Three Animagi and a Werewolf

Chapter 42: The Hunt Begins

All Hallows' Eve

The school year had begun, as it always did, on September 1st. Faith had cried a little when John had left, and he had had to master all his resolve in order to leave her, promising that he would come home as often as work allowed - every weekend, if he could arrange it.

He had found it surprisingly easy to settle into his new job. The Hogwarts students were by no means blind to the goings-on in the world outside. How could they be, when the body of their previous Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had been found outside the school gates just a couple of months ago, and when many of their families had already suffered losses at the hands of the Death Eaters? Many therefore showed great eagerness to learn as much as possible in this subject. While John hoped that none of these youngsters would ever find themselves in danger, he could not help but be impressed at the good-hearted determination displayed by some, a determination that he suspected Narbus Darkhardt had seen in Remus and his friends back when he had talked of 'recruiting' them into the Order once they finished school.

After about a month, John had made a mental list of his own, which he divided into three categories of potential future allies: probable, possible given encouragement, and risky. He was at this moment checking the homework of one student whom he placed in the third group. Bartemius Crouch Jr. was in Ravenclaw, and there could be no doubt that he was a highly intelligent boy - the results he had achieved in his O.W.L. exams at the end of the previous year were quite impressive. He had also proved himself to be a very good dueller. But there was something about him that John found unsettling. Barty could be odd at times. He would practise duelling for hours, appearing perfectly calm and in control of himself, and then, all of a sudden, it would be as if some invisible dam had burst, and he would unleash a Disarming Spell or Impediment Jinx that was several times more powerful than was necessary, and someone would walk away with a bleeding nose, a torn lip or a black eye. Barty would always apologise politely enough when this occurred, but somehow his apology was never wholly convincing.

*Then again,* John thought, *what can one expect from a sixteen-year-old boy? They're all bound to get carried away sometimes.*

He recalled plenty of times in his own youth when Malcolm would return to the common room after having been summoned to the office of one teacher or another to apologise for the mischief he had done them or fellow students. Malcolm, too, had always apologised obediently in front of the teachers, but on more than one occasion continued to rant about the person in question to John afterwards, and maintain that so-and-so had had it coming, and that he would do exactly the same thing again if he ever got another chance. All the same, the fact remained that Malcolm never had done the same again to the same person, whereas Barty ... Barty seemed to hold grudges for a very long time, and unlike other students seemed most averse to talking about them. While other students, when brought before their teacher, would have shouting matches and sometimes even have to be physically pulled apart from each other before they calmed down and agreed to bury the hatchet, Barty would always mildly apologise, smile at the other party, and walk away as if nothing had happened.

*But he's only a boy,* John reminded himself once more. *I suppose I'm just letting my dislike of the father affect my judgement of the son. That's hardly fair. And yet ...*

But his thought was cut short by a knock on the door of his office. John removed his reading glasses and looked up.

"Come in," he called.

He was surprised to see not a student, but the headmaster himself enter the room. Dumbledore's expression drove all thoughts of Barty Crouch Jr. straight out of John's mind. The older wizard looked deeply concerned about something. He refused the seat that John offered.

"I have very little time," he said briskly. "I have received a warning that the enemy is planning to 'celebrate' Halloween with what could possibly turn out to be the greatest massacre of innocent people we have yet witnessed."

John sat a little straighter in his chair. "Tonight?" he said sharply. "Where?"

Dumbledore's sigh gave vent to more frustration than John had ever known him to express.

"In too many places at once, I fear. My source tells me that several simultaneous attacks will take place all over the country. It will be impossible for us to ward off much of the harm."

"But surely, even Voldemort's forces are limited."

"Less so than they were, I fear. From what I have just been told, his supporters are by now far more numerous than even I had guessed."

"Who told you this?" John queried cautiously. He did not think that Dumbledore would reply - the headmaster had so far always avoided answering John when he had tried to find out where exactly all the apparently inside information came from that Dumbledore seemed to be receiving at the moment. But this time, he was surprised.

"I will tell you," Dumbledore said, "if only to stop you questioning me further - and so that, in the event of anything happening to me, our informer will not be left entirely cut off. You wondered, when you first came here, why I had appointed someone as young as Severus Snape to the position of Potions master here at Hogwarts. Now you know."

John stared. "Severus? But ..."

"Yes, Severus. He became one of Voldemort's trusted Death Eaters even before he left school, but now he is our spy."

"A Death Eater? Are you sure he can be trusted?"

"I have no time to discuss the issue of Severus's trustworthiness at present, John. I can only ask you to trust me on this, as I have already asked Minerva to do. You two are the only people, apart from myself, who are aware of his position at present. I must ask you, as I have asked her, to swear to me that you will tell no one else about him."

"Of course," John promised. "All the same, I ..."

"Not now, John," Dumbledore repeated. "Time is short."

"I understand. Where do you want me?"

"Here," said the headmaster, surprising him again. "I want you to stay at the school, and help Minerva keep everything under control until I get back. What is about to happen is likely to spark a panic, and I want you to make sure it does not get out of hand. Hagrid will come with me."

The occasion seemed to call for solemnity. John rose from his chair and extended a hand to Dumbledore, which the headmaster shook.

"Good luck," John found himself saying.

Dumbledore nodded curtly, and swept out of the room.

* * *

A Dark Moment

The next morning's copy of the Daily Prophet was devoted entirely to the events of that Halloween, though to read them described in the paper, one might have thought it had been a night of glory rather than of horror. The world, it said, had taken one step further towards its eventual purification from inferior non-wizard beings, the enemies of the Dark Lord had finally witnessed the increased power of the pure cause, several pockets of rebels had been crushed, and room had been made for the expansion of wizardkind. Reading between the lines, it told of small towns reduced to rubble by giants or burned by dragons, Muggles slaughtered by the hundreds, devastation wrought by Death Eaters all over the country, of damage caused and lives destroyed.

Dumbledore called a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix at Gryffindor Hall that evening, and there had never yet been a meeting so quiet, overshadowed as it was by what many of those present had experienced the night before, and the absence of some of its members who were still recovering. Even Sirius was quiet and withdrawn, still anxious about James, who was at home in bed, recovering from the severe burns he had sustained last night.

"How did it happen?" John asked Bridget after the meeting had ended.

Her voice shook as she explained, "He and Lily were with the group that went to Surrey when it all started, one of the places where the Death Eaters were attacking was the area where Lily used to live - they had a dragon with them. By the time they got there, it had set several of the houses on fire, including Rose's ..."

