The Purloined Prophetess

XXXIX: The Rat Who Ran

As I shouted 'Expelliarmus!' Peter threw open the curtains of the window behind him, and a limp figure in a shiny red miniskirt and fishnet stockings fell directly on top of him.

Sweet, holy ... We'd been so busy figuring out how to get Sybill out safely that nobody thought to ask what had become of Madame Monica.

He shoved her in front of him and gripped her throat with his magical arm, not taking his eyes off of me. 'Don't move an inch, Remus, or I'll kill her!'

I froze, but kept both of our wands aimed at him. Standoff.

'Lower those wands,' Peter ordered, his hand tightening around her windpipe.

Slowly, I obeyed. I kept talking, trying to focus his attention on me instead of Tonks, who would, I hoped, have me covered from behind. 'Listen to me, Peter. This building is surrounded and we've put an anti-Disapparation jinx on it, so you're not going to be able to get away. But we're willing to negotiate with you under certain conditions. First of all, the woman doesn't get hurt. Secondly -'

Behind me, Tonks must have made a move that Peter wasn't expecting, and things abruptly degenerated into complete slapstick. 'Syb - ' Peter squeaked, relaxing his grip for an instant; Tonks hollered, 'Accio hostage!' and Madame Monica went hurtling through the air; I ducked a flying spike-heeled shoe and lunged for Peter as he transformed; and next thing I knew I was flat on the floor staring at an impossibly tiny crack in the floorboards where the thin end of a tail had just vanished. He'd been no more than an inch from my fingertips.

'I didn't know half those words were in your vocabulary,' Tonks remarked casually from underneath Madame Monica.

I hadn't either. 'Pardon me,' I said as I picked myself up off the floor.

'No problem. I'm impressed, actually. You didn't have to swear at yourself so much, though. I should have taken him out first.'

'Bit hard to do that without hitting Madame Monica with whatever spell you used. No. He was mine and I lost him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.'

Well, there would be time to beat myself up later. We had only a few minutes to search the place and get out before Peter alerted the other Death Eaters. Tonks examined Madame Monica and said she appeared to have been hit with a powerful Stunning spell, but she was otherwise unharmed. Meanwhile, I gathered up anything that looked like it might be evidence against Sybill's kidnappers and tucked Peter's wand and all the parchment he'd been writing on into my briefcase. 'Well, let's get out of here. We can't take her with us if we Apparate, so it'll have to be Floo powder from the restaurant, I think.'

We each took one of Madame Monica's arms and carried her back to headquarters, where Tonks attempted to revive her as I examined the parchment.

Every page was covered with an awkward, left-handed scrawl that bore only a faint resemblance to the precise handwriting I remembered from Peter's school days; occasionally it wavered as if he had been drinking heavily. I flipped through the papers.

'Oh, my dear, it is almost kinder not to say ... but the cards reveal that a deadly enemy lies in your bosom like a serpent, and alas, I foresee many troubled years ahead of you. Do you trust your husband, my dear? I wouldn't be too sure if I were you. Beware of all men, for they are treacherous creatures at the best of times, and for you, I am sorry to say, they shall prove fatal...'

'I regret to say that the Six of Pentacles is an ill-omened card, very ill-omened, where investments are concerned. My poor dear, I wish you had come to me a year ago when there might have been some hope. I urge you to sell all your stock at once, but I fear that ruin is already unavoidable...'

'Oh, my heart - the Ten of Swords! I do not mean to alarm you, but have you made a will, my dear? I advise you to settle your affairs whilst your body still lingers in this mortal realm...'

I forced myself to smile. 'Imagine having to listen to Sybill for a solid month. If it were anyone but Wormtail, I'd feel sorry for him.' (Wormtail? Where the hell had that come from? Pettigrew. Pettigrew. Pettigrew.)

'You do feel sorry for him,' she said gently.

'No. Yes. No. Ask me in ten years - if I'm still alive.'

She glanced up from the unconscious woman, but said nothing for a moment. I wondered whether she suspected me of having let him escape on purpose.

'I felt sorry for him too,' she said at last. 'I mean, you don't expect Judas bloody Iscariot to jump six feet in the air when some batty middle-aged woman offers to tell his fortune.'

'Don't think that way. I mean it. It's a dangerous trap to fall into.' I added untruthfully, 'I never think about those days myself. It's all quite dead now.'

She was looking at me with a strange, faraway smile. 'I'm not so sure about that. Did you hear what Reg said while you and Jack were working out your plan in the restaurant?'

