Three Animagi and a Werewolf

Chapter 23: Into the Lair of the Serpent

An Old Lady's Wisdom

James hardly slept a wink all night. His grandfather's short note had kept him wondering. He rose early, but soon discovered that he was not the only one to have had a short night. There was a light on in the kitchen, and when he pushed the door open, he found his mother sitting fully dressed at the table with both hands around a steaming mug of coffee. She looked like she had had even less sleep than he had.

"Mum?" he said tentatively. "Is everything all right?"

She gave him a weak smile. "Mrs. Hammersmith had another one of her seizures last night," she explained.

"Oh. Was it bad?"

Bridget nodded tightly. It was not long before tears started to her eyes. She rubbed them with one hand, while James came to stand beside her and put his arms around her.

"How bad?" he asked, his voice quavering slightly.

"The doctor advised me to ring her family. He doesn't seem to think she'll be with us for much longer," Bridget replied, leaning against him.

James's jaw clenched. He had known the old girl all his life. For as long as he could remember, it had been himself, his mother and Mrs. Hammersmith, celebrating birthdays and Christmases, sharing Sunday outings. He had never mentioned it, but she was more or less like a grandmother to him. He felt a sudden surge of resentment towards he didn't know who or what, but a definite anger over the shortness of the ordinary muggle life span. So what if ninety-odd was a "fine old age" for a muggle! What was it to a wizard? Barely anything. For the first time that he was aware of, he wished that Mrs. Hammersmith were a witch.

"Hello," said a drowsy voice from the doorway, and Sirius appeared, rubbing his eyes. "Bridget? What's up?"

"Mrs. Hammersmith's getting worse, it seems," James told him quietly.

"Oh."

Sirius looked uncomfortable for a minute, standing there in his pyjamas with his eyes only half open because he was still tired, not sure of what to say. Then Bridget said,

"I'd better do as the doctor said and ring her family, just in case."

She made to get up, but James stopped her. "No, Mum, I'll do it. You're too upset as it is."

Sirius watched James squeeze his mother's shoulder and head past him to the telephone. He came over to the table and sat down slowly.

"Not much of a way to be woken up early on a Sunday morning, is it?" he commented. "With news like that."

Bridget gave a subdued sob.

"Hey, chin up, Bridget," Sirius said, reaching out to hold her hand. "You never know, she may pick up yet. She's had lots of bad spells before and come out of them none the worse for it."

But that, he reflected, was not really true. Silence fell. They heard James talking in a low voice out in the hall. A few minutes later, he returned, looking slightly puzzled.

"Well?" Sirius asked.

James shrugged his shoulders. "I spoke to her nephew. He didn't sound overly concerned, to be honest. Just said thanks for letting him know, that he'd see about telling the rest of the family and one of them would come down to London as soon as they could make it."

"What's that mean? This afternoon? Tomorrow?"

"Sounded more like he meant when it's too late," James said a trifle crossly.

"They never bothered about her much before, James, why should anything change now?" Bridget pointed out. She released Sirius's hand, drank her coffee and stood up. "I think I'll just pop down and see how she is."

"Okay, give me a minute to get dressed and I'll come with you," James said. "I haven't got long to hang about as it is. I've got an invitation to go to lunch."

"Is Lily going to leave you any room to breathe at all any more?" Sirius asked.

"Oh, it's not from Lily," said James. "It's from my grandfather."

Bridget shot him a surprised look. James looked at her rather apologetically.

"I got a note from him last night. Goodness knows what he wants."

"But you can't go and see him today," Sirius objected. "We're both due at Hogwarts at twelve. Don't you remember? Pippa and McGonagall's plan ..."

"Oh, that," James murmured. "Reuniting Darkhardt's Defenders or whatever it was they called it. I'd love to come, but I can't ignore this invitation. He might not ask me again."

"I would have thought practising defence was more important. I know we get loads of pratice at Auror training, but every little helps, doesn't it? And you know Moony would say we owe it to old Scarface's memory ..."

James gave a crooked smile.

"I'm quite sure Remus would never use the expression 'Scarface'. Look, tell him I'm sorry. Tell McGonagall I'm sorry. Whoever. Just explain to them that I can't miss this chance, all right?"

"All right," Sirius grumbled. "Suit yourself."

"I'll get it!" Remus called, hurrying down the stairs at the sound of a knock on the door. He opened it and exclaimed, pleasantly surprised, "Uncle Malcolm! Come in."

"Don't your parents take any sort of precautions?" Malcolm queried, coming into the hall and waiting while Remus closed the door again.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the world around us is falling apart, Death Eaters are attacking muggle-borns at every corner, torturing and killing purely for fun, and there's absolutely nothing to stop one of them apparating right on your front door step and marching straight into the house. Was the door even locked?"

"It was, until earlier this morning, when Mum went out to pick some mushrooms," Remus said. "But you're right, of course. I'll tell Dad we need to put in some anti-apparition charms."

"You can't be too careful these days," Malcolm pointed out.

Remus smiled in amusement. "Constant vigilance?"

Malcolm cocked his head to one side and studied his godson.

"You're in an unusually bright mood this morning, young man," he said curiously. "Any particular reason?" He grinned. "Is it a girl?"

"Not exactly," Remus replied thoughtfully. "I just had quite a good day yesterday. I suppose that's it."

"You must tell me all," said Malcolm, placing a hand on Remus's shoulder and guiding him into the kitchen with a conspiratorial air. "Well?"

"Well, it's not really all that exciting," Remus told him. "I mean, I finally found a home for the rat I've been hiding for ages, Aurora's not in love with me, no one at the Banshee seemed to have noticed Severus Snape's comment the other night and Dad's told Mum about the Order at last."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, but I'm afraid you're going to have to enlighten me. The fact that Aurora - I take it we are talking about the Order's own lovely legilimens, the girl any man in his right mind would want to marry if he was your age - is not in love with you is a cause to be cheerful?"

Remus nodded.

"And something this Severus Snape said went unremarked? Well, from what I've heard of him, I don't suppose anyone ever takes much notice of what he's got to say anyway, so at least that part makes sense. And your father's finally come to his senses and told your mother the truth?"

"Yes. And he seems a lot better for it already."

"Who seems a lot better for what?" John asked brightly, appearing in the kitchen doorway right on cue.

"I see what you mean," Malcolm said to Remus, noticing at once that John was walking much more upright than he had been lately, how his hair was tidier and his eyes, having regained some of the old sparkle, were less heavy and downcast. "Well, I must say I'm glad you've finally taken everyone's advice and told my little sister everything. It makes me sorry," he added in a more serious tone, "that I have to put a damper on the high spirits that seem to be prevailing in this house this morning. I ... erm ... got this last night. I thought you'd want to know ..."

He removed the note he had received from his pocket and handed it to John, whose face darkened almost at once.

"Is this about what I think it's about?" he asked, glancing at the note and passing it on to Remus.

"Yes," Malcolm confirmed. "I have to go to the Better Days Theatre on the seventh morning after receiving it. That's Saturday morning. Then they'll give me the information I need so I can take on my new identity."

John frowned and shut the door cautiously.

"What's that for? I thought you'd told her everything anyway," Malcolm said, sounding puzzled.

"Not this," John answered.

Remus looked up from the note. His expression, too, had turned earnest.

"Why not? She has to know eventually," Malcolm pointed out.

"Not if you change your mind before it's too late."

Malcolm gave a dry, exasperated laugh and strolled to the window. He watched a bird pecking for worms out in the garden and ran his fingers through his hair before turning back to face the other two.

"We've been through all this already, John. It is too late. And even if it wasn't, there is no other way. Once I'm in, I can keep my eyes and ears open for someone to take my place, someone who really is a Death Eater but has seen the error of his ways or whatever. But for now, this is our only option. Unless we want the Death Eaters to continue launching surprise attacks and being totally unprepared to defend ourselves or the lives of the innocent people they're killing."

"I know, I know," said John impatiently. "I just wish you'd reconsider, or at least give it a bit more time, see if we can't find someone within the Death Eaters' ranks already ..."

"It's too risky. Without any notion of who to contact, we could easily come up against the wrong one, and then they'd be warned against what we're planning, and they might expect us to try a plan like this, in which case it would stand no chance of success. Look, I'm not exactly over-keen on drinking polyjuice potion every hour and hanging around Voldemort's chamber of horrors, but it's the right thing to do. And quite frankly, John," Malcolm added, his voice rising and taking on a note of impatience, "I could do with a little support and faith in my intelligence and abilities."

It was Remus who answered him, speaking very softly and slowly.

"You will never be lacking in support or faith, Uncle Malcolm. But you must understand that we are worried about you. Our concern is for your safety, as we've told you before. We won't try to stop you any more. There's no point." He shot a glance at his father, who nodded slowly. "All we can do now is pray that your plan works out as you hope."

Malcolm took a deep breath. "Thanks," he said. He pointed to the note in Remus's hand. "You'll be at Hogwarts later, won't you? Will you tell them about this for me?"

"Of course."

Mrs. Hammersmith was lying tucked up in bed as Bridget had left her the night before when she and James entered. There was, however, a spark of colour in her cheeks that had been missing last night, though her eyes looked tired and faded.

"Bridget, my dear," she croaked, holding out a shaky hand which Bridget grasped hurriedly. "And Jamie."

James smiled and came into the room. He kissed the old lady's cheek and she managed a smile.

"How are you feeling?" James asked.

"All the ... better for seeing you two," came the shaky reply.

"You know, Hilda, I really think it might be an idea if you went into hospital," Bridget suggested gently. "I'm sure you'd be much more comfortable there, and they'd get you better much more quickly."

"Poppycock," snapped Mrs. Hammersmith with a brief return to her old self. "Doctors and nurses fussing over me all day is the last thing I need. Machines all around me, never-ending tests, tubes stuck to my arms, all those smelly old men wearing nothing but night shirts and nothing but a sickly green curtain to keep their germs from me? A hospital ward would just about finish me off. Not that I need it," she added, her voice breaking again. "I'm about ready to go as it is."

"No, no, you mustn't," James said quickly.

Mrs. Hammersmith smiled again. "I'm sorry, lad. Afraid I won't be able to hang around until you marry that pretty little girl of yours. You're taking too long."

James felt his cheeks flush and looked away. The old lady turned her head to Bridget.

"And you, my dear. As they get older, men can sometimes get restless and go looking elsewhere, you know. You don't want to risk that."

Bridget stared at her. James looked around at his mother, feeling rather bewildered.

"I don't know what you mean, Hilda," Bridget said.

Mrs. Hammersmith gave a loud tut. She took a deep breath and her eyes closed for a moment. It was obvious that the strength she had briefly regained was failing her once more. She opened her eyes again and said softly,

"I'm old, Bridget. I've gone a bit deaf. But it'd take me a lot more time in this world before I go blind."

Bridget kept her face impassive. "I really think you must be mistaken ..."

The old lady shook her head. "No. I saw the way he looked at you last night, when you both thought I was asleep."

James continued to stare at his mother, startled to see the colour creep into her cheeks. He started to open his mouth, but at that moment Mrs. Hammersmith breathed in sharply and clutched at her chest.

"It's nothing," she told them breathlessly, as both turned anxious faces towards her. "Just a spasm. Been over-reaching myself again. All this talk, you know. I'll just have a little nap, I think. I'll let you know if I need anything. Run along now, Bridget ... Jamie ..."

She closed her eyes, and fell asleep almost at once. James and Bridget left the room and closed the door softly behind them. Bridget walked away towards the kitchen, but James stood for a moment, thinking, before he looked up and said,

"Mum, what did she mean? I mean, who was she talking about? Who was here last night?"

"She's not well, James," said his mother. "She's rambling. Imagining things."

She left it at that. But James was far from convinced.

The Mirror and the Globe

"Tarantallegra!"

"Argh!"

"No, no, no!" cried Professor McGonagall, charging forward. "Finite Incantatem," she added in an exasperated tone, waving her wand at Peter Pettigrew to stop his legs from wobbling like bits of jelly. Sirius, who was standing a few paces away, lowered his wand.

"Sorry, Pete," he said cheerfully.

"I don't see what you have to apologise for," retorted McGonagall sharply. "You performed the jinx faultlessly, as usual. Mr. Pettigrew, on the other hand ..."

Grinning broadly, Sirius strode past her and reached down to help his friend to his feet. They were at Hogwarts, in the very same chamber where Professor Darkhardt had once given them extra lessons to prepare for the fight against Voldemort. McGonagall and Pippa Pettigrew had taken it upon themselves to continue what the late Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had started. It had been McGonagall who had suggested that it might be wise to invite certain of the younger members of the Order of the Phoenix along too, feeling that some of them - here she had shot a very noticeable glance at Peter - could well do with learning a bit more about duelling and defending themselves rather than embarking unprepared on dangerous missions.

"You are aware," the Transfiguration teacher was now saying to a most unhappy looking Peter Pettigrew, "of the incantation required to protect yourself against these kinds of jinxes?"

