Three Animagi and a Werewolf

Chapter 19: Off to Work

Home Sweet Home

Augustus Snape strode over to the coat stand and removed a long black cloak from its hook. He was a tall man with a long, hooked nose and black hair that framed a pale, narrow face. His wife, a petite woman with very fair hair and black eyes, hurried over to assist him as he pulled the cloak over his shoulders.

"Must you go out now?" she asked timidly.

"I have been summoned," he snapped back.

"But you haven't had any dinner yet," she reminded him. "You must be hungry. At least have a bite to eat before you leave."

"No. One does not keep the Dark Lord waiting."

His wife shivered. "So that's where you're going?"

"So what? That's my business, isn't it? Why must you keep poking your nose into everything? Do I have to face an inquisition every time I leave the house?"

She flinched at the sharpness of his tone.

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, stop apologising for every little thing," he growled.

She opened her mouth to say she was sorry again, but stopped herself just in time. "I'll wait up and make you a little something when you get in," she offered.

"Do what you feel you have to," he said coldly, "but stop bothering me with every little detail!"

She stared at him unhappily. "Oh, Augustus, can't we ...?"

"What?" he demanded with an exasperated sigh, stopping by the front door.

"Well, can't we try to get on with one another? We've been married for eighteen years. Surely after all that time, we should have found a way to live peacefully together."

"We have found a way," he replied. "Or we would have, if you would only leave me alone. After eighteen years, I would have thought you would have learnt just to leave me alone!"

"But I'm your wife!" she cried. "I know you never really loved me, but we can't go on forever, living in the same house, each making out the other doesn't exist. Please let us at least try to be friends, if nothing else. As long as we can find a way that will make us less miserable."

"Miserable?" he bellowed. "Of all the ungrateful ... You eat, don't you? You have a place to stay and a roof over your head! You should be grateful I ever married you at all. If you're unhappy now, well, I can't help it. This wasn't my decision. Even now, if it wasn't for the fact that we have a son ..." Augustus grunted. "At least he has proved more satisfactory as a son than you have as a wife. So far, at any rate. He's kept away from Muggles and mudbloods and has always had the right attitude towards Muggle-loving fools like Albus Dumbledore," he hissed. "While you ... You'd be quite happy if the Dark Lord had never risen, wouldn't you? You have absolutely no pride in the purity of your blood - though that is the only thing that made marrying you bearable in the first place."

A tear rolled down Mrs. Snape's face.

"Please, Augustus," she repeated. "I can't go on like this much longer. Please, at least let's try to be civil to one another."

She held out a trembling hand to touch his arm, but he brushed her aside so brusquely that she stumbled back against a cupboard.

"Just - keep - out - of - my - way!" he shouted.

He raised his arm as though to strike, and she cowered away from him.

"No, Augustus, please!"

He made a disgusted sound with his tongue as he glared at her. Turning on his heel, he pulled a black mask down over his face and strode out the front door, slamming it behind him. His wife walked over to the living room door and looked around her at the expensive decor, the heavy velvet curtains and elegant furnishings. She went in and sank down on the sofa. Tears started into her eyes, and she did not bother to try and hold them back, but sobbed uncontrollably.

Upstairs in his bedroom, Severus Snape was examining his reflection in a tall, gilt-edged mirror. He heard his parents quarrelling, but was too used to it to take any real notice. He straightened his tie once more and pursed up his lips. Did he look enough like a Muggle now? Josephine probably would not think so. He wished sincerely that they could have arranged to meet somewhere other than back in that Muggle town. Still, he supposed it was simpler this way, meeting back where he had first made her acquaintance, than arranging complicated meeting places. He tuned his ears back in to what was going on downstairs. He heard the door slam and knew his father had gone out. That meant his mother would at this moment be withdrawing into the living room to cry. He would give her a moment to calm down before he went and said his goodbyes. There was a scuffling noise behind him. Severus turned around and saw Mirmy, the family house elf, standing in the doorway with her bat-like ears drooping and her pear-shaped nose twitching.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"Mirmy was just coming up the stairs from the kitchen when she saw the mistress go into the living room," replied the house elf in a squeaky voice. "The mistress looked very upset. Mirmy was wondering if the young master would like to comfort her."

"I don't have the time for that," Severus said irritably.

The elf shot him a mildly reproachful look. "The young master is the mistress's son. Surely he does not like to see her cry?"

"Oh, she always cries," said Severus. "If I made a fuss every time ... Anyway, it's none of your business, so scoot!"

Mirmy shrugged her skinny shoulders and departed. Severus watched the spot where the house elf had stood and frowned. Why did the blasted creature have to keep pestering him in this way? What was it to her if his mother kept weeping her eyes out? And yet, somewhere deep down, Severus acknowledged that his annoyance at the elf's constant pestering was partly down to the fact that he knew he should offer more support to his mother. After all, hadn't she always stood up for him when he was a child? But nowadays he had very little patience with her. She was so timid, so mousy, so irritatingly submissive ... He sighed and went downstairs.

