Three Animagi and a Werewolf

Chapter 27: Professional Hazards

A Sense of Foreboding

Williams had been an auror for nearly thirty years. He doubted there was much he did not know about stealth and how to track people down without attracting too much undue attention. Dressed in muggle trousers and a washed-out jumper and wearing an old greatcoat and a rather worn beret, he strolled through an archway that led to a grubby little courtyard surrounded by run-down blocks of flats. A cat perched atop a turned-over dustbin watched him out of suspicious amber eyes. Williams stopped to take a cigarette and a battered box of matches from the pockets of his coat, and took his time lighting one.

All the while, his eyes were as watchful as those of the cat. He shivered a little. It was uncommonly dark and cold in the courtyard. He wondered what had possessed a person like the one he had come to see to choose this as her residence. A glamorous apartment in the town centre would surely have been far more to her taste. But perhaps it would have caused too much notice. Williams checked his inside pocket to make sure the photograph was still securely tucked inside it. His face was grim. If Miss Lovegood was right, then the Dark Lord's power extended even further than had so far been imagined. True, it had long been known that he had many supporters within the Ministry, but if his influence had really reached such high places ...

His train of thought was interrupted by the opening of a door to his left. Williams bent his head low and walked as casually as he could towards it. His questioning of the locals - conducted in fluent French since he had had the good fortune of having a French grandmother who had consistently refused to converse with her grandson in any other language - had informed him that this was the hour when his target habitually emerged. Sure enough, the opening door revealed a slender woman whose elegance of movement belied the impression of poverty that her cloak was designed to convey. Yes, this was definitely the woman of the photograph.

Williams strolled closer. At that moment, the cold grew suddenly more intense than ever before, the darkness of the courtyard more complete. With his dimmed vision, Williams was able to make out three or four shapes emerging from an archway opposite him. Only one of them was touching the ground.

* * *

Aurora Borealis came home from a very long night shift to find Lily sitting at her breakfast table, fully dressed in muggle clothes, with Cheesy the rat nibbling at some crumbs of cheddar on a plate beside her.

"Lily!" she exclaimed, putting her keys down next to the toaster. "What are you doing?"

"Having a cup of tea," Lily answered. "Do you want some, there should still be enough left in the pot."

She half rose from her chair, but Aurora pushed her back onto it with a firm hand and pulled up another for herself. Her rat immediately scurried across the table and dropped onto her lap, but she took no notice of him.

"You're not trying to back out of going to your sister's wedding, by any chance?" she asked Lily bluntly.

Lily shrugged her shoulders. "She doesn't want me there."

"So you're just going to sit here feeling miserable because your sister would rather pretend you don't exist?"

"Who says I'm miserable?"

"Your face!"

"Oh." Lily decided there was hardly any point in arguing further on that subject. "Well, all right then. I am miserable about it. I don't like the fact that Petunia hates me. I want us to be friends, but I don't see that we ever can be, so I'm doing the only thing I can do - making sure she gets the wedding day she wants without me hanging around to embarrass her."

"Don't be silly," Aurora said crossly. "You couldn't embarrass anyone if you tried. You're the sweetest girl anyone could have for a sister, and one day even Petunia will see that, I'm sure."

"I doubt it."

Aurora took Lily's chin in her hand and looked at her earnestly. "Do you want to be there when your sister gets married, or don't you?"

"Of course I do."

"Then what are you waiting for? Go and get that lovely bridesmaid's dress on that you look so pretty in. What about James? Is he coming to pick you up?"

"I told him I wasn't going."

"Well, I shall go and phone him while you're getting dressed ... if that isn't him already," Aurora added as the doorbell rang.

She went to answer it and found her guess to be correct.

"Good morning, Aurora," James said brightly. "I've come to collect the reluctant bridesmaid. I'm relying on you to have talked her out of hiding herself away."

Aurora laughed. "I would hate to disappoint you. She's just getting ready now. Come on in."

She held the door open for him, and skilfully intercepted Cheesy the rat before he could attack the visitor's shiny black shoes.

* * *

Peter Pettigrew took a deep breath and walked up the overgrown garden path in front of him. He found that the front door had been left ajar, so he merely knocked on it once and crossed the threshold. Without delay, he felt something like a powerful gust of wind from inside the house which literally lifted him off his feet, carried him back the way he had come and deposited him in a not-too-gentle manner halfway back down the path. Dazed, he shook himself, got back to his feet and began to dust himself down. He heard footsteps coming round the corner and turned. John, carrying an armful of freshly cut firewood, stopped when he saw Peter.

"Hello," he said. "I see you've just made the acquaintance of our new security system."

"Oh, is that what it was?" Peter said nervously.

John nodded. "With Lily's help I've been able to teach the house not to let anyone in whom it doesn't know. Just let me take this wood in and I'll introduce you."

Peter waited while John went into the house and closed the door behind him. After a minute or two he heard John's muffled voice telling him to knock on the door. Peter did so. John opened the door.

"Come on in," he said. "It's quite safe now."

"Really?" Peter asked uncertainly.

"I promise," said John.

Peter stepped in gingerly and found that this time, the house seemed to have no further objections to letting him enter.

"There, you see. Next time you won't need to worry," John explained. "You can climb in through the window if you like, the house won't object. So, what brings you to our door?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to Remus, if he's got a minute."

"Well, he's upstairs studying at the moment. I'll go and see."

Peter was once more left alone, waiting in the living room. It was not long, however, before Remus himself came down to greet him.

"Good morning, Peter," he said. "This is a surprise."

"Hello," said Peter. "I hope I'm not disturbing you. Your dad said you were studying ..."

Remus sighed. "I don't know why I bother. It's not as though it will ever lead to anything. No matter how much I cram into my brain or how many exams I take, I doubt anyone will ever employ me as a teacher."

"I'm sure you'd be good," said Peter quickly.

Remus smiled. "Thanks. So, how are you doing? How's work?"

"Oh, all right. Mr. Mulciber can be rather strict whenever he wants something done, but actually he rarely does want me to do things, so that's all right."

"A bit odd, though. You said he was quite insistent to have you working for him, didn't you?"

Peter nodded. "He's also being insistent about something else."

"What's that?"

"Well ... y-you remember how I lost my first ever job at the Ministry ...?"

"Yes. Which reminds me. I spoke to Gloria Boom the other day, and she sends her regards."

Peter's cheeks flushed. "Gloria? Oh yes, you said she works with you now, didn't you? W-what's it like, working with her?"

"All right," Remus said non-committally. "We don't always see exactly eye to eye, but she's a nice enough girl. And I don't see eye to eye with most people in that group."

"Is it so very bad?"

"Not yet," Remus said slowly. "But I can't shake the feeling that it will be getting worse before we're done. They're already starting to talk about things that ... I don't like. Ugly things, even inhuman sometimes. They don't realise what they could be doing ..." He smiled. "But you didn't come here to talk about the Ministry's monster plans, did you?"

"No. I wanted to ask you if - if you wouldn't mind ... I could do with some help."

"You know I'll help with anything I can," said Remus at once. "What's the problem?"

"Mr. Mulciber's found out that I can't apparate. He says I should learn it."

"I see." Remus frowned. "That is to say - I don't see. Why should you need to apparate?"

Peter shrugged his shoulders. "He says I can't hope to have much of a career if I don't learn. He says anyone who plans to occupy an important rank within the Ministry at any time should be able to apparate in order to be available at all times. He says you can't be fully reliable without being able to apparate. And ..." - he went a little red - "my parents agree with him."

With a faint smile, Remus remarked, "I wasn't aware you were planning a big career. Peter Pettigrew, Minister for Magic, eh?"

"I know it's ridiculous ..."

"I didn't mean to make fun of you, Peter," Remus said quickly. "But ... I think I've told you before that I believe you ought to make up your own mind what you want, not let others decide for you."

"A-are you saying you won't help me?"

"Of course not. I've already said I will - if it's what you want."

Peter looked down at his feet. "What I want is not to be laughed at because I can't do what everyone else can."

Remus patted his shoulder. "Let's do something about it then, shall we?"

* * *

Malcolm sat in a sturdy, high-backed armchair in Travers's house, staring unseeingly at the opposite wall, waiting. He had awoken today in just one of those black moods that had induced him a few days ago to write a letter and post it directly to John without considering the consequences.

Just as he had afterwards cursed himself for having sent that letter, he knew he would be angry with himself tomorrow for what he was doing now. He was being incautious in the extreme. He had spent a whole night as himself. As usual, his alarm clock had alerted him every hour to the fact that it was time to take his next dose of polyjuice potion. But he had ignored it. After all, he had told himself, it was not very likely that anyone would drop in to see him in the middle of the night, and even if they did, he could always take his potion before answering the door. He had therefore decided that it would be soon enough if he took it in the morning.

But now it was morning - well into the morning, as a matter of fact - and still he had not taken his potion. He had planned to take it after his ablutions. His idea had been to take a look in the mirror and remind himself of what his own face looked like, then take the potion after. But it was now getting on for eleven o'clock, and he had so far avoided every mirror in the house. Yes, he had even washed his face with his eyes shut.

"Why?" he asked himself.

He knew the answer. He was afraid. What he did not understand was why he should be afraid. Surely it would be soothing to the nerves to see his own face for once, to remind himself of who he really was. But it had been so long since he had seen that face. What if it proved a shock to him? What if he had become so used to Travers's face looking back at him that his own would seem strange and unreal?

*You're being a fool,* he thought. *A stupid, melodramatic fool.*

With a good deal of mental effort, he forced himself up out of the chair and made his way to the bathroom. He stepped inside and went to stand near the mirror, keeping his eyes carefully averted from it. Then, taking a long breath, he prepared to turn ... It was just at that moment that the doorbell rang. For a moment he remained motionless. Then he pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a large gulp from it. He waited, feeling the familiar puckering of the skin, the tingling above the upper lip. The doorbell rang again. Malcolm turned towards the mirror, and Tiberius Travers's face looked back at him. With a wry smile, Malcolm said to his reflection,

"You're a rotten coward, you know."

Then he descended the stairs and answered the door.

* * *

Remus had taken Peter out on the moors to practise apparating. Once he had finished placing the firewood he had chopped tidily in the basket by the fireplace, John went into the kitchen. He found Faith there, just removing a fresh loaf from the oven.

"Hm," he said appreciatively, washing his hands in the kitchen sink, "that smells good."

"I hope it will taste all right too," Faith replied.

She placed the loaf on a wooden board and looked down at it thoughtfully. John dried his hands and came to stand beside her. He looked out of the window.

"It's very cold outside," he said after a lapse of some minutes. "The sky's grey, too. I shouldn't be surprised if we get some snow today. It's really taken it's time this year, but we'll probably have a white Christmas after all. That will be nice."

"Christmas," Faith murmured. "I don't think I've ever felt less like Christmas in my entire life."

"I know," said John. "I don't feel like it either. I ... I feel ..."

He made a sudden impatient noise and moved abruptly away. Resting both hands on the table and breathing heavily, he kept his back turned on Faith. She placed her hand on his shoulder from behind.

"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" He laughed dryly. "Just about everything! I wish ... I wish I could just turn back the time and ... prevent all this from ever happening. If only I had stopped Malcolm ever going into this ..."

"There was no way you could have done that," Faith said. "Once he had made up his mind he was never going to let anyone stop him."

"I should have found a way! Any way! Anything would have been better than this."

"John, darling ..." Faith's tone grew suspicious. "Has something happened? Is there something you haven't told me?"

He shook his head. "No, I - I'm just having one of my more pessimistic days. I don't know why, but today I'm ... worried. More worried than usual. I feel like I'm waiting for something. I know it's mad and there's no cause for it, but ... I can't help feeling that something's gone wrong somewhere."

"If it has, it's not your fault."

"I know, I know. I just ... hope I'm wrong."

Faith took his arm and turned him around gently. She drew his head down onto her shoulder and he held her tightly.

"I'm afraid," he whispered. "My god, I'm so afraid."

* * *

The Day Draws On

Petunia and Vernon's wedding ceremony had passed just as it should have. Elderly aunts in fluffy pink dresses had dabbed at their eyes with lace handkerchiefs during the vows, the best man had remembered to bring the rings, the bridesmaids had all looked pretty, but done their best not to outshine the bride in her silken white dress, and Lily had endeavoured to go unnoticed. However, her parents had insisted on having her and James on the photos along with them.

Now they were all sitting at lunch. Lily's father had made his speech, as had the best man, Vernon had stood up to offer words of thanks to everyone present, in particular the father of the bride, to whom had fallen the traditional and horrendously expensive duty of paying for the whole thing, and everyone was now partaking of refreshments and champagne. James touched Lily's glass with his own and smiled at her.

"Here's to a wedding without incidents, that surely even your sour-faced sister must approve of. We have behaved ourselves perfectly, now let's have some fun."

Lily smiled and took a sip from her glass. "I'm so glad you're here, James. All these people ... They make me feel rather uneasy. I don't know what Petunia and Vernon have been telling them about me, but some of them keep staring at me when they think I'm not looking as if I were something ... abnormal."

"Vernon's great-uncle didn't seem to find you abnormal though, did he? Except perhaps abnormally beautiful." James broke into an imitation of the elderly Dursley in question, speaking oilily and smacking his lips after every other word. "Charming," he said, "Really, quite charming. Mr. Evans, may I congratulate you on having the most charming daughter I have ever set eyes upon?"

James finished his rendition with a sweeping gesture, bringing Lily's hand to his lips. She chuckled.

"Yes, he was rather complimentary."

"The dirty old boy," James remarked with a grin. "He must be at least a hundred and fifty."

"Hardly," Lily objected. "Muggles don't live that long. Oh."

She covered her mouth with her hand, realising what she had just been saying. James shrugged his shoulders. "Don't worry, no one's listening. They're all too busy congratulating the bride."

Lily glanced across to where Petunia and Vernon were standing. They certainly looked suited to one another, despite the total contrast in build. Both so right and proper, so fittingly solemn on this important day in their lives. Solemn ... Lily did not want her wedding to be solemn. She wanted it to be a happy affair, with everyone talking and dancing, with James pretending to nearly drop her when he carried her over the threshold - but hopefully not doing so, with all their friends around them, hugging them and smiling at them and laughing merrily. She blushed as these thoughts passed through her mind and cast a sidelong glance at James. He was watching her, his head a little to one side.

"I wish I knew what you were thinking," he said quietly. "You looked very happy just then."

"I am happy," she said, squeezing his hand. "Very happy."

