His Majesty's Secret Service

Chapter Twelve: Ruination

Our Story So Far: Jorian Peleranel, called Ryan Pelerand, has transferred to Hogwarts under false pretences. As a Slytherin, he befriended Draco Malfoy to help Albus Dumbledore gather information about the Death Eaters and Voldemort. Last time, Lucius Malfoy discovered a vital piece of information about his son's friend, revealing that he is not what he seems to be....

Lucius waited with Ryan for another ten minutes or so, casually trying spells to break any disguise Ryan might be using. Vitreus Crabbe returned with two other men in tow. One of them was clearly another guard: he was tall and built like a Muggle rubgy player. He probably made one incredibly strong beater in his day. The second, however, looked about as useful in a fight as a hummingbird in an owl post office. He was whip-thin, and very young, with bottle-thick glasses that magnified his eyes. He carried himself as if more used to a desk than a dungeon. But Ryan had long ago learned that physique had nothing to do with skill at duelling, so he waited without concealing his interest.

"Now what?" he growled insolently, not caring if it earned him a new torture. It was more in character to sulk, so sulk he did.

Lucius shot him an exasperated look. "Prometheus, have a look at this," he said without looking away from Ryan, holding out Ryan's wand.

The young man accepted the wand and began to inspect it. But immediately he made little noises of astonishment, exclaiming "hm" and "tsk" softly as he inspected the instrument.

"Yes..." he said after a moment. "Interesting...interesting," he chucked, twirling the wand experimentally in his fingers. "This isn't one of Uncle's, certainly," he said curiously, and examined the tip. "Eleven and a half inches, I'd guess, and oak, of course. See?" He pointed to the grain. "But the core...." He got out his own wand and tapped it against the handle of Ryan's tool. Nothing seemed to happen. "Curious," he said to himself. "It doesn't seem to want to reveal its core, Mr. Malfoy," he said with a tone of apology. "One moment, please," he continued politely, and tried tapping it again.

"Ah!" the young man said with a sigh of satisfaction, looking inside the wand. "Of course," he said triumphantly. "Sphinx hair. That explains why it concealed itself so well. Hm. A good wand for self-defence." He waved it with an expression of admiration. "But the workmanship! It's not Gregorovich, either," he mused, then looked sharply at the prisoner. "Who made this?" he demanded.

"Faziel," Ryan muttered darkly.

"Ah--of course!" The young man nodded. "Mustafah Faziel of Cairo--he does amazing work. Simply amazing." He handed the wand back to Lucius.

"Not a common wand, then, you'd say?" Lucius confirmed with the junior wandmaker.

"No, indeed. In fact, Faziel retired about ten years ago."

"Did he?" Lucius snorted significantly. "And did he have a protege?"

"A witch named Sabac," the young wizard supplied. Lucius rounded on Ryan.

"Do you still claim this is Faziel's work?" he asked shrewdly.

"Yes," Ryan insisted defiantly. "I know it's old--I got it as a present on holiday in Egypt. My mum homeschooled me--I started early."

"Ah," Lucius said indulgently. He turned to the three men on his side of the cell bars. "Stay here and watch him. Don't let him try anything--he may do wandless magic. Ollivander, I'm counting on you to keep him subdued. Go ahead and try to break his disguise spell--I've already tried Finite Incantatem and Priori Formus to no effect. I'm going back up to the library." He left the dampness and the dark, Ryan's wand in his hand.

Ryan waited. In between suffering the effects of the spells they cast to amuse themselves, he counted minutes, hoping for Snape's arrival, praying the man was indeed as loyal to Dumbledore as his friend believed, and as clever as Dumbledore reported. Time stood on end, stretched and mutated into something he loathed and yet treasured, for each moment he lived, he had a chance to convince them he was no spy. He shivered as the air got colder and the night wore on. A few hours later, fresh guards arrived, among them, Nott and Avery. They were only too happy to try spells on Ryan per Ollivander's instructions, though he doubted even a reasonable wizard could connect the Body Bind with disguise spells.

Lucius returned finally, and with him, Snape, looking naturally shocked, but just as sour as usual. By Ryan's tally, it was several hours since the guard changed. It might even be daylight already. But since there was no change of light in the dungeon, it was hard to say for certain.

"Let's get this test over with, Lucius," Snape said irritably. "I'm not wasting Veritaserum on him if he's what he says he is."

"Oh, I think I can safely say he is not. But now I know how to break his spell, if he isn't willing to remove it himself."

"Why on earth would the Elves want to know our movements?" Snape asked, and it sounded as if he wondered in earnest, and not just as a way of placating Lucius's paranoia.

"There are those who say that they aren't really gone," Lucius countered. "Besides, have you forgotten that your old friend, Albus Dumbledore, was a great defender of the Anvasse before they fled? He argued for their rights long before the Wand Act."

"Dumbledore is a fool," Snape spat, "but if he is an Elf...." He inspected Ryan as if for the first time. His eyes took in the bruises, the hex marks, the protrusion of rib that suggested a crack, and the boy's shivering. "Have you been torturing him?" he asked angrily.

"Of course," Lucius retorted, indignant. "He infiltrated--"

"I don't care, Malfoy," Snape interrupted. "If he really is an Elf, he's of much greater value alive and whole than half cursed to death! Have you considered what we could do with his blood?"

Then Ryan noticed her. Peeking out from behind Lucius's robes were a large pair of almond-shaped, bright green eyes. He listened to Malfoy and Snape confer, but watched the figure behind them. She stood, trembling slightly, her huge eyes on the verge of tears. Finally, Malfoy cut off Snape's argumentative demands and clutched her around the neck, thrusting her toward the bars.

"Go on, then, what are you waiting for?" he ordered impatiently.

The house-elf, for such she was, curtseyed nervously to her master. Ryan recognised the wizened face, and the old tattered cloth she wore from his arrival at the Manor at Christmas.

"Heddy, isn't it?" he asked very softly through the bars as she stepped forward.

"Yes, yes. Sir remembers!" Heddy said, awe-stricken. She leaned close and Ryan crouched on the flagstones to hear her. Snape and Malfoy had gone back to arguing.

"We is not betraying your secrets, sir," she assured him pathetically. "We is never telling until the Master asks us just now," she confessed, and a tear spilled out of one green eye.

Malfoy kicked her disdainfully. "Get on with it," he said menacingly.

"Please, sir," the house-elf said to Ryan. "Forgive Heddy?"

Ryan sighed. He could force the house-elf to choose between her Master and her blood, or he could admit that there was no more use to pretending. Either way, he would lose his glamour shortly. "Little cousin," he said benevolently, "you need not trouble yourself. I shall undo my own magic, that the weird shall not sit upon you, your family, or your kind."

"Ah!" Heddy exclaimed, her leathery old face bursting in to wrinkly smiles as she banged her head on a bar. "The Pelerand is good! The Pelerand is kind! The Pelerand is generous!" she shouted through gaping sobs.

"The Pelerand is a bloody fool," hissed Snape. He came forward, seeming even more upset about the truth than Lucius had been. "How long did you expect to dupe us, Pelerand? I should have gone with my instincts and seen you expelled long before this--I've always known there was something wrong about you." He snarled, turning on his heel. "I'll get that Veritaserum now, Lucius--but no more curses, I tell you. His blood is his greatest asset now. Don't squander it."

Snape stalked out of the dungeons toward the potions laboratory, ignoring the amazing sight Ryan was about to afford his captors. He sat upon the ground, crossing his legs. He closed his eyes, mentally peeling away the layers of protection around his glamour spell, and then the spell itself. The chamber filled with light as his glamour emanated out and away. He felt the illusion fade and his regular appearance take shape. He lengthened, growing to his full height. His ears drew out to their points, his chest and back and arms and legs filled out to their full strength, and his face took on its accustomed faint lines. Fading scars puckered his arms and back, and oddly added to his ethereal beauty. On the whole, he now looked like a man of twenty-five or thirty, but back again was the liquidity and serenity of stillness inherent in his race. He opened his eyes slowly, and had Hermione been there, she would have seen again that the bright blue eyes and the firm, set jaw were still the same.

"I think I'll keep Narcissa well away from you," Lucius quipped, sounding much less forgiving than at the Christmas party. "So you admit that you are Anvasse?"

Ryan shrugged elegantly. "Had I not removed the glamour myself, you would only have forced my kinswoman to try," he concluded, nodding his head toward the house-elf, who was still blubbering. "I would not lay that geas on her head."

"Good," Lucius sneered at him. "You believe yourself a man of honour. That will make this much easier."

Lucius allowed Heddy to leave, then sent for more witnesses and guards. Now that Ryan looked like the formidable, if battered, creature he was, Lucius wanted to be certain his prisoner was outnumbered and outgunned. While they waited, Lucius brought out Ryan's wand again.

"You won't be needing this," he said, and broke it where it began to taper.

Sparks shot out both ends where the wand broke. Ryan watched him destroy the wand with quiet grace, betraying nothing. It was, after all, only a wand.

Lucius's summons brought rather more spectators than he planned, however, for nearly half his guests ventured down to see the captive Elf. As they straggled in, Snape returned with the finished potion.

