "Did you or did you not betray Lily and
James Potter to Vo-" She cleared her throat. "-to He Who Must Not Be Named?"

"I did not," Sirius said calmly. He felt his Patronus begin to fade and quickly bolstered it with
another happy memory; Harry saying his Animagus form looked like Padfoot.

"You deny serving the Dark Lord?" Scrimgeour asked, his tawny eyes flashing. Sirius rolled
back his sleeves and put his bare forearms on the table.

"Does that answer your question?" he asked. They were silent. Suddenly, Fudge got up and
strode to the door. He tapped it with his wand, vanished, and returned a moment later flanked
by two Dementors. Sirius felt the cold enter the room but he didn't feel affected by it. He felt
quite warm, particularly with his side throbbing like it was. Amelia and Scrimgeour both
shuddered, and Fudge looked uncomfortable. "Did I say something wrong?" Sirius asked,
watching the Dementors warily.

Fudge had a shrewd look on his face, and Sirius suddenly understood; Fudge had noticed that
Sirius wasn't mad or miserable. He was testing him.

"Go on," Fudge said and the Dementors drifted forward. They stopped, one on either side of
Sirius and he felt the temperature drop, though he wasn't actually cold. Sirius thought of
another happy memory – the day Remus had brought Harry back from St Mungo's – just in
case Padfoot needed more fuel, but the Patronus seemed to be holding its own.

"Could you... er.. turn it up a bit?"

'Turn it up a bit', Sirius thought, sighing. And this from the man who's responsible for all of
wizarding Britain... Wonderful. The Dementors looked – a word Sirius used loosely, since
they didn't have eyes – at Fudge for a moment and then turned back to Sirius, who felt the
cold creep up on him once again.
Amelia was very pale – obviously the Dementors were affecting her – and Scrimgeour
looked grim, but Sirius' mood was unchanged. He thought he probably should have been
unconscious and trapped in nightmares. Curious, he gave Padfoot another happy memory and
pushed a little. The Dementors moved back, ever so slightly and Sirius immediately stopped
pushing. If he could actually force the Dementors to keep their distance, it would be better if
no one knew.

"Accio wand!" Scrimgeour said, jabbing his own gnarled wand at Sirius. Nothing happened
and the three of them exchanged concerned looks. "What are you doing, Black?" he asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sirius said pleasantly.

"Finite," Amelia tried and Sirius watched her calmly. The Patronus was magic, but it was
mental. A spell to remove physical magic wasn't going to do anything. None of them seemed
to know what to make of the situation and the Dementors probably weren't helping; Amelia
had started to shiver.

"Why don't you wait outside," Sirius suggested, glancing at the pair of Dementors. "I think
you're making this harder than it needs to be."

"You can't tell them what to do!" Fudge said angrily. "You're the prisoner!"

"I know," Sirius said derisively. "But I'd like to be a prisoner for as short a time as possible –
I think I've spent enough time playing that particular role, don't you? – and having you three
sit here shivering isn't exactly speeding things up."

"Go and wait outside," Scrimgeour snapped, before anyone could say anything. The
Dementors left and the others relaxed slightly. Sirius didn't feel all that different. "Go ahead
then, Black. What do you want?"

"A trial," Sirius said at once. "And to know how Harry is."

"You're never going to have anything to do with that poor boy again!" Amelia spared a
moment to wonder what had happened to the concept 'innocent until proven guilty'. "And if
you think any of us-" Amelia gestured to herself, Scrimgeour and Fudge. "-are going to help
you find him, then-"

"I didn't ask where Harry is," Sirius sighed. "I asked how he is." Amelia blinked, not seeming
to understand. Fudge wore a similar expression, and Scrimgeour was looking at Sirius with a
bizarre combination of fascination and repulsion. It was as if Sirius was something that had
wandered out of the exotic pet shop in Knockturn Alley. "Is he safe?" Sirius asked, talking
very slowly and clearly. "Is he happy? Is he scared out of his mind?How is he?"

"That's not your concern, Black," Scrimgeour said. Sirius fell back against his chair and
folded his arms.

"Like hell it's not," he said, too frustrated to pay much attention to the pain in his chest. "He's
my godson. I have more right to ask that question than anyone else alive." Amelia's face
shadowed over.
"We're not telling you anything," Fudge said.

"Fine," Sirius snapped. "Fine. Don't tell me a thing." He glared at the three of them. "But for
your sakes, he'd bloody better be safe."

"Language, Sirius," Amelia said quietly. He made a face at her, and she looked so taken
aback that he almost laughed.

"Is that a threat, Black?" Scrimgeour asked softly.

"Yes," Sirius said. "Yes, it is."

"Is it really the best idea for a man in your... ah... current predicament... to be making
threats?" Scrimgeour pressed.

"Probably not," Sirius said amiably. "But I care more about Harry's safety than my own."
Fudge laughed, and Sirius wanted to throw something large and heavy at him. "Something
funny, Minister?" he asked.

"Harry Potter is in Ministry custody," Fudge said, still looking amused. "He couldn't be any
safer."

"Really?" Sirius arched an eyebrow and Amelia closed her eyes for a moment; he'd have bet
the contents of the Black vault that she knew what was coming. "Correct me if I'm wrong,
Minister, but the last time Harry was in Ministry custody he was questioned – which, might I
add, is illegal if there's not a parent or guardian present." Fudge glanced at Amelia, who
nodded reluctantly. "But, illegal or not, I can understand the questioning; given the
circumstances Harry arrived under and the fact that you needed answers and I wasn't there to
give them to you, you did what was necessary."

"Thank you," Fudge said, puffing his chest out.

"The part I don't agree with is trying to trick him into drinking Veritaserum."

"Rubbish," Fudge said with an edgy laugh; both Amelia and Scrimgeour had given him sharp
looks.

"Well, that's what I thought initially," Sirius said. "I mean, really, who
could possibly be stupid enough-" Fudge flushed and Sirius could have sworn a small smile
flicked over Scrimgeour's lined face. "- to try something like that? There are a whole set of
laws which were put in place to stop that sort of thing happening. If you were caught pulling
a stunt like that... you'd be sacked on the spot, and I thought surely you weren't that thick."
He let that hang in the air for a moment. Fudge shifted uncomfortably. "But the only other
alternative was that Harry lied to me..."

"Children can be imaginative," Fudge said stiffly. Sirius shrugged to show that he'd heard but
didn't think it applied; children were creative, but Harry was the type to omit details, not
insert them. And, Sirius had had the whole story confirmed by Remus, who'd been told my
Dumbledore.
"So I had two choices," Sirius continued. "Either you're an idiot, or Harry's a liar." He leaned
forward – being careful not to bump his chest on the table - and said, "Harry's not a liar,
Minister." Fudge hadn't miss the insinuation and neither, Sirius was pleased to note, had
Amelia or Scrimgeour, who looked interested by the turn the conversation had taken, and not
at all inclined to come to the Minsiter's defence.

"Nothing happened," Fudge said, his face purple. "He never drank it."

"No," Sirius agreed. "But that's because of his cleverness, not yours, Minister."

"Didn't drink it?" Amelia asked, looking confused, relieved and angry at once. "I was there,
and he definitely..." Fudge shrank into his chair.

"Nope," Sirius said, beginning to rather enjoy himself. "He was soaking his sheet – I thought
you'd have found it when you searched the room." He knew they had; Remus had told him
that Dumbledore knew... but he couldn't exactly bring that up.

"I searched the room myself," Scrimgeour said tartly, "and I never found any sheets." Fudge
looked like he wanted to vanish through the floor and Sirius, suddenly, knew what had
happened. He couldn't help it; he laughed. Amelia and Scrimgeour both looked at Fudge,
who was looking longingly at the floor, as if he hoped it might open up and swallow him. It
didn't.

"I couldn't be outsmarted by a little boy," Fudge mumbled, fiddling with the brim of his lime
green hat. "People would think- It would have looked-"

"Do you mean to tell me," Scrimgeour said, cutting him off in a dangerous voice, "that you
let us waste time and resources following up Potter's 'confessions' because you were too
proud to tell us he never drank the potion?"

"Well..." Fudge squeaked. The look on Scrimgeour's face told Sirius that there'd be words
about this later, but he wasn't willing to have the rest of this conversation in front of Sirius.

"So," Sirius said, drawing their attention back to him, "we've managed to get a bit distracted,
but I trust I've made my point."

"What point?" Fudge asked wearily. Sirius wondered if he still genuinely had no idea, or if he
needed to know which of Sirius' many valid arguments he was referring to. Sirius gave him
the haughtiest look he could muster – one he took right from his git of a father's face.

"That – given your record, Minister," he said innocently, "I think it's perfectly reasonable that
I'm concerned for Harry's safety." Scrimgeour's mouth twitched.

"The boy will be taken care of," Amelia said.

"Oh, I know," Sirius said. "Apart from anything else, you have no reason to have to ask Harry
anything because I'm conveniently housed right here." He gave them all a cheery smile.
Amelia looked thoughtful, Fudge looked angry and embarrassed and Scrimgeour leaned
forward, looking curious again.
"Well," the old Auror said, "if nothing else, this will be interesting."

Harry was worried out of his mind for Sirius. He'd had no news about his godfather, though
he'd overheard something about 'the prisoner' and 'holding cells' and suspected that might be
Padfoot. He'd been kept in Bones' office since being brought to the Ministry the night before
and had had a steady flow of visitors.

First there'd been a medi-witch and the Auror he'd given his and Padfoot's wands to – she'd
introduced herself as Finch - and Mad-Eye Moody, who Harry'd recognised immediately
from Padfoot and Moony's descriptions. They'd stayed with him for several hours, checking
him for traces of dark magic with all sorts of spells and probes and potions. Then, Bones had
arrived with Dumbledore, and they'd stayed with him until early that morning. Since then,
he'd seen Fudge, Umbridge, an Auror named Scrimgeour, Lucius Malfoy, a man called
Thomas Rattler and – thankfully – Moony.

Moony had stayed for about an hour, but he'd been so pale and scared looking that he hadn't
been very good company. Harry'd been dying to talk to him, to ask him what was wrong, and
about Padfoot, but Umbridge and Rattler had been there too and so Harry had resigned
himself to awkward, polite conversation – though he actually quite liked Rattler – and tried to
remember to call Moony 'Remus'.

Then Moony had left with an Auror – he'd walked in, thanked Remus for the tip off and said
everything was fine and then he'd looked upset and asked Remus to go and comfort someone.
Moony'd looked worried at that, but still noticeably better than before, so Harry tentatively
assumed everything was okay. Then, Malfoy had arrived and departed with Umbridge,
discussing custody, and Rattler had sat and played Exploding Snap with Harry until a few
minutes ago, when he was called out by another Auror to help Bones with something.

Much as Harry had been beginning to feel like an animal in a zoo exhibit, he felt rather lonely
in the big, tidy office.

"Shh!" someone on the other side of the office door hissed. Harry, who'd been dozing in
Bones' desk chair, jerked and almost knocked over the plate of biscuits on the desk.

"You're the one being noisy!" an indignant voice retorted. Harry didn't think it belonged to an
Auror. Or even an adult. Still, he was wary; he slipped out of the chair and hid behind a
bookshelf in the corner of the room.

"Oh, please," a higher-pitched voice snapped. There was a rustle and then a metallic
scratching sound. Harry pressed himself further into the shadows, wishing for his wand. He
didn't think he'd need it, but not having it made him feel bare. There was a click and the door
groaned and swung open. "You wouldn't know quiet if it hit you with a Beater's bat." Harry
heard two sets of light footsteps enter and then a click as the door shut again. "Wow," one of
them said and Harry knew it was definitely a girl speaking. "This is much nicer than Dad's
office."

"Yeah, except it's empty," a boy's voice retorted. Harry took a deep breath and stepped out of
the shadows; he didn't think they were going to hurt him.
"No it's not," he said. He was surprised to find he recognised them; the first was the red-
haired boy he'd met when he accidentally Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron in March last year.
Harry remembered him being short and stocky, but he appeared to have been stretched; he
was easily taller than Harry now, and lanky. The second was his skinny, fiery haired sister,
who was about Harry's height and looked smug.

"Told you he'd be here," she said. "We thought you'd be lonely," she added, smiling nervously
at Harry.

"I am a bit," he said, smiling back. "It's Ron, isn't it?" Harry said tentatively. The boy – Ron –
looked taken aback.

"You remember my name?" he asked, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair. Harry
remembered him because he was the first person around Harry's age who'd ever been even
remotely friendly to him. He didn't say that, though. He just nodded and turned to the girl.

"I don't know your name," he said apologetically.

"Her name's-"

"I can introduce myself, Ron!" she snapped. Then, blushing furiously, she turned to Harry
and said, "I'm Ginny."

"Harry," he said. They both looked at him as if he was daft. Harry cleared his throat, his face
feeling hot all of a sudden. "I...er... I guess you know that." Then, at a loss of what to say he
added, "Er... Biscuit?"

"They're yours," Ron said, shaking his head.

"Which means they're mine to share," Harry insisted. He hadn't really had anyone – other
than Padfoot or Moony - to share with before. "Go on," Harry said, offering them the plate.
Ginny blushed again and took one with an embarrassed 'thanks' and Ron took one slowly, as
if he thought Harry was joking. Harry grinned at him and after a moment, Ron grinned back.

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem." Harry sat down on the edge of the desk and watched them for a moment. He
wanted to ask them how they'd got in – Harry knew for a fact that the door had been locked
and warded, because he'd been warned they'd know if he tried to escape. Since he couldn't
think of a way to word that without being rude however, he said nothing. In the end, Ginny
said it for him.

"You're taking this very well," she said shyly, breaking off a chunk of her biscuit. "If two
strangers barged intomy room, I'd probably hex them."

"No wand," Harry said, joked, and with an air of false sadness, showed them his empty
hands. Ron and Ginny laughed.

"I don't really have a wand either," Ginny admitted. Harry was pleased to notice that his
attempt at a joke had caused her to relax a bit, though her cheeks were still slightly pink. "But
wands are pretty easy to come by, particularly over the school holidays."

"Why's that?" Harry asked, curious.

"Everyone's home," Ginny said simply.

"Harry?" Ron said tentatively. "When do you start Hogwarts? Because in the Leaky Cauldron
you said you'd be starting with Fred and George, but you're, you know, here, so-"

"Yeah," Harry muttered, flushing. "I... er... sort of lied about that. Sorry," he added but Ron
just grinned and sat down in Bones' chair to wait for a response. "Next September," he said.
Ron beamed but Ginny's face fell.

"We'll be in the same year then," Ron said happily.

"Brilliant," Harry said, relieved that he'd know someone when he started; he'd never had
much luck with friends, and Ron was someone Harry could see himself getting along with.
"So you'll be in the year below us?" he asked Ginny who looked surprised and pleased that
he'd remembered her. She nodded.

"Do you follow the league?" Ron asked suddenly.

"I don't, really," Harry said, shrugging. "But Pad- er- Sirius – he's my godfather-"

"We know that," Ginny said. Harry felt his face heat up again.

"Right," he muttered. Ginny looked absolutely fascinated.

"It's so easy to forget that this is all real to you," she said.

"Er... what?"

"Well to us-" She gestured between herself and Ron. "- you and Sirius Black are names in
the Prophet and characters in bedtime stories – you're not now, that we've talked to you,
obviously – but to you he exists... not that he doesn't exist," she amended hurriedly, "but
you know him, live with him. You thought you had to introduce yourself and him-" She
blushed, apparently deciding she'd said too much and said lamely, "It's just strange to hear it
from you."

"Oh," Harry said intelligently. It wasn't that she hadn't made sense – she'd made perfect sense
– it was that he just didn't know how to respond.

"So who does Bl- uh- Sirius follow?" Ron asked and Harry sent him a grateful look. Ron's
ears turned red.

"The Cannons," Harry said, sniggering.

"Oh dear," Ginny said, starting to giggle.

"They're a perfectly good team!" Ron said hotly.

"They're rubbish, Ron." Harry was glad Ginny'd said it, not him, because he was firmly on
Moony's – and now Ginny's side – as far as the Cannons' Quidditch abilities were concerned.
Ginny looked at Harry and started to laugh again. "Sorry- It's just- Black likes the Cannons,"
she said helplessly.

"So do you play Quidditch?" Harry asked, trying to keep a grin off his face as he attempted to
distract Ron; he was looking insulted on behalf of his Quidditch team.

"Yeah," Ron said, turning away from his laughing sister. "I like Keeper, but I can play Beater
or Chaser too. Do you play?"

"I fly," Harry said, shrugging.

"You look like a Seeker," Ginny said, squinting at him.

"Shut up, Ginny," Ron said, obviously taking revenge for the insult to the Cannons. "You
can't even fly."

"I bet I could outfly you," Ginny shot back. Ron snorted and Harry thrust the plate of biscuits
between them before things could escalate. Things settled after that and then Ginny spotted
the Exploding Snap deck and the three of them gathered around the desk to play.

I wonder if this is what it's like to have friends, Harry mused, listening to Ron chuckle at a
scowling Ginny, who'd just lost an eyebrow in an explosion. He thought it might be.
 In capable hands

Tonks had had an eventful morning. First, obviously, had been the entire episode with
Greyback. Then she'd learned about Sirius' capture from McKinnon and been praised and
debriefed by Scrimgeour, while Remus – who'd been so calm while there'd been a werewolf
after them – stammered excuses to Scrimgeour about speaking to Robards and ran off
without actually explaining anything.

Mad-Eye had swept her into his cubicle when Scrimgeour was done with her and explained
everything – mainly that Sirius was downstairs in the holding cells and Greyback had been
taken directly to Azkaban – before passing her a letter that had come for Tock.

She'd had to meet Lucius in the Ministry Atrium for a bit and she'd then headed back to the
D.M.L.E. to wait for Remus; she was tired and the Greyback fiasco was done, but Remus
was still needed here to help with Harry and Sirius and she thought she should stay for his
sake. If nothing else, she wanted to make sure he was all right, because he'd looked terrible
when he'd taken off looking for Robards.

It wasn't Remus that found her first, however. It was Florence, who'd come in with a upset
looking Finch, a sad, grim Kingsley and a stunned Ben. Florence launched herself at Tonks
the moment she spotted her. Tonks rubbed her back; Florence was shaking and sobbing
uncontrollably, and that scared Tonks because - like Remus - Florence had always been fairly
unflappable. Seeing Florence cry would be like seeing McKinnon cry; it just didn't happen.

But it was happening. Finch nodded at Tonks from over Florence's shoulder and hurried
away, rubbing at her face. Kingsley said something to Ben and went after Finch. Ben shuffled
over and wrapped his long arms around both Tonks and Florence.

"Melvin?" Tonks whispered, but she thought she knew; tears were already building in her
eyes in anticipation. Florence let out a loud, gasping sob and clutched Tonks tighter. Ben's
arms trembled.

Then, in the tiniest voice Tonks had ever heard her use, Florence let out a choked, "Dead."

"How?" she asked, but it went unanswered. Perhaps that was how Sirius had been caught last
night... perhaps he'd killed another person. Tonks squeezed Florence with one arm and found
Ben's hand with her other and the three of them huddled there, sobbing, until footsteps made
them look up. It wasn't Remus, and that made Tonks miserable all over again because she just
wanted him there – was that too much to ask right now? It was McKinnon, who had puffy,
unfocused eyes and was standing with her shoulders hunched and a trembling bottom lip.
Robards was beside her, with a hand on her shoulder. The world was officially backwards.

Florence disentangled herself from Tonks and Ben and threw her arms around McKinnon,
who looked stunned until her eyes focused and she hugged Florence back.

"Prewett?" McKinnon asked, looking at Robards with panicked eyes.

"Did you-" Florence choked on a sob.

"Did I what?" McKinnon asked hoarsely, fearfully. They were several yards apart and
McKinnon had Florence covering most of her front, but Tonks could see that she was
dangerously close to hyperventilating. "Did I what, Prewett?" McKinnon asked, her voice
shaking. "What did you hear?" Robards' hand was white knuckled on her shoulder and Tonks
wondered what had happened.

"Did you hear?" Florence choked. "M-Melvin's dead. Greyback killed- h-him-"

Not Sirius.

"Greyback?" Tonks said in a strangled whisper. "No."

"He followed me," Florence cried. "He must have-"

He must have seen her at the Ministry and followed her to Melvin – she shouted his address
into the Floo... And he was only at the Ministry because he was following-

"Me," she said. It was her fault. Greyback must have used Melvin to find Marlene's house
and then tracked her and Remus from there.

It's my fault. I killed- Greyback killed Melvin, but it was because of me. Guilt and anger and
too many other emotions for her to name came crashing down all at once. I killed someone –
I killed my friend.

She could still hear Florence sobbing and she could still feel Ben's warm hand around hers,
but beyond that, she had no idea what was going on. She thought she heard McKinnon say
Remus' name and that made her look up, but he wasn't there.

Less than a minute later, though, he was. She knew how much he hated crying – she'd noticed
how awkward he got when she cried, though she'd never called him out on it – but he was
there anyway, letting her hug him so tightly she was probably leaving bruises, and rubbing
her back.

He didn't say anything, but Tonks didn't want him to. The shock of learning it was Greyback
was already wearing off, as was the instant desire to blame herself. Some of it was her fault –
she and Remus had made the silver ring that had started all of this – and that hurt, like a
Bludger to the stomach – but if Greyback hadn't been such a monster and attacked Matt in the
first place, he never would have known it was Tonks' jumper.

And, ultimately, Greyback was the one who'd tracked Melvin down, and he'd gone out of his
way to do so, because Melvin hadn't been at the Ministry last night. She might have been the
reason Greyback went looking for Melvin, but she wasn't the reason Greyback had killed
him.

A knot of guilt untied itself and morphed into anger.

I hope he rots in Azkaban, she thought, burying her face in Remus' shoulder. And I'm sorry,
Melvin. I'm so, so sorry.
Tonks was still on that same bench two hours later, though she'd stopped crying and Remus
wasn't next to her, though he wasn't far away; he and McKinnon were taking quietly a short
distance down the corridor. McKinnon was crying, and Remus was pale, but looked relieved
and he had a hand on her shoulder.

Ben and Florence were huddled next to Tonks and both of them were still crying on and off;
she felt awful about Melvin but Florence and Ben had actually shared mentors with him –
since Shacklebolt and Finch did almost everything together – and had known him a lot better
than Tonks and McKinnon had. She could only imagine what they were going through. She
squeezed their hands. Remus hugged McKinnon - who left, looking slightly better - and made
his way over. He gave Tonks a small, sad smile which she shakily returned.

"Will you be all right if I go to sit with Harry for a bit?" he asked, watching her carefully. She
nodded and he left. She watched him go and was tired enough that her eyes stayed fixed on
the corner he'd gone around even when he was well out of sight. Only about a minute after,
however, Remus was back, looking torn between amused and weary.

"What?" she asked.

"Your friend Charlie..." he said and Tonks took a moment to take that in, given how random it
was. "His last name was Weasley, wasn't it?"

"What?" she said again, blinking up at him. "Yes..." All she could think was, Not Charlie
too... Oh, please not Charlie. She didn't think she'd be able to cope if Charlie'd been eaten by
a dragon or something. Her eyes were filling with tears again and Remus looked taken aback.
"Is he okay?" she asked.

"I'm sure he's fine," Remus said, looking so genuinely bewildered that she relaxed and even
laughed weakly. "I need your help with something – two somethings, actually – that are
related, though."

His warm hand gently tugged her own hands away from Florence and Ben but he didn't let go
after that, as she'd expected. She gave him another shaky, half-hearted smile and he returned
it as he helped her up and led her down the corridor to Bones' office. He twisted the doorknob
and pushed the door open. Three heads snapped up as they entered – Tonks tripped through
the doorway - and closed the door again.

"Tonks!" Ginny - who'd been stretched out on the carpet, drawing something on a scrap of
parchment - looked up, shrieked, and charged at Tonks. Tonks gave her a one-armed hug
because she didn't want to let go of Remus.

"Wotcher," she said reflexively and then, more faintly, "What are you doing here?"

"We came to work with Dad today-" Ginny had a smear of ink on her cheek, was missing an
eyebrow and her hair was singed and lopsided but she was grinning widely. "and heard
Harry-" She blushed at his name. "-was here, so we thought we'd come to keep him
company."

"Shouldn't the room have been warded?" she asked, looking at Remus.
"It's charmed to go off if magic's used to unlock the door," he said, smiling faintly.

"We used a hairpin," Ginny said, blushing again.

"Sorry," Ron said and then abruptly, "Have you been crying?"

"Er... no," Tonks said. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Oh." Ron, looked sheepish in his large desk chair. Ron had always been embarrassed around
Tonks; on Tonks' second visit to the Burrow, Fred and George had told her that he fancied
her. Tonks didn't know whether it was true or not – knowing Fred and George, it had
probably been a lie to stir up their little brother - but Ron had been mortified either way, the
poor thing. Like Ginny, his hair was blackened in places and he had a smudge of soot on his
nose.

The third person in the room was none other than Harry Potter, who was sitting on the edge
of the desk, opposite Ron. He had a sooty face too, but his hair was too dark for her to tell if
it was singed. He was watching Tonks curiously, and then his eyes flicked to her and Remus'
hands. Remus' fingers spasmed as if he might let go, but Tonks squeezed gently and he
squeezed back. A mischievous grin flickered over Harry's face and then it was gone, replaced
by a worried frown. Then that went too, and he smiled again and slid off the desk to offer
Tonks his hand.

"I'm Harry," he said, as if she didn't already know that.

"Tonks," she said, bemused; he'd offered his left hand so that she could shake it without
letting go of Remus' hand and she wondered if he'd done it on purpose, or if it was purely a
coincidence. She shook herself, glanced at Ron and Ginny again and then turned to Remus. "I
take it I'm here to take them back to Mr Weasley?"

They were luckier than they knew to not only have been able to stay this long, but to have not
been found yet; if they'd been found by anyone but Remus, they'd have been in serious
trouble and Mr Weasley probably would have been investigated. Still, if a ten year old boy
and his eight year old sister were able to get to with a hairpin, it probably didn't say much
good about how well protected Harry was... although, most people trying to get to him would
have used a wand.

"I assume you know where to find him," Remus said, smiling.

"Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office," Tonks said. She released Remus and jerked her head at
the door. "Come on, you two." Ginny looked put out but she mustered a smile and a goodbye
for Harry and blushed furiously the whole time.

"I s'pose I'll see you at school?" Ron said, looking uncertain.

"Definitely," Harry said, grinning and Ron smiled back. "Maybe sooner if things go well
here."

"I hope they do," Ron said.

"Thanks." Harry's eyes drifted out of focus for a moment. "So do I."

"I mean, if something happened..." Ron began and Tonks winced; she knew Ron wasn't
exactly tactful and hoped he wasn't about to destroy the friendship he and Harry seemed to
have formed. "... well," Ron said, grinning, "there are few enough Cannons supporters as it is
and need everyone we can get."

Harry and Ginny laughed and even Remus made a noise that might have been a smothered
laugh. Obviously, Tonks was missing something. He joined Ginny over by the door and
Tonks pulled it open. Remus went to sit in the chair Ron had vacated.

"Hey," Harry said, sounding shy all of a sudden. Tonks and both Weasleys looked up.
"Thanks for... everything. Coming to see me, I mean. It was...I- thanks." Tonks was taken
aback and touched by his sincerity and so, it seemed, were Ginny and Ron; Ginny beamed
and went a brighter shade of red and Ron's ears matched his sister's face. His smile wasn't
quite as wide, but it was just as pleased. "It was nice to meet you, Tonks!" Harry added as she
ushered the other two out of the office.

She smiled over her shoulder at him and closed the door. No one paid her, Ginny or Ron
much attention, thankfully, and they didn't attempt to run away or hide from her. She hadn't
expected them to, but she was glad anyway.

"I told you it was a good idea," Ginny said, beaming at Ron.

"Yeah," he said, grinning.

"Good idea or not," Tonks said, amused, "it'd probably be a good idea to keep this to
yourselves." Both nodded solemnly, but still looked exceptionally pleased with themselves.

"You ready, Dumbledore?" Alastor asked.

"No," Albus sighed. "I daresay I'm not." Alastor laughed bleakly and peered through the
window in the door. Apparently he deemed it safe, because he stepped back, tapped it with
his wand and then gestured for Albus to follow him in. Alastor didn't spare a glance for the
man on the small bed in the corner; he occupied himself with locking the door and checking
the room for any traps.

Albus, however, looked at Sirius, who'd rolled over when they'd entered. His eyes had
brightened at the sight of them – both of them, if he wasn't mistaken – but he quickly
schooled his expression into an unreadable one. He didn't look the way Albus had expected.
Albus had been expecting a thin man with sunken eyes, waxy skin, an unshaved, possibly
bearded face, and long, matted hair. That was the way he'd looked in the photographs in
the Prophet and the way he'd been described.

He looked... normal. Like an older version of the handsome, friendly boy who Albus had
watched grow into an Order member.. and then a traitor. Sirius was maybe a touch thinner
than he should have been, but the broadness in his shoulders was still there, and he was by no
means emaciated. His skin was... well, skin. He had a smattering of stubble, but he'd been in
this cell for nearly a day now and his hair was black, shaggy and shoulder-length, the way it
had been when he was in the Order. What threw Albus most was his eyes, however.

They weren't shadowed, or sunken, as was symptomatic of spending any extended time in
Azkaban; Mundungus Fletcher – a once-valued Order member turned petty criminal – had
served several – admittedly short - sentences there and his eyes still bore the shadows. Sirius',
though were clear grey, alert. If Albus didn't know better, he wouldn't have believed the man
before him had ever seen Azkaban, much less spent a quarter of his life there.

It wasn't fair – wasn't right. He should have suffered for what he'd done - for the way he'd
betrayed them - in Azkaban and taken his demons with him when he left! As far as Albus
could tell, said demons had been tossed into the North Sea when Sirius left the prison, and he
hadn't seen or heard from them since.

He glanced at Alastor, wondering what he was making – or had made, if he'd already been to
see Sirius – of it. Alastor wasn't looking at Sirius' face, however. He was frowning at his side.
Sirius followed his eyes and swore.

"What've you done to yourself, Black?"

"Done, Alastor?" Albus said quietly.

"Broken rib," Alastor replied, still frowning at Sirius.

"Just the one?" Sirius asked, looking relieved. His voice wasn't quite as hoarse this time.
Albus found that disappointing. "Well that's something at least. I thought it was two." Albus
stared at the younger wizard, waiting. Sirius hesitated and then said, "It was the Dementors."

"Dementors don't leave physical-"

"I fainted, all right?" Sirius snapped, looking embarrassed. "I was over by the table and next
thing I knew, I was on the ground and..." He gestured to his side.

Albus didn't know whether to believe him. He thought Sirius was lying – Sirius had never
been a good liar as a boy, which was why James or Remus had been the ones to deal with the
teachers when the four got in trouble – but then, Albus hadn't managed to pick up on Sirius'
traitorous lies in the months leading to Halloween. He obviously didn't know Sirius as well as
he'd thought.

"Does it hurt?" Alastor asked. Sirius' betrayal had hit Alastor as hard as it had hit the rest of
them, though it was easy to forget that; Alastor had trained Sirius to be an Auror, spent hours
teaching him to stay alive, to fight. Alastor had loved him like a son – or grandson, perhaps –
along with James, who he'd also trained - and he'd been devastated when he'd heard the news.

"A bit," Sirius said, shrugging.

"Good."

Sirius laughed and Albus and Alastor exchanged uneasy looks. Sirius hobbled over to the
chair facing the door and gestured for them to sit. Albus did, and after checking the chair for
traps, so did Alastor.

"I know you like tea, Headmaster," Sirius said, "but I don't have any to offer, I'm afraid."

"Aren't you going to not offer me something too, Black?" Alastor asked gruffly, folding his
arms.

Sirius raised an eyebrow and said, "Even when you trusted me you didn't accept drinks from
me."

"Hmph!" Alastor said.

"Why, Sirius?" Albus asked, before he could stop himself.

"Because he's a twitchy old codger," Sirius said fondly. His grin faded. "That's not what you
meant, is it?" Albus shook his head, and Sirius sighed. "I could ask you the same."

"Pardon?" Albus asked.

"You're asking me why I betrayed Lily and James," Sirius said, looking pained. "I'm asking
you why you think I would."

"You were the Secret Keeper," Albus said. He kept his temper in check – it wouldn't do to
shout – but he did let some of his fury seep into his tone.

"No, I wasn't," Sirius said. Alastor rolled his eyes – both of them.

"James told me-"

"James lied," Sirius said wearily. "We thought we were so clever, swapping, thought we'd
bluff our way through-"

"If you weren't the Secret Keeper, who was?" Alastor growled.

"If you want the answer to that, you'll have to come to my trial," Sirius said, sighing again.

"You don't trust us, Sirius?"

"Not as much as I used to, sir," Sirius said sadly. "You- you've made some mistakes I haven't
forgiven you for yet, I'm afraid." Albus gave him an inquiring look. "You didn't ask for a trial
for me the first time-," There was a muted, bitter twist to his voice. A long buried twinge of
guilt surfaced and Albus shoved it back down again; Sirius had deserved what he'd got. "-and
the Dursleys...? You're a brilliant wizard, sir, but that wasn't your finest moment."

"It was for the boy's own safety," Albus said, but he couldn't push down the guilt associated
with that, not when Sirius' comment was so uncannily similar to Albus' own thoughts.

"Sure it was," Sirius said. Albus knew Sirius believed him, but his tone condemned Albus all
the same.
"What made you take him?" Alastor asked quietly.

"What?" Sirius said, glancing at his old mentor.

"The boy, Black." Alastor tapped his wooden leg on the floor of the cell impatiently.

"I promised Lily and James that I'd take care of him if they ever-" Sirius cleared his throat
and stared at his hands for a moment and Albus wondered – with no small curiosity - what he
was thinking about. Sirius looked up, his jaw setting. "I wanted him and they didn't."

"Did you ever think of what Harry wanted, Sirius?" Albus asked coolly.

"Didn't have to. He told me – practically begged me not to leave without him, in fact," Sirius
said rather dryly.

"And you took him? Just like that?" Albus asked, trying and failing – for the thousandth time
– to make sense of the strange man that was Sirius Black.

"Just like that," Sirius agreed, smiling. "And do you know what?"

"What?" Alastor asked warily.

"Other than choosing James' compartment on the Hogwarts Express in my first year, it's the
best damn thing I've ever done."

After returning Ron and Ginny to Mr Weasley, Tonks had retreated to Mad-Eye's office for
some peace and quiet. Like Bones, Rattler, Scrimgeour and several other high ranking Aurors
and D.M.L.E. staff, Mad-Eye had an office with four walls and a door, and not just a standard
cubicle in the Auror Department. Mad-Eye hadn't been there, but she didn't think he'd mind if
she stayed for a bit.

She'd curled up on the couch and thought about things – about Melvin, mostly, though
Sirius's capture also featured in her thoughts; she supposed her job as Tock was over now –
Lucius had certainly suggested as much when they spoke that morning – and she wondered
what she was going to do with all of her spare time. She grinned, imagining the possibilities;
maybe she could go and visit Tom and Charlie – she'd only received two letters from them in
nearly four months – or maybe she could start going into the station with Dad, like she had
when she was younger.

Mum worked normal hours and so Tonks saw lots of her at home, but like Tonks, Dad
worked strange hours and she hadn't seen him properly for weeks. Or maybe...

"Wassgoinon?" she asked, as someone shook her awake. It was Mad-Eye and he looked tired.

"Constant vigilance," he said half-heartedly.

"You all right?" she asked, rubbing her eyes. "You look... off."
"Black," he said, and limped over to collapse in his desk chair. He ran his hands through his
grizzled hair and then folded his hands on his desk and looked up. "So that explains me, but
what are you still doing here?" he asked her.

"I'm an Auror," she said, yawning. He didn't correct her and say she was only a trainee.

"So am I, and if I had it my way, I'd be curled up in my bed at home." Tonks laughed and
stifled another yawn; she'd slept for at least six hours – the clock on Mad-Eye's desk said it
was almost seven – and she still felt like she hadn't slept at all. Mad-Eye's tense look
softened. "Go home."

"I'm all right," she said, waving off his suggestion.

"Never said you weren't," he said, raising the eyebrow above his blue eye. "But there's no
training until tomorrow morning – tonight's session's been cancelled."

"Why?" she asked, though she'd completely forgotten. Something as normal as Auror training
didn't seem possible right now.

"Finch was supposed to be taking it but she's..."

"Melvin." Mad-Eye nodded, his mouth setting into a grim line. Tonks swallowed the lump in
her throat and stared at her hands until she was sure she wouldn't start crying again.

"You heard, then?"

"I heard," she said, and had to dab at her stinging eyes anyway.

"Go home, Nymphadora. Get a good night's sleep and I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Don't call me Nymphadora," she said irritably as she stood up and collected her rucksack
from the corner. She looked at her mentor again and for all his experience and the fact that he
was a formidable opponent, right now, all she could see was a tired, sad, old man. Her
irritation faded. "I suppose it must be hard seeing him again," she said tentatively. Mad-Eye
nodded. "I suppose he's changed a lot. That's got to be-"

"Hasn't changed at all," Mad-Eye grunted. "Grown up a bit, maybe, but otherwise he's just
the same. Exactly the same." The unhappy slant of his mouth became more pronounced and
he didn't offer anything else, so Tonks let it drop.

"I'll go," she said, and stumbled over her own feet on the way to the door. "Make sure you get
a good night's sleep too, all right?"

"Good night, Nymphadora," Mad-Eye said, looking amused.

"Good night, sir," she said and saw him scowl as she closed the door behind her.

Remus and Dumbledore were talking in the corridor outside but she didn't see either of them
until she – quite literally - walked into her old Headmaster.
"Miss Tonks," he said, steadying her, while Remus gave her a tired smile. He looked
absolutely dead on his feet. Dumbledore, on the other hand, looked like his usual, cheerful
self, though his eyes weren't twinkling and his smile was a little distracted. "On your way
home, my dear?"

"Yeah," she said. "Sorry for-"

"It's quite all right," he said, smiling kindly.

"Are you here to see Sirius?" she asked, watching his face carefully. Dumbledore was harder
to read than most people. His smile slipped though, and he didn't attempt to hide it. In fact he
sighed, but Remus beat him to answering.

"We've just been."

"I thought you were with Harry," she said, looking at him.

"Rattler took me down," Remus said.

"How was it?" she asked hesitantly.

"I might have shouted at him," Remus said, looking miserable. Dumbledore put a hand on his
shoulder.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"A lot of things," Remus said, and then his temper flared. "I asked how he could be so bloody
calm when he's sitting in a cell surrounded by Dementors, being interrogated – you should
have seen him, it's like he didn't even know that they were there! And do you know what he
said? He said, 'I'll be all right, Moony, don't worry about me'- That git!" Tonks and
Dumbledore exchanged a worried look; Remus looked perilously close to tears, but also
helpless and frustrated.

"And so," he continued, "I asked why the hell I'd care what happened to him and do you
know what? He looked hurt. Hurt. Like I'd offended him! And then he asked about Harry and
I told him he's doing absolutely fine without Sirius around and Sirius just nodded and
said thanks, and that no one had told him anything. He saidthanks! And then as we were
leaving-"

"Remus-"

"No!" Remus shouted, and Dumbledore closed his mouth. "As we were leaving he said, 'It
was nice to see you, Moony'. After everything – after changing sides and stealing Harry, and
after I didn't ever visit him in Azkaban, you'd have thought my opinion of him was pretty
clear, but no! It's nice to see me!" Remus stopped talking. His chest was heaving, his eyes
were bright and he looked acutely embarrassed. Tonks reached out and squeezed his hand.
Remus looked at her and the anger drained out of his expression. He just looked sad and
helpless now.
"Dumbledore, are you done yet?" Scrimgeour asked irritably, sticking his head out of his
office at the end of the corridor.

"One moment, Rufus," Dumbledore said mildly. Scrimgeour huffed and stalked back inside.
"I think I'm leaving you in capable hands," Dumbledore said, patting Remus' shoulder once
again. Remus's shoulders hunched. "I'll see you tomorrow, Remus, and I daresay you too if
you're around, Miss Tonks."

"Good night, Professor," Remus said, sounding tired.

"Good night," Tonks echoed and Dumbledore swept away, his yellow and purple spotted
robes trailing behind him.

"I should let you get home," Remus sighed, glancing at Tonks.

"Where are you off to?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Matt's, probably," he said. "I need to tell him about Greyback – I don't know if-"

"That can wait," Tonks said firmly. Remus stared at her, not seeming to understand. "You're a
wreck, Remus. You haven't slept, we spent last night being stalked by a madman and spent
the morning catching him and sitting through interviews, Sirius has finally been caught,
you've been trying to help out with Harry, you helped me when I heard about Melv-" Tonks
took a deep breath. "Have you eaten?"

"I-" Remus frowned. "Er... well, Harry shared his biscuits-" Tonks sighed and tugged Remus
toward the lift. "Where are we going?" he asked, but he followed willingly enough.

"Home," she said. She – and Remus – were both in need of some serious mothering.

Narcissa knocked on Severus' office door and stepped back to wait. A moment later, the door
creaked and opened and a dark eye peered out.

"Yes?"

"Severus," she said, smiling slightly. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"As a matter of fact I was," he said irritably, stepping aside to let her into the dark office. "I'd
feared you were the Headmaster." Narcissa arched an eyebrow. "He's been... demanding of
late." Severus offered no more explanation than that as he led her through a doorway off to
one side. It certainly hadn't been there the last time she'd visited, and it occurred to her that it
must usually be concealed.

Severus' quarters were simpler than she'd expected them to be. The walls were grey stone,
like the rest of the dungeons, though like Severus' office, these were almost completely
covered with shelves of books and potions ingredients. A small, crackling fire was the only
sources of light, and allowed Narcissa to see a small bed in the corner of the room, a desk and
cabinet in another corner, and that a Slytherin banner was the only decoration. Narcissa could
count two doors – three including the one they'd just come through – but all were closed.
Severus swept over to sit at his desk and Narcissa conjured herself a chair. She sat and folded
her hands while Severus waved his wand at the torches on the walls. They lit up and
brightened the room considerably.

"Now," Severus said, turning back to her. Then, he paused and cocked his head, as if seeing
her for the first time. "Are you wearing red?" he spluttered.

"Yes," she said.

Severus blinked, and she wondered if he'd expected a defensive response; Lucius certainly
had – she'd argued with him for five minutes about it, until he'd said that at least her robes
weren't gold and stalked off to brood in his study. Hydrus had come downstairs and told her
she mustn't go out looking like that, because what would people think?

Narcissa had smiled at him, her sweet, oh so Slytherin son, and assured him it was only
because she needed to make an impression – she didn't tell him that she needed to make the
impression on his brother. She'd expected Draco to be horrified that she was wearing
Gryffindor colours, or perhaps ask why she was dressed the way she was. All he'd said,
however, was that she looked nice in red.

"I see," Severus said. He shook his head and his expression became serious once more. "I
take it this has something to do with Potter."

"Doesn't it always?" she sighed.

"It does," he agreed. "Beyond Potter, however, I have no idea."

"None?" she asked, smirking.

"I have guesses," he admitted. "But I prefer not to waste time so if you'd get to the purpose of
your visit..."

"You'll have heard of his capture," she said carefully. Severus' face didn't change. "I thought
as much. Then you'll also know that the Department of Management and Control of Magical
Children are pushing to have Harry Potter placed into a new, stable home as soon as
possible."

"Tomorrow night, I'd heard," Severus said stiffly.

"Dumbledore told you," she said.

"Amongst other things," he said irritably. She ignored his attitude.

"Then you're probably aware that there's something of a gathering tomorrow, where the
Ministry can meet the boy's... prospective guardians." Severus groaned.

"I suppose I can guess what Lucius will be doing tomorrow," Severus said, and Narcissa
smiled ruefully.
"Indeed." She waited for Severus to say something, but he was silent. "You see why I've
come," Narcissa prompted.

"Indeed," he echoed, leaning back in his chair. His black eyes bored into her blue ones and
she held his gaze with an effort. She didn't know what he was looking for, but she wasn't
about to look away, lest he think her weak. "Where do you stand on the matter?" he asked
finally.

"By my husband, of course," she said haughtily.

"If that was true, you wouldn't be here," he drawled.

"I know." Narcissa had always been a woman with her own agenda, but that agenda had
usually matched Lucius'. She found herself wondering when that had stopped.

Probably around the time he told you your son would be a Gryffindor, she thought grimly.

"Well?" Severus asked.

"I don't want him," she whispered.

"Lucius, or-"

"The boy, Severus," she said impatiently.

"I can hardly blame you," he sneered. "The boy's a reincarnation of his idiot father and
Merlin only knows what nonsense Black's filled his head with-"

Narcissa let him rant. Her reasons for not wanting Potter weren't based on his personality or
heritage. She did wonder if Lucius had forgotten the boy's mother was a mudb- muggleborn.
It was the sort of thing Lucius would overlook in a situation like this, only to remember later
and be horrified. Her reasons weren't even based on emotions, though she did fear that if she
adopted the boy as Lucius wanted to, that she'd become attached to him and that that
attachment would complicate things further. No, Narcissa's reasons had more to do with the
welfare of her family.

"- say what they want about Lily's lineage," Severus continued angrily, "but no one can deny
she was a decent human being. Potter, though-"

Plain and simply, she wasn't sure that she wanted the Dark Lord back. Lucius and Bellatrix
always spoke about how wonderful it had been when he was in power during the war, how
exulted they'd felt, and how respected they'd been amongst their comrades. That wasn't the
way Narcissa remembered it, though. She remembered Lucius and Bella never being home
because they were away serving their Lord and she remembered worrying that they'd end up
in Azkaban. Or, that they'd fail at a task and be killed by the Dark Lord himself. She
remembered being scared, for their lives, for her own, and for Hydrus' and Draco's once they
came along.

"-never mattered to Dumbledore, but then, he's about as senile as he is brilliant and leaning
more toward the former with every day that passes-"
Keeping the Potter boy and the Dark Lord on different sides was in her family's best interest,
even if she was the only one who realised it. Lucius could return to the Dark Lord's service –
and Hydrus and Draco could be initiated if need be – if the Dark Lord took over again. If
Potter defeated the Dark Lord again, then having Draco in Gryffindor would help them fit in
on the 'good', and the skills he was learning from Severus would help more. For Narcissa, it
was all about keeping one finger on the metaphorical Porktey. Taking Potter would mean
putting her entire hand on the Portkey and it was too early by far to do something that drastic.

"-will you do?" Severus asked, and Narcissa tried to look as if she'd been listening the entire
time.

"If I knew, I wouldn't be here," she said, and Severus groaned again.

"For years," he said almost reflectively, "I expected that either Dumbledore or the Dark Lord
would be the death of me. It was a premature evaluation and now, I daresay it will be you."
 Mothers and aunts

Remus yawned and rolled over, blinking himself awake. He was immediately aware that he
wasn't in his own bed and started to panic, at least until he placed the scent of the room. Dora.
She wasn't in the room with him, but she was the one who'd brought him here, he
remembered. She'd brought him back to her – well, her parents' – house last night, and
Andromeda had fed both of them and sent them straight to bed.

Remus had been too tired to argue and so had allowed Dora to show him to the spare
bedroom. He remembered sitting down on the bed, and then nothing. He must have fallen
asleep – or passed out from exhaustion – as soon as he touched the mattress.

A small clock on the bedside table said it was just after nine and Remus sighed; half the
morning was gone and he still had so much to do; he had to tell Matt about Greyback, he had
to meet Dumbledore to discuss something about Harry, he had to see Harry – who was safe
but worried out of his mind for Sirius – he had to see Sirius because Sirius – unlike Harry -
was not safe but certainly hadn't appeared worried at all. Remus would try to give him
information on Harry again – he knew Sirius would want it – and hopefully he'd be able to do
so without having to shout to allay Dumbledore's suspicions.

So much to do... Remus thought miserably, not wanting to move from his warm bed, but he
knew he'd have to. Before he could do anything, he'd have to go home and change robes; he'd
been wearing the pair he was in for two days now.

He sighed and threw his feet over the side of the bed. And then, something small and reddish-
brown dove out from under the bed and latched onto his ankle with sharp teeth and sharper
claws. He threw himself back onto the bed, tucking his feet under the covers for protection.
His assailant fled the room with a hiss.

I think I've just met Dora's cat, he thought, dazed, as he inspected the tooth-marks on his
ankle.

Remus heard footsteps – broken, amusingly, by the thump of a hand on a wall that he
suspected was indication that Dora had tripped – and then there was a knock on the door.
Before he could even answer, however, the door opened to admit Andromeda, not Dora.
Andy – who must have been the one that tripped - was holding a pile of clothes and looked
surprised that he was awake.

"Oh," she said. "You're up."

"Morning," he said, smiling at her. She smiled back and deposited the bundle of clothes on
the end of his bed and passed him an envelope. "Thank you?" he said, arching an eyebrow.

"That'll explain things better than I can, I expect," Andy said briskly, nodding at the envelope.
He turned it over and saw that it had Dora's handwriting on the front. "I'd offer you breakfast,
too, but I'm not allowed to, apparently."
"I- what?"

"I have no idea, but it's probably explained," she sighed, waving at the letter. She turned as if
to leave and then stopped and looked at Remus again. Her scent was nervous all of a sudden.
"Remus," she said hesitantly. "I- you were at the Ministry yesterday, weren't you?"

"Yes, I saw Sirius," he said, guessing her next question. Andy's eyes – grey, just like Sirius' –
filled with tears.

"I know you probably- I shouldn't be asking- you understand, though, don't you? You knew
him too- better than I did, probably. But- can you tell me- Was he- has he- changed?" she
asked.

"Not at all," Remus said gently.

Andy closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and opened them again. She looked...
determined and Remus found himself remembering that while Andy had a softer side to her
than he'd ever seen Narcissa or Bellatrix show, she was still a Black, still a Slytherin and still
a formidable woman in her own right.

"Thank you," she said. She gave him a faint smile and left. Bewildered, Remus tore open the
envelope.

Remus, said the letter inside.

If you haven't already realised, I've gone to work. I've sent a letter to Matt – you've arranged
to meet him for breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron at nine-thirty. Hopefully Mum's woken you
up in time and brought you a change of clothes.

Dumbledore also stopped by. He needs you at the Ministry by twelve to meet with Petunia – I
don't know her last name, he didn't say it, but he said you'd know who he was talking about.

I'll be at the Ministry until about one, so if you're done with your meeting, we could meet for
lunch? Let Mum know – I'll be seeing her later this morning, apparently – and she can pass
the message on to me.

Dora.

Several things made a lot more sense now than they had a few minutes ago. Remus glanced
at the clock on the bedside table – it was twenty past, which still gave him plenty of time –
and dug through the clothes Andy had left him.

There was a pair of baggy jeans that must have belonged to Ted years ago – the man he'd
seen briefly last night was a little too round around the middle to fit these anymore – and
there was a faded pair of navy robes that were probably Ted's as well. The last item was a t-
shirt and it had a note pinned to it.

Remus,
I'd meant to give this to you for your birthday but I misplaced it. Personally, Remus thought
that the new robes and the pillow-sized slab of chocolate had been more than enough for his
birthday last month – her presents and those from Sirius and Harry were more than Remus
had received for all of his birthdays combined since his parents' deaths. Better late than
never, though, eh?

With a growing sense of trepidation, Remus unfolded it.

There were a few streaks of grey in her mousy hair, but otherwise, Andy hadn't changed at
all. She was still tall and she still had the same high cheekbones, and the same grey eyes.

She still carried herself like a pureblood- and when she tripped over the doorway, Narcissa
saw she was just as clumsy as ever. The only new thing about her, in fact, were the faint
laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She didn't look in Narcissa's direction once,
though Narcissa knew Andy must know she was there.

A young woman - her daughter Nymphadora, if Narcissa was correct – followed her in. She
looked a lot like Andy, with her grey eyes and heart shaped face, but her hair was fair like
Narcissa remembered Ted's being and Nymphadora didn't seem to have inherited Andy's
height. Just as Andy had, Nymphadora stumbled on her way inside.

"And yet they'll swear until they're blue in the face that they're nothing like each other,"
remarked Ted Tonks as he strode through the door – without tripping – after his wife and
daughter. His belly was rounder than it had been when Narcissa last saw him and his hair was
a bit thinner but his mellow voice and awful dress sense was the same; he was wearing a
yellow and black spotted tie and blue and white striped work shirt and maroon pants. His
daughter seemed to have inherited his dress sense; she was wearing a red tartan skirt, black
stockings, high boots covered in heavy buckles and a bright yellow t-shirt with a pink giraffe
on it.

"Blue in the face, eh?" Nymphadora asked, smirking at her father. "Like this-?"

"Nymphadora, no!" Andy snapped, rounding on the pair of them. Ted and Nymphadora
exchanged looks and – wisely, in Narcissa's opinion – didn't argue and didn't do whatever
they'd been planning. "Madam Umbridge," Andy said, giving the Umbridge woman a
friendly smile. She offered her hand. "Andromeda Tonks. This is my husband Ted and my
daughter-"

"Tonks," Nymphadora said, beating her mother to it.

"-Nymphadora," Andy sighed and Narcissa wasn't sure whether she was finishing the
introduction or addressing her daughter.

"Wonderful," Umbridge said in her girlish voice. "Take a seat please, Mrs Tonks." To
Narcissa's complete and utter shock, Andy sat down next to her instead of in any of the other
ten seats that were available.
"Narcissa," Andy said, politely. "Lucius." Lucius - two seats away from Narcissa, next to
Hydrus – nodded stiffly in her direction. "And how are you, boys?" Hydrus curled his lip and
looked at his father, who was wearing the exact same expression. Draco's face matched their,
at least until Narcissa nudged him and gave him a pointed look. The malice slipped off easily
and – apparently realising he was allowed to look at a blood traitor without being disgusted –
Draco replaced it with a thoughtful look.

"Well, thank you," he said in a cool but polite voice.

"We're what?!" Nymphadora exclaimed on Andy's other side. Ted said something to her in a
low voice but Narcissa distinctly heard the words 'adopt' and 'Potter'. Umbridge gave them
both disparaging looks and straightened her pink robes.

Augusta Longbottom arrived shortly after and sat down on Ted's other side with a cheerful
greeting. She a very tall woman and bony, but by no means frail. She had worse taste than
Ted and Nymphadora, with her vulture hat and glossy red handbag. Her grandson, a chubby,
round faced boy with large brown eyes and blond hair shuffled in after her.

Neville was his name – Narcissa couldn't forget it if she tried, not when that little boy was the
one her sister had more or less orphaned. Augusta hadn't forgotten either; while she spoke to
Ted and Nymphadora, she completely ignored Andy, and she didn't even glance in Narcissa's
direction. Narcissa couldn't really blame her.

"Mother, I'm bored," Draco said, nudging her.

"It's not proper to say that," Hydrus hissed and Draco glanced at him.

"I wasn't talking to you, so why don't you mind-"

"-Auror like my Frank!" Augusta said loudly. "You must be bright, then, my dear!"

"Er..." Nymphadora stammered, at little Neville gasped as her hair turned a bright pink. "I do
all right, I s'pose-"

"Tonks?" A young man carrying a tea tray paused and stared at Nymphadora, though all three
Tonkses had turned around.

"Wotcher, Alfred," Nymphadora said nervously. The man – Alfred – set the tea tray down
next to Umbridge and scooped Nymphadora into a tight hug. "How are you?"

"Really good, thanks," Alfred said enthusiastically. "You?"

"Hem hem," Umbridge said, and Alfred grimaced and went to stand beside her. Umbridge
scribbled something onto a piece of parchment on a clipboard and Alfred flushed.

"There you are, my dear," Dumbledore said, escorting a hunched, old woman into the room.
Narcissa had never seen the woman before, but she thought she was about ninety. The woman
looked at the empty seat next to Neville, and the empty seat beside Lucius. Then, she sat
down beside Lucius, looking self-important.
Amelia Bones, Rufus Scrimgeour and Thomas Rattler made their way inside too, and sat
down; Bones claimed the seat next to Neville, with Rattler beside her, while Scrimgeour
joined Dumbledore on the old woman's other side.

"Are we all here?" Umbridge asked, smiling around at them all.

"... stupid. It's not like they can say anything if they're not," Draco muttered, and Narcissa
gave him a warning look. Thankfully, however, Umbridge didn't seem to have heard, though
Nymphadora sniggered on Andy's other side.

"We are missing one-" Dumbledore began, but Umbridge cut him off with a prim, "Good.
Let's start, then. Mrs Pettigrew, your case?"

Surely not... Narcissa took another look at the alleged Mrs Pettigrew. With her pale, beady
eyes and pointy nose she could be Peter Pettigrew's mother... but Pettigrew's mother was
younger than Narcissa's mother - who'd turned sixty late last year - and the woman before her
looked ninety.

"What?" the woman – Mrs Pettigrew said in a squeaky voice, lifting a clawed hand to her ear.
"Speak up, woman!"

"I invited you to present your case," Umbridge said, sending Pettigrew a look of dislike.

"Oh," Mrs Pettigrew said, getting to her feet again. "Well, I'm sure you all remember that I
lost my Peter-" So it was her. Peter Pettigrew's mother. Narcissa thought her grief for 'losing'
her son must have caused her to age so badly. Lucius would say it was bad genetics – she was
muggleborn, if Narcissa remembered correctly. As if on cue, Lucius caught Narcissa's eye. "-
to that monster, Sirius Black. I think it seems fair that I get his son, to replace the one he stole
from me."

Lucius coughed and Narcissa rolled her eyes at him, but she too was finding it difficult to
keep an impassive expression on her face. She had little patience for dramatics as it was, and
even littler patience for those that she knew to be falsely grounded.

"My apologies," Lucius said, when everyone – except for Pettigrew, who had ploughed right
ahead with her speech – turned to look at him. "I swallowed something."

Yes, Narcissa thought. A laugh. Despite not knowing what his father had found amusing,
Hydrus recognised the slightly mocking undertone to his father's drawl, and sniggered.

"-no doubt of my parenting abilities," Mrs Pettigrew said, sniffing. "My Peter is a testament
to my ability as a mother-" This time, Narcissa snorted; it seemed, then, that Mrs Pettigrew
was a rather awful mother. She'd managed to raise a son who'd got two of his friends killed,
framed a third, orphaned a toddler and plotted to kill the fourth. He'd also faked his own
death, spent years living as a Weasley pet – the thought of the Weasleys wasn't quite as
malicious as it might have been, now that Draco would probably end up living with them
himself – only to run away from them and come to hide as a pet in Narcissa's own home.
She'd be a hypocrite if she judged Pettigrew for playing both sides until he was confident that
he'd survive – she was doing, or planning to do the same thing now – but she, at least, had her
family in mind. Pettigrew had thought only of himself, and quite frankly, she didn't think he
was worth more than the Potters and Sirius had been.

She didn't care much for Lupin – something about him had always seemed off to her, but
James Potter had been an Auror and possessed no small amount of magical talent, even if he
was a bloodtraitor. And, as filthy as her blood had been, Lily Potter had known how to heal
and that was an admirable skill, no matter who possessed it; it was possible that Narcissa
found it even more admirable because she herself possessed so little skill in that area.

Sirius, of course, was a blood traitor – and had betrayed her own family – but he, like James,
had been an Auror and a rather gifted wizard. If Bella had succeeded in 'pruning the family
tree', as she'd so loved to put it, Narcissa could have accepted that. Encouraged it, even, at
least until recently – her opinions of Sirius were rather mixed at the moment, particularly
because he was (or had been) the guardian of the boy that so many of her hopes rested on.
Family problems should stay in - and be dealt with by - the family. And Pettigrew, no matter
how close he'd been with Sirius, was not family. He had no right to frame a Black.

"-brave Gryffindor!" Mrs Pettigrew let out a loud sob and a sombre Dumbledore rubbed her
shoulder when she sat down. Narcissa rolled her eyes.

Tonks checked her Sidekick and groaned; they'd only been in this stuffy little office for
twenty minutes and it already felt like twenty hours. After Mrs Pettigrew had said her part,
the Malfoys had stood. Lucius had prattled on about good bloodlines and how he and his wife
would provide Harry with a proper upbringing. Narcissa had brought up the money side of
things. Tonks thought it sounded awfully like she was trying to bribe Umbridge, and the sour
looks on Scrimgeour and Bones' faces told Tonks they thought the same. Tonks was relieved
at that; if Scrimgeour and Bones didn't like the Malfoys, it was unlikely Harry would end up
with them.

Then it had been Mum's turn and she and Dad had talked briefly about being able to provide
a loving home for Harry and start to set right some of the things Mum's estranged cousin had
done. Tonks had just been glad they didn't want her to talk; she'd only just heard about this
mental adoption plan of Mum's and was still trying to process it. Augusta Longbottom was
the fourth and final one; she said something about strong wards and having both Harry and
Neville in the same place, a strong family history and little Neville had said he'd like a friend.

Umbridge was quiet for a bit – she was scribbling things down and Alfred was reading over
her shoulder, looking thoughtful – and Scrimgeour and Dumbledore were talking quietly.
Then, Umbridge looked up and announced it was question time, and things went rapidly
downhill from there.

It started off innocently enough; Bones asked – and had to repeat her question twice – if Mrs
Pettigrew honestly thought she could handle living with a young boy again.

"I'm be more concerned about her ability to financially support the boy," Narcissa said. "And
her motives, of course."
"Oh, like yours are pure," Mum muttered, and Tonks glanced at her, surprised.

"I want what's best for the boy," Narcissa said, arching an eyebrow, and oddly, Tonks
believed her.

"He'd grow up in a safe environment," Lucius hastened to add. "The Manor is secured against
intruders-"

"It's what's inside the Manor that the boy would need protection from," Augusta said. Unlike
Mum, she didn't bother to lower her voice.

"Are you suggesting we'd harm the boy?" Lucius asked silkily, while Narcissa bristled. "I'd
be careful what you imply, Madam Longbottom, particularly when you were in St Mungo's
with your half-drowned grandson not three months ago..."

"You only know that because yours was sick too," Augusta snapped. "Rita Skeeter wrote a
rather excellent piece on possible causes-"

"I wouldn't discriminate like these two-" Mrs Pettigrew pointed at both Lucius and Augusta,
making Umbridge's wide mouth stretch into a smile. Tonks wondered why she was letting
this go on and reached the conclusion that either all of her questions were being answered in
the bickering, or that it was like the Auror aptitude testing. "- if I raised the boy."

"Implying that you do the rest of the time?" Narcissa was quick to ask, and Mrs Pettigrew
blushed.

"Young Potter would have ready-made playmates in Hydrus and Draco," Lucius added
smoothly.

"Or in Neville," Augusta said. Neville blushed.

"Nymphadora will make a wonderful older sister," Mum said, and Tonks shot her a look; she
was pretty sure she'd just beat him at chess and buy him sweets and teach him how to hex
people he didn't like.

"He'll benefit more from the company of children his own age," Lucius said, gesturing to
Tonks' cousins.

"And we'll do our best not to play favourites," Narcissa added. Scrimgeour and Bones both
snorted at that – Rattler was frowning - and Lucius shot his wife a look. Tonks wondered if
Narcissa realised that it was twice now she'd brought up things – money and favouritism –
that were likely to turn Scrimgeour, Rattler and Bones against her.

"Every child needs a role model," Dad said, surprising Dora; she'd imagined this was Mum's
idea, but maybe Dad wanted Harry too. He must have, otherwise he'd have left Mum to do
the talking. "And who better than an Auror trainee?"

"Yes, encourage the boy to risk his life," Lucius said scathingly. "There's a good way to keep
him safe."
"And you think he'll be safer with you-"

"Now, Andy," Narcissa said, "you know those charges didn't stick." Tonks stared at her Aunt
again; something was definitely up. She almost wondered if Narcissa didn't want Harry,
because she seemed to be reminding Bones, Rattler and Scrimgeour of a lot of reasons not to
let Harry go to the Malfoys. That was stupid, though. According to Mum, Narcissa didn't
have an independent bone in her body, so if Lucius wanted Harry – which he certainly
appeared to – then Narcissa would too. Maybe Mum had been wrong when she said Narcissa
was smart.

"Doesn't mean they weren't true!" Augusta said. "Everyone here knows that you and your
sister-"

"I want the boy!" Mrs Pettigrew said shrilly. "He's mine by right – it's only fair. I lost my son
to Black and now he can lose his son to me-"

"It's Harry Potter not Harry Black, you daft-" Mum began, but was cut off; the door opened
to reveal two people, one of whom was the last person Tonks could have imagined showing
up to show his interest in adopting Harry Potter.

It was Snape, her old Potions teacher. He looked exactly the same, down to the greasy hair,
hooked nose, curled lip and look of complete and utter disdain. The woman with him was tall
and thin and blond and Tonks was positive she'd never seen her before. Was she Snape's wife,
perhaps? Snape didn't wear a wedding ring, but the woman did.

Snape's wife... now there's a disturbing thought. She wasn't the only one confused by the
woman's presence; Alfred had a slightly sick expression on his face and Tonks wondered if
he'd reached the wife conclusion too. Everyone else – except for Dumbledore - looked
confused, but it was Lucius' puzzled expression that really threw Tonks; the woman couldn't
be Snape's wife, or Lucius would have recognised her. Narcissa just looked thoughtful.

"Ah!" Dumbledore said, looking delighted. "You didn't encounter any difficulties getting
here, I take it?"

"None," Snape said, and glanced at the woman. "Sit."

But she didn't sit. Instead, she pulled a folded piece of paper out of her handbag and offered it
to Dumbledore, who read it quickly and nodded before passing it onto Umbridge. Umbridge's
face slowly turned red, and Alfred backed away from her.

"What is this?!" Umbridge spat, looking furious.

"Those would be forms confirming my custody of the boy," the woman said, pursing her lips.
Tonks wondered exactly who this woman was. "I believe they're all in order?"

"They're muggle-"

"Dolores, you know as well as I that we respect muggle legalities in our own legal system,"
Dumbledore said pleasantly. Amelia and Rattler both nodded – warily though, as if they
weren't sure what they were agreeing to - and Scrimgeour watched the proceedings with
narrowed eyes.

"And you- you're her?" Umbridge asked finally. She put the papers down on her desktop and
smoothed out the creases with her stubby fingers. "You're Petunia Dursel?"

"Dursley," the woman replied stiffly. Tonks wondered if this was the woman that Remus was
supposed to meet later.

"A muggle?" Lucius asked, his lip curling. The cousin sitting closest to him mimicked his
expression, while Narcissa and Tonks' other cousin looked impassive.

"So I've been told," Mrs Dursley replied haughtily, and Dad grinned. Mrs Dursley seemed to
think he was mocking her, however, and sent an angry, embarrassed look in his direction.
Then, she turned her pale eyes back to Umbridge. "Do you have any other foolish questions,
or can I see my nephew now?"

Dumbledore's eyes glinted and he was definitely trying to hide a smile in his long beard.
Umbridge read the paperwork again and then, with a look of loathing – which was returned –
at Mrs Dursley, threw her hands up.

"Fine," she said crossly. "This meeting is postponed until two o'clock." She snatched up the
document and passed it to a startled Rattler. "Check that this is all in order, won't you? I'd
hate for Mrs Dursley not to get her nephew back."

Liar, Tonks thought. Umbridge probably wanted the documents to be checked to see if there
was any way tostop Harry going back to Mrs Dursley. With a wide, toady smile at the woman
in question, Umbridge flounced over to the door. "After you, dear."

"Thank you," Mrs Dursley replied, pursing her lips. Her narrowed eyes found Snape. "Snape,
are you coming?"

And then, Tonks watched in complete bemusement and shock as Snape – a man who scared
Hogwarts students for a living, and was friends with the likes of the Malfoys – stood and
swept out after her - a middle aged muggle woman - with a look of utter loathing on his face.

What in the name of Merlin's pointy purple hat just happened?

"Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked, his head snapping up so quickly that she thought his glasses
might slip off. His expression went from shocked to confused to worried to blank before she
could even begin to think why he'd looked that way. "What are you doing here?"

"Hello to you too," she sniffed. He stood and offered her the chair he'd been sitting on, before
dragging three other, smaller chairs over from the corner. She realised that Snape and the
pink woman had come in with her.

"Hi," he said, looking uncertain again.

"Potter," Snape said and the pink woman said in synchronisation.

"Are you an Auror?" Harry asked, looking at Snape.

"You know who I am," Snape snapped.

"I don't think we've met, sir," Harry said earnestly, with a sideways look at the pink woman.
"We don't get many visitors, you see, because we've been in hiding... Did we maybe meet
when I was a baby...? Does that mean you knew my parents?" It was on the tip of Petunia's
tongue to tell him not to ask so many questions, but then she remembered it wasn't her
problem. She didn't have anything to hide - he probably knew more about his world and his
parents than she did now - and his behaviour didn't reflect badly on her anymore. It was
obviously puzzling Snape, but Petunia didn't care if the boy made him uncomfortable.

"He was a friend of your mother's," Petunia said. She surprised herself by offering the
information, but it felt better than she'd expected to share something like that with someone -
Lily wasn't a tabooed topic here - and she enjoyed the way Snape's expression soured.

"Really?" Harry asked, holding Snape's gaze. Snape was the first to look away, and Petunia
felt a stab of pity for the man; she'd never been able to look into those eyes for long either.
Not without seeing Lily, and wondering if her little sister condemned her for the way she and
Vernon had treated the boy. "You'll have to tell me about her sometime, sir." Snape said
nothing. Harry didn't look dissuaded by the lack of response, or the vicious glare he was
receiving; if anything, he seemed amused.

He looked well, Petunia was upset to see. He was still thin but not unhealthily so, and he'd
grown several inches. She thought he might be taller than Dudley now. It was upsetting
because, in a year in the care of a man who was supposedly evil and murderous, he was
looking a lot better than he'd ever looked when he'd been hers to care for. She knew she
hadn't been the best guardian, hadn't fed him enough, loved him enough - at all, really - but
seeing him like this... it was like having every mistake she'd ever made with him, thrown
back in her face.

She and Vernon had done everything they could to make his life miserable and here he was,
spiting them with his happiness. It annoyed Petunia a bit, but she also felt something
suspiciously warm kindle in her chest.

"Is Padfoot- I mean, is he – Sirius - okay?"

"How am I supposed to know?" she asked.

"Dunno," he muttered. "Sorry." He stared at his hands for a long time, his face unreadable
again. When he did look up, Petunia couldn't meet his eyes properly; she kept her gaze fixed
on his nose and hoped he wouldn't notice. "So have you- I mean, are you here to take me
away?" It didn't escape her notice that the boy had said 'away' and not said 'home', or that his
jaw was set, the way she'd seen his father's set once.

"I think it's best if I handle him alone," Petunia said. The pink woman frowned, but didn't
argue. She marched out and Snape swept after her. The door closed, and Harry and Petunia
sat in silence.
"Well?" Harry asked, not impolitely.

"No."

"You- you aren't-"

"I'm not taking you home with me," Petunia told him, and Harry looked surprised, upset and
relieved all at once. Relieved. Were we really that terrible to you? It wasn't really a question
that needed an answer.

Harry took another few moments to process her response and then said, "So why are you
here?"

"It wasn't a voluntary visit, I assure you," she said. Some of her frustration with this whole
custody mess - and Dumbledore and Snape's need to involve her - leaked into her tone.

"Sorry," Harry said, looking as if he genuinely meant it.

"It's fine," Petunia said, surprising herself. She didn't entirely mean it – it wasn't fine – and
while she liked to blame the boy – and Lily – for this, it didn't seem right now that Harry was
apologising. He looked surprised that she'd said it too, and they lapsed into silence. "How
have you... been?" she asked eventually.

She saw Harry's eyes flash - the way Lily's had used to before she said something scathing
and sarcastic – and braced herself. She could almost see him swallowing whatever he'd been
about to say and suspected it was something along the lines of 'what do you think?'.

"Fine," he said, a little stiffly.

"Really?" Petunia pressed, not sure why she was picking now to take an interest in her
nephew's feelings. Perhaps it was because, in only a few short hours, she'd never see him
again. She'd be his aunt by blood and no more or less.

"Sure," he said, as if daring her to challenge that. She supposed she'd given up the right to get
honest answers to personal questions years ago, when she'd set him up to live in the cupboard
under the stairs.

"Were you happy?" she asked.

"Where?" he asked cautiously. His eyes were wary, curious, but to Petunia they were a
sentencing from Lily.

With us. That didn't need answering either, and Petunia didn't think she wanted to hear the
answer he'd give. She hadn't thought seeing the boy again would be this hard, would cause
her to question herself. She'd thought she'd made her peace with her decisions long ago.

"With him. Your godfather."

"Oh," Harry said. One side of his mouth quirked up and his eyes darted around his
comfortable little office-prison, but they weren't really focusing on anything.
"Well?" she said, a little harshly. Harry actually smiled at that, seemingly comforted by the
return to her usual, impatient, irritated attitude toward him.

"Yeah," he said. "I was happy."

Petunia nodded and stood, clutching her handbag to her chest. She couldn't secure her
freedom from this mess until everyone agreed that the forms she'd passed in were legitimate.
She had a few hours to kill, but she wasn't going to do it here. She doubted Harry wanted her
there and while she wasn't openly hostile anymore, her mixed up feelings hadn't magically
changed to make her love him and want to protect him.

She took one last look at her sister's son, and left.

Petunia Dursley's handbag contained an embroidered handkerchief, perfume, a purse full of

muggle money and cards, a copy of the paperwork she'd given to Umbridge earlier, a small
mirror, a notepad, keys on a Grunnings keyring, a folded article from a gossip magazine and
a pencil with the name 'Dudley Dursley' scratched into the wood.

"Your keys and the pencil have to stay here," Rufus said.

"But-"

"They're potential weapons, madam," he said and she sighed but didn't replace them in her
handbag. "Professor Dumbledore will go in-"

"No," she said. Albus wasn't surprised. "I've had enough of your meddling. I'm going to go in
alone, say my piece and then I'm going home." Albus exchanged a look with Rufus who
shrugged and pulled open the door.

"In you go, then. If he tries to kill you, call out."

Petunia gave him a dirty look – she obviously didn't appreciate his morbid humour – and
strode into the cell, handbag in hand.

"I can't find anything wrong with it," Giovanna Zabini announced. She was Lucius' solicitor
and he'd insisted on inviting her in to read over Mrs Dursley's forms with Bones and Rattler.
Narcissa thought it was unnecessary, but then, she didn't want the Potter boy, and she didn't
particularly like Zabini.

"Neither," said Podmore, who'd been invited up by Bones. Narcissa wondered whether he'd
actually read it; it seemed to her that he'd spent most of his time ogling Zabini, who couldn't
be described as anything less than stunning.

"Nothing?" asked Umbridge sourly. Zabini shook her head looking apologetic, but Narcissa
doubted it was sincere. Zabini had worked for – or with – Lucius for about ten years now and
the only time Narcissa had ever known the woman to be sincere was when she was insulting
someone, or citing a law.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said jovially. "Shall I fetch Petunia?"

"Go," Umbridge said, and Dumbledore stood up, beaming, and strode out.

"Let's get the boys," Lucius said, looking defeated. Narcissa took his hand and they followed
Dumbledore out. "Where was your sister taking them?"

"To get lunch," Narcissa said; both had held out until one, but then Draco had started to
whine about being bored and hungry and Andy – who'd just stood up to get her own lunch –
had offered to take them too. Narcissa rather wished she could have joined them; it certainly
would have been more enjoyable than spending an extra hour in a room with Umbridge,
while Zabini, Podmore and the D.M.L.E. staff bickered over laws.

"I'm awfully sorry I couldn't be of more help to you, Lucius," Zabini said, and Narcissa rolled
her eyes as the other woman caught up. "Harry Potter would be lucky to live with you and
your sons."

"What would you know about children and their wellbeing?" Narcissa laughed.

"My son-"

"You have a son?" Narcissa asked, shocked.

"Blaise. He's a few months younger than your eldest," Zabini said primly. "And I know
enough about children to know that he's better off with his father."

"Impressive," Narcissa said archly, and then blinked. Her own shock was mirrored on Lucius'
face, but he hid it better. "His father's alive?"

"Obviously, or Blaise wouldn't be living with him, would he?"

"You know that's not what I meant," Narcissa sighed.

"Do I?" Zabini drawled. "How fascinating; I was rather certain I had no idea at all."

"Then perhaps you're not as clever as you like to think," Narcissa said, pleased she'd
managed to twist the conversation.

"No," Zabini said. "I am." Narcissa snorted but didn't say anything else; there was no safe
reply to that statement, and she suspected Zabini knew it.

"Mother!" It was Hydrus and he sounded profoundly relieved. Andy and Ted both looked
rather irate, and Narcissa suspected Hydrus had been throwing Lucius' insults at them over
lunch. "Father!"

"I'll leave you to your children," Zabini said, with a condescending smile; she'd made it clear
to Narcissa on several occasions that she didn't think mothering was a suitable way for a
woman to spend her time. "I have to get back to my job." And there it was. Narcissa shot a
venomous look in the other woman's direction as she kissed Lucius on both cheeks and strode
off, her heels clacking on the floor.
Hydrus was talking loudly to Lucius about what a horror lunch had been. Draco, though,
wasn't with him; he was talking shyly but happily with Nymphadora and Lupin - who she
suspected was here to help with Potter - about Merlin knew what. Perhaps it was Lupin's
ridiculous t-shirt; Narcissa had only ever seen him in jumpers and shabby robes, so she
couldn't for the life of her imagine what had possessed him to wear a 'Stumpp Silver' shirt.

It was a ghastly purple colour with a savage looking werewolf on the front and a list of
concert dates and places - Stumpp Silver was a heavy metal band. Lupin appeared to be
trying to hide it by pulling the sides of his robes together, but was having little luck.
Narcissa's lip curled.

"If you're out here," Ted said, "then I take it Potter's going back to his aunt?"

"The muggle," Lucius said disdainfully.

"I can think of worse places for him to go," Nymhadora said, with a pointed glare at Lucius.

"As can I," Lucius replied, looking at Lupin, who flushed and looked down. Narcissa thought
that was odd; last time Lucius had insulted Lupin, the other man had been furious and caused
quite a scene in the Leaky Cauldron. Lupin only looked resigned, however.

Nymphadora, on the other hand, swelled impressively - and literally. She grew several inches
- Lucius was looking up at her - and her hair turned a bright, tomato red. Draco slipped away
from her and to Narcissa's side and she put a hand on his shoulder and thought absently that
she'd need to encourage bravery.

"How dare-" Nymphadora began loudly, despite Lupin's attempts to tell her it was fine.

"Nymphadora!" a voice shouted and it was too deep to be Andy and too gravelly to be Ted's;
besides, both Tonkses had looked content to let Lucius be shouted at by their daughter.
Narcissa supposed it was payback for Hydrus' behaviour at lunch.

"Wait, Mad-Eye," she snapped, and Draco shrank back again as the old Auror limped around
the corner. "I'm busy trying to beat manners into my idiotic, conceited git of an uncle. You,"
she added, turning back to Lucius who didn't seem to know whether to be insulted or amused.

"I need you downstairs," Moody said, grabbing her robes. "Now." Narcissa didn't know
Auror Moody well enough to tell his mood from his tone, but something made Nymphadora
straighten.

"Fine," she said, shrugging him off. Moody gestured for her to follow, but she didn't. Instead,
she drew her wand and said, "Parva Digitum," before any of them could respond. Lucius
seemed unaffected. Then a funny expression crossed his face and he fell over. Hydrus and
Draco gasped and glared at their cousin. Narcissa aimed her wand at her niece and Lupin's
was aimed – defensively – at Narcissa, because Nymphadora had lowered hers. Narcissa met
Lupin's eyes and they both lowered their wands.

"I'll have you stripped of you position in the Auror Program!" Lucius snarled, his face a
mottled red. He tried to stand, failed, and gave up. Andy sniggered and Narcissa shot her an
exasperated look. "'Family' or not, so help me-"

"Report me, then," she snapped. "But it's my job to defend members of the public against
assault - of the physical and verbal kind," she added sharply. "So I think you'll find my
actions are perfectly justified, if unorthodox." Lucius opened his mouth. "I'd just shut up if I
were you," Nymphadora advised. "You've already threatened an Auror which is an offence I
could arrest you for-"

"You're a trainee," Lucius drawled from the floor. Narcissa wondered what it was her niece
had done to him, but he didn't seem to be in pain. "You need another Auror present-"

"Convenient, aren't I?" Moody growled, making Narcissa jump; she'd forgotten about him.
And, from the way Lucius paled, he had too. "The charges won't stick, laddie, but it'll be
damned inconvenient for you and we areon our way down to the holding cells now..." Lucius
shut his mouth, but his eyes were as sharp as swords. "That's what I thought. Lets go, Ny-"

"If you finish that, I'll hex you too," Nymphadora warned. Moody chuckled and glanced at
something golden before paling and jerking his head in the direction of the lift.

Lupin hesitated and then hurried after them with a worried, "Mad-Eye, did you say holding
cells?!"

"How dare she hex Father!" Draco said angrily, glaring at his cousin's back. Hydrus looked
upset too, and was trying to help Lucius up, but Lucius just wobbled and sank back down
again. "Stupid blood trai-"

"Don't finish that sentence if you know what's good for you," Narcissa warned him and Draco
gave her a sullen look. Uncomfortably aware of Andy's stunned expression, Narcissa said, "It
was a nasty thing to do, but it wasn't because your aunt married a muggleborn."

"You mean a mudblood," Hydrus corrected, making Draco scowl.

"Why can he say mudblo-"

"We'll discuss it at home," Narcissa said, already dreading that particular conversation.
Hydrus gave his brother a gleeful look and Draco glowered back. Ignoring her sister's
sniggers and the amused smile on Ted's face, Narcissa turned her attention to her husband and
joined his efforts in trying to undo whatever it was her wayward niece had done.

Tonks, Remus and Mad-Eye stepped out of the lift to the floor that contained the holding
cells to find Scrimgeour, Shacklebolt, Ben, McDuff, Wright, Patel, Robards, McKinnon and a
Healer in lime green crowding the hall. She could hear a man shouting, and a loud thumping
noise. She could also feel the Dementors – and see them, hovering nearby – but she tried to
ignore them.

"They're all you could find?" Scrimgeour asked, either not realising or not caring that Remus
wasn't an Auror.
"They're it," Mad-Eye said.

"What's going on?" Tonks asked, sidling over to McKinnon and Ben.

"Sirius has... well, we're not sure," McKinnon said, her eyes fixed on the door at the end of
the corridor. "Gone mad, Scrimgeour thinks; he's shouting for the Aurors and banging on the
door. Has been for a few hours, apparently." That certainly explained the noise.

"-sure what state he's in," Scrimgeour said, and Tonks started listening to him instead. "We
didn't want to risk rushing in, which is why you've all been called down here." Wright and
Patel exchanged nervous whispers but Tonks couldn't hear words. "You're not to attack Black
unless he attacks you first."

"Hear that?" Robards muttered, and McKinnon gave him a stony look. Tonks wondered
what that was about.

"If he's safe, then Shacklebolt, Moody and I will see what he wants... if not... Black is not,
under any circumstances to leave that cell-"

"-want to talk!" Tonks heard Sirius shout. "I'm not going to bloody attack you, so just come
here and-"

"We'll go first," Scrimgeour said, gesturing to himself, Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye and McDuff.
"You can watch the trainees, keep them out of trouble." Mad-Eye nodded. "Them too,"
Scrimgeour added, nodding at Remus and the Healer.

They moved forward in a pack, wands drawn and ready, with three Dementors at the very
front. Tonks had grown so that she could see over everyone's shoulders. It made her a bit of a
target, but at least she'd know what was going on.

"Step away from the door, Black," Scrimgeour said, and through the small, barred window,
Tonks saw Sirius move away. He was grinning like mad and she felt a prickle of unease.
Scrimgeour tapped the door with his wand and opened it, and the other three Aurors filed in,
forming a half circle around Sirius, who didn't seem perturbed in the least. He looked like he
might explode from happiness, which was odd, given his situation and the closeness of the
Dementors.

"What do you want?" McDuff asked suspiciously.

Sirius just grinned and held up a piece of paper.

 Harry's new home

"Anything?" Rufus barked, and Amelia shook her head. Beside her, Thomas looked ill.

"It's all legal, sir," Podmore said, looking up from a massive volume on wizarding law. Rufus
growled. Of course it was all legal; Black had Auror training and was unhelpfully
knowledgeable when it came to the law. He was also bold enough to point it out.

"Damn it!" he huffed, stalking into the next office, where Dumbledore and Snape were
questioning Mrs Dursley. The contents of her handbag were spread out on the table again, but
hadn't changed. She still had a copy of the forms she'd given to Umbridge earlier, and while
Rufus thought the pile of forms looked smaller - as if she'd disposed of a few sheets of paper
- it was only speculation, because neither he or Dumbledore had checked the damn things to
make sure they were what they'd assumed.

Zabini was beside Dumbledore - Rufus and the rest of the Ministry hated the woman, but she
was good at what she did and desperate times called for desperate measures - rereading the
forms that secured Mrs Dursley's custody of the boy. If they could find anything wrong with
those, then the second set of forms would be nullified.

"Zabini?" he asked and the woman looked up from under long eyelashes.

"It's all in order," she said, shrugging. "These weren't created with or altered by magic and
they've been filled out correctly. Mrs Dursley's custody of the boy is unquestionable." And
that meant she was able to pass him over to anyone she liked. Which she'd done. Rufus tore
the door open and stalked out into the corridor.

"You!" he said, startling Hemsley's trainee. "Get me someone from Muggle Relations!" He'd
need to get in contact with the solicitor who'd witnesses the signing of the second set of
forms and see if they could prove Black or Mrs Dursley had obtained his help illegally. The
trainee scurried off and Rufus walked into Amelia's office, where young Potter was still being
housed.

Umbridge and another witch from the Department of Management and Control of Magical
Children were with him, but if the expression on their faces was anything to go by, they
hadn't managed to find anything condemning about Black's guardianship abilities. Oh, there
was plenty of speculation and plenty of crimes the man was accused of, but as Black had
pointed out a few hours earlier, he hadn't been found guilty of anything because he hadn't had
a trial.

"What can you tell me about the night you were taken from your relatives?" Scoote asked,
peering at the boy from over her clipboard.

Potter tore his eyes away from Rufus, who he'd been watching from the moment he set foot
in the office. No one had told him what was happening, but he'd have to be thick not to
realise that something was afoot.
"Do you know Polkiss?" Rufus asked, before the boy answered Scoote. Potter's face closed
over completely and Rufus wondered what the name meant to the boy. "Potter?"

"Yeah, I know him," Potter said warily. "Why?"

"How do you know him?"

"He's a friend of my cousin's," Potter said reluctantly. "Piers." He didn't seem to think much
of this Piers, if his wrinkled nose was any indication. "We went to the same school."

"Did you know Piers' father?" Rufus said.

"A bit," Potter said, shrugging. "He gave Dudley a ball and a pen once, from his work, I
think." Potter thought for a moment. "He's an accountant... No, a solicitor."

"We know that," Umbridge snapped, and Rufus gave her a reprimanding look.

"I'm just answering the question," Potter told her, frowning. Then he paused. "Wait," he said,
glancing at Umbridge. "How do you know Mr Polkiss is a solicitor?" The colour drained
from Umbridge's flabby face and Rufus smothered a groan.

"Auror Scrimgeour just said-"

"I know what he said," Potter told her, still frowning. "But he didn't say anything about Mr
Polkiss until now, and he didn't mention that he's a solicitor."

"And?" Umbridge asked, trying to cover up her blunder with bravado.

"And you've been in here with me and that Healer and Mrs Scoote-"

"Wendy's fine, dear," Scoote said, sitting very still.

"-for hours... which means you knew before Mr Scrimgeour came in here." He turned his
frown on Rufus. "What's going on?"

"Thank you very much for that, Umbridge," Rufus said irritably, and Umbridge shrank into
her chair; the woman had high career aspirations and she certainly wasn't going to reach them
if she kept upsetting Rufus. "Look, Potter-"

"Scrimgeour!" Moody barked, and the door flung open. Rufus' wand was up in an instant,
and he saw Potter's hand jump to his pocket, even though his wand had been confiscated days
ago. "Scared you, did I?" Moody growled, looking curiously at Potter. "Constant vigilance!"
Rufus knew it was coming, but it startled the other three. After he'd recovered, though, Potter
laughed to himself. "He's getting impatient," Moody said, glancing at the boy with one eye.
As Moody had been down in the cells with Robards and Black for the last few hours, it
wasn't hard to guess who 'he' was.

"And?" Rufus asked irritably, stuffing his wand into his robes.

"And I bloody hope you've found something, because time's up," Moody said grimly.
"What time?" Potter asked, looking between them.

"Nothing," Rufus replied stiffly, answering both Moody and Potter's questions. Moody's face
fell.

"Guess there's no choice then," he growled, and limped out. Rufus could hear him shouting at
every available Auror on the floor. "Right! Sort out a roster, you lot and quickly because
they're not to be left alone! We're going to need three people in there, armed and alert at all
times and if you even think-"

"What time's up?" Potter asked again as the door clicked shut and muffled Moody's voice.

"Yours," Rufus said. "You've got a new home, Mr Potter."

"Through you go, lad," Moody said.

"But-" Harry stopped walking and looked up at Dumbledore, who was walking just behind
him – the corridor was too narrow for them to walk side-by-side. "-but, sir, there's a wall
there."

"It's not a wall, dear boy," Dumbledore said kindly. "Here." With some difficulty, the older
man squeezed past Harry, Scrimgeour, Moody and a blond, eyepatched Auror called McDuff.
Then, before Harry's eyes, Dumbledore strode through and vanished. Harry jumped back,
alarmed. Then, Dumbledore's head popped back through, startling him again. "It's quite safe,"
he said. Harry walked forward and he was going to hit it, going to walk face first into-
nothing. Just cold air. Harry glanced around. They were in a small chamber – they, being him,
Dumbledore and Moody, who'd just come through – with a lift at one end. The lift was
guarded by two cloaked men.

"It's cold down here," Harry offered, shoving his hands into his pockets. He felt the drawing
Ginny had left behind – a dragon breathing fire on the Chudley Cannons crest - scrunch and
hastily pulled his hands out again. He didn't want to damage it.

Bet I would, too, he thought. I'm always ruining things – blowing up the training room at
home. I bet Padfoot really is angry about that, but he just didn't want to say anything. He
didn't want to hurt my feelings and now he's probably back in Azkaban. He'd have been better
off without me-

"Dementors," Moody grunted, waving at the cloaked men.

"Dementors?" Harry asked, stiffening; he'd never seen one before, but he'd certainly heard
about them. He didn't move away, much as he wanted to, but he didn't take a step forward
either. McDuff almost trampled him as she stepped through the fake wall.

If there are Dementors around, though, then maybe Padfoot's nearby. Maybe... maybe they're
taking me to see Padfoot? It didn't make any sense to Harry, but he couldn't think of anything
better. Maybe they want to tell Padfoot that I have a new home, rub it in a bit... I bet I'll
absolutely hate it there. I bet I'll be stuck with someone like Mr Malfoy. And then Padfoot will
hate me too. He'll get his trial and won't want me bac- he won't even get a trial, they'll just
give him to the Dementors...

Harry was struck by the sudden horrible thought that Padfoot – if he was indeed here – had
been surrounded by Dementors for two days now. Padfoot was good at dealing with them –
he'd survived Azkaban hadn't he? - but what if this time tipped him over the edge? What if
he's mad? What if he's sad, or hurt? What if he's dea-

"Harry?" Harry yelped when he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up, gasping, at
Dumbledore. "Are you all right, dear boy?"

"Fine," he panted, looking at the Dementors. I bet it's them. They're making me think bad
things. "I'm fine, sorry."

Scrimgeour appeared through the wall behind him and didn't break his stride; he walked
straight past the Dementors and got into the lift. Everyone followed, including Harry, who
didn't want to be left alone down here. Someone screamed as he passed them.

He jumped again and glanced around, but no one else seemed to have heard anything, so he
pretended he hadn't either. He thought he could still hear the voice screaming as the lift
shuddered and dropped, but he ignored it. It was probably the Dementors again.

There were more Dementors downstairs, but there was also a door – many doors, actually –
through which Harry could see Padfoot. His heart leapt and he must have made a noise
because Dumbledore looked down at him. Harry grinned back.

Padfoot backed away from the little window in the door as soon as he spotted them and Harry
was seized by momentary panic; what if Padfoot didn't want to see him? Most of it was the
Dementors, but some of it was Harry's own worries.

Scrimgeour and Moody muttered something to each other and peered through the window,
before opening the door. They both filed in and then Dumbledore put a firm hand on Harry's
shoulder and they strode into the cell.

It was smallish – Harry thought he could walk from one side to the other in ten steps, and
from front to back in fifteen – with two small beds in one corner, a curtained off area in
another, and a table with five chairs (one on the far side, four on the door-side) in the middle
of the room. Everything in the room was white.

Except for the Black.

Padfoot was grinning ear to ear at Harry and seemed to be struggling to stay seated on the
bed – Moody's glare seemed to promise trouble if he didn't – so Harry solved that problem
for him.

He shrugged Dumbledore's hand off – Dumbledore made a noise of protest - and launched
himself across the room. Moody and McDuff tried to intercept him but he dodged them both
– McDuff was easy, because her depth perception was a bit off - and flung himself onto
Padfoot, who was knocked onto his back by the force of impact. Padfoot was shaking as he
hugged Harry back and Harry felt something wet land on his face.

"Are you crying?" Harry asked, feeling as though he might cry himself.

"Yep," Padfoot choked, releasing Harry a little bit. "I've got a broken rib which you've just
landed on." Harry scrambled off and was immediately grabbed by Moody, who put himself
between Harry and Padfoot. "Oh please. If anyone down here needs protecting it's me. Did
you see him attack me just then?" He chuckled at his joke, but he was still clutching his side
and the skin around his eyes was tight.

"Sorry," Harry said stricken, from behind Moody.

"You didn't know," Padfoot said dismissively and laughed again. "Bloody hell, that hurt." He
didn't sound angry, though.

Or is he hiding it? I bet I really hurt him. What if I made it worse? What if-

"Not Harry!"

"What?" Harry asked, looking up at McDuff. She was a tall woman, but she looked taller
than before. Actually, everyone did. It took Harry another moment to realise that he was on
the ground. And he was freezing. McDuff looked confused.

"I didn't say-"

"I'm not going to hurt him," Padfoot said angrily. "Your bloody Dementors are doing that
well enough, I think."

"-Harry! Please – I'll do anything-!"

"What?" Harry asked again, focusing on McDuff again.

"Move if you know what's good for you," Padfoot snapped, shoving past Moody. "And
someone cast a Patronus! Or better yet, send those damn guards away." Padfoot knelt down
and waved his hand in front of Harry's face. Harry saw something silver streak out of
Dumbledore's wand and land by the door. "You with me, kiddo?" Harry looked at McDuff
with wide eyes; she looked calm for a woman who he was sure had been screaming just a
moment ago. Reluctantly, he nodded.

"Get rid of them," Padfoot said, turning back to Scrimgeour.

"I intend to," Scrimgeour said. "I just want you to understand that I'm not doing it because
you've told me to."

"I don't care why you do it as long as it's done!" Padfoot snapped. He helped Harry up and
over to one of the beds and sat down beside him, while Scrimgeour and the McDuff slipped
out of the cell.
"I'm fine," Harry said, which was mostly true; he was still a bit shaky, but he was warm
again. Dumbledore approached, wand still in hand, controlling the large silvery blue bird
over by the door. He gave Padfoot a warning look and knelt down beside Harry.

"Here," he said, producing a chocolate frog from somewhere in his robes.

"Thanks," Harry said, taking it.

"Chocolate is-"

"Good after Dementors," Harry said, tearing open the packaging. "I know." Dumbledore
watched him through his half-moon spectacles for a long moment and then his blue eyes
flicked to Padfoot.

"I suppose you would," he said finally. Harry broke off one of the frog's legs and offered it to
Padfoot, who wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

"It wasn't offered to me," he said.

"I'm-" Harry began, but Padfoot shook his head again and offered him a small smile. Then, he
tapped his temple, and Harry realised Padfoot must be using Occlumency again. Harry took
bite and then stuffed the rest of the frog in when he realised how good it tasted. Padfoot
chuckled and ruffled his hair, and Harry couldn't believe how much he'd missed the gesture.
Dumbledore continued to watch Padfoot with a rather hostile expression, which became
helpless when his gaze returned to Harry.

"You will have a guard," Dumbledore said finally.

"Ridiculous," Padfoot said, nodding. "But I expected it."

"I'm sure you did," Moody muttered, rolling his mismatched eyes. Padfoot winked at him and
the old Auror seemed disgruntled by that.

"They will be with you at all hours. If they think there's even the slightest possibility that
you're going to hurt the boy, he will be removed." Padfoot nodded. "Harry, if you feel at all
threatened, all you need do is alert the Aurors on guard and you will be escorted to safety."
Dumbledore looked nervous.

"I get to stay here?" Harry asked. "With you?" Padfoot pulled a small stack of stapled paper
out of his robes, unfolded it and passed it to Harry. Harry didn't know exactly what all of the
long-winded writing said but he got the gist; Padfoot was his guardian now, formally. Aunt
Petunia had signed this and given Padfoot full custody of Harry. "Is this blood?" he asked,
looking at Padfoot's signature.

"It's an old tradition," Padfoot said, shrugging. "Supposedly it makes everything more
official. I explained this to you when we left your aunt's last year."

"Oh," Harry said, "Yeah. Right."

"And yes, as your guardian-" His emphasis had Moody scowling. "-it's appropriate for me to
have you staying with me, as long as they can't prove I'm a danger to you. I know the holding
cells aren't exactly comfortable, but I thought-" Harry hugged him again, but was gentler this
time. Padfoot smiled and ruffled his hair again. "Yeah," he said. "That's what I thought."

"Lupin!" Remus hurriedly cleared his expression and spun around. Snape was marching
toward him, scowling.

"Snape," he replied, trying to sound dejected.

"Interesting that you sought refuge here, of all places," Snape remarked, looking at the sign
on the office behind Remus.

"Can I help you?" Remus asked, refusing to rise to the bait.

"In two ways," Snape said, stopping a few feet from him. "The Tonks girl is looking for you.
She seems concerned for your wellbeing."

"Oh," Remus said; he'd run off when Sirius held up the guardianship forms. It probably
wasn't the smartest thing to do, but the alternative had been to burst out laughing. Better that
everyone assumed he was horrendously upset, than conspiring with Sirius. "Right. I'll find
her-"

"See to it that you do. If I have to see her absurdly colourful head once more this afternoon, I
might just hex it off." Remus arched an eyebrow. "'Professor, have you seen Remus? He's
gone missing!'" Snape leered at Remus, who frowned. "I assured her someone would read
your collar and return you to her, but she's growing... impatient." His dark eyes glittered.

"Right," Remus said. "I'll just-"

"When's the full moon, Lupin?" Snape asked, as Remus made to leave.

"A week exactly," Remus said carefully. "Why?"

"I have need of the information," Snape said, "and I'd look it up, but I know
how intimately familiar you are with that particular-"

"Right," Remus said for the third time. "Was that all you needed, or did you want to rub it in
some more?"

"That was all," Snape said, his sneer slipping off; his sallow face looked rather pale.

"Is everything all right?" Remus heard himself ask.

"Not exactly," Snape said, and for a moment he looked troubled, before he schooled his
expression again.

"Can I help?" Remus asked.

"I doubt it; I assume you'll be likewise... indisposed." Snape's eyes were glittering again, in
that rather malicious way Remus knew well. "Unless a cure's been developed since I last
checked...?" Remus frowned at him. "I didn't think so," Snape sneered, and swept off.

Git, Remus thought, rolling his eyes. He picked himself up off the bench and headed for the
lift; Dora would be somewhere on Level Two, with the rest of the Aurors and trainees.

The lift opened and the cool announcer's voice said, "Level Four, Department for the
Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"Excuse me." An elderly woman with a hissing Kneazle under her arm stepped off and
Remus got in and pressed the button for Level Two.

Harry was mumbling something, but was fast asleep, apparently not bothered even slightly
by the faint light coming from Marlene's wand; she'd been forbidden to put it out, in case
Sirius crept over and attacked them. Sirius rolled over and his blankets rustled.

"Would you please be quiet?" Marlene growled. Sirius didn't answer her, and he did,
amazingly, stop moving. She'd have thought he'd move around more, just to annoy her.
"Thank you," she said, and he kept ignoring her. She didn't like it.

She'd been on guard duty – with Gawain and Proudfoot, who were slumped, asleep in the
chairs on either side of her – for the past nine hours. Sirius was yet to speak to her. There'd
been no cheerful greeting, no witty remarks, no... nothing. Not to her. Gawain and Proudfoot
had chatted to him for quite a bit, and Sirius had chattered to Harry when he hadn't been
talking to them. And she'd been ignored.

Sirius hadn't ignored her before, ever.

"Sirius," she said, holding her wand up. She saw his eyes gleam in the light, but then they
closed. "I know you're not sleeping," she said. Still nothing. "Sirius."

"What?" he snapped, sounding exasperated. He rolled over and propped himself up on one
elbow. "Did you want something, McKinnon?"

"I-" She snapped her mouth shut and looked away, unable to deal with him looking at her like
that – like he didn't even know her. "Why are you calling me that?" she asked, finally, forcing
herself to look at him again. His expression hadn't changed.

"Calling you what?" he asked. "Your name?"

"My name's Marlene," she said, before she could stop herself.

"I know what your name is, McKinnon," he said, and she jerked away as if he'd slapped her.
He yawned, his hard expression giving way to a tired one. "Was there something you wanted,
or can I go back to trying to sleep?"

She didn't know how to word what she wanted – she'd sound stupid if she tried to ask him to
stop treating her strangely – so she muttered, "Yeah, sleep."
"Robards is asleep now, isn't he?"

"I think so," she said, peering at her mentor; he'd pretended to sleep – obviously he didn't
trust her alone with Sirius – but she thought he'd actually dozed off about an hour ago.

"Hmm," Sirius said. He pulled Harry's blanket up – Harry had been kicking in his sleep
earlier and pushed it down – and then ruffled the boy's hair before sinking into his own bed
and rolling over to face the wall.

"What does 'hmm' mean?" she asked, squinting at his dim form. Sirius ignored her again and
Marlene felt confused tears sting her eyes. "Sirius?" She heard him take a deep breath in and
then let it out in a sigh. She blinked to make sure she wasn't going to cry. "Sirius."

Marlene got to her feet and crossed the room; she knew Sirius had heard her coming – his
back stiffened – but he didn't turn around. She skirted Harry's bed and then yanked Sirius
over by his shoulder. He didn't resist, but his hands darted to his side, as if to brace it.

He didn't say anything either, just watched her, and shifted slightly, still holding his side. It
was maddening. She could have understood it if he'd been afraid of her – she'd almost
expected it – or if he'd hated her. She'd hoped for that. No, instead, he looked at her as if she
was nothing to him. There was no spark of mischief in his grey eyes, no warmth, no humour.
Just calm... curiosity was too strong a word... awareness, that she was there, that she existed.

"Yes?" he asked. She released his shoulder and let her hand fall to her side. It felt cold,
empty.

Don't be stupid, she told herself. You hate him, remember?

But she didn't right now. She should have; he'd managed to gain legal custody of Harry, she'd
failed to kill him two days ago and now she'd had to give up her night to guard him. It was
hard, though, to hate him when he looked at her so... dispassionately. Like he didn't care what
she thought, that she was even there. Like she wasn't worth his time. Like she'd betrayed him,
only there was no anger in his eyes.

"I'm nothing to you," she whispered, not sure if the was telling him that, or asking him.

"No," he said stiffly. "You're not."

Marlene tucked her hair behind her ear and backed away to the chair she'd been sitting in
before. Sirius had rolled over again, and there was no chance of him seeing the way her lip
had startled to tremble. She took a few steadying breaths and sniffed, trying not to cry.

"Would you please be quiet," he said, in the exact same tone she'd used with him before.
Marlene swallowed and shook Proudfoot awake; she didn't want Gawain to see her like this,
because he'd want to know what had upset her and she didn't want to have that conversation.
Ever.

"McKinnon?" Proudfoot said blearily.

"I've got to go," she said, and her voice sounded strained even to her own ears. She could
only imagine what Proudfoot must think. "I'll send someone else down."

"Are you all right?" he called.

"No," she said thickly. "Not really." She flicked her wand at the door and ran out of it, not
caring what Sirius or Proudfoot thought. She made sure it was locked again and then went to
declare herself to Mad-Eye, who was standing by his chair, guarding the outside –
Scrimgeour had apparently thought it was too dangerous to leave the Dementors guarding the
cell while Harry was in it.

"McKinnon," he said, and Savage – who was sleeping in a chair on the other side of the
corridor - jerked and mumbled something. "What's-"

"I can't be in there," she said, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. "I- he-"

"It's not easy, is it?" he asked grimly. "We'll swap," he said, taking a sip from his hipflask.
"Just wake Sava-"

"Let him sleep," she said, shaking her head. "I won't." Mad-Eye patted her shoulder and
limped into the cell. Marlene sank into his chair, pulled her knees up to her chest, and began
to cry quietly.

"I knew you'd come," Fenrir said, smiling at his visitor. There were tear track on her cheeks,
her nose was red and her eyes were far away.

"Did you?" she asked flatly.

"Yes," Fenrir said eagerly, crawling toward the bars. She watched him, impassive. "You've
come to rescue me."

"You're mad already," she said, disgusted, pulling her robes out of his reach. His hand fell to
the grey, stony ground. There was silence, and the wind whipped her hair around her face. "I
haven't come to help you."

"Why are you here then?" he asked, confused.

"Because I want to know what happened," she said, staring down at him. Her dark eyes were
cold, disapproving.

"I've made you strong," he said, beaming. A Dementor passed behind her and they both
shivered.

"No," she said. "I did that."

"I Gifted you." Her lip curled.

"You ruined me – my old life's gone, thanks to you. I had to drop my old friends,
my family. My parents look at me and they're terrified."
"So they should be. You're more powerful than they could even imagine-"

"My father-"

"I am your father," he said, pressing himself against the bars to get closer to her. He took a
deep breath, inhaling her sweet, sweet, scent, the scent that had evaded him for nearly a year
and a half.

"You're a monster," she said firmly. "We both are."

"Is that why you've done it, then?" he asked, reaching for her hand. "Is that why you've
joined them?" His hand closed around her smaller one. She stared at it in shock, but there was
a look of yearning on her face too. "Feels good, doesn't it? Warm. I bet no one's held your
hand since-" She yanked her hand out of his and took a step back, still staring at her fingers.
Fenrir held his hand to his nose and breathed in.

"I asked you a question," she said.

"You want to know what happened?" Fenrir asked. She nodded, her eyes bright and wary.
"Free me." A Dementor swooped in from behind her and Fenrir howled and crawled to the
back of his cell. He was cold, so cold, and it was dark, even with his eyesight.

He lost track of time, but when he sat up, she was still there, still watching him. Her
shoulders were shaking and there were fresh tears on her cheeks but she was there.

"I did make you strong," he said, dragging himself forward.

"What happened?" she asked, folding her arms.

"Free me."

"I hope you rot," she spat. "Answer the question."

"Manners, Daughter."

"Answers, Father," she said in a brittle voice.

"I waited until he was alone," he whispered, encouraged; she'd called him father! "Then I
knocked on the door and asked to come in. He was so polite, so friendly." He heard her teeth
grind together. "Scared, once I pulled out my wand, but I like them that way. He fought, but I
overpowered him. He tried to lie." Fenrir wheezed a laugh. "I smelled it right away, of
course. Little fool." He laughed again and bared his teeth. "I don't like it when people lie."
She was drinking in every word, but he could smell her horror, her fury.

"I got my answers eventually. I won't tell you how." He smiled up at his daughter. Her face
was white in the light of the almost-full moon above them. "He would have lived though. I
took his wand and I was leaving, when I heard him say something. I don't know what he said,
but he was talking into a golden pocket watch. He was trying to warn someone." Fenrir
snorted. "I could have left him alive, but-"
"But you didn't," she said, her face hardening.

"He chose his own fate," he said, shrugging. "I just helped him along. I suppose he was a
little lion? So brave and self-sacrificing..."

"Actually," she said. "He was a snake." She knelt down, bringing them to the same height for
the first time. "And snakes are poisonous." Fenrir's smile widened and he decided to play
along.

"But I wasn't bitten." She raised an eyebrow and stood up. He shifted closer to the bars.

"Really?" she asked, and smiled once, cruelly. "What's Azkaban if it's not a poison?"

She turned on her heel and strode away as the Dementors closed in.

It wasn't supposed to have happened this way. Humiliation after humiliation was all that
Sirius Black had brought the Ministry; first he'd been an Auror, and then he'd betrayed them
all, then he'd escaped the inescapable prison, then he'd kidnapped a boy, a boy not even the
Ministry had known where to find. Then, Black had evaded them for months before losing
Potter and stealing him back from right under everyone's noses a week later. Then he'd
evaded them for another few months before surrendering in the middle of Diagon Alley.

Then he'd deflected their questions, forbidden them from questioning the Potter boy and then
managed to steal the Potter boy back yet again all without breaking a single law, and all
without moving from his tiny cell at the bottom of the Ministry. He and Potter had lived there
for three days now, quite comfortably.

It was maddening. Britain was sure to become a laughing stock because of one stupid,
stubborn man.

"Ten of you, I think," she said with a smile.

It would be better this way; if she failed, she had nothing to lose. No one could whisper her
name in the wrong ear, and no one would give her away. Absolute loyalty was part of the
contract. Loyalty to the Ministry. And she was the Ministry. If she succeeded, she'd be a hero.
Minister in a year, probably sooner. She'd be sorry to see Cornelius lose his job but really, he
was too soft-hearted to do what needed to be done, and he had no aspirations for the future of
the wizarding world. Perhaps he could be her Under-Secretary. Advice was always welcome,
and she did like Cornelius.

"Seven are to deal with the Aurors. Don't hurt them if you can help it," she warned. "Just
don't let them interfere until the job is done."

But Sirius Black had to go. No one would miss him. The man was a lunatic, a criminal.
Perhaps Potter would be sad but he was young. He'd move on, forget. Lucius Malfoy would
give the boy a good home, and give her a good reward. It was all for the best, all for the good
of the Ministry.
Perhaps she'd even get an Order of Merlin. She deserved one, surely; she'd been in the same
position for fifteen years, doing the same boring things with the same boring people, training
up the same boring trainees – Albert or something was the one she had currently and she'd be
glad to see the back of him. She didn't even like children. Yes, an Order of Merlin, First
Class, for her patience.

"Three of you can deal with Black and Potter. Don't hurt the boy, but don't let him interfere
either."

Lucius would blame her if harm came to him, and Lucius was the sort of man who could give
her the world, or take it away. She didn't like it when things were taken from her. Even as a
girl, she'd hated it when her sister Alegria borrowed her things. Her mother had always
encouraged her to share, but her mother was a fool who spent her time with her head floating
around like those silly cupids she kept in her teashop. Her mother had good decorative sense,
but not much else; sharing was for the weak.

"And a Kiss should do for Black."

The strong took what they wanted and the weak shared what was left. She wasn't a weak
woman. She was capable of doing what needed to be done.

"See to it that it happens."

 A long night in hell

"It's cold down here," Ben said, trying to make conversation. He missed Melvin like mad but
he'd never been one that was able to stay sad for long. He just got on with things. Tonks was
the same, as far as he could tell, and so was Shacklebolt. Florence still cried lots and was
unnervingly quiet when she wasn't crying. None of them had seen much of McKinnon for a
few days, so he didn't even know how she was.

You leave, mate, Ben thought glumly, and everything falls apart.

He looked over at Finch, who had puffy eyes and a downturned mouth. Finch was usually so
cheerful, but he hadn't seen her smile all week.

"Are you cold?" Ben asked, and Finch looked over at him. He wondered if she'd even heard
and considered repeating himself.

"A bit," she said thickly. "Why? Are you?" Ben pulled his robes tighter and shivered.

"I-" He stared at his breath, misty white in the clear air. Then he glanced at Finch, who was
frowning. The lift doors opened and a swarm of black drifted out. Ben counted five
Dementors. They didn't come forward, though. They just hovered on the other side of the
chamber. "What are they doing down here?" he asked Finch, whose eyes were blank. "Finch?
Lyra?"

"I'm sorry, Melvin," she whispered.

"I'm not Melvin," Ben said, shaking her shoulder. "I'm Ben."

"I'm so sorry," Finch whispered, covering her face with her hands. She sat down and began to
sob. One of the Dementors turned its head in Ben's direction. Ben didn't like Dementors, but
he'd also had a fairly sheltered life; of his friends, he'd always fared the best when their duties
as trainees brought them into contact with Dementors. He'd never lost anyone until Melvin,
never seen anything horrific, and his biggest regret was his prejudice against Slytherins,
which he'd more or less overcome.

"Lyra?" Ben said, shaking her shoulder again.

"Sorry," she whispered, and he'd have bet his job that she was remembering the morning
she'd found Melvin. As an Auror, she'd seen some pretty terrible things, but he thought it was
probably worse because she'd known Melvin personally. He hadn't just been a nameless
stranger. "I should have answered, shouldn't have just let it burn-" The lift opened and
another five Dementors swept out.

"Hey!" Ben called over his shoulder. He pulled his wand out, knowing it wouldn't do much;
he'd never learned to cast a Patronus. "Hey! McDuff! Louisson! Yaxley! Hey! Help!"
"Wellingt-" McDuff's head appeared through the bars on Black's cell door. "Oh my. Yaxley,
wake Louisson. Quickly, girl!"

"Stay back!" Ben warned, but the Dementors were creeping forward. "Depulso. Ventus."
Neither spell was overly effective.

"-Dementors," he heard McDuff say.

"I told you I could feel them," an unfamiliar male voice said, but he sounded worried. "I
thought Scrimgeour'd told them to stay away."

"He did," Louisson replied. "Hold tight, Black. We'll be back in a bit." The door opened and
McDuff, Louisson and Yaxley filed out, wands up. Louisson went straight to Finch, while
McDuff stomped up to the Dementors. Yaxley came to stand beside Ben, looking nervous.

"You've been dismissed from guard duty down here," McDuff said, waving her wand
warningly. "I don't know who's sent you, but I know you're trouble and you're not staying
down here until I've got a message signed by Scrimgeour himself that gives you permission."
Louisson had moved the now-limp Finch to the side of the chamber and joined McDuff.

"Back you go," he said. "Go on." When none of them back away, Louisson's jaw tightened.
"McDuff, if you'd be so kind-"

"Sorry," Lyra babbled. "Sorry, Melvin-"

"Expecto-" McDuff began, but a Dementor seized her chin with its skeletal, scabby hand.

"Relashio!" Louisson and Ben cried in synchronisation. There was a flash and McDuff fell
backwards. Two Dementors separated from the group and came to grip Ben's arms. Two had
done the same to Louisson. "Unhand me you-" Louisson began, trying to shake them off. All
he managed to do was drop his wand, however. Ben struggled and kicked, but there were no
feet to sweep away.

"Expecto Patron- NO!" McDuff shrieked as a Dementor gripped her chin again. Ben tried to
aim his wand, but the Dementors holding his arms were firm. He couldn't even see her
properly.

"Do something!" he shouted at Yaxley, but she was shivering, her back pressed up against the
wall, her wand resting uselessly on the ground beside her. Ice raced up the walls and
McDuff's screams cut off.

"No!" Louisson bellowed. Ben managed to get a good look and saw McDuff, lying on the
floor with a blank, almost dreamy look on her face. Her mouth hung open. "No! How dare
you-" Louisson cut off with a whimper.

Someone swore over near Yaxley, but the voice was too deep to belong to her. Ben saw a pale
face peering through the bars of the window in the cell's door. Black. Black swore again and
looked at Ben.
"Can you do a Patronus?" he asked in the same, no-nonsense tone he'd come to expect from
all Aurors. Ben shook his head and tugged uselessly at the Dementors holding him. "You?
Yaxley, was it?" Yaxley shivered and shook her head. "Let me help you," he said.

"What?" Yaxley asked.

"We don't need your help, Black," Louisson said. "We're doing just fine, thank you-"

"Fine?" Black asked loudly. "McDuff's been Kissed, you idiot!" He turned back to Yaxley.
"Give me a wand – I promise I'll only cast a Patronus and then I'll give it straight back-"

"Rubbish! We can't trust him!" Louisson shouted. "Salacia, don't you dare!" Yaxley looked up
at Black and then at Louisson, who was being dragged over to where Finch and McDuff sat,
huddled against the wall. "No!"

"I can help you," Black said, his eyes wide and earnest from the other side of the bars. Ben
believed him. He tried to throw his wand in Black's direction but the Dementors were holding
him too firmly. His wand landed with a clatter and rolled out of reach.

"We can't- He's a prisoner! He can't be trust- ah!" The Dementors released Louisson who let
out a squeak and curled up.

"Yaxley!" Black said urgently. "Let me help, please!"

"Louisson," Yaxley whispered, sounding scared, "what do I-"

"Give him the wand!" Ben snapped. With a massive heave, he managed to pull an arm free
but it was caught again a moment later and a third Dementor came to hover before him, hand
outstretched. Ben shrank back, head turned away.

"Please," Black said.

"No!" Louisson shrieked.

"Give him the damn wand!" Ben bellowed. Yaxley let out a sob and flung her wand away – it
rolled over toward Finch and Ben's heart sank. "The door, Black! The door's unlocked!
Black-"

Whatever hope Ben had harboured that Black might save them faded quickly; Black shoved
the door open, but a Dementor was there to intercept him. Black shut the door again and Ben
caught a glimpse of his face through the bars. Then the Dementor moved to block it from
view, its hand lifting to remove its hood. It took a rattling breath and Ben prayed Black had
the sense to move.

Thankfully, he heard footsteps and a whisper; Black saying something to Potter, or perhaps it
was the other way around. The Dementor dropped its hand to the door and pulled it open.
Yaxley gasped as it passed her.

"Padfoot..." Ben heard Potter said, and something in Ben broke. He started struggling again
and his shoulder popped but the Dementors holding him refused to let go. Black was a grown
man – quite possibly a murderous one – but Potter... Potter was just a kid. An innocent.

They dragged Ben over to where Louisson, Finch and McDuff were – about three yards from
Black's cell and another three yards from the lift - and then released. He rubbed his shoulder
as Yaxley scrambled over to join them. Ben wondered if it was fear that made her move, or if
it was her Slytherin-born survival instincts. He decided it didn't matter much. He could feel
her trembling.

"Give me Potter!" Ben said desperately, yanking on the cloak of the nearest Dementor while
another one joined the first in the doorway of the cell. "Please! He's just a kid, just-"

"Please," he heard Black say. A third Dementor joined the other two, but this one moved past
them. Ben heard hasty footsteps, and the sound that was quickly becoming his greatest fear;
the rattle of a Dementor's breathing.

Ben eyed Louisson's fallen wand and the Dementors; the seven surrounding him, Finch,
McDuff, Louisson and Yaxley were all focused on the cell. It was obvious that no one else
could or – in Yaxley's case – would be any help. Been steeled himself and dove for it. His
fingertips brushed wood and then cold pressed in on him from all sides and the rattling was
deafening. He couldn't move, couldn't see. Everything was dark. Something clammy touched
his sore shoulder and he was guided - rather forcefully - back to the others.

Louisson was hunched over his hands, muttering and the other three were slumped against
the wall, though at least Yaxley's eyes were in focus.

Am I the only sane one left? Ben wondered, coughing; the freezing air was burning his lungs.

"No!" Louisson said, clutching his hands to his chest. "No, let me- I'm your superior! Don't
come near me-" Ben was shoved aside, into Yaxley, while two Dementors closed in on
Louisson.

"Stop!" Ben yelled, prising a scabbed hand off of Louisson's face. "Let him go- stop it!" Bony
fingers pressed into Ben's shoulder. His shoulder stiffened. It felt like it was freezing. He
struggled through the pain, but the hand holding him was firm.

"Let me go!" Ben knew what was coming but was powerless to stop it. He squeezed his eyes
shut and turned away, stomach churning. Tears ran down his cheeks and his nose was stuffy.
He heard Louisson's breath catch, his protests die, heard the horrible rattling inhale, felt the
temperature plummet. He heard something land with a ringing sound.

"Oh my Merlin," Yaxley sobbed through her hands. "He's- they just-"

Ben crawled over to the thing that had rolled out of Louisson's limp hand, and the Dementors
let him. It was a Sidekick, slightly ajar. Ben picked it up, hoping, praying that maybe the
Dementors hadn't noticed what he was holding. They had, though. The hand was back on his
shoulder, not restraining him, just... there. Maybe it was a warning, or maybe he was next.

Ben quickly weighed his options; Finch couldn't help them, and even if he could get Yaxley
to help, it would still be two against seven. They were bad odds, particularly when Ben was
part of the two.

Please don't let this be an enormous mistake, Ben thought, and snapped the Sidekick shut. He
rolled it away and it landed near Yaxley's wand. The hand on his shoulder vanished and Ben's
eyes filled with scared, relieved tears. Yaxley was crying too; she shifted, pressing herself up
against the wall beside him.

"No Sidekicks," he whispered. "Okay?" Ben reached for Finch, who immediately latched
onto his side. "We'll get through this." They sat, hardly moving, and the Dementors made no
move to hurt the rest of them. Ben thought they might be okay.

"Black?" Ben said in a voice that was half whisper. All three Dementors were in the cell now
and the door was open, but Ben couldn't see any of them – Black, Potter, or the Dementors.
"Black? Are you- can you hear me?" Yaxley let out another sob. "Potter?" There was no
response from him either. "Black?"

"Black?"

Sirius bit his lip but didn't dare turn his head to look for the source of the sound. Padfoot
stood in front of him, ears back, hackles raised, glowing a blue-grey. Padfoot's nose was
inches from the rusted bars of Sirius' cell and on the other side of those were three
Dementors, waiting.

"Black?" The voice echoed down from the grey Azkaban sky, but it sounded like it was
coming through water, not air. The kid sounded scared, but there was nothing Sirius could do
for him, much as he'd have liked to.

Something knocked the back of Sirius' knee and he glanced down instinctively, even though
there was nothing there. Harry was in the real world, with Sirius' body, not in his head with
his mental self. Sirius wished he could have brought Harry here; Harry would have been safe
here, with Padfoot to protect him.

Harry wasn't safe where he was, though. He was freezing, trapped in a world of his very
worst nightmares. And Sirius could do nothing except keep the Dementors from Kissing
them. He'd never felt so helpless. He knew keeping the Dementors at bay without a wand was
impressive, but it didn't feel it, not when he wasn't able to do anything else.

So, while he sat, mostly safe - the edges of his mental reality had started to blur and Padfoot
wasn't as bright as he had been - and unaffected in the confines of his mind, Harry was
suffering, and the Aurors and trainees were suffering.

If Sirius returned to bodily consciousness, though, he'd be overwhelmed – his mind was safe,
but Kisses were physical. All it would take was one Dementor to get a grip on him and it
would all be over. Right now, all that stood between the Dementors and his soul was using
Padfoot to force the Dementors to keep their distance.

No, Sirius thought, retreating; his lapse of concentration had allowed the Dementors to get
into the cell. He backed away, Padfoot guarding his front and bolstered his Patronus with
more happy memories. It was too late, though; the Dementors were inside. Sirius pressed
himself against the wall covered in outdated tally marks.

"Black?"

If he's screaming, he's still got his soul, Sirius thought, but he drew little comfort from that.
He wished he could say something - anything - that might comfort the kid but it wasn't worth
the risk of returning to his body. He'll be all right. We'll all be all right. He found a memory –
James, Remus and Peter studying in the Gryffindor common room, eating food he and James
had stolen from the kitchens – and passed it over to Padfoot. Padfoot glowed a little brighter
and the Dementors in his head retreated an inch. Hopefully the real Dementors had retreated
a bit too.

"Black?" the trainee's voice echoed around the cell again.

Focus, he told himself, and started digging for other happy memories; he'd need another one
in a few seconds. One of the Dementors moved around, trying to take him from the side.
Sirius funnelled more into Padfoot and wedged himself into a corner, with Padfoot in front of
him.

The Dementor drifted back into line with its comrades, and the three of them resumed their
patient watch. It was a battle of wills, one Sirius knew he'd win; how many times had Remus
complained he was too stubborn for his own good? Will wouldn't be enough, though. He
couldn't maintain Padfoot forever - not at this strength - and that's what was going to matter.
He'd get tired, run out of happy memories. And as soon as Padfoot weakened, he'd be swept
aside and Sirius would be exposed.

No, he couldn't outlast them. He could only hope that the next lot of Aurors made it down
before his strength gave out. As if the Dementors had heard the thought, the rattling grew
louder and ice raced over the walls of the cell. Even Sirius felt cold for a moment, before he
forced another memory into Padfoot and the Patronus glowed a little brighter and chased
away the cold. The effort had the edges of Sirius' reality trembling again.

Focus, he thought again, firmly and gathered his resolve. Said resolve almost shattered when
a new sound pierced his world. It wasn't the trainee, and it wasn't the Dementors' breathing.
Harry had whimpered.

Just a bit longer, Sirius thought, scrunching his hands into fists, as he heard something
explode. The Aurors could be here at any moment. Just a bit longer.

Rufus glanced at Hemsley, Shacklebolt, Dale and Brown. Dale and Brown seemed oblivious,
but Hemsley and Shacklebolt had been Aurors long enough to know when something wasn't
right. And something wasn't right.

The lift plummeted deeper and it got colder and colder and Rufus' sense of unease grew.
Without a word, he drew his wand and the others did the same – even the trainees were
looking wary now.
Rufus thought of his sister and her family and sent his fox Patronus through the opening lift
doors. Shacklebolt's lynx prowled out after it. Dale gasped and shrank back into Brown
allowing Rufus to see into the chamber. Finely tuned skills allowed him to make a quick
assessment.

All five Aurors who'd been on guard duty overnight were propped up against left-side wall,
and in front of them were seven Dementors. There was no blood, and all of them were
breathing. They were all alive. Good. A Sidekick and four wands were scattered over the
floor of the room and Black's cell door was open. The Dementors had turned to face the lynx
and fox.

"Black!" Wellington said, and Yaxley - whose head had been resting on his shoulder – jerked,
saw Rufus and the others, and promptly burst into tears. One of the Dementors moved
forward, reaching for Wellington. Rufus sent his fox bounding forward, but Shacklebolt's
lynx beat it there, coming to the rescue of its master's trainee.

The Dementor moved away at once – barely escaping a swipe from the lynx – and within
seconds, Shacklebolt had all seven Dementors on the opposite side of the room, guarded by
his Patronus. Shacklebolt hurried over to see to the others.

"Yvonne?" Hemsley asked, frowning. McDuff stirred but didn't respond.

"Brown, help Shacklebolt," Rufus barked, and the trainee hurried over. "Dale, since you don't
seem inclined to leave the lift, take it to the top and bring backup. Hemsley, you're with me."
Hemsley tore his eyes off McDuff and followed Rufus across the room. Rufus sent his fox
into Black's cell first, just in case, and then stepped after it, afraid of what sight might greet
him.

It looked like a warzone; the beds were overturned and the feathers from the pillows covered
the white floor like snow. There were scorch marks on the walls and the curtain around the
toilet, shower and sink had fallen down. The glass around the shower was cracked and the
sink was spraying water all over the place.

It seemed empty, and Rufus' first thought was that Black and Potter had set the Dementors on
the Aurors and escaped. At that moment, though, a Dementor's rattle caught his attention.
Three of them were gathered in the very corner of the cell and Rufus didn't hesitate before
sending his Patronus streaking over to scatter them. It chased them out of the cell and Rufus
heard Hemsley lock the cell door, though it was painfully obvious Black was in no condition
to be attempting to escape.

Black's eyes, which had been as empty and grey as the sky above Azkaban, focused on Rufus
with alarming intensity and he steadied himself on the wall.

"Black?" Rufus said, stepping forward. Black opened his mouth as if he was about to say
something, but his eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped like a stone, landing heavily
on his side before Rufus could even think to cast a Cushioning Charm.

Black's fall revealed Potter, who was curled up in the very corner of the cell and had
apparently been sheltered behind Black. His face was as white as the cell walls and he had
tear tracks on his cheeks. His eyes – which had been empty like Black's – became wild and
locked onto Black. Rufus and Hemsley jumped as one of the beds in the other corner burst
into flames and the glass in the shower exploded and rained down on them all.

When everything settled, Rufus crouched down and edged a little closer to Potter, who was
still watching his godfather.

"Potter," he said softly, and Potter jerked and slowly raised his eyes. Rufus found he couldn't
meet them for long. There was terrible knowledge there and a haunted look that didn't belong
in a boy's eyes – anyone's eyes. He still looked a little wild.

"Sir!" Brown pushed the door open, his face as white as Potter's. Wellington was beside him,
looking unsteady but determined. "Wow," Brown said, staring around at the destruction,
which Rufus would have bet his job was Potter's work – accidental, of course. "What happen-
"

"Did you want something?" Rufus asked tersely, and Brown looked stricken.

"Oh. Yes, sir," he said, his face paling again immediately. "It's McDuff and Louisson, sir-"

"What about them?" Rufus asked.

"They've been... The Demento- Kissed, sir." Brown looked at Hemsley as he said it, though
his words were directed at Rufus; Hemsley's face drained of colour and he ran out, shoving
past Wellington, who swayed where he stood. Rufus glanced at Potter, who didn't look like
he'd be moving far any time soon – neither did Black for that matter – and Rufus' healing
skills weren't good enough to give them what they needed; broken limbs and nasty curses he
could handle, but fainting – from a cause other than poison - and mental trauma... not so
much.

He followed Brown out of the cell and saw Hemsley shaking McDuff, and Shacklebolt
waving his wand over Louisson while Yaxley talked to him in a low, shaky voice. Brown
dropped down beside McDuff and put his hand on Hemsley's shoulder.

A grinding noise made Rufus look up at the lift which opened; Moody limped out, followed
by Robards, Taure, Klenner, Savage and Dumbledore – Rufus marvelled at his ability to be
wherever things were happening – and with a look at the confined Dementors, stepped
forward to share what he knew.

The doorbell chimed, startling Marlene. She stood up – her chair scraped on the wooden floor
– and made her way upstairs, still nursing her cup of tea.

She unlocked the door – the muggle way, because she'd left her wand downstairs – and pulled
it open.

"Sir?" she said, blinking. Gawain looked equally startled to see her - that was odd, given that
it was her house – and for the second time that week, raised his wand in her direction and
Disarmed her. Her teacup flew out of her hand and shattered on the hallway floor. Hot tea
soaked Marlene's dressing gown and dripped down the white walls. Gawain stepped inside
and closed the door. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" she asked, steadying herself
on the wall.

"Sorry," he said tersely, and Vanished the mess. "Where's your wand?"

"Next to the kettle," she said, rather wishing she had it with her now. She folded her arms and
drew herself up to her full height – a whole two inches taller than Gawain. "Have I done
something wrong?" His eyes bored into hers and she stared back, confused, but resolute.

"You tell me." She'd never heard Gawain sound so cold.

"I don't know-"

"Tell me!" he snapped. Marlene's eyes filled with tears. It didn't take much to set her off at
the moment. "Why are you crying?" he asked in a hard voice.

"Get out," she told him. She stalked past him and pulled the door open.

"Excuse m-"

"I said get out!" she snapped. "I haven't slept properly for days and I'm tired enough and
confused-" Her voice broke on the word. "- enough without you adding to it!" Gawain
opened his mouth but she cut him off. "Say whatever you came to say, or get out." She
pushed her hair – which she hadn't brushed since yesterday morning – out of her face and
gestured to her front doorstep. Gawain didn't leave, however.

"You haven't been sleeping?" he asked.

"That's what you got out of what I just said?" she asked, laughing once without humour. She
closed the door again and headed off down the hallway.

"McKinnon, where are you going?"

"To get another cup of tea," she said, without looking back at her mentor. She poured herself
another cup when she reached the kitchen and settled herself at the table. Gawain – who'd
followed her down - glanced at the kettle and then at Marlene, who waved a hand. He poured
himself a cup and sat down opposite her.

"Thank you," he said, and she just watched him over the brim of her cup. He sipped at his
drink and then cleared his throat and set the cup down. "There was an attack at the Ministry
overnight," he said. Marlene didn't say anything. "We lost McDuff and Louisson."

"They're dead?"

"Kissed." Marlene's stomach twisted; McDuff and Louisson had been on guard duty last
night; it was supposed to have been her and Gawain but Marlene had pulled out, unable to
face Sirius again. Louisson and Yaxley had taken their places. She didn't know whether to
feel relived or guilty.
"There were Dementors in the holding cells?" Marlene asked. Then, both dreading and
hoping for Sirius' name she said, "Was it only McDuff and Louisson, or-"

"No one else was Kissed," Gawain said, and Marlene couldn't imagine what her face must
look like. She didn't know how she felt.

"What were they doing down there? Scrimgeour sent them away-"

"Someone sent them back," Gawain said, his eyes searching her face. Not liking the scrutiny,
Marlene got up to refill her mug. "Ten Dementors were down in those cells for eight hours
last night, seven with our lot, three in with Black and Potter." Marlene's insides twisted again,
this time out of worry for Harry. "We don't know who the target was, but Wellington thinks it
was Black or Potter because if it had been one of them, the Dementors wouldn't have
bothered entering the cell. Scrimgeour agrees - Black and Potter were in a corner, completely
surrounded, while our lot were just being watched - but it's all speculation. McDuff and
Louisson were the ones that were Kissed... maybe they were the targets."

