Black Dog

Black Dog

Chapter Eleven

Sirius' second awakening of the morning was a vast improvement upon the first. Instead of jerking awake with a scream dying in his throat, he was soothed and gentled by a warm hand stroking his hair and the exquisite sensation, dearly familiar from other past and fondly remembered awakenings, that his cheek was pillowed upon a woman's breast. He made a vague sound of approval and turned his face deeper into the warm softness.

"Well, I don't know why I was so worried," Jeannie said, her tart tone belied by the quaver in her voice. "There can't be much wrong with you if you can do that!"

Sirius opened his eyes properly and squinted up at her then down at his own gracelessly sprawled limbs. "Merlin," he breathed. "That doesn't happen too often. Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

"Evidently not." Jeannie giggled and helped him to sit up. "What on earth happened?"

Sirius looked around and grabbed his wand, looking closely at it to ensure that it had suffered no hurt, then slipped it into the long pocket inside his right sleeve.

"It happens sometimes," he said. "If you haven't worked any spells for a long time - pressure builds up and, if you're not careful, it all ...boils over like a... like a..."

"Like a milk saucepan," Jeannie supplied.

"That'll do," he agreed, "though it seems as though I've made some improvements rather than a mess... I don't remember the carpet being this colour!"

"Neither do I," Jeannie agreed, "and these jeans were supposed to be ripped thank you very much."

Sirius laughed and gathered his long legs under him to lever himself to his feet. All around him were signs of the prodigious amounts of power he had expended. He stared around marvelling then something occurred to him. He shrugged his robe off his shoulders, dropping it to the floor, and ran his hands over his arms and torso.

"Yes!" he crowed, vanity suddenly kicking back in after a long absence. Even the worst of his scars had faded and most of those that he had gained through non-magical means were almost invisible.

"How's my back?" he asked, craning his neck.

Jeannie, who had been looking at him with her mouth slightly open, shut it and stepped behind him and he felt her hands drifting down his spine then round to the front. "Jeannie," he said. "I thought we were going to pack?"

Jeannie didn't reply but slid her arms around him, one hand trailing fingertips up across belly and breast to touch and caress his face while the other swooped down to his waist... then further, insinuating itself under his waist band.

"Jeannie? Uh, Jeannie...oh..."

"It just seems a pity to me," Jeannie murmured, her lips moving against his shoulder blades, "to expend all this energy packing when you have something up your sleeve that could probably do it all for us while we do something - more worthwhile?"

Sirius contemplated the lengthy explanation he needed to give; the subtlety of the ebb and flow of magical power, that a wizard needed to tap into it at just the right point to achieve his aims and that distractions, even the softest... most delicate... most delightful... of distractions, could spell disaster.

"Jeannie," he started then he sucked in his breath. They could always, he decided, pack after lunch.

**

The Ministry House in York was a large stone edifice on a quiet street. The brass plates beside the imposing entrance advertised various businesses - a chartered accountants', a local department of the Milk Marketing Board and a secretarial agency. All these were legitimate Muggle businesses. However, the solicitors on the ground floor, Hardiman, Beldame and Toque, had other duties in addition to conveyancing and only a few of their many customers were Muggles. The elderly lady standing at the reception desk, who had come in to collect her revised Will, jumped a little as three men suddenly appeared in the corner behind a display of potted palms but decided that she couldn't possibly have seen such a thing and turned back to the receptionist.

"Oh, excuse me a moment, please, Mrs Micklethwaite," the young woman behind the desk said apologetically and turned towards the new arrivals. "Mr... Mr Malfoy? Mr Hardiman is expecting you. If you would like to go though?"

Mrs Micklethwaite smiled indulgently as she watched the receptionist smile politely at the first two young men, who swept past with a nod, and then blossom into dewy-eyed confusion as the third man paused to return her smile and murmur his thanks.

"Oh," the receptionist breathed, as they disappeared into Mr Hardiman's suite of offices. "That was Remus Lupin. I wonder if I'll be able to get his autograph?"

Mrs Micklethwaite, who may have been elderly but retained all her faculties, collected her Will and left, vowing to remember the warmth of that smile. Unfortunately, due to the wards on the building, she had forgotten all about the three men by the time the front door had closed behind her.

Legate Malfoy nodded to Mr Hardiman's secretary but did not speak. He led the way to and through another door and into a large room where a dozen uniformed men sitting beside a long table leapt to their feet.

