Singled Out

Remus calmly passed the papers across his row. Sirius glowered at James as their eyes met, and the anger was mutual. Remus touched his wand and whispered, "Regrettus." Immediately, both James and Sirius winced. Remus smiled quietly. Regrets, indeed.

"Please take out your essays on personal opinions of the origins of magic." Professor Xavier Taureaux, self-declared professor extraordinaire, gazed around the room with eyes that bore an amazing resemblance to a cow’s. James automatically reached for a wand, his lips forming the spell to open his bag and Summon his parchment, but he stopped mid-word. Scowling, he bent over and dug around for the paper.

"Take this damn curse off me, Moony," James muttered. Remus smiled calmly in return, but Sirius gave an unpleasant smirk.

Sighing, Remus reached for his wand again. "Regrettus," he murmured again. This time, only Sirius flinched. James looked like he wanted to laugh, but didn’t. "You learn fast," Remus said.

Professor Taureaux walked by and picked up the essays. He strolled back to his desk and sat on it in lotus position. "Now, does anyone want their paper to be read out loud?"

There was unanimous dissent. "Very well." He unfolded his long legs and walked to the board. "Accio chalk," he said, and the chalk sped to his fingers. Origins of Magic, he wrote. "So. Magic. You all live in a world filled with it, but what is it, really? Where did it come from? Where does it reside, if you will? That is what this class will teach. Some of you might confuse this class with History of Magic, but, they are two very different things. Who here can tell me why?"

A Ravenclaw fifth-year tentatively raised her hand.

"Naomi Graber?"

"Is it because History of Magic really deals with the history of witches and wizards?"

"Yes, yes, YES. Two points to Ravenclaw." He smiled at the class. "Now, can anyone finish that thought?"

Sirius raised his hand, looking very confident.

"Sirius Black? Son of Hugin Black?"

"Um, yeah." Suddenly, Sirius looked rattled, but he rallied. "Well, History of Magic is about what has happened to sentient magical beings, with emphasis on humans. This class tries to find out what makes us different, why certain people are magical, and what there was before us. And I guess it has some elements of history, because it might have some stuff on how the early witches and wizards dealt with magic."

Taureaux beamed. "Wonderful. Two points to Gryffindor. Now, we’ll be doing a simple quiz." The class looked alarmed. "Not to worry. It will just give me an idea of how much you know—or think you know. So, here it is." He picked up a stack of papers and wound his way through the aisles, passing them out.

Remus looked at the paper. He turned it over, feeling bemused at the sight of so many things he had never thought about. Then, the bottom of his stomach dropped as he saw the last question: Are werewolves dangerous? Are they evil? Are they examples of Dark magic? Why or why not?

He turned the paper over again and started with the first question.

1. Magic was created by humans who harnessed their own life power in crude wands. True or false? Bonus: Defend your answer.

He stared at the question. How the hell would he know the answer to that? Frowning, he circled false. The questions went on, on subjects he had taken for granted. All too soon, he was at the last question again. He knew what he wanted to say, what he wanted to scream to the world. But why? Did he really have a good answer? Finally, he settled for a compromise.

Yes, werewolves are dangerous. However, they are not evil because they have no control over their nature. Evil is a choice, and no werewolf chooses to be one. However, they are examples of Dark Magic, to a certain degree. They can kill innocent people and cause pain. However, they shouldn’t be blamed for being the instrument of destruction any more than a wand should be blamed for the actions of the wizard it chose. A werewolf has no choice in what he/she does.

Finished, he began to doodle on the paper, drawing grinning Grindylows.

"Please stop and put your quills down," Professor Taureaux’s glance swept the classroom. "Now, I will go through the classroom, row by row, and each person will answer a question. If anyone disagrees, once we are done, we will go back through the class and you can defend your answer. If you feel it is pressing that you defend your answer right away, raise your hand. Petra Burton, begin."

"False."

"True."

