Hunted

Chapter 5: A Chill in the Night Air

Angela Lupin eyed the bookcase in the sitting room of her cottage in Beecher's Knoll, selecting a novel to read. She scanned the titles on the top shelf full of her old Muggle books. Her gaze stopped on a dog-eared paperback copy of Jane Austen's Emma. She pulled it from the shelf and settled down on the worn cushions of the sofa to read. It had been quite some time since she'd read this one. The tale would be perfect for an evening alone. She opened the book and began reading about the plight of poor Emma Woodhouse, lonely for companionship now that her confidant, Miss Taylor, had married and gone.

Angela glanced up from the pages of the book. She wondered how Remus was faring on duty tonight at Grimmauld Place. Her eyes wandered over to the small hand-held mirror lying on the end table. She set her book down on the cushions of the sofa and considered the communicating mirror. Should she contact him? No, the looking glass was for emergencies. He would be busy tonight and loneliness didn't exactly qualify as an emergency.

Although it was mid-September, tonight seemed unseasonably cold. Angela walked to the massive fireplace framed in fieldstone. Her hand reached for the poker and stirred the dying embers in the hearth. She added another log to the fire and lingered near the flames, warming herself. Then she walked to the sofa and plucked up her book. She pulled a woolen blanket around her shoulders, sat down in a squashy armchair closer to the fire, and resumed reading.

While she was absorbed in her book, a chill seeped under the doorway of the cottage. The toxic miasma permeated the room. Angela shivered, pulling the blanket more securely around her frame. Her eyesight clouded over as she attempted to focus on the words on the page. She blinked and pulled the book closer to her face. Her unseeing eyes could no longer focus. Perhaps she was just sleepy. But why was it so cold? Her fingers grabbed the blanket that had slipped from her shoulders.

She blinked again. But this time, the sitting room had faded from view. Startled, Angela gazed at her surroundings. To her amazement, she found herself sitting in the first pew of an old country church. An open casket lay directly in front of her and within that casket, her father's corpse. She gasped. Tears of grief flooded her eyes. She stared at his ashen face, still and silent in death. The sight made eerie in the flickering light of the candles illuminating the grim scene.

She heard the sounds of her mother's sobs. Her head turned to see her twin brothers and her mother seated on the pew next to her. Even the mesh veil on the black pillbox hat could not hide her mother's tear-stained face or the eyes, red and puffy from days of crying. And Angela noted the streaks of reddish brown still prominent among her mother's rapidly silvering hair. Her once red mane was turning to gray overnight.

Angela recalled the last months of her father's earthly existence. He had seemed in the prime of his life, when he had been stricken by the sudden and mysterious illness. The healers had never been able to pinpoint the cause. And so her family had been forced to endure months of her father's tortuous decline in helpless horror. Angela shuddered at the memory.

She glanced over at her two brothers, Francis and Paul Hawkins. They were brawny and handsome, spitting images of her father. But now, they looked quite powerless, in spite of their size. Francis put a supportive arm around his mother to comfort her.

Angela's gaze wandered over to other mourners at the funeral. Her eyes stopped on her uncle, James Hawkins, her father's twin brother. His tall and handsome frame, topped with a thick silvery mass of hair, was bent double in grief. He sat sobbing into his large hands. Beside him, her Aunt Medea, his wife, sat stiffly, wearing a luxurious gown of black velvet and white lace. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, accentuating the austere appearance of her face. Her dry eyes stared at the casket, her face expressionless.

Medea's cousin, Lucius Malfoy, sat at her side, also staring straight ahead. He was the only member of Medea's family to pay their respects. Angela's gaze lingered on Malfoy's face. There was something odd about his expression that she hadn't noticed before. It was almost as if he were laughing to himself at some inside jest. Angela stared. Then she watched, as Medea turned to her cousin and patted his hand. The slightest hint of a smile flickered over her aunt's face, a momentary twitch. And then the visage of her aunt returned to its former severe state. Angela gasped. She clenched her eyes tightly shut, trying to banish this awful memory from her mind. Think of something else. Anything.

