Interlune

'She bit me.'

'Don't be ridiculous. Women don't bite wolves.'

'Nor do humans talk to animals. But this one does. I don't much think she's a Muggle.'

'Well she bloody well isn't a werewolf. You didn't even break the skin.'

'Sirius, I could've bitten you, that night last month at Hogwarts.'

'Yes, well, you didn't. You only scratched me up a bit. And if werewolf claws could turn other people into werewolves, I'd've been turned into one twenty-odd years ago.'

It was a conversation fairly typical of the ones they'd been having for the past two nights, in the waning light of the gibbous moon.

They had traveled with Sienna, who--as it turned out--preferred to travel by night, when the southern air was cooler, and to sleep through the heat of the day. The horse seemed to prefer it, too; and he certainly had no objection to being hobbled to graze in well-shaded fields, magically--as Sienna said--free of flies during the day.

Sienna did not question the absence of flies by day, or of mosquitoes at night. She had made one half-laughing remark, their first night on the road together, that traveling with pilgrims had more benefits than just the obvious one.

Since she had called it 'obvious,' neither Remus nor Sirius had asked her to explain just what it was. Remus reckoned he knew--she was, after all, a woman, Muggle or not--but there had evidently been some aspects of Muggle culture that his Muggle Studies teacher had not considered appropriate to discuss with teenaged wizards.

Perhaps such things had changed since the years when he had been a student at Hogwarts. He rather hoped they had, for he knew that he had not. But he also knew he had never met a woman like Sienna. A woman who was decidedly not a witch...yet who was not terrified of hippogriffs...

When he got to this point, Remus always tried to stop wondering about Sienna.

He had not changed since his student days at Hogwarts. He was no longer a teenager...but he was still a werewolf. He did not for one moment imagine that the bite of a woman could do anything to counter that fact of his life.

Well. He could imagine it. And for more than one moment.

But he tried not to. No one had ever written of such a phenomenon, after all. No one he had ever consulted had ever even considered such a thing...or if they had, surely they would have told him...at some point...in all those years...

It made far more sense, he told himself, to try to learn from her all he could about the herbs she gathered as they traveled through the countryside.

Some, of course, she used in her cooking. She seasoned fresh vegetables with some of the herbs, and meat and fish with others.

Some, she told him, had medicinal properties, and were much better for people and animals than synthetic prescription synthetic drugs.

Since he had no idea what 'synthetic prescription drugs' were--except that they evidently had harmful properties--he did not ask about them, but only about her uses of the herbs with which he was already familiar.

Not about fluxweed--he was all too familiar with one of its uses, and he did not think she knew about Polyjuice Potion, not being a witch.

'But what about monkshood?' he asked, finally, calling the plant by the name she had used for it, not liking to mention the word 'wolfsbane.'

He and Sirius had modified enough of her memory to prevent recollection of those moments in the shed and just afterwards, but they had been too exhausted--and too out of practice--to do more just then...and afterwards, and ever since, she had spoken of her ride on the hippogriff as 'the most marvelous dream'--

They would have to do more, Sirius had been insisting, and quite soon.

Remus agreed, in words; but in thought he was reluctant. He had never known a woman like her...

'You've never--' Sirius had started to say--and then had broken off, scowling, his eyes darkening, and had walked away, leaving the road and striking out across the fields--'to check on Buckbeak,' he had muttered as he went.

And after all, Remus had told himself, walking on, leading the bay horse--who was still not entirely at ease with him but seemed too businesslike to snort and roll his eyes every time Remus came near--

After all, Sirius has no way of knowing I've never 'known' any woman at all.

But he isn't stupid. After all, what sort of woman would have a werewolf?

Any number.

Only...if one doesn't consider them to be 'women,' exactly...better to have no one, and nothing, at all...

She would not tell him why she had wanted the wolfsbane.

She had tried laughing at his question, saying not to worry, she obviously didn't collect monkshood to ward off pilgrims wearing monks' robes.

'Whether they really are monks or not,' she added. 'As long as they behave like monks...'

'Oh, terrific,' Sirius grumbled when Remus told him. 'How does one behave like a monk?'

'I daresay we are,' Remus had replied. 'She hasn't tried to ward us off yet.'--and he thought of the other woman, and of the sign she'd made against the evil eye.

