Hunted

Prologue

It was the blackest hour just before dawn. A crescent moon still hung in the night sky, dimly illuminating the now-deserted shops of Diagon Alley. In the shadows, a lone figure picked its way down the street, staying clear of the moonlight. The figure, wearing a long black hooded cloak, stopped in front of a shop window and stared up at the marquee hanging over the door. It read Madam Sela's Fortune Emporium. Tacked to the wall beside the door hung a sign, listing services and their prices. The stranger scanned the list: tarot card reading, palmistry, crystal ball gazing, séances, and so on. The dark figure banged on the door.

A light clicked o in the apartment over the shop. The stranger at the door could hear footsteps descending into the store below. A dim light flickered inside the shop. An old woman in a nightgown and knitted shawl could be seen through the window, shuffling toward the door. Her wrinkled and careworn face peered out of the shop window into the darkness to see who had disturbed her rest at this hour of the night. Seeing someone outside, she opened the door and addressed the stranger.

"I'm sorry," the old woman said. "But we're closed. Can't you read the sign? Come back tomorrow."

"Are you Madam Sela?" the stranger asked in a cold, high-pitched voice.

"Yes," the woman answered, trying to glimpse the face of the hooded visitor. "Who are you? And what brings you to my shop at this hour?"

The hooded figure let out a cold, cruel laugh that made the hairs on Madam Sela's neck stand on end. Then the stranger slowly lowered her hood. Staring back at Madam Sela was a woman with dark hair, heavily-lidded eyes, and an imperious gaze. Madam Sela gasped, backed into her shop, and attempted to close the door against the stranger. But the black-clad woman forced her way into the shop and drew her wand.

"Imperio!" she hissed, as the old woman screamed in terror.

A flash of light flew from the wand, hitting Madam Sela in the chest. She staggered backwards, clutching her breast, her face frozen in a look of shock. As quickly as it happened, she recovered and stood, now staring with a blank expression.

"I desire a séance," commanded the stranger. "You will contact the Dark Lord for me."

"As you wish," replied Madam Sela, her eyes vacant. "Follow me."

Immediately, Madam Sela ushered her visitorinto the back room of her shop. Her hand motioned for the stranger to sit down next to a linen-draped table. Then she hoisted a cauldron onto the table. She poured a clear liquid into the kettle, and then proceeded to gather various herbs and potions. Her fingers sprinkled ingredients into the cauldron, while her lips uttered incantations. Her wand tapped the liquid in the pot and the contents began to swirl. She uttered another incantation. There was a blinding flash and the fluids in the vessel began to glow with an eerie grayish light. Madam Sela's eyes grew wide. Suddenly, she became rigid. She began to speak. But the voice was not her own. It was cold and merciless, the voice of Lord Voldemort.

"Bella, my faithful one," hissed the voice of Voldemort. "I knew that you would come for me. I have been waiting for you."

"Master," Bellatrix Lestrange cried, falling to her knees. "So it is true! He said that you were dead, but I did not want to believe it!"

"I am not dead, Bella," Voldemort said. "Do you not remember the precautions that I took to ensure my immortality? I cannot die. But I am not alive either. I am trapped between life and death, neither living nor dead. I am unable to pass to either side."

"But how is this possible, my master?" Bella asked, cowering before him. "I beg you to tell me how the wretched boy did this to you?"

"The boy has powers that I confess I did not foresee," Voldemort hissed with hatred in his voice. "It is deep magic - a force that I underestimated. I do not think that the boy is even aware of this mystic power. As he prepared to make a foolish sacrifice to save his friends, he unwittingly released its force. The strength of it bound me, robbed me of my power, and bestowed it upon him. So there I was defenseless and at his mercy, a state which I could not abide."

Bella's eyes grew wide. She shook her head in disbelief.

"As fortune would have it," Voldemort continued, "hate began to consume the boy and I thought that fate had favored me once more. I thought to possess the boy and have all of my powers restored, and to have his as well." His voice rose in fury. "But the boy resisted and I was defeated, worse than defeated. For the boy refused to end my life."

Bella averted her eyes and hid her face from his anger.

"How could I continue to exist so humiliated and pitied?" Voldemort screamed, his voice rising to an ear-splitting crescendo. "I, who was the greatest wizard ever to roam the earth, I would not allow this!" His voice now became deathly quiet, the merest whisper. "So I took the only avenue open to me. I attempted to take my own life. I destroyed the mortal body that I had conjured just two years ago. And I was transported here to this place, where I remain imprisoned."