He murmured something incomprehensible in reply.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Protego," he repeated more loudly.

"Quite," snapped McGonagall. "Now, I have seen you perform a shield charm flawlessly against thin air before now, Mr. Pettigrew. Why is it that you cannot do so when you actually need to use it?"

Peter gulped. "I don't know," he said miserably.

McGonagall gave a deep sigh. "How do you hope," she said under her breath, so that those present who were not in the Order would not overhear, "to hold your own against a Death Eater bent on murder, let alone You-Know-Who himself, if you are not able to throw off the simplest jinxes and hexes your best friends throw at you without really meaning to do you harm?"

Peter was by now looking perfectly miserable, mumbling words no one could understand and looking near to tears. Professor McGonagall shook her head and walked away, to where Oliver McKinnon had just failed to hex Marlene Moss for the fifth time in a row.

"Mr. McKinnon, I have seen you perform much better than this before now," she said succinctly. "Might I suggest that you swap places with Mr. Prewett, as you seem to be incapable of employing spells against Miss Moss?"

Oliver nodded rather sheepishly. Marlene blushed and turned around at once to face Fabian. Peter, meanwhile, looked away from where his sister was standing, becoming distracted from supervising the two students she was supposed to be helping out of concern for her brother. He tried to wipe a tear from his eye without anyone noticing. A hand descended on his shoulder.

"All right, Peter?" Remus enquired kindly.

Peter shook his head. "I c-can't do it, Moony. I just c-can't."

"Nonsense," said Sirius gruffly. "It's only because the old dragon's putting you off. You'd do fine if she wasn't so rough with you. What's got into her today, anyway?"

"She wasn't happy James couldn't be bothered to turn up for our first meeting. And nor am I," Remus told him.

"Yes, well, that makes three of us," Sirius grunted.

"And, of course, she's worried," Remus pointed out quietly.

Sirius gave a loud snort. "She's got a funny way of showing it."

"We all have different ways of showing it, Sirius. She's trying to do her best to help prepare us all, and I think she just finds it frustrating that it's ... not going too well for some. I'm sure she doesn't mean to be unkind." He went on, as Sirius continued to look doubtful, "Think of that woman at your orphanage. Miss Dolesham, wasn't it? Didn't you always say McGonagall reminded you of her?"

"Yes."

"And can you see your Miss Dolesham being all over someone who's having problems and telling them everything will be all right and to just take a rest, have a good cry and not worry about it?"

"No," Sirius admitted with a faint grin. "She'd tell them to pull their socks up and not sit around feeling sorry for themselves."

"And would you say she was unkind?"

Sirius shook his head. "It was just her way. Okay, Remus, you win. I'll take McGonagall off my blacklist. But we need to teach old Wormtail to do that shield charm a bit sharpish or she might bite his head off - purely out of concern for his safety - before the morning's over."

Remus laughed. "All right, let's get started then."

James crept up to a particularly large clump of ivy that grew on the high wall along the east side of the estate. He looked around him secretly, well aware that he could not be seen under his Invisibility Cloak, but keen not to attract undue attention by making a noise. He was, however, quite alone. Looking back towards the wall, he said quietly, "Honoritas, Amor, Veritas".

The ivy trembled. The leaves moved aside to form an archway around a wooden door set with rusty bolts. On it was a crest the size of James's hand, depicting a golden lion and the very words he had just spoken. James took out his wand and tapped the ancient lock three times. The door swung inward, creaking as though it had been neither oiled nor used for many years. James tucked his wand away and went through. He closed the door behind him, and instantly a large thorny rose bush moved to hide it from view. James removed his Invisibility Cloak and folded it neatly over his arm. Then he made his way across the lawns towards the mansion.

He did what his grandfather had told him in the letter, going round to the back of the house rather than approaching the front door. He came across quite a large kitchen garden, marched up to the door of the house and pushed it open. At once there was a scurrying all about him, a bobbing up and down of bald, wrinkly heads and an excited murmur of squeaky voices. House elves. About twenty of them were gathered round him, all wearing what looked like scarlet tea towels emblazoned with a golden lion.

"Err, good afternoon," James began, preparing to explain his presence. "I'm ..."

"You is James Potter, sir, is you not?" asked what looked to be the oldest house elf, for he had the most wrinkled skin and there were great tufts of white hair curling out of his ears.

"Yes," James agreed. "You knew I was coming?"

The aged elf shook his head. "The master was not sure if you would come, James Potter, sir. But he is hoping you is coming, sir. Yes, he is hoping. We house elves knows, because often he is forgetting to put out the torches in the mistress's chamber."

"The mistress?" James queried.

"Yes, yes. The good lady Greta. She is being the master's wife and he is loving her very much." His odd little face was screwed up and he sounded sad. "But the mistress is dying, James Potter, sir. She is dying many, many years ago, and now the master, he is going more and more often into her chamber to look at the mirror."

"Mirror?"

It occurred to James that he must be sounding like some stupid parrot, repeating every word the house elf said. But he was too curious not to ask. The elf nodded eagerly while his fellows all looked on, their big round eyes fixed on James as though he were some fascinating museum piece.

"The mirror in the mistress's chamber is magical, James Potter, sir. The master is telling Cronky about it. He is saying it is showing him the mistress, and she is smiling at him."

Correctly assuming that when he said 'Cronky', the elf was referring to himself, James did not question the term, but went on, "Then - she isn't really dead? She's alive somehow, in this mirror?"

This time the elf shook his head. "Alas no, James Potter, sir. The mistress is dead. The mirror shows her to the master, because the master is wanting her to come back. But she is not able to come back. The master is sitting more and more often in front of this mirror. The master is very lonely. I is thinking it is good for him that you is coming to see him," Cronky concluded decidedly.

"Will you show me the way to my - to the mistress's chamber?" James requested.

Gordon Gryffindor was sitting in a soft-cushioned chair in a high-ceilinged room that was flooded with sunlight from the tall doors that gave onto a small balcony. An ivory hair brush and various perfume bottles still sat on the disused dressing table and the four poster bed was freshly made, its embroidered pillowcase and covers of finest cream satin.

Following the house elf into this room, James felt like he had taken a step into a different world, away from the gloom of the hallway with its dark wood and heavy tapestries into a place of light. He waited until the door closed behind the elf before turning to look at the back of his grandfather, who sat staring at a tall, fine mirror that bore strange words along the top. He took a step closer, and another, until he was right behind Gordon.

"Grandfather?"

The old wizard turned quickly in his seat.

"James! I didn't know you were there."

"But - you must have seen my reflection beside yours."

Gordon gave a pained smile. "I have seen your reflection beside me too often to believe in the reality of it any more." He looked back at the mirror. "But I can see that it has gone now."

"Gone?"

"Oh yes. The Mirror of Erised only shows what we want, never what we have. Unless, that is, what we want is no more than we already have. Now that you are here, my desire to see you has been fulfilled. All I see now is myself, your grandmother, and of course your mother."

"I can't see anything at all, except us and the room."

"That is because you are not focused on the mirror. Or rather, the mirror is not focused on you. Here." He rose and moved the chair out of the way, guiding James forward. "Look now, if you're ready, and you will see the deepest desire of your heart."

James looked. His face flushed suddenly red, and he glanced sideways at the old man, who said,

"Do not worry. I can't see what you are seeing any more than you could see what I saw."

Reassured, James looked back into the mirror. He could see himself, dressed exactly as he was now, the Invisibility Cloak still over one arm. And he could see Lily, standing just behind him, putting her arms around him and resting her chin on his shoulder. He put his hand where he could see the refection of hers, and though he could not feel her, she could obviously feel him, because she smiled, closed her fingers around his and kissed his cheek.

"Like what you see?" his grandfather asked, breaking through the harmony with his husky voice.

"It's - not bad," James admitted. He drew away from the mirror reluctantly. "But it's only a vision, isn't it? It's not real."

"Sometimes it can be both. You are young, James. Your desires can still come true. You can make them true. And as they come true the Mirror may show you other things, new wants that crop up as time passes by. A house for you both to live in, perhaps. Or your child."

James eyed him suspiciously. "You do know what I see."

Gordon shook his head. "No. But you cannot deny an old man the privilege of a bit of mysterious guesswork, and logical deduction."

"What do you mean?"

"You blushed. At your age, in most cases that indicates that what you see has something to do with a girl. And having seen you both at the meetings of the Order, my guess would be Miss Evans. Am I right?"

James grinned, suddenly finding something extremely likeable in the iron glint of his grandfather's eye. "Spot on, sir."

Gordon seemed pleased.

"A good choice - if one can ever speak of a choice in these matters. Now, why don't you go and hang up that cloak of yours, and let's have some lunch."

James's grin faded. He looked down at the material over his arm.

"The cloak," he murmured, then looked up again. "Sir ... before we do anything else, I must ask you: How did you know I owned a thing like this? I mean, they're pretty rare, aren't they? And it was sent to me years ago, one Christmas at school. Mum said at the time that she knew of only two people who had had one, but neither could have sent it."

The old wizard nodded. "One of those people was myself, naturally. The other ... your father."

"And since you knew about it, you must have been the one who sent it!" James deducted. "But ... Mum was so sure you didn't even know where we were."

"Clearly, your mother overestimated her own skill at hiding, or else she underestimated my skills at protecting her."

"Protecting her?" James repeated, puzzled.

"Yes. Long before the division between us, James, I developed a device. A rather useful little instrument. I will show it to you, if you like."

James nodded eagerly. His grandfather indicated the door.

"This way," he said. "I keep it locked away in a safe place, you see."

James made for the door, but looked back just before reaching it, to find that his grandfather was casting one last look at the Mirror of Erised.

When the Defence Against the Dark Arts practice was over, and Peter had actually managed to block the jelly legs jinx three out of ten times, Remus hung back behind the others, waiting for everyone to file out. Pippa and McGonagall, who were both busy tidying up by waving their wands at the various cushions and books scattered about the floor, did not notice until they had practically finished, and looked up to find him hovering. Sirius and Peter were waiting in the open doorway, and Sirius kept looking out into the passage to make sure no one would overhear who shouldn't.

"Yes, Lupin?" said Professor McGonagall, looking at him enquiringly.

"Professor, I was asked to give you a message for Professor Dumbledore," he informed her in a low voice. "From my uncle."

"What does he say?" asked Pippa.

"He's got to go to the theatre to pick up the information Saturday morning."

"I see." McGonagall bent to pick up the last book by hand and lay it on the table along with the rest. "I take it your father has not been able to dissuade him from his plan then?"

Remus shook his head, then realising there was little point in this, since the professor's back was to him, said, "No."

"Very well," said McGonagall. She turned to Pippa. "Philippa, would you go and tell Professor Dumbledore for me?"

Pippa nodded and left the room. Remus turned to go too, but McGonagall called him back.

"Lupin!"

"Yes?"

She looked as though there was something particular she wanted to say, but seemed to change her mind at the last minute. Instead she said simply,

"Tell your uncle I wish him good luck."

"Yes, Professor. Thank you."

James accompanied his grandfather back to the library where they had first met. Even in broad daylight, it was dark in here. The grate was empty, and somehow the room felt deserted, even though James was sure his grandfather must spend a lot of his time here.

"Wait here a moment," said Gordon. "Sit down if you like."

James remained standing, however, and watched the old wizard disappear out of sight through a small door between two bookshelves at the far end of the room. He looked around him at the rows and rows of thick, leather-bound books, many of which had strange letters on their backs in some old writing he could not make out. The whole place smelt, there was no other way of describing it, of books. It wasn't the smell of the print, just the books themselves, that old, slightly dusty smell that only a large collection of very old books could produce. James imagined with a smile how his friend Remus's eyes would light up at the sight of them. At the same time he could just picture the look of boredom they would bring to Sirius's face. Presently Gordon Gryffindor returned, carrying what looked like a gilded jewellery box in both hands.

"Get us that table over there, would you, James?"

James turned his head in the direction the old man indicated and fetched the small round table that stood a little way away.

"Put it down here."

James obeyed, placing the table in front of the high-backed armchair before the empty fireplace. Gordon sat down, and James followed suit. His grandfather now placed the box on the table, reached inside the collar of his robes and pulled out a long golden chain, on the end of which hung a tiny silver key. This he removed and placed it gently in the lock. He did not turn the key, and yet it made strange sounds of its own accord the moment it was fitted. They were not so much clicking sounds, as a gentle tinkling. They stopped after a minute or so, and Gordon reached out both his old, wrinkled hands to raise the lid. He turned the box around so that James could see its contents.

On the inside, the box was padded with dark red velvet, and in the middle rested what looked like a crystal ball the size of James's palm, filled with a kind of pale and misty smoke. Yet as James watched, the orb rose from the box into the air and began to rotate, first slowly, then spinning ever faster and faster, while the lid of the box it had emerged from closed itself. The smoke inside the orb, now swirling like a tiny forest of tornadoes, turned violet, then blue.

