Three Animagi and a Werewolf

Chapter 36: New Year's Loss

The Boy Who Vanished

* * *

Lily Potter was half laughing, half crying as she called to her husband to hold still, while she struggled to do the same with the camera in her hand. Christmas was not far away, and today they had been out to buy their first Christmas tree together. James had wanted a tall, proud-looking one. Lily had wanted a smaller, bushier tree. They had joked, they had argued, and they had kissed. And then James had thanked the gloomy looking salesman who had looked so reproachfully on their gaiety and hoisted the small, bushy tree now securely wrapped in a net up off the ground, and carried it as far as the fireplace in the back room of the Leaky Cauldron. Tom the barman had decorated his locale with only a very small amount of tinsel, as there were hardly any patrons there to notice it anyway.

The same could not be said for the Potters' living room, or indeed the whole house. James, Sirius, Remus and Peter had spent the last week of November attaching coloured electric lights to the drain pipe and window frames under Lily's careful instruction. In the first week of December, Lily had begun decorating the fireplace in the living room and the banisters with garlands and hanging pictures of red-nosed reindeer up everywhere. And now she and James were decorating their tree. That is, they had been decorating the tree. It was while Lily was carefully attaching a number of bright red baubles her mother had given her that James had grown bored and decided to make her jump. He had achieved this without effort, by merely changing into a stag while her back was turned. When Lily had then asked him, without turning to look at him, to pass her a bell, he had hooked it on his antlers and shaken his head. Lily had shrieked when she first saw the stag standing where her husband had been, and then quickly decided on a way to get revenge: a picture of Prongs with a bell dangling from his antlers. But he would not stand still, kept turning his back on her when she pressed the button until at last she grabbed him by the antlers to turn him around. He chose that moment to transform back.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed. "You're pulling my hair out!"

"And earrings don't suit you," Lily retorted, removing the bell that was now looped over his left ear. "And don't do that again, or I won't kiss you under the mistletoe."

He shrugged. "No problem, my dear. As there isn't a twig of mistletoe in the whole house, that still means you're free to kiss me anywhere you like, doesn't it?"

"That's it!" she exclaimed, thumping him on the chest and knocking the wind out of him just as he had been about to put his theory to the test, and then darting towards the hall and the closet.

"W... Lily, what on earth ... where are you going now?" he asked, bewildered, as she pulled on her coat, hat and gloves.

"We didn't buy any mistletoe!" she exclaimed, beginning to hunt for her keys.

"Now wait just a minute!" he called, catching her by the arm as she opened the front door, letting in a wave of cold air that made him shiver. "Point one: You're not going anywhere on your own. Point two: We've only just got back from buying that tree. Point three: What's got into you, anyway?"

She stared at him for a moment, then suddenly looked as though she might be about to cry.

"I - I just ... I want our first Christmas together here to be perfect," she said dully. "Don't you?"

Completely flummoxed by her sudden change of mood, he said quickly,

"Well, of course, darling. But it will still be perfect if we buy the mistletoe tomorrow, won't it?"

Lily's lip trembled. Not knowing what else today, James drew her back indoors and put his arms around her. He pulled off her hat and stroked her hair for a while, then he said,

"All right, look, if it's so important to you, I'll get my coat on and we'll go out again. How about that?" he asked, tilting her chin back and seeing that her eyes really were red.

But she shook her head. Drawing away from him, she took off her coat and gloves and put them and the hat back where they belonged.

"No, you're right. It's silly. We'll go out again tomorrow. Let's ... let's just finish decorating that tree."

"Lily," he began, but she was already back in the living room. With a sigh, he followed her. "Lily, sweetheart, what is it? Is it because ... because of last year? Your dad ...?"

She stopped halfway through draping tinsel over a branch and said, a puzzled look on her face,

"You know - I don't really know. I - I don't think so. I mean, I miss him, but ... but it's not like it's the first Christmas without him. I don't think it's that."

"What then?" he asked, putting his arms around her again. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she said, and smiled. Oddly enough, there wasn't a trace of a tear left in her eyes now. "I don't know. I just felt miserable all of a sudden, for no reason at all. Forget it, James. I'm all right." She snuggled up to him. "I love you. And Christmas with you is perfect, even without mistletoe."

"I promise I'll buy you a basket full tomorrow, if it makes you happy," he said, and Lily laughed merrily.

* * *

KEEP OUR WORLD CLEAN!

Do you suspect your next-door neighbour of sympathising with muggles? Have you reason to believe your local grocer opposes the Dark Lord? Is your new tenant a mudblood? Report now to the Ministry of Magic, Department for the Preservation of Purity and Security ...

Remus stood reading the poster that had been pasted on the outside wall of Zonko's with disbelief. Not long ago, it had seemed as though Lord Voldemort's minions were still operating covertly. True, everyone had known that they were all over the Ministry, in practically every department, but there had been a semblance of normality. Ever since the night when the aurors had fled, however, that had changed. It was no longer the followers of the Dark Lord who were there on suffrance, but the people who opposed him were the ones now walking the tight rope. They went to work, they did their duty - but no more, and no less. Because to put a toe out of line would mean a summons to the new department named on this poster, the department housed in what had been Auror Headquarters.

And where were the aurors? Some of them - including Laura Lovegood, James, Sirius, and the Longbottoms, naturally - trusted his uncle and Moody more than Barty Crouch. Moody's own flat had become a sort of makeshift HQ for them nowadays, and they still did what they could with their now limited resources to fight the Death Eaters. Others were still, as far as Remus had heard, somehow working for Crouch, though where and how they operated no one in the Order knew. A third group had been scared when they had discovered how very real the Death Eaters' threat to them was, and how great their assurance, if they dared to plan an attack on the aurors under their own roof. These had vanished, no one knew where.

And now, posters like these were becoming the norm, though Remus still felt his stomach churn every time he looked at one. He entered the joke shop, which was eerily quiet. Never, in all the times he had been here during his school days, had he known it do be so deserted. The range of goods seemed to have deteriorated accordingly. He had come in here with the intention of finding a Christmas present for Sirius, but he came out empty-handed. Stepping out onto the snowy main street of Hogsmeade, he looked around. None of the other shops looked any more promising. They all had their doors firmly shut, and most of them had posters pasted on their walls similar to the one he had just read. One poster, across the street, on the side of a building that was near the path which led up to the Shrieking Shack, caught his eye. There was a simple design at the top of it, a broad black line with a white orb in the middle of it. He went over to have a closer look.

TIRED OF A WORLD THAT HUNTS YOU? YOU COULD BE THE HUNTER.

Remus read it through, start to finish. Then he raised a gloved hand and tore it down. He turned to walk away, but found himself unexpectedly, startlingly face to face with a man he had never seen before, and whom he knew already he never wanted to see again, if he could help it.

"Excuse me," he said, trying to pass the man while not breathing in his putrid breath.

