The Lost Generation (1975-1982)

Barb

Story Summary:
Bill Weasley begins his education at Hogwarts in 1975, in the middle of Voldemort's reign of terror. He never suspects that the Gryffindor prefects he looks up to, Lily Evans and James Potter, will eventually have a son who saves the wizarding world, nor that the Weasley family will eventually play an important role in the Dark Lord's fall. All he knows is that in a very scary wizarding world, Hogwarts is a safe haven where he has always longed to be--until, that is, there are whispers of vampires and werewolves, of Death Eaters and traitors, and a Seeress pronounces a Prophecy which will shake the wizarding world to its very foundations....
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Chapter 13

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The prequel to
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03/28/2003
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The Lost Generation

(1975-1982)

Chapter Thirteen

A Mother's Arms



Monday, 20 August, 1979

The two low figures ran swiftly through the high grass around the loch. Although his kind had long been gone from Scotland, the larger one was a grey wolf. He slowed down and loped to the shore, panting thirstily, then lapping sloppily at the water. The other animal, a shaggy black dog almost as big as the wolf, followed moments later, also welcoming the cool water. He slaked his thirst while watching the wolf out of the corner of his eye, knowing that it was always the wolf’s goal to shake him and look for prey. He could not allow that to happen, he knew. It was his job to prevent it at all cost.

But then, as the wolf continued to drink, a change started to come over him; the dog hadn’t realized how close to moonset it was, and was taken by surprise. The wolf stopped drinking and stood still, shivering. Then he lifted his voice in an ear-splitting howl and sank to the loamy ground on the shore, rolling over on his back. In this vulnerable position, with his paws in the air and his belly exposed, he writhed and continued to howl as, little by little, the snout changed to a small, hairless nose, the tail disappeared, the ears became small curved shell-shapes against his head, and the fur became tattered robes. Finally, the sleekly curved paws that had been an efficient medium for killing no longer carried fur, the sharp claws peeking out between the toes, and instead long, slender fingers clutched the soft, moist ground in agony. The eyes never changed; they were always a mix of green, brown and amber, with sometimes a strange red light flickering there.

Remus felt no less pain when this change occurred than when he became a wolf at moonrise. Either way, he felt like his bones were being wrenched about and parts of his mind closed off to him, made inaccessible. He experienced the odd sensation, the morning after a full moon, that his senses were muffled, as he didn’t have quite the same awareness in his human form that he had as a wolf. He still had more acute hearing and smell, and a different way of seeing things than ordinary humans, but somehow, when he was a wolf, he remembered being so much more aware, in his bones, of everything. His instincts were razor sharp in a way they never were as a human. Of course, he worried that, some day, those instincts would be sharp enough to allow him to shake Sirius and do something dreadful. When he was human, he too was of the opinion that that must never happen.

The dog walked to Remus and put his shaggy black head on his arm, his large dark eyes sympathetic. Remus smiled and scratched him weakly behind the ears. “Could you help me get back to the house, Padfoot? I’m all done in,” he groaned, his arm dropping. The dog backed up, and in the blink of eye, his best friend was standing before him.

“You’ll be all right, mate,” Sirius said in that gentle voice Remus never heard him use with anyone else but Lily, his sister Ursula, and his mother. He helped Remus to stand, slinging his friend’s limp arm over his shoulder so he could virtually drag him to the cottage that served as an unobtrusive entrance to Ascog Castle, which appeared to Muggles to be an uninhabited ruin. Once inside the cottage, they passed Sirius’ motorcycle, lying in pieces all over the dirt floor because he was still trying to work out exactly which parts should have the flying spells on them. He’d been boasting to Remus for over a month that he was going to get it right “any day now.” Remus suspected that Sirius was actually doing this for him, as he couldn’t Apparate. Sirius had also told him how useful the bike was for attracting Muggle women especially, strongly hinting that Remus might have a girlfriend if he wanted to use it for “bait.” Remus managed to change the subject at these times.

They descended the stairs to the tunnel that led to the castle’s dungeons, then climbed the curving staircase to the entrance hall. After stumbling into the kitchen together, Remus collapsed at the long refectory table. Sirius put the kettle on the hob and fetched some mugs. After some dangerously hot tea, Remus felt a bit better. Sirius helped him up the stairs to his own room, and Remus collapsed on James’ old bed while Sirius showered.

When he emerged from the bath, drying his hair with a towel while wearing another one, Sirius said, “So--what’re you going to get up to today, Moony?”

Remus looked at him wearily. “Not much. I’m not expected back at the warehouse until Wednesday. I’ll probably shower after you’re gone, then sleep for a good long while.” He had had sex with Emil before coming to Ascog. Remus couldn’t think of it as ‘making love’ somehow; Emil had used a restraining spell on him, at his own request, to make it less likely that he would hurt Emil. The precaution had been successful, although Remus was less than satisfied about the encounter, which seemed mechanical. Normally, he enjoyed touching Emil a great deal when they were in bed. But, of necessity, there had been none of that. Remus had to admit, it had worked; being with Emil had kept him from feeling dreadfully anxious about being near Sirius while they waited for moonrise. He remembered many times when he was waiting with his friends, when they were in school, and their scents crept into his nose, intoxicating him, making him shiver with want.

However, sleeping with Emil did nothing about that fact that since he had decided to be honest with himself about fancying both men and women, it was far more difficult to be around Sirius in states of undress than when they were in school (when Remus was deep in denial). Sirius was standing before his open wardrobe now, selecting lightweight summer robes, still wearing only the towel around his hips.

Stop that, Remus scolded himself sternly, watching the muscles in Sirius’ back flex as he lifted his arms, taking down folded trousers from a shelf. You should not be having thoughts like that about your best friend. It was even more difficult to keep his thoughts in check when Sirius took out a clean pair of drawers and dropped the towel. Remus squeezed his eyes shut, stifling a moan in the back of his throat.

“What’s wrong with you?” Remus tentatively opened one eye, then the other. Sirius had pulled up the clean drawers, but Remus closed his eyes again to avoid seeing Sirius’ chest.

“My bones ache, is all,” he said feebly, thinking, Yeah. One bone in particular, and then quashing that thought quickly.

“Oh. Sorry,” Sirius said. “I didn’t realize.” He seemed very subdued now. Remus heard him moving about, fabric rustling as he dressed. When he dared to open his eyes again, Sirius was about to leave. “I’m going to say goodbye to Mum and tell her to make sure you don’t forget to eat.” He went to open the door, then turned back to Remus again, grinning. “Oh, and by the way--I know your secret.” Remus swallowed, thinking his heart had stopped (or perhaps he just hoped his heart had stopped).

“You--you do?” Why was Sirius looking so cheerful? Oh, was it too much to hope that he would take it really well? Remus resisted the urge to cross his fingers like a small child.

“Yeah. Lily told me the other day. I was having lunch at the Leaky Cauldron and she was meeting James there. I think I told you that. Anyway, she told me your secret.”

Remus frowned now. How had Lily found out? Had she had him and Emil followed? Emil was a Ministry employee. Perhaps someone was keeping tabs on his private life? If one worked for the Ministry, was one permitted to have a private life?

“Erm, I was going to tell you, but it was hard to know when the time was right.”

“You were going to tell me! How long has this been going on?”

“Well, erm, we met up at the Leaky Cauldron, actually, after I went to that Quidditch match at the school, with Peter. Last November.”

That long?” Sirius looked very upset now, and Remus winced. He knew he should have just told his friends. He had a feeling this was going to be even worse than revealing his lycanthropy. “So when are we all going to meet her?”

“Well, maybe--” He stopped, confused, having really heard what Sirius had said. Her. “That depends. Lily didn’t give you any details?” he asked, wondering what she’d said.

“Not really. She just said that you’d told her you were seeing someone.”

Oh. He remembered now. At the wedding, he’d said this to Lily, to reassure her. When Lily had assumed, like Sirius, that it was a girl, he had sidestepped the issue. However, he couldn’t say now, “Oh, I was just trying to make sure Lily didn’t feel guilty about me or anything,” as he had already told Sirius that he’d been seeing someone since the previous November. “Well, I’m seeing someone. There’s not much to tell.”

“Not much to tell? Who’s the mystery woman you’ve been hiding for nine months?”

Remus closed his eyes again. “You should get to work. I should get some sleep.” There. He’d just ignore the issue. Another type of denial.

“I’ll find out, you know. Eventually.”

Remus nodded, with his eyes shut. He couldn’t continue to look Sirius in the eye. “I know you will. Let me have my fun for now.” There. Let him think it was a game.

Sirius laughed. “All right, mate. Rest well.”

When he was gone, Remus opened his eyes again, staring up at the canopy of the four-poster. Rest. Well, he thought; there’s no rest for the wicked. But which would be more wicked? To be honest with his friends and reveal not just his but Emil’s secret as well? Or to continue lying and skillfully obscuring the truth? He was walking a tightrope, and below were long, sharp silver spikes. He closed his eyes, but failed to fall asleep.

No rest for the wicked.



* * * * *


Remus raised his hand as Emil entered the waterfront pub. Emil gave him a heartbreaking smile as he crossed the noisy room. As soon as he sat with Remus, the barkeep approached and took their order. When he’d left, Emil turned to gaze happily at Remus.

“This is so much better than eating by myself in the commissary at the Ministry. Seeing you in the middle of the day is a huge improvement over having to wait.”

Remus laughed. “Is work that bad?” The pub was very noisy; they wouldn’t be overheard.

Emil groaned. “Let’s see--a report about broom straw diameter on imported brooms. A report weighing the pros and cons of the question Should imported brooms continue to be permitted, or should the market here be restricted to domestic brooms? A follow-up report answering the question If we restricted imports and people started smuggling in illegal foreign brooms, what should the penalties be?” He groaned. “My job would have to become ten times as interesting as it is to be considered merely boring.

Remus laughed again, gazing happily at Emil. “You actually don’t make it sound too bad.”

“Then I'm not doing a very good job of describing it.”

