Three Animagi and a Werewolf

Chapter 22: Curious Developments

Owl Post

Sirius Black took a pin out of his mouth and pushed it hard into the wall. He tried to stand back to see if the poster he was hanging up was straight. But it was hard to stand far enough away and hold the picture at the same time, especially when you were balancing precariously on the edge a bed.

"It needs to go up a little on the right," said Bridget's voice from the door. "And please take those pins out of your mouth before you have an accident."

Sirius obeyed, placing them in her outstretched hand.

"Thanks," he said, adjusting the poster a little as she had indicated. "Is that better?"

"A little bit lower now. Stop. Yes, that's fine."

Sirius pushed the pin in the wall, climbed down from the bed and stood beside Bridget to check the result himself.

"Yep, that's great," he agreed, taking another pin from her and proceeding to fix the lower corners to the wall.

He then climbed off the bed again and admired the picture of a very large, very shiny, very expensive motorbike that now hung over his bed.

"I'm sorry I couldn't afford to buy you the real thing," Bridget said.

"No you're not," Sirius disagreed with a grin. "Actually, you're rather glad of it."

Bridget smiled. "I confess, you've found me out. I would much rather you plastered all the walls in the flat with these vehicles than have you racing around on one."

"I will one day, though. One day I'm going to buy myself one, and I'm going to charm it so that it flies."

"Yes, dear," said Bridget indulgently. "One day. But for now, why don't you come and help me with the washing up, and I'll get out some pumpkin juice after and let you taste the biscuits I've made."

"Okay."

Sirius tore himself away from his new poster reluctantly and followed her out of the room. The washing up was quickly finished, and soon they were both sitting comfortably in the living room. Bridget watched Sirius over the edge of her glass.

"What are you brooding about?" she asked after a while.

"Nothing."

"Yes, you are. Is it because James has decided to spend the day with Lily instead of with you again?"

"No," Sirius said slowly. "It's not that. I don't blame James for wanting to go out with her. I would, if she was my girl."

"Then what is the matter?"

"It's ... this girl we met the other night at the Bouncing Banshee."

"Oh, I see."

"No, you don't," he objected. "It's not what you think. I've not fallen for her or anything. I mean, I've only just met her, and ... well, she's not pretty, she doesn't dress well, she's got absolutely no style ..."

"But there must be something about her, if she's occupying your mind that much," Bridget guessed shrewdly.

"Yes. I don't know what it is, but ... she seems a nice kid, and the thing is, she's with Severus Snape."

"Snape? The one who was at Hogwarts with you?"

"The very same."

"And you're jealous?"

"No! I told you I don't care tuppence for this girl," Sirius protested, getting to his feet and going to stand by the window. "But Snape's always been a bit ... well, he was always interested in the Dark Arts and such, he hates muggle-borns - he even attacked Lily once at school, and jinxed Aurora. I've often suspected he might be a Death Eater, or at least connected to the Death Eaters in some way. And now he's going out with this girl, and it seems to me that she's as little into the Dark Arts as you or I."

"But that's good. She may be able to change his mind about Voldemort and bring him over to our side."

"Or she might get herself into a whole lot of trouble," Sirius said. "I can't explain it, Bridget, but I've got a feeling about her. A feeling like going out with Snape is going to cause her a lot of bother, maybe even put her in danger, only I can't put my finger on why I feel that."

Bridget looked at him thoughtfully. "You think she might be about to make the same mistake I did?"

Sirius shrugged.

"Perhaps you ought to speak to her about it," Bridget advised. "Warn her, as a friend, what you suspect Severus Snape of. Maybe she will even be able to help our side, if you're right and she really is against the Dark Arts."

"I'm sure she is," he said positively.

Bridget smiled. "There you are then."

Sirius turned away from the window to face her. "Perhaps I'll write to her," he said. "I don't know where she lives, but I know her name, and it's not a common one. I'm sure any owl will be able to find her in no time."

"So, what do you think?" Lily asked, twirling in front of the mirror in her bedroom, dressed in a silky blue bridesmaid's dress.

"Very pretty," said James.

Lily stopped twirling and examined her reflection. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes."

She tugged discontentedly at the seam around the sleeve.

"It itches."

"Stop scratching," James said, catching her hand as she began to do just that.

"Can't they make these things more comfortable?"

"They're not meant to be comfortable, dear, they're meant to look nice," her mother pointed out, stroking Lily's long red hair back fondly. "And you do look nice. Doesn't she, James?"

"Very," James agreed wholeheartedly.

At that moment, Petunia poked her head around the door.

"Anyone seen my shoes?" she asked.

"Oh, sorry." Lily slipped out of the white shoes she was wearing and handed them to her sister.

"What are you doing with them?" Petunia demanded.

"I was just seeing whether the style would go with this dress or not. I haven't got any shoes to match it yet."

"What does it matter what shoes you wear?" Petunia snapped. "The dress goes right down to the floor anyway, no one's going to see your feet."

And with that, she departed again. Lily sighed.

"I wonder she even chose me as a bridesmaid at all. She only did it for appearance's sake, I dare say. Mustn't let her friends know she's got any reason to dislike her sister, they might ask awkward questions."

"Don't be silly, of course she doesn't dislike you," her mother objected quickly.

"No - she hates me," said Lily sadly.

"No one could hate you, dear. Could they, James?"

"I certainly couldn't," he agreed.

Lily smiled at them both. "Thanks."

*Dear Josephine,

I was wondering if you happen to be free for dinner one evening this week. There's something I'd like to talk to you about.

