The Lion and the Unicorn

-The Band Played Waltzing Matilda, by Eric Bogle

Anya awoke the next morning with a lot on her mind. First and foremost was Leon and his predicament. She had settled her doubts the night before; she would fulfill her duties as his guardian… as his mother… as best she could. There was no other option.

The next thing was Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. Well, if I have to be in Scotland anyway… She sighed and threw off the bed sheets, knowing that she'd had her mind made up long before Dumbledore had asked her to decide.

Padding past the bed Arabella had occupied, Anya headed for the bathroom for a shower. She still smelled somewhat strongly of dragon, which was hardly acceptable when keeping company with a headmaster and a werewolf, not to mention various (in)famous people.

As the hot water poured down on her, Anya's thoughts wandered further. Violent Shee reactions were third on the list of things to consider. Her surprise attack on Sirius the day before was a little conspicuous, as most wizards hadn't that kind of immediate power at their disposal. Even if they had, Shee magic was generally used for moving furniture and causing high jinks, not pinning grown men to walls. It was no wonder she'd slept so late; not being a full Shee, that kind of magic took a lot out of her.

She sighed to herself as she massaged shampoo into her hair. It wasn't like some people would care if such feats were draining. All they would see was an extraordinarily powerful witch, a threat; one that had to be eliminated. She would have to be careful about power displays in the future. She couldn't leave Leon motherless again.

*

Charlie was obviously fighting to keep his eyes open during breakfast, but kept nodding off into his porridge. Anya watched him with a grin; she had seen the same at so many breakfasts, but it was still amusing. He was so exhausted he'd hardly noticed that he was eating porridge and not one of Jacques' spectacular omelets. Even then, though, her thoughts were elsewhere.

What more could Dumbledore possibly tell them? They knew everything; from Peter Pettigrew's betrayal up to the Triwizard Tournament. They knew of three unregistered Animagi. They knew of a girl in fourth year with an enormous burden to carry, another remnant of the scar that cursed the Boy Who Lived; knew the trials of three fifteen-year-olds who should certainly not have been in the situation they were in. Was there anything left?

Anya shook herself as she realized that even Charlie had finished his breakfast. Together, they stood and headed for the headmaster's office once again.

*

"How bad is it?" Sirius asked at once. He looked slightly less haggard than he had the day before, and the leather pants were (mercifully) gone, but he still seemed rather edgy.

Not that I can blame him. Anya was, somewhat uncharacteristically, at least as nervous as he was. Things are obviously about to go drastically wrong, and everyone thinks he's on the wrong side of the line already!

Dumbledore rested his elbows lightly on the table. "Worse than even you think, I'm afraid, Sirius," he replied, looking very much like he didn't want to have to say what he did. "By now I'm sure all of you have heard at least some of the speculation floating around all of Europe and the Balkans."

The group nodded, Sirius and Lupin hesitatingly; the others with expressions of curiosity. Dumbledore continued, "What we know is this: Voldemort, through his misdeeds at the Triwizard Tournament, has risen again. We know that there have been suspicious and seemingly random events that could be seen as having Dark connections, never twice within sixty miles of each other, and never thrice in the same country. We have begun to see things which seem impossible: Shee killed in house fires, professional Quidditch players flying into mountainsides, respected wizarding families lost in Muggle disasters they should have been able to avoid. It all comes down to this." Dumbledore stopped here, sizing up each member of his 'team' in turn. "Have any of you ever heard the Wanderlore?"

Slowly but surely, each one of them shook his or her head. Anya herself held back the one thing she had heard of the lore, from her father before he'd died.

"The Wanderlore," Dumbledore began, "tells of a strange folk from a strange land. Current speculation places their origin somewhere in central Asia, yet no one knows- in the past two thousand years, they've been thought to originate in Tanzania, Australia, Antarctica, South America and Iceland. They are known as Drifters to those who do indeed know of them; wandering from country to country without direction, searching for places they might wreak havoc.

"No doubt all of you have heard of the Shee, a mischievous but friendly people that originate here, in our own isles. These Drifters are similar creatures, with similar strength, but malicious- any harm done to others would only do them good. The Shee, though closely related, are thought to be their only match- any one of them could theoretically dispose of a Drifter, but it would take a very talented wizard to do the same. Drifters are Dark, and will not stay in one place longer than they have to, much unlike their distant cousins. These seemingly impossible deeds are their workings. As I've said, all evil they do, create or aid only furthers their cause- the collapse of the world into a Dark anarchy. Even Muggles- especially Muggles- are unsafe. Drifters had a hand in three of their wars.

