Three Animagi and a Werewolf

Chapter 34: The Sowing of Discord

An Unwelcome Proposal

The wedding preparations, not unexpectedly, having taken longer than she had enthusiastically suggested on the morning of her engagement, it was not until September that Alice stood looking out of a window at the sea sparkling for miles around, listening to the cry of a seagull that drifted on the evening breeze, then swooped down to the ground and joined in a chorus with its fellows by the water's edge, where some waded in the shallows while others had settled their bellies amongst the pebbles.

"Well, what do you think of it?" Frank asked, coming to stand behind her.

"It's perfect," she said happily. "Your family certainly owns some beautiful properties."

"All in need of some work doing to them, I'm afraid. And it's our family, remember?" he added gently.

"Of course," she said. "Our family. You were right about this place. It's so wonderfully out-of-the-way and peaceful, I feel I could just forget about everything else and be myself again."

"Aurora Borealis?"

"No. I don't want to be who I was, Frank. I want to be who I am, now. Who I will be for the rest of my life ... till death us do part. Alice Longbottom."

"I still can't believe it's real," he said wonderingly. "It seems like every moment of my life has been a dream, ever since I came home that night and found you waiting for me. I keep expecting to be wake up to the sound of Perky's voice and the smell of burnt toast, and find it's only the next morning and I fell asleep on the stairs."

Alice turned around to face him and kissed him slowly.

"Does this feel like a dream?" she asked.

"Yes," he said with a half-grin.

She jabbed her fist at him, laughing. "You're just saying that so I'll do it again. You're fishing!"

"Absolutely," he admitted freely. "I plead guilty on all counts."

She put her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his hair and kissing him again.

"I love you," Frank breathed when their lips parted long enough. "I can't tell you how much."

"Then show me," she whispered back mischievously. "There's no need to worry what the neighbours will say now."

Smiling, he leaned in to kiss her again, but she placed her hand on his chest.

"Is your grandmother the kind of woman who likes to provide tea and shortbread at half-hourly intervals?"

"Good point," he said, and reaching for his wand, he pointed it at the door. "Colloportus."

* * *

"Oof, this is heavy!" Gloria Lovegood exclaimed, trying to lift a book off the table in front of her.

"Leave it, I'll see to it," said Remus, taking the volume from her.

They were the only ones left in the chamber on the courtroom level, below level nine, set aside for the Ministry's research concerning cross-breeds for "protection", everyone else had just left - everyone except the new man. He had turned up unexpectedly after lunch two weeks ago, accompanied by Mr. Westmore, who had explained that he would be in charge of the experiments from now on. Westmore had not looked too happy about it, and Remus could see why. Everyone could. Walden Macnair was not a man who inspired liking or trust at first glance. *And I doubt he'll improve on closer acquaintance,* Remus thought to himself.

"It's okay, I can just levitate it. Should have done so in the first place," Gloria said, but Remus had already returned the book to its rightful place on the shelf. "Thanks. Doing anything special this evening?" she asked.

"Just going to see some friends."

"The usual gang? Black, Potter ...?"

"Exactly. James and Lily have gone on ahead, Sirius, Peter and I are meeting in the Atrium to go round to their place."

"Well, say hello to everyone."

"Thank you, I will."

They began moving towards the exit and said goodbye to Mr. Macnair, who still seemed to be busying himself with something in a corner of the room. However, he now came to join them in the open doorway.

"Before you go, Lupin, I'd like a word," he said.

Gloria cast the man a doubtful look. "Want me to wait?" she offered, but Macnair said "no" so quickly and sharply that Remus had no choice but to shake his head and thank her.

"See you Monday," he said. "Give my regards to your husband."

She nodded, leaving them. Macnair waited until she had turned the corner and climbed the stairs to the Department of Mysteries level. Remus could hear the sound of the lift doors opening and closing, and of the lift rumbling back upwards. He turned enquiringly to the strange man who was squinting at him closely.

"I want to thank you, Lupin," Macnair began, "for being so cooperative these last weeks - and before that, so I've heard. From what I've been hearing, you had certain ... reservations where these recent experiments are concerned. Glad to see you overcame them. That is, I assume you did?"

