Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures

Chapter Eight: New Attempts at Sharing

Harry,

I don't know if I'll send this to you as a part of my next letter, when you have replied to the one Hedwig brought to you this morning. I just feel like writing and I don't think I should stop now that I've finally got started.

On the other hand, I should go to bed soon, because I'm really tired. But I'm tired in the good way. Can you imagine I've been working on these lands, which the ministry's orders forbade me to inherit? I've been reaping the crops, since some creatures more powerful than any of us humans, or part-humans, have helped everything to grow, so that I could feed not just myself but those who will join me. I still feel it's too arrogant to word it in such a way. I should, in fact, do something about recruiting creatures to this emerging brotherhood. There are so many things to do.

This is one of them. This may be the most significant one, and not only personally. It certainly is personally. I dare hope it means something to you, too. Am I sidetracked now when I feel like writing about myself? I'll just spend a moment on this, before having the rest I'm obliged to take in order to have the strength for my duties. Do you know I've always felt that I am not strong enough, not in any respect? But I won't postpone my sleep for too long. Going to sleep is tempting enough, as I'm sitting here at my old desk, beside the bed which was mine even when I was too small to enjoy sitting at this desk, learning to draw.

Maybe I'll draw a picture for you to see how it looks like here. This is quite a peculiar house. Not a palace, hardly worth being called a mansion. It's ancient and it actually belongs to the earth itself as well as ever to the Wottons.

Wotton is my original name, Arthur Wotton. You don't have to call me Arthur. That would be funny, wouldn't it? My parents must have been a bit old-fashioned to give me such a name, which was more in fashion among the wizards at the time when Ron's dad was born. Perhaps they also found the name fitting, as they had this strange idea that I would become something great some day, even when I was a baby, albeit especially after they noticed I was quite a leader among other little boys - as they have told me and I vaguely remember. But after I had been bitten at the age of five, no children of my village or the whole of the Cotswolds came to play with me. My parents had a few most civilised and kindhearted friends, but those people had no children...

***

Yes, he needed to contact those people, if any were still alive. An urge to read through what he had written - as if it had been something like an unfinished piece of art - had helped Remus get up quickly from his comfortable bed in the morning after the second day filled with practical tasks. Yet, he did not sit down at the desk, but apparated downstairs to surprise Gumby by preparing the breakfast himself.

He hurried to get started so as to complete some labour on the lands before noon, and he was happy Gumby had suggested that they pick the last fruits. The orchard was one of his favourite parts of the estate, and this morning in particular he enjoyed the view to the valley, where he was eager to go soon.

The weather was still windy, and the morning was the coldest so far this autumn, as the sky had been clear all night. A slender waxing crescent had announced that Remus had less than two weeks left before the full moon. But he did not fear it now.

That was a surprising feeling and reminded him of the time fifteen years ago and before - or the time one year ago and until the beginning of the summer. Even the thoughts of the happiest times still gave him such pain that he first refused to remember those in the most recent past. The older grief was a bit less hard to bear. And yet, why was it now easier to dwell on any memories, so that he chose to do it, instead of totally concentrating on the beauty of all the sense perceptions offered by this satisfying work?

He did not want to hurry too much anymore. Using his wand, he summoned the apples one by one to receive each of them with care. The almost blinding sunlight pierced the translucent air, which was so saturated with the familiar fragrance that he felt it touching his skin with the bite of the wind and he heard it in the vague and fragmentary chirp of the last crickets.

At noon Remus changed robes and filled a basket with the most beautiful apples. He apparated straight to MrLandor's house, as he had got the invitation to do at any time, and especially for lunch. He would have preferred walking down to the village, but it might not have been wise to show himself in public too much in daytime. He did not even know what kind of magical folk lived in Bagendon now. That was something he needed to find out.

Before he had time to knock, the door to the porch opened wide, and a warm voice announced, "Welcome, visitor, come in... Oh, it's you, Remus! Come in! I've been waiting for you, yesterday and the day before." Mr Landor reached out his hand, and grabbing Remus's to shake it, he pulled his visitor in.

Remus was startled by the strength he felt in this white-haired old man, whose short and slender figure looked more fragile than he had remembered, having seen it seventeen years earlier. There was clear demonstration of gentle power not only in the grip of his wrinkled hand, but in his trustful manner of opening the door immediately after the sound of apparating, and of even welcoming the visitor before knowing who it was. A sceptic thought passed Remus's mind, but he pushed it aside. Mr Landor might have the ability to find out who the visitor was before opening, but Remus had never doubted his sincerity - and definitely did not want to now stain this relationship with a wise elder.

Praising the gift Remus had brought, Mr Landor showed him to the back porch, which was towards the south and protected from the wind. The small garden had run wild enough to hide them from the looks of any neighbours as well. The lunch was served on the small table, and it was laid for two.

"As you can see, I was expecting you, and I thought we could have lunch outside. This is the time of the year when I feel like taking in all the blessing that is still lingering for passing moments... Fresh air is good for you, too, after all those years in London or worse places. But it looks like you have already spent the best part of the past couple of days in fresh air. May I say you look a lot healthier than the night when you arrived?"

"Thank you," Remus said referring both to the remark and to the plate which Mr Landor had filled for him while talking softly.

The old wizard's deep voice was in Remus's mind still associated with fervent sermons, which had cunningly turned into practical advice for opposition against the Death Eaters. Remus could not help still wondering how the elder of Bagendon magical community had survived the first so-called war. He had never concealed his attitudes, but he had led his people with such natural benevolence that even Voldemort might not have realised that he was a political leader, too. Besides, Voldemort had bothered to send his servants to this village only a couple of times. The magical communities in Upper and Lower Slaughter had been more prominent - at least until the raids, which had done justice to the names of those towns. Only some members of the biggest wizard community of the Cotswolds, the community in Long Compton, had come to hide around Bagendon. Remus felt like hurrying to ask about the current state of these communities, but he considered it more polite to reply to his host properly.

"Yes, I've been working on the lands, gathering in the crops. With the house-elf. Did you not know that Gumby was still there?"

Mr Landor put down the salad bowl and stared at Remus for a moment before starting to speak slowly. "I suspected that. The Death Eaters came to Bagendon once more, but I noticed that they didn't stay long on the Wotton estate. When I went to check, the doors were locked and the lands looked like they had been abandoned by humans for years. I felt I had to leave. I suppose that the ministry officials, who arrived two years later, felt the same, probably more strongly, because they must have come with the intention of occupying the estate. That's why the reply I now sent with your unexpected owl was that the place was deserted. But in your letter you didn't even say that you would come for a visit. And the night you came you didn't say that you were planning to live here."

Remus realised it was a relief to have a chance to reveal thoughts about his own stupidity. He had hidden it behind the feeling that he had been right to come home. "Now I know I could have come years ago. I suppose I could have stayed and never left at all after the funeral. I realise now that Gumby told me so then. He might say that I was meant not to understand what he told me, and still, it was up to me."

"You must have been told that the law prohibited you from staying after their deaths - while you had probably expected to face that situation only after decades."

"Yes, even if we all knew that nobody was safe at that time. It was too sudden... And while I still feared the Death Eaters would come back for me... I was scared by the official warning, too. The owl from the Beast Department arrived during the same night. At least there's no reason to criticise the ministry for inefficacy."

Having felt his voice faltering Remus had turned to look out to the garden. The rose hips had already gained the deep ripe shade of colour to allow the yellowing leaves on the bushes to have the role of reflecting more light. Like always the beauty of the light and colour soothed his mind by filling it with numerous nuances and thus pushing the more painful issues aside. By the time he uttered the last sentence, he had limited the dealing with the past grief to a more superficial level. That allowed him to regain his strength when proceeding to the current situation.

"My decision was to return now. To me the door was opened, and both the house and the lands were presented as my home. Not as my property, unless I deserved it through my labour. I had asked Dumbledore to come the same night to perform the Fidelius Charm, but I understand now that it was not necessary. Maybe it is good to have that added protection. But I suppose the elfish magic..."

A stiffening of pose and a small hand movement expressed such authority that they effectively interrupted Remus's phrase and Mr Landor did not have to hurry to explain, "Please do not talk about it openly. That was what I felt seventeen years ago, but we are not supposed to talk about it. Not even you, though you may have a closer bond to it through Gumby. May I ask you - and please do not answer by revealing any details to me - if he was such a close friend to you in your childhood?"

"He was. He has now given me back a memory of the earliest bond."

"That is enough for me to know. Or too much. I read that article yesterday. I doubt I should be involved in your mission."

While Remus wanted to remain calm, he did not care if he spontaneously expressed some defiance. There was no risk of aggression, anyway. He was actually happy to be allowed such independence. "I'm not asking you to be. Even Dumbledore is not. He still tries to stay loyal to the principle of one united front against Voldemort. I'll seek support from only those who see the Ministry as an enemy as well. I hope you don't mind if I get to the point. Do you know such creatures in the Cotswolds?"

"You'd better contact the Merry Thespians," Mr Landor said immediately, smiling.

"Does the group still exist?"

Remus was not really surprised. He had wanted to ask about those people. He resumed eating, expecting Mr Landor to now give him a proper account of the state of the theatre company and perhaps of the community in Long Compton as a whole.