"At ease, gentlemen," he snapped and swept down to the far end of the room. At his imperative gesture, Harry and Remus followed to take their places at his side then seated themselves while Malfoy remained standing. Remus looked down the table, spotting a few familiar faces. Two in particular caught his eye and he glanced at Harry. From his tense expression, he had also recognised them. Norden was staring boldly back, but Fraser's eyes were fixed on his hands, linked together before him. The other men had obviously also recognised their Legate's companions and there was a muted buzz of speculation as they took their seats at Malfoy's command.

"Gentlemen," Legate Malfoy began, his voice soft but the room stilled to utter silence. "Please open your folders." At a gesture from his wand hand, dark blue card folders appeared in front of each man present. Harry caught Remus' eye. Apparently Malfoy still wasn't above a little showing off.

They opened their folders and found themselves looking at copies of the Ministry read out from the trace machine, a map of the western part of the county clearly marked with a large red circle and a large scale map of the area within it. Malfoy's quiet, light voice began a remarkably succinct briefing to which the assembled Aurors listened attentively. Remus felt his uneasiness growing as he heard Malfoy describe their operation to apprehend a fugitive "considered at various times to be both one of the Dark Lord's trusted servants, and a tireless supporter of the Light, a most powerful wizard, and who may currently be in a state of considerable distress and disorientation." Remus shifted uneasily in his seat and frowned at Malfoy who met his eye with a lift of his brows.

"I cannot stress strongly enough," Malfoy continued smoothly, "that, in this particular case, it is imperative that our subject should be taken alive. Now, if you will open the sealed envelopes..."

Remus winced as he saw the photographs. The most damning showed Sirius, barefaced and hollow-eyed, amidst a group of hooded men. They were climbing the stairs of what Remus recognised with sick horror as the Ministry building in Cheltenham. As he watched, Sirius looked up straight into the security camera's lens and winked before tugging his own hood down to mask his face. Some of the other pictures were almost as bad - especially the one showing him with Lucius Malfoy's arm around his shoulders, the two heads bent close together, smiling and whispering. Remus couldn't understand how Draco could bear it but the Legate's hands were perfectly still and when one of the Aurors asked, "But, sir, who is our target?" he replied, "Sirius Black," without any shade of concern.

"Black's dead," a harsh voice snapped - Remus thought it was Fraser, "killed in the battle. He died a hero. Everybody knows that."

"Everybody, possibly, but Black," Malfoy said. "We have reason to believe," he added, "that Black may have survived the battle and has been in hiding ever since - whether from us or from his erstwhile confederates we can't be sure."

One of the older men raised a tentative hand.

"Hubbard?" Malfoy acknowledged him.

"Legate," Hubbard turned over the papers in the folder, "the area marked here - it has a small but vital wizarding population, mainly in the farming communities scattered amongst the dales. Should we notify them of the danger?"

Malfoy met his concerned gaze and smiled. "Local man?" he asked. Hubbard nodded. "Well, Hubbard, as yet we have not established whether Black is actually dangerous."

There was a stir at that, stilled when Malfoy raised his head.

"Sir." One of the other men spoke, it sounded, through gritted teeth. "This photograph. I was at Cheltenham!"

There was a moment's quiet, an acknowledgement of shared sorrow, broken by Harry.

"Cheltenham," he repeated quietly. "Three dead, seven injured. A terrible loss. Two Death Eaters also died. Upon the body of one of them was found a paper naming some of the Dark Lord's secret adherents, including two at the most senior level in the wizarding Cabinet." He paused to allow them to absorb the implications then continued, his voice as light and matter-of-fact as Malfoy's. "During the raid at Royal Ascot another Death Eater died, having inexplicably fumbled the certain kill of a minor member of the Royal family. Upon her body were found the plans for another raid - this time the one on Diagon Alley. Prior warning allowed us to increase our security presence unobtrusively to the level that the attack was met with overwhelming force and few casualties were incurred. Death eater casualties, too, were light. However, one in particular was of interest to us. He was not cursed or done to death by any other magical means but was found with a broken neck and was carrying details of a prospective attack on a Muggle village. This information was passed on to the relevant authorities - who decided to allow the attack to go ahead unopposed. You will remember the reports, the deaths, the atrocities. Again, one Death Eater died, according to the Daily Prophet, stabbed by one of the teachers of the village school. Actually, the woman in question insisted that he was killed by one of his companions. You will also remember that all the children and staff in the school survived unharmed. When the Death Eater's body was examined, a string of numbers was found written under his Mark. It was a grid reference - a Muggle device to locate a place on a map - for another Muggle village. This village later proved to be the closest plottable location to Voldemort's headquarters."