Best wishes,

Sirius*

Sirius read the note through. He had tried about a dozen ways of putting his concerns in writing, but they had all sounded too preachy, or too much like he was only saying this because he hated Snape. So in the end, he had decided that he would try and meet Josie, and tell her face to face what he thought of Snape. He sealed the letter, wrote her name on the front and put it in the pocket of his jacket.

"Bridget?" he called.

She appeared from the living room. "Yes?"

"I'm going out to post my letter. Don't know what time I'll be back. I might stop off at the Banshee or something after."

"All right. See you when I see you."

"Yep. Bye."

Bridget watched him shut the door of the flat behind him. She returned to the living room and picked up the book she had been reading. But she was not really able to concentrate on it. James and Sirius were out, she had no plans for the rest of the day but to sit here, quietly reading. It seemed a waste of a Saturday afternoon, really. Laying the book aside, she got up and went out into the hall. She stood beside the phone for a full five minutes before finally picking a number out of her address book, lifting the receiver and starting to dial. She changed her mind at the last minute and put the receiver down again. She had hardly returned to the living room and sat down, however, when the phone rang. She went back into the hall and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hello."

"Malcolm? What a coincidence, I had just thought of ringing you."

"You had?" his voice came cheerfully down the line. "Why's that?"

"Oh, I don't know. The boys have both gone out and I'm sort of at a loose end, I suppose."

"I see. So am I, actually. Nothing much to do. I was wondering if you'd like ... to get together."

"Why not," Bridget said. "I've been making biscuits. Would you like to come round for some tea?"

"Sounds great. I'll be with you in half an hour, if that's all right."

Bridget agreed, and replaced the receiver feeling a lot more content than she had moments before.

Peter Pettigrew was sitting in his bedroom, flicking through the pages of the Daily Prophet when there was a loud tap on his window and he looked up to see a tawny owl sitting there, a letter clasped firmly in its beak. He jumped up to let it in. His mother would have a fit if the neighbours saw the bird! The owl perched on the end of his bed and dropped the letter onto the duvet, then took off, back through the window. Peter picked it up, intrigued. It was definitely addressed to him. He broke the seal and read:

*Dear Mr. Pettigrew,

It is my understanding that you are currently in search of a position within the Ministry of Magic that would be suited to your particular strengths and interests. It so happens that my secretary was recently offered and accepted a new post, which means that I am in search of someone to take her place. She tells me that an acquaintance of hers, Mr. Malcolm Marley, recommends you as an honest individual who would not shun a heavy workload and long office hours. I would therefore like to offer you a post in the International Magical Office of Law. If you are interested in this position and what it entails, please let me know by return owl at your earliest convenience, so that we can arrange to meet and discuss the details.

Yours sincerely,

Veritus Legis

International Magical Office of Law

Ministry of Magic*

Peter stared at the letter in his hands. He could scarcely believe it. Him, a secretary to someone who sounded like he was pretty high up in the Ministry! He made a mental note to thank Malcolm the next time he saw him, and immediately got out a sheet of parchment and a quill to write an answer. He checked and double-checked his spelling, then decided he had better get someone to read his reply first, just to make sure. He thought of his parents, but it occurred to him that it might be unwise to get their hopes up too soon, before he had actually been given the job. Instead, he folded the letter and his drafted reply, put them in his trouser pocket and went to fetch a light jacket from the downstairs hall.

"Erm ... Mum, I'm going out for a bit," he announced, poking his head round the living room door.

"All right, dear," she answered, looking up briefly from the knitting needles she had been supervising as they worked by themselves. "Don't be too late."

"I won't."

Peter stepped out into the small street and looked left and right. There was nobody in sight. He quickly stuck out his wand arm, and the very next instant a large, purple triple-decker bus screeched to a halt right in front of him. He got on, told the driver where he wanted to go, paid and hastily sat down in a squashy armchair before the bus set off again, roaring along the roads, jumping to the head of unmoving traffic queues, causing garden fences, bus stops and parked cars to leap out of its way. Peter was grateful when the Knight Bus finally stopped by a familiar winding path which he followed uphill. He passed the statues of winged boars and made his way across the grounds of Hogwarts school and up to the magnificent front doors, which stood open to let in the sunshine. Up the great staircase he climbed and made his way along corridor after corridor until he reached the office of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. He knocked. The murmur of voices on the other side of the door ceased.

"Come in," said the familiar voice of his sister after a brief pause.

Peter pushed the door open and went in. Pippa looked up from her desk, and the person sitting on the chair opposite her turned her curly brown head, and uttered a surprised "Oh!"

"Peter!" Pippa exclaimed.

She jumped up, came over and hugged him.

"Err," said Peter, glancing uncomfortably past her to the girl still seated at the desk. "Hello. I'm sorry to interrupt."

"That's all right, dear," said his sister. "Heather and I were just about finished anyway, I think."

"Yes," said the girl, getting to her feet. "I think so too. Thank you, Miss Pettigrew."

Pippa smiled at her kindly. "That's perfectly all right. As your teacher, it's my job to make sure you learn to deal with difficulties like these, and to help you as much as I can."

Heather managed a weak smile in return. Then she turned, somewhat hesitantly, to Peter.

"It's ... been a long time since I saw you around here," she said awkwardly.

"Uhh ..." said Peter.

"Well, I hope you're doing well outside Hogwarts," Heather went on. "All of you."

"Y-yes, we're fine," Peter replied, embarrassed at being spoken to.

For a moment, Heather seemed to wait for him to offer more information. But as none was forthcoming, she said "Well, goodbye then" and headed for the door. She paused, however, just as her hand touched the door handle, and looked back at Peter rather shyly.

"You ... I suppose ... Have you ... seen Remus lately?"

"Yes. Lots of times," he answered.