"Yes, of course. Robin Bottom has written most of their lamentable comedies for the last fifteen years. Did you not know even that? Have you had too many friends not to care to keep in any touch with the old ones?"

Looking up a bit irritated, Remus saw only a slight trace of reproach on the old man's lined face and a mainly good-humoured curiosity in his bright benevolent eyes. He had already got so used to Gumby being aware of everything in his past without any explanations that he was startled by the realisation that Mr Landor sincerely did not know. He suddenly appreciated Gumby's ability. It would have been a burden to recount even the main events in his personal life since the morning of the funeral.

"No, my closest friends... The last one was... Madam Bones. But even her I did not contact at the times when life was at its hardest for me. And my parents' friends in the Cotswolds... I know it would be an insult to say that they, even Robin, accepted me only because of my parents. But that's how I felt when I was young. Especially after... after they saw me at that sunrise and realised I was guilty."

Remus had put his fork down again and stared persistently at the bushes, concentrating on the image of the meadow with the grave in the September sunlight in order to replace the unyielding memory of the winter morning with a new understanding.

"Why would they have thought that you were guilty of what happened to your parents?

"Can you understand that some issues resist my rational thinking? Some images that remain after the experience and refuse to be interpreted again. Through all these years I've seen them in the way they'd all gathered around to stare at me, while I suddenly got overwhelmed by the guilt." He turned and looked into Mr Landor's eyes, as if trying to prove that he was finally recovering. "I trust I can ease my mind gradually now that I am back here."

"Why should even you have thought you were guilty?"

"I thought they'd never have got involved in such active opposition, unless their son... I see now it was a most self-centred thought. They were probably such good people that they'd have done it in any case. But still, I had not been there to protect them - or to die with them."

"It is not a crime to survive," Mr Landor said gently.

"I've felt it is. And I've committed the crime again. Every time... Excuse me. I was not supposed to talk to you about this."

Remus closed his eyes for a moment, but met Mr Landor's tender gaze when opening them again.

"And why would you not have been supposed to? Why did you never contact me either? You could have asked me to give you any help you needed. You wouldn't have even needed to ask for it. Most of all I could have talked to you about what tormented your conscience. That is, indeed, my vocation."

"But I wasn't a full member of the community. I had the bond only through my parents. When left behind, I had to look for my own way to continue... to learn to accept the gifts of life again. I had to find even the spiritual guidance elsewhere."

"You made things too hard for yourself. The theatre group at least always welcomed any creature as its member. But it's no use talking about what you could have done. Gumby has revealed to you something of the simple part of his wisdom. What happened was meant to happen. Your choices have led you to this point. Also to return to the group and ask to be accepted as its member."

Mr Landor smiled again, and his encouraging nod provoked Remus to express his lack of interest.

"I have not planned to do that."

"After all the hardest choices you have made, you should be able to see other perspectives than yours. My advice for you is to join them in order to make them join you. You have talents to offer, and they'll offer you the forum and the audience."

***

Did he actually want his message heard? Replying to Mr Landor's questions had been hard enough to make Remus change his mind about going to meet other members of the Cotswolds magical communities in the same evening. Therefore, he would still have some time to consider whether he should follow the advice.

It was relaxing to work with Gumby again, mainly in silence. But the awareness of how the elf was not only constantly, with ease, going through the events of Remus's past, but, indeed, controlling a total knowledge of them all at any moment, caused an irresistible need for Remus himself to represent his memories in written language. Still, he doubted that the representation would really be meant for anybody to share. He started formulating the sentences in his mind, while in the kitchen cooking jam, and he ended up spending quite a while at his desk.

***

Harry,

I think I must not send this to you. I've got a weird need to write an autobiography. I had it two years ago and now it's back. And I should know by now that it doesn't do any good for a correspondence to write so excessively and in such a self-centred manner as I do whenever I get started. It's too hard for anybody to reply to a letter like this. So I end up the lonelier, the more openly I seek interaction. Can you guess to whom I wrote during your fourth year at Hogwarts?

You don't even know where I was that year. Maybe I made a mistake, not contacting you at all then. I was in London all the time, and I could have written to you, too, and maybe even somehow managed to come to see you in Hogsmeade, although life was rather hard for me that winter. But I felt that your godfather needed you even more than I did. And he wrote that much in his brief replies to my letters that I knew he was in touch with you. I wonder if he mentioned any of that advice and those warnings which I asked him to convey to you. The two of you were in my mind constantly. But I was so foolish just to write about myself to him.

I could do nothing at all to help either of you. I guess you can't possibly know - I don't think he would have cared to mention - that he came to visit me once before he met you in Hogsmeade in March. And I had nothing to offer him, hardly a shelter for the night.

Just as I've had nothing to give to you. I haven't been brave enough to even ask you to consider if I could be the one to replace a loving family for you. I should just decide to be so strong and to simply tell you that I am your loving family now. I had to learn to help myself to be able to... to be worth anything for anybody else.

I wonder if things are better now. I'm considered a rebel by the Ministry, and it may not be wise or safe for you to even visit me. But I'm building up some hope finally. Still, it's only a dream that you could - and would like to - come to the Wotton manor for your holiday. I don't know if it's good to become a dreamer at this point, but if the rule ever changes and the right which I have taken to these lands does not mean a conflict any longer, I will give all this to you.

I know that you are always richer than me, at least in the wizard world. Even in the muggle world you haven't been as poor as I have been most of my adult life, and as I am still legally. But I believe there is something about this place that makes it a home, even for somebody who was not born and raised here. Whereas there's something about number twelve, Grimmauld Place that makes it hard for us to feel at home there. It's not just our bitter memories, but the fact that he was not happy there as a child, either. Here's something the two of you had in common.

But I had a happy childhood, as happy as it could have been for anybody bitten by a werewolf at the age of five. All right, I've decided to now tell you that here I start writing a piece of autobiography, which I'm definitely not sending to you. I'll give it to you afterwards, only when or if you ask me to.

I would be able to write a detailed autobiography starting from the morning after the assault. Of the time before the assault I have only a few scattered mental images, as I suppose most people have of such early years. But the time after that is my "historical time", as if everything had been registered in language. In the way you remember the past five years, I suppose. As if I had crossed a borderline that fateful night - probably earlier than children in average do - and it had suddenly and permanently made me almost painfully aware of the present and of how I'm incessantly registering it in my mind, both in language and in multifaceted mental records of sense perceptions... I know I'm getting complicated. People have sometimes got the impression of me that I try to appear sophisticated. Now I think that what happened on that borderline could have been that I built up a barrier and learned to constantly fortify it with this contrast. My extreme awareness of everything else - and the total denial of the one experience which changed the course of my life.

It took me a long time to finally capture the image of that experience, too. I don't think that I ever consciously refused to remember it. But when I was nine, my parents explained to me why I had been at the hospital on the first day of the life that I know, and I wondered why I had forgotten what the assault had been like. My healer and friend Miss Emeline said that the memory of the experience had been preserved deeper and that my mind was meant to be protected against it. I remember that even as a child I was hungry for knowledge and understanding, and my only comfort was that the fateful experience had not been lost but was being kept in my subconscious as safe as my mind was kept safe without the knowledge.

I relived that experience in a dream two weeks ago. Unexpectedly, in connection with a fresh tormenting memory, the ancient terror came back in the form of a nightmare - but so vivid that it dominated all my senses. Immediately afterwards I was not so sure, but now I believe that it was the accurate image of what happened to Arthur Wotton when he was five years old.

I first felt that the recollection took away the rest of my strength, just when I needed it all for the ordeals ahead of me. But not only did I recover but I also found a new reconciliation with myself. I don't claim to have achieved it alone. Without friends like Miss Emeline, Frank and Alice, Hagrid, Hedwig and you I might not have made it...

***

In the following evening Remus wished he could have had any of those close friends to accompany him, when he apparated to the spacious back room of Queens's Head. This pub in Stow-on-the-Wold was famous among muggles, who regarded the 17th century oak-beamed and flagstoned building as fascinating enough to deserve the first place on the list of compulsory sights for any tourist to see in the Cotswolds - or as an excuse good enough to spend most of their evenings drinking beer, no matter if they were on a visit or lived in the area. But none of the muggles knew anything about the back room, which could be reached through any cubicle in either the men's or the ladies' room which had a sign "out of order" on the door - or by apparating.

The pub in the back room, which was called the Headless Queen, was quite as popular among magical folk and had probably been one of the most important meeting places for all kinds of creatures in the Cotswolds for a couple of hundred years. But the place was especially crowded on the fifth day of every month. Mr Landor had confirmed that after forty years the troupe founded by Miss Philomela and Mr Francis Snug still guaranteed both laughter and tears to anybody who arrived on that day. During the rest of the month the company had random performances all over the Cotswolds, in addition to rehearsing at their quarters in Long Compton.

It was still early, and Remus at least could not recognise anybody as a member of the Merry Thespians yet. He tried to make his way unnoticed to a small table in the corner, but a man, who without his beard could have been mistaken for a child, followed him.

"A butterbeer. Or you want something else or something else, too?" the man said slamming a bottle on the table.

"No, thank you," Remus said.

