Elijah's Cup

-----------1941-----------

Peter

Lichen, deep green and reliable. Checking the map once more, he surveyed the forest a last time.

The darkness that had fallen upon them, on an otherwise sunny day, made the decision for him. "This way."

"East?"

"I don't like the looks of that," he admitted.

Edmund's lip caught between two teeth. "Me either."

"We're closest to the eastern edge. From there we can cut back south to the Mansion, or circle farther north."

Edmund took the map. "Do you think they'll want to go on?"

Laughter trailed like sunshine behind them. Peter turned his eyes from the shadows lurking ahead, checking on his sisters. "We'll see."

He didn't know how, but the forest ahead was wrong. Were there dryads here, they would be screaming warnings to turn away. He could feel it.

"Peter?" Susan's hand on his arm. "Why are we turning?" Of course Lucy and Susan noticed the minute their bearing changed. Their wood-skills were honed by years of travel with nothing but the earth and sky to guide them.

"I want to avoid that section of the wood," he told her. There is a darkness there too much like -

"It's creepy," Lucy put in, brown eyes wide.

"We're not far from the eastern edge. And then we can stop, eat, and decide what we want to do."

Susan nodded slowly, blue eyes never leaving his. "All right, then."

The trust there would never stop humbling him.

"Hey! You coming?" Edmund shouted back. Shorter legs or not, he was still faster than them. Sometimes.

"Go on," he urged his sisters, falling back as rearguard. The danger lay behind them now, and he wanted Edmund up ahead.

Sunlight bathed them all, as the trees became sparse. They emerged into a bright meadow, and Peter held back a relieved sigh. You should know well enough that the sun was never enough to banish evil for good. They had been attacked in broad daylight by the Witch, after all. Her grip on the land so strong, that she defied the traditions of every nightmare to walk in day.

But for now, his instincts said they had not attracted the sight of whatever lived in the wood. And he had a feeling that those trees were rife with creatures of evil intent. But this is Britain! What could possibly be here?

Nothing. Or at least, nothing that should spur raw instinct to life. But he had been King too long to ignore any warnings he might receive, intangible or not.

The basket he had asked Susan to look after was opened, yielding sandwiches, cookies and fruit. They sprawled in the grass, sunning themselves like cats as they ate.

"That's one thing in her favor," Edmund managed through a mouthful of bread and cheese. "The Macready sure can cook."

Lucy's head tilted, considering. "Are sandwiches cooking?"

Edmund was easy to please, though. Time enough in Narnia would cure anything. He'd been a bit of a fussy eater when they were younger, as had Susan, but that had vanished sometime after the Battle of Beruna. Or maybe even before.

It must be their return to childhood that was dredging up all these memories. He chewed absently on a long piece of grass. Seeing each other the way they had been when they entered Narnia somehow made all his memories clearer. And he hadn't liked how the shadows falling over his little brother's face so easily recalled the bruises he'd gathered at the Witch's hands -

Pay attention! This place might look safe, but that was no guarantee. He wouldn't be caught off-guard. But I have no weapons, he realized. Rhindon was lost to him now - Narnia kept what it wrought. And he missed its sure, razored weight in his hand.

Still, they were none of them completely defenseless.

"Peter!"

Susan was looking at him oddly. "Were you asleep?"

"No," he smiled, relief relaxing his limbs. They were fine. "You just startled me, is all."

"Time to get a move on," Edmund was standing over him, shading his face from the sun.

Peter folded his arms under his head. "You're mighty cheerful for one who fell in a mud puddle, Ed."

Edmund just smirked right back at him. "And you're mighty confident for one who's lying on his back in a flower patch, Peter."

He grinned. "M'comfortable."

Edmund flopped down at his side. "So, are we going to go on, or what?"

"Do you all want to?" He looked to the others. Susan had relaxed considerably, and Lucy seemed energetic as ever. Edmund wasn't showing any signs of wanting to stop, either. And we do have to travel back, as well. Nods and smiles decided it. "All right then."

-----------------

Susan

What is that?

Whatever it was, it wasn't Narnian.

And she didn't have words for how much that hurt. How her heart had leapt to the hope that they had fallen through an invisible door in the meadow. Fallen back home.

But the lake was too like the lochs she had seen in travel brochures. Too much of Earth.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing? Peter? Su? Lu?"

"How did a castle like that get all the way out here without anyone noticing?"

Lucy looked up from a piece of crumpled paper. "It's not on your map, Peter."

Her older brother's eyes never left the massive construction. "That's because it wasn't marked on the map I copied that from, Lu."

"We should go." She ignored the surprise on her siblings' faces. "If it wasn't on the map, then people don't want anyone to know they're here. Which means they're doing something they shouldn't, or they want to be left alone. Let's go."

It was Peter who turned to her, as ever. "Su, it's likely nothing of the sort. The only maps the Professor had were very old."

"Older than that? Castles just don't appear out of thin air, Peter!"

"I still think we should check it out."

"It's not Narnia, if that's what you're looking for." She didn't know why she felt she had to say the harsh words. But dammit, it wasn't home! And there was no magic in the real world. She should know. She'd looked. "It's not."

But she'd surprised them all. "I know it's not," Peter said carefully. He stepped forward as if he were afraid that she would break if he moved too quickly. "But whatever it is, it's not like anything we've ever seen before. Don't you think we should at least get a better look? We can turn back later -"

"You always say that," she whispered, heat building behind her eyes. The wind was soothing, cool. "But you never do."