Sienna tried telling Remus that all her recipes were stored in the same format as her journal, and that neither file was a deep dark secret. The laptop was almost always on the table, except during meals. There were no screensaver passwords, no security codes or locks...he was welcome to do a word search for monkshood...if he felt like playing Sherlock Holmes...

'Sometimes I have trouble believing Muggles and wizards live in the same England,' was Sirius's comment. 'I know you and Sienna and I are all speaking English, but I never before realised there was a Muggle dialect.'

'I don't think there is,' said Remus. 'I think it's more a sort of specialised vocabulary. Rather like when real Quidditch fanatics get together.'

'And herbologists.' Sirius nodded.

He paused, and then said, 'I'd give it a rest with the wolfsbane, Remus. I've been thinking...she never has asked what became of Padfoot, has she? And he was around quite a bit more than just those few minutes at the shed...

'I don't like it. She ought to be more curious. I think we ought to wipe her memory clean of everything that's happened since we met her.'

'Even of us?' Remus felt something clutch at his stomach as he asked the question.

'When we leave, yes. And we can't carry on travelling with her forever,' Sirius went on. 'We aren't on holiday. She's a foreigner here, just as we are. Sooner or later someone's going to notice us who's going to recognise me.'

'I know.' Remus had trouble getting the words out. His throat felt as tight as his stomach muscles. 'Even travelling by night can arouse attention.

'And moon-dark ends as quickly as it comes.'

He wasn't trying to find the word 'monkshood' on the laptop when he saw the journal entry about her family's name again. He was clearing off the table for breakfast one morning, and he picked up the laptop, and saw again the word he had seen that evening...only a few days before...

Sirius, waiting to set a platter of bacon and eggs on the table, said, 'Hurry up, Remus--' and Remus said, 'Have a look at this, Sirius. Ever known anyone with a surname like this?'

Sirius glanced over his shoulder. 'Which?'

'This.' Remus pointed.

'"Obskara"? Nope.' Sirius shook his head, and turned to set the platter down on the table.

'Wait,' he said, although Remus had not moved. 'Hang on a minute. Sounds Basque, maybe?'

'How should I know?'

Sirius rubbed his beard, looking for all the world, Remus thought suddenly, like their first Potions teacher.

'Well, I'm no linguist, but I do know that the Basque word for "Basque" is "Euskara."

'Or something like that, anyway. Ends in K-A-R-A, at any rate. Only it doesn't begin with O-B. "Ob"? "Obe"?

'Oh. Wow.

'Remus--let me have another look at that.'

Sirius peered over Remus's shoulder again, reaching out to tilt the screen towards the window--'I'm not old enough to need reading glasses--' he muttered. And then--

'Oh wow.

'Remus--what if it is Basque? Or partly Basque? People speak Basque in parts of France as well as in parts of Spain.

'What if it's written here the way some books have some French surnames? "Colline," instead of "de la Colline."

'And for that matter, "Anglais," instead of "L'Anglais."

'"The Englishman"?' Remus asked.

Sirius nodded, his eyes alight with interest.

Eat your heart out, Sherlock Holmes, Remus thought. Whoever you are.

'What if it's--' Sirius's eyes met Remus's, and suddenly flickered, and darkened. And both men nearly dropped the laptop when a voice spoke behind them, from the doorway--

'What if it's something like "L'Obskara"? "The Basque wolf"?'

'My mother's people may have been Gypsies,' she told them. 'They may have been Euskaldunak. Basque.'

She refilled their three mugs with strong sweet tea, and set the kettle back on the hob. 'Family tradition has it that they fled Spain during the Inquisition. That they traveled up through France, and eventually went on to England.

'They settled near Wales, along the Marches that never seem to me to be either Wales or England, but another country altogether.'

Remus and Sirius exchanged a glance, and Remus did not think Sienna missed it.

She seemed to miss very little.

'I know that my father emigrated to Britain from Romania. To put it more accurately, he fled Romania. He had been in prison for most of his adult life...he had been a poet...

'That was why he was arrested. For writing a book of poetry that sang to people's souls.

'He was arrested, and thrown into prison, and--'

She broke off as Sirius tried to suppress a shudder.

She slid his mug towards him, as if to remind him it was there, and then went on. 'By the time I was old enough to start to get to know him, poetry had begun to come back into his life. Britain is a good country for poets...they say England is a garden; well, Britain is fertile ground for poetry as well as for flowers.