The air around her seemed even colder. Her hands pulled the blanket around her shuddering body. Her eyes popped opened again. This time, she saw Remus standing before her. His bloodied left hand was clutching his wounded chest, his eyes wide with shock. In his shaking right hand, he held his wand, still pointed at his enemy. The sound of Bellatrix Lestrange's evil cackle rang in Angela's ears.

"Nooooooo!" Angela screamed, covering her ears with her hands. "Any memory but that one."

She opened her eyes again, more reluctantly this time. Remus was standing before her, leaning heavily on the back of a chair. Sadness lingered in his blue-gray eyes. She could hear his voice.

"I do love you. I adore you," he whispered. She saw the look of self-reproach in his eyes. "That is why I cannot let you do this. The thought that I could harm you haunts me. If we marry, I fear for your safety. What would happen if I should bite you?" he chided. "I could never live with myself after that."

Tears streamed down Angela's face. She shook her head. She squeezed her eyes shut once more, trying in vain to banished these awful thoughts. Her mind flashed again to another memory.

This time, she could feel the rough wooden planks of a floor against her body. The ropes that bound her ankles cut into her flesh. Her ears heard the approaching footsteps. Her mind filled with dread. She raised her head from the floor of the abandoned country church to face the icy stare of the Death Eater. She heard his mirthless laugh, as he pointed his wand to her chest and uttered the curse. A fatal flash of green light filled her vision. Instinctively, Angela jerked her head away, as if she were still in that church. Still bound and imprisoned.

Angela shook her head, trying to jolt these unpleasant thoughts from her consciousness. What was happening? She struggled to regain control. She stared at the fireplace hearth, relieved to be back in the sitting room again. But her ease would last only for a moment.

For just then, a blast of icy air surged down the fireplace flue, extinguishing the smoldering remains of the fire. The lights flickered and went out. She heard the door handle to the cottage rattle. Angela's head spun to face the doorway. Someone was trying to force their way in!

Angela jumped to her feet, her hand gripping her wand. A look of terror flashed across her face. She stood, tense and silent, waiting for the intruder. The lock clicked. Angela gasped as the door creaked open, propelled by a scaly clawed hand. Dementors in Beecher's Knoll!

Angela backed away toward the end table, her left hand reaching for the communicating glass. Her fingers fumbled on the table, grasped the mirror, and pulled it to her face.

"Remus! Dementors! Here!" she screamed into the mirror.

Misery flooded over her, as a frosty gust of air swept over the room. The mirror fell to the floor from her shaking hand. She heard the glass shatter as it hit the stone floor of the cottage sitting room.

Angela pointed her wand at the dementors now crossing the threshold of her home, hovering just above the flagstone floors. One, two, three of them approached her, their black robes billowing in the icy breeze. She heard the rattling and sucking of their breath from beneath the hoods of their cloaks. She struggled to gather her thoughts. What did Remus tell her? A happy thought. Think of your most happy thought.

Her two hands clutched the wand in her grasp. The wand vibrated in her trembling fingers. Her mind raced to find a happy memory. Her gaze wandered to the wedding ring on her finger.

"Mrs. Remus J. Lupin. Mrs. Remus J. Lupin," she repeated the phrase to herself.

Her eyes closed, now seeing Remus' face. She imagined herself gazing into his blue-gray eyes. She could see his face, those eyes, those lips, that intoxicating smile. She could feel his kiss on her lips. His arms now around her. Again that tender kiss. Her eyes popped open. She pointed her wand at the dementors and shouted, "Expecto patronum!"

A shapeless silvery form flew from the wand and hovered in front of the dementors. They stopped, as the silvery cloud blocked their passage. They could not move past it, but neither did they retreat. How long could it hold them back? It was not enough.

"Oh, God help me," Angela sobbed as the full realization of her plight hit her.

Waves of terror and anguish washed over her. She sank to her knees on the cold stone floor. Despair filled her.

