Ebb and Flow

The Cottage, November 1982

***

...This is my last night in Macapá, and I will begin my journey along the Amazon early tomorrow morning. I wish you had reconsidered my offer, Althea. I think you would have enjoyed canoeing off into one of the Amazon's tributaries, and discovering the amazing plant and wildlife. My guide has already told to me of some of the magnificent creatures I'll see--I'm excited to see the scarlet macaws and the brilliantly colored poison dart frogs, but I doubt I want to see an anaconda. My guide had informed me that, last year, one enormous anaconda had killed a small dog he had owned. I must remember on the full moon to stay away from the river. I do hope you enjoyed the bird I sent the letter with--it's a toucan--doesn't it have the most fantastic beak? I asked the man would it be anymore to send it, but they don't use owls here. It reminds me of the time we traveled to the zoo with Afina; however, here I'm not separated by a cage or glass from the exotic animals.

I am unsure when I will write next, as there will be no place for me to post the letters. I believe there is a center in Manaus, but I will arrive there in a few weeks or so. I'll send your Christmas presents then because, honestly, I'm not sure if I'll be able to post again until March.

Send my love to Afina. I'm looking forward to her first letter in English. Now to you, take care of yourself, Althea. Now, I think this letter is long enough, as it is five pages. I'll write more about my journey as soon as I can.

Regards,

Remus

Take care of myself, in what way, she thought as she folded the letter and stared at the toucan in her kitchen. Now, what am I going to do with you, she thought as the bird hopped along her kitchen table. You'll have to stay just long enough for Afina to see you then you go back. Yawning, she stood from the kitchen table and Apparated to the manor house. Gran had insisted that Afina live with her while Althea sorted out the wreck of her life. At first, she protested, but after Gran found Althea passed out on her bedroom floor after a night of heavy drinking, the fate of Afina's home was decided. Althea would be more of an older sister or aunt to Afina and not a replacement of her mother.

Althea's stomach tightened as she was about to enter the drawing room--she had to prepare herself for Gran's assault on her character. Gran sat in her favorite chair absorbed in her needlepoint, and had not noticed Althea's entrance.

"Good morning, Gran," Althea said quietly, walking closer to Gran.

Gran sighed, paused from her needlepoint, and looked up at Althea. "Althea Rosemary, what brings you here this early--it is before two in the afternoon, you know," Gran remarked, placing her needlepoint on the table next to her.

Althea frowned as Gran inspected her further.

"Dressed, I see, and not smelling like a vat of alcohol--what's the occasion?"

"I received a letter," she replied quietly, looking at the floor. "I'd like--"

"From whom?" she interrupted--her eyes narrowing.

Althea sighed. "From Remus, I'd like for--"

"Oh, now there's someone who has his priorities sorted out," she interrupted again and Althea's frustration grew.

Yes, Althea thought, clenching her fists. I should be more like Remus, shouldn't I? I should be doing something useful with my life. But don't you see, Gran? He's running away from the same things as me. How can one be bloody useful in a jungle? He's trying to lose himself, Gran, we just have different methods.

"Gran, I want to take Afina to the cottage to see the toucan," she replied quickly so Gran could not interrupt her again.

Gran raised an eyebrow. "A toucan?"

"Yes, a toucan," she sighed, looking at Gran. "The letter Remus sent came by toucan. She saw one when we went to the zoo together and was fascinated by it. I want to show her before it begins its flight back to Brazil," she explained and folded her arms. "Now, a short walk to the cottage isn't going to end in some catastrophic incident, is it? I know she'll be delighted to see it."

Gran frowned as she evaluated the offer. "Only if I can come along," she replied shortly and stood.

Althea laughed quietly. "Right, so you want to see the toucan, too, then?" she asked with amusement.

"It's not a matter of wanting to see the bird, Althea Rosemary. It's a matter of your sanity," she explained, walking toward the staircase.

Althea's eyes widened at the accusation. "My sanity?" she repeated disbelievingly. "What, are you joining the campaign to commit me to St. Mungo's?" she sneered, resting her hands on her hips.

Gran sighed and shook her head. "Althea Rosemary, you quit your job, you sleep until the afternoon, you have a drinking problem--you're unfit," she explained, placing her hand on the staircase banister.

"Unfit," she muttered angrily, frowning--her hands falling heavily to her sides. "Maybe if you hugged me once and awhile and said, 'Well done, Althea,' then maybe I wouldn't have turned out this way," she continued, looking at the back of Gran's perfectly combed hair.

Gran tightened her grip on the banister. "Do not blame your faults on me," she replied, looking at the stairs. "If you don't straighten up, Althea Rosemary, you'll end up like Madam Doula."

Althea shivered at the mention of Madam Doula. Upon her return, she had learned of the awful fate of the Longbottoms--tortured to the point of insanity. She also learned the fate of Madam Doula, driven insane by the news of the countless children she assisted now dead or orphans. Another Healer had told her that he found Madam Doula near death after an apparent overdose of poppy juice and Firewhiskey.

"You'd like to see me there--St. Mungo's--wouldn't you?" she asked, walking toward Gran.

