A Season of Change

Chapter 15

"Wait."

Charlie stopped at the door and glanced back at the table where Cecilia sat spinning her empty glass.

"Before you leave... I'd like you to take me to Elizabeth's parents. You said you knew where they were?"

He nodded frowning.

"Can you... can you take me to them?"

She stood, hastily buttoning her cloak and followed him out into the blanket of darkness. "How long will take to reach them?"

"Hogsmeade's only a little ways from the castle. We'll apparate just outside the property and walk." He watched as she tidied her curls, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "All set?"

Cecilia set her lips into a grim smile and nodded. "Yeah--but first, Charlie, just a teeny detour."

**********

Sirius rubbed a rough hand across his dry face. A soft yellow-white glow burned from the candle on the desk, and even this had been lit with caution after Remus had asked him to bank the fire, pleading a headache from the light. He looked across the room at the figure curled up on his side and counted the rise and fall of the sheet covered back. It was only quarter past seven in the evening, but Remus had been sleeping, or feigning sleep since six.

It had been two nights since either man had any real sleep and exhaustion was fast catching up to Sirius' muddled brain. With a sigh that whispered of extreme tedium, he shuffled impatiently through the pages of yet another werewolf treatise. "Rubbish," he muttered. "Bloody stupid Ministry..."

"Sirius?" Remus rolled over and shielded his eyes from the light.

Sirius hastily blew out the candle and crossed the room. Remus groaned as the mattress shifted. "My head," he murmured. "I need..."

"Should I go fetch Madame Pomfrey?" Sirius asked running a cool hand over his mate's flushed face. "Moony, you're burning up."

"Just a headache... it'll pass." Remus sat up and pressed his head against the wall. "Damn, the room's spinning." He made a feeble attempt for the water on the nightstand, but Sirius anticipated his action and reached it first. "Here, love."

Leaning sideways on the bed, Sirius folded his long legs beneath him and appraised Remus' exhausted face. "You need to take the dreamless sleeping potion, Moony. You can't keep going on like this, you'll kill yourself before the trial, and," he tried to grin, "where's the satisfaction in that?"

Remus opened his mouth to retort but stopped as a sliver of silver-white light cut through the leaded window to beam on the cold stone floor. Instantly he was reminded of the fairy paths that used to tease and beckon him from his childhood window, calling in soft melodious tones, "Remus... Remus Lupin! Come play with us... Come play with us, Remus..." One night he had answered their call, succumbing to the lure of the endlessly whispering voices like the Sirens of Odysseus' nightmare, stealing down the stairs in slipped feet, cracking open the door to the chill of the night air, leaping on his springs to meet the edge of the forest. But there within the shadowed canopy of the trees the voices had changed--they were no longer beckoning, no longer alluring, but hissing reptilian tongues, lashing and winding about the trees, no longer playful but sinister and hateful.

"Remus?" Sirius ventured.

....He had met his maker that evening, the he-creature that had spawned him. Born of his own tormented flesh was a son, a pack mate. And in that instance a child innocent of soul and spirit had cried out for his mother and father but was no longer wholly theirs.

"Remus!" Sirius' hands were shaking him fiercely. "You're shaking. Moony, oh gods Moony you've got to help me out here..."

Wetness... was Sirius weeping?

"...that look, that terrible haunted look...I can't stand what you think of yourself as. I love you... love you."

It was completely wrong that Sirius should cry. For what reason was there for weeping anymore? The cathartic nature of tears had long since passed until there was nothing remaining but a deep abyss of swirling conflicting emotions--past wrongs that tasted bitterly of hate. At yet at the ledge of the dank murkiness there was a shimmering radiance his mind recognized as hope. And this motion, this thrilling sensation was what pushed him forward each waking minute, not the temporary release of tears or the slamming of fists into doors.

Strong arms enfolded Remus and pressed his face against the smooth, cool column of Sirius' throat. Silently working to find the right words, Remus thought again of the fairy paths and knew that no matter what happened Sirius would always protect him--his very own St. George vanquisher of dragons. But lately there were so many dragons, and frankly Remus wasn't certain if defeating them would be enough. "I'm fine," his voice was muffled. "Sirius, don't do this." He pulled back and tangled his fingers through Sirius' disheveled locks. "You're a wreck," he chided softly.

"It's only...Elizabeth and all this and you...Gods," Sirius released a choked embarrassed laugh. "Sorry. I'm a fucking mess." He made an exaggerated gesture to wipe away the tears sliding along the contours of his cheekbones.

Remus shook his head and pulled him forward so that the other man's head rested on his chest. He drew up the blanket and ran his fingers lightly over and around and through those jet black tresses. "You're starting to gray," he teased.

With an all together different cry of disbelief, Sirius jerked upright, his hands clutching spasmodically at his hair. "Fuck, where?"

With a light laugh, Remus pointed. "Here, here, over there and oh... right here there's a really large patch, Padfoot... Mmm....You know there are elixirs for this--"

"I'm not bloody going gray, Moony!" Sirius challenged. Remus waggled his eyebrows and shrugged down at Sirius' trousers. "Fuuuck..." Quick fingers popped the buttons and he peered anxiously. "You wanker!" he hollered, pinning Remus flat on his back.

"Well?" prodded Remus.

"It's too dark to tell," Sirius admitted

"There's no shame in gray hair," Remus laughed. "Some people find it rather distinguishing, you know."

"That's only because you've been bloody gray since your twenty-first birthday, Moony," Sirius growled. He planted a quick kiss on Remus' forehead and smiled at the disappointed look that flitted across his mate's face. "You're sick, 'member?" he chided, working his way out his clothes. "And I'm absolutely knackered...Mmm... I reckon I could sleep here all night." He adjusted his ear in the hollow plane between Remus' ribs. "Bloody bony pillow though..."

Remus chuckled.

"Do that again, Moony," Sirius muttered.

