Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures

Chapter Eleven: Children to Serve

After the night when Remus had finally received a letter, the day dawned rainy, just as he had expected. Having worked outside until tea time, he felt that he really deserved the hot bath which Gumby prepared for him, as well as an evening off. Instead of getting wrapped up in the worries about what he would be able to do for Harry, he held to his plan to apparate to Mr Landor. He needed to finish the harvesting, and he really needed more men on the fields. Gumby could probably be thanked or blamed for that.

So far Remus had not felt that his actions had ever been directed by the elf. Gumby had always simply worded the obvious conclusions of not simply Remus's own experience alone but of Remus's own understanding of it. And whenever the elf had offered him a piece of further wisdom, misunderstandings had been inevitable. The elf had not tried to correct them, even when it had meant that Remus had been left without his oldest friend's support, and without a lot more that he would have needed, for seventeen years. Gumby had accepted it calmly and waited patiently, until Remus's homecoming had allowed the elf to share the man's mind again. Until that moment by the fireplace Gumby had known nothing more about all those years than any outsider who had gathered information. Perhaps less than Ice-Stare knew.

But Gumby and probably some other elves - those who guarded each his or her personal secret, too - had helped everything grow this year. Remus was happy that even the elves did not claim to initiate anything living all by themselves, although in his childhood he had at times felt tempted to believe that these creatures were truly omnipotent. In any case, the long-abandoned lands were yielding exceptional crops, and everything had turned out to be ready to be harvested right now. Why not some of it earlier, even before Remus's return, and why not some later in the autumn, following the normal timing? "It was meant to be," was the only explanation Gumby gave to Remus.

While the abundance of food in the cellars and the granaries and still on the fields suggested a feeling a security, Remus could not refrain from speculating why the rest of the crops would be meant to be gathered so urgently. Before the winter storms, would there be something else forcing them to entrench themselves and to turn from farmers into solders?

As far as Remus knew, there had still been no such attacks which could be without doubt attributed to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Exchanging information and ideas with Mr Landor could contribute to figuring out what Fudge had been up to recently. And Remus had to admit he needed help on the lands. He realised how hard it was for him to approach anyone in order to ask for help - and indeed anyone ever who was not in need of such support that he himself could offer.

***

"I need your help, Remus."

While sipping his tea in silence, after explaining his needs briefly, Remus had been staring through the drenched windowpane at the garden, where the wind was turning the bushes upside down. Mr Landor looked clearly older than a few weeks earlier. Maybe it was mainly due to the fact that he no longer had his meals outside. And he must have now expressed a plea like this exactly because he knew how much Remus was inclined to looking for those whom he could help, instead of looking for assistance. Still, he had made Remus practise mentioning his own needs first. How could he now force Remus to feel that there was something more urgent which would have to push those aside?

"All right, we'll gather just what we can, in case there is something more important I should concentrate on."

Mr Landor's face lit up and for a passing moment it shone of such youthful delight that Remus could not help feeling a bit irritated by the possibility that he had been subjected to a test. And had he even passed it?

"Remus dear, it's up to you to decide what to concentrate on. I am not your leader. But you may achieve two things at the same time. There are some young witches and wizards whom I can guide to you. It depends on them, of course, if they choose to be helped by you and to help you. And you must evaluate whether you can really save them from anything. Come with me to meet two of them now! I hope you don't mind I'm taking this to their mother." Suddenly standing up, Mr Landor reached for the basket which Remus had brought.

They had opened one of the jars of cherry jam to taste it at tea. Remus was rather proud of having been able to bring such a gift which he had prepared himself, while he still felt distressed by the fact that even the cherries had been ripe to be picked only a week ago, which could not possibly be quite natural.

Mr Landor's uncharacteristic abruptness was alarming, too. He did not look exactly cheerful and he did not wait for Remus to reply, but rushed him. "Let's go through the floo network, so you won't get lost. I don't think you've ever been to this neighbourhood of the Ancient Village before."

***

Remus had visited enough of such places in London. Still, there was perhaps something even gloomier about the poorest quarters of a village than of the capital.

