A Season of Change

Chapter 11

In the dim lighting of the front hall, a tall man stood idly in the shadows tapping his fingers against the stone wall. His dark gray robes hung open at the neck revealing a smoothly knotted tie and perfectly pressed linen shirt. Long legs were clothed in elegantly tailored trousers, and his polished dragon-hide boots shone in the candlelight. Pale gray eyes watched the students as they left the Great Hall, his expression betraying not even a flicker of reaction as two young girls purposefully bumped into him. After several moments, the doors re-opened and a man with snapping black eyes emerged with a young girl in tow, her footsteps trudging along the stone floor.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor, Green, and that will be more if you don't pick up your feet."

Indignant eyes stared mutinously at him before dropping to the floor.

"What are you waiting for, Green? A royal pardon?"

"No," she glared at him mutinously. Her eyes caught the hidden man's slight movement in the corner, and she stared at him curiously before turning to leave.

Waiting until her footsteps died away, Howard finally stepped forward from his hiding place.

"Well, well. Who do we have here?" A figure clothed entirely in black from head to foot stood before him, steely black eyes sweeping over his features. "Well, I certainly didn't expect to see you here, Whitney."

Howard inclined his head stiffly. "Professor Snape."

Severus Snape folded his arms and stared formidably at his former student. Earlier that evening, Dumbledore had called all the staff together for a briefing on Lupin's situation. And of course, he thought in annoyance, everyone was so eager to offer their services to the former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor--former in a long string of formers. While he had listened to Dumbledore's quiet request for assistant, he was amazed to feel a pang of indignant anger. As the war had done little to diminish his hatred towards the last remaining members of the so-called Marauders, he had entered the discussion fully prepared to be the only staff member to object to their involvement. Yet when Minerva had turned to ask his opinion on the matter, he had been reduced to a gaping idiot who could only nod his head blankly after each of Minerva's questions. She in turn, had stared at him closely, her narrowed eyes searching for his hidden agenda, and for once, if he had been asked, there would have been nothing to confess.

For the first time in his adult life, Severus Snape felt self-conscious as Howard Whitney appraised him with those cold grey eyes. Furious at this unexpected and decidedly unpleasant sensation, he curled his lip and adopted his surliest expression. "Surely you don't expect me to simply admit you, Whitney, former student or not."

Howard's expression hardened. He recalled Professor Snape's sickening show of flattery when he was a student and knew now without a doubt that the professor's preferential treatment was directly linked to his family. Wanker, he thought sourly. Staring at the disagreeable man, he inclined his head in a mockery of a bow and curved his lips in a sardonic smile. "Snape," he said coolly. "The Headmaster is expecting me. Can I rely on you to lead me to his office, or shall I search myself?"

Severus knuckles whitened as the condescending golden-haired Adonis continued to eye him frigidly. He swallowed a sharp retort. If Robert Culpepper heard word of his grandson's mistreatment there would be hell to pay, and even he was wise enough to steer clear of that particular family. The Culpeppers were a classic example of incompetent, pompous bastards, descendants from an even longer line of inept wizards. Whitney was no exception--all show and no brains. Misplaced loyalties with a head larger than Potter's. With great effort, Severus reluctantly shrugged that last thought aside. He owed his life to Potter--they all did--but the wounds of the past were slow to heal.

He unfolded his arms and jerked his head towards the stairs. "I wasn't aware that you kept in touch with the Headmaster," he said slyly as he moved from the hall.

Howard followed him up the winding staircase. "I haven't. I'm here on a favor."

"Oh?" Severus asked. "May I ask for whom?"

"Not that it is of any of your concern, but I am here for Charlie Weasley."

Jerking his head up, Severus paused mid-stride. Charlie Weasley? He recalled hearing through the grapevine that the Dragon Keepers had acquired a new member. Surely Whitney wasn't their new recruit. The thought of fancy-boy Whitney in a position that demanded strength and bravery instead of freshly pressed robes was laughable. "This isn't another rescue attempt is it, Whitney, because if Hagrid needs to be reminded of the definition of an illegal pet--"

"It concerns Remus Lupin, so can we shut up with the small talk?" Howard snapped as he clenched his fist against the banister. If it's possible, he thought in disbelief, Snape's an even slimier bastard than I remembered.

Severus' eyes gleamed as he comprehended the truth behind Whitney's revealing choice of words. He nodded briefly before resuming the climb. So, he thought in surprised amusement, Culpepper's grandson is finally getting involved with werewolf affairs... very interesting... He glanced back at the younger man and shook his head at the irony of the situation. For years Culpepper had steered his grandson down a heavily regimented path, determined that Whitney be his successor. And now it appears that Whitney is clearly not on the Ministry's side, he observed. It was a well known fact that Dumbledore had very little tolerance for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and for him to call Whitney forward led Severus to believe Remus' circle of supporters extended further than he was aware. With a knowing smile, he stopped in front of the door leading to the Headmaster's office and stated the password.

"Well, if he's expecting you," he said graciously, his upper body sweeping forward in an identical mockery of bow.

"Good evening, Professor Snape," Howard answered tightly. Moving forward, he disappeared into the hall.

