Grim Spectre

Snape had grown thoroughly tired - not to mention deeply suspicious - at waiting for Remus Lupin to return the book. So he seized his chance to slip into Lupin's quarters for a sly glance at the book. Now he grinned deliciously as he perused the pages on Howe to use thy Master Mirror for the moste cunninge and relentlesse hunt of thy quarry...

By the time Snape had finished he was positively crowing. He already had an excellent start with an aged, obscure Master Mirror that he had enquired upon during a discreet visit to Borgin & Burkes. It was extremely rare, the man said and the book on Master Mirrors was extremely difficult to find. Snape had bought the mirror at a price best kept anonymous. Suffice it to say that Snape's Gringotts account will be smarting for some time, but worth every Knut if the mirror fulfilled Snape's intentions.

The Master Mirror had been wiped clean of its previous tuning as the book had prescribed, so the man had said. Snape had given the mirror his own cleansing just to be on the safe side. You never can be totally sure with items from Borgin & Burkes. Now, as he read the chapter on how to attune the Master Mirror, he had a fair idea of what to do. Finding an item belonging to Black would take too long, but he would have no trouble obtaining the necessary items from the person whom he had no doubt was Black's accomplice...

By evening Snape's Master Mirror was attuned to the "relentlesse pursuit" of Remus Lupin.

Now all that remained was to attune every single mirror, especially the mirror in Moaning Myrtle's which Snape was convinced was the key to the whole thing so that he might pursue his "relentlesse pursuit" through the whole of Hogwarts...of course in the case of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom he would need to disillusion himself in case that Grim Spectre was prowling around...

"Ahem ... ahem ..." coughed a little voice most coyly. It sounded as if it was far too embarrassed to speak.

Snape should jolly well have been embarrassed himself at having been caught where he was. Instead he whirled around, looking most infuriated at having been interrupted and cursing himself for not remembering that Moaning Myrtle could circulate through the entire toilet system of Hogwarts and might pop up through any bathroom in the castle.

"Get out of here, you annoying little brat!"

The familiar howling of Moaning Myrtle ensued at the insult.

Snape pointed his wand menacingly down at the toilet bowl and hissed: "Don't give me your pathetic little whining! Get out of my sight before I do something that will truly give you something to moan about!"

"But ... but ... you're in the girls' toilet!" The voice howled petulantly as it retreated down the depths.

And so he was. Unfortunately Hogwarts did not have unisex toilets which would have made things far less conspicuous.

*~*~*

Far too conspicuous...

Anyone familiar with the toilets at Moaning Myrtle's would have been astonished to see loud, enraged bubbles spluttering up the toilet bowl, making it look like a spa pool for a turtle. If they could look down into the depths they would be even more astonished to see the cause. It was the Grim howling bubbles of utter fury, hatred and astonishment at what Moaning Myrtle had to say. It had been most curious, she thought, to find Professor Snape in a girls' toilet and it most certainly did not look like he intended to use the toilet. Rather, he had wanted to use the mirror, but were there not mirrors in the staff toilet?

So his old nemesis was back at Hogwarts. And worse, he was using his teaching position to bully Harry and all the other Gryffindors ... the ghostly dog was now writhing and twisting with such force that he was churning up eddies and tidal waves which were must unhealthy for the plumbing system.

So enraged was he that it took considerable time for Moaning Myrtle to impress upon him that it looked most suspicious for Snape to poke around in a girls' toilet just to use a mirror. When it finally did his enraged howling turned into an anxious, profound guttural snarling while his ghostly eyes widened and pulsated in portended alarm.

They positively bulged in alarm at what Moaning Myrtle had to say next. She had glimpsed Snape tapping on the mirror and uttering some incantation that was indistinct except for the words "Remus Lupin."

The furious bubbles gave way to ripples echoing whines of horror. Not for himself, but for Remus Lupin. He had no doubt that Snape was plotting something ominous for Lupin. The gut-wrenching bitterness that Sirius had harboured towards Lupin for turning away from him at the very moment he had needed him the most evaporated in an instant. Now it was replaced an impulsive, urge to snatch Lupin from the clutches of the plotting Snape, to smash his old enemy and whatever evil he was scheming - anything to get at the bullying, snarling, greasy spot...

*~*~*

Lupin stared down at Myrtle with eyes bulging with even more alarm than the grim spectre. There was only one conceivable reason he could think of: Snape had a Master Mirror and was attuning it to him. Panic began to surge and throb through his veins...then panic gave way to sweating chills of relief that Moaning Myrtle had found out in the nick of time. Awful images of Snape using his Master Mirror to catch Remus calling out Sirius' name in Moaning Myrtle's toilet, setting the Dementors upon him in an instant, being dragged off to Azkaban for being an accomplice...

