Three Animagi and a Werewolf

Chapter 39: The Lost Night

Turning Point

It was some days before Severus Snape dared enter the Dark Lord's presence, to explain what his master already knew he had done. He told his tale flatly, not finding it hard to betray little emotion as he spoke, for he still did not really know what his feelings were in the matter.

"And so," he finished finally, "I felt it no less than my duty to kill the man who had murdered my mother. The fact that he happened to be my father held no sway."

Voldemort leaned forwards eagerly in his chair. "And now, Severus? What do you feel now? Does your father's death grieve you? Do you feel remorse for your act?"

"No, Master," Severus said composedly. "I feel no remorse. There was no affection lost between us."

The Dark Lord studied him with his piercing red eyes, and Severus felt an alien mind probe his thoughts. He made no effort to conceal them, knowing there would be no point in doing so.

Voldemort said pointedly, "You cared for your mother. You also cared for the Squib, Josephine. Your mother you have avenged. Does her death anger you as your mother's did? Do you feel a desire to avenge the Squib, also?"

Severus swallowed hard. The Dark Lord's words caught him by surprise, although he had known that he would likely be asked about his feelings concerning Josephine, and had carefully practised hiding the surprisingly great pain that he felt when he thought of her. But this question confused him. Surely he had already avenged Josephine, hadn't he? He had not thought about it at the time, the presence of his mother's body had occupied his attention too much, but he had been secretly certain that, in killing his mother's murderer, he had also killed Josephine's.

He admitted slowly, "I believed that my father was responsible for her death as well. Is that not so?"

Voldemort shook his head, and a hint of a malicious grin spread across his pale face. "No. It was not your father who extinguished the spark of life in the Squib Josephine."

For the first time, the third person present in the room stirred. Vindictus Lothian had been so quiet throughout the whole conversation so far that Severus had almost forgotten he was there. But he now looked Severus in the eye and stated, "It was I who killed her."

"You?" Severus exclaimed.

For only an instant, his surprise was so overwhelming that it broke the facade of his composure. Voldemort studied him with interest, his smile deepening. Lothian inclined his head.

"Yes. Rosier will confirm it if you ask him."

Voldemort asked coaxingly, "How does that make you feel, Severus? Does it make you wish to kill Vindictus as you killed your father? Do you hate him, too?"

Severus avoided the Dark Lord's probing eyes. He lowered his head and thought hard and fast. The thought that his father had killed Josephine had brought him comfort, a feeling of closure, the feeling that that part of his life was over, that he would not have to think again about the mistakes ... his mistakes ... that had led to death of the only two people who had ever bothered to care for him. He thought back again to the moment when he had seen his mother's body, and the way his father had boasted of his deed and described it in detail, the evident pleasure he had taken in it. He glanced sidelong at Lothian, and found the other man's eyes still meeting his without flinching. Lothian did not show any sign of gloating, or of contempt for his victim as his father had done. The older man's expression was sober. Severus found himself remembering what he had read about the deaths of the Coronis family, how the body of Josephine's mother had been barely recognisable, and her father's drenched in blood, but Josephine had been killed swiftly, a single curse ending her life in less time than it took to bat an eyelid. He asked Lothian slowly, "Was it you who killed her parents?"

"No," said Lothian.

There was a pause, then the tall man added, "Rosier would have killed her slowly, drawn out her suffering ... I saw no point in that. She was little more than a child, and she could not have fought back. I chose to end her life quickly."

For the second time, Severus was surprised. He had never before heard Lothian admit to anything like pity, and yet now it seemed as though he was doing just that, even as though he were trying to excuse his action as an act of mercy rather than violence. Severus considered it, and discovered that it was actually possible it had been just that. Josephine's death had been inevitable, but Lothian did not seem to have taken pleasure in killing her, he had merely done what had been required of him, according to his master's orders. Taking a deep breath, Severus announced calmly, "I do not seek revenge against my fellow Death Eater for the Squib Josephine's death."

Voldemort studied him a moment longer, then inclined his head.

"Your reaction pleases me," he said, although his face betrayed a trace of disappointment that no conflict had been fuelled. "Very well then, Severus. You may go."

"Thank you, Master."

Severus bowed slightly, then turned and left the room, feeling a measure of relief. He had not gone far down the passage when faster footsteps caught up with him, and Lothian drew even with him. The Death Eater said quietly, "You reacted very wisely just now. The Dark Lord was pleased."

"I must admit I was a little surprised that he did not punish me for killing my own father," Severus replied.

Lothian gave a wry smile. "That act would be more likely to earn you a reward than punishment."

Severus stopped walking to look at the other enquiringly. Lothian explained, "I do not know whether he would wish me to tell you this ... but perhaps he would. Yes, I think it might actually please him if you knew. So I will tell you: The Dark Lord, too, killed his father."

Surprise registered on Severus's face. Lothian started walking again.

"He was younger than you were, and felt no remorse either. I think he rather enjoys seeing you follow in his footsteps, as it were. And yet ..." He glanced sideways at Severus. "Forgive me, but I do not think you were entirely forthright. I do not know how much this girl meant to you, but I cannot believe that you bear no grudge against me."

"You showed her mercy," Severus said quietly. "I may have reacted differently, had you killed her as her parents were killed, or as my father killed my mother."

"That I can understand, and I am not unappreciative of it. But you avoided the point - wisely, in my opinion, in front of our master. However, you need not pretend to me that you do not feel some resentment towards me, as I am sure you must."

"Well," Severus confessed, his confusion mounting again, "I suppose it is true that I was not indifferent to Josephine, but ever since I have known she was a Squib, I have been aware of the risk to her, and I am glad, at least, that she did not ..."

"Never mind the girl," Lothian interrupted sharply. He took Severus by the shoulder and pulled him to one side. He looked around him and said quietly, "I have told no one, Severus. Not even the Dark Lord. I felt it was not my place to, under the circumstances. I even regret, now, that I revealed the truth to your father. I thought it best that he should know, so that he would be prepared for your pain and ready to help you through it. I had no idea he would react in this way ... for I now believe that, by telling him, I may have been responsible for your mother's death, too. But you must believe me when I tell you that I had no intention of robbing you of your heir. If I had known before I killed her ... well, I would have found another way, I assure you. But I cannot expect you to forgive what I did, for whoever the mother, a man's heir is his hope, his future, and if I myself had only been so fortunate as to have a an heir, and if someone had then done what I have done, I would not rest until I had avenged my child."

Severus stared at Lothian, barely comprehending what he was being told. It began to sink in very slowly. He said hoarsely, "My ... child?"

Only now did Lothian appear to realise that Severus was having difficulty following what he was saying. Taken aback, he took a step back. "You ... didn't know," he whispered.

But Severus did not hear him. He still felt no anger, as perhaps he should have done, at the man who faced him. He felt only pain deeper than he had imagined possible, and a sudden sense of loss that he had never experienced before. Hatred surged up inside him, but he did not know where to direct it. He walked away, leaving Lothian to stare after him, and never paused to speak to anyone until he got home.

Mirmy the house elf greeted him with a sniff. It was clear she had been crying for some time over her task of clearing out her late mistress's things. She approached Severus cautiously and handed him a crumpled sheet of paper, murmuring, "Mirmy found this in the mistress's hand the other day. Mirmy is sorry she did not give it to master sooner, Mirmy was distressed."

"What is it?" he asked distractedly, taking it from her. He glanced down and recognised the handwriting with an unpleasant jolt. Josephine's handwriting.