"James went in to try and save her," Malcolm took over the story, putting his arm around his wife. "He nearly got himself killed in the process. Luckily, Sirius and Peter were able to pull him out. They took him straight to St. Mungo's."

"Will he be all right?"

Malcolm nodded. "He was lucky they got him there so quickly. The Healers say he might be left with minor scarring on his arms, but nothing too serious. Lily's mother wasn't so lucky."

"She was probably dead before James ever got there," Remus murmured, joining them on the way down.

"I suppose," Sirius answered heavily. "I'm going to go and see James before I head home. You coming, Peter?"

Peter nodded and followed him quickly. Remus frowned after them for a moment before following. John looked a question at Malcolm, who shrugged.

"I don't know all the details of what went on in Surrey last night," he said quietly. "But I gather Sirius is a bit ... off with Remus."

"Why?" Bridget asked. It seemed John was not the only one in the dark here.

* * *

"Sirius, would you mind telling me what I've done to offend you?" Remus was asking Sirius at almost the same time, as he hurried to keep up with his friend on the way down the gravel path, across the street and along the familiar route that led from Gryffindor Hall to the Potters' house.

"Nothing," Sirius grunted shortly, turning a corner.

Remus glanced at Peter, who just shrugged his shoulders. He addressed himself to Sirius again. "It's not nothing, you're obviously cross with me, and I'd like to know what I'm supposed to have done wrong."

"All right," said Sirius, stopping abruptly and turning on him. "Fine. Where were you?"

"What?"

"While Peter and I were heading into a burning building to save James, where were you?"

Confused, Remus said slowly, "You know where I was. I was holding Lily back from going in after James."

Sirius was nodding vigorously now. "Exactly. Now you know why I'm cross."

"What, so you think I should have let her run in and get herself killed?" Remus demanded.

"Has it occurred to you she might not have, that she might actually have been of some help in there? She is a witch, and pretty good with charms, if you recall. Things like shield charms, fire-repelling charms ..."

"She's also a woman who was in a panic about what might be happening to her mother and her husband," Remus retorted. "Do you think she'd have had the wits about her to think about casting all those charms at that moment?"

"I don't know! Never got the chance to find out, did she, thanks to you."

Remus shook his head. "Sirius, if you're right, then no one could be more sorry than I am. But remember I was there with her, I saw the state she was in - she wasn't thinking straight, she wasn't thinking at all, she was just desperate. She nearly collapsed in my arms!"

Sirius's expression changed from anger to something unreadable. He asked quietly, "Didn't you rather like that, really?"

Remus gaped at him, at a loss for words. Peter was looking from one to the other of them like a spectator at a tennis match.

"Think about it, Remus," said Sirius. "For once, I'm going to suggest you do what you do best - let your head rule your heart."

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Maybe you don't. But if and when you figure it out, remember what nearly happened today. Ask yourself how you'd have felt, what you'd have done if anything had happened to James and you had been left holding Lily."

And with that, Sirius marched on down the road, Peter in tow, leaving Remus to stare after them, dazed and confused. His mind went over last night's disaster again - James disappearing into the flames, Lily screaming and running to follow him. Stepping in her way, holding her back with all his might, feeling her stagger against him, hands clutching his shirt, tears soaking his chest, faint and helpless. Comforting her as best he could, wanting to take the pain away from her, wanting to protect her ... Was Sirius right? Had something happened to him at that moment - or maybe even before that. Had he felt something he shouldn't have? Lily was beautiful, kind, affectionate - she knew what he was, and yet she still treated him like a human being. More - like a dear friend. Was he beginning to react to that in ways he shouldn't?

"Remus?" It was his father's voice, his father's hand on his shoulder, that recalled Remus to the present. "You shouldn't stand outside alone like this."

What was that look in his father's eyes, that tone in his voice? Sorrow? Sympathy? Understanding? Hardly that, for how could his father understand what he did not understand himself?

"I'm glad James made it," John said quietly, and perhaps a little pointedly.

James. The haze that had gathered around Remus's thoughts lightened. James was his friend, the best friend he had ever had. James had been the first to offer Remus friendship, he had been warm and loyal from the first. He thought of James's ready smile, his friendly laugh, and of all the things they had been through together, and the darkness seemed to lift. Maybe he had allowed himself to feel something for Lily that he must not, maybe Sirius was right in that respect. But he loved James as if he were his own brother, and nothing in the world would ruin that, ever. He wouldn't allow it.

"Yes," Remus said with a faint smile, "so am I."

* * *

A Light Moment

The Order celebrated Christmas together at Gryffindor Hall that year. After watching Remus closely for a month following that Halloween's experience, Sirius had finally relaxed a little around him again, and he took the opportunity on Christmas Day, under the influence of possibly more glasses of eggnog than were good for him, of taking Remus aside and putting one arm around his shoulder, leaning in conspiratorially to say, "Look, Moony, old friend ..."

"Yes?" Remus responded warily.

"I just want to say," Sirius went on, his speech slightly slurred, "that I'm sorry about ... you know. What I said to you after that business ... Halloween ... about Lily."

Partly to silence Sirius, partly to escape this embarrassing situation altogether, Remus replied quickly, "No, listen, you were right."

As Sirius's eyes widened in surprise, Remus went on, "For a moment there, I think I did ... I may have ... had feelings that were ... inappropriate. But it was just a moment, Sirius. It passed. I know you've been watching me ever since, but I promise you, you haven't been as vigilant over me as I've been over myself. And it's all right. I'm in control." He tapped his temple and smiled.

Sirius studied him a moment, though his eyes were a little hazy. "Mind over matter, eh? Head over heart?"

"As always," Remus said with a faint sigh.

Sirius patted him on the shoulder. "You know, I'm actually sort of sorry to hear you say that. I mean, with the right girl ..."

"There's no such thing, I'm afraid," Remus replied. "Not for me."

"You never know, Moony," Sirius objected with a grin. "You're probably just looking for the wrong type. You never did know what was good for you."

"I'm not looking for any type," Remus protested.

"Yes, yes, I know." Sirius waved a hand. "Half-breed, half-human, not worthy, and all that. But some day, you might come across a girl who doesn't mind all that. It just won't be ..."

"Lily!" Remus exclaimed, extricating himself from Sirius with difficulty as she approached with Harry in her arms.