She leaned in to kiss him. At just that moment, Petunia Dursley turned her head in that direction. She watched James and Lily together, whispering and laughing. Lily, with her red mane and those hateful green eyes, enchanting as always. And that boy ... so outrageously full of life, so totally different from her Vernon, and so ... so irritatingly charming. Petunia pulled herself together. Freaks, the pair of them. Yes, they belonged together, all right. And the sooner she had nothing more to do with them, the better. She reverted her attention to the old lady standing beside her.

"Thank you so much, Aunt Deborah. Yes, of course we would be only too glad to come and stay with you sometime."

* * *

Laura Lovegood tapped her desk with her fingers and glanced at the clock for the thirteenth time in ten minutes. It was past lunchtime. Surely she should have heard from Williams by now. He had promised to make contact first thing this morning. He had promised to let her know at once when he did. But the clock was getting ready to strike two, and still she had not heard from him.

She told herself that there was no need to worry. It was foolish to expect news too early. After all, one had to allow time for him to meet up with his target, to introduce himself and persuade her to talk to him, to take her somewhere where they would not be disturbed ... All that would naturally take time.

How much time, though? Assuming by 'first thing' he had meant seven o'clock - or even eight, to be generous - how long would it take him to talk to the woman? Ten minutes, perhaps. She might protest at first, not want to be involved. Say twenty minutes at most, then. That made it twenty past eight. Then, if wherever they had to go to be undisturbed was a bit out of the way, it might take them about three quarters of an hour, or even an hour to get there. So they would arrive at about twenty past nine. If Williams had sent her a message immediately as he had promised, by owl as usual, it should certainly have reached her long ago. Even if her reckoning was wrong and they had not reached a private place before ten, that did not explain why there was still no message by just before two o'clock. And there was the time difference as well, she reminded herself. Wherever Williams was now, he was an hour ahead of her ...

* * *

As he walked past his father's study, Severus Snape could hear the not uncommon sounds of an argument penetrating the door. His mother and father were quarrelling. Or rather, his mother was making timid remarks and his father was rebuffing them vehemently.

"It is of no concern to me what arrangements you have made for this evening," Augustus Snape was bellowing. "I have been summoned to Slytherin's Rock, and that is where I shall be going."

"Of course, of course, but couldn't you go a little later? Josephine wants to meet both Severus's parents. Surely you want to meet the girl."

"Certainly I do, but one does not keep the Dark Lord waiting. I shall stay until she gets here, and I shall expect you to take note of everything this girl says tonight and tell me of it afterwards. I want nothing left out, mind."

"I do think it would be far better if you simply stayed ..."

"No!" her husband said firmly. "I am going to Slytherin's Rock, and that is final."

* * *

"Can I get you something to eat?" Malcolm asked his visitor, hoping that the answer would be in the negative.

Luckily, Lucius Malfoy shook his head. "No. I've been occupying your time far too long already. I never meant to stay this long. My wife will be wondering what has become of me. And in any case, I'll see you at Slytherin's Rock this evening, I trust."

"Of course," Malcolm agreed. "I must say I shall be interested to meet Lothian, after all I have heard about him. Paula tells me he is a very impressive sort of man."

"Yes," Lucius said thoughtfully. "I suppose he is rather. But to tell you the truth, I'm ... not as happy about his coming as might be expected."

"You resent the fact that the Dark Lord treats him as an honoured guest, when he actually seems to do very little?"

Lucius gave a crooked smile. "I see I have been showing my hand too plainly this morning."

Malcolm shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I shan't tell anyone. I can see your point. Here we are, doing the Dark Lord's bidding every day while he travels abroad for as long as he chooses, only putting in an appearance on a rare occasion, and getting the royal treatment."

"Ah, well, supposedly he's finding more followers in other countries. Recruiting spies in foreign ministries, and seeking out spies working for the other side."

Stiffening just a little, Malcolm said, "Really? Is he very successful in that, do you know?"

"Sometimes yes, sometimes no, I believe." Lucius laughed. "From what I hear he hasn't been able to find his own wife in eighteen years of searching for her, so I personally don't have too much faith in his abilities."

Malcolm got up from his chair quickly and turned to look out of the window in order to hide his smile. Eighteen years of searching, and Lothian was no nearer to uncovering Bridget's whereabouts than he had been when he started, eh? *Well done, Bridget,* he thought to himself. Aloud he said,

"Well, maybe he's found someone this time. He must have some particular reason for returning to England so suddenly, mustn't he?" Malcolm suggested.

"Not necessarily. As I told you, he and the Dark Lord are old friends."

They were interrupted by a scurrying sound at the door. A small creature had shuffled into the room. An ugly, bare-looking little thing with big, flapping ears shaped like a bat's and eyes resembling golf balls. The Malfoys' house elf was the youngest of its kind that Malcolm had ever seen, and also the most frightened-looking.

"What do you want?" Lucius demanded.

"Dobby's master said he wants to be home by two o'clock, sir. Dobby has seen it is nearly two o'clock now."

"Right. Well, Travers," Lucius said, rising and holding out his hand. "See you this evening."

Malcolm shook it. "See you then," he said.

* * *

A Dangerous Experiment

"Stop!" Remus called. "Wait!"

Peter turned his head. "What is it? Is it the way I'm standing? Do I need to stand up straighter? Or make myself lighter or something?"

"That's just it. You don't need to do any of those things. All you need to do is relax. You're much too tense."

Peter pulled a despairing face. "It's no good, Remus. I'm taking up hours of your time, and it's never going to work. I'm just no good at apparating. It's too advanced for me."

Remus shook his head. "Let's have a bit of a rest," he suggested.

He led the way up a slope to a mound of rocks, one of the many tors that lay dotted around the moors. He conjured some cushions for them to sit on.

"Mum would murder me if I caught a chill from sitting on cold rocks," he said. "Come on, sit down."

Peter sat obediently. For a while they simply sat looking out over the moors, or what they could see of them. The air was cold and the sky was grey, lending an atmosphere of evening to the wintry afternoon. After a little time, the first flakes of snow began to drift down on them. Remus was breathing the fresh air deeply. Peter shuffled uneasily.

"You're not doing anything wrong, Peter," Remus said at last. "It's just in your head."

"W-what do you mean?"

"I mean that if you keep telling yourself you can't apparate, you never will learn to do it."

Peter shook his head. "I won't learn it because I'm just no earthly good at advanced magic."

"That's not true. You learned to become an animagus, remember. That's far more advanced than apparition."

"I couldn't have done that without help, though."

"Nor did James and Sirius. Admittedly, James and Sirius are exceptionally powerful wizards. But you're just as good as the rest of us. You just have to learn to believe it."

"It's all right for you. You can do anything."

"Not quite. To my mother's great disappointment, I am completely hopeless at darning my own clothes."

"Oh, you know I don't mean that sort of thing. I meant magic. Spells. You've never come across one you couldn't do, have you?"

"There are plenty I have never attempted - and some that I never will," Remus added darkly. "And I know there are things Sirius and James can do that are far beyond my skills."

"You're clever, though. That's as good as being powerful. I'm neither. I wish ... I wish I was like you."

"No," Remus said quietly. "No, you don't."

Startled, Peter looked at him. "Oh. I - I didn't mean ..."

"I know you didn't." Remus smiled wearily. "We all have our troubles. You have to learn something you don't really want to, Sirius is desperately looking for something to do with himself now that James is preoccupied with Lily ... even Gloria ..."

"G-Gloria? Gloria Boom?" Peter stammered.

"She's got engaged to Lance Lovegood, but it seems her parents aren't too happy about it. They think he's not got much of a future professionally, and they want their daughter to be well cared-for. One can't blame them for that, I suppose, but these days ... You'd think people wouldn't worry too much about that sort of thing. We should all make the most of the time we've got."

"Yes. Yes, you're quite right."

"James seems to have made up his mind that that's the best thing to be done, too," Remus went on. "He told me the other day that he intends to ask Lily to marry him."

"Really?" Peter exclaimed. "When?"

"I don't know. Very soon, I think. Maybe even today, at her sister's wedding. I certainly don't think he needs to worry about her answer."

He fell silent. Peter got the impression that he was thinking deeply about something. After a little while he asked,

"What are you thinking about, Remus?"

Remus sighed. "James wants Lily to know the truth," he said. "He wants to tell her he's an animagus. I can understand that, of course. The only problem is that it means he'll have to tell her why he did it. Or rather ... I will."

"You mean you're going to tell her you're ..."

"Yes," Remus said quickly. "He offered to tell her himself, but I said no. It seemed cowardly, somehow, to let him do it."

"Well, I suppose it is about time she knew."

"I suppose so."

There was a silence again, then Peter said, "I don't think you need to worry about it, Remus. I'm quite sure Lily likes you."

"I think she does, at the moment. Whether she still will when I've told her, though, is another matter. Well, it's no use worrying about it." He sighed and looked around him. "See that tree over there, Peter?"

Peter followed his gaze. "Yes."

"Apparate over to it."

"W-what? Now?"

"Yes, before you have time to think about it. Go on."

Peter screwed up his eyes. He vanished instantly from Remus's side, then reappeared, looking positively startled, right where Remus had told him to. Remus smiled.

* * *

By half past two, Laura Lovegood had worked herself up into a terrible state of anxiety. She was no longer able to think straight any more. She kept picturing to herself scenes of Williams lying dead in a pool of blood, or else simply killed in the blink of an eye with an unforgivable curse. Or maybe even alive, being tortured for information. Laura clasped her hands, trying to stop them from shaking. She was not afraid of what Williams could tell any Death Eater who might question him. If he gave her away, if they came after her, she could take what was coming to her. But it pained her to imagine what they might be doing to him in order to get that information. She began to consider what she could do. Maybe if she went to Paris now, herself, she could find him before it was too late ...

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a large eagle owl carrying a letter which it dropped on one of the desks. She rushed over at once, joining the other aurors who had gathered round to see who it was addressed to. It was Gideon Prewett who picked it up.

"It's for Crouch," he announced.

He duly went and took the letter to the head of the department. Laura returned to her desk, disappointed. It was not long, however, before Mr. Crouch himself appeared, holding the letter in his hand. Everyone could see from the look on his face that the news it contained was bad. Mr. Crouch began with a question.

"Can any of you tell me what Williams was doing in Paris?" he asked.

Laura's heart sank. She felt suddenly very sick. But she shook her head along with everyone else.

"What's happened?" Gideon asked.

Crouch said concisely, "This letter is from the French Ministry of Magic. Monsieur Renard, their head of law enforcement, writes that a man was found in the men's lavatory actually within the Ministry. A couple of the French aurors recognised him immediately as Williams."

"Is he ... dead, sir?" one of the others asked.

"No," said Mr. Crouch. "He is not dead. Though perhaps it would be better if he were."

"What did happen to him?" Laura enquired cautiously.

Crouch informed her coldly, "He appears to have suffered a Dementor's Kiss."

There was a stunned silence, at the end of which Crouch issued orders.

"I want to know exactly what happened. I want to know why Williams was in Paris in the first place, where he stayed, what he did, who he spoke to and, above all, how he came into contact with a Dementor. Laura!"

"Yes?"

"Get Moody here, quickly. I want him to arrange something for me."

* * *

Laura contacted Mr. Moody via the floo network immediately. He was there mere minutes later, and at once took her by the arm and led her into his office, taking care to lock the door behind them.

"Now then," he said briskly. "Out with it, girl. What was Williams doing in Paris?"

Laura shot him a miserable look. "It's my fault," she told him. "I sent him there. He went to find someone for me, someone I wanted to talk to. It was about the incident we had here, the day the Death Eaters came. I wanted to know what exactly happened and who was involved in making sure Wallis got away. I had my suspicions, but Peter Pettigrew could remember nothing. However, I knew there were three more witnesses. A young married couple, and a woman - the bride's sister. All three have since gone into hiding. I can't say I blame them. It's likely the Death Eaters would want to prevent any of them making the kind of statement I wanted to get. I spoke to Williams. He said he'd find the woman - Miss Dulac - and ..."

"Miss Dulac? Désirée Dulac, the actress?" Moody queried.

"Yes. Williams found her, all right. He wrote to me the other day, saying he would be making contact this morning, but I had no news from him. And now this ..."

She sank into a chair. "It's all my fault," she repeated.

"Have you told Crouch any of this?"

"No. If he knew I've been acting on my own ..."

"Quite. I wonder what he wanted me for, though. We all know we're hardly the best of friends. That will be him now."

Sure enough, the knock on the door that had come during his last sentence turned out to be Bartemius Crouch himself.

"Ah, Moody. Here you are. Let me get straight to the point. I want to know what happened this morning in Paris, and I want to try every means we have of finding out, starting with Williams himself."

"If he's received the Dementor's Kiss, there's nothing you'll be getting out of him," Moody said coldly.

"Not I," Crouch said. "No. I can't get anything out of him. But I think you know someone who might ..."

Moody returned the other man's stare darkly.

"Even with legilimency," he said, "there's little hope of finding out anything. Once the Kiss has been administered ..."

"We don't know the exact effect of the Kiss. We know it robs a man of his soul, but does it truly erase everything from his mind? There might still be something stored there, something he himself can no longer access, but that someone else could find."

"You're asking a very young girl to take a very great risk."

Crouch shook his head. "I won't be asking her. You will."

Moody did not reply. He merely strode past Crouch and out into the Auror Headquarters, looking menacing and very thoughtful. The other aurors around him spoke in hushed voices. It was clear that this was not the time to address Alastor Moody, unless one wanted one's head bitten off. Only Frank Longbottom, hurrying in through the door a couple of minutes later, dared to address him.

"I just got your message, sir," he said. "I'm sorry to hear about Williams, of course. But I don't quite see what I can do."

"Come with me," said Moody.

"Where are we going?" Frank asked, obediently following Moody out into the hallway. "Are we going to see Williams?"

"Not yet. He's in Paris. That's where we'll be going after."

"After what?"

"After we have paid a visit to our friend, Miss Borealis."

Frank slowed his pace thoughtfully for a few seconds before catching up with Moody as he stepped into the crowded lift.

"Sir, I hope this doesn't mean you're suggesting ...," he began, but got no further.

"Not here," Moody ordered.

* * *

"Are we safe enough from being overheard yet?" Frank asked.

He and Moody were climbing the stairs in the block of flats where Aurora lived.

"I expect so," Moody replied. "But there is still no need for you to speak. I know what it is you want to say."

"I hope you also agree with me."

"Up to a point, yes."

