Three Animagi and a Werewolf

Chapter 28: Time to Act

The Morning After

Bridget rose very early on Sunday morning. James had succeeded in persuading her not to ask questions of him or Sirius the night before, and she had agreed to wait until morning, but she had barely slept a wink all night. She went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. She had not yet poured the tea out when James joined her. He did not look as though he had slept much either. In a would-be normal voice, Bridget asked if he would like some tea too. James agreed. He watched her pour out two mugs and followed her to the dining table next door. Only once they had sat down did Bridget say,

"Well?"

The one word unsettled James. He turned his mug between his hands a few times.

"I tried to stop him going," he said defensively. "But you know what Sirius is like once he makes up his mind to do something."

"But how did he do it, James? How did he find out where this 'Slytherin's Rock' place is, and how on earth did he get there and back without getting himself caught?"

"I don't know how he found the place. As for how he got there, I think he must have swum ashore."

"Through freezing cold water? It was so bitter cold last night, it's a wonder the sea hadn't frozen over. And I suppose it didn't occur to him to think how worried I'd be!"

"I'm sorry I worried you," Sirius himself suddenly said from the open doorway. "I only wanted to help."

"Help?! Sirius, don't you think I've got enough to worry about without you running off like that?" Bridget cried angrily, rounding on him. "You might have been caught. You might have been killed! How do you think that would have helped?"

Sirius looked down at his feet and shifted awkwardly. "I'm sorry," he repeated in a more subdued voice.

"How did you find out where to go?" James asked.

Avoiding Bridget's eyes, Sirius replied, "I ... err ... well, first I thought of trying the Restricted Section in the Hogwarts library, but then I decided that if anyone would know where Slytherin's Rock is, your grandfather would, so ..."

"You went and asked him? And he told you?" James exclaimed.

Sirius shook his head. "No. You know you told me about the secret entrance that time ... and about the password ..."

James's jaw dropped. "You sneaked in? You went in through the secret door and ..."

"Yep. Luckily the house elves were all asleep. Your grandfather was up, though. He seemed to be waiting for someone. I managed to sneak by when he went into the bathroom, and I got to the library unnoticed. I thought it was going to take me ages to find out where to look, even, but I was lucky again. There was an old map lying on the desk. Your grandfather must have been looking at it. Slytherin's Rock was on there. I couldn't believe my luck. I had a bit of a job getting out again, though. I'd just come out of the library when I heard people coming up the stairs, so I had to hide in a broom cupboard until they'd gone by. Actually, I could have sworn I heard Frank's voice ... Anyway, I nipped out again when they'd gone far enough, and went straight to Slytherin's Rock. I swam across the water and ..."

"How?" Bridget asked sharply. "It was icy cold. No human being could have swum in the sea last night."

Sirius continued to avoid her eyes. He and James exchanged guilty looks. Finally, James sighed.

"Mum, we've got to tell you something. Only you'll have to promise not to tell anyone else about it. All right?"

Bridget looked doubtfully at her son, but he remained firm.

"Please, Mum. I can't tell you unless you promise."

"All right," she said after a while. "I promise."

And James told her. All about how he, Peter and Sirius had learnt to become animagi at Hogwarts so that they could keep Remus company when he transformed. He told her how they had planned and schemed, how it had taken them ages to do it properly, and how they had been rewarded by discovering that their company really did help their friend. He did not, however, tell her that they had left the Shrieking Shack on several occasions, that they had used their skills as animagi to break even more rules, or that they had taken a werewolf to Hogsmeade with them at night. It took Bridget a while to recover from the information he gave her. She stared at James, at Sirius, then at James again.

"You - you did all this ... and I never knew? Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, come on, Bridget! You wouldn't have let us go on with it if you'd known. It was illegal, and pretty dangerous too," Sirius remarked, not without pride.

Bridget looked up at him. She looked about to tell him off some more, but then she softened. Sirius looked pale. His hair was sticking to his forehead as though he had been sweating a good deal during the night, and the grey eyes that looked back at her were heavy-lidded. Bridget got up, came over to him and felt his forehead and cheeks.

"Go back to bed," she said gently. "Go on, I don't want you to be ill on top of everything. James ..."

"Yes, Mum?"

"Go and tell John that Sirius thinks he's found a way to get into Slytherin's Rock."

"It's on the north side of the building. You have to ..." Sirius began, but Bridget interrupted him.

"You can tell him that yourself. I'm sure he'll come round at once."

"Mum, you won't tell him ... will you?"

Bridget sighed. "Not if I can help it, James."

* * *

Malcolm opened his eyes to find he was lying on some kind of makeshift bunk, looking straight up at a grey stone ceiling. He shivered. It was cold here ... wherever 'here' was. He turned his head to one side. There was a small medieval fireplace there, but the grate was empty. Two slit-like windows on either side of it, little more than archery holes, explained where the cold air he could feel was coming from. He looked to his other side. There was a little oak table here, and a big, solid door. What was this place? He screwed up his eyes, trying to remember. He recalled Lothian's face, and Voldemort's cruel, mocking smile. He remembered running down the stairs, breathless. Flames, flames all around. A pain in his back ... That was still there, he realised. He ran his hand across the place where it stung, and felt a bandage under his shirt. That was odd. He could not remember anyone putting a bandage on him. He did, however, seem to remember this room, if only vaguely. He had been here before. It had been night time when they had put him in here. But they had let him out again, hadn't they? Paula Lestrange had come when the sun was just starting to rise, and she had let him out. But what had happened after that?

A loud noise like the crack of a whip made him jump, then wince immediately at the pain in his back. A second later, Dobby the house elf was standing right beside the bed, his big round eyes looking straight into Malcolm's face. He was holding a goblet in his skinny hand.

"Sir is awake?" Dobby asked in a whisper.

"Yes," said Malcolm, and was surprised to find that, though he had not meant to whisper, his voice was barely louder than the elf's.

Dobby held out the goblet to him. "Sir must drink this," he said urgently, still keeping his voice very low.

"What is it?" Malcolm enquired, studying the goblet suspiciously. It seemed to contain some kind of dark blue liquid that looked very uninviting.

"It will make you feel better, sir."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "But I feel fine."

Dobby shook his head. "Sir must drink this," he repeated. "Quickly, before they come back."

Wondering what had got into the house elf, Malcolm pushed himself into an upright position. He almost sank straight back down, however. His head was suddenly swimming, the room seemed to vanish into a kind of fog. His arms felt shaky, his whole body unsteady.

"What the ..." he began, but Dobby was now pushing the goblet between his fingers.

"Sir must drink quickly," Dobby begged.

Malcolm obeyed him. The blue liquid, whatever it was, tasted as cold as ice. Dobby's promise had not been a vain one. Almost as soon as he had taken the first sip, Malcolm felt himself becoming calmer, his head clearer. By the time he had drained the goblet, he was almost back to normal again, and memories flooded back into his mind. As they washed over him, he almost dropped the goblet, overwhelmed by what had happened.

"My god ..." he murmured. "So that's what he meant. Oh hell!"

He thrust the goblet back at the startled house elf and rose abruptly. He went over to the window slits and looked out. There was a sheer drop outside, right down to the jagged rocks now covered in a thick layer of ice and snow. Even if he had been able to get through the opening, which was in itself impossible, there was nowhere to go that way. Malcolm examined the fireplace next. It was the ancient kind that had no chimney. The smoke would at one time have been allowed to escape through a hole in the ceiling of the room, but that had evidently been bricked up. It might provide a weak spot in the brickwork - but where would that get him? If he could get to the roof above this room, where would he go from there? Malcolm turned his attention to the door. The wood was as thick and solid as he had guessed before. The key was in the lock on the outside. He checked the gap at the bottom. Nothing doing there, it was much too narrow for the key to fit through, even if he were able to find something with which to poke it out of its lock. Malcolm turned to Dobby at last.

"You've got to help me," he told the house elf, making him jump.

"D-d-dobby has done all he c-c-can," the elf stammered, indicating the goblet.

"No, Dobby, you've got to help me get out of here," Malcolm insisted. He grasped both of Dobby's arms above the elbows and the house elf nearly shrieked with fright. "Please. I can't stay here. I can't allow them to go through with what they're doing. Surely you understand as well as I do that Voldemort can't be allowed to do this."

Dobby pulled himself free and covered his face with his bony hands, shivering with fright. "S-s-ir must not say the name, or He will come for b-b-b-both of us."

"Do you want to be afraid like this for the rest of your life?" Malcolm demanded. "Dobby, if he goes through with this, it's not just my life that's at stake. Don't you understand? If the process is completed, Voldemort can never die!"

This time, Dobby really did squeal. He backed away against the wall, staring at Malcolm out of wide, terrified eyes. Sensing what was about to happen, Malcolm grabbed his arm once more.

"No, Dobby, don't go. Please, you're the only one who can help me. If you won't let me out of here, at least ... at least take a message to Professor Dumbledore at Hogwarts. Tell him what's happened. He'll do something, I know he will. You've got to warn him for me, Dobby. And another thing," he added, suddenly remembering the others' talk at dinner the night before. "There's a girl working for the aurors at the Ministry of Magic. Her name is Gemma Crowe. Tell Dumbledore the Death Eaters are likely to be coming after her. Promise me, Dobby. Promise me you'll help me."

Dobby looked about to start crying. He was trembling all over, clutching the goblet to him. He seemed unable to open his mouth. Malcolm could hear footsteps approaching the other side of the door. He shook the house elf urgently and stared hard at him. Dobby returned his gaze with one of utmost misery, then disappeared with a crack.

"Damn," Malcolm breathed. He rose quickly, and by the time the door opened, he was standing looking out of one of the windows again, as though he had been there all the time.

* * *

At about the same time, in his office at Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore was pacing the floor. Unbeknownst to even those of his staff closest to him, he had been doing so all night. It was not, after all, easy to make a decision such as he had made yesterday, the decision to do next to nothing, but wait for events to decide his course. There was a knock at the door and he interrupted his pacing, facing it and saying evenly,

"Come in."

He was not surprised to see Minerva McGonagall, Rubeus Hagrid and Pippa Pettigrew file into the room. All three faces looked anxious, and in Professor McGonagall's case, somewhat angry.

"Good morning," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "And what can I do for the three of you?"

"We've come to offer our help," said Pippa. "If there's anything we can do, anything at all ..."

"That's right," Hagrid agreed, his beetle black eyes eager and determined. "We understand you don't want ter ask anyone ter take risks, Professor, but ... well, we can't all sit around doing nothin' while - while ..."

"Mr. Marley needs our help," Pippa went on. "I know we have no evidence as yet that he's been caught, but from what we do know, it seems to me that it's only a matter of time. The longer we wait to be sure, the greater the danger that we'll be too late when we finally do act."

