The Lost Generation (1975-1982)

The Lost Generation

(1975-1982)

Chapter Fourteen

Suspect


Thursday, 15 November, 1979

Sirius opened his eyes, blinking in the pre-dawn light, trying to work out where he was. He turned his head to the left and saw Cecilia Ratkowski lying beside him on her stomach. The sheet was pulled up to her waist and she wasn’t wearing anything else. Her normally-neat blonde hair was tousled and she was facing Sirius, her countenance quite peaceful, as she snored very softly.

Blast, he thought. I was going to just close my eyes for a moment, and the next thing I know it’s practically morning. After they’d made love, she’d implored him to stay the night instead of running off, as he usually did. He’d relented somewhat and stayed a little longer, lying down again after starting to dress. She’d curled up beside him, her arm across his stomach like a heavy rope. He’d watched her sleep at first, feeling like he couldn’t breathe, as though a steel band was binding his chest, instead of just her thin arm flung across him. Finally, his eyelids felt too heavy to keep open....

Bugger. Where were his socks? He fumbled around the messy room, trying to distinguish his clothes from Cecilia’s. She was not exactly the neatest girl he’d ever been with. Just the week before, he’d had a one-off with a Muggle woman at least six years older than him who’d been positively obsessive about where he put his drink, before they’d reached the bedroom. She’d been a bit scarily obsessive about some things in the bedroom, too, which was one reason he’d decided to contact Cecilia again.

They weren’t technically a couple, but they kept sort of coming back to each other, ever since Lily and James’ wedding in June. He’d told Cecilia many times that he didn’t mind a bit if she saw other men, and she told him--very unconvincingly--that he was free to see other women, as well. He strongly suspected that she wasn’t exercising her freedom nearly as much as he was (if at all). He never saw evidence of other men having been in her disorganized flat. (Once, when she’d gone to dress for a date, he’d changed into his dog form and had sniffed around a bit, although he felt a bit foolish afterward, especially when he hadn’t found anything but a bowl of curdled milk that had been left under a chair for the cat.) He wasn’t certain whether he was relieved that she didn’t seem to be seeing anyone else, or wished that she would.

He finally found all of his clothes and was about to Disapparate to Ascog Castle. However, he waited a fraction of a second too long, and the next thing he knew, Cecilia was rolling over and stretching, looking at him with those lovely eyes. He did adore her eyes, he had to admit. It was very easy to get lost in them and be drawn to her, even when he was trying to do quite the opposite. And the fact that she was sitting up while stretching now, wearing nothing at all, didn’t exactly make him eager to vanish.

“Where are you going, then?”

Good morning to you, too, he thought. “I hadn’t planned to spend the night,” he explained. “I reckon I must have been more knackered than I thought. We have an early meeting at the office, and I need a shower. I was just going to pop home.”

She frowned, sitting up fully, not covering herself. “You could have at least woken me to say goodbye. It’s not very nice to go skulking away. I’m surprised you stayed for any length of time at all last night. Usually it’s eat, shag and go.”

Sirius frowned. Perhaps she was being honest because she wasn’t fully awake yet. “Cecilia, I--I’ll stay the night at some point in the future. I very likely will,” he added, for protection. “But--well, we’re not really serious, are we?. This is fun, but we’re--we’re old school friends. We’re not--” He stopped himself, having been about to say Lily and James. He sighed. It had been very hard to watch her marry his best friend. He’d put a good face on it, but he’d been just as glad that he and Peter and Remus had had to leave the reception because of the full moon. He didn’t think he’d have been able to watch them walk up to their honeymoon suite.... Going back to the inn for the wedding breakfast the next morning had been torture, seeing them so deliriously happy, and him with a gnawing empty feeling in the pit of his stomach that wouldn’t be fixed by food. And yet, he knew that a combination of Sirius Black and Lily Evans would have been a complete disaster. He knew that she and James were meant for each other. It was still hard to let go of the idea of her, when he’d cherished that idea for so long.

Seeing Cecilia at the wedding breakfast had been his salvation; he’d talked and laughed with her, trying to avoid even looking in Lily’s direction, and they’d gone off and spent the day together afterward. Near sunset, he’d been ready to run off to be with Remus again, but she had surprised him by seducing him (he hadn’t thought to be so presumptuous on the first date as to initiate the seduction). He’d had to run off afterward, of course, as the moon would be rising forty-eight minutes after sunset. And thus the pattern of their so-called relationship had been established, right from the start.

Eat, shag and go.

“You very likely will? Oh, that’s encouraging,” she opined sarcastically. “It wouldn’t kill you to stay, you know. You stayed most of last night, and you aren’t dying, are you?”

Only dying to get away, he thought irritably.

“Stay tonight. It’ll be worth your while...”

Sirius made a face. “Cecilia, I’m not just coming over here for sex--” Okay, he admitted to himself, it’s usually for the sex....

“I didn’t mean that!” she said, laughing. “I meant that I’d make you breakfast. And anyway, I don’t look on sex as something I give you. It’s a gift we give each other.”

Sirius thought he was going to spew.

“Did you read that somewhere?” he asked, making a face, not daring to tell her what he really thought of such platitudes.

She looked a little embarrassed. “Maybe,” she admitted softly. “Oh, come on, Sirius,” she said, going back into wheedling mode. “Stay tonight. Or do you have another early meeting at the office tomorrow?”

No, but tonight I’m supposed to be keeping my mate the werewolf company during the full moon.

He looked at her thoughtfully and decided that she didn’t seem ready to cope with the idea that he was an illegal Animagus, and that he’d become an illegal Animagus to keep company during the full moon with his friend the werewolf. The funny thing was, as many girls as he’d been with in school, none of them questioned his disappearing during the full moon. He hadn’t been steady with any of them, and perhaps they all just assumed he was with some other girl at that time. Now he was experiencing a down-side to seeing someone somewhat regularly--keeping a certain monthly secret was more difficult when there was someone like Cecilia in his life. She looked at him suspiciously now, as though knowing that he was going to beg off and that he wouldn’t tell her the real reason why.

“Sorry, can’t see you tonight. Remus and I have plans. We have for a while. Can’t break them. For the next three nights, actually,” he added, before she could suggest the next night, or the one after that. Her eyes narrowed as he regarded her. He realized that he’d actually managed to forget that she was sitting up in bed with nothing on. Except that--he’d just noticed again. Bugger.

“Remus Lupin? For the next three nights? You didn’t mention this before.”

Sirius was really itching to get away now. “Sorry. Meant to. I just--didn’t,” he finished lamely, smiling feebly at her. She frowned.

“Well then, I’ll just have to find someone else to spend time with for the next three nights,” she said with a sniff. Sirius narrowed his own eyes, observing her body more keenly than he would have liked to admit to himself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he said, aware at the same time that she wanted to wind him up. Sod that, he thought. It’s working.

“It means what it sounds like it means,” she said casually, as she rose from the bed and began trudging through the piles of clothes, still naked. Sirius was starting to have second thoughts about leaving.

“Listen, maybe I can see whether Peter or James can keep Remus company tonight--”

She paused, standing before him like a newly-awoken nymph, if nymphs normally frequented laundry hampers that had exploded.

“Keep him company? Is that all you were going to do--keep him company?”

“Er, no, not all. It’s a long story. Listen, I’ll talk to them and let you know, all right? That’s all I can promise.” He swallowed, trying very hard not to carry her back to the bed. She continued to poke at various piles around the room until she finally found an old dressing gown of green chenille that immediately made her into a completely asexual being upon donning it and tying the belt. Sirius was certain that he’d seen the same sick shade of green in his cauldron during Potions, when they were still in school. He was starting to regret promising to ask Peter or James to be with Remus.

“Well, let me know what you decide,” she said carelessly, as though she hadn’t just been badgering him to stay the night. “I might not be here, though, if you wait too long.” She seemed to be trying to sound carefree, but failed miserably.

“I’ll be able to let you know before noon, hopefully,” he said, trying to ignore the veiled threat in her words. He really did mean it when he told her she could see other men--didn’t he? “And now I must dash home to shower and change before I’m late for that meeting.”

“All right,” she said, suddenly agreeable. She walked to him in the dreadful green dressing gown and stood on tiptoe to kiss his stubbly cheek, as dutiful as any wife. No, he thought angrily; not like a wife, anything but a wife....

He bade her goodbye and Apparated from her flat, feeling like a criminal making his getaway--and not a moment too soon.

* * * * *

Remus pulled Emil to him with his left hand around his middle, pressing his lips to the back of his neck. Emil turned his head to smile over his shoulder at Remus, who couldn’t help grinning himself. After they’d had sex at Remus’ house the night before--his parents had gone out--with restraints to prevent Remus injuring Emil, they’d Flooed to the Gaillard home, where they were going to stay the night. (Emil’s bed was bigger and more comfortable for them both to sleep in.) Just before the dawn, Remus had felt Emil’s hands moving over him again, and it was lovely to be able to respond properly to him this time, instead of being prevented from touching him back. Now that the mania was gone from him, thanks to their time at his house, he felt close to normal again, reveling in making Emil sigh or groan, to cry out his name. It wasn’t the same when it was all one-sided.

Remus breathed in his scent, feeling very peaceful, glad he’d told Emil he was a werewolf, and even glad he’d told him how he was bitten when he was small, although it had been in response to Emil’s daft idea of becoming a werewolf himself. He ran his fingers affectionately through Emil’s short wavy hair, thinking how much he loved him, how he had never thought he would love anyone again after Lily. We can be very silly and melodramatic when we’re young, he thought, as thought nineteen weren’t still ‘young.’ He continued to stroke Emil’s hair lovingly, enjoying the moment, the pocket of peace.

“So, what’s the plan tonight?” Emil said suddenly, his voice soft in the morning stillness.

“I’m meeting Sirius at Ascog Castle. Dungeon. The usual.” He still hadn’t told Emil that his closest friends had become illegal Animagi to be with him. “And Sirius said his sister is making breakfast tomorrow. The nice one,” he added with a smile Emil didn’t see.

“Ah,” Emil said, making Remus frown. Emil sounded decidedly odd. Remus fought his natural curiosity to ask why. There was a prickling of foreboding in his brain, his wolf-instinct, telling him not to. You won’t like the answer, part of his brain told him. But I really want to know, another part of his brain responded.

“Why?” he said in a normal tone of voice, which sounded absurdly loud suddenly.

Emil sat up and turned to look at Remus. “No reason. Well,” he admitted, “yeah, there is a reason. I was hoping you weren’t going to be in the Ministry lock-up is all. I’m glad Sirius’ sister is going to be taking care of you in the morning....” Somehow, Remus didn’t think he looked terribly glad. His eyes widened as he realized the reason for this.

“Oh, god, Emil. You don’t think--you don’t think I fancy her, do you?”

Emil shrugged, looking a little forlorn. “Well, I sometimes wonder when you’ll decide you’re tired of me and want to be with a woman again. And she’s your best friend’s sister. These sort of things happen quite a lot.”

Remus laughed. “First off--Ursula was out of school before we even started at Hogwarts. I have nothing against older women on principal, but somehow, even though she’s very pretty, I always think of Ursula as being very motherly. Not quite the same as--”

“Lily?”