"B."

"Plants."

"Muggle."

"False."

Remus mechanically checked the answers as they continued. He thought about raising his hand when he had a different answer marked, but decided against it. The first person in his row answered a question. Then, Natasha blurted out her response. Next, it was James’ turn. Remus looked at the question he had to answer and felt sick.

"Werewolves are undeniably dangerous," he began, forcing himself to speak calmly. "However, they aren’t evil any more than I am." Yeah, that’s true, a small voice in his mind said. "They have no control over their nature. I think they are examples of Dark Magic, to a certain degree, because they kill innocent people and cause pain. However, they shouldn’t be blamed for being the instrument of destruction any more than a wand should be blamed for the actions of the wizard it chose. A werewolf has no choice in what he/she does."

"I am very impressed," Professor Taureaux said, resting his chin on steepled fingers. "That will be," he paused. "Five points to Gryffindor, four points to Hufflepuff, five points to Ravenclaw, and three points to Slytherin. Now, we will discuss the responses. James Potter, begin. Is there any question you were unsure about?"

James looked down at his paper. "Well, number one, for starters. I thought you said magic created magical beings, not the other way around."

"Did I?"

Now James looked confused. "Never mind. I’ll just pass."

Taureaux smiled. "As you wish. Next, Remus Levy, any questions?"

"I had a different answer for the eleventh question."

"Can you read it to the class?"

"What happens to a Muggle-born witch/wizard who is never informed of her/his magic and is never trained? (Hint: What will happen to the magic over time?)"

"Yes. I like that one," Professor Taureaux smiled.

"Well, I had a different answer from what was given."

"And what answer was given?"

"Natasha said the magic would go away as it wasn’t exercised consciously, only being used when the Muggle-born is feeling excessive emotion. I thought it would stay for as long as the Muggle-born lived, and that they might even gain some measure of control over it."

"Good, good. Next?"

Remus leaned back, feeling mildly pissed off. Why couldn’t he answer the question? As the rest of the class asked questions, only to not be answered, the questions became more and more inane. Finally, Sirius, who had passed on his question earlier, raised his hand.

"Sirius Black?" Professor Taureaux looked overjoyed, his face aglow. Remus wondered how he knew Sirius’ dad.

"I have a question," Sirius said loudly.

"Wonderful!"

"When will you answer our questions?"

Rather than getting hacked off, Professor Taureaux’ smile broadened. "Ah, I thought noone would ever ask."

Sirius, who had been leaning back, balanced on the two back legs of his chair, nearly fell over in shock.

"Most of the questions on the test didn’t have one true answer. They were to make you think. All of your answers were quite intelligent, and I let it continue as long as I can for it produces new ideas. And never be afraid to ask me questions like the one Sirius just posed. Remember that there are no stupid questions."

"Only stupid people say that," Sirius said.

Simultaneously, James said, "Only stupid people asking them."

They glared at each other across Remus. He reached for his wand, and the grimaces on their faces vanished instantly. He couldn’t stop a small smirk at their looks of alarm.

For the rest of class, they sat in a large circle, tossing out ideas, which a modified QuickQuotes Quill took down verbatim.

"Very, very good," Taureaux praised them at the end of class. "I look forward to meeting you again soon, and for those of you who are in my House, there will be a House meeting tonight. Spread the word."

* * * * *

"How was your Arithmancy class?"

"A load of crap. I thought it would be better than Divination, but I have no head for numbers."

"Well, anyone you know in that class?"

"Just Pettigrew, you know him."

"How is he at it? He’s in my Muggle Studies class, and he’s a bit of a dunce."

"He’s actually quite good at it. He seems to be a math wiz."

"A math wizard?"

Lily grinned to herself. Sometimes she forgot that there were some magically oriented Muggle phrases that people in the wizarding world wouldn’t know. "No; it means someone who’s really good at math. One of my cousins says it all the time."