The relief gave way to despondency as Lupin collapsed helplessly in his chair. His body sagged and he looked even more grey and haggard than usual. What on earth to do now?

Dimly, he became aware of a strange, cold stabbing as though an ice cube was being rubbed against his hand. Blearily he gazed downward and his slumped form ceded to a relieved smile. It was the grim spectre licking his hand, looking upward in hopeful expression. If he had been a real dog Lupin would have bent down to pat and roll him and rub his tummy. You cannot do that with a ghost dog, unfortunately, and Padfoot would have appreciated it so much, too. Still, the wide, beaming grin went a long way to healing the festering wound, rendered cankerous by the horrors of Azkaban...a ghostly tail wagged ecstatically in accordance...

*~*~*

"My dear Remus, what brings you here?"

No, Dumbledore did not say those words. They would have been far too stupid and trite beyond belief. As Dumbledore stared back into the sunken eyes, the nervous apprehension, the suppressed gulping, the awkward shifting of the man opposite him, it was obvious that what had brought Remus Lupin to his office was not any easy thing to impart. And from the look of Remus' face, it was a decision that had taken intense consideration and maybe some soul-searching, too...so Dumbledore sat in silence, patiently waiting for Lupin to muster enough composure to speak.

Several awkward moments passed and still Lupin couldn't speak. Lupin was well-versed in Occlumency so Dumbledore could not intrude upon his mind even if he had wanted to. But Dumbledore had gut instinct and gut instinct was telling him that what Lupin was mustering to tell him was something most serious indeed about Sirius Black. From somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Dumbledore began to fear that there was something to Snape's warnings about Lupin compromising the security against Sirius Black. Dumbledore would not go as far as to panic that Lupin had been aiding and abetting Black, but worry in that regard was beginning to mount...

It was Crookshanks who broke the ice. Quick as a flash the dear old cat leapt upon Dumbledore's desk and snuggled into the Dumbledore's beard...aah, such a magnificent thing for a cat to rub and snuggle against. Dumbledore reached out his hand and the cat erupted into loud, contented purring at such a wise old hand stroking his head and tickling his ears. As his hand stroked over the cat's head Dumbledore seemed to stroke up the guarded wisdom that was stored up in this little cranium...Kneazle wisdom, unless he was very much mistaken. He gazed down at the ginger bundle most quizzically...yes, there was definitely Kneazle blood in there.

Another hand reached across hesitatingly, as if asking permission to cross the headmaster's desk....and then it was groping most fondly at the rumbling ginger fur football. Interminable minutes passed in purring, fondling, stroking and tickling before the cat gave the sign that he appreciated it all, but now they must stop because there was something else. The cat leapt down from the desk, glancing back at Dumbledore. It was a clear indication for Dumbledore to follow. Lupin trailed as well, still looking awkward and sweating but more at ease now.

Do not think the headmaster needed to descend that spiral staircase and ascend it again because he needed to go to the bathroom. The headmaster's study had its very own toilet, nestled in a small alcove where it would be unobtrusive but most convenient. Dumbledore was looking singularly confused as the cat now beckoned him to enter this toilet. What should the cat need the headmaster's toilet for? There wasn't even a litter tray in there.

What followed next had been the result of intense and heated argument in the Defence against the Dark Arts Room. Padfoot, as predicted, had all his guns blazing to go after Snape and the Rat, and to hell with the consequences or not even knowing where the Rat was right now. Moreover the trauma of twelve years ago had left him with a deep-rooted mistrust to confide in anyone or to put all his faith in hopes in anyone after everyone had so badly let him down before. It had taken a humungous amount of effort, persuasion and restraint to talk Sirius into what Lupin thought was the one and only course of action.

The familiar head of Moaning Myrtle emerged from the toilet. She looked positively drowning to be in the headmaster's toilet. It had been the one bathroom she had never dared approach in all her years of haunting. Now as she emerged she was blushing so deeply her face was almost black. Tears were streaming silently down her cheeks but nobody could see that because those shame-filled cheeks were so deeply buried in her hands which refused to shift even when Myrtle was floating near the ceiling. She hovered there sniffing quietly and turned away in utter abasement.

Less embarrassed was the spectre which followed. Dumbledore's eyebrows raised as the infamous grim spectre peeked its head out of the toilet bowl. It stared right into Dumbledore's face and whined softly, as if unsure as whether it was safe for the rest of it to come out. Very slowly and painfully it emerged, like a butterfly that was struggling to emerge from its chrysalis.