Severus paused outside the living room door. He knocked although the door was open, waited a second or two and went in. His mother tucked her handkerchief up her sleeve and looked up.

"Severus ..."

"I just wanted to let you know I'm going out, mother," he said quickly.

His mother looked slightly startled. "I-in your Muggle best, dear?" she stammered anxiously, stroking a strand of hair behind her left ear.

Severus shrugged. "I can't very well go walking round York in robes. Not if I want to remain inconspicuous, anyway."

"Inconspicuous?" she asked suspiciously. "Severus, are you - meeting someone in York?"

He nodded rather awkwardly, which brought a rare smile to his mother's lips.

"Is it a girl?"

"Yes," he admitted grudgingly.

His mother continued smiling and came closer to smooth his hair.

"Well, I hope she's a nice girl," she said. "Why don't you bring her back here?"

Severus cleared his throat irritably. Bring a girl like Josephine back to meet his frightened mother and his commanding, moody father?

"I don't think that would be such a good idea."

"Why not?" She went suddenly pale. "Severus, she's not - not a Muggle, is she? You know your father would ..."

"Don't be ridiculous, mother," he replied so harshly that she flinched. A part of him felt revolted at her weakness, but another part actually felt sorry or her, and he lowered his voice slightly. "Of course she's not a Muggle."

He immediately regretted having softened his tone, for his mother's smile returned. She gave a sigh of relief.

"But then, why won't you bring her?"

"She's - not a very conventional type," he said, and felt at the same time that he could hardly have picked a less adequate way of putting it.

The truth was that Josephine wasn't any kind of 'type'. She was altogether different from all he knew, and he suddenly wondered what had possessed him to agree to meeting her this evening. Perhaps it was because she was so different, he thought. Because the other girls he knew, somehow, where all much of a muchness. Because he was never able to remember what any other girls looked like, even though he may have known them for years, whereas Josephine ... He had only met her once, and yet the image of her was burned so brightly into his mind that it was like a photograph, but more, real, more tangible, more three-dimensional than anyone or anything he had ever come across. Clear, bright, forthright, smiling. And perhaps it was because she was the only girl who had ever seemed to take an interest in him. He realised all of a sudden that his mother was watching him curiously, her head a little to one side.

"Well, it's up to you, of course," she said. "But if you change your mind, I'm sure Mirmy would be happy to cook you two some dinner."

Severus nodded, though he was secretly determined to do nothing of the sort. Josephine and his family, he was sure, would not mix. He bent forward mechanically to give his mother a swift kiss on the cheek, then he disapparated with a pop.

A Night Out

It was not yet really dark out as Severus walked briskly back to the spot where he had met the girl this afternoon. As he approached, he saw her sitting on the steps leading up to the top of the city wall, looking out in the opposite direction. She was wearing a very short red dress and fishnet tights and had attached a hair piece to the back of her head that didn't quite match her natural colour. For some reason, Severus was surprised to see her there - he had expected her to be late. He coughed when he reached her, and Josephine looked down with a grin.

"Hiya, Sev!" she exclaimed cheerfully, swinging her legs.

"Hello, Josephine," he replied with dignity, rather glad that he was not likely to meet anyone he knew in York. Josephine giggled.

"Help me down," she said, leaning forward to touch his shoulders.

Severus felt rather strange with his hands on her skinny hips, but he lifted her down like a doll and a moment later her eyes were flashing up at him from below the green-shaded lids and long lashes heavily covered in mascara. Her lipstick was bright red, and though Severus shuddered slightly at the sight of it, still he had to admit that it somehow suited her. Josephine was, after all, a very colourful person, and any paler, more subdued colour would have looked out of place on her.

"So, where shall we go?" she was asking, her hand grasping his without much ado.

"Well, I don't really ..."

"Never mind, I know a lovely little place, really cosy and romantic, you know." She winked cheekily. "They have a dance floor too, and live music, not just some dusty old jukebox. How about it?"

"Sounds - wonderful," said Severus, rather overwhelmed.

"Oh goodie," Josephine said enthusiastically, dragging him off along the road. "This is going to be such a fun evening, I can tell."

Severus pushed back his empty plate, leaned back in his seat and took a sip of red wine from his glass. Josephine rested her chin on her hands and looked at him.

"Well," she said. "What did you think of that dinner?"

"Very nice," said Severus, setting his glass down on the table.

Josephine smiled. They sat for a moment in silence, which was unusual for Josephine, who had been chatting to him animatedly all evening. The band struck up a new tune, and Severus turned his head towards them automatically.

"Shall we dance?" Josephine asked at once.

Severus looked slightly horrified at the idea. "Dance? But I don't know how. I've never ..."