"Is he ... How is he?" she asked quickly. "What's he been doing?"

"He's doing great," Peter said, overcoming his shyness with an effort and going on, "He's working at the Ministry at the moment, and studying Defence Against the Dark Arts in his spare time. He's getting really good at it."

"He's ... happy then?"

"Yes, I think so," Peter answered, looking puzzled at the question. "He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself the other night," he added with a laugh. "You should have seen it. We all went to this place called the Bouncing Banshee, and Remus actually got up and danced ..."

"Oh." Heather's face, which had been watching Peter's eagerly, fell. "Who with?"

"Aurora Borealis. You remember her, I expect."

"Oh," Heather said again. "Yes. I see. Well. If ... when you see him again, would you tell him ..."

"Yes?"

Heather sighed. "Nothing. Bye."

She turned back towards the door, and this time went out. To Peter's surprise, Pippa sighed too as she went and sat down behind her desk. He turned around to look at her. There was an expression halfway between annoyance and pity on her face.

"What's the matter?" Peter asked, sitting on the chair Heather had left empty.

"You. I don't suppose you could have been much more tactless if you'd tried."

He stared at her. Her tone, though not exactly unkind, was harder than he had ever heard it when she spoke to him.

"W-what d'you mean?"

"I had Heather in here for the first time a couple of days ago," Pippa explained. "I'm afraid she really isn't much good at Defence Against the Dark Arts, but I'd seen from the reports Professor Darkhardt gave her that there was a time when she wasn't quite so bad. I mentioned it to her. She told me Remus used to help her, give her extra lessons on Saturdays. But then he stopped, some time during your last year here at Hogwarts, saying he needed the time to study for his N.E.W.T.s. Now, I don't know what happened back then, but Heather was obviously very upset about it. She was near to tears when we talked about it. And then you come along and tell her, just like that, that Remus has been dancing with another girl."

"Oh," said Peter, comprehension suddenly dawning on him. "You mean she's still upset about it? But why should she be? I mean, it was ages ago now, it doesn't matter, does it?"

"You have a lot to learn, brother dear," Pippa sighed. She shook her head and went on, "Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, fine," he told her, remembering the reason why he had come in the first place. "I just got this letter. Look."

He dug the letter out of his pocket and showed it to her. Pippa read it through.

"This is good news," she said enthusiastically.

"Yes, and it was ever so nice of Malcolm to enquire for me, especially as he's not even at the Ministry any more himself."

Pippa smiled warmly. "He's a nice man."

Peter nodded eagerly and went through his pockets again.

"I've been working on a reply, but I'm not sure if it's okay. Could you take a look?"

"Of course."

Pippa took it from him and read it. As she did so, she found herself wondering how Malcolm's plan was proceeding, and how long it would be before he received the last pieces of information he needed in order to go ahead with it.

Tea and Truth

"Hello," said Bridget, as she opened the door to let Malcolm in.

"Hello." He hung up his summer jacket on a hook by the door. "Terrible traffic out there today. It looks like everyone's fleeing for a day at the seaside while the weather's still nice."

"Well, I'm glad you braved the trials of London traffic."

"There's not much I wouldn't brave for a cup of tea," he laughed.

Bridget smiled. "I'll put the kettle on then."

They had an enjoyable chat over tea and Bridget's home-made biscuits, and were about to set about washing up the mugs when the telephone rang. Bridget went to answer it, and came back almost at once, looking suddenly pale and anxious.

"Who was it?" Malcolm asked.

"Mrs. Hammersmith. She's ill. Would you mind awfully ...?"

Malcolm put down the half-cleaned mug he was holding at once. "I'll come with you," he said quickly.

Bridget unlocked the door to Mrs. Hammersmith's flat with her own key. They found the old lady on her knees by the telephone, clutching at her chest and gasping for breath.

"I'll ring the doctor," said Bridget. "If you could get her into the bedroom ...? It's through there." She pointed.

Malcolm nodded, and bent down to help the old lady to her feet and gently guide her to her bed. Bridget joined them as Malcolm was tucking Mrs. Hammersmith in, and she stopped in the doorway, shivering slightly. Malcolm came to stand beside her.

"Has she had seizures like this before?"

Bridget nodded unhappily. "Yes. A couple of times. The thing is, they seem to be getting worse. The first time it was just a short spasm, but now ..."

The doctor came quickly. After examining Mrs. Hammersmith, he came to find Bridget in the kitchen.

"I'm afraid the old girl's definitely getting weaker, Mrs. Potter," he said, polishing his glasses.

"Shouldn't she be in hospital, in that case?" Malcolm asked.

"No, no. She'll be quite comfortable here for the present - and happier," the doctor added with a wry smile.

"Yes," Bridget agreed shakily. "She - she's always hated hospitals."

"And despised the doctors who work in them. All the same, she may have to go in one before too long. If I may, Mrs. Potter, I would advise you to ring her family, sooner rather than later."

"Is it really that bad?" Bridget asked.

"I'm afraid it might be. Mrs. Hammersmith's done fine for her age, but I fear she probably won't live to see her ninety-fifth birthday."

Bridget gulped, and Malcolm quickly put an arm around her shoulder. "On the other hand, she might," he said defiantly, though without much conviction. He hadn't realised just how old Mrs. Hammersmith was. "She's lasted this long, hasn't she?"

He smiled down at Bridget, but her return smile was very unsure.

"Somehow I've always thought she'd just go on forever," she said in a voice that caught in her throat. "She's helped me such a lot over the years, and she was always - well, there. I really don't want her to - to go. Not yet."

She sniffed, and turned around to let Malcolm hold her comfortingly. The doctor replaced his polished glasses on his nose.