As soon as the spinning stopped, he was overwhelmed by the noise and the stink. He had to push himself through the crowd of ragged people, who had gathered around the fireplace and were irritated by the momentary decrease in warmth caused by the floo powder. Knowing too well that his eloquent apologies would have gone wasted, he replied nothing to the swearwords. Paradoxically, he could have said that he immediately felt at home here.

The White Thestral of the Ancient Village of Long Compton reminded him of a nameless pub in those hidden quarters where he had rented a room from Mrs Porchead. In that pub he had always managed to sit for hours even when he had had no money for one cup of tea. Especially on winter evenings when his room had been unbearably cold, he had tried his best not to get thrown out. These pubs hardly profited from customers like him, but some kind of a rule of patience protected the destitute. Those who did not disturb anybody were allowed to stay. There was always the chance that somebody would buy them a drink, or that someday they would have a sickle to spend. Remus had seldom disturbed anyone, even those who enjoyed gossiping about what he was. Such talk had always made him leave and feel like not coming back for a couple of days.

Even in this pub there were no distinguishable part-humans. Sometimes he wondered if the poor and uneducated witches and wizards were even more biased against them and non-humans than the so-called noble families of purebloods were. And this thought now made him feel rather uncomfortable about what Mr Landor had been planning. Remus had, indeed, never known these people in the Cotswolds - or in London, where he had always been a loner, separated on too many grounds from the people among whom his poverty had destined him. The poor humans in his parents' circles had been civilised.

He chuckled at the thought that the people of this neighbourhood were hardly cultured enough to recognise his face as belonging to a well-known rebel. It would have been easy for the ministry to spread the information even here. But once again he had to admit that Sirius was certainly more famous. For three years, pictures of the escaped prisoner must have adorned this pub as well as that one in London, where for one year they had offered the only company to Remus in his bitter solitude - comforting him, perhaps, while renewing his feelings of guilt every time.

Walking through the pub, he registered the faces and he knew that he would memorise each as an image, like an illusion of having known these people. The thought of Sirius, perhaps, had unexpectedly made him sensitive enough to try to imagine the suffering behind each image. He struggled to restrict himself to the superficial. And he realised that there were faces belonging to both men and women, to both very young and very old. The exceptional storm had driven families, too, to seek shelter here, though it was not even October yet. But there were very few people of his age.

Having taken his arm, Mr Landor was now leading him towards the door, which was half open to the rain. "I trust one of them will come soon, or we'll apparate to our destination. You can almost see it from the threshold. You must wonder why we came to a public place instead of going straight to their home."

"No, I don't. I've seen homes without a fireplace before."

Mr Landor turned, with surprise in his eyes, having probably heard a trace of amusement in Remus's voice. But his expression changed at the same moment. Remus could hardly register the alarmed look before another twist to nonchalance and the words spoken casually.

"Don't look back. Let's go out slowly, as if we were in no hurry and hesitated because of the rain."

Stepping to the threshold, Mr Landor reached out his arm to feel the strength of the rain. Remus followed him and leaned against the doorframe. He shook his head and had no need to pretend to hesitate. He still wore no cloak. He had not thought of going outside during his visit to Mr Landor. And this alley was muddy and lined by shacks, and while the wind was not blowing to the door, he could see it raging not too far from the shelter of the building. Some of the shanties would certainly collapse in the storm.

"Their home is behind the last cottage you can see on the right," Mr Landor said, peering to the left. "We'd better walk a bit to get out of sight before we disapparate."

That was wise, if they were not supposed to attract attention. Since uneducated wizards seldom learnt to apparate and even more seldom could pay for the apparition test, there must have been few locals ever doing it publicly. And Mr Landor had obviously noticed someone who could have recognised Remus. As they walked briskly side by side to the left, a partial explanation was offered.

"There was a ministry official talking to some young men in the corner. I had thought there might be one or two here even now. A risk, of course, as they must know your face. But I knew I'd recognise them first, since they always wear a uniform on these missions."

Remus felt like asking for some clarifications. He was not eager to enter anyone's home without even knowing the whole truth about the reasons for their visit.

