Three Animagi and a Werewolf

Chapter 20: An End and a Beginning

Auror Training

James looked around the room they were in. It wasn't really all that small, but panelled with dark wood, which gave it a cramped, somewhat stifling feel. Torches burned orange on the walls at either end and there was a very old, moth-eaten green settee against the opposite wall. Mary and Florence were whispering nervously behind him.

"I wonder what he's really like," Mary was saying. "Do you reckon he'll be as scary as everyone says? I mean, I know he came to the Defenders that time, and I think he was all right then ..."

Sirius strode over to stand beside James.

"Girls!" he grumbled. "Do they have to keep chattering all the time?"

James smiled. Sirius went to take a closer look at the settee and sat down on it, sprawling with his long legs stretched out.

"At least the furniture's comfortable, even if it does look older than Professor Binns. How much longer is old Moody going to keep us waiting?" he complained.

Just at that moment, a small door to one end of the room opened. Out stepped two men, one tall and strict, the other grizzled and angry: Bartemius Crouch and Alastor Moody. Crouch looked around at the assembled group of young people. His eyes came to rest unpleasantly on Sirius.

"A rather rowdy lot you've got here, Alastor," he commented coldly. "You'll probably waste one whole year teaching them discipline and respect."

Moody said nothing, but it seemed to James that there was a kind of mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

"Well, see you later," said Crouch sharply, and he turned on his heel and walked out.

As soon as the door had closed behind him, Mary and Florence started whispering again.

"Silence!" bellowed Moody, and they shut up immediately.

Alastor Moody studied them closely, one by one. Then he said,

"For those of you who haven't had the - err - pleasure of meeting him before, that was Bartemius Crouch, our head of department. He likes to poke his long nose in here from time to time to see what I'm up to. So, you lot want to be Aurors, do you?"

He was answered by a series of nods.

"I see. Well, I suppose you'll all be expecting me to make some sort of welcoming speech now, all about how noble it is to be an Auror, what great heroes you're going to be - but I make it a point not to lie to my recruits. You see, the truth is that it's a tough job, and a dirty one."

He shot a look at Mary Crimple, with her perfectly groomed curls and pale, soft skin. She hid her freshly manicured nails behind her back rather self-consciously.

"Being an Auror means you have to be alert and ready twenty-four hours a day, always on the go, always looking over your shoulder for someone who might have it in for you. The moment you drop your guard, you're dead. Constant vigilance!" he yelled suddenly.

Sirius gave a shout as he was thrown back in his seat. The settee seemed suddenly to shoot back through the wall behind - except that the wall was no longer there. Although, even that was not quite accurate. There was still a wall, it was just several feet further back than it had been. The room was suddenly much larger, there were far more torches along the walls, casting strange flickering shadows on the floor, and there were crooked wooden shelves and cabinets holding many very strange instruments that none of them had ever seen before.

As soon as his seat stopped moving, Sirius leapt to his feet and stared down at it in bewilderment. It was Moody's loud, rasping laughter that made him turn around and face the others again. He felt anger rising inside him at being made to look a fool in front of the others, but the moment he took a step forwards, Moody had his wand out. All hilarity had left his face, and his eyes looked suddenly cold and cruel. Sirius froze in mid-action.

"Lesson number one," said Moody sharply. "Never trust anything. When you enter a room you've never been in before, regard every item in it as a potential threat."

His eyes remained locked with Sirius's for a moment. Then, very suddenly, he pointed his wand in an altogether different direction. A beam of light shot out of it and something was propelled towards Sirius from behind. Mary stifled a scream, but Sirius was ready this time. His own wand was out in a flash, he ducked the burning torch as it came flying at him, straightened up and pointed his wand straight at it.

"Glacio!"

The flames froze just before the torch hit the wooden door and turned into a large, orange icicle which hovered for a moment in mid-air, then shattered on the floor. Moody lowered his wand.

"Not bad," he said approvingly.

Sirius turned a smug face towards him. Moody frowned.

"That, however," he said, pointing at Sirius's smile with a crooked index finger, "is not good at all. Never be pleased with yourself until you know for certain that the enemy has been utterly immobilised. Never turn your back on your opponent, never underestimate him and never, never, permit yourself the illusion that you are better than him. Remember that."

Sirius stopped smiling and nodded, feeling rather resentful at being admonished like a child after having reacted so brilliantly. Moody spun around on the spot with a movement that caught them all off guard, and blasted Frank off his feet with a Reducto spell.

"Remember what I say!" he cried, while Frank sat rubbing his head, which had collided painfully with a heavy stone gargoyle by the door. "Constant vigilance!"

"Impedimenta!"

Sirius was stopped in his tracks, his arms waving helplessly. James charged towards him at once.

"Compesco!"

He was pulled back. Frank took a step forward, but Moody's wand was pointed at his chest in a twinkling. He shook his head.

"No, no, no, gentlemen, this will not do at all," he complained, lowering his wand.

It was nearly lunch time, and there was not one person in their group left who was not sporting either a black eye, a bad bruise or a cut - or several. Sirius and James moved normally again when Moody raised the spell.

"Black," said Moody. "You should have had your wand raised as you came at me. Surely you didn't expect me to allow myself to be taken so easily? You should have performed a shield charm before I could strike you with that spell! And you, Potter ..."

He turned to James.

"You need to act more coolly. You dashed forwards on impulse, intent on helping your friend Mr. Black, you didn't think. You must learn to fight with your brains, lad. The same goes for you."

He rounded on Frank.

"No rash actions, do you hear? No foolish heroics to try and save your friends. Cold, calculated attacks and blocks will get you further, your indignation at seeing a friend in trouble will not. Remember what I told you - never underestimate your opponent. Never relax your guard unless you can be absolutely certain that your enemy is dead or stunned! Now, let's try again. We will start with Miss Fortescue this time."