"You just tore down that poster," the man said in an unpleasant, rasping voice, spreading more pungent fumes. "Why?"

"That's really none of your business, I think," Remus replied, hoping he sounded braver than he felt. "Excuse me," he repeated and pushed by, wondering why this man - unpleasant though he undoubtedly was - seemed to him at once more than that. In fact, if he was honest with himself: terrifying. He had part of his answer in an instant. He had not gone more than two paces when the man's voice called after him.

"Stop, Remus!"

Remus spun round. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask the obvious, but he didn't. The stranger was grinning at him now, if his snarling grimace could be called that. Reluctantly, Remus studied him more closely - the filthy clothes, the matted hair, the hard eyes that bored into his. He decided to walk away might still be the best option, so he turned again. The man who was now behind him whistled, and from out of nowhere another person appeared who rooted him to the spot. He was small and skinny, surely no more than nine or ten. His reddish hair was unwashed and looked like it hadn't been cut by anyone who knew what they were doing for ages. His cheeks were scarred and his clothes patched and dirty. It was his eyes, however, that really froze Remus to the core. They were large, blue, and almost dead. Almost. There was something in those eyes that he recognised only too well.

"Who are you?" he gasped, although a horrible suspicion came to him in a flash as a face he had not seen for a long time rose up in his memory, a fellow Gryffindor, a brave girl who had been brutally murdered along with her parents, her younger brother missing, vanished, nowhere to be found, no matter where and how hard the aurors searched for him.

"This," the man behind him answered, "is Crowe."

"Jeremy Crowe," Remus whispered. "Gemma's brother."

There was a flicker in the boy's deadened eyes, and the man said quickly,

"Come here, cub."

The boy obeyed. Remus watched him go to stand by the big man's side, turning as he did so to face the stranger.

"What have you done to him?" he asked.

The man laughed. "As if you didn't know, Remus. You, of all people. You and this kid have a lot in common."

"And you? Who are you?"

"Fenrir Greyback's the name," said the other, speaking so low in his throat that it came out sounding like a growl. "You may have heard of me."

"No," said Remus. "I haven't."

"No?!" It was more a roar than a shout. "Are you lying to me, cub? Or are you telling me ..." He chuckled suddenly. "Are you telling me you don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Why," said Greyback, his hand clutching Jeremy Crowe's shoulder so tightly that Remus winced, though the boy showed no reaction, "you must know just how much you and this fellow here do have in common. You have me in common, my young werewolf. I made you both."

"What are you talking about?" Remus asked, struggling to keep his voice steady.

He plunged his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking, and so that he could hold his wand at the ready.

"I'm talking about the fact that I'm the werewolf who bit you, and young Crowe here. Didn't your dear daddy ever tell you that?"

Remus could feel the colour draining from his face, and he knew his voice would shake when he spoke, even though he willed it not to.

"You're lying," he said. "My father doesn't know who bit me. No one does. We were out hiking and ... it just happened. Those moors weren't known to have any werewolves living in them ..."

Greyback was nodding vigorously. "That's right, that's right. The Ministry didn't know of any werewolves in the area, because there were no werewolves in the area. Not for miles around. Except one. One werewolf, who travelled out there before the moon was full, just to be near you when he transformed, to get a chance to bite you. And that's what he did. He killed a pony first, and then he broke into the tent and he bit you, and he revelled in the fear he sensed from your dear daddy and your uncle - nearly bit him too. That would have been even better. But then your father had to butt in again and set fire to my fur ..."

"Why would you do that?" Remus breathed disbelievingly. "Why would anyone want to bite another human being?" He glanced at Jeremy Crowe and felt his throat constrict even further. "Why should you have wanted to bite a child?"

With a sneer Greyback said, "Ask your father. He can tell you. He's the one you have to thank for the life you've been leading. He insulted me, spread lies about me while he hid safely behind the aurors, the coward, and I swore I'd get back at him ... make him see for himself what my life was like. And that's why I bit you. Because he had it in for me, all because of what I was ..."

"That's a lie!" Remus exclaimed. His voice was a little firmer, but he involuntarily recoiled from the gloating in the man's horrid eyes.

"Is it? Are you so sure about that?" When Remus did not answer, Greyback shook his head. "It was his fault. All of it."

"No," said Remus, shaking his head. "I don't believe a word of it."

"Don't you? In spite of all the details I've given you? In spite of the fact that you can feel it in your gut? How's your left side these days? Does the old bite wound ever give you trouble?" Greyback took a step forward, and Remus stepped back further. "All right," said the filthy werewolf. "If you don't believe me, look it up. I sent a letter to the Ministry and said it was me that bit you. Added a special note asking them to let your dad know, and give him my compliments." He grinned crookedly. "You'll believe it soon enough, when you see it on parchment."

And with these words, he turned and began walking away, up the hill towards the Shrieking Shack. The boy remained standing for a moment, staring at Remus with that same, half deadened look in his eyes. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but just then Greyback called him and he flinched, shot Remus a last look and ran off after the older werewolf. Remus leaned back against the wall from which he had torn the poster, all thoughts of buying Christmas presents gone from his mind. He could only think of how Greyback had known all those details of the night he had been bitten, and his claim that it had been an act of revenge. What should he do?

His first instinct was to run home to his father and talk to him about it - after all, that claim was so ridiculous. But something, he didn't know what, held him back. He took deep, steadying breaths and tried to analyse what that something was. Perhaps ... that gloating look in Greyback's eyes. The feeling that he wanted Remus to go to his father with this, that he wanted to pour salt in old wounds and make them quarrel. Remus shuddered at the thought. He could not bear to even think of quarrelling with his father over this - least of all if it meant giving Greyback what he wanted. Never, in all his life, had he met anyone who revolted him more. And yet, somehow, he was sure that some part of the man's story was true. But how much? And how was he to find out? What was he to do?

He remembered Lily's words to him after that meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, and he knew that he must take her advice this time and discuss this with his friends. But first, he must check up on the one part that was simple, verifyable fact. He would look up in the archives at the Ministry of Magic whether Fenrir Greyback had indeed been registered as the werewolf who had bitten him.

* * *

Curing a Nightmare

Bridget and Malcolm were doing their Christmas shopping in muggle London. It had the disadvantage, of course, of limiting their choice of gifts to items muggles might buy each other, On the other hand, it meant they, at least, had a little bit of Christmas atmosphere untainted by the influence of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Although several disasters had shaken muggle England lately too, none of these people suspected anything sinister behind them, and so they went about Christmas as they did every year, with laughter and music, and a good deal of enthusiasm.

"How about those earrings for Lily?" Malcolm suggested as they stood looking in a jeweller's window, listening to the Salvation Army singing 'O Come, All Ye Faithful'.

"Those hoops? I don't think they're really her style ..."

"No, not those. The ones next to them."

"Oh, you mean the marcasite?"

"The what?"

"The ones with the little glittery stones on?"