"Oh." Danielle still looked puzzled, but she didn’t say anything else about it. "Speaking of cousins," she said brightly, "my cousin Barty’s trying out for Quidditch."

"Barty?"

"Yeah; Barty Crouch’s son."

"Barty Crouch?! I didn’t know he was your uncle."

"Father’s sister’s husband," Ellie shrugged.

"Well, he isn’t a Gryffindor, is he?"

"No; Slytherin."

"Ew!"

"Well Uncle Barty’s really ambitious."

"Yeah, but why did he marry a Muggle-born?"

"He doesn’t hate Muggle-borns the way You-Know-Who does. Not all Slytherins are like that."

"Just most?"

"Right. I mean, take Aeneas Prewett. He’s really nice, and he’s in Slytherin."

"He’s going out with Alix Ivanovich, isn’t he?"

"No, they broke up. Now he’s with Petra Burton."

"Slytherin-Hufflepuff?" Lily shook her head. "It’ll never work out."

"Gossiping in dark corners," Harold slipped up behind them.

Lily smiled in welcome. "Yeah."

Danielle slipped away discreetly. They weren’t that bad to be around usually, but she had a feeling Lily had been beating herself over the head about ignoring Harold lately, and she didn’t want to witness an enthusiastic reunion.

"Well, we have double potions next, right?"

"Luckily; I don’t think I could take any more than a few minutes in, say, Herbology."

"She’s not that bad, once you get to know her."

"Who, Tanspere?"

"Yeah."

"Not that bad? You’re right, actually," Lily said thoughtfully. "She’s worse."

"She’s suffered a lot, and she blames a lot of people for her suffering."

"Like what?"

"Well, her dad was killed by Grindewald."

Lily gasped. "Oh, that’s horrible."

"Isn’t it? It was because his wife was Muggle-born, and Jewish as well."

"So, shouldn’t she hate Dark Wizards?"

"She does, but she hated Muggle-borns just as much."

"Her own mother was one!"

Harold looked at her seriously. "She ran away with a Muggle when Professor Tanspere was fairly young, and that gave Professor Tanspere a bad idea of anything even remotely Muggle."

Lily fell silent. There was no need to ask how Harold knew all this; he seemed to make it his business to know everything he could about everyone, in the hope that he could make things better for them. She decided to change the topic.

"Harold, I have to say I’m sorry."

"What for?" He looked at her innocently, and she realized that he looked quite different from James. His eyes were duller, his face was rounder, his hair was more lank stop it, she told herself fiercely. There’s nothing between you and James; there never was and there never will be.

"I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you in ages."

"Hardly ages; just a week. But it’s OK. You’re your own person."

Lily wanted to scream at him, the words melding into a hysterical jumble in her mind. It’s not OK. You should be mad. Why can’t you take something instead of constantly giving me stuff? Why can’t you blame me for something? Why can’t you ever get mad, yell, not forgive, not forget?

But what she said was ten times worse. "Well, there’s something else."

"Yeah?" He looked at her cheerfully. She knew he never paid attention to gossip, and he probably wouldn’t have heard about "the potion incident" from yesterday; or at least, he wouldn’t have believed it.

"I can’t go out with you any more."

He stopped, and she did the same, feeling awful. "You can’t?" His voice was so quiet. Now he’ll get mad, she thought to herself. Now he’ll blow up, he’ll let all the stuff he has bottled up come loose. He’ll never forgive me; there’s no going back.

Instead, when he spoke again, his voice was still quiet; still placing no blame on her. "May I ask why?"

She wanted to cry out, to say she didn’t mean it, that she was happy with him, but those words didn’t come. "I don’t know," she whispered helplessly.

"Was it something I did? Was it my fault? If so, I’m sorry."