Professor Dumbledore sighed. He looked from one to the other of them. His blue eyes settled on his deputy headmistress.

"Have you nothing to add, Professor?" he enquired mildly.

"You know my views already," said Professor McGonagall. "When one ventures readily into the lion's den ... It was always clear that we would come to this point eventually and now, as Miss Pettigrew has so rightly said, it is only a matter of time until we hear definitely of Mr. Marley's capture ... or death."

"Not all such missions must end in disaster, Minerva," Dumbledore said gently.

"In my experience ...," she began, but Dumbledore raised a hand to interrupt her.

"One more day," he said firmly. "That is how long I am prepared to wait for definite news before acting. Incidentally ..." - he checked his watch - "I have not been entirely inactive. I have sent Fawkes to investigate Slytherin's Rock from above, and I asked Alastor to ensure that the real Tiberius Travers will not be able to escape his holding cell at the Ministry of Magic. He tells me he has sent extra guards to watch the cell door, and he has assured me that they are entirely trustworthy and will sound the alarm the minute they detect anyone seeming to show an interest in their prisoner."

Just as he finished speaking, there was a flash of bright red flame just over the perch in the corner, and Fawkes the phoenix materialised. Dumbledore smiled.

"And here is our messenger now. There is still a little more information to discover, a few more sources to question, but by this evening we will have discovered all there is to discover, and it will be time for us to summon one more meeting of the Order to decide what we intend to do about the current crisis."

"This evening?" McGonagall exclaimed. "Don't you think ...?"

"This evening, Minerva. We will choose a course of action then."

* * *

The Death Eaters' Revenge

Bridget had been quite right in thinking that John would not hesitate to come round once James went to him with her summons. She was a little surprised, however, that he had brought not only Remus, but also Faith with him. All three of them looked every bit as worried as Bridget was feeling, and she was sure that Faith must have been crying, judging by the redness of her eyes.

"What's all this about then, Bridget?" John asked. It was clear that he was struggling to keep his voice even and as matter-of-fact as possible. "James told us that Sirius thinks he's found a way into Slytherin's Rock."

"That's right," said Sirius himself, appearing in the doorway of his and James's bedroom. He was still wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown, and looking feverish.

"I thought I told you to stay in bed," Bridget admonished him.

Sirius ignored her. "I managed to find out where this Slytherin's Rock is last night, and I went there."

Remus exchanged a quick glance with James, then said quietly, "You actually went into that place?"

"Well, I went to the island. I didn't actually go into the fortress. I might have done, but then it looked like someone was coming, so I beat it. Besides, I was feeling somewhat nippy by then."

"I'm not surprised," John said. "It was a cold night. How did you get to the island in the first place? Wasn't it a bit risky to take a boat?"

"I didn't take a boat," Sirius said. "I swam."

"Swam?" Faith exclaimed. "But the water must have been freezing!"

"It was pretty cold, yes. Anyway, the point isn't how I got to Slytherin's Rock, it's that I made it, and I found an opening on the north side of the wall. It's really close to the ground, and only just about wide enough for one man to squeeze through at a time. But it's clearly not been noticed by anyone inside the fortress. It's not been blocked up, after all. In fact, no one's been near it for ages."

"Are you sure about that?" John queried.

"Positive," Sirius affirmed. "No human being has gone near that hole for years."

"Except you, of course," John said very slowly.

"Quite," said Sirius.

John was studying him closely. He seemed to suspect that Sirius had not quite told him the whole story, but in the end he decided to let it go.

"Well, if you're right and there really is an opening there, I'd say that's our best chance."

"Best chance of what?" Faith asked.

"Going in and getting Malcolm out," James said without hesitation. "We know where we can get in, and we can get out the same way once we've found Malcolm - or some easier way, if we can find one. He'll probably know a way himself."

"We?" John repeated. He shook his head. "No. You're not going, James."

James stared at him, looking both hurt and angry. "Oh yes, I am! You're not keeping me out of this just because I'm still 'too young' or 'too inexperienced' in your opinion. I'm training as an auror, and even Moody will admit I'm good ..."

"I don't doubt that," John said placatingly. "Nevertheless, I think it's better if you stay behind this time." His eyes flickered briefly to Bridget, then back to James, who now seemed to understand.

"I'd rather go with you," he said more calmly.

John smiled. "I'm sure you all would, given half a chance. But on the whole I think it best that we risk as few lives as possible in this."

"You can't go on your own!" Bridget protested.

John was about to reply, but a flame sprang up right in front of them just at that moment, and a single fiery red feather floated in mid-air, along with a small sheet of parchment. Remus caught it and read it.

"It looks like no one will be going just yet," he said. "Professor Dumbledore advises us most strongly not to do anything rash, and wants us to come and meet him at Gryffindor Hall at five o'clock."

"As late as that?" Sirius cried. "How much more time is he going to waste?"

"Perhaps he has a plan," John said thoughtfully. "In any case, it can't hurt to listen to what he has to say. It would be stupid to go to Slytherin's Rock in broad daylight anyway. I suggest we all go back to our house for now - I'm sure we still have some pepper-up potion somewhere for you, Sirius. And we'll all go to Gryffindor Hall later and see what Professor Dumbledore suggests."

* * *

Enid Borealis was seated in a very comfortable armchair in the bedroom where her niece was sleeping, knitting away at a hideously multi-coloured shawl. She murmured quietly to herself,

"Now how many more rows of red do I need? Is it ten, or twenty? Or was it ... oh dear, oh dear. I really should write it down. I think ..."

"Let me see," Aurora's voice said suddenly.

Her aunt jumped a few inches off her seat, then sank back down onto it, patting her chest with one hand.

"Rora, my dear. You gave me quite a start. I thought you were still asleep."

"What, with you rattling away all the time?" Aurora teased.

"Oh, did I wake you up? My dear, I'm so sorry, I didn't even realise I was talking."

"It's all right," Aurora assured her, propping herself up with a pillow. "I think it's about time I woke up anyway. What time is it, by the way?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"Have you got a watch?"

"No. Oh, but yours is right there, on the dressing table. I took it off you when I popped in to see you before I went to bed last night. Really, that Mr. Gryffindor - or should one call him 'lord', do you think? - well, anyway, he was ever so gracious to me last night. The room he's had prepared for me! I wouldn't have believed people still live in houses that have such rooms if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes. It must take days to clean this place ..."

"You were going to look at my watch for me," Aurora interrupted her.

"Your watch?"

"Yes. To see what the time is."

"Oh," uttered Aunt Enid. "Yes, dear, of course. It went right out of my head." Leaving her knitting on the chair, she went over to the dressing table and picked up Aurora's watch. "It's nearly ten past twelve," she announced.

"As late as that?" Aurora exclaimed, sitting up straighter. "I shouldn't still be lying here then, I should be up, doing something. Have you heard anything at all?"

"Heard? You mean from that young man - Frank?"

"Well, no, not specifically. I was just wondering if anything had happened."

"Happened? Why? Should anything have happened?"

"Things never seem to stop happening these days."

"You mean ... bad things?" Aunt Enid asked. "Yes, bad things do seem to keep happening. That's why I'm so glad we're here. I get the feeling nothing bad can happen while we're here."

"Not to us," Aurora agreed thoughtfully. "I should say that within these walls is one of the safest places to be at the moment. Nothing bad can happen here. But outside ..."

"Don't think about that now, dear," said Aunt Enid. "I still don't understand what happened to you yesterday, but you really looked quite ill. You still look a bit peaky now. You should try having something to eat. I had the most wonderful breakfast this morning - eggs, bacon, tomato, mushrooms ..."

"Yes, yes, I get the picture," Aurora said quickly. The thought of having anything fried for breakfast somehow made her feel sick this morning. "I don't think I could manage anything more than some dry toast today."

As if in answer to her words, there was a loud crack. Aurora's aunt jumped again and Cronky, the very old house elf, appeared in the middle of the room. He was carrying a tray containing a rack of toast, a selection of jams, butter and a large mug of steaming cocoa.

"Is you ready for breakfast, Miss?" he asked Aurora, and climbed up onto the bed without waiting for an answer, placing the tray on her lap. "Master said you would not be wanting full English breakfast. Cronky hopes this is suiting you."

"Thank you," she replied. "It looks just right."

Cronky left them and Aurora began helping herself to toast. She finished by drinking her mug of cocoa, which immediately made her feel much better. Her aunt was just relieving her of the tray when there was a knock on the door, and their host entered.

"I hope I'm not intruding," he said politely.

Aunt Enid at once became both deferential and slightly flustered.

"Not at all," she assured him. "My niece has just finished having her breakfast."

"I hope it was to your satisfaction."

Aurora nodded. "Yes, thank you. And thanks for having us to stay. It's really very kind of you."

"Not at all," he said courteously. "It was the least I could do. From what I hear, you took a very great risk yesterday for the Order."

"The Order?" Aunt Enid repeated. "What Order?"

"The Order of the Phoenix," Gordon replied. "A group of people dedicated to fighting Lord Voldemort."

The mention of the name made Enid Borealis jump for the third time.

"Frank told me yesterday that my niece was involved in acting against ... You-Know-Who. I have to say I'm not happy about it. Not at all happy."

"Someone's got to do it, Auntie," Aurora told her. "It's no good if everyone just hides away indoors, hoping he'll go away of his own accord, because he won't. Risks have to be taken."

"You're quite right," Gordon said. "But I think everyone agrees that you have taken quite enough for a while. What you need now is time to rest and recover. That is why you're here. I should say the only safer place you could possibly be at the moment is Hogwarts."

"Oh yes, I was saying just a little while ago that I'm sure we're nice and safe here," Aunt Enid agreed happily.

"I don't want to be kept out of things, though," Aurora said quickly. "I want to know what's going on."

"I dare say you do," said Gordon. "But for now I have nothing to tell. I'm sure you will be receiving visitors later on today who will be able to tell you everything you need to know."

"Will young Frank be coming at all?" Aunt Enid asked.

The old wizard smiled. "I'm sure he will."

"Oh good. I haven't thanked him properly yet for coming to take me to St. Mungo's, and bringing us here afterwards. He really was most kind and sympathetic."

Still smiling, Gordon gave a short bow and excused himself. When he had left the room, Aunt Enid sat down on the edge of Aurora's bed and patted her hand.

"Such nice people, these friends of yours," she said appreciatively.

* * *

Vindictus Lothian had not seen the Dark Lord since they had returned from a chamber far below in the dungeons while a few of the others had taken Malcolm Marley back up to the tower room. He was curious to know whether the first dose of the potion he had taken at that time would show any effects, and also a little anxious. Despite its hopeful-sounding name, the Brew of Eternity struck him as the most vile creation he had ever heard of. Not only was it made of the blood of house elves, unicorn horn and other ingredients he had no wish to know of, but Voldemort had told him last night, quite gleefully, that now, at last, he had found his final ingredient - the life force of a wizard.