"Up to a point? Sir, Williams has been robbed of his soul. I'm aware that I know less than nothing about this kind of thing, but it seems to me that to enter the mind of someone who has no soul is one of the most pointless things one could possibly attempt in matters of legilimency. Not only pointless, but very likely dangerous as well! I don't know what this could lead to, I don't know if you do, but I do know that I have a very bad feeling about it."

"A bad feeling?"

"Yes. Right here." Frank indicated his stomach.

Moody frowned deeply. "Gut instinct, eh? It can be useful sometimes. But at other times it can be both useful and necessary to take risks."

"Just as long as you're not risking your own life," Frank grumbled to himself.

Moody looked at him so sharply that Frank went red. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean that. It's just ..."

"You're desperately trying to protect this girl, I know. But remember, Longbottom, she hasn't asked you to do so. She may not want you to."

"Sometimes what we want is not the same as what's good for us," Frank said quietly, remembering Aurora's words to him. Then he went on, "You may be right. But I know she won't protect herself, so ..."

Surprisingly, Moody smiled crookedly. "That," he informed Frank, "is why I asked you to come along in the first place. My job is to persuade Miss Borealis to take risks. Yours is to see to it that she comes through it unharmed."

"How?" Frank asked bluntly. "How can I protect her from something I don't understand?"

"I have no idea. But I'm sure you'll find a way."

It was just then that they reached Aurora's open door. She was standing there in her dressing gown, waiting for them. She shook Moody's hand and smiled a greeting at Frank. Frank frowned back, cast a quick glance at the old auror, and said that he would wait outside. Aurora turned a surprised face to Moody, who closed the door.

"What was that all about?"

"Mr. Longbottom does not approve of what I am about to ask of you. I feel it is my duty to tell you that he has what he calls a 'bad feeling' about it. Nevertheless, you are our only hope of finding out what exactly happened to one of our men in Paris this morning. Are you willing to take another risk for us?"

"What kind of risk?"

Moody explained it to her. Aurora listened, showing no reaction except for the increasing pallor of her cheeks. When he had finished speaking, she thought for a while. At last she said,

"I'll come with you to Paris, of course. Since you think I'm the only one who has a chance of finding out what occurred, and since you seem to consider it important that we do find out, I don't see how I can refuse."

"You can easily refuse if you want to. You're not an auror. You're under no obligation to do this."

"There's such a thing as public duty, isn't there?"

"Does anyone worry much about that these days?"

"I suppose ... The thing is, of course, that if anything has happened and we find out too late because I didn't do all I could to help ... I'd feel responsible. But ... what exactly is there to find out?"

Moody said thoughtfully, "The Death Eaters might have captured the witness Williams went to see. Williams might have witnessed her capture, he might even have heard where they were taking her. Or he might not have suffered the Kiss until much later, he may know - or rather, he may have known whether or not she died instantly or if she passed on any information to our enemies. Quite frankly, I would be happiest if I knew they had killed her on the spot."

"If they did capture her ..."

"If they did capture her, then we must try and find her before they get any information out of her. If they find out what she knows ... I didn't tell you her name, did I?"

"No."

"Miss Dulac," Moody said. "Désirée Dulac."

"Oh!" Aurora exclaimed. "But that means ... if they get anything out of her ..."

Moody nodded.

* * *

An Afternoon in Paris

Frank and Aurora were standing in the rooms of the Auror Headquarters in Paris. Mr. Moody had gone into one of the offices with Monsieur Renard and they were waiting outside. Every now and then, French aurors passing by cast inquisitive glances at them, but no one addressed them. Aurora had been silent ever since they arrived here. She was still wearing her thick winter cloak.

"Aren't you a bit warm in that cloak?" Frank asked after a while.

Aurora jumped as though she had forgotten there was anyone else in the room with her. She shook her head.

"No," she said quietly. "Actually, I'm feeling a bit chilly."

Frank turned his head to look at her. She was very pale.

"You look quite ill," he said.

Aurora shook her head. "I'm all right. It's just nerves."

"Maybe it would be better if you refused this time. I don't know if Mr. Moody told you, but ..."

"He did. Yes. He told me you have a bad feeling about it. So do I."

"Then don't do it," Frank suggested quickly. "You can still refuse. I'll go in and tell Moody you've changed your mind, and I'll take you straight back home."

Aurora looked up at him and smiled faintly. "No, Frank. I'm going through with this."

He gave a heavy sigh. Aurora turned her face away again. Her voice had sounded determined, but she looked very frightened. Frank felt himself wanting to put his arm around her, to comfort her. He thought about it. Would she mind? Maybe. On the other hand, maybe she would appreciate it. He waited a minute or two, then took a step towards her. But Moody and the French head of department reappeared just at that moment, and Frank drew back.

Monsieur Renard was a sturdily built man of about forty. He had the look of an outdoor man about him - a weather-beaten face and thin, windswept hair, keen eyes and a brisk manner of walking. He addressed himself to Aurora. He had a strong French accent, and it seemed to Frank that speaking English did not come very easily to him. He often paused to search for a word, which appeared to irritate him, as it impeded his customary briskness.

"Monsieur Moody 'as described to me your talent most extraordinary, Mademoiselle Borealis. It is very courageous of you to take this risk. I 'ope that you will 'ave success. If there is anything I can do for you, please, 'esitate not to ask ..."

"Thank you," Aurora replied. "I would only like to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"Naturally, naturally. If you will follow me ..."

* * *

"Mother?"

Severus Snape tapped on the half open door of the drawing room. His mother looked up, startled, from a piece of parchment that lay on the writing desk in front of her.

"Severus," she said in her usual, timid voice. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing. I was actually thinking that ..." He hesitated, finding the words he was trying to say difficult to utter and extremely unfamiliar. "I was thinking I might be able to do something for you."

Iris Snape looked surprised. "For me?"

"I overheard you and Father earlier, and I realise that your - discussion - was on my account."

"Ah," said his mother, beginning to understand. "You feel that because it is your girlfriend who is coming to dinner this evening, it is your fault that your father and I had a row."

"I wish you wouldn't use that word!" Severus said hotly.

"Row?"

"No, not that one."

His mother smiled. "I see. Very well, I'll just refer to her as Josie then, for simplicity's sake. In any case, whatever we call her, I see no need for you to worry about it. Your father and I have had plenty of arguments before."

"I know, but as this is on my account ..."

"Severus, you needn't try to hide your feelings from me. I am well aware that you're not normally so concerned about our quarrelling. You're really looking for excuses, aren't you? You don't want Josie to come. You never wanted me to meet her in the first place. Why not?"

Severus shifted irritably, but did not reply, so she went on.

"You didn't want her to meet your parents. And you didn't want us to meet her. You believe that Josie's world and our world are better kept separate."

"I ... yes," Severus admitted. "I'm surprised you understand."

"Are you? You shouldn't be. I'm your mother, Severus. I know you better than you think. And I'm very sorry that I'm such a disappointment to you."

He opened his mouth to protest, but found he couldn't. Iris's smile turned sad. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"I've known that for a long time. Very well, so you are ashamed of me. I'm too timid, you'd like your mother to be a woman of character, someone to look up to ... but I don't think that a mother like that would do you any good with Josie, my dear. Josie seems to me to be a thoroughly sweet creature. She's so full of life and energy. I like her, I really do. Your father may not ... that could be a problem. But you must believe one thing, Severus: However timid I may be, however your father may frighten me, I will stand up to him on this matter."

"What if I don't want you to? What if 'this matter', as you call it, is no matter to me at all? Josephine is not my type."

"And that's just why she's so good for you. Believe me, she is."

Once again, Severus tried to argue, and once again he closed his mouth immediately after opening it. Irritating though his mother was, she knew him well enough - perhaps that was part of the reason why she irritated him. No, he told himself, it wasn't that. It was because she was always frightened, because she never stood up for herself. Would she really stand up for him? He looked down at her doubtfully.

* * *

Frank, Moody and Renard had remained by the door while Aurora went and sat on the chair across the desk from where Williams was sitting. He was staring in front of him with unseeing eyes. His expression was completely bland, his hands rested on his knees with no apparent purpose. He neither moved nor made a murmur when the four people entered the room, nor when Aurora asked,

"Can he do anything? Anything at all?"

"If one places the food in 'is mouth, 'e will eat it. 'is reactions are mechanical. It is that 'is body knows what to do, but 'e does not know why 'e does it."

Aurora nodded. She focused her attention entirely on the man facing her, allowing herself to imagine the kind of man he must have been before this had happened to him. He looked as if he had been just as vigorous as Monsieur Renard himself. Quite a good-looking man, in a rugged sort of way. She wondered if he had had a family, and tried to picture him as he might have once been. Then she began slowly to reach out with her mind. She could see pictures almost at once, but she knew just as quickly that they were the wrong ones. She could see the thoughts of three different people. She let them pass before her eyes for a few moments before turning to look at Moody.

"Sir, much as I appreciate your concern, if anything happens to me, I hardly think strangling Mr. Crouch with your own two hands will make it any better."

Moody looked taken aback. He was not the only one. Frank and Renard both stared at her as well. Aurora advised,

"If this is going to work, I think I will have to be alone in the room with Williams. You have far too vivid imaginations."

Renard and Moody agreed quickly. Frank hesitated. The corners of Aurora's mouth twitched upward.

"Go," she said gently. "I promise I'll call you if I need anything."

They left her alone with Williams. Once again, Aurora focussed her attention on him. It took a long time before she could find anything at all. At last, she felt something. It was as though she were physically moving, though without the help of her body. Before her eyes something began to appear. At first it was just a black speck in the distance, but gradually it became larger, and she could see that it was like the gaping mouth of a tunnel. She was heading straight for it with ever-increasing rapidity, and before she quite knew what had happened she was inside it. Only now, it was no longer a tunnel. It was like a cave. A big, black, empty hollow with no roof or walls, no floor or windows, no air, no light, no sound. Emptiness. A great void, no longer a cave even but just sheer nothingness, like floating in space without stars or planets. Black, black all around her, whichever way she turned. She could neither see, nor hear, nor feel. She groped about in the dark, but her fingers found nothing. Panic seized her. This was the end. She would never escape now. This was oblivion. No life, no death, no thought, no comfort. Nothing. Nothing at all. And no way out. No way out.

No, wait ... what was that? Surely, she had seen something. Or was it her imagination? She strained her eyes, willing herself to see something, anything. And she did. She saw something long and thin, like a rope standing perpendicularly in the middle of the void. The top end of it twitched. It flicked eagerly from side to side. The movement struck her as strangely graceful. The surface of the rope, or whatever it was, looked like it was covered in fur. It couldn't be a rope then. A tail. Yes, that was it. A cat's tail. She could see the rest of it now. The body crouching down gracefully, the tail settling itself atop a rounded black surface. A dustbin? Yes, a turned-over dustbin. The cat turned its head. Amber eyes looked her way.

Aurora's hand slipped inside the pockets of the coat she discovered she was wearing. Her fingers found something. A cigarette, a box of matches ... she saw the lick of flame before her eyes. She shivered. It was dark and cold. Somewhere to her left a door opened. Aurora moved closer to it. Someone appeared. A woman. Aurora shivered again. Why was it so cold? And why were the images around her fading again? And what was that? What were those shapes coming her way? What was that - that thing gliding towards her? Its hands, blackened and scabbed, reached for its hood...

* * *

Frank interrupted his pacing with a jolt so sudden that Moody looked up sharply.

"What's up?" he said. "Finally walked a hole in your shoe?"

"Something's wrong," Frank answered with certainty. "Sir, this is taking far too long. If Aurora was going to find anything, she should be done by now."

"It may be hard for her to get into his mind at all, if there's any of it left."

Frank strode towards the door. "Let's find out then."

"Monsieur Longbottom, I do not think it is wise to interrupt ..."

"Well, I think we ought to," Frank insisted, brushing the Frenchman aside with sudden vehemence.

"Frank, you don't know what damage we might cause by interrupting now."

"I know it will be worse if we don't!" Frank insisted, and pulled the door open without waiting any longer. Then he uttered a cry. "Aurora!"

Moody followed Frank into the room quickly and grabbed him by the shoulders before he could go any further. He surveyed the scene. Aurora had slid from her chair. Her arms were hanging limply at her sides and her head had fallen on one shoulder. Williams, on the other hand, was suddenly alive again. He had risen from his chair and was looking straight at Moody and Frank, his bland expression replaced with one of terror.

"I'm ... trapped," he said in a frightened voice that didn't suit his manly figure at all. "Sir, I - I can't go back."

Moody did some quick thinking. He released Frank, who by now had in any case gone from urgent action to horrified paralysis, and quickly walked towards the desk. But he did not go to Williams. He went to Aurora. He took her by the hand and spoke urgently, again to her and not to Williams.

"You've got to fight it," he said. "Concentrate, girl. Concentrate on who you are. Concentrate on your own thoughts, concentrate on your feelings, not his. Come on, girl. Fight."

Williams screamed as though in great pain. At the same time, Aurora's body convulsed. Her voice came weekly.

"I can't, I can't, it's too strong."

"Aurora!" Frank cried, springing back into action. He joined Moody, not understanding what was going on, just acting as Moody had done without stopping to think about anything except that he must, somehow, get her back. "You can do it, I know you can. You can do anything. Please, Aurora," he begged. "Please don't give up."

She opened her eyes and looked at him. Her hand gripped his tightly, she convulsed again and then relaxed, her hand felt cold and lifeless.

"No," Frank whispered. "No, please ..."

Williams gave another scream. Aurora jerked for a minute or two, then lay quite still. Moody felt her pulse.

"I think she's back with us," he said. He clapped Frank on the shoulder. "Hold on to her."

Moody then went to take a closer look at Williams. The auror had sunk back into his original seat and was as motionless as he had been when they had first seen him. Frank, still crouching on the ground with Aurora in his arms, asked shakenly,

"Sir, w-what happened? What was going on here?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Moody replied. "It won't be possible to say for certain until Miss Borealis wakes up."

"You are certain that she will?" Renard enquired doubtfully.

Moody looked down at Frank and, after a pause, said gravely, "If she's not, I'll have somebody's blood for it."

"Whose?" Frank demanded impatiently. "Wasn't the whole point of this supposed to be for Aurora to tell us who was responsible for the attack on Williams? And now we're no further than we were before, all that's happened is that we - we very nearly lost her!"

"There is still a chance that she may have found out something. We can only wait and see. Meanwhile - Renard, I assume you've got plenty of chocolate stored away somewhere?"

"I do not know. I would 'ave to check."