Remus studied the man warily for a moment, then he said cautiously, "To tell you the truth - no, sir."

"Mind telling me why you still don't approve?"

"I still consider there was a reason why the Ministry originally banned experimental breeding."

"But surely you agree that research must be conducted in the interest of progress, of making life safer for all of us ... and less mundanely, in the interest of evolution?"

"Isn't evolution defined as the natural development of species? I hardly think it's up to us to put ourselves above nature and meddle with a progress - if it is that - that wasn't meant for us to control. The experiments we are conducting here violate nature, and could easily get out of hand. In which case, it might serve us right for having treated living beings as mere test subjects."

"Especially part humans?"

"Beings of any kind," Remus said stiffly. "They have a right to live as they are, untouched, and as nature intended them to be. Not used and subjected to the whim of those who consider themselves superior."

Macnair chuckled. "You leave me wondering what the heck you're doing on this committee, young man. Suppose you needed a job, and beggars can't be choosers, is that it?"

Remus did not reply, but waited for the other man to continue, which he did quickly.

"So how long do you intend to go through with this? Letting yourself be used and 'subjected to the whim of others who consider themselves superior' because they happen not to have been mauled by a rabid werewolf when they were three and a half years old? Letting them look down on you, treat you like one of their test subjects?"

Noting that Macnair must clearly have been looking him up in the files, judging by the information he had, Remus said slowly, "What would be the good of refusing? It wouldn't change anything, it wouldn't stop them - it wouldn't stop you - from carrying out these experiments. You'd soon find someone else."

"Oh, I'm sure I would. But that would set them back. They are quite happy to let me go on taking your blood for their tests. They seem to feel they're making progress, figuring out what makes that beast inside you tick. They might have to start all over again with someone else. I don't think you realise to what extent they're willing to use you. If you refuse, well, you never know ... they might even order me to take what you won't willingly give." He lowered his voice and said sharply, "They don't give a damn about you, boy. Quite frankly, I think you have every right to be angry at them. They'll go on using you till they know all they need to know, and then they'll probably sack you. It's always going to be that way, these jobs are the only kind of jobs human beings offer to people like you. Is that the kind of life you want, forever?"

"It's this life or none," Remus said calmly. "I intend to make the best of it."

"There is an alternative. I know people ... I have friends ... who are like you. But they don't let themselves be bullied and used by 'normal' people. They stick together and make a life for themselves. They'd take you in, if you wanted. Accept you for what you are, give you strength as one of their number. There's a lot of strength in you, Lupin. You could learn to use it."

"To abuse it, you mean. To intimidate, threaten ... kill?" He shook his head. "No."

"Think about it. Think about what your life has been like, and what it's likely to be like. Where do you go from here? What have you got to look forward to? You'll never amount to anything, you'll never get anywhere in the Ministry ..."

"I don't want to."

"No, I know," Macnair said with a self-satisfied smirk. "You want to be a teacher, don't you?"

Remus had been starting to walk away, but now he stopped and looked sharply at the man. "Who told you that?"

Macnair shrugged. "I have friends everywhere. They tell me things." He smiled crookedly. "But tell me, how do you expect ever to be a teacher, when even as a student you had to keep your complaint secret for fear of being kicked out of school? I'm not asking you to turn around at once and become the opposite of what you have been until now," he went on persuasively. "You've shown courage sticking it in this half-life of yours, and I respect that. But think about it, Remus. Think about being able to be what you have been for most of your life, without having to hide. Think about being one of a crowd, accepted, equal. Not treated as a thing any more. Think about it. That's all I'm saying."

"I ... will think about it," Remus answered cautiously. "Good night ... sir."

He turned and walked slowly away. Just beyond the corner of the stairway, Sirius Black held his breath and crept quickly back up the stairs. He called the lift, slipped inside it, and pretended to be coming out of it as Remus reached the top of the stairs. He waited with interest to see how Remus would greet him after what he had just overheard, and caught the merest glimpse of a pensive frown before Remus gave him a tired smile that was apparently meant to look casual. Sirius said, "Hello, Moony. Pete and I were starting to wonder if you were ever coming. Gloria came by ages ago."