"But," Hubbard was looking sick, "what about all the other raids, the evidence of the victims recovered from Voldemort's HQ, all those poor folk who were taken and ...then returned to us. Are you telling me that they were lying?"

"No," Harry said quietly. "I wish I could. The Headmaster sent Black to do a job and he did it the only way it could be done. That he infiltrated the organisation and provided us with the information we needed to fight back is now common knowledge. The means he would have to use were known and sanctioned at the highest level."

"And your point is?" asked Fraser, looking up for the first time.

"There is no point," Malfoy interjected. "Only my orders. Black is to be taken alive. Alive and capable of talking. Defend yourselves but with nothing above second level curses. I want no heroics. Locate, isolate and immobilise." He paused and raked them with his chilly glare. "Remember, gentlemen. Alive! Now, go about your business. Dismissed."

While the men dispersed, and Mr Hardiman's secretary brought in a tray with coffee, tea and freshly pressed pumpkin juice, Remus sat looking at the photographs. One must have been taken by one of Voldemort's minions and found amongst the great mass of papers abandoned when his HQ was deserted. In it his old friend was sprawled decoratively across a chair, wildly dishevelled and looking at the photographer through his eyelashes in the most provocative way. Remus could only assume that the photographer had been female - though during Remus' captivity he'd noticed that some of the masked and hooded figures found most frequently at Sirius side had been of a rather stalwart build.

A hand reached over his shoulder and took the photograph from him and he looked up into Draco's weary face.

"Amanita Lestrange took this," Draco said. "Sirius insisted on calling her 'poppet'. Even after she'd put the Cruciatus on him for the fifth time, he was still saying 'Amanita poppet' and giggling like a monkey." Draco put the photograph back into the folder and closed it and lay his hand on the top of it. Remus looked at the thin, fine-boned hand, with its savagely bitten nails and suddenly remembered how young Draco was. Both he and Harry had a quality that somehow made one forget that they were both still in their early twenties. It was something to do with their eyes, he decided, something that suggested that both of them had seen more than could possibly be good for them.

"One of the nicest things about my present life," Legate Malfoy said with relish, "is that Amanita Lestrange isn't in it! Do you want some tea, Remus? While we wait."

**

"I'm going to miss you."

Jeannie popped her head out of the back door, thinking for one terrifying moment that Sirius had been talking to her. "What?" she said, eyeing his bowed head and turned back.

"Hmm," he looked over his shoulder at her. "I'm just saying goodbye to my friend."

He turned around and Jeannie smiled to see the grey cat in his arms. Tib was kneading his shoulder and purring like a motorbike.

"I like cats," Sirius continued. "At one time my only friend in the world was a big orange one. I used to chase him, too, when we got bored. Ah, well, down you go, Tib." He stooped and placed the cat on the floor then strolled down to the shed, unlocked the door and returned with his arms full of flattened cardboard boxes.

Jeannie watched him through the kitchen window while she made their lunch. She felt she could watch him for hours and loved spotting mannerisms that he had carried over from Dog. He seemed to have got over the manual clumsiness that had made it so difficult for him to cope with buttons and laces, but he still pawed his itching nose with the inside of his wrist. She had also noticed him shake himself violently to rearrange his robe and if she called him his initial response was always to tilt his head to one side and look a question rather than to speak. Now, concentrating on untangling the string around the boxes, his tongue tip just showed at the corner of his mouth in an unconscious parody of Dog's tongue-lolling grin. His smile faded as he began to open the boxes up and found that the bases were loose. Obviously in his world, wherever it was (for she was still not convinced that he wasn't an alien), they didn't have the esoteric knowledge of how to tuck the base of a cardboard box together so it didn't collapse. Jeannie went to help and found his look of surprised respect when she showed him the trick of it absurdly pleasing and, consequently, couldn't resist a gentle tease.

"Fancy you not knowing how to do that?" she said, turning away, nose in the air.

Sirius grinned at her departing behind, shook his wand into his hand and hit her with a very finely placed binding spell. Jeannie squealed as she began to lose her balance but Sirius caught her before she hit the deck.