"You don't think so?"

"Wellington and Yaxley both said McDuff was attacked while she tried to cast a Patronus,
and that Louisson was trying to use his Sidekick." Gawain shook his head. "And both were
Kissed early on, but the Dementors were still there, hours later."

"And if Wellington, Finch and Yaxley weren't attacked, then it's unlikely they were the
targets," Marlene muttered. "I think Wellington's right."

"So do I. Unfortunately, it makes things harder – Potter's a good kid, but he's the Boy-Who-
Lived. He's not without enemies, much as we'd like to pretend otherwise. And Merlin knows
Black's not a popular man. There'd be a shorter list of people that want him alive that those
that want him dead."

"Or Kissed."

"Or Kissed," Gawain agreed.

"Do we have any suspects?"

"It's being looked into. So far I've got one."

"Who?" Marlene asked. Gawain gave her a flat look. "M-me?" she stuttered, her eyes
widening. "But-"

"You tried to kill him four days ago," Gawain reminded her, as if she'd somehow forgotten.
As if she could everforget. "I'd be an idiot not to suspect you."

"So you think I- that it was me?" she asked hoarsely, wondering what that meant for her now;
she hadn't done it, but how was she supposed to prove that?

"Was it?" Gawain asked.

"No! No, I'd never- Harry was there!" Marlene took a sip of tea to fortify herself. "Gawain, I
wouldn't- didn't-"

"I thought that was the case," he said, and drained his cup, "but I also doubted you'd be able
to use an Unforgivable." Marlene said nothing; she'd used her first Unforgivable at nineteen,
to save Lily from a Death Eater. Gawain didn't know about that, and he never would if she
had it her way. "I've been wrong about you before."

"You believe me though, don't you?" Marlene asked desperately.

"You're not the type to send others to attack people for you." Again, Marlene said nothing,
sure they were both thinking of her failed attempt on Sirius' life four days ago. "Yes," Gawain
said finally. "I believe you." Marlene's eyes filled with tears again.

"Is Harry okay?" She asked the question out of genuine concern, but Gawain had also opened
his mouth to say something – probably something comforting - and she didn't think she could
bear to listen to him.

"A few scratches from when he blew up the shower but otherwise he's physically fine.
Mentally, though..." Gawain shook his head and Marlene felt something inside her crumble.
A few tears spilled over. "The Healers thought it might be best to Obliviate him, but they
need his guardian's approval and Black hasn't woken up yet."

"Sirius is hurt?" Marlene heard herself ask.

"Broken ribs, but the rest is mental. The Healer who looked at him said he's shut down. They
were bringing in a Legillimens-" Gawain checked his Sidekick. "-about now, actually, to
assess the internal damage."

"Sirius survived Azkaban," Marlene said, tracing the side of her mug with a shaking finger.
"He'll survive this." She wasn't sure if she was heartened by that thought, or disappointed.
Gawain didn't say anything, but he was frowning at his teacup. "Won't he?"

"I don't know," Gawain said.

"-charms wear off eventually," Moony agreed, and Harry might have thought it was nice that
this, at least, could be discussed without Moony pretending to hate Padfoot, if it hadn't been
Harry they were discussing.

"Exactly," Padfoot said, and Harry heard his chair scrape on the floor of the cell.

"So you want to let the boy suffer?" the Healer – who'd told Harry his name but Harry'd
forgotten what it was – asked.

"I'd much rather not have him in this situation at all," Padfoot said, and Harry twitched; his
voice was closer than Harry'd expected. "But what he was thinking saw – whatever bad
thoughts were forced on him while the Dementors were in here – will come back the next
time he's near a Dementor, and we'll be in this same position." Panic crept up on Harry and he
pushed it down.

Listen. Just listen, don't think, he told himself. And don't sleep. Harry wondered if he'd ever
sleep again.

"Are you anticipating more encounters with Dementors, Mr Black?" the Healer asked
snidely. The Aurors on the far side of the room fell silent, obviously keen to hear Padfoot's
response.

"I wasn't expecting this encounter," Padfoot growled. His voice was right over Harry now,
and then Harry felt a hand brush his hair.

Harry was careful to keep breathing deeply and not give himself away, although he badly
wanted to speak to Padfoot; he'd been pretending to sleep to avoid questions about the night
before and Padfoot had been unconscious until about an hour ago. Harry'd heard about forty
minutes of healing and Padfoot swallowing potions and Legillimency talk – apparently the
Legillimens had found a destroyed Azkaban in Padfoot's head, and there'd been debate about
what that meant - and Harry had almost 'woken up', when the conversation turned to Memory
Charms. Padfoot sighed nearby and then Harry heard Padfoot's chair scrape again.

"Whether you believe me or not, Leatherby, I do have Harry's best interests at heart. I'm not
happy – at all – that he had to go through what he went through-" Someone snorted – one of
the Aurors, Harry thought, judging from the direction it had come from.

"Think that's funny, Dawlish?" Scrimgeour asked in a rather dangerous voice. Scrimgeour
hadn't left all day; he seemed to have taken the Dementors' presence as a personal insult and
was determined to guard Harry and Padfoot and his Aurors himself. Harry hadn't had much to
do with Scrimgeour – and he hadn't particularly liked him when he had been around – but he
certainly admired the man's determination.

"It's Black," Dawlish said, as if that explained everything. Harry's hands tightened around his
blanket. "He didn't care about the Potters when he sold them to You-Know-Who-"

There was a scrape and a thump and then someone said, "Oof!" Harry, meanwhile, was trying
to control his breathing; memories from last night hovered just out of reach, threatening to
resurface.

"Sit down, Sirius," Moony snapped, and Harry guessed Padfoot had lunged at Dawlish and
Moony had stopped him. There were more footsteps, the sound of a chair being picked up
roughly and then a muffled thump – presumably Padfoot sitting down again. "Honestly, you
talk about being a changed man," Moony said coolly, "and then you go and do something
stupid like that. Do you think we're all thick?"

"Not all of you," Padfoot replied, and Harry wondered who his godfather had singled out
with a look. Probably Dawlish. "And I never said I was a changed man. This whole time I've
been trying to prove I haven't changed."
"You're doing an awful job of it," Moony said after a pause; Harry wondered why no one had
beat him to it.

"Really?" Padfoot asked. "Why? I've always been quick to defend Lily and James."

"Except when you passed them over to-"

"He didn't insult the Potters," Scrimgeour interjected and Harry thought it was good timing,
but the mention of his parents had him starting to panic again.

Listen. Just listen. Don't think, he told himself.

"He did," Padfoot shot back, sounding irritated. "He said I 'didn't care' about the Potters." His
voice dropped to a mutter. "James and Lily weren't the sort of people you can't care about."

"Clearly you-"

"Get out," Scrimgeour said. Harry assumed Dawlish must have looked at him, because then
Scrimgeour said, "Yes, Dawlish. You. Out. Send a replacement down."

"I'm an Auror, not a messenger," Dawlish said stiffly.

"Then perhaps while you're up there, you can do some investigating and find out what's
taking Rattler so long." The door opened and slammed shut.

"Nicely handled," Padfoot said, and Moony snorted. Harry suspected it was actually a
concealed laugh.

"I'd have sent you out too if I'd been able to manage it," Scrimgeour said irritably. Someone –
the Healer, Harry thought, since the only other people in the cell were him, Padfoot, Moony
and Scrimgeour - laughed. Harry'd forgotten his name again.

"No, you wouldn't have," Padfoot said. "You're too smart to send us out together – we'd keep
fighting, and that would defeat the purpose."

"Dear Merlin, you've got an answer for everything, don't you?" the Healer asked. Harry
wasn't sure if he sounded awed or exasperated.

"Do you really want to hear the answer to that?" Padfoot asked. Harry could hear him
grinning. Moony sighed.

"So it's a no to the Memory Charm?" the Healer asked, to clarify. Harry stiffened and Padfoot
came over again, this time to sit on the bed, beside Harry's knees.

"Is he all right?" Moony asked, sounding worried. He'd even forgotten to address Padfoot
angrily.

"See!" the Healer exclaimed. "Nightmares! We can protect him from this-"
"We could," Padfoot agreed, and Harry could feel those grey eyes on his face; he suspected
Padfoot knew he was awake and that made him feel rather sheepish. Padfoot laughed quietly
and it occurred to Harry too late that Padfoot – and Moony – could probably smell that. "But
frankly, Leatherby-"

Leatherby, Harry thought, determined to remember the Healer's name this time.

"- I don't think kids should be covered in Cushioning Charms and read The Toadstool Tales.
Call me irresponsible-"

"No need," Moony said viciously, as if to make up for his lapse. "Everyone knows anyway."

"You said you agreed with me about this, so shut up," Padfoot said in the same tone, and
Moony fell silent. "No Memory Charms," Padfoot continued, sounding tired. He nudged
Harry's knee with his hand and Harry – gently – pushed back.

"Sir?" Leatherby said, obviously addressing Scrimgeour. "Can you talk some sense into
Black?"

"Good luck," Moony muttered.

"The boy should be spared!"

"It's too late to spare him," Scrimgeour said. Harry heard the door open and Rattler murmur
greetings. "We cannot undo last night – his memory of it, yes, but that night will still have
happened, even if he no longer remembers it."

"Sort of makes you wish the Unspeakables would hurry up with their time-travelling device,
doesn't it?" Rattler said, and Padfoot made a small noise of assent.

"You're sure?" Leatherby asked. Harry nudged Padfoot.

"I'm sure," Padfoot said. Harry heard Leatherby leave. Then, Padfoot shook Harry's shoulder
and Harry knew his pretend-sleep was over. He didn't want to wake up. Waking up meant
talking about last night. "Kiddo," Padfoot said – for effect, obviously, because Harry'd
already opened one eye. Padfoot passed Harry his glasses.

"Hi," Harry said reluctantly. Padfoot was watching him with a sad expression.

"Would you lot mind-" Padfoot began, and Moony looked torn – obviously he wanted to stay,
but there was no way he'd be able to without rousing suspicion – but stood. He met Harry's
eyes for a moment, smiled sadly, and then left. Scrimgeour and Rattler stood too – Rattler
smiled at Harry – and they followed Moony out.

"What-"

"They trust me with you, now, I think," Padfoot said, watching the door close. "Scrimgeour in
particular. He was the one who-"
"Yeah," Harry said. Had that really only been a few hours ago? "How'd you know I wasn't
sleeping?" Padfoot raised an eyebrow.

"You talk," Padfoot said, amused. "It's funny, actually. Half the time you're awake, we can't
get a word out of you, but when you're asleep, you don't shut up." He grinned. Harry didn't
feel up to returning it, and Padfoot's amusement faded. "Kiddo, I- You didn't want to be
Obliviated, did-"

"No," Harry said, but he wasn't sure if that was the truth or not. Don't think about it, don't
think about it.Padfoot nodded. "Are you feeling all right?"

"My head's a bit of a mess," Padfoot admitted, pulling a face. "Back to the way it used to be,
before I built Azkaban, so it's not like there's been any real damage done, but it feels... odd."

"Will you rebuild it?" Harry asked.

"Probably," Padfoot said, after a pause. They were only speaking quietly, but his voice
dropped again and he cast a glance at the door. "I don't know that I could cast a Patronus with
things the way they are at the moment, and it's... I think it's a good idea to make sure that's a
possibility, just in case." Padfoot blew at a feather on the ground – most of the glass and
feathers and water had been cleaned up, but some remained – and it fluttered over to the table
where Moony had been sitting. Harry kept watching it, even when Padfoot's attention
returned to him. "Have the thoughts stopped?"

"For the moment," Harry said. Padfoot didn't seem to know what to say; he was obviously
trying to be delicate about the situation – which Padfoot wasn't all that good at. Harry might
have found it funny to watch under different circumstances.

"I'm glad I took you," Padfoot said quietly. "I'm sorry that it means you're stuck down here,
and that last night... happened..."

"It's not your fault," Harry told him.

"No," Padfoot agreed. "But I am sorry I couldn't do more to help you." Harry shrugged.
Padfoot slung an arm over Harry's shoulders and squeezed. Harry leaned into Padfoot's side -
Leatherby had healed his ribs, so Harry wasn't afraid of hurting him. "Really, really sorry."

"It's fine," Harry said.

"Really, really, really-" That coaxed a reluctant laugh out of Harry.

"I heard you the first time," he said, knocking into Padfoot's side. Padfoot chuckled. "Do you-
I mean, are you-" Harry almost said 'serious' and then thought better of it. "You're glad you
took me?"

"I am," Padfoot said, and didn't joke about it - perhaps he sensed that Harry needed to hear it.
Harry smiled tentatively, as some of last night's fear vanished. It was stupid that he still
worried if Padfoot wanted him - Padfoot had made it abundantly clear on many occasions
that he did - but Harry supposed it was a Dursley-born doubt that he'd retained. "That's what
you saw, then?" Padfoot asked hesitantly. "Me saying I didn't want you?"

"Yeah," Harry said, shrugging. Amidst other things.

"And that's all?" Padfoot pressed, in a very careful tone.

"I- no. There was- were other... things," Harry muttered, not looking at Padfoot.

"Just thoughts?" Padfoot asked, using a voice Harry'd only heard once; that day, over a year
ago, when they'd sat down on the landing at home and Padfoot had asked about the Dursleys.
Trust. That's what he was asking for. After hearing Snape again, whispering about what a
monster Padfoot was, it wasn't as easy as it should have been, to trust him. But Snape was
wrong, and Harry did trust Padfoot.

"Memories," he whispered, and Padfoot went very still beside him.

"Memories?" He looked at Harry, but Harry stared at the floor. "I didn't realise- I thought it
was just thoughts- hallucinations-" Harry rubbed his eyes - they were starting to sting - and
shook his head. "Oh, kiddo," Padfoot said, pulling him into a tight hug. Harry returned it,
distracted. "Maybe- if you want Leatherby to come back-"

"No," Harry said firmly. "It's- just no."

"The cave?" Padfoot guessed, and Harry nodded.

"And after it... With Kreacher-"

"And not me," Padfoot said, nodding, but he was frowning. "I thought you'd got over that."

"I guess not," Harry said, and then felt bad for snapping; Padfoot was trying to help. "I
haven't dreamed about it in months. I think it was just last night that-"

"Brought it back?" Padfoot suggested, and Harry nodded. "I seem to figure prominently in all
of your bad thoughts and memories."

Because he's a monster, Snape muttered, somewhere in Harry's head.

Shut up, Harry told it. "I guess," Harry said aloud, hoping Padfoot would sense he didn't want
to talk any more, and end the conversation. He wasn't so lucky.

"Are you sure you don't want Leatherby-"

"I'm sure," Harry insisted.

"Why?" Padfoot asked gently. "Kiddo?"

"Because," Harry said, shrugging Padfoot's arm off.

"That's a rubbish answer."

"I don't want-" Padfoot raised an eyebrow, inviting Harry to continue. Harry scowled. "Just
leave it." Padfoot, looking thoughtful, did.
 The scar and the schemer

Sirius' next three days in captivity passed quickly, and by the end of the third, he was
beginning to notice that a sort of routine had been established; there were always two Aurors
on guard inside the cell – sometimes both were trainees – because Sirius was trusted not to
attack Harry. Umbridge came in with breakfast – the quality of which had improved with
Harry's arrival – and took Harry away for a few minutes each day to question him.

Harry said it was about his perceived safety and to try to encourage him to speak out against
Sirius. Harry hadn't – otherwise he'd have been moved out of the cell at once – but he'd been
distant for the last few days, and Sirius wasn't sure why; he might be acting on Umbridge's
orders - or maybe against them – he could be struggling with the cell-lifestyle, or it could be
an after-effect of the Dementor attack. Sirius privately thought it was the latter, but had no
idea what to do about it because Harry still wouldn't talk to him about it. Or anything much,
really.

Lunch came at twelve-thirty and the Auror guard changed at two. Rattler would always come
down with the next set of guards and he would play cards with Harry and whoever else
wanted to join in. Rattler would also throw at least one game every time they played, as an
excuse to reward Harry with a chocolate frog – Rattler's way of continually trying to make up
for the Dementors, Sirius thought, and genuinely appreciated it.

Someone always visited at about four. Usually it was Remus or Dumbledore – sometimes
they came together – and yesterday Snape had come too. He and Sirius had glowered at each
other, and Snape had made loud, rather pointed comments about Remus and the impending
full moon. Sirius had been annoyed at that – and a little curious, because Snape had been
giving Sirius pointed looks all the while – and had come to Remus' defence on more than one
occasion. That, thankfully, gave Remus an excuse to be a little kinder to Sirius. It was nice to
be able to speak civilly to each other again, even if they did have to throw in an offhand
insult every now and then.

Visitors were sent out when dinner arrived at seven, and after that, bedtime was whenever
they felt like it, though the guard changed at eleven and the Aurors hadn't yet managed to pull
that off quietly. Sleep wasn't exactly easy after eleven either; Aurors on nightshift were
required to make hourly reports to Scrimgeour, which often woke Sirius, and even if that
hadn't, Harry would have.

He spent the nights muttering and flailing around in the bed beside Sirius'. Sirius woke him
up – Harry would be disoriented and not remember much at all before dropping back into
uneasy sleep – several times a night, but between one and five, sleep was generally
undisturbed.

Sirius was waiting excitedly for it to get to one, so that he could sleep; Harry's watch, which
lay beside his glasses on the floor, said it was just after twelve.
"No," Klenner muttered, from her chair by the door. "No- stop it." Sirius saw Hemsley prod
her; she snorted and her head lolled onto her shoulder, and thankfully she fell silent. Harry
was embarrassed in the mornings – he always apologised to the Aurors on nightshift – but
Sirius didn't think he needed to be; most of them talked in their sleep just as much as he did.

"Lucky us, huh?" Sirius said dryly, from his corner.

"Yeah," Hemsley said, glumly. He'd been told to take time off to deal with losing – well, she
wasn't dead, but she might as well be – McDuff, who'd been his partner in every sense of the
word; lots had changed since Sirius himself was an Auror, but that hadn't. Hemsley'd taken
two days off and then come back to work a nightshift. Sirius had heard him shouting at
Scrimgeour that afternoon, and obviously he'd managed to talk his way out of any more time
off. Sirius didn't blame him; it was best to keep living.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said quietly.

"What do you care if she's dead?" Hemsley asked, looking over with tired, red-rimmed eyes.
"You didn't- you never got along with her."

"No," Sirius agreed. It was true; he and James had never seen eye to eye with McDuff and
Hemsley – the four of them had gone through Auror training together – and they'd been
enemies in the Auror exam. Both of them were still Aurors now – or had been, in McDuff's
case - so obviously they'd turned out all right. "Doesn't mean she deserved to die," Sirius
said, unable to find a better word. Hemsley grunted and went back to staring at the roof.

"It's a clue," Klenner said, breaking the silence. Then she muttered something about a dragon
and let out another snore. Hemsley sighed and nudged her again. Sirius looked at the watch
and grinned; there wasn't long now.

Then, as if on cue, Harry rolled over and started to mutter incoherently into his pillow.

"I'm just going to lock up."

"I'll see you soon." Moving. Harry was moving. He couldn't see anything – maybe his eyes
were closed, or maybe he just didn't remember. Maybe his eyesight had been bad, even then.
It was all too easy to imagine the cottage though, and the hallway. He'd been there now, after
all. A thump. Running footsteps.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

Laughter, high and cold.

"Avada Kedavra."A thump.

Strangled breathing, and her steady, almost silent, "No. No, James, no, no, no, no, no..." A
choked sob. A door slamming. Scraping noises. Harry'd seen enough of his nursery to guess
she was barricading the door. Pressure – a bit like Apparating, but warmer. "James?!
James! James!" Then nothing. Silence. A step creaking as someone came upstairs. A bang
and a scraping sound. And no more warmth, no more pressure. Just something spongy
beneath his feet. "Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside now!"

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-"

"This is my last warning-"

"Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please- I'll do
anything-"

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" Silence. Almost ten seconds of it. Then a spoken spell and a
flash of blinding, sickly green light. Another thump, this one muffed by carpet, and then
darkness again. Soft footsteps.

"Avada Kedavra." Green light again, and then screaming. He wasn't sure whose.

Harry gasped and clapped a hand to his scar seconds before his eyes flew open. The air
tingled and then Sirius heard the shower shatter again.

"Kiddo," Sirius said, watching the expression on Harry's face change from scared to angry to
confused in the space of a few seconds. "Harry?" Sirius caught Hemsley's eye – he looked
ready to come over – and nodded to say Harry was all right. Hemsley leaned back into his
chair, and fixed the shower with a flick of his wand before Harry could notice it and feel
guilty.

"Padfoot?" Harry said, frowning a bit.

"You all right?" Sirius asked.

"Dream," Harry said, shrugging.

Hadn't noticed, Sirius thought, rolling his eyes, but he couldn't help the fond smile that crept
onto his face. "A bad one?"

Harry just shrugged again – Sirius didn't miss the evasive gesture - and said, "Sorry for
waking you up-"

"I wasn't asleep," Sirius said, wondering what sort of good dream could leave Harry looking
angry and scared. He glanced at Harry's watch – it was quarter-to, so hopefully this would be
it for the night – or for a few hours at least. "Do you want to talk about it?" Sirius asked.
Harry was still yet to explain why he didn't want to be Obliviated. Sirius was counting on him
to blurt the reason out at some point, but he'd been tight-lipped about it so far.

"What's to say?" Harry asked, his eyelids starting to droop again.

"What it was?" Sirius suggested – Harry wouldn't remember this conversation, he didn't
think.
"Don't think about it," Harry muttered. "Don't think about it."

"What?"

"Nothing," Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Am I bleeding?"

"No," Sirius said, a little alarmed. "Why?"

"Hurts," was all Harry managed before his eyes closed completely.

His scar hurts...? Sirius didn't know all that much about the scar. He intended to corner
Dumbledore for a chat as soon as his trial was over – if Sirius ever got his trial, and with the
way everyone was avoiding the matter, he was beginning to doubt that he would – and hear
the Headmaster's theories on the scar. Sirius hesitated before shaking Harry awake again.
Harry blinked and squinted up at him.

"Padfoot?"

"It hurts?" Sirius said.

"What does?" Harry asked, and Sirius chuckled.

"Your scar," Sirius said. Harry's eyes widened a little more and he reached up to touch it.

"How'd you know that?" Harry asked, looking dumbfounded. Sirius chuckled again.

"You told me." Harry looked even more bewildered. "Why does it hurt?" Sirius pressed.

"You tell me," Harry muttered. "You know more than I do, apparently."

When's a good dream scary? Sirius wondered. "Did you knock it?"

"Dunno," Harry said, but he was obviously lying. "I- yeah, I must have." Sirius snorted. In
Sirius' limited experience, the scar didn't bother Harry at all – except when people stared at it,
Harry had told him – but Sirius remembered it itched around the locket.

Voldemort, maybe? Sirius wondered, squinting at Harry, who shifted and wouldn't meet his
eyes. Sirius knew, with a strange, chilling conviction, that he was right – or partly right. It
wasn't a nice feeling. He's not around now, though, is he? Sirius wondered, gazing into the
corners of the cell. Hemsley's dim wandlight reached all the way around – white was an easy
colour to illuminate – and it was empty. We're safe in the Ministry, though. He can't be
here. Sirius was uncomfortably aware that Dementors had made it down – ten of them – and
that no one had found them for hours. Not that safe, really. Sirius stood up and Hemsley
looked over.

"Black?" Sirius padded over to the cell door and Hemsley followed his progress with his
wand, obviously disconcerted. Sirius peered out through the bars of the door at the dark
chamber. He could just see Mad-Eye, asleep in a chair, and Dora struggling to stay awake,
her wand barely lit in her lap. Otherwise, it was empty, and the lift doors were shut. "Black?"
Hemsley whispered.
"Bring that over here," Sirius said, waving the Auror over. "I need light." It was best to be
sure. Hemsley muttered something under his breath but he got up and came over and in the
dim light, Sirius could see that yes, aside from Mad-Eye and Dora, it was empty. "All good,"
he whispered, when Dora looked up, worried. "Thanks," he said to Hemsley, and climbed
back into bed. Harry was still awake, the lack of light making his face seem paler and his
eyes darker.

Maybe it was the dream that had hurt Harry. Maybe... maybe he'd dreamed of Voldemort?
Sirius frowned, not liking that thought much more than he had liked the idea of Voldemort
being there in person. But Harry hadn't said it was a bad dream and Sirius couldn't imagine
Voldemort being present in a good dream. He glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye.
He was lying down again, head on his pillow, but his eyes were still open, and tired in a way
that had nothing to do with lack of sleep.

"Was it a memory?" Sirius asked softly, and Harry, surprisingly, just nodded. He didn't look
at Sirius, but Sirius felt like the barrier between them had come down, or thinned. It was a
bittersweet feeling, given the cause, because abruptly, Sirius understood. Harry had never
seen Voldemort – they'd all been so careful with him, and with little Neville Longbottom too
– never, until that night. And so, any memory Harry had of Voldemort could only come from
one time. Pieces of the puzzle that had confused Sirius for days, fell into place, one by one.

Of course it couldn't be a happy memory, not when Voldemort had forced his way into the
house and murdered Lily and James, but how could it be a bad memory, when it was – as far
as Sirius knew - the only memory Harry had of his parents? He'd treasure it for that alone,
and hate it for the rest, and Sirius understood that only too well, because it was uncannily
close to the way he felt whenever Peter popped up in one of his own memories.

Sirius wondered how much detail Harry had seen it in – probably a lot, given how long the
Dementors had stuck around for – and wondered if he'd ever know for sure. It wasn't the sort
of thing he could see Harry sharing.

But he could have at least explained what the memory was, Sirius thought. If anyone's got
any hope of understanding... Sirius had even seen James and Lily die – once as a Boggart
(only James, though), and millions of times in his dreams in Azkaban – and he'd seen their
real bodies, when he arrived at the cottage too late. Harry knew about the latter – the former
wasn't something that Sirius had ever felt comfortable sharing, or thought Harry would want
to hear.

Maybe Harry thought he wouldn't understand... or perhaps he was trying to spare Sirius from
the horrors of that night. It would be a very Harry-ish thing to do. Or maybe it was the
opposite. Maybe, he was scared that Sirius would ask questions. Sirius glanced over and
Harry looked away at once, almost fearfully and Sirius decided it was a combination of all
three – and maybe more things he hadn't even thought of.

I wouldn't ask him what happened, though, would I? Sirius was ashamed to admit he didn't
know the answer to that. He'd managed to build a reasonable guess of Halloween's sequence
of events; he'd seen the state of the cottage, James in the hallway, his wand on the couch in
the next room and Lily's in the kitchen, while Lily herself had been upstairs in the ruined
nursery. He'd accepted that – as well informed as he was, and as logical as his guesses were –
he'd never know exactly what had happened. No one would. But now, someone did.

And it meant Sirius could have answers, not only to the order of events, but to other things
that had been bothering him for years. Had Voldemort killed them straight away or had he
toyed with them first? What had their last words been? Had they even tried to defend
themselves, or had they given up the moment Voldmort arrived? Had they been scared? Had
they been angry? Had they blamed Sirius for trusting Peter, who'd betrayed them? Sirius
would give his left hand to know, but he'd give up his wand hand before he ever asked Harry
for those answers.

It was well after one, but Sirius didn't think he'd be sleeping tonight after all. He looked at
Harry again, and this time, Harry just looked back. Sirius didn't know what his face looked
like, but somehow it reassured Harry; his young face relaxed and Sirius felt the last of the
barrier between them disintegrate.

Harry slid out of his bed and came to curl up next to Sirius. Sirius was reasonably sure he
was crying, but it was hard to know for certain, because Harry promptly buried his face in
Sirius' robes, the way he had when they'd visited Godric's Hollow on Halloween. Sirius
wrapped an arm around his godson's shaking shoulders and used his other hand to tuck the
blankets around him. Harry settled surprisingly quickly, and was soon muttering nonsense –
real nonsense, not nightmare nonsense – into the quiet cell again.

But, despite the fact that Harry wasn't having another bad dream, that Sirius was reasonably
comfortable – though perhaps in danger of falling off the narrow bed – and very tired, sleep
didn't come for Sirius that night.

"It's nice of you to join us, Madam Umbridge," Lucius said politely, as Umbridge closed the
office door. It was an office that was only used when senior members of the Wizengamot
wanted to confer before, after – and occasionally during – a trial. He'd used it as a meeting
place during his Death Eater days, and since the Dark Lord fell, he'd used it when he needed
to meet privately in the Ministry. It served its purpose well, since no one ever came this deep,
and those that did generally only passed through.

"Mr Malfoy," she said sweetly. "Cornelius." She didn't greet Dawlish, and Lucius could tell
how much that irked the Auror.

"Dolores," Fudge said nervously. "Have a seat, my dear."

"Thank you," she said primly, pulling up the seat beside Lucius. She looked a little
apprehensive; Lucius had been breathing down the back of her neck for a week, trying to get
her to discredit Black because he - Lucius - wanted Potter under his control. Hogwarts was
only a year and a half away and Lucius suspected they'd need as much time as they could get
to change Potter, and also to change Draco back. Umbridge was a practical woman, though
and knew that Lucius was the one who made things happen - not her beloved Fudge.

"Thank you for coming," Fudge said. His hat sat on the dusty desk now, and he was wringing
a handkerchief instead. "I suppose you all want to know why I've asked you here?" Dawlish
perked up and Lucius managed to stop his snort just in time; the man lived for praise.

"I had wondered," Lucius said, adopting a curious expression. It was painfully obvious that
Fudge was struggling with the burdens of being Minister - for the millionth time in his year-
long reign - and needed help. He'd probably already written to Dumbledore - a bad habit that
both Lucius and Umbridge were trying to wean him off of - and had now called in those he
considered loyal to help him puzzle it out.

"I need help," Fudge admitted. Both Umbridge and Dawlish looked as if they'd expected it,
and the three of them shared a long-suffering look that was missed by the preoccupied
Minister.

"It's a wonder you've made it this long," Lucius said, mustering his smarmiest look. "A lesser
man wouldn't have lasted an hour under the pressure you've been carrying." Fudge puffed his
chest out, looking cheered. Lucius hid a grimace; he didn't think Fudge's astounding
composure was anything to admire. He thought it was that Fudge genuinely hadn't realised
how much of a mess he'd made of an already difficult situation. The man had an ability to
delude himself into believing things were perfectly fine.

It was useful - Lucius wouldn't have anywhere near as much control over him if he wasn't so
oblivious – but it was also irritating, because it required a lot more work on Lucius' part.
Frankly, if Lucius had wanted to be the Minister, he already would be.

"Well said, Mr Malfoy," Dawlish said, nodding. Umbridge shot Lucius a dirty look – perhaps
upset that she hadn't been the one to comfort Fudge – and then clasped her hands in her lap,
waiting. Lucius imagined her expression was similar to a toad's might be when it was waiting
for a fly, though he couldn't be sure; he refused to let the Manor's pond be home to any of the
creatures.

"It's Black," Fudge said, looking miserable again. Lucius' lip curled, Umbridge made a noise
– a croak? Lucius wondered, smirking – and Dawlish growled.

"Bloody Black," Dawlish said, suddenly furious. "He's won Scrimgeour over now, the
menace! He didn't die when the Dementors came to see him, and now all of a sudden he's
respected and trusted. I'd like to hex the moron responsible for that little stunt – send them
right off to Azkaban with Black, I say!" Umbridge's face soured at that, which Lucius thought
was interesting. He tucked his suspicions away for later use.

"Bones and Rattler too – I still think you made a mistake giving up your job thirteen years
ago when you went to play Auror," Umbridge said irately, her bulging eyes fixed on Dawlish.
So did Lucius – Dawlish, at least, had been corruptible. His successors Crouch – who'd held
the position until two years ago – and now Bones and Rattler, were entirely too professional,
which was good for the Ministry, but bad for Lucius.

Dawlish flushed and said, "I don't play! And I'm well on track to replace Scrimgeour when he
messes up-"

"Scrimgeour's been Head of the Auror Department since Charlus Potter died." Lucius had
been so relieved at the time, but Scrimgeour, unfortunately, had proven himself every bit as
capable as Potter had ever been. "He's had thirteen years to 'mess up', Dawlish, and it's yet to
happen. I'd hope for his retirement, personally." Dawlish flushed again; he was the same age
as Scrimgeour and doubtless didn't like the reminder. "Or perhaps not..." Lucius added slyly.

"Very capable, Scrimgeour, yes," Fudge said distractedly. He had his hat again. "But if he
keeps supporting Black... might have to step in...doesn't look good, doesn't look good at all."
Dawlish was positively grinning; there was no question that he'd be promoted to Head Auror
if Scrimgeour was forced aside. The Auror Department would doubtless want to promote
someone like Robards or that lunatic Moody, but Fudge would have the final say, and Fudge
would do what Lucius told him to, and appoint Dawlish.

"So, Black?" Umbridge prompted.

"It's been a week and we can't keep him down there forever."

"It would be nice, though," Lucius muttered. Fudge chuckled, but he looked worried.

"I don't know what to do; I'd send him right back to Azkaban if I could, but he's got Potter
and we can't take Potter from him without a trial. Even if we could, those vultures at
the Prophet would be all over it, calling us cowards and Scrimgeour and Bones wouldn't let
me just-"

"You're the Minister for Magic!" Umbridge said indignantly. "You should be allowed to do
whatever you like!"

"It doesn't work like that," Fudge said, wringing his hat – Lucius imagined it was going to
look rather out-of-shape by the time they were finished here. "I can't- people-" Fudge offered
no more explanation than that, but expected them all to understand.

"I say send Black back to Azkaban on the next available Portkey," Umbridge said. "You're
the Minister. Everyone else will accept your decision."

"Scrimgeour wouldn't let that happen," Dawlish said, shaking his head.

"Cornelius is the Minister-"

"And Scrimgeour is Head Auror," Lucius said, exasperated. "Yes," he said, cutting Umbridge
off, "his ultimate loyalty is to the Ministry and to yourself, Minister, but at present, Black is
in Auror custody and I doubt Scrimgeour will take it well if you start meddling in his
Department."

"Scrimgeour needs to be reminded of who's in control, then," Fudge muttered.

"Undoubtedly," Lucius agreed. "But not right now, when so much rests on Black and his
fate."

"What do you suggest then, Mr Malfoy?" Umbridge asked, and Lucius smiled, satisfied; they
were hanging off his every word.
"That we give Black his trial." Three incredulous pairs of eyes latched onto his face, and
Lucius basked in the attention.

"I'd be a laughing stock- Prophet fodder!" Fudge stammered, aghast.

"You don't honestly think there's any chance of Black being proven innocent?" Lucius asked,
disbelievingly. "Even if he had Dumbledore on his side, all the facts point to Black being
responsible for the Potters' murders."

"Doesn't have a Mark," Fudge said, making Lucius awkwardly aware of his own, though the
room's other occupants seemed to have forgotten, thankfully.

"True," Lucius admitted, "but we know Black must have been the Secret Keeper. He was
James Potter's best friend – Harry Potter's godfather! Even if Black says he wasn't the Secret
Keeper, who is there that can support his claim? The Potters? He killed them!" Pettigrew
certainly wasn't going to show up and even if he did, somehow, grow a conscience, Lucius
would forcibly stop him from going. Pettigrew knew too much. "Black can't get off without
evidence, even if he manages to invent a plausible explanation for his actions." And Black's
only evidence was Pettigrew.

"So Black's convicted-" Dawlish began thoughtfully.

"-and sent right back to Azkaban," Lucius said. "The Ministry will look good for giving that
criminal the chance to have his say – it'll shut Black up, because once he's had his trial, he
can't very well ask for another one – and the wizarding public will feel safer."

"And if he escapes again?" Dawlish asked, and Fudge looked like he might faint. "Then
what?"

"He'll be questioned, of course. Once he's convicted, the Ministry has every right to use
whatever means they deem necessary to extract answers, be that by Veritaserum,
Legillimency, or by any other method of interrogation. Once we have the answers, measures
can be taken to prevent his escape." Dawlish was nodding, and Lucius swooped in to deal the
final blow. "Of course, if we play this properly, we can take Scrimgeour down with him."

"How?" Dawlish and Fudge asked together.

"Simple," Lucius said, smirking. "Speak to one of the Prophet's reporters tomorrow, once the
date's been set for the trial. Express your... concerns that Scrimgeour's grown close to the
case, and rather friendly with Black, and that you hope the trial will be a fair one, in spite of
that. The reporters will do the rest." Dawlish was nodding again, and Fudge looked
impressed. "When Black's convicted, you, Minister, will then have every right to demote
Scrimgeour for his unprofessional approach."

"I like it," Dawlish announced, and Fudge nodded.

Of course you do, Lucius thought smugly. "A guilty ruling for Black is enough to nullify his
guardianship of the Potter boy-"
"He'll still be in the hands of his aunt, then," Umbridge said. "She filled out the forms before
Black-"

"The muggle will lose all credibility when Black's convicted. No doubt Dumbledore will try
to play that card, but Potter clearly won't be safe in the hands of a woman who was prepared
to pass him to Black. Find him a good home, Dolores, and people will quickly forget that you
let him be given to Black in the first place." Umbridge looked determined to save her
reputation, just as Lucius had expected. She'd be willing to participate in this.

"I can only see one problem with this," Dawlish said.

"Oh?" Lucius asked.

"Well," Dawlish said, "once the plans for the trial are announced, Black, by law, needs to be
kept in isolation." That was to ensure he wasn't able to corrupt his guards, or enchant them,
Lucius knew. Dementors were used.

"We'll sort something out," Fudge said, looking flustered.

"We'll have to," Dawlish muttered. "Black should have been kept in isolation from the very
beginning."

"He was," Fudge said pitifully. "But then he got Potter and we had to take Black out of
isolation to keep Potter safe-"

"Arrangements still should have been made," Dawlish said curtly. "Isolation's necessary
before a trial-"

"He wasn't going to get a trial!" Fudge bellowed, his face a horrible purplish colour. He
looked extremely embarrassed. "That's the problem here! We haven't been following Ministry
procedure because we needed people in there to protect Potter, and to try to find some sort of
evidence that Black should go right back to Azkaban."

"And how's that working out?" Dawlish muttered, obviously embarrassed that Fudge had
shouted at him.

"Poorly, because now he's getting a trial and he'll be difficult – of that I have no doubts
whatsoever!"

"It's not too late to repair the damage," Lucius said smoothly. "We just need to take the
appropriate steps."

"We need incorruptible guards, not Scrimgeour and his lot!" Umbridge agreed.
"Especially, once the trial's announced and Black needs to be isolated. The Dementors-"

"Dementors are out of the question with Potter down there," Lucius said, shaking his head.

"Yes, but meanwhile, Black's gathering supporters!" Fudge said, looking alarmed by the idea.
"We can't very well take away the Aurors and leave Potter alone with Black-"
"Scrimgeour'd tell you otherwise," Dawlish muttered.

"Perhaps, then, we need to take Potter out," Lucius said, pleased they'd reached this, the final
and most important part of his plan. "It seems to me that the problem in all of this is Potter;
the Aurors won't be allowed down there once Black's in isolation, but Potter can't be left
unguarded, and neither can he be left down there with Dementors."

"Black won't let Potter out of his sight," Umbridge said, rolling her eyes.

"He might if it means he gets his trial," Lucius said. "Black was an Auror – he'll understand
the isolation law. Besides, it'll only be temporary, as far as Black's concerned. He'll get Potter
back once he's proven his innocence."

"Which'll never happen," Umbridge said. "But what do you suggest we do with Potter in the
meantime?"

"There's always Bones' office again," Dawlish said, but that idea was discarded immediately.
Everyone lapsed into thought, but it didn't escape Lucius' notice that all eyes were on him,
waiting for another good idea. Lucius pretended to think – he'd had the solution to this before
arriving at the Ministry that morning, but he didn't want it to look that way – and then
frowned thoughtfully.

"The Potter boy will stay with me, of course."

"Severus," Dumbledore said jovially, as Severus was let into the cell by an Auror whose
name he didn't know. Potter looked up – he and Rattler were throwing a ball back and
forward,while the Headmaster shuffled Exploding Snap cards. Potter mumbled a hello and
then snapped his hand up, just in time to catch the ball.

"Wonderful," Black groused, from over on the beds. "Twice in two days – aren't we lucky."

"I was going to say the same," Severus said, taking in Black's appearance. He was pale and
the shadows under his eyes were more pronounced than they had been the day before.

"You came to us," Black said irritably. And a short temper. Any doubts Severus had
harboured - about whether Black had told him the truth about being a monster like Lupin -
vanished. And it seemed, since Black was still in here, that everyone else was oblivious.

"Are you feeling quite well, Black?" Severus asked, hoping Black would just admit to his
condition. That way, the Aurors could take the steps they needed to, and ensure Potter's
safety, as well as their own. Black's irritation gave way to confusion.

"What do you care, Sniv-" Potter cleared his throat and Black pulled a face in the boy's
direction. "-Snape?" Obviously, if Black and Potter were back to their face-pulling
familiarity, they'd mended whatever problem had been affecting them lately.

"Lupin's ill at the moment too, as I understand it," Severus said, and Black seemed to think
for a moment before grimacing. "I was wondering if that's mere coincidence, or if it's the
same ailment, perhaps?" Potter had paused to listen; the ball hit his shoulder and bounced off.
Rattler retrieved it, while Black's eyes followed it across the floor before lifting to meet
Severus'. "We wouldn't want Potter to contract anything in Ministry custody, would we?"

"I don't think not sleeping is contagious," Black said, and Severus stared at him, somewhat
disappointed.

"The cause might be," he sneered, and then jumped as the cards Dumbledore was shuffling
exploded. "Honestly," he said, extinguishing the Headmaster's beard with a wave of his wand.

"Are you concerned for the boy, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, collecting his cards.

Yes! Severus wanted to shout. In a few short hours, Black's going to be a physical monster –
as if his brutish mental side wasn't enough – and Potter's going to be stuck in here with
him! If his promises – to himself, to Dumbledore, and to Lily's grave weren't enough
incentive to keep the boy safe, then the thought of a furious Narcissa Malfoy was more than
enough. A dead Potter would ruin her plans.

The ball slipped out of Rattler's hands and rolled toward Black, who promptly pounced on it.
It was disturbingly canine, and Severus' worry increased.

"Er... Padfoot?" Potter said, looking torn between shock and laughter. Black tossed the ball at
Rattler and sat down again, looking sheepish.

"Might I have a word with Potter?" Severus heard himself ask. "Alone?"

"Severus-?" Dumbledore began, as Black glanced at Potter. Potter shrugged, but his eyes
were wide, almost fearful.

"I'll be brief," Severus said, gesturing for the brat to follow.

"You can't take the boy," Scrimgeour said. Both he and the other Auror were frowning.

"I have no desire to keep him," Severus sneered.

"Talk in here," Scrimgeour insisted. "We'll leave-"

"And take Black with you, I suppose?" Severus said. They all exchanged uncomfortable
looks. "I thought as much. You may be content to spend time alone with him, but I am not
and I refuse to have him present while I speak with Potter."

"Harry can go," Black said slowly. "I'm a prisoner but that doesn't mean Harry can't leave."
Scrimgeour looked ready to protest. "I'm his guardian," Black said, arching an eyebrow.
"You'd better be quick, though," he warned, and Snape nodded. "And if you do anything to
upset him, I swear to Merlin I'll-"

"Cause me bodily harm, I'm sure," Severus said, rolling his eyes. "Come, Potter."

"Severus, just what-" Knowing he'd regret it later, Severus held the door open for Potter and
they both left before Dumbledore could finish articulating his question.
"Potter!?" the Auror on guard outside the cell exclaimed. "Mr Snape-"

"It is Professor Snape, Miss Dale," Severus snapped; he'd taught the girl for seven years and
she still couldn't get his title right.

"Are you allowed to take the boy?" the Auror in charge of Dale asked, standing. His hand
hovered over his pocket, where his wand undoubtedly rested.

"By all means check," Severus snapped, and once the other trainee – Hill was his name – had
confirmed it with Scrimgeour, Dale and the other Auror stepped aside to let them through.

"So," Potter said, as they entered the lift. "What's this about, sir?" Severus said nothing until
they were past the third set of Aurors – who also wanted to question them – and upstairs, on
Level Ten. Severus couldn't hear anyone, but he knew from experience that that didn't always
mean they were alone. He cast a silent charm to detect the nearest person and it was triggered
by a group of four down the corridor, but they were far enough away that he wouldn't need to
worry about them. "Sir?" Potter said.

"Potter," Severus said irritably. "As I have brought you up here to talk to you, do you really
expect that I will not do so?"

"Er... no?" Potter said, looking confused.

"Then kindly wait for me to start the conversation in my own time." Potter watched him with
an odd expression and then started off down the corridor. "Where are you going?"

"I'm just stretching my legs," Potter said over his shoulder. "I won't go far, I promise."

"So you say," Severus said, just loud enough for Potter to hear.

Potter put his hands in his pockets – Severus heard something, like parchment in one of them
– and then fixed those green eyes on Severus. They had an uncanny, Dumbledore-like sparkle
in them. "Since I came up here to listen to you, do you really think I'm not going to?"

Why you insolent, little- Severus closed his eyes and retreated a few steps into his mind to
inhale the fumes of a Calming Drought he had brewing in his head – it was a mental
relaxation technique he'd developed recently, to help him deal with the Weasley twins. He let
out a deep breath and opened his eyes. Potter was waiting patiently, eyes still gleaming.
Severus' lip curled.

"I won't tolerate your cheek," Severus told him. Potter pushed his glasses up, waiting, and
Severus gave in. "I wanted to speak to you about Black's condition."

"What condition?" Potter asked blankly. Severus was losing patience very quickly.

"His lycanthropy," Severus hissed, throwing his hands up in the air.

"His- oh," Potter said, his mouth quirking up. "That." Severus closed his eyes and mentally
drank a cup of the Calming Drought. He counted to ten and then opened his eyes.
"Yes," he said stiffly. "That. What do you intend to do about it?"

"Not much," Potter said, shrugging. "It shouldn't be a problem."

"Not a- idiot boy! Black is enough of a monster when he's in his right mind!" Potter's face
darkened. "He will be unable to control himself once the moon rises and the fact that Black's
your godfather will not keep you safe!"

"It'll be fine," Potter said, obviously still annoyed by the monster comment. "And if you
wouldn't mind, I'd like to go back to-"

"Your father was the same," Severus spat, his control snapping. "He trusted Black – thought
Black could do no wrong, that he'd never hurt anyone – but Black was the one who picked
Pettigrew, remember, Potter? Black is capable of murder-" Severus knew that only too well.
"-more so tonight than any other night-"

"He's not going to hurt me!" Potter said angrily, but his face was grey. Severus felt a twinge
of guilt. Potter was just a boy- Potter's boy, though. The guilt faded. "I'm going back
downstairs," Potter told him.

Why doesn't he understand that I'm trying to protect him!?

"Downstairs to get yourself killed!" Severus strode forward and grabbed Potter's wrist. Potter
seemed too startled to do anything about it. Severus would keep the boy overnight – it was
the only option. He'd tell them all that Potter confessed his fear of Black during their talk and
Severus took him away to protect him. It wasn't all that far from the truth. "Let's go." He
tugged on Potter's arm and Potter stumbled after him.

"What- but the- the lift's that way-"

"We're not going back. Not tonight," Severus snapped.

"Padfoot won't hurt me," Potter protested, trying to pull Severus' hand off.

I hope you appreciate this, Lily, Severus thought, gritting his teeth. "This is not up for
discussion." Potter said a word that he must have learned from Black. "Say that in my hearing
again, and I'll Scourgify your tongue," he said.

"Sirius isn't a werewolf!" Potter yelled, digging in his heels. Severus stopped and released
Potter.

"I beg your pardon?" Severus asked, his lip curling. Potter glared up at him, red-faced, and
rubbed his wrist.

"You heard-"

"Severus?"

"Harry?!" Severus turned to see Fudge, Lucius and Umbridge striding toward them. Another
person had disappeared around the corner at the end of the corridor.
"Hi, Minister," Potter said, sounding resigned. "Madam Umbridge, Mr Malfoy."

"This is most unusual," Lucius said, arching an eyebrow at Severus.

"The boy's aunt wanted me to give him a message," Severus said. It was the first thing that
came to mind and he was a good enough liar that they believed him.

"What message?" Umbridge asked nosily.

"If it was for you to hear, I'd tell you," Severus said, curling his lip. Umbridge's face turned
the same nasty pink as the rest of her.

"We were just on our way back to the cell," Potter added, his eyes daring Snape to disagree
with him.

"We'll take him," Lucius said, bestowing Potter with a wide smile. Potter smiled back
distractedly. "We're headed down there right now."

"Sounds good," Potter said, glowering at Snape again.

"I'm not quite done-" Snape began.

"I am," Potter said flatly. "Tell my aunt that I'm happy and safe with P- Sirius and thanks
again for bringing the forms."

"Come along then, Harry," Fudge said, patting the boy on the shoulder. The four walked back
toward the lift, leaving Severus standing there. Potter glanced back and raised an eyebrow as
if to say, 'I win'.

Severus thought he might need to take a bath in the Calming Drought to recover completely,
but he settled for another goblet-full. He took another deep breath. If Potter was telling the
truth, and not just trying to make me let go... Severus couldn't decide if he'd be more relieved,
or more infuriated that he'd been lied to in the first place. If Potter had been lying... No one
can say I didn't try, he thought grimly. Potter's death will be because of his own stubborn,
misguided trust, and I refuse to have that on my conscience.

"You came back," Fenrir breathed, dragging himself along the floor of his cell to the barred
wall. She was there again, and looked more composed than she had last time, though a little
ill; the moon was set to rise in a mere few hours.

"Apparently," she said, brushing a patch of dirt off the front of her robes. Her voice was a
little hoarse.

"You've come to free me, haven't you?" Fenrir asked, almost bursting with excitement at the
thought. He'd never admit it, but he was afraid of what would happen when the moon rose
tonight; the Dementors would steal any control he had, and in the confines of his tiny cell
without his pack to keep him company... it was the first time the moon had ever brought him
fear and not just savage delight.
"I told you before that I want you to rot," she said coolly, and it took him a moment to
process that.

"But you've changed your mind, haven't you? You've come to save your father. Such a good
daughter... such a good-"

"Shut up," she said, edging away from the cell. She looked disgusted, and it sent dagger
through him. "I still want you to rot."

"So... so you're going to leave me here?" he asked. "With them – with the Dementors?"

"No," she said. "I've been thinking."

"About me?" he asked, reaching out to her through the bars. His fingernail brushed the
bottom of her robes before she kicked his hand away.

"About you," she agreed, nodding. He withdrew his hand and she came closer. He could
touch her if he reached out, but didn't dare. It took him a moment to realise he was afraid of
her. That made her laugh, and it wasn't a nice sound. He wondered if she'd smelled it.
"Evanesco," she said, vanishing the small bed and his bedding.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Argentum," she said, flicking her wand at the toilet, partly concealed by a waist-level wall -
in the corner. It began to shine and Fenrir felt another prickle of fear.

"What are you doing?" he asked again, and this time, he edged away from her.

"Argentum," she said again, and this time, it was the bars between them that began to shine.
Fenrir positioned himself right in the middle of the cell, and watched her warily. The next
spell she said was much longer and he didn't catch all of it. The walls and floor of the cell
shimmered and for a moment, Fenrir felt like he was in a bubble. Then the feeling faded. He
was unharmed, he realised, with a surge of relief.

"What was that?"

"A spell," she said. "One I created." She tucked her wand away and met his gaze. Her eyes
were sad, but dry. "You're going to die, Father. But before you do, you're going to know what
it feels like to be hunted, like I was, and like all of my siblings were. You're going to be
scared, and you're going to hurt, and you're going be caught. And then you're going to know
what it feels like to lose everything."

"You're going to kill me?" he asked, not understanding. He was her father, her creator. They
were family.

"Yes. But I'm going to make you hate everything you are first. You love your wolf, don't
you?" Fenrir nodded, and one side of her mouth twisted up into a bitter smile. "I'm going to
take your weakness and use it to destroy you." Another gleam caught Fenrir's eye, and he saw
one of the bricks on the floor of his cell coat itself in silver.
"What- why'd it do that?" he demanded.

"Because I charmed it to," she told him. "And every minute, another one will change." Fenrir
looked at the floor and did a rough count of the bricks. Every minute... he had a few hours
until the entire floor was covered. He looked up at her and saw her watching him – something
told him that she knew the conclusions he'd reached. "Once the floor's done, it'll start on the
walls and the roof," she said matter-of-factly.

"But-" Fenrir paused as another brick changed. "Someone'll notice."

"Do you really think so?" she asked, sadly. He didn't – the Dementors were blind, and the
human guards would be keeping well away from his cell tonight because of the full moon.

"I thought you were supposed to be good," he said desperately. "You're one of them."

"I am," she said quietly. "But I was a monster first, thanks to you."

"Please," he said, edging forward a bit. If she came close enough, he'd grab her wand. Subdue
her. He was stronger than she was, even after a week and a half in Azkaban.

"I'll see you in hell, Father," she whispered. A fourth brick turned silver as she turned and
walked away.
 Trying times and trials

"Eurgh," Tonks said, wrinkling her nose. "You'd have to be thick to think you hadn't been
poisoned when it tastes like that!" She set the empty phial down and Gutnich – the Auror
supervising her this morning – chuckled.

"This one's nasty," he agreed. "But concentrate. What do you feel?"

"Dizzy," Tonks said. "Tired – that could just be because it's seven and we've already been at
this for hours-"

"Concentrate," he sighed.

"Keep your hair on," she muttered, but he didn't seem to hear her. "Dizzy," she said again,
shifting so her back was to the wall. "And sort of sick. Achy. And my eyes are itchy."

"Good," he said, and his voice sounded strange. "Can you suggest-" She didn't catch the end
of whatever it was he'd said.

"Hmm?" she asked blearily.

"An antidote," he said.

"Symptoms are pretty general," she said, rubbing her eyes. "Pretty much anything should
work."

"Name one."

"Antidote for Common Poisons," she managed to say.

"Good," he told her but she felt too faint to feel any pride. "Name an ingredient."

"Bezoar?" she asked.

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Telling," she said, trying to sound like she knew what she was talking about.

"Run," he told her.

"What?" She squinted at him through her puffy eyes – which she couldn't seem to fix, even
with her abilities.

"Run!" he bellowed and she got unsteadily to her feet. "Around the room until you can't go
anymore, and then pull your wand out and hold a Shield Charm for as long as possible."

Tonks stumbled forward, forcing her feet to move. Other trainees were running too – Tonks
staggered past Edwards and Brown with a grunted hello – Edwards was feeling her way
along the wall, apparently blind, and Brown was gasping, apparently struggling to breathe.

Next thing Tonks knew, she was lying down on a conjured bed, while a Healer fussed over
her.

"Bloody ridiculous," her Healer said, forcing a bottle of something into her hand. Her eyes
were so puffy she couldn't read the label. "Absolutely barmy, every single one of you. Drink
that." She swallowed it – it tasted a bit like orange juice – and blinked a few times, her vision
returning to normal. "Better?"

"Yeah, thanks," she said.

"Another one's down, sir," a younger Healer – only a trainee, Tonks thought – said, looking
mildly amused by his mentor's agitation. Her Healer cursed under his breath, and tossed
another bottle at Tonks before stalking away in a flurry of lime green to help Patel. Tonks
gulped down the second potion – this one was unpleasantly like drinking sea water – and then
hopped off the bed and made her way back to Gutnich.

"Wotcher," she said; McKinnon and Florence had taken her place and McKinnon seemed to
be sampling a poison. She was surprised to see them both – Florence hadn't come in at all
yesterday; she was still taking Melvin's death quite hard, Ben had told her, and McKinnon
had been skipping lessons lately too. McKinnon was sad about Melvin, but Tonks didn't think
that's what was bothering her. Something else was up.

"All right, Tonks?" Gutnich said.

"Fine," Tonks said, though her mouth still tasted funny. "When'd you two get here?" she
asked Florence.

"Ten minutes ago," Florence said, shrugging.

"Sleep in again?" Tonks asked, sympathetically; Florence always slept in – it wasn't

uncommon for her to miss a training session every week – but she'd been missing more
recently because of Melvin. She hadn't said anything, but Tonks thought it was safe to
assume she hadn't been sleeping well; she certainly looked worn out.

"It's ridiculous," Florence muttered, as McKinnon tottered over toward the Healers, looking
distinctly green. "I mean, really, whose bright idea was it to schedule a training at four in the
morning?"

"Is that a yes?" Tonks asked, amused by her irritation.

"Yes, I slept in," Florence grumbled, "but what do they expect? Four in the morning is
uncivilised!"

"We're going to be Aurors," Tonks reminded her, through a rather poorly timed yawn.
"Constant vigilance and all that."

"Ridiculous," Florence said.

"You know what's ridiculous?" Gutnich said, rapping them both over the head with his wand.
"Your current lack of attention. For the second time, Prewett, pick a poison. There's only half
an hour left and you haven't tried anything yet." Florence picked up a phial containing a
sludgy, bright purple mixture and uncorked it. She sniffed it and wrinkled her nose, before
holding it up.

"Cheers," she said, pulling a face.

The poison rendered her blind in about a minute, but she seemed remarkably relaxed about
the whole thing, and managed to walk around the room once – though she did collide rather
spectacularly with Yaxley, who was suffering poison-induced hallucinations and had a panic
attack – and was able to locate and administer the correct antidote upon arriving back.

McKinnon had returned too by that point and was talking quietly to Tonks. Any walls they'd
broken down in the months they'd been trainees together were back up, however; she seemed
as abrupt and detached as ever, and it frustrated Tonks to no end.

"I'm glad that's over," Tonks said, as she, Florence, McKinnon, Ben and Yaxley – who'd been
more or less inseparable since the Dementor attack in the holding cells – left through the
broom cupboard exit. Tonks could think of far worse outcomes to the Dementor incident than
spending time with Yaxley, and since Yaxley'd either revised her opinion of Tonks since
school, or was at least able to keep her opinions to herself, Tonks was more than willing to
tolerate her.

"Same," Ben groaned, itching absently at a lump on his neck – his poison had caused him to
break out in hives.

Florence – still blinking and readjusting to being able to see again - muttered, "I don't know
about you lot, but I'll be climbing straight back into bed – for a few hours at least." She and
Tonks were on Sirius and Harry duty that afternoon, with Shacklebolt.

"Same," Yaxley said, laughing, and then looked sheepish, as if she'd realised what she'd just
said, and who she'd said it too. Tonks caught Ben's eye and they both laughed, effectively
breaking the tension. It was a little forced, but no one seemed to notice. McKinnon attempted
to laugh a few seconds too late and the tension came rushing back.

Tonks was just searching for something to say – Ben appeared to be doing the same – when
Mad-Eye poked his head out of his office and called Tonks over.

"I'll see you lot tonight," she said. Florence hugged her, Yaxley smiled awkwardly,
McKinnon nodded and Ben mouthed, "Can I come too?"

"Nymphadora," Mad-Eye said, as she shut the door.

"Sir," she said, folding her arms. He looked troubled, though, and her glare softened. "Is
something wrong? Did Sirius-"

"Greyback's dead," he said, looking grim.

After Mad-Eye'd filled her in on the details – which were quite horrific and made her feel
queasy – and arranged for her to come around to be briefed on their new case, he dismissed
her. Tonks went home. Mum was at work , so she Apparated straight into the house –
startling Dad, who upended his porridge on Canis – and trudged down the hall to her
bedroom. She threw on a change of clothes – her current robes had a lingering poisonous
odour that she didn't like and didn't think Remus would appreciate – packed a bag, and
Disapparated to Remus' doorstep.

"Remus?" she called softly, knocking on the door.

"Oh, yes, be quiet now after you've just made a lot of noise Apparating," he called, and then
added, "I'm not opening the door. Let yourself in if you really have to." Fighting a smile – she
hadn't seen Remus this early after a full moon before, and his grouchy attitude was so foreign
to her – she opened the door and stepped inside. "I'm in here," he added, and she spotted him
sitting at the kitchen table.

One leg was propped up on a chair, bleeding steadily from a nasty wound on his ankle, and
his t-shirt was slung over the back of that same chair. His back and shoulders were covered in
long scratches and so, she could now see, were his arms. There was a massive book open on
the table, propped up against a small, bubbling cauldron, and Remus had bandages draped all
over his lap, the floor and what little space was left on the table.

"Horrible, isn't it?" he asked, without looking up.

It's just a bit of blood, she told herself, and took a moment to make sure her voice wouldn't
shake. "I brought chocolate," she offered. He lifted an arm and gingerly waved her over. She
sat down on his right, with her back to the kitchen bench and glanced at the cauldron, which
had an inky blue potion bubbling away inside it. "What's in there?"

"A bit of everything," he said, peering over the book – which was on healing magic – to look
at it. "It should speed up the healing, reduce scarring, and replenish a bit of blood." He picked
up a bottle of Dittany and dribbled it onto a cut on his forearm. It sizzled and closed, leaving
a very faint mark.

"Rough night, then?" she asked. He rolled his eyes, not bothering to answer. Instead of being
offended, she was amused. "Do you want help?" He grunted and relinquished the Dittany.
"There's not much here," she said, frowning.

"Really?" he asked sarcastically. She bristled, and he must have sensed it – or maybe smelled
it – because he sighed and said, "I know. This is the first time I've had to use my own healing
supplies in months. I didn't realise I was running low."

"St Mungo's?"

"What?" Tonks stepped around him and came to kneel down beside his injured leg.

"Do you usually go to St Mungo's?" She pushed his pyjama pant out of the way – cringing a
bit, because it was soaked in blood – and tried to decide where to start.
"Oh," he said. "No." He hesitated and then said, "A friend of mine fixes me up. He always
uses his own stuff."

"And he didn't come today?" she asked, frowning. She squeezed a few drops of Dittany onto
Remus' ankle and suspected it hurt a lot more than he let on; his hands curled into fists and
his lips whitened, but that was it.

"No," he said, sounding completely normal. She added a few more drops.

"He couldn't spare a few minutes to come and help you?" she asked, frowning; Remus
deserved better than that.

"It's not his fault!" Remus snapped, and Tonks was taken aback by his vehemence. They sat
in silence – Tonks a little stunned, Remus fuming – and then Tonks resumed her healing
work. Remus, apparently taken by surprise, hissed out a few words she'd never have expected
him to say and then managed to compose himself.

"Sorry," she said, grimacing. She examined his ankle, which was covered in drying blood and
still looked a bit red beneath that, but it had scarred over.

"It's fine," he muttered, wriggling his ankle.

"How's it feel?"

"Better." Applying Dittany wasn't difficult, but she still felt rather proud of her newfound
healing skills. She stood up and moved around to stand behind him. "Start with the worst
ones," he said, so she did.

"I've run out," she said, reaching around his shoulder – she made her arm grow a bit – to
show him the empty bottle.

"I don't suppose you know any healing charms?" he asked.

"Erm, no, sorry." She'd never had to worry with healing charms because she could simply
grow skin over any cuts she got. Anything worse than that and Mum would panic and drag
her to St Mungo's.

"Damn," he said.

"Sorry." He shrugged. "I can clean them for you, though."

"I'm already contaminated," he said. She swatted his head, and he turned around, scowling.
"Your bedside manner needs work."

"I'm an Auror, not a Healer," she said with dignity.

"You're a trainee," he corrected. She shook her head, fighting a smile and conjured a cloth
and warm water. Then she went and fetched salt from one of the kitchen cupboards and added
a few pinches of that. She finished his back and then made him look at her while she cleaned
the cut on his forehead. She accidentally got salt water in his eye, and she also tangled herself
up in bandages as she attempted to cover the wound, but eventually she managed to cocoon
the top of his head entirely.

"Done," she said, and then snorted; it looked a bit like he was wearing a bulky, white turban.
Remus prodded the bandages and sighed, but the corner of his mouth was twitching. "Is that a
smile, Remus?" she asked.

"Definitely not," he said seriously, but a small smile had settled on his face. Tonks found
herself grinning back, at least until she remembered the real reason for her visit. Her smile
faded and Remus looked worried. "Did I say som-"

"No," she assured him. "I- er... I've got some news for you, and I'm not quite sure how you're
going to take it."

"I see," he said evenly.

"How about that chocolate?" she said cheerily, grabbing her rucksack. Remus' eyes
brightened when she pulled out the block and passed it to him, but then he frowned. He
looked at it, and then looked at her and sighed.

"This is a bad idea," he said, passing it back.

"What?" she asked, not sure what he meant, but she was sure that she didn't like his serious
tone.

"I haven't had breakfast yet, so if you give me that, you won't be getting any."

"Oh." Tonks laughed and Remus gave her an odd look, obviously wondering
what she'd thought he meant. Tonks didn't know what she'd thought, and would have
welcomed his opinion on the matter, but he didn't give one. He just leaned back, adjusting his
turban – a loop of bandage had escaped and was dangling over his eye – and gave her a
small, slightly troubled smile. She snapped two rows of chocolate off and kept them for
herself before offering Remus the rest; he'd need it more than she did once he heard about
Greyback, and he probably needed the sugar after last night.

He ate some of it right away – grinning the whole time, apparently unable to help himself –
and then he poured the contents of his little cauldron into a teacup and gulped that down.
Tonks wrinkled her nose.

"Multipurpose healing potion and chocolate?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "I'll bet that's
an appetising combination."

"It's the breakfast of champions," he said, with dignity as he devoured another row of
chocolate. Tonks nibbled on her own piece, amused. "So, what's this news?" Tonks opened
her mouth, closed it and then steeled herself.

Just spit it out, a voice in the back of her head told her. It sounded a bit like Mad-Eye.
"Greyback's dead." Remus froze. She'd expected a reaction – laughing, or yelling, or at least
disbelief – but he just sat very still. He didn't even look shocked, just blank.
"Remus?" she asked, tapping lightly on the side of his bandaged head. Abruptly, his eyes
focused and he turned to look at her. And there was the reaction she'd been looking for; hope,
disbelief, worry, joy, confusion and a million other things flitted across his face. The result
was an odd, almost pained expression that made him look like he was either going to burst
out laughing or crying.

"How?" he asked hoarsely.

"It was quite... disturbing, apparently. Mad-Eye was shaken; his cell – the bars, the floor, the
walls, the roof – even the toilet! – turned to silver. He... er... well... his body-"

"I can imagine," Remus said faintly. "So silver poisoning..." He shook his head. "That's mad!
I always imagined he'd- well, I don't know what I imagined, actually, but it wasn't-"

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I don't- it's strange, trying to wrap my head around it... He's dead!" Remus said, and let out a
little, disbelieving laugh. "Do they know who did it?"

"That's my new case," Tonks said, shrugging, and then flushed. "I probably shouldn't have
told-"

"I didn't hear a word," Remus promised. He reached up, as if to run his hand through his hair,
but rubbed the bandages instead. "Merlin. He's dead. Murdered." He still didn't seem able to
believe it; in fact, he repeated those words – or variations of those words - to himself for the
next few minutes. Tonks was beginning to get worried.

"Remus?" she asked tentatively. "Are you-"

"What a mess," he said, rubbing his eyes, and Tonks was relieved to hear him say something
different. "Sirius and Harry are in prison, Greyback's been murdered in Azkaban..." He
sighed loudly. "The camp."

"The-"

"The camp," he snapped, obviously impatient. Tonks was momentarily startled, but put it
down to Remus still recovering from the full moon. Obviously his emotions were a bit
disordered. Or perhaps he was just tired and stressed. "Greyback's camp." He paused and then
looked ashamed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap-"

"It's fine," Tonks said, brushing his apology away. "What's wrong with the camp?"

"They don't follow wizarding news," Remus said, looking tired. "I doubt they even know he's
been arrested – Greyback's pretty much the only person that ever leaves that place, and most
of the other people there are so caught up in Greyback's propaganda that they don't care
what's going on in the wizarding world. It's unusual but not unheard of for Greyback to be
away for a few weeks. They won't even suspect-"

"They must have an inkling, surely?"

Remus snorted and said, "Not likely. Dora, you were there – you saw how much they
worshipped him!" She didn't know that she'd quite seen it to that extent, but she'd certainly
seen enough to trust Remus' judgement on the matter. "Their father can do no wrong."

"I'll talk to Mad-Eye," she muttered. "I doubt he's thought about that and we'll have to find
some way to get them the news..." She paused, thinking. Maybe they could send an owl to
someone who lived there – Remus would be willing to give them a name, surely? Or maybe-
"What?" she asked. Remus was staring at her like she was missing something obvious.

"I'm practically a ready-made messenger," he said, stunned. "Didn't it even occur to you-"

"You hate it there," Tonks said, a little hurt that he'd expected her to suggest he be the one to
go. "I'm not about to ask you to go back, and neither's Mad-Eye."

"Mad-Eye will," Remus said. "He'd be mad not to – it's the quickest way to get them the
news and it's got the least chance of going wrong-"

"Least chance?" she asked incredulously. "Remus, from what I saw, you weren't exactly er...
popular with the other people living there. If you go marching in saying Greyback's
dead, someone's going to think you did it."

"They can think whatever they want to," he said wearily. "It's a better alternative than letting
them believe the Ministry's behind it."

"But they're not-"

"Azkaban's Ministry territory," Remus said. "That's all that's going to matter as far as they're
concerne-"

"So you're not going to tell them how he died?" she asked dubiously. "That makes it pretty
damn hard to explain how you know, doesn't it? And if you can't explain it, then
they'll definitely think you did it!"

"If you've got a better idea then I'd love to hear it," he said tersely. They sat in silence –
Tonks was looking for a solution to their problem – and Remus was glaring at the table.
"Dora, I'm sorry," he said, looking up after a moment. "I've been a complete git this morning,
haven't I?"

"No, of course not," Tonks said quickly. "You're obviously just tired-"

"Dora." Tonk bit her lip and her fringe turned an odd green-pink colour.

"Well, maybe just a little bit," she said apologetically.

"Sorry," he said, rubbing his eyes. "I'm not usually this- actually I am, but usually it doesn't
matter." Remus' voice cracked and he planted his elbows on the tabletop and buried his face
in his hands

Because no one else is around, Tonks finished in her head. "Remus..." He took a few deep
breaths, and laughed shakily but didn't look up.
"Godric, I'm a mess this morning," he muttered.

"You're allowed to be," she said. She found a clear patch of skin near his shoulder – one with
no fresh injuries – and put her hand on it. He jumped at the contact. "You've just had a bloody
terrible night-"

"Worst one in a while," he agreed in muffled voice.

"Greyback's dead-" His shoulder stiffened under her hand. "I know you didn't like him, but-"

"I hated him," he said hoarsely. "I'm glad he's- gone."

"It's still a lot to take in," she said firmly. "And then there's Sirius..." If his shoulder had
stiffened before, it was stone now. She could see Remus' jaw trembling and his breaths were
shaky. His face was still hidden behind his scarred hands. "You're perfectly justified in being
a little... off."

Remus' entire frame was shaking now, and his breaths were coming in sobs. She'd seen him
nervous – like when he'd told her about his condition, and when he dealt with Malfoy – she'd
seen him worried – like he had been when Greyback attacked Matt, and at the camp, and
when Greyback had cornered them in this very cottage not so long ago – she'd seen him sad –
like when he'd comforted her after Melvin's death, and like when he talked about the Potters
– but she'd never seen him scared. He was quite literally breaking down before her eyes.
Even his little meltdown at the Ministry after seeing Sirius hadn't been anything like this.

It was so foreign that, for a moment, Tonks had absolutely no idea what to do. That faded
almost immediately. She liked to think it was her Hufflepuff instincts kicking in.

She dragged her chair closer to his – she could imagine herself overbalancing and falling off
otherwise – and wrapped her arms around him. It was a bit awkward – the edge of the table
was digging into her ribs and one of her arms was looped over both of Remus' – he was still
leaning on the table, face in his hands – but it was enough.

The corners of the parchment were already beginning to go soft – Harry'd handled it that
much in the last few days. It was obvious Harry hadn't drawn the picture – he'd never shown
any interest in drawing before, and didn't have the quill control to produce what was, in
Sirius' opinion, no great work of art – he suspected the artist was young – but a decent image
nonetheless. As far as style went, anyway; Sirius spared his Quidditch team's coat of arms a
sad look – had the artist really had to depict it on fire?

"So who drew it?" Sirius asked.

"One of my friends," Harry said mysteriously, but his whole face lit up and Sirius could smell
something close to delirious happiness radiating off him. Sirius thought it was the fact that he
had someone to refer to as a friend. Harry hadn't named his friends yet, but Sirius thought
that was probably a good idea; he knew Harry must have met them in the Ministry
somewhere, and so he suspected their meeting hadn't been entirely legal. It probably wasn't
something the Aurors should know about. "I reckon it's brilliant."
"The dragon's not bad," Sirius allowed, and Harry grinned. The dragon's eyes were slightly
different sizes, and he almost mentioned this but then thought better of it.

Instead, Sirius' gaze flicked to the door, as it had every few minutes for the last day; instead
of Snape – the git - bringing Harry back yesterday Harry'd come back with Fudge, Malfoy
and Umbridge. Umbridge and Malfoy had just talked to Harry, while Fudge had said they
were considering a trial – finally – and that he'd be back 'later' to discuss the matter further.

It was definitely later and Sirius was still waiting for that visit. He just hoped Fudge hadn't
changed his mind. Dora saw him looking in her general direction and her hair turned a deep
red. Sirius smiled at her – he wasn't sure what he'd done to make her so angry, but she had her
wand in a knot about something this afternoon - and got a scowl back in return.

Sirius looked away, figuring it was best to just leave her to it. He was tired – Harry'd been
restless in his sleep again and when they'd been awake, they'd both been worrying about
Remus and the full moon – and he didn't want to be denied the trial he'd been waiting eight
years for over an argument or because he'd lost his temper.

It was a long afternoon. Harry fell asleep and Snape was the only one who visited. He took
one look at Sirius, then glared at Harry and stormed out again, looking absolutely livid. Sirius
didn't even have time to insult him. Remus didn't come – he probably wasn't in any state to
leave the house, and Sirius still hoped for the thousandth time that the night before hadn't
been a rough one – and neither did Dumbledore or Rattler or any of the other D.M.L.E. staff.
Sirius figured Dumbledore was probably at Hogwarts; he'd been spending a lot of time at the
Ministry lately, and Sirius suspected that wouldn't have made him awfully popular with
McGonagall.

The D.M.L.E. staff were probably working with Fudge to arrange Sirius' trial – or so he
hoped – which was a very good thing, except it made for poor company down in the holding
cells; Rattler wasn't there to play games with – they were for Harry's sake but more often than
not, Sirius joined in – Amelia didn't visit either – she sometimes brought Sirius crosswords
from the Prophet - and Scrimgeour hadn't even made an appearance. Sirius respected
Scrimgeour rather than liked him, but at least the man was willing to talk to Sirius like he
was a human.

So, Sirius had to sit in his cell, bored, listening to Harry mumble occasionally – about
chocolate frogs and broomsticks, thankfully, not Voldemort or leaving Sirius in the cave –
and trying to ignore the angry looks from Dora that were burning into the side of his head.

"You don't even care, do you?" she demanded at one point.

"About what?" Sirius asked, startled. Shacklebolt glanced at Tonks, but didn't seem inclined
to interrupt just yet, though Sirius knew Shacklebolt would if Dora got out of hand;
Shacklebolt was a good sort. The other trainee – a thin, dark haired girl – had been asleep for
most of the time and didn't stir, even now.

"About- about anything!" Dora said angrily. Her hair – mostly deep red, but tinged with
purple and orange – made her head look like it was on fire. Sirius wasn't sure what to say to
that; he almost said, 'Do too!' but something told him that wouldn't get him anywhere. So he
said nothing, and Dora went back to scowling at him.

Sirius spent about an hour working on his mental Azkaban – which resembled an island
again, but was still a while off being finished. He'd also spent a bit of time wondering what
sort of state Keira and the locket were in; hopefully she'd destroyed it, but Sirius worried it
might have attacked her. That, of course, brought him back to worrying about Remus, and
sighing lots, which made Dora glare at him even more.

It was a very long, very uncomfortable afternoon – for everyone, he suspected.

Fudge arrived with dinner, and Sirius didn't know which he was more excited to see. He
greeted Fudge - who looked rather irritated about being forced to carry in Sirius and Harry's
dinner - and turned to prod Harry awake, only to pause when he heard more people enter. It
seemed that, to make up for the lack of visitors that afternoon, everyone had decided to come
now.

Scrimgeour, Amelia and Rattler were all there. Scrimgeour looked preoccupied, and mildly
annoyed, Amelia looked like her usual, unflappable self and Rattler looked as cheerful as
ever. Umbridge followed, wearing a hideous set of fluffy pink robes and a smug expression.
And, last but not least, Malfoy and Narcissa stepped inside and Sirius wondered what in
Merlin's name they were doing in his cell. Malfoy was smirking and Narcissa's expression
was unreadable; of all of the Black children – Andy, Bella, himself and Reg – she'd always
been the best at that. Over his cousin's shoulder, Shacklebolt was nudging the other trainee
awake before Scrimgeour noticed her sleeping during a guard shift that didn't run overnight.

Sirius turned back to Harry and found him awake and putting on his glasses. He looked a
little surprised to see this many people in the small cell, but he didn't say anything except, "Is
that dinner?"

"That is Black's dinner," Fudge said. "You'll be eating later, Harry." Harry and Sirius shared
an uncertain look and then, reaching an unspoken agreement, stood and sat down at the table.
Fudge had already arranged himself in one of the spindly chairs and said, "Would you like to
eat now, Black, or later?"

Sirius gave his dinner a longing look; there was some sort of soup, roast chicken and an
assortment of steaming, vegetables. He was almost tempted to eat now – to make everyone
wait, because they'd kept him waiting all day – but he shook his head.

"If someone'll put a charm on it to keep it warm, I'll leave it until later." Amelia did, and
floated it over to the end of Sirius' bed. Scrimgeour, Umbridge and Amelia claimed the
remaining chairs and Rattler, Malfoy and Narcissa conjured their own. "I take it this is about
my trial," Sirius said.

Please, he thought, please, please...

"It is," Amelia said.

"And am I getting one?" Sirius asked. Harry seemed to be holding his breath – his face was
slowly turning pink. Sirius nudged him and he let out a breath, looking sheepish. No one had
answered yet. Sirius' heart thumped loudly in his chest.

Please. Please, please, please-

"You are," Fudge said.

"YES!" Sirius said, before he could stop himself. Harry's grin was so wide it looked like it
might split his face. "Yes! Thank you! Thank-"

"It will be held," Fudge continued, and Sirius shut up immediately so that he could hear the
details, "ten days from now, in Courtroom Ten."

"At ten o'clock?" Sirius asked, smirking. Only Rattler and the formerly-asleep trainee
laughed. Fudge just rolled his eyes and exchanged an exasperated look with Malfoy.

"You will be tried in front of the full Wizengamot and Council of Magical Law." Sirius
nodded.

"Sure," he said. "Fine." He couldn't wipe his grin off. I'm getting a trial! Finally, finally, I can
prove I'm innocent. He didn't have Peter which would make things difficult, but he'd talk
them around. He'd have to admit to being Padfoot, but once they saw that, they'd be willing
to believe that Peter was a , since Sirius had been careful not to let the truth slip, they'd be
unprepared for the truth. The shock-value alone might convince them. "Thank you!"

"It will be a public trial," Amelia said. Sirius frowned but nodded. He didn't particularly want
it open to anyone who was interested, but he wasn't going to argue with them, not when
they'd just given him a trial.

"There's also the matter of your isolation," Scrimgeour said. "I'll be withdrawing the Auror
guards." Sirius looked at Harry and grinned. "They will be replaced with Dementors." Sirius
sobered immediately. It was not a nice feeling. Harry looked scared.

"But-but you can't," Sirius stammered. He'd begun to reconstruct Azkaban, but he still needed
a few more hours before he'd be able to cast his Patronus again. If the Dementors came after
Harry, he wouldn't be able to do anything. "You saw what they did to-"

"Arrangements have been made for Mr Potter," Umbridge said, speaking for the first time.
The reason for Narcissa and Malfoy's presence suddenly dawned on him.

"No," he said. Harry's eyes flicked to his face, bright with questions.

"Black, be reasonable," Fudge said, twirling his hat. "The boy can't stay with you while the
Dementors are around after what happened last time..." Harry's eyes dropped to his hands and
he studiously avoided eye contact with everyone who'd fixed their attention on him following
Fudge's words.

"No, he can't. So the Dementors'll go." Scrimgeour opened his mouth. "I'm not arguing with
isolation – it's important to have an unbiased trial and all that-" And it was; the last thing he
needed was to be accused of bribing or enchanting people to believe him. "-but you can keep
the Dementors away without bringing the Aurors back."

"Black-" Umbridge began.

"I'm not a danger to Harry," he said. "We don't have to be guarded – I've been saying this
since we got here. I proved it when those Dementors came! The Aurors did a fat lot of good –
I'm not blaming them," he added, as Scrimgeour bristled, "-it was a bloody terrible situation.
But Harry and I were unguarded, in the cell, all night-"

"There were Dementors," Umbridge said primly.

"They were trying to attack us, not guard us," Harry snapped. "If Pa-Sirius hadn't been there-
"

"If he hadn't been there, we wouldn't be in this situation, Mr Potter," Umbridge said. Harry
glowered at her. "In fact, I daresay we'd all be better off."

"I wouldn't be," Harry muttered, but Sirius didn't think anyone else had heard him.

"Legally," Sirius said, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder, "Harry's as involved in this as I am.
There are no laws that say we can't be housed together – that would be true even if I wasn't
his guardian." And that was true; it wasn't uncommon for prisoners to share a holding cell, as
long as they weren't likely to fight, and they weren't likely to cause trouble.

"You cannot be trusted-"

"We've been living in a house together – pretty much alone-"

"You had visitors?" Rattler asked sharply.

"I told you I wasn't giving you anymore answers until after my trial," Sirius said, but
mentally, he cursed the slip up. "Anyway, it's been over a year. A whole fourteen – nearly
fifteen - months since I took Harry, and he doesn't look dead or injured to me."

"In St Mungo's last year-"

"I told you: that wasn't him," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "He'd never-"

"Even if Black- Sirius," Amelia said, as Sirius opened his mouth to correct her, "was not
responsible for giving you those injuries, Mr Potter, the fact remains, he did nothing to
prevent them." Sirius prayed Harry would keep his mouth shut – if he said anything about
Sirius not being able to because he hadn't been there, Sirius would never be able to talk them
around.

"He prevented the Dementors," Harry muttered, glowering at the table, and Sirius sighed,
relieved. Amelia sighed a different kind of sigh.

"Mr Potter-"
"We won't leave you alone with Black," Scrimgeour said. "I'm sorry, Potter, but we're not
prepared to take any risks at this point." Scrimgeour even gave Sirius a slightly apologetic
look.

"And if I refuse to let him stay with Malfoy?" Sirius asked. Amelia sighed again.

"For as long as Mr Potter stays down here with you, the Aurors will remain on duty. For as
long as the Aurors remain on duty, we are running the risk that you mislead one-"

"They've been down here for nearly two weeks," Sirius said. "If I was going to mislead
anyone-"

"For as long as the Aurors remain on duty, we are running the risk that you mislead one,"
Amelia continued loudly, as if he hadn't said anything, "and as such, it will not count as
isolation. Your trial will be postponed until you are willing to comply."

"What if I don't talk to them?" Sirius asked, but he knew that wasn't the point of isolation; the
main point was that he not be able to win any allies in the lead-up to the trial, but also to that
anyone he might have put a spell on had time to show symptoms and be cured.

None of them dignified his answer with a response.

"Understand, Sirius, that this situation is already unusual." Amelia's eyes flicked to Harry.
"We have – though there was no choice at the time – already deviated from Ministry
procedure." Sirius agreed – it was unheard of to have Aurors guarding the cells, not
Dementors. "With your trial approaching, we are trying to handle this as professionally as we
can – we're already facing scrutiny from the public-"

"-Skeeter's tearing us all to pieces," Scrimgeour said, his eyes flinty. Sirius suddenly
understood why they were making his trial public; it was to give the Ministry a chance to
show how competent they were, when Sirius had been making them look anything but. If
Sirius was found guilty, the Ministry would be praised for their just decision, and if –
no, when – he was found innocent, they'd look good for giving him the chance to prove it.
And very bad for hunting an innocent man for so long. He had to hide snigger. "A trial of this
size must be played by the book – you were an Auror, Black, you must understand-"

"I'll go," Harry said.

"What?" several people – Sirius among them – asked.

"I said I'll go," Harry said, squaring his jaw, just like James had used to when he was being
stubborn. Amelia relaxed, and so did Scrimgeour and Malfoy.

"Harry-"

"Do you want your trial or not?" Harry snapped.

My trial. Sirius sighed. He hadn't been lying when he'd told Fudge he cared more about
Harry's wellbeing than his own. But was Harry's wellbeing really in danger? Malfoy wouldn't
try anything when the Ministry knew Harry was with him. If he hurt Harry, he'd be arrested in
a heartbeat.

In fact, Malfoy would probably be pleasant – he was probably hoping that if Sirius was found
guilty, custody of Harry would go to him. In fact, Sirius was sure that's what Malfoy
wanted. Harry Malfoy, Sirius thought, wrinkling his nose. So Harry probably wouldn't be in
any danger – it'd be unpleasant, certainly, but if Harry was willing to go... Sirius still didn't
want him to. But was not wanting him to a good enough reason?

Yes, Sirius thought sulkily, but his rational side – which still sounded uncannily like Remus –
cleared its throat threateningly. "Fine," Sirius said, and everyone looked stunned before
starting to talk at once. "Shut up!" he shouted. "There are conditions."

"Name them," Scrimgeour said.

"The first," Sirius said, "is that it's definitely temporary. Me agreeing to let him stay with
my lovely-" Sirius glowered at Narcissa and she raised her eyebrow in return. "-cousin and
her pompous husband is not me surrendering custody."

"Obviously," Umbridge muttered.

"Good. The next is that Harry's allowed to come to my trial," Sirius said.

"Of course he is," Rattler said.

"Good," Sirius said again. "The next one is that Harry's wand is returned to him, and that he
can take it with him to Malfoy's." Scrimgeour and Amelia exchanged looks, and Harry's eyes
had brightened. Malfoy looked thoughtful. "He's not going to attack anyone," Sirius said.
"But given the Dementor attack – which happened on Ministry property, remember – I'll feel
better if Harry's got some sort of protection."

"I don't see a problem with that," Narcissa said, smiling, before anyone else could respond.

"Very well," Amelia said. "Is there anything else, Sirius?"

"Kiddo?" Harry shook his head.

"I actually have a request," Narcissa said, looking shy.

"Madam?" Fudge asked.

"I'd like to request an Auror to supervise Mr Potter while he's staying with us."

"Narcissa, that won't-" Malfoy began.

"Lucius, the boy was attacked," Narcissa said, her eyes brimming with tears. Sirius couldn't
believe what he was seeing. "I couldn't bear it if anything happened to him, or to any of us!
What if more Dementors come? What if they come after Hydrus or Draco?" Narcissa's hand
was clamped around her husband's wrist, and her blue eyes were shining as she stared at
Scrimgeour. "Please, Auror Scrimgeour. For my own peace of mind..."
"Of course, Madam," Scrimgeour said curtly. Malfoy looked exasperated, but he kissed his
wife's hand and didn't say anything.

"Thank you," Narcissa whispered, dabbing her eyes. "Sirius, did you want a say in who's
responsible for guarding your godson? If it was me-" Malfoy baulked.

"Perhaps Dawlish," he started to say over Narcissa.

"Mad-Eye," Sirius said shrewdly. Malfoy paled a bit.

"Mad-Eye's busy, Sirius," Dora said irritably.

"He's working another case," Scrimgeour said, nodding. "A new one." He and Dora
exchanged grim looks. "It's rather important that he's focused on that for the next little
while."

"I really think Dawlish," Malfoy was still saying, but no one was really listening to him.
Narcissa's eyes were boring into Sirius' and he had no idea what she was playing at, but she
hadn't given them away that day in Diagon Alley, so he was going to assume she was on his
side. Or at least, not against him.

"Fine," Sirius said. "Not Mad-Eye." It was a shame – Mad-Eye would have kept Malfoy on
his toes; as an old Order member, he was under no delusions about Malfoy's past. And, as an
old friend of James', he'd definitely keep Harry safe. There was another person that might
possibly scare Malfoy more, though, and despite her obvious problems with Sirius, she'd die
before she let anything hurt Lily and James' son. "McKinnon, then." That shut Malfoy up
completely, and Narcissa's eyes gleamed. Dora and the other trainee made shocked noises.

"She's just a trainee-"

"I'll vouch for her competence," Amelia said quietly.

"Perhaps a r-roster would be best," Malfoy said, speaking mostly to Fudge.

"Nonsense, Lucius," Narcissa said. Her tears were completely gone and she looked as calm as
ever.

"We can't expect an Auror – a trainee, no less – to guard the boy for ten days," Lucius
continued, looking a little desperate now. "She'll be exhausted, and what'll she do overnight-"

"She can have the second guest room," Narcissa said serenely, and Sirius let out a bark –like
laugh at the horrified look on Malfoy's face.
 The snake pit

Harry and the Malfoys had come to the Manor by Portkey – Harry suspected they hadn't
Flooed because Mr Malfoy wanted to show off the admittedly impressive exterior of the
house – and Harry'd been promptly handed a pile of clothes and shown into a bathroom.

He'd bathed, trying not to feel to miserable about the situation; Padfoot was alone again, with
the Dementors and Harry was stuck here for ten days with no company but the Malfoys and
McKinnon, who Padfoot had been decidedly cold towards lately. But, this was all necessary,
Harry reminded himself as he sorted through the clothes he'd been given. If he wanted to go
home, to Grimmauld and Kreacher, and be able to talk to Padfoot and Moony without being
listened to by Aurors, Padfoot needed his trial and there was no point putting it off.

Harry discarded one set of robes – proper ones, that were like dresses, instead of ones that
just rested over the top of clothes – and reluctantly pulled on a pair of formal black trousers
and a shirt. There was a matching waistcoat, but he discarded that and pulled robes – in the
style he was more accustomed to – on over the top. He tucked his wand into his pocket –
Rattler had returned it to him before he'd left the Ministry – and had a look in the mirror. He
thought he looked like a bit of a prat. He turned, intending to swap his trousers for his jeans
but his old clothes had vanished.

"Brilliant," he muttered darkly. He suspected a house elf – the Malfoys seemed the type to
have one in their employ – had probably magicked them out and burned them. Sighing, he
unlocked the door and stepped out into a wide hallway.

"Well that's better," a haughty portrait said, eyeing him. "Much better, now that you're in
proper clothes and not those rags you were wearing before." Harry thought, ruefully, that
those rags had been his favourite pair of jeans. "Although you could have tried to comb your
hair. It looks absolutely horrendous-"

"Thank you, Emilien," Mr Malfoy said, striding through a door almost opposite the
bathroom. "Better?" he asked Harry.

"Thanks for the clothes, sir," Harry said, not wanting to be rude. Mr Malfoy looked pleased
and he gestured with his cane to Harry's right. They walked down the hall. Harry could see a
room at the end of the corridor but Mr Malfoy guided him through a set of double doors on
the right before they reached it.

They were back in the foyer again, at the bottom of an enormous marble staircase. Two
almost identical boys – who looked a lot like Mr Malfoy - around Harry's age were with Mrs
Malfoy. They too, were dressed rather extravagantly, which made Harry wonder if this is
what they always wore. Harry also wondered how long the three of them had been standing
there, waiting for him to emerge from the bathroom.

"Hydrus Malfoy," said the slightly taller one, in a voice uncannily like Mr Malfoy's.

"Harry Potter," Harry said, shaking the offered hand a little reluctantly.
"Do you think we're stupid?" the other one asked, shoving past his brother. Mrs Malfoy made
an odd sound. "We know who you are." It was almost what Ron and Ginny had said, but
they'd been much nicer about it. The boy stuck out his hand. "Draco Malfoy." It was only the
fact that they'd be living together for the next ten days that made Harry shake his hand.
Otherwise, he'd have refused. Harry let go as quickly as possible, and Draco turned to his
father. "I'm hungry."

"We had to wait for you," Hydrus told Harry in a lofty voice.

Not ten minutes later, Harry found himself in a very fancy dining room, at a large dinner
table, between Draco and Hydrus – and he'd forgotten which was which. There were two
yards between each of them – at Grimmauld, he and Padfoot and Moony generally sat all
together at the end of the table, but the Malfoys were spread evenly around – and Mr and Mrs
Malfoy were opposite him.

A house elf dressed in a grubby pillowcase ran around the table, snapping his fingers to make
food appear on their plates, and to refill their goblets.

"Dobby," drawled the boy on Harry's left, "this is Harry."

"Dobby is so pleased-" Harry was momentarily startled – the elf had such a high voice
compared to Kreacher's croaking one – but hid it and offered the elf a smile. "- to have Harry
Potter in the house of his Masters and Mistress! Dobby has heard so much... such an honour
it is, sir!"

"Er... thank you," Harry said, embarrassed and not sure what else to say. He felt like he'd been
put on the spot, and it didn't help that both Malfoy boys were sniggering.

"Harry Potter thanked Dobby!" Dobby exclaimed. "Never has Dobby- Dobby has heard of
Harry Potter's greatness, sir-"

"Harry's fine," Harry told him, uncomfortable. Dobby's enormous eyes widened and he
opened his mouth to say something but Mr Malfoy cleared his throat. Dobby snapped it shut
and sent his master a terrified look before snapping his fingers at Harry's plate and vanishing.

"Mr Potter," Mr Malfoy said, reaching for the butter, "Dobby is a house-elf." Harry opened
his mouth to say he knew that, but realised he wasn't supposed to know what a house elf was.

"He seems nice," Harry said instead. A moment after he said it, a loud wail echoed up
through the floor, which the Malfoys all ignored.

"Nice?" the boy on Harry's left said, snorting. "Potter, he's a servant, he's supposed to be
nice."

"Doesn't mean he has to be," Harry said.

"Of course he does," the other one said dismissively. "He's a servant, Potter." Harry thought
of the way Kreacher had been for the first few months and almost argued. He managed to
keep his mouth shut, though. "If he's rude, he's punished."
"Punished?" Harry asked. He'd seen Kreacher punish himself once or twice – generally he
knocked his head against a wall a few times – and Padfoot had given him boils once ages
ago, but it happened rarely. Now if Kreacher did something wrong, Padfoot told him off
verbally, or forced him to sit in his cupboard. Knowing that Harry and Padfoot were
preparing their own dinner and washing their own dishes was often punishment enough.

"He irons his hands, or closes his ears in the oven-"

"That's horrible!" Harry said, aghast.

"-He's a servant, Potter, honestly. You're worse than Mother. She only tells him off." Harry
felt his estimate of Mrs Malfoy rise a bit. "I personally think-"

"Hydrus," Mrs Malfoy said quietly, but the boy on Harry's right stopped talking immediately.
"Why don't you find a topic more familiar to Mr Potter. I think he's feeling a little
overwhelmed." Harry didn't think he liked Mrs Malfoy, but he didn't dislike her anymore
either; he wasn't feeling overwhelmed – he'd been angry, and trying to control his temper.
Hydrus had been beginning to remind him rather strongly of Dudley.

"Are you going to Hogwarts?" Hydrus asked.

"Of course," Harry said.

"I thought maybe Durmstrang," Hydrus said, shrugging. That made no sense to Harry, but
Draco sniggered until Mrs Malfoy shot him a look. "What House then, Potter?"

"Gryffindor, hopefully," Harry said.

Mrs Malfoy was the only one that didn't seem revolted; Mr Malfoy's lip had curled, Hydrus
was pretending to throw up and Draco looked scandalized.

"But- but you're supposed to be the next-" Mr Malfoy cleared his throat.

"I'm supposed to be what?" Harry asked, frowning at Draco.

"-member of our family," Draco said, shooting Mr Malfoy a look. Harry might have believed
that was what he really wanted to say if he hadn't looked at Mr Malfoy. "That's why you're
here, isn't it?" Draco continued, glancing at Harry. "To join us? And our family's always been
in Slytherin."

"I'm only here until Sirius' trial," Harry said. Draco didn't look surprised, which made Harry
even more suspicious. He'd definitely changed what he was saying. What was Harry going to
be the next of?

"What about after it?" Hydrus asked. "They wouldn't let you live with him in Azkaban,
would they?"

"He won't be going to Azkaban, because he's innocent," Harry said, gritting his teeth. Draco
frowned at Harry.
"Hydrus," he said finally. "You've offended him." Mrs Malfoy nodded and Draco smiled at
her.

"How?" Hydrus asked doubtfully, looking at Harry for answers. "Black will go back to
Azkaban." Mrs Malfoy cleared her throat, smile gone. "You'll be better off if you accept-"
One of the lanterns on the wall shattered and everyone at the table jumped. Thankfully, a bell
echoed through the house at that exact moment.

"The wards must be interacting with each other again," Mrs Malfoy said, fixing it with a
wave of her wand. She offered Harry a small smile. "I suspect that's Auror McKinnon."

"Who else would it be?" Mr Malfoy muttered.

"Dob-"

"No!" Mr Malfoy said. "I'll get it myself."

"How chivalrous of you, Lucius," Mrs Malfoy said, sitting down again, as Mr Malfoy stalked
out. Mrs Malfoy turned her blue eyes on Harry and offered him a bread roll.

"Why didn't Father send Dobby?" Draco asked at once.

"You'll have to ask him yourself," Mrs Malfoy replied. And Draco did, the moment Mr
Malfoy returned with McKinnon.

"I thought she'd appreciate a personal greeting," Mr Malfoy replied stiffly. Draco didn't look
convinced but didn't press the matter.

"I'd have liked to see Dobby," McKinnon said, smiling at Mr Malfoy, who looked irritated.

"I'm sure you'll see him at some point," Mr Malfoy said. McKinnon's smile widened and she
set her suitcase down in the corner of the dining room.

The uncomfortable silence that followed continued for all of the next day. Harry'd been up for
most of the night dreaming about Voldemort and his parents – thankfully, he hadn't woken
any of the house's other occupants – and he'd cracked the window, but not shattered it. He'd
pulled the curtains back across and gone back to bed. No one had disturbed him until lunch
time, when Mrs Malfoy invited him down to eat.

Harry did come down – in the silk pyjamas he'd been given to wear – and Lucius was so
shocked to see him still wearing them that he and McKinnon stopped hissing veiled insults at
each other across the table and went back to eating. Draco was out, apparently, and Hydrus,
who was lonely, coaxed Harry into a game of chess. Harry lost spectacularly all three times –
though he firmly maintained his pieces were against him (except the king, who was a bit of a
coward in Harry's opinion), and every bit as Malfoy-ish as the blond, pointy-chinned boy
sitting across from him.

"It's a good thing you're not aiming for Slytherin," Hydrus drawled, as his knights dragged
Harry's sobbing king off the board. "You're nowhere near cunning enough."
"You don't have to be good at chess to be cunning," Harry told him. Hydrus looked doubtful.
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes and started to set the table up for whoever used it next.

"Of course you- What are you doing?" Hydrus demanded.

"Cleaning up," Harry said.

"Potter," Hydrus said, rolling his eyes. "You don't have to clean up. Dobby'll do it later." And
before Harry could say anything else on the matter, Hydrus had grabbed his wrist and
dragged him from the room to meet Bosworth the rat. Mr Malfoy intercepted them on the
way to Hydrus' bedroom however, and insisted on giving Harry a proper tour of the grounds
– after he'd changed out of his pyjamas, of course.

"That's the pond, Mr Potter," Lucius said, pointing to what Harry thought was actually a
small lake. "I would not advise going too close," he said, as Harry bent down to peer at a
weed he was pretty sure had gone into his Form-Revealer.

"We've got a Kelpie," Hydrus boasted. Harry didn't know what that was, but he assumed it
was some sort of magical water creature. The Malfoys didn't seem like the type to keep toads
and goldfish in their pond. "Mother thinks it's dangerous, but I don't see why. It never comes
out."

"What does it look like?" Harry asked, hoping he wouldn't be taunted for that. He looked
around for anything unusual, but all he spotted was McKinnon sitting underneath a large tree,
fulfilling her guard duty.

"Sometimes it's a dog, or a horse or a lion, but mostly it's a snake."

Of course, Harry thought, darkly amused. "I'll keep an eye out, then," he said.

"Don't go swimming out to look for it," Hydrus added, as Mr Malfoy led them into the
broom- shed was the wrong word, since sheds were generally small in Harry's experience. "I
know your Gryffindor side must be tempted, but that'd just be stupid."

"I'll keep it in mind," Harry said tonelessly, and then glanced around. There were three
brooms on hooks on the wall opposite them, the wall on their left was dedicated to
equipment. The rest of the room seemed to be a Quidditch shrine of sorts; there was a glass
case containing a set of emerald green robes emblazoned with 'Malfoy' and two large,
overlapping 'K's in yellow. There were also several photographs of someone who greatly
resembled Mr Malfoy in a team dressed in the same robes, and alone, in clippings from
the Prophet.

"Who's that?" Harry asked.

"My grandfather Casius," Mr Malfoy said, swelling with pride. "He was captain of the
Kenmare Kestrels for five years and won them the league twice."

"He was a Seeker like me," Hydrus said, and it was the closest thing to a smile Harry had
seen on him so far, though it was still more of a sneer.
"You play?" Harry asked.

"Obviously," Hydrus sneered. "This is where my broom sits," he said proudly, gesturing to an
empty hook. "I took it inside to polish it," he said. Mr Malfoy sighed loudly, and Harry
followed his gaze over to where a large broom maintenance set rested beside a spacious
bench.

"I set that up at Christmas and I don't think it's been used yet," Mr Malfoy told Harry.

"Old habits die hard, Father," Hydrus drawled. "You should've put it in sooner. This is
Draco's." He pointed to a sleek broom. It looked heavier than Harry's Galaxy, but Padfoot had
said Harry's wasn't game-worthy. Harry suspected this was. "It's a Comet Two-Sixty. That's
the same as mine." The other two – which he suspected belonged to Mr and Mrs Malfoy –
were the same make. "Do you fly?"

"I've been once or twice," Harry said, noticing Mr Malfoy's eyes had sharpened; he'd be
listening, waiting for Harry to give something about his life with Padfoot away. After a few
subtly probing questions – which Harry just shrugged in response to – Mr Malfoy and
Hydrus led Harry out of the broom shed and took him to see the peacocks that lived on the
Manor grounds.

"So what do you think?" Hydrus asked, as the three of them – McKinnon was still trailing
them – made their way inside, through the corridor and upstairs.

"Big," Harry said. McKinnon snorted and Mr Malfoy turned to glower at her.

"Bigger than what you're used to?" Hydrus asked, and Mr Malfoy perked up, apparently
listing intently. McKinnon looked interested too.

"Much," Harry said innocently, and Mr Malfoy's eyes glinted. "I mean, I've been in a cell for
the past two weeks." The light in Mr Malfoy's eyes dimmed and McKinnon sighed. "It was
tiny." Hydrus opened his mouth and Harry braced himself for what was surely going to be
something inadvertently offensive or arrogant. Hydrus never got the chance to say it though;
Dobby and a scowling Draco appeared at the top of the stairs which startled Harry, who
slipped and knocked his elbow in the banister.

"Well that was awfully graceful of you, Potter," Draco said scathingly, but to Harry's surprise,
Draco came forward and helped him up. McKinnon, who'd been about to do the same,
stepped back. Hydrus was sniggering – the git – and Mr Malfoy merely watched.

"Thanks," Harry muttered.

"Are you all right, Mr Potter?" Mr Malfoy asked. Harry really was fine – he'd probably have
a bruise, tomorrow, but that was hardly debilitating – but he saw a chance and took it.

"Actually, sir, I'm really tired," he said quietly. If Padfoot or Moony were here to see this,
they'd have laughed at him and called his bluff at once. Mr Malfoy didn't seem to realise,
however. "All that walking after being in a cell for so long... would it be all right if I went to
bed?"
"Dinner's in an hour," Mr Malfoy said uncertainly.

"I'm not that hungry," Harry said. He was a bit, but he intended to sleep pretty much straight
away, so he'd be able to wait until morning.

"I'll go with him," McKinnon said.

Mr Malfoy's expression soured and he continued upstairs with a, "Sleep well, Mr Potter."

"Oh, does she tuck you in as well as guard you?" Harry glanced at Hydrus, annoyed, and then
realised it had been Draco that said it. He was surprised – Draco'd just helped him up – and
then realised he probably should have expected it.

"Night," he said stiffly, and walked past them.

"Night," Draco called, sounding perfectly pleasant again. Harry glanced back, confused and
then shook his head and walked the rest of the way upstairs and entered his bedroom.
McKinnon didn't follow him in straight away – she gave him a few minutes to change – and
then she came in and sat down at the desk chair.

She didn't try to make conversation and Harry wasn't exactly sure what to say to her. Instead,
he left the room and went to brush his teeth. She was still there when he came back, though
she didn't seem any more inclined to speak to him than she had before.

McKinnon's distance was the beginning of a very lonely few days; Mr and Mrs Malfoy were
perfectly friendly, and very accommodating, but Harry got the impression that despite that,
Mrs Malfoy didn't like the fact that he was in her house, and that Mr Malfoy was up to
something. Some of his questions were a little too probing to make Harry entirely
comfortable.

Harry had managed to offend Hydrus on the second day of his stay; Hydrus had dragged
Harry outside to go flying. They'd raced, and had competitions to see who could pull off the
best manoeuvres and they'd even played a game of 'Bludger' and Harry had won all but one
of the races. Hydrus hadn't spoken to him since, unless it was to insult him, which horrified
Mr Malfoy and made Mrs Malfoy quite smug.

Draco was regularly out of the house. He disappeared for a few hours each day – usually in
the afternoons, or early evening, though occasionally he'd be out in the mornings - and
Hydrus didn't seem to know where he went. Admittedly, Hydrus probably wouldn't tell Harry
anyway, but neither Draco or the adults would give Harry a straight answer when he asked
either.

Even more mysterious than Draco's excursions, however, was his behaviour. One moment he
was perfectly pleasant and trying to explain his theory about the magic of hugs to Harry –
Harry couldn't quite work out if he was joking, or if he was being serious – and the next
moment, he was insulting Harry's personality or appearance or intelligence, or bossing Harry
around or bragging. And when Draco was in one of those moods, he was even worse to deal
with than Hydrus. Harry'd decided he didn't like Draco all that much, if only because his
polar personalities were impossible to keep up with.
As a result, Harry found himself spending a lot of time down in the kitchen with Dobby. Mrs
Malfoy didn't seem to mind that he went down there, and neither did Mr Malfoy – who was
willing to let Harry do whatever he wanted if it kept him happy – it hadn't occurred to Hydrus
that a house elf was worth spending time with – actually, Harry wasn't even sure that Hydrus
knew where the kitchens were – and Draco was afraid of the cellar and rarely ventured down
anyway.

Harry missed Padfoot and Moony so much it hurt, and no one in the Manor was anywhere
near as much fun to be around, but Dobby was decent company at least. He was better at
holding a conversation than Kreacher was, though unlike Kreacher, Dobby had a strange
habit of bursting into tears whenever Harry thanked him for anything, and he was also a lot
freer with compliments.

"Harry Potter sir is too kind to Dobby," Dobby said, presenting him with a plate of biscuits.

"Thanks," Harry said, grabbing one. Dobby's eyes filled with tears.

"So kind," Dobby said shrilly. "Dobby does not deserve Harry Potter-"

"What did you put in these?" Harry asked, flushing. Dobby sniffled and began to list
ingredients with increasing enthusiasm; Harry was just pleased that he'd managed to avert
another tearful display. Dobby sent the plate upstairs – where it would inevitably find its way
to each member of the Malfoy family – and would probably end up with Hydrus or Draco,
depending on what sort of mood Draco was in.

Dobby suddenly straightened and vanished with a crack. He did that regularly – obviously
someone had called him – and Harry was too used to it to be surprised anymore. He returned
a moment later, quaking and wringing his filthy pillowcase.

"Why do you wear that thing, Dobby?" Harry asked, wrinkling his nose. Kreacher didn't wear
clothes either – but Kreacher had several pillowcases and tea-towels to choose from, and all
of which were clean.

"Tis a mark of a house elf's enslavement, Harry Potter sir," he said, averting his eyes. "Dobby
knows his place, but Dobby is forgetting it sometimes, sir-"

"Forgetting-" Harry paused before he started to talk like a house elf. "You forget?" Dobby
looked terrified and was shaking all over.

"Dobby mustn't- Dobby shouldn't- Dobby's-" Suddenly he let out a shriek and ran over to the
sink. Harry recognised the look in his eye and hopped off the bench at once. He wasn't quick
enough to stop Dobby from ramming his large head into the soapy water, but he was quick
enough to stop him from repeating the gesture.

"Stop!" Harry said, tugging him back. Dobby struggled – if Harry'd been any smaller than he
was now, Dobby would have broken free. "Dobby, stop!" Dobby went limp and Harry hauled
him over and sat him down in one of the chairs at the little kitchen table.
"Thank you, Harry Potter, sir," Dobby said. Soapy water dripped off his pointed ears and
puddled on the floor. Suddenly Dobby tensed up again and Harry forced him back down.
"Bad Dobby!" Dobby wailed, punching himself in the face. "Bad Dobby!"

"Stop!" Harry yelled. "I forbid you to punish yourself while you're around me! And no
Apparating away to do it either!" Dobby's ears drooped. Harry loosened his hold on Dobby's
wrists and when Dobby didn't attempt to hit himself again, Harry let him go completely.
Dobby looked up at him with baleful eyes; Harry wasn't sure whether it was detergent that
was making his eyes red, or tears.

"Dobby is a bad elf- Dobby almost spoke ill of his family! And then Dobby is not punishing
himself!" He let out a wail and Harry sighed.

"I think you're a brilliant house elf," Harry said.

"If Harry Potter sir knew..." Dobby mumbled. "Dobby forgets, Dobby is a bad house elf!
Dobby keeps secrets for Dobby's Masters and Mistress-"

"Well you're supposed to," Harry said. Dobby looked afraid.

"Dobby also- Dobby-" Dobby edged closer to Harry, as if he feared being overheard. "Dobby
also dreams, Harry Potter sir. Dobby makes wishes of being a- a-"

"A what?" Harry asked curiously. He'd never met an ambitious house elf before – unless
Kreacher's desire to conquer dust bunnies counted – but he figured if he was ever going to
meet a house elf with a Slytherin trait, it'd be in the Malfoy home.

"A fre-" Dobby let out another shriek and threw himself out of the chair before Harry could
stop him. Then he ran straight for the oven, which had bread baking inside it.

"Stop!" Harry said, stepping toward him. "Dobby, no punishment, rememb-"

"Petrificus Totalus!" McKinnon said from the doorway, and Dobby dropped with a squeak.

"You attacked him!" Draco – who was behind McKinnon – said. Harry couldn't decide if he
looked awed or horrified.

"We heard shout-"

"I heard shouting," Draco said.

"He heard shouting," McKinnon sighed, and Draco looked smug. "Are you hurt?" Harry
shook his head and pulled out his own wand.

"I'm going to release you," Harry said, going to crouch by Dobby. "You're going to lie there
and not try to punish yourself at all."

"Harry," McKinnon said, "perhaps it's best if I-"

"Finite," he said, waving it at Dobby, who started to wail. McKinnon stared at Harry for a
moment and then looked at Dobby.

"Out," she said, gesturing to Harry and Draco. Harry wanted to stay and help, but Dobby
seemed to be set off by his mere presence.

"You can't- Draco began.

"Come on," Harry said, dragging him out.

"What did you do to him?" Draco asked, as they made their way upstairs.

"We were just talking," Harry said. He didn't think telling Draco about Dobby's dreams –
whatever they were - was a good idea, so he didn't.

"Clearly you're a terrible conversationalist," Draco sneered. Harry scowled. Draco scowled
back and then said, "Come and race rats."

"I don't have a rat," Harry pointed out. Nor did he particularly want one – Peter had ruined
the animal for him, he thought.

"You can watch then," Draco said loftily. Harry sighed and followed him through the drawing
room – Harry hated the drawing room, because it made his skin prickle – and through the rest
of the Manor. Hydrus was waiting by the pond and scowled when he saw Harry.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. Bosworth, who was perched on his shoulder, squeaked.
Draco pulled Roquefort out of his pocket and put him down on the grass. He promptly went
to smell Harry's shoe.

"I invited him," Draco said, sitting down. Hydrus set Bosworth down as well and went to sit
ten yards away. "Do sit down, Potter." Harry sat down awkwardly, beside the plant he'd
inspected on his first day at the Manor.

"Are they lined up?" Hydrus asked, as Draco grabbed both rats and held them in front of him.

"Yes," Draco said.

"Then go!" Hydrus called. Draco let them go and both rats took off toward Hydrus; obviously
they'd done this a few times. One of them was squeaking madly, but Harry couldn't tell which
rat the sound was coming from. Harry couldn't honestly say it was very exciting, but Draco
and Hydrus both looked eager.

Eventually, the winning rat – the other was a few feet behind it – reached Hydrus, whose face
fell. Draco let out a triumphant sound, and hurried over to give his rat something to eat.
Roquefort scurried away to eat it – drawing nearer to Harry – and Bosworth followed,
squeaking. Roquefort squeaked in response – which was weird, because Harry got the
impression that they were actually talking – and then Bosworth darted forward, bit him and
stole whatever it was that Draco'd given Roquefort. Roquefort let out a distressed squeal and
scurried back toward Draco and Hydrus, who were bickering.
Bosworth made his way past Harry, to the edge of the pond. Harry reached for him, to try to
get whatever it was the rat had stolen, but Bosworth evaded him and hid in a clump of weeds.
Harry could only see two gleaming eyes and hear nibbling sounds. He sighed – it seemed the
rat was a git like its owner - and went back to listening to the Malfoy brothers argue.

"I say best two out of three," Hydrus said.

"No," Draco said hotly, "you lost-"

"Then I'll probably lose again, won't I?" Hydrus sneered. "You're just scared you're going to
lose-"

"I am not scared!" Draco said furiously. "You're the coward."

"I am not a coward!" Hydrus bellowed, his pale cheeks turning pink.

There was a shrill, piercing squeal on Harry's left. His head snapped over in time to see
Bosworth trying to squeeze out from inside the weeds he'd taken shelter in. The reason for
the squeal quickly became apparent; a large, turqoise snake was coiled in the shallows, only a
few inches from where Harry sat, and its bright blue eyes were fixed on the rat. Hydrus let
out a shriek and ran back toward the Manor, shouting for his father. Draco just stared, and
Harry sat very, very still.

Bosworth's whiskers twitched and he looked, almost desperately at Harry. Harry shifted,
trying to inch his wand out of his pocket, but the snake turned to look at him. Harry slowly
put his hands up.

"Better," it said. Harry blinked and the snake turned its attention back to the Bosworth.
"Ssqueeze and sswallow," it hissed, moving toward the terrified rat.

Did that snake just talk? The snake's tail twitched and it lunged forward. Bosworth tried to
move but the snake darted forward and before Harry realised what had happened, the snake
had him wrapped in its coils. The rat was squeaking madly now.

"Stop!" Harry said, as the snake cocked its head and opened its mouth.

"Did you just sspeak?" the snake asked, looking at Harry curiously. Its large blue eyes
watched him with more intelligence than he'd expected, and its tongue – a deep purple colour
– flickered out to taste the air.

"I was going to ask you the same," Harry said, and thought this must be one of the strangest
things he'd ever done.

"Interessting," the snake said. "But why sshould I sstop?"

"He's a pet- the boy that ran away before, he owns him."

"And?" the snake asked, but Harry noticed it had stopped squeezing. Bosworth was panting,
and still wriggling, but had calmed down, almost as if he knew he was safe for the moment.
"And if you kill him, they'll be angry- you'd er... lose your home." He didn't doubt Hydrus
and Mr Malfoy would be set on revenge if anything happened to the rat.

"My home?" Those enormous blue eyes widened and the snake let out a little unhappy hiss.
Then the coils loosened and Bosworth shot free, right into Harry's hand. Harry stuffed him
into a pocket of his robes for safekeeping.

"Thanks," he said.

"It'ss not for you, little sspeaker," the snake said. It slithered forward and reared up suddenly,
so that its head was level with Harry's. Its turquoise scales glinted in the sun. "It'ss for me." It
slid into the pond and vanished in seconds. Harry stared at the rippling water and a hand
grabbed the back of his robes and yanked him to his feet. Draco was extremely pale and all
but dragged Harry away from the pond.

Mr Malfoy – who had his wand out and looked panicked – and Hydrus hurried out of the
Manor and came toward them.

"Are you hurt?!" Mr Malfoy demanded, looking at both of them.

"No, sir." Harry pulled Bosworth – who was shaking – out of his pocket and offered him to
Hydrus, who snatched him up and ran back inside.

"What happened?" Mr Malfoy asked.

"Well," Harry said, still reeling, "it grabbed Bosworth and then-"

"Potter hexed it," Draco interrupted. He met and held his father's gaze. "And it let go and
went back into the pond." Mr Malfoy turned to Harry, who was staring at Draco; not only had
Draco lied about what had happened, but he'd also blinked several times as soon as Mr
Malfoy's attention was off of him.

"Yeah," Harry said slowly. "It was lucky, really."

"And it makes me wonder why you had to defend yourself," he said softly. "Where is
McKinnon?"

"Kitchen," Draco said at once. "Dobby was upset." Mr Malfoy swept off toward the Manor
again, muttering under his breath.

"You lied," Harry said.

"Of course I did!" Draco snapped. "You were talking to it! You can't just talk to Kelpies!"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Honestly, Potter, were you raised by muggles?" Draco said rudely.

"Actually-"
"I know! Shut up!" Draco snapped. "Kelpies don't talk – they don't understand us, and we
don't understand them!" Obviously that wasn't right, because Harry had just held a
conversation with the creature.

"You couldn't understand it?" Harry blinked at Draco, who looked frustrated.

"No! And that's the way it's supposed to be!"

"Er... sorry?" Harry said, but he could tell from Draco's reaction that this was serious. He
found himself missing Padfoot and Moony more than ever. They'd have known what to say,
and how to explain whatever it was that had just happened.

"Sorry!?" Draco demanded. "You- Potter, I don't think you understand-"

"Obviously," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "If it's such a big deal, though, why didn't you say
anything?" Draco looked lost for a moment.

"It's- I- it's not something that should be shared. It's a secret," he said finally, but he didn't
sound certain. Harry wondered if Draco's strange behaviour stemmed from not actually
knowing what his own thoughts were. "But I still should have said- Father..."

"So you are going to tell him?" Harry asked.

"Absolutely not," Draco said, looking horrified. "I lied. I'm not about to hand myself in." His
eyes – grey like Padfoot's, but much colder – narrowed. "So you'd better not say anything
either."

"I've never met a Gryffindor whose company I enjoyed."

Draco hesitated and said, "Liar." Severus' eyebrows rose.

"Very good," he said. "I feel ill at the sight of blood."

"Liar." Severus inclined his head and Draco didn't seem to know whether he felt more
pleased to have guessed correctly, or if he was still annoyed at Severus. Severus hoped it'd be
the latter; he was still hoping to offend Draco enough that he'd stop coming for these lessons.
Protecting the boy was important, but Severus wasn't about to do it at his own expense.
Dumbledore could believe what he wanted to, but Severus still thought it was a bad idea to
give the Dark Lord a spy that had Severus' training. "My mother's name was Eileen."

"That's true?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"I already said true. If you weren't listening, that's not my fault." Draco's chin had come up
and his eyes were flashing.

"Be confident in your answers," Severus said curtly. "If I doubt them, I doubt you."
The word doubt seemed to trigger something in the boy. He opened his mouth and then
closed it. Severus was moments away from sighing and telling him to say whatever it was
that was bothering, when Draco did anyway.

"Can I trust you?" Severus arched an eyebrow and stared at the boy, who stared right back.

"Yes," he said slowly. Draco stared at him a moment longer and then nodded once.

"That's true," he said, looking relieved. Severus wasn't sure if it was true or not, but at the
moment, Draco's trust was likely a good thing so Severus wasn't about to challenge his
decision. "So does that mean I can trust Mother?"

"Pardon?" Severus drawled.

"Something... happened," Draco said uncertainly. "It was yesterday. I lied to Father about it."

"And he believed you?" Draco's chin came up again.

"I didn't blink once," he said proudly. Severus hid a smirk and gestured for his godson to
continue. "Once I'd lied, I couldn't take it back." Severus suspected both Draco's pride and his
self-preservation instincts were the reason for that, and couldn't decide if it was more
Slytherin or more Gryffindor of him. "It's a- it's something that should be a secret... and
Father's always said to keep secrets for when we have to tell them to get something... only
that's not why I did it."

"You didn't keep the secret to help yourself?" Severus asked, and Draco nodded.

"I- it was like with Pansy. Hydrus was going to tease her about crying, only that wouldn't be
fair. She couldn't help it. I'd cry if Mother died. And Potter couldn't help it either- only- only-
"

"Potter?" Severus asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. After his humiliating attempt to
protect Potter from Black who now apparently was not a werewolf (and so where on earth
he'd got that memory he showed Severus, Severus didn't know), Severus thought his hatred
of all people Potter had reached new heights. Minus Lily, of course, though he couldn't help
but feel slightly annoyed at her for mothering the brat he was now trying to protect.

"Yes, sir," Draco said. "He's not my friend, though, but I still treated him like he was Pansy-
I-I helped him."

You protected him. Severus straightened a pile of unmarked essays and tried to wrap his head
around the concept. He also wondered what Potter could possibly have done that would
trigger this response in Draco; Draco didn't like or dislike Potter, but whatever it was Potter
had done had startled Draco into acting instinctively. And it seemed, Draco's instincts were
becoming more and more Gryffindor-ish by the week.

"Weren't you telling me you helped him just the other day?" Severus asked. "Something
about giving him a hand when he tripped over?"
"I'd do that for anyone," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "That doesn't count." Severus eyed the
boy again, wondering exactly how much he'd changed in the last few months. The old Draco
would have laughed at Potter for falling even if they were best friends, and most certainly
wouldn't have offered him a hand up afterward.

"And this does?"

"Obviously!" Draco said, looking frustrated. "I went to find Mother this morning to ask her
about all this- she told me to come and talk to her whenever I'm feeling confused, so she can
make sense of it all-"

"You've been relying on her?"

"Mother said it's okay to ask for help," Draco said crossly. "Only this time, she told me I
shouldn't tell her, because she can't be trusted. She said I can love her and we can spend time
together and we can still hug and practice magic and she'll still read to me but that I can't trust
her because she said no one can be trusted." Draco looked like he might cry, and Severus
wondered how Narcissa could go from being so ridiculously subtle to so abrupt.

And why in Merlin's name would she tell Draco not to trust her?

"Except she said I could trust you," Draco said. Severus' mouth fell open before he could stop
it. What in Merlin's name was the woman playing at!? He snapped his mouth shut, but Draco
didn't seem to have noticed anyway. "But if she told me to trust you, and you can be trusted,
doesn't that mean I can trust her?"

"If your mother says you cannot trust her," Severus said after a pause, "then I'd advise you to
listen. In all likelihood, she will not tell you again, but it does not make the warning any less
true."

"And- and you, sir? I can trust you, right?"

"If you'd like," Severus said. "I cannot promise that I will always make decisions that you
agree with, or give you advice that sounds helpful, but I will promise you that I shall not
divulge any information you give me without your permission to do so unless it is absolutely
critical. And, I can promise that I will encourage you to act in your best interests." He thought
it was the most godfatherly thing he'd ever said to the boy, and that that was rather twisted.
He let Draco mull over it for a few minutes.

"Sir?"

"Draco?"

"Is what I did wrong?"

Trusting me? Severus wondered. Time will tell – for both of us. "Pardon?"

"Should I have- is it wrong to help Potter, when he's not my friend?"

"That's not for me to decide," Severus said, wishing, just for a moment, that he had
Dumbledore or Narcissa's insight. Both of them would be much, much better at answering a
question like this. He couldn't even use his usual morality test – what would Lily say? –
because in this case, it'd probably be biased. "We should always do our best to help people-"
A lie, because Severus himself didn't believe that, but Draco wasn't looking for lies right now.
He was just listening. "-but you should also be careful not to let people take advantage of
your... goodwill." Draco looked relieved.

"That's good," he said.

"What is?"

"I don't think Potter's the type to take advantage of people," Draco mused. Severus – very,
very, very grudgingly – had to admit he was correct. Even the elder Potter – for all of his
many, terrible personality flaws – had been... reluctant to take advantage of people. It was
probably the nearest thing to a good trait the man had possessed.

"How long have you been here?" Severus asked, abruptly bringing Draco's attention to their
lesson.

"An hour and twelve minutes," Draco said confidently.

"One hour and twenty nine," Severus said, and Draco's face fell. "But your conviction was
good." He offered Draco a small, not-quite-smile. "I almost believed you."

He had Draco try to work out when he was lying and when he was telling the truth for a
further few minutes, and then set Draco to memorising twenty objects on a tray. Draco
managed nineteen, and then Severus sent him to rearrange the bookshelf – Draco looked
furious at that and stomped over.

"Do be careful," Severus said, wincing, as Draco shoved a heavy volume on rare potions into
the shelf. "Most of those are worth more than your broomstick."

"Sorry," Draco muttered. "Sir, why can't I just call Dobby and have him do this?"

"Because Dobby will not learn anything from the exercise."

"Neither will I!"

"The more you protest, the longer it'll take," Severus warned. Draco stuffed another book into
place, scowling. He was already learning; if there was another nine year old with
organisational skills anywhere near Draco's level, Severus had yet to meet them. Draco
routinely reshelved books, potions ingredients, potion phials and even the records of Severus'
Slytherin students. He was becoming efficient at sorting through lots of information, and was
learning to take notice of the things he sorted; Severus would often ask him to locate several
things afterward, and Draco would have to use his memory, and his organisational system to
do so.
Severus sat down, intending to mark essays, but instead found his mind wandering. He'd had
a lot to think about; Black's trial was only four days from now, and old articles –
about that night, and about Pettigrew's death - had been reprinted and were on the front page
of the Prophet most days. According to Dumbledore, of course; Severus still refused to read
that rubbish. Even Greyback – who'd died, and good riddance – had been second page news.

Severus wasn't going to testify, of course, but guilt was starting to gnaw at him; he knew
where Pettigrew was. He could give Black his freedom. Black would be forever indebted to
him – and that was a nice thought – and it would also mean Potter got to stay with Black.
Severus wasn't convinced that was a brilliant idea, but if Black lost his case, Potter would
almost certainly end up with Lucius and Narcissa, and Severus didn't think he could deal with
a Slytherin Potter anymore than Narcissa could.

Of course, arranging for Pettigrew to be found was far too risky; Severus had prepared
potions to regrow his finger. Severus was involved. And, while Severus thought everyone
would be better off if Lucius went to Azkaban for harbouring the rat, Severus was one of four
people – himself, Lucius, Narcissa and the rat himself – that knew where Pettigrew currently
resided. It'd be obvious that he'd told and Severus wasn't prepared to trade his life for Black's.

He wondered if Narcissa herself was going to do it. Perhaps that's what she'd meant when
she'd told Draco not to trust her. Perhaps she was planning something. Perhaps she was
planning to frame Severus. The thought sent chills through him. Narcissa wasn't as cold
hearted as her husband, but she had no limits when it came to keeping her family safe. She'd
already proven that. Or, what if Narcissa had no plans for Pettigrew at all? What if she'd
resigned herself to raising the Potter brat? If that was right, though, then why would she have
told Draco to trust Severus, and Severus only?

She didn't know that he was a spy for Dumbledore; she'd have confronted him about that
before now, and put an end to Draco's lessons. Was she turning sides, and wanted to ensure
that Draco didn't follow her over to the 'good' side? Or was it just a warning, years before
Draco'd ever need it, telling him that as a spy, he wouldn't be able to trust anyone, except for
his teacher? Severus shoved those thoughts into a room in his Occlumency dungeons, shut
the door, and locked it. He didn't understand Narcissa any more than he understood
Dumbledore. They were insane, both brilliant in their own ways, but absolutely mental.

And, what was it that Potter had done? Had he perhaps hexed Hydrus, or revealed a secret
about Black to Draco? Could he possibly have revealed the 'power the Dark Lord knows not'?
Severus eyed his godson, who was holding two books up, and staring between them.

"Draco," he said.

"What?" Draco asked irritably. All of his gentle, uncertain trust was gone.

"What did Potter do?" Draco glanced at the half-full bookshelf, and then back to Severus. His
lip curled.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he drawled.

 Tears and trust

It was hard to decide whether this visit to the camp was better or worse than the last one.

Greyback wasn't around – which was definitely a bonus – but the atmosphere was infinitely
more volatile. He'd met with Mad-Eye before travelling to Gwydir Forest, and they'd both
decided that blaming Smoky for the incident was the best idea. Smoky was a nameless,
faceless being – so she'd be perfectly safe, wherever she was - but she was known by the
camp's residents and gave them someone other than the Aurors or Remus or Matt to blame.

And blame her they did; if they'd been obsessed with finding their errant 'sister' before, it was
nothing to the way they felt now. The news of Greyback's death had been taken pretty much
as he'd expected; they'd been shocked for about a day, and then angry and miserable in equal
amounts ever since.

He and Matt were bearing the brunt of both; anger was directed at them, because they both
frequented the 'outside', for failing to somehow realise that Greyback had been in danger. It
didn't seem to matter that Matt had been heavily drugged in preparation for the full moon,
and that Remus had been preparing for his own transformation, and that neither of them had
any clue who Smoky was or where to find her. The misery had been directed at them as well.
Remus wasn't sure if it was because he and Matt didn't care much that Greyback was gone
and so weren't crying too, or if it was for another reason, but he'd been cornered by several
miserable people who wanted to reminisce about being bitten, or cry on him.

And Remus bore it, though he tried to leave most of the teary ones to Matt. Even after a bit of
experience with Dora, nothing scared Remus more than a crying woman. He tried to treat
them like people who'd lost a parent or brother, and not a group mourning their lunatic leader.
He tried to be sympathetic and say the right things. And he tried desperately not to get
frustrated at being there, when there was so much going on back in London.

He hadn't seen Dora since he cried all over her after the last full moon, and frankly, he wasn't
sure he wanted to; how was he supposed to apologise for his behaviour without seeming like
even more of an idiot?

She'd been sending him letters daily. The first had come six days ago and had been to ask
whether he was okay, to thank him for the birthday present which he'd left on his kitchen
table for her to find (it was a muggle mood ring, which she'd probably seen or heard of before
but he thought she'd enjoy anyway, an Auror's autobiography, and chocolate for when she had
to go to Azkaban to investigate Greyback's death) and to say she had to talk to him, so could
he please arrange a time to meet her? He could have, easily – Matt was able to handle the
pack just as easily as he was – but he was too embarrassed to go.

Too embarrassed to respond, even. Sirius would have given him a talking to, no doubt, but
Sirius wasn't here. He and Harry were stuck in a cell in the Ministry, while Remus ran
around, cleaning up after Greyback. The letters had become even more agitated as the days
went on.
Today, exactly a week after he'd arrived at the camp, he'd received another letter.

"Who's that from?" Matt asked, glancing up from his breakfast.

"I'm not sure," Remus replied, tucking the bulky envelope into his pocket for later;
Greentooth and her pack had looked up when Strix flew in, and Debbie, who was sitting with
Richard and Nancy, was glaring at them. He offered Strix a piece of toast but Strix just bit his
knuckle and flew off again. Remus frowned. "I'd better make sure it's not urgent." He
doubted it would be, but the envelope was heavier today.

He retreated into his room and closed the curtain he'd conjured upon his arrival. He would
have preferred a door, but wasn't quite bold enough – he could still imagine Greyback's foul,
wheezing voice asking what he had to hide from his 'family' – to have anything more than a
curtain. Baby steps.

He sat down on the bed and tore the envelope open. Several sheets of paper fell out, but
Remus picked up the letter first.

Remus,

I know you're getting these, because you were able to get post over Christmas. I also know
you aren't dead, or Strix would be bringing these back unopened, so I don't know what's
keeping you from replying.

Mad-Eye and I haven't made any progress on the case. Smoky's as elusive as ever, but we've
nearly finished with all of the paperwork and will be going back to Azkaban for another look
at his cell sometime in the next few days.

Other things are happening here – things I'd hoped to talk to you about in person, but since
you're ignoring me, I guess I'm just going to have to put it in writing.

Sirius has got his trial. It's four days from now. Harry's with the Malfoys, but he's got
McKinnon guarding him. The articles should give you more detail, but if you want to know
anything else, just write back.

I hope you're all right, but I'm also furious with you.

Tonks.

Remus stared at her neat, round print and blinked a few times, trying to make sense of it all.

Sirius is going to get his trial. Remus couldn't believe it, or wipe the grin off his face. He
reached for the articles with shaking hands.

GOING BLACK TO AZKABAN?, THE NEWEST MALFOY? and TRIAL OF THE

CENTURY ! He read them all quickly. The first was mostly propaganda about Sirius and
whether it was smart to give a mass-murdering, child abducting, law breaking monster a trial.
The second was solely dedicated to Harry's whereabouts and the third was actually a fair
summary of what had happened all those years ago, and Sirius' alleged part in it. Peter got a
mention, and so, Remus was surprised to find, did he; apparently, he'd been unavailable for
comment. It also implied the Auror Department was corrupt and told him to turn to page six
for details, but Dora hadn't included that article.