"Althea Rosemary, you know that isn't true."

"Oh, come on!" she replied, throwing her hands up in frustration. "You haven't wanted me here since I was eleven. Just admit it, Gran, you never wanted me, and you don't want me here right now," she explained as she reached the staircase.

Gran slowly turned to face Althea. "No, Althea Rosemary, you listen to me. You are just like your father. He dumped you on my doorstep when you were eleven and left you here with me. I was the one who raised you, Althea Rosemary. Now you, you dump one child with a Muggle family, and now, you leave me with another," she replied heatedly, pointing her finger at Althea.

"You know I had no choice with Prudence," she replied through gritted teeth.

"You had a choice! If she were my child, I would never have given her up. It just proves--"

"Proves what? That I'm unfit?" she yelled and ran her hands through her long hair. "To hell with it, don't bother her. I'm leaving," she muttered, walking away.

"Yes, do what you always do--run away," she replied condescendingly.

"Just die already!" Althea shouted back and Apparated.

Althea returned to her cottage and collapsed on the kitchen floor. That bloody woman, she thought as she started to cry. I wanted to show Afina a toucan, which is gone now, I wanted to show her a toucan, and Gran thinks I'm going to steal her. Bloody hell, when did I lose this woman's trust, she thought, wiping her eyes as she stood.

"I don't think I ever had her trust," she muttered as an owl flew in with the Daily Prophet. "Oh, let's see what's in here today," she added as she took the Daily Prophet. "Anything to take my mind away from that old woman?"

***

...The search for Death Eaters intensified after the arrest of the four that were later convicted of torturing the Longbottoms. However, upon recent interviews, the Ministry believes the majority of recent persons of interest were indeed under the awful Imperius Curse. Therefore, the sentence to Azkaban, if any, would be approximately six months....

"They can lie, you know," she said aloud and threw the Daily Prophet across her drawing room.

The paper slid against the hardwood floor, leaving a trail of pages as it came to rest against the wall.

"I'll clean it up later," she muttered, frowning at the paper pile.

Althea threw herself back onto her sofa and stared at the crack in the ceiling. It's gotten longer since the last time I looked at it, she thought, resting her arms behind her head. Anyway, I wonder what the Imperius Curse feels like though. I wonder if you know or even feel it. It might explain how bloody stupid I was for believing everything Sirius said to me...but St. Mungo's cleared me. Healer Young couldn't hide his horror that I might've loved him...and I don't know why I've kept his things. When she returned home from Themiskyra, she collected the rest of his things, photographs, letters, and anything else associated with him, and stored them in the nursery. She should have thrown them away or created a large bonfire to destroy all of his belongings; however, she could not. Why am I hanging on to such rubbish, she thought, sitting up from the sofa. He's not coming back, he's never coming back, and I don't want him back. He can rot in that hateful prison for all I care. However, I would like to see him though, before he dies, so he knows his betrayal was for nothing. He followed Voldemort, wanted me dead, but here I am. I want to see him just as he is about to die. I think that would be the perfect way to send him off to the afterlife.

"It might scare him to death, I think," she spoke aloud--a small smile formed across her face. "But what to do now?" she asked, scratching the side of her face while looking at the coffee table.

She had to keep her mind occupied or she would start drinking, and ten o'clock in the morning was too early.

"I reckon I'll read--it's better than drinking."

Leaning forward, she grabbed the journal her father had last written in and started to read. Over the past six years, periodically, she would turn to her father's journals for answers. Most of his journals were filled with small anecdotes about his travels, his opinions on his daughter, and some small news of his research. Through her searching of countless papers and journals, she finally discovered her father's last journal three days ago. She had yet to start reading it as she had not been sober enough to, but today, she decided would be the day she started to read her father's journal. Resting her back against the sofa, she opened toward the middle of the journal and started to read.

...I received a letter from Minerva detailing another unfortunate event of my daughter. It seems she hit another student with an abnormally thick book in the library. Upon hearing the opening sentence, I realized it must have been the same boy she had the broom shed accident with near the end of her fourth-year. Unbelievable, that I alone had to pay for the damages inflicted upon the broom shed. He was the one that dared her, and Althea is too stubborn to back down or to steer her broom....

Althea smiled as she remembered the broom shed incident of her fourth year. Sirius and I spent three days in hospital after that, she thought, stretching her legs out before her. Angry at some remark Sirius had made, Althea had called him a coward, which was worse than any hex or jinx she could have performed on him. To prove he was not a coward, he challenged her to a game of Wizards' Chicken. Althea agreed, and the two rode their brooms--each waiting for the other to fall off, or turn his or her broom so as not to hit the broom shed. However, the stubbornness of the two prevailed and neither turned, nor fell of his or her broom. They hit the shed almost at full speed with the broom shed wall splintering from impact. Althea and Sirius, both unconscious, were rushed to the hospital wing and spent three days recovering.