The Better Days Theatre

Malcolm kept looking at his watch. It was nearly ten already. He would never make it to that raid in time. Hopefully Crouch would not give Laura too much of a hard time when she failed to produce a satisfactory explanation for her colleague's absence. It was a damned nuisance the date of the raid had been changed to this morning, of all times. He had arranged to meet Angus Craigg at his theatre - the very theatre where he had taken John and Faith, Bridget and the boys that time - over a week ago. It had taken a lot of persuading to get Craigg to help in the first place. Malcolm couldn't turn around now and say he wasn't coming, that was a sure way of giving the man such cold feet that he would probably never agree to such a meeting again. And Malcolm needed this meeting. He was so close to what he considered the ultimate weapon in the Order's fight. An inside man was what they needed, and an inside man they would have ...

He moved his hand to cover the wand that was tucked securely in the belt of the muggle trousers he had changed into. The street was almost completely deserted at this hour. The only people in sight were a man who was sweeping the pavement on the opposite side of the road, and an old woman wearing a pink hairnet over very large, very bristly curlers, who was polishing a window close by.

*Of course,* Malcolm thought, *there wouldn't be much going on at this hour. No one goes to the theatre at ten o'clock on a Monday morning.*

He paused outside a narrow, grey-brown building. The sign above the black, padded entrance door proudly proclaimed that this was the 'Better Days Theatre'. The best that could be said for the place was that it had certainly seen better days, as evidenced by the now rather threadbare carpet that Malcolm knew lay behind the door, which must have been very expensive at one time, and the faded brass-buttoned red livery that the staff still wore. The plays were good, it was true, and so was the atmosphere of nostalgia that the little place gave one. But it was certainly not much to look at.

Malcolm turned left down the alleyway that separated the Better Days Theatre from the small restaurant next to it. He climbed a narrow flight of stone steps up the side of the building to a door beside which a sign read 'Stage Entrance'. He knocked on the wooden door and waited. Presently, he heard footsteps on the other side of the door. A croaking voice called out,

"Who's there?"

"Hood," Malcolm called back.

Craigg had insisted on using what he called 'code names' that no one else would know about to make sure the right person was outside. To be honest, Malcolm thought this procedure slightly stupid. After all, he reasoned, if someone could figure out that Malcolm Marley had secret business with Angus Craigg, that someone surely would not be hard put to find out their code names just as easily - for these too had to be discussed and communicated. Still, he had 'entered into the spirit of the thing' - as he phrased it to himself - rather well, he thought. For the purpose of his meetings with Craigg, he called himself Robin Hood. He smiled inwardly. Him and John, playing at Merry Men in the forest, forcing little Faith to play Maid Marian and other damsels in distress so they could 'rescue her' ...

The door was pulled open just a fraction. A head poked around it. A head with a sallow, creased face that resembled a large macaroon with two small blue beads for eyes, and a mass of curly brown hair that stuck out in all directions. The blue beads blinked twice at Malcolm, then the head was withdrawn. Malcolm waited in vain for the door to open wider, then sighed and squeezed himself through the small opening. Craigg hastily shut, locked and bolted the door behind him.

"It must be simpler to break into the Bank of England," Malcolm remarked jovially.

"Shhhh!" Craigg hissed at him, peering anxiously into all the corners.

"What's the matter? Think the mice might overhear?"

"Ye never know," the other man replied, standing with his shoulders hunched, his ears straining for a sound. "They say there's folk as can turn themselves into mice and creep in anywhere, spying."

Malcolm pretended to investigate the corners himself.

"I see no mice, real or otherwise. But I am a bit pushed for time, so if we could get on ..."

Craigg cast another look into the shadows, then he nodded and signalled Malcolm to follow. They walked along a dark passage lit very dimly by shabby electric lamps on the wall. A door to their left bore an illuminated sign that said 'Stage', but they continued to the backstage area. The space widened, and Malcolm looked around at the rackfulls of glittering costumes they passed. A number of doors appeared on their right. Craigg made straight for the one at the end, which had his name on it, pushed down the door handle and went in. Malcolm followed, and again, Craigg locked the door firmly behind them.

It was not the first time Malcolm stood in Craigg's office. His sharp eyes immediately registered that little had changed. The crookedly built shelves were still full of the same cheap props and ugly china ornaments, the desk still looked like someone had emptied the contents of a wastepaper basket over it, the walls were still plastered in photographs and newspaper reviews that unfortunately failed to cover up the green-flowered wallpaper. Only one thing was different.

On an old purple chaise longue in front of the only window lay a young woman. Though it was hard to tell at this angle, she seemed to be quite tall. Her face was beautiful, more in spite of the generous amounts of makeup she had applied than because of it. Her fair skin seemed to shine with a magical light, her bobbed hair had a silver sheen. She was wearing a sparkling dark green cloak and holding a cigarette in her right hand, which was white and elegant and had long nails painted red.

"Erhem," Craigg began. "May I present Miss Désirée Dulac? Actress, singer and dancer. Star of such much-loved performances as ..."

"Zat will do," she said with a very distinct French accent. She had a surprisingly deep voice that, in contrast to the lazy way in which she was posing, was crisp and curt. "I doubt if a list of my references is really relevant to ze purpose of your friend's visit."

Craigg at once became flustered. "Yes of course, Désirée. You're so right. Mr. Hood's here because ..."

But she interrupted him again, this time turning her sharp eyes on Malcolm. "Monsieur ... 'ood?"

"Actually, no," Malcolm replied. "My name is ..."

As he broke off, obeying the raising of her hand, Malcolm wondered secretly if this woman ever let anyone finish what they were saying.

