Remedial History

Chapter Nineteen: Apprenticeship

Theo spent the next few days in a flurry of emergency Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons. Nearly all of the adults in the house seemed to have some sort of specialized knowledge they were eager to impart to him, from Professor Snape, who seemed to think he would need to know how to brew a Poison-Detecting Elixir, to Miss Tonks, who spent a raucous afternoon playing Dueling Tag with him, until Theo knocked her down the stairs with a jinx. Molly – Mrs. Weasley, Theo had learned – poked her head out of the kitchen and announced that it was All Fun and Games Until Somebody Lost an Eye.

Miss Tonks dusted herself off and said airily that in her profession one could pretty much count on losing an eye sooner or later, and she was rather looking forward to having a mad eye of her own and frightening Harry’s uncle with it. Mrs. Weasley muttered something about Professor Lupin deserving better, and told Theo to come into the kitchen so she could show him which herbs were best for healing.

Theo was, on the whole, grateful that people were constantly pulling him aside for tutoring. They kept him busy, and he didn’t have to think too much about what he’d done to his family or what he was about to do to his friends.

Professor Lupin had finally told him the full story of his childhood friend Peter, whose mother they were going to visit on Sunday, all the while assuring Theo that he’d been quite mistaken about any resemblance he had once thought he’d seen. Theo was not so sure. He remembered his dad’s face when he’d last seen him at King’s Cross, gaunt and tired from his two-month stretch in Azkaban, and wondered where he was tonight. And he thought about Tracey, and Blaise...

“Professor Snape didn’t seem to mind much about what he did to Rosier,” he said after a moment. “I think he sort of enjoyed it.”

Lupin gave him a sharp look. “Do you think you’d enjoy exorcising Blaise that much?” He tossed off the question casually, but Theo could detect a serious note in his voice, and he realized for the first time why he had been invited along for the exorcism.

“Blaise isn’t dead,” said Theo. “And I don’t think he’d become a ghost even if he was dead. Immortality isn’t what he’s after.”

“I know. I was speaking metaphorically. It isn’t always that easy to make your former friends stop haunting you, you know.”

“I don’t think it’s really that easy for Professor Snape either, sir.”

“No. I suppose it isn’t. And you’d better get out of the habit of calling me ‘sir’ if you’re going to come along on our mission this weekend, because you’ll have to pose as my girlfriend’s nephew or something. ‘Remus’ will do fine.”

Theo, who had never been in the habit of calling adults by their first names, felt decidedly uncomfortable, but he forced himself to get used to the idea.

 

                                                            *          *          *

He felt even more awkward on Sunday, when his former professor explained the cover story he’d thought out to Miss Tonks. “I invented a girlfriend a long time ago – by way of filling in gaps in the conversation – and she’s been begging to meet her anyway, so there’s a part for you to step into. And Theo can be your nephew. Your name is Katherine, and I think we’ll call you Edgar, Theo, unless you have some other name you’d prefer.”

Theo shook his head.

“What do I look like?” asked Miss Tonks, taking a small mirror out of her purse.

“I can’t remember how much I’ve said to Martha about her appearance, so I’ll just tell you how I’ve always pictured her. Slightly built, medium height. Dark brown hair, straight, about shoulder-length. Oval face, straight nose. And brown eyes. Very gentle.”

“‘Fraid I can’t do anything about that last bit,” she grumbled. “I’m a Metamorphagus, not an actress. Is that about right?” she asked, checking the mirror as she morphed.

“Yes, but older. Late thirties.”

She made her face look older and added a few streaks of grey to her hair.

They match now, Theo thought. Usually they don’t. Must be a bit awkward, listening to him describe an imaginary girlfriend who looks completely different from her.

“What do I do for a living?” she asked.

“Librarian,” Lupin answered without a moment’s hesitation.

“Librarian?!?” she said. “That’s the stuff of your wildest fantasies?”

He smiled. “Only the ones I tell little old ladies about.”

 

“Do you have an imaginary job too?” she asked.

“Yes. Floo Network traffic analyst at the Ministry.”

“You couldn’t have thought up something more exciting?”

He stared at her. “Frankly, I’d be happy with a far more boring job than that.”

Miss Tonks looked as if she wanted to bite her tongue. “Ever wish she were real?” she asked, trying to sound lighthearted but not completely succeeding. Theo felt like he’d rather not be listening in on this conversation, but he couldn’t think of a way to let them have some privacy without drawing attention to himself.

