Here Be Monsters II: Psalm of the Wolf

I usually wake up quickly. It is a useful talent to have when you are a member of the Order. Getting caught, flat-footed and groggy, by a squad of Death Eaters is not a very good way to start the day. Therefore I come awake in an instant when I sense Harry stirring beside me.

Harry does not have the same skill of swift waking, so I amuse myself by watching as he gradually swims his way out of sleep. He opens his eyes slowly and lazily, blinking several times, then stretching luxuriously against my chest. Looking up at me he gives a gentle smile. "Morning, Moony."

"Morning, pup. We had better get started. Ron and Hermione will be here early."

"Okay." He hops out of bed and digs out a towl and some fresh boxer shorts. "I'll take a shower first."

"Sounds good." I stretch out on the bed after he leaves, staring at the ceiling and wondering what I've gotten myself into. What happened last night was just what I had feared. We are bonded now, Harry and I, sealed in the unbreakable embrace of the pack. And Harry does not understand what has happened.

I close my eyes and groan. I should have been more explicit with Dumbledore, should have held on to my reservations. But it is too late now, much too late. The path back is blocked by my own nature - a nature I can no more change than I can prevent the rising of the moon.

And the worst thing is, I don't want to go back. I haven't felt so vital, so active, so needed, in years - not at Hogwarts, not with the Order, certainly not with any of the activities I've pursued trying to scrape together a few sickles here and there. Harry doesn't realize what I've done to him, and deep inside a wild, powerful, frightening thing doesn't care.

I get up from the bed and wander over to Harry's desk. It is piled high with DADA texts and Charms instructions. Not good, not good at all. Harry needs to relax and and learn to separate himself from the troubles of the world, not immerse himself in them.

Sirius' letter to Harry is sitting on the edge of the desk, folded. My fingers twitch with the desire to pick it up and see what my old friend had to say to my puppy. But the thought of what Harry's face would look like if he learned of such a betrayal squelches the desire almost instantly. Instead I pick up a small stack of career pamphlets and go back to sit on the bed, my legs stretched out on the mattress and my back propped up against the pillows.

After several minutes Harry comes back, drying his hair with a towl. Grinning at me, he proceeds to pull on a pair of jeans, and fasten a watch around his wrist. Then he sits on the bed.

"How are you doing, Harry?" I ask softly.

He shrugs, looking down at the floor. I put down the pamphlets and reach over to caress his back. He is so very thin, the bones of his spin are sharp and ridged beneath my palm.

"Are you looking forward to seeing your friends?" I continue, concerned as I note the flush in his cheeks and the heat under my hand. He finished his course of medicines yesterday. This low fever could be residual effects of the medications. And it could be the effects of poison.

"Yeah," he says, and his eyes brighten, almost sparkling. "It's just, well - it's just all a lot to get used to."

"I know," I say softly. "But it will get better with time. And we are here to help you. Especially me."

He looks up, giving me a strangely shy glance.

"Yes, Harry?"

He blushes, then looks at the floor and mutters something.

"What's that, pup?" I ask gently.

"Nothing," he mumbles a little louder. Then, "Well, I was... forget it." He blushes even deeper.

Finally, he sighs deeply and turns his face to me. His eyes are bright and his mouth determined, but there is something about his features, something underneath the brave Gryffindor expression, that screams of desperation and fear. Maybe it is the way his jaw seems to tremble just slightly, or the tightly stretched skin at the corners of his eyes, or the flaring of his nostrils like a panicked animal, or all of these things. Hermione was right, I think, remembering what she had said at the twins' shop a couple of days ago. Harry is like a diamond -- hard and bright and strangely brittle. And he's cracked through and through, heart and soul and mind.

I wait for a moment to see if he will say anything. He just looks down again, obviously trying not to say something. I sigh and shake my head just a bit, knowing he can't see. This is going to be hard to get used to. "Harry," I say firmly.

He meets my eyes finally. I grin at him and open my arms. He turns a deep scarlet, but nevertheless crawls over and lays his cheek against my chest. I wrap my arms around him firmly and press a kiss into his hair, letting the smell of him overwhelm my senses once again.

"Mmmm," he sighs softly, obviously enjoying the cuddle he was too proud to ask for.

"Is this what you wanted?"

"Yeah," he says softly, his tone still embarassed.

"Don't ever be ashamed to need this, Harry," I say urgently. This is something Harry needs to understand, must understand. "I know it's hard. It's hard for everybody, sometimes, and you've had a lot more difficult life than most people your age." When I think of everything my pup has been through, I want to gnash my teeth. Instead I kiss his scalp once again. "But we all need affection, Harry. We all need love. And I will never deny you this."

He stiffens against me, his breath growing harsher. "But..."

"No, Harry," I say firmly. I grasp his chin and force his head up so that he has to look into my eyes. "I will never deny you this. I will never deny you love."