"The Drifters have not been known to ally themselves, ever, but prefer to work alone. Until now." Dumbledore waved his wand, and a notebook-sized piece of glass floated over to the desk. He tapped it once, and immediately colors began to swirl through it, until it portrayed a hologram of the Earth. "I have reason to believe, from various field agents, that the Drifters plan an alliance with Voldemort. As yet they haven't worked out any details, treaties or bargains. What we do know is that the negotiations were originally supposed to take place in-"

"Romania," Charlie finished, looking as if he'd just solved the last piece of an ancient puzzle. "Which is why you told me to look out for strangers. So why did you call us here?"

Dumbledore waved his wand at the country of Romania on his map, and it turned green. "Our source tells us that the meeting is set for the evening of July thirty-first," he said. "Now, here are the countries which registered above-average Dark activity in the past three months." South Africa turned orange, then Kenya, followed by Sudan and Egypt. Syria, Turkey, and Greece followed. "Bulgaria should have been next, by our guesses, since it's on the closest border to Romania." Instead, from Greece the highlighting countries skipped from Italy, through Liechtenstein, Switzerland, Germany, Luxembourg, and Belgium. Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Then, just two days ago, they struck home."

Ireland, too, turned orange, and Anya's stomach sank to somewhere around her knees.

Charlie spoke her fears while the rest of the group absorbed Dumbledore's news. "They're not only conspiring with Voldemort, but they're trying to wipe out the Shee."

"We think so," came Dumbledore's reply. "So the time has come. Have you made a decision?"

Anya and Charlie exchanged glances, then turned to Dumbledore. "I'm in," Charlie said, taking the unspoken cue to go first.

Dumbledore nodded, then handed Charlie a thin gold band from a chest on his desk. "A phoenix ring," he explained, gesturing to it. "It will give your hand a mild shock if you're needed, and when you Disapparate you'll be brought automatically to where you're needed." He looked at Anya, face graver than it had been. "And you, Miss Dickinson?"

To her surprise, Anya's voice was steady as she replied. "I'll do it."

*

"Leaving already?"

Anya whirled around, looking quite surprised. "Oh, it's you." She let out her breath in a rush. "Don't do that. It gives me the creeps."

Sirius smiled wanly. "Sorry. But you are leaving, aren't you." It wasn't a question anymore.

She shrugged. "Well, now that you're not wearing those pants anymore, there's not much reason for me to stay." Hoisting her backpack higher on her shoulders, she continued heading for the door, presumably doing her best not to be weirded out by the presence of a (wrongly) convicted mass murderer.

"At least someone likes them," Sirius replied, following her even though he could tell she wanted to be alone. "Remus told me I looked like a briefcase on steroids."

To his surprise, Anya laughed a little. The sound was harsh, though, as if she was preoccupied with something direr and more important. "If you don't like them, why do you wear them?"

"Long story," he said, noting with relief that at least she'd stopped trying to avoid him. The fewer people that wet their pants at the sight of him, the better. "A short summary involves looking for my old robes and a large amount of moths. My Muggle clothes were a little more… time-resistant. Of course, I left out the part about the red silk knickers."

Oh. Now she was staring at him. Well, that was to be expected. Couldn't be helped, in fact. Finally, Anya spoke. "You're even crazier than I thought."

"Was that a compliment?"

"Probably as close as you're going to get from me right now." Anya flopped down on the grass with a frustrated sigh. "Look, I'm sorry I'm so irritable. As you can imagine, I've had a stressful few days." Even as the words tumbled from her mouth, she apparently realized that that must have sounded incredibly invidious. She winced. "That was the wrong thing to say. I'm not one who should be complaining about a rough time right now-"

Sirius cut her off. "No, it's okay. I understand."

Anya shook her head at him. "Do you?"

"Is there a reason I shouldn't?"

"My brother just died," she answered cryptically. "He and his wife, in a house fire. A house fire, Mr. Black. I've been pulled from a post studying dragons, which I rather enjoyed I might add, back to Ireland to take care of their… affairs, and now I've gotten mixed up in the Order of the Phoenix! In two days."