"But, Master," she pleaded, "surely, there is a way to bring you back?"

"Yes, of course," he hissed. "I have not passed over into death. Thus, it is possible to bring me back to life. Difficult yes, but not impossible. But I will not come back without my power. The boy has it. The scar that I gave him as a child links us forever. To restore my power to me, he must be utterly destroyed." Voldemort's voice rose again. "You must be my hands. You must be my instrument of retribution. You must restore me to body and power." His maniacal laugh rang throughout the mystic's chamber.

Bella threw back her head. A high-pitched cackle erupted from her lips. "Your wish is my command, Master," Bella cooed, now prostrating herself before him. "Just tell me what you would have me do."

"Now listen carefully," Voldemort instructed. "The boy must be taken alive for the spell to work. But he is heavily guarded. You know what you must do."

"It will be my pleasure to serve you," Bella simpered, bowing before him again.

"Before you apprehend the boy," Voldemort continued, "there are certain elements which must be acquired..." But Voldemort never finished his sentence.

A tinkling of bells was heard, as the shop door opened.

"Sela!" called a voice from the other room. "Sela, are you there? I saw the light on in your shop and I've come to check on you. Are you all right?" The sound of approaching footsteps echoed in the outer room.

"Run!" hissed Voldemort.

Sela's body shook, as Voldemort left her. She emerged from the trance and the power of the Bella's Imperious Curse left her as well. Her mouth opened in a cry for help.

Bellatrix Lestrange rose to her feet, her hand clutching her wand. "Avada Kedavra!" she hissed, pointing her wand at the medium.

The spell hit Madam Sela in a flash of green light. Her eyes opened wide in surprise and terror. Her words died on her lips, as she fell to the floor, lifeless.

Hurriedly pulling the hood back over her head, Bella ran for the rear exit of the shop. She disappeared out the door, just as the newcomer entered the back room. As Bella escaped down a back alley in the early morning mist, she heard terrified screams from the medium's shop. She sniggered to herself as she slipped back into the shadows and disappeared into the mist.

* * * * * * * *

The floor of the dungeon cell was hard and cold, siphoning away what little warmth remained in Remus Lupin's body. He stirred and reached to pull his tattered cloak tighter around his wasted frame. He heard the rattle of chains as he shifted his weight and sat up. His eyes struggled into focus.

There was a blinding light at the other end of the dungeon, cutting through the dark gloom of the cell. He stared for several minutes, until he could make out the hulking form of a man, bent over a stone wheel sharpening a blade. Sparks of bright light flew from the grinding wheel, where the blade hit. The deafening grating sound echoed throughout the cavernous cell. Remus clamped his hands over his ears to muffle the noise. He could see the man at the wheel, his features illuminated in the torchlight and the sparks. The man wore a mask over his face and the garb of an executioner. He was sharpening an axe. His cold mocking laughter rang in the cell and echoed off of the stone dungeon walls.

Slowly, Remus became aware that he and the executioner were not the only inhabitants of this desolate place. Illuminated dimly by the torchlight was the small still form of an animal, lying upon a stone altar. It had reddish brown fur and its legs were trussed with cords that cut into its flesh. The head with its white snout and pointy ears was resting on the stone dais, eyes closed. The little chest rose and fell with a hardly perceptible motion. It was alive yet, but just barely so.

The executioner approached the altar and stared down at the hapless creature upon it. He laughed again, cruel and heartless. He ran his finger across the head of his axe, checking the sharpness of the blade.

"Nooooo!" Remus heard himself scream, his eyes wide with horror. He jumped to his feet and surged toward the altar to rescue the defenseless creature. Searing pain shot through his wrists and ankles, as the chains that bound him stretched to their fullest and pulled him back without mercy. He strained against his bindings in desperation, as the cold metal cut into his flesh. Warm blood trickled from his wrists, as he watched the scene unfold before him, unable to intervene.

The executioner turned to face him, his black eyes like empty holes. A cruel smile played on his mocking lips and again that taunting laugh. The executioner raised the axe high over his head, his muscular arms flexing under its weight. Remus closed his eyes as the axe fell with a sickening thud.

"Angela!" he gasped.

He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Remus," whispered a familiar voice.

Remus' eyes flew open. His gaze swept across the ceiling of his bedroom to the posts of a rustic four-poster bed. Shards of early morning light filtered in through the linen drapes, casting shadows across the patchwork coverlet. The dungeon had vanished.

