Sin of Lycaos

SIN OF LYCAOS

Part Nine: The Lamb

By D.M.P.

***

Little lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee,

Gave thee life, and bid thee feed

By the stream and over the mead;

Gave thee clothing of delight,

Softest clothing, woolly, bright;

Gave thee such a tender voice,

Making all the vales rejoice?

Little lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

-William Blake, "The Lamb"

***

Chapter 33

Lupin was like a ghost upon returning to Her Majesty. He dumped the bags unceremoniously onto the kitchen counter and ascended the steps to the master bedroom. With silent steps, he slipped into the room and took his place next to Sirius. For a long time he simply stared ahead of him at the little girl tucked in bed; his focus and solemnity made this akin to a knight's vigil. He asked Sirius only one question.

"Has she stirred at all?"

Sirius shook his head. "Not yet."

***

And so the hours passed.

It was an impatient wait. All Lupin could think of were Mary's parents. They were in town. A feeling rose up in his chest, like a caged burst of energy that screamed one word: run. They all had to leave. He couldn't stay in the very same town where Mary's parents were, when he had met her father just walking down the street! He didn't want to sleep under the roof of this house knowing that less than a few blocks away, her father was sleeping as well. It made him feel guilty.

Not to say that he wasn't guilty before. A secret that lurked in the back of his mind was Mary's past life. She had a family and a home before him. It wasn't as if she was a poor orphan whom he adopted out of the kindness of his heart. Mary was stolen away from her home, from her loved ones, from humanity itself because of him. He wasn't her protector and in this light, maybe not even her friend. Lupin was her kidnapper.

These thoughts had been in unconscious existence the entire time Mary was in his care. Only now, with the appearance of her father did they come to the surface.

Yet Lupin knew that he could not escape this guilt. As long as they were far away from her former life, his conscience was clear. Yet now, with her family only a walk away, now when distance was most critical, they were tied down to Brighton. Mary was injured; they could not flee the city by foot. Buckbeak was injured; he couldn't leave the city by air. Thus, they had no means of escape. Little by little, the feeling of entrapment welled up within him, catching in his lungs as if he couldn't breathe. This feeling unsettled him. He felt like a wild animal locked in a steel cage.

As the clock ticked off the hours, Lupin and Sirius talked. Well, Sirius talked more so than Lupin. He tried to liven up his friend's dark mood, telling all the other happenings that he and Buckbeak went through over the summer.

In early September, Sirius told him, they headed over to Wales. Something about a group of Muggles spotting them flying one night and mistaking them for UFOs....

"And I opened my eyes to see all of these Muggles in goulashes and umbrellas, dripping wet, pointing their pocket lights at me and staring as if they'd seen Merlin's ghost..."

His voice was still soft and slightly hoarse - an impairment he must have developed from years in a cold, dank Azkaban cell - but he almost sounded like his old self. Yet Lupin stared off, lost in his own thoughts. Sirius's talking became static to him.

"So I got up from the river bank as did Buckbeak right behind me. Remember, both of us are covered in mud and reeds and it's pouring rain at 2 AM in the morning. So Buckbeak simply cocked his head at them and went, 'Squawk?' " Sirius shook his head, stifling his chuckles. "Those Muggles starting screaming and ran off, shouting 'Alien Invasion!' at the top of their lungs. It was ridiculous." Sirius glanced over at Lupin and sighed, his mirth faded. "Remus?"

Lupin snapped out of his reverie. "Sorry, what was it?"

"Nothing." Sirius gave an inward sigh and lowered his head. He ran a hand through his hair. "I know what you're thinking."

"You do?" Lupin turned his head, feigning calmness. He hadn't told Sirius about meeting up with Kevin, had he?

"That we wouldn't be in this much trouble if I hadn't shown up like I did today."

Oh.

"I wasn't thinking of that." This was true.

"None of this would have happened if we hadn't parted ways during the summer."

"It wouldn't have mattered," Lupin replied stiffly.

Sirius was probably going to say that it did matter, but then Lupin would have responded with a firm negative. So he kept quiet.

Lupin found that it was up to him to break the block in the conversation. "We both agreed it was for the best."

"You did, not me." Sirius said shortly.

"My own actions are my fault," Lupin said firmly. "I can take the consequences."

"And I can face up to my actions as well," Sirius retorted, "and what I did was let my friend go when I should have known that something was wrong."

"Don't blame yourself for things you didn't know."

"And that's the root of it. I should have known!"

Both were silenced again. Lupin shifted in his seat until both faced away from each other.

"Fine. Perhaps I'm expecting too much too soon," Sirius admitted abruptly. "After being left to rot in prison for over a decade, I've been cut out of the loop quite a bit."

So that's how he felt. "It wasn't as if I didn't trust you, Sirius," Lupin explained sincerely. "I just don't need anyone to gloss over my problems, or to pat me on the back and say that it's all going to be better. I don't need pity."

"Of course, Remus," Sirius said dryly. "Whatever you say."

The tension that they created before Lupin went out returned with double force. But before either one of them could say another word, a stirring came from the bed. Mary's position moved slightly, her small face turning towards them.

"Hey," Sirius pointed out. Lupin hushed him and pulled his chair closer to the bed.

The girl's eyelids flickered open and a soft groan escaped her lips. Her eyed opened fully and focus on them. "Remmy...?"

"I'm here," he replied gently. "You had been through a lot today. How do you feel?"

"I dunno..." Her sleepy eye wandered to gaze at her surroundings. "Where are we?"

"We're in your castle by the sea," he told her. "Her Majesty. Isn't it beautiful?"

Mary couldn't answer. She groaned louder and tried to sit up, only to buckle with pain. She fell back onto the bed, gasping. Lupin bit his lip. "My leg hurts," she said in a scratchy voice. "My arm hurts too. A lot."

"Yes, it was quite an accident. You want me to take a look at your arm?"

Mary nodded slowly, still only half-awake. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes. "Shhhhh." Lupin reached over and carefully took her wrist, loosening the terrycloth towel around it. "I went to the store," he told her. "Got some medicine for you to take to help make you feel better."

She nodded. It was then she noticed Sirius. "W-who's he?"

"Only a friend," Lupin replied. "Say hello to Sirius. Sirius?"

Sirius lifted up his hand and waggled his fingers at her. "Uh, hello."

"Hi." She paused. "Are you a werewolf too?"

"Unfortunately, I don't have that privilege," Sirius answered friendly, "I'm only a convict on the run."

"Oh." Mary didn't know how to respond to that, the humor lost to her. She shifted herself slowly away from the side of the bed.

"But I'm harmless, really," Sirius said hastily.

She nodded politely but averted her gaze away from him.

Lupin brought the salve out and rubbed it over her wrist. He picked up a fresh roll of cloth bandage that he brought and tore off the cellophane wrapping. He was wrapping her wrist when she asked, "Did we get the man?"

"What?" he asked.

"The man who was outside. That was gonna get us."

Sirius glanced at Lupin, but he calmly went on, "Yes, we certainly did. You managed to scare that intruder out of his wits. He ran off screaming."

"He did?"

"But not until I got a chance to tackle him into the sand for a bit. Must have surprised him. We got into a terrible fight." He pressed against the joint. "Does it hurt when I do this?"

"Not really. So you punched him and stuff?" Mary was becoming more alert now, sitting up without cringing.

"Oh yes." Lupin tucked the bandage in and took a boxer pose. "I gave him one to the left smack in the jaw," he said, imitating his swing.

"And it was a killer blow too," Sirius added.

"Yes, it must have hurt him quite a bit," Lupin, continued. "But he got a few good shots in too. I dodged to the right, then to the left, and then I gave a low kick and tripped him up like this." He got up from his seat, gave a one-two punch, then a low kick. "Yet he pulled me down with him in a headlock." Lupin pretended a third arm was pulling him down by the neck and he hit the floor. "And then I gave him a kick in the side, and he flipped me over and pulled my arm over behind my back-" He demonstrated, which made him look like he was having spasms on the ground than wrestling an invisible foe. As a result, Sirius was giving Lupin the oddest expression, a mix between a blank stare and unexpected bewilderment.

But Mary's eyes shone as she got into the story. "But of course you fought him off, right?" she said.

"Oh, he was right about to knock me out," Lupin affirmed. "He got me caught with my hands behind my back and threatened to smother me in the sand. But you know what I said?"

"What?"

Lupin looked up at her from his tangle on the floor. "Well, I told him," he said seriously, " 'I have to warn you, sir. If you dare pluck a hair from my head, that wild pup you saw inside that shack there will come bounding after you and rip your throat out.' "

"And he believed that?" Mary said excitedly.

"Every word," he confided. "As soon as I said that, he grew a white as a sheet, let me go, and hightailed it out of there!" He jumped to his feet and fixed up his clothing. "I wouldn't know what I'd do without you."

"You helped me too," she said. "I couldn't really tear the man's throat out, because I got hurt."

"But you were unbelievably brave," Lupin said. "I couldn't have been that brave when I was your age."

Mary was practically beaming, almost forgetting her pain.

"Could you get that medicine, Sirius?" he asked.

"Sure." Sirius recovered from Lupin's change of attitude. He reached into the paper bag on the floor that was filled with the medical supplies and took out the bottle. Taking that and a plastic spoon, he offered them to Lupin.

"Thank you." Lupin read the label on the bottle for the twentieth time. "One teaspoon," he said to himself, then opened the bottle. He poured out the allotted liquid onto a spoon and gave it to her. Mary swallowed quickly, and then wrinkled her nose. "It tastes bad," she said.

"Here." He handed her a cup of water. "You hungry?" he asked.

"A little bit."

"I'll get something for you then." Lupin got up from his seat. "Just rest now." He tucked the blanket in more.

Sirius rose as well. "I'll need to check up on Buckbeak," he said. "Do you mind?"

Lupin checked with Mary. She gave a tired nod. Already, she seemed ready to fall back asleep; she didn't even bother to ask who Buckbeak was.

"We won't take long," Lupin told her.

When the two were in the hall, Sirius observed aloud, "You act different with the girl."

"I do?"

"Yeah." He bypassed Lupin on the stairwell. "You're really fond of her, aren't you?"

"Of course. She's my pup." Lupin felt a sunken feeling deep in his heart. In the back of his mind, a wicked conscience whispered, She's your pup, but you are not her father.

***

Parsons had slept barely four hours. He had woken up with a start at his desk at eight o' clock AM. Twelve hours later proved that little sleep didn't affect his work. There was no significance of this nap, really, except for this dream that wouldn't go away. This vision that had been plaguing his nights for a little less than a week now, ever since the Safehouse sweep. That damned she-wolf wouldn't leave him alone, not even during the night.

For during then he had the strangest dreams. That wolf, Claire de Chien-Loup, would be locked up in a cage or a cell or a prison of some sort - the backdrop always changed. She would be waiting for him. Parsons, dark, sinister, and dressed in uniform would come in and attack her. Pinning her to the ground, tearing off her clothes, killing her while loving her....

He wouldn't call them nightmares, but that was only because he was never frightened of those dreams, but found pleasure in them. The hurt, the abuse, the screams - it was all graphically realistic. He didn't know why he found it all so provocative. A laconic, dispassionate man by choice and standard all his life, these sudden images were both appalling yet appealing. To assault the woman who despised him, to provoke hatred greater than before, to shame and embarrass her for his entertainment - this was what he wanted. And during that fateful interrogation that was what he almost accomplished. The only thing that knocked some sense into him was that this was not a fulfillment of some twisted fantasy, but strict reality, and he was about to commit sodomy. He believed that raping a werewolf would be equivalent to making love to a stray dog. He only stopped not because of some inner righteousness, but because of some inner wretchedness.

Even now, he had sent her away immediately, locked up in a cell similar to one in his nocturnal fancies. Part of him never wanted to see her again; the other half wanted to finish the job. These ambivalent confused him. This was a situation his rigid mind could barely cope with.