Lily smiled. She was still wearing black, which wasn't really a colour that suited her very well, but the smile was an improvement, at least - in fact, Remus thought, it was probably the first smile he had seen from her since her mother's death. James came up beside her.

"What's going on here?" he asked. "Has Padfoot had too much 'Christmas spirit' again?"

They laughed together at the pun, unoriginal though it may be, and James reached across to take his son from his wife. She handed Harry over carefully, her green eyes watching James's face. His jaw seemed to tighten a bit as he took the weight, but he was clearly determined to hold the baby for as long as he could - his arms were healing well, but he wasn't yet fully recovered.

Across the room, Bridget was standing by the French windows, watching her son unobtrusively.

"Don't worry," her father said quietly. "Another couple of weeks, and he'll be back to his old strength."

"He'd better be," Bridget replied. "I've had about as much as I can take of seeing the people I love hurt by that monster and his followers. It's high time we got rid of him once and for all. The Death Eaters would soon fall, if only we could destroy Voldemort. He's what keeps them together."

"One of us can. You, me, James ... or Harry."

"If it is Harry," Bridget said, "then we have a long wait ahead of us."

"If it is Harry," Gordon murmured under his breath, "then I doubt I'll live to see it."

Bridget looked up sharply. Her father was not looking at her - seemed to be making a point of not looking at her, in fact. She didn't know if it was her imagination, but his steel-grey eyes, once so sharp, seemed paler somehow. His face was lined with age, and she realised with a shock just how old he must be. Funny, that she had always known her father was so much older than her mother, yet never thought of him as an old man. It was the strength that he had always seemed to exude, she supposed. But when she thought about it, she could not see that strength that he represented in her mind in the man standing by her side. She saw him, perhaps for the first time, not as a powerful, venerable wizard, but as a man of close to ninety years, a man who had loved a very young wife and lost her, who had seen his daughter drift away from him and lived alone for many long years, and who now watched from afar the grandson whom he should have been close to, whom he should have helped teach everything he knew - not really a part of his own family's lives, just standing on the edge, silently watching and protecting, quietly loving, but never asking to be loved in return. And yet that was not entirely true, she realised ruefully. He had asked for her forgiveness, and her love, many times and in many ways, though never in so many words. And another thing she realised was that she had given both, yet never let him know it to this day.

She said in an oddly choked, suddenly timid voice, "Father ... Dad ..."

He looked down at her, his grey eyes widening with surprise, and sparkling with a surprising softness.

"I'm sorry," Bridget whispered.

He shook his head. "You have nothing to be sorry for, my child. Every generation must sooner or later make way for a new one. By the time Harry becomes old enough to fulfil the destiny that may lay in store for him, another twenty years may likely pass. No one lives forever. I simply doubt I have another twenty years."

"I ... I hope you do," Bridget said, and found that she meant it.

Gordon smiled faintly. "That alone," he said, "means more to me than even a single day."

It had taken such a long time, Bridget thought, for them to reach this moment. So many years, so much pride, so much stubbornness had stood between them for so long. But now, this Christmas, she finally watched them all slip away, and for the first time since her childhood, she slipped her arms round her father and hugged him tightly. He hesitated briefly, unsure how to deal with this sudden display of affection, but then nature and his heart took over, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her and planted a kiss on the top of her head.

* * *

John sought out Bridget a couple of hours later, and handed her a glass of sherry. He sat down beside her on the sofa and smiled, raising his own glass in a toast.

"What are we drinking to?" she asked.

"You tell me," he said. "I saw you and your father earlier. It was nice to see you truly reunited at last."

"I don't understand why I've waited this long," Bridget said. "But I'm glad we've finally buried the past. I feel ..." - she drew a deep breath - "free."

Bridget smiled back at him, and he noticed that there was something different about that smile. It was happier, more at ease with the world. John twirled his glass in his hands.

"I feel much better myself," he said. "Teaching at Hogwarts has proved to be everything that I hoped it would be, and more. I sometimes wonder I never thought of teaching as a profession before. All those years I spent at the Ministry ..."

"All those years I spent being angry with my father ..."

They both fell silent for a moment, then laughed.

"Well, here's to overcoming the mistakes of the past, then," said John, raising his glass.

"Here's to love," Bridget added, raising hers.

"Even better," he said softly, and they each took a sip from their glasses.

Gordon glanced their way and smiled at Bridget, and she smiled broadly back.

"I think you've made his Christmas," John remarked.

He moved up a little to make room as Malcolm and Faith came up and joined them.

"You two are looking very cheerful," said Malcolm, taking his wife's hand.

John raised his glass again. "Here's to making the most of days like this," he said, wrapping his free arm around Faith.

Bridget winked at him. "Here's to love," she repeated.

"That's the spirit," said Malcolm, kissing her.

"Eat, drink and be merry," Alastor Moody was saying gruffly to Edgar Bones at the other end of the room, "for tomorrow ..."

"Sirius!" Lily's cry turned all heads towards her.

"It's all right, darling, it's not a real Billywig," James said placatingly.

His five-month-old son kicked his legs in the air in delight at the sight of the vivid blue insect floating out of his reach. It seemed to interest him much more than the rattle it had been just a few seconds earlier.

"Oops," said Sirius. "Err ... hate to worry you, James, but ... I think something went a bit wrong with my spell ... it ... er ... it is a real Billywig!"

"Sirius!" Lily repeated.

"Sirius!" James chimed in, rolling his eyes.

"Don't worry, I'll get it," Sirius offered, flourishing his wand.

Remus snatched it out of his hand quickly from behind. "Not with that, you won't," he warned as the Billywig began zooming all around the room, poking its stinger at people and causing everyone to duck, jump and run out of its way. "You'll never hit it, but you might hit one of us."

A mad chase for the blue insect began, ending in a triumphant shout of "Got it!" from Sirius, followed quickly by a "Oh bugg...", a "Sirius!" from Bridget this time, and roars of laughter as Sirius, evidently having been stung by the little creature in revenge for his having caught it tight in his fist, began to levitate a few inches off the ground. Even Lily, now holding Harry safely in her arms again, could not help but chuckle as he struggled comically in mid-air, and gladly helped perform a sticking charm that kept Sirius firmly glued to the floor in a corner of the room until the effects of the insect's sting had worn off.