"Well, I'd better be going. Do please ring me if there's any change, won't you? Goodbye."

Malcolm saw the doctor to the door and returned to find Bridget trying to make more tea in the kitchen and constantly dropping things as she did so. He took the mug she had almost smashed out of her hand.

"Sit down," he said gently. "I'll see to that. If you don't mind me using magic, that is. Faith tells me the tea I make in the 'traditional' fashion is undrinkable."

"Y-you don't have to," Bridget said haltingly, watching as he rummaged in the drawer for a spoon. "I'll be all right, I'm sure you don't want to hang around here."

"You helped me out with my troubles, now it's my turn. Any idea where she hides her sugar?"

Bridget went to a cupboard and produced a sugar bowl.

"There's really no need, though," she assured him. "I know I got a bit upset just now, but that's just because I'm a bit worried. I'm fine, really."

Malcolm turned to face her. "Do you want me to go?" he asked.

"Oh no! I mean ... well ... I don't want you to feel you have to stay if you don't want to."

Malcolm shook his head, smiling. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked straight at her. "I promise you there is nothing I would rather do right now than slave away making tea while you sit by the old lady's bed."

Bridget gave him a strange look in return, one that he could not quite understand but that made him somehow nervous and caused his stomach to turn over. He released her shoulders and turned away.

"So stop telling me what I don't need to do and go and see how the old dear is," he said.

Bridget hesitated momentarily, then did as he suggested.

Faith sighed heavily and looked up from her sewing. Sitting in his usual armchair by the currently unlit fire, John continued to read his Daily Prophet without so much as a glance in her direction, which struck her as strange. There had been a time, not so long ago even, when the slightest sigh or sign of discontent or worry that came from her would immediately have been followed by a concerned enquiry on his part as to what was troubling her. Faith could not pretend that she had not found this habit of his slightly annoying from time to time, but its sudden absence made her anxious, as it seemed to indicate that he was preoccupied with something. Her suspicions were confirmed by the fact that he did not even look up when she rose from her chair and went to the door. She paused and looked back at him.

"Would you like a slice of fruitcake?" she asked, keeping her voice as light as she could.

John looked up with a start. "Wha- oh, yes dear, thank you," he replied mechanically.

With a slight frown, Faith noticed that he turned his attention back to the paper even before she had left the room.

*Don't be silly,* she told herself as she took a couple of plates out of the kitchen cupboard and removed the foil that she had wrapped around the cake to keep it fresh. *You're just imagining things. Anyway, you can't expect him to be watching you all the time. You'd hate it if he did.*

She cut off a very crooked slice of cake and put it on one of the plates. Furious with herself for letting silly worries distract her, she cut the next slice rather over-generously, though it was at least straight this time.

When she returned to the living room, John was in the same position as she had left him. Passing him the plate with the thick slice she said,

"You'd better have this one. I'm afraid the other turned out more like a hill than a slice."

"Hm," murmured John, taking his plate distractedly with one hand and still not looking up.

Faith sat down and fingered her own cake, then set it aside irritably. She studied her husband's grave face, now framed by as many grey hairs as black, his once so bright blue eyes faded and heavy. Her own eyes began to sting. She loved him, now as much as ever. But it was clear to her, however much she tried to tell herself that she was imagining things, that there was something between them these days. It had begun quite slowly, creeping in, occupying his mind and distracting him now and then. But it had since grown stronger and stronger, like a wall building up between them that she could not get through, a wall that John had made. John who had always promised her that nothing would ever come between them, that nothing, from his position at work and his status in wizard society to his own mother's affection, mattered to him as much as she did. John whom she needed more than anything.

Faith took a deep breath and got up. She took both John's plate and the newspaper from him and placed them on the table, then sat on the arm of his chair, looking down at him seriously. He looked back at her, surprised.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"You tell me," said Faith quietly.

He gazed at her blankly for a moment, then suddenly looked slightly worried.

"What do you mean?" The question was quieter this time, and there was a guarded tone about his voice.

"Oh John, don't let's beat about the bush. Something's up, isn't it? It's been coming on for ages, you've just been becoming more and more distant with me."

"I haven't!" he exclaimed, but the protest lacked somewhat in certainty. "I'm sorry," he added guiltily. "It's nothing you should worry about. Just ..."

"Yes?"

He indicated the newspaper. "That. What it says. All that's going on in the wizarding world, ... it's getting me down, I suppose."

Faith shuddered. "Yes. The developments are very worrying. I'm afraid nearly every day when I watch you and Remus go off to work that something dreadful might happen. They say the Ministry's practically under the control of - of You-Know-Who. It's a terrifying thought. But that's only part of it with you, isn't it? Don't lie to me, John," she said, stalling his protest. "You never used to. Don't start now, please. You're keeping something secret from me, something other than just being worried about the news. It's made you more and more withdrawn and weary, and I can't bear to see you like that any more. Whatever it is, it's got to come out."

John looked sadly into her eyes. "I wish I could tell you, Faith. I really do. But I can't, for your sake."

"For my sake? John, don't you understand? Nothing you can have to tell me could be worse than sensing that there's something you're keeping from me. I can't imagine anything you could say that would hurt me more than seeing you torment yourself like this."

"Funny. Bridget said something like that," John murmured thoughtfully, more to himself than to her.

"Bridget ..." Faith's voice faltered briefly. "Yes, I've seen you talking to her. You talk to her a lot, don't you?" She continued more quietly, "Is that the reason? Have you become so distant with me lately because of ... her?"

John stared at her in disbelief.

"What?" he fairly exploded. "Have you been thinking ... have you been getting ideas in your head that I ... I don't believe it!"

