Three Animagi and a Werewolf

Chapter 25: Death Eaters at Large

Unexpected Guests

In a perfectly ordinary semi-detached house just ten minutes' walk from the railway station, Laura Lovegood took a seat at the breakfast table and picked up a mug of hot chocolate between two hands, blowing on it with a pensive expression fixed firmly on her face. Across the table, the Daily Prophet newspaper emitted an impatient snort. A bony hand appeared around the side of the page and groped around on the table. Releasing one hand from her mug, but not looking up from her study of the steam steadily rising from it, Laura reached out and pushed a glass of grapefruit juice towards the groping hand.

"Thanks," muttered the newspaper.

The glass disappeared from view, reappearing empty a few moments later. The paper emitted another snort. Then there was a rustling sound and the Daily Prophet was moved aside to reveal the long, effeminate face of Laura's younger brother Lance. He pushed his large glasses up his narrow nose and leaned low across the table to take a slice of toast from the rack, an action which caused his glasses to slide down again immediately.

"So," said Laura, taking a sip of her cocoa. "What do they say about yesterday's drama?"

"Drama?"

"The business at the Ministry."

"Oh, that," said Lance lazily, as if it didn't really interest him.

Laura looked up at last. "Isn't that what you've been reading about?"

"No. I was reading this article by Professor Savvy about endangered magical species in Sweden. It could have been jolly interesting reading if the man wasn't such a fool. Do you know he actually claims there is no such thing as the Crumple-Horned Snor..."

Laura's exasperated sigh and the look on her face silenced him. Though he might be prone to absent-mindedness, and did have a tendency to dwell on matters other than those other people would consider vital, Lance was not insensitive to other people's worries. He sensed that his sister was deeply concerned, and therefore took up the Prophet once more, turning to page eight as the front page instructed him to. After a few minutes' silence, he laid the paper aside once more.

"Well?" prompted Laura.

Lance said in a slow, deliberating voice, "If you go by what the Prophet writes, no less than a dozen Death Eaters forced their way into the Ministry of Magic, took about ten helpless hostages and murdered several Ministry officials, before being despatched single-handedly by Mr. Bartemius Crouch himself."

"Do they mention that he authorised the use of the Unforgivable Curses?"

"Yes," said her brother, helping himself to marmalade. "The way they put it, it sounds like he was completely justified in doing so, and it's the only way we can all be saved from being murdered in our beds."

After a pause, Laura shrugged. "Well, it could have been worse, I suppose."

Her brother shot her a questioning look and she explained.

"I half expected the Prophet to take the other view, at the rate things are going. At least, if they're putting Crouch across as the hero, it means that they're not on the side of the Death Eaters."

"Oh, but they couldn't be!"

With a dry laugh, Laura contradicted him.

"I'll bet you anything you like they could! In fact," she went on, "they may yet change their tune if it turns out that even authorising the use of the Unforgivable Curses doesn't help Crouch put a stop to the Death Eaters' activities. Though they've been active for years now, this is the first time any of You-Know-Who's supporters have dared to attack the Ministry direct. That they got away with it could embolden them to carry out more similar actions. So far they've been careful. They've struck out often, they've killed or otherwise harmed a lot of people, yes - but they've always kept to public, out-of-doors locations. Places that offered an easy escape, where they could simply disapparate to safety. It's not a good sign that they dared to enter the Ministry like that, and kill a high-ranking Ministry official in broad daylight. Not good at all."

"It will be a long time before they dare to try anything like this again. The Ministry will be prepared from now on."

"Oh yes, the Ministry will be prepared. They'll take precautions now. Seems like closing the gate after the troll has bolted to me ... No, the Death Eaters won't strike against the Ministry again. Not yet, anyway. But there are other places. And the more successful attacks they launch on important locations, the more confident they will become, and the more people will give in to them out of fear."

"But the Prophet won't ever support them, surely."

Laura looked at him affectionately, but also with a hint of pity in her gaze.

"You can be so naïve sometimes, Lance. You'd willingly believe in the existence of some creatures no one has ever heard of, no matter how many experts have looked for them without success, but you refuse to believe people can be bad, or just too scared to hold firm."

"You can believe in the evil in everyone if you like," Lance said unperturbed. "I happen to think everyone has a potential to be better."

"I don't believe everyone's bad!"

"No, perhaps not. I don't suppose you believe I could be bad, or at least I hope you don't."

"Of course not!" Laura exclaimed hotly.

She was spared from defending herself further, however, by the shrill ring of the doorbell. She went to answer it. To her surprise, she found the last person standing on the doorstep in the cold October air whom she would have expected to see in the quiet neighbourhood where she lived with her brother. In fact, she worried seriously what the neighbours would make of him, in particular Mrs. Ridley-Boynton, who she knew would at this moment be peeking around her kitchen curtain just across the road, avidly studying Alastor Moody's travel-stained cloak that reached down to his muddy boots, and the unkempt tangled hair that hung to his shoulders.

"Morning, Laura," he said gruffly. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," she said, standing aside to let him by.

Receiving a refusal when she offered to take his cloak from him, she led Moody through into the kitchen. Lance, who had just finished his first slice of toast, got to his feet. Laura introduced him.

"My brother Lance. Lance, this is Mr. Moody."

"How do you do, sir," said Lance, shaking the older man's hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

"I'll bet you have. I dare say your sister's told you all about what a queer customer I am," said Moody with a sparkle in his eye.

But Lance was far too polite to agree. Instead he said "Won't you sit down?" rather superfluously, as Moody was already pulling up a chair and lowering himself onto it.

"So, what can we do for you?" Laura asked, returning to her own seat.

"Just a small thing," Moody said. "You, young lady, can come back to the Ministry with me this morning and eat humble pie before our mutual friend, Barty Crouch."

"What?" Laura cried.

"You heard me. You're going back to Auror headquarters and you're going to apologise to our Barty for losing your temper yesterday and tell him you still want your job after all."

"That's out of the question. I resigned yesterday, I can't go back today and say I've changed my mind."

"You can and you will, my girl."

Laura was still staring at him incredulously. It was Lance who spoke next.

"Why?" he asked simply.

Moody looked up at him. The young man, who had remained standing, was studying him closely. The Auror turned his eyes back on Laura before replying in his familiar growl.

"I don't trust Barty Crouch. I'm not saying I believe he's in cahoots with the enemy. I don't. But I don't like his methods. I don't like him. And I know for a fact he doesn't like me. I want someone in Auror headquarters who I can trust, but it's got to be someone who's not so close to Albus Dumbledore as to arouse Crouch's suspicions."

"Professor Dumbledore? What's he got to do with it?" Lance asked.

"Laura knows," Moody said, his eyes still fixed on the young woman's face.

Laura thoughtfully fingered the mug she had been drinking from for a moment. Then her eyes met Moody's.

"You're talking about this society you mentioned the other day, when you told me about Malcolm working undercover," she said slowly. "This Order of the Phoenix, or whatever you said it was called."

"Exactly. Crouch was a member of it once."

"He's not any more?"

"Certainly not," Moody said grimly. "His ideas were not shared by the rest of us, you see. He resented that. And he resents even more knowing that the Order is going on regardless of what he thinks, and several of its members are stationed in Auror headquarters, right under his nose. He found an excuse to give get rid of Malcolm. The rest of us don't intend to make it quite that easy for him, but I'm sure he'll find a way to get us out from under his feet. Not that that will stop us going on with our work, mind. But we need someone on the inside for if and when that happens. We've got to know what Crouch is up to, or we could end up getting in the Aurors' way without meaning to. And after all, we are on the same side, though our methods may be rather different."

"I see," said Laura slowly. "And you want me to be that person 'on the inside'? Well, that's rather flattering in a way, but I don't know that it will work. Mr. Crouch knows that I disapprove of his methods. He also knows that I worked closely with Malcolm. He'll guess that I'm still supporting him, whether he's working for the Aurors or the Order of the Phoenix."

"Yes, he knows that. But he also knows you've always been loyal to the Ministry. What I need you to do is convince him that that loyalty is more important to you than the ties of friendship, and you'll do what he wants you to do."

Laura thought for a moment. Then she nodded. "All right. I'll do whatever you say. I've always respected you and Professor Dumbledore. I'm sure yours is the right way. If you asked me to join this Order of yours, I'd do so at once. But I realise that's not what you need me to do."

"No."

Laura smiled. "I'll do what I can."

* * *

On any weather map, Yorkshire would have been rendered invisible this morning by large grey shapes intended to represent clouds. Indeed, visibility through the window was practically non existent as the rain outside poured steadily down, beating loud against the panes and on the roof. The noise was so deafening that Peter Pettigrew, standing in front of the mirror in the electrically illuminated bathroom of his home, dampening his fringe with a flannel and pulling a comb through to flatten it, barely heard the doorbell ring. He was surprised when his mother's voice called to him up the stairs.

"Peter! It's for you!"

For him? But who could have come to see him, especially now, so early on a Thursday morning? He returned the comb to its proper drawer in the cabinet and went out into the hall and down the stairs. His mother was waiting by the living room door.

"They're in here," she said, her lips pursed and her whole aspect that of one who would rather 'they' - whoever they were - had chosen to visit any place but her nice, clean, dry living room given the current weather conditions.

"Who is?"

"Sirius Black and Remus Lupin."

Peter's eyes widened. Puzzled, he passed his mother and entered the room. Sure enough, there were his two friends. Sirius - looking particularly roguish today in a manner too conspicuously non-muggle to meet with Mrs. Pettigrew's approval, Peter thought - was sprawling in a low armchair, dressed in sweeping black robes and stroking his rain-sodden black hair out of his grey eyes. He had draped his equally wet cloak over the back of another chair, and Peter winced at the thought of what his mother would say to having her furniture thus abused. Remus, who stood looking out of the back window, had also removed his dripping wet cloak, and folded it over his arm.

"Hello," said Peter. "What are you two doing here? And where's James?"

"James is at my place," Remus told him. "Old Mrs. Hammersmith died last night, so he and Bridget are staying with Mum today."

"And we're here," Sirius continued, passing quickly from the uncomfortable subject of his best friend's grief to the matter at hand, "to act as your bodyguards."

"My what?"

"He means we've come to make sure no one tries to do anything unpleasant to you this morning," Remus said.

"Why would anyone want to?"

"Because the Death Eaters that paid a little visit to the Ministry might take it into their evil heads to give you a dose of the same medicine they dealt out to old Legis yesterday, and Moony and I decided we're not too keen on letting them do so."

Peter looked startled. "I s-still don't understand. Why would they want to - to come after me?"

"You were a witness, Peter," Remus explained. "You saw it all happen. The Aurors will want to question you about everything this morning. And you may have seen some things the Death Eaters don't want the Aurors to know."

"But I've already spoken to the Aurors. I told them all I know when they asked me yesterday."

Remus shook his head. "You think you did. But you see, it was all still very fresh in your mind then, and while that may be good in some cases, it can also mean you forget to mention certain things due to the influence of shock. Once you've had time to sleep on it, you might remember more, things that perhaps seemed irrelevant to you before, that may have slipped your mind. Therefore, they will want to go over it all again, clear up certain points that may have been confused yesterday, see if there's anything else you remember ... It's perfectly routine procedure. We've already had an Auror round this morning, asking Mum a few extra questions."

"In your case, they know you'll be at the Ministry today anyway, so they'll just talk to you there. And we're here to make sure you get there in one piece," Sirius finished.

Peter sank into a chair. "B-but I honestly don't know anything more than what I've already told them. If the Death Eaters really didn't want me to talk to the Aurors, wouldn't - wouldn't they have killed me yesterday?"

Sirius coughed. Remus said gently,

"From what Alastor Moody told us earlier, they obviously tried to. If it hadn't been for Laura Lovegood ..."

Very pale, Peter nodded.

"Yes. You're right. She s-saved my life."

"Did you recognise the Death Eater who tried to kill you? Or any of the others?" Sirius asked eagerly.

Peter screwed up his eyes in concentration, thinking hard. Then he shook his head.

"It's all just a blur. I barely remember anything at all of what happened. I remember the French lady telling me to go and get help, and I remember doing so. One of the Death Eaters chased after me. I don't remember anything about him, though."

"But you do remember it was a man?" Sirius interrupted.

"Yes. Yes, I-I'm quite sure it was."

"Were they all men?" Remus asked.

"No." Peter looked up, a startled look on his face. "Why did I say that?" he wondered out loud. "I - I didn't hear their voices properly, and I don't even remember how many there were. I certainly don't remember seeing their faces. That is ..." Again he screwed up his eyes. "I - I didn't see them then. But ..."

"Yes?"

"Earlier in the day, in the Atrium, I saw ..." He flushed. "I saw Polly."

Sirius whistled. "I see. Was there anyone with her?"

"Oh yes, she arrived with a group."

"Then you must have seen all of their faces after all!" Remus exclaimed.

Peter stared at him. "Y-yes. Yes, I suppose I must have done."

"So it's possible you could identify them all," Sirius pointed out.

"I don't know about that. I didn't look that closely. I was talking to Gloria at the time and I didn't really want her to notice I'd noticed these people, you see, because she might have asked how I knew them and ..."