"And look at what we've found, and done, and seen, because of it." Their voices were too low for the younger ones to hear, now, and she couldn't stand their concerned stares any longer.

"And look at where we've gotten ourselves! Hurt, almost killed -" His face paled, and she felt a moment of regret. The Battle of Beruna Ford was the one thing that had the power to wake him, shivering with fear-sweat, in the depths of the night. "In the middle of a war, again, only it's the same war - cut off from home - what if we never get back, Peter? What if we never get back!" She buried her face against his shoulder, felt his arms encircle her.

Soft murmured words, then, of understood pain and loss. She was vaguely aware of Lucy and Edmund moving in, of familiar warm bodies pressed against her as she sobbed, offering unquestioning understanding. Pain shared is pain lessened. But this ache defied the old maxim, using her tears to settle deeply into her heart, so far down that she knew, she knew, she'd never get it out. And the tears had not washed it away; they had let it in.

---------1993----------

Lucy

"Lu? You alright?"

Peter. Leaning in the doorway to her room, to bid her goodnight.

She managed a smile for him. "Fine. Just - thinking back. You remember the first time we saw Hogwarts?"

He stilled.

She winced. I'm sorry, Peter. "I'm sorry."

"No," he said quietly. "No, I remember."

And it hurts. Him, more than her or Edmund, even. He'd never told them what exactly had passed between Susan and him before her sister had begun to cry. Lucy sighed - but she'd opened this can of worms, now, and she couldn't stop until it was done. "Susan was so upset."

"Yes, she was."

"She thought we were trying to replace Narnia."

He sat on the edge of her bed, fingers running over the soft covers. "What you have to understand about Susan, Lu, is that of us all, she never. . . got past Narnia, if that makes any sense. She couldn't let go of the loss. Being told she was too old to come back - it shattered her."

"But why?" She hoped he couldn't hear the raw plea in her voice. In the face of half a century of life unchanged, anyone would say that the six year difference between them was nothing. But Peter would always her older brother. And she still wanted him to be able to explain it to her, to make the confusion go away. Edmund teased her, and the two of them got into awful scrapes together, but Peter was always there to make it right.

"She was never able to believe deeply enough," was the answer he gave her.

What? She frowned. What did he mean?

"Oh, Susan was able to believe in anything, once it proved itself to her." Peter sighed. "But she wasn't able to believe on her own, without that proof. She needed us there, to believe enough for her as well. By itself, it was never good enough, because she could reason it away. Narnia never had the power to hold her."

He found a smile somewhere, gave it to her. "I will admit," he said softly, "for a long time, your faith buoyed me as well."

She stared. Peter was her brother, and no matter that she knew he had faults, he was still her hero. It was everything that made him her big brother that made him such a wonderful King. But - he had needed her?

"I needed time to find my faith for myself," he admitted quietly. "And your belief was always so absolute. I leant on it, sometimes, when I couldn't find my feet. Being told I could never go back was the hardest thing I ever had to hear."

She understood. "I'm glad I could help you, Peter." She touched his hand. "Even if I never knew."

"But why such heavy thoughts, tonight?"

Lips pursed, and she hiked a brow at him. "The conversation with Dumbledore."

Her brother scowled. "So you saw it as well."

"There's quite a lot he's not telling us," she confirmed, gaze straying to the many windows of this tower. And he wasn't very subtle about it. "I wonder how much of it we'll suffer for not knowing."

"Such a grim outlook," he teased.

"I take it you saw this as well, then?" she tossed a copy of the Wizarding paper, The Daily Prophet, at him.

"Ah, yes." He glanced at the feature article.

BLACK STILL AT LARGE

She shook her finger at the page. "And there's more we're not being told about this as well. I heard McGonagall talking to Lupin about it, though he really didn't seem to want to discuss it. But whatever else this Black did, why would he come here?"

Peter frowned at her. "Here?"

She resettled the pillows behind her. "I was under the impression they thought he might be after the student body."

"Because that makes sense," snorted a new voice.

"Ed. Catch."

Peter tossed the paper to the younger man as he crossed the room. "Came to see what you two were up to. S'a few weeks old," he observed. The bed dipped under the added weight.

"Going after children is the fastest way to marshal your enemy's strongest attack," Peter mused. "Not the smartest thing to do."

"Pisses 'em off, too."

"Edmund!"

He dropped the paper on the bed with an unrepentant smile. "It's true."

She rolled her eyes. "So what can we do about it?"

"About the fact that Albus Dumbledore's even more close-mouthed than he was fifty years ago, if that's even possible, or the fact that the witches and wizards of Hogwarts - students and staff, mind you - think we're no better than babes?"

"Edmund," she growled. "You are not helping."

"Time," Peter overrode them both. "Just a bit of it. To prove that wizards and 'Muggles'," his distaste for the term was obvious, "aren't as different as they all think." She didn't blame him. 'Muggles'? The word didn't mean anything. And she had no liking for labels.

"They don't even think we have brains," Edmund felt constrained to point out. She'd seen that too. Had they thought they were being discreet? Probably. They are just children. "They were looking at us like we're a different species."

"In your case, they'd be right."

Lucy giggled.

Edmund lunged at Peter, who ducked away, and in a moment she was witness to one of their periodic battles, much like the one earlier today that had landed them both in the mud.

"Hey! Where did you learn that?" Edmund cried in surprise, as Peter suddenly closed with him, and in a few efficient moves had the younger man pinned on his stomach.

"Yield?"

"I yield, I yield!"

Lucy waited until they were back on their feet once more.

