Wolf By Ears

WOLF BY EARS

Part Four: Lupin vs. Ridley

By D.M.P.

***

An identity is only questioned when menaced, as when the mighty begin to fall, or when the wretched begin to rise, or when the stranger enters the gates, never, thereafter, to be a stranger... Identity would seem to be the garment with which one covers the nakedness of the self: in which case, it is best that the garment be loose, a little like the robes of the desert, through which one's nakedness can always be felt, and, sometimes, discerned. This trust in one's nakedness is all that gives one the power to change one's robes.

- James Baldwin, "The Devil Finds Work."

Sin gives [an inclination] to sin; it engenders vice by the repetition of the same acts. This results in perverse inclinations, which cloud conscience and corrupt the concrete judgment of good and evil. Thus sin tends to reproduce itself and reinforce itself...

- Para. 1865. Catechism of the Catholic Church.

***

Chapter 12

Janitorial duty stunk.

Lupin had some idea about the monotony of the job, but the idea only became clearer with each passing night. After the second week, Lupin had to drill himself to not fall asleep at the mop. However, he liked to think of his time at the Ministry as a training exercise. It wasn't Remus Lupin who was stuck at a dead-end career cleaning toilets and scrubbing down the entrance lobby. It wasn't Remus Lupin who sat up to his knees in the sponges and buckets of the Custodial Services Office, laughing in false joy at the series of syndicated re-runs that flickered on the beat-up telly. It wasn't Remus Lupin who had to listen to Lottie Gordon chatter aimlessly about trivial topics such as the twenty-one uses of goat's cheese as a stain remover. That was Douglas Ridley.

Boy, did Douglas lead a crummy life.

As the days and the weeks slipped by, Lupin became more and more accustomed to being Douglas Ridley. Sometimes it had been very difficult to keep his real self from showing, yet soon enough, Lupin had come to grips with himself. Or rather, with someone else.

In the meantime, while Douglas had worked, Lupin spent days occupying the cramped and dingy recesses of his tenement, plotting out his plan of action in thorough detail. During the first few nights, he had made several mental notes about the security and staffing at the Ministry. Lottie had given him a map as promised, and he charted out a course of action. What he needed to do was break into the management floor of the Registry and go to the database files in the Werewolf Services Office. Mary should have a file there. If not, she should be listed in the Muggle Relations Office up on the third floor.

The only problem was that Lupin had never stepped past the Registry's receptionist room. That was, he had discovered, the only area that custodians were designated to clean. Lottie told him that another shift usually covered the place during the day. Lupin cursed himself for his ill luck. He would have to find a way to break into the Registry himself.

Meanwhile, he had some assurance that his work would go unnoticed by the rest of the Ministry. No one would have any reason to seek out a scruffy custodian working the night shift.

"You there."

The security guard stopped Lupin just as he stepped into the employee's entrance. "May I have a word with you?"

Lupin froze and pointed to himself. The guard gave a stiff nod and took his arm. The two entered a small, unnoticeable room labelled "Security."

"I work here," he said immediately, pulling out his employee ID card.

"I know," the guard said gruffly, pulling him off to the side. "Listen-" he glanced at his uniform, "Douglas, you're the new fellow."

"I started only a few weeks ago."

"Yes, yes..." the guard coughed. "Well, I've been keeping an eye on you."

"And?"

"There's something I'd like to ask."

Something to ask Lupin? Had he spoken with the Being Resources Director? "Go on," Lupin said calmly.

"It's... it's a matter of great concern you see..." the guard hedged. "And I'm sure you'd understand... A little favour, you see..."

"What kind of favour?" Lupin inquired, trying to keep the suspicion out of his voice.

"Well..." the guard scratched under his cap nervously, "my son's birthday is next week and... well, I took him to see the World Cup last summer and he's absolutely mad about that Lynch fellow. So, I, um, told him I would try and get his autograph as a special present."

"But I'm not Aidan Lynch."

"Oh, I know but you do resemble him enough. Please, Douglas, just one picture."

Lupin was sure the Confundus Cologne was only illusionary magic; its effects weren't transferable to photographs. "I can't," he apologized. "It's not my thing to go about impersonating other people."

"My son's going to be nine years old," the guard pleaded. "You can't disappoint a nine-year old boy on his birthday!"

Still, Lupin remained adamant. "Birthday or not, I don't do pictures. Honestly, I'm not photogenic at all."

"Nonsense." The security guard held his hat in his hands. "I'm here every night. I never see him anymore. Please, I'm begging here," he said, lowering his balding head, "I'll do anything."

Lupin arched his eyebrow. "Anything?"

"I just don't want to break my promise."

"We all have promises to keep, don't we?" Lupin mused, suddenly feeling very charitable. "Um, look here Mr.-"

"Call me Wilbur."

"Of course, Wilbur, it wouldn't be too much trouble then. I'll only ask for a couple conditions."

Wilbur was beside himself with joy. "Bless you!" he exclaimed, pumping Lupin's hand. "Nathan will be thrilled!"

"First, let me take the picture at my home," Lupin advised. "To be sure it comes out right. You don't want your Nathan to find anything wrong with it."

"Common sense," Wilbur agreed.

"Second, I know Lottie's having some trouble with copying quill fumes coming from the Zookeeper's Lounge. Employees have been complaining about headaches, cramps, nausea - sick building syndrome, you know. She wanted to take a look, while she had time, but the doors are magicked to only open at certain hours. It would be a great help if-"

Wilbur picked up quickly. Lupin wondered if he even needed to make up the story. "The dragon collar, eh?" He scratched his chin. "They're pretty tight with policy up there, but I'll see what I can do tonight." Wilbur punched Lupin in the shoulder with a gleeful laugh. "I'll get the camera."

When he got to the Custodial Services Office, Lupin found Loretta dragging out the trolley. "Yu're late," she huffed, pulling the cart up.

"I got sidetracked," Lupin said apologetically.

"Jus' for tha', yu're coverin' the spill ov'r in the Referee's Lockar Rum." She handed him a bucket and mop.

Lupin nodded. It wasn't unusual for the Department of Magical Games and Sports to still be active after regular hours. Since the Triwizard Tournament, the Referees (as dubbed by Lottie) had been regulating the ways and means of every operation. They hadn't been so secret about the events either, or perhaps they just hadn't cared if Lupin was around when they discussed them. Already after cleaning up a few messes down there, Lupin had discovered what the Second Task of the Tournament was. Such stuff was water cooler conversation.

With a casual hop, he jumped into the empty elevator shaft with his mop and bucket. "Up!" he shouted and immediately fell three stories. Bugger, he forgot!

"Oop!" he shouted again and bounced back up.

The lifts, he had realized, were Scottish to the core.

Lupin arrived at the Referee's Locker Room on the 37^th floor. He was about to knock on the door when someone interrupted him.

"Nice to see you again, Mr. Ridley."

"Mr. Burtman." Lupin gave a quick smile to cover his surprise.

The Being Resources Director gave Lupin's hand a hearty shake. His tail flicked out behind him. "How are you keeping?"

"Rather well, thankee." Taking a step toward the door, he added politely, "I'm sorry, but I have a spill to cover."

"Well, I only wanted a brief word. You're enjoying your new job?"

Mr. Burtman, Lupin noticed, had a particular way of tilting his head to the side when he spoke. It made one think of a dead man hanging from a noose.

Lupin tightened his hold on the mop handle. "Certainly. I have to thank you again for hiring me." He let out a jovial laugh. "I dunno where I'd be without this."

Mr. Burtman grinned. "I know a good soul when I see one," he replied. Lupin slid another step toward the door.

"I really must be going," he said quickly.

"If you must," Mr. Burtman perpetual smile broadened. "Remember, if you ever need me, only knock at my door."

"I will." Lupin tipped his cap to him. "Have a good night, Mr. Burtman."

"Same to you."

For some reason, Lupin did not move again until Mr. Burtman rose back up the shaft and out of sight. Something bothered Lupin about him. True, his appearance was unsettling, but Lupin had never liked to consider himself a wolf who judged on appearances. There was something else that nagged the back of his mind...

Lupin rapped politely on the door. "Custodial Services."

A distracted secretary answered. She didn't even glance at him, but, instead, pointed vaguely over her shoulder. Lupin was used to such cold attitudes. He walked past her into the office.

Tonight everything was winding down. Lupin walked down the hall to the break room and saw a puddle of spilled coffee. Other employees walked discreetly around it.

The repetitive thought came to his mind: he didn't have to clean this up. One wave of a wand and the spill would mop itself. But, nevertheless, a janitor had to be called down to mop it up. That was his job.

Lupin took care of it in a few minutes and made his exit. Walking aisles fascinated him during the early part of the shift. It had been how others reacted that initially drew his attention - or rather, how they seemed not to. Lupin took a step into the aisle and walked briskly down, tugging the suds bucket behind him. People moved aside, clerks halted to let him pass. Workers were suddenly preoccupied with this task at hand. It was both amazing and bothersome. When he was Remus Lupin, strangers didn't make way to avoid him.

That night was slower than usual. Lupin was by himself, vacuuming the Stakeout ("I'm nut takin' advantage oo ye," Lottie explained, "But seniority counts for sumthin'.") when he smelled it. Smoke.

Lupin raised his head in mild alarm and unhooked a pocket light from the cleaning caddy. Flicking it on, he scanned the ceiling. A thin grey trail wafted from three isles down. He took a bucket and headed toward the source.

Soon a high crackle filled the air; he must be getting close. Lupin turned the corner into the next cubicle and found it.

A man was slumped forward on top of his cluttered desk, snoring. His lamp was still on but what glowed brighter was the small fire creeping up his sleeve.

"Wake up!" Lupin shouted, splashing the soapy contents of the bucket on the desk.

The man got splashed; he snapped awake. "What the-" He rubbed his eyes then smelled the smoke. "Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed, blinking.

