Three Animagi and a Werewolf

Chapter 32: A Great Shock

Storm Clouds Gathering

It was the second week in January and a day of glorious sunshine, though Laura Lovegood suspected the air was probably still very cold outside. She stretched a little on the sofa and smoothed her blanket out a bit more evenly, debating what to do next. Though she had been reading, and enjoying this latest book Lance had brought her, somehow she didn't feel like it any more. She replaced the bookmark, put the book on the little table beside her and removed her reading glasses. She had never needed to wear glasses of any kind before, but since the attack, not everything was as it had been. There was a deep cut still in the process of healing over her left eye, from the eyebrow right down to the cheek, from when her face had struck the wall, that would never vanish entirely, and a good deal of swelling around it. A blow to her head had damaged some nerves and though the vision of her right eye was only slightly impaired, the left had been greatly weakened. A few stray bruises to her face had not yet quite faded and a scar marred her lower lip on the right-hand side of her face. On the whole though, it was the left side of her body that had suffered most.

Still, she could not complain. The incident had not, for example, left her completely blind or entirely disfigured. Moreover, Lance had been kind to her, and he and his fiancée Gloria had taken such good care of her as to be downright irritating at times. She knew they only meant well, and had felt a pinch of guilt about getting a little sharp with Gloria two days ago, when the younger woman had insisted on reading a whole three essays on the possibilities of taming vampirical doxies to her. All the same, one really couldn't stand that all the time, especially when one's mind still secretly dwelt on much more important things.

Laura closed her eyes and leaned back on the sofa. There was a ring at the front door and presently she heard Lance cross the hall and answer it. After a brief murmur of voices, her brother knocked on the open living room door behind her. Opening her eyes again, but without turning her head - since she knew from experience that it would be painful - Laura said,

"Yes, Lance. What is it?"

"Someone's come to see you. If you feel up to it."

"Of course. Who is it?" she asked.

But Lance did not answer. Instead she heard a different set of footsteps approach her from behind. A shadow cast by the bright light from the window preceded the man. She drew in her breath sharply when she saw him.

"Malcolm?" she exclaimed disbelievingly.

Looking up at him, she saw at once how much leaner he was in the face. His drawn cheeks were slightly disguised by a thin layer of beard, a little grey had crept into his hair at the temples and he walked slowly. But what really startled her was the eyes, so dark and unfathomable now, though she remembered them brightly sparkling and full of cheer.

"Hello, Laura," he greeted her. His tone was light, but not quite naturally so. "I thought it was about time I dropped in on you to let you know I'm still alive."

"I knew that," she said. "Mr. Moody told me. But I understood you were supposed to be resting at your sister's place."

"That's right. But I've never seen the point of lying around indoors all day as Faith would like me to do. It only leaves you one thing to do, and that's brood. Not that that can be avoided. But if you're going to brood, you might as well get out and stretch your legs at the same time, get some fresh air. That's always been your idea of a cure, hasn't it? You never used to think much of ..." He broke off suddenly, very abruptly, a startled look on his face as though a thought had only just occurred to him. He stumbled on, "I ... I mean ... good God, Laura, I've only just thought ... you're not ..."

"What, you mean this?" she asked, indicating the blanket that covered her legs. "I'm not paralysed, if that's what you're thinking. Nothing so dramatic as that. Although the staff at St. Mungo's were kind enough to point out that I owe that fact entirely to luck. However, it does look like I won't be taking much action in future. I can walk, but my left leg was crunched up rather badly, so as you can imagine, my limp rivals Mr. Moody's these days - but I like to think that creates a rather heroic impression."

Malcolm smiled. It was nothing like the old roguish smile she remembered, but it felt good to see it all the same.

"I'm sure it does," said Malcolm.

He pulled up a chair, sat down, and studied her face for a moment until Laura remarked uncomfortably,

"I'm afraid while that new 'haunted' look of yours is rather appealing, my change of appearance has not been quite so fortunate. Bones can be re-grown - and so many of mine have been that I don't think I shall ever forget the taste of Skele-Gro - but they like to leave skin to heal itself. But though you may not believe it, I look far worse in other places."

"You look ... all right," Malcolm said.

The comment might have been taken negatively if spoken in a different way. But there was such a warmth in his voice as he said it that Laura could not help but smile.

"The bruises will fade soon enough," he went on.

"Yes, I dare say they will. But the scars won't," she replied quietly.

He realised, without her needing to say it, that she was no longer talking about the damage done to her face.

"I'm told they beat you up pretty roughly. I've not heard any details, but it must have been grim what they did to you. It must have been a pretty powerful Imperius curse, neither of them would ever have been inclined to be so brutal otherwise. I suppose you don't know who controlled them ..."

"I ... I can't be sure," Laura said. "I may have a suspicion, but that's all it is. It's nothing to found an accusation on."

"Nevertheless, you shouldn't keep it to yourself. Whoever it was turned two of our own, pretty strong wizards, too, right against you. And then just left you there ..."

Laura bit her lip. She did not want to cry, but she was very much aware that her eyes were suddenly beginning to brim with tears. Malcolm looked tactfully down at the floor.

"We've certainly been through hell, haven't we?" he murmured.

"Yes," she agreed in a choked voice.

"It's hard to remember there were times when we'd complain over a mere scratch, and say we were tired after a long day at Headquarters. Looking back, I don't think I was ever really tired then. I'm tired now. Terribly tired."

Laura pushed her blanket aside and sat up, leaning across to put a hand on his arm. "So am I," she said. "But what can we do? What's done is done. The scars are there and now we must live with them. We mustn't give in and be defeated."

Malcolm looked up again. "You're a brave girl," he said.

She shook her head. "Not nearly so brave as you think. A lot of the time, since it happened, I've felt positively terrified. I have flashbacks, you see. Memories of what they did to me, and they seem awfully real at times. And though they pass there are other things. For a start, I ... I can't stand doors being closed," she told him with a shudder. "I simply can't stand it. I have to have the door open all the time. And I need a window. I can't bear to be in a room without light ... But it gives me comfort to know that I don't have to live with all that alone. Lance," she added with feeling, "has been wonderful. We're lucky to have people who love us, and will help us." When Malcolm did not answer, she added, "How is your family?"

"They're fine."

"And Bridget?"

Malcolm was silent. Laura eyed him curiously.

"What's wrong? Has there been some kind of trouble between you?"

"No."

"Then why this strange silence?"

Malcolm left his chair abruptly and paced the floor. "You said yourself the scars will be with us forever. We'll never be rid of them. They're like a curse that rests on us now, and I ... I don't mind telling you I'm frightened too, Laura," he admitted, interrupting his pacing. "And I have flashbacks. Nightmares. For a while I thought it would be all right, that it would all go away, but it hasn't. I have them nearly every night."