"I know, I had a few more things to sort out."

"I see," said Sirius, non-committally. "Well, shall we get going? We don't want Lily burning the dinner because you couldn't bear to leave a book standing crooked on its shelf for a couple of days. It's the weekend, Remus, time to relax, put our feet up - until we get news of the next Dark antics, that is."

"Hm," murmured Remus, and they both fell silent as the lift carried them up to the Atrium, Remus lost in thought and Sirius casting him surreptitious sideways glances that he never noticed.

* * *

"Dobby!" bellowed Lucius Malfoy. "Dobby! Where the devil has that useless worm of a house-elf got to?"

Just then, there was a loud crack! and the miserable, terrified creature popped into existence right in front of him.

"Master called?" he murmured timidly.

"Master did!" said Lucius harshly. "Five minutes ago. Where have you been?"

"Dobby was helping Mistress hang your new portrait in the dining room, Master."

With a grunt, Lucius acknowledged this as a reasonably permissible excuse. Then he said, "We shall want dinner for nine tonight in the dining room, and you can serve your mistress's dinner in the morning room."

"Why, Lucius?"

Narcissa, pale as a ghost with her long, fair hair and white face contrasting starkly with the midnight black robes she wore, joined them from the direction of the drawing room.

"Because I shall have business to discuss with our guests," he snapped.

"What guests are they?" she asked, then seeing the frozen look on his face, she guessed. "The Dark Lord? He's coming here?"

Lucius bowed his head. "He'll be here any minute."

Narcissa came right up to him and placed a hand on his arm. "Why, Lucius?"

"He doesn't like to stay in one place for two long these days. Ever since Slytherin's Rock was compromised ..."

"But that was ages ago! And you told me he had improved the protection there."

"He has. But he likes to move around now, to prevent our enemies always knowing where he is."

"But surely he has nothing to fear from anyone."

"Of course not!"

"Then why ...?"

"Stop asking questions, Narcissa, and get ready." He added a little less sharply, "Please."

* * *

Conferences

"Awww, Sirius, that stuff is disgusting!" James half yelled, half laughed that evening, wiping orange goo off his glasses.

He, Sirius, Peter and Remus were sitting round the kitchen table playing gobstones while Lily was preparing the pastry for their dinner. She turned her head to check what was going on behind her back when he said this, and her jaw dropped.

"What on earth is that stuff all over the table? Do you lot realise I spent all afternoon cleaning that so we could eat our dinner off it tonight?"

"Do you realise the rest of us have been doing real work all day?" Sirius retorted, pretending to look reproachful. "We need some fun time!"

"Not in my kitchen, you don't!" Lily replied just as quickly. "Get out of here, now!"

"Lily's right," Remus said mildly, picking a stray blob of goo out of his hair. "This isn't the kind of stuff that should be spread all over a table we intend to eat off of."

To his slight surprise, Sirius did not answer him, merely glanced at him with an oddly closed expression on his face, then turned to James and said, "Is this what you signed up for, Prongs? When you signed that bit of paper on your wedding day, did it say anything about being denied a bit of fun in your own home?" James just grinned, and Sirius went on, "Still, if we're being chucked out of the kitchen, that gives us a good excuse not to help lay the table or any such nonsense."

Lily waggled her rolling pin at him. "That's it! You, Mr. Marauding Padfoot, can do the dishes after we've eaten. Muggle style, that is."

Sirius emitted a few tutting sounds and shook his head in mock distress. "That's the thing with these red-heads. Absolute corkers to look at, doubtlessly pretty hot stuff all round, but dangerous when roused."

He winked at Lily, and though she was scowling back at him, the corners of her mouth were distinctly twitching.

"If you're not out of this kitchen in ten seconds, I shall make you wear that spare apron my mother gave me."

"You mean the pink one with the floral pattern?" James chuckled.

"Oh yes, that would suit you, Sirius," Peter joined in.

"I hear girls these days really like a man wearing pink ... with floral patterns," added Remus.