In the end, it can be noted that what a man enjoys says a lot about his soul.

But that was the least of his problems. A more solid, materialistic situation came up: his job. He preoccupied his mind with the second problem because he feared tackling the other. He pushed it in the back of his mind. He wouldn't think about it while awake. While asleep was another matter.

As of then, Parsons was pacing his office in silent rage, in a state of complete agitation. He couldn't believe it. He absolutely couldn't believe it. He, Roger Parsons - ten-year veteran at the Registry of Magical Creatures - lead investigator in over 80 cases - one of the most respected expert in the field of werewolves - had been booted off the Havenshire case. Additionally, he was threatened to be removed from the Ianikit case as well. What did Parsons ever do wrong? Nothing! He was only doing his job!

Less than an hour ago, his supervisor had barged into his office, shouting so loud the windows shook. He couldn't believe the melodramatic stunt Parsons pulled at the press conference! What was Parsons trying to do, get them all in hot water with the Ministry? Start another spree of lycanthrope hate crimes? Stir the people into absolute panic??

Parsons had a defense. The public had a right to know what was going on. They suspected the worst already; you need to maintain good relations with the public. Face the facts, sir. A wolf attacks a girl two months ago. It's everywhere in the Muggle papers. Some reporter from the Daily Prophet gets word and puts in a brief mention of it that day. Guess what? RMC becomes swamped with calls, sir. Yet we don't say a word. Rumors spread about a cover-up. Reporters harass the Registry for weeks on end. Suddenly, the Havenshire case is given to us from the Department of Mysteries. The news hounds launch their attack. The public is stirring. Rumors grow. People start panicking. And now this: five officers massacred by a werewolf. There has to be a breaking point for the public, sir. If we didn't tell them now, more might be killed sir. The public has to be on guard.

His supervisor agreed to this, true. But still, Parsons breached the line of authority. He acted selfishly and in an irresponsible manner. There was no other choice. He would be kicked off the Havenshire case assignment immediately and new investigators will be assigned to work on it. Any further and he would be relieved from duty. "Watch your step, agent," was the closing remark. "We're here to protect the wizards and the creatures of Great Britain. Don't forget that."

So Parsons was going to be kicked off the Havenshire case. At the moment, his brain became a boiling furnace. Don't forget that, his foot! Not responsible? He was being responsible! It was only the public's right to know! He didn't need to be told what to do! The Havenshire case was his case and he could do whatever he felt like with it!

The door to his office opened. Parsons saw thin air. A sudden whoosh! revealed an imposing figure in the doorway. "Croaker," he said. "What a surprise."

The Unspeakable walked into the room with a swaggering step. "I came to see how you're handling things," he said smoothly. He immediately took a seat across from Parsons' desk. "Don't mind if I do," he added, propping his feet up.

Parsons stiffened and narrowed his eyes at the man lounging in front of him. Such rudeness! "Isn't it a breach against conduct for you to just waltz in here?" he said stiffly. "I'm busy."

"Aw, I won't be long, Roger," Croaker, scratched the back of his head casually. "Heard you got creamed by your boss about Havenshire."

"Yes, I had, Croaker." Parsons tried not to speak too gratingly. But Croaker had touched a nerve in him, and he was already mad. "I wouldn't like to talk about it at the moment."

"You did have a bad sense of timing when you announced it, though. No offense, but it was a real jackass move." Croaker had tucked his hands behind his head and was leaning back in his chair. Getting comfortable in his office was not a sign indicating quick departure.

"And what are you doing here then? Do you want to observe my humiliation?" Parsons frowned slightly to himself. If he hated anything about the Ministry it was the insufferable higher officials. Especially higher officials who were supposedly top-secret. Other characters from the Department of Mysteries were quite shady, but Croaker was known to stick his nose into other departments just for his personal amusement. He probably already knew all the going-ons already, though; after all, he was the undercover right hand to Cornelius Fudge himself.

Not to say that this arrogance Croaker obviously displayed was void within Parsons' own character. The arrogant are hypocrites; they despise in others what they do not see in themselves. And, in accordance with this thought in human nature, it would be safe to say that Parsons did not have the kindest thoughts toward this Unspeakable. Croaker, thinking he was the greatest Ministry official who ever lived, was oblivious to the dislike.

Parsons tapped his foot against the floor. "Don't you have any... covert operations you should be getting to?" he inquired, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.

The front chair legs slammed to the ground as Croaker whipped his boots off the desk. "Hey, Lupin was mine to bag before I got him taken away from me," he said sharply. "I know how you feel."

"Got taken away from you?" Parsons asked. "This case rightfully belongs with my department."

"I was handling it too, and doing a damn good job of it," Croaker fired. "Yet I fouled up at the Tournament and got my head chewed off by Fudge for that!" He was clearly upset by the loss of this case. "When he found out that it was Lupin disguised as Ianikit, he went wild. Said that Lupin was enough of a threat from what happened at Hogwarts last summer and didn't want the wolf snooping around there again. Then Fudge told me that I wasn't managing the case efficiently enough and so it was put under the Registry's complete authority."

"Imagine that," Parsons said dryly. "I'm sure that you have other matters to attend to, though." He opened the door and gestured with an open palm.

"You have no idea what you're getting into," Croaker said, ignoring the hint. "Believe me, I've worked for the RMC once years ago, and I know you probably think you've handled some big things..."

Parsons tensed up. "You have no authority to be in my office."

"Look here, Roger, these werewolves are a much bigger threat than you think-"

"Don't act like if I don't know," Parsons snapped. He eschewed all niceties now. "Leave, Croaker."

"I have a proposal to make with you first." Croaker got up to his feet and prepared to depart. "Let me tell you a few things," he said, staring Parsons down at the doorway. He reached over and shut the door closed. "Maintaining peaceful relations with these beasts has been intense. Resistance has been building up for years now, and I'm not talking about in this country alone. The concerns go up to the International Confederation of Wizards. They're talking about extremist parties down in the Balkans. They're talking about rebels sprouting up in Eastern Europe stockpiling Muggle weapons. Who knows, one could be hatching right here in the UK."

"Nothing I'm not aware about," Parsons retorted.

"You know what I think?" Croaker said. He was on a roll now; he wouldn't go until he had his say. "I think we should do the same thing that the Americans did with their wolves. Round them all up and relocate them to where they're not a threat. They shouldn't be free to live all around Europe; that's how all this trouble started up, when they could meet together."

"And what does all this have to do with me now?" Parsons snapped. "I'm not allowed to go near the Havenshire case."

"Neither am I." Croaker agreed. "But I'm getting to the point here. I have a gut feeling that Lupin is helping these rebels out. If he slips through our fingers, then the UK wolves will get magic. Five officers are dead and plenty more will die if we don't get that wolf soon."

"We?"

"I propose that we bag Lupin together."

If Parsons had a more easy-going temperament, he would have laughed. "How can you ask this?" he negated. "We're both on the edge already. I'm a hairsbreadth away from getting reprimanded. Possibly demoted."

"So am I. Yet it's a risk I'm willing to take. I don't want to be snubbed when I came so close to getting to case finished myself. And I know you feel the same. We have the same aims, and I can only do some much by myself."

Parsons paused as if absorbing this information. Yet what he thought was that Croaker didn't need any help at all; he just wanted an underling to order about. And Parsons was not the underling type. "How do you expect us to get the men needed for the job?" he questioned. "We can't request officers to help us."

"We'll do it ourselves."

"Impossible!" Parsons scoffed. "Overseas involvement is already needed for Havenshire. The wolf's fled to America."

"How do you know? Just because it said in the interrogation doesn't mean he actually made it there."

"Well, if you want to be sent to the Centaur Office, then I'm fine with that. However, I like my job." Parsons opened the door again. "Do what you want, Croaker, but leave me out of it."

The Unspeakable was going to say something else, but the look in Parsons' eye warned him not to. "You just missed a great opportunity," he said gruffly, then pushed his way past the RMC officer and left down the hall. Even though the hallways were brightly lit, within moments, he seemed to have vanished into thin air. One of the gloated skills an Unspeakable had - that is, full use of Invisibility cloaks.

Parsons shut the door securely and sat down at his desk, slightly disgruntled. If the man wanted to go on a wild unicorn chase, then fine with him. At least he wasn't that obsessive over his cases...

What a lie.

A conference mirror by the sidewall blinked. Parsons waved a hand at it and Yoshimoro appeared. "Roger, Ianikit's going to arraigned at Nemesis in an hour. We have to be there."

He lifted his head. "Does the Council request a report?"

"Already done. The Committee's practically decided already. The case is in the bag." Yoshimoro gave a look of concern. "Are you all right? You look tired."

He ignored the question. "I'll be there in twenty minutes," he told her.

Chapter 34

A knock on the door.

"Kevin?"

"Come in."

The door creaked open. Janet peered around to see her husband with a book laid out in front of him. They were the only ones in the house, since both Rachel and her husband were at work during the day. One was a residential ER doctor, the other a carpenter two towns away. "Brought you something." She stepped into the room carrying a steaming mug.

"Thank you, dear." Kevin glanced over his shoulder and gave a wan smile. He cleared a spot on the table and took the mug from his wife. Setting it down, he then offered her a chance to see what he was working on.

The room they were in was originally his sister's old sewing room, but now it had been re-vamped into a temporary office of sorts. The piles of cloth and old sewing machine had been pushed into the overstuffed closet while the scarred, rickety table remained where it was, shoved up against the far right corner. A bare window gave the table occupant a fine view of the rest of the neighborhood, and perhaps a slice of the shore as well, if looked at from a certain angle.

A dry cough escaped her throat. "It's terrible in here," she said. "Why don't you dust sometime?" She flicked on the wall switch. "And turn on the light as well. It gets dark early in December."

Kevin gave a vague nod. "I've been checking the records," he said to her. "Remember J.C. Hammond?"

Janet nodded. "Of course I do."

A week after the Havenshire attack a wealthy businessman named J.C. Hammond had contacted them through telephone with his sincere condolences about Mary. He claimed to be a resident near their village and the owner of the said rabid timber wolf. Timber wolves not being native to England, that explanation made sense. Distraught about their daughter's death, he offered to pay for the funeral service. The Grishams accepted. However, J.C. Hammond himself never showed up for the funeral, nor did he ever make contact with them after the call. Kevin found it obviously suspicious. Janet thought that the man felt guilty enough already and didn't want to become too involved.

"Well, I tried contacting him through telegram the other day. I asked the funeral director where he sent the bill to and received the address that way."

Janet crossed her arms. She wasn't very enthusiastic about the Reverend spending all his time locked up in this room. They came here to forget about their problems for a while, to try and take a break from the world before starting anew. Not to say that life without their daughter was nothing more than a lifestyle adjustment. A piece of them died with her. But by now Janet realized that Mary wouldn't want them to grieve forever. She was trying to move on. Recently, she got a teaching job as a teacher's assistant at a primary school in town and would start work after the new year.

Yet Kevin wouldn't let her go. Ironic, considering that because of his occupation, he would be the one with the most faith about Mary's spirit being laid to rest. But Kevin.... he was the one who believed that there was some kind of - oh, it was crazy to say - conspiracy going on. He told her once, "I would be happy if I knew she had died, Janet. She's still alive, and they're hiding her from us." When she asked, "Who's they?" he would only reply with, "That's what I'm trying to find out."

This conspiracy theory motivated him to go investigate the Havenshire attack himself. He got files on what the researchers at the Bowingburg Center for Animal Research found at the site, and the tests they ran. He spent his days there talking with the head veterinarian and head genetic scientist about how rabies affected their victims and what exactly did the DNA testing mean. He rarely left the house other than to do these tasks, and then never left this very room, not even to eat or sleep. A sleeping bag was rolled up underneath the table, but from the looks of it, Kevin went for very long periods without sleep.