"Yes."

"They are pretty," Bridget agreed. "Well spotted."

"My mother used to have a pair like that," Malcolm said. "Dad bought them for her once - for her birthday, I think. She loved them. She lost one of them once. Took us days to find it."

"Where was it?"

"Faith had it." He chuckled. "For once, I was completely innocent and she was the mischief-maker. Mum had dropped it somewhere and Faith just picked it up and tied a bit of string to it so she could used it as a doll's necklace. I found it in her doll's house. Goodness knows what I was doing looking in there in the first place - probably needed a doll to tie to the tracks of my train set or something, knowing me." He added in a faraway tone, "I'll never forget the day I gave it back to Mum."

"She must have been very grateful. Did Faith get into much trouble over it?"

"Oh no, not her. She was too cute. Besides," he added with a smile, "John went to Mum and begged her not to get cross, because Faith was already scared of getting into trouble and she hadn't known it was naughty to keep it like that. Mum was fond of John."

"What about you?"

Laughing, he said, "I got squashed and smothered with kisses, and Dad bought me a car."

"A ... car?"

"From the toy shop. A Bentley, black, with doors that actually opened."

"How old were you when all this happened?" Bridget asked with a smile.

"I don't know. About seven or eight, I suppose."

"What a memory you have!" she exclaimed.

"Actually, I'm probably showing my age. They say the older you get, the more you remember things that happened years ago, and start forgetting what happened a couple of months ago."

His words reminded Bridget of her conversation with John that time, when he had suggested that it might be possible to erase Malcolm's memory of certain events in order to cure him of his nightmares. Bridget said,

"Darling, I think we should go in and buy those earrings for Lily. And then ... we should talk about something."

He raised an eyebrow. "Nothing serious, I hope?"

"Well, yes. But let's buy those earrings first."

They did so, then went to a café and ordered a pot of tea for two. Malcolm watched Bridget pour it out and top up the kettle with an extra teabag and hot water.

"Well?" he prompted her. "What do we have to talk about?"

She said slowly, "A while ago, John and I had a talk. Actually, I dropped in on him at the Ministry one lunchtime and we discussed ... you," she explained a little guiltily, remembering only too well how she had lied to Malcolm about not being able to leave work for lunch on the day in question.

"What was there to discuss about me?" he asked, frowning.

"Your problems. The nightmares you're still having. We worked out an idea, but we didn't want you to know about it until we'd figured it out properly."

"Really? When did all this happen?"

"It ... was a couple of weeks before James and Lily's wedding."

Malcolm stared at her. "As long ago as that?! And how many times did you two get together to talk about me, exactly?"

"Just that once. After that, we stuck to letters."

"Letters," Malcolm repeated, thinking. "Like that one that he sent 'inviting us to dinner' that time?"

"Yes," she confessed. "You're not angry, are you? I mean, we only did it to help you."

Truth be told, Malcolm was feeling slightly put out at that moment to think that all this had gone on without his knowledge. But Bridget looked so anxious that he shook his head and said,

"I'm not angry. I am a bit puzzled though. What exactly did you two figure out?"

Bridget began explaining quickly,

"John has arranged for us two to go and see someone, to try and deal with your nightmares and ..."

"Hold on," he interrupted her. "You're not suggesting I should see a loony doctor, I hope?"

"Oh, of course not. Although come to think of it, that might not be such a bad idea. Except any normal psychiatrist would probably have you put in a straight jacket the minute you start explaining you're a wizard," she added quietly, winking at him.

Malcolm tried to frown, but found himself smiling instead.

"Well, who are we going to see then?" he asked.

"A man who lives in a little place called Ottery St. Catchpole."

"Sounds quaint," he remarked, taking a sip of his tea. Then he paused, the cup still in his hand. "Wait a minute. I've heard that somewhere before." He thought for a minute, then said, "Of course - that's where the Prewetts come from, isn't it? Or they've got some connection there, anyway. Fabian mentioned the place at the end of the last mee..."

"Malcolm ..."

"Sorry," he said quickly. "Go on. We're going to see someone in Ottery St. What-do-you-call-it, and not the Prewetts, I take it. Who then?"

"A man called Aaron Diggory. And don't tell me that name rings a bell too. Although actually, I suppose, you might have heard of his brother, Amos."

"Yes, I think I have. Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"Right," said Bridget, marvelling once again at her husband's memory. "Anyway, his brother Aaron is a healer from St. Mungo's who ..."

"A healer? You mean yOu're taking me to a wizard loony doctor?"

"No! Malcolm, do pay attention, please. It took John quite a while to find this man for us."

"All right," he said, softening. "Who is Aaron Diggory?"

Bridget smiled, and began explaining.

* * *

Sirius could not imagine any sensation better than that of sitting on his motorbike as he was now, soaring through the sky with the roar of the engine in his ears and the wind in his face. It made him want to shout for joy every time, it filled him with an enthusiasm that nothing else could give him, never lessening, however many times he experienced it. This was the life. This was freedom.

Repeated taps on the shoulder from the girl seated behind him recalled him from his elation. He had forgotten for a moment that he wasn't alone.

"What's up?" he yelled over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Sirius, but can we go back down? I'm not feeling too hot."

Going back down was the last thing Sirius wanted to do, and he turned his head to tell her so. One look at her face silenced him.

"Oh hell, Jo, you look sick!"

"I think I'm about to be, so let's go back down!"

They landed as quickly as possible, and Josie ran off into the bushes. Sirius paced up and down beside his motorbike, not sure whether he should go and see if there was anything he could do to help, or whether to stay at a safe distance. He decided on the latter, at least for now. Leaning against his motorbike, he kicked at the snow at his feet and puzzled over this sudden sickness of his companions. Since that day when they had bumped into each other in York, he had taken her for more than just that one ride he had promised her, and she had never yet been sick once. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it almost as much as he did. It was fun taking her for rides - even though, or maybe because, there was nothing between them.

Whenever he took girls for a ride on his bike who were interested in him, he tended to find that, much as he might be interested in the girl in question, it annoyed him that she would demonstrate a polite enthusiasm for the machine to begin with, then after about five minutes of flying expect him to turn round, park somewhere and spend the rest of the time devoting his whole attention to her. That was not how he pictured a morning out on his motorbike.

On the other hand, mornings out on his motorbike with Josephine had always been highly satisfactory - until today. He stood frowning, waiting for her to reappear. It was a while before she did, and she looked embarrassed.

"Sorry about that," she said. "It came on all of a sudden, I was fine before."

"Don't worry about it," he answered, taking her by the arm and guiding her to the bike, leaning her against it. "How are you feeling now? A bit better?"

"A bit. Not sure how long it'll last though. I was like this yesterday, but it got better later in the day, I thought I was over it."

"You must have caught some kind of stomach bug," he remarked.

Josie shot him a glance he couldn't quite make out. "Yes," she said slowly. "Maybe."