"What's happening?" James asked in an awed voice.

"Watch," said his grandfather.

Slowly, the swirling subsided. What James had taken to be blue smoke began to smooth out, took on a glistening rather than a misty hue, spread out and rippled, filling the inside of the orb like dark blue water. And then something else happened. Here and there amid the blue, small specks of green and brown started to appear, tiny islands in a minuscule ocean, some staying minute, others growing to the size of a fingernail. As he watched them, James suddenly realised what he was looking at.

"It's a globe," he exclaimed. "A miniature globe."

"Yes. It is a globe. And here ..." - Gordon took out his wand and waved it at the still revolving orb, so that it began to slow and finally rested motionless and floated in mid-air - "... is your mother."

James leaned in closer. Sure enough, as he moved his face nearer to the globe, he could make out a tiny red dot pulsating on the small patch of land that he knew was England. What was more, the more he concentrated on that spot, the larger that particular area of land seemed to become. At first he thought it was merely his imagination, but then he realised that he no longer needed to lean in so close to be able to see it. The area of land was stretching, pushing all others aside until it filled the entire orb.

"If you look harder," said Gordon softly, "you will be able to see more."

James concentrated. There was no longer any blue sea visible in the orb. It was entirely filled with land now and as he watched, forests and roads and cities melted out of his way on the edges of his vision, and he could make out quite clearly the white dome of St. Paul's. It was as though he were flying over a minuscule model of London, seeing it in ever more detail, until at last he recognised the street where he lived, the house, the front door, Mrs. Hammersmith's flat and - he drew in an amazed breath - Mrs. Hammersmith herself, lying in her bed, and his mother beside her. He stared at the figures for a moment, then slowly turned his head to find his grandfather sitting quietly, watching the globe with a look of longing in his iron-grey eyes.

"So you've been watching us," whispered James softly. "All these years. You've known all the time where we were, what we were doing ..."

Gordon tore himself away from his daughter's face, which had grown larger and larger as he stared at her, and was now filling the globe completely.

"Yes," he confirmed. "I have been watching you ... since the moment you were born."

"All the time?" James demanded with a sudden note of alarm.

"No, not all the time. For one thing, I made this globe so that I would always be able to check that your mother was safe, not so that I might spy on you both and invade your privacy. For another - I could never watch you, James, unless you were with your mother."

James looked a question.

"The globe shows only those it has been magicked to show. And the spell that teaches it to show a certain person requires that person to touch it."

"Oh," James sighed with some relief. Then a thought occurred to him. "But ... if you needed Mum to touch the globe so you could use it to watch her, doesn't that mean she knew you would be watching her all along?"

"No," said Gordon. "She doesn't know. She was only an infant when I performed the spell, and has no recollection of it. Even now she is totally unaware of its existence - or rather, of its function. She did see it once, as a child, when I was using it to communicate with your grandmother, who was abroad visiting a friend."

"Communicate? You mean you can use this globe to talk to people when they're far away?"

"Yes - and no."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that you could talk to your mother through this globe right now, James - you would only need to take it between both hands and speak - but I would not advise it."

"Why?"

"For one thing, she is unaware of this device and would probably receive quite a fright to suddenly hear your voice speaking to her from out of nowhere. For another, your words would not only be heard by her. Anyone who is with her would hear them too, and since it is in the nature of the globe to focus entirely on the one person we want to see, blotting out all else, it is often very hard to tell if that person is really alone."

"So anything I say, Mrs. Hammersmith would be able to hear too? A sort of disembodied voice echoing round the room, as it were?"

Gordon nodded.

"I see. But if I knew Mum was alone, I would be able to talk to her? As if I was using a telephone or," he added, seeing the uncomprehending look on his grandfather's face, "as if I was talking to her through the floo network?"

"Not quite," the old wizard explained. "You would be able to talk to her, but she would not be able to answer. You may have noticed that while you can see your mother very clearly, you cannot hear a single sound from the room. The globe sends us imagines, but no sound. She would have to gesture, or hold up a note. Unless you can lip-read."

James laughed. "Not that I know of. I never knew I ought to have learnt it until now."

Gordon watched his grandson's hazel eyes sparkle, and a queer smile crept across his withered face.

"What is it?" asked James.

The old man shook his head slowly. "It just occurred to me how foolish we humans can be sometimes."

"What do you mean?"

"It's not so much what I mean, as who. I was speaking of myself. My own conduct. For years and years I have sat before devices like the Mirror of Erised and this globe, watching my child - watching you. Because though I was too stubborn to shelve my pride and approach her, I could not bear to be without my daughter. I did not realise that there are more important things than pride, even though I wallowed in just those things every day of my life."

James still looked puzzled. "I don't understand."

"I am speaking of love, James. All your life and before, I have thought that being right, being firm, holding to the knowledge that I was correct and she was wrong, was more important than my love for my own flesh and blood. That was a stupid misjudgement, as I should have known, because all the time I wanted nothing more than to have her - and you - with me. It seems I needed old age to catch up with me before I could finally understand what is really important. Old age, the threat of losing that which I love most, and you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you, James. It has been a long time since laughter was heard in this house. And yet it used to be such a happy place, once upon a time. When your grandmother was alive and your mother was just a child, laughter was the most frequent sound to be heard here. Now ..." - his face clouded over once more - "... if any sound at all is heard it is that of the wind blowing mournfully down the fireplaces and whistling through the draughty halls."

He fell silent, his head drooping slightly, and James watched his weary face. He felt a surge of affection for the old man, though he barely knew him, and a deep sense of pity at his loneliness.

"We can make this place like it used to be again," he said decisively. "Mum and I could ... well, I'm not saying we could move in here. I don't think she'd want that. But - well, we could come and visit. Catch up on the years we've missed. Sirius could come too, and Remus and Peter. We could all be here together."

Gordon looked up at his eager face in surprise, but then shook his head doubtfully.

"I do not think your mother would want to come back here, even to visit, unless she has to for the Order."

James grinned. "Sorry, grandfather, but you don't know her like I do. You're not the only one who's missed out on a lot of happiness, and who'd be grateful to get some of it back."

The old wizard stared at him. "Wh-what did you call me?" his husky voice stammered.

"Grandfather," James repeated, holding out his hand, his face softening. "We are a family. You, Mum, me ... and all our friends. We all need each other, don't we? We ought to acknowledge that and make the most of the time we have together. Because in times like these, no one can say how long that will be. Right?"

His grandfather peered into his steady eyes, and finally grasped the hand he held out and shook it.

"You're right, my boy," he said. "Absolutely right."

Sirius Speaks Sincerely

James came back from his visit to his grandfather's house in the late afternoon, and immediately set about telling his mother and Sirius about his plans of bringing life back to Gryffindor Hall. He was upset, though not surprised, to find neither of them showing much enthusiasm. It wasn't so much, as Gordon had feared, that Bridget had no inclination to visit what had once been her home, as that she was too preoccupied with worry over old Mrs. Hammersmith to be particularly bothered. Sirius, meanwhile, though sounding pleased at the prospect of being invited more often to a magnificent old manor that, as he pointed out, must be full of secret passages and mysterious artefacts - James had, as yet, not mentioned the Mirror of Erised or the globe - had been lost in thought for most of the time since that morning's defence practice.

"Would you mind telling me what exactly is the matter with you today?" James finally demanded impatiently after supper, when Bridget had gone back downstairs to check on Mrs. Hammersmith.

Sirius shrugged his shoulders. He looked moody and glum. "Oh, I don't know. It's just ... all this Order business. I mean, it's all very well preparing ourselves so we're ready to fight the Death Eaters when the adults finally let us out, but ... It's just like I feel it's about time they did, if you see what I mean. Then there's the matter of Malcolm. Moony told us this morning that he's had a letter from that woman who said she could get him in with the Death Eaters. Part of me says that's great, because the sooner he goes to spy on Voldemort, the sooner we can get out there and start fighting back properly at last. But everyone seems so negative about it. Wormtail started walking around like someone had just died when he heard Moony tell Pippa and McGonagall and, well, frankly, she's no better. You'd think Malcolm was signing his own death warrant the way everyone reacts to the whole idea, wouldn't you?"

"Well," James said thoughtfully, "you can't really blame them. I mean, it is a pretty big risk. But he's right, and you're right, that it's time we were doing something. We need some sort of advantage over the Death Eaters, and I think it's very brave of him to be doing this. And I like to believe he will pull it through. I was talking to Gideon the other day, and he says Malcolm's about the best Auror he's ever met, aside from Moody."

Sirius nodded. "I like to believe that too."

He fell silent again, and James studied him for a moment before asking,

"What else?"

"Hm?"

"What else is up? Is it that letter you got?"

"Letter?"

James smiled. "Yes, letter. The one that you tried to hide away so I wouldn't see it. The one written on turquoise parchment. Who was it from?"

"Oh that. That was from Jo," Sirius grunted.

"Who?"

"Josie Coronis. We're going to meet on Wednesday."

James looked for a moment as though he hadn't a clue who Sirius was talking about. Then it seemed to dawn on him, and he stared incredulously at his friend.

"Not the girl you met at the Banshee? The one who was with Snape?"

"That's the one. And before you jump to the same wrong conclusions as your mother did," Sirius added hotly, "I'm not trying to pinch Snape's girlfriend or anything. I just want to warn her."

"Yeah, right!" said James with a laugh. "Who are you trying to kid? This is me, Sirius. I know you've never arranged to meet a girl for any reason but one ..."

"Well, there's got to be a first time for everything, hasn't there?" said Sirius irritably, getting to his feet.

James was still laughing. "Not for this kind of thing, not with you."

"Oh yes? I suppose you think only people like Moony meet girls because they genuinely want to help them, and not out of self-interest! Though even he's not above pinching my girl moments after she chucked me over."

At these words, James's laughter subsided immediately.

"That's not fair, Sirius," he said firmly. "For one thing, I don't believe Remus ever had any other intentions when it came to Aurora than getting you and her back together again. And I don't believe he's the only one who'd help someone without expecting something back. I thought a bit of teasing among friends as close as we are wouldn't do any harm. It never has done before, but it seems you're just not in the right mood for it at the moment."

"No, I'm not," said Sirius, quieting down.

"All right then," James said gently. "No teasing. You say you only want to help the girl. I believe you."

Sirius looked at him oddly for a moment, then gave a dry laugh and sat back down again. "Point is, I suppose, I have to find out if I believe myself."

James smiled again. "So she wrote you a letter," he prompted.

"Yes. Well, actually, I wrote her one first."

Sirius explained how he had discussed the matter with Bridget, how he had written to Josephine and how she had replied immediately.

"And you're meeting her on Wednesday?"

"At the Leaky Cauldron. Yes."

"I see. Have you thought about what you're going to say to her?"

"Not really. I keep trying to work out where I should begin, but ... I couldn't do it in the letter, and I'm starting to think it won't sound any better if I say it out loud. I've even considered just not turning up at all on Wednesday. I mean, it's really none of my business to be telling her I think she's getting herself into something dangerous. It's no secret I hate Snape, she's bound to have realised that. She'll probably just think the same as everyone else seems to, that my only interest in her is because she's Snape's girl and I'd love to get one over on him."

There was a pause. Then James said thoughtfully, "I don't think you should just forget the idea, you know."

"Why not? I've not said anything yet I can't take back ..."

"No. But there's a simple reason why you must go through with it now."

"Oh yes? What's that?"

"If you don't and it later turns out you were right, you'd never forgive yourself for not having at least tried to warn her."

Sirius's face cleared. "You're right, Prongs," he said. "Even if she doesn't believe me, I've got to know I tried."

And so, after work on Wednesday, Sirius left the others standing in the Atrium and took the telephone box up to the muggle street. Despite James's encouragement and the knowledge that he was doing the right thing, a part of him wished he had never written that letter, that he had simply left well alone. Or better still, that he had never even met the girl. He made his way through the busy streets of London, greyed by a thin veil of late-summery rain that was splattering down today, and finally reached the row of shops where the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron was hidden. Josie was already there, wearing a short tartan skirt and a bright red top. Her strawberry blonde hair was limp with rainwater, and she was holding a plastic shopping bag over her head, though it was doing very little good.

"Hello!" she called, letting go of the shopping bag with one hand to wave to Sirius.

"Erm ... hello," he answered as he drew level with her.

They stood in silence for a moment before Josie said,

"D'you mind if we go inside? I'm getting drenched here."

"Oh, yes, sure," said Sirius, and he pushed the door of the pub open for her.

Josie hurried in, showering the occupants of the table right beside the door with raindrops as she lowered the waterlogged shopping bag.

"Oh - sorry," she murmured.

Sirius took out his wand quickly and waved it at the two people now scowling up at them, drying them before they had time to complain.

"Sorry," he repeated, and quickly guided Josie further into the pub.

