Three Animagi and a Werewolf

Chapter 29: Something Gained, Something Lost

Facing Death

James and Lily apparated side by side just by the garden gate outside her front door. James had held her hand tightly all the way, worried that she might be too distracted to apparate properly on her own. Her footsteps faltered on the path. Putting his arm around her, James said,

"There's still time to accept Faith's offer, you know. You don't have to face it all just yet. Or you could even come back home with me. Mum would be only to happy to take care of you for a bit, I'm sure. It might even help take her mind off things ..."

But Lily, drawing herself up a little, shook her head.

"No, thank you," she said. "What happened to Dad ... it happened because I'm a witch. No, let me finish, James," she forestalled his protests, "I know it isn't my fault, and I don't blame myself, not really. He told me to get help, because he knew I was the only one who could, and I did that. I couldn't have prevented it, I know ... but still ... if I hadn't been a witch, I wouldn't have known Rory, I wouldn't have been mixed up in all this and ... and I wouldn't have gone to the flat, and he wouldn't have gone there either. If I hadn't been a witch, he'd still be ..."

Her voice choked before she could complete her sentence.

"Maybe," James conceded. "All the same, it might be better if you allowed yourself some time before ..."

Once again, Lily shook her head.

"I know you mean well, James. But Mum needs me now. She's got a friend with her who's a dear, but doesn't know the first thing about magic. She has no idea what really happened. Mum's had to tell her Dad had a car accident."

"Oh dear."

James felt his words to be extremely inadequate. He could only hope that Lily realised he understood very well what she was saying. It must be awful for her mother, he thought, to have just lost her husband and be comforted only by someone who had no idea how he had really died. He accompanied Lily to the front door, and waited while she unlocked it to let them in. They had barely crossed the threshold and begun removing their cloaks when a shrill voice fell upon their ears.

"You!"

Petunia, her face white as a ghost's, had apparently just been passing through the hall when they had entered. She was staring at them now, her eyes burning red and her face contorted with fury.

"How dare you?" she shrieked. "How dare you come back here after what you've done?"

"Pet, ..." Lily began meekly stepping forward, but her sister cut across her sharply.

"Don't you use that name to me. Don't you even speak to me!"

Her angry cries brought their mother and Vernon out into the hall.

"Petunia," Rose Evans admonished gently. Her eyes, too, were very red, and her voice was both sad and tired. "There's no cause to speak to your sister like that."

"No cause?!" Petunia cried. "No cause? Can't you see this is all her fault? The evil-eyed, wheedling little freak! I knew no good could come of it. I knew it! And now look what she's done."

"She hasn't done anything," said her mother. "Please calm down, dear. Be reasonable."

Petunia snorted. "You won't admit it, will you, Mother? You just can't face it. Just because she was always 'such a pretty little thing'. Everybody's darling. The calculating little witch," she spat. "Even now that she's killed Father ..."

"Petunia!" Mrs. Evans's voice rose in anger of her own.

Lily simply stared at her sister, her face equally white as Petunia's now. Vernon Dursley, meanwhile, looked quite bewildered, his eyes darting from one woman's face to the other as he attempted to make sense of what was going on.

"Yes, you killed him," Petunia fairly snarled at Lily. "If it hadn't been for you, he'd still be alive. If it hadn't been for you ..."

But James had had enough. Petunia might only be repeating what Lily herself had put forward moments before, but he would not have it. One hand balled tightly into a fist, the other closed around the wand in his pocket, he took a few steps towards Lily's older sister and glowered at her.

"Shut up," he said coldly, and his eyes flashed dangerously. "Talk to Lily like that one more time and I promise you, you'll regret it."

"Now look here," Vernon began, but Petunia held up her hand to silence him. She had taken a step back from James, fear now taking over from the anger she had been displaying a moment ago. "Petunia?" Vernon prompted anxiously, apparently not sure what to make of her reactions.

"Wait for me outside, Vernon."

"But, Petunia ... my dear ..."

"I'll be out in a moment," she snapped.

Hesitating briefly, Vernon nonetheless went out as instructed. Petunia, regaining some of her composure, turned to her mother.

"I knew something bad would come of having a witch in the family," she insisted. "And I was right, wasn't I? Come with us, Mother. The safest thing to do is to forget you ever had another daughter and go on living a normal life ..."

Rose said, returned to the sad and tired tone she had had before, "Are you asking me to choose between the two of you? You're both my children. Your father's children ..." Her voice quavered. "How can you ask me to choose between you ... now, of all times?"

Petunia looked taken aback, but she went on, "I'm only thinking of your safety."

Her mother shook her head, tears now filling her eyes, and turned away. Petunia stared at her back for a moment, then she glared at Lily.

"I hate you," she breathed furiously. "I've always hated you, from the moment you were born. I knew there was something wrong with you, right from the beginning. I knew you were bad luck. Well, this is the last straw. I've had enough. I never want to see you again, or to hear from you. Is that quite clear? Stay away from me. From now on ... I don't have a sister."

And with those words, she walked out through the front door to rejoin Vernon. Lily stared at the closed door for quite some time. Then she turned around and looked helplessly at James. Feeling both profoundly uncomfortable at what he had just witnessed, and deeply sorry for her, he took her in his arms. Lily began to cry again.

Her mother turned around to look at them both where they stood in her hall.

"I ... err ... I thought you had a friend round," James said awkwardly.

"I did," Lily's mother replied. "She left when Petunia and Vernon arrived. She seemed to think it best for the family to be together."

Lily sobbed harder still. Rose Evans came over and put one arm around Lily's back. Her other hand was now holding a handkerchief up to her face. James freed one arm from Lily and put it around her mother. With both women crying against him now, he could not help but think to himself, *Well, the family is together.*

* * *

The fireplace in the small tower room on Slytherin's Rock gave off a pale, flickering glow as its flames began to waver and go out. Flakes of snow flecked the night sky beyond the slit-like windows, many of them settling in the narrow opening, some drifting right into the chamber. On the bunk, Malcolm was sleeping deeply, oblivious to the world around him. There was a faint smile on his face.

He was back in London, and it was springtime, a pleasant evening on Tower Hill. The air was warm and alive with the sound of voices laughing and talking all around. The sun was setting, casting a magical kind of glow one the outer wall of the one-time prison, its rays reflecting dazzlingly off the struts and beams of Tower Bridge. A young family walked by, two children with vanilla ice creams held up to their mouths while their parents discussed plans of visiting Westminster tomorrow. A little further away, a couple of boys were throwing a ball to an eager Labrador who barked joyfully at intervals.

All this Malcolm drank in like a man tasting his first drops of water after a long trek through the desert. Sensing a movement by his side, he turned his head that way and saw, as he now realised he had expected to see, Bridget standing there, smiling contentedly. He sighed. What a beautiful world it was, after all. What reason was there to fret, to be miserable and depressed, to experience fear and loneliness, when moments such as this were to be had, moments of peace and tranquillity and happiness and love. Even as he thought the last word, Bridget turned her face towards him. He reached out a hand for her.

Yet, though she continued to smile, Bridget did not take it. Slowly, gradually, her smile seemed to grow empty, like the smile of a wax figure, a mere pale replica of the original, devoid of emotion. The brown eyes that he had thought were looking at him seemed now to be staring through him, seeing something beyond him or worse - seeing nothing at all. He watched in horror as the smile faded and Bridget, without moving a muscle, began to drift away from him, faster and faster the more he stretched out his hand to touch her.

"Bridget," he muttered in his sleep, twisting and turning on his bunk. "Bridget, darling ..."

She was slipping away, there was nothing he could do to stop it, he couldn't reach her.

"Bridget ..."

He was running now, running flat out along a narrow alleyway, fear cloying his senses until he could barely see or hear or breathe.

"Bridget! Bridget!"