Lupin pushed him out of the way. "Pardon!" Quickly, he emptied the bucket on the lingering flames on the desk.

"Argh!" The other fellow was blinking furiously now and slapping several wet papers on the ashes. "Oh, by the crud of St. Anthony!" he muttered.

Lupin helped and together they killed the rest of the smouldering embers. "Are you all right, sir?" he asked.

"Aw, hell!" the man moaned. He looked at the front of his suit, now dripping, and threw a crumpled wad of paper to the ground. "Look at this!" Grabbing another pile of paper, he angrily wiped the suds off his clothing. "Oh dear sweet mother of- holy shit!" He stared at the sheets in his hand. "My study guide!"

"Um, sir, a towel-" Lupin handed him a clean rag from his belt as more expletives flooded his ears.

"Aw, fuck, fuck, fuck," the man fumed between clenched teeth.

Ah, the vulgarity of youth.

He yanked the towel from Lupin's hand and patted down the soaked parchment, smearing the ink. "Fuck!" He took out his wand and made a quick, downward swoop. The papers around them rose in the air and began wringing out themselves. Lupin couldn't help but stare; it had been so long since he had been able to do such things.

"What time is it?" the man demanded as the papers began to steam and dry magically.

Lupin supplied, "Almost two in the morning."

"Damn!" He moaned aloud again then grabbed the floating papers. "Just peachy!" He shuffled the papers and stuffed them into his briefcase. Cramming the rest of the desktop into it as well, he muttered in frustration, "I can't believe it..."

Lupin eyed the desk, trying to see what had started the fire. A thin, crumpled stub lay on the desk. He picked it up. "Have you been smoking?"

He did a double-check at the man and realized this was the same exact fellow he had seen his first night, apparently talking to his cigarette.

"Hell yes!" the man raged. His clothes were now dry, but looked uncomfortably stiff from the soap. He grabbed the cigarette stub and threw it in the wastebasket. "Stupid two-week program. Cold turkey my ass!"

Lupin suggested. "Maybe you should calm down a bit-"

"Calm down?? Calm down??" A sarcastic laugh came from him. "In six hours I have a bar exam to take - which, I might add, I've failed four times before - I've been studying here for the last three days, the last food in me was a week-old bag of cheese doodles, the rest of my notes have been wrecked beyond repair, my master barrister's going to kill me when he finds out the damage or that I'm even here after hours, and a janitor tells me to calm down!"

"Maybe you'd prefer a drink."

The man put his head in his hands and collapsed in his chair. He muttered, "Third from the top."

Lupin opened the drawer and took out a small whisky bottle. He looked at it with a raised eyebrow, but didn't comment. Instead, he handed it over to the frazzled young man.

"Thanks." He unscrewed the top and took a swing. "Want some?"

"No thank you." Lupin leaned against the cubicle panel. "So you're trying for the bar tomorrow? If you don't mind the advice, why don't you get some sleep?"

"Sleep? Sleep's the last thing I need." The man gave a sideways glance, then offered over his hand. "Samuel Harper."

"Douglas Ridley." They shook.

Harper restored his composure immensely with the whisky. When his nerves weren't on end, he didn't appear too bad. Lupin noticed immediately that Harper was not a native; in fact, by his accent it sounded as if he came from England. Women would call Harper adorable, but never handsome; he was pleasant-looking in a hapless, bumbling way, with hair like thatched straw and eyes like a puppy dog - that is, dark, blank, and slightly dilated. But perhaps the latter's appearance was because of his sleep-deprived state.

"Seriously, my outburst was completely inappropriate," he apologised. "I'm just not up to par right now."

"Few people are at this hour." Lupin didn't want to intrude, but couldn't help asking, "Maybe you should reconsider your study strategy."

"I did," Harper put his elbows on his knees and gave another tip of the bottle. "I've done everything: cramming, relaxing, all-nighters, flashcards, mental health days, the whole bit. Nothing works. You see, my mind freezes every time. Hand me the parchment and then-" he snapped his finger, "-everything out the window. Can't recall a bloody thing."

"Nervousness is natural," Lupin said. "The problem seems to be that you can't relax and concentrate."

"I do concentrate!" Harper protested, taking a gulp. "It just all comes ramming at the front of my brain at the same time, and I can't seem to sort everything out." He stared at his bottle in dejection. "Maybe I'm not cut out for this. I could always go back to Chelmsford. I can just see it now: 'Hi Mum, I can't become a barrister because I keep failing the goddamn test. Go me!' "

"Then what does your master barrister think?"

Harper snorted, "Mr. Thomson? He thinks I should stick with being his assistant and nothing else! Gave up on me after the third time. Says I haven't got the charm." His laugh hit an especially low note on the pessimist's scale.

Lupin pitied him. He hated apprenticeship for specifically this reason. If a student didn't have a good mentor, he'd never succeed.

The wizarding world was, in some aspects, much more medieval than he liked. For one thing, the United Kingdom had a divided legal system, split up between the individual nations. Second, there was no advanced schooling for those out of primary magical institutions. There were some rumours about the setup of a wizard university, but that was still up in the air. Meanwhile, if one wanted to go into a professional field, one had to set up a pupilage with another person of that trade. Apprenticeships to masters were rare, for they usually didn't have the time to train another, and so normally only second-raters in need of free help would take people under their wings. Poor Harper was another lost soul trapped in a bad deal.

"I'm not an expert on exams, but here's a tip..." Lupin fished around in his pockets then removed a small piece of gum. Lottie chewed by the fistful and didn't mind sharing. "Here."

"What?" Harper picked up the stick. "The point being?"

"When I was younger, I always froze up on tests too," Lupin explained. "But I found a way around it. Instead of stressing over the test, I would focus on something else like chewing gum. I'm not sure how it works, but it keeps your mind in constant gear."

"Gum?"

"That and proper breathing."

"Breathing?"

"Try after me. Breath in." Lupin inhaled. "Breath out." He exhaled.

"You mean, like I do naturally?" Harper drawled, swinging the bottle's neck loosely from one hand.

Lupin sighed. "Would you like my help or not?"

"Okay. I'm breathing in." Harper inhaled loudly. "And I'm breathing out," he said, doing so.

"Close your eyes."

Lupin took this opportunity to take the bottle away from the barrister's apprentice. Being tired during the bar exam was one thing. Having a hangover was another.

"Now imagine a waterfall running down your shoulders."

Harper opened an eyelid. "What are you trying to pull?"

"You don't have to do it if you don't want to."

"Fine." Lupin thought Harper meant he wasn't doing it, but then he said, "Okay, I'm mentally drenched. Now what?"

"Roll your shoulders back. Feel the water now, a cool, gentle stream. The water is going down your back. Relax those muscles. Feel the water flowing, cool and gentle, down your back. Breathe in, breathe out. Slowly. The water's down your legs. Relax them. Feel the water carrying your tension away..."

It was an old trick he had picked up from a hippie when he was younger and it worked every time. Lupin kept repeating the same basic lines over and over until he saw Harper slump in his chair. God, he had just put him to sleep.

"Mr. Harper?" Lupin called.

A light snore was heard.

"Mr. Harper?" Lupin shook his shoulder.

"Wha- oh!" Harper straightened up.

"How do you feel?"

"Tired as hell."

"Then it would be best for you to Disapparate home now, before you doze off again."

"Yeah, I guess that's the right idea." Harper got up, stretched his arms and picked up his wand from the desk.

"If you feel that your mind's going to freeze, take the gum, and think of the waterfall," Lupin advised. "That should get you relaxed and focused."

"Well, it's worth a shot anyway," Harper replied, slightly doubtful. He picked up his briefcase. "Oh, and thanks about that, um, fire thing."

"Now go home," Lupin repeated, giving a small smile. "Good luck on the exam."

"Thanks." Harper went on his way out to the lift shaft. He couldn't Disapparate while at the Ministry; there were spells prohibiting it.

Lupin watched him leave. He doubted about how well Harper would do, but perhaps the fifth time would be the charm.

Chapter 13

"Hoo. Hoo hoo..."

An owl soared through the shady rafters and settled down on one of the straw nests. The Owlery was a large rookery, filled with rows and rows of makeshift nests. Directly parallel to these were the uniform perches. Each was marked with a brass numbered plate. Out the window, various owls were thrown out like bags of garbage.

"Oop ye go."

"Hoo!"

Another owl launched into space.

Ralph Conner absentmindedly strapped on another letter.

"Oop ye go."

"Hoo!"

Plop.

The last owl had been a bit over-excited during take-off. Ralph grimaced.

"Damn. This is the third uniform this month."

"Here ye go." Lottie offered up the Drop-Away Spray bottle to Ralph. She had a pair of rubber gloves on and was mucking out the nests with a small shovel.

The disgruntled Owlery worker snatched the bottle away and applied it profusely onto his stained robe. Between quick swipes with his handkerchief, he muttered, "I. Hate. My. Job."

"C'man," Lottie smirked. "The colour suits ye."

Ralph threw the soiled cloth at her. Lottie ducked.

Lupin mucked in her direction. "Quite the camaraderie the two of you have," he noted quietly to her.

"Aw, Ralph adores me," Lottie said cheerfully. "Doncha, Ralph?"

An entire owl nest knocked her in the back of her head. Lottie tumbled forward into a heap of dirty feathers and other unpleasant things.

Ralph innocently placed a clean pile of straw onto the empty shelf. "Ye missed ane."

Lottie plucked a sticky feather from her hair and groaned. "Dougie, hand me the spray bottle."

"I believe I'm not the one who has it," Lupin said nonchalantly. "Ralph?"

Ralph released another owl. "I might have misplaced it."

Lottie muttered something under her breath and scrambled up to her feet. While she went searching for the cleaner by herself, Lupin drew his attention away and stroked one of the owls on the head. It must be terrible to be a mail worker. However, the Owlery did have one advantage; it was built above ground. Lupin looked out the office window. Outside, the city line of Edinburgh glowed.