"That looked like jujutsu," she commented. The same fluid motions, the speed -

"Felt like jujutsu," Edmund groaned, dusting himself off. "Teach me?"

"'Course."

"And me!" No way was she passing up a chance at learning that!

"You had to ask, Lu?" Peter grinned.

"Now that you two are done," she added archly. "Do we have a plan at all?" She kind of hoped so, but -

"Nope," Edmund said cheerfully. "Not in the slightest."

She flopped back onto the bed. "Well, tomorrow, I'm going to help Hagrid with the Care of Magical Creatures classes. Should be interesting."

"How is he?" Edmund asked, suddenly serious.

She knew the reason for the change, and smiled to see it. Edmund's choice to become a counselor for young, troubled children was something that she had rejoiced to see. He's come a long way from the White Witch. And now he can reach out to others, and help. The healing had been slow, but it was solid.

"He's . . . grown." That was the best way to describe it, really. The Hagrid they had met had been an eager first-year student, as yet untouched by the darker sides of life. "He was expelled," she murmured. "In his third year. But neither he nor Dumbledore wants to talk about it." Meaning that it probably had something to do with Tom, on top of being a horrid experience.

Edmund's brows rose. "I'll make some time to talk to him, then."

She perked up. That would be wonderful. "Would you, Edmund? It would mean a lot to him."

"Then how can I refuse?"

She bore the hair-ruffling and smug grin with resigned acceptance.

"Oof!"

"Good reflexes," Peter commented approvingly. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

Lucy plumped the pillow smugly, before replacing it behind her back.

"Doing anything tomorrow?" Peter prompted the man sprawled across the foot of the bed.

Edmund opened one eye lazily. "I'm to meet Madam Pomfrey, the nurse. She wants me to find and speak to several of her students. Some of the Muggle-borns are experiencing a bit of extreme culture shock on top of homesickness. There's also a few special cases she wants me to make time for. One young man who's been effectively orphaned; his parents were tortured to insanity when he was an infant. Another boy, an orphan, who's living with relatives who, from all accounts, should be charged with negligence and locked away. A bunch that I think Dumbledore wants to try to save from falling to Voldemort. Some other cases as well, of a more sensitive nature."

Abuse, then, Lucy thought soberly. The world was rarely a kind place.

"And incidentally, you're both leaving me stuck as the 'Muggle Studies' representative of the day. Ugh. But it sounds like a full day for you both," her oldest brother commented.

And then, comes the -

"I think it's time for bed," Edmund and Lucy chorused, matching Peter word for word.

He grinned. "It's late."

"I know, I know," Edmund groused.

She kissed her brothers goodnight, and they headed for their rooms. Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day, indeed. She wriggled under the covers, pleasantly surprised to find them cool in the early-fall warmth.

Peter paused in the doorway. "Lu. We will get back. Even if it's not until the day we finally leave this world for good. And until then -"

She grinned. "It's just another adventure."

------------------------

Hermione

Oh, she was going to be late, and all because she didn't quite have this whole Time-Turner mess down just yet . . . It was enough to make her want to scream, loudly, into the nearest handy pillow. Unfortunately, she'd have to settle for plowing her way through this crowd of second-years - what were they all doing standing around in the corridor like this? Didn't they realize that they were blocking the hall?

Pushing past a gaping Hufflepuff, Hermione set her eyes on her goal. If she could just get past this last group to the arch, there'd like as not be a clear run to one of the stairwells. She liked Arithmancy, she didn't want to be late -

"Watch it!" snapped a familiar voice.

Draco. Malfoy. Ugh. But he wasn't talking to her.

And then she managed to breach the ring of younger students who were waffling about in confusion. Hermione pulled up short.

"Are you all right?" came an unfamiliar voice. The surprise wasn't that it was adult and male, but that it was actually speaking kindly to Malfoy. Oh, no. It's one of the Muggles. And no students here past the third year. Fred, George, I'm going to have a talk with you about this. So much for your 'Muggle Protection Plan'.

"My stuff isn't. Why don't you watch where you're going, Mudblood?"

Hermione clenched her teeth. You git, Malfoy!

The students went silent. The blond man straightened, holding the last of Draco's belongings. Sharp blue eyes raked the boy over.

"So," he said quietly. "You are Lucius Malfoy's son."

Draco was surprised. So was everyone else. Hermione's eyes narrowed. Who are these people, really? How does he know -

"What's it to you?" Malfoy actually sounded a bit unsettled. Oh, she was definitely going to be late to class - but she wouldn't miss this for the world!

The blond man raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, and handed Malfoy's books to him. "I've met your father."

Hermione almost snickered. And he obviously wasn't thrilled by the experience.

"I can't say I think he'd be pleased to see the way his son comports himself in front of his peers." The Muggle's voice was bland, mild even. But the words weren't. Malfoy, being talked down to by a non-wizard? This was too good to be true!

It didn't take Draco long to recover. "What do you know, Mudblood!"

The blond man's gaze went icy. "I am going to have to ask you not to use that term in my hearing again," he said evenly.

"What are you going to do about it?" Draco pressed, toying with the handle of his wand. But he didn't - quite - meet the man's gaze.

"I'm going to remind you," and the man's voice was very soft, "that I am not a professor at this school, or even another student. And thus there are no limits on the lengths I may take to uphold my honor, or that of my brother and sister. You are from a pureblood family, Draco - surely you understand what that means."

Hermione was intrigued. Is he actually threatening Malfoy?

The man paused, reevaluating the paling boy in front of him. "Despite the fact that you are just a child."