Kevin called it being focused on the truth. Janet thought he was going through extreme denial and she worried profusely about him. Only a few days ago did she succeed in persuading him to leave the house to relax, and take his mind off Havenshire. He claimed to have done enough relaxing after a couple hours and locked himself back inside. "Name one worthwhile thing you did then," Janet had challenged.

"I set out some letters for Rachel and gave someone a lift into town," he had said in defense.

She now asked a different question. "Did he answer back?"

Kevin pointed out a particular line in the stack of papers. "It came back to me the other day while I was at the post office."

"Why?"

"J.C. Hammond doesn't live at that address."

"What do you mean? Then how could he have paid for the bills if they weren't sent to that address?"

"I know. I called the director again and she told me that's the address they were given. And the bills were paid for, in cash, the very next day."

"Kevin, please don't bother the poor gentleman. He's done enough for us already." In truth, for once, her husband was beginning to make sense.

"You want to see something else?" He fished out a file. "It's a copy of the testing they ran on the fur and blood samples from the site," he said. He flipped open the cover and leafed through a couple papers. "Here, here look at this," he said, offering up a photocopied sheet. "Look at the conclusion." He pointed to a highlighted section. "Read this."

She did. " 'The chromosome count off.... hypothesis that this creature may be a hybrid, but not of the dog-wolf type.... evidence of human DNA not associated with the victim at the site... This DNA is not separate from the wolf DNA, but rather a combination of the two... High alcohol levels were also found...' " She raised her eyes, bewildered. "Kevin, what does this mean?"

"That initially, the DNA found at the site was not a wolf's. The results were clear enough." He gestured to the rest of the lab results. " However, if you look at this..." Another file was presented. "This was a second testing of the DNA. No human DNA was found that time around and so the human-wolf theory was thrown out."

"And what does this all mean?" All this new information scared her. She didn't want to believe it.

"It means that whatever killed our daughter wasn't a wolf," he answered. "And someone tried to cover it up."

Janet paused for a moment in shock. "Ridiculous," she whispered.

"It's not," he said.

"They did the testing over and said so themselves that they made a mistake. It's just simply, simply-" she grasped about for a word, "-mad to think otherwise!" she finally said.

"I believe the first test," Kevin avowed. "Then it all makes sense."

"What do you mean it makes sense?" Janet fumed. "That there's some monster roaming around the forest?"

"Well, what about a man who doesn't even exist?" Her husband fired back. "Who actually wants to own a timber wolf in the first place for God's sake?"

"He was from the Northwest Territory," Janet compromised. "He told us on the phone, remember? The wolf's mother was shot on their property and he adopted a pup which he raised and brought over here. There were some complications with customs and they must have forgot-"

"Horsefeathers!" Kevin burst out, rising from his seat. "I tried looking him up. I tried finding him. He's not in the phone book or his town's directory. I called the number I got and the line's disconnected. I had the police search any sort of past record and there is none. Janet, there is no trace of him at all!"

"So?" Janet let her hands fall to her side and clenched her fists. "What kind of idea are you thinking up then?" she asked, trying to retain steadiness. She was shaking.

"I think," he explained, "that this was all a cover-up. It was no rabid wolf who attacked our daughter." He hesitated before saying the next sentence. "I think... she was attacked by a werewolf."

This stunned Janet into silence for a full minute. When she finally responded, it was in the form of a choked laugh. "You-" she spluttered, "you believe that?"

Kevin sighed. "Yes," he said softly. "I do." Janet turned away from him. He reached out and touched her shoulder. "Don't think I'm crazy, Janet," he said. He stared at her, trying to meet her gaze, yet his wife wouldn't face him. "That woman..." They both knew whom he was referring too. The lady who changed their lives when she came to their church and put a bullet into her head two years ago. They never spoke her name out loud; it was like a sacrilege. Names familiarized you with a person. They refused to speak her name before because they were afraid to think of her.

Janet broke that unspoken rule. "Her name was Elyse," she said hoarsely.

"Elyse...." Kevin said slowly. "Yes, Elyse." He cleared his throat. His voice soon became barely audible. "In the church.... Elyse told me many things that day, Janet, before she killed herself. Some things I could not believe then, but I can believe now."

Janet felt her pulse stiffen. "What things?"

"How she was alienated as a child and branded as an outcast by her village. How she spent her years wandering alone and spent nights selling her body for money to live. How she coped with all of the pain and suffering that she went through every month when the moon was at its fullest." Kevin paused. "She told me that she was a werewolf."

Her face was slightly pale before, but at those words she went completely pallid. "Impossible..." she murmured.

"She showed me the bite. It was real," he added. "Later, her autopsy report was all over the news... That was a silver bullet in her head, Janet. Don't you remember?"

Janet pretended she didn't hear that. "Was that why you locked yourself upstairs afterwards? Was that why you never talked to anyone about it?" she questioned flatly. Yet her voice cracked at the next question. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Kevin turned her around, gently, carefully. "I was so confused afterwards," he whispered. "I didn't know what to make of it. I thought she was insane."

Janet took his hand in hers. She was shaking her head, her eyes filling with tears and moving back and forth as if trying to find a way out of this conversation. Then they settled on his face. "Don't do this to me, Kevin," she said fearfully. She squeezed his hand desperately. "Please..."

"You... you don't believe me?"

"I..." Her knees buckled from under her and Janet fell weakly against him. Kevin wrapped his free arm around her. He raised her other hand to his lips, kissed it wholeheartedly and pressed it against his chest as if establishing a lifeline. For a long time they stayed in this position, husband and wife, lost in their own confusion.

Janet refused to sob. The tears welled up in her eyes but she forced them down, along with the lump in his throat. A small hiccupping sound came as a result - half a tear and half a sob. God, she couldn't start believing it! Kevin wasn't going to stop, was he? Circumstances were already hard on them already. Janet was trying to move on and he was pulling them back with this- this nonsense! She bit her lower lip. "Rachel's worried about you," she said into his shoulder. Kevin eased his grip. "We both are."

"Worried about what?"

"About how you're been acting. We..." Janet took a breath and backed out of their embrace. "We want you to see someone."

"See someone?" he repeated blankly.

"A grief counselor. Rachel knows one in Slough. He's highly recommended."

"You... and Rachel... want me to see a grief counselor?"

"He's more of a therapist. He can help."

The Reverend blinked. "A therapist."

"I want us to go see him. Together." Janet lapsed into silence.

Kevin turned back to his papers, letting his hands hover over them as if calculating gold. He glanced out the window but saw nothing. His shoulders slumped forward and he seated himself back down. Meticulously he gathered up his papers back into their organized piles. Then he spoke. "Thank you again for the tea," he said solemnly. "That will be all."

"But Kevin-" she stopped herself. "Will you be down for supper?" she asked instead.

"Maybe." Kevin cleaned his glasses against his flannel shirtsleeve. He got a book out titled Urban Dangers: When Wild Animals Move into Civilization and opened to a book marked page. Soon, he busied himself with the information within, ignoring her presence.

Janet sighed and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

***

Now the town of Brighton had its own newspaper called the Argus. This newspaper provided everything from local news to weather to school sport scores. A small section in the Opinions page of this newspaper was reserved for the town gossip, Sheila Kibitzer. How she got a job working for the paper no one really knew, because she had never written anything worthwhile. The only article of any value that sprouted from her pen was an extensive story about how the town clerk discovered his wife with the mailman one Sunday afternoon. Ms. Kibitzer had the skill of rooting up information like that.

If any wizard were to meet her, they would remark that she had to be related to Rita Skeeter.

Using this nosy talent of hers, Ms. Kibitzer uprooted a surprising fact about Rachel Ford's brother. The minister had taken a sabbatical from his job and moved into town with his wife a couple months ago. Their reasons from this move stemmed from the death of their only daughter, who was attacked by a timber wolf in October. Those circumstances were quite enough to get Ms. Kibitzer's curiosity piqued.

As a result, she suddenly had the need to "invite her good friend Rachel down to tea." This was Ms. Kibitzer's usual way to get the latest scoop on something: corner the victim and then pester them until the truth came out. Rachel managed to fudge her way out of this gossip's trap, but Janet fell for it. Being a newcomer to Brighton, she was naive to Ms. Kibitzer's tricks.

This fateful teatime occurred the day after Janet's confrontation with her husband. And, through means mysterious to all who do not gossip, Ms. Kibitzer managed to hear that Kevin Grisham suspected that a werewolf was the cause of Mary's death. Needless to say, she had a field day.

The following week, a story came out in The Argus about the minister from Havenshire and his obsession with werewolves. The only line worthy of quoting from this superfluous article is this: "It is a tragedy to lose a child, but one must wonder how far a person should go to answer the question, 'Why?' Reverend Kevin Grisham looks upwards, yet not to the heavens, but to the moon."

This article was later clipped out and sent by owl to the Registry of Magical Creatures by a wizard informant. But it was Croaker who got hold of it first.

***

The date was now the eleventh of December. Four days before the next full moon. By that time, the tensions between Lupin and Sirius had faded away, mostly since both had to care for Mary. Time had been kind to her as well. Her wrist was completely healed. She could sit up in bed, and stay awake for a few hours before becoming tired. At first, Lupin had kept her on a liquid-based diet, but now she was beginning to eat more solid foods. The only concern he had about her was that her leg wasn't getting any better. Her calf and shin had become beet red, and Mary couldn't move the leg without igniting sharp spasms of pain. Lupin kept the wound clean and covered, hoping that it wouldn't become gangrene.

Mary was getting a bit stronger day by day, and he hoped that soon, she would be able to be strong enough for travel. She will be after the full moon, he assured himself.

That evening he had a special surprise for her.

"Where are we going?" Mary asked as Lupin lifted her from the bed. Since she had limited use of her legs, he carried her sideways like a baby, careful not to handle her injured leg too roughly.

"Just close your eyes," he told her.

She did as he said. He took two steps toward the stairs, and then stopped. "You're peeking," he accused playfully.

"I'm not!" Mary clenched her eyes shut just to prove him wrong. "See?"

Lupin cracked a small smile, and then descended the steps. "You know Buckbeak?"

"That bird the chicken man has?" That was Mary's recent nickname for Sirius; the proper title was "Sirius the world-famous chicken thief." The name was a running joke that sprung out of a teasing match between the three of them about a week ago. Mary had asked why Sirius had joined them and Lupin had covered quickly with, "He's running from the police too." When she asked why, Sirius came up with the most random excuse possible: that he was a wanted chicken thief who stole a prize rooster from a farmer in Wales. Thus, he became a labeled as the "the chicken man" by Mary. Lupin changed it to the more dignified title of "world-famous chicken thief." Sirius bore the name with abashed pride.

"Yes," Lupin answered. "But I have to tell you something."

"What?" Her eyes were still shut. He teetered unsteadily on a step and she grabbed his neck for support.

"Buckbeak isn't a bird."

"Then what is he?"

"That's the surprise."

Mary had been confined to the master bedroom during their stay at her Majesty. She had only seen the upstairs portion of the house, never the lower floor. Since Buckbeak resided on the ground floor, the two never met. Occasionally when he would call out, Sirius explained to her that he was a pet bird. Tonight, Lupin wanted to introduce the hippogriff to her.

They had reached the bottom of the steps. Lupin brought her into the living room. "Now don't be scared," he advised. "He may look a bit intimidating, but he's quite friendly."

"I promise I won't be scared."

"All right then." He gingerly set her sideways on the parlor sofa, propping her legs up with cushions. Gesturing to Sirius, Lupin motioned for him to lead Buckbeak into the room. The hippogriff's injuries had disappeared over the past few days. Since then, he had been restless for a chance to spread his wings. Sirius escorted Buckbeak into the room with a hand on his neck.

Lupin whispered in her ear, "Open your eyes."