"Yeuch, what a miserable old day!" Josie exclaimed, flopping onto the wooden bench at an empty table towards the back and setting the shopping bag down on the floor beside her. "Have you ever seen such a lot of water all at once?"

"Not since Peter Pettigrew accidentally conjured up a gigantic flood when he was supposed to be trying out a reductor curse on Professor Darkhardt, " said Sirius with a grin. "You should have seen him. He was absolutely drenched and couldn't see a thing because his hair was all sticking and flopping in his eyes."

"Oh dear," said Josie. "Did Peter get into much trouble?"

"Actually, no," said Sirius. "Old Scarface just said that while he had got the incantations totally muddled, he had at least managed to disable his opponent, which was supposed to be the object of the exercise. It took us quite a while to get all the water mopped up after. It was like the whole dungeon had been turned into a swimming pool."

Josie giggled. Sirius felt relieved. He had been worried that it would be hard to even start talking to her, but really she was not difficult to talk to at all.

"Fancy a drink?" he asked.

"Yes, please," she said eagerly.

"What would you like?"

She said she would like some pumpkin juice. Sirius went to buy two glasses and brought them back to the table.

"Cheers," said Josie, reaching for her glass. Then she had to put it down quickly to sneeze three times in a row.

She laughed, and Sirius laughed back. "Sorry, I'm forgetting my manners here," he apologised, and taking out his wand he performed the same spell as he had on the people Josie had soaked when they game in.

"Thanks," said the now-dry Josie. "Cheers!"

They each took a sip from their glasses and sat on for a moment in silence, which grew steadily more awkward.

"Well," Sirius began at last, "I dare say you'll be wanting to know exactly why I asked you to meet me."

"Yes," Josie agreed. "But first I'd like to know something else. You said that night at the Bouncing Banshee that you tried to kill Sev once. He told me that was true, but he wouldn't go into details. He said he couldn't, Professor Dumbledore had made him promise never to tell. Are you bound by that promise too?"

Sirius frowned. "In a way. Professor Dumbledore made all those who knew swear they'd never mention it. Let's just say it was all my fault," he admitted fairly. "I acted like an idiot. That's what it boils down to. I suppose I didn't really want to kill him, just shake him up a bit. He deserved it. He was a nasty, greasy, mean kid and we loathed the sight of each other. He'd hurt someone I liked, too. A girl." He chuckled as he thought of Aurora, and what she would say if she could hear him now. "Put a nasty hex on her. So I told him to go to a certain place at a certain time, knowing full well that it would be dangerous. But James, my best friend, found out and saved Severus. That's about it, really."

"Is it? And what was this dangerous place?"

"That's the part I can't tell you."

"But it was dangerous - very dangerous?"

"Yes," Sirius confessed. "Very. He could easily have been killed or ... well."

Rather than appearing cross, Josie looked sad.

"Pity," she said. "I was sort of hoping it was all just a joke, but obviously I was wrong. That's a shame, because I like you. I liked you the moment I saw you, but if you really did try to hurt Sev ..."

"Look," Sirius interrupted, catching hold of her hand as she made to get up and leave. "I admit what I did was wrong, very wrong. But you've got to realise Severus Snape is not exactly a saint either. He'd have wrung my neck several times over at school, given half a chance. Probably still would today, if he could. I don't know what he's like with you, but he had a reputation at school."

"Reputation?"

Sirius nodded. "For practising Dark spells, for being nasty to muggle-borns and half-bloods in more ways than calling them names, being in with the Darkest Slytherins of them all, and for picking on students weaker than he was. I told you he once hexed a friend of mine. That was because she tried to defend a muggle-born girl he attacked when she hadn't even got her wand out."

Josie frowned. "Well ... that was a long time ago, I expect," she replied truculently. "Everyone does silly things when they're kids. He wouldn't do that sort of thing now."

"Oh, I see. So it's okay for Severus to have done bad things when he was at school, but not me, is that it?"

Josie said nothing.

"Jo," Sirius said earnestly, "I'm not trying to blacken his name. He's perfectly capable of doing that himself, through his actions, without my help. I'm only trying to warn you of the kind of person he is. Getting mixed up with him could get you in with a dodgy crowd. People who practise the Dark Arts and support Lord Voldemort."

"Shhhh!" Josie hissed in alarm, sitting down again at last and peering at him urgently across the table. "Don't say that name aloud, please!"

But Sirius was looking mildly triumphant.

"So I was right. You are on our side."

"What side?"

"The side that's against Vol- oh, all right: You-Know-Who. You're scared of him, aren't you? Well, we all have reason to be, one way or another. What's your reason?"

"Nothing particular," she snapped.

"Yes, it is. And I'm going to find out eventually. Are you muggle-born?"

"No."

"Half-blood?"

"No, and I don't see what business it is of yours anyway."

"I'm trying to help you, Jo. I'm trying to stop you from becoming too involved with someone who is on the side of the very person you fear."

"Sev would never support a murderer like You-Know-Who!"

"I'm sorry, but I have to disagree. I'm sure he's connected to the Death Eaters in some way, he may even be one himself."

"No!" Josie jumped to her feet again, anger now flashing in her unusually coloured eyes. "I won't sit here and listen to you telling such wicked lies!"

"They're not lies, Jo," said Sirius urgently, uncomfortably aware that several people were looking their way. "You should take what I've said seriously. I know someone who ignored similar advice years ago. She's still regretting it, and still living in mortal fear of the man she married in spite of the warnings everyone gave her."

Josie stared down at him, her mouth hanging open. He could not fathom her expression, but when she spoke again her voice was different, low and awed.

"You know the heiress of Gryffindor?"

It was Sirius's turn to gape. "How did you know I meant ...?"

Josie sat down again and went on, quietly and hurriedly,

"Professor Dumbledore came to our house a few weeks back. I overheard him talking to my father. Dad has a lot of contacts in Greece, and I think Professor Dumbledore wants them to keep a lookout for Dark activities over there."

"So ... your father's in with Dumbledore?"

Josie nodded. Sirius recovered quickly from his surprise.

"Well, so am I. And yes, I do know Gryffindor's heiress, and I know how afraid she is. I don't want you to experience the same."

"You're very kind, Sirius," said Josie in a voice that was most unlike her. "But I don't know that I can leave Sev. You see, I think I - I love him. I really do."

Sirius gulped. He was relieved to discover that the news didn't upset him, personally. But it did worry him.

"All the same, Jo," he said. "I do think you should be careful. And if you find you need help ... well, you know your owl will always reach me."

Lily returned to the living room, carrying two glasses of orange squash, to find James staring out into the rain as it splattered her parents' front garden.

"Here you are," she said, setting the glasses down on the coffee table. "I'm afraid my parents don't keep pumpkin juice or butterbeer."

James turned around slowly.

"Thanks."

She looked back at him curiously. "What's the matter, James?" she asked gently, sitting down on the sofa. He came to sit beside her.

"Oh, just ... Sirius," he said, and he told her where his friend was and what he was doing.

"You two are pretty close, aren't you?" she said when he had finished. "Whatever one of you is doing, it always affects the mood of the other."

"Well, that's what it's like among friends, isn't it?" he remarked.

"Yes. But it's more than that with you two. Sometimes it's like even when Sirius isn't around, he's still sort of here."

"He's a part of me, I suppose," said James. "As is everyone else I care about. My friends, my mother ... and you. You're always with me, wherever I go. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Lily looked into his earnest hazel eyes and smiled. "You care such a lot about people, don't you?"

"I care a lot about you," he replied, smiling back mischievously. He reached out and held her hand, the smile softening. "I care a hell of a lot about you, Lily. You know that, don't you?"

Lily nodded. "And I about you, James. So much."

She sighed and moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. James put his arms around her and kissed her forehead. They sat like that in silence for a long moment. Then Lily sighed.

"Don't you sometimes think how everything could be so perfect if it wasn't for the Death Eaters and Voldemort?"

"Are you afraid?" James asked her.

"Yes. Terribly afraid."

"You needn't be," he said gently. "I'll look after you."

He looked down into her anxious green eyes, then bent lower and kissed her lips. The door opened brusquely and they drew apart hastily.

"Oh, here you are, Lily ..." Petunia began, but broke off when she realised what she had interrupted and stared instead at her sister.

"Yes?" Lily queried mildly. "Was there something you wanted, Pet?"

Petunia recovered her brisk, haughty composure. "I've told you before, Lily, I don't like you calling me that."

"Sorry."

Petunia snorted. "I just wanted to tell you Vernon will be arriving for dinner in a couple of minutes, and I would really appreciate it if you two could avoid any - abnormality in his presence."

Her eyes bored into James, who said pleasantly,

"Don't worry, Petunia, we'll refrain from levitating the potatoes to your fiancée, and I promise you I haven't a single drop of tickling solution on my person."

Lily chuckled, but her sister looked positively horrified at the mere idea of a bowl full of potatoes flying towards Vernon Dursley. James went on,

"And I promise not to mention Hogwarts, spells or magic in any way, all right?"

"Yes," snapped Petunia. "Quite. Well ... that's all."

And she turned on her heel and went out. Sure enough, the doorbell rang barely five minutes later, and soon they could hear Vernon's gruff, slightly pompous voice out in the hallway.

"I suppose we'd better go and say hello," Lily sighed.

They did so, and soon they, Petunia, Vernon and Mr. and Mrs. Evans were all sitting around the dining table. Conversation was curt and painfully polite. Vernon talked about Grunnings, the company he worked for, and approximately every five minutes put forward what he seemed to consider absolutely fascinating suggestions for improving the company's drill production. The rest of the time he spent telling Lily and Petunia's father what wonderful career options were open to him, and how it would surely be only a matter of a year or two before he was offered a position in the lower management, and from then to running the company single-handedly was - the way he described it - but a small step for a man such as he.

Throughout this talk, James and Lily took it in turns to swap highly ironic glances and to avoid each other's eyes for fear of bursting into hearty laughter. Though to look at Lily's father, James thought perhaps it would be kinder not to bother avoiding it. He looked bored to tears with the talk of drills, and like he would welcome a good laugh.

After dinner, when it became evident that Vernon expected to be offered a private chat in the living room with his future in-laws and wife, James decided it was time he made his excuses and leave.

"Well," he said to Mrs. Evans, getting to his feet. "That was the most delicious bit of chicken I've had for ages. And now I'm fit to burst, so before I do I think I'd best be going."

"Oh, not so soon, dear," said Mrs. Evans. "Stay for some tea."

James smiled, and allowing his eyes to dart briefly to Petunia's dark scowl, said,

"No, I don't think I'd better, really. Thanks, Rose."

He shook hands with Lily's parents, Vernon and a very grudging Petunia. Lily got up to see him to the door.

"How about going dancing again next Saturday?" James asked her as they left the room together, oblivious to the fact that Petunia's eyes were still boring into the back of his head.

"Same place as last time?" said Lily.

"Yes."

Through the open dining room door, Petunia watched James pause to kiss Lily good night, and walk out into the street.

"Why don't you join me when I go round to the Browns' next weekend, Petunia?" Vernon was saying. "I thought perhaps we could play a round or two of cards."

Petunia hitched a smile onto her face, and out of the corner of her eye saw her sister close the door.

When the Seventh Morning Dawns

It was Saturday morning, so early that the streets were still deserted and the sun had not yet fully risen. Malcolm entered the Better Days Theatre by the side entrance as usual, and was led by Craigg into the latter's office.

Désirée was waiting for him. Her cloak today was a deep maroon. She had sleeked back her hair with some sort of gel and was taking her long cigarette holder out of a black patent leather handbag. She lit a cigarette and flounced on the chaise in her usual artistic manner. Malcolm was once again reminded of a 1920s fashion doll. Craigg left them alone in his office this time and Malcolm pulled up an old wooden chair that creaked when he sat on it. He forced himself not to rub his eyes, to look alert. Despite his efforts, the actress, giving out a gentle puff of smoke, said,

"You look tired, Monsieur 'ood. Zere are 'eavy bags under your eyes. Your profession 'as been keeping you busy?"

He gave a dry laugh. "Hardly. I got sacked the day we met."

Désirée's plucked eyebrows rose. "Sacked? Ah, but zat is good news."

Malcolm's jaw dropped. He stared at her blankly. "How is that good news? I'm out of a job and have no income."

"But you are also 'out of' obligations. You will not need to find excuses for not being at work. Zere is no one 'oo will miss you."

Malcolm's face clouded over, a fact that her sharp eyes could not fail to notice.

"Will you not tell me what is troubling you?" she asked persuasively.

"Sleepless nights," he answered curtly. "Worry."

"A woman?" she guessed.

"Yes."

She studied him thoughtfully through the haze of smoke.

"You 'ave chosen a bad time to fall in love, Monsieur," she remarked. "Per'aps it would be better to forget zis woman."

"Forget her?" he exclaimed, outraged. "I couldn't if I tried."

"In zat case maybe you should consider abandoning zis plan, or leaving it to someone else."