"This is Paris!" Moody exclaimed. "I thought all you Frenchmen ever did was drink chocolate out of bowls and eat frogspawn."

"Frog's legs," Renard corrected, retreating towards the door. "I will see what I can do."

Moody watched him leave the room. He then turned his attention back to Frank. With a sigh he said,

"I'm sorry. Looks like we all should have paid more attention to your gut instinct. I promise you I won't ignore it next time."

"Next time?" Frank repeated bitterly. "There won't be a next time. Even if she comes through this all right, I intend to see to it that nothing like this ever happens again."

The older auror patted him on the shoulder. "You're right, lad. As soon as we find out what we need to know, I'll see to it that she's taken to St. Mungo's as quickly as possible. Don't worry, I'll make sure she's well looked after..."

"That sounds like you want to get rid of me. I'm not going!"

"Frank," Moody began soothingly, "hear me out. I want you to do something for me that I consider important. I'm sure you will know if our young friend here has any relations...?"

"Yes," Frank replied, surprised. "Yes, she - she has an aunt."

"Good. I want you to find her. Explain to her briefly what's happened and bring her straight along to the hospital."

"All right, but ... why the rush?"

"Because the enemy has eyes and ears everywhere, that's why. I have to take Aurora to St. Mungo's to let the healers make sure she's all right, but when I do, a lot of people are going to find out some of what happened to her. And from that moment on, the Death Eaters' attention is likely to be on this girl, and on anyone connected with her."

* * *

Mr. Moody's Summons

"Don't they make a lovely couple?" Mrs. Evans sighed into her husband's ear.

Mr. Evans frowned. "Do you think so? To tell you the truth, Rose, I find nothing about Vernon Dursley that I could call lovely."

His wife nudged him playfully. "I wasn't talking about Petunia and Vernon, Ted. I meant Lily and James."

"Oh." His face cleared, and he turned it towards the dance floor, where the two young people in question were engaged in a waltz. "Yes. Of course, Lily would make any man look good."

"James is such a nice boy," Rose went on. "So easy-going. And really quite a lark."

"A lark indeed," Ted Evans chuckled. "Bit of a rascal too in his school days, from all we've heard."

"It's not such a bad thing for a young lad to while the time away tormenting teachers. It makes school life less dull."

"There's certainly nothing dull about James Potter," Ted agreed. "Yes, a thoroughly nice chap."

James, of course, heard none of this praise. He did, however, notice Lily's parents looking their way, and he waved to them. Then he bent forward and whispered to Lily.

"Your mum and dad are keeping a close watch on us. I think they're worried I might carry you off."

Lily blushed. "Oh yes?"

James nodded. Then he added, "I could, you know. We could easily sneak out of the back door while everyone's busy watching the happy couple dancing. Then we could disapparate to some lonely romantic spot and gaze at the stars."

"Isn't it a bit early in the day for stars?"

"Snowflakes, then," James went on, undeterred. "We'll gaze at the snowflakes until it grows dark, and we can't tell them from the stars any more."

Lily tilted her head back slightly so that she could look at him. "Are you serious?"

"You bet I am!"

"In that case ... I'll just get my coat."

* * *

It had taken Frank a hurried enquiry or two at the Ministry to find out where Aurora's aunt lived. As he remembered it, she had mentioned visiting her aunt in London. Well, the only witch by the name of Borealis registered as living in that town at the present was Aurora herself. Miss Enid Borealis had apparently been residing for the past eleven years or so in a place called Tipton on the Moor. It was there that Frank had consequently apparated, choosing a site a little way outside of the village, where a small brook flowed under the willow trees. He guessed that this was likely to be a highly frequented spot in the spring, when flowers bloomed along the banks and the trees were hung with fresh green foliage. Now, the water was frozen over and the trees were bare save for the snow that had nestled along their branches and around their roots. Turning up the collar of his winter cloak and pulling his gloves on a little tighter, Frank made his way to the snow-covered path and trudged along it, across a bridge and onto the village square.

Here, a snowball fight was in full swing. The local boys appeared to have divided into teams and were pelting each other with snowballs of all shapes and sizes while the girls stood or sat around the edge of the 'battlefield', giggling and cheering and occasionally shouting out warnings to their favourite participants. It was when one of the girls, who had a particularly shrill voice and wore a hideous bright orange hat with a pom pom on the top, yelled out, "That's right, get him, Bobby!", that it happened. Bobby, startled by the girlish shriek, missed a throw that would have been right on target and sent his snowball spinning several feet wide of its goal. Frank sprang to the side, which was lucky, for the cold, wet mass narrowly missed his left ear.

"D'you 'ave ter keep doin' that?" Bobby shouted at the shrill-voiced girl, who merely burst into a fit of giggles. "Sorry, mister," Bobby went on, addressing Frank. "That ball was a dead cert, it was. Goin' straight at Mickey Toms's 'ead."

Frank acknowledged the apology. "No harm done," he said. "Now your fight's been interrupted anyway though, I wonder if you could help me. I'm looking for a Miss Enid Borealis. Do you know her?"

"Old Miss B?" The girl in the orange hat exclaimed shrilly.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Take no notice of Gladdy, mister. Course we know Miss B. She lives up that lane there, last 'ouse before the stile. Can't miss it. She won't let no strangers in, though. 'ave you met 'er before?"

"No," Frank replied truthfully.

"Well, best o' luck then," Bobby said cheerfully, returning to his position in the snowball fight. "See ya!" he called with a wave, then bent to gather some fresh snow.

Frank proceeded as indicated. He found the little cottage easily enough. It was not only the last house in the lane, but one of very few, each practically hidden behind high, untidy hedges, with tiny windows under their low roofs and barely enough garden around them in which to swing a cat round. The front gate of the last cottage before the stile hung slightly crooked on its hinges and creaked noisily when he pushed it open. Frank followed the garden path to the wooden front door and applied his hand to the painted iron knocker. There was no reply. He gave it a few minutes, then knocked again. Still nothing. He wondered whether maybe Miss Borealis had gone out, but standing back a little he could see a light flickering behind one of the upstairs windows. Surely she wouldn't have left the house and left a candle burning. Once more he knocked, and once more no answer was forthcoming. Frank was just wondering what to try next when a hearty male voice behind him called out,

"Hello! Can I help you?"

He turned around to find the local vicar standing just outside the gate, his white collar just visible under his black winter coat. Frank went up to him, holding out his hand.

"Frank Longbottom," he introduced himself. "I've come to see Miss Borealis, but she doesn't seem to be in. Either that, or she's just not answering the door for some reason. There seems to be a light on."

"Oh, I dare say she is in," the vicar said brightly. "She doesn't go out very often, nor does she have many visitors."

"A boy called Bobby said I might have difficulties being let in..."

"You've not been to see her before?"

Frank shook his head. "No. But I really must see her now. It's rather urgent."

"Well, she's very particular about who she'll see these days. Some people think she has developed a touch of persecution mania, but I may tell you I don't believe that. I can't think what is the matter with her, but she certainly seems genuinely frightened lately. She talks a lot about the evil in the world, and seems to think it will force its way into her house if she opens the door to a stranger. What is it you want to see her about?"

"It's to do with her niece," Frank said. "Aurora."

"Little Miss Rora?" the vicar exclaimed. "Ah, well, that should be different. If you have a message from Miss Rora, I'm sure the dear lady will see you."

The vicar came up to the door with Frank and rapped on it loudly, adding to it a loud call of "Miss Enid?! Are you in?!"

There was a pause, then the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door.

"Is that you, vicar?" asked a voice, muffled by the door.

"Yes," the vicar replied. "I've got a visitor here for you. A Mr. Longbottom. He's got a message for you from Miss Rora."

They heard the sound of several bolts being drawn and the rattling of a safety chain. Finally the door opened a fraction and a woman's face appeared. The face was not quite what Frank had expected. Not that he had ever made a mental picture of Aurora's aunt, but if he had done, he was quite sure it would not have looked like this. For one thing, she looked nothing like her niece. And he could see why the children referred to her as "old". Though she was probably no more than sixty, at most, her hair was almost entirely white, and she had an air about her that he automatically associated with elderly spinsters in sturdy footwear and tweed skirts with neat little hats on their heads and knitting needles tucked precariously amongst the sofa cushions. She blinked near-sightedly at her visitors. The vicar gave a genial smile.

"How do you do, Miss Enid? Allow me to present Mr. Longbottom, a friend of your niece's. Mr. Longbottom - Miss Borealis."

Frank thanked the vicar and faced the anxiously appraising glance of Aurora's aunt.

"Do you really know my niece?" she asked. Her voice was high-pitched and a little breathless.

"We were at Ho... school together," he told her, quickly stopping himself from saying 'Hogwarts'.

"Oh! In that case, I ... erm ... I suppose you had better come in. Unless we could talk here," she added hopefully.

"I'm afraid it had better be in private," Frank said.

"I'll leave you to it then," the vicar said cheerfully, and departed down the garden path.

Enid Borealis eyed Frank a moment longer, then drew aside to let him in. The hallway inside the cottage was every bit as cramped as the outside had made it seem. The doorways were low, but the living room that he was now led into immediately struck Frank as being extremely comfortable and easy to feel at home in. It was full of stuff, of course. Chintz armchairs, oak tables with hand-crafted lace coverings, baskets full of artificial daffodils and tulips and as many photographs as would fit on the available surfaces. Frank's eye at once fell on one of a little girl with auburn plaits sitting on a sofa between what were obviously her parents. They were all three waving at him.

"When was this taken?" he asked.

"Oh, many years ago. My niece must have been six or seven."

"Not long before the fire, then?"

"You know about that?" Aunt Enid queried, surprised. When Frank nodded, she gave a sigh that sounded definitely relieved. "Oh," she said, beginning again with her favourite word, "That's all right then. That proves you really are a friend of Aurora's."

"I thought it might," Frank said.

Enid Borealis shot him a quick, shy smile. "You must forgive my mistrust, Mr. ... err ..."

"Frank."

Aunt Enid smiled again. "Frank. I'm sure you're aware of how things are in the world. The muggles around here don't understand, of course, they think I'm paranoid - they probably always thought I was a bit scatty anyway - I suppose I am really - but I can't help it, you know. Roald - my brother, you know - was always the clever one. There was never a doubt in his mind as to what he wanted, and the thing was that he had such charm, he always managed to get his own way. And why not, when you think about it? After all, he didn't have long to enjoy it, did he? If one had only known... I'm sorry... Where was I?"

Frank, whose mouth had inadvertently begun to drop open, shook himself slightly. "I'm not quite sure," he said, rather bemused. "I'm afraid you've lost me."

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry," said Miss Borealis. "I'm afraid I do get easily sidetracked. Let me see..." She ran a hand across her brow perplexedly. At last she said, "Oh yes, the muggles!"

"Muggles?"

"Yes, yes. I was saying that they don't understand the danger they're in. They're afraid of things like harsh winters, and whether Farmer Brown's old cow will give enough milk to feed the cats, or whether they'll have to ask Old MacDonald instead, who sells his milk much dearer, because he uses all the modern equipment - I'm not at all sure I trust all these new-fangled ideas about farming machinery, do you?"

"I know next to nothing about farming," Frank said, struggling to keep up with her thought processes. "But I do see what you mean about the muggles not knowing the danger."

"Yes. You wonder if all this new technology does more harm than good, don't you? Will you have tea or coffee, by the way? Or maybe you'd prefer some orange squash...?"

"No thank you," Frank put in quickly, rushing the words in the hope that it would prevent any further interruptions on his host's part. "I really don't have the time. I came here for a very particular reason, Miss Borealis. As the vicar said, I do have something to tell you, and I'm anxious to do so quickly and get back to London."

"Oh. Oh yes. Yes, of course. Do sit down, Mr. ..."

"Frank," he reminded her.

"Frank, yes. Do sit down."

Frank sat obediently, though he was feeling increasingly impatient. Miss Borealis sat down too, and looked at him expectantly. Now that it had come to it, however, and he must tell her what he had come to tell her, he found it hard to speak. He made an effort.

"I'm not sure," he began, "how much you know about Aurora's ... special ability."

"Special ability?"

"Her powers as a legilimens."

"Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, she was always rather gifted in that way. Even as a child, she used to know at once what people thought of her. And when we moved here - I didn't like the idea of having her come and live with me in London. Such a big city, and she wasn't used to the noise. And naturally we couldn't have lived in my brother's house, even if it had been renovated. It would have been too painful for her."

"Err ... quite," said Frank. "Anyway, I don't know if Aurora ever told you, but she has used her powers of legilimency before now to help in the fight against Voldemort."

Enid Borealis almost left her seat with fright. She gave an anxious flutter and sat down, then begged in a half-whisper,

"Please, don't use that name. It sends the shivers down my spine, it does. To think what that man has been doing to people. Someone ought to do something about it."

"I quite agree," Frank went on quickly. "Some people are doing something about it. Aurora too. That's why today, she went to ... examine a man who had been ... attacked," he explained, choosing his words slowly and carefully. "Only I'm afraid things didn't go quite according to plan."

"What do you mean?" Miss Borealis breathed. His mention of Voldemort's name had evidently shaken her up, and after his last sentence she was listening attentively, her pale grey eyes fixed on him almost unblinkingly.

"There was a bit of a problem. Mr. Moody, my superior, has taken Aurora to St. Mungo's."

The aunt's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my ... What happened? Is she all right?"

"I don't quite understand what happened myself, I'm afraid," Frank said. "When I left, Aurora was still unconscious. I hope that, by the time we get back to St. Mungo's, they'll be able to tell us."

"St. Mungo's. Yes. Yes, I must go there at once."

She got up and wandered from the room in a worried dither. Frank followed her into the hall and found her standing aimlessly in the middle of it.

"You'll want a coat," he advised.

"Oh. I-in there."

She pointed a shaky hand at a cupboard. Frank opened it, took out a coat that looked warm, and helped her on with it. Before they went out of the house, he said quietly,

"I should try not to worry too much, Miss Borealis. Mr. Moody seemed to think that she'd be all right once the healers were looking after her."

"What do you think?" she asked, looking up at him.

Frank swallowed hard. "I hope he's right," he said.

* * *

"Is it just my impression, or do you know Hogsmeade like the back of your hand?" Lily asked James as he led the way up a hill she had never noticed before.

"Better," he answered with a grin. "The four of us made good use of our time at Hogwarts."

"As I remember it," Lily said, panting a little with the effort of keeping up with James on an overgrown uphill path wearing a long bridesmaid's gown under a heavy cloak, "the four of you were never hard to find on a Hogsmeade weekend. There were only two places where one had to look: Zonko's or the Three Broomsticks. So when did you have time to explore the rest of the village?"

