Three Animagi and a Werewolf

Chapter 46: Survival

Picking up the Pieces

While in Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, all the lights had mysteriously gone out and a tabby cat with unique markings around its eyes was transforming into a witch, Faith Lupin was kneeling, poking the fire in the living room, and looking over her shoulder now and then, until at last her son walked into the room and dropped onto the sofa with a weary sigh. To see him looking far from well was something Faith was sadly used to, but it hurt to know that, while she could apply ointments and bandages to the physical wounds he so often bore, there was nothing she could do to ease his current pain. She understood it only too well. She did not think she would ever stop mourning John. But Remus was still so young. She opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment there was a knock at the front door.

"I'll get it," Remus said, getting to his feet again.

Out of habit, he reached for his wand on his way out into the hall. Faith stood slowly, glad that he had left the room before he could see her get up, because she did not wish to add to his worries by revealing that she could not rise from such a position as easily now as she had been able to only months ago. She heard a familiar voice in the hall, and Remus returned, his uncle close behind.

"Malcolm!"

"Hello, Faith," he replied sombrely.

He kissed her cheek, and sat down beside her on the sofa. He looked tired and awkward, as though he had something deeply unpleasant to say.

"Did you get him?" Remus asked, not eagerly, but in a defeated voice. "Sirius?"

His uncle nodded.

"Did he ... say anything?"

"No, nothing. I tried to talk to him, I wanted to know why he'd done it, but he just ..."

He broke off, but Remus prompted him to continue.

"He just - what?"

Uncomfortably, Malcolm said, "He laughed. He was laughing all the time. I don't know, I think something must have snapped inside his brain, he seemed completely crazed, I've never seen or heard anything like it. His laughter wasn't normal, it was ... maniacal. He didn't even put up a fight, just let me take his wand and stun him."

"What will happen to him now?" Faith asked.

"For the time being, he's been locked up in a safe place until his hearing. Crouch is talking about sending him to Azkaban as soon as the Ministry's in our hands again. He seems to be setting himself up as the next Minister for Magic in everybody's minds already."

"Azkaban?" Remus echoed.

"I know it's grim, but after what he did, he deserves it," said Malcolm bitterly. "He not only betrayed Lily and James, but Bridget's father, John ... all of us."

"I still can't quite believe it," said Faith. "I thought Sirius genuinely cared about James - as much as you cared about John."

"We all thought that," Remus murmured. "I believed it myself. We trusted him so completely. James insisted he should be Secret-Keeper, it was obvious that he would, and I never objected. I agreed it was only right. I wasn't the least bit concerned about him choosing Sirius, I thought they'd be safe. I was convinced that Sirius would have died sooner than give them away - as I would have done. I never dreamt of anything like this happening. It still seems incredible - impossible. If only there was some other explanation ..."

"I know how you feel, Remus, but I'm afraid there is no other possible explanation," Malcolm said heavily. "I've been over it myself time and again. Sirius was the only one who could have passed on their location to Voldemort, you know that." He paused, and then added, "I'm only glad Bridget didn't live to see this. It would have broken her heart. Speaking of which ... Remus, I'm sorry, I know you've been through enough, but there's no easy way to tell you this. I'm afraid we didn't quite catch up with Sirius soon enough."

"What do you mean?"

Malcolm said gently, "It's Peter."

"Peter?"

With a shock, Remus realised he had not thought of his friend all day, he'd been too wrapped up in his own grief. That was selfish and wrong, he should have called Peter at once. But his uncle was speaking again, and it was too late to change the past.

"Yes. It seems when he heard what had happened, he didn't hang around, he went looking for Sirius. Unfortunately, he found him."

Two pairs of eyes stared at him incredulously. Had Remus not already been as white as a sheet, he would have paled considerably.

"Peter ... found Sirius? Alone?"

"Yes. According to Muggle witnesses, Peter confronted Sirius in the middle of the street and tried to duel him. He didn't last more than a few seconds, as you can imagine. Sirius was always a far better dueller. He blew up the street, killed twelve Muggle bystanders ... and Peter."

"No!"

Remus was on his feet. He paced the floor, running his fingers through his hair, tears welling up in his eyes again. He should have called Peter at once. He should have gone with him, they should have confronted Sirius together, brought him to justice for what he had done to Lily and James. Together, they might have stood a chance.

"It's my fault," he breathed painfully.

"No, Remus, it's not," said his uncle sharply.

"Yes, it is. If only I'd gone with him ..."

"Then you might have died along with him!" Faith cried. The desperate look on her son's face told her the thoughts he was thinking at that moment, and she shook her head emphatically. "No, Remus. No, don't even think it!"

"But don't you understand ...?"

"Of course I understand!" she cried shrilly. "Don't you have any idea how often I still wish I had died with your father?! Do you think I'm happy to have been left behind? I'm not. Sometimes, a lot of the time, I still wish I was dead, even now! But you told me there was a reason I was still alive, remember? You said that you still needed me!"

Her words hit him harder than she could possibly know. He dropped into a chair.

"Those were Lily's words," he revealed heavily. "But I know now that she was right."

"She was a very wise, and a very kind young woman," Faith said. "And perhaps her words apply to you as well. To all of us. I think none of us is particularly glad to be alive right now. But maybe we are all still needed, somehow."

"Your mother's right," said Malcolm. "And there is one thing you and I can do, at least, Remus: Alastor and Crouch are gathering as many people as they can to take back the Ministry. Some of the Death Eaters have already been caught and others have scarpered, and some have tried - Igor Karkaroff made a very clumsy attempt to flee the country yesterday, and ran straight into Alastor - but there are still plenty there who think they're safer in numbers, and surrounded by whatever foul creatures that committee you used to work for has managed to breed. It's not going to be an easy fight, so we'll need all the help we can get. They've got all the surviving Aurors, and I dare say a few more people from the Order will fight, and perhaps even some others who didn't have the guts to raise a wand against the Death Eaters while Voldemort was still around. Will you join us?"

"Of course," Remus said quickly. "When?"

"Tomorrow morning. I'll call for you. We'll go together, if that's all right by you."

Remus nodded. Faith, however, looked frightened.

"Oh please, I thought the fighting was all over now. After everything we've been through ... I can't go on like this much longer, I shall be sick with worry over you both. And what about your work? Remus, what about the library? And Malcolm ... You have students to teach, remember?"

"They won't mind having a couple of lessons off, it'll give them more time to celebrate." He patted her hand. "We can't just sit back and do nothing, sis, not while there are Death Eaters still at large who might be feeling vengeful, or desperate, or both. Besides, I think we both need to feel we're doing something. Right, Remus?"

His nephew nodded.

* * *

Remus stepped out of one of the many gilded fireplaces at the Ministry of Magic the next morning, and looked around him. All along the walls, other witches and wizards were appearing, all wearing similar expressions of determination, all of them looking somehow different than usual, less ordinary, driven by a common cause, a magnificent sight illuminated by the slightly eerie flickering light of the green flames. There were faces he recognised - Laura Lovegood, former Gryffindor Richard Turpin, Emmeline Vance, Dedalus Diggle, Mary Crimple, Frank Longbottom, a woman he thought had once been pointed out to him as Edgar Bones's sister, Amelia - and dozens of others that he did not. Out of the fireplace immediately to his right stepped his uncle, except that today, he did not look very much like the uncle Remus knew. Today, Malcolm Marley was an imposing presence in billowing robes, his wand drawn ready for battle, the bearded face framed by wavy brown hair only just starting to turn grey at the temples, his eyes radiating a sense of purpose - a powerful wizard, and an enemy no Death Eater should want to trifle with.

Alastor Moody and Bartemius Crouch came striding along the hall, the large crowd of people they had managed to recruit for today's battle falling into step behind them, and Malcolm joined them at the head of the throng. Remus followed behind him, and was soon joined by Frank and Mary, her blonde hair tied back sensibly in a pony tail, her pretty face devoid of makeup for once, her carefully manicured right hand holding her wand out in front of her.

"Remus," she said, "it's good to see you. I was going to call on you anyway, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am ..."

"Thanks."

"The same goes for me," Frank agreed. "And Alice. We want you to know if there's anything we can do, you only have to say."

Remus nodded tightly. He had no wish to talk about his loss. It was bad enough trying not to think of Lily, James, Peter and even Sirius all the time, without talking about them.

The crowd strode along the hallway towards the golden Fountain of Magical Brethren, their footsteps echoing around the vast Atrium, many of them whispering amongst themselves, some wondering aloud where the Death Eaters were, why they had not come forward to confront them outright.

"Because they're Death Eaters," Frank muttered in Remus's ear. "Do they really expect them to fight fairly?"

Remus shrugged. At the front of the crowd, the leaders came to a stop close to the fountain, and everyone else followed their example, falling silent as a strange, magically magnified voice uttered an incantation that reverberated all around the dark walls of the Atrium, and the waters of the fountain suddenly began to bubble and spill over the edge, gradually turning a murky brown, soon no longer sparkling, clear water but a muddy swamp that covered the polished floor. A large crate was levitated close to the swamp's surface by unseen hands, and as it opened several somethings slid almost noiselessly into the bog, vanishing from sight. Malcolm pointed his wand downwards, and made to take a step into the swamp, but Moody held him back.

"False foot first," he said. "You'd better hold onto me, though."

Malcolm gripped his arm, and the older man raised his wooden leg and plunged it into the swamp. For a second, nothing happened. Then someone shouted "There!", and the dirty brown surface shifted as something slithered rapidly beneath it. There was a snapping sound, a shout from Moody, and Malcolm dragged him back to dry land. Something that resembled nothing so much as a piece of driftwood seemed to be stuck to the clawed wooden foot. Moody aimed his own wand at it, and in a flash of red light it let go of the bait it had so readily attacked, and dropped to the floor, unmoving.

"Dugbogs!" Crouch announced, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Looks like they've decided to set us a few traps rather than face us directly," Moody added, turning around to face them all. "The cowards. All right, everyone keep back. Laura, Shacklebolt," - he indicated a bald young black man - "Giles, Brown, get to work on clearing this swamp. Frank, Remus - you come and help us with these pests."

It should have proceeded in an orderly fashion from there, but of course, additional people apart from those Moody had selected attempted to "help", and there were many shouts of pain as Dugbogs sunk their sharp teeth into the ankles of the more unwary. Finally, however, the swamp had been reduced to a very small area surrounding the fountain, and the Dugbogs were all gathered together and replaced in the crate that the Death Eaters had left behind.

"Now, we'll do this by levels, just as we discussed," Crouch announced in a commanding voice. "You" - he pointed to a group of people - "Come with me to Level One. Moody, you pick your team for Level Two ..."

Moody did so, selecting Laura and the man called Shacklebolt again, along with several other former colleagues from his days as an Auror before the Ministry had fallen into the enemy's hands. Evidently, he felt that tackling the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would require a good deal of manpower. More groups were formed in this manner, and soon Remus found himself travelling upwards in the lift with Frank, Mary, Richard Turpin, Giles and Brown and three other volunteers who gave their names simply as Maureen, Caleb and Samuel. They all stepped through the grilles on Level Four, and Remus found his eyes being drawn irresistibly to one particular door. He remembered only too well the occasion when he had last been inside that room. At the time, it had still been his father's office, and he and Lily had departed from there to take the Knight Bus home, after both of them had resigned from the Ministry.

Frank took the lead, and they started along the corridor. It appeared deserted. He opened the first door cautiously. Nothing happened, the room beyond was empty. The second door, however, opened of its own accord before Frank had even touched the handle, and a swarm of tiny beings came zooming out into the hall. Small and covered in black hair, they had four arms and four legs each, and their wings were a shiny red.

"Protego!" Remus and Mary cried together, shielding themselves and those behind them from the creatures.

"Ow!" Frank exclaimed as sharp teeth sank into his arm.

Remus brought his wand round fast. "Stupefy!"

It was more by luck than by judgement that his spell struck the creature, not Frank's arm, and Giles said so.

"Sorry," Remus said to Frank, "but it was worth the risk, trust me. These are vampirical doxies. Once one of them starts sucking your blood, you have exactly seventy-five seconds before ..."

He broke off as, without warning, Brown staggered against him from behind. Giles and Richard Turpin caught him, and lowered him slowly to the ground. The vampirical doxy that had attached itself to his neck flew up and bit Richard on the nose.

"Relashio!" Mary cried.

The doxy released Richard, blown backwards into a flock of others, which angrily targeted Mary next, but Frank's shield charm stopped them just in time. Meanwhile, off to their right, a second body had crumpled to the floor, and the woman called Maureen was screaming.

"Stand back!" Remus shouted, and with a wave of his wand, a wall of fire sprang up in front of them, and the doxies that tried to come at them next were consumed by its flames with pitiful shrieks.

Frank bent over the second man down, checked for a pulse, and shook his head. The fire extinguished itself again slowly, leaving several tiny, charred bodies on the floor, which Remus stared at, revolted, until Mary tugged at his sleeve, pointing. The remaining creatures, only a handful now, were retreating into the room they had come from, apparently frightened off.

"Colloportus!" said Giles, and the office door banged and clicked shut after them.

Frank straightened up and came over to survey the mess around them.

"Good thinking," he said to Remus, looking down on the remains of the doxies.

"It wasn't quite what I had planned."

"They were just ..."

"Magical creatures," Remus finished heavily. "Things that shouldn't have existed in the first place. Was it their fault?"

Wordlessly, Frank patted him on the shoulder. He turned away, but froze suddenly, and the hand that he had not quite withdrawn yet closed more tightly on Remus's shoulder, causing him to turn round also. He let out an involuntary exclamation. Mary gave a muffled cry.

"But ..." Remus muttered. "That's ... impossible."

He stared open-mouthed at the monster at the other end of the passage, its shackles raised, fangs bared, amber eyes fixed on the group of humans that faced it, ready to spring. The world around him seemed to fade into the distance. He could feel soft earth under his heavy paws and the scent of the forest in his nostrils, a hunger burning inside him that nothing but flesh and the iron tang of blood would be able to sate, and he seemed to be gazing at his own reflection in the black, still waters of the lake at Hogwarts while overhead the full moon shone mockingly down on him.