"I 'ave no wish to know your real name," she said. "All I want to know is what you want."

Malcolm smiled. "I see you believe in coming straight to the point," he said. "All right. That suits me, as it happens." He cast a glance at his watch. "I'm in a bit of a hurry this morning."

Désirée did not interrupt this time. She placed the cigarette between her lips and waited, occasionally puffing out small clouds of smoke that caused Malcolm's eyes to water.

"What I want," he said, "is information. Good, reliable, inside information."

A long moment passed before Désirée removed the cigarette. Studying it with apparent deep interest, twirling it between her fingers, she said,

"When you say 'inside', I assume you mean zat you do not want someone watching ze Death Eaters, but in fact, someone 'oo is a Death Eater. Someone within ze Dark Lord's inner circle 'oose loyalties lie with your side."

"My side? Surely you mean 'ours', don't you?"

The actress shrugged her shoulders elegantly.

"I sell information, Monsieur 'ood. It makes very little difference to me 'oo ze buyer is. Our side, your side, zeir side .... what difference does it make?"

"All the difference in the world, I would have thought!" Malcolm retorted indignantly.

Désirée laughed and looked at him.

"You are incredibly naïve for a man of your profession, Monsieur. Surely you realise zat not everyone acts out of conviction all ze time. Most of us ordinary mortals do what is best for us, not for others."

Malcolm's face flushed. "So you want money," he said.

"A thousand galleons."

Malcolm concealed his surprise at the sum. "Which buys me what, exactly?"

"A name. A new identity. Information on where to find a certain Death Eater and when, so zat you can apprehend 'im and take 'is place. You cannot possibly infiltrate ze Death Eaters as yourself. Ze Dark Lord is 'ardly likely to fall for a muggle-born muggle-hater."

"How do I know I can trust you? That you're not a Death Eater yourself?"

Désirée shrugged her shoulders. "I could 'ave killed you ze moment you came through zat door."

"Or you could have other reasons for wanting me close to Volde-"

"Sshh!"

She leapt to her feet. "Never say zat name," she warned in a sharp whisper. "Never! No Death Eater would dare to mention it."

"I'll remember that," he said calmly.

Peter Pettigrew's Problem

Peter Pettigrew leaned miserably against the white wall of the corridor and closed his eyes. Not even a day. Not one brief, easy little day had he lasted. He closed his eyes and shook his head unhappily. What would his father say when he heard? A door opened a few feet away, and Peter hastily stood up straight, opened his eyes and tried to look unconcerned. A girl was coming towards him. A girl with short blonde hair and rather prominent eyes, wearing what looked suspiciously like a dragon's claw on a silver chain around her neck, seeming to think it was decorative.

"Are you okay?" she asked kindly.

"Fine," Peter lied.

"I'm really sorry they - well ..."

"Gave me the boot," Peter finished with uncharacteristic bitterness that had probably rubbed off from Sirius. "Before I even got started. I know I failed miserably on my own Apparition test - three times now - but I'll take it again and pass."

"Of course you will," said the girl. "And I am really, really sorry."

Peter shrugged in what he hoped was a careless fashion. "Oh well. I'm pleased for you, anyway, Gloria."

She smiled broadly. "Thanks. Not that I'm planning to stay in the Test Centre forever, mind. It's not near exciting enough. What I want is a job where I can experiment with potions and loud bangs and such."

She laughed at the horrified expression on his face. "Well, good luck with finding a new job. See you around."

Peter nodded and watched her go back into the office. Then his brow creased once more. Where and how could he get a new job? If only Pippa were here now, she'd come up with something. He thought of asking Sirius or James what to do, but the idea that they might try and persuade him into Auror training put him off. Remus, then. Yes, he would surely come up with some good, sensible advice.

Remus didn't hear the knock on his door. He was busy chasing a peculiar creature around his office: a hybrid between a bat and a cat, with a lot of energy and very sharp claws, not to mention scarlet eyes out of which little bursts of flame kept shooting at irregular intervals.

"Come here!" he shouted while it zoomed out of reach and began attacking a bookshelf. "Nooo!" he added, as the office door opened and the creature made a beeline for it. His wand was out in an instant.

"Immobilus!"

Peter stared up at the thing that floated inches above his head.

"That's better," said Remus, tucking his wand away and taking the tiny flying cat gently by its wings. He opened a cage on his desk, placed the creature inside, and locked it firmly. Then he took out his wand once more and revived it. The bat-cat immediately began making a terrible racket and trying to escape, scratching and biting at the bards. Remus spoke soothing words to it, which it totally ignored, then looked up.

"Come in, Peter," he said with a hint of amusement in his voice at the pale, startled expression on Peter's face.

He took his friend by the arm and brought him through the door so he could close it.

"What can I do for you? I have to warn you, though, that if some female rat you met in Diagon Alley took a fancy to you when you sneaked into Fortescue's to pinch the cornet crumbs in your guise as Wormtail, there's really very little I can do."

Peter was too distracted to respond to the joke. His eyes were riveted to the desk. Remus followed his stare.

"Pretty, don't you think?"

"Pretty?!" Peter repeated incredulously. "More like 'dangerous'."

"Ye-es," Remus said slowly. "Though the one doesn't necessarily always have to rule out the other, does it?" When Peter still looked doubtful, he went on. "Well, take a closer look. See the shining, golden fur? The perfectly shaped head? The glistening wings? If you move your head slightly, you can see they shimmer in all different colours."

"Hm, I suppose. As long as it stays locked up in its cage."

"She, Peter," Remus corrected.

"She?"

Remus nodded. "Definitely a female."