And suddenly, so loudly that Faith jumped with fright, he started laughing.

"You silly girl," John said fondly when he was able to speak again. He kissed her, then sat back to look at her, shaking his head and smiling, though his eyes were still heavy. "Don't you see?" he said softly. "Everything I've ever done or not done, that I've said or kept to myself ... was for you."

"No, I don't see. It doesn't make sense."

John sighed and took her hands between his. He looked away, debating as he did so how to begin. Finally he said quietly,

"I should have listened to the others. They told me you needed to know, that not telling you would only make it worse. Bridget said you'd suffer more by not sharing my worries than you would if you knew ..."

"If I knew what?" Faith asked almost timidly.

John swallowed and at last looked up again. His eyes were filled with sorrow. "My love," he began, "I think it's time I told you about ... the Order of the Phoenix."

Remus placed the last sheet of parchment in a large folder and set it on a high shelf. He turned back to his desk, where the odd little black rat was snoozing peacefully in its cage, and frowned.

"And what, might I ask, are you doing in your office on a bright and sunny Saturday afternoon?" demanded a voice from the doorway.

Remus spun round and stared. "Aurora! How on earth did you get in so quietly?"

She grinned. "I sneaked up on tiptoe. You were so engrossed in those old scraps of parchment. They must be really fascinating."

"How did you know I'd be here?"

She shrugged. "Intuition, I suppose. You usually are here. It's not good for you, by the way, working non-stop. You know that, don't you?"

"I wasn't working. Just looking up something ..."

"So you were studying, not working, eh? Big difference," she said sarcastically, coming into the room and fingering the rat's cage on the desk. "What's he still doing here then?" she asked. "I thought you'd have found a home for him by now, or passed him on to another department."

"I was going to ..." Remus began hesitantly.

He passed her, looked out into the hall and shut the door - not that there was anyone about who might overhear them.

"I actually haven't told anyone about him yet. Except you, of course. I've been hiding him, to tell you the truth. And it hasn't always been easy. But I can't risk anyone finding him."

"Why not? I thought it was your job to 'assess' these creatures and pass them on to the right division."

"It is," Remus agreed. "Only they don't always handle things as you and I would expect. You remember my telling you about Minx?"

"The cross between a cat and a bat that Peter was so frightened of? Yes. What about her?"

Remus frowned unhappily. "I heard what became of her. They decided she was a dangerous hybrid and - and sent her to be disposed of."

Aurora stared at him, horrified. "Disposed of? You mean to say they - they ..."

"Killed her. Yes," he confirmed grimly. "That's why I've been hiding this little fellow here ever since the day when you first saw him. He's not been biting me any more since you 'talked' to him, but I don't think he'd feel so friendly towards other people who he thinks might wish him harm. You can't blame him, he'd be quite right to think so."

"But you can't keep him hidden forever."

"No. I need to find some place for him."

"Can't you take him home?"

Remus shook his head. "Mum would have a fit. She's not keen on rats, especially ones that bite. But," he added, struck by an idea, "you could take him."

"Me?"

Remus nodded eagerly. "He trusts you. You understand him, and you can teach him to stop biting everyone in sight. I'm sure he'd make a loyal pet for you. What do you say?"

"We-ell," said Aurora. She looked down at the rat, whose ears twitched as it stirred in its sleep, then back at Remus, who was watching her with a hopeful expression on her face. "All right," she said at last. "I'll take him."

"Great." Remus sounded relieved. "Thanks."

"Of course, that means you owe me a favour now."

"Anything you want."

Aurora grinned. "Be careful what you promise." When Remus looked slightly worried, she laughed. "Don't worry. I'll be good. How about ... you could take me to the theatre next Saturday. That's nice and harmless."

Remus shook his head. "I'd love to, but I can't. Not next Saturday. There'll be a full moon."

"Oh." Aurora looked crestfallen for a moment, but then an idea seemed to come to her and she brightened up. "Tell you what," she said excitedly. "We could go to the afternoon performance, and you can come back to my place afterwards, before it gets dark. I could set you up for the night."

"Aurora, you know that's imposs-"

"No, listen, it'll be okay. I have a cellar that's never used, and if I make sure to lock you up before the moon comes out ..." - she smiled apologetically as he raised his eyebrows - "... and get Lily to put some anti-muggle charms on the door for us, then you'll be quite safe."

"Oh yes? And what if one of your neighbours hears noises down there and unlocks the door to investigate?"

"Actually, I don't think any of them would be brave enough to investigate the kind of noises you'd make. But I'm sure we can arrange some sort of noise-absorbing charm, too. Lily's excellent at that sort of thing."

Remus frowned, but Aurora was looking at him so hopefully and pleadingly, that he finally gave in with a sigh.

"Well, all right then. Just this once."

Aurora beamed. "I knew you'd say 'yes'. Oh, it'll be so exciting, won't it?"

"If you say so," he replied doubtfully.

Aurora nodded firmly. "I do say so. And now let's drop this little fellow off at my place and go out somewhere, shall we? We can't have you shut away in your office all day, you'll end up all pale and weedy."

Remus smiled and suddenly hugged her. "You are a dear, you know," he said, going slightly red as he let go of her and became very preoccupied with packing his bag. "What would I do without you?"

Aurora watched the back of his head, her own smile fading. It seemed to her that the mood had changed all of a sudden, from friendly banter to ... she wasn't sure what. There was a long silence before she said, in a tone totally different from the one she had used so far,

"No. It's you who are a dear, Remus. And I'm the one who doesn't know - what to do without you."