There she was, a figure in a black hooded cloak not far away now, her back was to him but he was getting closer, closer ... the figure turned. With a shock he say that it was not Bridget at all, not even a woman, but Vindictus Lothian, and he was smiling with a kind of cruel contentment that threatened to freeze the blood in Malcolm's veins.

"No," he murmured, then suddenly screamed it. "No!"

He twitched awake with a jolt so sudden that the force of it nearly hurled him off his bed. Sweat covered his brow. He mopped it with his shirt sleeve and lay breathing heavily in the uncomfortable position in which he now found himself, unable to move, to even think about moving. There was only one thought in his mind. Bridget. He had dreamt of Bridget. Here, of all places. Right under the nose of not only God knew how many Death Eaters, but of Lord Voldemort himself. If the Dark Lord found out ... Malcolm swore under his breath. He mustn't think of her. Whatever happened, however bad things got, he must not allow himself to think of her again. It was over, and any memories of her that he might have could only mean danger to her. All along he had been determined not to let on that he knew her, knew where she was, what name she was using. Even in his letter ... He had wanted so much to write down his feelings. When Dobby had brought him the parchment and quill he had asked for, his first impulse had been to fill pages and pages with apologies, with assurances that his love for her had never wavered until the end, that it would endure even beyond death ... But he had not dared to do so. For all Dobby's assurances, there was still a risk his letter might be intercepted, might be read by someone other than those it was intended for. He hoped that this would not happen, but there was no guarantee. If someone discovered what the house elf was doing ...

A thought suddenly occurred to him. Where was Dobby? Judging by how weak he felt, there must have been another dose since the last one he remembered. So why hadn't the elf turned up with the potion yet? Surely nothing had gone wrong, had it?

* * *

The Lupins' living room was plunged into silence but for the crackling of the flames that danced in the grate, merry and unconcerned as on any normal evening, a stark contrast to the faces of the room's occupants.

Bridget and Sirius had left twenty minutes ago, Bridget saying that it was time Sirius took care of the cold she was sure he would get and went back to bed. Faith had offered to have them stay for the night, but Bridget had been quite insistent on going home. Peter, on the other hand, had accepted the same offer gratefully. He had briefly told his mother by floo network that he would be staying the night at Remus's, then said goodbye before she could enquire any further into his reasons for doing so. Now, while Remus had departed for the kitchen, announcing his intention of putting the kettle on, Peter and Faith remained in the living room, and neither of them seemed able to think of anything to say. Faith had taken up and quickly discarded some needlework. Peter was sitting awkwardly on the other end of the sofa, apparently scrutinising the carpet. Moving closer to him, Faith put a hand on his arm.

"Try not to worry too much," she said kindly. "With any luck, your sister will soon be back."

"I hope so," Peter replied without looking up. "I don't know what I'd do if ... if ..." He gulped. "Pippa's always been there for me. She's looked after me. If she ..."

He broke off. Faith nodded sympathetically.

"I know how you feel. For as long as I can remember, Malcolm would tease me. He'd run off with my new colouring books, he'd hang my dolls upside-down from the washing line ... but I always knew that he was on my side really, that he would do anything to protect me. He and John always looked after me."

"Y-you and John have known each other all your lives, haven't you?"

"All my life - yes."

"Have you always ... you know ... loved each other?" Peter asked shyly.

Faith smiled. "I always loved him. But for a long time I was just his best friend's little sister. He and Malcolm were like brothers, and therefore John regarded me as his little sister, too. He took care of me, though, even more than Malcolm did sometimes ... but I was not his first love."

"Well, you're definitely his last," Peter said without thinking, then wished he hadn't and bit his lip. "I didn't mean that he ... only that ... I mean ... I'm sure he'll be fine ..."

Maintaining her smile with a slight effort, Faith patted his arm. "I know what you meant. When I was a girl, I never believed it possible that he could one day come to love me so much. Now it almost frightens me sometimes, to think what would become of him if anything were to happen to me. And then I think of the alternative." She shivered. "I don't think I've ever been as afraid as this in all my life."

"Of course," Peter said understandingly. "With both of them on Slytherin's Rock ... well, that's all your family ..."

"Almost," Faith said softly. "Which reminds me ... I can't hear the kettle whistling yet, can you?"

In the kitchen, Remus had shut the door behind him, the kettle far from his mind. He kept seeing, however much he tried not to, Lily's face. Full of misery, the eyes burning red, the lips trembling. Looking at her, he had felt all too keenly the pain she was going through, and he had known there was nothing anyone could do to ease it. He had first felt then what he was experiencing more strongly than ever now. He had felt a wave of fear coming on, threatening to overpower and drown him in one foul swoop. He was afraid that he might soon be feeling the same way as Lily did - afraid that his father would not be returning from Slytherin's Rock. Panic seized him.

*No, no, please God, not that ...,* he thought.

He felt both hot and cold, numb and as though every nerve in his body were tensed, his heart seemed to be both pounding and threatening to stop beating at the same time. This would not do. He must not panic. His father would be all right, he had said he would be back soon and he would be ... But what if not? What if he never came back? What if he died tonight?

*No. It won't come to that, it won't!*

Once again, Remus told himself he was being silly. Why succumb to grief before there was need to, why expect the worst when there was still hope? Hope ... Once again, Lily's face rose clearly before his eyes. There had been no hope left there, only misery. As he pictured it to himself, Remus was reminded of a conversation he had once had with his father. "It's grief that's horrible, Remus, not death itself," John had said. Remus had tried to understand, had even thought that he did understand what his father was trying to say. But had he really understood? He doubted it. Not until tonight. But now he did understand. Now that he had seen Lily's grief-stricken face, now that he himself was sensing, very near to him now, the possibility that very soon ... More words of his father's came to him out of the past "That's what keeps me awake at night. The fear that something will happen to the people I love, and that I will be left to grieve again." Yes, Remus understood now. Understood better than he liked.

He gripped the back of a chair with all his might to steady himself, slowly forcing down the sick feeling that was rising upwards from his stomach, constricting his throat, trying to stop seeing Lily's face, to stop hearing his father's voice.

*Breathe,* he told himself. *Breathe deeply and slowly. It will be all right.*

"Remus?" his mother's came from behind him, startling him as he had not heard her approach. "Are you all right, dear?"

Remus set his face carefully before turning around.

"Yes," he lied, surprised to find that his voice sounded quite steady. "Fine. And you?"

Faith shivered. "I'm so frightened," she whispered, a catch in her voice.

He came to her and put his arms around her comfortingly.

"Don't worry," he said gently. "It will be all right."

He felt his mother cling to him, and knew what he must do. He must be strong, he must look after her. It was what his father wanted.

*I'll look after her until you get back, Dad,* he thought. And then, urgently, *Please come back.*

* * *

To the Rescue

The volunteers who had set out from Gryffindor Hall sat in their boat in silence, unable to see one another, aware only of the sound of breathing, and of water being parted as they moved rockily across the sea, almost entirely invisible to anyone who might be watching. The cleverly Disillusioned boat made for a point on the side of the isle furthest from the main doors, and there they came ashore among tall black rocks. John drew his wand from the pocket of his winter cloak and, clasping it firmly, turned to look up at the forbidding shape of the fortress that loomed over them. He felt a movement beside him, and automatically turned his head, though he knew he would see no one there. He heard a sound - a queer little gasp.

"Philippa?" he whispered into the darkness.

"What a place," she whispered back. "What an awful place. Oh ..."

"What is it?"

"I ... don't know. I feel ... strange. As though ... death is waiting here."

"Stay here," he suggested quickly. "Wait in the boat, no one will mind. You can keep a lookout, you don't have to come inside."

Pippa's voice was shaky, but at the same time quite determined. "No. I'm coming with you. But ... I'm afraid."

John groped for her hand in the dark, and squeezed it through the invisibility cloaks.

"Stay close to me."

Pippa nodded, then reminding herself that he couldn't see her any more than she could see him, she whispered,

"Thank you."