But they had reached the corner of the block, the wind threw heavy drops of rain on them, and Mr Landor hurried him again. "Let's now apparate behind that last cottage, so nobody will start gossiping about any mysterious visits. And we don't want to get more drenched. As you seem to know, we won't have a chance to warm up where we're heading."

The two of them appeared almost simultaneously on a small yard surrounded by low walls. The yard was practically a puddle of mud, and the walls were made of corrugated iron, scrap timber and even cardboard.

Mr Landor stepped to one of the walls and knocked, while turning to Remus, who had remained standing in the middle of the yard. "The children may stay out or at the pub until late, but their mother is sure to be at home."

"Are you sure she's ready to receive visitors?"

The absolute misery of the place caused a suffocating anguish in Remus. It was not due to any reluctance of his to be here and meet these people. But thinking of a woman living at this place, he relived his own fear of unexpected visitors witnessing his destitution. Kingsley standing in the middle of his room, looking around, and Sirius...

"Why didn't you invite the mother to your place? And why are we meeting her and her children anyway?"

"Mrs Ditcher is ill, and she's got a baby, too."

That hardly made the situation better - any more than answered the latter question. Remus took a deep breath, and tried once more. "But if she doesn't know about our coming..."

"I promised to come today, and I've said that you'd accompany me one of these days. Come on, or you'll be soaked. She's not getting up to open the door."

Mr Landor moved a piece of millboard, grabbed Remus's arm and pushed him in through the opening.

As he heard the old man's warm deep voice greet Mrs Ditcher politely, Remus closed his eyes for a moment. He had immediately turned his face down, and after opening them and getting used to the dim reddish light, he saw to his surprise that he was standing on a thick oriental carpet. Several carpets, partly on top of each other, covered the whole floor of the small room. The flickering light was growing, and when he ventured to look up, he saw that all the walls were lined with furniture and piles of miscellaneous possessions. The contrast to his bare room in Mrs Porchead's building was so striking that his distress started to subside.

The things piled against the walls evidently served as insulation against cold, too, but mainly as building up an image of warmth and even of wealth. In reality the temperature was certainly not much higher than outside, and at a closer look everything was shabby and even filthy. The source of light was in a corner, where a witch was slowly sitting up on a couch. She grabbed the rising orange flames from a small table and squeezed them into a ball in her hands before standing up. Having walked unsteadily to her visitors, she released the warm-coloured but cold fire onto a bigger table, where it immediately grew to illuminate the room with a steadier glow.

"Mrs Ditcher, this is Remus Lupin, whom I said I'd bring to meet you. Remus, this is Mrs Ditcher, widow of Brian Jonah Cotter and Oliver Ditcher, who both died in the first war, fighting against Voldemort."

"A pleasure," Remus hardly managed to mutter, before realising how inappropriate it sounded after Mr Landor's last words.

She said nothing. Her hand was hot of fever, but the glow on her cheeks was certainly due to make-up as well. Remus suspected that she was about his age, while just like him she looked considerably older, regardless of her attempts at hiding the signs of premature aging. Her hair had been died raven, and the grey of the roots was clearly visible. She had soft features, which had probably looked pretty fifteen years earlier. But the lines around her coloured mouth were bitter, and the gaze in her pale blue eyes was suspicious. She pulled her hand back, and having wrapped her purple fake fur coat tighter around herself, she folded her arms as if to wait for an explanation.

Glancing at his side Remus noticed that Mr Landor was no longer carrying the basket. After a moment he located it in the corner near the door, and he could feel his face flush in embarrassment caused by the failed discretion in leaving a gift for someone in need without even mentioning it.

He quickly excused himself and fetched the basket. "Mrs Ditcher, I hope you'll dare to taste this cherry jam I prepared myself. I brought some to Mr Landor, too, and he seems to have survived it. He must have told you that I have just moved to live on the Wotton estate in Bagendon, and I'm still learning how to take care of such a household."

Her eyes flashed in appreciation, and she almost smiled, receiving the basket and glancing into it.

"Thank you. Sure you'll do great, if you're so eager to work in the kitchen yourself. But why don't you sit down."