Severus' smile faded as the door closed, his curiosity piqued. He was determined to discover how Charlie Weasley and Howard Whitney were involved in Lupin's mess. When Dumbledore had outlined the situation he had cleverly excluded the names of the other participants. As he glided down the stairs, he wondered briefly if Potter knew of Lupin's circumstances. Rubbing his hands, he decided to compose his former pupil a brief note.

**********

In another part of the castle far from Severus' scratching quill, dark red velvet hangings lay in folds across mussed bed sheets. Next to the bed, an oak nightstand supported a wobbly pile of textbooks on which a flickering beeswax candle extinguished itself in a gentle swirl of smoke. A slender hand clutching a forgotten quill hung over the side of the bed.

Silvery light spilled through lead-paned windows along the right side of the wall and slender pine boughs danced back and forth in the slight breeze. Across the lawn, one could see the mirrored reflection of the moon in the calm depths of the lake. With a soft sigh, the boy rolled to his stomach, his cheek pressed against the corner of mattress. The quill fell to the floor with a tiny thud. Faintly veined lids twitched as he dreamt, and pink lips, the envy of every Hogwarts girl, parted slightly with snores.

The moon was high in the sky before the silence was broken by the faint chiming of the curfew bell. Shuffling feet passed along the narrow torch-lit hall as conversations faded in and out through the opening and closing of heavy wooden doors.

A rush of voices poured into the room as the door to the Sixth-Year dormitory creaked open. An odd assortment of boys tumbled in, their voices rose in annoyance.

"Hurry and light the candles."

"With what may I ask? You know my arms are full--I'm carrying your damn books." The sound of crashing books and heavy thuds jarred the sleeping boy awake. "Bloody hell!"

"What's going on?" he yelped, all pretenses of sleep forgotten.

"Michael dropped his books," a grouchy voice replied from the ground.

"Well, I wouldn't have if you hadn't stopped in the middle of the room," the other boy retorted. "Bloody hell Clayton, you tore my essay!"

"Will you blokes move?" a third impatient voice joined the fray. "For crying out loud, Doug, cut the crap. That's not your wand!"

A hissing sound illuminated the room as the now wide-awake boy lit the candle next to his bed. He snickered at the sprawled heap of boys, textbooks, robes, and a bra? A bright blue scrap of lace had managed to wind itself around Doug and Clayton's arms. A flush rose up his neck.

Clayton's eyes met his knowingly and he winked. "We're embarrassing little Christian over here."

Michael continued to grouse as he gripped the pieces of his essay. "Six bloody hours, Clayton!"

Sensing an argument, Christian jumped up to light the wall sconces. A warm yellow glow flooded the chamber. "Just seal it together with spellotape," he suggested.

"Save it, Christian," Doug groaned as he stood and brushed off his robes. "Someone's a consummate perfectionist." Michael ignored him and walked haughtily to his bed.

Clayton released a bark of laughter and shoved the bra into his pocket. His neck muscles ached from the fall, and his eyes burned from translating the tiny script in his Ancient Rune's text. Falling onto his bed he kicked off his shoes. "And what were you doing up here alone, Christian?" Doug snorted at Clayton's barb.

"I was sleeping, Clayton," Christian said pointedly. "I take it from your little souvenir that Laura was a bit more accommodating tonight?"

Chuckling, Clayton rolled onto his stomach and poked about under the bed hangings. "You're an odd bloke, you know that?" Christian stared at his friend enviously, his eyes following the well-defined muscle tone filling out the gray sweater. Sighing, he flexed his own muscles and glanced about furtively. He wondered briefly if the girls would pay him more attention if he attempted a bulking charm.

Yanking impatiently on his necktie he tossed it carelessly into his chest. As he undressed he marveled at the differences between Doug and Michael. The two Ravenclaws were engaged in yet another heated battle, and while Clayton usually acted as mediator, tonight his nose was deeply buried in a tattered copy of Zsa Zsa Witch. Christian leaned over and caught a glimpse of a woman draped seductively over a chaise wearing--that couldn't be, he grinned.

Clayton smoothed down the crinkled page. "Yup, body paint. Pretty sexy, eh?"

Christian swallowed and stared at the outline of well-rounded curves. Smiling at Clayton's obvious engrossment, he pulled on faded pajamas and moved towards the washroom to brush his teeth. Clayton folded the corner and flipped to the next page.

"Hey, Christian."

"Yes?" He turned slightly at the Scottish brogue, his toes curling against the cold stone floor.

Michael sat with perfect composure on the edge of his bed and ran a hand over perfectly tucked sheets. "Why didn't you show at study group?" he asked evenly, interrupting Doug's tirade.

Christian's dark chocolate brown eyes widened as he feigned a yawn. "I was completely knackered, Michael." He left it at that and walked into the bathroom and began to brush his teeth vigorously. Through the open door, he could hear the hushed voices of his dorm mates. They're probably discussing me again, he thought tiredly. He spat into the sink.

"Oh dear," the mirror sang cheerfully. "Someone's looking a bit under the weather. I know what time of the year it is!"

Christian flinched. Bloody mirror, he thought with a grimace. He capped the toothpaste and pointedly ignored her.

"Well," she huffed, "don't come asking me for advice when people start to suspect."

"No worries, I won't," he snapped and turned on the tap full force to drown out her voice. He splashed cold water on his flushed face and threaded damp fingers through his wavy brown hair. With a deep sigh, he rested his head on his forearms and closed his eyes.