"Got you beat," Sirius said in a very dull voice. "Best friend and his wife died, killed by Voldemort. Other friend turned traitor and blamed me for it. Got loaded with a bunch of other murders I didn't commit, too. In two days. Oh, and then I went to Azkaban for twelve years, escaped by swimming across a channel, then lived a year and a half as a dog. Do I win in the reasons for self-pity contest?"

Anya scowled at him, then sighed and buried her face in her hands. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound deprecating. I have a lot to think about, and most of it isn't pleasant."

Sirius held out his hand. "Welcome to the club."

She shook it, and they were silent for a while. Finally, Anya stood and brushed off her clothes. "I have to go," she said. "Arrangements to make, and the like. I'll be back, though. Don't brood or worry too much without me."

Sirius smiled humorlessly. "There are only two things to worry about."

Anya paused in mid-reach, her Portkey momentarily forgotten. "Either you are well or you are ill. If you are well, there is nothing to worry about. Are you ill, Mr. Black? Other than mentally, I mean."

Sirius didn't answer her question directly. "But if you are ill, there are two things to worry about. Either you will get better-"

"Or you will die," Anya said, seemingly amazed to find someone else who knew the old Irish sayings. "In which case there are two things to worry about. Either you will go to heaven, or you will go to hell."

"If you go to heaven, then you have nothing to worry about."

"And if you go to hell-"

"You'll be too damn busy shaking hands with all your friends to worry."

Anya smiled. "It's nice to find someone who at least knows the Irish philosophy." She peered at him closely. "You, however, are not Irish."

"Guilty," Sirius admitted. "Grandfather on my mother's side. Everyone else in my family was Scottish."

"I suspected as much," Anya replied, purposely ignoring his use of the past tense, which was painful to think about. "Well, don't worry too much. We are all of us in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."

"I just hope we can still see them in the future."

She now appeared troubled. "Lighten up a bit, Sirius. I've no desire to live at all if life will be as torturous as you make it seem."

Nor I, though that's a given. "Then go about your business as lightly as possible, Miss Dickinson, and should our paths cross again, I shall be all the… lightened up… for it."

*

The house was large, ornate, and somehow foreboding, the exact image of what a Ministry employee's house should look like. Anya stepped uncertainly up to the front door, straightening her robes unconsciously. Now or never.

She reached for the knocker, but before she could use it, a short, somewhat chubby woman threw it open and enveloped her in a hug. "Hello, darling! You must be Anya. Come in, come in." She sniffled loudly. "James told us so much about you."

"Er… thank you, Mrs. Johnson," Anya managed, trying to breathe.

"Oh, no," the woman said. "I'm not Mrs. Johnson, dearie. I'm the just the Johnsons' housekeeper. I'll go get them, you just take a seat-" And the housekeeper bustled out again, leaving Anya alone in a room the likes of which she'd never seen before.

It had a high ceiling and white marble walls with rich blue wall hangings, and all of the furniture was trimmed in white porcelain or silver. Anya was almost afraid to sit down for fear of disturbing the lovely upholstery. She put her bag on the floor and sat, doing her best to take up as little room as possible on the sofa.

Presently, she heard voices from the next room. "… I mean, she's his sister. Half-sister, anyway. He wouldn't have made her Leon's guardian if she were evil-"

"I know, Angelina," answered a startlingly familiar voice. Anya shook herself mentally. It couldn't possibly be- "I'm just sort of attached to the little troll, you know?"

There was a gurgling noise, and two perfectly mismatched teens entered the room. The first, tall, pretty and dark-skinned, carried a blue-clad bundle in her arms, while the second (somewhat short, befreckled and redheaded in comparison) was apparently admiring said bundle with wide blue eyes.

"Hullo," the first said, shifting Leon to her hip and extending her hand. "You must be Miss Dickinson. I'm Angelina Johnson. That's Fred," she added, indicating the young man behind her with a jerk of her head.

"A Weasley, if I presume correctly?" Anya asked, trading Angelina's hand for his.

"You do," Fred answered, pumping her hand up and down enthusiastically until Anya wondered if her fingers would fall off.

