A Sea Change

Chapter 15:

13 December, the Hut, early morning

Gwynneth stretched her arm across the bed to where Sirius... would have been. For a sleepy instant, she thought he was awake and cooking their breakfast, but there was no sound from the kitchen. Right; he was in France. She was not sure where that was, even though he'd shown her on a map; maps did not really give her much information. Pictures of the world, he'd said. Like photographs. He'd shown her, on the map, the path through the air he planned to take, with the motorbike, to the farthest edge of France, to where Remus's Uncle Paul and Aunt Cecile lived. To where the young werewolf girl lived.

She was alone.

Gwynneth lay quietly and thought about being alone. On land, and alone. In the bed she shared with Sirius, but alone.  She had asked for these days alone in the Hut; she wanted to know. Today and tomorrow, and perhaps a day after that. Her mind, to her surprise and satisfaction, encompassed the idea of three days that had not happened yet. The days, in her mind, took on definite form. She would cook her own breakfast and Apparate to Hogsmeade, then walk up the path to the school, meet Moody, and help with the training. Then, at the end of the day, she would walk back down the path to Hogsmeade and Apparate home. Here.

It was all right. She got up, shivering a bit in the chilly room, walked naked into the bathroom and showered. She was gratified to find that she was not uneasy or afraid, or even unhappy. She knew Sirius would help the girl, and that was good. She wiped the steam off the mirror, towel-dried and combed her hair; the mirror said, "Try that again, love; your parting's not straight." The mirror had Andie's voice and this made Gwen smile.

She dressed, fried bacon and scrambled eggs, cut some bread and fried that too. She made tea and sat down to eat, alone.

She wanted Sirius there, to talk to. It had felt strange, last night, going to bed alone, but it was a novelty-- a little adventure. She had noted the strangeness and fallen asleep rather proud of herself. This morning, alone at the kitchen table, was different: the first actual wanting, and lacking.

Then it came to her that this was what people meant when they said, "I'll miss you."

She decided that at the end of the three days, she would say "I missed you" to Sirius, and he would know that she'd learned something.

But she still was not entirely happy... missing was not a happy thing, was it.

She took out her wand and ordered the dishes into the sink, and set them scrubbing, then walked out the door and down the path to the place for Apparating.

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She walked up the other path, from Hogsmeade to the castle, still thinking of Sirius, pondering the fact that he was somewhere—in France—and she was here. She pictured what he might be doing: he’d have arrived at Remus’s uncle’s house in early evening, tired from the ride. They’d have gone to the girl’s house this morning. He was probably there now, talking to her. He would have no news yet; there would be no letter in Harry’s brass cup this morning.

 

She would ask tomorrow, not today.

Moody was waiting at the edge of the school grounds; she waved at him and smiled.

“Hello, lassie—nice day. Your lad still off on his trip, then, I suppose?”

“Yes, but not for very long. He says he’ll be back in two or three days. ” 

 

It was a nice day—rare, for December. The sun was not quite up, but the wind was quiet, and there were no clouds. Gwen and Moody strode companionably up the path.

“Thought you’d like to hear about the Little Hangleton house,” Moody said. “ I alerted the Aurors, told them I’d had a pretty trustworthy anonymous tip, so they’ve decided to send us a proper team. We’re getting scrying devices set up so that we’ll be able to do surveillance from a distance— in a couple of weeks we’ll know if anyone Apparates in or out, or comes and goes the normal way, either. Human or rat. We’ll also know if anyone from the house shows up in the village. If your boyfriend’s right, we’ll have proof of it inside the month, and nobody in the house will know we’re there. Now that we’re reasonably sure about this, we’re taking our time.

“It looks like he is right, by the way: we’ve picked up some heavy wards and detection spells surrounding the house and grounds, and that graveyard. From what we’ve learned talking to folk thereabouts, the villagers seem to have forgotten that the house is there at all.”