Remus stared at the rather unflattering photograph of Sirius in Azkaban, snarling at the
camera, and at the photograph of Harry, looking very young as he was escorted out of the
Ministry by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Remus didn't care much about photographs, though.
Sirius was going to get his trial! He'd get his chance to speak, and he'd be proven innocent
and he'd be free. Sirius and Harry would be able to go home – Merlin knew they both needed
it – and Remus could stop pretending to hate them both.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, laughing. Then several other things sank in – like where he was,
and what he was doing - and he flopped flopping back onto the mattress, with his hands on
his face. Greyback had made things difficult while he was alive, and Remus was darkly
amused by the fact that he'd even managed to inconvenience Remus with his death. "Damn
you, you-"

"Lupin?" The curtain was pulled aside to reveal Debbie. Remus was rather surprised to see
her; she hadn't made any effort to speak with him or Matt since they'd arrived and she'd spent
the whole time glaring at them. She was still glaring now.

"Debbie," he said, sitting up. He scooped everything up and stuffed it back into the envelope,
which went into his pocket again. "How are you?"

"You did it, didn't you?" she said quietly. Her eyes were red-rimmed, which Remus didn't
understand – she'd hated Greyback as much as he had, or so he'd thought – and her voice was
hoarse.

"Pardon?"

"You killed him," she said, coming a step closer. Remus' mouth fell open.

"No! No, of course-"

"You hated him!" she snarled. "I know you did- everyone knows."

"If I'd wanted him dead, I'd have done it a long time ago," Remus said tiredly. "I'm not going
to pretend that I'm sad that he's gone-"

"See!"

"I never claimed to like him," Remus said, rolling his eyes. "But I didn't kill him."

"Nancy says you did-"

"Oh," Remus said irritably, "well if Nancy says so, then it must be true."

"You're not denying it," she said.

"I already did!"

"I was friends with you long enough to know that you don't have anyone else," she said
coldly. "You're so lonely, and you just want everyone else to be lonely too, don't you? You
can't stand that you never fit in here, so you thought you'd take away their father, didn't you?
Did you want to be our father, Lupin? Did you want to be the alpha?"

Remus stared at her for a long moment. He knew there wasn't much he could say; if she was
thinking clearly, she'd have smelled that he was telling the truth. Debbie was gone, for him at
least. She was part of the pack now.

"I managed to escape you," she continued, eyes bright, "and it looks like Matt's not enough
anymore. You want power – you had to be the leader of our little search team, didn't you-"

"Obviously power was so important," Remus said, rolling his eyes, "because I gave it up to
be treated like rubbish for two months here." She faltered for a moment, as if unable to
realise why he was making sense.

"A ploy," she said finally. "I was getting suspicious and you didn't like that, so you made
yourself look weak."

"I really should congratulate Nancy and Richard," he said quietly. "They've done so well with
your training – you don't even recognise sense when it's right in front of you."

"They have done well – they managed to overthrow every single-"

"Shred of logic?" Remus suggested.

"No-"

"Ounce of reason?"

"Every single traitorous lesson you tried to force on me! You say Father was terrible for
Gifting us, but you're worse! You're too afraid to bite people, but you're just as happy as he is
to take a new slate and to try to shape them into your little weapons. And then you include us
in your little pack – make us feel wanted – and then we get here, and realise you've made us
outcasts, even amongst our own kind! And I think you love that, I think you love the fact that
you can give us all the answers, and pretend to protect us, and-"

"Shut up, Deb," Matt said, yanking the curtain back. Debbie flinched. Matt's voice was level
and just as playful as usual, but his eyes were hard. "I don't know what you mean by 'us',
because I certainly don't agree with any of the rubbish you were just spitting out, and unless
you and Remus had a secret pack that I wasn't a part of, I'm the only other person that it could
be." Debbie's mouth opened and closed. "Get out," Matt said, almost kindly.

"No," she said shakily.

"I'm holding a pack meeting and since you've made it abundantly clear you don't want
anything to do with either of us, you're not welcome to listen in," Remus said sarcastically.

"Matthew," Debbie said quietly, playing with her honey-coloured hair, "it's not too late- you
can still choose-"
"I chose ages ago," Matt said, his tone getting very dark, very quickly. "If you want to believe
that your 'gifting' was a gift to you, go for it."

"Delude away," Remus added sadly. Debbie's face hardened, and Matt smirked.

"Because from what I've seen – and I've had this for a lot longer than you have," Matt said,
"Greyback calls it 'gifting' because he's giving himself a present every time he hurts
someone."

"He does- did it for us- everything's for us," she insisted.

Matt snorted and said, "My 'Gifting' was a gift to someone else. I was bitten to punish my
parents for loving each other. If you can possibly see how that was for me, I'd love to hear
about it." Debbie was silent. "That's what I thought," Matt said amicably. "Now, run along.
We've got pack things to discuss." The second she was gone, Matt cast a Sticking Charm on
the curtain and also put up a Silencing Charm. "Honestly, you'd think crazy was contagious!
Who's the letter from?" Remus dug it out of his pocket and passed it over. Matt scanned it
and his eyes widened.

"Wow," he said finally.

"Pretty much," Remus replied, massaging his temples.

"So- you're leaving then?"

"I- I have to be there for Sirius' trial-"

"You're not going to testify, are you?" Matt asked, gaping at him.

"I don't know," Remus sighed. "I want to-"

"It'd be stupid," Matt warned. "It might do him some good, but it's just as likely to end with
you in a cell next to his."

"I know." Remus rubbed his eyes. "I've still got to go, though, even if I'm not going to say
anything, I can'tmiss it. I have to be there- I have to know-"

"We'll go home tomorrow," Matt said, with a sad smile, passing the letter back. "We've done
what we came for anyway."

"We?"

"You think I'm going to let you go home and mope?" Matt asked, looking at Remus as if he
was mad.

"I don't need a babysitter," Remus grumbled. He tucked the letter back into its envelope and
put it with the others in his pocket.

"No, but you need a friend right now, since your other one's in prison," Matt said flatly.
Remus flinched, and Matt must have smelled the resignation because he grinned. "Glad that's
settled." Remus grunted, not sure if he was grateful or exasperated. "So, who's your lady-
friend?"

"Excuse me?" Remus asked faintly, at to his complete horror, he felt his cheeks redden.

"This Tonks person. Do I know her? Because the letter smells- are you blushin-"

"You know her as Tock," Remus said, hoping to distract Matt with a new piece of
information. As he'd hoped, Matt forgot about the colour of Remus' face at once, in favour of
gaping. In for a knut, in for a galleon, Remus thought. "And also as the Auror who saved you
from Greyback. And she's not my lady-friend."

"Theodora Tock?" Matt asked. "She's an Aur- what?" Remus sighed and moved over so that
Matt could sit down. Matt did – rather heavily – and Remus ran a hand through his hair.
Remus could have lied, but he was sick of lying. And Matt knew about Sirius, which was the
biggest secret anyway.

"It all starts with Sirius," he said, crossing his legs, and began with that first morning where
Mad-Eye and Dora had broken into his cottage and ended with the morning after the last full
moon, where he'd found out about Greyback, though he left out the part about crying on
Dora. It was good to have someone finally know everything – even Sirius didn't, because he'd
been locked up for nearly a month and quite a lot had happened since then. Matt was silent
for almost a minute afterward.

"Huh," he said finally. "Well, it certainly explains a lot." Remus gave him a slightly sheepish
smile. "So what'd you do?"

"Pardon?"

"Why's she furious?" Matt asked, smirking. Remus rolled his eyes, not liking Matt's tone or
expression much at all.

"I'm sure it's not what you think."

"I think," Matt said innocently, "that it sounds an awful lot like you're ignoring her."

"There might be a bit of that," Remus admitted, and felt his face colour. "It's complicated."

"Is it?" Matt asked, probably well aware that the fact that Remus felt rather guilty and
embarrassed had more to do with it than the complexity. Remus decided to pretend otherwise.
"Do you want to talk about it? Talking helps."

"Not really," Remus said, grimacing. He knew he'd made a mess of a very good friendship
without having someone else point it out further. Matt didn't look surprised. He looked
amused and altogether too calm, and it was putting Remus on edge. "What?" Remus asked
warily.

"Nothing," Matt said, hopping off the bed.

"Matt-"
"Remus," Matt retorted. Then he chuckled, patted Remus on the shoulder and – after
removing the charms on the curtains – left.

"Bloody hell," Remus muttered for the second time that day.

Two days had passed since the Kelpie incident and McKinnon – apparently under the
impression that if she left Harry alone for even a minute he'd get himself into some sort of
trouble – was rarely further than a few steps from him at all times. It was quite an adjustment
to make; Harry'd gone from having only Dobby for the first few days, to having constant
human company

It had started off – unsurprisingly, since Harry'd heard Mr Malfoy shouting at her from
outside the Manor – with an apology for leaving him unsupervised. Harry brushed it off; no
one had been hurt – even Bosworth had only been a little bit terrorised – and Dobby'd needed
her more than Harry had. Besides, she might have hurt the Kelpie who'd proven itself a
reasonable creature.

McKinnon hadn't talked to him for the rest of that day – apparently her eight word apology
had exhausted her speaking quota for the day – but the next afternoon they'd talked about
Dobby, which was a nice, safe topic, and McKinnon had told him a little bit more about
house elves. It was nothing new to Harry, but he appreciated the effort.

Draco'd avoided Harry for that first day after the incident – admittedly, he was out for most of
it - but on the second day, he was back with a vengeance, apparently having decided he was
drawing attention to himself and Harry by ignoring him. They'd gone flying, played chess –
Harry had lost both games and Draco'd been smug since – and then Harry'd managed to talk
him into a few games of Exploding Snap, which Draco'd seemed to enjoy more than Harry
had expected him too.

Hydrus, predictably, had sulked in a corner with Bosworth and talked to the rat loudly about
how dirty and barbaric it was. Draco'd sent his brother running to Mr Malfoy complaining
about Draco insulting him, and then Draco'd promptly insulted Harry for his game choice,
thanked him for playing, and gone to shower, leaving a confused and slightly offended Harry
behind. True to his word, though, Draco hadn't mentioned the Kelpie once.

On the third day since the Kelpie incident, Harry woke early – he'd had a dream about
Voldemort and not been able to get back to sleep – and crept downstairs to the kitchen.
Dobby was awake – apparently the night before had been his gardening night and the elf
hadn't slept – and preparing breakfast, and had been so distracted that he'd given Harry what
he'd asked for without questioning it, and sent him on his way.

Harry made his way outside into the cool morning – it was May and starting to warm up, but
the mornings were still cold – and sat down at the edge of the pond. He was probably getting
mud on his silk pyjamas, but in two more days, they wouldn't be his anymore, and nor could
he imagine the Malfoys keeping them for any reason - so he didn't think it mattered.

He set the plate down on the ground beside him, and then reached out to splash the water. He
wasn't entirely sure why he was doing this, but he put it down to curiosity. That and Moony
had a fascination with magical creatures, and Harry was sure he'd want stories. A few
minutes later, a large, dark head appeared and Harry's mouth fell open.

"Padfoot?" he asked incredulously, but as soon as the words escaped him, he realised it
wasn't. It was a very large, shaggy looking dog, but each clump of dark fur was actually a
bulrush. And the eyes were the same gleaming blue as the snake's not Padfoot's warm grey.
"Er... hi," Harry said uncertainly. The dog just stared at him, and then suddenly grew so that it
was a horse, with bulrushes for its mane and tail. It stepped, dripping, out of the water and
Harry tentatively reached for his wand, thinking that perhaps this had been a mistake.

It snorted at him and then waited expectantly but Harry, for some reason, had no clue what
that was supposed to mean. It snorted again, sounding frustrated.

"Sorry, what?" Harry asked, inching back. There was a pop and the horse vanished and Harry
jumped, startled, as something blue landed with a thump. It was the snake.

"How'ss thiss?" it said, slithering forward.

"I can understand you, if that's what you mean," Harry said, releasing his wand.

"Interessting." Harry didn't think the word was directed at him, so he didn't say anything. It
cocked its head. "Can I help you, little sspeaker?"

"I brought you something," Harry said, offering it the plate of chicken. "I sort of ruined your
last meal, so I thought-"

"Sstrange," the snake remarked, coming forward again. It coiled around the plate and its
tongue flicked out to taste the air. "And unecessssary. But thankss, I ssupposse."

"You're welcome," Harry said, awkwardly. "Thanks again for not eating Bosworth."

"The rat?" The tongue flicked out again. "It ssmelled funny. Probably wouldn't have tassted
very nice anyway." Harry fought a smile and lost, under the distinct impression it was lying.
"Bessidess, I like my home. And now you should run along, little sspeaker. Interessting as
you are, I have other thingss to do thiss morning."

"Er... sure," Harry said.

The snake didn't appear to hear him; it turned into a large, dark blue lion with a mane of
bulrushes and snapped up the chicken in one mouthful. It growled at him and shrank until it
was a bright blue mouse with a bulrush tail and stepped into the water. Then it was a snake
again – and Harry got the impression it was showing off with its shape-shifting – and it
slithered along the surface for a bit before going under where Harry couldn't see it anymore.

He washed his muddy hands in the water and wiped them on his pyjama trousers. Then he
picked up the plate and headed back inside. Dobby was still preparing breakfast, and was
apparently too tired to notice Harry return to the kitchen, wash the plate and put it away.
Harry left without saying anything, and bumped into a frantic McKinnon. She calmed as soon
as she realised it was him she'd knocked into.
"You're up early," she said, watching his face. Harry tried not to look guilty.

"Couldn't sleep," he said.

"Why not?" she asked, after a pause, startling him; Harry hadn't expected her to say anything.
She smiled wryly at the look on his face.

"Dreams," Harry said, when it became apparent that she genuinely wanted an answer. Her
smile slipped.

"Bad ones?"

"No, the good kind," Harry said, sarcastically, but there was no real bite in his voice. Then he
realised that, while he could get away with a comment like that to any of the Malfoys, or to
Padfoot or Moony, it was breaking the awkward, silent neutrality he and McKinnon had had.
She looked shocked. "Sorry, that was rud-" But before he could finish, an amused snort had
escaped her. Harry stared, and decided then and there that Draco wasn't the only one in this
house he didn't understand.

"Don't apologise," she said after a moment. "You've got every right to be as rude to me as you
want." Harry kept staring. "We're not exactly friends, are we?" She was right – she'd tried to
arrest Padfoot last September – but she'd also been the one that found Padfoot after their visit
to the cave and she'd kept him alive, and she'd been quiet but civil while she was on guard
duty down in the cells.

"We're not enemies," Harry said finally, and headed down the hallway toward the foyer.

"Not- He didn't tell you?" she said quietly.

"Tell me what?" Harry asked, stopping. McKinnon's face was pale, and she shook her head.
Harry knew she wasn't going to answer, but at least she hadn't said it was nothing, or
pretended not to know what he was talking about.

"You don't hate me?" she whispered.

"No," Harry said warily. "Should I?"

"Probably. I thought-" McKinnon hugged herself, apparently unable to say what she'd
thought. She laughed once, without humour this time. "I will never understand him." Then,
looking both guilty and hopeful, McKinnon asked, "So you don't mind if I talk to you?"

"Er... no?" Harry said, but it was almost a question. McKinnon's face lit up.

"I don't know where to start," she admitted. "I have so much I've wanted to ask- so much I've
wanted to say." She was quiet for a bit – Harry continued through the house to the foyer, up
the stairs, and into the library, where he found the book he'd been reading last night and sat
down in one of the dark green armchairs. McKinnon sat down across from him, looking
curious.

"What was your dream about?" she asked, and Harry groaned. She watched him expectantly.
"If you're not going to tell me why I should hate you, I'm not telling you that," he said stiffly.

She eyed him for a moment, and then, surprisingly, nodded and said, "Fair enough. Why-
why did- why me? Why was I asked to guard you?"

"P- Sirius trusts you?" Harry suggested, shrugging.

"No," McKinnon said, quietly, but with conviction. Harry gave her an odd look.

"He must," Harry said slowly. "Otherwise he wouldn't have picked you. He takes my safety...
er... seriously." He grimaced at the unintentional pun.

"But he can't- he's not allowed to trust me," she said, looking angry and miserable. Harry was
alarmed to see tears building up in her eyes and hoped she wouldn't actually cry, because he
didn't know her well enough to offer any sort of comfort.

"He wanted Mad-Eye – his old mentor?" Harry said, and then cursed himself; of course she
knew who Mad-Eye was. "-but Dora and Scrimgeour said no, so Padfoot asked for you."

"I don't understand," she whispered, looking sad. She sniffed once. "Don't- just stay here and
safe, all right?" McKinnon said thickly, getting to her feet. She hurried out of the library and
Harry distinctly heard her sob. Harry decided then and there that he much preferred the
company of girls like Keira and Ginny who didn't cry. Then he shook his head, and went
back to reading his book, on spell creation; it was identical to the one he was supposed to
have started reading at home – and Merlin that seemed like forever ago.

Harry flicked through to his page with a sigh, hoping for the thousandth time that week that
Padfoot was okay.

"Everything's going about as well as you'd expect," Marlene said. She was sitting cross
legged on her bed, cradling her Sidekick in her hands, talking to Gawain. "There haven't been
any incidents since-"

"The Kelpie?" Gawain asked dryly. Marlene flushed, well able to imagine the look on his
face, even if she couldn't see it.

"No. Harry's not really friendly with either of the boys, but he and Draco tolerate each other
and Hydrus is too much like his father to try anything when he might be caught." McKinnon's
lip curled, though she as thankful the boys weren't fighting; she didn't want Harry hurt, but
alternatively, who knew what Sirius had taught Harry? Sons of Death Eaters or not, the
Malfoy boys didn't even have wands yet.

"And what of Lucius?" Gawain asked.

"Still the same. Sickeningly friendly, asks a lot of questions for all the good it does him."

"Have you learned anything that could help us at the trial?"

"Only that Sirius has obviously been teaching Harry things. I told you about the Finite on
Dobby, but tonight he lit a fire in the library-"

"He what?!" Gawain shouted. "Was anyone hurt-"

"In the grate," Marlene said, rolling her eyes. "He said he was cold, but he should have called
Dobby, or asked me, not done it himself..."

"Find out what he knows," Gawain said after a pause.

"How?" She and Harry had talked about Hogwarts and Quidditch a bit that afternoon, but if
his deft avoidance of Lucius' questions was any indication, then asking would be a waste of
time.

"I don't know," Gawain said tersely. "Invite him to duel you, or offer to teach him something.
You know Black, and so you know Potter. Use that. Appeal to his competitive nature, or his
inquisitive side, or something else."

"I'll try," Marlene said, a little doubtfully; Harry had his similarities to Sirius, of course, but
there were just as many differences.

"Good girl." Marlene yawned so widely that her jaw cracked, and while she was tired, she
expected she'd sleep just as poorly tonight as every other night; Harry wasn't the only one
with bad dreams. Marlene's usually featured Sirius; either he was innocent, which terrified
Marlene, because then she'd tried to kill an innocent man and was no better than she'd ever
thought he was – Sirius usually ignored her in those - or the Sirius that featured was guilty, a
murderous lunatic that killed innocents and told Marlene it was her fault for not killing him
properly when she'd had the chance.

Of course, she could only dream if she actually got to sleep, and often, Marlene couldn't
because she was so busy fretting over the Auror trainings she'd missed and what would
happen if Sirius wasn't convicted in his trial; could she live with herself if she let the traitor
go free? Or would she have to try to kill him again, and throw away the second chance
Gawain had given her? She didn't know, and didn't think she would know until the
Wizengamot reached a decision.

And, even if Marlene hadn't been struggling to sort through her opinions of Sirius, there was
also the fact that she was trying to sleep in the house of the man who'd tried to kill her. She
didn't really think Lucius would try anything, but it still worried her; she'd very nearly hexed
him when he came to wake her on the second morning – she thought he'd come himself, just
to scare her.

"-almost there," Gawain said, and Marlene's attention snapped back to her Sidekick. "Just two
days to go, and everything will be done."

"I know," she said.

"I've got to go – I'm taking a lecture in the morning."

"Early?" Marlene asked.

"Early ceased to exist years ago," he told her. "But I suspect you'd find it early, yes. Your
friend Prewett will probably miss it." Marlene laughed. There was a pause on Gawain's end,
as if he couldn't believe she'd laughed – people seemed shocked to hear laughter from her
these days – and then he cleared his throat. "Keep up to date with your reading, and we'll
arrange for you to catch up the past week and a bit when you're done guarding Potter."

"Goodnight," she said.

"G'night, McKinnon." Marlene snapped her Sidekick closed and tossed it down onto the
covers. Then she reached for her homework, which was piled on the bedside table and started
to sort through it.

She had a list of things that Gawain had owled her and told her to learn, and she also had a
dictated list from the other trainees, about what they'd actually learned; she'd talked to them
last night. Tonks had called her through the Sidekick and Wellington, Prewett and the now
ever-present Yaxley had obviously been with her when she did so, because they'd all called
greetings or jokes in the background; Prewett had apparently fallen asleep at home and
missed the first half of their evening session.

Discuss the advantages and disadvantages of housing the accused in Ministry holding cells
and not in Azkaban, pre-trial.

Marlene dipped her quill in ink and pulled her sheet of half finished answers toward her.
Gawain had said they weren't supposed to cover the legal side of things until October, but
they'd swapped that part of the curriculum with healing spells because of everything that was
going on with Sirius. Marlene thought it was quite a good idea; Sirius wasn't good for much
other than being a traitorous mass-murdering, lying lunatic, but at least he was able to –
inadvertently – help train a new set of Aurors. She thought that would annoy him.

Briefly outline legal and illegal methods of questioning during a trial.

Marlene had to consult one of her books for that, and spent the next hour making a concerted
effort to get as much work out of the way as possible. Finally, she couldn't take anymore, and
she snapped Wizarding Law shut and piled all of her work on the bedside table again.

Wizarding Law was dull enough that she thought she might actually get to sleep if she just lay
down and closed her eyes, but she forced herself to stand up and leave the room. A sleepy
glance at her Sidekick told her it was just past twelve. She stumbled down the plushly
carpeted hallway past the Malfoy boys' bedrooms and gently twisted the doorknob to Harry's
room.

He was curled up on the window sill, fast asleep, his breath fogging the glass. His wand lay
on the floor, still lit, and his glasses were hanging from one ear. Marlene stepped into the
room and picked up his wand, which quivered, apparently not liking that she wasn't its true
master.
"Nox," she said quietly, and put it on the bedside table. Then she returned to Harry, picked
him up gently and carried him over to the enormous bed.

"Padfoot?" he asked blearily, as she set him down and tucked him in. His eyes didn't open,
but he was smiling and he'd lifted an arm, as if to make room for a cat or a soft toy to be
tucked under. Marlene looked around but couldn't see anything – whatever it was was
probably back where he and Sirius had been living. After a moment, Harry frowned and let
his elbow fall back to the bed, and though he wasn't really awake, Marlene got the impression
he was disappointed.

Not in her, obviously – he probably didn't even know she was there – but it seemed that way.
She'd tried to kill Sirius, who Harry -Merlin knew why - seemed to adore. She'd expected
Harry to hate her, or fear her, or at least be wary of her. She didn't have any choice but to
follow him around, but she'd tried to be as distant as possible, and give him an escape from
her that way. And maybe she was a bit afraid that he'd reject her himself, and she didn't think
she could take that, even though she probably deserved it from his viewpoint.

Except Sirius hadn't said a word. Harry didn't know. She almost wished he did; now she
could either keep avoiding him – which probably made Harry think she was an awfully cold,
heartless cow – or she could talk to him, befriend him, and feel awful on the inside, because
no matter how much Sirius deserved to die, Harry would see it as a betrayal when he found
out. And, as much as she wanted to get to know Lily and James' son, she didn't think that she
could set him up to get hurt. Not deliberately. That was Sirius' job. Marlene was a worse
person that Gawain liked to think, but she was better than Sirius.

Why was it, that every time she tried to do the right thing, things seemed to backfire on her?
First Sirius survived, then Harry didn't hate her and therefore didn't know why she – who he'd
probably seen as an ally in this snake pit until she actually arrived – was being so distant.

Maybe because it's not the right thing, suggested a voice that sounded a lot like her own from
before the war, before Sirius changed sides, before everything. Marlene ignored it. She'd been
young then, and stupid. If her present self didn't know what was right and what wasn't, then
her younger self certainly wouldn't.

"Goodnight, Harry," she said quietly, and suspected it would be him and how to treat him she
thought about tonight while she was trying to sleep.
 The night before

"I think the muggleborns are to blame," Draco said abruptly. Severus looked up from the
corner, where he was stirring a small cauldron.

"Oh?" he asked, squeezing his stirring rod so tightly it was in danger of bending.

"Well, Gryffindor-" Draco's lip curled as he said the name of the man that – if everything
continued the way Narcissa intended – had given his name to Draco's future House. "-
promised they'd be friends – brothers, even – but he didn't keep it, did he?" Severus filled a
phial of the potion – it looked rather like liquid fog – and then deposited the rest of it into a
large jar which he sealed and sent to sit on his desk.

"No, he didn't," Severus agreed.

"He just sent his best friend away."

"He did."

"And it's because of the muggleborns," Draco said derisively. "Gryffindor and Slytherin were
good friends and they were powerful, and muggleborns came between them. They didn't have
any right to do that. They should just stay out of wizarding things, because they seem to mess
everything up."

"Why muggleborns?" Severus asked.

"Exactly," Draco said, looking pleased with himself.

Your breeding is showing, Draco, Severus thought disdainfully. "No," Severus bit out,
pocketing the phial, "what I mean is: why are muggleborns different?"

"They have filthy bl-"

"If you finish that sentence," Severus snarled, "I will force you to sample every potion
ingredient as you rearrange them the next time you visit me."

"But they d-"

"My stores contain sloth brains and acromantula venom, and powdered troll toenails,"
Severus said loudly, and Draco shut his mouth, looking ill. "Come here." Draco baulked.

"I didn't say it- I stopped-"

"Now," Severus said, and Draco leaped off his seat as if burned and made his way over
reluctantly. After just two steps, he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, apparently
resigned to whatever fate it was that he thought Severus had planned. Severus had no
intention of feeding him anything nasty, but he was going to give his godson a message that
would hopefully stay with him for the rest of his hopefully lengthy life. "Give me your hand."
Draco stuck it out, and Severus grabbed the boy's wrist and pulled him closer.

"What-"

"Sectum," Severus said, slashing his wand through the air. Draco gasped and made a sound
suspiciously like a squeal, clutching his bleeding hand. Severus repeated the spell on his own
hand, grimacing because it stung, and then put his wand down in his lap and grabbed Draco's
wrist again.

"Oww," Draco said pitifully. "You cut me!"

"My mother came from a pureblood line as impressive as your own," Severus said, ignoring
this and placing his hand beside Draco's. "My father was a muggle." Draco gasped even
louder than he had when Severus had cut his palm. "According to your theory, I should
have filthy blood. Does my blood look filthy to you?"

"N-no," Draco said faintly, looking at their hands, and then away. He seemed a little
squeamish.

"Is mine perhaps darker? Is it brown, like mud? Does yours glitter like liquefied rubies in
contrast?"

"N-no," Draco squeaked. Severus had seen ghosts with more colour. Severus released him
and picked up his wand to heal his own palm. Draco's, however, he only healed partially. It
wasn't in any danger of splitting open again, or getting infected, but neither had the skin
knitted together as neatly as Severus'. Draco's would scar.

Draco sank to the floor, staring at the pink line on his hand, and Severus wondered
momentarily if he'd been too harsh. Then he shrugged it off. This was something Draco
would do well to remember; if he joined the Dark Lord, then at least he would understand
that he was slaughtering people, not animals, and if it really hit home, then perhaps it would
be that much easier to encourage Draco to join Dumbledore.

"I will ask you again," Severus said, breaking the silence. "What, given your
recent... enlightenment, makes us – the supposedly proper wizarding stock – so superior to
muggleborns?" Draco was quiet and Severus was pleased because it meant that Draco was
obviously thinking about it.

"We know about magic," he said eventually, still cradling his hand. "They don't think to use
their wands for simple tasks like we do, and they don't know any spells before they go to
school-"

"You know spells now, then?" Severus asked.

"I know a few," Draco said defensively. "I don't have my wand yet, so-"

"So your proper magical education has not yet begun. And I daresay it will not begin, until
you step off the Hogwarts Express for the first time."
"I guess," Draco mumbled, and Severus was relieved he didn't suggest that muggleborns
learned more slowly or something equally ludicrous. "Is it how powerful they are? We've had
magic longer, so-"

"I have known powerful witches and wizards of all heritage," Severus said.

"Looks, then," Draco said, with certainty.

"You can tell heritage with a look?" Severus asked, mockingly impressed. "Then I commend
you on your acting ability; you seemed genuinely surprised when I revealed the truth about
my father." Draco flushed.

"Then what's the difference?!" he demanded.

"You haven't worked it out?" Severus asked, arching an eyebrow. Draco glared at him. "The
difference, Draco, between a muggleborn and a pureblood, is that one has magical parents
and the other does not."

"That- no, that doesn't count!"

"Then I suppose it's nothing." Severus cast a charm to fill his cauldron with soapy water and
conjured a wiry brush to scrub it.

"Nothing?" Draco asked, looking angry. "But- if they're not different, then what's the problem
with them?"

"Who says there is one?" Severus asked curtly.

"You don't think there is?" Draco snapped, folding his arms.

"I don't think my opinion matters," Severus said. "You should be free to reach your own
conclusions on the matter."

"Then why-"

"Because, Draco, in order to reach a conclusion, one must have all of the information, not
merely one side of it." Draco glared at him, but Severus could see him processing everything
he'd learned. Severus had given him the book on the Founders with the intention of having
him learn a bit more about conflict, its causes and possible outcomes, as well as to give him a
break from labour. And of course, to teach him that there were always two sides to an
argument. He had not intended for it to be a lesson on prejudices. Better now than never, I
suppose. "Are you ready to go home?"

"Yes," he said sulkily, and then brightened a bit. "Can I take the book?"

"Of course," Severus said, and Draco scurried over to get it. "But I expect it back tomorrow."
Severus' hand brushed his pocket to make sure the Occlusion Potion was still there, and some
of his anxiety – which had faded while he was brewing, and while he was arguing with his
godson – returned. He was just glad it was a Saturday, because he wasn't really in any state to
deal with multiple children today. "Are you expecting your mother to be home this
afternoon?"

"Father's busy with the Minister," Draco said.

"That is not what I asked."

"Mother doesn't do politics," Draco said snidely, and Severus choked on a snort of laughter.
"So yes, obviously she'll be there, so I did answer your question."

"Shall we go then?" Severus asked, pulling his office door open. His heart thudded almost
painfully in his chest. The things I do for you, Lily...

"But Dobby usually- wait, we?"

The Manor gate chimed and Narcissa looked up. In the seat next to hers, Hydrus' eyes, a clear
blue like Narcissa's own, immediately moved away from the star charts they'd been looking
over.

"Just because I'm not here does not mean you're finished," she said, reaching out as if to pat
her older son's hair. Then she thought better of it; Hydrus wouldn't appreciate the gesture. "I
expect you to still be here when I come back. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Mother," he said sulkily. She offered him an approving look – the sort that she'd
received from her own mother as a child – and swept out of the room.

McKinnon and the Potter boy were coming through the foyer – probably from the kitchen –
as she came downstairs. Young Potter looked curiously at her – they were yet to receive a
visitor in his time at the Manor – but McKinnon shepherded him toward the courtyard before
he could show any signs of lingering.

Her guests were waiting outside the front door, rather than at the gate – that startled her,
because only a Malfoy or Dobby could open the gate. The reason for that quickly became
apparent when she opened the door to find Draco and Severus.

"Mother," Draco said, perking up. He hugged her – a little awkwardly, because he had a large
book under one arm – and then backed down the steps and around the side of the Manor.
Narcissa expected he was off to find a tree to read in or under.

"Severus," she said politely. "Were you hoping to see Lucius-"

"Draco tells me he is with the Minister, preparing for tomorrow," Severus replied, patting his
pocket almost absentmindedly. "But that matters little; I was hoping to have a word with
you." Narcissa's eyes flicked to the corner Draco had disappeared around moments before
and nodded, standing aside to let him in.

"Hydrus!" she called. "The lesson's over!" She didn't want him sitting there alone for
however long this took. "Lucius' study is free," she said, and Severus strode past her in that
direction while she closed the door.
"How is your... houseguest?" Severus asked as they walked.

"Which one?" Narcissa asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Potter," Severus drawled, saying the name as if it was an expletive.

"Everything I feared and hoped," she replied quietly. "Very polite, although I don't think he
likes it here terribly much. Quiet, but every inch a Gryffindor, I think, if the Kelpie is
anything to go by-"

"Kelpie?"

"Draco didn't mention it?" she asked, and Severus' face was unreadable. "Potter saved our
little ratty friend," Narcissa said, in a voice barely louder than a murmur, as she pushed open
the door of Lucius' office.

"From a Kelpie?" Severus spluttered, looking aghast. "But-"

"A hex of some sort was involved, or so I'm led to believe," Narcissa said, closing the door
behind Severus. "The boy's quite bold." Severus scowled, apparently recovered from his
shock, or at least recovered enough to hide it. And loveable, she added in her head. Potter was
the sort of child she could see herself growing to care for, if she wasn't careful.

"Indeed," Severus said flatly, and then he was quiet for a long time. Narcissa sat down in
Lucius' chair behind the desk, and Severus pulled his own chair over from the corner. "You're
certain it was Pettigrew?" Severus asked finally.

"Positive," Narcissa said coolly. Severus looked thoughtful. "What did you want to talk
about?"

"Draco cannot trust you?" Severus asked silkily. Narcissa had no reason to doubt him, but for
some reason, she didn't believe that was what he'd come for.

"No," Narcissa said, picking at a loose thread of silver embroidery on her sleeve.

"May I ask why?" Narcissa looked up, one side of her mouth twisting into a smile.

"You may," she said, "but I cannot promise a truthful answer. After all, if my son is unable to
trust me, should you?"

"I'm not in the mood for your mind games, Narcissa," Severus said irritably. She arched an
eyebrow; her entire life was a mind-game at the moment. "Why?"

"It's none of your concern," she said finally, unable to look the Potions Master in the eye. For
all that he pretended he was Dumbledore's, Severus belonged to the Dark Lord. He wouldn't
take it well if she admitted it was to open Draco's mind to the possibility of joining
Dumbledore's side. She was probably years ahead of herself with her warning to Draco, but
something told her it was best to plant the seed early, even if lay dormant for a few years
more.
"Then why me?" he asked. "Why can he trust me and not you?"

"You're his godfather, and his teacher," she said, arching an eyebrow. "And," she admitted, in
a quieter voice. "I can't bring myself to destroy all of his foundations just yet. He still needs-
someone-"

"And what if I am not that someone?" Severus asked, sounding angry.

"You survived the war," Narcissa said finally, tucking her hair behind her ear. "That is what
this is about. This is about Draco's survival, remember?" It is about giving one of my sons a
choice, and giving him the skills he will need to not be killed for it. There was half a chance
that Draco would even turn against Severus before everything was done. And, if Severus did
his job properly, then he wouldn't have any more idea that Draco had turned than Narcissa
would.

"I don't like it."

"I'm not asking you to."

"No, but you've asked everything else," Severus said, with almost-humour in his voice now.
Narcissa's answering smile was wry; she thought Severus understood on some subconscious
level that Narcissa was only using him to protect Draco, but thankfully, he hadn't realised it
properly.

"Was that all you wanted?" she asked. Severus started to rise from his seat.

"Yes, that was all I came to ask," he said. "I did not receive the answers I was hoping for, but
at this point, I think I should have known better."

"Probably," Narcissa agreed, also standing.

"Are you attending tomorrow?" Severus asked, gesturing to a folded copy of the Prophet on
Lucius' desk. Narcissa tilted her head to read it.

"The trial?" she asked. "No. Lucius is taking Potter in-"

"And bringing him back afterward?" Narcissa grimaced. She hadn't yet managed to come up
with anything to stop that from happening, but she knew that the chances of Sirius being
proven innocent were slim; Lucius was working closely with Fudge to ensure that Sirius
would not be freed. The only thing she'd been able to think of was turning Pettigrew in, but
despite hours of thought given to the matter, she still wasn't convinced that that was the best
decision for her; turning Pettigrew in would lead to him being questioned, and Narcissa was
involved. She'd housed the rat for a year now.

If Pettigrew was found, he'd be charged and she and Lucius would be too, right alongside
him. And, while she didn't want to end up raising Potter, she'd rather do that than sit in
Azkaban with her husband and sister.

"Probably," Narcissa said grudgingly. Severus nodded to himself, as if she'd confirmed

something, and reached for the doorknob. His hand never made it, however. "Severus?"
"What if Pettigrew goes to the trial?" he asked stiffly, as if he'd just realised something.

"What?" Narcissa asked doubtfully. She wasn't sure that Pettigrew had a selfless bone in his
body. "Severus, do you know how ridiculous-"

"Potter saved him," Severus said tersely, patting his pocket again. Narcissa wondered whether
it was a new nervous habit of his, or if it was deliberate. Narcissa stared at him, not
following. "How familiar are you with the concept of life-debts?"

"When did you get back?" Harry asked, looking up as Draco appeared around the corner of
the Manor.

"Just now," he said. "Move, please."

"Wh-"

"Move, Potter," Draco said irritably. McKinnon looked like she might intervene, but Harry
just met Draco's stare evenly. "You're blocking my tree."

"Sorry," Harry said, rolling his eyes. He did, however, shift over. Draco looked at the spot
where he'd been sitting with a curled lip but flopped down anyway, and opened his book.

"Why'd you come to the door? Why not just Apparate in?" Harry asked.

"Severus wanted a word with Mother," Draco said, flicking to his page. He settled into the
grass and his eyes drifted to his book.

Severus... as in Snape?Harry wondered, his eyes widening. What's Snape doing here?

"What are you reading?" McKinnon asked.

"It's a book on the history of the Founders," Draco said, without looking up. Harry eyed the
house and then McKinnon, who looked intrigued.

"Is it interesting?" Harry asked casually.

"No, Potter. It's frightfully boring and I'm reading it for fun." Draco looked up for a moment,
wearing an expression of such sincere curiosity that Harry was momentarily drawn out of his
thoughts on Snape. "Are you actually so dim that you had to ask, or-"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said, glowering at him.

"Hit a nerve, did I, Potter?"

"No," Harry said, rolling his eyes. Draco squinted at him for a moment. "What?" Harry
snapped.

"I'm trying to work out if you're lying or not."

"Er... right," Harry said. He really should be used to Draco's polar personalities by now. He
shook his head and got to his feet.

"Where are you going?" McKinnon asked.

"Stay here," Harry told her, in a sharper voice than was probably necessary. McKinnon
looked hurt and then resigned. "I'm just going to the bathroom."

"Do you think he's lying?" he heard Draco ask in a perplexed tone.

Harry didn't hear McKinnon's response. He went into the courtyard, slipped in through the
back doors and then crept down the hallway. If Snape and Mrs Malfoy were talking, they'd
either be in the library, or in Mr Malfoy's study, and the study at least, was near the bathroom.

Yes, Harry thought, as Snape's voice drifted through the closed study door.

"-ly exists if one or both parties are aware of the debt's existence."

"And is that likely?" Mrs Malfoy asked in a low voice. Harry struggled to hear her.

"Who knows what Black's told Potter? And Pettigrew-" Harry inhaled sharply and crept as
close to the door as he dared. "-has proven more than enough times that he's not to be
underestimated. He's a fool, but he is not an idiot."

"So if they know- if one of them knows, Potter could have him do anything?" Harry's breath
caught.

"Anything," Snape repeated grimly. "He'd die if Potter told him to-"

Harry heard footsteps and had just enough time to launch himself into the bathroom across
the hallway. He stepped out, pretending to dry his hands on his trousers and saw McKinnon
standing there.

"You're here," she said.

"Where else would I be?" Harry asked. His mind was reeling; what was this power he
apparently had over Peter? And where was he? Obviously Snape and Mrs Malfoy knew,
which meant Snape had been lying when he told Padfoot he didn't know where to find Peter.
And though Harry didn't really like Snape, he still felt betrayed. Snape had seemed – in his
own, slightly scary way – concerned for Harry's safety on several occasions, but obviously
that had been false; Harry'd be better off if Peter was in Azkaban but Snape hadn't done
anything about that.

"Did you want to go back outside?"

"Sure," he said, and followed her back to the tree where Draco was sitting. Draco didn't
acknowledge either of them, and Harry sat down without saying anything else to McKinnon,
while thoughts about Snape and his betrayal bounced around in his head.
Harry decided to think about that later, and focused on the matter at hand; Peter. The way
Snape and Mrs Malfoy'd been talking made it sound like he was closely connected to them –
Snape had sounded worried when he said Harry could make Peter do anything. It was even
possible that he was nearby, but Harry doubted it. He knew from old photographs what Peter
looked like, but unless he was disguised as Dobby or something, Harry hadn't seen any men
wandering around.

It was also possible he was a rat, but while Harry'd been suspicious of Bosworth and
Roquefort initially, but they were too dark to match Peter's fair colouring and more
importantly, neither of them were missing fingers. Hiding in plain sight was possible – maybe
Peter'd somehow grown his finger back, and maybe there were charms on him to darken his
coat – but to have him as a pet? The Malfoys were careful people – Padfoot had said it and
Harry had seen it during his stay – and having Peter in the Manor seemed too risky.

He was probably in hiding somewhere isolated – maybe the Malfoys had bought him a
cottage or something? Or maybe Peter was abroad, and looking for Voldemort, and was in
contact with Mr Malfoy? Harry wished he knew. If he had Peter, Padfoot wouldn't even need
tomorrow's trial. He'd be released on the spot.

Harry wished Padfoot or Moony – preferably both - were here with him. They'd know what
to make of this, be able to use it somehow.

Only they aren't here, Harry thought glumly. Then he set his jaw. I s'pose that means it's up to
me.

Narcissa leaned back into her husband's chair, an intensely thoughtful look on her face.
Severus waited. On the outside, he looked nervous- worried, even. On the inside, he was
wary and hopeful, and above all, annoyed that this was necessary.

"Can you be certain that it'll manifest in that way?" Narcissa asked. "You said that these debts
are only valid if one or both parties is aware of its existence-"

"Either of them could be," Severus said.

"But if they're not-"

"Can we really afford to take that risk?" Severus asked, and Narcissa bit her lip. "In all
likelihood, nothing at all will come of it. Pettigrew will probably not be compelled to turn
himself in-"

"Then-"

"-but if he is, I am not the only one who will lose everything."

"You're right." It was spoken quietly, in a shocked yet determined tone. Severus gave himself
a mental pat on the back and tried not to look too smug.
"Unfortunately," he said, assuming his gravest expression. Narcissa's eyes met his and he
blinked once, deliberately, before turning to look out the window. An albino peacock strutted
past and Severus shook his head and turned back to her.

"So what should we do?"

"I've been aware of this problem for as long as you have," he said, and that was true. He'd
only thought of the Life-Debt idea a few minutes ago. And thank Merlin for that. Pettigrew
needed to be... relieved of several memories, but until now, Severus hadn't had any idea how
to go about that; he'd have probably had to break in and subdue the rat and Hydrus with brute
force. With Narcissa on board, that could be avoided.

"Can we- is there any way we could force him to forget?"

"Like a Memory Charm?" Severus asked silkily.

"Memory Charms can be broken," she said. "Severus, the mind is your area of expertise.
There must be something-"

"Perhaps there is," Severus stood up and went to look out the window again so she wouldn't
see the relief on his face. Narcissa was silent, allowing him to think. "There is a potion that
can be administered and used in conjunction with Legillimency to place blocks in the
subject's mind. Pettigrew will remember everything, but the information will be trapped in
his mind. It will not be allowed to escape in any verbal or visual manner, and it will be
impossible to pluck from his mind as well."

"Can it be broken?"

"It is permanent," Severus said, glancing over his shoulder.

"I've never heard of it," Narcissa said.

"It is a complex and rather obscure piece of magic," Severus drawled, and thankfully, she
backed down. Severus had no intention of telling her he'd spent the past few days creating it.

"How long does it take to brew?" she asked.

"Seventeen hours," he said, and she raised an eyebrow. "But with luck, I will be able to locate
some of it in my stores." His hand brushed the phial in his pocket again. He'd brought it with
him in case it began to look like force would be necessary, but now that he had Narcissa on
his side, it would be easy to pretend to go back and get it

"You have some?"

"I certainly hope so," he replied. "While I'm there, collect the rat and bring him here. I'll need
a few hours to sift through his memories and anchor the potion to the right ones." Narcissa
bowed her head. "I intend to try to use something broad, like the Manor and its grounds; the
potion should then trap the memories that occurred here in the past, and if I do it properly,
should also place future memories under the block as well."
"What about the times he's left the house?"

"Think back," Severus advised. "Try to remember the times that he's left, and inform me so
that I know what I am looking for." He turned away from the window and strode to the door.
"I'll be back within the hour."

Peter blinked himself awake and a soft squeak of unease escaped him. His head hurt and his
sensitive nose was clogged with something that smelled a bit like wet smoke. It was
unpleasant. Peter also couldn't remember the last few hours; last thing he knew, he'd been
given a chunk of biscuit by Narcissa and then... blank. Peter didn't remember anything of it
either. His head ached dully and he rolled over in his velvety bed and peered off the edge of
the bedside table at Hydrus, who was snoring quietly in his own bed, oblivious.

Peter sniffed his fur and wrinkled his nose. He smelled like smoke and Snape. What had
Snape been doing here, and why in Merlin's name had he wanted Peter? He wasn't sure that
he wanted to find out. Snape had been a Death Eater, yes, but he'd never really liked Peter,
and he'd been Dumbledore's pet for as long as Scabbers had been Percy's. Who knew where
his true loyalties lay these days?

Peter glanced at Hydrus again and slipped out of his box-bed. One awkward jump-fall later
and Peter had made it to Hydrus' bed and then it was a simple matter of sliding awkwardly
down the side of the sheets to the floor. Hydrus grunted and rolled over. Peter ran straight for
the door. It was only a few yards, but he was panting by the time he got there. He was fitter as
Bosworth than he had been as Scabbers but it was still a long way for such a small creature.
Peter could have covered it in a few steps.

The hallway was easier – he didn't bother running that length – and he just walked in the
shadows by the fancy wooden skirting. The stairs were another matter altogether. Peter hated
stairs more as Wormtail than he did as a human, but both Peter and Wormtail'd take going
down over going up any day. He must have looked funny, awkwardly swinging himself over
the ledge of each and then slowly trying to lower himself to the next one. It was the sort of
thing that his old friends would have found amusing. He could almost imagine them
laughing.

Peter knew how to handle that, though; he'd been doing it for years. He paused to clean his
whiskers and then made his way down the last half of the staircase. Their voices were still in
his head when he reached the ground floor, but voices weren't exactly new to him. These had
been with him for years, appearing conveniently during times of stress or self-doubt.

So, regularly. He could handle the demons inside his head. He had practice with those. It was
the ones on the outside – the Malfoys and Snape – that might hurt him. Remus was even
worse, because he lived inside and outside. Remus, the friend who'd trusted him, who'd been
betrayed by him, the friend who'd surely try to kill Peter if he had any idea of the truth. Yes,
Remus was terrifying.

And yet, Remus had nothing on Sirius. Sirius did know the truth, and Sirius had tried to kill
him. The scariest part of all of that was that he didn't blame Sirius. Sirius was probably doing
the right thing. Peter hadn't been a good man for a long time, but he still knew what the right
thing to do looked like. He also knew he saw the opposite when he looked in a mirror. He
saw himself alive, not Lily and James. He saw Sirius' arrest in the paper, and the news of his
impending trial. He saw-

Harry.

Harry was every mistake Peter had ever made.

Harry was the boy who'd lived because Lily, James and the Dark Lord had died to make it so.
Harry was the boy who hadn't died later that night because Peter'd hesitated, and then been
interrupted by Sirius and Hagrid. Harry was the reason Peter had had to run. If Harry'd died,
Sirius would have broken. Sirius would have had nothing and no one to avenge. Peter knew
Sirius had never done it for Lily and James, or even for himself. Sirius would have died that
night, and been spared Azkaban. Peter'd never wanted prison for his old friend.

But prison was what Sirius had received, and Peter had lost a finger and Remus had been
doomed to a life of misery. And Peter had spent years in hiding, not allowed to show his face
because both sides thought he'd failed them. And he'd made his peace with that. Almost.
Except then Sirius had escaped and Harry had met Percy's brother Ron and Peter was running
from Harry bloody Potter again. Then things had gone mercifully quiet, except for whatever
had happened at St Mungo's. Peter'd settled down again.

And then Sirius and Harry were arrested, and their faces were everywhere again. Peter hadn't
liked that, but he'd adjusted. Sirius would go back to Azkaban, since the only proof he had
was Peter and Peter was staying well away. And he'd tried. Oh, he'd tried. Harry'd come to
him instead.

Peter'd thought there was a Boggart loose in Malfoy Manor the night Harry Potter arrived.
Luckily, he hadn't had to meet the boy properly until a few days later. He'd been back under
control by that time, back to his role as fully-fingered, unassuming, slightly-darker-than-
Wormtail Bosworth. And that was a very good thing. There was no telling how he might have
reacted if Harry'd been sprung on him.

Pain stabbed through Peter's head, blinding him for a moment. He let out a small squeak of
distress and curled into a ball until it passed. A floorboard creaked nearby and Peter forced
himself to move into the shadow of a vase that was probably worth more than Peter's old
house.

"Nox," he heard a quiet voice say. A moment later, a small figure peered into the foyer. Peter
saw messy hair briefly outlined by moonlight, and the flash of glasses. He sat very still, and
then Harry disappeared back down the corridor. The only things down there were a bathroom
and Lucius' office, and Peter doubted Harry was using that bathroom in the middle of the
night when there was a perfectly good one upstairs.

He was up to something, that was for sure. And while Peter was no genius, he didn't think it
was a coincidence that he was missing several hours of memories of the night because of
Snape, or that Harry was up in the middle of the night – the night before Sirius' trial, no less -
snooping around Lucius' office. No, Peter wasn't a genius, but he wasn't an idiot. He wouldn't
have survived this long if that was the case.
He'd have left, even if he hadn't seen Harry. He didn't really think the Malfoys would hand
him over to the Aurors. They didn't give a damn about Sirius, and Lucius was keen to adopt
Harry if the past week had been any indication. Besides, if they turned him in, he'd make sure
they went down with him. No, he didn't think he needed to worry about them. Snape though...
what had Snape done without Peter knowing? Had he put him under a spell, or fed him some
sort of potion?

Peter got the uncomfortable feeling that he'd find out sooner rather than later, and he wasn't
going to stick around and wait for it to happen. If he was going to fall unconscious, he wasn't
going to do it here. If he was about to experience an urge to turn himself in, or help free
Sirius, he was going to deal with that alone.

Peter survived by doing things that no one else expected. Everyone expected him to be here,
playing Bosworth, so he'd be elsewhere. Somewhere no one would ever suspect. He'd come
back tomorrow when the trial was done and Sirius was safely back in Dementor custody. He
was sick of running, sick of hiding, but hopefully, this would be the last time. Comforted by
that thought, Peter scurried into the drawing room, and transformed.

The room shrank around him and Peter cringed. He was always claustrophobic when he
returned to being Peter after a long time as Wormtail. He also felt a bit panicky. Wormtail was
safe, unobtrusive. Peter was bigger, slower, and more likely to be hit with a spell if someone
decided to send one in his direction. He took a few deep breaths and stepped forward
carefully, giving his body time to adjust. He grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and whispered
the password that he'd heard Lucius use to leave that morning. Green flames flared in the
grate and Peter stepped into them.
 Falling apart

The usually calm and dignified Malfoy household was anything but on the morning of
Black's trial. Lucius was shaken awake by his frantic son a little after five to be given the
news that Bosworth the rat had disappeared overnight.

"Potter had something to do with it, I know he did!" Hyrdus said, turning to a sleepy
Narcissa. Lucius exchanged a look with his wife and both of them got up and followed
Hydrus to his bedroom, where the box that Pettigrew had slept in for the past year sat, empty.

"I don't think Mr Potter has stolen Bosworth," Narcissa said, sharing another look with
Lucius, who could feel his entire world threatening to crumble. One of three things had
happened; Pettigrew had been kidnapped (if that was the case, then Lucius would bet his
Gringotts account that it was McKinnon's fault), Pettigrew had had a rush of conscience in
the middle of the night and turned himself in – in which case his name would be all over
the Prophet – or Pettigrew had gone into hiding again, just in case. Lucius prayed it was the
last option, though he doubted he'd be that lucky.

A flick of his wand confirmed that the only living things in the house were his family, Potter,
McKinnon, Dobby, and their owl.

"What if he does, though?" Hydrus asked, glaring at them both. Lucius pinched the bridge of
his nose because it was far too early for him to be bothered dealing with his son's tantrums on
top of losing Pettigrew.

"As Mr Potter is responsible for saving Bosworth," he said, "I find it unlikely that he bears
the rat any ill will, or would play any part in his kidnapping."

"But what-"

"Go back to bed," Narcissa said, placing a hand on Hydrus' shoulder. "Perhaps he's just gone
for a walk."

"If he's not there when you wake, tell us immediately," Lucius advised, as Hydrus got back
into bed. "Though it's best not to mention this to Mr Potter, just in case. If he has played some
part in this, we don't want him knowing we suspect him." Hydrus nodded solemnly and
Lucius thanked Merlin that his elder son, at least, took his advice without question. If it had
been Draco, there would have been a thousand questions in place of the nod.

"Sleep. You'll want to be well rested for our visit to Aunt Bella," Narcissa said, and Hydrus'
face scrunched up.

Yes, Lucius thought, because telling him that will help the boy sleep. Bellatrix was enough to
keep him up some nights and he was a grown man. He shook his head and followed his wife
out of the room.
"I'll Floo Severus," Narcissa said in a low voice. "Have Dobby help you read the wards and
see if he's left magically."

One hour later, and Lucius was no closer to finding Pettigrew and he'd have been impressed
if he wasn't so furious. The rat knew how to hide, and it was as undeniable as it was
frustrating. According to Dobby, he'd used the Floo – Lucius didn't even want to think about
how he'd got his paws on the password – and gone to the Leaky Cauldron. That fireplace was
used regularly, at all hours of the day and night so he'd be impossible to track that way, curse
him.

And so it was that Lucius was reduced to pouring himself a – very – small glass of brandy at
six in the morning. And, if that wasn't pathetic enough, Narcissa and Severus walked in just
as he was taking his first sip.

"Starting early are we, Lucius?" Severus drawled. Lucius spared a glower for his old friend
and tossed his drink back.

"It's not without cause, I assure you."

"So I've been told," Severus said, glancing at Narcissa. "Might I ask why you've called me
here, though? Surely you don't think I have anything to do with it?"

"Of course not," Lucius snapped. "But as the only other person who knows him-"

"If you're hoping for character analysis, you'd be better trying Lupin," Severus said, his lip
curling. "I haven't the faintest idea where the rat might have got to, I'm afraid." And he did
look genuinely infuriated at that. Lucius lifted the bottle of brandy, and Severus smirked and
shook his head. Lucius sighed and resisted the temptation to have another glass. "I can,
however, assure you that, should he be caught, he will not be able to reveal anything...
incriminating... about the three of us."

"He- truly?" Narcissa inclined her head.

"I was speaking with Severus when he returned Draco yesterday-"

"Those lessons are still happening?" Lucius asked, momentarily distracted. "Draco can be a
Slytherin again; we have Potter-"

"For the time being," Severus said silkily. "Nothing is official yet, and both Narcissa and I
felt it was safer to continue the lessons until things are concreted." Lucius shook his head. He
still wasn't entirely sure what Narcissa thought Draco would gain in his Gryffindor-lessons
with Severus – Severus was Head of Slytherin, not Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake - but he
wasn't about to argue, because he had been noticing changes in Draco's behaviour.

"Very well. Now, Pettigrew?"

"Narcissa mentioned the Kelpie incident-" Lucius nodded stiffly. "-and I worried that it may
have invoked a Life-Debt. Narcissa knows the details," Severus said, when Lucius opened his
mouth to ask what that was, "and is able to explain the rest later. To summarise, I feared that
Pettigrew might be... prompted – consciously, or even without him realising it – to turn
himself in, and I feared for our safety. I was able to administer a potion, which, combined
with Legillimency, prevents the divulgence of particular memories."

"Thank Merlin," Lucius breathed, and just like that, his day looked a bit brighter.

Another hour later, Severus was gone, and Lucius thoroughly regretted that he'd let the idea
of a brighter day ever pass through his head. Dobby was enlisted by Hydrus to help find
Bosworth, and so wasn't paying proper attention to breakfast. Lucius ordered Dobby down
into the kitchen to close his ears in the oven, but it didn't change the fact that Lucius'
breakfast had been burned and was utterly unpleasant. He'd sipped on his tea – and had not
even bothered to add sugar to it – and watched the chaos as it unfolded around him.

Potter was the first one downstairs, and for the first time in days, McKinnon wasn't with him.
He was is his pyjamas, which had become normal for the boy, and Lucius vowed silently that
as soon as this day was over, and Potter was officially a Malfoy, he'd put a stop to such lazy
behaviour. He also, unfortunately, looked tired – and Rita Skeeter or some
other Prophet parasite would likely write an article about his 'mistreatment' - but he claimed
to have had a whole night's sleep and Lucius couldn't muster the energy to argue with him.

Draco, too, looked tired, and while he was both dressed appropriately and more forthcoming
with a reason (he had spent half the night reading a book that Severus loaned him the day
before) than Potter, he was also in a far stranger mood. If Lucius hadn't guessed his day was
going to be a terrible one, he'd have been tipped off when Draco first opened his mouth.

"I think I might be pro-muggleborns, Father," he announced, without as much as a good

morning. "Hunting them seems like an awful waste of time to me, and I'm not entirely sure
it's fair." Lucius gaped at him, but Draco was busy staring at the palm of his hand. Eventually,
he looked up at Potter, who looked just as stunned as Lucius. "Your mother was muggleborn,
wasn't she, Potter?"

"Er... yeah," Potter said, and he actually looked at Lucius, as if he thought Lucius might be
able to explain what in Merlin's name had happened. "She was."

"Pity she's dead. I'd have liked to ask her a few questions." Lucius couldn't decide whether to
laugh or cry, and Potter seemed to be struggling with the same problem. "Urgh." Draco
looked down at the pile of burned toast in front of him, aghast. "What has Dobby done to
breakfast? He ought to be punished for this, Father."

"Already taken care of," Lucius said faintly. He took a sip of his tea and set it down with a
shaking hand.

"Good," Draco said, and picked a piece of toast that wasn't quite as blackened as the rest.
"Father, can I come to the trial today?"

"Your mother is taking you and Hydrus to see your au-" Lucius froze. He wasn't certain what
was wrong with Draco this morning – it was likely he was just tired – but Lucius wasn't about
to send the supposedly pro-muggleborn Draco to Bellatrix. She'd destroy him. "Actually, it
might be best if you do come with me, Draco."
"Really?" Draco asked, looking pleased.

"Yes, I think that'll be best," Lucius said, nodding to himself. "Tell your mother not to expect
you. But, Draco?" Draco - who was halfway out of the dining room - looked up. "I'd like to
speak with you about your new.. attitude."

"Really?" Draco asked.

"Yes, very much," Lucius said, determined to get to the bottom of this if it killed him. He
could deal with a Gryffindor for a son – though that probably wouldn't be necessary – but he
wouldn't tolerate a muggle-lover. Not in his house. The sooner Draco understood that, the
better. "Go and find something appropriate to wear to the Ministry. And perhaps help Mr
Potter when you're done." Lucius eyed Potter's untidy hair and crumpled pyjamas.

He'll need all the help he can get.

"Fine," Draco said, irritably. "Let's go, Potter." Draco prodded Potter's arm – and Lucius
blamed his wife for their son's relatively new, tactile nature - until the other boy moved and
followed him out of the room.

"We'll leave in an hour!" Lucius called after them.

"If your father's willing to take you," Mrs Malfoy said to Draco, "then by all means go."
Harry didn't think she looked awfully happy about it. "But be on- Never mind. I'll see you
this afternoon." She stood suddenly and swept over to Harry. "I expect I'll see you later too,
Mr Potter," she said with a sad smile. Harry forced himself to smile back, and was so busy
trying to keep a polite expression on his face that he was completely caught by surprise when
she stepped forward and hugged him. "Good luck," she whispered, and then let him go.

"Thanks," Harry said, and she smiled at him again. It was the warmest she'd been to him this
whole time, and it was rather disconcerting. "I- er... bye."

"Mother gives the best hugs, don't you think?" Draco asked, hauling Harry out of the library.

"I guess," Harry said, but privately, he thought Mrs Malfoy's hugs had nothing on Padfoot's.
"Hey, you know about the thing-"

"When's your birthday, Potter?" Draco asked, cutting him off.

"July. Wh-"

"I'm going to buy you a dictionary," Draco said decisively. "You are in dire need of a larger
vocabulary."

"Very funny," Harry snapped, and only when Draco looked mildly insulted did Harry realise
that he might not have been joking. "Look, you know the whole Kelpie thing?" Draco's eyes
widened and he dragged Harry into Harry's room and shut the door.

"I thought we agreed not to talk about-"

"We did," Harry said, and hoped this wasn't going to backfire on him. "It's just... look, you
did me a favour by warning me that it's not something that should be talked about, okay, and
I'm trying to return the favour."

"I'm not stupid enough to do anything like that-"

"You already did," Harry said. Insults weren't sliding off him very well; while his
disappointment and frustration at not being able to find anything about Peter was more or less
cancelled out by his eager anticipation of Padfoot's trial, there was still the fact that he'd gone
to bed at three and been up early. He was tired, but he bit his tongue because Draco already
looked confused and offended, and snapping at him wouldn't help things. "You said you're
pro-muggleborn-"

"I said I might be," Draco sniffed.

"Yeah, and that's great," Harry said, and meant it, "but I don't think your dad shares your
views-"

"I can convince him," Draco said confidently. He eyed Harry. "I might need your help with
that, actually. See, if I cut your hand-"

"Cut my- Never mind, it doesn't matter. Just take or leave my advice-"

"You haven't advised me in anything," Draco said snidely. "So-" Harry growled at him, and
both of them were so taken aback that neither said a word. "Do you speak dragon now too?"
Draco asked finally.

"I think it was probably wolf," Harry said, grimacing. Draco stared at him. "And would you
just stop interrupting and listen? You can try to convince your dad if you want, but I don't
think it's going to work. It's kind of like my Kelpie-talking. It's- the muggleborn thing... is
probably something you should keep to yourself."

"Is it rare?" Draco's eyes gleamed.

"Very," Harry said wryly. "Look, your dad's going to try to talk you out of it – liking
muggleborns, I mean – and he'll probably be angry if you don't change your mind. Your dad
doesn't like muggleborns-"

"I know, but he'll listen-"

"No, he won't," Harry said. "I trusted you about the Kelpie, so trust me about this, all right?"
Draco looked doubtful. "If you want to keep liking them, do it in secret, at least for now."
Harry didn't understand all of the social implications of a pureblood expressing non-
prejudiced views on people's bloodlines, but he was pretty sure he understood enough, and
certainly more than Draco. "Ask your mum to tell you about the 'white sheep'," Harry said
finally, remembering something that Padfoot had said to him once. "There were two – she'll
know who they are."

"The sheep?"
"The white sheep," Harry said.

"Okay," Draco said, and he sounded doubtful, but Harry thought he might just be
convinced. And if he's not... well, no one can say I didn't try.

I don't think I can do this, Marlene thought. It was eight-thirty, the trial was set to start at ten
and she hadn't even worked up the courage to get out of bed yet. The entire Malfoy family
and Harry had probably been up for hours, and she'd spent the morning hiding in her
bedroom.

She felt sick. She felt scared and nervous and excited and confused and it wasn't a pleasant
thing to wake up to. She just wanted to burrow under the covers and hide until Sirius was
back in Azkaban, and if that made her a coward, then so what. Better a coward than a nervous
wreck; at this rate, she'd be moving in with Alice and Frank with a severe case of mental
trauma. Someone knocked on the door, startling her.

"Yes?" she asked, and wished a second later that she'd just pretended not to be awake. The
door swung open to reveal Lucius, glowering at her from the doorway.

"I wondered if you were up," he said snidely.

"Well, I am," she said back, and her voice trembled a bit.

"That is debatable." His cold eyes drifted over her bed-hair and pyjamas and his lip curled in
response. "I informed you last night that we'd be leaving at nine-"

"I heard you."

"Will you be-"

"Yes!" she snapped. "I'll be ready!"

"Go-" His eyes focused on something outside the room. "Mr Potter, why are you still in your
pyjamas?" Marlene didn't hear the response, but whatever it was made Lucius pinch the
bridge of his nose and stalk away shouting, "Draco, I thought I told you to help!"

Marlene flicked her wand at the door, which closed, and sank back into her pillows.
Attendance at the trial was compulsory for trainees – there'd probably be questions on it in
their exams at the beginning of next month – but she was tempted just to miss it. She wasn't
strong enough. She'd had the chance to kill him herself and hadn't been able to, because
apparently she hadn't meant it. That part of her was still in there – somewhere in the tangled
mess of all of her other parts – and she didn't think she'd be able to watch what happened.
Whether Sirius was convicted or freed, some part of her would lose.

Her Sidekick rattled on her bedside table, and she was brave enough to reach for that, at least.
She whispered the passphrase and it snapped open.

"McKinnon," Gawain said, and of course it was him; Gawain, rather like Dumbledore, had an
uncanny ability to knew when he was needed.
"Morning," she said thickly.

"You sound about as well as I'd expected you to," he said, sounding almost sympathetic.

"Thanks," she said, but there wasn't enough... anything... in her tone to let the word sound as
sarcastic as she'd wanted it to. It was pathetic, actually, but she couldn't bring herself to care.
Part of her was impressed that she was still even able to talk. "Gawain, I don't think I can-"

"Oh, no, you don't," he said firmly. "Attendance is compulsory, McKinnon."

"I- I can't-" A panicky feeling was rising in Marlene's chest and her breathing was shaky.

"It'll be all right. Your friends will be there, and me and Moody, and Dumbledore and Harry's
going to want you there-"

"And when I lose my head halfway through, all of them are going to see it," she whispered. "I
don't think I can sit there and just... I won't be able to watch-"

"You can close your eyes," Gawain said, but he sounded worried. "McKinnon, you need to
calm down."

"I c-can't," she said, and then she was crying, but as long as she didn't start sniffling, Gawain
would never know. "Sir, please, don't make me go- I need to- I- I don't want- Please, please-"

"McKinnon, listen to me. It's going to be all right. You need to calm down – take a few deep
breaths – and think about this. Sirius is a terrible man-"

"Y-yes, but-"

"None of that," Gawain said briskly. "He's done terrible things, and today, he'll finally be
judged for them."

"What if they Kiss him?"

"They won't. They still need answers from him," Gawain said. "He'll be convicted, and then
he'll spend a few days in questioning, and then he'll be back in Azkaban." He was so sure, so
calm, that Marlene felt herself calming a little bit in response. "All right?"

"All right," she said.

"Good girl. Now, you don't sound like you're in any state to be guarding anything today, so
I'll be by in about fifteen minutes to collect Potter and Mr Malfoy-"

"But, but I-"

"You've got just over an hour before the trial starts, and you're going to use that time to get
yourself ready for what's going to happen, okay?"

"All right," she said shakily. Instructions were something she could work with. "So... so get
ready to watch Sirius be convicted?"
"Exactly. No surprises, McKinnon – everyone knows what's coming – and so you get ready,
and you let me know when you're at the Ministry. I'll be right beside you the whole time, and
everything will work out just as I've said it will, all right?" Marlene clung to the certainty in
his voice. It was nice to have certainty about something, when she'd been so confused lately.
It was like finding a rock to sit on in the middle of a stormy ocean.

Like Azkaban? Her mind supplied, rather unhelpfully, and Marlene sniffed.

It was the last things she felt like doing, but she had instructions to follow so she hauled
herself out of bed and changed into a pair of clean robes. Red ones. Maybe House pride
would give her courage. She ran a brush through her hair and stared at herself in the mirror
until her she was convinced that she didn't look like she was about to crumble into a thousand
pieces.

She still felt like it, and it wasn't as easy to push all of her problems down as it had been six
months ago, but hopefully, today was the last day she'd need her mask. She had to believe
that after today, everything would be all right, because if it wasn't, then she would break. She
squared her shoulders so she looked brave, even if she didn't feel it, and felt herself slip into
her Auror-trainee role, rather than her Marlene role. Trainee-Marlene was stronger.

"Okay," she said, snapping her Sidekick shut. "Okay, I'll be ready."

She thought she knew how to get ready, too; she was stronger when she knew how she felt
about Sirius, and her strongest emotion toward him was also the one that could get her
through today. She needed to remind herself how much she hated him, and she needed to do
it without using his treatment of her as an excuse. The moment she let her feelings get
involved, things got messy.

Luckily, even when she removed herself from the picture, she still had three very good
reasons to hate Sirius, and better yet, she could visit all three of them within her hour. She
packed her suitcase with a wave of her wand, cast a Shrinking Charm on it, and stuffed it into
her pocket.

Then she took a deep breath and strode out of the room, in search of her first reason. He was
three bedrooms away, arguing with a frustrated Lucius.

"I don't understand what's wrong with green," she heard as she approached the room.

"Black's better," Harry said, and his eyes met Marlene's the moment she walked into his
room. He was seated on his unmade bed, holding a pair of dress robes, while Lucius
brandished another. "Morning," he said, and she thought he sounded nervous. She also
thought he looked like he hadn't slept, and felt her heart break a little, and her hatred flare;
Harry'd been losing sleep over Sirius.

"Mr Potter, Sirius Black is-"

"My godfather," Harry said, "and my legal guardian." He smiled politely at Lucius, and
oddly, it didn't make Marlene think of James or Lily or even Sirius. No, that smile was
entirely Lupin. "And since I can't imagine he'd have a problem with me wearing black to his
trial, I can't understand why you think there's anything wrong with it either. Nice robes," he
added, with a grin at Marlene that was far more Sirius-ish. Lucius groaned, and Marlene
managed to smile. "Sir, do you think I could wear re-" Lucius tossed the black robes at Harry
and stood.

"We're running late," he said, and gestured for Marlene to follow him out. "Put those on and
I'll be back in five minutes to help you with your hair." Harry frowned and reached up to pat
his messy hair, as if he couldn't work out what was wrong with it.

"I see you're up," Lucius drawled, shutting Harry's bedroom door.

"I am," she said, refusing to let him make her angry; she needed her anger for Sirius. "I'm
also leaving. Auror Robards is coming to escort you and Harry to the trial."

"And where might you be going?"

"I have instructions," she said, with a twisted smile.

"And they are...?"

"None of your concern, I assure you," she said politely.

"Oh dear," Remus moaned, and attempted to hide himself behind Matt. Unfortunately, Matt
was a few inches too short, and certainly did not want to get in the middle of this
confrontation. Besides, as much as Remus was like an uncle, or an older brother to him,
Remus had been absolutely ridiculous about this whole situation, and Matt, frankly, thought
he thoroughly deserved whatever was about to happen.

"Here," he said, grabbing Remus' shoulders, "have him."

"Traitor," Remus hissed, as Matt shoved him toward Tock, or Tonks, or whatever her name
was.

"It had to happen eventually," Matt hissed back, and then moved out of the way. What's-her-
name had bright red hair, and eyes that were more yellow than brown. She looked mad – she
had her wand out and everything - and more than a little scary.

"Hi, Dora," Remus said, and Matt could smell his guilt from a few yards away. Dora – Matt
decided it was safest to call her whatever Remus did – threw her arms around him, and Matt
choked back a laugh. He'd expected her to hex Remus, not hug him.

"You're all right," she said, while Remus awkwardly patted her back. Matt gave up on trying
to keep a straight face and laughed at them. Remus held up a hand and made a rather rude
gesture in Matt's direction but Matt just smirked. Dora let Remus go, and stared up at him for
a moment, and then – with the only warning coming in the form of her hair brightening –
punched him.

"Uh oh," Matt said, and took a step forward, thinking that maybe he should intervene; Remus
lifted a hand to his jaw, and Dora had assumed the position of scorned women everywhere.
Her hands were on her hips (one of them still holding her wand, one of them still curled in a
fist), and her scowl was a little frightening.

"I deserved that," Remus said weakly, and Dora didn't look quite as violent anymore, so Matt
waited.

"Oh, do you think so?" she demanded. "How hard is it to pick up a quill and write a letter?! I
didn't want a recount of your day-"

"I didn't know what to write," Remus said, in that same, rather sheepish voice.

"Dora, I'm alive might have been a bloody good way to start!" Remus seemed to shrink,
though Matt thought that had more to do with the fact that, as she shouted, Dora was actually
growing.

What the-

"Best to leave them to it, lad," a gruff voice said, and Matt spun to see the Auror who'd sat
with him in St Mungo's until Remus got there. His blue eye was fixed on Remus and Dora,
but his dark one was watching Matt.

"It's you," Matt said, grinning. "I don't remember your name, but I remember your... er..."

"Constant vigilance!" Matt remembered him saying that a few times last time they'd seen
each other. "Alastor Moody, Rosier."

"Moody," Matt said, nodding. He checked his watch. "Do you think we should-"

"She's been planning this for three days and she'll probably kill you if you interrupt," Moody
said, in a rather grim voice.

"Right," Matt said, and smirked.

"-a holiday you were on, Remus-" Dora's face was almost as red as her hair, and Matt
couldn't help but be impressed. Moody looked morbidly fascinated too. "-and the last time I
saw you, you weren't exactly stable, so can you really blame me for worrying?!"

"I don't need you to worry about-"

"If you finish that sentence, I swear to Godric I'll-"

"Come on." Moody waved a scarred hand and gestured for Matt to follow him. "If we stand
here much longer, I'm going to start saying her lines with her." Matt chuckled and glanced at
them again. Remus looked acutely embarrassed and Dora's expression was a strange mix of
confusion and frustration.

"Are you sure they should be left alone?"

"No," Moody said. "But I've made it this long by picking my battles. If you're brave enough
to get between that, go ahead." Matt stared at them for a moment longer and then shook his
head and followed Moody into the already crowded courtroom.

Marlene strode into the cemetery feeling near-furious. It was a little scary, actually; she'd
always hated Sirius, but she'd never actively tried to force that sort of emotion. Now that she
was... well, the results were a little overwhelming. She'd already blown up a muggle
streetlamp with a burst of – embarrassing – accidental magic. She hadn't lost control like that
since she was twelve. She felt like her every nerve was on end, and hatred simmered away in
her chest, and it scared her, it did, but it was also nice to have something there other than
emptiness or confusion.

She travelled the familiar path - between the headstones and monuments - to Lily and James.
She'd already been to the statue, and this would be her last stop before the Ministry, because
the trial had started ten minutes ago, and her Sidekick had been burning for the last twenty,
but she'd ignored it so far.

She was a little surprised to see that there was someone already there, standing in front of the
graves in the morning sun, hands shoved deep into the pockets of a shabby coat.

For a moment, she thought it was Lupin – he had the same fair hair, at least – but she quickly
discarded that idea. This man's hair was too neat, and he himself was several inches too short.
And, while he wasn't fat by any means, he was seemed sturdier than Lupin.

"Hello?" she said tentatively, and he jumped and glanced at her over his shoulder. She didn't
recognise his face, but she felt like she should have.

"H-hello," he said. "Come to see them too, I suppose?"

"Yes, I suppose," she replied, going to stand beside him. He still wouldn't look at her, and his
eyes were darting around as if he was trying to plan some sort of escape. Pale eyes flicked to
her face and then away again just as quickly, and the man's tongue darted out to wet his lips.
"Are you going to the trial?" she asked, staring at the beautiful, lily-like flowers that grew
over the grave. She didn't know who'd planted them, but she was used to seeing the flowers
there now.

"N-no. B-best to stay away, I think." He wrung his hands and finally, Marlene was able to
place him.

"Pettigrew?" she gasped.

"H-how do you know-"

"It's me," she said. "Marlene."

"McKinnon?!" They stared at each other in stunned disbelief. "But- but the Death Eaters got
you," he said timidly.

"Almost," she said. "I thought Sirius-"

"Almost," he repeated, looking terrified. It took Marlene a moment to understand the
implications; if Pettigrew was alive, then Sirius was innocent of at least one of the crimes
he'd been convicted of. Well, that or she'd gone mad and was hallucinating. She wasn't sure
which she'd prefer. What if Sirius was telling the truth? What if he was innocent - of
everything?

No, she told herself. No, there's got to be a logical explanation... She didn't want to think
about what it would mean if she'd been wrong.

"How did you escape - they found a finger-"

"It wasn't mine," Pettigrew said, holding both hands out to her. His fingers were shaking, but
all ten of them were there.

"Everyone thinks you're dead," she said quietly. Everyone except Sirius, that is.

"That's the idea," he said nervously, and she frowned. "N-not everyone, though; I told- a few
people know the truth."

"Who?"

"D-Dumbledore," he muttered. "And m-my mother. They promised not to tell anyone- you
have to promise me too, now that you know!"

"Of course," Marlene said at once. "Does Lupin know?"

"R-Remus?" Pettigrew hesitated and then shook his head. "I couldn't risk- what if he and
Sirius... Always close, those two... I couldn't be sure..." Pettigrew's blue eyes widened.
"You're not in league with them, are you? Did Sirius send you to find-"

"Me in league with Sirius?" Marlene asked humourlessly. "I tried to kill him a few weeks ago
- I think I might dislike him more than you do."

"Oh, thank Merlin," he said, looking relieved. "You understand! Lately it's seemed like
everyone's out to get me... It's like nowhere's safe anymore, and everything's so confusing... I
mean, Sirius was my friend, and I don't want him to go to Azkaban, but he's done such
terrible, terrible things-"

"It'll be over by tonight," Marlene said, borrowing Gawain's confidence. "He'll be locked
away-"

"I just want to feel safe again," Pettigrew said, and Marlene hugged him without even having
to think about it. Finally someone understood what it was like, how confusing everything
was... she thought Pettigrew might be just as damaged as she was, and drew comfort from
that. Sirius had hurt them both. "I just want to know that Sirius isn't going to come after me
again-"

"Come after you?" Marlene asked, staring. The feeling of finding someone that understood
vanished; the official version of events was that Pettigrew had gone after Sirius to avenge
Lily and James... the only person who'd ever said it the same way that Pettigrew was saying it
now was Sirius himself. Marlene suddenly felt very cold inside, and her anger shrivelled and
was replaced by a horrible, sick feeling.

"That day- the day after..." Pettigrew gestured to the graves in front of them. "He came to
find me... he was going to kill us all; first Lily and James and Harry, and then me and Remus,
and if he'd known you were still alive... He wanted us all dead!"

Marlene was silent. She was a little confused; Lupin had told her that Sirius had been at his
cottage, so why, if what Pettigrew said was true, hadn't Sirius tried to kill Lupin? It had been
a full moon, so a silver rope spell would have done the trick and Sirius wouldn't even have
needed to get close. He'd been right there. And, if she ignored that, there was also the fact
that while Pettigrew was a competent wizard, he wasn't as talented as Sirius. If Sirius had
wanted him dead, then Pettigrew would be dead... I wanted Sirius dead and couldn't kill him,
she thought.

Yes, another voice agreed, the one that had wanted her to trust Sirius this whole time. But if
Sirius was capable of letting Lily and James die, he wouldn't have cared about
Pettigrew. Usually she ignored the voice, but this time, it was making sense.

"Then how did you survive?" she asked aloud. Pettigrew looked a little offended.

"I got a Shield Charm up in time - my wand was destroyed, but somehow the magic held out
- it stopped him k-killing me. I was blasted away and when I came to, Sirius was laughing
like a m-mad thing-" Pettigrew quivered. "-and the Hit Wizards and Aurors had come to take
him away. I ran straight to Dumbledore to tell him what had happened, and that I was going
into hiding."

"You went to Dumbledore while Sirius was being arrested?" she asked, feeling sick. She
thought she might actually throw up; Dumbledore had been with her in St Mungo's when
Sirius had been arrested, because a grimly triumphant Mad-Eye had burst in and startled
Marlene into spilling her tea. Pettigrew hadn't been there, and if he was lying about that,
then-

Then I've been trying to kill an innocent man.

"Are you all right?" Pettigrew asked. "You sme- look like you're going to be sick." Marlene
sank to the ground, and Pettigrew crouched down beside her, looking concerned.

"Can you conjure me a glass of water?" she asked.

"I don't have a wand," he said. "Thanks to Sirius, I can't exactly walk into Ollivanders these
days. There's a supermarket in the village, so I could-"

"No, it's fine," she said, not about to give him any excuse to get out of her sight. She pulled
out her own wand, and he didn't seem worried about that. He seemed to trust her, and instead
of finding that amusing, she felt even worse, because she'd trust her if she was in Pettigrew's
place. She'd tried to kill an innocent man.
Oh, Godric, what if I'd actually managed it? She really did throw up then, and Pettigrew
made a revolted noise and jumped back, but he didn't try to leave. It was clever of him, not
giving her a reason to need to chase him. Running away would be suspicious, and Pettigrew
was obviously very good at not drawing attention to himself. Marlene rinsed her mouth and
vanished the mess with a flick of her wand, and then wondered why in Merlin's name she
hadn't arrested Pettigrew yet.

"Should you really be out?" Pettigrew asked, sidling closer again.

"Probably not," she said, hugging her stomach. She felt absolutely revolting. "Would you
mind helping me up? I don't think my legs will hold me."

She really didn't. And Pettigrew, the admittedly helpful, but still lying, traitorous,
murderous, monster that he was, bent, put an arm around her waist – she was almost sick
again at the thought of touching him – and draped her other arm over his shoulders and stood.

It was too easy; Marlene didn't attempt to help him at all, and she was thin but she was still a
tall woman, so while he concentrated on lifting her, she pointed her wand at his neck –
without him even noticing – and thought, Dormio.

Peter Pettigrew went out like a light, and Marlene fell down beside him as her fragile sanity
shattered into several thousand sharp pieces.

Sirius had woken three times a day to eat and use the bathroom, but otherwise, he'd spent
every day except two – because it had taken him two horrible days to rebuild Azkaban -
sitting in his old cell. Padfoot had been his main source of company, though he'd had brief
visits from Harry, James, Remus, Lily and even Peter and Marlene and Reg in his memories.

In a sort of twisted way, it had been like a holiday. He'd had no responsibilities, and no
worries – he missed Harry, but knew Marlene would keep him safe – and had spent over a
week doing nothing but reliving the best moments of his life and going over what he was
going to say in his trial.

He'd picked his words carefully – he knew better than anyone how good the Wizengamot was
at picking things apart – and he'd considered the sorts of questions he was going to be asked
and the answers he'd give. He was prepared, and it was a nice feeling.

And, this time tomorrow, I'll be home, he thought, and Padfoot glowed. Maintaining Padfoot
was ridiculously easy now – almost second nature – because he'd had a lot of practice lately
and because anything was easier than that awful night two weeks ago.

He felt a phantom hand on his shoulder, and saw a Dementor looming over him, held at bay
by his Patronus. Since Padfoot was at near-full strength and the Dementors had been keeping
their distance lately, he thought it was safe to assume it had been sent. Grinning, Sirius sent
Padfoot charging at it, and let himself fall back into his body.

He was still grinning when he opened his eyes, and he saw a Dementor drift – very quickly –
out of the cell, as if something was after it. Another floated in, and Sirius held Padfoot ready,
but all it did was drop a set of clean robes on the floor and glide out again. Sirius took the
hint and showered and changed and then knocked on the door. It opened and four Dementors
hovered there, expectantly. Two reached for him.

"Nice try," he said, feeding Padfoot a memory of the look on Malfoy's face when Narcissa
had suggested Marlene stay with them. Patronuses came so easily to Sirius now that he was
fuelling them with memories that, a year ago, wouldn't even have given him a shield. He still
needed to be happy to cast one, but maintenance was simple. The Dementors floated back,
and exchanged looks – well, not looks, but Sirius didn't have a better word for it – and
waited. "I can walk."

And so he did; two Dementors floated about a yard in front of him, and two were a few yards
behind him. If Sirius had wanted to, he could have run away. He really, really didn't want to,
though. He was getting his trial.

There was an audible gasp in the room when he walked in, unrestrained, and Sirius' nose was
bombarded with scents of fear, hatred and every now and then, fascination. He sneezed and
decided to breathe through his mouth before he ended up with a headache due to sensory
overload. Several cameras clicked and flashed from the stands.

"What-" Fudge began, but Sirius ignored him and went and sat down in the chair. He didn't,
however, put his arms down, knowing that that activated the chains. The room went
completely silent, and Sirius had a look around. There were hundreds of people crammed into
the room, and the majority, oddly, were wearing very brightly coloured robes. Blue – sky
blue, not navy – and purple and a mustardy yellow were the most popular, and he realised
why when he spied Harry and Remus, who were wearing black robes that made them stand
out.

Black for black, he thought, chuckling, and winked at Harry, who beamed. Remus' mouth
twitched, but he was obviously being careful; Harry was between Malfoy and one of the
Malfoy boys, who had Snape – wearing green robes instead of his usual black - on his other
side, and then it was McGonagall and Hagrid. Behind them was Remus' friend Matt – who'd
opted for navy blue - Remus, Dora, Mad-Eye and several of the Auror trainees Sirius had met
during his imprisonment. Yes, Remus would have to be careful; his robes were probably risky
enough.

"Hands down, Black," Fudge snapped, and his voice echoed.

"I like to gesture when I talk," Sirius said, grinning at Fudge. "I rather think I'll need my
hands." Scrimgeour strode over and, with a warning look at Sirius, pressed his hands into the
chair. They were promptly chained and Sirius sighed. Scrimgeour went to sit down in a bench
at the front. The Aurors he was with were all wearing colourful robes, but Scrimgeour's were
grey. Sirius wondered if it meant anything, or if it was simply because Scrimgeour didn't own
bright robes.

"Criminal trial of the tenth of May-" Fudge started to speak and Sirius was paying full
attention now too, though he did notice as Umbridge began to take notes with a bright purple
quill. "-for offences committed during and immediately following the War against He-Who-
Must-Not-Be-Named, and again in February of nineteen-eighty nine until the present day, by
Sirius Orion Black-" Fudge's expression soured. "-resident of a currently unknown location."

"Interrogators," Fudge continued, "Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia
Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Albus Percival Wulfric
Brian Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Court Scribe, Dolores Jane
Umbridge."

"Witnesses for the offence: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Victoria Marie
Knight, Christopher Stanley Clearwater and John Andrew Dawlish." Sirius was a little
surprised that Marlene hadn't been listed, and had a quick look around. Just because we're
enemies now, he told himself, and it's good to know where your enemies are.

Liar, said a voice that sounded a bit like his own.

Shut up, he grumbled, and glanced around again, but couldn't spot her. He could, however,
see Robards, by the door, clutching something small and golden – maybe a galleon? – but
Marlene wasn't with him, and he was too far away for Sirius to properly make out his
expression. Fudge cleared his throat, apparently noticing Sirius' distraction. "Witnesses for
the defence: Sirius Orion Black... that's all, I presume?"

"Y-" Sirius' answer, however, was cut off by another voice, that rang throughout the
courtroom.

"No, actually." People gasped and one elderly witch in the front row squeaked and fainted.
Almost simultaneously, every head in the courtroom turned to the speaker, who stood,
looking nervous but determined. He smoothed his black robes and lifted his chin. "Second
witness for the defence: Remus John Lupin."
 The witnesses

"I'm sorry," Remus said quietly, as whispers broke out. He wasn't sure who he was talking to.

He could have been addressing the furious-looking Malfoy, for wasting both of their time for
all those months.

He could have been addressing the impassive Snape, who'd suspected Remus was helping
Sirius from the beginning. That wasn't true, but Snape had been told off more times than
Remus could count for not trusting him, when he'd been right for a while now.

He could have been addressing McGonagall, or Hagrid or Mad-Eye, who'd all looked out for
him over the years, and known him for a long time. Now they knew he'd been lying to them,
and he knew it must be hurting them, because now they thought they'd failed with him too.

He could have been addressing Matt, who looked exasperated and more than a little worried.
Remus had promised him he'd keep his head down during the trial and not do anything
stupid. Oops.

He could have been directing it at Dora, whose hair was white with shock, and looked
absolutely shattered. Something twinged inside him and he almost put a comforting hand on
her shoulder but he didn't think she'd take kindly to that.

He could also have been directing it at Harry, because if this went sour, it'd be him and Sirius
in Azkaban, and Harry'd be alone again.

"Funny, Lupin," Sirius said, and everyone fell silent. "All these years later and you've still got
your sense of humour." Remus rolled his eyes; Sirius was trying to give him a chance to say
it had all been a poor-taste joke. He appreciated the gesture, but he'd made his decision. "I
suppose that's something-"

Remus's hand brushed Harry's hair on the way out of the stands. A camera flashed behind
him. Scrimgeour and the other Aurors followed his progress with their wands.

Remus stopped a few yards from Sirius – he didn't want anyone to panic and Stun him – and
then said, "I left you to fend for yourself last time and I'm not going to make that mistake
again."

He looked at Dumbledore as he said it, and thought his previous apology might have been
directed at his old Headmaster too.

"Arrest him-" Babble broke out in the stands over the top of Fudge's voice. Remus' eye
widened, and a tear trickled down Dumbldore's cheek. Someone protested from behind him.
"-for accessory to Sirius Black's numerous crimes-"
"No," Sirius said, as the eagle Patronuse that had been guarding the Dementors faded and let
them start toward Remus. He backed his voice up with a burst of happy memories to fuel his
Patronus, and was gratified when the Dementors stopped.

"I am the Minister for Magic!" Fudge bellowed. "You answer to me, not to Black! Arrest the
traitor-"

"I said no!" Sirius snapped. "Remus's fate is linked to mine now. He's not a traitor unless I'm
proven guilty." There was a long pause, during which Fudge's face grew slowly redder,
Umbridge scribbled away, Remus and Dumbledore stared at each other – it was impossible to
tell who looked sadder – and Sirius' heart thudded in his chest.

"Get Mr Lupin a chair," Amelia called finally, giving Remus a steely look. Her command
earned her blank looks from the majority of the Aurors, but Shacklebolt stood, muttered a
complex charm, and a chair identical to Sirius' appeared. Remus sat, looking dignified and
gave the chains a rather unimpressed glance. Amelia's Patronus blocked the Dementors off
again, and Sirius glanced in Harry's direction to make sure he hadn't been affected.

"How long?" Dumbledore asked gravely, before Fudge could start on the charges. Remus
fidgeted beside Sirius.

"August," Remus mumbled.

"Speak up!" Amelia said.

"August," Remus said, a defiantly. In the stands, Dora buried her face in her hands, her hair
dark green. Dumbledore sighed and closed his eyes briefly.

"And how-"

"Objection," Sirius said. "Remus' fate is linked to mine, not mine to his, and so I rather think
that this whole line of questioning is counter-productive." A murmur ran through the
Wizengamot, but Sirius knew his point was too valid for them to ignore.

"The charges, then-" Fudge gave Sirius a nasty smile and accepted a rather long piece of
parchment from Rattler. "-against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly,
deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having trained as an Auror,
personally contribute to the war's magical and non-magical casualties – more specifically the
deaths Peter Pettigrew and thirteen muggles.

"The accused did also partake in the use of dark magic like the Unforgivable curses during
his time as a Death Eater, and passed confidential information to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-
Named that resulted in deaths – more specifically, the deaths of the Potters, Boneses,
McKinnons, Meadoweses and also of individuals including Caradoc Dearborn, Benjy
Fenwick and Gideon and Fabian Prewett."

Fudge paused for breath then, and looked at Sirius, who met his gaze calmly and waited for
him to continue. Remus quirked an eyebrow in Sirius' direction, and Sirius let one corner of
his mouth twitch upward to show that yes, he was all right.
"Mr Black is also accused of escaping the prison fortress, Azkaban-"

"Objection," Sirius said, with a lazy grin.

"I beg your pardon?" Fudge demanded. "As you are sitting here before us, Black, it is quite
obvious that you did, in fact escape-" Sirius knew better than to agree with them; he'd get
halfway through yes, and then they'd pounce on that answer and refuse to let him say
anything more on the matter. It was best to put them on the defensive.

"A criminal accusation is, by definition," Sirius said, "something that goes against wizarding
law."

"Yes, and-"

"And, since the Ministry went against procedure after my arrest and denied me a trial-"

"What's your point, Black-"

"My point, Minister," Sirius said, "is that I was never officially sentenced."

"It was official-"

"So you have a document that specifically outlines the location and duration of my
imprisonment?" Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius could see Remus struggling to keep a
straight face. "Don't you dare laugh," Sirius hissed, because if Remus laughed, then it was
likely Sirius would too, and he was already having enough trouble getting them to take him...
seriously.

Oh, damn it, Sirius thought, choking on a snigger. Remus coughed. Bloody damn it!

"You were sentenced to Azkaban, for life-"

"I asked if you had the document," Sirius said, fighting desperately not to let his amusement
show.

"Well, no, we don't, but-"

"Exactly. So I'm afraid, Minister, that that accusation is empty. I didn't break any laws by
leaving a place I had no legal obligation to stay in." Fudge blinked and Umbridge looked up
from her frenzied writing. Sirius grinned at them. Another murmur went through the
Wizengamot. "Continue with the charges, Minister, but do make sure they apply."

"I- yes," Fudge said, flustered. He cleared his throat. "You- that is, the accused, is also
charged with two counts of kidnapping of the boy Harry Potter, from his relatives' home, and
later from St Mungo's-"

"Actually, St Mungo's was me," Remus said helpfully. Dumbledore put his head in his hands,
and Fudge gaped at them.

"Continue, Minister," Sirius drawled, before they could try to arrest Remus again.
"One kidnapping, then," Fudge stammered, "and also physical abuse against Harry Potter,
who received a dislocated shoulder, extensive bruising, and spinal damage at the hands of the
accused." That wiped all traces of amusement off of Sirius' face, and he snarled quietly. "The
accused is also charged with breaking and entering and the evasion of justice in early
September, and with the possession of a dark artefact on the night of his arrest last month."
Sirius' breath caught, and he met Remus' eyes for a moment. Worry flowed between them,
and Sirius prayed Keira had kept it safe. "You are Sirius Orion Black?"

"What are you implying about Ministry security, Minister?" Sirius asked, with a sly smile. He
let Fudge gape at him for a moment and then said, "Of course I'm Sirius Orion Black." Idiot.

"And you received an extensive knowledge of wizarding law during your Auror training, did
you not?"

"Yes," Sirius said. He had so many witty responses he could come back with instead, but he
thought Fudge deserved a break; the poor man – Sirius didn't actually feel that sorry for him
– was still red faced with embarrassment.

"And yet you still committed numerous crimes-"

"No," Sirius said.

Amelia and Dumbledore exchanged irritated looks and then Fudge said, "The Chair
recognises its first witness, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

Dumbledore stood, exited the Wizengamot stand and conjured himself a chair facing Fudge,
though his eyes were fixed on Remus and Sirius. He looked almost apologetic, but Sirius
knew Dumbledore; once he was convinced something was necessary, very little would shake
him.

Dumbledore gave his account of the war, and some things had members of the public
gasping, but Sirius knew just how much he was omitting. Dumbledore never once mentioned
the words 'Order' or 'secret organisation', and never named any members that hadn't died –
with the exception of himself, Sirius, Remus and Peter. He'd obviously thought very carefully
about what to say. He also didn't paint Sirius as evil, which was a pleasant surprise; it was a
very fair account of the way things had happened, to Dumbledore's knowledge, anyway.

Fudge and Amelia asked a few questions afterward, mostly about Sirius' supposed
wrongdoings, and then Amelia nodded and instructed the next witness to come forward.

"Actually, I have a few questions," Sirius said. Fudge rolled his eyes, but no one contested
Sirius' right. Dumbledore gestured for him to continue. "Would you consider yourself to be a
reasonably perceptive man?" Dumbledore's eyes narrowed and Sirius knew he knew exactly
where Sirius was trying to take this.

"No more than the average man, I'm sure," Dumbledore said politely.

"Right," Sirius said. "But you went into a reasonable amount of detail in your version of
events..."
"I did, yes."

"And your version of events was constructed from a number of conclusions you drew from
your perceptions of things going on at the time, yes?"

"Yes."

"So either you've got poor perception, in which case your account is perhaps not as reliable as
you'd hoped, or you are actually are reasonably perceptive." Sirius said. "So which is it?"
Dumbledore made a quiet nose of frustration, because he knew as well as Sirius that he was
cornered.

"I suppose I'm reasonably perceptive," Dumbledore sighed.

"You taught Voldemort-" For a moment, the courtroom sounded like a muggle zoo - people
squawked, yelped, growled, squeaked and gulped – and then things quietened again. "-yes?"

"I did, yes."

"Tell me, Headmaster, did he ever make you uneasy? Did you ever suspect that he might
actually be evil?"

"I... worried," Dumbledore admitted.

"And he's an evil git," Sirius said, making Remus laugh, "but he was an admittedly talented
wizard, wasn't he? A master Legillimens, and quite good at Occlumency-"

"Other than bragging about your master, Black," Fudge said, "where is this-"

"I'll get there," Sirius said shortly, and turned back to Dumbledore. "So you'd say he was
pretty good at hiding things?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said.

"And yet you worried," Sirius said. His hands twitched; he wanted to wave them around to
make his point, but they remained firmly chained to the chair. "Silly question, you've already
said you did." Dumbledore inclined his head, but he looked annoyed. "Did you worry about
me, sir? Honestly." Dumbledore said something that even Sirius, with his excellent hearing,
missed. "Pardon?"

"No. I- No," Dumbledore admitted.

"So, even with all of those perceptive skills - ones that weren't fooled by the evil git himself -
you never suspected me?"

"No," Dumbledore said clearly. There was no twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Did it ever occur to you that that might be because there was nothing to suspect me of?"
Sirius asked, tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair. Dumbledore's silence was
confirmation enough. "One last thing," Sirius said, and Dumbledore nodded warily. "I know
we talked about it, and that it was assumed, but were you ever actually told that I was the
Secret Keeper? Was there ever any proof?"

"No," Dumbledore said, "to both, but-"

"Thank you. That's all I wanted to ask," Sirius said.

Dumbledore rejoined the Wizengamot members and Knight was brought forward and
questioned about the day Sirius had been arrested. Again, it was a reasonably fair account, if
a little gory. Hit Wizards weren't exactly renowned for their censorship; even the smart ones
tended to speak and act first, and think later. Rattler was probably the most refined one Sirius
had ever met, and he'd been out of the job for two years, according to Remus. He gave
Knight an awkward smile; last time they'd met, she'd been holding him to a Portkey.

"You were the first person to Apparate in after the explosion?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah," she said proudly. "And sweet Slytherin, you made a mess-"

"I did?"

"Yeah, there was-"

"You can prove that I was the one that cast the charm?" Knight snorted and pushed her short
hair out of her face.

"Anyone with an ounce of common sense could tell it was you," she said, rolling her eyes.
"You were the only one still alive."

"And you can prove that?"

"I saw you kneeling there-"

"Did you check my wand?" Sirius asked, cutting her off. Knight had been trained to be
impulsive, but she wasn't an idiot; she knew how to avoid questions. "Did you check to see
what charm it had last performed?"

"Well-"

"A yes or no answer will be fine," Sirius said. Knight huffed and crossed her arms.

"No."

"So you don't actually have any proof that it was me?"

"No," she said, pursing her lips.

"Did I seem aware that you'd arrived?" She looked surprised at the sudden change of topic,
and then nodded.

"Yes, you looked at me and laughed and said it wasn't what it looked like."
"So you'd say I knew I was going to be arrested?"

"Yeah."

"Did I try to escape?"

"No. You said we had the wrong man, but you came quietly."

"And did I have my wand?" Knight squinted for a moment, obviously trying to remember.

"Until I pulled it out of your hand, yes," she said.

"Interesting," Sirius said, grinning at Remus. "So, you're saying I had my wand... the same
wand, if your version of events is to be believed, that I'd just used to cause mass destruction
to a muggle street and its occupants, and that I was also aware that you'd arrived and that it
meant I'd be arrested... is that correct?"

"Yes," Knight said hesitantly.

"So why didn't I fight? If I'm the violent mass-murderer everyone's made me out to be, then
why did I let you pull my wand out of my hand – your words, not mine." He shrugged, and
nodded, inviting her to answer.

"We had you cornered. You knew there was no way out-"

"But so, supposedly, had Peter, just moments before-"

"There was more than one-"

"There were also those thirteen muggles," Sirius said. "If they were close enough to have
been caught up in the explosion, then arguably they'd 'cornered' me too. "

"We were trained professionals-"

"So was I," Sirius said. "But I – as you've said – came quietly."

"If I might interrupt, Mr Black," Amelia said, and Sirius turned his attention to her, "might I
ask why you allowed yourself to be arrested?"

Because I was tired, Sirius thought. I'd been outsmarted by stupid bloody Peter, and Lily and
James were dead, and Harry was off to Petunia's, and Remus hated me... Amelia wasn't
really supposed to ask him questions until he was acting as a witness, but everything about
this had been unorthodox and answering was a good way to metaphorically slap the Ministry,
so he didn't object.

"I assumed I was being taken off to the holding cells to await my trial. There was no point in
fighting; I was – and still am – an innocent man, so I had nothing to fear from a trial." He
barked a humourless laugh. "Joke was on me, wasn't it?"

"Did you have anything else to ask the witness?"

"No," Sirius said. "I think I've made my point."

Clearwater – the blond guard who'd been on duty the night Sirius escaped Azkaban – was up
next. He wove a rather biased tale about Sirius, and the dark magic marks he'd made on his
walls to protect him from Dementors. The only crime his testimony covered was his apparent
dark magic use, but he made Sirius sound like a complete git. Sirius sighed, supposing that
he'd been spoiled with Dumbledore and Knight.

"Those 'evil' marks... what did they look like?"

"Lines," Clearwater said, sticking his nose in the air. "It was probably some complex
Arithmancy spell-"

"Did you take Arithmancy in school?"

"I did, yes. Got a N.E.W.T. in it." Sirius wondered, absently, what a man who was capable of
high level Arithmancy was doing with a job in Azkaban.

"Oh," Sirius said. "I never did it myself. So tell me: is two-thousand, six-hundred and fifty-
two a powerful magical number?"

"No, but what's that-"

"That's the number of lines there were on my wall," Sirius said quietly, and Remus made a
small noise in the back of his throat; Sirius hadn't mentioned the lines before.

"What were the marks, then?" Fudge asked. Sirius hesitated.

"The number of days since James and Lily's deaths," he said finally. The stands were silent
again.

"Pads..." Remus murmured, looking unhappy. Sirius cleared his throat and looked
everywhere but Remus and Harry and fixed his gaze on Clearwater.

"So," Sirius said loudly, "I've discounted your evil carvings on the wall theory, but no doubt
you still think dark magic was involved... Could you describe, please, what happened when a
Dementor approached me?"

"You'd hide at the back of your cell." Several people tittered at that, and Clearwater smirked.

"And I'd faint, right?"

"Right," Clearwater said reluctantly.

"So you'd say I was actually affected by them?" Clearwater made an annoyed noise and
folded his arms. "Well?"

"Yes." Sirius arched an eyebrow at the man's petulant tone but didn't comment on that.
"Doesn't that contradict your earlier statement about me protecting myself?" Clearwater gave
him a stony look. "One last question... When the Dementors were near me, and I'd fall
unconscious, what would I wake up saying?" Clearwater fiddled with a button on the pocket
of his robes and cleared his throat. Then he glanced at Amelia, Fudge, and Dumbledore, as if
to ask if he really had to answer. "Answer the question!" Sirius snapped.

"That you were innocent," Clearwater said, not meeting Sirius' gaze, or those of the members
of the Wizengamot. He scratched the back of his neck and practically sprinted back to his
seat when Fudge announced the questioning was over.

"The Chair recognises Auror John Andrew Dawlish," Fudge said.

Dawlish was brought forward and talked about how Padfoot had supposedly abused Harry;
he'd apparently spoken to the Healers at St Mungo's and filed the official report, and he'd also
witnessed their interactions during their time in the cell. He covered Harry's injuries in depth,
and spoke a lot about the days immediately following the Dementor attack – where Harry and
Padfoot had been quite distant. He turned Harry into a victim, which Harry didn't like at all ,
because he'd known what was at stake when he and Padfoot faced the Inferi, and because
their distance had been Harry's fault, not Padfoot's. Dawlish made Padfoot out to be a
monster.

Harry's eyes burned holes into the back of Dawlish's head the entire time – and then Padfoot
stood and Harry grinned; Padfoot was going to tear the Auror to shreds. He was right;
Padfoot started simply, asking whether Dawlish had proof that it had been him who attacked
Harry, and had Harry ever said anything to suggest that he was abused, or acted as if he was
afraid? Dawlish was forced to say no to all of those questions.

Then, for the first time in nearly an hour, Padfoot hesitated when the topic of their time in the
cell came up. He turned to look at Harry – obviously asking for permission – and Harry
swallowed, and nodded. Draco and the severe looking witch that Moody had called Professor
both glanced at him in askance, but he just shook his head at them. Remus' friend Matt put a
hand on Harry's shoulder briefly – obviously smelling his unease – and Draco, apparently not
appeased by Harry's headshake leaned over.

"Do you need a hug?" he whispered.

"No, thanks," Harry muttered back. Draco shrugged and went back to staring at a witch in
magenta robes in the front row; he'd been staring at strangers the whole time, and Harry
didn't think he was paying much attention to what was going on at all. Padfoot looked like
he'd have liked to be pacing.

"You've suggested that I abuse Harry-"

"I have, yes."

"Implying that I don't care for him... that I have very little regard for his wellbeing, is that
right?"
"That's the logical explanation, yes."

"Well," Padfoot said, smirking at the Wizengamot (Fudge, particularly). "I wasn't going to
bring this into it, but since you already have... well, this is a criminal trial and I've been
accused of enough crimes without adding lying to the Wizengamot to the list... Tell me, after
the Dementor attack down in the holding cells-" One of the trainees near Dora squeaked and
a tall man put an arm around her and whispered something, but Harry didn't hear it over the
shocked and indignant sounds of the other people seated in the courtroom. "-what did the
Aurors come down to find?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that," Dawlish said. "I wasn't down there that morning, and while
I've heard stories, one can never be sure about their credibility..."

"I can provide an accurate account."

All eyes turned to Rufus, who steeled himself and kept his expression calm. Black's
expression was one of hopeful disbelief, and Rufus met his eye for the briefest moment,
before glancing at Bones again.

"You?" Fudge asked.

"Me," Rufus agreed. While Black hadn't yet told his version of events, Rufus had witnessed
enough of his behaviour – the man was by no means a saint, but he was hardly evil, or
even dark – and seen enough of the way he treated the Potter boy, to have suspected that
there was something not quite right with the whole situation. Black hadn't yet given his own
account, but Rufus was convinced anyway; the Wizengamot wouldn't be convinced unless
Black did something big to prove them wrong, but to Rufus, it was the little things that
mattered.

It was the little things, like the fact that Dumbledore hadn't suspected him, the fact that Black
hadn't reacted violently when the Hit Wizards Apparated in, the fact that he'd been just as
vulnerable to Dementors as any other prisoner – even if he was immune now – and that he'd
said he was innocent in his sleep. They were the things that made all the difference.

There was also the fact that Rufus had been painted as a Black-supporter already – apparently
civility toward prisoners was a crime now - and so he'd probably lose his job if Black was
convicted. Rufus wanted justice for Black, but his own self-preservation came above even
that. Even better was that he could accomplish both with the same action.

"Are you working with him too?" Fudge demanded. Bones was pale, and looked like her
entire world would crumble if Rufus' answer was affirmative. He didn't want to crush her;
Bones, at least, was competent. Fudge, on the other hand, was a complete waste of space, and
so was Dawlish. The fact that helping Black would spite them just made things even sweeter.

"No," he said. "I'm merely offering my own account since – by his own confession - your
witness is unable to do so."

"The Chair recognises the witness Rufus-"

"Edmond," Rufus supplied.

After Scrimgeour's testimony, Fudge called a recess in proceedings, with the promise that
they'd resume in twenty minutes with the defence's witnesses. Harry was feeling hopeful. He
was pretty sure that most of the legal subtleties had been lost on him, but Padfoot had been
clear with most of his points and the people in the stands no longer looked like they wanted
to murder Padfoot where he stood, so Harry thought that was a small victory. They didn't
believe him, not yet, but they were listening.

Auror Robards was having a word with Moody. Both of them were talking in low voices and
Robards in particular looked worried and made Moody promise to keep an eye on his
sidekick – Harry wondered if Robards meant Dora – just in case he needed help. He
announced he was going to follow the coordinates, and then hurried toward the exit.

"Is she all right?" Dora asked Moody.

"Probably not," Moody replied, looking grim. He fiddled with something small and golden,
his magical eye tracking Robards' progress.

"What do you think he was?" Draco asked, staring after Robards too.

"He's an Auror," Harry said.

"Obviously, Potter," Draco snapped. "Merlin, you're stupid!"

"You asked me a question and I answered," Harry snapped back. "If you want a better one,
then- I dunno, be clearer next time."

"Fine," Draco said snottily. "Do you think he's a muggleborn, or a halfblood?"

"Where in Merlin's name did that come from?" Harry asked, staring at him, wondering if that
was what Draco'd been doing while he was staring at people. He also glanced at Mr Malfoy,
but the older wizard didn't seem to have heard their exchange.

"Questions are generally products of thought," Draco sneered. "I can understand why you
might find that confusing, since you've probably never had a thought in your li-" The
Professor cleared her throat and gave them both unimpressed looks and Harry and Draco
shared a guilty, almost-apologetic grimace and stayed silent until she turned her attention
back to the giant man on her right. "Just answer the question, Potter."

"What if he's a pureblood?" Harry asked.

"I don't recognise the name," Draco said, as if that discounted that possibility. Harry was
forced to concede that it probably did. "Sir?" Draco asked, turning to Snape, who looked torn
between exasperation and amusement. If Harry didn't know better, he'd have thought Snape
was about to smile. Convinced the world was almost officially backward, Harry fixed his
attention on the floor, where Padfoot was drumming his fingers on the sides of his chair and
Moony was engaged in a sad staring competition with Dumbledore.
"The trial will resume," Bones boomed, "in two minutes." Harry felt his heart rate pick up.

"Calm down," Matt murmured, putting his hand on Harry's shoulder again. "You're
making me nervous."

"Aren't you worried?" Harry couldn't help asking.

"Of course I am. So's everyone else-" Matt tapped the side of his nose and winked. Dora
made a noise next to him, and he glanced at her and winked again, but she didn't even seem
to notice. Her eyes were distant, and one of her hands was clamped on Moody's sleeve, as if
for support. "It bloody stinks." The Professor cleared her throat again, as if telling him off for
his language. Matt shrugged and then the Professor's beady eyes met Harry's. She smiled
sadly and murmured something to the giant. "-except I can't really say anything to them,"
Matt continued. "You on the other hand, are just here." Harry smiled reluctantly.

"What does worry smell like?" he asked. Matt arched an eyebrow.

"It's thick," he said. "Kind of like breathing smoke, except it doesn't smell smoky... it's kind
of sickly sweet."

"That sounds... er..."

"Unpleasant?" Matt offered.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"It's fine. If you could smell me, I'd probably stink too." Harry wondered if he'd be able to
smell it when he was a wolf, and if it would smell the same way for him. Matt grinned. "Of-"

"The trial is about to resume: could everyone please be seated and silent," Fudge called, and
the babble stopped immediately. Matt leaned back into his seat and Harry's eyes went right to
Padfoot and Moony.

"What are you telling them?" Remus murmured.

"About Wormtail and Padfoot," Sirius replied in a quiet voice, glancing at the Wizengamot;
Fudge was introducing them as witnesses. "About everything-"

"Which of you will be speaking first?" Amelia asked, eyeing Sirius.

"I will," Remus said, and Sirius gave him a sharp look. "The story starts with me."

"Moony-" Sirius muttered.

"Exactly," Remus murmured. "Moony." Sirius hissed when he realised what Moony was
about to do.

"I didn't mean everything. You don't-" Remus gave Sirius a sad smile. He was very pale and
sweat was beading on his forehead, despite the fact that it was reasonably cool inside the
courtroom.

"The Chair recognises Remus John Lupin," Fudge said, "witness for the defence."

"In the beginning," Remus said, "there were four of us. Myself, Sirius, James Potter-" Sirius
noticed that Remus didn't actually look directly at Harry; most people seemed not to have
noticed him sitting innocuously in the stands, and Sirius thought he probably liked it that
way. "-and Peter Pettigrew." Anger, hot and smoky burned Sirius' nose, and he saw Remus'
shoulders stiffen. "We were all Sorted into Gryffindor and were best friends by the end of the
first week of our first year. After that, we were more or less inseparable. I won't go into
details – we don't have the time, I'm afraid – but for you to comprehend any of the rest of
Sirius' story, you must understand that we were all very close."

There was a trumpeting sound from the stands and Sirius' eyes found Hagrid, who'd pulled
out a large flowery handkerchief. McGonagall, next to him, appeared to be crying too.

"We were the sort of friends that did anything for each other. I helped Sirius, James and Peter
with their homework, and partnered with them in class, and lied to get them out of trouble
and gave them advice when they needed it. I like to think I was a good friend-"

"Congratulations," Fudge said. "If you'd get to the point, though-"

"My point," Remus said, "is despite everything I ever did for them, I never came anywhere
close to matching what they did for me." He took a deep breath and lifted his chin and it was
at that moment that Sirius realised just how far Remus was willing to go to help him.

"Moony-"

"It's all right, Padfoot," he said calmly. Then, in a defiant voice, he said, "I'm a werewolf."
The response was instant; several people shrieked, several gasped and the Aurors had to
Disarm a few people before they could hurt Remus. One man was escorted out by a grim
looking Scrimgeour.

"Continue, Wolf," Fudge said, and Sirius glared at him until he quailed and hid behind his
parchment, and then Remus continued. He spoke, briefly about how his father had upset
Greyback – the name, judging from everyone's reactions, was a familiar one – although he
never specified when he'd been bitten. Sirius eventually realised that he was protecting
Dumbledore from any potential backlash for allowing a werewolf to go to Hogwarts.

"When my friends found out," Remus said, nodding at Sirius, "they accepted me." Several
people laughed, and several others muttered rather offensive things to the people next to
them. Sirius glowered in their respective directions, though Remus ignored them. It had to be
affecting him – his hearing was better than Sirius', after all – but he didn't smell upset, and he
didn't look it either. "And they wanted to help-"

"They should have put you down!" someone called, and this time Remus flinched. Sirius
snarled under his breath and several other people in the crowd reacted in his defence too;
Sirius saw Dora and McGonagall glaring in the speaker's direction. Dumbledore cleared his
throat and uttered a cold warning, and then, a moment later, there was a shriek which cut off
with a mooing noise, and then several other people made shocked noises.

Sirius craned his neck, trying to see, and chuckled at what he spotted; a witch in the middle
of the stands was sporting black and white ears and a pair of rather impressive horns. Sirius'
gaze went straight to Harry, who'd gone bright red and appeared to be trying to sink into his
seat. Behind him, Matt was doubled over with laughter, and the Malfoy boy was whispering
to a sour looking Snape.

"What did you do to her?" a man demanded, while the witch made noises that wouldn't have
been out of place on a farm.

"I didn't do anything," Sirius said politely. "But it's reasonably easy to work out what
happened; someone decided that if she's going to act like a cow, she might as well look the
part." Remus chortled next to him, and a few others scattered around the room did as well.
Unfortunately, Sirius' humour didn't appeal to the Aurors, most of whom had their wands
trained on Sirius.

"Sirius is not responsible for this," Dumbledore said, also watching Harry. He didn't say
anything else, but a wave of his hand had the Aurors lowering their wands, and a nod of his
head had McGonagall standing and flicking her wand to reverse Harry's accidental magic.
Harry looked relieved, and also a little disappointed. "Remus, if you'd continue?"

"Of course, sir." Remus waited until it was quiet again and then said, "My friends wanted to
help me, and so they became Animagi." It seemed Remus had anticipated the outcry this
comment would cause, because he paused and glanced at Sirius, who shrugged.

"Animagi?" Dumbledore asked, looking stunned. "But you're not on the-"

"We never registered," Sirius said. "Now there's a crime I'll admit to being guilty of."
Umbridge beamed and stabbed her quill into the inkwell before scribbling something down,
and Rattler – the victim of Umbridge's enthusiasm - brushed spots of ink off his face.
Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted and he and Sirius stared at each other – Sirius felt like
Dumbledore was reassessing him – while everyone talked around them.

"Enough!" Amelia boomed. "We'd like to get through this today, so if the public would kindly
be silent!" She waited and then nodded. "Thank you. Mr Lupin, continue, please."

"Werewolves are only dangerous to humans," Remus said. "It was still a very risky thing to
do, but they weren't at risk of catching my... condition, at least. Sirius was – sorry, is – a dog.
James was a stag-" Sirius saw Dumbledore's mouth forming the word 'Prongs'. He was
nodding, and Sirius felt a surge of hope. "Peter is a rat."

"Is?" Fudge stammered. "But, Wol- Lupin, Peter Pettigrew is dead-"

"I thought this was my testimony, Minister, not yours," Remus said politely. Sirius sniggered.

"But Pettigrew-"
"-will be addressed in my testament," Sirius said. "I can start now, if you'd like, or did you
want to stick to procedure and have Remus questioned first?" Amelia waved a hand,
indicating that Sirius could ask whatever he liked.

Sirius thought for a moment; he didn't really need to question Remus about the credibility of
his testament, because the others would probably do that. He didn't really have much to ask.
He thought for a moment and then decided that it probably couldn't hurt to use this as a sort
of character reference, since that, after all, was what he'd be judged on due to his lack of
other evidence. He cleared his throat.

"You've made it clear that we were – and still are – reasonably close," Sirius said, feeling
foolish for addressing Remus so formally. Remus nodded. "So would you say I was a good
friend?"

"I would, yes," Remus said calmly.

"And I risked my life for you, once a month?" Sirius asked.

"Yes," Remus replied.

"Until when?"

"You were at my house, with me, on the full moon on the night that Lily and James died,"
Remus said.

"I was," Sirius agreed. "Tell me, Moo- Remus, what did the Death Eaters think of you?"

"They wanted me dead."

"Did I?" Sirius asked, and Remus' eyes gleamed.

"Want me dead?" he asked, looking believably stunned. "No, of course you didn't; you were
there on full moons, helping me. If you'd wanted me dead, you could have just left me to deal
with things on my own."

"But I didn't?"

"No, I don't think you'd missed a full moon in at least a year. You were always there, even
when James and Peter couldn't make it."

"So you'd say my behaviour was uncharacteristic of a Death Eater," Sirius said.

"I would, yes." The conversation felt unnatural; most of the things Remus was saying were
things that they never talked about – some things didn't need to be said aloud – and to do it
here just felt... wrong. Sirius knew he wasn't an overly modest person, but this ego stoking
made him feel like a bit of a prat, particularly since it was Remus he was talking to; usually
Remus was the one who tried to deflate his ego. "You risked your life to help me numerous
times – me, a werewolf. I can't imagine many of these people here are Death Eaters, but even
they wouldn't go out of their way for me, the way you did."
"Oh, Moony, I'm blushing," Sirius said in a low voice, and smirked.

"Shut up, you prat," Remus shot back, hardly moving his mouth to do so.

"But you're my brave defender," Sirius muttered. Remus rolled his eyes. Sirius took a
moment to clear the smirk from his face and then, with a slightly apologetic grimace asked,
"Would you say you and I were the closest?"

"We do share certain canine attributes," Remus said wryly, and a few people – Sirius among
them – chuckled. "But frankly, no. We were close – brothers, really, more than friends – but if
we were brothers, you and James were twins." Sirius smiled and Remus smiled back.
"Absolutely mental, the pair of you," he continued, fondly. "The perfect double act."

"You've already made it clear that I did a lot for you, apparently despite the fact that it wasn't
you that I was closest to." Sirius grimaced – feeling like a complete git again, but Remus just
smiled. "So what do you think I would have done for James?"

"Anything," Remus said simply. Sirius expected the audience to break out talking again but
everything was oddly hushed.

Sirius caught Dumbledore's eye and nodded to show he was finished with his questions.
Dumbledore stood – Fudge sank back into his chair looking disappointed - and came to stand
in front of them. Dumbledore was tall – taller than Sirius, even when Sirius was standing, and
so he positively dwarfed them when they were sitting down. He took his spectacles off,
cleaned them on his robes, replaced them, and then surveyed them both through the glass.
Sirius shifted, feeling rather like he was in the Headmaster's office after a prank on Snape,
even though it was Remus who was about to be questioned.

"I'm afraid I'm at a loss about where to begin," Dumbledore murmured, in the kindest tone
Sirius had heard from him (excluding the times it had been directed at Harry) since before
Halloween. His eyes were also just a bit warmer, and Sirius thought – and hoped – that the
older wizard was beginning to change his mind. "Nothing in your story directly relates to
Sirius' guilt – except for the lack of registration, of course..." He paused, his expression a
strange mix of curious and calculating. "Your story about Animagi is all you have to offer
today?"

"It is," Remus agreed. "The rest is Sirius' to tell." Dumbledore adjusted his hat.

"I could attack you with questions, but I truly think the best way to test the reliability of what
you've just said, Remus, is to have Sirius transform."

"Let me go, then," Sirius said, beaming.

"Oh, no," Fudge said, waggling a finger. "You can do it from your chair."

"And break my legs?" Sirius asked, attempting to lift his arms. The chains rattled. "Dogs
don't bend this way, Minister."
"If you try to run, you will be stopped," Dumbledore warned, and then the chains recoiled
and Sirius shook his hands and rotated his wrists a few times before standing slowly. Remus
looked a little put out that he hadn't been let loose too.

"Don't attack me," Sirius said. He hunched and then morphed into Padfoot. It was unpleasant;
scents were strong as a human, but as a dog, they were almost overwhelming. He sneezed a
few times, and rubbed his nose with a paw, while Remus gave him a sympathetic look, and
Dumbledore watched him carefully. Padfoot shook and then sat down, watching the
Wizengamot. Umbridge looked particularly sour, and something told Padfoot she was a cat
person.

"That will do," Dumbledore murmured, and Padfoot reared up and became Sirius again.
Several wands followed him.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, flopping down in his chair again before anyone could tell him to. He
rubbed his wrists once more and then let the chains bind them in place. "Well, I think that
proves Remus was telling the truth, so unless there's anything else you want to ask him..."
Fudge, Dumbledore and Amelia exchanged a glance.

"The Chair," Fudge said slowly, "recognises Sirius Orion Black, witness for the defence."
 Guilty hearts

Remus thought he was lucky to have made it through his questioning with his voice still
intact; Sirius was practically croaking out his answers to Fudge's questions, and Remus could
see him shooting longing glances at the glass of water in front of Amelia.

"-all very well and good, but can you prove it?" Fudge said, looking smug. "Where's
Pettigrew now?"

"If I knew, do you really think I wouldn't have arranged for him to be here?" Sirius asked
hoarsely. He'd come into the trial having fun, Remus thought, but that had long passed. "He's
an evil git and a coward and he's in hiding-"

"Which matches your story nicely," Fudge said. "But can you-"

"I've given you as much proof as I can!" Sirius wriggled his arm in the chains until he
managed to get his sleeve back. "Look, no Dark Mark. After everyone's testimony, you can't
honestly think I'm an evil murdering Death Eater!" Yes, Sirius was definitely fed up. Remus
glanced in Sirius' direction and offered him a small smile, but he was too busy scowling at
Fudge to see it.

"Perhaps not, but that's the thing – we don't like to rely on opinions. We like facts to trust-"

"Facts?" Sirius demanded. "Then why the hell is Malfoy sitting up there, free, while I'm in
chains?" Malfoy shifted in the crowd. "And what about Snape?!" Remus knew Snape had
helped Sirius a few times, but there was still obviously no love lost between those two. "Both
of them have Dark Marks, and you can put their parts in the war down to the Imperius curse,
but there's no way to prove that, is there, so obviously you did go on opinions-"

"There was ample evidence to support Mr Malfoy's innocence," Fudge said.

"Galleons don't count, Minister," Sirius croaked. Fudge's face turned a nasty red colour, and
Malfoy was pink up in the stands. Amelia, Dumbledore and even Scrimgeour looked
disapproving.

"That's not- he didn't- Mr Malfoy is not the one on trial," Fudge said. "He was found
innocent-" Fudge's face crinkled, as if he'd just thought of something unpleasant. "-and before
you ask, Black, Dumbledore himself saw to Snape's trial, so-"

"He what?" Sirius asked, and there was something in his voice that Remus couldn't place.
"He-" Sirius looked at Dumbledore, who seemed to be expecting a challenge. "-I
mean, you gave Snape a trial?" Movement caught Remus' eye and he saw Snape fold his
arms.

"I did," Dumbledore said, perhaps a touch defensively. Sirius stared at him, and Dumbledore
continued in a gentle but firm voice. "Severus Snape's innocence has already been
determined and whatever it is you find objectionable about that is irrelevant to the matter at
hand."

Sirius blinked. He was quiet for a long time, and Remus didn't like the scents coming off of
him at all; there was shock, anger, sadness and above all, genuine confusion. It was hard to
say exactly what Sirius smelled like, but whatever it was, it made Remus' chest ache. It was a
bit like when Sirius had been struggling with the Dementor's Draught.

"Well, back to what I was saying..." Fudge said, apparently pleased that Sirius had quietened.
"What- that is to say, is there any tangible evidence can you offer us, Black? Because we
want to believe you, really-" Remus snorted quietly, but he was worried; Sirius didn't appear
to have heard Fudge, which was unusual because Sirius had been listening
to everything today.

"Sirius?" Remus murmured, stretching out to kick Sirius' ankle. "Padfoot." Sirius jerked in
his chair, but his eyes never left Dumbledore.

"I don't understand," he said finally, looking hurt.

"Black," Fudge said impatiently, "it was a simple-"

"He was a Death Eater," Sirius said, tilting his head toward Snape. "You know he was a Death
Eater. And I wasn't- I never- but- Why him?" Sirius' voice was very quiet, and actually rather
pitiful. Remus was usually very good at following Sirius' line of thought, but even he still
wasn't entirely sure what Sirius was talking about.

"Pardon?" Dumbledore asked.

"I said: why him?" Sirius repeated, in that same, shattered voice. "If you wanted to give
Snape a second chance, then fine, but why didn't I get the same?" Sirius frowned at the floor.
"Maybe one good deed's enough to redeem him from a life of pretty questionable choices, but
I lived a good life... I fought-" Sirius' voice broke. "-for you, would have died for our side...
but then it looks like I've made one mistake and that's enough to condemn me?" Sirius cocked
his head. "I just- I don't understand."

Oh Merlin, Remus thought. He'd known about Snape's trial, of course, though it had been
private, so he hadn't been able to attend. He hadn't cared that Dumbledore had given Snape a
trial and not Sirius – Remus had hated Sirius back then – but looking back... He'd probably be
furious if it was him, but Sirius just looked rattled. Fudge noticed and, ever the politician –
though a terrible one – seized the advantage.

"Answer the question, Black: Can you prove your innocence?" Sirius looked over at Fudge,
annoyed.

"I can't prove anything," he said. Then he frowned, and even Remus knew he'd made a
mistake. "No, wait-"

"No evidence?" Fudge said, arching an eyebrow.

"My character and morality have had a pretty thorough-"

"Very well, we'll judge you on your character," Fudge said. "You say that you didn't abuse
Harry Potter-"

"Of course I didn't!" Sirius sounded... off. He'd raised his voice a few times during the trial,
but this wasn't for emphasis. It was a loss of patience, or loss of control. And Sirius' eyes
were still flicking between Dumbledore and Snape. "I'd never hurt-"

"But he was hurt, wasn't he? Badly?"

"Yes-"

"While in your care?"

"I was trying to help him-"

"Was he hurt while in your care: Yes or no, Black?!" Sirius tore his eyes away from the
crowd and the Wizengamot and fixed them on Fudge.

"Yes, he was, but-"

"And you were the one responsible for putting him in a position where he could have been
injured?" Sirius had carefully evaded the details behind the cave in his testimony, but the
Ministry had been involved with Harry at St Mungo's , and so they knew the outcome
anyway.

"No-"

"So Harry makes the decisions, does he? You let a boy make the judgment calls?"

"No, I did-"

"Then you were lying to me?"

"No- Merlin, yes, but-"

"So you endangered him, failed to protect him, and then left him in the care of a man –
sorry, werewolf, who you weren't friendly with at the time, in the hopes that he'd get the boy
the necessary treatment, correct?" Sirius glared at him, face red. He was obviously angry, and
trying to think of what to say; Remus knew better than anyone that Sirius could be a bit of a
liability when he was angry. If he spoke out now, he'd probably insult someone, but if he said
nothing, it was basically an admission of guilt. "Black?"

"It wasn't exactly like that-"

"So my summary of events is wrong?"

"Well, no-"
"So you're not really a fit guardian," Fudge said, smoothing his robes. "And," he continued,
before Sirius could protest, "what interests me is that, despite your Auror training and
supposed dedication to the law, you still broke it to befriend your werewolf."

"He has a name," Sirius snapped, and Dumbledore seemed to be nodding in agreement.
Remus felt a little warmed.

"Could you explain why?"

"Why, what?" Sirius asked.

"Why you broke the law? Am I right in assuming it was for belief? Did you think that some
things were more important?"

"I suppose," Sirius said, looking confused; Remus was confused too – why was Fudge
suddenly so understanding?

"So you'd do anything, as long as you thought it was the right thing?"

"Wouldn't we all-"

"Yes or no?"

"Stop cutting him off!" Remus said angrily.

"Stop speaking out of turn," Fudge said. "Now, Black: yes or no."

"Yes," Sirius snapped. He was obviously slipping and getting frustrated with himself and
with Fudge.

"Your family were strong supporters of You-Know-Who, weren't they?"

"Some of them."

"Your brother was a Death Eater, correct?"

"He quit," Sirius said stiffly, obviously startled that Regulus had come up. He shouldn't have
been; Remus was sure he'd probably anticipated the Black family angle, and even planned
how to deal with the inevitable questions. He seemed to have forgotten that, though.

"Get it together, Padfoot," Remus murmured.

"You don't think I'm trying?" Sirius hissed.

"But he was?" Fudge asked.

"Yes."

"And we know from Lupin that you'd do anything for a brother, even if they weren't related
to you, don't we. If your brother had wanted you to join his master, you would have...
'anything' was the word Lupin used."
"Not-"

"That wasn't a question, Black. Please hold your tongue." Fudge rocked back on his heels,
apparently enjoying himself, and Umbridge wore a wide smile as her hand raced over her
transcription. After a moment of staring into the crowd, and a few thoughtful glances at
Sirius, Fudge announced that he was finished. Sirius slumped, looking annoyed and relieved
all at once.

Gawain staggered as he landed, worry making him perhaps a little less steady than he'd
usually be. It had been almost three hours since McKinnon was supposed to have met him,
and she hadn't even contacted him with an excuse. She's sounded like a mess when he spoke
to her that morning, and she'd been fragile lately anyway... silence from her on the day of the
trial was definitely not a good thing. He cursed the twitchy little Prophetreporter who'd
caught him on his way out of the courtroom and bombarded him with ridiculous questions;
Gawain had answered two and then given up and told the man to go and listen in if he wanted
news.

Gawain shook his head, still irritated, and tucked his Sidekick into his robes. He glanced
around and then he spotted her.

McKinnon was sitting, hunched on the ground beside a large white gravestone. Gawain was a
few yards away, and could still see that she was trembling. Not far from her feet, a man lay,
unmoving. Oh, dear Merlin, no, Gawain thought, hurrying forward.

"Expelliarmus," he said – thinking that this was becoming his usual way to greet her - and her
wand flew into his hand. She hardly seemed to notice.

"I'm a monster," she choked, as Gawain knelt down beside the man. He had a pulse,
thankfully, and didn't appear to be hurt. He aimed his wand at the man, and McKinnon let out
a shriek and knocked his hand away. Gawain flicked his wand and ropes wrapped around her,
the way they had in the cells the day she went after Black. "No," she said. "No, he'll get
away!" Something in her voice made him pause.

"I see," he said carefully. She continued to tremble – in fact, she was almost rocking – and
her eyes never left the unconscious man. "McKinnon? McKinnon, look at me." She did,
slowly, and her eyes were half-sad, half-mad.

"He killed them," she said. Gawain glanced at the man again.

"He's a murderer?" he asked, and she let out a sob and nodded. Gawain didn't get a coherent
word out her for another few minutes, just a lot about Black and monsters. Gawain tried to
talk to her, and tried to pat her knee or her hand, but that got him nowhere. Eventually, she
calmed down enough for him to inch a bit closer and try to get an arm around her, but she
wriggled away, struggling against her ropes.

"Don't," she whispered. "Don't, I don't deserve it!"