"What? This?" he laughed again.

"Mm... yeah..." Sirius yawned. "I like it when you...laugh..."

Smiling softly, Remus squeezed Sirius' shoulders and watched as he drifted into the first easy sleep in many nights. He knew he should have been exhausted, and truthfully, there was something about watching Sirius slumber that made his own eyes feel heavy. He shifted slightly and gasped as Sirius' hand instinctively groped there. Even in his sleep...Remus sat for several moments in quiet repose, stroking his hand up and down, back and forth across Sirius' smooth skin.

The moon rose higher in the evening sky, widening the fairy path and brightening the room, and with it a chill passed over his heart with icicle-like intensity. He knew there were no werewolves on the loose, the tug of the moon was too weak in it waxing crescent stage and yet...

He carefully lifted Sirius' head from his chest and laid it gently on the pillow. The bed creaked slightly as he slid from beneath the covers. A fire was lit in the hearth, and he knelt down before the red-blue flames and stretched out his hands. After a moment, he tossed in a bit of powder and called softly, "Albus..."

As he waited for a response from the Headmaster's office, Remus wondered if Elizabeth were happy. "Remus," Dumbledore's voice broke through the silence. "I'm glad you called for me... Charlie and Cecilia have just arrived and would like to speak with you and Sirius."

Remus' face registered his panic. There was a shaking within the flames and he watched as Dumbledore's face flickered in and out. "Albus?"

"Mr. Lupin!" A halo like a lion's mane surrounded Cecilia's pretty face.

"Cecilia!" Remus sat on the floor hard. "Elizabeth--"

"I have news and... ow! Charlie that's my foot..."

Remus pressed his face forward and hissed urgently, "Cecilia I'm coming up--wait for me. Don't leave!" He rushed to the bed and shook Sirius awake. "Stay there!" he cried over his shoulder. "Sirius, wake up! Cecilia's here. Now! Get up Sirius, hurry!"

"What?" Sirius rolled clumsily out of bed and struggled to pull on his trousers. Shaking hands made a mess of his buttons. "Screw it..." he mumbled, throwing the shirt on the bed and sliding his arms into his robes. "Cecilia's here? Where? At the school?"

"Yes," Remus growled impatiently, his own clothes not quite tidy either. He grabbed hold of Sirius' hand and dragged the now wide awake man into the corridor.

They tore through the halls, hearts pounding as they waited for the spiral staircase to wind itself towards Dumbledore's chambers. "Hurry, hurry..." Remus urged. Sirius was silent.

As they neared the top of the tower the door opened, and Dumbledore stood framed in the entranceway, his half-moon spectacles barely concealing his bright eyes. "Remus, Sirius. Come, come in." Somewhat winded, they followed Dumbledore into his brightly lit chambers. In the center of the room, seated on familiar chairs were Charlie and Cecilia engaged in a heated argument.

"...Genevieve knows..."

"...unacceptable..."

"...limited window of time, you know that, Charlie..."

"Ahem." They looked up guiltily. Dumbledore's mouth twitched slightly.

Remus rushed forward and gripped Cecilia by the shoulders. "Cecilia, Elizabeth...is she okay?"

"She..." Cecilia glanced at Charlie. She cleared her throat. "Elizabeth is alive."

"Alive?" Remus' hands shook. He looked imploringly at Sirius who crouched down next to him.

"Cecilia," Sirius' steady voice belied his fright. "Tell us what's happened to our daughter."

She swallowed. Dumbledore nodded at her. "Elizabeth is not eating," she said slowly. "She's non-communicative and has difficulties sleeping. And when she does sleep she's not getting any rest." Remus' grip tightened. He understood this all too well. "I had Genevieve put her on the drip tonight--an intravenous feeding system--but I don't know... I just... Mr. Black, she's fading away, and even the MediWizards don't know what to do. I've seen children like her--babies exactly like her--" she trailed off.

"...and...and what happened? To those children?" asked Sirius.

Cecilia's eyes filled. "They almost all die," she whispered.

Silence. And then, "Damn her...Goddamn her!" Sirius hissed. "Take me to her." Cecilia's eyes widened. "My daughter's dying and I'm not going to fucking sit here and let her suffer!" The tic was back in his jaw, throbbing to the maddened beat of his heart.

"There--there are wards. I can't just--"

"She's my daughter," Sirius face was strained. "I'll take polyjuice--I'll pose as you or Genevieve--"

"It won't work!" Cecilia turned frightened eyes towards Dumbledore.

"Why the hell not? You're obviously incapable of helping her. She needs her parents. She needs me. She needs Remus. Not you. Not Genevieve. Not that bitch she-devil who calls herself--"

"Sirius," Dumbledore's hand touched him gently. "Polyjuice potion takes a long time to brew. You know that."

Sirius rounded on the older man. "What the fuck do you propose we do then? Let her suffer?"

Dumbledore's eyes registered neither shock nor anger at Sirius' outburst. With his pales eyes fixed on Sirius, he inquired, "These wards, Cecilia my dear, tell me about them. Can they detect unauthorized visitors?"

She glanced at Remus and shuddered. Remus' eyes were closed, his lips moving in silent prayer. "Yes... they're set so they detect anyone on the property who's not an IWPA employee." Charlie leaned over and took her hand, his calloused fingers strong and steady. "When visitors come to the IWPA we schedule an appointment specifically for them. It's the only way to prevent the sensors from going off."

"And in situations of emergency?"

Cecilia shook her head. "There's never been an emergency, sir. Miss Lancaster makes it a point to be aware of everything that happens."

"And yet... you're here." Dumbledore smiled. "And more importantly, you managed to find her Pensieve."

Remus' eyes snapped open. Dumbledore's words hung in the air. "You...found Margaret's Pensieve?"

Next to him Sirius knelt heavily on the floor. "Cecilia dear," he mumbled, "You've got to learn how to deliver news properly."