"Gloria?" Remus interrupted sharply.

"Gloria Boom. She was the girl w-who got my first job after they chucked me out," Peter said, blushing. "She's ..."

"Yes, yes, I know," said Remus with sudden impatience. "The point is: did the Death Eaters notice her?"

"If so, they'll be eager to stop her talking to the Aurors if they can," Sirius said quickly, even as Peter was still trying to puzzle out where his friends' sudden urgency sprang from. He rose and quickly pulled on his cloak, dripping rainwater all over a brand new Persian rug as he did so. "Come on you two, I suggest we avoid wasting any more time and get to the Ministry at once. Then we can find out where this Gloria lives and have her picked up safely."

* * *

A Change of Positions

Auror headquarters was in an excited flurry. The place looked very different from the way it had done the previous day. For one thing, it was no longer deserted, but full of people. For another, all those people were talking animatedly, some loudly, some in more hushed voices. One of the first group was Bert the cleaner in his purple overalls. He had his hands clasped over the top of his broom handle and was leaning his weight on it, the chores awaiting him forgotten while he argued with a tall, eager-faced young Auror beside him.

"I've said it once, I'll say it again," Bert was proclaiming. "It ain't right, it's not. 'is motives may be all fair an' square or they may not. I wouldn't know about that. But I say it don't make no difference. The Unforgivable Curses is called that for a reason, and that's because there's no excuse for using 'em, no matter what the circumstances."

"I disagree," said the young Auror. "Desperate times require desperate measures. We don't stand an earthly against the Death Eaters unless we're allowed to fight them with their own weapons."

"There's weapons other 'n those what's used by Dark wizards. Weapons that'll 'urt 'em all the 'arder for not knowing nothin' about 'em. Can't understand things like faithfulness and the determination not to give away your friends no matter what you're offered. That can be a weapon, too. Not givin' in to 'em. And that's what this decree's doing, it is," Bert added sagely, pointing a gnarled finger at the notice pinned to the wall.

Frank, standing silently reading the notice with Damian, caught Gideon Prewett's eye. The latter jerked his head over to a corner and began to move that way. Frank and Damian followed suit. They were joined by Oliver McKinnon, Benjy Fenwick and the girls from their Auror training group.

"What do you make of that news then?" Oliver asked in a subdued voice.

"I think it's terrible," said Florence Fortescue. "Old Bert's right, this is no way to fight the Dark Arts."

Gideon shook his head, frowning. "Crouch has been aiming for this all along. Right from the beginning he's wanted to 'fight them with their own weapons', like that man put it."

"But we can't fight the Dark Arts with Dark spells," Florence insisted.

"If we did we'd be just as bad as the Death Eaters," Damian agreed.

"I don't know about that," Benjy mused. "As long as one was only using the Curses in self-defence ..."

"It won't be only in self-defence though, will it?" Frank said. "Granted, that might be the intention in some people's minds. But like Gideon said, Crouch has been planning this all along."

Oliver nodded. "He'd probably call it a precautionary measure. I say it's inviting Aurors to shoot first and ask questions later."

"Shoot?" Damian queried.

"It's something muggles do with things called guns."

"Guns?"

"They're ..."

But Oliver's explanation of what a gun is was cut short by a "Shhh" behind his left shoulder. The group all stared at the person the sound had originated from. They all knew Dorcas Meadowes by sight, but though she was known to be one of the best Aurors in the Ministry's employ, she kept herself to herself most of the time, and only those in the group who had attended meetings of the Order at which she had decided to make one of her rare appearances had ever heard her speak before.

"There's a time for discussing these things and a time for holding your tongue," the elderly witch warned them. "This is one of the latter. Wait for Alastor. He went to see Dumbledore yesterday. He'll tell you what to do."

She nodded curtly at them all and withdrew again. They exchanged glances, shoulders were shrugged, and their attention was drawn to the bulk of the murmuring crowd, whose volume had lowered while the rapidity of its speech increased as it drew apart to let Bartemius Crouch himself pass.

He stopped in front of the notice and drew himself up importantly. Motioning for silence, he cleared his throat and began to speak.

"My dear friends and colleagues. Good morning. I take it you have all read the decree pinned to the wall behind me. No doubt many of you are wondering whether I am quite in my right mind in authorising you all to use the Unforgivable Curses in the fight against the Death Eaters. Believe me, it is a decision I did not make lightly. But I assure you that I am honestly of the opinion that this is a necessary measure. We live in times where, unfortunately, the Dark Arts are gaining the upper hand. So far, we have been too soft with those who we know or suspect are in league with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. We have allowed them to thrive and gain both power and confidence. The fact that they were able to walk in here unchallenged, kill one of the Ministry's most prominent figures and walk out again without so much as one arrest being made proves that ..."

"That was only because we had orders not to stop them!" one voice protested.

Clearly annoyed at the interruption, Crouch scowled at the speaker.

"Those orders did not come from me," he said coldly.

"No," said a growling voice from the back of the crowd. Heads were turned. "They came from me," said Alastor Moody. "And I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone here present for carrying them out so faithfully. If serious action had been taken against that group of Death Eaters, the results, as I explained to you yesterday evening, Barty, could have been disastrous."

"I can't help it if the policies of this Ministry upset the plans of some reckless vigilante," Crouch retorted. "And from now on I shall expect you, Mr. Moody ..." - he laid a great emphasis on the formal address - "... and everyone here to carry out my instructions without question. This morning's decree authorises and requires all of you to use any of the Unforgivable Curses wherever necessary to help you apprehend Death Eaters or suspected supporters of the Dark Lord. I intend to come down hard on those who practise the Dark Arts," he added with vigour, "on those who have terrorised, tormented and killed so many innocent people and will continue to do so in the future if we do not take action now and prevent their influence from expanding any further, before it's too late. That's all. Now get to work."

The crowd dispersed. Laura, who had entered headquarters just behind Moody, making sure not to appear too obviously to have come in with him, made her way towards Bartemius Crouch.

"Sir?" she began.

Crouch turned to face her, clearly surprised to see her there.

"Miss Lovegood. What brings you here? I thought you said yesterday that you were done with the Ministry. Weren't your words something like 'I refuse to go on working for a damned egotistical megalomaniac like you'? I'm sure I remember you accused me of being just as bad as ..."

"... as the Death Eaters, in your own way. Yes, sir, I remember what I said," Laura admitted, making sure to look as embarrassed as possible. "I'm afraid I was rather over-excited yesterday evening. The tragedy, an innocent person's life at stake ... I confess I thought you were being rather ruthless. It seemed to me at the time that you were putting the woman's life on the line unnecessarily. I couldn't think clearly, I'm afraid, owing to the fact that the person in question was Malcolm's sister."

Crouch gave a snort. "I don't see what that has to do with it."

"Oh, everything," Laura assured him. "I was unable to think rationally at the time because of her connection to Malcolm and my friendship for him. I knew he'd never forgive us if anything happened to her, and my concern over that clouded my judgement, I fear. I've had time to think it over since, and I realise now that you were right, of course. Those Death Eaters had killed a man, and if they were allowed to escape, they might kill many more. One person's life against many. Naturally, there was only one decision you could make."

"It didn't do me much good though, did it?" Crouch hissed viciously. "They got away anyway. And in the end it was Lupin himself who took the greatest risk with his wife's life. Two words, and that Death Eater could have killed her before he hit the ground."

Laura was not about to put him right on this. She did not know just how much Crouch knew about Malcolm's 'vigilante' part in the previous day's happenings. She therefore remained silent and waited for Crouch to speak again, which eventually he did.

"So, what is it you want?"

"I want my job back, sir."

"And you expect me to believe that you'll support me from now on?"

"Oh, I will. Don't worry, I've learnt my lesson. I shan't allow personal feeling to prevent me from doing my duty again."

Bartemius Crouch was frowning, but at last he nodded.

"Very well. But you'll understand that I shall be keeping you in the office for a while before I can trust you to carry out my orders off premises again."

"Naturally. Thank you, sir."

"Hm." Crouch paused. Sirius and Remus had just arrived, Peter walking hesitantly along between them. "There's a job for you. You can question that youngster and find out what he really knows. I can't believe he took part in the council proceedings all that time and has nothing to tell us. He didn't even seem to know who was in the room when the trouble began. I'd like to question him myself, but I have a feeling that would only intimidate him into silence. You get what you can out of him."

"I will."

Laura waited for Crouch to leave before moving towards the trio.

"Good morning," she said.

"Hello, Laura. So you're back," Sirius remarked.

"Yes," she said curtly.

"I'm surprised. I thought ..."

"Never mind that now. Peter, will you come with me? Mr. Crouch wants me to ask you a few more questions about yesterday."

"Y-you?"

"Yes. Do you mind?"

"On the contrary."

Peter looked relieved. Laura smiled.

"Come along, then."

"I'd better sort out this Gloria business," Sirius said.

Remus nodded. "And I've got to be getting to work."

* * *

While Mrs. Pettigrew was pointing her wand tip severely at the soggy watermarks on her usually so spotless furniture, James was standing by the kitchen window at the Lupins', his fingers picking absent-mindedly at a crack in the old wooden cabinet in front of him. The rain was running down the glass in a torrent, and large puddles had long formed out on the lawn. There was no sign of squirrels or rabbits today, only the odd bird ducking into shelter under the leaves of an evergreen bush, its sharp little claws digging into the sodden brown soil.

"Let's hope we have better weather than this on Halloween," Faith said brightly, coming into the room.

"Yes," agreed James mechanically, sounding as though he didn't really care.

"We'll be needing a lot of cakes and drinks, I expect. I was thinking of digging out an old recipe for a pumpkin punch that John's grandmother used to make on these occasions when we were young."

"Uh-huh."

"From what Remus has been saying, I gather it's not exactly going to be a small party. He said Sirius seems quite determined to make a big thing of it, and can hardly be stopped from inviting the entire wizarding community," she finished, stopping beside him.

James gave her the smallest of smiles. Faith sighed.

"What a gloomy day it is."

Looking back out the window, James shrugged in a manner that made it clear the day was no gloomier than his mood. Studying him for a moment, Faith said,

"Look, I know you've taken the day off to be with your mother. Mrs. Hammersmith's death has hit her hard, poor dear. But it's hit you hard too, and if you don't mind my giving you some advice, I personally think you'd be getting over it more easily if you weren't sitting around here all day watching the rain pour down."

"There's not much else for me to do. I don't really feel up to working, and I don't want to leave Mum. She needs help to get over this."

"But you need to get over it yourself, James. I know you feel you've got to be strong, for her sake, but you have to let it out, or you won't be any help to her at all. One mustn't let this kind of thing eat away at one. What you need to do is find someone to talk to, to help you before you can help her."

"Who?"

Faith smiled. "I'm sure you can think of someone."

"Maybe you're right," James said slowly. "I do feel like I want to get out for a bit. Still, it hardly seems fair to run off and leave you to ..."

Faith interrupted him. "I don't mind, really. You go on out. Take as much time as you need. I'll take care of your mother."

"Thanks," he said, turning to her gratefully. "I really appreciate it."

* * *

Remus turned in at the black door of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He walked past the closed doors of various offices as usual, noticing that Mr. Westmore, the head of department, seemed to be having a somewhat heated argument with someone, for his excessively precise voice resounded loudly from behind the only half-closed door of his office. Then he suddenly stopped when he heard the second voice involved in the discussion.

"Don't give me that!" his father cried. "You don't really believe all that nonsense. The Ban on Experimental Breeding exists for a reason, and no attack by Death Eaters, no matter how bad, gives us cause to allow unqualified members of the magical community to create new species without proper control ..."

"They will be properly supervised. The breeding will not take place in people's homes, John, but here, on Ministry premises."

"Here?! You must be out of your mind! Don't you realise how dangerous that could be? What if something goes wrong? What if one of these - these things you create escapes?"

"I can assure you there will be no danger whatsoever - to the staff of other departments, at least. Nor to those directly involved in the experiments, if all precautionary measures are taken as they should be. The supervision will be very strict."

John made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort. It was then that Mr. Westmore, turning his crooked nose and quivering moustache towards the door, spotted Remus standing in the hallway.

"Here's your boy now," he pointed out.

John pulled the door right open and looked first at Remus, then back at the head of the department. His shoulders appeared to sag.

"All right then," he said, lowering his voice a little. "Just give us a minute, will you?"

Mr. Westmore looked hesitant at first, then he nodded. John came out into the hall, closing the door behind him. He put a hand on Remus's shoulder and led him further down the corridor.

"What was all that about, Dad?"

John checked to make sure they were alone.

"Those fools," he began in a low voice, "have decided that yesterday's attack calls for extreme measures to 'increase the safety level' around here."

"What sort of extreme measures?"

John sighed heavily. "They're going to slacken the Ban on Experimental Breeding."

"Slacken? To what extent?"

"They're going to start trying to create new kinds of beings as guards for the Ministry and other vital locations."

"How are they going to do that?"

"By trapping all kinds of Dark creatures, dissecting them, using their blood, venom and goodness knows what else for experiments, cross-breeding and basically just seeing what comes of it, ..."