"Remus!"

Frank was shaking his arm roughly, bringing him back to the present. Startled, Remus stared at the young Auror. Frank stared back for a second, then he grabbed the two people nearest to him and dragged them with him along the corridor, the others following behind, all except Mary, who stood rooted to the spot with fear, just a few paces ahead of Remus. The great, shaggy beast ahead of them leapt. Frank yelled a warning from behind them, and Remus acted at last, grabbing Mary by the hand and pulling her behind him, he raised his left arm to shield his face and a set of powerful jaws closed over it with a crunch as he went down.

Mary had fallen forwards with a scream, her face hitting the ground. She did not see what was going on behind her. Shutting the others behind the grilles of the lift for protection, Frank raced back to her and pulled her to her feet, half carried, half dragged her back to the lift, pushed her inside, and turned again, running back.

"Go!" Remus yelled, struggling back to his feet and fumbling for his wand.

"Forget it!" Frank shouted back.

They stood shoulder to shoulder in the corridor, combining their efforts in a long, hard struggle until at last the beast began to retreat, bleeding and whining, into a corner. The others came running up behind them.

"Aim to stun, not kill!" Frank warned them, and they obeyed.

The wolf was lifted off the ground with the force of their spells, then fell back down, unmoving. Remus dropped to his knees beside it, and ran his hand through the coarse fur.

"Be careful," Mary breathed.

"Is it a real werewolf?" Frank asked. "I mean ... in broad daylight, when the full moon's not even close ..."

"No, it's not," Remus replied hoarsely. "It's just an ordinary wolf. Or it was. It has all the outward signs of a werewolf - the snout, the tufted tail, everything. It looks just like the real thing, and probably has the same effect."

He rose slowly, and as he did so, he was not entirely able to conceal his injury. Mary gasped, bending over his arm.

"Oh no - Remus ..."

"It's all right," he said quietly, cradling his throbbing arm. "One more bite won't hurt me."

Mary took a step back, gaping at him, and he avoided her eyes. The others of their group left standing, apart from Frank, were staring at him in shock and disbelief. But he was spared any further explanation at this time by the discovery that the fighting was still not over. Apparently, the doxies and the manipulated wolf had just been the advance guard. Now came the real challenge, as a group of Death Eaters stepped out of what had once been John Lupin's office, masks over their faces and wands raised to chest level.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the Atrium, things had not gone much better. The Death Eaters had released a whole horde of Fire Crabs which, though they did not actually attack anyone intentionally, naturally could not help but feel threatened by so many witches and wizards firing off spells in all directions, and had therefore employed their only defence mechanism freely, and consequently set fire to a large portion of the elegant wood panelling, not to mention many of the fighters' cloaks and robes. Malcolm had been fighting off an Occamy - and wondering what on earth the Death Eaters were doing, keeping such a creature in the Ministry in the first place - when the Fire Crabs were released, and his cloak had gone up in flames. He had just about been able to pull it off, finish off the Occamy and encage half a dozen Fire Crabs before a fully grown mountain troll had appeared on the scene, followed by three large, fire-breathing serpents of a kind he had never seen or heard of before.

He had leapt onto the edge of the Fountain of Magical Brethren to fight off the dangerous creatures, and searched the shadows beyond the edge of the battlefield for the humans who were sending all these beings into battle on their behalf. With a well-aimed hex, he knocked one of them off his feet, then another. Several other fighters followed his example, jumping up beside him, and soon the Death Eaters were too busy shielding themselves to unleash any more magical creatures, forced at last into duelling with the Aurors, Order members and others who had joined the fray.

Malcolm wiped a trickle of blood off his brow, and spun round, balancing on the edge of the Fountain, just in time to block a curse aimed at him from behind. He had cast two curses of his own and one counter-curse before he realised that the Death Eater he was now duelling had lost his hood, and he recognised the dark man with a surge of boiling hatred.

"Dolohov!"

"Malcolm Marley," the other said sneeringly in his harsh, accented voice. "Finally, an adversary who be worthy of my skill."

"You'd better pray you're worthy of mine, Dolohov," Malcolm snarled, leaping down from the Fountain, wand at the ready. "Because I've sworn to make you pay for what you did."

"Oh? And vat, if I may ask, is it that you intend to 'make me pay' for?"

"John Lupin," said Malcolm fiercely. "Or do you deny that you murdered him?"

"No. I am proud to have given the blood traitor Lupin vat he deserved. I merely regret that I could not perform the same service for his half-breed son and Mudblood wife!"

Malcolm had heard enough. He struck with the same speed as the fire-breathing serpents he had fought minutes before, and soon they were circling around each other, ducking, blocking, cursing. They were evenly matched with regard to skill, but Dolohov's cool detachment and sense of superiority were no match for Malcolm's rage and determination, and he beat the Death Eater down, striking him repeated blows with his wand even after he had disarmed him, his face a mask of fury, towering above the fallen Death Eater like an angel of vengeance.

Finally, he raised his wand high. "Prepare to die, Dolohov," he spat. "With more mercy than you showed my best friend!"

"Nooo!" Dolohov moaned then, crawling backwards on the floor before him, his hands over his head.

The sight was pitiful, disgusting. And suddenly Malcolm realised he had gone as far as he was prepared to, as far as he had needed to in order to vent his rage and grief. John was dead. Killing Dolohov would not bring him back, and John himself would not have wished it, would not have wanted his best friend to stoop as low as the Death Eater who had murdered him when he had been wandless, defenceless. His hand shook, and the words of the killing curse never left his mouth.

Instead he said, "You're pathetic. You're not even half the man that John Lupin was. All right, lower your hands. I won't kill you. But see how you like a life term in Azkaban!"

And with a flick of his wand, he sent ropes flying at the fallen Death Eater, binding him securely. Only then did he become aware that he had sustained a number of injuries in the fight, and was bleeding from more wounds than just the cut on his brow. But there was no time to worry about that now. The battle went on relentlessly, and everywhere he looked there were people fighting, but also too many others no longer able to do so, some of them sprawled on the ground, their unblinking eyes staring at nothing, others dragging themselves out of the way, bleeding copiously.

Malcolm's eyes scanned the crowd quickly, as though searching for something or someone, but without really knowing who or what that might be. Moody passed him, duelling a masked figure. He appeared to be missing a piece of his nose. As Malcolm watched, the Death Eater's mask fell, and he recognised Travers, just before Moody's next spell sent him crashing to the floor.

"What happened to you?" Malcolm asked, pointing to the other man's face.

"Rosier, that's what," Moody grunted. "He's dead. I see you got Dolohov. Well done. I almost had Mulciber just now, but then this fellow came along and distracted me, and Mulciber ran off towards the lift."

"The lift?" Malcolm's head turned that way. "Did he go up or down?"

But Moody, already off to engage the next Death Eater, did not answer. Malcolm sprinted down the hallway towards the golden grilles, behind which the lift itself was currently missing, on its way to wherever Mulciber was going. He looked up. A little light above his head had stopped at the number four.

"Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," he murmured. "Remus ..."

He broke into a run again, this time making for the hidden emergency staircase. It was narrow and dark, the steps awkward and steep, but he raced up it in record time, only to emerge onto the Level Floor corridor and almost collide with someone about to come the other way. Both men drew their wands, ready for battle, recognised each other, and lowered them again. Malcolm gave a quick, broad smile, and clasped his nephew's shoulder, before noticing the awkward way he was holding his arm, and the blood that stained his robes.

"Remus," he said. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Remus assured him. "I'm sure I don't look much worse than you do," he added, eyes travelling up and down his uncle. "You look like you've been through hell and back - literally."

"Yes, things got a bit hot in the Atrium. And here?"

Remus glanced behind him, and Malcolm stepped further into the hallway to see several unmoving figures on the ground, some of them masked, some not. Frank, Mary and Richard Turpin were picking their way among them, seeing whether anyone was in need of help, but in most cases it appeared help would come too late.

"Is one of those Mulciber?" Malcolm asked.

"Mulciber? No, I don't think so. Why?"

"He went up in the lift, to this floor, it said."

"I haven't seen him."

"Then I'd better go and check. And you'd better do something with your arm before you lose much more blood."

And Malcolm started running again, along the corridor towards the lift that was still out of view, driven by a strange sense of urgency without really knowing why - until he saw a flash of light at the far end of the passage, and heard a shout. The nearer he came, the more he could hear, and he did not like it. Mulciber was speaking.

"... you'd have had enough of my medicine last time round! What's the matter, are you into pain? Because I can give you pain, as much of it as you like. Try this!"

Another flash, and then an ominous crunch, a cry of pain, and a much louder, metallic clanging and crashing. The scream turned to one, not of physical injury, but of alarm. Mulciber laughed.

"Looks like you're in for a bumpy ride. But surely you don't need all this light, do you?"

Another flash, and a cry, and then words came through among the screams, the worst sound that Malcolm could ever remember hearing, because he had never heard Laura Lovegood truly terrified before.

"No! No, please! Let me out! Don't - no!"

Another metallic crash, a scream of terror and a laugh. Malcolm's heart pounded in his chest as he skidded around the corner, just in time to see Mulciber use his wand to fling a load of debris down into the lift, which appeared to be stuck between floors at a crooked angle, crunching and dropping a fraction lower every time a new piece of rubble was thrown into it. Laura screamed once more, and then fell silent. Malcolm brought his wand up just as Mulciber prepared to throw something else into the opening, and called the Death Eater's name. The man whirled round. Malcolm raised his wand ready for a duel, but the brightly coloured forces of two separate spells whizzed past him on either side, taking on Mulciber together, and he turned to see Remus and Frank running towards him.

"Get her out of there!" Frank yelled. "Quickly! I'll deal with him."

The other two did not have to be told twice. Malcolm tucked his wand in his belt, and dropped to a crouch by the opening into the lift shaft. He could see nothing in the darkness below, but straining his ears, he could hear a distant, terrified whimpering. Remus conjured a rope from his wand, and tied it firmly around the golden grilles. He kept a hold of it, guiding it with his good hand while Malcolm climbed down it. Barely any light at all reached into the shaft, he was descending into total blackness.

"Laura!" he called, but all he heard in response was the sound of that desperate whimpering. He took out his wand.

"Lumos!"

The shaft around him became lighter, and he descended still further, his wand held between his teeth, until at last he felt the crooked floor of the lift cabin beneath his feet, and stepped on it gingerly. It creaked a little, but did not drop any further.

"I'm down!" he yelled up the shaft to Remus, holding his still lit wand into the darkness now.

And then he saw her. She was on her hands and knees on the floor, her back to him, both hands feeling the wall as though hoping it would suddenly give way and reveal an opening, making small, terrified noises.

"Laura," he said softly, and kneeling down behind her, he pulled her back against him. "Shhh," he whispered. "It's me, Malcolm."

She turned in his arms, and he saw that there was fresh blood on her face. There was blood on the hands that gripped his robes, too.

"M-Malcolm ... I ... I ... Get me out of here! Please, get me out of here!"

Tears started into her eyes and she pressed herself against him.

"It's all right," he said, holding her against his chest. "It's all right, I've got you. You're safe."

Their ascent, with both of them hanging on the rope, was difficult, but they made it at last. Malcolm steadied the young woman gently, but she was already much more composed in the light and open space than she had been in that dark, enclosed space. She was still shivering, however, and Remus removed his cloak and put it around her. Malcolm looked around for Mulciber, and saw that Frank had knocked him out with a spell, and tied him up.

"He looks too peaceful," Malcolm grumbled. "Couldn't you have broken a few of his bones before you stunned him?"

"I'd have liked to," Frank said grimly, looking at Laura. "It was him, wasn't it?" he asked. "Mulciber. He placed those two Aurors under the Imperius Curse and had them torture and lock you in that cell?"

Laura gave a tight nod. Now that she was regaining some of her composure, she was clearly embarrassed by her display of weakness. Frank and Remus turned tactfully away and levitated Mulciber's unconscious form in front of them, proceeding back along the corridor. Malcolm fumbled in his pocket and finally pulled out a handkerchief.

"Here," he said, and Laura took it gratefully and wiped her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I know I shouldn't have gone to pieces like that, it was unprofessional and stupid and ... but I couldn't help it. It was so dark down there. It was like being back in that cell ..."

"I know," he said sympathetically. "It's all right. No-one would blame you for it, we all have our weaknesses."

"Most people's weaknesses don't make them unfit for fighting, though."

"Mine does ... or did."

She looked a question, and he went on,

"When the Death Eaters had me in their power, Voldemort fed me a potion that drained my energy and gave it to him. Even after so long, when I was close to him on the night that Gordon Gryffindor died, I could feel him sapping my strength. I couldn't go near him, his presence totally debilitated me."

"But that was a physical weakness, something you couldn't help."

"No, I couldn't help it - any more than you could. You're a brave woman, Laura," he said firmly. "One of the bravest I know. And that swine Mulciber deserves to have every bone in his body smashed to dust for what he did to you."

This brought a watery smile to her lips.

"Well," she sighed, "I just hope he hasn't done too much more damage to my face, I'm hideous enough as it is."

"Nonsense," said Malcolm. "Come on. Let's go downstairs."

Her smile faded, and she looked frightened again. "The emergency stairs?"

Malcolm nodded. "As quickly as possible, I promise. I'll light up my wand so it's not so gloomy down there, and you can hold onto me, all right?"

She gave a small, determined nod. They went along the passage, and found Remus and Frank waiting for them there.

"We've sent Mary and Richard on ahead with Mulciber," Frank told them. "You two ready?"

He stepped through the narrow opening, lighting his wand. Malcolm's was still lit, and Remus followed behind, also with his wand lit up, to give them as much light as possible on the way down.