Long minutes later, he straightened and blew out the candle. The dorm room was cloaked in silence but for the rustling of Clayton's magazine. A faint wisp of smoke trailed invitingly under his nostrils as he padded softly across the room and joined Doug at the window.

"Mind if I bum a fag?"

Doug shook out a smoke and lit it with the end of his wand. Christian accepted it gratefully and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as the nicotine rushed through his system.

"Can't you do that outside?" Michael whined as he yanked his curtains shut. "It bloody stinks in here."

Christian pushed open the window and watched as red sparks tumbled to the ground. A soft kiss of cool night air tousled his hair as he glanced surreptitiously at his roommate's shadowed profile. He was well aware that Doug spent most of his time on Quidditch, studying, and arguing with Michael, but at certain times his silence offered an insurmountable amount of comfort. Times like now when Michael's incessant questioning would have grated terribly on his nerves. Christian knew Michael was just playing the role of a concerned friend, but tonight he felt absolutely no desire to explain his actions.

He smashed the end of the butt on the stone wall and executed a quick smoke-repelling charm. Doug retired after a bit with a yawn, but Christian remained at the window, his mind filled with a jumbled mess of thoughts. Realistically, he tried to convince himself, it's been years. I need to get over this. But every year despite his efforts, he could hear his uncle screaming in German, his English forgotten, as the Ministry officials bound and carried him away. On that fateful night in October, a six-year old's memory was forever burned with the tortured man's final words: "Nein, nein, dast ist meine Sohn... meine Sohn! Ich liebe dich..." My son...I love you...

Christian's outstretched hand trembled as he reached futilely for something yet unnamed. Comfort, perhaps? A sense of relief from the injustices a young child should never have born witness to? A low keening sound escaped his lips as he pressed his knuckles against the cold stone. He waited alone for the dull ache to subside and for the blissful release of forgetfulness to preside over his mind.

**********

A brilliant thunderstorm swept across the Scottish highlands, clashes of thunder and jagged bolts of lightening crackling through the velvet night sky. Relentless gusts of wind whipped through the denseness of the forest, uprooting young saplings and forcing the sturdier trees to cling desperately to the soaked ground. As the pounding, incessant rain hammered at the roof and window panes, Remus suddenly shot up in bed with a muffled shout.

Remus tore the blankets away, his legs kicking the offending objects away from his sweat drenched body. He drew ragged breaths as he searched the bed frantically, his hands finally coming into contact with Sirius' warm sleeping form. He stroked the smooth alabaster skin with a shudder of relief, and leaned back against the headboard, eyes closed. A split second later he opened them with a snap, his dilated pupils searching desperately through the faint light for a distraction. The visions has been too real, to horrifying, and in the darkness beneath his lids they swarmed around him relentlessly like vultures devouring a carcass. They were all too familiar--gleaming steel blades, pools of crimson blood, tortured screaming... and in the midst of the mob's raging blood-thirsty cries there was a clear sound that floated above the general din--a sound of a child wailing.

He crawled out of bed and reached for his dressing gown. He drew it clumsily over his trembling frame, his fingers fumbling with the cord. Taut facial features were illuminated in a dazzling flash of light, and a muscle in his jaw twitched as he swallowed. It was a message, he realized dully, a message informing him this vision would soon become his fate. Guilty and frustrated, Remus moved toward the window and pressed his fevered forehead against the cool glass. Evasive behavior was his trademark, and if it weren't for the promise he had made Sirius...

A vision of Mary McAllister cradling her young daughter against her chest as she fled to the war-ravaged continent flashed through his mind. Mother and child, both ostracized in the world, neither one willing to accept death as their fate. And yet, a life of running and hiding was hardly acceptable to Remus. He insisted on fighting his battles squarely and justly and refused to cower behind the protection of others. Fortune was truly on his side as he realized the number of people willing to support him, and yet Lady Fortune was constantly playing him for the fool. Every time true happiness was within his grasp the cruel machinations of fate manage to turn everything inside out. A werewolf's life was made up of one second chance after another, and he wondered bleakly if this time his number would be called. God forgive me, he thought desperately. Pressing a cheek against a cool section of the glass, he could feel the faint vibrations from the drumming rain on his face. The occurrence of something as simple as a thunderstorm did little to alleviate his pain as his mind searched furiously for answers.

He didn't know how long he stood at the window or how many minutes passed before he noticed Sirius standing next to him, offering strength through his silence. He smiled slowly, feeling blessed as Sirius watched him with unhidden warmth. Outside the storm continued to rage, but its fury paled in comparison to the gamut of emotions running across Remus' tortured face. Blazing gold eyes bore into blue, and still Sirius stood immobile. The pounding of his heart pleaded silently for Remus to reach out to him.

Slowly, Remus stepped forward, his hands trembling as he placed them cautiously on the broad expanse of Sirius' chest. He ran his fingers lightly over the smooth skin and focused his eyes on a small birthmark decorating a patch of skin just to the left of Sirius' belly button.

"I had a dream," he whispered raggedly.

Sirius lifted his hands to pull him into an embrace but paused at the torment raging across Remus' face.