Remus drew his mouth into a line. “Yes. And second--Ursula is married. Perhaps I hadn’t mentioned that. Her husband is quite a nice bloke. I wouldn’t dream of going after his wife, even if she didn’t make me want to call her ‘Mum,’ whenever I see her.”

Emil smiled at that and Remus leaned forward to gently kiss him on the lips; he leaned his head on Emil’s shoulder afterward and asked, “Satisfied?”

But then--he suddenly needed to lift up his head and cock his ear at the door. Someone was on the other side. He swallowed, staring at the door, wishing he could see through it. He crept out of the bed and pulled on his boxers, then began walking toward the door very, very slowly, trying to distinguish whose smell it was, and trying to hear what the person might be doing. He almost forgot about Emil until he said, “What on earth are you doing, Remus? Some bizarre pre-full-moon werewolf ritual you haven’t told me about?”

He spoke in a normal voice now, and Remus’s stomach clenched; suddenly he wanted to hit Emil very hard, which he knew was a very bad thing to want to do to the person he loved. He ignored Emil, and when he reached the door, he inhaled deeply, immediately recognizing the scent on the other side. He turned the knob quickly and abruptly opened the door. She fell into the room, looking both guilty and triumphant, although she was regarding both of them from an undignified position on the floor.

“A werewolf!” Emil’s twin sister cried her eyes blazing up at them. “A werewolf!” she repeated in wonder, her voice softer. Then Claudine saw her brother in the bed, not wearing anything (he quickly put a pillow over his lap). Remus cursed himself for forgetting that Emil was exposed. She swallowed, looking at Remus standing over her, in just his underwear. “And--and--” she stuttered, “the pair of you are--are--”

Remus closed the door quietly and lifted her to her feet, half-dragging her to the bed, repeating in his head, You will not throttle her, you will not throttle her--

“Sit,” he said roughly, shoving her onto the mattress, giving her no choice. Remus’s jaw was clenched painfully; he breathed quickly through his nose, at a loss for how to handle this. Bloody hell, he thought. She knows we’re lovers and that I’m a werewolf.

She looked back and forth between the two of them. “How--how long has--”

“Quiet,” Emil said suddenly, taking his wand from the table next to the bed and pointing it at her, an implied threat in his voice and posture, despite the fact that only a pillow covered his nakedness. “You will listen. You will not talk. Yes, Remus is a werewolf. Yes, we’re a couple. But you won’t be telling anyone either of those things.” He pointed his wand at her and said, “Stupefy!” just as she was opening her mouth.

She fell over on the bed. “Emil!” Remus cried, shocked. “What are you doing?”

“She can’t tell,” Emil said, grimly. “And she won’t. I’ll see to that.”

“What?” Remus said, dismayed. “She’s your twin sister! You can’t just--”

“Relax, Remus. I’m not about to kill my own sister. Give me some credit. We’re both going to get dressed, I’m going to take her into the corridor, revive her and then put a memory charm on her. She won’t remember any of this, nor what she overheard.”

Remus didn’t like it. “She’s your sister, Emil. Think about what you’re saying--”

Emil nodded. “Yes, she’s my sister. And I know what that means far better than you do, if you don’t mind my saying so. I know what she’s capable of. Trust me, this is the only way.” Remus stepped back reluctantly, wishing he had some alternate course of action to suggest, but he had nothing. He watched Emil do everything he said he would, wondering who this stern, pragmatic person was. This Emil was like a stranger to him.

Later, at breakfast, Claudine looked distinctly unsettled and disoriented. Emil sounded, on the surface, very solicitous when he asked her whether she was feeling all right.

“Well, I’m not sure,” she said, looking at him and Remus with utter confusion on her face. “I--I’d gone to the loo when I woke up, but then on the way back to my room--I blacked out for a little while. I think. When I woke up, I was in the corridor outside your room, on the floor, and according to my watch, about fifteen minutes had gone by....”

Remus felt himself flush. He looked at his plate and shoveled eggs into his mouth, convinced that if he looked at Claudine Gaillard, she would see the truth in his eyes. He also didn’t want to look at Emil. He wasn’t convinced Emil had done the right thing, and he was very uncomfortable with it. But he couldn’t say anything; Emil had been trying to protect his werewolf secret, and the secret they shared, their relationship. He evidently didn’t think that his sister could be trusted with either secret, and maybe he was right.

When Remus left, the last thing he saw before the Floo network swept him away was Emil standing with his arm around his sister while she looked at Remus, eyes narrowed. That was either a close call, Remus thought as he was whirled away, or the beginning of the end.

* * * * *

Sunday, 18 November, 1979

Remus stretched and yawned. He lifted up his shirt and looked at his stomach, at the fresh wounds he’d inflicted on himself the night before. Well, he thought. At least I won’t have to put up with that for another month. He took out his wand and tried to think of first aid charms, but his mind was still too sleepy for magic. He lowered his shirt again, wincing, and reached in the pocket of his tattered robes to find the key to the cell. When he’d placed it in the keyhole and turned it, he was once more a free man.

His stomach was quite empty, but there was something else he had to do before breakfast. He loped down the dungeon corridor leading to the underground grotto where the pool was; no one would be down here at this hour, so he stripped completely and lowered himself into the warm water, sighing with contentment. After he’d done some lazy laps, he simply reclined against the side of the pool, watching the creatures that populated the mural garden. He looked down, finding that his natural ability to heal quickly was already in evidence; his new wound was scabbing over, and would be nothing but an off-white scar in a few days. Magic healing spells were even faster, and produced better-looking results, but as a werewolf, time was all that was really necessary for healing, usually.

As he dried off and dressed, he gave a lonely sigh. It was nice that he could spend the nights of the full moon in the dungeon at Ascog Castle and have a soak in the pool after, but he’d hoped to have the company of his friends some time during the previous three nights. The first night, Sirius had left him a note: Sorry I can’t be there tonight, old boy. I told James to call you. Next time, maybe. --Sirius. James had never called. Remus didn’t know whether he’d ever received the message--or if Sirius had even bothered to call. Remus had no idea where Peter was. The following two nights Sirius had also been busy. The previous evening Remus had finally contacted James, but when James’ head appeared in the fireplace at Remus’ parents’ house, he was in a tearing hurry to leave.

“Tonight? Full moon? Oh, Remus, mate, I’m sorry. Love to help, but I’ve a game tonight. We’re playing Pride of Portree. Sirius isn’t going to be available?”

“No,” Remus said, trying to smile and not feel abandoned. “Don’t worry about me, James, I’ll be fine. You have a good match.” He’d forgotten that many Quidditch games were at night for security reasons. Of course James couldn’t be with him. James’ head had disappeared from the fireplace before Remus could ask where he’d been the previous two nights, whether Sirius had contacted him, or whether he knew where Peter was, even though Remus wasn’t really feeling like he particularly wanted the company of a rat.

Remus strode up the stairs to the entrance hall and then turned left to enter the kitchen. Ursula stood at the cooker, waving her wand gently over several pans where bacon was being flipped, eggs were being scrambled and sausages were being browned. She turned to smile at him. Her husband, Alan, sat at the long table, reading the Daily Prophet.

“Morning!” she said. “I didn’t hear you come down from Sirius’ room. Sleep well?”

He nodded and sat down opposite Alan, who pushed the paper toward him, in case he wanted to read a section. Remus held up his hand to tell him it was all right, but then something on the front page caught his eye and he pulled it toward him.

Ministry Employee’s Mangled Body
Found in Werewolf Public House

by Rita Skeeter

LONDON - The bloody and battered remains of Emil Gaillard, assistant to the head of International Magical Cooperation, were found yesterday morning by an employee of “The Howling Wolf,” a public house in the East End catering to a werewolf clientele. Investigators have determined that the murder occurred at least thirty-six hours earlier, not long after the full moon rose on 15 November. Gaillard was nineteen years old, having finished his Hogwarts education last year; he was in Hufflepuff House.

The nearly-unrecognizable remains, found in a private upstairs room of the pub, were identified by the victim’s twin sister, Claudine Gaillard, as her parents were too shaken to undertake the task themselves. There are no suspects at this time, although all of the employees and usual patrons of the public house, Muggle and wizard alike, will be questioned by the Ministry. It is plain to the investigators that the cause of death was a werewolf attack, but no further details about the crime scene are being released at this time for security reasons.

“The Howling Wolf” is one of many werewolf pubs monitored by the Ministry. The pubs are popular places for werewolves to congregate and socialize, especially just prior to the full moon, but they are not approved for detaining werewolves during the nights of the full moon. While an investigation is underway concerning whether the pub’s proprietor was willfully violating the law by providing inadequate full-moon accommodations, the pub has had its license suspended.

“I don’t know why those places exist anyway,” Miss Gaillard said, distraught over her twin brother’s death. “They’re all just probably gathering so that they can pledge their allegiance to You-Know-Who. If we let them all go on running free like this, my brother will definitely not be the last victim of a werewolf.”

Remus didn’t realize that he was crying until Ursula looked at him in dismay and said, “Remus! Are you all right?”

He shook his head wordlessly, saying nothing to Sirius’ sister or her husband. He left the room carrying the paper, moving blindly toward the sitting room, his breakfast sitting uneaten on the table. He strode to the fireplace and threw some Floo powder into the fire, hoping he would be able to speak coherently. He stumbled out of the fire in his parents’ home, longing for nothing but the comfort of his own bed, the shades drawn, darkness and solitude in which to mourn. The world was a blur seen through his tears.

Instead, he was met by three witches and a wizard, plus his parents. His mother and father were sitting on the sofa, holding hands. He couldn’t read their expressions through his tears. Remus swallowed, looking round at them all. Claudine Gaillard was one of the witches; she looked daggers at him. And then he realized that the other three blurs were wearing Aurors’ robes, and that the one with the long red hair was--

“Lily!”

She looked grimly at him, and he felt his insides flinch. He didn’t recognize the other two Aurors; if they were friends of Lily’s, he hadn’t been introduced.

“Hello, Remus,” she said quietly. Her colleagues were a serious-looking clean-shaven man in his thirties and a handsome woman with short auburn hair, of about the same age as the man and obviously pregnant.

“I reckon I don’t have to ask what’s going on?” he managed to choke out.

Lily drew her lips into a line. “Then you’ll come willingly?” Her voice shook.

Remus frowned. “Of course. I want this to be over with as quickly as everyone else,” he said, feeling like he still wanted to cry, but somehow his tear ducts seemed to have gone dry. Lily nodded, looking like she was going to cry for him. She said, “Turn around and face the fire,” her voice rather hard. It was strange to hear her speaking this way, but he reckoned that she had to maintain a certain professional demeanor. He thought they were going to use the fire to travel to the Ministry and did as he was told, turning slowly, surprised when he suddenly felt magical restraints around his wrists. He whirled, staring at Lily, whose wand was still out; it was she who’d conjured the restraints.

“Lily! What’s going on?” He felt a fear blossoming in the pit of his stomach. Pulling very slightly at the restraints, he felt them give; he was able to move his arms freely again. Although magical, the restraints were not designed to withstand werewolf strength.

“He’s loose!” the man cried, as though Remus were a rampaging hippogriff.

The other woman pointed her wand at him, crying, “Stupefy!”

Remus Lupin fell over on his living room floor, before his parents, Claudine Gaillard, and three Aurors, including his first love, Lily.