The fighting in the Atrium appeared to have ended at last. The representative entrance hall of the Ministry of Magic was little more now than a smoking battlefield, over which the Fountain of Magical Brethren presided, its gleaming splendour in stark contrast to the soot and grime and the dishevelled appearance of the people around it.

"How's your arm?" Mary asked Remus solicitously.

"It will mend all right," he replied. "I'll put some dittany on it when I get home."

She looked down at the bloodied mess doubtfully. "Are you sure you ought not see a Healer?"

He shook his head. "I'm used to it."

Mary shuddered. "That's ... awful."

"I know," he said quietly. "I'd be better off dead."

Her blonde head jerked up. "I didn't mean ... I wasn't saying that! You know I never meant that. When I said that, I didn't know!"

"No. I tend not to spread it about, for obvious reasons," Remus remarked, as Richard Turpin shot him a look of fascination mingled with disgust, and walked off in the opposite direction.

"Hey!" Frank called after him. "He saved your life, the least you could do is say thank you!"

"I'm not crawling on my knees to thank some filthy half-br..."

"Don't you DARE!" roared Malcolm, stepping in with his wand drawn, his face full of anger.

"No!" said Remus sharply. "Uncle Malcolm, don't! Frank, come on - leave him. It's not worth it."

He got up from the edge of the fountain, where he had been sitting. "I'm going home. I'll see you later, Uncle. Frank - give my love to Alice?"

"Of course."

"Mary ..."

"Yes?"

"Look after yourself."

Mary nodded. "You too. I'll ... see you around, I hope."

"If you like. If you don't mind being seen around unsavoury company ..."

"Yes," she said, casting a dark look after Richard Turpin. "I do mind unsavoury company, actually." She smiled sweetly at Remus. "You, I shall always consider a friend, if I may."

He smiled back, aware far more than she was of the change in her attitude to him since she had found out what he was, the way she no longer batted her eyelids at him as she had done, the way her smile was more relaxed now, less shy, her whole manner so much more casual. "Of course," he said, and walked towards one of the fireplaces.

* * *

Everyone who wasn't too severely wounded after the battle stayed behind at the Ministry to help tidy up, and many hours later, the place was in a much better condition than it had been immediately after the battle. Malcolm picked his way through the crowd and rejoined Moody, Frank and Laura, now carrying Remus's cloak over her arm. She offered it to him.

"Say thank you to your nephew for me, won't you?"

"I will," he said. "But you look like you could do with a drink ..."

"You're right, I could."

"Shall we stop off at the Leaky Cauldron?"

Laura smiled. "That would be nice."

The pub was crowded as it hadn't been for years. People had been celebrating ever since the news of what had occurred at Godric's Hollow, and now that news of the liberation of the Ministry was spreading also, the atmosphere was at a peak of joviality barely remembered by most of those present. Tom the barman greeted Malcolm and Laura heartily, and when he heard where they had just come from, announced that the next round of drinks was on the house.

They withdrew to a small table in the corner, and Malcolm looked down into his glass of Firewhisky for a long moment while Laura watched the people milling about in the pub, talking and laughing and proposing toasts to each other.

"Perhaps we should have a toast of our own," she said at length. "Any suggestions?"

Slowly, Malcolm nodded. "I have one. To absent friends - the people who should have been here with us to celebrate this triumph, people who shouldn't have died ..."

"To absent friends," Laura agreed. "But also to friends who are there when you need them."

They began to drink their Firewhisky in silence, neither having much to say, just allowing the newfound cheerfulness of the people around them to soothe their own weary hearts. After an age, Laura asked,

"What will you do now? Go back to Hogwarts?"

"Not before I've presented myself to Faith so she can see I really am all right."

"I didn't mean that," she said. "I wasn't talking about today. I meant the future."

"The future?"

He repeated the word in wonder, as though it had never occurred to him that such a thing might actually exist. The future. What was the future? A vast, endless, empty something-or-other that he had not contemplated for months, not since he had lost the person with whom he had meant to share it.

"Yes, the future. Will you stay on at Hogwarts? Or will you return to the Ministry? Mr. Crouch has already been talking about rebuilding, re-establishing the old departments as they were, bringing in what he calls 'the right sort of people'. I think he'd be quite willing to forget the past, and have you back in the Auror Office. Who knows, if he becomes Minister for Magic, which seems quite on the cards, he might even make you Head of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Over Moody, and plenty of others who'd deserve it far more than I would?" Malcolm shook his head. "I doubt it. There was never much love lost between us, and that hasn't changed. Besides, I don't know that I want to go back into the Ministry, I've been free of all the red tape and mutual back-scratching that goes on there for too long to relish the thought of going back."

"Then you'll go on teaching?"

Malcolm thought about it briefly, then shook his head. "I took on the Defence Against the Dark Arts post at Dumbledore's insistence, because he urgently needed someone to take John's place, and because I knew that John considered it an important job in wartime, to prepare the kids for what they'd be facing in the outside world. But now the war's over, and I don't think it's all that vital any more. Besides, I wasn't made to be a teacher. I'm not sure what I was made to be."

"It always seemed," Laura said, fingering her glass, "that you were made to be an Auror."

"I know, but I'm tired of fighting."

The statement was unexpected, even for Malcolm himself. He had not thought it until he said it, but now that he had, he knew it was true. He had fought long enough, and lost more than he had thought any man could endure losing, and still keep his sanity - the only woman he had ever truly loved, the boyhood friend who had been like a brother to him, his stepson and so many other friends and allies. He was, truly, sick and tired of fighting.

"I think I'll go away," he said, again unaware that his mind had formed the thought until his lips spoke the words. "Go abroad somewhere. Somewhere really different. Africa, perhaps, or China."

"But not forever, surely?"

He looked across the table at Laura. She had spoken hurriedly, and probably as much without thinking as he had, for her cheeks were now flushed and she avoided looking at him.

"I mean," she murmured, "you'll be coming back to see your family, won't you?"

"Of course," he agreed. "It's not as if I'll never be coming back."

A Fitting Monument

Malcolm hardly slept that night. In his mind, he kept going over all that had happened, both during the battle and after. The strange exhilaration he had felt while fighting for his life, knowing that every breath he took might be the last. The hatred, the bitterness, the grief and anger that had almost led him to kill the defenceless Dolohov. The horrible sound of Laura's anguished screams, and the sight of her, terrified and trembling, because of what Mulciber had done to her.

He found himself thinking of Laura as he had first met her, back when she had begun her Auror training. He himself had already been working at the Auror Office for years before she had come along - a pretty, bright young woman with long, smooth, dark hair and eager blue eyes, quick to learn, deft, reliable, a skilled fighter. And he thought of her as she was now, her once flawless face marred by the scar that ran nearly the entire length of the left side of her face, the scar on her lower lip, the faded left eye, the pronounced limp. She had been through a lot in her young life, and as she had once said herself, the scars would never fade. He had known then that she had not meant the outward scars, and had now seen for himself how true her words had been.

And what of his own scars? Would they ever heal? As if in answer, the scar on his back, a reminder of the day he had vainly attempted to flee from Slytherin's Rock, twinged. Malcolm got up out of bed and went to sit by the window, looking out across the grounds of Hogwarts towards the Forbidden Forest. He felt, suddenly, very much alone, and he doubted that he would ever feel any different.

"What will you do now?" Laura had asked him.

Malcolm did not really know the answer. He wanted to get away, far away, but at the same time he was suddenly afraid to go, to leave everything behind, the little he had left. The next morning was to be the day of the Potters' funeral. They would be buried in the cemetery behind the little church at Godric's Hollow, and when that was done, the future would begin, the future that he could not envision, and the thought of it kept him up until the sun began to rise.

* * *

Laura Lovegood had hoped to sleep a little longer this morning, the day after such a long and tiring battle. But her doorbell woke her before the sun had fully risen, and sleepily, pulling her dressing gown around her as she went, she dragged herself to the door, drawing her wand out of force of habit.

"Yes?" she yawned. "Who is it?"

"Malcolm."

Laura opened the door at once. "What's happened?"

"Nothing," he replied. "May I come in?"

"Of course."

She put her wand away and let him pass, following him into the living room. There, he turned to face her. He spoke hurriedly.

"Laura, I've been thinking about this trip abroad that I was talking about yesterday. Am I wrong to think that you ... seemed upset that I'd be leaving?"

"Well, I can't deny that I'll miss you," she admitted. "Not that we've seen an awful lot of each other just lately, but it will feel strange, somehow, knowing you're so far away. Why?"

Malcolm hesitated, mulling over his next words.

"Laura," he said at last, "will you come with me?"

She looked at him without comprehension. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

"What we've been talking about all the time. My going abroad. I'll be going as far away from here as I can get, and I'd like you to come with me."

Her cheeks flushed noticeably. "I know what you're talking about, but I'm not sure I get your meaning. You're suggesting I leave my job, my home, my family, my country ... what would I be leaving it for?"

She was clearly confused, flustered even, and that in turn confused him. He had never seen her like this before, and it made him oddly uncomfortable. It also made him realise how little he had thought this through, despite being up all night, dwelling on it.

"I suppose," he finally managed, "that I'm ... asking you to marry me."

Her eyebrows rose for a moment. She dropped onto the sofa, first looking away, then glancing at him searchingly, then staring at a tiny stain on the cushion beside her. Hearing her speak again made him feel guilty, because he had rarely heard anything so pained.

"I don't suppose," she said, "that you could have chosen a more efficient way to spoil my day than to make me turn down an offer I didn't think I'd ever get, and certainly never believed I'd be able to refuse."

"Refuse?" he echoed heavily.

He moved to sit down beside her, but she looked up so sharply, and her expression was so miserable, that he stopped halfway there, frozen.

"Laura ..."

"Don't you see?" she asked him. "Don't you understand why I can't accept your proposal? You hadn't even thought of it before you got here, had you?"

He gulped. Her remark was accurate, and it stung. He said nothing, and she went on.

"What did you think? That you'd ask me to go with you, for company, and I'd accept just like that, drop everything and come with you, without any kind of expectations?"

"No!" he protested. "That would be ... I mean to say ... I asked you to marry me!"

"No, you didn't. You said you 'supposed' you were asking me to ... marry you."

She stumbled horribly over the last two words, and Malcolm suddenly wished he had said nothing at all. Coming from her, thrown back at him like that, the way he had phrased it sounded disgusting.

"I'm sorry, Laura," he said sincerely, crouching down in front of her. He took her hand, and went on even though she looked away. "I'm sorry. I know that was a lousy way of putting it. I'll say it again, if you like, any way you want. Please, will you ..."

"No!"

She tore her hand away from him and rose abruptly, her back to him. Her voice was choked.

"I know you didn't mean it to sound the way it did. But that isn't the point, not at all. It's why you asked me. You're lonely, Malcolm, and I can understand that. You've suppressed your loneliness for nearly six months, fighting all the time, filling the hole in your life with anger and aggression and venting it in the war. Now you can't do that any more. It's over, but that hole is still there, and you're desperately looking for a way to fill it. But it wouldn't work, not like this. You'd be expecting things to be all right if we were together, expecting to feel whole again, and when you found that you couldn't, you ... you'd turn bitter, and sour, and blame me for it."

Laura turned slowly to face him again. Her eyes were reddened, her cheeks damp. He couldn't imagine feeling any worse than he felt now, any more ashamed of himself for having made her feel that way. But nor could he agree with her.

"You're wrong," he protested, getting to his feet. "I'd never feel that way. How can you think that? I wouldn't blame you, never, I just feel that we both need someone, and ... I don't understand why you're fighting it. It would work, Laura."

She shook her head painfully. "Not like this," she said. Then, "Go away, Malcolm. Do what you planned to do. Go abroad, see new places, meet new people. Think about - about this, if you must. But don't ever make me an offer like this again unless you mean it."

"But ... Laura ..."

He reached for her, but she fled from the room as fast as she could go, and he could not stop her. He paced the floor for a while, brooding on what she had said. Bitter ... sour ... He certainly felt both at the moment. Of course, she had every right to refuse him if she did not want to marry him, but ... he honestly had not expected her to turn him down. He had not come here expecting to propose to her, but once the thought had entered his head, it had seemed like the ideal solution, for both of them. And he could not understand her. Annoyed, he strode back into the hall and out the front door, slamming it behind him.

* * *

Godric's Hollow. Remus was back there again, and he wished himself far away. There had been a time not all that far gone, just over a week ago, in fact, when it would not have occurred to him that he might ever feel this way about the place, when every visit here had been a joy, but not any more. Never again.

The Ministry had been busy. The Muggle villagers were all fast asleep in their beds, and would remain so until the effects of the sleeping potion wore off that had been slipped into their drinking water to keep them safely out of the way while a gathering of witches and wizards and assorted magical creatures that would have exposed their Halloween antics as the poor imitations they were crowded the village square, some in grieved silence, some bubbling over as they discussed the event that had brought them together in this place.

The funeral of James and Lily Potter. Remus had never thought himself prone to angry outbursts, but as he watched all these people, for the second time since his father's death he fought an inner battle for control. What were they all doing here? What right had they to be here, what had Lily and James been to them? Did any of them feel as he did, that they themselves would rather be lying under the ground than living to see the day when Lily and James Potter were laid in their graves?

"Remus!" a familiar voice called his name, and Remus detached himself from his mother to greet at least two more people who he felt did, indeed, belong here.

Puffy-eyed and clutching a handkerchief in one hand, Alice Longbottom hugged him ever so tightly. Frank came up beside her, pushing Neville's pram, and Alice's pet rat Cheesy lay curled up on top of the covers, fast asleep.

"All these people," Alice said, looking round her and voicing Remus's own thoughts. "This isn't right, it should have been done quietly."

"Half of them are probably only here because they hope to steal a glimpse of 'the boy who lived', as they're calling him now," Malcolm remarked, joining them. He looked bad-tempered, and sounded irritable. "You'd have thought Dumbledore could have done something about it. You're right, they're making far too much of a fuss."