"Well I--" she began tentatively. "I meant to tell you--"

"But I raged," Sirius interrupted apologetically. "Bloody hell. We should have known that she-devil would have had a Pensieve."

"Have you viewed it?" Remus frowned.

"No," Cecilia replied truthfully. "I've been trying to get hold of you for awhile now but then Charlie said you were here and there was this whole situation with Allister Dougray and his letter and--"

"Allister?" Sirius asked.

"Umm... it's just a little problem that happened a few days ago," she paused and heaved a deep sigh. "Alister Dougray is Elizabeth's biological grandfather. And Miss Lancaster is insistent that he receive custody."

Remus' throat constricted. "Un-fucking-believable."

"Moony..."

Remus wanted to howl with frustration. "She'll stop at nothing. It's her back-up just in case this asinine plan of hers doesn't work. She's found another way to keep me from being a father." He shrugged off Sirius' arm and hate-fueled golden eyes burned down at Cecilia. "I'm fucking getting into that building and nothing is going to stop me from helping my daughter. And you can tell this--this Allister person that Elizabeth is my daughter. Mine." He stood and began to pace. After a minute he rounded on Cecilia. "Tell me, how do you manage to escape the IWPA without Margaret noticing?"

Charlie who had been silent up until this point finally spoke. "Remus," he said with just a hint of warning in his voice. "You can't be suggesting what it is that I think you are. That's not fair."

Remus took a deep breath. He knew what he had implied was unjustified...and not at all like him. But before he could say anything, Charlie spoke again.

"I went with Cecilia to the IWPA tonight. Not inside, I had to wait on the moors, but I was there, and I know how she does it. Speaking of which, Albus I'm sorry, but I really can't read your clock."

"Oh, pardon," Dumbledore said barely glancing at the marvelous piece of complexity. "It's half eight."

"Right then... Cecilia?" Charlie's voice was heavy with meaning.

"Yes, yes I realize Charlie, but--"

"But nothing!" Charlie's voice rose impatiently. "You'll jeopardize everything if you don't get back on time!"

Cecilia shook her head firmly. "No. I'm not leaving here yet. I haven't even told them about the schedule."

With a grunt of displeasure, Charlie released her hand. Both Sirius and Remus stared at Cecilia. "What?" she said testily.

"We're going back with you," Sirius affirmed. Remus nodded.

"You can't. How many other ways do I have to tell you this?" Cecilia was exasperated. "Listen. On Wednesday nights Miss Lancaster leaves the premises at the exactly the same time for her meeting with Walden Macnair. What I suggest is that this Wednesday we use her absence to examine the Pensieve. I'll arrange for the clearances--she'll never know."

"If you can schedule us then why can't you slip us in now?" argued Remus.

"Because the ward is only cleared for one person tonight at eight and it can only be opened from the inside of the IWPA."

"So you enter and then let us in!" Sirius exclaimed.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry... really, I am very very sorry. But there are precautionary clearances that I have passed and you haven't. You'll set off every alarm in the institution."

"God!" Sirius dragged a hand through his hair. He stared blankly at Dumbledore. "Albus, there has to be some way--a disguise--something! Our daughter's sick... Please," he pleaded. "You know we have... it's our one chance... please..."

A stillness filled the room. At long last Dumbledore spoke, and when he did, his voice was weary. "Yes... perhaps there is a way..."

At his words, four pairs of hopeful eyes turned towards him expectantly and waited.

**********

"Do you think this is going to work?" Sirius hissed.

"Shush..." Remus whispered, drawing the heavy cloak tightly around the both of them. "Damn," he muttered. "We should have made this bigger."

The crescent moon was high in a sky peppered with celestial fires, and across the barren moor a wolf howled. Remus shivered. He knew it was an ordinary wolf, but the wolf spirit in him recognized the cry and shook with suppressed rage and a kind of envy at this other wolf's freedom. "Padfoot," he prodded Sirius in the side. "We've been waiting forever..."

"Wait," Dumbledore's voice cut across their whispering.

Across the wide landscape the only distinguishable sounds were of the gentle whishing of dried heather mingled with the barely discernible sound of human breathing. As far as the eye could see there was a rolling sort of despair to the hillside--as if someone in the creation of this area had begun to make hills but was interrupted in the process, leaving behind wide flat sections with bubbles of earth popping up here and there at random.

Sirius blew into his hands.

"I have it."

Cecilia walked forward out of the darkness, her face masked in shadows. "Genevieve is awake and ready for us." She placed two hairs into Dumbledore's hand, folding his fingers closed to protect the delicate strands from the wind. "Matthews left the institution to visit his mother. That grey one is his hair. The other's mine." She shivered with cold and pulled the edges of her cloak tightly together.

"Elizabeth?" Remus whispered.

With a small smile Cecilia touched his arm tentatively. "She's asleep." A glance at Dumbledore indicated that the potions were ready. "Remus," she said his name easily, "Genevieve is waiting for you. She knows to expect you but you must be absolutely quiet in the nursery. The lights are off so Elizabeth shan't be able to see your faces..."

"And our voices--" Sirius began.

"Your voices shall stay your own," Dumbledore assured them. "This potion simply melts your faces into that of the owner of the hair. The shells of your bodies shall remain the same for all intensive purposes although your blood chemistry will be altered. You won't trigger the alarms. Come now," he handed a vial of dark liquid to the two men. "You'll only have twenty minutes before the spell wears off. Hurry."

Remus gulped down the rank smelling liquid and watched from the corner of his eye as Sirius did the same. With a grimace he wiped his mouth and shuddered as a strange throbbing sensation began to swim through his limbs. Screwing his eyes shut he braced himself against the pain, but surprisingly there was none. His blood simply reacted as if it were bubbling over a flame. There was no snapping of bones, no twisting and ripping of muscle. He opened his eyes and started at the vision of Sirius.