"Fancy you not knowing I could do that," he whispered into her ear. "See, you are completely at my mercy. I could do anything- anything at all."

"Well," Jeannie stopped struggling and considered him for a moment, "you could finish putting the boxes together...if you're serious about how far we've got to go tonight?"

Sirius growled and set her back on her feet.

"Oh, I hate it when women are right," he said. "Finite Incantatum."

**

The faint chime of the alarm from the next room was echoed by a crash as Harry dropped the coffee pot.

"Potter," Draco sighed as he strode towards the door. But, fast as he and Harry moved, Remus was before them. He threw open the door and darted inside and Hubbard, leaning over the monitoring station, flinched to suddenly find him at his shoulder. He gave Remus a sympathetic look but addressed himself to his superior. "A binding spell, sir. Fast and hard. Couldn't get a true fix on it but it looks like it could be at the top end of the Dale. Hawes maybe or one of the villages up there. Oh, sir..." the chime had sounded again. "There. It's off. It is in or near Hawes, sir. Sir, I don't like this."

"All right, Hubbard," Legate Malfoy's voice was acerbic. "There's no need to fly into a panic. Recall the others immediately. I want two good men in Hawes. There's an owlery there, isn't there? Tell them to ask the attendant if anything unusual has happened lately. Everybody else to assemble - in the canteen, I think. They might as well eat while they wait. I want you to be ready for the next spell - assuming there is one."

"Sir." Hubbard sounded depressed but Remus could understand that. Binding spells were very useful for keeping an opponent still while you disarmed them but also had other less innocent uses. Remus just knew that the grey haired Auror was anticipating that the next spell would be something very unpleasant indeed.

Harry touched Remus' arm and drew him back towards the main room.

"Hawes," he said, quietly. "Do you know it?"

Remus shook his head. "Not well," he replied. "It's quite small."

"Small enough," Harry asked, "for people to notice if a young woman suddenly acquired an extremely large black dog?"

"If the dog was big enough and black enough, quite possibly," Remus said. "But Harry...it might not be Hawes."

"I know," Harry sighed. "I'm just sick of waiting."

"Me, too," Remus agreed.

"Well, if you want something to do," Malfoy's back was turned but his tone was clear enough, "go and clear up the mess you made before it ruins the polish on the table. Honestly, anyone would think that you were the one brought up with servants."

Harry scowled but went through and made the mess disappear in very short order. He repaired the chipped coffee pot, refilled it and poured himself another cup.

"Remus," he said. "Will you please sit down?"

Remus paused in his pacing. Harry's comment about waiting had brought back an unwanted memory of the last time he had waited for Sirius. "Take them out," Sirius had said. "Just get them out of here. We'll guard your backs." And he had grinned, Severus' arm across his shoulders, and Severus, injured as he was, had grinned back. "Oh, for pity's sake, Moony, we'll catch you up!" Sirius had said. Remus had nodded and carried the two Weasley children out through the culvert to safety. Then he had waited...and waited...firstly at the agreed Apparation point then, against orders and against all sense, back at the mouth of the culvert. It had been a long time before he had admitted to himself what he had known all along -that Sirius and Severus were not coming and that he would be unlikely ever to see them again.

Slowly he sank into his seat, opened the folder again and watched his old friend climbing and climbing the stairs in Cheltenham.

*

The Apparation point in Hawes was in the backyard of The White Hart. Two Muggle delivery men, man-handling barrels across the yard to the cellars, showed no sign of noticing the two cloaked men who appeared out of thin air and strode past them and out into the street, though the publican nodded a greeting. Even law abiding wizards trod very carefully in the presence of Aurors.

Five minutes later the attendant of the owlery on the top floor above the video shop was hastily setting his early lunch aside.

"No, I've seen nothing unusual," he said. "Apart from that." He raised a hand carefully and pointed to the skylight, open to allow owls to enter or depart. "That had a big crack in it yesterday," he explained, "but this morning it's right as rain." Then he lowered his hand, again carefully, and set it in clear view, alongside the other one on the desk. Sharp movements were inadvisable around wizards who were inclined to hex first and ask questions later.

One of the Aurors nodded and opened a folder. He set a photograph on the desk and turned it around so that the attendant could see it.

"We're looking for this man," he said.

"But - but that's Sirius Black. He's dead," the attendant protested.