Rising from the sofa, Laura came to stand beside him and he realised that in fact, her limp was rather worse than Alastor Moody's.

"It can't all go away," she said, forcing him to look at her. "Not of its own accord, and certainly not if you keep brooding alone. You need to get it out of your system. You've got to find comfort, Malcolm. You need help."

He shook his head. "This is something I have to sort out by myself. I can't burden anyone with it, certainly not Bridget. She's too dear to me ... and much too young for all this ..."

"She's not as young as I am, I think," Laura said with a faint smile. "And yet from what you've said before I gather she suffered at a much earlier age than either of us. We can none of us choose when burdens are to come our way. But they are part of any life, not just ours. The great thing about ... about love ... is that it allows us to share our burdens, and in that way they become lighter."

"I can't, Laura, I ... I don't want to hurt her."

"What if you are hurting her?"

He stared at her. "What are you trying to do? Make me feel worse?"

"No, Malcolm. I'm just trying to make you realise that it's all right to accept a bit of happiness when you get the chance. We none of us know what will happen tomorrow. It's no good shutting yourself away. If Bridget truly loves you, then that's not what she wants. Of course you can't forget what you've been through. But you can lessen its power over you. Believe it or not, talking to someone does help. You can still be happy if you allow yourself to be. You're very lucky to have someone who loves you. And you shouldn't cast that kind of luck aside."

Very slowly, Malcolm said, "I am sorry, Laura."

"You don't need to apologise ... not to me," she said.

Then, returning to the sofa, she went on in quite a different tone, "Sit down, Malcolm. I've had enough of all this dark talk. How was your Christmas?"

Malcolm sat down obediently and began telling her what it had been like at Gryffindor Hall.

* * *

"Miss Aurora?"

Aurora looked up from the book she had been reading by the fire in the library at Gryffindor Hall to see Gordon Gryffindor himself approaching her.

"Yes?"

"Alastor Moody is downstairs and wishes to speak to you. He says it is extremely urgent."

With an inexplicable feeling of panic at the news, Aurora darted past the old wizard and down the stairs. Moody was waiting for her by the front door, looking at once angry and a little upset - as upset as Alastor Moody's always grim face allowed him to look.

"Sir," Aurora exclaimed breathlessly when she reached him. "What is it? Has anything happened? Is it ..."

"Am I right in thinking you're fed up being stuck indoors here at the Hall?" he asked without giving her an answer.

"What? I ... yes, that's right."

"Then come with me. Don't just stand there, girl, get your cloak on! Hurry!"

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was far from busy today. Once upon a time it had been packed every lunch time with witches and wizards who worked in London, but these days there were hardly more than a handful of people to be found here. Sirius rejoined Remus and Peter at their table, carrying three mugs of butterbeer.

"Cheers," he said, sitting down.

The other two took gulps of their own drinks. Peter took out a sheaf of papers and began leafing through them.

"Oi, oi, what's this?" complained Sirius. "You don't bring work to lunch with your best friends. The next round of butterbeer's on you, Wormtail!"

With a shrug and a smile, Peter put his papers away. "Whatever you say, Padfoot."

"Tough day at work?" Sirius enquired in a more friendly tone.

"I thought we weren't going to talk about work either," Remus pointed out.

"Right you are," agreed Sirius. "All right then. Pleasanter subjects. Hm ... can't think of any. Can you?"

"How about James and Lily?" suggested Peter.

"Nah. That's not pleasant, that's sad," Sirius grumbled. "Poor old Prongs. He's done it for himself now."

"Personally, I think he's done very well for himself," said Remus.

Sirius snorted. "Yes, we all know you and Lily are thick as thieves now she knows the whole truth."

"We're no more nor less 'thick' than we were before, actually."

"Ha, that's what you may think. Maybe you haven't noticed the mother-hen look that comes into those emerald eyes of hers - which, as something of a connoisseur on the subject, I will admit are pretty fine - whenever she looks at you these days. You've awakened her motherly instincts with your hard luck story, I think."

"I didn't tell her a hard luck story. Only the truth."

"That's worse," Sirius claimed, but then he nudged Remus playfully. "Well, never mind, Moony. I'm sure once she and James have got a handful of little cubs of their own, she'll stop fussing over you. Unfortunately, James will never be the same again either."

Remus smiled. "For all your grumbling, Sirius, I'm sure you're every bit as pleased for them both as Peter and I. And I'm just as sure you'll love being a godfather one of these days."

"Godfather? Me? No one in his right mind would trust me with a kid!"

Pretending to consider him seriously, Remus gave a mock sigh. "True. You're just an overgrown child yourself, aren't you? But then so is James. Neither of you will ever really grow up, will you?"

"I hope not," said Sirius. "After all, what's the point? If acting all grown up and sensible won't win me a girl any more than being my usual boyish, prank-playing self ..."

"What do you mean?" Peter asked.

Sirius twisted his mug between his fingers. "Nothing much. It's just that I tried talking to Rory Christmas Day. Yes, I know you disapprove, Remus. No need to look at me like that. But there was something I needed to sort out with her and then I sort of got talking. Seems like I did something wrong though. Mind you, I'm damned if I know what. I was being all serious and sincere and everything, just like she used to want me to, and she seemed to think I was drunk or something."

Remus and Peter both suppressed a chuckle, but Sirius continued undeterred.

"I know you think this is as much a spur of the moment fancy of mine as any other, but that's not so. The thing with Rory is that she ... she's different. I don't know what it is, but there's something about her ... And I'm not going to give up so easily, not while she hasn't outright told me to scoot."

"Look, Sirius," said Remus, "I know Aurora is a special girl. She's not only exceptionally good looking, she's popular, she's brave, she's clever and interesting and she's also an extremely nice person. But there's one more thing about her you've never given enough thought to. She's extremely vulnerable. And you're temperamental, you blurt things out and act on a whim without thinking. You can be very ... unexpected, Sirius. I think what Aurora wants is reliability, not spontaneity."

"You can't really mean she wants someone like Frank Longbottom, surely? Don't get me wrong, I like Frank, he's an honest enough stick-in-the-mud. But where's the excitement in that, the adventure, the passion? That's what a girl really wants."

"What do you really know about what Aurora wants?" Remus asked him. "You never bothered to ask her, did you? You just go around assuming that what every girl wants is you. The trouble is that in this case, I think there's a real danger you'll persuade her. There was a time when I thought that was how it ought to be, but I don't think so any more. I think I know her a little better now than I did then, and I think she's actually very insecure. And I don't think you've got what it takes to make her feel safe."

"Oh, so suddenly you're an expert on what Rory wants and needs, eh? Suddenly you think you've got a right to sit there and criticise me?"

"I wasn't criticising you, Sirius. I just don't think that what you're proposing is a good idea - for either of you."