Sirius who looked like Cecilia with a man's body.

"Oh... wicked ..." Cecilia chocked back a giggle.

Cecilia/Sirius cocked an eyebrow at Remus.

"Here," the original Cecilia moved forward and pushed Remus and Sirius into place. "It's simple apparation--that's all. Genevieve is awaiting you in Ward 1. Go now!"

**********

"We're over here."

Remus turned at the sound of the voice, and his heart leapt into his throat. There, lying motionlessly in Genevieve's arms was their daughter. Their baby girl. Swallowing hard he adjusted the hood over his face and checked to make sure Sirius' was equally lowered. Together, hands joined, they crossed the room.

Very carefully, Remus took Elizabeth into his arms and gently lifted her fingers from the Amore Ball. Spidery pale blue veins shone brilliantly in the moonlight through translucent skin. Ever so slowly he lifted one tiny hand, pressed it to his lips and simply held it there.

"Elizabeth..." he murmured. "Sweetheart, wake up... its Daddy..."

Sirius stroked her wan cheek and stifled an odd noise.

"Elizabeth... Lizzie..."

Violet eyes blinked open, exhausted, weary, and took in the hooded figures holding her tightly. The tiny mouth Sirius loved to tease worked noiselessly.

"Sweetheart... my love... oh my baby, sweetie we're here. No one is ever going to take you away from us. No one," Remus' voice shook slightly. Swallowing hard he kissed each individual finger.

"Now listen here, young lady," Sirius chided, a playful banter in his tone that the Lizzie in earlier days loved, "what's this I'm hearing about you not eating? My little piglet?" He nodded his approval as her other hand reached out for his familiar finger. He watched anxiously to see if she would do it.

Together they waited. And then a single tear slid down Sirius' cheek.

It was such a familiar little tug, a wet friction made by two toothless gums.

"My little pumpkin pa-pasty... Ah, hell," Sirius turned his head away. "I'm a mess again, Moony."

Remus laughed shakily. His own eyes burned with unshed tears. "Okay... Elizabeth I need you to listen to me. There is nothing, absolutely nothing that will stop us from bringing you home. We've just got to take a little detour, that's all. But we're coming for you, never doubt that. Sirius and I have been waiting our whole lives for you," he broke off and dragged a hand across his mouth. "Sirius, she can't even understand what I'm saying."

"It's your voice that matters. Look... she's smiling." Sirius' voice was gruff. "And hey, you're making me feel better. Keep talking."

"Lizzie, you need to eat. Cecilia loves you. She'll take care of you." He placed her hand once again on the Amore Ball which instantly glowed red. "Don't forget... don't forget... us. We're here. In your heart. Here," he whispered in a low voice pressing down on her chest. "Always. And we'll always be here with you even if you can't see us."

"Let me hold her, Rem?" Sirius took his daughter into his arms and gently rocked her, remembering with the pang of nostalgia the first time he had been in this room and how baby Hugh had screamed. Elizabeth's eyes drooped and her little tongue stilled on the pad of his finger. She released a little hiccup. "She's so small. I had forgotten how small she is."

Remus' heart felt strange. He had no idea how much good if any their visit had done, but he felt better. A firm resolve shook him, and he watched as Sirius laid their daughter back in her bed. There was no way in hell Margaret, Macnair and Culpepper were going to succeed in destroying his family, in taking away everything that made him happiest. This child deserved love and joy on a golden platter and he was going to make sure he was around to deliver it to her.

"Sirius, we have to leave... the wards..."

"Yes, yes..." Sirius stood bent over Elizabeth's crib, his head hanging limply from his shoulders. Finally he kissed her, leaving his lips on her hair, breathing in deeply the scent that was uniquely hers. Sunshine and talcum powder. Standing he turned and smiled wobbly at Remus. Remus walked forward and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Genevieve, thank you... thank you so much." Genevieve's face was stricken.

"Cecilia and I will let you know if there is any change," she assured them.

"Okay--that's it I guess." Sirius took Remus' hand in his and without turning back, they returned to the moor.

**********

The end of that last week in October seemed rather normal, perhaps even a bit dull to the average Londoner. The gorgeous autumn weather had since passed to where it is that beautiful days go, and in its place were the dreary drizzly days that gave London its reputation of fog so thick you could stir it about like pea soup. Umbrellas and monochromatic heavy wool coats did little to brighten the landscape as people scurried between buildings like rodents--whiskers sniffing the air to detect any change in weather.

It was no different in the Wizarding community either--long black robes simply replaced the overcoats, and while many of the older generations still left the house wearing the somewhat old fashioned pointed black hat with a full brim, the younger generations more attune to the Muggle stereotypes that filtered into their world despite any attempts to the contrary, thought their parents rather silly and a bit stuffy for adhering to the old ways. Even Madame Malkin's had discontinued its century long standing order from a shipping warehouse somewhere off the islands of Macedonia, pulling instead from the inventory whenever a request was made.

So it was with a rather grim sense of composure that Wizards and Muggles alike awoke that morning to greet the day. As the clocks chimed five thirty the city began to stir, and in the Culpepper mansion the house elves began the breakfast preparations.

Charles Culpepper had been the type of man who liked his coffee tar-pitch black and his eggs so softly boiled that the whites had barely begun to coagulate. Robert Culpepper hated coffee and despised runny yolks.

At precisely quarter to six, the silver coffee pot was steaming and the soft boiled eggs balanced neatly in hand-painted porcelain egg cups. The newest house elf stood in the doorway ready to carry the tray to his master's bedroom, his poor little heart thumping with dread over the unpleasant task. He knew the routine--Master Culpepper would frown, mutter a few obscenities and then throw the society section of the paper at the elf's head--and that would be on a good day. On a dark day there was no telling what type of hex might come from the master's wand.