"It was horrible, Sirius... so beyond anything I have ever dreamt." He lifted agonized eyes to the blue pools gazing at him with such sympathy. A shudder passed through him as he grasped for words to describe his visions. "There's always an axe, a gleaming blade, and blood. So much blood." He covered the bottom portion of his face with the palms of his hands. "And I hear you screaming... and Elizabeth crying. But this time there was something else, something rising above the exuberant cries of the crowd."

Sirius winced and dropped his hands helplessly.

"I heard a child crying, but it wasn't Elizabeth. This child could speak. I remember these words, 'Nein, nein, dast ist meine Sohn... meine Sohn! Ich liebe dich...' and I don't know what they mean," he choked.

"German. He's saying, 'No, no, that's my son... my son. I love you,'" Sirius said with a harsh, embittered laugh. God, the irony that his beloved should be put through this endless torture ate away at his resolve to be patient. He wanted to rip the black poisoned hearts from Lancaster and MacNair's chests and put an end to his lover's pain.

"Christian Huber?" he whispered. Remus crossed his arms tightly across his chest.

Unable to stand the separation a minute longer, Sirius slid his hands up and down his arms and looked directly into Remus' eyes. "Look at me," he said with a sad smile. "You are braver and wiser and infinitely more patient than I could ever be in your situation. And I admire you so much, Remus. I ask only one thing of you."

Remus nodded, his arms warm from the friction of Sirius' hands.

"I humbly ask you to grant me a tiny portion of your courage. Hotheadedness doesn't necessarily lend itself to bravery," he quipped, feeling immense relief at the small smile on Remus' lips. He reached forward and brushed aside a tawny silver lock. "In return, I will grant you every wish that is within my power, and I swear to you that I will do nothing to jeopardize our happiness." He held up his two fingers and said solemnly, "Marauder's pledge."

Laughing, Remus wrapped him in a fierce embrace and pulled the dark head down to brush a soft kiss against his lips. Feathery touches turned harder, more determined, as the two men raged war against each other, tongues and lips battling for territory. Remus swept his tongue through the warm cavern of Sirius' mouth, and the other man groaned low in his throat, amazed at his own urgency. In response, he tugged with deliberate pressure on Remus' swollen lower lip and bit a line of pleasure-pain kisses along the tender flesh. The cord of Remus' dressing gown fell to the ground and warm hands swept under the material.

Remus twisted his head to place a trail of hungry kisses down the smooth column of Sirius' throat, his hands threading though silky midnight locks. As his knees threatened to give way, he noticed in surprised pleasure that his lover wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing and hadn't during the entire conversation. He chuckled. Only his Sirius could offer up comfort and love standing buck naked in a cold room. After another drugging kiss, Sirius raised his head and peered down at Remus who was in an awkward half kneeling, half standing position. Pressing a tender kiss against tawny locks, he gently raised him to his feet.

"Can you sleep now?"

"I think so."

A sudden rapping on the door startled the two men. Fumbling for the cord to his dressing gown, Remus turned to Sirius and hissed urgently, "Your clothes, Sirius!" Sirius swore under his breath as he stumbled to the wardrobe. He grimaced as his large toe made contact with the foot of the bed.

Glancing over his shoulder to make certain his mate was decent, Remus opened the door quickly. Minerva stood in the hall, her face pale in the shadowy light.

"Hurry," she rasped, her hand clutching at the folds of her robe. "Albus needs you immediately."

Fear coursed through Remus as he turned frantically to Sirius. "Elizabeth--" he choked. Sirius froze as tortured twisted images began to fill his exhausted mind. Remus bit back a cry at the whiteness of Sirius' complexion. "It'll be fine, love. Here. Come here, please." He swept him into a firm embrace. "Sirius Black, I order you to stop thinking." He smiled crookedly as he hid his own nervous trepidation. He dashed to the wardrobe and changed hastily.

Minerva walked forward carrying a slumbering Elizabeth. "Hurry." Remus propelled Sirius forward and they dashed after Minerva's disappearing form.

Down the long corridors they ran, Minerva gliding effortlessly across the floor. Were the situation not so dire, Sirius was tempted to ask what was affixed to her shoes, but as it was he could only maintain his tight grip on Remus' sweaty palm. The slender man's face was expressionless, his eyes focused on his daughter's sleeping face. As they rounded the sharp corner leading to the Headmaster's staircase, Remus stumbled.

Exhausted eyes filled with misery as he lost his footing and collapsed to the stone floor. Immediately, Sirius knelt down and cupped Remus' face with strong hands. He placed a kiss on his soft hair and said gently, "Come on, Moony. Take my hand." Struggling to his feet, Remus tried to muster what was left of his dignity.

"Thank you," he said softly as they hurried to join joined Minerva at the entrance to Dumbledore's office. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, the great door stood open revealing the Headmaster illuminated by the glowing orange-red fire.

"Sirius, Remus," he said somberly. "Minerva, please. There's a cradle here for Elizabeth." Minerva nodded wordlessly and walked into the room. Remus searched Dumbledore's face for a sign. "Please come in."

Dumbledore's office was blanketed in long shadows, the high dancing flames in the hearth offering the only means of light. Several plaid armchairs formed a horseshoe in front of the fireplace, and Remus saw with surprise that two of the seats were already occupied. A sense of dread overcame him as he wondered frantically if they were Ministry officials. His common sense told him otherwise, but in his panicked state he could hardly listen to reasoning.