Sirius opened his mouth to protest again, but Peter got in first.

"Please," he said. "Haven't we got enough to worry about without you two arguing?"

Smiling at him, Remus said, "Right you are, Peter." He raised his mug of butterbeer to them both. "To friendship," he suggested. "And to Lily and James."

Grudgingly, with the eyes of the other two on him, Sirius raised his mug too and nodded. "Yes. All that stuff," he grumbled and drained his mug.

The truth was that, deep down, he knew Remus was right, of course. Aurora Borealis, for all her courage and openness, was secretly shy and insecure. Probably it was only fair of him to leave her alone, and not tempt her into something he knew would only cause her more anxiety. But it was true what he had said. She was not like any other girl ...

* * *

News of a Tragedy

On the whole, Frank could not say he hadn't been enjoying his stay at his grandparents' house on the lonely Scottish island. The weather might be as awful as any he had ever experienced and his bedroom here was rather cramped, but it was good to wake up to the sound of roaring waves each morning and look out across the stormy sea, wild and treacherous but also beautiful and magnificent. More than once he caught himself wondering what Aurora would say if she could see it. He had a feeling she would like it very much. The sea was so endless and so totally untamed that it really could make you forget everything else. And that, he thought, would be good for her.

There was a knock on the door and he turned away from the window.

"Come in."

His mother appeared in the doorway, stooping slightly to avoid bumping her head against the sloped ceiling. She held out a newspaper to him.

"Your grandmother was able to get a Prophet for you," she explained. "She said you seemed so anxious for news from the outside world the other day that she sent an owl to the mainland to get you a newspaper. It seems to be two days old though."

"That's fine," he said, pleased, and took the paper from his mother's outstretched hand.

"Breakfast will be ready in about half an hour," she informed him, and left the room.

Frank spread the newspaper out on an old mahogany desk that stood against the wall opposite his bed and flicked through the first pages, skimming the headlines. More attacks, more torturing, more killings ... it was all the same as ever, and sadly to say one had got all too used to this kind of report, so that they mostly failed to shock. An article in the middle of the paper caught his attention, however. There was a photograph of several bodies sprawled on the ground in front of a roaring bear in a cage. The caption read: "Bears look on as Death Eaters and aurors battle at London Zoo". Frank bent over to look more closely at the picture. One of the figures lying there unmoving looked familiar. It couldn't be, surely ... He leafed through the paper until he reach the obituaries at the back. His finger travelled swiftly down the page and found what he was looking for: Daniel Moore, auror in training, killed in a fight with Death Eaters at London Zoo on January 8th, aged 18. Frank swallowed hard. He hadn't known Daniel particularly well, but back in their Hogwarts days the Ravenclaw had always been around whenever there was any kind of action going on, and he had been a member of their auror training group from the very beginning. Frank looked up and down the list, spotting other names of aurors he had known here and there. Suddenly he stiffened as he looked down at the page, but only for a moment. He read and re-read the name, holding the paper up to his face now with trembling hands.

Several minutes later, there was another knock at the door, but Frank did not answer it. The door opened slowly, and this time it was his father who looked in.

"Breakfast's ready, Frank. Your mother's secured you an extra slice of bacon, but if you don't hurry ... Frank?"

He came into the room, looking anxiously at his son. Frank had dropped the newspaper back onto the desk and was swaying where he stood, his face drained of colour and his fingers gripping the edge of the desk for support.

"Sit down," said his father hurriedly, pushing a chair under him. "What's the matter?"

Frank sat, but was still unable to speak. He sat staring straight ahead of him while his father picked up the newspaper and looked at the open page until he found the name that had shaken Frank so. Then, with a swift, worried glance at Frank, he went to the door and called his wife.

"Augusta! Augusta, come quickly!"

Augusta Longbottom appeared within a few moments to look at him questioningly. She glanced from her husband to her son and back.

"What's happened?" she asked briskly.

"It's Aurora," said her husband sadly, pointing to the newspaper. "She's ... dead."

* * *

Severus Snape had read the same newspaper as Frank, but with a very different reaction. A smile played about his lips as he used the middle pages to wrap up some herbs he had been using for a new potion on which he was experimenting, and placed them carefully in a drawer. Locking the door of his laboratory behind him, he went upstairs and got changed before going out to meet Josephine. He found her, as they had agreed, by the city wall in York where they had first met. She was dressed as colourfully as ever in bright blue, grass green and orange, but her face was devoid of makeup and she wore a frown that did not suit her.

"Is anything wrong?" he asked as they began to walk along the wall without any particular destination in mind.

"I read the Prophet the other day," she said thoughtfully. "And I was wondering how much longer the news is going to stay so dreadful. You'd think there'd be some good news eventually, but it's all just death and terror."

"There'll be good news again some day," said Severus forcefully. "When the Dark Lord has completed his mission, when he has gained total power and all the mudbloods and blood traitors have been destroyed."

She cast him an unhappy glance that he did not notice.

"Do you really think there will ever be peace?" she asked. "When your Dark Lord has finished 'purging' this country of all the people you like to call 'scum', do you really think he'll be satisfied?"

Severus shook his head without hesitation, and without regret. "Of course not. Once this country is under the control of those who have the right to control it, he will progress to other lands. He has already recruited allies in other countries. It will take time and effort, and it will cost many valuable lives, I dare say. But he will establish the rightful order of the world." He added slowly, "However, once his mission is finished here in England, we will no longer need to worry about it. It will be up to others. We'll be free to do as we choose."

"You might," Josie said quietly. "But not me."

"Why not? You're as pureblood as any of us, and there will be good times coming for purebloods. You could be someone important."

"I don't want to be important," she murmured. "And the more I hear of all this, the less I want to be pureblood."

Shrugging his shoulders, Severus said, "But you are pureblood."

"Yes," Josie agreed. "I am pureblood, but ..."

Her voice trailed away. Severus studied her confusedly for a moment, then he said in quite a different tone,

"You look out of spirits. I know the weather doesn't exactly suggest it, but ... I wonder ... might an ice-cream cheer you up?"

Josie looked up at him, a puzzled expression on her face. Then she smiled, slowly forcing herself to return to her usual carefree manner.

"That sounds like the best idea you've ever had. Yes. Why not?"

* * *

Owls whizzed back and forth under the ceiling of the Auror Headquarters at the Ministry of Magic on Tuesday morning, passing over the heads of the staff who had assembled today. There had rarely been so many people here all at once, but ever since the loss of those young aurors at the zoo, nearly everyone had been coming in to work all week long, ignoring the holidays and weekends and showing more effort and eagerness than ever to fight the Death Eaters and put a stop to their terror once and for all.