She bit back a laugh. Oh, this is good!

Draco flushed horribly. Harry and Ron will never believe this . . . I had no idea Draco turned so bright red! The fair-skinned boy was fast working past the momentary embarrassment. Malfoy opened his mouth -

"When you write home next, tell your father that Peter Pevensie says hello. I'm certain he'll recognize the name."

The man - Peter - turned his back on the sputtering boy, students rushing out of his way.

Draco's wand came up.

"Look out!" Hermione shrieked. He turned - too late.

"Stupefy!"

Red shot through the air.

Oh, God, he's going to -

And fizzled out of existence.

What?! Where did it - spells just don't disappear!

The hallway froze, everyone searching for the person taken out by Draco's spell. But it hadn't missed, or ricocheted. It had vanished. That's not possible! Everything she had learned about magic in the last two years told her that couldn't happen. It's magic! Energy! It has to go somewhere!

Peter Pevensie was untouched. "Are you quite finished testing my patience, young Malfoy?"

"Draco Malfoy!" The boy froze. "What is going on here?"

"Professor McGonagall," Peter Pevensie greeted her courteously.

"Throwing hexes in the halls!" McGonagall was furious. "And at a -" she cut herself off.

"At a defenseless Muggle?" the man asked with a quiet, and somewhat wicked, smile. "I leave this situation in your hands, Professor. I have no call to demand satisfaction from young Malfoy here. Yet." And he turned on his heel, and left.

McGonagall leveled a thunderous expression on the blond-haired boy. "You," she bit out. "Come with me. I believe the Headmaster will want to see you."

At the explosion of chatter that followed her statement, McGonagall glared impartially about the hall. "All of you, to class. Now!"

Hermione slipped through the scattering of students, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Wait till Harry and Ron hear about this!

-------------------

Draco

"I am very disappointed in you, Draco."

Yeah? Am I supposed to care? Funnily enough, he did. Father might say that Albus Dumbledore was a doddering old fool, and Draco mostly agreed, but there was no denying the man had power. And, for no reason at all, he was kind to Draco. He couldn't understand it.

"I don't know if you understand the amount of trouble you could have gotten into," the Headmaster mused. He was chewing on one of those dumb Mudblood candies. A lemon-drop. Whatever that was.

"He insulted me, Headmaster."

Dumbledore lifted a bushy white brow. "But not before you insulted him."

"He ran into me, knocked me and my stuff all over!"

At that, the Headmaster laughed. Draco blinked. He was laughing? Why was he laughing?

Draco smothered the urge to glower at him. And now, he was missing class, all because of that stupid Mudblood. At least it was only History of Magic. He really didn't need to see Potty, the Weasel, and Granger right now. Not to mention McGonagall. Who was waiting outside the office to escort him back. Great. Just - just great.

"Accidents do happen, Draco." Dumbledore paused, sucking the candy. "Maybe you don't understand, at that."

Huh? Normally he wouldn't let his attention wander in front of the Headmaster, but he'd never been in the man's office before, and there was some interesting stuff here. If he could only get his hand on -

"One hundred points, I think, from Slytherin."

"What?!"

He'd lost points from his house before - for foolishly going after those stupid Gryffindors, but at least he'd gotten the satisfaction of having that dragon sent away. What did that half-giant fool think he was doing, anyway?

But one hundred points! "Headmaster -"

Dumbledore cut him off. "You may believe that we only have rules so that students like you can break them, Draco, but I assure you that is not the case."

He fought back a blush. He knew that. Rules were important. But some were more important than others, especially if the 'others' didn't make sense.

"I asked the students to treat our guests with courtesy. Not for their sake, but for yours. Draco, have you ever heard the term 'Aegis Sanguinis'?"

"Who cares about some stupid Mu-" he caught himself just in time.

Blue eyes narrowed. "It is not a Muggle term. I suggest you look it up." Dumbledore's voice was very calm. Draco took a deep breath. Like Father, before - "In fact, it is considered one of the oldest Wizarding magics known. But it is never invoked. You see, no wizard today has the power."

"That's ridiculous," Draco scoffed.

"Power is not just a thing of raw magic, Draco. I am sure you can understand this; your own Head of Slytherin House is one of the most powerful potions-masters in the world. That does not require the use of a wand, yet it is magic."

He nodded slowly. Snape was the epitome of Slytherin cunning. None could say their Head of House was not formidable, even though he favored potions-making to wand-waving.

"This is a power granted only to a select few, Draco. It is not something you can learn or even be taught. And while it may be one of the oldest known Wizarding magics, it has never been granted to a witch or wizard."

"Perhaps the right wizard hasn't come along yet," Draco sneered. That couldn't be right. A power not granted to wizards? Father was right, the Muggle-lover's brain was addled.

But the Headmaster smiled at him. "You saw for yourself what your spell did - or should I rather say, didn't do to Mr. Pevensie."

"It was a trick of the light." And he would stick to that story, no matter what. "You put protections on them, because they're Mu- Muggles."

"I did not."

Yea, right. And if you believe that, I've got a piece of Azkaban to sell you . . . the bars are so lovely this time of year, and the Dementors only come out at night . . .

"I believe you would be well served by a week of detention with Professor McGonagall as well."

That wasn't so bad. If it weren't for the fact that he'd probably just lost Slytherin the House Cup for the year.

"And I believe you have a free period in your schedule on Thursday afternoons?"