Sirius rose abruptly. "You lot," he said, looking round at them all, "are the worst bunch of traitors I ever met, siding with that fiend disguised as a red-haired angel over there." He then turned to Lily. "All right, since for some reason my poor, dumb best friend here is as besotted as ever with you, oh beautiful demon lady, I shall pack up my gobstones and walk ... to the living room. And on your own favourite rug be it."

"It had better not be, or else ..."

"Come on, Prongs, let's get out of here and let her think about what exactly she'll do if we stain her precious Axminster."

He grinned and marched out. The others rose from their seats too. James kissed Lily before going after Sirius, and Peter followed him out. Remus remained by the table and drew his wand. Pointing it at the orange stains, he said, "Evanesco."

The goo obligingly cleared itself up, and Lily thanked him.

"A whole afternoon's cleaning work?" he queried.

With a grin, she said, "Actually, it took me just half a second longer than it just took you. But it's impossible to resist arguing with Sirius sometimes. And anyway, I know he enjoys a good word-fencing match. So, are you going to join the boys in the living room and be covered in goo, or would you rather give me a hand in here? I've still got that spare apron."

"Ah, yes, but will it suit me as well as it would have suited Sirius?"

"With those big, brown eyes of yours? It'll be a knockout."

"I'll just go and wash my hands," he said, without so much as a hint of the smile she had hoped to elicit.

Five minutes later, he was cutting up vegetables while Lily put the meat pie in the oven.

"You don't have to do that muggle style just because I do," she commented, seeing that he was cutting everything manually.

"I once asked my mother why she sews everything by hand, when she could easily just wave her wand at the darning needle. She said the result gives her much more satisfaction if she's actually worked towards it."

"Well, I agree with her whole-heartedly. But if you're not careful, there's going to be extra meat among the carrots."

"Ouch!" Remus exclaimed just as she said this, and quickly sucked his thumb where he had just cut it.

"Let's see that," Lily said, and swiftly healed the cut with a charm.

"Thank you."

Lily smiled at him, but it was not her usual, open smile. Evidently, he realised, she was fully aware that he was just not his usual self tonight.

"Something bothering you?" she asked almost casually, tipping the vegetables he had cut into a saucepan.

There was a pause before he answered, "Just the usual."

"Ministry experiments, treating living creatures like things that have no feelings, that kind of "usual"?"

"Hm."

She shot him a shrewd look. "I see. Not that kind of "usual". And if I know you, not something you want to talk about until you've mulled it over for a year or two."

Her words at last caused him to smile faintly. "Will we be needing dessert spoons?" he asked.

"A change of subject? Very subtle, my dear. Yes, I made us some bakewell tarts."

"Ah, James's favourite."

"Yes. I was thinking of doing that chocolate gateau you like next week."

"You shouldn't spoil us all so much," Remus said, and went to fetch the spoons.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy couldn't help but feel foolish creeping as quietly as she could through her own home, not daring to perform perfectly normal routines in the usual manner. Having the Dark Lord as a house guest had that effect, however.

She knocked softly on the door of her husband's study, and entered when he called.

"They're here," she informed him.

"Ah." Lucius set aside his quill and rose. "Have you shown them to the Dark Lord yet?"

"No. I thought it would be better if you did."

He nodded. "I'll do so immediately. Tell Dobby to open a bottle of our best elf-made wine and bring it up, will you? Oh, and tell him he's to knock before he comes in."

"All right. What time will you want dinner?"

Lucius looked up at the clock on the wall. "In about an hour." He stood still while his wife straightened the collar of his robes. "Thank you, Narcissa," he said, and headed off downstairs to welcome his guests.

Soon he was sitting in his own dining room, at his own dining room table, feeling more like a guest than the host. Lord Voldemort had taken the seat at the head of the table, and after Dobby had brought the wine as instructed, it was he who began the talking. Lucius looked around him at the people seated around the table, the Dark Lord's closest and most trusted companions. Leonard Lestrange and his wife, Augustus Snape, Lothian, Rosier, Mulciber and Macnair. When addressed by the Dark Lord, the latter reported on the situation regarding the Ministry's experiments, and on his conversation with Remus Lupin earlier that evening.

"Do you think he can be persuaded to join us?" Lord Voldemort asked.