Charles had set into motion this heavily regimented schedule, and in the beginning when his childish will for rebellion had still burned strong, Robert had imagined the day when he would be Master of the house, sipping tea sweetened with cream and plenty of sugar and eating freshly baked pain au chocolate. Unfortunately, he hadn't been raised that type of man. The threat towards those who dared to thwart tradition was so strong that when the old patriarch died Robert had kept to his quarters instead of moving to the more spacious elaborately decorated wing. And when his daughter had threatened to move her things into his father's quarters a locking spell was placed on the deceased man's door.

No one understood the fanatical hold Charles held over his son even in death, and it was telling that no one made speculations--not even of the whispered type.

Swish went the brass owl door at the back of the house, and plop was the sound of the morning edition of the Daily Prophet as it landed on the butcher block table situated in the center of the kitchen. Big bold black blocks letters screamed out "The Trial of the Century!" Along side the caption was the corresponding article on the front page of the Daily Prophet accompanied by a small blurry picture of a figure being led to a chopping block. The moving photo was grainy and the details somewhat difficult to discern, but it was very clear that just before the photo stopped moving an axe was creeping into view.

With shaking hands, the house elf placed the newspaper along side the coffee pot and began his ascent to the master's chambers. Through long hallways lined with glossy cherry paneling and intricate French plaster designs, he wove his way to the center of the house where the Wizarding version of the dumb waiter stood. He pressed a series of leaves on vines carved into the woodwork and within seconds the paneling slid apart to reveal a small cubical not much taller than the house elf himself. Sliding the tray inside, he quickly crawled in after, glancing at one of the many clocks to ascertain how many minutes he had before he was tardy. With a small squeak of dismay he pressed a series of buttons to ensure the fastest mode of transportation to the fourth floor wing, allowing the need for promptness to overcome his dread of spilled coffee. No one kept the master waiting.

Raising his arms, Robert released a long drawn out stretch. With a flop he fell back against a mound of Egyptian cotton covered pillows and decided that today he might just not get out of bed at all. The sheets were warm in spots from his body and cold where his limbs hadn't touched all night. His upper lip curled as he awaited the arrival of his morning breakfast, unsatisfactory on so many levels, and he wondered what mishap today might bring. Then he remembered the article his Department was to have published in this morning's paper, and with a broad grin he decided that perhaps today might prove fruitful after all. Until...

"Good morning, Grandfather."

Slowly he directed his eyes towards the open doorway. Whitney stood bearing the breakfast tray, a tiny smirk tickling the corner of his mouth. "You're looking well."

Robert snapped open his gold cigarette case. Withdrawing a thin cheroot he lit the end using only his hand. Whitney was unimpressed. "Are you going to stand there all morning, boy?"

Dropping the tray unceremoniously on the nightstand, Whitney crossed the room and threw open the heavy drapes that were beginning to fade with age. He stared out across the garden and wondered vaguely why anyone would choose to remain in this mausoleum of a home--even the perfectly pruned hedges dared not grow a branch out of place. Were it left up to him he would give all the elves clothes this instant.

"Your shoe's undone and your hair's too long, boy."

Below him three elves dashed out of the house and began to ready the front stone pathway, brushing aside leaves and other debris that had blown into the garden over the night. With a frown, he turned and faced his grandfather whose face remained impassive as he smoked thinly on his cheroot.

It irked Whitney to no end that his grandfather never took a satisfactory drag on the fag. His fingers itched to show him how it was properly done.

"I've heard things, boy," Robert sipped the thick brew. "Heard that you're a werewolf lover now."

"And if I am?"

Grounding out his fag in a gold ashtray, Robert glared at Whitney. "Boy, I've always known you were a simple half-breed, but I never thought you were--"

"Am what?" Whitney crossed his arms and stared coolly at the man who had intimidated him his entire life. "What Grandfather? Stupid? Disloyal? Ungrateful? A fucking disappointment? Because I'm afraid you've used all those already the last time you threw me out of here."

"Lancaster's informed me of what took place up at that fool's school. How you interfered." Two bright spots appeared on Robert's cheeks. "What'd I tell you would happen the next time you stepped in where it's not your business?" Whitney narrowed his eyes. "I should have killed you when you were born. I told my daughter to stay away from that Muggle, told her he was poison, but did she heed me? My heir's not even a pureblood. You're the spawn of a diseased race of people whose poison runs through your veins. I wouldn't fucking give you my name if I were the last Culpepper on earth."

Whitney yawned. Secretly he was rather surprised at his nerve, but the pressing sensation of his grandfather's wand against his left thigh comforted him and gave him gumption. His grandfather might be able to light a cheroot without his wand but he didn't possess the power to enact any real harm on him without the extension of his right hand. And Whitney had no intention of giving the wand back.

"You're sounding awfully like Great-Grandfather, Grandfather." Whitney pulled a chintz covered chair close to the bed and took a seat, planting his feet firmly on the floor. "I didn't come here to hash out our family history as much as that would give me great pleasure." Robert clattered his teaspoon nosily. "Tell me why you want to kill Remus Lupin."

"You think it's about this Lupin creature?" Robert's voice was cold with fury. "I don't give a damn who the hell he is. It's what he is that I am concerned with. I wouldn't care if it were Fiona--if she were a werewolf I'd have her executed. I'd kill myself if I were one."

Unable to quell his immediate reaction to the hatred dripping from Robert's voice, Whitney focused his shaking fingers on the task of shaking out a fag. He took a long, slow drag and blew smoke rings at the ceiling.

"But why werewolves? Why not vampires? Or--or any of the other hundreds of creatures your department registers?"

Pushing back the heavy blankets, Robert slid his feet into soft bed slippers and drew on his dressing gown. The lines of his face grew harsh and deep in the direct sunlight, and as if knowing this, he retreated to an old settee in the far corner of the room, away from the sunlight and away from his grandson. Once situated, he lit up another cheroot.