They proceeded up the rocks, following the muffled sound of the others' footsteps. By mute consent, they all moved as swiftly and quietly as possible until they reached the walls of the fortress.

"Well, here we are," Madam Meadowes said quietly from John and Pippa's left. "Now what?"

"Now we look for a possible hole," said Gordon, with particular emphasis on the last two words.

"And after that?" Pippa asked. "This is a big place. Bigger than I had imagined ... where do we start looking once we're inside?"

"Let's take one step at a time, shall we?" Edgar Bones suggested. "First we get inside. Then, if we survive that, we'll see."

* * *

Frank stood by the French windows in the drawing room, one hand holding the curtains aside, the other resting against the window frame. The room was in darkness, the fire having been allowed to go out hours ago. He had not turned the lights on or even bothered with so much as a candle, knowing that any light behind him would cause him to see only his reflection, rather than the garden outside. By the glow of the moon, nearing the full more and more every night, he watched the snowflakes fall gently down to meet the already snow-bedecked terrace and the trees beyond, covering the small set of steps that led down to the lawn, concealing every bush and shrub.

Frank watched the scene mist over by his breath on the pane, and did not bother to clear it. His thoughts were not in the present, but in the past, albeit only by a couple of hours. He was still at Gryffindor Hall, hearing plans and opinions and anxieties, wishing that there were something he could do to help, but also, secretly, not wanting to go, not wanting to leave the Hall, ever. Not while Aurora was there, oblivious to the danger she found herself in.

But she was safe at the Hall, at least, so his reason told him. Safer than anyone could be anywhere else, save Hogwarts. Nevertheless, there was a part of him that didn't want to listen to reason, that seemed to say she would be so much safer if he were with her. Gryffindor Hall was so far away - or at least, it seemed it. Thank goodness for the floo network.

Just at the moment when this last thought occurred to him, he heard a patter by the door that he recognised at once. Turning round, he was therefore not surprised to be confronted by a small, bald and skinny creature with bat-like ears, bright blue eyes the size of tennis balls that squinted badly and a nose the shape of a squashed peach, wearing a silky pink pillowcase with neatly made arm and leg holes.

"Hello, Perky," he said.

The house elf curtsied. "Good evening, Master Frank. Perky is so, so, so happy to have found you at last. Perky has been looking everywhere, everywhere for you. Perky is not expecting to find you in here with no lights on."

There was no annoyance or reproach at the trouble she had been forced to take in Perky's voice, she was all excited eagerness - Perky, Frank knew, was always eager. Unfortunately, she also always got things wrong. For example, she invariably began her search for people or objects in the most unlikely places, and judging from the cobweb that had draped itself round her left ear, he guessed that, in this case, she had chosen to start looking for him in the attic, or else perhaps garden shed. Tired and worried though he was, he smiled.

"Well, here I am, at your service. What can I do for you?"

"Begging your pardon, Master Frank, but could you go to kitchen? There is a head in the fire wanting badly to speak to you. Perky is always running back and explaining she has not found you yet, and the head is getting crosser and crosser with Perky."

Frank frowned.

"Oh? Whose head?" he enquired.

"A moody head, Master Frank. The head is telling Perky it is moody, but there is really no need for that, because Perky can tell for herself that it is, from the way it keeps telling her off for being too slow."

"Moody?" Frank exclaimed, grasping at once what the elf had not, namely that this was the man's name, not a description of how he was feeling. "We'd better go down and see what he wants quickly!"

"Begging your pardon, Master Frank, but is you minding if Perky waits here? The moody man is not talking very nicely to Perky, and he makes Perky nervous."

She looked up at him anxiously out of those large orbs that were her eyes, her leathery toes twisting inwards as she stood there so that she now looked bandy-legged on top of everything else. Resisting the urge to pat the droll little elf on the head, Frank nodded and hurried past her into the hall and along to the kitchen. Sure enough, looking impatient and closely resembling a thundercloud in the kitchen fire was Moody's head.

"Finally!" the auror cried when Frank came into view. "I was about to give it up as a bad job and set out on my own."

"Set out? Where to?" Frank asked. "Gryffindor Hall? Has anything happened ..."

Moody waved aside his words. "No, no, not the Hall. This has got nothing to do with your little friend. But it has got everything to do with another girl, and one I may say I'd be sorry to see in trouble."

"Who?" Frank asked, but Moody went on almost before the single syllable had quite left his lips.

"Laura Lovegood's gone missing," he announced. "Her brother called to tell me so. Went off to the Ministry this morning, and hasn't been seen or heard of since."

"Oh. And you think ..."

"I don't think anything," Moody said gruffly, "not yet. But I'm off to the Ministry myself now to see what I can find out. The brother's meeting me there, but I'd like you along too. I'd be a fool to go trotting tamely off to the place where one of my colleagues seems to have vanished. Aren't many people about you can really trust these days."

Frank accepted the hidden compliment with a half smile.

"I'll be right along," he promised. "See you in the Atrium?"

* * *

It had proved surprisingly simple to slip into the fortress on Slytherin's Rock through the hole in the wall. Standing in the darkness, still invisible, the little band of volunteers waited for their eyes to adjust themselves, not wanting to risk lighting a wand unless it became absolutely necessary. It felt weird, John thought, to be groping around in the dark, unable to see your companions, and yet knowing that they were there somewhere, listening for footsteps and breathing lest they bump into each other.

They had come out in a cramped sort of chamber, and the bars facing them directly opposite the wall in which the hole had been found told John this must be some kind of dungeon. Luckily, however, the door was unlocked. A fine mess it would have been if they had got easily into the fortress only to find themselves locked in a cell. He doubted whether the door could have been unlocked with a simple Alohomora from the inside.

"I suppose," Pippa whispered beside him, "it would be too much to hope for that your brother-in-law's being held somewhere down here, and we can collect him and slip out the way we came in without being noticed."

"I'm afraid it probably would be, yes," John agreed. "But let's take a look around all the same."

"All right."

Pippa took his hand again and followed him out through the cell door into the narrow passage, which they found to be lined with a number of cells similar to the one they had come through. They went right down to the end of the passage in one direction, coming up to nothing but a brick wall. Turning round, they tried the other way. About four cells along from where they had started, Pippa suddenly gave a muffled cry.

"What is it?" asked Dorcas Meadowes's voice from a little way in front.

"I - I thought I saw something move. It made me jump."

Footsteps converged.

"Can't see a thing," Edgar Bones was heard to grumble. "It's too dark."

"Shh," hissed Madam Meadowes. "Listen."

They listened, all five of them holding their breath. And they heard, very faintly, the sound of someone else breathing. Gordon stepped forward, feeling his way along the bars, as the dungeons were particularly dark just here. Then he stopped.

"The door's open," his surprised voice announced quietly.

He took out his wand just in case and made his way through the opening. The others followed behind him. They stopped just inside the cell, waiting for a sound, another sight of something, anything. Presently, Edgar Bones mumbled,

"This is ridiculous." And then, "Lumos."

The light from his wand cast a beam across the stone floor, and illuminated a figure sitting on the ground by the wall, its knees drawn up, its head bent forwards, the long fair hair draped over the face, hiding it from view.

"Who is it?" Pippa wondered.

"I would hazard a guess," said Gordon, "that this is the Frenchwoman."

"Oh. But I thought ..."

"That she was dead?" Gordon guessed. "Yes, so did I."

The sound of his footsteps told the others that he was moving closer to the sitting figure. An invisible hand drew back the hair that curtained her face. The woman did not look up. Her face was white, her eyes wide open and staring blankly at the floor.

"Miss Dulac?" Gordon said quietly.

She showed no reaction. He lifted her chin to get a better look at her. Still nothing. She seemed totally unaware that there was an invisible man crouched right in front of her, speaking to her. Dropping her chin, Gordon returned to the others.

"What's wrong with her?" John asked.

"I'm not sure. I'd say something's happened to her brain. She seems to have no idea of anything."