Gwen nodded her satisfaction as the castle came into view through the trees. “You know I want to help, if you find Peter,” she said quietly.

Moody nodded, laid a hand on her shoulder—a rare gesture for him—and growled a soft reply. “You and your lad’ll be in on the hunt, lassie, I promise that. I’ll make sure Harry’s there too; apart from Harry’s having seen Pettigrew recently and being necessary for the ID, I think it’ll be helpful to have a few people around who care something for Sirius Black. Magic always works better if you care about the result.  And you know I’ll be there,” he added, almost as an afterthought. They finished the walk in silence, both contentedly thinking hunters’ thoughts.

It was Moody’s habit to arrive at the Castle in time for breakfast before beginning his classes; Gwen, as always, sat with him at the high table and had another cup of tea. Students came and went in small, sleepy groups; eventually Harry appeared, with Hermione and Ron. He was looking for them; he approached the high table waving a bit of parchment. “Hi, Gwen—we’ve got a letter.”

She hopped down from the low platform that elevated the teachers’ table and grinned at Harry. “What does he say? I didn’t think he’d write until he’d seen the girl.”

Harry smiled. “It’s for both of us; he says he arrived at Remus’s aunt and uncle’s house last night and they’re going to visit the werewolf girl today. He says he misses us. He says it was strange waking up without you this morning,” Harry added, and blushed. “He thinks he’ll stay another night, and leave tomorrow about midday, trying to get home by night. He loves us. That’s about it….”  They looked across the letter at each other and Gwen nodded solemnly.

 She took the letter from Harry’s hand and scrutinised it. “This, at the bottom, that says ‘Sirius’, doesn’t it. I know that. Where does it say ‘miss you’?”

Harry pointed to the words; she nodded and handed the letter back to Harry. “I think Moody’s finished with breakfast; are we working in the classroom today, or outside?”

“I’m not sure, but I still want breakfast. I’d better get back to the table before Ron takes all the toast… seeya.” He gave her a smile, turned and walked back to the Gryffindor table, and Gwen rejoined Moody, who had begun a good-natured conversational sparring match with Minerva on the relative merits of transfiguration over concealment charms, in Aurors’ work.

                                                         ************

They worked outside, in the cold, clear morning light, teaching magical camouflage to a mixed group of first-year Ravenclaws and Slytherins. A whispered spell, a touch of the wand to the nearest object, and it edged its colour and texture onto the wizard. Two children showed an unusual aptitude: cousins, as it happened, one from each house. Moody grinned with delight at the two, causing a general apprehensive stepping back among the students.

“Canfield and Canfield—you two—try that against the grass, flat on your stomachs—good. Ravenclaw Canfield, you wiggled; looks like a miniature windstorm. Hold still—there. Well done. The rest of you lot, back against the wall; stones are usually easier.”

Moody barked orders; Gwen walked up and down the row of students, giving advice and encouragement. The Canfield cousins wandered about the grounds at Moody’s instructions, disguising themselves as rocks, patches of shadows, Hagrid’s tool shed, a brushpile, and the rail fence, and judging each other’s results. By the end of the class period, most of the students could blend themselves into the stone walls of the castle, and a few approached the Canfields’ versatility. All the students having trouble were ordered to report to Harry for an hour after supper, and Moody grunted with satisfaction as he dismissed the group.

The day moved forward. Lunch with Dumbledore in his rooms, without Sirius there, was a bit subdued, but Albus talked at length about what a great thing it would be if werewolves could be helped by his work. Moody said that there was too much hatred and prejudice against such creatures, and that if anyone could do such an unheard-of spell it would be Sirius. “Best I ever trained,” he grunted.

Gwen understood that they were telling her she should not mind his absence, and smiled at them both to show that she knew what they were saying, and was grateful for their concern for her.

As they walked back down the stairs and outside to meet the next class, it occurred to Gwen to wonder just when she had begun to hear words that people did not say, but intended for her to hear.