His expression is one of stunned disbelief. It's like I've told him that he can have the ocean for his swimming pool and the sun for his night light. Deep in my heart I curse the Dursleys and Snape and Voldemort and the Malfoys and Albus and everybody else who has had a hand in convincing Harry that he is unworthy of love. I curse them all to Hell.

Harry sighs softly again and turns so he is spooned against me, his back to my chest, his head under my chin. I fold my forearms over his chest and rest my hands on his shoulders.

"I was looking at your career pamphlets," I say softly, "I hope you don't mind."

"Nope," he sighs. "Just stuff left over from the school year."

"Uh-huh." I gently tickle under his jaw with my index finger, making him giggle and twist his head in an effort to evade the teasing. "And when will you start working on this little problem, hmm? The Auror Office will have to partner you with Tonks. Clumsy and Ticklish!"

"Quit, Moony!" He reaches up, still giggling, and catches my hand. I laugh gently and give his hand a squeeze. Then my eyes fall on the watch he is wearing and my heart freezes. It is a cheap Muggle contraption with a bright red plastic band. The face sports a fat mouse in red overalls and white gloves. His hands move to tell the time.

"Where did you get that, Harry?"

"Hmm? Oh, the watch? Petunia gave it to me, would you believe? I think she found it in the mail."

I swallow hard. Harry feels me tense and looks up, his expression suddenly worried.

"What is it, Moony?"

I sigh heavily and consider lying. But lies were at the root of this terrible year, and I don't have the heart to continue that destructive tradition. "I suspect that came from Peter, Harry."

"Peter?" He sits up and stares at me.

"Yeah. Don't worry!" I exclaim as he starts tearing off the watch, "It would have tripped the wards if it had any harmful spells on it."

Harry replies with a blistering obscenity and hurls the colorful timepiece across the room. It cracks hard against the edge of his desk and falls to the floor. "How?" he asks, "What...?"

I slide my arms around Harry's torso again and draw him back into a cuddle, gently pressing a kiss against the nape of his neck. "We all had pet names for you, Puppy."

"Who?"

"When you were little. Sirius and I called you Puppy. Peter called you Mouse, or sometimes Mickey."

He shudders and looks at me in disbelief. "Peter? Did he - did he visit a lot?"

I really wish I could bring myself to lie. But those sparkling green eyes have me transfixed. "Yes, Pup. He was your favorite babysitter."

"My ... favorite?" Harry's voice is so low it's barely a sound at all.

"Yes. You used to love it when he would change into his animagus form and push toys around."

Harry closes his eyes and presses his cheek against my breastbone. His breath is hitching a little, but no more tears come. I hug him fiercely, my heart aching for his pain.

"Did he love me?" Harry asks quietly. "Sirius, I mean. Do you think he really wanted me?" His voice is tight with worry and pain. I sense that if I were to say "No" he would start screaming, or else retreat into an icy solitude that would rival a cell in Azkaban.

Luckily there is no need for that. "Oh, Harry," I whisper fiercely, "he loved you SO much!"

"Did he ever, uhm, talk about me?" Harry burrows his head against my skin in embarrassment, his small fingers refelexively curling in my chest hair.

"Only every day, Puppy. ALL day, somedays. To tell you the truth, it got kind of boring!"

Harry chuckles a bit. I chuckle back and reward him with a flurry of caresses.

"What did he say?"

A thick obstruction appears in my throat, but I force myself to speak anyway. "He talked about how much you meant to him, Puppy. He talked about how you were the only good thing in his life and," I swallow hard, "and how much he wanted to be with you."

Harry starts crying again, silently. I hold him for a while, then gently force his chin up so I can nuzzle his tear-streaked face. "Shhh, Pup, he wouldn't want you to cry like this!"

"I'm so sorry, Moony." Harry's voice breaks and his shoulders shake with emotion.

"Why, Puppy?"

"I killed him, Moony," Harry says heavily. "He loved me, and I killed him."

"Harry, no!" I don't yell, but I fear I do growl a bit. I keep his head firmly elevated so he has to look into my eyes - eyes I now try to fill with warmth and love and concern. "Bellatrix killed him! Voldemort killed him! Even Kreacher..." I break off, remembering Dobby's warning. "YOU were a victim, Harry."

"But if I...."

"Harry you loved him." I press my lips against his scar, then look him in the eye from only a few inches away. "Voldemort used that, the bastard! But what you were, what you are, is good and sweet and kind and loving. You are everything Riddle despises. And that's why he's doomed."

I hold Harry for several minutes longer, then finally, reluctantly, draw back my arms. "I guess we had better get ready."

"Yeah," Harry says, "like you said, they'll be here any time."

I grab a towel and some clean clothes and quickly go through my morning routine. I am relaxed now, and neither my gums nor my back nor my joints are giving me any trouble. After getting dressed, I hurry downstairs. Harry has donned sneakers and a tee shirt, and is sitting in what I suspect is Vernon Dursley's personal chair. A book bag is balanced on his knees.