Her words, spoken so uncertainly and yet with utmost sincerity, caused him to look at her again. And suddenly Aurora moved closer to him, placing a hand on his chest, and kissed his lips slowly. For a moment, Remus kissed her back, his arms around her. Then he drew back hastily, and stared at her with something very near horror on his face.

Aurora watched him, and gave him a sad smile. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

But Remus was shaking his head in great distress. "No, I - I'm the one who should be sorry. Aurora ... I shouldn't have ... I can't ... I ... don't ..."

"You don't love me," she said matter-of-factly. "I know. I've always known that. It just felt like it was time for - for both of us to know what it could be like ... if you did. But don't worry. I neither expect nor want anything from you. Until just now, I thought I did, and that I'd be miserable when this moment came, as I knew it would. But I'm not. I do love you, Remus, but I think - not in the way I thought I did. And that's good, isn't it?"

"Good?" repeated Remus, looking as though he could see nothing at all that was good in the current situation.

"Yes, because it means I'm not going to cry my heart out and mope like I did over Sirius. We can just be what we always have been." She grinned. "Just good friends."

"Can we?" he asked uncertainly.

"Absolutely," Aurora affirmed. "We know where we stand now, don't we? And I can do this ..." - she took his hand and held it - "... without your thinking you have to show more than you feel for me."

Remus looked down at their joined hands and mumbled, "I feel ... such a cad."

"Don't be silly," Aurora reproached him firmly, dropping his hand at once and picking up the rat's cage. "You've never pretended anything to me, you haven't led me on, and you haven't even disappointed me. And it was I who kissed you, not the other way around, so the blame, if there is any, is mine entirely."

"I don't blame you," he said quietly. "In fact, I think I should be thanking you. I don't suppose, if you hadn't kissed me, that I ever would have got to know ... what it's like."

"If that's so, then the girls of this world must need their heads tested." Aurora's smile broadened. "You see. So there are no hard feelings, and it's high time we went for some tea or something. Come along."

She led the way briskly out of the office and Remus followed more slowly.

Back at the Banshee

The afternoon was fading into evening by the time Josie Coronis, standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom and peering past the many photographs she had plastered it with at her reflection, heard the tapping of an owl's beak at her window. She laid aside her powder compact and went to let the bird in. It held out its leg to her immediately, and Josie untied the letter it was carrying. She unfolded it and, as was her custom, read first the bottom line to see who it was from. It was with some surprise that she saw the name at the bottom of the rather short message. Intrigued, she began to read. Then she reread the letter.

So Sirius Black wanted to meet her, did he? Josie frowned. What could he want? Well, it didn't matter, she thought, turning the letter sideways and preparing to tear it in half. There was nothing he could have to say that would interest her. After all, Sevvie didn't like Sirius, so it was better if she didn't meet him.

On the other hand she, Josie, had liked Sirius in the short time she had had to get to know him. And she had been wondering ever since that incident what there was between him and Sev that made them hate each other so much. She couldn't for one moment imagine that anything so melodramatic as attempted murder could really be behind it all. Her curiosity had been aroused. But ever since that night, Severus had been different. He had reverted, for a while, to being as he was when they had first met, to barely speaking at all. He had only yesterday become more relaxed again, just as she had made up her mind to ask him what it was really all about. She had decided against putting her question to him after all, fearing that he might close up again if she did.

She stared down at Sirius's note in her hand. Here was her chance to ask someone else, someone who could give her answers to all her questions. But also someone she knew Severus hated. If he got to hear that she was meeting Sirius, he would be furious. Well, she decided, he mustn't hear of it then. She would have to be careful, plan the meeting for an evening when he wouldn't find it strange that they couldn't meet.

Taking a sheet of parchment - dyed turquoise and with her initials watermarked in the bottom right-hand corner - and a peacock-feather quill, she paused briefly, then scribbled a hasty reply.

*Meet muggle side of Leaky Cauldron Wednesday 7 p.m.

J.*

Feeling rather guilty, she sealed the letter and wrote the name 'Sirius Black' on the outside. Then she handed it back to the owl.

"Here, take that to Sirius's place," she said.

Sirius was sitting in a booth at the back of the Bouncing Banshee, leaning into the shadows and watching young wizards and witches mill about like oversized ants, talking in loud voices, laughing, dancing, spilling drinks, apologising - or not, as the case may be - and shuffling off again into the crowd.

The band was playing a tune that was more loud than melodious, and every now and then the statue of the banshee let out a high-pitched wail. Sirius took a sip of his Harpy Highball and wondered, not for the first time since doing it, whether it had been right to post that letter to Josie. Snape, he knew, would not appreciate it in the least if he found out Sirius was trying to meet secretly with his girlfriend. Girlfriend. For some reason, the very thought of Snape having a girlfriend, whether it was Josie or some other girl, revolted Sirius.

*But why should it?* he wondered. Lily was right, there must be some people who liked Snape, for whatever reason. No person could go through life totally unwanted, could they? But how could anyone like Snape? A frown creased Sirius's brow.

"Hello," said a cheerful voice all of a sudden, speaking from the mouth of a silhouette that had just blocked a fair quantity of the lights from view. "All on your own, Sirius? That's not like you."

Annoyed at having his broodings about Snape interrupted, Sirius looked up, though he already knew from the voice it was Frank Longbottom.

"Hello, Frank," he said with a distinct lack of his usual levity.

"Mind if I join you?"

Sirius gave a murmur, and Frank interpreted it correctly as meaning that Sirius did not mind.

"So," said Frank, "where have you left the others?"

"James is at Lily's," Sirius answered. "I've no idea where Pete is. And Remus said he had some studying to do."

"At the weekend?"

Sirius shrugged. "You know Remus."

"Hm."

