Three Animagi and a Werewolf

Chapter 30: Recovery

Word Gets Out

It was still as dark as night in the bedroom James Potter and Sirius Black shared in the small London flat, but James did not turn on the light as he tiptoed back into the room after his shower, a flannel dressing gown wrapped tightly around him. It was an icy morning, even indoors, and though the curtains were still drawn, James was shivering so much that he was sure a fresh layer of snow must have fallen over night. He opened the wardrobe as quietly as he could and took out a clean set of clothes which he bundled under his arm. He had almost managed to slip noiselessly back into the hall with them when Sirius's sleepy voice murmured,

"What sort of time is it?"

It had been so quiet, and he spoke so suddenly out of the darkness, that James gave a start.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"What d'you mean by that? If it's getting-up time, I've got to get up too."

"It isn't. It's only ten past six. Besides, Mum doesn't want you to get up, she says you're to take the day off and stay in bed."

Sirius tried to give a derisive snort, but it was cut short by a sneeze he was not quick enough to suppress, so he contented himself with protesting,

"It's just a cold. No need to behave like I'm dying upward."

"Shhh!" James hissed, pushing the door shut. He went over to his bed and began to change into the clothes he had failed to sneak out of the room. "Try not to say that kind of thing in front of Mum, will you?"

Sirius apologised, then asked, "What's she up to, anyway? Still lying down?"

"Far from it," James informed him. "She was up and dressed by the time I woke up. She claims she was awake early. I don't think she got much sleep at all last night. Look," he said, pausing as he was about to pull on a thick woollen sock, "have a word with her after I've gone out, will you? I've told her she ought to call in sick this morning, but she insists going to work will do her good, take her mind of things."

"Great idea," Sirius grumbled sarcastically, sitting up slowly, then waiting a moment for his head to clear. It was throbbing painfully, and he secretly felt a lot more like spending the day in bed than he was willing to admit to anyone. "So, where are you off to so early?"

"Lily's," James said, pulling a jumper over his shirt. "She said she'd be up early."

"I don't suppose she'll have slept much either," Sirius said dully. "Give her my ... I mean, tell her ... I didn't get a chance to say last night..."

James smiled, though Sirius couldn't see it in the dark. "I'll tell her. And you talk to Mum, okay?" He came over and patted Sirius on the shoulder. "And take it easy, Padfoot. See you this evening."

Sirius waited until he had heard the front door close behind James a short while later before making a first effort to get up. It took him some time to actually manage it, however. He really did have a splitting headache, his throat was horribly sore and his nose simply would not stop itching. By the time he came out into the hall, he found Bridget already there, dressed in a heavy coat, with her gloves on and a scarf tied around her head. She turned a pale face towards him.

"Sirius, what are you doing up? James said he'd told you to stay in bed. I've left you a note on the kitchen table, and there's some soup in the saucepan if you don't want anything too solid to eat, you only need to warm it up..."

"Why don't you just stay here and keep an eye on me?"

She shook her head. "No, dear, I can't. Didn't James tell you? I need to get out..."

"And serve grumpy customers who've left their shopping too late, just to keep busy? Come on, Bridget, you know you're going to be too preoccupied for that. Ring up and say you've got the flu. You can tell them you caught it off me, if you like, I don't mind."

Bridget's anxious face split into an affectionate smile, and she touched his cheek briefly. "Don't worry about me, Sirius. I'll be all right. Besides, with any luck, we won't have to wait long before we know ... I've sent a message to Professor Dumbledore, asking him to send me any news at the shop."

"And if the news isn't what you want to hear? Do you really want to be at the shop when you find out?"

Bridget's smile vanished quickly and she turned away at once. "I'll see you lunchtime," she said hurriedly, and was gone before he had a chance to say another word.

Shaking his head, Sirius went into the kitchen where, sure enough, there was a note lying by the toaster, alongside a bottle of pepper-up potion and a spoon. He read the note, took some of the potion as instructed, and fetched the magical wireless from the bottom cupboard, turning it on as he set about concocting a light breakfast for himself - he was not quite ready to admit he was ill enough for something as distasteful as a healthy bowl of pea soup - and listening as he did so.

"... officials confirmed that this was not, as was first suspected, a Death Eater act against the muggle population, but merely a case of muggle-baiting, not uncommon in certain circles. While the Ministry does not condone this kind of behaviour in the slightest, an unnamed spokesman told our reporters that 'Naturally we are relieved to discover for once that we are dealing with petty trouble-makers rather than ruthless killers capable of such deeds as were perpetrated last night'. He was referring, of course, to the tragedy that befell the muggle hamlet of Tipton on the Moor on which we reported earlier. Investigations on site appear to indicate that the extermination of the entire village was actually an act of vengeance, the Death Eaters' true target proving not to have been present. The cottage belonging to the only witch within miles - a Miss Enid Borealis, originally from London - was found to have been burnt to the ground. The whereabouts of Enid Borealis and her niece are, apparently, unknown..."

Sirius was not, as a rule, someone who was easily shaken or startled. But at these words, he almost dropped the plate he was holding. A slice of toast slid off it onto the floor, with the buttered side facing downwards. Sirius took his wand from the pocket of his dressing gown and waved it. The dustbin opened itself and the toast went soaring into it, while a damp cloth hurried to wipe the floor. Sirius, however, saw none of this, as he had already put down his plate on the table and was on his way back to the bedroom to get dressed.

* * *

The Lupins had all spent the night in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, where they had thankfully been undisturbed. They had breakfasted with Dumbledore in his office rather than drawing attention to themselves by joining the staff table in the Great Hall, and now John and Remus were preparing to take their leave and set out for the Ministry. As all three descended the stairs and passed the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmaster's office, Remus turned to his father.

"You still haven't explained what you and Pippa were talking about last night. You said something about James's grandfather not having the right to decide who should die."

John's face was grave as he answered,

"I don't know that this is the right time or place to discuss it."

"You did say you would explain in the morning," his wife reminded him gently.

"I know, but I'm afraid it will have to wait a while longer. There are too many people about here."

As though to prove his point, a group of students appeared at the top of the stairs and began walking towards them at that very moment. Among them was Fabian Prewett, who spotted Remus immediately and came over to say good morning, bringing with him a pale, fair-haired boy.

"Hello, Remus!" Fabian exclaimed. "Hello, Mrs. Lupin, Mr. Lupin..." He shook hands all round and introduced his companion as Barty Crouch, jnr. "What are you all doing here?" Fabian went on. "Is it ... you know ... business?" He lowered his voice slightly.

"No," John said quickly, and unwilling to converse any further so out in the open, he added, "I'm sorry, but we must be going. Good bye."

His words were rather curt, which clearly puzzled Fabian. Remus hung back a little behind his parents to apologise.

"Sorry, Fabian," he murmured. "As you can see, Dad had a little trouble at work yesterday, and he's still a bit ... under the weather, you know."

"Yesterday?" Barty Crouch echoed. "But it was Sunday."

Remus shrugged his shoulders. "You don't get many Sundays off when you work for the Ministry these days. Now I really must catch up with my parents. Bye."

He hurried after his mother and father, who had started down the stairs. Barty watched him go, a curious expression on his face.

"What's up?" Fabian asked him.

"I was just wondering what they were really doing here so early on a Monday morning. And what Mr. Lupin's done to his arm. Didn't you say he had an office job?"

On the stairs, Remus asked his father,

"You will explain this evening what happened, won't you? Promise?"

John nodded. "All right."

They had reached the front door and stepped out into icy cold air and sunlight.