"Hermione wanted to see some of the texts I've been using," he explains as I look at the bag with a quizzical glance. "When she found out Tonks had lent me some of the Auror manuals, she wouldn't shut up about it."

"I can believe that!" I say forcefully. "I think she's probably read the entire Hogwarts library by now!"

"Not all of it," Harry corrects. "Just the part she can get to."

Harry looks at the floor, chewing his lower lip. Sadness and worry are written heavy on his features.

"I know it's hard, Harry," I say softly.

"Moony, I...." he glances up, his eyes shuttered.

"Yes?"

The doorbell sounds loudly, cutting off our conversation. Harry shoves the bookbag onto the floor between the chair and sofa and comes to his feet. I give him a thumbs-up and go to open the door.

Ron and Hermione are standing on the front step, with Arthur Weasley behind them in his muggle best. "Hello, Remus," he says brightly as they bustle through the door, "I hope you're well." His expression is sad and concerned.

"We are doing better," I say softly.

The two teens, for their part, give me scarcely a nod before rocketing across the room. Hermione grasps Harry in a fierce embrace rather like a wrestling hold while Ron grins and pounds him on the back.

"Glad to hear it," says a familiar, curmudgeonly voice from behind Arthur. Shouldering the red-haired man aside, Mad Eye Moody steps into the hallway clad in the long coat and bowler he wore to meet Harry at King's Cross station.

"Hello, Alastor." I motion for both of them to enter, but Arthur shakes his head.

"I wangled a car from the Ministry," he explains, "but I'd better be going."

"Okay." I shake his hand firmly. "We'll look for you later." I manage to pack several layers of meaning into that sentence.

He takes his leave somberly, but not before Ron comes forward, his cheeks blushing. Moody and I make a show of looking away as the teenager awkwardly embraces his father, his eyes full of worry. What a world we live in, where a sixteen-year- old has to wait with his best friends while his father and mother and brothers battle murderous wizards. I fear this is not the last time Ron will see one of his loved ones off to battle, not knowing if they will return.

"Well," Alastor grumps into the silence after Arthur quietly closes the door behind him, "what shall we do?"

The question is answered by a loud crack as Dobby appears. "Breakfast is ready," he announces, beaming.

"Good," Ron exclaims, "I'm starved."

"Are you ever not hungry, Weasley?" Harry asks good naturedly.

Ron makes a great show of thinking. "Nope."

Harry chuckles, Hermione roles her eyes, and I marvel at the bond among the three of them as they make their way to the kitchen, Moody and I following behind. "I know auror teams that don't coordinate as well as those three," Alastor says softly.

"I don't doubt that," I reply. For some reason, I feel a thrill of worry dart through my stomach.

Dobby has prepared a wonderful breakfast. I wonder briefly if he is depleting the Dursley's cupboards, or if he is bringing supplies in from Hogwarts. Digging into a pile of fluffy eggs, I decide I don't care. The others likewise tear into the food, and we chew in satisfied silence for a good half-hour.

Finally, after both Harry and Ron have worked their way through three helpings (I can't help but watch proudly as the two of them fight an undeclared battle to see which can stuff down the most pancakes, eggs, and sausages) the three young people rise with the intent of an impromptu chess tournament. I have no doubt that Ron will emerge the victor, but the happy smile I see on Harry's face at the proposal fills me with satisfaction.

"Well, Remus," Alastor says as the three of them pass into the living room, "here is a way to keep track of things. I didn't want to say anything in front of them." He reaches into his coat and produces a small hand mirror. "Tonks has the mate," he informs me in a low voice, then stomps out to keep watch over the teenagers.

I heft the mirror carefully. This doubtless works on the same principle as the two-way mirrors James and Sirius used to use at Hogwarts. Bringing the glass close to my face, I softly utter "Tonks."

The mirror clouds, then clears to reveal the young auror's face fringed by her trademark bubblegum hair. "Hi Remus!" she exclaims cheerfully. "How are the kids doing?"

"The kids," I say dryly, "are fine." Tonks is a fine one to speak, as she is only about six years older than Harry herself.

"Good. Nothing suspicious here, so far, unless you count the twins' doorprizes."

"Doorprizes?" I can just imagine.

"Yeah. They've been wrapping 'em up and chuckling all morning." Her eyes gleam merrily. "I don't think we'll have a dull day, even if all the Death Eaters stay home!"

"Let's hope all you have to worry about is the Weasley sense of humor!" I say fervently, even as my sour stomach tells me how unlikely that is. "How is everyone else holding up?"

"Fine, as well as I can tell. Molly is about to drive us all crazy fussing about, but what else is new?"

"Yes, what else is new?" It's nice to know that some things are constant. "Just keep Bill from losing his temper and you should be okay."

"He is keyed up," Tonks agreed, "but I think he'll be all right. He's paired off with Dumbledore, and that man could keep a burning building cool."

"Sometimes," I say, "sometimes."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Tonks is suddenly more somber. "He has quite the temper himself. I would have never known it when I was at Hogwarts."