'Do I want to know?'

'Yes, I think you do. He said, 'That's the Moony I remember. I was beginning to worry we'd never see him again.'

'Did he? I have to admit, I did have fun plotting that out.' I felt slightly warmer and fuzzier about my misspent childhood, and then another thought struck me. 'What's become of Reg, anyway? Shouldn't he have made it back here by now?'

XL: Regulus Black and the Muggle Aurors

She was a petite, dark-haired woman with a crisp voice and an air of authority. She would have been very attractive if she had been saying anything other than, 'You're under arrest for disorderly conduct and disturbing the peace.'

Oh, all right, she was very attractive. I dig birds in uniform. Yow.

But being arrested was bad news. I considered my options. I could easily Disapparate, of course, but then I'd have to come back and memory charm the two Muggle Aurors, and I remembered too well what happened last time I tried to use Uncle Alph's wand for the Obliviate spell. A Muggle Auror running around with somebody else's lost memories would be a disaster waiting to happen - especially if she happened to get Kreacher's. I'm not well versed on the finer points of law enforcement in the Muggle world, but I'm pretty sure her superiors would have some awkward questions if she came into Auror headquarters mumbling, 'And a worthless blood traitor and shame upon the house of Black the prisoner is,' under her breath. On the whole, I decided it would be safest to go quietly and wait for one of the others to bail me out.

The other Muggle Auror was an older man who seemed more laid-back. 'Take it easy,' he said, 'we're just going to let you sober up for a spell, and then you can go your way.' (As a side note, I had only two bottles of Kingfisher Lager with dinner, and I don't know why everybody leaps to the conclusion that you're drunk just because you happen to be banging on a lamppost with a cricket bat and hollering about the end of the world. What are people supposed to do when it is the end of the world, hmm?)

That reminds me, I need to give Vikram his cricket bat back. And I wouldn't mind seeing more of his daughter.

Reg, would you please stick to the point? Your private opinions about every woman in London have NOTHING to do with our records. - R. J. L.

Remind me again, WHO thought every detail of his conquest was worth recording here? - R. B.

Your cousin did all the conquering. And I didn't put in every detail. Not even close. - R. J. L.

Well, anyway, I reckoned I'd use my Instant Message Book to signal the other members of the Order after we got to the station, but the Aurors took it away, along with my wand. (They didn't seem to believe me when I said I was a conductor and it was my baton; they kept examining it and running strange-looking machines over it.) They did say I could use the telephone, which is a sort of Muggle communication device, but when I made a serious attempt, the older Auror advised me to sleep it off and try again in the morning. Well, how was I to know you weren't supposed to wear the part with all the little holes in it on top of your head?

They threw me in a cell with two other disorderly and disturbing people. One of them was huddled in the corner of the cell puking, and the other one spent most of the night tearing yesterday's newspaper into tiny pieces and growling, although he occasionally became clear-headed enough to demand money to ride the train. (I don't think he noticed there weren't any trains in gaol.) After a while I tried growling right back and we became reasonably friendly, but I can't say he was one of the most intellectually stimulating conversationalists I've met. All in all, I was relieved when the older Muggle Auror came back in the early hours of the morning and said my brother-in-law had come to collect me.

'Brother-in-law, Moony?' I smirked. 'I didn't realise you and Sirius were that close. Is there anything my little cousin ought to know about you?'

He crumpled up one of the pieces of newspaper that littered the cell and threw it at me. 'Well, I wasn't sure they'd release you into my custody if I wasn't a member of the family, and Jack's had a rough day, so I didn't want to wake him up and ask him.'

Judging by his face, Jack wasn't the only one who'd had a rough day. I would just as soon have been locked up for a few more hours and let him get some sleep. 'Couldn't Nymphadora -'

'She could,' he said, yawning, 'but I felt responsible, seeing as how it was my plan that landed you in gaol in the first place. I'm sorry, Reg. You must have had a bad night of it.'

'Don't mention it,' I said. 'I could be mistaken, but I'm under the impression that I may have caused you a small amount of trouble on one or two occasions when you were a prefect.'

'You might say that, yes,' he replied gravely.

'I think these things all even out in the end. Especially between friends.'

The younger Muggle Auror seemed much less stern than she'd been on the previous evening. She even offered us coffee. I signed a receipt and she handed me my wand and Instant Message Book. 'My partner and I enjoyed reading your manuscript, Mr Black. It's very entertaining.'