“If she were real, she couldn’t very well come with me, could she?” said Lupin. He ran his fingers through her straight shoulder-length dark brown hair, very lightly; Theo suspected the gesture would have been a kiss if he had not been present.

She was still looking at him uncertainly. “You’re sure you want my company?”

“Yes, of course I do. It’ll help to have a couple of extra sets of eyes and ears – and I’d like to get an opinion on my technique from someone who’s Auror-trained. I’ve had to make it up as I go along. Theo ... I mean Edgar, watch where your Aunt Katherine looks and what she does once we’re inside Martha’s house. She’s a professional.”

Theo had a feeling he hadn’t answered the question she had really asked.

He tossed a handful of Floo powder into the flames and shouted, “Number Eight, Margin Alley, Birmingham!”

As they stepped out of the fireplace, a short, dumpy witch in florid paisley robes swooped forward with a broom and dustpan in one hand and swept up the ashes they had scattered on the carpet. “Sorry about that, ma’am,” Theo muttered.

“Oh no, dear, don’t worry about it,” said the woman, tilting her head to one side like a plump little bird and smiling brightly. “I’ve always enjoyed sweeping. I do think everyone should have a hobby, don’t you?”

Lupin introduced them. “This is my girlfriend Katherine Lambeth, I’ve told you about her, and her nephew Edgar. Katherine, Edgar, this is Martha Pettigrew.”

“So nice to meet you at last, dear,” said the woman vaguely; Theo wasn’t sure whether she was talking to him or Miss Tonks. She kissed all three of them on the cheek, enveloping them in a cloud of kumquat-and-lilac-scented perfume.

Theo watched the other two adults. They both seemed highly alert; their eyes darted around the room and gave the floorboards a quick scan when their hostess wasn’t looking. Lupin’s gaze rested on a wreath of powder blue flowers that played “Rock-a-Bye Baby” whenever anyone in the room stirred, and he frowned slightly. After a moment’s thought, Theo understood what was troubling him. If Mrs. Pettigrew wanted to cover up any noises, the flowers would do it.

She seemed cheerfully unconscious that her guests were observing the room so intently. “Have a canape,” she offered, passing around a plate of what appeared to be Ritz crackers topped with cheese-in-a-spray-can and maraschino cherries.

“Is this a new recipe?” Lupin asked, popping one of the crackers in his mouth as if he found nothing at all odd about the combination. Theo followed his example.

“Oh yes, it was in Witch Weekly last month. Well, actually they said to use Brie and pear slices, but I thought a few substitutions would perk it up, don’t you agree?”

“Mmm, yes. Excellent idea.”

Theo took another cracker. They weren’t too awful if you swallowed them quickly.

“I hope you like Indian food,” Mrs. Pettigrew announced. “We’re having ferret curry.”

 

“Ferret curry?” asked Miss Tonks. Theo wondered if the woman had borrowed Hagrid’s recipe book, and even Lupin looked a little startled.

“Oh yes, it was on special this week. I think it’s a little past the expiration date, but it’s tinned, so I’m sure it’s still fine.”

“That explains it,” Lupin said under his breath, as Martha went into the kitchen and started banging and rattling pots. “Martha has a knack for finding bargains that ... aren’t quite right. You can be vegetarians if you like.”

“Are you going to?” Theo asked.

“Who ever heard of a vegetarian werewolf?”

Theo supposed he could face the expired ferret curry, if Professor Lupin was going to.

Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetop...

“The flowers were one of her bargains too?” whispered Miss Tonks, contemplating the blue petals which were beginning to dry out at the edges. “They’re not what most people would choose for their adult son’s grave.”

“Expect so. I thought they looked a bit suspicious myself, but most likely they were just in the half-price bin and she couldn’t resist them. I’ve known her to buy ones with Easter bunnies dancing around a Maypole. In June.”

When the wind blows, the cradle will rock ...

“Lunch is ready,” called Mrs. Pettigrew from the kitchen.

She kept up a steady stream of small talk throughout the meal, much of it addressed to Theo. “So you’re at Hogwarts, dear? What year? Term isn’t over until the middle of December, is it? What are you doing away from school?”

Theo spat a bit of ferret gristle into his napkin and said he was recuperating from spattergroit.