"I want to reiterate, Lucius," he said in his most professorial and professional tone, "that after this interrogation, I must insist we secure him more soundly, and only then will I harvest his blood."

"Why not just kill him, once he tells us what we want?" a young Death Eater asked. He was burly and slightly trollish.

Snape swooped down on the unfortunate individual. "First, because our Lord will no doubt wish for a better sacrifice in Thursday's ritual than you can provide, Flint, and secondly, because Elf blood is a major component in any number of spells." He came close to the Death Eater, his eyes glittering. "But then, I shouldn't really expect too much from your memory, should I, Flint, when it took you two tries to complete our curriculum for seventh year, and at that, you only barely managed to earn a satisfactory grade?" Snape snarled down at the young man, looking for all the world as if they were back in his classroom. He warmed to his topic. Though he addressed everyone in the room, he directed his gaze at Flint, boring into him as his tone grew increasingly nasty.

"Among other things, the blood of True Elves is necessary for certain methods of divination. It is used to form protective barriers in amulets and charms, and can enhance the senses if used properly. A drop placed on the tip of one's wand can supposedly detect magic. Most importantly, it is essential in several of the most effective longevity potions--and theoretically, the secrets of immortality lie in their veins as well. Add to this the absence of Elves in wizarding society for seventy years. Do you begin to understand the significance of our prisoner?" He glowered at the boy.

Flint gulped. "Yes, sir," he muttered sullenly.

Snape clicked his tongue in disgust and turned back to Ryan, who met his eyes. "Now, the Veritaserum," Snape segued. "It should work the same on Elves as humans, though I do caution," he glanced at Lucius, "I have not ever had the opportunity to test that." He locked eyes with Ryan again, drawing a vial of clear liquid out of his pocket and fingering it as he spoke. "Within seconds of administering a few drops, the prisoner will willingly answer any question we put to him with the complete, factual truth. It should be noted that where the question calls for speculation or a matter of opinion, the prisoner will answer according to his own point of view. He will be devoid of emotion, however, and offer little to no embellishment, only facts, and perhaps opinions as they pertain to the question. There should be little delay answering--"

"We understand, Severus," Lucius interrupted. "Spare us the lesson, Professor," he joked mildly. "Proceed with the demonstration." Everyone laughed.

But Ryan caught the warning in Snape's eyes during his diatribe. The Veritaserum tutorial was for Ryan's benefit, he realised. But why? What was Snape's plan?

Snape smiled at Lucius, maintaining his composure while the laughter died. "Of course," he said leniently, ignoring the older man's joke at his expense. "Open the cell," he prompted. Lucius touched his wand to the hermetic lock and the door swung out. Snape entered, closely flanked by Grissom Goyle and Walden MacNair.

Ryan saw something flash in Snape's eyes as he stepped forward, putting the vial in his left hand to draw out his wand with his right. As he advanced, Ryan saw the potions master's eyes flick imperceptibly to his wand. Ryan understood. Here was the intelligence that Dumbledore valued--the aptitude for unspoken communication Ryan sought in Karkaroff, but did not find. Snape told him with his eyes and a minute shake of his wand to put up a token resistance. To put on a show. So Ryan flinched away.

"Hold him!" Snape spat at the others, who grabbed Ryan instantly. "Imperio!" Snape chanted quickly.

Ryan heard Snape's voice, an icy calm baritone, in his head immediately. "Don't fight anymore. Open your mouth. Take the serum. Trust me, open your mouth, Ryan."

Ryan complied, and it was as if there were not a care in his head. But then the spell lifted and he choked on droplets of liquid being shaken onto his tongue. The Veritaserum, and with it the end of his chicanery. He fumed with anger--Snape really was a traitor, or else chose to hide himself by revealing Ryan. But even as he allowed the thought to cross his mind, he realised it made no sense. Ryan could easily expose Snape--so why give him serum?

The reason quickly became clear. As he sputtered and swallowed the potion, he tasted it, and then he understood Snape's cunning trick. It wasn't Veritaserum at all, but water. Somehow, he had filled the vial with plain water, under Lucius Malfoy's nose! Ryan's surprise must have shown for an instant, because Snape's eyes flashed again, more darkly than before and tinged with warning.

"It should take effect any second," he said loudly, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

Ryan blinked once slowly, and slackened his jaw.

"There," Snape said, and the relief in the single word was clear to Ryan, but the Death Eaters heard only his satisfaction. "Ask what you must, Lucius," he continued, moving to one side, but still ready. 'Watching my back,' Ryan thought gratefully.

But Snape had not left him with an easy task, by any stretch of the imagination. Indeed, his path now was perhaps more difficult, for he could not hesitate to answer, but must still piece out those parts of the truth that he could hide, and those facts which Lucius could easily check or might know to be contradictory. If he slipped, he would implicate not only himself, but Snape, and they both would die.

He didn't have time to worry anymore. The questions began.

"What is your real name?"

"Jorian Peleranel," he abbreviated flatly.

"Were you educated at Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Ryan answered. It was too easy to confirm the fact.

"When did you attend Hogwarts?"

Ryan thought for one moment, searching his memory frantically while keeping his face slack. "By human reckoning, fifteen hundred and seventy-five to fifteen hundred and eighty-two," he supplied, giving dates that belonged to his father's term. It was the only thing he could think of to deflect attention from Dumbledore.

"Then you are four hundred and thirty years old?"

"Four hundred and thirty-two, human reckoning," Ryan corrected in a toneless voice.

"But...surely you were not in Slytherin then?" Wormtail interjected.

"No." That too, was easy to verify. No Pelerand had been in a house other than Gryffindor.

"Then how did you fool the Sorting Hat?" Lucius asked sharply.

Ryan hesitated a second before deciding to lie. "I cast an Anvasse spell to bend it to my will."

This caused a ripple of excitement around the room. A spell more powerful than the magic of all the Founders put together? It seemed hardly likely, but he was under serum. His methods were not questioned. Lucius moved on to more important topics.

"Why did the Elves send you here?"

"The Anvasse did not send me here," Ryan answered, choosing a literal interpretation. If Snape said he could stick to facts, then that's what he would do.

"What was your mission, then?" Lucius asked, sounding a little annoyed.

"I returned to Hogwarts as part of routine surveillance of human developments. My mission was merely to observe and report." He stopped. Let them draw the questions out; it gave him time to think and set his story straight.

"What do you mean?"

"The Anvasse are far from disappeared," Ryan revealed. It was a calculated risk, but a necessary bridge for his tale. "From time to time, we send one of our number to discover how the human world progresses. We heard rumours of Voldemort's return, and I was selected, because of my history with Hogwarts, to investigate."

"You routinely infiltrate Hogwarts classes?" Lucius asked, incredulous despite the serum.

Ryan suppressed a shrug. "A few years every century or so is nothing," he said lightly.

"Who do you serve, then?"

"I am a loyal subject of His Majesty, Melian Peleranel, High King of the Council of the Seven Houses."

"And who among wizards?"

"I serve no human," Ryan said readily. The only difficulty was keeping his voice free from any hint of laughter.

"Then how do you explain your signature on the parchment?" Lucius fired back, suddenly suspicious.

Ryan took a steadying breath before answering. The parchment. A slip that he could not afford to have happen again. "I tricked that as well," he lied again. Let them think his magic was great and terrible. It would make escaping--if he could escape--that much more likely. Particularly if Snape risked helping him get away, this display of Anvasse power would lend credence to Snape's tale, whatever it might be.

They drilled him further. Sometimes Wormtail or one of the others would interject a question, but mostly it was Lucius's even voice that almost hypnotised as it probed. Death Eaters left and arrived, some staying to hear the questioning, some wandering away in boredom. Ryan kept his breathing even and concentrated on showing the outward signs of the serum effects. He dissembled wherever he could, lessening his impact, protecting Snape and Dumbledore, hiding how much he had observed or surmised. He moved into something like a trance, answering question after question, not daring to hesitate too long, nor reveal too much.

"What have you reported about us?"

"Things of significance to the Anvasse Council. The use of students to infiltrate Hogwarts and recruit new followers, the activities at Yule and in January."

"The release of the prisoners from Azkaban?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I have made no report since informing my superiors that I would return here on your Easter holiday." Ryan chanced raising his eyes, careful to keep them looking glassy and unfocused.

"When do they expect another report?"

"Soon. When I returned to Hogwarts." He thought he saw Draco peek out over another man's shoulder, but could not risk looking more intently.

"How do you communicate?"

"Owl."

"To whom do you report?"

"To my superiors among the Anvasse."

"And what do they do with your information?"

"I don't know."

"Are you in any position of power or influence among the Anvasse?"

"No," Ryan said at once. While again, this risked his own life, it would do no good for them to think he had any worth as a hostage. It wasn't even exactly a lie; though royal, he would never rule, and while his status did give him an advantage in the political maelstrom of the court, his rank was no guarantee he'd be afforded any special consideration.

"Are the Anvasse Council considering action against our Order?"

"I don't know." He was sincerely relieved they didn't think to judge his heart rate or blood pressure, the way Muggles did on polygraph tests. He lied in a deadpan voice, staring at nothing, trying not to blink or move too much.

"Would they join forces with humans again?"

"I don't know."

"Would they support Dumbledore, if he asked them?"