Pippa drew in her breath sharply. "You don't suppose that she's been given the Kiss, do you?"

"I don't know. Whatever the case may be, there's nothing we can do for her now. We should move on."

They returned to the passage and continued along it, now following the light of Edgar Bones's wand. A little further along, however, he extinguished it quickly. A heavy wooden door to their right stood ajar, and a pale light was emanating from the room beyond. Approaching the door cautiously, they found that this was a chamber much larger than the cells they had passed on the way. The light was coming from a large cauldron which stood beside a table on the far side of the room, on which a goblet had been placed. The only other thing in the room was a chair.

"What is this stuff?" Pippa asked, peering cautiously into the cauldron.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't look pleasant," John remarked.

An invisible hand beside him picked up the goblet and filled it, using the ladle from the cauldron. Then, apparently by itself but probably owing to some silent spell cast on it, the goblet sealed itself over, and then vanished from view with a soft rustle of fabric.

"It can't hurt to take a good look at this when we get back," Dorcas Meadowes explained.

Once again, they went out into the passage. No wand was lit this time, for ahead they could see more light, and soon they came to a rickety old staircase leading upwards. They paused for a moment. Then Gordon said heavily,

"Well, that's the easy part over, I'd say. Now we have a fortress to search. I suggest once we reach the top of these stairs, we start moving up floor by floor."

"Agreed," said Madam Meadowes. "Off we go then."

She started up the stairs, but the next moment they were all startled by a loud crack. And there, right in front of them on the stairs, stood a very young house elf, looking anxiously about him. The elf began walking down the stairs, his arms outstretched in front of him, feeling the air as though looking for something. What was he looking for? Suddenly, John realised. He was looking for them.

"How do you know we're here?" he asked.

The sound of his voice, coming so suddenly, made more than just the house elf jump. He suspected also that it annoyed some of his companions. Recovering from the initial shock, the elf whispered,

"D-Dobby was told you were coming."

"Who told you?"

"The lady at Hogwarts."

* * *

The Escape

Deciding to take a chance, John pulled off his cloak, though he stepped back from the stairs before he did so. The house elf's orb-like eyes fixed on him. John went into a crouch in front of him.

"What lady?" he asked. "And what were you doing at Hogwarts?"

Dobby hesitated before replying.

"Mr. Malcolm asked Dobby to go, sir. Dobby said he couldn't, he mustn't, it's against master's orders. But ..." - his great eyes filled with tears - "Dobby failed to do what Mr. Malcolm asked him before, and ... and people died. Died horribly, sir. Dobby should have done as Mr. Malcolm said, Dobby should have warned ... but Dobby did not dare. And now Dobby is afraid, Dobby is not knowing what to do. Dobby cannot help Mr. Malcolm sir escape, sir, but Dobby cannot leave him there either, he is weak and he will die, sir, he will die and it will be Dobby's fault."

Dobby dropped into a sitting position on the steps, burying his face in his bony little hands. From all he had said, one fact alone seemed to mean anything to John. Struggling to keep his voice even, he said,

"You mean Malcolm ... is alive?"

Looking perfectly miserable, Dobby nodded his head. John straightened up. Turning away from the elf, and from where he knew the others must be standing, he covered his face with one hand. He felt very strange. All along, he had hoped and prayed ... but he had never really believed. He had been willing to do anything to find Malcolm, but never really thought that he would be bringing him back. Deep down, that accursed pessimistic voice had told him that Malcolm would be long dead before they reached him, that all efforts would be in vain. But they weren't in vain, or at least, they might not be. Might not be. That damn pessimism again. Why couldn't he, for once, believe that things would turn out well? Malcolm was alive, wasn't he? That meant there was a chance.

"Where is he?" Gordon's voice asked behind him.

Dobby spoke more to himself. "Dobby cannot say, Dobby must not say, master ordered Dobby not to help Mr. Malcolm escape, but Dobby must help or things will get worse, what can Dobby do? What can Dobby do?"

"Your master ordered you not to help our friend escape," Gordon said steadily, "but he didn't order you to stop anyone from seeing him, did he? He didn't tell you not to let anyone go wherever he is."

John turned around again just in time to see Dobby nod his head at Gordon, who had also chosen to materialise by now.

"Sir is right," he said slowly. "But Dobby is not sure ..."

"Then you can tell us," Gordon interrupted. "You can tell Mr. Lupin here and myself," - thus, John realised, he was indicating to the others not to reveal themselves, just in case - "where he is, and leave the rest to us."

Dobby looked suddenly at John.

"Y-you is called Lupin?" he queried.

"Yes," said John.

Dobby stood up. "J-John Lupin?"

"Yes," John said again. "How ..."

But Dobby did not let him finish.

"When did it happen?"

"What?"

Dobby repeated his question. John stared at him. He asked cautiously,

"Why do you ask?"

"It is what Mr. Malcolm told Dobby to ask you before he gives you the letter," Dobby replied. "When did it happen?"

Without stopping to think, without pause or hesitation, John said immediately,

"Saturday, October the third, 1963."

Once again, Dobby nodded. "You is John Lupin," he said, seemingly satisfied. "Mr. Malcolm gave Dobby a letter for you."

"A letter?" John repeated. "Have you got it with you now?"

Dobby nodded. "But Dobby is not supposed to give it to you, sir. Not until after Mr. Malcolm is dead."

"We're here to prevent things coming to that," Gordon told the elf. "With your help, we can do it more quickly."

Dobby hesitated, looking from one to the other of them. His eyes rested on John.

"Dobby must not help Mr. Malcolm escape, sir. Master said so. But Dobby was not ordered not to tell anyone where he is. Dobby will tell you, sir, as you is Mr. Malcolm's friend, and Dobby will give you this ... just in case."

He drew a letter out from inside the dirty pillowcase he wore and handed it to John. John took the crumpled piece of parchment and stared at it for a moment, then put it in his inside pocket. Then, still with some reluctance, Dobby explained to him how to reach the tower room where Malcolm was being held.

* * *

The house elf was trembling from head to foot by the time he had finished giving them his instructions, and it was only swift intervention on Gordon's part, who caught him by his pillow case and held him back, that stopped him ramming his head against the wall. Gordon raised his wand and pointed it at the elf, who looked about to shriek loudly, but got no chance.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Dobby's arms snapped to his side and he went rigid. He would have toppled over on the floor, but Gordon used his wand to levitate him into a cell, and locked the door.

"Good idea," said John. "Hopefully they'll think we got him when he caught us breaking and entering."

Gordon did not reply directly, merely became invisible once more and murmured,

"You'd better get that cloak back on."

John did as he suggested, then he said,

"Well, we know where to look now. But I still suggest we don't all go all the way, just in case. I'll go on my own."

"No," Pippa's voice came firmly out of the darkness. "From what that house elf said, Malcolm is weak. He may be in no fit state to be of much help if anyone tries to stop you. He may not even be able to walk."

John was glad of the cloak, for it meant that she could not see him flinch. Gordon, meanwhile, agreed with her.

"You're quite right. I will go with John."

But once again, Pippa protested.

"No, I'll go. With respect, sir, I think it will be better that way - with you guarding our retreat."

Reluctantly, the old man agreed.

"Very well. I will stay down here. Madam Meadows, if you will go with them as far as the next floor, and Bones to the one beyond that ..."

Both agreed.

"Then that is settled. Let us not waste any more time, or more words than we can help. From now on we must be absolutely still. We don't know how many Death Eaters are about, but it's a good guess there will be plenty more of them than there are of us."

They proceeded according to this plan, moving silently and invisibly up the stairs and across the hall. Gordon did not say a word as he detached himself from the group and took up his position beside the staircase they had come up, but the others sensed that he was no longer with them. On the next floor up, Madam Meadowes found a convenient niche and stood inside it to keep a lookout and await the others' return. Edgar Bones was now in front of the invisible party, but one flight of steps further up he too moved noiselessly against the wall, out of the way of anyone who might decide to come out of some room and pass by this spot.

