To Face the Wolf

Sirius Black

All the way down the winding stairs to the common room, he cursed the redhead for waking up and screaming. Himself for getting impatient and slashing the curtains. The rat - Traitor! Scum! - for being so damned hard to catch, and for everything else. Except that fool of a Black's error of judgement, of course.

Upstairs, someone opened a dormitory door and he heard the first voices. He dashed toward the portrait hole and out, suppressing the desire to transform. Now left, past the statue of Lachlan. No. Approaching footsteps caused him to and run into the opposite direction. Around the corner and down -

Sirius cursed under his breath. Where were the moving stairs when you needed them most? He gazed into the gap, panting. Azkaban didn't breed athletes.

There ought to be another stair at the end of this corridor. If he managed to reach the first floor he'd probably be able to use the secret passage that led to the ramshackle shed behind the Hog's Head. Ha! This time, the stair he needed swung towards the landing just as he arrived there. He leaped onto it when it was five feet away and took the steps three at a time. Noises behind and above him told him that the living quarters of the castle had come fully alive now.

The next couple of floors offered no resistance. On the second floor, the stairs turned against him once more. He changed course, into a dimly lit corridor. Approaching the suit of armour near the Defence against the Dark Arts office he heard the sound of a door handle. Clutching his knife he slipped behind the armour. For once, he didn't mind being thin as a skeleton.

Two sets of footsteps. The door closed, and someone said: 'Lumos'. Subdued voices exchanged words he didn't catch. One pair of feet moved away, taking the wandlight along. Sirius listened, breathing soundlessly, but he heard no more sounds. Craning his neck he hazarded a look around the armour. The corridor appeared to be empty, though he couldn't see beyond the section where it lost itself in darkness. The unsteady light was coming from somewhere on the wall. The sounds that reached his ears were vague and far away. Carefully, he left his hiding place.

He froze - what was that, ahead and slightly to his right? His heart raced. Something had moved, but there was nothing to be seen, except the portrait of a lady in a Tudor cap. She was reading a book by the light of a candle, a little white dog dozing in her lap. The movement must have been her, turning a page, Sirius decided.

At that moment, she gazed up, and seeing his knife she gasped: 'Ai! Thou must be the blackguard who slashed the Fat Lady. Avaunt, or I shall raise the hue and cry!' Her lapdog woke and sat up abruptly.

Sirius grinned and made a flourish. 'Fear no harm, gracious lady. It's just a rat I'm after. The Fat Lady stood between me and my vengeance; convey my apologies to her, if you'd be so kind, but be silent now.'

Alas, the lady was not so kind, and his skull-like grin failed to charm her. She opened her mouth wide and began to scream at the top of her voice. The little white dog yipped furiously.

Sirius growled. A mere representation of past reality wasn't going to get the better of him! As he didn't have time to slash the silly bitch or her annoying pet he made a fierce cutthroat movement with his knife and darted past the Defence teacher's office. Only one floor further down - had that winding stair always been there? He didn't remember, and it didn't matter; apparently the castle was on his side again.

Spiralling down, turning left, turning right; there it was, the spot he sought. At the entrance of the secret passage, to be opened by tapping a particular stone in the wall, he allowed himself a quick glance back. For a split second, the air behind him, about three feet from where he stood, seemed to ripple a little more than the flickering candlelight warranted. Then everything went still again.

He hit the stone; part of the wall slid aside and he slipped inside the passage, knowing the stones would move in place again within seconds. Once safely in the shadows he changed into Padfoot, ready to jump at anything that followed him. But the wall closed quickly, and it was pitch dark.

Aided by his canine vision, he started along the passage. After a few yards he paused and sat on his haunches. What was it he had seen, back in the corridors? Someone under a Disillusionment Charm - someone able to stand motionless like a Muggle statue?

It could be. But who was it? Hadn't this Disillusioned person had ample opportunity to catch him during his exchange with the Tudor portrait? Surely no one who set eyes on the murderous Black would let him go? Or would Moony...

Impossible. If Remus were to find him, all Sirius could hope for was instant death, instead of the Dementor's Kiss. He didn't harbour the illusion Remus believed him to be anything but a traitor, having little reason to doubt his guilt. I doubted him with even less reason, ignoring any love that was ever between us. Today, he hardly even remembered what love felt like. There were moments when he tended to think it was a well-deserved punishment.

Padfoot flinched. It was too much to deal with, even without the Dementors nearby. Withdrawing further into the dog's mind, Sirius rose and trotted on. Bloody rat. It was all his fault. But he'd pay for it. One day, he would.

***

Finrod Felagund

Rats. Again. He remembered the wounded one resting in his palm. The one with the missing toe that had not quite felt like a rat. Something strange was going on here, and he began to doubt if Black was really after the life of a student. Why would he lie about his intentions to the portrait of a woman long dead? It was this, more than anything that had kept Finrod from trying to catch the man. If he had known that the entrance to the secret passage would close so quickly, he would have made the attempt anyway, to ask Black some crucial questions. But he had been too afraid the other would hear his footsteps if he ran after him, instead of walking.