“I’m sorry you don’t enjoy it more,” Remus said, smiling sympathetically.

Emil shrugged. “Well, at least I haven’t been sent to the Centaur Office yet.”

Remus shrugged. “What would be so bad about that?”

Emil grinned. “Oh, you don’t know! Centaur Liaison, in the Beast Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

Remus frowned. “Why the Beast Division? Aren’t Centaurs considered to be ‘beings?’”

“Well, they can understand magical law, but they refused ‘being’ status because they didn’t care for some of the creatures who were also going to be classified that way, like hags and vampires. Merpeople did the same, because they like to keep to themselves. So even though there’s a Centaur Liaison office in the Beast Division, no centaur has ever used it. If you’re transferred to that office, you know you’re really on your way out.”

“You’re being sacked,” Remus said, nodding.

“Right.” A teenage girl approached, carrying the meat pies and drinks they’d ordered, and they started eating. Remus noticed that she was eyeing them both.

Between bites, Remus said, “I’m not really sure whether I’m considered a ‘being’ or a ‘beast.’ The Werewolf Registry and Capture Unit are in the Beast Division, but Werewolf Support Services falls under the Being Division. That’s how I found out about that werewolf pub, and they oversee the werewolf cells at the Ministry as well.”

“I still don’t think they should have classified hags and vampires as beings,” Emil said. “Yeah, I know vampires have free will. But what many of them use their free will for is to choose to behave like beasts. When the full moon rolls around, you don’t have any choice about it. They do.” Remus noticed that he was looking across the noisy pub, his eyes wide now. “And speaking of vampires, look who just walked in.”

Remus craned his neck around some people playing darts and saw Severus Snape entering the pub with a pale blond boy. “He lives north of here, in Dunoon,” Remus told Emil. “Snape and his uncle sail quite a bit. Sirius and James spotted them at the quay once.”

Emil’s eyebrows danced. “Well well well. We may have a little something in common with old Snape, eh?” he said suggestively, picking up his drink and nodding at Snape and the boy. “Perhaps if Snape hadn’t hated you so, he might have wanted to shag you.”

Remus dropped his jaw. “No! Snape?” He watched Severus Snape lead the boy to a table on the far side of the room. They were both dressed for sailing. The boy looked slyly at someone and said something to Snape, whose lip curled unpleasantly in a sarcastic smile. “You think?” he said now; he’d never considered this. “But--he and Lily were--”

“So were you and Lily. Doesn’t mean anything. Maybe he fancies both, like you.”

Remus furrowed his brow. He didn’t know who the blond boy was. He had a feeling he was a Hogwarts student, but he knew that he hadn’t been in their year. He didn’t even seem like he might be out of school. “Who’s he with?” Remus asked Emil.

“Not sure. Ravenclaw, I think. Couple of years behind us.”

“Hm. Not a Slytherin, then.”

Emil shook his head. “No. Looks like Snape likes’em young too.”

Remus grimaced and lowered his head. “Please stop. I wouldn’t want someone else to speak about us like that.”

Emil nodded and put his glass down. “Sorry. I thought you didn’t like him.”

“I don’t. But if he’s--he’s similar to us, in this way, it probably isn’t any easier for him than it is for us. In fact, he’d probably be just as embarrassed as I would be if he knew we’d seen them here. Let’s try to finish and get out. I’ll show you the loch.”

Emil shrugged. “All right. If you say so.”

They slipped out after paying for their meal without Snape and the boy noticing. After walking along the quay briefly, they turned inland and headed for Loch Ascog. The walk around the loch was relaxing, the weather perfect. Remus felt a lightness in his heart that made him think Maybe we can actually tell people soon. It would, however, need to be a joint decision. He couldn’t tell his friends if Emil objected. He didn’t want a row.

Emil needed to leave soon, but he couldn’t Apparate while outside in the open. They went to the cottage, where Remus showed Emil the motorcycle. “Erm; are the bits and pieces supposed to be all over, like that?”

Remus laughed. “Hardly. When Sirius first tried putting the charms on it, it started doing some frightening things. Took on a life of its own and wouldn’t obey him. So to fix the problem, he took it all apart, did a Finite Incantatem on each piece separately, and started all over, trying to work out which parts specifically need to be charmed. He reckoned putting a spell on the entire bike was overkill, and that’s why it developed a personality. You can’t tell anyone about this, by the way. Sirius could lose his job.”

Emil smiled. “Don’t worry. I may work for the Ministry, but I think they have larger worries than Sirius’ motorcycle.” He paused then, as though he was going to say something else. “Why did you come here for the full moon? Instead of the Ministry?” he said suddenly, an urgent tone in his voice. Remus swallowed. It was one thing to show Emil Sirius’ motorcycle, which he might not be able to charm, anyway. It was another to reveal that Sirius was an illegal Animagus.

“I was locked up in a dungeon cell here. Quite safe. This morning I was already in a house, Sirius helped me up the stairs and I was able to have a hot shower and a meal made by Sirius’ mum, instead of being thrust out into London, having to travel home alone at that hour. Much nicer. Sirius apologized for not suggesting it earlier, but now that we’ve been doing this for a couple of months, it seems like a pretty good solution.”

Emil nodded. “But you’re still--I mean, during the full moon, you’re all alone?”

Remus shivered. “Yeah,” he lied. “If I weren’t--”

“What if you were with another werewolf?” Emil said suddenly.

Remus stepped back, frowning. “What?”

“I said--”

“I heard what you said. What are you getting at?” But Remus had a feeling he knew.

“Hear me out. I know it will sound mad, but--”

“I think I see where you’re going with this--”

“I want to become a werewolf.”

The silence hung between them. And continued to hang. Remus couldn’t move. Then Emil stepped forward and tried to touch his arm, and Remus discovered he could move after all. He recoiled from Emil’s touch, tears behind his eyes making them sting. “You don’t know what you’re suggesting,” he said thickly. “Yes, it sounds mad. Because it is mad. You don’t just decide to be a werewolf, to be a creature that can rip someone’s throat out in a split second, and enjoy it. You just don’t do that.

“Remus--” he began, putting out his hand imploringly. “I want to be there for you.”

Remus backed up, horrified. “No! You’ve no idea--for there to be one more ravenous, murdering beast like that--to do it on purpose--” He could hardly continue. “That has to be the most evil thing I have ever heard of,” he said softly, looking into Emil’s eyes, knowing that he was losing him, that he had in fact already lost him.

Emil looked as though Remus had hit him. “I want to do this because I love you!”

“No! You want to do this because you’re ignorant! If you knew--” Remus sank down on his haunches, his face in his hands. He heard Emil go down on his knees next to him.

“Then tell me,” Emil whispered. Remus raised his head, swallowing.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

Emil put his hand on Remus’ arm; this time he didn’t flinch from the touch. “Yes.”

Remus sat down hard on the dirt floor of the cottage. “I became a werewolf when I was not quite three years old. I lived in a nice little house at the edge of a forest with my mum and dad and my brother, my twin. His name was Romulus.”

Emil looked like he wanted to laugh, so Remus, the edge of his mouth quirking, said, “Go on. You know you want to make fun of the names. My dad thinks he has a boring name. John. Mum’s isn’t much better: Mary. With the name of Lupin and their first children being twin boys, they decided to have some fun and gave us interesting names. Romulus and Remus. Of course, I later came to hate my name...”

Emil touched his arm tentatively. “So--you’re a twin, too,” he said softly. “Something else we have in common. Why have I never heard about this brother before?” But a second after he asked the question, Remus could see that Emil had already thought of the answer. He looked horrified by his blunder. “Oh. Bloody hell. I’m sorry, Remus.”

Remus met his eyes. “I’d have given anything to have really known my brother, the way you know Claudine. Even if we didn’t get along any better than you two do.”

Emil shrugged. “We may have been in different houses, but she could have been in Hufflepuff. Okay, maybe she’s not all that hardworking and too ambitious. But she’s very, very loyal. Not a single Slytherin got away with insulting Hufflepuff when she was around. They learned pretty quickly that she was very fast with her wand.” He grinned.

Remus smiled back at him. “See? That’s what I never had. That kind of bond.” He picked up a spanner Sirius had left lying on the ground next to the motorcycle, twirling it idly as he talked. “When I was ready to go off to Hogwarts, I asked Mum again how I had been bitten. I’d been asking for years. She always said, ‘When you’re older.’ Well, I was older, so the night before I was going to leave for school, I asked her again. This time she told me.

“Not long before my third birthday--our third birthday, that is-- the Muggles living nearby, most of whom kept sheep for a living, were having trouble with a marauder. Every morning for several days running, some sheep would be found dead on almost every farm in the district. They weren’t eaten, either. It was like the killer was just doing it for sport. It didn’t actually seem to eat sheep--just liked killing them. Or just liked killing.

“However, they finally found out what the marauder really liked to eat when a poor old man was found dead in his garden one morning. The footprints of what seemed to be a large dog were all around him. His throat was ripped out and--other parts of him had been devoured as well. The corpse was supposed to have made men sick who worked day in and day out slaughtering sheep, up to their elbows in blood and offal.

“The door to his house was left open, as though he’d just stepped outside for a moment. Fingerprints that weren’t his were found in the house, and his wallet was missing, as well as some money a few close friends knew he’d stashed in a tin in the kitchen. They decided that the thief must have happened on the house after the poor man had been killed by the beast. How the thief knew where to look for the hidden money, and how he managed not to be ill at the sight of the dead man no one ever knew.

“He was killed after several months of the sheep deaths. Some locals finally worked out that the attacks always fell on the three nights of the full moon. It was a very provincial area; most Muggles would call the people there “superstitious,” because they still believed in ghosts, witches, magic, good and bad omens, all that sort of thing. Mum said she and Dad always had to be careful around our neighbors, because they believed in magic. If they accidentally saw my parents do something, they wouldn’t just shrug it off, like most Muggles, who don’t even need memory charms at all when they see magic--they just go into instant denial. But on top of believing in magic, the villagers didn’t like it, not a bit. A witch moved into the village once, Mum said, and set up shop as a fortune-teller. Loads of Muggles do it, after all. They ran her off. A mob came to her house and demanded she go. She didn’t have a choice. Oh, you might say she could have hexed them. But the Ministry would have been down on her in a trice. She moved away.