"Yes. I understand." We have all learned quite a bit about each other this past year. Not all of it is comforting. "Take care, Tonks. Keep me posted."

"I will. Talk to you soon, Remus." The mirror fogs again, and her image fades, leaving me with an intense feeling of emptiness and worry. Shoving the glass into my robes, I make my way into the living room, trying and failing to keep my mind off what might soon be happening in Diagon Alley.

Surprisingly enough, time passes rather quickly for a while. Harry and Ron appear lost in their chess duel, while Moody entertains Hermione and me with stories from his days as an auror. But as ten a.m. - opening time at Weasley Wizard Wheezes - grows nearer, tension begins to build. A gradual closeness builds up in the air. Hermione's questions grow gradually more distracted, while Harry and Ron keep glancing up from the chess board, obviously trying not to look like they're observing the clock. I feel the sourness in my stomach building into outright nausea, while even Moody starts to ramble and grow restless.

I make excuses twice to leave the room and check in with Tonks. She can tell me nothing, except that a surprisingly large crowd is gathering in preparation for the opening. I don't know if we should feel surprise or not. After all, with the shadow of Voldemort looming over the Wizarding World, is it strange that people feel a need to show defiance, to cling desperately to life and joy?

Just as I conclude the second check-in, I look up to see Harry entering the kitchen. He approaches me with an oddly tentative step.

"What is it, Harry?" I ask, slipping the mirror quickly into my pocket.

"Moony, I need to tell you...."

"What, pup?" I smile at him lovingly, feeling so very proud of how strong and brave and smart my Harry is.

"I.... Moony this is hard."

"Just say it, Harry."

"I should really be at Diagon Alley," he says firmly.

I sigh sadly, noting that Harry is not meeting my eyes. "Harry, you don't have to shoulder the pain of the world, or the weight of the war."

"Yes I do, Moony," he answers, quietly and bitterly. "You know that as well as I do."

"Harry, no."

"Moony, yes. You know what I'm for."

"What you're for?" I rub the bridge of my nose. "Harry..."

The door of the kitchen suddenly opens and Ron strides in. "Hi! Just wanted to make sure you two were okay!" He grins, but it is a strained expression. And when he looks at Harry, for a moment I could almost swear they are glaring at each other.

Then Harry smiles back at his friend. "We were okay before you showed up, Weasley! Come on, I'll let you beat me at chess."

That sets off indignant spluttering that continues all the way into the living room. The two boys begin a new round of chess contests, while the rest of us launch into a discussion of how NEWT DADA differs from the lower levels.

Finally, the chess match comes to an end, with a victory by Ron of course. Moody falls silent as do Hermione and I. We all shift uncomfortably in our seats, saying nothing.

"I can't stand it!" Harry exclaims, bounding to his feet and sending the chess pieces flying. They lie on the floor, complaining loudly.

"Harry!" I say, trying to sound soothing, "Calm down! This is hard on all of us."

"That's right, Potter," Moody growl has a kind undertone, "try to keep yourself together. Waiting's never easy at times like this."

"I'm about to go barmy too!" Ron says darkly, scooping the chessmen off the carpet. "Can't we go outside for a while?"

"Well, I don't...."

"Let's go out back, Professor," Ron begs, "please?"

I look over to Harry. To my surprise, he and Ron seem to be glaring at each other again. Finally Harry sighs and says, "I guess that would be a nice change."

"I suppose it would be all right. Moody?"

Alastor plainly doesn't like the idea, but nevertheless he shrugs. "Well, if the three of you can act like sensible human beings, it shouldn't hurt anything."

"Come on!" Ron says excitedly. He quickly stuffs the chessboard and chessmen back into his pack and makes for the back door.

I turn to find Hermione watching Ron with eyes full of worry. She and Harry exchange an unreadable look, then move to follow their friend. Moony and I bring up the rear.

Harry's odd behavior is bothering me greatly. What is the tension between him and Ron? Those two are normally as thick as thieves.

Then again, it may just be an overprotective streak coming out. That is a danger between members of a pack. You get paranoid about one another's welfare. I exit into the back yard, shaking my head ruefully. Harry seems to be all right now. I watch him and his his friends moving into the center of the yard. He is much to thin. I can see his left shoulder blade clearly through his tee shirt. The pressure of his book bag on his right shoulder makes the unburdened scapula stand out all the clearer.

Book bag? Why is he carrying his book bag?

Panic suddenly flares in my chest. I open my mouth to shout even as Ron produces a square of white cardboard that I recognize immediately as an invitation to the opening of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The shout exits my mouth even as the three of them touch the invitation and the portkey activates.

And then they are gone. My shout dies, cut off abruptly as my throat closes in panic.

"Bloody Hell!" Moody exclaims.

I look at him, stunned. My throat clenches so hard I can't breathe.

But Moody's years as an auror were not in vain. "Get hold of Tonks on the mirror!" he snaps. I'll meet you in front of Gringott's!" Then he disapparates.