Against the advice of the healers and her brother, Laura Lovegood was back for the first time as well, and had been received warmly by all her colleagues, who had tried hard to be casual and mostly failed, either staring too long at her scars or avoiding looking into her face altogether. Only Alastor Moody had treated her much the same as ever, at least following a brief, gruffly offered "Glad to have you back", and having made sure her desk was moved to somewhere more open. She was sitting there now, going through a recent report with him, when suddenly there was a lot of murmuring behind the partition wall and Moody looked around it to ask what was going on. He fell silent almost at once, however, and Laura pushed back her chair to look around him.

She saw Frank Longbottom, standing among all the others with his cloak flapping open and his shirt half hanging out of his trousers. He looked as dishevelled and distraught as her brother had on Christmas Day, and she felt an immediate pang of sympathy for the young man as he faced Moody, his eyes burning.

"What were you thinking?" he asked loudly and without preamble, waving an old newspaper in Moody's face. "You took her away from the Hall? You put her in danger? You knew they were after her, you knew they'd kill her if they could! What was the big idea?"

Moody said quietly, ignoring the murmurs all around, "She was fed up being locked away and kept safe all the time, Frank. You know that."

"Yes, I know that. I also know that we agreed she needed to be kept safe in spite of herself! I thought you cared about her! I thought you realised how important it was ..."

"Frank, listen ..." Moody called, but Frank was not listening.

"I was supposed to be protecting her!" he cried. "I swore I'd look after her, and I ... I failed!"

"No, lad, you didn't fail," said Moody sharply, gripping his shoulder. "You did everything you could have done for her."

Frank dropped into a chair, shaking his head and burying his face in his hands. Laura left her chair and fetched him a cup of steaming hot tea, which shook so badly when he took it from her that she kept hold of the cup to steady it.

"How did you find out about it?" asked Moody, watching.

"The Prophet," Frank replied a little more calmly after he had taken a sip. "I saw the picture of Daniel, and then I read on ..."

"You read it in the Prophet? But I thought there were no newspapers where you were going?"

"There aren't as a rule. But I mentioned that I'd like to have one and my grandmother got it for me."

"I see."

The older auror pulled up a second chair and looked Frank in the eye.

"Look, I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I didn't mean for that to happen." He looked around him at all the other aurors watching them, and exchanged a glance with Laura Lovegood. She took over from him, speaking cautiously,

"Frank, we realise this must have been a terrible shock to you. These are terrible times. But I'm sure Aurora wouldn't want you to be upset. I think she would want ..." - here she looked a question at Moody, and he nodded - "... she would want you to take care of the only family she had left as best you can. Her aunt has left their old hiding place now, since there was no more need for her to hide. She's moved to Hogsmeade, to live with Alice Spriggs. I don't know if you read that part too in the papers, but Alice's family were all killed last week. I think perhaps you should visit her there ... very soon."

Frank nodded slowly. "I will go and see her, of course. But there's something else I have to do first ..." He looked at Moody. "Sir, where ... where was she buried?"

Moody looked taken aback. "I really don't think you should put yourself through this ..."

"Sir, I have to!" said Frank firmly, his voice rising again. "Please. Tell me where ..."

* * *

Talk on the Tor

Malcolm had got into a lot of trouble with Faith the other day for slipping off quietly to see Laura Lovegood without telling anyone where he was going. Though he had been angry at first because she seemed to be treating him like a child, he had calmed down fairly quickly and realised that, after all, perhaps she had been right to be cross with him. There was nothing to stop him going out when he wanted to, but also no reason to keep it a secret and lead her to worry where he had got to. So now they had agreed that he would always let her know when he went out and roughly where he was going. Today he had told her that he wanted a walk in the woods.

This was quite true. He had walked from the house straight in between the trees until he had come to the little creek, then he had followed it to its source, coming out of the forest on the slope of a hill. He had climbed to the tumble of rocks at the top of it and sat down on a large slab, feeling rather breathless. Now he was gazing out over the countryside, taking in deep lungfuls of cold, crisp air that was wonderfully refreshing. The sun sparkled on the snow that covered the gentle slopes and valleys all round, transforming the bleakness of the moors in winter into a magical fairyland. Here and there he could see tiny dark shapes moving slowly among the snow-covered ferns and heather, probably ponies and sheep roaming the peaceful countryside.

For the first time in a very long while, Malcolm felt reasonably at peace, able to stop thinking about all that had happened in the final months of the previous year, even daring to look forward to what he hoped would be a more restful time to come, though he had not yet thought about what he would do from now on. He sat there, enjoying the tranquillity and wishing he would never have to move from it, or take any kind of action or even think again, until he heard the soft crunch of the snow under someone's foot behind him, and turned his head. It was Bridget. She was wrapped in a heavy brown coat with a fur-lined hood on her head and raised a gloved hand in greeting.

"Hello," she said a little shyly. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"I ... no. Of course not," Malcolm answered, not knowing what else to say.

Bridget gave him a small smile and came a little nearer. "Faith told me you'd gone for a walk in the woods. I don't think she expected you to go quite this far."

"I'm surprised you found me."

"It took me quite a while. You may not realise it, but you've been out for at least a couple of hours."

"I didn't know that, no," Malcolm admitted.

Bridget studied him a moment from under her hood. He was gazing fixedly out at the landscape that stretched before them again, and though he spoke politely, there was barely a hint of any kind of emotion underlying his words, and certainly no enthusiasm for the conversation. It was as though he were saying as little as possible without being rude.

"How long have you been sitting on that rock?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"You'll catch a chill."

He did not reply. Bridget hesitated a moment. While Malcolm was not being exactly forthcoming, at least they were managing to exchange a few words without him seeking the nearest escape route. She decided to risk moving closer still, and came to stand right in front of him so that he could no longer see much of the moors.

"Malcolm, if you don't mind ... I'd like to talk to you," she said cautiously.

"I thought that's what we were doing."

"I meant really talk."

He raised his head to look at her reluctantly.

"I was afraid you might."

"Why?" she demanded quickly. "Why should you be afraid of talking to me, really talking? It's what we should be doing, what we should have done at once, the minute you got back. The others said you didn't feel like talking just yet, that you needed some time to recover. I tried to understand that. I tried to give you time, I thought if I waited long enough, you'd come to me yourself eventually and talk to me, but you haven't. It's been nearly a month now, and you haven't said a word."

"What do you expect me to say?"

"Anything - everything. Whatever's on your mind, anything you want to tell me."

"And if there isn't anything that I want to tell you?"

"Are you saying there isn't?" she asked.

He thought for a moment before realising he could not lie to her. So he answered, "There are things that I would like to talk about to someone, yes. If I could. But I can't."

"Yes you can, of course you can if you really want to."

Malcolm shook his head. "They're things that I don't really want anyone to know. Things I don't think I could make anyone understand. And even if I could ... that might be worse. To understand the things I've experienced, the things I've allowed to happen in my presence and the things I've done ... yes, I think that would be worse."