“So, they worked out the full moon angle and realized that the marauder wasn’t a sheep dog who’d turned wild, as some thought. That had happened before. The dogs get tired of pushing the sheep around all of the time or something. An actual wolf wasn’t a possibility; wolves have been gone from Britain for quite some time. No, they didn’t have modern ideas about certain things being impossible or myths--they knew what the culprit was: A werewolf. It made sense. Sheep aren’t a werewolf’s preferred food. But when a werewolf is being affected by the full moon, it’s ravenous and violent, and if no humans are around, something like a sheep--slow and stupid, no real defenses--is going to be sport for a werewolf. It isn’t going to last long in a fight. Isn’t even going to fight. Several of the oldest people in the village said that in their youths, they’d seen killings just like the old man’s. No one was never caught.

“My dad had been attending the village meetings about this, so he and my mum would know what was going on. No one knew he was a wizard. But he couldn’t join the team being put together to hunt down the werewolf; he was called away, because his father was dying. My dad’s Muggle-born. He and Mum became preoccupied with his trip, and the possibility that they might have to plan a funeral. The werewolf seemed to be the least of their worries.

“The villagers had pistols loaded with silver bullets and scythes and sabers, to behead the beast. The old man was murdered on the first night of the full moon; when the full moon rose again on the third night, they set out to kill the werewolf.” Remus sighed. “I’ve lived in fear of that almost my entire life. A mob coming after me. And yet--I think I might find it a relief. An end to it all--”

No,” Emil said suddenly, gripping Remus’ arm. “Don’t talk like that.” Remus looked at his face, the dark eyes so concerned, the full lips that he wanted to be kissing trembling slightly.... However, he knew he had to tell Emil everything if he was going to understand.

“Well, they had dogs with them, hunting hounds rather than sheep dogs, and the hounds picked up the wolf’s scent almost as soon as the sun set and the moon rose. In the village square itself they found it. They shot at it and missed; they tried to behead it, but only wounded it. The wolf ran from the mob, perhaps recognizing that they were too well-armed to be prey, and they followed it to the edge of the forest, near our house. Later, when my mum went back to our house for some things that had been left behind, she found a story about it in the local paper, even though the marauder that was being hunted was described as a large dog. I reckon the villagers were worried about outsiders reading that rag and assuming everyone in the village was barking mad, as they probably would have if the culprit had been called a werewolf.

“While all of this was going on, it was actually very peaceful in our house. It was bedtime for me and my brother. Mum could still carry both of us at the same time, one on each hip. We had a cat, and every night Dad put the cat out for the night and Mum gave us our bath. Then she tucked us into our cots. Since Dad was visiting his dying father, Mum was carrying us while she was putting the cat out. She opened the door and nudged it along with her foot.

“However, when my mum opened the door, the wolf was evidently close enough to smell prey. The mob wasn’t very close to it yet; perhaps it thought it had time for a meal. The wolf was fast; before Mum had a chance to close the door, it had pounced, and sank its teeth into my brother’s neck. It ripped him from her grasp and his neck snapped. But the wolf didn’t want one meal; as soon as it realized that my brother wouldn’t fight, it came at me. My mother cursed herself for years because she stood there dumbly, instead of closing the door. But she was in shock; she just couldn’t believe what had happened; one of her sons was gone in a blink. He was dead.

“She saw it preparing to pounce again and finally awoke, tried to shut the door. Too late. Its body forced it open and its teeth sank into my arm. Then she heard a strange sound, a loud, sharp report, and the wolf collapsed on us, changing instantly into an old woman.

“The mob finally caught up. One man in particular led the way. He was the one who’d spotted that the wolf had attacked me and my mother. He’d fired the shot which killed it. In death, the werewolf changed into her human form again.

“My mother sat on the floor just inside our house, the door open, while these strangers came in and examined the corpse, as though my mother and I weren’t there. I was bleeding badly; my mother bound up my wound with a spell, very quietly, while they talked about the old woman.

“It turned out that she was the wife of the old man who was killed. She’d left him years ago. That was when the first sheep killings had stopped. She’d returned, but he didn’t want to see her. No one knew whether his death was intentional. If he knew what she was, he shouldn’t walked outside at the full moon, should he? Unless it was--suicide.

“They carried the body out of our house, and the man who’d killed the old woman turned to my mother, still sitting on the floor rocking me, and said, ‘I hate to do this, but I have to.’ He put his gun to my head and prepared to pull the trigger. However, he didn’t know that my mother was a witch. She disarmed him in a second, without her wand, and stunned him. She went to the door and stunned the ones outside, too, as quickly as she could. She’d never done much wandless magic, either, but suddenly, she needed to do it, and could. I’ll never understand it, but then I’ll never be a mother. I think it’s like when you hear about Muggles who get a surge of adrenaline in emergencies, and can suddenly do amazing things, like lift automobiles. She knew that she had to protect me. She’d already lost one son.

“She tucked me into my cot after putting a sleeping charm on me, and then set to work. Mum found the old man’s wallet and savings on the old woman, what she’d stolen from her husband. She took it; the old woman had no need of it now. We had to flee and needed Muggle money. She buried the old woman and brought Romulus inside and wrapped him carefully, then buried him too. She transported the stunned Muggles into the forest, well away from our house, one at a time, and put numerous memory charms on them. She hid behind a tree while she revived them, then Apparated back to our house. They never knew that they’d killed the wolf--although the man with the gun might have noticed that he was missing a bullet--but more importantly, they didn’t know I’d been bitten, and they wouldn’t come after me. If Mum had acted a second later, I would have had a silver bullet in my head. The man who saved me was ready to kill me, too. And yet--if he hadn’t shot the wolf, I would already have been dead. And probably my mum, as well.

“It’s possible that we could have stayed, but Mum was afraid that if even one of the memory charms was faulty, someone there would know about me and try to kill me. Luckily, there wouldn’t be another full moon for twenty-six days. There was time to plan what to do about me during that time. We arrived at my grandparents’ with some things from our house that my mum shrunk down, so she could carry them, and the clothes on our backs. Mum said she had exactly one pound left in Muggle money.

“My dad cried and cried over my brother, but then he became like my mum, determined to protect me no matter what it took. Mum never did tell me where we lived when the wolf bit me. I’m not sure why she didn’t want me to know, but she refused to tell me. I reckon it didn’t really matter. We ended up moving quite a lot, because from month to month, neighbors would complain about the noise I made as I struggled to get out of my cage. And as I became stronger and stronger, they had to keep working out better ways to restrain me. They couldn’t risk my getting loose.”

Remus put his hand on Emil’s arm. “You can’t plan to become a werewolf. If you’re with a wolf during the full moon, you can’t convince it to just bite you and walk away, so you can join the ‘club.’ Being bitten usually means being killed, pure and simple. I’m only alive because that werewolf lacked another ten seconds to finish the job. That’s all it would have taken. You can’t control the wolf, Emil. It just can’t be done.”

Emil put his hand on Remus’ cheek. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?”

“Why not? Because--” His voice caught. “I reckon because I don’t tell people that story, ever. I haven’t before. My own best friends don’t know.” He swallowed. “There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t feel like a part of me is missing, because of my twin dying.”

Emil held him closely as they sat on the dirt floor, surrounded by motorcycle parts. “What about me? Can I help you with that missing part? Can I fill that void for you?”

Remus looked in his dark eyes. “You do. You know you do.” Something was bothering him; he stood and found that he’d been sitting on what seemed like a carburetor. He grinned through his tears at Emil. “Speaking of missing parts....”

Emil laughed. “And speaking of being ‘missing,’ I’d better get back to work before there’s a story about me in the Daily Prophet, with my description.”

Remus put his arms around his waist, smiling. “Last seen wearing his werewolf lover...

Emil kissed him quickly, groaning for a second. “Tempting as that sounds, I must fly.”

“Are we clear now? Do you understand why I told you about how I became a werewolf?”

Emil kissed him once more. “Thank you for that. I’m so sorry about your brother.”

Remus nodded. “Thank you.”

“I love you.”

“I love--”

But with a pop, Emil was gone.



* * * * *


Friday, 7 September, 1979

Bill Weasley strode down the castle corridor, his new robes billowing behind him, his silver prefect’s badge gleaming on his chest. He wore the grim expression of a much older person; indeed, he appeared to feel that the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He stopped short when a pretty dark-haired girl emerged from a niche in the stone wall; her goal, evidently, was to ambush him, and he froze when he saw her, swallowing.

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him; she too wore a prefect’s badge. “Bill Weasley! Have you been avoiding me? We’ve been back at school for almost a week, and somehow I can never seem to get you alone to talk to you!” It hadn’t been easy to avoid Juliet, since she was in all of the same classes as Bill, except for Divination, but he didn’t dawdle between classes and had spent no time in the common room since returning to school. He had sat on the opposite side of the room when they had attended their first prefects’ meeting the previous Sunday. He had been avoiding her, because he knew precisely what she had to say to him, and it was unlikely to be any different from every letter she’d written him that summer, or from almost every confrontation they’d had the previous term, after he’d broken up with her.

He set his jaw; he had to be strong. He looked at her large grey-blue eyes, her waving brown hair, her slender face which had dimples when she smiled.... He thought of her laugh, and what it had been like to kiss her for the first time, the giddy feeling that had made him feel like he was filled with fizzy champagne. He didn’t deserve her, plain and simple, and he had to let her go. He had let her go, but she still hadn’t accepted it, evidently. He had told her that she should be with someone worthy of her. She had agreed, and said that was him. He had disagreed about this.

He looked at her now. “I haven’t changed my mind,” he told her softly.