"Oh, that doesn't matter," said Josephine cheerfully, jumping up and taking him by the hand. "I'll show you."

It was late. That much Severus knew, but he somehow couldn't bring himself to look at his watch to find out just how late it was. Josephine, two pink spots high on her cheeks, her eyes bright, was twirling merrily around in the middle of the street, her arms spread wide, humming the tune of their last dance together. She stumbled, and Severus rushed forwards, taking her arm with sudden anxiety.

"Come off the road," he begged. "If a car comes along ..."

"Oh, Sevvie," she chuckled, "what would a car be doing all the way out here in the middle of the night?"

It was true that the place they were in - a secluded, residential area - seemed utterly deserted and devoid of traffic. Severus let go of Josephine's arm and she went on humming for a bit. They reached the far end of the street and Josephine stopped outside a tall, white building with steps leading up to an arched doorway. She began skipping up them, but stopped halfway and looked back at Severus, who had stopped on the pavement.

"What's up?" she asked. "Growing roots there, are you?"

"No," Severus replied. "I just thought - well, perhaps I'd better be going now. After all, it is getting rather late."

"Actually, it's already got late," Josephine remarked. "But who cares? Come on, get up these stairs now. Don't make me come and get you," she added mischievously, causing Severus to smile ever so slightly.

He followed her up slowly and Josephine strode straight up to the doorbell and rang it loudly before he could stop her.

"Josephine, you'll wake the whole house!" he cried anxiously.

"Nonsense," she said. "Mum's always up late and Dad - well, Dad's an old worry-guts, to tell you the truth. He never sleeps a wink until I get in, no matter what I tell him, so the least he can do is open the door for us and get us a cuppa."

Sure enough, as she spoke a light appeared so promptly that it was obvious no one had been forced to get out of bed in order to switch it on. They heard brisk footsteps in the hall and Severus willed his heart to stop beating so quickly as he waited for the door to open. He didn't know why he felt this way, but somehow the idea of meeting Josephine's parents so suddenly and without preparation made him nervous.

The door was opened presently by a very tall, very thin man with jet-black hair, slightly tanned skin and a very pointed chin. He wore silver-rimmed pince-nez on a very straight nose and spoke quickly and with a slight foreign twang.

"Josie, you are late again!"

"Lovely to see you too, Daddy," she said cheekily, standing on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his cheek.

Severus half expected Mr. Coronis to begin a long-winded lecture, but instead he smiled at his daughter, shaking his head in an exasperated fashion, then turned his attention to Severus.

"Hello," he said, looking genuinely surprised. "Who have we here?"

"Daddy, meet Sev," said Josephine. "Sev, meet Daddy. Shake hands, you two."

She seized her father's hand in her right and Severus's in her left and placed them together. Severus shook hands shortly, very much aware of the older man's dark eyes studying him closely.

"Severus Snape," he said, correcting the introduction.

Josephine's father nodded curtly and stood aside. Severus stepped into the hallway and looked around him. The house was done out elegantly with wood panelling and old-fashioned gas lighting. There was little in this space to suggest that it was inhabited by anything but an ordinary, non-magic family. The effect was rather different, however, when Severus followed Josephine into the living room.

This, too, was wood panelled, but the chest of the amply proportioned old man in the large portrait above the fireplace was heaving as he slept and the black queen on the chessboard in the middle of the glass topped coffee table had just drawn a long sword and sliced off the head of the white king, which rolled along the board and onto the floor.

"Haha!" the woman seated on the small pouffe by the fire laughed shrilly, looking up as they came in. "You lost again," she told Josephine's father.

"Only because you cheated again," he said with a touch of amusement in his voice.

"Me? Darling, you know I would never!"

She got to her feet, grinning all the while she was pretending to be offended, and came over to the door. She pinched her husband's cheek and hugged her daughter while Severus studied her closely. She was almost as tall as he was, skinny like her daughter, but dark-haired. It was obvious at once, however, that it was from her that Josephine had inherited her temperament, as well as her unusually coloured eyes.

"You're in early, Josie," said Mrs. Coronis with a twinkle.

Josephine grinned. "Daddy doesn't seem to think so. And nor does Sevvie. They're both being most disapproving. I think they should get on fine, don't you?"

Mrs. Coronis turned and looked appraisingly at the young man.

"Sevvie?" she said questioningly. "That will be you, I take it?"

"Err, yes," Severus admitted. "Severus Snape. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Coronis," he added stiffly.

"You're right, Josie," said Mrs. Coronis to her daughter with a laugh. "They should get on well."