"Will you be going straight to the Ministry?" Faith asked.

Remus said he would, but John shook his head.

"I'll meet you there," he told Remus. "There's something I want to see to first ... personally."

He gave a slow smile, which Faith returned. "I see," she said. "Well, you'd better be going then. I'll see you this evening."

She kissed him, then hugged Remus, and watched them both leave before turning back into the castle with a shiver. It was indeed a bitter cold morning, in spite of the sunshine.

* * *

At St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Alastor Moody and Frank Longbottom were just passing the reception desk on their way to the exit while the wireless was broadcasting the report that almost made Sirius break a plate.

" ...was referring, of course, to the tragedy that befell the muggle hamlet of Tipton on the Moor on which we reported earlier..."

Frank stopped in his tracks, and stopped in the middle of speaking to Moody. The latter, surprised, also stopped walking to turn around and look at him.

"What's up? Left something behind upstairs?" he asked.

Frank shook his head. "The wireless," he said. "Didn't you hear?"

He strode towards the desk, Moody in tow, and asked a yawning girl in a green overall to turn up the volume, which she did reluctantly.

"... indicate that the extermination of the entire village was actually an act of vengeance..."

Moody frowned. "I hate bad news in the morning." He glanced at Frank again. "You all right?"

Frank did not answer, but asked the girl who had turned up the volume for him,

"Did you catch the name of the place?"

"What place?" she asked in turn.

"The place they were talking about just now."

"Oh, that." She frowned. "Something on the moor, wasn't it?"

Clearly, she had not been listening very attentively. Frank waved aside Moody's further enquiries to listen more closely.

"... only witch within eighty miles - a Miss Enid Borealis, originally from London..."

At this point, Moody no longer required any explanation. He swore loudly. Frank was, by now, very pale.

"They ... they exterminated the village?" he echoed feebly. "Sir, does that mean..."

"I'm afraid it probably means exactly what you're thinking," Moody grunted. "They went there looking for our young friend and when they didn't find her, they killed everyone just for spite."

The older auror grasped Frank by the shoulder and led him out of earshot of the desk.

"I'm going to go down to Tipton myself and take a look at the damage that's been done. Meanwhile I want you..."

"... to go to the Hall and let Aurora know?"

"No. That can wait. She's been through a lot; better let her rest as long as she can - and at least until you've done the same. Go home and get some sleep. You've been on your feet since yesterday morning, you'll be a lot more use to everyone when you've had forty winks."

Frank shook his head. "I won't be able to sleep anyway, not after this news."

"Go home," Moody repeated, "Take a rest. No detours, all right? I want you to promise me you'll go straight home."

After a brief hesitation, Frank agreed.

"Good lad," said Moody.

* * *

Two Kinds of News

The round, merry face of Mrs. Wilhelmina Shaw was creased into a permanent frown this Monday morning. She had meant for this to be a good day. Christmas was approaching rapidly, and that meant that more and more customers would be pouring into her little bookshop, desperate for some work of literature with which they could present those relatives on Christmas Day for whom it was hard to find a suitable gift. At this time of year, Mrs. Shaw dealt cheerfully with grandparents seeking a suitable fairy story, husbands who had got it into her heads that their wives would like nothing better than a new cookery book - something the experienced Mrs. Shaw invariably advised against - and wives looking for 'something on DIY'. Yes, this time of year was always a good one for Mrs. Shaw's little establishment.

Today should have been one of those good days of Christmas shopping when the little bell over the door never stopped ringing, harmonising beautifully with the ting-ting of the cash register on the counter. But today was not turning out to be a cheerful day at all. Admittedly, Mrs. Shaw could not complain at the amount of business she was doing this morning, but she was not having a lucky day where her staff was concerned. Not only had Jessie Simmons rung early in the morning to say she had caught a bad touch of the flu and would have to spend the day in bed, but Elaine Lowe had been most disgruntled when asked to stand in for her colleague. And then there was Bridget Potter.

Wilhelmina Shaw had liked Bridget Potter from the first moment she had set eyes on her. That had been a good fifteen years or more ago, and though the girl's clothes had seemed more than a little shabby at the time, there had been something about her even then that had told Mrs. Shaw that this was no ordinary young woman. Even in a threadbare coat, Bridget Potter had immediately struck the storekeeper as a real little lady, but there had been more than that ... there had been a sense of tragedy about her that was immensely appealing to someone who had spent the greater part of her life reading novels that told of hopeless loves, relentless hates and undying passions.

Bridget Potter had entered the shop that day, at roughly this time of year, as one of the many shoppers who did not know quite what to get their friends and loved ones for Christmas, and Mrs. Shaw had asked her what she could do for her, and the girl had hesitated and then said, quite unexpectedly, that she not only needed a present for a dear old lady, but that she was also looking for a job that would allow her to pay for it. And Mrs. Shaw had provided her with both, on the spot and without hesitation. But this was not all that Mrs. Shaw had supplied Bridget Potter with. In her mind, she had also given her a history that she was secretly sure must be far more exciting and romantic than the true story, as she knew from experience that real life was rarely as thrilling as fiction. Bridget Potter had claimed to be a widow left alone with a small son, but Mrs. Shaw had made up her mind that that son - if indeed he was her son, which she doubted, considering her new employee's youth - was illegitimate, and that Bridget Potter had, in truth, been the victim of some heartless young man who toyed with girls' feelings and threw them over when asked to take on any kind of responsibility.

But be that as it may, Mrs. Shaw had taken a liking to the pretty young thing with the large, sad brown eyes and thick curls, and now, though many years had passed and much water had flown down the Thames since then, she was still rather fonder of her than either Jessie or Elaine. And that was why Mrs. Shaw was frowning this Monday morning. Bridget Potter, the young woman who inspired both a genuine fondness and an insatiable curiosity in her, was in the worst state she had ever seen her - and that was saying something, considering how gloomy she had been for the past several months. Not only did Bridget flinch any time someone spoke to her, but she seemed positively alarmed every time the bell rang, she kept dropping things, and tears seemed to start into her eyes whenever she was asked what was the matter. Tears were filling her eyes once more now as Mrs. Shaw said,

"My dear, I do wish you'd only tell me what's wrong. I can't have you looking so upset and not know the reason. I feel I ought to give you a cup of tea in the back room, but I'm afraid I really can't leave the shop this morning, busy as we are."

"It's all right, Mrs. Shaw," Bridget said with an effort at self-control. "Please don't worry about me."

"Poor thing," cooed Mrs. Shaw, patting her cheek. "I wish I knew how to cheer you up..."

Little did she know, as she bustled away and left Bridget to replace a pile of books on their shelf at the back of the shop, that she would not need to worry much longer. It was barely ten minutes later that she was winding her little round body in and out of the customers who stood scattered about her shop to get to Bridget Potter once more.

"Ah, there you are, dear," she exclaimed with no real surprise, since Bridget was still where she had left her.

"Yes?" said Bridget rather anxiously. "What is it?"

"There's a gentleman come to see you," Mrs. Shaw announced. "I don't know who he is, never seen him before. It's not that nice young man who's called for you here before. This one's much darker, for a start, and a bit older, I'd say ... and I happened to notice he's wearing a wedding ring ... But 'gentleman' certainly seems the right word ... There's something about him, you know. Not just looks, it's more than that. He seems to have been roughed up a bit though..."

"What?" The word burst out of Bridget like the crack of a whip. "Where is he?" she asked urgently.

"Just by the counter," Mrs. Shaw replied, but Bridget was already on her way.