Dear Iris,

Thanks for thinking of me, and thanks for your advice. I think I will take it. In fact, I'm going to put it in writing now that I promise I will. There, now I have to do it, a promise is a promise. I'll tell Mum and Dad as soon as I've finished this letter. You're right, I do need their help. I'm sorry we won't see each other any more, but I suppose it's safer for both of us this way. Please do as your husband says, and don't write to me any more. I wouldn't want you to get hurt because of me, you've been too kind. And I'll make you another promise. If my baby is a little girl, I'm going to call her Iris. I don't think I'll tell her about her father, or maybe I'll see what my parents say, but I do think it might be better if she never knows. I'll let her think he died a hero, or something. You never know. I still can't bring myself to give up on him completely. Perhaps if he knew about the baby, it might change his mind. But that's probably just wishful thinking. No, he mustn't know. Take care, dear Iris. I'll miss you. I miss Sev, too. Crazy, isn't it, when you think about it? In spite of everything, I'm still mad about him. I do wish he wasn't in with You-Know-Who. Well, no use crying over spilt milk. Goodbye, dear. I do hope that one day, when all this mess gets straightened out, we'll be able to meet again. I'd like little Iris to meet her grandmother. You know, I'm almost sure it is a girl.

Love,

Josie

Severus read the letter slowly, and with every word he saw Josephine's face rise before his mind's eye more and more clearly, along with the vague shadow of the child that had never been born. The hatred inside him burned fiercely. His child was dead. His own flesh and blood. Lothian had been right. He might not have felt all that strongly about his mother, or even about Josephine - Josephine, who he knew now had gone on hoping for him until the end. But his child was another matter. He struggled with his new-found hatred. Hatred for whom? For Lothian, the man who had killed his offspring? For his father, who had brought him into this? Neither solution was satisfactory, for his father was dead and Lothian actually appeared to regret what he had done. Who, then, was responsible? Who had really killed his child? Severus quashed the niggling voice that laid the blame on himself. No, that he would not accept. He had not known what would come of his involvement with the Death Eaters, he had been misled into believing that the purity of blood mattered more than mere humanity, that some people had no right to live simply because they possessed no magic powers. He had been misled, and that had made it impossible for him to accept his mother's affection, to build a life with the only girl who had ever touched his heart, to raise a child that might have made him proud, even happy.

He had been misled by the twisted mind of the man he called 'Master'. He pictured the Dark Lord in his mind's eye, and finally found something he could focus his hatred on with satisfaction. This was the man whose rules had condemned his mother, Josephine, and his child to death. This was the man on whom he must exact revenge, whatever the cost. But how? How, when he was only one man, and the Dark Lord had so much power, and so many around him?

*But I am one of them,* Severus thought. *He trusts me. That is my strength. But how can I use it?*

* * *

The Muggle village was small by comparison to others, but it would suffice. It was just large enough that what was about to happen here tonight would be noticed, and spread shock and horror even among those in the wizarding community who secretly agreed with the Death Eaters' contempt of Muggles, but lacked the backbone to come right out and say so. This would flush them out, this would make them show their allegiance to the Dark Lord.

*They would not dare do otherwise,* Fenrir Greyback thought with satisfaction.

Shadows flitted among the two-story houses, some slinking close to back doors whose locks and latches offered far less protection than their owners supposed, taking care to keep to the shadows, out of sight of illuminated kitchen windows, others nimbly shinning up trees to take up a position by an upstairs window that had been left ajar to let in the fresh night air.

Greyback turned his face to the sky and watched the movement of the clouds. The light began to change, and with a hungry leer, he climbed a tree of his own, close to a window behind which hung a silly little model aeroplane made crudely out of a piece of cardboard, and painted gaudily with red and blue water colours. He was ready, and any second the moon would be in position. He licked his lips.

* * *

By the Light of the Full Moon

Frank Longbottom had seen many horrors during his time working for the Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix, but the moment he Apparated alongside Dorcas Meadowes, Gideon Prewett and the McKinnons on the green of the isolated moorland village of Fencombe, he knew that here was a sight, and here were sounds, that would haunt his dreams until the day he died. He closed his eyes for a second, and felt Madam Meadowes shake his arm roughly.

"We've no time for that," she told him. "Back to back, now, everyone. Watch yourselves."

The other four obeyed her without question. This was no time to argue about tactics, in any case. After all, what good were tactics against creatures that fought without them, darting here and there as their lust for blood took them, devoid of fear and entirely without pity, growling with fury, intent only on mauling and killing, on tasting human blood?

Gideon started to count them under his breath. "Eleven, twelve, thirteen ... sixteen, seventeen ... Merlin ..."

"Focus, Prewett," Madam Meadowes warned him, "before number nineteen takes you by surprise. McKinnon and Longbottom, to the left. Marlene with me. Prewett, join up with Fenwick over there."

They did as she said, keeping close together as they went, while the groups who had Apparated in other parts of the village did the same. At a sign from Gideon, he and Frank made their way towards the village pub, trying to shut out the screams of terror all around and concentrate on the target Gideon had picked out, a large black-and-grey werewolf who was repeatedly rushing at the barred door of the pub, which shook and shuddered and threatened to give way any second. The beast's ferocity left no doubt in the minds of the two Aurors as to whether or not there were humans inside. Gideon bent, picked up a stone and hurled it at the werewolf. It missed by four inches, but achieved its purpose anyway. The creature spun round and turned its shaggy muzzle, already caked with blood, on the two new arrivals.

"All right, you've diverted his attention. Now what?" Frank muttered under his breath.

"I wish I knew. That's as far as my plan went," Gideon confessed ruefully.

He had no time to say any more, for the werewolf sprang forward with a growl, forcing Gideon to jump one way and Frank the other. Frank kept his balance and turned back to face their attacker, but Gideon had stumbled over the body of a Muggle lying face down in a condition that left no doubt as to whether or not he was still alive, and was scrabbling frantically for his wand while the werewolf advanced on him. In his mind, Frank went through his options in record time. He thought of trying to trap the beast with ropes, but at the speed it moved, and what with Gideon's struggling, it was as likely he would trap his ally in with the werewolf.

"Locomotor mortis!" Frank yelled, aiming his wand.

At worst, he thought, the spell would immobilise both the wolf and his potential victim, but keep the distance between them. He was wrong. The wolf bounded towards Gideon at the very moment that Frank's spell struck the spot he had just left, and it was sheer luck that Gideon was able to roll out of harm's way in the same instant. The werewolf's attention turned to the source of the curse that had missed him. It leapt before he had time to utter another spell, and in the next instant it was all Frank could do to dodge its snapping jaws, let alone think about using his wand. From somewhere off to one side, Gideon shouted, "Incendio!"

The werewolf's tail caught fire, and it howled with pain, beginning to spin in circles, chasing its own tail in a vain attempt to tamp out the flames. The fire only narrowly missed Frank on the creature's second round, and he ran to Gideon's side, yelling, "You nearly burnt me to a cinder there!"

"Sorry," said Gideon, "thought it was better than getting bitten."

Frank directed his wand at the wolf. "Aguamenti!"

"What do you think you're doing?" Gideon demanded, as a jet of water showered the werewolf, extinguishing its burning tail.

"You didn't want to kill him, did you?" Frank retorted.

"What d'you think he's trying to do to us?" Gideon yelled back, but there was no time for argument.

With its tail no longer burning, the dripping wet werewolf turned back to its original objective and made straight for them again. The fight continued for several terrifying minutes, with many more narrow escapes for both the Aurors, before the wolf was finally subdued, ropes binding his snout well shut, and a body bind preventing any escape.

Gideon examined his bleeding arm while Frank checked that their foe was quite secure. He straightened up and looked at Gideon with concern.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

"He got me with his claws, not his teeth, thank goodness. I'll live. At least until my sister sees the mess I've made of the jumper she knitted me for Christmas," Gideon added with a wry smile.