"Your father once asked too many questions," Robert crossed one slender leg atop the other and smoothed the hairs on his calf. "Do you know what I told him?"

Whitney shook his head. No.

"I told him," Robert enunciated each word slowly, "that he should enjoy the feeling of hemlock swimming slowly through his veins so he could feel as one with Socrates, brothers in inquisitiveness it seems they were." Inhale went the smoke, puffed out through his nostrils reminding Whitney strangely of a Norwegian Ridgeback.

"Fiona?" he asked.

"Your mother understood the consequences when she entered into that blasphemous relationship, just as she knew that were she ever to breathe a word of this there would be worse fates awaiting her." Whitney understood his meaning loud and clear. It comforted him in an odd way to know that Fiona was as much of a pawn as he in this man's hands. It shattered him though to realize that knowing this she had done absolutely nothing to love him.

"You look like him, boy. Same blank eyes, same ridiculous insipid expression. Ah yes, I did tell your mother that she would have been better off drowning you at birth like that ridiculous dog you brought into the house."

Whitney closed his eyes so that his grandfather wouldn't be able to read the grief written in them. He had always wondered what had happened to the dainty, devoted dog he had smuggled into the house when he was six. He could still vaguely remember what it felt like to hold an armful of squirming doggie, to feel the rough silky texture of tongue lapping against his cheek. This whole time he had prayed and prayed that she had simply lost her way, finding a new home ultimately in a house where she would have free reign of all the rooms and the choicest bones.

"Dietmar Huber. Tell me about him at least." Whitney managed to say at last. "I've read his file, but I want to hear it from you."

"The Bristol Werewolf was like putty in our hands. It doesn't take a genius to realize a simpleton like him, a foreigner, had no chance of defending himself to the Department. Ridiculous waste of life," Robert's worm-like lips sucked greedily at his cheroot. "He actually thought he could live in England without registering. As if he were a human being."

"He was," Whitney spat furiously. "That was a human head rolling on the ground under Macnair's feet. That was human blood shed under your feet."

"Trivialities. The chromosome make-up was wolf. Werewolf. Infamous masters of disguise--skulking about like regular humans while deep inside is a raging beast threatening the safety and livelihood of mankind. They'll kill us all, I warn you, boy. There's no such thing as a safe werewolf."

Whitney shook his head in disbelief. "You're wrong. You're bloody insane--how many innocent werewolves have been put to death under your name? How many!"

Releasing a chuckle, Robert uncrossed his legs and leaned back against the arm of the settee. "It's the Muggle idealistic side of you coming out. Tut tut... I did warn Fiona that you were soft." He rolled to his side and twisted his lips into a smile that sent chills down Whitney's spine. "I killed my first one myself when I was twenty." He paused to reflect a moment. "Ah yes... she was a treacherous, devious beautiful creature of the night, and her blood spilled deliciously warm and sticky over my palms ..."

Unbeknownst to what he was doing, Robert cupped his gnarled fingers and raised them almost reverently to his face. "She screamed in my arms, ripping and clawing at my skin...so soft, so pliable... it was easy enough to carve out her heart when she fell...it was so heavy, still throbbing...Mmm...and yet it wasn't enough," his furious eyes lashed out at Whitney who sat paralyzed in horror. "For she had deceived me in the worst possible way known to woman--she used the sweetness of her body to try to gain entry into my soul...But I saw her for what she was...murderous, cold, unfeeling...just waiting for the full moon...and then she would pounce, mark me...spawn a mate."

Unable to tear his eyes away from the fevered madness radiating from Robert's eyes, Whitney struggled to stay still. He wanted nothing more but to run howling from the room, snatching up Remus and any other werewolf he could locate on his way out of this insane country. He thought briefly of the Croatian werewolf colonies and then of Mary and Bridget McAllister, and he knew there was no safe haven there either that Remus would agree to.

Robert was making slashing motions in the air. "...thrust my knife deep underneath her breast straight into the center of her heart... the sizzling of the silver blade against her flesh sent a charred scent into the air..." at this he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as if licking the air. "And I twisted with all my might, twisted so that no part of her black heart would be untouched. Twisted so that she would never be able to spread her filth. But then," he opened his eyes and stared beyond Whitney, the centers of his eyes radiating nothing as if staring into an impenetrable abyss, "she whispered something so soft I had to press my ear to her lips..."

"What did she say?" Whitney whispered when it seemed he would not continue.

Robert dropped his hands and said stonily, "I think she said I loved you...I am certain of it. But then no, that wouldn't make any sense. It's been irrefutably proved that werewolves are incapable of human feelings. No," he stood and strode to the wardrobe and began to take out his Ministry robes. "No, I must be mistaken. I am mistaken."

"I wouldn't be so certain," Whitney said under his breath. "You absolute bastard." In a louder voice, "Grandfather...please... please. Don't do this again. This man is genuinely good. There's a loving heart is his body--a heart that loves his daughter more than life itself. Please, try to understand that not everyone is the product of their blood make-up. A little compassion is all I am asking for. Nothing for myself, never for me, but for him. For her. Please."

With his back turned towards the room, Robert slowly turned the long column of his walking stick around and about in his fingers. The wood was still so smooth, so shiny and solid, so firm in his grip.

Whitney bit back a moan of disappointment. He could see what it was that had captivated his grandfather's attention, but the stick no longer held any power over him and consequently did not frighten him. He was beyond the little boy that had been locked up with the corpse of his dead Great-Grandfather, a man more poisoned than the one standing before him now. "Fine!" he shouted with disappointment raging in his voice. "Say nothing, but know this, Grandfather, you won't win this time--this time you shall fail and your defeat shall be your complete undoing." He strode angrily towards the door.