He had to pay for the first drink anyway, and he felt irritated by the fact that he had to start spending his ten Galleons on something so useless. It had been a long time since he had gone out to sit on his own or with anybody and to order a drink, even a coffee, just to pass the time. He had certainly become the most boring man by the standards of those who sought company for relaxing in a pub.

He wished Gumby had accompanied him. But Gumby had never publicly given up his role as a simple servant - and he had chosen hardly ever to appear in public. Never discouraging those house-elves who had participated in the theatre, Gumby probably considered it too much against both his nature and the convention.

Remus suddenly remembered how he had begged Gumby to follow him to school. On the days before the beginning of his first year at Hogwarts he had also felt that he would appear as the most boring boy and would be unable to get anybody to join him as a friend. Strange as it seemed, he had not been disturbed by an idea of being a freak. He had already understood that in the eyes of any other schoolboy he would be just boring, because all the tragic and fascinating in his life had to be kept a secret. Besides, he had not thought that he would like to find a group of boys whom to join - but some boys to join him as their leader. He had had a vague memory of where that dream originated from. Anyway, he had cherished no hope, but just begged Gumby to come with him.

Gumby had laughed. "I'm not eleven. I'm quite a lot older than eighteen. How could I go to Hogwarts?"

"But you've never gone to a Wizard school. You could learn something from the Professors there."

"That is true. Everyone could always learn," Gumby had said sagely.

"Please come! You could study with me. Or you could teach us all."

"Would I agree to? That's not the way they want it to work. So I do not need to consider."

A light touch on his shoulder startled Remus out of his musings. He turned his head only slightly to see a slender white hand with silvery green fingernails. In an instant the woman was sitting opposite to him with her elbows on the table, the fingers on her cheeks, and peering at him through her mane of such perfectly blond hair that it seemed to have been made of light. But no more was Remus able to examine her looks, since her eyes captivated him in their enchantment.

He could hardly hear the bearded waiter's voice give him another order, "You order a drink for the lady!"

He forced his eyes off hers to glare at the waiter, then concentrated his will on resisting the enchantment of her voice, before she made up her mind about the drink and started to chant dreamily, "Seven drops of dew, milk of a swan, blood of a rose, mixed with a rainbow in a silver bowl."

The room was dimly lit, and smoke was forming strange patterns in the flickering light of candles and of the fireplace. His eyes were irritated by the smoke. He felt like closing them, turning his head and opening them again only to look at her and into her eyes. The sight of her would be like a well to wash his eyes clear. No, he turned further away from her, and with water running from his eyes he stared at the solid wood of the long tables and benches, which filled most of this half of the room and which had started to get occupied by customers. There were no strange patterns, just normal smoke. He could look at her. He just had to beware of her eyes. He would not be enchanted by a woman. And ten sickles for a drink! Maybe that was all she wanted from him anyway.

Neither of them spoke until the waiter had brought the drink, got paid and left them alone.

"You are Remus Lupin," she said.

She said it in an undertone, and there was, of course, no way to dispute such a statement. Still, Remus found it utterly disturbing. He nodded slowly while leaning back on his chair and folding his arms across his chest. Staring at the platinum hair which cascaded like liquid light to turn into foam around the silver bowl between her elbows, he considered that politeness required him to reply.

"I know. And how do you know that, Miss...?"

The woman flashed a broad smile before returning to her dreamy expression, as far as Remus could evaluate it without looking into her eyes. She evidently sought some dramatic impressiveness by postponing her reply.

"I know a lot about you. First of all, the current leader of our honourable company does not let us forget Dame Philomela and her family."

"I don't think I know you as a member of the group."

"No, you never knew me before. I am new. Literally. I came to existence after the Wotton family left us. You may not notice how new I am, because at this time of the year I am not that young."

"You are not... Excuse me, if this is intrusive, but I assume that you are not a full veela. But you are more than a human, aren't you?"

The smile broadened again and revealed not only two rows of teeth like perfect pearls, but also a tongue like a petal of a rose. "You are just as wonderful as I have heard. The four veela whom you gave shelter for the summer are my cousins, daughters of my mother's sister."

"I doubt I was at my most wonderful at that time, and in any case I expected them to pay to the landlady."

"That was all right. When veela must stay in the city, it's hard for them to avoid getting harassed. You room was perfect as lodging for my dear cousins, until they finished their affairs. And veela have never got any money, so they didn't have to pay anyway. Besides, if they had paid, the landlady would still have told you that they had not, and she would have gathered double the amount of gold that was due to her. That's how the goblins are."

Remus frowned and asked harshly, "Do you not have any goblins in the group any longer?"

"Yes, but Grap and Urgy are different, they are so sweet..."

"Maybe all the rest of the goblins are different from what you think, and not so different from the veela, after all."

"Sorry. My cousins got the impression that you were not in such good terms with your landlady, so I didn't think that would insult you."

"It's not me whom you insulted."

"Sorry. Now you see how new I am. I'm not sure if I've understood it all, but I feel it was right what you said in court. I should also have remembered the whole photograph, but I kept only the half with you on it. As if I could not have simply memorised your face, seeing the picture once."

When getting irritated by her statement about the goblins, Remus had leaned forward. Now suddenly reaching out her hand, the woman touched his temple and caressed his hair. He quickly leaned back again, but she calmly returned her hand to hold the bowl and emptied it, then licked her lips.

"I wanted to ask you for a favour, Remus Lupin."

"I think I've already suggested that you tell me your name."

"Oh, sorry again. My name is Thisby. My parents belonged to the Merry Thespians. So I became the new heroine, as it happened that I came to existence. But now it's time for the show. I rambled and didn't get to the point, but it doesn't really matter. What we'll tell you all tonight is my story. It's a romance. You must have guessed that much. Now just follow the performance carefully. It's a pity though that you didn't come to the rehearsal last night. You could have taken your role yourself immediately."

She stood up, stepped close to him and kissed his forehead. When she turned to walk slowly across the room, he was surprised to see her stooped like an old woman. She was staggering. And her grey robe was torn to shreds. Having reached the other half of the gloomy and smoky room where the floor was higher, she struggled up the two steps, and Remus noticed that the people had suddenly hushed.

She turned to face them, and a sigh travelled across the audience. Her rags were shining like silver and precious stones, as if a magic spotlight had been focused on her. Her white skin was enticingly shining through the rips. And her white hair and face were shining. She was shining like the moon, and Remus felt blissful pain shake his body and mind even before she began to sing.

Thisby the little half-veela stood on the edge of the stage and shone like the moon. Like from the moon, the light did not emanate from her. She only lent her fragile self to reflect the beauty. Her body and mind were new like a child's, but they had turned old like withered leaves. Only the words and the tunes given to her allowed her to sing about the spring, the everlasting youth of a veela.

Her voice started uncertain but eagerly experimenting like a little girl's. It imitated the sounds of birds and of leaves rustling in the wind. It followed the bends of a brook and played in a waterfall. Little by little the story unfolded. She was filled with her mother's spirit running wild across land and water, raising storms and whirlwinds. Her mother was resting in a well, which enticed a human youngster. His advances were not repelled; she bathed him in her wonders. She followed him, and by his side she explored the human fate. She captivated the minds of crowds; she suffered the taunts of others. True to her nature, she never spoke of what grew naturally within her. She feared and hoped and did not know if the miracle would be allowed. When a daughter was there, she felt that a soul had been granted: full and precious.

But the life of the new creature was uncertain in a new way. With no chance to know whom to join and how to serve, she was weary from the beginning.

Thisby the half-veela sat down on the edge of the state. The light left her. She bent her head and wrapped her rags tighter around herself.

Remus felt that his face was wet of tears. Suddenly he was aware of the faces and the sounds of the audience around him. Each expression was different. Still, all the creatures were weeping for the one who had reflected the beauty of creation and was burdened by the uncertainty of her own life.

At the big table closest to him two half-giants were comforting each other and squeezing the little bearded waiter in their hug. Next to them a faun climbed onto the table and played a mournful tune from his flute. A lanky youth joined him, grabbed one of his horns and turned his head to get his attention.

"Play a merrier tune to comfort the damsel,

play a tune to dance! I can dance if you can't."

The youth bowed to the audience, turned and bowed three times more, and Remus saw that he had horns, too, little ones half hidden in his thick curly auburn hair. He lifted the frayed hem of his robes and revealed hoofs, which started to move in a quick rhythm across the table. The clatter of the hoofs almost covered the sound of the flute. The faun persistently continued to play the lament, but the rhythm of the dancing hoofs intertwined with it and enticed it to change. Yet, at times the flute forced the dancer to follow its lead.

The rest of the audience had hushed. The half-giants had placed their bulky arms on each other's shoulders and lifted the little waiter up to sit on their shoulders between the two huge shaggy heads. Suddenly the three of them burst into laughter, and it was echoed across the room.

Now the faun with the wailing flute was running around the table after the half-faun, whose steps were weaving more and more intricate patterns. The faun was trying to trip him, but he jumped ever higher on every other step. Now he started to aim kicks on the faun. The faun seemed to flee in panic, which could be heard in his tune. But again he grinned and a playful tune escaped from his flute, and he finally tripped the dancer.

While falling, the half-faun turned a somersault and hit with his hoof the faun's tail, and the faun fell in no less skilful manner. The half-faun landed on the bench, and the faun's somersault brought him to his knees on top of the red head and holding the tiny horns.