...I wondered the cause of the latest incident until I arrived at the third paragraph--the stupid boy had kissed her. I am at a loss for the reasons, except one, of which I hope couldn't possibly be the reason. I wasn't very awful to Diana during our time at Hogwarts, but I did tease her a bit--in an attempt for her to notice me. She did and I became less stupid; however, I pray that this is not what is happening here. Althea could do so much better--especially a better family. I doubt the affections of my daughter could be swayed though, and after another night in infirmary, I hope he realizes as well. Except, it would be highly amusing to see the reaction on his foul mother's face the next time I see her poking her nose about at the Ministry....

"The Ministry?" she asked quietly, frowning. "Daddy wasn't near the Ministry until February," she muttered, flipping through the journal.

She turned to the beginning of the entry and found that it was dated London, September 15, 1975. Maybe he was in London for the weekend--called back for testimony of some sort, she thought, turning to another journal entry.

London, December 12, 1975

I have been in this country for six months now, and the separation that I feel from Althea is unbearable. However, she cannot know that I am back in the country--it is too dangerous for her to be anywhere near London or anywhere near me. The disappearances are constant now, and I could not bear putting my daughter in danger. I know if she knew I was back, she'd do anything to see me--something very foolish. I keep reminding myself she needs to stay with her Gran and at Hogwarts, but this distance is dreadful. She is growing up so quickly, and in her last letter, she had told me of the lovely trip she took with her boyfriend to Hogsmeade. Now that frightened me, my own daughter having a boyfriend--an excellent student and prefect, my Althea was proud to tell me. I wish to meet him though, to give him the fatherly approval. I have been an awful father, but I have to protect her from what is about to come....

Althea frowned. "That entire time he was in England and he didn't visit me once," she said softly, holding the journal tighter in her hands.

Swallowing hard, she continued to read her father's journal entry:

...At the Ministry today, of all people, I met Pulcheria Oswin. I haven't seen her in ages, since our last meeting in Romania over a year ago. A very beautiful woman, and I was delighted she accepted my offer of dinner tonight. I wonder if we will be able to rekindle what we had in Romania....

"Ew, Daddy, no," she responded, making a face.

Althea turned the page, shuddered, and picked another spot, farther into the journal, to read:

London, February 7, 1976

Only my Althea could find so much trouble. She frantically wrote me over Christmas Holiday with news of a run-in with a werewolf. As I had expected, the fright had transformed her; however, much to her relief and much to her horror. She continued to ask me questions of her transformation, answers to questions I was neither ready to give, nor could give to her. However, I have relented, and I have decided to send Althea the journal containing the secret to her transformation. I am not sending it to her for her benefit; rather, I am sending the journal to her for its protection. The journal contains sensitive material that if to fall into the hands of the evil, would cause infinite harm. I know it will be safe at Hogwarts, along with all of my writings, journals, revised will, etc. I have discovered I have been betrayed, and it is only a matter of time before the followers of Voldemort murder me as they have done to countless others, including Althea's mother. I should have known she would betray me--how could I have been so stupid! I immediately knew once I saw the Dark Mark on her forearm that Pulcheria had sold herself to Voldemort. So many researchers have done so--afraid of the consequences. I noticed the Dark Mark when her sleeve slipped as she was reaching for a book. She does not know that I know of her betrayal, but her betrayal will be fruitless as the research is safe with Dumbledore. Once I finish this entry, I will send this journal to Dumbledore. Only false research will remain for Voldemort's followers to find.

Now I know that I am in the right for keeping my daughter away. I only wish I could see her again and admire the young woman she has become in my absence....

Althea abruptly stood and forcefully closed her father's journal. She killed my father, she thought, the muscles of her body tightening.

"Daddy, I'm so angry at you!" she shouted into the silence, letting the journal fall from her hands. "You were here that entire time! Protect me from what, Daddy? You were never there to protect me at all!" she shouted and collapsed to the floor.

Althea covered her face and fiercely sobbed into her hands. Her father had lied to her--he could have made the trip to Hogwarts. Hogwarts was safe--as if Voldemort did not know she existed! Granted, they would have killed him eventually, but he would have seen Althea for one last time. How she would kill for one last time to speak with her mother, or her father, or Lily, and now, Miriam. Suddenly, Althea's body straightened to attention as she realized she was repeating the cycle of her father. I've abandoned Prudence and now I've abandoned Afina, she thought, smoothing her hair away from her face. Bloody hell, I am a mess.

"I--I need to become a better person for Afina's sake," she said, determined, standing. "No more drink, I'll dedicate my days to her education and adjustment, and I'll care for her as a real mother should," she added, rubbing her upper arms. "I've let myself suffer too long."

Determined and invigorated with her newfound purpose, Althea first picked up the thrown Daily Prophet, and as she was about to toss it into the dustbin, she noticed something that chilled her body:

'Pulcheria Oswin Book Signing Today at Two'

read the headline underneath the story about the search for Death Eaters. She reread the headline to make sure if it was true, and it was. Pulcheria Oswin would be at Flourish and Blott's signing her latest book Wanton Werewolves at two that afternoon. The anger she felt for her father was instantaneously replaced with overwhelming fury at this escaped murderess. Althea knew what she had to do--she would expose this Pulcheria Oswin for the Death Eater that she was--the Ministry would be happy to have her in Azkaban. Althea looked at her clock and noticed it was five minutes until one. She had little time to prepare before she had to leave. She had to look her best if she was to expose a traitor.