"I'm not sure, my Lord," said Macnair. "I think some of what I said to him hit home, but I don't know him enough to be able to guess whether he can be turned by ordinary persuasion or not."

"What do you think?" Lothian asked Lucius suddenly. "I believe you knew him at school, didn't you?"

Lucius said slowly, "We were barely acquainted. But he and his friends always seemed very definitely against the Dark Arts. I got the impression Lupin was quite close to our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, as a matter of fact." Suddenly remembering, he added, "He tried to fight off the Dementors that day in Hogsmeade, when the old fool decided he'd try and hold us all off single-handedly."

Voldemort seemed to think for a moment, then he said, "Well, we shall just have to wait and see."

"Do you want me to talk to him again, my lord?" Macnair asked.

"No. No, I think it might be better coming from ... someone else. I think you know who I mean."

"Yes, my lord, but with all due respect, I don't think he'll be easily persuaded to do anything more for us. He likes his independence."

"I know," Voldemort said, and his voice held a note of cold anger. "You must pay him another visit, Walden, and be more persuasive this time. Promise him power, promise him freedom ... but make sure he joins us."

"Yes, master."

"My lord, may I make a suggestion?" Mrs. Lestrange offered at that moment.

He turned his head towards her. "Certainly. What suggestion do you have?"

"It occurred to me that it might be a good idea to approach more than one angle at once."

"Do you have another to suggest?"

"Yes. Someone we - or at least I - know more about, and can therefore more easily manipulate."

"Who?" Evan Rosier asked.

She smiled slyly. "Wait and see."

* * *

"Sev?" Josephine whispered in the almost complete darkness. "Severus, are you awake?"

He didn't reply, didn't even stir. She turned around and pushed a button on the alarm clock that stood on her bedside table. The dial lit up, and showed her the time. Half past one in the morning. She got out of bed, pulled on a dressing gown and went to sit by the window. She pushed the curtains aside a fraction with a trembling hand and pressed her nose against the cool glass. Condensation rose up in front of her, fogging her view of the street below. At the same time, her eyes clouded over with a mist of tears.

*What have I done?*

She had been so stupid. Not just last night, but ever since that first day in York. She had known then, just from talking to him, that Severus was not really her type. But it had seemed such harmless fun, teasing him, seeing if she couldn't get him to brighten up in spite of himself.

*I let it go on too long. I let it go too far.*

That day when they had argued, when she had tried to make him see that not only purebloods were worthy of being treated well, that everyone else wasn't worthless - that day should have been the end. She should never have gone back to him. She had known that he wouldn't change, whatever she did, or whatever she told him.

*I knew he was on You-Know-Who's side. I knew it. And Iris ... Iris tried to warn me. I should have listened to her.*

She wiped a tear off her cheek. If she had been blind before, or if she had chosen not to see what was obvious, she couldn't close her eyes any more. She had seen the Mark on his arm. The Dark Mark, a horrid skull with a serpent for a tongue. His sign, on Severus's arm. She knew it could only mean one thing. Severus more than agreed with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers. He was one of them.

Another silent tear rolled down her cheek, but she didn't wipe it away. Last night, everything had seemed so perfect. Her parents were away, wouldn't be back for another week. She and Severus had opened a bottle of wine to celebrate the fact that they'd known each other for more than two years, and that they'd had such a nice day in the sunshine. She had had too much wine, she had been elated and happy. But at some point during the night the wine had worn off, and Josephine Coronis had returned to earth with a bump.

*Damn it. He's a Death Eater, you idiot! This has got to stop. Get a grip on yourself now, before it all gets even more out of hand.*

She drew a deep breath and turned away from the window abruptly. She walked over to the bed, and after only a short moment's hesitation, shook Severus hard. He woke with a start and sat up groggily, looking around him with a puzzled expression.

"W-what am I doing here?" he asked her. Apparently, he too had had too much of that wine last night. "J-Josephine ... did we ...?"

"Get up," she said sharply, fighting against the tears that were stinging her eyes. She thrust his robes at him. "Put these on and go."

"Josephine ..."

"Get out. I ... I don't want to see you any more. Ever. Go."

"But ..."