"McKinnon-"
"Don't! I should be in Azkaban!" She wriggled and wiped her wet cheek on her shoulder
because her hands were pinned. "Arrest me! You have to arrest-"

"Enough!" Gawain said; being gentle hadn't worked, so he hoped a rougher approach would.
"I'm not arresting anyone, do you understand?" She blinked up at him, and Gawain was sorry
to see that she didn't seem to understand.

"But you have to – him and me- both of us- we're both monsters! Please, sir, please, you
have-"

"Enough!" he said again, and she flinched and fell silent. He felt guilty for yelling at her
when she was very obviously not in her right mind, but he pushed that down. "Can you tell
me what's wrong with you?"

"E-everything's wrong with me," she began, and Gawain sighed.

Should have seen that coming, he thought resignedly.

"How about him?" Gawain asked, gesturing to the unconscious man.

"I put him to sleep," she said.

"I can see that," Gawain said patiently. "Can you tell me why?"

For the first time, a bit of what Gawain thought was the real McKinnon, peered out through
her brown eyes. The look she gave him was almost condescending.

"He- he's Peter Pettigrew," she said, as if it should be obvious.

"Peter Pettigrew?" he asked. It was a name he was familiar with – one he thought he'd heard
recently, in fact – but it took him a moment to remember where. Gawain swore loudly and
rather colourfully, and looked at the man with new eyes. "I thought he was dead?"

"S-so did I!" McKinnon said, breaking into a fresh round of tears.

The implications of Pettigrew being alive hit Gawain like bludgers. He was reasonably
familiar with the case – it had seemed like a smart thing to do once he knew he'd be working
with McKinnon – and so it was easy enough to deduce the truth with the new evidence.

It meant Sirius Black, had in all likelihood, been framed for his mass-murder. Black was...
innocent. He glanced at McKinnon, who'd obviously reached this conclusion hours ago and
was also struggling to wrap her head around what the consequences of that were; he was
willing to bet now that Black hadn't shown up in her house in September to hurt her. He'd
probably wanted a friend, wanted to confide in her. And, then there was the significantly
more troubling matter; McKinnon had attempted to murder a trapped,
unarmed, innocent man. That had been bad when they'd thought Black was evil, but now that
he wasn't... well, if he was McKinnon, he'd probably be curled up on the ground too.

Gawain breathed in deeply, counted to ten, and then exhaled. Black's life was potentially at
stake. Then, he removed the ropes around McKinnon, who didn't move much at all, and
tossed her wand back.

"Courage, virtue, determination and intelligence," Gawain said into his Sidekick, and reached
out to put a hand on McKinnon's knee. She didn't respond. He murmured, "Phoenix," which
was Moody's password, and his Sidekick warmed briefly.

"Robards?" Moody's growled greeting was soft, and Gawain was fairly certain he was still
sitting in the stands. There was a buzzing sound behind him, like people talking. "Have you
found her?"

"I have. What's happening with the trial?"

"They're revoting," Moody said.

"Voting? Already?!" He hadn't even been gone for an hour yet. He'd been expecting to have
more time.

"Lupin was quick – they didn't really question him at all - and Black obviously knew exactly
what he was going to say because he was done in ten minutes, and Fudge took half that to
tear him to pieces." Gawain could hear the shrug in his voice.

"What do you think?"

"I don't know what to think," Moody admitted. "Most of the Wizengamot are against him, but
Dumbledore and Amelia are on Black's side and that counts for a lot... Fudge isn't happy –
he's called a recess and there'll be another vote in about ten minutes."

"Did Black say anything about Pettigrew in his story?"

"He did," Moody said, sounding suspicious. "Said Pettigrew framed him, in fact. Of course,
Pettigrew's dead, but aside from that, it sounded plausible... why?"

"McKinnon and I aren't alone here."

"Who- no?!" Moody said, sounding stunned.

"Yep," Gawain replied grimly. "He's subdued, and I'll get him there as soon as I can." Moody
cackled – apparently he realised just how quickly things were going to turn upside down.
"Have a word to Scrimgeour and Bones, if you can; give them warning."

"And Fudge?" Gawain grunted; he had as little respect for Fudge as the rest of the Auror
Department. Moody cackled again, and then Gawain's Sidekick fell silent.

"You're taking him in?" McKinnon asked, with a rather pinched expression. "You're going to
free Sirius?"

"I am," Gawain said, and she relaxed a little bit; her expression smoothed out at least, and she
no longer looked like she was in pain. Gawain checked Pettigrew for any weapons but he had
none, and so he conjured ropes and added several other binding and sleeping spells. To
anyone with the ability to see magic, Pettigrew would probably look like some sort of
cocooned insect. McKinnon watched with an unreadable expression as Gawain cast another
charm on Pettigrew that held him upright and allowed Gawain to control him like a puppet.
Then, Gawain turned to McKinnon and asked, "Would you like to help me?"

Gawain was hoping the chance to amend some of her wrongs might be incentive for
McKinnon to pull herself together. The response he got was a little less dramatic than he'd
expected, or wanted. Instead of leaping to her feet, she froze, and picked up her wand. She
twirled it between her fingers and then looked up at Gawain.

"Handing Pettigrew over will mean Sirius goes free?" she asked.

"It will," Gawain said. The tiniest smile flickered over her face, and she got to her feet. She
was a little wobbly, so Gawain steadied her and got a nodded thanks. Hen gripped Pettigrew's
limp arm and then offered his other arm to McKinnon.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. There was a crack and Gawain reached for her, but his hand only
caught air. Her Sidekick clattered to the ground.

"Damn it!" he snarled. He flicked his wand at the place where she'd vanished and put up
preservation wards that would keep her magical trace intact until he could come back and use
it to track her. He snatched up her Sidekick, made sure he had Pettigrew, and then turned on
the spot.

Sirius saw Dumbledore look over at him out of the corner of his eye, and studiously avoided
eye-contact. The fact that Dumbledore had voted in his favour had lessened Sirius' anger, but
other feelings – hurt, betrayal, disbelief – were all still there. Sirius couldn't look at him
properly without feeling like he wanted to break something, or alternatively, cry. He glanced
at Remus, who'd closed his eyes just after the first vote and was yet to open them. Sirius
thought he was attempting to control his stress levels by pretending he was somewhere else.

Mad-Eye was glancing in his direction too – he and Scrimgeour were over by the
Wizengamot instead of in their respective seats – but the only one Sirius looked at was
Scrimgeour. Sirius wasn't afraid to see acceptance or judgement or anything on the Head
Auror's face, but Mad-Eye scared him. What if he hadn't believed Sirius' testimony? What if
he still blamed Sirius? Sirius was ashamed to admit he was afraid to find out. So, he focused
on Scrimgeour, who, disarmingly, grinned.

Sirius gave him a tentative, very wary smile back and risked a look at Dumbledore, who
looked torn between smiling and looking grim. Encouraged, he dared to look at Mad-Eye...
who was limping over. Remus opened an eye and stiffened when he saw who it was. Mad-
Eye stood in front of Sirius for a long time, and Sirius hardly dared to move. He wasn't even
really breathing. Then, Mad-Eye grinned as if he knew something Sirius didn't, and nodded
before walking away.

"Right," Sirius said, tapping impatiently on the sides of his chair. He and Remus shared a
long, worried look and then Remus shut his eyes and went back to trying to calm himself
down. Sirius' insides twinged with worry; he was worried about himself, of course, and of
what would happen to Harry, but he was also incredibly worried for Remus. Sirius, at least,
had been able to justify his actions. Remus, who would be judged with Sirius, hadn't even
had a chance to explain himself.

"Padfoot," Remus muttered, as Sirius' tapping intensified. "Padfoot."

"What? Now it sounds like a hum instead of a tap-"

"Either way it's annoying," Remus snapped, without opening his eyes.

"Yeah, well I'm restless," Sirius growled. Remus opened one eye and looked at him. Sirius
glowered back.

"It sounds like you need a walk," Remus said. "Next you'll be chewing the furniture." Sirius'
anger faded, and he even stopped tapping. He gave Remus – who had both eyes closed again
– a grateful smile, for making a joke; otherwise, it was likely to have descended into a petty
argument, which was the last thing either of them needed. The corners of Remus' mouth
turned up.

Sirius let out a loud sigh and shifted in his chair so that he could follow Fudge's movement
back to the stands. As Fudge opened his mouth to speak, however, he was interrupted by
Scrimgeour putting a hand on his shoulder and gesturing to the courtroom door.

Sirius glanced in that direction, where Robards, and another man – a shortish, rather average
looking bloke - were standing. The man – who'd been slumped, and probably not standing on
his own – moved a little and then slowly straightened, looking around with confused terror.
Then the man's eyes found Sirius and he staggered backward, trying ineffectively to get past
Robards. When that didn't work, he hunched – the way Sirius often did when he was about to
become Padfoot - and looked even more afraid when that failed.

Godric Bloody Gryffindor, Sirius thought, his mouth falling open. It couldn't be- but it was.
Sirius knew that wispy, fair hair, and that pointed nose, and those small eyes. He couldn't see
their colour, but he knew they'd be blue and probably watery.

Remus made a sniffing noise next to him, probably wondering what had happened to Sirius'
scent. Sirius kicked him in the shin, hard, and Remus swore and blinked his eyes open.

"Sirius, was that really-"

"Moony," Sirius managed to say, his eyes never leaving Peter. He was surprised how calm he
felt; he'd expected to see Peter and go mad and vengeful. Revenge was the furthest thing
from his mind at the moment, though. Mostly, all he felt was shock. "Moony, bloody look."

"Oh my Merlin," Remus whispered, and he looked furious. Remus looked like he'd like to get
up and tear Peter to pieces; his fingers were twitching, and his shoulder were tensed, as if he
was preparing himself to try to break free of his chains.

"Calm down," Sirius murmured, watching Scrimgeour and Mad-Eye go to help Robards with
an unsurprisingly reluctant Peter.
"I'm afraid there's been a mistake," Peter was saying shrilly, "I can't be here – it's not safe!
Sirius Black's a murderer, and he's going to try to-" Remus growled again and moved as if to
lunge out of his chair, but the chains held him back.

"You're going to hurt yourself," Sirius told him, nudging Remus' ankle with his foot. Remus
kicked him. "Moony, calm-"

"Calm down?" Remus snarled. "Sirius, Peter's the reason we're in this whole mess! He's the
reason Harry doesn't have any parents-"

"And he's about to be tried for all of that," Sirius said, glancing at Harry out of the corner of
his eye. Any murderous feelings he still harboured for Peter faded, though the loathing and
fury were still there.

"What is the meaning of this?" Umbridge cried. "Minister, I thought we were voting-"

"We've got another witness, Madam," Scrimgeour replied, shoving Peter forward. "I'd like to
introduce Peter Pettigrew."

The stands were instantly in uproar – some people were angry, some disbelieving, others
were confused or relieved – but one figure in particular caught Sirius' attention. He watched
as Harry stood – Matt reached for him, but Harry had a rather intent look on his face and
didn't even seem to have noticed – and made his way out of the stands. That, of course, made
everyone carry on for an entirely different reason ("It's Potter! He's here! He's alive!"), and
Harry's shoulders slumped but he didn't stop until he was standing in front of Peter, who was
still babbling to the Aurors. Peter flinched, and Robards shook him, as if reminding Peter that
he had nowhere to run.

Everything went dead silent, and so Sirius heard it perfectly clearly when Peter squeaked out
a, "H-Harry." There was a pause, where Harry looked uncertain for a moment, and Sirius
found himself straining against his own chains, wanting to be there with his godson. "Harry,
you've got to help me- they're going to kill me! Your parents wouldn't have wanted me dead,
I was their friend, Harry-" This time, it was Harry who flinched. Sirius' hands balled into
fists. "-they wouldn't have wanted anything to happen to me-"

"Shut up," Harry said, and Peter's mouth moved, but no sound came out. Harry looked
scared, and actually glanced in the direction of the stands, where the Malfoys , Matt, Dora
and the Hogwarts staff were sitting.

Merlin's hairy knuckles, Sirius thought. What the hell is going on? Harry took a small step
closer to Peter. Robards, Mad-Eye and Scrimgeour looked uncertain, but seemed willing to
let Harry do whatever he wanted to Peter, who looked absolutely terrified. Sirius wondered if
he might faint. Remus growled quietly beside him, and it was so quiet in the courtroom that
the sound echoed.

Harry's next words echoed too.

"You," he told Peter, "are going to tell them everything."

Peter'd already confessed enough to earn him a life sentence in Azkaban by the time
Scrimgeour conjured him a chair and forced him into it. If Sirius hadn't felt so worried – he
had no idea what Harry'd done to make Peter confess everything, and hoped it was nothing
dark or dangerous – or so vindicated, then he'd probably have felt sorry for his former friend.

Peter looked absolutely terrified as he spewed out secrets – without prompting – and he was
obviously trying to fight whatever it was that was making him talk. Occasionally he'd stutter,
or try to talk into his shoulder, but an invisible force would compel him to face Fudge and the
rest of the Wizengamot and continue.

The worst moments were where he'd clamp his jaw shut and manage to stay quiet for a few
seconds, but then his eyes would bulge, and he'd swell then explode with another
condemning testimony. Sirius desperately wanted to go free, and he hated every fibre of
Peter's miserable being, but this sort of compulsion wasn't right. Sirius wondered if it was
possible that Harry had used accidental magic to cast an Imperius curse.

Remus was watching Peter like prey, and the rest of the audience also had their eyes glued to
him, but Dumbledore, like Sirius, was watching Harry. Dumbledore looked troubled, and
perhaps even a little bit scared at what was happening. While Sirius was still angry and
disappointed with his old Headmaster, he couldn't blame him for feeling that way, because he
felt the same.

Harry's eyes were wide and scared, and his face pasty, and that he seemed to want to melt
into the wall behind him, by the stairs that led into the stands.

"Well," Amelia said, as Peter admitted to having gone to Godric's Hollow after Lily and
James' deaths to kill Harry, "I think we've heard enough. You can stop, Pettigrew." Except
Peter didn't. He kept babbling, and looked terrified all the while. "Those in favour of
dropping the charges of dark magic, and of being Death Eater, against Sirius Black, and, by
association, Remus Lupin...?" Amelia asked, over the top of Peter's high-pitched confessions.
Not one person left their hand down. Sirius didn't feel relieved, or euphoric, or anything like
that.

In fact, the only thing he thought at all, was, Finally. Remus glanced over and they shared a
small, tired smile. Several cameras flashed, and several reporters shouted questions. Harry
looked dazed – he was crying – and still staring at Peter in horror.

"There's still the matter of their other crimes, however," Fudge said, shooting Peter a look.

"Not today," Amelia said, with finality. "You will both be required to attend a secondary
hearing at a later date. You are not required to remain in Ministry custody until then, but your
wands will not be returned to you until afterward."

"Fine," Sirius said, shifting in his chair. Scrimgeour came forward to release them.

"-should be dead! I meant for them to die, for all of them to die! I would have killed them!"
Peter announced, shrilly. Remus snarled, and Scrimgeour gripped his arm to restrain him.
Sirius took a step forward, only to be intercepted by Shacklebolt.
"Get out of my way," Sirius snapped, shoving the other man aside.

"Black-" someone called. Sirius ignored them. Peter shrank in fear, and continued to talk
about how much he'd wanted them all to die.

"Death would have been kinder than Azkaban, Sirius. I didn't want to hurt you, and Remus
wouldn't have been alone in death, like he was in life. He'd have been cured! And Harry
would have been with Lily and James-" Sirius could have punched him – he was close
enough – but the thought didn't even stay in his mind long enough for him to consider it.

No, Sirius strode right past the quivering, chatty mess that was Peter, to where Harry was
standing, and knelt down. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder, startling him. Slowly, Harry
dragged his eyes away from Peter, to Sirius, who he seemed a little surprised to see. Sirius
opened his arms and Harry launched into them, hugging Sirius so tightly around the neck that
Sirius was in danger of suffocating. It it was a small price to pay when this was the closest
he'd been to Harry for over a week.

"I just want him to stop," Harry whispered, shaking. "I didn't know that it would- that he'd-
Padfoot-"

"End it, kiddo," Sirius said gently. His voice was hoarse – and maybe a bit shaky – though he
definitely didn't feel like he might cry... well, maybe he did, but just a bit.

"F-Finite?" Harry said, and it sounded like a question, but Peter fell silent behind them. For a
moment, anyway; then he started to sob like an over-grown baby. Sirius moved to scoop
Harry up – the way he had on Halloween the year before – but Harry moved back. Sirius
scanned his face, and smiled slightly at the stubborn set of his jaw; Harry was in a right state,
but he still wasn't about to let Sirius carry him out in front of this many people.

"Let's go home," Sirius murmured. Harry wiped his cheeks and slipped one small, rather cold
hand into Sirius'. "Moony, are you coming?" he called, as he stood. Remus was watching
someone up in the stands – maybe Matt or Dora? – and nodded slowly, mouthing, 'sorry', and
came to stand beside them. Sirius transferred Harry's hand to Remus', and then went to
crouch down by Peter's chair.

"You're right that death would have been kinder," Sirius said quietly, and Peter quivered and
wouldn't meet his eyes. "And it would be kinder now, for you. But you've fought so hard to
stay alive – to survive – that I think it's only fair that you get to live the life you sold
everything to keep." He straightened, and Peter burst into noisy tears. "I'd put up wards to
stop him from transforming and escaping," Sirius said, glancing at Scrimgeour. Then he
glanced at Amelia. "I'll be in touch."

She nodded, and no one said anything – except for a reporter, who wanted to know how
Sirius felt – so Sirius ruffled Harry's hair and led him and Remus toward the doors of
Courtroom Ten.

Sirius passed through them, not quite free, but closer to it than he'd been in a long time, and
smiled at the other two. Remus smiled that same, slightly sad, slightly tired smile, and Harry
managed a smile too, though he still looked shaken. For the first time in a month, it was just
the three of them.

Things weren't all right - Sirius was optimistic, but he wasn't stupid – but, while they'd
definitely had good times in hiding, things hadn't been properly all right then either. Now,
Sirius thought that - eventually - things could be.

"Remus? Sirius?" Albus left the courtroom in time to see Sirius unlocking an abandoned
office door. Sirius glanced up, passed Harry the wand he'd been using, and then gestured for
them to go inside. Sirius didn't follow. Instead, he turned to face Albus, his eyes wary, and
rather sad.

"Did you want something?" Sirius asked, in a rather abrupt voice. Albus didn't step any
closer.

"For what it's worth, I'd like to offer you my apologies-"

"Your apologies?" Sirius asked, with a stony look. "With all due respect, sir, that doesn't
really fix anything."

"I know," Albus sighed. He'd expected that sort of response, and that didn't stop it from
hurting, but he was glad; he deserved the pain. "I'm not even asking you to accept it. Discard
it, if you so wish. I would not blame you if you did."

"I don't hate you, you know," Sirius offered.

"That is more than I deserve."

"I know," Sirius said, with a small smile. It faded quickly, to be replaced with another sad
look. "You were doing what you thought was right, and that makes up for it... a bit. And I
understand why you made those choices – in all likelihood, I'd have made the same ones if I
was in your place – but just because I understand it..." He trailed off, frowning.

"You do not have to explain yourself to me, Sirius. I gave up the right to that information-"

"Look," he said, "I don't... hate you. But I do blame you, and I'm pretty bloody disappointed
with the way things played out after the war. It's not all your fault, but Azkaban and my lack
of trial is pretty much on you."

"I know," Albus murmured. Sirius stepped forward, and rather abruptly, hugged him. Albus
patted his back but just as quickly as Sirius had approached, he'd backed off again.

"And I hope you feel guilty," Sirius said, in a rather choked voice, "for a long time, sir. I'm
sorry. Contact Harry and Remus as much as you want – this doesn't involve them – but leave
me alone. I trust you – despite everything, can you believe it? – but I know you can't be
trusted to make the right decisions for me, and I've already spent enough time suffering
through the results of your attempts." Albus bowed his head and tried to wipe his eyes
without Sirius seeing, but he needn't have worried; Sirius had turned and entered the office.
"Sirius," Albus said, planning to tell him that yes, he'd stay away. He never had the chance,
though; Sirius had made the choice for him, because when Albus looked into the room, it was
empty.
 True selves

VIOLENT BREAK-IN SHOCKS NEIGHBOURS!

On Friday night, a London family of two were sitting down to dinner when they received a
surprise that certainly was not on the menu. An unidentified person forced their way through
a side window and is believed to have been searching for valuables, when the victim, Donald
Adams (34) heard a noise and went to investigate.

Mr Adams was shot once in the chest by the intruder and beaten before the intruder fled. "It's
just awful," said neighbour Meryl White, "to think that something like this happened just over
the fence. It's like nowhere's safe anymore." While 'nowhere' is a gross exaggeration,
statistics show that criminal activity in the area is indeed on the rise, with an increase of five
percent in the last twelve months.

Mr Adams was found by his ten year old son, who alerted the police, and is in a serious but
stable condition in the Wellington Hospital. John Fisher, from the City Police, encourages
anyone with any information about the intruder to come forward. He suggested in his
statement at a conference this morning that this crime could be linked to mass-murderer
Sirius Black, who escaped early last year, and is believed to be responsible for no less than
eight violent trespasses since then.

When Harry awoke the next morning, he felt well rested - he'd been too tired to dream, even -
though rather confused; the bed he was in was smaller and lower than the one he'd used in the
Manor, and higher and wider than the one he'd used in the cell. And neither of those had
given him a view of a large red splotch on the otherwise white walls.

Frowning he reached for his glasses, and blinked as a large, somewhat faded Gryffindor
banner came into focus.

A slow grin spread over his face and he sank back into his pillows, feeling more content than
he had in a long time. The house had been empty for a while, but unlike the years Padfoot
had spent in Azkaban, Kreacher had actually made the effort to keep things from gathering
dust. The room even smelled more or less the same; like home.

His pleasure at that was somewhat dulled, but not completely replaced, by the events of the
past few weeks, and he took a moment to sort through some of his stronger emotions. Fear
and guilt were probably the most prominent; when that woman had suggested that Moony be
put down, something in Harry had snapped. In the past, he'd always had some sort of warning
before a bit of accidental magic escaped him, but yesterday, he'd had none; he hadn't even
had a chance to grow properly angry before the woman had started to develop horns.

And then there was guilt about Peter. Harry had only been going off of what he'd overheard
Snape and Mrs Malfoy saying - which, upon reflection was probably thick of him - and it had
certainly yielded the results he was after - a confession from Peter - but Harry thought the
traitor's terrified face, and shaking, unwillingly determined voice would be added to the list
of things that were seared into his memory; they'd join Padfoot reading Reg's letter in the
cave, and his parents coming out of the locket, and his parents' deaths.

Harry'd wanted a confession, sure, but he hadn't expected Peter to be so violently compelled
to do it. It hadn't been natural, and it hadn't been fair and Harry was terrified that he'd used
some sort of evil spell without realising it.

Getting out of bed wasn't a conscious decision; Harry was halfway to the door before he
realised that he was no longer under his covers. He just knew he needed to talk to Padfoot
and reacted accordingly. Padfoot's bedroom door was closed, and Harry knocked once, softly,
hoping his godfather was awake.

"Yeah?" Padfoot called, in a voice that was barely more than a croak. Harry stepped into the
room and found Padfoot and Moony both sitting on the bed - Padfoot was cross-legged
against the headboard, and Moony was lying across the end of the bed, staring at Harry.

"Morning," he said.

"Morning," Harry said, pulling the desk chair over. He glanced between both of them and
then frowned. "Did you sleep at all?" Padfoot said something but no sound came out. He
cleared his throat and tried again.

"Nope," he said, which didn't really surprise Harry. "We had things to discuss."

"What sort of things?" Harry asked.

"All sorts," Padfoot said. He wasn't being evasive - Harry knew if he asked for more
information than that, he'd get it - but seemed instead to be giving Harry the chance to talk
first. Moony was eyeing the door, as if considering whether to leave them alone to talk.
Harry's curiosity overrode his desire to share, however.

"Like what?"

Padfoot looked amused and gestured to Remus, who began to tell him all sorts of things. It
was obviously a shortened version of what he'd given Padfoot - it only really took twenty
minutes, instead of several hours - but by the end of it, Harry was caught up with everything
major that had happened to Moony since his and Padfoot's capture. It seemed, with
Greyback's arrest and then death, Moony had been extremely busy.

"Satisfied?" Padfoot asked.

"So his cell was silver?" Harry asked, grimacing. Moony nodded, and Harry shuddered.
Greyback was real piece of work as far as Harry'd heard, but still... "And they're looking for
whoever-"

"Mad-Eye and Dora have the case," Moony said. "And I haven't really spoken to either of
then – properly – for weeks."

"Why not?" Harry asked. Padfoot looked smug, and Moony flushed, but Padfoot also shook
his head at Harry, discouraging him from pressing the matter.
"He's thick, that's why," Padfoot said, nudging Moony with his foot. Moony pulled a face at
him, and slid off the bed, out of reach. "Oi-"

"I'm going to make tea," Moony said, glancing purposefully between Padfoot and Harry.
"Don't hurry down. I'm sure it'll take me a long time to find everything without my wand, and
then I'll have to find matches... and then I'll probably have to fight with Kreacher about
whether I'm even allowed to be productive in the kitchen..."

"Right," Padfoot said, and Harry gave Moony a part-grateful, part-amused, part-annoyed
smile; he wanted to talk, but now he got the distinct impression that he was being forced into
doing so, and wondered if Moony and Padfoot had discussed talking and decided that he'd be
difficult about it. Moony left, closing the door behind him. "So..." Padfoot said.

"So," Harry said, forsaking his chair in favour of Moony's abandoned place on the bed.
Padfoot smiled slightly. They were silent for a few moments. It was a little tense, but not
awkward, and not what Harry would call uncomfortable either.

"How was the Manor?" Padfoot asked finally, and Harry relaxed a little. Answering questions
was something he could manage; he wasn't very good at volunteering things.

"Strange," Harry said, after considering which word could best describe his experience. "I
mean, it wasn't exactly fun, but it wasn't awful-"

"What did you think of everyone?"

"I liked Dobby," Harry volunteered. "Their house elf." A look of comprehension dawned over
Padfoot's face. "He's a bit mental-"

"Worse than Kreacher?" Padfoot asked, chuckling. Harry rolled his eyes. "Sorry, sorry,"
Padfoot said.

"-but I still liked him," Harry finished. "Hydrus was a git and Draco was... probably madder
than Dobby, to be honest. He's- it's like he's two people." Padfoot looked confused, which
made Harry feel a bit better about the whole situation. "Mr Malfoy was nice... I didn't like it."
Harry chuckled. "You should have seen his face at breakfast yesterday, though." He
proceeded to tell Padfoot about Draco's muggleborn revelation. Padfoot was a bit amused –
as Harry'd predicted – but he looked more troubled than anything else. "I told him to ask
about you – the white sheep thing."

"I think that's good advice," Padfoot said quietly. He didn't say anything more about Draco,
but Harry knew he was still thinking about it. "What was Cissy like?" he asked, abruptly
focusing on Harry again.

"Cold," Harry said. "I don't think she liked me much... except she hugged me yesterday, and
wished me – or you, I suppose – good luck." Padfoot's eyebrows disappeared into his hair.

"Bloody Cissy," he said.

"What do you-"
"She's up to something... first there was her warning in Diagon Alley, then she asked to have
Ma-McKinnon stay at the Manor, then she hugged you, and wished you good luck...?" He
shook his head. "People from those blood-supremacy circles are very deliberate people; they
don't do anything, without considering every single possible consequence first... What in
Merlin's name are you up to?" he murmured, and then shook his head again. "Later." He gave
Harry a curious, almost sheepish look. "Do you know where McKinnon is? Whys she wasn't
at the-"

"No idea," Harry said, apologetically. Then he remembered something she'd said and added,
"Hey, why should I hate her?"

"Hate her?" Padfoot asked, not quite meeting Harry's eyes. "I don't know, kiddo."

"Think," Harry said flatly, not buying it. Part of him hoped Padfoot would lie and say he had
no idea – then, Harry would have a good reason not to go into depth about certain questions
(he was dreading the ones about his dreams) – but he also wanted Padfoot to trust him, and
tell him the truth.

"All right," Padfoot said, and then watched Harry for a moment. Harry stared back, not sure
what Padfoot was looking for. "Before you came and joined me in the cell, I had a... visit-"

"From McKinnon?"

"Right," Padfoot said, nodding. "We spoke, and she... erm... attacked me-"

"Your ribs?" Harry asked.

"My- oh, yeah." Padfoot chuckled. "Yeah, that was her fault."

"What stopped her from killing you?"

"What?" Padfoot asked, looking queasy. Harry gave his godfather an uncertain look.

"Well, didn't she hate you? You said, after September, that she'd probably have killed you if
you and Moony hadn't run for it. If she was down in your cell, and she'd already broken your
ribs, why didn't she just- I mean, why'd she stop?" Harry cocked his head. Padfoot looked
calmer now.

"She didn't want me to die," he said eventually. "Not really." Harry waited for more of an
answer, but nothing else was offered.

"So then why would I hate-"

"She probably assumed I was upset about the whole thing-"

"Were you?" Harry asked. Padfoot looked surprised by the question, and then smiled a bit.

"Very," he said. He didn't sound it, but there was something sad in his eyes. At a loss of what
to say or do, Harry crawled forward and wrapped his arms around Padfoot, who moved to
accommodate him. "Thanks, kiddo," he said, ruffling Harry's hair. He seemed amused, but
also pleased by Harry's attempt to comfort him.

Maybe Draco's right about magical hugs.

"Hey, Padfoot?" Harry asked, shifting so that he was no longer hugging his godfather, but
was still curled up at his side. Padfoot put an arm around Harry, and stifled a yawn with his
other hand.

"Yeah?"

"Do you know much about Kelpies?"

"The water demons?" Padfoot looked wary. "A bit I suppose... it's probably Moony's area of
expertise more than mine, though..." Harry nodded thoughtfully, and Padfoot sighed, though
he seemed entertained. "Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not," Harry said. "Draco didn't think it was a good thing."

"Hmph," Padfoot said; he obviously didn't think Draco was all that reliable. "Care to tell me
what 'it' is?" And so Harry launched into the story about the rat race, and how he'd saved
Bosworth from the Kelpie, and Draco's reaction to his newfound ability. Padfoot, however,
didn't seize the Kelpie topic as Harry had expected. Instead – startling Harry, who could not
see how the two were linked – he said, "What did you do to Peter yesterday, to make him
talk?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "It was just a hunch... something I overheard. Snape was talking
to Mrs Malfoy, about some sort of debt. He said I could tell Peter to do anything, and that he
would. I-" Harry hung his head. "I... don't know what I did, I just thought, maybe, I should
try-" Padfoot, oddly, looked relieved.

"He said the word 'debt'?" he asked. "Not you interpreted things that way, but he definitely
said the word 'debt'?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure." Harry shifted, feeling nervous all of a sudden. He wanted answers,
but at the same time, he was scared of hearing them. "Do you know what it was?"

"You saved a rat from the Kelpie?" Padfoot pressed. Harry nodded. "I think, then, kiddo, that
that rat was Peter-"

"He was there the whole time?" Harry asked, aghast. "I thought- his finger, though, and- He
was gone."

"What?"

"On the morning of the trial, Hydrus was looking for something. Peter must have made a run
for it-"

"It doesn't matter now," Padfoot said, looking amused. "But you saving him does. It would
have created a Life Debt between the two of you – that's what happens when one wizard
saves another – which explains why he was compelled to obey when you told him to
confess... that has to be it!"

"That's a good thing?" Harry asked.

"A very good thing," Padfoot said, still looking relieved. "Better than an accidental Imperius
Curse, or some latent compulsion ability. Life Debts basically leave you with... a favour, or
sometimes several, depending on how big they are. They only work when one or both parties
are aware of the debt, but Peter knew about it because of James and Mad-Eye, and you'd
heard enough from Snape to believe it would work."

"It worked a bit too well," Harry said, still feeling guilty, but also slightly better now that he
knew he hadn't used anything illegal.

"Ambiguous wording on your part," Padfoot said, shrugging. "A Life Debt..." he said, almost
to himself. "It must have been." He suddenly fixed Harry with a very stern look. "Desperate
times call for desperate measures, and I appreciate that, but don't – if you can help it – get
into the habit of using magic you don't understand, on a hunch." There was something strange
in Padfoot's expression, something wary, but also curious. "No powers we know not, all
right?"

"All right," Harry said at once. He understood it a bit better now, but what had happened to
Peter was still awful enough for him to not be keen to mess around with magic he didn't
understand properly. "Promise." Padfoot ruffled his hair. "Does..." Harry hesitated. "Er... does
that include Kelpies?"

"Ah, the Kelpie." Padfoot sighed. "You definitely talked to it?" Padfoot scratched his chin
and stared down at Harry in a slightly concerned sort of way. Harry sighed and nodded. "I'm
not going to lie, kid," he said, with a small smile. "That's... strange."

"I'd sort of worked that much out," Harry said, resigned. "I mean, Draco's about as
pureblooded as it's possible to be, and even he seemed... I dunno... worried, or something."
Harry let his head fall back against Padfoot's shoulder. "Why me?"

"What do you mean?" Padfoot asked.

"Why couldn't Draco be the one to talk to Kelpies?" Harry asked. "Why does it have to be
me? Why am I the one with another secret to keep, and another stupid title that I have to live
up-" Harry clamped his mouth shut. He hadn't been planning to talk to Padfoot about this yet
– if ever.

"Title?" Padfoot asked.

"It's nothing," Harry said quickly. He tried to get a bit of space, but that wasn't easy with
Padfoot's arm draped around him. "I-"

"Harry." And with that, the use of his name – just his first name – with no awe, or
expectation, Harry burst into tears.
"Hey," Sirius said, gathering his godson into a tight hug. "Hey, kiddo, it's all right." Sirius
would have felt better if he had even some idea of what had set Harry off, because then he'd
have a better chance of fixing it. As it was, he had no clue what he'd done or said – or if it
was even him – to earn this sort of response. "Kiddo, it's going to be all right," he said.
"We're all safe." Harry sniffed, and glanced up, looking and smelling completely mortified,
and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

"Sorry," he mumbled, as Sirius rubbed his back. "I don't know what-"

"Think," Sirius said in the same, flat voice Harry'd used on him before. Sirius had only given
him bits of the truth in response to that, and privately thought he'd be lucky to get even a
quarter of that from Harry.

"I guess I'm still tired," Harry said, shrugging.

Rubbish, Sirius thought. He didn't voice that thought, but he managed to catch and hold
Harry's eyes for a long moment. Harry was the first to look away, and the moment before he
did so, Sirius could see the walls going up.

"No," he said, and Harry flinched. Sirius wondered if it was his tone, or if he'd just
unwittingly responded to something Harry was thinking. "Don't you do that, with your walls
and that 'I'm fine' or 'I'm just tired' rubbish. None of us are fine right now – me included," he
added, when Harry's expression closed over. "In fact, I'd be worried if you were."

"I am fine – this is nothing-"

"If you don't want to talk about whatever that was just there, then I won't make you, not until
you're ready, but for Merlin's sake, don't try to lie to me." Harry said nothing, but there was
guilt mixed in with the other components of his scent now.

"I just want to help," Sirius continued, in a softer voice. "If you're sick of keeping secrets,
then you know what the solution is?"

"No," Harry said quietly. He looked interested.

"Telling them," Sirius said. "Not to everyone, obviously, because that'd be thick-" That
earned him a reluctant smile. "-but I like to think I'm a pretty trustworthy bloke." Another
reluctant smile. Sirius waited, and let Harry take that in.

"Apparently I'm famous," Harry said.

"Apparently? Kiddo, you knew-"

"No, I didn't," Harry said, pushing his glasses up. "Not really. I mean, sure, I saw the papers,
and you told me about Voldemort, so I knew, but I didn't- I didn't know. I didn't realise that
everyone would know my name, or my titles. To you, and Moony and to the Dursleys, I'm
always Harry. Just Harry, but now..." He sounded a bit panicky now. "Do you know how
many times I had to introduce myself, while we were at the Ministry, or while I was at the
Manor?"
"Probably loads," Sirius said.

"Not once," Harry said quietly. "I mean, I did, or I'd have looked like a prat, but I didn't have
to, because every already knew. There were so many people I've never seen in my life, and
they already knew who I was, and they all... I dunno... expected things. They knew me, Pad-"

"No," Sirius said gently, giving Harry's shoulders a squeeze. "They know Harry Potter, the
Boy Who Lived, or Harry Potter, the Boy Who Disappeared. They know your titles. They
know a name from the newspaper, or from the history books-" Harry looked horrified to hear
that he was in a book. "-but they don't know you."

"But I am Harry Potter-"

"And I'm Sirius Black, lunatic mass-murderer," Sirius said, with a wry smile. "Although,
today I'm 'Siriusly Misunderstood'..." He gestured at the copy of the Prophet Hedwig had
brought in earlier that morning, and Harry pulled a face. "They know my name - our names -
and they know a bit of what's happened to us-" Actually, they knew a lot about Sirius after
yesterday, which he wasn't entirely comfortable with, but he thought it was probably worth it.
"-but they don't know us. They don't know that I go by Padfoot as much as I do by Sirius, or
that I can't stand the smell or taste of chocolate, or that my Patronus is also a dog, or that I
hold the record for most detentions ever received at Hogwarts.

"And you know what? You're Harry – just Harry. You're the kid that talks in his sleep and –
for some strange reason – likes Kreacher, and that got hopelessly lost the first time he used
the Floo." Harry smiled, and edged just a tiny bit closer to Sirius. "To hell with their
expectations – I'd rather be your handsome, extraordinarily clever-"

"-modest," Harry added, grinning now.

"-godfather than a murderer, thank you very much."

"So... instead of being the Boy Who Lived I should... die?" Harry asked, looking confused,
and a little entertained. Sirius poked him in the side.

"Don't you dare," he growled, making Harry chuckle. "Keep breathing, or so help me, I'll-"
Sirius hesitated, trying to think of an appropriate punishment, and Harry made a show of
holding his breath. Sirius rolled his eyes and poked Harry again, making him gasp in surprise.

Talking was forgotten after that – Sirius figured it could wait until the afternoon – in favour
of a game of 'Bludger', which started in Sirius' room, and quickly spread to the rest of the
house. Sirius cheated with Padfoot and Harry cheated with Apparition and tripping jinxes, so
it was all reasonably fair.

And, when Remus came to fetch them for tea, almost two hours later, Harry and Sirius
ambushed him rather spectacularly on the second floor landing.

Gawain leaned back in the chair in his office, defeated. It was three in the morning, and he
hadn't been to bed yet – he was still searching for his wayward trainee – and he was no closer
to finding McKinnon than he had been the day before; after the trial, he had tracked
McKinnon from Godric's Hollow to a muggle shopping district, lined with stalls selling
everything from jewellery to newspapers. He'd asked around, and everyone remembered
seeing a woman with dark hair and eyes at some point, but none of them sounded much like
the one he was looking for.

He'd surreptitiously checked the area for any traces of magic – there were none – and then
he'd given up there and gone to Azkaban, on the off chance she might have tried to admit
herself. None of the guards had seen her – surprising, but not unwelcome news – and so
Gawain had headed straight for McKinnon's house. The door had been unlocked, and so he'd
let himself in. The house had been empty, but it had been obvious she'd been there – her
suitcase, still shrunken, had sat on one of the chairs at her kitchen table. And then, only a few
feet away, on the kitchen bench, had rested a small box.

It was that box which sat in front of Gawain now. It had contained two keys, and two pieces
of paper. One was paperwork that certified McKinnon's ownership of Number Thirteen,
Grimmauld Place, and the other was a letter, addressed to Gawain. It had also contained her
wand.

He'd only had the letter in his possession for a few hours, but the parchment was already soft
from being handled so many times.

Gawain, it said, in McKinnon's usual, neat hand.

I'm sure by now, Sirius is a free man, and well on his way to settling back into the wizarding
world. With any luck, it will be an easy transition... no thanks to me.

I'm sure, if you had the chance to speak to me, you'd try to talk me out of this, but while I've
listened to you in the past, I refuse to even hear your opinion on this matter. What I've done is
unforgivable – literally – and I need to atone for that.

The box contains my house key, and my vault key. Sell my house, and everything in it – I've
taken my most prized possessions with me – and add the earnings from that to my vault.
Contact Sirius and tell him that he and Harry are entitled to as much money as they need. It
cannot begin to compensate for what I've done, but it's a start. Give the rest to St Mungo's.

Do what you want with my wand. I won't be needing it any more.

I'm sorry.

Marlene.

John Fisher was having a bad day. Things had been bad since he got out of bed and stubbed
his toe, and had got progressively worse. The hot water system was playing up at home so
he'd had to endure a tepid shower, he'd spilled his coffee on his best shirt at breakfast and had
to change it, had had the aglet of his shoelace chewed off by the newest addition to the Fisher
household – it was fraying now, something that John, being as neat and orderly as he was,
couldn't stand - and had somehow managed to get every red light at every intersection on the
way to his daughter's home.

Felicity had been out when he and his wife arrived for lunch, and so John had been forced to
put up with Derek – his daughter's lay-about husband – and his stupid guitar for almost an
hour, alone. Sue, as usual, was entirely in awe of her son-in-law's apparent skill – John
doubted plucking strings on a guitar required any talent, and had said so, many times – and
John had done best to ignore the tuneless music blaring from the speakers and had flicked
through channels on the telly until his very-pregnant daughter waddled through the door.

Things were bearable after that – John escaped to the kitchen with Felicity, and helped
prepare lunch – at least until midway through the meal, when conversation, inevitably, turned
to the baby. Now, John was usually happy to talk about his soon-to-arrive grandchild –
Anderson, his partner at work, was thoroughly fed up with all things baby – but John did not
like the way this conversation was going.

"Do you remember that night a few years back, Officer Fisher?" Derek said, waving his
loaded fork around. "With the motorcycle, and the flying car-"

"Hard to forget," John said stiffly. Both he and Anderson had been forced to take a month's
leave for mental health reasons following that night, and had been required to sit through
weekly therapy sessions even once they were readmitted into the force. John knew what he'd
seen, but as far as everyone but his family was concerned, it had never happened; John had
been stressed and tired at the time, and had obviously been hallucinating... and so had
Anderson. John didn't like people thinking he was crazy, and he was prepared to lie and say
he'd imagined it if it stopped the sideways looks.

"Well, remember that name?"

"Elvendork," John growled, and then his stomach sank. "No!" Appealing to his son-in-law
was a waste of time, but he was convinced his daughter would see sense. "Felicity, you can't
be serious-"

"Oh, but Daddy, it's so unique," she said, and reached out to take Derek's hand.

Or not, John thought miserably. Derek grinned like an idiot and nodded, and John cursed the
man that had turned his sensible daughter into someone that liked 'unique' things. "But-
but Elvendork?" he asked weakly. This was his grandchild!

"Ellie for short if it's a girl," Felicity said, smiling.

"And Dork for short if it's a boy," Derek said, and John couldn't for the life of him work out if
the man was joking. John sulked for the rest of lunch, and winced every time Sue hissed at
him to get over himself.

Needless to say, John was in a foul mood by the time he arrived at work that afternoon.
Anderson was investigating the London break-in, so John didn't even have anyone to talk to
while he worked through his paperwork.
Then, John's day went from bad, to strange.

"This is him, dear," Julie, the department secretary said, pushing open John's office door. He
put his pen down and looked over in time to see a tall, blond woman stepping into the room.
The woman pulled a chair over from the corner and settled herself in it, on the other side of
John's desk.

"Thank you," she said, nodding at Julie. Julie glanced at John, who nodded, and excused
herself.

"How can I help you?" John asked, leaning back in his chair.

"You're in charge around here?" she asked, smoothing the hem of her flowery dress.

"I am," he said, a touch proudly. The smile he received in return was relieved.

"I saw your newspaper article," she told him, clasping her hands in her lap.

"Do you have information?" John asked, grabbing his pen again. He suddenly felt like his day
had just got a whole lot better.

"In a sense," she said wryly. She paused, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. John
waited impatiently. "I'd like to confess."

"Confe- I- Pardon?!" John spluttered. "Confess? You?" She nodded, and offered him
something that wasn't quite a smile. His hand closed around his gun and she looked amused.

"That won't be necessary," she said. "I've come to be arrested." John didn't release his
weapon, but he didn't attempt to subdue her either. Instead, he looked at her, properly. She
couldn't have been very old - probably a few years younger than Felicity - and looked like
she should be having tea with friends, or sitting in a park with her partner. She didn't look like
she was capable of shooting and beating anyone... John's opinion of that changed when he
met her eyes for the first time. They were brown, and tired, and... Haunted. Utterly defeated,
but there was a bitter sort of hope in them. John's lip curled, and he adjusted his hold on his
gun.

"Had a rush of conscience, have you?" he asked.

"I want to go to prison," she said, holding her hands out. She placed them on John's desk, and
after a moment, he realised she was waiting for him to handcuff her. John slowly unclipped
his cuffs from his belt, watching the woman the entire time. She sat, quite calmly, wrists still
on offer.

John secured her first wrist, and then waited for her to fight, or protest. In a state of stunned
disbelief, John extracted himself from behind his desk – the woman looked confused for a
moment – and then pulled the woman's arms behind her back and affixed the second cuff.

"Thank you," she sniffed, and when John took a look at her face, she was smiling; smiling
and crying at the same time.
 Picking up the pieces

"Come in, Dawlish," Scrimgeour called. John straightened his robes, smoothed his
expression, and entered. "Can I help you with something?" Scrimgeour asked, in a rather
frosty voice. John didn't meet the Head Auror's eyes. Malfoy's plan to tie Scrimgeour's fate to
Black had succeeded, it just hadn't gone the way they'd hoped; with Black proven innocent,
Scrimgeour now looked like an excellent judge of character, and held his position more
securely than ever. He also appeared to be rather unhappy with John for making the statement
about his friendly attitude toward Black.

"Just my report," John said, holding the scroll of parchment up. "On the Dementor incident,"
he added, when Scrimgeour looked blank.

"Robards gave the case to you?" Scrimgeour looked surprised by that, and John hid a scowl.
Robards hadn't given him anything. John had had to ask for it, though Robards was busy
enough with his missing person case that he'd handed it right over. Malfoy had instructed
John to take over the investigation. Umbridge was behind it, he'd said, and leverage over her
was a valuable thing. He'd also said that Fudge must never know.

"Two days after the trial," John said, putting it down on Scrimgeour's desk. Scrimgeour didn't
touch it.

"And?"

"And what?" John asked. Scrimgeour rolled his eyes.

"And who did it?" Scrimgeour asked, very patiently.

"Pettigrew." That was John's own idea, because it was almost too easy to frame a man who'd
already admitted to trying to kill both of the intended victims. "Didn't want the truth to come
out, apparently. Even without evidence, Black's testimony would have made things hard for
him."

"I see," Scrimgeour said, in a voice that gave nothing away. "And how did he get the
Dementors to help him?"

"He said he had inside help," John said. "He wouldn't give us a name, but I'm looking into
that."

"I see," Scrimgeour said again. "Any leads?"

"We think it might be McKinnon, Robards' missing trainee. A source told me that she and
Black they have history-" Dawlish silently thanked Malfoy, yet again. "-and since Robards
said he found her and Pettigrew together before he brought Pettigrew in... well, it seems
logical, doesn't it?"

"Certainly," Scrimgeour murmured.

"It's all in there, anyway," John muttered, waving a hand at his report. Scrimgeour pulled the
parchment toward him, looking interested now. "I'll keep you updated on McKinnon."

"Excellent," Scrimgeour said, browsing through. "Thank you, Dawlish."

John left the office and headed straight to the lift, which he took to Level Nine, and then
walked down to Level Ten, just to ensure he hadn't been followed. He knocked once on the
office door.

"It's John," he called, and a moment later, Umbridge pulled it open and ushered him inside.
Dawlish conjured a chair and sat; Umbridge was already situated at the desk.

"Where's Malfoy?" Before she could answer him, however, there was another knock and
Malfoy let himself in.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, conjuring himself a chair. "Robards cornered me, wanting a word. I
was the last person – other than himself or Pettigrew – to see McKinnon."

"I only just arrived myself," John said, shrugging.

"I've been here for ten minutes," Umbridge said crossly. John muttered an apology, though
Malfoy didn't bother.

"So she hasn't been found, yet?" John asked.

"Obviously not. Frankly, she can stay wherever it is she's got to-"

"Then having her as a suspect in the Pettigrew-Dementor case is a bad idea, isn't it?" John
said.

"The Pettigrew- the what?" Umbridge asked. John and Malfoy ignored her.

"Shall I-"

"No, leave it," Malfoy told him. "Once that rumour reaches the paper, she'll have an incentive
to stay in hiding, and then it's less likely that she'll be found." John didn't know why Malfoy
harboured so much dislike for McKinnon, and he knew better than to ask. Everyone had
hobbies, after all. "Has there been any news of Black?" he asked, turning to Umbridge.

"Nothing," she said, rather angrily. Malfoy glanced at John, who shook his head as well.

"Bones has her wand in a knot – reckons it's been a week, and that they should have
contacted her about the second trial by now."

"And when has Black ever done what he should?" Malfoy drawled. "Thankfully, this works
in our favour. Fudge's position is precarious, as you no doubt know, and we need as much
time as we can get to build the second case-"

"Second case?" Umbridge said, shrilly. "Don't you think we suffered enough in the first-"
"No serious allegations will be made," Malfoy assured her. "Trying to put him back in
Azkaban would be disastrous at this point. No, we just need to make Black look like less of a
victim."

"How?" John asked. Malfoy leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment.

"Well, the Animagus charges, for one," Malfoy said. "And we can probably get Lupin on
kidnapping charges from St Mungo's. I have my solicitor deconstructing their accounts, and
I'm sure she'll find something we can pin on them."

"And what about Cornelius?" Umbridge asked.

"What about him?"

"Well, he's not very popular at the moment," Umbridge said, looking frustrated. John's eyes
met Malfoy's for a brief moment, and then they both looked away. They were obviously both
thinking the same thing; Fudge was useless, and didn't have the slightest idea how to run the
Ministry. Without the three of them whispering ideas into his ears, he'd have crashed and
burned a long time ago. Merlin, even with their help he was still doing fairly well at ruining
everything.

The only reason they'd kept Fudge around this long was because, as Minister, he could give
them things. John was in it for the money, and for a higher rank, and Umbridge wanted the
same as John did, but also had some strange affection for their hapless Minister. Malfoy – as
far as John could tell - was in it solely because he liked playing puppeteer, and feeling like he
was in control.

"There's an understatement," John muttered, and Umbridge glared at him.

"The peoples' faith in him will be restored in time," Malfoy said. "Fudge is hardly an
innocent in all of this, but he wasn't in charge when Black was arrested, or when he escaped. I
feel the public ought to be reminded of that..."

"They blame him for the Dementor attack in the cells, though," John said.

"If Black hadn't brought it up," Umbridge began, "no one would have known-"

"The Minister managed to convince Scrimgeour to stay quiet about it, but it would have been
leaked eventually. Two Aurors were Kissed that night, remember." Umbridge wilted, and
Malfoy gave her a pointed look. "Black may have brought it to the public's attention, which is
inconvenient, but as far as I'm concerned, the largest inconvenience is that it happened at all."

"Yes," Umbridge said, flushing. "Well. I'm sure-"

"We know it was you," John said.

"Me?" Umbridge squeaked. "No- I- Wherever did you get that idea?"

"We're not all as oblivious as Fudge," Malfoy told her, and she deflated. She had the decency
to look embarrassed.
"I had the best intentions when-"

"I'm sure," Malfoy said curtly. "Dawlish has said in his report that Pettigrew was the
perpetrator, and it's a perfectly reasonable explanation."

"Yes," she agreed, straightening the horrible bow she wore in her hair. "Perfectly reasonable."

"You got lucky," John told her.

"Very," Malfoy agreed, and Umbridge, who'd been scowling at John, looked chastened. "I'd
advise you consult one or both of us before you try anything that foolish again."

"Of course," Umbridge said sweetly, baring her teeth.

"Good. In the meantime, see to it that Fudge gets the support he needs. Your role as Junior
Undersecretary makes you well suited for that." In other words, she was to stay close to
Fudge, and out of everyone else's way. "Dawlish, keep me informed on anything to do with
Black or McKinnon, and try to keep Scrimgeour from poking too many holes in your report."
John swallowed his irritation at being told what to do, and nodded. "I'll keep looking for
charges to pin on Black, and I'll do what I can to reassign blame and repair Fudge's public
image." Malfoy stood and vanished his chair. Dawlish did the same. "With any luck we might
get through this."

Dora, I'm alive.

Tonks had received that note a week after Remus left the courtroom with Harry and Sirius. It
had been delivered by a snowy owl who'd stayed still exactly long enough to let Tonks take
the parchment, and then had vanished out the window. It had been a week since then, and
Tonks had kept the note on her person the entire time.

She hadn't written back. She was beginning to understand what Remus had meant when he'd
said he didn't know what to say, and she was terrified that he'd take her silence for anger, but
she didn't really have the words to express what she was feeling; there was anger, of course,
and a sense of betrayal, but logically – and it had taken her days to reach the point where she
considered logic – if he'd told her the truth, she'd have been honour bound to tell the Auror
Department, and that could have been disastrous.

She liked to think that she could have kept a secret, but it was easy to say that upon
reflection, and she was fair enough to admit that there was a good chance she would have
turned him in. Remus hadn't forced her to choose between her job and her friend, and she was
grateful, but also annoyed that he'd made a choice for her. Her feelings were extremely
mixed, and she'd been too busy to sort through them properly.

She'd managed to find time to drop by the cottage several times, however, hoping he'd be
there, and that they could talk things out. He hadn't been, but she'd run into a Mr Diggory,
from the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, who'd given her his
office number and told her to send Remus to him when she found him, and she'd also met one
wizard who bound her with silver rope.
She'd morphed her way free, Disarmed and Stunned him, and then called Mad-Eye to have
the man arrested. Officially it was for attacking an Auror and trespassing, but Tonks' biggest
problem with the man was his disgustingly obvious prejudice, and intention to hurt Remus.

Mad-Eye had helped her set up wards – which aligned nicely with the Program's coursework
– yesterday, and also a spell to let them know if Remus went home, but so far everything had
been quiet.

Everything had been quiet on the McKinnon front too. No official statements had made it to
the Prophet yet, but when McKinnon didn't return to the first training session after the trial
(when she was officially off of Harry guarding duty), and then missed the ones that followed
as well, Tonks, Florence, Ben and Yaxley – who was mentoring under Shacklebolt after what
had happened to Louisson - had gone to talk to Robards and he'd explained that she was
missing. He'd been very vague about why she'd run off, but Tonks had got the impression that
he thought she might have done something stupid, and that he was afraid for her wellbeing.

And, while Yaxley was now well and truly part of their group, Tonks couldn't help but feel
that they were losing members; first Melvin, and then McKinnon... she'd known the Program
would be difficult, but she'd never imagined that they'd have lost two trainees before the first
year was even over.

Tonks cornered Robards for an update every times she saw him, but so far there was nothing.
She had, however, managed to get a photograph of McKinnon, which she'd had Dad show on
the muggle news; according to Robards, McKinnon had left her wand behind, which made
Tonks think she was probably using non-magical methods to hide.

Greyback's murder case wasn't going well either, though she and Mad-Eye had managed to
reconstruct the order of events of the night of his death; they knew from Parkinson – one of
the guards at Azkaban - that Greyback had been alive and well at four, when Parkinson
delivered an early dinner, and that he'd been dead when he was found just after midnight.

Carrow and Jordan had both supplied statements saying Greyback had been shouting and
howling from about six onward, and that he'd fallen silent somewhere around eleven. They
also knew he'd died of silver poisoning – very slow silver poisoning, because the silver hadn't
broken the skin and reached the blood – but the spell that had turned the cell was nothing
anyone had ever heard of. It wasn't even registered as a spell, and Mad-Eye had voiced the
opinion that someone had created it specifically to kill Greyback.

There'd been a few spots of pale blue magic – according to Mad-Eye, who could see such
things with his magical eye – but most of it had faded so much that he hadn't been able to tell
if it was sparkly, or ribbony, or misty, or spiky, or anything. Tonks had done research on the
matter and found that it wasn't unusual for the traces of transfiguration spells to fade quicker
than the traces of other spells, and that was interesting, but not very helpful. The only thing it
alluded to was the fact that the killer had either been very lucky, or had obviously planned
this to perfection. Tonks was reasonably certain it was the latter.

She yawned and closed the file she'd been looking at; she and Mad-Eye were in a small,
boring room in the Department of Magical Records, looking through the descriptions of
every living witch, wizard and magical creature's magical signatures, for anything pale blue;
everyone who worked at the Ministry was required to submit the information – Tonks
remembered the question about the magic that came out of her wand when it chose her, from
her Auror interview – and there were also quite a few other members of the wizarding public
who had their information recorded; those who'd been admitted to Azkaban had their magical
signatures examined and added to a file, and anyone – of any age - who'd ever been admitted
to St Mungo's was also on file.

"Aren't we going to be missing an enormous chunk of the population?" Tonks had asked
when Mad-Eye'd first brought her down to help him sift through the files. "If all we've got are
Ministry employees and people who've gone to Azkaban or St Mungo's, then-"

"This is a murderer we're dealing with. Chances are they've spent a bit of time in prison,"
Mad-Eye countered. "And if not, they were still able to get in and out undetected and find
Greyback, so they must either be in the Ministry, or have Ministry connections. And, if they
really did invent the spell that killed him, chances are they've been admitted to St Mungo's
for spell damage or something similar."

"Mmph." It made sense, Tonks supposed, but it still seemed like an unnecessarily flawed
system. "And they can't just take magical signatures from babies in St Mungo's because...?"

"Not everyone has their kids in the hospital. It would make sense to check them when they're
putting the Trace on-"

"-but the Ministry's not that logical?" Tonks suggested, and that earned her a small, amused
smile.

"They're not, but that's not the reason. Children don't have magical signatures until they're at
least a few weeks old. Magic's there, but it's... dormant. Then, at some point in the kid's first
seven years, something will happen and trigger it. If it's not triggered by then, it'll start to
fade, and that's when we get squibs."

"Wow," Tonks said, wondering why an old Auror knew so much about magic and its
manifestation.

"My mother was one," he said, looking uncomfortable.

"Was?" Tonks asked quietly.

"Grindelwald didn't like squibs any more than he liked muggles. He didn't touch Britain, but
France..."

"You lived in France?" Tonks asked, staring at her mentor.

"Shall I tell you my entire life story?" Mad-Eye asked sarcastically, and Tonks cursed herself
for interrupting.

"I'm just curious," Tonks said, blushing. Mad-Eye harrumphed and went back to flicking
through files. Tonks sighed and went back to her own work.
"My father was a Hit-Wizard," Mad-Eye said, after a moment. Tonks resolutely kept her
mouth shut, though she had a thousand questions to ask. "Reckless fool," he growled, almost
fondly. "Helped the muggles with their side of things – as good with a gun as he was with a
wand... he was away a lot. Protecting my mother fell to me. Constant vigilance, my father
used to tell me before he'd go." Mad-Eye harrumphed again, and Tonks bit her lip to keep
from saying anything; she'd always thought Mad-Eye's favourite saying bordered on
paranoia, but she'd never imagined it was taught behaviour, and not merely learned. It wasn't
a habit; it was compulsive.

"One night, when I was eight, my father came home unexpectedly. I was good, but I was tired
and young and I didn't realise he was acting strangely. Should've," he said, nodding at Tonks.
"Imperius Curse. I saw the other two Unforgivables used that night, both on my mother. My
father shot himself afterward." Mad Eye drummed his fingers on the table and glanced at
Tonks. "Long story short, Dumbledore found me after the final battle... brought me back here,
to my father's relatives." Tonks wiped sad look off her face, but he'd already seen it. He gave
her a flat look. "Satisfied, or do you want to hear about my schooling too?" Tonks shook her
head; she felt she'd probably pushed her luck enough as it was. Mad-Eye looked
uncomfortable.

"So why can you put the Trace on a baby if it doesn't have magic yet?" she asked, giving him
a safer topic. Mad-Eye nodded his approval, and then scowled.

"They've always got magic; weren't you listening?!" She winced. "It's just not visible – in any
form. The Trace works because it detects magical activity, not the use of the kid's magic. It's
a common misconception that the Trace is tied to a person's magic."

"So it's not?"

"I just said that," he grumbled, and they lapsed into silence.

Sorting through the files was tedious work. While the files were grouped by the colour of the
magic (or colours), there was nothing to distinguish navy from aqua, and so all the blue files
needed to be checked, and sorted. Each file contained nothing more than a name, a date of
birth, a sentence describing where the person had been when their magical signature was
recorded, and occasionally, a description of the person's wand.

Between them, Tonks and Mad-Eye still had over three hundred blue files to sort through, but
already had a list of one hundred and four names of people that had signatures that possibly
matched the traces Mad-Eye had seen. Each name would require even more research through
other files, and also possibly interviews with the potential suspects, because there was only so
much about a person's life that could be found on paper.

Blue, royal, with gold mixed in. Syrup-like appearance. Sonja Parkinson nee Rosier. May
15th, 1954 – March 12th, 1990- She sighed and closed it.

She glanced between the three piles Mad-Eye'd made, and tried to remember which was
which. She tossed it onto the end one, and reached for a new file. Mad-Eye added another
name to the list in his horrendous handwriting; Tonks thought his writing was so awful that
anyone who tried to steal anything he'd written by hand, would give up on trying to read it.
"Ahoole Fbowomls?" Tonks asked, struggling with the pronunciation. Mad-Eye scowled,
adding a few more lines to the already illegible name. Tonks squinted at it, and then
grimaced. He scribbled it out and wrote it carefully, in rather large letters. Nicole Edwards.

"You think Edwards is a suspect?" Tonks demanded. "She's an Auror trainee; that's ridi-"

"No one's exempt," Mad-Eye said stubbornly, flicking through a few pieces of parchment.

Another hour later, Tonks was beginning to believe him; Burt Bulkes and Florence had been
added to the lists – both had pale blue magic – and so had Peter Blackburn, who was a full-
fledged Auror. There were other names of course, but those that Tonks recognised stood out.

No one's exempt, she thought glumly. While she was reasonably sure it wasn't any of them –
particularly not tiny, sleep-in prone Florence – the fact that they were even suspects made
Tonks uncomfortable, because there was an element of uncertainty. She'd had enough of not
being sure if she could trust her friends. She patted her pocket, where Remus' note was
sitting, and pulled the list and a quill over so that she could add Aislinne Lovegood nee
Gamp to the list.

"What are you reading?" Remus asked, from the other side of the library.

"The Keplie Companion," Sirius said, while Harry said, "Something Latin. It's boring." Sirius
glanced over from his place on the floor, and Harry did the same from the couch. Remus'
eyes flicked between them, and he laughed. Sirius looked at Harry, who shrugged.

"What's funny?" Sirius asked, at exactly the same time as his godson. Sirius quirked an
eyebrow at him, and Harry pulled a face back.

"You two," Remus said, shaking his head at them both. Sirius grinned and returned his
attention to his book, but it seemed the momentary pause had drained Harry's willpower; he
snapped his own book shut, and left, saying something about tea.

Sirius smiled without looking up, and called, "You know, if you keep procrastinating, you're
going to be my age before you can transform!" Harry peered back around the doorframe,
poked his tongue out at Sirius, and left again. Sirius chuckled. "Speaking of procrastinating,
though, Moony..." Remus' smile faded, and Sirius marked his page, shut his book and sat up.
"We'll have to go back eventually."

"I know," Remus sighed. Sirius had known Remus for a long time, and knew he'd never been
one for confrontations – other than duels – but thought he was getting worse as he got older.
If Sirius had had his way, they'd have written to Amelia last week and probably would have
been completely freed by now. Remus had wanted to wait. First he'd suggested they all
recover – which Sirius had agreed was a priority – but he'd been making pitiful excuses ever
since. "It's just... the full moon's only two nights away, and I want to wait until that's out of
the way-"

"Yeah, all right..." Sirius said. He thought it was fair enough, but suspected Remus would
have found another excuse if the full moon hadn't been available. They sat in silence for a
moment – Remus stared out the window, while Sirius stared at Remus – and then Sirius said,
"Do you not want to go home? Is that it?" Remus hadn't gone home once; clothes, and
anything else he'd needed had been fetched by Kreacher the night after the trial.

"You haven't been out much either," Remus said. Sirius noticed he hadn't even attempted to
answer the question.

"We went to see Keira," Sirius pointed out. They'd found the locket was still, unfortunately,
in one piece, but Keira'd kept it safe the whole time, which was a relief. Sirius didn't know
what he would have done if the Ministry had managed to get their hands on it. And, all things
locket-related aside, seeing Keira had been nice too. "And we went flying-"

"I went with you-"

"Reluctantly," Sirius said. There was a CRACK and Kreacher appeared holding a tea tray in
one scrawny hand, and Harry's arm with the other.

"I could have walked, you know," Harry said, sounding a little annoyed, and a little amused
all at once; Kreacher had struggled with being separated from them. He hadn't resorted back
to taking orders from the portraits in his cupboard, thankfully, but he seemed to think that
Harry and Sirius were going to disappear if he took his eyes off them for more than a few
hours; when they settled in a room, he'd come to check on them at regular intervals, and if
they were moving around the house, he'd either follow them, or take them to their destination,
as if he was frightened they might get lost.

The strangest behaviour he'd exhibited, however, was watching them sleep; for the first three
nights, Kreacher had woken every hour to check on Harry. Sirius had thought it was a little
sweet and a little creepy, but above all, funny... at least until he'd woken to find Kreacher
standing beside his bed. He'd put a stop to that there and then, and thankfully it hadn't been a
problem since.

"Tea for Master?" Kreacher asked, lifting his hand. The ring on his bony finger glinted;
Kreacher had taken to wearing the ring with the Black family crest on it while they were
away.

Sirius caught Remus' eye to let him know that their discussion was not over, and merely
postponed, and then accepted a cup and a slice of cake from Kreacher.

"So Harry Potter lived here?" Astoria asked, looking around with reverence. Draco thought
she probably half-expected Potter to wander in and sit down next to her.

"Don't you read the papers?" Pansy snapped. Draco watched her carefully; he hadn't seen her
in about a month, but in that time, she seemed to have recovered most of her usual bold,
rather provocative nature. It was a nice change from the teary, waspish Pansy he'd known
after Mrs Parkinson's death. She'd been spending most of her nights with the Shafiqs, while
Mr Parkinson worked, and it seemed to have done her some good. "Surely a soon-to-be
weak- I mean, Ravenclaw – like you should do boring things like that."
Usually Theodore would have come to Astoria's defence, but Catherine had decided she was
four and therefore old enough to sit with the rest of them, and Theodore's attention was
entirely occupied. Vivienne, Daphne and Millicent were talking to themselves and had also
missed the exchange, so they weren't going to help, and no one else had the inclination.

"I'm impressed you even know what the paper is, Pansy," Astoria shot back. She sounded a
bit like Daphne for a moment. "And even more impressed that you know that you're
supposed to read it." Draco stabbed a roast carrot, and glanced between them, not at all
impressed with the seating arrangements. He'd much prefer being trapped beside Millicent,
than between these two. Pansy looked stunned that Astoria had actually had a retort, and
could only gape. "I mean," Astoria continued, "we all know you're no Ravenclaw, but maybe
we ought to give you a bit more credit."

Hydrus made a delighted sound a little further down; he, Crabbe, Goyle and Nadia were all
watching the exchange with interest. Draco caught Nadia's eye and frowned, wondering why
she hadn't come to her cousin's aid. She just smirked at him.

"Stop it," Draco said, looking back to Astoria and Pansy. The latter was almost in tears, and
the other looked quite pleased with herself. Draco wondered what had gotten into her;
usually, Astoria never bothered with arguments, and never sought to actually hurt people.

"Stop it?" Astoria repeated, with a somewhat curious, somewhat mocking glance at Draco.
"No witty intervention, or blackmail, just 'stop it'? Really, Draco?"

"And you call me a Hufflpuff," Daphne said, laughing at him. It seemed she'd heard the last
part of the conversation, and that it had caught her interest. Draco flushed and set his fork
down rather loudly.

"I am not a Hufflepuff!" he snapped. Mother glanced down from the adult end of the table,
but Draco ignored her.

"You seem a little defensive," Daphne said. Astoria watched her big sister with a shrewd
expression, and something told Draco that this was where she'd learned her nastiness.

"I am not!" Draco said, without thinking. None of the others seemed to know what to make of
his useless, hasty response. Draco wasn't even sure what to make of it; it was practically
suicide to say anything without thinking at this sort of function. "I'm cunning," he said
haughtily, trying to recover himself. "And I have ambitions-"

"Yes, to get into Hufflepuff!" Draco frowned at Pansy; he was in this mess because he'd come
to her defence, and she'd turned on him in thanks.

Nadia and Daphne laughed appreciatively, and so did Astoria after a moment's pause.
Vivienne was watching her twin rather unhappily. Theodore was still occupied, and Millicent
was also watching Catherine. Hydrus looked angry and embarrassed. No one was going to
help Draco, and that realisation hurt.

Potter would have, he thought, glowering at his peers.

"-House of duffers!" Pansy continued, and let out a shriek of laughter. Daphne reached across
and slid Draco's plate away from him. He reached for it, and she shook her head.

"Uh uh," she said. "Badgers don't like meat." Pansy giggled and threw a piece of lettuce at
him. "Oh, that's good, Parkinson. Feed the badger his greens." They laughed. All of them.
Draco thought, rather miserably, that this was the worst birthday ever.

"Give Draco his plate back before I tell my father," Hydrus said coldly. Both Daphne and
Pansy froze, and Astoria passed Draco his dinner with a rather timid expression. "Better,"
Hydrus said curtly. "If you'd excuse us..." Hydrus stood and came to stand beside Draco. "Get
up." Draco, too shocked to argue, stood.

Behind them, Pansy called, "Oh, he needs a hug!" Hydrus's face was entirely impassive, at
least until they were out in the corridor.

"Wha-"

"What do you think you're doing?" Hydrus looked absolutely furious.

"I-"

"'Stop it'?! Are you a Hufflepuff?"

"No!"

"Then why didn't you tell them about when Pansy cried?" Hydrus demanded. "You know
how this all works."

If they target you, point out someone who's done something worse, Draco thought. "I can't do
that to Pansy-"

"Oh Merlin, you really are a Hufflepuff!" Hydrus moaned.

"Shut up!" Draco said. "I'm not!"

"Then do it," Hydrus said, suddenly cold again. "She can handle herself, and you need to
make up for embarrassing yourself. You're a Malfoy, and they need to remember that." He
paused, thinking. "And things have been strange between Daphne and Astoria all night, so if
we get Astoria on our side, we can put Daphne back in her place too-"

Draco stalked off without another word. Father had sat him and Hydrus down after Potter left
to talk to them about muggleborns, and about how they were inferior. Draco had followed
Potter's advice – partially, anyway, because he still hadn't asked Mother about the white sheep
- and gone along with it, but he'd questioned Severus on the matter when he next saw him,
and had believed the answers he received there more than he had believed Father's.

Draco had been very careful to keep his opinions to himself, but Hydrus had been obsessed
with the idea of rightful places ever since. Father had encouraged that by buying Hydrus a
new rat to replace Bosworth; Feta was sleek, black, magical, and treated with far higher
regard Roquefort. Feta was permitted to go everywhere with Hydrus - but she had to stay in
his pocket during meals or formal occasions – while Roquefort had to stay locked in his cage
while Draco was involved in any sort of event. Draco didn't think it was fair.

"Where are you going?" Hydrus demanded. "You have to go back-"

"I'll be in my room," Draco said.

"I'll tell Father-"

"Go ahead," Draco told him.

It wasn't Father who came to find him later, however. It was Mother. She swept into the
room, and Draco had expected a lot of expressions – irritation, disappointment, or maybe just
a cold mask – but he had not expected sadness, which is what he'd got.

"I'm sorry, Draco," she said, coming to sit behind him on the bed.

"It's not your fault, Mother," he said, and she made an odd noise and pulled him into a hug.
"I'm just not a very good Malfoy." She didn't say anything, and Draco's heart sank, because
that probably meant she agreed with him. "I used to be, but now... I'm different, aren't I?" He
knew it, and everyone in the dining room knew it. Mother probably knew it too; again, she
said nothing. "I'm sorry," he said.

"You don't have anything to apologise for," Mother said, stroking his hair. "Nothing at all, do
you understand me?"

"Not really," Draco said. "I mean, it's my fault that I'm different, not anyone else's, so I
should be the one apologising-"

"It's not your fault-"

"It is," Draco said.

"No-"

"It's all right, Mother," Draco said. He wanted to cry, but he'd already embarrassed himself
enough tonight without adding tears to it. Instead, he drew himself up, and smiled sadly. "No
one made me different, it just... happened. I can take responsibility for that."

"Oh, Draco," Mother whispered. Then, shockingly, she started to cry. Draco had seen her sad
before, and he'd seen her get weepy to get her own way, but he'd never seen her cry like this.
Never properly.

And I caused it, he thought, feeling awful. She's probably so ashamed of me right now... He
had no idea what to do, but hugs were nice, so he went with that. Mother stiffened and Draco
patted her back until she relaxed.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he said, and she cried all the harder.
 Weasleys and werewolves

He was cold. Cold and damp . And tired, because Wormtail'd been thinking about a lot lately,
and rats were clever creatures, but they didn't have an incredibly high emotional capacity,
which made things hard to sort through. He shivered, trying not to think about the explosion
and all the people he'd killed, or the pain from cutting off his finger. He tried not to think
about Sirius, who was rotting in Azkaban, or Remus, who was probably miserable. He tried
not to think about himself, who was going to have to live with the Weasleys for the
foreseeable future.

He'd needed a wizarding family – one that wouldn't drown him on sight – and one that
wouldn't recognise him or talk to anyone that might. It had been a choice between the
Weasleys and the Lovegoods in the end, and he'd opted for the former, and tried not to feel
too sorry for himself. He felt bad for Lily and James, but it hadn't been anything personal,
and he thought death was a kinder fate than what the rest of them – the remaining Marauders
- would have to live with.

He shivered and the small, warm hands around him clenched. He wriggled. He wanted to bite
the boy holding him, but the boy had good intentions. He was just a little rough. Wormtail
could deal with that if it meant getting inside, however; he was cold and wet and tired and his
paw was aching. He'd used his Master's wand to heal his hand, but he didn't know any spells
to stop the aches. Sirius and James had always given Remus potions for that, and Peter didn't
know how to make them.

"Fred, George!" the boy holding him said. "I'm going inside." Inside sounded wonderful, and
Peter urged the boy to head there at once, with a weary squeak.

"Bye!" a young, cheery voice called. Wormtail supposed it belonged to either Fred or
George.

"Yeah," said another, almost identical voice; presumably it was the other one. "Bye."

"Bye, Percy!" said the first voice. Wormtail, oddly, was reminded of two other boys he'd
known; boys with dark hair, though, not red. He sighed – or squeaked, really.

"No," Wormtail's saviour - Percy - huffed. "If I go in, you have to as well. Mother says you're
not old enough to play outside by yourselves."

"Are too!"

"Are not!" Percy said crossly. Wormtail was shifted to Percy's other hand – surprisingly
gently, this time – and then his world shook as Percy ran a few steps. Then Percy staggered,
and then he surged forward; he had his hand around one of the younger boys' wrists, and was
pulling him toward the house.

"Let go!" the younger boy cried. "We'll be good, I promise!"

"Liar," Percy said, sounding angry, and continued to lead him. The other one – the one Percy
wasn't holding – followed, as if unable to be separated from his brother. Or twin? Wormtail
thought they looked awfully similar. "You're never good and it's always my fault when you get
in trouble." Wormtail thought Percy was being a little harsh on his brothers; they couldn't
have been much older than four. Percy himself could only have been six or seven.

"What's in your hand?" the free-walking boy asked.

"A rat," Percy said, abruptly cheerful again.

"Can we see?" Fred and George asked at the same time, sounding thrilled.

"No," Percy said. "He's cold."

"Please," one of them whined.

"We want to see," said the other.

"No," Percy said angrily. "He's mine." They reached the door, and then Percy released the
brother he'd been holding and both of them raced into the house, leaving a trail of muddy
footprints in their wake. They descended on a bowl of fruit on a large table.

"Percy, is Ron with you?"a woman asked, turning to look over the back of a couch on the far
left of the room. There was a noise – the sound of a young child (probably younger than
Harry, even) being sick – and the woman – presumably Percy's mother – looked down. There
was obviously a child in her arms, or beside her on the couch. "Oh, Ginny," she said.

"Is Ginny being sick?" one of the boys asked, sounding torn between concern and delight.

"Cool!" exclaimed the other, and Wormtail was reminded of Sirius.

"It's not 'cool!" their mother snapped, and both boys looked appropriately chastened. "Don't
you remember how awful you felt when you were sick? And she's nowhere near as big and
strong as you are." Both looked stricken and went to peer over the back of the couch. "Ron,
Percy?"

"I don't know," Percy said promptly. "But I found a rat, Mum, look-" He stepped forward,
holding Wormtail out toward his mother.

"That's nice, dear," she said, distractedly; and fair enough, because Ginny had just started to
retch again.

"He's sick too, I think-"

"Oh, well, tell Charlie to have a look at him," she said, without looking up. Wormtail smelled
Percy's disappointment, and felt his arm drop a few inches, as his shoulder slumped. Percy
carried Wormtail toward the stairs and his mother's voice followed him: "Check if Ron's with
Charlie, won't you, dear?"
"Charlie will know what to do," Percy assured Wormtail with a pat on the head that rattled
Wormtail's brains. He squeaked once, to express his pain, but Percy seemed to take it as
encouragement and patted him again, rather clumsily. "Charlie?" he called, knocking on a
door on the first floor landing.

The door opened to reveal another red-haired boy – Wormtail had know the Weasleys had a
lot of sons, but this, frankly, was ridiculous – who had a small, laughing figure slung over
one shoulder.

"What, Perce?" the boy – Charlie – sighed, looking annoyed. Wormtail was getting the
impression that Percy wasn't very popular with his siblings. The kid over Charlie's shoulder
squealed something incoherent and he chuckled and relocated the child – Ron? - to his arms.
Ron squirmed for a bit, and then spotted Wormtail and settled so that he could watch him.
"Where'd you find him?" Charlie asked, shifting Ron to his hip. He held out a hand for
Wormtail to sniff, and Wormtail obliged.

"In the garden," Percy said. "I almost stepped on him. He's friendly, though, look!" He patted
Wormtail's head again.

"Gentle," Charlie warned, and Wormtail squeaked a thanks, deciding that if Fred and George
were like James and Sirius, then Charlie – the kind, gentle Weasley – was like Remus.

"Is he sick?" Percy asked. "He's shaking."

"Sorry, Ron," Charlie said, setting him down. Ron toddled forward, reaching for Wormtail
but Percy – thankfully – moved him out of reach. "Put him on the desk," Charlie said,
rummaging through his bedside table. "There's newspaper over there." Percy set Wormtail
down – as Charlie had instructed – and Wormtail almost jumped out of his fur. Of all of the
papers that he could have used, it was a copy of the Prophet; one with Sirius' snarling face
smeared across it.

A BLACK AFFAIR, the title said, and went on to detail Sirius' supposed betrayal of Lily and
James, and also his role in Peter's death, and those of the muggles in the street.

Only Peter wasn't dead. He was alive.

He'd survived, yes, but it had been costly. His self-esteem told him his life wasn't worth his
friends', and his heart wondered if it was worth surviving if he had no friends to share his life
with. Peter let out a distressed squeak and trembled again, supposing time would tell. It had
been necessary.

Hadn't it?

"He seems a bit stressed," Charlie said, gently nudging Ron out of the way. The three of them
peered at Wormtail, who shifted under the scrutiny.

"He's missing a toe," Percy said. Wormtail's heart raced, and he did his best to cover as
much of the article he was sitting on as possible.
"Huh," was all Charlie said, however, and Wormtail relaxed a bit. "So are you going to keep
him, Perce?"

"Yes, I'd like to," Percy said happily, and Peter's heart sank. He could have gone to Charlie –
who was like Remus – or Fred and George – who were like Sirius and James – but instead he
was going to Percy. Percy, the apparent outcast, Percy, the one who was overlooked in favour
of his more interesting friends – or in his case, siblings. Percy, who was like Peter.

And Wormtail couldn't decide if he hated Percy for that, or if he liked him for it. He shifted,
trying very hard not to look at Sirius' face, but eventually, his eyes drifted back to it.

"Death would have been kinder," the photograph said, startling Peter. His voice echoed
through Bill and Charlie's room, and the pale walls turned grey, and the desk beneath
Wormtail's paws turned to cold stone.

And then it was Peter, not Wormtail, and he was in his cell in Azkaban. He didn't have any of
the Weasley boys and he didn't have the ability to transform. Everything was different; the
only thing that wasn't was that Peter was just as cold and damp now as he had been the
afternoon Percy found him.

Please let it be over, please let it be over, please...

Tonks crossed her fingers as she stumbled out of the fireplace and into Remus' cottage.
Apparating outside and then walking to the door would have been politer, but at six in the
morning after a full moon... well, she trusted Remus, but she'd also read enough to not want
to test his control when he was a wolf.

Someone swore, drawing her attention. Remus was coming in through the front door on the
other side of the room, wearing nothing but a thin pair of pyjama pants, and several bruises.
He wasn't alone, however. Tonks cursed herself for being so stupid; after everything that had
been revealed at the trial, and the fact that Remus had obviously been hiding out with Sirius
since, she should have expected to see Sirius this morning. And yet, she hadn't spared him a
thought.

Sirius Black, ex-mass-murderer, adjusted his grip on Remus – who Tonks could see was not
actually moving on his own – and gave Tonks a nervous, semi-defiant stare, and waited to see
what she'd do.

"Wotcher," she said, and her voice caught.

"Hello," Sirius said quietly, in a voice that gave nothing away. His eyes darted to the
fireplace, and then to the door he'd just come through. They stared at each other a moment
longer, and then he grimaced and moved forward, very slowly, to deposit Remus on the too-
small couch.

"Is he all right?" Tonks asked, stepping forward.

"Don't," Sirius said, holding up a hand. Tonks stopped. "He's still a bit... erm... wolfy." Tonks
stared at Remus, who looked a little battered, but perfectly human. "In his head," Sirius
added. "He transformed about five minutes ago, but it takes a while for it to wear off. If he
smells you, things might get tricky."

"Oh," she said. "Why can you-"

"I still smell like a dog," Sirius said, flashing her a strained smile. "Or enough like one that it
doesn't trigger anything." His eyes flicked around the room, as if he was looking for some
way out. "What are you doing here?" he asked. Tonks' eyes flicked to Remus, and for a
moment, there was a very familiar smile on Sirius' face. It was the same one Harry had worn
when she'd met him in Bones' office.

"I came to see Remus," she said unnecessarily. "I knew he was here, so-"

"Knew? How?" Sirius asked sharply. Tonks flushed.

"A spell," she said. "Mad-Eye helped me set it up." Sirius' mouth twitched at that. He eyed
the Floo and then sighed.

"Can I get you anything? Breakfast? Tea?"

"Oh, er, no, I'm fine," Tonks said. Sirius nodded awkwardly. "Thanks, though." He shrugged.
On the couch, Remus growled and rolled over. He'd have fallen off, but by the time Tonks
could even make a surprised noise, Sirius had already caught him and readjusted him.
"You've done that a few times," Tonks said.

"A few," Sirius agreed, releasing Remus' ankles. He grabbed a pillow and put it under Remus'
head and then watched him for a moment. Tonks watched too, and couldn't help but think
how much better Remus looked, when compared with last full moon. She couldn't see any
serious scratches on him – just a few small ones on his shoulders and arms - though his ribs
bore some fairly nasty bruises.

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence again. Tonks examined Remus from a safe
distance, trying to determine the extent of the damage, and Sirius retrieved a rucksack from
the corner and started pulling bottles out of it. Tonks recognised Dittany, but none of the
others. Sirius also pulled out a wand.

"Where did you-"

"It's James'," Sirius said, without looking up. Tonks pursed her lips, and Sirius seemed to
sense that, because he looked a little sheepish as he waved James Potter's wand. Remus' cuts
knitted together, and Tonks' disapproval gave way to reluctant awe. Remus made another
sound, this one more like a mumble than a growl, as Sirius healed his bruises too.

"You've done that a few times, as well," she said, sitting down in one of the armchairs. Sirius
glanced at her, but didn't say anything. Remus woke a few minutes later, and seemed
incredibly disoriented. Sirius talked to him – and seemed a little self-conscious about it, if the
sideways looks he kept sneaking in Tonks' direction were any indication – asking him what
hurt, and how he felt, and whether he needed anything right away.

All he got in response were various grunts, moans and jumbled attempts at speaking, but it
seemed to make perfect sense to Sirius, who chuckled and offered Remus potions from his
rather impressive, mobile collection. Tonks just watched the two of them. Sirius was a
mystery to her. She'd known him once, a long time ago, but the man in front of her was very
different to the Sirius she remembered. He was even a little different to the Sirius she'd seen
while she was on guard duty in the Ministry.

The Sirius from her childhood had been loud and perpetually laughing, while this one was
quiet and rather serious – though admittedly, that could have been because of the long night
he'd had. And, while he was confident with the way he treated Remus, he seemed unsure of
what to make of Tonks, now that she was no longer his guard. This man was careful, which
was not a trait she'd ever expected to assign to him.

And Remus... even Remus was different. His personality was the same, and he looked the
same – he was the same, really – but she hadn't guessed that he'd stand up to witness for
Sirius at the trial, so she obviously hadn't known him as well as she'd thought. She had a lot
more to learn about her friend.

Sirius flicked James' wand once more and then tucked it back into his robes. Tonks was
vaguely aware of him moving, but her attention was mostly focused on Remus, who'd
suddenly gone very still; his bleary brown eyes had found Tonks, and she gave him a
tentative smile. He didn't smile back. In fact, he paled and looked away.

"Padfoot," he said in a hoarse, rather urgent voice. "Sirius." Sirius gave Tonks a shrewd
glance, and then looked back at Remus, his mouth pulling up at the corners. It was a perfectly
pleasant smile, but there was something decidedly shrewd about it, and it made Tonks
nervous. Remus made a sniffing noise, and Sirius' smile widened. "No," Remus said. He
glanced sideways at Tonks again, and then lurched to his feet. Sirius was ready to catch him –
Tonks could tell from the way he'd tensed – but he also looked a little defiant.

"Sit down before you hurt yourself, you idiot," Sirius said.

"Don't treat me like a baby," Remus said, sounding peevish. Tonks got the impression she'd
missed something – a gesture, a scent, an expression, something – because Remus was more
irritated than the situation merited.

"Don't act like one," Sirius shot back. Then he arched an eyebrow, as if daring Remus to
argue. Remus growled and took an unsteady step toward the fireplace, and then seemed to
realise how far away it was and gave up. He didn't sit, however, and he didn't look at Tonks.
Instead, he just glared at Sirius, as if something bad had happened and it was Sirius' fault.
Sirius smirked back.

Tonks, feeling more and more like she was missing something, and more and more like she
was intruding on this moment between friends, got to her feet. Both mens' eyes latched onto
her.
"Obviously it's a bad time for me to have come-"

"Yes," Remus said flatly.

"No," Sirius said, with considerable conviction.

"Sirius," Remus said, and it was practically a whine. Tonks felt her cheeks heat up. It was
obvious Remus didn't want her there, and, while she could understand that – she'd ignored
him for weeks – it also hurt because she'd been willing to talk to him when he was the one
ignoring her. She'd at least been willing to try.

"Oh, for the love of..." Sirius trailed off, scowling, and grabbed a pillow off the nearest
armchair, which he threw – with considerable force – at Remus. It his him square in the chest,
and was enough to knock him back onto the couch, where he sat, gasping.

"Careful!" Tonks snapped, but Sirius either didn't hear her, or didn't care.

"Right," Sirius said, looking rather stern, "right." He picked up his healing equipment and
stuffed it back into his rucksack. "I'm going home –alone – and you're welcome to come back
when you've had your chat."

"Sirius," Remus snapped, getting up again. "I need to rest-" Sirius opened his mouth to say
something else, and then glanced at Tonks and closed it. She shifted, feeling – once again –
like she was intruding on something. Sirius exhaled loudly – and angrily – and then stepped
forward and draped Remus' arm over his shoulder. Remus looked acutely relieved, and Tonks
felt a little lost. Sirius didn't help Remus to the fireplace, however; he hauled him toward the
hallway.

"Sorry about him," Sirius said grimly.

"Sirius?" Remus said, sounding genuinely bewildered. "The Floo's over that way." He twisted
and caught Tonks' eye, and she was fairly certain he was silently asking for help. She
shrugged; she didn't have enough of a grasp on the situation to know how to help, and so she
just let Sirius drag him into the other part of the cottage.

"So window?" Remus managed, as he staggered along beside Sirius. Everything hurt, and his
head was throbbing. Sirius rolled his eyes and didn't say anything until they reached Remus'
bedroom. Sirius then dumped him on the bed, rather unceremoniously, and kicked the door
closed. Sirius didn't go to the window, however. He stood there, looking torn between
furious, helpless, and amused. Remus tried to move into a more comfortable position, but
gave up almost immediately, because it required effort he didn't feel like expending.
"Padfoot-"

"If you weren't still recovering, I would hex you," Sirius told him. Remus made a questioning
sound. "Three weeks," Sirius said, confusing Remus even more. "Three bloody weeks of
listening to rubbish excuses, of putting off complete freedom, just because of your bloody
inferiority complex?!"
Sirius wasn't speaking too loudly – Dora probably wouldn't be able to hear him - but he was
still loud enough to make Remus wince.

"Now," Sirius continued, shooting Remus an exasperated look, "if you were worried about
the Ministry, I'd understand. What you did for me during the trial, when you told them
about... about Moony... that was enormous." Remus didn't contradict him, because it had
been. He didn't regret it, but a large part of him wished it hadn't been necessary. "And I know
the Ministry isn't exactly prejudice-free-" Remus snorted. "-so I could have understood
wanting to hide from them."

"Good," Remus said.

"But that's not what this is about," Sirius said, giving Remus another stern look. It was a look
that Remus had given Sirius – and James – many times over the years, and he wondered if it
had made them want to hide as well. Remus eyed his blankets and considered trying to
burrow, but he suspected Sirius would just drag him out again. "I smelled you when you
spotted Dora." Sirius cocked his head. "It's her you've been putting off seeing."

"No," Remus lied.

"Yes," Sirius said. "Merlin knows why; from what you've told me, the two of you are close.
I'd expected you to be pleased that she was here, not to want me to smuggle you out the
window."

"Were," Remus said. "Were close. She hat-"

"She obviously doesn't hate you, or she wouldn't be sitting in your living room." Remus had a
very good argument about why that wasn't true, but he couldn't for the life of him remember
what it was.

"I betrayed h-"

"No one forced you to do anything," Sirius said, rather coolly, and it occurred to Remus too
late that he'd probably offended him. He forced his fuzzy head to think of something to say
before he ruined another friendship, but nothing came to mind. "You helped me – and I've
already said how incredibly grateful I am about that – because you chose to. You didn't have
a problem with it during the trial, but then you spend almost a month hiding in my house
because you're scared what'll happen if you try to justify your choice to Dora...? I mean,
really?" Remus glowered at him, because everything sounded stupid when Sirius put it like
that. "What are you afraid of?"

"She won't understand," Remus said.

"Or maybe you don't want her to."

"Don't be ridiculous," Remus said. "You don't know-"

"I'm the ridiculous one?" Sirius demanded. Remus eyed his covers again. "And I
don't know? I think I've got more of an idea about this that you do, Moony! I think that you
don't want to talk to her because you know the two of you will be able to fix this little
misunderstanding. And I think that scares you, because you know that eventually, that's going
to lead to other conversations, and other situations, ones like last full moon-"

"No," Remus said.

"And you still – for reasons I can't understand – still don't think that you deserve that sort of
openness, and you think that she can do better than you-"

"She can. I'm a bad friend."

"Bad friends," Sirius snapped, "don't stand up in front of half the wizarding world and tell
their biggest secret to help their other friends." Remus didn't have anything to say to that.

"You're wrong," Remus said, when he'd thought of something. "We're talking openly now,
and I'm not pushing you away."

"If your friendship is such a bad thing to have, then why do I deserve it, and why does Matt?
Either you think pretty poorly of the pair of us-" Remus made a noise of protest. "-or it's not
your friendship with Dora that you're worried about, you git."

Sirius gave him a look that was obviously supposed to mean something, but Remus wasn't
following. Sirius threw his hands up in the air and paced in front of the door. Remus shut his
eyes, because it was making him dizzy. Finally, Sirius spoke again.

"You know what, you're right. Obviously I'm imagining things, and you, as you've pointed
out, are obviously not afraid of talking openly, so you obviously don't have a problem with
Dora."

"Exactly," Remus said, pleased. Sirius gave him a patronising look.

"Exactly," Sirius agreed, rolling his eyes. "So you're not going to have any problems sorting
things out with her, are you? 'Cause you're friendsand everything, right?" Remus frowned,
realising too late where this was going.

"No, wait-" Sirius pulled the door open and headed off down the hall. "Padfoot!" Remus
heard Sirius say something to Dora and then heard the Floo whoosh. Remus heaved himself
to his feet. Surely Sirius hadn't left him there? Surely Sirius had been a good friend and sent
Dora home? He hobbled down the hall, using the wall as support. The living room was empty
but for Dora, who was hovering over the armchair, apparently trying to decide whether to sit
down or stay standing. Her expression brightened at the sight of Remus, who scowled and
looked at the fireplace.

"Remus?" Dora said tentatively.

"That miserable, traitorous git," Remus grumbled. "He left, didn't he?" She nodded. He
groaned and flopped face first onto the couch. "Next time, remind me just to leave him to the
Dementors," he told her, his voice muffled by the fabric. "It'll serve him right for leaving me
here when I'm sore and tired."
Dora laughed, and Remus, who'd expected shouting, or her to ignore him altogether, glanced
up at her. She hastily smoothed her expression – literally, as in, she made her eyes, nose and
mouth vanish – and then Remus snorted, so surprised that he couldn't help himself.

"So you're anticipating a next time?" she asked, when her face was normal again.

"Have you met him?" Remus asked, tilting his head toward the fireplace. Dora smiled again.
"There will definitely be a next time."

"He's different than I remember," Dora offered. "Older."

"Harry's been good for him. They've been good for each other, really," Remus said. Then he
scowled. "But he's still a git."

"And you're still leaving him to the Dementors, right?" Dora asked, looking amused.

"Exactly," Remus agreed. They looked at each other and smiled. Remus felt his smile vanish.
"Dora, I can't even begin to apologise-" Dora came to perch on the side of the couch.

"It's all right," she said. She didn't smell angry, and so Remus – who'd been expecting her to
shout that no, he couldn't even begin – was a little confused. "There's fault on both sides, I
think."

"But mostly mine."

"Mostly yours," she agreed, with a small smile, then she shook her head. "Can we not get into
this? I'm a bit annoyed, but I know why you lied, and I probably would have done the same
thing if the situation was reversed. I'm sorry and you're sorry, all right?" Remus' mouth
twitched, but he fought to keep a straight face.

"It's not that simple-"

"It is," Dora said, folding her arms. Her hair started to turn orange, which Remus knew meant
that she was getting annoyed. "Why shouldn't it be?"

"Because," Remus said lamely. This morning had not been kind to him; people were taking
advantage of the fact that he was having trouble forming coherent arguments.

"Well argued," she said, rolling her eyes. "I think it is that simple," she said, and Remus got
the impression that that was it, and gave in with rather ill grace. She grinned, apparently
sensing that she'd won, and leaned over to hug him.

Remus hugged her back, and, while he got the impression he should be upset that he hadn't
won the argument, he wasn't sure how being on friendly terms with Dora again was in any
way a loss. He shook his head and gave up.

Ha! he thought. Sirius obviously has no idea what he was talking about.
Tonks made her usual stop at Robards' cubicle on her way to training. She still hadn't worked
out why he had a cubicle, when Mad-Eye and Dawlish – who were equally as senior as
Robards - both had offices, but she was reluctant to ask.

"Wotcher," she said, tapping on the wall. Robards, who was face-down on his desk, shifted
and looked up. He had a piece of parchment stuck to his face which he pulled off. Then he
cleared his throat, looking a little embarrassed.

"Good morning, Tonks," he said gruffly.

"How... er... how are you today, sir?" she asked, concerned. He had a scruffy beard, shadows
under his green eyes, and his hair didn't look like it had seen a comb in days.

"Been better," he said wryly. "I'm looking – believe me, I'm looking – but I'm just not-" He
paused to yawn. "-finding anything. She's taken a leaf right out of Black's book, or so it
seems."

"Oh," Tonks said, her face falling. Some of her good mood - from her morning spent with a
tired, somewhat irritable Remus - faded.

"I can't even take a leaf out of Black's book myself," Robards sighed, shuffling a few papers
on his desk, "because none of us have any idea where he is, either." He gave her a tired look.
"You wouldn't happen to know when he's planning on coming back for his trial, would you?"

"No," Tonks said. Robards looked disappointed. "Remus didn't mention it," she continued,
apologetically. "I could ask next time I see him, if you'd like?" It occurred to her that she had
no idea when that would be – he hadn't left her with any way to contact him, though the
wards on his cottage would still work.

"That would be-" Robards rubbed his eyes and yawned again. "-helpful, thank you."

"No problem," she said. She muttered the password for her Sidekick, and then frowned. She
was almost late. "Er..." Robards waved a hand, his attention already back on a piece of
parchment on his desk. "I'll come by again-"

"Tomorrow," Robards said. "I know." Tonks left, making her way down the corridor to the
broom cupboard entrance.

"Morning," Yaxley said, as Tonks approached her and Ben. Both looked utterly exhausted
and Florence, unsurprisingly, wasn't there.

"Wotcher," Tonks said. Ben was silent for a moment, as if trying to decide where to start.

"I saw Robards," he said eventually. Yaxley frowned at him. "He-"

"I was just there," Tonks sighed, and Ben's eyes dimmed.

"Bit of a mess, isn't he?"

"He was asleep when I got there." The corners of Ben's mouth turned down, and Yaxley put a
hand on his shoulder, and gave Tonks a sad look. "You two don't look far from it either. Big
night?" Ben ran a hand through his hair, and looked at Yaxley.

"Florence is missing," he said. Anyone else might have laughed, but after Melvin, and after
McKinnon, and after Remus – who had now twice vanished for weeks at a time - missing
people were not something Tonks could find even remotely humorous.

"What happened?" she whispered.

"We were working late last night, tracking a guy who's been targeting muggles. Lyra and
Florence got caught up in a duel, and then the bloke hit Florence with something and ran for
it. We thought it was only a Stunner, but she wasn't well; she was sick, and shaking, and she
just kept getting worse... and then Kingsley was hit with something – he's in St Mungo's –
and by the time we'd stabilised him, our man had vanished, and so had Florence."

"We found her Sidekick, but we don't know if she left, or if she was taken," Yaxley said
anxiously. "We checked her flat, St Mungo's, the entire Ministry-"

"Did you check for magical traces?" Tonks asked. That horrible, twisting feeling in her
stomach was back and far too familiar.

"At the scene? Yeah: portkeys," Ben said. "Twenty of them, all of which all activated at the
same time, and all ended up in different locations."

"Who were they made by?"

"Dunno," Ben said. "The traces were just Portkey coloured."

"Portkey coloured?" Tonks repeated, more confused than upset for the first time.

"Yeah, you know, pale blue." Tonks shuddered; she'd developed a loathing for the colour blue
thanks to their Greyback case. She almost told them that it was probably just Florence's
magic they'd seen, but didn't, because that would lead to awkward questions. "Like when they
activate and go and there's that light?" Ben added, but Tonks wasn't listening, because pale
blue where the Portkeys had been meant that Florence was the one who'd created the
Portkeys, and that unnerved her for a reason she couldn't put her finger on.

That's silly, though; why would she leave in the middle of a case? And then she realised; Ben
had said that Florence had been sick and shaky, and that they'd assumed it was spell damage.
But what if it hadn't been? What if Florence had had to leave? Thanks to several hours
worrying about Remus, Tonks was uncomfortably aware that it had been a full moon last
night.

She can't be. Except she could. How many times had Florence slept in, or been sick? More
than Tonks could count, honestly. And how many times had she sniffed something or
someone to identify them? Tonks tried to remember if she'd ever seen Florence holding a
sickle, and couldn't name a time.
And my jumper, Tonks remembered. She'd spent the afternoon with Florence – and Melvin
and Keith – before going to the camp, which must have been why Tonks' jumper had smelled
like the elusive Smoky. Tonks was almost convinced.

So Florence is – possibly – Smoky, she thought, and panic started to bubble in her chest. Not
because her friend was a werewolf, but because her friend was – possibly – a killer. Tonks
and Mad-Eye would have to arrest her, and, though she'd probably done the wizarding world
a favour, she'd still be stripped of her trainee position, and could well serve a sentence in
Azkaban.

Only if I turn her in, Tonks realised, and then cringed, not liking the outcome of letting her
stay free, or having her turned in.

"Tonks?" Ben said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, we'll find her." Tonks gave a
fake little laugh, her mind reeling, and hoped that nothing they were about to be taught was
too intensive; she needed time to think.

"Come in," Albus called, as one of the instruments on the table in the corner flashed brightly.
He heard a startled intake of breath on the other side of the door, and then it opened slowly to
admit two children – a boy and a girl – neither of whom were familiar to him.

"Are you Professor Dumbledore?"

"I am indeed, my dear," he said, smiling. "And to whom am I speaking?"

"I'm Sarah and this is Ethan." The boy – Ethan – waved shyly, his eyes never leaving Sarah,
and Albus inclined his head, deciding now was not the time to ask why they'd left their last
names out.

"A pleasure," Albus said. He flicked his wand, startling both children – another strange thing
– and conjured chairs. "Please, take a seat." Sarah hesitated, and then strode forward and sat
down. After a moment, Ethan followed her lead. Albus used the time to try to work out who
they might be, but reached no useful conclusion.

Sarah was the older one, he thought – she was maybe twelve – while Ethan didn't look much
older than ten. They didn't look related; Sarah's hair was a platinum blond – almost
Malfoyish – while Ethan's was a brown so pale and dull that it was practically grey. Sarah's
eyes were brown – and, sadly, haunted - while Ethan's were blue, and he was lanky while
Sarah was more rounded.

"You're confused," Ethan said, meeting Albus' eyes for the first time since he'd arrived. Albus
smiled, feeling a little troubled.

"You have me at a loss," he admitted. Sarah and Ethan exchanged looks.

"We've come to join your school," Sarah said, rather confidently. Ethan cleared his throat and
Sarah flushed, suddenly looking uncertain. "To learn magic. If you'll have us, of course." She
paused, and eyed Albus for a moment. "We have letters. Show him," she barked. Ethan, to
Albus' surprise, didn't flinch or seem at all surprised by her tone. Instead, he just pulled two
pieces of worn, dirty parchment out of his pocket and held them out.

They were Hogwarts letters. One to a Sarah Walker and one to an Ethan Runcorn. Albus
spared a moment to wonder whether Ethan was Albert's son, and then stored it away for later
consideration. He turned his attention back to the letters. Ethan's was all in order; he'd had his
eleventh birthday in February and was expected to begin in September. Sarah's letter, on the
other hand, was two years old; she should have started last year. The letters were missing
their envelopes, too, so Albus couldn't even see where they'd been sent to. His curiosity about
the pair before him spiked again.

"Both are genuine," he said, passing the letters back to Ethan. "I cannot foresee any problems
with your own admission, Mr Runcorn, though yours presents a few obvious issues, Miss
Walker. Might I ask why you didn't attend last year?"

"Things were different," she said.

"How so?" he asked gently. For a moment, he thought she might refuse to answer - her jaw
set and her nose came up – but then she seemed to remember herself and shifted in her seat.

"Father was alive," she said, and that sadness returned to her eyes.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Albus said, trying – and failing – yet again, to make sense of what
was happening.

"Are you?" she asked. There was something in her voice that was almost challenging. Ethan
glanced between them, looking nervous. "You don't even know who our father was."

Our father...? Albus wondered. "Regardless," he said quietly, knowing that this was delicate
ground, "losing a family member is never easy." Sarah looked pleased with his verdict, and
then thoughtful. Ethan still looked anxious, though this time, Albus thought there was
something familiar about the boy, though couldn't place it. When Albus turned his gaze on
Sarah, she seemed unperturbed. It was a rare child that didn't feel uncomfortable when Albus
used what Minerva and Severus referred to as his x-ray stare. Ethan's reaction was more
normal; he seemed to shrink under Albus' attention, and that only made him seem even more
familiar. Finally, Albus realised why.

There was something about Ethan that reminded Albus of Remus. Perhaps it was the fact that
he was as lanky as Remus had been at the same age, or perhaps it was his lack of confidence
around strangers, or perhaps it was just that single expression. Albus' smile was slow and
troubled, but he was genuinely pleased now that he understood what was happening.

"He's got it," Ethan murmured, glancing at Sarah. Both looked a little afraid, though Sarah
also looked defiant.

"Well?" she said, rather bossily. "Will you let us in?"

"Perhaps," Albus said, letting the slightest reprimand slip into his tone. Sarah bristled and
Albus decided not to try that again. "I have a few concerns, as you can understand, but I have
also been in this situation – or one similar to it – and I know that an arrangement like the one
you are proposing can not only work, but can do so very successfully."

Sarah and Ethan exchanged a long look, while Albus leaned back in his chair and steepled his
hands. Unsurprisingly, it was Sarah who spoke.

"What concerns?" she asked.

 Interruptions

Florence appeared about midway through training - Savage had just started on the blood ward
focused part of his lecture – looking tired, and rather unwell. She was paler than usual, had a
cut on her cheek and her arm was in a sling. She was immediately descended upon by Finch,
and Ben hurried over to join them. Florence hugged him, and spotted Tonks. She waved, and
Tonks waved back, and that was all they had time for before Finch ushered her back up the
stairs; presumably she had questions that needed answers.

Tonks watched them leave, as guilt and worry gnawed on her insides, and tried to sort out
what she was going to do. She was due to meet Mad-Eye in less than ten minutes, and she
still have no idea what to say to him. It was her job to catch people that did the wrong thing –
and Florence, technically, had – but Tonks didn't feel right just turning one of her best friends
over to the Ministry.

I'll say nothing, she decided. Not for another day or two. Not until I can be sure that
whatever decision I make is the right – or least wrong – one.

Sirius' second trial was nowhere near as eventful as the first one. It happened three days after
June's full moon – when Remus was entirely recovered – and it was a very quiet affair, with
just Fudge, Amelia, Rattler and Umbridge there on the Ministry's behalf, and only Sirius,
Remus and Harry there for their side.

The whole thing took half an hour, at the end of which, Sirius had managed to argue Remus'
way out of several prison terms and a fine – Umbridge's prejudice against werewolves was
shining through, and Sirius thought he wanted to strangle the woman as much as Remus, who
kept flexing his hands – and Sirius himself had given in with rather ill grace and let them
issue him a large fine for being an illegal Animagus.

"I did technically break the law," he complained, as he, Remus and Harry made their way to
Level Two so that he could register, "but you'd think that my time in Azkaban would negate
the need for a bloody fine!"

"It's not like you can't afford it," Harry chimed, and Sirius pulled a face at him. Harry pulled
one back, and then pressed himself a little closer to Sirius' side and nervously tried to flatten
his fringe; a witch had just entered their lift and promptly dropped the stack of papers she
was holding.

"Mmm," Sirius said, staring back at the woman just as intently as she was staring at them. It
took her a moment to notice, and then she smiled nervously, and then she started to look
uncomfortable. She got off on the next floor, and Sirius leaned against the side of the lift,
feeling rather pleased with himself.

"Git," Remus said, chuckling.

"Hardly. She deserved it." Sirius grinned at Remus, who did his best to smother his very
obvious smile, and at Harry, who looked amused enough for the moment, but also rather
resigned. "But honestly," Sirius continued, "surely Azkaban makes up for-"

"If this is going to bother you that much," Remus said tiredly, "then go and challenge them
about it." Sirius toyed with the idea for a few seconds and then shook his head.

"It's not worth it," he sighed. Then he grinned at Harry and said, "I reckon we've caused
enough trouble."

"Probably," Harry agreed, laughing. Remus shook his head at the two of them, and stepped
out of the lift. Sirius steered Harry out after him, and took the lead through the still-familiar
Level Two; a few things had changed, but mostly, it was the same as it had been when Sirius
worked as an Auror.

Remus was intercepted by Dora – who was heading off to lunch and greeted them cheerfully,
if a little warily – as they crossed the Auror section of the floor, and he left with a sheepish
smile and a promise he'd be home in time for dinner.

"He's oblivious," Sirius said, nudging Harry, as he smirked at Remus and Dora's backs.

"To what?" Harry asked, waving tentatively at a pair of Aurors who'd recognised him from
guard duty. Sirius chuckled and then shook his head.

"Never mind." Registering as an Animagus was about as fun as Sirius had expected it to be –
there was a form about three feet long, filled with stupid questions about Padfoot's
appearance and personality – and he was relieved once it was done. Guess the secret's
officially out, isn't it, Prongs? he thought wryly, and was well able to imagine James snorting
and telling him it had been out since the first trial. He smiled to himself as he passed the
completed form back to the scruffy witch at the desk, and gestured for Harry to follow. "Do
you want to go flying tomorrow?" Sirius asked, as they headed back to the lift. Harry
grinned.

"Sounds brilliant," he said happily. Harry truly had inherited James' love of flying, but Sirius
suspected some of his joy at the prospect was to get out of his Animagus study; he had a
tentative grasp on Latin, and so Sirius had helped him move to the next stage, which was
trying to come up with an incantation that would allow him to transform. It was easily the
most time consuming part of the process – it wasn't easy to capture an entire personality and
physical description in only a few sentences – and it was the part that Sirius expected Harry
to struggle most with, purely because it required so much introspection. All he'd managed to
do so far was get frustrated. "At Moon-"

Someone cleared their throat behind Sirius and he recognised the sound's owner and
stiffened.

"Harry," a voice said quietly.

"Hello, sir," Harry said, with an easy smile and wave. Dumbledore smiled back, and then
looked over at Sirius. Sirius' attempt at looking aloof vanished and was replaced by shock;
Dumbledore looked nervous.

"Sirius," he said carefully.

"Afternoon," Sirius said, and didn't offer anything else. Dumbledore opened his mouth, as if
he wanted to say something, and then he bowed his head, apparently thinking better of it.
Sirius couldn't decide whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

"Is Remus here with you?" Dumbledore asked finally, clasping his hands in front of him.

"He was," Sirius said, folding his arms. "Why?"

"I require a word with-"

"He's gone to get lunch," Sirius said. Harry glanced between Sirius and Dumbledore and
looked a little disconcerted. Sirius sighed, realising he probably looked like a bit of a prat
glaring at his old headmaster, and unfolded his arms. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder
instead, and Harry smiled, but still looked concerned. "No idea how long he'll be."
Dumbledore looked disappointed, and Sirius felt something inside him shrivel. He still hated
that look, and the way it made him feel. He groaned. "He'll be living in his cottage again as of
tomorrow, though," Sirius said. "I don't know if that helps, but-"

"It helps, dear boy," Dumbledore said, beaming. Sirius wasn't sure if he was happy to have an
answer, or if he was happy that Sirius had offered the information. He thought it was the
latter... well, he hoped it was. And then he cursed himself for thinking that way, because he
was still angry... except he wasn't; he just thought he should be.

"Sarah and Ethan, you said?" Remus asked, and Dumbledore nodded and passed him a cup of
tea. Remus groaned, and kneaded his forehead.

"You know them, I take it?" Dumbledore asked, stirring sugar into his own tea.

"Sarah usually goes by a different name," Remus said. Greentooth. He sighed. "But yes, I
know her. And Ethan too, I think." Based on Dumbledore's description, Ethan could only be
Silverear. "They're from the camp."

Dumbledore gave him a searching look and said, "I take it you and she are on rather poor
terms."

"Something like that," Remus sighed.

"I found her a little troubling," Dumbledore admitted. "She's not at Tom Riddle's level, but I
do have more reservations about her than I do about most of the other students... My main
concern is that she could be dangerous."

"Of course she's dangerous; she's a werewolf," Remus said, taking a sip of tea. "We're not
exactly cuddly."
Dumbledore chuckled, but sobered quickly. "Usually, I would give her a chance without
hesitation, the way I did for you, but due to her self confessed affection for her 'father', I felt
it would be wiser to ask for your opinion. I wish to help them, of course, but if they will
prove dangerous to other students because of their upbringing..."

Remus wasn't sure what to say; if what Dumbledore had said was true, then Greentooth and
Silverear were coming to Hogwarts to try to give themselves a chance at a reasonably normal
wizarding life. He didn't like them, but they were only children and deserved a chance to
have a fresh start... didn't they?

"Give them a chance," Remus sighed, after a moment of thought. "One chance." He hoped,
for their sakes, that they'd make the best of it.

"Very well," Dumbledore said. Remus relaxed a little. "Thank you for your insight." Remus
drained his cup and stood. "Actually," Dumbledore said worriedly, "I was wondering if I
might be able to have a bit your time... it's about Sirius."

"What about him?" Remus asked flatly, but Dumbledore shook his head.

"I- He..." Dumbledore sighed. "Is he happy?"

"Reasonably," Remus said.

"And safe? Him and Harry both?"

"Yes, they're both safe," Remus assured him. And then, because – while it had worked out for
the best – he was still annoyed at Sirius for abandoning him to Dora after the moon, added,
"They're living in Sirius' parents' old house, and the wards on that-"

"Yes, it is," Dumbledore said, smiling. "I thought it might rain all through the summer."

"Pardon?"

"I said-"

"Yes, I heard that," Remus said impatiently, "but it's a bit of a sudden conversation change."

"How so?"

"Well, I said they're staying at Sirius' old house-"

"Yes, and then I agreed and said it is indeed a nice day today."

"Don't you think that's a bit off topic?"

"Dear boy, I agreed with you."

"I didn't say anything that needed to be agreed with."

"Pardon?" Dumbledore asked.

"I told you where they were living and you told me about it raining in the summer."

"You told me the weather was nice today," Dumbledore said, smiling faintly.

"I didn't. I said they're living in Sirius' old house."

"You're contradicting yourself, Remus."

Remus sighed, frustrated. "They're living at Grimmauld Place."

"I am aware your owl is named Strix," Dumbledore said, frowning slightly. "What does he
have to do with Sirius or the weather, though?"

"Why are we talking about my owl?" Remus asked, startled into laughter.

"You brought it up," Dumbledore said.

"Sirius and Harry are living at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place," Remus said, reasonably
confident now that those words wouldn't come out, for some strange reason.

"Yes, I suppose I can arrange to have biscuits brought up," Dumbledore said. "Just give me a-
"

"Biscuits?!" Remus muttered. "I don't want biscuits!"

"Then why did you ask?" Dumbledore said.

"Sirius," Remus said slowly. "Is. Living. At. Nostril- Wait, what?"

"Nostril?"

"No," Remus took a deep breath. "They're living at. Num. Ber. Tweezers- No, sorry,
Toothpaste- NO! Twilight- No! The number after elephant. NO!"

Dumbledore seemed to be enjoying himself. "Do you know, perhaps, whether there are any
security charms on Sirius' home?"

"Hundreds," Remus said. "I suspect that's what this is; the Fidelius Charm... if that doesn't
answer your question about safety, I don't know what will." Damn you, Padfoot, he thought,
amused.

"At the very least we know they're well protected." Then, looking wary again, Dumbledore
said, "Tell me, Remus, is possible I could write them a letter?"

"Of course, sir," Remus said. "But maybe... I could invite him here," he offered. It was
probably some sort of reconciliation that Dumbledore had in mind, and Sirius would be a
hypocrite not to make an appearance, when he'd forced Remus to do the same thing only a
few days ago. "I think he and Harry were just hanging around the house today."

Dumbledore's beamed. "Feel free to use the fireplace."

Remus tossed a handful of Floo Powder into Dumbldore's fireplace, knelt down and said,
"Numbat Toucan, Garden Prosperity."

"It is a very good thing you're merely attempting to firecall and not travel. The delightful
owners of Garden Prosperity would have been in for quite a surprise," Dumbledore said.
"Perhaps I should leave the room."

"Yes, please," Remus said, red-faced.

"Speak very, very clearly," Padfoot said, looking nervous, and a bit annoyed; Remus had
Flooed them a few minutes ago, said something about Dumbledore and something about
Tonks and Padfoot being a hypocrite, and now apparently they were off to Hogwarts. "And
you can go first, just in case."

Harry stepped into the green flames. "Headmaster's office, Hogwarts," he said. The fire
whooshed around him and he saw bricks rushing past his face and there was soot in his eyes
and green, lots of green, and he hit his elbow again, and his glasses were slipping and then he
skidded out onto soft carpet.

"Hello, Harry," Moony said, helping him up.

"Hi," Harry said. "Hello, Professor Dumbledore."

"Hello, Harry."

"P-Sirius is on his way," Harry said, glancing around the large, circular room. There were
bookshelves spreading around the walls of the office, and above and between those were
portraits of witches and wizards. Harry crossed the room to inspect a table of strange, silver
instruments, most of which were whirring quietly, or flashing, or emitting little puffs of
smoke. He didn't dare touch them. Behind Dumbledore's desk was a ragged old hat that Harry
thought looked like it should have been thrown out years ago.

There was a large cabinet off to one side of the room, holding a strange looking bowl, and a
soft trilling noise made Harry look towards the office door. Sitting on a golden perch was
what could only have been a phoenix; it was the size of a swan with bright, intelligent eyes
and vivid red and gold feathers. It trilled again and Harry waved at it before retreating back
across the room to stand by Moony who was muttering to himself about gardens, gnomes,
parrots and parades. Dumbledore was humming. A minute or so later, the fire flared green
again and spat Padfoot out.

"Ah," he said, spotting Harry, "you made it." Harry scowled good naturedly. "Morning,"
Padfoot said to Dumbledore and Moony.

"Good morning, Sirius," Dumbledore said. "How are you?"

"Fine," Padfoot said, shrugging. He glowered at Moony, who looked smug.

"I hope I'm not disrupting any plans," Dumbledore said, and Harry thought he almost
sounded shy.

"We were going to go for a walk," Padfoot said, shrugging. "Have a game of fetch... Nothing
we can't do later." His voice was very polite.

"As a dog?" Dumbledore asked, looking amused.

"Sure," Padfoot said.

"None of us ever picked that," Dumbledore murmured to himself.

"Picked what?" Harry asked. Dumbledore turned to him, eyes twinkling.

"I'm getting sidetracked, I'm afraid," he said. "Thinking about Padfoot, actually; when the
names came about - sometime in third year, I believe-" Moony and Padfoot nodded. "-the
staff began taking bets on what the names were for."

"Did they really?!" Moony exclaimed, laughing. Dumbledore inclined his head.

"No wonder old Minnie was so insistent about trying to work it out," Padfoot said, looking
amused; the amount of tension in the room had lightened considerably. "She set our progress
back weeks because we were so paranoid!"

"She'd be delighted to hear it, I'm sure," Dumbledore said, smiling. "The record of everyone's
wagers adorned the staff room for quite some time, though I haven't the faintest clue where
it's ended up."

"Five galleons on Minnie," Padfoot said, grinning. Then he seemed to recover his strange
mood and sobered. Moony glanced between them, caught Harry's eye and then nodded at the
office door. Harry nodded and the pair of them excused themselves.

"Best to let them sort things out on their own," Moony said, leading Harry down a staircase.
They found themselves in a corridor – one girl in blue robes walked past and gave them
curious looks, thought thankfully didn't look close enough to recognise Harry – sitting on a
stone bench beside a large window that overlooked the Hogwarts grounds. Harry was going
to miss Padfoot and Moony and Kreacher when he moved to Hogwarts next year, but it
certainly seemed like a nice place to live, especially when it was lit up by the summer sun.

"See that tree?" Moony asked. "That's the-"

"Whomping Willow," a snide voice finished. Harry stifled a groan and Moony squeezed his
eyes shut.

"Snape," they said together.

"Potter. Lupin." Snape glanced around, apparently trying to spot Padfoot.

"He's in Dumbledore's office," Moony said; it seemed he'd reached the same conclusion as
Harry.
"Of course," Snape drawled, looking annoyed. "Black always did have the very worst
timing." Snape cast a quick charm to check the time and then scowled and snapped a word at
a statue by the wall Harry and Remus had come through earlier.

Moony and Harry talked – with Moony pointing out features of the grounds – for a while
longer, at least until raised voices drifted down from the office.

Moony groaned and got to his feet. He didn't invite Harry, but he didn't tell him to stay either,
so Harry went with him. Moony pushed open the office door to reveal Padfoot and Snape
glaring at each other, from a few yards away, and Dumbledore getting to his feet, looking
impatient.

"-suspect, Black, it has something to do with a botched murder attempt plot-"

Harry waited, hardly daring to breathe. Moony had also gone very still beside him, and
Dumbledore was watching with a guarded expression.

"James saved you and you know it!" Padfoot snapped. He... he didn't deny it, Harry realised,
feeling ill. He did try to kill him! SNape was telling the truth!

"Only to defend you, Black!" Snape spat. "A position his offspring has graciously filled."

"Don't bring Harry into this!" Padfoot shouted, getting to his feet.

"Sirius!" Moony said, trying to get Padfoot to sit down.

"You brought Potter into this when you kidnapped him, Black, so don't you tell me-"

"They treated him like you treated Lily!" Padfoot said. "Like dirt! Like something beneath
them!"

"Professor-" Harry said, trying to get Dumbledore's attention; Snape looked dangerous. He
knew how much Padfoot and Snape disliked each other, but for this to have accelerated this
quickly... Harry shivered and one of the trinkets on Dumbledore's desk exploded.

"-father," Snape was saying.

"I do not keep him around so that I can pretend he's James!" Padfoot roared, startling Moony.
He waved his wand and Snape's greasy hair turned a vivid pink. Snape snarled and Padfoot
sprouted a nasty set of boils on his forehead. Moony was still trying to get himself between
them and Dumbledore was trying to calm them down verbally.

Harry, who might ordinarily have found this funny, was close to losing it. Snape - the git -
had hexed his godfather, said awful things about both of Harry's parents and been rude to
Harry himself. Padfoot - the bigger git - had started it. Harry had defended Padfoot, said he
wasn't a murderer, and was rewarded with finding out his godfather had actually tried to kill
Snape, and then this bout of infantile duelling.

Harry found his magic and flung it out with the intention of getting them both to be quiet.
Both were shoved into seats and their voices immediately cut off.
"Harry-" Moony said, releasing Padfoot's arm, to put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Don't," Harry said shortly, pulling out of the other man's grip. He just knew he wanted to get
out of there, to get home, and so he spun on the spot, his magic lashing out around him,
pinning Padfoot again when he tried to get up.

Severus stared at the place where the Potter boy had vanished. Several of the silver
instruments Dumbledore insisted on keeping were going wild; one was flashing brightly
when usually it just pulsed dimly, one - that somewhat resembled a muggle spinning-top -
was whizzing around and the one that had kept exploding was still broken, resting in
numerous pieces on the table and carpet.

Dumbledore got up, tapped the spinning one once to still it, repaired the emotional-gauge one
with a warning look at Severus and Black, as if they might break it again, and picked up the
flashing one, murmuring in a strange tongue Severus didn't understand.

"Fascinating," he murmured, setting it down again. Black seemed to snap out of his stupor.
He waved his hands at Lupin who tapped his shoulder with his wand.

"I have to go," Black said urgently.

"You'll stay right where you are." Dumbledore said firmly. "And if you say another word
before I ask you to speak again, I'll Silence you myself. That goes for you too, Severus."
Severus abandoned all hope of getting out unscathed when he heard the disappointment in the
Headmaster's voice. He nodded, well aware he'd make a fool of himself if he tried to speak;
the Potter brat's Silencing Charm was no doubt still affecting him. Dumbledore was now
walking around his desk with his wand raised above his head as he muttered various
protective enchantments.

"Sir?" Lupin said, puzzled.

"It would seem," Dumbledore said, still walking in his circle, "that your behaviour caused
Harry enough distress that he was able to remove a section of the wards in his desperation to
return home." Severus' mouth fell open.

"That's not possible!" Lupin exclaimed.

"Oh, I assure you it is," Dumbledore said. He sounded cheerful enough but his eyes were not
twinkling even slightly. Typical Potter: No regard for school property. Never mind those
wards are in place to protect the students and staff, as soon as they're inconvenient, he just
brushes them aside and does what he pleases... Dumbledore didn't seem to mind. He wasn't
angry with Potter, anyway, though he did seem annoyed at Black and at Severus. Worse was
that Severus felt he might deserve it. But only a bit. And Black deserved it more than he did;
the boy was Black's to care for, not to upset and send into a fit of magical distress.

"He's nine!" Black said, looking confused, proud and worried all at once.
"And in considerable distress," Dumbledore said in a steely tone. "He could not do it if he
tried and I doubt that he could ever repeat it, but it has happened nonetheless. Alas, accidental
magic is often this way; unpredictable, and devastatingly powerful if given half a chance."

Potter was by no means as strong magically as Dumbledore, but he was still young and he
was certainly no average wizard, if Draco's stories were to be believed. If he could learn to
control that power, the Dark Lord would have a valid reason to fear him after all.

The boy had just vanished, after all! Had he had a Portkey Severus hadn't been aware of? Or
perhaps he'd Apparated somehow. That should be impossible - given his age and all of the
laws of magic that said one could not Apparate inside the castle - but if he'd torn down the
wards then perhaps not..

Curious, Seversu sent a very light Legillimency probe in Black's direction. It should have
merely skimmed the forefront of his mind and perhaps enlightened Severus on whatever it
was that had just happened, but something else occurred instead; the probe was thrust back,
and knocked into the walls of Severus' dungeon mind with a mental thud that made him
wince.

What in Merlin's...

"Do you mind?" Black snarled, without as much as a grimace. Dumbledore and Lupin looked
between them, confused. Severus merely raised a hand to his temple and scowled at Black,
who, it seemed had just blocked him, without even seeming bothered. The man was still
staring at the place where Potter had disappeared.

"Sirius-"

"No, sir," Black snapped. "I'm not a student here anymore, and sure, I'm younger than you
are, but I don't have any obligation to listen to you if I don't want to. I'm a free man. I'm sorry
for what I said today-" Black shifted, looking genuinely apologetic. "-and I'd be more than
happy to try to patch up your hurt feelings later." His eyes landed on Severus at this last. "But
if you think that's coming before Harry, you're dead wrong, because at the moment, the
person that deserves an apology from me the most isn't here, and I rather think that I need to
be where he is."

Severus made a small, disgusted noise – one meant to goad Black a bit, but Black just gave
him a look containing equal parts loathing of Severus, and also of himself.

"I'm amiable to giving you a second chance," Black said stiffly, looking at Dumbledore.
"You'll have to work for it, but the opportunity is there." Dumbledore, oddly, looked pleased,
as if Black's opinion of him mattered. "If you need to contact me, send a letter to Remus' and
he'll make sure I get it." Black and Lupin exchanged a thoughtful look, and then Lupin
nodded. "I've got to go. I'll see you tomorrow, Moony."

Lupin nodded. "Come around whenever."

"And Sni-Sna-" Black swallowed loudly, as if utterly repulsed by something. "Severu-

Severarse," he finally managed. Dumbledore didn't seem to notice the subtle inflection on the
final few syllables but Lupin did and sighed.

"Black."

"I'm sorry," he said, looking as if he were physically in pain. "I don't take back anything I did
today-" Lupin groaned quietly, massaging his temples. "-but if I could do this afternoon over
then maybe I'd have been... er... less enthusiastic with the insults." Severus merely stared at
him, wishing he had the ability to cause people (Black) pain - severe pain - with just his eyes.
Black nodded once and walked over to the fire. He whispered and address that Severus didn't
hear – and didn't need to hear – and was gone.

Lupin made his excuses and left shortly after leaving Severus alone with Dumbledore. "I
have essays to mark," he said, heading for the door.

"Not so quickly, Severus," the Headmaster said, nodding at the three seats in front of him.
Severus sighed and dropped into the one the Potter boy had used. His skin crawled at the very
idea but he'd rather sit where the Potter boy had than where Lupin or Black had.

"Say what you need to, then," Severus said bluntly. "I'm short on time and my patience has
long since expired."

"I had expected more from you."

"I was provoked," Severus replied.

"I appreciate that," Dumbledore said, "but you were hardly a guiltless party. You are a grown
man-"

"-as is Black," Severus said, folding his arms. He refused to feel guilty about what had just
transpired.

"Harry Potter is only a boy, and even he thought your behaviour was inappo-"

"Harry Potter is the most spoiled, inconsiderate-"

"You are determined to hate him, Severus," Dumbledore said gently, "for no reason other
than that he exists."

"No reason?" Severus repeated. "You of all people should understand, Headmaster, that there
is no greater reason."

"Not for you," Dumbledore sighed. "Remember, though, Severus, that Lily Potter sacrificed
her life for her son. She believed that there was something in him, that he would be capable
of great-"

"The fact remains, Headmaster, that she died for him," Severus said curtly. "And that is
unforgivable." He spun on his heel and strode out of the office, relieved Dumbledore did not
try to call him back.
It was with a heavy heart that she said her goodbyes to Yaxley and trudged up to Mad-Eye's
office. She bit her lip, trying to think of the best way to present her suspicions to her mentor,
and knocked.

"I'm busy!" Mad-Eye growled. Tonks let herself in anyway, and Mad-Eye spun in his chair.
She cringed; his eye was out and resting in a glass of water on his desk.

"That's disgusting!" she said, looking away.

"Well good," he said, ignoring her comment. "You were the person I was about to be busy
with - I think I might have found our killer." Tonks shrugged her rucksack off and left it in
the corner.

"You have?" Tonks asked, both afraid - that Mad-Eye had reached the same conclusion as she
had - and hopeful that it might be someone else.

"Aislinne Lovegood," he said, and Tonks blinked.

I was wrong? she wondered, feeling hopeful, but also confused. It made sense, though... all
the times she's been sick, or slept in... though I suppose not all of them were on full moons –
last week wasn't a full moon, after all... Maybe she's just incredibly unlucky. Maybe she was
really kidnapped last night... maybe she didn't attack herself; maybe she got hurt fighting her
way free. She'd been sure; almost certain, in fact, but Mad-Eye'd been at this job a lot longer
than she had, and he knew a likely suspect when he saw one.

And it's this Lovegood woman, apparently. Not Florence. She relaxed a little, and shook her
head. Silly. Of course it couldn't be Florence. Florence is so small and fragile... she couldn't
be a wolf... and surely someone would have noticed by now. The Auror Department isn't
perfect, but surely they'd have done background checks or something before they let us
in. She nodded to herself, and accepted Lovegood's file from Mad-Eye.

"Read it," he said, trying to fish his eye out of his glass. "Then tell me what you think." Tonks
pulled a chair over and sat down, her eyes already skimming over the parchment. By the time
she finished reading, she'd convinced herself that it was definitely Lovegood.

"She designs spells?" Tonks asked, arching an eyebrow.

"She does. And, if that wasn't enough, she's got a vague connection to Greyback."

"What?" Tonks flicked through the file again, but found nothing about that.

"Her husband. Self-publishes a magazine – it's about all sorts of things - but they've got an
underlying focus on magical creatures... They've had stories about werewolves a few times in
the last few years, and the articles are all detailed enough for me to be confident that someone
– maybe Lupin's Smoky – is answering questions."

"So Lovegood's not Smoky?" Tonks asked, her heart sinking again.

"Let's find out," he said, hauling himself out of his chair.

Two hours, two flights, three Floo excursions, one muggle bus and four Portkeys later, Tonks
had finally managed to convince Mad-Eye that no one was following them, and they arrived
on the Lovegoods' front doorstep. Mad-Eye instantly began casting spells, while Tonks had a
look around. The house was large, black and cylindrical and Tonks stared, fascinated at it,
and also at the eccentric combination of plants growing in the garden. She was surprised that,
despite her high marks in N.E.W.T. Herbology, she only recognised one or two things.

"Have you ever seen anything like that before?" she asked, nudging Mad-Eye. Her ignored
her and didn't even look in the direction of the plant with orange radish-like fruit. Instead, he
continued to cast charms that were probably giving him all sorts of information about the
house and its occupants. Unnecessary information, Tonks thought, knowing her mentor
wouldn't go anywhere without a good idea of what he was getting himself into. He was just
being paranoid again, and she suspected he'd spend another hour doing this if she let him.

Rolling her eyes at the thought, Tonks stepped forward and knocked on the door.

"Nymphadora!" Mad-Eye snarled, freezing in place. Tonks heard voices in the house, and
then light footsteps. Mad-Eye's mouth set in a grim line, and he snatched his Sidekick out of
a pocket in his robes. Tonks followed his example, though felt she was more relaxed about it;
Mad-Eye's knuckles were white, and his Sidekick was in danger of being crushed. Her own
was clasped loosely in her hand, and she traced the letters of her name with her thumbnail.

Tonks saw Mad-Eye square his shoulders out of the corner of her eye, and a moment later,
the door opened to reveal a small, brightly coloured figure, holding a paintbrush. Tonks liked
the girl on first sight, which was a bit of a shame, since they were here to question her
mother; she was wearing a pair of large, fluffy boots, vibrant green jeans and a bubblegum
pink smock that was liberally splattered in colourful paint.