Mary did and let out an immediate gasp. She stared at Buckbeak, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Lupin could practically feel her surprise and wonderment. She leaned toward the animal and Lupin caught her before she could tumble off the narrow sofa. She grasped the armrest to straighten herself up. "What- what is that?" she said softly.

"He's a hippogriff." Lupin kneeled down by her. "See that? The front part of an eagle and the hind part of a horse. Look at how the feathers fuse into fur where the neck and the chest meet. Look at the fine, silky tail. And that wingspan!" Mary looked dumbly, too astonished for words.

Buckbeak, flattered by such attention, stared down at the girl with the same curiosity. Mary's hand reached up towards him. The hippogriff snorted loudly, backing up a few steps. "Whoa, boy," Sirius reassured. "She just wants to take a look."

"Do you want to pet him?" Lupin asked.

"Just a little."

Sirius coaxed Buckbeak to move closer. "Come on, old boy, come on." Buckbeak looked down at Mary with a haughty gleam in his eye. "Just give him a little bow," he told Mary.

She hesitated, and then did an awkward dip. Buckbeak stared down at her as if deciding whether that bow earned his respect or not.

"Don't be a snob now," Sirius said. Buckbeak turned his head toward him and gave an indignant "Squawk!" as if saying; "I can be a snob if I want to!" However, he bent his front legs forward and bowed in turn. Mary was acceptable.

Lupin nudged her shoulder. "Go ahead."

Mary pursed her lips together worriedly, but tried again. This time, Buckbeak moved forward and placed his beak underneath her hand. Mary gasped, then smiled with pleasure as she stroked the hippogriff lightly. Lupin reflected her happiness, smiled proudly with his arms crossed. "Do you like him?"

"He's... he's simply lovely!" she breathed.

At her reaction, Buckbeak puffed his chest out and came closer so Mary could scratch the feathers on his head.

"It's so soft!" she squealed joyfully. "Like a cloud!" She stroked the spot right between his eyes, and Buckbeak emitted a content growl, similar to a cat's purr. "You're the most handsomest hippogriff I've ever seen!"

The hippogriff got even smugger. He straightened up his posture and flicked his tail up high.

"Oh, give me a break," Sirius muttered. "You're the only hippogriff she's ever seen. Ow!" That cry had emerged when Buckbeak had stomped on his toes with a hind leg. Sirius clutched his foot and began hopping around the room. "What was that for?" he cried.

Buckbeak snapped his jaws at him then turned back to Mary for some more praise and petting. Lupin chuckled under his breath.

Sirius gave a snort similar to Buckbeak's earlier one. "Are we going to take them out?" he asked.

"Out?" Mary latched onto the word hopefully.

"It's cold." Lupin went to the parlor window and pulled back the curtain. A freezing rain had come earlier that week, along with a powdering of snow. The result was an abandoned night street coated with a thin layer of icy slush. The sky was pitch dark, lighted only by the half-full moon. "I did plan for a quick ride, though...."

"A ride?" she exclaimed excitedly. "I can ride him?"

"You have to bundle up first." He lifted up several blankets and robes. "I'll help you dress."

In a matter of minutes, Mary was ready. She snaked her way into the mass of robes that she was offered; Lupin actually dumped out her entire Safehouse wardrobe and some of his to dress her. After than came a couple thick blankets and a little green cap for her head.

"I'm hot!" she gasped. "Are you sure I have to wear all this, Remmy?" Her skinny limbs were bundled up so heavily that she could barely move. When she tried, she rolled off the seat cushions and onto the floor. "Oof!"

"I might have overdone it a bit," he agreed. He took off a robe and declared her ready to go out. Sirius and he put on extra clothes themselves for the freezing outdoor temperatures.

"Everything all set?" Lupin asked. He picked up her again in his arms.

"You sure its safe enough?" Sirius wondered.

"It's almost ten o'clock," he said. "I don't think anyone would be around..."

The group left through and front door and came to the street. All around them were darkened houses. Above them was the inky black sky. With all this darkness and desolation around them, it seemed as if they were the only ones in the world. Lupin held Mary even tighter to him. The frigid air was intense; already he felt his bare fingers turning numb.

"Just a quick ride," he murmured to himself. Wispy clouds of vapor hovered over his mouth as he spoke.

Buckbeak seemed the most comfortable in this atmosphere; his heavy covering of fur and feathers protected him. Now that he was outside, Buckbeak spread out his great wings and flapped them. He stretched his legs and pranced about on the street, stretching the kinks out of his body. His back hooves hit against the frozen puddles in the road, unleashing loud, cracking sounds into the night.

"Hey, boy, get over here!" Sirius called. He tried to be quiet, but his voice traveled easily. Winter air was a great sound conductor.

Buckbeak rolled his neck around in a luxurious stretch and trotted over. His hoof beats became highlighted against the asphalt.

Sirius had a halter in his hand and slipped the tattered rope over the hippogriff's head. "Go easy with Remus," he said. "He's a first-time flyer." Then, he offered the reins to Lupin. "You sure you're ready for this?"

"I think so." Lupin handed Mary over to him while he bowed before the hippogriff. Buckbeak, a willing accomplice, bowed instantly. After, Lupin mounted the animal, and then hoisted the girl to sit sideways in front of him. They were positioned so that Lupin straddled the hippogriff, while Mary was tucked in between him and Buckbeak's neck. Lupin's arms were on either side of her, holding onto the rope. "Just grab onto the halter," he instructed. Mary took the robe and snuggled in closer to Lupin.

"Got it?"

"Yup."

"Don't fly too high," Sirius advised. "Go over to the beach where you won't be seen."

"We won't be long." Lupin got a good grip on the reins, and then squeezed his knees against Buckbeak's sides. The hippogriff flicked his tail in anticipation before launching himself into the winter night.

The take off was so forceful and sudden that both he and Mary jumped in their seats. The horizon swung at an angle as the hippogriff rose to a higher altitude. Mary gave a cry and wrapped both arms around the large, feathery neck. Lupin, startled, held on to her. On either side of them, Buckbeak's gray wings flapped powerfully, pumping up and down as he rose higher. Lupin glanced over the hippogriff's wing to see Sirius watching them down below.

"Pull back on the reins!" he shouted, making the same motion with his hands.

Lupin pulled back and Buckbeak steadied himself. He checked down beneath him again, but Sirius was now just a speck on the ground. The air around them was much colder and Mary shivered. "Um, let's go down lower," Lupin advised, steering Buckbeak down and toward the beach.

Now that his flying was more stable, Lupin took this time to observe their surroundings. The sky enveloped them in inky blackness and cold. Above, the silvery-white glow of the moon fell upon them, creating sheen off Buckbeak's gray coat. Below, the black waves pounded against the shore. Moonlight danced across the ocean surface, infusing the water with life.

As they flew, Lupin was amazed that he didn't feel as cold was he was before. With Buckbeak's warm fur and soft feathers, the winter air didn't affect them as much as he thought. The hippogriff's presence was as part of the ride as the scenery. His constant beating of his giant wings echoed through the still night; the rhythm of his body was like the rocking of a ship. Occasionally, those beautiful wings would brush up against them ever so slightly. The sensation was like being nudged by a stone hand gloved in velvet.

Mary was silent for the entire ride. She was in raptures, breathing slowly and staring all around. Her small, gloved hands clung to the rope and Buckbeak's plumage, but she wasn't plagued with the fear of falling. Lupin put the back of his hand against her cheek; it felt flushed and warm. "Are you enjoying this?" he asked.

She finally spoke in an awed whisper. "We're- we're really flying," she said, her voice at the height of child wonder. She didn't speak after that. But her comfortable form leaning against him said it all.

During this nocturnal sojourn, Lupin felt completely content; he was always happy when she was. And then he thought of the day after the full moon. When she became better, they could leave this town for good. With Buckbeak, they could go anywhere. Sirius once told him how he and Buckbeak had fled all the way to the jungles of Africa. Certainly not Africa, but they could go somewhere. They could hide out together. Perhaps leave for the mountains of Scotland so they could keep an eye on Harry. But, nevertheless, Lupin decided that he wanted to sever all chances of contact with the Grisham family. He wanted to forget them, and hoped... just a little.... that Mary would forget them too.

It was the first selfish thought he had in a long time.

Chapter 35

The next day, Lupin woke up to her weakly calling his name.

"Remmy..."

He stirred in bed and lifted his head from the covers. The house was large enough for all of them to have a separate bedroom, even though Lupin initially slept on the floor by Mary's bedside. Sirius had since then persuaded him to stop that practice. Now Lupin left his bedroom and entered hers.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I...I... just feel a little hot." she said softly.

He put a hand to her forehead. "My God, you're burning up!" A clichéd remark, but very true. He took a pitcher and a washcloth from the bed stand and made a wet compress to put on her forehead. Then, instinctively, he went through the medical supplies he bought before. Much of it was used up, but there was still some children's aspirin. He had the instructions memorized by now, and knew that the medicine took care of fevers as well.

"Swallow this," he offered.

Mary groaned - she couldn't lift her head from the pillow. So instead, Lupin poured the medicine down into her mouth and she swallowed. "Can... can you take the blanket off?" she asked.

How did that saying go? Starve a cold and sweat a fever? Or was it the other way around? Claire would know something about this... Lupin pushed the thought away. He couldn't get his hands on the Daily Prophet for weeks, though he had read the one Sirius had shown him when they first met. However, he suspected that his werewolf acquaintances from the Safehouse weren't doing well. But he couldn't think about them, not now.

"Okay," he said. "I have to check up on your leg anyhow." He loosened the blanket and revealed her wounded leg. The wound had grown worse. Now it was more than puffy and red, but the whole calf had actually swollen up. Little ribbons of purple and dark red outlined the small capillaries around the injury. He didn't know exactly what this meant, but he knew it wasn't good.

"Does it-" he started, brushing his finger against the top of her leg.

Mary cried out. "Don't touch it!" she gasped. "Just don't touch it!"

"Okay, I won't." Lupin shied his hands away from the spot. This really was bad.

Mary groaned again, tossing her head on the pillow. Her hair was soaking wet already, the beads of sweat rolling off her forehead.

"What's going on?" Sirius came into the room, scratching the back of his head. He yawned and scratched, brushing a hand through his hair. Lupin checked the bedside digital clock; it was twenty past eight.

"She developed a fever," he said. Moving away from the bed, he added in a whisper, "Her leg has become infected as well."

A shadow crossed his friend's face. "Infected? How bad is it?"

"Extremely." Lupin gestured to the exposed limb. "Mary," he addressed again, "where does it hurt exactly?"

"My head hurts..." she murmured, her eyes half-closed. Her breathing was labored; she could barely get the words out.

"Yes, that's because of the fever..." Lupin put a hand to on knee. "Does-"

"Yes...!" The answer was a grating moan of agony.

"All right..." Lupin bit his lower lip, afraid to touch her again.

"It.... it hurts all along my side," she whispered. Tears were dripping down her face. "I...I want to see Mama..." she whimpered.

A stab to his heart. Lupin flinched visibly, then smoothed over his reaction. "Shhhh..." he comforted, brushing her sweaty bangs off her forehead. "It'll all be better soon. Do you want something cold to drink?"

"I don't want anything to drink. I want to see Mama and Papa."

"I'll... I'll get some ice..." Lupin said gently, and then pulled Sirius out of the room with him. He shut the door behind them so she wouldn't overhear. "Sirius, do you have any idea what we need?"

"I do," Sirius replied in a loud whisper. "We have to take her to the hospital. We have no other choice-"

"Don't bring that up again!" Lupin replied harshly. He entered his bedroom to rummage through his briefcase. "I have half an hour left in this-" He lifted up the old canteen with the remains of the Polyjuice Potion out of the case. There used to be ninety minutes left, but he used up an hour last week on another shopping excursion. He stared down at the bottle. Thirty minutes was not a very long time; he'd have to use this wisely.