Too late now; even if he would find the right stone to tap, the dog would be gone by the time the passage reopened. Nevertheless, Finrod did not regret having let Black escape. Too much doubts surrounded the man - and his heart told him that Humor did not deserve to have his soul sucked into a void.

As this was a golden opportunity, he did not return to Remus's office right away but explored the castle, taking care to stop moving whenever he came within sight of others. He encountered two human ghosts; they were not fooled by Remus's magic, but neither did they pay much attention to him, as if they knew he was none of their concern.

At one point, he saw the Potions Master striding up a stair - his expression grim, his wand ready like a sharpened blade - and soon after an ageing woman with a stern face and a creased forehead. He saw many more paintings, moving and talking yet strangely flat to his eyes, like dried leaves and flowers - two-dimensional beings that had a history but lacked a future and were neither dead nor alive.

After a while, though, he decided to return to the second floor. He had almost reached his point of departure when he heard someone approached. Remus, returning to his office: Finrod recognised the measured, purposeful tread that fell just short of being brisk. He halted, waiting for the wizard to come into view.

Remus had his wand out, a light shining at the tip. Finrod suppressed a sigh; he didn't think it was a good idea to announce your presence in such a glaring way while chasing a killer on the loose, but he supposed mortals had no other choice, what with their limited nocturnal vision. The wizard walked straight to the door, ignoring Finrod (who was standing a mere three feet away), and went inside.

Not much later he came out again, his wand still lit, to scrutinise his surroundings. Finally, gazing past Finrod, he said: 'I've got a distinct feeling you're out here somewhere, Finrod, yet I can't even detect the movements you're supposed to make when you breathe.'

Finrod remained motionless. Remus had claimed he'd be able to see him anywhere, as he was the one who had Disillusioned him. Apparently, the wizard had reckoned without the Elvish ability to stand perfectly still. 'Do you know you're scary?' Remus remarked after a while, still not quite looking into the right direction, though his wandlight hovered an inch from Finrod's elbow.

'Then praise yourself lucky, my friend,' Finrod said at last, grabbing the wizard's arm and raising it until the tip of the wand touched his own head, 'that I can't cast that charm myself - or I would be more than scary.'

Remus, unperturbed, smiled and tapped Finrod's skull. Not to his surprise, Finrod noticed that the reverse of the charm did indeed create a sensation of something hot trickling along his spine. 'Oh, but you are dangerous,' the wizard replied. He entered his office, and reaching his desk he turned around. 'I take it that you didn't find him either.'

'Did you discover what exactly it was that he did?' asked Finrod, closing the door. He thought he heard a faint rumble from beyond the desk, but he wasn't sure.

Remus stared at his shoes. 'He was about to stab a sleeping student with his knife.' When Finrod froze he added quickly: 'Not Harry - that's the student he's after. Harry's friend Ron Weasley. The boy woke up and screamed, causing Sirius Black to flee.'

'Stab a boy?' Finrod asked, frowning. 'Are you sure?' Somehow, this felt wrong. He suspected there was an alternative explanation, though he couldn't think of one.

'That was what it looked like, I'm told. He was probably after Harry all the time but didn't pick the right bed,' Remus replied. 'It turns out Sirius Black had this entire week's passwords to the Gryffindor Tower on a piece of paper.' He gazed up. 'I think we can guess now what it was the ginger cat brought him in the Forbidden Forest.'

'So do I.' Finrod wondered if he would have succeeded in catching Black's feline friend if he had tried. 'But the important question remains how your former friend is able to enter the castle.' No need to stress the word friend. 'Do you really have no idea, Remus?'

Though the wizard did not look away this time, his almost imperceptible flinch told Finrod all he needed to know. Remus knew perfectly well how Sirius Black was able to slip inside Hogwarts. But it was equally obvious that he had never told this to the Headmaster.

'Conflicting loyalties can tear you apart,' he said pensively, walking around the desk and sitting down behind it. 'Sometimes you wonder whether to speak, or to remain silent. The memory of the day when my mother's uncle found out that my father's brother and his sons were murderers and thieves, still makes me cringe. He called me to account and accused me of also having blood on my hands. And I felt that my hands were truly red, if only because I had been insincere. And yet, I was as loath to defend myself as I was to distance myself from my cousins - especially as I had not distanced myself from them when I should have. And even today it remains difficult to tell what I would do if I could relive that part of my life.'

'Then maybe it's a good thing you can't.' Remus had seated himself on the corner of his desk, his knees drawn up. The grey dawn smoothed out the lines in his face; but for the silver in his hair he looked for all the world like a child. A boy, lost in the maze of his own heart. But this was not a child; be it through no fault of his own, Remus was a Dark Creature. Or so he claimed, though Finrod did not understand how inner darkness could ever be a fate, instead of a choice.

'No one should have to choose between persisting in one error and risking to commit another,' the wizard added after a silence. 'What would you do, Finrod?'

Too non-committal. Afraid to bare his soul, Remus hid behind an ambiguous question, leaving it to Finrod to determine whether it was a theoretical problem or a practical request for advice. 'It depends on the nature of the errors,' he replied slowly. 'Although the Eldar are reluctant to give counsel, so you are asking the wrong person.' Nor do I think that you have told me all there is to tell. Again, Finrod heard the faint, rumbling noise that his ears had caught before; it came from a packing case in the corner of the room.