"Harry's not here though, is he?" said Faith. "It would be wrong to have all these strange people gaping at the child like ... like ..."

"Like some tourist attraction?" Malcolm finished for her. "Quite. No, they're all out of luck, Dumbledore's hidden him away somewhere. But if anyone wants to do any gaping ..."

He broke off, raising his hand to point to the war memorial in the middle of the square. They all turned their heads, and as they watched, it transformed into a newly made statue of a young family, at once so lifelike and yet so far from being alive that Remus felt a most unpleasant jolt in the region of his stomach. Lily and James, he thought, would never have wanted this. And yet ... without knowing where the thought had come from, Remus suddenly found his mind wandering years back, to their days together at Hogwarts, and wondering what the young James Potter would have said if anyone then had suggested that a statue would one day be erected in his memory. He probably would have thought it was a very good joke, Remus realised with a faint smile. And Sirius would never have let him live it down. He experienced another, equally unpleasant jolt, and his smile faded again at once.

"Remus, are you all right?" Alice asked solicitously. "You've gone very pale."

"I'm fine. It's just ... I was just thinking of Sirius."

The people around him exchanged glances. All except Alice, who seemed to hesitate on the brink of saying something, until Frank whispered something to her, and she let whatever it was rest for the time being.

"We'd better go and find Dumbledore and get closer to the grave," Malcolm said. "Otherwise the only people who really were close to James and Lily will be the only ones to be nowhere near them when they're buried."

He took Faith's elbow, and led the way through the crowd. The sight of the two simple, unadorned coffins that stood side by side on the edge of the freshly dug grave gave Remus his third jolt of the day. His mother slipped her arm through his, and he was grateful, but all through the ceremony he kept wishing he were somewhere else, anywhere but here. All that was said seemed like empty, meaningless words to him, none of them expressed what he felt. A part of him wanted to stand up and yell at all of these people, these over-stuffed Ministry officials and sensation-hungry onlookers, and particularly that haughty-looking reporter woman with the short blonde hair who kept sucking her quill and eyeing everyone with eager curiosity, to get on their broomsticks and leave the mourning to people who actually cared, but the more reserved part of him won over as always, and when Dumbledore quietly asked whether he would like to say a few words himself, as the Potters' closest surviving friend, Remus declined.

And then, at last, the funeral was over, the coffins removed from sight, lowered into the ground, covered with soil, and Lily and James Potter were gone. On either side of Remus, Alice and his mother wiped the tears from their eyes. Remus was not crying. His composure, though brittle, was intact.

"I still can't quite believe it, even now," Alice said as they began to walk away. "Lily wrote to me. She explained that they'd had to go into hiding, but she didn't seem worried about it, she just said she hoped it wouldn't be for too long, because James was driving her up the wall. She said ... she said she thought it might all be all right again by Christmas."

She broke into a renewed fit of sobbing, and Frank removed one hand from the pram to put his arm around her. They had crossed the square again now, and Remus paused, looking along the street that he knew led to the Potters' cottage.

"It's still there," Frank said, answering the question he had not asked. "They're not going to pull it down. At least they've shown some sense. I think it makes a far better monument than this statue."

Remus hardly heard him. Leaving them all behind him, his feet carried him once more to the Potters' front door, maybe for the last time, he did not know. His hand came to rest on the garden gate and he made to push it open, then stopped himself. At his touch, a newly made sign had risen up before his eyes, and he read the words written upon it.

On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981,

Lily and James Potter lost their lives.

He read no more. It was enough. Enough to make his eyes burn and his hand tremble where it rested on the gate. Through a blurry haze, he saw that some people had already begun to leave messages and initials on the sign, short words of thanks in some cases, in others just the usual kind of graffiti that human beings, wizards and Muggles alike, tended to leave behind in order to commemorate nothing more grand than their own presence at a certain place at one time or another.

Remus had never left such a message before. But he now took out his wand and, pointing it at the sign in front of him, thought of the words that he would have liked to say to Lily and James, if only they could hear him now. Tiny, neat letters appeared across one corner of the sign, and he signed the message with his initials.

Wish you were here.

R.J.L.

"How touching. And you would be ...?" said a high, piercing voice in his ear, and Remus jumped and whirled round.

It was the reporter he had noticed before. Her quill poised over a thick notepad, her eyes goggling at him expectantly, she asked,

"So, Lily and James Potter were friends of yours, were they? If you were close to them, perhaps you can tell me ... was Lily Potter really the sweet little innocent everyone seems to be painting her, or isn't it actually more accurate to say that she made good use of her admittedly not inconsiderable charms to wrap men around her little finger and ..."

Remus was thankfully spared the effort of having to control his anger once again by the most opportune reappearance of his uncle, who said sharply,

"Let dead heroes lie, Rita. Write your filthy little articles about people who deserve to have their names dragged through the mud."

She considered him, her eyelids fluttering, and took a step closer.

"Everyone has a little mud in their past somewhere, Mr. Marley. We all have our guilty little secrets. Even ex-Aurors and Hogwarts teachers noted for their bravery in bringing down much feared Death Eaters. Not to mention gallantry when charging to the aid of damsels in distress, even if they are - shall we say, beauteously challenged?"

His colour rose. "Watch yourself, Rita," he growled. "I'm not in the mood to be riled today." He turned to Remus. "Dumbledore's calling a meeting," he said. "You coming?"

Eager to get away from the reporter, and get his uncle away from her too, before he said anything she could twist into a damaging story, Remus nodded, and they walked away together.

* * *

The Order Disbanded

What was to be the last meeting of the Order of the Phoenix for many years to come took place in a venue that many of the assembled company had never entered before. In fact, Remus found himself wondering whether he was the only non-member of Hogwarts staff present who had been in the staff room before. The thought brought on a fresh wave of painful memories, recollections of many happy nights spent in mischievous pursuits with his friends. He shrugged them off as best he could, and took a seat between his mother and Minerva McGonagall.

Dumbledore filled several goblets of wine, and handed them round. Hagrid's goblet was rather larger than most, as were the tears that trickled down his face and into his tangled beard.

"Well, my friends," said the headmaster, looking round at them all with a look of both pride and sorrow in his piercing blue eyes, "plenty of toasts have been spoken in the brief time that has elapsed since Lord Voldemort's reign of terror was ended, most unexpectedly, by a one-year-old boy. I am sure that little Harry Potter has had his health drunk more times during the past four days than most of us will ever have in a lifetime. Nevertheless, I suggest we give him one more toast, for luck. But not only him."

Dumbledore raised his goblet.

"To James Potter, who died with courage as I believe he would have wished, confronting his enemy. To Lily Potter, who bravely stood before the cot of her son, shielding him from her murderer. To Peter Pettigrew, who in his grief sadly made the gallant, but fated attempt to arrest the man who had betrayed his friends. To all the people who gave their lives in this war, voluntarily or not, and to everyone in this room, for you have all been staunch and loyal, and exceedingly brave in this long struggle. And finally, of course - to Harry James Potter."

There was a scraping of chairs as they all got to their feet and drank the toast. With a rustling of feathers, Fawkes the phoenix took flight from the bookcase on which he had been sitting, and came to perch on the backrest of Dumbledore's chair. There was a silence after they had all sat down again, that was not broken until Dedalus Diggle asked eagerly,

"So where is he, then? The Boy Who Lived? Where is the child to whom we all owe our thanks?"

Everyone's eyes swivelled to Dumbledore. He drank another sip of his wine in silence before replying.

"Harry Potter is in a safe place, where those of our enemies who may remain cannot touch him."

The little man's face fell in disappointment. "And what about You-Know-Who? Are we really rid of him for good?"

Moody gave a snort. "Not likely."

"What?" Faith exclaimed. "But I thought ..."

She bit her lip, very conscious of the fact that she was not really a part of this gathering, merely a guest. But no-one apart from herself seemed to have noticed.

Frank said, "We found evidence at the Potters' ... remains ... It looks like Voldemort's body was destroyed, but we don't think he's quite finished yet. And we couldn't find his wand."

"But ... surely ... if he has no body ..." Professor McGonagall spluttered.

"We are speaking of Lord Voldemort, Minerva," Dumbledore pointed out. "If anyone can exist without a body, he can. I think it would be wisest for all of us to remain prepared, should he ever return. However, with any luck that will not be for quite some time."

"And if he does come back," Frank affirmed, "we'll be ready to fight him again."

There was a murmur of assent, in which only Malcolm, conspicuously, did not join. He had left his seat and was standing looking out of the window, apparently lost in thought. Slowly, the meeting, brief though it had been, came to a close, and the members of the Order of the Phoenix went their separate ways. In the end, the room was empty but for Dumbledore, Fawkes, and Remus, who let the door fall shut behind his mother, hesitating until his former teacher prompted him into speech.

"Yes? Was there something you wished to say?"

"It's just ... Harry," Remus said, feeling rather awkward. "You keep saying that he is safe, but you won't tell me where ..."

"Excuse me? I have not said that I 'will not' tell you where. I told you on the night that the Potters lost their lives that you need not concern yourself with Harry for the present, because I realised you had much more pressing matters on your mind, and in any case, Harry was perfectly safe. He was with Hagrid, who kept him hidden until the next evening, when we took him to a place of security."

"And is that where he is now?"

"Yes. He is at his aunt and uncle's house, in Surrey."

Remus's jaw dropped. "At ... Petunia's?" he exclaimed. "You call that a place of security? She's not even a witch!"

"I am well aware of the fact. The place is not secure because the people in it are particularly skilled at defending Harry, but because I have made it so. He should be safe there for at least the next ten years."

Remus paced the floor for several long minutes. Finally he stopped and faced Dumbledore determinedly.

"He can't stay there," he said. "Petunia despised Lily - I think it was mainly jealousy, but whatever the reason, she had no affection left in her for her sister, and I doubt she'll have any for Harry. You can't leave him with her!"

"What do you suggest?"

"I ... I don't know, but anything would be better than this. Surely there must be other homes that he could go to, people who would be pleased to have him."

"In spite of the risk that some stray Death Eater seeking for vengeance will come calling at their door? Or Voldemort himself? Anyone who took him would be in grave danger."

"Yes, in spite of that. It wouldn't worry me!"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "You? Are you volunteering, Remus?"

"What if I am?" Remus demanded. What Dumbledore was asking was not what he had been thinking of, but now that the thought had been voiced, something was stirring inside him, an odd sort of temptation, of longing - to take Harry home, to raise him as he thought James and Lily would have wanted him raised, to tell him how wonderful his parents had been, teach him kindness and understanding ...

But Dumbledore was shaking his silver-haired head. "No, Remus," he said quietly. "I am sorry, but I'm afraid that will not be possible."

"You're thinking it would be too dangerous?" Remus guessed. "That I would be a danger to him, rather than protecting him? I realise I'm not much of a prospect as a surrogate father, of course ..."

"That is not the reason," Dumbledore interrupted. "On the contrary, Remus, believe me. I am sure you would raise him well. And it is not that I do not trust you to do so. You look as though you doubt my words, but it is the truth. It may help you to know that I am giving you the same answer I gave Alice Longbottom when she approached me this morning, and offered to take Harry in and raise him as Neville's brother. Your offer is generous and appreciated, but Harry must stay where he is. He must grow up in the house where his mother's blood lives, that must be the house that he calls home. Lily sacrificed herself for him on the night of Halloween, and her sacrifice is, I believe, what rendered Voldemort incapable of killing Harry. Therefore, it is with her blood that he must be protected, and he cannot live with anyone but his mother's sister."

Remus knew that he was staring, but he could not help it. For a moment, one precious, shining moment, he had pictured himself leading Harry by the hand through the woods, taking him to see his favourite tree ... but the bubble had burst, as he must have known it would, and a part of him knew that it had to be so, because how could he hope to provide the shelter and comfort, let alone the safety, that Lily and James's son deserved? His shoulders sagged a little as he signalled his understanding with a nod.

Dumbledore said regretfully, "I am afraid there is more. Petunia Dursley and her husband have, as I dare say you are aware, a great terror of anything they consider 'abnormal'. This means that we can rely on them keeping Harry with them, where he must remain, only for as long as they are not harassed by any more unusual happenings in their vicinity than is strictly necessary, which would include such things as people popping out of their fireplace or owls knocking at the windows ..."

"Which means," Remus concluded sadly, "no visits, no letters, no Christmas presents - no more contact of any kind?"

"I am sorry," Dumbledore said, and he looked it.

Remus shook his head slowly. He could not speak, not now. In any case, everything that there was to say had been said. He only hoped that things were truly at an end now. He did not think he could stand losing many more of the people he cared about. Without another word, he turned around and left the room.

* * *

In the passage outside the staff room, a couple of people were still milling about. Faith and Malcolm, waiting for Remus, were talking to Alice, while Frank stood a little apart with Alastor Moody.

"How long do you think we've got?" he asked in a low voice.

"Before he comes back? Who can tell?" Moody replied. "Trouble is, there's still too many of his old cronies on the loose. All it takes is for one of them to find him, and he'll be back before we know it."

"There must be something we can do."

"Yes: make sure we capture the lot of 'em, and hurry up about it! Make sure no-one ever does find him. But even then - like Dumbledore said, he'll find a way to come back, sooner or later. Hopefully the wizarding world will have learnt its lesson, though, and be more ready for him."

"Hopefully." Frank hesitated, then suggested, "Of course, we could beat the Death Eaters to it. We could go after Voldemort ourselves and destroy him while he's weak."

The older Auror shot him a look that was both approving and something near to pitying.

"Don't kid yourself, Frank," he said. "Even without body or wand, I wouldn't like to see you pit your strength against him."

"It would be worth a try, if it made the world that little bit safer."

"Your time of fighting's over, at least for now. Oh, I dare say you'll come up against the odd left-over Death Eater, we all will before we're done and they're all safely tucked away in Azkaban. But you've got a wife and kid who need you. Look to your own. There may yet be plenty of time for heroics in years to come."