James held out his hand to help her up a steeper bit. "At night," he answered, lowering his voice mysteriously, "when all the castle was asleep and only Mrs. Norris prowled the corridors on her errand to catch students out of bed."

Lily laughed, shaking her head. "You really were a bunch of ..."

"Marauders?" James suggested. "That's what we called ourselves. It was all quite harmless, really. We found out a lot about the castle and grounds on our night time adventures - and about Hogsmeade too."

"Maybe. But if you were so clever, couldn't you have found an easier path to wherever it is we're going? Or, alternatively, couldn't we simply have apparated straight there?"

"And miss all the fun? It's all the better for having earned the view. There," he said, taking her by the shoulders and turning her around.

Lily gasped. Though she had been aware that the climb had been strenuous, it had not seemed steep, merely long. She had not realised that they were so far above the village. The view was simply magical. Hogsmeade lay before them in its picturesque winter coat of sparkling snow, its shops and cottages like gingerbread houses coated in sweet icing sugar.

"Well?" said James. "Was it worth it?"

"Oh James, it's beautiful. It's just like one of those old-fashioned Christmas cards with robins on them, and ponies with bells hanging from their reigns."

"Not forgetting people in fur collars wearing earmuffs and singing Christmas carols."

"Exactly," Lily sighed. "James?" she added, as he turned around and went on walking. "Where are you going? I thought ..."

"We're not quite there yet," he informed her. "Come on, just a little further."

Lily tore herself away from the sight of Hogsmeade in the snow with reluctance and followed James further up the hill. At last they came to a halt at a point where the ground was perfectly even and rocks shielded them from the cold wind.

"Here we are," James announced triumphantly.

Lily looked around her. It was a desolate spot with only a few trees, and a sort of mound in the centre.

"This is what we came to see?" Lily queried.

James nodded, unperturbed. "Yes. Of course, it's a much prettier spot at night, especially in the summer. It looks quite impressive when there's a full moon. Right now ..." He walked over to the mound and began scraping the snow from it. "... this is just a big stone with a few odd scratches on it. But when the full moon shines, they reflect its light and it really looks quite amazing. I wanted to bring you here once before, if you remember. It was night time then. Anyway ..."

He stood back and motioned to Lily to come forward and look at the mound he had uncovered. She did so. It was indeed a stone, and what he had referred to as 'a few odd scratches', she recognised immediately as runes of a very ancient and unique kind. She uttered an excited exclamation and bent down to read them.

"Below this slab of stone lie buried the remains of the man Alaric, who gave his life in defence of his love, Angharad the Innocent, proclaimed a witch and sentenced to death by order of..."

Here, Lily broke off and looked at James. "How sad," she exclaimed.

"That's what I thought when I first read it - or rather, when Remus read it to me, since I never took Ancient Runes. But the story continues. Angharad was accused of being a witch, but she wasn't. Alaric, on the other hand, was a wizard. He loved her so much that he died to save her. He didn't try to fight her accusers, he didn't even defend himself when they attacked. All he did was offer them his life for hers. They killed him, and then they tried to kill her. But they couldn't do it. Whatever they did, however hard they tried - she always managed to survive. In the end, Angharad died of old age, and the people buried her here too, and wrote these runes on the stone that marks their grave, as a reminder of the most powerful magic of all. Eventually it got neglected. By the time we found it, the stone was practically overgrown with ivy. But one night when we were up here, Sirius spotted something reflecting the moonlight, and we cleared the ivy away and found this. I've been wanting to show it to you for ages."

"Why?"

James looked into her eyes. "Because it means something to me. I don't know why, but the moment I learned what those runes say, I knew it mattered somehow. I knew I had to show it to you, and to tell you, right here, that ... I love you. And I would sooner die than let anyone hurt you."

"James..."

Lily drew closer to him, but though he took her hand he still kept his distance.

"I'm not quite finished yet. Lily, with all that's happened lately ... with all that may yet happen ... I want you to know that there's nothing more important to me than you. And I want ..."

As luck, or rather bad luck, would have it, not only did a great burst of flame along with a fiery red feather appearing out of nowhere choose that precise moment to announce a summons to a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, but it most inconveniently chose to do so directly in the middle of where James and Lily were standing, causing them both to leap back several paces. James, exasperated, grabbed the folded note that Fawkes had dropped out of the air and shook it open. His anger dispersed quickly as he read,

"Come to St. Mungo's at once. A.B. has warned of possible threat situation. Do not delay. Moody"

"St. Mungo's?" Lily repeated. "Surely the Death Eaters wouldn't attack there again, not now that they've taken extra security precautions."

"If it was an attack, Moody would say so," James said. "This must be something else. In any case, it sounds urgent."

"Yes, very."

"We'd better go then."

Lily nodded. But before either of them disapparated, she took James's hand once more and said quickly, "I love you too, James."

* * *

Meeting at St. Mungo's

Moody had not summoned the entire Order to St. Mungo's, for he was aware that even a small gathering was risky in such a public place. Lily and James found Peter waiting for them at the reception desk. He was hopping from one leg to the other, looking nervous and concerned. Relief showed plainly on his face at the sight of James. Lily, however, spoke before he could.

"Peter, what's going on? Did you get a note from Mr. Moody too?"

"Yes. I was with Remus, and we both came here immediately. His dad's here too."

"Why did Moody want us to come here, of all places?"

"He said it's because of Aurora. That's all I know. He told me to wait here and tell you where to meet him."

"And where's that?" James asked.

"The h-healers' lounge on the fourth floor."

The three of them proceeded there at once. Moody himself was already there, as were Pippa Pettigrew, Remus and his father, Bridget and Sirius and professors Dumbledore and McGonagall. It was only a small group, but the room was nevertheless pretty full. Lily sat down on one of the sofas beside Bridget. John was sitting on Bridget's other side.

"There you are," said Moody impatiently. "Good. Now we only need to wait for the star of the show - ah, here she is now."

They all turned their heads. Lily exclaimed,

"Rory! Whatever..."

Moody silenced her with a wave of his hand. Everyone in the room was staring at Aurora. She was walking very uncertainly, and immediately accepted Moody's arm. He helped her to the second sofa in the room and she sank down onto it. She looked exhausted. Remus, who had got up to make room for her, completed the question Lily had been about to ask.

"What happened? What's going on here?"

Moody began, "I received information today that an auror by the name of Williams had been attacked by Dementors in Paris. He received the Dementor's Kiss. Crouch wanted to know what he was doing in Paris in the first place. I was told the truth by someone whom I will not name at this stage. Williams was looking for an informer. Why is not really all that important. What is important is that we had to know whether or not he'd found the woman, and what happened to her. That's where Miss Borealis comes in."

Once again, everyone looked at Aurora. She looked back at them all in turn, but without interest. Her eyes were vacant, her face showed nothing but weariness.

"Aurora here," Moody went on, "agreed to do what she could to discover what happened - at great risk to herself."

"You tried to enter the mind of someone who had suffered the Kiss?"

James had addressed Aurora directly, and she nodded in reply. Sirius whistled sharply.

"That wasn't just a risk, that was practically suicidal!" he remarked, clearly impressed.

"That's what young Longbottom thought," Moody told them. "He felt all along it could be disastrous, and he was very nearly proved right. The Dementor's Kiss is a powerfully evil thing, and if the contact between their two minds had been maintained any longer, Miss Borealis would not be sitting here now. Her soul very nearly left her body. In fact, it did do so, for a short moment. She became trapped inside the body of the auror, Williams, and it took some fight for her to get back out again. But it wasn't all for nothing. She did manage to find out something. Aurora ..."

Aurora looked at Moody, fully aware he wanted her to speak, but not yet ready to do so. She looked around her again vaguely, not seeming to see the faces of the people that stared back at her. She turned her gaze back on Moody and asked in a weak, uncertain voice, "Where is Frank?"

"He's gone to get your aunt, so she can be here with you when this meeting is over," Moody replied, speaking far more gently than usual. "I'm sure he won't be long."

This seemed to satisfy Aurora. She took a deep breath and began,

"At first I - I didn't seem to be getting anywhere. There was nothing in Williams's mind to see. It was just empty. I've never known any place so - so black and bare. I can't describe how it felt. It was dark and ... there was nothing there. Nothing at all. I thought I was going to die. And yet - that's not really what it felt like at all. I can't describe how it felt, I - I just panicked."

"It sounds horrid," Lily said sympathetically.

"It was. I was terrified. But then I began to see ... I was in some sort of courtyard, lighting a cigarette. I was Williams, you see. I had come to find her, the woman on the photograph. I don't know what photograph, I just know that that's what I was doing. She had gone into hiding. But I had found out where she was, and I was going to talk to her today. She came out of the building and then - then everything went cold. I could see something coming towards me. A Dementor. It lowered its hood and - and ..."

Her eyes took on a glazed, faraway look. She could obviously see the Dementor before her mind's eye, even now. She stared for a moment in horror, then suddenly she gave a shriek and turned her face the other way. Lily rushed across the room and knelt beside her, taking her by the hand. Aurora trembled.

"Do we have to continue this now?" Lily asked of Moody. "Can't it wait until she's had some time to get over it?"

It was Dumbledore who replied, "I am sure that if it could wait, we would not all be here now. Am I right, Alastor?"

Moody nodded. To Aurora he said,

"Go on, girl. Not much more now. A couple of minutes and it'll be over. Then you can go and lie down and stop thinking about it."

With an effort, Aurora pulled herself together. She said,

"I could see the - the Dementor's mouth. It was coming closer. I couldn't stop it. And all the time I knew I'd failed. I was supposed to get the witness to a safe place, and now ... they'd got her. I could see that they'd got her, but they didn't kill her. They left her alive, they wanted to know something from her, they started working on her even before I felt the mouth touch me, I could hear her screaming ... And then - then I was me again, but I was stuck, I was trapped, I couldn't get back out of Williams's mind, and I panicked, I thought it was the end, I was never going to get out, and I was so cold. I still am. So cold..."

She closed her fingers so tightly around Lily's hand that her nails dug into the other girl's flesh. Moody approached her calmly.

"It's all right," he said. "Here, eat this like a good girl." He handed her a piece of chocolate, which Lily helped her eat. "You two," Moody addressed Lily and Remus, who were nearest. "Help her get back to her bed, she's done more than enough for one day. Mind someone's with her until her aunt gets here."

Remus and Lily nodded. They helped Aurora to her feet and led her out of the room. Sirius closed the door behind them. Then he exploded.

"Was any of that really necessary? Did you have to put her through it? Just to confirm what you knew anyway, that Williams was administered the Kiss?! And that some woman got herself kidnapped and probably killed by now?"

"Sirius," Bridget said soothingly, giving him a warning look.

"Who was this woman?" Philippa Pettigrew asked. "The one Williams went to see?"

"A witness to a crime that took place at the Ministry of Magic. Your brother here was a witness to that same crime, but has no memory of it, or so I understand."

Peter jumped visibly. "M-me?"

"I am speaking of the murder of Mr. Legis, your late employer."

"You mean all this is connected to that murder?" Pippa asked anxiously. "Then Peter ..."

"I don't think there's any immediate danger to him," Moody opined. "I don't think this attack had anything whatsoever to do with Legis. This was only about the woman Williams went to see. Not about anything she'd witnessed, but about other knowledge she had. She was in the habit of working as a spy in exchange for money. She received money from the Order of the Phoenix at one point - a thousand galleons, to be exact."

"What?!" John was on his feet in less than a second. "Do you mean to say that that woman, the one Williams went to find and that Aurora saw being tortured for information in what's left of Williams's memory, that she was ..."

"The same woman who provided Malcolm with all the information he needed to take on the role of one of Voldemort's Death Eaters," Moody finished for him. "Yes."

"Oh my god," John murmured.

He sat back down again and stared dazedly at the floor. When he looked up, he found that Remus had re-entered the room. The look on the latter's face was enough to show that he had caught the gist of what was going on. James looked round at his mother. Bridget was sitting upright, hands clasped in her lap. Her face was very pale, but she said nothing.

"That's it then," Sirius said quickly. "This is the end of Malcolm's spying activities. He's got to get out of there, fast."

"You're quite right," McGonagall agreed sharply. She turned to Professor Dumbledore. "You must call him back."

Dumbledore gave her a curious look through his half-moon spectacles. His bright blue eyes seemed to convey both understanding and determination.

"It is not as simple as you think," he said quietly. "If we send a message to Malcolm now and the enemy is on his guard, it might be intercepted before it ever reaches Slytherin's Rock. In which case our young friend might be discovered sooner than otherwise. With luck, the Death Eaters may not yet have discovered that there is a spy among them. I would not wish to alert them to the fact by sending him a warning."

"But ... Albus ...," McGonagall spluttered incredulously. "If this woman knows as much as Alastor says, then Mr. Marley is no longer safe in any case. As soon as she tells the Death Eaters what she knows, they'll kill him. There must be something we can do."

"There is nothing we can do that would not put more lives at stake, Minerva. And that is something Malcolm himself would not want."

* * *

"You're kidding me!" Lily exclaimed when the boys told her what she had missed.

Frank had arrived with Aurora's aunt and Lily had left her in their care, eager to find out what had been decided. She had dragged James, Sirius, Peter and Remus off to the café to question them and was outraged that, apparently, nothing had been decided. Sirius was no less so.

"I'd never have believed it of Dumbledore," he affirmed, then quoted, "I think it is best if we wait for news from Malcolm himself. What nonsense! If that woman has spilt the beans, Malcolm's body will be found on some rock faster than you can say 'got ya'."

Peter flinched visibly. James ran his fingers through his hair. Remus was sitting at the table with the rest of them, but he hadn't said a word since they had sat down. Sirius went on,

"McGonagall's right, there's got to be something we can do."

"I don't see that we can," Peter said. "Not on our own. It's like Dumbledore said, anything we try would be risking more lives. It's too dangerous."

"Too dangerous? I don't see that anything can be too dangerous to try when it's a matter of this importance. What about you, James?"

James sighed. "I'd like to agree with you, Sirius. But I'm afraid Peter may be right. This is too big for us to take on alone. It would be stupid to send Malcolm an owl, and we can hardly go to ... what was that place Dumbledore mentioned?"

"S-Slytherin's Rock," Peter provided, shuddering.