"Sirius, do you think..."

Sirius glared at the two men who rose to their feet. Remus' emotional frailty unnerved him greatly, and he was rather at a loss of what to do. Pride dictated Remus' decisions, and while he never allowed himself to appear weak before others, tonight his guard was in dire risk of falling down.

Dumbledore waved them to the chairs. "Please sit." His pale blue eyes were filled with worry. He motioned towards a tall young man with pale gold hair and fathomless gray eyes. "This is Howard Whitney." Remus and Sirius both started. Meeting Charlie's friend in the middle of the night had not been on their agenda.

Howard inclined his head. "Just Whitney, please."

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "And this young man is Christian Huber." A slender boy with wavy brown hair took in the strangers warily. Remus exchanged quick glances with Sirius. His heart contracted for the miserable boy sitting proudly in his too short night clothes. Dumbledore completed the introductions and slowly everyone sat. No one accepted the customary offering of tea.

A long agonizing minute ticked by. Remus twisted uncomfortably in his chair and looked at his daughter. Elizabeth slept soundly, her tiny mouth sucking furiously on her thumb. For a brief moment he thought of possible weaning techniques before he was thrust back into reality. Dumbledore sat awaiting a response with shadowed eyes. Remus flushed. "I apologize. What did you say?"

"I've received some news."

"Not good news, I assume," Remus replied with more bravado than he felt.

Dumbledore's eyes shifted cautiously to Sirius as if gauging his potential reaction. "I am afraid a missive was delivered a short while ago." Remus and Sirius blanched.

"It's from the Department, isn't it?" Sirius rasped when it became apparent Remus was unable to speak. Dumbledore nodded slowly. "What does it say?"

Reaching into his cavernous pockets, Dumbledore withdrew a slim role of parchment sealed with the tell-tale Ministry stamp. "It is yours to read, Remus." Remus stared at the offering as if it were his death warrant. His hands refused to move. Sirius took the missive with shaking hands and wondered dazedly why the Ministry insisted on wasting so much wax.

"I, too, received a letter," Dumbledore hesitated as he took in Remus' grey pallor. "I've been instructed to--to..." Sirius' hands disappeared into his sleeves, and his pounding heart threatened to jump from his body as he waited for the Headmaster to continue. With carefully chosen words, Dumbledore leaned forward and spoke in a low tone filled with heavy regret and something akin to urgency. "Remus, Robert Culpepper signed a decree authorizing the removal of Elizabeth from your care effective immediately. The Department knows you're here and have instructed me to give her to them... I've left them in the hall. Severus is with them now--holding them off."

Remus began to panic as he gripped the arms of his chair. Someone whispered the name Robert Culpepper in disbelief. "Albus," he managed hoarsely, "what are you suggesting that we do?"

Sirius ripped the wax from the parchment. His eyes scanned the document before thrusting it at Dumbledore. "Read this!" he spat. "It's about the trial--they've already assigned the fucking date!"

Christian quaked as Dumbledore tore the letter from Sirius' shaking hand. The Headmaster's blue eyes were as cold as steel, and suddenly Christian knew what it was that set Dumbledore apart from other wizards. He could feel the intense anger radiating from the old man as he absorbed the contents of the document and knew without a doubt that had his own uncle been privy to Dumbledore's confidences the outcome might have been different. After several failed attempts at sleeping had passed, he had come to the Headmaster's office that evening to finally speak of his past not knowing that an identical situation was fast spiraling out of control. He grimaced over the irony of it all.

"When?" Whitney leaned forward on his arms, his brow furrowed.

Sirius shot a mutinous look at the seemingly composed man. "I suppose this pleases you, you sick son of a bitch," he snarled, lunging from his chair. Whitney flinched and raised his hands. "You think you and your family can get away with this--your fucking grandfather's going to pay, you hear? Your family's going to suffer as much as he is, I swear to god..." Sirius swung wildly, his punch landing squarely on Whitney's jaw.

"Sirius!" Minerva shrieked. She rushed forward with her wand raised. "Don't, Sirius--he didn't know."

"He knew! Why else would Culpepper's emissary be here?"

Whitney was stunned. Bright gray eyes focused on the frantic man looming over him. Gingerly he touched his jaw and winced. "I didn't know. I swear to Merlin I had absolutely no idea my grandfather was involved." His eyes were heavy with regret. "Charlie came to me last week. I swear Mr. Black, that's all I know. Please, you have to believe me--I don't even like my grandfather--I haven't supported his work in years."

"Yeah, well Charlie told us you're staying at Culpepper's house. Don't think we aren't aware of your cozy little situation," Sirius growled. "You lying bastard!" he struggled as Minerva held his forearm tightly.

"It's out of necessity!" Whitney burst out, leaping to his feet as Sirius' broke free.

"Well, that makes it nice and convenient, doesn't it, Whitney? What else have you been telling your grandfather?"

Whitney's scowl darkened. "This is the first time I have seen my grandfather in over five years. I don't tell him anything," he muttered.

"Culpepper's little protégé. Yeah, we've heard all about you. Pretty little boy decides to be a Dragon Keeper to prove to his Grampy that he's a strong brave boy," Sirius mocked in a sing-song voice. "'Look at me, Grampy. See how I'm not scared of the big bad dragon?' Don't expect pity from me."