"I don't want to be a hero," Frank said. "I just want to help."

Moody gave a crooked smile and patted him on the shoulder. "I know, my boy, but your wife's waiting, and what she wants you for is more important right now."

Frank smiled back, and went to rejoin Alice. Behind the hulking statue of a gargoyle that stood just behind the spot that Moody was now limping away from, a fair-haired boy crouched in the shadows, his heart thumping excitedly, and crept away along the corridor even as Remus stepped out of the staff room.

"Well?" Alice prompted him eagerly. "What did Dumbledore say? Were you able to persuade him?"

"Persuade him of what?" Malcolm asked, looking from one to the other of them.

Remus shook his head, and Alice's face fell.

"Then Harry really is going to grow up with those Muggles," Alice said dully. "Oh, I don't mean that the way it sounds," she added quickly to Malcolm and Faith, "it's just ... the Dursleys?"

"Let's hope they'll raise him better than we fear," said Frank. "At least he will be safe. We'll do our best, of course, at the Ministry, to make sure we capture all the remaining Death Eaters - the trials are due to start tomorrow, we're hoping to hear a few more names - but there's always a chance some will escape. The Lestranges, for instance. No-one's seen hide nor hair of them since all this started, but they must be somewhere, and I for one am glad to know there's no way they can harm Harry where he is now."

"The trials," Alice echoed quietly. Neville was starting to get restless in his pram, and she pushed it absent-mindedly back and forth, a frown on her face. "Has ... has Sirius been tried yet?" she asked her husband.

Frank shook his head. He glanced at Remus, whose expression was unreadable, though a muscle twitched at his jaw, as though it was too tightly clenched. Alice looked at him also.

"Will you be there?"

"Where?"

"At Sirius's trial, of course! To give evidence. To at least try to ... stop this."

"Stop it?" Malcolm asked sharply. "Stop what, for heaven's sake?"

"Them sending him to Azkaban!" Alice cried.

"Alice, please," Frank warned, looking around him. "Must you?"

"Yes, I must, seeing as it seems no-one else will!" she shot back at him. "What's the matter with you all? Surely you can't be thinking of letting him go on trial undefended, he won't stand a chance!"

"What defence is there?" Faith asked quietly. "The evidence ..."

"Oh, hang the evidence!" Alice interrupted her. "I don't care how much evidence they've got, I just know there has to be some mistake. I know Sirius. He has his faults, but disloyalty to his friends was never one of them. He loved James!"

"So we all thought," Malcolm said guardedly, "but there is no denying that James and Lily are both dead, and Sirius was the only one who could possibly have betrayed their location to anyone."

Alice turned away from him. "Remus!" she appealed. "You know him best! Can you believe this of him?"

The expression on his face made her wish she had not spoken. He looked hurt, shattered, torn ... When he spoke, his voice was choked.

"I would never have believed it of him, no. But I can see no other explanation. As Uncle Malcolm says, he was the only one who ... who could have ... But if you have another theory," he went on, almost pleadingly, "if you have even the faintest notion of what can have gone wrong, if you can give me anything on which to go on that might possibly mean his innocence after all, then please, tell me, and I'll be only too happy to believe it! Give me anything, Alice. Can you?"

Tears filled her eyes once more, and she lowered her head. "Only my own knowledge of him, and you have that yourself. I just ... can't believe it."

Frank put his arm around her, and she leaned against him. They all proceeded downstairs and out into the grounds together in silence. Malcolm accompanied them as far as the gates.

"I'll see you tomorrow, sis," he said to Faith. "I've got lessons until lunch, I'll come round then. There's something I've got to tell you, about a decision I've made ... I'll see you tomorrow," he repeated abruptly, and turned away, leaving her confused and rather worried.

* * *

A Final Request

Sirius Black had no idea what time of day it was, what day of the week, or how many days had passed since his arrest. He sat in one corner of a completely dark cell, his knees drawn up to his chest, his head leaning back against the hard stone wall, his eyes closed. Behind the eyelids that twitched every now and then, he saw it all over and over again - the empty hideout, the twinkling lights of Godric's Hollow far below, the ruined house, and James. His best friend, his brother, the one person in the world who had meant more to him even than Bridget. He felt as though part of his soul had died and was lying spread-eagled amongst the wreckage of what had once been such a happy home, the hazel eyes no longer laughing, their sparkle gone forever.

And Sirius himself felt lifeless, cold. Had he been able to see it, his breath would have swirled like mist in front of his eyes. His very bones felt frozen. But it was several seconds before he realised the cold had grown more intense and was no longer the natural chill of a lonely cell. Dementors. And here he was without a wand. Not, he thought gloomily, that he could ever hope to produce a Patronus now.

The cell door opened and the light behind it, though faint, seemed to glare like sunlight to his eyes, now so used to the darkness that had engulfed him.

"Hold out your hands," an unfamiliar voice commanded.

Sirius obeyed, because what was the point in resisting? There was a sound of chains clanking, rushing across the stone floor, then a pair of manacles magically closed around his wrists. As if he could have made any attempt to escape anyway, he thought wryly, with Dementors so close, without his wand.

"Get up."

The chains that now bound him hand and foot did not make it easy. Two Dementors swept into the cell, their cold, scabbed hands seizing his arms and hauling him out into the hallway.

"Court room ten," said the same voice that had spoken before, and Sirius saw a man with a mane of tawny hair and strange, yellowish eyes that stared at him coldly from behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles.

The Dementors led Sirius all the way into the courtroom and the door closed behind him with a heavy thud. He was placed on a chair in the centre of the great chamber, and still more chains snaked up and bound him to it, until he could no longer move a muscle. He wondered idly whether he really looked that dangerous, unshaven, starved and over-tired as he was. The Dementors stayed close to him, and he shivered with cold.

"You are Sirius Black?" he was asked.

He looked up to see Bartemius Crouch looking down at him. The benches around the room were half empty. It almost disappointed Sirius, in a wry, humourless sort of way, that he did not seem to have merited the presence of the full Wizengamot.

"Yes," he said in a voice that shook more than he had meant it to, "I am Sirius Black."

"You stand accused," Crouch went on, "of treason and murder, namely the betrayal of James and Lily Potter to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, which resulted in their deaths on the night of October 31st of this year, and of the murder of Peter Pettigrew on the following day, November 1st, in the presence of Muggles, of whom you killed twelve."

*Peter,* Sirius thought grimly. *The murder of Peter Pettigrew. If only ...*

Every nerve in his body seemed tense, his skin crawled in the presence of the Dementors, and the memory of James's body on the ground before him grew ever clearer, as though he were back once more in that place and on that night, frantically pleading that it were not so, that James could rise again and be there as always, happy and smiling, alive.

"You have been sentenced, by order of this court, to life imprisonment in ..."

"What?!"

Something inside him stirred as, out of all that Crouch must have been saying, this line alone penetrated the haze of his thoughts. Sentenced? No, that couldn't be, his mind had not wandered so long as all that. Where was his trial, where was his defence? Had he missed the part where they called in witnesses?

"You've got it wrong!" he protested with an effort, the despair brought on by the Dementors' presence pressing down on him. "I never betrayed Lily and James, never! I would have died before I betrayed them!"

Crouch held up a sheet of parchment.

"I have here the written testimony of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, whose word I do not think any in this courtroom would dare to challenge. It names you, Sirius Black, as the Potters' Secret-Keeper. Therefore, you alone were privy to their location, and you alone were able, by the power of the Fidelius Charm, to reveal it to any third party."

"But ..."

Crouch cut across him impatiently, "This court has agreed that this leaves no room for doubt or debate. You have been found guilty of treason and murder, and are hereby sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban."

Sirius could no longer even open his mouth to defend himself. He could not believe that any of this was real. Dumbledore's testimony, no other suspects to question, no additional witnesses, no-one to help him protest his innocence, the sentence agreed upon before he had ever sat on this chair. And now the Dementors were moving him again, taking him out of the chamber, and before he quite knew how he had come there, Sirius was in a boat with Crouch himself and a team of Aurors, chained like some wild animal, the prison fortress looming on the horizon, little more than a black speck against a grey sky at first, but growing larger with relentless speed. They had long left the seagulls behind them. No living creature ventured near this place unless it had to.

The waters lapping against the black rock had an icy appearance, and Sirius felt colder than he had ever felt in his life before, even including that time when he had swum, as a dog, to Slytherin's Rock.

Figures now glided down towards the shore to receive him, drawing long, rattling breaths and draining all hope and happiness from the world around them. Sirius was heaved out of the boat by the Aurors, who stayed close to the water's edge, evidently unwilling to go any closer to that terrifying fortress and the creatures that dwelt there.

It was only then that it truly sank in. Azkaban. He was here, and here he would stay. This impenetrable fortress, these nightmarish shapes, were all that he would see for the rest of his life. The murky sky that hung over him now was the last that he would ever set eyes on. He had looked his last on the world as he knew it. Never again would he see a tree or flower, hear the merry chirping of birds calling to each other, see a squirrel gathering its store of nuts for the winter. What he wouldn't have given, now, for just one last look at the dull, grey block of flats where he had lived, or to hear the London traffic rumbling past his kitchen window, a police siren or the neighbours' television, on too loud as usual.

All he could look forward to now was eternal cold and darkness, endless despair ...

And as the Dementors took charge of him and began leading him towards the prison, he pictured in his mind all the things that he would never see or hear again, and among them one thing suddenly stood out more clearly than anything else, and it startled him that no such thought had come to him before. He pictured Remus Lupin's face, calm and unreadable, and found himself trying to imagine what grief was contorting it now, what agony must be in the heart of the friend he had unjustly suspected, and realised with sudden horror that more than the people who had sentenced him to live out his life in this dreadful place must think him a monster, even the last person in the world whose good opinion he had ever sought to hold must now believe him guilty of unspeakable evil, would never know the truth ...

Sirius revolted at the thought. Placid, acquiescing until this point, he now struggled and yelled.

"No! N-no, wait, you can't do this, you've got to let me explain! You can't shut me away like this!"

"You brought in on yourself, Black!" Crouch shouted back.

"I know, I know, but you don't understand, there's someone I must tell ... someone I must see. Please, for pity's sake! Isn't a man allowed one final wish before his life is over?"

"And what would you wish for, Sirius Black?" Crouch asked, approaching him coldly. "What could you possibly want?"

"I need to speak to Remus Lupin," Sirius replied steadily. "Please. Tell him I must see him!"

"Remus Lupin," Crouch repeated interestedly. "What has he to do with this?"

"Nothing!" Sirius protested. "But I've got to see him, please!"

Crouch paused for a moment. Then, however, he motioned to the Dementors to take Sirius away, and they did, and Crouch ignored the continued screams and pleas of the young man being dragged into that place of horror, and got wordlessly back into the boat, which glided gently away from the shore, back to where autumn sunlight shone and seagulls soared over sparkling blue waters.

* * *

"A Ministry spokesperson has confirmed that notorious mass murderer Sirius Black's sentence was passed and executed yesterday, and he has been deported to Azkaban prison," the newsreader on the Wizarding Wireless Network was saying. "I am sure we will all sleep a little sounder in our beds for this news."

Faith, getting breakfast ready in the kitchen on the day after Sirius's imprisonment, shook her head. She did not expect that Remus would sleep any easier for knowing that the last survivor of his best friends was now locked in a prison cell, surrounded by Dementors. She would be glad if he did, of course. She did not think he had slept much at all since the Potters' deaths.

Of course, Faith herself had not had much sleep either lately. When he had come to see them, Malcolm had beaten about the bush for a while, but he had then finally revealed to them his plan of going abroad for a time. At first, Faith had thought he meant a holiday, but it had soon become clear that something more permanent was what he had in mind, though he had not been able to tell her precisely where he intended to go or what he planned to do when he got there. The only thing he had been adamant about was the time of his departure: As soon as possible, the moment Dumbledore was able to find someone to replace him. He had remarked dryly that he would probably go down in the history of Hogwarts as the shortest-lasting Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher ever.

Faith had tried to put a brave face on her brother's news. She had told him affectionately that no-one could ever replace him in her eyes, and that night in her bedroom those eyes had filled with tears, and she had lain awake for many hours, until finally she cried herself to sleep. She had lost her parents many years ago. She had lost Bridget. She had lost John. And now she felt as though she were losing her brother also.

She put the teapot down on the kitchen table beside the almost empty sugar bowl, and made a mental note to ask Remus to buy a few things while he was out. Although ... now that Voldemort was gone and his Death Eaters were on the run, she supposed that she could go out and buy them herself.

Faith stepped out into the hall to call Remus, but just then there was a knock at the door, and she went to answer it. She was surprised to see Bartemius Crouch, reinstated head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, accompanied by a strange man with a mane of thick, tawny hair and yellow eyes, and a young woman with a scar down the left side of her cheek and one on her lower lip, whom she recognised as Laura Lovegood.

"Good morning, Mrs. Lupin," said Crouch, looking officious.

"Good morning."

"This is Miss Laura Lovegood ... Rufus Scrimgeour ... We'd like a few words with your son, if it's convenient."

He chose his words politely, but there was no request in the tone of his voice, it was much more an order. Faith stood aside to let them in, frowning a little.

"If you'll go through into the living room, I'll fetch Remus. It's the door on your right."

The men entered through the door she indicated, but Crouch motioned to Laura to stay back. She remained in the hall, watching the living room door close behind Scrimgeour, and met Faith's questioning look with a crooked smile.

"I think that Mr. Crouch wants me to make sure your son doesn't make a dash for it."

"Make a ... but why on earth should he?"

Faith was so visibly annoyed that Laura raised her hands defensively.

"Please, Mrs. Lupin, don't kill the messenger. Believe me, I wish no harm to anyone in your family."

Faith nodded. She went upstairs and returned a little while after, Remus close behind her.

"Good morning, Miss Lovegood," he said. "What's all this about?"

"I don't know exactly," she replied. "But I advise you to be careful. Watch what you say. And if there is anything, anything at all that you think might incriminate you ..."