Lothian was not a squeamish man. He did not recoil from brutality, from the slaughter of the innocent or the taking of a human life ... yet to drink something made up of such components struck even him as wrong, unnatural. He wondered, not for the first time, whether the effect on the drinker might not be harmful rather than helpful.

With these thoughts in his mind, he paused outside the door to Voldemort's chamber, drew a deep breath and then knocked.

"Come in!"

He entered. Lord Voldemort was sitting in a chair by the fire, a sheet of parchment in his hand. He waved Lothian to a seat opposite him, not looking up. Lothian sat in silence, waiting to be spoken to before saying anything himself. Presently Voldemort finished his perusal of what he held in his hand and murmured quietly,

"I would never have believed it possible."

"What's that?" Lothian enquired.

In reply, Voldemort waved the parchment he was holding.

"This. It's from a loyal servant in Paris. He tells me that our enemies may have information we were certain was safe from them. They have ..." - he paused, apparently searching for the right word - "... questioned the auror you came across in the courtyard."

"Questioned him?" Lothian exclaimed. "But that's impossible. He couldn't give any information. I had the Dementors administer the Kiss."

Voldemort nodded. "Oh yes, you did, and one would have thought that there was an end to it. But apparently not. It seems that some of our enemies possess powers even I could not have guessed at, and yet ... and yet perhaps I should have guessed at them. I was warned, after all. I should have taken the reports of the fight at St. Mungo's more seriously ..."

"St. Mungo's?" Lothian queried uncertainly. "What has that got to do with the auror?"

"Nothing immediate. But after the attack on St. Mungo's I was told that there had been one person there, a girl fighting on the other side, with powers I had never heard of before. From what I was told, it appears she was able to grasp the Imperius curse directed at her by one of my followers, turn it on another and make him kill his own ally. I confess I was impressed when I heard of it, even, I admit, a little worried. But I thought no more of it. More pressing matters came up, you see. But now ..."

He looked down at the letter again.

"This same girl," he murmured, "yes, the same girl, it must be her, there cannot be more with powers like these. She was able to enter the mind of that auror, and although his soul had left him, though his brain is dead, she appears to have found the last remnants of a memory ..."

Lothian drew in his breath sharply. "How much was she able to discover?"

"I don't know. My man states that Alastor Moody, the auror who had taken her there, sent him for some chocolate, which he brought, then sent him and everyone else out of the room. She may have seen barely anything at all, or she may have seen a lot. She may have seen you."

The Death Eater shrugged his shoulders. "If she did, what does it matter?"

"If she did, it means two things. One: the other side know that we have the Frenchwoman, and they will realise it is only a matter of time before she reveals the identity of their spy to us. Therefore they will be facing a choice now, to foolishly attempt a rescue or to leave him to die. Two: This girl must be killed. If she can turn my followers against each other with the her mind, if she can retrieve information even from those who are soulless, then she is powerful, too powerful to be left alive. Yes ... I want her killed. Mulciber can see to that. He is skilled in matters of the mind, she will not be able to turn him so quickly."

"Mulciber isn't here. He's already set out for the Ministry."

"Ah. What about Dolohov?"

"He went with the others to take care of another girl - the trainee auror who insulted you in the newspaper."

Voldemort gave a cold smile. "I see. In that case, this had better be your task, I think. Take someone with you, find out where this girl lives and kill her."

He passed the parchment across to Lothian, who read it through quickly.

"Aurora Borealis," he read out loud. "I'll see to it at once.

* * *

A Series of Attacks

There was nothing to show at the Auror Headquarters in the Ministry of Magic that today was in any way different from any other day. It was a Sunday, and consequently there were not very many people about. However, Laura Lovegood was there as usual. She could not remember when she had last taken an entire weekend off work. Staying at home, even for a day, always made her feels restless and dissatisfied, she could not concentrate on Christmas shopping, baking or decorating the house for Christmas when there was work to be done. Her brother had long given up complaining that she was never at home, in fact she rather fancied he hardly minded any more, not now that Gloria Boom had accepted his proposal. He was probably hardly ever at home himself. That would certainly explain the layers of dust that had accumulated lately.

Laura finished reading yet another report of a Death Eater attack. It had happened near Newcastle. They had struck an area they had known would be full of people on a Friday afternoon, a shopping area where young families had been happily about buying Christmas presents, where carol singers had stood on corners proclaiming the festive season, the season of joy, of peace ... Instead they had received pain and death. The Death Eaters had killed and tortured, just for the fun of it, so it seemed. There was no particular target, no reason apparent. And yet now ten people were dead - muggle men and women, even children - and many more were at St. Mungo's, suffering from the after effects of terrible torture.

She placed the report in a folder with many others of its kind and got up to fetch a cup of coffee, and was just returning to her desk when she almost collided with a fellow auror passing by. She had begun to murmur a quick apology before she realised ...

"Forbes?" she said. "What are you doing here? I thought you were downstairs, with Baxter and Robinson and Brown."

"Well, that I was, Miss Lovegood," the man replied. "But then Mr. Crouch came along and ordered Brown and me back up here. He says we're needed more here than down there, and Baxter and Robinson can manage alone."

"But Mr. Moody said ..."

Bartemius Crouch himself interrupted her, startling her as she had not heard him come up from behind.

"Mr. Moody," he said coldly, "does not run this department. I do. And I cannot afford to waste four of my best people by having them sit around outside cellar doors playing chess, when we never know when the next attack will occur or where."

"I'm sure Mr. Moody wouldn't have assigned them there if it hadn't been necessary," Laura opined. "He must have had a very good reason."

"Possibly. But until such time as Alastor Moody condescends to let me into his secrets and explain his reasons to me, I have no intention of letting him assign my staff where he chooses. I also do not appreciate having my decisions questioned, least of all with phrases such as 'Mr. Moody says'. I hope I make myself clear."

"Very clear," Laura replied quietly.

"Good."

Crouch scowled at them both and marched off, back to his office.

"Wonder what's got into him?" Forbes mused.

"A combination of things, ranging from jealousy to stupidity, I should say," Laura murmured in reply.

"Miss Lovegood! Let him hear you speak like that and he'll throw you out on your ear, just like he did with Marley."

Laura flinched involuntarily at the name, so much so that Forbes noticed it.

"Is everything all right, Miss Lovegood? You look upset about something."

Laura glanced at the door through which Crouch had disappeared. After some quick thinking, she said,

"I just feel a little bit queasy today, that's all."

"Ah," said Forbes sympathetically. "You've probably not been eating properly. All these attacks can ruin the appetite, and if you don't eat, it makes you feel a bit giddy."

"Yes." She forced a smile. "You're quite right. I'll probably feel much better if I have a bite to eat. I think I'll go and get myself something now."

"Good idea," Forbes agreed heartily.

Remembering to fetch her bag to keep up the pretence, and casting one more glance in the direction of her superior's closed door, Laura departed. But she did not go for some food. She went straight to the lift, stepped inside, and did not get off again until it had reached the very bottom floor. Here, stepping into the corridor, she was startled to find herself face to face with Mr. Mulciber.

"Oh," she exclaimed. "Hello."

"How do you do, Miss Lovegood." He smiled, a smile that did not extend to his eyes. "I hope you have a pleasant day."

He walked right past her into the lift. Laura remained rooted to the spot for a moment, then she forced herself to walk down the corridor. She felt certain, somehow, that his eyes were still on her. But when she turned back, just before she began to descend the stairs, he appeared to be looking at his watch, and the lift was beginning to move. Laura breathed a sigh of relief, and went down towards the courtrooms.

Crouch had not been entirely wrong in everything he had said. Baxter and Robinson were indeed playing chess, and judging by the perplexed look on the older auror's face, young Robinson was winning as usual. Laura smiled to herself. They seemed quite engrossed in their game, yet when she stepped up beside them, Robinson greeted her at once without looking up.

"Good morning, Miss Lovegood."

He had a slightly superior, arrogant voice which Laura knew did not really express his nature. Once you got to know him a bit better, Robinson was quite a pleasant young man. He was certainly attractive. Tall and lean, fair-haired and blue-eyed, he had often been sent on assignments involving touchy female witnesses. He had a knack of breaking their defences within minutes of meeting them. A gallant word, a flash of that white-toothed smile, and they would tell him anything.

Baxter was quite a contrast. He was burly and short, at least twice the age of Robinson and practically bald. He gave the impression of being somewhat slow in everything he did, but Laura had seen him switch to quite astounding swiftness when the occasion demanded it. Now, his entire concentration appeared to be focused on the chessboard in front of him, but Laura was not fooled. His left hand was not on the table, but under it, and she would have accepted any bet that it was clasped firmly around his wand.

"How's it going?" Laura enquired.

"I'm winning," Robinson declared brightly. "Baxter here doesn't stand a chance. It's really quite disappointing, having such a weak opponent. Perhaps you'd like to play a round with me? I'm sure we won't be much longer."

"That's what you think," grumbled Baxter gruffly. "I've been going easy on you so far, my boy. But enough's enough. Knight to ..."

"You don't want to do that."

"Why not?"

"Because that pawn is just waiting for your knight to take him, so that my rook can take your knight."

"Hm."

Baxter began scratching his chin. Robinson looked up at Laura and gave her one of his smiles.

"You see? I could really do with a partner whose tactics are a bit less predictable."

Laura smiled back at him.

"How are things apart from chess?"

"You mean him?" Robinson asked, jerking his finger over his shoulder at the locked and bolted door of one of the holding cells, normally reserved for prisoners going on trial in one of the courtrooms on this level.

"Yes."

"He's all right. He doesn't make much of a fuss any more these days, not like he used to when they first locked him up. He still doesn't take kindly to the regular haircuts we give him though."

He was still smiling. How very white his teeth were. And how strange that she could not find his smile as winning as most women seemed to. Perhaps it was just her mood today. She was all on edge. Silly, really.

"Can I see him?" she asked.

Robinson shrugged his shoulders. "If you like. Can't see why though. He's not much worth looking at. Not exactly god's gift to women."

*And I suppose you think you are,* Laura found herself thinking.

Why was she thinking such things? She knew Robinson, he was a nice fellow. He was still smiling at her. Why did it make her so uneasy?

"I'd still like to see him though," she heard herself say. "I know I'm probably being silly, but ... well, with Mr. Moody so keen to have more guards put on him ... I can't help it, I just need to see for myself that everything's okay."

"All right."

Robinson got to his feet and took the key from his pocket. Laura followed him to the door. Though her back was to Baxter now, she was pretty sure he had taken his eyes off the chessboard. She could feel them resting on her, waiting. But what was he waiting for? And why was Robinson unbolting the door so slowly?