Martha nodded sympathetically. “Terrible disease, spattergroit. My Uncle Julius had it. The Muggles mistook him for a cheetah, they did, and almost shut him up in the London Zoo. Or at least that’s what he used to tell me. I never could work out when Uncle Julius was teasing and when he wasn’t.” She turned to Lupin. “You’re keeping well, I hope? You always look so pale, I hope they’re not working you too hard at the Ministry. You really ought to see that he takes some Pepper-Up Potion, Katherine – and you should both take a holiday. Wonderful package deals to Mauritius this time of year ... it’s Diricawl-spotting season, you know.”

The other adults murmured appropriate responses, but Theo could tell they were really listening for sounds behind the chatter, behind the music from the flowers, and they were both very much on edge.

When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall ...

There was a faint scuffling noise from the hall that led to the bedrooms. Lupin tilted his head to one side, but did not change expression, and Miss Tonks sloshed a considerable amount of red wine onto the tablecloth. “Sorry, Martha,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it, love, it’ll clean up.” Mrs. Pettigrew pointed her wand at the dining room table. Theo pushed his chair back and jumped out of range; Lupin had warned him not to get in the way of any of her spells unless he felt like spending the rest of his life as a newt.

“Please allow me,” he said, but Mrs. Pettigrew had already attempted a Vanishing spell which didn’t actually remove the wine stain, but did change the tablecloth from hot pink to a leopard-skin print.

She tried very hard to look as if she meant to do that. “Much better, don’t you think? Now it shouldn’t show the dirt as much.”

And down will come baby, cradle and all.

Mrs. Pettigrew continued to chatter away happily all through the espresso-and-grape-jam trifle and the coffee, and suddenly, without warning, burst into tears on Lupin’s shoulder as they were sitting in the living room after lunch.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, dear ... honestly, I’d be lost ... You’ve been an absolute rock of strength ... and so thoughtful ... You’re the only one who ever remembers about him, you know. Minerva McGonagall used to ... but she hasn’t been here in over two years.” She sniffled noisily. “Everyone talks about James and Lily this and James and Lily that ... no one spares a thought for my son ... and I think he was more of a hero than any of them, really.” She looked up into his eyes. “I don’t mean to say they weren’t wonderful people, but being brave came easily to them. It was never easy for him.”

“I know, Martha,” he murmured, holding her tightly. “You’re brave too. Remember that.”

“Come on,” whispered Miss Tonks. “We need to check out the rest of the house. See if we can tell where that noise came from.”

Theo was sure they wouldn’t find anything. Those were genuine tears. But he followed her anyway, because Martha Pettigrew’s display of naked grief was rather hard to watch.

“Watch,” Miss Tonks said quietly once they were in the hall, “and if I do anything you don’t understand, ask me about it later.”

She ran her finger along the length of a table covered in knicknacks. It was newly dusted, like just about everything in the house. “Makes things harder,” she commented under her breath, and after a moment’s thought, Theo saw what she meant. If Martha weren’t such a fussy housekeeper, they would be able to tell if anything had been disturbed lately.

She seemed to be paying particular attention to the floorboards and carpets, and so did Theo, but he saw nothing unusual and no holes large enough for a rat to slip through.

He watched as she checked the bathroom for signs of male occupancy, but the place was a jumble of cosmetics, porcelain angels, bowls of potpourri, and towels printed with vivid pink and purple flowers. The few stray hairs around the bathtub drain matched Martha Pettigrew’s.

They heard more scuffling noises. This time they sounded nearer, and seemed to be coming from one of the bedrooms. Theo elbowed Miss Tonks, who nodded and motioned to him to follow. Wand out, she eased the bedroom door open noiselessly.

A book called The Sweeping Book of Brooms, which appeared to be about housework rather than Quidditch, was swiping its languid way across the floor. They caught each other’s eyes and broke into shaky, relieved laughter – although, Theo realized, feeling relieved wasn’t really a logical response under the circumstances. Tracking down Peter Pettigrew was her job, wasn’t it?

