The Purloined Prophetess

IX: Guarding Sybill (Week Two)

Moony, your titles are so boring! I think this one should be called 'Sir Regulus of the House of Black, Dashing Undercover Agent and Singing Sensation.' - R. B.

'This is ridiculous,' said my old Head of House. 'I thought we agreed that Sybill's guards should remain as inconspicuous as possible.'

'Well, Minerva, there's more than one way of being inconspicuous.' Dumbledore was on my side, so I was pretty sure I'd get my way in the end. 'Remus is about as quiet and careful as they come, and Theo still spotted him. I don't think it's a bad idea for Regulus to have a plausible story explaining why he is at Hogwarts - and this one certainly fits his personality and his style.'

'Do I get any backup musicians?' I asked. 'How about it, Minnie? I hear you play a mean saxophone.'

'You were misinformed. And I haven't been called "Minnie" since I was six,' she said sternly, but I could tell she wanted to smile.

'There's Hagrid,' said Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eye. 'He plays the drums.'

I picked up my ukulele and walked at a leisurely pace toward the North Tower. Getting past the portrait was always my favourite part.

'Stay, varlet! Knowest thou the password?'

'Yea, verily,' I replied, ''tis "Sir Dodenal le Sauvage." And hail, brave Sir Cadogan! Remember me, Sir Regulus of the house of Black? I come hither on a quest!'

'What manner of quest, varlet?' demanded the knight. 'Thou look'st more like a strolling minstrel than a noble knight.'

''Tis a musical quest!' I strummed a few notes on the ukulele. 'If thou wouldst be of assistance, I charge thee to find good Sir Rubeus of the house of Hagrid and any other staff members of musical inclination, and tell them I'll be holding auditions in the Divination classroom at half-past-three.'

'I go, I go! Be of good cheer, Sir Regulus, and I wish thee luck on thy musical quest!'

I found Syb nodding off over a bottle of sherry and Moony curled up in an armchair in front of the fire with his copy of Shakespeare. He looked a shade paler than usual, which was quite an accomplishment, but he laughed out loud when he saw my disguise. 'I should've known you'd come up with something like that, Reg ... or do you prefer to be called Stubby?'

'I think I like being called Sir Regulus of the House of Black. All the best singing sensations are getting knighted nowadays.'

'Don't push your luck,' he said, smiling. 'Listen - try not to draw more attention to yourself than you have to, and you do understand this is very serious, don't you? Don't leave Sybill alone, even for a second, and don't go running after any suspicious people on your own - tell Sir Cadogan to spread the alert. And take care of yourself, Reg. If you get into trouble this week, I might not be in any condition to rescue you.'

'I know. I do take some things seriously, believe it or not.' I gave him a light punch on the arm as he rose to go. 'Take care of yourself too, Moony. Stay well.'

'That's impossible, I'm afraid, but thanks for the thought.' He picked up his briefcase and was gone.

Sir Cadogan returned with Hagrid, who, as it turned out, didn't so much play the drums as bang on them at random, and Filius Flitwick, who was generally able to drown him out with his accordion. That meant we had to arrange everything as a polka, but all the same, I thought we sounded all right. I don't think old Syb liked us practising all afternoon in her tower, but she didn't have a choice in the matter. I wasn't about to let Moony say I hadn't been a responsible bodyguard.

Minnie was kind enough to take over guard duty for a few hours so Dumbledore could introduce me to the students at dinner. 'We have a special guest this week, a world-famous singing star who has graciously agreed to come out of retirement in Barbados for a series of performances at Hogwarts this autumn. Will you please give it up for ... MISTER STUBBY BOARDMAN OF THE HOBGOBLINS!'

There was a smattering of applause. I was surprised not to get a more enthusiastic response...

Reg, you do know it's been sixteen years since Stubby Boardman was a big star, right? - N. T.

... but I stepped forward and began to strum my ukulele. I'd chosen one of the Hobgoblins' biggest hits:

SINCE my BAY-by left-a me

Ah, WHOA, whoa, WHOA, whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa

I've been HEXED, vexed, and CURsed as can be,

Oh NO, no, NO, no-no-no-no.

Most of the students sat there in stony silence, but a few had started clapping along to the music. Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, and one thin, dark-haired boy at the Slytherin table seemed especially enthusiastic. Slightly encouraged, I launched into an old Muggle tune:

Purple Haze, all around

Don't know if I'm comin' up or down.

This didn't seem to go over as well - none of the purebloods knew it, and the Muggle-borns thought it was their father's music. I had to do something radical to save the situation. I looked desperately around the hall. At last my eyes fixed on Sev Snape, who had been eyeing me as if I were a particularly loathsome piece of fungus. I polkaed toward the High Table.

I feel funny, but I don't know why,

'SCUSE ME while I kiss this guy!

Uh, Reg? There's something you ought to know... - J. M. E.