Words of Advice

Bridget Potter sighed heavily as she fastened the buttons of her blouse. It was Sunday, and in a way, the last Sunday of the 'summer holidays' for her. She and the boys had spent the last few weeks staying at the Lupins'. But Peter's parents had picked him up yesterday, and this afternoon she, James and Sirius would be going back to London. And tomorrow, all four boys would be starting the next step of their education. That meant that her son and Sirius, who was almost like a second son to her, would be going to their first Auror training session. Their choice of profession worried Bridget in one way, and yet in another way, it made her feel safer. Surely, Auror training could only help prepare them for the dangers of the present-day wizarding world, so she told herself. And yet, in another sense, it would throw them into the path of even more danger.

Bridget checked her watch. It was early, just seven o'clock in the morning. The boys would still be either fast asleep or whispering to each other in Remus's room. Faith, certainly, would still be sleeping. She went out into the passage and tiptoed to the stairs. She found the kitchen door ajar and was hardly surprised to see that John was already up.

"Good morning," he said, looking up from his paper.

He hadn't shaved yet, and the stubble on his chin, the grey streaks in his hair and the shadows the early morning sun cast on his face made him look older and more careworn than ever. Bridget smiled.

"Good morning."

"You're up early. Couldn't you sleep?"

"Can any of us these days?"

"True." There was a pause. "Have some coffee?" John offered.

"No. Thanks."

Bridget strolled over to the window and looked out at the small back garden. A rook was perched on the birdbath, nipping at the water. A squirrel darted out from behind a bush and ferreted among the flowers. It all looked so peaceful. And yet Bridget felt nervous, jumpy, her stomach uncomfortably knotted.

"Can I ask you something, John?" she said suddenly.

"Of course," he replied, laying aside the Daily Prophet.

Bridget turned slowly to face him. She leaned against the sideboard behind her and paused, unsure of just how to begin.

"This ... this business. Is there really any point to it?" she asked at last.

"Business?" he asked. "What business?"

"All of it," she went on more quickly. "The Order of the Phoenix, the spying and preparing to fight the Death Eaters, hoping to prevent their crimes before they happen ... Do you think it will do any good, in the end?"

"In what way?"

"In any way. What I mean is, will we make a difference? Do you we stand a chance - a genuine chance, I mean - of stopping the madness, and winning this 'war', for want of a better expression?"

John's brow creased thoughtfully. "Well," he began slowly, "Dumbledore says we can win it, or at least that one of you - your father or James or even yourself - will, eventually, somehow be able to defeat Voldemort."

"But how?" Bridget demanded impatiently. "Eventually is all very well, but while he's telling us to wait, promising that we will find out in time what is to be done, other people are suffering and dying! We may be able to save some lives, but in the long run, will our victories really exceed the losses? Voldemort's power is increasing daily, and I don't see that we're ever going to get any nearer to stopping him."

"I take it that means you don't believe we can win," John said quietly.

"I wish I knew what to believe," Bridget sighed. "What do you think, John? Do we stand a chance?"

He answered slowly, "I think - you're asking the wrong person, Bridget. I have always been, to some extent, a pessimist. It seems to me that it's hope you want, and I don't know if I can give you that. I want to believe that we will succeed, but I'm not sure. I wish I were. If only I had a little of Malcolm's optimism ..." He sighed. "Perhaps I would have a few sleepless nights less."

Bridget studied him thoughtfully. "I think there is something else you could do to rest more easily at night," she said.

"Oh yes?" He looked puzzled.

Bridget nodded and went on unerringly. "Yes. If you told Faith about the Order ..."

To her surprise, John smiled. For a fleeting moment, an amused twinkle appeared in his eye. The twinkle that she had so often seen there in earlier days, when the world around them had not been in such a terrible mess.

"What?" Bridget asked.

"You've been talking to Malcolm, haven't you?" he said. "I wondered what you two were whispering about so secretively after dinner on Friday. Did he ask you to have a word with me because I won't listen to him?"

Bridget looked slightly uncomfortable. "Yes," she admitted grudgingly. "He did say something of that nature. But I was going to talk to you about it anyway," she went on quickly. "Because he's right. You do need to tell her."

John shook his head, his face once again serious. "No. She's frightened enough as it is. If she knew that we're involved in actively trying to fight the Death Eaters ..."

"She'd worry, I admit," Bridget said quickly, "but I think it would take a huge weight off your mind."

"So, in other words, you want me to unburden myself at the cost of her peace of mind?"

"Peace of mind?!"

Bridget's voice rose to a pitch that caused John to jump up and close the kitchen door, gesturing for her to lower her voice. Bridget did so, but went on intently.

"Do you think Faith won't eventually find out anyway? All this worry is taking its toll on you, and you can't expect your wife not to notice that. I know I made a similar mistake once, when I tried to keep James safely out of the way of the Order, and kept the knowledge from him of who he really is. But I have accepted the fact that it was a mistake. And I don't like seeing you repeat it."

"I'm not repeating it. It will do Faith no good to know about the Order."