"Tell you what, we could go to Hogsmeade and have a drink in the Three Broomsticks. I remember Madam Rosmerta gave James something once when he wasn't feeling too good ... unless you'd rather we stopped off at Peter's dad's apothecary. You really dont look well."

"I'm fine," she assured him. "But I think it might be a good idea if we stayed on the ground for a bit. Do you mind?"

"Of course not," he said, taking her arm again and helping her onto the seat. "Where do you want to go? Straight home?"

"Yes, please," she said gratefully, and he revved up the engine and they were off.

* * *

"Ah," said the young man as he opened the door. "Mr. and Mrs. Marley?"

"Yes."

Bridget smiled, studying him with interest. He was neither very tall nor particularly good-looking, she noticed. A plain man in his mid-twenties, perhaps, whose only really outstanding feature were his eyes, which were grey and friendly.

"Do come in," said Aaron Diggory, standing aside to let them pass into the narrow hallway.

Malcolm hesitated briefly, but Bridget took him by the hand and led him indoors. Their host took their cloaks and hung them in a closet by the door, then he led the way through a door on the left to the living room, where a little boy was playing with a wooden train in front of the fireplace, his cheeks glowing with the light from the fire. He looked up when they entered and got to his feet, taking a step back and appearing slightly alarmed. Aaron Diggory went straight over and crouched in front of him.

"It's all right," he said softly. "No need to be shy, these people are friends."

It occurred to Bridget that even if she had not known his profession, she might have guessed from the way he spoke now, it reminded her so typically of what was termed a 'bedside manner'. The little boy - he might have been about three or four, she guessed - gazed up at them out of the same grey eyes as the man crouching in front of him. Aaron Diggory looked up at his guests with an apologetic smile.

"This is my nephew, Cedric," he explained. "My sister-in-law asked me to babysit him today. He's a bit shy."

"That's quite all right," said Bridget, smiling down at the child. "Hello, Cedric," she said, and offered him her hand.

The little boy's grey eyes watched her uncertainly for a minute. Then his little hand reached up to shake hers briefly, before he devoted his attention to his train once more. Mr. Diggory offered them seats on the sofa, and they accepted. He offered drinks, but they declined, thanking him. Finally, he sat down as well and said edgily,

"So ... Mr. Lupin told me you wanted to ... err ... talk about Cathy."

Bridget nodded. "I realise how painful this must be for you, Mr. Diggory. But you see, this is very important to us as well."

"I understand."

For the first time, the young man looked closely at Malcolm. He said awkwardly,

"You're the man who ... who ..."

"I'm the one who ... hurt your wife in Newcastle that day, yes," Malcolm said heavily. "And I can't tell you how sorry I am."

The young man smiled. "I heard detailed accounts of that event at the time. Including Cathy's."

"I thought her memory had been erased!" Bridget exclaimed.

"It was, but something went wrong. The obliviators' memory charm erased more than it should have, and the only way we could fix it was by restoring all of her memory. It was a shock to her, of course. But I ... I ..."

"You were there to help her," Bridget said gently. "My brother-in-law told me you met at St. Mungo's."

"Yes. Cathy was overwhelmed by everything, of course. But she accepted it all surprisingly quickly. And she accepted me. She told me everything." He added, looking at Malcolm again, "You don't look how she described you."

"I was using polyjuice potion so I could pretend to be one of them."

"I see. Well ... Cathy told me that she saw people dying all around her, and when you and the others came towards her, she thought she was dead. She told me she ... she prayed for a miracle at that moment, anything to save her life. And then you pointed your wand at her ..."

"And I did worse than kill her. I caused her unbearable pain."

"No," said the young man. "You didn't. At least - not quite as bad as you're thinking. That was the problem with the memory charm they used on her. It was intended to wipe out the memory of the average Cruciatus curse. Yours was weaker than that, so their charm was too powerful."

Malcolm shook his head. "I heard her screams - I've kept hearing them over and over again ever since. She was in pain."

"Yes," Aaron Diggory admitted. "But it could have been worse. Let me explain," he went on, leaning forward a little. "Cathy told me that while you had that curse on her, she could still see what was going on around her. She told me she could see your eyes. She always had an uncanny feeling that you were in pain too."

Running his tongue over his lips, Malcolm said, puzzled, "I - was. But ... if she was able to notice that under the curse ..."

"Then the curse really wasn't as strong as it normally would be," Bridget finished for him.

Aaron Diggory nodded. "She was in a lot of pain, Mr. Marley. But it wasn't as terrible as you think. And if you hadn't done what you did ... Cathy and I would never have met."

His voice trailed away, and he looked at the little boy still playing with the train for a minute, then up at a photograph on the mantlepiece. It showed himself and his bride, smiling and waving cheerfully. Bridget saw Malcolm's eyes travel the same way, saw the closed expression on his face, and reached for his hand. His fingers closed tightly around hers.

"We're very sorry for Cathy's death," Bridget said.

The young man nodded a thank you. "She was at the hospital," he told them. "She'd just had our baby."

"Your baby!" Malcolm exclaimed. "You don't mean you lost ... both of them?"

"No, no. A couple of the nurses managed to get some of the babies out of there. Ours was one of them. I ... I've decided to call her Catherine." He gulped, then said, "Would you like to see her?"

They said that they would. Aaron Diggory checked that the shield charm surrounding the blazing fire was still correctly in place, then they left little Cedric to his train and went upstairs. In a room off the landing stood a cradle, faint murmurs issuing from it. The yound man walked over and took the baby out, holding her so they could see.

"I know I shouldn't take her out of her cot while she's sleeping, but I feel like I have to keep holding her," he said softly, stroking the baby's cheek.

"She's beautiful," Bridget said with feeling.

Diggory said, "When Cathy and I married, some people said it was too soon. After all, we'd only just met. I did wonder now and then if we were rushing into things. Now ... I'm glad we did. I don't know what I'd do without this little one here."

Bridget looked sideways at Malcolm. He was staring at the baby, a choked look on his face. She went to his side and took his hand again.

"Are you all right?" she whispered.

Malcolm glanced at her, then allowed his eyes to travel around the room. It was small, but full of light and filled with everything a little girl could possibly dream of. On a small cabinet stood another photograph of her parents, which looked like it had been taken just after her birth.

"No," Malcolm breathed in answer to her question, looking back at the baby. "I don't know, I ... really don't know."

Aaron Diggory looked a question at Bridget, and she smiled.

"Mr. Diggory ... Aaron ... you've been very kind. We'd like to thank you properly, but for now, I think some fresh air is indicated. Do you mind if we go for a walk and come back later?"

"By all means," the young man said. "There's a path that starts just at the end of the road, it leads up towards Stoatshead Hill, it's a very nice walk - Cathy loved it."