Don't you dare tell him, Jack! This is priceless! - N. T.

Hagrid gave a resounding bang on the cymbals as I planted a loud, wet smack on Sevvie's cheek. The hall exploded in laughter and cheering which continued through the rest of the set.

Stubby Boardman was a big star again.

X: Full Moon Fever

[This entire section has been Arcanum Charmed against Jack Evans.

Four weeks later: Charm lifted. For the record, I am a complete prat who does NOT deserve Jack's friendship, but I'm glad he seems to think otherwise. - R. J. L.]

If any of my readers are curious to know what the aftereffects of the werewolf transformation feel like, they should wait until the next time they have the flu, go for a five-mile run, fall down a long flight of stairs, and drink three or four bottles of cheap wine. And then do it all over again the next night. And the next. About the only things that help a bit are drinking a lot of fluids and sleeping, and you can't usually sleep very well because you're feeling too miserable. I'm perfectly sane and safe as long as I've taken my potion, but it doesn't do wonders for my temper. I prefer to stay away from people at these times.

Toward the middle of the second afternoon I'd finally dropped off, only to be woken by an enormous Great Horned Owl pecking at my hands. I rolled over and tried to ignore it. It started pecking at the back of my neck instead. Painfully, I opened my eyes and untied the note from its leg.

R -

I know this is a bad time, but you must come to headquarters at once. You can have your old room back and we'll see that you get your potion. Plan to stay for a long time. Send your cat and anything else you need by return owl. DO NOT GO OUT OF DOORS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. DO NOT STAY IN SPIRIT'S END LONGER THAN NECESSARY.

A. D.

As I did not have a fireplace, that meant Apparation - something I try to avoid doing at this time of the month, for obvious reasons. This had better be serious, I thought grumpily.

It took just about all the energy I could summon to load a protesting Felicity into her cat carrier, send her off with the owl, and Apparate at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Miraculously, I managed to avoid splinching myself, but I nearly collided with Mundungus Fletcher, who looked almost as unsteady on his feet as I felt, though for a different reason. 'Watch where you're goin', Loopy,' he slurred.

'Mundungus,' I asked, 'do you have any idea why I'm here?'

He put both hands on my shoulders and gave me an owlish stare. 'Tha's a very interesting metasiv- metafishical question ... oh, screw it. If you're not sure of your porpoise ... purpose in life, mate, don' 'spect other people to give you the answers.' And he passed out more or less on top of me.

Jack Evans dragged Mundungus off of me. I tried to ask him what was going on, but for some reason what I actually said was, 'Porpoises are cute. I saw some when I was on a scientific expedition to Greenland once.' What was happening to my brain?

Jack gave me a strange look. I didn't blame him. 'Are you all right? You don't look well at all.'

'Nothing serious,' I said. 'Migraine.' By trial and error, I had discovered this was a useful cover story when dealing with Muggles: they seemed to accept it as an adequate explanation of why I sometimes needed to be shut up in a dark room and not disturbed. With Jack, however, there was a new complication.

He nodded sympathetically. 'I get them when I'm under stress,' he said. 'You'd better have one of my pills, you look very bad.'

Remembering Arthur Weasley's experiment with Muggle medicine, I wasn't sure this was a good idea, but Jack insisted. Finally I gave in. I was in a reckless mood: I figured it probably wouldn't kill me, and even if it did, in a few hours' time I'd be feeling so wretched anyhow that I wouldn't mind.

Larry Lovegood entered the room. 'Whoa, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be -'

I cut him off before he could say anything else in front of Jack. 'That's exactly what I'd like to know. Do you have any idea what this is all about?'

'Beats me. Some Indian-looking chappie came to the house and spent about half an hour talking to Dumbledore in private. I asked him if he wanted to give an exclusive interview for the Quibbler on The Inscrutability of Eastern Magic, but he just rushed out. Completely ignored me.'

'Where is Professor Dumbledore?' I asked. 'I need to speak to him.'

'He's upstairs in the library - but listen, you look terrible. You'd better lie down. You look just like all those poor people with your affliction used to before -'

I stopped listening and rushed up the stairs. Whoever the mysterious Indian man was, I thought he had the right idea about how to deal with Larry.

I found Dumbledore deep in conversation with Severus Snape, who had a goblet of the Wolfsbane potion in his hand. 'What's going on? What are you doing here in the middle of the day, Severus - don't you have a class to teach? Has something happened at Hogwarts? Is Harry all right?' I realised I was shouting at them, and forced myself not to ask any more questions.

'I'll explain everything in just a minute, Remus, but you'd better drink that first,' said Dumbledore in what I thought was an infuriatingly calm voice.

'It's four hours to moonrise, for Merlin's sake! I don't need potion, I need an explanation!'

'Drink. You look like you're about to collapse. You might not be in any shape to take your dose later.'