"I don't know." Ryan was careful to use the same inflection each time, flat, with no embellishment or sign of indignation.

"Has he asked them for support?"

"Not to my knowledge," Ryan lied easily.

"Does Dumbledore know of your identity?"

"If he does, he hasn't said anything about it." Ryan cursed having to reveal that much, but to simply deny was too dangerous. It was a matter of record that Dumbledore's time at Hogwarts overlapped Ryan's own. Such contact with a Pelerand would make it almost impossible for Dumbledore not to notice Ryan's resemblance, but at least, Ryan reasoned, he could leave the door open for speculation.

The lack of real serum came in most useful during questions like these, where he could easily deflect suspicions about Dumbledore and even Death Eaters. Lucius must have still had his suspicions about Snape, too, because he asked several questions having to do with action such as Snape had in fact taken, trying to warn Ryan away and keeping him from signing his name.

"Has anyone approached you to try to keep you out of the fight?"

"No."

"Did anyone speak to you secretly at Christmas?"

"Narcissa," Ryan began, but Lucius shied away from further questions along those lines after that admission.

On and on they went, asking questions both direct and veiled, about humans, about Elves, and about the things Ryan knew or did not know. Ryan wasn't sure how he got through, keeping his composure and somehow stringing words together that convinced them he was relatively ineffective, or that his chosen route to information, namely Draco, was marvellously uninformed.

At last, the interrogation drew to a close. The spectators filed out and away, convinced there was no more entertainment to see, since Snape had effectively prohibited any more torture. Snape insisted that Ryan be placed in irons and chained to the wall, also that guards be left on duty to watch him. And as a third precaution, he suggested the use of a powerful draught of his own concoction to addle the Elf's wits.

As Ryan allowed his head to loll to one side, he saw that Wormtail had remained behind as well. Clearly, he and Lucius hoped Ryan's answers would shed more light on spies within their ranks, but apparently they trusted the integrity of the Veritaserum, so they allowed Snape his conditions.

Lucius summoned the house-elves with chains and manacles for Ryan's hands and feet. Three Death Eaters dragged Ryan, still behaving sluggishly, to the wall of the cell, bare except for heavy iron links here and there. They ran the chain through one of the links and fastened the cuffs to his wrists and ankles, tightening them around his boots to trap him.

"Iron will subdue him?" Wormtail asked as they locked his arms in place and he let them hang as low as possible.

"No; that's an old wives' tale," Snape rejoined haughtily. Ryan got the impression these two were old rivals of some sort. "But chains will." He stepped forward again, conjuring a syringe and a large bottle along with some tubing. He tugged the chains roughly, pulling Ryan's right arm lower, raising the left higher proportionately. If Snape was surprised to see a neat scar, in the shape of a capital "T," in the hollow of Ryan's elbow and down his forearm, he betrayed nothing. He tied Ryan's biceps with a piece of rubber, plunged the syringe free of air and attached it to the tubing and the bottle, and without saying a word, pricked Ryan's arm with the needle just under his scar.

Blood spilled out of Ryan's arm, deep purple in colour as it passed through the complicated network of tubes to Snape's bottle. He conjured a bottle of yellow liquid and forced Ryan to drink it as he had the Veritaserum.

"I'll be back to change this when it's full," Snape announced, pointing to the bottle that began to collect the dark, heavy substance. "He should be given food and allowed to rest, before I harvest more, after that."

"Immortality, is it?" Lucius mused very quietly, as if to himself.

"Possibly," Snape confirmed. "It's been a long time since anyone's had an Elf to conduct research upon." He sneered down at Ryan, his face showing disgust and betrayal. "And what better use for him, after the way he wormed his way inside our circles, eh?"

"You know, Severus," Lucius said to him as he pulled the cell door shut, locking Ryan in, "you've still got a lot to atone for, but one can always count on your keen sense of vindication."

They left, still conversing lightly as their voices faded from the dungeon.

 

 

Snape's Veritaserum had been fake, but his narcotics were very real. They dulled the pain and slowed his blood flow--side effects which, Ryan was sure, Snape planned. Nevertheless, Ryan would rather have lost the blood and borne the pain in order to retain his wits. He drifted in and out of consciousness, his arms numbing where they hung, the leg cuffs biting his ankles through the leather. When he did sleep, he relived flashes of the mission, of past missions, his previous losses at the hands of Jareth Malfoy.

He was dimly aware of sounds in the next cell, as they returned to interrogate Karkarkoff as well. He wondered if Snape gave him real potion, for he heard the man confess to things he should never have willingly told. Certainly, he thought through his fog, it would be wise for Snape to verify the potion in order to draw any suspicion away from the dose he'd given Ryan. It was hard to sleep while the Death Eaters questioned Karkaroff, because they kept venting their anger by cursing him with the Cruciatus, among others.

They were just leaving around the time the drug wore off, and he heard Snape comment that he would stay behind to check on the "patient." Though Ryan's senses returned to normal, he still felt off. He coughed, then shivered and felt a wave of illness wash over him. He suspected that the stress, fatigue, damp, beatings, curses, hexes, drugs, and not least blood loss, had given him a fever.

Snape was talking to the guards in a conversational tone. They barely saw him finger his wand and Confund them with it. He turned immediately to the cell and let himself in, crouching low to speak quietly to Ryan.

"I've Confunded the guards for a bit so we can talk," he muttered under his breath, "but they'll still notice too much activity or noise."

The fever must have been in Ryan's eyes, for Snape noticed something amiss and placed a clammy hand against Ryan's forehead.

"What is an Anvasse's regular temperature?" he asked as he worked, but with the tone of an academic question.

Ryan groaned a little. "...About 96 degrees?" he guessed.

Snape sighed. "Well, this is one of Albus's more hair-brained schemes," he said a bit darkly, rejecting without confirmation Ryan's supposed age and denials that Albus was involved. "Have you thought about how you're going to get out?"

Ryan smirked. "No--I've been busy being drugged," he quipped.

Snape appeared more grim than amused. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?" he growled, lifting up the bottle of blood and examining it. He placed it back on the floor and pulled bandages out of his robe pocket.

"I tried!" Ryan began forcefully, pulling on his chains. This was a mistake in more ways than one, and he fell back weakly and lowered his voice. "I tried," he repeated in a hoarse whisper, "but you weren't ever in the mood to listen."

Snape paused in his first aid. Even through his fevered haze, Ryan could see the wheels turning in Snape's head as he thought back through every conversation they had in private, every warning he issued, and every rebuke and response from the would-be Death Eater.

"I never lied to any of you," Ryan commented wryly. "You all just hear what you wish." He shivered again, and sneezed.

"I don't have much time," Snape said, his voice low and deadly serious. "Lucius has the house shielded from direct Apparition, but there are areas on the grounds where it's possible. If I can arrange to get you outside, can you find one and Apparate to safety?"

"No," Ryan sighed, shaking his head. "I can't Apparate."

"Can't App--" Snape squawked, just as angrily as Ryan had done moments before. But he caught himself just as quickly as the Confunded guards looked up. "Why in Merlin's name not?" he hissed demandingly.

"I've just never got 'round to it," Ryan spat back with venom. "It's on my list of things to do--if it makes you feel better, I'll bump it up to the highest priority," he retorted sarcastically. But before Snape could say more, he continued, "But that hardly changes the situation. No--if you can get me out of the dungeons, and a good ten minute start, I think I can steal away. Perhaps a diversion of some sort?"

Snape thought a moment. "I shall see what I can do," he said wearily, sounding more like the man Dumbledore described than Ryan had ever heard him. "But I can't guarantee anything."

Despite his fever and weakness, Ryan's intensity matched Snape's. "No--absolutely, you can't. That goes without saying. Our friend saw the point of two operatives, but as I am compromised, I am nothing. We cannot risk you as well."

Snape accepted this without comment. "I'm out of time," he sighed. "He's due to arrive any moment, and there will be work to do tonight, preparing for the next two days. If I can arrange something, is there anything you brought that you need? Obviously I can't do anything about your wand." Though the words were said in haste and without emotion, Ryan could just detect a tinge of regret in Snape's last statement.

He shrugged as much as his chains would allow. "It's just a stick," he said, minimizing its loss. "And the rest is unimportant... but there is one thing...." He described his treasure to Snape.

"I don't promise...." Snape began.

"No, but if you can't, please at least see that they're destroyed," Ryan asked civilly.

"Yes, that's possible." He sucked his teeth, checking his job on Ryan's bandage. "Hang on," he advised sagely. "I might be able to set things in motion by tomorrow or the next day."

He rose just in time to notice that the Confundus charm had worn off. He had no choice but to give Ryan another dose of the drugs in their sight.

 

 

Ryan drifted through day and night in a fog. He heard guards come back to fetch Karkaroff and saw, as if through a wine-filled glass, them carry the other prisoner upstairs. From the information he heard Lucius give the former Headmaster of Durmstrang, and what he'd heard in the front parlour before Lucius called his bluff, they planned to use Karkaroff in a dark ritual of some sort. Had Lucius mentioned a double full moon? It was well after midnight when he delivered that speech, and Ryan had no idea how long he'd been interrogated. Adding Karkaroff's interrogation and torture...he tried to calculate. Lucius said on Tuesday that Voldemort would arrive that night, that the moon would be full the next night and the night after that. If they had removed Karkaroff from the dungeons, Ryan guessed it must be near midnight--if that's when the ritual took place. Was it still Tuesday? No, it had to be Wednesday, if the ritual was for the full moon. He couldn't move his arms, for one was numb from the angle at which it hung, and the other felt over-full of blood--a reaction, he knew, to being drained of it earlier. Though it was nothing but an illusion, still, it left him in a near helpless state.