At the end of the day, she was pleasantly tired; she sat with her back against the castle wall and watched the last class trooping inside to their dinners.

“Fancy a meal in Hogsmeade, lassie?” Moody extended a hand to her and she hauled herself up, smiling at him. “The Three Broomsticks does a fair shepherd’s pie. Come on, I’ll treat. Then you won’t have to cook just for yourself, at home.”

They walked together down the path to the village.

Inside the pub, a few nods and smiles greeted them; Madame Rosmerta herself bustled forward to take their order. “Ah, Mr Moody, very nice to see you again! And this will be your lovely granddaughter we’ve heard so much about? Welcome to the Three Broomsticks, Miss Moody! I hear you’re both doing a fine job, up at the school.”

Moody nodded and spoke rather quickly, to forestall any remark Gwen might make. “Aye, this is Gwynneth; she’s doing a good deal of work for me just now. I’ve been telling her about your shepherd’s pie. Any left? And we’ll each have a pint, please.”

Gwen smiled impishly at Moody as Madame Rosmerta hurried off. “Did you think I’d forgotten that I’m your granddaughter? I’ve practiced this, you know. I always say ‘Gwynneth Moody’ every time someone asks my name. I won’t forget. Carelessness costs lives,” she added, obviously quoting from her Aurors’ Manual. Like many people who did not read, Gwen found that she had an excellent memory; she could quote endless passages from her Manual and from many other books Sirius had read to her.

Moody laughed at her and looked up appreciatively as Madame Rosmerta returned with two tankards of butterbeer. “Rosmerta, you’re just in time; we’ve worked up a thirst today. You know,” he said, turning to Gwen, “I used to carry my own food and drink everywhere, back in the old days of fighting Voldemort.” Ignoring Rosmerta’s involuntary shudder at the name, he carried blandly on. “One good thing about being taken for a harmless old fool—nobody thinks you’re worth poisoning any more. There’s no better pint in all the wizarding world than you’ll find at the Three Bromsticks. I’ve missed this.” He drank deeply and set the tankard down with a thump, as a boy came out from the kitchen carrying their food. Madame Rosmerta gave the table a quick, practiced glance, and, apparently satisfied that they had everything they needed, walked back to the bar, where she resumed her conversation with the woman pulling the pints.

For a few moments Moody and Gwen devoted their attention to the food, which was excellent, as promised. Moody called for a second pint, then sat back from the table with a sigh. He put a hand inside his pocket and pulled out a small round object.

“Ever see one of these?” He held out the little thing to Gwen, who took it and shook her head. She looked at it closely. It was clear, glassy, the exact size and shape of a marble. As she stared into it, she thought she could detect movement.

“Miniature crystals, we use ’em like long-distance scrying glasses,” Moody grunted. “Today the surveillance team should have placed a few hundred of these around the Little Hangleton house, just outside its wards. Nobody inside there will be able to detect ’em. Those wards work both ways, and besides, these little things are magically inert. Undetectable by magical means. The magic is all supplied by folk looking into them…from a distance. Brilliant system: unknown till about five or six years ago. Little witch, used to be in Clerical, gift for Divination, she had one of these set up to keep an eye on her old mother while she was at work, without the old lady knowing. Her supervisor found out about it, thought it would be useful—and now she’s head of her own division.

“These little glasses just lie there and take in whatever goes on around them, and the reflections are picked up by bigger ones a safe distance away, watched over by Seers. We’ve rented a couple of rooms at the Greater Hangleton Inn, just down the road a bit, where a team of Seers trade off shifts, watching the crystals.” Moody finished off the second pint and motioned for the bill. He grinned suddenly—he enjoyed Gwen’s company; she never seemed put off by his alarming appearance and she was never afraid of him. Nice, for an old war-horse like himself, to be going about with a pretty young woman…. Besides, she never lied, probably hadn’t figured out how, yet. You knew where you were with Gwen.