'And herbs,' she added, now looking at Remus. 'But like most countries, I suppose, more of it is tame now than wild. There are plenty of stories...plenty of histories...but it's not always easy for everyone to live--to make--a history.'

She looked again at Remus, and then at Sirius.

'You guys are Englishmen--you must know about black dogs. There are plenty of stories about them in Britain. But even where I grew up, I was never sure I actually saw one.

'Then I come to Spain, and--hey, presto!--I haven't been in the country a week, and I meet one.

'It's OK." She reached out and laid a hand on Sirius's arm. 'Tell me. Don't tell me. Whatever floats your boat, as the Oxford undergraduates say. It's cool.

'Only don't tell me yet that the hippogriff wasn't a dream. I'm not sure I'm ready for that one. You see, I love horses, and--well--if I knew there was really such a creature as a hippogriff, I'd probably go looking for a herd of winged horses, and be thrown out of Oxford like that.'

She snapped her fingers.

'So.' She glanced at Sirius again, and then at Remus, and then looked down at her mug. 'So,' she said again, and her voice shook a little, and she put up a hand as if to wipe a stray hair out of one eye--

'You guys can look up "monkshood" on my computer, but you won't find any recipe. You see...I've heard that if you have the recipe...and if you make it...'

She sniffed--

'...and if you drink it by full-moonlight...

'Well...depending on your bloodlines...you might turn into...well...not a dog...'

'Actually it works the other way round,' Remus told her, gently.

It was early evening, and the two of them were harnessing the horse, preparatory to backing him into the shafts for his night's work of pulling the caravan. Sirius was inside the caravan, clearing away the supper things and doing the washing up, tasks Sienna hated but that Sirius and Remus did not mind at all, as long as Sienna was not in the caravan when they were doing them. A couple of waves of a wand, a command or two uttered under one's breath, and the table was cleared and wiped, the dishes and pots and pans and things washed and dried and stowed away neatly in cupboards and drawers, and the tea towel--convincingly damp--draped to dry over the back of one of the chairs while the laptop was returned to the clean table--not without effort.

'I'd swear there were gremlins in that thing,' Sirius said the first time he tried to charm the laptop off the table.

But he was fascinated with the contraption, and although like Remus he found the games it offered rather boring, he enjoyed exploring its files, including the ones Sienna called 'spreadsheets' and 'databases.'

He was probably in there now, Remus thought, as he slipped the horse collar over the bay's head and turned it right way up.

Remus preferred the horse and the harness to the laptop, and the horse was beginning to accept him almost as calmly as he accepted Sienna and Sirius.

If Sirius had been off on one of his solitary expeditions--to check on Buckbeak, to eavesdrop on local gossip, or to scrounge copies of The Daily Prophet from the rubbish bins of inns that catered to British tourists--Remus doubted he would have had the courage to return to the subject of potions.

Well. He knew he didn't have the courage to do so anyway, even with Sirius's presence for moral support.

But Sirius had agreed--reluctantly--that Remus should at least have a go. And--as he more readily acknowledged--time was short.

And getting shorter every minute now, Remus reminded himself. Sirius had received a letter, which had arrived with the sunset. The owl had not come to the caravan, but when Sirius had gone out just before supper he had returned with a piece of parchment in his hand--which he had shoved hastily into his robes as he started up the steps of the caravan.

'What works the other way round?' Sienna asked Remus now. She was looking curiously at the horse collar, but the tone of her voice, and the way she seemed to be purposefully not meeting Remus's eyes, made him think she knew he was not talking about how to harness a horse.

Remus took a deep breath...started to speak...and found that no words came.

'What works the other way round, Remus?'

Sienna was stroking the horse's shoulder, but not absently. Something in her eyes now made Remus wonder if perhaps she meant the caress for him.

'Wolfsbane Potion.' He hadn't meant his voice to sound so rough.

'What...one makes...with wolfsbane,' he went on, feeling as idiotic as the words sounded to him. 'With monkshood,' he added, and stopped.

She didn't laugh. 'Wolfsbane Potion? So it has a name,' she added softly.

And then--'Has it--have you got the recipe?'

Good grief, Remus thought. She sounds as intense--and as detached--as Hermione.

Well...good. Perhaps that's good. Perhaps it means she's going to be objective about this...