She looked like she might be about to cry. She twisted her robes in her hands and he swallowed, unprepared to deal with this. Please don’t cry, he thought desperately. Please please please.

“You didn’t mean to break up with me,” she insisted, as though he’d simply selected the wrong spell in Charms. “I know you didn’t.”

“I told you that you could tell people you broke up with me. I don’t care.”

Bloody hell. The tears had started to run down her cheeks. She stamped her foot, her lip shaking. “Well you’re ruddy well supposed to care! Why don’t you care about me anymore? About us?”

He swallowed again, trying to keep back his own tears. God, yes, I care about you, he thought, wanting to hold her. “I needed to let you go,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking, “so you could be with someone worthy of you....” He parroted the same words he’d said before, unable to speak about this without a script.

“I’m tired of hearing you say that. You’re worthy!” she cried, stepping toward him. She looked very hurt when he stepped back from her, as though the idea of her touching him was repulsive.

“No, no I’m not.”

She opened and closed her mouth soundlessly, as though she didn’t know what to say to convince him. “Why you didn’t answer my owls this summer?”

“Well, um--”

She stepped toward him too quickly for him to step back this time, throwing her arms around his neck and whispering to him, “I’ll do it. I’ll sleep with you.”

“What?” he tried to say, but then she pressed her mouth to his, opening her lips slightly, and Bill tasted her soft warm tongue as it flicked at his, felt her breasts pressed against his chest. He wanted to hold her tightly to him, explore her mouth, slide his lips down her neck.... But he pulled his mouth back from hers and took her arms from around his neck, stepping back again. “Juliet,” he said, unable to keep the shake out of his voice now. “I don’t want you to sleep with me.” Liar, he immediately thought. He couldn’t resist a glance down at her chest; he’d actually seen it, twice. The first time had been the previous spring, after returning from the Easter holiday. He remembered vividly how lovely it had been to see her that way, and what it had led to....

When he’d returned from his holiday, he’d been nearly catatonic, going from class to class in a zombie-like state. Juliet had taken him up to the Astronomy Tower one afternoon and tried to talk to him, but he didn’t want to talk. Once alone with her, he’d decided that he only wanted to forget; that he wanted to do something completely mindless, something that involved so little thought that there would be no danger of those thoughts turning to his missing sisters. He had begun kissing her ravenously, trying to bury his feelings, forget about how worthless he was. She had been swept along, and before they knew what was happening, he was opening her bra and gazing at her chest in awe. He had loved the noises she’d made when he’d touched her breasts, not really knowing what he was doing and just tentatively trying one thing and another, but she had stopped him when he’d tried to remove more of her clothing.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” she had said breathlessly. “It’s just that--I haven’t had that potion. I’ve even thought about going to get it. But--I haven’t been able to work up the nerve. I mean, I’m sure Madam Pomfrey is very understanding about it and all, and I turned fifteen last year, and you turned fifteen months ago, but--I haven’t been able to contemplate just walking up to her in cold blood and asking for it....I’m sorry, Bill.”

He’d pulled back, saying, “That’s okay,” very softly, trying to slow his pulse; his heart felt like it was running away with him, and his trousers had become very uncomfortable.

“No, it’s not,” she said, biting her lip. “Here I’ve got you all worked up, and you’re just supposed to forget about it? I’m not a tease, Bill Weasley.” She reached out and began to unbutton his trousers. He watched her in disbelief, lacking the strength to push her hands away.

“What are you doing?” he’d practically squeaked, but she’d managed to open his trousers by then, and wasted very little time in showing him just what she planned to do. He gasped and clutched at her arm; she stopped moving her hand. “Juliet--”

“Is this not the way you do it? Don’t lie--all boys do it. Constantly. Do you want to show me?”

“No!” he’d cried immediately, turning deep red.

“What’s wrong, Bill? I just thought--maybe if I get used to the idea a little at a time, it won’t seem so scary. I mean, yes, on the one hand it’s something I want to do,” she said, making him very aware that her hand was still on him. “But on the other hand, “ there was that word again; “it’s--intimidating. Both doing it and asking Madam Pomfrey about the potion. I know I’m a Gryffindor, but maybe that just means I’m willing to run into burning buildings and save babies,” she said, with a small smile. “Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with this sort of bravery,” she said, giving him a small squeeze which made him gasp again.

“Erm,” he’d said in a strangled voice. “Can you not squeeze when you’re talking? It’s--a bit distracting,” he managed to get out. It didn’t help, either, that she was still sitting before him with nothing on from the waist up. He’d never in his life imagined being in a situation like this. When he thought of sleeping with a girl for the first time, it was very much in the abstract. He’d even thought of doing it with Juliet, but it was still a vague sort of fantasy, not involving specifics such as who took their clothes off first, had she taken the potion, was anyone going to walk in on them, did they even know what to do...

“Think of this as something you’re doing for me, Bill. Letting me get used to things having to do with sex bit by bit. We’ll start with this...”

And after that, he hadn’t been strong-willed enough to push her hand away. She’d been fascinated by his reactions, especially the way he’d pulled her to him afterward and kissed her deeply in heartfelt gratitude. Later, he’d felt guilty for a multitude of reasons. Yes, he’d felt very nice (very, very nice), but she hadn’t received a similar satisfaction from it. He’d felt vaguely dirty, and as though he’d taken advantage of her.

He’d started avoiding her intensely after that, making excuses about helping Geoff, Alex and Jack do homework. She had only asked once to be included; Bill had made up something inane about the other boys being very shy around girls, and how they’d be unable to get anything done if she joined them. She’d managed to corner him two other times before the term was over, and Bill had been ashamed of how weak he’d been, giving in almost immediately to kissing and caressing her. The second time it had only been that, and all of their clothing stayed on, but the third time, she’d worked up the nerve to unbutton his trousers again, and he went along, knowing how guilty he’d feel after, and also knowing that he should try to find out how to please her (but having no idea how to acquire this information).

The final time she cornered him, about a fortnight before the end of the term, he’d started talking first, before she could kiss him or take off any of his clothes (or hers--she’d let him touch her breasts again, the previous time). He broke up with her quickly, no warning, offering no explanation. He just walked away quickly afterward. She didn’t chase after him, but had stood there, utterly numb with shock. He knew because of things he heard the other girls in their year saying that she was a wreck after that, crying constantly, and that she’d received terrible marks on her exams in June because she hadn’t bothered studying and couldn’t concentrate. Bill felt like kicking himself when he heard that; he couldn’t do anything right! Now it was his fault that she had received bad marks.

He’d quickly glanced at the first few letters she’d sent him that summer before throwing them away. They all said the same thing. After that he just threw them away without reading them. He didn’t want to feel tempted to give in. Who am I to want to be happy? I’m the bloody sod who let my sisters disappear, that’s who I am. Every day that summer, he heard his mother crying in his parents’ bedroom. Every day when his father returned from work, he shook his head sadly at his mother; nothing new had been discovered about what had happened to Annie and Peggy.

He and Charlie were very subdued that summer, helping their mother with Percy and the twins. They didn’t go farther from the house than the orchard, and even then, their mother was very nervous. She had their father plant a tall privet around the garden, like a defensive wall.

Their father brought down from the attic the clock that old Mad-Eye Moody had given them as a gift, when Bill had been born, which had never been used. He read the instructions to activate the clock, and performed the binding charm on each child; after that, their parents performed the charm for each other, so that they could all be tracked by the clock. It would ever after tell the location of all of the family members at all times. Labels like “work,” “traveling,” “school,” “home,” “hospital,” “prison” and “mortal peril,” would tell what each of them was doing at any given time.

After the charms were cast, Bill found himself staring intently at the clock whenever his dad was at work; his dad’s hand on the clock usually read, “work,” but a few times during the summer, Bill had seen it point to “mortal peril.” He had stared fixedly at it then, his heart in his throat, until it went back to “traveling,” followed by “home,” and the sound of his father Apparating into the kitchen. When Bill had tried to pump him for information, find out what the danger had been, his father had changed the subject. Bill remembered when his father had had to kill a man in self-defense, and he wondered how many other dangerous wizards he was encountering. It seemed to be far too many for Bill’s taste.

Once, when he had voiced a wish that his father had a different job, his mother became very defensive and had huffed about their dad doing his best, and they didn’t need frills and a mansion to live in. Bill had deferred to her and apologized, not explaining that he’d really meant that he wished his dad had a job that wasn’t as dangerous. He thought that having the clock made him more nervous than ever about his father’s safety, instead of being reassured. What good was knowing that his father was in mortal peril if he couldn’t do anything about it?

He had groaned when he read his Hogwarts letter that summer, which said that he’d been named a prefect for Gryffindor; the other Gryffindor prefect was Juliet Hathaway. Just what he needed. The girl he was trying to avoid was going to be his counterpart for the next three years.

“What do you mean, ‘I don’t want you to sleep with me?’” she said, incredulous. Then she colored. “God. I must sound so conceited. I mean--”

“That’s a lie,” he said, immediately. “Of course I want to sleep with you,” he said, his voice breaking. Then he panicked, in case she misunderstood. “But not right now!” he said quickly. “I mean--that’s not why I broke up with you. I’m the last person in the world who deserves you. It doesn’t matter what I want or don’t want. You--you need to find someone else,” he said softly, crying now, but he didn’t care.

“Why?” she whispered, shaking her head. “Why do you want to be unhappy? Why do you hate yourself so much?”

He sank down, leaning against the wall. “Because it’s all my fault. If I’d been paying more attention--”

“Bill! It wasn’t your fault!”

“Yes, it was!” he roared, making her step back. He was also still getting used to his fuller, lower voice. “It was all my bloody fault! Why should I have any happiness in my life now? Are my sisters happy? Who knows? We can’t bloody well ask them, can we? Which is all my fault!” he said again, his voice echoing in the high stone corridor. He was breathing very quickly. Juliet gazed at him sadly; the echo died away and he looked up at her, his face tear-stained. “Peggy knew,” he whispered.

She crouched down beside him. “What?”