He must have slept. Indeed, when he next became aware, his muscles and joints felt achy and stiff as if he'd slept in his awkward position. His guards were different as well, when he looked up. A throb in his rib cage signalled that Snape's drugs were wearing off. His chill and fever were worse, though, and he felt the tickle of a cough building in his lungs. If he did manage to escape Malfoy Manor, he'd be lucky not to collapse from pneumonia.

He hardly noticed the boy standing by the cell door at first. He was watching quietly, but a finger tapped his arm nervously as he waited. Ryan blinked to bring the blurry figure into focus. He was pale, and had...silvery blond hair.

"Jareth?" Ryan asked tentatively. "Oh--Draco," he realised, laughing a little at his mistake. Snape's drugs, or the fever, or both. "Sorry. I'm a bit delirious. Hallo, Draco," he continued, more pleasantly than he felt.

But the boy glared at him with a mixture of hatred and hurt. He came forward to touch the cell door bars, a look of disgust on his face. "So it's true? Vincent told me his father saw you change, but...you're really an Elf?"

"Yes," Ryan nodded. "I'm really an Elf."

"And you went to Hogwarts a long time ago?"

"Yes, that's true," Ryan said wearily. He felt he knew where this would lead.

"You lied to me!" Draco accused.

"I misled you, Draco," Ryan admitted calmly. "But I did not lie."

"You're lying now! Everything you said... everything you did--"

"Draco, I'm sorry I had to deceive you. But if you examine our interaction, you'll find that whenever I could tell you the truth, I did so. You may have interpreted it differently than I, but that is not my doing." He wondered, idly, whether Lucius knew or approved of his son's visit.

Draco slammed an open palm against the iron bar. "You used me! I trusted you--and all you wanted to do was get close, to spy on us!" His face turned pink in his anger.

"Draco," Ryan insisted firmly, and clearly. "I do not deny that my mission was to find out what I could, or that you were chosen as a conduit of information. But do you honestly think that I am the only person using you?" Ryan strained forward against his bonds, allowing his paternal instincts for Draco to show at last. "Child, you are not the only pawn in this game. Nor are you even the most harmed."

Draco was not impressed. "I thought you were my friend. My father--he even told me to be more like you! And you betrayed him! You betrayed me!" His eyes flashed and his face reddened even more with fury. "Whatever they do to you tonight, I hope it's worse than what they did to Karkaroff. You deserve it!"

"Draco..." Ryan tried again soothingly, but the boy refused to listen. He stormed away, ignoring the Elf's calm entreaties, pushing past the guards to retreat after unleashing his wrath.

Ryan sighed. The boy was a sore disappointment, as indeed was Gregory Goyle, but they were neither of them his concern anymore. He closed his eyes in defeat, wishing they had come to see the flaws in their fathers' devotions to Voldemort, and drifted back to sleep again.

 

 

 

His body fought off its infection as best it could, but without true rest or a fire to warm him, his fever raged on. Someone brought him food--a simple stew and some bread--but he couldn't keep even the small portion down for long. Snape arrived again, to prick his arm with the needle and set another bottle filling, but this time, he had news to report.

"Karkaroff's dead," he said first, "and in exchange for his sacrifice, the Dark Lord has secured the help of both Trolls and Dwarfs. He bound them to service using a particularly distasteful spell."

Ryan nodded patiently, but said nothing, only grunting as Snape ripped off the bandage on his arm. That made today Wednesday, didn't it, and the second of the full moons Lucius mentioned. He seemed to recall something else about a second night of something, but Snape was talking again.

"They want to use you tonight. I tried to argue that we need you alive as a source of blood, but Lucius is adamant that you are a danger and a liability he cannot afford to keep under constant surveillance. His point is well taken, and unfortunately, my opinions are not the most valued in the Dark Lord's circle these days." He shuddered, his hands slipping on the syringe as he attached the tube.

"Naturally," Ryan said without malice. Snape pulled on the syringe to start the blood flowing. "So I should prepare myself, is that what you're saying?" he asked after a moment, surprised that he didn't feel more disappointed. One hundred and fifty-four years, nearly, and it came to this.

"Not quite," Snape commented dryly. "There's a slim chance. Here's what I plan to do."

 

 

 

Snape informed Wormtail that the latest sample of Ryan's blood was useless, owing to the Elf's physical condition and the squalor of the dungeons. By using Wormtail's fragile ego against him, Snape convinced the little man to authorise Ryan's removal from the dungeon, and installation in the kitchens, where Snape could work in more sanitary conditions. There were still guards on the door, and Ryan was kept bound, but at least he was in a less secure area of the house. More importantly, they were among the house-elves. Though these were given strict instructions not to unshackle him, there were other ways they could help.

Ryan and Snape argued over enlisting the house-elves' aid, but in the end, Snape made Ryan see the necessity of it. He assured Ryan that he understood the implications to the house-elves, especially the impact on their powers should they defy their masters, and the physical punishment they would endure if caught. But although it put the diminutive creatures in a poor position of divided loyalty, it greatly enhanced Ryan's chance of escape.

Ryan waited until the guards outside were not looking, and waved his hands behind his back in their direction. "Bilmas," he whispered, and the two men wandered a few feet further away, following a single fairy who had wandered in from the garden. Then Ryan spoke with Heddy, who seemed to be more-or-less in charge, and instructed her on their parts.

"We is finding no conflicting of interest, by helping the Pelerand," Heddy assured him. "We is serving our Master, but he is no kin to us. Is the others returning soon, led by the Pelerand? Is the Day at hand?"

Ryan smiled charmingly. "That I cannot say with certainty, little cousin, but this I can tell you: the Anvasse have ever been friends and kinsmen to the Dovasse, and we feel no shame in this--only sorrow that your service to Humans is met with their scorn."

The house-elves ceased their labours to bow to him, then, and he knew that they did not begrudge the stain which would blot them for defying their master in order to help. Though in truth, he reasoned as the day wore on, Snape had cleverly insisted only that the house-elves be ordered not to untie him. Lucius never ordered them not to help him escape. They didn't have permission to help, certainly, but neither had they been forbidden, exactly. It was splitting hairs, admittedly, but he would rest easier knowing that the weird would not mark them or their progeny. They would not face another millennium of enslavement to the Malfoys on his account.

Shortly before sunset, while nearly everyone was at dinner, and Wormtail and Lucius served their master in a private room upstairs, Snape brought a change of guard to check on the prisoner while he monitored Ryan's progress and his blood's purity. The house-elves encircled the guards, swarming them with a veritable storm of offers of food, hot towels, and any number of little services to ease them. The guards were soon surrounded, allowing Snape time to tap his wand against the heavy clasps holding Ryan's wrists and ankles fast. Ryan lost no time flowing power into his glamour and ordering the guards to sleep. They fell instantly, their heads butting one another as their knees buckled and they sank to the kitchen floor. Ryan stumbled and fell also, for the glamour used with the spell cost him precious energy. He drained his aura, its force fading and ebbing until he no longer glowed with its evanescent majesty. Snape bent over the two guards, tapping each on the forehead with his wand.

"We is cleaning up the mess in the kitchens; we is helping our Master's guests, now," Heddy said in a sing-song voice. "Master's guests is tired--Dilly and Tibby, you is taking them to their rooms, now." Heddy giggled in an unnaturally high-pitched squeal as the two elves complied. "We is thinking it very rude to be moving humans around, but to be helping the Pelerand," she beamed at him with her great saucer-like green eyes, "we is pleased to be using our powers."

"My people and I thank you, Heddy. The Pelerand owes you and your family a debt."

Heddy's eyes, if possible, grew larger and spilled over in tears. Her lip trembled. "Oh!" she wailed with joy. "The Pelerand is ever generous!" she declared solemnly.

"Much as I hate to break up the mutual admiration society," Snape growled at him, "we are on rather a tight schedule."

"Yes, of course," Ryan agreed, pulling himself to his feet using the table legs. "Heddy, has the path to the stables been cleared?"

Heddy, still too overcome with emotion, merely nodded her huge head several times, enough to make her ears flap, between sobs.

"Excellent. See that it stays so, will you?" He accompanied Snape to the doorway. "You're certain about the memory charms?" he asked Snape.

Snape's mouth twisted. "They can be broken, certainly, but I think combined with the rest it will work. I'll make it known that you caused a ruckus, but that I got you subdued again. In about fifteen minutes I'll send someone to check and make sure you're still bound. It'll take five to ten minutes to notice he hasn't returned; that should give you your head start."

"And keep you well out of the fire," Ryan nodded his agreement. "I do wish it weren't this complicated."