"I'm sure you're wrong, at least where I'm concerned. Nothing could be worse than what is happening to us now. I feel like I'm losing you, even more than I was when you weren't there. At least there was hope then. I could hope and wait for the day when you'd come back. I used to think about it sometimes when I couldn't sleep ... picture how it would be."

"How did you picture it?" Malcolm asked, and for the first time since they had begun to speak the neutrality of his tone was broken by the vaguest hint of a tremor.

"Always the same," Bridget said purposefully, looking straight at him so that he could not avoid her. "In different places, at different times, but always the same. You would take me in your arms and hold me so tightly that I felt like there was nothing else in the world, just you and me. It was wonderful, and it hurt." She added with an unhappy laugh, "It made it even more impossible for me to sleep."

Malcolm closed his eyes and turned his face the other way. Bridget reached out a hand to touch his cheek, and he flinched.

"Don't, Bridget," he begged. "Please ... don't. Don't."

"Why not?" she asked, sounding hurt. "I love you."

"Don't say that, you mustn't," he said, looking at her again in spite of himself.

"It's the truth, why shouldn't I say it? You loved me too, didn't you? Before you went away. Perhaps you don't now," she ended, removing her hand and walking away a few paces.

"Of course I love you!" Malcolm cried painfully, getting to his feet. "Desperately. But don't you see it's no use? Things were different before."

"Different?" she repeated, staring hard at him. "In what way? I loved you and you loved me. I know that hasn't changed for me, and you say it hasn't changed for you either. So what's so different?"

"I'm different. I've changed. I'm so much older ..."

"You always were, that didn't matter before."

"But I didn't feel it before. I felt no different than when I was your age. But now I ... I feel older."

"Because you're doing what you never did before - you're dwelling on the negative, you're allowing yourself to be drowned in pessimism, forgetting to look ahead. What happened to you is past, Malcolm. I realise you can't leave it behind you and forget it all just like that. But it is behind you, it's only a memory. One that I think I can help you get over, if you'll only let me."

He shook his head again. "I have no right to ask that of you."

"No, you've got it wrong. You have no right to push me away from you now, not when we feel the way we do about each other. You're not helping me with this, or yourself. All you're doing is putting us both through more pain than is necessary!"

Malcolm looked deeply into her earnest face. She did look, at that moment, so very, very young. She also looked as desperate as he was feeling. He thought about what Laura Lovegood had said, that he was hurting Bridget while trying to protect her, and he saw now that she was right.

"Bridget," he said slowly, fully aware that his own resolve was breaking down. "If I start to tell you what I've been through, there'll be no going back. Once you've heard it all, every detail - and I won't be able to spare you any once I start - you won't be able to just forget and carry on as if nothing had ever happened."

"I don't expect to. I just want to know where these nightmares that I know you've been having are coming from, and I want to do whatever I can to make them go away. I want you to let me love you, that's all. Is that so much to ask?"

"It would be selfish of me," he replied heavily.

Bridget smiled, pushing back her hood. "Oh, but I intend to be selfish too. I shall expect you to absolutely adore and idolise me."

He looked at her lovingly and said, "I saw you like that so many times while I was away, with the sunlight shining on your hair just like it is now. That's how I wanted to see you again for the first time. Smiling in the sunshine. I wanted to take you in my arms and kiss you and say 'will you marry me' and hear you say ..."

"Yes," Bridget broke in very quietly.

She stepped up close to him and rested her hands on his shoulders. Malcolm was staring at her.

"Do you mean ... you would?" he asked. "If it wasn't for ... I mean, if you weren't already ..."

"Under whatever conditions you like, I don't care." She gave a short laugh. "You could have made it somewhat easier by sticking a knife in my husband's back while you had the chance, of course." Then she turned serious. "But I'm talking nonsense. I haven't got a husband, I haven't had one for years. And you're the only husband I want."

At last, Malcolm too smiled. "Then I suppose I should have phrased the question: will you commit bigamy with me?"

"The answer is still yes," said Bridget.

Malcolm cupped her face between his hands. "Whichever way I phrase the question, I do mean it, Bridget."

"Then that's settled," she said contentedly, and reached up to kiss him.

* * *

Despite the fact that the afternoon sun was still out, the cemetery at Hogsmeade was the coldest, greyest and most miserable place Frank had ever been or heard of. He followed Moody's directions, pulling his cloak more tightly around him as he did so and dragging his feet through the snow. Down four more rows, then turn right, and keep going ...

He walked on, looking neither left nor right, staring only at the snow on the ground before him and taking no notice of the dark figure one row down, whose head was bent at least as low as Frank's own. Finally he reached a place where the earth had recently been cleared of snow, and only very few flakes had fallen on top of it since. Frank stopped and returned Moody's note to his cloak pocket. He turned to the side and then, very slowly, raised his head to look at the gravestone.

It was made of white marble, most of which had turned grey with the weather, and the larger part of it was taken up by an inscription he barely skimmed: In loving memory ... Roald Borealis, 1916 to 1966 ... Martha Borealis ... It was then, as he reached the cleaner part at the bottom of the stone, that Frank looked closely and felt as if his heart had stopped. For there, plain for him to see and therefore erasing any doubts from his mind that might have lingered, he read the name Aurora Borealis. It seemed to glare at him almost mockingly. He closed his eyes and immediately saw the face that had gone with that name. He saw her in their Hogwarts days, surrounded by people, laughing as she talked to them, and he saw her that day when she had entered the Death Eater Travers's mind, how she had lain curled up on the floor and the terror in her face ... how she had told him about her parents' death. Standing by her side as she prepared to examine the auror Williams's mind in Paris, fearing she had been lost to his empty mind ... holding her hand as she lay in bed, asking him not to leave her ... telling her one of Uncle Algie's stories ... sitting beside her on the stairs at Gryffindor Hall while she cried on his shoulder ... and Christmas ...

His eyes travelled back up the stone to the angel that stood atop it, looking mournfully down at the grave, and what had been almost her last words to him echoed in his memory. "You are my guardian angel, you know." From then on he neither heard nor saw any more, but dropped down on his knees on the frozen earth and cried.

He did not know how much later it was that he found his feet again. He was unaware that he had been watched for a time by the other figure on the cemetery before that person had walked slowly away, their black cloak billowing, and drawing a mask down over their face. Frank touched the angel and said quietly, looking down.

"If anyone was an angel, you were. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you as I should have."

And he kissed the top of the angel's head, then turned and walked slowly away.

* * *

Lord Voldemort, pacing the floor of the new hideaway to which he had moved after Slytherin's Rock had been compromised, halted when he heard a knock on the door.

"Enter."

It was Lucius Malfoy who came in, removing the mask from his face and bowing low.