"But where are you going to go?" Sirius questioned.

"Starve a cold and sweat a fever," Lupin told him confidently. "You stay by Mary and keep her warm. Try to make her drink some water." He threw off his robes and grabbed his Muggle clothes.

"If you think you can bring a doctor here, you're crazy," Sirius said. "Things don't work like that nowadays. All of the doctors are at the hospitals."

"If I can find the medicine, we'll be fine," Lupin reasoned. "Muggles have medicines for everything, just like how we have spells for everything." Now dressed, he left the room, tucking the canteen into his jacket pocket.

"I can't believe this," Sirius muttered. "And you're suppose to be the sensible one!" He went after him down the stairs. "She doesn't need pills; she needs a surgeon to take that hunk of steel out of her leg!"

"And we're not in a position to get her that surgeon now, are we, Sirius?"

"Craw?" Buckbeak stuck his head out of the parlor doorframe, looking at them curiously.

"Mary's sick," Sirius explained.

Lupin headed out the door. "Remember to make her drink something!" he called over his shoulder.

The pale winter sun was rising over the horizon, greeting the world with its sterile haze. Lupin took to the sidewalks, avoiding the patches of ice and slush. He had to find a way to get Mary some medicine. God, he didn't even know what kind she needed. What did Muggles use for infections?

And even if he could find out what kind of medicine he would need, where would he get it? Lupin had a horrible feeling that no Muggle drugstore would have anything for something this serious. But where else can he go? Hospitals were something he didn't have in mind when coming to Brighton. Did this city even have its own hospital? If he was desperate - and indeed he was quite close - he could take her to the Muggle ER. Surely he could forge something that would hold until Mary got better. He was afraid to risk that. Okay, so if he did take her into the hospital, how was he going to get her out? It was only three days until the full moon - what if she changed while recuperating? God knows how much havoc could occur, with so many injured people there. Easy prey. So there was one other option...

Lupin sighed. He vowed not to meet up with him again, but now he had no choice. Maybe, if he played on Kevin's emotions right, he could get Kevin to buy the medicine for him. He knew "Toby" already, and the man had the sympathetic heart and the Muggle knowledge... My sister is sick, and you have to help her, Reverend Grisham! Lupin shook his head. He sounded like a two-faced con artist. And besides, Toby didn't know Kevin was a minister. Start again....

I have to tell you the truth. I-I don't have any parents... They died a long time ago.... Me and my sister, we ran away from the children's home... and now she's really sick... You have to help us, Mr. Grisham...

He turned the corner with his head bowed low, quickening his pace.

***

Ding-dong.

Kevin looked away from his book and pushed his glasses up. Who was that?

Ding-dong.

"Janet, are you going to get that?" he called, and then remembered that she was going out to do some early-morning Christmas shopping. He sighed and shut the book, making his way downstairs with it tucked under his arm. But really, who would visit them at this time? The paperboy? He ran back for his wallet, in case he had to pay for anything, and then came to the front door.

He checked through the peephole in the door. A total stranger dressed in a suit. How odd.

Kevin opened the door. "Hello," he said. "What can I do for you?"

The man was middle age, maybe a bit older. Gray hairs grew at his temples and his lined face was square and gruff, with a deep jaw line and a blunt nose. He had the build of an American football player and the stance of a soldier. The pinstriped suit he was wearing completely contrasted with his physique.

This tough-looking man broke into a friendly grin. "Hello," he said, taking Kevin's hand. "I'm not sure if you know me. I'm J.C. Hammond."

***

Lupin watched aghast as Kevin let Croaker inside. He stayed in his place hiding behind a neighbor's tall picket fence. The Polyjuice Potion canteen was still in his hand, the measured amount poured into the cap. Lupin was about to become Toby when he saw a black car drive up to the house from the opposite direction. Wanting to have Kevin alone when he came in, he planned to wait until this visitor left. Yet now he knew who this man was and an ominous feeling came over him.

Now why would Croaker come here?? Lupin didn't question how he got the address - Unspeakables have their ways - but the officer's motives were a mystery. Surely, he wasn't here as part of the Havenshire case, was he? Did he know that Lupin was in town? But why would be talk to the Reverend about any of this? Did Croaker suspect that he knew something? Did Kevin know something Lupin wasn't aware of?

All these thoughts raced through his mind as he watched the house helplessly.

***

"I'm glad to finally meet you, Mr. Hammond." Kevin seated himself down on the living room couch. "I had been trying to contact you for weeks."

"You have? I never knew," Croaker said artfully. He took a seat down on one of the armchairs and adjusted the lapels of his jacket. "I'm terribly sorry that I couldn't make it to your daughter's funeral. I had urgent business overseas."

"Some things we just can't control." He gave a wan smile. "Do you want anything to eat? Or some tea, perhaps?"

"No, thank you, I'm fine."

Kevin sat back in his seat. "It's quite unexpected for you to be here. I'm afraid my wife isn't around to meet you..."

"Such a shame. I hoped to catch you both." Croaker leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "How are enjoying your stay here?"

"Fine actually. Since it's the holiday season, my wife has been really in and out..." Kevin trailed off.

"I'm truly sorry about your daughter." Croaker tried to look sympathetic and only half succeeded. "It must be hard during this season. To cope with a death of a loved one is one of the most difficult things to go through. I give you my most heartfelt condolences..."

Kevin didn't reply to that. In truth, it sounded like something written off a Hallmark card.

"It is my fault," Croaker added. "I should have kept Fenir locked up more. He ran off while I was away, and I didn't know..."

"Yes, I heard the explanation before...." He stared down at his hands.

"All right then," Croaker started brightly, ignoring the other man's discomfort. "Now, um, Father, I have some questions to ask."

He looked up again, trying to be more cheerful. "Yes?"

"Well," he gave a slight chuckle, "I have heard some odd things. I don't want to offend you or anything, but there's this rumor going on about how you think my pet was a werewolf...?" He raised a hand in doubtful gesture.

"Word got that far?" Kevin asked, sadness changing to embarrassment. "I thought that this was only town gossip..."

"Oh, Brighton is a large city," Croaker replied. "I was planning to visit you personally, anyhow. I just stumbled up that random bit of information." Inwardly, he was laughing. Muggles can be so easy to play around with! Personally, Croaker only came down here to see how he messed up. The Unspeakable took pride in his work, and to have a Muggle uncover something he masked... Well, he just had to find out how the Muggle did it. He must be a clever one, Croaker thought to himself. Clever Muggles were few and far between. The ones he encountered he had dealt with quickly; intelligence can be dangerous.

The pseudonym J.C. Hammond was one he had made up himself and used to help cover up the origins of the wolf. Wild wolves were extinct in the United Kingdom, and so some excuse to where that rabid wolf came from had to be found. Since there were no nearby zoos to place the blame on, Croaker had to use the "wolf pet gone rabid" excuse. A bit of a stretch, but it still worked. Even if rabies had been eradicated from England, the Muggle mindset would accept anything except magic. He used the rabies before several years ago when a wolf in Northern Ireland mauled someone. Said a rabies sample that was being shipped from across the pond had been accidentally unleashed and affected some of the local creatures, and then infected the wolf, which had escaped from the nearby zoo. Those Irish fools swallowed it like candy.

"I'm sure you think it's a foolish idea like everyone else..." Kevin fumbled.

"Actually, I think it's very intriguing."

He was stunned. "You do?"

"Definitely. I mean it's not everyday that someone accuses your pet of being a mythological beast. Seriously, I would like to see how you came to this assumption."

Kevin was still taken back by the man's acceptance. "Mr. Hammond, even if you truly were interested... You might think it's only a foolish joke." He cast his eyes down. "I don't think I can show anyone this information unless they truly believed. I have faced many skeptics since that article came out..."

Croaker was slightly miffed. This Muggle wasn't going to show him, was he? Well, that's what he thought. "Really?" He gave another toothy smile, similar to one a dragon gives to its prey before gobbling it up. "How do you know I'm not a skeptic?" he inquired politely.

***

Lupin began to pace alongside the fence. How long were they going to take? What was Croaker doing in there? For some reason, Lupin didn't trust him. Before, he would have had faith in the Ministry and its departments, but after the treatment of the Safehouse residents and the treatment he received from Croaker himself, Lupin had his doubts. He recalled Jarohnen's great distrust of wizard law and saw the actual logic of it.

Well, he couldn't trust Croaker, but that didn't mean that his intentions were malevolent towards the Kevin. But why would Croaker want to meet him? Surely the Muggle wasn't in danger of discovering the wizard world. Lupin could admit that the Department of Mysteries had done a pretty decent job at covering it all up.

However, the doubt still lingered. He had to protect Kevin from Croaker. Maybe it was because Lupin disliked Croaker, maybe it was because he disliked the Ministry, and maybe it was because Lupin knew he himself was to blame for this whole situation. He noticed a hefty rock about as big as his fist on the edge of the sidewalk. He picked it up. Hmmmm...it would throw far. Tossing this stone in one hand, he faced the ranch house.

***

Crash!

"What the-"

"Good Lord-"

The two men sprang to their feet as a stone smashed through the living room window. Pieces of glass flew everywhere. The stone rolled across the carpet and stopped at Croaker's feet. Kevin went to the broken window and pulled back the curtain. "Who in the world is that?" he asked incredulously.

Croaker came to the window as well. Lupin was standing in the middle of the street, arms crossed, and foot tapping against the pavement. Almost lazily, he waved.

Instantly, Croaker felt his blood begin to boil. What the hell was that wolf doing here?! He and Kevin exchanged glances. "I advise that you don't call the police about this," he said.

"But why not?" Kevin cried. "That stranger just purposely broke my front window. He's- he's still standing there! I can't believe it!"

"I'll replace the window," Croaker reassured him, becoming impatient. He had some Muggle money on hand; he always did when he went undercover. This he took out of his back pocket and shoved into Kevin's hands.

"Why, thank you!" Kevin gasped. Things were moving way too fast for him. "But what are you mean not call the police? This is crazy!"

"He's a personal enemy," Croaker growled. He wanted frantically to get out of this house and onto the street. Outside, Lupin was already turning heel and slowly walking away. Croaker's temperature rose up a few notches. The wolf! How dare act he way in front of him?? That beast won't get away with that!

Kevin was still stuttering helplessly. "Your enemy?" he said. "How did he find you here? You can't go after him by yourself, Mr. Hammond-"

"Don't worry about me, Father," he growled. This was his chance to capture Lupin himself! And it was slipping away! He climbed out of the window and landed on the brown front lawn. "I'll get back to you!" With that, he started running. Kevin could only gape at him dumbly, the folded bills still in his hand.

***

One... two... three...

Lupin was slowly counting his steps as he walked away. Croaker had to go after him now, correct?

...four... five... six...

He heard the crush of glass was Croaker swung himself out the window.

...seven... eight...

Croaker was on the road, sprinting to catch up. His footfalls were right behind him.

Lupin checked over his shoulder. Croaker leapt at him. Now it was time to run.

He darted toward the fence, jumping up. His hand caught the top edge. Croaker grabbed his foot and tried pulling him down. Lupin launched a kick to his face and knocked him off. Then, frantically, he pulled himself over.

Once over, Lupin lost his grip and fell. Unfortunately, there was a patio set to break his fall. He landed with a thump! on the glass round table, with his jacket getting caught in the mounted umbrella. He rolled off - the corner of the jacket tore - and landed on the ground.

Croaker was making his way over the fence with a panther's grace. He jumped onto the edge and swung his legs over. From the ground, Lupin picked up a plastic patio chair and flung it. This caught Croaker off-balance; he slipped. Lupin scrambled to his feet and ran across the back yard. His back hurt from the fall; he gritted his teeth and fought back the pain. He jumped the other fence much quicker the second time around, landing in another stranger's yard. The back door was open and a string of Christmas lights were on the deck - Muggle decoration. He checked behind him. Croaker wasn't there.