Fifteen minutes later, Bridget and Malcolm were nearing the foot of the hill. They climbed it slowly, not speaking a word. When they reached the top, Malcolm let go of her hand and looked around him at the snow-covered landscape, breathing in deeply. Bridget gave him a little more time, then she asked gently,

"Well? Do you know yet whether you're all right?"

He turned his face towards her slowly. "I think so, but I'm still not sure. It was all so much. That baby ..."

"That baby would never have been born, but for you. If it hadn't been for you, that girl would have been killed that day, and she and Aaron would never have met. Baby Catherine would never be more than a dream."

Malcolm moistened his lips with his tongue and said in a choked-up voice, "You were right. She is beautiful." Then he added heavily, "I was never able to forgive myself for what I had done to that girl ... until now. But to think that after all that, she had to die anyway ..."

"You saw those photographs, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Then you saw how happy she was. Yes, she was killed in the end, but not as soon as she might have been. And even though her time was limited, I've a feeling that extra year was her happiest - and she might never have had that year, but for you. You do see that now, don't you? You do see that what you did made a difference, in a good way? That it wasn't all for nothing?"

He nodded. There was a silence, then he said tenderly, "Thank you, Bridget."

"I didn't do much," she laughed. "John was the one who figured it all out. I think we should thank him for that - I've been thinking maybe we could treat him and Faith to a show in London."

"Anything," said Malcolm. "But I didn't mean that. I meant thank you for everything. For being there for me. For being mine."

She came closer and rested her hand against his cheek. "Thank you," she said in a whisper, her eyes locking onto his. "For being you."

* * *

Dining at the Potters' Again

Christmas was a week away. For once, Remus was not the last person to leave work, but one of the first. He had been invited to dinner at James and Lily's again, though Sirius and Peter were going to be out and about elsewhere, Peter with Ellie Simpson and Sirius - as far as Remus knew - with some muggle girl he had picked up by chance after dropping Josephine off home one evening. The small group of people around him, all heading towards the lift as well, were keeping close together in twos, at most, and speaking in subdued voices if they spoke at all. No one chatted any more since the Death Eaters had driven the aurors from the Ministry. But Remus's mind was dwelling too much on what he was planning to tell his friends this evening to wish for conversation anyway. It was quite some time before he realised that the person next to him actually was talking to him.

"Lupin?" the tall young man enquired as they stepped into the lift. "Are you all right?"

"Sorry?" Remus responded, trying to gather himself. "You were saying ...?"

"Well ..." - his companion continued in an undertone - "... I wouldn't like to say this in front of Macnair, but I do admire the way you refused to go along with this latest 'brainwave' of his. I agree there should be limits to the length we're willing to go to in the interests of creating beings that can protect us, but on the other hand, don't you think that these experiments could also be turned to some good? I mean, if we really could find a way to control the beast inside the man, maybe we could develop a serum to help people like yourself, maybe even prevent the transformation, or at least allow you to control your own actions."

"It's a nice idea," Remus said tiredly. "But I hardly think the Ministry would be interested. What they want is to have control over werewolves, not allow werewolves to have control over themselves. And that, as I told Mr. Macnair, I cannot condone."

"Of course, I can see that, but ..."

"We're about to enter the Atrium, I don't think we should continue this conversation here."

"Lupin ..." the young man tried to go on, but Remus cut him short again.

"Have a nice weekend, Belby. See you Monday."

He crossed the Atrium and joined the queue in front of one of the big fireplaces through which people were travelling home. Ten minutes later, he was looking through the fire into the Potters' kitchen. Apparently James and Lily had not expected him just yet, for they were standing in the middle of the room wrapped tightly in each other's arms, neither face visible behind the curtain that was Lily's thick, red hair. Remus cleared his throat, and they broke apart quickly.

"Oh. Hello, Moony," said James with a chuckle. "You're early. We ... err ... weren't expecting you just yet. Come in."

"So I gathered," Remus said, the corners of his mouth twitching as he stepped out of the fire, James's invitation having unlocked the safety charm.

Lily grinned and gave him a quick hug. "Hello, Remus. How was your day?"

"Could we come to that after dinner?"

"As bad as that?" James questioned, fetching dinner plates from a cupboard while Remus began unfastening his cloak.

"Considering I gave Macnair an answer he didn't want ..." Remus said, taking his cloak out into the hall and returning. "It didn't go too badly."

"What did he want?" asked Lily.

"He wanted to ... observe me."

"Observe? In what way?"

"From what I could gather: by placing me in a safe place on a full moon night and recording every detail of my transformation. It sounds harmless enough ..."

"Harmless?" Lily echoed. "Hardly that!"

"Well, quite," said Remus. He went on hesitantly, not being terribly used to voicing his most private thoughts and feelings, "I ... had a dream once, a while ago ... Macnair's suggestion reminded me of it to an uncomfortable degree."

"What kind of dream?" James asked, beginning to lay the cutlery out on the table.

"I suppose you could call it a nightmare. It ended with a lot of children turning into werewolves."

Lily looked up sharply from the potato she was peeling, and James neglected the cutlery. Remus shifted awkwardly.

"This wasn't how I meant to broach the subject ... I had thought to bring it up after dinner."

"Bring what up?"

"Something I feel I should talk to someone about. Lily, you remember you told me not to make you lie for me again? Well ..."

Lily immediately put the potato and knife down and came to stand beside James.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously. "What's happened? Has Macnair spoken to you again?"

"Not Macnair, no. Someone else. A man called Greyback."

There was a pause of about half a minute, then James cleared the table with a wave of his wand and said quietly,

"Sit down, Remus. Dinner can wait."

"Yes," Lily agreed, sitting down herself. "Let's talk first."

Their reaction to his troubles was so heart-warming that Remus did not hesitate long before following her example, and felt far less uneasy already as he began to explain,

"It happened when I was in Hogsmeade, looking for Christmas presents. I suppose I shouldn't have gone alone in the first place, but ... anyway, I spotted this poster ..."

He recounted every detail of his meeting with the man called Fenrir Greyback, and the boy he had had with him. Neither James nor Lily interrupted, they just sat opposite him, their hands clasped on the table, listening attentively until he had finished. Then James said quietly,

"So that's what happened to Gemma's little brother. They hid him somewhere, and at the next full moon, this man Greyback did to poor Jeremy what he'd done to you all those years ago."

Remus nodded tightly.

"We'll have to tell the Order about that," Lily said. "Something will have to be done, we've got to try and rescue that poor child. Well, won't we?" she prompted vehemently, when neither of them answered her.

"It's difficult to know what to do. Greyback has had Jeremy under his control for a long time now. We don't know what effect that might have had on the boy. Even if we can find out where he's been hidden all this time, we can't be sure the boy won't actually turn on us as we try to rescue him. What do you think, Remus?"

Remus rubbed a crease between his eyebrows thoughtfully. Eventually he said,

"I think it's worth a try. Jeremy did obey Greyback, but ... I think he was frightened of him. When Greyback started leaving, Jeremy lingered for a moment and I thought ... I thought he looked like he was asking me for help."