She murmured apologies as she pushed past the customers that lined the aisle between the bookshelves and did not stop until she could see the person Mrs. Shaw had been speaking of.

"John!" she exclaimed, her voice shaking.

He turned towards her, and for a moment Bridget just gazed up at him. His mouth twitched into a smile, and Bridget rushed forward and threw both arms around his neck, calling as she did so,

"John, I'm so glad ... I've been so afraid..."

"It's all right," he replied gently, patting her back with his good arm and very much conscious of the stares they were getting from all around. "There's no more need for that."

Pulling herself together for a moment, Bridget took him by the arm and hurriedly led him through the door behind the counter into a small office. She closed the door without sparing a further thought for all the puzzled people outside, not to mention her employer, and looked at John fondly.

"Thank goodness you're all right," she said with feeling. "Did it go according to plan? Is everyone safe?"

He nodded. "Yes, we all got back safely, greatly thanks to Professor Dumbledore and ... your father." He hesitated a little, and his smile faded slightly as he said the last two words. He hitched it back into place. "I can't pretend I wasn't very much afraid we wouldn't make it. Luckily, Professor Dumbledore arrived by phoenix just in time. He got Fawkes to carry Malcolm back to Hogwarts at once. Then he and your father held off Voldemort and the Death Eaters while the rest of us got back into the boat."

"Voldemort? They held back the Dark Lord himself?"

"Yes." John's voice grew thoughtful. "I think we owe a lot of that to the element of surprise. The last thing Voldemort had expected was to be confronted by Albus Dumbledore and Gryffindor's heir at the same time. I think ... yes, I think he was afraid," he finished with a note of satisfaction.

"And Malcolm?" Bridget asked quietly. "Is he ... all right?"

"Professor Dumbledore seems confident that he will be."

"You don't sound sure. What is it, John? What happened?"

John sank into a chair and began telling her. He recited the whole story to her, more explicitly than he had yet told anyone else. He only left out one detail. When he had finished, he suddenly felt as weary again as he had last night. He studied Bridget's reaction. For a moment she was completely still. Then she asked with forced calm,

"Do you think Malcolm will recover ... completely?"

"They're analysing the stuff he was given at Hogwarts at this very moment and Dumbledore's going to consult an expert he knows. Once they know what it was, they'll be able to treat him more efficiently. If it was a very complex potion, it may take time to brew a direct remedy, but Madam Pomfrey didn't seem too concerned, and Remus says she's excellent."

"What do you think?" Bridget persisted.

"I've never claimed to be much good at dealing out hope," John said slowly. "But Malcolm always was, and that's what matters. He doesn't give in easily. I think ... for once I feel optimistic ... After all this, I think ... he'll be all right."

Bridget gazed down at him quite steadily for a moment. Then her lip suddenly trembled and she began to cry without further warning. John got up quickly and put his arm around her. She clung to him tightly, sobbing her heart out against his chest. John kissed her forehead gently, but said nothing. Whether he wanted it to or not, his mind kept returning to that one part of the story he had left out, the moment when Paula Lestrange's wand had been pointed at his chest, when she had spoken the words of the killing curse and it had not struck him, but that unfortunate woman he had 'rescued' from her cell moments beforehand. He could still see her lifeless face before him, and hear Gordon's voice shouting at him from out of nowhere to get out.

* * *

Aurora Borealis woke up much sooner on Monday morning than she had the previous day. This was partly down to the fact that she was recovering, and partly owing to Cheesy the rat, who was employing his preferred method of waking her by nibbling at her ear. Feeling very much better than she had before she had closed her eyes last night, Aurora pushed him playfully aside and stretched. She got up and drew the curtains aside to look at the snow-covered grounds below, forgetting for a while what was going on in the world beyond these four walls, forgetting even the mission to rescue Malcolm, of which Frank had told her briefly before leaving last night. She had had a good night's sleep, she felt rested and content.

It was a good half hour later that Cronky the house elf appeared to enquire after her needs.

"Is you wanting sausages for breakfast, Miss?" he asked cheerfully. "Beans? Mushrooms? Master told Cronky to say you may have what you wants."

"Just some bacon and egg, if it's no trouble," Aurora replied, then remembering what she had been told last night, she added, "Is your master back then? Did everything go according to plan?"

"Cronky is not knowing details, Miss, but Cronky's master is not seeming dissatisfied. Would Miss perhaps like to change?"

"Change?"

"Cronky has had some clothes put in the wardrobe for you while you were sleeping."

Aurora went over to the item of furniture he indicated and opened it. "Hello ... these are my own!" she exclaimed, examining the contents. "How did you get them here?"

"Cronky did not, Miss. It was the young gentleman that brought you here. The one who is bringing Miss her rat."

He cast a disapproving, large-eyed glance at Cheesy, who was happily nibbling away at the bedspread. Aurora hastily told off her rat and made a mental note to ask Frank where he had got her clothes from. She asked Cronky to bring her breakfast a little later and went for a bath. She had only just returned to her room and discovered that the house elves had already made the bed when there was a knock at the door. It was another house elf, not Cronky this time, who entered and announced in a shy, squeaky voice,

"There is a young gentleman to see Miss, if Miss is not minding."

"Of course not!" Aurora answered eagerly. "Show him in ... Frank, your earl..." she began, then stopped. It was not Frank who entered. Her jaw dropped a little as the door closed behind the house elf. "Sirius!" she exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I heard the news," he said, and it sounded like his nose was badly blocked. "On the wireless. So I just chucked some clothes on and came round at once. Rory, I'm so sorry..."

He started towards her, but Aurora's utterly bewildered stare stopped him.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

He seemed puzzled. "What am I ... Rory, it was on the news on the wireless this morning. The village ... They mentioned someone with your surname and said something about a niece, and I thought ... well, it's not exactly a common name. I was sure it had something to do with you, especially coming on top of what happened yesterday."

"Yesterday?" she echoed. "Why, what did happen yesterday?"

It was his turn to stare. "What ... do you meant to say you don't ... hasn't anyone told you?"

"Told me what? Sirius..." She found herself growing anxious, while he became positively awkward. "Sirius, what is it? What are you talking about?"

Sirius backed away a little, muttering, "You really don't know, do you? Oh hell! I thought they'd have told you by now. I came to offer you my sympathy and tell you, if there's anything I can do ... but I had no idea ... I don't think I should be the one to tell you."

"Tell me what?" she asked, her voice a little shaky now. "Sirius?"

Sirius coughed, blew his nose and mopped his brow - partly because he needed to, partly to play for time. Then he guided her to the bed and made her sit down. Aurora was peering at him worriedly. He began with a sigh.

"There have been attacks. One on your place, yesterday. One on a village, last night."

Her face very pale, Aurora asked, "What kind of attacks?"

"Death Eater attacks, of course," Sirius said with a note of impatience. "What else? You've made yourself unpopular with them and it looks like they mean to get rid of you."

"Get rid of me? You mean ... they set out on purpose to kill me?"

"Yes. First at your flat, then in some village or other. What's it called..."

"Tipton?" she suggested tremulously.

Sirius nodded. "Yes, that was it. Well, they didn't find you there, luckily..."

"But what did they do? Oh, Sirius, they didn't ... they didn't hurt anyone..."

"Rory..." He grasped her shoulders and looked at her steadily and sympathetically. "I'm sorry. They ... killed..."

She shivered. "How many?"

"As I understand it, they wiped out that whole village. And at your flat ... most people got out alive, but Lily was there getting some of your things for you with her dad. She's all right, but he's ... He didn't make it."