No, don’t say that; anything but that. And now the torrent came loose, words flowing from her mouth like crazy white rapids, shattering on rocks and going around them, foaming, they spilled out, draining her. Very little was coherent, even less was what she wanted him to hear. "I just can’t take it. You’re too nice! You’re too forgiving, too kind, you never say a harsh word to anyone, you never lie, you never cheat, you never laugh at misery. You never blame me, only yourself. It isn’t sane. It’s impossible for anyone to be as good as you are, day after day. I always feel like I’m suffocating around you; I can’t be myself, or I feel horrible and mean. And I don’t love you, not the way I should." It had been said; the deed had been done. In her agitation, she had carved little crescents in her palm with her nails, and she vaguely noticed the pain. But Harold had noticed too. "Look, you’re bleeding." He took her unresisting hand. "That must hurt; we’ll go see Madam Pomfrey about it."

She was too tired to protest that this was just what she couldn’t stand. Why did he say that? He wasn’t, couldn’t be, human. Noone else would so calmly accept the news and continue on, going so far as to make sure she wasn’t hurt. Into her numb brain, a tendril of thought crept. Perhaps he didn’t love her; maybe he had wanted to break up with her, but had feared being cruel to her.

"Do you love me?" she asked.

* * * * *

"Sit, Xavier. And tell me, how’s the class?" Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled at his favorite scholar. Profesor Taureaux sat up straight in his chair.

"They’re quite good, although James Potter and Sirius Black seem to be at odds."

"Their mutual friend will keep them from doing any more damage."

"That Remus Levy, he is the werewolf?"

"Yes."

"But he speaks so calmly of his affliction," Professor Taureaux marveled. "Either the boy is comfortable with his troubles, or he will play everyone false."

"Explain yourself, Xavier." Dumbledore watched him intently. Xavier Taureaux was known to be an excellent judge of character, and an avid reader of the stories of Hercule Poirot.

"He either has much support from caring friends, or he has grown so callous he is skilled at playing the part of someone who doesn’t care for indeed, he doesn’t. In the one case, he will be a valuable tool; in the other, a danger to the Cause."

"Most intriguing," Dumbledore found himself slipping into the same manner of speech as Xavier whenever they spoke.

"It is the little pink cells. Never will they play me false, but that is only true for us Frenchmen."

Dumbeldore smiled. "Otherwise, how is the class?"

"They are bright. That Natasha Ivanovich seems frightened, but with a sister like she has, who can blame her?"

"That is one of the students I wish to speak to you about. Alixandra Ivanovich and Severus Snape are the ringleaders of the older members of your House. If they can be converted, the rest will follow."

"How about the boy, Aeneas?"

"He doesn’t have the qualities necessary for a leader."

"He is a Slytherin."

"I am aware of that."

"He can lead."

"Not all Slytherins are cunning and ambitious all the time. Just as not all Gryffindors are daring and chivalrous all the time."

"Yet you have placed mostly Gryffindors in my class?"

"Not all are the children of Gryffindors."

"It does not matter whose children they are," Xavier said, sounding annoyed.

"Quite true." Dumbledore permitted himself a small smile.

"I trust you speak of Sirius Black?" he said shrewdly.

"Do not give him an advantage simply because he is Hugin’s son," Dumbledore said.

"Would I do that?"

"For most, no. For a member of the Black family, yes."

"Perhaps."

"There are two more students I wish to place in that class."

"Not Gryffindors?"

"I’m afraid so." Once again, Dumbledore bit back a smile. Taureaux was fiercely loyal to his house, although not at the expense of other students. However, the Slytherin-Gryffindor animosity was there, though usually veiled. It was part of why Xavier worked so hard, feeling that he had to impress a Gryffindor Headmaster. The other reason was ambition. It was Xavier’s dream to bring down the Dark Wizard who had so polluted the name of his House.

"Who?"

"Lily Evans and Peter Pettigrew."

"The Evans girl is bright, but Pettigrew? Surely you jest? I do not see it in him."

"Even he can be of use to the Cause."