"No, he isn't," the Auror said in a tone that brooked no argument. "Though he may be hiding in his Animagus form. Have you seen anybody walking an extremely large black dog?"

"A big black dog?" The attendant looked appalled. "Yes, yesterday afternoon. You see, about four o'clock I popped out to get a pie from the bakers..." he flinched as the other Auror slammed a hand down hard on the desk. "I - I saw it then. It was tied up outside the shop downstairs."

"Did you see who was with it?" the first Auror asked quietly.

"No," the attendant replied. "When I came back it had been moved. It was outside the butchers. The one just down the hill."

"A bone for the dog, eh?" The two Aurors exchanged a glance. "How did it look?"

"What?" the attendant shrugged. "Like a dog. It - it was clean, with shiny fur. When I saw it two kids were patting it and it was - you know, panting a bit - then the kids ran off."

"Right," the second Auror said. "We're leaving now. You will not leave the office, you will not send any owls, you will not tell anybody you have seen us. If we miss Black for any reason - we will be back."

Outside in the street, Norton turned to Fraser and grinned. "I think we've got the fuckard," he said. "Damn, I can almost smell him."

Fraser didn't reply but his face went a shade or two paler as he led the way to the doorway of the video shop.

The shop manager was very pleased to help the two policemen with their enquiries. He would have had to admit that he only had the haziest idea of their uniforms and warrant cards, but they were policemen, he was sure of it. "A big black dog, officer? Yeah, the lass who owns him comes in quite a lot. Just give me a sec and I'll look her up in the files." His fingers clattered across the keys of the machine on the counter and Norton sighed and rolled his eyes at Fraser. But Fraser was watching the screen intently and did not notice.

"What's the problem, anyway?" the man asked. "She doesn't seem the type to let it run wild."

"It bit a child outside the butcher's," Norton told him shortly. "Have you found that address yet?"

"Oh," the man made a face, "I'm sorry to hear that. He always seemed such a good tempered old thing. Yes, here we are. Shall I write it down for you?"

"No need, I've got it," Fraser nodded to Norton who directed his wand at the manager's face.

The manager had forgotten that they had ever existed by the time they were out of the door.

**

"I think we've about done," Jeannie said and Sirius gave a, to her mind, unnecessarily theatrical sigh and threw himself down on the sofa.

"Down, boy." Jeannie snapped and laughed as he flinched guiltily and slid off onto the floor. "Works every time," she chuckled.

"That was unkind," Sirius commented from his seat on the mat, "and after all the help I gave you putting the boxes in the car."

"Help was it?" she laughed. "I seem to recall that I was the one carrying the boxes. You just trotted around, waving your tail...and you did that thing with your nose - you know which thing I'm talking about, so don't give me those "who me?" eyes."

Sirius laughed up at her but it was Dog who stood up and stretched.

"Where are you going?" Jeannie asked then squealed as he ran his cold wet nose up her bare thigh as he passed. He trotted, tail wagging madly, into the kitchen, pawed the back door open and she heard the skitter of paws and a volley of barking as Dog made his own farewells to the grey cat. Jeannie smiled and looked around. There were still a few bits and pieces about - her coat and handbag, Dog's lead and the loop of rope that Sirius insisted he couldn't manage without - but the bulk of her stuff was stowed away in the car.

She felt bad about flitting with no warning but would leave her keys and a letter of resignation with the Arkwrights. There was also a note to be given to Sam saying goodbye and offering him the tomato and lettuce plants in the growbags. She sighed. Life here in Hawes had been hard but had been, on the whole, very happy and she would miss the little house and her friends. Still, there was no help for it. She and Sirius must go so they might as well go quickly. She picked up a final box, and went to the door.

Opening the passenger door of her little car, she manhandled the box between the two seats and crammed it into the back behind the driver's seat. Honestly, three suitcases and six cardboard boxes weren't a lot to show for a life. She knelt on the seat for a moment feeling the sudden prickle of tears, then wiped her eyes and stepped out of the car, reminding herself that from now on everything would be different, she was no longer alone. True her knight errant was currently in dog form, chasing a cat down the garden but none the worse for that.