The young auror began opening it. As the cell beyond gradually came into view, Laura began slipping her hand towards the wand in the inner pocket of her robes. The instant she drew it out, Baxter's voice behind her shouted with that rapidity that he disguised so well,

"Expelliarmus!"

Laura's wand soared out of her hand and Robinson caught it. She stared at him. There was nothing remotely charming about his smile now. It was cold and gloating.

"In there," he commanded icily, pointing with her wand into the cell. The empty cell.

"Where is he?" Laura asked, ignoring his words. "Where's Travers?"

"He left," Robinson replied simply. "This is your cell now, Miss Lovegood."

She turned around to look at Baxter. Unlike Robinson, he was not smiling. His face was screwed up, his lips curled fiercely, and his eyes ... his eyes seemed vacant. Laura looked back at Robinson. Sure enough, he had that same blank expression in his eyes.

"Robinson," she said urgently, beginning to realise what had happened here. "Listen to me. You're being controlled. Do you hear me? Someone's put a spell on you. This isn't really you. Think about it. Fight it."

Robinson's smile became a sneer. "Get in the cell," he repeated, his tone unchanged.

Laura shook her head and turned to the older auror. "Baxter, you ..."

She never got to finish her sentence. His wand flicked upwards, and his spell caught her right in the chest, throwing her off her feet with incredible force and hurling her against the stone wall of the cell. Pain shot through her spine as she made contact with it, and she cried out.

Robinson began to laugh. "Good one, Baxter," he said. "My turn now, I think."

* * *

Down in the dungeon on Slytherin's Rock, Malcolm was looking around him. After having drunk Dobby's potion, he could remember this room only too well. It was empty but for a single chair, on which he was sitting right now, and a large cauldron bubbling away in the corner. Lucius and Rabastan had wisely tied him down immediately this time, and were standing by on either side of him. Malcolm felt sick. Any minute now, Voldemort would make him drink that stuff again, and then ... Then he would draw on a bit more of Malcolm's life force, making himself stronger while Malcolm fought vainly to stop it. Footsteps echoed on the flagged stone floor and Voldemort appeared. He looked furious. His eyes bored into Malcolm's, and he noticed how their colour seemed to have changed. They were burning a pale orange shade, and it was almost painful to look at them, like staring straight at a very bright neon lamp.

"Ready for your next dose of potion?" Voldemort asked, sneering.

"You won't get away with this," Malcolm hissed. "Trust me, your plan isn't going to work."

Voldemort laughed humourlessly. "Are you going to stop me? You're hardly in a position to, are you, Mr. Marley?"

"I'll find a way," Malcolm affirmed more firmly than he felt.

"There is no way," Voldemort said, lowering his voice. "You are entirely in my power, my friend. And I will continue to grow stronger on your life force until the process is complete ..."

"Go to hell!" Malcolm spat.

The Dark Lord pursed his lips in amusement. "Hell is for dead people. Thanks to you, I will not be dying ... ever. There is only one person in this room who will soon be 'going to hell', as you put it. I'm sure the devil will be pleased to welcome you among his flock."

"I'm beginning to doubt there is a devil in hell," said Malcolm. "It seems to me he's standing right in front of me, here on earth."

Voldemort threw back his head and laughed. "Really, your pitiful defiance is highly entertaining, Mr. Marley. But I'm afraid it will do you no good. You could make it much easier on yourself if you simply surrendered to your fate, and gave up fighting me."

"I will go on fighting you as long as I have strength left!"

"Well, in that case ... I think it is time you were deprived of a little more of it," Voldemort said icily. "Lucius, pass me that goblet, will you?"

Malcolm struggled as they held his head, and Voldemort poured the bitter-tasting green potion down his throat. He choked and gagged, fighting to make himself bring it up again, but it was no use. Rabastan and Lucius released Malcolm, and he watched Voldemort fill the goblet once more and drink deeply of it. Voldemort smiled crookedly at him. Then he closed his eyes and drew several deep breaths.

"Noooooo!" Malcolm yelled, but he could already feel the strength draining out of him.

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was packed full of people. Mary Crimple, wrapped in a thick blue cloak of finest velvet with a white fur collar, entered from the muggle street and made her way through the crowd to the bar.

"Hello, Tom," she called over.

The barman came her way. "Hello, Miss. What can I do for you?"

"I'd like to use your fireplace, if I may."

"Of course, of course. Hang on."

He came out from behind his bar and accompanied her into the back room, where he fetched a pot of floo powder out of a cupboard and allowed her to take a pinch.

"Thank you," said Mary.

"You be careful now, young lady," the barman told her. "Mind you don't come out in the wrong place. What with how things are these days, it could be the last thing you do."

Mary smiled at him. "Don't worry, I'll be all right. I'm just going to visit a friend."

She threw the powder on the flames, stepped into the fire and named her destination clearly. A whirl and a few moments later, she stepped out of a fireplace in a small, but comfortable living room, and was immediately greeted by the loud chirping of a pair of budgerigars in their cage on a sideboard.

"Hello!" Mary called, dusting herself down. "Gemma! Gemma, it's me, Mary!"

There was no reply. Mary went out into the hall and called again.

"Gemma! Mrs. Crowe! Mr. Crowe! Jeremy!"

Still no answer. This was odd. Mary checked her watch. She was not too early, nor was she late. It was the exact time she had arranged with Gemma, and Gemma was not one to forget appointments. Even if she had forgotten, her parents ought to be in, along with her brother Jeremy, a delightful child who like all boys, regardless of their ages, had taken an obvious fancy to her, Mary. She walked to the bottom of the stairs and repeated her call once more. Then, puzzled, she went back through the living room and out into the back garden. There was no one here either. She turned back towards the house, and then she saw it, and screamed - a skull, huge and evil-looking and green, a serpent winding itself like a tongue out of its leering mouth, floating just above the chimney pots.

"Gemma!" Mary yelled, running back indoors.

She tore up the stairs and pulled open the first door she came to. It was Jeremy's room. Toys and books were strewn across the floor. Model cars, a paper aeroplane ... in the middle lay Gemma's parents, their eyes wide open, looks of sheer terror on their faces. Mary went right into the room and knelt beside them, her hand trembling as she touched Mrs. Crowe's cheek. It was still warm. She couldn't have been dead long. Mary rose and turned to leave, to look for Jeremy and Gemma herself. Then she froze. She couldn't even scream this time. She had found Gemma.

* * *

"This is it," Lily said to her father as the car turned into the road where Aurora lived. "It's the third building on the right."

Ted Evans drove a bit further along the road until he found somewhere to park. They pulled up and got out.

"You can wait here if you like," Lily said.

"No, I'll come with you. You can't carry all your things and hers by yourself," her father said.

"I'm only going to get a change of clothes for her, not her whole wardrobe," Lily said with a smile. "But okay. Look out for her rat, though. He doesn't like strangers much."

Cheesy the rat did indeed seem to take offence to having a total stranger enter his home when his mistress was not in. Lily, whom he had grown used to by now, had to grip him firmly between both hands and speak firmly to him for a full five minutes before he finally relaxed, and grudgingly permitted Lily's father to follow her into Aurora's bedroom. The rat scrambled up onto the bed and sat there, his abnormally large ears twitching, his beady eyes watching closely while Ted held a bag open so that Lily could pack a few necessaries into it.

"That it?" asked Lily's father when she had added a clean pair of pyjamas and a few changes of underwear to the trousers and jumpers in the bag.

"I think so," she replied, closing the wardrobe. "Maybe just ..." - she picked up a double picture frame from the bedside cabinet, which contained a photograph of Aurora's Aunt Enid, and one of her parents - "there, that should do it. Let's go."

Scooping up Cheesy the rat, she slipped him into the pocket of the ordinary muggle coat she had opted to wear today, and followed her father down the hall, where they collected her ready-packed suitcase, and out of the flat, locking the door behind her. They had just reached the street door when Lily let out a sharp cry of pain. Her father turned around, the door held open in his hand.

"What's the matter?"

Lily was staring at her pocket, which was suddenly moving in a highly agitated fashion.

"It's Cheesy," she said. "He bit me, right through the lining of my coat! And now he just won't keep still any more. I don't what's the matter wi..."

She got no further. In a matter of seconds, the tiny black creature had scratched and bitten a hole through the inside of her pocket, large enough to escape through. Once he had recovered from his somewhat unconventional landing upon the cold stone floor, he lost no time in zooming right out of the open door and across the street.

"Watch it!" Ted Evans called out, stepping onto the pavement. "Oh no ..."

But though he could have sworn that the bus hurtling down the road had run right over the spot where Cheesy had been, he could see the rat scurrying along quite unhurt towards the opposite side of the road.

"We'd better get after him," he said to Lily. "Can't you do something to make him stay still for a second. Lily?"

He turned around, wondering why his daughter was not answering him. She was standing in the doorway, the photo frame from Aurora's bedroom still in her hand, staring back into the building, back the way they had come.

"Forgotten something?" her father asked.

"No, but I thought I just heard something."

"Probably just one of the other tenants, coming out to get fresh bread from the baker's or something. Lily, where are you going?" he added as Lily thrust the picture frame at him and began to go back up a few steps.

Her hand clenched inside the right-hand pocket of her coat, she leaned against the banisters and looked up. From this position she could just make out two figures on the landing upstairs, and they did not look like tenants on an innocent Sunday morning errand to procure a special treat of scones for breakfast. They were robed in black, as far as she could tell, from head to foot.

"Death Eaters," she gasped under her breath.

"What did you say?"

"Shhhh," Lily hissed at him. "Not so loud. There are Death Eaters up there."

Ted Evans frowned. "Honestly, some of these words you and James use lately. What on earth is a Death Eater supposed to be?"

"They're the closest followers of the one I told you about," Lily explained, still whispering. "You-Know-Who ..."

"Lily, my dear," said her father with a sigh. "I know you take all this very seriously, but don't you think that - what are you doing?" he added, a note of anxiety replacing the momentary exasperation, for Lily's right hand had reappeared from her pocket with her wand clasped tightly in it.

"Follow Cheesy," she told him. "He seems to know what he's doing. Get some help."

"But, Lily ... if these people are dangerous ..."

"They are."

"Then you can't go up there alone. Just leave them. If they don't find what they're looking for, they'll just go away, won't they - won't they?" he repeated hurriedly as Lily did not answer.

She held up her hand for silence, then ... BANG! Something, somewhere far above them, had exploded with such a force that it shook the whole house to its foundations. There was a loud rumbling then, as doors were pulled open and people - some of them still in pyjamas - emerged from their flats looking worried, black smoke billowed out from the open doorway of Aurora's flat and spread down the stairwell.