Should he send a letter off to Sirius about his whereabouts? Sirius would be deeply concerned about him; it had been awhile since he had left the mountains. He remembered the circumstances upon his departure and strangely enough, he felt his throat tighten.

However, Lupin was well aware of how perilous even a simple note could be if it were misdirected or found by someone else. Should he make an attempt anyway? If Sirius didn't receive any word from him, would he understand the reason why?

He glanced behind him to see that Lottie and Ralph were still talking. Quickly, he ripped a scrap of parchment from the stack and picked up a quill. Lupin bit his tongue for a moment, thinking about how he should address it. Certainly he couldn't say any names...

Hastily, he scribbled:

Padfoot,

I'm all right. Take care.

- Moony

Lupin wrinkled his brow and scanned the note. How odd it felt, using their childhood names. It didn't feel right to Lupin for some reason. His fingers brushed the wet ink and smeared the parchment. Safety - yes, that's it, he couldn't risk sending a Ministry owl to the mountains, now could he?

Which was more important, Sirius's safety, or this simple message?

He tore the paper into bits and dropped them into the wastebasket.

Wilbur bumped into Lupin's table at midnight tea. "Don't tell anyone," he told him. Lupin felt a small key being tucked into his hand. "Only for tonight," he said.

"Show it at the door and you'll get in."

Lottie plunked down in the seat across from him. "Wha' was Wilbur oop tae?" she asked when the security guard departed.

"He only wanted to thank me," Lupin answered casually. "I'm going to obtain an autograph of Aidan Lynch for him."

"Really? Tha's sweet oo ye." She poured catsup over her chips.

Lupin excused himself early and said he'd be in the Office. Lottie, who had struck up another one-sided conversation with Ralph, suggested that he start organizing the mess. "Nut tha' I'm takin' advantage oo ye," she added, "but since yu'er doun thaur..."

When Lupin left, he didn't head down to the 47^th floor, but instead went up to the Registry of Magical Creatures. The snapping dragon collar appeared to be inactive. Lupin approached warily. The chains stirred and the metal collar rose from its resting place on the threshold. It moved about as if it had eyes of its own. Surveying the area, the chain focused on him. Lupin raised the key, just like Wilbur had instructed him to do. The dragon collar recoiled, then settled back down, knowingly.

Lupin entered the Registry lobby and crossed it to the set of doors leading to the open floor. He turned the key into the lock and twisted it. However, unlike most keys, it wouldn't turn to the left. Lupin tried again but to no avail. Quite unexpectedly, the key shifted in his hand. It turned over to the right two notches and the latch snapped ajar.

Whish!

A bright light flooded the lobby from the crack in the door. Sounds of ringing phones and busy chatter were heard on the other side. Lupin was surprised. Was the Registry still active at midnight? He closed the door and locked it again. The sounds stopped. Silence.

How peculiar. These doors must be thicker than he thought, if he couldn't hear the hubbub from the lobby. Lupin stuck the key into the lock and automatically, it turned, but this time to the left.

C r e a k...

Lupin opened the door and saw a still span of empty cubicles. The ghost lights flickered. No one was here. Lupin took a step onto the deserted floor. What had happened? He checked his map. This was the right one. But where had all the people gone?

He decided to experiment. Stepping out into the lobby once more, Lupin plugged the key into the lock and turned it to the right. He swung open the door a bit and peeked through.

Whish!

Bright light blinded him as a clerical worker rushed past, carrying a handful of files. Workers filled his vision, all pre-occupied with something - talking on phones, using typewriters, fetching owls that flew in and out of the night sky through windows beyond his view. In the farthest wall, several holographic maps were flashing and beeping. A line of televisions was mounted on the wall, but from his position he couldn't tell what they were showing.

The truth dawned on Lupin. This wasn't the Registry. This was an entirely different department occupying the same space as the Registry. Amazing.

Someone was heading toward him at a swift pace. Lupin recognized the man's uniform, having been confronted with another donning it before. An Unspeakable!

Lupin shut the door and pressed himself against the wall. But the door didn't reopen. Had the Unspeakable left or did he just turned the corner? Tensely, Lupin counted the minutes, but no one exited. At least now he knew what floor it was. Lupin had discovered the location of the Department of Mysteries.

He was impressed by the magic it took to create such an arrangement: the Department of Mysteries co-existing on the same set of floors as the Registry. But, then again, what if the Department of Mysteries was spread out further than the Registry, encompassing all the floors? Lupin was tempted to find out, but reined in his curiosity. He didn't want to get caught in the act.

Yet maybe Lottie was right about Big Brother. It was everywhere.

Had Wilbur been aware of this when he handed Lupin the key? Did the security guard think that Lupin wanted to break into Big Brother? And, was the man so easily swayed to let him do so?

No, this was all an accident. Or was it?

Lupin opened it again, forcefully turning the key to the left. The empty Registry floor reappeared once more. Lupin stepped in and took out his map. Werewolf Services... Twelve aisles down and fourteen up. Lupin moved swiftly, not because he was pressed for time, but because he couldn't help hearing the myriad of ghostly echoes of ringing phones, and hurried commands, and hundreds of typewriters and radios, as Big Brother pulsated all around him...

The Werewolf Services Office was unoccupied, like everything else. Lupin lowered himself down at eye-level with the doorknob and flicked on his pocket light. There was no keyhole.

Hmmm... that opened up a variety of options. There could be an invisible keyhole that would only show in the presence of the right key. A spell could have been cast to create a keyhole for use, or perhaps a secret code or charm was used to gain passage through.

Lupin mulled through his choices. If he had a wand, he could use an Indicator Spell to detect the magical aura around the door. Depending upon the type of aura it emitted, Lupin could narrow down what kind of magic should be used. Either that, or he could use basic spells upon this door to break the lock. A weak acid would cut through nicely, or if he cast a Dispersion Spell upon himself he could slip through the cracks and re-form in the room.

But for any of those to be possible, he needed access to magic.

Lupin didn't mind. He had time. Taking out a piece of paper, he scribbled down his thoughts about the door and the spells with the stub of a quill. While he wrote, he felt the key tugging from his robe pocket. Lupin ignored the sensation until it began to lean out. Automatically, he shoved it deeper into his pocket, yet it kept pushing forward. Immediately, with no way for him to stop it, the key jumped out. Lupin made a grab for it, but it flew like a dart straight toward the door.

Pop!

The key jammed itself into a hole that appeared just underneath the knob and turned two clicks to the right. Lupin grabbed the key and yanked it out. Then, the door swung open.

A receptionist desk was in the room with a secretary busily typing away at the front. She looked up. "Yes, sir?"

Lupin said the only thing he could think of. "Custodial Services."

"Mr. Delaney didn't request any cleaning service." The secretary chewed a huge wad of gum and talked around it like a cow with her cud. She blew a bubble. "Wait a moment, sir, I'll go double-check." She pressed the call button. "Mr. Dela-"

"Oh, I'm sorry, my mistake," Lupin interrupted quickly and slammed the door.

He leaned against the other side and stared at the key uncertainly. He wasn't going to let go of this now! He left the Registry and promptly returned the mischievous item to Security.

Wilbur had his eye on a set of monitor mirrors alongside the wall. "Fixed what you needed?" Wilbur asked offhandedly, his eyes never leaving the screens.

"Quite." Lupin handed it back to him. "Might I ask what sort of key this is?"

"The master key," Wilbur looked confused. "That's what you wanted, right?"

"Exactly," Lupin said. "I was caught a bit off-guard about a few things..."

The security guard chuckled. "Ah, you saw Big Brother, eh? Pay no mind, the key likes to play tricks on new fellows." At his word, the key slipped off the desk and bounced across the floor. "You little devil." Wilbur snatched it up and shut the key in his desk drawer. "I wouldn't worry," he said. "If you got into real trouble, you wouldn't be standing here to tell me."

Lupin came back to his tenement, weary-eyed. He plugged the basin and turned the hot water faucet. Contrary to the stereotype, he didn't truly get himself any dirtier working as a janitor than in any of the other jobs he had ever had. He never performed any tasks without wearing gloves, and Lottie always had a touch for cleanliness.

Nevertheless, he made a point to wash; the Confundus Cologne's stench made him feel like a mongrel.

Removing his uniform and throwing his other clothes off, Lupin then took a washcloth and a bar of soap out of his briefcase. There was a toilet available down the hall, but no bath. If he needed one, he would have to provide for himself. Lupin wet the washcloth and rubbed it against the soap until it frothed.

If he only had his wand he wouldn't have to go through this trouble; cleaning spells were as common knowledge as the alphabet. But he could adapt fairly easily to Muggle activities. Eventually, however, he'd have to find another wand. But how? He was a felon on the run; it wouldn't be surprising if the Registry had tabs on Ollivander's. If he could contact the goblins at Gringotts, then he could arrange for a banker to make a new purchase for him. After all, if it had worked for Sirius, it could work for him.

Lupin gave himself a quick, damp scrub. His fingers traced the old scar, dark as loam, on his left side. There was a hollow in his flesh that dipped shallowly from his last rib and stretched almost to his navel. An ancient shudder ran through him although he couldn't remember why. He could never remember any of it at all...

He quickly threw a loose sleeping robe over his still-wet body. By this time, he was seeing the back of his eyelids more than anything else. Without another thought, Lupin tumbled into bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter 14

Douglas Ridley was a nice chap. He decided to go down to the Incinerator and befriend the two stokers, Phineas and Moseley. After all, the two stokers played a mean game of Gobstones. Oh, how nice of Douglas and Loretta to join them! Why, no it wouldn't be an intrusion if they spent midnight tea there. The group all sat at the rickety round table, warming their hands with mugs of coffee and analyzing a small pile of polished stones.

Lottie chewed on a toothpick. "Yer droop."