"Stupefy!"

An invisible force grazed his leg and hit the ground beside him. He fell on his side, his leg going numb. Croaker stood on the other side of the yard, wand arm raised.

Damn.

The Stupefy Spell only worked when the target was hit directly. If not, it only caused temporary penalization. Lucky him. Lupin caught sight of the wand. A thin wisp of willow - somehow, the type didn't match up with its owner. If Lupin could steal that, however, he could remove the bullet from Mary's leg and seal the wound. Lupin closed his eyes, going limp. Playing dead was not only a dog's specialty.

Croaker walked over, a grim smile in his face. He kicked the werewolf onto his back, then grabbed the front of his jacket.

Perfect. Lupin snapped open his eyes and threw a Croaker a right to the nose.

"Argh!" Croaker clutched at his face. Lupin made a grab his wand. Croaker gave a cry and kicked Lupin square in the chest.

"Ugh!" The breath knocked out of him, Lupin's chest and back pushed back, exploding with pain. He wheezed loudly, holding on to Croaker's wand - Croaker wrenched him away, but Lupin snatched his tie - the wand was being pulled between them - Croaker kicked out at Lupin's legs - Lupin slipped - his hand was still on Croaker's tie - it tightened and he choked...

Croaker tried to shove Lupin away with his free hand - Lupin dodged and turned, trying to pull the wand from Croaker's grasp - the wand twisted in Croaker's hand as it was jerked in a different direction - Croaker grabbed at the wand with both hands - Lupin kicked out and tripped him-

Croaker fell. Lupin was still standing, pulling on his tie with one hand and his wand with the other - Croaker spluttered, clinging to his wand for dear life - Lupin's feet were sliding on the muddy lawn - Croaker tugged - Lupin weakened, starting to fall - the wand was beginning to splinter under the stress - Lupin fell at an angle away from Croaker, both still holding on to the wand -

Snap!

He got it! Lupin looked down to see only a broken stick with the dragon heartstring dangling from the end. Not good.

Croaker was on the ground, staring at his half as well. He threw it away and spat, "You-!" Jumping to his feet, he charged at him again.

Lupin tried to run. He limped heavily for two steps before Croaker pushed him down again. Lupin fell flat on his face. He rolled over - Croaker punched. The blow hit him to the jaw - Lupin heard an unpleasant crack! - he couldn't feel his jaw. A warm, metallic substance was in his mouth. He put his fingers to his lip. Red blood flowed - his blood.

Lupin punched him in the chest - it was like hitting a brick wall - Croaker aimed another throw at his jaw - it made contact with his chin - Lupin's groaned, but he kneed Croaker between the legs and rammed his fist into his neck at the same time-

"Oof!"

Lupin scrambled to his feet before Croaker could give another throw. Damn, he was strong! The pain from his jaw made his eyes swim - he stumbled back, trying to take a fighting stance -

Croaker was facing him as well, fists clenched and eyes narrowed. He didn't look injured at all. Lupin hadn't had a chance to do much damage. Even though the Unspeakable was older than him, he was definitely in better shape. If they were to fight again, Lupin would lose hands down.

The two slowly began to circle each other. Croaker was prepped; Lupin was ready to tumble. He could hear Croaker chuckling lowly under his breath. Lupin felt his muscles tense up and his breath shorten. His good leg felt like it was rooted to the ground; the other was like a dead limb. He had no other choice but to fight. Lupin saw the open back door out of the corner of his eye. Maybe he didn't have to...

Croaker had his eye on him. Nowhere to go. They were still circling each other. Suddenly, Lupin raced to the back sliding door and dived in. Croaker cursed and followed in mad pursuit.

***

Inside, Croaker ran into the front foyer, looking around. Where did that wolf go? He ran through the empty room and made his way to the kitchen. A door leading off the kitchen was wide open. Below lay the basement. Poor choice, but worth a shot. He took the staircase down.

The basement was damp and poorly lighted, stacked with boxes. In the far corner was a washer/dryer set. Beyond that was nothing but more boxes and shadows. In the dimness, he saw a lurking figure.

"Halt!" he cried. He didn't have his wand - damn that wolf for breaking it - but he did have his fists and his authority. "You have no where to go, wolf! Come out right now!"

The person turned around, startled. Stepping into the staircase light, he saw that it wasn't Lupin, but an old lady carrying an extension cord.

"Intruder!" she gasped, dropping the cord.

"Oh, my apologies, ma'am," Croaker flubbed. "I'll, just, uh... leave now." He raced back up the stairs, leaving the poor lady speechless.

Croaker came back into the stranger's kitchen and went into the hallway. He had to be here right? Damn! Lupin couldn't have cut through the house so quickly..!

He came upon the parlor room of the house. A young redhead was sitting in a rocking chair, reading a book. "Hey, who are you?" he cried out.

The Unspeakable stumbled back, affronted the second time. If he only had his wand-! "Excuse me," he said, leaving the house at top speed.

When Croaker left, the man froze in his seat for a few moments. Then he got up, put the book down and limped through the back door. Once outside, Lupin heaved a great sigh of relief, wiping Toby's bangs from his face.

***

"Yes, Rachel, I know, it is very unusual," Kevin spoke into the cordless phone. He was standing in the middle of the living room, with a vacuum in his hand. The window was temporarily covered with the shade tapped down to the sill. However, the cold still seeped through. Kevin was wearing his coat as he cleaned up.

"Just smashed the window," he was telling his sister. "Yes, no reason at all, I think. And Mr. Hammond just got up and left... Actually, he gave me the money to fix it.... Quite amazing, really... You can have your husband install a new pane of glass when he gets home... I'm fine... Janet's coming back in a couple hours anyhow..." He laughed. "I don't think your windows will be assaulted a second time, Rach. Okay, see you."

He hung up the phone and began rolling up the vacuum cord. This had been a very strange morning.

Ding-dong.

Not again.

Kevin wondered whether he should answer the door. Well, maybe it was Mr. Hammond. Or the police. He was sure if he didn't call them, a neighbor would.

For the second time, he opened the door. "Hello?"

A familiar young man stood on the doorstep, wringing his hands.

"Toby?" Kevin exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Hi..." Toby looked around uncomfortably. He seemed to regret being there. "I'm-I'm sorry, I shouldn't bother you like this-" Toby turned away from the door.

What was going on this morning? "Oh, uh, don't be. Sorry for being rude there." Kevin stepped out onto the doorstep. He didn't think it was for the best to invite a second person in.

Toby was staring at the broken window. "Whoa," he commented. "What happened there?"

"Very bizarre actually," Kevin scratched the back of his head. "Some total stranger just smashed that in with a rock barely an hour ago."

"That's heavy damage," Toby said, concerned. He leaned over to get a better look. "I didn't know it was that bad..."

"What did you say?"

"Uh, nothing." Toby straightened up, getting back to topic. "Look, I know this... This may sound kind of weird but..." He hesitated. "I need your help."

"My help? Why?"

"It's... It's hard for me to explain..." Toby bit his lower lip. "I've been lying to you, Mr. Grisham," he suddenly blurted out.

"Lying?" Kevin wrinkled his brow. "What do you mean?"

"It's a long story..." Toby sat down on the front steps. Kevin joined him. "First of all, I'm not going to be nineteen, like I told you, sir. I'm... I'm just sixteen. My birthday was last month. Look... my parents died three years ago..."

He was taken back. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry..."

"Um, thank you," Toby brushed it off. "Well, me and my sister Lizzie... We've been living as wards of the state. Lizzie, she was only four when it happened... I took care of her when we were all alone, sir. I made sure she was happy and safe and when she missed our parents... I'd just sit there and hold her...." Toby wouldn't stop wringing his hands, he was that nervous. "Hey, I'm not beating the system or anything. They took care of us. Fed us, kept us clean and clothed and stuff. There's an emptiness inside though... I guess you would only understand if you didn't have a mum and dad..."

Kevin listened patiently. "Go on," he said, touched by parental concern.

He went on, "Well, a couple months ago, this family was looking to adopt. They met Lizzie and..." he trailed off momentarily, "they thought she was the greatest kid they ever saw," he murmured. "They wanted to adopt her... but they didn't want me. There's a saying we kids at the children's home have: once you hit thirteen, no one really wants you anymore."

Kevin didn't know how to respond.

"I wanted Lizzie to be happy, to have a real family, but..." Toby looked away. "I know it was really selfish of me to think, but I didn't want us to be separated. Then... I'd be all alone... So, we ran away. We came here because we thought that the police would never find us." Toby sighed. "And now, Lizzie's really sick. She got this infection... It's really bad...."

Seeing a break in his story, Kevin ventured, "Do you need a ride to the hospital?"

"No!" Toby exclaimed, looking alarmed. He quickly recovered. "I mean, we can't have the police find us."

"Toby," Kevin said in a paternal voice. "I'm only giving you advice, but I think you have to step back and take a good look at the situation at hand."

"Okay," he agreed.

"How is your sister's condition?"

"She has a fever... but I already have something for that. Um.... she also has a bad infection too on her leg... She got a deep cut about a week ago and it got all red and swollen..."

"Ah." Kevin nodded. "Now, Toby, I'd be more than willing to help, but I can only do so much. You can get better help at a hospital."

Toby turned to look at him, a sense of urgency growing on his face. "But- but-"

"There might be some risks you have to take," Kevin advised. "But which is more important to you: hiding from the police or your sister's health?"

The young man was silent for a long time, contemplating. Finally, he said in an almost forceful voice, "You don't understand. I cannot take her to the hospital, sir. I care for my sister very much, but I can't afford to."

Kevin was disappointed with his decision. "If that's what you think," he replied. "I can't make these choices for you. I'll get you some antibiotics if that's what you want, but if your sister only gets worse, you have to get her some professional medical attention."

"Antibiotics?" Toby said. "Is that what it's called?"

"Penicillin," he verified. "How much does your sister weigh? Do you know?" Kevin had no qualms with buying medicine for this young man. Despite the fact they were almost strangers, Toby appealed to him as an honest young man who was telling the truth. Anyway, he wasn't asking for suspicious drugs such as narcotics or steroids. An antibiotics junkie was just too absurd to think about.

"Not more than 27 kilos, I think." Toby took Kevin's hands. "Thank you so much. I swear, you don't what you've just done for me."

"Oh, I can take a guess," Kevin smiled. "Anything to help."

"How long would it take?"

"I could order some from the druggist. Only an hour, I think."

"Thank you, Mr. Grisham, thank you!" Toby was effusive. He pumped Kevin's hand up and down. "I'll stop by in two hours," he said.

"Your welcome," Kevin replied. "I just want to have a final word here."

Toby calmed down and paid attention.

He gave him a serious look. "I know that you might think the world is your enemy," he said. "But that can't be necessarily true all the time. People will be on your side in places where you least expect them. When you realize that, you'll know that sometimes, when you give in, it's for your benefit, not theirs." He also added, "If you need any help with your sister later, don't hesitate to ask." He hinted that if he needed a ride to the hospital of course.

Toby agreed wholeheartedly, but Kevin wasn't sure he actually listened. "Yeah, I will, promise." He then checked his watch. "Geez! I have to go now," he said hurriedly. "Be back here in a couple hours!" He got up to his feet. "Thank you again. Lizzie'll love you for it." He then turned and ran down the street.

"Okay then. See you." As Kevin raised a hand in farewell, he suddenly noticed something. Toby wore the exact same jacket as that stranger who broke the living room window.

***

Lupin left in the opposite direction that he came in, passing by a mailbox with the house number and family name - Ford. When he was gone from sight, he paused to take a breath, running a hand through his hair. He rubbed his jaw; it still hurt, but it wasn't broken, thank goodness. It had swollen up a bit, yet he didn't think it was noticeable.