Snape shrugged. "If I'm anywhere near you when you escape, it'll be too suspicious. As it is, I wish I didn't have to modify those two's memories. Just do what you must and get out of here best you can. Get somewhere where you can rest," he said with an appraising scowl. "You still look ill to me."

"I am," Ryan agreed, pushing the pain back again to deal with his escape. "Lucius's dungeons do their job well. Right, that's that then...." He hesitated before disappearing back into the kitchen. "There's one more thing..." he ventured.

"Oh, for Slytherin's sake, don't stand there and try to thank me, or tell me you owe me a debt," Snape hissed at him impatiently, rolling his eyes back toward the house-elves.

Ryan smiled sadly. "I do thank you, and most certainly there is debt owed and paid, but we may debate that another day. No--I have a matter of much greater importance on my mind. Two, actually. Goyle. And--Draco."

Snape's eyes clouded for a moment as he considered his two pupils. "Yes," he sighed, eyes closing and opening again instantly, clear and dark once more. "Yes. I am in a precarious position," he commented.

"I know," Ryan assured him, holding back his impulse to place a hand on Snape's shoulder. "Goyle has a poet's soul, but is wholly enamoured of the Death Eaters. He sees this entire operation as a new Round Table."

"Damn," Snape muttered, taking in the new insight.

"Indeed," Ryan countered. "As for Draco...." He trailed off. How could he summarise this deeply complicated boy to Snape in a few seconds' conversation? "He's on the precipice," he explained. "He's been betrayed now, and that will lead him to question everyone who influences his life. It's the first step, I'm sure you know, and he has a long way to go still."

"You think he will forsake his father?" Snape surmised, though from his tone he obviously doubted it.

"I think...he will need guidance. I think he may come to you to seek it. You are in a natural position--"

"A position I have deliberately and carefully cultivated, not just for Draco," Snape supplied. "But I admit, I was beginning to wonder whether he'd ever trust me enough to express himself."

"Perhaps now he might. Are you prepared?"

Snape paused before answering. Ryan thought for a moment that Snape might ask him why he cared, why it mattered to him, but then Snape must have seen the answer in Ryan's eyes. No soul was too small to be beneath salvaging.

"I'm prepared," Snape said sincerely. "I won't let him fall."

Ryan nodded his gratitude, and without any other discussion, went back to his hiding place.

Snape was as good as his word. Precisely fifteen minutes later, a younger Death Eater strode confidently into their trap. Ryan dispatched him silently, sending him off to sleep with a spell, and told the house-elves to wake the lad in ten minutes.

"We is knowing what to do!" Heddy said, her head bobbing. The others as well stopped working for a moment to acknowledge the Anvasse with a solemn bow.

"Thank you all again. You've done yourselves proud. Farewell," Ryan told them, with a formal bow of his own. Then he checked the hallway and slipped away into the gathering dark.

 

 

 

He crept across the grounds, slinking from shadow to shadow with minimal fuss. He chest ached from the cracked rib--why hadn't he asked Snape to heal it? Fear they'd check Snape's wand, he thought grimly, or the fever addling him, or simply stubborn pride--and he felt incredibly tired from using his innate magic. All the legends about the so-called Fae had some basis in truth: Anvasse could perform amazing feats of illusion, conjuration, and even transportation, but the magic certainly left them drained and fatigued, especially the further from their forests and glades they were. Ryan had been far from home for too long.

Though he desired nothing more than to lie in the sweet grass and soak in the light of the full moon rising behind the trees, he knew now was not the time. He could not afford to stop. He slipped into the stables and breathed the scent of horses and hay.

"Hello, pretties," he said soothingly, walking down the aisle to the chestnut gelding he had ridden days ago with Draco. "Greetings, friend," he said in a low, comforting voice to the large animal. He reached up and stroked the horse's broad nose. "Would you like to come with me?"

The gelding snorted warm air into Ryan's face and dipped its head once.

"I'm glad," Ryan told him, and opened the latch on the horse's stall. The gelding followed him to the line of neatly hung tack. Ryan efficiently bridled the horse, and was about to add a saddle when he heard shouts from the house.

Clearly, the sleeping guards had been missed sooner than anticipated. Cursing his bad luck, he led the chestnut out of the stables quickly. Once outside, he used a fence rail to climb onto the horse's back, but could not suppress a grunt of pain from the exertion and strain. This night time ride would not be pleasant at all, he remarked to himself as he kicked the horse's flanks.

The gelding set off at a fast trot, but the noise only alerted the Death Eaters to Ryan's location that much faster.

"He's on the west side!" He heard one yell. He urged his horse into a gallop and instantly regretted his chosen speed. The horse's motion, combined with Ryan's own injuries and fatigue, and the absence of a saddle, created simple agony. And he couldn't reach his little boot knife, not that it would do him much good now.

He sped into the woods, pressing on despite his pain and the resurgence of fever. He still had no shirt or cloak, and the breeze created by his flight made him shiver. At least, he thought daringly as he passed the tree line, it wasn't raining.

He heard someone behind him shout the words of a hurling hex. Ryan ducked and looked under his arm. Five Death Eaters were pursuing him on broomsticks, gaining ground quickly.

Ryan leaned forward to urge the horse even faster, and pointed his right hand back at his attacker. "Vo ta mir!" He cried in his native tongue, and a wall of fire sprang up between him and his pursuers.

"Finite Incantatem," he heard Lucius Malfoy's voice recite clearly, and looked back. His strength was failing: the wall of fire flickered for a second before reappearing.

"It's an illusion!" Lucius called to the others. "Ignore it--get him!"

Ryan swore, tumbling through the trees into a clearing where he could see the rising moon. He tugged the bridle and pulled the horse to the left, leaving the bare patch for the woods again. While he would make more noise, the brooms would be slowed and hampered by the trees. He cast another spell over his shoulder, a jet of water this time, and reeled against the horse's neck from the drain in his energy. Faintly, he thought he heard a Death Eater fall from his broom, but could neither pause to look nor spare the energy to worry about it.

"Sorolor!" he called desperately. "Founder! Father-chief, hunter in the sky. Orion my namesake in the Human tongue! Save me! Help me!" He galloped on.

The Death Eaters pursued him deeper into the woods. A particularly well-aimed spell of brambles tangled two of them up, and Ryan was left with two captors still dogging him. Lucius was among them.

He chanced to look back to check their positions and let his horse breathe for a moment. Lucius brought his broom up and over the brambles expertly, but had to bank hard to the right to avoid a large stand of elder trees. He circled their trunks tightly enough to brush the bark off them, then shot forward after Ryan again.

Ryan kicked his horse more roughly than he would have liked, but he was much too tired for fine control. His fever raged and he felt he might fall off at any moment, hurling hex or no. But ahead, he could see the edge of the forest and the white disk of the moon illuminating the horizon. He could not risk leaving the forest, where Lucius could easily outstrip him on the broom, he thought dimly. His only choice was to find a sheltered spot to stand and fight. He hoped he could hold out long enough to disrupt the planned ritual.

He wheeled his horse around again to plunge back into the forest. Up ahead, it seemed he could see two figures, low to the ground, moving toward him. Ryan allowed himself to wish Lucius had not snapped his wand--for if he'd had it, a drop of his blood could have helped him a number of ways. Most notably, he could have combined it with "Lumos" to cast a light no one else could see. But he did not have that advantage, nor did he have time to indulge in self-pity over his misfortune. These two were either Death Eaters off their brooms, or some kind of help. They were not walking upright, though, which argued against the former. Reasoning that any help was better than none, Ryan directed his mount toward the crouching forms.

Only to wish he hadn't done. The moonlight flickered through the trees, and Ryan's catlike night vision placed the creatures. A huge, black dog, the size of a bear, and what was unmistakably a wolf! Huge, hairy, snarling, deathly frightening beasts! Ryan reined up on his horse with a scream of terror. He tried to reverse his direction and run from the wolf and dog--flashbacks of his too-close encounter with the wolf in his youth burst upon his mind--but he wheeled the horse too quickly and instead it reared. The horse's whinny of surprise matched Ryan's scream as he fell off, for without stirrups he had no way to remain seated. He landed with a thud almost at the creatures' feet. The horse spooked and ran wildly into the night.

Babbling incoherently and swearing a blue streak, Ryan backed away from the menacing, slavering beasts. He hardly cared that there were still two Death Eaters behind him. He couldn't think beyond his irrational fear. He whimpered in a constant stream of his own ancient language. Very slowly, he reached for his boot knife.

The two creatures paused, and seemed to look at one another before proceeding. The wolf, a predominantly light brown creature whose muzzle and head were flecked with grey, sat on his haunches while the black dog crawled forward on his belly. In his feverish state, Ryan thought perhaps it was his imagination, but it seemed that the wolf signalled the dog to take point on the contact. Ryan scuttled away, still hysterical, brandishing the tiny knife between him and the threat. With an audible sigh, the dog changed shape...to a man? A wizard, Ryan realised, forcing himself to breathe calmly, and losing the battle.

"Er...Albus sent us in your direction," the former dog said in a gravelly, oddly familiar voice. "He seemed to think you might need help." He looked back at the wolf with a small shrug.