Xavier nodded acquiescence. "Stranger things have happened." He pivoted and walked to the door, before Dumbledore called to him.

* * * * *

"So, can we go watch the Quidditch tryouts?"

"You really like that kid, don’t you?"

Ellie shrugged. "I feel sorry for him; you will too."

"Why?"

"Uncle Barty’s never home, and Aunt Meghan well, she isn’t there mentally."

"What does that mean?"

"She was a Ravenclaw, and she still hasn’t gotten over her fascinations with books. She hides in them because she can’t handle reality, but life’s tough for Barty between the two of them."

"I guess," Lily said doubtfully. "But he’s still a Slytherin."

"He’s only a Second Year!"

"Is he any good at Qudditch?"

"He’s really good."

"Can he beat us?"

"Probably not."

"Well, good."

* * * * *

"Gryffindor’s Quidditch Tryouts are tomorrow," Peter squeaked excitedly as he entered the room. Then, his face fell as he saw James and Sirius were pointedly not looking at each other when they heard the news.

"Are they?" Remus sounded genuinely interested.

Immediately, Peter brightened. "Yeah, they are," he said enthusiastically.

"Well, there should be some openings on the team, seeing as one of the Chasers and one of the Beaters have each sworn that they won’t play if the other is playing."

Ignoring Remus’ comment, except for a faint flush on their cheeks, James and Sirius stared fixedly in opposite directions for a moment, then speaking in unison. "Will you be trying out, Moony?" Sirius turned his head just enough to include Remus in his peripheral vision, but not enough to see James, just as James did the same. They caught each other’s glances and hurriedly looked the other way again.

"Nah. Too much trouble, especially at the full moon. I’m so tired I can barely walk; Quidditch would be out of the question."

"Our next Hogsmeade weekend is only a fortnight away," James said thoughtfully. "We should probably go ask Rae if there’s anything she wants. We don’t know when we’ll have a chance again."

"Just two weeks?" Sirius spoke before he could remember that he didn’t know James.

"Oh, so you can hear him," Remus exclaimed with mock amazement.

"Yet he was deaf when I wanted him to open the window," James remarked acidly.

Sirius glowered, and Remus wished that he still had all those spells on them. Unfortunately, they needed access to magic for their afternoon classes.

"Let’s go see Rae," he jumped up. Peter nodded vigorously, obviously glad that someone was taking charge, until he remembered just where Rae lived.

"It’s getting dark," his voice cracked and soared. Remus felt a rush of pity for Peter. His voice had been cracking for years now, and yet it stubbornly refused to break completely. It was probably the only stubborn thing about Peter.

"We can take the Invisibility Cloak and the map," Remus said.

James looked like he wanted to disagree with the notion of Sirius using his Invisibility Cloak, but he remained silent. Sirius obviously resented having James anywhere near the Maurader’s Map right now, as it was his brainchild, but he too didn’t disagree outright.

"Rae won’t lack food just because you two are being gits about apologizing," he added sternly.

"We’re not," they protested, James’ tenor mixing with Sirius’ deeper voice.

"Of course not. Now, will you get out the stuff, or do I have to do it for you?"

Sirius complied wordlessly, as if to prove that he was more mature that James, who grumbled sullenly as he pulled the duffel bag off the bedpost and muttered the opening spell. Remus was surprised at that; James rarely closed it magically.

Sirius used the opening spell for the map, but that was no surprise.

"Well, let’s go," he said as he pulled out the almost-liquid length of cloth.

They tiptoed down the stairs and out the door of the Common Room, down the hallways, towards the lantern near the Transfiguration classroom. Glancing at the map, Remus saw that it was almost completely empty. Now they were at the lantern. The bubble in front of their dots on the map said "Dissipattus," and once Sirius said it, the lantern flickered briefly, then everything returned to normal. Or so it seemed. They would have walked confidently onto the square of stone directly in front of the lantern, had Peter not given a shriek of fright and a small jump at precisely the wrong moment. So, instead of a very dignified exit from Hogwarts, they tripped, stumbled, tumbled, and rolled their way into the passage and down, down, under the Forbidden Forest, finally coming to a rest at the lowest point of the tunnel. With many winces from Remus, dark mutterings from Sirius, swearing from James, and sniffling on Peter’s part, they got up.