"You're completely irrational! You don't have anything to base your accusations on!" Whitney cried in frustration. He had never wanted to hex anyone as much as he did Sirius Black. His hand slowly crept towards his pocket. Sympathy aplenty he felt towards the maligned man, but his partner was a different story all together. This one was determined to play low and dirty.

Sharp flints of light shone from Sirius' narrowed eyes. "I'm being irrational?" he hissed, pressing forward forcing Whitney to sit back down. "Your grandfather basically signs my partner's death warrant and I'm irrational?"

A soft hand fell on the tense muscles of Sirius' arms. Remus shook his head. "Sirius," he warned. He turned to Whitney and appraised him silently, wondering if the young man was speaking the truth.

"Mr. Lupin, I swear to you that letter just came--I've been here for hours--Professor Dumbledore asked me to come. If I had any idea the magnitude of the situation..." Remus' gaze unnerved him.

"How much do you know?" barked Sirius.

"Well," he faltered. "Charlie asked me what I knew about the Bristol werewolf and I--"

"Dietmar Huber."

Whitney's eyes flew to Remus. "Pardon?"

Remus closed his eyes. He felt the unnerving desire to strangle someone. "The Bristol werewolf had a name. Dietmar Huber. Please use it."

"Right, sorry then." Whitney's stomach churned unpleasantly. He looked from Remus to Sirius and wondered how the hell he was going to get out of this mess. His grandfather was not particularly known for his sound judgment and the fact that he had joined forces with Macnair and Lancaster, two of the most unsavory characters in the Ministry, unnerved him.

"He's my uncle."

Slowly Remus faced the younger boy who sat with his knees propped up against his chest, his hands gripped together tightly. "Christian?" he said hesitantly. He dropped his hand as Christian recoiled from his touch.

"He was executed ten years ago tonight," he whispered. "Are they going to do that to you?" he sounded panicky and far younger than his sixteen years.

"I don't know," Remus said thickly. "We're going to try our best to prevent that from happening." He waved away Sirius' protest.

"Is she your daughter?"

Smiling, Remus motioned for Minerva to bring Elizabeth forward. "Elizabeth, this is Christian Huber." Christian touched her cheek tentatively, and Remus encouraged him further with a kind smile. He desperately wanted to save Christian from reliving his pain, and the only way he knew how was to distract him with something that epitomized love. "Christian, would you hold her for me? She won't cry--she's a big girl now." Elizabeth sat quietly on Christian's lap staring up at him with large violet eyes. He grimaced.

"That's not much of a smile," Remus teased.

His lips stretched crookedly across his face. Elizabeth giggled and pulled his nose.

Remus turned quickly to Sirius and Dumbledore. "The trial's set for November 25," he said in a low urgent voice. "Albus, you have to help me find Mary and Bridget."

"I'll send out investigators first thing."

"Thank you. I also need to find someone to represent me--"

He was interrupted by heavy pounding on the door. Minerva grabbed the Headmaster's arm with a small shriek. "Albus," she stammered.

"You cannot enter the Headmaster's office!" Severus' voice sounded faintly through the wooden panels. The ear-splintering pounding continued, and the handle rattled furiously. Remus grabbed Sirius' hand and squeezed until their fingers were numb. His golden eyes searched the taut features of his lover's pale face in a desperate search for reassurance. Please, his eyes pled, please don't let them take her away. You stay with her, Sirius, I'll go away...

Sirius' eyes burned as his throat worked convulsively. He thought about all Remus had been through and was desperate to put an end to the cycle of misery. I'm not giving up on you, his eyes read, I love you. Shuddering, he wondered what James would do in his place. He wouldn't want them to fall apart--only once before had the Marauders failed, and he was determined it wouldn't happen again.

I need you to be strong, Remus eyes pleaded. Please be strong.

Severus' screams echoed through the room. "Please," Remus begged. "Open the door, Albus--don't let them hurt him."

Dumbledore crossed the room quickly, his eyes snapping with ire. Wand raised, he nearly blew the door off its hinges. Severus fell to the floor in a heap, sweat dripping from his face as he curled into a tight ball. Three huge men filled the doorway.

"You've kept us waiting a long time, old man."

Dumbledore pointed his wand directly at the men. "You're not welcome at this school," he said in a terrible voice.

One of the men with dark craggy features advanced menacingly, his wand extended. "We've come for the child. Give her to us."

Terrified, Christian crept towards a dark corner, Elizabeth tucked under his arm. "Shh..." he whispered as he muttered a quick silencing charm. Slowly he made his way across the cold stone. For the first time ever he wished he was in Gryffindor. Elizabeth clung to his pajama top, her little lips moving soundlessly. Big tears welled in her eyes.

"You'll leave this school immediately," Dumbledore ordered. "Wingardium Leviosa." Severus' limp body floated into the room.

The three men moved suddenly. A large figure moved forward from the shadows. "I'm afraid, Dumbledore, you do not have jurisdiction over the child."

Margaret Lancaster eyes snapped furiously. She scanned the group before her, her frosty glare falling on Remus. "Mr. Lupin, I have a signed decree ordering the removal of Elizabeth into protective custody effective immediately."