I fumble the mirror out of my robes and hastily call for Tonks. The image that appears is of a long-haired blond girl about Hermione's age. "Remus?" she asks.

"Password!" I bark, finally managing to fill my lungs.

"Strawberry surprise," she answers with a flustered expression, "now what's wrong?"

"It's Harry and Hermione and Ron," I exclaim. "They've used a portkey!"

"A portkey? Why? Oh, Merlin!" Her expression shifts to shear horror as the implications sink in.

"Moody is trying to find them now. I'll apparate over as soon as we're done."

"Hell and damnation!" she hisses. I have never heard her curse in such a heartfelt vein. "We HAVE to find them!"

"I know," I agree fervently, "if the Death Eaters appear, they could be in the middle of an all-out war zone."

"Not only that, if Dumbledore finds out, he'll peel us all like onions! Get over here and find those kids, Remus!"

I had not even considered Dumbledore's reaction, but she is of course correct. With a string of expletives that even Padfoot would have envied, I disapparate and appear in front of Gringott's.

I find Moody with no trouble. He is standing on the top step of the bank, his magical eye whirling desperately, his expression sour enough to make an acromatula scuttle away as fast as its hairy legs could move.

"Can you see them, Moody?" I yell, taking the steps three at a time.

"No. They must be in one of the side lanes."

I curse heartily again, remembering the backpack Harry was carrying. I have no doubt his invisibility cloak was stuffed deep inside. The three of them are probably under it, now. That would not fool Moody's magical eye, but it will play the very Devil with the rest of us.

"Why don't you try to pick up their scent?" Moody growls angrily.

"I'm a werewolf, Alastor, not a werebloodhound." In truth, the Alley is such a sea of smells I probably wouldn't catch their scent until I was almost on top of them.

Moody matches my flood of epithets. I tune him out as I scan the Alley fearfully. As Tonks said, a large crowd has gathered in front of Number 93, awaiting the opening of the doors scheduled to take place in a few minutes. The rest of the Alley is also buzzing. Voldemort or no Voldemort, the Weasley twins seem to be good for business.

I hastily review the disposition of forces. Gringott's is protected by its own security systems, none of them coordinated with either the Order or the Aurors. Teams of Aurors are atop both the joke shop and the building across the street. Those on top of the shop are backed up by Sturgis Podmore and Emmaline Vance. Since neither of them were able to attend the Order's strategy meeting, they have been given the most straightforward tactical assignment. The Aurors on the roof across the street, who have the best view of the street in front of the joke shop and the front of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, are supported by Bill Weasley and Dumbledore himself. Arthur and Molly wait inside the shop to aid the twins in defending their property. Aurors circulate through the crowd along with agents of Magical Law Enforcement. McGonagall, Dung Fletcher, and Tonks are also among the crowd disguised in their own particular ways. Kingsley Shacklebolt is about somewhere, coordinating the efforts of the Order with the forces of the Ministry.

Harry, where are you? I feel like snarling in despair and fear. Where would he place himself?

In the midst of the danger, of course. I snap my attention to the front of the shop and the gathered crowd. I would bet a year's supply of Wolfsbane that he and his friends are hidden there, somewhere. Right where the Deatheater attack will fall the hardest.

Note to self: Ask Albus to borrow Godric Gryffindor's sword. He might not have had the heart to paddle Harry with it, but when I get my hands on that particular Seeker it's likely to be different story. If we all get out of this alive the only thing he'll be diving for the next couple of days is a pillow so he can actually sit down. Or maybe I'll just let Albus keep the sword and deal with this the wolf way - i.e. pick the young man up by the scruff of the neck and shake till his eyes roll and his teeth rattle.

Then of course I'll check myself into St. Mungo's to recover from my coronary. But first things first.

"Keep looking!" I snap at Moody and spring down the steps, making for the rear of the crowd. I have no idea what I am going to do once I get there, but I am driven by an imperative I cannot resist. I dash down the street, uncaring as to how ridiculous I must look, robes blowing in the wind of my passage.

"Professor Lupin!" A bright voice hails me as I skirt the edge of the crowd. I look around and spot Neville Longbottom waving to me briskly. He is standing next to his grandmother, with none other than Luna Lovegood at his side.

I skid to a halt and backtrack to the strange trio, noting that Mrs. Longbottom is glaring at me with her lips pursed disapprovingly. Reaching them I give her a quick and, I fear, not very polite nod. "Hello Mrs. Longbottom. How are you Neville? Luna? Have you seen Harry or Ron or Hermione?"

"No, we haven't," Neville replies, evenly. Despite my panic, I am impressed by how much more self-controlled and dignified he seems than I remember. "We just arrived."

"We felt it important to come," Mrs. Longbottom explains. "One must not let bullies intimidate one."

"No, one must not," I agree dryly. "Luna, Neville, I hear you are interning at the Aesculapius Foundation this summer."