"Well then, there you have it!" said Lily.

"That could be a trap," James answered her warningly. "Of course, if it isn't ... It's definitely something we should discuss with the others. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures must have ways of tracking werewolves, surely."

He turned his questioning eyes on Remus, who gave a faint shrug.

"Your dad would know," Lily remarked.

She said it gently, and when she did, Remus's eyes shifted to her. She returned his gaze steadily, trying to fathom what was behind his tacit stare. At last she said softly,

"I'm sure Greyback had no reason - no genuine reason, at least - to want such a terrible revenge on your father, Remus. Knowing your dad, I'm sure whatever his dealings with Greyback, they were just and totally unprejudiced."

"Of course," James agreed with conviction. "Come on, Moony, we all know your dad would never say an unkind word about anyone out of prejudice."

"I know," Remus said, lowering his gaze to his hands on the table in front of him. "But ..."

"You're thinking there's no smoke without fire?" Lily guessed, and he looked up at her again gratefully.

"Well - yes," he confessed. "I don't believe for a minute that Dad would treat someone unfairly because of what he was, and yet ... Greyback sounded so convincing. I can't help but feel that there's a core of truth in his words somewhere. And he really did register his name after he bit me, the Ministry has a record of it. I - I can't explain it properly," he went on awkwardly. "How I feel, it's ... I always thought that - that it was an accident."

Lily nodded sympathetically. "You grew up believing that whoever bit you wasn't responsible for what he did to you, didn't you? You put up with it all because you believed it was just fate that had done this to you, and that there was no reason, and it was no one's fault."

"Yes," Remus admitted hoarsely. "Sometimes, when I was beginning to transform, when I started to feel the hair sprouting on my body, and when the pain started, I used to think about the werewolf who had bitten me. That somewhere in the world, he was going through the same sensations, just as helpless as I was. I pictured him alone, hidden somewhere in the dark with no one to care for him, and I ... I actually felt sorry for him."

He fell silent, only the tensening of his jaw and the clenching of his fist on the table betraying any further hint of what was going on inside him. Lily let go of James's hand and reached across the table for Remus's, causing him to look up at her again. She smiled encouragingly.

"I know it's difficult, but if anyone can cope with this, you can."

"She's right," James agreed readily. "And after all, maybe you'll find it's better to know that there is a reason for what happened to you, that it's not just some cruel game life decided to play on you. The best thing to do, if you want my opinion, is find out exactly what that reason is. You can't deal with it properly knowing only half the truth, right?"

He turned to Lily for support, and she nodded quickly.

"Absolutely. You've heard one side of the story," she said to Remus, "So find out the other. Find out the truth."

"How?" Remus asked of them both. "What should I do, ask my dad?" He began shaking his head almost before he had finished voicing the thought. "Dad dwells on the past more than enough, without being reminded and having to relive it all."

"Then ask Malcolm", Lily suggested practically. "Didn't you mention once that he was there when it happened?"

"Yes."

"Well then, that's the solution. If you don't want to ask your dad outright, talk to your uncle. He was there, and he was your dad's best friend, I'm sure he'd know all the details, and you could talk to him much more openly, without having to worry about upsetting him too much."

Remus thought it over for a minute, then he seemed to brighten up a little. "You know, I - I do believe that might be a good idea. Yes. I think I'll do that. But after Christmas."

"Excellent," said James, rubbing his hands. "Now that that's sorted, I vote we take our minds off serious thoughts for a bit and get on with dinner. I'll open a bottle of wine, too, that'll lift our spirits, right Lily?"

Letting go of Remus's hand, Lily got up off her seat.

"I don't know," she said. "I feel a bit funny, I don't think I'll have any wine."

"You still want dinner though, don't you?"

She shrugged. Walking over to the larder and opening it, she let her eyes drift over the contents and finally selected the treacle off the middle shelf.

"I think I'll have some of this," she announced. "I don't fancy potatoes any more."

James and Remus exchanged glances, simultaneously shrugged their shoulders, and settled for the fact that their dinner would consist of sandwiches tonight.

* * *

Happy New Year

Peter Pettigrew apparated in a clump of bushes on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow and made his way towards the lane that he knew so well, leading to the Potters' front door. He walked slowly, unsurely, although he had been down this way many times before, of course. But tonight, on the 31st of December, he was feeling very reluctant about it. Nevertheless, a shorter timespan than he had intended brought him to the front door, and he looked up at the windows of the cottage, all brightly illuminated and radiating a welcoming warmth despite the chill night air. Music was penetrating the wooden door, speedy and cheerful music intended to lift the spirit. He applied his hand to the knocker and was rewarded almost immediately by the sound of footsteps on the other side.

*Oh no,* he thought, recognising the tread even before a merry voice called to him through the door.

"Who goes there?"

"It's me, Sirius."

"Ah, we've had a lot of those tonight," came the reply. "State your purpose."

With a sigh, Peter recited, "My purpose is to be a perfect pest to all persons of pompousness and a pain in the backside of Severu..."

"Never mind that part," came the quick reply, and the door was opened by Sirius, managing - as only he could - to look as attractive as ever despite being ridiculously adorned with a bright pink paper hat, a plastic moustache and a fair quantity of confetti.

"In you come," he said, grasping Peter by the lapels and pulling him into the hall. Then the inevitable happened. Sirius poked his head out of the door, looked searchingly around the front garden, closed the door, and looked searchingly at Peter instead.

"Where's your lady love?" he demanded, taking a sip out of the butterbeer bottle in his hand.

"Err ..." began Peter, but he got no further.

"Sirius, what are you doing? Let him get his cloak off first, for heaven's sake!"

Sirius responded to Lily's reprimand with a mock bow and a grin. "As you please, your ladyship. I'd better leave him in your capable hands, anyway, he's got an air of gloom about him that I don't much like, and that I'm sure you're far better equipped to deal with than I am. Have you seen Kitty?"

"No," said Lily, rolling her eyes, and Sirius departed in the direction of the living room - the apparent source of the music and laughter that could be heard more clearly in the hall than it had outside.

Lily turned to Peter and helped him off with his cloak.

"Don't mind Sirius," she said kindly. "He might only be drinking butterbeer now, but I know that bottle of firewhisky in the kitchen was full before he turned up, whatever James may say." She put her head a little to one side and studied the new arrival. "So, what's the matter? Sirius was right about one thing, you do look gloomy."

"I ... er ... it's just ... Ellie ..."

"She didn't want to come?"

"Well, not exactly. She said she'd come, as long as I didn't."

"Oh dear." Lily bit her lip briefly, then said gently, "She can be a bit temperamental sometimes. What did you do, didn't you like her new hat?"

"Worse. I didn't like her new cat. Or rather, it didn't like me. See?"