The audience exploded to applaud. But a shrill elated laughter like a cry of a bird suddenly silenced them.

Thisby had stood up; she was jumping up and down and clapping her hands. Her face was shining again, although there was no silver on her tattered robe now. She spread her arms, and with a few springy steps the dancer leaped to her embrace. He knelt to kiss her hand, while the faun, still on top of his head, quickly kissed her on the mouth. The applause rose like a storm again, and the two stood on either side of Thisby to bow.

She had frozen with a hand on her mouth. A complete silence followed in anticipation of her reaction.

"No, no! Not on the mouth!

I still haven't chosen either of you.

And I have promised to marry just one.

That's the rule my father taught me.

Mr Peck..."

She turned to the faun, who bowed low.

"Just Peck, if you please, in your service, fair Thisby."

"Mr Tumble..." she said, and the half-faun bowed.

"Ready to tumble for you any time."

"Peck and Tumble, that's not what I need.

Who am I to ask you

to satisfy my needs?

But if each of you feels

the need to marry

and I've taken the oath

to settle with one,

you need to help me choose.

Thus I am giving you a task,

and we shall see who best deserves

to be chosen.

But why not also choose a task,

which may bring to me some help

in my dark distress as well."

"Will you ask us to dance?" Tumble the half-faun asked hopefully.

"Ask us to play!

A lament to weep with your woes

until their well runs dry."

Peck the faun lifted the flute to his lips and played a mournful tune, which trailed off, when Tumble the half-faun took hold of the bell. Peck snatched the end of the flute out of Tumble's hands and threatened to hit him with it. Then he played a merry melody.

"Or music of mirth to make you forget!

I can dance, too, so I'll win, you can bet!"

Playing another cheerful song Peck danced around the other two, but when he passed again, Tumble stopped him and held his shoulders.

"Listen, Peck, let's listen to her.

She is half-human. She's got other needs.

I know something of that, more than you ever can,

since I am half-mortal, too."

"Half-mortal, indeed," Thisby said.

She said that to herself or to the audience. She had stepped forward, left the suitors and their beaming zest behind her back, and her face was suddenly shaded. She wrapped her arms around herself and only whispered the next words, but they sounded clearly in the silent room.

"Half-mortal. And what does it mean?

I'd rather be mortal completely, wholly, thoroughly mortal - than half.

What is half? Which half?

At times I feel I'd rather be mortally wounded, in mortal fear or already killed by my mortal enemy

than live with this doubt.

Haven't I got a soul?"

"You certainly have!"

Tumble the half-faun had stepped beside her, holding Peck's hand.

"Were there no soul in you, how could you doubt?

How could you wish for the fate of mortal men?

So treasure your doubts,

but leave them to rest for a while.

You are half-human with human needs.

Those give us a chance to have a good task,

to prove our skills and earn the reward."

The two suitors knelt in front of her, and her face lit up again, her expression approached ecstasy, and her voice rose.

"Among my needs in this life -

if we assume that there is for me any chance to die,

let's say to starve to death (at times I can truly feel there is)

or to be slain in the cruellest way -

I need protection. Therefore,

let the first task be to bring me a monster!"

"A monster!" piped Peck.

"To bring you a monster?" asked Tumble thoughtfully.

"Yes, the most monstrous monster to threaten my mortal enemies -

indeed, I must have some of those -

and to protect and take care of me.

Go now, and if one succeeds,

he may marry me."

She pulled first Tumble, then Peck up and hugged them both, turning her head away to resist their attempts at kissing her on the mouth. The two suitors walked arm in arm towards the back of the stage, then turned one left, the other right and skipped from the stage and disappeared among the audience. Thisby had stayed to wave to them but she now faced the audience again with some enthusiasm still burning on her cheeks.

"Who will protect me?

You must have heard these stories too many times.

My human father was killed by a Death Eater,

my veela mother destroyed by a Minister.

Those merry suitors are all I've got.

I wish I did not have to give up one.

But I promised my father. And still,

I live with my mother's family now.

These cousins of mine have their own woes.

While talking, Thisby had walked to the side of the stage. Now there appeared like out of thin air four fair women, more ethereal than Thisby and dressed in white veils or perhaps only in their hair. One waved and winked at Remus, and the others followed her gaze and waved to him, too. To his relief they quickly blew kisses to the audience all around and started a dizzying dance.

Remus felt his head swirl, but the most enchantment and pain he still felt when watching Thisby, who slowly joined her cousins for a passionate moment. Her dance soon turned into a desperate flight, when she grew weary, and suddenly she fell prone on the ground and stayed motionless. The veela danced away and disappeared.

The sighs, whispers and random exclamations hushed, when she sat up and carefully arranged her rags to cover her legs.

"I apologise.

My excuse is only in this season.

My ball gown is a bit last-season, too.

It served too many cycles of the seasons.

Just as I may have done as well.

Though about serving and what cause I cannot know.

This must be the woe of being half.

One half is not reborn each spring.

A part of the same half may whither more for every winter.

No one knows.

Each half-breed is different from the other.

This causes deepest insecurity.

And who would care to listen to such doubts?

You do not have to,

unless you've got them

in their unique form inside your unique soul.

You do not have to hear mine now.

Now I hear them coming. Peck and Tumble!"

Thisby struggled to stand up, turning her head from side to side. As soon as she saw the faun and half-faun leaping to the stage from the opposite directions, she was jumping up and down and clapping her hands. The audience applauded loudly as well, when a half-giant, following Peck in a leash, bowed low. The leash tightened around his neck and he turned to snarl at the faun.

"Careful with that rope!

I do this only to appear more dangerous,

to gain the favour of the damsel in distress.

Do I look quite monstrous now?"

"Yes you do,

as long as I have irritated you.

Hey, there is good old Tumble, too.

Let's see what beast

He's got in his leash."

The half-faun was balancing on the other edge of the stage, looking down and gesturing animatedly.

"All right. Take the leash off!"

He let go his hold of the rope and turned to the audience.

"The goblins are so jealous of their dignity."

"Not 'the goblins'. This is me, Grap Bigheady!"

A goblin in a golden robe and cloak appeared in the middle of the stage in a flash of light and bent his head slightly to the applause, then silenced the audience with a condescending wave of his long fingers, which sparkled, all decorated with jewels.

"No demonstration of high dignity

could be equal to the measure of my extreme worth.

In my highly valuable property

is included even this

precious gift of acting.

I preferably take the role of an emperor.

But now a monster?

My powers certainly

will be the doom of anyone who wishes to deprive my kin

of what is their possessions.

And to help the damsel in distress,

I'm ready to protect her property as well."

"Hey, there is not a competition who is richer

or can protect the riches of his own or of the damsel."

The half-giant was striding towards the goblin, dragging Peck behind him. He stopped very close to the goblin, staring at him from above and pointing with his finger at Thisby.

"Anyone can see that she owns nothing.

I doubt there can be anything

still hidden and still worth protecting

under such revealing tatters."

"You have no discretion," Grap the goblin replied.

"If you think there's nothing to protect here, you can go.

But I will help this damsel earn a property,

as long as I can earn a fair commission."

The half-giant stared at Thisby's face, then lowered his eyes.

"I apologise, fair maiden,

My mouth is far too big.

But honestly my heart is wide as well,

and I can see, no matter what you lost or never gained,

you like every creature have a value,

which can't be measured in the goblin gold."

Thisby ran to the goblin and the half-giant and did her best to hug them at the same time. Then holding hands with them, she turned to the audience.

"None of you is a monstrous monster,

but I accept the performance in the task.

And I accept the two of you as friends,

though little may I have to offer you."

Peck and Tumble approached her, grinning, but to them she said,

"I have to turn you down. I'm sorry.

I accepted both, so no one wins,

apart from me.

I still have got two suitors who will willingly

fulfil my second task.

Let me think just how to make you see.

To offer anything, to serve,

perhaps I have a fragile soul.

It must be there,

as I can feel the ache of emptiness, the lack of spirit.

Now listen, you might catch just what I need.

I've heard that spirit is a bird that may

fly in, inspire human souls."

"A bird?" Tumble asked.

"I can catch a bird!" Peck exclaimed.

"So go and find the bird which will

give my soul the help it needs

to offer anything to others!"

As Peck and Tumble skipped across the stage to different directions than at the previous time, and turned a somersault to land among the audience, and disappeared from Remus's view, Thisby sat down on the edge of the stage next to Grap and the half-giant.

"Did you tell us your name yet,

my new great friend and protector?

Mine is Thisby," she said reaching up to pat the half-giant's bearded cheek.

"I apologise again, Miss Thisby.

Got used to everybody knowing me.

I'm Dave.

As far as I know Peck and Tumble,

they won't go very far for such a bird."

"I, too, think they know the birds and -

I can hear them!"

A shrill beating sound filled the room, and Remus saw an amazanthine flying in spirals towards Thisby, who had stood up. It was not nearly the size of a snitch, so he knew it was not the full-grown one, which had comforted him, but it had to be one of the new brood. The young ones had evidently now got ready to leave the nest on his roof. The sight of the nest at the time of his homecoming had already given him hope that a lot of things had not changed. As long as the amazanthines still nestled here, at least one could still be inspiring the theatre.