"Go, dad," Lily said urgently. "Get help, just in case. I'm going to see if they're still there or if they've left."

With mothers crowding round him along with their noisy offspring, people coming up to ask if he had any idea what was going on and others dashing back into their flats, presumably to call the police or fire brigade, Ted was unable to communicate any further with his daughter, but was forced to watch as she climbed up the stairs towards the source of the disturbance. He listened with half an ear to a young mother with a screaming infant on her arm suggesting that perhaps the young lady upstairs's cooker had exploded until ...

"Out!" Lily screamed, reappearing again at the top of the stairs. "Everyone get out of here, now!"

She began hurtling back down a few flights of stairs, with the inhabitants of the house all still standing around her, too startled to move. Lily stopped on a landing and turned back just as the two figures she had spotted earlier reappeared on the landing, their cloaks billowing amongst the swirling smoke, their wand arms extended in front of them. The taller of the two flicked his wand, and Lily yelled "Protego!" just in time to ward off his curse. The people around her seemed less incapable than ever of fleeing as she had told them to now, rooted to the spot by what they were seeing.

"Dad!" Lily shouted, all her efforts still bent on keeping her shield charm in place. "Get everyone out."

Finally, Ted Evans acted. Throwing the photo frame he had still been holding into the bag, he passed it and Lily's suitcase to the woman with the screaming child and pushed her out onto the street, then grabbed the next person's arm and unceremoniously dragged them outside too. All the while he was keeping half an eye on what was happening further up the stairs. The Death Eaters were still advancing, but Lily was so far proving very good at throwing off their curses, until ...

"Avada ..."

"No!" Lily screamed, and with a rapid swish of her wand a door was torn from its hinges and struck the Death Eater's wand arm, thankfully causing him to interrupt his incantation. Lily took the opportunity to turn and run, taking hold of the people she passed on the way and pulling them down the stairs with her.

"Avada Kedavra!" came the shout behind her, and a man she had been dragging by the sleeve of his checked dressing gown fell to the floor, instantly dead.

Several people screamed. Ted left off what he was doing and pushed through the crowds of people, who now no longer needed to be told that they should run, elbowing his way towards the stairs and his daughter.

"Lily," he gasped, reaching her at last, "Get out of here. I know you can. I can't call the kind of help we need now, but you can. Go on, I'll hold them off as best I can until you get back."

Lily hesitated, scared green eyes staring into his.

"Avada Kedavra," she said breathlessly, clutching him by the collar. "That's the one you've got to duck, whatever you do. There's no escape from it."

He nodded, then repeated his words, "Get out of here. Hurry."

Lily closed her eyes, turned on the spot, and was gone.

* * *

Withholding Information

Malcolm had been asleep again. Or perhaps not so much asleep, as unconscious. It took him some time to realise, as before, where he was and what was happening. Vague memories came to him. Memories of a dark, damp dungeon. Of being held down by strong hands and forced to drink a potion which was not only vile to the taste, but made him feel sick for quite another reason. Memories of Voldemort, his eyes burning, his mouth leering, triumphant and cruel. Memories of feeling helpless and weary and sick ... the same as he felt now.

He rolled onto his side so that he could see the fireplace. Evidently the Death Eaters had decided it would be unwise to let him freeze to death before his time came, for a fire had been lit there. That explained the stinging sensation in his eyes. It was smoke, that was all. Just smoke. Perhaps, he thought, it was the same smoke that was causing him to feel so drowsy, and giving him a headache. Or perhaps it was the effects of the potion that were causing it. Whatever it was, he could certainly do with a drop of Dobby's potion about now.

As if in answer to his thoughts, a crack behind him announced the arrival of the house elf once more. His bare feet pattered across the floor until he stood in front of Malcolm, his pencil-shaped nose level with the human's face.

"How is sir feeling," he enquired solicitously.

"Groggy," said Malcolm. "And don't call me 'sir'. The name's Malcolm. Malcolm Marley."

It felt good to say it again, not to have to lie any more.

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Malcolm, Malcolm Marley," replied the house elf. "Dobby is not wanting to offend you by calling you wrong names."

"You haven't offended me, Dobby," Malcolm said with a sigh. "Is that for me?" he added, nodding towards the goblet in Dobby's hand.

The elf held it out to him and Malcolm sat up. It was cooling as before, it soothed the nerves and strengthened the muscles. But was he imagining it, or was the effect just slightly weaker this time? Or was it - he tried, but failed, to repress the thought - not the effect that was weaker, but the body it was applied to?

"Have you thought any more about what I said earlier?" he asked after emptying the goblet.

Dobby flinched. "Dobby is not knowing what you is meaning, Mr. Malcolm," he lied.

"I mean about you helping me to escape. About getting news to Dumbledore and warning him about that girl. Did you at least do that, Dobby?"

The elf shook his head ruefully. "Dobby was going to," he said very quietly. "Dobby had almost made up his mind to go to Hogwarts and warn the other house elves there, so that they could warn Professor Dumbledore."

"But ...?" Malcolm queried, his hands tightening around the goblet.

"Dobby saw them return."

"Who did you see?"

"Antonin Dolohov, sir. Igor Karkaroff. And another man Dobby does not know. He had his hood up, so Dobby could not see him. But Dobby did not like him. He smelled, Mr. Malcolm, sir. He smelled of blood. Dobby saw stains on his robes."

The house elf shivered visibly.

"Where had they been, Dobby?" Malcolm asked quietly, though he already knew the answer.

"The Crowes' house," Dobby replied miserably. "Dobby fears they are all dead."

"God!"

Feeling as sick as if he had never drunk the potion, Malcolm gave Dobby back his goblet and strode over to the window.

"Dobby is sorry, sir," squeaked the creature. "Dobby is very, very sorry."

Malcolm turned, intending to scold, to reproach. But he could not. In a voice that was much kinder than he had intended, he said,

"I can understand you're afraid. But think, Dobby. If you don't help me, then this will go on forever. You will never stop being afraid, people will never stop being killed, and no one will be able to do the least little thing to ever change that. If Voldemort becomes immortal, we don't stand a chance."

"Dobby is sorry. Sorry that he could not help the Crowes. But Dobby cannot help you escape. Master has forbidden it, Mr. Malcolm. Dobby cannot go against his master's orders."

"Aren't you going against your master's orders by giving me that stuff?"

"Master did not tell Dobby not to give you drinks, Mr. Malcolm, sir. Master only said Dobby must not let you get away."

Malcolm sighed. He turned back towards the slit of a window and looked out at the wintry sea. After a moment's thought he said quietly and sombrely,

"Is it against your master's orders for you to bring me a sheet of parchment and a quill?"

"Dobby cannot let you send messages to anyone," the house elf protested at once.

"I know that." Malcolm looked at him once more, his eyes heavy and resigned. "I don't want to send a message - yet. But once it's over, once I'm ... You'll be able to take a note to someone for me then, won't you? And you can keep it safe until that time?"

Dobby hesitated. For a moment the scared look in, his large, scared eyes seemed to change to pity and he seemed about to say something, but then he merely nodded.

"Good. Then do me this favour, Dobby. I won't ask any more of you."

* * *

Back at the Lupins' cottage, Faith had indeed supplied Sirius with a large mug full of pepper-up potion. Everyone else was sipping tea, every now and then making casual and meaningless remarks, all watching the hands on the clock move slowly round its face, wishing it were time to go to the Hall already. They were startled when, all of a sudden, Alastor Moody's face popped up at them out of the fire. He looked both angry and upset.

"Potter, Black," he said with preamble. "Get your cloaks on. I want you at the Crowes' place at once."

"Why?" Sirius asked past the handkerchief he was heavily blowing his nose with. "Has something..."

"Don't ask questions. Just get a move on," snapped Moody and disappeared again.

Sirius and James looked at each other and at the bemused faces around them.

"You'd better hurry," John said. "Alastor didn't look in a mood to be patient."

Making their way as quickly as they could to Gemma's place, Sirius and James found the rest of their auror training course already present, along with some fully trained aurors and Alastor Moody. Mary Crimple was on the sofa in the living room, still crying, with Florence Fortescue's arm around her shoulder. Alice Spriggs and Daniel Moore were standing close by them.

"Hello, you two," Moody growled at them the moment they arrived. "Bad business, this."

"What exactly happened?" James asked. "Did they just ... kill them?"

At that moment, Benjy Fenwick came down from the upper floor and sank down on the bottom step. He looked positively sick. Frank too, leaning against the banisters, was very white.

"They used the killing curse on her parents, by the looks of it," Moody replied. "No marks on their bodies. We don't know yet what's happened to the kid. Vanished without a trace, it seems."

"And Gemma?"

"Some Death Eaters," Moody began, "take a vindictive pleasure in making people suffer."

"They let her bleed to death," Benjy gasped, clutching his stomach, "didn't they? They made her watch them kill her family, and then they ... what exactly did they do to her, sir? She looks ..."

"I don't know," Moody said sharply. "I wish to hell I understood what happened to her."

Sirius glanced at James, then he went into the living room to join Mary and Florence.

"So what happens now?" James asked. "What do we do? Where do we start looking for the boy and how do we make them pay for what they did to her?"

"I don't suppose we can make them pay, at least not at once," Moody answered. "We don't know who did this."

"We know it was the Death Eaters!" said Benjy. "The whole lot of them should be locked up."

"We don't even know who all of them are," murmured Frank. "And those we do know are powerful. Too powerful. And ... wicked."

Moody put a hand on his shoulder. "You go on back you-know-where. Go and see Miss Evans on the way. I hear she's got a rat she wants to get rid of."

"Rat?" James asked, puzzled.

"Yes. Clever little thing escaped just before Death Eaters appeared to wreak havoc on Aurora's home this morning. Looks like they've got it in for our young legilimens too."

Frank went, if possible, even paler. "They went to Aurora's place? Does that mean ... they know? About how she got the information from Williams. But how could they?"

"They were told," Moody said simply. "By someone who knew about it."

"But no one knew," Frank said. "No one except the Order and ... that Frenchman. Renard."

"Quite."

"You're saying the French head of magical law enforcement passed information to Lord Voldemort?" James asked.

"What are you lot on about?" Benjy demanded. "Who's Renard? And what's it all got to do with poor Gemma?"

"The Death Eaters are becoming more active," Moody said, ignoring him. "Not against crowds - they've been raiding gatherings and killing innocents for ages - but they're starting to target individuals. We saw it once before with that newsreader. He spoke out against them, and they killed him. This time it was Miss Crowe, and Aurora's clearly on their list too. And you ..." - he addressed James - "had better look out for that girl of yours, too. She was there this morning when the Death Eaters attacked the building, and if it hadn't been for her, even more people would have been killed. As it is ..."

"Lily?" James gasped. "She was there? Is she ..."