But then, as if in answer to her prayers, she felt a flutter in her stomach. Her left hand traveled to her abdomen. That can't be the babies. It's much too early for that! Her thoughts now raced to the little lives that she was carrying. A smile crept across her lips. Her right hand raised her wand once again. She uttered the incantation, but this time with much more courage. "Expecto Patronum!"

A silvery hawk emerged from the wand tip and flew toward the dementors. It attacked the vile wraiths with talons bared and wings flapping. The specters fled from the silvery guardian, gliding out the door of the cottage in hasty retreat. As they left, Angela crumbled to the floor, shaken and weak.

A green flash of light blasted from the fireplace hearth. Angela gasped, her head jerking to face the newcomer. She sat on the cold stone of the sitting room floor, paralyzed by fear. Her wand still in her shaking grasp aimed at the intruder. A single sob of relief escaped her lips as she recognized her husband's familiar features.

"Remus," she uttered, as her arm dropped limply to her side.

Remus stepped down from the hearth, a tortured expression on his face and a drawn wand clenched in his fist. In two strides, he was at her side. He dropped to his knees and pulled her into his embrace, clutching her trembling body to his chest. She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him for support. Her head was spinning, her mind still poisoned by hopelessness and despair, residual sickness of the dementor attack. She felt the warmth of his hand against her cheek. His eyes stared into hers. She could read the fear in those blue-gray eyes.

"Are you all right?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

She nodded weakly. She had no strength left for explanations. Her body convulsed with chills. Why was it still so cold?

Remus' eyes glanced from her face to the open door of the cottage. Freezing gusts of air continued to blow in from outside. He aimed his wand. The door slammed shut and locked securely. He strode to the kitchen. Angela heard a series of bangs and an exasperated sigh.

"We're out of chocolate," he exclaimed.

Remus returned seconds later with Angela's cloak under his arm. He wrapped her in the velvety folds of the forest green cape, cradled her in his arms, and carried her to the hearth.

"I'm taking you away from here," he insisted with a determined look. "You're staying with me tonight at headquarters."

The resolute expression on his face told her that he could not be dissuaded. And after the events of this evening, Angela had no will to argue back. Her fright from her brush with the dementors overrode any malaise that she might feel about spending the night at Grimmauld Place. Besides, she was quite certain that Remus would not be letting her out of his sight.

He set her down on the ledge of the hearth, while he took down a ceramic pot filled with a glittering powder. His hand grabbed a fistful of the substance and tossed it into the cold ambers of the fire. He scooped Angela into his arms and stepped into the fireplace. Amid the flush of heat and green flames, he uttered, "Number twelve Grimmauld Place."

The intense heat from the flames felt wonderfully comforting after the chill of the dementors. But scenes of various rooms flashing before her eyes, as they spun through the Floo Network, made her physically ill. She squeezed her eyes closed and inhaled a lung full of soot. They emerged into the basement kitchen of Grimmauld Place moments later. She coughed and sputtered, gasping for breath to clear her lungs.

Mad-Eye Moody waited for them in the kitchen of headquarters, a scowl on his lips. His magical eye focused on Angela's face with a studied look of concern.

"Set her down there," he said, pointing a gnarled finger at an old squashy armchair with stuffing bursting from the seams. "I'll see to some chocolate."

Remus carried Angela to the chair and set her down. His hand stroked her cheek with a loving touch. Then he walked to the bead-board china cupboard, extracted a ceramic mug, filled it with fresh milk, and tapped it with his wand. Moments later, wisps of steam rose from the cup.

Meanwhile, Moody had disappeared into the pantry. Angela could hear the clunking of his wooden leg as he hobbled around on the stone floor and his exasperated mumblings as he rummaged through the pantry shelves. He emerged with a can of cocoa and bottle of brandy clutched in his grip.

"I couldn't find any bar chocolate," Moody groused. "But I think a little hot chocolate with a nip of brandy will do the trick."

"Excellent," Remus said, heading to the silver drawer to fetch a spoon.

In no time at all, Angela was sipping the comforting beverage and starting to recover from her ordeal.

"So what happened?" Moody queried, training his magical eye back on Angela's face.