The world had been pulled out from under him and he knew no more.

* * * * *

"Ennervate."

The word floated at him through a haze, as though it was something he was trying to remember from before birth. He blinked, feeling the blood flowing through his limbs again as he sat up and rubbed the back of his head; he ached where he’d struck the floor when the Auror had stunned him at his parents’ house. He found that he was lying on a low pallet in what he recognized as a Ministry cell. He wasn’t alone; Lily was standing next to the pallet. She must have cast the spell to revive him.

He looked up at her; her colleagues were nowhere to be seen. She crouched next to him, her hand on his arm, an expression of concern in her eyes. “Are you all right, Remus?”

He nodded, then thought better of that and shook his head. “No. I--I can’t believe he’s gone....”

She drew her mouth into a line and said softly, “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

He looked up at her, nodding. “But first--how long have I been here? Do you know anything else about what happened to him?”

She looked grim again. “Are you ready to answer some questions, Remus?”

He swallowed and nodded again. “I’ll tell you whatever you need to know. If I can possibly help--”

She hesitated. “You do understand that--that you’re the chief suspect?”

How am I going to get out of this? he wondered. “But I haven’t seen Emil for days! I would never--”

“Ssh, ssh,” she hushed him gently. “Please cooperate. Else it could be very bad. Soon two other Aurors will be coming in here. Frank and Gemma Longbottom. I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of this. However, you must understand--right now, there is no other suspect. Even though--”

His breath came faster, and it seemed that his heart was running away with him. He tried to push down his panic, but it wasn’t working. “But--but--I just--I don’t understand how all of this happened--”

She sighed and looked a little less stern. “Well--I probably shouldn’t tell you this--”

“What?”

“He left a note. For you.” She withdrew it from her pocket and handed it to him.

Dearest Remus,

I sincerely hope that you never read this, but if you are, it means that I failed. I only wanted to be with you at all times, no matter what. Know that I attempted to be like you because I love you. Yes, you tried to tell me it was a bad idea, but I have endeavored to take every precaution to avoid an adverse outcome.

If I have failed, please forgive me and remember me always as your loving

Emil

He began crying anew, the tears dropping onto the letter and making the ink run. Lily whisked it away from him, stuffing it into her pocket, putting her arms around him and rocking him, looking like she was trying very hard not to cry herself. Suddenly, they heard the bolt shoot back in the door and Lily hastily separated herself from him, scrambling to her feet. When the door swung open, the other Aurors who’d come to his parents’ house were there again, with a dementor whose presence made Remus go all cold inside. He could see Lily shivering, putting her hand to her head, as though she suddenly had a migraine. His teeth were clacking together uncontrollably. The cold inside him kept growing and growing--

An animal’s loud growling. A woman shrieking, “Nooooo! My baby!” Then the sound of a loud report, and more screaming from the woman. A baby crying.

Him. He was the baby.

“Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!”

“I hate to do this, ma’am--”

“Stupefy!”

The voices rang in his head; he curled in a ball on the pallet, unable to stop the cold, to stop the voices....

“Get that thing out of here!” Lily snapped to the Longbottoms.

“But--” the man began.

Lily put her other shaking hand to her head now. “Please, Frank! Before my head explodes--”

He nodded, looking a little green himself. The woman was very pale and trembling, her hand on her rounded stomach as the dementor glided past her and back out into the corridor. They closed the door, looking relieved, in their way, and Remus heaved a grateful sigh.

He’d never before remembered first-hand what it had been like to be bitten, whether because he’d been so very young or because he’d been traumatized, he didn’t know. He only knew the story his mother had told him. I heard her stunning the man who was planning to kill me, because I was bitten by the wolf and lived....

Mum, he thought, starting to cry again. Mum, I’m sorry. I know this wasn’t why you saved me, so I could break your heart by going to prison....

“Oh, stop your blubbering,” Gemma Longbottom said irritably. Remus lifted his head now and sniffed the air. There was something about her....Seeing her bulging belly again, he realized what the smell was that he’d picked up on. It's because she’s pregnant, he thought. But the scent wasn’t just coming from her. He turned to Lily, his nose quivering. Lily is pregnant, too, he realized, even though there was no sign of a bulge yet.

He swallowed, the reality of this washing over him. Thus, he was caught off-guard when the man came at him with what looked like a spoon, of all things.

“Sit up and pay attention, werewolf!” he snarled at Remus, putting the spoon to his throat. Immediately, a pain shot through Remus, starting at his Adam’s apple, and he smelled his own flesh burning. He couldn’t stop the scream that was ripped from his lungs.

“Frank! No! Accio silver spoon!”

Lily had summoned the spoon from his grasp without using a wand; Remus clutched at his throat, trying to catch his breath. Lily was glowering at her colleague.

“Just what do you think you are doing?” she demanded, her voice rising. “You could kill him!”

Frank Longbottom sneered at Remus Lupin. “Nothing less than he deserves, Lily. You saw that poor boy at the pub.”

Remus jerked his head around. Lily had seen Emil. She looked as though she was remembering this now, and it did not seem to be a good memory. She twisted her hands in her robes.

“Yes, Frank. And Remus is one of my oldest and dearest friends. We will conduct this interrogation by the book, do you hear?”

He stepped toward her, a challenge in his voice. “Do you need to be reminded who is your senior? I’m twice your age, girl. I’ve seen more animals of his sort than you can shake a stick at. Don’t you tell me how we’re going to run this interrogation.”

She stood toe to toe with him. “I have already, and I shall do so again,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. There was a light in her green eyes Remus didn’t think he’d ever seen before. “I’ll go straight to the top to get you thrown off this case, if I have to. You and Gemma. I know Remus. Let me talk to him, find out exactly what happened. Can’t you see how broken up he is by this? Do you think any werewolf ever wants this sort of thing to happen? Do you think it’s done willfully? The details will come out. Don’t worry. But you don’t lay a finger on him--or wand, or spoon. If you do, you’ll have me to answer to.”

Her voice was so soft now that Remus wouldn’t have been able to hear her, he imagined, if he hadn’t had his wolf-hearing. She turned to Remus. “Where were you on the night of 15 November?” she said, trying to be businesslike.

He cleared his throat, which felt completely parched now. “I--I was in a dungeon cell in Ascog Castle, on the Isle of Bute.”

“Why didn’t you come to the Ministry to be properly restrained?” Frank Longbottom wanted to know. Lily glared at him and he backed down. She paced as she spoke, looking daggers at her colleagues, threatening them wordlessly. “Did someone lock you in?”

Remus was tempted to lie at first, but in the end he decided that wouldn’t be a good idea. “No. No one locked me in. I did it myself. Sirius usually does, but he wasn’t about. Sirius Black, that is. Ascog Castle is his family home. He said he was going to have James come, but he didn’t show up, so I did it myself, as it was getting late.”

“James--” Frank Longbottom prompted him.

“James Potter,” he said, as calmly as he could. He nodded at Lily. “Lily’s husband.”

She looked slightly embarrassed by this. “You’re certain that the door was thoroughly secured?” she said now, as though he hadn’t just mentioned her husband.

He nodded. “Yes. After I locked it, I put the key in my robes. When I change, they change with me, as an Animagus’ clothes do. And when I awoke in the morning, I took the key out of my robes and let myself out.”

“Did anyone see you go into the cell on the fifteenth?”

He swallowed; he’d managed to avoid any contact with Sirius’ family members. At the time, that had seemed like a good thing. “No,” he whispered.

Her mouth was drawn very thin. “Well, did anyone see you come out in the morning?”

He sighed. “Not that morning. I went up to the sitting room and used the Floo network to return to my parents’ home. I had been planning to eat breakfast at the castle, but changed my mind.”

Frank pointed at him, crying triumphantly, “Aha!”

Remus looked up at him, baffled. “Aha?” he repeated.

“Yes,” the Auror replied. It was the snidest ‘yes’ Remus had ever heard. “Do you want me to tell you what you were really doing on the first night of the full moon? I’ll tell you what you were doing. You were at the Howling Wolf, in the East End. You’d taken your victim there, one Emil Gaillard, a Ministry employee with whom you have been seen on occasion at a certain wizarding pub in Brighton.” Remus shivered; the Brighton pub probably was under surveillance. “You rented a room for an hour. You and Emil Gaillard walked up to the room, above the bar. You had Gaillard tie you to the brass bedstead--” Remus choked in disbelief, hearing what had occurred in the pub; “--and then while your unsuspecting victim was undressing, not realizing that the full moon would be rising soon, you pulled your arms from the restraints, something he did not notice. And then, when the moon rose and you became a murderous animal, you attacked him.” Frank Longbottom’s hand had risen and he was pointing a shaking, accusing finger at Remus now.

Remus shook his head, crying again. “No, no, no,” was all he could say, the tears running down his face, soaking his clothes.

“And then!” Frank Longbottom cried, continuing, his indignation making his voice shake. “Then, the next morning, you had the nerve to try to cover up what you’d done! You forged this note--” he held out his hand to Lily and she reluctantly took the note from Emil out of her pocket and handed it to him; “--to try to make it look like he’d wanted to become a werewolf, like you, as if any sane person would!”

He continued to rock back and forth, his arms wrapped around his legs, which were drawn up to his chest. “Oh god, oh god, it’s all my fault,” he keened. “All my fault....

“A confession!” Gemma Longbottom cried, wipping out a piece of parchment and a quill.

“No!” Lily cried, looking sadly at Remus. “Remus, tell me it’s not true....”

Oh, god, she thinks I’m confessing. He looked up at the Aurors. “Please--give the parchment and quill to Lily. Can I--can I please talk to just her, alone?” he whispered. He had no hope of this being straightened out while the Longbottoms were present.

The Longbottoms didn’t budge. Finally, Lily held her hand out to Gemma Longbottom, who reluctantly gave the parchment and quill to her. Lily thanked her, and the pair of them turned to leave, Frank Longbottom looking over his shoulder at her, as though thoroughly convinced that this was a bad idea. When they were gone, Lily put the parchment and quill into her pockets and pulled a stool over to the pallet, sitting down. Remus still held his legs to his chest, crying, blaming himself.

“Remus!” she said, perhaps more than once; he wasn’t certain. He hadn’t been paying attention. “Please, Remus. I--there are a few things I need to discuss with you.”

He swallowed and tried to collect himself. He finally managed to sit on the edge of the pallet like a civilized person, instead of an insane man who should be locked up in St. Mungo’s. “Yes, Lily,” he finally said, trying to keep his voice even.

She looked like she was reluctant to start. “Well, first off,” she said softly, “there’s that note. Did you write it?”

He shook his head vigorously. “No, Lily. I did not write that note.”

She peered at him, her eyes narrowed. Then she widened them again and patted his hand. “I believe you,” she told him, her voice far warmer now than it had been.

“So--so you don’t think I was confessing?” he asked hopefully.

“No, Remus, I don’t. I know you’re very distraught.” She was quiet again for a minute. “So--that would mean that Emil Gaillard did write it. That he intended to try to become a werewolf. Because--he loved you,” she said softly. Remus swallowed and drew his lips into a line, nodding. “So--was he suffering from delusions? Or did that note mean--” She couldn’t continue, her voice giving out.

“We were lovers.”