The only other reading material in Mrs. Pettigrew’s room consisted of a few back issues of Witch Weekly and a romance novel called Desire Among the Dragon Tamers. Most of the shelves were covered with wizard photographs: pictures of a plump, cheerful-looking little boy; a teenager who was still chubby but had acquired perpetual worry lines between his eyes; a watery-eyed young man with the fearful, defeated expression that, in Theo’s experience, was the stamp by which one could always recognize photographs from the first war. Except the four other people who kept showing up in the photos, the two brash, dark-haired young men, the red-haired woman, and the much younger Professor Lupin, didn’t seem to have that look. Indeed, they gave off a strong impression of not being afraid of anything at all.

There were also a few pictures of a man who might have been Mr. Pettigrew, but they were very old and a bit grainy-looking. He was a thin, grey-faced man who looked as if he were suffering from some serious illness.

They ended up in what had once been Peter’s bedroom. It showed no signs of having been inhabited recently, although, like the rest of the house, it was painfully clean. For the most part, it seemed to have been furnished according to Mrs. Pettigrew’s tastes, with lace doilies on nearly everything that stood still. Peter, unlike his mother, had been a reader; a shelf of swashbuckling adventure stories and technical works about the Animagus transformation stood above the bed. A couple of Quidditch posters were tacked to the walls, along with a yellowing calendar featuring a picture of a scantily dressed young witch. The month was November, 1981.

“November,” murmured Miss Tonks. “Funny that he bothered to change the page on the calendar on that morning, before he...”

“He was that sort of person,” said Professor Lupin from the doorway. “Conscientious about odd little things.”

“How’s Martha?” Miss Tonks asked.

“Fine. She’s just doing the washing up, so I left her to it. She gets into these moods, you know, but they never last long.”

“Bet they’re a lot harder on the people who have to witness them than on her.”

“Yes. Rather.” He lowered his voice. “Find anything?”

“No.”

“We’d best be going then. Sorry to subject you to this.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she murmured. “Is it always like this?”

“Pretty much. Yes.”

Mrs. Pettigrew had the wreath of musical flowers in her hand when she showed them out the door. “I’m so glad you don’t mind going to the cemetery,” she said. “It always depresses me too much, but he ought to have flowers for his grave. These were a very good price, but now I can’t make up my mind about them. You don’t think ... that they’re tacky or anything, do you?”

“They’re beautiful,” said Lupin, tucking the oversized wreath under one arm. He didn’t say anything more until they were out on the street. “All right, then. What should I do with the flowers?” he asked in what Theo had come to recognize as his professorial voice.

“You put them on his grave, just like you told her you were going to.”

“Why?”

“Two reasons,” said Theo. “Because it’s what she trusts you to do, and ... on the off chance that anybody’s following us, you don’t want them to see you doing anything else.”

“Excellent answer. I expected you to come up with the first reason, but the second one is the important part. It’s the little details that trip you up. You have to do your best to live and feel and act as if the lies you’re telling people are true.”

Theo nodded, and thought about the sheer number of little details that would have to go into maintaining a charade of friendship with Blaise.

They had come to a dingy-looking church with an iron fence and glass shards from a smashed whiskey bottle scattered on the front steps. Lupin placed the flowers in front of the gravestone, where they perched rather awkwardly and filled the little churchyard with “Rock-A-Bye Baby.”

“Have you made your decision?” he asked Theo abruptly.

“Yes. I’m going to do it. Somebody needs to report on what the P.Y.L. is up to from the inside. Professor Snape didn’t have a clue what was going on, and they didn’t find out about Millicent until it was too late.”

Lupin chewed on his lower lip and regarded Theo for a few seconds. “Well,” he said at last, with a slightly crooked smile, “welcome to the glamorous profession of spying. For me, it means damp handkerchiefs, truly vile canapes, and the prospect of having to arrest Martha’s son in front of her eyes one of these days. Or worse. The specifics are going to be different in your case, but one universal feature of the job is that it’s boring, uncomfortable, and you feel like an absolute cad most of the time. It’s impossible not to if you’re a halfway decent person.”

“I know,” said Theo. “But you aren’t about to walk away and quit, are you?”

“I don’t have a choice. I’d been visiting Martha every few weeks for thirteen years before we found out about Peter, and it would look odd if I’d stopped suddenly – and even stranger if somebody else started coming around. I was the logical person for the job.”

“Just like I am.”

Lupin nodded, still looking troubled, but said nothing more. Miss Tonks didn’t say anything either, but she covered his hand with her own. Their fingers twined together as they walked away from the grave.

Theo wondered what it would be like to have that sort of relationship with Tracey. He knew now that he never would.