His head turned to stare at his young bride lying at his side. Her sleepy green eyes met his gaze with a concerned look. He stared at the curtains of chestnut hair that cascaded across her face in soft curls. His hand pushed the strands of hair from her eyes and caressed her cheek. His own eyes wore a worried look. His heart was still pounding from the dream.

"Remus, are you all right?" Angela whispered. "Another nightmare? You were thrashing and talking in your sleep."

He nodded. His wife nestled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. Her arm slid around him. He pulled her to him in a protective embrace. He held her, burying his face in her hair, until the memory of the nightmare faded.

Chapter 1: Expectations

Outside, it was a warm September evening, the end of an Indian summer day. But down in the basement kitchen of the old Black mansion it was cool. A meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, held here at Headquarters, had just ended. Most of the members had disbursed. Now only six people remained in the derelict residence at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

Molly Weasley bustled over to the massive stone fireplace, dumping chopped vegetables into a large cauldron hanging from an iron bracket over the fire. The light of the flames illuminated her face, highlighting her red hair streaked with silver pulled back in a neat bun. She wore a white apron over her full-length dress with multi-colored knitted sleeves.

Angela Lupin, a young witch with chestnut hair, stood by Molly's side. She wiped one hand on the apron covering her sage dress. Her other hand held a large ladle and stirred the boiling contents of the pot. Angela eyed the bubbling cauldron and inhaled the scent of onions and beef from the stew. Then she glanced over toward the pantry.

"I'll get the herbs," she volunteered, moving off to search for seasonings.

Nymphdora Tonks, sporting a spiky pink hairdo and wearing an artfully torn t-shirt bearing the insignia 'The Weird Sisters', stumbled toward the heavy wooden table carrying an armful of chipped china plates. Seeing her, Molly's eyes opened wide. She rushed to her side.

"Let me help you with those, dear," Molly insisted, taking the plates from Tonks. "Why don't you get out the silver?" Molly shot a wary glance at the young woman and set the table.

Tonks walked over to the old bead-board cupboard and yanked at the handle to the silver drawer. It wouldn't budge. With both hands clamped around the iron handle, she gave a tremendous heave. The drawer flew opened this time, landing on top of Tonks and showering her with cutlery and utensils. The tinkling sound of silver hitting the stone floor echoed around the cavernous kitchen.

Every eye turned to look. Angela's head popped out of the pantry, her eyes wide with surprise. Remus Lupin leapt to his feet and rushed to her aid.

"Are you all right?" he asked, lifting the drawer off of her and surveying her with a look of concern.

"Yeah," Tonks muttered, reddening with embarrassment. "Sorry," she added with an apologetic glance to Molly.

Remus helped Tonks to her feet and checked her over for cuts. She emerged from the incident miraculously unscathed. The same could not be said for the silverware. Several forks had badly bent tines.

Remus and Tonks gathered up the silverware. They took them by handfuls to the sink and deposited them into a basin of sudsy water. Remus' hand whipped a wand from his belt and waved it at the sink. A soapy sponge came to life and washed the utensils.

Tonks replaced the drawer in the cupboard with an angry little shove. Then she opened the upper cupboard to look for goblets. Molly's watchful eyes were fixed on Tonks. Then she flashed her husband, Arthur, a meaningful look. Arthur Weasley, a wizard with red hair to match his wife's, sighed and strode over the cupboard to assist Tonks.

Mad-Eye Moody, an elderly wizard with a wizened and scarred face, sat on the far side of the table and surveyed this scene with a look of amusement. His alarming magical eye spun around in its socket, moving restlessly from person to person. His hand reached in his pocket for his hip flask. He raised it to his lips and took a long swig.

While the men and Tonks finished setting the table, Molly and Angela prepared the meal. A large tureen of Molly's beef stew graced the center of the table along with baskets of fresh bread, a large bowl of mashed potatoes, pitchers of ale and pumpkin juice, and a large tray of apple cobbler for dessert. They sat down to eat with eager faces and ready stomachs. When their plates were loaded, the conversation turned to the events of the day.

"Well," Moody barked, "What's this I hear about Minister Fudge and a vote of no confidence? Do you think they'll actually vote him out of office this time?"

Moody took a forkful of stew and inspected it with his magical eye. He sniffed, uttered a grunt of approval, and stuffed it in his mouth.

"I'm sure of it," Angela replied, taking a sip of juice and setting down her goblet. "Rumors are flying down at the Ministry. His approval rating is at an all-time low."

"He's been down in the ratings before," Molly chimed, "but always seemed to bounce back." She took a mouthful of stew.