Perplexed, and near hyperventilation, Ryan took a hard look at the wizard and his lupine companion. The wizard had black, short hair, was wearing dark robes and a lopsided grin. He had a wand in his belt. The wolf was calm, but his snout was slightly flatter and wider than any wolf Ryan had seen, his paws were also wider and looked as if they had extra pads, almost like thumbs, and his tail, curled now around his crouching haunches, was not as shaggy as a true wolf's....

Ryan tried to speak but had to swallow away the dryness. "W...werewolf?" he managed finally, pointing to the specimen.

"Yes," the wizard said with his skewed grin. "Under Wolfsbane potion, don't worry." He pulled himself forward again, just as a cloud shifted and a little more light shone through the bare trees. "And I'm--"

"Cygnus?" Ryan said incredulously, placing the face and voice at last. There was no doubt: this man looked exactly like his old classmate. Even the eyes were the same, and the jaw had the same off-centred roguishness that endeared him to countless witches. "But--you're dead," Ryan remembered aloud. Then he giggled. Then he fainted.

 

 

 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione pulled their cloaks around them as they left the castle for Hagrid's hut. Though it was a bright, cheery spring morning, the wind cut through their robes despite the shining sun.

As they crossed the grounds, though, they caught sight of a strange group making its way up the hill from the gates.

"What in the...." Ron asked, using his hand as a visor to see them through the glare. A man in robes was walking next to a large figure on all fours. It wasn't a horse, or a camel, but it carried something on its back that made it look as if it had a hump. They were making progress slowly, and the man occasionally reached out to steady whatever it was the creature carried.

"That's Padfoot!" Harry said without hesitation, and he ran down the hill to meet them.

Ron and Hermione followed in his wake. As they approached, the large black dog barked in greeting.

"Hullo!" Professor Lupin, for it was he, greeted the three students fondly when they got close. He looked exhausted.

"Professor, what's--who's--" Ron began.

"Oh my goodness!" Hermione exclaimed, her gaze falling on the man draped across the Animagus's back. "Is that Ryan?" she asked astutely, going very white. He looked lucky to be alive. His ear tips poked out of his hair, which was a little longer than she remembered it. He was badly beaten and banged up, and his pale, bare back was beginning to burn from the sun, where it wasn't purplish from bruising. Hermione bit her lip, afraid to ask what they all went through to bring him to safety.

Lupin shrugged. "I think so. He, er, fainted shortly after we found him last night." Hermione looked up to see the former professor turn just the tiniest bit pink.

Now Hagrid and Fang, alerted by the barking dog, also came outside and rushed to the gathering.

"Blimey," Hagrid said with a low whistle at Ryan's condition. "He's a fair long ways from home." Fang sniffed the black dog hesitantly, but then wagged his tail in recognition.

"Hagrid, it's Ryan!" Ron said impressively, and was suitably rewarded by Hagrid's sharp gasp.

"Hermione, it's a good thing you told Professor Dumbledore," Harry said to her quietly at the same time, but his eyes were on Padfoot the whole time. Lupin was talking over them both to Hagrid.

"Hagrid, can you help us get him to the hospital wing?" he asked without preamble.

"Certainly, Professor, but what about you?"

"I'm heading there now, myself." He smiled weakly at the students, who had fallen silent, watching the exchange. "I know you three must have a lot of questions. But I'm afraid I don't have many answers for you." His gaze fell on Harry, then on the black dog, who whined up at him once. "Harry, I know Padfoot here wants to spend time with you, and I'm sure you feel the same. But we'll be here, resting up, for a little while. It's been... a very long couple of nights."

"That can wait," Harry said, watching Hagrid lift the unconscious--and very different-looking--Ryan off the dog's back and carry him gingerly up to the castle. Though he wanted to catch up with his godfather, it seemed Ryan's troubles were much more pressing than his. Nobody had even tried to kill him this year. So far, anyway.

"Did you rescue him then? From the Death Eaters?" Harry asked. Padfoot came to his side and he touched the big dog's head in reassurance. Padfoot's tail wagged happily as well, but he rested his head against Harry wearily.

"Yes," Lupin acknowledged with a sigh. "Forgive me, but can we walk while you ask me about this?" He pointed up toward the castle.

"That's right!" Hermione said suddenly. "There full moons both last night and the night before last--oh, Professor, you must feel horrible!"

Remus smiled again, resignedly, and the trio accompanied him and the large black dog up to the main entrance and the hospital wing.

"I had no idea Professor Dumbledore would send you," Hermione said apologetically.

"We were...in the area," Lupin explained. "I had to get my potion from Professor Snape, which meant I had to be nearby where he was...." He lapsed into silence, pausing to stretch and yawn, and then with another determined sigh, resumed walking.

Albus met them just as they climbed the stairs. "I just saw you all coming," he said, taking advantage of the nearly empty building to speak candidly. "Did everything go all right?" he asked urgently, rushing Hagrid on his way and turning to Lupin for explanations. It was a mark of his concern that he did not bother to send the students away first; though, Hermione reasoned, he knew they were aware already of Ryan's, Sirius's, and Lupin's secrets.

"As well as could be expected, Headmaster," Lupin said wearily. "You did warn us that our charge might not be of much help, but...I don't think we either anticipated him to react as he did."

"What do you mean?" Dumbledore's brow furrowed. He put his hand on Lupin's elbow in what could have been a simple gesture to direct him around the corner, but Harry, trailing behind them at Padfoot's side, could see that Dumbledore was actually supporting Lupin up the remaining stairs to the infirmary. Hermione and Ron brought up the rear.

"Well, Sirius could tell you better than I. He was frightened of us--that's to be expected, if he didn't anticipate help--but there was more to it than caution. And then...." He shrugged. "He's ill; it's possible he was hallucinating. As I said, you'll really have to ask Sirius; it was he who talked to him."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed in confusion. He glanced back at the dog, who was pressed against Harry and following the two wizards' conversation intently. "I shall," he said with a raised eyebrow. "I think I may know what the problem was," he continued cryptically. "But now I think you need to get some rest, my friend. Madam Pomfrey will be thrilled to have patients," Dumbledore commented dryly as they filed upstairs.

 

 

 

"So he called you Cygnus and then passed out?" Dumbledore asked Sirius, eyes twinkling. They were sitting in the hospital wing, talking quietly over the two sleeping patients: Lupin, and Ryan.

Sirius nodded gravely. "It wasn't funny, Albus--well," he scowled, "perhaps under different circumstances...."

"Then what?" Dumbledore asked, suppressing his smile.

Sirius held his gaze for a moment, as if waiting for an explanation of the Elf's behaviour. When none came, he shrugged. "You said to get him out of there if we found him, so we did. Moony carried him until the sun rose and he transformed back; then I took my shift."

"Did you see Severus at all?"

"No; he gave Moony several doses worth of potion before going in that snake pit."

"So you've no idea whether he might be in danger as well?"

"We had to get your friend back--" Sirius said forcefully, his voice rising.

"I'm not accusing you, Sirius. Please calm down. I'm merely concerned for Severus's safety, just as I worry about you and Remus." Dumbledore spoke calmly and quietly, as if to counteract Sirius's passion.

Sirius muttered an apology. "But he seemed to think something was going to happen when he gave Moony the potion."

"What do you mean?"

"Well...he seemed...resigned, I suppose you might say. Not as if he'd be discovered too, though of course we've all discussed that contingency--"

"Indeed, it's why you and Remus were dispatched nearby the Manor in the first place," Dumbledore smirked.

"I know that," Sirius snapped. "Though I can't say I understand why us--you know perfectly well Snape wouldn't take my hand if he were drowning."

"Nor would you his, Sirius, though I wish--" He cut himself off at Sirius's dark expression. "Never mind," Dumbledore sighed. "Please, continue."

"It was more like he knew what he'd have to do to convince them he's sincere."

Dumbledore nodded and thought about that for a moment. "Ah," he said with a wry and not entirely happy smile, "then let us hope that he truly was prepared for that possibility."

"Albus, are you going to tell me exactly why this Elf of yours thought I was my grandfather?"

The twinkle returned to Dumbledore's eye. "You must admit the resemblance is striking, my boy," he said pleasantly.

"Yes, but--" They were interrupted by the sound of Madam Pomfrey's voice. As Sirius was unwilling to leave Lupin after the strain the werewolf had been through, Albus had asked her to take up a post as lookout outside the door.

"Minister Fudge," she said loudly to warn them of the impending interruption, "I must insist--"

"I've pressing matters to discuss with Dumbledore, Poppy. Mr. Filch told me he was up here. Now stand aside," Fudge's nasal and clipped voice wafted through.

Sirius changed to Padfoot quick as could be and went to lie down on the floor between Remus's bed and Ryan's. He got there not a moment too soon, for a second later, Fudge opened the door and waved a parchment threateningly at Dumbledore.

"See here, Dumbledore, I need a word--" He checked himself as he scanned the room for the aging wizard, taking in the two men asleep in their beds and the huge dog between them.

"What can I do for you, Cornelius?" Dumbledore asked cordially, getting to his feet.

Fudge was looking at Ryan very intently. "I...have a complaint here that...." He came closer, peering at the sleeping Elf. "Really, Dumbledore," he said, straightening up, "when I received this owl this morning I was certain it couldn't be true, but now I find the evidence right here!"