"Dementors," Angela replied, staring back with a look of fear in her green eyes. "Three of them barged right into our cottage."

"Dementors out in the countryside now?" he barked. "What would they be looking for in Beecher's Knoll?"

"I've no idea," Angela replied with a shrug. "We live quite far removed from most others. Emmett Brown, our nearest neighbor, lives a good half mile down the road. There's nothing around us but woods and meadows."

Moody let out an exasperated grunt. "Someone must have sent those despicable creatures out there, looking for something." His normal eye narrowed with a suspicious glint. He jabbed his finger on the table. "Or someone."

"Oh, come now, Mad-Eye," Remus protested. "Voldemort's dead. The dementors don't appear to be acting under anyone's orders these days. Most of the attacks have been random incidents in highly populated areas and sporting venues."

"Yes," Moody remarked. "They disrupted the Quidditch Cup finals this year. The foul vermin can't resist feeding off the emotions of the crowds." He trained his magical eye on Remus. "But there are no crowds in Beecher's Knoll, are there?"

"Are you suggesting that this was a directed attack?" Remus said. An alarmed look flashed across his face. "That someone wanted to harm Angela."

"Or you," Moody cautioned with a glare. "You can't be too careful, you know."

A wan smile worked on the corners of Angela's mouth. Moody had a reputation for being overly suspicious. She marveled that he inspected each morsel of his food for poison and each gift as if it might be a harbinger of some nefarious plot on his life. Although in truth, his suspicions were not entirely unfounded. He had been the target of assassination attempts in the past. The smile faded from her face, as she considered the possibility that her uninvited visitors were not accidental.

Remus walked to the fireplace. His hand ran absently through his light brown hair streaked with gray. His brow was furrowed, a worried expression on his face. He spun around to face her.

"I knew that something like this would happen," he muttered, staring into Angela's eyes with a look of self-reproach. "I should never have left you alone. I should have insisted that you come with me."

"You know it wouldn't have done any good," Angela whispered, returning his gaze. "You know how much I hate this place. That awful portrait screaming in the hallway. The ghoul in the upstairs bathroom." She shuddered and grimaced. "And those monstrous spiders."

As if on cue, the bottom drawer of the china cupboard rattled. Angela whipped her head around to face the cupboard, her green eyes wide with alarm. She pulled her legs up on the chair and hugged them to her chest.

"But that's preferable to a dementor attack," he chided with a reproving look. "Especially in your condition."

Angela's face fell at his rebuke. She dropped her gaze to avoid his disapproving stare. "Of course, you're right," she whispered.

Seeing her crestfallen look, his expression softened. He dropped to one knee in front of her chair. His hand reached for hers. "At least, I know that you would be safe here with me," he said with a pleading look.

She pulled him to her. His arms encircled her waist and he buried his face in her lap. She held him, running one hand over his back and the fingers of her other hand through his sandy hair. She clung to him for a moment or two, neither one saying a word.

Moody looked away, stirring the embers on the hearth in the massive stone fireplace. They heard a sharp intake of breath and a thud, as the wooden leg stepped back from the fireplace hearth.

"Potter?" Moody gasped, his eyes trained on the flames in the grate.

Remus released Angela. His head snapped around to face the fireplace, the concerned expression back on his face. He bolted to the fireplace and knelt in front of the hearth. His eyes focused on the young man's face floating in the midst of the flames. Angela remained in the chair, but her eyes were glued to the tousled black-haired head of Harry Potter.

"Harry, what is it?" Remus inquired with alarm.

"Professor Lupin," Harry said, the anxiety evident in his brilliant green eyes. "It's happening again. My scar. It's hurting again." Harry winced with pain. His hand reached to his forehead, knocked his glasses askew, and rubbed the lightning shaped scar that marred his youthful brow.

"Slow down, Harry," Remus replied, a worried crease appearing his own forehead.