She waved her hand casually and murmured something under her breath. A clattering sound followed, and Remus turned to see three chairs and another table being vacated of the load of various pieces of utensils and decoration, before they slid to the spot not far from the door, where she and her guests could now sit down comfortably.

His admiration led to a spontaneous acknowledgement. "You are a master of wandless magic!"

"No, this is quite normal. I guess those who go to Hogwards don't need to develop these skills. I've never had a wand. Now the street vendors offer those imported ones, you know: one size fits all... But I think they're useless I hear you went to Hogwarts. You even got to teach there, although you are..."

For a moment the only sounds were the howling of the wind and the drumming of the rain on the corrugated iron. Remus shivered. Why did Mr Landor say nothing now, having talked all the way without allowing Remus to ask any questions and without properly explaining the purpose of this visit? Remus did not know if he was supposed to talk about himself or to avoid any particular topics, or particular words.

"Yes, well, I guess I was fortunate in that. My parents knew Professor Dumbledore personally. And because of my parents I now have an estate, too - although according to the ministry I have no right to it. Being what I am, I have certainly not managed to make any fortune myself - no matter how fortunate I was.

"Accio, teapot and three cups."

Another silence followed, broken only by the rattle of the teacups, which flew from the corner obediently, although Mrs Ditcher had been sitting with her arms folded and merely whispered the incantation. Her hissing made the teapot whistle and pour the steaming liquid into the cups. The drink was excellently fragrant and sweet, and Remus knew for sure that in reality it was plain water.

He sighed and stared at Mr Landor meaningfully, hardly remembering to utter the compliment.

"Your tea is absolutely delicious, Mrs Ditcher. But Mr Landor, why don't you tell us - or tell me - the purpose of this visit. Not that it wouldn't be simply a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs Ditcher. As far as I know I was brought to meet you because I said I'd need help on the estate."

"In the harvesting." Those were the first words Mr Landor had said after introducing the other two.

His contribution did not seem very helpful to Remus.

Unexpectedly, however, Mrs Ditcher leaned forward with a new interest in her expression. She looked even excited, but her voice was still suspicious. "And would the workers be allowed to stay all through the winter?"

"Oh, yes, of course, as long as they would like to. Rather as members of a family than as workers. I mean I can't possibly employ any workers, since I have no money to pay them wages." Remus was immediately sure that this revelation did not increase Mrs Ditcher's respect for him, but he hoped his honesty would increase her trust, anyway.

Yet, she turned out too practically-minded to even accept the statement. "Aren't you going to sell the crops?"

Not having even thought about it all in a bigger scale than on the level of learning to make some jam for himself and for his friends, Remus suddenly felt he had been childish. "Some of it, yes, but only in order to buy what else will be needed by the inhabitants during the winter. Maybe you know I'm gathering those who are persecuted by my enemies..."

"What will be needed, you say - like weapons?"

Her abrupt words made Remus turn his gaze to Mr Landor again. He did not even know how reliable this witch was. Who she was. Widow of some who died fighting against Voldemort, but not as members of the Order. Fighting for the ministry. He should have had a discussion with Mr Landor alone.

At that moment he saw the millboard being pushed aside. A young man stepped in and closed the opening behind him. He was not much taller than Remus, but he had to bend his head slightly to be able to stand in the shack. Maybe that was why he quickly grabbed the back of a chair closest to the door, tilted it so as to drop the pots piled on it, and sat down - only a few steps to the right of Remus - before speaking. "The ministry officials are honest about things like that at least."

"What do you mean standing outside listening! You get all soaked and now you make the carpet wet."

The boy did not even look at her mother. A boy he was, indeed, hardly older than eighteen. His features resembled his mother's; there was nothing striking about them. His face was thin and pale and his shoulder-length hair was drenched so it was hard to see how blond it was. He had jeans under his too short robes and an extremely worn-out jeans jacket over them, and all his clothes were truly soaking wet. His lips were blue, but he tried his best to maintain a relaxed posture and to hide the fact that he was shivering. He glanced at Remus and Mr Landor, fixed his gaze on the teapot for a moment and looked down again.

"How are you, Jonah? Your sister didn't come with you?"