"To what evidence do you refer, Cornelius? And what complaint?" Dumbledore prompted patiently.

"Gentlemen, please!" Madam Pomfrey scolded them quietly, but no less strongly for her volume. "I must insist you discuss this outside. My patients!"

Fudge ignored her, jabbing a finger at Ryan. "There! There is the evidence that gives credence to this complaint: that you and he are in violation of clause three of the Code of Wand Use."

"Ah, that," Dumbledore smiled benevolently. "Not to worry, Cornelius."

"Not to worry?" Fudge jerked his head at Dumbledore to request they move away. Madam Pomfrey looked to Dumbledore, who followed Fudge obediently and nodded to her. She went back to her office, muttering.

When Fudge reached the door, thinking he was out of earshot, he continued venomously. "You harboured an Anvasse here, Albus, and didn't see fit to inform me? You taught a magical creature to use a wand? A wand, Albus! You allowed this creature to mingle with your students, to attend classes, to leave school grounds and accompany a student to his home on holiday!"

"The complaint is from Lucius Malfoy, then?" Dumbledore surmised.

"Malfoy? No, it's from Grissom Goyle, and I don't have to remind you that he has been a model citizen for years. Why, I don't know where the potions industry would be without his exchange warehouses."

"I see," Dumbledore said sagely.

"Well, I don't," Fudge countered. "You've taken steps to flout my authority before, Albus, and I don't mind telling you I can't understand why. But a flagrant infraction such as this--really, Albus, you couldn't expect to get away with it? What were you thinking?"

"Only that he graduated from Hogwarts long before you were born, Cornelius, and he has done much for the wizarding world since. Have you forgotten the Anvasse involvement at Trafalgar? Or Normandy? Or the attempted assassination at the International Wizarding Convention of 1967? Who do you think helped us on all those occasions and more? Do you choose to ignore their contributions simply because we chose, unwisely in my opinion, to prohibit them from exploring our methods of magic?"

Fudge bristled. "They are the ones who removed themselves, Albus, who refused to comply to our reasonable requests and who--"

"Who can hear you perfectly well, Minister, thank you very much," came a low and groggy voice from the bed. Ryan pushed up against his pillows to sit and gaze at his accuser.

Fudge gaped at the patient, but recovered himself quickly, crossing to the foot of the bed. "Under the circumstances, I have no choice but to detain you for questioning. You are in violation of--"

"Clause three of the Code of Wand Use, yes," Ryan said lazily as he stretched. "However, I should inform you that my license to use a wand was issued long before the Wand Act, and I have licenses from six other ministries." He looked around the bed, taking in his hospital pyjamas and the lack of any other accoutrements. "Somewhere," he added lightly.

"I'm afraid that's immaterial," Fudge fired back, utterly ignoring Ryan's attempt at humour. "The Wand Act had no provision for grandfathering licenses issued prior to its ratification."

"Yes; I gathered that was rather the point of the Wand Act," Ryan commented drolly.

"Therefore you are still in violation, in addition to numerous counts incurred by attending Hogwarts under a false transcript."

"Cornelius, really," Dumbledore interjected. "Ryan already completed the Hogwarts curriculum; he can hardly be said to have aggrandised his credentials."

"Mr. Goyle accuses this...student...of corrupting his son."

Ryan smirked. "Corrupting? He already read Tennyson, Shelley, and Byron. What more could I do for him?"

"The point," Fudge continued forcibly, "Is that you deliberately perpetrated a fraud, and defied Ministry law."

"Cornelius, I'm sure we can work this out," Dumbledore said, trying to diffuse the tension between the two men. "Ryan, I know you can be trusted to tell the truth. Are you currently in possession of a wand?"

"No," Ryan supplied helpfully.

"And have you throughout the course of your recent stay at Hogwarts performed any magic which you could not have accomplished using methods other than a wand?"

"If I didn't have a wand at the time, I could have used other methods to perform magic, yes," Ryan said, rephrasing Dumbledore's question to make sure he said what he wished.

Another commotion interrupted them. Three sets of footsteps clambered down the hallway, accompanied by three distressed voices.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione's voice sounded outside.

"It's Minister Fudge, Professor!" Harry called in warning.

"He's come to arrest--" Ron cut off his update as they skidded into the hospital wing and stopped just short of Fudge's back. "Uh-oh," Ron observed, turning very pink.

Dumbledore shot the trio a sympathetic, but at the same time somewhat stern look. "I'm certain if Madam Pomfrey were to come out, she would feel obliged to point out to you all that there are patients here trying to recover. And as for you, Cornelius, I think perhaps we should continue to discuss this elsewhere. From the state Mr. Pelerand was in when he was brought here, I judge he has been through quite an ordeal. He should be allowed to go back to his rest. Not to mention Mr. Lupin's condition." He tried valiantly to conduct Fudge from the hospital, but the Minister, in more of a temper than Harry had ever seen him before, shook the elder wizard off.

"I will not be ignored, Dumbledore," he said petulantly. "You believe yourself to be above reproach, here in your protected castle, but I should have seen it before. The lack of discipline in these students, old enough to know better, is testament to your own lack of control. It's no wonder you allowed a magical creature to study with a wand. Werewolves, half-giants, Anvasse--I suppose you still believe You-Know-Who has returned?"

"I do, Cornelius," Dumbledore said gravely.

"Why haven't we seen any evidence before now? It's been almost a year since you told me you believed Potter," Fudge rounded on Harry, pointing at him as if he were made of wood, "and yet no sign of activity."

"There have been signs, as I have communicated to you, Cornelius. I must ask you please to calm yourself. I would be happy to address all your points in my off--"

Fudge made an exasperated, snorting sound. "Oh, this is patently ridiculous, Dumbledore. You've gone too far, do you see, and you will not escape the consequences by equivocating. It's time you learned you cannot flaunt your eccentricities in the face of the law. I am Minister of Magic! You are a schoolmaster. This Anvasse has acted in violation--"

"This Anvasse," Ryan said, feeling his anger and impatience rise, "has been the target of a vicious and premeditated attack at the hands of human wizards, endorsed by the action or inaction of at least fifty accessories and witnesses. This Anvasse," he swung his legs out of the bed and rose to his feet slowly, "could easily consider the trials he suffered indicative of a general attitude on the part of all humans, and could and would if necessary characterise his treatment as an act of war. This Anvasse," he took two steps forward to close the gap between himself and Fudge, "was and would have been bled repeatedly for the harvest of black market Elf's blood to be used in all manner of dark magic, and narrowly escaped with his life. And this Anvasse," he flooded power to his glamour, "has been acting with the full authority of his rank and station as a scion of the Ruling House of Sorolor, a direct descendant of His Royal Majesty, Melian Nelianele Tirianele Peleranel, High King of the Counsel of Seven." Ryan drew breath again, and this time, his voice was icy cold and full of contempt. "If you insist on determining this case by the strength of rank, then you, human, would do well to remember that you speak to a prince of blood royal, and keep your place."

By the time he finished speaking, he had brought his glamour to its fullest capacity. Gone were the striped pyjamas of the hospital wing, and in their place he wore a purple and gold flowing tunic, elaborately trimmed, clasped at collar and cuffs, and soft trousers of finest green silk. His appeared to be wearing high boots, gartered at the knee by green leather strips studded with gold acorns and buckled in bright gold as well. The boots extended up his thighs, much more impressive than his travelling pair, and a chain of state hung from his neck. A short cloak was tied under one shoulder, draped elegantly over the other. It was green and embroidered in intricate patterns of gold lace. His eyes shone bright blue, sparking with anger, and his hair smoothed itself into soft waves, the delicate bones of his face elongating even more, making him seem utterly unlike anything from this world. He was Oberon. He was Tam Lin. He was the stuff of legend and fairy tale. Though tall already, he seemed to fill the room. Light emanated from his body, radiating out in a palpable aura of majesty.

Before the sight, Fudge seemed to quail for a moment. He swallowed nervously and appeared to be reorganising his argument. Behind the Minister he could hear Ron mutter a reverent, "Wow," while Harry appraised him coolly behind his glasses, and Hermione's mouth opened and she blushed.

"Now," Ryan continued regally, before Fudge could protest again, "I shall be leaving shortly, rest assured. I must return to Anvar to report my findings." His nostrils flared haughtily as the last vestiges of his patience ebbed away. He and Dumbledore had tried to be polite; they had tried to save this little and petty man's reputation and arrive at a compromise. The time for negotiation was over. It was time for good old-fashioned backup: intimidation and threat. "How I choose to depict those findings is entirely in your hands, Minister. Shall I portray the men who harmed me as an arrogant, ignorant few? Or shall I conclude that even the sanctioned government of wizards in Britain presents a clear and present danger to our kind?"

"The...the Anvasse have not been sighted in Britain for seventy years, Mr.--Your Highness," Fudge amended at a glare from the Elven prince, still apparently garbed in royal garments. "How did you anticipate your arrival would be met?"

"If we have not been sighted, it is because we do not wish to be sighted, not because we are not present." His eyes narrowed menacingly. "Am I now to understand that the Ministry of Magic seeks to prevent Anvasse from any sojourn in your lands? Am I to conclude that the laws of safe conduct do not apply to your elder and infinitely superior colleagues? Does the Ministry dare to disdain us yet again?"