"We are," Luna says softly, "but they let us have the day off. Is Harry here to fight the Death Eaters?"

I blink. "Death Eaters?" I say, sounding remarkably stupid.

"Yes, surely they will show up. Neville and I have been practicing."

"Have you?" I look at Neville with arched eyebrows.

"Oh, yes Professor," he replies, blushing slightly. "We were sure Harry would be here."

"Did he owl you about it?" I bark loudly.

"Really, Professor!" Mrs. Longbottom exclaims.

"It's all right, Grandmother," Neville interjects, a little sharply. My, he has changed.

"My apologies," I breath. "It's just that I can't find Harry or his friends..."

"We are his friends, too," Luna observes, a little more sharply than is her wont.

"I know, Luna," I say, forcing down the hot irritiation I feel. "I meant that Hermione and Ron have gone missing, too."

"Oh," she shrugs dreamily, "that's all right then."

"We will keep a look out for Harry and Ron and Hermione, Professor," Neville says.

"Good," I breathe, noticing that he hasn't said what they will do if they find the Gryffindors. "If you will excuse me," I dodge to the right, not waiting for a reply.

And I find myself face to face with Ginny Weasley. She gasps, obviously surprised, and attempts to dart into the crowd. My reflexes are too swift. I latch onto her wrist and pull her free of the throng.

"Hello, Miss Weasley," I say with as much calm as I can muster, "I'm very surprised to see you here."

"Professer Lupin," she breaths, "I ..."

"Am the recipient of a portkey, if I am not mistaken," I feel a surge of annoyance. "I am so glad that everyone decided to fill the rest of us in on the plans for this little get together."

"Look, Professor," Ginny tries to pull free, but I hold her firmly, careful not to exert anything like my full strength, "I don't know what you mean."

I sigh heavily. "Ginny, do you know where Harry is?"

"Harry? You mean that Harry's here?" She widens her eyes comically.

"Ginny, you aren't a very good liar. Now, please..."

"DON'T HURT HER!"

I half turn in surprise as Neville advances angrily, his face flushed.

"I have no intention of doing any such thing, Neville." I say softly.

"NEVILLE!" That is his grandmother, looking positively shocked. At her side Luna is watching us languidly. Rather, it would be be languid for anyone but Luna. There is a thin crease between her eyebrows, just the ghost of a frown.

"Neville, it's okay," Ginny protests.

"No it isn't!" he insists, looking stubborn. "She isn't doing anything wrong! Let her go!"

"NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM!" Mrs. Longbottom is advancing like a ship in full sail. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!"

Luna fixes her gaze on a spot midway between Neville and Ginny. But the crease in her brow deepens slightly, and her gaze isn't quite so far away as it was a moment ago.

"It's quite all right, Mrs. Longbottom," I say, taking great care to keep my voice even. "Neville, I'm afraid I really must disagree with you."

"As must I." The new voice is familiar and totally chilling. Taking in breath as one, all four of us turn to see Albus Dumbledore approaching, his mild smile seriously dimmed and his eyes cool. "Miss Weasley, I do not think that your parents would be at all pleased to find you here."

Ginny's shoulders droop in a picture of abject defeat. "I don't suppose they would," she mutters.

"Now," I say softly, letting a bit of my annoyance creep into my tone, "where are Harry and Hermione and Ron?"

Albus takes in a hissing breath between his teeth. I do my best to ignore him and glare at Molly and Arthur's only daughter.

"I don't know," she says tiredly. "Ron and I had portkeys. I haven't seen them."

"I take it," Albus says quietly, "that Mr. Potter and Miss Granger and Mr. Ronald Weasley are now present in this vicinity?"

I don't look at him. I don't have to look at him to know what his expression must be like. Neville is looking over my shoulder in Albus' direction, and the wide-eyed stare on his face tells me all I need to understand.

"Yes," I say carefully, "they used a portkey to leave Privet Drive several minutes ago. Evidently they are under Harry's cloak."

"I see." Albus voice is very, very calm. "Well, I suppose you can help us look for your missing comrades, Miss Weasley. You as well, Mr. Longbottom."

There is a soft sigh from the front of the throng. I look up and see that the doors of the joke shop have opened.

"I think I must get back to my post," Albus says mildly. I finally look at him fully. He appears calm and possessed and cool, all the qualities he usually projects. But his eyes are stormy - rather like the sky just before a hurricane, in fact. "Remus, I trust I can leave you in charge of finding our runaways?"

"Yes, Albus. I will take responsibility for that." As well as for letting them slip away in the first place, but that goes without saying.

"Very well." He reaches into his robes and produces something small and metallic. He hands the object to me, saying, "This may prove useful. I leave you to your task." With a crack he disapparates, but not before fixing me for three long heartbeats with those storm-harbinger eyes. A dart of pain lances up my spine and my stomach flips over twice in succession.

"Well," I look at Neville and Ginny darkly, "I think we have a job."

"Yes, indeed," Mrs. Longbottom agrees primly.