"But ... that sounds more like they're creating an additional army of Dark beings to serve Voldemort than something that will protect us. Creatures like that are just what he and his Death Eaters would welcome."

John nodded repeatedly. "I know, I know."

"Did this order really come from forces within the Ministry who want to see the Dark Arts stopped, or is he behind it?"

"I don't know. That's just what worries me. That, and one other thing."

"What, Dad?"

Remus looked deep into his father's blue eyes. They looked tired. In fact, his whole bearing was that of a man who was totally exhausted and didn't know which way to turn. Remus suddenly felt infinitely sorry for him. Here he was, a man who had never wanted anything more than to leave in peace with his little family, who enjoyed picnics and broom rides and long walks in the countryside, caught up in the politics of the Ministry, the ever-growing threat of a rule of terror, of seeing the life he loved vanish completely, his family torn apart.

"Dad?" he repeated gently.

John shook himself and straightened up a little. "Mr. Westmore feels that the job you're currently doing could be carried out by someone much less qualified than you are."

"Qualified? But I'm not qualified for anything. I've hardly even been getting around to any studying for ages, even though Professor McGonagall told me about that Dark Arts exam in Oxford next June ..."

"It's just a pretext, Remus," his father broke in. "A pretext for ... moving you."

"Moving? What do you mean? Is Westmore going to fire ..."

"No," said John quickly. "No, he isn't going to fire you. He feels that with your excellent background in Defence Against the Dark Arts, which Professor Darkhardt attested to before his death, you are ideally qualified for a new position."

Remus felt a glum foreboding at the sight of his father's anxious face.

"What kind of new position?" he asked slowly. "Somewhere in this new 'laboratory' or whatever it is they're creating?"

John nodded. Remus stared at him, then he began to shake his head.

"I'm not doing it."

"Remus ..."

"No, Dad!" John took a step back, startled by his son's vehemence. "This is wrong. No one has the right to try and create new beings that nature never intended, and especially not beings full of Dark magic. It's madness. It's completely unethical, it's exceptionally dangerous, and it's cruel. What are they going to do when they have created one of these things? When they find it's something beyond their control, something monstrous and yet still a living being? Kill it? What if they can't?"

"That's just it, Remus. These are the risks behind it all, risks that no one besides you can see. Because you do see them, Mr. Westmore is right: You are ideally suited to quietly keep an eye on things down there. I'm not saying you'll be able to do anything to prevent a disaster, but you might just make a difference."

"So you're saying you want me to do this?" Remus asked very quietly.

"My god, no! This is dangerous, very dangerous, especially for anyone closely involved. If something goes wrong ... I don't want you anywhere near there."

"But you think it's necessary."

"I don't know. I wish we could stop them from conducting these experiments altogether, but since there's no chance of that, I think perhaps there ought to be one person there, at least, with a sense of responsibility. I think that was Mr. Westmore's idea in deciding to reassign you there. He's defending the Ministry's decision in front of the rest of us, but I don't think he's really happy with it. He knows you'll keep an eye on things - not too openly, not with any obvious authority, but you'll raise the alarm if you think it's getting out of hand."

Remus sighed. "All right. Fine. I'll do it. I just hope that we won't find we're playing right into Voldemort's hands."

* * *

"D'you reckon this is it?" Gideon asked a little doubtfully, looking up and down a suburban, completely muggle-looking street in the pouring rain.

Dorcas Meadowes checked the address on the wet sheet of note paper in her hand against the road name beside her.

"So it would seem."

"Okay, let's get closer then," said Oliver.

The little group cautiously moved a little nearer to the house inhabited by Miss Gloria Boom. The heavy rain ensured that the street was deserted.

"So, what do you reckon?" Oliver asked Gideon, plunging without prelude back into a conversation they had been having earlier, while Dorcas Meadowes surveyed the lay of the land. "Do I ask her now, or wait?"

Gideon frowned at what he thought might be the figure of a man on the opposite corner, until he discovered it was only the shadow of a tree.

"Ask who what?"

"Ask Marlene to marry me, of course."

Madam Meadowes motioned them both to follow her and moved further down the road.

"Looks safe enough," Gideon commented, then added, "Don't you think it's a bit early for that? I mean, she's still at school ..."

"Not for much longer. This is her last year, and her family are thinking of moving abroad once she leaves school."

"Nothing here," said Madam Meadowes, peering down a side street.

"Why abroad? What's wrong with good old England?" As he stepped in a muddy puddle, Gideon added, "Apart from the weather?"

"Death Eaters, for one thing. Her folks seem to think they can get away from danger abroad."

"In that case, won't they expect you to let Marlene go with them to where they believe it's safer?"

"But it's not safer! She'd be much safer here with me, where I can protect her."

Gideon grinned suddenly. "You have got it badly, haven't you? Well, if you're that serious about her ..."

He was interrupted suddenly by a totally unexpected and very loud bang. An enormous flash of green light erupted from the back of the very house they had been heading towards.

"Damn!" cried Oliver. "We're too late!"

The three of them set off at a run, Madam Meadowes exhibiting a surprising speed for her age, making straight for the place where they had seen the light. There was a gaping hole in the back wall of the house, from which issued a screen of smoke. Covering their mouths with the sleeves of their robes, they went in. At first all was silent, but then they heard someone cough.

"Hello?!" Gideon called, moving towards the spot where he could see something moving.

"Lumos," murmured Oliver, and the light of his wand fell on the source of the coughing. "Are you Gloria Boom?" he asked the dishevelled-looking girl, whose prominent eyes blinked white in her currently soot-blackened face.

"That's me," she confirmed cheerfully amid her coughs. "Who are you, though?"

"This is Madam Meadowes. I'm Gideon Prewett, this is Oliver McKinnon," Gideon told her. "We're Aurors."

"Aurors? How exciting. What are Aurors doing in my kitchen?"

"You call this a kitchen?" Oliver queried, looking at the debris lying all around them.

"Most of the time. Sometimes, like now, I call it a mess."

Gideon laughed. "No arguments there. What happened?"

"I was just experimenting with ... something. It didn't work. It huffed and it puffed and it blew my kitchen wall down."

"No sign of any Death Eaters then?"

"Death Eaters? No. What would they want with me?"

Gideon was about to explain when Madam Meadowes put her finger to her lips and nodded towards the garden.

"We'll explain later," said Oliver, positioning himself between Gloria and the dark figures moving towards them through the back garden.

* * *

Laura Lovegood was shaking her head at the sheet of parchment in front of her. It was virtually empty.

"I don't believe this," she said, sounding confused. "You say you turned up early for work yesterday. You spent the entire morning in Mr. Legis's office. You were there throughout the hearing, but you claim you don't properly remember who was in the room. The Delacours and Miss Dulac have said that you and Mr. Legis were not the only Ministry representatives in the room, but they don't know the name of the other man who was there. Are you sure you have no idea ...?"

"I can't remember," Peter repeated plaintively. "You have my notes, don't you? I was taking notes all the time."

"They've vanished mysteriously. As has your memory, it seems. Do you know if anyone had the chance to modify your memory at any time?"

Peter shrugged. "I can't ..."

"You can't remember," Laura broke in. "I know." She sighed. "Well, Peter, let's hope that they get to Miss Boom in time and that she can tell us more. Basically, all I've got so far is that you remember seeing your sister in the Atrium. That's not much to go on."

"I'm sorry."

Laura smiled. "It's not your fault, Peter. Perhaps, if you wouldn't mind, we could get a legilimens to check if your memory has been ... Come in?" she said, as there was a loud knock on the door.

The square chin, piercing eyes and toothbrush moustache of Mr. Mulciber appeared in the doorway.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Miss Lovegood," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "I was looking for Mr. Pettigrew."

"Me?" Peter asked, surprised.

"Yes. Yesterday's tragedy is regrettable, but the work must still be done. I have been assigned to Mr. Legis's position, and I need your help, Pettigrew, to get myself settled in. That is," he added to Laura, "if you have quite finished with him."

Laura hesitated. She was watching Mulciber closely. There was something about his manner that she did not like one bit. Nevertheless, she finally shook her head.

"No. He doesn't seem to be able to help us. He remembers nothing."

Was it her imagination, or did Mulciber smile, just for a second? Peter rose and said goodbye. As the door closed behind him and Mulciber, Laura remained staring at it for a long time.

*I wonder,* she thought. *They say Mulciber's ambitious, and he likes to be in control of things. What if it was him?*

It was a thought that appealed to her as being plausible. But would they ever be able to prove it? Perhaps, if she could get the Delacours or Miss Dulac to identify a picture of Mulciber as the man who had been at the hearing ...

* * *

Friends in Need

Lily stroked her red hair behind her ear and turned a page of the register that lay open in front of her. Her brow creased in a frown. Picking up the register, she went with it to the communicating door into the next room and knocked.

"Come in."

Lily entered the office of Mr. Rookwood. It was a singularly impersonal room. There was not a single photograph in sight, nor a spot of colour. All the cupboards around the walls were closed and locked, and the only indication that anyone worked here at all lay in the many books and sheets of parchment that were spread out on the heavy ebony desk.

"Miss Evans, what can I do for you?" he enquired, turning a bored-looking face towards her.

"I've been looking through this register of houses we're meant to be putting extra protection charms on and I think there must have been a mistake made," Lily said without preamble. "Several names have been crossed off the list that we drew up last week."

"That would be because these people cannot afford to have these charms installed."

Lily gaped at him. "But ... We're not some profit-making company. This is the Ministry of Magic. We're supposed to make things safer for the magical community and the muggles, and not ask to be paid for it."

"Nevertheless, the Ministry has expenses that need to be covered and can hardly be expected to place powerful protection charms on private houses free of charge."

"These people need that protection, though. Some of them live miles away from anywhere."

"At their own risk - yes."

"They can hardly be expected to abandon their homes because the Ministry is too mean to help them. Sir, this isn't fair ..."

"What is not fair," said Rookwood sharply, "is that we here at the Department of Mysteries should be troubled with something so trivial as home security. We have far more important things to attend to."

"More important?" Lily cried. "What could be more important than keeping people safe?"

Rookwood was about to reply in a manner that would no doubt have disagreed with her ideals yet again when a minute owl fluttered in through the door and dropped a memo right on top of Lily's head. It fell to the floor and she bent to pick it up. Unfolding it, she recognised the handwriting at once. She read what it said quickly, and the words drove all other worries from her mind for the present.

"Sir," she said, "would it be all right if I took my break a bit earlier today? I'll work through lunch time if you like, but it really would be ever so kind if I could have an hour now."

Algernon Rookwook eyed her curiously, but nodded, apparently quite happy to get her out of his way.

"Thank you." Closing the register in her hand, Lily left the room. She simply dropped the register on her desk, took her cloak off the hook and hurried out of the Department of Mysteries and along the corridor to the lift.

"Come on, come on," she hissed at the grilles.

After what felt like an age, they slid aside and let her in. The lift travelled up a floor. As soon as it reached the Atrium and the grilles had opened wide enough, Lily surged through them, her eyes alertly searching the assembled crowds for ...

"James!"

He took his hands out of his pockets and turned to face her as she rushed towards him. Lily reached him quickly, and her eyes were anxious as she looked up into his face. He looked pale and upset. The memo had already told her the reason. She stroked his cheek.

"James, I'm so sorry," she said, and sounded it.

He opened his mouth, could think of nothing to say, and shut it again. Lily put her arms around him, and that at last seemed to be the trigger he had needed. Right there, in the middle of the Atrium, he felt the tears start into his eyes. He held her closely, hiding his face in her long hair so no one would see. Lily stroked his back and whispered gently,

"I've asked to take my break now. Come, let's get out of here."

* * *

It was quite late by the time Bridget managed to force herself to get dressed and go downstairs. She tucked her damp handkerchief in the sleeve of the dress Faith had leant her. It was lucky, she reflected, that they took almost exactly the same size. It didn't notice that this dress what not her own. The hallway of the little cottage was even more dimly lit than usual owing to the gloomy weather, which meant that there was no sunshine to pour in today.

Bridget descended slowly, listening to the muffled murmur of the wireless behind the closed kitchen door and the steady patter of the rain. There was a smell of freshly baked cake, she noticed. Mingled with the scent of old wood that was ever-present here, it made her feel warm and comforted. Her foot touched the creaking step. She wondered whether John had ever considered repairing it, or whether the Lupins had at some time decided that they rather liked it that way. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, debating what to do. Should she join Faith in the kitchen, or go and sit in the living room by herself? She could hardly go outdoors. Her eyes swept the gloomy hall, and not surprisingly came to rest on the collection of photographs in old, slightly chipped frames on the wall just beside the coat rack.

Bridget walked over to them, realising that though she had always been aware of their presence, she had never actually bothered to look at them more closely. There was a moving photograph of John and Faith's wedding. How young and timid Faith had looked then, and John - how handsome and happy. Then came another magic picture. It showed a grey-haired man with kind, laughing blue eyes bouncing a little boy up and down on his knee. The child looked to be about two years old. Its cheeks were a healthy rose colour and it was laughing merrily.