“Peggy knew it was going to happen. She didn’t want to go. She begged Mum not to make her go. But we went anyway....”

Her brow furrowed. “Are you saying--”

“Right,” he nodded. “Peggy had the Sight.”

Juliet stared. “You’re joking.

Bill shook his head. “I should have known she had a good reason for not wanting to go. But our mum was going mad, trying to take care of the twins. I thought Charlie and I were helping, taking the girls out for the day....”

“See?” Juliet said softly. He stared at her.

“See what?”

“It’s not your fault. Or your mum’s. It was just meant to happen. That sounds dreadful, I suppose, but how can you blame yourself for something that was fate?”

Bill stared at the opposite wall, trying to think about this. “But if it was fate--why did Peggy beg to be allowed to stay home? Shouldn’t she have just accepted her fate?”

“She was--what? Six?”

“She would have been seven in November. On the first.” He gave her a small smile. “Her birthday is the day after yours.”

“Right. Well, what do you expect of a six-year-old with the Sight? Just because she could See what was going to happen didn’t mean that she had to like it. And perhaps she didn’t know for certain that she couldn’t change it. Perhaps she thought it was only a sort of warning. You know--if she went to the village--well, whatever happened would happen. If she didn’t, it wouldn’t. Of course, it probably doesn’t really work that way....”

Bill shook his head; he raised his knees and propped his forearms on them. “No, I reckon it doesn’t.” Juliet sat next to him, her head on his shoulder. He didn’t prevent her. It really was comforting to talk to her. He’d never found anyone he could talk to like this until her. It wasn’t quite the same with his other friends. Jack came closest to being someone he could have serious talks with, after Orville had died. Orville....

“The thing is--I feel like Orville was my fault, too,” he whispered. She nodded, her head still on his shoulder.

“I know,” she also whispered. Then she lifted her head and looked thoughtfully at him. “So, what you’re saying is you do care about me, too much to let me be with a horrid beast like you who should be locked up in Azkaban?”

He grimaced. “Don’t make fun.”

“Sorry,” she apologized. “Do you think you’ll ever change your mind?” she asked softly. He turned to look at her. She was so close, and all he really wanted to do was slide his fingers into her hair and bring her mouth to his, feel her body against his again. But he just couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that it would be a happiness that he didn’t deserve.

“Maybe,” he said before he could stop himself; she was just too tempting. She smiled.

“But not yet?” she asked. He nodded grimly. She looked like she knew what was going on now. She wiped her eyes and became very businesslike. This was more like the Juliet he knew. “All right then. Here’s what we’ll do. On my sixteenth birthday--the day before Peggy’s seventh--you will give me a kiss for my present. On the last day of term before we go home for the holiday, you will give me a kiss for a Christmas present. And after we’re back from holiday, on your sixteenth birthday, I’ll give you a kiss. That’s it. That’s all. Sound fair?”

He frowned. “Not to you.” He made a face. “God. Now I sound conceited. You know what I mean. That’s why I told you to--”

“--find someone worthy. Blah, blah, blah,” she added, as though he were speaking gibberish. “You mean settle for one of the other blighters around here? Are you mad? No, I’d much rather wait for you. However long it takes. I’ll be fine.” She leaned toward him and traced his jaw lightly with her finger. “You’re worth the wait, Bill Weasley. When you change your mind, you know where to find me,” she whispered, her warm breath on his face making him shiver. He swallowed, trying not to weaken.

“If you change your mind about waiting, I’ll understand completely,” he said with a croak in his voice. She backed up and laughed, her eyes sparkling in that way he loved.

“Not unless I decide to get that frontal lobotomy...”

“A frontal what?”

“It’s an operation. To remove part of your brain.” She laughed when he made a dreadful face at the thought. “Sorry. Being silly. I suppose wizards don’t ever say that?”

Never.” They both stood; he looked down at her, wishing things were different. He wouldn’t really blame her if she didn’t wait, but at least he wouldn’t have to argue with her anymore, or avoid her. He wished he could just be with her without the crippling guilt, but it was too soon.

“Well, I have to go--”

“--meet the lads,” she said, completing his sentence, smiling. “Go on, then. I’m glad we talked.”

He looked at her gratefully. “So am I.” He’d been avoiding it, but now that it was over, it was a huge relief. And they could have a kiss (or even two) at Halloween, on her birthday, and another at Christmas. It was something to look forward to, anyway, without making him feel like he was forgetting his sisters completely and just selfishly pursuing his own pleasure constantly.

They walked down the corridor in opposite directions.



* * * * *


Wednesday, 31 October, 1979

Mmm...

Lily murmured contentedly as she became dimly aware of James’ caresses. She adored waking up like this, his sensitive fingers drifting sleepily over her skin. She wondered how long newlyweds were supposed to be like this, but decided she didn’t care whether they were breaking some unwritten rule saying they had to become boring old married people who only made love on Saturday nights. She bit the inside of her cheek as he ran a finger up the back of her thigh, then down to the back of her knee again. He’s teasing me, she thought. It wasn’t an unpleasant thought, actually; she liked this game. She would lie in bed, pretending to be asleep still, while he tried to coax her into wakefulness, and then he would pretend to be surprised by how aroused she was upon waking, as though that had absolutely no connection at all to the responses he was trying to evoke from her with his gentle stroking and kissing.

She felt his lips on the back of her neck now, his breath hot against her skin; her breasts were aching with want and she tried to be patient; he would touch all of her eventually, she knew. He rarely neglected any part of her....

Opening her eyes for a split second, she saw that she wasn’t wearing anything. That’s my efficient husband, she thought with a smirk. Already banished the clothes. His chest was pressed against her back, and she tried to remain passive, feigning sleep, but it was becoming very difficult as he moved his fingers and kissed his way down her neck to her shoulder, then down her back.

Oh, I love how he does this....

James watched Lily intently, knowing that she was awake, but playing along with the conceit that she wasn’t. He loved the little ways in which she betrayed herself, the way her chest hitched when he ran his fingers up her thigh and then stopped just short of where she wanted them, running them down to her ankle again. He loved the way she started to purr when he stopped teasing her and finally touched her where she was longing to feel his fingers, the way she would finally let loose and moan, “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” into her pillow. He loved the way her body tensed, then went almost completely rigid, as she cried out his name, then relaxed again bit by bit, as she stretched languidly, her release making her feel boneless in his arms.

He rolled her over so that she was lying on top of him. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her deeply, while she panted against his tongue, still not having her breath back. She seemed to awake fully then, propping herself above him on her arms and breaking the kiss, looking down at him with a sly smile while her hair cascaded down around them.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” she said with that throaty edge to her voice he only heard in bed, at times like this. That voice alone was enough to make him feel ready for his own release. (Actually, watching her respond to what he’d just done was enough to make him feel ready. It was his favorite sight in the world.)

He smirked at her. “You were a very randy wife.”

She looked almost offended and raised her brows. “Oh, and whose fault would that be, I wonder?”

“Fault? That makes it sound like a bad thing.”

She smiled and leaned down to lick an agonizing path down his chest to his nipples. “I never said it was a bad thing,” she murmured, between using her mouth for other things. He squeezed his eyes shut, a groan trapped in his throat. He watched her as she worked her way down, then put his hand on her head to stop her.

“If you do that, I won’t be responsible for what happens. We can’t afford to--”

“Ah,” she said, nodding, understanding. She lay down next to him and reached for him. “Can’t wait, eh?” He slipped between her legs; she wrapped them around his waist, pulling him to her. “You don’t have to wait,” she whispered, feeling a contentment that was indescribable when he was where he belonged. She looked up at him; his eyes were closed, and she couldn’t tell whether he was happy or in pain. “All right, James?”

He opened his eyes again and smiled down at her, still not moving, then kissed her quickly, his tongue stealing out for a second before he dipped his head to take the hard tip of a breast between his teeth. When he had wrung several minutes of throaty moans from her this way, he raised his head to smile at her. “I’m just trying to exercise some self-control. You do make it difficult, you know, when you’re so--responsive--”

She moved her hips against him in answer, no longer smiling, but looking very, very serious. He claimed her mouth again, and her tongue was warm and alive against his as they moved faster and faster. At last, he had to break the kiss, his eyes screwed up tight. Lily’s hands gripped his upper arms convulsively, urging him on, meeting his every thrust with an upward movement of her hips, whispering a soft, sibilant, “Yessss,” when he released his breath and she knew he’d finished. She smiled tenderly up at him, still holding him to her, her long legs imprisoning him. He leaned down to kiss her, grinning.

“Um,” he said uncertainly, “did you--?”

“Again? No, not this time. I suppose I was a bit distracted by our goal. Don’t worry about me, James. You already took care of me. I’m quite happy, I assure you.” She kissed his nose affectionately. He separated himself from her and collapsed with exhaustion by her side, but she kept her legs in the air. He stared.

“Is that really necessary?”

She raised her eyebrows and shrugged. “Possibly not. If I get pregnant, I get pregnant. But I’ve heard this can’t hurt. You know, the aid of gravity and all. Get every little thing to work for you.”

He nodded, thinking about the idea of being a father. He was only nineteen, but they had decided two months earlier to start trying to conceive when Lily’s mother’s health took a turn for the worse again. She’d cried on him after leaving the hospital, convinced that this time was different. Her mother had fought her cancer for years now; at long last, it seemed that the cancer might win. Lily couldn’t bear the thought that her mother might not see Lily become a mother, too, and James had agreed that they would put aside their original plan of waiting a few years.

Lily had never been what he would have called ‘inhibited’ in bed, but now that they were trying to have a baby, she was downright minx-like. He enjoyed it thoroughly, and thought with a little trepidation of the eventual change in their physical relationship that would have to occur while she was pregnant, once she conceived. However, until then, there were ample opportunities for fun....

“So, let’s see, what’s the date?”

James squinted at the calendar on his desk, on the other side of the room; that was hopeless, so he reached for his glasses and could see it properly now. “The thirty-first of October. Halloween.”