She looked very odd now, standing and pacing. “I see. So--you’re a--a--”

“Well, actually, Lily, I’m not a homosexual,” he said, providing the technical term she couldn’t say; “although Emil was.” Was. The past tense. “I’m actually bisexual.”

“Oh,” she said blankly, evidently not expecting this.

“You know what that wizarding pub in Brighton is, don’t you?”

She nodded a bit guiltily. “It’s not that I’m judging you, Remus. I’m just--I thought that if you--if you fancy men, it would explain why you couldn’t love me....Oh, god, that was professional, of me, wasn’t it?” she said, snorting softly.

“I’m sorry, Lily. But--I may as well tell you now--I did love you. Very much.”

She looked shocked, standing stock-still. “What? I mean--I had certainly hoped so. I suspected it, although I also suspected that it was just wishful thinking on my part...And on the train, you said--"

"I know what I said. I needed to put you off, because I didn’t think I deserved you. Me being a werewolf and all. Plus--well, I was aware of sometimes feeling attracted to blokes, although in those days, I thought when that happened, it was because it was around the time of the full moon. I didn’t realize that that wasn’t it, not entirely. I thought that it was just the pre-full-moon trouble I’d always had. I mean, I usually felt like I could shag just about anything before the full moon....” He saw the look on her face and gasped. “Oh, Lily! I--I didn’t mean--” He stood at last and strode to her, putting his hands on her arms. “What you don’t understand, Lily, is that until you, I had always managed to stop myself from acting on those impulses, whether the attraction was to a male or a female. I’d run away, or get something from Madam Pomfrey to help me sleep. When you offered to help me, you, the girl I was in love with--” she lifted her head and gasped; “--I hadn’t the strength to resist anymore. I didn’t want to resist anymore. But I never really felt like I deserved you, either. I felt like an abnormal monster and I felt like was taking advantage of you.”

She swallowed and looked down again. “No more than I was taking advantage of you, probably,” she said quietly.

“When I met Emil,” he went on in a rush, determined to get it all out, “I was finally able to admit to myself that when I’d thought about boys when I was in school, it wasn’t just before the full moon. It wasn’t just because I’m a werewolf. That’s who I am, Lily. And I know I bollixed things up with you, I know I hurt you. I’m so sorry for that.” He held her dear face between his hands. “But face it--you’re far happier with James than you ever would have been with me. You’re meant to be together.”

She smiled sadly at him. “Yes. I just--sometimes I feel guilty about you. As though--as though I gave up on you too easily. Abandoned you. You’ve such a hard life. You’ve so many burdens that would be lighter, shared with someone else. I had hoped, when you told me that you were seeing someone, that you had found someone to share those burdens....”

He nodded. “I had thought Emil was that person....”

“So,” she said, clearly thinking very hard, trying to work out everything; “you told him you’re a werewolf. He clearly knew.” Remus nodded. “But you couldn’t tell me,” she added, looking very hurt. He pleaded with her with only his eyes.

“Lily, I was young and stupid. Yes, I should have told you. That was why I told Emil. I’d learned my lesson. Only--telling him produced an entirely new problem. He took it into his head to become a werewolf. He told me his idea, and I told him it was mad, that he’d end up dead. He evidently decided not to pay attention to what I told him--”

“What did you tell him, precisely?” She hugged her arms to herself, as though she was cold.

“I told him how I was bitten,” he whispered, his eyes closed. “My mum told me. And then when that--that thing was in here--” He couldn’t bear to name the dementor.

“Oh, god, Remus!” she cried, throwing her arms around him. “That’s what you heard! You heard--”

“Yes,” he confirmed, clutching at her. “I heard the wolf that bit me, my mum’s voice, the voice of the man who shot the wolf, who was going to shoot me....”

She backed up from him, holding him at arm’s length. “What?”

He nodded, the quiet words spilling out of him. “A werewolf hunter killed the wolf that bit me, moments after it happened. That was the only reason my mum and I lived. And he would have shot me too, if my mum hadn’t stopped him.” Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to mention his brother.

She swallowed, her hand cupping his cheek tenderly, then going up to his brow to smooth his prematurely-greying hair from it. “That’s what mothers are for,” she said softly. “To protect their children.”

He wanted to ask her what she heard when the dementor had been in the room, why she was holding her head that way. Instead, he forced a smile, putting his hand on her belly gently. “When are you due, Lily?”

She looked shocked now. “How--?”

“There’s a distinctive scent.” She nodded, understanding.

“So,” she said, trying to smile now herself, “I didn’t put you off women?”

He laughed. “No, Lily. You only put me off being dishonest with someone I loved.” He sighed. “What am I going to do? I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t want Emil to be a werewolf, to suffer the way I have. I loved him. I love him yet,” he choked, tears running down his cheeks; Lily’s face was a blur through his tears.

She nodded. “Leave it to me. The only thing you may need to help me with is the sister. When the note was found, with your name in it, and she was told, her eyes sort of lit up. The revelation broke through a hasty memory charm that had been placed on her. She said she found you and her brother together in his bedroom, and had heard Emil mention your being a werewolf. She said her brother was the one to put the charm on her.”

Remus nodded. “That’s true. I didn’t like it, but Emil wouldn’t listen to me. Why is that damaging? She’s telling the truth. Now, if she was saying that I’d been the one to put the charm on her, that might very well make me look bad...”

Lily looked thoughtful. “You might be right. And we do have fingerprints of several other werewolves who’d been in the room in question.” Remus shivered, remembering being photographed and fingerprinted every two years as he was growing up. A werewolf had to keep his records up to date. When in wolf form, a werewolf’s pads bear exactly the same patterns as his hands and feet.

“But don’t the other Aurors think you’re in here writing down my confession?”

She gave him an ironic half-smile. “Probably. As I said, I’ll take care of it. Something they didn’t mention to you is that the werewolf who went upstairs with Emil was seen very clearly by several patrons at the pub. It does seem that they were hanging about there because they were also planning to get rooms for the night--the ministry was right to close the place down. They weren’t authorized for that trade. Their testimony was discounted by Frank and Gemma because they thought the other werewolves were your friends, covering up for you. However, they all gave consistent descriptions of the other man. I think that if we actually make an effort to match up the prints in the room with the information in the werewolf registry, and pay attention to the other pub patrons, I can convince them that you’re not to blame.” She dropped her voice, looking toward the door. “They’re a bit biased against you because of--well, the homosexuality thing, on top of everything else. Not the most open-minded people, Frank and Gemma.”

“Bisexuality,” he reminded her.

“They don’t know that. And I don’t think it would help. I don’t advise you to set them straight.” She grinned then. “So to speak.”

“So, they don’t know that you and I--” He raised his eyebrows suggestively at her.

“Oh, god, no. It’s bad enough that they know you’re my friend, and James’ friend. If they knew about that--they’d never have let me stay in here with you alone.”

He frowned. “What--did they think we’d be shagging?”

She flushed. “No, of course not. But they’re already doubting my objectivity. That would make them completely convinced that I couldn’t approach this whole affair with what they consider to be the ‘proper’ attitude.” She had an edge to her voice, and he winced on her behalf; Remus had no doubt that if Lily really thought he was guilty, she’d have treated him like any other criminal. He also didn’t think that another werewolf would have been successfully tortured with silver in her presence, even if it wasn’t an old friend. Lily would have objected to that just as she had objected to Frank Longbottom putting the spoon to his throat.

He peered at her; her flush was fading, after he’d suggested that the Longbottoms might think they were shagging. “I shall always care about you, Lily, but I hope you understand--I am over you now. I was deeply in love with Emil...” he trailed off, trying not to cry again. She smiled lovingly at him--but it seemed to him now that it was more like a sister’s love--and put her hand over his.

“Good. And I can truly say that I shall always care about you, but I am very much in love with James,” she said firmly. He looked down at her stomach again.

“So--?”

“Oh! Right. I’m due right around James’ birthday. We’re thinking Harry for a boy, Rose for a girl. Gemma’s due in February, a boy, so our children will be in the same year in school.”

“Ah, she’s having a boy. Then I think you are having a boy as well.”

“Why?”

“Same scent,” he said shortly. She nodded.

Then he thought again of Emil dying in that room at the pub, because of his love. “Was--was he very bad, Lily?” he whispered. He clutched at her hand; she squeezed back.

“You don’t want to know,” she told him, and he believed her.

She led him to the door, still holding his hand. “Come, Remus. It will be all right. We’ll find who really did this.”

Before she could open the door, he stopped her and said, “Thank you, Lily. For--everything. But there is one thing still--”

“What?”

“Can you--can you not tell the lads about--”

She frowned, then her eyes widened in understanding. “I see. Of course. I’ll let you do that yourself.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the thing. I--I don’t feel I’m ready to tell them yet. I mean, I lived with them for seven years. I think it might make them uncomfortable at this point. Maybe when we’ve all been out of school for a few more years--” Lily laughed quietly for a moment and Remus was baffled as to why she should do this. “What?” he asked her.

“Well--when we were in school your big secret was that you’re a werewolf, and the lads all knew but I didn’t. Now this is your big secret, and I know but they don’t. That’s all. Silly, really.”

He smiled at her. “It is a bit funny, I reckon. So you promise--you won’t even tell James?”

She took both of his hands in hers and looked earnestly into his eyes. “I promise. As James said to me once--it isn’t my secret to tell.”

He looked back at her, swallowing, the grief rolling through him again. “And--and don’t tell them about this, if possible. I--I don’t want them to feel guilty about--about not being with me. If one of them had been with me, it might have come out that they’re--well, you know.”

She nodded, knowing that he meant their being illegal Animagi. Including her husband. She put her hand on his cheek again. “I’m so sorry, Remus--”

He covered her hand with his own. “Thank you, Lily.”

“I don’t just mean about Emil--although I’m sorry for that too. I’m sorry I ever doubted you. Here you are, worrying about your mates getting into trouble, and--and I actually thought it was possible that you--you could have--”

“--that I could have killed Emil,” he finished for her. She nodded guiltily.

“Right. I should have known better--”

She gently took him in her arms, and when she did that, he felt the dam break again and the sobs burst forth from him, as he cried for his love, the first love who knew him for the monster he truly was, and who loved him in spite of that. She held him and rocked him, and he clutched at her, thinking of the baby growing inside her. You’ll be a good mother, Lily, he thought, as he continued to cry on her. And she cried with him, again providing him with the comfort he needed when he needed it, in exactly the right form, just as when they’d been in school. The comfort was of a vastly different nature, and for a different reason, but he once again allowed himself to forget and know nothing but the sanctuary that was Lily.

* * * * *

Thursday, 15 May, 1980

“It’s a boy!”

Arthur Weasley grinned at his sister-in-law and she hugged him warmly. It was a slightly awkward hug, as she was standing on the floor and he was one step up, having just descended from the upper reaches of the house.

“Oh, Arthur, congratulations! May I see Molly?”

“Of course, Meg, of course. Go right up. I’ll watch the boys.”

He finished descending the rickety stairs and moved out of the way so that she could go up. He swept into the living room, his worn robes billowing around him, and sat unceremoniously on the hearth rug, where his three youngest sons were playing--except for the newborn boy upstairs whom he’d just seen enter the world. He arranged his threadbare robes around him and gathered the little ones close to him. At more than three-and-a-half years of age, Percy was already a tall, lanky boy, and the twins were mischievous two-year-olds, slightly stockier than Percy had been at the same age, still with rather round baby-like faces.