Aurora stared at him, her eyes widening as she understood what he was saying. "Lily's dad? Oh no..."

Sirius pulled her closer to him and held her tightly. Aurora let him, without showing any reaction. She felt as though she were trapped in a bad dream and unable to wake up. She wanted very much to cry, but found she couldn't. She wanted to be held, but at the same time found she would rather have been alone. Sirius stroked her hair, then raised her chin with his forefinger to look into her face. He looked more genuinely concerned than she had ever seen him, but she was not in the mood to care. Her thoughts were in a total and utter whirl.

"You mustn't blame yourself, Rory."

"Of course not," she said, startled by the coldness of her own voice. "I don't feel blame. I don't feel ... anything..."

Sirius looked at her a minute longer then, impulsively, he inclined his face towards hers and kissed her. It lasted for a long moment before he drew back. Aurora was staring at him, looking more dazed than ever. Sirius began to say something, but she got up as though in a dream and walked to the window. He made to follow her, but Cheesy seemed to decide that the time was right to intervene, and launched an attack on Sirius's shoes which Aurora did nothing to stop. Sirius retreated. After he had gone, she leaned her forehead against the windowpane and stared out. But she no longer saw anything.

* * *

Frank Longbottom had gone home as Mr. Moody had instructed. Once there, he had even gone straight to bed. But after lying awake for an hour or more, he decided that it was just no use. He could never go to sleep with so much on his mind. He got out of bed again, took a quick shower and put on a clean set of muggle clothes. Then he set out for Gryffindor Hall. It was time to tell Aurora what had been happening, break it to her gently before she found out from the wireless or the Daily Prophet or by some other unfeeling means.

The front doorstep of Gryffindor Hall was free of snow, though it lay in heaps that reached as high as Frank's waist on either side of the door. He rang the bell and did not have to wait long for the appearance of one of the many house elves that worked here, and knew him by sight. On entering the hallway, he was greeted first of all by Gordon Gryffindor himself, who appeared to be crossing it on his way to the drawing room.

"Sir!" Frank exclaimed. "You're back! Did it go all right last night?"

"Good morning, Frank", said the old wizard. "Yes, our expedition was a success. But from what I have heard on the wireless just now, last night was not a good one for everyone."

"No, quite. That's what I've just come about. Has anyone told Aurora yet?"

At that moment they were joined, not by Aurora, but by Aunt Enid.

"Frank!" she cried and came straight up to him. She was looking dishevelled in a pink quilted dressing gown, carpet slippers and hairnet, and she was slightly teary-eyed and even more flustered than usual. "Oh, I am glad you're here. Have you heard the news? Well, of course, you must have done, it's so early in the morning still. Oh, to think of all those poor people, and Mrs. Gibbs just expecting her third too - though one could say the poor thing had a lucky escape. Imagine being christened Eucharist, or Magdalena if it was a girl. Oh dear, and all those youngsters enjoying snowball fights and looking forward to the Christmas holidays, and I'd just got that recipe for mince pies from Mrs. Drower too..."

"I'm very sorry about what happened," Frank said quickly, grasping his opportunity as soon as she paused for breath. "I can understand you must be very upset. Does your niece know yet?"

"Oh, I don't think so, unless that was what that young man wanted to talk to her about."

"Young man?" It was Gordon who asked the question, but he did not need to wait for an answer, for Sirius appeared on the stairs at that very instant and called out a greeting to them all.

Suddenly quite at a loss for anything more to say, Frank stared and watched him come down the stairs. Sirius, for his part, did not seem too keen on looking at Frank at all. He was exaggeratedly casual as he came up to them, asking brightly of Gordon whether everyone was all right and practically ignoring both Frank and Aunt Enid, until the latter said she was going to get herself a cup of tea, and Gordon accompanied her. Left alone together, Sirius and Frank did not speak for a few moments. Finally Sirius said hoarsely,

"Well, I suppose I'd better be off now. I'm meant to be in bed curing this cold, you know. Just thought I'd pop in on Rory, see how she'd taken the news. I didn't know she hadn't heard anything about it yet," he added with a laugh that fell rather flat. He eyed Frank, who still hadn't found his voice, and snatched up his cloak. "Well," he began again. "I'll see you sometime, I expect."

At last Frank thought of something to say. "Did you tell her about what happened?"

"Yes," Sirius replied shortly. "Didn't have much choice, after bursting in on her like that. She didn't take it too well, I'm afraid. Perhaps you can cheer her up a bit. I tried, but ... I'm not sure it had the desired effect. See you," he finished, and went out quickly.

Frank hesitated a moment. Finally he took off his cloak and gloves and deposited them over the back of the same armchair where Sirius's had been before, then he climbed the stairs. He knocked softly at Aurora's door. There was a moment's pause before she called out to him to come in. He did so, and was immediately greeted by Cheesy the rat, who scurried around his feet a few times before taking up a position by the dressing table. Aurora was looking out of the window, but she turned around now. Her face was pale, but quite expressionless. She looked at Frank steadily.

"Oh, it's you," she said, and her voice was unmistakably cold. "What do you want?"

Frank said slowly, "I came to tell you the news."

"You're too late," she snapped. "I've already heard."

"Yes, I know. Sirius told me."

She snorted. "He's good at that today, isn't he? Going around telling people things they'd rather not hear?"

"You had to know eventually."

"Eventually?" She repeated the word bitterly. "How long was that supposed to take? Were you thinking of telling me next weekend over tea and biscuits? Or maybe Christmas Day, that would have been a nice treat."

"Aurora..."

"It happened yesterday!" she yelled suddenly. "Yesterday! You were here after it happened. And you didn't tell me anything about it."

"I only heard about the village on the wireless this morning."

"You knew about the other, didn't you? You knew about my flat, and about Lily's dad!"

"Yes, I knew about that. But there was nothing you could have done about it, it was too late for anyone to do anything. I didn't think anything could be gained by telling you then rather than now. It seemed better to let you have one more night's peace first."

She snorted vehemently. "A fine peace I've had. Sirius blurted out all about being sorry before I even knew what he was talking about, and then he ended up telling me. Do you think that was the ideal way for me to find out?"

"Probably not. His turning up here this morning wasn't exactly part of the plan."

"The plan?! What was your plan? Did you plan to come along here and break it to me gently? Did you think I'd have a good cry on your shoulder and that would be it? Did you think it wouldn't occur to me that all those people needn't have died if you'd told me at once what the Death Eaters had done in London?"

For a moment Frank wasn't sure what she was trying to say, and he told her so. Aurora's eyes blazed.

"If you had told me about Lily's father when you should have done, the attack on Tipton could have been prevented. I could have gone there, I could have made sure they found me..."

"They'd have killed you!" Frank exclaimed, raising his voice to her for the first time ever. "All the special powers in the world couldn't have saved you!"

"Maybe!" she cried. "Maybe they would have killed me, but at least I wouldn't have had to go on living with the knowledge that a whole village full of innocent people were murdered because of me, because the Death Eaters didn't find me there!"

"It would have made no difference if they had found you there, they'd still have killed everyone else too, it's their idea of sport! I thought you'd have realised that by now."

"You don't know what they'd have done!" she retorted hotly. "They might have let the others go if they'd got what they came for. But, of course, I was given no such choice. You decided that a village of muggles was worthless, just as long as we could all have a good night's sleep!"

"I decided...? Aurora, you don't know what you're saying..."

"Don't I? Then tell me why no one did anything to protect those people, tell me why you're standing here calm as anything and they're all dead!"