It crawled down onto the floor and stood there. It was shivering, which Dumbledore thought was most odd for a ghost. Its spectral eyes met Dumbleore's, and most haggard and pleading eyes they were, too...

Still staring back into Dumbledore's eyes, the ghostly eyes abruptly shot upward. As they did so they changed, mutating from pearly doggy eyes into the darker eyes of a human being.

There is not much that can take Dumbledore by surprise. Yet now he took an astonished step backwards, scarcely believing the sight that stood before him. It was the unmistakable uniform and raggedness of an Azkaban prisoner...and there was no mistaking the ravaged, emaciated, vampire-like countenance...the same countenance that had been emblazoned across the front page of The Daily Prophet for months. Sirius Black now stood before him, plain as day - or rather, his ghost did!

*~*~*

Dumbledore stared ponderingly at the artefacts which now lay across his desk. The Master Mirror, the corresponding book and the clipping from The Daily Prophet which Lupin insisted showed Pettigrew in his Animagus form and which Sirius had now informed him had triggered his infamous escape from Azkaban. Added to that was the ginger bundle which now stared back most insistently at him, demanding that he believe everything was true. Not to mention the still-embarrassed but now more relieved form of Moaning Myrtle who was indebted to the ghost of Sirius Black because he had done so much to save her from the bullying of Peeves.

He believed everything they had told him. The question now, he sighed deeply, was what to do? There was only one way to clear Sirius Black and that was to produce Peter Pettigrew, alive or dead and there was no way that could happen as long as Pettigrew remained in hiding. Most likely he was still lurking somewhere in the Hogwarts grounds, waiting for the word that Sirius Black had been caught or given the Dementor's Kiss before daring to emerge and watch Harry from the shadows until the word came that Voldemort was reviving.

Dumbledore stared sadly at the ragged, emaciated spectre which eyed him with silently, but with deep, profound anxiety. Yes, Pettigrew would not emerge until Sirius was caught, kissed...or declared dead.

An evil smile creased Dumbledore's lips as the hint of an answer began to glimmer in his brain...

*~*~*

"My dear Minister, you really should take more of an interest in the Muggle newspapers. I have come across an item that you should find most interesting."

Petulantly, Fudge snapped up the newspaper. He sniffed at it, as if the Muggle newspaper itself was a thing beneath him. Reluctantly, almost wearily, he cast his eyes down at the passage ringed by Dumbledore's quill:

UNIDENTIFIED BODY FOUND ON STROMA

It was not a large article. The only thing to make it stand out was the facial reconstruction. The story went on to recount how the remains of a corpse had been found on the island of Stroma, off the coast of Duncansby Head, Scotland. The gruesome find had been made by a fisherman who had run into trouble and happened to beach his boat on the lonely spot where the body was found. The body had been there for some time; it had decayed to a skeleton with long, matted and filthy hair. The body had no identification, only the remains of a most peculiar set of clothes. They appeared to be the remains of some sort of robe and grey striped tunic and trousers. Foul play was not suspected and the cause of death was unknown. Still, the corpse had to be identified. So the police were appealing to the public for help with the facial reconstruction of the dead man.

As Fudge stared down at the reconstructed face he stared down at it more and more...it was devoid of the characteristic emaciation of the face that had been plastered over the pages of the Daily Prophet. How could it be otherwise? The Muggle police had only a skull from which to reconstruct the face.

As Fudge lifted his eyes from the newspaper, they were gleaming and dilating with a hope he dared not think was possible. "My dear Dumbledore, how fortunate you came across this! I mustn't get my hopes up too high, of course, but if it checks out, this will all be over!"

The Minister was so elated and giddy he failed to notice the ominously sly twinkle in Dumbledore's eye at the remark "how fortunate you came across this!" He only registered the smile that Dumbledore gave him in reply. Fudge snapped up the newspaper and headed off in the direction of the Muggle contacts he had been co-ordinating with in the hunt for Sirius Black...

Two days later the Daily Prophet told the delightful news:

SIRIUS BLACK IS DEAD!

The newspaper went to recount the discovery of Sirius Black's body. The Muggle pathologist's estimate as to how long the person had been dead pretty much corresponded to the time Black had escaped. It was presumed that the frigid waters of the North Sea had overwhelmed Sirius Black before he had even made it to shore. So that meant that the man they had been hunting, the man they had been living in dread of, the man who had triggered the most intensive manhunt in the history of the Ministry of Magic, had been dead all this time...so it was all over, the Ministry was vindicated, they had all been worried about nothing, etc, etc.