Frank looked around him. The others were fighting as desperately as he and Gideon had done, some winning their battles, some lying motionless on the ground beside equally unmoving Muggles, and still the growls of the werewolves and the screams of their victims filled the air.

Just over two hours later, though it felt like a whole night to Frank, the battle was over. He walked among the figures on the ground, fighting the urge to be sick every step of the way, and forcing himself to turn over bodies to check if they were alive or dead. A young woman, too badly wounded to be healed even by all the skill in St. Mungo's, gripped his sleeve as he crouched near her. He took her hand and bent closer to hear what she had to say.

"Please," she whispered. "My ... little boy. I don't know where he is."

Frank glanced about him. He could see plenty of little boys, but not one of them looked alive. He began, "I'm afraid there isn't much ..."

"Neville," the woman said. "His name ... his name is Neville. Find him for me. Look after him. Tell ... tell him I'm sorry ... and I ... love him."

Frank found he was unable to bring himself to tell the dying woman that it was unlikely he would be able to identify any one child in this chaos, let alone find her son alive. Instead he asked gently, "Where did you last see him?"

The woman let go of his arm and pointed across the street. Then, with a shudder, her body sagged and Frank knew that she was dead. He straightened up, just as James Potter came towards him. James looked as pale and sick as Frank was feeling.

"Did you ever see anything so ... so ..." At a loss for words, James fell silent.

Frank shook his head. Sirius and Gideon joined them.

"What a mess," the latter commented grimly, holding his bandaged arm. It was by now far from being the only injury he had sustained tonight, and the words he had just spoken could be applied equally to the appearance of every Auror in the village, though all three of them knew it was not to that he was referring. Frank made to move away from them.

"Where are you going?" James asked.

"I've got to go and look for someone."

"Who?"

"A boy called Neville."

Gideon frowned. "What's he look like?"

"I have no idea," Frank admitted.

"How old is he?" asked James.

Frank spread his hands in a helpless gesture. Sirius remarked, "Forget it, Frank. You'll never find him, if all you know about him is his name."

"I'll find him," Frank said with quiet determination. "Somehow, I will."

"Want any help?" James offered.

"No, thank you."

Frank left them standing there, and walked in the direction the dying woman had indicated to him, stepping cautiously over dead bodies as he went. He looked into three houses, finding nothing but debris and two more dead bodies. He entered the third house and peered into every room, but his first glance revealed nothing but broken furniture and shattered doors. He had turned to leave when he heard a creak somewhere above, then another, and then the sound of something being knocked over, followed by a faint sob. The voice was that of a child.

Frank went back to the staircase and prepared to ascend it cautiously, when something suddenly whizzed past him, forcing him to duck to avoid being struck straight in the eye. The missile hit the wall, then fell to the ground behind him with a faint clatter. Frank bent to examine it, and found it to be no more than a child's toy arrow made of yellow plastic, with the typical red rubber suction pad removed. He approached the stairs more cautiously this time, and listened to the ragged breath of the young archer.

"Hello?" he called out quietly. "Who's there?"

His answer was another toy arrow, which he again dodged carefully.

"Neville?" he enquired, hoping against hope that this was the child he had been sent to find.

Amazingly, he was in luck. "H-how do you know my name?" asked a suspicious child's voice. "Who are you?"

"Frank."

"We don't know anyone called Frank."

"I know. But I fou... I met your mother outside. She asked me to come and get you."

"Mummy?"

"Yes."

"Is Mummy with you?"

Frank said heavily, "No."

There was a sound of something scrabbling across the floor upstairs. A small, fair head peered over the edge of the top stair above. From what he could see of the boy's face, which was all over cuts and scratches, Frank judged him to be about five or six.

"Are you my Daddy?" the child asked.

The question took Frank by surprise. "I ... why ... no," he said.

The child's face fell. "Oh. I thought perhaps you were. Mummy says he's a fireman, and he rescues people. I thought he'd come to rescue me from the monster."

Very cautiously, Frank climbed a couple of steps. "I'm not your Daddy," he said quietly, "but I have come to rescue you." He held out his left hand to the child. "Come on down, Neville. It's quite safe now."

But Neville shook his head. "I can't come down," he said. "And it's not safe. It's not dead, you see. Just sleeping. I can tell, 'cause I held a mirror under its nose."

"What?" Frank asked sharply.

He bounded up the stairs now, taking them two at a time. When he got to the top, he froze with shock as he realised Neville had meant what he had said about not being able to come down. He was much more severely wounded than his alert mental state indicated. Neville pointed to an open door.

"Under Mummy's wardrobe," he said.

Frank went into what had once been the bedroom, before it had been torn to shreds in a terrific fight. He had glanced in here earlier, but noticed nothing. Now, however, he walked closer up to the fallen piece of furniture the boy had mentioned, and leaned across to see the other side. He jumped back with a start. Trapped underneath the splintered wood was a werewolf that appeared about to return to consciousness. It sniffed the air groggily, becoming more alert when it caught the human scent. Frank backed out of the room quickly, and pulled the remains of the door shut behind him, for all the good it would do.

"We've got to get out of here, quickly," he said.

Even as he spoke, there was a great crashing of wood followed by the fast and heavy pad of paws on the bedroom carpet. Frank bent over Neville, who wrapped his arms around Frank's neck without further hesitation. Frank had to tuck his wand under his belt to carry the child, rendering it useless, and bolted down the stairs as fast as he could, with the werewolf's breath coming quickly behind him. He ran out into the street, back to where he had left Gideon, Sirius and James earlier. James and Sirius had moved a little way away by now, but Gideon and the McKinnons were not far, and Frank made straight for them, panting at them, "Get your wands ready, there's one just behind us!"

All three reacted like lightning, casting their spells in unison just in time, flashes of red racing each other on their way to their target, their aims true. The werewolf, though as murderous as any and bent on its prey, was not nearly as muscular as some they had fought tonight, and the force of their combined curses sufficed to send it soaring through the air in a high arc until it crashed against the wall of a building with tremendous force. Then it slid to the ground and lay still. James and Sirius came running.

"Oh my God," Frank breathed, turning to look behind him at his fallen pursuer. "Is it ..."

"Yes," Oliver McKinnon said darkly, "I think it's dead."

James came to a halt beside him just at that moment, and stared in the direction of the unmoving creature in horror.

"Sirius," he gasped quietly. "That werewolf. Have you noticed? It ... it looks like ..."

Sirius squeezed his shoulder. His voice trembled slightly as he said, "I'll take a closer look."

He walked cautiously across the street. Frank glanced at James's pale face, then watched as Sirius knelt beside the werewolf and examined it closely. He stood slowly and came back to them. James's eyes were fixed on him intently.

"Well?" Marlene asked.

"Dead," Sirius said.

He looked at James and shook his head almost imperceptibly. James heaved a sigh of relief, then turned quickly to Frank to try and hide it. Frank was still holding the badly injured child.

"So you actually found him," James said, impressed.

Sirius took a look at the boy and said, "You'd better get him to St. Mungo's, Frank. As quick as you can."

* * *

Neville

The Creature-Induced Injuries floor at St. Mungo's seemed about to burst at the seams that night, and it had certainly been a while since so much noise had filled the Dai Llewellyn Ward. There were countless people screaming with pain, people shouting for quiet, and people sobbing over those who had got to the hospital, only to die there.

Frank stood quietly beside a bed at the very end of the ward, waiting for the young Healer to complete his treatment on the boy Neville. Healer Smethwyck's face was glum when he turned from the bed and faced Frank's eager eyes.

"Well?" Frank prompted impatiently. "How is he?"

The Healer in turn asked, "Is this boy some relation of yours?"