"What was that about?" James asked.

"Sorry, sorry," Peter trembled with nervousness. "I thought I saw a Grim for a second," Peter stuttered.

"Where the hell was there room for a Grim?" Sirius exploded, his voice echoing in the dark tunnel.

"Lumos," Remus said, and he surveyed the group by the light. Peter was sniveling, as he sat on the cold, damp stone; Sirius was bent double, rubbing his elbow; James was studying his Invisibility Cloak, inspecting it for damage, peering through miraculously unbroken glasses.

Remus was quite sore, having received many elbows and knees in his stomach, head and having banged his knees and elbows on the tunnel walls. So, he said so.

"You didn’t get a knee in the balls," Sirius growled. Even James winced in sympathy.

"Well, we’re almost at the lift. We can go to Rae’s and nurse our sprained dignities."

"I can see it now," James said maliciously. "Ickle Sirius goes to Rae and asks if she can Heal him where it hurts."

Sirius glared, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he stalked stiffly down the tunnel.

"Wrong way, Padfoot," James snickered.

His glaring increased tenfold, Sirius turned and walked in the other direction.

In a short time, they reached the tunnel’s end, where there was a thick metallic plate and a long shaft overhead. They piled on, and Sirius said "Up sesame. Sesame bagel with lots of cream cheese, that is." They had learned long ago that Rae had a very strange, strongly food-oriented sense of humor.

Accordingly, the plate rose, and Peter whimpered, clutching at his woolen cloak. Remus wondered if this would be the one time when the ground overhead wouldn’t part, and if they would be squashed flat, but then there was a grinding noise and they were outside in the cold night air. Straight ahead was a very big tree, of no specific type. It was as broad as a dogwood, as dark green as a pine, with dark red bark, and long trailing willow-like ropes of leaves. In short, it was obviously magical.

They went straight for it, then pressed a small button on the lowest branch. A modest curtain of willow pulled aside and revealed a large door in the trunk, which creaked open. Peter scrambled in. "Ladies first," Sirius muttered, obviously still sore about their fall.

Once inside the large, well-lighted room, they slipped off their cloaks and sat down on the chairs scattered around the room. Restless, Remus jumped up again, and he wandered around the room, picking up the ceramic pieces on the mantle over the fireplace. They had asked, once, how she could have a fireplace inside a tree, and she had simply grinned and replied, "Asked the Dryad."

That summed up Rae’s personality pretty well, in Remus’ opinion. He mused about how decidedly odd she was as he looked around. She had redecorated again. There were wands hung up all over the place, in exotic designs and woods. Last time they had visited, there had been knives and swords on every wall of the house; the time before, all free space had been covered in pots and sculptures drenched with crimson and scarlet, creating an effect similar to a permanent sunset or fire.

When they first met, she had briefly related the story of her life: a Hogwarts graduate who had come to live here after becoming bored with civilization. She was a wand-maker, although her wands were prized as works of art as much as for their functionality. However, she was hardly about to put Ollivander’s out of business. She also dabbled in all other forms of art, and her doormat read: "Proud to have a goal of infinite happiness."

Very strange.

Then, there was a knock on the door.

Peter yelped and hid behind his chair. Remus sympathized; they were in a tree in the Forbidden Forest, it was nighttime, and the person who normally lived here never knocked.

"Open up in there," came a gruff voice.

Remus readied himself to creep forward stealthily as he hefted the pot in his hand. He was sure that Rae wouldn’t begrudge him one broken pot if they got rid of an intruder. As he steeled himself, Sirius coolly walked to the door and flung it open.