* * *

It was the longest, and probably the loudest Christmas party the Order had ever celebrated. Towards the end of it, many of the attendees agreed to finish off a very pleasant evening by travelling to Hogsmeade and visiting the Hog's Head for a couple more drinks before turning in, though John and Faith, Bridget and Malcolm and old Gordon stayed at the Hall to look after little Harry and Neville until their parents got back, and some others opted to go straight home instead. A few pints at the Hog's Head later, Moody produced a camera, to everyone's surprise, and began taking photographs of them all, of which he later provided copies to everyone. They were photographs of a happy bunch of people ... who had no idea of what lay just around the corner.

* * *

Peace Before the Storm

"Sir, I was there," Severus Snape insisted, staring intently at the headmaster across the desk that stood between them. "The Dark Lord made the announcement on the last stroke of midnight. He knows about the Order of the Phoenix - he knows a great deal more about it than he should know, more even than I do. He has names, he has addresses ... and he's going to use them. He is coming after you, all of you. It will begin soon. He is determined to finish you all, each and every one of you, he will take you out one by one if he has to."

"What do you propose?"

"Take him out first, of course! Challenge him outright, destroy him and the Death Eaters in one blow."

Dumbledore shook his head. "It's impossible, Severus. We learnt that at Halloween. Their numbers are far greater than ours, we cannot hope to win in a direct battle."

"Then how do you hope to win?"

There was a pause, then Dumbledore admitted quietly, "I ask myself that, too, sometimes. But tell me, Severus: How does Voldemort know all this?"

Severus flinched at the name, but answered firmly, "He has his own spy."

"Someone is spying on the Order?"

"No. Someone is spying in the Order," said Severus. "One of them is passing information to the Dark Lord, one of them is a traitor."

"Who?"

"I do not know."

Dumbledore studied him sharply, as though searching for a lie, but he found none.

"In that case," he said heavily, "the prospect is indeed a bleak one."

* * *

Two weeks later, the Order was mourning the loss of the McKinnons. They had been due to visit Marlene's family in Derbyshire for the weekend. The Death Eaters had been waiting for them there. No one had survived.

Benjy Fenwick was next. Muggle eye witnesses, whose memories were later modified, reported seeing him cornered upon returning home by two figures robed in black and wearing masks. They had left little of the young Auror to identify.

Then came Edgar Bones, and his death was perhaps the hardest blow yet for the Order, as they had all acknowledged him as one of their best, a powerful wizard, a cautious man - and yet he had been killed, and his family with him.

It was the Prewetts' turn at the end of March. Just a week before they were killed, Gideon had sat telling his friends how he had found it hard to enjoy his youngest nephew's first birthday earlier that month, with the memory of his good friend Oliver's death still so fresh in his mind - little had he known he would not live to see his sister's twin sons celebrate their birthdays. The evidence and the witnesses' reports all pointed to the Prewett brothers having put up "One hell of a fight," as Moody grimly put it, against the five Death Eaters who came after them, but it was not enough to save them. Remus had overcome his qualms on this occasion and gone to visit Heather, knowing that she and Fabian had been an item for quite some time now. She had seemed not quite able to believe what had happened. She admitted to him that she had probably never really been in love with Fabian, and yet his death had come as a shock, and she had cried her heart out on Remus's shoulder.

April brought another unexpected and painful death, one for which Voldemort himself was responsible. Dorcas Meadowes' death finally sent many within the Order into a mood of despair, and it took all Dumbledore's powers of persuasion and morale-building that month to prevent the Order from breaking apart entirely.

And then came May.

* * *

It was a Saturday afternoon, and the weather was warm - too warm. The heat was quite oppressive, and as Sirius worked in the yard behind the flat of buildings where he lived, he thought that it couldn't be long before something burst and a downpour came. After all, it was a well known fact that washing your car, cleaning the windows or, in his case, polishing your motorbike worked more reliably to bring on wet weather than a rain dance.

But even though he knew that he was almost certainly doing it in vain, polishing his motorbike was more to Sirius than just the effort to make his treasured machine gleam and sparkle and dazzle the girls as he sped past them. The scrubbing motion did something more. It somehow helped cleanse his heart and mind, and wipe away the trouble and the pain. So many people he had known and called friends had died lately - no, not died. They hadn't just died. Because that would have been all right, he thought. No, they had been murdered. The McKinnons, the Prewetts, Benjy, Madam Meadowes, old Bones ... and not just them. The Death Eaters had targeted others as well, people who, though they weren't members of the Order of the Phoenix, opposed them nonetheless. In particular former Aurors who were still working, despite having been driven out of the Ministry. People like Florence Fortescue ...

Sirius scrubbed a bit harder at speck of dirt. Flossie had been a nice girl. She'd never been one of his conquests, not exactly, but he had always liked her. She'd been clever, and decent, and a good sport. It hadn't been her fault that kissing her turned out to be the beginning of the end of his relationship with Rory. She'd been furious, not just with him, but with herself. Yes, a decent girl, Flossie. And now ... now she was dead. Her body had been found two days ago. It was clear that whoever had killed had enjoyed it. She hadn't died quickly.

Sirius swore - and Remus chose that particular moment to enter the yard from the street. He frowned. "Sirius?"

His friend spun round, wand drawn. Then he lowered it. "Oh, it's you," he said, turning back to his motorbike.

"Luckily," Remus said, coming closer. "Otherwise it would have been a bit unwise to turn your back on me, wouldn't it?"

"Have you come for anything special, or just to lecture me about following Moody's advice about 'constant vigilance' and all that rot?" Sirius grunted, attacking the stain again.

"That's not why I came," Remus said. "But it looks like such a lecture might not be a bad idea."

"What's the point though?" Sirius asked. "The people who have been dying lately listened to Moody's advice. They looked out for themselves. Didn't do them any good, did it?"

"I suppose not," Remus admitted.

Sirius glanced at him over his shoulder. "What did you come for then?"

"I was at James and Lily's last night. They told me you were upset about what happened to Florence. And they seemed to think you could do with cheering up."

"So they sent you? Great idea," Sirius remarked sarcastically. "Barrel of laughs, you are."

But there was a faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he said it, and when Remus gave him a friendly jab in the ribs, Sirius chuckled.

"I appreciate the thought," he said. "But I'm really not in the mood to be cheered up right now."

"Fair enough. Mind if I join you anyway?"

"What, fancy a ride, do you?"

"Good God, no!" Remus protested quickly. "I wouldn't get on that thing if there was a horde of rampaging Hippogriffs behind me."