“C’mere, lads, c’mere. I’ve some exciting news! Your mum has had the baby! You’ve a new little brother named Ron. Isn’t that nice?” The twins each sat on one of his legs and Percy stood at his shoulder. His blue eyes looked very large in his thin, pale face, and Arthur Weasley was jolted, reminded suddenly of his daughter Annie. He swallowed, thinking how much Molly had wanted another girl. It had been over a year since the girls had disappeared. She’d looked so disappointed when the midwife had told her it was a boy. (The midwife had tried to tell her this months earlier, having cast the appropriate spell, but Molly had stubbornly refused to believe that it wasn’t a mistake.) Molly had tried to hide her disappointment, but he’d seen her expression before she’d plastered the stiff, unmoving grin on her face. Arthur didn’t know what to do; ever since the girls had disappeared, she’d been a shadow of her former self. He’d hoped the new baby would make a difference, but--no girl.

“We’ve quite a collection of boys now, haven’t we?” he said to them more jovially than he really felt. Fred--he thought it was Fred, anyway--reached up and tried to take his glasses from his father’s face, giggling gleefully when he succeeded. Arthur ruffled his hair and reclaimed the glasses.

The little ones didn’t really have a clear idea of what was happening, he knew. Meg had been tending to them while Molly was in labor, and when Arthur had come downstairs to give his sister-in-law progress reports, the boys had continued to say, “Mummy, Mummy, where’s Mummy?”

“Mummy is upstairs, cherubs, helping your new little brother or sister get ready to meet you,” he’d heard her say as he stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at the very small boys and their aunt.

“Tell Mummy to come down,” Percy had said, his finger in his mouth the way Peggy used to do.

Arthur looked at Percy again. It was almost unbearable sometimes, the way Percy reminded him of his girls. The lad had no idea....

“Can I play in the garden, Daddy?” Percy asked now.

“We can all go. Come on, Fred and George,” he said, grunting as he swung the toddlers up on to his hips. “Let’s go scare the gnomes,” he grinned.

Arthur Weasley didn’t notice Percy nicking a bit of food from the dresser in the kitchen before they went out the back door into the messy, homely garden. Percy clutched the crust of bread in his hand so that his father couldn’t see it. It was a good large chunk, and Percy thought it would make a nice meal for his pet rat.

No one knew he had a pet rat. He’d found him in the garden months ago, and rather than feeling afraid, he’d been fascinated that the timid animal had come slowly up to him to get a proffered piece of toast. Percy had watched with that peculiar stillness he had about him, so unlike most three-year-olds, while the rat stood on his hind legs and held the toast in his front paws, nibbling delicately, licking the melted butter from his whiskers and smacking his chops with evident satisfaction. Percy had been entranced; the greyish-brownish rat was so like a little person as it nibbled its treat. Percy had named him Twitchers and decided to keep him a secret, his very own secret.

While his father took the twins to help him find gnomes in the bean patch, Percy went on his knees and called down one of the gnome-holes in the onion patch. “Twitchers! Here, Twitchers! Bread! A nice crust of bread!” He held the bread crust slightly above the hole, his back to his dad and brothers, so they couldn’t see. At length, he heard a scuffling noise and a slight squeaking. Soon he saw bright black, glittering eyes and a small, twitching nose flanked by quivering whiskers. Twitchers knew a meal was in the offing.

Peter Pettigrew had been nervous at first when the small boy had started behaving as though he was his pet. But the arrangement had its advantages; once or twice, when he’d ventured too close to the house, Molly Weasley had swung at him with a broom, sending him scampering. Percy had intervened, crying, “Mummy! Don’t hurt him!”

She’d stopped immediately, going to her knees as Percy started weeping. “Oh, my pet, don’t cry,” she’d crooned to him. “Mummy just doesn’t want the nasty dirty rat in the house, that’s all. Rats aren’t clean.”

“What--what if he stays in the garden?” Percy had said in his softly lisping voice. His mother stood with difficulty, her large belly protruding quite some distance from her body.

“That would be fine, dear. Gracious!” she said, putting her hand on her belly. “Such an acrobat your new sister is! Feel.”

Percy put his hand on his mother’s stomach; even from the shelter of a gnome hole, Peter could see the movement under the fabric of the flowered apron she had tied around her robes. Ever since he’d learned, during a casual visit to the Weasleys the previous autumn, that Mrs. Weasley was expecting another baby, he’d been very, very nervous. What if they have another girl? he’d thought, worried that he would have to dispose of yet another Weasley daughter.

After he’d visited the Doughertys, in Appleby Magna and convinced them to go to the orphanage in Exeter to adopt the Weasley girls, he’d felt much better about having stolen Annie and Peggy away from their home. At least, until he’d gone back to check on the Weasley family during the summer. What he’d found was a woman who stared into space while her eldest sons tended to the little ones all day, even though the boys were obviously very broken up and feeling responsible for their sisters’ disappearances. It was a shattered family, and Peter's instinct had been to flee, disliking the emotions this stirred in him, but he'd forced himself to stay for a little while longer. When the younger boys were put in their cots for their naps, the older boys would go out to the garden and toss gnomes over the privet. As they did this, they spoke to each other about their sisters. Peter sat crouched in his hole, listening; he had a feeling that they never let their mother hear them do this. It always ended with each of them breaking down in tears, sitting in the dirt, while the gnomes crept back through the holes in the hedge, shaking their heads.

Peter thought at the boys, It was to protect them! They’d be dead if I hadn’t taken them away.... But he knew that even had they known the truth, it would be cold comfort. He remembered when he’d made James, Sirius and Remus think that Bill Weasley had grassed on them. Bill hadn’t caved; he’d held his head up high and the older boys still had respect for him. Peter didn’t know how to be that person. He could wish it, but that still wouldn’t make it so. He hated Bill Weasley. This hate helped him cope with his guilt over abducting the girls. Knowing that Bill Weasley was miserable was a definite bonus.

Percy leaned forward avidly, a smile on his innocent young face as he watched the rat nibble on the delicious bread crust. “You know what, Twitchers?” he piped. He paused as though he actually expected the rat to answer. Peter continued to nibble; it tasted delicious. He’d been eating far too many onions, living under the onion patch. The carrots were too young, he didn’t fancy raw beans, and there wouldn’t be any lettuces for a while. “My mum’s had the baby,” Percy told him softly, as though sharing a confidence.

Peter pricked up his ears and stopped his nibbling. What is it? he thought anxiously, afraid to find out. He knew that Mrs. Weasley wanted a girl; she’d been calling her stomach the boys’ new little sister for months. On the other side of the garden, he could hear the twins squealing with delight as their father spun them in circles, upside down.

“We got a new brother, Twitchers,” Percy whispered to the rat. “Named Ron.”

Peter Pettigrew heaved a tiny rat-sigh of relief. A boy. Molly Weasley had had another boy. Well, it made sense, didn’t it? Some families just seemed to turn out girl after girl, and others, like the Weasleys, were clearly designed to turn out boys. Maybe they’d had their quota of girls already. Peter could hope, anyway.

Well. Now that he knew, this meant he could leave the Weasleys and go back to Cardiff, to help Lily again. He’d been hanging about with them earlier in the year, as Lily was also expecting a baby. He tried very hard not to think about the fact that James was the father. Lily was absolutely glowing at the time he’d left them, about six weeks earlier. She was five months pregnant then, and nesting like mad. Peter had helped her to decorate the nursery in the small flat. He painted it while she was at work, and mended her old cot that her parents had given her. They’d offered it first to her sister, who was also expecting a baby, but Lily’s sister had turned up her nose at anything old. Heavens! Her child must have the best of everything, the most modern and up-to-date things imaginable.

Peter had listened attentively and sympathetically when she’d said, “Listen to what Petunia has written! The nerve!” Then she’d launched into reading a letter all about how Lily was trying to steal Petunia’s thunder by having a baby the same year as her older sister. She should have had the decency to wait, and so on. Lily had fumed, pacing the small nursery. Peter relished these times. He would put his arm around her shoulders and steer her to the small sitting room, where a table and chairs in the corner were used for dining. He would make a pot of tea in the small kitchenette and sit at the table with her, drinking tea, nodding at whatever she said. She often told him what a wonderful listener he was. He wasn’t always listening to her so much as gazing at her, imagining that they were sitting and drinking tea in their own tiny flat, that the baby she was expecting was his. He’d gasped at the unexpected physical contact the first time she’d pulled his hand toward her stomach, saying, “The baby is kicking! Oh, you have to feel this, Peter!”

Her face was glowing and the new life writhed under his hand; he couldn’t take his eyes from her enraptured face. Her hand was over his where she’d placed it on her belly, over her robes. They were like that when, a minute later, James Apparated into the flat from his Quidditch practice, tired and sweaty. James glared at Peter, who immediately pulled his hand away guiltily. Peter knew that James thought he was a pest, but Lily felt very tired much of the time and was grateful to have the help and the company, so he didn’t ask Peter to leave. Peter kipped on the small, uncomfortable couch in the sitting room, wedged between a bookcase and the tea table. Anything to be near his Lily.

He tried to reassure her about the impending birth, although he really knew nothing about it. “Gemma told me that the placenta was the worst, actually....” she’d said with a shudder, over tea. Gemma Longbottom had already had her baby in February, and had promptly begun to terrorize Lily with descriptions of her own labor and delivery. “She just wanted to hold Neville, see him for the first time, and the midwife was punching her in the stomach. Well, not punching, precisely. But that’s how Gemma felt....”

Finally, after one glare too many from James, Peter decided he should leave for a while, before James kicked him out. He thought he would go to check on the Weasleys, to see whether Mrs. Weasley was soon going to give birth. Peter wasn’t certain what he’d do if she had another girl. He hoped that no one else knew she was pregnant.

However, the day after he’d returned to the garden at the Burrow, he was sniffing around the dustbins for something to eat, not long before dawn, and his paw began to hurt in a way he’d only felt once or twice before. He’d received his Dark Mark the previous summer, and the painful Mark was telling him that he was being summoned. The pain became bad enough that it forced him to revert to his human form. He writhed on the ground by the Weasleys’ dustbins, holding his left forearm with his right hand, biting his tongue to keep from screaming, hoping he wouldn’t be discovered.

The graveyard at Little Hangleton, said a voice in his head. He swallowed; he’d been there before. It was one of the Dark Lord’s favorite places. The pain in his arm subsided and Peter rose, panting. Dawn was probably still an hour away. He took out his wand and closed his eyes, thinking about the graveyard at Little Hangleton....When he arrived, there were only two other people there, the Dark Lord and the Death Eater who had originally tortured and recruited him. Peter did not know the man’s name, nor had he ever seen his face, but he recognized his voice. They, in turn, only called him Wormtail, and he had not yet revealed to them that he was a rat Animagus.

It had gone the usual way his meetings with them always went. The Death Eater started off laughing and joking, then he would suddenly put Cruciatus on Peter. After Peter had writhed on the ground in pain for a while, he would receive his instructions, to which he would immediately agree, to avoid further pain. This time, he was being ordered to find out more about the Prophecy. He nodded, saying he would try. It was difficult; Divination hadn’t been his strong suit in school. The Dark Lord had looked in his eyes, saying silkily, “But I am certain that a smart boy like you could do it, couldn’t you? With the proper--motivation.” His eyes slid over to the Death Eater again, standing faceless, expressionless, his wand out. Peter swallowed.