“D’you want to come see? It’s not late yet…”

“I’d love to. How do we get there?” Gwen stood up and grinned at him. “I’ve never seen any Divination; I don’t think Sirius ever uses it. Do we Apparate?”

“Aye—just follow me.”

The little upstairs rooms of the Greater Hangleton Inn was packed with people; some were sitting on the floor gazing into crystals, two playing chess on the nightstand as two more watched and commented, one witch, incredibly, curled on a bed in the corner, asleep. A couple of younger Aurors, in pale grey uniforms, were performing some sort of complicated spell on the little electric Muggle coffeemaker on the dressing table, apparently attempting to make it brew coffee without turning it on. The chatter was fairly loud and cheerful, except for a high-pitched burst of profanity from the backpack of one of the coffee brewers.

A few of the room’s occupants looked up at Moody with friendly nods and comments, and several of them stopped their various activities to give Gwen a closer look. One of the lads at the coffeemaker smiled engagingly and stepped closer. “Well done, sir—who’s your friend? Hello, love, I’m Tommy.”

Moody gave a mock growl, which sounded remarkably like a real one. “Too friendly by half. This is my granddaughter Gwynneth; she’s doing some work for me, up at the school, and she’ll be helping us out here. You can keep your familiar ways to yourself, too; she’s here to work, not to be wasting time with layabouts like you.”

“Call me any names you like; water off a duck’s back. I’ve heard it all—I’m a jarvey handler.” Tommy grinned unrepentantly at Gwen, who grinned back, and turned back to his coffeemaker. The backpack on the floor gave an awkward lurch, and the flap came open, revealing a small grey creature, lean-bodied, low to the ground, with a long, flexible neck and a dark mask around its bright, intelligent black eyes. It wriggled free of the backpack and glared balefully around the room.

“Where’s me supper, you long-leggedy old rigid, hairless PREY?”

Tommy laughed affectionately. “Bugger off, MacTavish; you’ve had your supper and you know it.” He sat down on the floor and scritched the little animal’s head behind the ears, and it made a pleased little sound remarkably like a purr.

Moody laughed at the two of them. “Gwen, this is a jarvey, the only magical mustelid. They can talk—after a fashion. Opprobrious epithets. Mouthing-off and backchat of all sorts. Takes a special handler to make sense of it all and get the little buggers to cooperate, but dead useful once you get their friendship. Tommy and his mate there will send these little guys all round the perimeter of the house, looking for tunnels that a rat might use, and sending  ’em down any that look promising. Reconnaissance. They’ll find out if there’s anyone living in there, and come back and tell us. If they feel like it.”

MacTavish turned his attention to Moody and hopped sideways in a bizarre dance, opening its mouth in a gleeful laugh. “Sounds like you think you know something. You’re a monument, you are. Twit. Holes—what do you know about holes? Any tunnels down there, me and my mates’ll find  ’em. You oversized, stiff, ugly ’bovegrounder.” Moody laughed then, a great booming laugh that sent the little jarvey bouncing back to its handler’s lap, with a high-pitched “shitshitshitshitshit!”

Gwen watched it carefully, and knelt down to have a closer look. After an encouraging nod from Tommy, she held out her hand for the jarvey to sniff. It drew back its head sharply. “Hoo! Wotchoo lookin’ at? You, the female; yes, you, the bint with the eyes, where’d you come from? Smell of fish, you do—or something like that. Make yerself useful; give us a scritch there, willya?” She complied, stroking the creature down the length of its back, and received the same contented little purring sound. Stretching its head to anticipate the pat, it squinted its eyes and grinned blissfully. “Bugger off.”