"Wouldn't do you much good in that case anyway," Sirius replied, really grinning now, "seeing as Hippogriffs can fly. Here." He thrust an old rag into Remus's hands. "And don't tell me you're scared of getting your hands dirty, not after building those mud pies for Harry last weekend."

Remus laughed. "All right then, where do I start?"

* * *

Fight Together, Die Alone

An hour later, when both of them were covered in sweat and had polish down the front of their shirts, Sirius and Remus climbed the stairs to the flat.

"Where do you want these?" Remus asked, looking for a place to put the dirty rags.

"Oh, just chuck 'em down somewhere," Sirius said dismissively, heading for the kitchen.

Remus went into the bathroom and placed them carefully on the edge of the sink before beginning to wash his hands.

"I'm out of pumpkin juice," Sirius yelled from the kitchen. "So it's Muggle drinks only today. What'll it be? Beer?"

"In this heat?" said Remus, joining him. "No, thanks. A glass of water will do."

Sirius handed him a glass and pointed to the tap. "Help yourself."

He tapped the bottle of beer he was holding with his wand, and the lid flew off. Sirius placed the bottle to his lips. But he hadn't had a chance to drink even a sip before the telephone started to ring. He sighed.

"Now what?" he wondered aloud, putting his bottle down.

He strode out into the hall to answer the device, and Remus heard his half of the conversation.

"Hello - Why, what's up? - Have you called James? - What about Peter? - Of course. I'll bring Remus with me, too. - Yes, he's here. - No, okay. - Right. See you there."

When he returned to the kitchen, Sirius's good mood had vanished once more. He glanced at the untouched bottle on the table and said, "If you've finished that stiff drink of yours, we'd better make a move."

"Why, what is it?"

"Death Eater attack at Oxford Circus. That was Bridget. She and Malcolm are heading over there now, and James is on his way. Peter's not home, probably at the Ministry, so we can't get hold of him, obviously. And she says not to Apparate there, because we don't want to end up in the middle of it all."

"Then how do we get there?"

This brought a faint smile back to Sirius's face. "This is your lucky day, my friend."

* * *

Remus had been only too happy to arrive at Oxford Circus after his forced ride on Sirius's motorbike. But by now, polish and oil weren't the only things staining his shirt. Some of the stains were red and sticky, and the stinging pain in his left arm told him that he himself was the source of some of them. It was also starting to rain. He looked around him. The others didn't look much better. Moody had joined them, and now that the Death Eaters had dispersed, he was leaning against a wall, re-attaching his wooden leg.

"Shall we get the Muggles back up here?" Sirius asked, nodding towards the Underground station, where they had herded as many people as they could, to get them out of harm's way.

"Not just yet," Malcolm advised. "Best check around first, make sure the Death Eaters are really all gone and ... where's Bridget?"

They looked around.

"She was right next to me a minute ago," James said, puzzled.

Malcolm glanced at him, then looked around more intently, beginning to pace from one end of the intersection to the other.

* * *

Bridget had indeed been right next to James. But while he had walked towards the Underground station to join the others, she had seen something out of the corner of her eye, and turned that way to see what it was. She saw a child, edging towards the street corner. A little girl. As she moved towards the child, in the opposite direction from James, a masked and cloaked figure stepped around the corner. Glancing up at her for the briefest moment, the Death Eater snatched the girl up from behind, stifling her cry with a hand over her mouth, and retreated rapidly down the side street. Bridget followed, wand in hand, but when she got to the corner, he was nowhere to be seen. She hesitated briefly. Was it wise to pursue him alone? Maybe she should call the others, call Malcolm ... but at just that moment, she heard the child cry out in fear up ahead, and she continued at a trot along the street, round another corner ...

She stopped in her tracks. The Death Eater was standing there, a little way down the deserted street, with the struggling child still held firmly in his grasp. His eyes met Bridget's, and she recognised them. She gripped her wand a little tighter, and took a couple of steps towards him.

"Let her go, Vindictus."

There was a moment's tense silence in which Bridget wondered what he would do. Would he let the child go, or would he kill her just for the heck of it?

"Let her go," she repeated more urgently. "You only took her so that I would follow you. I'm here now."

Slowly, the Death Eater bent forward and set the girl on her feet. He released her and straightened up, his wand held out before him. Terrified, the child looked from him to Bridget.

"Go on," Bridget said gently to her. "Run."

The girl took to her heels at last. Lothian raised one hand and pulled off his mask and hood, and Bridget looked into his face for the first time in over twenty years. He hadn't changed much in all the time that had passed, she realised. His black hair was dappled with grey now, and the first lines were starting to crease his brow, but other than that, he looked much as he had done on the day she had left him. He, in turn, appeared to be studying her.

"It's been a long time," he said at length. His voice was low and even.

"Yes."

"You've grown more beautiful than ever."

Bridget caught her breath. Whatever she had expected him to say to her when they met again - and she had, after all, always had a feeling that they would - it had not been this. Her surprise must have shown in her face, for he gave a dry laugh.

"I may be a Death Eater, Bridget, but I am still a man - a man who once chose you as his wife, if you remember. It pleases me to see that I was right when I married you, in thinking that you would one day become one of the most beautiful women in wizarding Britain."

"Oh, so you were after more than just my family's wealth and high standing," she replied cynically.

"To be sure," he replied. "I would not have wanted a plain wife - or a foolish one. And yet, on that count, I seem to have been wrong about you after all. To follow me here alone was, indeed, very foolish. Unless ..."

"Unless what?"

Lothian hesitated, then he lowered his wand a fraction.

"Perhaps we can solve our differences without wands. What do you say, Bridget? Won't you reconsider?"

"Reconsider?" Bridget laughed mirthlessly. "I've had plenty of time to reconsider - if I was going to. But I haven't doubted that leaving you was one of the best decisions I ever made, not once in all these years. I've never regretted it."

"You're still my wife, however ..."

"No." Bridget shook her head firmly. "I am not."

Lothian glanced at her left hand. "Then why are you still wearing the ring?"

She smiled faintly. "A ring, Vindictus, not the ring. Not the one you gave me. This one I received from a man who promised me very little, compared to all the wonderful things you said you would give me. But everything he did promise, he has kept. And more importantly, he loves me."

"Is he aware," Lothian said, his voice harder and colder than before, "that his so-called wife is, in fact, a bigamist?"

"We have no secrets from each other. He knows everything. He even knows you."