"No," said Frank. "I never met him before tonight. I found his mother ..." He lowered his voice. "I found his mother dying. She begged me to find him."

"And the father?"

"I don't know much about him, except that Neville's never met him."

"Then it seems you are all he's got at the moment, until we can contact any other relations he might have. That being so ..." The Healer drew Frank aside and confided, "The boy's injuries are bad. Not just on the outside."

"But he wasn't bitten, was he?"

"No, not that. But he had near enough everything else happen to him that could have happened. To be absolutely honest with you, Mr. Longbottom, I'm amazed he made it this far."

"That bad?" Frank breathed.

"I'm afraid so. The best I can say is that he is comfortable. He feels no pain, thanks to the shock and a potion I have given him. But I fear he will not last the night."

Frank bowed his head sadly. The Healer went on slowly, "Even if we can find his family, it will be hours before anyone he knows gets here. You are here now. Mr. Longbottom, I wonder, would you consider staying with him ... until the end? He shouldn't be left alone."

"Of course," Frank said at once. "I wouldn't dream of leaving him, not now. If you'll just give me one moment ..."

He went in search of James, asked him to send a message to Alice as soon as he got home, and returned to the bedside as quickly as he could. Neville's face, now covered in bandages and ointments, looked up at him expectantly as he sat carefully on the edge of the bed. Frank forced a smile. Neville's first words removed it.

"Where's Mummy?"

"I don't know," said Frank, not entirely untruthfully. He added, "But when I saw her earlier, she asked me to tell you that she loves you. And that she's sorry."

Neville pulled a face. Frank debated whether or not to ask, but decided on the whole he might as well.

"What was she sorry about?"

The boy looked at him seriously, as though judging whether this was a person who could be told what his mother had done wrong or not. Finally he said, "She lied. She says grown-ups have to do that sometimes, to protect someone. But I don't think that's right. I don't think anyone should lie. I'd get in trouble for lying, so grown-ups should, too. Don't you think so?"

"Mostly," Frank agreed with him.

His head a little on one side, Neville asked, "Have you ever lied?"

Frank was surprised by the question, but gave it careful thought. Certainly he had never lied with bad intent. But he was married to a woman who used a name that was not her own, and he had condoned the fact that Alice Spriggs's grave bore the wrong inscription. He admitted, "I lie all the time."

Neville frowned. "Why?"

"To protect someone," Frank said with a faint smile. "Your mother was right, it seems. It's something grown-ups do."

"Who do you want to protect?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that." Frank decided to move back to safer ground. "What did your mother lie about?"

"Daddy," the child answered. "She told me I hadn't got a dad. But then he wrote to me."

"He rescues people," Frank remembered.

"Yes. He's a fireman. But he and Mummy argued before I was born, and he went away, and Mummy didn't tell me about him."

"She didn't want to upset you, I suppose."

"She did upset me. I was upset because she lied!"

"I can understand that," Frank said. "But you mustn't be angry with her, you know. She didn't want to hurt you. She lied because she loved you." He bit his lip, hoping Neville wouldn't notice the past tense. He asked quickly, "How old are you, Neville?"

The boy's chest swelled. "Six," he said proudly.

Frank marvelled at the child. Only six years old, and yet he talked as sensibly as any adult - in fact, more sensibly than some. And he had shown amazing courage earlier. It was all so unfair ...

"What were those things that came to our house?" Neville asked.

"Werewolves," Frank answered him.

"So Mummy lied about those, too!" the boy exclaimed angrily. "She said they don't exist, only in stories people tell to scare little children!"

"No," Frank said quickly, "no, she wasn't lying when she said that. She just didn't know, that's all. Most Muggles don't believe in werewolves."

"What's a Muggle?"

Frank explained. Neville eyed him sceptically.

"You can do magic?" he asked. "Real magic? Not just silly tricks like the magician at Nellie's birthday party? He said he pulled that coin out of my ear, but I know he was lying, because I've seen how they do that trick on telly! You don't pull coins out of people's ears, do you?"

"No. I carry them in my pocket, just like you do."

He produced a silver sickle to prove it. Neville stared at the strange coin for a moment, then he continued his questioning. "Why didn't you just kill all the - the werewolves with magic, then? Those two men killed the one who was in our house."

"That was a mistake," said Frank quietly. "We never intended to kill any of them."

"Why not? The one in our house ate my rabbit, and then it tried to eat me! I'd have killed it, if I could. Mummy knocked the wardrobe over on it. Then she wanted to go and get help, but another one came and chased her outside. If I had real arrows, I'd have killed them both."

"Neville, do you know what a werewolf is?" Frank asked.

The boy shrugged his shoulders. "A wolf that's got rabies?"

"No," said Frank, shaking his head. "A werewolf isn't really a wolf at all, most of the time. It's just a human being, like you and me. Anyone can become a werewolf."

Neville looked doubtful.

"It's true," said Frank. "I have a friend who's a werewolf."

"Y-you're friends with one of ... one of those things?!" the child cried, sitting up in bed.

Frank hurried to soothe him, and make him lie down again.

"They're not all bad," he said gently. "They can't help it. They're not themselves when they change into wolves. Some of them don't really want to hurt anyone, but they can't stop themselves ..."

He found himself proceeding with a lengthy explanation of werewolves, how people became werewolves, when and why they transformed, and how to recognise a werewolf. Neville listened with great interest, posing several intelligent questions, and displaying a surprising amount of understanding by the end of Frank's tale. By now, he was also starting to look much worse than when they had first arrived at the hospital, and his voice was growing weaker. There was a silence of several minutes when they had exhausted the topic of werewolves. Finally Neville asked quietly, "Is Mummy going to come and see me?"

Frank tried not to show anything. He stroked the fringe from Neville's forehead and said nothing. But this was a child that could not be deceived.

"You're not telling me something," he said shrewdly. "That's lying, too, you know."

Frank said nothing. Neville persisted, "You look sad. Why are you sad?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because ..." Frank gave a sad smile. "Because I want to protect you."

There was another pause, in which the child studied him closely. Then Neville asked, "Is Mummy dead?"

Frank was not even startled any more by the boy's perceptiveness. "Yes," he admitted softly. "Yes, I'm afraid she is."

Neville stared past Frank for a moment. When he looked at him again, he asked, "Am I going to die, too?"

This time, Frank could not bring himself to answer. He looked away until Neville said, "Don't be upset, Frank. I don't really mind. I just wish ... I wish I could meet my Daddy. I wonder what he's like. It'd be nice if he was like you."

A single tear trickled down Neville's pale cheek. Frank reached out to wipe it away, and before he knew it, Neville had pulled him closer, and was holding on tightly to him, suddenly crying with grief and fear, and seeming so much more like an ordinary little boy than he had until now. Half an hour later, Neville's crying had subsided. His eyes were closed, and he looked peacefully asleep. Frank tore himself away from the bedside with difficulty, and went in search of Healer Smethwyck, to tell him it was over. The Healer patted him on the shoulder.

"It was good of you to stay with the child," he remarked. "Thank you." He then added, "By the way, you're wanted over there."

Frank looked in the direction the Healer indicated, and sighed with relief.

"Alice."

She rushed towards him through the crowds, and he clutched her to him, allowing tears to fall onto her shoulder while she patted his back gently. She gave him time before asking tenderly, "Are you all right?"

"I ... want to go home," he said.

* * *

Confusion

Remus was dealing with the worst headache of his life. It beat at his temples like a gigantic drum and made him feel as though his eyes would soon burst out of their sockets from the enormous pressure. Opening them was even more painful, so he kept them tightly shut, wondering where he was in the dark. The last thing he remembered was waking up on ... a pavement? And the sound of a great bell booming so loudly it made his whole body shake. Traffic. People in black suits and bowler hats looking askance, probably thinking he was stone drunk. But he wasn't drunk. He may not know much at this juncture, but he did know that.