"What did you want to revive it - her - for?" Peter moaned, covering his ears as the creature let out a shrill screech and Remus dived to rescue a sheet of parchment from its line of fire - literally. "Why don't you just keep her stunned or something?"

"That would be cruel."

Peter stared at him with a total lack of comprehension, but let it rest.

"Where did you get that - thing anyway?"

He was answered by another shrieking noise and burst of flame.

"Hush," Remus murmured. "She's easily offended. That's no ordinary animal, you know."

"Yes, I can see that."

"I don't doubt that the old witch who brought her here will be facing serious charges for breaching the Ban on Experimental Breeding. But she just couldn't control Minx here."

Peter's eyes widened.

"That's what I call her. Well, she is rather a minx, don't you agree?"

Peter opened and shut his mouth. Unable to think of anything to say, he looked around him.

"It took me ages to find you," he said after a while. "I thought you were supposed to be Mr. Westmore's secretary or something."

"That was the idea. But when I got there, he said he had a different job for me. Actually, I don't think he was too keen on the idea of having a werewolf welcoming his important guests to his reception room."

"Oh."

Remus laughed.

"No need to look so horrified, Peter. I'm not upset or anything."

"G-good. And - what are you supposed to do here?"

"Take charge of the pets people bring to me, listen to their stories and send the animals to the appropriate office - Beast, Bird or Spirit Division, ..."

"Sounds important."

"I suppose it does. All it really means is that people dump the pets they can't handle themselves here like 'baggage' and I pass them on to where they belong. But I'm not complaining. It's quite interesting work, really, much better than I thought it would be. I get to see some fascinating creatures - had a tankful of grindylows in first thing this morning - and hybrids no one has ever set eyes on before, like Minx."

There was a lull in the conversation during which Peter looked awkward and Remus studied him closely. After a while, Remus took a kettle out of a cupboard, opened a small door that revealed a washbasin, filled the kettle, got the water to boil with his wand and dropped some tea bags into it. He finished making the tea in silence and handed a mug to Peter, guiding him to a chair.

"Now then," he said, sitting down himself. "You've heard all about my morning. Tell me what went wrong with yours."

Peter stared at him.

"How did you know?"

Remus smiled. "It's too early for lunch break, and you look depressed. So, tell me what happened."

"A-are you sure you've got the time? I mean, I'm not in the way, am I?"

"No, not unless someone turns up unannounced, in which case I might have to ask you to turn into a rat and hide. Other than that, there's time."

Peter took a sip of his tea and began.

"Well, I turned up on time all right. Pippa dropped me off. At first, they just gave me some filing to do. That was all right. Then someone came to take their Apparition test, and I was supposed to go to the Apparition site with the supervisor, only of course I had to tell them I couldn't, because I can't apparate myself yet. So they made me take my test again on the spot."

"And ...?"

"I apparated halfway through the door," Peter confessed miserably. "With the front of my head looking out onto the corridor and the back still inside the room."

Remus flinched at the thought. "I hope it wasn't too painful."

Peter shook his head. "No. But it means I failed again."

"That's not so terrible," Remus said. "Lots of people fail a couple of times before they get it right. Some people don't bother at all, like my mum."

"What - she can't apparate either?"

"No. She does quite a lot of things without magic anyway, as you must have noticed. It comes from her Muggle background. Also, she's not all that good at some kinds of magic. Well, it's unusual enough for two children from one Muggle family to be magic as it is, you can't expect them both to be equally good as well. And of course, Uncle Malcolm is very good."

He looked sympathetically at Peter.

"We can't all be as brilliant as that. Or as Sirius and James."

"You do all right, though."

"All right, yes," Remus agreed. "But I'll never be as good as those two."

"You don't need to be ashamed of yourself though, do you?" Peter murmured.

"Nor do you," Remus said sharply. "You're a decent wizard, Peter, you know you are. You can do all these things, it's only because you make yourself believe you can't and let others intimidate you into thinking you're no good that things go wrong. With a little more self-confidence, you could probably do better than whatever idiot they decide to employ instead of you."

Peter's face flushed. "She's not an idiot," he mumbled.

Remus cocked his head curiously to one side.

"I see," he said with a smile. "She knows her stuff, does she?"

"She's brilliant. Passed her Apparition test first go this morning, and they offered her the job at once. She looked quite shocked, because she realised it was supposed to be my job and all that, but ..."

He said no more. Remus rose thoughtfully and carried the teapot over to the sink.

"I could talk to Uncle Malcolm," he said at last.

Peter started, apparently coming back from miles away.

"What?"

"About getting you a new job."

"I can't be an Auror!" Peter cried, startled.

"Of course not," said Remus. "But he knows a lot of people in all sorts of departments, and outside the Ministry too. I think he's got a friend who's pretty high up in the Official Gobstones Club, then there's his old boss, Mr. Perkins ... and I remember him mentioning a girl from the International Magical Office of Law ... I'm sure he could find you something, anyway."

"Oh," said Peter, relieved. "Do you think he would?"

"Of course. I'll ask him the next time I see him."

He was rewarded with a beaming smile.

"Thanks, Moony."

Remus smiled. He cleaned out the teapot and returned to the desk, studying Minx thoughtfully.

"Now, what do we do with you?" he wondered out loud. "Small Hybrid Division, I suppose."

The Raided Raid

Laura surveyed the scene. A small group of people in black cloaks were being marched off by the Aurors. They weren't Death Eaters, though, she was sure of that. Just small fry, people who liked to cause a bit of trouble in any way they could, who got a kick out of muggle-baiting - and worse. She checked her watch. Eleven o'clock. And still no sign of Malcolm. She put her wand away in her robes and followed the others. A sound at the street corner made her turn her head.

"Laura!" Malcolm called quietly.

Laura hurried over to join him, making sure none of the others were paying any attention to her.