It filled Bridget with a sudden deep regret when she looked at the next picture, which hung a little lower down and to the right and had clearly been taken with a muggle camera, for it did not move. It showed Remus at the age of maybe five or six. The colour had by then faded from his cheeks and he was a lot thinner. In fact, he looked so ill in this photo that Bridget thought it must have been taken shortly after a full moon. Yet he was smiling happily, squeezed onto a couch between a jolly, round-faced man and a woman whose smile was so startlingly like Malcolm's that she was immediately certain these were his and Faith's parents.

The last picture on this wall was a group, taken a little more recently, some time in late summer judging by the dazzling sun and the vivid violet and yellow of the moors in the background. It showed Faith stretched out lazily on a blanket beside Remus and Malcolm, who appeared to be laughing loud while launching himself at his nephew. Remus was laughing too, and holding something out of Malcolm's reach. Bridget smiled. Her eyes fixed on the picture, she stood there for a long time, until the kitchen door opened and Faith emerged.

"Oh, you're up," said Faith, and came over to join Bridget. "What are you looking at? Ah, I see." She laughed. "John took that picture on his birthday. I think it was his fortieth. Yes, it must have been. Remus had only just started growing his grey hairs and we'd all been pretty worried about him. I think that was about the first day we all managed to relax again."

"It looks like a glorious day."

"Yes." Faith looked at the photo fondly and said, "I know it's not really a very good picture. I mean, no one was in pose for this one. But it's always been one of my favourites."

Again, Bridget looked closely at the picture. After a while she said,

"I know what you mean. It's because you were all happy at the time."

"Yes," Faith sighed. "Yes, we were happy. It was Malcolm's doing, you know. He had the idea to go out for a picnic. He thought it would do us good, and he was right. I don't mind telling you, Bridget, that he's frustrated me many times in the past. He used to be quite reckless as a youngster, and you wouldn't believe the trouble he used to get into at Hogwarts! But he could always be relied on to help where he could, and he had a knack for making people happy. I don't know what I would have done without him sometimes."

Bridget felt a lump form in her throat. "I know what you mean. I don't know what I shall do if - if ..."

Her voice trailed away, and Faith quickly took her by the hand.

"I know. But we have to hope for the best, Bridget. Believe me, I don't want to lose him any more than you do. He's my brother, and he means the world to me."

Her voice was quite steady, but thick with emotion. Bridget looked at her. Once more it puzzled her that their roles seemed to have been reversed lately, that Faith was being so strong while she herself had become so weak. Perhaps because she was Malcolm's sister, Bridget felt closer to Faith this moment than she had ever done before, and wanted to cling to her like someone drowning would cling to the low branch of a tree. Yet in the same moment, she understood that such a branch might not be as strong as it appeared to be. She wondered how much strain Faith could take. Enough to hold them both over water?

Bridget inwardly shook herself. She was being foolishly melodramatic. *But you're also being selfish,* she thought. Yes, she was upset over her friend's death, and it would take her a while to get over it, and yes, she was worried about Malcolm, but Faith's eyes told her that she was not the only one. Dark and honest as her brother's, they were giving Bridget a clear message.

"You're right," Bridget said at length. "We can only hope ... together. I - I'm glad to have you as a friend."

Faith smiled. "And I could not have wished for my brother to find anyone better. I'll tell you what: If you like old photographs, I've got boxes full of them upstairs. All the pictures my parents took of us when we were children, and plenty of more recent ones too. There must be a whole shoe carton of pictures of Malcolm and Remus climbing trees. Would you like to see some of them?"

"I'd love to."

* * *

By the time Lily said she was very sorry, but it was really time for her to be getting back to work, James was feeling a little better. How comforting it was, he thought, to be able to talk to someone about how he felt. Faith had been right. He had needed this break. He supposed now he had better go back to the Lupins', but somehow he still didn't feel quite ready. He wanted more time. He wondered if it would be expecting too much of Faith if he stayed away just a little longer. Then again, she had told him to take as much time as he needed. James checked his watch. It was still early in the day. He decided he would go and visit his grandfather.

At Gryffindor Hall, an old gramophone was loudly engaged in filling the halls with the notes of such classics as Mozart and Beethoven as it floated along in mid-air, following the old house elf Cronky wherever he went. Behind it followed an army of mops and dusters, jumping, swirling and racing along the floors and shelves in time with the music, performing the most astounding antics as they cleaned and polished every inch of the house. When James stepped into the downstairs hall, therefore, he was at once greeted by an extremely old feather duster that endeavoured to dust first his shoes, then his head, and finally the tip of his nose. James sneezed. At once, as though frozen by the sound, Cronky, his dusters and broomsticks and the gramophone all stopped. The old house elf twirled the tufts of white hair that grew from his ears around his fingers, turned around without seeming to move his feet, and blinked up at James.

"Ah, it is you, young master," he said, bowing very low.

His army of cleaning equipment followed suit. A particularly large floor cloth even twisted itself into an almost human shape and performed an elegant curtsey, so that James, despite his grief, was forced to laugh.

"Hello, Cronky," he said. "You look hard at it."

"We house elves is always hard at it," Cronky replied, straightening up with an effort and leaning against the very same feather duster that had previously incited James to sneeze.

James looked around him. At this moment, at least, none of the house elves of Gryffindor Hall could be said to be "hard at it", unless "it" were referring to staring with excessive curiosity at the young man in the downstairs hall. For in all the open doorways and between the rungs of the gallery above, James could see pairs of huge round eyes watching him. Strange, he thought, how his visits always caused such wonder to these house elves, even though they had hardly been infrequent of late.

"Is there anything the young master wants, Cronky wonders?"

James had to stop himself from patting the frail old creature on its wrinkled head.

"I'm not your master, Cronky. It's your master I've come to see."

"You is Cronky's young master, sir. The master - the old master - is telling Cronky so. He is telling all the other house elves so too, sir. He is telling us all that we must do whatever the young master wishes, sir, whenever you wishes."

Resisting the urge to reply "I wishes you would stop calling me 'master' and 'sir' all the time", James said,

"Well, that's nice. So - where is my grandfather?"

Cronky turned his head to look at the house elf peeking round the drawing room door. The latter looked around at the house elf nearest the bottom of the stairs, who looked at one further up, who looked at one at the end of the gallery nearest the stairs, and so on ...

"Thanks," said James, and following the direction indicated by the house elves' stares, made his way along the passage to what Cronky would have referred to as the mistress's chamber.

He knocked and went in when his grandfather called, while the music picked up once more behind him. To his surprise, the chair before the Mirror of Erised was empty today, and the mirror itself was hung with a long cloth of red velvet. Gordon was on the balcony, sheltered from the rain by a small ledge overhead. He turned and came into the room.

"James! What brings you here? Is everything quite all right?"

"To tell you the truth - no. You remember my telling you about the old lady we used to live with?"

"Yes."

"Well, last night, she ... died."

"Ah. I'm sorry, my boy," Gordon said sincerely.

James sighed. "I was fond of her. She was ... well, don't be offended, but in a way she was like a grandmother to me."

"I can imagine you must have felt that way. It's only natural. It doesn't offend me, James. Nor would it have offended your grandmother."

James looked around him. The room was darker today than that memorable time when he had first seen it, flooded with light, unworldly compared to the rest of this dark, gloomy place. The constant patter of the raindrops outside and the sound of Cronky's music echoing up the stairs formed a melancholy backdrop to a place so long uninhabited, untouched by the passage of years, frozen, as it were, at a moment in time so very long ago, when its mistress had lived here happily. At least, James assumed she had been happy. He looked back at his grandfather to find the old iron-grey eyes watching him patiently. On an impulse, he asked a question it had never occurred to him to ask before.

"What was she like? My grandmother, I mean. Will you tell me about her?"

Gordon continued to look at him for a while, then he walked to the foot of the bed and looked down at its creamy covers. He said slowly,

"I have never been much good at descriptions. I could not describe her appearance, her posture, the clothes she wore. I can only tell you the effect she had on people - that she had on me. When she entered a room, it was full for the first time. Full of peace and understanding. When she spoke, not another voice would interrupt hers. Everyone would listen to her, and only to her. She was, I suppose, not beautiful. But she was enchanting. Men lost their heads over her, but not she over them. She was calm. She was serenity itself. And she was young. Oh, how young she was!"

"You loved her," James said quietly.

"I adored her. She was my world, from the moment I saw her planting daffodils in her parents' garden. But I dared not tell her my feelings. She was, as I say, young. Compared to her, I was an old man. And yet she loved me. She told me so one day, quite simply and quite plainly, and she said that if I cared for her and was willing to marry her, she would consent and come to Gryffindor Hall as my wife. I was so afraid that I would make her unhappy. It was all very well then, while I was not yet middle-aged and completely healthy, but what would happen when I grew older? I did not want her to spend her life nursing a sick old man. She told me that if that was what fate had chosen for her, then so be it, but she could not choose another husband. So we were married. We were happy together. Never more so than when your mother was born." He paused, then went on, "Greta loved your mother more than anything in the world. More than herself, and certainly more than me. But then, when your mother was thirteen, she ... died."

"That must have been awful for you."

"It was. I lost more than my wife that day. I lost a part of myself. And I lost something else that was precious to me. I lost your mother's love. We should have shared our grief, you see, but we didn't. I think your mother wanted to, at first, but I pushed her away from me. And in so doing I left her unprotected against that monster of a man, your father. By the time I discovered what his game was, it was too late. I had lost her trust and her affection. She scorned my warnings and those of her friends, she ran away and married him. It was my fault, you see." The old wizard smiled. "But Bridget was right. If this had not happened, you would never have been born. And therefore, painful as the whole matter is to both of us, we cannot wish it away." He turned his smile to James. "You mean too much to us for that."

"I'm just glad she got away from him," said James. "I wish she could be happy, though."

"Is she so very unhappy?"

"Yes. Desperately so, I think."

"Because of the loss of her friend?"

"No, it's not just that. Mrs. Hammersmith's death is painful for her, but it's not the worst of it."

"What then?"

"She's been alone for a long time," James began. "Oh, I know she's had me and Sirius and Mrs. Hammersmith, but - she needs someone, if you see what I mean."

Gordon nodded slowly. "I know what you mean, and I think I know who you mean." He sighed. "One of my reservations when she married your father was owing to the large age gap between them. It did not occur to me, then, that her mother had married me though I was much older. It would appear," he went on with a note of amusement, "that the women in our family have a particular weakness for older men."

"Malcolm's not as old as my father."

"Not quite, no. But he is a good deal older than your mother, all the same."

"She loves him," James said, thereby saying it out loud for the first time and finding, to his relief, that he was not as jealous as he had feared he might be. "Does anything else matter?"

Gordon looked thoughtful. "Not to her, I agree. I also suspect that nothing else mattered to him before he left. But what he has undertaken to do is dangerous, James. I'm not talking about the kind of danger you probably think I mean, the danger everyone fears - that of being discovered and killed. I am talking about another kind of danger - that of not being discovered, of spending a long time with the Death Eaters and surviving."

"I don't understand," James said, bewildered. "What are you driving at? Are you saying that, the longer he spends with the Death Eaters, the more Malcolm will - well - become like them? Because if you think that ..."

Gordon shook his head. "No, I do not think that. It might affect some men that way, admittedly, but I am quite sure that Mr. Marley is not one of them. What I mean, James, is that to be forced into such close contact with people so cruel, to talk to them daily, to watch them kill and torture and enjoy what they're doing, maybe even to be forced to help them do it, can seriously affect a man. He may return safely, but will he still be the same man he was? He will certainly not find his experiences easy to get over. Before he left, he was optimistic, lively, and till very young at heart, if not in years. When he returns, will he still be the man he was? Will he keep his youth and forget what he has seen, or will it haunt him forever?"

James shuddered. "That would be terrible."

"Indeed it would."

James lapsed into deep and silent thought. His eyes stared unseeingly at the cloth covering the Mirror of Erised.

He said regretfully. "Do you know what I wish. I wish, more than anything, that it would show me the future as it will really be."

"That is impossible."

"I know. I'd only see the future that I want to see, and that would hardly be of any use, would it?"

"What would you see right now?"

"I think I would see everyone - Mum, you, and all my friends - together, just ... happy."

Gordon studied him closely. "Yes, perhaps you would."

James smiled. "You don't sound as sure as the first time when we met here. That time you seemed to know exactly what the mirror was showing me."

"That was a pretty safe guess. You were not preoccupied with other thoughts at the time. Thoughts that, possibly, are more important to you than the desire the mirror reflected then. To know what you would see in the mirror at any given time, I would have to know you better than I do. I would have to know you intimately."

"Hm. I suppose so. Well, I should think you'd see the same as always, wouldn't you?"

"Your grandmother? Perhaps. For many long years I saw her in this mirror, it's true. Now that you and your mother have entered my life, however ... I rarely look into the mirror. And when I do, I am not sure myself what I will see. So you see, it is impossible for you to predict my vision, or everyone else's."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," James said thoughtfully. "There are some people whose visions I could predict with a great deal of certainty. Mum's, for a start. And my friends'."

"Indeed? I wonder. The Mirror of Erised possesses the power to reveal desires we do not know ourselves. One day, maybe you should bring your friends here and find out how much you really know about them."