Slated for Quidditch practice right now, but Flint was pushing to move it to Tuesdays, which would really make his life hell since he had Charms on Wednesdays. Mother insisted that hating a class was no reason not to do well in it. He'd pleaded, but when Father agreed, he knew he'd lost. It was his hide next summer if he got any less than perfect marks. Christmas holiday wouldn't be pleasant either. "Yes."

"I'd like you to keep that time free. For the rest of the year."

What the - he can't possibly be serious! "Headmaster?"

"I've decided that you'll be working with Edmund Pevensie during that hour."

"The counselor?" Draco repeated numbly. The Muggle counselor? This is not happening . . . Dumbledore couldn't have devised a better torture if he'd tried. Much as Draco would love to attribute malicious intent to the old man, he knew the decrepit fool was just doing what he thought best. Whatever little that was worth.

And there was nothing he could do about it!

He was a little reassured by the fact that bad as this was, it would be much worse if the man hated him. And the only people Dumbledore actively disliked, rumor had it, were Grindelwald, Vol - the Dark Lord, and Fudge. Though why the Minister of Magic ranked on there at all was a mystery to him. Father despised Fudge, too, but had rejoiced when he'd been elected. 'We have the freedom, finally, with that moron in office,' he'd said.

But there was one thing that was really bothering him. "All year?"

"I am going light on you, Draco." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "You were very lucky, though you do not yet realize it. You only insulted Peter. Should you be so foolish as to do the same to his brother and sister, he would avenge himself to the fullest extent upon you."

"What's he gonna do?" Draco couldn't believe it. The man was a Mudblood, for Slytherin's sake!

"He would take the right of first blood from you. But since you are a child, he would probably not take your life."

-----------------------

Remus

" - tried to hex you?" A concerned woman's voice, as the staff-room door opened.

"Lucius Malfoy's kid?" A man. He didn't recognize either of them, and hidden in this chair, he couldn't see . . . A snicker. "Like father, like son."

"Yes, well -" Despite his calm, the second man sounded vaguely embarrassed. Oh. The Muggles. He hadn't been exactly avoiding them. He was just busy. And the rest of the staff had no need to be more than professionally courteous towards their newest addition. He hadn't yet decided if he was grateful for it.

"One week. Just one!" An exasperated huff. "Some of the Ravenclaw second-years said that you threatened to call him out. You didn't - Peter!"

"I wouldn't have done it, Lu. He's only a child."

The first man snorted. "If he's anything like his father, it's about time someone put the fear of Aslan into him."

Aslan? The word felt comfortably warm in his mind. Strange . . . But pleasant nonetheless.

"Edmund!"

The calm voice broke in. "He is. . . very like his father. But I'm afraid, Ed, that you'll be left with the fallout on this."

The noise of a body throwing itself onto the purple couch. A deep sigh. "Yes, I already heard. Dumbledore wants me to work with him weekly. All year."

"If you need my help -"

"Or mine," the woman added.

"I know." Remus recognized the hard-won maturity in that voice. He felt very awkward. They obviously didn't know he was here - And they think they're alone. Why can't the floor open up and swallow me right now? Though at Hogwarts, it just might happen. But I'm not that lucky.

"Dumbledore wanted me to work with him anyway," the man continued thoughtfully. Cloth rustled against cushions, as they made themselves comfortable. His back was to the room, chair pulled close to the banked fire. "There's a list of high-risk students, compiled by their teachers. Because of his upbringing, his family, his House -"

A noise of feminine disgust. "I don't see what that has to do with anything. A student's House is a reflection only of the most dominant aspect of their personality. It doesn't determine who they are, or what they will be. Because Slytherins are cunning and ambitious doesn't mean they're all doomed to be Death Eaters."

Remus felt his eyes widen. What are these people?

"And it doesn't mean that no one from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw or Gryffindor won't turn to Voldemort," she finished.

He sucked in a breath. That . . . hurt . . .

"They're children," the man named Peter objected.

Edmund's voice was hard. "That means nothing, Peter."

"Ed." The woman, almost whispering. "Don't."

He really shouldn't be hearing this. He shifted uncomfortably - and the chair squeaked. Oh, damn. Sudden silence behind him. Nothing for it.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry, but who -"

Remus grimaced, and assumed a polite expression.

"Remus Lupin?" The woman stood, coming forward to shake his hand. "I'm Lucy Pevensie." She was quite lovely, but he felt awkward. He couldn't remember the last time he had touched another person. Thirteen years . . .

Werewolf.

In the Wizarding world, it was impossible to hide. And even more impossible to find a job.

"Edmund Pevensie." He shook Remus' hand as well. "You're the -"

"Werewolf. Yes."

But Edmund didn't drop his hand like he was contaminated from just breathing the same air. "Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

Oh. Damn. He'd really forgotten how to interact with anyone but students. This was . . . well, he was used to being embarrassed. It happened irritatingly often. "Yes."

The third came forward. "I'm Peter Pevensie. Pleased to meet you." So startlingly different from the last Peter he had known. He couldn't help but look the man over once more, unobtrusively. No, he wasn't reminded of Wormtail at all. But . . . James had had something this man possessed. And Sirius as well, before -

"We've been trying to find you," the woman, Lucy, told him.

"I'm sorry." He was a little befuddled. "Beginning of term is -"

"Hell," Edmund nodded.

Remus smiled, a little. "Close enough."

Lucy grinned brightly back at him. "So far, you're the only one of the staff we haven't managed to corner."