This caught the man by surprise. "Me? How ...?"

"Remember the name Marley?" Bridget asked, unable to resist taunting him a little further. "Malcolm Marley?"

"Marley?" Lothian exclaimed. "He was at death's door the last time I saw him!"

"Well, he's far from it now," Bridget assured him. "It took some time, but he recovered, and he's not far now."

A slow smile played about the Death Eater's lips at these words. "Still far enough for me," he said, "and too far for you. Very well, I can see you have definitely chosen your side."

"I chose it more than twenty years ago."

"Then there is nothing for me but to kill you."

"I've not only grown more beautiful," Bridget said with some scorn, "but also more powerful, Vindictus. If you want a duel, you shall have it - but remember that my friends are not far off, and will be looking for me by now. Where are your friends?"

Lothian raised his wand. "I don't need anyone's help to defeat you."

He struck first, but Bridget expertly blocked his blasting curse and fired her own spell back at him, which he in turn dodged.

"Not bad," he acknowledged. "But can you keep it up?"

He fired more curses at her, in rapid succession, but Bridget blocked each one and finally managed to get in between them with a hex of her own that he only just managed to block in time. They began to circle around each other. Lothian eventually flung aside his cloak, which was proving a hindrance to him against Bridget, who was wearing Muggle trousers and was therefore able to move much more easily without tripping herself up. But Lothian was the more powerful of the two, and eventually he managed to get a curse past her guard, propelling her backwards several yards, until she crashed against the wall of a building. He tried to follow it up with another, but Bridget turned her shout of pain into a defensive charm at the last minute and deflected it. She got back to her feet, and the next spell that penetrated a defence was hers.

They continued that way for several long minutes, until both of them were bruised and scratched, their clothes torn in several places, and the rain had soaked them thoroughly from head to toe. Thunder rolled. Lothian wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

"You were right," he panted. "You are good, Bridget. Your father must be proud of you."

"As I am of him," she replied, gasping for air as much as he was.

"Oh, so you are talking to him again? Have you decided which of you it is that must defeat the Dark Lord?"

"If it's information you want, you're barking up the wrong tree."

"What I want is to fulfil my duty, carry out my orders ..."

"To kill me?"

"Yes."

"Then why don't you?" Bridget asked him. "Surely you don't need to do it the hard way. Your 'old friend' Tom won't think any the worse of you if you just finish me off with a nice little unblockable killing curse."

"Even a Death Eater has his principles, my dear," said Lothian, getting ready for another round. "One of mine happens to be that anyone who has the ability to fight, should at least be given a chance."

"Fair play?" Bridget exclaimed. "Don't make me laugh! How many Muggles have you killed, and what kind of a chance did you give them?"

"None, but you must give me credit for showing them mercy by killing them quickly, at least."

"Mercy is not a quick death, Vindictus. Mercy would have been to let them go."

"I will not argue the point, as you seem to consider yourself the expert," Lothian said mockingly, then, "Impedimenta!"

"Protego!"

The fight looked set to continue into another round, but suddenly, amid the splattering rain, Bridget heard voices calling her name, somewhere in the next street. Lothian heard it, too. Running footsteps were coming nearer. Bridget turned her head just a fraction. Lothian didn't even look properly, merely aimed his wand lazily past her left shoulder and uttered the words of the curse that, so he planned, would take care of the intruder for good.

James, taking the corner at a run, skidded to a halt, eyes wide open. He saw his mother's head turn, saw the panic on her face when she spotted him, saw the jet of green light leave Vindictus Lothian's wand, directed at him. He heard his mother cry his name and saw her take a step in his direction, and then he saw the curse catch her right in the middle of her back. The force of the spell lifted her off the ground before dropping her where she had stood.

There was another low roll of thunder. The rain poured down. James stood as if frozen. Then he screamed.

"Mum!"

He hurtled towards her, everything else forgotten, dropping his wand, oblivious to the presence of the other man in the rain-drenched street. He fell to his knees in the middle of a puddle and stared, horror-struck, at his mother's body. More people came running. The first was Malcolm. He dropped to the ground opposite James and let out a horrible, strangled scream. With trembling hands, he bent over Bridget and gathered her in his arms, burying his face in her wet hair and rocking to and fro. Remus came up behind him. He brought his hand to rest on his uncle's shoulder, but knew it would offer him no comfort. He glanced across at Sirius.

Sirius's face was colourless. His mouth hung open. There was a gash on his cheek that was bleeding freely, the rain mingling with the blood to cause little trickles of red that ran down the side of his neck. The thunder rolled again, and lightning flashed, but no one moved or said anything. After an age, Sirius raised his eyes from where Malcolm knelt cradling Bridget, and spotted the man opposite him.

Lothian looked almost as pale as Sirius, but his eyes were fixed not on Bridget, but on the young man who knelt crying in the rain, the young man who looked so much like him that no one would ever doubt they were father and son.

"You," Sirius growled at the Death Eater. "You killed her!"

"Sirius ..." Remus began, taking a step towards him.

"I'll kill you!" Sirius yelled, drawing his wand. "Avad..."

"Sirius, no!"

Remus knocked his wand arm out of harm's way, and the spell merely hit a window box that came crashing to the floor. But Sirius was fighting him, struggling to get past Remus at the man who had killed Bridget, and when Remus wouldn't let him, he struck him first on the jaw, then in the stomach, causing Remus to double over just long enough for Sirius to fling himself past him and extend his hands towards Lothian's throat.

But the delay had been just long enough for Lothian to regain his self-control. He took one last look at James, then he turned on the spot and Disapparated a split second before Sirius reached him. Sirius rounded on Remus.

"You let him escape!" he shouted. "He killed Bridget, and you let him get away!"

"Killing him won't bring her back to life!" Remus yelled back over the noise of the rain.

"Nothing will," said a quiet, unsteady voice.

They both turned to look at James. Remus took him gently by the arm and helped him to his feet. More footsteps were approaching the street now, the Muggles had ventured out of the buildings and the Underground again at last, and Alastor Moody came hobbling towards them. He took in what had happened within the blink of an eye.

"Get James back to the Hall," he said gruffly to Remus. "Sirius, you go with him. Take the Knight Bus, no Apparating, you'll only end up splinching yourselves."

Remus glanced hesitantly at his uncle. Moody thumped his back and murmured, "Go on, lad, I'll bring him along. But as soon as you've got them both to the Hall and let Lily know, you'd better go and get your parents. He's going to need them, I think."