"Rae, where—," the figure blinked and swayed. "You’re not Rae," it said, pointing an accusing finger. It was short, and due to the amount of clothing it had on, almost as wide as it was tall. As if that wasn’t enough, it was wearing a pillowcase over the rest of its outfit.

"You’re a House Elf," Sirius replied, with equal surprise.

"Solly’s the name, drinking’s my game. And that’s Mr. House Elf to you."

"What are you doing here?" James pushed past Sirius to lean against the other side of the door.

"Come to see Rae about getting this damn potion off." Solly, who was apparently male under all the clothing, swayed again.

"You’re really drunk, you know that, don’t you?"

"Damn right I do," the House Elf glared.

"So, you don’t do any of the "fetch me food, slave" stuff?" James asked the question wistfully.

"Nah. But, I do the ‘screw you, master’ stuff right before I grab you around the neck and slit your stinkin’ throat," Solly said threateningly. Or, as threateningly as was possible from a figure that barely reached three feet.

"What potion do you want to get rid of?" Remus asked, trying to make polite conversation.

"The damn Transfiguration shit and the beer."

"Beer isn’t that strong."

"You wanna know how bloody low a bloody House Elf’s alcohol tolerance is?"

Remus resisted the urge to wave a hand in front of his face as Solly leaned forward. Does he ever take a shower, he wondered. And just how does he know Rae?

"There it is," Solly snapped his fingers, and a small bottle came flying, the stopper loosened enough for the creature to pull it out and sniff the contents.

"Neat trick," James said, obviously impressed.

"Thanks."

Before anyone else in the room could make a move, the squat House Elf had pushed back the stopper, tipped his head back, and swallowed the bottle.

"You swallowed the bottle," Peter said from behind his chair, sounding aghast.

"Don’t you?" As he spoke, the House Elf lengthened to about twice his previous height. Remus considered chucking the pot that he was still clutching, but some instinct warned him not to. "I find the bottle improves the taste," as he said those words, the former House Elf chuckled, though somewhat dryly. He had a noticeable New York accent.

"That bad, eh," Remus said. He could sympathize; the drinks Madam Pomfrey gave him to make him feel "much better" left him gagging and nauseous.

Just then, the door banged open and a large mountain lion walked in, all powerful muscle and feline grace. Except most mountain lions didn’t put flowers in their fur, and most mountain lions’ coats weren’t ruddy fawn with dark red ticking. And then, they didn’t turn into people.

"Boys, good to see you," Rae said. "And Sol, I didn’t expect you right now!"

Solly gave the rest of the room a dark glare. "The wolfy one keeps trying to throw that pot at me, but he can’t seem to work up the nerve. The ratty one’s about to wet himself. The dog and the stag would be all right, if they wouldn’t keep sending each other promises of death in every look."

Rae smiled as James, Sirius and Remus gaped and Peter tried desperately to look brave.

"Sol has some form of Empathy, though he has a poltergeist’s sense of humor. But, sit down. Can I get you anything to drink? Some cider, perhaps?"

"Already had a drink," Sol said.

"You didn’t swallow the bottle again, did you?" Rae asked.

"Maybe," he admitted, looking slightly guilty.

"They don’t grow on bushes, you know," she chided disapprovingly.

He snapped his fingers again. "Now they do." In the middle of the room was a bush covered with glass bottles of all sizes.

"It’d be more useful without all those thorns of broken glass," Sirius pointed out helpfully.

"That’s evolution for you," Sol shrugged.

"And it’d help if they were a little lower down," James added as the bush become a tree that shot up. Luckily, Rae had a very tall ceiling.

"And the world would be a better place without your meddling in things that could have serious repercussions," Rae said firmly as she tapped her wand against the trunk. "Now, what news?"

Sol gave a meaningful glance at the boys.

"They can hear," she replied.

"Fine," he said dubiously. "Word on the street is that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—,"

"Say the name," Rae interrupted.