Realising that Sirius was not in a particularly chatty mood, Frank looked down at the dance floor, lapsing into silence. Presently he noticed a group of girls a short distance away who seemed to be trying to look inconspicuous in as obvious a manner as possible. They kept turning around, covering their mouths with their hands and whispering, then breaking out in fits of giggling and looking away again.

"You seem to have a fan club," Frank commented.

"Fan club?" Sirius looked across at the girls when Frank indicated them. They all blushed furiously and turned away so quickly that two of them collided with each other and spilt their drinks all down them.

Frank laughed, and Sirius's mood seemed to brighten a little.

"What can I say?" he said lightly. "Irresistible, that's me."

His words, however, died in his throat as he saw two people pushing their way towards them through the crowds. It was Remus and Aurora.

"Hey!" Frank cried happily, waving at them in welcome.

"Hello." Aurora beamed at both him and Sirius, who looked up at her rather uncomfortably.

His expression, in fact, was not all that different from Remus's. Remus was looking awkward. He muttered a barely audible greeting and kept looking anxiously around him.

"Why don't you sit down?" Sirius heard Aurora say to Remus in a voice that was perhaps a little too cheerful. "I'll go and get us some drinks. What would you like? Gillywater?"

Remus nodded. "Are you sure you can manage to carry the drinks on your own?"

"I'll help," Frank put in eagerly, getting to his feet. "I haven't got anything myself yet, and my mouth is a bit dry. Want anything, Sirius?"

Sirius shook his head. Remus sat down next to him, still looking slightly anxious. Eventually, Sirius got tired of the way his friend kept peering nervously around and demanded impatiently,

"What's the matter with you today?"

"Nothing," lied Remus.

Sirius raised both eyebrows at him.

"Oh, all right," Remus sighed. "To tell you the truth, I didn't want to come here. I tried to persuade Aurora to go somewhere else. I think I almost succeeded. But then I made the mistake of telling the reason her why I didn't want to come."

"Which is ...?"

"Oh, you know," Remus said evasively. "What happened last time."

"What do you mean?"

"Just the ... incident with Snape. The things he said."

"I've told you, Remus, you shouldn't take any notice of what he says," Aurora insisted, returning to the table with a drink in her hand, while Frank followed behind her, carrying his own and Remus's. She sat down. "Just because he insulted you ..."

"... in front of hundreds of witnesses who might put two and two together and work out what he was getting at," Remus pointed out.

"Oh, so that's it, is it?" Sirius remarked. "The same old story. Planning to run and hide, were you?"

"Well, no, not exactly," Remus said quietly.

"Listen, no one here's going to let Snape drive you out, or anyone else for that matter. We won't give him the satisfaction."

"Sirius is right," Aurora agreed fervently. "It would be giving Snape exactly what he wants."

"Yes, I know," Remus said quietly. "Still ... if anyone figured out what he was saying, then ..."

"Then so what?" Sirius demanded irritably. "Even if any of the idiots around us that night should prove to have the brains required to guess it ... If they decide they're not going to like you just because you're a werewolf ..."

"Shh, keep your voice down, please," Remus hissed.

Sirius shook his head and looked away, only to find the group of girls goggling in his direction again, whispering to one another. He frowned and turned back to Remus, who was looking worried and slightly hurt.

"Look, I'm sorry," Sirius said more calmly. "I do understand your not wanting anyone to know, and if it hadn't been for me, Snape would never have hinted in public."

"Forget it," Remus said with a faint smile.

"All friends again?" Aurora asked brightly. "Good. Because I want to dance. Come on, Remus."

Remus's smile faded. "No, really. I'd rather not."

"I thought we'd agreed you weren't going to hide."

"Yes, but still, I don't want to, not right now."

"I will," said Sirius quickly.

Frank, who had opened his mouth to speak at the same time, closed it again without making a sound. Remus, meanwhile, was studying Aurora's reaction. She looked uncertain at first, but then the corners of her mouth twitched upwards, and she said,

"Excellent. Come on then."

Sirius got up, and the pair of them made their way to the dance floor. Frank stared after them.

"Where have you left Damian this evening?" Remus asked him.

"Eh?" Frank replied distractedly. "Who?"

"Damian," Remus repeated.

"Damian? Oh, he's got a date with Alice Spriggs at the Leaky Cauldron tonight."

"I see."

Remus returned his attention to his gillywater, absent-mindedly watching the reflection of the many-coloured lights in the liquid. A sigh from Frank made him look up.

"What's up?" he asked.

Frank shook his head. There was a pause, then he asked hesitantly,

"Do you think they'll ever make it up? Sirius and Aurora, I mean?"

"Oh, I think they're well on the track to becoming friends again," said Remus. He studied Frank's profile, and suddenly something dawned on him. "Don't worry, I think Aurora's case is one of 'once bitten, twice shy' where Sirius is concerned."

"Oh, I didn't mean ..." Frank protested hastily, but broke off, seeing the grin creep across Remus's face.

"No? It's all right, you know. I won't tell her. Unless you want me to."

Frank hesitated. Then he admitted,

"I ... well, I've liked her for ages, you see. But I don't expect a girl like her could ever see anything in someone like me."

"Why not?" Remus asked seriously. "There's nothing wrong with you, Frank. You're honest, decent, on the right side ..." He paused, thinking back to that memorable conversation he had once had with Aurora, by the lake at Hogwarts. "And you're sincere," he added slowly. "That counts for a lot with a girl like her."

Frank stared at him. "You really think she might - I might stand a chance?"

"I don't see why not. It's worth a try, isn't it?"

Frank gazed half unhappily, half hopefully into Remus's eyes, then down to where the other two were dancing.