* * *

Grief

Bridget's body lay on the bed in her mother's room. Lily and James sat on two chairs close together, she stroking his hair and holding his hand, knowing from her own experience that she could do little else for him at the moment. Sirius was standing by the window, staring out into the rain, one fist clenched so tightly on the curtain that his knuckles stood out white, his posture unnaturally stiff. Malcolm was sitting near the bed, clasping Bridget's hand, his face tear-stained and full of pain. It had taken a lot of persuading to get him to release the body at all, and to put on some dry clothes. John and Faith had had to see to that.

Remus had followed Moody's advice. After taking James and Sirius to Gryffindor Hall, and thus finding himself in the horrible position of having to break the news to Bridget's father, he had called on Lily and informed her, too. She had called the Longbottoms by Floo, and Remus had walked her and Harry back up to the Hall, where Frank and Alice had met them and taken little Harry off Lily's hands while she went to comfort James as best she could. Remus had gone home to his parents.

His mother had cried bitterly when he told them what had happened. His father had fallen into a stunned silence. They had arrived back at Gryffindor Hall about half an hour later, and their own grief had had to take a back seat to Malcolm's. They were both upstairs with him now.

Peter had turned up minutes after hearing the news, and now he and Remus were sitting in the drawing room with Frank and Alice while the children cheerfully crawled around the floor together, blissfully oblivious to the adults' distress. Neville eventually crawled over to Frank and pulled himself into a standing position. Frank picked him up, and Harry gave a discontented gurgle. Remus pulled out the locket his parents had given him on his first day of school and dangled it just out of Harry's reach. This distracted him immediately. Playing with anything small and shiny was something of a hobby of Harry's, and Uncle Moony's locket had been a favourite toy of his for some time.

No one spoke, and all was quiet for rather a long time. Then they suddenly heard a loud crash upstairs, followed by a roar of rage, another crash, and then the sound of something heavy bouncing down the stairs and smashing on the floor. Remus and Peter hurried out into the hall to see what was happening. Frank and Alice followed, each of them carrying one of the children. They looked up to the gallery. Sirius was charging along it in a temper, grabbing hold of any ornaments he could and flinging them from him violently.

Faith came hurrying after him from the direction of the room where Bridget lay. She approached him cautiously from behind.

"Sirius ..." She reached for his shoulder from behind, but he knocked her hand away so brusquely that she stumbled.

Remus took a step towards the stairs, but Alice held him back. Sirius was staring at Faith. Suddenly he turned away again and leaned against the wall, banging it with his fist. Faith ventured closer again, and this time he allowed her to put her arms around him, he even seemed to welcome it.

"Come," Alice said softly, "let's go back in here."

The others followed her back into the drawing room. Up on the gallery, Faith whispered, "I'm so sorry, Sirius. I know you were very fond of Bridget ..."

"I loved her," Sirius sobbed. "I loved her ... so much ..."

"I know."

"I never told her. I thought ... it's not the kind of thing you say ..."

Faith rubbed his back gently. "You didn't have to say it."

"But I should have, I-I wish I had."

"You showed her, Sirius. That matters more than words."

"You think so?"

Faith nodded. "Bridget knew how much you cared about her, I know she did. And I also know she cared just as strongly about you."

* * *

In all of this, one person was conspicuous by his absence. Gordon had received the news of his daughter's death without a word, but he had not been seen since. The rain was easing up now, and John decided that, as the old man did not seem to be anywhere in the house - the House Elves had been looking for him in vain - he would go and search the grounds. It took him a long while to find Gordon. Bridget's father was standing by the lake, watching the last of the rain drops as they cast ripples in the water, shifting the stars reflected in its surface.

John said quietly, "I'm very sorry for your loss. I can only imagine how you must feel ..."

"No, you cannot imagine it," the old wizard contradicted him, "The loss of my wife came as a shock - she was still young, more than twenty years my junior, and I loved her dearly. Bridget was younger still and ... and the loss of a child is ... painful in a way that nothing else can be. I hope you never learn how that feels."

Silence fell between them, a silence in which John nevertheless tried to understand, but gave up after a few moments, because even the possibility was too painful to ponder. Then Gordon made an unexpected pronouncement.

"I owe you an apology, John."

"An apology?" John queried, puzzled. "Whatever for?"

Gordon took a moment to collect his thoughts, then went on, "Because I have liked you only grudgingly, and in spite of myself. I did not want to like you, and if I have seemed a little distant to you at times, then that is the reason. My conduct was wrong, but I ... resented you."

"Resented me? I don't understand. If I ever offended you ..."

"It isn't that. It is not that you did anything wrong - on the contrary. It is I who acted badly, but rather than blame myself for the rift I caused between my daughter and myself, when we finally were reunited I preferred to resent you for holding a place in her life - in her heart - that I felt should have been reserved for me. When she was anxious, afraid - when she needed help or simply comfort, she would turn to you. I could not blame her for that. You had been there when I had not, it was natural that she should seek your advice, your comfort ... but I could not help but resent that. It was very wrong of me. I should have been grateful - I am grateful - that she had such a good friend when I was not there to protect her. Nevertheless, I resented the love she bore you. That too was wrong of me. I should have tried harder to befriend the people she loved, and I know that she loved you very much."

"Did she?" John murmured, his voice becoming suddenly unsteady.

"Undoubtedly. I never meant to tell you this, to explain myself to you, but ... you will remember the night we set out to rescue Malcolm?"

"Of course."

"And my choice to sacrifice Miss Dulac's life for yours, which angered you so much?"

"Yes," John replied stiffly.

"It was not entirely my choice. It was Bridget who asked me, before we left, to keep an eye on you, and bring you back safely. She was very much in love with Malcolm, she wanted him to be rescued - but she would much rather you had not been part of the rescue party. She feared for you very much, and she asked me to keep you safe."

John gaped at him. The lump in his throat seemed to be growing larger with every heartbeat.

Gordon continued, "I knew then how much you meant to her. That she loved Malcolm, that she wanted him to be safely returned to her, I could understand, and I wanted her to have him, if that was what she desired. But that she cared more for your safety than mine ... that I resented."

John recalled the day he had entered Mrs. Shaw's bookshop to tell Bridget all was well, that they had returned safely. He could picture her as clearly as if she were facing him now: her wide brown eyes full of relief, the vehemence with which she had thrown her arms around him, and how she had sobbed while he held her. He remembered many times since then when she had come to ask him his opinion and the way she had always greeted him with one of her warmest smiles and a kiss on the cheek. Why should it surprise him so now to hear that she had loved him? Especially considering how much he had loved her.