“That’s right. So--if we have a baby in exactly nine months, he’ll be born on--the thirty-first of July. That’s close to your birthday, James.”

He shrugged, kissing her. “That’ll be nice.”

“An early birthday present.”

She put her head on his chest and he wound his arms around her, caressing her back gently. “Well, maybe we’ll get lucky this time. A magical day for a magical conception,” he said, grinning at her.

Lily laughed, her green eyes crinkled up with merriment. “Of course, it will be absolutely impossible to keep a straight face when anyone mentions Halloween ever again, if this is the day we’ve conceived our first child.”

“Right. While our kids are growing up, it will be, ‘What are we doing to celebrate Halloween this year, Mum and Dad? And why are you grinning like idiots?’”

Lily laughed again and James joined her, holding her even more tightly, hoping that they’d been successful. But if not, there was always later, he thought happily....

He kissed her brow lightly. “You’ll make a wonderful mother, you know...”

She smiled lovingly at him. “I hope so,” she whispered, staring into space, into the future, unable to imagine being anyone’s mother, and hoping that she wouldn’t be too awful. And that her own mother would continue to be there for her with advice and encouragement.

“You'll have to ask Sam to put you on desk work again. Until you can take the test tomorrow.”

She sighed, nodding. “Right. Well, I can keep Gemma company. She's getting quite large.”

“When's she due?”

“Late February or early March. She's only five months, but you'd think it was a full nine. I hate to think what she's going to look like in four more months.”

“Why'd they finally change their mind?”

“I think it was when Frank and Gemma baby-sat for Sam and Trina around Easter. She caught baby-lust from taking care of Katie. I could see the look on her face the next day,” she said, smiling.

“Well, if we're successful this time, our kids will both be in the same year in school. That'll be nice. They can be best friends.”

Lily made a face. “I don't like the idea of trying to make children's friends for them, let alone before they're even born. If one of them is a boy and one a girl, what are you going to be doing next, trying to marry them off?”

He threw himself back on the pillow. “Sorry. I was just thinking...”

“Anyway, Frank's mum already has plenty of plans for that poor child. She and her brother-in-law and his wife were by the other day, to take Frank and Gemma to lunch. I could hardly believe my ears! Frank's mother is, erm, something else.”

James laughed. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, let's just say she puts the 'B' in 'witch.”

“Lily!” he said, shocked. “Gemma must be in hell, with her for a mother-in-law.”

“Now that's where you'd be wrong. It's Frank who has to watch out with her. She adores Gemma. She seems to think that it's amazing that Frank can tie his own shoes. And she's just as bad with her brother-in-law, Frank's Uncle Algernon. Although his wife Enid isn't too bad. Poor Algie's a little clumsy, and the next thing you know Verity--that's Frank's mum--is telling all of us, 'Oh, that runs in the Longbottom side of the family, you know. That's what did my husband in.' Can you believe her saying that? Might as well say, 'If my husband hadn't been so incurably clumsy, he might still be alive.'”

James hesitated before saying, “Well, that might actually be true, Lily.”

“That doesn't mean she has to say it! Whatever happened to not speaking ill of the dead?”

He grinned at her. “I don't think that's Mrs. Longbottom's chief concern in life.”

She shook her head. “Anyway, I pity that poor child and I just hope that they manage to keep it as far away from her as possible. She'd be a dreadful influence on a child.”

“Frank seems to be all right.”

“Yes, oddly he does until his mum is around. Then he falls apart. I've never seen anything like it. He's a perfectly competent Auror until Mummy walks in the room...”

James enfolded her in his arms again. “Well, we shall just have to make sure you do not follow her example as a mother,” he said, joking.

Lily laughed. “Definitely.”



* * * * *


“Maggie! You’ll be late for school!”

Valerie Dougherty’s ghost watched as Maggie groaned and rolled over, the early morning sun in her face.

“Had another dream?” Valerie asked her gently. Maggie didn’t answer, but frowned into the pillow, trying to remember it. In the dream, she saw something she’d seen once or twice on the telly, before her parents had hustled her from the room. Not that she’d minded them making her leave, as it was ‘mushy stuff.’ Snogging, she knew other children called it, before snickering. In her dream, a tall boy with red hair was ‘snogging’ a pretty dark-haired girl who seemed to want him to do it. She seemed to want him to do it quite a lot. Maggie sat up and blinked against the morning sun. Why should she dream about that? For some reason the boy looked familiar, but she couldn’t say why. In her dream, the girl called him ‘Bill.’

“Maggie!” he mother cried again, starting to sound exasperated.

“Coming, Mummy!” she called now, a croak in her voice, because she wasn’t fully awake yet. She seldom willfully disobeyed her mother and father, or even gave them cause to ask her to do something before she thought of doing it herself. She was so glad to be with them she didn’t want to do anything that would make them want to send her back to the orphanage. Not that they would, she knew, but still--she didn’t want them to even think, for a single moment, ‘Oh, why did we have to choose this one?

She knew why she was chosen. She had red hair and a face very similar to their daughter, Valerie. Valerie had died from cancer. They hadn’t been coy about telling her that. She reminded them of Valerie, and they felt that Valerie couldn’t have been taken from them for no reason; after much meditation on the matter, her parents had decided that Valerie must have died to induce them to make a home for another child, a child who had no parents. They no longer had a daughter; Maggie didn’t have parents. It seemed that they were made for each other.

The nice thing for Maggie was that she knew that Valerie approved of the whole arrangement. Maggie smiled at the specter of her predecessor now, getting up to pad to the bathroom, to brush her teeth.

Valerie watched her fondly, the morning light shining through her. She liked this little girl who made her mum and dad so happy. Something her parents didn’t know was that when Valerie had died in the hospital in London, she had returned to her parents’ home in Leicestershire, sitting in her old room, waiting for the day when another little girl would live there. Somehow, she knew that would happen.

And then the day had come, the previous spring, when the strange little man had shown up on their doorstep and told them that there were two little girls at an orphanage in Exeter, two little girls who needed a home, and he hoped they would provide that home. Valerie had been fascinated by him. He wasn’t like anyone she’d known when she was alive. Now that she was dead, she knew much more than she used to. She knew about witches and wizards, for a start. She knew that this man was a wizard, as he simply popped! into existence in the Doughertys’ front garden; he also had taken what she assumed was a magic wand from his pocket and peeked into one of the front windows, muttering something. The last thing he did before ringing the bell was to wave his wand again, converting the odd, long coat he’d been wearing to a short jacket.

He’d told them that he’d heard through a mutual acquaintance that they’d lost their daughter, and he extended his condolences to them. He asked them whether they’d ever considered adopting a child--or two--who needed a home.

The three of them didn’t discuss it for long; her parents were skeptical at first that they would be allowed to adopt, as they were both in their fifties now and had inquired at a number of agencies, all of whom turned them down because of age. Of course, they’d been trying to adopt babies, not little girls. It hadn’t occurred to them to try this.

“I don’t know why we never considered it,” she said to her husband. “Why didn’t we ever think about it, Sean?”

Valerie’s father shrugged. “Dunno. Aren’t kids like that usually from homes where the parents never married, they were just shacking up? Or drug addicts? Do we want a kid with half a brain because the parents were drug addicts?”

The little man had stuttered, “These--these girls aren’t like that. A terrible accident left them orphaned. Please--they don’t have anyone else. Two sisters, about six and eight. Lovely little girls--with red hair,” he added, trying to seem casual about it. Valerie saw the look her mother gave her father. Just like Valerie, her look seemed to say.

She didn’t follow them to the orphanage; she waited patiently in her old room, still wallpapered in a pink and white print of eighteenth-century country folk engaging in country activities like putting cows and sheep out to pasture, making haystacks and walking by streams over rickety but picturesque bridges. She’d loved looking at her wallpaper when she’d been sick in bed, making up stories in her head about the people in the pictures. She hoped the little girls would like it, that they wouldn’t make her parents paint or paper over it. Somehow she knew that they wouldn’t be able to resist two little red-haired girls.

When the arrangements had been made for them to become adoptive parents and they’d returned with just one little girl, Valerie had been confused. She never did overhear anything about why they didn’t bring both girls home that the man had mentioned. She’d watched, invisible, while her parents had tucked their new daughter into bed that night. Mrs. Dougherty settled down to read to her new daughter from Peter Pan....

All children, except one, grow up,” began Mrs. Dougherty, making Valerie feel unspeakably sad. Little girls who die of cancer don’t grow up, she thought in her ghost-mind.

When Mrs. Dougherty finished the chapter and went to kiss the small red head goodnight, the little thing looked up at her new mother with large blue eyes and said, “How funny that you read that to me tonight. I don’t remember most anything else, except that my first name is Margaret, but I do know that I was brought to the orphanage by Peter.”

Her mother looked startled; she smoothed the quilt over the little girl’s legs. “Now, dearie, don’t tell tales. Peter Pan did not take you to the orphanage, even though one could say that Lost Children live there, as they do in Neverland....”

“Lost Children?” the girl asked, frowning; Valerie realized that the girl had never heard Peter Pan before, and her mother hadn’t read enough for her to know about this.

“Well, at any rate, you have a good night, Margaret.” She surveyed the small girl for a moment. “That seems rather a formal name for such a wee thing. Let’s see if we can think of something better. Hmmm....What about naming you after old Thatcher, eh?” she smiled. “Shall you be our little Maggie?”

The slip of a girl smiled at her. “Yes. But--can you read a bit more, Mummy?”

Mrs. Dougherty looked at the large blue eyes, and Valerie could tell that it was the word ‘Mummy’ that had gone straight to her heart. “Of course, love,” she said, tears in her voice. But they were happy tears, Valerie could see, as her mother wiped an errant drop from her cheek and sat down next to the little girl again, to continue reading the story of the children who had left their parents heartbroken when they flew off with Peter Pan.

Valerie saw that Maggie was listening very attentively when Mrs. Dougherty read the explanation from Peter to Wendy of who the Lost Boys were.