She shot him a frustrated look, then rushed out of the room. She ran along the corridor and into the bathroom, slammed the door shut behind her, and burst into a fit of sobs in the middle of the tiled floor. She ignored his knocking on the door and waited a long time after he had gone before she finally stood up and went to the sink. She turned the cold tap on and stuck her head under it for a full five minutes. When she straightened up, she had stopped crying. She would not dwell on this. It was over, and the best thing she could do was forget about it all as quickly as possible. And if Severus ever came calling again, or contacted her in any way, she would throw him out without hesitation.

"Yes," she told her mirror image firmly. "I'll just tell him it wasn't anything serious in the first place. So there."

* * *

Morning Calls

The underground chamber was dark, its walls hewn out of solid rock, grey and cold, the furniture sparse and worn. A splintered table, a mismatched assortment of often - though none too expertly - mended chairs, and a heavy trunk, all illuminated by the flickering glow of a couple of torches that had left black soot marks on the walls. Two doors were let into the walls, both made of thick, strong oak and reinforced with iron bands. In one door there was a small window, about eight inches square and barred, but it let in no light, and not just because it was so early in the morning. Beyond this door lay a long, narrow underground passage that twisted and turned before it came out in the heart of a dense forest, under a near impenetrable canopy of treetops that blocked out the sun.

It was on this door that a series of thudding knocks fell. The other door opened, and through it came a man. He was big and broad-shouldered, with matted hair that hung down to his shoulders and was so filthy that it barely permitted one to guess that it might once have been of a tawny shade. His face was unshaven, rough and dirty, and his clothes were ragged. He walked to the door with the barred window in it, but did not look out. Instead, he stood a little to one side so that whoever was outside could not see him either, and growled in a rasping voice, "Who's there?"

"Walden Macnair," came the reply.

"Prove it."

"Let me in, Fenrir, or I'll let myself in and skin your hide for a new winter cloak."

The man unbolted and opened the door, his mouth shifting into a hideous, snarling imitation of a smile.

"I'd rip you limb from limb before you so much as draw your knife, Walden."

Walden Macnair walked past him into the chamber and looked around him.

"Nice place you've got here," he remarked sarcastically.

The other grunted. He closed the door and re-bolted it, then gestured at one of the chairs.

"Have a seat," he said.

Macnair chose the least rickety looking chair and sat down. He waited a moment for his host to sit too, but he did not. Producing a rather ugly, insincere smile of his own, Macnair enquired, "So, how have you been doing, Fenrir? How's the cub coming along?"

"What do you want?" the other spat back. "You didn't come here to talk about the weather and my health at half past five in the morning."

"Suspicious sort of ... erm ... creature, aren't you?"

"You show up before breakfast and with your first breath remind me of the 'gift' your beloved master gave me. With your second, you point out that you consider me unworthy of being referred to as a 'man'. That tends to make me suspicious."

"My master, Fenrir? Isn't it time you acknowledged him as yours, too?"

"I don't have a master!" came the angry retort. "I refuse to be ordered about and treated like your Dark Lord's lapdog."

Macnair gave a humourless laugh. "Fenrir Greyback, a lapdog? Hardly. A bloodhound, more like. Except for that annoying little detail - a bloodhound should hunt, not be hunted."

"No one hunts me!"

"No, I can see that," Macnair remarked snidely, indicating their surroundings. "A werewolf's home is quite a castle, isn't it?"

With a sudden movement, Fenrir Greyback sprang forward, grabbed his guest by the collar, swept him across the room and pinned him against the wall, his face and putrid breath somewhat too close for the other's comfort. "Get to the point, Walden," he snarled, displaying two rows of sharp teeth. "Before I demonstrate mine."

Macnair caught his breath for a second, then said slowly and deliberately, "You're a hunted man, Fenrir. Normal wizard society would shun you and feel safer to see you locked away, even if you hadn't committed the acts for which they outlawed you years ago. To them, you're worthless."

"I'm worthless to you too," said Fenrir coldly. "And to your precious Dark Lord. He has no love for half-breeds."

"But he has uses for them. And in exchange for certain ... services ... he is willing to offer more than the occasional cub for your amusement."

"Like what, for instance?"