"Malcolm!" she exclaimed quietly as he pulled her round the corner of the building out of sight of the others. "Where have you been?"

"Never mind that," he whispered back. "Where's Crouch?"

This brought a smile to her lips.

"You have the luck of the devil. He didn't come, so he need never know that you ..."

She was interrupted by more cracking sounds, several of them, coming from around the corner of the building, followed immediately by yells and shouts. Both she and Malcolm leapt around the corner, drawing their wands ... too late.

It was all over in a flash, or rather several flashes, of green light. They were just in time to see curses shooting out of the wands of the cloaked and masked figures who had surrounded the group of Aurors and their captives, to see their colleagues struck by a beam of blinding green light each, and crumple lifeless to the floor. Laura gasped.

"Damn!" said Malcolm under his breath.

They both took a step towards the Death Eaters at the same time, fully aware that they stood little chance against the overwhelming odds, but one of the Death Eaters had already raised his wand to the sky and chanted,

"Morsmordre."

Malcolm and Laura froze as the gigantic green skull rose into the sky, glittering as though it were made up of hundreds of tiny green stars. The Death Eaters and those they had rescued disapparated in an instant. Malcolm looked from the skull floating above to the bodies lying a few yards away. He felt Laura shiver beside him and put his arm around her shoulder. His own face as white as a sheet, his voice a mere trembling, hoarse whisper, he said,

"You'd better go back to the Ministry and tell them what's happened. I'll wait here."

"Malcolm!" she sobbed, suddenly clutching his collar.

He looked into her eyes that reflected the horror he was feeling.

"I know," he said softly. "I know. Go on, now, there's a good girl."

Laura nodded, took a last pained look at the lifeless forms of their fellow Aurors, and disapparated.

Crouch and Malcolm

Lily hummed to herself as the lift came to a halt in the Atrium. Her first morning had gone extremely well. One of the younger Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries had explained some fascinating spells that were used to protect and conceal people and places. Of course, Lily was fully aware that she had only been told about the most obvious, least secret spells. If she wanted to know about the really good ones, she would have to go much further. Not that she wanted actually to become an Unspeakable herself, but she did want to learn all she could about protection charms. A couple of months in the Department of Mysteries would help to begin with, then extra studying - Professor Flitwick would be sure to advise her which was the best method - and then, very probably, she would try for a job in Law Enforcement for the time being. That was by far the best place to start, she thought.

She stood for a moment, gazing at the sparkling fountain, and read the brand new, highly polished sign beside it:

ALL PROCEEDS FROM THE FOUNTAIN OF MAGICAL BRETHREN WILL BE GIVEN TO ST. MUNGO'S HOSPITAL FOR MAGICAL MALADIES AND INJURIES.

She peered into the water. There were a few coins lying there, but not very many. Maintenance appeared to have cleared the fountain not so long ago. Lily took a handful of knuts out of her pocket and dropped them in the water. Then she decided it was time to head to the Leaky Cauldron, where she had arranged to meet James for lunch.

Sirius returned from the bar, a bottle of butterbeer in one hand, the other pressing a chunk of raw meat to his eye. He sat down, took a long draught of his butterbeer and smacked his lips.

"Ah, that's better," he sighed.

James, who had been nursing a cut on his cheek with a clean cloth dipped in ointment, looked across at him and grinned.

"The eyepatch suits you," he remarked. "You look just like a dashing pirate captain, don't you agree, girls?"

Mary, Florence and Alice all blushed. At that moment, Tom the barman and a young waitress approached the table, levitating plates of food in front of them.

"Right then," he said. "Here's your orders. Bangers and mash, twice?"

Damian Diggle's hand shot up along with Benjy Fenwick's. The plates of mashed potatoes and sausages floated across the large table and landed in front of them with a clatter.

"Cod and chips, three times - ah, Mr. Lupin, Mr. Moore and Mr. Longbottom. There you go."

Remus, Daniel and Frank caught their plates from the air.

"Three jacket potatoes - beans, cheese, and one coleslaw. Aha, the ladies!"

Mary, Florence and Alice received their plates, Mary murmuring quietly that this would cause havoc to her figure, but she did so love coleslaw.

"A large chicken salad - Mr. Pettigrew. And the ploughman's would be yours, Mr. Black."

Tom then turned to James. "Sure there's nothing I can get you, sir?"

James shook his head. "No, not yet. I'm waiting for - ah ..."

He broke off as Lily entered through the back door and waved to her. She smiled when she spotted him and came straight over.

"Hello," she said, beaming at them all.

Then she spotted the cut on James's cheek and the bruises most of the others were sporting. Sirius grinned up at her, the raw meat lying discarded on the table beside his very full plate. She recoiled a step at the sight of his extremely swollen black eye.

"What on earth happened to you all?" she asked.

"Alashtor Moody," Sirius said through a mouthful of toast, tomato and butterbeer. "He givesh a tough leshon. Sh'all good fun, though."

Lily turned back to James.

"I thought you were supposed to be learning how to defend yourselves against hexes and curses."

"I thought we were pretty good at defending ourselves already," said James. "What with Darkhardt's training. But it's like Sirius said, Moody's tough. Brilliant, though. Great Auror. They'll never catch him off guard."

"Bit paranoid though, you must admit," said Damian.

"In that profession, you've got to be," said Frank. "Unless you want to get yourself killed."

James felt Lily shudder beside him and took her hand.

"Come, let's go over to the bar and order something to eat," he suggested.

The pair of them followed Tom, who had left them a couple of minutes ago.

"So, how did your day go, Peter?" Frank Longbottom asked. "Peter?" he repeated when he got no answer.