"And I'm seeing things again," Harry said, with mounting panic in his voice. "But this can't be happening. I mean, Voldemort is dead, isn't he? Dumbledore said that I defeated him. That he took his own life." He shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Harry, listen carefully," Remus instructed. "You must go see Professor McGonagall straight away. Ask to be taken to the Headmaster. You must tell Dumbledore these things. And tell him that I am on my way. I will meet you at the Headmaster's office." Remus cast a glance at Moody. Mad-Eye nodded with approval at the advice. Remus turned back to the fireplace. "And Harry," he warned with a stern gaze, "speak to no one else about this."

Harry cast a glance behind him.

"I suppose Ron is with you?" Remus inquired with a sigh. Harry nodded. "And Hermione too?" Remus added. Harry responded with another sheepish nod. "Right then," Remus continued, "Bring them all up to Dumbledore's office. I'll meet you there as soon as I can."

Harry's head disappeared from the fireplace with a pop. Remus turned to face Mad-Eye. Moody's magical eye fixed on his colleague's face with a knowing glare.

"Didn't I tell you that something was afoot?" Moody scolded. "Well, you go on. I'll stay here at headquarters and look after things." Moody's eyes traveled to Angela's ashen face. "And what about Angela?"

"I'm taking her with me," Remus rejoined with a determined look. "I have no intention of letting her out of my sight tonight."

* * * * * * * *

Remus and Angela Apparated outside the gates of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Minutes later, they strode down the corridors of the school at a brisk clip. The sounds of their footsteps echoed in the deserted hallways. Because of the lateness of the hour, only a few torches lit their way. They stopped in front of the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's quarters. Its grotesque features appeared even more threatening in the dark shadows.

"Peppermint stick," Remus whispered to the stone figure.

A wall behind the statue slid aside with a grinding noise that echoed in the silence. A spiral staircase materialized behind the gargoyle. Although the staircase was moving upward of its own accord, Remus bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Angela followed him, struggling to keep pace. At the landing on the top of the stair, they faced the heavy oak doors to the Headmaster's office. Remus' hand grasped the brass knocker and rapped on the door. Angela heard the voice of the Dumbledore from inside, bidding their entry. Remus opened the door and held it for Angela. Then he followed her into the circular office.

A crowd had already gathered inside. Angela's eyes scanned the faces of those assembled, all of whom had turned to stare at them. Harry Potter sat in a chair immediately in front of the Headmaster's desk, flanked on either side by his constant companions, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. There was no mistaking Ron's parentage. His red hair and freckles easily marked him as one of Arthur and Molly's seven children. Hermione Granger broke into a toothy grin at the sight of Remus, her former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Her bushy brown hair nodded in greeting.

Minerva McGonagall, in her tartan dressing gown, sat to the left of the students with a stern expression of concern on her face. Her tight lips turned up ever so slightly at the corners when she spotted Angela. And Angela flashed her former mentor a smile in return.

Severus Snape rose from his seat at the right of the Headmaster's desk and stood with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. His eyebrows shot up in surprise at the sight of Angela, but quickly fell back into place. Then his cold eyes turned on Remus with an unmistakable look of loathing.

Headmaster Dumbledore rose to his feet behind the massive solid oak desk. His kindly blue eyes glistened behind the half-moon spectacles. His mouth twitched into a momentary smile above the snowy white beard. He waved his wand and conjured two more chairs for the new arrivals.

"Welcome," Dumbledore greeted with an inviting gesture. "Kindly have a seat. Now that we are all present, let us begin." He sat down in his chair and placed his elbows on the desktop with his fingertips together. His gaze moved from face to face over the tops of his fingers. Every eye now turned in undivided attention to him. His piercing eyes stopped and fixed on Harry's face. "Now Harry," he coaxed, "Please tell us what has happened."

Harry stared up into the Headmaster's face, avoiding Snape's withering glare that was now trained on the youth. "It's my scar," he began, his voice quavering a little. "It's hurting again...er...like it did when Voldemort was alive."

Although Angela was watching Harry, she caught a glimpse of Snape out of the corner of her eye. He winced at Harry's mention of the Dark Lord's name. His hand moved to grip his left forearm.