He spat on the ground; it was tinged pink with blood. At the action his face momentarily contorted in pain, then relaxed. It'll heal in a couple days...

Sirius had asked when he got back to Her Majesty how he got his face half-beaten in. Lupin had taken some aspirin and a clean shirt before he left again, without saying a word. He sighed and wiped his brow, wet with sweat that froze in the chill morning air. He could explain to Sirius about Croaker and Mary's parents later.

He began walking quickly back to the house, a sinking feeling growing in his stomach. And no, it was not from his injury. He succeeded in duping that poor man into buying medicine for his own daughter. Overall, this was one of the most convincing acts Lupin ever pulled: runaways from a foster home, now that was pure genius. He should be proud of himself - he did it for a good cause - but somehow, he wasn't. For some reason, there was something very wrong about the whole thing. Yet he couldn't quite put his finger on why....

Chapter 36

Nobility breeds idiocy. It was all in the bloodline. If a family marries their cousins for several generations in a row, something regrettable was bound to happen. At least, that's what Claire decided to herself.

Take, for instance, her clan. There were five extended branches, with one ruling branch and four subordinate ones. These subordinate clans were appointed high-flown titles like "chevalier" and "seigneur" and dedicated their loyalty to the ruling branch in exchange for a share in riches, protection and title. If one wanted to be truly part of the clan and share the de Chien-Loup name, they had to marry into it, something that was done quite often. A common theme in aristocracy. This would have been very convenient if the year was still 1412. However, today's result would be having blood or marriage relatives linked to almost every prestigious European clan who dated back to the Middle Ages. And having all of their ailments.

To state an example, her brother Bernard had blood from a purblind, three hemophiliacs, two LOCDs, and one albino. Amazing to think that from this genetic mix just the albinism won out. Claire had LOCD. Her little brother Caleb was the most normal - he was colorblind.

A running joke in the family was that Bernard's heir would be born an Englishman.

Mental characteristics like insight must be a genetic trait as well. One perfect exhibit of hereditary dysfunctions would be the past fortnight with Claire's "could-you-get-me-out-of-jail" business. Bernard, being the responsible older brother he was, flew over on the next plane to England. Also Bernard, being the forgetful person he was, left his registered werewolf passport back in Nice. At British wizard customs (patrols covered all Muggle areas of transportation) he was accused of illegally trying to cross the Channel into England, and locked up in the wizard jail for two nights before being shipped back to France.

Second time around, he met with whom he described to Claire later as, "a courteous, old gentleman wolf" at the London airport. This wolf, which had a very pitiful and grievous story about family misfortunes, said that he had a RMC visa which permitted him to go back to his Spanish homeland, but he lacked the monetary funds for the journey. Bernard, being the kind-hearted person he was, offered to pay for his ticket. Once paid, the man slipped from sight. However, twenty minutes later, Bernard was called in by wizard customs for another time and accused of trying to smuggle werewolves out of the country without the proper travel papers. This "courteous, old gentleman wolf" had a forged visa, which, he claimed, Bernard sold to him. Within two hours of returning to England, he was arrested again, jailed for a week, given a warning, and then deported.

His third (and last) visit to England was a success. This time, he actually made it out of the airport. Thus, he proceeded to go to the Ministry headquarters in London and tell Claire about his misadventures. The one good thing he managed was to provide the help Claire needed to avoid facing charges. Their third cousin, an employee at the Department for the Regulation of Non-Wizard, Part-Human Creatures who had managed to stay in England and establish prolonged contact with her, made a compromise with the officials at the RMC. She would not be punished for her crimes and instead have her British citizenship revoked and be sent back to France. Claire didn't like the idea, but it was better than being tried for illegal magic practice and sent to the Sentient Magical Creatures Penitentiary a.k.a "The Kennel." This prison was located on the same island as Azkaban, and designed to hold magical creature criminals who were intelligent enough to know and obey the laws. Its common nickname derived from the fact that the majority of creatures who were sent there were werewolves.

It was then that the authorities called in Bernard for the third time. It wasn't the British wizard customs, however. It was the Taxation Division in France. Apparently, they never received Bernard's tax payments.

He was deported to France under their jurisdiction on December 14, yesterday afternoon. Unless that poor, misguided owl with Bernard's payments was found soon, he would be tried with tax evasion. Another headline in the werewolf community, another smear upon the already dirtied family name.

Maybe it was Bernard's lack of common sense that he didn't wait until he was sure his taxes got through. Maybe it was Claire's lack of foresight that she persuaded her brother to come. As it was stated before, insight, or its deficiency, must be a genetic trait.

And yet, Claire's conclusion was proven: with alpha wolves like Bernard hanging around, nobility can, and does, breed idiocy. No offense to her brother. She loved him, really.

Those were the basics of her train of thought as she was left to brood in her cell. Why she wasn't on her way back home was a matter of political and legal red tape her cousin was taking care of.

Her stay in jail, besides that unmentionable interrogation, was relatively tolerable. Parsons rarely confronted her after that; when they did meet, it was always in the company of his partner Agent Yoshimoro. Parsons acted exactly as he did beforehand - that is, like the stone-faced prick she was familiar with. Claire sometimes wondered if Parsons was ever ashamed of what he attempted to do. Somehow, she doubted it. The attempted rape was like a dark secret between them that neither wanted to talk about. It was an incident that affected one's rigid standards and the other's strong-willed pride. Parsons would never admit that he wanted to ravage a beast; Claire would never admit that she couldn't defend herself in an attack. And so the issue remained unresolved and probably never will be.

How the others fared she was more or less aware. Occasionally, she would ask Agent Yoshimoro about Jarohnen. The answer would come in the form of a hesitant look, then the straightforward information. Jarohnen had been immediately arraigned and tried as a werewolf before the Council of Magical Law. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures found him guilty of five counts of first-degree murder with an illegal weapon and sentenced him to a lifetime in The Kennel. The Committee decided not to execute him because of his mental state.

Unusual to say, but after the arrest, Jarohnen transformed into a semi-catatonic. He could eat, dress himself, and tend to other personal needs, but he had ceased speaking and all other forms of outside communication. After rising in the morning, he would sit on his cot and stare at the blank wall for hours on end. At night, he did not move to sleep unless the guards laid him down. Criminal psychologists assumed that he snapped after murdering the officers and his mind stopped almost all normal functioning. Pity moved the Committee into not killing an elderly invalid.

The Freedom Hounds had slipped into obscurity. The Ministry couldn't find any of the wolves ticked off in Jarohnen's interrogation. Any other street wolves captured and interrogated knew nothing of their whereabouts. Rumor has it that they escaped to Ireland to hide on the Phelan clan reservation. Upon asking the Alpha wolf for any information, the RMC officers were driven away with poisoned arrows. The Phelans were a mystical, isolated society; it was doubtful that they would be concealing secular vagabonds.

During this period Yoshimoro also had a spell doctor brought in to address Claire's magical condition. He confirmed that she cursed herself into forgetting something. Claire wasn't surprised, she had written herself a note telling her that. "It's poorly done," he observed. "A Forget Potion, which is almost obsolete today because it can be overridden." Claire was asked if she wanted the Potion undone.

She was unsure. She knew that there was a reason why she magicked herself, and didn't want to disobey her own wishes. Yet the holes in her memory bothered her to no extent. Which was better, leaving her safely ignorant or dangerously aware? However, Yoshimoro, knowing something she didn't, persuaded her that it would do no harm. So she agreed.

"The effects of the Potion are going to linger for awhile," the spell doctor advised. "You'll start to recall bits and pieces, so don't be surprised if you suddenly remember one detail - like a smell or color - and nothing else. You'll regain your complete memory in time."

At the moment, Claire could recall nothing new in her mind. Only once did something spark her memory. This morning Yoshimoro and the guard had been chatting quietly amongst themselves in front of Claire's cell. Yoshimoro said a name - she forgot at what instance - that made her jump.

"What did you say?" she demanded. Both turned to her, yet Claire didn't realize her rudeness.

"What?" the MLES officer glanced at her.

"It's none of your concern," the guard said brusquely.

Yoshimoro paused. "Only that Lupin isn't in America. The MGA can't find him," she added hurriedly. The guard and her then left, talking of other things. Claire had her hands wrapped around the cell bars. She let them go, hesitantly, as she sank back onto her cot. Why does that name sound so familiar? she had thought.

"Madame?"

"Yes?"

Yoshimoro gestured for the guard to open the door. "Do you realize what today is?"

"It is ze day of ze full moon, is it not?" Claire was fully aware that the full moon was coming up; a goblet full of Wolfsbane Potion had been appearing in her cell every morning for the past six days. The potion had to taken for an entire week before the full moon in order for its effects to work. This morning, however, the final dose was not by her cot when she woke. She wondered whether someone forgot today.

Yoshimoro nodded. "Parsons asked me to escort you to a safer area while you're in wolf form."

" 'E did?" Immediately, a nauseous feeling brewed in her stomach. Safer area? Why would he request that? She swallowed hard. "Why isn't 'e 'ere now?"

"At the moment, he's finishing up the work with the Ianikit case," she replied shortly.

Claire nodded unsteadily and clenched her fists. "So you'll escort me personally?" she asked.

"Of course."

"Will zair be a guard where you are taking me?"

"Yes." The door slid open. "There are personnel on duty twenty-four hours a day in the lower confinements."

"So I won't be alone?"

"No."

"And... and if I need anything?"

Yoshimoro wondered why she was asking so many questions. "I'm sure the guard on duty would be able to provide anything within reason."

She nodded. "If Agent Parsons should come to see me, may I request a guard's presence?"

"A guard's presence should naturally be there in the first place." Yoshimoro eyed her questionably. "Will that be all?"

Another question. "Am I to 'ave ze Wolfsbane Potion before moonrise?"

"I'm not sure.... Agent Parsons is in charge of those matters."

"Because if you seen my file, I'm a LOCD," Claire explained unabashedly. "I would probably need it."

"LOCD?" Yoshimoro wasn't familiar with the term.

"Lycanthrope Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder," she stated. "It requires special attention."

"For what?"

"So I do not 'urt myself," she replied practically. "I 'ad something at 'ome to protect me. Padded walls." A grim smile.

The three of them - Yoshimoro, Claire, and the jail guard - crossed the upper jail block and came to a rusty, ironclad door sealed. The guard took a heavy, brass key from the pocket and put it in the steel padlock. A loud snap was heard and he threw over the crossbar and pushed the door open. Beyond was a dank, stone stairway. It was mostly clean, but lichen and moss grew between the cracks. A single bare light bulb hung from the landing, whose light did not reach the end of the steps. Somewhere in the darkness, something dripped. The overall impression was that the rest of the Ministry was built during recent times, while below laid the remnants of the original building, hundreds of years old.

"You are taking me down zair?" Claire inquired gruffly. She tried to hide the revulsion in her voice.

"Parsons' orders." Yoshimoro sounded like she didn't approve either. "Let's go, Madame."

Leaving the guard behind, the two descended. Yoshimoro flicked her wand. "Lumos." The tiny light sparked from the tip, making it possible for them to see where they were going.

Nervousness arrived, combining with the nausea. Claire continued to question Yoshimoro to keep her from getting sick. "Prisoners are still kept in ze dungeons?"

Yoshimoro seemed to feel the same way; at least, she kept answering her inquiries. "In special cases, the lower confinements are used to hold the most dangerous criminals. They are usually kept here before being taken to Nemesis Courthouse or Azkaban."

"I see..." Claire stared at the cracks that ran along the rough-hewn blocks. " 'Ow will I get any moonlight zis far below ground?" she pondered to herself.

"There's a grating. Here we are."

The staircase ended to reveal the "lower confinements." It was a small dungeon, with only four rusted doors marking the individual cells. The dripping sound was replaced by shallow breathing. Claire wasn't sure where it came from; stonewalls reverberated the sound so that it seemed to come from all sides. However, the noise must be from one of the cells. Far above, an iron grating was built into the ceiling, revealing the orange-red sky. The beginnings of sunset had already commenced.