"On what grounds?" Remus asked in an equally cold voice, unwilling to be intimidated.

"On the grounds of Section 1521. In the general interest of the child, I have managed to convince the Ministry that there should be no exceptions to the rule." Margaret removed her wand from her robes. "Come, I grow impatient with these games. Albert," she barked. An impressively hideous man came to her side, his massive bulk stretching the seams of his robes. "Take the child."

"No," Remus pleaded and stepped quickly in front of Albert. "Please Margaret, give us a moment--we weren't prepared. I was under the impression that we passed our last caseworker visit--" His hand stretched towards her before he realized what he was doing.

"Miss Powell doesn't speak unless instructed. Albert, now!"

"Where is she?" Albert pressed closely to Remus. "Hand her over, werewolf."

Only Sirius caught the humiliated look in Remus' eyes. He scanned the room quickly and noticed with a start that Christian's chair lay empty. He opened his mouth to warn Remus when he suddenly caught a slight motion from the far corner of the office--the tip of a shoe sliding into the shadows.

Albert shoved Remus roughly. "You'll be dead anyway, werewolf," he laughed. His foul breath stank sharply of onions, and Remus grimaced as his unwashed body touched his own. The Department was certainly stooping to new levels to pull these three into service, he thought just before Albert punched him in the stomach.

With a roar, Sirius threw himself onto the attacker and began to smash in his face. Albert's melon-sized head snapped viciously to the side, his knees giving way as Sirius' windmill arms and legs attacked the larger man with more speed than skill. Smiling smugly, he finally felt a huge release of tension as he used physical force to flatten the ugly son of a bitch. Blood splattered across the stone floor as Albert's bulbous nose met with a particularly well aimed right hook.

Remus bowled over as he clutched his stomach. Minerva hurried from Severus' side and caught him by the shoulders. "Remus," she whispered, "where is Elizabeth?"

"With Christian," he gasped. He wondered briefly if his internal organs had been rearranged. Starbursts of light intertwined with streaks of red flashed throughout his head. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sirius pounding Albert into the floor and Dumbledore standing to the side, his wand still pointed at the other two men, holding them immobile with some type of spell. Margaret looked furious. She swept past the men and scanned the room.

"Accio Elizabeth."

"No!" Christian shrieked in terror. His hands clung desperately to the screaming baby, and he dug his heels into the ground as the force of Margaret's spell propelled him forward. Whitney jumped up and quickly blocked the spell.

"Howard Whitney!" she shrieked in aghast. "What are you doing here?"

"Evidently the same thing you are," he began. Sirius lifted his eyes from Albert, blew on his bruised knuckles and glared knowingly at the younger man. "Except for different purposes," he finished coolly. He took Elizabeth from Christian's arms and patted her awkwardly on the back.

"Your grandfather is going to be extremely displeased," she hissed. "Give me the child, Whitney. Don't be foolish--we can't help you if you're aiding a fugitive werewolf."

"His name is Remus Lupin, Lancaster, not werewolf."

Furious, Margaret lashed out. "You'll regret this, Whitney. This will be your downfall."

Whitney shrugged. His eyes widened slightly as her assistants surrounded him. "If you don't hand her over," she continued, "you will all be taken into custody and not released until the trial."

"You bitch!" Whitney raged as the two men tugged none too gently on his arms. "I can't believe my grandfather is working with you!" She smiled smugly at him and watched with pleasure as he, too, was punched in the jaw.

Remus' head screamed as waves of blood pounded through his veins. He closed his eyes as the shouting escalated. The words he feared most had finally been uttered, but none of his visions and no amount of warning could have prepared him for the absolute agony coursing through his body. Every fiber in his being shrieked in protest, as he heard in the distance a long high-pitched keening sound that continued on and on... He felt strong arms wrap around him as he realized the screaming was his.

"Nooo..." he screamed as the wolf inside raged frantically along with the man--the beast desperate for release. He pushed frantically at Sirius' bulk, his lungs gasping for air as pin-pricks attacked every inch of his skin.

"Remus," Sirius cried, stumbling backwards as the out of control man shoved him violently. Running to his sobbing daughter, Remus pulled her from Whitney's arms and pressed her closely to his chest, his eyes tightly closed. He breathed in the unique aroma of sunshine and powder, violets and milk. All fragrances forever intrinsically linked to his daughter, and he shuddered, thinking it would be impossible to separate the scents from his memories.

"They're not hurting our daughter, Sirius," he whispered, eyes seeking assurance. Elizabeth continued to cry as she batted her little hands frantically against her father's chest. Remus cupped the flailing limbs in his own strong hand and nuzzled the feathery softness against his cheek.

"It hasn't happened yet," Sirius cried desperately. "We can run--they'll hold them off. We'll hide, Moony--we'll get Harry to help us--and Hermione, she'll know of a way to make our apparition invisible--and--" He stopped at the pained look on his lover's face.

"I'm sorry, Lizzie," Remus wept. "Shush, now, Daddy's fine... Oh, I'm so sorry for hurting you, baby..." Shadowed golden orbs met the dark blue pain-filled gaze of his lover that seemed to cry out "I'm sorry" over and over again. Refusing to relinquish eye contact, Remus swallowed hard and nodded his head as if to say, "We have to do this." Sirius blinked back hot tears.