Mo skipped the Gobstone across the table. It bounced along one, two, three times over several others before reaching the other side. Finney gave a low whistle.

"Nice ane," Finney said as Mo gathered up the captured stones. "Dougie, yer go."

Lupin tossed the stone in his hand for a while, thinking. After a few moments, he threw the stone against the table. It ricocheted against the tabletop, hit the ceiling and bounced over two of the smaller stones. Then, it changed direction and started jumping over the remaining stones on the table before landing, neatly, in the centre of the table.

The other three exchanged glances. Finney blinked. "Whoa..." he said. "I've nev'r seen a move lac tha' afore."

"It's all in the wrist," Lupin said calmly, sweeping up the rest of the stones into a little pile. "I was a Gobstones champion when I was a kid."

In actuality, he had never even heard of the game until James showed him at Hogwarts, and even then, he had been the worst player out of the group. Still, Douglas Ridley seemed like a person who would be good at Gobstones, so Lupin had become good at Gobstones.

"How aboot another go at it?" Finney offered, as Mo began setting up the stones again.

"I'm game," Lottie threw in. But Lupin refused.

"Midnight tea's almost over," he told them. "We'd best get back to work."

"Nev'r seen ye tae be so enthusiastic aboot it," Lottie rolled her eyes.

"Richt then." Finney examined the throwing stone in his hand. "Ye'd have tae shew me how ye did it sumtime," he said. The Gobstone, annoyed at Finny's scrutiny, spat a stream of green-grey goo that caught him in the chin. "Argh. Bugger." Finny wiped his face, asking, "Ye'd came see us agin?"

"Sure." Lupin said in a friendly tone. He stood at the open doorway to the clean room and glanced casually at the pile of frozen Ashwinder eggs. "How about tomorrow?"

"Tha's great. See ye then."

Mo nodded in agreement.

"That I will," Lupin promised.

Later that shift, when the stokers were counting up the eggs for that night, Finney scratched his sooty neck. "We did have ten here, richt?"

Mo, in turn, scratched his beard.

Finny shook his head. "Nev'r mind. We must have miscounted or sumthin'. Wunnae be the furst time."

***

Dawn had come only an hour before when Lupin sat down comfortably in front of the wide mahogany desk. He had just cleaned himself off and dressed in normal Muggle robes, undisguised.

The desk was unadorned as well except for a velvet cloth and a shiny gold inkstand in the corner with a large white plume stuck in it. Usually, people who owned wide mahogany desks with red velvet runners and gold inkstands wielded vast amounts of power.

"Welcome to Gringotts Bank. How may I help you?"

The bank manager - a Mr. Guiderius Goldflincher, according to the title on the door - folded his gnarled claws pleasantly. Lupin knew that Gringotts was run by goblins, but never before had he encountered one of such ugliness. Goblins were horrible, misshapen creatures by nature, but this one was almost an exaggerated example of his species.

Lupin had travelled the world extensively and knew a dabbling of Muggle culture. To his knowledge, this goblin resembled a stunted, wizened sage that Muggles referred to as Yoda. More specifically, this goblin was Yoda after a bad encounter with a Boil Curse. Apparently, the Force was not with him.

"I would like to arrange a purchase from you."

"Ah." Guiderius Goldflincher recognised him, but didn't even bat an eye. "You're quite the familiar face as of late, aren't you? I believe you want the purchase to be anonymous then?"

"Isn't that Gringotts' specialty?"

"Oh yes," Guiderius affirmed. "We at Gringotts Bank stand byour beliefs. One thousand years of neutrality means one thousand years' worth of trust." His voice sounded like a deflating balloon.

"Yes. I wish to assess my account holdings."

"I see." The manager slipped out of his chair and waddled over to the file cabinet. "The letter L we have," he muttered to himself. "Let's see... Luhelster, Luke, Lumire ... ah Lupin, Remus J." Drawing out a slim scroll from one of the drawers, he then returned to his desk and unfurled it.

He gave a brief glance at the bottom. "I'm not sure if you have enough in your account to make any purchases," he informed Lupin. "Unless you want a Chocolate Frog."

"How much is there exactly?" Lupin asked.

"About twenty Knuts. Including interest."

Lupin suspected as much. "Doesn't Gringotts carry a bartering option?"

"But of course. That is one of the many policies Gringotts Bank has made available to all of its customers. We at Gringotts Bank feel that wealth can be calculated in many ways, shapes and forms, and thus, the exchange of goods is a perfectly legitimate way of conducting business. What is it that you wish to barter with?"

"This." Lupin removed the stolen Ashwinder egg from his pocket and placed it on the table with a heavy thunk.

Guiderius stared casually at the egg. "Are you trying to impress me, Mr. Lupin?"

"Am I succeeding?"

"Barely."

"It's a frozen Ashwinder egg."

The goblin picked up the egg in his claws and tapped the cool surface with his gnarled finger. "Authentic, I see." He sniffed it. "I myself am not familiar with magical items, but I believe these are worth something?"

"About fifty Galleons."

"Now I'm impressed." Guiderius placed the egg back on the table. "What are you interested in purchasing then?"

"This." Lupin slipped him a piece of paper.

Guiderius picked it up. "An autographed photo of Aidan Lynch? A fan of Quidditch, hmm?"

"Sent to that address," Lupin enforced. The address was Wilbur's; Lupin hated being in debt to anyone.

"In two days..." The goblin scanned down further. "Eleven inches, oak..." He stared at the bag. "And this?"

"Hair," Lupin stated bluntly. "For the core."

"Is that how wizards do it?" the goblin mused. He analyzed the sample. "The short, coarse kind, I see?"

Lupin arched an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"Wizards are wizards. Amusing." Guiderius winked at him. "Well, then, I could get you an estimate of the cost. If you wouldn't mind waiting here for a moment." Guiderius tucked the paper, bag and egg in his waistcoat pocket and left the room.

Wherever the goblin thought the hair came from Lupin didn't want to contemplate. It was actually a sample of his wolf fur. Lupin was taking a chance using his own wolf hair, gathered from old clothing. His original one had contained the hair of a werewolf in it - the last one executed in England in 1924. The Ministry had had the head chopped off and the body skinned and burned, in case he should come back as a damned wolf ghost. The hunter who killed the werewolf had mounted the head for his prize and, in a fit of generosity, had donated the pelt to Ollivander's for wand-making. Supposedly, wands made with a werewolf's hair were good for defence and transfiguration. Lupin had figured that hair was hair, and the magic in his should be still strong. Although wizards only channelled magic, a werewolf was part magic in itself.

Guiderius must have verified the worth of the Ashwinder egg, for he came back with a friendlier expression on his face. Friendliness did not suit his visage, however.

"I've made an estimate on the cost," he told Lupin.

"How much?"

"Five-hundred Galleons." Guiderius folded his hands on the desk again. "I'll be happy to arrange this purchase for you. I must add, however, that an additional Bartering Fee will be included," he explained briskly.

"A fee?" Lupin echoed mildly.

"Fifty percent," he replied readily.

"Fifty?"

"Fifty."

"Twenty."

"I can't bargain with policy, Mr. Lupin."

"The last time I looked up your policy, there wasn't a Bartering Fee. Twenty."

Guiderius frowned. "Forty-five."

"Twenty."

"Forty."

"Twenty."

"Thirty-five."

"Twenty."

The goblin arched a hairy eyebrow. "Don't you know how to bargain?"

"Yes I do," Lupin answered. "Twenty."

"Twenty-five," the goblin offered. "Or nothing."

"Isn't that against Gringotts policy?"

"The banking manager has every right to refuse a service if conditions cannot be met."

Lupin gave in. "Fine."

"Perfect. Now, then, the cost for a custom-made wand and autographed picture is 500 Galleons. An Ashwinder egg, minus the Bartering Fee..." The goblin's brow furrowed. "About... 13 eggs total would be needed to complete the trade."

"Are you rounding the total?" Lupin inquired in a tone that sounded a shade accusing.

"We have a standard Service Fee included." He smiled, which was rather frightening to see. He took out the frozen Ashwinder egg from his pocket and held it between his thumb and forefinger. "Might I, though, ask a question?"

"Depending upon the question, I might not answer."

"Well, I was only wondering why you're going through all of this trouble to obtain a wand. Certainly wizards seem quite helpless without then, but I myself have been very capable at living without one. Not that I have any personal interest in the matter," he added quickly. "We at Gringotts Bank have learned to respect the privacy of our clientele."

"Then if you do value your clientele's privacy, you won't make any further inquiries," Lupin said dryly.

"Whatever our clients have in mind is their own business, we are certain," the goblin agreed quickly. "Yet we at Gringotts Bank have to be assured that no messy consequences will result from our business transactions. Not that we would do anything of our own will against our customers, for I must re-enforce the fact that we at Gringotts strongly value our neutrality in all matters great and small."

"But I believe that you at Gringotts Bank realise that your current method of business transactions here may result in messy consequences if discovered by certain wizard authorities?" Lupin countered in a stiffer tone.

"That is a different matter entirely," Guiderius defended. "Activities such as these do not go against our policies whatsoever. Exchanging various items in lieu for gold is perfectly sound and reasonable. We at Gringotts Bank had a long history of bartering and material exchanges long before the Galleon became established as wizarding currency." The goblin pointed out, "However we practice our policies is decided upon by our board of directors in a fair manner."

"I believe we have a deal then?" Lupin asked.

"Quite." Guiderius offered his claw and they shook on it. "Remember," he said, "Gringotts gets 25% per egg."

"Keep the one I gave you as a start. I'll send an owl to your office," Lupin said, trying not to sound disgruntled at that part of the deal, "with the remaining eggs and a delivery address for the wand."

"When can Gringotts Bank expect the payment to arrive?"

"Soon. Give me one week." With that, he rose from his seat. "Good day, Mr. Goldflincher."

Chapter 15

One of them would have to go.