Remus turned his head to see that a kind of dazed expression had come over Peter's face. He followed the direction of his friend's stare and immediately spotted what had caught his attention. Someone had just walked over to the bar. A girl with short black hair and rather long legs. She took her drink from the barman, paid and looked around out of slightly protuberant eyes.

"Whoshat?" Sirius asked, munching.

"Eh?" Peter said absently.

Sirius washed the food down with a long draught of butterbeer. "I said 'Who's that?'"

At that moment, the girl spotted Peter and waved. She came over to their table and smiled around at them all, then turned to Peter, who looked like he wanted to sink into his seat.

"Hello, Peter," the girl said. "How are you doing?"

"Err - f-fine. Thanks."

"Found anything new yet?"

"N-no."

"Look," the girl continued, unperturbed by all the faces watching her, "I still feel really bad about this. If there's anything I can do. My dad's pretty high up in the Ministry, I could ask him ..."

Peter went scarlet. "No, thanks. Remus is going to talk to his uncle for me."

She turned an enquiring face towards Remus.

"Remus Lupin," he introduced himself, shaking her hand.

He proceeded to introduce the rest of them. The girl's eyes rested for a moment on Sirius, who was displaying his most charming smile.

"Care to tell us your name too?" he asked.

"Gloria Boom," she replied.

"Well, Gloria," Sirius went on, "Won't you join us? Any friend of Pete's is a friend of ours, you know."

She smiled. "Sorry, but I really can't. I'm supposed to be meeting someone."

"Oh, come on. I insist. You won't find better company at any other table."

Gloria seemed almost persuaded, but then the door leading to Diagon Alley opened and in walked a boy of about nineteen or twenty. He had dark brown hair and wore large spectacles on his long, narrow nose. Tall, gangling, his features were soft and rather effeminate. He spotted Gloria and she waved to him to join them, but he shook his head. She shrugged at Sirius.

"Sorry, I've got to go."

"Your friend can join us too - if he must," Sirius suggested.

Gloria shook her head. "No. He's a bit shy, to tell you the truth. Well, goodbye everyone. It's been nice meeting you. Peter ..." Peter jumped. "Good luck." And with that, she walked away.

Sirius immediately turned on Peter.

"You idiot!" he cried. "Why didn't you ask her to join you?"

"What would she want to sit down with us for?" asked Peter.

Sirius rolled his eyes.

"She came over especially to talk to you, didn't she?"

"Anyone might have done that. We met this morning when she - she got my job. She was just trying to make up for it like anyone else would have done."

"Give me strength!" said Sirius. "How are we ever going to make a man out of you when you insist on ignoring the most obvious signs?"

Peter blushed uncomfortably.

"Are you going to let the only girl you ever looked twice at walk right out of your life again?"

"Sirius," Remus interrupted pacifyingly. "Let it rest."

Sirius frowned at him, but said no more. Remus picked up is butterbeer.

"Where's she from, anyway? I don't remember seeing her at Hogwarts, but she must be about our age."

"She went to Beauxbatons," Peter replied quickly.

"Really?" Remus said with interest. "Then I suppose she's had lessons with Pippa."

"Probably," Peter agreed. He smiled suddenly. "By te way, I haven't told you yet, have I - Pippa's not going to Beauxbatons this year."

"She's not? Why's that?" asked Frank who, apart from Sirius and Remus, was probably the only person at the table who had a clue who Peter was talking about.

"She's accepted a new position here in England," Peter explained eagerly. "You'll never guess ..."

"Hogwarts?!" Remus exclaimed in surprise before Peter could finish. "Sorry," he added, seeing the crestfallen look on Peter's face. "But ... I knew Dumbledore was looking for a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, so ... She's accepted?"

Peter nodded. Remus turned to Sirius.

"What do you make of that, Sirius?" he asked.

But Sirius hadn't been listening. He was craning his neck to watch Gloria and her companion.

"Who is he, anyway?" he murmured. "He looks familiar."

"What, the boy with Gloria Whatshername?" Mary Crimple giggled. "I should think you have seen him before. That's Lance Lovegood. He was a Ravenclaw prefect, and later head boy."

"Ooh, I remember," said Alice suddenly. "Didn't you used to go out with him, Mary?"

"Yes," Mary said dreamily. "He was nice."

"Looks a wimp," Sirius said coldly, turning back to face the table. "Sorry, Remus, what were you saying about Pippa?"

"I just find it strange that she's suddenly decided to stay in England. you tell us once that it was her dream to work at Beauxbatons, Peter?"

"Yes," said Peter, who didn't seem to care what had made Pippa change her mind, as long as she was no longer so far away.

"I expect she had her reasons. What with - you know. Everything," Sirius said.

Remus nodded. "I dare say you're right. Anyway, good luck to her."

"Yep," said Sirius, and drank the rest of his butterbeer.

A ring of people stood around the bodies of the fallen Aurors. No one said a word or moved a muscle. A few yards away, Obliviators were modifying the memories of Muggle witnesses.

Malcolm looked round at Laura. Her face was ghostly white and her eyes were bloodshot. He could see that she was trembling, but no one seemed to take any notice of her, they were all staring transfixed at the bodies. Malcolm moved quietly to Laura's side and touched her arm to get her attention. She looked up at him and leaned, shaking, against him while he held her.

Presently, the assembled group dissolved. Stretchers were conjured for the bodies and Bartemius Crouch came towards Malcolm and Laura, closely followed by Moody and another Auror. Crouch glanced briefly at Laura, then glared at Malcolm.

"So, Marley," he said in a voice that was cold as ice. "Perhaps you would care to explain how you happen to have survived the Death Eaters' attack when seven of our best Aurors did not."