"Perhaps not directly. But nor will it do her any good to be kept in the dark, if it means you're going to worry yourself sick, always anxious to hide certain things from her, always worrying what will happen if she finds out."

"I'm not worrying myself sick."

Bridget gave a dry laugh. "Have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately, John? You've aged, do you know that? You really are making yourself ill. And I think it would be better for Faith to worry about you being involved in something that is, admittedly, dangerous, than have you gradually drawing further and further into yourself. Please, John," she went on, approaching the table and sitting down beside him, "tell her the truth." Her eyes, wide and anxious, bored into his. "It would make me sleep better."

John smiled gently at her. "Thank you."

It was Bridget's turn to look puzzled. "For what?"

"For being such a good friend to Faith. For worrying about her."

"She's not the only one I worry about," Bridget said quietly.

John patted her hand kindly. "For worrying about us, then," he corrected himself. "For being such a good friend to both of us."

She smiled back. "You two are the first real friends I have found since I left Vindictus. In a way, you've become my family. I can't bear to see either of you in trouble."

"You must have been very lonely all those years."

"Yes," Bridget admitted in a choking voice. "It was - horrible. I was still very young, only eighteen, when I left him. And I had no one to turn to. If it hadn't been for Mrs. Hammersmith's kindness, I'm sure I wouldn't be here today."

John studied her face. It struck him suddenly that she was, even now, still very young. About twelve years younger than him, he calculated accurately. Aloud he said,

"Did you never think of finding someone else, after your marriage broke up?"

"No." She shook her head determinedly. "I couldn't. You see, I had loved Vindictus - or thought I did. And I did truly believe that he loved me when I married him. It wasn't just that things 'didn't work out' between us. I had trusted him. I had cared for him. And all along, he had never cared about me at all. But he had a way with him that could make people believe he cared. He was handsome, he had charm ... and he broke my heart. I could never have trusted another man after that."

"But that was a long time ago," John said. "Surely, now ..."

Bridget smiled. It was a queer, half sad little smile. "I don't know, John," she said. "I don't know if, even now, I'm ready to risk any kind of relationship again, or if I ever will be."

There was a pause. Bridget got to her feet. She went to the back door and said,

"I think I'll take a walk in the woods before breakfast." She looked back over her shoulder. "I realise I can't make you tell Faith the truth. But I really do recommend it. Do me a favour and think about it?"

He nodded. Bridget went outside.

The Ministry of Magic

Malcolm pushed the twigs aside with his hand and peered down through the branches. He turned around and looked at John, whose blue eyes asked a question. Malcolm nodded. Each gripping a rope firmly with both hands, they crouched on a thick branch, took a deep breath, and pushed off. Malcolm whooped as the leaves whipped his face, and he could hear John laughing just behind him. They reached the opposite tree safely and shook hands.

"That," Malcolm pronounced, " was brilliant."

"Robin Hood and Little John had nothing on us," John agreed.

"You're absolutely right - Little John," Malcolm chuckled.

"Hey, I'm just as tall as you are!" John protested.

Malcolm laughed. "Shall we go again?"

"You bet!"

He gripped the rope again with both hands and swung away. A woman's voice called his name. He ignored her, he was having too much fun.

"Malcolm. Malcolm!" the voice repeated.

A hand touched his shoulder. Malcolm shook himself and looked up blearily at a fair face and a pair of big brown eyes.

"I've brought you some coffee," the young woman said. "Thought you might need it."

She set it down on his desk and walked over to her own in the other corner. Malcolm reached for his mug, took a sip, sat up a little straighter and drank some more.

"Ahh," he sighed. "Thanks. You were right, I needed that. What sort of time is it?"

"Seven twenty-five."

Malcolm ran a hand through his hair. "What time did I get in last night?"

She laughed. "I don't know. I got here half an hour ago and found you fast asleep with your head on your desk. I thought it might be an idea if I woke you up before Mr. Crouch gets here."

Malcolm smiled, emptying his mug. "Very clever of you, my dear."

"I try to be efficient."

"You are, Laura, you are. So, what's on the agenda for today?"

Laura checked a sheet of parchment in front of her. "Our new Aurors-in-training are due to arrive at nine. The raid has been scheduled for ten-thirty ..."

"Today? I thought that wasn't till Thursday."

"It wasn't. Mr. Crouch changed the plans Friday evening, as you would know if you'd been here."

"Yes, well ... I wasn't."

Laura studied him curiously. "What kept you? Found a new girlfriend?" she asked, grinning.

"Not exactly," Malcolm said dryly.

The young woman waited in vain for him to explain, but he said no more. She shrugged and turned her attention to a small owl that had just fluttered in through the door, carrying a note.

"You know, you really could have spent at least another half-hour in bed," John Lupin told his son.

"I don't want to be late on my first day," said Remus, spreading butter on a slice of toast.

John smiled.