"It's different this time," Angela answered, absently pushing her food around her plate with her fork. "The Ministry is inundated with complaints about how he's handled things."

Moody swallowed and nodded his head in agreement. "First, he failed to apprehend that serial killer that was targeting mediums at the beginning of the summer," Moody remarked with a scowl. He waved his fork at the others. "Sixteen died in the months of June and July. You'd have thought that the Ministry could have caught the culprit, but they didn't even have any leads."

Tonks sputtered, almost spitting a mouthful of juice. "We had leads," she retorted, casting Moody a defensive glare. She gave her spiky hairdo a shake to emphasize the point. "We would have nabbed that killer too, but then the attacks stopped just as we were getting close."

"Well," Moody groused. "It doesn't help the rest of us to sleep at night knowing there's an assassin on the loose out there." He jabbed his fork into the stew and took another bite.

"And the dementor attacks," Molly added with a shudder. "Those creatures are out there, roaming the streets in packs after dark. He's done nothing to control them. I die with worry every time one of my boys goes out."

"Even the Muggles are starting to notice," Arthur rejoined with a frown. "They can't see the creatures, but they can feel them." He gave a dismissive wave. "Their astro...weather...seers, or whatever they call them, claim it's been the coldest summer on record."

"I've heard reports of strange wizards invading the werewolf communities, asking questions," Remus said, furrowing his brow. "People are disappearing. It's as if Voldemort was never defeated."

Arthur's fork fell to the table with clink. He stared over at Remus with a worried look. "You heard Severus tonight," Arthur added. "Some of those Death Eaters are as dangerous as You-Know-Who was."

"Then why doesn't Fudge start rounding them up?" Angela asked with a pleading look. "Harry and Dumbledore have named several."

"Darling," Remus replied, giving his wife an indulgent smile. "You know that Fudge has always placed too much stock in pure-blood families. He will never arrest the Malfoys, Crabbes, Goyles, or Macnairs, unless presented with irrefutable evidence of their guilt."

"And they've oiled his palms with too much wizard gold to ever have an accusation stick," Moody added, knitting his bushy gray brows.

"Yeah," Tonks concurred, with a vigorous nod. "Our department has received orders from the highest levels. We can't touch the Malfoys. We can't even get a warrant to search their home."

"Oh, how I'd like to get my hands on one of those," Arthur intoned, rubbing his hands together. "I'm certain that I could find lots of incriminating evidence in his mansion."

"Now, Arthur," Molly warned, wagging her finger at him. "The Malfoys are a very powerful and dangerous family. I don't like them any more than you, dear. But don't go meddling in their affairs." She scooped up a forkful of mashed potatoes, her eyes still fixed on her husband with a warning look.

"With Peter Pettigrew's testimony, we might have put the Malfoys and a few others behind bars," Tonks commented between mouthfuls of stew. "But his escape from Azkaban last week put an end to that."

"That's certainly created a row down at the Ministry," Angela remarked, picking at the food on her plate. "My department has been working for months to prepare for Pettigrew's trial. His escape has thrown the entire office into chaos. All those months of hard work down the drain."

"Tell me about it," Tonks added, rolling her eyes. "You could hear Kingsley's swearing all the way to my cubicle. He's spent the last three months rounding up every wizard eyewitness to the attack from fifteen years ago."

"We were so close too," Angela added with a sigh. "The hearing was on the Wizengamot docket for next week. I've never seen Madam Bones so furious. She really laid into Fudge when she found out. And right in front of the whole department."

"It's a pity," Remus added, his eyes tinged with sadness. "I really thought that Sirius would be cleared of those murders once and for all. But without Pettigrew and a trial, the full truth will never come out."

"That rat's escape is probably the nail in Fudge's political coffin," Moody remarked, pounding the table with his fist. "People have lost confidence in his ability to keep us safe."

Angela ate a forkful of mashed potatoes and looked up from her plate. "Rumor has it that if Fudge goes down," she interjected with a grave expression, "Lucius Malfoy intends to throw his hat in the ring for the post of Minister. And he's got plenty of money to back his bid."

"I'll bet he does," Moody scowled. His magical eye spun around and fixed on Angela. "And who else is in the running?"

Angela sighed. She flashed Remus an apologetic glance. "I've heard that Dolores Umbridge also intends to run." She put her hand on her husband's thigh. "I sincerely hope for our sake that she doesn't get elected."

Remus' eyes opened wide. "That's the first I've heard of this," he commented, taking his wife's hand in his. He met her stare with a concerned look.