Only she hadn't sounded very objective talking about monkshood and potions at breakfast. And Hermione certainly hadn't been objective--or detached--when she'd finally told Remus--in front of several other people--that she knew he was a werewolf.

And yet, she'd kept quiet about it for months until then...

'I haven't got the recipe,' he told Sienna, and had to clear his throat to steady his voice before continuing. 'I did have, once...when I used to try brewing the potion for myself. But as I could never get it right, I finally gave up trying.'

But he didn't think he'd thrown away the recipe. Surely it was still around...somewhere...among his grandmother's cookery books...or in his grandfather's desk...

'And I don't suppose you can buy the potion already made up, in the shops,' Sienna said, and now she did seem to be laughing. A little. 'Not even in the--'

She broke off, and began concentrating very hard on doing up the girth buckles--then suddenly she cried out and put both hands to her mouth.

Remus was at her side so quickly he didn't know if he had run to her, or if he just suddenly was there.

'What's wrong, Sienna?'

Her eyes were brimming with tears, and even with both her hands clutched to her mouth he could see that her lower lip was trembling.

'What's wrong?' he asked again, forcing his voice to be more gentle this time. 'What happened?'

But even as he spoke he could see blood on one of her hands.

He reached for the hand, and tried to take it, gently, in his--but she would not let him.

'It's nothing.' She seemed to laughing again now, shakily; and smiling even though tears had begun to trickle down her reddening cheeks.

'I just--oh, I just caught my thumb on this stupid buckle. And I already had a hangnail on it, and now I've torn it further. That's all. I'm sorry. But it just hurt.'

Remus was sure it had. He had had hangnails on each of his thumbs and every finger and toe, at one time or another, for as many months as he could remember--souvenirs of various minor injuries to various paws during the course of various full-moon nights...

'And it is bleeding quite a bit,' he said.

'I'm sorry,' she said again.

'No need to apologise.' He smiled at her. 'Let's just get it stopped, shall we?'

He tried to take her hand again, to draw it gently away from her mouth so he could examine the injury; and this time she did not resist, but just drew a deep shuddering breath, and then began to tremble.

'Here--you're not gonna faint on me, are you?'

What on earth was he supposed to do if she did?

'Steady, now--' he muttered; and then, taking a deep breath himself, he touched his free hand to the tip of his wand within his robes and then touched his fingertips to her hand. 'Injurio inverto,' he whispered. 'Erado.'

Blood and tears vanished--Sienna stopped trembling--and stood looking down at her hand, the thumb of which bore only a small pink mark, and a bit of torn skin, at the base of the thumbnail. Remus's own thumbs, one on either side of hers, bore similar marks, one nearly completely healed; one much more recent.

'There,' he said, looking up from their hands. 'All better now?'

She did not raise her eyes to his, but continued to stare down at her hand and his, as she said, very quietly, 'Would the Wolfsbane Potion work the other way round on me, Remus? As I'm...as I'm not a...as I'm only...a Muggle?'

Remus's hands seemed to go numb all of a sudden. He looked down at them, wondering distractedly how they were managing to still hold Sienna's hand--and then he realised that her hands were holding his. She was holding both his hands in both of hers, and rubbing his as gently as ever she had petted Padfoot or the bay horse.

'Wh-what do you know about M-Muggles?' he stammered.

'Quite a lot, I should think, seeing as I am one.'

The laughter was back in her voice. 'I'm afraid I know only a very little about wizards, though. I thought you all carried wands and wore tall black hats, and...and had long grey beards,' she finished, still laughing a little, but blushing scarlet as she spoke.

'Well...'

Remus was having trouble breathing. He could feel his hands again, but they felt icy cold--the way Muggle-made iron did--or was it her hands that felt that way, on his?

'His beard grows out a bit grey.'

Sirius's voice made both Remus and Sienna jump. She dropped Remus's hands--or he dropped hers--and they stepped back away from each other, Sienna blushing furiously again, while Remus felt his own face reddening--and suddenly remembered the time when he and Mariposa had been caught by that prefect, behind that tapestry they had never imagined concealed a door--

'Don't mind me,' Sirius was saying, as he moved around the bay horse, pointing his wand at buckles and hooks that did themselves up with no risk of injury to thumb- or fingernails.