That was Lupin's reasoning. In order for him to acquire the eggs and get his wand as soon as possible, one of them would have to be removed. Douglas, being the kind lad he is, would volunteer to cover for any stoker who happened to be absent because of illness or injury. While lurking in the Incinerator, Lupin would have the opportunity to steal as many eggs as possible.

Unfortunately, both stokers seemed to be in perfect health, despite their working conditions. Yet that wasn't a worry. One of them would fall ill quite soon. How very sad.

Now, he wasn't doing a wicked thing, mind you, only a logical thing. He had to acquire a wand; hence, he had to acquire money; hence, he had to acquire Ashwinder eggs. And one of these men stood in his way.

Lupin's attitude had drastically changed from that of the poor wolf that had cared for a little blonde-haired girl months before. But his reasoning hadn't changed at all. Lupin was a pragmatic through and through. He couldn't think of any way of getting around this, really. He certainly didn't want to do something like this. Yet he wasn't going to dawdle either, and those stokers were hindering his step.

Well, that's what he told his mirror's reflection. He wasn't stealing, he wasn't lying, and he wasn't deceiving anyone. All those things he did were relatively insignificant, anyhow. He had made a promise after all - a promise to Something he wasn't sure he believed in anymore - so he couldn't be doing those things again. That would be hypocritical of him, wouldn't it? And by all means, Remus Lupin knew he wasn't a hypocrite! No, not anymore...

He was only getting by.

That was what Lupin thought as he slipped a dozen laxatives and crushed aspirins into the stokers' coffee the very next night.

Finney succumbed first. Too bad - Lupin had hoped for Mo to cave in. It was awful to have a man with five children suddenly take ill. But things couldn't be helped once they were done.

"Are ye alright?" Lottie exclaimed, when Finney slumped forward, face contorted in pain.

"Dunno," Finney muttered. "Jus' aa oo a sudden-" He let out another moan.

"Here. Lie doun fer a sec." Lottie jumped out of her seat and hooked her arms under Finney's. Mo rushed to a cabinet on the side of the room and took out several blankets to put on the ground. Lupin sat there, rolling the Gobstone in his hand, before deciding to come and help Lottie.

Lupin asked, sounding concerned, "Where does it hurt?"

Finney's eyes rolled upward. "Mi stomach--" His face paled. Lupin read the sign and grabbed a small metal pail from the cabinet for him to vomit in.

Lottie turned away. "Oh, Finney," she said. She picked up his coffee mug and sniffed at it. A worried look crossed her face.

"Anything wrong?" Lupin inquired.

"Dunno," Lottie took a sip. "A bit tae bitter tae be cricket."

"Gimme it." Lupin sniffed at the mug critically and took a drink. He pulled a face. "The coffee went bad, I suppose. Wonder how." He put the mug back on the table and turned to Finney, who lay miserably on the floor. "We need to get you home."

"Ye... ye... richt..." Finney turned his head and used the pail again. Mo wiped his mouth with his neckerchief.

"C'man," Lottie said. "We need tae git ye outta here. Dougie, gimme a hand."

Mo headed out with them, but Lupin said quickly, "It's alright. You stay."

With an arm around each shoulder, Finney was escorted out of the clean room and into the lift shaft. "Oop!" Lottie called.

They rose to the ground floor. "Wilbur!" Lottie said to Security.

The security guard stuck his head out of the door. "What's the matter?"

"Finney's came doun wi' sumthin'," she said. "Ring oop the Knicht Bus."

The stoker's legs tumbled from beneath him. Lottie bore the brunt of it as Lupin pulled him up.

"Hold on there," Lupin told him. "We'll walk you to the length of the Knight Bus."

Together the three made their way out onto the street and waited on the curb. Lottie kept saying, "Jus' keep yer head oop, Finney, and git sum fresh aire." Lupin was oddly quiet, waiting patiently for the bus to arrive and remove Finney from his presence.

BANG!

The triple-decker, purple bus ploughed through a restaurant front and skidded to a halt in front of Waldo's Plugs and Outlets. The doors of the Knight Bus whipped open.

The conductor leaned against the railing and began in a flat tone, "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard-"

"An' the occshunal Squib!" Lottie intercepted. "Stan Shunpike, actin' all high an' mighty tae the Smaa Fowk!"

"Loretta Gordon!" Stan straightened up and tipped his hat. "Good to see you. I haven't been called up to Edinburgh in a while."

"Hallo Stan," Lottie greeted. "Can ye keep an eye on this ane? He's got a stomach bug."

"Right-o." The conductor stepped down and propped Finney up. Lottie and Lupin helped ease Finney onto the bus and into one of the beds. "Ye got a bucket too?" she inquired. "Or a bag or sumthin'? Finney's a bit queasy."

One look at Finney's face and Stan got the question. "Aye." He turned around.

"Hey Ern, do we 'ave somethin' fer a sick passenger?" After a few moments, he got a small bag and gave it to Finney.

Lottie rubbed the stoker's shoulder. "Ye be feelin' bitter nae," she said gently. "Say hallo tae yer wife an' kids for me. I'll check on ye tomorrow."

Finney nodded, too ill to speak. He gave a watery smile to them both.

Lupin felt obliged to add something. "Take care," he said over his shoulder as they left. Lottie watched the bus throw itself into the air and down the street, ramming through several traffic lights.

BANG!

It vanished through a brick wall.

"I hope he'll be better," she said, still worried.

"I'll sure it'll come to pass in a week or so," Lupin reassured her. He checked his watch. "We've got to get back inside. Can't leave Mo there all by himself."

He started his return to the Ministry while Lottie lingered behind, musing. "Did the cauffee smell odd in anee way when ye got it?" she questioned.

Lupin hurried his pace. "No, it seemed fine."

"Wha' aboot the cream? I know Finney's partial to three creams in his..."

"I had two creams meself. Nothin' wrong with mine." He checked over his shoulder. Lottie was staring off with a furrowed brow. Lupin put a hand against her back, since the height difference prevented him from putting an arm around her shoulders. "Hey, it can't be that bad," he said. "Anyways, he's coming home for some decent bed rest."

"Martha wuld be upset, thoo."

"Martha?"

"His wife."

"Ah." Lupin walked faster. Well, he certainly couldn't do anything about it! God, it'd only be an little while-!

He looked over his shoulder. Lottie was trailing, with a contemplative expression on her face that seemed almost uncharacteristic. Was she sharper than she appeared? No - no one had seen Lupin mix in the drugs. But still...

"Lottie," Lupin said in a benign voice, the same tone he had used so sincerely with Mary or with his former students. "What are you thinking about?"

She roused herself out of her private reverie and jumped a bit at seeing him so close. "It's nuthin'," she answered vaguely.

Mo was idly flicking a Gobstone across the table when they returned. He looked up expectantly.

"We teuk him tae the Knicht Bus," Lottie informed him.

"The Knicht Bus," he repeated.

"I'm goin' tae check oop on him in the mornin'. Wanna came?"

"In the mornin'," Mo replied. He slipped the Gobstone in his pocket and rose to his feet. Silently, he went over and hauled on his ice blaster.

Lupin saw his chance. "You can't go down there alone," he said. "Don't you need a partner to be with you?"

Mo opened his mouth to reply, but Lottie cut him off. "Aw, he's done the rounds hundreds oo times," she said. "It ain't the furst tha' he had to mak himself."

"That's quite dangerous though... Shouldn't you waiting until we can call up a replacement?"

Lottie countered, "At this hour? Nut a chance."

"Well, then I'll go."

Mo gave him a curious glance.

"Are ye sure ye want tae?" Lottie said doubtfully. "The Incinerator's no bonnie place. Ev'n I dun wanna go doun thaur."

"If Mo is willing to teach me," Lupin defended. "I see no reason not to. By the look of things as they are, Finney might be out a couple more nights. Mo would need somebody to look out for him."

"I dunno..." Lottie scratched the back of her flabby neck and exchanged a glance with the stoker. She sighed. "It's yer choice..." she agreed reluctantly.

"Moseley," he addressed, "You wouldn't mind taking someone?"

Mo eyed him steadily, as if measuring him up. However, he gave a stiff shake of his shaggy head.

Lottie reluctantly agreed. "Here, lemme help get this thing on ye," She said, hauling up the fuel tank with stubby arms. Lupin slipped into the shoulder straps and buckled the tank on. It was so heavy that he had to shuffle his weight for a few moments so he could retain his balance.

"Thaur ye go." She slapped the tank loudly. "An' here's ye shooter." The blaster was streamlined and flaming red, with a steel double-barrelled nozzle. She clicked it on. "Jus' lock an' load. Be careful nut tae git trigger happy," she added.

Mo handed him a breathing mask and goggles to go with his ensemble. Lupin thanked him and put them on. Both Lottie and Mo surveyed their substitute stoker.

"Weel, it's for the best," Lottie finally said.

"For the best," Mo agreed, his voice muffled through his mask.

"I'll see ye off," Lottie said, escorting them to the massive stone doorway.

"Watch ye feet," she advised Lupin. "Ye nev'r feel them crawlin' arund 'til its tae late."

Lupin weighed the blaster in his hand. The actual gun felt very light, yet the tank was like a boulder strapped to his back.

Mo went past him to the stairwell. The Incinerator was definitely part of the original structure of the building; the steps were uneven and cracked in many places. Mo turned on his pocket light and held it before them; Lupin focused at the small point of light ahead of him. Dimly flickering torches were mounted along the walls when they went down further, but they didn't shed any more light. Lupin noticed dark patches floating above them; it was smoke from the dozens of burning furnaces.

Down and down they went. Lupin tried counting the steps to see how far they went, but lost count after the first hundred and fifty. He surmised that they were at the lowest point of the entire building, possibly a kilometre into the ground.

Finally, they hit bottom. To his amazement, it wasn't hot. The temperature stayed about the same as above, probably even cooler. The air through the mask was clean and had a dry, papery taste to it; his tongue felt like it had spent a day licking envelopes.