John had taken Pippa's hand once more when they had left the dungeons, and he led the way further on now, along the passageway that Dobby had described, past a series of closed doors behind some of which they thought they heard the murmur of voices. They had almost reached the end of the corridor, where a spiral staircase began to wind its way upwards, when John felt a restraining pull on his arm. He stopped and looked back, though he knew he would see nothing. He dared not speak so close to rooms that were clearly occupied, so he listened. He could make out a woman's voice distorted by the thick wood of the door.

"So in other words," the voice was saying, "you have come back entirely empty-handed. The Dark Lord will not be pleased. He wanted that girl dead. I'm sure he did not expect you to come back without finishing the job."

"The girl's vanished," a man's voice said. "It doesn't matter. We'll be on the lookout for her from now on. The minute she shows her face again, she'll be as dead as the muggles in that village."

"You don't even know what she looks like, do you?"

"I have a description from those of our friends who have seen her. She won't get away."

"You'd better hope you're right, Lothian, or the Dark Lord will hold you responsible."

These words were followed by the sound of footsteps, and John tugged urgently at Pippa's hand. She followed him, and not a moment too soon, for the door opened almost at once and the man whose picture had once featured on the front page of the Daily Prophet in connection with the torturing of muggles came out, followed by a woman in black who, despite the starkly contrasting colour of her hair, the cruel twist of her mouth and the coldness of her eyes still bore an obvious resemblance to Pippa. Waiting until the Death Eaters were well out of earshot, John risked a whisper.

"Come on, Philippa. Let's not linger."

He pulled her along with him to the bottom of a narrow, winding staircase.

"Is this it?" Pippa asked.

"It looks like it. Come on."

They climbed the stairs in silence and came to a small landing with just one sturdy-looking door, beside which a large rusty key hung from an iron nail. John let go of Pippa's hand to take it off the hook.

"What is it?" Pippa whispered, seeing that the key was still suspended in the air, as it looked to her, without moving.

"I'm ... afraid," John confessed, then pulled himself together. "But we mustn't waste time."

He stepped up to the door, inserted the key in the lock and turned it round. Pushing open the door, he looked cautiously into the narrow chamber beyond. Embers were glowing meekly in the grate, and small spirals of smoke still hovered beneath the ceiling or drifted out through the slits in the walls. It was such a gloomy space that John's shiver was not down to cold alone, nor to the sight on the bunk that stood before him. Bending over the unmoving figure he drew off James's cloak and let it drop to the floor.

"My God," he gasped.

"What is it?"

Pippa stepped into the room also, taking the key from the lock before she did so and closing the door behind her. She too removed her cloak, but stayed standing by the door, listening for any sound from outside.

John looked down into Malcolm's face. It was paler than he had ever seen it, the cheeks hollowed, the skin lined and the jaw covered with a thin stubble that was grey as well as brown. Had it not been for the wheezy, tortured breathing, he would have thought all help had come too late. Touching one shoulder of the sleeping man and shaking it as hard as he dared, he said,

"Malcolm. Malcolm, wake up."

The man on the bunk stirred a little, but did not react. John shook him again, gently but firmly. This time Malcolm opened his eyes, clouded and unfocused, and tried to twist out of John's grasp.

"No," he mumbled incoherently, "no, not again ... can't ... mustn't ... have to ... sleep ..."

"Malcolm!" John said sharply, shaking him harder. "It's me!"

"Shhh," Pippa hissed anxiously. "Not so loud."

Malcolm blinked straight up to where the other man's face was swimming before his eyes, unable to see and hardly daring to believe his ears. Was this just another dream?

"J-John?" he murmured. "John?"

His hand groped about and John grasped it firmly. "I'm here," he answered. "It's all right, we've come to get you out of here."

"Out?" Malcolm repeated. "Yes. Yes, I must get out."

He pulled himself into a sitting position by tugging at John's sleeve and shook himself. He swayed and John steadied him quickly.

"Easy," he said. "Take your time."

Looking up at him, Malcolm's eyes seemed to focus a little at last. He gave a dry laugh that came out more like a cough.

"Do we have that much time?"

"We have as long as it takes for them to discover something's going on up here," said Pippa.

Malcolm turned his head. He seemed to recognise her after a moment and said to John,

"W-what's she doing here? She's just a kid, John, she shouldn't see ... this place. What goes on here ..."

"I wasn't going to be left behind," Pippa told him. "Here ..." She came over and bent to pick up the cloak that John had dropped. "You two get under this one. If we're lucky we can get out again before someone finds you missing."

Her voice was doubtful, and both men noticed.

"You go on ahead," John suggested to her, still steadying Malcolm who was now pushing himself up to stand. "We'll follow at our own pace."

Pippa shook her head. "You two will never make it alone."

"I'm afraid I am too heavy for one man alone to carry. If I'd known you were coming, I'd have gone on a diet," Malcolm said hoarsely, following this brief quip that was worthy of his old self with a cough that did not sound too good at all.

"We'll manage," John said reassuringly. "If you can keep that cough under control."

"I'll try."

John began to pull Malcolm's left arm over his shoulder, but Pippa held up a hand.

"No, wait - the other way round is better. You on the right, me on the left. Just in case we encounter any trouble."

"I don't ..."

Pippa smiled quickly and held up her wand arm. "I'm left-handed," she said simply.

Thus arranged and with James's invisibility cloak draped over both men, whom it just about covered, they set out back down the stairs and along the corridor through which they had come. It was slow going, for though he tried to carry his own weight, Malcolm could not help but falter every now and then, forcing the other two to stop and raise him back up awkwardly, praying that no one would pass at that moment, and hurriedly straightening their cloaks.

They gained the top of the stairs without incident, Malcolm remembering only too clearly the last time he had got this far in an attempt to escape, and still feeling keenly the wound on his back where a curse had injured him, the wound that had been unable to heal through his weakness. A rustle with no visible source beside them told Pippa and John that they were no longer alone, and out of the darkness Edgar Bones's voice whispered,

"Did you find him?"

"Yes," John whispered back. They began to descend the stairs, but just at that moment they heard a shout somewhere back along the way they had come, followed by the sound of angry voices and many sets of footsteps moving very quickly back and forth.

"Oh no," Pippa breathed. "The game's up. Do you think ..."

"This is a bad spot to stop and chat," Bones whispered sharply. "Down the stairs, quickly."

The invisible foursome did as he suggested, and had reached the next floor down before the first of the Death Eaters appeared at the top of the stairs, their wands drawn.

"Don't waste time looking back," said Bones. "Keep going."

"Edgar ..." It was Madam Meadowes' voice that whispered now.

Bones moved towards it, and both of them took up positions pressed closely against the wall, while John, Malcolm and Pippa continued down the next flight of steps. The voices of the Death Eaters behind them grew louder and more numerous, but they did not stop to look who was on the stairs or how close they were. They reached the hall at the bottom of the stairs, the hall where they had left Gordon, and were halfway across it when a door opened somewhere behind them, and a voice rang out sharply that froze them to the spot.

"What is it?" Lord Voldemort asked of his servants. "Why all this noise?"

"Master," replied one of them, speaking with a strong foreign accent. "Master, it is ze prisoner, he is not in ze chamber."

"What do you mean, he's not there? How can he have got out?"

"I do not know, my lord. I vill search ze island at vonce."

"No!" Voldemort said sharply. "Wait."

All went silent. Unable to bear not being able to hear or see what was happening, the three cloaked people turned around. The Dark Lord was standing by a door at the other side of the hall, facing a man with a neat black beard, and had thrown back his head, drawing breaths through his nose as though sniffing the air. Even as he himself began instinctively to back away from the sight, John felt Malcolm stumble beside him. Malcolm's hand clutched suddenly very tightly at the shoulder of John's robes as he began to double over, and under the cloak John could see the agony in his friend's face as he clenched his jaws and fought with all his might against the inevitable. For inevitable it was that, with the last dose of potion that had passed between them not long ago taken, Voldemort's power over him was still strong enough to draw just a little more strength and cause a little more pain, just enough to make Malcolm crumble to the floor with a scream, dragging both invisibility cloaks down with him as he went.