'But only grey in patches,' Sirius went on, replacing his wand and putting his hands on the reins at each of the horse's bit to back him into the shafts.

'And that isn't because he's old, like most of the wizards who've got long grey beards.' Sirius had his wand out again now, and the reins were slipping themselves through rings on hames and terrets, while the traces hitched themselves to the collar, and the martingale buckled itself.

'It's because he's had a hard life,' Sirius went on. 'Never had anyone love him--not properly.'

And, as if to add a flourish to this final shocking statement, the horse's tail flipped itself through the crupper and cascaded--a glossy black waterfall--down over the horse's hocks.

The horse snorted and turned his head to look back at his tail. Then he tossed his head, and snorted again.

'Obliviate,' Sirius murmured--and the horse blew out his nostrils in a great sigh, then let his head droop as he closed his eyes.

By this time Remus was feeling towards Sirius pretty much the same way he'd felt towards that prefect all those years ago. Pretty much--only mingling with all the surprise and outrage and embarrassment, he also felt--

Like laughing? Like crying?

Because Sienna was laughing and crying, and while Remus was certainly no Muggle, he certainly was human...and Sienna was human, and...

'I give up,' Sirius said, looking at Sienna where she stood, face buried in her hands, shaking again. He glanced at Remus--'I'll be with Buckbeak, if you want me'--and Disapparated.

Sienna, peering through her fingers, let out a sort of hysterical howl; and Remus found himself standing close to her again...and found that his arms were around her, and her head on his shoulder...and his hands were caressing her as gently as ever she had caressed Padfoot, or the horse...

'I didn't really believe Myfanwy,' she said. 'I mean--I didn't have any reason not to believe her, but, well, some people do have weird senses of humour--'

Like Sirius, Remus thought wryly--

'--but the Bodleian is full of books. All kinds of books. So many books, I don't know if every one of them has ever been read by anyone--

'And Myfanwy always was one for disappearing among the shelves and vanishing into corners...

'Well, not really disappearing; not vanishing--'

Sienna looked at Remus, and gave him a rather tremulous smile.

'But her uncle...Ceri...he really can vanish and reappear. I've never seen him do it, but Myfanwy said she has.

'And I believe her now.

'And he's so...scholarly...and he wasn't at Oxford, or even Cambridge, or at any university anywhere. He left school at seventeen...

'But he's a professor...well, a tutor, Myfanwy said--'

'What did you say his name was?'

'Ceredig. Ceredig Evans. She calls him Ceri.'

'Ceri Evans.' Remus nodded. 'Yes. He did leave school at seventeen. He was the same year as my dad.

'So he's tutoring now?'

Sienna nodded. "Homebound kids. Kids who can't go to school for one reason or another...'

She looked up at him. 'Why wouldn't they be able to, Remus?'

'Well...all sorts of reasons. I don't know. Why aren't some kids able to go to school?...Parents live in places so remote there's no local school...kids with certain conditions...'

Like being werewolves, he thought. Not all headmasters are like Albus Dumbledore...

'Well done, Ceri,' Remus said.

And Sienna nodded.

* * *

They were walking through the night, Sienna leading the horse; Remus walking beside her where they could talk in low voices in case there were campers or others in the fields or houses they passed.

Sirius was still with Buckbeak. They were flying overhead; scouting the lie of the land, Sirius said. But he was already wearing his new, warm robes.

He and Buckbeak would be leaving as soon as it was fully dark. They were going to fly north, back to Britain. The letter that had come by owl had been from Sirius's godson. Sirius had told Remus about it while Sienna had been out of earshot, and Remus had urged him to set off for Britain immediately.

Not that Sirius had needed much urging. He had been restless all day, prowling the countryside while Remus and Sienna were sleeping. Remus had never expected him to be at ease for more than a few days traveling in the same character, with the same people, along the same road.

The only thing making him reluctant to leave was Remus. Or rather, Remus and Sienna.

'I can't just take off and leave you,' Sirius had said, when Remus had told him to go.

'Don't be ridiculous. I've been on my own for years.'

'Yes--on your own, with a house your family left to you, and without a Muggle-woman who knows a bit about wizards and nothing at all about werewolves--'

'What are you saying? That you think I ought to tell her all about werewolves?'

But Sirius, his face flushing, had not answered.

And Remus had immediately regretting asking the question. Padfoot had more commitments now than to Moony. And Remus had not advised Sirius on the purchase of that flying motorcycle, all those years ago...