"Lu," Peter laughed. He probably saw the wary look on Lupin's face. The woman was a veterinarian, after all. He had a fair idea what that meant. No thank you! "It's nothing like what you're probably thinking," he assured the other man. Remus found himself reflected in keen blue eyes, but the eldest of the Pevensies seemed to approve of what he saw. What that might be, Remus had no idea.

"Of course." Whatever he was supposed to say to that.

Edmund laughed, settling himself. Remus hesitantly turned his chair, and sat.

"Have you been teaching at Hogwarts long?" Lucy.

He shook his head. "No. This is my first year, in fact. And probably my last."

They were startled. "What? Why?" Edmund asked.

Remus shrugged, fingers probing a weak seam. Stuffing poked out of the chair arm. "The students have a rumor that the Dark Arts position is cursed. It is true that no one individual has held the position for more than a year since the 1950's." It would be amusing, actually, and the Marauders had found it so, if it didn't mean that he would be out on his ear after only a few months.

"Creepy."

"Lucy."

"Well, it is, Peter," Edmund backed her up.

The blond man rolled his eyes. "Whatever it is that's put you two in this mood, I hope it goes away. Quickly."

"You started it," Edmund pointed out.

"How?"

"You picked a fight with a thirteen-year-old."

"I did not!"

Remus stared. "Draco Malfoy?" he managed.

They suddenly remembered their audience. Peter flushed. "Ah, yes. We've met." A mischievous grin was turned on him, and Remus grew immediately wary. The last time I saw a smile like that, Sirius was trying to convince us to dip Filch's cat in peanut butter. The Muggle concoction had been in Zonko's, and James had discovered it.

"I think it's best to warn you now - half the students who were there will probably be clamoring at you on Monday to try to find out what protective spells Dumbledore put on us."

"What did he try to use? Malfoy?" Remus couldn't help but gape. I'd thought the boy was more intelligent than that. 'Pride cometh before a fall' . . .

"Stupefaction curse."

He could think of several counters, easily. But not one that didn't require a wand to use, and could be placed as a shield on another person for an extensive period of time.

"What protections did Dumbledore put on you?" He had a few ideas, but they were esoteric magic and he'd have to look them up to be sure . . .

The three looked at one another for a long moment. "Since you're the first to ask," Peter said quietly. "Nothing."

A few pieces slipped into place. "You're not Muggles, are you?" He was sure of it, didn't need the confirming nods. "But you're not wizards either."

"No," Lucy said softly.

"But I think we should leave it at that for now." Whatever else they might be, they were family. And they followed Peter's lead.

He needed some time to think about this, anyway.

"Professor Lupin?"

"Remus," he said firmly.

Edmund grinned. "Since you're the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, we wanted to ask you something." He gave his siblings a wry look. "I think we might have actually gotten lucky. You seem to be the only member of the faculty that doesn't have a problem talking to us." Ah. Yes, he knew what that felt like.

Edmund handed him a newspaper, and he caught a flash of the headline. BLACK STILL AT LARGE. It was an old article. He stifled a wince. God, Padfoot. He really thought he'd gotten over this. But it appeared it was easier to forget pain than deal with it. Even the anger had drained away, after a time. Leaving him alone, with the hurt. Alone . . . and it hurts so much. Prongs, Wormtail - Padfoot!

"Remus?" Concerned blue eyes. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He brushed it off. "What did you want to know?"

Peter looked to Lucy.

"There's a lot we don't know about the Wizarding world," the auburn-haired woman told him. That wasn't a surprise. Whatever they were, they'd passed as Muggles all their lives. "We want to know exactly who Sirius Black is. Why he's so feared - and not that rubbish about the curse and thirteen people dead. We know there's more to it than that. And why does Dumbledore think he might come here?"

Hard questions. But he'd thought Albus would have answered them. And the Headmaster hadn't. Why not? Whatever the reason, he was left to deal with it.

"Sirius Black," he said softly. The only place to start was at the beginning, he supposed. "He was born in 1959, to Orion and Walburga Black. His family is one of the Darkest pureblood lineages in the Wizarding world. Tojours Pur." He almost sneered it. Took a deep breath. "Always Pure."

If he just kept his voice calm, and told himself he was teaching, he could get through every painful detail. He stared into banked coals. "His parents were followers of Voldemort, and before his death, Black's younger brother Regulus was a Death Eater as well. In all their line, I know of only three Blacks who were ever brave enough to go against their heritage. Alphard Black, Sirius Black's uncle, and his cousin, Andromeda Black Tonks. The world thought that Sirius had as well."

He had to change the subject, only for a moment. "Andromeda's sisters are Bellatrix Lestrange, who is insane," he said frankly. The weak seam gave under his fingers. Nails dug into soft padding. "She is in Azkaban now, but has always been one of the most loyal of Voldemort's followers. And Narcissa Malfoy." He allowed himself a thin smile. "Draco's mother. Andromeda herself married a Muggle, Ted Tonks. As far as I know, she's been happily uninvolved in the Wizarding world for years now.

"Alphard, Andromeda, and Sirius angered their family so much that they were removed from the family tree - but that didn't happen until later. When Sirius came to Hogwarts in 1970, he was sorted into Gryffindor. It surprised a lot of people - his family not least of all, I imagine."

The Blacks had been horrified, and later, disgusted. "That seemed to be just the beginning. When he was sixteen, Black left his home and was disowned. He had become good friends with James Potter, and went to live there for the short time he had left before graduation." Knuckles clenched white on the chair-arm.