The girl's eyes trailed over both of them – she seemed more curious than taken aback by
Mad-Eye's eye – and then she tucked her paintbrush behind her ear and smiled at them.

"Hello," she said, in a high pitched, rather dreamy voice.

"Morning," Mad-Eye said gruffly. "I'm Auror Moody, this is Trainee Tonks."

"Can I see that?" the girl asked, looking at the Sidekicks with big eyes.

"Sure," Tonks said, dropping hers into the girl's small hands. She realised too late that she
probably should have offered to clean the girl's hands first – they were covered in smears of
paint too – and did her best to ignore Mad-Eye, who was looking at her as if she'd just done
something inexcusable.

The girl held Tonks' Sidekick up for close inspection and then sniffed it.

"Interesting," she said, squinting at Tonks, who gave her a blank look. "I thought it might
have been made of leprechaun gold."

"Erm, no," Tonks said, accepting her Sidekick back. She wiped it on her robes and managed
to get most of the paint off before she returned it to her pocket. Then, curious, she added,
"Why would it be made of leprechaun gold?"

"Oh, it's not, I just thought it might be... Perhaps you haven't heard," she said, looking
thoughtful. "Rufus Scrimgeour's part leprechaun, so-"

"Is your mother home?" Mad-Eye asked, clearing his throat. Tonks bit the inside of her cheek
and rearranged her face slightly to keep from laughing.

"Yes," the girl said, staring at them both again. "Would you like to see her?"

"Yes please," Tonks said, and – after a glance at Mad-Eye - entered the house.
 The loss of Padfoot's pride

Sirius strode out of the fireplace as soon as Grimmauld's kitchen materialised and only
paused long enough to take in the abandoned frying pan on the stove – Kreacher'd obviously
left in a hurry – before he sprinted up the stairs, skidded on the floorboards, and launched
himself up the main staircase as Padfoot. He cut his paws on glass – from shattered lamps –
on the way up, but the thing that bothered him most about that was the implication that
Harry's magic had still been lashing out when he arrived home, instead of exhausted by
tearing down the wards at Hogwarts.

Things got noisier, the higher up Sirius went, and the reason became apparent when he
managed to distinguish his mother' shrill voice; Harry'd obviously disrupted the portraits.
Sure enough, they were lying in a pile on the floor of Kreacher's cupboard, cursing 'that
Potter brat'. Kreacher himself was there too, and Padfoot retransformed into Sirius at the sight
of him. The old elf was alternating between hitting his head against the wall, and staring
worriedly at Harry's closed door.

"Kreacher was told not to worry," Kreacher croaked, rather pitifully. "But Kreacher worries,
oh yes. The brat is not fine, oh no, even if he says he is, but Kreacher was told to stay out, oh
yes, and Kreacher listens-"

"I'll take care of it," Sirius promised, and then was hit with the niggling doubt that he might
not be able to, this time. This wasn't a self-confidence issue of Harry's, or something that
needed explaining. This was Sirius' fault. He should have waited until Harry wasn't around
before he started having a proper discussion with Dumbledore about their fallout after the
trial, and he shouldn't have let Snape provoke him as much as he had, and
her certainly shouldn't have retaliated. Lily would have hexed me for behaving the way I did
today, he thought dejectedly.And Prongs too. Moony would have, I'm sure, but then he'd have
looked just as bad as I did.

"Harry?" he called, rapping on the door. "Can I come in?" There was no response. "Harry?
Kiddo?" Still nothing. "Harry," Sirius said, "if you don't want to talk, that's fine, but could
you just let me know that you're all right?" Sirius fidgeted. "Harry? Kiddo, I'm coming in."

When that didn't win him even a protest in response, Sirius tried the doorknob, and was
surprised to find the door was unlocked. It swung open. It was not as messy as he'd expected;
there were clothes on the floor but they looked like they'd been dropped there, not thrown
around by accidental magic. The desk was always untidy, and clearly not affected by magic
either. Harry's bed was unmade but he never did that anyway, and Harry himself was draped
rather precariously on the end, unmoving.

"Harry," Sirius said, stepping forward. Harry didn't even twitch. Sirius swore under his breath
and approached the bed. Harry was indeed unconscious. He was very pale, rather clammy
and also bleeding from a serious, but not life-threatening cut on his lower neck.
Splinching, Sirius thought with a grimace. He scooped Harry up and rearranged him on the
bed properly – he had to pluck his godson's wand out of his tightly clenched fist after almost
poking himself in the eye – and then fixed the cut and cleaned the blood away with a few
waves of his wand.

A few diagnostics convinced him that there was nothing truly wrong with Harry – other than
being exhausted – he set up a charm to tell him when Harry's feet touched the floor – a charm
he'd found in that parenting book Remus had given him for Christmas – and left the room.
Kreacher was still waiting out on the landing.

"He's asleep," Sirius said, in a voice that sounded hollow even to his own ears.

"Wake the brat," Kreacher suggested, with an uncommonly shrewd look. Sirius shifted and
glanced at Harry's door. Then he shook his head, without meeting Kreacher's eyes. Kreacher
harrumphed and pointed at the stairs. "Kreacher will make tea," he decided. Sirius didn't
argue; he shuffled downstairs, and felt even guiltier than he had already when Kreacher
refused to let him repair any of the damage Harry'd made.

Three hours, seven cups of tea and one conclusion - that Remus must have gone home or
stayed at Hogwarts because he still hadn't shown up – later, Sirius jumped as his wand
vibrated; Harry was out of bed. Sirius drained the rest of his tea and got up – Kreacher
glanced at him and then turned back to the chopping board – feeling nervous, and also
incredibly embarrassed and ashamed of.

Because of Snape? Sirius asked himself, as he trudged upstairs. Or because of how I

acted? He still hadn't decided by the time he reached Harry's door – which was still closed –
and knocked.

"Harry?" There was no response, but this time, Sirius was sure it was because Harry was
ignoring him. "Kiddo, can I come in?"

"If I say no will you do it anyway?" Harry asked. There was more bite than humour in his
voice, and Sirius flinched.

"No," he said, after a pause. There was silence – as Harry mulled that over – and then a huff.

"All right," Harry said, and Sirius stepped into the room. Harry was curled up in his desk
chair, staring out of the window with a distant expression on his young face and his wand
held tightly in his fist. Sirius lifted his wand to conjure himself a chair and then thought better
of it. He remained on his feet. "Thanks for fixing my neck," Harry said, without looking at
him. Sirius waved his hand dismissively.

"Do you feel okay?"

"Tired," was all Harry offered.

"Can I talk to you?"

"You already are," Harry replied, still not looking at him.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said.

"I don't want an apology!" Harry told him, spinning his chair around.

"That's too bad," Sirius said. "You're getting one anyway."

"But you didn't do anything to me," Harry mumbled, looking at him properly for the first
time.

Sirius rolled his eyes but he was sad to see just how guarded Harry's face was. He was clearly
trying to look composed but he was failing miserably; every few seconds he'd clench his jaw,
as if to remind himself that he was angry, and he couldn't hide the look of disappointment that
kept flickering through his brilliant green eyes.

"I upset you," he said. Harry shrugged, trying to look indifferent. "I'm sorry for being such a
git to Snape-"

"I don't care about that," Harry said. Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Well a bit, but not much. He
deserves it."

"It's still no excuse," Sirius said, now a little thrown; what exactly had he done to upset his
godson? He waited. Harry swallowed noisily, shifted his wand from his left hand to his right
and squared his jaw. His eyes, which had more or less been avoiding Sirius' until now, flicked
up to watch his face.

"Did you really try to kill Snape?" he asked, getting straight to the point as Sirius had hoped
he would.

Ah. Sirius took a deep breath. "I-" Harry watched him critically, and moved his wand almost
imperceptibly so that it was pointed at Sirius. He'safraid of me, he realised. With that thought
came shame and it burned.

"Don't lie," Harry said. "Please." Sirius nodded slowly, and sat down on the end of Harry's
bed.

"It was an accident."

"So you did."

"I didn't mean to," Sirius said, letting out a noisy breath. "It was a full moon. James and Peter
were waiting for me in the dormitory, and then all three of us were going to go down to keep
Remus company. Snape was... Snape." Harry's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm not trying to
defend myself, I promise. I'm just trying to put things into perspective. Snape'd been
following us all around, trying to get us expelled - Merlin knows why - and usually it wasn't a
problem but since I had to get back to the others and we all had to get down to Moony, my
patience was running fairly thin.

"Snape was making some uncannily accurate guesses about where Moony was and I got more
and more frustrated before I finally told him how to get past the Whomping Willow. I
honestly didn't mean to. I was angry and it slipped out and I couldn't take it back." He smiled
without humour.

"You sent Snape down to where a live werewolf was?" Harry asked.

"Look, I was young, I was stupid and I wanted Snape to bugger off and leave me the hell
alone... I wasn't thinking at all." Harry didn't contradict him. Sirius didn't expect him to. "Of
course, the first thing I did was try to Obliviate the git. The second thing I did was tell
James."

"Bet he thought it was funny," Harry muttered.

"Funny? Not at all!" Harry looked bewildered and... hopeful? "He went down after Snape. He
saved his life." There was more to it of course, but the rest wasn't exactly relevant.

"And you just sat by?" Harry asked, a little angrily.

"Of course not. That was Peter's job; he sat on his bed and did his homework. No, I went and
told McGongall what I'd done and then I went down to help James carry Snivellus out - he
fainted when he heard me coming."

"Oh," Harry said.

"Oh?" Sirius repeated, amused despite himself. Harry flushed but he lowered his wand
slightly.

"So it was an accident?"

"Didn't I already say that?"

Harry bit his lip. "What was my dad really like?"

"What do you mean what was he really-"

"Was he obnoxious?" Harry blurted, looking pained. "Snape said he was capable of murder at
the age of sixteen-"

"Never," Sirius said firmly. "Obnoxious, perhaps - we all were, really. Capable of murder...
absolutely not."

"He didn't want Snape dead?"

"Weren't you listening before? James saved Snape. And I- I told him how to get down there,
sure, but I didn't actually want him to get hurt. I'm a git, kiddo, but I'm not a monster."
Harry's face brightened a bit, and Sirius wondered what part if was that had reassured him. A
moment later, though, Harry was looking frustrated.

"Why does he hate him so much?" Harry asked, frustrated.

"Who?"
"Snape, and Dad."

"It's just one of those things, kiddo. Jealousy was a big part of it; James was a Quidditch
player - either Chaser or Seeker and brilliant at both - he was smart, popular, everyone liked
him. Snape was an oddball. Lily was his only friend and even she stopped trying after fifth
year – he said some things, and he was too interested in the Dark Arts for her to be able to
forgive him... I won't lie and say James and I didn't give the git a hard time, but he wasn't the
type to sit there and take it - we got as good as we gave, I assure you." Harry didn't seem to
know whether to be comforted by that or not.

After a short while, his eyes grew distant again and he lost himself in his own thoughts.
Sirius waited patiently, ready to answer any other questions he might have but none came. It's
hard to remember that he's not even ten yet, he thought, sighing quietly. Harry was almost
independent, and very mature in the way he spoke and carried himself.

"Padfoot?" Still using nicknames, he thought, relieved. That's a good sign.

"Yeah?"

"You still have boils on your face."

"I know." They were awfully itchy too, but they could wait.

"Padfoot," Harry said again.

"Yeah?"

"Sorry for leaving so suddenly, before."

"At Hogwarts?" Harry nodded. He rolled his eyes. "Kiddo, that's not something to apologise
for. We've already established I was being a prat. It's my fault for making you leave...
although..."

"Yes?"

"Next time you see him, you should probably apologise to Dumbledore for ruining his
wards."

"I didn't mean to," Harry mumbled.

"No one blames you," Sirius assured him. "It's just the polite thing to do." Harry nodded.
"So," Sirius said tentatively, "are we all right?"

Harry looked him over appraisingly and nodded.

"This is Mum," the girl said, leading them into the kitchen. A woman - presumably Aislinne
– glanced over her shoulder as they walked in. She was standing with one foot on the kitchen
bench, and the other on the back of a spindly chair. Tonks expected her to fall at any moment,
but she looked perfectly comfortable.
"Hello," she said in a voice just as airy as her daughter's. She added a few more yellow
splotches to the dragon she was painting on the kitchen cabinets and then tucked her
paintbrush behind her ear – and Tonks now knew where the daughter had learned that
particular behaviour.

"I'm Auror Moody," Mad-Eye said gruffly, flashing his badge at her. Tonks mimicked him.
"This is Trainee Tonks. We have a few questions for you."

Aislinne climbed down – Tonks knew if she'd been the one climbing, she'd have fallen and
broken something, but Aislinne managed with all of the ease of practice – wiped her hands
on her flowery jeans and glanced curiously at Mad-Eye's Sidekick.

"Interesting," she said, peering at it. Mad-Eye's mouth set, and Tonks just knew he was
getting annoyed. "That's not made out of leprechaun gold, is it?"

"No, Mummy," the girl said, "I checked." She and her mother shared a smile that made Tonks
think they were in on a rather enormous secret; a secret she and Mad Eye were excluded
from. She glanced at Mad-Eye, who was looking just as confused by the days' events as
Tonks.

"Wrackspurts bothering you?" Aislinne asked seriously. Tonks and Mad-Eye shared another
confused look, and Aislinne swiped the air around them. "The kitchen's full of them, I'm
afraid; they like the smell of paint. Here, we'll talk in my study. Would you mind putting the
kettle on, Luna, my love?"

Luna nodded and went straight to a cupboard and pulled out the strangest kettle Tonks had
ever seen; it looked a bit like a jellyfish. She and Mad-Eye had time for one confused look
before they were led into another room, lined with bookshelves. A large, intricately carved
desk took up the majority of the space – Tonks noticed several large scorch marks on the
wood's surface – and most of the floor space was taken up by bizarre looking instruments that
reminded Tonks of Dumbledore's office. These were wooden, however, not silver.

"Have a seat, please," Aislinne said, gestureing to a pair of mismatched chairs. One was a
large, squishy armchair, and the other was some sort of bar stool. Aislinne noticed her
looking at them and added, "I find a different seat can be more conductive to my research,"
she explained, sitting down in a normal desk chair on the far side of the desk. Tonks was
beginning to feel confused enough about all of this that she actually waited for Mad-Eye to
cast his charms before she sat.

"What do you know about Fenrir Greyback?" Mad-Eye asked.

"Ooh, lots," Aislinne said, looking impressed with the turn the conversation had taken. "He's
– or he was – Europe's most notorious werewolf- Did you know that a werewolf can smell if
you're happy or sad, the way a cat or dog can, even when they're human?"

"We did, yes," Mad-Eye told her.

"It would be incredibly useful, don't you think?" she continued, looking thoughtful. "My
husband published an article in his magazine about it, but we reached the conclusion that the
advantages of the heightened senses might not be worth the pain of transformation. Still,
you've got to wonder, don't you?"

"I suppose," Tonks said, when Mad-Eye didn't say anything.

"Sorry," Aislinne said, scratching a spot of paint off her wrist. She swatted at the air, like she
had in the kitchen. "Stray wrackspurt. This room's mostly warded against them, but
occasionally one will sneak through on a host." She looked at Mad-Eye. "I think this one was
yours. Do you feel any different than you did a few moments ago?"

"Stay on topic, please, Lovegood," Mad-Eye said, and Tonks suspected if he'd answered her
earlier question that the answer might not have been appropriate for polite conversation.

"Oh, Greyback," Aislinne said. "Of course, sorry. Well, I think he's a rather nasty piece of
work, and I must say it's probably a good thing he's gone-"

"You're happy he's dead?"

"Happy's a strong word," she said, shaking her blond head. "I think excited is a better word.
He'd made such an enormous mess of everything here... the poor man started off promoting
equality, which is, in my opinion, a rather admirable cause, but he got lost somewhere along
the way. Very easy to do, unfortunately, and he hurt a lot of people. He can have a fresh start
in death, and so can the people he's hurt. In life, in their case," she added.

"And you make spells for a living?" Mad-Eye asked.

"I do," Aislinne said, looking curious.

"Dangerous work, that," Mad-Eye said.

"Oh, it can be, I suppose," she said, "but someone's got to do it, and I enjoy it charms-"

"Charms?" Mad-Eye asked.

"I've always been rather useless at transfiguration," she confided, looking a little put-out. "It's
a shame, really, because it means I have to find all sorts of other, far more complicated ways
around things that should be simple, but I've just never been good with change." Tonks and
Mad-Eye shared a long look.

"Mrs Lovegood, your husband's articles are very detailed," Tonks said, glancing at Mad-Eye,
who gestured for her to ask away. "We were wondering where you got your information
from-"

"It's well researched, I'll have you know," she said, a little coolly. "All of Xenophillius' work
is."

"That's what we mean," Tonks said hastily. "It's obvious you've got an inside source – maybe
one of Greyback's victims?"
"Perhaps," Aislinne said, smiling suddenly, but she looked disappointed a moment later. "I
can't give you a name, I'm afraid. Our source is absolutely fascinating from a research
perspective, and lovely from a conversational one-"

"We have some questions for her," Mad-Eye said. Aislinne looked troubled and then shook
her head.

"I can't help you, I'm afraid."

"This is an official investigation-"

"And I'm required to answer your questions truthfully, which I've done," she said serenely. "I
can't and won't give up my source." She clasped her hands, looking decisive, but genuinely
sorry. "I'm sorry to be obstructive. If you have any other questions, I'll be happy to answer
them, but otherwise, I have a kitchen to get back to." There was a soft knock on the door and
Tonks turned and spied Luna, who was carrying a tray laden with steaming mugs. "Would
you like your tea before you go?" she asked.

Tonks sniffed – the tea was a bright blue, which was concerning – and wrinkled her nose. Her
sense of smell wasn't as good as Remus', but it was good enough to know when something
smelled like it definitely shouldn't be ingested.

"Erm," she said, glancing at Mad-Eye, who seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

"No, we've got other places to be," he said. "Thank you for the talk."

"Not a problem," Aislinne said, taking a sip from her cup. "Good luck with your
investigation." Luna showed them out and gave them a cheery wave before disappearing back
inside. Tonks turned to Mad-Eye.

"Interesting, wasn't it?" she asked mildly. Mad-Eye snorted and waved his wand. "What-"

"It'll let me know if she sends any letters, and who they're to," Mad-Eye said.

"So you don't think it was her?" Tonks asked.

"Do you?" Mad-Eye asked, and she shook her head. "Good. You've got the instincts." Tonks
beamed, but she was starting to feel ill again; if it wasn't Aislinne, she had some idea who
their murderer might be, and she didn't like the idea any more than she had that morning.

"Padfoot." Sirius jerked awake when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"For Merlin's sake, Kreacher!" he groaned. "We've talk-"

"It's Harry," Harry said. The small, dark shape standing beside his bed shifted.

"Harry, it's the middle of the night."

"I know. I just... Sorry." Sirius sat up with a sigh and rubbed his eyes.
"What's bothering you?" Harry was quiet for a long time. Sirius yawned and patted the bed
beside him, and Harry accepted the invitation and sat. "Are you feeling all right? Does your
neck-"

"It's fine."

"Erm... bad dream?" Sirius asked, smothering another yawn.

"Do you think of me as my mum or dad?" he blurted. Sirius squinted at him, but it was too
dark to make out Harry's expression. He considered lighting his wand, but he suspected he'd
just end up blinding them both. Instead, he sniffed, and was disconcerted to find that Harry
smelled worried, and also a little guilty.

"What makes you think that?" he asked finally.

"Something Snape-" Sirius groaned before he could even finish, and Harry bristled.

"Kiddo, no," he said. "I won't lie and say that you don't remind me of them from time to
time... but no. More often than not, I look at you and I see the differences... you only have to
look at your form to know you're not a copy of James, and Lily's wand doesn't work for you
anywhere near as well as Prongs' did."

"You're always saying that I'm like them, though."

Sirius smiled at touch sadly. It was only to himself, and maybe to James and Lily if they were
somehow watching, because there was no way Harry would be able to see it.

"You are, and that's probably the highest praise I can give you."

"So I'm like them, but not?" Harry asked, shifting beside him.

"Pretty much," Sirius said. "You were young enough when I took you from the Dursleys that
I had to be the responsible one." He smiled wryly, and when he realised Harry couldn't see
that, he snorted. Harry smelled amused. "That in itself is a huge difference, because I was
always the one that needed them to look after me." Harry was silent. "At the risk of sounding
like a complete sap," Sirius added, glad that it was Harry and not James he was having this
conversation with, "you have your similarities, like I said – particularly in the way you look,
but if you were enough like them that I could mistake you for them – either of them, in some
shape or way - then I wouldn't miss them as much as I do."

Harry lapsed into a thoughtful sort of silence after that, but fell asleep before he could
actually voice whatever conclusion he'd reached. Sirius chuckled, tucked some of the extra
covers around him, and rolled onto his side, hoping to go back to sleep, but no such luck; the
thoughts bouncing around in his head were too noisy to ignore.

Sirius took a deep breath and knocked once, gently, on the dark wood of Snape's office door.
He rocked back onto his heels, waiting, and when no one answered it for almost a minute, he
knocked again.
"Yes?" he heard, as the door was yanked open. Snape's dark eyes flicked up to his face, and
Sirius only had time to open his mouth before the door slammed shut, narrowly missing his
nose.

"Snape!" he called. He heard footsteps stomping away from the door, and growled under his
breath. "Snape!" He knocked again, and then paused in to listen; the office had fallen silent.
Sirius sighed and crossed to the other side of the corridor, where he folded his arms and
leaned against the cold, damp dungeon wall. "I'd like to talk if you've got a moment," Sirius
said loudly, but was met with no reply. "I'd like to apologise."

The door opened and Snape's glowering face appeared in the gap. Sirius immediately held up
his hands to show he wasn't holding a wand.

"Do get on with it, then," he sneered. It was a tone that usually got a rise out of Sirius, but not
today. He took a deep breath and gave the other man an unimpressed look. For a moment,
Snape seemed to be at a loss. "Some of us have important things to do today."

"I'm sorry," Sirius said, sincerely, and wondered what James would think of him if he could
see this. The fact that he didn't know what James' response would be, was more daunting than
the task itself. He swallowed, and wiped his hands on his robes. "I- we were kids, when this
started." He gestured between them. "And kids can be stupid. Teenagers too, but they should
know better. Adults definitely should-"

"The point, Black."

"The point, Snape," Sirius sighed, "is that this stupid grudge has been going on since we were
eleven! House prejudices turned into hexing and insults and me almost getting you killed
because I wasn't thinking, and you not helping me when you knew where Peter was-"

"I knew nothing of the kin-"

"Harry overheard you talking to my cousin. You knew," Sirius said. Snape's face was
unreadable. "I'm saying I'm done," Sirius said. "I'm sorry, and-"

"Done? Sorry?" Snape drawled. "You think that you can just apologise and all will be
forgiven? I suffered years of torment at the hands of your little friends, and you almost had
me killed-"

"A favour you did your best to return during the war," Sirius said coolly, and sighed. "No, I
don't think an apology is enough to fix everything. I don't think anything is; James saved your
life, and you still loathed him." Snape scowled. "And I don't think we'll ever be friends, or
ever like each other, but I'm sick of making an arse out of myself. Lily hated James for years
because he made an arse of himself whenever you were around, and I'll be damned if I'm
going to let Harry hate me because of the same thing-"

"Ah, so Potter's miniature told you to apologi-"

"He doesn't even know I'm here," Sirius snapped. He took a deep breath. "And I intend to
keep it that way. I don't want praise for this. This is an apology that shouldn't have had to
happen in the first place, because things shouldn't have been allowed to get so far out of
hand." Snape considered him for a long moment. "I'm not kidding," Sirius said.

"Apparently not." Snape's lip curled. "Dare I ask why this pathetic attempt at reconciliation
matters to you? I'm a Death Eater, remember? You don't trust me, and you don't value our
non-existent friendship-"

"You got a trial," Sirius said quietly.

"Oh, yes," Snape said nastily. "So suddenly you care what the Ministry-"

"I don't care what the Ministry thinks," Sirius said. "But Dumbledore trusts you. And I hate
that," he admitted, with a wry grin. "I hate that he vouched for you, and I hate that you got to
walk free after everything you did. But you know what I've realised? Everyone thought I'd
done something terrible, and that was all it took for Dumbledore to stop trusting me." His
voice was a little bitter, but he couldn't help it.

"You, on the other hand," Sirius continued, "never had his trust. And he vouched for you. He
didn't speak up for me – a man he knew and had trusted - but he did for you. And you can
call Dumbledore old, or senile, or whatever the hell you want to call him, but he's not stupid.
And if he was willing to trust you enough to put his neck on the line by championing you,
then whatever you did, or whatever you told him must have been good-"

"I have no idea what you're talking about-"

"Oh, you do," Sirius said. Snape shifted, looking uncomfortable for the first time.

"I'm not telling you," he said.

"I never asked you to." Snape blinked.

"No," he said slowly. They stared at each other for a long time. They were still rivals – the
amount of resentment coming off of Snape was threatening to make Sirius sneeze – but the
hatred was gone, or at least absent from this conversation. Snape's scent shifted abruptly, to
curious confusion. "So what do you want from this, Black, if not my forgiveness?" The
mocking tone was back, but Sirius didn't care.

"I want you to know I'm done with this stupid feud, and that I'm sorry."

"That's it?"

"That's it," Sirius agreed.

"No favours? No expectations?"

"None, whatsoever," Sirius said, putting his hands up. He waited, half-hoping that Snape
would attempt to apologise, but he didn't. He still seemed to be trying to adjust to the idea
that Sirius didn't have an ulterior motive. Sirius ran a hand through his hair, wondering, yet
again, what James would think. Well aware that it would likely be ignored, Sirius offered his
hand. "Not enemies?" he said.
Snape stared at his hand, as if he'd never heard of a handshake before. Sirius shifted, and after
almost a minute, cleared his throat and started to lower it... and then Snape shook; very
briefly, and with a revolted look on his face, but he shook, and he didn't try to break Sirius'
fingers in the process.

"Not friends either," Snape drawled. He released Sirius' hand, wiped his own on his robes and
stalked back into his office. The door slammed shut behind him.
 Evaluating options

"Maybe something about a pack," Harry said, staring up at the ceiling of the library.

Sirius, who was flipping through a book on dark magic – more out of habit than out of hope
of actually finding anything to destroy the Horcrux – glanced over.

"A pack?" he asked.

"Mmm," Harry said. He rolled over and scribbled something down onto a piece of parchment
that was already covered in words and scratched out sentences that would hopefully form his
Animagus incantation. James, Lily and even Remus had always had very neat handwriting;
Harry had taken after Sirius with his semi-legible writing. "Like you, me and Moony. We're
all dogs, or wolves, so it's a pack." Sirius ducked his head so Harry wouldn't see the slightly
sappy grin that had spread across his face. Things had been a bit... strained was the wrong
word, but the best one Sirius could find... between him and Harry over the past week, after
the Snape incident, but Harry still considered him family, if nothing else. "What do you
think?"

"I think that sounds like it could work," he said, trying to sound casual. "Maybe-"

"Hoot," Remus said, appearing in the doorway. Cradled precariously in his arms were about
fifty envelopes.

"Post's here," Sirius told Harry, chuckling. "Is Dumbledore getting you to distribute Hogwarts
letters, this year?" Sirius asked. "You've got enough there." Remus scowled, and threw the
pile at Sirius, who managed to catch two, get poked in the eye by one, and missed the others
entirely; they fluttered to the floor. Harry crawled over and scraped them into a messy pile,
while Sirius swore and muttered rude things about Remus under his breath. Remus glanced
up sharply, and looked at Harry, but he didn't seem to have heard. Sirius wasn't looking
forward to having to censor himself once Harry had excellent hearing too. "How was lunch?"
he asked Remus, who'd flopped down onto the couch.

A grin – probably not dissimilar to the one Sirius had been wearing a moment ago – appeared
for a brief moment – making Sirius roll his eyes; Remus was still oblivious. Harry saw the
expression and made a sound like he was smothering a laugh before he promptly buried his
face in the carpet. Sirius watched his shoulders shake, but Remus hadn't noticed; he was
frowning now.

"It was good," he said, "but I'm concerned." Sirius waited, and Harry passed him the stack of
envelopes, watching Remus curiously all the while. "She's worrying about something. Has
been all week, I think, but whatever it is, is really getting to her. She looked tired."

"Did you ask her about it?" Sirius asked.

"Well, no," Remus said, shifting. Sirius rolled his eyes again.
"So now you're both worrying – her about whatever her problem is, and you about her."
Remus blinked. "You could offer to listen," he continued. "She's allowed to say no, if she
doesn't want to share." Remus made a non-committal noise, and gestured to the letters in
front of Sirius.

"Anything interesting?" he asked. Sirius arched an eyebrow to show that no, he hadn't missed
Remus' rather obvious attempt to change the topic, but didn't comment. He sifted through the
pile, and frowned.

"Half of these are for you," he said.

"I couldn't be bothered sorting them at home," he said.

"Do you want them?"

"Burn them," Remus told him, making Harry chuckle. "They're probably all hate mail
anyway, or petitions, or job offers." Sirius grimaced; Remus had had two job offers; one from
a jewellery place in Knockturn Alley that specialised in silver, and one from the Department
of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, asking Remus to join the Werewolf Registry
Office.

Sirius used his wand to cut an envelope open. Gingerly, he extracted a piece of heavily
perfumed, pale pink parchment and held it at arm's length. "Dear Sirius," he read aloud. "I
know it's been years since we've corresponded, but your newfound innocence has inspired me
to try to renew our connection. I've been thinking about how unfairly you were treated by the
Ministry, and, while I can't speak for all of them, I'm of the opinion that you should be...
compensated. I, personally, was thinking-" Sirius cut off, choking.

"Thinking what?" Harry asked, as Sirius cast a hasty Incendio and destroyed the letter.

"Never you mind," he muttered, shocked and embarrassed. Remus was having trouble stifling
his laughter, and Sirius shot a rude hand gesture in his direction when Harry wasn't looking.

"What was in it?" Harry persisted.

"I'll tell you when you're older," Sirius said firmly, choosing a normal, parchment envelope.
Harry wrinkled his nose, apparently catching on, and nodded. Sirius cut that one and got a
scent of something bitter – which set his instincts on edge at once – but the curse triggered
before he could react.

There was a cracking sound as the bones in his hands snapped. Sirius swore, tears springing
into his eyes, and his wand and the envelope dropped onto the desk.

"Finite," Remus said, almost immediately, but it did nothing, and Sirius' wrists were next. His
vision flickered and he heard Remus try another countercharm. Pressure started to build in
his forearms, and he clenched his teeth, preparing for the breaks. Harry shouted something,
and light blinded Sirius, but then the feeling in his arms faded. He sagged in his chair,
breathing through his teeth.
Remus was already crouching beside him, casting charms to dull the pain, and other ones to
inspect the damage. Harry vanished with a pop and returned a few seconds later with their
post-full moon supplies.

"The Skele-gro bottle, please, Harry," Remus said. Sirius groaned; Skele-gro was foul stuff,
and it itched and ached like mad. Remus conjured a glass and filled it halfway. Then he held
it to Sirius' mouth and Sirius reluctantly gulped it down.

"Bloody hell," Sirius gasped, trying to keep the potion down. Remus helped him drink a glass
of water after that, thankfully.

"It's not that bad," Remus said.

"It's awful," Sirius choked, and Remus smiled wryly.

"And yet you feed it to me monthly," he said, looking amused.

"Only if the break's too tricky to fix with a wand," Sirius countered, wincing as heat raced
through his hands. "And that's not often these days." Remus smiled and nodded, to concede
his loss, and Sirius poked his tongue out.

"I don't think that looks right to me," Remus said pointedly, obviously mock-offended by the
gesture. He unscrewed the cap of the Skele-gro bottle and held it up rather menacingly,
poised to pour. "I'd better give you another dose, just in case-"

Sirius clamped his mouth shut, and lifted his arms up to fend Remus off, but without the use
of his hands, or being able to bend his wrists, he knew he'd lose if Remus actually decided to
make him drink. Sirius considered his options and did the only thing he could; put his head
down onto the desk, and managed to do so without jolting his healing hands too badly.

It had seemed like a clever idea – fool-proof even – but he hadn't noticed the pile of ashes
that had replaced the cursed envelope and the book Sirius had been reading. A cloud of black
billowed up around his head, making him sneeze. Remus and Harry burst out laughing, and
Sirius kept his eyes shut tightly, grateful they hadn't been open when his face hit the desk.

"S-scourgify," Remus managed, apparently taking pity on him. There was a scrubbing
sensation on Sirius' face and then it stopped and he deemed it safe to look up. Harry was
sniggering, but Remus had pulled himself together. Sirius rubbed his wrist on his shoulder –
very gently – because it was starting to itch. "Are you all right?"

Sirius wriggled his fingers very carefully. They were rather stiff, but not sore anymore,
though he didn't feel brave enough to move his wrists just yet.

"Never better," he grumbled. Needless to say, they were far more careful sorting through the
letters after that. Sirius refused to let Harry help at all, and sent him to the other side of the
room to keep working on his Animagus incantation. Harry went rather reluctantly, and didn't
work at all; instead, he rolled his wand between his fingers, and kept an eye on Sirius and
Remus.
None of the other letters were anywhere near as eventful, however. Someone had sent Remus
an envelope filled with some sort of potion, but both he and Sirius smelled it and were able to
incinerate it before it could cause any problems. Sirius received a whole stack of fan and hate
mail, three interview requests – which he promptly destroyed – and an envelope with the
D.M.L.E. coat of arms on it. The last, he inspected curiously, and cast a few charms on before
he deemed it safe enough to open.

The parchment that fell out was crinkled, as if the sender had changed their mind and
scrunched it up before changing their mind again.

Mr Black,

I am writing on the behalf of someone mutually known to the both of us. I know you don't owe
either of us anything, but I could really use the help.

Yours sincerely,

Gawain Robards.

Robards hadn't used official Ministry parchment, nor had he signed with his position and
office; he'd only used his name. Sirius re-read the letter and knew the 'someone' could only be
Marlene. His stomach clenched unpleasantly. He hadn't seen her for over a month – not since
she'd been guarding him and Harry in the Ministry holding cells – but things had been
understandably tense between them. She hadn't even come to his trial, though he suspected
she had something to do with Peter showing up, since her mentor was the one who'd brought
him into the courtroom.

Still, he thought, uneasily. Why does he need my help? After a few moments of thought –
permeated only by a headshake at Harry and Remus, who were looking troubled – he reached
the conclusion that he knew Marlene better than anyone... Dumbledore, McGonagall, Mad-
Eye or even Robards himself knew her, of course, but not as well as Sirius. And even Sirius
didn't know her as well as he'd used to. Who else could Robards ask for help? Sirius
wondered. He toyed with Amelia for a moment, but he was fairly sure that Robards would
have tried her before Sirius.

Sirius shoved the letter into the pocket of his jeans and stood.

"Padfoot?" Harry asked, sitting up. Remus was watching him warily. Sirius scratched his
aching wrists and then pushed his chair back under the desk.

"I'm going to the park," he said. "Either of you want to come?"

"Is Marlene okay?" Remus asked, sitting down on the bench next to Sirius. Sirius tore his
eyes away from Number Thirteen – which he'd been staring at for the last ten minutes – and
gave Remus a rather guilty look. Then he tossed a piece of parchment at Remus, which
Remus read and passed back, his suspicions confirmed. "Are you going to see him?" Sirius
shrugged.
"I probably shouldn't," he said, his eyes now fixed on Harry, who was sitting on a patch of
grass, watching something near his trainer-covered feet. Remus thought he was listening to
their conversation; his head was tilted too far in their direction for it to be coincidental.

"He's right that you don't owe her anything," Remus said, to test Sirius' reaction. As he'd
expected, Sirius rounded on him, looking furious.

"I know things haven't been friendly between her and me lately," he said in a low voice, "but
if she's in trouble..." He shook his head. "She's still an old Order member – she's still family –
and she doesn't have anyone else!"

"No, probably not," Remus agreed calmly.

"I'd do it for anyone – you, obviously, Amelia, Bean, Dung, Em-"

"I know you would," Remus said, holding up his hands. Sirius seemed to have expected an
argument of some sort, and looked bewildered when none were forthcoming. Sirius glanced
at Number Thirteen again, and then quickly away. His eyes landed on a cluster of children on
the other side of the park. Most of them were wearing brightly coloured hats – Remus
assumed it was a birthday gathering of some sort – and were also still wearing their school
uniforms.

"We're family," Sirius said, his eyes drifting from the laughing children, to Harry, who was
sitting quietly, watching the birthday party too. "If it was Reg, I'd help him, even though we
didn't always see eye to eye." Remus helpfully didn't point out that Regulus was dead, and
had been for years.

"Reg never tried to kill you," he said quietly, glancing at Harry to make sure he wasn't
overheard; Sirius hadn't told Harry the full story, which Remus thought was probably for the
best.

"D'you think he's lonely?" Sirius asked.

"Erm," Remus said, thrown, "well, er... I'm sure your parents are with him again – if you
believe in that sort of thing – and James and Lily will be watching out for-"

"Not Reg," Sirius said, looking exasperated. "Harry." Harry's eyes were still fixed on the kids
on the other side of the park – they were singing a cheerful chorus of 'Happy Birthday' – and
he was wearing the strangest expression. It was a little curious, but also sad, and guilty and
embarrassed.

"Oh," Remus said. "You shouldn't have changed the subject so abruptly-"

"'If you believe that sort of thing'," Sirius chuckled. "Honestly."

"Do you?" Remus asked. Sirius looked surprised, and then, looking a little sheepish, nodded.

"You?" Remus inclined his head, and they shared an awkward look and then glanced away.
"So," Remus said, digging up a chunk of grass with the tip of his shoe, "Harry?"
"Yeah," Sirius said, seizing the topic with relief. "Harry."

"And his loneliness," Remus agreed.

"Exactly," Sirius said, and then sighed. "He hasn't said anything, but I've wondered..."

"He's got you and Kreacher, and me," Remus said.

"Yeah, a lunatic house elf-" Sirius said this far more fondly than Remus had expected, despite
knowing how far Sirius and Kreacher's relationship had come. "-the world's most
irresponsible godfather – who was on the run from the law until very recently – and-"

"A werewolf?" Remus suggested, chuckling.

"I was going to say overly mature, overly studious godmother," Sirius said, shrugging.
Remus chuckled. "I mean, we have fun – I know we do – and thanks to Azkaban, I'm really
only twenty three..." He gave Remus a grin that made him look twenty three, instead of thirty.
"But I'm not a kid anymore. I can't be, because Harry needs a guardian more than he needs a
sibling... for the moment anyway." Remus rather thought that Sirius was a bit of both, but
was curious about what Sirius had to say, and didn't mention it. "But he needs a friend or
something," Sirius continued. "Someone his own age. I had Reg, growing up-"

"James and I didn't have anyone," Remus pointed out. "And neither did Pete." There was a
moment of silence after Peter's name – Remus wondered, briefly, how he was coping in
Azkaban, and was sure Sirius was doing the same - and then Sirius nodded.

"No, you didn't." Sirius clenched his fists; Remus didn't think it was an angry gesture, but
rather one that was to try to stop the ache that Skele-gro usually left as a parting gift. "And I
know for a fact that Jamie was lonely before Hogwarts, and over the holidays. Why do you
think he wrote to us all so much? And you can't tell me that you never wanted a friend-"

"Friends were an impossibility for me back then," Remus said, staring at the party-goers
again. "I was too dangerous." Sirius punched his arm, and then swore and clutched his hand.
Remus chuckled before he could stop himself, but his amusement was quickly replaced by
concern. "Are you all right? You haven't re-broken anything, have you?"

"Bloody git," Sirius muttered, inspecting his hand. Remus hid another smile. "And no, I
haven't. It's just tender." Sirius wriggled his fingers and then shook his hands. "A second
opinion would be nice, you know," he muttered, after a moment.

"Let's see, then," Remus said, trying to get a look at Sirius' hands.

"For Merlin's sake, Moony!" Sirius said, looking exasperated again, and this time, smacked
the side of his head. "Worth it," he said, before Remus could express any worry about his
hands. "An opinion about Harry."

"I think him being lonely is possible," Remus said after a moment's thought. "He seemed to
enjoy his time with the younger Weasleys when they broke into Amelia's office, and I know
he didn't like Hydrus Malfoy, and had mixed opinions about Draco, but I do think he
appreciated the company, regardless."

"That's what I thought too."

"You've already thought about it?" Remus asked, a little surprised.

"Quite a bit," Sirius admitted. "When we were first living together, he told me he didn't want
to go to school, and I agreed – because he didn't want to – but when I thought about it more, I
realised it was too risky to let him out of the house – and have him away from me – when we
were in hiding. Keeping to ourselves was a necessity, and he never complained, so I let it be.
Ever since the trial, though, I've started to wonder..."

"You could always ask, you know," Remus said.

"I know," Sirius said.

"Then why haven't you?"

"Because I don't have a solution to offer yet." He grimaced. "If he is lonely, then I want to be
able to say something other than, 'thanks for telling me, but bad luck for the time being,
kiddo'."

The children were now playing chasey – some had retained their party hats, but the majority
were lying in the grass, like bizarre, conical flowers – and squealing on the other side of the
park. Remus watched them, and then looked at Sirius.

"School," he said.

"School?" Sirius asked, flatly. "Like those stupid little Hogwarts preparation classes they run
in Hogsmeade?" Remus blinked.

"They run what?"

"Classes," Sirius said. "Where you learn about the subjects and the Houses and how to hold
your wand properly – which is pretty pointless if you ask me, because pretty much every
teacher covers that in the first lesson anyway-"

"They have classes before Hogwarts? Like- like wizarding primary school?"

"Yeah," Sirius said, "but they're rubbish, which is why everyone learns from home, or gets a
tutor."

"Did you go?"

"No," Sirius said. "My parents hired a tutor when I turned eleven." He smiled and Remus just
knew it had ended badly.

"What happened?"
"I set her on fire," Sirius said, grimacing. "It was accidental magic!" he added, hastily. "I
didn't mean to, but... well, these things happen..." He shrugged in a sheepish, but not at all
remorseful sort of way. "Peter went."

"To the classes?" Remus asked, wondering how he'd never known this.

"Yep," Sirius said. "Seemed really proud of it too – he tried to tell me how to hold my wand
on the first morning, and he had this stupid little song that went with it – and so James and I
sat him down and told him he should never talk about those lessons or anything he'd learned
from them if he wanted to make it through his first day of real school."

Oh, Remus thought. That's how.

"But that's obviously not what you meant, is it?" Sirius asked slowly. "You didn't even know
they existed." Remus shook his head, and Sirius squinted at him. "So what were you talking
about?"

"Nymphadora, come here, for a moment, before you go running off," Mum said. Tonks poked
her head into the sitting room. Mum was waving her wand over clothes to iron them – Dad
had bought her a muggle iron for Christmas two years ago, and Mum hadn't even tried it –
and gestured with her free hand for Tonks to sit down. Tonks did. "Not on the arm of the
chair," Mum said, looking irritated, as she reached for another of Dad's shirts. Tonks slid off
the arm of the chair rather ungracefully, and ended up on her back on the seat of the chair.

"Better?" she asked. Mum rolled her eyes, but a smile was tugging at her lips.

"How's training been?" Mum said, after a moment. Tonks' heart sank. "I've hardly seen you,
so it must be busy at the moment..." This was followed by a sideways look.

"Pretty busy, yeah," Tonks said, a little uncomfortably; she couldn't remember the last time
she and Mum had had a conversation that extended beyond what was for dinner, or could
Tonks please stop Apparating into the house? "Exams are coming up."

"And then holidays?"

"Sort of," Tonks said. "Only in August, and it's not really a holiday. Normal lectures and
things are cancelled, but I'll still have to tag along with Mad-Eye on specific cases... I was
thinking of going to see Charlie and Tom, though." That made Mum smile.

"How are they?"

"Good, I think," Tonks said. "They're both still completely useless when it comes to writing,
so it's hard to tell, but neither of them have been eaten yet, so I s'pose that's good." Mum
laughed and started on a pair of Tonks' robes.

"And how are you?" Mum asked.

"Me?" Tonks asked. "Fine. Why?" Mum set her wand down and planted her hands on her
hips. Tonks felt those grey eyes on the side of her face and reluctantly met them. "What?"
"You've been down, lately," Mum said. "Quieter. Is it something to do with a boy?" Mum
cleared her throat and gave Tonks a significant look. "Or a man, even?"

"What?" Tonks asked, bewildered. "No, it's just some Auror stuff that's starting to get to me.
It's nothing." That was a blatant lie; the whole Smoky-is-Florence thing had been eating a
hole in Tonks' conscience for just over a week now, and she'd resolved to do something about
it today... she just didn't know what.

"Are you still enjoying it?" Mum asked. "You know when you first joined, I worried that you
might not be able to-"

"I can handle it," Tonks snapped, and Mum bristled.

"Don't you take that tone with me, Nymphadora Gladys Tonks," Mum said, lifting her wand
in warning. "You're obviously stressed at the moment but that doesn't mean I'll tolerate you
being rude."

"Don't call me Nymphadora," Tonks grumbled, feeling guilty.

"I'll call you whatever I want to," Mum said firmly, ironing the creases out of another pair of
robes. "So what's this Auror stuff that's bothering you?"

"I'm not supposed to talk about it," she said.

"This is me, though. Come on, I'll bet all of your friends know," Mum said, arching an
eyebrow.

"Actually they don't," Tonks said.

"Oh," Mum said, apparently thrown. Tonks thought shock was a fair response; generally
Tonks was reasonably open about her problems, so it meant it was something important if it
was being kept a secret. "All right, sweetheart," Mum said, looking troubled. "I'll leave Auror
things to you, then, all right?" Tonks smiled, grateful it was Mum she was having this
conversation with; she and Dad probably saw eye to eye on more issues than she and Mum
did, but Dad would have tired to convince her to open up and ask for help. Mum, as a
Slytherin, usually knew when to back off and let other people deal with their own problems.

"Sounds good to me," Tonks said. She whispered her Sidekick's passcode and checked the
time. "Bugger," she said, and Mum opened her mouth to tell her off. Tonks slid off the couch
and bounced to her feet. "I'd better go, or I'll be late," she said over the top of Mum's voice.
She kissed Mum's cheek. "Love you!"

"Nymphador-"

But Tonk had already turned on the spot. The living room melted around her and became the
alley around the corner from the visitor's entrance to the Ministry.

"All right," she told herself. "By the time I get to Level Two, I will have decided."
She took a deep breath and climbed into the phonebox. Giving herself a deadline seemed to
have helped a bit; she wasn't coming in for training (that wasn't until that afternoon) but
Florence and Yaxley were studying in one of the lecture theatres, and had extended the offer
for Tonks to join them. Mad-Eye was in his office, with their list of blue-magic wielding
suspects. She could go to him, or she could go to Florence, and she'd been distant with both
lately, so there'd be questions, she was sure of it. And she'd have to give answers.

It was Mad-Eye she went to, as had probably been inevitable. He didn't look up when she
walked in, but she thought his eye was probably trained on her through the top of his head.

"Nymphadora," he said, and then he did look up.

"Sir," she said nervously. An odd expression settled itself on his face, one that was hopeful
and wary all at once. "I- It's Florence. Florence Prewett," she managed, before her nerve
broke. Mad-Eye gestured for her to sit.

"I know," he said.

"You what?" Tonks whispered, glad that she had sat, or her legs might have given way.

"I know. Have for a few days. Prewett's Lovegood's cousin, which is how she knew her and
was able to organise the first interview. And Lovegood's a good sort as far as upholding
confidentiality, but the way she defended Smoky's identity made me think it was personal.
And I was right. Prewett's on the list, had access to Greyback – as well as motive if she's a
werewolf, and because of Clarke's death – and she got an O for her Transfiguration N.E.W.T.;
fourth highest score we've ever had, behind Potter, you and Black, so she's capable."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I almost did," Mad-Eye said. "Then I realised that you already knew, and I wanted to see
how you'd handle it."

"A test?" she asked weakly. "I haven't slept for days, and I've been worrying and, and- and it
was a test?!"

"Prewett's involvement isn't," Mad-Eye said, looking grim. "But your response was." Tonks
couldn't even find the energy to be angry.

"Did I pass?" she asked.

"It's never that easy," he sighed.

"So what do we do?" she asked in a small voice.

"We talk to her," Mad-Eye said. "And then we go from there."

"I'll help," Tonks said. "I want to know why."

"You'll find out why," Mad-Eye said grimly. "But you'll do that from the sidelines. I'll be
asking the questions."
"Your wand," Mad-Eye said, holding his hand out. Florence produced her wand slowly and
pressed it into his scarred hand. Then she sat down, folded her ankles and clasped her hands
in her lap. Tonks closed Mad-Eye's office door and cast a few charms to prevent
eavesdropping, and also locked it.

"I'm not running," Florence said, glancing at Tonks over her shoulder. "You don't need to lock
it."

"Do you know why you're here?" Mad-Eye growled.

"I know," Florence said quietly.

"You're accused of Fenrir Greyback's murder," Mad-Eye said. Florence said nothing. Tonks
felt like crying, because her silence was as good as a confession. Tonks conjured herself a
chair and sat down, hugging her knees to her chest. Mad-Eye gave her a look, and she
unfolded herself – reluctantly – and earned a small nod. "I don't need to tell you how serious
this is, do I?"

"No," she murmured. "But given the circumstances, I think-"

"Circumstances?" Mad-Eye asked.

"Give who it was," Florence said, with a rather flinty look in her eye.

"Murder's wrong, no matter the victim," Mad-Eye said.

"Have you ever killed anyone, Auror Moody?"

"I'm not the one answering questions," Mad-Eye said, and it was obvious that he had. Tonks
hugged her knees again, and this time, Mad-Eye didn't tell her off.

"During the war?" Florence asked, and Mad-Eye, surprisingly, nodded. "Because you had to?
To save someone?"

"In the heat of the moment, because I had no other choice," Mad-Eye said. "You had a
choice-"

"He'd already killed Melvin," Florence said. "He's bitten over a hundred, and killed probably
just as many others. It might not be war in the conventional sense, sir, but it's still war. It's
high casualties, caused by one git with an inflated sense of self-importance, and it's been
drawn out over twenty years instead of two, but that doesn't make it any less horrible."

"It doesn't justify killing-"

"You fought in the war," she said. "If you'd had a clear shot at You-Know-Who, would you
honestly have left it, because 'killing is wrong'?"

"Murder's-"
"Murder's wrong, certainly-" Florence said, over the top of Mad-Eye, while Tonks stared
between them; it was like watching Chasers pass a Quaffle back and forward. "-so why is the
death of one such a big issue?"

"Greyback may have been a murderer, but he was restrained, and not in a position to threaten
anybody," Mad-Eye growled, looking a little flustered. "He wasn't dangerous at the-"

"Wasn't dangerous?!" Florence said, looking angry. "He's always dangerous! He doesn't need
a wand to hurt people!" Tonks remembered the attack on Matt in London, and shuddered.

"He was already being punished for his crimes-"

"In Azkaban?" Florence asked, rolling her eyes. "Greyback's not human enough to be
affected enough by Dementors for it to have punished him at all. He wouldn't have liked it,
obviously, but he'd have been back to his normal, monstrous self within a week of being let
out."

"He might have changed-"

"Azkaban's a prison, not a correctional facility!" Florence snapped. "If you really believe
people can change, then why was Sirius Black's escape such a big issue? He spent seven
years there; surely he should have changed if anyone was going to! You know as well as I do
that Greyback wouldn't have; he'd have come back with a vengeance. I'm not saying I did the
right thing – it's morally questionable, I know that – but I don't think it was the wrong thing,
and I certainly think his death's got more positives associated with it than it does negatives."

Mad-Eye and Tonks shared a despairing look, and Florence folded her arms, watching them
with a steely expression.
 An offer of assistance

"So what exactly are you hoping to accomplish here?" Florence asked, lifting her chin. She'd
been sitting down for almost an hour - her legs were beginning to cramp – and she had
nothing to show for her time; she hadn't been arrested, and she hadn't been freed. All that had
happened was that she'd had her morality questioned, been told off, and the three of them had
grown steadily more frustrated. Tonks looked at Moody like she too wanted answers. Moody
glowered at her, but it was a softer look than the one that had previously been directed at
Florence.

"What you did was wrong-"

"No," she snapped, "it wasn't! I picked a side-"

"There are no sides-"

"Obviously there are; if you and that monster that called me 'Daughter' were on the same
side, he wouldn't have been arrested! It's your jobnot to be on his side!"

And not to be on mine, she added silently, pleased that Tonks hadn't spoken up to defend her,
or challenged Moody on her behalf. She'd worried Tonks might not take her as a serious
threat because of how friendly Tonks was with that other wolf, the one who'd been in the
papers with Black.

"We can't just let you go," Moody said, his blue eye rolling toward her. His dark one stayed
fixed on Tonks, whose shoulders had slumped. Florence felt sorry for the poor girl; with
Melvin and McKinnon gone, and her own future starting its inevitable downwards spiral,
Tonks would only have Ben and Salacia. An Auror wasn't an easy occupation to choose, but
Florence rather thought their group had had a harder first year than most.

"So it's off to Azkaban with me, then?" Florence asked, frowning.

Moody was quiet for a long time, and Tonks' breathing almost stopped. Florence could hear
her heart racing, and gave her a small, sad smile. Tonks' face crumpled, and she dropped her
eyes. Moody sighed and looked between the two of them.

"It should be. That would be the fair thing to do. Murder's murder." Florence bit her tongue to
keep from arguing. She'd made her arguments before – convincing ones, or at least she'd
thought so – and didn't see the sense in repeating them.

"Shall I pack a bag then?" Florence asked. She could smell his reluctance – whether it was
because he knew arresting her wasn't fair, or if it was purely because of Tonks, she didn't
know – but she wasn't above playing to that. Moody seemed like the type of man that needed
a push in one direction to make him choose the other. "And hand in my letter of resignation?"
She watched him carefully, fairly sure that this approach was risk-free. Moody watched back,
his expression unhappy.
"You should," he said finally, and Florence's heart skipped a beat. Her arguments had been far
too well reasoned for this to be the outcome, and while she'd thought about what would
happen if she was caught, she'd never believed that she'd actually be sent to Azkaban. Tonks
had squeezed her eyes closed, and her hands were clamped so tightly around each other that
they were white-knuckled and shaking slightly.

"Will you enforce that?" Florence asked quietly. Moody barely paused before he answered.

"No," he said, and Florence couldn't help but feel a little smug. She thought, perhaps, that he
was hoping her conscience would force her to hand herself in.

Good luck with that, she thought sadly. She felt obliged to put herself in a position that best
enabled her to serve the wizarding world but beyond that, she had no conscience. What little
of it that had remained after Greyback first attacked her had died with him, though that was
probably for the best. If she didn't have a conscience, it couldn't be corrupted. All she had to
do was stick to the decisions she'd made when she did have one, and she'd be fine.

For a while, anyway. She didn't feel like a monster – except on full moons – but she'd grown
up hearing stories, and she'd read enough accounts in books to know that she'd turn one day,
and hurt someone.

She didn't have a choice in the matter. All werewolves were like Greyback – that's what
everyone said – and just because she wasn't now, didn't mean that she wouldn't be tomorrow,
or next week, or next month. All the books said she was a monster, and that many authors
couldn't be wrong. If they were, then why were people so prejudiced, so afraid? It was only a
matter of time, and she'd already had two years.

She knew she didn't have long left, but she was going to make her time count, and to do that,
she needed her job. She needed to save good people, and lock the bad ones away, and with
any luck, she'd be killed capturing a criminal. That way her colleagues wouldn't have to deal
with her when she went bad. Her eyes found Tonks, who was staring fixedly at the floor.
Florence wondered if she might be better off in Azkaban.

Probably. But she wasn't ready yet. Getting rid of Greyback was a good contribution, but
there were still others out there. Others that had chosen to be monsters, rather than forced into
it. And she wanted them behind bars, or dead so that by the time she joined them, she was the
worst thing out there. She swallowed and looked up at Moody.

"So I can go?"

"You can go... until the end of August," Moody said.

Three weeks. Florence's jaw set, but she inclined her head and said nothing.

"You can sit your exams, and you can finish the year so you don't draw attention to yourself.
After that, compulsory lessons finish. You'll still have to deal with Finch, but one Auror's
better than the Department. Turn yourself in, run for it... How you handle it is up to you, but
if you come back on the first of September, I will have you arrested. Am I clear?"
"Perfectly," Florence said. She knew her chances of getting her wand back were non-existent,
so she didn't bother asking for it. She stood and headed for the door, already searching for
potential loopholes. Obliviation...? she wondered, twisting her mouth. She reached for the
handle as Tonks flicked her wand to cancel whatever charms she'd put up, and Florence
nodded her thanks and pulled the door open.

Dawlish and a squat woman in pink who'd been involved in the Black trial glanced in her
direction as they walked past. Florence didn't like the smell of either of them – conniving and
hungry in Dawlish's case, and sickly sweet like poison in the woman's - and decided to walk
the other way, but Moody cleared his throat loudly before she'd taken more than a few steps.

"Wait a moment," he said from the doorway, looking thoughtful. She turned, arching an
eyebrow, but Moody was silent for a while, as if weighing his options. Then he glanced over
his shoulder. "Nymphadora, will you be our Bonder?" Florence stiffened, and caught
Moody's scent of grim satisfaction. "All you're going to promise is not to hurt anyone," he
said, "or to erase our memories." Florence pursed her lips. "I don'tthink you're the type, but-"

"-but I killed Greyback and can't be trusted," she said lightly. Moody glanced around, as if
she was mad for speaking about it so casually, and Florence cursed herself. The corridor was
empty – aside from Dawlish and his companion – but they'd vanished around the corner...
they'd fallen silent, however. Florence frowned, and made a few mental estimations.
Tentatively, she decided they hadn't been close enough to have heard. Or so she hoped; she
was a bit uncertain about normal human hearing after two years with wolf ears. She eyed the
corner, but neither reappeared.

"Do I have to?" she asked Moody.

"Constant vigilance." Tonks' voice drifted out of the office and was steadier than Florence
had expected.

"Indeed," Florence murmured. She stepped back into the office and offered Moody her small
hand.

"...have this back," Auror Moody said gruffly. "Thank you for your participation, Prewett."
There was a pause, and Dolores strained her ears, even though magic was doing the
eavesdropping for her. And sweet Salazar, she'd heard things she could make use of. "Sorry
it's come to this."

"So am I," the trainee – Prewett – said, though she didn't sound sorry, just tired. "See you
tonight." Dolores glanced around the corner and saw the girl who'd admitted to killing
Greyback exit Moody's office. The girl set off toward the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office
rather slowly, as if her mind was elsewhere. Dolores walked after her.

Prewett turned around almost as soon as she started to move, and her eyes narrowed. She
brushed her hair out of her face as spun again, her hand jumping to her pocket. She walked
away briskly, but she was shorter than Dolores and not at all difficult to keep pace with.

"Hem hem," Dolores said, and Prewett's shoulders stiffened. She jerked around.
"Are you lost, Madam?"

"No, I'm exactly where I need to be, thank you," Dolores said, smiling. Prewett's eyes flicked
over the bow in her hair – Dolores adjusted it absently - and folded her arms. "Have you got a
moment, dear?"

"What for?"

"My, the Aurors are raising their recruits to be suspicious these days!" Dolores said with a
laugh that she hoped reassured the girl. "I won't bite, dear, I just want to talk. My office is
free."

"Who are you?" Prewett asked, not looking impressed. Dolores' smile withered; usually,
people knew who she was.

"I am Dolores Umbridge, from the Department of Management and Control of Magical
Children and Junior Undersecretary to the Minister." Dolores patted Prewett's arm and
gestured toward the lift. "This way, dear."

Dolores suspected Prewett would have refused if she'd been able to find a way to do so
politely; she glanced at Moody's office and then sighed and shuffled after Dolores, who was
itching to tell the girl to pick up her feet when she walked. She refrained.

Shortly after, they'd settled in Dolores' office and Dolores had set up several privacy wards,
because no one could know about their meeting. Prewett eyed the kittens on the walls and
curled her lip.

"I would have picked you as a cat person," Dolores said, arching an eyebrow. She tapped her
teapot to get the water inside to boil. "Tea?" Prewett shook her head, and Dolores barely
managed not to roll her eyes; she'd expect someone with a name as prestigious as Prewett to
display basic manners. She reached for the sugar pot. "So you don't like cats?"

"I don't hate them," Prewett offered. She frowned. "Did you really bring me here to talk about
cats?"

"Dogs, actually. One in particular." Prewett pursed her lips. "Greyback. He's an acquaintance
of yours, I believe?"

"In a sense."

"You killed him," Dolores whispered, adding her fourth spoonful of sugar. The office was
quiet, except for the sound of the teaspoon on the side of the teacup. Prewett seemed to be
struggling for words. "I heard you confess to Moody, and I heard the Vow you made."
Prewett pinched her nose and made a soft, annoyed sound. "And I'd like to help you." Prewett
blinked and glanced up through her fringe.

"Help?" she asked, sounding confused and hopeful. Dolores smiled at her and patted her
hand.
"Yes, dear. Help." Dolores leaned back and took a sip of tea. "I can make your problems go
away."

"How?" Prewett asked, frowning.

"I have very good connections. The Minister would be moved by your plight, I'm sure." And
Cornelius had managed to follow her advice – as well as Mr Malfoy's – these past few
months, to resecure his position. It had been a delicate situation, but he'd come out well at the
end of it. He had power again, though perhaps not quite as much as when he was first elected.

"Moved by my plight?" Prewett asked.

"You've done the wizarding world a service, by destroying that awful beast," Dolores said
kindly. "The Aurors aren't allowed to think so, of course, but we in other Departments aren't
so blinded. You should be rewarded, not punished."

"I shouldn't be punished," Prewett said. "But I don't deserve a reward either. It should just
stay neutral." Dolores took a moment to process that, and then smiled, satisfied; the girl had
simple needs, and was self-sacrificing, as was typical for most Aurors. She'd be easy to work
with. Dawlish seemed to be the selfish exception.

"But it's not neutral, is it?" Prewett didn't say anything. "And that's why I'd like to help you."

"You can keep me in the Program?"

"Tricky business, that, but yes, I think I can." Very tricky, considering she'd be acting alone in
this particular situation; that way, Prewett would be entirely in her debt, and far more
malleable than if they shared a lust for power, the way she did with Mr Malfoy and Dawlish.
Prewett would be her little puppet, feeding her inside information from the D.M.L.E., which
was difficult to penetrate, and having her own personal informant would reduce her need to
rely on Dawlish at all; frankly, Dawlish was infuriating, and now, it seemed, he was
replaceable. And, it would force Mr Malfoy to rely on her, instead of her relying on him.
Dolores felt her smile widen.

"How?"

"I'll need access to Moody's suspect list," Dolores said. "Easy enough to get, I think." There
were spells, there was plain old sneaking, there was always sending someone -
an Imperius on Moody's trainee, or going in under Polyjuice – or even interrogating the
trainee were all possibilities. "Then, I simply pay someone to confess everything. You can
give them the details they'd need, we think of a suitable motive, and they do some time in
Azkaban." Prewett looked ill.

"It won't be long," Dolores assured her. "They'll get a trial, and the Wizengamot is forgiving
in special cases like this one. And when they're freed, they'll have a large sum of money
waiting for them. Moody might still know the truth, but he won't argue, not when the
evidence is so conclusive." Dolores smiled encouragingly.

"You won't force anyone to take the fall for me, will you?"
"Of course not, dear. I'll make the offer, and they'll be free to accept it or turn it down. I'm
very diplomatic."

"I want to meet the person before they agree to anything. I- I know one of the suspects, and
she can't be allowed to do it."

"Of course," Dolores said, taking another sip of tea. Prewett was silent, apparently thinking
things over.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked finally.

"I need help too," Dolores admitted, putting her teacup down. Prewett arched an eyebrow. "I
work for the Minister, and the Minister serves the Ministry... and the Ministry's been rather...
segregated since Black's trial. We're trying to achieve inter-Departmental unity, but your
Department – the Auror Department – is resisting that. Scrimgeour seems to be running
things on his own."

"Scrimgeour's a good Department Head."

"I never said he wasn't, dear, only that he's becoming too independent. We're starting to worry
that he's trying to break free of the Ministry all together-" Prewett frowned thoughtfully. "-
and that his judgement is becoming obscured by his newly elevated status. We - that is, the
Minister and I – want to repair things before they become a serious problem."

"That doesn't have anything to do with me," Prewett pointed out.

"Not directly," Dolores said. "But you've got an inside perspective that neither the Minister or
I could hope to achieve. You know the dynamics of the Department, dear, and you know who
really runs things, and what their political opinions are."

"I'm just a trainee."

"You're in a position that's easy to overlook, which makes you all the more valuable,"
Dolores corrected. "We could use your opinions on the way certain events play out, and your
warnings if Scrimgeour does ever attempt to separate himself from the Ministry, or worse; if
he ever chooses to try to overthrow us."

"You want me to keep you updated on happenings in the Department," Prewett said, "in
return for arranging for me to stay in the Program."

"I think it's quite a reasonable-"

"So do I," Prewett said. Dolores hid her smile in her tea.

Florence left Umbridge's office feeling like she needed a shower. The woman absolutely
reeked of flowery perfume, and sugar and nastiness.

Umbridge's offer to keep Florence in the Program was all she had to work with at the
moment, and, while it wasn't fool-proof, it secured more loose ends than anything else she'd
managed to think of yet, which wasn't much.

As for what Umbridge wanted in return... well, Florence wasn't happy about that side of
things. She couldn't believe the woman's gall; what sort of meddling cow tried to blackmail
someone into spying on the Auror Department?!

Oh, Florence would accept her conditions - she'd do whatever she had to to keep her job – but
Umbridge wasn't going to get anything useful from her, that was for sure.

"You came," Robards said, looking stunned. Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets and
leaned against the side of the cubicle.

"Eventually," Sirius murmured. It was mid-July – almost two weeks since he'd received
Robards' letter asking for his help – and he'd finally decided to come in and have a meeting
with the man. He'd decided that he wanted to help almost straight away, but then he'd forced
himself to think about things – properly – before he committed himself to it. He'd realised
that agreeing to help Marlene would probably mean spending a lot of time with her, and he'd
realised that that would mean forgiving her.

He'd thought he'd be able to manage that; there were a lot of unresolved issues between them,
caused by faults (or perceived faults) on both sides, so it wouldn't be easy, but Sirius thought
or hoped it would be possible. He'd tried to visit her at Number Thirteen several times, but
she'd always been out. Two days ago, he'd broken in in a fit of immaturity, and been disturbed
to find the house seemingly abandoned inside. While he'd already decided to help, that had
been the event that prompted his visit to Robards.

"You came," Robards said again, shaking his head. "That's good enough for me." Sirius
nodded, a little taken aback by his sincerity.

"So what's wrong with her?" he asked warily. Robards sighed and gestured for him to sit
down. Sirius did, taking a very simple, very uncomfortable wooden chair, while Robards
pulled a piece of parchment and a wand out of his desk drawer. "Your letter was pretty
vague... And her house is empty." Robards looked up sharply, and then shook his head
slightly and passed Sirius a piece of worn parchment.

Gawain, it said.

I'm sure by now, Sirius is a free man, and well on his way to settling back into the wizarding
world. With any luck, it will be an easy transition... no thanks to me.

I'm sure, if you had the chance to speak to me, you'd try to talk me out of this, but while I've
listened to you in the past, I refuse to even hear your opinion on this matter. What I've done is
unforgivable – literally – and I need to atone for that.

The box contains my house key, and my vault key. Sell my house, and everything in it – I've
taken my most prized possessions with me – and add the earnings from that to my vault.
Contact Sirius and tell him that he and Harry are entitled to as much money as they need. It
cannot begin to compensate for what I've done, but it's a start. Give the rest to St Mungo's.
Do what you want with my wand. I won't be needing it any more.

I'm sorry.

Marlene.

Sirius leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. He read the letter again, and then dragged
a breath in between his teeth and shook his head.

What have you done, Marls? he wondered. I'll agree that you've made a few mistakes, but
what sort of atonement could you possibly be hoping to achieve that couldn't be managed
with an apology? It occurred to him that she was now as scared of him as he'd once been of
her; scared of judgement, of not being forgiven, of being attacked in retaliation. Sirius felt
sick.

"When?" he said, and was embarrassed to hear that he was croaking. He cleared his throat,
but Gawain didn't seem to have judged him from it. "When was this written?"

"May," Robards said, folding his hands, and setting them on his desk.

"May?" Sirius repeated, weakly. "So- so it's been – what – two months? She just picked up
and vanished two months ago – without her wand – and no one's seen or heard from her
since?!"

"Black, sit down," Robards sighed. Sirius looked down and saw that he was indeed standing,
and that the letter was crumpled in his fist. Embarrassed, he sat and passed it back. "Your
summary of the situation is accurate. I've tried everything; I've tried to think of her and
Apparate, I've been to seers and asked them to scry her for me, I've Apparated to all of the
popular wizarding and muggle locations in London and searched on foot, and with spells, but
I can't find her." Robards looked ill by the time he'd stopped speaking, and his eyes were
shadowed. "I've run out of ideas, and it's not helping that I'm so emotionally attached to the
situation."

"And I won't be?"

"You're a fresh pair of eyes," Robards said helplessly. "You know her, and you're no stranger
to vanishing off the face of the earth yourself." Sirius shrugged awkwardly. "I just- I need a
lead, need something to work with."

"And you think I can give you that?" Sirius asked carefully. Merlin, Marls, two months? He
closed his eyes briefly.

"I'll try anything at this point." Sirius looked at Robards and was well able to believe that.
Sirius was quiet for a moment, thinking things over. "And I can be flexible; I'll work around
your commitments, and I'll pay you-"

"You don't have to pay me," Sirius said at once. Even after that ridiculous fine for not
registering Padfoot, he probably had enough money to comfortably support himself, Harry
and Remus for the rest of their lives.
"-and I'll provide you with anything you might need. This, for starters." Robards passed
Sirius a heavy golden object that looked a bit like a pocket watch. Sirius returned Marlene's
letter to Robards, in exchange. "It's McKinnon's, but given the circumstances-"

"What is it?" Sirius asked, rattling it.

"A Secure Communication and Identification Device with Coordinate Clock... A Sidekick."
Robards smiled, and pulled out his own, which was a little more tarnished than the one Sirius
held. "Courage, virtue, determination and intelligence," he said, and both folded open. Inside
was incredibly complex, but Robards gave him a quick lesson on how to use it – and changed
the name on the front to read Sirius Black - and Sirius thought he'd manage.

"And that symbol-" Robards tapped small owl that was engraved on the inside of the device,
alongside almost twenty other symbols – Sirius saw a lynx, an eye, two small birds – one was
a robin, the other a finch - a bear, two runes he didn't recognise and a mermaid amongst other
things. "-is a direct link between this device and my own. Some Aurors have phrases, or
passwords, all you have to do to reach me is say my name."

"Your full name, or title, or-"

"Robards," Robards said. "Nice and simple. That's how they used to work – by names – and
then Mad-Eye Moody thought it might be a security risk, so he campaigned to make
passwords available." Sirius smiled to himself.

"What inspired these?" he asked, shaking Marlene's Sidekick.

"Mirrors," Robards told him, pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill. Sirius grinned, a
little sadly, and added that to his list of things to tell James tonight, before he went to bed.
Sirius was sure that James, wherever he was, would appreciate the news, though it was
possible he already knew. "So... when are you able to help?" Sirius frowned, counting days in
his head. "I'll take an hour a week if that's all you can give me. A different hour every week if
you're not able to be consistent." Robards, Sirius realised, was desperate.

"I can do a few hours on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons," Sirius said; it had taken them
the better part of two weeks, but he and Remus had finally talked Harry into attending
muggle school, come September. Remus had done some research – Matt and Dora had both
attended muggle primary schools – and was trying to catch Harry up on the year and a half of
schooling he'd missed when he and Sirius were in hiding. Sirius generally found other things
to do while Harry and Remus were working on that, the same way Remus usually went and
occupied himself elsewhere when Sirius was helping Harry with his Animagus project.

Hopefully, come September, the gaps in Harry's muggle education would only be small, and
he could focus on the socialisation aspect of things, which was the point of the idea of
sending him to school in the first place. Making friends was also the part that Harry was most
scared about, thanks to his cousin, and Sirius was eternally grateful that Harry'd met the
Weasleys and Draco Malfoy and had mostly positive experiences, or convincing him that yes,
he was capable of making friends would have been downright impossible.

"Wednesday and Saturdays?" Robards wrote that down.

"Except for the thirty-first," Sirius said. "I won't be working on that day."

"I can give you time off if you need it," Robards said at once. Sirius smiled.

"Those two afternoons are all I can do for now." Robards nodded, not seeming at all
disappointed. "But come September, Harry'll start school, and that'll free up my week days."

"I'll take what I can get," Robards said fervently, making a note of that. "You don't understand
how much this means- how much I need the help. I'll get a second desk – it'll only be small,
but there's not room for anything bigger, I'm afraid – and put it in the corner, there. Consider
this cubicle yours whenever you need it. That Sidekick'll get you access to the Ministry
library, should you need anything from there, or anything in the Department of Magical
Records. It gives you a lot of authority."

For the first time, Robards looked a bit like his old, stern self, and Sirius felt the urge to
fidget. The shape was wrong, but his eyes were green enough to remind him of Lily's, and her
stares had always been terrifying. "It should go without saying that if you abuse that
authority, I'll have to confiscate that Sidekick, and it'll make finding McKinnon a lot harder."

"I'll behave," Sirius assured him. Robards gave him a thoughtful, slightly wary look that
made Sirius wonder what stories he'd heard about Sirius' school days, or even about Sirius'
early days in the Program. Thankfully, though, he either hadn't heard the worst of it, or
whatever he was seeing when he looked at Sirius now was enough to override that. Sirius
privately thought it was the latter.

"Thank you," Robards said. "For behaving, and for agreeing to help." Robards stood and held
out his hand, which Sirius shook. "I know after everything that happened, agreeing to help
me help her can't have been easy."

"It was a lot easier than you'd think," Sirius said quietly. Robards gave him a long look and
then smiled sadly and nodded. This time, Sirius did fidget. "So, tell me what you know."

"She's wandless," Robards said, holding up a slender wand that Sirius knew almost as well as
his own. "And the last spell she cast with this was a permanent transfiguration on her hair, to
turn it blond." Sirius wrinkled his nose. "She's homeless – I've set up wards specific to her to
let me know if she ever goes home – and I've been up to the Bureau of Wizarding Family
History to get her family tree and gone to meet everyone that's a third cousin or closer that's
still alive to see if they've seen or heard anything, but they're as clueless as I am. I've talked to
Mad-Eye and Dumbledore and the trainees to compile a list of her friends, or people she
might go to for help, but-"

"But not me or Remus?"

"Remus is in league with you, and guilt over you is why she's vanished in the first place-"

"Point taken," Sirius said, feeling queasy.

"It isn't your fault," Robards said quietly. Sirius smiled wryly.
It sort of is, he thought, but didn't say anything. Robards' eyes flicked over his face.

"Last I saw her, McKinnon wasn't stable, and I don't think that any decisions she's made are
based on sound thought processes. It's entirely emotional."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

"It's supposed to give you an idea of what we're dealing with." Sirius sighed and waved a
hand to tell Robards to continue. "She's also broke. She hasn't touched her Gringotts account
since the day she left to guard Potter at Malfoy Manor, and that was only a few galleons. I've
also been through all of the alerts for use of magic around muggles – if she'd somehow got
her hands on another wand, or used accidental or even wandless magic-"

"Wandless?"

"Trainees get special lessons in a chosen talent," Robards said, a little impatiently. "All they
really do in first year is submit an application, try to find a teacher and do some background
reading, but it's possible she's managed to pick something up. Or even use accidental magic;
she's probably volatile enough at the moment."

"And?"

"And nothing. Only a handful of users fitting her description out of the hundreds we've
caught, but none of them had the right magical signature. She hasn't used magic for months."

"Or she's behind strong wards," Sirius said. "There are places that mask that sort of thing."

"There aren't many places with that kind of magic up, and McKinnon doesn't have access to
them, unless she's sleeping under a rubbish bin in Diagon Alley."

"St Mungo's?" Sirius asked.

"Checked every ward."

"So she's alone, wandless-" Sirius wouldn't say defenceless, because Marlene had a rather
impressive punch; she'd broken a Death Eater's nose in Sirius' seventh year. "-homeless and
has no money?" Robards nodded. "I'd say she's in the muggle world. If she's not using magic,
there's got to be a good reason for it and that's the only one I can think of. And she'd need to
be living with someone, because there's no way she'd be able to fend for herself."

When they'd shared his flat during the war, they'd relied on simple meals (which was all
Sirius had been capable of making) and on other Order members (namely Lily and Bean),
and on eating out, or in the kitchens at Hogwarts. Marlene must have learned to cook at least
passably while she was living alone, but she'd have had magic the entire time. She'd fare no
better in the muggle world than Sirius would.

And doesn't that just fill me with confidence, he thought miserably. What have you done,
Marly?
 Dora and the dictionary

The rest of July passed quickly after Sirius' meeting with Gawain. The majority of his time
was still spent with Harry – whether they were working on Harry's slow-going Anmagus
incantation, or flying at Remus', or playing games of chess and Exploding Snap. Then, on
Wednesdays and Saturdays, he'd leave for the Ministry just after lunch, and return in time for
dinner.

After his first few days, he'd returned home with a headache and sore throat; he and Robards
did a lot of talking, and a lot of reading and brainstorming to try to work out where in the
muggle world Marlene might have hidden herself. He was also usually exasperated by all the
stares; he'd have thought the novelty of seeing him walk around Level Two might have worn
off after the first few times, but no such luck. It really did seem that the people of wizarding
Britain had nothing better to do than gawk at Sirius wherever he went.

Had it happened during his school years, he'd probably have loved all the attention... though
back then, he'd probably have done something toearn it; some prank with one of the other
Marauders, or an impressive performance in Quidditch. All he'd done to earn their current
scrutiny, was be a victim of the Ministry's rather significant blunder... and associated himself
with Harry. Neither of those were things he particularly approved of being given celebrity-
status for, and as such, he rather wished everyone'd find themselves something else to stare
at.

Despite all the hassle of coming into the Ministry, however, Sirius would be lying if he said
he wasn't enjoying it. It was nice to get out of the house and go somewhere other than
Remus', Wolpole's, or the park across from Grimmauld. And, it was nice to feel like he was
doing something; he hadn't realised how much he'd missed having a job until he had one
again.

He liked the challenge of trying to solve puzzles, he liked the feeling that he was helping
someone – even though he was yet to find Marlene and so wasn't really helping her directly
yet, he was certainly helping Robards – and he liked the fact that about a week after he
started, he had the brainwave that perhaps she'd admitted herself to a muggle hospital, which
meant that he and Robards were out and about asking questions and looking for clues, rather
than stuck inside.

He also liked the fact, that – while they hadn't made much process – it felt like they were
already narrowing down their options, and that it was only a matter of time before they found
her. That feeling of accomplishment was something Sirius was greatly looking forward to,
after being denied it with that stupid locket for so long.

"There are still a few we haven't checked," Robards said, one afternoon in late July. He was
sitting at his desk and Sirius was leaning over his shoulder. Both were looking at an
enormous map of muggle London and the red crosses which showed which hospitals they'd
visited.
"I can do that one tomorrow, if you'd like," Sirius said, tapping the map.

"You don't work tomorrow," Robards said, twisting around in his chair to raise an eyebrow at
Sirius. Sirius shrugged.

"I'm heading that way anyway. Besides, I'm not coming in on Saturday, because-"

"It's the thirty-first," Robards said, nodding. He turned back to the map. "I know. I'll try to
cover what's left of the hospitals before next week. If I don't find anything, we can talk on
Wednesday about our next move, and if I do-"

"You'll send me a letter," Sirius said. He'd installed a muggle letter box on Number Twelve's
front fence. It had no number on it, just a painted pawprint that he, Harry and Remus had had
far too much fun administering one sunny afternoon last week. Because the owls needed to
know the Secret to be able to find either Sirius or Harry inside the boundary of the Fidelius
Charm, they'd set up an external drop-off point; all letters addressed to 'Padfoot's Place'
would find their way to him, though so far, Robards and Dumbledore were the only people
he'd told about it, and Robards was the only one who'd used it. "Or call me through the
Sidekick."

"That I wi-"

"Wotcher, Ro- oh!" Sirius and Robards both glanced up to see a green-haired Dora and a
tallish boy standing in front of them, looking sheepish. "Sorry, we didn't mean to-"

Robards glanced at Sirius who waved and cleared the desk – the boy was looking curiously at
the map – and deposited everything in the filing cabinet in the corner. He rather wished he
could climb into the drawer too; he recognised the boy now – it was the trainee from the
night with the Dementors down in the holding cell – and the last time he'd seen Dora had
been after the full moon, when she'd wanted to speak to Remus. He didn't know how his
presence would be received this time, and was a little afraid to find out.

"No news, I'm afraid, but we're looking," Robards said, gesturing for them to come in. Sirius
backed away a bit; the cubicle was relatively small, and seemed even smaller with four
people crammed inside.

"We?" the trainee asked, his eyes landing on Sirius at once. Dora looked surprised as well,
which surprised Sirius in turn; Remus hadn't told her? She got a thoughtful look on her face a
moment later, however, and then nodded, as if it made perfect sense... Sirius supposed it
probably did.

"How long for?" Dora asked.

"As long as it takes," Sirius replied. She held his gaze for a moment longer, and then beamed.
She took a step forward, and for a moment, Sirius thought she might run up and hug him.
Then her hair turned a pale pink – as did her cheeks – and she stepped back into line with the
other trainee.

"Do you need us to go," the other trainee said, "or-"

"Nah, I'm heading off anyway," Sirius said, and Robards nodded. "See you next week," he
said, giving Robards a little wave. Then he smiled and nodded at Dora and the trainee and
slipped out past them. He saw Bones and Scrimgeour talking outside an office on the way to
the lift and stopped very briefly to say hello to the pair of them, before he continued on to the
lift.

He pressed the button and had just rocked back on his heels to wait when he heard footsteps.
He glanced over his shoulder to see Dora – who was alone now – making her way over. She
looked a little nervous, but also hopeful.

"Wotcher," she said lightly, pressing the button for the lift.

"Hi," Sirius said. He was about to put his hands in his pocket but he caught himself and
passed the movement off as patting his pocket for his wand. "Are you... er..." He had no idea
what to say, so he gestured to the lift.

"Headed to the atrium," Dora replied cheerfully. "You too, right?"

"Right," Sirius said shifting. He wanted to talk to her – he did – he just had absolutely no idea
what to say. They were family, and he knew her pretty well through Remus, and through his
own – though admittedly, out-dated – experiences, but those things weren't helping at the
moment. After a slightly awkward pause, he cleared his throat, and she looked up hopefully.
He wondered if she was just as lost for words as he was. "How are you finding the Program?"
She looked relieved and Sirius grinned.

"It's brilliant," she said happily. The lift arrived and they stepped into it. Two other men – a
tall, balding red-head and an older, white haired one – hurried un just before the doors closed.
"Wotcher, Arthur," she said, and smiled at the other wizard. Both greeted her with smiles and
let her press the button for the atrium. The old wizard stared at Sirius rather unabashedly, but
the younger one – Arthur - just smiled at Sirius and then started flipping through a stack of
papers in his hands. "A bit full on at times," Dora said, startling Sirius, "but that's to be
expected. Mostly." She looked worried for a moment and then shook her head as if to dismiss
the thought.

"Things happen," Sirius agreed.

"Mmm. Hopefully things settle after the break," she said, though she didn't look comforted
by that thought.

"Remus mentioned you had exams last week," Sirius said. Dora's eyes turned a warm brown
at the mention of Remus, and Sirius wondered if she realised. He tried not to smile and failed
miserably.

"My last one was on Monday," she said. "And- what's funny?"

"Nothing," Sirius said. Dora pursed her lips, and looked uncannily like McGonagall when she
did so. Sirius noted that even her nostrils were flaring. "Merlin, that's scary," he said. Arthur
chuckled quietly in the corner, and Dora looked rather pleased with herself, but also a little
suspicious. After a moment, she let the matter drop.
"So how long have you been helping Robards?" she asked.

"Nearly two weeks," he said.

"So you're worried too?" she asked heavily.

"I guess so," he sighed.

"And you really don't have anything?"

"A few guesses," Sirius said, rubbing his chin. "Nothing solid, which is a pain in the-"

"Atrium," the lift's cool voice announced. Arthur was laughing as he and the old wizard
stepped out; Dora had a hand over her mouth and her shoulders were shaking.

"But we're looking," Sirius said, leading the way out of the lift, "and the more places we
search and don't find her brings us that much closer to the one she's at." He shrugged
helplessly, and Dora nodded. They stood in silence for a moment. "I suppose I'll see you
around," he said, gesturing to the fireplace. She'd already started to move toward her own
fireplace.

"I'll keep an eye out," she said, beaming, and Sirius smiled back in response. Dora gave him a
funny look, and then bit her lip. He gave her a moment to say anything she wanted to, but
when she remained silent, grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. He was just about to throw it
into the flames when a hand grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"Wait!" she said. "Have you had dinner yet?"

"Er, no," Sirius said, blinking. "That's where I-"

"Did you want to grab a bite?" she asked. "We're getting into the habit of seeing each other,
having an awkward conversation and then leaving and then repeating the whole thing the
next time we run into each other." Sirius had to admit she was making a very good point. He
stepped away from the fireplace to let others use it, and dropped the Floo Powder back into
its pot. "We just need to sit down and talk until it's not awkward anymore," she said.

"Excellent plan," he laughed. "Just let me tell the others that I'll be home later..." He dwindled
off, and pulled his mirror out. "Harry Potter," he said, while Dora looked on curiously. The
image in the mirror swam and then focused on the ceiling of one of the rooms at home.
"Harry!" he said. "Moony!" He waited and then called again, but no one responded. Dora
looked confused.

"Are they okay?" she asked, as he shoved his mirror back into his pocket.

"Probably in the kitchen," Sirius said, as a witch with curly hair shoved past him, stopped
when she realised who he was and started to stammer apologies. "It's fine," he said, rolling
his eyes. She apologised once more, and then hurried off to a fireplace, looking mortified.
"They obviously don't have it with them, and Moony's hearing's good, but it's not that good,"
he told Dora, who was waiting patiently. He grimaced. "And that means they'll worry if I'm
not home in the next half an hour."
Her face fell, but she nodded and said, "You should go, then. Maybe some other ti-?"

"Do you have anywhere you need to be?" Sirius asked, cutting her off. She shook her head,
and he gave her a thoughtful look. She was probably trustworthy; she'd managed to keep
Remus' secrets for the better part of a year, and she was family. There was no reason, now
that they knew that he was innocent, that he couldn't reach out to her and Andy and Ted
again. He smiled to himself.

And, if Remus finally got his act together and asked her out – which really should have
happened months ago – then he'd want to spend more time with her; and that either meant
that he'd spend less time with Sirius and Harry at Grimmauld, or that Dora would have to
come with him.

"No," she said warily.

"Your mum won't worry?"

"She knows how unpredictable the Program can be, even when it's supposed to be the
holidays," Dora assured him. "Wh-"

"Would you like to come to dinner?" Sirius asked. "Harry'll be there, and Moony-"

"Like- you mean- at your house?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"At my house, yes," Sirius said patiently. Her mouth hung open for almost a minute while she
apparently tried to decide how to respond to that.

"Are you sure it's okay? I don't want to- I mean, where you live is- well, you've been very
private-"

"Only because I don't want people to show up unannounced," he said. Dora blushed.

"Then maybe this isn't a good idea," she said.

"What do you mean?" he asked, frowning.

"Well," she said, and her hair turned a playful peachy colour. "Once I know where someone's
house is, I have this terrible habit of inviting myself over all the time. Just ask Remus." Sirius
laughed, and so did Dora, but she looked nervous. "Are you really sure that-"

"Come on," Sirius said. Dora smiled nervously and headed toward the fireplace. Sirius shook
his head, well aware that he'd probably end up making a fool of himself if he tried to tell her
their Floo address. He was bound by the Secret, and so mentioning Grimmauld Place in any
context that involved him or Harry would result in him being tongue-tied, like Remus had
been with Dumbledore. Sirius had got a lot of enjoyment out of that story, but didn't really
want a repeat. "We'll have to Apparate. Do you have anything against Side-Along?"

Sirius anticipated Dora's stumble upon landing, and so was able to catch her. She thanked
him, blushing, and then glanced around, probably trying to get her bearings. It didn't take
long. Her eyes locked onto Number Thirteen, and then widened.

"You live near McKinnon?!" she asked.

"Neighbours," he replied. He started toward Number Twelve, and heard her following. He
felt bad for seeming a bit abrupt, but he wasn't sure how much he could say without being
caught by the Charm. So, he said nothing else. He saw her eyeing off the letterbox, and the
snake on the door.

"Here?" she asked. Sirius smiled and stepped past her toward the door, making her jump.
"Sirius?" she called, worriedly. She glanced around and pulled out her wand. Sirius stared at
her, but her eyes never landed on him. It took Sirius a moment to realise what had happened.

"Guess we know it works," he muttered, and she didn't even blink; she was still glancing
between the front door and the street.

"Sirius?" she asked again, and he stepped off the top step, and out of the Fidelius Charm's
protection. She shrieked and he had to duck as a pink jinx whizzed past his ear. "Sorry!" she
gasped. "Sorry- you were just- startled- how-" Sirius laughed, and inspected the small dent
her spell had made in the wall behind him.

"I forgot about the top step," he said apologetically. "I think it's best if you wait here – I'll get
Harry and he can let you in."

"Get-" she said, and then trailed off as Sirius disappeared to her eyes again. He tapped the
front door with his wand – she didn't appear to notice that either – and stepped into the lit
hallway. The floorboard creaked as he closed the front door; Dora didn't notice that either,
though she was squinting at the house rather intently.

"Hello?" Sirius called, and he heard Remus call a greeting in reply. "I need a hand with
something!" There was a pause; they were obviously sharing a look, or one of them had said
something, and then he heard chairs scrape and then footsteps; Harry appeared at the top of
the kitchen stairs, followed only a few seconds later by Remus. They both looked curious.
"Can you get the door, Moony?" Sirius didn't really fancy being hexed, or risking Harry;
Remus, on the other hand, wasn't protected by the charm and so would be perfectly visible.

Remus gave Sirius an odd look, but strode over and pulled the door open without voicing
anything. Then he froze. Sirius couldn't see his face, but he was willing to bet there was a
silly grin on it.

"Is that Dora?" Harry asked. He sounded reasonably sure, but she did always look slightly
different, so his question was a valid one.

"That's her," Sirius agreed, ruffling Harry's hair. Dora spotted Remus, beamed and bounced
forward to give him a hug. She looked past him, into the house, but her eyes slid right over
Sirius and Harry. "Just let her know we're coming out," Sirius said to Remus, who nodded
and relayed the message.

"So no hexes," Sirius added, guiding Harry forward.

"No hexes," Remus said, and Dora looked sheepish. Harry went first – Sirius noticed Remus
brushed her arm just before he came into sight, so that she wouldn't be startled – and then
Sirius followed.

"This is bizarre," she said, shaking her head at them.

"Fidelius Charm," Remus told her. Harry took her arm and led her inside, the way he had
with Snape early last year. She followed him – tripping over the doorway as she went, though
thankfully she didn't fall – and Sirius and Remus exchanged a look and followed them inside.

"So what are you doing here?" Remus asked, as Sirius shut the door. Dora was looking
around with interest.

"Well," Sirius said, with a grin, "she asked me out to dinner-" Remus' expression changed a
little, though Sirius was having trouble reading it. "-and I suggested we eat here instead."

"I see," Remus said, pursing his lips, and it was then that Sirius was able to place his
expression and scent; jealousy, and perhaps a bit of irritation. Sirius' grin widened.

"We're always so awkward," Sirius said, grimacing. "Dinner seemed like a good way to get
comfortable with each other." Dora nodded absently, and Remus huffed, glancing between
them. Harry was hovering awkwardly by the bottom of the stairs, apparently not sure what to
make of the situation.

"Merlin, this place is fancy," Dora said, noticing the chandelier.

"Would you like a tour?" Sirius asked, giving her his most charming smile. Harry's eyes
widened slightly, and he slipped away, headed upstairs. There was no doubt in Sirius' mind
that he was probably going to try to shove everything under his bed, or into his wardrobe
before they reached the upper level.

"I'll show her around, if you'd like," Remus said, in a voice that was probably meant to be
casual. Dora cocked her head at him, and Sirius raised an eyebrow. "You've been working all
afternoon. You should probably sit down."

"I'm fine, Moony, honestly," Sirius said. He put an arm around Dora's shoulders – he felt
awkward for doing so, but he also knew it would annoy the hell out of Remus – and gestured
into the study. "This is-"

"And," Remus interrupted, "You haven't spent any time with Harry all afternoon." Sirius
realised he'd crossed a line and was close to making Remus angry. He released Dora.

"He knows my weakness," he said, grinning at her. "Just makes sure you show her where all
the bathrooms are, Rem." With that, he transformed into Padfoot and bolted up the stairs.

"Wicked!" he heard Dora exclaim, and heard Remus groan.

Harry, surprisingly, was not in his bedroom; he was in the library, filling one of the desk
drawers with bits of parchment, and several books. Padfoot turned back into Sirius and
leaned against the doorway.
"Animagus stuff," Harry said, without prompting, once he noticed Sirius. "She's an Auror,
and... I mean, you got fined, so I thought-"

"Smart," Sirius said, and Harry shrugged as if it was nothing. Sirius saw the pleased little grin
he was wearing before he turned away, however. "Here I was thinking you'd gone to tidy your
room." Harry looked at him in a way that made Sirius think he was worried for his sanity.
Then he smiled crookedly.

"I suppose that's a hint, isn't it?" Sirius raised an eyebrow, and Harry gave him a sheepish
look. "I'll do it on the full moon," he said, and Sirius believed him; Harry tended to get bored
while he and Remus were away, and did all sorts of odd jobs that he wouldn't usually bother
with.

"Deal."

"How was work? Did you-"

"Nope," Sirius sighed, stepping into the room. Harry asked the same question every time – he
could be unnervingly persistent at times – and so Sirius didn't even have to wait for him to
finish before he answered. One day soon, he was hoping that he'd be able to answer yes. He
flopped onto the couch while Harry hid the last of the books, and then sat down in the
armchair opposite him. "How'd lessons go this afternoon?"

"Fine," Harry said, shrugging. "We're just about at the end of Matt's year four work; Moony
thinks we'll be able to start year five stuff in August."

"Is it interesting?"

"I s'pose," Harry said, not sounding overly enthused about it all. There was a pause and then
he wrinkled his nose and added, "I really don't like geography."

"What do you like?" Sirius asked, hiding a smile. From the look on his face, Harry didn't like
any of the subjects all that much.

"Maths is okay," Harry offered finally, and then, "Magic is better."

"You say that," Sirius said, amused, "because you've not yet had the pleasure of one of
Professor Binns' lectures on the goblin wa-"

"Padfoot!" Remus called from somewhere below them. "Kreacher says dinner's ready!"
Harry and Sirius shared a glance and jumped up.

Remus and Dora had already settled themselves in the kitchen; Sirius was amused to see that
Remus had taken the seat beside Dora's at the table. Harry didn't even seem to have noticed,
and sat down, conveniently enough, opposite Remus... which left Sirius opposite Dora. He
grinned and sat down.

Remus looked a little smug for a moment, at least until Sirius said, "Excellent."

"What is?" Remus asked, accepting a bread roll from Kreacher.

"I'm the last person to sit down," Sirius said, smiling pleasantly, "and yet I've got the best seat
at the table, directly across from our lovely guest."

Remus didn't speak to him for the rest of the meal.

Harry's tenth birthday fell on a Saturday, and, while Sirius insisted he was more than
welcome, Remus opted not to head over to Grimmauld until lunchtime, so that Sirius and
Harry could have some time together.

He'd expected them to have a large breakfast – courtesy of Kreacher – spend time
unwrapping presents (and probably end up attacking each other with the masses of wrapping
paper), and then play with the presents, or spend time planning some sort of prank with
which to get Remus with upon his arrival.

He had not expected, even in his wildest imaginings, to walk down into the kitchen and find
Sirius and Harry sitting at the kitchen table, with Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy. Three
(four, when Remus spotted Kreacher) of them were wearing gaudy party hats, though Sirius
was the only one who didn't seem to mind his. Kreacher looked indifferent, but Remus rather
suspected he'd been forbidden to take it off.

Harry was tugging at his while he alternated between talking to Draco and sending wary
glances at Sirius and Snape. Draco was holding his head very still, and kept reaching for the
hat, only to check the movement and drop his hands back into his lap. His pale eyes were
fixed rather intently on Sirius. Snape's hat rested in a crumpled heap, by his elbow, and his
expression was sour, though that may just have been because he was talking to Sirius.

"Moony," Sirius said, spotting him. He flicked his wand and Remus felt a slight weight settle
itself on his head. He reached up to confirm that he was indeed wearing a hat like the rest of
them. "Had a good morning?" Remus nodded, stunned, and managed to stammer a happy
birthday at Harry, who accepted it with a smile – Remus patted his pocket, to tell him they'd
do presents later - and then gave Remus a confused sort of shrug, as if he had no idea how
whatever this was had happened either.

"Lupin," Snape drawled.

"Snape," Remus said, blinking. Sirius waved him over, and Remus staggered in their general
direction and sat down between Sirius and Harry. Draco gave him a thoughtful look and then
smiled. Remus waved at him, before looking over at Sirius in askance.

Sirius missed the look entirely, however, because he was talking to Snape. Talking. Not
yelling. Not insulting. Talking. His tone was a little strained, and a bit too polite to be
considered normal, but they were talking. And Snape looked like he was undergoing an
unpleasant ordeal, and his tone was clipped, but he was talking back.

"-sound like anything I've ever heard of before," Snape was saying.

"Well, no," Sirius replied. "I don't expect it would; I invented it."
"You?" Snape asked doubtfully. "I've heard of- I've made potions in my own mind, potions
which affect my mental state – a Calming Drought, for instance – but spells-"

"It was complicated," Sirius said.

"Obviously not, if someone with no former Occlumency experience was able to manage it in
a few mere months," Snape said. There was no bite behind it – just a bit of impatience -
which astonished Remus.

"I was working on it full time," Sirius said. "But most of it was just building off of methods
that had already been established. It was only making a wand and casting spells that I really
came up-"

"Do you have notes?" Snape asked. Sirius blinked, and Remus could tell from his scent how
surprised he was by that particular question.

"I- yeah, loads." Sirius blinked again, as if he couldn't believe he was having this
conversation. "They're upstairs-"

"Might I be able to read them?" It looked like it was killing Snape to ask that. Remus' insides
clenched; at any moment, Sirius was going to laugh and say something about not letting
Snape get his greasy hands on his hard work. And things would go downhill from there and-

"Yeah, sure. It sort of goes without saying to not let them fall into the wrong hands... and not
to let anyone else read-"

"Do I look like an idiot, Black?" Snape drawled.

"A bit," Sirius said. "I mean, you're the only one not wearing a party h-"

"You are a fool," Snape said, rolling his eyes,

"Obviously not, or you wouldn't want my notes," Sirius shot back. There was a pause, and
then Sirius lifted an eyebrow. Snape opened his mouth, looking irate, but then closed it again
and said nothing. Sirius grinned, but quickly hid the expression behind his glass of juice, and
for the briefest moment, Remus would have sworn that Snape's scowl vanished.

"Is something wrong?" Draco asked the side of Potter's head. "You're supposed to look at
people when they're talking to you."

"You've been looking over there too," Potter said, arching an eyebrow. Draco felt the colour
rise in his cheeks. He'd asked Mother about the White Sheep a few weeks ago. She'd told him
two stories; one about her sister – not Aunt Bella; the other one, Andromeda – and also about
Sirius Black, the man sitting not three feet from him now.

And, while Draco was hardly about to run away with a muggleborn like Andromeda, he was
now a little afraid that one day, he and his family would clash like Black had clashed with his
family. He had a good reason to stare.
"Have not," Draco said weakly.

"Is it Moony?" Potter asked, and something rather defensive crept into his tone.

"The werewolf?" Draco asked, eying Lupin, who looked completely confused. "No." Potter
gave him a rather wary look. Draco thought he was expecting a self-righteous declaration of
how werewolves were inferior. The only werewolf Draco had ever met was Lupin, however,
and he seemed all right, even if Father didn't like him. Draco would never admit it, but he
suspected Potter was probably a better judge of character than Father... or he was at least
more open minded.

"So what's- I mean, what is it you're staring at?" Potter asked.

Draco hesitated. Had anyone else asked – anyone but Severus, or perhaps Mother – he'd have
lied. He was a good liar, now, or at least he thought so; when he and Severus played those
strange games, Severus often struggled to distinguish between lies and truths. Severus didn't
realise how useful that had become at home, and during dinner parties. He probably just
thought it was a strange game. To Draco, though, the skill had become something invaluable,
and he wanted to find some way to thank Severus... without necessarily tipping him off; he
doubted Severus would approve if he knew.

Draco glanced at Potter again – Potter, who'd given him the most valuable piece of advice
anyone had ever given him – except possibly Severus, when he'd scarred Draco's palm. Potter
had told him to stay quiet about his beliefs, particularly around Father, and Potter was the one
who'd told him about the sheep in the first place.

"Sheep," Draco said. Potter glanced at the adults, looking completely bewildered. He
straightened his party hat absently, and then looked back at Draco.

"The- what- the sheep?" he asked.

"Yes, Potter," Draco said, rolling his eyes. Draco liked Potter most of the time, but he was
ridiculously daft. "The sheep. The white sheep, from that story...?"

"Oh," Potter said, his eyes widening. "So you asked about it, then?" Draco nodded curtly.

"It was good advice," he said quietly.

"Thanks." Potter fiddled with his hat once more, and then yanked it off and tossed it down,
like Severus had done. Relieved, Draco did the same, since he was no longer in danger of
being rude; Potter had done it first, and it was his birthday, so he should be able to make the
rules. Draco nodded again, a little awkwardly.

"So why are you staring?" he asked.

"Padfoot and Snape don't get along," Potter said, his eyes drifting away from Draco again.

"They seem to be doing fine," Draco commented. They both looked a little tense, but neither
seemed too hostile.
"I know," Potter said, looking unnerved. He blinked and turned back to Draco, who only saw
the movement out of the corner of his eye; he was back to watching Black, who was scowling
at Lupin. Severus looked amused.

"Potter," Draco said.

"Malfoy?" Potter said.

"Does Black- is he lonely?" Draco clasped his hands in his lap.

"Not lonely, I don't think," Potter said, after a moment. "Wh-"

"Does he miss his family?" Draco blurted.

"His blood family, or his real one?" Potter asked, pushing his glasses up.

There's no difference, Draco thought, exasperated, and decided that Potter was an idiot.

"Never mind," he said dismissively. Potter frowned – perhaps he didn't like Draco's tone –
but let the matter drop. It got a little awkward after that, but Draco didn't really care; things
were always awkward for him, lately, even around his family; he had taken to avoiding
Father as much as possible, just in case Father decided Draco had become too strange and
told him to leave, and so, when they were around each other, they were distant enough that it
was more like talking to Mr Greengrass, or Mr Parkinson than it was like talking to Father.

Hydrus had, until about a month ago, been firmly on Draco's side whenever he said
something without thinking at dinner parties (at home, they were still as antagonistic as ever).
After Nadia's birthday, at the beginning of July, however, Hydrus had changed his mind, and
apparently decided that Draco was no longer worth defending. Draco had been more
surprised and hurt by the loss of his brother's public support than he probably should have
been.

He should have seen it coming – it was the Slytherin thing to do – but for some reason, he'd
expected Hydrus to take his side, even if it was the losing one. Draco had been even more
startled to realise he thought that way because that was what he would have done. The others
had followed Hydrus' lead in the matter – Pansy was the friend he missed the most - and as a
result, he was now spending the majority of their gatherings with Theodore and Catherine,
and occasionally Vivienne (who seemed caught in the middle of an ongoing feud between her
sisters). Draco hoped that his and Theodore's tentative camaraderie lasted until Hogwarts;
he'd be very lonely in Slytherin otherwise.

Then there was Mother. He still felt awful for making her cry on the night of his birthday
dinner. He'd tried to fix it. Honestly, he had. He'd tried to copy Hydrus, and his father, but he
found himself disagreeing with them – not that he ever voiced it, of course – and the scar on
his palm was too strong of a reminder. So he found himself stepping and speaking carefully
around Mother too. He was still closer to her than Father or Hydrus – they still hugged, and
she still told him stories – but he was being careful not to upset her. She wasn't a bad mother -
the fault was all his – and he didn't want to give her any evidence that made her think so.
Yes, things had been very awkward whenever Draco was involved.

"Thanks for the... you know, present," Potter said finally, gesturing to the dictionary that lay
on a small pile of gleaming silver wrapping paper.

"I told you I'd buy you one," Draco said, loftily. He'd had no idea how to get it to Potter, but
then he'd mentioned it in passing to Severus, who'd got an odd look on his face and said
something about testing a truce. Draco hadn't entirely believed him until they'd found
themselves on a muggle street, and Potter and Black had quite literally appeared out of
nowhere. They'd all stared at each other, and then Black had – very awkwardly – invited them
inside. "Fun as it is to try to interpret your uhs and erms, it's rather tiresome."

"If you think I'm bad, you should hear Moony after-" Potter trailed off, looking wary.

"After..?" Draco prompted.

"The full moon," Potter said, with an odd expression. His eyes were fixed on Draco rather
intently. "He can hardly talk." Draco arched an eyebrow.

"If Lupin's able to form semi-coherent sounds after a night of no sleep, and two
transformations, Potter, then I haven't even the faintest clue what your excuse is." Potter
opened his mouth and seemed – unsurprisingly – lost for words. "Merlin, Potter, as if I
needed any more evidence to support my point..."

Potter burst out laughing, and Draco felt a smile – no, it felt different; a... grin? – spread
across his face in response.

Merlin, I have changed, he thought. Malfoys don't grin! As if on cue, the adults looked over,
and Draco hastily smoothed his expression. Black looked curious, Lupin looked even more
confused than he had before, and Severus... Severus looked a little sad.
 Harry Evans

"I think you're enjoying your freedom far too much," Tonks observed. She, Charlie and Tom
were sitting on the balcony of the boys' little house in the Romanian Highlands, on the
outskirts of the reserve. Mad-Eye had give her the last week of August off, and she'd
Portkeyed to Romania to surprise them.

Charlie's hair was shorter, and he wasn't quite as chubby as he had been – still stocky, but
with more muscle. He also had quite a few more freckles than when she'd last seen him, and
several burns that had been acquired in the last year. Tom had had a haircut too, had filled out
a bit – he'd been lanky in school - and was looking very tanned. He also seemed to have taken
better care of himself; he didn't have any burns, or at least not where Tonks could see them.

Charlie and Tom shared a glance and then raised their butterbeers in a toast – probably to
freedom.

"Maybe a bit," Tom drawled. "When we've got it, anyway. Our hours are probably just as
long as yours."

"Although ours are set," Charlie said, a little too smugly.

"Yours are," Tom said, sharing a long suffering look with Tonks. "We-" He gestured to
himself and then at her. "-don't have that luxury." Charlie did a lot of research, but he
operated during reasonably normal hours. Tom – like Tonks – had to be available whenever
he was needed; he was a dragon healer.

"You chose it," Charlie said, grinning.

"We're selfless," Tom said haughtily. "Serving others, even at our own expense."

"He's fond of saying that," Charlie said. "It's like he doesn't think him thumping around in the
unsociable hours of the morning is enough of a reminder." He gave Tom a pointed look. "It
is."

Tom chuckled, and Tonks glanced between them, amused. Several hours and several
butterbeers each later, they were still out on the balcony, having not moved, except to fetch
scarves. Tonks had shared some of Mad-Eye's funnier moments – which usually occurred at
her own expense – and Charlie and Tom had shared some of their own stories in return;
Tonks learned the stories behind several of the burns on Charlie, and Tom showed her the
detailed tattoo (it was, a dragon, of course) on his shoulder, that Charlie had persuaded him to
get one night after a few too many firewhiskeys.

She also learned that they'd both had haircuts after one of the other dragonkeepers had her
hair set on fire by a grumpy hatchling. Tonks thought that was rather sensible of them.

"So what's happened with Black?" Charlie asked. "We hear a bit through the wireless, but the
translation was dodgy. It was either innocent, or guilty; we couldn't tell if they said
'nevinovat', or 'vinovat'-"

"He's innocent," Tonks said, and that of course, led to all sorts of questions about the trial,
and how he'd been caught, and that led to Tonks sharing the story of Ron and Ginny sneaking
into Bones' office to meet Harry. Charlie didn't seem to know whether to be more
embarrassed or impressed. Tom just clapped him on the shoulder, and snorted.

"Oh, come on; if we were there age, don't you reckon we'd have done it?" Charlie shook his
head, in a way that didn't manage to convey whether he agreed or disagreed with Tom, and
gestured for Tonks to keep talking.

"All right," Charlie said, when they'd temporarily run out of things to talk about, "I've got to
ask: what's happening with you and Lupin?"

"What do you mean?" Tonks asked, blinking at him.

"Are you dating, or-"

"Dating?!" Tonks exclaimed. "No, we're just good friends."

"Good friends?" Tom repeated dubiously. Tonks felt her hair change colour; she thought it
was probably a reddish pink, for embarrassment, and anger.

"Yes, good friends," she snapped.

"We're your good friends," Tom said, "but I don't reckon you talk about us quite as much as
you talk about this Lupin bloke."

"How would you know?" she asked, but she knew he was probably right. "Besides, that
doesn't mean anything; he just happens to have been there a lot this past year, because he was
involved with the search, and with Greyback, and with the trial."

"Oh, obviously," Charlie said, grinning at Tom, who nodded in a rather condescending way.

"I don't fancy him," Tonks told them, blushing. "He's just a-a good friend," she finished
lamely. Perhaps not her longest friend – the way Charlie and Tom were – but this year in
particular, Remus had probably been her best friend. And that's all they were. Friends. She
nodded.

"Yeah, it sure sounds like it," Tom agreed, in a voice completely devoid of any drawl. That in
itself made Tonks think he was making fun of her. "So tell us more about him, this good
friend of yours."

Harry and Padfoot entered a brightly lit classroom. They were early; the classroom's only
other occupants were a middle-aged, motherly sort of woman, a dark skinned man with an
easy smile, and a tall boy that was probably the man's son. Like Harry, he was wearing pair
of dark blue shorts, and a lighter blue jumper. Peeking out from underneath his jumper,
however, was a green polo shirt; Harry's was blue, for his House: Pippin.
"Hello there!" the woman sang, bustling over. She dodged a cluster of desks with all the ease
of experience and offered her hand to Padfoot, who shook it. "I'm Julie Phelps – Mrs Phelps
to you, love - and I'll be your teacher this year."

"Er, hi," Harry said, blinking as she patted his head. Next to him, Padfoot was watching the
woman with a combination of shock and amusement.

"Patrick Evans," Padfoot said, getting control of his expression. They'd decided on different
names and simple disguises – Harry had blue eyes, and hair that resembled Moony's – just to
be safe. Padfoot had asked around to make sure his name was clear in the muggle world and
had been assured that was, but just in case it hadn't been, and also because Harry didn't want
to be recognised as the Boy-Who-Disappeared-From-Surrey, they'd opted to take precautions.
"This is my son, Harry. He's new-"

"Of course, of course," she said, with a nod that made her blond curls bob up and down.
"Emmanuel told me you'd be coming." The man over by the desk smiled at Harry, and Harry
smiled back. "So Harry Evans, is it?" Harry nodded. "You're not related to Oliver, are you?"
she asked. "I taught him last year. Not very bright, but a nice boy and good at sports-"

"Er, no," Harry said, beginning to feel a little overwhelmed by how chatty this woman was.
He glanced at Padfoot, who shrugged, but put a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder.

"A bit nervous, are you, dear?" Mrs Phelps asked, blinking at him through her thick glasses.
"That's quite all right," she said, before he could answer. "It's your first day, so it's to be
expected." Still lost for words – absently, he wondered how badly Draco would mock him if
he was here to see this – Harry smiled at her. "Oh, excuse me; I think that's another one of
mine that's arrived." Harry watched as she bounced over to a girl in green, who'd come in
alone.

"Harry, wasn't it?" the man asked, approaching Harry and Padfoot. His son had gone off to
greet a boy who'd just walked in with his mother.

"Hi," Harry said.

"Emanuel Benson," he said, offering Harry his hand. Harry shook it, recognising the name –
Mr Benson was the Headmaster - and then Mr Benson offered it to Padfoot. "I thought I'd
come and say hello."

"Thank you," Padfoot said, when Harry found himself wordless for the second time in as
many minutes. Padfoot added a bit of pressure – very gentle pressure – to Harry's shoulder,
probably to tell him to calm down.

"You're lucky with Mrs Phelps; she's been a teacher here for a long time, and she's a bit of a
favourite with the kids."

"She seems nice," Harry offered, and Mr Benson smiled.

"It should go without saying that we want you to settle in as quickly and easily as possible,"
Mr Benson said, kindly, "so if you've got any problems, feel free to bring them to Mrs Phelps
or myself, and we'll see what we can do to help out, all right?"

"Yeah, thanks," Harry said. Mr Benson seemed genuine enough, but – other than Mrs
Baddams – he'd had a fairly lousy run of teachers and couldn't help but feel a little wary. Mr
Benson smiled at him again, and then glanced around.

"Blaise!" he said, waving his son over. The boy – Blaise – glanced over, muttered something
to his friend, and then walked across, giving Harry a curious look. "This is Harry."

"Hey," Blaise said.

"Hi," Harry said back, trying not to feel too daunted by how tall the other boy was. Harry'd
grown quite a bit since coming to live with Padfoot, but Blaise was still a whole head taller
than him.

"Blaise is my son," Mr Benson said, unnecessarily. "Why don't you show Harry where he can
put his bag, and help him find a desk?"

"I don't want to be any trou-"

"It's fine, kid," Blaise said, gesturing for Harry to follow. Mr Benson smiled at them both, and
then excused himself to talk to one of the other parents.

"I s'pose that's my cue to leave," Padfoot muttered, giving Harry's shoulder another squeeze.

"I s'pose," Harry said, reluctantly. He lowered his voice to make sure that Blaise – who was
hovering a few feet away – wouldn't overhear and then said, "Couldn't you just transform and
hide under my desk or something?" Padfoot chuckled and hugged him.

"I'll meet you by the school sign at three," he said. "And I'll bring Moony." He looked a little
guilty for a moment, which made Harry feel bad in turn. Padfoot and Moony both thought
school was a good idea, but they hadn't forced him into it. He'd agreed.

"Brilliant," Harry said, determined to put on a brave face, at least until Padfoot left. Then,
he'd have no choice but to be brave, because it would just be him. In fact, it'd probably be
easier once Padfoot was gone.

"And maybe we'll mess around in Moony's garden this afternoon," Padfoot added, a little
apologetically. The promise of flying that afternoon put a genuine smile on Harry's face.
"And-"

"You should go, before you promise anything else," Harry said, laughing. "I'll be fine, really."
Padfoot smiled and then he ruffled Harry's hair and slipped out of the classroom. Harry
watched him go, smile fading, until Blaise came over and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, and followed him over to a line of hooks that were obviously
supposed to hold their rucksacks; they'd used a similar system at St Grogory's.

"You can go next to me, if you'd like," Blaise said, gesturing to a hook. Harry, who'd been
eyeing off the end hook – that way, he'd only have one person next to him, and couldn't be
sandwiched and elbowed from both sides – glanced at the one Blaise was offering.

"Thanks," he said, and put his bag down. Blaise adjusted his hold on his own things while he
waited for Harry.

"Do you want to sit anywhere in particular?" Blaise asked, gesturing around the room.

I can sit anywhere? Harry wondered; Mrs Baddams and all of his earlier teachers had
believed firmly in seating plans, and Mrs Peterson hadn't, but had always put him next to
Dudley, because Dudley was used to his supposed naughtiness and knew how to handle him.

The boy Blaise had been talking to before he'd been assigned Harry-duty, had found two
others and claimed three of the four seats in a cluster and was trying – rather unsubtly – to
catch Blaise's eye. Blaise pretended not to notice, which Harry both appreciated, and felt
guilty about.

"I think they-"

"It's fine," Blaise said, glancing at them; one waved and patted the seat beside him.

"You can go," Harry said.

"Don't be silly, Evans," Blaise said, looking offended. "We'll find somewhere-"

"Seriously," Harry muttered. "It's fine." Blaise stared at him for a moment. Harry wasn't sure
what he managed to get out of his expression, but eventually he nodded reluctantly.

"At least sit nearby," Blaise said.

"Yeah, sure," Harry said.

"Are you-"

"It's fine," Harry told him. Blaise gave him a helpless sort of look and shuffled over to his
friends. A little relieved – because as much as he appreciated the help, he didn't want to draw
attention to himself by monopolising anyone – Harry deposited his things onto a cluster of
four desks, none of which were occupied.

He'd hardly had time to tuck in his chair when the one beside his was pulled out, and a green
blur dropped into it. It was the girl who'd come in alone. She gave him a nervous, almost
apologetic smile, revealing rather large front teeth, and then started to arrange her pencil case
and books.

"I'm Harry," he said, a little uncertainly, when she didn't introduce herself.

"Hermione Granger," she replied, looking surprised and pleased that he'd talked to her. She
hesitated, and then, apparently unable to help herself, said, "Are you new?" Before he could
reply, she shook her bushy head. "You must be, because you weren't in Mr Ashby's class last
year." She paused to breathe. "Where did you go to school la-"
"I think we might get started for the day," Mrs Phelps announced, to the room, saving Harry
from answering; Hermione turned away from him at once, pen poised to write. "Put your bag
away if you haven't already," Mrs Phelps said, making her way over to the blackboard, "and
choose a seat – anywhere will do for today." The last few parents trickled out the door – Mr
Benson waved at Blaise as he left – and those students left standing were quick to find seats.

It didn't escape Harry's notice that the chairs opposite him and Hermione were the last to be
taken, or that the pair that took them – a squat blond girl with a red collar sticking out of her
too-small jumper, and a girl with glasses who wore blue like Harry – didn't seem overly
impressed about the seating arrangements. Neither, for that matter, did Hermione, whose
shoulders had slumped when they sat down.

"I recognise a few faces," Mrs Phelps said, peering over the top of her class list, "but most of
you are unfamiliar, and I know for a fact that one of you is new-" At this point, she bestowed
Harry with a bright smile. He lowered himself into his seat a little, as twenty pairs of eyes
landed on him, not sure where to look. Eventually, his eyes found Blaise, who gave him a
sympathetic smile. "-so be patient for the first few days, while I learn names." She called out
the class list, marking off who was there and who was missing, and had each of them tell her
one thing about their holidays.

Harry's last two months had been quiet, but his time since he was last at school had been
anything but; he'd found out he was a wizard, been 'kidnapped', learned magic, fought Inferi,
spent a week in hospital, reconnected with one of his dad's old friends, learned to fly a
broom, been arrested, sat through a criminal trial and visited Hogwarts. He would, however,
be breaking several hundred laws if he mentioned any of that.

"I... er got a dog," he said, instead, when his turn came. "He'd been in the shelter for ages
because there was a mix-up with his papers and people thought he was dangerous, but he's
actually really friendly." Everyone seemed to find this appropriately interesting, and Harry
was relieved when the next name – Hermione – was called to take the attention away from
him. She said, rather timidly, that she and her parents had gone camping in the Forest of
Dean.

Other students had done exciting things too; a round-faced redhead named Matthew had gone
to Disneyland, an Asian boy, Colin, had gone to visit relatives in Korea, and a tall boy named
Jack had gone to France with his football club.

The class list let Harry put a few names to faces; Blaise's friends were Ryan, Sacha and Paul,
and the girls opposite him and Hermione were Ruth and Leanne respectively. The class
disintegrated into noisy chatter after a girl named Bonnie mentioned her sister's wedding –
with a few exceptions, most of the girls were cooing, and the boys were making gagging
noises – and Mrs Phelps took the opportunity to fetch a stack of papers from her desk.

"Settle down," she called, waving her free arm. Next to Harry, Hermione sat straighter, her
eyes fixed interestedly on the teacher, but she was the only one. It took several other calls –
each a little louder – to get the class' attention again. "Thank you. Now, I've put together a
little test to see how much you've remembered from last year." She beamed around at them
all, as she hugged the papers to her chest, and then tinkled a laugh; the majority of the class
had groaned (Harry amongst them), although Harry could have sworn Hermione's eyes
brightened. "Oh, come on, it won't be that bad!"

"I've heard that before," Harry heard Blaise mutter to his friends, who all laughed. Mrs
Phelps waggled a finger at him and started handing out tests.

"I'll give you half an hour, but I doubt you'll need that long. You can start as soon as you get
one... and please try your best: there are house points on offer if you do well enough."

Harry pulled out a pencil and looked at the sheet of paper on the table in front of him, feeling
cautiously optimistic that he would pass at the very least; Moony was too good a teacher for
him to fail, unless the questions were particularly obscure.

That cautious optimism was shaken a little when he reached the first dotted line (Name) and
almost wrote the wrong thing. Harry smiled wryly as he wrote 'Harry Evans' across the top of
his test. Next to him, Hermione Granger was already on Question 4. Question 1, Harry
read, assign the following Roman Numerals their relevant values. He baulked, reasonably
sure that he and Moony had never covered that!

Then he read the next part of the question (X) and his eyes widened. Hang on... that's
Latin! Harry thought, and laughed to himself as he wrote the answer down.

The test wasn't as bad as Harry had feared; he was confident about his answers to most of the
Maths questions and the Spelling ones were fairly easy too, though upon reflection he was
fairly sure 'Professor' didn't have two f's. He'd known – thanks to living there for seven-and-
a-half years – that Kent, Sussex and Hampshire were three counties that bordered Surrey,
though he'd had no idea what county neighboured Cornwall. The last question had truly
stumped him; it had been a riddle and he'd always been bad at those so he wasn't expecting
good results from that question.

"How did you go?" Hermione whispered as soon as Mrs Phelps had collected their tests.
Harry shrugged.

"Well enough, I think. How about you?"

"I don't know!" she said, looking upset. "I could only name two counties that neighboured
Surrey and I didn't know what the Roman Numeral 'D' meant!"

"Oh," Harry said. Then he blinked, realising she was expecting a longer answer. "I, er, I'm
sure you did well anyway."

"Yes, but what if I didn't?" she asked anxiously. "Mrs Phelps will think I'm stupid for the rest
of the year!"

"Maybe you just had a bad day," Harry suggested.

"Maybe," she said absently. A moment later her eyes came back into focus and she frowned.
"What did you put for 'D'?"
"Hmm? Oh, fifty," Harry said, examining a strand of his brown hair. He still wasn't entirely
used to the feeling of it lying flat.

"That's what I put!" Hermione said. "Is your answer right?"

"I think so, yeah," Harry said.

"How do you know?"

Because I'm teaching myself Latin so my wizard godfather can teach me how to transform
into a wolf. "We covered this stuff last year." This seemed to appease Hermione who shifted
in her seat so she was facing the front again. All right, then, Harry thought, bemused.

"There you are, dear," Mrs Phelps said a moment later, passing him a test.

"This isn't mine," he said, confused. "This is Hermione's." Hermione jumped and peered over
at the paper.

"Yes, dear, I know," Mrs Phelps said with a laugh that the rest of the class joined in with. "I'll
read the answers and you'll mark them. Haven't you ever done this before?"

"Er... no," Harry said. Mrs Peterson had never trusted him to do that and before then, he'd
been too young. Hermione sighed and Harry would have bet the contents of his Gringotts
vault that it was because she didn't think him capable of marking her test.

"We'll go slowly then," Mrs Phelps said, passing Hermione a piece of paper. They went
through the answers, a process that took almost twice as long as doing the test had, and by the
end, Harry was thoroughly fed up; because she'd known he had her test, Hermione had been
constantly checking to see whether her answers were right. These not-so-subtle-glances were
more often than not accompanied by comments like, 'Oh, good, I wasn't sure about that one!'
or 'I got lucky; that was just a guess!' When the marking was finally finished they were told
to tally the marks and give the test a score out of twenty.

"How did I go?" Hermione asked, craning her neck to see around Harry's hand.

"Nineteen," he told her shortly.

"Where did I lose a mark?" she said, pulling the test toward her.

"Counties surrounding Surrey," he said, letting her have the piece of paper. "Thank you," he
said to the boy who passed him his test – Ryan, he thought his name was.

"How did you go?" Hermione asked, trying to see over his shoulder.

"Sixteen out of twenty," he told her as he scanned the page; 'Professor' did indeed have one f,
Devon was beside Cornwall and the answer to the riddle (worth two marks) had been a
telephone box.

"You can keep those," Mrs Phelps said cheerfully, "to refer so you know where you can
improve. You've got recess now, until the bell and then we'll have our assembly – can
someone make sure Harry finds his way there, please?" There was a murmured assent, and
Harry felt his face warm up a little. She beamed around at them all for a moment. "Off you
go then, you lot," Mrs Phelps said fondly, seating herself at her desk.

Hermione gave Harry a nervous look and then scurried off to her hook; Harry noticed she'd
chosen the end one he'd been eyeing earlier. Harry joined the mob – Blaise was kind enough
to leave space for him to get to his rucksack – and managed to grab his recess and extract
himself from the crowd reasonably quickly, and then headed for the classroom door.

He unwrapped his recess and was cheered to see that Kreacher had packed him a slice of
treacle tart – Harry's favourite – and a few slices of apple. They hadn't even started to brown
yet, which made Harry suspect there was a charm of some sort keeping them fresh, but he
wasn't about to complain. He grinned and set off down the hall, enjoying the luxury of
making it out to recess – usually, he'd been kept in for 'misbehaving' – and that he was
blissfully alone; Dudley and his gang were nowhere in sight.

Harry's wanderings took him to the school library, which he figured was as good a place as
any to wait until recess ended. Inside was bigger than he'd expected, with rows of standard
metal shelves that were filled with – unsurprisingly – books. The covers of these were
brightly coloured and more often than not accompanied by a picture. Harry found himself
missing the large, dark-covered tomes in the library at home.

There were circular tables with plastic chairs distributed evenly around the room, and there
were a few armchairs against the walls. In one corner was a games area; Harry could see a
pair of students playing chess, four huddled around a Monopoly board and a pair of students -
who couldn't have been older than six - arguing over building blocks. In another corner of the
room there was a newspaper and magazine section and without being able to see their faces,
Harry knew the occupants were girls; boys simply didn't giggle like that. The other side of
the room was packed with students from his class who were all crowded around two
computers, no doubt blowing up aliens like Dudley had used to.

Harry found his way to a small circle of couches near the back of the library which were
unused save for one, where Hermione Granger was sitting, deeply engrossed in her
book: Maths for Secondary School. She stiffened as Harry sat down and her brown eyes
peered over the top, doing a sweep of the general area. She relaxed when she noticed it was
just Harry.

"Hi," he said, gesturing to the other couches. "Is anyone else-"

"No," she said. "But if you're going to sit here, you'll need a book. This is the quiet reading
section." Harry blinked. "And you really shouldn't have food in here." With that, Hermione's
attention drifted back to her book. Harry stood there, not sure if he was welcome to sit down
after that, or if he should just leave. Thankfully, he was interrupted only seconds later, by
Blaise's arrival.

"Oi, Evans!" Blaise was loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to incite the wrath of
the dumpy, bespectacled librarian on the other side of the library. Hermione made a quiet
noise and hid her face behind her book, as Blaise wandered over, his friends trailing behind
him. "I turned around and you were gone." Blaise looked curious, though Harry didn't think
he'd push for an answer.

"I'd heard the library was good," Harry said, shrugging. It was a lie - Harry thought Blaise's
friends knew that, if their doubtful looks were anything to go by - but Blaise accepted it
without question.

"You did well to find it," he said. "This-" Hermione looked up at the pair of them, eyes
narrowed, and opened her mouth. "Yeah, yeah," Blaise said. "Keep your hair on, kid." Harry
glanced at Hermione, who he suspected had been about to tell them off. Blaise grabbed two
books off a nearby shelf - his friends groaned and skulked over to watch the students on the
computers - and passed one to Harry, who accepted it.

"Thanks," Harry said. Blaise nodded sagely.

"You never know when you might need to know your beetle species," Blaise said, gesturing
to Harry's book. Harry chuckled; Blaise had a book on spiders. Hermione gave the pair of
them a withering look, and Harry flicked his book open and pretended to read. "So, how are
you coping?" Blaise asked. "A test on the first morning was pretty rude, if you ask me-"

"I think it was a good idea," Hermione interrupted, apparently deciding that if she couldn't
silence them, she might as well join them. She looked a little self conscious when she realised
her statement had drawn both boys' attention. "Holidays are over and a test is a good way to
remind-"

"I like school as much as the next kid," Blaise said, cutting her off, "but a test on the first day
was harsh, Granger, even you have to see that."

"I don't have to see anything," she told him, rather coolly. "I think it was necessar-"

"What do you think, Evans?" Blaise asked, cutting her off again. Two pairs of dark eyes
affixed themselves on Harry, waiting for an answer.

"I don't really like tests on any day," he said, shrugging.

"Of course not," Hermione muttered, and once again, buried herself in her book. Harry
thought she looked disappointed, which made no sense at all.

"So you got a dog, huh?" Blaise asked, after a short pause.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Padfoot."

"I've got a dog too, but she's really old," Blaise said. "Maid Marian." He grinned, but his face
fell quickly. "Oh, come on, you must have seen it!" Harry gave him a blank look. Blaise
gaped at him. "What rock did you crawl out from under this morning, kid? Don't you have a
television-"

"Er, no," Harry said. Blaise blinked, and even Hermione looked a little surprised; he caught
her eyeing him over the top of her book. Harry pretended to be interested in a fat beetle on
the cover of the book that Blaise had given him.
"So what do you do?" Blaise asked, looking equally repulsed and fascinated. Harry shrugged,
and was saved from answering both Blaise and Hermione – who looked like she'd been about
to say something – by the bell. The three of them jumped, startled, and Harry's hand twitched
toward his pocket, before he remembered he didn't have his wand.

"We should go," Harry said; while Blaise and Hermione were more used to school bells than
he was, they'd been on holidays for two months. He, on the other hand, had spent the better
part of two years becoming accustomed to loud, unexpected noises.

Blaise leaped to his feet, his consternation at Harry's lack of knowledge about television
temporarily forgotten; he and Hermione put their – and Harry's – books away, and then Blaise
led the way out of the library, toward the assembly hall. Hermione trailed alongside – not
quite next to Harry, but close enough that an outside observer would know she was with them
– in silence; out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw her open her mouth a few times, as if she
wanted to say something, but then she'd glance at Blaise, and seem to think better of it.

He couldn't yet say that he was enjoying school, but, for the first time ever, he was able to say
that he wasn't hating it.

Baby steps, Harry thought, feeling hopeful.

 Monsters in the Manor

"Dora?" Tonks jumped several inches and tore her eyes off Florence, who'd just got into the
elevator with Tonks' friend Alfred. She'd been called back from Romania a day early by Mad-
Eye, to learn that a man named Mundungus Fletcher had publicly confessed to killing
Greyback.

She and Mad-Eye had visited him in the holding cells immediately after Tonks returned –
she'd even still had her rucksack with her – and poor Fletcher had almost crumbled at the
sight of Mad-Eye. His story had made perfect sense, and his magic was a strange, dark aqua
sort of colour, according to Mad-Eye, so he was a plausible candidate, but he hadn't seemed
at all convincing when he talked to Mad-Eye; he'd seemed rather sheepish, Tonks thought,
almost as if he cared for Mad-Eye's opinion. And Mad-Eye had had a disappointed look on
his face the entire time.

It had all been very strange.

But, Fletcher had stuck to his story, and, while they knew Florence had been the one to kill
Greyback, Fletcher fit the evidence; he'd been to Azkaban before, so he knew his way
around, and, it was perfectly plausible for a man who made his living as a thief to make his
way in and out undetected.

He hadn't offered a motive, and Mad-Eye had looked like he might fuss about that – and
rightly so, Tonks thought, because Fletcher was an apparently innocent man, who was going
to be trialled and sentenced for something he hadn't done.

Fletcher, though, had looked at Mad-Eye through lidded, bloodshot eyes, and said, "Not all of
us get to be quite so comfortable during peace-time. Azkaban's not so bad, really. There's a
free bed, and free food, and other'n that it's just the Dementors. I'll be right."

Mad-Eye'd been grumpy for the rest of the day, but he'd filed the request for Fletcher's trial
and said no more on the matter. Mungdungus was currently a few days into his isolation
period, and set to have a trial later in the month. Florence, meanwhile, was still in the
Program, despite Mad-Eye's warning, leading to an uncomfortably tense first day back
amongst the trainees, because neither Ben or Yaxley knew what had transpired.

"Dora," Remus said again, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Wotcher," Tonks said, hugging him.

"Knut for your thoughts?" Remus arched an eyebrow.

"Just..." Tonks shook her head. "Auror stuff. Don't worry about it."