"And...er...I saw things," Harry stammered, his gaze dropping to his lap in shame.

A gasp of surprise and scorn escaped the Potion Master's lips. "Didn't your Occlumency lessons with the Headmaster last year have any effect?"

"Now Severus," Dumbledore chided. "The young man cannot be expected to guard against such visions now. I myself saw Harry defeat Voldemort. We all assumed, I included, that the link between Voldemort and Harry was dissolved with his demise. Apparently, I was mistaken." Dumbledore's expression looked very grave. He turned back to Harry and gave him an encouraging look. "Harry, please tell us what you saw."

Harry stared back up at the Headmaster. He gulped. "I saw a room. It must have been underground. There were no windows. And I saw Bellatrix Lestrange and the Malfoys." He hesitated. "They...er...they were bowing to me."

"The Malfoys bowing to you?" Snape guffawed. "This is no vision. Just the over-active imagination of an overblown ego. I think that medal has gone to your head, Potter!" he spat.

Remus rose to his feet. "Severus, please let Harry speak."

Remus' hand gripped Harry's shoulder. Angela could see the anger rising in her husband's usually calm eyes. Her gaze flickered from her husband to Snape's face, which had grown white with suppressed fury.

"Sit down both of you," Dumbledore commanded, a steely glint in his blue eyes. He turned to Snape. "Severus, I must ask you to please refrain from comment until after Harry has finished."

Snape plopped himself into his chair. His eyes narrowed, surveying both Remus and Harry with a look of deepest disdain. Remus gave Harry's shoulder an encouraging pat. Then he sat down, staring at the Headmaster with an apologetic glance. Angela edged her seat closer to her husband's. Her hand slid over to rest on his thigh. She shot him a soothing glance. He grasped her hand.

"Harry, please continue," Dumbledore encouraged.

Harry swallowed hard, again avoiding Snape's glare. "Then I heard Voldemort's voice. He ordered them to gather the rest of the Death Eaters and...to take revenge."

"I see," Dumbledore said. He was staring straight ahead, but did not appear to be looking at anything in particular. "Is that all he said?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "And that's when my scar started to hurt again." Harry's hand reached for his forehead and rubbed the scar, as if it was still painful to him.

"And where were you in this underground room when you saw all of this?" Dumbledore inquired, fixing a piercing stare on Harry's eyes. "This is important, Harry. Please tell us."

Harry squirmed. "What do you mean?"

"Did you see Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes boring into Harry's face. "Or were you Voldemort?"

Harry stopped fidgeting in his seat. He averted his eyes, avoiding Dumbledore's perceptive stare. "I was Voldemort." he whispered. "It was me!" Harry's head dropped into his hands. He gripped his short black hair in his fingers, as if he were trying to squeeze Voldemort from his head. His face contorted with a look of self-loathing.

Both Ron and Hermione whipped around to face Harry, their eyes open wide and their mouths agape. Remus edged forward in his seat, placing his hand back on Harry's shoulder. Harry shrugged it off.

Dumbledore's eyes looked tired as he surveyed the young man. "Why do you think you were granted this vision, Harry?"

"He's not dead, is he?" Harry asked, his green eyes flashing with anger. "He's still alive somewhere. My scar always hurt when he was nearby or planning something. It's happening again."

Snape now rose to his feet. His face wore an odd expression, a mixture of disbelief and scorn. His hand reached for his left sleeve. He pushed the fabric of his robes up to reveal the flesh on his left forearm.

"Look," he hissed, thrusting his forearm under the nose of the Headmaster so that they all could see. "The Dark Mark is still gone. If the Dark Lord is still alive, he has no power. This vision, or whatever it was, cannot be real." Snape pulled his sleeve back over his arm and sat down. His face wore a condescending look.

Dumbledore's snowy eyebrows rose and fell. Then he stared off into the distance. He appeared deep in thought.

Angela's gaze traveled to her mentor, Minerva McGonagall. The Transfiguration professor's lips were pursed tightly shut, her face drawn in a look of concentration and concern. Her eyes studied the Headmaster.