Frank looked at her without speaking for a moment. When he opened his mouth again, he spoke very quietly, almost sadly,

"Maybe you're right, perhaps I should have realised the village might still be in danger, even though we'd removed all possible targets. But I don't think I have reason to feel guilty about it, any more than you do. And I don't think I deserve being spoken to like that. I don't think you really believe I don't care about the innocent people who died last night. I also don't think this has anything to do with anything I should or shouldn't have done, or told you. Does it?"

Aurora stared back at him, looking suddenly confused.

Frank said glumly, "It's because it was Sirius who told you, isn't it? Do you still care about him that much?"

When Aurora said nothing, he turned around and walked out of the room and along the passage. The door fell shut behind him with a bang. Aurora stared at the place where he had been standing. She sank down onto the bed and went on staring. Cheesy came scurrying up to her, clambered onto the bed and nudged her, but she took no notice of him. She simply sat there, staring ahead of her. After a rather long time, she felt both the heat and the numbness ebb away, and outright misery swept over her. Suddenly realising what she had done, she jumped up so abruptly that the rat squealed with fright. Aurora ran out into the passage herself.

"Frank!" she shouted urgently and started running down the stairs, tears beginning to stream down her face. "Frank, wait, don't go! Frank!"

She reached the front door and tore it open, but just then the door to the kitchens opened behind her.

"Aurora!" her aunt cried. "My dear, what on earth is the matter? You frightened the life out of me."

Aurora spun round. "Oh, Aunt Enid..." she began unhappily, then broke off. Aunt Enid was not alone. Frank was standing beside her.

"Y-you're still here?" Aurora stammered, taken aback. "I thought you'd left."

"Your aunt was kind enough to offer me some toast. I haven't had any breakfast yet."

"Oh."

Aurora walked back to the stairs and sat down on the steps. Aunt Enid hesitated a moment, then she left them alone together. Aurora looked up a little shyly.

"I thought I'd driven you away."

Frank shook his head. "You won't find it that easy to get rid of me. I just thought it would be best to give you a bit of time to think."

"I'm so sorry," Aurora murmured. "I shouldn't have said what I did, it was stupid of me. I know you were only doing what you thought was best, I know you'd have done anything you could for those poor people if you'd known what would happen, and I know you only wanted to protect me, it's just..."

"Yes?" Frank prompted her.

"You were right. It's because it was Sirius. I just so wish that ... that you had told me instead."

Frank sighed heavily. "I see," he said quietly, and came to sit down beside her.

"It's over between us," Aurora said quickly. "It has been since that day when I found out he'd been kissing another girl. It wasn't just that, of course, I could have forgiven him one kiss ... well, actually, to be fair, I suppose I couldn't," she admitted ruefully. "I wanted him to myself. I'm selfish, I know, but I wanted to feel he wasn't interested in any other girl; I wanted him to take me seriously and treat me seriously. It was silly, of course. What I wanted was for Sirius not to be Sirius. But I got over that. I turned to Remus instead. He was so much the opposite of Sirius. He was always gentle, always kind, always sincere and loyal. He was also most definitely not interested in me." She gave an unhappy laugh. "I kissed him, did you know? I kissed him and it completely startled him, poor dear. It was a mistake. But it taught me something. I suppose that's what mistakes are for, don't you think so?"

"So they say."

"But how many mistakes does one have to make? How many kisses does it take to find out what's good for you and what gets you burnt? How many times do I have to let someone kiss me and find out it was a mistake? And why does it have to turn everything upside down?"

"I'm not sure I understand you," Frank said slowly.

"No, I don't suppose you do. I don't suppose you've ever made such a mistake."

"I've certainly never kissed Remus."

Aurora glanced at him sideways, and gave a small, watery smile. "I'm relieved to hear it," she said. Then she added dismally, "I shouldn't be thinking about all this, not now. Confusing as my romantic entanglements may be, there are more important things to worry about. What I said earlier was nonsense, I don't really blame you for any of this, but I do wish ... I wish there was something I could do to make sure no one ever has to suffer because of me again. There has to be a way. After all, I can't hide away here forever."

"We'll find a way," Frank said reassuringly. "But not right at this minute. You may be tired of hearing it, but you do need to rest."

"Dear Frank."

She smiled at him more openly now, and studied his face closely. With a shock, she realised she was doing so for the first time. He had altered greatly since their early days at Hogwarts. He was taller and thinner, and a lot darker. She also noticed how the thin lines of his brows were drawn together, how weary his eyes were. Her expression changed to one of concern.

"You look exhausted," she remarked.

"I am rather." He yawned. "It's been a long night."

"What have you been up to?"

"There was some trouble at the Ministry. Two aurors had been placed under the Imperius curse and they let the Death Eater they were supposed to be guarding escape - the one Malcolm was impersonating. And then they battered another auror about, Laura Lovegood. Mr. Moody's furious. He's rather fond of her, I think."

"Is Miss Lovegood all right?"

"St. Mungo's will have some work to do patching her up, but they seem pretty sure there won't be too much permanent damage."

"And Malcolm?"

"I haven't heard much, but I think he's safe at Hogwarts. He's another one who needs a good rest."

"And Frank Longbottom?"

He returned her smile faintly. "He could do with some rest too, but you know what they say. There's no rest for the wicked."

"Then they can't be talking about you. I've yet to sense even the remotest hint of wickedness about you, and I am considered to be a highly skilled legilimens, you know."

"Well, if you want to keep that nicely non-wicked image of me, perhaps you'd better not put your skills to the test right now."

"I have no intention of ever putting them to the test on you. I don't think I need to. I've just discovered I only need to look at you."

"Really? I didn't realise I was wearing my heart on my sleeve, I must remember to change my shirt more often..."

"Not on your sleeve, no." She looked deeply into his eyes, ignoring the quip, and suddenly she stopped smiling and her face grew sad once more. "Frank?"

"Yes, Aurora?"

"Remember my mentioning something about crying on your shoulder?"

"Yes."

"Do you mind...?"

And she moved nearer to him, pulled his arm around her own shoulders, and leaned her head sideways against his.

* * *

Sirius returned home with very confused thoughts in his head. He was cross, and he didn't really know quite why or with whom. He went through the options in his mind. Was he cross with Frank? Did he have reason to be? Frank had not told Rory what had been going on yesterday, and things might have been less awkward if he had done so. Yes, if Frank had told Rory ... then Frank might have got her odd reaction instead and he, Sirius, could have come in today, solicitous, and his kiss might have been more kindly received. As he formed this last thought, he felt a nagging in the back of his mind that he could not quite suppress, and seemed to hear a voice that sounded uncannily like Remus's say,

*It's no use trying to blame Frank. You're the one who's acted like the lowest kind of cad. You made use of her grief to try and make her say she'll have you back.*

"Rubbish. I was just trying to comfort her, that's all," Sirius muttered out loud. He walked into the kitchen to see about preparing himself the breakfast he had skipped earlier.

*You've behaved like an idiot,* said the voice in his mind. *You should never have gone round there.*

Sirius gave a snort that gave way at once to a fit of sneezing. "And I suppose this is my punishment," he grumbled to no one in particular as he reluctantly fetched a handkerchief and went to sit on the sofa in the living room. He leaned back his head and closed his eyes. He could see Aurora looking back at him quite clearly. Her expression was reproachful. She opened her mouth to speak, but he did not hear what she said. He was more exhausted than he cared to admit, and in only a few moments, he had fallen asleep.