The amazanthine slowed down when reaching Thisby, so that the spectre of colours in its feathers could be discerned. The numerous shades reflected on her face, while the bird continued its flight around her head. She acted as if she did not know that these birds hardly ever perch.

"It won't stop. Peck,

why have you not captured it?"

The faun had run up to the stage, but stopped and placed a finger on his lips. The amazanthine's song had ceased for a moment, but now the bird sang one more shrill melody. When it hushed again, its sound was immediately replaced by Thisby's song.

With her arms raised and the bird's colours flickering on her face, she repeated the theme of her first song, the song about a veela's youth. But now she developed that melody to a new level of harmony, and she finished in a triumph with the audience cheering.

"Thank you," she said with a wide smile to both the audience and Peck.

"I should have known that the bird

cannot be caught but I

shall feel it flying in another time again.

Here comes in Tumble!"

The half-faun, indeed, came to them, tumbling across the stage.

"I heard your song,

and I thank you for it, Thisby.

But am I late?

Now you've got the spirit inside of you, haven't you?"

"No, it will come and go and come again," she answered.

"But I've got a bird that you can keep and treasure."

Tumble fumbled about in his pockets, found nothing but holes and his fingers poking out. Peck burst into laughter, followed by the audience. Tumble's face was soon in deep frown, but finally it lit up, and he pulled out something, opened his fist and showed it on his palm.

"An acorn?" Peck said with amusement.

But Tumble held his palm in front of Thisby's mouth and suddenly the room was filled with song again. The singing of a nightingale.

"A philomel!" sighed Peck.

And the bird's poetic name was whispered and repeated ever louder through the audience, so it could be heard clearly, although the birdsong emanating from the tiny acorn grew more penetrating.

Then all the sounds trailed off, and finally Thisby alone cried out,

"Dame Philomela!"

She knelt down and her companions stepped back.

"The complex form and meaning in the song of philomel

and in all creation she did seek to interpret.

Continuously learning,

thus capable of teaching others.

Teaching her own son among the rest of us.

The highest of the human art and knowledge

she wished to guide him to.

But unexpected sorrows -

uncertainties that she was not prepared for -

made it hard for her to know

what was the way to teach a child like hers.

To take her as my model -

not reflecting simply

but understanding, too -

how to start

should not be hard.

For any half-breed, insecurities in life

are bound to more than double when we try to breed.

No way to know if I can even hope to have a child!

Still, if saved from all harassment, I would have no worries,

none about what is not in our hands.

If life is given, it's a blessing.

It is creation, and I do not create,

as does no full-breed breeding with another."

Taking in each word and each detail of her expression Remus hardly realised that he was crying again, and in any case he did not care if he was.

Peck and Tumble now cautiously approached her. She was startled from her musings, when they asked,

"So what do you need?

What is our next task?"

Thisby lifted her face towards them. It had grown gloomy, but now it suddenly lit up again.

"To raise a child I need to have a home,

and seeing you just gave me hope again.

This is the third and final task:

to find a house for us to live together.

Look for a place that can be safe.

Finding one may take a longer time,

but while you're gone, I'll be protected

by these new friends."

Simply nodding, Peck and Tumble turned to go skipping across the stage. Bud the goblin and Dave the half-giant came from the edge of the stage and helped Thisby stand up to wave to her suitors, until they disappeared among the audience once again.

At that moment all light suddenly went off. A deep rumble echoed across the room. Just a flash of a lightning revealed Thisby's protectors throwing themselves down and covering her fragile body under a bulky arm and a golden cloak.

The lightning was followed by others striking in shorter and shorter intervals, while the crashes of thunder grew louder. Finally a lightning bolt remained motionless up above them. It was bright green.

In this green light a tall black figure marched towards the forestage, holding a wand, and - with his face turned up - peeking through a mask at the lightning. At the sound of a final loud rumble, rows of hooded and masked black figures appeared on three sides of the stage and started moving slowly towards the one in the middle and towards the three huddled creatures.

"A Dark Mark

is supposed to look like a skull!

When shall I ever learn to conjure it?"

Muttering, the tall Death Eater pointed his wand up, and with a flash the lightning bolt hovering above started to change shape. It became rounder and assumed the shape of - a flower. The rows of Death Eaters as well as the audience burst into laughter. With a hurried wave the tall Death Eater changed the shape of the mark into - a heart. Another burst of laughter made him exasperated. Standing irresolute, he looked around.

That was when he noticed Grap and Dave, who had lifted their heads but continued to cover Thisby. He gestured to a couple of Death Eaters to step forward.

"What are those beasts and mongrels?

They disturb my concentration.

Just do the favour, curse them!"

The two Death Eaters who had been addressed pulled their wands out. But at that moment whispers started sounding from different directions, from among the rows of the Death Eaters and the audience.

"Why use the killing curse at once?"

"We should not waste them."

"You could practise any curse on them."

"And you certainly need practice."

"Why don't you do it yourself?"

"There is a third one - interesting."

"Show us what you can do to a woman!"

"A woman, you say? It's a mongrel."

Grap and Dave had stood up and revealed Thisby.

"Are you ready, Grap?

Let's strike quickly before they

make up their minds about what to do!"

"They are too many, but all right..."

The tall Death Eater had kept turning around trying to figure out where each comment came from. Now he suddenly made up his mind.

"Stun those two so we can use them later!

I want to practise with the female first myself."

Grap and Dave leaped forward and knocked the two other Death Eaters to the ground, Dave with his weight, Grap with a touch of his glowing fingers. But several other hooded figures closed in, and when they stepped aside again, the half-giant and the goblin were lying prone on the ground, too.

The audience gasped. Thisby stood up to face the tall Death Eater, and her frail figure was like a child's in front of him.

At that moment the sickening green shade of the illumination over the scene changed. Pure white light was reflected on Thisby's face and hair. The light blinded the Death Eater. He glanced up, and following his gaze, Remus, too, saw that the green hovering mark had been replaced by a full moon.

A full moon - even if only enchanted - made Remus close his eyes, all shaken, but he could not close his senses from the sound that followed. A bloodthirsty heartrending howl. Hearing immediately after the audience laugh, he forced himself to look, and he saw all the Death Eaters retreat in panic and disapparate with the last scream of horror.

"Werewolves!"

And in marched a squat figure dressed in a pink flowery robe. She curtseyed, turning to greet the audience, who gave an enthusiastic applause to her - no, to him. Remus could not repress a chuckle. He recognised the actor as one of the oldest members of the group, Mr Grubber, a half-goblin. He did, indeed, resemble Umbridge.

"Thank you! It was quite a feat, wasn't it?

Some fifty Death Eaters at least escaping

just at the sight of me,

the mightiest at the ministry -

but don't say that to sweet Cornelius!

He is a little jealous

of my popularity and wits.

And once again I have

achieved a victory against the evil

and saved some innocent

witches and wizards."

Turning away from the audience, Dolores Umbridge noticed Thisby and her stunned protectors.

"But who are you?

What are you? You're not humans!

I think I know you, creature, and you've been warned.

You have been seen with some sub-human

and another weird half-breed

trying to settle together to conceive

more illegal mongrels.

And now what is this? More suitors and still worse!

Further crime must be prevented.

The only way to do it is

to have this female monster eliminated."

Umbridge poked her wand under Thisby's chin. The frail maiden's face was still shining white, and she screamed,

"Werewolves!"

Her scream was followed by a desperate but gallant howl, and Remus was sure the audience was meant to realise that it was the sound of one individual only. Umbridge either failed to realise it or decided to hide the fact she did realise it. She seemed to have, indeed, the wits to hide something else, too.

"Werewolves

belong to the worst weapons of the enemy,

the darkest of the creatures.

So my responsibility

is to rush to hunt them."

She stumbled to the back of the stage and disappeared. In an instant Peck and Tumble rushed towards Thisby.

"Thisby dear, you are safe and sound!" Tumble shouted.

"I knew nothing would touch you," Peck said, chuckling and kissing her cheeks.

The two suitors were smiling cheerfully. Having each taken Thisby's hand and holding hands with each other as well, they started to explain.

"I could not find a secure place.

The Death Eaters were after me," Peck said.

"I escaped the Death Eaters;

the Ministry was after me," Tumble added.

Thisby said,

"That woman who in reality

rules over our Minister

was here but left me suddenly

because of a higher priority

to catch and kill some werewolves."

"You are not exactly right," said Tumble.

We saw her running to avoid

an encounter with the werewolf,

who was, in fact, a lonely one."

Peck winked at Tumble and declared,

"And now the best piece of news!

We have just been offered

a home for all three of us.

So neither of us wins.

The host who has invited us

appears the most deserving."

"Peck, you are right, indeed," Tumble said, adopting his thoughtful tone.

"He has a house with powerful protection.

As for the second task, I've heard the arts

of images and teaching are his expertise,

so he could, too, begin to serve

as the sound of spirit bird for you, dear Thisby.

And I have a feeling he could also qualify

in your first task, since there is more to him

than a generous and clever man.

I'd dare to say that he is more than human."

Peck let go the hands of his friends and looked alarmed.

"He fulfilled the tasks, all three of them!

Does this mean that we are set aside?"

"He did not claim to participate!" Tumble protested.

"And he does not demand the reward.