“Y-y-yes, My Lord. I will do as you say.”

When he’d returned to the Burrow, he’d tried to figure out how to do as he’d been told. When Bill and Charlie Weasley returned home for their Easter holiday, Peter decided that, as Bill had Divination (which Peter knew from living in his dormitory for a while), he would probably have the standard Divination text. Plus, Peter was wondering whether Bill might have worked out more of the Prophecy himself; maybe he had a notebook where he’d written down ideas that Peter could use. He would have to break into the house while Bill was home on holiday, and look through his things. Peter was nervous about this, as he would have to make certain he wasn’t caught. The eldest Weasley boys would recognize him in his human form, from when they were all in school together, and Molly Weasley would be just as likely to kill him as look at him in his rat form.

Fortunately for him, they went to the home of a friend of Bill’s for Easter dinner, allowing him the perfect opportunity to sneak into the house and creep upstairs in his human form, easily finding the room shared by the two eldest boys. Unfortunately, he didn’t reckon on the appeal that an empty house held for four teenage boys, and while he was still going through Bill’s things, he heard raucous laughter coming from the kitchen as four boys stumbled from the fire. While they were coming up the stairs, he quickly shoved Bill’s notebooks and papers back into the box that had been under his bed, and after pushing the box back under the bedframe, changed into a rat and ran under the bed, between the box and the wall. His small heart was thumping very fast in his chest as the heavy footsteps drew nearer. He hoped Bill wouldn’t notice that his things had been moved.

Their footfalls had been very loud on the stairs, and when the four boys entered the room, their feet produced something like an earthquake under Peter’s small paws. It felt as though they were going to shake the world apart. Two boys flopped onto the rickety beds, making the springs scream in protest, and the two others threw themselves down onto the floor between the beds, causing the floorboards to shudder some more. Peter withdrew deeper into the shadows under Bill Weasley’s bed.

“So,” Alex Wood said, clapping his hands together; he was sitting on Charlie Weasley’s bed. “How are the plans coming?”

Peter could see that the boys had grown significantly since he’d been living in the fourth year Gryffindor dorm. Wood had shot up in height, and it was obvious that he was shaving. His voice had deepened further and he looked strong and capable. He put a large hand on Bill Weasley’s shoulder; Bill was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed on which Wood was sitting. Peter was confused about the other two boys, though; surely they weren’t Booth and Leonard? However, he wasn’t concerned about the other boys. They didn’t matter. Weasley was the one who had gone into the forest to work out the prophecy his sister had given. He had grown up more than the others, it seemed. Peter knew how very tall he had become from having seen him tramping about the garden during the previous week, and it was even evident when he was sitting down. His flame-red hair was a bit long over his collar (Peter had seen his mother starting to move her wand toward it, itching to trim it) and he had grown sideburns that his mother also wanted to remove. (She ranted about this to the chickens when tossing them their feed in the morning, which Peter often filched when he was particularly hungry).

There was a maturity and a sadness to Bill’s bright blue eyes that made him seem years older than the other boys, and while his shoulders weren’t as broad as Alex Wood’s, he had a lean grace that made him seem utterly at ease with his ‘new’ body, whereas the other boys appeared surprised that they were no longer eleven and twelve, as though someone had pulled a prank on them and they were waiting for the punchline of the joke.

“Well,” one of the strange boys said, in answer to Wood; “they’re not. At least not for Transfiguration and Charms. For Dark Arts, we might be able to get some amulets that would help ward off some of the dark creatures that will be part of the practical exam. We might want to focus on that; Geoff only needs to get one O.W.L. out of those three, and it really seems unlikely that we can pull the wool over McGonagall’s and Flitwick’s eyes.” Geoff? Peter thought. Who’s that?

“McGonagall already suspects something, I think,” a miserable voice said from the bed above Peter; he assumed it was Geoff. “During the last lesson before the holiday, she was checking my work and kept calling it ‘interesting’ how my Transfigured knife box and Jack’s were so similar. The kittens had exactly the same markings.”

The boy who’d been speaking before “Geoff” pounded the floor in frustration. “Bloody hell! I kept trying to make them look different. I’m sorry, mate.” Ah, Peter though. He’s Jack.

Geoff swung his legs; they didn’t touch the floor. “S’all right, Jack. She’s very sharp-eyed, is McGonagall. When Bill gave me that Transfigured toad and I switched it, she just kept hmmming and saying, ‘Isn’t it funny how Weasley’s sugar bowl was exactly the same pattern this morning. And is it croaking?’ I kept hoping she would take the lid off and find the toad inside that I was supposed to have Transfigured....”

Jack snorted, then stifled his laughter quickly. “Sorry, mate. I know this is serious....”

“You’re bloody well right it’s serious,” Weasley said, sighing, his arms propped on his knees. “Security will be very tight for the O.W.L.s. We’ll need some very effective amulets for the Dark Arts exam, else Geoff’ll be out on his ear.” They were all silent at that, and Bill Weasley grimaced. “Sorry to put it so bluntly, Geoff, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” he said quietly. Peter could hardly believe his ears. Weasley and his friends were helping the one called Geoff cheat on his schoolwork! But why?

Alex Wood put his hand on Bill’s shoulder again, giving it a slight squeeze. “Bill! What’s this talk? You’re the one who’s come up with most of the techniques for getting Geoff through the last two-and-a-half years.”

Bill drew his mouth into a line. “Third and fourth years. Easy. Piece of cake. Hardly the same thing as the O.W.L.s.”

“McGonagall definitely suspects something,” Geoff said again, even more morosely. “It’s only a matter of time before--” He trailed off. Suddenly, Peter knew. A Squib. The boy was a Squib! Peter remembered the beginning of his fifth year now, the boy who hadn’t been called for Sorting....It was him, and that was why his name hadn’t been called....His heart was beating even faster now than when he’d been afraid of one of the large oafish boys treading on him and not even noticing. I can use this, Peter thought.

The boys were all rather subdued, but continued to talk quietly for a while, changing the subject to Quidditch and then who liked whom at school. “So,” Jack said, punching Bill in the arm lightly, “tell us. Have you and Juliet--?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, looking, Peter thought, quite mad.

Bill Weasley colored deeply and frowned grumpily. “I should never have told you about that time--”

Peter noticed that for some reason, Alex Wood’s hand was still on Bill’s shoulder; he seemed to be squeezing it rather hard now. Weasley reached up and knocked it away. “Ow! I’m not saying anything else, Alex! Hurting me will get you nowhere.” But to Peter’s eyes, Alex Wood wasn’t regarding Bill as though he wanted him to tell about his girlfriend; there was something else there; Peter couldn’t put a name to it. Wood’s gaze was very intensely boring into the back of Bill Weasley’s head, but Weasley was oblivious.

At length, the boys had decided to return to Jack’s house; Peter discovered through further conversation that that was where the other families had gathered for Easter dinner. They clomped noisily down the stairs again and he heard the shouts as they said the name of Jack’s house very loudly before stepping into the fire. Peter had waited a few minutes before emerging, then changed back into his human form and went on looking in the box for anything Bill might have written down regarding the Prophecy. He found nothing else of interest, however, and finally decided that it wasn’t safe to stay in the house any longer.

Peter sat in his gnome hole, nibbling his bread crust, looking up at Percy now. Percy’s chin was propped on his fists as he lay on his stomach in the dirt, peering down at ‘Twitchers’ while he ate. Percy was a good boy, and lonely. The perfect person for Peter to latch onto at the Burrow. Thanks to him, he didn’t need to go through a lot to determine whether Molly Weasley had had a girl or boy; thanks to him, he had a steady supply of food and there was no danger of someone trying to set rat traps for him.

You and I, Peter thought at the boy as he nibbled his crust; we will do great things together. You wait and see.

* * * * *

Friday, 20 June, 1980

“Weasley and Wood, the headmaster would like to see you in his office,” Professor McGonagall said, standing next to the Gryffindor table. Bill and Alex looked apprehensively at each other. Bill saw that Geoff and Jack were standing just beyond McGonagall as though waiting for them to join the party. He swallowed; across the table from him, Juliet moved her lips silently, asking him What? Bill shrugged, although he had a fairly good idea what it might be about. Mary Ann Boxwood was also trying to get Alex to tell her what was going on, but he shook his head at her. Bill followed his friends and Professor McGonagall, thinking what a complete and utter failure he was.

The others had no idea he was thinking this, and would have been quite surprised had they known. To them, Bill was the wunderkind who had received twelve O.W.L.s. Alex had managed eight, and Jack nine. They were perfectly respectable results, but they paled beside Bill’s. Geoff had not managed to pass the O.W.L. exams for Transfiguration, Charms or Defense Against the Dark Arts. He had passed Potions, History of Magic, even Divination (he was very good at Tarot readings), as well as Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures. But it wasn’t enough. A student had to get one amongst the truly practical exams that required the casting of spells, and he’d failed every one of them.

Bill had seen his face when they had received the letters during breakfast, the day before. Most of the fifth years were jumping up and down as the owls delivered the missives; a few people looked a little disappointed, or muttered things along the lines of, “Mum will kill me....” Only Geoff sat staring at his letter as though the world had come to an end.

And for him, it had.

Not that they hadn’t had a good idea of what to expect. On the day of each of the failed exams, it was painfully clear than none of their subterfuges were going to work. In desperation, Geoff tried time and again to get his wand (his mum’s old wand, actually) to do something, anything. To no avail. Geoff was hopelessly and irrevocably a Squib.

The leaving feast was largely over and most of the students were saying goodbye to friends for the summer, or continuing to socialize one last time in the Great Hall, as they’d been doing before McGonagall had fetched them. Bill, Alex, Jack and Geoff silently followed her straight-backed figure to Dumbledore’s office. When she turned to glance at them periodically, making sure they were keeping up, her mouth was very thin, and Bill was starting to get a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps they were all going to be expelled! Bill’s heart was beating double-time as they ascended the strange rising spiral staircase leading to Dumbledore’s office, where McGonagall left them with a distinct expression of disapproval on her face that made Bill feel about one inch tall. The headmaster asked them to enter and bade them to sit in the four chairs before his desk, looking, Bill thought, rather jovial for someone who was about to expel four boys.

“Well!” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I imagine you are all relieved to have the results from your O.W.L.s?” He looked over his half-moon spectacles at them, his eyebrows raised, and the four of them shuffled their feet while remaining seated. His gaze went to Geoff. “All except for you, I imagine,” he said gently. Bill glanced at Geoff, who seemed like he might cry but was trying manfully to remain dry-eyed.

Geoff swallowed. “Yes, sir,” he whispered, his lip quivering.