"Yes, Slytherin's Rock. Well, we can hardly go there all by ourselves, knock on the front door and ask to see Malcolm. If one could get there secretly, spy out the land ... but I don't see how that's possible. The name sounds to me like it's an island, so the only way to get there would be by boat or by swimming. I'm not a very good swimmer myself. Besides, the water would be freezing cold! And a boat would be spotted in minutes."

Sirius, to his surprise, suddenly grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. "Right you are, Prongs," he said. "Before anything was attempted, one would have to know the lay of the land. If we did know that, I'm sure we'd have plenty of people on our side who'd be willing to risk trying to get to Malcolm, whatever Dumbledore says. The only thing that's stopping them right now is that they've no idea what they're looking at. If one of us could find out what this Slytherin's Rock is like ..." He got to his feet abruptly. "I think it's time I took a little excursion."

"Sirius, what are you talking about?" Lily demanded. "You won't find the layout of that place in a library book or tourist guide. And James is right, there's no way any of us could get there. We'd be seen."

"Maybe," Sirius said mysteriously. "But maybe that wouldn't matter much - for one of us."

He gave another grin and strode out of the room. Lily stared at James.

"What was all that about?"

"I don't know," he said. "I can't imagine ... Wait ..." He suddenly went very pale. "Oh no..." He jumped up and rushed out of the room after his friend.

Lily rounded on Peter, but he looked as puzzled as she was. She turned to Remus.

"Have you got any idea what Sirius is up to?" she asked. Then, when he did not answer, she said his name loudly.

Remus gave a start and looked up. "What?" he asked, looking as if he hadn't really been present throughout the entire conversation, and had no idea what they had all been saying. "I'm sorry," he said. "I wasn't listening properly."

The anger faded from Lily's face. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I was being rather thoughtless, carrying on like that in front of you."

"You must be very worried," Peter remarked.

Remus glanced at him, then he met Lily's searching eyes. He avoided them quickly, got up and turned away. "Worried doesn't even begin to cover it," he said.

Peter stared at his friend's back. He had rarely known him to move so abruptly. Lily shot him a quick smile and got to her feet also.

"Remus," she said softly, placing her hand on his shoulder. "It's only natural to be afraid and upset. You needn't pretend you're not, not in front of us."

"Uncle Malcolm wouldn't be afraid. I've never known him to be afraid of anything."

"Oh, I'm sure he would be," Lily objected. "However brave a man may be, there's always something he fears. And if he were here right now, he'd know that your fear only shows how much you care about him. He wouldn't want you to worry, but he'd be proud all the same."

"Don't!" Remus said, his voice quavering now. "Don't talk as if - as if he's already ..."

"I'm sorry," Lily said quickly. "I didn't mean to do that. And it's not what I believe, either. If you want to know what I really think: I believe your uncle is a very strong man, and whatever we may fear now and whatever lies in store for him, I think he's a survivor. I really don't believe we'll lose him just yet. In fact, I think he's more likely to outlive us all."

Very slowly, Remus turned around. "Are you just saying that to cheer me up? Because I don't want to hear comforts you don't really believe in. I'd rather hear the truth."

Lily thought for a moment, then she looked straight into his eyes and said firmly, "I do believe it. Lord Voldemort will find he's in for a few surprises if he goes up against Malcolm Marley. I wouldn't like to be in his shoes."

Remus smiled weakly. "You're right. I've never known anyone better at fighting the Dark Arts - except Professor Darkhardt himself."

Lily returned his smile. "Nor have I, she said." She stroked his arm gently. "Try not to worry too much."

James came rushing back at that moment, looking anxious and somewhat frustrated. He dropped onto a chair beside Peter.

"What is it?" Peter asked him. "What's Sirius up to?"

"He says he knows someone who can find out what's going on at Slytherin's Rock without arousing too much attention," James announced.

"Who?" Remus asked.

James looked up at him and said with a heavy sigh. "Padfoot."

Peter and Remus both went even paler than before.

"No," Remus said. "He can't. James, we can't let him..."

"Do you think I didn't try to stop him?" James cried out impatiently, jumping up again. "He's a lot stronger than I am. I doubt even you could stop Sirius, even when you're ..."

He stopped himself just in time. Lily was staring at him in some confusion.

"Would someone mind telling me what on earth is going on?" she demanded.

She looked from James to Peter, but both of them only glanced straight past her at Remus. Lily turned to him too, but he immediately pulled away from her and strode quickly from the room.

* * *

Severus spent the evening in his room, trying to force himself to concentrate on the big black Potions book in his lap, but looking up every now and then to see that the minute hand of the clock on his bedside cabinet had barely moved at all. And yet, he could not help but give a start when the doorbell rang, as if surprised that it should be doing so so soon. Swallowing heavily, he placed a green leather bookmark on the page, closed the book, walked over to his desk and spent some moments arranging it there far more neatly than would have been necessary.

He left his room silently and went into the bathroom to check his appearance. He felt a strong reluctance to go downstairs. His father had not yet left for Slytherin's Rock, the atmosphere between his parents was extremely tense, and Josephine ... Surely, allowing Josephine to enter any house that had his father in it was a recipe for nothing short of disaster. His father, Severus felt sure, would take one look at the girl's unkempt hair, her exaggerated makeup and the odd combination of clothes she tended to wear and not give her time to explain that her father was descended from the sorceress Medea and her mother's blood was of the purest.

However, there was nothing for it. He could not avoid the situation he had so long attempted to prevent from ever occurring. The ringing of the bell heralded Josephine's arrival, his father was in the house, doom was sure to ensue at any moment and he, Severus Snape, must force himself to go downstairs and face the music. Swallowing hard and pursing his lips together, her turned sharply and strode to the top of the stairs. He began to descend them as slowly and noiselessly as he could, wanting to get a good look at the state of things before entering into the middle of them.

But what he saw was by no means what he had expected. At first glance, he would not even have recognised the girl standing in the hall below if she had passed him in the street. But since she was standing here, in his house, it couldn't be anyone but Josephine. She looked different though, very different. Her strawberry-blonde hair had been brushed and fastened with hair slides, her face was utterly devoid of garish makeup, showing only the faintest traces of pastel eye shadow and lipstick and she was wearing a long dress - not green and red and all colours of the rainbow, but dark blue from top to bottom but for a lighter shaded band of material around her slim waist. Mirmy was scuttling out of sight with a winter cloak held high over her head and Severus could see his mother, looking paler than ever in her black evening gown, extending both hands in greeting.

"Josephine," he heard her say as he drew nearer, "I'm so glad you've come. Allow me to introduce my husband. Augustus, this is..."

"Josephine Coronis," said Josephine's voice from the mouth of that unfamiliar figure in the hall, holding out her hand.

Augustus Snape performed a courteous bow over it and stood back to survey the girl with entirely unveiled scepticism.

"Coronis?" he repeated. "Greek?" he asked.

"Yes. My father is Callias Coronis."

"Ah. I have, of course, heard of him. His latest book on medieval developments in Arithmancy is one of the most soundly researched I have read in a long time."

Catching a glimpse of the look in Josephine's eyes, Severus prepared himself for some kind of statement in the nature of "and deadly dull too", but Josephine surprised him once more.

"My father would never publish a book if he wasn't a hundred and one percent sure of his facts."

Augustus bowed his head in acknowledgement. "I'm sure you're right, Miss Josephine. Now, if you'll excuse me. I'm afraid I won't be dining with you tonight, I have urgent business to attend to."

He made more elaborate apologies, accepted his cloak and hat from the returned Mirmy, bowed once more over Josephine's hand and departed. Severus breathed a secret sigh of relief and made his appearance at last.

"Sevvie!" Josephine exclaimed at once. "There you are! I was beginning to think you were chickening out of the all-important encounter - which, of course, you've already done, and most efficiently too."

"I - err - I was coming down the stairs when I saw Father leave."

"Of course you were."

Josephine grinned, then performed a vigorous twirl. "Well, what do you think of me?"

"I don't know what to think," Severus confessed. "You never cease to amaze me."

"You do seem to look very different to when we last saw you," remarked his mother.

"Ah, yes. I'm told that first impressions mean a lot to some people. It was too late to create a good first impression on you, I know, but I thought I might have a go at impressing your husband. I'm not sure if I succeeded or not."

"We'll know that when he's done some thorough research into your family background."

"Oh." Josephine looked momentarily taken aback. She recovered quickly, however. "Well, if he stumbles across any skeletons in the family cupboard, I do hope he'll tell me all about them!"

* * *

The view from the gallery windows on Slytherin's Rock was gloomy to the point of being sinister that night. Thick snowflakes were falling to the ground with a silence that was more eerie than peaceful. Malcolm watched them fall from the murky darkness of the sky above to the rugged black rocks below. Waves that he knew to be freezing cold were crashing against the shore, where not a single living thing was to be seen. No, he realised, that was not entirely true. Something was moving down there, just where the rocks met the sea. A black shape in a sea of black. He saw it for just a second, then lost sight of it. He strained his eyes for a while until he began to think he must have imagined it. The sound of a booming knock on the heavy front door distracted him and he turned away from the window, heading towards the stairs. He saw Lucius Malfoy propel his house elf out of the way with a sharp kick and help Lestrange open the door. He could also see Paula, a little to one side, and he saw the figures that entered. There were two of them, both men, each wearing thick coats against the cold and hoods over their heads. They carried between them what looked like a bundle of cloth, but couldn't be. It appeared to be a human body ... Whatever it was, after a quick exchange of words it was handed over to Lestrange and Malfoy, who headed towards the dungeon staircase. Paula closed the door and the two men divested themselves of their cloaks. One Malcolm recognised as Augustus Snape. The other...

The other was a tall man. His hair was as black as the night sky except where it had begun to go grey in places, his nose was long, his eyes overshadowed by heavy brows. He had a strong jaw and, all in all, an aggressively attractive face - the kind of face that was hard yet held your eyes. Malcolm felt his right hand clench so tightly around the banisters beside him that his knuckles stood out white. A sudden wave of nausea threatened to make him stumble for a moment. He drew back hastily into the shadows and leaned heavily against the cold stone wall. He had recognised that face. He had recognised it at once and could see it clearly now before his eyes, as though Lothian were face to face with him rather than a floor below. Something began to boil inside him, something that was stronger than anything he had ever felt before, and something that had been totally alien to him until this moment. Had he used the word 'hate' before today? What a fool he had been. He hadn't known what it was to hate until right now. Just the sight of that man made Malcolm want to throw caution to the winds and leap on him, fastening his hands around his throat and killing him there and then.

*Don't be a fool,* he told himself. *It's all in the past. Bridget is safe from him now, that's all that matters.*

But it was not so simple to make himself believe what he was telling himself. He thought of Bridget, of her sweetness and the touch of her lips against his, and of that man down in the entrance hall, the man of whom she had lived in terror for so long, and he could not overcome the heat inside him. But he must, he couldn't face Lothian like this. He could hear them coming now, up the stairs, coming his way. With an abrupt movement, he pushed himself away from the wall and hurried away along the corridor as quickly as he could, but he was not quick enough.

"Tiberius!" Paula's voice arrested him.

He stopped reluctantly, hitched a mildly enquiring look on his face in the hopes that it would not look too forced, and that it concealed what was going on inside him, and turned around. Paula Lestrange and the visitor reached him all too quickly. Paula proceeded with the introductions.

"I don't believe you two have met. Mr. Lothian, this is Tiberius Travers. Tiberius - Vindictus Lothian."

Malcolm overcame his repulsion with difficulty and shook hands with the other man.

"I've heard a lot about you, of course," he said.

"Not too much, I hope."

Lothian gave a harsh laugh, revealing two rows of almost abnormally white teeth in a smile that Malcolm grudgingly acknowledged to himself as having a certain appeal.

"From what I've been told, I gather you have been a friend of the Dark Lord for longer than anyone else can boast of," Malcolm ploughed on, trying to keep his fists from clenching, suppressing the urge to throw himself at the man.

"I should most definitely think so," said Lothian. "He and I were at school together." He laughed again. "He was also my best man, believe it or not."

This was too much. Malcolm was unable to completely keep back an audible reaction this time, and quickly faked a coughing fit in the hopes that it would not be remarked.

"Sorry," he muttered between coughs. "Something in my throat. If you'll excuse me ..."

He beat a hasty retreat down the stairs, making sure to cough now and then as he went. He hurried down a corridor, pushed a door open at random, entered the room and let the door slam shut behind him.

"Damn!" he ejaculated, slamming his fists into the top of a nearby chest of drawers. "Why the hell did she have to call me back? God, I didn't know it was possible to hate anyone so much!"

He struck the furniture once more, then turned on his heels in shock as he heard a noise like a squeak behind him. Cowering in a corner was none other than Lucius Malfoy's house elf. The creature gazed at him out of petrified eyes the size of golf balls for a moment, then made a dash for the door. Malcolm, however, was quicker and slammed the palm of his hand against it to keep it shut.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked.

The house elf almost jumped out of his pink skin. "N-n-nothing, sir, nothing. D-d-dobby is meaning no harm, sir. If sir will j-j-j-just let D-d-dobby gooooo."

Malcolm looked at him curiously. "Are you hiding from someone?" he asked shrewdly.

The house elf nodded miserably, then ran over to the chest of drawers, pulled one open, placed his ear in the opening and pushed the drawer shut with all his might. He squealed in pain.

"Shhhhhh!" Malcolm exclaimed, hurrying over and catching the elf firmly by both arms before he could repeat the action. The little fellow shivered with fright.

"P-p-please sir, don't hurt Dobby, don't do anything bad to Dobby, Dobby is afraid, sir, Dobby doesn't want to die, sir."

"Quiet!" Malcolm ordered. "I've no wish to hurt you, and I'm certainly not going to kill you. What would that accomplish?"

"Dobby doesn't know, sir. Dobby only knows many have died, sir. Like Nobby."

"Who?"

"Nobby, sir. Dobby's brother. He was taken down into the dungeons, sir, and he never came back."

"The dungeons ..." Malcolm repeated thoughtfully.

Dobby, misinterpreting his reaction, began to struggle. "No, sir, please, sir, don't kill Dobby, sir. Have mercy!"

"I've told you I'm not going to hurt you," Malcolm assured him, shaking him firmly. "I'd just like to know what it was that your master and Lestrange carried down to the dungeons."

"S-sir is not going to punish Dobby for hiding in here?"

"Not if you promise not to tell anyone what I was doing in here."

"Dobby promises, sir."

"Good. All right, I'm going to let you go now, but I don't want you to start making loud noises by hitting yourself, all right? What is it?" he added, noticing how Dobby's eyes, seemingly bigger than ever, were staring at him in disbelief.