Malcolm gave a slow smile. "That's what my brother-in-law says. But no, I'm not backing out. You have the information?"

"You 'ave ze money?"

He drew a bag full of galleons out of his pocket, a contribution from Gordon Gryffindor, and handed it to her. Désirée Dulac opened a large handbag and put the moneybag in it. She took out a single sheet of sealed parchment and passed it to Malcolm, who took it, looking slightly puzzled.

"Aren't you going to count the money?"

"No," said the woman, snapping her handbag shut and rising from the chaise. "You are an 'onest man, Monsieur 'ood, and an idealist. Such people do not take risks by not 'playing up', as I believe ze saying goes. But I think you ought to check zat zat parchment 'olds everything you need."

Malcolm felt himself redden. "Oh, I'm sure it's fine."

The look on the actress's face was quizzical. "You know nothing about me, Monsieur. I could tell you zat my name is not Désirée at all, zat it is actually Félice, and that I am not an actress, but a painter, and tomorrow I will be marrying ze love of my life. Would you believe zat?"

"Not if you said it in that tone of voice, no."

"I can promise you zat I would be perfectly capable of saying it in a tone of voice you could not 'elp but believe. You are a fool if you let someone's tone of voice make you believe or not believe what you are told. I 'ave not thought you a fool so far. Must I revise my opinion ... Monsieur Marley?"

He looked up sharply. Désirée smiled.

"You see, I do not trust anyone without being very thorough in my investigation of them. But do not fear. No one shall 'ear anything from me. Incidentally, ze Félice Dulac I spoke of 'appens to be my sister, 'oo, beyond being a very gifted painter, is also very good with memory charms. I am travelling to 'er wedding today, and tonight I will ask 'er to remove everything zat has passed between us in this room from my mind."

Malcolm smiled. "You think of everything, Miss Dulac."

He broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. It was all there. The name of a Death Eater - a man called Travers - basic information on how long he had been one, a picture of the man in question and information on when he would be expected to meet one of his fellows at a certain place. It was rather a small amount of information to start on, but it would have to do. Except ...

"Wait a minute," Malcolm exclaimed. "This can't be right. It says here that the ideal moment to capture him would be today! But we can't have him disappear now, when it will take a month for the polyjuice potion to be ready. He'd miss his appointment on ..." - he consulted the parchment - "... Monday. He'd be missed, and some very odd questions would be asked if he turned up out of nowhere a month after having vanished!"

The actress shot him a queer look.

"Monsieur, ze polyjuice potion 'as been ready for several days. Did you expect Monsieur Craigg and myself to be idle while zis information was being obtained for us? We prepared it in advance, naturally, so zat it would be ready at a moment's notice. All zat remains now is for you and your friends to capture Monsieur Travers, pluck out a few of 'is 'airs, and make sure you find out as much about 'im as possible, so zat you will be ready to take 'is place on Monday morning when, as our sources tell us, 'e is expected to meet with a group of other Death Eaters and be taken for ze first time to the place where 'e-'o-must-not-be-named is 'iding."

Malcolm looked down at the parchment again. "He's only recently joined their ranks?"

"Yes. And zat could easily be to your advantage, for 'e is not yet so well known by all the ozzers zat certain mannerisms will appear strange to zem."

"They'll know him well enough, though, or he wouldn't be in the inner circle at all."

"Quite. It is never possible to be too cautious."

Malcolm cast one more glance down at the sheet, refolded it and got to his feet.

"Thank you," he said, holding out his hand.

Désirée looked down at it for a moment, laid her cigarette in the ashtray and shook it briefly.

"Au revoir, Monsieur. Bonne chance."

She turned and walked out the door, her cloak sweeping the floor behind her. The cigarette burned forgotten in its holder.

Malcolm approached the small bookshop very slowly, his legs feeling heavier with every step. He peered in through the window, looking past the display of books and posters. He could see Bridget behind the counter. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail. There was a pencil behind her ear again and she was fanning herself with a coloured leaflet, her back half-turned towards the door. Malcolm felt a pang. He couldn't do it, he couldn't tell her. But he had to. If he didn't tell her today, he might never again have the chance. Bracing himself, he went to the door and walked in.

Bridget was already smiling when she turned around to face him, as though she had expected to see him there, recognised his footsteps. But her face fell when she saw his.

"What's wrong?" she asked without preface. "Has anything happened? Faith ...?"

"She's fine."

"Thank god. I heard on the news this morning that the Death Eaters had been torturing muggle-borns again. They didn't say any names, and I was worried. But something's happened, hasn't it?"

Malcolm nodded. "We need to talk - in private."

"I can't, not right now. There's no one else here to serve customers."

"Damn," Malcolm muttered under his breath. "And I can't hang about, I need to see Dumbledore, quickly."

"Why?"

Malcolm shook his head impatiently. "When do you finish?"

"We close at twelve today."

He checked his watch. "All right, that'll give me ample time to get there and back," he agreed. "Could you come round to my place? I'll wait there."

Bridget agreed.

Malcolm paced up and down his own flat like a caged tiger, almost leaving a track in the carpet. He had been to see Dumbledore at Hogwarts, left everything in his hands and hurried back home. Now he was wishing he'd stayed away longer, so that the wait wouldn't have been so long. He checked his watch every ten minutes until twelve o'clock, then began checking it every two minutes. It seemed as though he was having to wait forever, and yet he was startled when the doorbell suddenly rang. He ran his fingers through his hair, pressed the buzzer and waited impatiently, knowing it would not be long now.

Sure enough, her dark head appeared moments later. Malcolm hitched a smile onto his face, but it was clear immediately from the look he received that Bridget was not for a moment fooled that it meant anything other than that he was trying to put her mind at rest. He helped her off with her cardigan and attempted a feeble,

"So, how was the morning's work?"

"Never mind that," said Bridget. "What's up?"

"Come in here," Malcolm said, and led her through into the living room.

Bridget looked interestedly around her. Malcolm closed the door behind him and smiled at the slightly puzzled look on her face.

"I know, it's not much," he admitted ruefully. "Bachelor's flat, of course. Just the bare necessities for me."

"I see."

Bridget sat down on the sofa and looked up at him expectantly.

"Well?"

"Erm ... right ... can I get you anything? Cup of tea, glass of water ...?"

She raised her eyebrows, and he signed resignedly, sitting down next to her. "Very well. The fact is this ... I mean ... I'm sorry, I don't really know where to begin."

"How about the beginning?"

"That's just the problem," he said slowly. "I don't really know where the beginning is. I don't know when I started to ... oh, I can't do this."

He got up and paced for a moment, ran a hand over his face, shook himself and sat down again.

"All right, let's start at the other end ... There's something I've got to do, Bridget. For the Order. Something that's pretty dangerous, actually ..."

"Yes?" she prompted quietly.

"Well, you know I've been running this sort of spy network for the Order? Well, after I got sacked, it occurred to me that maybe the time had come to go further than that. That maybe it was time we got a real advantage by not just spying on the outskirts, as it were, but getting someone we could trust, someone from within the Order, into Voldemort's inner circle."

He broke off. Bridget watched him for a moment, then suddenly the colour drained from her face. At last she spoke again, though her voice was barely audible.

"You?"

Malcolm nodded. Bridget looked away, gulped and got to her feet. She walked to the window and looked out, down into the backyard.

"It seemed by far the most logical solution. Anyway, what I wanted to say is that there's something I've got to tell you before ..."

"No."

"What?" He stared at her, utterly flummoxed, as she turned around and looked him determinedly in the eye.

"You heard me. I said no."

"But ..."

"You can't do this. You mustn't. I - I can't believe you're suggesting this. Now of all times, when I've finally come to realise ... when at last I can ..."

Her voice quavered, and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand and turned her back to him again. Malcolm was flabbergasted. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't this. He jumped to his feet and went to stand behind her, his hand hovering close to her shoulder, unsure whether he should touch her or not.

"Bridget," he said quietly. "Please - please don't cry."

Quite contrary to his murmured request, she burst into a sudden fit of sobbing. He touched her arms delicately, and to his surprise she turned right around and buried her face against his chest, her hands clutching his shirt. He held her tightly. It was quite a while before she managed to speak coherently again.

"I'm sorry, it's just ... You remember I told you I could never trust a man again enough to - to care ..."

"Yes, I remember."

"Well, I - I've just begun to see that I was wrong. Only last week, when - when you came round for tea and - and we went down to Mrs. Hammersmith's, I realised ..."

"Yes?" he said again, but there was a note of hope in his voice now.

Bridget turned her tearstained face upwards. "I - I love you."

Malcolm closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again he was painfully aware that they were burning fiercely.

"Bridget," he whispered, "darling." His hand stroked her damp cheek tenderly.

"Don't go," Bridget begged. "I need you."

"I'm sorry," Malcolm replied hoarsely. "It's too late, I couldn't back out now, even if I wanted to."

Bridget gave a small sob. "Please."

Malcolm looked at her sadly. This was painful, far more painful than he had imagined, but then he had never really allowed himself to hope that she might return his feelings. To know that he must leave her so soon after all, when he had thought he would have at least another month, and that she actually cared for him, was almost more than he could bear.

"We have a little time left before I have to leave," he said softly.

"When is that?"

"Monday morning."

"So soon?"

He nodded. "I wish we could have longer," he told her.

Bridget gave a mournful smile. "So do I."

Malcolm touched her chin with his hand, and bent down to kiss her. Bridget felt his arms around her, and she leaned against him, in that moment feeling completely whole for the first time in years. For a long time, Malcolm just stood holding her, her head against his chest, her heart beating wildly.

"Promise me you won't be gone long," Bridget begged him. "That you'll be back soon."

Malcolm smiled sadly. "I would promise you anything you want - if I knew I could keep it. But how can I promise something I have little or no influence over? It's possible my plan will work well and I'll be gone a long time. Or I could be found out soon and have to escape back here."

"Or they might kill you before you get the chance to report anything at all," Bridget pointed out shakily.

"That's the version some have been putting forward," Malcolm said wryly. "But I've always detested pessimism."

Looking down to see the worried look on Bridget's face, he added softly, "Look, I can't promise that all will be well and I'll be home safe and sound in a couple of weeks. But I do promise that I will be careful - if you promise that you'll still be here, waiting for me, when I get back."

"I promise," said Bridget. "But please don't keep me waiting too long."

"I'll try," said Malcolm with a quick grin, and he kissed her again.

The Order's Own Lovely Legilimens

Saturday afternoon swiftly gave way to evening. Aurora unlocked the door to the building where she lived and Remus followed her indoors hurriedly. While she was still full of discussion about the play they had seen together, he had grown steadily more quiet, and was now hardly speaking at all.

"Remus, dear, there's ages to go yet. It's not even really dark ..." Aurora reminded him.

"It doesn't matter if it's dark. As soon as the moon is fully out, I'll transform. It's almost full now."

"Surely not, it's not that late ..."

"I can feel it, Aurora," Remus interrupted. "I always know when it's nearly time."

Aurora studied him sympathetically. "All right then. I'll show you to your 'room' for the night, shall I?"

Remus nodded. Aurora led him down into the cellar, to a small room right at the back. He went straight in, but she hesitated by the door.

"It seems so wicked, shutting you up in here with nothing for comfort. Can't I get you something? A blanket, at least?"

He gave an amused smile. "That would hardly be worth it, I'd only rip it to shreds. Don't worry about me, Aurora. I'll be fine. You just make sure that door is firmly locked and all those spells work. Didn't you say Lily was going to help?"

Aurora looked guilty. "Well, yes and no. I asked her to teach me some useful charms, but it was a bit difficult without telling her what I wanted them for. You see, when I suggested it, it didn't occur to me that she doesn't know about you. I didn't remember that until I was on the brink of telling her. But don't worry," she added hastily, catching the slightly alarmed look on his face, "I know what I've got to do, it will be quite safe."

"All right then," he said doubtfully. "You'd better lock me up."

Aurora hesitated once more, but only briefly. Then she closed the door and locked it from the outside. Remus listened to her performing various precautionary charms. When she uttered the incantation for the last, the sound of her voice was cut off curtly. Evidently she had used a spell to absorb noise. Consequently, he now found himself totally alone. He could hear not a sound, nor could he see a thing, for the room had no window. He felt his way to the cold metal door and applied his shoulder to it to test his strength. Satisfied that it would hold, he managed to find his way back to the far corner and lowered himself to the ground, waiting.

Aurora opened the window wide on Sunday morning to let in the bright sunshine. The sky was blue and almost cloudless. It was still quite early, but already she could see no sign of the moon anywhere. She laid the breakfast table for two and turned when she heard a scurrying sound behind her to see the little rat she and Remus had rescued appear in the doorway.

"Good morning," she said to it. "Come for your breakfast? Here."

She went to the fridge, got out a lump of cheese, set it down on the floor and the rat hurried over and began nibbling it at once.