***

"She is the most amazing author," the woman in front of Althea said to the woman standing next to her. "She puts the whole world of Dark creatures into perspective."

Perspective, Althea thought, as she picked up Pulcheria Oswin's latest book. She sensationalizes the plight of the werewolf into some hideous creature that deserves subhuman recognition. Sneering, she opened the book and started to read from a few passages as she waited for Pulcheria to sign her book. Immediately, Althea's nails dug into the leather binding as she read Pulcheria's writing, refuting her father's evidence and the evidence of countless others. How could anyone believe such rubbish, she thought angrily, male werewolves kidnapping women and forcing them to have their children, so there would be new generations of werewolves. What awful lies! And this--this--'Many of us remember the awful story of the Weymouth Werewolf of 1827. A horrified husband found his wife and four children murdered where they slept--everywhere the telltale signs of the werewolf. Thankfully, the werewolf, Rufus Stubb, was apprehended and was immediately exterminated.' Why don't you finish it, huh? Why didn't you include that this man was wrongly accused during the hysteria of the early nineteenth century? The husband took advantage of this hysteria and later confessed to killing his entire family! The only evidence when they found the poor man was bloody chicken bones after the man raided a chicken house. He was later exonerated! 'Furthermore, I, like many others, believe that stricter regulation, if not cleansing of the werewolves, will only alleviate the current problem.' She's calling for the extermination of werewolves--that bitch!

"Oh my God," she whispered as she continued to read.

The short, pudgy woman, with an enormous, bright pink bow in her hair, turned around and smiled. "I see you're affected by the book as well--powerful stuff," she said, clutching two of Pulcheria's books--Wanton Werewolves and Vicious Vampires.

"Right, powerful," Althea muttered--frowning--staring at pictures of how to determine a werewolf during the rest of the month.

Absolute rubbish more like it, she thought, closing the book.

"The part about the male werewolf carrying off the young woman absolutely frightened me!" the other woman explained and shivered.

"Are you sure this sort of thing is true, though?" Althea asked, pointing to the book.

"Without a doubt," the pudgy woman replied quickly. "Look at the amount of evidence Ms. Oswin has provided--remarkable piece--remarkable."

"Remarkable, indeed," Althea replied sardonically, opening the book to the author's biography. "It is written here that she has never personally met with a werewolf, but she writes as if she has met one or more--"

The pudgy woman laughed, which unnerved Althea. "One does not need to meet a werewolf to know it is a sadistic, bloodthirsty, carnal creature," she replied with an air of superiority.

The tall, thin woman next to her gasped, and brought her hand to the side of her face. "I've heard they're wild," she whispered knowingly. "I had a friend who had the unfortunate circumstance to sleep with a werewolf. She hasn't been the same since--the poor girl."

"Really?" Althea replied with mock seriousness--she attempted her best to hide her smile. "I've heard it's the best experience--especially the night before a full moon," she explained and bit her lip as the two women gasped.

"That's what she said in her book! The women become blinded to such things! That's how they keep the women and the women have their werecubs," the tall woman replied excitedly.

The muscle underneath Althea's right eye started to twitch. I can't believe I'm listening to this, she thought, stepping forward as the queue moved. She wanted to hex both women out of their stupidity.

"Also," the pudgy woman began, "that is why werewolf sweat is a highly prized aphrodisiac."

Althea coughed to stifle her laughter. "I've never heard of such a thing," she replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, but it's in here! Page six hundred and thirty-three!" the tall woman said eagerly. "I don't know what I'd do if I ever met a werewolf--"

"Hope they're not sweating?" Althea interrupted, smiling as both women frowned at her. "Oh, look--it's your turns," she added happily and the two women turned around to face Pulcheria Oswin.

Althea sighed and rolled her eyes as the two women heaped their sycophantic compliments and blind praise upon Pulcheria Oswin. In between the two, Althea saw the bent head of Pulcheria signing the pudgy woman's book. It will be my turn next, she thought as the two women giggled ridiculously at a joke Pulcheria made. Althea clutched the book tighter. Would she expose her now? Who would believe her? At one time, just a passing remark that someone was a follower of Voldemort was enough for trial and even Azkaban. Althea need more evidence--she needed to see the Dark Mark. She had never seen such a mark and wondered if it looked like that hideous creature she saw in the sky. Why hadn't her father described it? However, Pulcheria was wearing a long sleeve robe, and Althea was not sure if the Dark Mark would be there. Could one hide it? Althea needed Pulcheria to reveal casually some information about her connections, and to do so Althea would lie.

"Next?"

Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and examined the brown-haired, middle-aged witch. So this is the woman that killed my father, she thought, staring into the brown eyes of Pulcheria. Pulcheria smiled and held out her hand for Althea's book. Briefly, her grip tightened on the book before she handed it to Pulcheria. I wonder if she smiled when she betrayed my father, she thought darkly as Pulcheria opened the book. 'Look, Voldemort, I brought him to you. See! His research will die with him.'