"Nana," Angelina called, "could you please bring the baby's things?" She turned back to Anya then. "You'll have to be careful with this one. He turned Fred's hair blue yesterday and we've only just got it to turn back. It must be the Shee blood in him." Her brown eyes seemed to soften. "I was sorry to hear about your brother. We used to go visit him a lot- he told the greatest stories…"

Anya tried to smile and accepted Leon from Angelina's arms. "Thank you." She gestured to her left, out the window, and asked, "Why did they restore the house? I thought it was totally destroyed."

Angelina shrugged. "None of the Muggle neighbors saw it burn down, and the Ministry hasn't released what happened to the Muggle government, so they couldn't issue a cleanup. They rebuilt the house last night instead."

"Oh," Anya replied, feeling a little dazed by the information. "Well, thank you for watching Leon. I really appreciate it."

Angelina beamed. "Oh, he was a perfect angel- most of the time, anyway. But watch out when you're changing his nappy. Oh, and he's afraid of cats."

Anya wrinkled her nose. "I don't blame him. I've never been particularly fond of cats myself."

Leon gurgled happily and reached out for Fred, who looked like he was having a difficult time restraining himself from gathering the sandy-haired baby in his arms and doing something silly and almost motherly with him.

"Won't you stay for tea?" Angelina asked somewhat awkwardly.

Anya smiled inwardly- apparently the two of them were quite fond of little Leon and didn't want to let him out of their sight. "I'd love to, but I really must be going- I've got a hundred other places to be today-"

"Oh, we'll watch Leon!" Angelina interrupted quickly. "I mean, you don't want to take him to the funeral parlor or the reading of the will. You can just- leave him here with us. We don't mind."

"Are you sure?" Anya asked, untangling Leon's fingers from her hair. "He sounds like a handful."

"Very sure," Fred assured her, taking Leon out of her arms again. "In fact, take your time. I may be a while in corrupting your nephew."

"Okay," Anya answered, and before she knew it, Nana was escorting her to the door. What a peculiar family. Not that I'm one to talk. The voices continued as she walked over behind a bush from where she could Apparate.

"I told you she wasn't evil."

"Yes, rub it in, why don't you." There was a yelp, and a laugh from Angelina. "I didn't intend for that to be taken quite so literally."

"I'm not responsible for your intentions. And thank goodness."

Anya grinned and Disapparated.

*

Charlie awoke the next morning in his old bedroom at the Burrow, still completely exhausted. I wonder if I'll ever sleep in again?

First on his list of things to do that morning was finding a job. This, of course, was easier said than done, as he was somewhat inclined to be choosy in his line of work. Boring jobs were definitely not in the program.

The house was already a bustle of activity by the time Charlie made his way down to breakfast, grabbing the Daily Prophet off of the table where Percy had left it and leafing through it distractedly.

"Morning, Charlie," Ron said between yawns and bites of toast. He swallowed without chewing properly, then asked, "Charlie? What're you doing here?"

"Morning, Ron," he answered, pilfering a piece of his brother's toast. "Nice to see you, too." Charlie flipped to the classified section just as yet another brother entered the room. "Hullo, George. Where's Fred?"

George looked up from the stack of papers in his hands, apparently startled. "Oh, hi, Charlie. I thought you didn't have any vacation days left? Fred's at Angelina's."
"He's where?" Molly asked, entering the kitchen from the living room.

"Um, he's upstairs. I'll go get him then, shall I?" And George bolted out of the room.

Charlie tried to hide his amusement behind the newspaper, but it escaped as a laugh when Fred chose that moment to step out of the fireplace.

Molly was livid. "FRED WEASLEY!" she yelled. "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"

"Hullo, Mum!" Fred said cheerfully, trying a little too hard to be winning. "Charlie! My dear brother, marvelous to see you. Shouldn't you be studying dragons in Romania?"

"I quit," Charlie said shortly. "More important things to do. Pass the marmalade, would you, Ron?"

Poor George came running down the steps then, wearing a T-shirt of Fred's with a pair of wings monogrammed on the back. "'Lo, Mum. Sorry that I slept late."

Molly looked from one twin to another. "You two! Out, into the garden. I don't want to see a single weed or lawn gnome, do you hear me? Not one! OUT!"

The twins scampered out the door and Charlie gave a dry chuckle. "As if one Fred wasn't enough."

"I'm just thankful Angelina can keep him in line. Speaking of Angelina," Molly continued, now bustling happily away in the kitchen, "Have you met-"

"Oh, no." Charlie banged his head off of the table. Well, whatever else, it was good to be home.