"She's all right, from all I hear. But you'd better go and see her. From what I hear, her father's been knocked about pretty badly. He's been taken to St. Mungo's."

"Oh," James exclaimed. "He'll be all right, won't he?"

"He was still unconscious, last I heard. You'd better go and see her at St. Mungo's," Moody repeated. "You want to look after her. And you, Frank, had better go with him. You'll find Aurora's rat and some other things there. You can take them to their owner while we clean up here. Fenwick?"

"Yes, sir?" Benjy got to his feet, still looking shaken, but also determined.

"Go and find Prewett and McKinnon. Tell them I want a place checked out. The Better Days Theatre. You may as well go with them, if you like. There's a man there called Angus Craigg. Tell them I want him brought along this evening ... if he's still alive. They'll know what I mean."

* * *

The Better Days Theatre was closed when Gideon Prewett, Oliver McKinnon and Benjy Fenwick arrived. They went round the side to the stage entrance and knocked, but there was no reply. Benjy pointed his wand at the lock, but Gideon held him back, trying the handle instead. The door swung open immediately.

"How did you know it was open?" Benjy asked, impressed.

Oliver pointed to faint marks along the frame where it touched the door.

"Oh. So someone's already forced their way in?"

"Looks like it," Oliver agreed.

He was first to step into the gloomy hallway. Several of the murky electric lights were flickering, their crackling and buzzing creating the only noise they could hear. The two trained aurors moved on along the passage, while Benjy approached the stage door cautiously.

"There's no one here," Oliver whispered to Gideon as they examined the costume racks and peered into rooms. "I don't think anyone's been here for days."

"Yes, they have," Gideon said. "That stuff there's still dripping."

He pointed to a flask that lay open on the desk in one of the rooms. A horrible greyish substance, liquid but thick, was dripping from it to the floor in globs.

"That's not all," said Benjy, reappearing behind them. "Come and see what I've found."

Gideon and Oliver followed the youngest of their group back in the direction of the entrance. He took them as far as the stage door, then he stood back.

"That who we're supposed to be looking for, by any chance?"

The other two squinted through the semi-darkness. They could make out a figure sitting on the floor by the far wall, at the opposite end of the stage.

"That'll be him," said Gideon.

"D'you think he's dead?"

"Only one way to find out."

Oliver led the way across the stage. Close up, they could see that the description they had of the man was nothing short of accurate. Angus Craigg's dishevelled head, however, had dropped onto his shoulder at a peculiar angle. The eyes in his much-creased face were open, but dilated. His lips quivered and one hand kept creasing up the material of his trousers, then smoothing it again, while the other gripped something tightly. Oliver, still leading the group, crouched down and touched the man's shoulder. Craigg sat up startlingly, pulling himself erect and staring at Oliver, terror in every feature.

"What?" he cried, his voice hoarse and miserable. "What is it? What more do you want? I've told you everything I know."

"It's all right, Mr. Craigg," Oliver said soothingly. "We're not here to hurt you."

"Y-you're not?" the man stammered. "Then you're not with them?"

"No," Oliver said firmly. "We're not with them. We're friends. And we were hoping you might have news of another friend of ours. A Mr. Marley. Malcolm Marley."

Craigg's eyes widened with shock as he stared at Oliver, and he began shaking his head frantically and protesting, his voice becoming a pitiful wail.

"I don't know anything, I don't know, I don't know!"

"Hood," Gideon said, grasping the man firmly by the shoulder as he, too, crouched down beside him. He looked Craigg firmly in the eye. "You know him as Mr. Hood."

Craigg eyed him suspiciously. "Y-you know about that? You know that's what I called him?"

"Yes, we know. He's our friend. He told us before he went on his mission. What we need you to tell us is whether you've heard from him - or of him. We know Miss Dulac was captured, but we don't know how much she told those people. Do you know?"

The man on the floor in front of him sank back down again and looked away.

"I d-didn't tell them anything," he murmured miserably. "Nothing they didn't already know from ... from her. A good actress, she was. A beautiful woman."

He held up the hand that was clasped so tightly and stared at the object he held in it for a moment.

"What did she tell them?" Oliver asked gently.

Craigg lowered his arm once more. "Too much," he whispered hoarsely.

"About Mr. Ma... Hood?" Gideon prompted further.

The man nodded. "Everything," he breathed. "Th-they told me. They w-wanted me to tell them more. I t-tried to fight them. I did try, but ..."

"What did you tell them?"

"Only about the potion. The potion that was kept here. And their man in prison. And the boy."

"What boy?" Gideon demanded sharply.

"He came here," Craigg said almost dreamily. He seemed to be drifting slowly towards unconsciousness now. "He came to see Mr. Hood ... no, no, Mr. Marley. That's right. That's his name. You said so ..." He stared at Oliver. "You said that was his name."

"Yes, yes, I said that," Oliver confirmed. "But what about Mr. Marley?"

"They got him," Craigg said, his speech becoming slurred now.

"What do you mean, they got him?" Gideon shook Craigg by the shoulder. "What have they done to him? Did they kill him? Craigg!"

But Angus Craigg's head had sagged onto his chest.

"Is he dead?" Benjy repeated the question he had asked to begin with.

Oliver felt Craigg's wrist, then his neck. Finally, he nodded. Looking down at the still tightly clenched hand, he prised the fingers apart to reveal a long, slim, black cigarette holder.

* * *

Aurora was still lying in bed, looking at the pages of a book Gordon had kindly brought her earlier, but not really seeing them. She was feeling a little less shaken by now, and a little less sick. Instead, a numbness was starting to creep over her that was almost worse to bear, though oddly enough it was combined with a feeling of restlessness, and wish to get out of bed and do something. But she could not summon the energy, nor did she feel she had the strength to stand. She wished fervently for something, anything, to take her mind off her own forced inactivity. It was therefore with a considerable amount of relief that she answered the knock on her door with a swift call of "Come in."

She smiled. It was Frank who had come into the room and closed the door behind him, returning her smile with a mixture of uncertainty and concern.

"How's the patient?" he asked, approaching the bed.

"Feeling exceedingly impatient," she informed him. "I'm desperate to get out of bed, but somehow I just can't be bothered to do it."

"I don't think you should," he said. "You should have a good, long rest. Relax."

"I've been relaxing all night and for most of the day."

"My mother says that relaxing is not merely lying on your bed doing nothing - it's lying on your bed thinking nothing."

"Your mother's very wise. All right then, I haven't been relaxing. I've been lying here all day thinking, remembering ... and I don't want to think or remember any more. I can't relax, so I want something else to occupy my mind."

"Try this," Frank said, and with a flourish rather like that of a conjurer pulling a live rabbit out of a hat, he produced Cheesy the rat from his pocket.

"Oh!" Aurora exclaimed, taking the tiny creature up in her hands and hugging it to her.

"I thought you'd be pleased to see him."

"How did you get him here? It's most unlike him to let anyone carry him about like that. He won't normally even get into my pockets, let alone anyone else's."

"So I noticed. He chewed right through my other pocket. Luckily, James has always been rather good at transfiguring cloth to make it hard." Frank slipped his hand in his pocket, knocked his finger against the inside and it emitted a dull metallic clunk. "However, it also makes one feel slightly lopsided - the weight, you know."

He took his cloak off and draped it over the back of the chair, which he pulled up to sit on, only to leap back to his feet immediately with a yelp. Aurora was about to enquire anxiously what was the matter when he held up a lump of wool and a pair of knitting needles. To her surprise, after looking at them for a second, he began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Aurora asked.

"When I first saw your aunt," he explained, checking the chair for any more dangerous traps before sitting down, "she struck me as the kind of person who leaves knitting needles lying around amongst the sofa cushions."

Aurora smiled. "As you've just seen, you were quite right. Though this little experiment was quite unnecessary. You could have just asked me."

"I'm sure it would have been less painful," Frank said, rubbing the spot where the needles had poked him.

He then looked across at Aurora, his smile fading once more to be replaced by that concern she had first noticed when he entered the room. After a moment he seemed to realise he was staring, for he looked away hastily. For a while, neither of them said anything. Aurora sat stroking Cheesy until he scurried off across the bedclothes to examine his new surroundings, while Frank stared at the floor with Aunt Enid's knitting still in his hands.

"About Christmas," he began at last, hurriedly, at the same time as Aurora had been about to speak.

She smiled again, cocked her head to one side and said,

"Yes?"

"Well ... I know I rather ... blurted out that question last night ... you know, whether you'd like to come. It occurred to me that ... I probably shouldn't have said, not then ... you were exhausted and probably glad to see the back of me ..."

Aurora shook her head vehemently. "Don't be silly. I was glad you invited me - us - to come to your place at Christmas. Of course, if you'd rather not have us round after all ..."

"Oh no," he said quickly, "it isn't that. I just thought that ... maybe it wasn't the best time to ask. You were in a state and I ... well, I hope you don't think I was taking advantage ..."

"What?" Aurora exclaimed, incredulous. "Taking advantage? By kindly inviting me to Christmas dinner?"

Frank started to go red. "I ... just ... well ..."

"You just what?"

"I ... suppose the fact is I didn't believe anyone in their right mind would agree to come so readily."

"And what made you think that?"

He shrugged. "You being the kind of girl you are. I thought you might rather be at some party ... having a good time ... with friends."

"But we are friends, Frank," Aurora said softly.

He went redder still. "I hoped so."

"Well then." Aurora smiled. "I said I wanted to come because, believe it or not, I do want to come. And what's more I'm looking forward to it. I can't wait to meet your parents and your Uncle Algie with his fascinating stories, and to see your house and everything. I meant it last night and I mean it now. And I don't want to hear any more doubts from you or I shall start to think you're trying to wriggle out of it."

"Never," he said with feeling.

"Good. Then that's settled."

Silence fell again, a silence in which Aurora watched Cheesy, who was now climbing down onto the floor, while Frank wrestled with another matter that was on his mind. He had not told Aurora yet about her flat. No one had told her. She had no idea. Ought he to tell her now? He studied her face. She was pale, it was true, but she looked less scared, less ill than she had done yesterday. If she knew that Death Eaters had visited her flat, that they had caused an explosion there, killed several muggles, and all out of rage because they hadn't found her there ...

"Something else on your mind?" Aurora asked suddenly, startling him.

Frank looked up. Her eyes were mildly enquiring, her lips still smiling ... Should he tell her now and shatter her moment of peace?

"Nothing," he lied, coming to a decision. Tomorrow would do just as well.