"Your work is fascinating," Althea lied, moving closer to the table.

"Why thank you. I do take pride in my research," she replied, taking her quill from the inkbottle.

"Oh yes," she continued, "you most definitely should. Your work on the problem of dark creatures is inspiring. I am researching them myself...I spent the year in Transylvania."

"Really?" she replied, interested.

Althea nodded. "Yes, in a small village in Northern Transylvania," she replied--a small energizing feeling flowed through her body. Pulcheria might just believe this lie.

"Transylvania. I spent some time there--I was in Romania at the time, but a year? I'm intrigued," she added, leaning closer. "I could imagine how dangerous it had been."

Althea smiled sweetly. "I barely escaped with my life."

Pulcheria's eyes widened slightly.

It's working, she thought, smiling more as Pulcheria continued to speak in amazement that Althea survived in a place full of dark creatures. I don't believe this, but it's working.

"I would like to continue to talk with you--a fellow researcher on the subject of dark creatures. Maybe you could enlighten me on a particular debate we've been having in the community," she said quietly, twirling her quill. "The signing is almost over and my flat is short distance from here," she explained, dipping her quill in the inkbottle again. "I'd love to continue that discussion with you there."

This is almost too easy, she thought, staring at an eager Pulcheria. She will befriend me, learn to trust me, and in the end, I will send her to Azkaban.

"Oh, that would be lovely," Althea replied with feigned admiration.

Pulcheria smiled. "Let me sign your book, then. Now, what's your name?" she asked--her quill poised to write.

The blood drained from Althea's face. If she told Pulcheria her name was Althea Morrigan, the ruse would be over and Althea's attempts to imprison Pulcheria would end. Quickly, her eyes darted from book binding to book binding looking for a name. Over Pulcheria's head, she spotted two books, one by Monty Kelly, and the other by Dryden Derry.

"Kelly Derry," she replied, combining the two names.

"Well, Kelly Derry," she began--handing Althea the book, "it will be a pleasure to talk with you."

"Most definitely," Althea replied, smiling, and turned to walk away.

Now I'll have the evidence to send you where you belong, she thought as she reached the door. You will be in Azkaban, and everyone will know your crimes. As Pulcheria Oswin signed the books of the rest of the fawning customers, Althea would wait and conjure up stories about her time in Transylvania. She had to convince Pulcheria that indeed she had studied and met with dark creatures. I hope this bloody works, she thought, resting the back of her head against the brick building. If not, I'll never have this chance again.

***

"Amazing," Pulcheria breathed and took a sip of coffee. "Did they ever catch the vampire?"

Althea nodded. "Eventually, but not after it killed three more children," she explained, taking a sip of coffee. "Terrible stuff those vampires."

"Indeed," she replied, placing her mug on the kitchen table. "I had visited a village were the inhabitants had planted rows and rows of garlic around the perimeter of their village. The vampire problem in Eastern Europe is most out of hand."

"Oh, I agree, but nowhere near the intensity of the werewolf problem," Althea began, taking another sip of coffee. "A community of werewolves was a common legend among the villagers as well," she continued, placing her coffee mug on the kitchen table.

"A community of werewolves?" Pulcheria repeated in astonishment. "That is our worst fear, and there it is a reality," she said, shaking her head in disgust.

Althea nodded. "I did not believe it when I first heard about the community from the villagers; however, when I saw it for myself, I quickly changed my mind," she replied and laughed nervously. "Almost didn't live to tell anyone what I saw."

Pulcheria's eyes widened in amazement. "You actually saw the village?" she asked, leaning forward.

"I did," she answered solemnly, remembering the story she invented while waiting for Pulcheria. Althea closed her eyes and took a deep breath, imagining Remus frowning disapprovingly at her. Sighing, she opened her eyes before she began, "It was a beautiful day and I decided to take a walk. The villagers had warned me not to do so as I wouldn't return before nightfall. I didn't listen, and I started my journey. However, I became lost and it was nightfall before I found a village--except it wasn't my village."

"Oh no," she breathed, resting her head against her chin. "It was the werewolf community?"

Althea nodded slowly. "I realized it wasn't my village when I noticed dried human bones decorating the boundaries of the village. I was unable to leave, as it was the full moon, so I climbed a tree. I watched as some of them brought back freshly killed humans for them to devour. There were even children...I couldn't believe my eyes," she explained and wiped the fake tears she had produced.

Pulcheria tenderly touched Althea's hand. "That is what I hope my books protect us from," she said softly. "Those half-breeds are monsters, subhuman, and should be treated accordingly," she added and Althea retracted her hand in disgust.

"However they're only monsters one day out of an entire month," she replied thoughtfully and took another sip of coffee.

Pulcheria laughed, much like the woman in the bookstore. "They want to blend in, waiting for the right time, no doubt. I've read my opponents' work. I've read that Morrigan fellow's work--absolute rubbish if you ask me. Werewolves capable of love? How can a bloodthirsty beast be capable of love?" she asked and took another sip of coffee.

Althea caught her breath at the mention of her father's name. Her plan was working and soon she would have the evidence needed to send her to Azkaban. Maybe she will be in the cell next to Sirius, she thought--her breath returning to a steady pace. They could compare the people they've betrayed and the people they've killed.