The case still seems to be unsettled.

So we can all move in and we shall see

if Thisby ever will make up her mind,

because that would mean losing one

of the merry suitors dear to her."

Thisby put her arms around her two suitors and looked at their smiling faces. When she turned to the audience, her face had a healthier youthful glow than what had been seen on it before.

"Dear to me you are certainly,

but I hope to meet this new friend soon.

I trust he can revive immediately

these brave protectors too.

He'll give me a home and spirit.

He'll be the best of beasts.

This may not be the happy end.

There will be more suffering still,

because we shall continue

to live -

but with new hope

all of us

united."

The singing of a nightingale filled the room as the three bowed. After a moment of silence, expressing awe or probably slight confusion, the audience exploded to a thunderous applause.

But they hushed, as Thisby raised her hand, and she exclaimed, "Our guest of honour tonight!"

The magic spotlight suddenly fell on Remus, and he was blinded and startled. He was too much aware of the traces of tears on his face, as he had been crying freely, in the way he never could except when in this kind of virtual interaction offered by the theatre. He stooped his head, but by lifting it slowly he turned his embarrassment into a solemn but humble bow. Realising the impression achieved, he spontaneously smiled. He heard his name whispered, and before the voices got louder, he hurried to exclaim, "Brava Thisby! Bravi Merry Thespians and all the creatures!"

He started clapping his hands and the audience joined in his applause and the spotlight was focused back to the stage.

The artists did not prolong their triumph. After bowing in unison once more, they quickly mixed in the audience. Most of them went to sit with their friends at different tables, and some folk from the tables climbed to the stage. A tall and broad man, who had stepped to the end of the row before the last bow, jumped down from the stage and approached with long strides. Remus realised that this man had been in the role of the stupid Death Eater, and that he was no one but Robin Bottom himself.

The admirably strong and jovial youth, whom Remus remembered from the first years when he had followed the rehearsals led by his mother, had grown to be one of the leading actors and opposition men as well as an author by the time of the raids. Since then he had not changed much, if not gained some more size. One of his grandmothers had been a giant, which he proudly declared in any opportunity. He was about ten years older than Remus but looked certainly younger than him.

He actually looked like the sun, especially in contrast with Thisby, who suddenly appeared under his arm at the moment when he reached Remus's table. His shaved face was round and rosy and radiated original mirth.

"Welcome back to the Cotswolds, Remus. It's great to see you after all these years!"

He had spread his arms before stopping beside the table, and Remus had stood up to hug him. The accidental brush of Thisby's hair and forehead on his chin startled Remus, and he did not dare to look at her again. The glimpse of her standing next to Robin remained in his mind as a touching image of frailty. Robin offered a chair to her, and without looking to her direction Remus could sense her sweaty and still panting of excitement and exhaustion, trembling, and desperate for someone to lean on.

Robin refused to sit down himself. "I do want to have a long chat with you, Remus. But I hope you'll come and see me on another day. Then I'll introduce everybody to you. And we'll find out what role or roles if any you want to take among us. In any case you'll have my support in your cause. But tonight I ask you to just concentrate on making up your mind about your role in Thisby's case. Tell her if you can help her. She is rather weary."

"Thank you, Robin. And congratulations on the brilliant performance! I suppose I'm the one to prove that it was quite impressive and, indeed, influential. But I've understood I should talk to the two suitors as well."

"I'll ask them to come here. See you soon in Long Compton, at the old place."

Remus followed with his eyes Robin walking among the tables and calling for Peck and Tumble, and he watched the two of them stand up, jump over benches to join each other and then approach arm in arm, chatting cheerfully. Having not dared to look at Thisby's helpless figure, Remus suddenly heard the sound of her breathing change. He cast a cautious glance at her and saw her smiling, apparently not only of amusement but of serene sense of security, as she was leaning back on her chair in a relaxed manner.

Holding out a hand to be shaken, Remus managed to get Peck and Tumble separated. First Tumble, then Peck shook his hand heartily and embraced him in a hug as well. Their faces were beaming and their eyes sparkling, as they stole glances at each other while explaining like in competition how thrilled they were to meet him in reality, too.

They looked a lot alike, although Peck's complexion was darker, since Tumble had the almost translucently white skin of a redhead. Besides the clearly visible horns, Peck had a slightly more withdrawn or rather mysterious air about him, whereas Tumble's face revealed each of his quickly changing thoughts.

"The last part of the performance was a bit abstract. Or that's how Robin puts it," Tumble explained.

"I said we should have a wolf on the stage. Something transfigured to appear as a wolf," Peck said.

"The performance was excellent," Remus said feeling more than a bit uncomfortable.

"I doubt all folks got it yet. But we'll do the show again," Peck said.

"And Robin will change the lines and write lines for you, if you join us," Tumble added.

"Anyway, according to Robin, tonight we should not discuss that, but Thisby's case - in reality," Remus said, frowning and rubbing his forehead.

He felt he was on the edge of getting a headache. The room was noisy and the smoke had thickened again.

"Take a seat," he said, sitting down.

Peck and Tumble were clearly too full of energy to have thought of sitting down. Peck now pulled a chair from the next table, but Tumble suddenly noticed Thisby and hurried to congratulate her and to ask her if she needed something. Remus heard Thisby chuckle.

"That's what I've been talking about all night!"

Remus saw that the bearded waiter was still sitting with the half-giants at the next table and was so busy drinking himself that there was a chance to avoid ordering more drinks. He could as well take his companions home for dinner, and leave behind this restless atmosphere, hopefully even the talk about his future roles on the stage.

A role for him in Thisby's real life was unavoidable while still not defined to the degree he personally needed it to be. But he wondered if her apparently careless suitors were ready to join him - or even her - in reality. He wanted to ask a few simple questions and hoped to get simple answers.

"Please listen, Peck and Tumble. Robin pointed out that you are tired, Thisby..."

He forced himself to talk to her and not about her in the third person, like Robin had done, but he glanced at her very cautiously. She nodded sagely, but lost her concentration, whispering to Tumble. She had evidently commanded him to sit down, and they argued for a moment, until she stood up and sat down again on his lap.

"Yes?" Peck asked in a slightly grumpy tone.

"So do you need a safe place in reality?"

"Yes, please. We've all been threatened and..." Tumble's voice was serious for a change, and it trailed off, while he looked at Thisby in concern.

Remus closed his eyes for a moment. There was no need for further explanations. Why should he even expect his protégés to be serious?

"I've got a place which is protected. But that is all I've got, and my right to it is based on my labour on the lands. If you all three want to come to live on the Wotton estate, you'll have to take part in the labour. I actually need your help. Besides, of course, the Ministry doesn't approve of me staying there. And I don't approve of the Ministry. If you come with me, you will eventually join my side in the conflict."

"We are ready for that," Tumble said adopting his more thoughtful tone.

"Do you want to come with me and move in tonight? You can collect your possessions from Long Compton next time when you have a rehearsal there."

"I don't own anything," Thisby said, chuckling again.

"In that case it's simple. But your fiancés had better accompany you."

"Yes. You will, won't you? Peck, won't you, too?"

"Yes, I will. I am most grateful," Peck said and bowed.

"I can't sleep with them in the same room, though, since they are still two," Thisby said, giggling.

***

Remus apparated to Mr Landor's house and apologised for disturbing him at such a late hour. But the elder seemed to have expected him and not to be surprised to hear who were supposed to arrive through the floo powder network in a moment. He looked not only pleased but actually cheerful when kissing Thisby, Peck and Tumble on their ash-stained foreheads and winking at Remus.

"I trust that the famous moraliser of the whole magical society will not allow the three of you to transgress the boundaries of decency, regardless of the details of the spiritual guidance which he has preferred to mine."

Peck and Tumble burst into laughter, and Thisby kissed the old wizard's hand, promising never to choose anybody's guidance against his. Remus was suddenly sure that Thisby's knowledge concerning Philomela's son, her cousins' benefactor and the cover boy of the Quibbler derived from one source more.

On the way up the slope Peck and Tumble chased each other across the bushes, not bothering to follow the winding lane. Remus walked side by side with Thisby, but kept the high vegetation in the middle of the lane between them. The waxing moon had risen and it increased his discomfort, while he realised that he was now giving up his privacy, which he had already got used to. This was the reason why he had decided to come to claim a home: to offer it to others. But he had never thought that the first creatures to join him would include someone like this woman.

She was first talking constantly - probably about the reactions of the audience, although Remus hardly listened to her - and when she grew silent, that sounded alarming. He glanced at her cautiously and realised that she was simply extremely tired.

"We are almost there. You can see the apple trees, and the house is just behind them."

She stopped, and he felt it was absolutely necessary not to stay standing there. He reached out over the bushes, and she took his hand. He quickly almost forced her to continue walking. Her hand was cold, and he noticed she was shivering. Venturing another look at her, he saw her like Cinderella, with ash stains from the floo powder trip still on her white face and with the rags hardly covering her body. He should have given his cloak to her, but he realised he did not have one. He would have to ask Gumby to look for some of his parents clothes for the two of them. The two of them... She was not his fiancée. What were Peck and Tumble thinking, leaving her for him to take care of?

From behind the first apple tree Peck leaped to embrace her, and Tumble rushed from the other side and wrapped his worn cloak around her shoulders.