"It's the first day back," he said, looking dubious.

"You wouldn't think so," she muttered. He gave her a sympathetic look, and she smiled in
return. "How've you been?"

"Good, thank you," Remus said. He headed toward the elevator and she fell into step beside
him. "How was Romania?"

"Interesting," she said, fighting to keep her face unreadable. It had been fantastic to see Tom
and Charlie again, and she'd seen some interesting things on the reserve. The boys' good
natured teasing about Remus had frustrated her a bit, but it had also prompted her to give the
matter some serious thought.

She'd been a little embarrassed to realise there might actually be something in it, though she
couldn't be entirely sure; she hadn't seen Remus since she'd got back. Today, she'd be looking
at him through... not new, but definitely a slightly different set of eyes.

"How've things been here?"

"Pretty much the same," Remus said. "Harry started to school today, so I'm sure there'll be
stories from that whether it went well or poorly, though I'm certainly hoping for the former."

"Was he excited?" she asked, pressing the button to summon the lift. Remus gave her
doubtful look.

"I suppose you've only met him a handful of times... Harry doesn't really do excited.
Nervous, certainly, but excited... I don't think so."

"So he was nervous today?"

"Very," Remus said, as they stepped into the lift. "Almost as bad as Sirius; he was having
kittens when he got home." Remus cleared his throat, and did his best imitation of Sirius'
voice. "Do you think we're doing the right thing, Moony? Maybe I won't got to work today,
just in case he needs me... Maybe I'll take him a second lunch, so I can have a quick word
with him- or maybe Padfoot could sneak into the grounds at lunchtime- or-" Remus rolled his
eyes, but his smile was fond.

"I don't think Mum was that worried when I started school," Tonks laughed. "I'm pretty sure
she couldn't wait to be rid of me."

"Atrium," the cool voice announced.

"Is the Ministry cafe okay?" Tonks asked. "I've only got an hour-"

"Wherever's convenient for you," Remus said. "My only commitment today is getting Harry
from school with Sirius." Tonks smiled.

"What?" Remus asked.

"That's just really sweet," she said, flashing him a smile. Remus looked pleased with himself,
and embarrassed all at once. They picked a table by a window – a fake window, admittedly,
but there was a lovely old oak tree on the other side. Remus still didn't seem to know how to
respond, and was awkwardly opening his mouth every few seconds. Tonks passed him a
menu – even though they'd eaten here so many times that they could probably list the choices
from memory - and he gave her a grateful smile and promptly hid himself behind it.

She chuckled, and glanced down at her own menu for appearance's sake, although her eyes
kept drifting over to him, without her being entirely conscious of it.

"Do I have something on my face?" Remus asked eventually. He'd recovered his wry, amused
tone, and seemed equally wary and intrigued at the prospect of an answer.

"No," she said. "I was- Sorry." He gave her a thoughtful look, but said nothing more on the
matter. "How's Sirius? Close to finding McKinnon, do you think?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "I think the frustration's starting to set in... I mean, it's been a few
months now, but they still don't have anything more than speculation, and Sirius isn't quite as
good at guessing what goes through her head as he used to be. Hopefully now that he's
working every day, he'll find something they've missed, or they'll have the time to look
absolutely everywhere, and find her by chance."

"Maybe I'll talk to the others," Tonks said. "They might have a suggestion that Sirius and
Robards can look into."

"I think he'd appreciate that," Remus said, smiling. Tonk smiled back, trying half-heartedly to
crush the butterflies in her chest.

Yes, she thought, I fancy Remus. The thought had her blushing, and she quickly hid behind
her menu again. A lot.

By the end of the first week at school, Harry had settled into a routine. He was finding school
more enjoyable than he'd expected, and had surprised himself by liking the time out of the
house. He'd surprised himself even more, by finding his classmates not only tolerable, but
actually reasonably friendly (Ruth, Leanne and a boy named Ryan were the exceptions, but
even they were tame compared to Dudley, and they didn't target him anywhere near as much
as they targeted Hermione).

And, Blaise was usually able to make them stop, though Harry had to point out the problem,
or Blaise tended to ignore it. Their protection had earned them a tentative friend in Hermione;
she was becoming bolder when it came to conversation, and also more comfortable around
them in general. Harry spent almost all of his time with her; they sat next to each other in
class, and also in assembly (Granger came right after Evans in the attendance list) and at
break and lunch.

They did, admittedly, annoy each other a bit - Harry wasn't really one to be bossed around,
which Hermione was prone to trying to do (she wasn't used to having people stand up to her,
in a non-antagonistic way) and Harry thought she was in serious need of a sense of humour.
She was a lovely person, though, and genuine, and Harry admired the way she stood up to the
kids that gave her a hard time. He wasn't sure what she admired about him, but there must
have been something, because she hadn't run off yet.
Blaise hung around with them every lunchtime (except for Fridays, when he joined the
football game on the oval) and certainly, he was with them more than with anyone else in the
year, but he did split his time; recesses were spent with other students; Blaise, Harry had
noticed, was very good at spreading himself between friendship groups, and managed to do
so in a way that ensured no one felt abandoned when he moved on to the next group.

Blaise had something resembling a sense of humour, though it was rather wry and sarcastic.
Often, he'd make jabs that went completely over Hemione's head, leaving her prickly because
she was reasonably sure she'd been made fun of – due to his tone, or body language, Harry
supposed – but not sure how or why. And Blaise, by contrast, was very good at doing what he
was told; when Hermione was in a particularly bossy mood, he tended to go along with it
(though often in a rather condescending manner), and then seem a bit annoyed at himself
later.

Bickering, Harry thought he could have dealt with, but Blaise and Hermione's awkward not-
quite-friends-but-not-enemies-either was something he wasn't entirely sure how to deal with.
They weren't out-rightly fighting, so there was nothing to patch up, but neither did they get
along well enough for Harry to feel like he didn't need to intervene. It was a somewhat
uncomfortable friendship, but Harry treasured it all the same.

Padfoot was using the time Harry was at school to keep looking for Marlene. He was at the
Ministry every day now, though not usually on weekends. And yet, every day he'd walk
Harry from Grimmauld to school, and every day he'd be there to pick him up and walk him
home. Sometimes he'd come as a dog, and they'd chase each other home, rather than walk,
and other days he'd just come as himself, and they'd talk about their days, and just enjoy each
other's company.

Sometimes Moony came, but he'd said something about letting Harry and Padfoot have their
walks together, so usually he just dropped by in the afternoon, to talk to the pair of them, and
to offer Harry homework help if he needed it; while Padfoot was capable, and had helped
Harry when Moony wasn't there to do so, that sort of a task generally fell to Moony, because
Moony enjoyed it more than Padfoot did. During those times, Padfoot generally sat
somewhere behind Moony, and alternated between looking through paperwork to do with
Marlene, and pulling faces at Harry over Moony's shoulder.

After dinner, Harry and Padfoot spent a concerted hour on Harry's Animagus spell – Harry
still didn't feel like he was getting anywhere, but he did, at least, feel like he knew what he
was doing. When the right words came to him, he'd be set... or so he hoped. It was nice to
feel like he knew something that Blaise or Hermione didn't, too; magic. Not in a high and
mighty sort of way, like Voldemort had; Harry certainly didn't think any less of them for
being muggles.

No, it was more that both Hermione and Blaise were so studious – it was the one thing they
had in common, actually – that Harry often felt far out of his depth. Hermione had all the
book-smarts, he'd been quick to realise. She only needed to read something, and she'd have
that information stored away permanently, ready to write down on their next test. Blaise, on
the other hand, studied and read more than Hermione, but never seemed to test well; Harry
learned he'd only just scraped a pass in the test on their first day.
He could recite just about anything he'd read in conversation, or apply it to a real-life
problem, but the moment it was written down in question form, Blaise had trouble forming a
coherent response. He got nervous when he couldn't see who he was talking to, he'd admitted.

And so Harry, who paled in comparison to his new friends as far as intellect went, took small,
secret comfort in the fact that magic, at least, was something he was good at.

Blaise, for his part, didn't even seem aware that magic existed; he was about as muggle as it
was possible to be, and it was oddly refreshing after a year and a half in the magical world.
Originally, Harry had thought Hermione much the same; she was very logical, far more so
than Harry, and he'd struggled to believe that magic could exist when it was right in front of
him.

About two and a half weeks into the term, though, Hermione had missed a day of school, and
then come back and holed herself up in the library at every spare moment; she'd started to
read things like The Hobbit, The Lord of The Rings, The Chronicles of Narniaand The
Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Harry couldn't make sense of it, and it made breaks dull – sitting in
the library, while Hermione read – but she seemed to be enjoying herself; her face would
range from excited, to skeptical, to curious as she read.

Harry was curious - he had no idea what could have prompted her to suddenly stop reading
maths textbooks, and start reading fantasy - but he didn't dare question her; knowing
Hermione, she'd ask questions in return, and he'd probably end up breaking the Statute of
Secrecy, or embarrassing himself trying to avoid them.

No, it was better to just leave her to it, he'd decided.

"My son," Father said, reaching for Draco. They were standing in the foyer, at the base of the
stairs, like always. It had started after one of their functions; Draco had overheard Goyle
suggesting they go for a little adventure to a muggle suburb and cause havoc, for old times'
sake. While Father had shot down the suggestion – something about it being too risky – he
had not seemed opposed to the idea. Draco had heard enough of the conversation to have an
idea of what 'havoc' meant, and the idea that Father wasn't against it made his skin crawl.

He'd stayed silent, and read one of the few books they had about the 'old days' – the war – for
information. He'd felt guilty for doing so – Mother was openly against him or Hydrus
learning anything about the Dark Lord – but Mother'd been distracted lately, trying to plan
Hydrus' eleventh birthday dinner, and reading a book he wasn't supposed to was nowhere
near as bad as attacking people, simply because they existed.

So Draco'd read, and Draco'd learned, and Draco'd said nothing. And then the dreams had
started, every night. It had been two weeks since then.

"I don't want to be your son," Draco heard himself say as he pulled his arm out of reach.
"You don't want me to be your son."

"You're my son," Father said.

"I'm not like you," he told his father, in a quiet, semi-apologetic voice.

"You're very much like me." A mirror appeared and Draco found himself staring into it. "You
have my face." Cold fingers traced his cheek. Draco stared at his reflection. Father was
right; they did look similar. They had the same pointed chin, the same eyes, the same pale
face... the same everything, really. Draco looked more like Father than Hydrus did – Hydrus
had Mother's eyes, and her nose – and yet Father's mouth was harder – stern, and proud,
where Draco's was thoughtful – and Father's eyes were sharp, where Draco's were dull. "Do
you really think we're so different?"

"Yes," Draco said quietly. He clenched his hand to feel the scar from Severus.

"You're wrong," Father whispered.

"We're different on the inside," Draco told him, as gently as he could.

"Do you really believe that?" Draco said nothing. Father took him by the arm and pulled him
down the hall, past the portraits of their ancestors. "Look around you, son," he said harshly.
Draco tried and failed to prise his fingers off. Father let him go roughly and jabbed a finger
at the walls. "Look!" he shouted. Draco jumped and looked. "Generations of Malfoys, all
with the same faces, our faces. Are they different too?"

"They didn't... muggles, and the Dark Lord..." Draco mumbled.

"And I suppose you were around to make sure," Father said cruelly. "They're the same. We're
all the same."

"They're all monsters, then," Draco said sadly. The portraits hissed and jeered at him. Father
just sighed.

"And what do you think that makes you?" he asked, looking sad as well.

"I'll be different," Draco insisted.

"Who are you trying to convince?" Father asked softly. "Me... or you?"

Draco sat upright, gasping. He was in his bedroom. He could hear the wind outside and see
the shadows of trees dancing on the other side of his window.

He slipped out of bed, out the door and into the hall. He heard a mumble from Hydrus' room
but ignored it, making his slow way down the staircase. He stumbled once in the dark and for
a moment he thought he'd fall but then his hand found the banister again and he pressed on,
his socks almost silent on the marble. He almost fell again when he reached the bottom too
since he'd been expecting another step. The lamps on the walls flared to life when he reached
the centre of the foyer, making him jump.

"Dimmer," he told them, aware that he'd be in an awful lot of trouble if he woke Mother and
Father. He stopped at the first portrait. It was of his great grandfather, Casius Malfoy. He was
a bony man with a gaunt face, sunken eyes and long blond hair, like Father's. "We're
different," he told him.
"If you say so," the portrait mumbled and shifted so that he could rest his head against the
frame.

"We are," Draco said firmly and moved to the next one, of Pollux, Casius' brother. He'd never
met him, but his daughter - Father's Great Aunt Demetria - was supposedly just like him and
Draco didn't like her at all. He thought he'd inherited that dislike from Mother. "I'm not like
you." Pollux turned his stern look on Draco.

"Hmph! I should hope not! I'd be embarrassed if ever I awoke at two in the morning to talk to
a portrait! Hmph!" he said again, folding his arms. Draco backed away slowly and went to
the next.

"You couldn't read," he told a picture of his great-great-grandfather Cyprus. "So I'm not like
you either."

"You're named for me though. Draco Cyprus."

"That doesn't mean we're the same."

"Surely it doesn't mean we're different?" the portrait said slyly. Draco twisted his mouth.

"Draco?" Draco jumped and spun to see his brother standing midway up the stairs. He was in
his pyjamas and his hair was flat on one side. "What are you doing?"

"Bothering us!" one of the portraits shouted.

"I heard talking," Hydrus said, frowning.

"He says he's not like us!" Pollux said. "Hmph! Little fool!"

"Not like them?" Hydrus asked.

"I'm not," Draco said sadly. "You must know it." Hydrus frowned.

"You're a bit funny in the head," Hydrus told him, rather haughtily. "But you're still one of us.
Just because you've said some strange things doesn't mean you're not a Malfoy. Just look at
us, and them. We all look the same. And Father says we're just like him."

"You are. I'm not." Hydrus frowned again.

"I don't know what's had your wand in a knot lately, brother, but it needs to stop. All of this
'I'm different' rubbish... Do you not want to be one of us?"

"I do!" Draco said. "I'm just... not very good at it."

"I'll say," Hydrus muttered. He gave Draco a long look and then shook his head. "I'm going
back to bed," he announced.

"I had a bad dream," Draco admitted, staring at his socks, as his brother turned away. He
didn't know what made him say it, and felt stupid for doing so as soon as the admission left
his mouth. Hydrus stopped and turned again, giving Draco a look as if to ask what he was
supposed to do about it. "Never mind," Draco muttered.

"What about?" Hydrus asked after a moment.

Draco hesitated and then replied, "About monsters."

"Monsters?" Hydrus scoffed, picking fluff off his pyjama shirt. "They can't get us here."

"Some can," Draco whispered.

"No," Hydrus said. "The only one that can get past the wards is the Kelpie, and if Potter can
deal with it, I'm sure we can. And the wards keep out muggles as well, you know that-"

"Draco. Hydrus."

"Draco had a bad dream," Hydrus said at once, smirking.

"I see," Father said, looking uncertain. "Bed, Hydrus, please." Hydrus nodded at Draco –
probably convinced that he'd just done him a huge favour, and not just left him alone with the
feature of his nightmares. "A bad dream? Father asked softly.

"It's nothing," Draco said quickly.

"And yet you're up and about in the middle of the night, talking to your brother about it."
Father took a step forward, and Draco flinched and stepped back. Father looked disconcerted,
and stepped forward again. Hesitantly – he'd never have tried it with Hydrus – he put a hand
on Draco's shoulder. His hand was warmer than in the dream, which comforted Draco. He
leaned into the touch automatically, and Father sighed and pulled his hand away. Draco
looked at him. "What was this dream?" Father asked.

Draco sat down on the bottom step. Father didn't sit with him, though mother or Severus
might have, if they were with him instead.

"It was about momsters," Draco said timidly. Father sighed again. "They were in the Manor.
They are in the Manor."

"I assure you, Draco, that the wards keep out absolutely everything that you could possibly
be afraid of." Draco said nothing. For the third time, Father sighed. Then he rubbed his eyes
and yawned. "Do you feel as if you are in any immediate danger?"

"No," Draco mumbled.

"Then I suggest we go back to bed. I shall alter the wards in the morning, if you'd like."

"You can't keep them out with wards," Draco said, getting to his feet. Father raised an
eyebrow, but said nothing. He ushered Draco upstairs, but then didn't follow; Draco
suspected he was headed for his office.
Draco lay under his favourite tree in the garden with Roquefort dozing on his chest
and Magical Drafts And Potions propped up against his knees.

Mother and Hydrus had gone out to visit Aunt Bella. Draco wasn't entirely sure how he'd got
out of going but he certainly wasn't complaining; if Father was a monster, then Aunt Bella
was positively beastly. Father had been out when he woke up, so Draco had had a lonely
breakfast with only Dobby for company. Father had come home at some point while he was
downstairs, and had already been sequestered in his office by the time Draco finished,
leaving Draco free to do as he wished for the morning.

Draco turned the page with a sigh; he'd begun to look forward to his visits with Severus, and
got used to having them daily while Severus was on holidays, and now that Hogwarts had
gone back, Draco was back to visiting only two or three times a week. He missed his
godfather, and missed the freedom of being able to be himself, without worrying about
upsetting anyone.

Stir three times counter-clockwise on low heat and then leave to simmer for-

There came a curious noise from above him, that was a cross between a trill and a hiss. Draco
looked up.

Sitting in the branches of the tree was an odd creature. Draco had certainly never seen
anything like it. It was murky brown and scaly all over, with a line of bright orange feathers
in a ridge down its back.

It wasn't a dragon, because it only had two legs - which Draco noticed ended in rather large
claws - and he didn't think it was a bird, because he hadn't seen a bird with a long, plumed
tail before. Bright, oddly tame eyes watched him from above a cruel looking beak.

"What?" Draco asked it, shutting his book with a snap.

The thing hissed and flapped its wings and the feathers on its head stood up. It looked like it
was wearing a crown. Draco stood up and faced it properly, placing Roquefort on his
shoulder.

It flapped to the grass in front of him, and was actually quite a bit larger than he'd thought; its
head, resting on a long, serpentine neck, was almost at his shoulder. It hissed, splaying its
feathers out threateningly.

Draco staggered backward and tripped. The thing advanced, spitting. The blood drained out
of Draco's face. He looked around for help but there wasn't any, and he didn't have anything
to defend himself with, other than his book, which he held up in warning. Absently, he
wondered if Potter would be able to speak to this creature too. That would be useful.

Before he could make any move, however, – either to attack or to run - Roquefort sprang
from his shoulder, squeaking madly, and latched onto the thing's wing. It screeched and
hissed and nipped at Roquefort before it managed to fling him off.
He landed with a thump on the grass. Draco didn't dare take his eyes off the thing. That
proved almost fatal; it lashed out with a sharp talon and he felt sudden pain on his cheek, less
than an inch from his left eye.

"Gelius!" Father called. An indigo blue spell flew past Draco and the thing fell over, and
landed with a noise like glass shattering, but it appeared to be intact. Draco sank to the grass
with a whimper, rather wishing the stupid creature had broken. Father was striding across the
lawn looking calm, if a little pale. He paused only once, to check on Roquefort.

"Dead," he told Draco in an unusually shocked voice. Something in Draco twinged, and with
a loud crack, the frozen thing on the ground did break; it didn't lose a leg or its head or
anything, but one of its wings was now at a decidedly odd angle. Father waved his wand and
the rat lifted off the ground and floated gently back toward the Manor. He reached Draco a
moment later but didn't kneel beside him, as Mother would have.

He waited, standing, but Draco wasn't in any mood to stand, even if that's what Father was
expecting of him. He brushed blood out of his eye and tried not to sniff. Father surveyed him
for a moment, and then stepped past him to examine the creature. A moment later, he sent
that floating toward the Manor too.

"It attacked me," Draco said, numbly, when he had Father's attention again. "It just- And
Roquefort was- only now-" His voice broke, and while Mother might tolerate tears, Father
certainly wouldn't. Draco struggled to get himself back under control.

"How does your eye feel?" Father asked. Draco shrugged, and this time, Father did crouch
down. He flicked his wand, and Draco felt the cut itch and then felt nothing. There was a cool
feeling – Father was probably cleaning it - and then Father nodded, satisfied; he was far
better at medical magic than Mother. "It's scarred, but it's not noticeable." Draco didn't really
care about that.

"Is Roquefort really-"

Father nodded curtly. The branch the creature had been standing on when Draco first noticed
it, fell to the ground with a loud thump, and promptly burst into flames. Draco hugged
himself; Father jumped.

"I imagine you probably want to be alone right now," Father said, after a moment.

Not really, Draco thought. He wanted a hug, and he wanted to cry, and complain and have
someone listen. But Father wouldn't understand that; Father didn't understand hugs. So Draco
just nodded, and Father left.

Draco pulled himself into a ball and wrapped his arms around his legs, which were trembling.
Then he shuffled until his back was against the tree-trunk, so that he could be upright,
without actually having to support himself.

He wanted Mother, or Severus, or even Pansy; she'd been awful to him lately, but she, at
least, knew what this felt like. She knew what it was like when someone died. Draco sniffled
and wiped his eyes on his sleeves.
Dead. Roquefort's dead. He blinked and took a deep breath.

I won't cry, he thought. I won't.

He stayed there for another few minutes, fighting with himself, and then he couldn't take it
any longer. Bottom lip trembling, he whispered, "D-Dobby?"

There was a pop almost instantly, and Dobby appeared before him, wringing his hands.

"Little master," Dobby said, looking shocked. He hurried forward, and patted Draco on the
shoulder, rather warily. And Draco flung his arms around the little house elf and sobbed.
 Plates and plans

Lucius heard footsteps outside his office door and looked up from the letter he was reading; it
was from that infernal Umbridge woman, who'd been increasingly independent lately. Lucius
was trying to find out who her new source was – she'd all but severed ties with Dawlish, who
now had his wand in a knot over the whole thing – but things were progressing slowly,
unfortunately.

The footsteps in the hallway didn't stop; in fact, they didn't even pause before his office door
was forced open and his wife strode into the room. Lucius took one look at her face and set
down his quill. Then, he rose slowly, and approached her, but she held up a hand.

"What," she asked, in a low, absolutely deadly voice, "were you thinking?"

Lucius didn't pretend to misunderstand; Narcissa was no fool, and even if she was, he'd have
had a hard time explaining the dead rat on his desk, and the injured occamy in the gilded cage
on his bookcase. Neither of the boys would recognise the significance of the cage, but she
would; she'd know it meant that he'd bought the creature. She'd spotted the rat; she strode
over to the desk and looked down at it rather dispassionately; for all that she'd softened – all
that hugging with Draco and what not – Narcissa was certainly not squeamish. And, when
one grew up with a sister like Bellatrix, Lucius rather expected that one got used to dead
animals.

"I-"

"You set your lizard-chicken monster-"

"It's an occamy, Narcissa, and a baby at that. Harmless-"

"Harmless?" she asked flatly, eyes flashing. Lucius sat down again, and steepled his hands,
knowing it was best to just let her talk. "That creature killed Draco's rat, and it almost took
out his eye!" Lucius winced. He'd hoped she wouldn't notice; he thought he'd done a very
good job of healing it, and that the scar had been hardly noticeable.

Trust a mother to notice something like that, he thought, sighing.

"Don't you have anything to say?" she snapped. "An apology?"

"I won't apologise for doing what was necessary-"

"Then you'd better hurry up and explain yourself before I find my own monster and set it
on you." And she'd do it, he suspected; knowing her, it would probably be a dragon, or
something equally large and dangerous.

"It all comes back to monsters," Lucius said carefully. Narcissa merely folded her arms. "A
few weeks ago, Draco was up and about in the middle of the night, talking about monsters."
He curled his lip. Narcissa looked surprised, but blanked her expression a moment later. "I
have worried for some time, that Draco might not be quite right – some children develop
problems as they grow..." He had, of course, done extensive research on the matter, and even
shared his fears with both her and Severus. Both of them had given him strange looks;
Narcissa's sad, Severus' scornful, and had insisted that Lucius was overreacting, that Draco
was just different.

Different was right, of course; Draco might have had a few changes in nature – he'd become
bolder, and more loyal to the family, and to his peers – because of Lucius' attempts to get him
to exhibit some Gryffindor traits, but they should have been well and truly over. It had been
clear, upon meeting Potter, that he was no Dark Lord, and so Lucius didn't feel the need to
have his sons win the boy's favour. Draco's Gryffindor training had ended immediately, and
that had been months ago.

Despite all that, however, Draco was still different; he was mocked by the other children at
functions, and rarely retaliated, he was curious about muggleborns – though he'd snapped out
of that a few hours after that awful breakfast, and assured Lucius that he hadn't been feeling
well, and that he'd been spending too much time around Potter. Lucius had been relieved, but
had talked to him about muggles anyway, just to be safe. Draco had seemed quiet, but he
hadn't argued.

"I fear they're in his head, these... monsters." Lucius said. "That perhaps they encourage him
to... behave in certain ways... to believe certain things." Narcissa shook her head; it was a
disbelieving gesture, and Lucius felt a small surge of pity for his wife. "It's a lot to take in, I
know," he said.

"Keep explaining," she bit out, not looking pleased at all.

"I thought that perhaps, it might to do give him a real monster to focus on... I thought it might
help. It's a roundabout method, I admit, but he's become so quiet and- and well, I thought that
an action – something that he needs to worry about physically, if only for a moment - might
get through to him more effectively than words. The rat was an unanticipated casualty, but
these things-"

"-happen," Narcissa said, pinching the bridge of her nose. He couldn't tell anything about her
mood from her tone, and her body language was simply tired. That weariness could have
come from the Draco situation, but Lucius thought it was more likely to be because she'd
spent the morning visiting Azkaban. She turned on her heel and strode toward the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked, standing again.

"To speak to Dumbledore," she said over her shoulder. Lucius hurried after her, bewildered,
and managed to catch hold of her hand. "I think Draco might appreciate Severus' company
today," she added, looking sad. "But I need to make sure Severus doesn't have lessons." She
squeezed Lucius' hand – he squeezed back – and then released him and headed for the
drawing room fireplace.

Severus is a good idea, Lucius thought. He's more patient than I am, and harder than
Narcissa. His influence will be good for Draco, particularly after something like this. After
all, who better to infuse Draco with a bit of the Slytherin that he was currently lacking, than
the Head of Slytherin House? And, Severus was also an expert of the mind; there was no one
alive – unless the Dark Lord was, somehow – that knew more on the matter than he did. If he
could find out what was wrong, then perhaps, he could also fix it.

Lucius nodded to himself, content.

"Tell Sirius what you told me on the way here," Remus said, nudging Dora. Sirius' interest
piqued in a rather morbid way; Remus didn't sound happy about whatever it was. Harry, who
was still in his school uniform, glanced over from the kitchen counter; he was buttering a
piece of toast for an afternoon snack.

"The Greyback case is closed," Dora said. Sirius nodded; the entire Department had been
buzzing with that news, though no one knew who was at fault, because the trial had been
private. It was a protective measure, apparently, and one that Sirius thought was a good
choice; whoever the person was would have the entirety of the pack bearing down on them
otherwise.

"So they were sentenced, then?"

"He was," Dora said. "Remus says you know him." Sirius looked at Remus, frowning.

"Who-"

"Dung Fletcher," Remus sighed. "Apparently Mad-Eye thought I'd find that interesting."
Sirius let out a low whistle, and then shifted to make room for Harry, who was watching them
all curiously over the top of his toast.

"Dung?" Sirius asked, shaking his head. "Dung's a bit of a-" He glanced at Harry and then
thought better of what he'd been about to say; Sirius had been called into speak with a
concerned Mrs Phelps, who'd overheard Harry using a few words that he probably shouldn't
have - nothing vulgar; he'd said 'Merlin's pointy, purple' and then been cut off before he could
say 'hat'.

It wasn't a phrase muggles were familiar with, however, and he'd apparently been given time
out (his friend Hermione had been wholly disapproving, and his other friend Blaise had
thought the whole episode was fantastic), and had been given a note to take to Sirius. While
Sirius hadn't thought it was anything worth punishing Harry over (the pair of them had
actually had a good laugh about it) he was now trying to watch his language (which had
worsened slightly since he'd gone back to the Auror Department) around his godson.

Words like prat and git were thrown around between Remus and Sirius as commonly as their
names were, and were used in an affectionate sort of way. Were Harry to use those (or
anything worse) at school, however, they wouldn't be received in a manner anywhere near as
accepting. Sirius and Harry had sat down one night last week and had more fun than they
should have deciding on phrases that were safe to use, should the situation warrant it. And
after that, they'd then run their conclusions past Remus, just in case.

"Dung?" Sirius finished weakly, looking at Remus. "But Dung-"

"I know," Remus sighed, looking frustrated.

"It wasn't him," Dora said, in a low voice. Sirius' gaze snapped to her again, and even Remus
looked startled by this new information. "He's taking the fall for- for someone else."

"He's being paid off," Sirius said at once. "There no chance anyone would choose to go to
Azkaban for the sake of it." He curled his lip, and his Padfoot patronus – who was a
permanent, but mostly dormant feature in his mind, nowadays – stirred, apparently looking
for danger. He settled again a moment later.

"Why paid?" Dora asked.

"Because everything Dung does, Dung does to get a profit," Remus supplied. "His heart's in
the right place-"

"Or it was," Sirius added fondly, sharing a significant look with Remus; Mundungus had
been a member of the Order, during the war. Harry'd stopped chewing and was looking
between them again. Dora just looked puzzled.

"Or was," Remus agreed lightly. Dora still looked suspicious, but she didn't say anything.
"But the rest of him – his morality, I mean – is... well, a bit all over the place."

"And Azkaban..." Sirius muttered, disbelieving. "It must be a fair bit of money." Dora didn't
look pleased about that at all, and she had an oddly calculating look on her face; Sirius would
have bet anything that she was planning to take this conversation – and a few questions, on
top of that – to Mad-Eye at the nearest opportunity. Sirius suspected that was a rather futile
endeavour; Mad-Eye had probably reached these conclusions already and he was about as
easy to get answers from as a brick wall. "I wouldn't go back if you gave me the entirety of
every vault in Gringott's."

"You and Harry already have a sizeable portion of Gringott's," Remus said, looking amused.

"Hardly," Sirius scoffed. "My fine for not registering took a fair chunk out of the Black
account, and Harry's trust has more in it than the Potter account, thanks to the war." Quite a
bit of James' inheritance had gone into funding the Order's activities, after all. James and Lily
had not been struggling, by any means, but another year or two of war, and it would have
been a different story.

"Fletcher said that other than the Dementors, Azkaban's not so bad, because there's a free bed
and free food." Dora glanced at Remus, Sirius was amused to notice; she'd been looking at
him a lot, lately. "Mad, eh?"

"Mad," Remus agreed, looking back at her. Sirius' eyes flicked between the pair, and then he
shook his head and glanced at Harry, who was trying to sweep his crumbs on the floor,
without being noticed.

Oblivious, all of them, he thought, amused. Except for possibly Dora. Sirius decided that he'd
steal her from the Program one day soon, and have a chat with her, under the guise of lunch.
Sirius cleared his throat when the staring on the other side of the table had gone on long
enough to make him uncomfortable. Dora jumped and her hair immediately went pink – Oh,
yes, she's realised - and Remus just looked a little confused – and then annoyed, when he
looked at Sirius. Sirius grinned, and got an eye-roll back in return.

"Mad," Dora said again, looking a little embarrassed. "I mean, it's a pretty easy lifestyle, but-
"

"Easy? Azkaban?" Sirius drawled, arching an eyebrow at her. "Speak for yourself." She
flushed.

"Oh, bloody hell- sorry! Sorry, I forgot- I didn't mean to-"

"He's teasing," Remus said, putting a hand on her shoulder. Sirius wondered if she'd even
heard; as soon as Remus touched her, her eyes had developed a slightly glossy look.

"I do that," Sirius said, to no one in particular. "Azkaban's not worth it, but without the
Dementors and the rubbish weather, it'd probably be all right. Somewhere like Nurmengard,
or a muggle prison might not be so-" He blinked as something occurred to him, and felt his
mouth fall open.

"What?" someone – Harry or Dora, because the voice was too high to be Remus' – asked.

Sirius was vaguely aware of getting to his feet.

"Sirius?"

"I might be late to dinner," he said in a strangled voice. Even if Remus didn't stay, Harry'd be
fine at home with Kreacher. And this really couldn't wait. He was dressed like a muggle, in
jeans and a tshirt, but he could feel his wand in his back pocket and that was really all he
needed. He snatched up a handful of Floo powder and choked, "Ministry of Magic."

It happened in mid-October, a few days after that odd afternoon when Sirius hurried off to the
Ministry after all of the talk about prisons.

Tonks had had an early morning training session, and found herself at Remus' only a few
hours later. He didn't have anything planned; the full moon was rapidly approaching, so he
was taking things carefully. He offered her half of his late breakfast and they took their food
outside to eat in the sunny garden.

They set their plates down when they were done – ants moved in within ten minutes, but
Remus didn't appear to mind – and neither were overly fussed about moving inside. Tonks
started plucking grass – and was promptly told off – and so she lay down instead. After a
moment's hesitation, Remus lay down beside her – somehow managing to look very awkward
as he did so - and Tonks smiled, without taking her eyes off the clouds.

It was silent, but companionable; Remus' breathing slowed, and his eyes slipped shut, but she
didn't think he was asleep, just very relaxed. Tonk was rather relaxed too, and her mind
wandered as she watched the sky.

Ben and Yaxley were buying a flat together; Yaxley's parents weren't impressed (Ben was a
Gryffindor, and a half-blood at that) but they were going ahead with it anyway, they'd
announced that morning. Tonks had about as much interest in decorating as Ben – who'd
confided that he was leaving that to his girlfriend – but the idea of moving out had affixed
itself in her mind more strongly than she'd realised.

Not because she actually wanted to move out - while she had the money, she wasn't in any
rush to leave Mum and Dad, and have to fend for herself entirely – but because she'd been
fleetingly curious about what it would be like to live with someone that wasn't one of her
parents. Remus, specifically.

And, she knew it was far, far too soon to even consider that; they'd been good friends for
over a year now, and she fancied him, but he didn't even know that (or at least she didn't think
he did) and even if they were dating, moving in together was a big step. It was an entirely
irrational and impractical idea, and one that had only passed through her mind briefly, before
she'd expelled it, mortified.

But her mortification had remained, and it cropped up every time she was around Remus
(which was rather regularly). It had encouraged her to redefine her feelings for him, yet
again. It had been a month and a half since she'd decided she'd fancied him, and, while she
didn't love him – well, she loved him as a friend – she was definitely well on her way to
falling for him.

And you don't even know, she sighed, glancing in his direction. She hadn't the faintest idea
how to tell him, and she'd spent more time than was probably healthy trying to work out how
to go about it. Usually, she'd just announce it, or kiss him – both of those were pretty obvious
giveaways – but Remus was... different. Or maybe Tonks was just shyer around him than she
had been around any of her other – rather short-lived boyfriends. Either way, she was driving
herself to distraction trying to work it out.

She'd even considered asking Sirius for help, but didn't think she could stand the mockery
that would probably come from such a talk. And she didn't even know how she'd go about
that conversation... So... I sort of fancy your best friend...

It was only when Remus stiffened and opened one eye that Tonks realised she'd spoken out
loud. She clapped her hands to her mouth, and felt her hair turn a brighter pink than it had
probably ever been before.

"He always did get the girls," Remus said quietly. He'd pushed himself into a sitting position,
and his shoulders had a resigned sort of slump to them. He was staring very hard at the grass
by his feet.

"Not-" Tonks cut herself off, and then forced herself to speak; she'd be embarrassed, of
course, but she couldn't leave things the way they were. She definitely couldn't let him think
she fancied Sirius; they were second cousins, after all, and while it was strictly legal
(particularly for purebloods) the idea freaked her out. "Not your best friend. Sirius'. Sirius'
best friend." Remus had gone very still.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," Remus said, very politely.

"I fancy Sirius' best friend!" she blurted. "I fancy-"

"Those plates have ants on them," Remus said, clucking his tongue. He gathered them up
quickly and then got to his feet and hurried inside.

Now I've done it, Tonks thought miserably. She hauled herself to her feet and headed for the
door. "Remus, I'm sorry, I just-"

Only Remus wasn't there; he wasn't in the kitchen (and neither, she noticed, were the plates),
and he wasn't in his bedroom, or in the bathroom. Tonks was almost relieved that he'd left; he
wasn't there to see the tears start.

"Come in," Albus called, looking up from his copy of Transfiguration Today. He wasn't
expecting anyone, but surprise visits weren't uncommon; it had been a few weeks since he'd
seen the Weasley twins, so they were probably overdue. It wasn't that particular pair of
troublemakers, however; it was a single troublemaker, and one from an entirely separate era.
"Good afternoon, Remus," said, gesturing for the younger man to take a seat. Remus did,
looking rather shell-shocked.

"Sir," he muttered, by way of greeting. Albus' eyes found the pair of plates – dirty plates, at
that – in Remus' scarred hands.

"Is there a particular reason for-"

"Is there any chance the Defence position is still open?" Remus asked.

"I'm afraid not; after both you and Thomas turned down my offer-" Not that Albus had
expected any different; things were difficult in the Ministry at the moment, particularly after
Sirius' trial, and Thomas was too useful to be allowed to come and teach for a year. Remus,
similarly, had been busy; he'd, for the first time in years, had a chance at a family, with Harry
and Sirius. Albus had been reluctant to offer him the position for that exact reason. "-Dedalus
accepted it quite happily... much to Minerva's distress." Albus' beard twitched.

While Minerva liked Dedalus well enough, he was too exuberant for her liking, and she was
still, years after she'd first said it, convinced that he had no sense. A fleeting look of
amusement passed over Remus' face, and then he looked disappointed.

"Do you have any jobs going? I'd be happy to help Hagrid, or Filch, if-"

"Has something happened?" Albus asked, folding his hands.

"No," Remus muttered. He was very obviously lying. "I just- want a change of scene."

"Forgive me, Remus, but this is very unlike you; I know teaching is an ambition of yours, but
such a sudden request is very... well-"

"So you've got nothing?" Remus asked, cutting him off.

"I'm afraid-"

"Right. Of course. Thank you." Remus got to his feet, dirty crockery in hand. "Sorry for
bothering you. Have a nice day, Professor." He left the room – not quickly, but definitely
abruptly – leaving Albus staring after him.

"I've found her," Robards announced, and Sirius jerked and almost toppled his chair.

"Where?" he asked, heart pounding.

"A small, high security institute on the outskirts of London," Robards said, tapping the piece
of paper on his desk. "All female occupants, all of them murderers, or convicted for
something... well bad."

"And Marlene?"

"Mona Star handed herself over to a muggle police officer the day after McKinnon vanished.
She admitted to attempting to murder a man." Robards scanned the report. "An ex-lover,
apparently... shot him once in the chest... man was found by his ten year old son... Star had a
trial a few days later... unanimous guilty sentence..." Robards dwindled off, still reading the
report, but only every few words was read aloud, and it was impossible for Sirius to make
much sense of it.

"A guy gets attacked – hit by something that should have killed him-" Like he'd been, by
Marlene's Killing Curse in the holding cells. "-and has a ten year old kid that was traumatised
by the aftermath." The muggle boy would have been far worse off than Harry though; Harry
didn't even know the full truth about what had happened. "And then a woman goes and hands
herself in." Robards nodded.

"If it's a coincidence," he said, "I'll eat the rest of my fingers." Sirius grinned.

"You checked Azkaban," Sirius said, "because she thought she needed to atone... well, she's
still doing prison time, and she's either committed an identical crime-" Which Sirius privately
thought was very unlikely. "-or just taken the fall for some muggle git."

"Hopefully it's the latter," Robards said, looking grim. Sirius reached over and stole the report
so that he could have a read.

"Mona Star," Sirius mused, a few minutes later, as he set it down.

"Does the name mean something to you?" Robards asked.

"No, but it means something to her, I'm sure..." Sirius grabbed a quill and a scrap of
parchment and tried to rearrange the letters to form some sort of clue; 'star' backwards, was
'rats' but something told him that wasn't it. She probably didn't even know about Wormtail or
Padfoot, because she hadn't made it to the trial. He sighed and continued to stare at the letters
in front of him. Then he blinked. "Monster. Mona Star; monster." Robards closed his eyes.
"It's definitely her," he said tersely. He rubbed the pitted scar where his smallest finger should
have been and stared down at the report again. "So how should we do this, do you think?"
Sirius glanced over, eyebrows raised.

"You're asking me?"

"We're partners in this case," Robards said.

"Well..." Sirius said. "I suppose we ought to do things properly; we can forge badges and
paper trails, apply to move Mona Star to our special facility, and then just disappear."

"We ought to," Robards agreed, nodding to himself, but his lips were pursed.

"You don't think so?"

"I didn't say that." Robards checked his Sidekick. "It's going to be a busy few months, Black.
I think I know a woman who can help us with the documentation... you can be in charge of
researching muggle facilities that it would be plausible to move her into-"

"Months?" Sirius asked weakly. "But magic-"

"Can only help so much," Robards said briskly. "We've got to procure the proper documents
to copy, and insert them into the right systems – muggle computer systems, which aren't at all
receptive to magic-"

"There's got to be a quicker way, surely?" Sirius said, wincing.

"Oh, probably," Robards said blithely. "None of them legal, unfortunately. Aurors are allowed
some space to manoeuvre outside the bounds of the law, but even we aren't allowed to
meddle too much in muggle affairs... It would be easy to walk in there, Disillusioned, and
Stun every police officer that got in the way, but unfortunately, there are laws preventing
that."

"I don't think that'd be a good way to go about it anyway," Sirius said hesitantly.

"No, probably not," Robards agreed.

"We'd be better off Apparating into-"

"We'd have to know exactly where she was," Robards pointed out. "And if she's with other
muggles at the time, we'd be breaching far too many laws... And, the majority of muggle
prisons are surrounded by anti-Apparition charms these days, after that mess during the war."

"About time," he muttered. Sirius had been an Auror at the time; Evan Rosier and Antonin
Dolohov had infiltrated one of the most infamous muggle prisons in Britain, Imperiused a
whole bunch of murderous lunatics (given them instructions to hunt down as many muggles
as possible) and then Apparated them out. The whole tragedy had lasted for at least six
months, and had involved hundreds of Ministry Obliviators, who'd had to remove the
memories from as many muggles as possible, and a good portion of the Auror force. Sirius
knew of three Auror who'd been killed by the muggles, and Sirius had personally had his
nose broken by one (who, in turn, had had his nose broken by a furious James). "That was
brought in when I was in Az-"

"Eighty-four," Robards said curtly. "And it's for the best, I think, but it does complicate things
for us in this particular scenario."

"Then maybe we should just put on disguises and get ourselves arrested," Sirius suggested. It
was the sort of thing he or James would have come up with during their early Auror days. It
was also the sort of thing that Mad-Eye would have shouted at them for.

Robards didn't though.

"You'd likely have to murder someone to get in," Robards said, rather pointedly.

"Not-"

"-you'd be putting yourself in a lot of danger by exposing yourself to prisoners, and breaking
out again would be incredibly difficult, even with magic." He shook his head. "The Auror
Department would never allow me to carry out such a risky operation. Scrimgeour would
read the report and have my badge and wand."

"So don't report it," Sirius muttered, not really meaning it; he knew Robards would have to
report something like that, particularly because there was so much that had the potential to go
wrong. He was just frustrated, because they knew where Marlene was, but were no closer to
actually getting her back.

"I'm legally required to report everything I know about," Robards said, rather significantly.
"Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I know," Sirius muttered.

"Every development in a case that I'm involved in, every plan that I develop and I put into
action..." Robards' bright eyes fixed themselves on Sirius' face with rather alarming intensity.
"I think we're done for today," he said abruptly.

"But it's only lunchtime-"

"Then find a way to occupy yourself this afternoon," Robards suggested, smiling wryly.
Sirius' mouth fell open as he realised what Robards was getting at. "Preferably one that
doesn't involve me; I'm going to be rather busy this afternoon, and probably all of tomorrow
as well, writing an application to Scrimgeour, regarding those muggle documents we'll be
needing in a few months."

"Right," Sirius said unsteadily, not quite able to believe what he'd just been given permission
to do.

"Oh, Black," Robards said, as Sirius headed for the door. Sirius glanced over his shoulder.
"Be careful."
"Hi, Andy."

Andromeda blinked and clutched the doorframe for support. She hadn't been expecting
visitors at all – though she was rather used to Mad-Eye Moody showing up for Nymphadora
– but never in her wildest imaginings had she expected these two to show up.

"Sirius," she said, rather weakly. She'd written several hundred letters to him since the trial,
but all of them had ended up crumpled and in the rubbish bin. She'd missed her little cousin,
but had no idea what to say. Sorry had seemed like a good idea, but she hadn't known how to
word it; she'd heard he was guilty and believed it, because they'd said the same about Bella,
after all, and Blacks had a predisposition to turning bad. Then, of course, she'd worried that
he might have held a grudge – even after he befriended Dora a month or so ago – and hadn't
been sure if she could take the accusations.

"How've you been?" he asked.

"Good," she said, glancing at young Harry. He had Lily's eyes, but otherwise was James in
miniature, though James had never worn a uniform that wasn't the Hogwarts robes, or his
Auror robes. Harry was wearing a muggle school uniform, and had a rucksack full of school
books slung over his thin shoulders. His pencil case was in danger of falling out, she noticed.
"I'm- good, thank you. How- would you like to come in?"

"Thanks," Sirius said. She stepped aside to let them past; Sirius looked a little nervous, and
Harry seemed to have picked up on that; he was sticking very close to his godfather, and his
eyes were flicking around the room, as if to detect danger. Sirius' eyes never left Andromeda.

"Can I get you- tea, or-" Unable to form a coherent sentence around her little cousin, she
turned her gaze on Harry. "Would you like a biscuit?" He looked surprised that he'd been
addressed. He glanced at Sirius, who put a hand on his shoulder.

"Tea and biscuits would be fantastic," Sirius said. "Thanks."

"The kitchen's this way," she said, trying to pull herself together. They weren't strangers;
they'd known each other as children, but also as adults. It shouldn't be this difficult.

"You had school today?" she asked Harry; he was easier to talk to than Sirius. He nodded.
Well, easier to address, she decided, but not very talkative. "What year are you?"

"Six," Harry replied. Andromeda filled the kettle and set it to boil with a flick of her wand,
before she went searching for tea.

"Would you like a hand?" Sirius asked.

"I'm perfectly capable of finding my way around my own kitchen, Sirius," she replied, a little
condescendingly. It was the way she would have spoken to him during the war; like an older
cousin. He didn't come back with a witty retort as he might have back then, however; all he
did was raise an eyebrow, and leave her to it. The interaction left Andromeda feeling a little
unbalanced. "I'll go and see if Nymphadora would like to join us," she muttered. "She got
home about an hour ago, and I think she's still here." With that, she fled, almost tripping on
her robes in her haste to get out of there.

Nymphadora was in her room, thankfully; Andromeda could have cried with relief that she
wouldn't have to endure the pair in her kitchen alone. And, hopefully, by watching
Nymphadora interact with the pair of them, she'd be able to get a measure on this new Sirius;
she preferred to observe before she was forced to interact.

"Nymphadora, we have visitors," Andromeda told her daughter. Nymphadora glanced over,
blue haired, dark eyed and pale faced.

"Who?" she asked, looking hopeful. Her hair turned a greenish colour.

"Sirius and Harry." Nymphadora's face fell – her hair went back to indigo - and she rolled
back into her pillows.

"Tell them I'm sleeping."

"It's the middle of the day," Andromeda said, exasperated.

"And I had an early start and an... eventful morning."

"Up," Andromeda said. "Now."

"Mum," Nymphadora said, in a rather pitiful voice, "please-"

"Up."

"Mum-"

"Nymphadora." Andromeda planted her hands on her hips and Nymphadora gave in with
rather ill grace. She rolled off the bed and wandered over to the door, dragging her feet. She
looked quite miserable about the prospect, and Andromeda wondered what on earth could
have gotten into her usually cheerful daughter this afternoon. "And do something with your
hair; you look miserable."

Nymphadora sniffed and managed to turn it a mousy brown, which was marginally better.
The two Tonkses made their way back to the kitchen, where they found Sirius locked in a
stare-off with Canis. Andromeda found herself fighting a smile.

"Wotcher," Nymphadora said rather gloomily. Both Sirius and Canis looked at her. Canis
looked disgusted and promptly fled the room. Sirius, on the other hand, looked alarmed, and
then suspicious, and then exasperated. Harry just looked worried.

"Can I have a word with you?" Sirius asked, getting to his feet before Nymphadora could sit
down.

"Sirius," she said, looking a little afraid at the prospect, "I don't really-"
"I need help," he said. "Regarding a certain missing friend of ours." Nymphadora glanced at
Andromeda and nodded.

"Can tea wait a few minutes, Mum?" she asked, looking exhausted.

"Of course," Andromeda said uncertainly.

"You're all right there, kiddo?" Sirius asked. Harry nodded. And with that, Sirius put a hand
on Nymphadora's shoulder and led her out of the kitchen again. Andromeda turned to Harry.

"A missing friend?"

Harry shrugged, but she felt like he knew more about it than he was letting on.

"Missing friend?" Tonks asked, as soon as she and Sirius were alone in the back garden.
"Mar-"

"We've found her," Sirius said, nodding. The smallest smile flickered over his face, and then
faded. "Unfortunately, while I was off doing that, I've managed to lose another one."

"Who?" Tonks asked, but she already knew the answer.

"I think you know," he said, tugging gently on a strand of her mousy hair. "He can be a bit of
a git about things like this, I'm afraid."

"It was my fault," Tonks sniffed. "I shouldn't have- I sort of sprung it-"

"Remus isn't very good at dealing with people once feelings get involved-"

"I shouldn't have said anything," Tonks said, embarrassed to feel tears prickling her eyes
again. "We were good friends, and now I've gone and ruined everything. He didn't even
respond, he just sort of-"

"Ran," Sirius supplied. She let out a sob and flung herself at him. Unlike Remus, Sirius didn't
even hesitate before wrapping his arms around her, and his hand found a soothing rhythm on
her back within seconds. Tonks felt immediately guilty for wishing it was another set of arms,
but she couldn't help it. "He'll come back – he has to, because the full moon's in two days."

"And then what?" she asked. "He won't want to see-"

"He'll have to see me," Sirius said. "And I've got a few words to say to him, I assure you.
Self-pitying coward's going to come up a few times, I think-"

"He's not a-"

"Oh, he is," Sirius said, matter-of-factly. "He thinks so little of himself that he doesn't think
he deserves much happiness... git. It's not the first time I've used that particular word
combination, and I know better by now than to hope it'll be the last. But I'll get through to
him, don't you worry. I usually do. And I've alluded to this subject numerous times before...
he just hasn't realised it. I think it's about time to forgo subtlety." Tonks sniffed and tightened
her hold on her second cousin.

"Don't- not because of me-"

"Even if you weren't sobbing your eyes out on me in your back garden I'd want to say
something to him," Sirius told her. "I want to see him happy too – Merlin knows he deserves
it. I think you'd be good together." Tonks sniffed again. "And when he admits that, yeah, he
fancies you back, I want to say I told you so." Sirius grinned and Tonks let out a watery laugh
as the last of her tears stopped. Sirius let her go and looked at her face. "A bit puffy, but you'll
do," he said.

"Do for w-what?" she asked

"Well, since my usual accomplice has run off to sulk or hide from his feelings or whatever it
is that Moony does-" Tonks laughed. It was snotty, and she was sure her eyes were bloodshot
– she quickly fixed that with her abilities - but it was a genuine laugh. "-I'm going to need a
new one."

"Why do you need an accomplice?"

"Are you busy tomorrow?" he asked.

"I have training at two, and then I'm out on a case with Mad-Eye for most of the night-"

"Tomorrow morning?"

"I'd planned to sleep in..." Sirius gave her a slightly pleading look. "But I suppose I could get
up a bit earlier. Why?"

"I need you to help make me pretty," he said, batting his eyelashes at her. Tonks stared, and
he laughed. "And then I need you to die."
 Ebony's hunt

John Fisher had stopped most of his patrols thanks to a combination of age and corporate
superiority. The majority of his time was spent behind a desk, filling out paperwork, and
making sure that the younger, more impetuous members of London's police force were kept
in line.

The only time he had to patrol at all – and only for a few hours, to show that he
wasn'ttoo high above the rest of them – was Thursday mornings. It was a nice time to do; it
wasn't a weekend morning, so he wasn't dealing with anyone who'd overindulged at the pub,
and it wasn't a weekend afternoon, where he was dealing with the hooligansat the pub or on
the roads on the way home.

Everyone that had a job was already at it by the time he hit the streets, and school had started
so London's youths were out of the way. Roads were reasonably quiet and the streets were
usually empty, if he didn't count the university students meandering the city between lectures.

There were very few car crashes on Thursday mornings, very few robberies, and never, ever,
were there any murders.

Except for this Thursday.

John had just come out of the local bakery; the couple who owned it were friendly with his
wife Sue, and usually offered him a small discount. He was clutching a meat pie, a sultana
bun and a juicebox and was just climbing into his car when he heard an ear-splitting scream,
followed shortly after by another few screams.

John got out of his car again, hiking up his trousers with one hand and fumbling with his car
keys with the other. He jogged towards the screams and found himself two blocks away, in a
reasonably busy shopping district. Puffing, and feeling rather like his heart might leap out of
his chest if it didn't stop hammering, he ushered spectators aside.

"Move!" he gasped, shooing a woman and her toddler out of the way. "Excuse me- Officer
John Fisher of- of the City Police!" He sucked in a breath to soothe his burning lungs and
then, as he was clutching his chest, found his whistle. He blew it, and the people parted at
once. John staggered forward, and found himself abruptly glad he hadn't eaten.

Lying there, beside a rubbish bin and in a pile of blood – her own blood - was a woman. Her
face was deathly pale, and her eyes were open and unblinking. Her chest was stained red and
bore two large, and very gruesome stab wounds. A man, crouched next to her, had his fingers
on her neck – searching for a pulse – and shook his head at John.

John seized his radio and quickly dispatched a message to all or any other officers that might
be in the area; he needed back-up, and he needed someone to deal with the body. John draped
his jacket over her head and chest in the meantime, covering the worst of the damage, though
there wasn't much he could do about the blood.
"What happened?" John asked, finally managing to regain enough of his breath that he could
talk without puffing.

"A woman stabbed her," someone offered. "They were fighting and then- it was horrible."
Several people sobbed.

"The woman," John said, "Where did she go?" John was able to get enough information – a
description and a direction – to send out another message through the radio. John stayed with
the witnesses, taking statements from each and every one of them with the help of Officer
Hopkins, who'd showed up a few minutes after the initial call.

"-wearing jeans and-"

"Fisher, this is Lockett," John's radio said, rather fuzzily. "Jones and I-" The radio fizzed and
cut out. "- woman matching the description, sir."

"You've caught her?"

"We're fairly sure," Lockett said.

"What makes you sure?"

"Well," Lockett said, "she's covered in blood, sir."

It took another hour and a half to sort out the situation at the shopping district – the body of
the victim was off to the morgue, hopefully to be identified - and another half hour for John
to get back to his car and then to the police department.

Julie met him in his office, looking agitated, and directed him to the department's holding
cells – which they usually used to house people arrested for theft, or for driving under the
influence. Their murderer was being held there until they could identify her, and arrange for a
group of officers to take her to a suitable prison.

John shook his head; first that woman, Star, a few months back, and now this one... the
women of London were going mad!

He and Lockett shook hands and Jones gave him an awkward sort of wave from her seat
beside the barred wall of the cell, before turning her attention back to the captive. Jones was a
reasonably tough woman – all salt-and-pepper hair, pursed lips and narrowed eyes – but even
she looked unusually grim and disapproving.

"Name's Ebony Hunt, or so she says," Lockett said, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "No
form of identification on her."

"I suppose you'll just have to take my word for it then, won't you?" John glanced at Lockett
and stepped around him. Hunt regarded him calmly from the small bench at the back of the
cell, seeming perfectly at ease, despite the cuffs on her slim wrists and the crispy patches of
dried blood that stained her shirt and jeans.

"She's confessed," Jones said, without looking away.

Another confession? John wondered, bewildered. Not that he minded at all, but usually
criminals preferred to lie through their teeth.

"Officer," she said, in a surprisingly deep voice.

"Ms Hunt," John said coolly. "You made quite a scene today."

"I know." Hunt's eyes – a sharp shade of grey – gleamed. They stared at each other – John
curling his lip, Hunt looking bored – until she spoke again. "I've always had a flair for the
dramatic."

"So you killed someone, in broad daylight to be dramatic?" Jones snapped. Hunt regarded
her without expression.

"I wouldn't go as far as to say broad daylight," Hunt said, in a thoughtful tone of voice. "It's
rather overcast this morning." She smiled at the three of them, and then started to hum
something under her breath and ignored them altogether.

Sirius was moved to a long-term prison within the hour, and couldn't help but feel rather
pleased with himself, though the majority of the congratulations ought to – and would, when
he next saw her – go to Dora.

Sirius had made a late night trip to Diagon Alley the night before, to buy dragon's blood, and
Dora had made a pocket out of skin in which to store it. When Sirius had 'stabbed' her – with
a dull knife he'd retrieved from the Black vault – she'd quickly reshaped her midriff to avoid
being injured and also fabricated a pair of nasty looking stab wounds and released the blood.

Then – assuming she'd done what they'd practiced the night before - she'd have gone pale and
hardened her neck and chest – to block her pulse and heartbeat - had shrunk her lungs – to
keep them from making her exhalation obvious – and had created air holes between her
shoulder blades to breathe with. Sirius had been running by then, but if her performance was
even half as good as their practice, she'd have made a very convincing dead person.

And she'd made him an uncannily convincing woman – even the doctor that had looked him
over before admitting him, hadn't found fault in his disguise. Sirius found his current,
transfigured body very odd – he was a lot shorter, for one, and lacked his usual broad
shoulders, for another – and he'd decided it was best not to think too much about other
specifics.

His new cell was a lot nicer than the one he'd used in Azkaban. It had a bunk bed with a small
pile of clothes atop the higher level, a desk – which was affixed to the floor and wall - and a
chair that was similarly anchored, as well as his own toilet and sink, semi-concealed behind a
low wall. It was inside, like the Ministry cells had been, and, like the Ministry holding cells,
there was someone else in there with him; she'd been sent to stand against the back wall by
one of the guards, while Sirius was ushered in.

The barred part of his cell looked out into a hallway, which was lined with other cells; a few
of the other inmates were jeering at the officers who'd escorted Sirius. The oldest officer – his
badge said Fisher – gave Sirius a disdaining look.

"You'll be informed about the dates of your trial," he said, and then gestured to the other four
and left. One officer – a guard – remained long enough to lock the cell before wandering off
down the hallway, sighing.

The woman against the wall folded her arms and cleared her throat. She was forty or fifty,
Sirius guessed, and very tall, but also very thin. She reminded him a bit of Harry's Aunt
Petunia, with her bony elbows and skinny neck, although Sirius found her far more
intimidating; this woman had probably killed someone.

"Carol," she said, rather primly

"Ebony," Sirius told her, swinging himself onto the top bunk. He wasn't going to be outrightly
rude – that sort of bluff might work with blokes, but probably not with women, and
particularly not one that was this tall. He'd just try to blend in with his mattress, and be
forgotten about.

He settled back into the pillow – which actually wasn't too uncomfortable – and shut his eyes,
thinking; this was the part he hadn't planned to perfection; he didn't have his wand on him (or
it would have been taken upon his arrival) and he'd intended to call Kreacher and have him
bring it... only Sirius hadn't realised that he'd be sharing a cell.

Which could complicate things, he thought, rather grumpily. I'll-

Sirius let out a grunt as Carol grabbed his hair – which Dora had lengthened and curled for
the occasion – and pulled him down to face her.

"Ow," Sirius said, giving her hand a pointed look.

"I haven't had a cell mate for a long time-" Sirius almost asked if that was because she didn't
play nicely with the other children, but bit his tongue.

I'm an adult and I'll behave like one, he told himself, not go picking fights. Sirius could throw
a fair punch, but he didn't particularly want to go around punching women. Even if he did, he
was a lot smaller than he was used to being, with less body-weight to throw around, and he
relied so heavily on using magic to solve his problems that he suspected he'd come out
second best in any sort of physical altercation with anyone here; these were muggles, and
they'd fight like them.

"-and I've liked it like that," Carol finished. "So you, girlie, can keep the hell out of my way."

"I won't be here long," Sirius said, and Carol laughed. It wasn't a nice sound.

"Everyone says that," she said, tugging on Sirius' hair again. He winced, and then, abruptly,
she patted his head. It was one of the most condescending gestures anyone had ever made
toward him, and even his dog-side disapproved. "Don't bother me, okay?"

"Sure, cow," he muttered, and she gave him an odd look, but then obviously decided that he'd
said her name and not insulted her. Then, she looked smug. Sirius wanted to hex the
expression off her face. Thankfully, she disappeared onto the bottom bunk and Sirius didn't
hear anything more from her until dinner time.

Sirius had formed the loosest of plans by the time he walked into the dining room. There was
a bench with food (Sirius eyed the muggle contraption for keeping things warm, with
undisguised interest) and people to serve it on one side of the room, while the rest of the
space had been used for tables.

A few people were already sitting – Sirius got the impression that there was a very strict
social hierarchy at play here – in groups. He spotted quite a few young girls – probably not
even in their twenties yet – all clustered together, and as soon as they'd received their food
(roast beef, with chocolate icecream for pudding), Carol immediately left Sirius' side to join a
table of older ladies.

Sirius adjusted his hold on his dinner and looked around for anyone blond; he knew from
Robards, that the last charm to be performed by Marlene's wand had been to change her hair
colour. There were, unfortunately, rather a lot of blond women around. Sirius sniffed a bit,
but he couldn't really get a fix on her scent because of the overwhelming odour of food, and
because of the sheer number of people in the room. He'd have given anything to transform
into Padfoot and have a good search, but he'd turn into himself as soon as he changed back,
and that would ruin everything.

So, Sirius did the logical thing. He sat down at the table closest to the door, and kept an eye
on everyone coming in, and everyone that left.

Sirius was just scraping the last of his icecream out of his bowl when he spotted her. She was
alone, making her way toward the exit. Her hair was a lot longer than he remembered, and
blond and straggly, and she was thinner, but she also looked oddly peaceful; she didn't, at
least, look like she was about to burst into tears, as she had when he'd last seen her.

Sirius left his plate and bowl where they were and followed her out.

"Why'd you do it?" Mundungus asked.

Peter barely heard him; instead, he clutched more tightly at his blanket, and attempted to
press himself into the corner of his cell. 'Summer' was a term to be used sparingly in Azkaban
because it was never really warm, but it wasn't as cold. And, Peter knew Christmas was
approaching – he'd overheard two of the guards talking about it – and it was bringing the
freezing weather with it. It was awful. He wondered if Azkaban would actually freeze over,
and half hoped it would so that he might die of frostbite.

Death would be kinder, Sirius' voice told him quietly, and Peter nodded his head in frantic
agreement. The Sirius in his head snorted in disgust. Come on, Wormtail, he said, and it was
that that reminded Peter that Sirius wasn't really in his head; the real Sirius would never call
him Wormtail. Don't you think it's only fair that you get to live the life you sold everything to
keep?

"No," Peter whispered, through chattering teeth.

"Come on, Pettigrew," Mundungus said, shuffling closer to the edge of his cell. "Neither of
us're going anywhere. All we can do is talk to each other... stay sane, y'know?"

"You're going, though," Peter mumbled. "Eventually. What is it – five years?" Mundgungus
squinted at the overcast sky and then nodded tentatively. "And then I'll still be here. Life
sentence," Peter added bitterly.

"And griping ain't the way to get through it," Mundungus told him. "I did two years before
and I made it. You ain't even a year through, so I don't know what you're so miserable about."

"It's Azkaban," Peter snapped, wishing he'd go away. Mundungus had been around for about
a month now, and Peter's state of mind had disintegrated drastically since then. He hated the
incessant questions; was it too much to just endure in miserable solitude? Someone sobbed a
few cells over and Peter shuddered and adjusted his blanket again.

"So why-"

"Why'd you do it?" Peter asked grumpily, figuring that, if they had to talk, it might as well be
on his terms.

"Money," Mundungus said, looking pleased that Peter'd answered. Peter scowled at him.
"See, I know I'm innocent, so it's no problem for me. I didn't do nothing – this time. I mean,
it's nasty; Dementors are the biggest gits around, right? But they can't make me mad, just
upset and uncomfortable." Peter privately thought that Mundungus had an opinion of self-
worth so inflated that that was why Dementors couldn't bring him down.

Peter, on the other hand, had a very realistic perception of his own worth and the Dementors
had been quick to destroy what little value Peter had thought he'd had.

Death would be so, so much kinder, he thought sulkily.

"-just got to put up with it, you know?"

"No," Peter said, because he didn't; he wasn't coping. He suspected Sirius had been the same;
knowing he was innocent must have helped. Peter didn't have such luxuries, and Azkaban
saw through any delusions he'd attempted to conjure.

"You'll be all right," Mundungus said sagely. Peter glared at him.

"You're not very helpful, y-you-" Peter cut off, coughing.

"Sorry," Mundungus said, genuinely appearing to be. He paused, and Peter thought he might
be thinking; Mundungus was a Slytherin, but he hadn't been sorted there for cunning, only
ambition. Anything involving too much thought was generally outside of Mundungus' realm
of capability, and Peter'd heard he'd only just scraped A's for his N.E.W.T.s, though
Dumbledore'd once said he wrote good essays.

Dumbledore has something nice to say about everyone, though, Peter thought nastily, and
then slumped. Except about me. He hates me.
Everyone hated him these days. Even Mundungus had taken a few weeks to even be willing
to talk to Peter, and that was probably because it was either talk, or go insane. Peter sniffled
and let his head fall back against the cold stone.

Sirius hated him for... well, everything, and Remus was probably much the same. All of his
old Order friends hated him for what he'd done to James, Lily and Sirius, and the fact that
he'd lied to them for years, and all of his old Death Eater... acquaintances – the ones he knew,
anyway – hated him for bringing about the downfall of the Dark Lord. Several of them –
Bellatrix amongst them, the crazy bitch – had told him so while the guards walked him to his
cell on the first day.

Peter had no one. No one in Azkaban – he wasn't counting Mundungus, because Mundungus
was weak, and would leave Peter at the first opportunity, he was sure of it, so Peter wasn't
going to depend on him – and no one on the outside. He was alive – he'd managed that much
– but he wasn't living, and he wasn't sharing his life with any friends.

I miss the war, he thought miserably.

For a moment, Peter was able to remember everyone's laughing faces – he decided to
overlook the stress lines, and the way that sudden movement made everyone go for their
wands – but then a Dementor drifted past on its second patrol for the day and the memory
faded into the grey of the cell around him.

Marlene sat down at the desk in her cell and pulled the book she'd been reading –The Human
Brain And Its Functions – towards her. She'd just settled into the spindly chair when there
was a metallic tap behind her.

Marlene frowned – her cellmate Kathleen usually stayed with her friends until the guards
started to enforce the return to the cells – and glanced over her shoulder. Then she stiffened.
She didn't recognise the woman standing just inside her open cell, and Marlene didn't think
that was a good thing.

"Can I help you?" she asked, getting to her feet. She was far taller than the stranger, and not
as thin, which was reassuring – if it came to a fight, Marlene probably had a fair chance,
unless the woman had a weapon somewhere. Marlene let her book drop back onto the desk.

"Mona?" the woman asked, with a rather odd expression.

"Can I help you?" Marlene repeated, her tone a little sharper. The woman looked exasperated
and thrilled all at once, and took a tentative step forward. "Who are you?" Marlene
demanded.

"I'm-" The woman hesitated, and when she didn't offer a name, Marlene realised she was
trying to think of a title to give herself. "A friend," she decided, rather tentatively. "Or at
least, I consider you one. Sort of."

"Well, sort-of-friend," Marlene said, rather coolly, "what do you want?"

"You," the woman replied, looking sure, at least, of this. She came further into the cell –
taking a curious look at the desk - and Marlene retreated to the cell door, trying to decide
whether to run, or whether to stay. "Please don't run again," the woman said quietly.

"Again?" Marlene asked, arching an eyebrow. "What-"

"Walk with me?" the woman asked abruptly.

"Walk?" Marlene asked, dumbly. "Where-"

"Dunno," the woman said. "Around. Somewhere quieter." She strode past Marlene and out
into the hallway. "Coming?"

"You're joking, right?" Marlene asked, incredulous. While the wizarding world was different
to the muggle world, she didn't think it was intelligent to go off with a complete stranger –
one that likely had a dangerous past – in either.

"No," the woman said. Rather suddenly, her eyes twinkled, and a small smile flickered across
her face. "I'm serious."

Marlene stared at the woman for a long moment and then said, "All right." She'd revoked her
place in the wizarding world, but she'd been a Gryffindor once. Brave. "But nowhere too
quiet."

The pair of them walked in silence down the hallway – the other woman kept looking up at
Marlene and then looking away as soon as Marlene glanced back. They passed a few other
inmates and guards on their way through the prison and after the third time past Block B, the
woman glanced at Marlene and didn't look away when the glance was returned.

"I've got no idea where I'm going," she admitted.

"Obviously," Marlene snapped. "Are you new?"

"Got here this afternoon." Marlene blinked.

"I- I was joking."

"I'm not."

"The laundry's just down here," Marlene said, thrown by the exchange. She urged her feet to
move, and the woman trailed along behind her, looking amused. "No one does their washing
at night even though we're allowed to," Marlene added, feeling compelled to make
conversation, "so that should be empty."

It was, and the woman sat down atop one of the washing machines while Marlene hovered
near the door.

"Well?" she asked after a few moments. She hadn't felt this unsettled since she'd entered the
muggle world, and she hadn't missed the feeling. At all. "What do you want?"
"I already told you."

"Me?" Marlene asked, rolling her eyes. "You've got me – temporarily. But if you don't start
talking in the next few seconds, you're going to lose me."

"I'll find you again," the woman said, quietly certain.

"I'm good at hiding."

"I found you this time, didn't I?"

"I was sitting in my cell, in a prison," Marlene said, trying to inject as much condescension
into her voice as possible. "I wasn't a difficult target."

"No?" the woman asked, with something in her voice that Marlene couldn't identify. She
hopped off the washing machine and leaned against it, folding her arms. "You're a long way
from home, Mona. Some might even think you were hiding."

"Some might be wrong," Marlene shot back, eyes flinty, but uneasy didn't even begin to
describe her feelings anymore. This woman, whoever she was, was hinting at things that
Marlene wasn't comfortable with her hinting at. She turned on her heel, intent on returning to
her cell.

"Seriously? You're going to run again?"

"I'm going back to my cell," Marlene said, with what dignity she could muster. "It's almost
curfew." That was a lie; curfew was still probably an hour away, but if this woman was new,
as she claimed to be, then she wouldn't know that.

"Wait!" Marlene didn't even pause. "Marlene, wait." Those two words were said so calmly,
but with so much authority behind them that Marlene did wait . She didn't stop, however, and
whirled around.

"Who-?" she choked. All she got in return was a sad smile, but it was enough. The number of
times she'd seen it during the war, directed at her from over James Potter or Remus Lupin's
shoulder, or from behind a glass of firewhiskey... Her heart stopped. She wanted to run. She'd
never wanted anything more, actually, but she knew the woman – well, man – opposite her
would follow. He'd managed to already, hadn't he?

She sat down on the floor, where she was. Sirius came to sit beside her, without hesitation.

"Dora does good work," he said quietly, gesturing to his face. Now that she knew it was him,
she recognised the colour of his eyes, although the shape was different, and the lashes
framing them were thicker, and the eyebrows were thinner. His nose was longer, and thinner,
and his teeth were rounder and his lips plumper. "I didn't even recognise myself when I-"

"What do you want?" she asked thickly. "And if you say 'You', I swear I'll break your stupid,
unrecognisable face." Sirius said nothing. "Answer me!"
"I don't want you to break my face," Sirius muttered. A sob clawed its way out of Marlene's
throat.

"W-why did you even c-come?" she asked, a little hysterically. "I'm not- I shouldn't matter!"

"You matter," he said quietly, and she wondered how she'd missed it; even with transfigured
vocal cords, he still sounded like himself when he spoke with that tone. "Even-" He hesitated,
looking at her, and then away, very quickly. There was an awkward pause and then Sirius
finally said, "We- what's left of the Order-"

"That was a long time ago," she said instantly.

"So were James and Lily," Sirius countered softly, "and you were willing to kill me for
them." Marlene jerked, and would have stood and run if Sirius hadn't predicted it and caught
her arm. "Don't tell me none of it matters."

"I won't a-apologise," Marlene said.

"Why not?" Sirius asked, brow furrowed.

"Because it won't ever be enough!" Marlene exclaimed. "I used an Unforgivable on you-"

"You didn't mean it-"

"I meant to," she whispered. "And that's not- I can't forgive- you can't forgive me for-"

"I can't?" Sirius drawled. "That sounds an awful lot like a rule." Marlene frowned at him.
"I'm not very good with rules."

"You still like to think you're funny," she observed, rather despairingly, staring at his
unfamiliar face.

"I do," Sirius agreed, with a small smile. "So obviously there was no real harm-"

"Don't. Don't tell me there was no harm done." Marlene tried to shake Sirius' hand off her
arm, but it remained there – not tight, but not going anywhere. "I tried to kill you, and you're
not allowed to just walk in without having heard an apology, or talked to me about this
beforehand, and say that that doesn't matter!"

"Are you scared to apologise because you think I won't forgive you, or because you think I
might?" he asked.

"I'm not scared at all! I'm not giving you an apology because it's redundant, and insignificant
and-"

"I'd like to hear it anyway," Sirius said. "Alleged insignificance and all."

"I'm sure you would," she muttered. Sirius was quiet for a long time. His hand loosened on
her arm, but didn't retract entirely, and he made no move to stand, but he did shift into a
position that would make moving easier.
"I have forgiven you, you know," he said, and Marlene's heart constricted painfully. "It took a
while... I was angry, and disappointed at first-" Marlene's stomach twisted at that,
at disappointed, but she deserved it, and she clung to the word, storing it away for later
thought. "-and then I was free, and I was busy – with Harry, and Remus, and everything
really – and then I got a letter, from a friend of yours. Robards."

"Gawain?" Marlene croaked.

"The one and only." A ghost of a smile flickered over his face, and then faded. "He was a
mess, Marly. He wasn't sleeping, he was getting by on tea and toast, and he was so desperate
that he reached out to me, the bloke you'd tried to kill, for help."

"Why did you?" Marlene asked.

Sirius hesitated for the briefest moment and then said, "Order. We're family." She didn't think
that was the whole truth, but she wasn't going to question him. She didn't think she wanted to
hear the truth. There was a short silence, and then Sirius cleared his throat, the faintest shade
of pink creeping into his cheeks. Marlene pretended not to notice.

"Family don't try to kill-"

"No, but we've always been dysfunctional," Sirius said gently. He squeezed her arm in an
unmistakably affectionate gesture. She yanked it away, but made no move to leave.

"This isn't fair," she said. "On either of us."

"I-"

"Whatever you're here for – whatever you want – is more than I can give you. I won't
apologise, and I won't do this-" She grabbed his arm and squeezed it, in a mockery of the
gesture he'd made moments before. "-or, or-" She faltered. "And you can't just come in and
ruin everything! I'm happy here – happier than I've been in a long time, because everything's
simple and- and-" Marlene felt the tears break free at last, a lot later than she'd expected them
too. "-and now you've made me cry!" She glared at him through blurry eyes.

"Why won't you let me forgive you?"

"Because I don't d-deserve it," she said, wiping her cheeks. "I meant it when I cast that spell,
and it didn't work, but I meant it, Sirius!" His name tasted funny on her lips.

"Marly," he began, and she hated the way that her name sounded so familiar.

"It's Mona," she said. Sirius looked stricken.

"Ebony," he croaked, after a moment.

"What?"

"Ebony. That's the name I used to get in." He stood, and there was something in his voice,
and in the way he moved, that spoke of utter defeat. "I expect it'll be all over the muggle
papers tomorrow, alongside speculation about how I escaped."

"You're leaving?" Marlene asked, partially relieved, partially- She pushed those other feelings
aside, and buried them. "Tonight?"

"Now," Sirius told her. He seemed to struggle with himself, and then, in a small voice said,
"It's an open invitation."

Marlene didn't let herself think about the possibilities, didn't even allow herself to examine
the offer with emotion. She swallowed, and got to her feet.

"Safe travels," she whispered, and left.

 The return

Sirius was feeling rather demoralised by the time he returned to Number Twelve - courtesy of
Kreacher - on the Thursday night. It wasn't late, but he felt exhausted, and had hoped to be
able to slink past Harry and go to bed, but luck truly was against him; Harry and Dora were
seated at the kitchen table, eating what appeared to be chocolate mousse.

"Wotcher," Dora said, when Sirius appeared. Her eyes fell on the empty space next to him -
Kreacher was already heading for the oven - and her face fell. "She wasn't-"

"She was there," Sirius said heavily. "Just not- she didn't come back. Obviously." Harry knew
enough of what was going on to know who 'she' meant, and the corners of his mouth turned
down.

Sirius wondered if he'd done the right thing, by leaving. Marlene wasn't one to be forced to
do anything or go anywhere she didn't want to. Like Sirius, she was stubborn about things
like that. He also got the impression that her problem wasn't actually with him; rather, it was
doubt of her own worth, and guilt, that was prompting this response.

And guilt means she cares, Sirius thought, not sure whether that thought brought him
comfort, or made this whole, messy situation worse.

"Did you have any trouble escaping the morgue?" he asked Dora.

"None," she said, looking smug. "I knocked over a tray of dissection equipment, but
otherwise, I was fantastically stealthy." Sirius mustered a smile; he didn't really feel like
smiling, but he appreciated her help, and wanted to show it. "That was just after lunch time,
and then I went to training, and then I had a few hours until I need to meet up with Mad-Eye,
and I knew Harry was probably home alone - aside from Kreacher, of course - so I thought I'd
drop by and make sure he was all right." Sirius also heard what she hadn't said; Dora
probably, if everything was normal, would have spent the afternoon with Remus, but that was
not currently an option.

"We finished my poster on the Egyptians," Harry said, speaking for the first time. "She knew
a glue charm-"

"I bought you a glue stick," Sirius said, amused. "What happened to-"

"I..." Harry shifted sheepishly. "Erm, well, the thing is, that-"

"That?" Sirius prompted.

"Ilostit," Harry said in a rush. "It's in my room. I think. Possibly. Or the library-" Sirius
chuckled, unable to help himself, and then stepped around the table to ruffle Harry's hair.
Then, rather abruptly, his mood dropped and he pulled Harry into a hug. Harry, for his part,
said nothing, but he squeezed Sirius a little more tightly than he needed to, and didn't pull
away; he left that up to Sirius. Sirius caught a whiff of sadness from Dora, but when he
glanced over, she was giving them their privacy, and was focused solely on her pudding.

Sirius declined Kreacher's offer of mousse, but he did accept a slice of fresh bread, which
was still warm from the oven. He, Harry and Dora chatted, about nothing in particular, but
they were all careful to avoid mentioning Remus and Marlene. Dora left about half an hour
after Sirius' return, saying she had to get to Mad-Eye's by eight, and be there early enough to
deal with whatever obstacle he'd set up. Sirius suggested she use the Floo and try to scare
him, and Dora seized the idea with enthusiasm, and even changed her features to look as
sinister as possible. Sirius thought that was tempting fate, but she refused to be dissuaded and
vanishing with a cheery grin.

"Padfoot," Harry said, after the flames had died down.

"Hmmm?"

"Can you, I mean, can Padfoot sleep on my bed tonight?" Sirius' head snapped up.

"Bad dreams again, kiddo?" he asked. Harry had been silent the last few nights, as was
thankfully inevitable; his dreams were growing further apart, and also weaker as the time
since the trial lengthened. Harry shrugged, and Sirius couldn't help but feel relieved (and then
guilty that he felt that way, because nightmares weren't a good thing). For all that he'd wished
he could sneak past Harry when he first arrived home, he now realised that the idea of being
alone didn't appeal to him all that much either. He'd be grateful for company, even if said
company was going to be asleep the entire time.

Sirius ruffled Harry's hair again, and then clapped him on the shoulder.

"Race you," Sirius said, the words twisting strangely as he curled into Padfoot. Harry smiled
and muttered something, so quietly that even Padfoot's sensitive ears couldn't hear it. Then,
as Padfoot started toward the kitchen stairs, Harry stood up and vanished with a pop.

Padfoot growled good naturedly - the doggy approximation of 'cheat' - and tore up the stairs,
his thoughts about Marlene gone for the time being.

Padfoot walked Harry to school as Padfoot the next morning. His ears and tail drooped when
they passed Number Thirteen, Harry noticed, but they perked up again when he spied a pair
of fat pigeons and dashed at them, barking excitedly. The pigeons took off immediately and
Padfoot snapped at their tail feathers half-heartedly, not seeming all that bothered that they'd
managed to get away.

Then he trotted back to Harry for a scratch behind the ears and to get a look at Harry's watch.
He made a soft snuffling sound and nudged Harry along. Harry walked a little faster,
watching his godfather carefully from behind. He thought he seemed happy enough but it
was often hard to tell with Padfoot, particularly when he was a dog. Harry just hoped he
wasn't going to go home and mope.
"Have you heard from Moony yet?" Harry asked. Padfoot snorted, looking disapproving, and
then shook his big head. He made a rumbling noise in the back of his throat that sounded a bit
like 'git', and Harry grinned; if or when he managed his transformation, he wanted to learn to
make his wolf noises sound like words. It would be a useful skill to have, he thought. "D'you
reckon he's all right?"

Padfoot hesitated for the briefest moment, and then rolled his shoulders; it was the closest
thing to a shrug he could manage. He didn't seem too worried though, so Harry doubted
Moony could be in any serious trouble.

It'd still be nice to have him home, though, Harry thought. Full moon's tonight, so
he should be back today at some point. Hopefully. He glanced at Padfoot, and got a doggy
grin in return, which comforted him quite a bit. Harry managed to smile back, and reached
out to tug on the tip of Padfoot's tail.

The last few blocks of the walk to school were spent at a run; well, Harry ran, and Padfoot
loped after him – he was perfectly capable of catching up to Harry, particularly when Harry
had his rucksack on, if he'd been that way inclined. Instead, he nipped at his shoelaces and
shorts when Harry slowed down too much.

Harry was sweaty and out of breath by the time they reached the school gates. Harry glanced
at the teacher on morning duty and shook his head at Padfoot apologetically; some teachers
were happy to let Padfoot into the school, and others were ridiculously strict about keeping
him outside the gates. This one, a year four teacher that didn't even like Blaise, fell into the
second category.

"See you after school?" Harry said. Padfoot barked and nodded, and then came forward to
lick Harry's face and receive a pat. Then Padfoot bared his teeth in a grin again, and set off
down the street.

"Harry!" Hermione leaped up from the bench she'd been sitting on, and hurried over, her
books tucked securely under her arm. She had Matilda – their class novel – and The Witches,
which was obviously a novel of her own choice. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine," Harry said, bewildered. Hermione looked a little suspicious, and... hopeful?

"You don't look sick to me," she mused, looking him over. "And Mrs Hastings at the front
office told Blaise that no one called to say why you were absent yesterday-"

"Dad must have forgotten," Harry said, shrugging.

"So you were sick?" she asked.

"Er... yeah," Harry said. "Nothing horrible, but I wasn't well enough to come in to school, so-
"

"It wasn't your birthday, was it?" Hermione asked, rather randomly. Harry blinked. "When do
you turn eleven?"
"No – my birthday's in July. Not until next yea-"

Hermione looked disappointed, and then shook her head. "Silly," Harry heard her mutter.

"Sorry, what?" Harry asked, still struggling to keep up with the odd turn in the conversation.

"Nothing," she said at once, looking evasive, and then under her breath, "Stupid!
Stupid, stupid-" Her eyes flicked over to Harry, widened – as if she'd just remembered that he
was still there – and then she adjusted her grip on her books. "I'll see you in the classroom,"
she said, looking a little panicked. "I've got to- The bathroom, you know?" Harry stared at the
back of her bushy head as she ducked around the side of the building.

Completely confused, Harry continued onto the classroom alone. Mrs Phelps asked him if he
was feeling better, and Ruth made a rather obvious show of staying as far away from him as
possible; obviously, she thought he was contagious. Harry couldn't wait until next term, when
they'd be able to move desks and he wouldn't have to sit opposite her.

Blaise – who was always at school early – came and perched on the edge of Harry's desk.

"How are you feeling, kid?" he asked warmly.

"Better," Harry said. "Thanks." Blaise nodded waved at Sacha, who'd just walked in with
Ryan. The pair of them were arguing about football rather loudly. Blaise rolled his eyes.
"Hey," Harry said, "is Hermione...er... okay?"

"Is she ever?" Blaise asked, rather loftily. Harry folded his arms. "Get a sense of humour,
Evans," Blaise said, rolling his eyes again.

"I have a-" Blaise patted him on the head, and grinned.

"She's fine, kid. She seemed more interested than the rest of us about where you were
yesterday – she made me go down to the front office to find out if anyone had called in to say
where you were, can you believe it!?"

"You weren't worried?" Harry asked, smirking. Blaise's expression was a little too
unconcerned for it to be believable.

"No," he said. Harry arched an eyebrow. "Well, a bit. Maybe. But not as much as Granger."
Blaise stuck his nose in the air. "Frankly, if you've got snot oozing out of every pore, and a
killer headache, I'd rather not know about it."

"Charming," Hermione said, flopping down into her chair.

"Ew," Harry agreed.

"Can't handle a bit of snot, Granger?" Blaise asked.

"I can," she sniffed. "I grew up in my parents' practice, and I'll have you know I've seen a lot
worse than snot. I just don't think mucous is a very nice conversational topic first thing in the
morning, and I'm sure Harry doesn't want to be reminded what an awful day he had
yesterday, while he was sick." She gave Harry a rather sharp look, and he gave her an odd
one in return, not sure what he'd done – other than miss a day of school – to bring her
irritation crashing down on him.

Blaise was silent for a moment and then asked, "So what have you seen that's worse?"

"Honestly!" Hermione huffed, pulling out her book. Harry kicked Blaise's foot, and Blaise
pulled a face at her. Harry kicked him again. Hermione noticed; her eyes peered over the top
of The Witches and Blaise immediately stopped, seeming embarrassed that he'd been caught;
his cheeks darkened and he took immediate interest in Harry's pencilcase and how functional
the zipper was. Hermione watched them both for a moment, and apparently decided neither
was worth her time that morning; she returned to her book a few moments later.

"Blaise, back to your own desk, please," Mrs Phelps said. "And you three-" Leanne, Colin
and Jack looked over from the rucksack hooks. "-hurry up, please, so we can get started."
Blaise slid off Harry's desk and slinked back to his own, still looking sheepish.

"Have I done something?" Harry asked, nudging Hermione. She looked up, her expression
softening a bit.

"No," she sighed. "I just- I'd thought- or hoped, maybe, that-" She frowned at him, and then
her shoulders slumped. "It doesn't matter, really."

"Harry?"

"What doesn't matter?" Harry pressed. Hermione's frown deepened.

"Evans."

"Harry," Hermione said, elbowing him.

"Here," Harry sighed, glancing at Hermione. "Sorry."

Mrs Phelps stared at him for a moment and then said, "Hermione?"

"Here," Hermione said at once.

"It's a bit pointless, isn't it?" Blaise whispered, leaning across the gap between their tables. "I
mean, she can see you – she was looking right at you – so I don't know why she couldn't just
tick you off... it's just impractical, really-"

Harry shrugged, and Mrs Phelps, apparently noticing that two of her students weren't paying
attention, snapped her fingers. Both boys glanced at her.

"Blaise," she said sternly. "I'm aware that Harry was away yesterday, and that the pair of you
obviously have a lot of catching up to do, but kindly let it wait until recess. I don't like it
when other people talk over the top of me."

"Yes, Mrs Phelps," Blaise said at once. He adjusted himself in his seat and then gave her a
contrite look. She smiled, and Blaise smiled back, instantly forgiven.
"Sorry," Harry said. The look she gave him was not quite as fond - she'd been a bit uncertain
around him since the pointy purple incident – but she didn't seem angry.

"Thank you," she said. "Alice?"

Remus hadn't been sure what sort of response to expect from Sirius when he arrived back -
relief, probably, because Sirius had sent him half a dozen patronus messages that Remus had
left unanswered, or maybe sympathy, for what he was going through right now.

He Flooed into Grimmauld's kitchen in the late morning of the day of the full moon, feeling
rotten and achy. Sirius, who was at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea - beside which
rested a bottle of old Ogden's firewhiskey - glanced up. His expression went from grim to
shocked to relieved to furious in less than a second, and it was too much for Remus'
throbbing head to deal with.

"Morning," he croaked, and then nodded at the firewhiskey. "Bit early, isn't it?"

"I haven't opened it," Sirius said, looking rueful. Remus eyed the seal, and found it was
indeed intact.

"Then why's it out?"

"Maybe I like the way it looks," Sirius said, a hint of snideness creeping into his tone. Remus
took a tentative sniff, and winced. Sirius' scent was all over the place, and it hadn't been that
way since he'd been suffering through the Dementor's Draught. Misery was there, and
irritation and exasperation also featured strongly, though there were also hints of guilt, worry
and confusion. None of them were evenly remotely happy scents, unless Remus counted the
twisted, defeated sort of affection that pulsed in and out.

"What's happened?" Remus asked, gingerly lowering himself into the seat opposite his best
friend. He glanced around, hoping that maybe Kreacher might be nearby and offer him a cup
of tea, but Kreacher was nowhere in sight.

"A lot," Sirius said, glowering at the table.

"Like-?"

"Maybe if you'd been here, instead of running off, you'd know," Sirius snapped.

"I'm here now," Remus said. Sirius lifted his glower from the table and fixed it on Remus,
who shrank back, not liking the intensity of the stare. For a moment, he thought that Sirius
might stay silent, just to spite him, but then Sirius' jaw set.

"Fine," he said. "Fine. You want to know what happened?" Remus nodded, hoping it wasn't a
trick question. "I got arrested, found out Marlene would rather spend the rest of her life in
prison than let me help her-" Sirius looked up, his eyes glimmering rather cruelly. "Oh, and
Dora died." Remus choked on the question he'd been about to ask, and the air went rushing
out of his lungs. For a moment he couldn't breathe, and he genuinely thought his heart might
have stopped. Then, Sirius added, "Well, not really – she just pretended to, to help me get
myself into prison..." Remus slumped, his heart now pounding so hard against his ribcage
that he was in danger of internal bruising. "Are you all right?" Sirius asked innocently.

"Fine," Remus choked. "Just- I think I need the full story."

Sirius obliged, but he seemed to be lacking his usual enthusiasm; his hand gestures were
limited, and his voice was flat. And, more than once, his eyes drifted out of focus and he lost
his part in the story, and required prompting to remember where he'd been. It was all right,
though; while it was an engaging series of events and Remus was a captive audience, he
wasn't really up to gasping, or commenting or laughing in the right places.

"Wow," he said, when Sirius finished with his story.

"It's been a busy few days," Sirius agreed, looking tired.

"Mmm." Remus hesitated; Marlene was always a touchy subject with Sirius, and not one that
Remus felt comfortable delving into unless Sirius brought it up first, but he thought that this
particular time might be the exception. "I'm sorry about Marlene, Padfoot. It must be
disappointing to have gone to all that trouble and been-"

"Rejected?" Sirius suggested, rather bitterly. Remus nodded, and got a sigh and a shrug in
return. "At least she acknowledged me. I was dismissed, sure, but I know where I stand,
which is more than some people get." His eyes flicked up to meet Remus' and the stare was
rather sharp. Thinking he was looking for sympathy, Remus gave him a sad smile.

"It is," he agreed. "Better to know, than to be left wondering-"

"Like Dora?" Sirius asked, rather cuttingly. Remus' eyes dropped to his hands. "She finally
admitted she fancies you, and you ran, you complete git!" Sirius' voice was growing
increasingly louder, and Remus was still unable to lift his eyes to meet Sirius' glare. "You
selfish, self-pitying, cowardly-"

"I know how it must look," Remus said, "but-"

"I'll tell you how it looks, you enormous prat," Sirius said, sounding tired again. "It
looks bad! It-"

"I did it for her," Remus said, looking up in time to see Sirius blink.

"You ran for her?" Sirius repeated flatly. "Moony, when a girl says she fancies you, you
run toward her, not in the opposite direction, screaming-"

"She fancies me, Padfoot," Remus snapped.

"Do you want sympathy or something?" Sirius asked, rolling his eyes. "Poor Moony, the
woman you fancy fancies you back-"

"That's the problem!" Remus said.

"That she fancies-"

"That I fancy her!"

"I told you so," Sirius said at once.

"You're not helping, you prat!" Remus said.

"Sorry," Sirius said, in a rather patronising voice, and then continued, sounding genuinely
confused. "Why's that a problem? I can't see-"

"Because I like her!" Remus said. "And she, for whatever reason, likes me back, which
means that it – if 'it' even happened – wouldn't just be a- we'd be dating, Sirius!"

"Dating!" Sirius gasped. "I feel so sorry for you. "Really, I do. I'm practically sobbing here,
because my empathy's just so overwhelm- Oi!" Remus had pulled his shoe off and thrown it
at Sirius, who managed to avoid a hit to the face; the worn trainer bounced off his shoulder
instead. "That was uncalled for!"

"You're the one that started throwing accusations around," Remus snapped. "If you want to
hear my justifications, then the least you could do is stop interrupting!"

"Sorry," Sirius muttered. "So dating's a problem?"

"Yes, dating's a problem."

"-because in school-"

"I never dated anyone in school," Remus said, feeling his cheeks heat up. "It was just fooling-
Look, I like Dora! And I can see us- if we were to- if we were to date... I can't see it being a
short term thing." Remus drummed his fingers on his knees, agitated. "And I'm all wrong for
her-"

"You-"

"I'm old," Remus said, "compared to her, at least, and I'm poor, and then there's the fact that,
you know, I'm a monster-"

"Once a month-"

"That's too long! And even if none of that proved to be an issue-" But it was – a huge issue. "-
and we did date, and things went well, and we got married, we'd never be able to have
children because there'd be a chance that they'd be like- like- I couldn't live with- not an
innocent child-"

"You've given this way too much thought," Sirius observed. "I mean, kids? That's years off, at
least, and that's if she even wants them-"

"She might not now, but she might change her mind," Remus said. "She's limited with me.
She should be with someone young and whole, who can take care of her, and-"
"But she fancies you-"

"She thinks she does," Remus said, sadly. "And she probably will, for a while. Which is why
it has to be this way. I'll seem like a git, certainly, but better that she thinks that and moves
on, than find out I fancy her back..." He shrugged. "I'm not right for her, and it's not fair for
her to waste time getting caught up on what could have been if I was younger, or she was
older, or if stupid Greyback hadn't-"

"This is wrong," Sirius said.

"I beg your-"

"You. Having this conversation with me. You should be talking this out with her,
giving her these reasons."

"I just said-"

"I know what you said," Sirius sighed. "And I – as much as it annoys me to say it – can see
where you're coming from, even if I personally strongly disagree with it, and think you're just
being a git. I also think she needs to hear this. It's nice that you're trying to- to protect her, or
whatever, but you're taking her choice away altogether-"

"It's for the best; Dora can be impetuous," Remus said.

"She can also be mature," Sirius countered. Remus couldn't deny that, when he himself had
told her at seventeen that she acted far older than she was. "And this affects her, regardless of
what happens. She deserves to understand."

Remus' mouth turned down, and Sirius gave him a grim smile, before he conjured two
tumblers. He opened the firewhiskey with a tap of his wand and poured them both a drink.

"To women," Sirius said.

"To women," Remus sighed, clinking their glasses together.

"So where were you hiding?" Sirius asked, a few moments later.

"Matt's," Remus replied. "He's good company in normal circumstances, but he's even better
company at times like this; he doesn't ask questions if I don't want to answer them." Remus
gave Sirius a pointed look, but there was no real force behind it. Sirius shrugged and
mustered a weak grin, before he reached for the firewhiskey again. Remus held his glass out
to be refilled.

CRACK!

Sirius twitched and almost dropped the bottle, while Remus' hands flew up to cradle his head,
in an attempt – far too late – to protect his ears from the noise. The pair of them looked over
at Kreacher – Remus with a groan, Sirius with a slightly exasperated, slightly sheepish
expression.
Kreacher, for his part, took one look at the bottle of firewhiskey and promptly wrested it from
Sirius' grip.

"Hey!" Sirius said, as Kreacher Vanished it back to wherever it had come from.

"Disgraceful behaviour," Kreacher croaked, sending the sugar pot floating over to the table.
"Drinking at this hour... What sort of example Master Sirius hopes to set for Master Harry,
Kreacher doesn't know, but-"

"Harry's at school," Sirius said, but he looked guilty anyway.

"And isn't that lucky," Kreacher remarked. He filled two teacups and set those down in front
of them instead, while the tumblers floated over to the sink to be washed. "Shameful
behaviour." He didn't say anything about what Sirius' mother would have said, but Remus
hadn't heard him mention her at all of late. Or it could have been that Kreacher knew there
was no moral high-ground to take by mentioning that, because Sirius' father had been quite
fond of firewhiskey at all hours. "Kreacher expected better, especially from Master Moony...
he's supposed to have more sense, oh yes."

"It's a once off," Sirius mumbled.

"It certainly is," Kreacher said, crossing his bony arms. The Black family ring glinted on his
finger. He'd stopped making obvious gestures to remind them it was there, but he still looked
proud to be wearing it, Remus thought. Kreacher and Sirius glared at each other for a few
seconds, and then Sirius dropped his gaze.

"Let us mope in peace," Sirius grumbled. Kreacher snorted and padded across the floor to
start cooking lunch. Sirius rolled his eyes at the old elf's back, but when Remus caught his
eye, Sirius smiled and shrugged.

Marlene sat in her cell, staring blankly at her dry sandwich. Her mind was a thousand miles
away, in another world; the Wizarding world.

She hadn't slept well the night before; memories of Sirius and the Order and even of the
Auror Program had been bouncing around in her head, and try as she might, she hadn't been
able to shut them out. Those memories had stayed with her that morning, through breakfast
and being questioned by the guards and police – she was a suspected accomplice in 'Ebony's'
disappearance last night, since she was the last one 'Ebony' had been seen with last – and
showed no signs of letting up.

She missed them all. She missed Dorcas' maternal nature, and she missed Benjy's sincerity.
She missed Caradoc's little life lessons, and she missed Gideon and Fabian's humour. She
missed Lily's kindness, and James' charisma, and, and she missed Alice's gentle smile and
Frank's ever-eager explanations. She missed her brothers and her parents, for more reasons
than she could list.

She missed those that were still alive, too: she missed Sturgis' stubbornness, and Amelia's
practicality, and Emmeline's conviction, and Mundungus' crude humour and Remus' dry wit
and Mad-Eye's paranoia and Dumbledore's eccentricity and- well, everything.

And Sirius. Whether it was as a friend, or as whatever it was they'd been during the war, she
didn't know, but she missed him – more than she wanted to admit, and far more than she had
any right to, given everything that had gone on between them in the past two years.

It was Sirius that had driven her here in the first place; she'd assumed that he'd hate her for
almost killing him – which was not, she didn't think, an unfair assumption – and had done
what she could to ensure he made it through his trial, before disappearing. Out of sight, out of
mind. Only that hadn't worked so well.

Sirius had spent the time she'd been in prison, trying to find her, and bring her back. Marlene
shook her head, giving the sandwich on her plate a despairing look.

Only him, she thought sadly, and knew it was true; neither she, Lupin or Dumbledore had,
after all, made any effort to visit him after his alleged betrayal. They'd been content with the
knowledge that he was being punished for his crimes and had left him to it. Sirius had never
really been one to let things be.

The fact that he'd forgiven her and wanted her to leave with him hadn't been easy to hear. She
didn't deserve that chance... except, now that she'd been offered it, it was hard to get out of
her head. She hadn't been lying when she'd told him she liked the simplicity of prison, but
'happy' had been an exaggeration. Prison had been good for her, but she missed her magic,
missed her world and the few people in it, and she missed doing things.

She'd read a number of books on the human brain since arriving – in the hopes of finding a
muggle cure for Alice and Frank – but she was making slow progress; she'd had to read so
much to even understand some of the more basic books on the subject. And, she only had two
hours of potential reading time each day; the majority of her time was spent at meals, or
performing tasks around the prison.

Amelia would kill me if she knew I'd gone back to cleaning, Marlene thought, and then
sniffed and glanced at the roof to stop her tears. She'd say I was wasting my time... and I
am. I'm not helping anyone, not atoning for anything... I'm just staying out of the way, and
Sirius doesn't want me to do even that.

So what do-

"Star," Kathleen said. "They're letting us out."

Marlene dropped her sandwich onto her paper plate and look up. Their cell door – along with
the others – had slid open, and the women were filing out into the corridor. The clock on the
wall outside said it was just after two, which meant time outside, though Marlene suspected
she and the rest of the inmates would be under very close watch.

Still, she thought, I could use the fresh air. She slid off her bunk and took her sandwich with
her as she joined the crowd headed for the exit.
It was cold outside, but not unbearable; Marlene wondered what would happen to their
outside time when it started to snow. Marlene found herself a little patch of dying grass to sit
on, right beside the fence that wrapped around the entire area. A policeman hovered not five
feet away, his eyes undoubtedly on her, through his sunglasses.

Marlene pulled her sandwich apart and threw it through the holes in the fence, and little birds
came to peck at the pieces. They waited expectantly, even after the bread was done, but when
they realised Marlene didn't have any more hidden in her pockets, the birds flew away.

What am I supposed to do? Marlene wondered, watching the guards watch her. Staying
seemed like a silly idea now that she knew that the person she was hiding from didn't want
her to hide, but she wasn't going to leave just because Sirius thought she should.

And Gawain, a voice added. He obviously thinks so too.

Yes, well I'm sick of doing what other people think I should or shouldn't, she snapped. That
was what had got her into trouble in the first place. She'd gone after Sirius because that was
what she thought Lily and James would have wanted, and she'd done the opposite of
everything Sirius had said since then, because he was Bad and therefore, the things he
disagreed with were Good.

It was possibly the stupidest thing she'd ever done, basing her moralities on another person's
behaviour, and her time in prison had been good for her in that regard; she'd learned to think
again. And I'm not doing anything that I don't want to, from now on.

But what do I want?

"Congratulations," Robards said, when Sirius went into work the next morning. Sirius had
thankfully managed to work off most of his misery at his failure yesterday; his talk with
Remus had helped, and then he and Harry had stopped at the park on the way home and had a
two-hour-long game of fetch, and he'd spent the rest of the night chasing Moony around the
forest. He was too exhausted to feel sorry for himself. So Sirius didn't snap, as he might have,
had the congratulations been directed at him yesterday.

"For...?" he asked. Robards smiled patiently and held up a copy of the muggle
newspaper. HUNT-ING FOR STAR, was the headline. The fact that Sirius' alias had made it
into the paper was no great surprise, but the fact that Marlene's was there too, was confusing.
Sirius tore the paper out of Robards' hand to read it.

"Ebony Hunt," Robards said. "Clever. Is she at home?" Sirius let out a moan of despair, and
then snarled as yesterday's bad mood came bouncing back.

"I have no idea," he said, looking up. 'She didn't- I left on my own. She chose to stay!"

"She what?" Robards asked sharply. "Then- Then why does the paper say that both of you
escaped?!"
"Different times," Sirius muttered, scanning the article. "She left the night after I did- but-
she-" He looked up at Robards, who looked angry and confused. "You know what?" he
muttered. "You're going next time, because apparently, the fact that I know where to find her
is too much for her to deal with!" A group of trainees walked past and Sirius, well aware of
his red face and heaving chest, flopped down into his chair. The trainees muttered amongst
themselves and Sirius glowered at them as they left. He took a deep breath. "I'll go down
there now and have a look," he sighed. "If she used magic to get out-"

"Without a wand?" Robards said, tapping his desk drawer.

"Accidental?" Sirius asked. "That's how I managed Azkaban."

"At your age?" Robards asked. Sirius shrugged. "The desperation you'd need to be able to
pull off something like-"

"Obviously escaping me's a pretty high incentive," Sirius said bitterly.

"Oh, obviously," a voice said from behind him. Sirius yelped and spun around so hard that he
fell off his seat. Robards was already on his feet, hurrying over. Marlene had her arms folded,
was still blond, was still wearing her prison clothes – which, worryingly enough, had blood
on them - and smelled shocked and uncomfortable, but was obviously determined not to
show it. Robards pulled her into a tight hug, which Marlene awkwardly returned.

"How?" Sirius asked weakly, not even attempting to stand. Marlene looked down at him,
seeming troubled.

"The Knight Bus," she said. "I hailed it through the fence. When it arrived, the fence jumped
out of the way – rather clumsily, I might add-" She lifted the side of her shirt to show them a
criss-crossed bruise and a rather sore looking scratch just above her hip. "-and I was able to
walk right on." The muggles wouldn't have noticed anything, Sirius knew, because the Bus
hid all of its passengers, once they got within a certain range.

"Clever," he said. Marlene glanced at him, the barest hint of a frown resting on her face, and
then inclined her head, acknowledging it. "And you paid for it with one of those forms,
right?" Because the Knight Bus was a form of emergency transport, it wasn't uncommon for
passengers to not have money with them at the time, and so all they had to do was fill out and
sign a form with their Gringotts details.

She inclined her head again, turned to Robards and said, "I assumed, given the lengths you
went to find me-" Her eyes swept over Sirius, who was still on the floor. "-that you wouldn't
have emptied my vault like I asked you to."

"A fair assumption," Robards said, in a very neutral voice. "I've also got your wand."
Marlene's eyes brightened. "And your house key." Marlene's lip trembled, but she didn't cry,
as Sirius half-expected.

"Thanks," she said in a thick voice.

"You can have them back when we've discussed some things," he said. Marlene looked
scared, and nervous. "Right now, though, I've got to go and tell certain people that certain
things have happened." He got up and swept out, but despite his curt demeanour, Sirius hadn't
missed the glint in his eyes, and the new spring in his step. "Don't leave the cubicle, please,"
he added over his shoulder. Marlene's eyes flicked over to Sirius and then away again.

"Are you going to stay down there?" she asked, after an awkward pause. Sirius hesitated, and
then stood. Marlene didn't run away, or flinch, which was comforting.

"Do you want me to do something about that?" he asked, pointing at her bloodied shirt.

"No, thank you," she said, trying to cover the patch with her hands. She must have brushed it,
because she winced, and bit down on her lip.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said stiffly.

"Yeah, you look it," he muttered, and she flushed.

"Fine," she said curtly. She stomped over to his chair and sat down, and then rolled the side
of her shirt up. "Fine. Here." Sirius stared at her, stunned; he'd expected her to argue more,
and he certainly hadn't expected her to give in. Marlene made an impatient noise, rolled her
eyes, and let her shirt go.

"No, I'll- hold that up," he managed, kneeling down beside her chair. Her heart beat
quickened, but her scent was uneasy, yet stubborn, and he thought it could be attributed to
that, and nothing else. He pulled out his wand, and she twitched, but didn't say anything or
attempt to move away. "I'm trying to fix you, not hurt you," he said quietly.

"I know," she replied, not meeting his eyes; hers were fixed on the inkwell on Robards' desk.
Sirius flicked his wand to clean the cut – which wasn't deep, but was already showing early
signs of infection – and then tapped her skin to heal it. A very faint line remained, but that
would vanish with time, he was certain. The bruises were gone altogether and he ctook the
stains out of her shirt. She glanced down at her healed side, and then at him. "Thank you,"
she managed.

"No problem." Neither of them moved.

"You are back!" a woman said, startling them both. Marlene's shot Sirius a wide-eyed look;
he simply stood and retreated to the back, as Amelia stepped into the office. "Thank Merlin
you're all right!" Sirius actually thought Amelia might be on the verge of tears, and watched
with wry amusement, as she snatched Marlene up into a hug. "You are in so much trouble,"
Sirius heard her say, and watched as Marlene's grip on Amelia tightened. Mad-Eye, who'd
followed Amelia in, chuckled, and Scrimgeour, Rattler and Robards who'd also arrived,
watched on curiously.

Knowing she wouldn't want him there, but also convinced that she was in good hands for the
time being, Sirius slipped away. No one noticed, he didn't think, except for Mad-Eye, who
gave him a grim look as he left.
 Things to say

The bedroom door creaked, and even that was loud enough to make Remus want to throw up.
He didn't roll over to look at Kreacher – who'd been kind enough to keep an eye on him while
Sirius was at work – because then he really would be sick. He closed his eyes and then felt
dizzy and decided that had been a bad idea.

It wasn't Kreacher, but Sirius, who moved into his line of sight, and sat down on the edge of
the bed. Remus winced as he was jostled; Sirius had fixed up most of his scratches and
bruises and his broken forearm, but his joints still ached fiercely and his muscles burned.
Sirius offered him two bottles, which Remus drained without hesitation. One was a
Comforting Concoction and the other was a Cramp Cure, and Remus hoped that at least one -
if not both - of them was liberally laced with painkillers.

"Thanks," Remus croaked. Sirius nodded. "You're home early."

"Marlene's back," Sirius whispered. Remus knew it was consideration for him that was
behind the muted address, and appreciated it greatly.

"Oh." Sirius grimaced and then shrugged, apparently determined to brush it off.

"She didn't have a wand," Remus said. "How-"

"Knight Bus." Remus nodded, and then winced and set about stabilising his head, while
Sirius fixed his pillow.

"Clever," he managed, gingerly lowering himself back onto the bed. Hailing the Knight Bus
didn't require a wand, after all (though wands could be used) – only a wand hand – because
there was a fair chance that a stranded witch or wizard might not have a wand on their
person. "And they didn't question that she was coming from a prison?"

"Apparently not," Sirius said. "She probably told them she'd been arrested for using magic in
public or something." He shrugged again. "It's good that she was able to escape, but next time
I-" He frowned. "If I even- now that she's back..." Sirius trailed off, looking disconcerted.
"Someone should probably have a word to Scrimgeour about the Bus," he said finally. "Just
in case."

"Mmm," Remus agreed. Kreacher chose that moment to trot into the room – Remus couldn't
actually see him, but he heard the crack of Apparition on the landing, heard the door creak
again, and heard Kreacher greet his Master Sirius – carrying a large bowl of soup. Remus
couldn't see that either, but he could smell it and his stomach grumbled appreciatively.

Kreacher set the soup down on the bedside table, and together, he and Sirius moved Remus
into a sitting position and then Kreacher bestowed him with his lunch.

"Thank you, Kreacher," he said gratefully. "It smells wonderful." Kreacher swelled with pride
and then hurried out of the room – the fact that he didn't Apparate made Remus even more
grateful – muttering about getting soup for Sirius too.

"How's he been?" Sirius asked.

"Very helpful," Remus said, blowing on a spoonful of his lunch.

"Good," Sirius said. He checked his watch and then looked back at Remus.

"It's Saturday," Remus said.

"Habit," Sirius said, looking a little embarrassed. "Is he upstairs?"

"I assume so," Remus said. "He came in with my morning potions and then I fell asleep and I
haven't seen or heard from him since."

Sirius' lips twitched, and then he cleared his throat and said, "I saw Dora on my way out
today."

"Must you?" Remus grumbled; his inner turmoil about the whole Dora situation was the
reason the full moon had been so brutal last night, and he wasn't really in the mood to talk
about her.

"They're off to Azkaban tomorrow," Sirius continued, as if he hadn't heard, and Remus'
insides twisted. He didn't like the idea of Dora being there at all, despite it being a necessary
part of training, and he suspected she'd have a harder time of it than usual; Sirius had told
him parts of what she'd said to him, and Remus had gathered from that that she was more
hurt than he'd anticipated, and also suffering from quite a bit of self-doubt. "I said she was
welcome to come over afterward, if she's feeling up to it."

Remus' insides twisted again, but he nodded, and tried not to squirm under Sirius' thoughtful
look. Remus stirred his soup and didn't meet Sirius' eyes.

Kreacher returned shortly after, with Sirius' lunch and Harry in tow; Harry whispered
greetings to them both – he was obviously being careful not to upset Remus by being too
noisy – and sat down on the desk while the pair of them finished their lunches. Harry'd
obviously noticed that Sirius was home early – usually he worked until two on Saturdays, and
it was only just noon – but he'd also apparently decided that he wasn't going to ask about it.

Remus watched with amusement as the two of them got caught up in a mimed conversation
and then shuffled around until he was lying down again. He let his eyes slip shut; he was
feeling pleasantly warm and full after soup, and his bed in Grimmauld's guest room was very
comfortable.

The only thing I have to worry about now is Dora, he thought sleepily, and was already half
asleep and therefore too far into unconsciousness to be worried about how their impending
conversation would go; instead, he just felt a small smile creep onto his face at the thought of
seeing her soon.
Tonks pressed the doorbell of Number Twelve and rocked back on her heels to wait, feeling
nervous, but in a better mood than she had been for the last few days. The door opened
almost immediately, startling her, and she tumbled off the top step and into the bush on the
side, with a squawk.

"Hello," Remus said, pale faced and apparently as nervous as she was.

"Wotcher," she muttered, trying to extract herself from the bush without damaging it further;
Sirius had never shown much interest in his garden, but Tonks suspected she'd have Kreacher
after her if she mutilated it too much. "You were waiting," she added, trying not to sound
accusing.

"Maybe," Remus said, surprising her with his honesty. She blinked, and then patted her
pocket for reassurance; the last chocolate frog (which she intended to give to Harry) from a
box that has shown up with Strix that morning, rested there. "How was Azkaban?"

"The chocolate helped," she said. It had; she'd been so intent on trying to work out whether
he'd sent it as an apology, to be kind and protect her from the Dementors, as a romantic
gesture, or simply because he'd felt like it, that she'd hardly noticed the Dementors at all.

"Good," he said.

"Thanks," she added, and he waved a hand, dismissing that. She knew Remus didn't have a
lot of money – it was one of the many thins she'd learned when she'd been him – so she knew
that him spending it, on her, when it wasn't her birthday, or Christmas, wasn't something that
should be easily dismissed. "How was the full moon?" Remus looked surprised that she'd
remembered, and then grimaced. "That bad?"

"I've had worse," he mumbled, and she believed him, but she also didn't think there were
many that fell under the category of worse. An awkward silence followed that, and Tonks
patted her pocket again, and Remus fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve. Tonks spotted
Sirius coming out of the study, and he paused when he saw them both standing on the
doorstep. Remus turned to look at him too.

A pained look flickered over Sirius' face, and he tucked his book under his arm and walked
over. Remus looked grateful, and Tonks found that she was too. Sirius' mouth twitched and
he pulled the door open wider, and stood in the doorframe, staring at the pair of them. When
neither said anything – Remus was giving Sirius a pleading look, and Tonks was watching
Remus' pleading expression and trying to work out why it was there – Sirius sighed.

"This is just painful," he muttered, and Tonks' hair exploded into a shade of pink rivalled by
Remus' cheeks. "What are you doing?" Sirius asked, with deliberate slowness. Remus and
Tonks shared a look.

"He bought me chocolate," Tonks blurted, at the same time as Remus said, "She fell into your
Photinias."

"My what?" Sirius asked, goggling at Remus.

"The plant," Tonks said, pointing. Sirius looked at the plant, then at the pair of them, and
pinched the bridge of his nose. He let out a gusty sigh.

"Oh, bloody hell," Sirius said, "you two are useless."

"You're not helping," Remus muttered.

"Did you expect me to?" Sirius asked, arching an eyebrow. Remus opened his mouth and
closed it. "Oh, all right," Sirius muttered. "Would you like my advice?" Remus mumbled
something that sounded like please, but Tonks couldn't be sure. "These," Sirius said, poking
Remus in the side of the mouth, "go here." He put a cold finger on Tonks' lips and then
cackled. Tonks felt her face heat up, and Remus look mortified, and buried his face in his
hands.

Tonks could hear Harry chortling from somewhere inside.

"You can go now, Padfoot, thank you," Remus mumbled through his fingers, "and take him
with you." He nodded into the house, where Tonks could still hear Harry laughing. Sirius did
go, winking at Tonks as he shut – but didn't latch – the door behind him. "Next full moon,"
Remus said, lowering his hands to reveal a very red face, "remind me to eat him." Tonks
burst out laughing, and Remus subsided into chuckles.

"Can do," she said, grinning, once she could talk again.

"Thank you," he said, with a rueful smile back. He glanced at the door, hesitated, and then
gestured to the park on the other side of the street. "Would you like to go for a walk?" Tonks
sobered immediately, and glanced at Remus, who looked torn between wanting her to say
yes, and wanting her to turn him down. She managed to nod.

They walked for about five minutes, in tense silence – Tonks was trying to think of what to
say, and was sure Remus was doing the same – and eventually found a place to sit; the bench
in the park had been claimed by an old man who was feeding the birds, so Tonks claimed one
of the swings, while Remus went to sit on the steps that led up to the slide and rope bridge.

Tonks made piles of bark-chips with her feet, and Remus was apparently fascinated by a
patch of graffiti, on one of the support beams.

"So," he said, surprising her by speaking first, "you fancy Sirius' best friend?" Tonks lifted
her eyes off the ground and found that he was looking at her. She nodded slowly.

"For a while now," she admitted.

"He's- I'm not good- for- I'm not right for you," Remus said. "I'm old, and poor, and I'm
dangerous-"

"You are not dang-"

A boy – who was maybe a year younger than Harry – chose that moment to come barrelling
up and deposit himself on the swing beside Tonks. She gave the boy a narrow-eyed look,
which he ignored, and then she threw Remus a helpless look instead. He seemed rather
unimpressed by the boy's presence too.

Ten minutes later, the boy had apparently had his fun on the swing, and went charging off -
sending bark chips flying everywhere – toward the main part of the playground. He climbed
over Remus – and got an irate look in return – and then screeched as he went shooting down
the slide, and back toward his mother.

"You're not dangerous!" Tonks said at once. Remus smiled sadly. "We had this conversation
when you told me about your... er... condition before you went off to the camp to help Matt-
" And bloody hell, doesn't that seem like ages ago... "-and I didn't care then, so why would I
care-"

"Because if this- if we were to-"

"If we were to what?" Tonks asked, her heart beating.

"You're not listening," Remus said, looking agitated. "I'm dangerous, and you need someone
young and whole-"

"Young and whole?" she asked. "Implying that – what – you're old and broken?"

"And dangerous-"

"I'm an Auror trainee!" Tonks said loudly. The man feeding the birds looked over – the noise
had startled most of the feathery crowd around him - and then away again. "Danger isn't
really a concept for me, so don't give me that rubbish!" He opened his mouth to say
something, but she cut him off. "And I'm dangerous too-"

"You?" Remus asked, incredulous.

"Three years of tuition under Mad-Eye and I'll be hexing everything that moves," she said,
folding her arms. "Maybe you're the one that's at risk-"

"You're missing the point-"

"No, Remus, you're missing the point; I appreciate that you care enough to try to point out the
things that you see as problems, but I've thought about this. None of those things that you
think are getting in the way, bother me. Not one. The only thing that's stopping this is you."
Remus said nothing. Tonks waited, not sure whether she was expecting an argument, or him
to admit that she was right, but she got neither. She stood up and almost tripped on the bark-
chip piles she'd made; she had to grab the chain of the swing to keep herself upright.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Well, since you've obviously run out of things to say on the matter, I'm going back to Sirius'-
" She tried not to sound hurt, but was disappointed that they hadn't actually managed to reach
an agreement; she hadn't talked him into it, and he hadn't talked her out of it... they were on
the same, though marginally friendlier, terms as before. "-he's promised me dinner."
She saw Remus standing up out of the corner of her eye, but couldn't bring herself to stop and
wait for him. He could catch up if he wanted to, or he could hang back, and have time to
think. That too, was up to him.

She was almost to the street when she became aware of Remus' footsteps right behind her.
She turned around – she couldn't have said why – and her eyes widened when she realised
just how close he was. She glanced up at his eyes, which were troubled, and then, before she
could help herself, her eyes dropped to his lips.

Remus, though, was the one that took half a step forward, and Remus was the one who bent
his head and pressed his mouth to hers... for the briefest moment, before he backed off,
looking sheepish. Tonks stared at him, her heart hammering. He looked shocked now, as if he
couldn't believe what he'd just done, and somewhat pleading; he was well and truly leaving
the next move up to her.

She stepped forward – using her Metamorphmagic to make herself taller as she moved – and
kissed him again.

Gawain stepped out of Scrimgeour's office – he'd been meeting with the Head Auror every
day for a week now, trying to secure McKinnon's future in the Program – and set off down
the corridor with a spring in his step. Black, laden with a large stack of parchment, was
talking with Weasley outside the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Gawain wasn't sure
what they were talking about, but Weasley was making elaborate hand gestures and Black
was shaking his head and speaking with an amused but earnest expression.

Gawain caught Black's eye – Black smiled and shrugged (since his hands were too occupied
to move) a greeting – and continued on toward his cubicle. McKinnon was sitting at her old
desk – the one Black had occupied between her disappearance and her return late last week –
and she murmured a greeting as he entered.

It was strange how much the atmosphere in the cubicle had changed; with McKinnon, there
was a quiet but strong sense of purpose that came with her presence, and just a hint of
fragility, and unease. With Black, there'd been determination, and usually a fair bit of noise –
shuffling papers, quills scratching, fingers tapping on the desk, Black muttering, or outright
talking – as well as a completely at ease sort of air.

Gawain was pleased to have McKinnon back, but it seemed... quiet without Black around. He
pursed his lips and sat down at his desk.

"Your position is still yours, if you want it," he said, and McKinnon jerked and looked up. He
pulled her Sidekick – which Black had returned to him a few days ago – out of his robes and
offered it to her. She took it. "The final decision was made today."

He saw potential in McKinnon, which was the reason he'd fought so hard to get her back, and
also to keep his position as her mentor. Scrimgeour was tough but fair, and had voiced some
concern over how stable she was, but Robards truly thought she was over the worst of it.
Certainly, she'd seemed more balanced since she'd come back – but only time, and exposure
to Black would tell. Bones had vouched for McKinnon's return, saying that whatever
recovery she had to do could be done in the Program, that McKinnon would recover sooner if
she was doing something, and Scrimgeour had given his permission for her to continue in the
Program, as long as Gawain was willing to put in the extra effort.

"Really?" McKinnon asked, smiling. "I'd- If you'll have me, sir, then-"

"Of course I'll have you," Gawain told her. They'd have a tough few months ahead -
McKinnon would need to keep up with the current course work, as well as make up what
she'd missed since May – but he thought it was possible.

"Thank you," she said, and then frowned and set down her quill.

"What?"

"What about Sirius?" she asked.

"What about him?" Gawain asked neutrally.

"I haven't seen him since that first day," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"I would suggest," Gawain said gently, "that you worry about your own location and
wellbeing, and not Black's, for the time being."

McKinnon obviously recognised the subtle barb, but pushed the matter anyway, her cheeks
faintly pink: "He's left, hasn't he?" Gawain hesitated and then shook his head.

"No," he sighed. "He's around the place, doing odd jobs for me and for Scrimgeour and
Bones." Black had attempted to resign on the day he returned the Sidekick, but Gawain had
asked him to stick around and help out with a few things. It wasn't the sort of work Black was
after, but Gawain knew he'd enjoyed working and figured something was better than nothing.
Scrimgeour had caught on quickly and the pair of them were working to find a long-term
position for him, but it was proving to be harder than they'd anticipated.

Black had Auror training, but that had been a long time ago, and he'd had little opportunity to
keep his skills up during his time in Azkaban, and were they to promote him to Auror without
any testing or training, there would certainly be complaints from other D.M.L.E. workers. It
would, of course, be possible to get him into the Program, but Gawain rather thought Black
was better than that, and that sitting through the training session would be an insult to the
man's intelligence, even though it was unlikely Black would ever complain. They were
toying with a few alternatives – and Black remained unaware of any of them – and the most
likely of those required Black to be around the Department for a few weeks in advance.

"Around? But I haven't seen him," she said. Gawain met her curious look with an impassive
expression, and understanding dawned on her face. "Oh."

"We thought it would be best for him to stay out of the way until you'd settled in again."
McKinnon did not seem impressed to hear that; she folded her arms, and her forehead
crinkled.

"This is what I was afraid of," she said dejectedly.

"What was?" Gawain asked.

"That I'd affect him!" she exclaimed, drumming her fingers on the desk, in a gesture oddly
reminiscent of Black himself. "That by being back, I'd change things, and I have; he's lost his
job-"

"McKinnon," Gawain said, patiently, "you vanishing is what got him the job in the first
place." McKinnon was silent as she considered that. "And you, regardless of what happens,
or where you go, will always affect someone. Not wanting to doesn't stop it happening, and
the sooner you realise that, the better off you'll be."

Sirius scratched the polka-dotted bowtie he'd worn for the occasion and scratched the large
red nose that Dora had helped him grow. Harry was dressed like a mummy tonight, and
covered from head to toe in thick bandages. The only part of him that wasn't off-white fabric
were his eyes, for once unguarded by his glasses; Sirius had put a charm on him to give him
temporary eyesight without glasses, and had caught Harry reaching up to adjust them before
remembering they weren't there several times already.

His rucksack, which sat, half-open on the hard ground beside him, was almost stuffed to the
brim with sweets they'd collected on the way. Remus was dressed as a ghost – one bearing a
strong resemblance to the Bloody Baron (despite Sirius suggesting they should use magic to
let him survive a night looking like Nearly Headless Nick) - and together the three of them –
the clown, the mummy and the ghost – made a horrifying trio.

Sirius glanced over his shoulder and out the gates to make sure Remus was still out by the
statue; he was, a tall, pale figure in the dark. Sirius knew he was talking – or that he had been
when he and Harry had left him – to them (to James, or to Lily or to both, he wasn't sure) and
was reasonably sure it was about Dora.

Sirius smiled to himself and turned his attention back to Harry, who was sitting on the ground
beside the orange and yellow spotted lily they'd planted on Christmas the year before, and a
now-familiar collection of flowers. There was the single white lily, the bunch of wildflowers,
the bunch of purple hyacinths and the red and yellow lilies. Harry was talking too, about
school, and Sirius' smile became rather bittersweet.

He swallowed thickly and retreated – almost tripping over his ridiculously large shoes – to a
tree a few yards away, where he was able to keep an eye on Harry and Remus both, without
being too close to them.

"Hey, Prongs," he said, easing himself onto the hard ground. The dirt wasn't frozen yet, but it
was certainly close to it. "Lils." He didn't get a response, but he could picture it; James
grinning and calling him Padfoot, and Lily, smiling, and running forward to give him a warm
hug. Sirius cleared his throat. "Happy Halloween." He could picture their sad smiles,
practically feel James' hand on his shoulder, or Lily's small hand squeezing his own.

Sirius talked quietly about all the things that had happened since he last spoke to them;
talking to Lily and James wasn't an every night thing, anymore. He still did it at least once a
week, or more if he was having trouble sleeping, but it was more relaxed nowadays, and he
no longer felt horrendously guilty if he missed a night here or there.

He told them what he'd said to Remus about lips and where to put them, and spent a few
moments imagining James' howls of laughter, and Lily telling him that was mean through her
own laughter. He told them that he'd seen them kissing in the hallway before Dora went home
and had been harassing Remus about it ever since.

He told him that Harry had seen them kissing on a separate occasion, and hadn't been able to
look at Remus for two days, and was still prone to blushing whenever he was in the same
room as Remus and Dora, but that he'd confided to Sirius that it was nice that Moony was
happy. And, that, as a result of the Harry incident, Kreacher had sat Remus down and
lectured him for ten minutes about decent behaviour around children, despite the fact Remus
and Dora hadn't been doing anything inappropriate.

He told them about his week running odd errands in the D.M.L.E., and how a friendly
conversation with Arthur Weasley about magic carpets had turned into a discussion about
muggle transport. Sirius, nostalgically, had mentioned his motorcycle (Arthur had thought
that was a function of a clothes washing machine, not a bike, until Sirius set him straight) and
had then realised exactly who he was talking to and had asked Arthur not to arrest him, when,
to his relief, Arthur had mentioned a car. They were having lunch on Tuesday for a longer
talk about mechanics. And he told James and Lily that he was going to go and see Hagrid on
Wednesday and find out what had happened to his old bike.

He told James about his and Harry's walks to and from school, and about the cat he'd chased
the other day, and about the full moon and that Harry'd finished his first term of school and
that it was quite nice to have him home again. Sirius was cutting back his hours during the
holiday period, and only working mornings on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and on Saturday
afternoons.

"And when he goes back, there are these conference things," Sirius told the sky; he was lying
down now, under the tree, and could see Harry and Remus writing on a piece of paper with a
pencil they'd got from Merlin-knew-where, "for parents and the teacher. I thought he might
have been in trouble, but apparently everyone has them... we never had them at Hogwarts,
though, so it must be a muggle thing. But apparently we've got to ask questions, or... well, I'm
not sure..."

Harry'd mentioned he had a notice about it, but it was probably crushed in the bottom of his
rucksack. Sirius made a mental note to ask him later.

"Should be fun though, eh?" He hesitated, and sat up, folding his legs – with difficulty, thanks
to his shoes – under him. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked, a little worried. This time, his
imagination didn't fill in the silence. "It's the sort of thing you'd have loved, Lils, being able
to talk to his teacher, and meet his friends' parents, and Prongs, you're his- I'm not- it should
be you, not me..."

"Things have a funny way of working out," a wry voice said, startling him. Marlene steadied
herself – obviously she'd just Apparated - out of the dark, holding a large bunch of yellow,
pink, indigo and white roses. Sirius knew it was coincidence that she'd chosen to greet him
that way, but he was still disconcerted that she'd managed to address his last statement. "I
thought I'd come later, and stay out of your way, but here you are."

"So you can recognise me with colourful hair, a red nose and face paint, but not as a
woman?" Sirius asked, getting carefully to his feet.

"Apparently," she said, giving him a small smile. "I suppose James changed your hair colour
and hexed your features enough at school that I've learned to distinguish what's underneath."
Sirius smiled back, unable to help himself.

"Sounds about right." He paused. "Did you want us to leave?"

"Not because of me," she said, and Sirius nodded slowly.

They stared at each other and then he said, "You're still blond." Marlene pulled on a strand of
her hair – which was longer than Sirius had ever seen it – and sighed.

"I still don't quite feel like me," she said. "And I'm not sure if it's because I look different, or
if it's best to look different because I feel different. Does that make sense?"

"Not really," Sirius said. She gave him another tiny smile and shrugged in a helpless sort of
way, and Sirius wasn't sure how to respond, so he said nothing. She watched him, and
apparently realised he wasn't going to say anything, and turned and made her way over to
where Harry and Remus were. Sirius trailed behind her, watching curiously as Remus offered
a polite greeting, while Harry shoved the piece of paper into his rucksack

"Hello," Harry said, once the paper was out of sight. Marlene didn't seem to have noticed.

"Harry," Marlene said, and Sirius couldn't see her face from where he was, but thought she
might be smiling again. "Have you been keeping out of trouble? No more Kelpies?" Harry
shook his head, looking amused, and a little sheepish. Sirius went to stand beside Harry, and
put a hand on his shoulder, but Harry didn't seem worried by Marlene's presence. Remus was
watching them all from a few feet away, with a shrewd expression.

Harry went to join Remus a few minutes after, and the mysterious piece of paper emerged
again, sparking Sirius' interest. He decided to let that wait, though; Marlene had put her roses
down, and was standing beside him with her arms wrapped tightly around her upper half, and
very bright eyes.

"This is where it happened, you know," she said, in a falsely casual voice. She pointed to a
patch of ground by their feet, and Sirius looked over at her. Her eyes were unfocused, and he
couldn't read the expression in them. "He- Peter. He was right there." Sirius' eyes latched onto
the patch of ground. "I caught him right there." She sniffed, and Sirius looked up to see her
brushing her eyes.

"Robards never told me where," he said softly, his eyes tracing Lily and James' names on the
gravestone.
"Here," Marlene said thickly. Sirius just nodded and reached out to take her hand with his
own, white gloved one. Marlene sniffed again, and looked at him, and then gently but firmly
pulled her hand away. Sirius let her, and nodded again, his own throat now feeling rather
thick.

"Padfoot," Harry said, stumbling over with a wary looking Remus behind him.

"Yeah?" Sirius asked, clearing his throat; Marlene was staring fixedly on the grave, not
paying any attention to the three of them.

"The spell on my eyes is fading," he said, wobbling a bit as he squinted at Sirius through the
slit in his bandages. Sirius reached out to steady him.

"It's worn off?"

"It's flickering," Harry said. It was disconcerting to only be able to see his eyes; the rest of his
face was so heavily bandaged that Sirius couldn't see what his expression was. If he had to
guess, he'd have said Harry'd wrinkled his nose.

"We might head off then," he said, addressing Harry, but his eyes went to Remus, who
nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw Marlene turn her head to look at them. As
soon as he moved, though, her attention went right back to the graves. He took Harry's hand,
and Harry took Remus' hand.

"Bye," Harry said.

"Bye, Harry," Marlene said back, and returned Remus' awkward wave. Her eyes flicked to
Sirius, who still hadn't worked out what to say, if anything.