"I'm just popping downstairs," Aurora went on. "I won't be a minute."

She slipped her wand up her sleeve so no one would see it and made her way out of the flat and downstairs to the cellar.

She found the door as firmly sealed as she had left it. Taking out her wand, she removed the noise absorbing charm first and listened intently to make sure it was safe. Hearing nothing, she proceeded to lift all the other protection spells, and finally she unlocked the door. Light poured past her into the small room. She saw a movement by the opposite wall. Remus was lying curled up on the ground with his back towards her. He stirred slightly, and Aurora put her wand away and went to crouch beside him.

"Good morning," she said softly.

She was answered with a muffled grunt, and more stirring. With an obvious effort, Remus rolled over onto his back. Though her insights into his mind had given her a pretty clear notion of how he suffered during his transformations, nothing could have prepared Aurora for the pallor and gauntness of his face. The last night seemed to have added years to his age and he had the generally lined and sunken look of a young man suffering from a prolonged disease. Aurora resisted the urge to gasp, but felt a pang of pity for her friend.

"Oh my," she said. "Is it always this bad?"

Remus coughed. "Pretty much," he said hoarsely. "Perhaps you'd like ... to come back later ... in a couple of hours ... should be better by then."

"No way, we need to get you upstairs now," she insisted. "I've got a few powders and potions in the cupboard that might help. Can you walk?"

Remus tried to speak again, but couldn't. He cleared his throat with a cough and said painfully, "If you could ... support me ... I'll try."

Aurora helped him get shakily to his feet and guided him to the door of the lift. He entered and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily all the way up to the flat, and once there immediately collapsed on the newly made bed. Aurora went to the bathroom and returned with a selection of glass bottles that she set down on the bedside table. She sat on the edge of the bed and summoned a table spoon from the kitchen, then she pulled the cork out of a big black bottle, poured some most unsavoury-looking dark green potion onto the spoon and turned to Remus.

"Here," she said, propping his head up with her left hand and placing the spoon to his lips. "Three spoons full should give you some of your strength back."

Remus obediently swallowed the potion, then lay back on the pillow while Aurora went to fill another spoon. But at that moment, there was a shrill ring in the hall. Remus looked up worriedly.

"What's that?"

"Only the doorbell," Aurora said, but her expression was puzzled.

"Now? Are you expecting anyone?" Remus asked croakily as the bell rang again. Aurora shook her head.

"I'd better go and see who it is."

"I'll ... come with you," Remus said, making to get up. Aurora pushed him back down.

"Don't be silly, you're in no fit state. Besides, it might be one of my muggle neighbours wanting to borrow some milk, and quite honestly, you do present rather a frightening sight at this moment. I'd rather not have a screaming Muggle on my hands right now."

Remus reluctantly agreed and watched her leave the room, closing the door behind her. Out in the hall, Aurora slipped her wand up her sleeve once more, just in case. Then she opened the door at last. The person who stood outside was the last person she had expected to see.

"Frank," she exclaimed warmly. "What brings you to my door? Come in."

She brought him in rather hurriedly and closed the door, as he was wearing very un-muggle robes. They went into the kitchen, where they were greeted by a sudden loud squeal. The rat that had been peacefully eating its cheese charged at Frank and sank its sharp teeth into his shoes. Frank stared at the creature.

"What the ...?" he asked.

Aurora apologised quickly. "I'm so sorry. This is Cheesy - I called him that because he refuses to eat anything else. I haven't had him long. He's a bit shy of people, you know," she explained, picking the rodent up. "Naughty boy," she told it. "You mustn't go attacking every visitor I get, it's very impolite."

Frank laughed.

"What's so funny?" demanded Aurora.

"Sorry, it's just ... the way you talk to that rat, you'd think it was a child. Or human, anyway."

Aurora frowned. "Just because animals aren't human, doesn't mean to say they haven't got feelings, you know."

"If you say so," Frank said rather doubtfully.

He shifted his gaze from Aurora, who was now stroking the rat fondly, to the ready-laid breakfast table, and saw the two cups, two plates, two knives ...

"Have a cup of tea with me?" Aurora suggested.

"No, err ... thanks. I see you're already expecting a visitor, so I'd better get straight to the point."

"I'm expecting no one," said Aurora, just as there was a bump and a clatter from the bedroom.

"Oh," Frank murmured. "I - I see."

"See what?"

She was interrupted at that moment by the sound of dragging footsteps. They both turned towards the door just as Remus appeared there. His hair was still in a bit of a tangle, but he had pulled on a clean shirt.

"Good morning," he said, his voice still sounding hoarse, but a little stronger than before. "I thought I heard your voice, Frank. Has something happened?"

"I thought I told you to stay where you were," said Aurora before Frank could answer.

Remus waved her aside, making his way to a chair and sitting down. "So tell us, Frank - what's up?"

Aurora, still frowning at Remus, sat down beside him. Frank remained standing and began,

"Well, it's like this ... Malcolm went to see Dumbledore yesterday morning with information on a Death Eater. The one whose place he's going to take. Chap called Travers. Moody and a couple of others rounded the bloke up - discretely, of course. And now we've got him in custody in a cell at the Ministry."

"The Ministry?" Aurora said. "Not Azkaban?"

"No. Dumbledore wants him kept closer at hand. You know, because of the polyjuice potion being made in London and all. Anyway, we questioned him all through yesterday, but we couldn't find much out. Dumbledore doesn't think much of the amount of information Malcolm's got. It should be enough for a start, but it is a bit thin. Dumbledore doesn't want Malcolm going into this without full background knowledge of this man, so ..." He turned to Aurora. "We wondered if you'd help."

"Me?" she exclaimed.

He nodded. "We need you to find out as much as you can about this man. Make sure he really is who Malcolm's contacts say he is, that he's really a Death Eater and all that, that it's not just some trap. Most of all, we have to know he's not acting under the Imperius curse, because that could be dangerous to Malcolm, and we've got to find out all about his habits and such."

"In fact you want me to make some kind of mental record of his character?"

"In a word - yes."

Aurora's brow creased. "I'm not sure if I can do this, Frank. I'm not an Auror. I never wanted to be. And I'm not trained for this kind of thing. I decided a long time ago that I wanted to use my ability to help people, not invade their minds."

"I can understand that," Frank said. "Really I can. But this isn't a simple matter of invading the man's privacy or not. It's about making this whole business safer for Malcolm."

Aurora sighed rather unhappily. She looked from Frank to Remus, who had been quiet, but was looking very seriously down at his hands, resting on the table before him.

"Yes," she said softly. "Of course. We have to do all we can to help Malcolm."

Remus looked up, catching the note of sympathy in her voice at once.

"I wouldn't ask you to do this on my account," he said. "The choice is yours."

"I know," said Aurora, and smiled. "But I did mean what I said."

Frank cleared his throat. He pointed out, "It's not going to be easy, I'm afraid. We've had every legilimens we've got among the Aurors try to get in, but none were powerful enough. It seems this Death Eater is either a powerful occlumens or he's had some sort of mental guard put in his brain by someone else. Anyway, he's keeping everyone out. There's no guarantee you'll be able to get through his guards, but you are the only one who stands a chance. Dumbledore seems convinced that even he himself wouldn't be able to find out as much as you could. I know it's an unpleasant thing for you to have to do, but ..."

"It's all right. I'll do it. Just let me get my jacket," Aurora said abruptly, leaving them alone.

Remus was thoughtfully studying his hands again, while Frank cast the occasional glance at him that went unnoticed. Presently Aurora returned, wearing a thin light-blue summer jacket. Remus got up.

"I'll come too."

"No, you stay here till I get back," said Aurora, watching him with some concern. "It'll be best if you take whatever we find to your uncle, I think. Don't worry, I'll be quite all right."

Feeling his legs still shaking beneath him, Remus grudgingly agreed. Aurora marched out the door, but Remus held Frank back by the arm.

"Look after her, Frank," he said quietly. "We don't know how strong these guards he's got in his head might be, or how they'll affect her. In any case - entering the thoughts of someone wicked enough to willingly be on Voldemort's side could prove a great strain. I don't think either of us can really appreciate what it might feel like."

Frank gave him a strange look. "Thanks for getting my hopes up, Remus," he said coldly.

Remus stared at him blankly. "What do you mean? I don't know what you're ..."

But Frank went on, "After what I told you last week, do you really think I need asking to take care of her?"

Remus released his arm. "Of course not. But Frank, you ..."

"Goodbye, Remus."

And Frank walked out, leaving Remus to look after him, feeling rather puzzled.

As Bridget woke, she turned around in bed and felt the sunlight that penetrated the curtains warm her face. She opened her eyes, and blinked in confusion. Those were not the curtains she had expected to see, nor the wallpaper, nor indeed the room. She wondered for a moment where she was, then a voice behind her said,

"Good morning."

She turned back onto her other side and saw Malcolm standing in the doorway, smiling down at her, and blinked again.

"I ..."

Seeming to guess at the reason for her confusion, Malcolm came and sat by her side. He took her hand in his.

"You fell asleep on the sofa last night."

"And you carried me in here?"

He nodded. Bridget smiled back at him. For a while they both fell silent, neither wanting to break the blissful stillness of the morning. Then Bridget sat up with a jolt.

"Oh no," she cried, "I totally forgot ..."

"What?" Malcolm enquired.

"The boys! They don't know where I went, I never left them a note, or rang them up or anything."

Malcolm soothed her at once. "Don't worry. I rang them as soon as I thought they might be up. I've spoken to James, so he knows you're all right."

Bridget relaxed, but did not lay back down. Instead she and Malcolm looked at each other, and then she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Malcolm put his arms around her and she snuggled against him.

"I'll have to go and see John and Faith later," Malcolm said. "Will you come?"

"Of course," Bridget replied at once. "You don't expect me to let you out of my sight if I can help it, do you?"

Malcolm smiled and kissed her.

Nightmare Visions

The street was strewn with bodies. Hundreds and hundreds of bodies, it seemed. Men, women, children, old people, young people, all dead. And above all floated the Dark Mark, a shimmering green skull with a serpent coiling out of its mouth, rearing its head as though to strike.

Aurora turned away from the sight before her, screaming so loudly that it felt like her lungs would burst. She began running, tripped, and almost fell over something that lay on the ground at her feet. Looking down she saw that it was Sirius. He looked asleep, except that there was something odd about the way he was lying. It was as though he hadn't lain down, but fallen. The angle of his legs was all wrong and his mouth was hanging open as though in surprise. His eyes were open and stared at her, but she knew they could not see, would never see again - he was dead.

Screaming again, Aurora spun around wildly, looking for help. She saw Lily floating towards her, her long red hair and green eyes oddly pale and translucent, her robes in tatters, her arms stretched out pleadingly before her.

"Noooo!" Aurora yelled, turning away once more and running flat out, as fast as her legs would carry her.

She passed through what felt like a cold shiver, barely aware that it was actually a ghostly form. Looking back over her shoulder, she recognised it as James Potter, his glasses cracked and askew, silvery blood trickling down his chin. She collided with something hard and looked up at the first thing in this nightmare realm that appeared normal, a reassuring pair of brown eyes.

"Remus," she sighed. "Oh Remus, help me."

Sinking into his arms, feeling as though she could go no further, she felt safe at last ... but then she heard a sort of odd, wet, squelching sound and drew back, already feeling the stickiness on her own front, even before her eyes fell to the hole in the chest of his robes that was leaking blood. He crumpled right at her feet and Aurora fell to her knees, clutching his hand.

"Noooo!" she screamed again. "Help me, someone! Help me!"

"Aurora!" a voice said loudly and sharply in her ear. "Aurora, listen to me. It's not real, do you hear? He isn't dead. None of this is really happening. You're at the Ministry of Magic. Everyone's safe, and no one's going to hurt you. Give me your hand, I'll get you out of here."

The voice spoke in fast, short sentences, a stark contrast to the world she was in. Aurora's eyes, which had been wide open all the time, suddenly picked up her surroundings again. She was kneeling on a cold floor, staring up at the form of a man strapped to a kind of bed. His face had been contorted with concentration, but he relaxed now that she was no longer trying to penetrate his thoughts. She turned her head and saw a face right beside her, the eyes anxious as they studied her fearfully.

"Frank?" she said uncertainly, and her eyes searched his body fearfully, as though she expected him, too, to be losing blood.

"It's all right," he began reassuringly. "You're quite safe."

He took her hand and squeezed it tightly to prove his point. Aurora shivered.

"Did - did you see...?"

"I saw everything," he told her. "Somehow your vision was projected in the whole room."

"Sirius ... Lily ... James ... Remus ..."

"It wasn't real. He made you see them like that. He's trying to keep you out of his mind, to stop you from finding out what we need to know."

"Looks like he's succeeding too," said a gruff voice behind them.

Frank turned around, as surprised as Aurora was to find they were no longer alone.