A soft hand touched his, and pushed his fingers around something, not letting go, but guiding his hand upward to his mouth. Remus struggled against the glass that was pressed to his lips.

"Don't fight me, Remus," a voice pleaded through the darkness. "Drink this, you'll feel much better once you do ... I hope." The voice gave a sigh and said to someone else, "Give me a hand, darling."

Someone held him down firmly from behind, and the glass was pressed to his lips again. He had no choice but to swallow the thick, too-sweet liquid. Seconds later, his headache began to recede. Remus opened his eyes to find himself looking into a gentle, anxious face with large green eyes, framed by a mass of silky red hair.

"L-Lily?" he murmured.

The hands that had held him down left his shoulders, and footsteps approached from the side. Someone crouched down beside what he now realised was a sofa he was lying on. He recognised the hazel eyes behind the round frames of a pair of glasses, and the untidy black hair.

"James."

"Hello, Remus," James said, taking care to speak distinctly. "So you recognise us now?"

"I ... what?" Remus said hoarsely and incoherently. "I mean ... yes."

"Do you know how you got here?" Lily asked gently.

He tried to think. The seconds passed, he could hear a clock ticking. The sound of the great bell echoed in his memory, and this time he recognised it. Big Ben. He had been in London, and now he was ... elsewhere, though he wasn't quite sure where. And he had no recollection of travelling. He shook his head.

"W-where are we?" he asked.

"Godric's Hollow," said James. "Our place."

Remus looked around him. He saw comfortable armchairs, a low table with an assortment of potion bottles on it, cream-coloured walls, a photograph of Lily and James on their wedding day, surrounded by himself, Sirius and Peter, a picture of Lily's parents ... Yes, now he recognised the Potters' living room.

"You got here at about half past seven this morning," said Lily. "At least, that's when James found you on our front doorstep."

"On the doorstep? "

"Yes," said James. "You seemed to be asleep." He went on urgently, "Remus, where have you been all night? I met your dad at St. Mungo's at four o'clock this morning, he was worried sick."

"Dad? What was he doing at St. Mungo's?"

"Looking for you, of course! He said he'd been looking for you all night, you didn't come home at all yesterday evening. Where were you?" he repeated urgently.

Lily made a hushing sound. "Not now, James, please. Give him some time to recover."

Remus looked from one to the other of them. He asked slowly, a terrible comprehension dawning on him, "Was last night ... was there a full moon?"

James made a strange, exasperated noise and got to his feet, beginning to pace the floor. Lily asked anxiously, "Don't you even remember that?"

"I don't remember anything at all," Remus said, unable to quite keep the panic out of his voice.

He glanced at James, who had stopped pacing to stare at him. It was only now that Remus realised how drawn James looked, both from exhaustion and from worry, by the look of it. He turned back to Lily again.

"What happened?"

She looked uncomfortable, but nevertheless began to tell him about the previous night's horrific attack on a Muggle village. What little colour there had been in his face drained away.

"H-how many casualties?"

James replied heavily, and perhaps a little too directly, "Sixty-nine dead in the village, including seven Aurors, twenty died in hospital, six were bitten, but survived - two of them are under ten."

Remus shuddered visibly, uttering a stifled exclamation of horror. He felt simultaneously hot and cold, and sick with revulsion at the mere thought of what had occurred, even though he had not seen it. Or, at least, he could not remember having seen it. A terrible uncertainty grew in his mind, and James asked again, "Where were you?"

"I ..." Remus paused, tried to think, and looked up helplessly at James. "I can't remember."

"You've got to remember!" James yelled.

"James!" Lily reprimanded him sternly.

James turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Lily flinched as it banged shut. Then she apologised, "Don't mind James. He's seen more than anyone should ever have to, and he hasn't slept a wink, I couldn't even get him to lie down all night."

"Did ... did they catch all the werewolves involved?"

Lily shook her head. "Most of them got away. Some fled during the fight, some escaped afterwards, when the Aurors were busy trying to help people. And five were killed. They still haven't been able to identify them. James said ..."

She broke off, but Remus prompted her to continue.

"He said that one of the ones who died - the McKinnons and Gideon killed it by accident - he said ... it looked a lot like you. So much so that at first, he and Sirius both thought ... well, thank God they were mistaken."

Remus was silent for a moment, then he said slowly, "It could have been me, though. And ... we may yet find that it would have been better if it had been."

"Remus!" Lily cried, horrified, but he ignored her.

"Where was I last night?" Remus wondered out loud, speaking more to himself than to her. "I don't remember anything. I don't even know how I got here, let alone what happened before that."

"You came on the Knight Bus," Lily informed him. "After James had found you outside, we called your parents, and then we tried to figure out how you'd got here. In the end, we called the Knight Bus and asked the driver. He remembered picking you up in London. He said you didn't seem to be too sure where you were, or even who you were, but you had enough money and so he brought you here."

"I gave him this address?"

"Not exactly. He remembered you bringing me home before, and seeing as he didn't know what else to do with you ..."

"What condition was I in when James found me?"

"You were asleep, like he said."

"That's not what I meant. I mean, was I ... injured in any way?"

"Oh. No," Lily said, happy to have at least a bit of what she considered good news.

"No?"

She was startled to see that he looked upset by this. More than upset - devastated covered it more accurately.

"Remus," she asked, "what is it?"

He said urgently, sitting up a little straighter, "There must have been something, surely. A bite, a cut, maybe just a scratch that you didn't notice ... a tear in my clothes somewhere."

He looked down at himself, but his shirt and trousers, though scarred from having been mended after previous transformations, were free of fresh signs of attempts to injure himself.

"Remus, there was nothing," Lily said gently. "I thought that was good."

Remus shook his head. "No, Lily, it isn't good. If I wasn't locked up, injuring myself last night ... then what was I doing?"

A long silence followed. Lily sat on the edge of the sofa, frowning deeply. Eventually she said, "I really don't understand much about what it means to be a werewolf. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he replied. "You don't have to understand it."

But Lily protested, "You're wrong, I do have to understand. If I don't, there's nothing I can do to help you. I know you've said before that I don't know how dangerous you can be. Well, I think after last night, I'm beginning to realise it. But that doesn't change what I've always known about you. What all your friends know about you." She looked him straight in the eye. "You're a good person, Remus. If you weren't, you wouldn't be so afraid right now. You are afraid, aren't you? Afraid that you might have been there last night?"

He lowered his eyes. "Yes," he confessed. "That frightens me more than anything."

Lily took his hand. "I know this probably isn't all that much comfort, but ... Even though I think I am beginning to understand what you've been trying to tell me, that you could do the kind of thing that those other werewolves did last night without meaning to, if you were loose under a full moon ... I really don't believe you did anything of the kind."

"Lily, there's no way of knowing ..."

"Remus, listen," she cut him short. "If you had been involved in last night's nightmare, do you think you'd be as unhurt as you are now? That village was swarming with Aurors, and even the werewolves who managed to escape must have come away with injuries of some sort. You haven't suffered a scratch, and you're not even experienced at going up against humans when you've transformed. If you had been there, I'm sure something would have happened to you."

Remus dared to look at her again. His expression was doubtful, but she could see that there was hope in his eyes, nevertheless.

"It's wishful thinking," he said quietly.

"No, it makes sense," Lily insisted. "Or I think it does, but you've got to help me. Tell me exactly what usually happens when you transform."

He looked horrified at the thought. "No."

"Please, Remus, you've got to, if we're going to figure this out. I need to understand."