"Well, I only just heard the news today," she replied. "I've been praying ever since that it isn't true." Her eyes looked down into her lap.

"That's not much of a choice," Moody growled. "Anyone else?" He stabbed another forkful of stew.

"Well, everyone wants Dumbledore to run," Arthur added. "But he, of course, won't leave Hogwarts."

"There is one more candidate that I've heard mentioned on the rumor mill," Angela volunteered, looking up again. "He's an old retired general. I don't know much about him, as he's been abroad for the last several years. Sparticus Cornwall."

"Sparticus Cornwall!" Moody blustered, slamming his fist on the table again. "That old blighter! He's an old army boot, if I ever saw one. I knew him way back in my early days as an Auror. He's a stickler for rules. A regular bureaucrat. He climbed the ranks right quick, but I don't think that he ever saw any real combat. Talks a good game though. And he's got connections."

"I've heard he's the no-nonsense sort," Arthur commented, gesturing with a piece of bread. "Someone who could take charge and put things in order. Seems like just what we need now."

"I'll reserve judgment on that," Moody remarked with a chuckle. He took another swig from his hip flask.

Remus glanced over at his wife. "So with the Pettigrew case on hold, where have you been assigned?" he inquired. "Not Umbridge, I hope? I wouldn't want you to get into trouble on my account."

"I don't know yet," Angela replied. "We're still buried in paperwork from the Pettigrew case." She flashed him a shy smile, her green eyes sparkling. "And anyway, most people at the office don't even realize that I'm married. Not that I've kept it a secret, but it has only been a month."

"Actually," he replied, gazing into her eyes with adoration. "Thirty-five blissful days to be precise." He leaned over and gave his wife a little kiss.

She giggled, returning the kiss. Tonks rolled her eyes and made a face. Molly watched them and smiled. She turned to Arthur and placed her hand on his.

"I just love to watch newlyweds," she remarked with a sigh. "Dear, do you remember that wonderful turtle-dovey stage?"

"Well," Arthur remarked, clearing his throat and looking uncomfortable. "Right...yes...that was a while ago, dear." He looked away from his wife, his eyes skimming the table. "How about dessert? That apple cobbler looks wonderful. Can I trouble you for a piece?"

Moody cleared his throat and cast Arthur a supportive glance. "Yes, I'll take some too," he added, holding out his plate. "If you're serving."

Molly eyed them both with amusement, a wry smile on her lips. Then her hand reached for the spatula. She cut the cobbler and dished generous portions.

"How about you, Remus?" Molly inquired, holding out a plate to Remus.

"Hmm?" he replied, suddenly being recalled to the conversation. His eyes traveled from his wife's face to the cobbler. "Oh, yes! Thank you," he replied, taking the plate from her outstretched hand.

Molly glanced at Angela's plate. Angela had eaten only a few vegetables and some bread, leaving most of her meal untouched. Molly cast her a quizzical look.

"And you, Angela?" she inquired.

"Yes, please," Angela answered, pushing her dinner plate away to make room for dessert.

Molly watched with a curious expression, as Angela tucked into the apple cobbler with obvious relish.

"By the way, how's Potter?" Moody inquired, between large forkfuls of cobbler. "I assume he's back at Hogwarts."

"Yes," Molly replied, turning to face Mad-Eye. "We put Harry on the train just last weekend."

"I'm glad to hear it," Moody scowled. "That boy was a handful this summer. Not nearly careful enough, if you ask me."

"It didn't help matters that Vernon Dursley kicked him out of the house only one week into the summer holidays," Molly remarked with a scathing look. "Harry wouldn't tell me why, but I gathered from the boys that it had something to do with that awful son of theirs and a hex." She shook her head. "Those Dursleys are the worst sort of Muggles. Anyway, we were glad to have Harry stay with us. He's part of the family as far as I'm concerned." An affectionate smile played upon her lips.

"Well, he is seventeen, you know," Remus replied. "He's nearly a man. And no one likes to be cooped up."

"Well, that's fine," scolded Moody. "Unless you're the one responsible for keeping him safe. Every time we turned around, he was off gallivanting on Sirius' old motorcycle. You couldn't pin that boy down."

Remus chuckled. "Yes, he is rather like Sirius that way," he remarked, a faraway glimmer in his eye. "In fact, he even looked a bit like Sirius, all dressed in his old leathers, straddling that infernal flying machine."