Angela swallowed hard. She stared into her lap. What if Voldemort were still alive somewhere? Moody had intimated that the dementors had come to Beecher's Knoll tonight on someone's orders. Perhaps he was right? Maybe the two incidents were linked. Her eyes wandered to Headmaster Dumbledore. She was surprised to find him staring back at her.

"Yes?" he inquired. "Is there something you'd like to add, Angela?"

She shook her head. "It's probably irrelevant anyway."

"To the contrary," Dumbledore replied. "As I have grown older, I have discovered that many things that I once thought unrelated are oddly connected."

"Well, then you should know that dementors broke into our cottage in Beecher's Knoll this evening," she said.

"Yes, I know," Dumbledore replied. "Alastor informed me the moment that Remus left for your house."

Snape's eyebrows rocketed upward, the condescending look wiped from his face. A momentary expression of concern flashed over his countenance, quickly replaced by a blank stare.

"Heavens!" McGonagall gasped, with a look of shock on her face. "What would dementors be doing out in Beecher's Knoll?"

"I am afraid, my dear Minerva," Dumbledore replied, "that we have more questions than answers this evening. But we will get to the bottom of this." He turned to Snape. "Severus, you know what I must ask you to do?"

Snape nodded with a grim expression on his face. Then he rose and swept from the room.

Dumbledore turned to Harry. "I do not believe that Voldemort is back," he said with a gentle look. "But it seems clear that he has retained some connection with you and that scar. I must ask you to be vigilant and to be mindful of the things I taught you in our Occlumency lessons. Minerva, please escort Harry and his companions back to Gryffindor Tower."

McGonagall nodded and rose. Then she and the three students filed out of the room. Remus and Angela also got up to leave.

"One moment, Remus," Dumbledore said, summoning him back. "I would like a word with you and Angela, if I may."

"Of course," Remus replied, sinking back into his chair and staring back at the Headmaster with a curious expression.

Angela sat back down in her seat. As she did, a beautiful bird with feathers of red and gold flew from its gilded perch behind Dumbledore's desk and landed on Angela's shoulder. The phoenix cocked its head and cooed. Angela's hand reached over and stroked the bird's feathers. She felt a healing sensation flood over her body as the bird rested on her shoulder. Then it flew back to its perch in a flutter of crimson and ochre.

"Ah, Fawkes," Dumbledore sighed. "A wonderful bird and a faithful companion." Then he turned back to Remus with a meaningful stare. "Odd thing about birds. The caged bird will never learn to fly."

"Pardon me, sir?" replied Remus with a quizzical stare.

"Forgive me, but sometimes I feel that I must dispense with a little friendly advice," Dumbledore explained, chuckling. "I know that you are concerned for Angela, and understandably so, but you must let her go. Let her fly on her own, so to speak, for her own good, of course."

"Let me fly?" Angela guffawed. "You of all people should know that I'm afraid to fly. I must be the only witch to have failed Broomstick Basics at Hogwarts in the last fifty years."

"Yes," Dumbledore said with a nod, "And you must learn to master that fear. But you will never learn if you are always sheltered and not allowed to fend for yourself."

"So are you suggesting that I teach her to fly?" Remus queried, furrowing his brow.

"Not necessarily," Dumbledore replied. "But I am suggesting that you resume your dueling lessons. Try as you might, you cannot protect her all the time. But you can teach her to protect herself."

"But there are extenuating circumstances," Remus protested. "Angela and I...we are expecting...twins."

"Yes, so I heard," Dumbledore rejoined with a twinkle in his blue eyes. "News, especially the secret variety, travels quickly through the Order. I offer you my congratulations." He gave them both a warm smile. Then his expression turned grave again. "But my advice still stands. For you see, I believe that tonight's dementor attack was neither isolated nor accidental. If my intuition is correct, this is just the beginning."

"Yes, sir," Remus replied with that worried look back on his face.

Angela's mouth fell open. She merely stared from Dumbledore to her husband, not knowing what to think about this revelation.