Whitewashed walls rose up in a brightly lit corner - a modern room built in this ancient place. A large window was place on the side facing the dungeon cells, and inside a man was leaning back in his chair, sipping coffee while reading Wizard's Digest. Yoshimoro knocked on the window; the dungeon guard glanced up and exited his room.

"Another one?" he asked.

"Yup," Yoshimoro confirmed.

The dungeon guard took a large key ring from his robe pocket and strode to the leftmost door. Opening it wide, he said, "There you go, Amy. See ya later."

"Thanks." Yoshimoro stepped into the room. It was dark, with split rays of golden light beaming down from above. Claire saw why - another grating. This didn't make sense. The dungeon was directly beneath the Ministry jail ward, so there couldn't be any path to outside air. Most likely this was made possible through magic.

Claire stepped into the cell. This was naturally filthier that the jail cell - damper too. She brushed her hand along the stone ledge that served as a cot and felt the slime build up against her fingers. Giving a disgusted, "Ugh!" she wiped her hand on her robes. "Who will be down wiz ze Wolfsbane Potion?" she asked abruptly.

"I'm not sure. As I said before, Parsons is to see to that."

He couldn't. She felt the panic rise in her chest. "Will you bring it down?"

"What?"

Claire re-phrased the question. "Will Parsons bring ze potion down 'imself?"

"Well, I don't know..." Yoshimoro said awkwardly. "He might send someone to do it for him or he might do it himself. Your welfare is under his authorization."

She turned to the MLES officer. "Can you make sure 'e doesn't come down 'ere?" She gave her noble blood all its worth, speaking in the most demanding voice she could muster.

Yoshimoro looked puzzled. "What?"

"I don't want 'im to deliver ze potion 'imself." Claire said severely. "Please make sure it is anyone but 'im." The request was almost a command.

"Well, I can't control his orders... We're partners, but werewolves aren't under my jurisdiction...." Yoshimoro gave Claire a curious look. "Do you feel uncomfortable around him?"

She gave a harsh laugh. "I do not like 'im, but I can tolerate 'im if need be."

Yoshimoro took that as her cue to leave. "I'll be here when the door opens tomorrow," she promised.

Claire had seated herself on the stone. Yoshimoro stood there for a few moments, as if waiting for something. Finally she gave up and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Now by herself, Claire stared up at the iron grating above. It was far too high for her wolf to jump. With the heavy walls and iron door, there shouldn't be a problem in making sure her wolf didn't escape. But these walls, that was the problem. Claire had a certain protection spell put into her holding room at the Safehouse - a padding spell. It required the walls to be strong enough to keep the wolf in without hurting her. The spell had weakened and didn't work as well last moon, but Claire planned to fix it up herself. Here, the walls were actual rough-cut rocks. If her wolf acted wildly, it would be very painful. Well, the Wolfsbane Potion should keep her wolf mind at bay. She only questioned why she was put down here in the first place, when, if taking the Wolfsbane Potion, she would be just as safe in a jail cell above. It was Parsons' orders.... She shuddered. Thank God there was a guard stationed down here.

All the while, the hyperventilating breath had echoed throughout her cell. It was beginning to annoy her. Claire slumped against the dungeon wall and sighed. Quite suddenly, the noise stopped and a voice echoed from the wall.

"Who is there?"

Claire shifted to face the stone. She knew that voice. "Jarohnen?"

There was a brief interval for a few seconds, then a response. "Comrade, what are you doin' here?" His voice sounded very faint, as if he was calling to her from the bottom of a well.

"I... I don't know...." She was completely bewildered. He talked? He - he was still sane? "Never mind me," she replied. " 'Ow long 'ave you been locked up 'ere?"

"I dunno. What's today's date?" A low chuckle. "I lost track of time..."

"It's ze fifteenth. Ze full moon is going to rise in an 'our." Claire pursed her lips in uncertainty. "You've been down 'ere for almost zree weeks?"

"So? That long, eh?" A pause. "Time flies quickly..."

" 'Ow do you feel?" she asked, concerned. "People 'ave been saying zat... you 'ave lost your mind..."

A loud burst of laughter came from the wall that echoed throughout the dreary dungeon. "Me? Lose my mind? Comrade, I have finally found it!"

"What do you mean?"

"I have been thinkin' deep thoughts. And it was like a glorious light, the fiery light of an angel's sword...!"

Thinking so deeply he ceased to function? Claire wasn't sure what to presume. "What light?"

"Why, the purpose of the werewolf! I am writin' in my brain, over and over so I would not forget... People must have thought I was crazy, I suppose, because I didn't move around so much... but I was only writin' in my head!"

"Oh..." She began to feel a bit uneasy.

"Listen, now, listen!" Jarohnen's voice said loudly. He cleared his throat and started in an orator's tone, "As I sit in this wretched prison, I ponder a question that I have analyzed for many years: where is the rightful place of the non-wizard in magical society? After many hours of personal examination and thought, I, Jarohnen Ianikit, have come to this conclusion: that the history of all magical society can be summed up in a series of class struggles.

"In parallel to the Muggle universe that we live with, magical history is marked thoroughly by the oppression of one group by another. In the Muggle world, it is between master and slave, vassal and lord, peasant and royalty, guild master and wanderer. In the magical world, the division is much more general, but no less oppressive and horrific: the wizards and the non-wizards."

If she could see his face, there would be an ear-to-ear grin. "Nice beginnin', hmm? And I have it all laid out!" he said. "I can't believe I have never written it all down before! Talkin' isn't enough. Words last forever while the body is gone!" He laughed again excitably.

She didn't like how he chatted. He was fevered and nationalistic as she always knew him, but there was a wild undertone to it. He spoke too fast and hyperventilated often. Some street wolves talked like that, but those wolves were beyond her care. They were the ones who slept in alleyways and urinated in the streets.

"Yes," she drawled carefully, "zat sounds like a wonderful start."

"Wizards are the bane of our existence," he continued quickly. "They say they tame us, but we must tame 'em! See? That is my plan, dear comrade. It is more than just recievin' our rights, but dealin' with the wizard class. Oh, what is the word..?" He muttered something unintelligible to himself. "Abridge, abort, abolish... yes. Abolish 'em!" Another laugh.

"Um..." Claire cleared her throat, saying nothing. She didn't want to disagree with him; she feared for his mind. Her old friend couldn't be going through this. He was too strong, too practical, too grounded! Insanity chilled her with its unfamiliarity; it distorted yet preserved her friend.

"Perestroika!" he unexpectedly cried. "Svona, orratstvo, ravyenrrtvo!"

Claire curled up into a little ball on the stone ledge. Putting her head between her knees, she shivered. The dungeon temperature was warm, but its atmosphere was alien and cold.

***

"Here you go, sir." A black witch in RMC uniform handed Parsons the Wolfsbane Potion. "Do you want me to deliver them as usual?"

Parsons placed the two smoking goblets on his desk. "I'll be fine now. Thank you. You may go," he said. The Potions Mistress nodded and left his office.

Alone, he sat at his desk and stared at the potion-filled chalices. He should get someone to deliver them. He usually had the Potions Mistress leave them inside the wolves' cells every morning.

Tonight, however, he wanted to deliver them himself.

Maybe it was all a matter of control. Yes, that's it. He was a man of control. He prided himself in it. This is what gained him respect from his peers, from his supervisors, from wizard civilians. Here was a man, a true professional: unmoved, untouched, and unreachable. Precision action. Militant attitude. An officer one could admire and envy.

And nothing had broken his rigidity. Until that damned she-wolf. The savage animal..! Her coldness and rebelliousness aggravated him. No one denied him authority! For when they first met, from that first bitter glance she gave him - she should know better! He was authority; he was law! She practically spat in his face and at everything he believed himself to be! Trashing her office - venting that animal rage, certainly, but she was also defying him. And how dare she do that!

That single incident he couldn't get rid of in his mind. The thought would fade out as he pushed it away, but again and again it would return. He wanted to show her his authority! That she-wolf - he would teach her respect!

That was what he was thinking when he interrogated her. When she insulted him and attacked him, he tried to play it down. After all, she was a wolf, what did he expect but a monster's savagery? On the other hand, he almost committed that same savagery himself. He wanted to so badly; it had fermented in his mind for so long. In this thoughts, in those dreams where he wanted her. Wanted her screaming....

Parsons got up from his chair and began to pace the room. He just wanted to teach her a lesson. But she - yes, that crafty temptress - she tried to manipulate him into bestiality. She was a werewolf; she was a taunting seductress. If he had her, it would smear him and leave her gloating over his misery. Cunning wolf! Whoring bitch!

She had tried to trick him, but he defied her advances! That is why he must deliver the Wolfsbane Potion to her. He had to prove to himself that she couldn't control him. He will look at her; give her a neutral touch with no consequence. She will not beguile him another time with her foolhardy disregard to his power. She will not entice him a second time to break his own moral code!

With renewed determination, he grabbed the goblets and hurried from the room.

***

Jarohnen's Russian babble abruptly stopped at the sound of approaching footsteps. Claire lifted her head as someone spoke to the dungeon guard. A pair of footsteps, then the turn of a key - the neighboring door opened.

"Here is your potion, wolf." It was Parsons. Claire felt her blood run cold. She strained her ears to listen.

Silence on Jarohnen's part. Could he have lapsed back into his catatonic state, ignoring the officer? Parsons again. "Wolf, are you listening?" The sound of something being placed on stone. A low whisper. "Make sure he drinks that." Footsteps walking away.

Now was her turn. Claire straightened up, hands folded on her lap, face turned toward the door when it opened. Parsons stood by himself in the doorway, the dull gray goblet in his hand. He took a few steps forward. "The potion, Madame," he said.

She remained on the ledge. She wanted to cause the least amount of embarrassment. Just take the goblet and turn away. What was so hard about that? But she felt her muscles stiffen up at his presence. She couldn't move. Didn't want to.

"Are you going to ignore me as well?" he asked.

Say something, Claire. Get a grip on yourself! But she was solid as a rock, the cowardly fear coming back. He was going to grab her, he was going to touch her, he was going to force her-

"Madame..." He walked up to her. Claire dared not shrink back, but the urge was felt like a pulse pounding in her brain. She wasn't going to let him. She'll scream, and the guard would come-

Parsons offered it to her again. "Moonrise is half an hour away," he said. "Drink up."

She did not even lift a finger toward the goblet. He stared right back at her. She could see his breath quicken in his chest, his hand clench the goblet tighter, his steady gaze flickering. She glowered at him darkly. He acted the same, the exact same; she couldn't trust him!

"I will not leave until you drink."

"What are you going to do if I don't?" she replied tensely. "Shove it down my zroat while taking a quick feel?"

Crack!

Metal hit stone as Parsons slammed the goblet against the ledge. The over-brimming container sloshed some its contents over the side.

"Do not speak that aloud, wolf," he growled.

She stiffened in her seat. "And why? You will get into trouble?"

"This is for your own good," he snapped. "You are my responsibility. I will wait here until you take the potion."

She eyed him doggedly. Responsibility?! What the hell did he mean by that?? Did it mean that he would treat her with respect and dignity? Did it mean that he would address her like a person of equal status? Did it mean that he would honor her wishes and her privacy? No! She just some animal he had in his care; some wolf that he had to tame. That's what he meant by responsibility.

Her fear, uncertainly and rage had risen to their peak. She had come to a point where she could never reason with him, forever hate him, and never obey a command he said, even if it made sense. Maybe if he apologized, she would come a fraction closer to forgiveness. But now was too late. Just like how murder had molded Jarohnen's mind into a state of loathing, assault forged hers into bull-headed defiance.

"You will wait all night," she said.