The relief was instant. The walls of Hogwarts Hall just about collapsed with all the cheering and whistling at the news that Sirius Black was dead and they had nothing to fear now. Even better, they were free of those Dementors which had now been packed off straight back to Azkaban. The moment those awful Dementors left it felt as if the weight of a mountain had been lifted straight off Hogwarts and the very air itself seemed to heave a sigh of deep, profound relief.

The only person who was rather put out was Snape. Eyeing Lupin, his lips curled with disappointment. Sure, Black was dead but he had been cheated of his revenge and frustrated of the satisfaction of bringing down Black and Lupin himself with the aid of his Master Mirror...or had he? His lips curled in a grunt of hopeful suspicion. There was still that Grim...did it have anything to do with Black? Black may be gone, but there was still this nasty, niggling suspicion in the back of his mind that would not go away...

Snape's face dropped again as he stared at his now-useless Master Mirror. What a waste of perfectly good money. Now whenever his Master Mirror alerted him to the presence of Remus Lupin near any of the bathroom mirrors, all Snape got was an eyeful of tatty old Lupin washing his hands, cleaning his teeth and doing all the mundane, typical things that anyone would do in a bathroom. Of course Snape had no way of knowing that Lupin knew about his Master Mirror and dared not even approach the Grim in any of the bathrooms...

Meanwhile Lupin's Master Mirror remained on Dumbledore's desk, now resting on a stand. Dumbledore had surreptitiously added mirrors to rooms in Hogwarts where you would not expect to find mirrors and every single one was now attuned to Peter Pettigrew. Man or rat, the moment he set foot back in Hogwarts, no matter where he might be, the Master Mirror would sound automatically and the portraits would be instantly alerted.

Only the portraits knew of the true nature of the Grim which resided in Moaning Myrtle's toilet. After all, the walls of Dumbledore's office had eyes and ears when the truth was unveiled before Dumbledore in his office. As yet Dumbledore had not yet advised any of the staff or the ghosts about the true nature of the Grim that resided in Moaning Myrtle's toilet. For that matter he had not even told Harry Potter. Instinct told him it would be inadvisable; better to stay quiet, let things unfold and wait for the Rat to return.

Of course it was hopeless to ask the Grim to sit back and wait. As a seer had foretold not so very long ago: "The Rat has brought the Grim to Hogwarts. The Grim haunts Hogwarts to hound the Rat who serves the Dark Lord. The Grim will never relinquish the chase. The Grim will hound the Rat..."

And so it was. The students didn't see much of it and the ghosts, though puzzled by its restless prowling of the plumbing system, decided for the time being that they would respect the strange new spectre which clearly provided intense delight for Moaning Myrtle. Seldom did the Grim emerge from the toilets and only its keen sniffing nose would peek above the rim like some Muggle periscope, give a fierce, investigative sniff and then sink beneath the rim again like a patrolling submarine. Wherever Moaning Myrtle went, it would go, and it would give a low warning growl whenever Peeves dared to approach dear Myrtle. It must be said that the students didn't hear Myrtle moaning much these days; she was far too delighted with her new friend, tickled pink to have a Wizard's Debt to pay which she was now trying to pay by accompanying her dear Grim on his relentless vigil around the bathrooms. Not to mention the vigil the Grim made every night now, in Gryffindor Tower. Every single night, without fail, it would emerge from the Gryffindor boys' bathroom and silently make its way through the dormitory until it was right beside the bed of the Boy Who Lived. It didn't lick the boy's ear now. Much as it yearned to muzzle and lick the boy, for now it dared not approach any further than beside the bed. It would remain there, absolutely still, for the remainder of the night. When the encroachment of dawn filtered through the windows it would heave a whine that sounded ominously like a sigh, and then it would retreat to sink sadly beneath the toilet bowl...until the next time. Oh, it so longed for the day to come when it could freely approach Harry and be received as a friend, a guardian angel - a godfather...

*~*~*

Nobody was in the headmaster's study, so the portraits in the headmaster's study were doing their usual dozing. All of a sudden, Lupin's Master Mirror, which had been standing on Dumbledore's desk, gave the alarm that it had detected the quarry to which every mirror in Hogwarts was now attuned. Voices of bleary discontent, cries of outrage and alarm ensued from the walls as the image in the mirror crystallised and sharpened into the image of a very woebegone grey rat lurking in the trophy room. There it was, the little devil, pattering around the base of the Hogwarts House Cup...

THE END