Fudge blanched, the weight of Ryan's unspoken threat seeming to crush him. He almost shrank into the collar of his pinstriped cloak. "You, eh, you say you'll be leaving Britain soon?" He asked, latching on to the one desirable outcome in Ryan's speech.

"Soon enough," Ryan confirmed, his lip curling.

"Well..." Fudge considered. "I suppose that's... I mean to say, after all, you can produce licenses from other convocations?"

"The Australian Coalition of Wizards, the Ministry of Japan, the Eastern European Conference, the Ministry of Scandinavia and the Netherlands, the Northern African Convocation, and the Russian Ministry," Ryan recited flatly.

"Ah," Fudge smiled as if it pained him. "Well, perhaps, under the circumstances.... And Dumbledore, you vouch for him?"

"Unquestionably," Dumbledore supplied without hesitation.

"I suppose...if you're gone...there's nothing I can do, is there?" Fudge asked hopefully.

"There is little you could do in any event," Ryan agreed. "But I am pleased to see that you are mindful of your limitations, and willing to drop this nonsense. Very well, then, Minister, if that will be all, you may go."

Fudge didn't even seem to notice that Ryan assumed command, issuing his orders as if he, and not Fudge, were in power. Fudge ducked his head in a nervous bow and actually backed away a step or two before taking his hasty leave. Harry, Ron, and Hermione got out of the Minister's way quickly, drawing closer to Ryan.

"Cool," Ron said simply, sounding highly impressed. Even the dog was watching him with interest.

But as soon as Fudge was gone, Ryan seemed to deflate. The light faded around him and he shrank back to his not inconsiderable height. He sat back on the bed wearily, his clothing restored to its former pyjama state, his hair mussed from sleep.

"Stars and sun, Albus, I'm going to kill you," he said dryly, and flopped back against the pillows.

"Oh, no!" Hermione said, sweeping to the bedside and explaining in a rush. "It's not Professor Dumbledore's fault, it's mine! I didn't know Draco was in the common room and Harry and Ron asked me how I knew your plan to get Harry's cloak back was all right and I--I told them, and Draco heard me, and--" She burst into tears. "I'm so sorry!" she wailed, leaning into his shoulder to sob.

"Hermione," Ron and Harry both said at once, embarrassed.

"Hermione," Ryan said more gently, though he looked just as bewildered as Harry and Ron. "Hermione--it's all right!" He pulled her off his pyjama top. "It's not your fault at all--it was bound to happen." He looked over the edge of the bed at Dumbledore. "They found Karkaroff. They checked my story against him."

"I see," Dumbledore said, his eyes losing their sparkle. "Is he...."

Ryan shook his head. "Snape was there; he'll be able to tell you what happened."

Hermione's eyes darted between Dumbledore and Ryan. "You mean...it wasn't Draco's information...and Professor Karkaroff is...." She sniffed again.

Ryan reached over to the bedside and plucked a tissue out of the box there. "Actually, it was both," he explained, more to Dumbledore than to the teenagers, handing Hermione the tissue. "Draco's information led Lucius to ask Karkaroff, but it was probably only a matter of time. It almost worked, though," he said with a shrug. "Anyway, that's not what I meant, Albus, and you know it."

Dumbledore cocked his head at Ryan quizzically. Ryan jabbed a finger at the giant dog on the other side of his bed, between him and the sleeping werewolf. "Dogs, Albus. You sent me a huge wolf, and an even bigger dog. I'm running from my worst nightmare and to help me get away, you send me...my worst nightmare!"

At this, Padfoot stood up and shook himself haughtily, then, shooting Ryan a somewhat hurt look over his shoulder, went to sit with Harry, who scratched him behind his ears obligingly. From her perch close to Ryan, Hermione could not tell whether the Elf was joking at all or not. She suspected not.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore smiled impishly. "Now, Ryan, I'm sure you'll agree that we all need to face our fears sometime--"

"Running from Death Eaters bent on sacrificing me is not the time for an object lesson, Albus! I'll get over my fear of dogs if you get over your thing about going under water!"

Dumbledore turned a little pink in the cheeks, but seemed to have nothing to say to this.

"Professor Dumbledore's afraid of the water?" Ron whispered to Hermione. Ryan heard him.

"No; he's afraid of fish. But as fish live in water.... How would you like it if I rescued you by making you use SCUBA gear, Albus?" Ryan shot at his old friend.

"That's gratitude," came a low, gravelly voice, sounding amused, from where the dog had been. The dark haired wizard in grey robes was back, sitting in a chair with one arm flung over its back.

Ryan stared, then swore. "I wasn't delirious--but how--"

"Sirius Black is Cygnus's grandson, Ryan. Sirius, Ryan Pelerand. I daresay you didn't have time for a proper introduction." Dumbledore seemed glad to deflect the conversation. His eyes twinkled gaily.

"Great," commented Ryan after briefly acknowledging Sirius. "Just great. First he sends me my mortal fear for rescuers, then he plays a practical joke by having one of them turn into my dead roommate. You sure have a way of planning an extraction, Albus. Why did I ever listen to my mother about you?" He threw his hands up to the ceiling, and then he dissolved into the laughter of someone who has cheated death. Dumbledore continued through his own chuckle.

"Ryan, I assure you, Remus and Sirius are two of my best operatives--and they were the only ones in the area," he explained, blushing slightly.

"I'd still like to hear a thank you," muttered Sirius, trying to understand the joke, and still utterly lost.

Ryan paused, swivelling his head around to Sirius. "Thank you," he said punctiliously. "But don't think that gets you out of trouble, Albus," he continued, wagging a finger at the Headmaster and grinning. Sirius seemed about to ask a question, but again was interrupted.

"Why is it so noisy in here?" a new voice said groggily from the next bed. It was muffled a bit by the pillow; the speaker was lying on his stomach.

"Remus!" Sirius said with a start, rising. "Now see what you've done! You've woken him--and he's got two moons to recover from."

"Sirius?" Remus asked, wiping his eyes and yawning. He pushed up on one elbow and turned on his side. "What's going on?" he asked, looking around at Dumbledore, Ryan, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Sirius.

"Seems our new friend here didn't want to be rescued," Sirius related as best he could discern the situation. "Though personally I think wolf breath isn't that bad compared to Voldemort's," he crossed to the far side of Remus's bed. "Sorry we woke you," he said more tenderly, his attention focused on his old friend.

"'S'all right, don't fuss," Remus answered, sitting up. "I still don't understand, though. I'm sorry," he said, looking at Ryan. "Remus Lupin. We--didn't get properly introduced last night."

"Ryan Pelerand, and thanks," Ryan said, holding out his hand.

"Hey, how come he gets a handshake and polite thanks and I get told I'm a practical joke?" Sirius demanded.

"Perhaps because you are a practical joke, Padfoot," Remus said mildly.

Sirius looked about to protest again, but then laughed. "I suppose, but still--"

"It's entirely my fault," Dumbledore interjected, drawing everyone's focus to him. "I admit that I didn't think Ryan's phobia about dogs was still as strong as it had been--it was over fifty years ago that I last saw you react to a large dog, Ryan, you must agree that it was reasonable to think you'd got over it by now. I certainly didn't calculate that you would be either debilitated or delirious at the time, as well, and anticipated that Sirius could explain everything to you before you killed him. Or passed out, as the case evidently was." He fixed Ryan with a mischievously severe stare. "And I still maintain that even taking that fear into account, my options were limited. Remus and Sirius were already on their way there; and when Hermione warned me you might be in imminent danger, it seemed simplest to owl them and add to their assignment." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Now, in light of the Minister's comments earlier, I believe we are in danger of fighting on two fronts very soon. We have a little time to breathe, but I think we will need to convene as soon as possible to rethink our strategy. Ryan, as soon as you are able, I'll need a full report."

"Yes," Ryan agreed, sobering.

"Wait a minute," Sirius said, pointing slowly at Ryan. "Roommate...Ryan...Cygnus--you're the Ryan Pelerand?" He put the pieces together at last. "You were in the same class as my grandfather at Hogwarts? You're the same Ryan Pelerand who shot an arrow into the astronomy tower on a dare, narrowly missing Professor Timmons?"

Ryan looked a little uncomfortable. "Well, I didn't know she--"

"Oh, Moony," Sirius said, looking back at Remus with clear admiration, "Remember I used to tell you about Grandad and all the things his mates got up to? He and Meningus and Percy Hardwicke--you know, his son was a Hogwarts Headmaster--and Geoff Bramdon?"

Remus nodded at him. "Your inspiration for the Marauders, weren't they?"

"That's not the half of it," Sirius said brightly, overriding Lupin. "They were my inspiration for the Marauders. Grandad's old journal was in my vault--"

"Was it?" Ryan said, looking a little pale. "Perhaps it should stay there," he said wryly.

But Sirius was about to say something more when Madam Pomfrey burst out of her office, looking extremely cross.

"Are you all done making enough noise to wake all of Hogsmeade?" she asked hotly, stalking over to the two beds. "Out! Everyone out! These two still need rest."

No one dared argue with her. Sirius changed again and they left Ryan and Remus to get some more sleep.