'I am not about to collapse!' I snapped, trying to ignore the way the library had started to spin around before my eyes. This was clearly the library's problem, not mine.

'And yes, Harry's fine, this isn't anything to do with him.' That was something, anyway. I managed to swallow most of the potion. 'You, on the other hand, may be in considerable danger.'

'I, too, would like to know what this is about,' said Severus. 'I cannot imagine what could be urgent enough to warrant calling me away in the middle of a lesson.'

'I've just had a visit from a man named Vikram Patil, who owns a restaurant in Remus' neighbourhood. He's a Muggle, but his brother is married to a witch and he has two nieces at Hogwarts, so I have found it advisable to keep him informed of certain developments. He thinks he saw a suspicious-looking rat dart behind his tandoor oven.'

I grabbed hold of a bookshelf in a desperate attempt to hold the room down and steady it.

'And?' Severus' voice seemed to come from very far off. 'It is hardly surprising that someone saw a rat in some greasy curry house in the middle of the slums, but I fail to understand why this calls for a Potions Master. Surely this Mr. Patil can call in an ordinary exterminator to deal with it, or he can convert it to Rat Vindaloo if he prefers.'

'This was a different kind of rat,' said Dumbledore. 'It had a silver paw.'

I lost my grip on the bookshelf as everything went dark.

* * *

The morning light was streaming in through the window and Tonks was sitting at the foot of my bed. It took me a moment to recognise her because she had on what I like to call her 'let's not shock Remus when he's ill' hair, which was a demure shade of brown. (Actually, I'm not at all shocked by electric blue or pink hair. I think I like it.)

'Morning, sleepyhead. Brought you some tea.' She spoke lightly, but I could tell from the way she was looking at me that she was concerned.

I sat up and sipped the tea, which eased the dryness in my mouth. 'Have I lost a whole night?' I asked incredulously. That had never happened before. Transformation itself is painful on a grand and epic scale: not the sort of thing you sleep through.

'You were out cold. You had all of us worried to death for a bit. Dumbledore said it was probably just stress and exhaustion and it was better not to revive you until you woke up on your own. What's the last thing you remember?'

'Talking to Albus and Severus in the library ... and I think I heard Severus ask whether he should call in a Healer or a veterinarian, but I might have been dreaming.'

'He said that?' She looked indignant.

'He's said a lot worse over the years. I almost look forward to hearing what he'll come up with next.'

'But saying it over your inert body is just a bit callous, don't you think?'

'I don't know that he said anything of the sort. As I said, I may have dreamt the whole thing.' (Privately, I was certain that I hadn't. I wondered, not for the first time, why I always end up defending people I really don't like.)

'Well ... Never mind. How are you feeling?'

I took stock of myself for a moment. The back of my head felt bruised, and I wondered if Snape had taken his revenge for something Sirius did to him once, but apart from that - 'Not too bad. Better than usual, actually. Maybe there's something in those pills of Jack's.'

She gave me a strange look. 'What? Jack's been giving you pills?'

'Yes - some sort of pain reliever. Yes, I know you shouldn't mix Muggle and magical remedies, but he practically forced me to take it, and I think it really does help a little.'

'It shouldn't,' she said, although I didn't see why not. Plenty of Muggle inventions are perfectly good. 'You're absolutely sure you're better? I mean, I've never known you to complain.'

'I'm fine,' I said, which was a slight exaggeration, but at least I thought I could stand up now without blacking out. 'And I've never known you to fuss about my health - which is one of the things I like about you,' I added pointedly. One Molly Weasley in the house was enough. I reached for my shoes.

'No, don't try to get up yet. Just stay quiet and drink lots, OK? That reminds me, I had some juice for you, but I forgot to bring it upstairs. Accio juice!'

Three seconds later, I was sitting bolt upright, as one tends to do when one has just had ice-cold pumpkin juice spilled under the collar of one's robes. 'Sorry about that,' she said.

'No harm done, they'll wash,' I said. 'By the way, how did you know lycanthropy causes dehydration?'

She shrugged. 'I just figured ... eight hours in a thick fur coat on a summer night with nothing to eat or drink. It sounded reasonable.'

'Sensible of you. Most people don't pick up on that.' I tried to place a vague impression that I'd seen her reading a medical textbook on the subject lately; but it seemed a highly unlikely interest for a busy young Auror. Perhaps I'd dreamt that, too.

'Is there anything else I can bring you?' she asked. 'Can you face breakfast?'

I shook my head; I wasn't feeling that much better, and besides, I wasn't sure I wanted to see the results if she tried to Summon a plate of food.

'Listen,' she said, looking around distractedly, 'there's somewhere I need to go, but a few of the other Order members are here. Give them a shout if you need anything.' She left the room - rather abruptly, I thought. A few minutes before, she'd been looking like she was about to settle in for a nice long chat.

I drank what was left of the juice and tried not to think too hard about what Peter Pettigrew might be doing in Spirit's End.