She glanced over her shoulder at the front door behind her. Remus's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. He walked into the living room, the two women following. Crouch had taken a seat in John's chair, and Remus stiffened a little at the sight, but made no comment. Scrimgeour stood with his back to the window, one hand in the pocket of his robes under the long, heavy travelling cloak. Laura remained close to the door, and Remus and Faith sat on the sofa.

"Well, Mr. Crouch," Remus began. "What can I do for you?"

"You may have heard that Sirius Black was transferred to Azkaban yesterday."

A muscle twitched in Remus's jaw, but he replied calmly, "I had not heard. But I have been expecting the news."

"Do you regret it?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Remus saw Laura shift almost imperceptibly. Guessing that this was her way of warning him to be cautious, he gave a wry smile.

"If I said I did, would I be sent to join him?" he asked mildly.

Suppressing a gasp, Faith grasped his arm quickly and warningly. He covered her hand with his, and continued to look steadily at Crouch, whose smile was cold.

"Very clever," he remarked. "Did you learn that from your father? Or was it your ... sire ... who taught you how to avoid being caught out by the Ministry? After all, he has proved himself skilful in evading capture."

The young man's smile vanished in a heartbeat.

"If you mean Fenrir Greyback, I am glad to say I learnt nothing from him except for what I most decidedly do not wish to become. I happen to be fond of children."

Crouch laughed humourlessly.

"A heart of gold beneath a silver pelt? Is that what you would have me believe?"

"It happens. Have you ever read Hairy Snout, Human Heart? It's a good book. I recommend it. It might help you to believe that a werewolf need be no more evil than the next man."

"The next man? That could be me, or Scrimgeour here ... or Sirius Black?"

Though Remus showed no reaction, Faith did. She looked quickly between him and Crouch, and then asked, "Mr. Crouch, what are you implying? We have been under a lot of strain lately, and I think it would be much easier on all our nerves if you would just speak plainly."

"Plain English, Mrs. Lupin? You'd like me to spell it out for you? Very well, but I warn you, you may not like it. I am sorry for your recent loss. I ... did not always see eye to eye with your husband, but I will admit he was a respectable person. However, it is not your husband's loyalties that have been put into question."

"But my son's have? How, may I ask?"

"By his association with the werewolf Fenrir Greyback, and with Sirius Black who, I may add, mentioned his name ..."

Now Faith sounded and looked unusually angry - angrier than Remus could remember ever having seen her. The calmness of her voice was obviously forced.

"My son's 'association' with Fenrir Greyback, as you call it, began and ended with Greyback biting him when he was only three years old. And as for Sirius Black - Albus Dumbledore himself admits he was deceived in him, as we all were. If Sirius is now claiming Remus had anything to do with his treachery ... it's monstrous! My husband was killed because we were betrayed. Do you think my son conspired to murder his own father?"

"Sons have been known to turn on their parents." Crouch turned to Remus. "You were seen talking to Greyback, both in Hogsmeade and at the Ministry."

"I'm glad you seem to be receiving so much cooperation from obliging eye witnesses," said Remus sardonically. "I don't suppose you have any ear witnesses who can tell you what we talked of, and what my position was during our conversations."

"Why don't you tell me that yourself?"

"Because I doubt that you would believe me anyway."

"Do not defy me, Lupin, it would be most unwise. Your kind were never popular in our world, and I do not think the events of this war will make people look any more sympathetically on you. There is that business at Fencombe ... You know about that, I trust?"

"Of course."

"And can you tell me where you yourself were that night?"

"He was he..."

"Mum ..." Remus interrupted sharply, before she could finish the lie.

"Were you?" Crouch asked. "Were you really here?"

"No," Remus confessed. "I have no memory of that night. I only know that a witness confirmed that I was not at Fencombe."

"What witness?"

"Jeremy Crowe."

"The Crowe boy? How convenient. Another werewolf, and a dead one at that."

"Before he died, he told my uncle that he knew where I spent that night. He himself drugged me with the Draught of Living Death."

"And he told your uncle this? Again, most convenient ..."

Faith broke into the conversation once more.

"Am I to take it that you're now accusing my brother as well as my son? What is the matter with you? Haven't you got Death Eaters to arrest? Or can't you get at the real ones, and do you therefore have to make the numbers up in other ways so that everyone will praise you? Are you incapable of apprehending the people who deserve to be punished? Or are you afraid to go after them?"

Crouch's colour rose angrily.

"Mrs. Lupin, I do not think you have the right to ..."

"Right?!" she demanded heatedly, getting to her feet. "What right don't I have? To defend my son against people who would condemn him just for being what he is? I've had too many years of that, I won't stand for it again. We have lost nearly everything, Mr. Crouch. We lost our friends, I lost my husband ... I very nearly lost my brother once, and both he and my son have risked their lives many times over to win this war for you, most recently helping in the battle to free your precious Ministry! Does that same Ministry now accuse my son, simply because he is a werewolf and happens to have been deceived by someone he thought was his friend?"

She paused at last, drawing breath with visible effort, and Remus, a look of both surprise and concern on his face, stepped up beside her and tried to calm her down, but she would not hear of it.

"Answer me, Mr. Crouch! What charges would you bring forward against my son? Are the 'evidence' of a bite that he couldn't defend himself against and the word of a murderer enough to send him to prison? I thought the days of the Ministry's injustice and cruelty were meant to be over!"

"Be careful what you say, Mrs. Lupin," Crouch warned her. He too was standing now. "I will make allowances for the fact that you are upset, but that only goes so far. You do not want to oppose the Ministry, believe me. Now, I think perhaps it would be better if your son accompanied me back there, then perhaps we might continue this conversation in more ... controlled surroundings."

A lot of things happened very suddenly. Faith unexpectedly drew John's wand out of her pocket and pointed it straight at Mr. Crouch. Remus leapt forward to hold her back. Scrimgeour and Laura's wands came up simultaneously, there was a flash and a bang and a spell rebounded from an invisible wall that had sprung up in the middle of the room, and Scrimgeour ducked his own hex. Then the fireplace sprang to life and Alastor Moody's head appeared there, looking particularly eerie surrounded by green flames, and with a chunk missing out of his nose.

"Crouch," he grunted, "stop mucking about and get back here."

"Don't you talk to me like ..."

"Knock it off, Barty. Dumbledore's just heard what you're up to, and he told me to tell you that if you don't pack it in, he will be forced to withhold his vote when it comes to electing the new Minister for Magic. Also, your wife's here."

"My ... my wife?" Crouch's fury turned swiftly into confusion. "Why?"

"For the same reason Dumbledore is. Your son. He's gone missing. Hasn't been seen anywhere in or around Hogwarts since dinner time yesterday. So you'd better get back here."

Moody's head disappeared again, without waiting for an answer. Crouch looked stunned. He glanced at Remus, who had finally taken his father's wand from Faith and put it aside.

"Do you want me to come along, then?" he asked quietly.

Crouch stared at him for a moment, indecisive and angry at the same time. Then, without another word, he motioned to Scrimgeour and strode right out of the room. Seconds later, they heard the front door slam.

"Well," Faith said. "Well, I ... I ..."

She glanced at her son, and dropped back onto the sofa, suddenly shaking. He sat down next to her with a faint smile and put his arm around her. Looking up at Laura, he said,

"That was your shield charm just now, wasn't it? Thank you."

"It was nothing."

"It was risky. Crouch might have charged you with obstructing justice."

"Justice? Hardly. He had no real evidence against you, this whole visit was just ridiculous. So what if Sirius Black did mention your name?"

"I wonder what exactly he did say," Remus said thoughtfully.

"I shouldn't," Laura advised. "Try not to think about it too much, and don't worry about Crouch. He wants to be Minister, he won't risk losing Dumbledore's support."

"That's another favour I owe Dumbledore. And you."

At this, Laura smiled. "Oh no, really. I owed you for the loan of your cloak, so I would say we're quits now, wouldn't you?"

"At least let us offer you a cup of tea before you go."

To this, Laura did not say no.

* * *

November rushed by in a hurry, and by the end of the month Dumbledore had found someone willing to take over the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts, and Malcolm packed his most essential belongings in a suitcase - clothes, a couple of books, and some photographs - and placed the rest in a trunk. This he took with him when, for the last time for he did not know how long, he visited the familiar little cottage on the moors, and he left it there with his sister and nephew.

"Where will you go first?" Remus asked him when, after one last evening meal together, he and his mother walked Malcolm to the door.

Malcolm shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know. I thought maybe Egypt. I might apply as a curse-breaker for Gringotts, they're always looking."

"Isn't that terribly dangerous?" Faith asked quietly.

Her brother shrugged again. He felt suddenly very strange, knowing that it would be such a long time before he saw them both again, and he realised that he was staring, but couldn't help it. Remus was holding up well, he thought, all things considered, after all the blows he had taken lately. He showed very little of what he might be feeling at this moment, and it was only because Malcolm knew him so well that he recognised the signs - the stiffness of his posture, the too-calm expression - that he was able to guess that this separation would be painful to the young man. Faith, on the other hand, wore her heart on her sleeve, she wasn't even attempting to smile now, and for a moment as he stood looking at her miserable face, Malcolm doubted his decision to leave, and almost thought that he couldn't do it.

But then he thought of Bridget, lying dead in his arms, of John dying right before his eyes, of the bodies of James and Lily still and cold upon the ground, and of his last conversation with Laura, and he knew that he simply had to get away, he needed a change, a new beginning, some purpose in life, and a place where he could stop dwelling on the past and think about what he really wanted to do with his future, without being hampered at every turn by consideration for the people who, though they wished him well, would always place too much importance on simply having him close.

"Goodbye, Remus," he said at last.

"Goodbye, Uncle Malcolm," came the quiet reply, and they embraced tightly.

Malcolm turned at last to Faith, who clung to him when he put his arms around her, and sobbed bitterly.

"Don't, Faith," he begged her. "I won't be gone forever. I'll come back to see you, I promise. And you can always come to see me."

He straightened up, and gently prised her fingers off his robes. Remus stepped forward and put an arm around her.

"I love you," Malcolm said softly. "Both of you. I'll see you, sis. And you, Remus. I'll write as soon as I've settled."

Remus nodded. "Take care."

With one last nod and a smile that looked rather forced, Malcolm picked up his suitcase, turned around on the spot, and was gone, and somehow it seemed as though the world had shrunk a little.

* * *

Crucio

Alice Longbottom, dressed in the champagne coloured night gown Frank had given her for Christmas, came out of the bathroom and walked along the passage to the nursery door. She leaned against the frame, watching and listening to her husband's voice reading The Tales of Beadle the Bard to their one-and-a-half-year-old son curled up in his cot.

"And so," Frank read in his soft, pleasant voice, "the Elixir of Life had made the wizard immortal, yet he lived a sad and lonely life, for all of his friends had long since died and there was no-one for him to talk to."

He closed the book and laid it on a little table, looking at his son. Neville was too tired to even protest that his father had stopped reading, and Frank tucked him in gently and planted a kiss on one of his soft, plump cheeks. He turned, and only then noticed Alice watching him with a loving smile. When he reached her, she slipped her arms around his neck and said,

"You have a lovely reading voice."

He laughed. "Is that a polite way of telling me I have a voice that sends people to sleep?"

"Only because it's so soothing."

She kissed him, and for several minutes, they needed no more words. When at last she pulled back her head, it was to say,

"You know, darling, now that the fighting's over, we really ought to start picking up the pieces and rebuilding."

"I thought that was what he had all been doing for the past month or so."

"Well, yes, but I didn't mean out there." She jerked her head towards the window. "I meant in here. I still have this vision of you as an old man with grey hair and a beard not quite as long as Dumbledore's, sitting in a rocking chair with half a dozen grandchildren around you, the youngest bouncing on your knee, while you tell them stories of the old days and how bravely you fought in the war. We can't expect Neville to provide all those grandchildren on his own, you know."

Frank gave a small frown.

"There isn't really all that much space though, is there? If we had another child, where would they sleep? And then there's Hogwarts to consider - robes and school books don't come cheap, my dear."

"I'm sure we'd manage. You were willing enough to have Harry ..."

"That would have been different - an emergency, and I'm sure we would have managed all right, but if we're planning this, we ought to think it through."

"Don't you want any more children?" Alice asked almost accusingly. "I thought you did."

"I do, but ... we ought to think about this properly, and discuss it. Please don't be cross, Alice," he added, and kissed her swiftly. "Come on, let's get some sleep, and we'll talk about it some more in the morning."

Slowly, Alice nodded. She snuggled against him on their way across the hall.

"I'm so glad we made it through," she said. "There were so many times when I was afraid of losing you."

"That's all behind us now. No more war, no more fighting. Plenty of tomorrows to ..."

He was interrupted by an ear-splitting squeal, and something very small shot off the pillow on Alice's side of the bed and raced around their feet, then sped across the hall and into Neville's room.

"Cheesy!" Alice called after the rat.

"What the ...?"

Frank made to go after the creature, but he did not get far. An almighty crash sounded suddenly from the downstairs hall, and the house shook so violently that Alice grabbed her husband's arm for support.

"What was that?"

"I - I don't know," he stammered, but his face had turned very white.

Unlike his wife, Frank was still fully dressed, and his trained Auror reflexes now led him to plunge his hand into his pocket and draw out his wand. He gently pushed Alice into the bedroom, then stepped out into the hall. A series of further crashes sounded below, and flashes of coloured light illuminated the stairs. Frank stood frozen, undecided for a moment where to take up his position, with his wife in one room and his son in the other. As the first of the intruders appeared on the stairs, however, Neville's door somehow slammed shut from the inside, and Frank headed into the bedroom.

"What is it?" Alice cried. "What's happening?"

"Get behind me," he told her hurriedly.

"What? No! Frank ... Neville ..."

"He'll be all right, just get behind me!"

She tried to pass him, but he pulled her back and leapt in front of her just as the first spell shot through the open door.