"One day, maybe I will."

* * *

Halloween Preparations

It was lunchtime, and as usual the Leaky Cauldron was packed fit to burst. Peter had just finished reciting the mornings' events, from his interview with Laura Lovegood to Mulciber's disgruntled permission to take his lunch break as usual.

"I mean, it wasn't as though there had been that much to do, even. But the way he reacted, you'd have thought the last thing he wanted to do was to let me go and get something to eat."

Remus took a thoughtful sip of his coffee and suggested,

"Maybe he didn't want to let you out of his sight."

"What do you mean?"

"It's rather suspicious, isn't it, the way he came in right on cue to take you away from Laura? Almost as though he didn't want you to reveal anything to the Aurors."

"There's nothing to reveal. My mind's a complete blank."

"Hm. Have you heard whether Gloria was any help, Sirius?"

Sirius, tipping some extra salt onto his chips, said,

"I don't think they got much out of her. A couple of descriptions, but they were pretty vague, Gideon said. He went with Oliver and Madam Meadowes to get her. Apparently she nearly blew herself up before they arrived, then some Death Eaters showed up, but Meadowes is a tough old bean. Not much can crack her. She finished off the Death Eaters practically single-handedly. They're in a holding cell at the Ministry now."

"Gloria nearly blew herself up?" Peter exclaimed.

"Yup. With some experiment or other."

Remus's hand clenched a little tighter on his fork at the mention of the word. Sirius did not notice. He was looking around him. He frowned, thinking for a moment. Then he smiled, looked at Remus and said cheerfully,

"So, how are the preparations for our Halloween party coming on at your place, Moony?"

"Not at all, since last night, I expect. Mum won't be thinking about parties right now, not until Bridget is a little better."

"Suppose not." Sirius skipped the point. "You two got your costumes worked out yet?"

"Costumes?" Peter queried anxiously.

"We decided right from the start we'd make this a fancy dress party," Sirius reminded him.

"You mean you decided and no one objected openly," Remus reminded him.

Sirius grinned. "If you like to put it that way. It makes no odds, really. Well?"

Peter frowned. "I haven't got a clue what I could dress up as. I'm not much good at coming up with ideas, you know that."

Sirius examined him closely, actually leaning across the table to turn his head the other way like an artist studying his model.

"You are a difficult case, Pete. Can't really imagine you as anyone other than who you are. I might be able to picture you as a monk or something. Yes, I could just about see you as Friar Tuck ..."

Peter considered the idea and finally nodded. Remus smiled to himself - until Sirius, after looking covertly around him once more, said,

"And how about you, Remus? Thought about what you'll go as yet?"

"Me? I don't think dressing up is quite my scene, Sirius. I think I'll pass."

"Can't do that!" Sirius insisted. "No backing out. And no 'I think I'll dress up as host', either."

"How did you know ..."

"I know you," Sirius pronounced. "Come on now, think seriously."

"I've no idea."

Once again, Sirius cast his eyes about. He leaned forward conspiratorially, but spoke at normal volume.

"I know, you and Rory could go as a pair. Beauty and the Beast, Remus, how's that for a plan?"

"Very romantic," Peter agreed teasingly.

Remus looked sideways at him.

"Yes, and that's one of many good reasons to say 'no' to that one."

"Oh." Peter was taken aback. "But I thought you two ..."

"Think again, Wormtail," said Sirius, leaning back lazily in his seat and still speaking quite distinctly. He waggled his fork at Remus. "Our Moony here entertains nothing but ordinary friendship for the beautiful Miss Borealis. While anyone else would lap up her attention and sink into her arms, what does our friend here do? He picks a full moon night to stay over at her place. A full moon night, I ask you! Anyone else would have had the sense to pick a night when he could ..."

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

He looked about him anxiously, uncomfortably aware that Damian, Frank and several of their fellow Aurors-in-training were sitting at a table not too far away. Sirius followed his gaze and seemed satisfied.

"All right, I'll shut up," he said, appearing reluctant. "Fact is, Wormtail, there's no romance to be expected in that quarter. But I still think my Beauty and the Beast idea is a good one. Perhaps if we found you a different girl ..."

"No, Sirius!"

"All right, all right." Sirius sighed. "Something less obvious, then. How about ..." His brow furrowed in thought.

Remus, relieved that the delicate subject of his non existent love life and Sirius's offers of assistance in that respect had apparently been dropped, relaxed. He swallowed a mouthful of potato and said,

"That's it, you think me up something, Padfoot. Just please don't suggest Dr. Jekyll."

"Now there's a thought," said Sirius, laughing.

Frank and Damian walked by, pulling on their cloaks as they went. There was a curious look on Frank's face, slightly dumbfounded and almost guilty. He seemed to hesitate as he passed their table, but walked on when Damian called. Sirius turned his head to watch them leave and gave a satisfied sigh.

"What are you so pleased about?" Peter asked.

"I think my little trick worked."

"Trick?" Remus asked. "What trick?"

Sirius refused to explain, however much they badgered him. All he would do was tap his temple knowingly and say,

"Wait and see." He went on, "So what do you two reckon? Do we pay a little visit to Hogsmeade on Saturday? Can't have a Halloween party without some of Zonko's tricks and Honeydukes' treats, right? James and I saw these absolutely real-looking muffins in Zonko's once that ..."

"No tricks with the food, please, Sirius," Remus begged. "Mum's rather proud of her cakes, she'd hate people to be scared of eating them for fear they might contain swelling solution."

Placing his hand to his heart, Sirius said lightly, "I swear to you, my good Remus, that there shall not be a single drop of swelling solution in your mother's cakes. It would be sacrilege."

Remus and Peter laughed.

* * *

Saturday came rapidly, and though not all the invited members of the Order and the Auror training class had seemed thrilled at the idea of dressing up, or even been sure they felt like partying at all, by now most of them had grown quite used to the idea and entered into the spirit of the thing with gusto. Bridget, who had taken the past week off following Faith's advice, had been helping her decide what cakes to bake and subsequently bake them, starting with those that would keep longest. John had spent the few hours left between working for the Ministry and working for the Order in teaching his beloved violin to play dance tunes. James, Sirius, Peter and Lily too had spent practically every minute of their spare time at the Lupins', helping to set up a long buffet table outdoors, building a kind of small dance floor in the clearing, excitedly helping to tidy up the house and garden. They had been so busy, in fact, that Faith had remarked on Friday evening that she thought they ought to have Halloween parties every year, since the preparations provided her with so many willing hands to help clean the place up. Lily had not infrequently been seen to disappear into the woods, wand in hand, quite alone. Whenever anyone had attempted to follow her, he or she had been held back immediately by John, who appeared to be the only one whom she had let into her secret.

It was now Saturday lunch time, Halloween was just a couple of days away, and the four Marauders and Lily were sitting at a round table in the Three Broomsticks at Hogsmeade, sipping butterbeer. Sirius was jealously guarding a half-dozen bags of Zonko's tricks and they were surrounded by shopping bags of all sizes, bits of costumes and notes written on parchment.

"Are you sure you've all got everything you need?" Lily was asking. "James, did you get that trident in the end?"

"Yes," James murmured. "Though I still think I'm going to look a perfect fool in that outfit."

"That's the whole point," Sirius laughed. "You're meant to look daft, to make people laugh."

"I notice you got out of being made to wear a toga and sandals yourself," James pointed out. "I'll be freezing."

"No you won't," said Lily. "John and I worked the heating problem out the other day. We're going to have differently-coloured fires all around. They'll be charmed to stop them spreading. I only hope it doesn't rain."

"You and John, eh?" Sirius repeated suspiciously. "Get on like a house on fire, don't you? What else have you two been up to?"

"Not telling," Lily replied shortly.

"At least you won't be the only one looking silly in sandals," Peter reminded James.

"To be honest, Peter, I think you're going to look a lot less silly as a monk than I will as Neptune. You got your costume sorted yet, Moony?"

Remus looked a little embarrassed. "I really don't want ..."

"You're not backing out, Moony," Sirius said firmly. "I've warned you!"

"Yes, yes, I know. I have got ... I've got ... I ..."

"What?"

Everyone's heads turned as Remus's speech slowed until he stopped talking. The door had just opened to let in a group of people. Remus stared for a minute, then abruptly began to speak again, in rather a hurried manner.

"I've got a costume. Mum come across some old dress robes of my father's, and an old shirt of my grandfather's, and she's making me something out of that."

The others were watching him. He was looking from one to the other of them as he talked, keeping his eyes firmly focused on the group at the table and not looking about him. The group that had come in was moving to the counter, fetching drinks and then taking a seat at a table not far from theirs. Peter took a sip of his butterbeer and spilt some down his front. While he muttered something about being clumsy, the others had fallen silent. At the other table, a blonde boy wearing a Ravenclaw scarf was complaining loudly,

"It's like he just doesn't care sometimes. And at others I wish he'd just leave me alone."

"Well," Fabian Prewett replied distractedly. "He's a busy man, Barty. Especially these days, with Death Eaters attacking the Ministry outright and all that."

The girls sitting with them shuddered and one of them spoke, her voice soft and timid,

"That must have been terrible. Is it true what the Prophet said? About all those people being killed?" Heather Woodcock asked.

Fabian made a noise of dissent. "That was rubbish. Only one person was actually killed and no one else was hurt."

"Thank goodness for that," said Heather.

Remus looked around at the others, noticing their eyes on him, and smiled mildly.

"What's in those bags, Sirius?" he asked, pointing to the Zonko's bags in an attempt to get the conversation going again.

"I've told you," Sirius said, "I'm not telling. And that's final."

"Sirius?" Fabian had obviously recognised the voice, for he had turned in his chair and he and his companions were looking straight at them now. "James, Peter, Lily, Remus ... what are you all still doing here? I thought you'd gone straight home."

"We've been buying things," James said, indicating the shopping bags surrounding them.

"Lots of things! Wow, I wish I could come to that party Gideon says you're having!" Fabian exclaimed enviously. Then he seemed to remember that he was not alone and began introducing his friends. "Oh, you all know Gemma, of course ..." - He indicated his fellow seventh-year Gryffindor who smiled broadly at them all, especially Sirius - "David Whitby ..." - He pointed to a younger Hufflepuff boy - "Barty Crouch ..." - This was the blonde boy who had spoken before - "... and Heather Woodcock."

Fabian's ears turned slightly red as he introduced Heather. However, while the others were all busily saying their hellos and the two groups generally seemed to melt into one, the clear blue eyes of Heather Woodcock kept darting covertly in one direction. After a few minutes, Remus looked at his watch.

"Sorry to interrupt you all," he said distinctly, "but I think it's time we were getting back. We've got to get all these bags home yet and finish the preparations."

Lily looked around at him and agreed quickly. "Quite right. There's still lots to do."

"You go on ahead," Sirius said. "I'm going to stay on here for a bit with Fab. How about you, James?"

"Err ..."

"I'll stay," Peter said while James was still hesitating.

"Right, see you later then," Remus said, draining the last of his butterbeer and picking up some of the bags.

Heather spoke up suddenly, her speech coming rapidly.

"Oh, must you really go so soon? Are you sure you won't have just one more drink with us?"

Remus paused then. He looked at her for the first time. Her expression was hopeful. He gave a slow smile.

"No, really," he said. "Thank you."

Then he turned and left rather fast. He walked a little way down the street and then stopped for a moment to take a deep, relieved breath. The sound of soft footsteps behind startled him. He was relieved again to see that it was Lily.

"James is staying on for a bit with Peter and Sirius," she told him.

"You could have stayed too," said Remus. "There's not really all that much left to do, I just ..."

"Wanted to get away? Yes, that was rather obvious. I don't suppose you want to tell me why?"

"I should have thought that was rather obvious too."

"Not really. Admittedly, it's obvious it was Heather Woodcock you wanted to get away from, but I can't see a reason behind that. Fabian may be keen on her, but from the way she looked at you, I doubt he stands much of a chance. And you can't tell me you don't like her. So what's the problem?"

Her statement of fact was so honest and simple, her smile so open that Remus returned it. "Clever, aren't you? You should have been in Ravenclaw."

"I've often thought that about you too, and yet we both ended up in Gryffindor. But that's beside the point. You spent a lot of time with Heather when we were at school, didn't you? You seemed to get on well with her. What went wrong?"

The smile faded from Remus's lips. His face took on a dark expression. "Nothing that I care to talk about."

"Those are usually the things that are most important to get off your chest."

"Sometimes they are the things that make people turn their backs on you forever."

Lily opened her mouth to protest, but she was cut short by Remus who, seeing Heather come out of the Three Broomsticks behind her, said that he really must go now and hurried away along the street. Heather was a little short of breath by the time she reached Lily who, instinctively, stood in Heather's way to halt her pursuit, though appearing merely keen on a friendly chat between two girls.

"Heather, it's so lovely to see you again after all this time. Are you getting on well at Hogwarts?"

"Oh. Yes, yes, quite well, thank you."

Catching sight of the badge Heather wore on her chest, Lily pretended not to notice that the younger girl clearly did not wish to linger.

"So you're a prefect? Congratulations."