"Mr. Moody," he said, getting to his feet. "I really don't think there's any point in our continuing this. It looks like Malcolm will either have to work with what he's got, or we cancel the whole thing."

"He won't do that," Moody replied. "That's why we're doing this in the first place, remember." He gave a harsh laugh. "Dumbledore insists on helping him against his wishes."

"But we're not going to be able to. Aurora's having no more luck than any of the others did, these visions are just too extreme ..."

"I'm ready," Aurora's voice broke in, surprisingly steady. "Let's try again."

Frank spun round. Aurora was back on her feet, but she still looked extremely shaken.

"I really don't think you should. Putting yourself through this isn't worth it."

"Why not? It's not killing me, is it?" she pointed out. "A bit of emotional discomfort, that's all. Visions of things that aren't even real. I can handle it. I'm not going to let some made-up nightmare stop me from finding out as much as I can."

"But ..." Frank turned to Moody for support. "Sir, you tell her!"

But Alastor Moody was eyeing Aurora appraisingly. He nodded at her, and turned to go. "Try again, Miss Borealis."

Frank stared at the door as it closed behind the older man. He shook his head and turned around to face Aurora, but she had already moved away from him. She was standing now right beside the bed on which they had strapped the Death Eater for interrogation, looking right down into his open eyes. She took a step back, held out her wand and said,

"Legilimens!"

For a moment it felt as though her thoughts were rushing forwards, reaching out like a hand for the Death Eaters mind, groping around for information. Then the block came back up like a black wave that swept over her. Aurora stumbled and fell, and the room before her dissolved once more.

Malcolm apparated on the path that led to his sister and brother-in-law's house. It was a rough and stony track lined with trees, used only on the rare occasions when anyone (usually Malcolm himself) came by car. Bridget apparated beside him. He took her hand and they made their way to the clearing where the cottage stood. When they reached it, Bridget stopped to look at the scene before her. The little house, the overgrown garden, the crumbling greenhouse ...

"What is it?" Malcolm asked.

Bridget looked dreamy. "This is such a beautiful place, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Malcolm said, seeming to consider. "I suppose it is. I've never really thought about it."

"Oh yes," Bridget affirmed eagerly. "Yes, it is. It's lovely. So peaceful, so removed from the kind of hectic city life you and I are used to, and from the threat of the outside world. And I've experienced so many nice things here. This is where I found friends, where I learnt to laugh again, where I met my father ... I've been happy here. It's like this is a place where nothing bad can happen, no matter what."

Malcolm's smile was mingled with sorrow.

"But bad things have happened here."

Bridget looked at him enquiringly.

"Remus's transformations, John's quarrels with his mother. You know he banned her from ever coming here again?"

Bridget nodded. "Faith told me."

"It hurt him more than he cares to admit," Malcolm went on. "It hurt us all. To think that she had come to dislike Faith so much that she would blame Remus's complaint on her 'bad blood'. Faith and I had known John's parents all our lives, you see. It's funny, his mother was always so nice to us when we were kids. But in the end, while muggle-borns were fine as friends, they were not good enough to become related to her son."

He felt Bridget's hand stroke his arm consolingly, and realised how melancholy he must have sounded. He laughed.

"Hark at me rambling on, I sound like an old man reminiscing about the good old days."

"Old men shouldn't be allowed to dwell on the past," Bridget teased. "Come along, let's go in."

John opened the door when they knocked. He looked surprised to see them there. Malcolm told him quickly about the result of his trip to the Better Days Theatre.

"You're going tomorrow?" John exclaimed.

"I'm afraid so. I had hoped for a bit more time, but Travers - the fellow I'm supposed to be impersonating - has been captured by now and he's expected to meet someone tomorrow. We can't wait any longer."

At that moment, Faith appeared on the stairs.

"Malcolm! Bridget! What are you doing here?" she asked.

Malcolm exchanged a glance with John and mouthed "I'll tell her." He went up to his sister and kissed her cheek. Looking puzzled, Faith asked quietly,

"What can't you wait any longer for, Malcolm?"

"Let's go outside," John said to Bridget.

She agreed, and they went out into the back garden, leaving the other two indoors alone. Bridget seated herself on an obliging tree stump and watched the butterflies in the flower beds. John remained standing, looking over his shoulder back at the house every now and then. It was Bridget who spoke first. Her voice was dreamy.

"I was saying to Malcolm as we came up the path that you and Faith have a wonderful home."

"You think so?"

"Yes. I love it."

"It's falling apart a bit these days," John said sadly. "I'm afraid we spent all the money we had planned to save to keep it in good shape on ... other things."

"I like it just the way it is. I wish ... I hope that I'll have such a lovely home some day."

John studied her thoughtful profile.

"I hope so too," he replied earnestly.

She looked up at him suddenly, appealingly.

"John, it will be all right, won't it? He - he will come back?"

John said slowly, "So you do love him."

Bridget nodded.

"I'm glad," said John. "I was worried that - or rather, I wasn't worried, but Faith seemed to think that ..."

"That ... what?"

"That there was something between us. Between you and me," he finished awkwardly.

He had expected Bridget to laugh it off as he had done. But Bridget was not laughing. She gave a small smile.

"I see. Yes, I suppose she had reason to think that."

"What?"

Bridget looked into his startled face.

"Come now, John, we did spend a lot of time together ... without her. When I stayed here, I'd get up early because I knew I would find you up, and I wanted to talk to you."

"But that wasn't ..."

"No, of course it wasn't. But it might seem that way. And in any case ... up to a point, Faith was right, John. I know you never had any romantic interest in me. But I did love you. Of course I did. I still do. I don't think any woman in a situation like mine, if she met a man like you, could stop herself."

"But - you said you love Malcolm."

This time Bridget did laugh. "Yes, I do. I said I loved you, John, not that I'm 'in love' with you. Though I may have been at first, just a little. But I never wanted you to myself, as - as I want Malcolm."

John looked down at her pityingly, and took her hand on a sudden impulse. "It'll be all right, Bridget. It has to be."

The back door opened and Malcolm and Faith appeared. John dropped Bridget's hand at once. To both his and Bridget's surprise, Faith was smiling. But there was something artificial in the way she said lightly,

"How about some lunch, everyone?"

Malcolm said he was starving, and Bridget got up at once. She was surprised anew when, as they went back into the house, Faith took her arm and whispered cheerfully and conspiratorially,

"And I shall expecting you to tell me all about yourself and my big brother."

After lunch, John asked Malcolm suspiciously what he had told his sister. Malcolm shrugged.

"The truth." He added with a grin, "But I did emphasise how upset and worried Bridget is. You know Faith. She may be worried sick herself, but she'll always rally round and put on a brave face if she feels she can help someone else feel happier that way."

It appeared that he was right. Faith, far from breaking down as she had when John had told her about the Order, kept conversation on a cheerful note as much as she could, and when it was time to say goodbye that evening, though there was a tear in her eye when she embraced her brother, she smiled warmly at Bridget and hugged her.

"Come and see us as often as you like, won't you? You know I'm nearly always in, and I'll be there if you need to talk."

"Thank you," said Bridget.

John turned to Malcolm. "I wish you'd wait until Remus gets in. I don't want to be the one to have to tell him you've gone marching into Voldemort's lair without even saying goodbye to him."

Malcolm frowned. "I'm sorry. But I really think we should be going now."

"It can't be much longer before he gets back. Please, Malcolm. The boy's fond of you."

"I know. He's a good, decent lad, John." He smiled. "Well, he's like his father."

"He'll take it hard when he finds out you didn't wait."

Malcolm nodded and patted John's shoulder, but said nothing more.

A small girl skipped merrily along a hedge-lined lane, her ponytail bobbing up and down at the back of her head, whistling a happy tune. Her school bag was swinging from her shoulder and she was carrying a sports bag in her other hand. She had finished school. Not just for the day, but for seven weeks. It was the school holidays at last, and though any reasonable adult would have pointed out to her that seven weeks would fly fast, to the child they seemed like an eternity, an infinity of days off, outings with her parents, visits to her aunt in London, trips to the seaside, treats, clear blue cloudless skies, her mother's gentle hands combing and plaiting her hair for hours on end, her father laughing heartily as he pushed her on a swing, his blue eyes shining, his cheeks flushed and jolly.

Suddenly she was torn abruptly from her daydream. A siren sounded behind her, then another, and another. Big red fire engines zoomed past, their lights flashing, the firemen reaching for the hoses as they went. She watched them turn the corner and wondered vaguely where the fire was. She walked on more sedately. Even to a girl as young as her, it seemed improper to be too cheerful when something bad was happening. She didn't realise at first that the sky she was walking towards was not like the sky behind her. It was blackening quickly, swirling with what looked like black fog. Except that it wasn't fog. It was smoke. She rounded the bend and saw that the fire engines had stopped. They hadn't driven on further as she had thought they would, but were just along the road, at the other end, parked outside a burning house - the house at the very end ...

Her feet stopped. Her little heart pounded in her chest. For a moment she didn't dare to move, then she dropped both her bags and started running, running as fast as her short legs would carry her, screaming as she went.

"Mummy! Daddy! Mummy!"

In all the noise that filled the street, the racket of firemen shouting to each other, megaphones switched on to make their voices carry further, passers-by and people from neighbouring houses yelling and screaming, babies crying and dogs barking, no one heard or saw the little girl running towards the burning house until it was too late.

"Stop! Stop that child!" a fireman shouted after her as she dashed in through the hole where the front door had been.

And then all was silent. Silent but for the crackling of flames all around her and the sounds of falling wood as the furniture crumbled and roof beams fell.

"M-Mummy?" she called timidly. "Daddy?"

She crept silently along the hallway and began climbing the stairs. The fire was all around her. It was unbearably hot, but she did not notice. She reached the first floor landing.

"Daddy? Mu..."

She had turned around and looked up. The trap door to the attic was open, and something was hanging out of it. It was, or rather it had once been, an arm, though it was now so badly burnt and blackened it was hardly recognisable as such. She did not need to climb any further, to see any more than that to know the horrible truth. She began screaming, screaming at the top of her voice as though she herself were on fire, though miraculously the flames never touched her. For a moment she thought she would faint, but then she saw a light, a bright glow shimmering through between the flames.

The fire shifted aside, the flames recoiling from her, forming a narrow passage for her to walk along. The girl followed it, feeling herself grow as she did so, no longer a child but a young woman. She reached the glow and stretched out her hand. It felt cold, and something swept over her, something cool and calming. From far away she heard an echo of a young man's voice saying,

"Aurora, Aurora, pull out. Let's forget this, come on. We've been trying for hours, it's only hurting you ..."

The voice faded away. And then Aurora became once more a child, but something was different. She was a small boy this time, playing with a shrunken skull in a magnificent, mahogany-panelled room. The boy had grown to a teenager, sitting on a stone bench and reading excitedly about ancient Aztec wizards and the rituals they had performed with human hearts, then practising the use of the unforgivable curses first on insects, then on mice and other small mammals, then on his filthy mudblood neighbour's dog. A man, meeting a young woman with long black hair and a slightly upturned nose in a grimy pub, listening to her talk of power and the purification of wizardkind. Holding out his arm while a man with a flattened nose and stretched skin held a wand tip to his forearm, feeling the Dark Mark burn itself into his skin. Image after image flowed over her, enveloped her as though she were living it, as though Travers's life had become her own, until at last everything seemed to melt away and she could see only the high ceiling of an empty room.

She tried to move her arms, but they were strapped to her sides. She cried out in frustration, and a gnarled hand gripped her wrist firmly. Everything shifted back into focus. She wasn't lying flat on her back strapped to a bed at all, she was curled up on the floor in a foetal position. Frank Longbottom was crouching beside her, together with another man who was holding her wrist in a vice-like grip.

"Isn't it time we got her out of here, sir? We've got what we needed and she's been under a lot of strain for the past hours ..."

"Yes, yes, but not yet," said the growling voice of Alastor Moody. "Give her a minute to find her way back to reality. We'll need her to write everything she saw down for us."

"But ..."

"Yes, I know you saw it all too, but we've got to be sure, Longbottom."

"Yes sir."

Aurora forced herself to relax, taking slow, deep breaths. There was nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. Moody and Frank would look after her. Presently, she felt herself becoming calmer, breathing more easily. She uncurled herself and tried to get up. Frank and Moody helped her to her feet.

"Come along, girl, let's get you something to warm you up," said Moody.

They led her out into an empty corridor, up a flight of steps and along a passage to the lift. It carried them all the way upstairs to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. All the way through to Moody's office they went, and only then was she settled as comfortably as possible in his hard leather desk chair.

"I'll go and get some butterbeer and chocolate," growled Moody. "You help perk her up a bit, Longbottom."

Frank nodded. He waited until Moody had left them alone, then he sat down on the edge of the desk and said,

"You okay?"