"Malcolm!" John cried, starting to bend down, but Pippa yelled,

"Not now, look out!"

Her warning was almost too late, for a bust that had stood peacefully on its pedestal a moment before was cannoning towards him at top speed. John just had time to raise his arm instinctively to cover his face. With a bang, a crunch and an ominous cracking sound it impacted just on his elbow and he was thrown a few yards across the hall, his right arm so full of pain that he had no idea how he had managed to maintain a hold on his wand. He swapped it quickly to his left hand, just in time to deflect the next object that came soaring at him. Pippa, meanwhile, had almost got Malcolm to his feet again while maintaining a firm grip on her wand to hold up the shield charm she had erected. One of the Death Eaters, the black-bearded man who had stood beside Voldemort before, raised his wand and began to chant a curse, but he was blasted off his feet by a countercurse that seemed as if it had come out of thin air.

"Run!" Gordon Gryffindor called.

Several of the Death Eaters looked startled to hear the husky, yet powerful voice out of nowhere. John scrambled to his feet and across to Pippa, who was already starting to pull Malcolm towards him. He stuck his wand through his belt and took hold of Malcolm's arm with his uninjured left hand. They made for the dungeon stairs as fast as they could, as the battle between the still invisible members of the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters and their master was raging just inside the front doors.

The three of them reached the hole in the wall without too much difficulty, but just as John and Pippa made to hoist Malcolm up through it, he turned back.

"Wait - John, I can't just leave. There are others ... we have to help them. A house elf, he ..."

"We know about Dobby," said John. "He told us where to find you. It's been taken care of. He'll be all right."

Malcolm gave a sigh of relief. "What about Désirée? They said they'd got her. Is she here?"

"She's in another cell, but her brain's gone," Pippa explained hurriedly. "We've no time to lose, we've got to get you out of here."

She began pushing him towards the opening again, but he fought her. Grabbing John by the collar he said urgently.

"We can't leave her here ... John, please ... help her."

John looked back and forth between the two of them, not knowing what to do. At last he nodded.

"Get Malcolm out of here," he said to Pippa. "I won't be a minute."

She called after him, but he was gone. Once again, Philippa Pettigrew experienced the sound of voices belonging to people she could not see behind her growing nearer, but this time she felt quite alone as she helped Malcolm pull himself up through the hole, pushing with all the might in her thin arms. She had only just succeeded when she heard an all too familiar voice just behind her.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't my dear little sister. I thought our paths would cross in a fight sooner or later. I little expected it to be here. Won't you face me, Philippa, and duel with me face to face?"

"Why?" Pippa asked, her back still turned on her sister. "From what I've heard, you're not normally so scrupulous about attacking people from behind, or when they're defenceless. Don't tell me there's still some family affection left after all, Polly." She turned round, then added, "For heaven's sake! Don't you see what madness you're supporting?"

"Madness? You come here to get a man who's already dead out from under the nose of the Dark Lord whom no one escapes, and you say I am mad?"

"You are mad, Polly," Pippa said sadly. "And I'm sorry it has to end like this."

She slowly raised her wand, but her heart was not in the hex she attempted to cast, and her sister knew it. She deflected it with ease and readied herself for her own strike, but her Reductor curse merely widened the hole in the wall as she found herself suddenly engulfed in a cloud of black smoke. Pippa shielded her eyes with her hand and held her breath for as long as she could. When she opened her eyes again, John was once again beside her. He had brought Désirée Dulac with him, and she now stood leaning against the wall murmuring senseless words to herself while the smoke began to clear and the figure of Paula Lestrange became visible once again.

"Ah," she said with a cold kind of amusement. "I see it is two against one now. But your backup looks rather weak to me, little sister."

Pippa glanced sideways. It was true that John was not looking good. His right arm, which he held in an awkwardly twisted manner against his chest, was bleeding and clearly causing him an awful lot of pain. Sweat was pearling on his brow and he was swaying almost as Malcolm had done when he had first sat on the edge of his bunk, but his voice was hard and determined.

"Don't be too sure of yourself," he said to Paula. "Even using the wrong hand, I can still beat you at any duel."

"Can you?" Paula said amusedly. "I doubt it. But in any case, I think we shall not be finding that out."

She jerked her head backwards, and both John and Pippa saw that others were coming, more Death Eaters cloaked in black to put a stop to their retreat.

"Get out," John murmured. "Go on, I'll cover you."

"No," Pippa said shakily. "No!"

John turned his head towards her to reason with her and Paula used her chance.

"Crucio!" she shrieked.

Pippa screamed in agony as the spell hit her and she sank twitching against the wall.

"Philippa!" John cried and crouched, pulling her towards him and moving himself to stand in the way of the curse, blocking it.

He knew it had worked when the pain began, when he realised it was no longer her twitching that was causing his limbs to shake, but his own. It did not last long, however. With an angry cry, Paula Lestrange interrupted the curse. John got slowly to his feet, raising Pippa with him, and turned around to face their attacker, making sure to keep the young woman shielded behind him.

"You fool!" Paula hissed. "I won't suffer anyone to stand between me and my prey. You will die. Avada ..." - she raised her wand high, ready to strike. John heard Pippa scream shrilly behind him and felt her hands clasp the back of his robes, he heard hurried footsteps and angry shouts and he saw, as if in slow motion, Paula Lestrange's wand directed straight towards him - "Kedavra," she finished her incantation. There was a flash of blinding green light, a scuffle, and then a body dropped to the floor, the life from it extinguished in the blink of an eye. John stared down at the figure before his feet, the body sprawled on the floor like a corpse in a play, the robes spread out, the long blonde hair veiling the beautiful face like a curtain. Hands seized him, more pairs than one, he was sure.

"Out!" Gordon Gryffindor's voice bellowed in his ear. "Out!"

Pippa chimed in, her shrill voice seeming to come from afar. "John, come on, we must go, we must go!"

* * *

Bitter cold air met John and Pippa as they scrambled back out through the hole in the wall and ran to the spot where Malcolm was crouched on the ground, clutching at his side and panting. John stopped beside him and looked back, his breath coming unevenly.

"Come on," Pippa urged. "We've got to keep going!"

"I can't believe ... did you see ... what just happened ..." he gasped.

"I know, I know," said Pippa desperately, "but there's no time to think about it now. We've got to move or none of us will make it."

Still, John hesitated. Malcolm, managing with an effort to pull himself to his feet while leaning on Pippa for support, placed a hand on his shoulder. It recalled John to the urgency of their situation. Pulling Malcolm's arm around his shoulder once again, he helped Pippa support him in the direction of the boat.

As they went, they heard shouts behind them. Looking back briefly, Pippa saw that the main doors had now opened and robed Death Eaters were hurrying towards them, accompanied by Voldemort himself. The three of them tried to move faster, but it wasn't easy. They kept slipping on the icy rocks, and though the place where the boat was moored was getting nearer and nearer, so were their pursuers.

And then Malcolm stumbled again. With a cry of pain, he dropped onto his knees so heavily that he pulled the other two down with him. John shook him with one hand.

"Come on, old friend. Don't give up now. We're almost there."

Malcolm shook his head. "I'm not going to make it," he said. "It's him ... the nearer he gets ... I can't move ... I'm ... drifting ..."

His brown eyes, dark and sunken, looked into John's. "Leave me," he said. "You've got to, John."

"No," John said firmly. "I'm not leaving you behind. We came here for you, we're not leaving without you."

"Please," Malcolm gasped. "Please, John. The last thing I want ... not you ... the others ... they need you ..."