* * *

The Order Reconvenes

The group around the table at Gryffindor Hall was shrouded in silence. There was Alastor Moody, his recently acquired wooden leg stretched out sideways under Mundungus Fletcher's chair. Beside him came Dedalus Diggle, whose violet top hat lay on the table beside him, so that half the people present could barely see the little man, enquiring from Frank in hushed tones how Aurora was doing now. There was Oliver McKinnon, staring blankly down at the table in front of him as though his mind were elsewhere. Gideon Prewett sat beside him as usual. He was talking to Benjy Fenwick, who was joining the group for the first time. Edgar Bones sat on Benjy's other side, exchanging a greatly limited number of words with the habitually taciturn Dorcas Meadowes. Bridget had slid silently into the seat next to her. Sirius stuffed a much-used handkerchief into his pocket and took the next seat, followed by Pippa Pettigrew and then Peter. Faith, who had insisted on being present on this occasion since it concerned her so deeply, listened with half an ear to his muttered hopes that all would be well. John was beside her, and next to him sat Remus. Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore and Gordon Gryffindor completed the circle. As usual, not all the members of the Order were present at the meeting, though the gathering was quite a large one.

The few voices that were speaking were silenced immediately when Dumbledore cleared his throat. He looked around at each of them and smiled gently, spreading his hands out on the table.

"Once again, as so many times before, I thank you all for coming, my friends. It means a lot to me that you all still seem to be showing so much confidence in me, though I dare say more than one of you has had doubts in the past twenty-four hours as to whether quite such a course of action - or should I say inaction - was really necessary."

His shrewd blue eyes met those of Sirius across the table. Sirius neither blinked nor avoided his former headmaster's gaze, nor did his expression soften. He spoke bluntly.

"I haven't changed my mind," he said obstinately. "I still say we should have acted at once."

"And what would you have done, Black?" Professor McGonagall demanded sharply. "Gone barging in on You-Know-Who and a collection of the most powerful of his followers and demanded they surrender Mr. Marley - or Travers, as he may still have been to them - to us? I believe I could give you their answer in two words ..."

"Thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore cut across her, his eyes twinkling despite the gravity of the situation. Once again, typically, his deputy headmistress was not letting her own views on the matter stop her from taking up his cause with a passion. "I do not blame Sirius for, effectively, blaming me. I understand that on the face of it, once we knew that Malcolm's cover might possibly have been compromised, we should have acted to bring him out of harm's way immediately. Yet I had hoped that the capture of Mademoiselle Dulac by the Death Eaters need not necessarily mean that he had been discovered, and that we might retain the advantage he has hitherto given us, of having a man on the inside, for as long as possible."

"When you say you had hoped," Faith spoke out to everyone's surprise, "does that mean that you now have proof - of the contrary?"

The momentary twinkle vanished from Dumbledore's eyes as he turned his head to look at her.

"I am afraid," he said slowly, "that discoveries made today have indeed confirmed our fears."

Faith bit her lip and reached for John's hand under the table, but said nothing more. Sirius felt Bridget tremble beside him, and put his arm around her shoulder.

"What discoveries have been made, Professor?" he asked calmly.

Instead of replying, Dumbledore looked in the direction of Oliver, Gideon and Benjy. The three of them exchanged looks. Gideon was silently voted spokesman. In a few short and concise sentences, he explained what they had witnessed at the Better Days Theatre, and what Angus Craigg had told them.

"So you know that he was captured," Edgar Bones said thoughtfully, "but you don't know what became of him after that?"

"That's right, sir," Gideon replied. "He died before he could tell us whether ..." - his eyes flickered to Bridget for a second - "... any rescue attempt would be too late."

"Speaking of rescue attempts," Dumbledore took over swiftly, "I sent Fawkes to Slytherin's Rock today to spy out the lay of the land, as it were. And I am sorry to say that, as I feared, the fortress is impenetrable. The island cannot be reached by either apparition or use of a portkey. No witch or wizard would be permitted to land from the air either. The only way to gain the black shore, apparently, is by boat. However, anyone who got that far would then have the thick, solid walls of the fortress itself to deal with, riddled with anti-intruder jinxes and curses to repel unwanted guests. It would appear that the only way in is through the front door."

Sirius flashed a look across at John. The latter hesitated, then turning to Dumbledore he said slowly,

"There might be another way. I presume your phoenix surveyed the island from above, he would not have flown low around the castle walls?"

"That is correct," said Dumbledore, the eyes between his half-moon spectacles suddenly sharp and maybe, just a little, suspicious.

John leaned forwards eagerly. "Isn't it possible that there is another way in, one that the Death Eaters don't know about? I mean, the fortress must be many years old. Buildings that old tend to crumble in places, don't they? Couldn't - couldn't Voldemort's fortress have crumbled? Isn't it possible the sea air has corroded the brickwork in places?"

"Are you suggesting a hole, Mr. Lupin?" Dorcas Meadowes asked doubtfully.

"I am," said John.

"It would be rather a ... mundane method of entry," Edgar Bones put forward.

"The simple way is sometimes the best," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving John's face. "It is not always the most complex plan that leads to the greatest success."

"But surely this is all pure speculation," Professor McGonagall put in. "If Slytherin's Rock is as vulnerable to the wind and weather as any other building, if there happens to be a hole, if it is in a place that can be reached without arousing suspicion, if it has so far gone undetected and is not as strongly hexed and guarded as the rest of the walls ..."

"I do not believe that John would have brought this up if it were purely speculation," Dumbledore said quietly. "Am I right, John?"

"Yes."

Sirius stiffened inwardly and gritted his teeth, but was careful not to make a move, nor to catch either Remus's or Peter's eye at this moment. The next few seconds seemed to stretch for ever, while most people around the table waited for John to elaborate on the source of his information, but he did no such thing. Finally, Dumbledore looked away from him, and instead performed another of his sweeps of the table.

"Well then, I do believe we have a plan. This hole in the wall is our best chance, for there is no way any of us could enter through the front door without being detected at once. The Death Eaters will be well alerted to the possibility of our using polyjuice potion to disguise ourselves by now. I suggest that a small group from among those assembled here now, equipped with invisibility cloaks if necessary, make their way to the Rock tonight. I will nominate no one, however. I won't make out that the chances of success are very high. Whoever volunteers will be entering into the lion's den ... or perhaps 'the snake's lair' would be more appropriate."

"I'll go," John said at once.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I thought you would." He did not look happy - though not as unhappy as Faith looked.

"I'll need to borrow someone's cloak though," John added.

"I can get you a cloak," said Mundungus Fletcher, looking up for the first time from the pipe he had been fiddling with. "I could get cloaks for all of you."

"How many times the usual market price would you be asking, Dung?" Sirius enquired snidely.

Mundungus snorted. "Still 'Mr. Fletcher' to you, young man," he said gruffly.

Sirius grinned, then looked at Dumbledore.

"I'd like to go, sir."

Bridget opened her mouth to protest, but the headmaster was quicker.

"I'm afraid I should think it most inadvisable for anyone with a bad head cold to join the party, Sirius. You might sneeze and give the game away."

Sirius scowled, but he could not protest.

"I think those of us who don't need cloaks should go along, whatever," Edgar Bones suggested. "I, for one, haven't needed a cloak in order to disappear for years."

"The same applies to me," Gordon announced. "I will go along. My cloak I have no longer. I gave it to my grandson. But I'm sure he will lend it to you," he said to John.

"I will use my cloak myself," said Dorcas Meadowes.

"I've got a cloak I'm happy to volunteer for use," Alastor Moody said. "I'd come along myself, but this ..." - he tapped his wooden leg with his fist - "... has rather put a stop to any stealthiness on my part."

"Then let me take it," Pippa's voice offered quietly, though Remus, Frank, Oliver, Gideon and Benjy had all clearly been about to volunteer the same. "Please," she added. "I want to do this."

"Very well," Dumbledore said slowly. "Then let that be enough. It is not an idle turn of phrase that too many house-elves spoil the porridge, nor that one should not put all one's nifflers in one pumpkin patch. Dorcas, Gordon, Edgar, Philippa, John ... I wish you the best of luck."

At this, everyone began to leave their seats and file out of the room, one by one, talking in muffled voices. Peter, Sirius and Remus began descending the stairs together.

"Hang this damn cold," Sirius swore under his breath. "I could've helped them all a lot, I could have showed them where to get in."

"Shhh," Remus hissed as Dedalus Diggle and Mundungus passed them. "Someone will hear you."

"Why you?" Peter asked in a whisper. "How do you know?"

Sirius tapped the side of his nose. "Sniffed it out myself. Or you might say Padfoot did."

Peter's watery blue eyes widened. "Y-you? You mean you actually ... you went there?"

"Yes," Remus sighed. "Disregarding all possible consequences, as usual."

"I don't see what you've got to complain about," Sirius said briskly. "It's your uncle I was trying to help out."

Remus paused in his tracks. Sirius and Peter went on a few steps, then also stopped. Sirius looked back over his shoulder.

"What's up?"

"You make it sound as if I were ungrateful, Sirius. I'm not."

It was Sirius's turn to sigh. "Well, you have a funny way of showing it sometimes, you've got to admit. Pointing out what I shouldn't have done rather than just being glad I found something out, which no one else seems to have done. For all Dumbledore's talk, I still reckon this could all have been over with by now if we'd acted at once."

"But then we wouldn't have had the advantage of knowing about that hole, would we?" Peter said.

Shaking his head with a grin, Sirius slapped Peter on the back.

"You've got a point there, Wormtail. Well, at least something's being done now. With any luck it'll all be over in a couple of hours and everyone will be back safe and sound. Meanwhile, we've got to hang around and wait while others get all the excitement. Mind you, there might be something to do here, too."

All three of them had continued down the stairs, but now it was Sirius who paused.

"What are you thinking of?" Remus asked him.

Sirius shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, nothing in particular. It's just ... You two go on down. I think I might pay Aurora a little visit. See how she's doing. I thought I'd heard voices last nigh ... might have known they'd bring her here."

"Aurora?" Remus repeated suspiciously. "Sirius, I thought that was all over and done with."

"Well, it was. Until last night. She was pretty impressive, don't you think? What she managed to do, and how she handled it ..."

"Yes, but ..."

"There's no harm in my popping in to see her, and tell her what she's been missing."

"I think it would be better if you didn't, Sirius."

Remus was frowning.

"Oh, come on, Moony," Sirius said lightly. "Don't go all moral on me. Just because it's dark out."

"That's got nothing to do with it, and you know it. Sirius, you should know ... you helped arrange ..."

"What? For Frank to pluck up the courage and speak to her? So what? I've given him his chance, that doesn't mean I have to deny myself my own."

"Don't you think you've hurt her enough?" Remus asked cautiously.

Sirius gave gim a scowl not unlike the one with which he had looked at Dumbledore.

"I don't see what business it is of ..." he began, but then he broke off.

Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen the great front doors in the hall below open. Two figures entered, the taller off the two dusting freshly fallen snow off both their cloaks.