"Thanks." Heather blushed ever so slightly, embarrassed by being complimented. "You were a prefect too, weren't you? Along with Remus ..."

"That's right."

Lily's tone of voice was light, but Heather's blue eyes were now bent on her in a new way. They were at once eager, expectant and pleading.

"Lily, could I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"You know him pretty well, don't you? Remus, I mean."

"He's one of James's best friends, so I do see a good deal of him."

Heather nodded quickly. "I know, that's why I wondered ... Do you know ... Did he ever ... like me? Or was it just my imagination? I know I must sound awfully silly to you, but I did think ... I hoped ... well ..."

Lily looked pityingly at the girl facing her. There were so few years between them, yet already she wondered whether she had also looked so very young at fifteen. Heather looked to her excessively young. And without knowing why, she made up her mind in that moment that, truth be told, Remus was probably right to keep his distance from Heather. Without understanding his motives, she sensed that there was something important that he was keeping secret, something that was certainly not suitable to burden a young, innocent creature like Heather with. She smiled slowly, and hoped it would not come across as patronising, but that it would show her sympathy and understanding for the child.

"Yes, Heather," she said softly, choosing her words with care to sound both kind and convincing. "I believe he did like you. Very much. But you know, people change. Their lives change. They move on. They grow up ... and they grow apart from people they cared about. It happens."

"You mean," Heather replied, swallowing hard as she brought the words out, "that he doesn't care for me any more?"

Lily suppressed the brief annoyance that the other girl's naïvety aroused in her. Why some people couldn't see the obvious ... She said gently,

"I think he will always be fond of you, but he's moved on. You should do that too. Now, Fabian Prewett's a nice boy, and he obviously likes you a lot."

"Yes, he is nice," Heather admitted, if a trifle grudgingly. "I do like him."

"Good," Lily said cheerfully. "Then go back to him and your other friends and enjoy yourself, Heather."

Heather looked uncertain, but she nodded slowly, said goodbye and walked back the way she had come. Lily wondered for a moment whether the advice se had given had been right. She remembered Remus's words. "Sometimes they are things that make people turn their backs on you forever." She could not imagine what kind of thing he was talking about, but the heaviness and the - yes, the sorrow that had lain in those words had impressed her. She decided that she would find out what it was that he chose not to talk about, if only to reassure herself that she had not helped to finalise the rift between him and this young, sweet, vulnerable young Ravenclaw for nothing.

* * *

The Halloween Party

"What luck the weather's holding," said Faith, laying out the last of the napkins on the long buffet table out of doors. "It would have been rather a squeeze to get everyone in the house."

"It may be a squeeze to get them all out here," John remarked, looking down the roll of parchment in his hand. "There seem to be more names on this guest list every time I look at it. This wouldn't be Sirius's writing by any chance, would it, Bridget? ... Bridget?"

Bridget, absent-mindedly fingering the sparkling necklace that perfected her Morgana Le Fay costume, started out of some kind of reverie. "What? Oh ... Yes. Yes, that's Sirius's handwriting."

Faith looked over John's shoulder and read, "Florence Fortescue, Mary Crimple, Alice Spriggs ... Hm. I know Sirius asked if it was all right to bring a girl, but I didn't expect him to bring several."

"You know Sirius." John laughed. He looked around him. "This all looks very nice and inviting," he commented. Sniffing the air, he moved closer to the table. "Is that a chocolate fudge cake?"

"Ah-ah-ah," Faith reproached him, playfully smacking his extended hand. "You can have some of that later."

John caught her hand in his and squeezed it gently. "All right. I'll be good."

Faith smiled. At that moment, Remus came out of the house. He was frowning and tugging uncomfortably at his collar. His mother immediately went over and pulled it straight for him.

"You look very nice and dashing, my dear," she said approvingly.

Remus grumbled, "I don't feel it. I wish Sirius hadn't insisted on all this fancy dress nonsense." He looked at his mother and added, "You look nice though."

"Well, thank you." Faith smiled, brushing the folds of her long green dress straight.

After debating for a long time what costume she should choose, she had given in to Sirius's suggestion. He had bought a bag containing various miniature figures of magical creatures and well-known personalities in Hogsmeade and gone around offering it to anyone who either did not know what they wanted to dress up as, or using it as a threat to those who wanted to "chicken out", as he called it. Faith's hand had drawn out a miniature banshee. Though disliking banshees, she had been grateful that at least the costume would be simple and inexpensive: Bridget had helped her make her hair even longer than it was anyway so that it came down past her waist and colour it black, and she had made a dress that reached down to the floor out of some old dark green material she had found in a trunk in the loft.

Remus had at first planned to pick his costume by the same method, but had backed out when Sirius mentioned that the harmless-looking little sack contained figures of all manner of creatures from house elves to centaurs. Instead he had gone up to the loft with his mother a few weeks ago and rummaged through a pile of old adventure books. Sirius had volunteered to come with him and 'help', but Remus had firmly refused to have him along. He and his mother had cast many volumes aside and finally come across Kidnapped. Faith had then held up the book and said, "Why don't you dress up as one of these Highland gentlemen? I'm sure I could make you something." Remus had at once protested vehemently, "There is no way I am wearing a kilt!"

This he had stuck to firmly, and was therefore now clad in an old-fashioned shirt with a ruffled collar, a long maroon overcoat and black trousers.

"Very smart," his father said approvingly. "But I'm sure Sirius will be disappointed you decided against the kilt."

Remus caught the twinkle in his father's eyes and laughed.

"Well, he's going to have to lump it, I'm afraid." He checked his watch. "Time's getting on, Dad, shouldn't you be putting the finishing touch on your disguise?"

"I would if Lily would hurry up and get here. She's supposed to be helping me modify the disillusionment charm to make myself more transparent. That girl is amazingly good at charms."

Faith frowned. "I don't know why you had to choose to dress up as a ghost, John. It's rather macabre, don't you think?"

"It's just a costume, my love, that's all. I thought it would be rather novel. Oh look, I think the first of our guests are coming."

Sure enough, a group of people were advancing between the trees. They were led by what looked like a pirate captain come straight from his ship, complete with eye patch and - false - wooden leg.

"Ah, good evening, Alastor," John said, greeting him. He proceeded to the next in line, a somewhat overlarge house elf, so it seemed. "Dedalus," he said, recognising the top hat more than the face, which Dedalus Diggle had disguised so cleverly that there must have been a not inconsiderable degree of transfiguration involved, "good to see you. I don't believe you've met my wife ..."

The introductions continued. Remus was approached by a centaur that had the bare chest, arms and head of Gideon Prewett and walked rather haltingly.

"Hello, Gideon. I see you weren't able to escape Sirius's bag of tricks."

"No," Gideon replied. "But on the whole I think I've been quite lucky. I mean, I get to show off my bare chest to all those pretty girls that Sirius promised he'd be inviting." He winked. "It's poor Oliver I feel sorry for."

"Oliver? Why?"

There was a zipping sound and the hind legs of the 'centaur' were suddenly extended by an extra torso, arms and a head.

"Oh ... err ... hello Oliver." Remus tried ineffectively to conceal a grin.

"Hello," Oliver groaned, rubbing his back. "Merlin's beard - this is uncomfortable. I tell you, Gideon, I'm not walking round like this all evening."

"Oh, stop moaning, Oliver," Gideon pretended to scold. "You should be grateful."

"Grateful? Grateful? Would you mind explaining what I've got to be grateful about?"

"That Marlene's celebrating Halloween at Hogwarts."

Oliver went pale. "Oh boy, you're right!"

Gideon laughed and looked around him. "Great place you've got here, Remus. I've a feeling I'm not going to be sorry I declined to join the family do and came here instead. Fond as I am of my little nephews, it gets a bit tiring when you have to pretend to be scared of a miniature white blanket toddling along the floor and going 'Boo boo' for the hundredth time."

"I didn't know you had nephews."

Gideon nodded glumly. "Three, actually. Bill's five, Charlie's three, and Percy had his first birthday last month. And there are more on the way. Well, we've always been a big family, so I suppose another tot or two can't hurt. You haven't got any brothers or sisters, have you?"

"No," Remus confirmed.

"Fancy having this whole forest to yourself as a kid, that must have been brilliant."

"It wasn't bad."

"Not bad? It would have been heaven to me. My place was always so packed full of other kids that I'd have given anything for a place to sneak off to. I was only one of three, of course, but with the amount of cousins and what-have-you that used to be round our place most of the time ..."

" I'd have given anything to have someone to share the forest with."

"Well, I suppose one always wants what one hasn't got. Must have been fun when you had friends round, I bet."

Remus, unpleasantly reminded that he had never had any friends to share 'his' forest with as a child, cast around for something else to say, and was quite relieved to see that more people were arriving so that he could make a quick excuse about having to go and say hello. He had shaken hands with Benjy Fenwick and was just walking back towards the house when someone cleared their throat just behind him and said,

"Excuse me."

Remus turned and found himself face to face with Frank Longbottom. Frank smiled somewhat awkwardly. He was dressed in black from head to foot, including a black hat, and carrying a kind of broom on a very long rod.

"Hello," he said, and he sounded as though he were feeling a trifle uncomfortable. "I - err - was hoping to catch you alone for a minute this evening. Do you suppose I could have a word?"

"Of course."

They walked a little way away from the rest.

"Well?" Remus prompted. "What's the problem?"

Frank looked more uncomfortable than ever. "I - err - I thought I ought to - I mean, I really should - I - err - I want to ..."

"Yes?"

Frank took a deep breath. "I just want to say I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"Yes, for - for behaving to you like I have been lately. It was just that I thought that morning - well, I know now it was stupid of me, and of course you couldn't have, and if I'd only bothered to switch on my brain I'd have known. I should have realised you wouldn't anyway, you're not like that. I've behaved like a cad and I'm really sorry. I was supposed to be your friend, I promised you that and - but it was just such a surprise, you see, that - I couldn't think straight and - oh, it's hell, isn't it?"

Remus was staring at Frank blankly. "Ye-es," he began doubtfully. "I dare say it is 'hell'. Now if you wouldn't mind telling me what you're talking about ...?"

Frank sighed. "Yes, I suppose all that didn't really make much sense, did it? The trouble is that I don't really know what I'm talking about. It's crazy. I mean, I never used to feel this way about her. Oh, she was pretty, yes, but ... have you ever felt like, when you look at a girl, you just feel - I don't know, all sort of small and insignificant?"

"No," Remus said slowly. "I don't think I have."

"Well then perhaps you've never felt about a girl like I have - like I do - about Aurora. And that's why I was so cross when I found you there, and of course it was just me being an idiot, I mean I know there was nothing between you ..."

"Oh!" Remus's face cleared at last. "I see. You thought Aurora and I ... No. You couldn't have thought that."

Frank was going very red. "I'm ever so sorry, Remus."

Remus did not reply. He seemed at a loss for words.

"I'm sorry," Frank repeated. "I know I've acted like a fool."

Slowly, Remus began to nod. "All right. We'll just forget it."

"Thanks. That's certainly one mistake I'll never make again," Frank promised. "From now on I promise I'll never not trust you again."

"Yes," said Remus, a little dazed. "Good."

Frank gave one last awkward nod and walked away, joining Damian near the buffet table. From out of nowhere, or so it seemed to Remus, Sirius's voice suddenly spoke.

"Well, was I right?"

"Right about what?"

"The other day in the Leaky Cauldron. I knew Frank was within earshot and I staged that nice little chat about your love life, or rather lack thereof, for his benefit, so he'd know there was nothing between you and Aurora."

"You knew what he'd been thinking?"

"Well, not exactly. Actually, Lily was the one who figured out what the trouble might be. After all, Remus, you had rather been monopolising Aurora lately."

"I wasn't monopolising her," Remus protested heatedly. "If anything it was the other way round. She turned to me after you threw her over ..."

"That may have been the biggest mistake I ever made," Sirius sighed, and it was just possible that the sigh wasn't entirely put on.

Remus looked at his friend. He had been so preoccupied with what Frank had revealed that he hadn't bothered to take note of the alteration in Sirius's appearance. It registered now, though. Sirius was artificially pale, his eyes darkly ringed. He appeared to have made his hair grow longer with some spell and his teeth ...

"Are those real?" Remus asked with an abrupt change from the subject at hand.

"Yes. Pretty nifty bit of transfiguration work, wouldn't you say? There is one disadvantage, though."

"Oh yes?"

"Well, for some reason Mary shies away from them."

"Mary?"

"Mary Crimple."

"What about Florence?"

"Ah, I was coming to that ..."

Sirius began to explain,

"I've got to fill you in on something. You see, I'd asked Mary to the party tonight and she refused. So I asked Flossie Fortescue instead."

"And?"

"Mary changed her mind and said she'd come with me after all. I couldn't tell Flossie I didn't want her to come though, could I?"

"So what did you tell her?"

"Ah ..."

Sirius drew Remus aside conspiratorially and went on in a low voice,

"I told Flossie that we'd be taking Mary along because ..." He coughed. "Because you fancied her."

Remus gaped. "You didn't! Sirius!" He took a step forwards, but Sirius held out a hand to stop him.