Remus took a deep shuddering breath. "Margaret," he said shakily, "please promise me you won't hurt Elizabeth."

"She'll be where she belongs. Where she'll be safe."

Remus swallowed tightly and closed his eyes briefly. "This is temporary, Margaret. We'll come back for her--you're not going to win. This is about love--something you'll never understand."

"No..." Sirius whispered helplessly.

Turning Elizabeth in his arms, Remus gently stroked away her tears. "Lizzie, you're going to go with this lady--no!" he shouted hoarsely as one of the men took a step forward. "Margaret, I want you to take her--I don't want those creatures touching her." Pressing hot kisses to her cheeks, he felt his heart shatter as his daughter patted his cheeks with soft hands. Hot tears rained down his cheeks as he memorized the pinkness of her cheeks, the soft black lashes spiked with crocodile tears, the way her tiny mouth creased when she was displeased... "Sirius," he choked.

"Moony, please--there has to be another way." Sirius begged as he wrapped his arms around his family. "Think hard--we still have time."

"We can't, love, you know that. You heard her--if we don't give in she'll lock us up and then there will be no chance of..." his voice trailed off as he found he couldn't even utter the horrible possibilities facing him. Continuing in a shaky voice, he pressed his forehead on Sirius'. "She'll be safe at the IWPA. Cecilia and Genevieve will care for her. Tell her you love her--I--I can't say goodbye--" his voice broke as silent sobs overtook him.

Desperately trying to be brave, Sirius caressed his beautiful daughter's hair, his heart cracking at the knowledge of their imminent separation. "Elizabeth, we love you--we'll see you soon, sweetie, don't cry..." In a moment of inspiration, he swept his wand out of his pocket and quickly conjured up a warm, glowing red ball hanging from a gold string.

"An amore ball" Remus breathed through his tears. "Its perfect, Sirius. Thank you." Together they draped it over her head and rested it gently on her chest. "Elizabeth," he lifted one small hand and placed it over the glowing object. "This holds our love--whenever you're scared just touch it and we'll be with you."

"She's so small she probably doesn't understand..." Sirius said quietly.

"No, she does. She's our daughter, Padfoot. She's brilliant."

Margaret stepped forward and pulled Elizabeth away from the two men. Crying out in surprise, Elizabeth reached out her arms. "Da da," she screamed hysterically as Margaret swept from the room, her men in tow.

Remus pressed his hand over his mouth, golden eyes streaming with tears as Elizabeth's screams faded down the hall. Turning, he bowed his head as grief, remorse, and self-hatred flooded his senses. Sirius enveloped his distraught lover in strong arms, his own eyes shedding hot tears. Words escaped him as they rocked slowly.

Dumbledore gazed sorrowfully at the two broken men, his own heart cracking at the edges. He gestured Minerva forward, and they quietly conferred with Whitney.

Long minutes later, Dumbledore placed strong hands on their trembling shoulders. "Remus? Sirius? Whitney has agreed to represent you, if that is all right with you." Startled, Remus raised his tear-streaked face from Sirius' shoulder and gazed at the pale man. He mouthed his thanks and smiled weakly.

A low groan from the sofa on the far side of the room startled the somber occupants. Gingerly, Severus sat up and pressed his fingertips to his temples. "So it's begun," he rasped. Sirius jerked in his direction, but a gentle squeeze held him back. Groaning, Severus leaned his head back and closed his eyes to stop the spinning. "I've notified Harry about Mary and Bridget McAllister. He's consulting with the Croatian ministry this very minute."

"How?" Remus asked in stunned disbelief.

With his typical sardonic smile, Severus said proudly, "I have my ways, Lupin." Yawning, he pushed himself to his feet, his knees cracking in protest. "As much as this has been fun, gentlemen--I think I'll leave now." He hobbled to the door, his gait stiff from the curse he suffered at the hands of Margaret's men. "Oh and Lupin," he called before closing the door, "Harry said he'll be here tomorrow."

As Remus' shaking subsided, he abruptly noticed Christian standing in the corner of the room. Disentangling himself from Sirius' arms, he went quickly to the shivering boy. "Christian," he said quietly. "I'm sorry you had to see this."

"No--no, it's all right. I'm fine. I--I--can I go back to my dorm, Professor?" Dumbledore nodded his permission.

Remus rested a tentative hand on Christian's shoulder. "Just a moment," he shook head at his own foolishness. Remus understood only to well the aching pain fleeting across the weary boy's face. "I meant what I said, Christian. I'm truly sorry."

Christian was visibly taken aback at the man standing staunchly before him offering him comfort. He shook his head at the irony of the situation. He should be the one comforting him! Wetting his lips, he stammered, "Mr. Lupin, you don't need to apologize. My uncle would've liked you. He didn't get the chance to defend his honor. You can make him proud." He strode across the room and left quietly.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose and drew deep breaths before facing the remaining occupants of the room. "I don't think I could sleep... Whitney, do you think we could discuss a starting point?" Whitney nodded. "All right then... okay. Sirius, love, she'll be fine--Cecilia won't let anything happen to her." Taking a seat at Dumbledore's long table, he unrolled a fresh piece of parchment and picked up quill. "Let's begin, shall we?"