Remus hesitated a moment longer. Then, reluctantly, as briefly as he could, and with as little detail as possible, he explained to her what happened to him every full moon.

"When it starts to go dark," he said, "I go to into the hut that Dad and Uncle Malcolm have reinforced. Dad locks me up in there, with heavy padlocks on the outside, and then I wait. I transform ..."

"That's the part where you're still aware of who you are?"

"Yes."

"Until you've fully transformed?"

"Yes."

"I see. Go on."

"Well, I try to get out of the hut. That's usually the first way I injure myself. I get bruises from the brick walls. We tried padding the hut once, but it was no use, I just ripped it all apart. Anyway, when I find that I can't get out, I go mad. I need to satisfy the blood lust ... so I bite and scratch myself."

"Until the moon wanes?"

"Or until I pass out, whichever happens sooner."

"And when you wake up?"

"I'm human again."

"And, I suppose from what you've told me, you're ... well ... covered in your own blood."

"Yes."

"But you can remember what happened?"

"Every second of it."

"And when you used to go out with James and the others, could you remember what had happened afterwards?"

"Always."

"Have you ever been loose under the full moon on your own?"

"Not since I was a child," he said dully, remembering the occasion only too well.

"And ...?"

"I killed the cat."

Lily winced, but persisted, "You know that you did that?"

"Of course, she didn't rip ..."

"No, no, what I mean is, do you remember doing it, or did you only see the evidence of it afterwards and realise that you must have done it?"

"Oh no," he said. "I remember doing it, all right."

Lily smiled triumphantly. "Then I'm sure I'm right. Wherever you were last night, it wasn't Fencombe. If you had been there for some reason, if you had hurt any of those people, you'd have remembered it afterwards. Seeing as you don't remember it ..."

"But I don't remember anything at all!" Remus exclaimed, frustrated. "I'm sorry, Lily, your reasoning is tempting, and it's very kind of you to try and make me feel better, but it proves nothing. All right, if I was in the village - Fencombe, did you say? - I ought to remember it, but I also ought to remember if I wasn't there. But I don't. I don't remember a thing!" he finished shakily.

Lily would not be swayed. She insisted, "There's a reason why you don't remember anything, I'm sure of it."

He laughed humourlessly. "Yes. They say that we sometimes forget things we don't want to remember, because they're too terrible to admit to ourselves. That could be true in this case."

"That's not what I meant," Lily protested. "We'll work this out, Remus." She added gently, "Even if the worst were true, we both know you wouldn't have gone there of your own free will."

"It wouldn't make the result any better."

"But it does mean that, whatever happened - whether you were taken to the village by force, or whether someone drugged you to plant uncertainty in your mind, or the minds of the Order - someone else was involved. Someone knows what happened. I have no idea who, but I'm going to try to find out."

He stared at her for a long moment, then said softly, "Thank you, Lily."

"Don't worry, everything will be fine, you'll see. I have every faith in you, even if you don't."

"And James?"

Lily considered him. "You're terribly fond of James, aren't you?"

"James was the first to offer me his friendship, and the first who didn't withdraw it when he found out the truth about me. I am very fond of him ... and you."

Lily gave him a sweet smile and, to his surprise, kissed him on the cheek.

"We're both terribly fond of you, too," she said. "And now to start testing my theory ..."

* * *

That evening, Lily, James, Peter and Sirius were seated around the kitchen table, sipping Butterbeer and - in Lily's case - pumpkin juice.

"So what do you reckon it was?" James asked. "A Forgetfulness Potion?"

"No ordinary Forgetfulness Potion is that powerful," Lily said thoughtfully. "Not when the antidote is administered within the first twelve hours."

"Did he take an antidote?" Sirius asked.

"I gave him one almost as soon as it occurred to me that he might have been given something," Lily said, remembering. "It must have been about ... nine o' clock."

"We don't know when he might have been given the potion in the first place," Peter pointed out.

"He can't have been given the stuff before the moon was full," said Sirius. "You can't feed someone Forgetfulness Potion before they've done anything to forget."

"Unless," said Lily, "you know they won't be doing anything at all, and you just want to cast a doubt."

Sirius frowned. "It's possible, I suppose."

"Well, you don't think he's lying, do you?"

With a faint smile, Sirius shook his head. "I may have shown signs of a suspicious mind in the past, but I'm pretty sure Remus couldn't stomach anything like what happened last night and convincingly pretend not to know anything about it."

"What about a memory charm?" James suggested. "They can be pretty powerful."

"Yes," Peter said eagerly. "That could be it. If, say, You-Know-Who himself performed the charm ... we'd never be able to break through it, it would be too powerful."

"We know someone who could try," Sirius said.

"Alice? Do you think she would?"

"I'm sure she'd try if Remus asked her to," Lily agreed with Sirius. "And in case she doesn't succeed ... well, there is one other course. Whether Remus was given a potion, or whether someone put a charm on him - someone was involved, and that someone knows what happened."

"True," James said. "But likely as not, that someone is none less than Fenrir Greyback himself, and quite honestly, after what I've heard about him and what I saw last night, I'm not too keen to go looking for him. Not that I'd even know where to start."

"Malcolm might have an idea," Lily pondered. "He found him once before."

* * *

Precarious Positions

That night, Peter Pettigrew lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling with sore eyes. He had found it easy to back up Lily's theory and play the part of the loyal friend this afternoon. After all, out of them all, he was the only one who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what had happened to Remus the previous night, and it pained him that, to put it bluntly, it was no one else's fault but his. He had voiced fears that the Order would sooner or later come to suspect one of its members was not as loyal to the fight against Voldemort as they made out to be, and that suspicion might fall on him. Voldemort had assured him that that would not be the case, that his 'friend' Fenrir Greyback had a way of making sure that, should suspicions arise, they were more likely to centre on someone else. Someone else. That had sounded so convenient and so vague at the time, that Peter had felt nothing but relief, and thought no more about it. Had he known that by 'someone else' the Dark Lord meant one of his best and truest friends ...

*It wouldn't have changed anything,* he was forced to admit to himself.

He had already failed his sister. Now he had failed one of his best friends. And nothing would change that. Because whenever Peter thought of turning back, he remembered what had happened to Pippa, and how he himself had been 'persuaded' to join the Death Eaters in the first place, and such a fear gripped him that he didn't even dare to consider betraying the Dark Lord, even though it pained him that the only other way was to betray his friends.

Still, he had not been required to do an awful lot so far, thank goodness. He had given the Death Eaters a couple of dates when he knew certain more powerful members of the Order would be too occupied to appear at the scene of any attack very quickly. He had provided Voldemort with a complete list of names of the members of the Order that he knew of, but had kept certain details secret, on which he rather prided himself. Voldemort had been so sure that Peter would not dare keep anything from him that he had not probed any further.

*I may have revealed things I shouldn't have, but I haven't told him about James, I haven't let my friends down.*

Well, he hadn't until now. Now it was a case of confessing what he knew and what he had done, or letting the uncertainty continue as to what exactly Remus had been doing last night - knowing that it was bound to leave some people with doubts about Remus's credibility, and more than that, that the uncertainty would be torture to his friend, who had never shown him anything but kindness.

Was it any wonder that his eyes were sore, and he could not sleep? There was no easy way out of this. In fact, as far as he could see, there was no way out at all.

* * *

Professor McGonagall slipped her wand back into the pocket of the cloak she wore over her night dress on her way along the corridor to the stone gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office.

"Treacle tart".

The gargoyle move aside with incredible agility for a creature made of stone, and the deputy headmistress stepped onto the moving spiral staircase beyond. Seconds later, she was knocking on Dumbledore's door, and bidden to enter almost immediately. Evidently, the headmaster had not been able to sleep any more than she had tonight. It was also evident, from the way he was standing in the middle of the room with his hands behind his back, that he had been pacing restlessly.