"I've read Morrigan's books as well--weren't you two colleagues at one time?" she asked with feigned innocence.

Pulcheria took a long drink from her coffee. "We were until our views radically changed. He was blinded by compassion and misplaced sentimentality toward werewolves," she explained with an air of disgust.

"Yes, he did emphasize their humanity," she replied, tapping the side of her cup with her index finger. "So, you stopped working together because of your differences on werewolves, then?" she asked, hoping Pulcheria would not recognize where the questions were leading.

Pulcheria shook her head. "No, no. It was part of it, but not the entire reason," she began and frowned. She motioned for Althea to lean closer and she did so. In a low voice she asked, "What are your thoughts on blood status?"

Althea's heart leapt forward as a large dose of adrenalin surged throughout her abdomen. "Blood status?" she replied thoughtfully, frowning as if she was carefully constructing her answer. "I do believe in the greater the wizard, the purer the bloodline...if that's what you mean," she explained in the same low tone.

Pulcheria smiled approvingly. "I thought so...very good answer," she replied, leaning back in her chair.

Althea noticed Pulcheria had become more comfortable in her speech and her manners were at ease.

"Obviously you have more intelligence than him. Only unions between pure wizards and witches will produce the strongest wizards and witches," she explained casually.

Althea feigned an appreciative smile and tightened her grip on the coffee mug handle.

"He, however, did not think as you do--obviously blinded by his own Mudblood status," she replied and raised her mug to her lips.

Althea took a long, deep breath to calm herself from leaping across the table and strangling Pulcheria. She had to continue the lie. She had to see the Dark Mark. Althea feigned a thoughtful frown.

"Do you believe your research influenced You-Know-Who's popularity?" she asked quietly and bit her bottom lip.

A smile flickered across Pulcheria's face. "Ms. Derry, scientific research is separate from politics," she replied--her smile widening.

Really, Althea thought--her stomach churning at the self-satisfied smile of Pulcheria, then why would Voldemort want my father dead over some simple scientific research?

"So, are you still conducting this research?" she asked, briefly looking inside her coffee mug and then at Pulcheria.

"Oh no, no, my funding has been cut off," she answered sadly.

"How awful," Althea lamented, frowning.

Pulcheria sighed. "It is--this sort of thing must be researched; however, it is too much of a touchy subject now," she replied and looked inside her coffee mug. "Would you like more coffee?"

"Oh no, I'm fine, thank you," she replied, smiling as Pulcheria started to stand. Althea sighed and swirled the remaining coffee around the inside of her coffee mug. "Imagine if You-Know-Who had lived, your research could have continued," she added carefully and waited for Pulcheria's reaction--she could not have been more pleased.

"Yes," Pulcheria said absentmindedly and then gasped, realizing what she had said. "Oh, I didn't mean--"

Althea laughed to soothe Pulcheria's nerves. "It's nothing to be ashamed of," she began, slightly smiling, "as there were and are many supporters of him."

Pulcheria released her breath and laughed nervously.

"It was only the brave that truly followed him," she added and pointed to her own covered left forearm. Althea prayed Pulcheria would believe she had the Dark Mark.

Pulcheria's face softened and she smiled serenely. "Yes," she admitted and lifted her sleeve.

Althea saw the Dark Mark hideously imbedded into Pulcheria's flesh.

"It is still as dark as the day the Dark Lord gave it to me. Some have forced theirs to fade, but I will keep mine always," she explained, almost lovingly caressing the Dark Mark. She paused, sighed sadly, and picked up her coffee mug. "Now, I believe I do need more coffee."

Althea watched as Pulcheria walked toward the coffeepot. "So, what does your research have to do with Morrigan, then?" she asked and finished her coffee.

Pulcheria paused before she placed her coffee mug on the counter. "We were researching the same thing--blood status...except--except his research was resulting in some dire conclusions," she explained and tapped the glass coffeepot with her wand to warm the coffee.

"What sort of dire conclusions?"

"Conclusions that went against the truth of the research we were conducting," she answered and tapped the coffeepot with her wand again. "He would not be swayed to our way of thinking though."

Althea stood and walked toward the sink. "Yes, and ultimately he paid the price," she said and Pulcheria turned to face her. "His life, I mean. He was murdered...horrible what they did to those that murdered him," she added and sighed with feigned sadness. "Horrible."

"Oh indeed," she agreed, shaking her head and turned once more toward the counter. "Anyway, it must have been a surprise for that nasty daughter of his."

Althea gritted her teeth as she resisted the urge to hurl the coffee mug at Pulcheria's head. "I remember her from Hogwarts a seemingly clever Muckblood," she said, placing her coffee mug into the sink.

Althea noticed Pulcheria had not washed her dishes from her lunch, and to her right, lying on the counter next to the sink was a long carving knife. It was an old knife with a few small chips of wood taken out of the handle, a small ring of rust encircled where the handle met the blade, but the blade was sharp. Althea wondered why a prolific writer wealthy from her works would own such an old knife. As she stared at the knife, she caught her breath, when the idea of thrusting the knife into Pulcheria's chest entered her mind.