Remus unfolded himself and slid down from the desk, the child transforming back into a worn, fragile looking adult. 'I think I'd remain a coward, sticking to familiar errors instead of facing new ones,' he said, smiling wanly. 'You haven't answered my first question yet, though I suppose that if you'd caught Sirius Black, I would have noticed.' His voice grew distant. 'I kept hoping I would be the one to find him. At least I would have killed him on the spot, instead of delivering him to the Dementors.'

How fortunate for Sirius Black that I am not fully convinced of his evil nature, Finrod mused, or I would abandon him to this peculiar form of wizarding mercy. As it was, he decided to settle for the coward's choice, too: maintaining his silence like he had done in Thingol's halls.

***

Hermione Granger

When the other girls left for breakfast, some of them yawning hard enough for their jaws to come unhinged, Hermione remained alone in the dormitory. She lounged on her bed, almost too tired to think properly, though she knew she had to. Crookshanks sat on the windowsill, the tip of his tail moving jerkily at irregular intervals. He didn't look too happy, but as he hadn't eaten Scabbers he could hardly be suffering from guilt feelings. A pity he couldn't talk to assure her she was right about his clean record.

She wondered idly if Professor McGonagall could speak with him when she was in her animagus form. The next moment, she groaned. She hadn't wanted to think of the deputy Headmistress; it only reminded her of the Time-turner and all the lessons she was going to miss if she didn't have the device back by tomorrow. Instead, she closed her eyes, hoping to drift off. It didn't work: now she found herself dwelling on Finrod Felagund and the problem she had caused by wishing him to be alive and well. That was hardly better.

The temptation to believe in the reality of Finrod, a character she adored from a book she cherished, was overwhelming. He had such an indelible presence. He was so fully alive. (That he was also the most gorgeous male she'd ever seen was irrelevant, she told herself.) To her, he quite simply was; she could think of no better way to put it. To see him in the flesh - to hear him speak - to watch them smile - it was a reader's dream come true. And if anything, Hermione was a reader.

Professor Dumbledore would destroy the dream; it was only too obvious he wanted to get rid of Finrod. She didn't quite grasp why. Possibly it had something to do with Professor Lupin and the fact that he was a werewolf. If only she wasn't so tired, she'd surely be able to figure it out. But it didn't really matter; the point was: could the Headmaster be swayed?

Though the library books she had consulted remained vague on some points, she had discovered that it was possible to Banish almost anything. Banishing went further than a simple Evanesco, a spell taught in fifth year, and used to relocate objects and people. They didn't cease to exist but simply materialised in some unspecified Elsewhere, though if you tried to Vanish, say, a mouse and only made its head disappear, it was not very likely to survive the treatment.

A Banishment spell, though - the correct term was Exorcilio, though two textbooks mentioned a Confinitus curse and some preferred the term Banning to Banishing - reduced the object or person you wanted to remove to its representation on any medium fit to hold images. It was possible to Banish something or somebody into a painting or a photo, onto parchment, wood or stone, and even onto glass. It was highly qualified magic, but not impossible for an accomplished witch or wizard. (The medieval witch Parfaicte de Montaillou had managed to Exorcile three Dominican inquisitors to a stained glass church window to save a group of Cathars from burning. The book dismissed Parfaicte's actions as a well-meant yet misguided attempt to interfere in the religious affairs of Muggles. As a group the Cathars had been destroyed, despite her efforts.)

The tricky part, however, was to bind the Banished object or person to your medium of choice to make the result irreversible. This was where the Confinitus (used successfully by the guardian of Ophelia Watershed) seemed to come into play. None of the library textbooks was too clear about this aspect, though a couple of them hinted that the magic involved was grey around the edges, to say the least, and that the process required a complicated potion (enter Professor Snape). One text referred to a treatise that Madam Pince insisted was not at Hogwarts and would never be, if she had any say in it

Moreover, the success rate of this particular magic seemed to be as minimal as the risks involved were maximal, and if a person were to be banished to a text, every existing copy of the text could change. Fairy-stories could turn into horror tales; history could be revised, a farce could become a tragedy (or the other way around) and The Silmarillion turn into a cartoon. Finrod could end up on the side of the Enemy or in the worst case, disappear altogether from the story.

Hermione shuddered. She couldn't let this happen. Sitting up, she leaned against the headboard to consult her notebook again. When she put it in her lap to stare ahead, Crookshanks left his perch. He leaped on the bed and marched along her leg. Looking up at her face he blinked twice before jumping on top of her notes, obscuring them completely. When she tried to pull the notebook from underneath his rump, he dug his claws into it. She sighed.

'What are you trying to tell me?' she asked, stroking him under the chin with a finger and feeling the first stirrings of a purr in his throat. 'Are you telling me my scribbles aren't worth studying? Do I have to seek the solution elsewhere?'

Crookshanks rubbed his head against her hand in feline ecstasy, purring loudly.

(TBC)