They moved slowly. The outside air was noxious; the poisoned atmosphere was clogged with black dust. Silt and coal layered the ground like underwater slit; one kick of his boot sent swirls of dust twisting away into nothing. The only noise he made was the loud, mechanical sound of his own breath through the mask. Thin plumes of steam hissed through random dents in the piping.

Up ahead, he saw Moseley raise an arm to hurry up. Lupin moved forward, his arms clutching the cold weapon to his chest. One leap and he was suspended momentarily in the air, as if he was walking on the moon. Magic crackled in the atmosphere with the heat; its force was enough to slow down gravity. That was common in areas with high levels of magic. He touched down and went on.

Into the shadow clouds he followed the ash-man. Up ahead he could see brief flames of light - the furnaces. Violet, gold, blue, and neon green flames licked out of the gridiron doors. Smoke billowed up around them like spirits from the grave.

Suddenly, a thick, heavy beam cut through the fog ahead of him.

What was that-?

Instinctively, Lupin jumped back and aimed his nozzle. There, in a chilled mist, a dying Ashwinder lay frozen. Its grey skin had turned steel blue, with little ice crystals coating its scales. The serpent had been ready to strike, its gaping jaws stretched out to reveal needle-pointed fangs. The ruby eyes gave one last flicker before Mo's heavy coal boot ground the beast's head into ash. Mo nodded, gestured his hand forward, and moved toward the furnace.

Sweeping his hand through the clouded air to get a better look, Lupin saw a small cinder nest on the bare concrete. Three eggs glowed inside. Mo picked one of the Ashwinder eggs and placed it in Lupin's hand. It was about the size of his fist and warm yet heavy like a heated brick. Its shell was as soft and resistant as a reptile's egg, with swirls of yellow and crimson moving beneath the smooth surface.

So this was a live egg, Lupin thought, awed.

Mo sprayed the entire nest, and then gathered the frozen eggs into his side pouch. Lupin put his egg down on the ground and imitated his moves. The egg instantly turned a shade of cyan with lavender streaks.

Together, they moved through the endless night. Mo taught him a many things. He never spoke, but showed by example. Stomp a serpent's head immediately afterwards to prevent new Ashwinders from forming out of the remains. Stand still when you see an Ashwinder - usually a shadow escaping from the fire. Freeze the eggs before they explode.

Lupin witnessed what would happen if he didn't heed the last rule. They stopped by a nest that was glowing unusually bright. Mo backed away and pointed. Instantly, the egg exploded, sending a shower of sparks and magma yolk into the air.

He also noticed that despite the poor conditions, it was hard to get lost in the Incinerator. As Lupin had noted before in the clean room, the Incinerator was constructed in a series of concentric circles, with all the exits from each ring lined up in a row. The floor was lit with neon arrows that grew darker the further he descended. By the time he got to the fifth ring, the arrows had turned a dark red, like blood.

"Hissssss..."

Lupin stopped in his tracks. An Ashwinder?

He scanned the immediate area around him and discovered that he was alone.

"Moseley?" he called, but there was no answer.

"Hisss..."

Then it came. A long, whip of smoky steel glided out of the smoke.

Freeze! Lupin felt his hand go for the trigger but hesitated. The Ashwinder raised its body up like a cobra and beckoned, softly.

"Hisss..." Gently, its eyes smouldered. The surrounding flames gave the serpent a majestic glow, highlighting the muscular curves of its body. It was almost beautiful, terrifyingly beautiful.

Lupin backed away, half-cautious, half-awed. This was the closest he had ever been to a live Ashwinder.

The Ashwinder slithered toward him, its body moving with a woman's grace. The forked tongue flicked out.

Destroy it, destroy it! Lupin hoisted the gun on his shoulder and took aim.

No.

What? His eyes scanned around him. Who's there?

Demurely, the serpent lowered its belly to the ground again, and flowed along the concrete to his legs. What innocence! What charm! It turned its head, and Lupin was amazed at how the scales seemed to shimmer like mica in the firelight. A giddy headiness overcame him and he stood there, enthralled. His hands slipped.

"Hissss...."

The serpent was talking to him. Lupin held his breath. Impossible. He must be delirious. The smoke was getting to his brain somehow; this couldn't be real...

Phhhhhssssstt!

A jet of ice jumped out in front of him and hit the Ashwinder straight on. The creature fell, dead.

"Douglas!" Mo waved a fist at Lupin. "Nev'r do tha'!" he shouted, furious. "Wha' were ye starin' for?"

"W-what?" Lupin came out of his daze. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Dunnae do tha'!" Mo reprimanded. "Ye coulda been kilt!" He was speaking for himself for once. Lupin, not noticing, turned his head away.

"I didn't know what came over me," he apologized. "Only..." He trailed off, unable to continue.

"Ye could have been kilt!" The stoker shook his head. "Dunnae go leukin' at them," he told Lupin. "Tha's wha' they want ye tae do. An Ashwinder's bite is the must dangerous thing tha' kin happin tae ye. Their poison's quicker than their bite. Ye wun't ev'n be able tae yell afore yer dead!"

Mo took Lupin by the arm. "I'm takin' ye bac oop."

"No." The words shot out of Lupin's mouth. "No... I'll make up for it."

"C'man."

"I'll make up for it!" Lupin repeated, shaking Mo off. The stoker stumbled back. "I can do this, Moseley. You have to trust me on this!"

Mo wasn't replying. He stood, motionless.

Anger overtook him, much quicker than it ever had before. "Let me stay down here," Lupin said lowly.

Nothing but the crackle of flames in the background.

Then Mo said, in a strangled voice, "Take yer finger off, Douglas."

"What do you mean?"

"Put it doun."

The ice blaster was in his hands, the barrel end aimed at his co-worker. Oh, damn... Lupin hadn't realized...

Control, Remus, control yourself...

He dropped the weapon. It fell to the ground, dangling from its cord. "I-I didn't mean it that way," Lupin started. He laughed and this sounded strange to him. He didn't know what was so funny.

"We're goin'." Moseley turned around, confident that Lupin would follow.

"It was a mistake." Lupin took large, clumsy steps through the thick smoke, letting the blaster drag behind him. "A mistake. Yer in no shape for this."

"I was only a bit overwhelmed," Lupin reasoned, calming his tone. He picked up his weapon and heaved it over his shoulder. Swallowing heavily, he played his attitude again. "I was frightened," he lied. "The Ashwinder scared me. I couldn't take action. But I won't let that happen again."

Mo stopped. The smoke crawled through and shrouded him like curtains in the breeze. "The Ashwinder dunnae scare ye," he said huskily. "Ye was not scared a-tall."

Lupin didn't know how to reply to that.

Mo waved a hand forward.

Lottie was waiting for them up at the top. Lupin attempted to play false cheer, as if nothing extraordinary had happened at all. But he couldn't help but overhearing Lottie asking,

"He dunnae mak it?"

"He dunnae mak it," Moseley replied.

Chapter 16

Lupin liked the night. He hadn't realized how much until his biological clock got switched around with this new job. What was the difference between night and day anyhow; they were only divisions of time, like hours, minutes and seconds. Everything can be reduced to something basic and simple, Lupin realized: time, life, morality.

There was no good or evil to categorize. There was only what he wanted and what others wanted; there was only what he thought was right; there was only helping himself and helping others. And he was only helping himself now. That couldn't be too terrible, could it?

Everything seemed to make so much more sense, these nighttime ponderings.

It was nearly three o' clock in the morning when he sat at the end of his bed, staring at the wall. Along one of them, he had pinned up the map of the entire Ministry. Red marker showed his places of action. Janitorial nicknames scrawled over the official ones, along with the security shifts and individual guards. Little notes dotted the map as well, such as these:

Lottie's Routine: Hallways, toilets, Midnight tea, Owlery, telly.

Stoker Routine: Down below (6-9), Break, down below (10-12), Midnight tea, down below (1-4), end shift

Phineas (Finney) - Has wife (Martha) and five children (6 months 3,4,8,10)"

Moe - laconic. Have suspicion.

Felix C. Burtman - Being Resources Director. Worked at Azkaban. Pyromaniac. (????)

Particularly in the area of the map marked "Incinerator" Lupin had drawn several gray swirls with red eyes for no apparent reason and noted mysteriously: Watch the feet.

Lupin stood with the mess ahead in front of him, red marker in hand. He was writing on another parchment tacked to the wall. Here's what it said:

PROTECTIVE WARDS

Personal

Arial

On-Command

SPELLS

Vacuum Cloud

LOCK-PICKS

POTIONS

Acid Melt

Disintegration

The red marker was drying out; it squeaked underneath his hand. Damn. Lupin shook the marker several times, then tossed it over his shoulder. It rolled across the barren floor.

In his other hand, a small porcelain doll was being squeezed between his fingers. Its curly hair hung in limp ringlets; its glass eyes looked into nothing. He didn't know why he still had the doll; perhaps it was because it reminded him of her. It was supposed to have been a gift to her, but now he kept it as a gift to himself.

Sometimes he liked to stroke the smooth face and run his fingertips through the dark curls that were so different from the golden ones he knew. He loved to touch this doll, this little precious, all over. Imagining her soft skin beneath his touch and how her eyes sparkled as they anticipated his every move. Her warm presence in that night they had shared in each other's arms, chasing away each other's nightmares.

The memory came so clear into focus now; it was dark, except for the faint street light from the window. Her features were coated in darkness and smoothed out so all the flaws disappeared. Her cherub face resting against his pillow, her gentle breathing against his cheek... And simply knowing she was there, that she was there for him and to have her entirely to himself to hold and love - oh, he wanted to have that feeling again.

He wanted to have her so badly that it pained him.