"Those boys spent all summer in the shed tinkering with that motorcycle," Arthur intoned, raising his eyebrows. An appreciative smirk remained on his lips. "Fascinating piece of machinery, that!"

"It's Italian, isn't it?" Angela asked. "A Moto Guzzi?"

Remus' eyebrows shot up. "Why, yes," he replied, staring at her with astonishment. "A 1971 Guzzi V7 Sport with a 90° v-twin 750cc engine, elegant lines, excellent stability, all black and chrome. Of course, Sirius added a few features of his own design."

Moody's magical eye spun and bore into Remus. Arthur's mouth fell agape.

"I didn't know that you knew motorcycles?" Arthur remarked, his eyes wide.

"I don't," Remus replied. "I'm just repeating what Sirius used to tell me every time that he mentioned that motorcycle." He chuckled. "He loved that machine more than any woman he ever knew. And treated it better too."

Moody guffawed. Tonks sputtered and burst into a fit of giggles. Arthur's face sported a broad grin. Molly just glared at them.

"So Angela," Remus remarked, casting his wife a quizzical look. "How is it that you know about motorcycles?"

"I don't know much really," she insisted. "But I do have two brothers, you know. They spent their summers taking apart an old Triumph in the family garage. They pooled all their money to buy it. But they would have killed for an Aprilia or a Moto Guzzi."

Tonks' eyes brightened. "Paul is into motorcycles?" she asked.

"Oh yes," Angela answered. "Lately, he's been lusting after one called a V11 Sport Naked." She blushed. "I'm not sure whether that last part refers to the motorcycle or the girl draped over it in the advertisement."

Moody cocked an eyebrow. He let out a low whistle and then chuckled. Angela turned an even deeper shade of crimson.

"Actually, Tonks," Moody rejoined, arching his bushy eyebrows. "I think it's fair to say that Paul's been lusting after you." He chuckled again.

Tonks cast him an exasperated look. She screwed up her face and changed her hair color to a violent shade of red.

"Well," Angela said, grinning and looking around at the empty plates. "I suppose I should clear the table now."

She rose from her chair, grabbed a couple of plates, and moved off to the sink. Molly followed her with an armful of dirty dishes. Moody, Arthur, Tonks, and Remus remained at the table, reminiscing about Sirius and motorcycles.

At the sink, Molly and Angela washed the dishes. They spoke in low whispers, so that the others could not overhear.

"So how are things going with the newlyweds?" Molly probed.

"Just fine," Angela replied, a blithe smile on her lips. "He really is wonderful, you know." She shot an adoring glance over at Remus. Then the grin faded. "But he's been a bit worried of late."

"About what?" Molly inquired.

"About me," Angela replied, staring down at the soapy dish in her hands. "I haven't been well recently." She hesitated.

Molly flashed a concerned look.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Angela continued. "I just feel nauseated all the time. I can't even look at eggs or bacon or meat pies without wanting to vomit. I've been living on bread, fruit, and vegetables."

"You poor dear," Molly replied, picking up a dishtowel and starting to dry the dishes.

"I have odd cravings for things," Angela said, crinkling her nose. "Like chutney, which I never used to like. And I can't get enough scones with clotted cream."

Molly laughed. "Well, there's nothing unusual about that."

"Well, it is unusual for me," she replied. "I always liked them, but not like this. I can sit down and put away a half dozen at a time. I could never do that before." She shook her head. "I just don't know what's happening to me."

Molly looked thoughtful. Her eyes bored into Angela. She furrowed her brow.

"Dear?" Molly began. "I don't know quite how to tell you this. But after seven children, you learn to recognize the symptoms. Is it possible that you're pregnant?"

Angela's mouth dropped open. The plate that she was washing slid back into the dishpan. "But...but we've only just married," she stammered.

"Well," Molly replied, "It can happen any time. Have you been taking precautions?"

Angela stared into the soapy water. She smiled dreamily, recalling the halcyon days of their honeymoon. For two normally very cautious people, they had been rather reckless. The thought of a child just never crossed her mind. Could she be carrying his baby?

"I suppose it's possible," Angela whispered, looking over at Molly.

"I am a registered mid-wife," Molly offered. "I don't have my bag with me tonight. And Arthur and I are on duty here at Headquarters until tomorrow noon. But I could stop by your place tomorrow afternoon. The test is easy and will only take a minute."

"That would be fine," Angela replied with a nod. "Tomorrow afternoon then."

Angela's left hand slid down the front of her dress to rest on her belly. She glanced over her shoulder at Remus with a wistful stare. A contented smile appeared on her lips.