Aurora nodded, but she looked very drawn and shaken, and her eyes were very red. They seemed to fill with tears even as he watched, and the next minute she was holding her hand up to them, trying to stop herself crying. Frank reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

"It's all right, you have a good cry if you want. I know it was horrible. I saw it all. You just have to keep reminding yourself that it wasn't real, that's all, and try and forget it as quickly as possible."

But Aurora was shaking her head, the tears flowing freely now. "I wish - I wish I could," she choked. "But I c-can't. I haven't been able to forget it ... in over eleven years."

It took a moment for the meaning of her words to sink in. When it did, Frank's jaw dropped in horror.

"You mean that last bit before you broke through, the bit with the fire ... That was real. That little girl was - was ..."

"Me," Aurora confirmed quietly. "Yes. That was no nightmare vision playing on my fears for the future or anything. That was the past. It was real. The memory of how I lost my parents. I was seven at the time."

"Then ... it was them up in that attic."

"Yes," she replied. Her voice sounded strange, both sadder than usual and shriller, younger, childlike. "M-Mummy had turned it into a sort of greenhouse. Her 'garden', she called it. She used to bread all sorts of interesting plants. We had mandrakes one year, and Mummy managed to keep them through the winter by knitting them little scarves and gloves. I helped her repot them." She gave a queer little laugh. "They were such odd-looking things, especially with pink woolly scarves on them. We didn't have a proper garden, you see. Just a little backyard. Daddy built me a sand pit out there, and he'd build really big sand castles with me, and we'd invent stories about beautiful princesses trapped in the highest tower, and handsome princes rescuing them. They used to make him laugh. We used to have such fun together."

Frank watched her, feeling completely helpless. "What caused the fire? Do you know?"

"It was the gas oven. Something to do with the pipes not being properly isolated or something, and then a short circuit in the electric wiring sparked and there was a massive explosion."

Frank did not understand much about electricity and gas, and he admitted as much to her.

"I know," she said. "It's not usual for all-magic families to bother with that, but Dad always made a particular point of making sure none of our muggle neighbours found out the truth."

"It must have been awful, though," Frank said, "to have that happen, and when you were so young too."

Aurora nodded sadly. "My greatest fear ever since has been my - my own parents. I used to dream of them every night, looking like that. Like they did up in that attic."

"You mean you went up there?"

"Yes, I went up. Into the heart of the fire. I don't know how I survived."

"Accidental magic, I expect. You must have unwittingly performed some sort of protection charm. They say that can often happen to kids, and it's unfortunate really that adults have their powers too well under control, in situations like that."

"I didn't want protection!" Aurora said with sudden vehemence. "I wanted to die! I wanted the fire to kill me as it had killed them!"

She burst into tears again. Frank let her cry, saying nothing. He didn't know what to say. Eventually, Aurora's sobs died down.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to go to pieces like this. It was all a very long time ago. It's just been brought back to me, that's all. I'll get over it again."

"Aurora ..."

"I don't want to talk about it," she said abruptly. "I told Lily the bare facts once, that's all. I came close to telling Remus, but ..." She lifted her head, an odd look on her face. "You're the only one now who really knows what it was like. And do you know ... I don't find that terrible at all. I always thought that if anyone knew exactly how I felt, it would be awful. But it's not. On the contrary, it's ... strangely relieving."

"I'm glad," Frank replied. "I'm glad you don't mind my knowing, and I'm glad ..."

"Yes?"

He smiled. "I'm glad you didn't get what you wanted."

Aurora smiled back through her tears. "Thank you, Frank."

Introducing Mr. Travers

Neither Bridget nor Malcolm seemed to want to go to sleep that night. In the end, they went out and took a long stroll along the Thames, walking hand in hand and talking about anything that came into their heads, so long as it wasn't the following morning. The lights of buildings reflected in the river, and the roads were as noisy as if it had been broad daylight, but they took no notice of the traffic, and eventually even that seemed to die down. Many of the lights were extinguished. They were standing once more by Tower Bridge as they had done before, but this time Bridget pulled Malcolm's arms close around her and laid her head against his chest.

"Why couldn't it have been you I stood here with all those years ago?" she sighed after a while.

"You must have been what ... seventeen? Eighteen? And I was approaching thirty. Even if we had met then, I'm afraid I probably would have told myself you were too young ... or that I was too old," Malcolm reasoned.

Bridget laughed. "Vindictus was already in his thirties, it didn't stop him."

"One would almost say he had more sense than I did, but if he had he would have loved you for yourself, not for what he thought he could get out of you." He paused, and then a thought suddenly struck him. "Bridget?"

"Yes?"

"How much older was he than you?"

"Fifteen years. Why?"

"I've just realised ... John and I must have met Lothian at some time. When we were at school. Of course, he'd have been just another Slytherin to us back then, and therefore unworthy of further notice. It's strange how these things come about, though, isn't it? I wonder if I'll recognise him, when I see him again."

Bridget shuddered. "Oh, Malcolm, don't!"

"Well, I'm bound to meet the brute eventually."

She looked up at him anxiously. "If you do, be careful. Remember who you're supposed to be. Don't let him provoke you, will you?"

"Me? Of course not. I might rip his head off while no one's looking, but other than that I'll be the model of politeness."

"Don't joke about it, please. He's a dangerous man."

Malcolm smiled. "I promised you I'd be careful, didn't I?"

They sat on a bench by the river until the last lights went out and only the moon and stars illuminated the night. Eventually the sun began to creep back over the horizon and Malcolm shifted. The night had been mild, but he was chilly, and his shoulder was feeling cramped. Because much as she had struggled against it, Bridget had succumbed to sleep in the end, and her head now rested on his shoulder, though he had not slept a wink all night. He kissed her forehead and she stirred sleepily.

"What is it?" she murmured.

"It's morning," he whispered back. "Time to go."

She woke with a start, her eyes looking at him sadly. "I'll come to the theatre with you. I want to be with you as long as I can."

Malcolm shook his head firmly. "No, Bridget. It's safer for you if you go home and then go to work as usual."

They took a bus back to her street and Malcolm accompanied her upstairs. She unlocked the door and turned back, her eyes filling with tears. He took both her hands in his and held them tightly.

"Don't be afraid, Bridget. I can look after myself, you know that."

"I know," she choked, "but I'll miss you so. It's so horrible - not knowing when I'll see you again."

"I'll try to make it soon. I'll have to keep a very low profile for a while. This Travers hasn't been a Death Eater for long, they'll still be watching him closely. Mustn't let them get suspicious by being conspicuously absent. But as soon as I can, I'll come back to see you."

He kissed her and held her tightly. Then, gently but firmly, he pushed her away from him.

"Goodbye, Bridget. Take care."

"Malcolm ..."

He blew her a kiss, and with an effort turned around and walked away, leaving her to stare after him. Bridget rushed up to the banisters and watched from above as he hurried down the stairs. She was barely aware of the footsteps behind her, until James touched her arm.

"Mum ... is everything all right?"

She swallowed hard and wiped her eyes with her hand. Then she turned to face him with a forced smile.

"Yes, dear. Everything's fine."

Malcolm took a deep breath as he approached the stage entrance of the Better Days Theatre. He climbed the stone steps and knocked. He was answered by shuffling footsteps and the croaking voice of Mr. Craigg.

"Who's there?"

"Hood," Malcolm tried to say, but his voice failed him.

"What was that?"

"Hood," he repeated clearly.

The door opened a little way. The large macaroon that was Craigg's head looked even more unappetising than usual, for it looked like he had neither shaved nor slept since Malcolm had last seen him on Saturday morning.

"Is everything all right?" Malcolm asked when the door was firmly locked and bolted.

Craigg shook his head. "No. Been worried out of me senses in case something went wrong. Helping ye collect information's all very well, but making polyjuice potion down in me cellar's a bit of a different story, ain't it, what with folk I've never seen before turning up in the early hours of the morning delivering hairs for the potion in a bag, and that Désirée woman hanging about ..."

"I thought you admired her."

"Ah, she's a good actress, all right," Craigg admitted. "But she's a bit queer, if you get my meaning. Ye never know what she's thinking. Intelligent, she is. And intelligent women is dangerous, you mark my words."

Malcolm laughed and clapped Craigg on the shoulder. "You've been spending too much time among moth-eaten costumes and cobwebs, my friend. You ought to get out more. You might find intelligent women are not so much dangerous, as exciting. And really," he added with a fond smile, "quite charming."

Craigg looked doubtful. "Yes, well, that's as may be, sir. But anyway, the potion's ready downstairs, and the young lad's waiting for you too."

"Young lad?" Malcolm repeated, surprised. "What young lad?"

"You mean you weren't expecting no young lad?" Craigg asked, looking frightened. "Oh dear, well I'm sorry, but he knew your password and all, and he said as how he had something you'd be needing, and he'd wait for you downstairs. Looked a decent enough sort. In fact, he looked somewhat like you, sir, so I figured as how he might be your son."

"Oh." Malcolm's face cleared. "That's all right then. You'd better take me to him."

Craigg led the way down a narrow spiral staircase, along a dark passage and up to a large, heavy black door. He opened it to reveal a medium-sized, dimly lit store room. There were racks of costumes pushed against the walls, a large bubbling cauldron stood in the corner, and Remus rose from one of the dusty crates as they entered.

"I'll ... erm ... leave you two to it," Craigg murmured.

He went out, closing the door behind him. Malcolm turned his attention to Remus.

"Good morning. You're up bright and early."

"And you look like you haven't had any sleep at all," Remus answered, his voice still slightly rough.

"I haven't," Malcolm admitted bluntly. He studied his nephew for a moment. "Have you?"

Remus smiled wryly. He shifted slightly, and the light from the lamp cast thick shadows on his drawn face.

"No, not for two nights. First the full moon, then getting a note from Dad yesterday evening to say you'd been to see them."

He paused, seeming to struggle with himself. There was unusual heat in his voice when he went on.

"I went looking for you all around London last night. I tried your flat, Bridget's place, the Leaky Cauldron, every pub and bar and café I've ever heard you mention! In the end I pushed a note under your door and went back to Aurora's. I thought the minute you came home and found it, you'd come and see me. She waited up with me till past midnight, but you still didn't turn up. So I went back home to bed. I lay awake most of the night, though, worrying about you, wondering if I'd make it here in time today ..."

He broke off, swaying suddenly on the spot. Alarmed, Malcolm hurried forward to stead him.

"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it. "Your dad told me you'd be upset, but ... what can I say? I'm a coward when it comes to goodbyes. It was bad enough having to see your parents, and leaving Bridget behind ..."

Remus nodded slowly. "Yes, I know. Dad told me that as well. Anyway, it doesn't matter now. I managed to catch up with you in the end, and that's the main thing." He gave a loud cough.

"You should be in bed," Malcolm said worriedly. "You need to recover."

"I will. But first I had to see you. McGonagall made me promise, you see, that I would wish you good luck from her ..."

"Thanks."

"... and I had to bring you these ..."

Remus reached inside his robes and handed Malcolm a thick sheaf of parchment.

"What's this?" Malcolm asked, taking it.

"Aurora spent most of the day at the Ministry yesterday, breaking through the mental defences of that Death Eater. Those sheets of parchment contain everything she found out about him."

Malcolm flicked through the pages.

"But - this looks like his entire life history."

"Pretty much. The idea was to make sure you'd be well prepared and know all there is to know about the man you're about to be."

Remus's eyes looked up into Malcolm's. Looking back into them and regarding his nephew's face, for a moment Malcolm could see himself there, his own determination to do what was right and to fight for what he believed in, at whatever cost to himself. He smiled.

"Don't worry, it won't be the last time you see me," he said, voicing the boy's fears. "I'll be back."

"I hope so," said Remus fervently.

Malcolm clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm glad you came, Remus. And not just because of the information you brought me. I am very fond of you, you know. Even if I sometimes have difficulty showing it."

"I know. You - you were always something of a hero to me, Uncle Malcolm," Remus said self-consciously, smiling back at him. "You still are."

Malcolm hugged him, then he said,

"It's time I took that potion."

Remus's smile faded. He nodded tightly. Malcolm studied him a moment longer, then he went and opened the door and called out,

"Craigg!"

The theatre manager came hurrying back.

"Yes?"

"Craigg, this young man is my nephew," Malcolm told him. "He's ill, and I want him to rest before he starts on his journey home. Look after him, will you?"

Craigg eyed Remus shiftily, but nodded.

"Good."

Malcolm gave Remus another brief smile, then he walked over to the cauldron that was bubbling in the corner. He picked up a glass that stood on the table beside it and filled it with polyjuice potion. He emptied the hairs out of the bag Craigg had left lying there into the glass, swirled it around, and drank the foul-tasting potion quickly. The other two watched as he transformed, as his hair grew darker and shorter, his eyes narrowed, his eyebrows became bushier, his face rounder, and a moustache sprouted above his lip. The unfamiliar face turned to Remus, and an unfamiliar voice said,

"Look after yourself."

"You too," Remus replied.

He watched the strange man set the glass down, take the sheaf of parchment and leave.