“‘They are the children who fall out of their perambulators when the nurse is looking the other way. If they are not claimed in seven days they are sent far away to the Neverland to defray expenses. I’m captain.’

‘What fun it must be!’

‘Yes,’ said cunning Peter, ‘but we are rather lonely. You see we have no female companionship.’

‘Are none of the others girls?’

‘Oh, no; girls, you know, are much too clever to fall out of their prams.’

“I must not be very clever then. Although I don’t think I fell out of a pram,” Maggie said quietly. Mrs. Dougherty hugged her tightly and kissed her on the head for a moment.

“Just listen, dearie,” she said before continuing. Eventually, Valerie noticed that Maggie’s head was nodding; her mother read on, oblivious.

‘Don’t get any letters,’ he said contemptuously.

‘But your mother gets letters?’

‘Don’t have a mother,’ he said . Not only had he no mother, but he had not the slightest desire to have one. He thought them very overrated persons. Wendy, however, felt at once that she was in the presence of a tragedy.

‘O Peter, no wonder you were crying,’ she said, and got out of bed and ran to him.

‘I wasn’t crying about mothers,’ he said rather indignantly.

Valerie’s mother looked down at Maggie, who was breathing evenly, her head against her new mother’s arm. She was fast asleep, her pale red lashes on her freckled cheeks, her rosebud mouth open just slightly. Mrs. Dougherty leaned down and kissed the child’s forehead, whispering to her, “I don’t know what pram you fell out of, my wee Maggie, but I hope you like your new home.”

Valerie had watched the girl sleep that night, and decided to introduce herself the next morning. If this little girl was going to take her place, she needed to talk to her. Hopefully that wouldn’t be a problem.

Oddly, it wasn’t. When Maggie awoke the next morning, stretching and rubbing her eyes sleepily, Valerie was perched in the air next to the bed, as though she were in an invisible chair, and when Maggie saw her, she looked momentarily startled, and then fascinated.

“Um,” she’d said uncertainly, “hullo.”

“Hullo,” Valerie had answered in kind. “Don’t be afraid. I’m Valerie. I wanted to welcome you to my old room.”

The sun shone through her and Maggie had squinted as though she was uncertain she was really awake yet. “Your old room? So--you’re a ghost?”

Valerie nodded. “I just want to make sure my mum and dad are happy. I’m so glad you’ve come to stay. They’re good parents. I think you’ll like them.”

Maggie nodded. “I already do. I didn’t know my new room had a ghost, though!” she said, smiling. “I think that’s lovely!”

Valerie smiled back at her. “You do?”

“Oh, yes. Especially as it’s you. I mean, you can tell me things. About your mum and dad.”

Valerie agreed. “Whatever you need to know.” She’d kept her promise.

Maggie returned from the bathroom and quickly scrambled into her uniform, getting the blouse buttoned wrong. When she arrived in the spacious kitchen to eat her breakfast, her mother clucked her tongue at her and fixed the button problem, then buttoned the navy cardigan over the blouse and straightened the blouse’s round collar.

She smiled up at her mother, who clearly enjoyed doing this. She seemed to see another red-haired woman in the back of her mind, in a very fuzzy way, fussing over her in a similar fashion, but it was in a darker kitchen, with more clutter. She wondered sometimes at these little mental images, wondered whether she’d ever really remember what happened to her before she arrived at the orphanage. But if, as the nuns had said, she didn’t have anyone, remembering her real family would probably just make her sad. She had a lovely home now and two loving parents; she knew that she was a very lucky little girl. She also had a ghost friend to keep her from being lonely, although Valerie had cautioned against her telling anyone about this.

“They might think you’re barmy,” she had warned. Maggie had agreed. It would be best to keep Valerie a secret.

Her mother was about to pour hot water into the teapot while Maggie was eating her porridge; suddenly Maggie looked up, feeling a panic in her chest. “Don’t touch the kettle, Mummy!” she cried.

Her mother looked at her oddly, her hand on her chest. “Whatever are you going on about, Maggie?”

“The handle--”

Her mother leaned forward and squinted at the kettle handle; then she tried to lift it very slowly and one end of the handle came away from the body, making it fall heavily to the hob. Luckily, since she’d been lifting it very slowly, instead of the brusque way she normally did, the kettle only splashed a few drops of very hot water onto the hob, where they sizzled and quickly evaporated. She turned and looked searchingly at Maggie, who was peacefully eating her porridge.

Valerie was watching, as well, invisible now that she was in the same room as her mother. She’d noticed Maggie do quite a number of interesting things since coming to live with her mum and dad. She seemed to know some things before they were going to happen, for some reason that Valerie hadn’t worked out yet.

When it was time for Maggie to dash outside to catch the school bus, Mrs. Dougherty enfolded the little girl in her arms, loath to let her go afterward. Valerie watched Maggie leave, and she watched her mother watch Maggie leave, and knew that her mother was finally getting over her Valerie’s death. She wasn’t completely over it yet, but Valerie knew that the day was coming when she would be leaving her parents for good, when she knew that they were happy and Maggie was settled. That day hadn’t come yet, but she could hope.



* * * * *


How dare you send that demon-child to us!” Mrs. Ferris shrieked, thrusting the little red-haired girl away from her, then huddling against her husband, who put a protective arm around her shoulder. The reverend mother gathered the girl to her; the thin shoulders were shaking, and although any other child would have been crying to hear an adult talk about her so, the girl glared at the couple over her shoulder.

“Let’s go into my office,” Mother Crispin said, with her slight Irish lilt. “We can sit down and--”

“--and discuss it? Not bloody likely,” Mr. Ferris interjected, evidently not caring to watch his language before the reverend mother. “What is there to say about our lunch, dishes, knives, forks, spoons and all rising up in the air and spinning about the room? What is there to say about the television channels changing every split second? With the telly turned off!” he roared; he was shivering while holding his wife, and it was difficult to say which one of them was more frightened of the little girl.

Mother Crispin’s lips were drawn very thin. Her faith had always been strong, but she had to admit that when she heard tales of miracles, she was a skeptic. She’d seen far too many people in this world benefit monetarily from having a plaster stain in their entrance hall that looked remarkably like the Virgin Mary, or a shadow cast on the side of a house that resembled Christ on the cross. When she heard of phenomena like this, she did not automatically credit it, but reasoned that there must be some other explanation for its occurring, a reason other than a miracle or any other type of divine intervention. (Her usually assumption was that the reason was avarice.) Surely events couldn’t have transpired exactly as the Ferrises were describing them, she told herself; it defied logic. She was a very logical woman. Of course, she had told herself the very same thing the last time....

She sighed. Regardless of the explanation, she had to accept that Mr. and Mrs. Ferris were not going to give Anna a home, and they would probably not consider any other child at the orphanage at this rate, either. They wouldn’t want to take another chance after this. She lifted her chin and gave them a steely glare herself, on the child’s behalf.

“Fine. Go then. Drop off the girl and make up stories about why you won’t take her. Parenthood isn’t for everyone, you know,” she said acidly. “You might want to consider a dog. Or better still, a cat, as they don’t need walks. Or perhaps you should completely reconsider any other living being having to rely on your care and goodwill! Good day!” she snapped, turning, the girl still in the protective circle of her arm, as they entered the old brick building, leaving Mr. and Ferris standing on the front steps.

She was shaking with rage, but at this point, she was most angry with herself, for letting the girl see her lose her temper. It wasn’t the best way to remain an authority figure, she thought. But looking down, she could see that Anna was looking back up at her with a smile curling at the corner of her mouth, her large blue eyes shining in admiration. She afforded the girl a rare smile.

“Come to my office. We’ll have some tea.”

Anna nodded and smiled at the reverend mother. It wasn’t easy to think of herself as ‘Anna’ at first, but she was learning. When the reverend mother had first spoken to her, she asked her for her name.

“Annie,” she’d said automatically, before realizing that she should have feigned memory-loss when it came to this, too. She’d already told the nuns that her entire family had died in a fire and she was the only survivor. She wasn’t certain whether they believed her, but she concentrated very hard and repeated her story over and over, and they seemed to gradually accept it. She felt a surge of power when this occurred. Did I do magic? she wondered. It wouldn’t be the first time, although her brother Bill was the one in the family known for wandless magic, especially charms. Then she tried not to think of her family...

Annie?” the reverend mother had said, her mouth twisting. “That’s not a proper name. Anna. That’s a good and proper name. You shall be Anna.”

A look on her face made the newly-christened Anna say, “That was your name, wasn’t it?”

The reverend mother froze and examined the child before her. “Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, if I am to be truthful. As you must always be truthful,” she added, giving the girl a meaningful look.

“Why did you change it?”

The reverend mother crossed her hands on her lap and narrowed her eyes, trying to fathom the girl before her. If she wanted to be the interviewer, so be it. She knew that the questions a child chose to ask could be every bit as revealing as the answers given to questions, if not more so.

“When I took my vows, I was beginning a new life. So I became Sister Crispin, after St. Crispin. Do you remember your surname?”

The girl hesitated. It was subtle, but the reverend mother caught it. “I don’t remember. I--I must have been bumped on the head. I don’t even remember where I lived. Just that a fire killed my family.”

The former Anna Garrison nodded, which belied the fact that she didn’t believe the child for a moment. She also thought it very odd that Anna looked so much like the other little girl who’d turned up, yet that girl’s family had died in a car crash. It was all very strange.

She’d had the matter investigated, and found that no one in the entire country, nor in Scotland or Wales, had reported missing two little red-haired girls of their ages. However, there also didn’t seem to be any instances of entire families perishing in car crashes or house fires. It was very, very odd, but inasmuch as the girls didn’t have anywhere else to go (and the younger one seemed very disoriented) Mother Crispin felt it was her duty to take good care of them and to help them find a new home. She sighed as she poured the tea for herself and young Anna. She had had high hopes that the Ferrises would like her, but the one-day visit hadn’t even reached the half-way point when they returned her to the orphanage.