She had just turned to go back into the house when the roar of an engine made her flinch. A large, sleek Jaguar screeched to a halt beside her car, blocking it into it's parking place. Steve and Darren piled out and Jeannie turned and fled. She tried to close the front door but Darren's bulky body crashed into it, sending her flying and she screamed, a wild cry for help. If she had called his name, Sirius would have come to her aid, but that was a name to which she was not yet accustomed. Instead she screamed for her dog and it was Dog who responded. He hurled himself into the house, snarling, interposing himself between the two men and his mistress.

"Call it off," Steve snapped, his bruised face scarlet with fury.

Jeannie clambered to her feet, backing towards the back door and freedom. "No, Steve," she panted. "If you lay a hand on me he'll kill you."

Steve took a step back, then another.

"Ok, if that's the way you want it," he said and nodded to Darren.

Darren, one eye blackened and with a nose like a squashed tomato, took his hand from his pocket. Jeannie shrieked when she saw the gun and Dog leaped to one side ... but not quite quickly enough. The gun spoke and Dog staggered, yelping, and collapsed onto his side.

"No, no," Jeannie wailed flinging herself towards him. But Steve caught her arm.

"I don't remember hearing such concern yesterday when that long-haired bastard was slapping your husband around," he snarled. "Your husband, who loves you, who has given up his time and money chasing round after you, you stupid, ungrateful bitch, trying to get you back."

Jeannie sobbed as he twisted her arm but her tears were for the black dog who, face and muzzle masked with blood, was moving, trying to drag himself to his feet.

"Please," she begged. "Let me help him."

"Why should I?" Steve laughed. "Darren, finish the job."

Darren levelled the pistol again then flinched back with a guttural cry of alarm as the dog moved. Black fur turned to green fabric, pale skin and black hair as Sirius surged to his feet wand in hand. Blood was dripping freely from a scalp wound and he was unsteady upon his feet but his eyes burned in his white face.

Jeannie tore herself free from Steve's suddenly lax grip and stepped aside just as the wand came up and Sirius whispered a word. Then she looked on in horror as her husband and her brother-in-law fell, shrieking, their heels drumming on the ground, fingers clawing their own faces and bodies.

"Sirius," she gasped. "Sirius, stop it. Stop it." She stepped towards him but he slipped aside, laughing a little and licking the blood from his lips with apparent relish. "Please," she begged and tried to grab his hand.

He flinched as though she was unclean. "Get away from me, Muggle," he hissed.

**

"No!" Malfoy's furious shout, cut through the blare of the alarm like a knife. "Oh God, no."
Harry and Remus were also on their feet, appalled, because they both knew only too well what that particular sound meant. Harry threw up his hands, drove them into his hair and turned to Remus but, again, Remus was on his way to Hubbard's side.
"Where?" he demanded, his face set and white.
Hubbard tore the trace out of the machine. "Legate Malfoy," he said quietly, making the formal report that was required before the Aurors could be given dispensation to meet force with equal force. "It is with regret that I must inform you that a 'Cruc....'"
"Hubbard," Malfoy cut across him ... a startling breach of protocol. "Just give us the location, there's a good fellow."
Hubbard closed his mouth and glanced at Harry and then at Remus. He nodded and handed Malfoy the trace.
"Thank you, Hubbard," Malfoy said. "Now go and gather the troops. Second level defence only and remind them that we need Black alive."
"But, sir..."Hubbard protested. "We must warn them. You know what they could be facing."

"Malfoy," Harry's voice sounded tight but his face was set with determination. "Have you taken leave of your senses? You know what this means! You know the regulations. You must give the order."

Draco raised his eyebrows, high-nosed and made a show of checking the insignia on his collar. "I'm afraid," he said with the smirk that Harry remembered all too well from their years at school, "that this says that I don't have to do anything I don't want to do. You are here on sufferance, Potter, and, if I choose, I can have you restrained. There are some things more important to Aurors than regulations."

Hubbard gaped at him. The Legate was perfectly correct - there were times when Aurors threw away the book, times when a situation arose that no amount of training could prepare you for, but Legate Malfoy was also notorious for observing the forms. "Sir?" he repeated, utterly confused.

"Hubbard, have you never heard of the Black Principle?" Malfoy asked as he caught up his cloak and led the way towards the door.

"Sir!" Hubbard sounded shocked.

Malfoy met Harry's astounded gaze and shrugged. "They say it works nine times out of ten." he said
Remus followed them, reflecting soberly that while one might rely on one's instincts nine times out of ten, he knew - who better - that on the tenth occasion, one could bugger up big time.