* * *

Brothers

Philippa Pettigrew stood at the head of the great staircase in Hogwarts' entrance hall watching students pouring towards the doors of the Great Hall on their way to lunch, as they did every day. The backdrop of noise, laughter, shouting and even bullying however did not penetrate the curtain of her thoughts today as it normally did. She didn't hear even the smallest snippet of conversation of those children that passed nearest to her. Her mind was so far lost in thought that she literally jumped an inch or two when Professor McGonagall's voice spoke at her elbow.

"Oh, sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't hear you coming. You were saying...?"

But the older woman did not repeat her words. Instead she cocked her head a little to one side and regarded Pippa with mild concern.

"Are you quite well?" she asked. "You look pale."

"I'm quite all right," Pippa assured her. "Just a little tired, I suppose. And..."

"Yes?"

With a sigh, Pippa went on, "I think I'm beginning to realise just how naive I was. To think that I offered to go in Mr. Marley's place..."

"You did? I was not aware of that."

The young woman shook her head. "No, I - I only suggested it to him, but he wouldn't hear of it. It seemed such a wonderful thing to do, so noble. And I thought ... maybe if I went, if I was able to help by spying ... perhaps I could make up, at least a little, for my sister's faults."

"From what I can gather, your sister has more than 'faults'," McGonagall remarked coldly.

Pippa blinked. "That's just it. Last night, I realised ... I've been a fool. All along, I've thought if I could only reach her, if I could talk to her ... She's my sister. And deep down, I've always believed that she could be better, that she was better than she made out to be. But I know now how wrong I was. Her hate for me is as real as her hate for everything and everyone else. The sister I imagined myself to possess all through my childhood has gone, if she was ever there." She looked around appealingly. "Professor, can you understand how that makes me feel?"

"Not entirely," McGonagall said slowly. "I have experienced ... loss ... But not in this way. Everyone loses people they care about, but they are real people. I imagine that to find someone you cared for never really existed can be worse. When one loses a loved one, at least one has memories to hold on to."

"My good memories are as much figments of my imagination as the person I saw in her. I imagined I could see some good in her because I wanted to see it, because I thought that she must secretly feel as I do. But she doesn't. And now..."

McGonagall grasped her by the shoulder. "Philippa, now is not the time to dwell on what is done and can't be undone. There is a part of your past and present that is real. Your brother, I am sure, is genuinely fond of you. I think perhaps you should spend some more time with him. After all, we never know what tomorrow will bring."

"But there's work to be done. Here, and for..." - she lowered her voice - "... the Order."

"True. But it does not do to postpone the time you will spend with your family. If one does that, one may some day wake up and realise it has been postponed too long, and things that went unspoken can no longer be said."

Pippa stared openly at her. Minerva McGonagall smiled.

"I promise not to be overly sentimental for much longer. But I will make a suggestion: Go and have lunch with your brother in London. I will cover for you, should you get back late." She forestalled any protests by adding, "You had better go quickly, or I may change my mind. I'll see you at the Hall this evening. All right?"

Pippa smiled back. "All right. Thank you."

* * *

About half a dozen healers were humming around Laura Lovegood's hospital bed like bees around a beehive while two stolidly built aurors - trusted associates of Alastor Moody - stood on guard, watching their every move and keeping an eye on the rest of the ward as well. Lance, meanwhile, sat forgotten in a chair by the wall, hardly aware of the comings and goings, his eyes fixed only on the figure on the bed. His hair was tousled where he had been tugging it at intervals, his glasses had slid to the end of his nose and remained there, his narrow face was as pale as a ghost's. He did not notice the ward door opening, nor did he see the girl that was running towards him until Gloria Boom had already wrapped her arms around him.

"Lance, honey, I've only just heard, I came as quickly as I could..."

"Glo-Gloria?" he stammered, bemused, as she released him.

She touched his cheek. "It's going to be okay, don't worry, you'll see. They can do all kinds of clever things with potions and such. She'll be all right."

Lance looked past her to where the healers were ministering to their patient. Gloria followed his gaze and uttered a faint gasp. She dropped into a second chair and took Lance by the hand.

"She does look bad," she murmured.

"I don't care how she looks," he said desperately. "I just don't want her to die."

* * *

"What does the letter say?" Bridget asked John eagerly.

They were sitting in the same café where she had first gone with Malcolm, that day when he had been fired from the Ministry. On John's advice, she had stayed at the shop until lunchtime and he had gone to work, but he had called for her at midday and now here they were, sitting at a table in the corner, and John was looking down at the letter which Dobby had given him.

"Very little," he replied slowly. "And so much."

"May I?" She held out her hand automatically, then drew it back. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't ... it was addressed to you."

John smiled gently. "For your protection, I'm sure. It contains nothing that was not meant for you to read."

He passed her the parchment. Bridget took it gingerly, like something precious that she was afraid to damage, and looked down at the words Malcolm had written.

Dear friend,

If you are reading this, it means that I am dead and the messenger I entrusted it to has fulfilled the last promise I asked him to give me. He has helped me as much as he could, and more than I could have expected, and I owe him my thanks.

I don't know whether he will have time to explain how I died, but you have to know: our enemy made a potion that allowed him to take my life force from me. The details are unimportant, what matters is that you have to know he is now immortal. There is no use trying to kill him, you will have to find another way of stopping his doings. He has at least half a dozen Death Eaters with him here at all times. I'm afraid there is no more information that I can offer to help our cause.

I would like to write much more, but I am tired, and I don't know how much more time I have. You know what my feelings are - for all of you. And you know what I would want done.

M.

P.S: Don't blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done.

Bridget looked up, a tear in her eye. John took her hand.

"He didn't believe he had any chance, did he?" Bridget said.

"No, he didn't. And I think if we had been much later, everything he expected would have come true."

Bridget looked down at the letter again. "He mentioned no names, not even yours."

"He wanted to protect us to the end. If the letter had been opened by anyone it was not intended for, they would not have known who it referred to."

"What did he mean by 'you know what I would want done'?"

John smiled gently. "That I was to take care of you. And, I think, that you were to have everything he had to leave."

Bridget shuddered. "I'm glad it hasn't come to that."

"So am I." John let go of her hand and took the parchment from her. "We can happily destroy this now, as he is back with us."

"No," Bridget said sharply. "Not yet. Keep it. Keep it until he can destroy it himself."

John nodded. "Very well. I'll give it to him tonight, if he's awake."

"You're going back to Hogwarts tonight?"

"Just to check on how he's doing. But I dare say Faith will stay with him."

"Take me with you, please."

He shook his head. "No, my dear. Suspicions might be aroused if you were seen there. Your safety is too precious to all of us - especially to Malcolm."

"You can't seriously believe there's any danger at Hogwarts, surely!"

"We can't be too careful."

"But ... John, I want to see him."

"I know, I know. But you must be patient a little longer. Give it another couple of days. He's safe now, there's no hurry."

* * *

Peter Pettigrew had been surprised when his sister had turned up at the Ministry to take him out for lunch. They were now sitting in the self-service restaurant of a department store where they had been lucky to get a table - the place was crowded with shoppers. Peter tucked into a ham ploughman's, while Pippa picked at the salad in front of her.

"I'm glad you came," Peter said between mouthfuls. "This is nice."

"Yes," she agreed. "We really should lunch together more often."

"But aren't you supposed to eat at Hogwarts?"

"In the normal way. Actually, it was McGonagall who suggested I come and see you."

"Why?"

Pippa shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. A sudden burst of Christmas spirit coming on, perhaps. It's not long until Christmas now," she added thoughtfully.

"No," he agreed. "But..."

"But what?"