"And yes, I am certain that she loved you. She saw through your harshness and penetrated that cold shell surrounding your heart and saw within it to the real man inside. Oh yes, she knew you," he drew in a ragged breath. "And she died loving you. Died thinking that she had been a failure--a failure to you because she couldn't make you feel anything but hatred and contempt. Rest easy on that, Grandfather, I want you to go about knowing that as you were twisting her heart and bathing in her blood she died loving you and pitying you."

**********

"Hmm... I think it's just around this away...blast!" Bridget McAllister felt her mother's bony fingers dig in her forearm. "These ridiculous moving staircases--how is a body supposed to get anywhere in this castle when nothing stays put?"

Mary McAllister's eyes darted up towards the ceiling stretching far above their heads and down below the railing at the floor of the castle foyer. "Darling," she chided. "Patience--we'll get to breakfast soon enough. I've biscuits in my bag if you're hungry--"

"I do not want any biscuits, Mother," Bridget snapped. Contrite, she took hold of her mother's hand. "Sorry, Mother. A biscuit sounds lovely. Perhaps later--during the meeting--it's bound to get boring and we might need a bit of a pick-me-up." Mary beamed up at her daughter and patted her arm lovingly.

With a sigh Bridget looked about and guided her mother carefully off the platform. "Well, at least we've stopped moving... I haven't a notion where we're at though. Perhaps we'll find a nice young student who might direct us to--excuse me! Excuse me, young man!" she called loudly down the corridor at the back of a retreating figure.

At the sound of the voice a young man with curly brown hair stopped and turned with a bit of confusion. "Ma'am?" he asked cautiously, eyes darting about the empty hall.

Bridget towed her mother behind, eager to reach the young man before he disappeared, too. With a wide smile she extended her hand in greeting. "How d'you do? I'm afraid we're a wee bit confused--"

"Lost actually," piped Mary.

"Lost," Bridget amended, throwing her mother a querulous look. "Yes, we're definitely lost."

"And you're going...where?" the boy prodded. If he were surprised to see two old ladies roaming the halls of Hogwarts he kept this to himself, Bridget noted.

"Oh! To the Great Hall. For breakfast," Bridget added as if that would clear things up a bit.

"Yes well, I was on my way there myself, actually. I'll be pleased to show you the way." He moved forward, stepped neatly onto the correct staircase, and offered his arm to her mother.

Bridget looked about her with wide eyes at the sections of sunlight cutting through stained glass windows and spilling like rainbows onto the floor. "What section of the castle is this?"

The boy continued walking at a steady pace, neither slowing to answer the question nor to see if the old lady at his side was keeping up. But it hardly seemed to be an issue, Bridget noticed dryly, not unaware of the way her mother was moving with a rather lively step but actually appeared to be preening in the statues of armor they passed on their way. She rolled her eyes in humored exasperation.

"I was coming from the Charms classroom. Professor Flitwick is the head of my house and I needed to talk with him."

"Hmm... small little fellow, that one, eh?" Mary chirped.

"Yes... that's Professor Flitwick...he's head of Ravenclaw. That's my house."

Bridget noticed a note of pride in his voice, and she exchanged small smiles with her mother. "And might I ask what your name is?" she asked as they stepped into the main foyer.

"Here we are... breakfast." The boy held open the door for the two women to pass through. "I think they're expecting you at the head table. Just up there." He smiled politely and turned to join his housemates. "Oh--my name is Christian. Christian Huber." He nodded once and left.

"Christian Huber... what a nice name for such a polite boy. And did you see how easily he navigated us down to breakfast, darling?" Mary beamed at the staring students all about her as Bridget led her up towards the front of the room. She noticed at once that Misters Lupin, Black, Potter and Snape were all standing in front of their seats, waiting politely for them to reach theirs.

Dumbledore smiled merrily as they neared the head table. "I hope you found you way without too much trouble," he said. "I know for a fact that Argus Filch has reported that the staircases have been misbehaving this morning."

Bridget flushed lightly. "Oh no, no problems at all. In fact, we met the loveliest young man on the way down and escorted him to breakfast. Didn't we Mother?" she squeezed Mary's arm.

"Yes, the nicest young man. Such well-mannered students you have at your school, Headmaster," Mary enthused.

"Please," Albus pulled out Mary's chair. "Call me Albus. Headmaster is far too formal." He poured her a goblet of pumpkin juice. "And might I inquire as to which one of our illustrious students it was that you escorted to breakfast this morning?"

"Why it was that young man over there. The one with the brown curls. Told us his name was Christian Huber." Bridget waved merrily. "Mother, would you please pass the eggs?"

"Indeed!" Dumbledore nodded his smile slightly tense. "Kippers, Mary?"

Remus exchanged glances with Sirius. Both men had had a restless night after returning from the IWPA and dark patches encircled their eyes. "Good morning, Mary, Bridget," Remus called from three seats away. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mmm..." Bridget shrugged apologetically through a mouthful of toast.

"Yes, thank you," Mary answered politely, spreading marmalade on her eggs. "It was my first night back in almost six decades. I had forgotten how quiet nighttime is here in the wilderness."

The men murmured their agreement, and breakfast continued on without much further conversation. They all were keenly aware that difficult issues were to be hashed out in a few minutes and all were loath to disturb the sanctuary of silence as food was shoveled into mouths.

At long last when only the seven of them remained in the hall, Dumbledore stood and offered his arm to Mary. "Shall we adjoin to my office?" His china-blue eyes scrutinized Mary's features kindly looking for signs of strain or unease. The older woman surprised him by smiling and taking his arm. "Bridget, gentlemen, if you will?" He led them to the great cavernous fireplace along the side of the hall and threw in a handful of powder. Bridget regarded him curiously. "Floo powder, my dear," he said with a twinkle. "Best to avoid the staircases again. Shall we? Harry, perhaps you'd like to go first?"

Bridget watched as Harry stepped forward and called out, "The Headmaster's Office!" With a brilliant flash of emerald green he disappeared. "What!" she stammered. Remus stood next to her and smiled.