"Minerva," Dumbledore greeted her, "what can I do for you at this late hour?"

She closed the door carefully before answering him. "Hagrid sent a message that there was someone at the front gate."

"At this hour? Most unexpected. And you went to investigate? Not on your own, I trust."

"Of course not. Hagrid accompanied me. We were both surprised to see who it was."

She told him the name, and Dumbledore raised an eyebrow with interest. "Indeed? And did he state his purpose in coming here?"

McGonagall nodded. "He wants to talk to you. In the Shrieking Shack. He claims to have 'a proposition that will interest you'."

"Really? And this cannot wait until tomorrow?"

"He says not."

"In that case," Dumbledore said, removing his scarlet nightcap from his head. "Be so kind as to let him know that I will see him in the Shrieking Shack in fifteen minutes ... after I have slipped into something more appropriate."

Precisely fifteen minutes later Dumbledore, now clothed in forget-me-not-blue robes, emerged from the tunnel beyond the Whomping Willow into the Shrieking Shack on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. A dark figure standing close to one of the boarded-up windows turned around as he entered, revealing a sallow face with a long, hooked nose and black eyes.

"Severus," Dumbledore greeted the young man pleasantly. "This is an unexpected visit, indeed. What brings you back to school, and at such a late hour?"

"Headmaster." Severus inclined his head. "I have a proposition to make."

"That sounds promising," said Dumbledore. "Shall we sit down?"

He examined the broken remains of chairs littered about the room, and finding none intact, waved his wand to conjure up two chintz armchairs. He sat in one of them, and waited for Severus to seat himself in the other.

"There," he said. "That's better."

Seated on the very edge of his chair, Severus began hesitantly, "What I am about to suggest must on no account go beyond these walls. Can you promise me that you will tell no one about this conversation?"

"I fear that will depend on what it is you are proposing," Dumbledore said cautiously. "But certainly, you may rely on my discretion, provided your intentions are not dishonourable or damaging to any third party. Tell me your proposition, Severus. I am all ears ... proverbially speaking, naturally."

Severus ignored the humour and began to speak. He outlined his plan of furnishing Dumbledore and the Order with information about the Death Eaters' activities, under the pretence of doing the opposite on the Dark Lord's behalf.

"If I could come and work at Hogwarts," he said eagerly, "I could tell the Dark Lord I am doing so in order that it might help me spy on you for him, whereas in actual fact it would merely ensure that I will have a chance to speak to you whenever I need to, to tell you about his plans, so that you can act in time to thwart them."

Dumbledore listened to all the young man said with patient interest. When Severus had exhausted himself, he asked mildly, "There is one thing I would very much like to know. I do not wish you to think me ungracious, or unappreciative of what it is you are offering to do. But there is one thing that puzzles me greatly."

"Yes, Headmaster?"

"Why?"

Severus's mouth twisted with distaste. "Because I hate him," he said fiercely.

"Voldemort?" Dumbledore said, watching Severus flinch at the sound of the name. "Again - why? I was under the impression, in the past, that you rather admired him. What has brought about this sudden change?"

"My reasons are my own," Severus snapped.

Dumbledore rose from his chair. "In that case," he said, "I am afraid I must decline your offer, tempting though it undoubtedly is. I cannot afford to take such a risk with the lives of people who rely on me to keep them safe, and their identities secret."

"All right," Severus said quickly. "All right. But this time I really must request - no, insist - that what I tell you remain a complete secret. It is a very private matter, and I do not wish it to be widely known and discussed."

Dumbledore studied him a moment, then inclined his head. "You have my word."

He sat down again. He waited patiently for Severus to give his reasons in his own time. The young man explained about his meeting with Josephine, the relationship that had developed between them, his discovery that the girl had been a Squib, Josephine's death, his mother's, how he had killed his father, and finally, how he had found out that when Josephine had died, his child had died with her.

"The Dark Lord did this," Severus hissed at the end. "He is responsible for all these deaths, though he committed none of the murders with his own hand. He was behind them all, it was his doctrine that condemned Josephine and her family to death ... and my child," he added bitterly. "And I hate him for it."

"A plausible reason, to be sure," Dumbledore said slowly. "Though I must confess I do not find it pleasing. Hatred is rarely a good basis for doing good. But, as the saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. I see that you speak the truth, and have genuinely become Lord Voldemort's enemy, as am I. According to the old rule, that makes us friends, I suppose. I could wish that your motives were more pure, that you had seen the error of your ways out of a love for human life, perhaps, rather than the wish to see a life ended, and that you wished to atone for past mistakes ... perhaps that will come, with time. For now, I will be content with the knowledge that you intend to bring about Lord Voldemort's downfall, and will stop at nothing to achieve it. I accept your help gladly, and if you apply for a position here at Hogwarts, I will grant you one. We will, in any case, be needing a new Potions master this summer."

Severus appeared taken aback. "Potions? But ... Headmaster, surely ... you need a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher far more urgently than that, don't you?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes fixed him warningly. "I do not consider that to be a position to which you are particularly well suited, Severus," he said quietly, but firmly. "I offer you Potions. I believe you were always highly skilled at that subject."

Severus bowed his head. "Yes, Headmaster."

"Very well then. That is settled."

He rose to leave, and Severus followed suit, but after Dumbledore had made the armchairs disappear once more, the headmaster said, "You must be very careful, Severus. I need hardly tell you how powerful Voldemort is, or what he is capable of. I suggest, above all, that you use the time until the start of your new employment this summer to study Occlumency, at every opportunity."

"I have already begun to do so, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded approvingly. He gave Severus a small smile of encouragement, and departed back along the tunnel.

* * *

Exploring the Past

"I'll get it," Frank said when the doorbell rang on Saturday morning.

He picked up his wand and walked out into the hall. Peering trough the spyhole, he was mildly surprised to see Remus on the doorstep. Well, it looked like Remus. You could never be too careful these days. Frank directed his wand at the door and muttered a spell - the Longbottoms' front door was more or less sound proof, and there was no way he could have spoken to anyone on the other side without this spell.

"Good morning," he said. "What did Dumbledore say at the end of our last meeting?"

"That he would give ten packets of sherbet lemons for a new pair of yellow socks," Remus answered correctly.

Frank opened the door to let him in. It was clear to each of them, even as they shook hands, that neither was in the best of spirits, and both felt a little awkward. Nevertheless, Frank invited Remus to come through into the living room, where Alice was clearing up the breakfast things, still wearing a dressing gown.

"Remus!" she exclaimed, putting down the coffee pot to come over and hug him. "What a lovely surprise!"

"Good morning, Alice," Remus replied reservedly.

She stood back and studied him. "You're looking very glum. What's up?" she enquired.

He glanced at Frank, then turned back to Alice and began, "I really have no right to ask this of you, but the truth is, I don't know where else to turn. I hope you won't mind too much ..."

"Mind what?" Frank asked.

He had put his wand away again and was beginning to stack plates and cups with a mechanical air.

"It's about the other night," Remus said. "The full moon. I understand some terrible things happened that night and ... the fact is, I don't remember where I was at the time."

Alice and Frank exchanged a glance. Frank's tight expression reminded Remus so very much of James's that he quickly guessed Frank had been at Fencombe, too. Sure enough, Frank said, "I thought of you that night. I told Neville ..." he broke of, the shadow of painful memory passing over his face.

"Neville?"

"A boy Frank came across in the village," Alice explained. "He suffered the same fate as many of the village's children, I'm afraid. He died." She added softly, "Frank was with him until the end."