"It's just that ... somehow I don't really care about it being Christmas this year. I mean, it was different last year, when we were still at school and the others used to play their tricks at the dinner table." He chuckled. "I'll never forget Flitwick landing on McGonagall's Christmas pudding after he took off with one of Sirius and James's rockets."

Pippa smiled. "Poor Professor Flitwick."

"Actually, he seemed to enjoy it."

"Yes, I suppose he would."

"But this year," Peter went on, "there won't be any of that. It'll just be you and me, and Mum and Dad..."

"The same old records on the gramophone," Pippa continued. "And he'll give her another new necklace and a box of chocolates and she'll give him a cigar and a new book. And then he'll sit and read while she polishes the kitchen and Celestina Warbeck sings 'All I want for Christmas is a shiny new broom'..."

"... 'A shiny new broom to take me to you'," Peter ended the quote with a grin. "I can't believe they still play that every year."

"It's a classic," Pippa said.

Peter had another bite of his lunch, then he asked, "Are you looking forward to Christmas?"

Pippa shook her head. "I've even thought of staying at Hogwarts this Christmas. But I wouldn't want you to have to suffer Miss Warbeck without moral support."

They laughed.

* * *

Evening Reports

"What's that you've got there?" Benjy Fenwick asked Oliver McKinnon.

It was close to nine o'clock and both of them were still at the Ministry of Magic, on hand in case of any emergency calls. Gideon Prewett joined them, levitating three mugs of hot coffee in front of him as Oliver hurriedly tried to hide the pieces of pink and lilac cardboard he had been looking at. He was too slow, however. Even before the mugs had come to rest on the desk before him, Gideon's hand closed around one particularly vivid pink card covered in flashing red hearts. He examined it, then shot Oliver a look of horror.

"Please tell me it's not what I think it is..."

Oliver reddened. "Afraid so. Marlene's cousin designed them. She's eight."

"Wedding invitations?!" Benjy exclaimed, looking over Gideon's shoulder. "But I thought Marlene was still at school."

"She's of age. And she'll be leaving Hogwarts in summer. We've been talking about getting married next Christmas. Ever since Marlene's family knows, though, they've all been offering to 'help'. It's a nightmare. But what can I do, I can't very well turn round and tell a kid of eight her cards are hideous, can I?"

All three of them laughed. Gideon sat down on the edge of a desk and switched on the wireless. A newsreader was repeating the same reports they had been hearing all day. Benjy yawned widely.

"Anyone for a game of some sort? I'm going to nod off if I don't do something."

"I've got a set of gobstones in a drawer here somewhere," Oliver said.

He began rummaging through the drawers in his desk, but suddenly froze and looked up to stare at the wireless. Benjy and Gideon were doing the same. In the middle of a report about the Ministry's efforts to explain the Tipton disaster to the relatives of the muggles who had been killed, the newsreader broke off. Cries of shock and fear suddenly came from the wireless set, shouts and crashing, the sound of people running and scuffling, then a brief silence and finally a crackle followed by the newsreader's voice, coming weakly.

"Help ... under attack ... all dead ... someone ... help..."

The broadcast ended in a crash and a scream, followed by static. Oliver straightened up. Benjy set down his coffee with a shaking hand. Both of them looked at Gideon. He was very pale.

"W-what just happened?" Benjy whispered.

"I ... think we've just lost the Network," Gideon said hoarsely. "The Death Eaters ... they must have broken in somehow."

"You mean they attacked the WWN crew?" Oliver exclaimed. "Why would they do that?"

Gideon shrugged his shoulders. "The Network has always been outspoken against ... You-Know-Who. I suppose he must have decided ... he'd had enough."

"Whatever next?" Oliver asked.

"The Ministry, perhaps," Gideon wondered out loud. "I wouldn't put it past them." With an effort, he pulled himself together. "Oliver, get messages out to the other aurors. We need to get round to the WWN and investigate. Benjy..."

"Yes?"

"You let Moody know. If he doesn't already."

* * *

It was growing late. The clock on the wall of the room she was now in told Faith that it was half past nine exactly. Sitting on a comfortable bed herself, she glanced across at her brother's. He had still not opened his eyes all day. They had moved him here, to what Professor Dumbledore had termed the Room of Requirement, early this morning, shortly after the lessons had begun. The headmaster had said that he considered this place safer, though Faith could not imagine any room within Hogwarts to be any less safe than the others - unless Peeves were in it. However, she had to admit that the Room of Requirement was extremely comfortable. The beds in it were far more inviting than those in the hospital wing, there were interesting books for her to read if she felt like it - which she didn't - and the room even had its own little bathroom. To this she went now for the umpteenth time this day and dampened a cloth under the running tap. Returning into the main room, she sat down on the edge of Malcolm's bed and removed the cloth she had placed on his forehead a while ago, replacing it with the fresh one. He was lying more peacefully now than he had been. He had tossed and turned all day, sometimes thrashing about him in his sleep, always feverish, never still. But now he was, at last, breathing more evenly. Faith touched his cheek, rough with stubble. She sighed. His face still felt clammy. She took his hand and held it in her lap for a moment.

"I suppose you still can't hear me," she said quietly. "But just in case you can ... I spoke to Professor McGonagall earlier. She's had an owl from Professor Dumbledore at last. He's found that expert I told you about, and he's given him some advice on how to treat you. There's a special potion he'll be brewing for you, and it's going to make you well again. It will take some time before you're back to your old self, but everything will be all right, you'll..."

She broke off, her head turning as she realised the door had opened behind her.

"John," she said happily, rising to greet him with a kiss. "Remus, dear." She kissed her son's cheek. "You're both very late."

"It's been a busy day," John said wearily.

"Did you see Bridget?" his wife asked.

John nodded. "She wanted to come tonight, but I told her to be patient. I don't really think our enemies would try anything under Professor Dumbledore's roof, but all the same ... there are an awful lot of people here at Hogwarts, not all of them innocent children, and we can't afford to trust everyone blindly. If some Death Eater's child saw Bridget here, it might arouse curiosity we don't want."

"But anyone may have seen us here today," Remus put in.

"True," John agreed. "But I don't think that would qualify as a cause of suspicion on Voldemort's behalf. He's bound to have guessed Malcolm will be in a safe place by now. He has no greater enemy than Dumbledore. It won't take him long to figure it out."

"But then, isn't Malcolm in danger, even here?" Faith asked.

John smiled. "Hardly, my love. This room can't be entered unless you know where to find it and how to get in, and that isn't too easy. It's the ideal hideout. So..." His face grew grave. "If you insist on staying in the castle tonight, please make sure you stay within these four walls. Don't leave this room, and don't let anyone in who doesn't manage to open the door from the other side."

Faith paled. "Then ... you do think there's danger? But not to me, surely. If anything, they'll be after Malcolm. Whatever they were doing with the potion ... it wasn't completed."

"And it can't be completed if more than forty-eight hours elapse between doses, apparently. During that time, they will indeed want to find Malcolm, but they can't as long as he's here, and as long as you stay with him."

"What Dad is saying, I think," Remus said gently, "is that if they find they can't get to Uncle Malcolm directly, they may try it indirectly, through someone close to him."

"I see." Faith spoke slowly and anxiously. "You're afraid they'll try to get to him - through me? That if I leave this room ... Well, I shan't. But what about you two? Doesn't the same risk apply to you?"

"We'll be at a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix at Gryffindor Hall," John reassured her. "And we'll stay there all night. If they should call at our front door tonight, no one will be home. So don't worry. Stay here, and everything will be fine. Now, I'm afraid we must be going. We don't want to keep the others waiting. Good night, my love. Take this." John drew Malcolm's letter from his pocket. "Bridget says Malcolm should have it back when he wakes up. It's no longer needed, but she'd rather he destroys it himself."