"Well, what is it?" snapped the Dark Lord.

"I did as you requested and visited the cemetery."

"And?"

"What the Daily Prophet reported is true, my lord. The legilimens Aurora Borealis is dead."

"You're sure of that?"

"Yes, my lord. I saw one of her closest friends mourning over her grave."

Voldemort smiled coldly, his red eyes flashing. "Good. That is one obstacle less in our way."

* * *

Thistledown, Hogsmeade, the address written down on the note Frank held in his hand very late that evening, turned out to be a small cottage not far from the Three Broomsticks. It stood on a little plot of land surrounded by a white fence, leaning against which was a large, shiny thing on two wheels that, had he been in a better mood, might have reminded Frank of the photographs of motorbikes that he had seen in the magazines Sirius Black had so enjoyed looking through at Hogwarts, which in turn might have prevented him from being quite so surprised when, applying his hand to the knocker some time later - after a good, long walk and a mug of butterbeer - the door was opened a short while after by Sirius himself.

"Oh, it's you," Sirius said by way of a greeting and returned the wand he had drawn for precaution's sake to his pocket. "You're back early, aren't you? I thought Moody said you'd be away for another week or so."

"I came back when I heard the news," Frank replied rather hoarsely, shaking hands as he entered and looked about him without any real interest.

Sirius locked the door and then looked him up and down. "You look like hell warmed up," he remarked. "What's up, Frank?"

But Frank did not hear him, for at that moment Enid Borealis came bustling into the hall through a door at the back, asking,

"Who was at the door? Oh, it's y..."

She got no further than this, for quickly and unexpectedly, Frank walked straight up to her and, to her enormous surprise and Sirius's, hugged her tightly.

"I'm so sorry," Frank murmured, while she looked helplessly across his shoulder at Sirius.

"I say, Frank," Sirius said, "Look out, you'll suffocate the poor woman."

Frank stood back, leaving Aunt Enid to smooth out her dress, looking flustered. There was a creak somewhere above, footsteps on the landing and then a cheery voice exclaimed,

"Well, I never ... Frank!"

He turned his head to look up, but his eyes could not believe what they were seeing any more than he was able to trust his ears. Even when the person to whom the familiar voice belonged came running down the stairs, hugged him and then stood back to look at him, smiling, he still couldn't grasp what was happening. Neither of the other three could quite describe to themselves the expression on his face. He staggered a little as though someone had struck him between the eyes, and Sirius grasped his shoulder quickly.

"Steady on, Frank. Are you all right? You look as if you've seen a ... a ghost," he finished with a sudden realisation. "Oh heck, you don't mean to say you didn't know?!"

He looked at the girl who had joined them from upstairs and their eyes met.

"Oh my goodness," said Aurora. "Frank, didn't Mr. Moody tell you about the plan?"

"Plan?" Frank echoed feebly. He shook his head, looking utterly bewildered. "I don't know anything about a plan."

"Damn it!" Sirius burst out. "Moody swore nothing like this would happen, what the hell was he thinking?"

"Oh, I'm sure he couldn't have done it on purpose," said Aunt Enid.

Frank stared dumbly at Aurora for another minute or two, then with a quick "Excuse me" he wheeled round and pushed the nearest door to him open, disappeared through it, and closed it with a bang.

"Hope he's all right. He looked like he might be sick," Sirius remarked quietly.

They stood in silence for a bit until Aunt Enid said she would go and put the kettle on, and wandered off down the hall. The other two looked at each other. Sirius's expression was somewhat undecided, as though he were torn between two options. Finally he said darkly,

"I'm going to have a word with Moody. This was totally unfair ... You'd better go in and check on Frank, make sure he hasn't passed out or anything. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Sirius!" she called after him when he was almost at the front door.

"What?"

"I ... don't know."

She glanced toward the closed door through which Frank had disappeared.

"Go on in," said Sirius. "The poor devil needs cheering up. I'll go to the Ministry and talk to Moody, and then I'd best be getting back home anyway, or Bridget will start worrying."

"All right. Goodbye."

Sirius turned and walked out through the front door into the cold night air. He strolled down the garden path to where he had parked his motorbike. Swinging a leg over it, he threw back his head and breathed in deeply. Then he shook himself, and a moment later a smile spread across his face as he revved up the engine, and with a roar the heavy machine sped down the road for a few yards, then took off.

Meanwhile, back inside the cottage, Frank was in the dining room, standing with his back to a cabinet, his hands over his mouth and his eyes closed. He did indeed look every bit as sick as Sirius had said, and he was trembling. Even when Aurora touched his arm, he did not dare open his eyes.

"How did this happen?" she asked gently. "I thought it was safe. I made Mr. Moody promise me when he first suggested this plan that he would make sure no one got hurt, and that everyone who needed to know would be told."

"My grandmother got me a newspaper," Frank's muffled voice replied.

"Oh."

It was a short response, but it expressed that she understood just what had gone wrong, and now Frank looked at her, his expression oddly frightened, as though he still wasn't sure if he dared believe his eyes.

"What exactly did happen?" he asked.

"Mr. Moody came to see me one evening and asked me if it was true I wanted to get away from the Hall and lead a normal life again. He said he had the perfect solution, even though he didn't seem entirely pleased about it. There'd been a big fight at London Zoo, people had been killed. One of them was Alice Spriggs. She was the same age as me, and the same build and height. And her whole family was killed while you were away. There was no one left alive who was really close to her, she didn't even really have a best friend, Mr. Moody seems to think Gemma Crowe was the one who knew her best, but of course she's dead too. He said he could have minor adjustments made to the memories of anyone who didn't know her all that well, so they wouldn't realise the difference in our facial features ... And so I took Alice's place and Mr. Moody got Aunt Enid to identify her body as me, and they buried her with my parents ..."

"I know," Frank interrupted, his voice quavering. "I saw your ... what I thought was your grave."

She went very pale. "Oh no. No, you didn't, surely!"

He nodded, and without meaning it to happen, he found a few stray tears running down his cheeks. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, but it was of little use.

"I'm sorry," Aurora whispered. "I'm so, so sorry, Frank."

She put her arms around him and felt him clutch her tightly with a sudden, desperate force she had never experienced before in her entire life. She felt suddenly bewildered and confused. Of course she had known, for a long time now, that Frank was fond of her. He had become her friend, someone she could always rely on to be there when she needed him. But until this moment, it hadn't occurred to her that his attentions might have been down to more than mere friendship. She had used him as a rock to lean on and poured out all her troubles to him, and he had taken care of her, listened and offered advice and cheered her up when he could, and he had never once asked for anything in return. Her heart beat a little faster as she began to understand.

"I'm sorry," she repeated softly.

Frank straightened up and shook himself, pulling himself together with a struggle. "It's all right. As long as you're all right really."