"Y-y-you is different, sir. You does not talk to Dobby like the others do. You is not like them."

"Don't kid yourself," Malcolm said bitterly. "I've done some things lately you wouldn't believe. I wouldn't believe them myself if I went back in the past and told myself I was going to do them."

Dobby shook himself. "You is not making sense, sir."

"Probably not." Malcolm smiled wryly. He went on, speaking more to himself than to Dobby, "It's funny what pride and pig-headedness can do to a man. The others were right. I was biting off more than I could chew when I made this choice. The sensible thing to do would be to clear out now, while I still know who I am. But will I do it? No. Because I said I would do this job for as long as I can, and I'm too damn proud and stubborn to admit everyone else was right."

"Dobby does not understand, sir."

"It's better that you don't. Run along, now. Go on."

He ushered the house elf out of the room, then closed the door again. After a brief rest against the chest of drawers, he took out a hip flask and looked at it unhappily. Finally, shrugging his shoulders, he took a sip and shuddered.

* * *

Padfoot's Excursion

Josephine finished off every last bite of her lemon meringue, folded her napkin beside her plate and leaned back contentedly.

"That was a jolly nice meal," she pronounced.

Severus tried to hide the upward curl of his lip by taking a sip from his glass. It was rather an amusing picture, he reflected. Josephine sitting there in that conventional outfit, on an uncomfortable, very old wooden chair in the austere dining room. His eyes swept the room briefly. They were arrested in surprise when they took in his mother. What was it about tonight? Why were all the women in his life - not that there were many - so different from what he was used to? Here was Josephine, disguised as a quiet, ordinary and presentable girl while his mother ... well, he didn't really have the words to describe the change that had come over her. In his own mind, the only expression he could find was that she had let her hair down, not just in the literal sense.

She was smiling. Her eyes were sparkling with laughter as she and Josephine chatted easily, her cheeks had pink spots on them. It was hard to imagine that this laughing, constantly talking woman was his own timid, quiet, mousy mother. As he sat watching her and Josephine talk, he began to feel strangely warm inside. It was as though this was a glimpse of a different kind of life where people didn't care about the political questions of the day, where they were unaware that elsewhere in the world people were fighting or plotting to kill each other - it was, he thought, the kind of life that would have suited his mother. He wondered for the first time ever whether she had ever had a chance to lead such a life. Probably not. Presumably she had not been allowed to decide how she would spend her life. If she had ... What would it have meant to him? If one took away the influence of his father, the oppressiveness of having to live up to expectations, to a family name and a family cause, would that life have suited him?

After they had finished their dessert and Josephine said that she could not manage another morsel of the cheese and biscuits, Severus's mother suggested he show the girl around the house. He did so, feeling rather like a guide giving a tour of a stately home, pointing out the different parts of the house, describing the people pictured in the portraits upstairs in his father's gallery. Josephine looked around at them all, all the Snapes of generations past, watching her out of beady, suspicious eyes. She seemed uncomfortable in their presence.

"Isn't there anywhere more private in this house?" she asked when Severus was halfway through telling her about how his great-great-great-great-grandfather, Septimus Snape, had supposedly been the first wizard to use a bezoar as a cure for poisoning.

Severus hesitated. "There is ... my laboratory, I suppose."

"Laboratory? That sounds interesting. Where is it?"

He paused again before answering, "I don't normally let anyone into my laboratory. It's private."

"Why? Don't want people to know about all the love potions you've been experimenting on, is that it?" the girl asked with a grin. "You can show me, Sev. I promise I won't steal your recipes."

Severus looked at her thoughtfully, then finally he nodded.

Josephine looked around interestedly at all the shelves full of vials and bottles, the heavy, dusty books and the tubes and cauldrons.

"My word, you do seem to get busy down here," she remarked. She heaved herself up onto a table and pointed over to one of the shelves. "What's in all those little bottles?" she asked.

"Potions," Severus replied shortly.

Josephine raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. "Potions? You don't say! What are they for though, Sevvie? What's that blue one there?"

He looked to where she was pointing. "A revitalising solution, brewed according to a very old recipe. It's based on an ancient remedy used by house elves."

"Revitalising? So what does it do, exactly? Make you feel all fit and energetic?"

"Basically, yes. It clears the mind and strengthens the body."

"Hm. Not bad. And what's that next to it? The icky green stuff in that vial."

Severus stared at it for a long moment before replying quickly, "It's just an experiment. I don't even know if it works yet."

"What's it supposed to do?" Josephine asked eagerly.

She got down off the table and walked over to the shelf. Standing on tiptoe, she was just able to reach the vial and take it down.

"The Brew of Eternity," she read off the label. "What's this do then? Make the drinker immortal or something?" She took out the stopper to sniff it, but Severus shot out a hand to stop her.

"Put it back," he said sharply.

Josephine raised her eyebrows at him. "There's no need to shout, Sev. I'm only showing an interest in your hobby. You seem to spend a lot of time at it."

He nodded. "I spend most of my time in here."

"I can't see why." Josephine sighed. "It's a bit dreary in here, isn't it? Mind you, I suppose it's better than being watched by those ugly old portraits upstairs. But why don't you at least let in a bit of light?"

She replaced the vial on the shelf, much to Severus's relief, and went over to the door. With an effort because it was so stiff, Josephine opened it and a cold wintry wind blew in. She stepped outside.

"Now this is more like it," she said over her shoulder. "Come out here, Sev."

"What for? There's nothing much out there."

"Oh yes, there is." Josephine took a deep breath. "There's fresh air out here. It's gorgeous."

Very slowly, Severus approached the open door. The cold was biting, but he had to admit that there was something refreshing about the night air after being shut in the dusty laboratory. Snow was falling silently to the ground, and Josephine had closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sky, allowing the flakes to settle on her lashes. She giggled.

"It tickles," she explained. "Come. Come here, Sev, you try it."

Reluctantly, he came right out into the night. Josephine reached out and took his hand, dragging him further out into the garden until he was standing right beside her. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. Severus was almost startled to find that her eyes no longer struck him as they had once done: too large and of no clearly definable colour. True, they were not blue or brown or grey, but all the colours of the rainbow, sparkling up at him in the moonlight like a pair of big multi-coloured gemstones. Josephine smiled up at him.

"Well," she said. "This is it. We've had a lovely evening - or at least I have. Now we come to the serious part. Do I chalk it all up to experience and go on my way, because we're just too unlike for this to work? Or do you think we might be able to ... you know ..."

"Josephine," he said slowly, reluctant to broach the subject. "The argument we had ... I meant what I said, and I can't change my opinions."

"Can't you?" Josephine frowned. "I hope that's not true. I hope that, in time, you'll realise you're making a mistake."

Severus drew away from her. "Never," he said firmly. "So don't think you can ever change my mind!"

Josephine sighed. "We'll see. Perhaps. That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you want me to leave now and never come back - or not."

Severus studied her for a moment. At last he shook his head. "No, I don't want you to leave."

Josephine smiled. Unusually for her, it was neither an amused nor a cheerful smile, but one tinged with doubt and sadness.

* * *

The black shape that Malcolm had been able to make out from the gallery window moved slowly and silently across the rocks, shaking itself as it went and sending drops of freezing cold water flying in all directions. It slipped on the icy ground and wondered, not for the first time since setting out to swim from the shore to Slytherin's Rock, what on earth had possessed it to do so.

*You should have listened to James, you idiot,* Sirius, in the guise of a shaggy black dog, told himself as he shivered with cold. *It's December, damn it, not the middle of summer.*

Any human, he thought, probably would have frozen to death in that water. Well, he might yet, once he returned home and transformed back into his human form. Of course, the wise thing to do would have been to turn back the minute his paw had touched the water and admit what he planned to do just couldn't be done in this kind of weather. But it was not just stubbornness that had egged him on, but also anxiety at what Aurora had told them and frustration over Dumbledore's refusal to take immediate action. And now here he was, unable to stop shivering but determined that he would at least take a good look around the island, if nothing else. He crept up to the walls of the fortress and began walking around it, examining every nook and cranny, peering into every barred dungeon window that he passed, and seeing absolutely nothing.

All was dark down here, only much higher up, in the turrets and corridors of the building, could he see flickering lights, but there was no way he could get any closer to see what was going on behind the windows. He crept a little further along the wall, and at last, for the first time, felt that maybe, after all, this excursion had been worthwhile. There was an opening! It was not large, just wide enough for a man to squeeze through, but there it was: a hole in the wall where some bricks were missing. Crouching down on all fours, he sniffed at it. There seemed to be no fresh smells, no indication that anyone had gone near the hole at any time. Sirius looked around him. No one was watching. The rocks were dark and deserted. He moved closer to the hole. Should he risk it? Should he crawl through and find out what was on the other side, maybe even see if he could find Malcolm himself? It would feel good to be able to go back and tell the others he had actually spoken to Malcolm. He extended a paw towards the hole, but at that moment, a staircase directly opposite him was suddenly illuminated by candle light, and he drew back.

* * *

Aurora, exhausted after her ordeal, did not realise where Frank was taking them until they reached the great gates of Gryffindor Hall and they creaked open to allow them to enter. She paused before stepping onto the gravel path to look at Frank.

"What are we doing here?" she asked him.

"Professor Dumbledore and Mr. Moody thought it best for you to spend tonight somewhere completely safe."

"Safe?" gasped Miss Borealis. "But surely, she's not in any danger, is she?"

"We hope not, but it can't hurt to make sure. There's nowhere safer than Gryffindor Hall in the whole country except Hogwarts."

"Gryffindor Hall? Is that what this place is? But that's impossible. I read about it as a girl, it was said to be an ancient mansion that no one could ever find, it was even thought that it never existed except in legend," Aunt Enid rattled on.

"Well, it does exist," Frank assured her. "This path leads right up to it."

Miss Borealis looked both baffled and impressed. Aurora still had rather a forlorn look about her. She took Frank's arm and leaned on it. He could feel that she was still very shaky. Her voice shook, too.

"I don't care where I spend the night," she said weakly. "As long as I don't have to go much further."

Frank supported her up the long, winding path, Aunt Enid following behind, marvelling every step of the way. At last the reached the magnificent doors, which were opened even as they climbed the steps. Gordon Gryffindor, looking particularly impressive in a sweeping blood-red dressing gown that bore more resemblance to a ceremonial cloak, welcomed them personally, startling Aurora's aunt quite a lot. He was courteous and soothing to her, however, and she soon warmed to him. They took Aurora up to one of the smaller and cosier spare bedrooms, where candles burnt on the dresser and a cheery fire had been lit. Gordon and Frank waited outside while Aunt Enid helped her niece to change into a night dress that had apparently belonged to the late mistress of the hall. The round face emerged from the room presently, and she announced to the two men that Aurora was lying down and had better be left to sleep now. But Aurora's voice interrupted from the background,

"No, Aunt Enid. Please ... I don't want to sleep yet."

"But you must be worn out," Gordon remarked kindly. "I really think it would be best if you got some rest."

Aurora shook her head. "I can't. I want to, but I just can't. Every time I close my eyes, I see the Dementor's mouth, and then ... nothing. It's like being blind, only worse, because it's like I'm being suffocated at the same time, and it's so cold ... I can't go to sleep like that."

"You'll just have to try and think of something else, dear, something nice," her aunt suggested.

Aurora said nothing more, but her red-rimmed eyes sought Frank's and bored into them, as though she were willing him, at least, to understand. He nodded.

"You don't want to be alone just yet, do you? Do you want someone to stay with you until you fall asleep?"

She nodded gratefully. Frank addressed her aunt. "Miss Borealis, I know it's late, but..."

"Frank," Aurora interrupted suddenly. He looked over to see her holding out her hand to him. Frank crossed the room and took her hand. Aurora's fingers closed tightly around it. "Thank you," she whispered. "For everything you've done today."

He smiled. "You're welcome." He made to leave, but her hand was still clasping his and she didn't let go. "What's the matter?" he asked her, turning back.

"I was wondering ... if you might ... do me one more favour?"

"Anything you want," he agreed readily. Her next words were the last he had unexpected.

"Will you stay with me?" she said pleadingly.

"Aurora ..."

"Just until I fall asleep. Please."

"Don't you think it would be better if your aunt took care of you?"

"No. I don't want a nursemaid, I don't want someone to fuss over me, I just want ... company. If you could just stay for a little while and talk to me ..."

"I'm not a good talker."

"That doesn't matter. Please, Frank. Please."

Her grip on his hand tightened. Half sighing, half smiling, Frank sat down on the edge of her bed. Gordon and Miss Borealis hovered in the doorway a moment, then the old wizard led the aunt away, pulling the door shut behind them. Frank looked down at Aurora.

"Well, what do you want to talk about?"

"I'm too tired to talk myself. I - I just want to hear your voice."

"Why?" he wondered aloud.

For the first time, a smile crept into Aurora's face. "Because I like it. It makes me feel calm, and that's what I need. Just talk to me, Frank. About anything you can think of. Tell me a story if you like."

"I don't know many stories," he began doubtfully. He cast about in his memory and eventually said, a note of embarrassment in his voice, "All right, I've thought of something. You'll probably just laugh at me and think it's very silly though, but you can't say I didn't warn you."

"Go on," Aurora prompted.

Frank began, "Well, this is a story my Uncle Algie used to tell me when I was a little boy. Half of it probably never really happened, but anyway ..."

He started, first haltingly, then with increasing enthusiasm and less awkwardness, to tell of how his Uncle Algie, while looking for a rare species of plant in the African jungle, had fought off whole tribes of natives, nearly lost his leg twice to crocodiles and narrowly escaped being crushed by giant snakes or bitten by enormous tarantulas the size of baby elephants. Aurora listened, snuggling down deeper and deeper into her pillows, her hand still resting in Frank's and her eyelids slowly drooping.

"And after he had pierced the dragon's heart with a native spear," Frank was saying, "Uncle Algie climbed right to the top of the golden statue of the three-headed god and hacked away at the second eye from the left in the face of the central head. The stone broke away and there, sure enough, was the vial that the medicine man had told him about. Uncle Algie opened it with his teeth and drank every last drop of the potion that saved his life," he concluded.

Frank ran his tongue over his lips. He hadn't realised how long he had been talking, or how dry his mouth and throat were. He looked down at Aurora, her head sunk deep into the pillow, her eyes closed, the pink lips slightly parted. He was just wondering how long he had been talking to himself when she said sleepily,

"I like that story."