Malcolm returned the stare and replied just as icily, "I'm sure you must be very disappointed about that, Crouch. You'd much rather I'd been killed along with the rest of them, wouldn't you?"

Laura straightened up at his words and shook her head at him.

"Malcolm, don't," she hissed. "You'll only make matters worse."

"Oh, I shouldn't worry about warning your colleague, my dear," Crouch went on. "You're wasting your breath. It's clear Marley has no respect for me or the office I hold. But I would like to know what possessed the Death Eaters to keep him alive. Perhaps he has made a little arrangement with them, eh, Marley? Perhaps it was you who told them where to strike in the first place."

"How dare you!" Malcolm roared. "How dare you accuse me of betraying people I worked with! How dare you suggest ..."

"Malcolm, please," Laura murmured soothingly. She turned to Crouch. "Sir, you know he's no traitor. He wasn't even there most of the time. He turned up just as we were leaving, I went over to talk to him, and then ... the Death Eaters came. There was nothing we could do."

"I'm not blaming you, Laura," said Crouch calmly.

"But you are blaming me?" Malcolm said, a dangerous light in his eyes.

"Yes," Crouch replied bluntly. "At worst, I could have you up for treason. At best, you were absent without leave. It was your duty shift, you should have been there, you should ..."

"I should have died with the rest of them! That's what you really mean, isn't it, Crouch? You'd have liked that, wouldn't you?"

"Silence," Crouch commanded. "My aim is, and always will be, to battle the Dark Arts wherever I encounter them by any and all means. To that end I need good, reliable Aurors who come when they are summoned, who do their job and who obey my orders without hesitation. I do NOT," he went on quickly, forestalling Malcolm's interruption, "need people who question my authority on a regular basis, insult me and act as though rules and duty did not exist."

Malcolm balled his fists angrily and took half a step forwards. It was lucky that Moody caught his eye at that moment, for the older man's warning look held him back.

"I am sure we both want nothing more than to see the downfall of the Dark Arts," he said guardedly.

"Maybe so," Crouch replied. "But our methods differ. And therefore I think it would be best if our paths separated too."

Malcolm almost smiled. He had expected something like this. You're firing me?" he asked.

"Got it in one."

Laura stared. "No! Mr. Crouch, you can't! Malcolm is one of the best Aurors we have, we need him."

"Don't, Laura," Malcolm said quietly. "It's all right."

She looked uncomprehendingly at him, then at Moody.

"Mr. Moody, surely you ..."

He silenced her by raising his hand. "I think it's time we returned to headquarters," he said in his lowest growl.

Crouch nodded. "Yes, by all means. Mr. Marley will want to pack his bags."

The End of a Career

When James, Sirius and the others returned to the Ministry after lunch, they found the Auror headquarters in rather a different state than they had been this morning. There was no more noisy hustle and bustle, but much anxious whispering, and people seemed to be trying to make as little noise as possible, while wearing dark expressions on their faces.

Puzzled, they made their way to Moody's door. They knocked, and at a call of "Come in," they pushed the door open. To their surprise, they did not find themselves in the room they had entered this morning, but in what was evidently Moody's office: a small, cramped room dominated by a gigantic desk with clawed feet and full of a whirring sound made by several strange instruments of various shapes and sizes. As they entered, Moody turned away from something that resembled a mirror, but showed indistinguishable, shadowy shapes rather than his reflection.

"Sir," James began. "Is anything - has anything happened?"

Moody was just opening his mouth to answer when there was another, hurried knock on the door.

"Come in," he growled.

The door opened and John Lupin squeezed in, clearly surprised at the amount of people already in the room.

"Alastor," he said, "I got your note. What's going on?"

Moody shot one more look at the thing that looked like a mirror, then he began to tell them all what had occurred.

Malcolm had almost finished packing. All the belongings that had accumulated on and around his desk were in two cardboard boxes. He stood looking down at a photograph in his hand, showing himself, Moody, Laura, and some of the Aurors who had died, taken last Christmas. Little had the poor fellows guessed that they would never pull a Christmas cracker again. He put the photograph in one of the boxes and picked up the last photograph still standing - rather an old one of John, Faith and Remus. There was a gentle knock on the door frame behind him. He turned to see Laura.

"Hello," she said. "Finished packing?"

"Almost."

She looked at the picture in his hand and smiled.

"I can still remember the day you first brought that photograph with you. Lionel thought it was a picture of you and your parents."

Her voice faltered, and Malcolm knew why. Lionel was dead. He put the photograph in the box with the others and closed the lid. Taking a last look around him, he sighed.

"I'm going to miss this place."

"This place will never be the same without you, either," said Laura, sounding tearful.

Malcolm smiled at her. "There was a time when you used to wish me further."

Laura gave a small laugh through the tears. "I'd only just started work, and you made me so nervous. I was terrified of messing things up in front of you."

"But you didn't mess things up. You did fine. You learnt pretty quickly to get along with me. I'm sure you'll be just as quick at learning to get along with whoever takes my place."

Laura's brief smile faded again. "It won't be the same, though."

"Cheer up, Laura," Malcolm said, trying to sound encouraging. "You'll be all right. And you know if ever you need me, I'll be there."

"Thank you."

Malcolm squeezed her hand. He sealed his boxes with his wand and levitated them out of the cubicle door. He moved quickly from now on, wanting to get away without a fuss. He hated goodbyes. Out the big oak doors, into the lift, out again, across the Atrium ...

"Malcolm!"

For a minute he actually considered stopping when he heard John's voice call him. But then he realised he really didn't want to see anyone just yet. He hastened his steps towards a fireplace and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Malcolm deposited his cardboard boxes at his flat and went straight back out again. He really didn't want to sit at home and brood. But he couldn't help himself. Despite being out of doors, and much as he didn't want to, he was brooding anyway. He wasn't paying much attention to where his footsteps carried him. He just walked and walked, going moodily over what Crouch had said, anger boiling inside him.