"It's James and Lily," Peter said unnecessarily, for the other two had recognised them just as quickly.

"Come," Sirius said to both of them, all anger gone from his voice in an instant as he led the way down the stairs.

James was helping Lily off with her cloak when the three reached them. Her back was to the rest of the hall. Passing the damp cloaks to the house elf that had just obligingly appeared from out of nowhere, James looked across Lily's shoulder at his three best friends. The expression on his face did not bode well.

"Have you come straight from St. Mungo's?" Sirius asked him.

James nodded. He leaned forward to speak to Lily quietly. She nodded and he took her gently by the elbow. She turned around ever so slowly, but it was no surprise to Remus, Sirius or Peter to see her face stained with tears, her eyes red and swollen. Neither of them seemed able to think of anything to say.

Turning to Sirius, James asked, "Mum still here?"

"Upstairs, I think."

"Has anything been decided?"

"A couple of volunteers are setting off any minute now. John will need your cloak."

"Then I'll just run up and give it to him. Do you want to come?" he asked Lily softly.

"N-no." Her voice was shaky. "I'll wait here."

He kissed her. "I won't be long."

James and Sirius hurried towards and up the broad staircase, leaving Remus and Peter standing by the door with Lily. It was not long, however, before Peter spotted his sister coming down towards them, muttered an apology and rushed over to speak to her. When he had gone, Remus finally seemed to find his voice again.

"Lily," he said quietly, "I can't tell you how sorry I am. I can barely imagine how you must feel, and ..."

She gave a strangled little cry and buried her face in one hand, the other fumbling in her pocket for a handkerchief. Remus watched helplessly.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked. "Anything I can get you?"

She shook her head. "No. Thank you."

He remembered how she had tried to comfort and reassure him only last night, and put out a hand to touch her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, still with that feeling of helplessness.

Lily went on crying. A few moments later, Remus was relieved to hear a rush of familiar footsteps behind him. James had returned and Remus's parents were with him. His mother embraced Lily without hesitation.

"My dear, I'm so, so, sorry," she whispered gently. "Come, let's find you a spot to sit down for a minute. It won't be long, I'm sure, then everyone will be leaving and James can take you home. Unless you'd rather come and stay with us ..."

"N-no, I must go home," Lily sobbed. "My mother's got a friend with her at the moment, but I've got to get back to her."

"Of course, dear," Faith agreed soothingly, leading her through a door into the drawing room.

"Well, thanks for this," John said to James once they had disappeared from view, patting the shimmering cloak over his arm.

"You're welcome. I only hope you have more luck than ... well ..."

John nodded.

* * *

Back upstairs, Bridget had hung back behind everyone else when they left the room until only she, Dumbledore and her father were left. Dumbledore smiled kindly at her.

"Is there anything we can do for you, my dear?" he asked.

"I wanted," she said, "to speak to my father for a moment."

"I see." Dumbledore rose. "In that case, Gordon, I shall be in your magnificent study. I would very much like a word before you leave."

Gordon nodded. Smiling at Bridget once more, Dumbledore left the room and closed the door behind him. Silence fell for a moment, a silence in which Gordon studied his daughter closely while she avoided his eyes altogether. At last he prompted her,

"You wanted to speak to me?"

"Yes," she said, still hesitating. "I do, I ... it's about John."

"John?" he echoed. "Why John?"

She sat down, clasping her hands on the table before her to keep them from shaking as they were wont to do.

"I'm worried about him. I know he'd do anything, anything, to bring Malcolm back. I'm just afraid that he won't take the necessary care ... of himself."

"I thought that bringing Malcolm back was the whole point of tonight's excursion. It's what you want, isn't it?"

"More than anything," Bridget said with fervour. "But I also want ... oh, I can't put it any other way," she said irritably. "I want John back too. I know it seems selfish to want so much all at once, but ... please, Father ..." - she looked at him intently, her wide brown eyes appealing to him - "... promise me you'll look out for him, keep him safe."

The erect frame of Gordon Gryffindor seemed to sag a little in his chair as he looked back at her, but she seemed unaware of it, as unaware as she was of the deeply concealed hurt behind those iron-grey eyes. To her he looked solid as a rock, unwavering as she had always known him, even relentless. He bowed his head slowly.

"I'll do what I can."

"Thank you," she breathed, and smiled at him.

But he did not smile back. Instead, he got to his feet and walked straight past her to the door. He had pulled it open and was halfway out into the hall when she rose herself and called after him,

"Father - be careful."

He hesitated a moment, just a moment, then strode on along the passage. Bridget began to follow more slowly. Sirius came up to her quickly.

"I think you'd better come downstairs," he said. "James and Lily are there, they just arrived a couple of minutes ago. Lily's in a terrible state. Apparently they got her dad to St. Mungo's too late."

Bridget stared at him. "You mean ...?"

"Yes," Sirius said miserably. "He's dead."

* * *

It was time to go. Everyone had assembled in the downstairs hall, everyone except Dumbledore, who was conspicuous by his absence. There were many hugs and good wishes all round. Bridget now had her arm around Lily, who looked tearfully up at John when he approached her. He kissed both of them on the cheek, shook hands with Peter, Sirius and James, then turned to his wife. Faith was shaky, but apparently resolved not to break down, though fear was plainly visible in every line of her face. John embraced and kissed her tenderly.

"Don't worry, my love," he said, as it seemed he had so often done before. "I'll see you soon."

She let him go with more reluctance than ever. He turned towards Remus und hugged him warmly, too.

"Look after your mother until I get back, won't you?"

Remus nodded tightly. "I'd rather be coming with you."

"That would be too much to ask her to cope with. The best thing you can do is stay with her."

"I will," Remus promised. "Until you get back."

John smiled. "I won't be long."

* * *

Missing

Tipton on the Moor was bathed in moonlight. The snow sparkled like so much silver bedecking the ground, the trees, the houses. Somewhere a dog was giving off muffled barks, apparently requesting to be let out one last time before his owners settled down for the night. The only other sound on the village square was that of suppressed giggling issuing from the bench that was tucked away a little, around the corner of the paper shop. Here Bobby, the boy whose snowball had so narrowly missed striking Frank Longbottom on the side of the head the previous day, was wrapped around the girl with the orange hat whom he had referred to as 'Gladdy'. It was her giggling that broke the silence as he kissed her playfully, and her squeals of "Oooh, Bobby" that caught the attention of the group of shadowy figures that had just materialised from out of nowhere in the middle of the square. Nodding to the others, one of them led the way, pulling a hood up over his head and a mask over his face.

It was quite a different sort of squeal that escaped Gladdy's mouth when she saw him appear out of the darkness right behind Bobby. The young boy spun round, perhaps expecting to be confronted by an angry father or protective older brother. Instead, he found himself face to face with something he had hitherto seen only in the books his mother had read him when he was younger: a wand, directed straight at his chest.

"What the 'eck ..." he began. "Don't you people know 'alloween only comes round once a year?"

"Tell us where Miss Borealis lives."

Thinking that, whoever these people were, they must be madder than 'Old Miss B' herself, Bobby drew himself up.

"No, I don't think I will, actually - bloody 'ell!"

He sprang to his feet as the figure facing him spoke two words he did not understand. There was a blindingly bright flash of green light - Bobby froze, having risen only halfway from his seat, and slumped back, moving no more. Gladdy screamed. The masked figure whose wand had emitted the flash of green turned its attention to her now.

"Your turn now, muggle girl. Where does Miss Borealis live?"

Gladdy hurriedly jerked a shaking hand towards the lane, muttering as she did,

"D-don't hurt me, please, please don't hurt me!"

One of the other figures stepped forward, wand drawn, and gave it a flick. Screaming at the top of her voice so that doors and windows all around the square were flung open wide, the girl was lifted up into the air by her ankle. A few of the masked figures set off down the lane that she had indicated. The rest remained in the square, ready to receive the people who were now running down their garden paths to see what was going on.

* * *

Three flicks of the wand and the bolts flew shut. A tap at each window and the shutters closed tightly. Another flick and bolts shot across each of them, too. Alastor Moody slid his wand back in his pocket and removed his foeglass from the hook by the door, carrying it with him into the living room of his flat and placing it on the coffee table in front of the gas fire. He slumped into an old and tattered-looking arm chair and drew his wand once more. One flick and the illusion of the gas fire vanished, to be replaced by a fireplace of solid brickwork, in which orange flames began to dance immediately, as though they had never been absent. Another flick, and a bottle of firewhisky and tumbler appeared out of thin air. He waited for the glass to fill, then snatched it and the bottle out of the air, placing the latter on the table alongside the foeglass, and raising the former to his lips to take a generous sip.

He stared into the fire, trying to see the flames and not what his mind was showing him, visions of the Crowes' dead faces, frozen in expressions of horror, visions of the girl he had trained since she had left school what seemed like a lifetime ago, though in reality it had been barely half a year. Why, he wondered, did such short spaces of time seem so long these days? Presumably because so much had happened in the past few months. And wasn't it always the way - when things were good and life was treating you well, years passed by so quickly that they seemed like months, but when disaster followed disaster, day by day, months stretched into an eternity, time seemed to crawl by and you wondered whether you would be stuck in this one long moment of horror forever. A moment of horror. The Crowe girl. Gemma. She had been good. Determined, dedicated, unafraid. A credit to the house that had been hers at Hogwarts. And now a mere memory, and a revolting one at that. Who had done that to her - what had done that to her? Ripped and torn her, left her to bleed to death. A girl, barely of age. A girl that had been one of his charges, his responsibility. And what of her brother? Where was he? Just a child ... gone, vanished, missing. Would they ever find him?

He stared deeper into the flames, trying to picture the photograph of the boy he had seen ... suddenly he gave a start. Eyes were staring back at him, real eyes, not projected there by his imagination.

"Merlin's beard!" Moody exclaimed, jumping a few inches off his seat.

The young man whose head was floating in his fireplace was apologetic.

"I-I'm sorry to startle you, Mr. Moody. I realise you can hardly have been expecting any calls at this time of night, but I'm afraid I didn't know who else to turn to."

Recovering from his initial shock, Moody said gruffly,

"That's all right ... err ... Lance, right?"

"Yes," said Lance Lovegood, pushing his glasses up his nose with a long, slim index finger.

"Well, what can I do for you?" Moody enquired.

"It's ... well, I may be worrying about nothing at all, but these days ... one can't be too careful. And it is late, after all ..."

"Look," said Moody, "It's been a long, hard day. The sooner you come to the point, the more I'd appreciate it."

"Yes, yes, of course. Well, I did try at the Ministry first, but they couldn't help me, you see, and ... well, the fact is, Mr. Moody ... it's my sister. She went out to the Ministry this morning ... and she hasn't come back."