"There's little risk of that. You're more likely to be three quarters of an hour early."

"Well, at least Mr. Westmore will see what a responsible young man you are," Faith said encouragingly, pouring out three cups of tea and bringing across one each for her husband and her son. She went to fetch her own and sat down next to Remus. "I do hope you'll like your new job."

Remus shrugged his shoulders. "It won't really matter all that much if I don't. After all, it's not as though I was planning on a career at the Ministry. I just need a little money to keep me going."

"You could have tried to get a teaching post somewhere, couldn't you?" Faith suggested.

Remus shook his head. "Not without either years of practical experience or a proper scholarly education. And that means books and courses. Both of those cost money. And the only way I can get that is by taking on this job," he sighed.

Faith patted his arm affectionately. "I'm sure it will all be worthwhile in the end. You'll make a fine teacher some day."

Remus smiled at her over the brim of his teacup. He wished he had his mother's confidence in his abilities.

Pippa Pettigrew stopped the car in a most uninviting neighbourhood and got out.

"Is this it?" Peter asked, following suit.

Though his parents were magic people through and through - in private if not in public - he had never yet had occasion to visit the Ministry of Magic, and therefore had no idea of how to get there. Pippa locked the car.

"Yes, this is it," she confirmed.

She led the way to a very old red telephone box and held the door open for him. Peter entered, looking puzzled. Pippa closed the door behind them, lifted the receiver and dialled a number. 62442. Peter jumped a few inches off the ground and looked around him rather nervously as a cool, efficient female voice suddenly spoke from all around them.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," it said. "Please state your name and business."

"Philippa Pettigrew, here to deliver Peter Pettigrew for his first day at work in the Apparition Test Centre."

"Thank you," the voice replied. "Please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes.

As the voice spoke, two badges fell into the small metal compartment where coins are normally dropped. Pippa pinned hers onto her and handed one to Peter. His badge read Peter Pettigrew, First Work Day. The disembodied voice told them that they would be required to submit to a search and permit their wands to be registered at the security desk. Then the telephone box began to move. It took them down, down, down, giving Peter the queer sensation that he had left his stomach behind on the street. Finally, they came to a halt. A beam of light travelled up their bodies, and a moment later the voice spoke for the last time.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day."

The door opened, and Peter followed his sister out into the brightly lit Atrium. He stared around him in amazement, taking in the mysterious ceiling, the glittering fountain and the sheer mass of people appearing and disappearing through the fireplaces.

"That'll be you, as from tomorrow," Pippa said cheerfully. "There won't be any need for you to take the visitor's entrance once they've got you properly registered." She looked around searchingly for a moment, then spotted what she was looking for. "Ah, there's the security desk. Come along."

And putting a hand on his shoulder, Pippa led her brother over to have his wand weighed and registered.

Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services.

James Potter and Sirius Black stood side by side, each dressed in a plain set of black robes with their black hair recently cut. At first glance, they might have been mistaken for brothers, not least due to the fact that they were both wearing nearly identical smiles on their faces. Through a window they could see a very wintry London, though it was still mid-summer.

"Looks like someone's feeling Christmasy a bit early in the year," James commented.

"Or Maintenance wanted everyone to feel a bit cooler in here, considering it's so warm outside," Sirius suggested.

They walked along the corridor, glancing at the signs on all the doors, and turned a corner. A pair of heavy doors barred their way. A balding old man in purple overalls was busy attaching a sign to the wall. He turned when they approached him.

"Good morning," said Sirius brightly.

"Mornin'," the old man grunted back.

"We're looking for the Auror Headquarters," Sirius went on pleasantly. "They're through here, aren't they?"

"Yup, right through them there doors." The old man indicated the doors in front of them. "I'm jus' puttin' up a new sign," he added, carelessly holding up a brass plate for them to see. "Seems Mr. Crouch wants to 'raise the level' round 'ere by 'aving posh notices put on the walls an' making Aurors keep the place tidy. Fat chance o' that." He laughed. "Aurors is too busy to bother with tidying up these days."

"Too right! Our job's hardly to spend our time polishing doorknobs," Sirius remarked.

The old man looked at them more interestedly.

"You two planning on becoming Aurors, then?"

"Absolutely," James confirmed.

"Well, best o' luck. Wouldn't be my cup o' tea, but you two look like you might 'ave the guts. Takes guts, that job does. Always did, but even more now, what with certain goings-on. What with ..." - He lowered his voice confidentially. - "You-Know-Who."

Sirius and James exchanged glances.

"Has there really been as much trouble here at the Ministry as the papers are saying?" James asked.