"Let's get started," Luna says softly. She smiles and walks up to her friends. The look she gives Neville is positively beatific. The one she gives Ginny is ... not.

Hmm, the foundation doesn't seem to be working those two hard enough.

Looking down at the small object in my hand, I realize I'm holding a muggle cell phone - obviously the mate to the one that Harry carries. Unfortunately, I have no knowledge of such things - when last I regularly used phones they were wired into the wall.

"I don't suppose any of you know how to work this thing?"

Neville and his grandmother both shake their heads. Ginny gives me a sorrowful expression and shrugs.

Purebloods. How utterly useless. Where on earth is a muggleborn when you need one?

"Fine." I stare down at the small screen and tiny buttons helplessly. "Now what?"

I look out over the crowd and realize that it has ebbed markedly from our position. There is a shout from somewhere near the shop and bright lights flare, immediately resolving into red pinwheels and dancing blue dragons. Somebody has just opened their dooprize.

I tentatively poke at the buttons. All I get are a series of beeps. Frustration and annoyance wells inside of my chest, along with something else. A sharp thrill spreads upwards from my diaphragm, making a tingling cloud around my heart. Prickling blossoms on my neck and I feel my nape hairs grow stiff. Danger is coming. It hasn't arrived yet, but it is very close. And it is approaching fast.

"Professor," Ginny tugs at my elbow, "over there!"

I follow her pointing finger, half expecting to see dark-robed figures emerging from a side alley. Instead a thin, brown haired figure is trotting toward us, waving in a curiously tentative manner. He looks to be Harry's age, and as he comes closer I see his face is very familiar. Obviously a Hogwarts student. But who? I grimace behind a hastily raised hand. Now is not the time for student-teacher reunions.

"Malone!" Neville exclaims in surprise.

"Who?" I ask in a half whisper.

"Adrian Malone," Neville says softly, "my year at Hogwarts. He's in Slytherin. He isn't one of the bad ones, though."

Of course. Now I remember the silent, retiring Slytherin in Harry's year. As I recall I scarcely knew him to string more than two sentences together at any given time. Mostly he sat in the back of the class, watching everything with nervous, haunted eyes.

"Professor Lupin!" Malone says in his strangely quiet voice, holding out his hand. "I was hoping you would be here."

"Hello, Mr. Malone," I say, grasping his hand and trying not to frown.

"Ginny, Neville," he says, giving each of them a kind of half-grimace.

"My grandmother," Neville mutters. "Grandmother, Adrian Malone."

"Pleased to meet you young man," Mrs. Longbottom says politely.

"And you, m'am," he says politely.

"I didn't expect to see you, Adrian," Neville says carefully, giving the Slytherin a tentative smile.

"Why not?" Malone asks softly. If I'm not mistaken, his expression is a little hurt.

"Well, this isn't ..." Neville's voice trails off awkwardly.

"A Slytherin event?" Malone definitely looks hurt. "Do you think a Slytherin can't enjoy a joke shop?"

"Sorry, Adrian," Neville hangs his head.

"Don't feel bad, Adrian!" Ginny interjects suddenly. "We just didn't expect to see you, that's all.

"I know," the thin boy looks very sad but gives a friendly enough shrug. "We aren't so different, you know."

"Uhm," Ginny looks at me for help, but I can only give her a shrug of my own.

Luna, on the other hand, looks at the Slytherin as if seeing him for the first time. "Professor Flitwick always points out how similar the houses are."

"Brave, loyal, witty, wise," Adrian suddenly exclaims in a singsong, "All their own ambitions prize!"

Neville looks startled, then laughs. Ginny and I both smile. Evidently the Slytherins have their mottos like the other Houses. Luna, of course, looks totally composed, as if she had not heard a word Adrian just said.

"Meaning Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws can be ambitious, too?" Ginny asks. Of course she would know, with a brother like Percy.

"I guess. Or that we can be brave, loyal, witty, and wise."

"Uhhh," Neville looks embarrassed again.

"Although not all of us," Adrian says, sadly. "Anyway, I was hoping to talk to you, Professor. Do you have a minute?"

He looks so hopeful I feel my heart sinking. "I'm afraid not, Adrian, we are in rather a crisis, right now."

"Oh." He looks like he's been kicked.

"I would love to talk to you, at some point, though!" That's something of a lie. I don't remember him well enough to love to talk to him. But he looks so disappointed the words just come out. "Why don't I send you an owl?"

He brightens like the sun rising. "Can I? It's really important!"

"Of course."

"Are you having trouble with your phone?" he asks, pointing to the device in my hand.

"Oh, errr, no. I just don't know how to use it."

"Oh, let me. What number do you want to call?" He reaches out and grabs the phone.

"Uh, I don't know."

"Has it been called on this phone?"

"Uh, yes."

"Simple. We'll call up the memory function." His fingers dance over the keys, eliciting a cascade of beeps. "There. Only one number called? I guess that must be it."

"It must be."