The girl added some cream to her cup but no sugar, blowing across the surface delicately before sipping. Suddenly, Anna put her cup and saucer on the desk that sat between her and the reverend mother and said, “Do you like being a nun?”

Mother Crispin was startled, but she should have known better; unlike the other children in her care, Anna usually said whatever was on her mind. “Yes,” she said without hesitation, before taking a sip of tea.

“Why?”

Now she did hesitate. “Well, originally, I studied nursing. I wanted to be of use. And I did feel of use. For the most part. There was still something missing in my life, I felt. And oddly enough, it was the fact that I was being called ‘sister’ day in and day out that finally awoke me to my true calling. I knew that I was meant to do both--to be a nurse and a nun. After I took my vows, I came to work here with the other sisters in my order, instead of the hospital where I had trained. I knew that I had done the right thing.”

Anna nodded. “But you’re not a nurse anymore.”

“Ah, that is not true. I became a matron eventually. Then, when the reverend mother who led the order when I arrived decided to retire, she recommended to Father McAninley that I take over for her, running the orphanage. I am and shall always be a nurse. I happen to run an orphanage now. But above all, every day of my life, I am a servant of God.”

“Did you ever want to be a doctor instead of a nurse?”

Mother Crispin’s mouth went very thin. The child was entirely too good at working out these things. “In those days, very few women did that,” she said, which wasn’t really an answer, but it wasn’t a lie, either. It also implied that she was far older than she was. She had only just turned fifty-five.

“Did you ever want to be a priest instead of a nun?”

The reverend mother froze. “You’re not a Catholic, are you?” she asked the child.

“I don’t think I was.”

“Nor do I,” she confirmed with a sniff. “If you were, you wouldn’t be asking that.”

When the girl had finished her tea, Mother Crispin dismissed her and she left the office to return to her dormitory. As she softly closed the door, Anna breathed a sigh of relief. She had avoided possibly being adopted. She looked through the glass in the reverend mother’s office door; it was frosted, but through it she could see the shadow of the reverend mother as she sat at her desk.

She remembered the first time she’d awoken and found the older woman sitting in a chair at her bedside, when she was still in hospital. They’d had the conversation about her name, followed by a hot meal. Later, the reverend mother had come at bedtime to see to it that ‘Anna’ was not afraid to be sleeping in a strange place. She’d stared at the reverend mother’s wimple, asking her, “What color is your hair?”

She could tell that Mother Crispin was startled. Looking around furtively (there were no other sisters nearby and the other children were already asleep) she said, “Would you like to see?”

She’d sat up anxiously, nodding. The wimple was removed carefully, then hairpins extracted from the complicated pile of hair, before the cascade of pale tresses came tumbling down. It was a lovely white, soft and full. She thought she saw some strands of another color, though.

“It used to be gold, didn’t it?”

The reverend mother hesitated before nodding. “Yes,” she said truthfully. “It was gold.”

Anna appreciated the fact that so far, the reverend mother did not seem to be lying to her about anything. She’d even tried asking her personal questions, and had received what seemed to be honest responses. This was such a contrast from the other adults in her previous life, and even the strange wizard who’d brought her and Peggy to Exeter, that she felt an immediate attachment to the reverend mother, and knew that she had to do whatever was necessary to avoid leaving.

She kept her ear to the ground and learned that a couple was coming to look at her and her sister (whom she had denied was her sister) because they might be interested in adopting them both. The police had found out nothing about them, and they needed homes.

She had eavesdropped when the Doughertys came to visit Peggy, to meet her for the first time. She heard the wife say to the husband, when Peggy left to go to the bathroom, “She’s lovely, but what about the other girl? What if we have to take them both?”

Fine, Anna had thought. If she doesn’t want me, I don’t want her. I’ve put up with enough of that already.

When the reverend mother had come looking for her, so she could meet the Doughertys, she’d hid until they left. She didn’t emerge until after dinner, and went to bed with an empty belly. She awoke in the middle of the night when someone sat on her bed; it was the reverend mother, who immediately put her finger to her lips.

“Where were you earlier, child? There was someone I wanted you to meet.”

“I know.”

“Then why--”

“They just want one.”

The reverend mother hesitated. “Really.” It wasn’t a question.

“I heard them say. There wouldn’t have been much point, would there?”

Mother Crispin looked grim. “Possibly not.”

“She can have them. That’s all right.” But suddenly, her throat felt rather tight at the thought of not seeing Peggy again. She’d snuck into her room to watch her sleep, remembering the way she’d screamed at their mum not to make them go to the park....

“You’re quite sure?” The reverend mother smoothed down the blankets on the bed in a businesslike manner.

“Yes,” she said, nodding, willing herself not to cry. Peggy, she thought. I’ll miss you.

She had watched when the Doughertys had come to take Peggy, or ‘Margaret,’ as they called her, to live with them. The next day, she had been transferred to the orphanage, as there was no real reason to keep her in the hospital ward any longer. The doctors could find no physical reason for her to lack her memories. She had toyed with the idea of doing something to give herself a head injury, but discarded the idea as too frightening. (She might really hurt herself.)

It had been almost six months now, and the Ferrises were the second family interested in her. The first, the Trents, had had a similar reaction to her (because she had had a similar reaction to them). The reverend mother had given her the same penetrating look and the same staunch defense. It wasn’t her fault; she was just a child. For any caring adult to find the child wanting clearly indicated that they were not fit to be parents.

The reverend mother always came to turn out the lights in the dormitories, which weren’t appreciatively different from the hospital ward. The dorm had the same white-painted metal beds, lined up regimentally. Seventeen girls from the ages of eight (Anna) to fifteen lived in the same dorm; only eleven boys from ten to fifteen lived in the boys’ dorm. (Boys seemed to have an easier time appealing to adoptive parents.) It was a small orphanage, which allowed the sisters in the order to give the children plenty of attention, but enough children that when someone like Anna wanted to be alone, she could do that.

When Mother Crispin stood at the doorway of the girls’ dormitory and bade them goodnight and God bless, Anna laid in her bed, feigning sleep. The brightness pressing against her closed eyelids disappeared, and when she opened her eyes a tiny crack, she saw that the lights had been turned out. A minute later, however, she felt her bed dip to one side as someone sat on it, and she felt a gentle hand on her brow, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

“Sleep well, little Anna,” she heard the reverend mother’s soft voice. “I’m sorry about the Ferrises,” she added. Somehow Anna didn’t think she meant I’m sorry they didn’t want you. She seemed to be apologizing instead for making Anna put up with them for any length of time. The gentle hand continued to stroke her hair and Anna swallowed, hoping the reverend mother wouldn’t notice. It felt so nice to have a mother hover over her and care about her; she couldn’t remember the last time her own mother had done this. She’d been so busy with all of those boy babies for so long....

“Ah, little one. Shall we exorcise you or canonize you?” the reverend mother’s voice said in a bemused tone. Anna didn’t know what either term meant. She made sure her eyes were closed tightly, but her acting didn’t work.

“Anna?” the reverend mother said softly. “You’re awake, aren’t you?”

She opened her eyes slowly, then unnecessarily nodded her head. Mother Crispin smiled at her.

“Sit up, child.”

Anna pulled herself up and sat waiting, wondering whether she would get an explanation of the strange words the reverend mother had used.

“Were they so very dreadful?”

Anna hesitated. “I could never live with them.”

Mother Crispin nodded. “You shan’t have to.” She put her hand under Anna’s chin and lifted her face slightly. “But you do want a home, eventually, yes?”

Anna hesitated before nodding. The nod was a lie. She didn’t want to leave the orphanage ever. That would mean leaving the reverend mother.

The reverend mother could tell Anna was lying. And while something at the back of her mind whispered the reason to her, she pushed that away, not wanting to feed her ego. Unfortunately, the child once again picked up on something and spoke her mind.

“Did you ever want to be a mother?” Anna said to her softly.

After a second, she said, “I am a mother, child. To all of you.”

“I mean--a real mother.”

She pulled her mouth into a line. “Don’t I seem real to you?”

Anna smiled at her, and she could tell it was a genuine smile. She seldom saw that sight on the thin little face; she knew to enjoy it while she could. “Yes.”

She gathered the child to her, and Anna wrapped her arms around the reverend mother’s waist, pillowing her head on her chest.

She didn’t need another mother because she already had one.

Without thinking, Mother Crispin kissed Anna on the top of the head and tucked her into bed again. When she was in the corridor again, she thought, I shouldn’t have done that. But it was too late now. Giving out kisses wasn’t a good idea, she felt; she shouldn’t play favorites. And she certainly shouldn’t let herself to get so attached to one child. There was no telling when the right family would come along for any of them. She’d made that mistake once, with a little Welsh boy named David, and it had been very hard to get over his being adopted, even though it was a lovely family. She’d cried for a week after he was gone, knowing how irrational it was, knowing that she wasn’t really his mother.

She’d been much younger then, and had managed to keep her distance from the children since that time. Somehow, Anna had broken down those defenses and crawled into her heart, with her naked, probing questions and her honest gaze. She was so straightforward the majority of the time; when she lied it hardly seemed to matter, she was so utterly transparent and the reverend mother could tell right away. It seemed that Anna could tell that she knew too, so it was hard to say whether it was really lying at all when you considered that. She was fairly certain that the girl’s family had not died in a fire, but if the child was going to such lengths to avoid having her family found, and if they had not expended any effort at all to find her, then as far as the former Anna Garrison was concerned, they didn’t deserve her and the child shouldn’t be required to return to them.

And then, there was still the question of what both the Trents and the Ferrises had said when they’d returned her to the orphanage. Objects flying through the air. Appliances behaving wildly. Both the families and Anna were relieved that the experiments were over. Mother Crispin wondered about the girl again, thinking once more the words she had said at the girl’s bedside:

Shall we exorcise you or canonize you?



* * * * *


Notes: The quotes concerning Peter Pan are directly from the first and second chapters of Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie, first published in 1911 under the title Peter and Wendy and in 1921 under the title Peter Pan and Wendy.


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