He slipped further down.

"Malcolm!" John cried, shaking him desperately.

Pippa looked back over her shoulder once more. "They're almost here!" she cried.

"Hurry!" John shouted at her. "Get to the boat, untie the rope, we'll be right there."

Summoning all his strength, and groaning under the weight and his own pain, he hoisted Malcolm up again. Malcolm was now barely aware of what was happening around him. He saw the ground move along below him though he couldn't move his legs. John, he thought. He wished John would just leave him here and get away himself, but he had no strength left to tell him so. The world was swimming before his eyes, fading rapidly into blackness. Somewhere above him - or was it only in his head - he could hear sweet, magical music, like the song of some bird. He turned his head to look behind him and saw vaguely a figure materialising from out of nowhere, a tall shape that seemed to shine with a silver light like the moon. Beside it a second figure appeared, a tall grey shape that was strong as the rock itself. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they stood firing coloured spells from their wands, like fireworks against a black night sky. More figures were running. There was a tugging feeling at the back of his shirt. Then, queerly, Malcolm no longer felt ground under his feet. He was floating, soaring upwards. The sky was coming closer, the blackness becoming more complete, and still he could hear that strange, otherworldly song. He closed his eyes and surrendered to the darkness.

* * *

Coming Around

Frank stepped out of one of the fireplaces in the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic to find Alastor Moody already there, waiting for him. With Moody was a young man Frank was not aware of having met, though he had a feeling he had seen him somewhere before, possibly at Hogwarts, for he didn't look much older than Frank was himself. He was tall, with dark brown hair that was parted in the middle, and he was pushing a large pair of spectacles up his long nose. His features were delicate, his mouth small and serious. This, Frank realised, must be the brother.

"Ah, there you are!" Moody exclaimed with both impatience and relief. "Good. This is Lance Lovegood, Frank."

Lance Lovegood, of course. Hearing the name in its entirety reminded Frank. This young man had once been head boy at Hogwarts. They shook hands.

"I'm very grateful," he said earnestly, "to both of you for coming out at this hour. I really didn't know quite who to turn to. I called Auror Headquarters first, of course, but they told me that they didn't know where my sister was. They didn't seem disposed to investigate the matter further. But I was uneasy. It's not like her not to at least send a message."

Frank nodded understandingly.

"Who did you speak to at Headquarters?" Moody asked.

"A man called Brown."

"Right. Well, our first step, then, is to have a word with Brown ourselves and find out what he means by not taking the disappearance of a fellow auror seriously."

They went up to Auror Headquarters and soon found Brown, a tough-faced and squarely built man of about thirty, sitting at his desk with a cup of coffee. Moody marched straight up to him.

"What's this I hear about Laura Lovegood disappearing and you not doing anything about it?" he growled at once.

Brown jumped up from his seat. "Mr. Moody, sir!" he exclaimed. "What's this - Miss Lovegood disappeared - I had no idea - I mean," he added, going slightly red, "no idea that it was serious."

"Well, we don't know that it is ourselves yet," said Moody, "But these days it's always wisest to treat any disappearance as potentially serious, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, sir," Brown grumbled. "I just thought it was too soon to be classed as a disappearance."

Moody grunted. "What are you doing up here anyway?" he demanded. "You and Forbes were supposed to be down at the cells all day."

Brown pulled a face. "I know, sir, but Mr. Crouch had other ideas. He wanted Forbes and me for other business. Forbes is out now, investigating a death in Kent." He checked his watch. "He's been gone a couple of hours, he could be back any ... oh, there he is," he finished as, sure enough, Forbes came striding into Headquarters, looking very weary.

He was clearly surprised to see Moody, Frank and Lance Lovegood.

"Hello," he said. "What's going on here?"

"We're investigating a disappearance," said Brown quickly. "Miss Lovegood didn't come home tonight, it seems."

Forbes placed a file on Brown's desk and sat down on the end of it.

"Miss Lovegood? Disappeared? Well I never. Why, I spoke to her earlier!"

"You spoke to her?" Moody exclaimed. "When was this?"

"Some time this morning. Or maybe ... no, hang on, it was more like lunch time. Because I remember her saying she was feeling a bit queer, and I said she'd probably not been eating properly, and then she said she'd go out for a bite right away."

"And did she go out?" Frank asked.

"Yes, I think so. Yes, I'm sure she did. I remember her picking up her bag and everything."

"So she definitely left Auror Headquarters?"

Forbes nodded. "And no one's seen her since? I do hope she's all right. The things these people get up to - the Death Eaters, I mean," he added grimly. "Well, it's nasty, even for being criminal. I mean, take the killing I've just come from. Poor soul hadn't just been bumped off, they actually took him to pieces. Planted the Dark Mark over his house and left his body there in bits on the kitchen floor for his poor wife to find when she came back from that moving picture thingy muggles take their kids to."

Lance Lovegood gave a moan and sank into a chair. Forbes looked at him curiously.

"This is Miss Lovegood's brother," Frank said.

Forbes was immediately apologetic. "Oh. Oh dear, I am sorry. I didn't mean ... well, perhaps she'll be all right yet. I wish I could help you more."

"Did she say anything else?" Frank asked him. "Did you talk about anything other than lunch, anything that might give us an indication what she was going to do after she'd eaten?"

Forbes thought for a minute, then shook his head glumly. "No, sorry. She never said. I just assumed she'd be coming back after, really. I've been trying to think if she said where she was going for lunch, but she never did."

"Do you know if she spoke to anyone else?" Moody asked him.

"Yes, she did, as a matter of fact," Forbes said, brightening a little. "She talked to Mr. Crouch. I remember that, because I said I wondered what had got into him, and she said about him being jealous and stupid, and I remember it tickled me, but it also got me worried. I mean to say, Mr. Crouch doesn't take kindly to that kind of talk."

"What made her say that about him?" Brown put in.

"What? Oh, they were arguing like, about us not being where Mr. Moody said we should be. Got right huffy, Mr. Crouch did. Said things like 'who runs this department, him or me', or words to that effect. Miss Lovegood wasn't happy about it, I can tell you. Seemed really quite worried, she did."

Moody, who had been pacing up and down with his wooden leg clunking at every other step, stopped.

"She was worried because Crouch called you away?"

"Yes, she was, I think. Unless it was something to do with Marley. I mentioned him, see - just in passing, like, and come to think of it, that's when she went a bit queer." He grinned suddenly. "I've wondered before now if she wasn't a bit sweet on him, you know. Has anything ever been heard of him since he got kicked out? I don't know that I've heard anyone talk about him for ages now. He's not dead, is he?"

Moody glowered at him.

"It would be a shame if he was," Forbes went on undeterred. "He was one of the best, I've always thought that. Nice bloke. Did me a good turn once or twice. Took over shifts and such when the missus was getting fed up with me working late ..."

"So," Frank said, quickly changing the subject back to what they had come for, "Miss Lovegood was worried about the security down at the cells. Would she have gone down there herself, do you think?" he asked Moody.

The older man nodded. "Might have done, yes, if she was that worried. One way to find out. Come on, let's go and talk to Baxter and Robinson."

He limped to the door, then looked back at Brown and Forbes. "You two had better come along. The more, the merrier."

* * *

Baxter and Robinson had tired of chess. They were each brooding over a handful of cards when Moody, Frank, Lance Lovegood, Brown and Forbes approached them.

"Hello," said Robinson pleasantly, looking up from his hand. "Looks like we've got company. And how may we be of service to you this evening, gentlemen? I'd offer you a bite to eat, but I'm afraid the cupboard is bare, as the saying goes. You've missed supper."

He indicated a pile of empty paper bags and crumpled up serviettes on the floor by the wall.

Ignoring these platitudes, Moody asked, "Things okay here? Travers not giving you any trouble?"

"None at all," said Baxter, taking a card from the pack on the table, looking at it for a moment, arranging it among his hand and picking another card to discard.