And as if the purchase of the motorcycle had marked some sort of sea change in their lives, so soon thereafter Sirius had begun to doubt Remus...had begun to trust Peter...had convinced James and Lily to trust Peter too...

And Peter had betrayed them all...and James and Lily had been murdered...and Harry had survived, and defeated Voldemort, and been rescued by Hagrid, on the flying motorcycle...and Sirius had hunted Peter down...and Peter had escaped...and Sirius had been captured...

And years later had escaped from Azkaban, and gone to hide in the Forbidden Forest near Hogwarts to try and destroy Peter and protect Harry...and Dumbledore had sent for Remus to come and teach...

And had himself learned that Sirius was innocent, and had helped him to escape...and Harry and Hermione had helped...had freed both Sirius and Buckbeak...and had not rejected Remus, but had trusted...had seemed to like...him...

'Penny,' said Sienna.

'Sorry?'

'For your thoughts.'

Penny. Right. The Muggle equivalent, more or less, of a knut.

The moon was shining as silver as a sickle. Three more weeks, give or take, before it would be full again.

Remus took a deep breath. 'Wolfsbane Potion works the other way round,' he said, 'on a wizard. One doesn't take it at the full moon to turn into a werewolf.

'One takes it in the week preceding the full moon, so that when one does turn into a wolf--when the moon is full--one won't go on a rampage and attack and bite anyone.

'And you were right--it can't be bought in the shops--not even in apothecaries.

'Wizard chemists',' he explained. 'I may still have the recipe, somewhere, at home--but as I said, I could never get it right.

'I only know of one wizard in Britain who can.

'And he doesn't like me at all.'

'Why? Because you're a werewolf?'

'Because once...when we were boys...he was the victim of a joke that could have resulted in his death.'

They walked along in silence for a few minutes, the horse's hoofbeats and the songs of the night creatures providing an accompaniment to their thoughts. Overhead, Buckbeak soared, circling the moon; Sirius just visible on his back as the great wings rose and fell. And now, crossing their flightpath, an owl appeared, winging her way north.

I didn't answer Sienna's question, Remus told himself. I didn't admit it, and nor did I deny it. And she was only asking...

'You say you know only one wizard?' Sienna asked now.

'Only one who I know can brew Wolfsbane Potion.'

'How many Muggles do you know?'

'Only one.'

And a few wizarding sons and daughters of Muggles, he reminded himself.

'I'd like to see that recipe sometime,' said Sienna.

'I thought you had friends expecting you in Granada.'

'I will have. In a few days. For a week.

'And a lot more people expecting me back in Oxford the first week in October.

'At the latest.'

Remus nodded. 'I've never been to Granada,' he said, slowly. 'But I once met an apothecary in Marrakesh who had an ancestor who helped to build the Alhambra. He said it's one of the most magnificent buildings in the world.

'He's retired now, but he's kept up his subscription to Apothecary Record,' Remus went on. 'He prefers making carpets these days to making potions, but he's always willing to try his hand at what he calls "the new brews." And his wife's quite active in local herbology circles.'

'And they live at Marrakesh?' Sienna asked.

'At Tangier now,' Remus replied. 'They retired there. They wanted to be near their kids...and Yasirah loves the sea.'

Was that laughter he heard in Sienna's voice now? Or was there something else that caused it to quiver a bit? Or had he imagined it all?

'Tangier isn't far from Granada,' she observed.

'No it isn't.' He stopped because his own voice sounded a bit quavery. He cleared his throat. 'About as far as it is from Oxford to Lancashire,' he said.

'Which isn't far at all from where England meets Wales.'

'Yes,' Remus agreed. And then--'Do your family usually expect you home before term begins at Oxford?' he asked.

'Usually,' Sienna replied. 'But sometimes we arrange to meet in some place like Blackpool instead. And Myfanwy and I were talking of making a pilgrimage of sorts ourselves before term starts.

'I don't know if you've ever heard of the Beatles, but Myfanwy and I have always been great fans of theirs.

'And they came from Liverpool. And Liverpool was once in Lancashire.

'But some people just like to redraw boundaries.'

Now she laughed outright. 'And I don't know if you've ever been to Blackpool when it's hot and crowded in August, but in September the full moon looks lovely from North Pier.'

The End