"I'm all right." She took his arm and led him to the table, trying not to let him see what confusion he had just plunged her into, and what new thoughts and doubts and questions were in her mind. "Come, sit down and tell me all about your visit to your grandparents. I read your letter over and over, by the way. From the way you described their little island, it sounds like a lovely place."

"It is," he agreed, "I'm sure you'd like it there."

And he began telling her all about it. They sat talking for a very long time, and after a time it was almost the same as ever, as though nothing had ever happened to shake them. Whether Aunt Enid had forgotten about making tea once she reached the kitchen, whether she had never really meant to make any in the first place or whether she had made it and then thought better of disturbing them, they did not know. It was quite late when Frank asked,

"So, have you seen much of Sirius since Christmas?"

She gave him an odd look, and seemed to consider her answer carefully.

"Quite a bit. He first came up wanting to talk to me on Christmas Day, just after you'd left. He was pretty quiet and serious - quite different from what he's normally like, funnily enough. So much so that I accused him of being drunk. But he's kept it up since. I think it must be some kind of New Year's resolution of his. I suppose you could say I've seen quite a lot of him lately."

"Well, I expect you're pleased about that."

"I suppose so," she answered, looking uncertain. "I think ... yes. In a way. But ... I remember saying to Remus once that if ever I could fit Sirius into the mould I had in mind, I might not like him any more."

"And now you think you have fitted him into that mould?"

"Possibly. But I don't know if I'm happy with the result or not," she said thoughtfully.

Then she shook herself, and squeezed his hand.

"I'm so glad it wasn't true," Frank said quietly, suddenly changing the subject again. "It looked true enough though. The whole thing, the ... the grave ..."

"Please, try not to think about it if you can. I ... I don't like to see you looking so upset."

He gave her a soft smile. "I'm afraid I don't think I'll be able to forget it in a hurry. It was ... just about the worst thing I've ever experienced."

She returned his smile a little uncertainly. "Dear Frank," she whispered, then she leaned her head against his arm so that he would not see the deeply thoughtful look on her face.

* * *

All's Well that Ends Well

On that same night, when the sun had long made way for the moon and thousands of stars twinkled above, Faith - in her nightdress and with a dressing gown over her shoulders - stood looking out of Remus's bedroom window, the only one that overlooked the front garden, towards the edge of the forest.

"You look tired, Mum," said Remus, watching her. "You should get some sleep."

She smiled round at him. "I'm sorry, I know I'm really keeping you awake, dear. But I feel I can't sleep until your uncle's safely back. I wish he wasn't out so late, he should have come home hours ago."

"I'm sure he's all right," her son replied. "After all, you sent Bridget after him, didn't you?"

"Well, yes. To be honest, I hoped that if she caught him off his guard, out in the open, relaxed ... but she hasn't come back either."

"That sounds like a good sign to me," John remarked, turning up at the bedroom door in his pyjamas.

"I'm not so sure." She frowned.

Remus closed the book he had been reading and leaned forward. "Mum, surely, either Bridget never found him in the first place, in which case she'd have come back here and told you so, or else she did. If she did find him, and if she was unable to talk him round, again she'd have come back here to tell you about it. So the chances are that ... what is it?"

As he spoke, his mother had turned back towards the window and she was now pointing.

"Here they come. Both of them. Oh ... look, Remus ... John, come here."

They both joined her at the window, John standing behind her with his arms around her, and looked out. There on the grass below were Bridget and Malcolm, returning hand in hand, as far as the three watchers could tell, from the forest.

Smiling, Remus said, "I'll go down and be ready to let him in when he knocks."

When he had left them, Faith sighed happily,

"At last. I'm so relieved. It's good to see them back together again, isn't it?"

"Yes," John agreed.

"Now, finally, we can all breathe freely again. I feel like everything will be all right now. Yes ... everything will be all right, now that we're all back together again, as we should be."

John began to smile, but suddenly he felt a chill, though he didn't know where it had come from or why. He pressed Faith very closely against him and breathed in the scent of her hair, then he kissed her cheek.

"What's the matter, John?" she asked. "Is anything wrong?"

"No," he replied, though deep down he felt it was a lie. "I'm sure you're right, my love. Everything will be fine as long as we're together."

He realised even as the words came out that he had phrased it wrongly, not in the way she wanted to hear it. But she turned round just then to kiss him and he did not think she noticed the way he had said "... as long as ...".

* * *

Three days later, on the Monday, Frank came home very late. It had been a long, hard day. He had been about to leave Auror Headquarters at half past nine that evening when they had heard that a group of Death Eaters, apparently drunk, had somehow got hold of a mountain troll and set the beast loose in a muggle theatre. He had dashed off to the scene with some of the others at once, but by the time they got there, the troll had escaped from the theatre and gone rampaging about the streets. It took them an hour to catch him, by which time the Death Eaters who had brought the creature along had managed to get away. There had been a lot of clearing up to do, and they had had to make absolutely certain that every muggle witness had their memories modified so that they would have no idea of what had occurred.

It was now past midnight and Frank, with scratches on his face and bruises all over his body, was feeling dead on his feet and longing for his bed. But when he had entered the hall and was taking off his cloak and gloves, a lamp suddenly flickered on behind him. He turned around to find a figure sitting on the stairs, half in shadow, waiting for him.

"Auro... I mean ... Alice!" he exclaimed, reminding himself that, hard as it was, he must call her by this name now. "What are you doing here?"

"Your father insisted on my coming in, he seemed to think I might catch cold if I waited for you on the doorstep all night."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"I couldn't sleep. I haven't slept properly for a couple of nights. I just keep lying awake, thinking. But you look exhausted. I'm sorry, it was silly of me to come tonight, I should have thought ... I shouldn't keep you up. Perhaps you'd better go to bed and I'll come back and bother you tomorrow."

"I can't just send you home after you've been waiting all this time," he said, sitting down next to her. "And you know I don't mind being bothered. Any time."

She looked at him closely and touched a cut on his temple. "You're hurt," she noticed, sounding so upset about it that he smiled.

"Mother's always telling me not to play so rough. But you know me, I love a good brawl."

This remark earned him a scornful look, so he amended it.

"It's just a couple of ordinary scrapes and bruises. Nothing to worry about."

"I have been worried," she said earnestly. "I expected you much earlier, and when you didn't come, I started to think ... well, what if something had happened to you?"

"But it didn't. I'm all right."

"I'm glad. Because you see, I've got to explain something to you. What's been going through my mind ever since you came to Hogsmeade the other day, thinking I was dead."

"I thought we'd decided to put all that behind us."

"No, no, we can't, not entirely. I mean, yes, we have put it behind us in the sense you mean, but I'm talking about something else. How you were then, when you thought I'd been killed. It opened my eyes. It showed me what an idiot I've been. I've always considered myself to be an expert at recognising people's feelings, but I discovered then that I'd always been totally blind to yours."