"Protego!"

It rebounded against the door frame, showering splinters everywhere. Frank aimed his wand at a chest of drawers and sent it flying at the doorway. The Death Eater who had been about to enter jumped back with a yell as the drawers left their places and pummelled him angrily.

"Reducto!" Frank shouted, and the chest exploded into the hallway, wrenching more yells from the attackers, but not stopping them.

Flames engulfed the pile of clothing that had fallen out of the drawers, then took on the shape of a giant serpent and came at them. Frank repelled it with water from his wand, shouting,

"Alice, see if you can get through to one of them, I'll cover you!"

Clinging to the back of his shirt, she struggled to concentrate on something other than the spells flying back and forth and the baby lying in a room across the hall, where she could not reach him. Muddled thoughts assailed her as she opened her mind. The first were desperate thoughts, filled with love. His wife, his child ... they would not get them, would not harm them, he'd die first ...

Alice's fingers closed more tightly on the fabric of Frank's shirt. Then came other thoughts, she was looking through the eyes of a baby standing in its cot, frightened by the loud bangs, wanting Mummy.

*Don't cry, Neville,* she told him quickly through her thoughts. *Do as Mummy says, darling, lie down, and don't cry.*

She felt him obey. The next thoughts were strange, inhuman, just a vague sense of danger, of the need to protect. Very briefly, she saw the nursery again, this time through the rat's eyes, everything overlarge and the human child lying in its cot, fighting back the tears. Protect.

And then, at last, she felt them. Consciousnesses that were new and unknown to her, bent on destruction, but not murder, oddly enough.

"There are four of them," she breathed.

"I know!" Frank panted, staggering backwards and nearly knocking her over.

Her eyes refocused on the real world. The room lay in ruins already, and the last of the four Death Eaters had just passed the threshold. So far, Frank had fought them off magnificently. Despite there being four of them while he fought alone, he had torn holes in their robes, singed their hoods, given one of them a limp and caused him to lose the use of his wand arm, forcing him to use the other hand.

Alice concentrated on the Death Eater nearest to them. He had torn off his hood when Frank's spell had set it on fire, and she thought that the narrow, pale young face looked familiar. She searched for a name, and found it within his own thoughts. Barty Crouch, jr. Her discovery must have startled him, for his hand became unsteady at just the right moment, and Frank's curse penetrated, shattering his wand arm so that he howled in pain.

But as Alice prepared to reach for the next mind, she met with a powerful resistance. One of the others had discovered her, and appearing to be skilled at Occlumency was keeping her out, trying to turn the connection around.

The last Death Eater who had entered the room raised his wand and aimed it, not at Frank, but at her. It took Frank a split second to send a wooden bed post, sharpened to a point, flying at the man like a spear. One of the others seized the opportunity. In a flash of purple, he swung his wand through the air like a sword, slashing Frank's left leg open. Unprepared, Frank cried out in pain, and it was only Alice's support that kept him on his feet. He brought his wand back up and aimed at the man who had wounded him, but the pain weakened his spell, and it was too easily deflected. Once again, the Death Eaters sent flames at them. Frank pulled Alice close to him and enveloped them both in a shield charm while the fire consumed everything around them. She looked up into his face, and only now realised that it was bleeding from many other wounds that she had not seen caused while she struggled to find the Death Eaters' minds.

The moment the fire died down, Frank moved in front of her again, but he was visibly weaker now, the shield charm and his wounds had drained him of power, and now all four Death Eaters were combining forces against him at once.

"Incarcerous!" they chanted together, and the force of their combined spells was too much.

Though Frank's wand worked quickly, slicing through half the ropes that assailed him, there were still enough to bind him. Alice snatched the wand from his hand as he fell to the floor, but it was mere seconds before she had joined him, and the figures of their attackers loomed over them both, ruthless and menacing. Then her world went black.

* * *

Alice woke to find herself lying on wooden floorboards in an unfamiliar room with a sloping ceiling that made her think it must be some sort of loft. There were two skylights, but both had been boarded up, so that only very little moonlight penetrated the slats. The space was bare and dusty, and the only opening besides the boarded up windows appeared to be a trap door with a rusty iron ring in it. Without really expecting any success, Alice tugged at this, but found the wooden flap as tightly shut as she had expected. She sat down on the floor again, shivering. There was a draught coming from somewhere, and she was still only wearing the thin night gown, but her shivers were not due only to the cold. Alice did not think she had ever been so frightened in her life. Not only had she never been able to get over the fear of lofts like this that had been with her since that day in her childhood when she had lost both her parents. Far worse was the fact that she was quite alone, with no way of knowing where she was or why she had been brought here, or what had become of the two people she loved most in the world.

The minutes dragged on until they felt like hours. Finally, after an age, Alice heard footsteps somewhere below, and then the trap door opened with a creak. Before she could reach it, a large shape rose through the opening, was levitated towards her, and landed on the floor with a heavy thud and a grunt.

"Think about it, Longbottom!" a woman's voice called up through the hole. "You have a wife and child. I'm sure you have a very pleasant little life planned out for yourselves. You don't want to ruin it out of sheer stubbornness."

The trap door banged shut. The figure on the ground beside it did not move, and Alice crawled closer while her heart thumped fearfully in her chest.

"Frank?" she whispered.

At the sound of her voice, he shifted, sat up, and his eyes searched the gloom for her. Alice crawled to his side and threw her arms around his neck. He clutched her so tightly that she could barely breathe, and she felt his warm breath against her shoulder as he pressed his face against her skin. He was trembling, and this frightened her even more than the darkness and the cold. She stroked his hair as she had often stroked Neville's when he woke up crying, and after a little while, Frank seemed to become calmer, and to relax a little in her arms.

"Darling, what did they do to you?" Alice asked tremulously, not at all sure she wanted to hear the answer.

He did not give her one for a long moment, just went on holding her. Then, at last, he sat up straighter and looked at her. His face still bore the marks of the Death Eaters' spells, and looking down she saw that they had not bothered to heal his leg wound either. There was blood on his lip that looked like he had bitten it.

"They ... questioned me," he replied. His voice was strained and strangely hoarse, as if he had a sore throat.

"What about?"

"Lord Voldemort's whereabouts."

"What? But ... that's ridiculous. How should you know anything about that? Why would they think ...?"

"I'm afraid it's my own fault," Frank replied heavily. "I was talking to Moody after the last Order meeting, saying that we should see if we couldn't find Voldemort and finish him off before any of his Death Eaters have a chance to rejoin him. Apparently we were overheard."

"After the last Order meeting? But that was at Hogwarts, who could have ...?" She broke off, suddenly realising. "Of course. Barty Crouch. He was one of the ones who attacked us. Who are the other three, do you know?"

Frank nodded. "The Lestranges. Peter's sister, her husband and his brother. They're determined to find their old master and restore him to power."

"And they think we can tell them where to look?"

"Yes."

"And I suppose they wouldn't believe you that we don't have any idea where he is ... Frank?" she prompted when he did not answer.

He sighed. "I haven't told them that."

Alice gaped at him confusedly. "You didn't ... but why not? Surely, if we can convince them that we can't tell them what they want to know, they'll realise kidnapping us was pointless and ... and ..."

"And that we're of absolutely no value to them whatsoever, and they may as well kill us," Frank finished. "That is why I'm going to let them believe anything they want, for as long as I can, and you must do the same. Promise me, Alice," he added, looking deep into her eyes. "Promise me that whatever happens, you won't tell them you don't know where Voldemort is."

"Whatever happens?" she echoed feebly. "What will happen? What has been happening, while I was still unconscious? What have they been doing to you, Frank?"

Once again, he did not answer. Instead, he stroked her cheek gently and said,

"You know, Alice, I've been thinking about what you said earlier, about having more children. I thought if we partitioned our room, we could convert Neville's nursery into a main bedroom and turn our old room into two kids' rooms. And we don't really use the loft, I'm sure that could be redone, and Neville could move up there when he's old enough. It's silly to worry about things like school robes and books, because any other children we have can use Neville's ..."

Alice just stared at him for a while, and then understood. She said miserably, "You ... you're just saying that, aren't you? To make me feel better. You don't think we'll ever have any more children ..."

She read her answer in his face, but though his eyes looked sore and moist, he went on as if he had not heard her.

"We should think about names. I thought if the next one's a girl, we could call her Aurora. I haven't thought of a boy's name yet. What would you fancy?"

But Alice did not answer. Instead, she put her arms around him again, and Frank held her tightly as before, stroking her back soothingly while she cried her heart out.

Some time later, they heard the footsteps again, and Frank whispered an urgent reminder to her not to say anything. The trap door opened, and a man's voice called up to them.

"Get down here, both of you!"

Frank's leg was a hindrance, and he lowered himself through the hole with difficulty. Alice followed, and slipped her shoulder under his arm.

"So," said Rabastan Lestrange, keeping his wand trained on Frank while Barty Crouch, standing a couple of paces behind him, directed his at Alice, "have you spoken to your wife about why you were brought here, Longbottom?"

"Yes."

"And has she persuaded you that it would be much easier on you both if you just told us what we want to know?"

"You're wasting your time, Lestrange. All you'll be getting is four one-way tickets to Azkaban when our friends find you. I'll die before I tell you anything."

Lestrange laughed humourlessly. "Oh no, you won't."

He motioned with his wand. Frank made to withdraw his arm from Alice's shoulder, but Lestrange shook his head.

"No," he said. "I think your wife had better come with us this time."

Frank protested, but the Death Eater only gave a cruelly satisfied smile and said,

"Move, both of you. Barty, you follow after them. Make sure you watch them closely, and if you feel her digging into your mind again ... well, I don't think her husband will be needing that leg any more anyway, it's pretty useless already."

Alice paled. Frank looked at her, and gave her what was the mere shadow of an encouraging smile. She helped him follow Rabastan Lestrange, along a narrow hallway, down a flight of stairs, through a door and into what must have been quite a grand parlour before it had been abandoned. The other two Lestranges, husband and wife, were waiting there. The woman stepped forward eagerly.

"Well?" she prompted her brother-in-law. "Will we be getting the information we want this time, or must we dig further for it?"

"He claims he'll die before he tells us anything," Rabastan replied.

"Really?" The woman did not look at all disappointed. Her crooked smile was almost gleeful as she turned to Frank. "Not even a tiny little clue?"

"Not even the time of day," he replied firmly.

"Now now, there's no need to be facetious," she scolded playfully.

Alice shivered. The woman's eyes gleamed maliciously, she seemed overly eager to retrieve the information she wanted against the potential source's will, and Alice wondered if she had always been like this, or if it was her master's destruction that had turned her, apparently, mad. Madam Lestrange approached her now, her head a little to one side.

"What about you?" she asked. "Won't you tell us where the Dark Lord has gone? You could spare your husband a lot of pain if you do."

Not trusting herself to speak, Alice only shook her head. The other woman ran her wand through her fingers in a slow, tender, caressing motion.

"Hmmm," she murmured. "Well, we shall see if we can't persuade you. If you will stand back, Mrs. Longbottom, I will be happy to give you a small demonstration of what the consequences will be if you persist in being so unfortunately stubborn."

With that, she jerked her head, and Rabastan and Barty Crouch stepped forward, each seizing Alice by one arm, and pulled her away from Frank. He stood quite still facing the Death Eater. His fists were tightly clenched, and his expression determined. It was clear that he knew what was coming, even if Alice did not, and dreaded it. The woman strolled a few paces towards her husband. Then, with a rapid motion, she spun round, raised her wand over her head and pointed it directly at him.

"Crucio!"

Alice stared, transfixed with horror, as Frank's body arched with pain. The veins stood out on his forehead, temples and neck, and she could see the tightness of the muscles in his jaw, which he pressed together with tremendous effort, determined not to scream if he could help it, not to give the Death Eaters the satisfaction, or more importantly to let Alice know how much he suffered. But he did not need to scream for her to understand, she could see the agony in every line of his face, and her heart pounded painfully in her chest as she understood the weaknesses he had shown up in the loft, and watched him stumble against the wall and press his arms against it, still fighting the pain and struggling with all his might to stay on his feet. The Death Eaters beside her let go of her arms, but she could not move a muscle, it was all she could bring herself to do to cover her face with her hands until she heard a gleeful cackle and looked across again at Madam Lestrange, whose eyes were wide and whose lips were parted with a crazed, evil pleasure as she stood twitching her wand now this way, now that, until finally she cocked her head to one side as though considering for a moment, then lowered her wand.

Frank's body relaxed, and he slumped against the wall, then slid to the floor with a groan. Alice ran to his side, and pulled him into her arms. His eyes were closed, his face completely drained of colour. He had passed out, and yet his body was still jerking with the memory of the pain the curse had caused him, and his brow was cold and clammy as if he were in the grip of some fever.

For the first time since they had entered the room, the third man moved. The elder of the Lestrange brothers came forward for a closer look at Frank. He bent down and pulled up one of the unconscious young man's eyelids, then felt his wrist. Finally he turned back towards his wife, who looked a question. The man nodded.

"Good," said his wife.

Paula Lestrange raised her wand once more, pointed it at Frank and said, "Renervate."

He woke with a startled cry and a tremendous jerk, and Alice held him tightly to her. He looked up into her face.

"A-Ali..."

"Crucio!"

Madam Lestrange had timed her curse well, catching Frank off guard so that this time he was unprepared, and at once began to scream like a soul in torment, writhing in agony so that Alice could no longer hold him, only watch helplessly, unable to close her ears and eyes to his pain, and tears flooded down her cheeks.

"Stop it!" she screamed at last when she could stand it no longer, and she sprang to her feet and flew at the other woman.

Rabastan raised his wand, there was a flash and a bang, and Alice was thrown off her feet and against the far wall, crying. Frank's screaming had stopped, he had passed out once more. Again, however, he got little rest. After the same assessment of his condition as before, the Death Eaters revived him again, and the process was repeated several more times. Alice cowered in a corner, her hands over her head, trying desperately to believe that none of this was real, that it was all just a nightmare in which she was trapped, and that eventually she would wake up and Frank would be beside her, at home in their bed, ready to take her in his arms and kiss her and tell her everything would be all right.