"Coo, what? You don't know what trouble is 'less you've been working 'ere lately. People disappearin'. Others going all peculiar. Knew one o' the young Aurors what used to turn up for work just about this time o' day, I did. A prettier an' a nicer girl you never saw. Always polite, always 'ad a kind word for everyone. Muggle-born, she was. Anyway, one day, she turns up late for work. Never 'appened before in all the time I knew 'er. Totally changed 'er tune, she 'ad. Not a civil word in her head, and would you believe it, she only went an' attacked one o' the young blokes in there. Chap who'd known her and worked with her for years. Thick friends they'd been. Called 'im a Muggle-lover and other names much worse, an' would have killed him, like as not, if others hadn't stopped her."

"What became of her?" Sirius enquired.

The old man shrugged. "Last I 'eard, they carted her off to St. Mungo's. You'd have thought she'd go to Azkaban for something like attacking an Auror, but no ..."

"Maybe she couldn't help it," James suggested. "Maybe she was being controlled, and they thought they could break the spell at St. Mungo's."

"You mean someone used one o' them unforgivable curses on 'er? Could be, for all I know. Seems more likely than that she'd 'ave turned criminal of her own accord."

James looked thoughtful.

"Anyway," said the old man. "I mustn't keep you. Young Moody don't like newcomers turning up late on their firs' day."

His words brought a smile to the boys' lips. To hear Alastor Moody referred to as young ... They thanked the old man - who, upon enquiry, gave his name as Bert - for his 'great help' in finding the right door, and went in.

The inside of the Auror Headquarters immediately struck both of them in the same way: As very crowded, very busy and very noisy.

"Crouch has got his work cut out for him, if he really plans to tidy this place up," Sirius whispered to James.

"Well, he's got more time on his hands these days, hasn't he?" James murmured back. "Since he's finally split with Dumbledore."

Sirius nodded. It was barely a week ago that Bartemius Crouch - whose appearances at the Order's meetings had been very rare as it was, and rarer still in recent months - had announced that he wanted nothing more to do with Dumbledore and his 'namby-pamby' methods, his 'irritating overly-cautious approach' and the 'cowardly attitude' of Dumbledore himself and certain other members of the Order. The last remark he had made with a barely concealed glare at John Lupin, who had not reacted in any way, other than by placing a restraining hand on his brother-in-law's arm to stop him jumping to his feet and demanding that Crouch take back this insult.

Remus stepped out of the telephone box together with his father and looked around him, taking in the golden fountain, the glittering symbols that moved along the ceiling and the buzz caused by hundreds of witches and wizards coming and going from all directions. He had been to the Ministry of Magic before and visited his father in his office - and, of course, there had been that time when his mother had brought him here to register him as a werewolf, though he could barely remember that, he had been so young.

He did know, however, the man he was going to work for was the very same man who had unlocked the large, padded chest and taken out a scarlet book which he had opened at the page for L. He had then waved a long quill over the page and the book had magically leafed through a short way. A new, blank page had grown out of it. The tall, forbidding-looking man had begun to write.

"Lupin, Remus John. Born March 10th, 1960. Only son of John Christopher Lupin and Faith Lupin, nee Marley. Received the Bite on the night of October 3rd, 1963. Witnesses: the aforementioned John Christopher Lupin and Malcolm Marley, brother of ..."

Remus had taken an instant dislike to the man at the time, to his quivering grey moustache and the dispassionate way in which he had noted down the bare facts of the case, sparing no sympathy and offering no kind words of comfort. But the fact remained that his father respected Mr. Westmore, and that he had, after all, agreed to give Remus a small job that would help pay for his studies.

Therefore, Remus put on a brave face, pushed his fringe out of his eyes and tried to look cheerful and as alert as he could, considering there had been a full moon two nights ago and he was still recovering from its effects. He followed John to the security desk, where a young witch weighed and registered his wand, into the lift up to the fourth floor. They stepped out of the elevator and walked down a long hallway, stopping outside a black door that bore the notice "Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Head: Wallace Westmore".

"Well, here we are," John said. "They'll be expecting you, Remus. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Who says I'm worrying?" Remus said in an almost steady voice. John smiled.

"Your mother, actually."

"Ah."

Remus made no more protest. It was useless, at any rate, to pretend calm when his mother always understood him so completely.

Enter at your own Risk

The first person James and Sirius met as they strolled through the bustling Auror Headquarters was the slightly burly Oliver McKinnon, who seemed to precede them in every step of their careers - first as a fellow Gryffindor, then as a member of the Order, and now by beginning his Auror training two years before them, which meant he had only a year to go before he was fully qualified. He waved when he spotted them and beckoned them over to his desk.

"Hello, you two," he said eagerly. "You're early! Still, that's good. Moody hates people turning up late. The only excuse he'll accept is death, and only then if you were murdered. Natural causes don't count."

Sirius grinned. "Well, I feel pretty much alive. Not sure about James here, though. He seems to be living in a different world lately. Might have to give him a bit to come to. He never really wakes up properly until he's seen Lily these days."