He rolled up the sleeve of his jumper to reveal a line of scratches up his right arm. "I'm afraid when I defended myself, it took a fall off the arm of the chair."

"Surely that wouldn't hurt a cat!"

"No, but I think it hurt Ellie's feelings."

"Oh dear," Lily said again, then, "Well, never mind Ellie for tonight then. I'm sure she'll calm down eventually. Meanwhile, come in and have a brandy or something, that'll cheer you up. You'll find James and Remus in the living room, oh and Sirius, of course, and probably 'Kitty'."

"Who's Kitty?"

"That's what we'd all like to know. Some girl he picked up - again. Go on in, tell James to get you a drink, I must answer that," she finished as there was another knock on the door, and she went to let in the Longbottoms.

* * *

The New Year was welcomed with a display of fireworks at Hogwarts. It wasn't that anyone was in a particularly good mood and feeling much like celebrating - in fact, it was actually the opposite that had led Professor Dumbledore to put forward the idea of fireworks for all those students and teachers who would be spending the Christmas holidays at the castle. A half-hour display of the hugest, most magnificent coloured lights flashing in the sky that anyone had ever seen certainly seemed a suitable means of distracting everyone's attention from their private troubles for a little while. It worked for Pippa Pettigrew, anyway.

She stood on the front steps of the castle, wrapped in a deep red winter cloak with a white fur collar and cuffs, surrounded by students who whooped and gasped at the display above, smiling to herself. Albus Dumbledore's fireworks were a sight to be seen, exploding into the shapes of multicoloured pirate ships, glittering castles, dancers in medieval garb ...

"Aren't they just the best fireworks ye've ever seen?" boomed a voice behind her.

Pippa turned her head to see Rubeus Hagrid standing nearby, towering over her and all the students and gazing up at the sky with the rest of them. Looking back at the sky herself, she agreed whole-heartedly,

"They're fantastic. I've never seen anything like this before, and I'm sure I never will. Oh, did you see that one?"

She looked round again in time to see Hagrid blush, while several of the students laughed and pointed, and some even cheered and clapped at the figure of an enormous, beared man in a heavy cloak walking across the sky before dissolving into a shower of small sparks. Another bang followed, along with more cheers. Pippa looked up, and to her surprise and embarrassment saw a new figure twirling through the sky, yellow hair sparkling, red cloak swishing.

"Oh, Professor Pettigrew, that one was beautiful!" exclaimed a student close by, and Pippa smiled at her and pointed up again.

"And look, there's Professor Dumbledore himself."

Sure enough, the headmaster's kind face and long silver beard were shining on them now. Pippa and Hagrid both automatically turned their heads and craned their necks to try and see Dumbledore's office window, but it was too high up.

The fireworks ended with a splendid depiction of Hogwarts going up in a shower of colourful sparks and a particularly loud bang. All around, people wished each other a happy new year in noisy voices.

"Well, 'appy New Year to ye, Miss Pippa," said Hagrid.

"Happy New Year to you too, Rubeus," she replied with a smile.

"Professor, Professor!"

Pippa turned her attention to the eager fourth-year Hufflepuff who was tugging at her sleeve.

"Yes?"

"Happy New Year, Professor."

"And Happy New Year to you too, Patrick. What can I do for you?"

"Err ... some of us were wondering ... is it all right if we have a New Year's snowball fight before we go up to bed? Please."

Pippa hesitated. She glanced up at the sky and remembered how the benevolent face of Dumbledore had glistened there, and she grinned.

"All right," she said. "But only if I can join in! Excuse me."

The students were surprised to see their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher joining in with the rest of them, and Pippa found herself having the time of her life. At one point she checked her watch, and discovered that it was just past one o'clock already. Brisk footsteps crunched towards her across the snow, and presently Professor McGonagall's voice called to her sharply. Expecting a reprimand for her un-teacherly behaviour, Pippa excused herself to the children and joined the older woman with a guilty look on her face. She was surprised to find McGonagall looking regretful.

"I am truly sorry to interrupt your game," said the deputy headmistress. "But Professor Dumbledore has just received some bad news from Alastor Moody."

"Oh!" Pippa exclaimed. "What is it?"

"It appears our enemies have chosen to celebrate the coming of the New Year with their own set of 'fireworks'," McGonagall said in hushed tones. "They've set fire to some muggle houses in different parts of the country, and they're causing additional destruction in one Lancashire town by using ..." she lowered her voice still further "... giants."

Pippa glanced towards Hagrid's cabin, to which he had withdrawn after the fireworks had ended.

"Does Rubeus know about this yet?" she asked.

"No. But his help will be needed to deal with this emergency. The headmaster would like you to go with him."

"Of course," Pippa said at once.

Her fellow teacher looked less than pleased at her eager acquiescence, and her next words made the reason quite clear.

"This will be a very dangerous assignment, Philippa. It will be just you and Hagrid, and a handful of Alastor's people - the rest are dealing with attacks in other parts of the country, as will Dumbledore himself, Inferi have been sighted in ..."

"I understand," the young witch said seriously. "I'll go and get Hagrid now."

She turned to go, but Professor McGonagall called her back for a moment.

"Yes?" Pippa queried, expecting more advice.

McGonagall did indeed seem to want to say something more, but in the end, she settled for the faintest smile and said,

"Take care of yourself, Philippa."

Returning the smile, Pippa replied,

"Don't worry. I will."

* * *

The church bells chimed three times. It was an eerie sound, ordinary though it was in itself. But heard over the crackling of flames, with the dial at the top of the church tower the only electrically illuminated feature of the small town left intact, every other bulb having been smashed, the smoking wreckage of houses all around lit up by orange and red flames that licked the black sky, it was like the tolling of funeral bells.

Alice Longbottom rolled onto her side and ran her hands up and down her arms and legs, feeling broken skin here and there, but thankfully no broken bones. She stroked the tangled hair from her soot-blackened face and sat up, dislodging a number of stones as she did so, sending them splashing into the puddles formed by the water spurting out of a broken pipe in the ruined wall nearby. Tears streaked down her face as she surveyed the battlefield that surrounded her. To think that only a few hours ago, they had all been at Lily and James's together, talking and laughing, raising their glasses to the new year, even as Moody's message of disaster had been on its way to them. She remembered clutching Frank's arm as James read it out to them all, while the muggle radio had continued to play Auld Lang Sine as though nothing had happened. That reminded her ...

"F-Frank?" she called timidly into the night.

There was no reply, and she fought a rising panic as she used the rubble around her for support, pushing herself to her feet. She cast aside the remains of the shattered wand still clasped in her right hand and staggered out onto the street, looking up and down it. What looked like Moody's silhouette limped across the landscape in the distance, at the church end of the street, where the few surviving muggles were cowering in the shadow of the graveyard wall. She could see the form of Hagrid - no longer seeming so extraordinarily large in her eyes, after what she had seen today - dropping wearily onto what looked like a heap of scrap metal. Other shapes began to move amongst the debris, but none of them was the one she was looking for. She stumbled further along, towards the spot where she and her husband had become separated in the fighting. Her heart stopped as she spotted a figure sprawled by the side of the road in a position that did not bode well. Though still unsteady on her feet, she broke into a run, reached the figure and turned it over. She shrieked as the lifeless eyes of the one-time auror Forbes stared back at her.