Slightly startled to find her awake, Frank nevertheless answered her. "I always liked it too, but I don't think I ever really believed a word of it. Uncle Algie's stories are like that - good fun, but hard to believe."

Aurora smiled, her eyes still closed. "I wish I could meet your Uncle Algie."

"Do you?" he asked. "Really?"

She nodded sleepily. Frank thought for a moment, then said,

"Aurora ... if you like ... I mean ... it's nearly Christmas, and every year, my mother un-invites Uncle Algie for Christmas dinner, but he invariably turns up, usually with some new unbelievable story to tell ... If you and your aunt aren't ... if you'd like ..."

Aurora half opened her eyes. "Are you un-inviting us for Christmas dinner too?"

He couldn't help but grin. "Yes, I suppose I am. Will you stay away?"

Closing her eyes once more, Aurora murmured into her pillow, "Wouldn't dream of it."

Frank beamed secretly, safely aware that she couldn't see. He watched her for a while, and listened to her breathing becoming more and more regular. It was quite some time before he extricated his hand from hers and walked to the door. He looked back and sighed.

"Sweet dreams," he whispered, and left the room.

* * *

The Truth Will Out

Malcolm was sitting at the table in the dining hall with Leonard Lestrange and his brother Rabastan, Lucius Malfoy, Augustus Snape and Evan Rosier. Rabastan had the Daily Prophet open beside him on the table, and was reading it while he ate. He gave a snort.

"I think it's time we did something about the Prophet," he said. "They don't give us a very good write-up.

"Oh?" said his brother. "Why, what do they say?"

"They're calling us monsters and murderers," Rabastan replied. "They insult the Dark Lord, too."

"Show me." Leonard reached across the table for the paper and read it. "Someone's asking for trouble there." He laid aside his fork and held the paper with both hands. "Listen," he said, and began to read, "Daily Prophet reporters at the scene of the latest Death Eater attack in Newcastle-upon-Tyne spoke to Miss Gemma Crowe, Auror-in-Training at the Ministry of Magic, who said that, in her opinion, 'You-Know-Who is a dangerous lunatic, and the world won't be safe until he and all his followers have been sent to Azkaban'. Muggles who had witnessed the incident were heard to refer to it as the worst nightmare imaginable, before having their memories wiped by..." Leonard stopped reading here and handed the paper back to his brother. "So, that's what they think of us, is it? You know, I think we ought to teach these people a lesson. The lesson that you don't speak out against the Dark Lord and go unpunished. Lucius ..."

"Yes?"

"You know a good few people at the Ministry. Ever heard of this Crowe girl?"

"As a matter of fact, she was a couple of years below me at Hogwarts. In Gryffindor." He managed to make the mere mention of Gemma's house sound like an insult.

"Mudblood?" Augustus Snape asked.

"I've no idea," Lucius confessed. "I never took that much notice of her."

"Well, she's made sure notice is taken of her now," Rosier said grimly. "And she won't like the outcome."

"She won't live to like or not like it," Leonard corrected with a smile. "Eh, Tiberius?" he added to Malcolm.

Malcolm forced a smile and quickly made to cut himself another piece of meat, so as not to have to say anything. But at that moment, the door opened, and Paula entered. She did not, however, return to her seat at the table, which she had left when Malfoy's house elf had come for her on Voldemort's orders. She looked across the room, straight at Malcolm.

"Tiberius, have you got a minute?" she asked. "Our master wants to see you."

"Me? What for?" he asked.

She shrugged. "He didn't say. I think he wants to ask you to do something for him."

"Now? Well, all right." Malcolm folded his napkin, excused himself and joined her at the door. "Where is he?"

"Still in the small parlour upstairs," she informed him, allowing him to pass.

Malcolm climbed the stairs slowly. He was aware that Voldemort would not be alone in the parlour. He had announced his intention of dining there together with Vindictus Lothian, the one person in the world Malcolm felt less like seeing than Voldemort himself. Nevertheless, he went along the passageway to the door of the small parlour, briefly checked his watch to see how long he had before he would need to sneak off and take another dose of potion, found that it was just ten past ten and he still had another fifty minutes, then knocked on the door.

"Come in," said Voldemort's voice.

Malcolm entered. The Dark Lord was sitting in a high-backed armchair by the narrow window, while Lothian set a goblet of wine down on the small table in front of him before sitting down himself, and taking a sip of his own wine. The dining table had not yet been cleared. The remains of two dinners still stood there.

"Ah, Tiberius, there you are. I understand you have met Vindictus ..."

Malcolm nodded, trying not to look at Lothian without making it to apparent.

"I haven't seen Vindictus for a long time," Voldemort went on. "He's been abroad, you know. To Paris. Have you ever been to Paris, Tiberius?"

"No," said Malcolm.

"You should go there some time," Voldemort advised. "I remember going there the year after I had left Hogwarts. It had always interested me, you see, ever since I read about the French Revolution as a boy. The guillotine, the deaths ... you understand?"

"Naturally," Malcolm lied.

"I went to the theatre, too. I can't remember the name of the play, but I do recall that the actress playing the lead role held the audience absolutely spellbound. She was not a very good actress, as I remember it, but there was something about her ..."

Voldemort took a sip from his goblet, nodded appreciatively, and set the glass back down on the table.

"Delicious wine," he said, then continued, "Where was I? Ah yes, French actresses ... My friend Vindictus here came across a very good one on his visit to Paris, did you not?"

"Yes, master," Lothian agreed at once. "She was very good indeed. But she did not perform on a stage," he added. "She was playing the part of an insignificant woman living in one of the poorer quarters of the town. No one would have guessed, to look at her, that she was not only well-bred, but highly intelligent too. Or that she had a secret occupation as a spy."

His words came out coldly and with an obvious purpose to them, which was far from lost on Malcolm. He hoped fervently that the fears building up inside him were wrong, and the woman this hateful man was speaking about was not the one that had immediately sprung to his mind. He tried to look mildly interested and a little bored, rather than anxious and on edge. Voldemort looked up at him, smiling a queer, crooked smile.

"No," he said slowly, "you are not mistaken. Vindictus does mean exactly who you think he does. A man I met and befriended in Paris when I was there years ago was good enough to point out to me a month ago that he had reason to suspect someone in his town was secretly working against me, all the while pretending to be on no particular side but her own. She made just one mistake. She trusted a man she was sure could not but be on the side of my enemies, little knowing that his loyalty was to me. Unfortunately, she discovered her error before Vindictus got to Paris, and went into hiding. But she could not hide forever. Vindictus found her, and he apprehended her. She was a very cautious woman. Memory charms had been used on her to make sure she would know nothing about her own spying activities. But I have yet to come across a memory charm that cannot be broken by a sufficiently powerful wizard."

Voldemort began to rise from his seat and Lothian followed suit. Still smiling, Voldemort continued,

"Vindictus discovered quite quickly that Miss Dulac had helped someone to infiltrate my inner circle. It was a little harder to discover how and in what guise her contact had done so. That is why she was brought here today. You saw her arrive, I believe. The memory charms, you will be sorry to hear, were no match for my powers. Just before dinner, all was revealed. I am sorry to say that her brain did not survive the ordeal. I am sure it would have been a great pleasure to see her witness the total failure of her plans. As it is, she understands next to nothing now of what is happening around her. But you do, don't you? Yes, you understand that the best-laid plans of actresses and would-be heroes can go horribly, fatally wrong. Don't you ... Mr. Marley?"

Malcolm acted. Ever since Voldemort had begun smiling at him in that cruel, crooked manner, his mind had been working frantically to think of a way out. He had not come up with a sensible, cocksure plan, so he had to settle for the desperate, fast action option. Drawing his wand, he yelled "Reducto!" almost before the other two men in the room knew it, and without stopping to see them thrown back, he bolted out of the door and chased along the corridor at top speed. He didn't even take the time to be shocked that Snape and Rosier had apparently been on guard outside the door all the time. It was only the element of surprise that allowed him to get past them unscathed. He grabbed the banisters and swung himself round the corner onto the broad staircase, tearing down it without taking any notice of the four men that were now in pursuit. He had just reached the bottom step when Paula shouted, "Incendio!"

Flames sprang up along the floor in front of him, six feet high and as hot as hell itself. He skidded to a halt so abruptly that he almost fell. Whirling round, he could see Snape, Rosier, Voldemort and Lothian at the top of the stairs. There was no way he could escape that way, but Paula had given him an idea. "Incendio!" he echoed, setting fire to the stairs behind him. His four pursuers stopped where they were, but he knew he had merely bought himself a couple of seconds of time. He leapt across the banisters and landed unsteadily on the stone floor of the entrance hall. A quick shield charm warded off the stunner Leonard had aimed at him, and Malcolm just had time to wonder why on earth the man hadn't simply made it a killing curse, which would have been unblockable, when he felt something slice across his back like the sharp blade of a sword.

With a cry of pain, he swung round and threw Rabastan off his feet with a well-aimed body bind. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the flames on the stairs go out. Voldemort and Lothian were coming. Now that he was in this frenzied state, Malcolm's hatred boiled up again. He spun round, intent on hitting Lothian with something painful, if it was the last thing he did ... but instead, he himself was the one who writhed with pain as Lestrange, angered at his younger brother's swift defeat, shouted "Crucio!" with unveiled satisfaction in his voice. Malcolm's wand cluttered to the floor. He tried not to scream, but couldn't help himself. At the edge of his consciousness, he was aware that someone had picked up his wand. Then Voldemort signalled to Lestrange and the pain stopped abruptly. Malcolm, now kneeling on the floor, gasped for breath.

"How very foolish," said Voldemort, towering over him. "You didn't really think you stood a chance of escaping, did you? Any one of us could have killed you at any moment."

"Then why the hell didn't you?" Malcolm croaked, looking up with difficulty.

Voldemort's smile broadened. "You would have liked that, wouldn't you? A hero's death at the hands of Lord Voldemort or his most trusted Death Eaters. I'm sure your friends would have sung your praises for years to come ... or shall we say, for as long as they have left on this earth. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it is not going to be that way. I can think of something much more useful to do with you."

"If it's information you want, forget it," Malcolm spat. "Nothing you can do to me would ever induce me to tell you anything."

"I'm sure that's not true," Voldemort said calmly. "In any case, we shall never know. I do not want to know any of what is stored in your pitiful brain, Mr. Marley. I want only one thing from you."

"What do you want?"

"Life," Voldemort replied. Then he nodded to his Death Eaters, turned around, and began to climb the stairs.

* * *

Sirius, stood dripping ice cold water on the landing while fumbling for his door key. His shaking hands were still trying to turn it when the door was yanked open from the inside.

"Sirius!" Bridget half gasped, half shouted. "Where on earth have you been? It's two o'clock in the morning! I've been absolutely frantic with worry ... what's happened to you?" she added, noticing how wet he was.

Sirius shoved her aside and staggered into the hallway. James stepped out of the kitchen and caught his breath at the sight of Sirius. He reached out a hand to steady him. "So you did it," he said, half angry, half frightened. "You really went and did it. You'll catch your death ..."

"Never mind that now," Sirius breathed. "I made it, James. I got there. You've g-g-got to tell ..." he began, barely able to talk for shivering, "tell the others there is a way in. I ... found ... an opening."

Sirius swayed and fell against the wall. James glanced at his mother. She was staring at him, her eyes wide with shock.

"We'd better run him a hot bath," James said, and heaved Sirius back on his feet. "Come on, mate. Let's warm you up."

* * *

The sun rose slowly in the distance. Malcolm watched it through the slit like window of the tower room, absent-mindedly stroking his chin. It was his chin again now, not Travers's. No more polyjuice potion for him. No more pretending. No more forcing himself to do things he hated doing. He was himself again, and would be until ... until what? If Voldemort didn't want information from him, what did he want? There was only really one thing he could be entirely sure of. Whatever Voldemort wanted with him, once he had got it, he would be dead. Malcolm realised slowly, quite detachedly, that he was not as afraid of death as he had expected to be. He did not want to die, but certainly, he was not afraid. His only regret was in knowing how his death would affect others. John had, after all, been right. No life was totally individual.

Yes, Malcolm regretted the grief his death would cause, but on the other hand, he could not deny that it secretly gave him comfort to know that, whatever happened, he would not be forgotten, that there were people who would love him even after death, just as he had gone on loving his parents. With something of a shock, he realised he had not thought about his parents much in recent years. But now he was suddenly remembering them, remembering his childhood, running around in the woods with John playing at outlaws, coming home with scrapes and grazed knees, having his mother fuss over him with creams and ointments and kisses that embarrassed him.

He smiled. Many more images flooded his mind: Faith, his baby sister, watching him and John out of those big, brown eyes of hers; his father teaching him how to make paper aeroplanes, and staring in amazement when Malcolm's, instead of dropping back to the ground after a brief flight, had soared up into the sky; the Sorting ceremony at Hogwarts; being called into headmaster Dippet's office time and again for one mischief or another, all of which he had been entirely guilty of; more girls than he could remember the names of flocking around him at school; John being made head boy; Faith crying on the train the first year they had travelled to Hogwarts without John; leaving Hogwarts and going into Auror training; John announcing that he and Faith were to be married; holding his godson in his arms for the first time ...

How strange it was, he thought, that looking back one only recalled the happy memories. The bad ones were just shadows, still there at the edge of his thoughts, but by no means as clear as the others, nowhere near as real. And the most real of them all ... Bridget, her face stained with tears, looking up at him and begging him not to go. Such a bitter-sweet moment. If only he had heeded her! But there was no point in dwelling on what might have been. John and Faith would take care of Bridget, he knew that. He hoped they would all be all right.

Footsteps on the stairs outside brought him back from his reverie. He turned around just as Paula Lestrange came into the small chamber. She paused in the doorway to study him closely.

"So this is what you really look like," she remarked coldly.

"I hope you're not disappointed," Malcolm replied in a similar tone.

She shrugged her shoulders. "It's of no consequence to me what you look like, since you'll be dead soon anyway."

"I must say Voldemort couldn't have picked a more suitable person to play the part of the angel of death."

His words took her aback. "You dare to say that name!" she exclaimed. "Don't you understand your position?"

"What difference does it make? I hardly think it likely that he'll let me go if I show him more respect. If I am to die, I'll do so telling him what I think of him. I'm not pretending any longer. I shan't give him the satisfaction of seeing me intimidated."

Paula smiled sardonically. "We shall see about that, Mr. Marley. Now, if you wouldn't mind ..."

She stood back and motioned for him to pass her. Malcolm stared at her coldly a moment longer, then went out onto the landing.