"Power, Fenrir. The power to put fear into the hearts of the people who condemn you and give free reign to your hunger."

"I already have that. I don't skulk and hide when the full moon comes, I go out into the woods and revel in it!"

"Maybe so, but that doesn't bring you what you need. You're still isolated, cut off from the world, on the run from wizards who would kill you or lock you up for life if you crossed their path. The Dark Lord can change that. Already his influence in the Ministry runs deep, and it won't be long now before he has it entirely in his hand. He can stop them hunting you. He can make you the hunter, you and others like you. He can give you prey, flesh to find and bite and kill - without persecution. How does that sound?"

Slowly, Greyback relaxed his grip on Macnair's collar and walked back to the table. He thought for a while in silence, then he said, "In return for all this - this power, this freedom to hunt as I want to - what does your master want from me?"

Macnair walked up to him and bared his arm, displaying the image of a skull, a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. Greyback growled, "He expects me to let him brand me as his slave, his pet wolf?"

"No, Fenrir. He's offering you the symbol of his trust and his protection. Become one of us, and he will give you what you crave. You, and the cub, and any others of your kind that you are able to bring to our cause."

There was a pause in which the two men looked at each other, both hard and determined. Finally, Greyback asked, "When does he want it done?"

"I could take you to him now."

Shaking his head, Greyback said, "I'm not giving any oaths on an empty stomach."

"Very well," Macnair sighed. "Shall I call for you at ten?"

After a moment's hesitation, the werewolf nodded. Macnair smiled triumphantly, turned around, and let himself out the way he had come in. Greyback stood looking at the door that had closed behind him for a minute. Then he returned to the other one and passed through it once more. It led to a short passageway and the third - and last - door of his underground den. This had bolts on the outside which he unfastened now. He entered the small, cold room and looked down at the huddled figure sitting in the corner, on the floor, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, a child with a pale face that was filled with a kind of terrified awe.

With another one of those smiles that only served to make him look more frightening than ever, Greyback told the boy, "Well, young cub - looks like things are about to change for the likes of you and me. Apparently the Dark Lord requires our services. We must do our best to please him, mustn't we?"

The boy did not answer. Greyback frowned.

"Get up," he ordered sharply. "If you won't talk to me, the least you can do is give me a hand fixing breakfast. What's the matter with you?" he added, when the boy still showed no reaction.

"I - I - I'm ... not h-hungry," the child stammered.

"Yes, you are," Greyback snapped, taking him by the arm and pulling him roughly to his feet. "You're just queasy about skinning a few rabbits, aren't you? Well?"

He shook the boy until he nodded, tears starting into his eyes. Greyback gave him a shove in the direction of the door.

"Get out there, Crowe," he ordered. "You lame excuse for a cub. I'll turn you into a decent werewolf yet. Now move!"

The boy jumped with fright as the big man started towards him, and began to make his way through the main chamber.

* * *

Bridget was in the kitchen, getting breakfast ready, listening to the muggle news on the radio. She wondered whether any of the 'ordinary' disasters they were reporting - a car accident involving no less than six vehicles in Lancashire, muggings in London, a suicide in Hampshire, a hospital burning down in Devon, a derailed train in Somerset - had anything to do with Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. The sheer number of catastrophes being reported made her suspect that they probably had.

She put another two slices of toast in the toaster and changed the radio station to one that was playing music, and was just about to open the jam jar when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something odd outside the window. Looking more closely, she recognised the object coming straight towards her through the sky. It was an owl. Bridget opened the window quickly, just in time to prevent the bird from hitting the glass and to allow it to land beside the cereal bowls instead. She relieved it of the letter it was carrying and offered it a handful of cornflakes, for which it thanked her with a dull hoot before taking off. Bridget looked down at the envelope in her hands. It had her name written on it in familiar handwriting, and she opened it quickly and read.

Dear Bridget,

I hope the owl didn't wake you, but I thought it best to send this letter as early as possible, hoping that you would see it before Malcolm does. I would much prefer to tell you all of this in person, but I don't quite see how we can arrange to talk in private without arousing Malcolm's suspicions. I have found the girl.