"Frank?" she called once again, looking round more desperately now. "Frank! Fraaaank!"

Her last, long drawn-out shout elicited a response of sorts. A girder of one of the burning buildings succumbed to the flames with a crash, and she turned automatically towards the sound. And there he was. Illuminated brightly by the flames that formed a wall all around him, edging ever closer, he was lying on the ground, apparently coughing and oblivious to the immediate danger he was in. Alice ran as close as she dared to the fire and called to him again.

"Frank! Frank, get hold of your wand! The fire, it's ... Frank!"

He pushed himself up a little and turned his head towards her slowly, but did not appear to see her. Then he slumped back to the ground, coughing harder than before. Alice continued to call to him frantically, but he showed no reaction, merely went on coughing in that dreadful way, and in her mind's eye she began to see another fire, and the stairway leading up the the loft, and her parents' bodies ... and now she was to lose Frank the same way.

"No!" she screamed out loud, and plunged through the flames before giving herself time for another thought. It was lucky her clothes were still damp from the pipe leakage she had lain near earlier. Nevertheless, she had to pull off her cloak and fling it from her quickly. It went up in flames within seconds, and she screamed again. Next to her, Frank stirred, and finally recognised her.

"A-Alice," he coughed as she reached across him, taking up his wand. "A-Alice, the fire, you ... you need to get out."

"Not without you, sweetheart," she said, kissing him hurriedly.

She pointed his wand at the flames through which she had come.

"Aguamenti!" she chanted.

"Aguamenti!" a voice joined in on the other side of the flames.

The fire spat and sizzled and smoked, but a gap slowly began to form in the wall of fire, and soon Pippa Pettigrew's arms were reaching towards them, helping Alice hoist Frank to his feet, helping them both to safety.

Alice slumped down on the ground beside Frank, a safe distance away from the fire, and put her head on his shoulder. He was still coughing badly, but he slipped his arm around her, making her feel comforted at once.

"Thank you, Philippa," Frank said.

Pippa gave them both a faint smile. "You're welcome. Will you be all right now?" They both nodded. "In that case, please excuse me."

Some minutes passed in silence. Then Frank, breathing a little more easily now, said,

"That was very foolish of you, Alice. And very brave," he added with a loving smile.

She touched his cheek. "I was so scared. So scared I'd lose you ... like I lost my parents."

Frank took her hand and kissed it. Alice began to tremble and he tightened his arms around her.

"It's all right, dearest. You're not going to lose me."

"You can't know that," she said reasonably through a muffled sob.

"I know, but ... Somehow I'm sure ... Anyway, we're together now."

"Yes," she said, sitting back a little. "And that's good, because I've got something to tell you and for a minute I thought I'd missed my chance."

"What is it?" he asked.

Alice began to smile. "I've found a use for that money your grandmother gave us for Christmas."

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she chuckled. "I think we should invest it in a cradle."

Frank's eyes widened, his mouth dropped open.

"Y-you mean ..." he stammered. "You're ..."

She nodded eagerly. "I'm pregnant," she whispered. "You're going to be a daddy."

Frank pulled her back into his arms and kissed her soot-covered cheek. Alice held on to him and closed her eyes, thankful that whatever bad had happened here tonight, at least she still had Frank. It made her feel guilty to be so egoistic, but right now, she couldn't help it. And somehow she felt that he was right - she always would have him, come what may.

At the other end of the street, Pippa Pettigrew approached the figure of Hagrid, sitting dejectedly on an overturned car and sobbing into his dinner plate-sized hands. She rested her own, small, gloved hand on his knee and said gently,

"It's over. They're all gone."

He shifted his hands to look at her, revealing the puffy skin around his beetle-black eyes.

"Look what they done though, Miss Pippa. All o' this ..." He waved his hands in an expressive gesture. "They wrecked a whole town. They killed all them poor muggles. An' they're me own people, least 'alfways."

"You're not like them, Rubeus," Pippa said kindly, but firmly. "You'd never harm anyone. And you've no reason to feel any worse about what happened here tonight than anyone else. You're only half giant, anyway, and even if you weren't - what you are doesn't matter, who you're related to ... That's not something we can help. Look at my sister. Would you say her actions are in any way my fault?"

"No, o' course not."

"Well then, what happened here tonight isn't yours, either. Come, Rubeus. Get up. Go home. Get some rest, you've done enough for tonight."

With one more great sob, Hagrid got to his feet, the car crunching beneath him as his weight was lifted off it.

"All right, Miss Pippa. Are ye comin' too?"

"Not just yet, I'm going to give Moody and the others a hand clearing this mess up. That will probably take us all day. I wonder what the Ministry will tell the muggles ..."

She shook her head and sighed. "Good night, Rubeus. See you some time tomorrow - or rather, later today. Tell you what," she said, brightening a little, "How about going to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer this evening, would that cheer you up?"

"That's very kind of ye, Miss Pippa."

She smiled. "I'll see you this evening then, Rubeus. Goodbye."

And with that, she turned away from him and picked her way through the rubble towards Alastor Moody.

* * *

On the evening of January 1st, Hogsmeade was bathed in snow and moonlight. Pippa had been right about the clearing up of the mess taking up the whole day. She apparated beside the Hog's Head, tired and hungry, and very much upset by all that she had seen that day, the bodies that had been removed, the wounded muggles taken to St. Mungo's.

Pulling her cloak closer about her, Pippa made to step down the street to the Three Broomsticks. Her hand was on the wand inside her pocket, just in case. One could never be too careful these days, one never knew who might be waiting just around the corner. Speaking of which ... She had an uncanny feeling that she was being watched. Her fingers closed more tightly around her wand, and she quickened her pace. She spotted a movement in the shadows just across the street. And another further ahead. She heard a faint rustle behind her, and turned round. It did not matter that she had drawn her wand before completing the turn, for the witch standing behind her had acted more quickly.

"Good evening, Philippa," said the familiar, sneering voice of her twin sister. "Happy New Year."

* * *

Rubeus Hagrid stepped out of the Three Broomsticks and looked up and down the street. All was quiet. Not even the hoot of an owl was to be heard, and no one was about. This was odd. It was the sixth time he had stepped outside to look out for Pippa Pettigrew, but still there was no sign of her. He went back inside, waited some more, then came out again. It was past midnight now. Surely this was later than she had meant when she had said "this evening". He wondered whether she had simply changed her mind. But wouldn't she have let him know, if that were the case? With a shiver, and feeling rather anxious, he trudged back up to the school to speak to Dumbledore.