Taking the letter, Faith nodded. "I understand."

Moments later, she was left alone again. She lay down on her bed, though she doubted if she would get any sleep tonight. Despite her doubts, however, her eyelids soon began to grow heavy. She had almost drifted asleep completely when a sudden murmur from the other bed aroused her. Malcolm was stirring fretfully again. Getting up quickly, Faith hurried to his side and pressed a reassuring hand against the cloth on his forehead.

"It's all right, dear," she whispered soothingly. "Everything will be all right."

Malcolm grew still once more and Faith made to rise from his bedside, but suddenly she heard a new murmur, weak but unmistakable.

"Faith?"

She turned back hopefully, and sure enough, Malcolm's eyes, though hazy, were open and looking straight at her. He tried to raise his hand and she took it quickly between hers.

"Don't," she said. "Don't strain yourself."

To her surprise and slight alarm, her brother's eyes grew moist.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously. "What's the matter?"

"I didn't think ... I'd see you again," he replied hoarsely. "My ... little sister."

Feeling her own eyes fill with tears, Faith was aware of a gentle pressure on her hands that pulled her downwards. Without waiting for more words, she laid her head down on Malcolm's chest and put her arms around him.

"It's all right," she repeated once again. "I'm here."

It was several minutes later that she sat back and smiled down at him. "Welcome back."

Malcolm did not reply directly. Instead he asked,

"What happened? The others ... did they all get back? John..."

"He's fine," Faith assured him. "Just a broken arm, nothing more. They all got back safely. Professor Dumbledore's phoenix brought you straight here."

Malcolm looked around him. "Where are we?"

"At Hogwarts. The school nurse has been helping me look after you." She squeezed his hand gently. "We've all been so worried about you. John went to see Bridget today and tell her you're all right. She wanted to come round at once..."

"She's not coming, is she?" Malcolm asked sharply.

Taken slightly aback, Faith replied slowly. "No. John refused to let her. He thinks it's too risky."

Malcolm seemed to relax a little. "Good," he murmured.

Faith looked at him curiously, her head a little on one side. "I thought you'd have wanted to see her."

He seemed to think about it a moment, but when he spoke it was quite obvious that he did not wish to discuss it. "I still feel weak," he said. "Any idea how long ... they'll be keeping me here?"

After a moment's hesitation, Faith decided to go along with his change of subject. "Not too long, I hope. But it will take time for you to get your strength back. You can't expect to be on your feet again tomorrow."

Malcolm frowned. Slowly, Faith got up and went to fetch him a drink. When she came back, she found that he had pushed himself up into a sitting position. He took the glass from her, sipped from it, and looked at her steadily. Finally, a faint smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.

"Do you remember," he said, "when we were children? When we were ill ... Mother would sit by our side and say 'if I were a witch'..."

"If I were a witch," Faith continued, "I'd magic away all your aches and pains and enchant your pillow each night to give you sweet dreams."

"Yes," said Malcolm. "You look and sound just like her, you know. I'd never realised that before."

"I wish I could give you sweet dreams."

Shaking his head, Malcolm replied, "Every dream I have now is ... a nightmare."

Faith looked at him sadly. She took the glass from him, put it on the bedside table, and put her arms around him once more.

* * *

The meeting of the Order of the Phoenix had gone on for two hours, but now it was over. John sank down gratefully onto the bed in the guest room he and Remus would be sharing tonight.

"What a day," he muttered.

"What a weekend," Remus corrected, sitting on the edge of the bed opposite his father's.

"I wonder why Alastor didn't turn up."

Remus shrugged. "No one's busier than the aurors these days." He paused, studying John intently. At last he asked, "Won't you tell me now what's wrong?"

"Wrong?"

"Yes. You promised you would explain why you said what you did to Pippa Pettigrew."

"Oh. That." John sighed. "It's just that ... Well, I suppose you could say that Gordon saved my life."

Remus stared at him, looking bewildered. John began,

"You heard what Philippa explained about her sister..."

"How you protected her? Yes."

John was forced to smile in spite of himself. "It wasn't quite as dramatic and noble as Philippa made it sound."

"I'm sure it was," Remus disagreed, "but go on."

"Well, what Philippa didn't mention is that Mrs. Lestrange was about to kill me. She spoke the words of the killing curse and I thought ... I thought it was over. But I didn't know Gordon was there. He was invisible at the time, and he pushed ... he pushed someone in front of me."

"Who? You all got back safely..."

"The woman who helped Malcolm. Miss Dulac."

"The one you found in a cell down there?"

"Yes."

Remus frowned thoughtfully. "From what the others said," he said slowly, "It didn't sound as though she had much of a life to look forward to."

"Perhaps not," John answered heavily. "But she was alive, and the curse wasn't meant for her. Yet Gordon decided..."

"That your chance was greater than hers," Remus said quickly. "That's all. She might have spent the rest of her life in St. Mungo's, if she'd even made it off the island, which could be considered doubtful. He must have thought that if she died there, it would maybe even be better for her."

John shook his head. "I don't know how much of that he really thought. I only know that now a woman is dead because of me, and she didn't even have a chance to make her own choice. It makes me feel ... guilty. And all because Gordon decided it was up to him to interfere."

"Interfere?" Remus repeated thinly. "Dad, if he hadn't ... then you..." He fell silent, unable to voice what would have happened, had Gordon done nothing. Instead he hesitated a moment. Then he said very quietly, "I feel guilty too."

"You?" John was surprised. "Why?"

"Because I'm glad," Remus explained. "I'm glad things turned out this way. I was so scared."

"Scared?" John echoed.

Remus nodded. "We'd all been so worried about Uncle Malcolm, but I suddenly thought what if he comes back, but ... but we lose you?"

"Remus..." John said quickly, but his son had not finished. Though his eyes were sore now from holding back tears he was determined not to shed, he went on,

"You told me once that you don't want to die a hero. But you very nearly did, Dad. If it hadn't been for Gordon, you would have. So I can't help it, but I'm glad he did what he did. And I'm going to go right back downstairs and thank him for it. Because I can't imagine anything worse than ... losing you..."

And with these words, he rose and walked to the door. John called after him.

"Remus?"

Remus stopped and turned back. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry. I knew you'd be anxious, but it never occurred to me just how much. I thought that your mother was the one ... that as long as you had her with you ... you'd be all right."

His son shook his head. "I'm selfish," he said with a touch of ruefulness. "I want both."

John smiled. "In that case, I promise to be more careful in future."

* * *

The little clearing where the Lupins' house stood was dark but for the green glow from a wand tip.

"There's no one here," a figure masked and robed in black, said to its companion.

"Did you really expect them to have brought him here, patiently waiting to be killed? Dumbledore is no fool, Lestrange."

"Then where do you think they're hiding him?"

"I don't need to guess," said the second voice. "I know. He's at Hogwarts. The Dark Lord received a letter earlier today."

"Then what are we doing here? Shouldn't we be at the school?"

"We cannot risk an attack on Hogwarts. The Dark Lord hoped we would find someone home tonight, but the house is clearly deserted."

"Then what do we do now? Wreck the place?" There was a pause, then he prompted, "Lothian?"

The other shook his head slowly. "That would serve no purpose at this time. We'll take a good look round, and then we'll leave. We've all had enough enjoyment for one day. And who knows ... some day, perhaps ... we'll come back."