It wasn't very easy to discover her identity, because it turns out she was one of the muggles involved in the incident who had their memories wiped, and the Ministry hadn't actually bothered to keep a detailed record of the incident. In fact, it was coincidence that finally put me on the right track.

A colleague of mine, Amos Diggory, asked me to cover for him the other day because he had to go to a funeral. He told me the young woman - his sister-in-law - had been killed in an attack on a hospital. She was a muggle, and he said she had been very unlucky, as this was the second Death Eater attack she had been involved in. The first was the incident in Newcastle. Apparently, that is how his brother had met her. The obliviators' spell had caused some minor damage, and Amos's brother was the healer who looked after her at St. Mungo's.

It wasn't too heard to get him to tell me more about the young woman, and I've since been able to confirm that Catherine Diggory was, in fact, the young woman we were looking for.

Now, I know this isn't the news you wanted, my dear. But it's not as bad as it seems. Amos tells me his brother has always been secretly grateful to the 'Death Eater who tortured Cathy', because he would never have met her, had it not been for that event.

So I suggest that we wait a little while and then write to the young man or go down to Ottery St. Catchpole and visit him. It would hardly be tactful to contact him immediately, so soon after his wife's death.

Yours sincerely,

John

P.S: Faith sends her love, and has asked me to say that she will be cooking plenty for four this evening, in case you'd like to come.

Bridget read the letter through a couple of times. Sad as the story John had briefly related was, she could not help but feel a little cheered by it, and she returned to preparing breakfast with a lighter heart, humming a little in accompaniment of the radio. She smiled when Malcolm joined her, his hair still wet from having been under the shower.

He kissed her and sat down, wondering aloud, "Hello, what are you looking so cheerful about?"

Bridget shrugged. "It's a beautiful morning, and I've just had a note from John, asking if we'd like to join them for dinner this evening."

"From John?" Malcolm repeated, looking slightly puzzled. "That's odd."

"In what way?" Bridget asked innocently, pouring him coffee.

"Well, I'd have expected Faith to write to you, not John. That's all."

"Perhaps she was busy," Bridget remarked, sitting down. "What time are you going to see that goblin ... what was his name again?"

"Glintrock. Eleven o'clock," Malcolm answered, allowing her to change the subject.

"Should I keep my fingers crossed or not?"

He smiled. "That depends. How keen are you to have me doing night shifts once a week at Gringotts?"

"Not very," she admitted. "But if patrolling underground corridors at night is what it takes to make you happy, darling ..."

"It's not," he said, reaching across the table and taking her hand. "But I've tried everything else, and I really don't think anyone at the Ministry is going to employ anyone who's as obviously against Voldemort as I am."

"Auror Headquarters might," Bridget suggested tentatively.

Malcolm snorted. "Barty Crouch would suffocate on his pride before he admitted he could do with an extra pair of hands to help him, if that pair of hands happens to be mine. You said it yourself."

"I know, but maybe if you made the first step and swallowed your pride ..."

Letting go of her hand, Malcolm shook his head decisively and took a bite of his toast. "I'll take my chances with the goblins, thank you. At least there's little chance of them turning into a bunch of Death Eaters."

"There's also little chance of them lifting a finger to help you if Death Eaters should come knocking."

"I hardly think the Death Eaters are after money. Most of them have got plenty of it - enough to hand out lots of nice, juicy bribes to win more followers for their precious Dark Lord."

"Do you really think money can tempt people to become as evil as all that?"

"Easily, my dear. Money, fear, the prospect of power ... that snake's got plenty of weapons."

Bridget nodded slowly, a lot of the cheerfulness that had filled her moments before draining away again. Malcolm appeared to notice this, for he set down the coffee cup he had been holding and said gently, "I'm sorry. I just burst your bubble, didn't I? Tell you what - I promise I won't say another word about Death Eaters, Voldemort or anything else evil all day, how's that? When I come back from seeing Glintrock, we'll go out somewhere nice. How about the seaside? We'll make out it's just an ordinary summer's day. No more thinking dark thoughts."

"Just you, me and hundreds of holiday makers?" Bridget said, her smile returning. "That sounds wonderful."

"You're wonderful," Malcolm said tenderly, and leaned across the table to kiss her again.