"Going for Clubs again?" Robinson remarked. "Not very ingenious, are you?"

Baxter grunted, then looked up at Moody. "What's up, Alastor?"

"Laura Lovegood's gone missing," he replied. "Forbes here said she talked to him about guard duty down here, and we wondered if maybe she'd come down here at all to see things were all right. Did you see her?"

Baxter opened his mouth, but Robinson, always the quick one, beat him to it.

"Yes, we did see her. It must have been ... getting on for one o'clock, I'd say. She just took a quick look at Travers, we had a bit of a chat, and she went away again."

"Did she say where she was going?" Brown asked, eager to show he was trying to help now.

This time, Baxter managed to reply first. "A spot of lunch, she said."

"Yes," Robinson agreed. "That's right. Now I know how I remembered the time. She said she might just have time to go for something to eat at her favourite Chinese restaurant before the concert broadcast on WWN at two."

"The Chinese restaurant?" Lance repeated.

"That's right." Baxter nodded.

Frank and Moody both glanced at Laura's brother. There was a mildly puzzled look on his face. While Moody continued to ask the two card playing aurors more questions, Frank stepped up behind Lance and heard him muse to himself,

"... could have sworn she said closed down ..."

"Well, you two mind you stay on your toes," Moody was saying to Baxter and Robinson. "And we'll make our way to this Chinese place."

"Sir," Frank broke in. "Perhaps we should check on Travers ourselves before we go."

Robinson's blue eyes shifted to him, though the rest of his body remained unmoving. His face was impassive. Frank felt a cold shiver down his spine. His hand reached for the wand inside his robes. Moody was looking at Frank too. He glanced in slight puzzlement between the two young men, then his face cleared.

"Yes," he said. "Perhaps you're right."

"Travers is quite secure," Baxter said slowly.

"Really? Well, let's see him then. Open the door."

Baxter got to his feet and began unbolting the door, but there was something odd in his manner. He moved stiffly, tensely. And then, just as he began to open the door, the first curses were fired. There should have been no fight at all, not with five against two, but Baxter and Robinson were both quick and experienced duellers. Nevertheless, after about five minutes, both of them were on the floor, tied firmly with ropes conjured from thin air. Forbes mopped his brow.

"Good grief," he exclaimed. "What on earth's got into those two?"

"The Imperius curse, I think," said Frank.

He pulled Lance Lovegood to his feet. The latter wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and straightened his glasses.

"Thanks," he said.

Moody was approaching the cell door again. He opened it and looked inside.

"Oh hell!" he uttered before he could check himself.

"What is it?" asked Frank.

He stepped up beside Moody, peered into the cell, and gasped. Turning round quickly, he tried to hold up Lance, who had come up behind him, but he wasn't fast enough. The young man pushed past him, then stopped, paused.

"Laura?" he whispered.

His voice was unnaturally high. Frank looked down again at the figure that rested crumpled at the foot of the wall. Laura Lovegood's face was turned to the brickwork, her left leg caught awkwardly beneath her while the other was stretched out. Her left shoulder rested against the wall, her right arm hung limply down. Her clothes were torn, her hair a mess, and every part of her skin that they could see was bruised or cut. She looked like she had been thrown down there to be forgotten. With a pained moan, Lance rushed across to kneel beside her. He took her in his arms, and her head lolled against his chest. He held her close, then, suddenly, he straightened up with a jerk.

"What is it?" Frank asked.

"I ... I think ... she's breathing," Lance exclaimed.

"What?!"

Moody limped to his side and tried to crouch down next to Lance, but his wooden leg wouldn't let him. He beckoned impatiently to Frank, who hurried over and reached for the young woman's neck. Frank nodded quickly.

"She's alive," he announced.

"Laura," Lance said, patting her face. "Laura ..."

Moody grabbed his wrist. "Wait. It's best if she stays unconscious for now. Goodness knows how many bones she's broken - the less she moves, the better."

But even as he said the words, Laura began to stir. She tried to move her head, but winced in pain.

"Hold her still," Moody warned Lance. "You help him, Frank. Don't let her move. Forbes!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Call St. Mungo's. Tell them to send someone. Hurry!"

* * *

Malcolm felt tired, so very, very tired. Why couldn't they just end it all, why couldn't they kill him and be done with it? Why did it have to be dragged out so long, and why was everything so bright, so that his eyes ached even under their closed eyelids?

He felt hands touch his arms, and shook himself. He had had enough, he couldn't take another dose, he wouldn't take it. He still felt so weak, the last dose couldn't be that long ago, not long enough for it to be time for another, not yet. He wanted to sleep. He flung out his arms to throw off the hands. They let go of him at once, but he continued to flail about him, only vaguely aware that he was doing so, not sure if it was himself he could hear groaning or someone else.

"Is he conscious?" a voice asked, and he tried to work out whose it was.

The Lestrange woman's, perhaps. It sounded a bit like her, and then again, it didn't.

"I can't really tell," another voice replied, also a woman's, but a voice that meant nothing to him at all. "Mr. Marley," it went on, and the hands tried to touch him again. Again, he thrust them aside.

"May I?"

A third voice, once again female. But surely, one that he knew. A weight settled itself by his side, a warm hand rested on his chest. The voice spoke again, soothingly.

"Malcolm, it's all right. You're safe."

"I doubt if he can hear you," the unknown voice said. "He appears to be in some kind of world of his own."

"He can hear me," said the voice he knew.

Whose was it? It was warm, tender. It reminded him of the scent of lavender and his old bedroom with the posters of motor cars on the walls and of hot milk and biscuits. It reminded him, he suddenly realised, of his mother. But his mother was dead. Perhaps, then, this was death, he thought. If so, it wasn't so bad. He relaxed, and felt someone touch his cheek and hold his hand.

"You're safe," the voice said again.

He breathed deeply, knowing somehow that she was right, and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Sitting on the edge of her brother's bed, Faith looked around at the Hogwarts nurse.

"It's all right, Madam Pomfrey. I think he should just rest for the time being. I'll sit up."

"Doesn't he need some kind of treatment?" Pippa Pettigrew asked.

"It can wait until the morning, I suppose," Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Perhaps a good night's sleep is the best thing for him at the moment." She turned to look at the other people in the hospital wing. "Mr. Lupin, your arm is one thing that I think had better not wait until morning. Really, you should have come to me at once."

"I had to go home and let my family know Malcolm was all right first," he explained, not for the first time.

"Well, we know," said Remus. "And now we want to see that you're all right."

John looked back at him and squeezed his shoulder briefly.

"Come along, lie down," Madam Pomfrey commanded, guiding him to a bed. "Let me take a look."

"I don't think I need to lie down," he protested.

"It's no good arguing with her," Remus said with a slow smile. "Believe me, I know."

While Madam Pomfrey hurried off to fetch bandages, Pippa Pettigrew approached the bed, Peter by her side.

"John," she said softly, "I - I want to thank you. For looking after me. If it hadn't been for you ..."

He shook his head. "It wasn't I who saved your life tonight, Philippa. Nor my own ..."

His face darkened. She avoided all questioning looks from the other people in the room and said,

"Miss Dulac's body was already little more than an empty shell when she died, John, you saw that."

"Was it? Do we really know that? Can we be sure she couldn't have been cured?"

"I ..."

"No, Philippa. We don't know. We shall never know. All we know is that she was alive, and now she is dead."

"Someone had to die."

"Maybe. But no living person had a right to decide who ... not even Gordon Gryffindor."

Pippa bit her lip and said nothing more on the subject. She said her goodbyes to all in the room and departed, taking her brother with her.

"What was all that about?" Remus asked his father.

But John felt suddenly very weary, and not at all inclined to explain anything. He had not wanted to lie down, but now that he was here, lying on this soft hospital bed, he found his head drooping and his eyes closing whether he wanted them to or not.

"I'll explain in the morning," he murmured, and fell asleep there and then.