The grief that had been lingering since Remus had brought the news of her death now welled up inside John, threatening to overwhelm him. He saw it mirrored in the eyes of the old man by his side. As far as he could tell, Gordon had not wept for his daughter, but he was clearly as close to it now as a man of his generation, of his upbringing and his position in wizarding society would ever allow himself to come in the presence of another. John withdrew back towards the house, not entirely out of tact. His vision was obscured by tears by the time he re-entered the house, and he went immediately in search of Faith. It was better, he thought, to cry together than alone.

* * *

Consequences

"My Lord, I bring good news," said Vindictus Lothian, bowing low under the watchful eyes of the other Death Eaters present - the Lestranges, Mulciber and Severus Snape.

"What news?" Voldemort enquired.

"My wife is dead."

Lord Voldemort looked surprised, mildly impressed, and very pleased. "You are sure?"

"Positive, my Lord. I killed her myself."

"Then the old man - your father-in-law - is now the last of the Gryffindor blood line?"

"Indeed, my Lord. Bridget entered a bigamous marriage two years ago, but she and Marley had no children."

"Marley?" Mrs. Lestrange questioned sharply. "The same Marley who was imprisoned here?"

"The very same. They appear to have married shortly after his escape."

"Then you have made a powerful enemy," Voldemort remarked.

Lothian inclined his head in acknowledgement of that statement. Little did the Dark Lord know that he was, at this very moment, making a much more powerful enemy than Malcolm Marley by withholding the secret he had discovered. Gordon Gryffindor was not the last of his line, he had a grandson - and that grandson was Vindictus Lothian's own child.

* * *

Malcolm's footsteps were heavy as he entered the dark and empty flat. John came up behind him and took the keys from his hand, locking the door behind them.

"Shall I turn on the lights?"

"No, not yet." Malcolm groped his way forward in the dark. "I can smell her perfume," he whispered. "It almost makes it seem as if none of this is real, as if she's here, waiting for us, and what happened this afternoon was just a bad dream. God, I wish it had been a dream ..."

John switched on the lights. Malcolm flinched visibly, and John could understand it. The light seemed much colder than the dark, and it dispelled the illusion the perfume had conjured. At the same time, it fell on so many more things to remind them both of Bridget - a coat on its hanger, a pair of sandals on the floor, a lipstick on the little cabinet in front of the hall mirror.

"Are you sure you don't want to come back to our place?" John asked, watching Malcolm's pained expression anxiously.

Malcolm shook his head and said, "I know you mean well, but it wouldn't do any earthly good. Your place is just as full of memories."

He went slowly to the bedroom door, and John followed. There was a very long silence, then John said, "We should get ready for bed."

"We?" Malcolm echoed.

John gave the faintest of smiles. "You didn't think I'd leave you on your own, did you? I'll be on the sofa if you need me."

Malcolm turned to him gratefully. "Thank you, John."

It was not entirely comfortable on the sofa, but that didn't really matter tonight. John did not expect to sleep anyway. He turned off the lights but lay with his eyes open, staring into space, hearing Bridget's voice over and over again, seeing her face. He wiped fresh tears from his eyes and thought of Faith. He wished he could be with her now, but they had agreed that if Malcolm insisted on staying in his own place, he should have company. And so Faith had gone home with Remus and John had come here. He worried about Faith, knowing that she too was upset, but he knew Remus would take care of her, and he might be needed here.

In fact, even as he thought it, he heard a movement in the hall. He sat up and called quietly, "Malcolm?"

"Yes," came Malcolm's voice from the doorway. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"No. What is it?"

"I ..." Malcolm hesitated, then he came into the room and sank into an armchair. "I can't sleep. I just lie awake, thinking of her. Missing her breathing next to mine."

John nodded.

Malcolm's voice broke. "I don't know how to do this, John. I don't know how to go on without her."

"But you will, Malcolm. Given time, the pain won't be as bad."

"I don't see how. Nothing makes sense any more, there's no point to anything, I ... I've nothing to go on for now."

"Don't say that," John said sharply. "Malcolm, I know you loved Bridget, but you mustn't even begin to think like that. Remember you started to fight Voldemort before you even knew Bridget. It's different for me, I only joined the Order to protect Faith. Bridget did it for James. But you - you joined because you believed, Malcolm. And whatever feelings came into play later on, that hasn't changed. You were an Auror when this began, and I believe you still are, at heart. Bridget would not want you to give in, she loved you for your determination as much as your bravery and your good heart. And you can still fight for Bridget, even now. Or maybe now more than ever, because she can no longer fight for herself. And whatever you do, don't look for revenge," John added, forestalling Malcolm's next words. "We must stop this madness so other people don't get hurt like Bridget did, not because we want to avenge her. Believe me, I have those feelings too - I too loved Bridget. But revenge will get us nowhere."

"So you're saying her killer should get off unpunished?"

"I'm saying he should be prevented from killing again, but we mustn't seek to do to him what he did to her."

Malcolm sighed. "You're too good for this world, John. I've always said that."

John said quietly, "I'm no better than you are, really. You're a good man, Malcolm. Bridget loved you for that."

"I'll never love anyone the way I loved her," Malcolm pronounced. "I'll go on, like you said, and I won't look for revenge. But I'll never forget Bridget. I'll never stop loving her."

"Nor will I."

* * *

The funeral took place a few days later. Bridget was buried in the family crypt on the cemetery at Godric's Hollow, but under the name of Bridget Marley, as it was thought she would have wanted it. To James's distress, no inscription could be made on her tomb that referred to her having had a child.

"That's ridiculous!" Sirius had protested against this arrangement. "Lothian saw James the day she died, James's existence isn't a secret any more anyway!"

"Not to his father," Dumbledore had said mildly. "But I understand he did not reveal this information to Lord Voldemort."

"You 'understand' ... how? How do you know?"

"Sirius," John had said warningly, "it is better that some things not be widely known."

And so, when Bridget was buried, James and Sirius stood back from the tomb, with the rest of the attending friends, while Malcolm and Gordon stood near to her coffin. Nevertheless, as Sirius approached to pay his last respects Faith, who was nearest, heard him whisper, very quietly, "I love you. Goodbye ... Mum."