Remus looked forward and thought of the words in Dumbledore's handwriting. He could see the house now, but he led his guests a bit further to check that the charm truly prevented them from seeing it.

He wondered if the elfish magic had an effect on them, too. But Peck and Tumble's joking showed that they were in a cheerful mood, and Thisby's laughter was no less cheerful. Her facial expression and posture had changed completely again. Suddenly stopping, Remus could hardly get their attention.

The three of them continued arm in arm a few steps, until Peck exclaimed, "Where is the house? I can feel we are almost at home now."

Gumby apparently welcomed the new inhabitants.

"It's been hidden by a charm. I'll conjure a piece of parchment. You'll have to memorise the writing. I'll destroy the parchment, and immediately after - and afterwards every time you want to enter - in order to find the house, you'll have to recall the words exactly as you saw them written."

"But I don't know how to read," Tumble said, frowning.

Thisby only shook her head, reflecting Tumble's expression.

"I can read it aloud," Peck said.

"All right. It must work like that. You two just follow the writing with your eyes, and try to envisage it while saying the words in your minds after the parchment has disappeared."

The three guests nodded and looked curious, when Remus took out his wand. He concentrated on the memory of Dumbledore's writing burning his hand and muttered, "Albus Fidelius!"

A parchment appeared in his hand and shone for a moment, but he had to light his wand to illuminate it, while Peck slowly read the text, pointing at each word with his finger, and the other two bent their heads to follow carefully. Then Remus touched the parchment with the wand-tip, and it burnt to ashes in an instant.

"Now repeat it in your minds," he said quietly. He watched Thisby close her eyes tightly and move her lips.

When she opened her eyes, her face lit up. "It looks just as lovely as my mother told me."

The warm light of the fire was streaming out through the open door.

Soon watching her warm up by the fireplace, where he had himself returned only a few days earlier, Remus felt such pain and pleasure that he was relieved to have a chance to escape to practical tasks. Gumby was nowhere to be seen, and Remus quickly started preparing dinner. He had already learnt something, but Gumby would certainly have known a lot better how to prepare something suitable for such guests. The elf evidently welcomed them, but perhaps did not want to take any role of a servant in this situation - beyond offering the opened door and the fire.

Only after they had settled for the simple dinner and the guests had turned out to be far from fastidious, did Gumby appear with a pop. Remus introduced the guests to him first and him to them as a friend, whom they could call Gumby, and there was nothing more said about the elf's status.

Gumby joined in their conversation, asking about the success of their performance. He summoned some dessert, which he must have prepared beforehand, and finally asked what kind of lodging arrangements the new inhabitants would prefer.

Remus suggested that Thisby take his mother's bedroom in the east wing of the building, and she said that her two fiancés could share a room in the west wing. When it had been agreed that after dinner Remus would take Peck and Tumble to their room, and Gumby would see to what Thisby needed, including the clothes, Remus felt he was able to relax.

Peck took out his flute and demonstrated the instrument. "This is not just any flute. This is a shawm, and a renaissance shawm, not the old-fashioned type. Can you see this crenellated metal band wrapped around the bell? It protects the instrument but also makes it quite an effective weapon for settling disputes among musicians - or suitors."

The two suitors were soon engaged in a dancing competition around the fireplace. Gumby benevolently called out encouragements to them every now and then and continued to fill Thisby's plate.

Thisby smiled at him but turned to Remus. "So what did you think of the performance? As... art, I mean."

Remus glanced at Thisby's face to see it suddenly serious, almost tense, although the audience's satisfaction with her achievement was still shining out at him. He realised that she was not a careless child repeating with ease what she was told to do, but an artist at heart, struggling to build images, and ever uncertain of how close to perfection she had reached. The perfection was impossible, and she would never find peace.

"You all played your roles brilliantly. Art can't be separated from your personal experience. But you especially... I feel you mainly reflected the anguish of other persecuted creatures as well as their zest for life. So that you made them understand themselves and each other with more sympathy, while giving them hope."

"That's what I meant to do. It wasn't really my story except on the surface."

"I wonder..." Remus felt strangely confused, unable to analyse the play so as to define the facets and to find out which one was truly based on Thisby's life. He resorted to the formal level instead. "The piece had been written excellently, too. Excellent mirth in tragedy, and grief in comedy. I just wonder why there weren't three suitors, too, as the trials were three according to the classic pattern."

"What pattern?"

"It's even in the fairy tales. Have you not read such stories?"

"I've been told some such tales that the fairies build up, but I don't know about any patterns. I don't know how to read."

Her voice sounded uncertain, but was there some half-hidden anticipation in her last comment? Remus did not look up at her face, but followed her lead.

"You can meet the patterns at the theatre, but even for getting to know your lines... Don't you think you should learn to read?"

"It might be nice to be able to read. I like magazines, but I have to ask someone to read to me. Maybe I could have understood better what they wrote about you, if I had been able to read it myself again and again. But I kept only the photo of you, because I can't read anyway."

"You can learn. Tell me: did your mother speak the language of the veela to you?"

He felt he was getting seriously interested. Looking up, he saw just a simple young girl answering his questions sincerely.

"Yes, of course. And I learnt English only after a couple of springs when You Know Who was gone and my parents got together again. And now I've usually lived with my cousins and spoken only veela except at the theatre."

"In that case you must learn to read veela first."

"But that's not possible! Who could teach me? Only some of the most honourable ones who never deal with mortal men are able to read the scripts of the veela."

Remus realised he was probably making things too complicated once again, but he was curious to take the challenge and to find out if his principles could be applied in practice. It did obviously not seem to be the most urgent task in the war against the Ministry and Voldemort to teach a half-veela to read in her mother tongue. But the extreme complexity of this case fascinated him. Did it really make any sense to let her learn to read first in a language which probably had never been written with such vocabulary that she used in her everyday speech. He wanted to make an experiment, but to remind himself to be flexible enough and change to English, if it should turn out unsuccessful. And the teaching would not require them to give up other duties.

"I have read some texts in veela. I studied the art of healing when I was young, and the advanced level requirements - at least in the form set up by Professor Flamel - included the theory of the veela magic. The special knowledge in natural remedies which only the veela possess..."

Thisby was staring at him. He realised that her gaze did not make him dizzy anymore, but he felt that Thisby herself was distracted from what he was saying.

"Remus Lupin, there were three suitors in the play, if we count you as the third."

***

That night Remus felt unable to resume writing about his past, since his current decisions had suddenly ceased to be theoretical ponderings. Shaken by the presence of new inhabitants in the house, he realised how quickly he had got used to leading a certain kind of quiet life at home.

He kept a clear distance from Thisby, Peck and Tumble during their first day, and let Gumby alone guide them to the work on the lands, on the excuse that the elf was most up to that task. Remus went by himself to the pastures to fix the sheep sheds, although it was not one of the most urgent tasks. He wanted to think about Harry or at least about what to tell Harry about himself. But the image of Thisby's shining face returned to his mind again and again.

The meals became truly refreshing breaks from the work thanks to Peck and Tumble, whose endless jokes captivated even Remus's attention. Their humour was lighthearted and true at the same time. Gradually, but surprisingly quickly, Remus started feeling that he would be even more relaxed in this company than with Gumby alone, in the lack of need for wording his thoughts.

In the evening of that first day Thisby appeared in the kitchen after dinner, when Remus was by himself, finishing the bottling of the apple juice.

"Do you speak veela?" she asked without an introduction.

Remus glanced at her and was still startled by her frail figure clothed in the same green robe which his mother was wearing in the last images of her treasured in his mind. Thisby had to be about seventeen years old, but she looked at the same time both more childish and more mature than that.

He attempted a smile. "No, I don't. Would you care to teach me?"

"Yes, of course."

She quickly grabbed an apple from the table and put it in his hand, pronouncing its delicious soft name in veela. Remus tried to repeat it and smiled at his own clumsy attempt. She nodded sagely, poured some juice into a glass and lifted it on his lips, whispering another combination of vowel sounds and a dental consonant, as far as he could figure it out. He tried to pronounce it, and they both burst into laughter, spilling the juice all over. She said a whole phrase, in which he could discern the same combination of sounds.

"Please, wait a minute. I'm not such a quick learner. I like your teaching method, but my way of learning requires a chance to analyse what's going on. I need to write it down, too."

His own need for visual stimuli in order to learn an alien language naturally allowed him to guide his teacher to learn literacy. Not wanting to leave the kitchen, which had turned out to be an inspiring learning environment, he summoned a piece of parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink from his desk. Then he stepped to the doorway to look out to the great hall, wondering if his old textbook of Healing Arts could be still in one of the family bookshelves. He needed an image of at least its approximate location so as to be able to summon it.

He knew he did not own a copy of the dictionary or the grammar which he had used when reading the veela script included in the text book. But his own side notes could help him recall the writing system, which had fascinated him enough to make him study it, although it had not been necessary for learning what had been required in that first Healing exam in autumn 1979. He had been even more thorough in Healing than in his other studies, probably because of his urge to independence regardless of the harm that he had still occasionally caused to himself during his transformations. Or maybe he had actually been more interested in the languages and cultures of alien creatures.

"Accio, The Most Tender Ways of Tending Mortal Wounds and Disabling Disease!"