He tried not to let himself understand that this anger was directed, not so much at Crouch, but at himself. The truth, if he had chosen to admit it, was that - as John had said - he blamed himself for what had happened at least as much as Crouch did, if not more. He felt guilty for not having been there when he should have been, guilty for not having reacted more quickly, guilty for having survived when several good men and women whom he had known and admired were dead.

It was no use. However much he tried to focus his anger on Crouch, he could not drive away that gnawing, horrible sense of guilt. Still walking, he closed his eyes to stop the burning and ran his hands distractedly through his hair.

"Ouch!" said a voice, and Malcolm too uttered an exclamation of surprised pain.

He opened his eyes and had started to apologise, when words failed him.

"Malcolm!" Bridget exclaimed, recovering first from her surprise.

"Bridget," he replied dazedly. "What are you doing here?"

"This is where I work," she explained, pointing to the small book shop behind her. "And you? You're a long way away from the Ministry."

"Yes."

Bridget almost smiled at this curt reply, but then she caught something in his eyes, and stopped herself.

"Is something wrong?" she asked instead.

"No, nothing."

This time, Bridget really did smile. "I've always thought you must be a good liar. I see I was wrong."

"It's nothing you need to trouble yourself with. A - business matter, I suppose you might say. You don't want to waste your time worrying about it."

"Well, I won't know if it's a waste of time until you've told me more about it, will I?" she insisted. "And for the next hour, my time is my own. So, if you've nothing better to do - how about going for some lunch?"

Malcolm wanted to refuse, but then he changed his mind. "All right. Let's go somewhere quiet, then."

Malcolm's suggestion that they should pick somewhere quiet clearly ruled out the Leaky Cauldron. And in any case, Bridget was still as keen as ever to stay away from the magical community as much as possible. So they found a table in the back corner of a small, nearly empty café, where Bridget ordered two cups of coffee and a tart, since Malcolm said he wasn't hungry.

When a plump, grey-haired woman had brought them their order, Bridget took a small sip of her coffee, winced because it was so hot, and set it down again. She looked up. Malcolm had been watching her, but now he turned the other way, apparently deeply interested in a large, hideous green table lamp that stood across the room.

"You can pretend I'm not here," Bridget said with a touch of amusement in her voice, "but I'm still going to find out what's the matter with you."

"Nothing's the matter with me," he said rather sharply.

"Tell that to your face."

Reluctantly, he looked at her again. At last he sighed.

"All right, if you must know ..."

Bridget listened in silence, occasionally taking a sip of coffee while he unfolded the tale. Her face grew steadily paler as he went on, but still she said nothing.

"And so I left," Malcolm finished. "I decided to take a walk and clear my brain. And then I bumped into you."

This time, far from avoiding her eyes, he looked into them intently, as though searching for some sort of assistance now that he had unburdened himself. Bridget didn't keep him waiting long.

"You mustn't blame yourself for what happened," she began.

"I'm not!"

"Yes, you are, and it's silly. It wasn't your fault. You didn't kill those people."

"I didn't do anything to stop them being killed either. That's just as bad."

"You know that's nonsense," Bridget went on calmly. "There was nothing you could have done if you had been there, except die alongside them."

"I might as well have. I wasn't much use to them alive, was I?"

Bridget shook her head. "You're wrong. As I see it, you didn't bring about anyone's death by not being there when you should have been - but you did save a life by turning up late."

Malcolm stared blankly at her. "What are you talking about?"

"Your friend, Laura. If you hadn't arrived just at that moment, if she hadn't come over to the corner of the house to talk to you, and you hadn't taken her out of sight of the others, she'd have been killed along with the rest of them."

"No," said Malcolm, "you mustn't look at it that way."

"I don't see that there's any other way one can look at it. And I'm sure she'd agree. All right, seven people were killed - but one wasn't. If you had been there when you were supposed to be, all that would have changed is that nine people would now be dead."

"You don't know that. I might have been able to stop ..."

"No!" Bridget interrupted firmly. "Malcolm, those people who died were no fools. They were powerful Aurors, the same as you, and there was nothing they could do to defend themselves. You can't block the Avada Kedavra curse. You know that as well as I do."

"Crouch doesn't see it that way," Malcolm said quietly.

"Perhaps not. But then, you and Crouch have never exactly been friends, have you? Didn't you tell me yourself that Laura said Crouch was looking for a reason to get rid of you? And perhaps he's even done you a favour that way."

"What do you mean?"

"You've been working hard lately. Too hard. Running your spy network for the Order and working twenty-four-hour shifts as an Auror at the same time. You can't go on like that forever," she said simply.

Malcolm thought over what she had been saying. Something inside him still rebelled against her words, and yet, her logic could not fail to comfort him.

"Perhaps you're right," he admitted at long last.

"Of course I'm right."

The merest shadow of a smile flitted across Malcolm's face and twinkled in his eyes, but it was enough to make Bridget look down quickly, pick up her handbag and start concentrating hard on looking for her purse. Malcolm's hand reached out and stopped her.

"Allow me," he said, reaching for his wallet.

They walked in silence back to the door of the book shop.

"Well, here we are," said Malcolm.

"Yes."

Bridget turned to face him.

"Thanks for walking me back."

Malcolm gave a small bow.

"My pleasure, Mrs. Potter."

Bridget looked up into his brown eyes. A little of the old sparkle had returned to them, and for a moment she caught a glimpse of something else, something that was gone again so quickly that she thought she must have imagined it. She held out her hand.

"See you soon, I hope."

"I hope so too," said Malcolm, shaking her hand warmly.