"That Voldemort," he stressed the word, "is getting stronger. There’s fear everywhere. Creatures from Knockturn are getting comfortable in Diagon, and some of the goblins are threatening to strike. Madam Malkin’s was frequented by hags earlier in the week. Most think that Dumbledore should get his arse out of the school and help out in the real world."

"They don’t understand the work he does here," Rae said in a low voice.

"I’m not the one who needs telling." He cast her a sidelong look. "And word in the family is that you should leave your tree, marry a nice wizard, and settle down with a brood of bairns to wipe noses for."

"I don’t want to hear it," she hissed, looking very much like her Animagus form as she drew back her lips. For a second, her ears seemed to go back against her head.

"Whatever you say. There’s suspicion everywhere, and a lot of the families are talking of moving away."

"All talk," Rae dismissed his words with a wave of her hand, which produced bright red sparks.

"The Weasley clan, the ones with the red hair, is mired pretty deep with Dumbledore, and I hear tell that the youngest boy, Arthur, has fallen in disfavor for being so strongly anti-You-Know-Who."

"Say the name," Rae repeated.

He continued as if he hadn’t heard. "The Ministry is advocating compromise, and they say," he affected the voice of a Ministry spokesman, "In our time of trouble, it is important that we do not act with too much force, for an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind." He shook his head. "They’re saying the right thing for the wrong reasons."

There was another knock on the door. "Come in," Rae called, motioning frantically to the boys to get under the Invisibility Cloak. A silver head came in, followed by the rest of Dumbledore.

"Hello, Rae. ‘Lo, Sol."

"Hello, Albus," they chorused.

"Are you still masquerading as a House Elf?" Dumbledore twinkled at Sol.

"Perverse tastes," he shrugged. "Life as a House Elf at Hogwarts is interesting, if not enjoyable. Anywhere else, it would be pure hell." He paused. " Not that hell can’t be interesting too, but the horror generally overrides the novelty."

"That’s all very well. Now, would you care to allow my students out from behind their cloak? They look a bit cramped."

Shamefaced, Remus crawled out, closely followed by the others.

"I like to see a healthy curiosity on the parts of my students," he said, smiling. "I just hope it will manifest itself in less dangerous ways in the future." They nodded. "For this time, I won’t take off any points. I believe it would be patently unfair to penalize you for doing what those your age do best, when you have done it so well." Rae pulled an amber liquid out from a shelf and looked at Dumbledore questioningly. "Now, I wouldn’t say no to some of your cider, Rae, but that’s for later. For now, Sol, carry on with your report."

"There’s a schism within the Ministry. A faction, led by Bartemius Crouch, is in favor of violence. Their basic philosophy is: "Let’s kill the bastards before they kill us, and if a few innocents are killed in the process, we’re sure they’ll understand. If they don’t, tough for them. The opposing side takes the view: ‘Killing is bad. Let’s all hold hands and sit in a circle, here in our sheltered buildings, and talk about what we should do, while people die outside.’ Crouch’s circle calls the other side Dark Supporters, while the other circle, currently led by Bagman, says that Crouch wants to sink to the same level as the Death Eaters. In all this, you’re the only voice of reason," he looked directly at Dumbledore, who stared gravely back.

"I see. Boys, I think it is time for you to sleep, so why don’t you return to the castle?" Dumbledore sighed deeply, his attention focused on Sol once more. "As useful as it is to have eyes and ears in so many places, keeping tabs on all of them is quite difficult. I’m glad you decided to return today."

Silently, they filed out, Peter still trembling from the shock of being discovered. As they raced back to the shaft in the bitingly chilly night air, Remus wondered about everything he had heard.

Dumbledore had an extensive network of spies. The Ministry was fighting and no-one really knew how to defeat You-Know-Who. People were dying. And rarely was a word said of this at Hogwarts.

What else did they not know?