"What do you need that for?" Thisby had sat down at the table, on a bench, and she was fumbling the quill with her right hand while eating the apple.

"Do you always use your left hand for eating?" Remus asked in passing, while sitting down beside her, placing the book next to the bottles and starting to leaf it through.

"Sorry. I should remember that most humans prefer using the right hand."

She left the quill, moved the apple to her right hand and took another bite.

"No, I didn't mean to correct your habits... Accio quill! I just checked that you'd better use the left hand for writing, if that's you preferred hand. So if you want to eat while writing, you really had better hold the apple in the right hand. Sorry, I'm so meticulous that I must be terribly irritating."

"No, you are just as wonderful... more wonderful than I had heard."

"Anyway, you don't have to write, unless you feel like doing it. I just summoned another quill, so you can hold one, if you want to. I need all these things to learn and memorise what an apple is in veela. Would you care to start from the beginning again, after I've found the right page in this book? Here it is!"

At the beginning of the chapter quoting directly an ancient veela script, which most students must have skipped, he had eighteen years earlier carefully marked the code with which to turn phonemes into the letters of the veela alphabet. He glanced through it. Thisby was staring at the page, too. He prepared the quill, reached to a basket for another apple and offered it to her.

"Please..."

Thisby looked excited when handing the apple back and pronouncing the word carefully, and Remus tried his best to repeat it.

"Is the sound at the end like in the word for throat?" he asked, peering at the book and touching his throat.

He was startled by the touch of Thisby's hand on his and under his chin. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, feeling it was hard to do it, as if her gentle touch had pressed his windpipe closed. He had an ominous feeling concerning the vocabulary which this book was leading them to take up.

"I'll write the word for an apple first."

He wondered if Thisby was looking at his hand or his face or some other part of his body, while he tried to concentrate on drawing the delicate lines for the veela letters, placing the first one in the bottom right corner of the parchment and the rest in a row above it. While writing he pronounced the word slowly.

Then he would copy from the book the word for a throat. This other word had not only helped him check if the dental consonant sound was really the one which he had marked with a D, but it also offered a nice rhyme to help Thisby realise the similarity between the two words in both their spoken forms and their written representations. He repressed the urge to explain the theory of the method. Instead, he had to look up at her to check what she was observing.

After releasing his windpipe she had started poking at the letters of the first word. Now she was looking at her inky fingertips.

Remus took his wand and performed a drying spell. "See, I have to do this because I use my right hand and I would mess up the ink on the first word, when I proceed to the left as we must do in writing veela. It will be easier for you, because you use your left hand. Now it's also a bit hard for you to compare the second word with the first, since my hand covers it. But try to see what happens.

Remus himself was excited to see what would happen. He trusted that she was intelligent enough - and, most of all, had enough experience of comparing different spoken language systems - to even instantaneously become aware of the relationship between a phoneme and a letter. Still, she may not have ever thought of the fact that spoken words could be separated into phonemes. Or maybe she had experienced it, when practising the intricate sound patterns, with which she obviously enjoyed playing when singing.

He pronounced the word slowly while writing it. She had bent her head low towards the tabletop to peer at the movements of the quill. He lifted his hand, performed the drying spell, and began to observe the expression of concentration on her face. She would not disappoint him, and he started smiling before she looked up at him and spoke.

"It sounds like a piece of a poem, and you can see it here. Now you won't forget it!" She caressed the ending of each word with her fingertips and turned a beaming face back to him.

Once again he was startled by the realisation that she was able to only reflect emotion. She was happy that he was learning, or maybe the fact that he enjoyed her learning made her happy. Still, it was only his enthusiasm shining on her. She was the moon. And her almost absolute destitution, her alienation from her life burned in his body and mind more painfully than ever.

***

The lines of his own handwriting - from the night before he had met Thisby - suddenly presented themselves to him as a treasure.

Thisby had gone out, summoned by Peck's flute, and Remus had climbed to his loft, doubting that he would be able to concentrate on the never-ending letter. He had finished the lesson quickly. He had been afraid that his sudden grief for her would reflect on her and undo the positive experience of learning. Partly in order to end off the lesson by emphasising the significance of writing, he had explained that he needed to write a letter to a friend whom he missed. Thisby had evidently connected the sorrow in his expression only to another person, and she had asked if it was a woman.

He had wished he could have answered affirmatively so as to remove the uncomfortable tension between the two of them. He had been unable to lie, but he had only said, "Someone who used to be my student."

Now at first unable to concentrate on thinking about Harry, he was suddenly overwhelmed by the blessing present in the familiarity of the text in the unfinished letter. It had been produced by the movement of his hand, in the way he had since his childhood learnt to move it smoothly. It had been controlled by his mind. And it conveyed his deepening understanding of his life in a language of his own. How could he have thought that he was unfortunate? He was in quite a satisfactory control of different ways of expressing himself and not just reflecting something from the outside. Unless the emotions and thoughts of every creature were only reflections.

***

Harry,

I was telling you about the memory of how I was bitten by a werewolf. Or was I? I claimed to be writing to myself. And I was not describing the event. After the nightmare, which I merely mentioned, that experience belongs to my history, too. Still, I don't feel like describing it in words. I actually painted it and I wish I could show the product to you, though it was an abstract painting, which is supposed to adopt any meaning, when someone looks at it, and not just the contents which the artist had in mind. Unfortunately, I had to sell it, and did not even get much for it. But I can envisage it, and that's enough for me.

I have sold, or left behind, or painted over almost all the paintings I've ever made. But except in the case of the real portraits, it's no big loss, as I can remember them and they remain in my mind - or rather continue to develop in my mind, maybe better than if I were able to continue to look at them. I can still see in my mind the first sketch which I showed to your mother - one I actually drew when standing beside her at the blackboard. We were twelve years old...

Anyway, turning that ancient torment into a painting now seemed the appropriate thing to do, especially because I may not have ever started to learn to paint, had I not been bitten. I had to spend several days at the hospital - even though my wounds had been closed by the best healers before I regained consciousness, so that I never saw anything but the scars, which are meant to remain permanently in such a case. I remember exactly why I was so restless that the young healer Miss Emeline said she didn't know if she should laugh or cry. I told her I had suddenly discovered how I would play great battles with my friends. I was able to see it all vivid in my mind. All the descriptions of fighting heroes in the old tales, which I had been told by my parents, my uncle and Gumby the house-elf, had become alive. I wanted to rush out and do it, to be one of the heroes.

She asked me to show her what I saw in my mind, and she gave me a piece of charcoal and thick porous type of paper like I had not seen before. I remember the frustration when I couldn't produce the same I had in my mind. But slowly the charcoal started to live its own life and to guide my mind to new images. Even the accidental strokes revealed surprises, which combined with what I had seen or only heard in words. New adventures were formed on the paper, and they enchanted me.

At home I continued with watercolours, and the play of the ever-changing scenes and figures replaced interaction with other children. I practised to learn to read soon, so I had new sources for ideas available. I also spent a lot of time outside and fancied the woods behind the house, where I vaguely remembered I had played with other boys when I had been little - just months earlier. When I wanted to capture and to keep all that I had read about, or done or - as my body was always weaker than I wished - just imagined doing, I recorded it in drawings and paintings.

I didn't miss anybody to share it all with me besides Gumby the house-elf. I hadn't forgotten that I had always taken the role of the king when playing with other boys. Although my parents were kind to their servants, Gumby was supposed to do what I told him to. He was supposed to call me Master Remus. He didn't oppose my orders, but for some reason he always disappeared, when I suggested he take the role of the king's servant in my play. When I asked him why he avoided playing with me, he explained, "Master cannot remember. But that is not true. That is not even how we played before. Wizards do not know the truth. But Master can now learn again the true game." And he suggested that we take the roles of brothers, and that was our secret and my favourite way of playing.

I remember I seriously suggested that Gumby follow me to Hogwarts. I was quite sure that what I could reveal of myself to other students would appear so boring that I wouldn't be able to make any friends. And Gumby's friendship was very special to me, although from the beginning of my historical time until my belated homecoming my mind was devoid of the conscious memory of my earliest bond with him. The closest bond possible, which had as a unique blessing tied my life to the secret of the elves.

My parents were happy when Gumby had time to accompany me in play. I remember my father first wanted to forbid me to go alone to the woods. After four years they told me what had once hurt me there. That was when I started my attempts at a true understanding of why they kept telling me that I had better avoid violent scenes in my painting and drawing, too, instead of just letting out anything that came to my mind.

What I first learnt to control was my painting. I had realised that I didn't paint what I had done or what had already existed in my mind. Every time something else appeared from the strokes of the paintbrush. I had enjoyed the surprises, but I learnt to enjoy controlling them. Later in life I learnt to relatively well control my mind, first the purely human tension on my better days, and afterwards even the aggression which arises from my disorder. After that I wanted to learn again to paint more spontaneously, but my conscious mind still quickly follows and analyses whatever I produce. It's easier to learn than unlearn.

The draft on the blackboard was an example of controlling the chalk and easing my mind with the help of it. Am I writing to you, Harry? I should consider what would interest you. What you would like to read about that incident is probably not the level of control and consciousness in my visual expression. But do I dare to write about my very closest friends? In that case I must start from the beginning.