He said slowly and cautiously, "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

She took his hand gently. "It's quite simple, Frank. Are you in love with me?"

He gaped at her for a second, completely taken aback at being asked this question, and so directly at that. "W-why do you ask?"

"I'll tell you that when you've answered me - truthfully, of course. Well?"

Frank looked down at their joined hands, hers soft and white and his scratched and dirty.

"Yes," he replied in a voice that was barely audible.

"Why did you never tell me?"

"I suppose ... because I was afraid that I would lose you if I did. I knew you'd cared for Sirius, and later Remus, that you might still care for Sirius now. And I thought if I told you how I felt, you'd probably want me to stay away from you. For my own good, of course, I know you would have meant it kindly. But I couldn't bear the thought."

"Dear Frank," she said softly. "You've been so kind to me always. And I've been so heartless in return."

"No, you haven't," he objected, looking at her. "You couldn't."

"Well, thoughtless, if you prefer. I didn't mean to be either of those things, but I was. I poured out all my fears and heartaches to you and never spared a thought for yours. That's what I realised the other day. You looked so hurt, quite broken, and it shocked me. Believe me, it had never occurred to me before that you - or anyone - could care that much about me."

"Don't let it worry you, please," he said quickly. "If you decide to make things up with Sirius again, that's all right, as long as it makes you happy, and as long as we can still be friends. I'm willing to let things continue as they have done."

"But I'm not, Frank. That's what I'm trying to tell you."

She let go of his hand and stood up to walk back and forwards a few paces in the hall. Then she returned and stood looking down at him.

"I've been thinking, Frank. Looking back on all the times we've been together. The bad times when I got trapped in my own and other people's nightmares and you were there to protect me."

"I'm afraid I wasn't much use ..."

"You were there," she insisted. "And I told you things about my past I'd never told anyone before, things that had always been too private to tell anyone - and it made me feel better. And the times when I was afraid or upset and you would always be there to comfort me. And then the other times, the good times. Times when I've been able to forget about what's going on in the world and laugh and be happy and be ... just myself ... and be content with that. They've been wonderful times, haven't they?"

"They have for me," said Frank.

"And for me too," she assured him, sitting down again, her face eager now. "I've been looking back on them all and wondering ... and I've come to a conclusion. I've felt safer and happier and more free and content than ever before when you were with me. And when you left on Christmas Day, I felt so terribly, terribly lost. I didn't know what to do with myself, and I didn't know why. I think I've been an idiot where more than your feelings are concerned. I've been blind to my own. I thought I didn't know what I was feeling. Now I've begun to think that's just because I was looking in the wrong place for answers. I was asking myself how I felt about Sirius. I never stopped to think how I felt about you."

"Look, I know there was never more than friendship on your part, but it doesn't ma..."

"No, you don't know that. I don't even know it myself! I thought it was, but now ... Now that I've started to think ... I've come to the conclusion that if I'd only opened my eyes, I might have seen what was creeping up on me. And the more I try to make out this funny feeling inside of me, the more I think it might be that I ... I just might be falling in love with you. They say it can happen like that, not suddenly like a bolt of lightning, but gradually, so you don't even realise it's there, and you're not sure at first if it's real or not." She paused for breath and to give Frank time to speak, but words had failed him, so she prompted, "Won't you say something, dear?"

"I ... don't know what to say," he replied hoarsely. "I can't believe what you've just said."

"I can repeat it if you like. I said that I think the reason why I feel so safe and content when you're with me is because I'm falling in love with you."

Frank stared at her in disbelief. "You can't be. I mean, I'm not at all your type. I'm not dashing and handsome, or mysterious and clever. I'm not adventurous or spontaneous or tragic or any of those things that you find attractive. I'm just ... ordinary."

"I know, and I think that's part of the reason why I'm so fond of you. I never really wanted adventure or tragedy or anything of that kind, it wasn't good for me. What's good for me, what I need, is someone I can trust, someone I can rely on, someone I know would never hurt me. I think I must have been a fool not to realise until now that what I needed was right under my nose. I need you, Frank. And besides," she added with a faint grin, "Now that I think about it, you are more handsome and clever than you think."

He shook his head bemusedly. "I still can't believe it."

"I can barely believe it myself, but the longer I sit here with you, the more I'm convinced that I am finally interpreting my own feelings correctly. I can't be sure that it's the real thing, of course, not yet. But I ... I think it's a theory worth trying, don't you?"

"Worth trying?" he repeated, still confused and bewildered. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

There was a pause, then she closed her eyes and leaned towards him slowly. While Frank was still inwardly trying to pinch himself, to wake himself up from what he was sure must be a dream brought on by late nights and overwork, her lips found his and she kissed him, cautiously at first until he, unable to help himself now, began to kiss her back with more tenderness than she had thought possible. When they broke apart again, her eyes were filled with tears and so were his. He smiled at her uncertainly, and she smiled back. She found that there was a lump in her throat which barely allowed her to speak, but managed it.

"I've never been kissed like that before."

"I'm afraid I don't have much experience. In fact ..."

"Don't apologise. It was wonderful."

"Yes," he agreed in a whisper. His hand was resting against her neck now. "I could almost believe it was real and not just some amazing dream."

"Me too," she replied in the same tone. "Do you think you could prove to me that it was real?"

He smiled. "I think so," he said, and kissed her once more.

Then he put his arm around her and she laid her head on his shoulder. For a long time, they just sat there like that without speaking. Then, looking at him, she said,

"We should get you cleaned up and put some ointment on those so called 'scrapes' of yours. Up you get."

He allowed her to drag him to his feet and they went upstairs to the bathroom, where she made him sit down while she washed his face and applied the ointment gently. He watched her as she tidied up the items she had used, and he said,

"You're so beautiful."

She laughed. "Looks aren't everything, dear. But then, I have brains too."

Winking at him, she kissed him on the forehead. "Besides, my looks are going to change soon. Well, slightly, at least. It's no use my calling myself Alice Spriggs if I still look like Aurora Borealis. I'm afraid I shall have to cut my hair for a start. But for now, we must get you to bed. You really do look exhausted."

He nodded reluctantly. "I suppose so. I'll take you home first though."

"You'll do no such thing," she scolded. "There's a perfectly good fireplace in the smoking room downstairs that will take me straight home by floo powder. You need to get some sleep now. Come on. I'll tuck you in."

True to her word, she refused to leave until he was under the bedclothes and tucked in warmly. Then she stroked his hair and kissed him once more. He held on to her hand for a moment.

"I don't care what you call yourself or how long or short your hair is," he said. "I love you."

She smiled at him. "Good night, Frank."

"Good night," he said, hesitated, and then finished, "Good night ... Alice."