Yes, this was how Remus Lupin spent all his nights. And during all his days he slept and dreamed he was a man named Douglas Ridley, who had a nice cottage in the country, and a daughter with wondering blue eyes, and a wife with raven hair. Sometimes, he believed them so much he thought that he was Douglas Ridley dreaming that he was Remus Lupin. But then he would reason, No, that can't be, because Douglas is a lonely, empty janitor who has no family.

And sometimes, all of these frustrations and confusing dreams collided with him from all angles and he felt helpless and very, very alone. He wanted to see Sirius again and have Claire by his side. He wanted to hold a little girl in his arms and go to sleep feeling needed. He wanted to feel safe and secure again with himself - his real self. Now he would find himself and find her, no matter what. He committed himself to her rescue. Everything he had done so far, after all, was with good intentions.

The road Lupin followed was always paved with good intentions.

He had a quill in his hand now and slowly crossed a line through Phineas's name. He paused, contemplating. He only had a few more days to get the eggs.

Lupin sat in his chair in the Custodial Services Office, brooding. Everything seemed to irritate him tonight: this mess, this office, this fat, little midget gawking at the telly screen mounted in the upper corner. He was chewing a large wad of gum in his mouth - Douglas was a gum chewer after all - and tried blowing a bubble. It didn't work.

"Only 19.99-"

"-laughing like that but I swear-"

"But Jeffery, I couldn't-"

His annoyance became fine-tuned and focused upon the unsuspecting Lottie, chewing away in front of the flickering TV screen, the remote in her hand, every part of her dead except for the over-active thumb, flipping channels.

Her life was the epitome of a wretched existence, far worse than his. For a while Lupin had pitied her, and maybe even grown to like Lottie for her honesty and friendliness, but now some bitter resentment wanted to shoot out and hurt her. She was stuck there and never even bothered to pull herself out of the muck. And now they were crawling underground together and he hated the Squib because she was with him and stood in his way of getting what he wanted.

"Choose something," he told her.

The glowing lights that reflected off her sickly face kept changing.

"-and current Ministry officials state-"

"-the sacrifice He made calls for all of us-"

"Choose something," he repeated, straightening up.

Her mouth was an automated machine. Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch. Never mind her mouth, her whole life was automated. Look at her. Could she even hear him?

"Lottie?" Lupin rose from his chair and approached the desk. "Lottie, can you hear me?"

Hand to mouth. Hand to mouth. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

This irritation became too much for him to ignore. In one quick move, he swiped the remote away from her.

She came out of the fugue and raised her head. "Wha' dae ye want?" she demanded curiously.

"Choose something!" he cried out for the third time.

"Wha'?"

"Choose... choose..." Lupin threw up his arms in a bewildered gesture.

"Choose life!" he exclaimed, shutting the television off with a flourish. Lottie turned her head toward him. Her eyes had become too huge for even her massive face, two enormous brown cow eyes, staring numbly.

"Choose a real job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a big-screen television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose leisure-ware and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite at higher price and an arrangement of fabrics!" He made a wild gesture towards the dark box.

"Choose DIY and wondering what's on this Sunday morning! Choose sitting at that desk watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing junk food into your mouth!" he snapped with a sarcastic bite. "Choose rotting away at the end of an old, miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish brats you spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life."

Ending his tirade, Lupin plunked himself back down in his seat. His shoulders slumped and he put his head in his heads. Damn. He had blown his cover! What had he been thinking? Yet both regret and satisfaction filled his mind. He looked at her. They were all simple. All of them. So simple and so miserable.

Douglas had to apologise. Douglas was a sensible man who didn't like to offend others.

"Sorry," he said, with a worn-out sort of embarrassment in his voice. "I'm feeling a bit irritable tonight." Dejectedly, he handed the remote control back to her.

Wordlessly, Lottie took it back. "Weel, wha' aboot ye then?" she asked roughly. She stared at the ground, blinking profusely. "Wha' did ye choose?"

"I chose not to choose life," he replied, slouching in his chair. His eyes stared around the messy room with resignation. "I chose something else."

"Oh. A bit oo a high talker, aren't we?" She said, turning away. Lupin thought he saw her wipe her face. Remorse filled him, but then he recalled how much he despised this place and pushed it away.

"I'm...I'm jus' feelin' off colour." Lupin pulled a Douglas smile. "I'm needin' a nap right now."

"Get yerself same cauffee," she said. She faced him again with a forgiving smile that wobbled. "It's been a long nicht..."

Lottie, chained to the flickering glow, turned on the screen again. A 2 AM showing of one of those syndicated situation-comedies. Soon, Lottie's gleeful titters came in unison with the laugh track.

Had everything he had just said go in one ear and out the other? He sighed. His eyes travelled around the haphazard Custodial Services office and that feeling of pity returned for these poor creatures like her and him. This constant drudgery, the endless hallways to mop, the countless bins to fill with boundless heaps of stinking trash, the continuous progression of toilets to scrub - he wondered how a person could stand this. The work was menial, but it was more than that which affected him. Perhaps it was the repetition. Day in, day out, spent cleaning up someone else's mess. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It was as if the entire lives of these people had been funnelled down into nothing but the mop and the suds bucket. And no one else seemed to appreciate their work.

And it was not only the janitors who lived in ignorance. What about Ralph the Owlery worker? Or Phil and Mo, the ash-men? Or even the dishwashers at the Three Broomsticks? Or the Knight Bus drivers? There was a whole class of people out there, living on the tail-end of society.

He recalled Argus Filch, the grumpy Hogwarts caretaker. He had never been a particularly friendly Squib, but, then again, the world hadn't welcomed him with a smile either. Lupin understood why Filch had always preferred the company of Mrs. Norris to people. Cats did not care about status as much as people did.

Lupin had always known this gigantic framework existed, and that he too was trapped in this hierarchy. And he accepted this. Nevertheless, working in this dark world now, even if only for a little while, this caste system still saddened him. Yes, he didn't truly hate anyone here. He only hated the establishment. That thought calmed him down.

No wonder we work mostly at night, he thought, recalling what Lottie had said to him his first night, "like vampires - or werewolves." Squibs and wolves - both extreme ends of the same spectrum and both rejected.

Absent-mindedly, Lupin picked up a quill off the communal desk and began fiddling with it. Lottie burst out in another spew of jowl-jangling guffaws.

"Did ye see tha', Dougie?" she spluttered, pointing to the telly. She leaned her weight into the chair and tipped it backwards so far that she nearly toppled over. Her stubby legs kicked out into the air like a house-elf who fell into a cauldron headfirst. And Lupin could only watch, mutely, as her chins bobbed up and down, as her hands slapped her knees.

Suddenly, he could comprehend why she did this night after night. She wasn't as simple as he had previously surmised.

"Tha' was... tha' was classic, Dougie! S-s-see wha' he did? Jus' toppled richt ov'r!" She was wiping her eyes. They were coming down so fast, and her voice cracked so much that by this point, Lottie couldn't be in stitches. She was drowning in her own tears.

Chapter 17

Tonight was Tuesday, February 23^th. Lupin folded the Evening Prophet shut and plopped it on the bed. On the front were the bold letters "Champions Prepare for the Second Task."

Somewhere, Harry Potter was searching futilely through the Hogwarts library, trying to find an underwater breathing spell. Here, Remus Lupin was searching for his invisible pouch that he would use to steal a dozen Ashwinder eggs.

Rifling through his briefcase, his hand touched something cold and unfamiliar. He jerked back as if burned. What was that? Lupin picked up the object: his family Bible. How long had it been since he had leafed through it? Lupin put it down uneasily. He used to at least flip through the pages every night - it had comforted him. Just as his father's cross comforted him. But, of course, he hadn't needed either of them for a long time.

Lupin raised his head toward the mirror to see a stranger staring back at him. No, that wasn't a stranger - that was him. No, that wasn't him - that was Douglas Ridley. He was... he was Remus Lupin.

How odd, Lupin pondered to himself. I don't even recognize myself anymore...

"My name is Remus Lupin," he said aloud. The sentence felt alien on his tongue. A wary uncertainty crept along his spine. He took a step closer to the mirror.

"My name is Remus Lupin." His mouth formed the words, but it was like watching an actor on Lottie's telly screen.

Bowing his head, Lupin put a hand to his temple. What was he thinking? He chuckled to himself and gave a crooked grin at his reflection.

"I'm even talkin' to meself!" he realized suddenly with a laugh. "Wi' the Scottish brogue!" He struck one of Lottie's poses in the mirror: shoulders back, jaw firmly set, and one fist pointed forward, as if wrapped around the wooden handle. "Ye bitter stoop nae, Reemus," he mimicked, "afore ye go bonkers!"

God, why was he having such stupid thoughts! He found the pouch, which was turned inside out so the visible fabric showed. He reversed it and it disappeared, then tucked this into his robes. There we go.

From over the sink, Douglas Ridley smiled contentedly. "Everything is perfectly fine," Lupin told him.

That evening he acted especially helpful and kind to Lottie. Partially it was because he felt guilty about making her cry the other night, but mostly it was because he wanted to butter her up so she wouldn't suspect a thing. When midnight tea came around, instead of spending it with her, he asked, casually, "Lottie, I'll be takin' a rest at the office."

"Go ahead," she said. She wiped her brow and put the mop back in the bucket. "Yu'll be needin' aneethin'?"

"Nah. Jus' some sleep. Oh, and say hi to Mo if you see him up here."

Lupin walked off the floor and toward the elevators. "Doun!" he ordered. Then, he dropped and continued to the bottom. There, he crouched down in a corner, tensely, until Mo left the clean room.

As he stood there in the shadows, eyeing the giant chute above and the great door beside it, he went over his plan. Mo would go back up to get his midnight cup of coffee, then return. Hopefully, Lottie would flag him down and delay him with that incessant chatter of hers. That would give Lupin at least ten minutes to suit up by himself and go. He was taking a chance - a dozen eggs in one night was a hard find - but a strange confidence buoyed his thoughts.