Dumbledore sighed and put the tips of his fingers together thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. “I hope you can forgive me for engaging in a little experiment. I knew when you arrived almost five years ago, that you were not bearing your own letter but your mother’s. I thought--perhaps your magic would manifest itself before long. Perhaps putting you into Hufflepuff House, with the hardest workers, would bring out your natural magical abilities....” He sighed again and looked at the other boys. “You are truly good friends, and although you were helping another student to cheat--” Jack started to open his mouth in protest, but Dumbledore held up his hand to stop him. “No, don’t deny it, Mr. Richards. There is no point. As I was saying, although you were helping another student to cheat, you were essentially doing what I was doing: giving your friend a chance to stay at Hogwarts, hoping that his magic would yet come out. So I turned a blind eye, even though Professor McGonagall first told me of her suspicions two years ago. She did not necessarily think I did the right thing to admit you,” he said, nodding at Geoff. “And perhaps she was right. But I was loath to kill hope.” He smiled sadly at the poor boy.

Bill swallowed now. “So, what’s to be done, sir?”

“Well, Mr. Weasley, if he is willing, I would like to offer Mr. Rottenham a position here.”

Bill, Alex and Jack looked back and forth at each other, baffled. “Who?”

“That would be me,” Geoff said softly. “Davies is my mum’s name, remember? My dad’s name is Rottenham. It’s been a while since I mentioned it.” He looked grimly at Dumbledore. “A job? You mean like--like Filch? Or Hagrid?”

Dumbledore nodded, smiling genially. “Hagrid’s assistant, actually. It’s how he started, years ago, as assistant to Ogg, our old gamekeeper. Hagrid says that you are very good with animals. And Professor Sprout could also use some assistance in the greenhouses. She says you are quite capable in Herbology as well. As your head-of-house, she is very sorry to see you go. She suggested the work in the greenhouses.”

Geoff swallowed and looked at his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t think--I don’t think I would want to stay here and not be a student.” He looked up at Dumbledore. “I hope you understand. I wanted to be at Hogwarts all my life. I couldn’t believe that I’d finally been sent my letter--and with good reason, it turns out. To stay--but like that--” he choked. “I don’t think I could bear it. Thank you anyway, sir,” he said softly.

Dumbledore’s mouth was very thin. “Ah, well. I understand.” He sighed, as though he had perhaps expected Geoff’s response, and turned to the other boys. “As for you three,” he said, sounding a little more stern, “First--I am not of the opinion that your parents need to know anything about this.” The edges of his mouth turned up slightly and his eyes twinkled at them. “However--I am assigning you a bit of extra homework to be done over the holiday, and if it is not done, I may change my mind about that. I want a two-foot long essay about friendship and loyalty. I should like to hear the exact reasoning behind what you have done. Sometimes, rules are broken for very good reasons,” he said, sounding still more friendly now. “I do not think it is amiss to ask for those reasons to be written down, so that they may be thoroughly understood. You shall all turn in your essays to me on the first day of the new term. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the three of them mumbled. He nodded at them. “The others will be leaving for the station. You may go. Have a good trip and a good holiday.” He stood and extended his hand to Geoff, who stood and grasped the headmaster’s hand. “And good luck to you, Mr. Rottenham. I think that it is already evident that you are capable of stirring others to a loyalty few ever manage to inspire in their friends. No matter where you go in this world, I believe that will stand you in good stead. You were also a fine member of Hufflepuff House and a paragon of the Hufflepuff traditions of loyalty and hard work. Please send an owl now and then, to let us all know how you are getting on.” Geoff looked like he would soon lose the battle to keep from crying. Bill was the last one out the door; as he was about to go, Dumbledore said, “Congratulations on your twelve O.W.L.s, Mr. Weasley. Good work that, when you were also helping Mr. Rottenham.”

Bill flushed. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

When they were on the gently swaying train, the vivid summer green of Scotland rushing past the windows, they sat in their compartment rather quietly, along with Juliet Hathaway and Mary Ann Boxwood, who was Alex’s girlfriend now. Alex and Mary Ann sat next to Geoff, holding hands, while Bill and Juliet sat opposite them, Bill’s arm around Juliet’s shoulders, and Jack on Bill’s other side. They finally told the girls what they’d been up to, that Geoff was a Squib, and that he was leaving Hogwarts.

“Oh, no!” Mary Ann cried, putting her hand out to Geoff. “That’s dreadful!”

But Geoff appeared to have come to terms with this now. “No more dreadful than living a lie for the past five years.” He tried to shrug casually. “I reckon Muggle school can’t be that bad. Plenty of people put up with it, after all. And I’m sixteen now. Maybe I can just get a job and stay in one place, instead of traveling about with my mum and dad.”

Jack laughed. “You have a good singing voice. Maybe you can travel with them and steal work from your dad, in those Gilbert and Sullivan productions.”

Geoff snorted and rolled his eyes. “Only if I want to go mad. No, thank you.” He sighed. “I’ll think of something. It’s been brilliant being with all of you at Hogwarts, but I reckon I knew it had to come to an end sometime.” He looked at his friends gratefully. “Thanks for all your help. You blokes should have an easier time now, too, since you’ll only have your own work to worry about again.”

“But who’s going to help me with my Astronomy homework?” Alex said, punching him playfully. Geoff blushed; he’d actually been better at some things than his wizard friends.

“Bill, I reckon. Mr.-Prefect-With-Twelve-O.W.L.s-Who’s-Going-To-Be-Head-Boy,” Jack said confidently. Bill elbowed him in the ribs.

“Right. Helping someone cheat for years is what they’re looking for in a Head Boy.”

“No one’s to know, are they?” Jack said reasonably. “I mean, sure McGonagall knew. And Dumbledore. Okay, and probably Sprout. But the other prefects don’t know.”

Juliet gave Bill an impish smile. “I know, and I’m a prefect.”

Bill gave her a lopsided smile. “I’ll just have to make it worth your while to keep your mouth shut, then,” he said, leaning in to kiss her.

“I think the last thing you want right now is for her to keep her mouth shut!” Jack crowed, while the others roared with laughter. Bill and Juliet surfaced, also laughing. Juliet’s blue eyes snapped with fun as she grinned at him, and her hand rested easily on his knee. As the journey continued and the conversation took a different turn, her hand made small circles that seemed to electrify every nerve ending in Bill’s body. He, in turn stroked her neck gently, gazing at her profile when he thought the others weren’t looking.

They finally reached King’s Cross and Bill saw Mary Ann draw Alex off into a corner of the platform, where it appeared that she wanted to kiss him goodbye. Juliet didn’t seem to need that much privacy, though; she gazed up at him happily and he held her to him, her arms around his neck. He brushed her lips lightly with his, then felt her tongue ghost across his lips. He opened his mouth wide, a moan at the back of his throat, and she responded in kind, her body pressed against his. He held her tightly, trying to make it last. He was shaking when they separated, wishing that they had found someplace more private for their goodbye. She gazed at him in that way that made him feel like the luckiest person in the world, and he went on looking at her as well, memorizing her. Suddenly, someone poked him in the arm. It was Alex.

“Oi! Wake up, Bill! Where’s Geoff? I didn’t get a last chance to say goodbye.”

Bill whirled. Their friend was nowhere to be found. Jack was loading his trunk onto a trolley next to Charlie, who was doing the same. “Where’s Geoff?” Bill asked Jack.

Charlie answered. “He already went through. Didn’t you notice? Or were you too busy snogging your girlfriend?” Juliet flushed at that. “He practically bolted from the train.” Bill let go of Juliet’s hand and, with Alex and Jack, leapt through the barrier, heedless of how many Muggles they might alarm by doing so. On the normal, Muggle side of the barrier, they looked around desperately for Geoff amongst the motley assembly of commuters waiting for their trains on Platforms Nine or Ten. But it seemed that the three of them had missed their last chance to bid their friend goodbye.

He was gone.

Bill sighed, running his hand through his hair. Suddenly, Charlie came through the barrier and rammed into him, knocking him over. “Bill! Don’t stand there! What do you want, all of the Muggles to see what’s going on?”

“Sssh!” Bill hushed his brother hurriedly. “Stop using the ‘M’ word, you prat.”

Suddenly, another student came barreling through the barrier. It was a tall sixth year Bill knew was in Ravenclaw; he was also a prefect, and Bill saw him at prefects’ meetings. He stopped just short of also running into Bill.

“Oi! Close call, there. Can’t be too careful, Weasley.”

Bill grimaced. “Sorry, Faulkner. I’m getting out of the way now.”

Mary Ann came through next, with her trolley and Alex’s too. “You forgot this,” she informed Alex. He thanked her and took it. Bill bade them goodbye and watched Alex and Mary Ann move off toward the car park, where her father was supposed to be waiting for them with his car. Bill and Charlie moved off to meet their dad outside the station, where they were going to get a taxicab, and Jack went with them.

In the car park, Alex and Mary Ann stood for quite a long time next to a long brown car, waiting and waiting, watching other students move off with their parents in cars and taxis. They leaned against the car, holding hands, Alex starting to feel more and more anxious. He could still see Jack, Bill, Charlie and Mr. Weasley. A taxicab finally stopped and they all climbed in, making Alex heave a sigh of relief and remove his hand from Mary Ann’s.

He put his face in his hands, shaking his head. “Thank god that’s over.” He looked up at her. “I didn’t know how much more I could take. How am I going to keep this up for two more years? The lies, the sneaking around--”

She patted his arm sympathetically. “Don’t fret. Summer is just starting and you two will have loads of time to spend together. You don’t have to go home until July! Plus, now that Geoff is leaving, there’s one less secret for you to keep. I can’t believe you never told me about that. I wouldn’t have grassed!” She hit him lightly on the arm. He shrugged.

“We had a deal. It was just between the four of us. Although maybe we could have used some more help. Count yourself lucky you weren’t helping; you’d have one more essay to write this summer if you’d been in on it. That was what Dumbledore was telling us about--our ‘special’ summer homework, for having helped Geoff cheat.”

She snorted. “It could have been a lot worse.” She shook her head. “It’s too bad that he has to leave, but he’ll be happier elsewhere, surely? He can’t do magic, right?”

Alex drew his mouth into a line. Is that what people will say about me someday? He’d be happier somewhere else, surely? Someplace where men aren’t expected to be attracted to women instead of men. Wherever that was.

He forced a grin and took her hand again. “Have I mentioned what a good friend you are, Mary Ann?” he said, changing the subject. Thinking about Geoff’s situation ending so badly made him too morose, made him wonder what might happen to him.

She squeezed his hand and grinned. “You’ve looked happy, you know. Since you started seeing him. You always used to look so worried.”

“Yeah, well--” he started to say, trailing off as he saw the tall figure walking across the car park toward them. His throat felt tighten, watching him. You’ve looked happy. He wanted to laugh. You have no idea, Mary Ann.

He actually knew what it was to be happy now. He knew what it was to be in love, even though he didn’t yet know what it was to make love. He knew what it was to be thoroughly immersed in someone’s soul and to ache when they weren’t around. Mary Ann had helped them to kiss on the platform, smuggling them into the loo. Technically it wasn’t a goodbye kiss, since he was going to Lowell’s house for the first month of the holiday. He’d been bouncing off the walls when he’d learned that both sets of parents had approved the arrangement. It was almost too good to be true.

Of course, he couldn’t tell Bill how he and Lowell first become acquainted, even in that far-off future when Alex could tell Bill that he was gay, as it was because Alex had been ogling Bill in the library--again. He didn’t know why he did it. He was just around Bill so much. Booth and Leonard were certainly nothing to look at. But Bill--he’d changed a great deal. It wasn’t just Alex--many eyes were drawn to Bill, mostly female, but Alex had seen other male eyes, although whether in lust or envy, he didn’t know.