"OK. It's ready now. Just hit the SEND button." He hands the phone back and leans forward. "My mother is a regional dealer for this kind of thing," he confesses softly.

My eyes widen. A half-blood Slytherin? No wonder he has that sad expression all the time!

"Thank you, Adrian."

"My pleasure. I'll look forward to your owl!" With a final sad smile, he walks away, disapearing into the midst of the crowd.

"Now," I say softly, "I wonder what that was about?"

"I don't know," Ginny says softly, "I don't know much about Malone."

"Me neither," Luna interjects.

Neville agrees quickly. "Neither do I. He can see the Thestrals, though."

"Can he?"

"Yeah. He saw them in Hagrid's class."

Questions on top of questions. With a weary sigh I press the "SEND" button on the cell phone. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on catching any sound like a muggle phone ringing.

So many sounds - voices, shoes on the pavement, the whisper of robes. Wait, what is that? Something halfway between a ring and a buzz. Distant and muffled - even my exceptional hearing barely picks it up. And of course it's coming from the direction of the joke shop.

"I think they are close to the shop entrance," I tell my reluctant colleagues. "Neville, if you and Luna and Mrs. Longbottom would circle to the left, Miss Weasley and I will circle to the right. I'll keep dialing, so listen for a phone. Do you know what that sounds like?"

All of the young people nod, Luna looking exceptionally pleased. Mrs. Longbottom looks doubtful, but hurries off to the left with her grandson and the dreamy-eyed Ravenclaw.

Ginny and I move in a wide arc around the outside of the crowd. I periodically press the "SEND" button, not sure how best to keep Harry's phone ringing. I catch the sound twice more. It is enough to put us on the correct vector.

Down the street from the shop in the direction we are heading the Alley makes a shallow dog-leg. A large building building projects out into the street at this point, presenting its side to the crowd in front of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. We arrive at the corner of the building, looking around in futile desperation.

The soft ringing comes again. It is emanating from a shallow flight of steps leading down to a door set in the side of the building below street level. I move slowly up to the iron railing of the steps, keeping my gaze fixed on the front of the joke shop so as not to alert my quarry that I have found them. As I approach the rail a set of familiar smells wafts up from the lower steps.

"Put the thing on vibrate!" Hermione's voice hisses.

"I don't know how," Harry answers in an annoyed tone.

"Oh for Heaven's sake, just hit the RECEIVE key twice and hang it up!"

"Why didn't you say so?" The ringing ceases.

But it is already too late. I suddenly sprint up to the railing and dart my hand through the vertical bars. As I suspected, with three people under the cloak my quarry can't move very fast. My fingers tangle in the fabric of James' cloak and I pull it hard. With a soft rippling effect, the three missing Gryffindors materialize on the steps. "Hello, Harry."

The three young people look at me with intense shock. "Moony...?" Harry's eyes are as big as two giant green saucers.

"Yes, Moony," I growl, "and ..." I choke on the fierce rage that wells up in my chest. How dare he defy me like this? HOW DARE HE?!

"Professor Lupin," Ron speaks, his voice shaking slightly, "we..."

"You will be silent, Mr. Weasley!" My voice is rough and rasps out of my throat painfully. "And so will you, Miss Granger!" Hermione shuts her mouth with an audible snap.

I swallow, hard. It does not seem to do anything about the burning anger searing a whole in my stomach lining. I do not know what would happen if I were to speak. I grind my jaws in frustration.

"Professor..." Hermione begins. Doesn't that girl know the meaning of SHUT UP?

Screams burst out from the packed square at my rear. Acting on reflex, and spurred by the boost to my strength coming from my anger at the insufferable trio, I leap the rail and land lightly at Harry's side, my wand ready.

A half-dozen black spheres, each about the size of a quaffle, are sailing above the crowd. At the moment I bring my wand up into defensive position, they explode in bursts of sickly green light.

"Down!" I roar, dropping to my knees. Grasping Harry around the shoulders I force him down at my side.

The waves of radiance roll over us with a swift, oily vibration. Freezing cold races through my bones, liquid frost pouring through my veins. I take a burning breath as the futility of this ridiculous battle strikes me. We are all going to die. Yes, die and for what? For the stupid dream of a happiness that is impossible, anyway. For sugar coated lies of love and peace and justice.

I feel my wand fall from shivering fingers. Laying my head against the stone step, I groan in sheer agony.

And then I hear something beside me - a soft mewling sound, like the whimper of a frightened infant. My head feels as heavy as all of Hogwarts, but somehow I manage to turn it. Harry rests prone next to me, his eyes half-closed. A thin trickle of blood drains from one nostril over his trembling lips.

"Harry?" I rasp. A feeling of intense panic grips my heart, and the freezing despair recedes. "Harry?" I reach out and rub his shoulder. His muscles are quivering and twitching.

"Professor," Hermione whimpers softly, "De..Dementors!"

Well, there is only one thing to say to this situation.

BLOODY FUCKING HELL!!