There - Lupin squinted. Mo had exited. The stoker raised a hand and he swished upwards. Gone.

Lupin counted the seconds. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Then, he dashed up through the air to the door. Fumbling for his lock picks, he jammed the largest one into the keyhole and shuffled it around. The click was heard from behind the door and he slipped through, locking up behind him.

Now in the clean room, he went for Finney's gear. Where would it be-? Oh, the faculty closet of course! He swung it open and saw the needed gear. Snapping on the mask and goggles, Lupin then reached for the tank. Ugh - it was so damn heavy! He dragged it onto the floor and squatted down, slipped his arms through the straps, snapped them in place and heaved. The tank felt even more burdensome than before - Lupin groaned, straining. Finally, he got onto his feet. Taking a lantern from the shelf, he stole away down the staircase.

Lupin could feel the adrenaline rush through his head as he went down. His steps were hasty, and he lost his footing. Lupin flailed for the railing and dropped the lantern. It broke, sending pieces of glass scattering everywhere. Damn! Should he go back for another one? No, there wasn't enough time! There were torches there, he reasoned. Torchlight was enough...

The steps never seemed to end. Lupin checked his watch. Already the ten minutes had passed. Was Mo already up there? No matter, Lupin wouldn't mind staying here all night if he had to. First matters first. He had to get the eggs.

After another few minutes, he reached the Incinerator level, with the same smoke clouds and dust he had encountered before. He kept his eyes on the ground. He had to find a nest, there had to be one somewhere...

The outer rings proved fruitless, and Lupin trudged on toward the centre. His vision became a whir of red-hot furnaces and flying flames toward his face. He kept moving left, guided by the glowing arrows on the floor. Lupin took his chances and came right up to the roaring gridiron covers of the furnaces, where the fire was the hottest. Where are those damned Ashwinders? he fumed impatiently.

He charged through the fifth ring. By now, the temperature had risen significantly. Perspiration soaked his neckline and dripped down his brow. The tank was growing too cumbersome to bear; he started to walk hunch-backed under its weight. Still, he knew there had to be some eggs that Mo had missed!

Up ahead through the thick smog, he saw something shine and pulsate on the floor. His boots touched crushed ash. The beginnings of an Ashwinder nest. Excitedly, Lupin ploughed ahead. Soon, his highest aspirations were rewarded.

Lupin found them. His eyes grew large. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty - there were almost a hundred eggs out here, in little piles of four or five that stretched out into the smoke. One huge nest, or probably a cache of nests grouped together. He aimed and fired on the first few dozen before him. The frozen eggs twinkled like diamonds.

Getting down on one knee, Lupin put down his weapon to inspect them. Most were abnormally huge; he picked up one the size of a croquet ball. What kind of Ashwinder could lay these? A very large one, he answered himself.

Lupin tucked this into his pocket. As Lupin scooped up the largest of the eggs into his satchel, he couldn't help but wonder if he should take more than thirteen. One could invest well in Ashwinder eggs.

"Hissssssssssssss...."

He felt something slither over his ankle. His breath caught in his lungs.

"Hissssssssssssssss......"

The sound was now by his left knee. Slowly, Lupin reached to grab the ice blaster--

-- and settled on warm, crumbling scales.

"Hiisssssssssss..."

Lupin jerked his hand away. Thankfully, the snake didn't react.

He swallowed his fears. An Ashwinder was on his weapon. One move and it could strike. He must not provoke it. Carefully, Lupin grasped the buckles and unlatched each. Clack. Clack.

Thud. The fuel tank hit the ground.

Now rise.

Lupin moved into a crouching position. His palms stretched themselves parallel to the ground, ready to snatch up his weapon. Slowly.... Just slowly...

He turned his head slightly and caught the grey coil in his peripheral vision.

There it was.

He got to his feet. Breathe. Carefully...

The coil disappeared.

"Hissssssssss......"

Now! Move! Lupin grabbed the ice blaster and fired. The spray whipped out of the steel nozzle and struck the Ashwinder with such intensity its head snapped back. The creature gave a shaky death rattle and fell. Lupin jumped upon the serpent's head and crushed it under his heel.

Thank God, Lupin thought, wiping his brow with the back of his robe sleeve. He looked at the poor, thin rope body. It was barely the thickness of two fingers, not the heavy girth he had seen out of the corner of his eye.

"Hissssssss..." A chorus of reptilian cries.

No.

There was more than one.

Lupin whirled around and shot out another blast of liquid ice. It missed widely. A wispy shadow escaped into the smoke. Fire! Another blast of cold. An Ashwinder crumbled.

"Hissssssss!"

Freeze! The cold blue lashed out against the demonic beasts.

Get them!

"Hisssss!"

Lighting coils, whipping, vanishing, reappearing-

Watch the feet!

Lupin jumped and froze an Ashwinder that had almost got his ankle. The fuel tank remained on the floor and fell on its side. Lupin was pulled down with it. He cried out; he grabbed a free shoulder strap; he hauled the heavy tank up. But he couldn't buckle it on; there were so many; there wasn't enough time-

"Hisss!"

Shoot them!

"Hisss!"

Frigid blue against seething grey masses-

Freeze! Freeze! Freeze!

Lupin jumped, dodged, turned, fired, and cursed at the filthy beasts. His boots smashed frozen heads into powder as he unleashed the arctic blast again and again and again. One of his arms dragged the cumbersome fuel tank behind him; the other took a life of its own, manoeuvring this way and that to shoot. Sweat poured down his face and dripped onto his goggles, blurring his vision. His hands became sore; the arm dragging the tank lost feeling.

The Ashwinders fought fiercely for their cache, ducking and swerving his shots, escaping into the smoking billows for safety, then attacking from behind his back. Lupin was turning circles, growing dizzy, firing in all directions. Die! Die!

Totally illogical, said a pragmatic voice in the back of his brain, since these fire creatures weren't truly alive, but only magical manifestations; yet Lupin wasn't thinking logically at the moment. He just wanted to destroy them all.

"Hiissss!"

The combat dragged on yet action was limited to only the pull of the trigger and the pounding of feet. But there were so many, too many. A savage, untamed desperation welled out in his soul; he swore he had never felt such anger. Why did there have to be so many of them!? Damn then all just for being!

The ice-cold shots became weaker and weaker; he was running out of fuel.

"Hiss!"

An Ashwinder had crawled up the fuel tank towards his arm. No! Lupin fired, grabbed the serpent by its throat, and tossed it away.

"Let me be!" he spat.

His finger pulled at the trigger once more. There was no more pressure. A skinny icicle dripped out.

"Hissss..."

Oh bloody hell!

In near exhaustion, Lupin dropped the shooter. He wasn't going to die! He wasn't going to die, not like this-!

Lupin's eyes went to the cache of eggs. A couple of them were glowing brightly like tiny nova stars. They were about to explode-

Quickly, Lupin reached down and snagged a burning egg. The heat scorched through his gloves; he clenched his teeth in agony. Dropping the fuel tank on a serpent's head, Lupin tucked the egg on top and jumped. He ran through the mass of Ashwinders, his legs stumbling over their chalky scales. Move! Move! Move!

The egg on the fuel tank exploded into flames, igniting the tank. The steel drum exploded, sending more fire and shrapnel into the serpents' lair. The remnants of cold fuel evaporated, sending little flakes of white into the air before they were swallowed in the heat.

The heat from the exploding egg ignited the other eggs in the cache; a chain reaction was set off, with eggs bursting one after another. Contained explosions, like firecrackers, boomed around him. The loud wail of frightened Ashwinders filled the air. Lupin continued his mad dash away from the area. A stab of pain entered his right shoulder; Lupin grasped the piece of steel and wrenched it out of his flesh.

Finally, he stopped in the smoggy mists, winded and hurt. The explosions still sounded off in the distance. Lupin fell on his hands and knees, gasping through his breathing mask. He put a hand to his wounded shoulder and felt the hot blood ooze out. For many minutes, he remained in that position with his hand trying to staunch his wound. His eyes stared blankly at the ground. Lupin was counting his breaths. Calm down, Remus. It's over... It's over...

After a long while, he looked up and wiped the drying sweat from the front of his goggles. Lupin got to his feet again and gave a backwards glance. The mists parted a little, revealing a small, dirty mark pitting the concrete about 50 yards away. The area surrounding it was bare; the entire nest and all of its occupants had been decimated in the conflagration.

Lupin sighed and headed down the curving hall. He checked his pockets. Only three eggs were on him. Such a pity to waste the rest like that, but not a bad catch overall. He would have to give these to Goldflincher as soon as possible, probably when he got off his shift.

Two pinpoint ruby eyes blinked in the smoke behind him. A tiny snake, only a newborn from the furnace, slithered toward the sound of his departing footsteps.

Now he would have to ask for an extension to get the rest of the eggs. Goldfincher had better be patient; he didn't want to have Gringotts Bank after him too. What an idiotic move on his part - he was the one who had said to give him a week. And he had greatly underestimated those Ashwinders and the time it would take to acquire those eggs. Why did he have to try so hard to outdo these Squibs-!

An idea struck him. He could deal with them! They were giving away good eggs at five Knuts apiece. All he had to do was offer ten Knuts and he would be set! Just cash these Ashwinder eggs he had now and use it to barter for a dozen. Dear God, why hadn't he thought of that before-!? Now Lupin felt like a damned fool. All he had to do was go to Gringotts and exch--

"Hisss..."

He didn't see the Ashwinder until it had wrapped around his ankle.

But by then it was too late.

Lupin sank to the floor, only a few strides away from the stairway. He made no sound as he fell - he couldn't - so no one knew he was down in the Incinerator, not even Moseley when he came back to the clean room and started a solitary game of Gobstones.

The last things Lupin heard were the whispers of fire and the minute plink of throwing stones on the table - one sound inaudible to the world except him - one sound, one trifling sound, echoing down the stairwell to his dying ears -

Plink...

plink...

plin-