Moony and I looked uneasily at each other. I remembered how much he dislikes performing Memory Charms. 'You realise, of course, that it's a work of fiction,' I said.

'Naturally.'

We finished our coffee and walked out into the grey light of early dawn.

XLI: Sybill's Story

Upon returning me to the safety of the North Tower, Professor Dumbledore restored this Instant Message Book to me, its rightful owner. I was greatly perturbed to discover that Minerva McGonagall had been writing in it, and I foresee that I shall have words with her in the near future about the tragic destiny that invariably awaits those who appropriate the possessions of others without permission.

Mr Lupin said my experiences must have been very upsetting and he would understand if I didn't feel like writing about them just yet, but all in all, I cannot complain. I will not say that I enjoyed being kidnapped, but it was not as unpleasant an experience as those who are constrained by the Mundane Concerns of the Corporeal World seem to imagine. Naturally, it was a great shock to be invited on a romantic outing to an elegant restaurant in London by dear Larry, as I thought, and to find myself in a nondescript slum with Peter Pettigrew. But after a few initial moments of consternation, I came to accept my destiny with resignation and a certain grace, as befits a true Seer. For I am certain that it was destiny; the Inner Eye would not otherwise have been so easily blinded to my companion's true identity. I believe that the Fates led me to London so that I might use my gift to aid those in truly dire circumstances, including dear Peter himself, who was really quite kind to me.

He must possess enough of the Sight to perceive that I was fond of sherry, because he brought me a bottle one evening in the first week of my captivity and presented me with a fresh one whenever it was running low. I shared with him, of course, for I sensed at once that he was a Soul in Torment, and sherry is very consoling when one is overwhelmed with the sorrow that a thorough contemplation of the Past, Present, and Future inevitably brings. I am grieved to say, however, that poor Peter seems past consolation in some ways. The Inner Eye, helped along a little by his own admission, informed me that he is well over his head in treacherous waters from which I fear he shall escape only by drowning.

While I disapprove of exploiting the Gift for profit, I must confess that running a tarot-reading shop in a Muggle neighbourhood is a less arduous career than attempting to initiate the thankless sons and daughters of our own kind into the sacred mysteries of Divination. My pupils at Hogwarts frequently exhibit a most trying lack of faith in the Sight and seldom remember to rinse out the teacups at the end of class. The vast majority of my clients at Madame Monica's could have given them lessons in how to behave in the presence of a true prophetess. They were, almost to a man and woman, silent, reverent, and deferential. I understand that three or four of those with particularly tragic destinies even attempted to take the fulfilment of my prophecies into their own hands at the nearest Underground station, rather than waiting patiently for their impending doom to catch up with them. This shows a level of selfless devotion to the will of the Fates that is rare in this degenerate age. Mrs Evans was an unfortunate exception to this general rule. I am grateful to her for the small role she played in my rescue, but she needs to do something about that fellytone.

I am grateful to Mr Lupin and Miss Tonks as well, but I feel obliged to warn them that they possess a touching but sadly misplaced sense of kindness. They insisted upon knowing the names and addresses of the attempted suicides so they could offer chocolate and reassurance, when it would be far more honest to advise these unfortunate souls to put their affairs in order and prepare themselves for the voyage to the Next World. Moreover, I must remind both of them that I have been forecasting their own demises for years, and it is high time they stopped procrastinating and got on with it.

I also wish to record my profound thankfulness, esteem, and friendship for dear Sir Cadogan, who raised the initial alarm and has since been a rock of strength for my beloved Larry in these difficult times. As for Larry himself, words cannot express the extent of my affection and regard for him. Let it suffice to say that I foresee that when I next leave my tower the circumstances shall be far happier than on this last occasion, and they will involve an expedition in pursuit of a Cross-Eyed or Herbaceous Aberflooie.

Hey, what about me? Doesn't dear Mr Black deserve a mention or two, after my brilliant diversion and my run-in with the law? And what about Jack? - R. B.

Seeing as how her mentions usually take the form of delicately phrased invitations to expire, I don't mind going without, myself. - J. M. E.

I think it's rich how that traitorous little *$#% is 'dear Peter' but she doesn't seem to be on a first-name basis with the rest of us, INCLUDING A CERTAIN PERSON WHO WAS HER COLLEAGUE FOR A YEAR. Bloody ingrate. - N. T.

Hey! Stop talking that way about my finance! - L. L.