"Shut up!" James protested, punching his friend good-humouredly in the ribs. "Anyone else about yet, Oliver? Anyone we know, that is," he added, considering that it was quite obvious there were a lot of people about.

"Gideon's about somewhere," he said, referring to his best friend from his own school days. "Saw his brother turn up earlier too. He often drops by during school holidays, wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't thinking of becoming an Auror himself next year. Only got a year to go at school now, you see. Of course, this year he's got other things on his mind than learning to block hexes. Comes round asking romantic advice from us older, experienced men."

Sirius laughed. "So Fabian's got himself a girl, eh? Tell him not to bother, they're more trouble than they're worth."

Oliver frowned. "Well, I'm sure you're the expert, Sirius. You've had more than most, from all I've heard. But Fab's got it bad, it seems. Got the 'only girl in the world' bug."

Sirius shook his head in commiseration. "They're the worst sort. Who is she, anyway?"

"No idea. Some kid he's met at school."

Sirius pulled a face. "Oh no, not a Hogwarts girl! They're awful," he complained with an obvious lack of seriousness that seemed lost on Oliver, who was looking a touch dreamy all of a sudden.

"Yes, well ... some are okay," he said.

"What's this?" asked Sirius, pouncing. "You've not gone and got mixed up with a school girl yourself, have you?"

Oliver's face flushed. "Erm, well ..."

"Who?" asked James.

"Marlene Moss, as a matter of fact. Don't suppose you know her."

"Course we know her!" Sirius cried. "She was just a year under us, the same as Fabian, and in Gryffindor too."

He stared at Oliver, who shrugged, embarrassed.

James changed the subject by asking whether Malcolm was there yet.

Oliver laughed.

"Yeah, he's here. Don't know if he's awake yet, though. He usually nods off with his head on his desk these days and doesn't wake up till Laura brings him his morning coffee. Too many late nights, I reckon. You know," he added in a whisper, "The Order ..."

He was interrupted at that moment by the arrival of Frank Longbottom and Mary Crimple. Damian Diggle turned up shortly after, then Daniel Moore, who had been in Ravenclaw, Benjy Fenwick, Alice Spriggs and Florence Fortescue. Sirius greeted Florence rather coldly, and hardly said a word after she had arrived. She, in turn, avoided standing anywhere near him, and kept well back as they all followed Oliver to the back of the Auror Headquarters, where a large, slightly battered notice on a heavy oak door read 'Alastor Moody'. Underneath, magically emblazoned on the door in bright orange, where the words 'Enter at your own risk'.

"He gives people fair warning before he devours them, then," Sirius laughed.

"Oh, Moody didn't write that," said a familiar voice behind them. "That was me."

They turned and looked into the speaker's smiling face.

"You, Malcolm?" James exclaimed.

Malcolm nodded. "I think Moody was rather flattered. So he left it there." He lowered his voice. "It's a genuine warning, though. The old man can be pretty dangerous. Still, I expect you're up to it."

He looked around at the faces of the Aurors-to-be.

"Quite a few of you this year, aren't there?" he commented. "Well, that's probably a good thing. In you go then."

Malcolm opened the door and watched them all pass through into a small antechamber.

"Good luck, all of you," he said. "I'll join you at lunch for the bruise counting, if I can fit it in," he added cheerfully.

He closed the door behind them and consulted his watch. Twenty to nine. He hurried back over to his cubicle and poked his head around the corner.

"Laura?"

"Yes?"

She looked up from the photographs she had been studying, which had been taken during a recent Death Eater attack in a small village in Wales. There was little hope of uncovering the attackers' identities beneath the masks, but Laura was noting down every detail she could spot, from peculiarities of movement - thank heaven for wizard photography! - to a noticeable eye colour.

"I need to pop out for a little while," Malcolm said. "Won't be long."

"But the raid! We need you there!"

"I'll be there. I just might be a little bit late."

"The last time you said you were going to be 'a little bit late' you missed Crouch's meeting by about two hours. If you don't show up this time ..."

"I will, I will."

"Mind you do. Crouch seems to have got it in for you anyway, for some reason. Don't push your luck."

"I'm not, but this is important. If he asks where I am, tell him I got called away urgently on business. That's near enough to the truth. Please, Laura."

She looked at him and shook her head in mild exasperation.

"I'll tell him you think you're onto one of these people," she said, indicating the picture, "that you're following up a lead."

"Thank you, Laura," he sighed with relief. "You're an angel."

"I'm a fool," she disagreed, sounding slightly amused. "Tell me, has anyone ever been able to refuse you anything?"

"Oh yes. Loads of people have."

"All of them men, I take it."

Malcolm grinned. "Mostly. Anyway, I really must dash. Thanks for keeping Crouch off my back, Laura. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He blew her a kiss and hurried out of the office. Laura looked at the empty doorway, gave a small sigh, and returned to her study of the photographs.