"Happy Halloween," he said after a moment, and then spun on the spot.

Her returned "Happy Halloween" followed them into Apparition, in a rather ghostly manner.
 Needing a friend

"Mummy, have you seen my other gumboot?"

"They're outside by the clothesline, dear," Mum answered absently, loading another set of
steaming mince pies onto Ron's plate.

"One was, but the other's not."

"By the chickens?"

"I already looked there," Ginny said, folding her arms.

"Well I haven't seen them, then," Mum said. Ginny continued to glower at her and opened her
mouth – probably to tell Mum to Summon it or something – but Mum passed Ron his plate
and picked up another one, without even looking at her daughter. "Now, sit down and have
some lunch before you go charging off, and then I'll help you find them." Mum passed Ginny
a plate, and Ginny, seeing she had no real choice in the matter, flopped into the closest seat,
looking sulky. Ron wolfed down his lunch, while Ginny only picked at hers. "Stop fussing,"
Mum told her.

Ginny glowered at her and shoved a whole pie into her mouth, and then made a show of
chewing with her mouth open.

"Ginny!" Mum snapped. Ron sniggered, and then Mum shot him and angry, be-quiet-now-or-
else sort of look, and he averted his eyes. Ginny swallowed and folded her arms again. "I
didn't raise you to eat like-"

"Ron?" Ginny suggested. Mum glanced at Ron – who'd unfortunately picked that moment to
try to fit two pies in his mouth – and then threw her hands up in the air.

"Oh, Ron, really, you're nearly eleven!" Mum said exasperatedly.

"Fanks a 'ot," Ron managed to mutter to Ginny, who grimaced, as Mum's attention
transferred to him.

"You really should know better. Just what people think if they saw you eating like-"

"'s 'o one el' here," Ron argued.

"That's not the point!" Mum snapped. She scratched at the back of her neck absently, and
then looked frustrated. "And don't talk back to me, and certainly not with your mouth full."
She tucked her tea towel into her apron and sent the tray of pies floating back to the kitchen.
"Two pies... I don't know what you were thinking!" Ron looked at Ginny in askance, and only
got a shrug in return.

Ron swallowed his mouthful – and thought that maybe he had bitten off more than he could
chew - and snagged the last pie off his plate, before hopping off his chair and heading for the
stairs. Ginny made to follow, but Mum spotted her and started yelling about Ginny not
finishing her lunch. Ron didn't stick around to see the outcome.

When Mum really started up – and it sounded like that's what was happening - it was best to
either run, or just endure it and try to gently get her to see reason; Charlie'd once told Ron
that Mum usually overreacted, but that she never started up without cause. Ron didn't quite
believe that, but Charlie was better at him with that sort of thing, so Ron had taken his word
as law. Ginny had been told something similar from Bill, Ron knew, but she seemed to have
decided that arguing back was the best course of action, and had been employing that
technique with Mum with varying degrees of success for almost a year.

The first time she'd yelled back, Mum had been so startled that she'd stopped yelling. Ron
had thought it was terrifying, and maybe the coolest thing he'd ever seen, because Mum was
scary sometimes. The second time, Mum had been surprised, and not at all impressed
(admittedly, Ginny had sneaked out at night to do Merlin-knew-what and not been in her bed
the next morning; she'd broken her leg somehow, and Ron and Dad had found her by the
orchard, early the next morning) and had been so angry and so worried that Ron had
genuinely feared that she might explode. And, every time after that, both had generally been
too stubborn and too fired up to back down, resulting in a scene that Ron – and Dad, when he
was home – both thought it was bet to avoid.

Ron paused once on the stairs to itch. He didn't know where he was itchy, just that he felt
something uncomfortable. After a few seconds of his hands hovering over his sides and
shoulders, but not finding the part responsible for his discomfort, Ron reluctantly lowered his
hand and continued the trek up to his room.

Weird, he thought, shaking his head; he didn't actually feel better, just couldn't find the
source. He rolled his shoulders and rubbed his feet on the patchy carpet outside Fred and
George's room, but that didn't help either. Disconcerted, Ron decided to try to forget about it;
it would have to go away eventually.

Ginny caught up with him on the stairs, obviously wanting company, and Ron was happy for
the distraction.

"Who won?" Ron asked, pushing open his bedroom door.

"Mum," Ginny said crossly, scratching at her ribs. "You haven't seen my gumboot, have
you?"

"No," Ron said, kicking a dirty tshirt out of the way so he could make it to his bed. He
flopped down, having decided to lie down and let his lunch settle before doing anything else.
Ginny followed him in, apparently under the impression that her plight entitled her to come
in.

"Ginny!"

"What?" she asked, the colour rising in her cheeks. Ron knew that she knew what he was
talking about, though. "You're allowed in my room! It's fair that I should be allowed to-"
"Out!" Ron told her, pointing to the door.

"But, Ron-"

"Ginny, out!" he said firmly. "You know the rules."

"It's a stupid rule," Ginny snapped, but she stomped over to the door, stepped through it and
sat out on the landing. Ron grinned and she huffed and crossed her arms.

"So why are you looking for your gumboots anyway?"

"I'm supposed to be going to Luna's," Ginny sighed.

Ron snorted. He'd, thankfully, never had anything much to do with Luna Lovegood; Mum
and Mrs Lovegood had been putting Ginny and Luna together since they were little, but Ron
had somehow managed never to be included and he had no intention of starting that now.
Luna was - according to everyone, ever - very strange.

"Oh, don't!" Ginny said. She crawled into his room - Ron started to tell her off about it - and
picked up a loose trainer, threw it at him, and then crawled out again. It hit his shoulder, and
Ron knew he was lucky it hadn't hit him in the face; Ginny had the best arm of all of them.
"Luna's not that bad."

"She's loony," Ron said.

"You've hardly talked to her," Ginny protested.

"Yeah, but when I did, she told me my head was filled with Wrack-somethings, and when we
went there on New Years, her Dad served that horrible, crunchy-" Ron's nose wrinkled with
remembered dislike.

"Oh, the scarab salad," Ginny said, looking ill.

"Don't say the name!" Ron said, cringing. "Urgh, I can taste it!" He got up, grabbed a
chocolate frog off his desk, broke it in half and threw a piece at Ginny, who stuffed it into her
mouth at once, despite her earlier reluctance to eat lunch.

"That was pretty horrible," Ginny admitted, shuddering. "But it doesn't mean Luna's-"

"She has weird food and she talks about things I don't understand," Ron said. He knew he
was the stupid Weasley - Bill and Percy were brilliant and so were the twins, but in a
different way, and Ginny was a sort of merge of their older brothers' academic and
experimental talents, but not as clever, while Charlie was the active Weasley, but even he'd
been good at his chosen subjects – but that didn't mean that Ron liked being reminded of it,
and Luna always managed to do just that; she had a habit of saying something confusing and
then not offering an explanation.

"Poor you," Ginny said scathingly, rubbing her shoulder against the doorframe. Ron suddenly
became aware of his own hand, scratching vigorously at his knee, but not generating any
relief. "I think Luna's fantastic, and-"
"Are you itchy?" Ron asked. Ginny stopped what she was doing and cocked her head at him.

"Er, yes, but-"

There was a strange noise from downstairs and Ron was on his feet before he realised it, and
clambering over a puzzled Ginny to get to the landing.

"Mum?" he called, sticking his head over the rail. "Mum!"

"Ginny!" Mum called back, her voice sounding off. Ron was affronted for a moment, before
he realised that Mum hadn't actually mistaken their voices; she was genuinely calling Ginny.
"Luna's arrived, dear."

"I thought you were going there?" Ron said, turning to his sister.

"I am," Ginny said, getting to her feet, with a nervous look toward the railing. Mum's muffled
voice was drifting upstairs, but Ron couldn't make out words. The two of them shared a look,
and then Ginny started heading downstairs, and Ron, aware that something had happened,
itched absently at his elbow and followed. "Hi, Luna," Ginny called, when they reached the
kitchen. Mum and Luna were sitting on the couch, with their backs to them, but Mum turned
as soon as Ginny spoke. Ron's sense of unease heightened when he saw the tears on Mum's
face.

Luna was slower to turn, but when she did, she was paler than usual and very teary – which
was a weird thing to see on Luna, who was usually so airy and detached. She had a long set
of scratches on the side of her neck; those, Ron noticed, were tinged with the blue of Mum's
favourite healing potion.

"Hello, Ginny," she said in a flat voice. "It's a good thing you were running late."

Ginny looked at Ron, who wasn't sure why she'd looked at him and not Mum; he wasn't sure
what was happening, or what he should say (if he should say anything at all), so he wasn't
going to be very helpful. He shrugged at her.

"Mum?" Ginny said, uncertain.

"Mrs Lovegood's had an accident, dear," Mum said, looking teary again all of a sudden. Ron's
stomach sank, because anything that made Mum look that way couldn't be good.

"She's dead," Luna said, in a voice that was almost conversational. There was a horrified
pause, where Ginny took half a step closer to Ron, and Ron tried to wrap his head around the
fact that someone he knew had died, and Mum's hand hovered over Luna's shaking shoulder
– Mum obviously wasn't sure whether it was okay to pat it – and Luna watched them all with
her large eyes.

Then Luna burst into tears, and Mum looked aghast and lifted another hand – obviously she
wanted to hug her – but Ginny beat her there; she walked quickly but steadily, climbed over
the couch – and Mum didn't even tell her off for it – and wrapped Luna in a hug.
"Mr Lovegood's with the Aurors," Mum told Ron, in a thick voice. "And they'll come to
speak to Luna, once they're finished at the house." Mum sniffed, and looked at the clock – all
of the hands except hers, Ron's and Ginny's rested on work or school – and then back at Ron,
with a torn sort of expression. It took Ron a moment to work out what she wanted; Dad
wasn't here, and neither were Bill or Charlie, who were much better at handling these things
than Ron was.

I suppose I'll have to do, Ron thought, and hugged Mum. She let out a sob and clutched him
closer. Ron itched his cheek – the last of the itching was fading, thankfully - and let her hug
him.

Sirius had given Hagrid several days notice that he and Harry would be dropping by, and
Hagrid was notoriously bad at keeping things private, so Sirius wasn't really surprised that,
when Hagrid opened the door to greet them, he could see Dumbledore sitting at the kitchen
table, nursing a bucket sized mug of tea.

Sirius hesitated, not sure how to react to that – should he be friendly, or cold, or polite, or
should he make a scene? – but before he could react to that, he – and a startled Harry – had
been swept up into a bone crushing hug.

"How've yeh bin?" Hagrid asked, beaming as he set them down. Harry looked rather
rumpled, had to straighten his glasses, but he smiled back shyly; he'd only met Hagrid once,
at the trial.

"Good," Sirius said, feeling an answering smile spread over his face. "Keeping busy – I'm
over at the D.M.L.E. again, doing odd jobs-" He watched Dumbledore's face, which didn't
change at all, and Sirius surmised that he'd probably heard about it from Amelia or Mad-Eye.
"-and otherwise, I'm home with this one." Hagrid's black eyes crinkled at the corners as he
regarded Harry, who shifted, apparently a bit unsure what to make of the scrutiny.

"I'll bet that keeps yeh busy," Hagrid said, chuckling. "Best witch an' wizard I ever knew,
your mum an' dad, but your dad was a handful at times." That drew a funny smile out of
Harry, who was looking at Hagrid's enormous hand, and Sirius would have bet anything that
he was wondering if Hagrid meant a literal handful.

"He's better behaved," Sirius said. Harry grinned at him, and Sirius was abruptly reminded
that two days ago, Harry and Remus had enlisted Kreacher to help them slip a skin-changing
potion into Sirius' morning cup of tea; he had to give them credit for it too; the effects had
been subtle, and he'd only turned a very faint orange, instead of neon, and everyone at work
had given him odd looks because of it. Even now, Sirius looked a bit like he was sporting a
bad tan. "Despite Remus' best efforts... terrible influence, that one." He shook his head.
Hagrid boomed a laugh at that, and behind him, Dumbledore took a sip of tea to hide his
smile.

"Where is Remus?" Hagrid asked. "I'd have thought he'd be with yeh?"

"He's having lunch with a friend," Sirius said. "He says hi though, and said he'll stop by
soon."
Hagrid beamed at them both again, and then stepped aside to let them into his hut. Sirius
went first, and Harry followed without hesitation. It hadn't changed much in the years since
Sirius had last been there. Everything looked a little older, and the floor was more worn, but
the mugs were new, and the window seemed to have been replaced recently. Hunter, Hagrid's
old dog was gone, replaced by a rather menacing looking boarhound – and, knowing Hagrid's
dogs, the new one was probably had all the menace of a Puffskein – and a rather strange
looking creature – a bit like a frog, crossed with a butterfly – was fanning its wings in a cage
in the sun on the windowsill, watching the snowflakes swirl idly outside.

"Sirius," Dumbledore said courteously. The smile he gave Sirius was uncertain, and Sirius
was oddly comforted by the fact that Dumbledore wasn't quite sure where they stood with
each other either.

"Sir. How are you?"

"Good, thank you. And, Harry," Dumbledore said, smiling much more genuinely. An
answering smile appeared almost instantly on Harry's face.

"Hi, sir," he said. Hagrid's dog chose that moment to come over and introduce itself; Harry,
not seeming the least bit concerned, held out a hand for him to sniff, and then stepped
forward to pet him. The dog's tail started to wag lazily, and Dumbledore glanced between
Harry, the dog and Sirius in a bemused sort of way.

"That's Fang," Hagrid said. "Watch your robes – he dribbles an' he sheds-"

"So does Padfoot," Harry said, grinning. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled like mad, and Hagrid
looked confused for a moment, before he started to chuckle again.

They settled at the table – Harry, placed himself between Dumbledore and Sirius, and Sirius
wasn't sure whether he'd sensed the tension and done it on purpose, or whether it was by
chance – and Hagrid brought them tea and stoat sandwiches and fudge before sitting down
himself. Fang had moved from Harry to Sirius and was leaning on him instead of standing.

Lazy mutt, Sirius thought, amused, as he scratched Fang behind the ears and was rewarded
with a doggy sigh.

"Thank you, Hagrid," Dumbledore said, holding up a hand as Hagrid made to pour him
another cup of tea, "but I should be on my way."

"Oh," Hagrid said, looking a bit put out. "Well, thanks for coming by. Let me get the door for
yeh-"

"I can show myself out," Dumbledore said kindly. "You have guests to entertain." He smiled
at both of them again, and this time, Sirius' return smile wasn't as forced.

He said his goodbyes and left, and Hagrid and Sirius talked, while Harry listened and stared
at the thing on the windowsill, before the conversation got to what Sirius had come for in the
first place.
"I actually wanted to ask you about my old bike," Sirius said, taking a sip of tea. "I never got
it back after Halloween, obviously-" Both of the adults glanced briefly at Harry, who missed
it because his attention was elsewhere. "-and then with being arrested, and Azkaban, and
everything, I was sort of wondering what happened to it."

"Well, I tried to find yeh, o' course," Hagrid said, "but then yeh got taken away, an' so I
brought it back here. Didn't know what ter do with it, but Dumbledore – great man,
Dumbledore-" he added, and Sirius smiled, amused, "-knew. He took it up ter the castle an'
put it somewhere safe."

"Do you know where?" Sirius asked. Hagrid shook his great head.

"Best ter ask him, I'd say," Hagrid said.

"Right," Sirius said, "tha- kiddo, don't touch that, we don't know what it is." While Hagrid's
dogs were usually friendly and gentle, Sirius was yet to meet any of his other pets that could
be classed as such; generally, they were all poisonous or violent. Harry, who'd made his way
over to the frog-butterfly on the windowsill, jumped and looked around guiltily.

"I wouldn't have touched it," he said. The thing twitched and Harry yelped and then looked
embarrassed. "What is it?" he asked Hagrid, who beamed.

"Part flitterby, part grindylow," he said proudly.

"Where'd you get it?" Sirius asked, frowning. Hagrid looked evasive, and Sirius suspected
whatever answer he was going to get was not going to be an entirely truthful one.

"I found-"

There was a knock on the door, and Hagrid, looking relieved, but confused, heaved himself to
his feet and went to open it.

"Good afternoon, Hagrid," an all too familiar voice drawled. Sirius frowned and glanced at
the door, but couldn't see past Hagrid's bulk. "Say hello, Draco."

"Hello, Hagrid," Draco said pleasantly. Sirius' eyebrows rose; Lucius' disdain for Hagrid was
not a well-kept secret, and Sirius was pleasantly surprised that it hadn't been passed onto his
son.

"Professor Snape," Hagrid said. "An'- was it Draco?"

"Draco Malfoy," Sirius heard Draco say.

"Lucius Malfoy's son?" Hagrid said, sounding puzzled. His head moved, and Sirius would
have bet anything he was looking at Snape.

"One of them, yes. May we come in?" Poor Hagrid was probably so startled and confused
that he did as he was asked without questioning it. Snape swept in, dressed in black, as usual,
and Draco followed him, looking around curiously, and then grinned and made a beeline for
Harry, not seeming at all surprised to find him there.
"This is for you," Snape said, passing Sirius a familiar notebook, without as much as a
greeting.

"Hello to you too," Sirius said, rolling his eyes, as he accepted his Occlumency notes back.
"How did you-"

"Know you were here?" Snape finished for him, taking the seat Dumbledore had occupied
earlier. "It is difficult for anything to stay a secret at Hogwarts, as you well know, and is,
frankly, impossible, once certain parties are involved..." His dark eyes went to Hagrid at
once; poor Hagrid was still standing by the open door, looking utterly bewildered.

"Can I get yeh tea?" he asked weakly.

"No, thank you," Snape said, with a barely concealed sneer. Hagrid looked lost, so Sirius
asked for a refill. Hagrid gave him a grateful look. "There are some interesting points in
there," he added, nodding at the book on the table in front of Sirius. "Poorly expressed, and
completely lacking any sort of technical description, but interesting nonetheless."

"Worth your time?" Sirius asked, smirking. He wanted to ask whether Snape had tried to
employ any of the mental Patronus things Sirius had come up with, but knew he'd never get
an honest answer.

"Quite," Snape said, looking as if he'd taken a bite of something sour. "Congratulations,
Black; for the first time in thirty years, you've managed to accomplish something worthwhile.
It seems you have a functioning brain in there after all."

"Lucky me," Sirius muttered. He took a sip of tea, and folded his hands, and Hagrid sat down
again.

"Draco, I wouldn't-" Harry said, and Sirius and Snape spun in unison, to see Draco squinting
at the flitterby-grindylow.

"Draco," Snape said, in a warning voice, and Draco jumped back as if burned. "You promised
to behave."

"I'm behaving," Draco muttered. Snape stared at him, and Draco glowered back – Sirius
thought it was rather like the staring contests he and Harry had, but they weren't trying to
communicate; it seemed to be a battle of wills. Both looked away at the same time, and
Snape said nothing about Draco misbehaving, and Draco took a step away from the creature.
Sirius caught Harry's eye and shrugged.

"Well, we should be off," Padfoot said, about half an hour after Draco and Snape had arrived.
Hagrid had been called up to the school to help Professor Diggle with some sort of Defence
accident, and so Harry, Padfoot, Draco and Snape had headed outside, to wander the snowy
grounds. Beside Harry, Draco looked disappointed. "I've got to see Dumbledore quickly, and
then we'll Floo home," Padfoot said, more to Harry than to Snape and Draco this time.
Harry gave Draco an apologetic look and Draco shrugged, but there was a definite slump to
his shoulders that hadn't been there a moment ago.

"Surely you needn't drag the boy around everywhere," Snape sneered, looking at Padfoot.

"I wouldn't call it dragging," Padfoot shot back.

"He's too young and too much like his father to think otherwise," Snape said. Harry blinked.
He wasn't entirely sure what had happened between Snape and Padfoot, and he wouldn't call
them friendly, but they were certainly civil. And, this was the first time Snape had mentioned
James without making it sound like an insult.

"So what, leave him here?" Padfoot asked. "Wander off on my own, and then listen to you
harp on about what a rubbish godfather I am, and how irresponsible-"

"I would not-"

"You would. You have," Padfoot said. "Full moon, remember?" Snape's sallow face turned a
tiny bit pink and then went back to normal so quickly that Harry thought he might have
imagined it.

"I would not be opposed to watching him for you," Snape said. His eyes were fixed on Draco
as he spoke, and he sounded rather like he would rather spend time with the thing on Hagrid's
windowsill than Harry, but he'd still said it. Harry and Padfoot gaped at him.

"You?" Padfoot asked.

"I am qualified to watch children, Black," Snape drawled. "Many of them at once. Two
should be simple, even if one of them is the spawn of James Potter and was raised by you and
your furry friend."

"But- you- hate-" Padfoot stammered. Snape rolled his eyes.

"Go and see the Headmaster," he said. "Potter will be here, and unharmed when you return, I
assure you."

"Do you want to stay?" Padfoot asked.

"Oh, so now the boy gets a choice-"

"Shut up, Snivellus-" Again, Harry marvelled at the lack of venom, and the fact that Snape
didn't look overly bothered by that name. "-and let Harry answer."

"Sure," Harry said. He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but he was curious enough to
want to stay and find out. Padfoot looked bewildered.

"There," Snape said. "Now, hurry along, Black, you're wasting time." Padfoot glanced around
at them, and then caught Harry's eye and patted his pocket. Harry nodded; he did have his
wand. Padfoot nodded in response.
"I'll be back soon," he said. The three of them watched him make his way up to the castle and
then Draco looked at Snape and mouthed a thank you that Harry wasn't sure he was meant to
see. Snape nodded and waved them away- apparently his idea of supervision was long-
distance - but warned them to stay in sight or there'd be dire consequences.

"What was that about?" Harry asked as he and Draco headed toward the lake.

"Nothing," Draco said.

"I'm not an idiot," Harry said. Draco gave him a doubtful look, and Harry rolled his eyes.
"Snape hates- well, maybe not hates, but he doesn't like me. He wouldn't offer to spend more
time with me-"

"He sent us away," Draco said, gesturing back toward the dark figure sitting on a rock.
Against the snow, and from a distance, Snape looked uncannily like a Dementor. "That's
hardly quality time."

"Still," Harry said. Draco said nothing. Harry gave up hoping for an answer after about a
minute, and decided he'd be silent too; if Draco wanted to talk, he could start the next
conversation.

And he did, eventually.

"My father thinks I'm crazy," Draco told him. "Or sick," he added as an afterthought, kicking
a bit of snow.

"He what?"

"He had me tested," Draco said quietly. He picked a rock by the lake's frozen shore and sat
down, wrapping his grey cloak around him. Harry grabbed a handful of his own cloak, which
was a dark red, sat down, and then and tucked it around him to keep out the cold; the air
around the lake was cooler.

"Why?"

"I don't know," Draco said, and Harry believed him.

"You don't think it's anything to do with the muggleborn thing, do you?" Harry asked. Draco
shrugged.

"I think it's silly," Draco said eventually, in a rather haughty tone. "I mean, if anyone needs to
be tested for insanity, Potter, it'd be you." This comment was followed by a grin, which faded
quickly, when Harry flung a chunk of snow at him. Draco spluttered and covered his head
with his hands, but Harry didn't bother with a follow-up attack. "What in Merlin's name was
that for?" Draco demanded, peeking out. "You're supposed to be nice, Potter."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that. He didn't consider himself a mean person, so he didn't
disagree with what Draco had said, but he couldn't think of a way to respond to that without
sounding arrogant.
"Er... thanks?"

"It's a good thing," Draco assured him. And then, before Harry could respond, Draco sighed.
"That's probably why Father had me tested: a Malfoy, friends with a Potter."

"Friends?" Harry asked, a little surprised. He liked Draco more than he had during his stay at
the Manor, but he still had absolutely no idea what to make of him, and was still completely
confused by his polar personalities. He'd thought Draco held some sort of friendly tolerance
for him, not that Draco actually considered him a friend.

"Yes, Potter, friends," Draco said.

"I thought you thought I was an idiot," Harry said, grinning.

"Oh, I do," Draco said matter of factly. "You're incredibly frustrating, and I doubt you've even
looked at that dictionary I bought you-" Harry had, once, but only for about five minutes, so
he didn't bother to correct him. "-but that's nice. Simplicity."

"I'm your friend because I'm simple?" Harry asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Exactly, Potter. You're the least complicated person I've ever met, and it's a nice change."
Harry was reasonably sure that he should feel insulted by that, but was equally sure that
Draco meant it as a compliment, so he didn't know what to say.

"Erm, thanks," he said, tentatively.

"See," Draco said. "Simple. Never change, Potter."

 The Serpent Sworn

"Oh, here comes trouble," Rattler said with a grin; he was waiting for the lift on Level Two,
as Harry and Padfoot stepped out of it. "How've you been Harry?"

"Good, thanks," Harry said with tentative smile back.

"Morning," Padfoot said, yawning.

"Morning, Black," Rattler said, still smiling. "What are you here for today? Filing?" This last
question was accompanied by an expression that was half sympathetic, half apologetic.

"Hopefully it's something more exciting than that," Padfoot said ruefully. He grinned. "I was
hoping to make an arrest or two, and maybe uncover a conspiracy theory or murder plot...
but, yeah, I s'pose paperwork's all right too." Rattler laughed.

"I've got errands to run this morning," Rattler said, adjusting his briefcase, "but if you're too
busy to keep an eye on young Potter while you're saving the Ministry, feel free to leave him
with me this afternoon." Rattler grinned at Harry. "I think I owe you a game of Exploding
Snap." Harry laughed. "And I'll win this time," Rattler added. "But what'll you do this
morning? Surely you've got better things to do than follow this one-" He gestured to Padfoot.
"-around?"

"Arthur Weasley's bringing his two youngest in," Padfoot said, "and we'll let them entertain
themselves. I think Arthur's partner's out today, so they can have his side."

"Exactly right," a white haired wizard wheezed as he passed them and entered the lift.

"Morning, Perkins," Padfoot said cheerily, as Perkins pressed a button. Rattler looked at
Perkins too and muttered a word that was on the list that Harry wasn't allowed to use at
school.

"Just hold the door, would you, Perkins?" Rattler called, before he turned back to Harry and
Padfoot. "I've got to go, I'm afraid, but my office is open this afternoon." He hurried into the
lift, which was being held open by an elderly wizard with fluffy white hair. Rattler waved
through the closing doors with one hand, and fumbled for something golden in his robes with
his other.

"He's cheery this morning," Padfoot remarked, and then gestured to Harry. "This way, kiddo."
Harry followed him through a narrow web of corridors, and looked around curiously while he
walked; that turned out not to be the best idea, because every time he glanced into a cubicle, a
hard faced Auror looked back suspiciously. Harry decided to keep his eyes on Padfoot's back
instead.

Padfoot stopped in an area of the Auror Department that Harry vaguely recognised; he knew
the bathroom, because he'd used it while he was staying in Bones' office, and he recognised
the cluster of offices; Bones', obviously, and also Rattler's, and then Scrimgeour's a short
distance away from those, closer to the cubicles. It was Scrimgeour's slightly ajar door that
Padfoot went to, and knocked on.

There was a bang and a muffled curse from inside – Padfoot drew his wand at once, and
Harry put his hand in his pocket, ready to grab his if he needed it - and then Scrimgeour
called, "Come in!"

"Is everything all right, sir?" Padfoot asked cautiously, as he pushed the door open.
Scrimgeour was sitting at his desk - the top of which was scorched and smoking slightly -
and had shoved a piece of parchment into a drawer as soon as they walked in.

"Everything's fine, thank you, Black," Scrimgeour said tersely. "Put that away." Padfoot
tucked his wand back into his robes and Harry took his own hand out of his pocket. "Good
morning, Potter."

"Good morning, sir," Harry said.

"What happened?" Padfoot asked, gesturing to the desk.

"Oh, that?" Scrimgeour asked, fidgeting. "Nothing." Harry could tell from the set of Padfoot's
mouth that he didn't believe him, but before he could say anything, Scrimgeour had put his
hands together and said, "Now, I've got a few things in mind for you today..."

"Yes?" Padfoot asked, after a moment's hesitation. Scrimgeour began to outline Padfoot's day,
and Harry only heard a bit about a lecture and Padfoot's opinion before he zoned out and
started to pay more attention to the office. It was smaller than Bones' and more interesting by
far; Bones had had a large bookshelf, while Scrimgeour had a smaller one, half filled with
books, half filled with strange objects that looked a bit foreboding. A portrait of an old man
dozed in the corner, above an ornate object that looked a bit like a sundial, and Scrimgeour's
desk itself was covered with stacks of parchment and a collection of potted plants, none of
which Harry recognised.

One twitched, even as he watched it, and he took a step closer, curious. Padfoot and
Scrimgeour were too deep in their conversation to notice as Harry got his wand out and
prodded it – he knew better than to try that with his hands – and neither spared him more than
a glance when the plant reached for his wand and he jerked it out of the way.

"Sorry," he muttered. Scrimgeour waved a hand, and Padfoot ruffled his hair, and Harry
dropped his eyes, embarrassed. They fell on a heavy envelope on the desk. It was singed -
obviously it had been too close to whatever had scorched the desk – and it had a strange mark
on it, where a muggle stamp would go; two crossed keys, inside a circle made out of a coiled
snake-

Scrimgeour noticed Harry looking at it and cleared his throat. Harry took a step back, and
Scrimgeour buried the envelope under a pile of other parchment. Padfoot glanced between
them, looking confused, and a little concerned.

"So," Scrimgeour said, giving Harry a sharp look, despite the fact that his words were
directed at Padfoot, "you understand what you have to do today?"
"Yes, sir," Padfoot said, in an odd tone.

"Excellent. Go and do it." Padfoot and Harry exchanged a look and headed for the door, but
Scrimgeour's voice stopped them. "A word, please, Potter." Both of them stopped. "Not you,
Black. Kindly wait outside."

"But-"

"Potter has managed to survive without you being present in the past." Scrimgeour's eyes
flashed. Harry had, until now, thought he could trust Scrimgeour. Now, though, he wasn't so
sure. "I am certain he can do so again." Padfoot clenched his jaw. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes, actually," Padfoot said. "As his guardian, I have every right to know-"

"There are some things that he and I need to speak about," Scrimgeour said. "Privately. You
will have to trust me when I say it is nothing inappropriate-"

"You're off - strange - this morning," Padfoot said bluntly. "I don't know what's going on-"

"No, and it is none of your business," Scrimgeour said sharply.

"See?" Padfoot said. "And you want me to trust you-"

"Yes, Black, trust me, like I trusted you when I vouched for you in May," Scrimgeour
snapped. Padfoot deflated at once. He gave Harry a look – one that Harry interpreted to mean
that Padfoot would fuss if Harry was worried, but would otherwise subside. Harry bit his lip
and nodded, and Padfoot, looking wary, left the room.

"I'll be right outside," Padfoot said, probably as much to reassure Harry as to warn
Scrimgeour. Scrimgeour shut the door behind Padfoot with a flick of his wand, and muttered
a spell that would probably stop noise from leaving.

"You saw the symbol, didn't you?" Scrimgeour said. Harry considered lying, but suspected
Scrimgeour – a practiced Auror – would probably be able to tell.

"A snake," he said quietly. "With two crossed keys."

"I thought so," Scrimgeour sighed. He stared very hard at his hands, which were clasped on
the desk, and then looked up at Harry. "Someone – or a group of someones – tried to kill me
this morning." Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, so he said nothing. "I'm looking into it,
or I will be, once we finish here, but I'm going to ask you to stay quiet about this."

"But- If someone's trying to kill you, then shouldn't-"

"Potter, I am Head Auror and have been for many years. Please don't presume to tell me how
to do my job." Harry flushed and looked down at his trainers. "I am keeping this quiet,"
Scrimgeour said again. "I don't want people to worry over what might be nothing-"

"And if it's not- if it's not nothing, sir?" Harry dared to ask.
"Then I will alert the appropriate people at the appropriate time."

Harry was silent for a long time, expecting Scrimgeour to dismiss him, but he didn't. Finally,
Harry asked, "So why are you telling me?"

"You saw the symbol of the Serpent Sworn," Scrimgeour said. "I needed to be sure you
wouldn't run to tell your godfather, and that you yourself wouldn't overreact."

"He wouldn't tell anyone," Harry said, not sure why Padfoot knowing would be an entirely
bad thing. "Maybe he could help-"

"I think Black might find this particular group's associations and beliefs a little too personal...
I don't know the extent of his involvement in the war, but I know he was involved, and now
that you're in the wizarding world and he feels obliged to protect you... No, the Serpent
Sworn aren't something Black would be content to let be, if he knew they were functioning
again."

The war? And Padfoot wanting to protect me from something I might overreact to...? Ice slid
down Harry's spine, as his thoughts reached a chillingly certain conclusion.

"Are you- do you mean to say, that these Serpent Sworn- that they're somehow connected to
Voldemort?" Harry asked. Scrimgeour's face twitched at the name, but otherwise, his face
was impassive.

"I said nothing of the kind," Scrimgeour said stiffly, but Harry knew he was right.

"But if it is- If it's Voldemort-" Scrimgeour twitched again. "-then shouldn't we do

something?" Harry asked, with dawning horror.

"I am handling the situation. I ask that you trust me to decide when or if something must be
done," Scrimgeour said.

"It was war last time," Harry said. "He killed my parents! If something's happening, sir, then
shouldn't we do-"

"We will not do anything. The Serpent Sworn are not such a big threat that I cannot handle
them alone. You are the Boy Who Lived, but you are also a boy and you have no place in
this..." Scrimgeour dwindled off, looking unnerved, as if he couldn't decide what to call the
situation, and that worried Harry. He'd always thought Scrimgeour was reasonably
competent, but now he wasn't so sure. "You will stay out of this, and more importantly, stay
quiet about what you saw here today, and what we have spoken about. Am I clear?" Harry
said nothing.

"Mr Potter, I cannot allow you to leave if I do not have your word."

"All right," Harry muttered, not meeting Scrimgeour's yellow eyes.

"Pardon?"

"I said all right!" Harry snapped, crossing his fingers behind his back. "You have my word."
"Your word that what?" Scrimgeour pressed.

"My word," Harry said in a steely voice, thankful for all the practice with loopholes that
living with Kreacher had given him, "that I won't do anything that would be considered
overreacting-" Harry was fairly sure that letting Padfoot and Moony know immediately
would not be considered overreacting, especially since it could well be Voldemort they were
dealing with here. "- and that I'll keep everything I've heard today quiet." He hadn't promised
to keep it to himself, though. Harry fought to keep his smugness from showing.

Appearing satisfied, Scrimgeour nodded, and scratched absently at the scorch mark on his
desk. Then he looked up at Harry and smiled, seeming, rather abruptly, like the Scrimgeour
that Harry'd known in the cells and in the courtroom, rather than the one he'd spent the last
few minutes with.

"Thank you very much, Potter." He looked absurdly pleased with himself.

"Can I go?" Scrimgeour waved a hand, giving him permission – he'd just pulled his
communication device out of his pocket and muttered something into it - and Harry left the
office quickly and shut the door behind him.

"What in Merlin's name was that?" Padfoot demanded. Harry glanced around – the corridors
were much busier now than they had been when he and Padfoot entered the office.

"I need to talk to you," Harry said in a low voice. They heard movement in Scrimgeour's
office, and moved around a corner. A moment later, he exited, but didn't once look in their
direction. "Somewhere else," Harry muttered, watching Scrimgeour head toward the lifts.

Padfoot nodded at once and led Harry away from Scrimgeour's office. They were stopped
several times by Aurors or trainees – Harry recognised Wellington and Yaxley, and also
Robards – who wanted to say good morning to Padfoot or both of them, and several minutes
later, they finally managed to find themselves a reasonably secluded bit of corridor. It was
outside some sort of maintenance cupboard, where, oddly enough, a few people were
massing, but thankfully they didn't pay either Harry or Padfoot too much attention. Those that
did, didn't approach.

"All right," Padfoot said, eyeing the others. "Let's hear it."

"There was an envel-"

"Sirius! Harry!" Tonks came barrelling out of nowhere, looking flustered, and Harry
swallowed what he'd been about to say. While he liked Tonks, and trusted her, he thought
Padfoot should hear it first, and then Padfoot should decide who should or shouldn't hear it.
"Wotcher!" she said when she reached them.

"Dora," Padfoot said. He nodded at Bones, who'd arrived at the same time as Tonks, and kept
walking; she headed for one of the people outside the cupboard. Padfoot then returned his
attention to Dora. "Could you give us a min-" Harry saw his nostrils flare. "Is everything all
right?"
"I think so," Tonks said, but she didn't look certain.

"What?" Padfoot asked.

"Well, Scrimgeour's talking to Remus," Tonks said, an odd look on her face.

"Remus?" Padfoot asked blankly. "As in Moony? With Scrimgeour?"

"What other Remus do you know?" Tonks said, rolling her eyes.

"Why's he even at the Ministry?" Padfoot asked sharply.

"We had breakfast in the dining hall in the Atrium," Tonks said, "and then Scrimgeour got out
of the lift as we were saying goodbye and asked Remus for a word-"

"About?"

"I have no clue," Tonks said, looking peevish. "Scrimgeour told me I'd better get to training
or I'd be late, and he had that no-nonsense sort of..." She threw her hands up. "I didn't really
have a choice," she said, looking a little defensive. Padfoot looked troubled. "I-"

"All right, you lot, down we go," Robards called, appearing out of a cubicle on Harry's left.
McKinnon was by his side, and she gave Harry and Padfoot a nervous sort of nod, and Tonks
a friendlier smile. Around them, people started to move, Tonks among them; she gave
Padfoot a grim look and a wave, and went to join McKinnon and Wellington. Yaxley and
Prewett were a few steps behind them, deep in conversation. "Black," Robards said,
approaching with a wave. "Scrimgeour tells me you're observing today-"

"Yeah," Padfoot said, glancing at Harry, "he wants my opinion or something." Padfoot looked
confused for a moment, and then worried. "Could I just have a moment with Harry-"

"He's not coming down with us, is he?" Robards asked. "We're covering Unforgivables, you
know, not really appropriate-"

"No, Arthur Weasley's agreed to watch him," Padfoot said.

"Oh, good," Robards turned his head and shouted, "Weasley!" A few seconds later, Mr
Weasley poked his head out of an office down the hall, and waved uncertainly. Robards
gestured for him to come over. "I hear you're watching Potter?" Mr Weasley gave Robards an
odd look, and smiled in a confused sort of way at Padfoot, who gave him the exact same
smile back.

"Can I just-" Padfoot began.

"Robards, Black?" Scrimgeour was back, and Harry automatically moved closer to Padfoot,
his jaw setting. Scrimgeour eyed them, and then looked at Mr Weasley, who was looking
awkward. "Training's started... is there a problem?"

"No, sir," Robards said at once. "Come on, Black." Padfoot gave Harry a meaningful look,
and Harry inclined his head slightly – Padfoot had to go, else Scrimgeour would be
suspicious... if he wasn't already.

"Be good for Arthur, kiddo," Padfoot said. "I'll see you for lunch."

"Bye," Harry said, as Padfoot followed Robards away. Scrimgeour arched an eyebrow at
Harry and then followed the others into the cupboard.

"Never a dull moment, eh?" Mr Weasley said, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Guess not," Harry mumbled, troubled. Something was up and Scrimgeour and the Serpent
Sworn were at the heart of it... And, if everyone seemed determined to keep an eye on
Padfoot – as Scrimgeour and Robards had seemed keen to do – then Harry would look into it
himself, and tell Padfoot what he could when they were safely alone at home.

"Shall we go and see Ron?" Arthur asked brightly, gesturing down the hallway. "He's waiting
in my office."

"Sure," Harry said, cheering at the mention of Ron. "And Ginny?" A sad look passed over
Arthur's face, and he adjusted his glasses.

"She didn't come in today, I'm afraid," Arthur said, pushing open the door. Ron, who'd been
swivelling around in a chair, looked over and grinned.

"Hey, Harry," he said, and Harry grinned back. Then, Ron turned to his father and asked,
"Who?"

"Ginny," Mr Weasley said, and the same sad expression flickered over Ron's face. Mr
Weasley sat down at his desk and started opening letters, and Harry went and perched on the
edge of the desk Ron was near.

"She wanted to," Ron told Harry. "But she thought staying home was more important." He
paused, looking stricken. "Not that you're not important, I mean, just that-" Ron stopped and
ran a hand through his hair, looking agitated. "Bloody hell-" There was a soft, reprimand
from Mr Weasley at that point. "-I made that sound bad. It's- Our neighbour – Ginny's friend's
mum- died last week." Ron stared at the desk in front of him, and Harry said nothing, for fear
of offending him. "She- Ginny's looking after her. But she wanted to see you," Ron added.

"Tell her thanks," Harry said, and Ron nodded. "But I reckon she made the right choice,
staying home. She's obviously needed more there than here." Ron scratched absently at his
arm and then scowled. "What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"Fred and George – my brothers – sent a cursed letter home," Ron grumbled. "We've all been
itchy ever since – well, except for Ginny, because they told her how to fix it."

"Have you tried Finite?" Harry asked.

"Mum has," Ron said. "I'm trying to get her to send them a Howler-" Harry's eyebrows shot
up. "-but she hasn't yet, so we're still itchy."
"Padfoot might know something that'll help," Harry offered. "He's good at that sort of thing. I
can ask him at lunch, if you'd like?"

"Thanks," Ron said. "It's probably that or wait until I'm frustrated enough that I can use
accidental magic to get rid of it." Harry smiled.

"...and that'll do us, I think," Robards said, as Blackburn and Hemsley lowered their wands.
Dora, who'd morphed herself into something resembling a flower, and one of the male
trainees - who'd just confessed several embarrassing truths about himself that Sirius would
have preferred not to know – both slumped.

"Well?" Scrimgeour, who'd hovered at Sirius' side the entire time, asked.

"Hasn't really changed," Sirius said, shrugging.

"But it's not worse?"

"Er, no," Sirius replied, frowning. Scrimgeour nodded and excused himself.

He wanted me down here, for three hours, just for that? Sirius wondered, and groaned. He'd
hardly even been paying attention; instead, he'd been fretting about what Harry might have
wanted to tell him.

"You didn't even do anything," Marlene said, in a voice that was almost playful. Her eyes
were guarded, though, and her smile was strained.

"It's- never mind. You did well," Sirius remarked.

"Thank you," she said warily. Dora bounded over to join them, looking more humanoid now
that she'd been released from the Imperius Curse.

"That was weird, wasn't it?" she said, looking unnerved. "I mean, I knew I wasn't a flower,
but at the same time I didn't, you know?"

"It's a bit like that," Sirius told her, grimacing. "But that's the first step – being able to
differentiate between their instructions, and your own thoughts."

"Fighting's the tricky part," Marlene added.

"You didn't look like you had any trouble at all," Dora said, giving her a curious look.

Marlene shrugged and said, "I think I'm just stubborn."

"Maybe just a bit," Sirius said, chuckling. Marlene didn't look offended by the comment, but
she didn't laugh, or even smile either. Dora glanced between them, uncomfortable.

"I think I'll go and find Gawain," Marlene said after a moment.

"All right," Dora said easily. "See you tomorrow, then."

"Nice seeing you," Sirius added, and got a strange sort of smile accompanied by a shrug in
return. Dora looked like she wanted to say something, but apparently decided against it.

"Shall we get lunch?" she asked instead. Sirius nodded, and the pair of them joined the rest of
the crowd that were heading back upstairs to the Auror Department.

"Just hold on," Sirius said, as they stepped out of the cupboard together. "I'll grab Harry, and-
" Dora squeaked as she collided with the back of a female trainee, and Sirius managed to
steady her before she fell completely.

"-Serpent Sworn are not something you can keep quiet about, Rufus!" Amelia said. Sirius
could just see the back of her head and robes from around the corner. She wasn't talking
loudly, but every trainee in the vicinity had stopped and was silent, so her voice carried down
the hallway. "And especially not if they're trying to kill you! You're too valuable to this
Department to let them even attempt-"

"I'm handling it," Scrimgeour said, sounding irritated.

"No, you're not. And you're not taking this seriously, which is exactly where the biggest
danger lies. Better than we overreact-"

"Apparently," Scrimgeour muttered.

"-and fix this before it actually becomes a problem – for more people than just yourself –
then leave it and let this problem grow. You might be the Head of the Auror Department, but
I – with Thomas' help – am Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and I see
this as a threat even if you don't-"

"You've dealt with their type before, and that's why you're reacting this way; it's personal for
you, which is exactly why I didn't want-"

"If we leave this, it could well become personal for all of us," Amelia snapped. "You've got
two days to start countering this, or I'll step in and do it for you." Sirius heard her shoes –
some sort of heel, from the sound of it – clipping on the floor as she left. Scrimgeour didn't
say anything else, and didn't walk back around the corner – obviously he'd gone the same
way as Amelia – which was lucky; as soon as the conversation stopped, the thirty or so
people who'd been eavesdropping broke into hushed conversation.

"Who're the Serpent Sworn?" one man asked.

"What in Merlin's name could have happened for it to be personal for Bones?" another man
wondered. Sirius and Dora shared a look.

"I think I ought to find Mad-Eye," she said hesitantly.

"Good idea. I'm going to find Harry." Sirius thought he might know now, what Harry needed
to tell him. "Will we see you for dinner?"

"Nah, Mum wants me home tonight," Dora said, shrugging. "It'll just be the three of you."
She looked as troubled as Sirius felt as she walked off – and tripped on her own feet as she
went – to find her mentor.

Harry was, thankfully, where he was supposed to be; Sirius hadn't really thought he'd leave
and go walking about, but with Harry, it was often difficult to be certain. Arthur's desk was
unoccupied, but neither of the boys seemed fussed; they were sitting at Perkins' desk, writing
on pieces of scrap parchment.

"So then I said to Charlie- Hello, Mr Black," Ron said, spotting him before Harry. Sirius gave
him a bemused look; Mr Black was a strange name. Harry said a hello too, but his eyes were
on his drawing.

"Hello. Where's-"

"Dad's just gone to the bathroom." Sirius approached their desk, as Ron finished whatever
he'd been saying to Harry before he arrived, and both boys laughed. Games of hangman and
noughts and crosses lay littered around the desk. Ron, Sirius was amused to see, had
abandoned a drawing of some sort of circle, with arms and legs. Sirius had seen Ginny's
drawing of the dragon, and while she was quite good, it seemed Ron had not inherited her
drawing skills.

Harry was drawing an odd symbol, and while it was no work of art, it was also not something
he'd made up himself; there were several crossed out versions of the same thing lying around
him. It was a snake – Sirius wasn't sure what sort, because Harry wasn't that good at drawing
– that made a ring, inside which were two keys.

"What's that?" Sirius asked him in a low voice, but after what he'd just heard between Amelia
and Scrimgeour, he thought he knew.

The Serpent Sworn, Harry wrote, glancing at Ron, to make sure he wasn't paying attention;
Ron was adding facial features to his drawing. Then, Harry blew on the ink to dry it, folded
the parchment up carefully and placed it in his pocket.

"Are you hungry?" Sirius asked him, heart pounding.

"Starving," Harry said, and then cast a reluctant look in Ron's direction.

"Dora's not coming anymore – something's happened." Harry's hand twitched toward the
pocket he'd put his drawing in, and Sirius inclined his head. "Would you and your dad like to
join us?" Sirius asked Ron, and Harry's expression brightened again.

"Join you?" Arthur asked, stepping back into the office.

"For lunch," Harry said, with a smile. Arthur looked troubled for a moment, and reached into
his pocket. Sirius wasn't sure why, until he realised Arthur was counting the coins he had
there.

"It's my shout," Sirius said, as Arthur hesitated, looking between Ron, who looked
uncomfortable, and Harry, who looked hopeful. "To say thank you for keeping an eye on
Harry."
"It's not- We can't let you do that-"

"Of course you can," Sirius said, with a smile. Ron was now wearing a hopeful expression
that matched Harry's, and Arthur appeared torn. Scrimgeour hadn't really given him anything
to do that afternoon, so Sirius intended to go home as soon as he could; he and Harry had a
lot to discuss. But they needed to eat first, and he really did want to thank Arthur and Ron for
keeping Harry company – he wondered where Ginny was today – and thought lunch was a
good way to do that. What he was reluctant to do, however, was spend much more time in the
Ministry, at least until he knew what was going on. And, since he had Harry, he was reluctant
to stay anywhere potentially dangerous.

"Come on," Sirius said. "I know a nice muggle cafe just around the corner."

Arthur's eyes shone at the mention of muggles and Sirius knew he had him convinced.
 The quest for answers

School resumed for Harry two days after Sirius overheard Scrimgeour and Amelia discussing
the Serpent Sworn, and Sirius was glad; not because he wanted him gone, but Harry had, not
entirely surprisingly, got as caught up in it as Sirius himself had. He needed something to
take his mind off it, because, as determined as he was to help, there was nothing he could do
at this stage.

Sirius was also rather wary; Harry had told him everything Scrimgeour had said about the
Serpent Sworn and from that Sirius had gathered that these Serpent Sworn people were
somehow connected to Voldemort – Scrimgeour had pretty much told Harry that – but he
hadn't yet been able to figure out how. Serpent Sworn wasn't a name he'd ever heard, and
through Reg and the Order, he'd thought he was very well informed.

He'd asked Remus – who'd been very reluctant to talk about his encounter with Scrimgeour –
but Sirius had pressed until he gave in and admitted that Scrimgeour had only wanted to
make sure that – now that Remus was dating a trainee – he was over his days of punching
Aurors. Sirius had laughed at Remus' embarrassed look while he told the story, but something
hadn't sat right with him about the explanation. It was possible that Scrimgeour would still be
sore about Remus punching him the previous May, but... well, Sirius didn't think his best
friend was a liar – certainly, Remus wouldn't lie about something as important as Voldemort –
but he didn't think he'd been entirely truthful either.

Not knowing who or what the Serpent Sworn were made him seriously uncomfortable,
particularly because - while they might be targeting the Ministry - anyone connected to
Voldemort would almost certainly have it out for Harry. And Harry was, now that school was
back, out of Sirius' sight for seven hours a day, five days a week. Sirius still thought it was a
bad idea to let him take his wand to school, but Sirius had put a charm on Harry's mirror to
shrink it, and protect it from being broken, and Harry now carried that in his pocket at all
times. Sirius, likewise, was carrying his, and was comforted by the thought that if something
happened, he could be at Harry's side in seconds.

Despite the potential danger hanging over them, though, Harry's first day had been an
exciting occasion; Sirius had been working on his bike in his spare moments since getting it
back (Dumbledore had stored it in a room on Hogwarts' seventh floor that Sirius hadn't even
known existed, and it had greatly resembled a motor garage) into a functional state, and he'd
taken it to drop Harry at school, much to the excitement of his classmates, and the
disapproval of the teacher on morning duty.

Harry, for his part, was taking the news of the Serpent Sworn rather well. He'd been spooked
after the day at the Ministry, and had been asking a lot of questions about the war, but Sirius
had, eventually - after his second day at school - foisted him off onto Remus, and that seemed
to have calmed Harry down more than Sirius had managed to. Remus, too, had taken it in
stride, and looked grim whenever it was mentioned, but not terribly worried.
And, while it was good Harry was no longer flinching at every noise or sudden movement,
and that Remus wasn't panicking and making contingency plans, Sirius was still very on edge
when he was in at the Ministry, and days of research – in Grimmauld's library, and in the
Ministry's vastly more extensive one – had yielded nothing.

Which was why Sirius was standing – very reluctantly – outside this particular door,

He checked his watch – it was just after four, which meant classes should have ended by now
– and then knocked.

This is a terrible idea, he thought. The door opened and Sirius was greeted by a supremely
unimpressed look.

"Twice in as many weeks..." Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets and said nothing.
"Aren't Ilucky?"

"Very," Sirius replied flatly. Snape gave him a cold look, and Sirius refused to break eye
contact, certain that if Snape decided to try to read anything out of his head, that Padfoot
would be able to put a stop to that. Snape lifted his eyes eventually; he glanced at the dark
stone ceiling of the Hogwarts dungeons, as if he was praying for strength, or patience, and
Sirius rolled his own eyes.

"To what do I owe the... pleasure?" Snape asked finally.

"Can I come inside?"

"You are currently placing an inordinate amount of stress on a very fragile tolerance," Snape
informed him, but stepped aside. "Touch nothing." Sirius didn't. He stayed standing, like a
naughty schoolboy, while Snape swept over to his desk and sat down. Snape didn't offer him
a seat. "Well?"

"Who are the Serpent Sworn?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The Serpent Sworn," Sirius said.

Snape hesitated and then said, "I don't know."

"Rubbish," Sirius said, and Snape's eyes flashed. "You hesitated."

"I hesitated because I was trying to form a polite answer instead of an insulting one. I see
now I needn't have bothered."

"You have to know," Sirius said.

"Very well," Snape said. "You've caught me, Black. I, Severus Snape am the leader of these
Swearing Snakes-"

"Serpent Sworn," Sirius corrected, frowning.

"The name doesn't matter," Snape snapped. "Because, as I have told you, I haven't even the
slightest idea what you are talking about."

"None?" Sirius asked. "It doesn't sound even a tiny bit familiar?"

"Not in the slightest," Snape told him. "Should it?"

"I don't know," Sirius sighed. "All I've got to go on, is that it's something to do with
Voldemort-"

"The Dark Lord?" Snape asked, and Sirius curled his lip.

"No, the other Voldemort," Sirius muttered.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," Sirius said; he'd come for help, and he wasn't going to get it if he was insulting. "I
assumed that the Serpent Sworn were... I dunno, elite Death Eaters, or something, but I can't
find anything on who they are, or what they want."

"The elite?" Snape asked slowly. He was silent, surveying Sirius through cold, dark eyes for
almost a minute, before - looking unsettled - he spoke. "It seems you're more of a fool than
even I ever thought." Sirius said nothing, and Snape lay his arm on the table and pulled back
his sleeve. The Dark Mark rested there, seemingly innocent, a faded black stain on the pale
skin, except Sirius knew what it meant. "Did you forget about this?"

"No," Sirius said. "It's the reason I came-"

"You came to ask an old Death Eater for help regarding what you suspect may be the uprising
ofnew Death Eaters?" Snape asked. "I don't think I've ever heard anything more stupid, and I
mark Gryffindor essays." He recovered his arm. "We are not friends, Black, despite having
proven on several occasions now that we can share the same space for short periods of time
without the world ending. I hold no fondness for you, nor do I particularly care whether or
not you make it to your next birthday, nor, do I owe you anything, be that my information, or
my honesty."

"Okay," Sirius said, because really, there wasn't much else he could say. Snape was right –
they weren't friends - and the rest of what he'd said made perfect sense too. Sirius did, oddly
enough, trust him more than was probably smart to, but he certainly didn't trust him blindly;
his trust came from trusting Dumbledore's judgement, but Sirius didn't trust Dumbledore
blindly either. And, he wasn't about to tell Snape that, because that gave him information he'd
rather his old enemy not have.

"Okay?" Snape repeated, blinking.

"Yep," Sirius said, stepping back toward the door. He'd got most of what he needed anyway;
Snape hadn't seemed at all concerned by the Serpent Sworn until Voldemort was mentioned,
and Snape's Dark Mark was faded; obviously, he wasn't involved (at least not directly) but
hadn't wanted to say anything more on the matter until he had instructions, and knew what
speculation it was and wasn't safe to share. And Sirius, despite his contempt for all things
Death Eater, could appreciate that, even if it annoyed him. So, fairly certain that Snape
currently didn't know any more about the Serpent Sworn than he himself did, Sirius didn't
want to risk undoing all of the awkward, tense progress they'd made for something that
wouldn't get him results. "Thanks for your time."

He let himself out and shut the door behind him; he let out a deep, steadying breath – quite a
bit of tension faded, once there was a door between him and Snape – and was half-certain
that Snape was doing exactly the same thing on the other side of the door.

Sirius walked after that, through the familiar corridors of his old school, thinking. He had a
general destination – Dumbledore's office – but he certainly wasn't taking the quickest route
there, so that he could give himself proper time to consider all of his options. By the time he'd
reached the gargoyle – and was greeted by the cheery statue – he'd decided on his course of
action, and was feeling nervous, but certain that he'd made the right choice.

"Come in," Dumbledore said, as Sirius knocked on the wood of the door. Shaking his head in
wry amusement, Sirius pushed open the door and walked in. Dumbledore looked surprised
for a moment, and then offered Sirius a tentative smile. Then his eyes dropped to Sirius' side,
and the smile faded and became concerned. "Is everything all right?"

"Nothing's wrong yet," Sirius said, carefully. Dumbledore gestured to the seat in front of his
desk and Sirius sat down. "Something's come to my attention though, through the Auror
Department. I half expect Amelia or Mad-Eye have already had a word with you-"
Understanding flickered over Dumbledore's old face, and Sirius sat straighter. "You know."

"I assume you're talking about the Serpent Sworn?" he asked heavily.

"Yes," Sirius said. "Are they with Voldemort? What do they want? How many are there?"

"May I just say, before I answer your questions, that I am touched you still brought this
problem to me, despite the fact that you no longer trust me as you once did."

"I trust you with this," Sirius said quietly. "You've got more experience with this sort of thing
than anyone else I know, and I'd be stupid to ignore that." Dumbledore watched him without
blinking, but Sirius didn't feel anything probing his head, so he thought it was safe to assume
that Dumbledore was only looking at him. What he was looking for, Sirius had no idea.

"I'm certain you've heard it numerous times in the last few months, but allow me to add my
own support to the fact that you have certainly grown up."

"Thanks," Sirius said, a little uncomfortable with Dumbledore's piercing stare, and more than
a little determined not to show how much the praise from his old headmaster meant to him.
"So, the Serpent Sworn?"

"Ah," Dumbledore said, folding his hands on his desk. The atmosphere in the room changed
at once, from friendly and a bit wary, to business-like. Fawkes ruffled his feathers and
glanced between them both. Dumbledore spared his pet a look, and then turned back to
Sirius. "We don't have it confirmed," he said, "but we believe it's possible that they are in
league with Lord Voldemort, or are at least following his ideals to some extent."

"Old Death Eaters?"

"It's possible, but again, unconfirmed," Dumbledore said gravely. "What we can be certain of
is the fact that there is someone clever behind it; they have so far managed to operate with the
utmost secrecy, and toe the line between threatening and mediocre; Alastor tells me that
Scrimgeour was unprepared to take them seriously until Amelia talked sense into him."

"Shouted, really," Sirius said, and a small smile worked its way onto Dumbledore's face.

"I had not heard that," he murmured, seeming amused. "What they want, I imagine, is power
– most groups like this do, as I'm sure you know, but they have not yet started to target
muggleborns or those considered 'blood traitors'. Their only attack so far – that anyone knows
of – was on Scrimgeour himself, and Scrimgeour is a half-blood, who was in Slytherin."

"So... what? They want chaos for the sake of chaos?"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said. "No one will know until they make another move, and I fear
we'll be too late to do anything but react, and try to recover, because we have no way of
predicting what they'll do next."

"Oh, well, that's comforting," Sirius said, rolling his eyes.

Dumbledore smiled sadly and said, "Your optimism for an easy resolution is admirable,
Sirius, but you've been at this long enough to surely know that these things are never as
simple as we'd like them to be."

"I know," Sirius mumbled. "So what else can you tell me?"

"Very little – I have been given a limited amount of information on the matter, most of which
I've shared with you. I've made deductions, but whether they're true or not remains to be
seen."

"What deductions?" Sirius asked.

"That they're a reasonably large group-"

"And you consider 'large' to be...?"

"Thirty or more, I would imagine."

"Thirty?" Sirius asked weakly. "But a group that big would have done something to draw
attention-"

"Unless they were structured," Dumbledore said. "Which I suspect they are, and they're – as I
said before – almost certainly led by someone that knows what he or she is doing."

"Which could support the Death Eater theory," Sirius said.

"It could," Dumbledore agreed. "It also could not. It's difficult to know. But, I think it is safe
to assume that they've had training of some form, or that they are a collection of very talented
witches and wizards."

"Why?" Sirius asked.

"Attacking the Head of the Auror Department is a bold move," Dumbledore said. "Tom didn't
attempt it with the Death Eaters until the sixth or seventh year of his... campaign-" Sirius set
his jaw. Charlus Potter's death hadn't been nearly as difficult for him to overcome as Lily and
James' deaths, but the mention of the man he'd considered a father set off a dull ache in the
pit of his stomach. "-when he had the resources, and when his Death Eaters had the
experience and skill necessary to pull off such a feat."

"So they're dangerous?" Sirius asked flatly.

"And that they possibly have people on the inside – likely in the D.M.L.E. or Magical
Maintenance – who are keeping an eye on things." Sirius had to admit that Dumbledore had a
point – Remus had wondered the same thing a few nights ago. Dumbledore cleared his throat
gently. "I suggest, if or when the time comes that you are forced into a confrontation, that you
do not underestimate them." Dumbledore leaned back into his chair, looking grave.

"All right," Sirius said, a bit unnerved. Sometimes, he looked back on the war with fondness;
James and Lily had been alive, he'd had Marlene, Peter hadn't destroyed everyone's lives
yet... But he'd forgotten how much he hated the stress of feeling like it was up to him to help,
and that he had to always be doing something, else he was a coward, or wasting time, or
putting people in danger. He hadn't missed that feeling at all. "And that's all you know?"

"I do not have the influence in the Auror Department that I do with some of the others."
Sirius could appreciate that; while he knew Amelia and Mad-Eye would keep Dumbledore in
the loop, the Auror Department functioned in a way that was almost completely removed
from the rest of the Ministry. They had for years, and it had been a cause of consternation
with Ministers over the years, particularly those that wanted to feel like they were in control
of their Ministry. Aurors and Hit Wizards certainly didn't spend as much time checking up on
policies with the Minister and Undersecretaries as the other departments did. "I know only
what I am told."

"And no one's telling you anything?" Sirius asked.

"Alastor has been assigned the case," Dumbledore told him. "I know that much."

"That's good – he can keep you updated-"

Dumbledore sighed, looking resigned and said, "Not quite, I'm afraid. Scrimgeour is keeping
a very close eye on the case, and as such, a very close eye on Alastor."

"So he's staying quiet," Sirius surmised.

"And rightly so," Dumbledore replied. "Alastor's loyalty should be to his job more than it
should be to me. Would you like a sweet?"
"Thanks," Sirius said, accepting one. Dumbledore plucked one out of the bowl for himself,
and popped it into his mouth.

"This is not yet my battle. I do not feel as responsible for this as I did for Tom's uprising, and
the Ministry has not yet asked for – formally, or through their own lack of action – my
assistance. I am happy to let them handle things for the time being."

"So if I need information, go to Mad-Eye?" Sirius asked.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, twiddling his thumbs. Sirius sighed. "Is something wrong?"

"Mad-Eye and I- well, we get along, but it's not like it was before everything; he doesn't trust
me like he used to."

"Crises will do strange things to trust," Dumbledore said. "Look at us."

"Yeah, normal people trust people they know they can trust more easily. But Mad-Eye – great
bloke – but he's the most paranoid, secretive person to grace Britain, and I'm fairly certain
he'll trust me less-"

"Constant vigilance," Dumbledore murmured, and Sirius chuckled.

"Exactly. He won't say a word, other than to tell me to keep my nose out before he hexes a
chunk out of it to match his." Dumbledore was the one chuckling now.

"Then perhaps," he said, once he'd settled a bit, "you could talk to someone that Alastor
trusts."

"The Serpent Sworn?" Narcissa repeated, squinting at him though the bars of the Manor gate.
Severus tightened his cloak around his shoulders as he was buffeted by a particularly strong
gust of icy wind, and felt momentarily sorry for Narcissa, who was wrapped only in a
dressing gown. She shivered. "No, Severus, the name means nothing to me."

"Lucius hasn't mentioned it?" he asked.

"No," she said, apologetically, but firmly, and then yawned. Severus didn't think he'd ever
seen her do anything as mundane as yawning. "I don't even think I've heard-" She yawned
again. "What's happening?"

"Nothing," Severus replied.

"Severus, it's the middle of the night," she said flatly. "Why would you come now, if it
wasn't-"

"Perhaps I thought I ought to repay you for all the times you've inconvenienced me," he said
coolly. Narcissa's mouth twitched, and he wondered when they'd reached the point that one of
them could throw barbs without the other feeling the need to retaliate. He trusted her a bit
more than Lucius – Narcissa, at least, had simple motivations, when it came down to it – but
that still wasn't all that much, particularly after she'd told Draco that she shouldn't be trusted.
"It's snowing," she said, shifting one slippered foot. He eyed the wet, pale blue satin with
disdain, and she shifted again and folded her arms. "Obviously this is important, Severus, or
you wouldn't be here, and obviously it's something that requires discretion, or you'd be
having this conversation with my husband."

"Discretion would be appreciated," Severus said, and she nodded curtly. He was troubled on
the inside; Black had come to him of all people, to ask for... well, not help, but certainly
information, and he wouldn't have done so without strong need. Severus didn't loathe the man
anymore, but the dislike was still there, and he was reasonably sure Black felt the same, so
Severus suspected the visit that afternoon had been one born of desperation. And if the Dark
Lord was involved in any way, shape or form, then Severus needed to know. "At least for the
time being."

"What's happened?" she asked again. Severus hesitated. While he trusted Narcissa enough to
come to her for information, he didn't think telling her was a good idea. Not because he
feared she'd tell, but because he feared what she'd do – as far as Draco was concerned – if she
thought the Dark Lord was coming back. He'd give her warning if or when that occasion
arose, but givine her time to stew on it wouldn't be good for anyone.

"If it becomes relevant, I'll let you know," he said."I assure you of that."

"You don't trust me," she said, in a hurt voice that he suspected would work on most people;
he, however, knew that Narcissa was too controlled to let her voice sound that way by
accident, and that she probably didn't care enough about his opinion of her to be hurt by his
lack of trust. He arched and eyebrow. She tucked her hair behind her ear; it was a futile
endeavour, because the wind was tugging on it in all directions. "After everything the pair of
us have been through the past few years, you don't trust me enough to let me-"

"I will treat you with the same courtesy as you have treated me," he said; I will tell you what
I believe you need to know, when it is relevant." Her hurt facade dropped at once, and for the
second time that night, her mouth twitched.

"Very well," she said. Severus looked over her shoulder at a brown blob that was moving
about in the gardens behind her. He drew his wand, and Narcissa, spun, her hand jumping to
her own wand, which had been somewhere in her dressing gown.

"Dobby," she said, relaxing. Her tone was both explanation, and a summons, and the elf
vanished out of the gardens and appeared beside her on the frozen gravel. "Could you make
me a cup of tea, please. A warm one."

"Of course, Mistress," the elf squeaked. "But Master is telling Dobby to finish the gardening
– 'tis Dobby's gardening night, Mistress-"

"Nothing's going to grow in this weather," she said dismissively. "I'll handle Lucius. You may
handle my tea." The elf trembled and vanished with an obedient squeak. "Did you need to ask
anything else?" she asked, turning back to Severus.

"No."
"And Draco's still welcome tomorrow?"

"Draco's always welcome," Severus said quietly. And it was the truth. Draco was visiting
more regularly now. Severus wasn't sure what excuses Narcissa was making to Lucius, but
frankly, he didn't care. It wasn't his problem, and Draco and Lucius and Draco and Hydrus
were now so different that Severus got the impression that Draco wasn't having an easy time
at home, not because they were bullying him, but more because he was lonely. Severus
always tried to make Draco feel as welcome as possible. Severus wasn't a very welcoming
man, and he still gave Draco a lot of tedious, menial tasks to work on, but he also took care to
listen to his godson, and he took genuine interest in how Draco was.

Draco had quickly realised that Severus' office – and time with Severus – was safe, and had
responded in turn; Severus wasn't sure whether he was saddened, or selfishly pleased that his
ten year old godson's best friend was a middle-aged potions professor.

"Always?" Narcissa asked. Severus inclined his head, and Narcissa smiled. "Thank you,
Severus. It's nice to know you're watching out for him. And the training – I haven't thanked
you for it – and it hasn't been easy – on any of us – but I truly think that it's for the best-"

"That remains to be seen," he said, but he thought – or hoped – she might be right. He also
hoped that there was a chance that Draco might not follow in his father's footsteps and join
the Death Eaters if or when the time came, but he thought the chances of that were slim;
Draco would probably look at the Dark Mark on his father's arm, and at the one on Severus'
(not knowing that Severus didn't much care for the brand) and decide he wanted the same.
Severus sighed. The boy wasn't even at Hogwarts yet, but Severus and Narcissa had already
planned his entire future, and he'd follow that future, because they'd manipulated him into
doing so.

Narcissa pursed her lips and said, "I'm going to have a cup of tea, and then I'm going back to
bed. Good night, Severus."

"Good night," he said, and pulled his wand out of his pocket.

"And, Severus," she called, before he could Disapparate. "If I hear anything about your
Serpents, I'll let you know."

He inclined his head, and spun on the spot, as Narcissa strode back toward the Manor, like a
ghostly shadow against the snow.

"You're late. Close the door." The man who'd just entered the room did so without question.

"It's dark," he said.

"Is that a problem?" replied the man who'd just reprimanded him. There was something like
humour in his voice. "I'd have thought you of all-"

"No," replied the other.

"Good." The man's eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he was able to make out the other man,
sitting on an overturned crate of broom polish, and with all the haughty grandeur of a king on
his throne. "Would you like a seat?"

"I'll stand." The man who was sitting down, shrugged, and then looked up, eyes sharp and
bright in the darkness.

"You wanted to tell me something."

"Black's been asking questions."

"Has he?" There was interest in the seated man's voice now, and the barest hint of smugness.
"Fancy that."

"You're not surprised," the man snorted.

"No," the seated man admitted. "But it's good to know all the same. Where did you hear
that?"

"I have sources too," the man replied, and the seated man's face twisted.

"I hope they're reliable. If this gets to the wrong people-"

"My source is trustworthy," the man said, folding his arms, and privately enjoyed how rattled
his superior was to hear about his sources.

Ha! You're not the only one who can play this game, he thought.

"Has Black found anything?"

"Nothing that endangers us," he said, and then with grudging admiration, "If anyone was
going to work it out, it'd be him."

"Perhaps," said the seated man, but it was obvious that he agreed. "With any luck, he – and
the rest of them - will have no idea what's happening until it's happened."

"With any luck," he agreed. "You really think we can pull this off?"

"I think so, yes," the seated man said confidently. "It's a bit more extreme than anything
we've ever attempted-" The standing man murmured his agreement. "-but everyone knows
their role, and we're a proficient lot. The only thing I'm a little worried about-" The man's
eyes widened at that; the seated man was not the type to admit to worrying about anything. "-
is people getting hurt."

"If our lot get hurt, it'll be their own fault," the man said gruffly. "They should be able to
handle anything thrown their way." The seated man made a noise that might have been
agreement, but the man couldn't be certain.

"Should being the key word here," the seated man said. "But time will tell, I suppose."
"Are you still thinking Christmas?"

"I am." The man nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you for telling me about Black. I've got others
watching, but the more eyes we have on him, the better." The man snorted, and the seated
man smiled wryly. "It's all for him, after all."
 Part of the family

Sirius fiddled with his scarf – a bright, Gryffindor red one, that he'd bought one day with
Harry during the school holidays – and then gave up on that and shoved his hands into the
pockets of his jeans. He had to pull them out again a moment later to open the classroom
door, however, and that made him feel even more restless than he had before.

He'd arrived early – seven o'clock was the scheduled start time – but not early enough that he
was the first one there; Mrs Phelps was there, still wearing the floral blouse, cardigan and
long skirt he'd seen her in when he dropped Harry off that morning, and Mr Benson was in
his usual suit and tie, talking to her. Several parents – who obviously knew each other – had
already seated themselves at tables and were deep in conversation.

Sirius, who was a new 'parent' with the school, and wasn't involved in any of the parent
associations, knew no one except the teacher and Mr Benson, and was feeling a little more
out of his depth than he'd expected. He wasn't sure how to go about this; was he supposed to
introduce himself, or was he supposed to just sit down and wait for Mrs Phelps to start telling
him about Harry's progress?

He found himself thinking he should have dragged Remus along; he had offered, but Remus
had been a bit funny about it, saying it wasn't his place as much as it was Sirius', godmother
or not. Sirius had told him he was more than welcome, but Remus had opted to stay at home
with Harry, and try to help him with his Animagus project; Harry'd thought of something for
his incantation on Halloween, and Remus was helping him to word it, like he had helped
Sirius, James and Peter a lifetime ago.

Good old articulate Moony, Sirius thought, and then glanced around again, and grumbled to
himself under his breath. I should have brought him tonight – he's Harry's godmother, for
Merlin's sake. He has every right to be here. He looked at the other parents who were,
predictably there as couples; some were holding hands, or seated very close together, others
just smelled the same – as if they'd shared a car to get there – or were exchanging those
coupl-y looks. Sirius felt a little lonely, because of that, and also because he was probably a
good five or ten years younger than most of them.

I should definitely have brought Moony, if only so I had someone to talk to... Or, in an ideal
world, I wouldn't be here. It'd be Lils and Prongs. For the thousandth time, he couldn't help
but think the pair of them would have loved something like this. Or maybe it was just that
they'd never had the chance to experience things like this that made Sirius think they would.

"Excuse us," someone said behind him, and Sirius realised he was blocking the door. He
muttered an apology as a tall woman wearing a string of pearls, and a short, balding man
squeezed past him. Sirius followed their examples and collected a badge from the desk
closest to the door; the badge said Patrick Evans, and had a line of four animal prints on it;
there were three pawprints (two large, one quite a bit smaller) and a hoof print. Sirius knew
then that the kids must have designed the badges in art, or just in their free time.
He smiled as he put it on, and genuinely thought his badge had a better design than those
with just flowers, or stars.

He's a good kid, he thought, still smiling, and followed Harry's scent to the other side of the
classroom, where there was a cluster of desks and too-small chairs that he gingerly eased
himself into. In the middle were four pieces of paper – questionnaires, for the parent-teacher
night, by the looks of it, and pencils. Harry's desk had a label saying Harry Evans and had
been coloured in with red and yellow stripes. There was also a passable sketch of a lion, and
Sirius spent a moment wondering – since it had been a while since he considered it – which
House his godson would end up in.

He hadn't really reached a conclusion before Mr Benson sat down opposite him. His nametag
had a picture of a book on it, as did the label that announced it was Blaise's desk.

"Patrick," Mr Benson said. "How are you?"

"Hi, erm, yeah, good thanks," Sirius said, offering him a smile back.

"Good, good."

"Yourself?"

"Oh, fine," Mr Benson replied. "Busy, what with the holidays just ending, but no
complaints... Harry's settled back in again?"

"Yeah, no problems. And Blaise?"

"Loves it," Mr Benson said, looking amused. Sirius nodded, not really sure what to say; he
thought he'd have better luck holding a conversation with Blaise than with Blaise's father;
Blaise, at least, he knew a bit about. "So, er, who's your team?" Sirius had to swallow the
automatic response of 'Cannons', and ended up making an odd choking noise.

"Sorry?" he asked.

"Your team? In football?" Mr Benson said.

"Oh," Sirius said. He knew football was some sort of muggle sport – probably involving feet
and a ball of some sort... or at least he assumed as much, going by the usual standard of
creativity muggles used when they named things. He didn't know anything more about it than
that, though. "Erm... London?" It was a question, but Mr Benson didn't seem to notice.

"Ah, Arsenal?" He smiled. "They're doing well this year... might even win." Sirius blinked,
confused, but knew better than to say anything. "I'm a Liverpool supporter, myself-" He
patted a little red badge on his jacket, above his nametag. "-and I'm sort of hoping we'll win,
but time will tell."

"Yeah, erm, Liverpool's also... erm good," Sirius said. Mr Benson beamed.

"And Harry? Does he follow Arsenal as well?"

"Erm... sort of," Sirius said. "I s'pose, yeah."

"Maybe we should get the boys together for the finals, watch the game, and have a bit of a
play ourselves?" Mr Benson said, with an expression that was part cautious, part eager. Sirius
recognised it; it was one that he'd worn when he and Arthur discussed bringing the kids into
the Ministry to see each other. Sirius found himself nodding. "Bit of friendly competition,
hmm?"

"Sure," Sirius said, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to. Thankfully, before Mr Benson
could say any more about football and Sirius had to pretend he was a muggle, another couple
arrived. The husband pulled the seat out for his wife and then went to collect his own chair
from the front.

"Ah, Pauline," Mr Benson said, giving the woman a polite smile, though not as enthusiastic
as the one he'd given Sirius.

"Mr Benson," the woman replied. She had a very long, sharp nose, thin lips that were painted
red, but kind brown eyes and short, flyaway brown hair. "How are you?"

"Good, thank you," Mr Benson replied. "David." The man carrying a chair had a nametag
that declared him David Granger. He was a short man; taller than his wife, and a bit stockier,
but probably a head shorter than Sirius, and had a very white smile, curly brown hair and
green eyes.

Sirius eyed their nametags again; both Grangers had had 'Dr' added, and that the tags had
been coloured (green and purple, respectively) instead of drawn on.

"Hello, Emanuel," Mr Granger said, and then spotted Sirius and said a hello to him as well.

"You must be Harry's father," Mrs Granger said. Sirius nodded.

"And Mr and Mrs Granger... You're Hermione's family?"

"Dr and Dr Granger," Mrs – Dr – Granger said, almost sternly. "But you've got the rest right."

"Pleasure to meet you," Sirius said, a little uncertain now.

"You too," Dr Granger – the male one – said. "Your son's been a good friend to our Hermione
this year. She's always had a bit of trouble making friends," he added, in an undertone. His
wife sighed.

"She's been a good friend to Harry too," Sirius said.

"And Blaise, of course," Dr Granger – the female – added. "She spends quite a bit of time
talking about the both of them."

"I'm glad to hear it," Mr Benson said, with a smile that was more genuine this time. "She's
very bright, isn't she?" Dr and Dr Granger exchanged a look that was half proud, half
helpless.
"Very," the female Dr Granger said after a moment. "Sometimes too bright, I think."

"Where are you sending her next year?" Mr Benson asked. The Grangers exchanged another
look.

"We've had a few offers," the male Dr Granger said, holding his wife's eyes. "All to very
good schools... very... erm... prestigious schools."

"You must be proud," Sirius said, feeling like he ought to contribute to the conversation a bit.
Yet another look passed between the couple beside him.

"Yes, we're proud," the female Dr Granger said at last. She smelled uncertain. "We've left the
choice up to Hermione, of course, but it's not really a choice; she's had her mind made up
since her birthday." The male Dr Granger nodded. "And we- well, we'll support her in that."

"Right," Sirius said.

"What about Harry, and Blaise?"

"Harry's off to boarding school – the same one I went to as a boy," Sirius said, letting a bit
more pride seep into his voice, since he thought that was probably what was expected at this
sort of parent-teacher thing. "He's excited, I think, but I'll miss him."

"It's just the two of you, then?" Dr Granger asked sympathetically.

"Nah, we've got our housekeeper, and my brother's over a lot too." Sirius swore that if the
Grangers exchanged one more look, he was going to do something drastic about it. It wasn't
like he and the Marauders had been, where they talked with looks; this was more like
forming judgements with looks. It was disconcerting. "So, Blaise?"

"Oh, he'll just go to the local school, I think," Mr Benson said. "It is just him and me, so it's
easiest to have him somewhere nearby."

"And-" the female Dr Granger began, but at that point, Mrs Phelps clapped her hands,
drawing everyone's attention. Sirius was startled to see how many parents had arrived while
he and Mr Benson were talking to the Grangers.

"Thank you, everyone," Mrs Phelps said, beaming around at them all. "It's wonderful to see
so many of you here, eager to hear about your childrens' progress." No one said a thing, but
the teacher wasn't deterred. "Now, I can see some of you are busy looking at some of the
posters and artwork we have on display, but I'll ask you to sit down for the moment, so I can
talk to you as a group, and then I'll speak to each of you individually. If you haven't noticed
already, you'll see there's a form for you to fill out while I speak; that's for you to put any
questions or worries on, and we can address them when I come around."

Everyone shuffled around, knocking their heads on low-hanging posters while Sirius watched
with amusement. A particularly tall man was having great difficulty folding himself into one
of the small chairs. Sirius watched him give up, and stand behind his wife instead.

Mrs Phelps looked as if she'd like to tell him off for standing, but thought better of it.
She launched into a detailed talk – and referred to notes regularly – to outline what the class
had been working on since September. She talked about where they were up to in certain
subjects, what the class average was in certain areas, and what they had left to cover before
the school year ended in June.

Sirius zoned out about a minute in, because Harry had told him most of this anyway, and
frankly, it was boring. He revised his opinion of the night after that; Lily would have loved it,
James would have fronted up eagerly, and been a bored, whining mess five minutes in. He
stole a pencil from the tin, and one of the question forms, skimmed over that – decided
against answering What is your greatest concern about your child's learning? and other such
questions – and ended up turning the sheet over so that he could draw on the back of it.

He drew a lion first – inspired by the drawing on Harry's desk label – and then moved onto
assorted pawprints, and then the Serpent Sworn sigil, because, despite the fact that it had all
been quiet on that front, and he was trying to keep it out of his head tonight, it was still there.

"You ought to be paying attention," Dr Granger whispered, and he glanced over – taking in
her pursed lips and frown – and decided to ignore her. The male Dr Granger looked torn
between disapproval, like his wife, and amused exasperation. Across from him, Mr Benson
was also drawing on his form; he was colouring in the circles of letters. Sirius thought that if
the Headmaster could get away with it, then he certainly could.

Sirius drew a dog next – a dog that was lifting its leg on the Serpent Sworn sigil (he chuckled
to himself as he sketched that) – and then draped his arm over the sketch as Mrs Phelps
announced she'd be coming around, table by table, to speak with them individually. She
started at the table next to theirs, so Sirius had time to doodle a few other pictures – a
broomstick, a rather poor imitation of Hedwig, and a rather good one of Kreacher – before
Mrs Phelps appeared next to him and cleared her throat. Both Grangers were watching him
with disapproval.

Sirius hastily shoved the paper under the desk, and wedged it under the metal bar that was
there.

"Hello," he said, smiling at Mrs Phelps.

"Mr Evans," she sighed. "Would you like to talk about your son, or would you like me to
come back to you when you've finished drawing?"

"Now's fine," he giving her a charming smile. She nodded and pulled up a seat.

"Now," she said, flipping through her marking book. "Young Harry. You know, of course,
about the swearing incident," she said sternly.

"Yes," Sirius said, fighting like hell to keep a straight face. He was reasonably sure his lip
twitched, however, because Mrs Phelps sighed again. "He was- we talked about it at home."

"Good."

"There haven't been any repeats, have there?"

"No," she said, her expression clearing again. "No, though he does tend to get distracted.
Sometimes he's talking with other students-" Her eyes drifted over Mr Benson, and also over
the Grangers, who looked shocked at the idea that their Hermione might talk in class. "-other
times... well, I don't know... he seems off in his own little world. Does he get enough sleep?
What's his usual bedtime?"

"He gets enough sleep," Sirius said, and then wondered if he did; Harry regulated his own
bedtime, but he was usually asleep by midnight. Not keen to question that in front of his
teacher, however, he said, "And his marks are good, or so he tells me?"

"Yes, they're quite good. I wouldn't call him the top student-" Again, her eyes drifted to
Hermione's parents. "-but he does well in tests, and more importantly, he's consistent. He
does his homework to a high standard, and I really do think he's trying his very best, which is
what counts."

"Good," Sirius said.

"He's missed two days of school... I will ask in the future, that you phone the front office
when he's going to be absent, because it makes things easier on this end... But otherwise,
Harry's a nice boy, very friendly, very polite, occasionally cheeky – though only to his
classmates – and it's a pleasure to teach him. I was very pleased with his poster last term."

"Good," Sirius said again.

"Did you have any queries? Anything you were concerned about?"

"Er, no," Sirius said. "Is there anything I should be concerned about?" Mrs Phelps looked
startled to have the question turned back at her.

"No," she said. "I don't think so. He should settle into high school easily, and as I've said, I'm
happy with how he's doing this year."

For the third time, Sirius couldn't think of anything to say except, "Good."

Sirius' birthday came shortly after, on the tenth, and was met with rather more fanfare than
he'd expected, by Harry and Kreacher, who started things off by appearing beside his bed in
the morning, and shoving a steaming cup of tea, and a tray of bacon and eggs into his lap.

It was a Sunday, so Harry had the day off, but Sirius still had to go into the Ministry for a few
hours and help out. While he was there, however, he was pounced on; Arthur Weasley met
him in the lift, and cheerfully wished him a happy birthday, and passed him a thin package,
which Sirius was shocked but touched to receive, and Robards passed him in the corridor and
pulled a parcel, neatly wrapped in brown paper out of his pocket, passed it to Sirius and then
continued on with a distracted smile.

Arthur had given him a collection of muggle motorcycle magazines – some were very
technical, and Sirius couldn't wait to browse through those... others were the type that he'd
used the pictures from to label his bedroom wall as a boy, though he doubted Arthur had
realised that when he bought them. Robards had given him a book on Auror level Defence
Against the Dark Arts, and also a small, glass ball that had some sort of clear liquid inside it.

There was a note with it – probably explaining what it was – but Sirius was intercepted by
Scrimgeour – who did not wish him a happy birthday – and taken to file papers. He put used
a shrinking spell on the rest of his presents, and put them, along with the ball, into his pocket,
where they stayed safely until he got home at lunchtime and was able to have a better look at
them.

The ball turned out to be a Sensor Sphere, which Sirius had read about, but never actually
seen; they were designed to detect any lies told by the person holding it. They were not,
however, accurate enough to say what part the person was lying about, nor did they
encourage the liar to tell the truth, like Veritaserum did. Sensor Spheres, though, couldn't be
fooled by Occlumency, though they wouldn't detect a lie if the person telling it believed it. It
was a very nice gift, and Sirius intended to go to see Robards the next day and thank him for
it.

Sirius' other gifts were nice too; Remus had brought him the usual combination of sweets and
prank items, as well as a book on different types of combat – open, close-quartered, indoors,
outdoors – and how to take the advantage of any fighting environment. He'd also chipped in
with Tonks, to buy Sirius a black leather jacket – he'd lost his old one at the end of the war,
and was very pleased by the replacement; pleased enough, that he wore it for the rest of the
day.

Kreacher had sewn him a new set of robes, in a very, very dark red, and Sirius was touched
by that – usually, Kreacher's gifts were limited to birthday cakes (Sirius got one of those as
well).

But, his favourite present was from Harry; it was a long chain, with a single, simple dog-tag
on it that said Padfoot.

"Moony helped me with the spells-"

"I helped you find the spells," Remus corrected, from the couch, where he was sitting with
his arm around Dora. Harry shrugged and turned back to Padfoot.

"It doesn't transform," Harry said, pointing to it.

"It doesn't transform?" Sirius asked, not quite following.

"When you turn into Padfoot," Harry amended. "You know how everything you're wearing
is... I dunno, swallowed, when you transform? This won't. Or shouldn't." Sirius grinned and
put it on, and then bent into Padfoot. When he looked down, the chain was indeed there, like
a loose collar. His tail started to wag, and Harry scratched Padfoot's ears absently and said,
"People might, you know, think you're a stray when you're walking home or to school
without me." Harry grinned. "This way, they know you've got a family."

Harry, of course, had meant the present as a bit sentimental, and a bit funny, but to Sirius, it
was much more. Remus knew that – he could tell that from the way he was watching them.
They know you've got a family. Sirius whined happily – his tail was going mad, and in danger
or taking someone's eye out - and went to lick every part of Harry's hair, neck, cheeks and
ears that he could reach.

The four of them (five, with Kreacher) spent the night very casually; Kreacher prepared a
roast dinner for them all, which they ate down in the kitchen, and then they took cake upstairs
into the library, where they ate it while they played several rounds of Exploding Snap. The
first game was Harry and Sirius against Remus and Dora, and then they shuffled the teams
for the following games. Whichever team Harry was on won, except for when he was paired
with Dora; they drew, because Harry's quick reflexes were counterbalanced by Dora's
clumsiness.

After that, Remus and Dora went downstairs to make tea – Kreacher had gone to bed – and
Harry pulled his Animagus incantation – or what he'd come up with so far - out to show
Sirius; he and Remus had been working on it while Sirius worked that morning.

I am the wolf born of stag and doe, was what he had written, and circled; obviously he and
Remus had played with the wording of that a fair bit. And below that, he'd written: dark
fur and my pack.

"I like that," Sirius said, tapping the line about the stag and doe. Harry smiled at him, but the
expression was quickly replaced by a small, impatient frown.

"Nine words in nine months," he said, rolling his eyes. "Did it take you this long?"

"Longer," Sirius said. "Ages, actually." The incantation was, in his opinion, the hardest part;
it was difficult to volunteer words about yourself, without being biased one way or the other,
and was also very difficult to find the right words to summarise an entire person in a few
short sentences. "This was the part where Peter caught up a bit – he was good at finding the
key parts of his character, and James kept trying to add too much detail, and I didn't add
enough."

"I think I take after you," Harry said, with a small grin, and went back to scowling at his
parchment. Sirius reached up to touch the dogtag and chain that already felt like they
belonged on his neck, and then ruffled Harry's hair.

"How about something to do with your- our 'pack'?" Sirius suggested.

"Like?"

"Dunno; you tell me."

"We're happy?" Harry said. "Maybe something about wagging tails?" He nodded to himself
before Sirius could say anything, and started to write something down. Sirius said nothing –
he didn't want to disturb the creative process – so he stood quietly, and left the room. Harry
glanced up, briefly, but his attention was quickly drawn back to his work before he could
utter a protest.
Sirius went to join Remus and Dora in the kitchen, where they were talking quietly over their
mugs of tea. Both looked happy – almost ridiculously so – but he could help but notice that
Dora looked tired too. Sirius smiled to himself as he glanced at their hands, which were
clasped together, very casually, on the table top.

"Mind if I join you?" Sirius asked.

"No," Remus said, just as Dora said, "Go ahead."

Sirius didn't bother with tea or coffee; instead, he cut himself a piece of leftover cake – it was
his third piece that day, but it was his birthday, so he didn't think it mattered – and settled
himself on the bench opposite them.

"Have you had a good day?" Dora asked.

"Brilliant," Sirius said honestly.

"Nice to take your mind off things?" Remus asked, looking a bit sad.

"Thanks for that," Sirius grumbled, as those 'things' (namely the Serpent Sworn, but also
Remus' odd behaviour) reasserted themselves.

"Sorry," Remus said, grimacing, but he didn't really look it.

Sirius shook his head, glanced at Dora, and then back at Remus, and said, "I think Harry
could probably use your help upstairs."

Remus didn't even look suspicious; with a small, abstract smile, he gently extracted his hand
from Dora's, kissed her on the cheek and then stood and left the kitchen. Sirius gave Dora a
few minutes to recover; she looked a little embarrassed by Remus' display of affection, but
also rather pleased, and then spooned off a corner of his cake and fixed his stare on her.

"What?" Dora asked, when she noticed him watching.

"How's work?" Sirius asked. "You look tired."

"It's busy," she sighed. "You know that, though."

"How's the Serpent Sworn case going?" Sirius asked. Dora's expression closed immediately;
she actually got rid of her eyebrows, and made her skin scaly and eyes lizard-like, because it
made her face hard to read; if she'd gone for a rat, canine or herbivorous mammal, Sirius
would have had a chance, but lizards weren't his forte.

"How did you know?" she asked, his voice rather sharp.

"Dumbledore. He said Mad-Eye had the case."

"Dumbledore," she muttered, and then shook her head. Her features went back to normal – or
as normal as Dora could be - and her hair was a pale, thoughtful sort of blue.
"Well?" Sirius said, when she didn't offer anything.

"Well what?" she asked, in a tone that told him she knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Dora-"

"I know," she said, grimacing. "I know we're family, and that you're a good Auror, even if
you technically aren't one at the moment, and I know you want to help, but I can't say
anything. Mad-Eye made me promise-"

"Does Remus know?" Sirius asked, arching an eyebrow.

"No," she said, looking guilty about that too. "He knows I'm a bit stressed, and he knows
what case I have, but he doesn't know any of the details either. This is top secret, Sirius-"

"So you don't think I can keep a secret?" Sirius asked in a light-hearted voice.

"No!" she said at once. "Look, if it was up to me, I'd tell you, because I think we need the
extra help, but I've been specifically asked not to tell-"

"Me?"

"Anyone," she said, and then hesitated. "I shouldn't even tell you this, but someone planted
that envelope in Scrimgeour's office – it wasn't an owl that delivered it, it was left on his
desk. Someone's on the inside – an Auror, a trainee, someone from Magical Maintenance, or
just someone from the D.M.L.E.. No one's even supposed to know Mad-Eye and I have the
case, because that could ruin everything."

"I can help-"

"I'm sure," she said, looking like she meant it. "But I could lose my job for even having this
conversation with you, Sirius. And Mad-Eye's lenient, about some things, but if he wanted
you told, he'd have told me. I'm sorry." Her hair turned an unhappy blue, and when Remus
and Harry trooped downstairs later on, Remus glanced between them, looking troubled -
apparently, he wasn't sure who'd upset who – and then he and Harry exchanged a grim look.
Sirius caught Harry's eye as soon as Remus was occupied with Dora, but Harry just shrugged,
filled himself a glass of juice and Apparated out of the kitchen again.

I suppose I'm on my own, then, he thought.

And he was on his own. Novemeber drew to a close, and the weather grew colder as
December began. Harry continued to go to school, Dora looked tireder every time Sirius saw
her, and Remus – as far as Sirius could tell – had no idea why and was content to leave it at
that.

Sirius didn't try to ask Dora for any more information after that, but he continued to check in
with his own sources; Snape, and Dumbledore, and even Keira at the bookshop, but none of
them knew anything. Sirius thought that was frustrating Snape as much as it was frustrating
him. And, he kept an eye on everything as he ran errands at the Ministry, trying to find the
person who might be involved; he looked for a tattoo, for a badge, for anything that might
identify the spy, but found nothing.

Then, at the end of the first week in December, Dora showed up on the doorstep, looking
furtive, and holding a large stack of papers.

"Remus is-"

"At lunch with Matt," Dora supplied, stepping past Sirius and into the hall. The floorboard
creaked, but Sirius hardly noticed that anymore. "I know."

"Then why-"

"Kitchen," was all she said. Sirius followed her, almost tripping over Kreacher on the way; he
and Harry were playing a strange version of Bludger, but using Apparition instead of brooms.
Dora seated herself at the table, and slid the papers over to Sirius.

"What are these?"

"The Serpent Sworn files," she said.

"You're joking," he said, his mouth falling open.

"I'm not," she said grimly. He reached for them and then hesitated.

"Why now? Has something-"

"Amelia Bones has been attacked," she said.

 Suspicion and the scar

Sirius was on his feet before he even realised it.

"What?" he croaked. Dora just looked grim. "When? Wher- How? Why?"

"Two nights ago. She was in her flat, just- I dunno, doing whatever it is Bones does when
she's alone. Someone broke in, apparently. And then Rattler went to see her when she didn't
show up to work yesterday. I don't know what she was like when he found her, but obviously
she wasn't in any state to get help, or move herself."

Unconscious, Sirius' mind whispered, as long-forgotten skills tentatively made their way back
into his head, or she'd have cast a Patronus.

"She's been moved to St Mungo's, and she's stable, but no one's allowed to see her." She
hesitated, and then she scrunched up her face. "Mad-Eye's not coping. No one is."

"So they want my help?" Sirius asked, a little doubtfully. Dora bit her lip, and Sirius frowned,
staring at the files on the table, and at his second cousin. "Dora?"

"I want your help," she said, finally. Sirius stared at her.

"Y- But-"

"I copied the files," she admitted in a rush. "Like I said, no one's coping – Mad-Eye's just
sitting in his office, looking at old photographs, for Merlin's sake, and Scrimgeour..."

"What about Scrimgeour-?"

"Well," she said, glancing around as if she was afraid to be overheard, "don't you think that
there might be a reason that Scrimgeour's Head of the Auror Department, and not Head of the
D.M.L.E.?"

"Obviously. Amelia's made for the job – she and Rattler both are, really – but Scrimgeour'd
be all right," Sirius said. "He could be Minister one day, if he keeps going this way-"

"If he lives that long," Dora muttered, looking worried. "Look, Scrimgeour's great and all, but
he's made to take orders, not give them-"

"He gives plenty of orders," Sirius said; he'd experienced most of those orders firsthand.

"Yes, but- I mean as far as organising goes. He's an act first, think later, make a plan as he
goes sort of bloke, where Bones is very organised, and very-"

"Careful," Sirius suggested. Dora nodded.

"And there's nothing wrong with that, it's just the way things are, but there's a reason that
Bones gives orders to Scrimgeour and he follows them, despite the age difference, despite the
experience difference, despite-" She paused, and took a moment to collect herself; Sirius was
under the distinct impression that she'd given this a lot of thought, and was quite impressed;
for an eighteen year old, she had a very good understanding of inter-departmental politics and
power-distribution. "We're off topic. Point is, that Scrimgeour's hesitating now – trying to
work out what Bones would want him to do-"

"He should just ask Rattler-"

"Rattler's not faring too well either," she said. "There's a reason there are – were - two of
them running the department, and not just one. It's a two person job."

"And he doesn't have an office background; he was a Hit Wizard," Sirius said, thinking aloud.
Dora nodded grimly. Rattler had experience with threats like the one they were facing now,
but he, like Scrimgeour, was the type to attack first, ask questions later. He and Amelia were
very different people in that regard. It had worked before because they balanced each other
out, but with no Amelia, there was nothing to balance. Sirius swore and Dora added her own,
rather impressive words too. Then she looked around, a little sheepishly, as if expecting
Kreacher to appear and berate her.

"The whole department's shutting down," she said. "It's- Maybe they're in shock, or- I don't
know. Point is, we can't sit around and wait for them to snap out of it. We have to investigate
this, have to work out who their next target is, and why, and how to stop them-"

"Were there signs before this attack?" Sirius asked. "Was Amelia acting oddly? Had she been
threatened?"

"She's the only one that could tell you that," Dora said, "but no, not as far as I could tell." She
paused again, and then looked hard at Sirius, who felt the urge to fidget. "Does this mean
you'll help?"

"Do you really have to ask?" Sirius asked, pulling the files closer.

"Lupin." Remus tensed and turned around.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, as the man approached him. Remus recognised him at
once, of course, but amongst the crowds in the Leaky Cauldron – which were rather large,
with Christmas only a few weeks away - he doubted anyone else would give the man as
much as a second glance.

"I know I'm the leader of a group of highly talented, very dangerous dark wizards and
witches-" Remus rolled his eyes. "-and thatdoes keep me very busy, but even I have time to
get out and about sometimes." The man offered him a sly smile and sat down in the seat
opposite Remus, who was now regretting having not eaten at the bar. "Particularly when I
have an agenda t-"

"Did you follow me here?" Remus asked.

Either oblivious to, or choosing to ignore Remus' frosty tone, the man replied, "Please, Lupin,
the world doesn't revolve around you."

"See you later, then," Remus said. He caught Tom's eye and put a galleon down on the table
to pay for his burger and butterbeer, and then stood and walked away. He wasn't at all
surprised when the other man called his name again, and very reluctantly went and sat down
again. "Interesting," he said aloud. The other man cocked an eyebrow. "It would seem,"
Remus said, in an airy tone, "that the world – or at least your world – does revolve around
me, at least for the moment."

"Oh, for Merlin's-" The other man looked frustrated, but didn't finish his complaint. "I need
your he-"

"No," Remus said, before he'd even heard what the other man wanted.

"You agreed-"

"Not to tell Sirius everything I knew," Remus said, cutting him off. "That's as much
cooperation as you're going to get from me." Months of frustration seeped into his voice,
which he managed to keep low, and even; shouting wouldn't help anyone. "Do you know how
frustrating it is, to watch your best friends skipping nights of sleep and meals, and staying
late at work to try to figure out what your next move's going to be? They're tired and stressed
and confused, and Dora still blames herself for what happened to Amelia last week, and both
of them are wondering why the hell I'm not trying to help-"

"You're not?" The other man looked genuinely surprised at that.

"Of course not," Remus snapped. "If I'm obtuse about it, or deliberately feed them the wrong
clues, one of them's bound to notice. I'm not telling them everything, but I'm not about to
start lying to them. I respect them both more than that. And I'm not going to genuinely help
them, because I have specific instructions not to." Those last four words came out laced with
bitterness. The other man watched him for a moment.

"I and my... followers... do appreciate your cooperation-"

"Honestly, I don't care if it's appreciated or not," Remus snapped. The other man eyed him
warily for the first time, perhaps remembering that Remus was, in fact, dangerous. Perhaps
he was even wondering when the next full moon was. "I'm not doing it because you-"

"I know your motivations," the other man said, "and am well aware that my happiness and
wellbeing don't feature prominently at all." Remus sighed.

"It's not- Look, I'm sympathetic to your... cause... or whatever it is you want to call it," he
said, "and that's the only reason I'm going along with this-" He pointed a finger at the other
man, who nodded and eyed it warily. "-but don't expect my involvement. You've set this up
on your own, and I won't work against Sirius-"

"You've made that obvious in the past," the other man said, rolling his eyes. "Besides, you
could argue that you're already involved..." Remus gave him a stony look. "All right, all right.
Don't get your wand in a-"

"Why are you here?" Remus demanded, his patience finally giving out.

"Information." Remus checked his watch, sighed, and waved Tom over so that he could order
another butterbeer. The other man ordered a firewhiskey. They sat in silence until the drinks
arrived, and then Remus took a sip, and clasped his hands together.

"What do you need to know?"

Sirius tapped on the door and pushed it open, figuring it would be closed if visitors were
unwelcome, and also that Mary and Susan would probably be well used to interruptions
anyway.

Sure enough, Mary, who was sitting at a table with a book, looked up impatiently. Surprise –
one of the few things she could probably feel – flickered over her face, and Susan's mouth
fell open.

"Morning," he said.

"Sirius," Mary said, smiling. Sirius almost believed the smile. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to see Amelia Bones," Sirius said, putting his hands in his pockets. He spotted a
picture of Mary, Alice, Marlene and Lily and spent a few seconds staring at it before he tore
his eyes away. One dead, one mental, one heartless and one broken, he thought. "I thought
you might be able to-"

"No," Mary said.

"Bu-"

"No." And with that, Mary lost interest in Sirius and went back to her book.

"Please? I need to ask her some questions, about what happened when she was attacked."
Mary said nothing. "It's important."

"She's resting," Susan said, speaking up, for the first time.

"She's had a week. She ought to at least be stable. I only need a few min-"

"I'm the Healer in charge," Mary said, "and I said no. She needs rest, and she's not allowed
any visitors-"

"No visi-"

Mary's habit of cutting him off was starting to get annoying.

"She was attacked, and almost killed. You can understand our reluctance to let anyone near
her, I'm sure. You're not getting in, so unless you've got anything else you need to do before
you leave, then you might as well leave now."

"Mary, please. She might know something important-"

"I'm sure she might."

"And I need that information. This is me; I won't hurt her. She's an old friend of-"

"You'll have to get it from somewhere else," she said. Angry was too strong a word to use to
describe Mary, but frustrated was probably a fair one. Sirius wondered why he was getting
such a powerful response. "No one-" Her eyes flicked to the photograph, as if she was trying
to direct her words at that too. "-is allowed in there."

"Marlene was here, wasn't she?" Sirius asked. It had to be; Lily was gone, Alice wasn't – last
he'd heard – in any state to be investigating anything, and Mary herself was here, being
stubborn. There was only one other girl in the photo.

"Yes," Mary said. "And I sent her away too." Sirius paused for half a second and then turned.
"Finally," he heard Mary say impatiently, as he pushed the door open and hurried out of it.

It took quite a bit to surprise Marlene these days, so when Sirius showed up on her doorstep,
brushing snow off the shoulders of his black leather jacket, in mid-December, she hardly
paused before stepping back to let him inside. He'd found her in a muggle prison; it was
hardly surprising that he'd found her here, at her place of residence.

"Yes?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Sirius opened his mouth at once – obviously he had something he was bursting to say, or ask
– but what came out sounded more like an afterthought.

"Are you okay?"

"Obviously," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm still in one piece, aren't I? Still here-"

"-and not in prison," he finished, looking grave. "Yes, you are." She watched him watch her
with an expression she couldn't read. "But Amelia-"

"Is a good friend, and what happened to her is horrible, but she's not going to die, and she's in
good hands," Marlene said. "It's not the end of the world." She took a deep breath.

"And how many times have you told yourself that since it happened?" Sirius shot back.

"None of your business," she retorted.

"Do you believe it yet?" Sirius asked, his voice quiet all of a sudden. Marlene pulled a face at
him and stalked away. "Wait!" he sighed, and she heard him following. "Marly, please, I need
to talk to you." She didn't stop; instead, she kept walking until she was in her sitting room.
She flopped down on one of the couches, crossed her arms and her legs and glowered at
Sirius, who was hovering uncertainly in the doorway.
"Well?" she asked. He approached with all the caution of a man approaching a bludger that
may or may not have been secured in its box, and sat down on the very end of the couch
opposite hers.

"What were you doing at St Mungo's?"

"Who said I was there?" she asked, keeping a very straight face. Sirius was probably clever
enough to put it together if he had the right information.

"Mary," Sirius said. Marlene sighed. "She wasn't very happy with you."

"She'll get over it," Marlene said. And she would; Mary didn't – couldn't – hold grudges
because she lacked the emotional capacity to do so. Sirius shrugged. "What were you doing at
St Mungo's?"

"Same thing as you," he said, holding her eyes with his own.

"I doubt that," she said.

"Investigating," he said, arching an eyebrow.

"Without permission," Marlene said, giving him a disapproving look.

"When's that ever stopped me?" Sirius asked.

"This isn't a silly rule set by a teacher, Sirius," she said. "Lives are at-"

"Which is exactly why I wanted to help." He frowned at her. "I'd have thought, after the
Order, you of all people would understand."

Marlene hesitated. She rearranged herself on the couch, drawing her knees up to her chest so
that she could rest her chin on them. She regarded Sirius for a long moment, her own
instinctual opinions messing with the opinions she'd had drilled into her these past few
months.

"If you weren't asked to help, then maybe you shouldn't-"

"You too?" he asked, in a cutting voice. "Are you really, after everything, going to tell me I
should pretend there's nothing going on, and do nothing?"

"Sirius, you don't understand," Marlene heard herself say. "Just- the case is in good hands-"

"I know," Sirius said, giving her a sharp look. Marlene stared at him, genuinely troubled by
that admission.

"How did-"

"Dora's got it," Sirius said, lowering his voice. "And Mad-Eye."
"No," Marlene said, confused. "Gawain and I have it." She paused, realising what she'd just
said. Then she reached for the pillow beside her and threw it at Sirius with as much force as
she could muster. "You tricked me into telling you!" Sirius, who'd dodged the pillow, knew
better than to throw it back; he sat on it instead. "If you breathe as much as a word of that
to anyone, so help me I'll-"

"Do something horrendously embarrassing or nasty, I'm sure," Sirius drawled, but he looked
troubled.

"Exactly," she agreed tonelessly, deflating. Sirius was playing absentmindedly with some sort
of necklace he was wearing, and frowning hard at the floor while he did so. He was
obviously thinking hard about something. "Sirius?" she asked tentatively. He didn't seem to
hear. "Sirius?"

"I have to go," he said, still looking uncertain as he got to his feet. He'd already vanished into
the hallway when he called, "Something's come up." Marlene got to her own feet so that she
could follow him.

"Sirius, what in Merlin's name are you talking about?! You've been here the whole time,
haven't taken any letters or Sidekick talks, or talked to anyone but me, so how can something
have 'come up'?" Sirius shrugged in response and pulled open her front door. She reached out
and grabbed his sleeve and yanked him around to face her. His face was unreadable, and she
didn't like that at all. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," he said, and she suspected he was being honest. She let go of his sleeve so
quickly he probably thought it had burned her. "I- I'll see you later." Marlene bit her lip, not
sure whether to demand an explanation or just let him go. "Thanks for- well, letting me in,"
he said.

"Don't mention it."

Sirius left with one more worried, confused look over his shoulder.

"I didn't know who else to come to," Sirius said quietly, sitting down. "I don't know- I'm
scared. I mean, I trust Moony implicitly... and if he's been off lately, I'm sure there's a better
explanation for it than something nefarious, only- Urgh! Last time I doubted him, it turned
out to be Peter, and not trusting him – not confiding in him - is one of the biggest mistakes
I've ever made. But I know he's up to something; sneaking off to meetings, being vague about
where he's been, and the fact that he was out to lunch on the day that Amelia... I know," he
said, anticipating the response before it came. "I know, it's probably coincidence, but I just
can't shake the feeling."

"And I hate it," he continued. "I hate that I can't trust him completely right now. I feel like the
world's biggest git, because he's been nothing but loyal, and here I am accusing him of- I
don't even know what I'm accusing him of!" Sirius ran a hand through his hair, and aimed a
kick at the nearest thing, which happened to be a shoe. It soared across the room, and hit the
wall with a thud. "Maybe he is involved with them, and maybe they're not evil at all... but
then why wouldn't he have said something? And why would they have attacked Scrimgeour,
and put Amelia in St Mungo's?"

"And then Dora- I trust Dora, but I trust Marlene, and they can't both have the case! And I
know Marlene tried to kill me, but she's never lied to me, so I don't know why she'd start
now, and she's certainly not the type to go around cavorting with Death Eaters, or whoever
the bloody Serpent Sworn are. But then, neither's Dora, but the Ministry wouldn't assign two
separate Aurors and their trainees one case without the others knowing about it! You know
they wouldn't! And unless either Mad-Eye or Robards are behind it-" Sirius didn't like to
consider either of them as possibilities. "-then I just- I don't- it doesn't make any sense."

"I don't know what to do, James. I have no idea. The files Dora brought over didn't have
much at all, and now I can't help wondering if they're even accurate... I'm not even really
supposed to be helping, but I can't exactly let it go, can I? Not when they might be after
Harry." Sirius buried his face in his hands. "I just- I don't have anyone else I can talk to –
Moony's weird right now, Dora and Marly and Robards may or may not be working with the
Serpent Sworn, and I can't dump all this on Harry, and Snape and Dumbledore don't have
much more idea than I do, and I just- I could really use the help, Prongs."

James smiled back at him, from one of the photographs on the wall, and Sirius gave him a
sad smile back.

"You won't get answers from there, Kreacher doesn't think." Kreacher stepped into the room,
holding a plate of biscuits and a steaming mug of tea, which he pressed into Sirius' hands.
Then, hesitantly, as if expecting to be told off, Kreacher perched himself on the bed beside
Sirius, and petted his knee.

"Thanks," Sirius said, staring at the biscuits. He didn't really feel like them, but appreciated
the gesture. Kreacher petted his knee again.

"Is there anything that Kreacher can help Master with?" Kreacher asked hopefully.

"You don't know anything about the Serpent Sworn, do you?" Sirius asked, without much
hope. Kreacher's ears drooped and he shook his head.

"Kreacher has nothing to share with Master on the matter," Kreacher said. He sighed, and
spent a moment admiring his ring, then looked up and watched photo-James before turning
back to Sirius. "Kreacher thinks that, in these stressful times, Master is wise to be wary, but
not of his friends. Easier to say than do, Kreacher knows," he added gently – or in as gentle a
voice as he could manage with his bullfrog's voice - before Sirius could comment, "but
Master Sirius has picked good friends. Friends that can be trusted, Kreacher thinks."
Kreacher gave Sirius a sly, toothy grin. "Even if they are half-breeds and blood traitors." He
petted Sirius' knee for the third time, and nodded. "Good friends indeed."

"Thanks, Kreacher," Sirius sighed.

"It'll work out," Kreacher said optimistically. "Master will see." And with that, he hopped off
the bed and vanished with his usual cracking noise.
"I hope so," Sirius said to the empty room.

Harry was bored. He'd made himself bacon and eggs for dinner to give Kreacher the night
off, he'd eaten, he'd done the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, cleaned his bedroom, tidied the
training room, brewed a hair-colour changing potion to slip into Padfoot's tea at some point
tomorrow (it was a Saturday), done his weekend homework, and wrapped all of his
Christmas presents for next week.

Harry was really bored. And he couldn't even go to bed because it was only eight and there
was no way he'd sleep for at least an hour.

"Master Harry," Kreacher said, emerging from his cupboard. "Kreacher was wondering if
perhaps, Master could pace elsewhere..."

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly. Kreacher disappeared into his cupboard again, looking
relieved.

Eventually Harry found himself in the training room, casting spells at the walls, and at the
training dummy. He and Padfoot hadn't done much spellwork lately – Padfoot feared he
might be too far ahead at Hogwarts, otherwise - and it felt good to practice a bit, even if it
was old stuff.

He flopped down onto the floor, tired, and thought, maybe, that he might work on his
Animagus incantation. Then he decided, mere seconds later, that he couldn't be bothered with
that, and decided that maybe he'd do the next best thing; maybe he'd try to see what it'd be
like on full moons, once he was an Animagus... it was purely motivational... not at all merely
because he was curious.

He ran up to his room and retrieved his father's mirror, and then flopped down onto his bed.

"Sirius Black," he said into it. It shimmered and showed Moony's sitting room, and his little
kitchen bench in the background. Harry thought he could hear howling but he couldn't see
Padfoot or Moony. Ostendere me omnia, he thought, hoping me might be able to look
through the walls of Moony's cottage and get a glimpse of them.

All that happened, however, was that the image in the mirror glowed a faint yellow-gold. It
was Moony's magic, hovering like mist throughout his house. There were trails of Padfoot's
static red and even Tonks' rainbow. The mirror itself was glowing a deep red with brilliant
gold streaked through it. Harry knew it was James' and watched in fascination as the magic
darted around - fluttering like Snitch wings - without actually moving anywhere. He ended
the spell on the mirror and Moony's house vanished. All Harry could see was his own
reflection; the red and gold of his magic, green of his eyes, the black of his hair and of his...
forehead...?

Harry stared, stunned. His scar was black to his magical sight. Black, with green and silver
flickering inside- No, Harry thought. No, it can't be. But it was. Black and green and silver
like the locket, like the warding on the cave, like Voldemort. He stared into the mirror again,
horrified, and tried to scrub it off.
It wouldn't go. He tried, again and again, through he knew it was useless. He couldn't feel it,
but he didn't know if that made it better or worse. He didn't know how long it had been there.
He didn't know if it had been controlling him. He didn't know how much of him was him, or
if he was just as bad as Voldemort, or would be eventually. He didn't know if Voldemort
knew that some of his magic lived in Harry, or if he could somehow use it to read his mind or
attack people the way the locket had attacked him. What if he attacked Padfoot? What if he
woke up one day and decided to kill muggles? Like Hermione? Or Blaise? Or Mrs Phelps, or
any of the others?

The windows shattered, as did the lamps. The curtains fell in a heap on the floor. Harry let
out a little sob and sprinted out of the training room. By the time he burst into his bedroom
and dragged his rucksack out from under the bed, he'd calmed down enough to evaluate his
options.

I can't stay here, he thought, oddly detached as he pulled clothes out of his wardrobe and
shoved them into his rucksack. Padfoot... Padfoot will- Harry bit his lip. Moony has Tonks
now. He grabbed his spare pair of trainers and tossed those in too. I can't go to the Ministry,
because they'll hand me right to Umbridge, and that's not going to help anyone...
Dumbledore might help me... but he wouldn't want me near his students once he realised I've
got Voldemort in me... Snape's out of the question, because he lives in the school... I can't go
back to the Dursleys either. Padfoot would look there, and I could hurt them.

He'd be alone, Harry realised, wherever he ended up going. He grabbed a photograph of the
Marauders and Lily off his desk and tucked it carefully into the top pocket of his rucksack
and then, after a moment's hesitation, grabbed his Gringotts key and the hefty bag of galleons
he'd earned in pocket money so far.

He tiptoed past Kreacher's cupboard, and into the library, where he grabbed Practical
Defensive Magic And Its Uses Against The Dark Arts and Wands As Weapons in.

Then, he left. He slipped out of the front door and closed it as silently as he could, before he
headed left, not daring to walk past Marlene's house. Once he was a fair distance down the
street, he stuck out his wand hand.

"He's not answering," Sirius said, frowning. Remus accepted a bowl of porridge from Sirius,
and propped himself up on the couch, groaning.

"Maybe he's still asleep," Remus suggested.

"Maybe," Sirius said, unconvinced.

"By all means go and check on him, then," Remus said, wincing as he sat up. "Do you want
me to come too?"

"No, stay," Sirius said. "Finish breakfast, and I'll come back with tea." Sirius clambered into
the fireplace and stepped out into the quiet kitchen. He took a cautious sniff but nothing stood
out. The table was clean and the dishes by the sink were washed but not put away which
meant Harry had done them. Smiling slightly, Sirius waved his wand and sent them floating
into the dresser.

He nodded, satisfied, and headed upstairs. That was when the little niggling feeling that
something was wrong - the one he'd had all morning - peaked. It was nothing big, really, but
all the doors were closed, and it scared the hell out of Sirius.

He sprinted up the stairs taking them as-many-at-a-time-as-he-bloody-well-could until he

reached the fourth floor landing and wrenched Harry's bedroom door open.

Harry didn't look up and ask what he was doing. Harry didn't hex him. Harry didn't call from
downstairs and ask why he'd charged up the stairs so noisily. Harry wasn't there, but the room
was a mess. The lamps were shattered, as was the window, the desk chair had fallen over, and
the things that had rested on Harry's desk were scattered on the floor. The room smelled like
panic.

He sprinted back out onto the landing and whispered, "Homenum Revelio." Kreacher's
silhouette burned a bright orange-yellow through the linen cupboard wall but search as Sirius
might, he couldn't find as much as a spark to indicate the presence of his Godson.
"Kreacher!" he called. Kreacher wandered out of the cupboard looking confused.

"Where's Harry?" he asked.

"Master Harry is in-"

"No," Sirius said. Panic crawled like hot-footed ants across his forehead. "No, he's not."
Kreacher's eyes widened. "Get Moony," Sirius said in a shaky voice. "Get- Kreacher, please,
now."

Kreacher was back in a few seconds; Sirius had hardly moved, and was trying to put together
what might have happened.

"Sirius?" Remus croaked, straightening as Kreacher released him. "Wh-"

"Harry's gone," Sirius croaked. Remus stepped into the room, his nostrils flaring as he
smelled the room.

"I can't smell anyone else-"

"No," Sirius said, as that dawned on him. "No, I can't either." So the mess had been made by
accidental magic. "But he was scared, Moony! Can you smell that!?"

"Yes, I can," Remus snapped. His irritation faded immediately. "Where could he have gone if
he wasn't taken-"

"If I knew, I wouldn't-"

"I know," Remus said, agitated. "I know."

"The Serpent Sworn?" Sirius asked, feeling ill.

"No," Remus said, ashen. "No, it can't- It wouldn't..."

"Well then where is he?" Sirius snapped, kicking the wall. One of the lamps in the hallway
shattered, and Sirius didn't think he'd felt this volatile since he escaped Azkaban.

"I don'- Sirius, look."

"I've looked, Moony, he's not here!"

"No, Sirius, look." Sirius followed Remus over to the wardrobe. Drawers were hanging out,
but the clothes were gone. Not all of them, but the washing had gone through yesterday, so
the drawers should have been full. Sirius glanced at the overturned chair. Usually, Harry's
rucksack rested on it. But that was gone too, now that he looked.

Slowly, Sirius looked over at Remus, who looked just as confused and scared as he did.
 Dystopian December

It was easy, once he knew what to look for, to find the signs that Harry's departure had not
been without thought. Not only was his rucksack missing, and some of his clothing, but also
a photograph from his desk, and, once Sirius looked inside the drawers, his stash of pocket
money, and also his vault key. His mirror, though, troublingly enough, was still there. Which
Sirius thought was indication that Harry, wherever he was, didn't want to be found.

"Why?" Sirius asked Remus. "And, more importantly, where in Merlin's bloody name would
he have gone?"

Remus sat down on the bed and put his face in his hands, and Sirius felt a stir of sympathy;
Remus was still recovering from the night's events.

"We won't be able to find him until we know why he left," Remus said. Sirius sat down next
to him, nodding his frustrated agreement, at least until he realised something.

"He's done this before. Not this, exactly," he added, as Remus gave him a look like he was
mad, "but remember the Floo, the first time you re-met him? And we found him."

"How?"

But Sirius had aleady leaped off the bed, yanked open the door and bellowed for Kreacher.

Dust billowed up around Sirius and Remus as they stepped out of Apparition and into the
lower floor of the Shrieking Shack.

"Here?" Remus mouthed, looking surprised. His breath misted out in front of him. Sirius
shrugged; Kreacher'd just given him coordinates that he'd followed to get here. He hadn't
expected Harry to be here either, but he supposed it made sense on a few levels.

"Look." He pointed to the dusty carpet; there were small, Harry-sized shoe prints that had
been made in the dust. Sirius followed them with his eyes, watched as they looped around the
room, over to the door to the tunnel, over to the kitchen, around one of the old, battered
couches, and then to the stairs. There was no set of return footprints. "Upstairs," Sirius said.
Both of the froze as one of the floorboards upstairs creaked. Sirius thought he even heard a
quiet thump.

He gestured to Remus and the two of them crept over to the staircase, wincing every time the
floor groaned beneath them.

"Do you reckon they'll still hold?" Remus asked, eyeing the stairs. Sirius eyed them too.

"Want to go first and find out?" Sirius joked.

"Not particularly, no," Remus said. "They haven't had what I'd call an easy life." A wry smile
worked its way onto his face, and he did make to head up first, but Sirius caught his arm.
Remus gave him an odd look.

"No," Sirius agreed. "They haven't." And then he stepped past Remus, onto the stairs,
thinking it was probably unfair to make him go first after the night he'd just had, if the stairs
did give out.

They made it up safely, onto the landing and followed the trail of footprints into the upstairs
bedroom.

It was empty, but the bed had been slept in, and Harry's rucksack had been half-tucked behind
the tattered curtains.

Footprints dotted the floor and it looked rather as if Harry'd been pacing... and there was also
a strangely shaped, considerably large patch of dust which had been cleared, right beside the
bed.

"Under there," Sirius mouthed, pointing. Remus nodded, obviously having reached the same
conclusion. Sirius pulled out his wand. Remus did the same, and held up three fingers. He
lowered the first, then the second, and then, finally the third.

Wingardium Leviosa, Sirius thought, and the bed floated up toward the ceiling. Harry, lying
on his stomach on the floor, looked startled, and immediately scooted back toward the wall,
holding his wand out in front of him. He had dust all over the front of his jumper and jeans,
and in his hair and on one half of his face. It puffed out in front of him as he breathed. His
eyes, behind his dusty glasses, were equally defiant, disappointed, and scared.

Sirius reduced the power of his spell, and the bed stayed where it was; obviously Remus was
still holding it up. Sirius lowered his wand and gestured to Harry.

"Shall we talk?" he asked.

"No," Harry said at once. "Just- I'm sorry, Padfoot, but I- You have to go."

"Why?" Sirius asked, taking a step forward. Harry's wand jerked up to focus on Sirius, who
put his hands up and took a step back. "Hey," he said, frowning.

"Please," Harry said. "I don't want- I'm not- It's too dangerous."

"Well yeah, kiddo," Sirius said. "You've got a wand pointed at me." Harry started to lower his
wand and then changed his mind. His hand was shaking, but the wand itself hardly moved.

"Not the wand," he said. "It isn't. It's- It's me, Padfoot. And I can't- I'll hurt you."

"Why would you do that?" Sirius asked, frowning. He caught Remus' eye and gave him a
questioning lift of the eyebrow, but Remus just looked blank. The bed still floated above
Harry, held in place by Remus.
"I wouldn't want to," Harry said, obviously distressed. "It might just-" His eyes suddenly
landed on the wand in his hand, as if he'd only just realised it was there. With a small,
panicked noise, he flung it away, and was on his feet and halfway to the door before Sirius
reached out and caught his arm. "Padfoot, please," he whispered, trying to wriggle away.
"Please. It's not- I'm not safe."

"Harry, we've got no evidence that the Serpent Sworn are after-"

"Not them! Me!" He smelled terrified, and that scared Sirius; Harry had faced Inferi with
more composure than he was demonstrating now.

"You're after you?" Sirius asked blankly. Harry decided to take advantage of his confusion to
tug free and was almost to the door when Remus caught him. The bed dropped to the floor
and the entire shack shuddered, and Harry struggled against Remus' grip, but couldn't get
free. He gave up and flopped onto the ground, but Remus maintained his hold. Harry hugged
his knees and stared at them both with big, frightened eyes.

"Harry," Remus said, in what Sirius and James had long ago dubbed his Prefect voice, "you're
making remarkably little sense. Now, if you could just explain-"

"-That would be brilliant," Sirius continued. "Because right now, neither of us have any idea
what in Merlin's bloody name is going on, or why you ran away, or-" Sirius took a deep
breath and ran a hand through his hair, and then started to pace, and then stopped, walked
back to Harry and crouched down beside him. "Why do you think something's wrong with
you?"

"I was- the mirror. I was looking through the mirror last night and- well-" Harry hesitated,
and Remus let go of him. Sirius put a hand on his godson's shoulder, just in case, but he didn't
move; he, like Sirius, watched, as Remus walked over to one of the walls and pressed his
hand to one of the long scratches that had torn the wallpaper.

"You saw me," Remus said. "Didn't you?"

"No," Harry said, and Remus relaxed a little. "I saw- It's my scar. It's- It looks like the
horcrux. Exactly like the horcrux." Sirius went very still, and the mist that was Remus' breath
stopped. "I mean, it's- the magic- his magic- Voldemort's magic is in my head, in my scar, just
like with the horcrux, and I- What am I supposed to do? What if I start attacking people, like
the locket? What if he's in my head, what if he can control me, or-"

Sirius dragged Harry into a hug. He was still shaking, and tried, halfheartedly to pull away.
Sirius, a little hurt by that, loosened his hold and Harry inched away, then paused, and then
flung himself at Sirius, trembling all over.

"It'll be all right," Sirius said, rubbing his back. On the outside, he made sure he looked calm
and sounded reassuring. On the inside, he felt like sobbing. Neither shall live while the oter
survives, James had told him. And now, it made sense. "We'll sort something out, okay?"
Harry's arms tightened around his neck. "It'll be fine. You'll be fine. You're not going to hurt
anyone-"
"You don't know that!" Harry cried. "There's no way you can- What about you two, and Dora,
and Blaise and Hermione and- I could hurt-"

"No," Remus said slowly, and then a small, tentatively relieved smile slid onto his face. Harry
looked at him like he was mad, and so, for that matter, did Sirius. "It's not a Horcrux, Harry,
or at least I don't think it is." Desperate hope gleamed in Harry's eyes, and Sirius was sure he
was hanging onto Remus' words just as desperately as he himself was. "Magic leaves traces,
right?" Both of them nodded slowly. "Harry was hit by the Killing Curse, arguably one of the
darkest pieces of magic we know of. Right?" Sirius nodded slowly. "You can't tell me that's
not going to leave a trace."

"So- what, it's like magical residue?" Sirius asked, but he actually thought the idea was a
sound one. "But why wouldn't it- Oh. Of course." Harry looked blank, but Remus was still
following. "Magical scar tissue's going to hold the magic of the one that caused it, because
it's a scar. It's permanent."

"But it's black," Harry said, his voice muffled by Sirius' jacket. "Voldemort's green and silver,
but this is-"

"Dark magic's going to look a bit different," Remus reminded him. "And you're the first
person to have survived, so we're working with something unprecedented here-"

"But-"

"You bleed," Sirius reminded him. Harry looked confused. "You've broken bones, you've
been sick, you've splinched, you were poisoned by those doxies... kiddo, horcruxes can't be
damaged. Merlin knows we know that."

Harry's lips moved soundlessly, and he was frowning, but he didn't look or smell as scared as
he had before.

"I'm sorry," he whispered finally. "I didn't even- I just saw the magic and- I-"

"It's all right," Remus said, bending to pat Harry on the shoulder.

"No," Sirius said, and Harry went very still. Remus gave him a stop-talking-now sort of look,
and Sirius ignored it. "It's not. I understand that you were scared, and that you did what you
thought was the right thing, what you thought was necessary, but it was dangerous, and really,
it wasn't very well thought out."

Harry shrank back, away from Sirius, into Remus' legs, and Sirius took a deep breath,
surprised at how calm he was.

"If you'd waited, and told us what you'd seen, we could have had this discussion hours ago,
and avoided all of this. You put yourself in danger - I mean, the Serpent Sworn are still on the
loose! What if they'd got to you first?" Harry opened his mouth, but Remus put a hand on his
head and Harry shut it again, looking chastened. "And what about us? What if we hadn't been
able to track you? What were we supposed to think, kiddo? At least when I ran away, I gave
my parents pretty clear reasons... You, though, you just disappeared-"
"I thought I was-"

"Protecting us," Sirius sighed. "I know." He ran a hand through his hair, and then clasped the
dogtag around his neck. Harry just rested against Remus' legs, looking devastated. "I'm
disappointed," Sirius said finally, and Harry looked like he might cry, "that you thought you
had to run, because you didn't think you could trust me - us - with this. What you did wasn't
wrong, necessarily, but it was the wrong option for you to have picked." Harry nodded, and
Sirius opened his arms, just a bit. It was enough though; for the seond time that day, Harry
launched himself at Sirius, and clung on, trembling.

"Can I- am I- Will you let me come home?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"For a smart kid, you can be bloody thick sometimes," Sirius said, pulling Harry into a tighter
hug. "If you don't come home, I might drag you back there myself." Harry laughed weakly.
"But," Sirius said, "there'll be punishment for this little stunt." Harry nodded, not seeming at
all worried about that. "You- er- You'll have to-" Sirius frowned and looked to Remus for
help. Remus just gestured to Sirius to continue. "-write lines," Sirius said. Harry pulled back
to stare at him. "'I am not evil or dangerous, and should not have run away and scared poor,
frail Moony and my dear, brilliant godfather Padfoot', one hundred times."

Harry disappeared up to his bedroom as soon as they got home, while Sirius and Remus went
down to the kitchen for a strong, hot cup of tea. Kreacher, oddly enough, didn't volunteer to
make it for them; he stalked out of the kitchen, scowling and headed for the stairs. Sirius
assumed he was off to have a word with Harry, and thought it'd be best for all parties
involved if Kreacher wasn't interrupted.

"How did you know?" Sirius asked, as Remus stirred sugar into his tea.

"Know what?" Remus asked tiredly.

"That he wasn't a Horcrux. That it was just magic-"

"'And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal'," Remus quoted in a soft voice.

"Of course," Sirius breathed, and then lost his breath, as something he'd missed entirely crept
into his head. "It's funny."

"What is?"

"I was thinking of the prophecy too, when he said about his scar. 'Neither shall live while the
other survives'... I thought it supported the idea." Sirius shook his head. "I s'pose I was
thinking too literally." He and Remus both sipped at their tea and sighed. "Do you think it
could be dangerous, though? You know, like long term side effects from exposure?"

"Ten years is pretty long term," Remus said, but then shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. It
might be worth a trip into St Mungo's-"

Sirius snorted and said, "What, so they can treat him like some sort of target, and cast spells
at him all day and night? Not bloody likely. Healers are-"
"Lily was a Healer," Remus reminded him.

"Lily was special," Sirius threw back. "And I doubt she'd take kindly to having her son used
as a test subject."

"No, probably not," Remus said, looking momentarily amused by the idea. Then he sighed.
"Of course, if Lily was still around, none of this would even be an issue."

Both were silent as they contemplated that. Remus stared, very hard as his teacup, and Sirius
almost found himself trying to imagine the world with Lily and James still in it. It was an
alien concept, and he banished the thought before it could properly take root and upset him.

"Dumbledore," Sirius said.

"Pardon?"

"I won't go to St Mungo's, but he- I dunno, might know something about any long term
effects, or at least have guesses."

"Regarding the scar?"

"No," Sirius said sarcastically, "regarding the fact that my left foot is slighty bigger than my
right one." Remus rolled his eyes. "Yes, Moony, about the scar!"

"And what about the horcrux?" Remus asked. "Will you trust Dumbledore with that too?"

"No," Sirius said, after a pause. "I- No. Not yet."

"What if he's got guesses about that too?"

"We found it, we'll deal with it," Sirius said. "And-"

Harry chose that moment to appear in the kitchen. He was still dusty, and Kreacher, who'd
come in seconds after him, snapped his fingers to get it off the floor.

"Hi," Harry said, fiddling with a piece of parchment.

"Hi," Sirius said in the same tone. "All unpacked?" Harry shook his head. "What've you been
doing, then?" Sirius asked.

Harry hugged him, and then hugged Remus, put his parchment down and then Disapparated,
probably back to his bedroom, or perhaps to the bathroom to shower. Frowning, Sirius picked
up the parchment, and unrolled it.

I am not evil, it said, many times, in Harry's messy writing, or dangerous and should not have
run away and scared poor, frail Moony or my dear, brilliant godfather Padfoot.

Wordlessly, Sirius handed it over to Remus.

"Sirius," Albus said, as a familiar face appeared in the flames in his grate. Sirius looked
worried, or at least he thought so; it was hard to read expressions through the Floo.

"Sir," Sirius said. "Are you alone?" Albus glanced over at his visitor, who'd vanished the
second the flames went green, but hadn't left the room.

"I am," he said. "Unless of course, you count Fawkes."