"Before you wring my neck, wait until it's worth it, will you? You see, I had to explain to Mary why we were taking Florence, so I told her that it was Flossie you fancied. So now - err - Mary will be doing her best to pair you up with Florence while Flo..."

"Florence will be doing her best to play matchmaker for Mary and me."

"Got it in one. What a brilliant brain you have."

"But I don't fancy either of them!"

"You wouldn't tell them that though, would you?" Sirius pleaded. "They'd kill me if you did. You wouldn't let them kill your old friend. Come on, Moony. Please."

Remus rubbed his eyes and sighed heavily. "What about Alice Spriggs? Do I have to make out I'm in love with her too?"

"Oh no. I just brought her along because I couldn't very well leave her out. She's not my type. I go for beauties, Remus, you know that."

"She's actually quite pretty," Remus commented.

"She's not an entirely hopeless case," Sirius admitted. "Maybe I can hook her up with Wormtail."

"I don't think you should do that. Just leave him be."

"All right. You will play along, though, won't you?"

Remus opened his mouth to speak, but Sirius just clapped him on the shoulder, said "Thanks" and hurried away before Remus could utter another word.

* * *

As John had predicted, the clearing had become very crowded as the guests arrived. Aurora was one of the last, and as could have been predicted, the heads of most of the men present, whatever age, turned her way as she passed. She came straight over to Remus.

"Hello," she said. "Well, well, you do look handsome tonight."

"Hardly. But you look ..."

"Yes?"

"Beautiful, as always."

"I'm glad you like the costume. It's based on a picture I found of Aphrodite, you know."

"The goddess of love - how very appropriate."

"Pity my charms never worked on you."

Remus sighed. "Least of all tonight. I'm supposed to be exerting all my charm, if I have any, in order to - err - 'woo' both Mary Crimple and Florence Fortescue, as per Sirius's orders."

Aurora made a sympathetic noise with her tongue. "Poor darling. At least they're both good-looking."

Remus winced. "Please don't call me that. I've only just got out of one misunderstanding where you're concerned, I'd rather not end up in another."

"Misunderstanding? About me? How very interesting. Do I have a secret admirer?"

"Is anything a secret to you?"

Aurora looked around her with interest, apparently thoroughly enjoying herself. "I wonder who ..."

* * *

Bridget looked with surprise at her father.

"What is it?" he asked.

She said, "I wasn't sure, to be honest, that you would even come to this party. I certainly never expected that you would actually dress up. Least of all like this."

He had elected to wear family heirlooms that had been stored at the Hall for many long years: the ceremonial dress of his ancestors in red and gold with the lion crest on the chest, the sweeping velvet cloak and the jewel-studded sword of Godric Gryffindor himself. With his grey hair falling down to his shoulders, he looked like a medieval knight sprung straight from the times of the Hogwarts founders.

"I must say it suits you," Bridget admitted. "But isn't it a bit ..."

"Ostentatious? Or are you worried that it will make people recognise me for who I am? Most of those present here know that anyway. And if they don't - well, what harm can come of their learning it?"

"None, I suppose," Bridget sighed.

Her father studied her closely with his iron-grey eyes. He had not seen her for several weeks now.

"You look rather regal yourself," he said after some time. "But you also look very unhappy."

Bridget looked up at him. "I don't know what's the matter with me at the moment," she said, and her voice held a great deal of frustration. "I've faced danger before, I've been afraid before, but it's never got me down like it is now. I feel so horribly unsure of myself, so completely lost. I hate feeling this way. It's not like me at all, but I can't seem to pull myself out of it. It all began so suddenly ..."

"Perhaps that is the problem," Gordon suggested. "You did not realise what your feelings for Malcolm Marley were until it was practically too late."

Bridget flinched. "Don't say that. You make it sound as though he has no chance."

Gordon took a step towards her, raising his arms a little as though to embrace his daughter. She stared at him, her face a mixture of emotions. She looked surprised as well as sad, and even a touch derisive. He stopped and let his arms drop.

"I'm sorry, Bridget," he said quietly. "Sorry for everything."

* * *

The leaves of the trees in the woods seemed to tinkle musically as the wind blew through them, like thousands of tiny bells playing a cheery tune. James looked up at the foliage above him.

"So that's what you've been up to out here, is it? Teaching the trees to play music."

"Yes."

Lily shook her long red hair back over her shoulder. James looked at her. He thought how no one else this evening had picked a costume more suited to them than Lily. With her red hair and those impossibly green eyes, she was utterly dazzling in her mermaid's outfit with the long, tailfin-shaped skirt. She rested a pale, slender hand against the trunk of a tree.

"How wonderful it must be to live right out here, in the middle of nature," she sighed.

"You could call it the middle of nowhere," James pointed out.

"Oh yes, but I like it that way, don't you?"

"Yes," he agreed. "At least I do while you're with me."

Lily turned a radiant smile towards him.

"I think it's so romantic - to live in the middle of nowhere like this, just a happy little family cut off from the rest of the world, and to be able to spend hours in these woods, doing nothing, just listening to the rustling of leaves and watching the moon come out. I think it's quite blissful, don't you?"

"That depends on the circumstances. I don't think Moony ..." He broke off.

Lily shot him a sharp, questioning look, but James did not go on talking. So she said slowly,

"James, can I ask you something? Why do you call Remus 'Moony'?"

James cleared his throat. "Oh, that's just an old nickname."

"I realise that, but there must be a reason for it."

"We just came up with it, that's all. At Hogwarts. We decided to give each other nicknames. Remus became Moony, Sirius Padfoot ..."

"... Peter Wormtail and you Prongs," Lily finished. "Yes, I've figured out that much. What I don't understand is why." She suddenly smiled again. "That seems to be a question I ask a lot lately. Why. I asked Remus that in Hogsmeade the other day."

"You asked him why we call him Moony?" James exclaimed with a start.

"No. I asked him why he feels he and Heather Woodcock aren't suited, even though they seem to like each other so much."

"And did he tell you?"

"No." She tilted her head a little to one side. "You could tell me though, I'm sure."

"Does it matter?" James asked irritably. "Why do you want to know?"

"Curiosity, I suppose."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"We're all supposed to be working together and trusting each other, and yet I can't help feeling that you're keeping something from me. I don't like that. Call it vanity, if you like, but I don't like having the impression that there's something you don't trust me enough to tell me."

"It isn't that," James objected quickly. "I'd trust you with anything. But this isn't my secret to tell."

"So you admit there is a secret?"

"There's hardly any point in denying it."

"I'll find out some day."

"But not from me!" James cried abruptly. Then he lowered his voice again. "It's not my secret to tell," he repeated. "Much as I would love you to know everything there is to know about me, this is one thing that I can't tell you. Not without asking if he - the others mind."

Lily frowned. "Can't you at least tell me a little bit?"

James shook his head. "No. Even if I only wanted to tell you the part that concerns me, it would involve your finding out the rest as well. I can't do that without making sure it's all right."

She studied his face. It was completely sincere and very grave. Lily sighed.

"Very well, if you feel you can't tell me. But I'll find out one of these days, from one of you. I can be very persuasive, you know."

"Oh, I know," said James with feeling.

Lily came slowly nearer and kissed his cheek. "Sure you won't tell me?" she whispered in his ear.

"Quite sure," he whispered back.

She kissed his lips. "How about now?"

James gave a muffled groan. "Nothing doing."

"How very steadfast of you." Lily pressed her lips against his again and he took her in his arms.

* * *

An Unwelcome Interruption

Frank took a muffin from the buffet table and placed it on his plate. He turned around, and in so doing nearly lost his muffin as it slid to the very edge of the plate when his hand collided with Aurora's.

"Oh, sorry," they both hastened to say at once.

"No, no, it was my fault ..." they went on in unison.

"Really ..."

They both stopped speaking. Aurora gave a smile.

"I was just coming for some more of that pumpkin punch," she said, nodding towards the large punchbowl in the middle of the table. "Would you mind ...?"

"Of course."

Frank put his plate down hurriedly and ladled some punch into her glass, spilling some of it onto a sponge cake in the process.

"Oh dear."

"Punch drizzle cake, how delicious," Aurora remarked, taking a sip from her glass. "Actually, you know, this tastes quite potent. It makes me suspect our resident vampire has been tampering with it."

"Who? Oh, you mean Sirius?" Frank looked across to where the subject of their discussion appeared to be entertaining the girls from the Auror training group and several members of the Order with some amusing anecdote from last year's Halloween party at Hogwarts.

"Yes. It's a very good disguise, I think. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he really was a vampire." She looked at Frank appraisingly. "And if I didn't know any better, I might even think you really were a chimney sweep."

"Really?" Frank felt the blood rush to his face. "I wasn't sure. Well, never having seen one myself in real life, you know. I'd only seen pictures in Muggle Studies, and I thought it would make a good costume."

"It does. There's only one thing missing really, and that's the soot."

"Soot?"

"Yes. It should be all over your face so only your eyes can be seen. Mind you, that would probably cause you problems if you wanted to ask one of the girls here to dance."

Frank wanted to tell her quickly that she was the only girl he could possibly want to ask to dance with him, if only he had the courage. But he didn't have the courage, so he merely laughed nervously and picked up his muffin. His teeth sank into it, and all of a sudden there was a loud BANG! Several people cried out or gasped and conversation came to an abrupt standstill. Frank's vision was suddenly fogged. He was aware of shapes moving towards him, of someone taking the remains of the muffin from his hand, of someone else chuckling and Mary Crimple's precise voice saying angrily,

"Oh Sirius, it wasn't you, was it? You didn't ..."

"It was just a bit of fun, Mary," Sirius defended himself. "Just a lark ..."

"And what if I'd bitten into it? Can you imagine what it would have done to my dress?"

"But you didn't bite into it, Mary," Florence's voice pointed out tartly. "Frank did."

"Are you all right, Frank?"

Frank saw a hand wave away the cloud of smoke before his eyes. Everyone came into focus at last. Faith Lupin was looking at him anxiously.

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

"Err, no, no, I'm fine," he murmured, still feeling rather dazed. "What was that?"

"An exploding muffin," Sirius announced rather proudly. "I got them at Zonko's. Good, aren't they? They make a great big racket, cause a lot of smoke, but they're completely harmless."

"I thought we'd agreed you weren't going to tamper with the food," Remus reproached him.

"Sorry," he said, not sounding one bit sorry. "I couldn't resist sneaking one in. And anyway, the arrangement was that I wouldn't sabotage anything your mother baked. I didn't."

Frank opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment he felt a terrible tickle up his nose and gave an almighty sneeze.

"Bless you," several people said at once.

"That's just the soot getting up your nose," Sirius added.

"Soot?" Frank passed a finger over his cheek. It came away pitch black. If he hadn't already been black in the face, he would have gone very red now. To think that something so embarrassing had happened to him right in front of Aurora's eyes.

"Well, if you're sure you're all right, perhaps you ought to go indoors and have a quick wash," Faith suggested. "I'll put a towel out for you."

She departed, and the rest of the crowd dispersed. Frank saw Mary Crimple walk rather huffily over to the centaur costume from which two heads were once more protruding, her back turned firmly to Sirius, who jumped when the semi-transparent hand of John Lupin fell on his shoulder. Judging from their expressions, Frank gathered John was not amused over what had just occurred. He suddenly became aware that one person was still standing beside him, where she had been the whole time. He nervously shifted his eyes back to Aurora. She was biting her lip to suppress a smile.

"I bet I look wonderful now," Frank grumbled self-consciously.

"Perfect." Aurora giggled. "Well, I did say all that was missing was the soot in your face. Now you really look like a chimney sweep."

"Hm. More like a fool, I'll bet." His nose twitched again and he sneezed.

"Bless you," said Aurora. "I do think Mrs. Lupin's right, you know. You should wash that stuff off."

"It itches horribly!"

"So I should imagine. I'd get it off quickly before you find you're allergic to it and come out in a rash."

"Oh lord, I do hope not." He turned to go, but then paused and turned back. "Aurora?"

"Yes?"

"When I'm clean again, can I ask ... would you ... I mean ..."

He never got to finish his question. With a burst of flame that caused Mary Crimple to cry out "Not again, Sirius!" a small sheet of parchment appeared in mid-air, a fiery red feather floating down beside it. It was Remus who caught the note in his hand. He paled as he read it.

"What is it?" Damian asked eagerly.

Remus handed the note to his father. John read it and looked around him at the assembled group.

"I'm sorry, everyone, I'm afraid the party must be postponed. Apparently there's something happening at St. Mungo's. They need help immediately."

"Help? Help against what?" Gordon Gryffindor asked.

"Death Eaters," John explained. "Death Eaters that have got something against muggles being treated there. They're trying to force their way past the staff at reception. It says here that three healers have been wounded so far."

Faith uttered an exclamation and John turned. He had not been aware of her returning from the house.

"We've got to go," he went on. "Alastor, you'll come with us, I know. Dedalus ..."

"Of course."

"I'll get your cloak," Remus said. He strode right past his mother into the house.

Faith watched him go in, then looked towards John. He had turned to Sirius.

"Find James and Lily for us, will you? They're in the woods somewhere."