"He was a brave kid," Frank said distantly. "The bravest I've ever met." He shook himself and addressed Remus in a more normal tone again, "But what about you? You say you can't remember where you were?"

Remus shook his head. He told them how he had turned up on the Potters' doorstep the morning after, with no recollection of where he had been or what he had done the night before, and of Lily's insistence that they must get to the bottom of this, and later the advice of his friends to appeal to Alice for help.

"I know you don't do this kind of thing any more if you can help it," he said. "I'll understand if you'd rather not. After all, you've left all that behind you now ..."

"I can't promise anything," she interrupted him. "But of course I'll try."

"Alice ..." Frank began, but she cut him short.

"Don't worry, Frank, I'll be very careful. Now let's all sit down." She and Remus did so, though Frank remained standing, and she continued, "This might be a bit unpleasant. Whatever you do, Remus, try not to start using Occlumency against me."

"I wouldn't know how."

"Not consciously, perhaps, but sometimes people do it without meaning to, by instinct. Sit back a bit. That's right. Shut your eyes. Now try and relax."

"Alice, I don't know that this is such a good ..."

"Hush, Frank. Either go away or sit down quietly, please."

Frank sat down, watching anxiously while Alice closed her eyes and began reaching for Remus's consciousness. For a long time, nothing at all seemed to happen, except that Alice frowned a few times and made odd incomprehensible murmurs.

From her point of view, on the other hand, very much was happening. Only most of it had nothing to do with what she was trying to find out. It was not easy, when you carried another life in your body, to make psychic contact with any other consciousness but this, and it took her about ten minutes to push that to the back of her mind and reach out further. Even then, the first mind she was aware of was Frank's, and she silently wished she had simply asked him to leave the room. But it was too late now, if she spoke at this time she would have to start all over again. So she pushed Frank's mind aside as well and kept searching until, at last, she found another.

Frank knew she had made contact when he saw Remus twitch suddenly.

Alice travelled backwards through Remus's memories of the days since the full moon, as far as the moment Lily's voice echoed gently, "Don't fight me". So far, it had been no problem. Now came the difficult part. Alice tried to go back further, but found her path blocked by something that was not there. A great emptiness that rose up before her, like a vast balloon that she circled and prodded from all angles, but could not bring to burst and let her in. She touched thoughts and feelings all around it, but she could not get into that bubble. She tried for several minutes, straining both her own mind and Remus's until they were both sure to end up with headaches, then decided to give it a rest, instead allowing her mind to probe around the emptiness, to what had happened before. She caught brief glimpses of street lamps, of tall buildings and of water running underfoot, and she heard a distant chime that seemed familiar. Every now and then, it seemed she could almost hear something else, and she pushed a little harder to try and make out what it was. Just a breath of air? A breeze? No, a whisper. A voice. Someone speaking hurriedly. Afraid. She began to pick out bits of sentences "... what to do ... too powerful ... scared ... help ... please ... please ..." Who was saying these words? She looked around, but whenever she turned her head towards the voice, its position shifted. She turned and turned again, but she could not grasp it. Another sound became muddled with the voice, a sound of a different origin, a sort of panting and moaning. Alice pressed on and found herself up against the emptiness again. She pushed and pushed, and became suddenly aware of a splitting pain in her head.

Outside the world of their combined thoughts, Frank watched Alice and Remus anxiously. At the point where the pain exploded in his wife's head, he could finally take no more. He took Alice by the shoulders and shook her urgently.

"Alice, it's enough. Stop. Stop! There's no point in going on."

He looked across at Remus with concern. His face was twisted in agony, and he was twitching and moaning with pain.

"Rora!" Frank yelled.

She snapped out of it. At the same time, Remus gave a shout and opened his eyes. Alice blinked up at Frank, took his hand and said weakly, "It's all right."

Remus stared at her. "What was that ... that hole?" he asked her.

Alice leaned against Frank, who had sat down beside her, and answered, "I'm not entirely sure. But I think someone modified your memory ... removed a part of it, so you wouldn't know what happened during that space of time."

"Then ... Lily was right ..."

"It looks that way. Anything might have happened, or nothing, I really couldn't say. We can't find out any more, not this way. And the only thing we have to go on are those snippets of someone talking, but I didn't recognise the voice. Did you?"

Remus looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure. It sounded vaguely familiar, but I can't quite place it."

* * *

"So," Lily said triumphantly later that day, when Remus came to see her and tell her what Alice had discovered, "I was right. Someone did meddle with your memory."

"Goodness knows why, though," said Remus.

"Obviously to make you doubt yourself, and maybe to make others doubt you, too. You said the voice was familiar," Lily said. "What did it sound like? Old? Young?"

"Young, I think. It was hard to tell, it was so quiet." He thought again. "No, I'm pretty sure it was a young voice."

"Not Fenrir Greyback, then," Lily murmured with slight relief. "What?" she added, as Remus stared at her, an odd expression on his face.

"I - I don't know ... your saying Greyback just triggered something ... whoever was talking ... they said something about Greyback, too." He buried his face in his hands while she watched him think. "Scared," said his muffled voice. "Help ... yes, he wanted help getting away from Greyback."

"What about ... Jeremy?" Lily wondered out loud.

Remus looked up at her sharply. "What did you say?"

"Jeremy," she repeated carefully. "Jeremy Crowe. Could it have been him?"

"I ... suppose so." Remus seemed doubtful.

Lily was nodding vigorously. "Of course, it must have been Jeremy. Who else would be that close to Greyback, and come asking you to help him get away? You must have met him somewhere, but something went wrong and ... and ..." Her eagerness died away as she contemplated what might have happened next.

Remus suggested heavily, "And Greyback found both of us, and made us go with him to this village, and when the full moon came out ..."

"No!" Lily protested sharply. "Don't say it. For goodness' sake, Remus, do you want to believe the worst? No, that's not what happened next, it was something else, and there's only one way to find out. We must find Jeremy and ask him."

"If it was Jeremy."

"Let's hope it was. It's all we've got to go on."

"But Jeremy could be anywhere. He could even be dead."

* * *

Jeremy's Story

How does one find a boy few people have ever seen, and whom even less know by name? A boy in the clutches of a person whom everyone tries not to see, and whose name they try hard to forget? Malcolm began with a few people he knew still working at the Department of Mysteries, visiting them one by one at home, but anyone who grudgingly admitted that yes, it was true his nephew's place in the committee had been taken by a young boy who submitted willingly to any experiments that were put forward, seemed unable to recall, or claimed never to have known, the youngster's name.

"The cub, that's what the other one calls him," said one witch secretively.

When Malcolm asked her whether, by "other one", she meant Fenrir Greyback, she winced, shrank back, and said she didn't know anything and was very sorry, but she couldn't help him. Only two people seemed at all willing to say any more on the matter, and they insisted that it must be in secret, sometime after dark, somewhere remote. Malcolm took the information Gloria Lovegood and Damocles Belby gave him to some of his less reputable contacts, who insisted on three times the usual bribery fee before they agreed to make enquiries for him.

It had taken a month, but by the time the next full moon came around, Malcolm knew what he needed to know. He had a detailed description of a certain wooded area, and a track leading through that wood which would take him to a fortified cave in which the werewolf leader and the "cub" Jeremy Crowe were said to live secluded from the rest of the world - at least, part of the time. Problem number one was that they only ever seemed to be seen there just before the full moon. Problem number two was that Malcolm had no idea where he might find them the rest of the month, except at the Ministry of Magic, where he could not dare to show his face now that it was so deeply in Voldemort's pocket. There was John, of course. John still worked at the Ministry. But ask John to seek out Fenrir Greyback? No, he could not do that. There was only one thing he could do, though it was risky ...