"After that, he entered the Aurors - something akin to the Muggle police force. During this time, Voldemort was on the rise." And there were killings upon killings. We thought our world was at an end. "It was a Dark time." And there was little more he could say about that. Oh, but he wanted to be done with this!

"To oppose Voldemort, certain members of the Wizarding world formed the Order of the Phoenix, of which Black was a member. It came to the attention of the Order, and Voldemort, that a prophecy had been made predicting Voldemort's downfall."

He shook his head, eyes on smoldering heat. "I've never put much faith in divination. But apparently Voldemort did. I never heard the prophecy, though Dumbledore probably has. But whatever it said led Voldemort to believe that a child born near the end of July in 1980, to parents who had thrice defied him, would bring about his ultimate destruction."

He risked a glance up. Lucy's face was pale, and Edmund's eyes glittered. Peter's face was set. He looked back to the hearth. "There were two boys who fit the description. Neville Longbottom, and Harry Potter."

Just a moment, to collect himself. Just a moment.

"Ah." Edmund glanced at his brother, some understanding passing between them. Peter had settled an arm around Lucy's shoulders, gathering her close. His other hand was resting on Edmund's shoulder.

"I take it you know the fates of the Longbottoms and the Potters," he said softly. A coal sputtered to blackness at his foot.

"Dumbledore wants me to speak with Harry and Neville, yes," Edmund answered.

"Yes. Well. There's more, unfortunately." And now came the hardest part. "The Potters knew that Voldemort was after their son. So they enacted an ancient enchantment, the Fidelius Charm. In essence, it hides a piece of information within the soul of someone chosen as Secret-Keeper. Unless the Secret-Keeper chooses to reveal that information, there is no way for it to be discovered.

"Sirius Black was the Potter's Secret-Keeper. And he gave them over to Voldemort." His eyes slipped closed, and he heard a harsh gasp from the couch. Sirius! God, how could you! James, Lily, Peter - you destroyed everything and everyone who ever loved you. Including me.

"He was captured, after the incident referred to in that article." He couldn't stand to see the picture. "Black was locked in Azkaban for twelve years, until he became the first individual to ever escape, this summer. McGonagall and Dumbledore think that he's after Harry Potter."

A new pain, when he'd thought he couldn't feel any more. Remus somehow managed a shrug. "Being near Dementors too long robs witches and wizards of their power, and their sanity. He's definitely unbalanced. There were reports from the prison guards that he would mutter in his sleep 'He's at Hogwarts'. Who else could he be referring to?"

There was no response from the three seated across from him.

"The Wizarding world fears him because he was - is - an extraordinarily powerful wizard. Because he fooled so many, for so long, and delivered the hope of our world up for destruction. Voldemort's defeat was a miracle.

"As for who Sirius Black was -" Remus's attention was held fast by the last of dying embers. "He was one of my best friends."

-----------------

Harry

"What am I doing here?" Smooth move, Potter. Could you possibly be a little more childish? But the silence was really getting to him.

Edmund Pevensie just looked at him. "What do you think you're doing here?"

What kind of an answer is that? But it was his only free time on Monday, and Dumbledore had asked him, so -

"I don't know," he said honestly. It could be worse. He could be working on his Potions assignment. I should be working on the Potions assignment, he thought glumly. But that was Hermione talking. Why his conscience used her voice, he didn't want to know. He still had two days to finish. Which wouldn't be a problem, if he'd started. But there was more than enough time. Think about it later.

"From what I've heard from the Headmaster and your teachers, you're an orphan, Harry?"

"Yes." It was easy to say. Oh, I really don't want to talk about this. Don't tell me he's going to bring up the -

"You live with your mother's sister and her family in Little Whinging? The Dursleys?"

"Yes." And I don't even want to think about them. Can we change the subject? Please?

Edmund shrugged, brown eyes kind. "No one's ever talked to you about what happened, have they? There's a lot you should know, about your rights as a ward of the government - Muggle and Magical." His voice was soft, gentle. Harry was out of the habit of expecting that from people. "And the Headmaster thought it might be good for you. That's why you're here."

"But I don't even know you," he protested. I think I'd definitely rather be working on Potions.

"Sometimes that can help."

Harry's shoe really was very interesting, with that stain from the mud that was a remnant of the season's first Quidditch practice. "I never knew them." What? When had he decided to open his mouth and - "It shouldn't make any difference. I was only a year old when they died."

"It's okay that it hurts, Harry."

He sounds like he knows. But that didn't matter. The man was listening, and he'd promised not to judge - "Yeah." He swallowed. His throat was tight. Maybe he needed to drink more juice in the morning, or something. "My best friend. Ron Weasley." It came out in a rush. "He's got loads of older brothers, even a little sister, and parents, and they don't have a lot of money, but - " He couldn't go on. "They're happy," he whispered.

"You're jealous?"

And he really couldn't meet those kind eyes. "Yes." I'm a flobberworm. Stupid, and - He kicked out at the desk leg, angry. "I mean, it's just life, right? These things happen. Some people get families, and some people don't. I'm not the only kid without parents, here."

"No, you're not."

So kind. Like he actually cared. Harry talked to Hermione and Ron, but it wasn't the same as talking to an adult. There was the hope that if he just told someone, a grown-up, they could make it alright. "They died protecting me."

The shoe was blurry, now - had he gotten hit by the Conjunctivitis curse? His eyes were burning. "They died to save me. Voldemort came after them because of me. And he's still out there, somewhere, and everyone always looks at me like I'm supposed to save the whole world, and I don't know what to do!"

He looked out the window. What he wouldn't give for a broomstick, now -to just get out of here and up in the clouds. He blinked. His eyes were wet.