After an age, during one of the brief respites she allowed him, Madam Lestrange turned Frank over onto his back and gave a kind of snort.

"What is it?" Barty Crouch asked.

It was the first time he had spoken, and his young voice sounded at the same time awestruck and a little afraid.

"He's almost gone," said the woman, and she did not sound at all sorry.

Alice's head came up with a jerk.

"What? No ... Frank!"

She crawled quickly across the room and bent over him anxiously.

"Frank," she repeated desperately, patting his cheek. "Frank?"

His eyes opened and he looked up at her, but at first the look in them was strange, as though he did not know who she was. Then, thankfully, they cleared and he spoke to her, though his voice was barely a whisper.

"You ... haven't said ...?"

"I haven't said a word," she sobbed. "But I'll have to, darling, I can't let this go on, I can't let them keep doing this to you!"

He shook his head. Even that small action seemed to cause him pain.

"Don't," he croaked. "I don't ... care ... what happens to me ..."

"But I care!"

"Really?" Lestrange's voice cut in. "In that case, Mrs. Longbottom, you had better start to prove it by telling us what we want to know. A little more of this treatment, and your husband won't remember his name, let alone your face."

He raised his wand as he said it, and his wife raised hers also. They spoke the incantation together this time, redoubling the force of the spell and the agony. Frank's screams went beyond any sound Alice had ever thought a human voice capable of making, and in them she could make out one word before he fell unconscious again.

"Rora!" he screamed. "Rora!"

He writhed and twitched so violently that her arms could barely hold him, and his face was so badly contorted as to be almost unrecognisable. With tears streaming down her face, Alice looked up at the Lestranges.

"Stop it!" she screamed at the top of her voice. "Please! We can't tell you anything! We don't know where Voldemort is! I swear we don't know! Just ... just stop. Please!"

Both curses were lifted at the same time, and Alice turned her attention back to Frank. She held him as tightly as she could to try and make him lie still, sobbing uncontrollably as she did so. Frank opened his eyes, but this time the strange look in them did not go away, it was as though there was hardly anything left behind them of the man she had known. He tried to speak, but was shaking too wildly, so instead he clutched her arm, his grip so tight that his fingers dug into her flesh, but she didn't care that it hurt her, she cared about nothing but the fact that she loved him, and was closer to losing him now than she had ever believed she could be.

"So," Madam Lestrange said with quiet menace in her voice. "You claim you don't know where the Dark Lord is?"

"No," moaned Alice, shaking her head and bending over to kiss Frank tenderly. "We don't know."

"Why should we believe that?" asked Rabastan Lestrange.

"Why should I lie?" Alice asked back, looking hard at him. "Do you think I want him to go on suffering? Please, I've told you the truth, there's nothing more I can tell you. You must believe me!"

Madam Lestrange crouched down in front of her, grasped her chin with one hand and looked straight into her eyes for a moment. When she let go, her expression was unfathomable. She straightened up and returned to her husband's side, giving a curt nod. He frowned and said slowly,

"So, you never had any idea where the Dark Lord is hiding? And yet your husband let us believe it, he let us torture him without once defending himself ... why?"

"Because he loves me," Alice sobbed brokenly. "He wanted to protect me, he hoped if we could buy enough time, somehow someone would find us." She shook her head desperately. Frank gave a murmur in her lap and she held his head against her, stroking his hair and kissing him. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Darling, I'm so sorry."

There was no reply.

"Enough!" Paula Lestrange shrieked suddenly. She whirled round. "All right, you're telling the truth," she said quickly and breathlessly, then she threw back her head and laughed - it was a wicked, high-pitched cackle. "Yes, I believe you. You wouldn't lie to us now. But do you know what that means, stupid, senseless creature? It means you're of no further value to us. None whatever!"

"I know," Alice said, speaking just as quickly, pleadingly. "I know we're no use to you. So why not just leave us here? You know you can't stay here forever, someone will come looking for us and they will find you, you will be locked up for the rest of your lives in Azkaban. You don't want that!" She looked appealingly round at the three men, especially the boy. "You don't want to spend the rest of your life in a prison cell," she said to him directly. "With nothing for company but Dementors and your own, miserable thoughts. Please! Just go. Go as far away as you can and just leave us here. I swear," she added forcefully, looking up at the woman again, "I swear that we will tell no-one what you did here today if you only go, if you leave us in peace. Please," she begged again.

Paula Lestrange began stroking her wand again as she had done right at the beginning, looking as if she had not heard a word. When Alice stopped speaking she said quietly,

"Barty, what do you think of the young lady's suggestion? Would you like to run away? Or would you rather finish what we have started?"

For a minute there was no answer and she turned her head to look at the youth. Alice stared at him too, hoping against hope that her words had had some effect on him, at least. If she could only win this one ally ... But he stiffened under the gaze of his fellow Death Eaters, the flicker of uncertainty that had been there for a moment vanishing completely.

"I say we finish it. If we leave them dead, then they can tell no tales."

The others nodded.

"Not a bad idea," said Madam Lestrange slowly. "But I would suggest a slight variation. Why should we kill them, when we can have so much more fun and still leave them speechless? I will finish our fallen hero here," she said, and once again she directed her wand lazily at Frank.

Alice began shaking her head frantically. "No," she murmured. "No, please, you can't ... no ... Frank!"

But the Death Eaters knew no mercy. Frank screamed and writhed as before and Alice screamed with him. She hardly felt it when Rabastan Lestrange dragged her away, and she was barely even aware of the young boy facing her, his wand raised. She knew what was coming, but she didn't care, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered any more. She thought of days gone by, of laughing and making plans, of Neville and of all the other children they had wanted to have, and how she had pictured her future with Frank, one day when they were old and grey and tired, but happy. And when the physical pain of the curse set in it was almost a relief to her, because it was so much more painful to think of all that they had lost, and all that they would never have.

* * *

Twenty-four hours later, Remus Lupin answered the summons sent to him by Professor Dumbledore at once. He had not bothered to shave and the clothes he wore were merely the next best he had been able to pull on in a hurry. His face was anxious when he approached the Hogwarts headmaster in a corridor at St. Mungo's hospital. The professor looked grave and upset.

"Remus," he said in a voice that was heavy with grief.

"Sir, I just got your message about the Longbottoms. You said something's happened to them. What is it?"

"They were kidnapped from their home by fugitive Death Eaters and tortured for information - the Cruciatus curse."

"The Cruciatus ... will they be all right?"

He read his answer in Dumbledore's blue eyes.

"Are they ... dead?" he asked quietly.

"It would perhaps be better for them if they were," was the rather cryptic reply. "But maybe you had better see for yourself."

Remus followed Dumbledore through a pair of double doors into a closed ward. Right at the other end, another door led to a smaller corridor from which further doors led off. Dumbledore stopped at one of them and indicated the small window. Remus looked in apprehensively. A figure was huddled on the floor in one corner, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them, rocking back and forth.

"Oh my god," he murmured. "Frank."

"He has been like that since they brought him here, apart from short moments when he tried to beat off the Healers."

"Can I go in and ... talk to him?"

"You can try," said Dumbledore. "But Remus, don't expect too much. And be careful."

Remus nodded. When he entered the room, Frank didn't even look up. His lips moved ceaselessly as he rocked himself, and amid the indistinguishable murmurs, every now and then Remus could make out a few words from a lullaby her remembered his mother singing to him in his childhood. He approached Frank cautiously and crouched down beside him.

"Frank," he said gently. "Frank, it's me, Remus. Do you remember me?"

Frank turned his head at last, though he remained in that huddled position, and fell silent. His eyes were vacant.

"Somebody hurt you," Remus went on. "You and Alice."

"Alice?"

The voice was strange, placid and filled with a childlike kind of wonder.

"Your wife."

"Wife?"

"Don't you remember? You love her."

Frank shook his head. "I don't remember anything. Only ... pain."

He gave a shudder, his eyes filling with tears, and Remus placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Frank moved suddenly at the touch, pushing Remus away from him and jumping to his feet, backing against the wall, his eyes wide with sudden terror. Remus stood.

"It's all right, Frank," he said quickly. "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you. I swear I won't hurt you! We're friends. You know what that means, don't you? Surely you remember having friends?"

Slowly, calming down a little, Frank nodded.

"And you know friends don't hurt each other. They help each other."

Another nod.

"Will you shake hands?"

Remus held out his hand. Frank looked down at it for a moment, then took it cautiously. The moment their hands touched, another change came over him. He slid back to the floor and buried his face in his hands. Then he began to cry. Remus crouched down again, and again placed his hand on Frank's shoulder. This time Frank did not push him away, but nor did he show any other kind of reaction. Remus stayed with him until his crying ceased. Then he left the room quietly and rejoined Dumbledore.

"Is Alice the same?" he asked, shaken.

"A little more stable. She seems almost content ... but she has no idea of who she is. She behaves rather like a naïve, curious, innocent child. From what we have been able to discover using Legilimency, she almost welcomed the torture when it was administered. I think she preferred it to watching him suffer."

Remus closed his eyes tightly for a second.

"It appears Frank was tortured all night long," Dumbledore went on. "That he has any spirit left at all is a miracle. He made a great sacrifice. From what we have learnt, it appears the Death Eaters wanted to know the whereabouts of Lord Voldemort."

Opening his eyes, Remus exclaimed, "What? But ... why Frank and Alice? Surely the Longbottoms had no idea ..."

"Alice didn't, right until the end. Frank, on the other hand, had spoken to Alastor about finding Lord Voldemort and destroying him for good, and although Alastor tried to discourage him, we have discovered that he seems to have investigated the matter further. We think he probably did have a very shrewd idea of Voldemort's current whereabouts. But he revealed nothing to the Death Eaters, and pretended to his wife not to know anything. He was willing to sacrifice his sanity to keep his knowledge safe ... and buy her as much time as he could. He loved her very much."

"And now he has no memory of her."

"Perhaps. But there was one word he said over and over again when they found him."

"What was it?"

"Rora," said Dumbledore.

* * *

Always Close

Remus Lupin was taking a walk. It was three hours into New Year's Day, and freshly fallen snow covered the pavements, roads and hedgerows he passed, and made the large, square houses look as though their roofs had been made of icing sugar. He stopped close to a lamp post and looked across the street at a house very like those on either side of it, with a brass number four fastened to its wall.

Remus looked up towards the top story, and tried to imagine the people that lay fast asleep in their beds, or rather one particular member of the household, a little boy with a scar the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead, slumbering peacefully, oblivious to his own importance and the tragedy that had brought him where he was now. He hoped fervently that Harry Potter would be all right.

Not only Harry Potter, but every child that had been left behind as he had, orphaned by the terrible war that had torn apart their families. Like Neville Longbottom.

Frank's parents had arrived at St. Mungo's the other day, just when Remus had been on the point of leaving, and Neville had been with them. He had been found safe and sound in his own cot in the Longbottoms' house, with Cheesy the rat lying just inside the door to his room rather like a parody of a guard dog, ready to hurl himself at anyone who dared to enter and tried to harm the child. When the door had been opened by Neville's grandfather, the rat had sped past him, across the hall and into the main bedroom, then all around the house in search of its mistress, so Remus had been told. This had happened nearly a week ago. Remus had taken the rat home with him after that, but it had refused its food, merely curled up in the corner and not moved again. He had had to bury it yesterday.

One more death. One more life ended by the war. One more little piece of his past, gone forever. Remus leaned against the lamp post and thought back over his life, and all the events, the joys and the griefs that had brought him to this point. He had known friendship, he had known comfort, he had known love. All of it was now gone, past, done with. There had been so many deaths, so much loss. The faces of Professor Darkhardt, of Bridget, of his father, of James and Lily and Peter, of Frank and Alice and, yes, even of Sirius, stood out clearly in his mind, and Remus felt overwhelmed by that loss. How could he ever go on? Why should he even try?

His eyes focussed once more on the top story of the house across the street, and words from the past rose up from his memories.

"Dreams are there to be followed, Remus. You must become a teacher. I want you to teach this Little Prongs, and any little brothers and sisters he may have."

Well, Harry would never have any brothers and sisters. But Lily's wish had been heartfelt, and he felt that he should not give up on his dreams just yet, if only because she had not wished him to. He and Harry had been left behind, and separated though the were at Dumbledore's insistence, yet they had so much in common, and something told Remus that some day Lily's wish would come true, that he and Harry would meet again and the loss that they had shared might bridge the gap of years that would lie between them.

*Well, I can always hope,* he thought to himself. Then, "Good luck, Harry," he murmured, and then turned on the spot and disapparated.

The little cottage on the edge of the clearing was plunged into darkness when Remus returned to it. He let himself in and hung up his cloak by the door. Despite the hour he did not go up to bed, but made himself a cup of hot chocolate in the kitchen and took it with him into the living room, where a merry fire still burnt, kept magically alight. He stood for a long moment, undecided. In spite of the fire, he felt a faint chill.

His gaze fell on his father's violin, lying silently on the little table beside the arm chair, and for the second time that early morning, words from the past drifted back into the present, and though these words had only ever been memory, as he recalled them they seemed as real as if they were being spoken here and now.

"I'll always be close," he heard his father's say softly. "Much closer than you think."

He smiled faintly as he crossed the room and looked down at the empty arm chair, and then he turned and lowered himself slowly into it. He drew out his wand and tapped the violin once, and it rose obediently into the air and began to play a gentle melody. Remus set his mug down on the little table and leaned back, closing his eyes. The music played on and as it did so, he began to feel as though the distance between him and the people he had lost grew smaller, and he half expected that if he opened his eyes, his father's face would be looking down on him, smiling, and the chill seemed to lift, and he felt warmed and comforted, and no longer so very much alone.