"I suppose he can listen," Sirius agreed, winking in Fawkes' direction. "I've got a few
questions for you," he said. "They're important."

The slightest movement caught Albus' eye; his visitor had just moved and in doing so, moved
a quill on his desk. Albus thought that he and his visitor were on the same wavelength; Sirius
had more questions about the Serpent Sworn.

"I'm sorry, Sirius, but I was just..." He sighed. "Now isn't a good time, I'm afraid."

"Sir, it's important," Sirius said. "Please."

"I really need to finish a few things here," Albus said. "Can it wait a bit longer?"

"I, sir, please-"

"I'm sorry, Sirius," Albus said again. "Perhaps put it in a letter, or try the Floo again in
another day or two."

"It's important!" Sirius said. "It could be dangerous!"

I'm sure, Albus thought, sighing to himself. "I really must get going," he said. "Goodbye,
Sirius."

"Bye, sir," Sirius sighed. "I'll be in touch." The flames went back to their normal, warm
orange.

"I'm sure you will," Albus murmured.

"So am I," his visitor said, amused, as he reappeared with a flourish. "Thank you for getting
rid of him." Albus' mouth turned down at the corners. "Now... What was I saying?"

Sirius still hadn't managed to reach Dumbledore by the time Christmas came. Information
about Harry's scar wasn't something he wanted to put in a letter where it could be found and
read by anyone, so he decided to wait, hoping that once Christmas was over, things would
have settled enough at Hogwarts for Sirius to organise a meeting of some sort.

All thoughts of Dumbledore were put out of his head on Christmas day, though. Harry,
despite his little scare the week before, had more or less gone back to normal and was up at
the crack of dawn - like he was on all birthdays, Easter, and of course, Christmas - ready to
open presents. Unluckily for Harry, that excitable behaviour had been inherited from Sirius,
who was up a few minutes before the crack of dawn and already settled on the end of Harry's
bed, wearing a Christmas hat.

Harry's eyes opened, and he checked his watch and sat up without even noticing Sirius. And
so, Sirius draped Harry in tinsel, and bounced off the bed, while Harry untangled himself
from his bedding and stared at the tinsel around his neck, as if trying to work out when it had
got there.

"Happy Christmas," Sirius said.

"Yeah," Harry said, still looking bewildered. "Happy Christmas, Padfoot."

Grinning to himself, Sirius stepped out onto the landing. And was promptly startled by
several loud bangs going off in unison and then hit by what felt like a tonne of the stringy
tissue paper muggles (like Lily's parents) used in their poppers.

Harry's laughter rang out behind him, as Sirius took a deep breath - half sure he was going
into cardiac arrest from shock - and a moment later, felt something slither around his neck.

He started and Harry laughed again, secured the tinsel more tightly, and went to offer a
cheery greeting to Kreacher, who was collecting the party poppers, looking decidedly gleeful.
He'd even donned a red tea-towel with white snowflakes on it for the festive occasion, and as
usual, the Black ring rested on his hand.

"You set me up," he said, tossing the streamers at the old elf.

"Happy Christmas," Kreacher said slyly, sharing a conspiratory look with Harry. "Now,
breakfast for Master and his brat?"

"And for Master's grumbly old house elf," Sirius said. "Sounds good."

Remus stepped out of the fire about half an hour later, not at all surprised to find them awake
and eating. He clapped them both on the shoulders, and deposited a small bag on the end of
the bench. Sirius saw Harry trying to take a peek, and kicked him. Harry immediately
returned his attention to his toast. Kreacher passed a plate to Remus, and then, at Harry and
Sirius' insistence, sat down next to Harry with a bowl of porridge.

"Nice tie," Sirius told Remus, who smoothed his bright red tie. It had reindeer on it. Remus
muttered something about it being a gift from Dora, and wouldn't meet anyone's eyes. "I'm
serious," Sirius said, and Remus and Harry and Kreacher all rolled their eyes, even though
Sirius hadn't really made a pun. "I like it. Covered in all the little Prongses." He and Remus
shared a nostalgic smile across the table. "Is Dora coming today?"

"She thought she'd come by for an hour or so, before training." Remus paused and then
looked up at Sirius. "Are you heading in, today?"

"Yeah," Sirius said, frowning. "How'd you know?"

"I just wondered," Remus said, buttering his toast. Sirius shrugged. "What for, do you
know?"
"Apparently Scrimgeour's got some things to talk to me about. My guess is that it's probably
something to do with the Serpent Sworn... that maybe they need help now, or something."

"Maybe," Remus said, and then turned to Harry. "So it'll be just us this afternoon; do you
have anything in mind?"

"I was hoping to go flying," Harry said.

"I think we could manage that," Remus said, looking pleased with the suggestion.

"As long as you're careful," Sirius said.

"Harry's hardly in any danger, Sirius, you've seen him on a broom-"

"I wasn't talking to him," Sirius said, smirking. Remus scowled, but it was playful; things
between them had more or less gone back to normal after Harry's disappearance; it had been
a reminder, if nothing else, that they could rely on each other where it counted. Sirius still
thought that Remus knew more about the Serpent Sworn than he was letting on, but things
had been quiet on that front for a while and Sirius trusted that Remus would have told him
anything he needed to know.

They moved onto presents shortly after; Harry and Sirius gave Remus several new pairs of
robes, an enormous bag of Floo powder (since he spent so much time coming and going via
the fireplace), a set of very detailed, non-biased encyclopaedias about magical creatures and a
block of Honeydukes' best.

Remus and Sirius had gone in on Harry's present together; they'd visited Keira, and with her
help, had ordered a book that was supposed to be very helpful in assisting the reader with
their Animagus incantation. They'd also bought him a Snitch - he was the right build, and had
the reflexes for it, and he'd expressed interest in the position - and a subscription to Mid-Air
Manouvres, which published a lot of moving pictures of things that Sirius knew Harry would
love to try on his Galaxy as soon as he had the chance.

And Sirius, from Remus and Harry, got a navigation orb for his motorcycle. He'd never seen
anything like it before; it was almost like a compass, but could be set up to guide him to
anywhere he needed to go. For long-term journeys, which he was, admittedly, yet to make, it
would be very useful. He'd also been given a book - a muggle one, which he suspected Dora
had helped with - of the best muggle pranks ever pulled, and a large bag of Bertie Botts.

They were taking turns with those, trying to guess flavours (Sirius and Remus had a definte
advantage over Harry with their excellent sense of smell, but Harry ate them so often that he
knew the colours and flavours better) and ruining their appetite for lunch, when Dora Flooed
in.

Sirius didn't recognise her at first; she was white - snow white, which was probably the point
- with a very round face, dark eyes, black lips and a long, pointy orange nose. Her hair, which
was black, had been tied up into a puffy bun - a bun that looked rather like a top hat.
"A snowman?" Remus asked. "Here I thought I was Christmas-y with my tie." Dora just
laughed and hugged him, and then the rest of them - Kreacher included, and to Sirius'
amusement, he seemed flustered - and then started handing out presents.

"You look brilliant," Harry said, seeming awed.

"Thanks," she said brightly, handing him a white parcel. "Happy Christmas. And Sirius..."
His was wrapped in red paper, which he tore off immediately. It was a small book, bound in
black leather and had a simple clasp holding the two sides of the cover together. Sirius
flipped it open and frowned; the first page was blank, but beside it, on the inside of the cover,
was another clasp. He opened that, and found a small handle, which he tugged on.

A box, about the size of a tissue box, slid out.

"How-?" Harry, who'd got the same thing as Sirius, looked between the thin cover and the
large box that had just come out of it.

"Undetectable Extension Charm," Dora said. "Or at least I think so. And only you can open
the notebook. I thought it might be useful at work, Sirius, given that you're not supposed to
know about the Serpent Sworn, and that it's hard to trust anyone at the moment..."

"Thank you," he said sincerely. He tucked the box back in, and re-examined the other pages,
and the covers.

"And Harry, I don't know what those papers are you're always rushing to hide when I come
over, but I thought maybe they could go in there. Then you don't have to worry about them
being found."

Harry looked equally uncomfortable that she knew he was hiding his Animagus work from
her, and pleased to have somewhere to keep it all.

"Thanks," he said, his attention drifting back to his present.

"And," Dora said, pulling a large bottle of butterbeer - with a festive ribbon around it - out of
her bag, "this is from Mum and Dad, for the two of you." Sirius accepted it, touched, and
gave Dora a small bag of Honeydukes chocolate he'd picked for Ted and Andy, and also her
own present.

"Shoes?" she asked with a grin, holding up one of the boots by its laces so that she could get
a better look.

"Balance Boots," Sirius said, grinning at Harry, who was trying to keep a straight face over
Dora's shoulder. "Purebloods use them, so their toddlers can't embarrass themselves by not
being able to walk." Sirius rolled his eyes to show what he thought of that. "But we thought
they might be a bit of fun, so we had a large pair made... you can't use them for any of the
Stealth tests in the Program, but-"

"Brilliant," she said, laughing, and held them up to show Remus, who'd known about them
for weeks.
"Very nice," he said, sniggering, and Dora pulled a face at him. He smiled, and Sirius couldn't
help but think that here – with all of them – was the happiest he'd seen Remus since their
school days.

Sort of hard not to be, though, Sirius thought to himself, and smiled, just as Dora checked her
Sidekick and stood up.

"I've got to head off," she said apologetically, speaking mostly to Remus. "I know I haven't
been here long, but-"

"It's fine," Sirius said. "I'm coming in too."

"You? To do what?"

"Scrimgeour wants a word. Apparently, it had to be today." Sirius rolled his eyes, but he
stood, and made a pile of his presents that Kreacher could take upstairs later. Dora switched
her shoes, to her new Balance Boots – Harry burst out laughing and Remus inhaled very
slowly and then exhaled very slowly; he was obviously trying not to laugh – and left her old
trainers in the kitchen corner; she'd probably be back for dinner tonight.

"Floo?" Sirius asked.

"It's probably easier," she said, shrugging. Remus stood, and came over to kiss her. Kreacher
very pointedly cleared his throat, but Harry wasn't watching; he was staring at his notebook.
Sirius thought he seemed a bit bothered – which was unusual – but then Harry caught Sirius'
eye and mustered a smile. Sirius smiled back.

"Happy Christmas," Remus said, passing Dora a small box. Then, he attempted to open his
large bag of Floo powder, but Sirius wouldn't let him. He wished Harry and Remus a happy
Christmas, told them to behave themselves, and stepped into the flames, saying, "Ministry
Atrium." He could feel Harry's eyes on him as he left.

The fireplace spat him out into the empty Atrium and Sirius brushed soot off of himself and
moved so that Dora wouldn't trample him on her way through. She appeared right behind him
and walked out with the most grace he'd ever seen her manage. She looked down at her
boots, seeming impressed, and Sirius chuckled. Then, he frowned.

"What's ringing?" he asked.

Dora shook her head, looking confused. There was no one else in the Atrium with them, and
the noise was nearby... eventually, they tracked it to the pocket of Dora's robes; it was the box
Remus had given her, just before she stepped into the fireplace. She frowned at the box, and
then muttered a charm, one that Sirius was certain she'd learned from Mad-Eye.

"If you tell anyone that I just did that," she threatened, giving the box a gentle shake, "then-"
She paled. "It's glass."

"What's wrong with-"

"If it's a statue, even if it's a joke statue, I will kill him," she said, but she looked a little
worried. She tugged on the ribbon, which slid loose, and then pulled the wrapping away. The
ringing got louder. She pulled off the lid of the box.

She needn't have worried about it being a statue, but she, like Sirius, looked afraid anyway.

It was a Sneakoscope.
 Trapped in the Training Room

Sirius pulled his wand out at once, and Dora was quick to do the same; she shut the
Sneakoscope in its box again, before it could give away where they were with its ringing, and
tucked it into her robes.

They stood back to back, scanning the Atrium with wary eyes.

"Anything?" Sirius breathed; he couldn't see or hear anyone but himself, and there were too
many scents in the Floo area for Sirius' nose to be of much help.

"No," Dora whispered. Her hair was short, frizzy and mottled green in colour now, and her
face was no longer white, but it was pale. "You?"

"No." Sirius waited for a moment; the Sneakoscope had fallen silent and he still couldn't hear
anyone. "Come on, while it's safe..." He started toward the lifts, keeping his wand out in front
of him, and his eyes roaming for any signs of danger.

Level Two was just as quiet, and Sirius didn't like that. It was an official training day, and
while quite a few mentors had probably managed to get time off, there should have been
someone around. Robards, or Mad-Eye, or Scrimgeour, or... well,someone. The Sneakoscope
made a single, odd noise, and then fell silent again.

"I'll stick with you, at least until I know what I'm supposed to be doing today," Sirius told
Dora, who nodded, and smelled comforted by his support.

"Downstairs," she whispered, and took the lead, headed for the broom cupboard entrance.
They were stopped by footsteps. Sirius cast a Shield Charm over his shoulder and then spun.
Dora, too, had her wand pointed at the pair that had just arrived. It was only Yaxley, though,
standing at the top of the staircase with Wellington. Both of them looked edgy too.

"Bloody quiet, isn't it?" Wellington said, giving Sirius' wand a wary look. "Bit jumpy are we,
Black?"

"A bit," Sirius replied, lowering his wand. He didn't, however, put it away. "You two took the
stairs?"

"Lifts weren't working."

"We just came out of one," Dora said, glancing back the way she and Sirius had come. "You
don't think-"

"I think we need to be careful," Sirius said quietly. More footsteps caught Sirius' attention,
coming from around the corner. He moved behind a cubicle wall, gesturing for the others to
do something similar; Yaxley stepped behind Wellington, who held his wand up but stayed
directly in sight, and Dora crouched down behind a desk.
"Who's there?" Hemsley peered around the corner, wand out. Sirius moved slightly, to get a
better look, though was careful to keep his wand out in front, and Dora straightened to look
over her hiding place. Wellington and Yaxley had, of course, already been seen.

"Easy," Wellington said, though he didn't lower his own wand.

Hemsley watched him, his face set and then asked, "What are you lot doing up here?" Sirius
thought he looked scared, and couldn't blame him; Hemsley was yet to find himself a new
partner after McDuff, so he was operating alone. Lone Aurors didn't tend to last very long,
even when they had trainees to assist them. And, they tended to be viewed as disposable,
which was probably why he'd been sent up to investigate the noise Sirius and the rest were
making.

"We were just about to head down to training," Sirius said evenly.

"Why?" Wellington asked. "Is something wrong?" Hemsley eyed Wellington, looking
troubled.

"I don't know."

"Fantastic," Sirius heard Dora mutter. She stepped out from behind the desk and then, more
loudly she asked, "What don't you know?"

"Scrimgeour's supposed to have been here an hour ago. He was going to help us set up for
training." Hemsley tucked his wand away and picked a piece of imaginary fluff off his robes.
Hemsley lowered his too, and Sirius followed their lead.

"And, what?" Sirius asked. "He never showed up?" Hemsley's grim expression was answer
enough.

"Have you tried his Sidek-"

"We've tried to reach him by Sidekick, and also by owl and Floo. We've even tried tracking
his Sidekick, but it's not with him."

"Where is it?" Wellington asked, rubbing Yaxley's back.

"On his desk."

"But, why-"

"We don't know," Hemsley said. "We've contacted Rattler but he's with Bones for at least
another hour; he's getting her discharged and settling her in at home. And Moody and
Robards are supposed to be arriving any time from- Let's just go downstairs. The rest of them
are going to want to know all this, and there's no point repeating it thirty times."

They made their way downstairs, where their appearance - and Hemsley's reappearance - was
met with relief from the other trainees, and from Blackburn and Klenner, the only other two
qualified Aurors in sight. Most of the trainees were sitting down, in circles on the floor, or
huddled together, talking in low voices, and everyone looked up when they walked in. Sirius
caught Marlene's eyes from across the room.

"Happy Christmas," she mouthed, with an odd, not-quite-smile.

"You too," he mouthed back.

Sirius saw Prewett gesture to Wellington, who murmured something to Yaxley and then
slipped off. Sirius watched as Prewett's face changed from confused to wary, or even afraid.

Blackburn called everyone's attention and repeated what Hemsley had told Sirius and the
others when they were upstairs, about Scrimgeour being delayed for unknown reasons, and
that they had the next most senior Aurors - Robards and Mad-Eye - on the way.

"You don't think it could be the Serpent Sworn, do you?" Sirius heard Edwards whisper to
Brown. It was clearly not a comment she'd intended to reach the rest of the group, but it was
so silent that it did. Brown gave her a look that clearly said he'd been wondering about that
too, and many of the other trainees looked troubled by the thought. Sirius certainly was.

"We don't have enough information to eliminate that as a possibility," Hemsley said, and he
sounded tired. "But I bloody hope not."

Beside Sirius, Dora made a noise that he didn't know how to interpret. He was sure - if he'd
been there, and not at home with Harry and Kreacher - that Remus would have known what it
meant.

"I'll second that," Yaxley muttered, and Sirius nodded, grimacing.

It was not to be.

Less than a minute after Yaxley'd spoken, there was a booming sound from upstairs, and
shouting. Nothing was decipherable, but everyone was on their feet in seconds, wands out,
eyeing the stairs.

"Help!" someone shouted. "I need help!"

"That's Mad-Eye," Sirius said, recognising the voice. No one paid him much attention; they
were all busy listening to the commotion above them. "We've got to-" He never got the
chance to finish his sentence, though; Mad-Eye arrived, limping very quickly down the stairs,
wand in one hand (which he was using to slam and magically lock every door behind him)
and his other arm around Robards, who was covered in blood, hardly conscious and very,
very pale.

Sirius was running toward them before he had time to process the thought, and Mad-Eye's
spell hit him in the chest at full force. Someone screamed. He collapsed to the ground,
gasping. His head hit the ground with a crack that made his ears ring and eyes water, and he
could hear people shouting, but couldn't understand them. A moment later, Dora also went
down - possibly of her own accord, but it was more likely at Mad-Eye's hand - and a few feet
away, Marlene grunted as she too hit the floor. Sirius tried to move, but it felt like he was
being held down. It was a sensation he'd experienced once before, during the war, when
James had secured him so that Lily could fix his injured legs. It was not a sensation he'd
enjoyed.

Someone was shouting at him.

"...idiots, running at me like that! Me!" There was a snort and then the pressure ended and a
rough hand yanked Sirius into a sitting position. "You're lucky I didn't kill you!" Next to him,
Sirius saw Dora pulled up - more gently than he had been - and then Marlene. She crawled
over to Robards immediately, ignoring the rest of Mad-Eye's reprimand.

"You don't kill," Sirius rasped. Mad-Eye opened his mouth but had no rebuttal.

"Sirius..?" He glanced over at Marlene, who looked scared. Hemsley, Blackburn and Klenner
had all run for the stairs, obviously intending to catch whoever it was that had attacked
Robards. A few trainees went with them, but most stayed put, obviously waiting for
instructions. Prewett and a boy whose name Sirius didn't know, were gathered around
Robards, healing some of his smaller wounds, but hadn't touched any of the worse ones. He
was well and truly unconscious now. "Can you... is there anything-"

"Dittany," he said, giving Mad-Eye a wary look, but Mad-Eye let him pass. Sirius eyed the
cut on Robards' temple, and then the one across his ribs, which wasn't as deep, but still
looked painful, and was responsible for quite a bit of blood loss. Sirius also suspected at least
one of those ribs was broken. He flicked his wand, casting a quick diagnostic to make sure
that there was no internal damage, but other than the three ribs, it was mostly external.

"Did a spell break his ribs?" he asked Mad-Eye. Mad-Eye nodded and Sirius swore under his
breath. James had always been good with spell-broken bones, but Sirius only had experience
healing physical breaks. "Lots of Dittany, and Skelegro, and a Blood Replenisher. Something
for the pain, too!"

Marlene was already moving, heading for the cabinets in the training rooms, which were
equipped with such things for practice. It was a good thing she'd listened (not that he'd
expected any different, after her involvement in the Order) because no one else had. Dora
looked worried and was talking to Mad-Eye in an urgent voice, and the other trainees looked
stunned by what had happened.

"Rennervate," Sirius said, tapping Robards' side. "Come on, you prat, Rennervate!"

Robards spluttered back to consciousness and tried to sit up. Sirius forced him back down -
making him wince and gasp and clutch his bloody side.

"Stay still," Sirius murmured. "Can you do that for me?"

"I'm injured, Black, not stupid," he grunted, his face contorting.

"Then don't move," Sirius repeated, and then traced his wand across Robards' temple. He
could hear Robards' teeth grinding together, and noticed his knuckles were white. "Sorry,"
Sirius said, but wasn't really; healing hurt, but Robards would be better off healed than he
would be if they just left him injured.

"Here," Marlene said, dropping back down beside Sirius her arms laden with bottles.

"Thanks," he said. He grabbed the Dittany, and started spreading it over the wounds he'd
healed; it soothed them a bit, and also tended to stop scarring. "Give him that," Sirius said,
while he worked. "Two lids ought to do it. And it tastes like rubbish, so he'll try to spit it out,
but stop him from doing that, if you can."

He finished with the Dittany, left Robards with Marlene and went to speak with Mad-Eye.

"Good work," he grunted, nodding at Robards. Sirius nodded to acknowledge the compliment
– they were rare, coming from his old mentor – and then got right to the point.

"We've got to get moving," Sirius said. Mad-Eye cocked an eyebrow, and beside him, Dora
looked worried. "That," he said, jabbing a finger at the stairs that led to the broom cupboard,
"is the only entrance. And if they get down here, and ward it against Apparition, we'll be in a
world of trouble."

"Already have," Mad-Eye said grimly, tapping his magical eye. It had the sort of sight Harry
and Sirius had to use an incantation to get, though he'd never, to Sirius' knowledge, thought
of using gaps in wards to Apparate.

Ostendere me omnia, Sirius thought, and his eyes widened; the wards woven over the training
room were at least as thick as those that the Aurors had put up that day in Knockturn
Alley. Damn. Finite. Dora was staring between them, obviously wondering what it was they
were looking at.

"So what do we do?" he hissed.

"There's the back way," Mad-Eye said. Sirius stared at him. "You don't really think that when
Potter, Scrimgeour and I created this training facility, we only gave it one exit, do you, lad?"
He actually looked disappointed. "Didn't I teach you anything? Co-"

"-stant vigilance," Sirius said quickly. Dora almost smiled. "I know. So where is it?" Mad-
Eye glanced at Dora and gestured for her to stay where she was. Then, he limped a few yards
away, and turned to Sirius. "Examination room." Sirius' eyebrows shot up; he'd only been
into the examination room once; into the arena, for the Auror exam. It was a strange place.
"The platform above it has a ladder that leads to a passage that comes up in a fireplace in the
Atrium."

"The one that never works?" Sirius asked.

"Always were a smart lad," Mad-Eye said. "Let's keep it that way, at least until this is all-"
The entire room shook. "And that's your sign to leave," Mad-Eye growled. There were voices
up the top, and light flashed under the broom cupboard door. Marlene, who was supporting
Gawain, came over to join them. Gawain's eyes were bleary, but Marlene's were sharp.
"Everyone, through there!" He was of course, smart enough not to shout where they'd be
going. The trainees moved quickly, obviously relieved to have an instruction they could
follow.

"Mad-Eye-" Dora began, looking uncertain. Sirius could hear her Sneakoscope; it was
ringing again. The shouts outside the door grew louder, and more light flashed under the
door. "W-"

"Robards," Mad-Eye barked, and Robards tried to straighten, winced and then slumped
against Marlene, who caught him, grimacing; Skele-gro wasn't an instant solution, nor was it
a comfortable one. He'd be sore and limited by his ribs for at least a few more hours.

"Moody," Robards said in a weak voice, and nodded. He clenched his teeth and used Marlene
to push himself upright. Then, unsteadily, he let go. Marlene stepped forward, ready to catch
him again, but it wasn't necessary. "Follow me, you lot," he said, sounding tired.

"Sir?" Marlene said, sharing a worried look with Sirius and Dora, as Gawain gingerly headed
for the examination room. Marlene started after him. "Sir, what-"

"We're getting out of this trap of a room," Sirius heard him say.

"Go with him," Mad-Eye told Dora. His eyes – either of them – never left the door. His wand
hadn't left his hand the whole time he'd been down there, but now, it was held in front of him.

"And what, leave you?" she snapped, drawing her wand. Her hair was a nervous sort of green
colour, but her face was set. "You really are mad."

"Now, Nymphadora," he snapped back. She looked startled by his tone; Mad-Eye'd always
been gentler with her than he had with Sirius or James. She glared at him. "That is an order!"
he growled, giving her a push.

"No!" she said. "No, I won't just-"

"Now!" he roared. Dora actually looked frightened, and Sirius thought she might cry. Her
Sneakoscope continued to whistle, and Sirius couldn't help but wonder if Remus had known.
Dora rubbed at her eyes – they were looking wet – and glanced at the door, then at Mad-Eye,
then at Sirius.

"But he's staying," she said in a hurt voice. "It's not fair if he gets to-"

"Damn Hufflepuffs!" Mad-Eye snarled. "Do as you're told!" She locked eyes with Sirius,
perhaps expecting him to protest on her behalf.

"Go on," Sirius said quietly, feeling like a traitor. It wasn't unreasonable, though; Dora, good
as she was, was only a trainee. She'd probably have to fight someone at some point if things
were as bad as her Sneakoscope seemed to think, but there was no need for her to go looking
for a fight. She'd definitely get one if she stayed with Mad-Eye and Sirius.

So you're looking for a fight? his sensible side asked. Sirius wondered when it had stopped
sounding like Remus, and more like a quieter version of himself.
No, I'm staying because Mad-Eye's got a better chance if I do.

And what chance does Harry have if you get yourself killed?

I'm not dying, Sirius thought, gritting his teeth.

"Dora," he said. Dora's hair turned a furious red and she opened her mouth, closed it, and
then backed away from them, and turned and jogged after Marlene and Gawain, who had just
reached the door.

"And you," Mad-Eye said quietly, sparing a quick look for Sirius.

"Don't bother," Sirius said, rolling his wand between his fingers. "I'm staying." He wasn't
sure why Mad-Eye hadn't left with the rest. It was odd... but Mad-Eye was one of the most
cautious people he knew, and Sirius also trusted his judgement. He'd learned that much in the
Order.

"Good," Mad-Eye said, with an odd smile. He took a sip from his hipflask, and then looked
worried. Sirius ignored that, and glanced back at the door. "Makes this easier." Sirius glanced
at his old mentor, and jumped back, wand up, in shock; Mad-Eye's face was changing. His
hair was darkening and shrinking into his skull, his skin appeared to have undergone some
sort of instant tan, and his magical eye popped out, as a new eye grew – or re-grew – in its
place. He lifted a hand to his face and his eyes – hazel eyes – widened. "Exscin-" he began in
a panicked voice, but Sirius was quicker.

"Stupefy!" Sirius said, and not-Mad-Eye dropped to the floor with a thump. Sirius picked up
the wand – which he recognised as the wand belonging to the real Mad-Eye – and pocketed
it. He also reached into the imposter's coat for Mad-Eye's Sidekick, which was, thankfully,
there. Then, he bound the imposter's unconscious form and used his wand to sweep him into
the corner.

The door rattled upstairs.

Sirius shoved his own wand into his pocket, and bowed into Padfoot. Then he took off
toward the examination room, his heart hammering and mind racing; firstly, if Mad-Eye had
been a fake, then it was likely that Robards was too, and that meant that Dora, Marlene and
the rest were in danger. Secondly, the fake Mad-Eye was the one who'd given the rest of the
trainees instructions. Not only was his information worryingly detailed – only those who'd
been in the Auror exam knew what was in the exam room – but it was also very likely to lead
them all right into a trap.

"Can you see anything down there?" Marlene whispered, peering over the edge of the
suspended platform they were on. Her wand was lit but the light didn't reach far enough
down. Tonks nodded, and turned her head; Marlene saw her eyes – reflective, and slitted like
a cat's – flash. Her hair was glowing too, a bright yellow colour, that lit up the otherwise pitch
black walkway. Robards walked gingerly ahead of them, using Marlene's wandlight to see in
the dark, and using the rail on the side of the platform to support himself.
"I think... it looks like trees," Tonks muttered, looking puzzled in the glow of her hair. "And...
I think that's a castle. Can you see that?"

"I can't see a thing that's not a yard in front of me," Marlene muttered. Dale laughed
nervously behind her, and Patel and Wright exchanged worried looks. "How much further?"
Marlene called to Robards.

"Not long now," he said, pressing a hand to his side. Someone screamed – not loudly, but the
horrible sort of gasp-yelp people tended to make when they were truly scared – and everyone
whipped around, wands out and ready. Gawain shoved everyone aside, but whoever had
startled the others was still moving. Marlene saw the flash of an eye as the figure – invisible,
even in the wandlight - dodged a spell.

Next thing she knew, Gawain was on the ground, moving with alarming speed away from the
rest of the group. Marlene aimed, trying to find whoever was dragging him, but couldn't see.
The platform swayed as people moved and tried to see what was happening.

"Sirius?" Tonks asked. "What the hell are you-"

"Lumos Maxima!" Marlene said, no longer caring about discretion. Her wandlight flared, and
she saw an enormous black dog release Gawain's coat and place himself between Gawain and
the rest of them. "Sirius?" she asked, echoing Tonks. He stood up, reassuming his normal
form, and put his hands up. "What are you doing?"

"Mad-Eye was a fake," he puffed. "Polyjuice Potion." Gasps went through the group, and
Tonks made a small, squeaking noise. "I wasn't sure if-"

Gawain snarled and grabbed Sirius' leg.

Several spells flew in the air toward the pair; Sirius dodged two and was knocked onto his
back by a third. Another spell hit him a moment later, and he stirred. Gawain – who wasn't
actually Gawain, by the looks of things – rolled out of the way of someone else's spell, and
grabbed Sirius again.

"Relashio!" Marlene snapped.

Not-Gawain wrenched his hand back, as if he'd been burned, and then sat up and snatched up
his wand before anyone thought to stop him. Sirius rolled out of the way, and into a dog as he
moved. Not-Gawain, though, gave Marlene a hard smile – it was uncannily like Gawain's
smile – and rolled off the platform. Marlene took an automatic step forward; she wasn't sure
if it was instinct because the man that had just plummeted Merlin-knew-how-far looked like
her mentor, or if it was because she wanted answers and couldn't get them without the man.
Wellington caught her arm before she reached the rail.

"Good timing," Tonks told Sirius, as he straightened into himself again. She put a hand on his
arm and then stepped past him to squint into the darkness. "He's gone," she said. Marlene
struggled to hear her over everyone else; someone was sobbing, and quite a few others were
asking questions.
"Shut up!" Marlene snapped, and they did.

"Running that way, into the trees," Tonks said. Sirius was frowning, as if he was trying to
remember something.

"Where's the castle?" he asked, and Tonks gave him an odd look, but pointed. Sirius tapped
his fingers against the railing and then nodded. "All right, you lot, this way!" He started back
the way they'd come.

"But Moody said-" someone – Marlene couldn't be sure in the dim light, but thought it might
have been Wright that had spoken.

"Moody didn't say anything," Sirius said tiredly. "The bloke pretending to be him did,
though-"

"So it's probably a trap," Brown said; his voice, Marlene could recognise easily, because he
spoke so often.

"Ten points to whatever House you were in," Sirius said, and Brown made a smug noise.
Marlene didn't think anyone but herself and perhaps Tonks know Sirius well enough to hear
the sarcasm behind the comment.

"Are you hurt?" Marlene asked, moving to Sirius' side.

"Nah," Sirius said, and gave her a troubled smile. Then he twitched and fired a silent spell at
something up ahead. Marlene went still at once, and her eyes widened when she saw the spell
splash over a Shield Charm a few yards in front of them. A man's silhouette was briefly
illuminated. Marlene, and most of the others trained their wands there immediately.

"Who's that?" the man called.

"You first," Sirius replied. There was a sigh.

"Auror Hemsley," he said, sounding a little worried. Wright, Patel and Brown made relieved
noises and started forward, but were caught by other trainees; Marlene herself caught Patel,
while Dale caught Wright and Brown shrugged off Edwards and then Gaspar in quick
succession until Sirius grabbed his shoulder.

"The night you were on guard in the holding cells," Sirius said to Hemsley, gritting his teeth
as Brown tried to push past, "what did I ask you for?" Hemsley – if it was really him –
shifted. Marlene released Patel – who thankfully stayed still – and tightened her hold on her
wand.

"Light?" he said hesitantly. "I think. You went and looked out the door, and-"

"Thank Merlin," Sirius said, and let go of Brown, who went straight to his mentor. They
exchanged a few, brief words, and then Hemsley lit his wand, and approached, scanning their
faces as he did so. "Is anyone else with you? Blackburn? Klenner?"
"Blackburn's dead," Hemsley said, and stunned, scared noises ran through the group.
Marlene's insides twisted very unpleasantly. Blackburn was a good Auror, and very involved
in the Program. He'd be missed. "Last I saw, Klenner was running for the lifts." Hemsley
looked around. "Where are Moody and Robards?"

"Fakes," Sirius said shortly. "Did you get a good look at any of the attackers?"

"Cloaks were in the way," Hemsley said, shaking his head. "But I'd guess there's a pretty even
mix of men and women. And, they're good. They're not just your usual, bad-intentioned gits.
They've got a plan. And they're Serpent Sworn; they had the signs on their cloaks."

"So what do we do?" Patel asked, looking frightened. Edwards put a comforting arm around
her. Marlene almost rolled her eyes, and then remembered this was the first time these
trainees had been so out of their depth. She herself hadn't been nearly as calm on her first
Order mission.

"Sir?" Wright asked, and several other voices joined hers.

"We go up to the Atrium," Hemsley said. "On the way, you lot can try to get through to your
mentors. If they're not here yet, we can tell them not to come. They've probably set up an
ambush."

Everyone pulled out their Sidekicks at once, and whispered passwords filled the area.
Marlene didn't bother with hers, she just shared a grim, sad look with Tonks, and then
frowned as Sirius stepped up to Hemsley and pulled him aside.

"Black," Hemsley said.

"Hemsley," Sirius said evenly. "The Atrium?"

"I don't like it," Hemsley admitted, "but we can't go back to the training room, and we can't
just stand around-"

"There are two ways in and out of the Ministry," Sirius said. "The Floo connections, and the
telephone box, both of which are in the Atrium. The Atrium is also where the rest of the
Aurors are going to be, and where, if these Serpent Sworn are as smart as you say they are,
will be waiting."

"It's possible," Hemsley said. "What's your point?"

"My point," Sirius said, "is that if we go up there, we'll be walking right into a trap; the bloke
pretending to be Mad-Eye said to come this way, and so it stands to reason that we should be
doing the opposite of what he said, doesn't it?"

"Sir," Brown said, approaching.

"Wait, kid," Sirius said impatiently.

"I'm an Auror trainee," Brown said, his eyes flashing in the wandlight. "You're a civilian,
Black, so a bit of respect would be nice."

"Michael," Hemsley said warningly. Brown clenched his jaw.

"Klenner and Taure are the only ones we've heard from," Brown said. "They're together,
somewhere on the third level, but Taure's hurt."

"We've got Shacklebolt!" someone called, and Sirius relaxed slightly, as Yaxley pushed
through everyone to report to Hemsley. "He says Finch was an imposter, and that she broke
his arm, but he's safe for the moment." Hemsley nodded.

"So?" he said to Sirius. "What do you suggest, if not the Atrium?"

"We go back through the training room," Sirius said. "By now, they've probably seen that it's
empty and left, to wait for us to appear where we were 'instructed' to go. There might be a
guard or two there, but we can handle that, and get supplies... disguises, healing potions – we
know we've already got injuries, and I reckon there'll be a few more before-"

"Stop," Hemsley said tiredly. "The training room? Are you mad?"

"You're mad if you think the Atrium's going to be any better," Sirius said. "I really don't
think-"

"I really don't think you're in a position to argue," Hemsley said. "I appreciate your
suggestion, but I'm the superior authority in this situation, and the final decision falls to me.
And I'm not going back to that training room." He turned, and Brown gave Sirius a cocky
look before he followed after his mentor. "Let's go," Hemsley called to the trainees. "Stay
quiet, and move quickly. And as soon as we come up in the Atrium, be prepared to fight."

Sirius let out a deep breath. He really was certain that the Atrium was a trap, and if Hemsley
didn't think the same, Sirius couldn't force him to. And, if the trainees were happy to follow
Hemsley without question, Sirius couldn't force them to stay behind, or listen to him instead.
But Sirius wasn't about to follow blindly.

"Black?" Hemsley called, as Sirius turned away. "Black, get back here! I'm in charge, and
you'll do-"

"I'll do what I want," Sirius said. "I'm not an Auror – not anymore – and I'm not a trainee. I
don't have to do anything. I think the Atrium's a trap-" He caught Dora's eyes at that point,
and she bit her lip, looked at Hemsley and looked down. Sirius sighed. She put too much trust
in the Aurors. "-and so I'm going to try to get back to Level Two through the training room-"

"It's not safe that way-"

"The Ministry's under attack," Sirius called back. "It's not safe anywhere, Hemsley."

"Should he be allowed to go alone?" someone whispered. "He's just a civilian-"

"Black's made his choice," Hemsley said. "Let's go." The group continued along the platform,
their footsteps growing gradually fainter, and the light from their wands growing dimmer.
Sirius didn't bother with his wand; he could see vague shapes, and he could also smell the
trail they'd made coming this way in the first place.

One set of light footsteps came in his direction, though. Sirius squinted over his shoulder, and
after a moment, a tall form caught up with him.

"Really?" He tried to hide his surprise, but he suspected his voice gave him away.

"When has anything good ever come from letting you go off on your own?" Marlene asked.
There was the barest hint of humour in her voice, and the slightest flash of teeth that Sirius
thought might mean she was smiling.
 Comrades in arms

Remus wasn't entirely surprised when Sirius' Patronus bounded out into his garden and
started chasing them on the ground. In fact, he checked his watch and was surprised the
message hadn't come sooner. Harry was another fifty feet higher than Remus, in close pursuit
of his Snitch and hadn't even noticed it.

Remus angled his Nimbus down and made his casual way down. He stepped off the broom
and the Patronus hurried over, holding its ears and tail in a rather agitated way.

"Remus," Sirius said, through the dog's mouth. His voice was quiet, as if he didn't want to be
overheard. "Remus, it's- the Serpent Sworn, they're here. The Ministry's under attack. Mad-
Eye's missing, so's Robards, and most of the other Aurors. I've got Marlene with me, and
Dora's with Hemsley and the other trainees, but we're it, Moony, and I think we're in over our
heads. I need you to get Harry to a safe place; home's best, but otherwise Arthur's family
could look after him for the afternoon, I'm sure, or even Snape – and then I need to to rally
whoever you can. Dumbledore first, and thenthe teachers, Hagrid, Bean, Dung-"

"Dung's in Azkaban," another voice – Remus assumed it was Marlene's – said in the
background, and Sirius swore.

"Damn, right. Erm, Em, and- just anyone, Remus. Please." It went silent for a bit. "Let me
know when you get this, so I know you and Harry are safe." His voice cut off, and the dog
gave him an anxious look before fading.

"Was that Padfoot?" Harry asked, pulling out of a steep dive to hover at Remus' head height. .
"What's going on?" Remus re-mounted his broom.

"Nothing," he said. He felt guilty, everything was working out for the best. Remus nodded at
the Snitch in Harry's hand. "Let that go, why don't you, and we'll see who can get it first."
Harry stared at the place where the dog had disappeared, and then his mouth set into a grim
line and he threw the Snitch into the air.

"Should have brought my mirror," Sirius growled under his breath. "Stupid!" He shook his
head and took a deep breath. "We can't just sit here and wait; it's time to move-"

"As soon as we do, Lupin's going to reply," Marlene said. "And his bloody wolf will give us
away-"

"It's been ten minutes," Sirius said, sounding worried. "If he was going to reply, he would
have." Marlene bit her lip, and then nodded. The pair of them crawled out from under the
stairs, where they'd been hiding in the shadows, and crept back into the large, empty room
that was the examination room. "Two of them," Sirius breathed.

He'd gone very quiet and was staring through the examination room door. It was closed, so
Marlene wasn't entirely sure how he was looking through it, but she trusted him.
"One there-" He pointed off to the left, where the other doors would be. "-and one by the
stairs. Finite." He blinked once, and then his eyes refocused on her.

"I'll get the left," she said. Sirius was faster, and they'd need the element of surprise. "How
are we going in?" Sirius gave her a look – eyes fixed on hers, one eyebrow slightly raised –
that she knew from their old days fighting together. It meant 'are you ready?'. She nodded.
Sirius crouched and slid his wand tip under the door.

"Caligo," he whispered, and Marlene couldn't see what the spell's effects were, but she heard
a confused noise on the other side of the door, which Sirius opened. The room was filled with
thick, white fog, and she could hear scuffling, and attempts at spells. "You've got ten
seconds," Sirius said, and then she felt him shrink, and fur brushed her hand before he was
gone.

"Homenum Revelio," she breathed, and Sirius and the two Serpent Sworn lit up. She headed
straight for the person on her left, who was trying to alleviate the fog with wind charms. With
such poor visibility, she didn't like her chances of landing a hit with something as precise as a
Stunner, or a Body Bind.

Five seconds. Her target – a man, if the coughing was anything to go by – did something that
made his wand glow for a second, showing her where he was.

Incarcerous, she thought, slashing her wand through the air. There was a yelp from behind
her and she started to turn her head to check on Sirius, and then forced herself to watch her
target's general area.

You can't see Sirius through this, and you're just as likely to hex him if you try to help. Deal
with yours, then help him if you can.

The fog cleared and she saw her Serepent Sworn – it was a man – member struggling to free
his wand hand and torso from the ropes she'd conjured. She Disarmed him, sent another set of
ropes his way, and then cast a quick Body-Bind and flicked her wand to send him floating up
to the ceiling, where she cast a spell to make him stick, like some sort of bizarre insect
cocoon.

She spun, ready to deal with whatever might have happened over her shoulder, but needn't
have worried; Sirius had a bloody lip that he healed even as she watched, and his Serpent
Sworn member was stretched out like a star, with his arms and legs attached to the walls and
ceiling by what looked like some sort of variation of the Stickfast Hex.

"Nice," he said, eyeing the man she'd dealt with.

"You too." She glanced at Sirius. "What now?"

"Try not to spend too long at the scene of any crime," he said. He grinned briefly. "Otherwise,
you're found in a smelly corridor with dung on your hands-"

"Nice analogy," she said.

"It's not an analogy; one week into first year that actually happened."

"Oh."

Sirius looked nostalgic and then gestured for her to follow him. They made quick work of the
training rooms; each loaded a small kit of healing supplies, and a bottle of distilled water
from the potions cupboard into a small bag. Sirius started to shrink his, but Marlene shook
her head.

"It protects our backs," she said. Sirius nodded and then waved her over to the disguises
supply cupboard. "What?"

"I suppose we know where the gits got their Polyjuice Potion from," Sirius growled, lifting a
flask. He uncorked it, and tipped the flask. Two drops of lumpy, grey liquid dripped out and
splashed on their shoes, but that was it. Examination of the other flasks revealed the same.
Sirius looked like he wanted to examine more, but Marlene put her hand on his shoulder. He
looked surprised by the contact.

"We have more pressing matters," she said pointedly. He nodded and the pair of them made it
back out into the main room, and then crept toward the staircase that led to the broom
cupboard. She couldn't hear anything, and was sure that Sirius would have said something if
he could have, and so they didn't dawdle. They moved quickly up the stairs, cast another fog
charm under the door and into the broom cupboard, and when that caused no spluttering or
noises of surprise, they were able to open that.

There was a single Serpent Sworn guarding the outside and Marlene Stunned her before she
could even gasp. Sirius caught her before she hit the ground and dragged her into Proudfoot's
cubicle, where the pair of them promptly secured the witch to the desk with a set of ropes, a
Body-Bind and a Sticking Charm. Her wand went into the desk drawer, two cubicles over;
the one next to it was mostly splintered furniture and scorch-marks.

"You were right," Marlene said. Sirius glanced at her. "It's deserted up here."

"Yay," Sirius said, without much enthusiasm. Marlene quirked her mouth to one side. She
didn't really like the implications either; it meant the rest of the Serpent Sworn were probably
lying in wait in the Atrium, for the rest of the trainees. He sighed. "You're going to think I'm
mad," he said.

"Why?"

"We need to get to the Atrium," Sirius said.

"Why?" Marlene asked calmly.

"The Floo," Sirius said. "I need to speak to Harry- I have to make sure that he's-"

"All right," Marlene said. "Let's go."

"All right?" Sirius repeated.

"That's what I said," she told him, striding toward the lifts. "It's like you said in your
Patronus, Sirius... we're it. The Ministry's under attack and we're all that's here." She hoped
Lupin had received Sirius' message and was fetching Dumbledore and the Order as quickly as
he could, but they couldn't rely on that. "And we can't just hide here until this all goes away. I
wasn't about to walk into a trap, but that doesn't mean I won't go to the Atrium." Sirius
watched her until the intensity of his stare made Marlene uncomfortable and she cleared her
throat. He slowly tore his eyes away. "So," she said, "erm, shall we go?"

"Sure," he said, in a very polite tone.

"Okay," she said. They stood there and watched each other warily for a few more seconds.

"Stairs'll be guarded," Sirius said, and this time it was him who cleared his throat. "And the
lifts aren't working, apparently, but that doesn't mean we can't use them."

"What do you have in mind?"

Sirius' idea turned out to be a set of silver rungs, which grew out of the side of the stone shaft
the way roots beneath a large tree might. Sirius went first; it was his idea so she assumed that
he had some idea where he was going, and wasn't going to add 'lost' to their current list of
problems.

It turned out to be a good assumption. Several minutes and more rungs than Marlene could
count later, they'd gone up, walked along a flat part, down, but not very far, walked again,
and then had started a long climb up. Marlene had no idea where, in the bowels of the
Ministry they were, but Sirius led with confidence.

Marlene's arms ached, and Sirius was getting tired too; he almost slipped and kicked her, but
managed to catch himself in time. A low hum started up, and Sirius stopped. Marlene
grabbed his shoe instead of a rung.

"What's that?" Marlene asked, but thought she knew the answer.

"Climb," Sirius said stiffly, and scurried up the rungs. Midway up was a tunnel that had a flat
floor, and they flopped down on that and waited; Sirius flicked his wand to vanish the rungs,
as he had been doing every time they reached a new part of the shaft. After about a minute –
and Marlene was glad, both for the delay and the fact that it had allowed her to rest her arms
a bit - the humming increased in volume, and became a rattling noise. Then the lift
plummeted down the shaft they'd been climbing. It thankfully, hadn't turned into the shaft
they were sitting in.

"Glad we weren't down there," Sirius said, peering over the edge. His voice echoed down, but
he'd spoken quietly enough that it didn't get far. Marlene nodded.

"Where do you think-"

"Level Two, probably," Sirius said. "And I'll bet whoever's inside it is looking for us." He
flicked his wand and more rungs appeared in the vertical shaft. "And, either Wellington and
Yaxley were lying, or the Serpent Sworn have got someone from Magical Maintainence
helping out."

The climbed in silence after that, but it wasn't far; only to the top, and then into another
horizontal part that led to a pair of doors. Sirius did whatever he'd done on Level Two to look
through the door and see if there were people about; he frowned, his eyes unfocused, and
gestured for Marlene to go ahead. They pressed themselves into the corners, on either side of
the doors and then Marlene took aim.

"Silencio. Aperio," Marlene whispered, and the doors slid openwithout a sound.

Sirius was the one to glance out first, and the one to leave the lift tunnel first. Marlene took a
deep breath and followed him out into the open.

The Atrium was a mess. None of the damage was irreparable, but it looked bad; chunks of
the floor had been blasted out, and several of the fireplaces on the far side had caved in.
There was a large puddle of blood near the security checkpoint counter, and the glass from
the visitor's entrance telephone box was lying in glittering pieces on the floor.

Marlene wondered if the trainees had been here, or if the destruction had been caused by the
Aurors and Serpent Sworn on their own.

"Keep watch," Sirius told her, gesturing for her to stay where she was. "I'm going to try to get
through to home."

"Be careful," she said.

"You too."

Sirius stayed close to the wall, looking grim; she wasn't sure if it was because he'd grown up,
or because he was genuinely worried this time, but Sirius no longer strolled into dangerous
situations as if he had nothing to lose. Once, he might have sauntered right through the
middle of the Atrium, whistling.

Marlene kept her eyes on the doors, on the other lifts, and on the fireplaces, for any sign of
movement, and her wand raised and ready in her hand. Sirius stopped at the first fireplace in
the line, and threw a handful of Floo powder into the grate. It flared green, and in that
moment, gave everything away.

Two figures - a man and a woman - painted gold, stepped out of the fountain. Marlene hadn't
even noticed them because they'd been standing so still, but she took notice now; they were
advancing on Sirius, wands raised. Marlene flicked her wand and the floor rose up to cover
Sirius' back. Then, she Disillusioned it, so that he'd be able to see what was happening when
he came out of the Floo. The golden people, thankfully, didn't notice; they were watching one
of the nearby fireplaces, and the reason quickly became apparent; two others stepped out.

There was no flash of green, so they hadn't Flooed, but whether there was a secret passage, or
they'd simply been waiting in the shadows, Marlene didn't know.
She Stunned the golden woman, missed the golden man and managed to paralyse one of the
Floo people before any of them spotted her- she ducked out of sight at once - and managed to
buy Sirius a few seconds; they all looked around, and even exchanged a few quiet words. But
then the golden man fixed his partner with a flick of his wand and continued toward Sirius.
The Floo people did the same, and Sirius had his head in the fireplace and probably couldn't
see or hear a thing that was going on behind him, thanks to the flames.

"Sirius!" she shouted. Four heads turned toward her. The golden man flicked a hand and the
Floo people continued toward Sirius, while the others headed for her. She ducked a hex, and
something else exploded on other side of the room, on the invisible wall she'd created to
protect Sirius.

"Expecto Patronum!" she gasped; she didn't have a happy memory, just a strong desire to
survive this, and to survive this sheneeded Sirius. She focused on his face and her lioness
appeared and vanished almost instantly; it knew what she wanted.

The next spell - one she didn't recgonise - caught her in the side. She felt something tear and
doubled over, gasping. Warmth pooled at her side and her surroundings flickered and then a
golden arm wrapped around her neck and a hand found the bag she'd loaded in the training
room. Using both, the golden man started to pull her backwards, while another hand –
probably belonging to the woman - tugged her wand out of her grip.

"The brat's fine," Kreacher said. "Perfectly safe."

"And Remus?" The floor rumbled under Sirius' knees, which were back in the Atrium. He
almost pulled back, but he still had things to ask. Kreacher just shrugged. "Have you seen
him?"

"Oh, yes, Kreacher has seen him," Kreacher said.

So he's out getting backup, Sirius thought. I hope...

"I need to talk to Harry," Sirius said. "Quickly, Kreacher, I don't have a lot of time!" Kreacher
shifted, and Sirius frowned. "Now, Kreacher." Kreacher wrung his hands.

"Is- Is Master Sirius ordering Kreacher to fetch Master Harry?" he asked, his eyes not quite
meeting Sirius'.

What in Merlin's name is going on? Sirius wondered. "Kre-"

A bright, silvery shape appeared behind Kreacher, who followed Sirius' gaze, shrieked and
backed away. The lioness planted her glowing feet on the kitchen floor, and , it could only
belong to Marlene, but last time he'd checked (admittedly, nearly ten years ago) her Patronus
had been a dog...

Now's not the time, he thought, as it snarled again. Kreacher whimpered, and Sirius looked at
the stairs, hoping, praying, that Harry was safe before he yanked his head out of the fireplace.
His head spun, and the fire roared in his ears and then he was back in the Atrium, slumped
against a wall that had appeared Merlin-knew-when.

He turned quickly and was startled to see that not only was the wall he'd been leaning against
invisible, but that there were two people on the other side of it, people in dark cloaks.
Marlene was struggling weakly with a pair of golden people - Sirius assumed they were
Serpent Sworn, but couldn't be sure – on the far side of the room.

The pair advancing on him slowed when they saw he was watching them, and one flicked a
jet of very distinctive green light in his direction, as casually as if it had been a Summoning
Charm. It exploded against the barrier - which Sirius was now VERY grateful for - with
enough force to make the ground tremble.

Sirius didn't waste time; he pointed his wand at the figure on the left, muttered "Gelius," and
then moved his wand slightly so that it was angled at the figure on the right instead. They
dove out of the way, but the spell still hit their foot, and they crumpled, groaning. Their wand
rolled away, and they reached for it, and then withdrew, clutching their leg; Sirius' Skin
Freezing Charm would keep them distracted for a while.

The other figure glanced at their fallen comrade and then sent three spells at Sirius in quick
succession; none were green, so he hoped they were all blockable. He cast a Absorbant
Shield Charm, let that take two of the spells - he staggered as the second one hit, because
whatever it had been was strong - and then twisted his wand and changed the type of Shield.

The third spell ricochetted and Sirius sent one after it, a Finger Twitch Charm - they were so
simple that they were hard to block - and, as he'd hoped, the Serpent Sworn blocked the
rebounded spell, but was hit by the second one; he or she dropped their wand, and Sirius sent
it soaring away with a well placed Wind Charm, and then transfigured the top foot of the
stone floor of the Atrium into water, and then retransfigured it into stone. His opponents
wobbled; the first was still hunched over in pain, the other was up to their calves in stone,
stuck in the position they'd been in when they reached for his wand.

"Coward!" the second one spat as Sirius tucked his wand away, bowed into Padfoot and took
off across the floor; Marlene was being dragged now, toward the telephone box entrance.

"Stop him!" one of the golden people ordered, and the second one - a woman - released her
hold on Marlene's wrists and rounded on Padfoot. He dodged two spells - nasty, crimson
looking ones - and then ran straight into a third, which-

What? he wondered.

He could see Marlene. He liked her. Her not believing his innocence and the whole tying to
kill him issue hadn't helped things much, but he still, Merlin-help-him, liked her. Silly, he told
himself, and then wheezed a doggy laugh from where he was lying on the ground; Silly was
what Harry had called him when Harry was a pupp- baby. Harry was a baby, not a puppy. Or
had been. Makes sense because he's a wolf, too, Padfoot thought, or will be.

He stood up and shook his coat out; it itched a bit, so he paused for a scratch. Two people
were watching him, one – Marlene, who he liked – was fighting to get free. The other woman
– the shiny one - had a stick raised in his direction and Padfoot's breath caught.

She's going to throw it, he thought, and his tail wagged. Only she didn't; she held it at a funny
angle, and said a spell. Light burst out of the end, toward him, and his tail stopped wagging.
He shot out of the way, and took shelter behind the desk where the wands were usually
checked. Wands were useful, only he couldn't use them as a dog. Dogs couldn't use magic, or
at least Padfoot couldn't yet. He wondered if it was possible. He whimpered as another spell
came whizzing toward him, and scampered out of reach, ears back.

She lifted the stick again, and he really thought she might throw it; his ears pricked again,
and he stepped forward cautiously, tail swinging from side to side.

Fight this, Sirius' voice said, from somewhere in Padfoot's head. Padfoot didn't mind
fighting; he and Moony and Prongs had used to fight all the time – play fight, obviously, but
there had been a few times where-

Marlene drove her elbow back into her captor's side. He grunted and she got free, moving
awkwardly, but quickly, over to the other woman, who she punched, retrieved her own stick
from- Padfoot barked excitedly, hoping for a game.

"Here, Sirius," she said, snapping her fingers at him. She was bent over in an uncomfortable
way, her arm pressed against her side. Padfoot started forward toward her, only to have to
move as a spell exploded by his paw. He whimpered and backed off. The shiny man had
recovered, as had the woman, and one was heading for each of them.

Padfoot! His own voice snapped.

Padfoot barked, because he was Padfoot, that was what his friends had named h- and so did
the Patronus Padfoot who'd been living in his head since the Dementors Draught. That gave
him an idea. He barked at Marlene to go, and she stopped trying to beckon to him and turned
and ran. Padfoot clung to his idea – thoughts weren't staying in his head very well at the
moment, and hid again, behind the wand check desk.

Then, he dove into his head, guided by his Patronus. His head was a strange place; there were
odd strings draped everywhere, like spiderwebs, and he suspected if he brushed one, it'd drag
his thoughts in a completely different direction.

Confundus Charm, he thought, ducking under one of the lines. He made it – with the
Patronus' help – to his cell in his mindscape of Azkaban, where he kept his wand. Then, he
lifted it, concentrated, and thought, Finite.

The webs withered and vanished into nothingness, and Sirius forced himself to wake. He
woke as himself, as a human, and found the golden woman crouching over him, wand
pressed to his throat. He kneed her in the back and she toppled forward, over the top of him,
and he grabbed his wand out his his pocket and conjured ropes, which wound around the
golden woman, like snakes.

He left her there, and went in search of Marlene, who was gone. He hurried over to the lifts,
and was hit by a spell – thankfully it was only a Wind Charm, which pushed him out of the
shaft, so that the golden man could re-emerge. Marlene wasn't with him. The golden man
watched Sirius pick himself up off the ground, and sent him soaring away again, with another
flick of his wand. Sirius landed hard on his side and gasped, winded, and then crawled
toward his wand, which had landed a few feet away.

The golden man didn't attack him; he'd pulled out a Sidekick that he must have taken from
one of the Aurors, the same way Mad-Eye's imposter had had his Sidekick.

"My three are down, but I've got one of the trainee lot here. A few helpers'd be nice. Oh, and-
a girl jumped." Sirius didn't recognise the golden man's voice, but his heart sank. "Right
down the shaft." Sirius didn't hear the response, but he almost had his wand, and once he had
that, he'd be able to get rid of this bloke and hopefully find Marlene. "Dunno. She slid and
ended up in some little side bit." Another incoherent response, and Sirius' fingers wrapped
around his wand, but he didn't attack, not yet; he needed information and he was getting it by
listening. "Of course not! I'm not going to run around in those damn tunnels; girl could be
anywhere-" He dropped as Sirius' silent Stunner hit him.

Sirius was running toward the lifts again, before the golden man had even hit the floor. He
had to find Marlene and make sure that she was okay, and then the pair of them could sort out
what to do ne- The lifts opened, just as he reached that side of the Atrium, and a group of
four stepped out. Sirius gave the lift shaft a grim look, and then changed direction, heading
for the stairwell on the side.

He yanked the door open, locked it behind him with a spell, and hurried down the stairs, out
onto Level One, down a corridor, around two corners and then unlocked and pulled open an
office door at random. He shut the door behind him, turned around, and then staggered
backward, horrified.

"I thought you were a Hufflepuff," Florence said. Sirius had been right about the ambush, and
most of the trainees were now scattered throughout the Ministry in groups of four or less.
Tonks and Florence were on their own, for now. Merlin knew where Hemsley'd got to. Tonks
just rolled her eyes. "Now's not really the time for you to discover you've got trust issues."

"You killed someone-"

"A murdering lunatic!"

"You still killed him, all right, and then you did something to make Fletcher take the fall for
you," Tonks whispered back. "You've obviously got connections that helped you stay in the
Program-"

Florence looked momentarily guilty, and then defiant, and then wry.

"I'm obviously loving that decision now," she said, gesturing around.

"Obviously," Tonks said, with a tiny smile. She smothered it as soon as she could. "But I'm
not sorry for being a bit suspicious given everything else that's going on!"
"Whatever," Florence said, rolling her eyes. "So, what? I have to stay in front of you, because
I might kill you from behind?"

"Just keep moving," Tonks snapped. "And keep an eye out for any of the others."

"I was doing that already!"

"Shh!" Tonks said. She tapped Florence on the shoulder and gestured to the stairs. "This
way."

"Why?" Florence asked.

"They've got to be keeping everyone somewhere," Tonks said.

"Or the bodies." Tonks ignored that.

"The only place in the Ministry big enough and secure enough for that is the holding cells,"
Tonks said earnestly. "If we can go down there, and get everyone out again, then we can
make plans and work out how to best approach this-"

"Or, we could find whoever's in charge and-"

"And what?" Tonks asked, suspecting she knew the answer. "Have a repeat of the Greyback
incident?"

"They're not exactly playing a game," Florence said. Tonks had to agree with that, at the very
least. "Blackburn's dead, weren't you listening? I'm not saying that we should go on a
massacre here, but if it's them or us..."

Tonks said nothing. She just led Florence downstairs, and grew a very small set of eyes on
the back of her head so that she'd know if Florence tried to attack her. She didn't think she
would, but then, she hadn't thought that tiny, bubbly Florence could have it in her to kill –
and in a rather brutal way – the most feared werewolf in the last few centuries.

"Stop," Florence said, as they passed the courtroom where Sirius' trial had been. "I can hear
something." Tonks stopped at once, and her Sneakoscope started again. She wrapped her
hand around it to muffle the sound, and couldn't help but wonder whether Remus had known
what he was sending both her and Sirius into.

Surely not, she thought, but couldn't quite convince herself; it seemed like an ominous
present, given the current situation. He wouldn't let us walk into this... either of us... would
he?

"This way!" Florence hissed, grabbing Tonks' arm. She pulled her into the courtroom and
they both ducked down behind a row of spectator benches. Only seconds later, one of the
Serpent Sworn entered; Tonks flattened her head and made her neck grow so that she could
peer over the top of the barrier without drawing attention to them.

It was a woman – men's robes didn't fit that way – but Tonks couldn't see her face because it
was hidden by a hood. She muttered something, and a swooping sensation brushed over
Tonks and - if Florence's expression was anything to go by – Florence as well.

"There you are," she said, turning toward them.

"Bombarda!" Florence said, flicking her wand at the floor in front of the woman. It exploded,
and Florence pushed Tonks toward the door with a desperate, "Move!" Tonks ran, grateful for
her Balance Boots; she'd probably have tripped and got herself killed without them. Florence
yelped behind her, and Tonks turned and saw her on the ground. She started back but the
woman had already reached Florence, taken her wand and pulled her into a sitting position by
her ponytail. Florence winced as the woman's wand jabbed her throat.

"Put your wand down, or she dies," the woman said. Tonks locked eyes with Florence. "Don't
try anything," she said, in an almost bored voice. "Drop it." Tonks hesitated. "Now!"

"No!" Florence said, her eyes widening, "Tonks, run!"

"Drop it!"

"Run!"

Relashio, Tonks thought, and the Serpent Sworn's hand jumped off Florence's hair. Florence
crawled away – Tonks stepped forward to help her – only wathc as a kick caught Florence in
the side. Florence didn't seem bothered – she, like Remus, probably experienced worse pain
on a monthly basis – but she still doubled over reflexively, and that gave the woman enough
time to glance at Tonks, and then at Florence, and jab her wand. Florence collapsed without a
sound.

"No," Tonks said, her hand jumping to her mouth. Tears prickled in her eyes, but she quickly
morphed her tearducts away; the last thing she needed was to not be able to see. She took half
a step toward Florence.

"I told you to put your wand down," the woman said, advancing on Tonks. "And now, you've
killed her."

Tonks waved her wand in a circle, and the benches in the room came to life, running around
on their stumpy little legs like wooden sheep. One leaped over the barrier and charged the
woman, and the others were quick to follow. She shrieked and blasted one away, but the
others bounded forward. Tonks glanced at Florence, who was very still, and knew there was
nothing she could do.

She turned and ran, leaving the Serpent Sworn woman at the mercy of the benches.

They're not exactly playing a game, Florence's voice said. ... If it's them or us... Tonks, run!

Florence's voice echoed in her head, all the way down the empty corridor. Already, it had
taken on a haunted quality that Florence had never had in life, and it wasn't helped by the
Sneakoscope's whistling. Tonks' concentration slipped and her tearducts came back; fat, salty
tears dribbled down her cheeks and all she wanted was Remus, or her parents, or Mad-Eye or
Sirius.
She wiped impatiently at her eyes and sniffed as she rounded a corner – headed for the lift to
the holding cells – and knocked into a solid figure. Her boots kept her on her feet; it was the
man that toppled over, despite him outsizing her significantly. She Stunned him and hurried
into the lift, which was open. She slammed the doors shut with a spell and jabbed the button
to go down.

The lift shuddered and then dropped, and Tonks put her wand in her pocket for just a
moment, so that she could wipe her eyes and try to pull herself together. The lift stopped with
a groan, and to Tonks' horror, the entire level was dark. She could hear sobbing at the end of
the corridor, where she knew the cells were, but couldn't see more than the tiniest sliver of
light under a door. She gave herself cat eyes, so that she'd be able to see anyone moving
about in the dark, and as they adjusted, they landed on a figure mere feet in front of her.

Then, a fist came soaring toward her, before she could give herself armoured skin, or change
her face shape to avoid it. Tonks felt pain just above her ear, and then nothing at all.
 Fallen soldier

"Sir, we've got everyone but two," a woman said, approaching the man. He turned away from
the holding cells, which held the Aurors and trainees. Most were nursing injuries of some
sort, and were sitting in their mentor-trainee groups, talking in low voices, but some were
crying; two female trainees were sobbing all over each other, and their grim looking mentor.
The man smirked and looked down at the woman.

"Black," he said. It wasn't a question.

"And the girl," she said. "McKinnon." Robards, who was slumped in a corner, glanced up at
the mention of Black, and again when McKinnon's name was said. He looked proud that both
were still out there. The man intended to rectify that, and soon. "Should I send-"

"No," the man said. He patted his pocket to make sure his wand was still there, and then
pulled his hood up over his head. "No; I'll do it myself." He stepped past the woman, and
over to Robards. He held out his hand, and Robards looked torn. The man sighed, grabbed
Robards' cloak, and pulled his Sidekick out of his pocket. "Thank you," he said, releasing
Robards. The man said the password, and the device opened with a metallic click. Everyone
was watching him now.

"I'll be back soon, I imagine," he said, smirking, as he pulled out his wand; it seemed
McKinnon had her Sidekick on her, and so, using its pair, he'd be able to find her exact
location. "Point me," he said.

The ceiling, carpet and even the walls – on which rested ghastly, kitten decorated plates –
were all the same, horrendous shade of pink, and various doilies and lacy pillows rested on
every surface around the room. It wasn't a very big office, either – Sirius suspected the
occupant either didn't work much, or had another job and office in another department –
which made it all the worse.

Swallowing bile, Sirius stepped in further and had a closer look was a pink filing cabinet
behind the desk, and it had several keyholes in it, as well as – he was only guessing, but it
seemed likely – spells to ensure the contents were kept private. Whoever owned the office
obviously had a lot of secrets, but on the Ministerial administration floor, that wasn't entirely
surprising.

He sneezed as he passed a rather bright, unfriendly looking flower – he could have sworn it
snarled at him – and crawled under the desk, which reeked of sickly sweet perfume.

But it's safe, he thought, taking a deep breath, or it should be for the few minutes I'll need to
sort out what to do next.

He started by prioritising. Harry, and what he'd mentally dubbed The Remus Problem came
first, but Marlene, injured and separated from him, was a close second.
Merlin I hope she's okay, he thought. She was tough though; she'd be able to look after
herself until Sirius got his thoughts in order.

Remus wasn't coming. That much was obvious. Sirius no longer expected any help from his
old friend, and that was like a knife in the gut. He'd given him the benefit of the doubt, he
hadn't pushed, he'd trusted that Remus would let him know anything important... well, people
were dying, and the Ministry was falling and if that wasn't important, Sirius didn't know what
was. There would be words – or likely spells – between him and his supposed 'friend' if or
when Sirius managed to get out.

And if Remus was truly working for the other side, then that put Harry's safety in doubt.
Sirius had a hard time imagining Remus letting any harm come to Harry, but the manhad just
let his supposed best friend and girlfriend walk into a death trap... Sirius' fists clenched, but
he forced himself to calm down. Kreacher'd been off when Sirius spoke to him earlier, but
Sirius knew he'd never let any harm come to Harry; he was reasonably sure Kreacher would
blast him through a wall if he so much as tried, and that anyone else with malicious intentions
would fare far, far worse.

I've got to make sure, though, Sirius thought. Earlier, when he'd Flooed, he'd been worried,
but not scared. He was scared now. Level Two didn't have fireplaces, because it was such a
security risk – Aurors could be overheard discussing cases, and anyone or thing could be let
into the headquarters of Ministerial defence without being checked first – but other floors had
no such qualms, and this office, thankfully, rested on one such floor, though there wasn't a
fireplace in the office Sirius had chosen.

The Atrium had been a better place to attempt to Floo; Flooing was dangerous anywhere, but
he'd thought it'd be safer from the Atrium, since it was so open that he – or, as it had been,
Marlene - would at least see an enemy preparing to attack before they had the chance to do
so. There were also several doors to other parts of the Minsitry leading off of the Atrium,
which made it good for escapes.

Office levels were far less desirable; they were littered with offices and cubicles – perfect
hiding places for even the most inexperienced attackers – and lots of dead ends. Anyone
could creep up behind him, and have him backed into a corner before he even realised they
were there. And if things had managed to get messy in the Atrium, he could only imagine
how horrendously things had the potential to go if he attempted to use the Floo on an office
floor.

But I'll have to risk it, he thought, sighing.

He got up, wand gripped tightly, and crept to the door. Ostendere me omnia, he thought, and
when he couldn't see anyone's magic through the walls, he let the sight fade and stepped out.
He glanced up and down the corridor, and a shiny nameplate caught his attention. Fudge's
office. For the same reasons that there weren't fireplaces on Level Two, there wasn't one in
Fudge's office... there was, however, one in the office alongside; the one belonging to his
Senior Undersecretary.

Sirius hurried across the corridor, unlocked the door, and slipped inside. This office was
much plainer than the one he'd vacated. Barty Crouch had always been a very plain man, and
his office reflected as much. There was a highly polished desk with nothing but a clock and
an inkwell on it, a neatly packed, well-stocked bookcase, and a fireplace, above which rested
a pot of Floo Powder, and an award for services to the Ministry during the war.

There were no photographs of his son or wife around the room, but then, Sirius wouldn't have
expected that; Crouch had sentenced his own son to life in Azkaban and probably wasn't the
sentimental sort.

Sirius tossed a handful of Floo Powder in, whispered the address, and then leaned into the
flames. All that he saw, however, when the flames moved, was the back of the fireplace.
Sirius jerked back without thinking, and then watched as a hand snatched at the place where
he had been. He doused the flames with his wand and ran for the door, knowing it was only a
matter of time before someone found him.

He retreated back to his hiding place beneath the desk in the pink office; it was far enough
away from Crouch's office that he wouldn't be stumbled upon, but close enough that they'd
assume it was silly to check for him.

So the Floo's blocked, he thought grimly, and tried not to let that worry him; it seemed there
were fewer and fewer ways out. Never mind.

"Kreacher," Sirius whispered, but the CRACK never came. Chills raced down Sirius' spine.
"Kreacher!" he hissed, but several seconds later, he was still the office's only occupant.
"Kreacher, this is an order!" Still nothing. "Come here, now, or it'll be clothes!"

It brought back rather unpleasant memories of Noddy – James' old house elf – who'd been
killed in their seventh year, so that she wouldn't be able to locate James when he was taken
by Death Eaters.

But Kreacher can't be dead, Sirius thought, refusing to believe it. There had to be a reason for
Kreacher to be ignoring him... maybe he was busy- You threatened him with clothes, Sirius
reminded himself. He shook his head. Maybe he had orders not to. The voice in Sirius' head
snorted, and said, Orders? From who? The only people he has any real obligation to are you
and Harry.

Shut up, Sirius told himself, cradling his head in his hands. He forced himself to focus, before
he went mad with worry, and started mentally running through old lessons he'd learned in the
Order, and as an Auror. One in particular, seemed appropriate.

Help who you can, he thought grimly. The Anti-Apparition wards still covered the Ministry,
the Floo was down and he thought it was safe to assume the visitor's exit would have been
blocked or destroyed. And now Kreacher couldn't help him either. And, given that they'd
been so careful with everything else, it was probably safe to assume there were Portkey
repulsion charms in action too... Leaving the Ministry wasn't looking like a viable option.

That meant that Marlene was now his first priority. They'd been separated for the best part of
half an hour, which meant she could be anywhere, and in any state, but Sirius suspected she
was hurt; she'd been moving awkwardly in the Atrium, but had also jumped down a lift shaft.
At the very least, she'd have a few grazes, and at the worst... well, he'd rather not think about
it. But, given that, she was probably still in the lift shafts – which did, admittedly, span the
entirety of the Ministry - either unable, or unwilling to move too far... though that relied on
the assumption that the Serpent Sworn hadn't managed to catch up with her already.

Only one way to find out, he thought, drawing his wand. Expect-

Marlene had obviously beaten him to it; for the second time that day, the silvery lioness
appeared. This time, though, it didn't snarl; there was a soft hum as she materialised in the
office, and Sirius watched her huge paws through the space between the floor and the desk.
She came to stand behind the desk, and look at him from the other side of the desk chair.

Her tail flicked and her ears swivelled around; Sirius' experience with cats was limited to
Tufty and McGonagall, but he still thought that she looked nervous.

"Sirius," she said, whispered, "I'm-" Marlene's voice faltered, and she made a small, pained
noise. Sirius' fists clenched. "Level Three, I think." Another gasp. "Follow me."

Follow...? he wondered, and then the lioness stood. When she didn't disappear, and instead
padded over to the door, Sirius worked out what she wanted.

"Okay," he said, and pulled open the door. She slipped out, moving silently down the corridor
toward the lift shaft. Sirius looked both ways and saw the hem of a cloak disappear around
the corner mere feet away. He swore under his breath and watched as the lioness continued,
oblivious.

Damn it, he thought. He glanced at the corner once more, and then hurried after the Patronus.
They didn't encounter anyone else between then office and the lift, and Sirius was quick to
open the doors, conjure rungs, climb in, and shut them again. The lioness winked out of
existence at the top, and then reappeared at the bottom, looking impatient.

It took Sirius five minutes to reach Marlene, through the maze of tunnels, and once the
lioness almost led him straight into the clutches of a group of three Serpent Sworn, who were
skulking about in the Level Two shafts. They were probably looking for Marlene as well, and
so Sirius made sure he knew which way the lioness was headed before he sealed off the shaft.
With any luck, they wouldn't even know there was supposed to be a tunnel there.

Eventually, the lioness stopped, right where two shafts intersected. Sirius glanced around, and
then the sound of movement caught his attention. Marlene was there, wand pointed at him,
leaning against one of the shadowy stone walls.

"Lily's cat's name," she said breathlessly.

"Tufty," Sirius said. Marlene nodded and then winced, her hands jumping to her side. She slid
a few inches down the wall, and Sirius forced himself to stay where he was. "The name I
used when I came to break you out?"

"Ebony Hunt," she said. Sirius hurried forward and pulled her into a hug that was as much to
keep her upright as it was for affectionate purposes. She didn't even protest; she just looped
her arms around his neck, and rested her chin on his shoulder. She was trembling with the
effort of holding on. Sirius awkwardly – because she was almost as tall as he was - lowered
her to the ground.

"Where?" he said.

"Lumos," she said in a shaky voice. Sirius almost dropped her; she had a huge, weeping graze
that ran from her temple to the corner of her mouth. She had something similar on her
forearms – both of them – and her hands were ruined; she had very little skin left on her
palms, and her fingertips and fingernails were shredded. "When I jumped, I had to slide
down..." she explained, as Sirius peeled her wand off her sticky palm. He pulled the bag of
supplies off his bag, wondering why she hadn't used hers. "I can't get it off," she said,
guessing his question before he could asked it.

Sirius healed her hands with a combination of spells and Dittany. He had to trim her
fingernails down since he didn't know how to fix them with magic, and suspected they'd be
tender, but that she would, at least, be able to use her hands. He fixed her face, and caught
himself lingering at the corner of her mouth, rubbing in the last of the Dittany, when he
probably didn't need to. Marlene cleared her throat and Sirius shuffled back a bit. Marlene
then reached down and lifted her jumper. Sirius turned away, but she smacked his shoulder,
and then sucked in a breath, as if the movement had hurt.

"Firstly, it's nothing you haven't seen before," she said, sounding a bit more like herself; irate,
"and secondly, I'd rather like you to fix what's there, and you can't do that if you won't look at
me."

Sirius looked, and then winced. Between each of her ribs was a long, thin cut – most were
already drying – and none of them had bled too badly, but they definitely looked sore; it was
the sort of injury that would be uncomfortable and restrict movement, rather than cause
severe damage on its own.

"Hex," she said. "In the Atrium."

Sirius fixed her torso more easily than the rest of her; they were only shallow injuries.
Marlene rolled her shoulders and stretched a bit, obviously testing her movement.

"All right?" he said, and she nodded, her dark eyes flicking up to meet his.

"Thanks." She smiled, and it was a real smile, not the wry, lopsided sort of smiles he's been
getting from her since she'd left prison. Sirius smiled back, and reached out to squeeze her
hand, which was resting on the floor between them. Marlene's smile faded a bit, and she
squeezed back, and then pulled her hand away. Sirius let her. "S-"

That was when the shaft rumbled; not a rumble, like the sound of a lift coming, but a rumble
like an earthquake. In fact, Sirius suspected that was the type of spell which had just gone off.
Marlene's fingers dug into his arm – out of shock, or because she thought she might fall over
otherwise, he couldn't be sure – and Sirius himself sat very still, looking for the source.

He found it; a cloaked figure, moving through the shaft toward them, wand glowing in their
hand.
"Hold my chain," Sirius said out of the side of his mouth. "And keep casting every few
seconds, before it can wear off."

"Wh-"

"Caligo," he shouted, and then stuffed his wand away, and transformed. He pressed his nose
into Marlene's hand and she felt along his head to his neck, where his collar rested. Her hand
tightened. Then Padfoot took off, with her stumbling along behind him. He used his nose,
mostly, since he couldn't see a thing, but he could hear the footsteps behind them – their
attacker was in pursuit – and he had some idea of where the walls were, based on memory; he
was running back the way the Patronus had led him.

They needed to get ahead, or at least find a better place to have this fight; if they started
throwing spells around in the tunnels – which were only about as wide as Sirius was tall, and
only about a foot taller than he was - one was bound to ricochet and hit them. They might get
their attacker, but they'd also be just as likely to get each other.

"Caligo," Marlene said. Padfoot heard a low voice – so they were a man, whoever they were
– mutter a spell, and then sensed, rather than heard the spell coming toward them. He threw
himself to the ground, and Marlene dropped down beside him and whispered, "Caligo." The
fog cleared for enough time that Padfoot could see the pale blue spell soaring over their
heads, and then closed in again. He pushed himself upright, claws scrabbling for purchase on
the stone, and trying to half lead-half drag Marlene with him. She got the point quickly, and
lurched to her feet.

Another spell whizzed past Padfoot's shoulder and a wall grew out of the floor up ahead.
Padfoot turned down a side shaft, hating that he was letting the Serpent Sworn manoeuvre
him, but really, what choice did he have? The rattle of the tags on his chain, Marlene's
strained breathing and her regular "Caligo" and their pursuer's quick, uneven footsteps all
echoed off the stone walls, like an eerie sort of battle music.

A cool breeze hit Padfoot's face, and his instincts recognised the danger before his head did;
he skidded to a stop, a mere three feet from the edge of a vertical shaft that went Merlin-
knew-how-far-down. Marlene was a second late in realising the problem, and stopped two
feet from the edge, and only because Padfoot dug his paws in to slow her down.

"Time to give up, I think," their attacker said, stalking closer through the clearing fog; he had
a Shield Charm held in front of him, and walked toward them slowly, as if he didn't want to
startle them. He held out his other hand. "Wands on the ground." Padfoot glanced up at
Marlene, whose jaw was clenched. "That'll mean changing, Black."

Padfoot morphed slowly back into Sirius, and pulled his wand out of his pocket. He had no
intention of handing it over, but knew he couldn't hurt the Serpent Sworn man through his
Shield Charm – anything he used would come right back at him and Marlene – but also knew
it was two against one... their odds were good if it came to a fight, and the man couldn't hurt
them without dropping his Shield Charm...

Marlene glanced at Sirius. Smouldering was really the only word he could think of to
describe her eyes; he thought – if it was possible – they looked about ready to shoot sparks.
But then, she stepped slowly past him, wand extended in obvious submission.

"Mar-" Her chin came up, in a way he knew meant don't argue, and so he closed his mouth,
tightened his grip on his own wand, and watched helplessly. The man didn't lower his Shield
Charm; Marlene reached through it – obviously it was a Shield Charm that stopped spells, not
any object it came into contact with – her wand held out in offering.

Sirius realised what she was going to do about a second before it happened; as the hooded
man reached for her wand, her other hand curled into a fist. Her punch passed through the
Shield Charm without resistance and caught the man square in the side of the face. Sirius
guessed it was roughly where his cheekbone would be, and that it had considerable force
behind it, because his Shield Charm faltered and he staggered backward with a groan of pain.

"Marly, move! Procellus!" Marlene leaped aside and Sirius' spell whirled toward the man,
gathering speed and size as it went. Marlene's hair and robes whipped around as the vortex of
air passed her, and enveloped the Serpent Sworn member, who hadn't been able to get his
wand up in time to stop it.

"Up or down?" Marlene asked, gesturing to the shaft behind Sirius.

"Up," he said. Since they were no longer trying to be sneaky, and they needed to be quick, he
flicked his wand at the wall, and had a stone platform grow out of it. It caused the whole
tunnel to rumble, and then cracked like thunder when he severed it. He was just about to step
on, when lightning followed, bursting out of the vortex behind them, and crackled around the
shaft. Sirius felt heat, and then was knocked off his feet by a sharp shockwave.

Marlene made a furious noise from somewhere on his left, and there was a clatter as a wand
fell. Sirius rolled onto his side in time to see the man release Marlene. She fell to the floor,
limp and unmoving, and Sirius crawled to her side, ignoring the man for the moment. He,
Sirius realised detachedly, didn't seem to mind; he just watched from beneath his hood as
Sirius felt for a pulse and found none.

"No," he croaked. He held his hand above Marlene's nose, hoping to feel a whisper of breath,
but none came. He shook his head, trying to keep it together. His eyes were stinging.

"Last man standing," the Serpent Sworn man said softly, from above him. Sirius understood
the implications; the Aurors and the trainees – Dora, Mad-Eye, Robards, Scrimgeour, all of
them – were all either dead, or captured. He refused to think about that in any more depth.
Not now.

"No," Sirius said. He reached for Marlene's hand, and hoped that the movement distracted the
man from Sirius' other hand, which had just curled around his wand.

"Ah, ah," he said, flicking his wand, and Sirius' hand – which he'd lifted, ready to cast a spell
- spasmed. His wand rolled away, and Sirius tried to lunge after it, but was hit in the chest by
a line of air that felt more like a bar of steel. He hit the wall, gasping, and wondered, not for
the first time in his life, if he was about to die. "Better," the man said, approvingly.
Sirius glared at him, and then his eyes flicked down to Marlene. She'd never been an overly
restless person, but seeing her so still... she'd already escaped what he'd thought was a real
death once, years ago, except this time, he didn't think she was coming back. This time, he
could see her body. His throat felt very thick all of a sudden.

"Harry," he choked, unable to take his eyes off Marlene.

"Pardon?" the man asked, almost politely, picking at the large, golden insignia on his cloak.

"Harry." Sirius' eyes flicked up to the man. "Is he alive?" The man's head was tilted to the
side, as if he was trying to figure Sirius out. Sirius wondered why he hadn't just killed him.

"Yes," the man answered after a pause.

Hope flared in Sirius' chest, stronger, and more desperate than any Patronus. He couldn't die
here, not if Harry was still alive, not if he was all that Harry had left. And where hope grew,
so did magic. It burst out of Sirius, lighting up the shaft, blasting the Serpent Sworn man
back and out of the way. Sirius felt his strength fade, the way it always did after accidental
magic, but he forced himself up, snatched up his wand and shoved past to the tunnels they'd
come through.

His legs trembled, and his sides hurt – he'd done a lot of running and climbing, and used a lot
of magic – but he pushed on.

Until something hard and warm – a spell – hit him in the back and the stone rushed up to
meet him.

"...mental... absolutely mental, the lot of you!" someone said loudly. Sirius stirred, and then
flailed as something stung his face. A hand caught his and pushed it down. "For Merlin's
sake, sit still!" Someone chuckled, and Sirius, recognising the chuckle, forced his eyes open.

He was in a familiar office – Scrimgeour's office, in fact – and the man in question sat
opposite him, wearing a pair of Serpent Sworn robes. His hood, however, was lowered, and
Scrimgeour's tawny eyes surveyed him with interest through his glasses. Sirius' hand jumped
to his pocket, and whoever was fussing over his head made a noise of disapproval and flicked
his ear. Sirius winced, and tried to stand up.

"Sit down, Black," Scrimgeour said calmly. He pulled two wands out of his pocket - one was
Sirius', one was his own – and placed them on the desk between them. Sirius reached for his,
but Scrimgeour blocked his hand.

"Yes-" Leatherby the Healer who'd wanted to Obliviate Harry following the Dementor attack
on their cell before the trial, scowled down at him. Then, he put his hands on Sirius' shoulders
and forced him back into his chair. "-do sit down, Black!" He then poked Sirius' forehead
with his wand – far more roughly than was necessary – but that was the least of Sirius'
worries.

"It was you!" Sirius said, staring at the Serpent Sworn sigil.
"Very original, Black, we haven't heard that epiphany thirty times today," Leatherby
muttered. Scrimgeour looked amused.

"Well?"

"Exhausted," Leatherby said, in a clipped voice. "But he'll live." Scrimgeour nodded and
gestured to the door. Leatherby left, talking loudly about how mental Aurors were.

"You?" Sirius repeated, still not entirely sure what was happening. The door clicked shut
behind Leatherby, and Sirius fixed his full attention on Scrimgeour, who leaned back in his
chair and steepled his fingers. "It was you?"

It did, of course, make a lot of sense; Scrimgeour's office was where he – or Harry – had first
seen the symbol and had first heard the name... Scrimgeour was the one who'd fought about it
with Amelia, after the trainees had been dismissed from their lesson.

Scrimgeour was in a senior enough position to secure the Ministry for an afternoon, was
senior enough that any news of the Serpent Sworn would have gone straight to him, so that
he could change tactics, so that he could stay one step in front... Scrimgeour, who was used to
coordinating soldiers, would have no problem managing a fighting force...

Scrimgeour, who everyone trusted, because he was so fair, and so calm, who Sirius had
trusted, because Scrimgeour had testified for him in his trial-

"Yes. Me," Scrimgeour said simply, scratching his nose. He shifted. "Well, me, the senior
members of our current Auror team, and a few others." Sirius blinked.

"You've lost me," Sirius admitted.

"Well if we called ourselves 'The Aurors', or 'Scrimgeour's Secret Society', I think it would
have been too obvious, don't you?" Scrimgeour's lips twitched up into a small smile.

"Probably," Sirius said faintly. "But- you? Blackburn was killed, Mad-Eye and Robards were
fakes and Marlene-" Sirius forced his voice to work, and when it did, it came out far louder
than he'd anticipated. "You killed her, I watched her di-" Scrimgeour held up a hand, and
Sirius fell silent because he was unarmed, and Scrimgeour seemed content to talk rather than
kill him.

"Did you see Blackburn die?"

"No, but Hemsley told-"

"Yes, Hemsley; an Auror, told you." Scrimgeour laced his fingers together and leaned back
again. Sirius eyed the wands on the desk, but they didn't seem to be going anywhere, and he
was getting answers. "I'll bet you never even questioned it." Sirius clenched his jaw.

"And Marlene?" he bit out. "I watched-"

"Draught of Living Death on the tip of my wand," Scrimgeour said. "Powerful potion;
anyone examining the body – like you did – would assume she was dead, because magic
conceals the pulse and the breath." He checked his Sidekick. "She should be awake by now."
Even if Sirius had something to say to that – he was too busy trying not to get caught up in
the desperate hope now sparking in his chest like fireworks – Scrimgeour didn't give him the
chance. "Robards was Robards; he only pretended otherwise when you became suspicious.
And Moody took Polyjuice Potion to change, rather than being an imposter whose potion
wore off."

"And Amelia?" Sirius asked. "She was-"

"-able to put her time away from the office to good use, visiting family members, and
catching up on paperwork." Scrimgeour smiled. "I think she's reluctant to come back."

"Someone used a Killing Curse, though, in the Atrium-"

"I should hope not," Scrimgeour said, rather coolly. Sirius crossed his arms. "Sparks, Black,
in the exact shade of green. We were throwing a few dangerous spells around, I admit, but
nothing like that. A few broken bones, or scratches, or burns are to be expected – on both
sides-" Scrimgeour rubbed his cheek, which, Sirius noticed, was a shade darker than the rest
of his face, and beginning to swell; Marlene had always had a strong punch. "-but we weren't
angling for fatalities. We're all reasonable with healing, and we had a few real Healers-" He
gestured to the door that Leatherby had exited through earlier. "-in case anything got out of
hand."

"All right," Sirius said, thinking - very tentatively – that he believed Scrimgeour now. "So,
other than the fact that you, and everyone else in this department is completely barmy...
why?"

"Why?"

"Why stage this? Why hurt people – even if it's not permanent? Why-"

"We are – as I do hope you've noticed and taken the time to appreciate – no longer living in
wartime. Sometimes it's easy to forget that there's real danger out there, and not just petty
thieves and people too stupid to employ common sense to find the line between legal and
illegal." Scrimgeour curled his lip. "It's all very well to practice everything that we do, but if
a trainee can't use it in a real situation, why bother teaching it in the first place?"

"So, you made me think my best friend had betrayed me, my godson was in danger, and
made me watch another friend 'die' to-" Sirius shook his head, took a deep breath, and than
asked, "It was a test?"

"Well, yes," Scrimgeour said, not seeming bothered at all. Sirius supposed he shouldn't have
expected anything else; Aurors thought differently, brutally, and... well, not emotionally. That
wasn't to say they were cruel, but they certainly didn't care about a few mental or physical
scars... they'd say it was character building. "The biggest so far," Scrimgeour added, looking
proud. "Three years ago, we attacked each trainee individually, in their homes, and tracked
them, and kept them on their toes for as long as we could, until they lost. Six years ago, we
kidnapped them, again individually, gave them the opportunity to escape – to see if they
could spot it - and then hunted them down."
"Why the group this year?" Sirius asked. "Why not the same-"

"You," Scrimgeour said. "After your trial there was no reason – other than you being out of
practice – that you shouldn't be able to have your old job back. Trust me when I say it's not
favouritism, on my part, in wanting you back, but more the fact that it's unfair notto give you
the chance...

"Of course 'no problem' in inviting you back, quickly becomes 'many' when politics are
involved, and since I'm not opposed to naming names, neither Fudge, Crouch or Umbridge
were pleased by my suggestion. I've managed to win the Auror Department a fair bit of
independence since I took it over-" He nodded in a respectful sort of way at Sirius, and Sirius
knew he was referring to his predecessor, Charlus Potter. "-but not enough to go against them
when I've been so clearly refused... But then, of course, Slytherins – like Gryffindors-" He
gave another, respectful nod in Sirius' direction. "-tend to view 'No' as a challenge."

Sirius grinned, unable to help himself.

"Robards approached you for help with McKinnon without me knowing about it, but when I
did find out, I gave him permission to carry on working with you. I think he was surprised,
actually, but I was hoping that you'd find McKinnon and that I could use that to justify your
return to the Department... And then McKinnon came back on her own." Scrimgeour eyed
him through his spectacles. "I have no doubt that you were involved, but Robards didn't file
an official report on how – and, frankly, I think it's better we don't know-"

"Probably," Sirius agreed. Scrimgeour looked amused.

"-but because of that, there was no way to credit you for it. We could have pulled strings to
get you into the Program, but you've done that, and I imagine you'd be insulted by the offer...
so we had to test you, for different things than the trainees. On top of everything the trainees
were assessed on, we had to see if you could lead, and that's awfully hard to do in an
individual task; that was why, this year, we kept everyone together."

"I didn't lead."

"You tried to," Scrimgeour said. "You stepped up, when no one else did, and the others would
have followed you, if it wasn't for Hemsley. Him showing up was a test in itself, to see
whether you could submit to authority."

"You lot," Sirius said faintly, "have far, far too much time on your hands-"

"And you," Scrimgeour said, "now have far less."

"-Shouldn't you be, you know, arresting gits in Knockturn Alley, instead of setting up
conspiracies against your own trainees?" Sirius blinked. "Pardon?"

Remus and Harry were waiting impatiently in front of Grimmauld's kitchen fireplace. Both
were checking their watches every few minutes, and both spent the rest of their time sharing
nervous looks with each other, and staring at the flames. Kreacher was pacing behind them,
rubbing his ears; he'd almost twisted them off when Sirius had summoned him, even though
Harry had been right there to offer counter-orders and to assure him there would be no
clothes (though Remus noticed he was wearing a brand new, red and green tea towel, which
much have been a Christmas present).

The floorboard by the front door squeaked, and Remus was on his feet in an instant. Harry
gave him a worried look, and Remus sat down again; best to not be standing, because when
Sirius punched him, he'd fall further.

Sirius' shoes appeared at the top of the stairs, and then his legs appeared, and then his torso,
and then, finally, his face, which was pale, and rather dirty. His eyes didn't really seem to be
focused on anything. Sirius collapsed on the bottom of the stairs. Remus and Harry
exchanged shocked looks and leapt out of their chairs.

"Padfoot?" Harry asked, looking terrified. Kreacher stood behind him, twisting his ears again.

"Sirius?" Remus said, drawing his wand. "Rennervate. Sirius?!" Sirius stirred, but his face
was still drained of colour, and his eyes were squinty. Remus leaned closer, just as Harry
twitched and turned to Kreacher. "What happened?"

"Remus," he said, feebly, coughing. Then he winced and pressed his hands to his side. They
came away bloody. Remus sucked in a breath, and pulled the side of Sirius' jumper up to
check the wound. It looked rather like something had taken a chunk out of his side. Bile rose
in Remus' throat, but he pushed it down.

"Dittany, Harry," he said urgently. "Quicky." Harry, who was staring at the wound with a
strange sort of curiosity, got up and made his way over to the pantry. He seemed far calmer
than Remus. "What- Sirius, what happened?"

"It was a trap," Sirius croaked, "Scrimgeour- he- I only just got out- everyone was dying,
Remus; Marlene, and Dora-" Remus' heart stopped, and tears gleamed in Sirius' eyes. "-there
was nothing I could-" Sirius whimpered and doubled over.

"No," he said, his face crumpling, "no, Sirius, it was a test, it wasn't supposed to- Dora's not-
she can't be, it was only a test, Sirius-"

"Here," Harry said, pressing the Dittany into his hands.

"A test?" Sirius gasped. Remus' hands were shaking so much he was having difficulty
opening the bottle. Harry was leaning against the kitchen table, watching calmly. "Of what?"

"The Aurors were going to test you and the trainees," Remus babbled, giving up; he used his
wand to open the Dittany. "That's all it was supposed to-" Sirius' ragged breathing stopped
and he went still. Remus froze, the Dittany hold halfway between Remus and the horrendous
injury on Sirius' side. "N-"

"Catch," Sirius' voice said, from above him, and Remus looked up through blurry eyes to see
something golden soaring toward him. He caught it reflexively, and set the Dittany down
beside Sirius, who'd sat up and was looking more and more like his grinning girlfriend in his
best friend's too-big-robes as each second passed. The real Sirius trotted down the stairs in his
socks, carrying Dora's Balance Boots. He hugged Harry, who didn't seem at all surprised to
see him. Remus wiped his eyes, and flopped back onto the floor with a groan.

"Serves you right for sending us off without warning us," Dora said, but she didn't sound
angry. In fact, when Remus glanced up, she was smiling down at him. "And I love my
present, but the way, but do you know how bloody hard it is to try to sneak around with this-"
She pulled the Sneakoscope out of her pocket. "-going off every thirty seconds?"

"I'm impressed it's still in one piece," Sirius said. Dora poked her tongue out at him.

"It's wrapped in every unbreakable charm I could find," Remus said. "It might as well be
diamond." Dora just arched an eyebrow at him. "I know it's noisy... I just wanted to give you
a warning, or, well, something that might help." She smiled at him, and he returned it a little
nervously; he didn't regret not telling them – it had been a test, after all – but he worried they
might hold it against him. "Not going to punch me?" Remus asked, semi-seriously, glancing
at Sirius.

"Nah," Sirius said. Remus tentatively got to his feet. "I was... uh... less than impressed when I
thought you'd betrayed us and, well, sent us to our deaths-" Remus grimaced. "-but
Scrimgeour told me he made you promise not to give anything away, or get involved."

"I wanted to say something," Remus said honestly, "but what sort of spontaneous test is it if
you know it's coming? And you were under a lot of scrutiny; if they even thoughtthat I'd told
you, they might have changed their minds about testing-"

"It's fine," Sirius said. "Really." He grinned. "It worked out pretty well." He nodded to the
golden thing; Remus was surprised to find he was still holding it, but held it up for a closer
look. It was a Sidekick, a shiny, new one, with Auror Sirius Black embossed on the front of it.

Harry moved around Dora to get a better look. Remus tossed it to him, and Harry caught it
effortlessly, turned it over in his hands, and grinned.

"Congratulations," Remus said, clapping Sirius on the back. "Well done, Siriu-"

"That's Auror Black to you, Lupin," Sirius said, smirking.

"Oh, here we go," Harry muttered.

"Oi!" Sirius said, reaching over to mess Harry's hair up. Remus didn't see the rest; he knew it
involved a yelp – he couldn't say whose – and that Kreacher started yelling at them all for
dinner, but Dora had caught his eye, and smiled in that happy, slightly silly way of hers.
Remus honestly thought the only appropriate response was to kiss her.

"Happy Christmas," he murmured against her mouth, and he felt her smile, and saw her hair
turn yellow, like the sun, before she pulled him closer by his Prongs-covered tie.
 Breached borders

If someone had told Sirius two days ago, that he'd be sitting in Marlene's house with a cup of
tea, he'd have been skeptical. If they'd told him that Marlene would be furious, he'd have
believed them much more easily.

"-not a big deal?!" she demanded; she wasn't sitting, like Sirius was; she was stalking around
the living room, rather like her Patronus might. She was still a bit pale from the potion
yesterday, but she was alive and she was a little bit scary. "Sirius, they manipulated us!"

"To test us," he said. She gave him a scathing look.

"What's wrong with a written exam? Or starting a duel for no reason?" Sirius sipped his tea.
"They made us think we were all going to die! In fact, they made me think I did die! Do you
have any idea how horrible it felt, to feel nothing, and watch everything fade away and know
that I was abandoning you-"

"Aww, Marly, I didn't know you cared," he said, grinning at her.

"Of course I care," she said stiffly, and his attempt to lighten the mood failed miserably.
"They made us think it was Voldemort, Sirius, and they chased us and hexed us and terrified
all of us and now that's okay because it's a test?!"

"I'm not saying it was fun," he said coolly, and she crossed her arms and lifted her chin. "But
that's just what they do; they're trying to prepare us for what's out-"

"Yesterday, what's out there was them," Marlene snapped. "How's that supposed to help
anything; our mentors, people we trusted lied to us- Remus knew, Sirius, you've already said
that, and he lied to your face-"

"What was he supposed to say?" Sirius asked, jumping to Remus' defence. "It wasn't like I
didn't know he was lying; I knew something was up. But if he'd said anything, then I wouldn't
have taken it seriously, and I'd probably have said something to you, and to Dora, and Dora's
a Hufflepuff, so she'd have told bloody everybody to make them feel better." He grinned
fondly, but Marlene was not appeased. "I'm glad he didn't tell me. I wouldn't have taken it
seriously." He'd lost far too many points in the arena for not taking things seriously, and
wasn't entirely sure that he'd learned his lesson. "It was extreme, sure, and yes, it brought
back a few awful memories-"

"Oh, just one or two," Marlene said sarcastically, and flopped nto the couch opposite Sirius,
with her hands at her temples.

"-for us. The others don't have that. You think Brown's ever been properly scared? Or that
Edwards knows anything about Death Eaters that hasn't been taught to her in a lecture?
They'd have been scared, sure, but it's different for them-"

"So different makes it okay?" Marlene asked.

"If that had been real," Sirius said flatly, "we'd all be dead. It's not a nice thing to know, but
it's true. We made stupid mistakes because we're out of practice, and the trainees made stupid
mistakes because they don't know what it's really like when things get bad. And yes, it was
bloody cruel to make them think that their friends were dead-"

Sirius made the conscious decision not to tell her what he'd dreamed about last night; it
wouldn't help his case.

"-or that they were dead, but they're going to be Aurors. Their friends are going to die, and
this isn't a job with a low mortality rate. And I bet most of them haven't even considered that
properly." He shrugged in a helpless sort of way. "This time, they got their friends back. They
get another chance. We know better than anyone that it doesn't work like that on the outside."

"You're already thinking like them," Marlene said quietly. Her voice didn't contain
condemnation, as he'd half expected; it was just heavy, resigned.

"I used to be one." Sirius took a sip of his forgotten tea. "It's not hard to slip into old habits
again. I wouldn't design a test like that – no bloody way – but I'm not going to hold it against
the Aurors. They're not the enemy, Marly, even if they do have some unorthodox teaching
methods."

"I still don't like it," she said, dourly. Sirius smiled.

"Then when you're fully qualified, you can change things."

"I will," she said, and he didn't doubt it.

"So how're you feeling?" he asked. That was why he'd come in the first place.

"A bit lethargic," she said, shrugging. "But I've had worse, and I was only under for half an
hour, so the effects won't be long lasting at all."

"Good." Something that Sirius hadn't been able to stop thinking about for the last day made
its way to the front of his mind. "So, er, when did your Patronus change?"

"I don't know," she said, apparently unable to make eye-contact; she stared very fixedly at her
hands, which were clasped tightly around her teacup. "Sometime before I made it into the
Program; it was that way in the interview."

"Was it a lioness before... you know, before-" Me. "-the Order?"

"No," she said, softly. "No, it was always a dog." She cleared her throat awkwardly. "It was-
the way you change is-" She paused, apparently searching for the right word. "-brilliant." She
smiled in a shy sort of way. "I'd heard you could... Gawain told me about the trial, when I
came back from prison, but seeing it... It looks so easy."

"It is," Sirius said. "It wasn't to start with; I had to say an incantation every time, until my
magic and my body got used to it, and it bloody hurt, but now I just think about it and I
morph." He shrugged. "It's a useful trick."
"I'll say." Marlene glanced at the clock above the fireplace. She hesitated. "Did you want to
stay for dinner, or-"

"Kreacher's probably expecting me," Sirius said automatically. "Thanks, but-"

"No, that's fine," Marlene said. She actually looked relieved, and perhaps a bit curious. "I'll
see you around the Department, I'm sure. Who've they put you with?"

"Hemsley," Sirius said. "Someone's got a sense of humour, putting me with him and Brown;
Hemsley, Black and Brown..." Marlene had an odd, amused expression on her face.
"Hemsley should be all right." Nowhere near as good as James had been, but who could be?
"It's the kid I'm worried about... bit of a git, as far as I can tell." He was, in all honesty, still a
bit annoyed by Brown's civilian comment.

"You'll get used to each other."

"Yeah," Sirius said. He put his teacup down and stood. "Well, I'd better head home. I'm glad
you're all right."

As soon as Sirius had mentioned Kreacher, Marlene hadn't been able to shake her suspicion.
She let him out, and then went straight back to her sitting room; that window overlooked the
street. She watched Sirius, and no, it wasn't spying, she told herself, she just wanted to make
sure he got home safely... and find out if his home was where she suspected it to be.

Sure enough, Sirius walked toward Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, up the front path, and
promptly vanished on the doorstep. Marlene moved away from the window, smiling to
herself. She and Gawain had searched every inch of that place, and found no signs of him...
and he'd probably been right there, been her neighbour, since he first took Harry. And she'd
had no idea.

Marlene couldn't keep the amused smile off her face as she wandered to the kitchen to make
herself something for dinner.

To most, an open door wasn't cause for immediate alarm. To Dolores, it was, however; it was
the cause of her stopping in the hallway opposite Crouch's office, it was what would have
caused Prewett to walk into the back of her, had Prewett been anything but her quick self, and
it was what caused an uncomfortable, bubbling, sensation to rise in her chest.

Prewett straightened the folders Dolores had her carrying, and glanced between her and the
door. Dolores thought she might have seen her eyes roll, but the next thing she knew, the little
trainee had dumped the folders in Dolores' arms, drawn her wand, and stalked forward.

She disappeared into the office and then called, "It's empty."

"Madam," Dolores said, approaching the doorway. "It's empty, Madam." She gave the folders
back to Prewett who carried them to the desk without a word, and set them down. "It won't
do for you to seem too familiar, dear. They might ask uncomfortable questions." Dolores
smiled and Prewett turned and smiled back.

"Sorry," she said, still smiling. "I wasn't thinking." Prewett's smile widened until Dolores
worried it might split the girl's face. "Madam." Dolores beamed, but it didn't last long. She
had more pressing concerns; her chair had been moved, and there was a dirty smudge on the
pale pink carpet beneath her desk, and the kittens on the walls had started making distressed
noises as soon as they spotted her. Her filing cabinet looked untouched, but she couldn't be
sure, and that was what concerned her most, because she kept everything in it. With the files
in there, the right person could ruin her career.

"Hem hem," she said, getting Prewett's attention. The girl raised an eyebrow. Dolores
straightened the bow in her hair. "Why don't you use those skills I let you learn by keeping
you in the Program, to find out who's been in here," Dolores said. She didn't really think
Prewett would decline, or lie because she'd been nothing but obedient since Dolores took her
under her wing, but it was best to be safe.

"Of course." Prewett smiled again. "Madam." She flicked her wand. Dolores couldn't see
anything, but Prewett's eyes darted around, following invisible traces. She bit her lip after a
moment, and then shook her head. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don-"

"I don't know," she said. "It's been hours since anyone was here, and they didn't really touch
anything or use any magic."

"How long ago?" Dolores asked. "Exactly."

"Nineteen hours," Prewett said hesitantly.

"Christmas afternoon," Dolores said. She, like everyone else in the Ministry had been
told not to come to work yesterday because the Aurors were running some sort of dangerous
simulation. And, while Scrimgeour didn't even hold as much political power as Amelia
Bones, what he said tended to be listened to, and the instructions he gave tended to be
obeyed. Which meant the only people in the Ministry yesterday, at the time her office had
been broken into, were Aurors, and Auror trainees. "Change of plans, dear," Dolores said.
"You can have the afternoon off."

Prewett looked doubtful and said, "But-"

"Something's come up, and it simply must be taken care of. I'll see you here, at nine
tomorrow morning. Good girl." She ushered Prewett toward the door, and locked it behind
her. Then, she went over to her desk, and quickly wrote a letter to the Department of Magical
Records, letting them know she'd be over for the photographs of all of the current members
of the Auror Department in a few minutes, and that she wanted everything ready when she
arrived. She stopped an owl in the corridor outside her office, gave it the letter, and then set
off after it, toward the lifts.
"Was it her?" Dolores asked, holding up a photograph of Auror Chung. The Biting Begonia
on her table sat still and unimpressed. "Him?" Photos of Auror Ackerly, and then Aurors
Austen, Harris and Read, then photos of trainees Cooper, Morgan, Yaxley – though Dolores
doubted it would be her, because she came from such a fine bloodline – and Bulkes. The
flower didn't seem bothered by any of them. It stirred when Prewett's photograph came up,
but that was only because the begonia saw her so regularly; she too, was a pureblood, and
would have the sense not to snoop, especially since she owed Dolores for everything she had.

Moody, Blackburn, Finch and Proudfoot were all ignored too, and so were Tonks, Lowesly,
Hill and Dale. Finally, when she was sorting through the last few photographs, Dolores found
one that got her a reaction. She held up Sirius Black's photograph, and the plant snapped and
growled. Dolores leaned back, satisfied with her discovery, but discontented with the
knowledge that it had been Black of all people to force his way in.

Black was too inquisitive for his own good, clever enough to make himself a threat, rather
than a simple nuisance, and, now that he was Auror Sirius Black, he'd be listened to if he
were to speak out against her. If he'd been in her office, or more particularly, in her filing
cabinet, who knew what he might have found; evidence of her meetings with Dawlish and
Malfoy, or perhaps her exchange with Fletcher just before he 'confessed' to killing
Greyback... She was careful with evidence, of course – she destroyed what she didn't need -
but she had to keep some of it, for blackmail purposes, or to remind people of the promises
they'd made her.

Dolores stroked her plant while she thought. Black would need to be watched, that was for
certain. Attacking him, like she had last time, would be too risky, and if Black died, it'd be
obvious – if they connected it to her – that she was hiding something. No, she'd have to be
careful. She'd have to watch, and wait. Prewett would come in handy; she could give Dolores
reports on the newest Auror, and Dolores herself could make enquiries on the Minister's
behalf; such was her right as Junior Undersecretary. And perhaps it was time to patch things
with Dawlish; he'd fallen off the face of the earth a bit, as had Malfoy, and both could provide
other opinions, and information from other sources.

Yes, she thought, picking her quill up. Watch and wait. And if Black showed any signs of
being a danger to her, or to the Minister, then she would act, and destroy him – physically,
politically... any and every way that she knew how.

Sirius settled into the Auror Department easily enough, though Brown was a bit of trouble.
Antagonistic was the word Sirius thought could best be used to describe their working
relationship; Brown was obviously intelligent – he wouldn't be an Auror, otherwise – but he
lacked common sense and practicality, which Sirius found annoying. And Brown seemed
bothered by the fact that Sirius had managed such a quick promotion, and was now his
superior.

One of Sirius' favourite things to do was to ask Brown to fetch him and Hemsley tea – he
didn't do it often, just every few days – or a set of paperwork, or something equally trivial.
Brown, in turn, took to asking Sirius obscure questions about every type of magic in
existence, in the hope that Sirius would be unable to answer. So far, he'd stumped him on one
– something about 'Time Turners' – which Sirius had had no idea about. Brown had gleefully
shown him a newsletter from the Department of Mysteries and Sirius had learned that time
turners were the name of the finished time travel devices that had been a work in progress for
years.

Sirius, needless to say, had immediately subscribed to the newsletter that the Department of
Mysteries issued irregularly, to avoid any such embarrassment in the future. He'd also gone
down to the Department of Magical Discoveries and registered himself for the book they
published every month, since that seemed like another likely source Brown might use.

Sirius thought Hemsley found the whole thing rather amusing, though he had no evidence to
support that; Hemsley hadn't said anything, or made any gesture or expression to indicate that
that might be true. The man was almost impossible to read, and very good at staying neutral.
As a result, it was quite difficult to form anything other than a very professional working
relationship with him. They got on, and there was a mutual understanding that Sirius could
never replace McDuff, and Hemsley, in turn, could never replace James, but Sirius hoped
they'd get friendlier eventually, or work was going to be very boring. Even Scrimgeour was
easier to be friendly to.

Remus swore loudly, dragging Sirius back to the present in time for him to steady his
motorbike against the chimney; Remus had just tripped over the stand. Behind Remus, Harry
- who'd just come up the rope ladder that connected his bedroom window and the platform
around Number Twelve's chimney - moved, ready to catch the box of fireworks in Remus'
arms, but his help wasn't needed in the end.

"Picking up some new words from your girlfriend?" Sirius asked, sniggering; Remus swore
occasionally, but it was uncharacteristic of him to swear that colourfully, or loudly, or
casually.

"Maybe," Remus said a little defensively, setting the box down on the roof tiles. He then
turned to Harry. "You didn't hear me say that." Harry just grinned as he picked a safe place to
sit; comfortable as they all were with heights, thanks to flying, none of them really wanted to
fall off the roof, and the bike really did take up quite a lot of space. "How much longer is that
monster-" Remus nodded at Sirius' bike. "-going to live up here?"

"I was thinking about that today, actually," Sirius said. "I thought I might empty Dad's old
study and make that into a sort of indoor shed." He nudged Harry. "Maybe next weekend-"
Sirius had managed to arrange to have weekends off from the Auror department until Harry
started school. "-kiddo, if you don't have too much homework?"

"I won't have too much homework," Harry said, confidently. "Hermione spends lunchtimes in
the library on Fridays doing her homework, so I'll probably have mine finished before the
day's even over."

"I thought you spent Fridays with Blaise?" Sirius said, frowning.

"Nope," Harry said. "Tuesdays and Fridays he's with his other friends."
"Oh," Sirius said, because really, what else was there to say? Blaise was a nice kid, and Sirius
found it very interesting that he was already able to manage his time and attention so
effectively. Sirius wondered if Harry had realised that, thanks to Hogwarts, he probably
wouldn't see either of his friends much at all after June. Sirius thought he must have, but was
loathe to ask. "So what did you two end up buying?" Sirius asked. He'd had to stay late at
work that day, so he'd had to get Remus to collect Harry from school, and the pair of them
had gone to Diagon Alley to collect a few things for the night's festivities.

"Filibuster's, and some of that Pixie Powder from the apothecary," Remus said. "A peddler
was promoting some new stuff-"

"Partington's Poppers," Harry said.

"Paddington's," Remus corrected, "but I didn't trust them... they smelled like powdered doxy
droppings-"

"And how would you know what doxy droppings smell like?" Sirius asked, grinning. It was
hard to tell in the dim light, but Sirius thought Remus' face coloured a bit.

"Katelyn Reid," Remus said. "And James thought it'd be funny to-"

"Oh, right," Sirius said, chuckling fondly. "The cream-"

"What?" Harry asked, eager as ever to hear about James' school day antics.

"Trust me when I say you don't want to know," Sirius said, sniggering. Remus shuddered and
Harry thankfully let the subject drop. Sirius continued to chuckle to himself for several
minutes afterward though, which earned him looks of exasperation from Remus.

"It wasn't that funny," Remus snapped, pride obviously still a bit dented from that fateful day
in seventh year.

"Yeah, it was," Sirius chortled, but forced the smile off his face for his best mate's sake.

"Look," Harry said, pointing out over the rooftops of the other houses. Over toward Kings
Cross, a set of pink and blue fireworks climbed into the sky and exploded, raining glittery
sparks down over London. "It's starting."

"Kreacher!" Sirius called, and Kreacher appeared, clutching a tray of freshly baked biscuits.
He set them floating in the air where everyone could reach them, took one for himself, and
then sat down beside Harry, who'd shuffled over to make room for him.

Sirius checked his Sidekick – it was only a few minutes until midnight – and then leaned
back against the chimney, content. Next to him, Remus was trying to stretch out without
kicking the bike, and was watching the display with a wistful expression; Sirius suspected he
was wishing Dora had been able to make it, but she'd been invited to a party at Ted's station
and she'd chosen to go there. Remus, had of course, been invited too, but he'd chosen to stay
with the family, which Sirius appreciated more than he'd admitted.
And, on Sirius' other side, Harry was patiently explaining to Kreacher that muggles could be
clever too. The old elf didn't seem convinced, but he certainly seemed to be enjoying the
fireworks, and he hadn't yet began to contradict Harry, or criticise muggles.

"Shall we?" Sirius said, pulling a firework out of the box.

"Of course, Mister Padfoot," Remus said.

"Would you do the honours, Mister Moony?" Sirius asked, grinning. Remus pulled his wand
out, lit the firework Sirius was holding with a simple tap on the fuse, and then sent it soaring
up into the sky. It exploded with a crack not dissimilar to Apparition, and sent sparks of red
and green spiralling outward.

They spent the next few minutes emptying the box, and enjoying the display – for Sirius and
Remus, it was just like old times, really, but Harry wasn't without memories either.

"Do you remember last time?" Harry asked, tapping a small, star emitting firework with his
wand. He threw it off the roof, and Sirius caught it with an Ascension charm and sent it
shooting upward.

"Last time?" Sirius asked.

"With fireworks? At the cave," Harry said, watching the blue stars shimmer down toward the
park across the road. A family of muggles sitting there looked around, apparently startled, but
couldn't find where the fireworks had come from. Sirius pulled his eyes off them and turned
to Harry, not sure what expression to expect.

He'd thought maybe a haunted one, but instead, Harry's expression was completely open and
calm, though he wore a wry smile that Sirius knew he'd learned from Remus sometime in the
past two years. Sirius ruffled his hair and together they set off the last firework. Kreacher
vanished at the same time, using the firework to mask his Disapparition.

Two years, he thought, shaking his head as he sat down again. He couldn't decide if it felt like
longer, or if it only felt like a few weeks. And what a year this one's been... I had my trial,
Harry started school, Remus finally got his act together with Dora... And I got a job...

"Happy New Year," he called to the others; the muggles in the park had started cheering and
playing loud music, and other fireworks were still going. Then he changed into Padfoot and
licked them both from chin to temple, because what was New Years Eve without a kiss at
midnight? Harry just laughed and made a big show of wiping his face clean, and then pulled
Padfoot into a hug. Remus didn't seem even slightly surprised, and just smiled, shook his
head, and pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his face.

Kreacher returned with three bottles of butterbeer, and passed them out – Sirius had to change
back to receive his – and then wished them all good night and retreated back inside to go to
bed.

"To a new year," Remus said, holding his bottle out. The other two clinked theirs against his.
"To a job, Sirius, and Hogwarts for you, Harry."
"Wait for Tom," Charlie called, reining Swift in. As much as Charlie loved brooms, he
thought wyrms were his favourite way to travel; they were long, serpentine creatures,
distantly related to dragons, and could run very, very quickly for a very long time. They were
also excellent swimmers, and could fly (but not when they were carrying humans). Zamira
and Kate slowed up ahead, and Tom gave Charlie a weary smile through his balaclava;
Charlie could see the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"You all right?" Kate asked, lowering her own balaclava so that she could speak properly.

"Tired," Tom said. Zamira spoke very little English, but she seemed to have understood that
particular word; she rolled her eyes. Charlie rolled his too; that woman was as tough as
dragon's hide and had little patience for any one or thing that wasn't equally tough. "My arse
is numb, and it's cold-"

"We're all cold," Kate said, rubbing her wyrm's leathery ear. It snorted and blew a warm,
smoky breath of air in Charlie's direction. He savoured the feeling, because mere seconds
later, it was caught by the icy wind and carried away. The weather was foul enough that even
the strongest heating charm anyone – Zamira – could cast, only lasted for an hour.

"I know," Tom said. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, then adjusted his
balaclava again, so that it was covering his mouth and nose. Charlie knew what he wanted to
say; Tom wanted to point out that he, as a dragon healer, wasn't used to roughing it quite as
much.

He spent a fair bit of time wandering the reserve, but he didn't really wrestle with the
hatchlings like Charlie and Kate did, didn't compete with the other handlers and see who
could hold onto a dragon's tail for the longest, or who could get a dragon to fly with them.
The only reason that Tom had come with them in the first place was because the senior
handlers were too accustomed to their comfortable jobs at the sanctuary to want to go
charging around in the wilderness after a rogue dragon, and so had sent him instead. And the
only reason he'd actually agreed was because Charlie was going.

Charlie was glad he had come; he liked Kate well enough, but she wasn't very talkative, and
Charlie, who'd grown up with a large family, and boisterous school friends would have
missed conversation. And Zamira was older – three times his age, at least – and didn't speak
much English, which made her hard to relate to on any level.

Charlie unwound his scarf - a nice, orange and blue one that Mum had sent him, along with
his usual Christmas jumper – but kept hold of it, in case the wind caught it. Immediately, he
could feel the cold on his lips and nose, and feel snowflakes catching on his two-day old
stubble.

"I could say I'm feeling tired-" Charlie said in a low voice, but Tom shook his head.

"Let's just go," he said. "It's bad enough down here, on the ground. Our runaway's probably
not faring too well."
Charlie disagreed; their escaped Norwegian Ridgeback would be at a lovely, constant
temperature – like the wyrms – because, despite being coldblooded, she'd be heated by the
fire in her chest... the wind though... well, that had the potential to be dangerous.

"Got any ideas why she might have headed South-West instead of North-West?" Charlie
asked. In the history of the reserve, there had been several escaped dragons – those that were
stressed enough to use their own magic to break through the wards – and all of them had
headed in the direction of their natural country. Ridgebacks tended to head up to Norway, but
this female, oddly enough, had headed down into Albania, which made absolutely no sense to
any of the handlers, healers or behaviourists.

Charlie and the other three had crossed the border about an hour ago, and Charlie wondered
what would happen when they hit the coast – since that was looking more and more likely.
They'd have to get their hands on brooms, perhaps, or see whether their wyrms could handle
the Adriatic Sea. Charlie'd rather brooms, because the sea would be very cold, and very wet.

"None," Tom said, shaking his head. "I can't even guess why she might have left; what
mother dragon just leaves her eggs-"

"Spine's there," Charlie said, referring to the father.

"It's still odd," Tom said. Merlin, his wyrm, snorted in a restless way. "Yeah, all right," he
said, rubbing Merlin's broad face. Swift chattered and Merlin responded in kind. "Keep up,
Weasley," Tom said, nudging Merlin into a loping run. Charlie smiled, wrapped his scarf
around his mouth and nose again, and prompted Swift forward.

Kate and Zamira hadn't waited; they were scouting the way ahead, but as soon as they
noticed the men were moving again, they urged their wyrms into a proper run and then the
four of them were ofn, staying low in their saddles to avoid any low hanging branches and to
better keep their balance if or when their wyrms skidded on an icy patch, or sank a few feet
into the snow.

Several hours later, it was well and truly dark, but they'd made it to the outskirts of Tomorri
Mountain National Park. Ingrid, the Norwegian Ridgeback they were tracking, had made a
few appearances – the most recent had been only five minutes earlier – to roar and breathe
fire and swoop at them, like an overgrown, much scarier bird. Charlie could still feel Swift's
heartbeat hammering against his ankle.

Charlie was absolutely exhausted, and what little of Tom's face he could see through the frost
and wool was pale. Even Kate – a ranger with ten years of experience over Charlie's one and
a half – was adjusting herself in her saddle rather gingerly and was slouched over Alf's scaly
neck. Only Zamira didn't seem tired; she was still sitting straight backed, and Stig was pacing
restlessly.

"Vi krysset," Zamira told Kate. Kate's shoulders slumped, but she turned to Charlie and Tom.

"We're crossing," she said heavily. Tom groaned.

"Crossing?" Charlie asked, and was ignored by everyone. Zamira took the lead, with Kate
just behind, and Charlie and Tom once again brought up the rear. 'Crossing' made more sense
after a few yards; What Charlie had assumed was icy ground was in fact a partially frozen
river. Zamira reached it first and pulled out her wand.

"Diffindo," she said, and then added a Norwegian spell. The ice cracked, revealing black
water, which Stig and Alf plunged right into. Merlin approached much more cautiously, and
slid in, and Swift stopped to lap up a few cold mouthfuls and then lowered herself into the
water. Charlie gasped; it came up to his thighs, and though his clothes and boots were
waterproofed, he could still feel the chill.

The river, thankfully, wasn't too wide; they made it across in a few minutes, and a few
minutes after that, they were well and truly inside the snowy forest. Zamira and Kate
exchanged a few words, and then Zamira dismounted. Praying that she wasn't just stretching
her legs, and that she was actually dismounting for the night, Charlie slid out of his saddle,
but was careful to keep hold of Swift's shoulder – which was at his waist height – until he
could feel his legs properly.

Kate dismounted carefully, but she was more accustomed to this type of travel, and was able
to take a few steady steps after a moment. Tom climbed off rather ungracefully, and would
have fallen if Charlie hadn't caught his elbow.

"Cheers," he said in a muffled voice. Charlie just patted his shoulder, extracted his wand from
the folds of his heavy fur cloak, and lit it with a murmur. Kate and Zamira both glanced his
way, rolled their eyes and disappeared off into the trees. Charlie didn't care; he'd get night
vision as good as theirs one day, but he wasn't going to stumble around in the dark like an
idiot when he was this tired.

He took a few very stiff steps toward a large, dead tree, and severed a few branches. He and
Tom had a fire crackling merrily and were feeding the wyrms when Kate returned with
frosted eyelashes and a pot filled with snow to boil. Zamira came back with a few odd
looking plants, and a few large roots, which Charlie suspected would be dinner.

His stomach rumbled appreciatively, even if there wasn't any meat; Kate was a vegetarian,
since she'd apparently seen too many people burned alive to stomach meat.

There wasn't a lot of talking around the fire that night; Charlie and Tom chatted a bit, as was
normal, Kate kept to herself, and Zamira stayed over near Stig, picking at her soup.

"I've been thinking," Tom said in a low voice, "about Ingrid."

"About why she left?" Charlie asked.

"Dragons settle once they've got a clutch of eggs," Tom said. "Remember Frida, that
Horntail?" Charlie nodded, and rubbed his shoulder absently; he had a large scar there from
the one and only encounter he'd had with that dragon. "And she went from... well, feral, to...
er... better."
"I'll take your word for it," Charlie said. He was still going to wait for Frida to have another
clutch or two before he went back to her. "Can't wait until Csilla's old enough to
breed. That's a dragon that could use settling." Csilla was another, younger Horntail that lived
on the reserve of her own free will, but refused to have anything to do with people; she'd
crossed the border between Hungary and Romania about three years before Charlie and Tom
arrived at the sanctuary, fought with Frida over territory, won, and settled herself in the most
spacious cave they had. She'd killed two trainers in the last five years, and was a bit of a
legend around the reserve, but thankfully, she didn't tend to venture far outside of her
territory. "But Ingrid?"

"Well," Tom said, "what if she's chasing something... or someone?"

"Away from her eggs, sure," Charlie said. "Across two countries? No way."

"What if she's chasing an egg?" Tom said, his eyes a bright, warm orange in the firelight. The
flames also put extra emphasis on the bags under his eyes, and Charlie was sure his own were
just as bad.

"Maybe," Charlie said. They'd had eggs stolen before; eggs were worth a lot in the trade, and
could – he knew from Bill – also be sold to Gringotts for a hefty sum. The hatchlings were
worth even more and could be used for all sorts of potions ingredients – blood was the
biggest one, but their bones were used in potions and in divination, and their scales could be
used for protective clothing. Or, a live, hand-reared dragon had a lot of potential as a guard –
like at Gringotts (Charlie's stomach flopped at the thought of how poorly dragons were
treated there) – as a weapon, or as a form of transport. "But getting close enough to steal a
week old egg from an experienced mother...?"

"And who'd get close enough to check?" Tom asked.

"I would."

"We're not all as dumb and brave as you, git," Tom said.

"I'm going to ignore the dumb part and just appreciate the part where you said I was brave,"
Charlie told him.

"You do that, Weasley."

"I will, Durban," Charlie said. "Maybe we should suggest that in tomorrow's letter back.
Someone can check, and if an egg is missing, we can try to get that as well as Ingrid."

"Oh, good," Tom said sarcastically. "I was worried we might have to do
something dangerous this trip."

"If you're worried about danger, you can be the one that Apparates back to the sanctuary to
bring the rest of the handlers over to contain Ingrid."

"If you lot are going to be wrestling dragons, I think it's best that the only qualified healer
here is around, don't you?"
"You're only qualified to heal dragons," Charlie said.

"I've still managed to patch you up more times than I can be bothered to count."

"What complete and utter dragon dung," Charlie said, snorting. "If you don't have a tally
somewhere, I'll eat Swift." Tom just smirked.

The four of them went to bed shortly after that – Zamira had told Kate, who'd told the men,
that they'd be up early – and Zamira stayed over by Stig, while Kate, Tom and Charlie curled
up together by the fire, sharing blankets and body heat for warmth.

Charlie woke up in the middle of the night, extracted himself from the blankets without
waking the others, and stumbled into the shadowy trees to relieve himself.

He was just rinsing his hands with snow, when he heard a twig snap, and hastily extinguished
his wand. A rabbit sprinted past, toward their camp, and an owl hooted, and Charlie calmed
down; animals tended to make themselves scarce if there was any sort of danger, so he was
comforted by their presence.

There was silence for a moment, and then he heard snow crunching beneath boots not far
away. Charlie'd spent enough time around the others to recognise their footsteps – Kate's
were quick and light, Tom's were very deliberate and regular, and Zamira didn't make much
noise at all when she moved (she tended to walk on rocks, or hold branches to lighten her
steps) – and knew that these hurried, unsteady steps weren't theirs.

Charlie fully expected it was a muggle; it was possible that someone had caught a glimpse of
Ingrid or one of the wyrms and come to investigate. And, while he admired their bravery,
they were in a lot of potential danger. Charlie would have to, at the very least, take them back
to camp until it was safe for them to leave and then Obliviate them. He sighed and crept
through the trees toward the sound of walking.

Eventually, the person stopped in a clearing. Charlie shivered, and it had nothing to do with
the cold; he hadn't seen or heard any other signs of wildlife for a while, other than the
skeletons of small rodents, birds and the occasional snake. It made him very uneasy. The
clearing itself was large and bare – very little grew there, and what did was sickly looking –
and dark. Charlie knew it was night, but it seemed the dim moonlight and glow from the stars
didn't reach through this part of the forest as well as it did everywhere else. Charlie shivered
again, and wished he had one of the others with him.

The figure called something, a name, maybe; Charlie wasn't able to hear over the eerie
howling of the wind. He shivered again. He'd always fancied himself as reasonably sensitive
(as far as sensing auras and things, not because he liked to talk about feelings or anything like
that). Maybe it was because he liked animals, and they couldn't talk so he had to feel and
watch instead, or maybe it was because he'd grown up in a large family, and it was sense-
Mum's-in-a-bad-mood-or-die, or Fred-and-George-are-up-to-something-so-duck-or-hide.

But right there, in that clearing, Charlie sensed something evil. Something that put a bad taste
in his mouth, and made his heart seize in fear. He'd never been near a Dementor, but he
imagined it was a similar feeling. An enormous snake dropped from a tree and onto the
ground in the clearing, where it coiled and lifted its head. The other figure – a man, with a
reasonably deep voice – started to speak to it. He'd actually have been less worried if the man
had spoken parseltongue; the man spoke English, though, and had respect – not respect for
the animal, but actual, proper, deferring to authority sort of respect - in his tone.

Charlie'd always liked animals, but there was something wrong with this one, and he was
brave enough to wrangle dragons, but he was not going to stick around and find out what was
going on. He was going to wake the others and get the bloody hell out of the forest.

He backed away, and tripped on something which broke with a loud, awful sound like a
broom snapping. He landed in the soft snow, and looked around, frantic; footsteps were
already moving toward him – probably the man, and possibly even that awful snake – and he
crawled backward, before he knocked into the thing that he'd tripped over.

It was a skeleton; old, and worn down, but still whole... except for the leg he'd snapped. A
detached part of Charlie suspected it was magic preserving the bones; he wondered if that
magic was tied to the tarnished silver necklace with an eagle pendant that rested around the
skeleton's neck, or if it was just a trinket. The rest of Charlie, the non-detached part, was
screaming, and kept screaming until a fur glove clamped over his mouth and nose, and a
wand prodded his temple. Snow swirled into his vision, and swallowed everything in bright,
white light.

"-kill him?" A pause. "I know but if we kill them t- Yes, you're right, My Lord, it'll draw
attention to the fact that we were here. Yes." Another pause, and Charlie was floating
backward. "So leave them all?" Charlie's boot caught on a rock protruding from the snow and
he winced as his leg twisted. "Sorry," the voice said, absently, and then he was floating, even
higher, safe from anything on the ground . "Here? No." Another pause. "Yes, My
Lord. Obliviate!"

Charlie awoke with a yawn and a stretch which almost hit Tom in the nose.

"Watch it," Tom murmured sleepily. Charlie got up, and wrinkled his nose; his leg hurt,
though he couldn't for the life of him work out why; it wasn't riding pain.

Must have slept on a rock or something, Charlie decided. He left Tom and Kate with the
blankets and went to sit with Zamira, who was tending the small fire; the wind and snow had
almost killed it overnight.

"Morning," he said.

"Morning," she replied without looking up.

"Sleep well?" he asked. She shook her head. "Cold?"

"Dark," she said.

Dark? At night? Fancy that, he thought to himself, and fought for a straight face.
"Dark-" She moved her hands around as if trying to make a point. She obviously didn't know
the word she wanted. "-evil dark." Charlie's eyebrows climbed. He'd slept well – the best
sleep he'd had in a while, actually – and hadn't seen or heard or sensed anything 'dark' around
the forest. Zamira was a highly respected ranger, and her intuition could usually be trusted,
but he wasn't convinced this time.

"Uh huh," he said, nodding. She pursed her lips, obviously realising he didn't believe her, and
stomped over to rouse Kate instead.

They had a quick breakfast and then Tom and Zamira climbed the trees to try to spot Ingrid.
Apparently, it was a very easy task.

"She's flying again," Tom called down to Charlie and Kate. "Across the sea-"

Kate groaned and Charlie asked, "Toward Italy?"

"No," Tom said, sounding troubled. "North-West. Toward Britain."

"I suppose that rules out egg-thief," Charlie said, as Tom and Zamira appeared in the lower
branches and then dropped down to the ground. Charlie plucked a leaf off of Tom's balaclava,
and dusted snow off his shoulders. "Who'd steal an egg to take to Britain, but stop off in
Albania first?" He chuckled and Kate snorted.

The man folded the newspaper – the headline read Flying In Circles? and on the front was a
moving photograph of a large, spiny dragon being caught in an even larger net over the
British Channel – and set it down on the table.

"He was worth keeping alive if only for that," he mused, looking at the stocky redheaded man
from the forest; he was on a broom in the photograph, flying rather well. "Got a dragon off
our tail if nothing else."

Indeed, replied the other, but he seemed distracted; his thoughts were - as they had been since
the forest – looping through the same series of images:

The stone, the castle and the boy.

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