A soft scraping noise. Edmund had stood, and was waiting by the door.

Harry stared at him in confusion. What - I'm supposed to stay here for an hour -

"C'mon," Edmund said with an easy smile. "What say we go outside?"

Clang!

You have got to be joking! Harry stared. He'd only just met Edmund, but he'd heard about the man's older brother from Hermione. Even knowing how Peter Pevensie had verbally gutted Malfoy didn't prepare him for this.

"En guarde!" Edmund shouted, picking up a nearby broadsword.

Is he crazy? The blond man had been quietly practicing, moving in what had looked like a dance. The blade whirled in a silver blur - too fast to see, and even more deadly.

But at the cry, blue eyes snapped open, and he met his brother's controlled charge in a clash of metal.

Harry picked his jaw off the grass. The two men were fighting in earnest, and he clapped hands over his ears. Three yards away, the noise of steel-on-steel was loud.

They're good. He didn't need to know anything about sword-fighting to see that. In the midst of exchanging blows, Edmund's foot slipped. For a wild moment Harry was sure he would be impaled as he fell, but somehow the blades twisted out of the way.

He raced over. "Are you alright?"

The blond man placed the weapons on the grass. "Know the ground, Ed."

Accepting the hand, Edmund let his brother pull him up. "I'm out of practice. It's not my fault a counselor doesn't get as much time off as a profiler."

Peter snorted. "I'll have to remedy that."

"Uh-oh," Edmund muttered.

His brother smirked.

"Harry, I'd like you to meet my brother, Peter Pevensie," Edmund introduced them. "Peter, this is Harry Potter."

"How do you do?" The man had a very strong grip. Ow!

Peter smiled at him. "Quite well, thank you, Harry. And how are you?"

"I'm fine."

Edmund smiled at them both. "Harry, I asked Peter if he had any time today. I think that he would be the best person to speak with you."

What? Was he just dumping him off, then? Harry's face flushed. Could this get any worse -

A soothing hand found his shoulder, and he looked up into deep brown eyes. "I'm not abandoning you here, Harry," came the gentle voice. Edmund looked very concerned. "Peter has gone through something like what you're experiencing right now, and I think he'd be the best person for you to talk to. But that's only for today, and only if you want to."

"What do you mean?" Something like what I'm going through? I don't think so!

Edmund's voice was low, and he glanced over his shoulder. Peter had moved away, giving them room. "Peter found himself in a situation where everything he knew was turned inside out. A bit like getting your acceptance to Hogwarts?"

Harry had to smile. His whole world had been upturned, and all for the better. Except for Voldemort killing my parents because I'm supposed to be some hero. And the Death Eaters. And Snape. I could live without Malfoy, too. But other than that - "Yeah."

Edmund nodded. "People we didn't even know were looking to Peter to lead them, to fight against an enemy like nothing he'd ever encountered before. And we needed him to save us, as well." For a moment brown eyes turned dark.

Really? Harry pushed up his glasses. It couldn't hurt, he supposed. "All right."

Fingers squeezed his shoulder. "I'll see you next week, in my office, Harry?"

He nodded.

He walked over to Peter so he wouldn't have to watch Edmund leave. "Mr. Pevensie?"

The blond looked up with a low chuckle. "There are two of us, Harry. We'd all be better off if you just called me 'Peter'."

"All right." Harry stopped. Great. Now what do I -

"Here." And Peter was handing him a broadsword. Harry gripped the handle uncertainly.

The next thing he knew, the man was walking around him, adjusting his stance with calloused hands and a few quiet words. "Not bad," was the final pronouncement. A slight frown as Peter studied him. "Take off those outer robes. And your shoes. You might want to get rid of the sweater and tie, as well."

Puzzled, Harry removed the offending items and was left standing in trousers and shirt, much like Peter.

"Better. En guarde."

Harry's eyes widened, and he fumbled for the stance he'd just been shown. Why hadn't Peter told him to take off the robes before showing him what to do?

"Relax, Harry. I'm not going to attack you."

He later thought it was the most physically taxing half-hour of his life to date. Peter was a good teacher, always willing to demonstrate, kind, but relentless. By the time he said, "I think that's enough," Harry was dripping sweat and it felt like every muscle he had was aching. As if Quidditch weren't enough, he was now taking up the broadsword?

Proof, if Malfoy needed any, that Voldemort's curse messed more with my head than a scar could explain.

Peter joined him on the grass, wiping down the blades with a soft cloth.

"Edmund said - that you know what I'm going through," Harry said hesitantly.

Peter placed the weapon down and smiled. "Edmund has a habit of exaggerating."

"Oh." His stomach plummeted. He should have known it was too good to be true.

"Harry." He lifted his eyes in automatic response to the firm command.

"Good." Peter smiled. "I don't know what you're going through. No one in the world can know what you're going through, I think. I know that doesn't help you to hear." Peter looked away. "But I have been through something similar to what you face, yes."

"Would you tell me?"

Peter smiled. "You grew up with your Muggle relatives, so I believe you'll understand when I talk about World War II?"

Harry nodded, the sun hot on his back.

The blond man settled back, and began. "When the bombing of London began in 1941, our mother was afraid for us. There was a government initiative that shipped children from the city out of the immediate danger zones, off to the country, for however long the bombing was to last. She didn't want to break up our family, but one night, the bombs fell too close. So she registered us, and less than a week later we took a train to stay with Professor Digory Kirke, in a Mansion not far from here. . . ."