"Muckblooded upstart, more like it," she remarked, pouring herself more coffee and jolting Althea from her murderous thoughts. "Flaunting her relationships with pure-blooded wizards--"

"Probably upset she wasn't one herself," she interrupted, her hand resting on the knife's handle.

What am I thinking? Stop touching the knife Althea, she thought, quickly letting go of the knife's handle. To distract herself, she turned her head to see Pulcheria scooping sugar into her coffee mug.

"Oh no, it was more sinister. The Dark Lord told us of the other side's plans to infiltrate pure-blood families. She was one of them, a little Muckblood whore, poised to lure pure-blooded wizards from their true path," she explained, adding a large scoop of sugar into her coffee mug.

"Terrible," Althea muttered--her face and neck prickling with warmth from her anger.

She grabbed the towel next to the knife and twisted it, imagining it was Pulcheria's neck. How much satisfaction would she derive from seeing Pulcheria flail and panic as Althea strangled her! This woman is completely insane--I'm providing all of society a favor by sending her away, she thought, letting go of the twisted towel. As Pulcheria continued to degrade Althea as some scheme thought up by Dumbledore to produce hoards of inferior wizards and witches, Althea's anger surfaced and she went to reach for her wand, but thought better of it. You wouldn't bloody think I'm inferior if I blast you across the room, she thought darkly, smoothing out the crumpled towel.

"You know, she dated a Black?" Pulcheria remarked and made some derisive grunt.

The mention of Sirius returned her interest and caused her stomach to sink.

"She flaunted that relationship as if she had won the greatest prize."

"I remember. All of us saw them together...shameful," she replied hollowly, her attention once more drawn to the knife.

No, I was his little joke, she thought, her hand sliding closer to the knife. He used me as his cover...no one would suspect Sirius while he was with me. Someone was feeding information to Voldemort from the Order over a year before Lily died. Who did he start a relationship with over a year before? Me. Oh how could I have been so stupid! Althea quickly retracted her hand once she realized her actions. No, she must not let Pulcheria unnerve her. What would be the use of killing her? Azkaban would be a greater, slower death for the woman that killed her father. Oh, but how she wished she could plunge the knife deep into Pulcheria's heart! To be able to look into her eyes and watch as the life left them; the last thought on Pulcheria's mind knowing that Althea Morrigan, the daughter of the man she betrayed, killed her.

"Thankfully, he saw his mistake and returned to us," she remarked and laughed. "She's probably still crying over him, no doubt. Wishing he would have killed her," she added and laughed louder. "I wish he would have though, so she could be where she belongs, with her Mudblood father."

Althea's hand tightened around the handle of the knife. How dare she say those things, she thought furiously, looking at her reflection in the knife's long blade. This woman had betrayed and had killed her father, and Althea conjectured that this woman would kill her as well if he she knew the truth. As Pulcheria continued to degrade Althea and her father, Althea wondered what would have happened if her father had been alive--if Pulcheria had not betrayed him, if she had not existed. Althea would not have almost killed herself, and Sirius would not have found her--she would not owe her life to him. She would not have seen the minute thread of goodness that surfaced that night--the goodness that wiped her tears and held her close at the news of her father's death. She would never have known of the goodness that attempted to protect her from reading about her father's death and wrote her foolish love letters. None of what occurred would have happened. Lily might be alive, James might be alive, Peter might be alive, and those twelve Muggles would be alive. Althea would be able to have children.

Picking up the knife, Althea walked toward Pulcheria. In one swift movement, she swung Pulcheria around to face her and plunged the knife deeply into Pulcheria's abdomen. Wide-eyed, Pulcheria gasped as Althea pressed the knife further and upward as Pulcheria's legs buckled. Quickly, she pulled the knife from Pulcheria's abdomen and stepped backward as Pulcheria fell to the ground. Looking from the woman bleeding on the tile floor to her bloody hands, Althea dropped the knife--it hitting the floor with a muffled sound as blood spattered from the knife blade.

"Oh my God," she whispered, starting to shake. "What have I done?" she asked, horrified.

Wide-eyed, Althea looked from the dying woman to her own bloody hands. The blood was warm and coated her hands like an oozing film. What should she do? She cannot let this woman bleed to death, but it would surely mean Azkaban for Althea. Her eyes darting around the room, Althea attempted to think of a plan. Should she clean the kitchen and dispose of the body? But where would she dispose it? She would be seen! She did not intend to kill her--it was an accident. She was not thinking--it happened so quickly--so quickly. What would she tell the authorities? Pulcheria ran into the knife? No, the authorities would not believe that scenario. Self-defense? Yes, it was self-defense, or rather self-preservation. Pulcheria had betrayed and had killed her father and she was indirectly responsible for Lily's death. How many others had this woman betrayed and killed? No, this was self-defense, and Althea bent to pick up the knife. She did not know how to dispose of a body, but she could dispose of the knife. Slipping the knife into her robe pocket, she realized she would not be able to leave the flat undetected. She could not walk out the flat door--she would be seen and once someone found the body, she would be arrested. She had to find another way.