Tommy looked a trifle anxiously at her, grinned apologetically and said, “Don’t mind the language—it’s just his way. He likes you really.” He sighed. “I like the little devils, so I do, but occasionally they can create the wrong impression. Mac here’s the best of the lot; he’s the leader of the jarvey squad, like. The rest of ’em are in a cage in the next room. We’ll take ’em out tomorrow morning; then we’ll know something.” 

Moody stalked over to the other side of the room to the crystal-gazers, and motioned for Gwen to follow him. She knelt beside the witch nearest her, who held a crystal ball the size of a Bludger with both hands and stared intently into it. “No present movement yet, Mr. Moody,” the witch said softly.

Gwen stared into the crystal. At first, she saw nothing but a cloudy mist swirling aimlessly inside it, but the witch said, “It works better if you hold it. Here.” She placed the ball into Gwen’s outstretched hands, keeping her own hand on the ball as well. Gwen kept staring, until….

“Trees? Those are trees, aren’t they?”

The witch smiled and nodded. “Those trees are on the edge of the graveyard in Little Hangleton. There’s a handful of miniglobes down there at regular intervals, and we can See whatever’s in their range. So far, there’s been nothing interesting going on, except a few flashbacks of funerals, and that big DE gathering last summer. It’s easy to tell present from past, though, if you’ve been trained to it. Sooner or later, if there’s anything to See, we’ll See it.” She gave Gwen a smile and took back the crystal globe. “Well done, Seeing those trees. Lots of people can’t, you know.”

Gwen thanked her and smiled as a cheer went up from several Aurors; apparently Tommy and his partner had succeeded in getting coffee made, and it was filling the pot in an unending stream as the two of them scrambled to Conjure cups for everyone and fill them. Mac did his bizarre little sideways dance and yelled a good-natured stream of abuse at the general foot traffic that threatened to flatten him.

Moody straightened up and stifled a yawn. “Well, lassie, I think we’d better get you home; another heavy day tomorrow. Five classes. You can find the Hut, can’t you? If you like I’ll go before you….”

“I can find it. Moody—thanks for showing me this. And for supper. I know you don’t want me to be…alone too much. I’ll be OK, but thanks. I like you more for it.” She smiled, hesitated a moment as if making a decision, and then stretched on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. As she Disapparated, Moody smiled after her, then sighed and Disapparated to his own home, alone.

                                           **************************

14 December, Hogwarts School

The next morning there was another letter in the brass cup.

Hello Gwen and Harry,

I think we’ve found out what we need to, about Jeanette. We’ll try the spell at January’s full moon, with her Muggle boyfriend and his DOG there to befriend her. Her parents are useless: won’t learn the spell-- uptight, snobbish, and in the case of the mother, downright antagonistic. The father, I think still feels something for his daughter, even though he disapproves of everything she does… ah well. I’m hoping to get Remus to go down with me, but I know he’ll be busy.

Leaving France this morning; should be home by dark or a little after. Paul and Cécile say Hello, though you don’t know them; they want us to come for a visit in the summer. I know you’ll both love it here; let’s plan on it.

I can’t tell you how lucky I feel, having the best Pack in the world, when I look at this poor kid and her stupid family!

Sirius

Gwen  walked outside with Moody to begin the classes, and Harry folded the letter carefully before rejoining Hermione and Ron at the Gryffindor table. Both of them, engaged in their work for the day, smiled from time to time.

Gwen worked patiently all morning, fidgeted her way through lunch with Moody and Dumbledore, managed her students cheerfully in the afternoon classes and forced herself to wait while Moody closed their classroom and Warded it.  When things were finally put away to their satisfaction, she ran down the Hogsmeade path, heedless of Moody’s teasing, and Apparated home. She walked up the little path from the trees to the Hut, took out her wand and repeated the words of Remus’s old spell, which protected it. When the Hut appeared in its true form, she hurried inside; the candles were already lit. The smell of cooking greeted her. Sirius appeared at the kitchen door and scooped her up in a giant bearhug. She pressed her face into his shirt front and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I missed you,” she said, laughing.