"It's the simplest way to get from point to point in the castle, Bridget, and it won't hurt a bit. Just speak clearly when you're in the flames and crawl out quickly on the other end. Harry will help you and your mother."

Bridget nodded jerkily and grabbed Mary's hand. Together they took a hesitant step towards the crackling green serpentine flames. "If you're certain..." Remus prodded them encouragingly. They all held their breaths as the two women stepped gingerly into the fire. "The Headmaster's Office!" they both squeaked and disappeared.

"Right then!" Dumbledore looked about cheerfully. "Shall the rest of us be off then? Sirius?"

**********

"Aiee!" then "Oomph..."

Harry crouched down and pulled Bridget and Mary from the flames. He laughed as the soot covered figures crawled along the floor distancing themselves as far from the fireplace as possible. "That's wasn't bad was it?" he teased.

"Young man!" Mary scolded. "I've never--never in my life--felt so--"

"So bloody fantastic!" Bridget cried. "Mother, I don't know why we don't have this in Croatia!"

Mary wiped at her face with a handkerchief. "I'll tell you why, darling, because the Ministry is wise to the fact that this has decidedly dangerous effects on the heart and..." she broke off and fanned herself frantically.

Remus stepped forward from the flames and hurried over to the women. "Are you hurt?" he asked worriedly.

"We're fine," Bridget said, smiling fondly at her mother. "Mother does like to be over-dramatic sometimes." Mary threw her daughter a disgruntled look.

When everyone was seated, Dumbledore leaned forward and asked his first question of Mary. "I assume that you've been informed of the situation, Mary? The things that are happening to Remus and Sirius and their daughter, Elizabeth?" Mary's shoulders tensed. "Perhaps Remus and Sirius would like to tell you what happened last evening."

Swallowing, Sirius began to speak. "Last night Remus and I went to the IWPA." Harry's eyes widened. "You never..." Remus touched his knee lightly. "Elizabeth isn't doing well," Sirius continued gruffly. "She won't eat, can't sleep and barely registered that she recognized us last night. If we can't stop Lancaster and Culpepper our daughter will... she'll..."

"She'll what?" Mary whispered.

"Die," Sirius replied bitterly.

A hidden shadow of pain flashed across Bridget's face.

"So you understand," Remus interjected, his hand reaching instinctively for Sirius', "it's not about me any longer. I suppose it never really was. Our daughter needs us--she must live--and I'll do anything as long as it will ensure her safety."

"Moony," Sirius whispered so quietly that only Remus could hear the anguish in his voice.

"Culpepper's set the trial for November 25. It's a formality, that's all. Just a formal proceeding to guarantee my execution." Remus' eyes were bright in his pallid face. "And I...I need your help Mary. And Bridget, yours, too. I know you're scared, but Albus and Severus have made inquiries and we can guarantee you immunity from the Department. There is a war-time fleeing clause that will cover you and prevent you from being persecuted. Hundreds of wizards and witches fled England during the Second World War. You won't be singled out."

"You'll be able to live peacefully in England once this is all over," Albus stated gently.

"But my mother... she'll not come to any harm? You can promise me that?" Bridget's face was frantic. "I know how these so-called immunity clauses work--they protect everyone but people like her... and I just know--"

"No." Severus spoke up. "It won't happen. I won't allow it to happen, Bridget. There's a new power in effect at the Ministry--a more tolerant order and I am well acquainted with several of the influentials. I can call upon them for a favor if need be."

"But this Bristol Werewolf--he wasn't protected by the immunity..."

A flicker of sorrow crossed Remus' face. "Dietmar Huber was executed under a time when the country was reeling under the influence of a wizard named Voldemort. Surely you've heard of him." Bridget and Mary nodded quickly, frightened still, and Remus was reminded that the war scars were too fresh, too painful to be dredged through as well. Remus continued with a drawn out sigh. "Chaos was the order of the day, and Dietmar Huber fell prey to the vicious dark creature hunts at the time. But Mary, it was more than that. There was something decidedly underhanded about the way his arrest, arraignment and trial were conducted. He was executed without warrant and his child seized. It was more than an issue of werewolf safety--it was rooted in the refusal to grant parenting rights to werewolves. Dietmar paid the penalty and now they are after me."

"Mary," Dumbledore said firmly as Remus gripped Sirius' hand hard. "We need you to testify and tell the jury and the judge your experiences as a parent afflicted with lycanthropy. How you coped with the transformations, how Bridget came to terms with your differences. We need a humanistic angle to the parenting argument and I am afraid aside from Remus you are the only known parent alive who can pay tribute from this angle."

"I see..." Mary said.

"But it's more than that," Sirius cried. "It's not simply a matter of protecting Remus and our daughter but about changing precedence in terms of werewolf parenting in general! The only reason we were granted a child from the IWPA was because of an apology the Ministry felt it owed me. Were we any other couple, or a different lycanthrope you can bet that Elizabeth would never have come into our home. Or if the situation were slightly--" he glanced briefly at Remus--"different and Elizabeth was our... er...biological child, there wouldn't be anything stopping them from taking her away." Remus gazed at Sirius with a smile born of pride and deep abiding love.

"Sirius is right," Dumbledore affirmed. "Please Mary, Bridget consider what this could mean--for you, for Remus, for all these other people affected with lycanthropy who have never been able to experience the joy of being a parent. The outcome will far outweigh any inconveniences you might suffer."

Mary frowned. "Inconveniences?" She looked at Remus for a long moment. "Mr. Lupin," she began softly, "I think you are bravest young man I have ever met, and I shall be honored to help you in any way I might, and may I just say I can't wait to meet your daughter." She dabbed at her eyes with a soot covered handkerchief, her smile wobbly. "The full moon will be upon us in a few weeks... I look forward to running with you."