Looking at the palms of her bloodstained hands, her eyes traveled to her wrist, to the tattoo that reminded her of what she was--she was able to transform. Wiping her hand on her robe, she opened the window and looked out--the street was empty and her escape would go undetected. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, her body became rigid as she waited to transform. Slowly she felt her body grow smaller and lighter. Finally, she thought, hopping up onto the window ledge.

***

The water in the bath had cooled and her teeth began to chatter as she sat in her bathtub. Althea looked at the knife that rested against her bare abdomen. It was clean now, not even the rust that encircled where the handle met the blade was left. She was a murderess. She had gone to Pulcheria Oswin's flat with every intention of sending her to Azkaban, but now Althea would be the one sent to Azkaban. Althea inhaled through her nostrils and repeated the mantra she had been telling herself since she arrived at her cottage--it was self-defense.

Pulcheria had caused enormous pain and suffering. She had betrayed, had murdered, had separated families, and had propagated abhorrent lies about werewolves and vampires. She wanted to exterminate all werewolves. She wanted to kill Remus, and Althea could not have that. Pulcheria was a follower of Voldemort and followers of Voldemort never exhibited mercy. So why should Althea toward them? Furthermore, she was still an ardent supporter of Voldemort. How many more people could Pulcheria have killed? If she thought, there was a chance that Voldemort could return, who knew what she could be capable of--Althea had done Wizarding Britain a service by ridding the streets of a dangerous criminal.

Her mind shifted to other dangerous criminals captured and sent to Azkaban after the fall of Voldemort. Her mind came to the most notorious case--the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom. What if someone had killed the four before they could have tortured Longbottoms? The Longbottoms would still be sane and happily raising their son--possibly adding to their family. Now that little boy was robbed of any brothers or sisters he might have had. Who knows how much longer the torture and the murder by former Death Eaters would continue? She was right in what she did. Members of the Order had killed, and the Ministry had authorized the Aurors to kill, too, sometimes death was necessary.

After hiding the knife in the cupboard underneath her sink, she dressed and entered her bedroom. Pulling the sheets back, she slipped underneath and closed her eyes. She would dispose of the knife the next day and attempt to forget about the murder. Maybe Remus would enjoy some company in the Amazon.

***

"Mummy! How could you? How could you abandon me?" Prudence shouted--her face red with tears.

Althea gasped and covered her mouth. Prudence had every right to say those hurtful things. "I--I didn't abandon you. I love you," she whispered, resting her hands on Prudence's shoulders.

Prudence shrugged her shoulders and stepped backward. "You did...you abandoned me," she replied and covered her face with her hands.

"No, I love you. I had to save you. I love you," she whispered tenderly.

Prudence continued to shake as she lowered her hands. "Oh, mummy!" she laughed and Althea became puzzled as Prudence continued to laugh. "If you loved me you would have let daddy's mummy take me! I'm more like him everyday."

"NO!" Althea screamed and lunged at her daughter.

"Oh, mummy!" Prudence laughed as Althea strangled her....

Althea awoke, panting, and wildly scanned her room. Resting her head against her knees, she began to sob. How could she dream of killing her own daughter? As she continued to sob, an owl flew into her bedroom and dropped the Daily Prophet on top of her head. Hoping it would bring her relief from her nightmare, she wiped her eyes and opened the paper to the front page.

"They found her," she whispered in shock--her body quickly becoming numb.

The Ministry would come for her and she would be sentenced to Azkaban for the rest of her life or worse. Althea shivered at the thought of The Kiss. Swallowing a difficult breath, she began to read the article.

Pulcheria Oswin, the well respected author of such books as Wanton Werewolves and Vicious Vampires, was found dead in her flat by a neighbor late yesterday evening. As of release, the circumstances of her death are vague, but the Ministry assured us that her death was indeed murder. The question to ask next is: Who would want to murder Pulcheria Oswin? The answer to that question was written in her own blood. It seems that Miss Oswin was not dead, or perhaps the murderer had left his signature to tell us of the deed. Written in her own blood was the name of Kelly Derry. Who is this Kelly Derry? No other description was left and we are left to wonder is Kelly Derry a man or a woman? With no murder weapon and no eyewitnesses, the crime will likely go unsolved.

After a thorough search of her residence, it seems that Pulcheria Oswin was in league with You-Know-Who. Through documents and other artifacts collected, the Ministry believes Miss Oswin was still tirelessly working to find You-Know-Who. Bartemius Crouch Sr., upon interview, believed that Kelly Derry was making the job of the Ministry in capturing followers easier. This makes the author of this article wonder; will this be the first of You-Know-Who follower murders? Be warned followers of You-Know-Who, you are not safe and would rather suffer the fate of convicted followers than the fate of Pulcheria Oswin--murdered in a most Muggle way....

Althea sighed with relief as she finished the article. The murder would likely go unsolved and Althea would be safe. The Daily Prophet and those in the Ministry were actually praising her for what she had done--as if they were almost coaxing her, or challenging her to take up the fight to eradicate Voldemort's supporters. She was not a murderess she was a heroine.