Sirius nodded and disappeared amongst the trees. John took out his wand, and pointing it at himself lifted the charm. He could not do with being semi-transparent now. Gideon and Oliver were divesting themselves of their costume. Luckily, they had both chosen to wear muggle-style trousers underneath. Dedalus and Damian Diggle also made themselves look as normal as possible, while Frank hurried upstairs to wipe his face, leaving his chimney sweep's broom leaning against the wall of the house. Sirius returned presently with James and Lily in tow. James muttered,

"I'm going to look pretty stupid turning up at St. Mungo's in a toga, aren't I?"

Remus, coming out of the house with John's cloak over his arm, suggested quickly,

"Why don't you slip into something of mine?"

"Good idea."

They went into the house to find a quick change of clothes for James. Soon everyone was once more assembled in the garden, most people still looking a trifle strange owing to the fact that they were still wearing parts of their costumes.

"Well," growled Moody, now minus one eye patch and wooden leg, "Let's not waste any more time hanging about."

"Right," agreed Gideon, "We've got to get a move on."

He and Moody led the way along the path. Faith caught Remus by the arm as he made to follow. Her look was appealing.

"Don't worry," he said. "We'll be back in no time."

"Do be careful, won't you?"

"Of course."

He hugged her, then joined his friends and followed after the others. Faith turned anxiously to John. He smiled and kissed her.

"See you soon, my love."

She watched him leave. It took a moment before she became aware that there was someone standing beside her. It was Peter Pettigrew, and he looked deeply distressed.

"I wish I could help," he murmured. "But they're going to apparate, and I still haven't learned to do it. It makes me feel such a coward."

Faith patted his arm. "At least I'm not left quite on my own this way. You can help me clear the table. Something tells me this party won't be continuing tonight."

* * *

A sight of devastation met their eyes when they reached the wizard hospital. Furniture was lying in bits strewn across the floor of the reception, a hole had been blasted in the desk and healers dressed in green sat nursing their own wounds on the few chairs that had survived what had happened. By the wall to their left, two long shapes lay covered with sheets. Aurora approached one of the healers still standing.

"Where are they?" she asked without preamble.

The woman stared at her, her eyes wide with horror. Sirius came up beside Aurora and repeated the question. This time the healer squeaked with fright and fled. Aurora shot Sirius an exasperated look that met his puzzled one. She tapped her teeth with her finger.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, and quickly transfigured his own teeth back to normal.

"Come on, spread out," grunted Moody. "There could be muggles being treated on any floor, or our friends might not be sticking to muggles alone. Prewett, McKinnon, Black, Fortescue, take the ground floor. Diggle ..."

Alastor Moody hurriedly split them all into groups and they hurried to their tasks. On the way up the stairs to the first floor, Moody muttered to John,

"Good thing you were having that party. Handy to have so many Aurors and members of the Order in one place on an occasion like this."

John had no time to reply. The moment they reached the first floor, they saw and heard signs of fighting. Gordon, Bridget, Mary Crimple, John and Remus followed the noises coming from one of the wards while the others proceeded further up the stairs, again leaving a few behind on one floor while the rest continued until the final group reached the fourth floor, allotted to the treatment of spell damage on witches, wizards, muggles and all other living creatures. There were a pair of double doors with windows set into them, and the view through these windows was at present no better than the sight that had met them at reception, but for one significant difference: here, the fighting had not yet stopped.

Healers accustomed to helping rather than harming people were having a hard time of it, attempting to defend themselves and their patients against the handful of Death Eaters that cast powerful spells in all directions and forced their way through the doors of the separate wards.

"In we go," Moody ordered.

He led the way, pushing open the double doors and proceeding at once to issue further orders. The others followed them without hesitation, splitting up once more and moving cautiously through the ward doors. Frank and Damian found themselves in front of an open door marked Janus Thickey Ward and both paused for a moment. They clasped their wands tightly.

"I'll turn left," Frank whispered. "You take the right. On the count of three. One, two ..."

They burst into the ward itself, wands held out in front of them. The first thing Frank saw was a flash of green light that hit a helpless patient lying on a bed beside a window. With a scream, a healer darted towards his patient, but the Death Eater who had cast the spell was quick to turn his wand around and cry,

"Crucio!"

The healer sank to the ground, screaming in pain, while a second Death Eater marched resolutely up to another bed, picked up the chart hanging on the end while the person lying in it cowered in front. With an audible sneer the Death Eater said,

"Ah, muggle-born. Goodbye ..."

He raised his wand, but this time the curse missed.

"Expelliarmus!" Frank had shouted, and his disarming spell knocked the wand out of the Death Eater's hand at the very moment he had spoken the words of the killing curse. The green bolt of light struck the wall just next to the patient's head. She screamed, but was unhurt save for a few scratches caused by falling shards of brick and plaster.

In the same time that it took the two Death Eaters in front of him to register what had gone wrong, Frank correctly judged their next move. Just as the wand holding the healer under the Cruciatus curse was turned his way, he gave a great leap to the side, and though hitting his arm rather badly on a metal trolley had the satisfaction of hearing the Death Eater shout with anger as his spell made a crack in the wall at the opposite end of the ward. By now, however, the Death Eater Frank had disarmed had got back his wand and was aiming it at him.

"Impedimenta!" Frank shouted and brought his wand to bear on its target. But this time he was not so lucky. The two Death Eaters were standing too far apart for him to hit them both at once, and elegant though his life-saving dive had been, it had not deprived the second attacker of his weapon. At the same time as the Death Eater he had targeted crashed into the wall behind him, two spells came at him at once. The flash of green narrowly missed him, shattering the trolley he had hit his arm on moments before into tiny pieces. He ducked, and what looked like purple flame shooting from the other Death Eater's wand that had been aimed at his chest sliced across his left cheek with a sting like a sharp knife. With no time to wipe the blood away, Frank pressed his jaws hard against together, brought his wand around once more and yelled,

"Stupefy!"

To his relief, the spell caught the Death Eater full in the chest, sending him crashing to the floor, and left Frank a moment to breathe and get back his bearings. He turned his face to the healer, still crouching on the floor a few paces away.

"Get them out of here," he muttered urgently at the man. "Anyone you can move, move them while I hold the Death Eater off."

The healer looked terrified, but he nodded. Frank pulled himself up straight and was ready for the Death Eater when his next spell came. It was a stunner and Frank blocked it with ease. He flicked his wand and prepared to strike back, but it was the flick that, as James had discovered before now, was his weakness. It gave his opponent time to react, and the spell that struck Frank was a hard one. He cried out in pain as he was thrown off his feet, but managed to keep a grip on his wand.

"Impedimenta!" he yelled for all he was worth, but his hand was unsteady and the spell missed.

"Expelliarmus!"

Frank's wand flew from his hand. He scrambled after it. The Death Eater laughed.

"Avada Ke..."

"Impedimenta!" a voice cried somewhere above Frank as a shadow sped past him. He flung himself onto his back just as the Death Eater finished his incantation.

"...davra!"

Frank saw the flash of green, he saw the Death Eater stumble back as the Impediment jinx struck, he saw the shape that loomed over him take the impact of the killing curse, saw it sway and fall flat on its back. A wand clattered noisily to the floor beside him. Frank lay as though stunned, staring. He couldn't believe what had just happened. He willed himself to think, to get a grip on the reality, the dangerous reality of his situation, but he couldn't. Even as the healer dragged yet another patient past him with difficulty, Frank found himself unable to move. And then the Death Eater came towards him again. At last, Frank came to his senses. He snatched up his wand and pointed it straight at his attacker.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

But the spell did not strike home. Evidently, the Death Eater had had enough of this fight, for grabbing his companion by the arm he disapparated jut in time for Frank's spell to strike nothing but thin air. Frank's arm dropped to his side again. With an effort, he pulled himself over to the body close by and looked down into the face that stared lifelessly back at him.

"He's dead," he told himself, speaking out loud because he thought, in vain, that that might make him believe what seemed quite incredible. "Damian's dead."

Frank reached out a hand to close his dead friend's eyes, but was arrested mid-action by a piercing scream from the next ward. He knew whom Moody had taken in there with him and at once leapt to his feet, taking both his own wand and Damian's with him. Out in the corridor he was met by two Death Eaters coming his way, apparently running for the double doors behind him. He raised both wands, one in each hand.

"Stupefy!"

To his own amazement, it worked. The Death Eaters fell and he was free to rush through the door of the next ward. The sight that met his eyes very nearly took his breath away. Aurora was standing in the middle of the room, her wand lying on the floor beside her, and two Death Eaters were facing her, neither of them moving. The eyes of the one nearest her seemed to glaze over as Frank watched and he turned slowly, almost mechanically, to face the other. Aurora shut her eyes and screwed up her face and the Death Eater raised his wand arm. The other took a step back.

"What's going on?" the man cried. "What are you doing? Why are you pointing that at me? You ..." He raised his own wand and Aurora's face screwed up even more tightly. She clenched her fists and the Death Eater nearer her opened his mouth.

"Avada Kedravra!" he almost whispered.

The curse struck home and the other fell. Aurora began to tremble from head to foot, her mouth opening and shutting while the Death Eater who had just killed his colleague stood motionless once more, his wand still held out before him.

"Stun him!" Frank heard Moody shout from somewhere to his right. "Get on with it, lad!"

Frank obeyed quickly. The Death Eater took the impact and fell, and in the same instant Aurora groaned as though she had been hit with a stunner herself. She swayed, and darting forward Frank only just caught her in time before she fell. He turned an anxious face to Moody, who was lying on the ground a little way away, leaning on one arm and pressing the other hand against his bleeding leg.

"What happened?" Frank asked. "What was she doing?"

"I'll explain later," Moody said, his customary growl particularly throaty now. "Where's Diggle?"

Frank gulped. "Damian's ... dead, sir."

* * *

The Creature-Induced Injuries corridor and the wards leading off it were hardly in any better state than the fourth floor was. Bridget stroked a curl out of her eyes and surveyed the debris at her feet. Strangely enough, she felt a lot more content than she had done for a long time. She was sweating, the cuts on her arms were bleeding, her left eye felt swollen, but for once she was not afraid or unhappy. She felt herself again at last, and marvelled at the fact. It was as though she had needed something to take her out of herself, away from daily routine into immediate danger, to take her mind off her hopes and worries and throw her into an all-out fight for survival. It had been that, all right. She poked with her foot at a beam that had crashed from the ceiling just beside her. It did not budge. She had been lucky, extremely lucky, that it had missed her. Bridget climbed across it and stepped out into the corridor. Here, healers and the members of her group were trying to restore order. Her father came towards her.

"Are you all right, my child?"

She nodded and looked around her. She could see Remus helping Mary Crimple to her feet and many of the healers leading patients back to what remained of their beds. Suddenly she asked,

"Where's John?"

Gordon turned his head in every direction. There was no sign of John. Bridget felt fear returning quickly. She rushed to all the ward doors in turn, calling, until she found him. He was just pushing himself up off the floor in one of the wards, looking somewhat dazed.

"John!" Bridget cried, running to help him up. As she did so, she caught sight of the back of his head. "You're bleeding," she said, dismayed.

John passed a hand over the back of his head. It came back sticky with blood.

"I must have taken a harder knock than I thought."

Bridget guided him to a chair and he sank into it with a short groan. She looked up just as Remus appeared in the doorway, where he stopped, looking startled.

"Dad! Are you ..."

"I'm all right."

"All the same, you'd better get a healer, Remus."

"I don't need a healer ...," John began to protest, only to be overruled at once.

"What happened?" he asked after Remus had departed. "How did we do?"

"Not too badly, all things considered," Gordon opined. "We saved quite a few lives, I should think."

"But not all?"

"No. Not all."

John sighed heavily and Bridget said quickly,

"Well, that could hardly have been expected."

"What about the Death Eaters? Did we get them?"

"Not all of them, I fear," said Gordon. "Several of them managed to disapparate before they could be stunned."

Remus returned at that moment with a healer who looked as though her nerves had been shattered beyond repair. Nevertheless, jumpy though she was, she examined the back of John's head while the others looked on anxiously. While she was applying some kind of ointment that stung nastily to the wound, John winced a little, then smiled at his son.

"Don't look so worried, Remus. I tell you, I'm all right."

"Yes."

Remus sounded doubtful and still looked very serious. He also looked hesitant, as if there was something else he wanted to say.

"What is it?" Bridget asked of Remus at the very moment when Sirius appeared in the doorway. From the looks they exchanged, it was clear that he and Remus had both just had the same piece of bad news.

"You've heard?"

Sirius had addressed Remus, who nodded.

"Just now. One of the healers told me."

"Heard what?" Bridget insisted.

"It seems things got pretty bad up on the fourth floor," Sirius began. "Moody's leg's been hurt badly and Aurora's completely out for the count. It seems she over-strained herself."

Bridget could tell from the look on his face that this was not the worst. Sure enough, he went on,

"I'm afraid it gets worse. Damian ... tried to save Frank from a Death Eater."

"Tried? What happened?"

Sirius said, "Damian saved Frank's life, but ... he's dead."

One of Bridget's hands went to her mouth, the other clasped John's tightly. Gordon shook his head sadly.

"Poor lad," he said quietly. "What a waste."