Huh? What do the Quibbler's finances have to do with anything? - R. B.

I don't think they do, actually. It sounds like Larry and Sybill have some news for us... - R. J. L.

XLII: One Week Later

Kingsley and I signed the final report on the Trelawney kidnapping and dropped it on our superior's desk. It was a dry, businesslike document that managed not to make any of us sound too incompetent and conveniently left out the fact that the case had actually been solved by a Muggle. Personally, I preferred the untold story that filled the pages of our Instant Message Books.

Madame Monica spent several days in St. Mungo's recovering from her month under a Stunning spell, but she didn't seem to have suffered any permanent damage. Unfortunately, she remembered almost nothing of what happened after Pettigrew overpowered her, but she was able to supply us with a general description of him, and we already had sufficient evidence against the Notts. Before we modified her memory and released her, she insisted on kissing each and every one of the people who participated in her rescue. (I've still got the lipstick stains on my forehead to prove it.) I could be wrong, but I think Remus was the one who really interested her. Can't say I blame her in the slightest.

Peter Pettigrew remains at large. Jephthah Nott is about to be tried before the Wizengamot as an accessory to kidnapping and active Death Eater, and he will almost certainly be back in Azkaban in a matter of weeks. Medea Nott is in a heavily guarded private room at St. Mungo's. Ironically, she seems to be more dangerous and more devoted to Voldemort than her father, but she will probably never be mentally competent enough to stand trial. We've reopened the files on some of the crimes she confessed to, but fifteen-year-old murders of Muggles are a fairly low priority at the Ministry these days, so we may never learn the truth about the fate of Lily and Jack's parents.

Jack seems to be taking things well. He says he's come to terms with the fact that he doesn't have to know everything about the past, as long as his family is safe in the present. We're seeing that they are.

We'll also be looking after Theo.

His name doesn't appear in the official report, and it won't be mentioned at his father's trial. Our story is that Jephthah's botched first attempt to kidnap Sybill put us onto the Notts' trail. But we're concerned about his safety all the same, and it's fair to say that from now on, Theo will be the second most carefully watched student at Hogwarts.

Someone also needed to break the news to him about his father and sister - the sort of job that always gets delegated to junior Aurors and, especially, to women. 'What the hell am I supposed to say?' I grumbled to Kingsley as I prepared to leave work early. 'How do tell a kid in one breath that you're proud of what he's done and you're there to help and protect him, and at the same time that you've taken away the only family he has?'

'I don't know, but you'll find a way. You're good with the kids. I've seen you.'

'Yeah. Good at changing noses at the dinner table to entertain them. This isn't exactly the same.'

'I think you'll have help,' he said. 'You've got a couple of visitors waiting outside, and they said they meant to come with you.'

I didn't have much time to wonder who they were, because one of them didn't have the patience to wait outside for very long.

'Wotcher, Stubby. Nice robes.' (Harriet taught Reg how to tie-dye while she was staying at Grimmauld Place. He took to it with enthusiasm.)

'Thanks! Want me to do yours?'

'Maybe later.' I wasn't in a tie-dyed mood just now.

Reg drew me aside into an empty cubicle and said quietly, 'He's going to be all right, little cousin. Not right away, but the thing about growing up with parents like that is - you know they're no good, even if you can never talk about it. And it's almost a relief when someone else acknowledges it.'

We walked out into the corridor where my other visitor was sitting on a bench. I certainly wouldn't have expected to see him here. Or rather, I would, but not today.

'You ought to be home resting up,' I said, trying my best to sound Molly-ish and responsible.

'I have been,' said Remus. 'I'm all right now that I've had a decent day's sleep. Comfrey essence works, you know.'

I watched him closely as he got to his feet. He was a bit pale, but he moved without the painful stiffness I'd never been able to bear watching. I slipped my arm into his as we walked to the Atrium, feeling an unexpected surge of tenderness for Larry Lovegood.

Speaking of whom...

'We'll have to get Moony some new dress robes,' Reg announced. 'Guess who Larry asked to be best man?'

'He didn't!' I said. 'Well, congratulations.' I hoped to goodness Sybill wouldn't expect me to be a bridesmaid. I try to be a nice person, but there are limits.

'Well ... actually ...' Remus said awkwardly, while Reg leaned against the wall laughing.

'What is it? C'mon, out with it.'

'He didn't exactly ask me. He asked Sir Cadogan. I just get to hold the portrait.'

The End