One day after returning from the Easter holiday, they were doing O.W.L. revision in the library and Bill had taken off his robes and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, as it was a hot day. He rolled up his shirtsleeves and suddenly Alex felt himself mesmerized by those forearms. After a minute, he’d found himself thinking, Forearms? I’m ogling Bill Weasley’s forearms? God, I’m pathetic. And yet still he did it. Something about the way the muscles moved under the pale, freckled skin with their dusting of fine red hair when Bill was writing with his quill or lifting a heavy volume....his large, capable hands turning the pages...the way his exposed throat looked, framed by his shirt collar, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed....

When Bill rose to get another volume, Alex followed him with his eyes, and was startled when a mouth very close to his ear suddenly said, “Yes. Isn’t he lovely? I bet you’ve seen a lot more of him than most people, too, since you live with him.” Alex’s eyes had flown wide, but he’d been too alarmed to look behind him to see who had spoken. Geoff and Jack were in a class with the other Hufflepuffs, thank goodness. The voice had been deep, the breath near his ear intoxicating, and his blood seemed to be thrumming in his veins in a vital, exciting way that was quickly becoming so overwhelming he was afraid he might pass out. He finally dared to look up and saw a boy with dark brown hair that both looked messy and artfully arranged. He was perching on the table where Alex was sitting and looking down at him with a sardonic smile. His eyes seemed neither grey nor green but a strange combination of both, and they positively smoldered as he looked at Alex. Alex boldly looked back, although he felt quite naked being examined so.

He swallowed, waiting, and soon his patience was rewarded, for the other boy spoke again. “So--you’re not denying it?” he said in a low voice that wasn’t quite a whisper; he sounded slightly surprised. “You were looking at him?” He looked rather satisfied that he’d been right. “You’re hardly the only one. Although rumor has it Weasley is shagging that Hathaway witch. Ah, well. Can’t win them all.” He shrugged, resigned.

“He’s not,” Alex said quickly, unable to stop himself. The other boy’s mouth twisted.

“Really? Is she his beard? Oh, by the way, nice work on that. Good beard you’ve got,” he said quietly, looking around to see whether anyone else might be near. “Is there a girl she fancies? Maybe I can pretend that the girl she fancies is my girlfriend....”

Alex frowned. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? “Beard?”

“Right. Boxwood. Who does she fancy?”

“She--she doesn’t fancy girls. I don’t think,” he added, confused. Did she? He wasn’t certain, really. They hadn’t talked about it. All he knew was that she used to fancy him, before they were good friends. He hadn’t seen evidence that she fancied girls.

“Anyway,” the other boy said, leaning forward in a conspiratorial whisper, “is Hathaway Weasley’s beard? If they’re not shagging.”

“Erm, no. They--they have done some stuff. Just not--you know--yet.”

The other boy nodded. “Ah. It seemed too much to hope for. Pity,” he said wistfully, watching Bill bend over to reach a volume on a low shelf. Alex shuddered.

The boy grinned down at Alex again, looking at him appreciatively, his eyes looking more green than grey now. “Anyway, if you ever get tired of just looking at what you can’t have, let me know. If you’re interested, meet me this afternoon behind greenhouse number six.” The boy rose and walked away, his robes billowing out behind him, and Alex had watched him, his mouth open in astonishment. He didn’t even know his name.

Bill was carrying a huge tome back to the table and dropped it with thud that made the lamps shiver; Madam Pince frowned and shook her head at them. As he was sitting again on the opposite side of the table, he said to Alex, “So. What did Faulkner want?” Bill opened the enormous book and started to run his finger down the table of contents.

“Faulkner?”

“Yeah. Lowell Faulkner. Sixth year, Ravenclaw. You were talking to him. Have you been doing too much revision? You look a bit gone.”

Alex’s head was spinning. There’s someone else here like me, he thought. Someone else, someone else! The words kept ringing through his head. Oh, the feeling of no longer being alone! It was intoxicating! He looked up at Bill. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice catching for a moment. “Did you find what we were looking for?”

They went back to working on their revision, but Alex’s mind was rushing ahead to the late afternoon, to an assignation he planned to keep behind greenhouse number six....

When he arrived, there was no one there. Alex started to wonder whether it was just a prank being played on him. But presently, he saw the boy from the library emerge from the allee of oaks and make his way toward Alex, neither smiling nor frowning, but looking rather serious. He reached Alex and the two of them stood for a moment, looking around awkwardly, before Alex finally said, “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”

Faulkner grimaced, looking far less sure of himself than he had earlier, when he was cockiness incarnate. “Yeah, well I wasn’t sure I was coming either,” he said, surprising Alex with his honesty. He looked Alex in the eye now, swallowing. He extended his hand, surprising Alex again. “Lowell Faulkner. I should have said before. Sorry.”

“Alex Wood.”

“I know,” he said tersely. Alex shook his hand firmly, but they both let go right after, feeling a little self-conscious. Faulkner shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets, his robe pushed back behind his arms like a blazer. He rocked back and forth on his heels, drawing his lips into a line. “So,” he finally said, drawing it out. “How long have you known?”

He said it very fast, and Alex had to concentrate very hard to work out what he’d said. Then he had to work out what he meant. A minute later it had dawned on him. “Oh!” he said, feeling rather dim. “Um--for a while. I was pretty young, I reckon. You?”

Faulkner nodded. “Yeah. The same.”

Alex felt rather awkward, as though he had too many arms and legs. He waved his hand at the ground. “Why don’t we sit down?”

Faulkner nodded and lowered himself gracefully, his legs folded neatly. Alex felt like a great oaf, grunting as he hit the ground, propping his arms on his knees. “So,” Faulkner said suddenly. “For you it’s Weasley?”

Alex swallowed. “Er, no, not really. I mean, sure Bill’s nice to look at. But he’s really just a friend. Actually--I had a crush on someone else when I was younger. Do you remember the--the explosion at Honeyduke's?” Alex’s voice had grown very soft; he didn’t like to speak of how Orville had died. Faulkner nodded.

“Yeah, I remember. Ruddy awful,” he said with feeling, shaking his head.

Alex nodded. “Right. One of my best mates was killed--Orville Simpson. Only--I didn’t just like him as a friend...”

Faulkner nodded, understanding. “I see...”

Alex grimaced and started pulling up grass stems. “I was only in second year. And--and it wasn’t even physical, really. He just--” Alex closed his eyes and pictured Orville, very clearly. “He had this great smile. And I just wanted to make him happy, to see him look at me with that smile.” He opened his eyes and felt a warmth move up from his neck. “Sounds stupid to you, I reckon...”

To his surprise, Lowell Faulkner laughed. “No, it doesn’t. You’d probably really laugh if you knew who my first crush was.”

Alex smiled, warming to him. “Who?”

Faulkner looked around, as though someone might hear them. “Do you remember a Slytherin who finished school a couple of years ago--”

“A Slytherin!” Alex said in surprise. Faulkner blushed and Alex said, “Sorry. Go on.”

“Yeah, well, he was seeing that Head Girl who was in your house, but then he broke up with her--”

Alex’s eyes opened wide. “Snape? You had a crush on Snape?”

“Sssh!” Faulkner said quickly, drowning out Alex’s words. “You want everyone in the castle to hear you?” he said in a harsh whisper, even though there was no one else to be seen on the grounds. “Yeah, it was Snape. I reckon his breaking up with Evans really fueled my fantasies, you know? Like he was rejecting all women. And then something happened that made it even worse...”

“What?”

Faulkner looked triumphant. “I found out that he is like us.” Alex’s jaw dropped open. “No! You’re kidding!”

Faulkner held his hand up as though taking an oath. “I swear. You know Barty Crouch, seventh year? God’s gift to prefects?” Alex laughed at that; Crouch was a curse upon them all, a prefect who thought he was entitled to be Head Boy, but who had had to watch someone else be awarded that title (in this case, a sturdy, diligent Hufflepuff). Crouch was notorious for taking away house points with (or without) the slightest provocation from anyone who wasn’t a Ravenclaw, for throwing around his dad’s name, and for having made everyone want to kill him when he’d received twelve O.W.L.s two years earlier. He’d been completely insufferable about it.

“Well, last year, Snape was picking him up at the station at the end of the term, in June. And he was going to spend the summer with Snape and his uncle. I heard them talking, at the station.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t believe it. Must be why Crouch was so grumpy this year, besides not being Head Boy. He was missing his boyfriend.”

Alex was speechless. “Wow,” he finally said. “I had no idea.”

Faulkner shook his head. “I doubt anyone knows. Think what Crouch’s dad would do if it came out!” He sighed. “It’s the sort of thing that almost tempts me to commit blackmail....”

Alex laughed at that. “Well, someone could blackmail us just as easily...”

Faulkner shrugged. “Nah. Technically we haven’t done anything. Yet.”

Alex hung on the word ‘yet.’ It was a word full of hope. He looked at Lowell Faulkner, his heart in his throat, realizing that for all his bravado and that he was a year older, this other boy was as inexperienced as he was....

The three of them walked to the street now, to hail a taxicab for Mary Ann, and then for themselves. When the car stopped and they’d loaded her trunk into the boot, she threw her arms around Alex, hugging him thoroughly. “I expect loads of owls, do you hear?”

He grinned at her. “Of course. And you have a grand time on the Isle of Wight.”

She turned to Lowell and nodded at him, one eyebrow raised. “You take good care of him, now. I’m trusting you.”

He laughed. “Well, I’ll make sure your trust is not misplaced.”

When they were finally settled comfortably in the back seat of their own taxicab, zooming through London and, eventually, to the Faulkner home in Mayfair, Alex reached for Lowell’s hand and squeezed it. He wanted to kiss him, as he’d kissed him in the station loo, lust roaring through his veins and the impending threat of discovery making him feel even more energized. The driver looked at them in the mirror briefly and Alex was glad that he couldn’t see their hands; it was dicey enough to get Muggle taxis. The drivers often had a lot of curious questions about Hogwarts students’ owls or large trunks, and some students didn’t think to remove their wizarding robes before exiting Platform Nine and Three Quarters, either (although Alex and Lowell had).

But for now, no one could see their joined hands. Holding hands was all they had done for a while, and on that first day, behind the greenhouse, they hadn’t even done that much, after the initial handshake. If you couldn’t see the hands, there was nothing to suggest that they were anything other than friends. The driver, for his part, neither knew that they were a couple nor a couple of wizards. “So,” Lowell asked him quietly, “do any of them suspect? Other than Mary Ann, of course.”

Alex shook his head, confident in this, at least. “Not an inkling. They think Mary Ann and I are a perfectly happy couple.” He felt Lowell’s finger move slightly, drawing a circle in his palm, and Alex swallowed, freezing up for a moment as he thought about the next stage in their relationship. He was sixteen, he had a boyfriend at long last, and it even seemed possible that he might have a physical relationship with his boyfriend that went beyond kissing. It was both thrilling and frightening; Alex wasn’t sure whether he wanted to tell the driver to hurry up already, or to turn back to the station.

Lowell looked as frightened as he felt, but he nodded, squeezing Alex’s hand, facing ahead as the driver wove his way through the hectic London traffic. He spoke softly.

“No one on my end suspects anything, either.”

* * * * *