"God, this is scary, Remus," he whispered. "Even the thought of talking to her, of maybe even asking her out. Is that - normal, do you reckon?"

"I suppose so," Remus said thoughtfully.

He could not help but remember what a pair of blue eyes sparkling in a pretty face whose cheeks were flushed from excitement and the bite of the chill Christmas air. A cold seemed to come over him. He lifted his glass to his lips and took several small sips, so that Frank would not notice how quiet he had become.

An Unexpected Invitation

Faith was crying. Her hand trembled as she covered her face with it. John reached up and pulled her off the arm of the chair and onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Oh, John, I'm so frightened," she sobbed.

"I know," he said softly, stroking her hair. "I know. That's why I never wanted to tell you, even though everyone was insisting I should. I wanted to spare you the anxiety. I wanted to keep you safe. I wish I'd been more successful in hiding my fears, that you'd never had to find out. That I hadn't told you ..."

"No," Faith said firmly, pulling herself together and leaning back to look at him. "No, John. They were right. You had to tell me. I couldn't bear the thought of you carrying this burden around with you and not sharing it with me. Yes, I'm scared, but I would rather have it that way than watch the worry consuming you."

She stroked his cheek tenderly.

"I don't want you to protect me at your own expense."

He smiled fondly at her.

"My love," he whispered, "You're so sweet. I honestly don't know how I would exist without you."

Faith kissed him and put her arms around him once more. As he held her, John felt a great load leave him. He had told her. Yes, there was danger, his work for the Order could lead him to an early death at almost any moment. But at least he no longer carried the weight of knowing that he was keeping something so important from his wife. Or at least, that he was keeping so much that was important from her. Because there was one thing he had not told her. He had not been able to bring himself to tell her what her brother was planning. If she knew that Malcolm would, very soon, be venturing into the heart of the lion's den ... Without meaning to, John held her more tightly to him. He daren't imagine what would happen if his brother-in-law was found out. And he certainly could not bear to tell Faith this, on top of everything else.

When Remus got home that night, he was surprised to find a light shining under the living room door, though the hour was late. He pushed the door open, and his father looked up as he walked into the room. John placed a finger to his lips. Faith was lying curled up in his lap, fast asleep with her head on his shoulder. Remus watched as his father lifted his mother up and carried her upstairs. He followed slowly, reaching the landing just as John was quietly closing the bedroom door.

"Is everything all right?" Remus asked in a whisper.

John smiled. "Yes, my boy," he said, placing his hand on Remus's shoulder and leading him back downstairs. "I've told her," he explained when they reached the kitchen.

"You have?" Remus exclaimed, surprised. "What - everything?"

"Nearly everything."

Without bothering to ask what his father had left out, Remus glanced up at the ceiling, as though trying to see through it to where his mother lay.

"How did she take it?"

"She's upset and worried," said John. "But I think she'll be all right."

Remus studied his father's face. The load that had been lifted from his mind was already showing in his features. His eyes seemed less heavy, his brow less creased, his mouth stretched much more freely into an affectionate smile.

"Good," Remus said. "I'm sure it's for the best."

At about the same time, Malcolm was hanging his jacket up on a hook in his flat. He took a bottle of butterbeer out of the fridge, opened it and took a long draught. He went into the small living room and sat at the table, allowing thoughts and memories to float around his mind, staring unseeingly at the lines in the wood. Feeling tired, but too unsettled to sleep, he got up off his chair again and went to the front room cupboard. He pulled open drawers at random, looking for something - anything - to do. His gaze fell on a pile of photographs. He took them out and began looking at them. His hand slowed as he came to some pictures taken at John and Faith's about a year ago. It showed Bridget sitting on the fence beside a tall rose bush in the front garden, smiling.

A sudden rapping sound on the window brusquely interrupted his study of the picture. An owl was beating its beak against the window. Dropping all but the topmost photograph, Malcolm went to let it in and took the note it proffered before taking flight almost hastily. The message was brief.

*When the seventh morning dawns, look to better days that will make a new man of you.*

Malcolm balled the hand that held the note into a fist, screwing it up in the process. He looked once more at the photograph.

*Saturday morning,* he thought. *Well, that gives me plenty of time. Even if they have a new identity for me, it will take a month to make the potion. Plenty of time,* he repeated to himself.

James, too, got home late that night. He pulled on his pyjamas and decided to have a bite to eat before he went to bed. He went into the kitchen and headed for the fruit bowl on the table. There was something propped up against it. A letter. The address was written on it in scarlet ink, in a strange, slanting scrawl he didn't recognise. His name was on the front. Puzzled, he sat down and opened it, unfolding the parchment with care. The letter was short, written in the same handwriting and with the same ink as the address on the front.

*Dear James,

I was wondering whether you would not like to come and visit me tomorrow for lunch. I realise you are probably somewhat surprised by this invitation, but I must ask you to put it down to the eccentricity of an old man who is finally coming to realise that family ties mean more to him than he always thought. I hope you will accept my invitation.

Since I have taken great pains to conceal the whereabouts of my house, I would appreciate it if you could wear your Invisibility Cloak to avoid detection. Also, I would ask you to use the secret entrance, which you will find as follows ...*

There followed a lengthy description of the location of a hidden gate, along with the incantation required to open it, and instructions on how to proceed afterwards. At the bottom of the page was the signature of Gordon Gryffindor.

James stared at the letter, his mouth hanging slightly open. His grandfather? His grandfather was inviting him to lunch? Just like this, out of the blue? Without his mother? At the same time as he puzzled over these strange circumstances, he noticed something else. A casual remark slipped in as though by accident, but highly significant to him. *I would appreciate it if you could wear your Invisibility Cloak* ...