As Jonah only shrugged, Mr Landor continued, "This is Remus Lupin from Bagendon."

"I know."

Remus was encouraged by such an expression of attention, and reached out his hand, decisively sticking to politeness. "How do you do, Mr...Cotter. Pleased to meet you."

The boy had given his hand lazily, but he now looked into Remus's eyes. His hand was so cold that Remus felt reluctant to leave it. And although the eyes - as pale blue and suspicious as his mother's - seemed to ask if the warm tone in the phrases of courtesy hid an intention to make fun of him, there was also an implied promise to consider alternatives and to accept any hope which was not obviously unfounded.

Maybe Remus's interpretation of the boy's expression was, indeed, unfounded. But it allowed him to spontaneously give to the boy a sincere smile, before he decided to make Mr Landor finally speak up. "I'm sorry if it seems that I hide my intentions. But I'm the one whom nobody has told what the ministry officials do at the White Thestral. Anyway, Jonah... May I call you, Jonah? You can call me Remus, too. Come and have a cup of tea with us. Or would you like to put on some dry clothes first?"

Mrs Ditcher summoned another cup, and the pot filled it, while Jonah just shook his head. When Remus passed the cup to him, he spoke.

"They promise us wands - good ones, from Diagon Alley - and uniforms. But they don't hide the fact that the wands will be used as weapons."

So this was how Fudge was arming the wizard community. Remus took a deep breath and turned to look at the wise elder, who had obviously decided to let Remus handle the situation in any way he chose to. Why had Mr Landor not talked about this before they had come here? Was he hinting that in case Remus did not know, it was due to unwisely concentrating on his own small circles?

But now Mr Landor finally spoke, after a sombre smile. "The Departments of Magical Law Enforcement and for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures have joined forces to form Special Security Corps. You may remember this is what happened in the first war, too. As a member of the Order and in close co-operation with the elite corps of the ministry, the Aurors, you, Remus, were to fight the Death Eaters. Years filled with fear, some tragedies, and believe me I could never belittle them, especially what the final confrontation with Voldemort himself meant. But do you think even Voldemort wanted to force the members of his elite group to continuously risk their lives or even endure the inconvenience of repeated battles? By threats and bribes he persuaded the giants, the dementors, and many more dark creatures to fight for him. And to fight such an army, the ministry recruited its own soldiers. Some of them we hardly cared to hear anything about - non-humans, half-breeds. Made to fight other non-humans on behalf of humans. And some were praised as a group - loyal and strong young men volunteering to defend the wizard community... Sorry about that - a lecture on history.

In his calculated silence Mr Landor seemed to have, indeed, gathered an urge to lecture. "That was the Special Security Corps, sent to fight armies of the darkest creatures for years. That's how the best part of a generation was lost. Mrs Ditcher's husbands, and the fathers of most of these young wizards - and witches, too, this time - whom they are persuading to join. Ministry officials come, usually in pairs and always dressed up as army officers, in robes lined with gold, to describe the benefits of joining the Corps. And they pick these places where such people go who hardly have any alternatives."

Both mother and son listened to Mr Landor half-heartedly. He had probably talked about all that and more to them before.

Jonah had perhaps waited for the particular comment on alternatives. "But you said Remus Lupin could have an alternative to offer."

Jonah was, however, not looking at the man he addressed. His eyes were begging for reassurance from Remus. The boy was, indeed, ready to accept hope. He must have looked at the ministry officials in the same way. And found it hard to adopt any doubts about the deal. Who had made him doubt it? Mr Landor had refused to commit himself to the opposition, but he did his best to make the disadvantages and injustice in Fudge's administration clear to those who had their own cause to defend. What about Mrs Ditcher? She was sure to prefer an alternative, but perhaps she seriously doubted there was any.

Remus had to speak now, and he felt hopelessly unprepared. "Jonah, you seem to have heard what I said about the work on the fields - and about a membership in a family, or brotherhood, rather than employment. And I don't hide the fact that those who join me will be regarded as enemies not only by Voldemort but by the ministry as well. I have a Fidelius Charm - and some even stronger magic - protecting the place. Most of all I mean to offer a refuge, and food and shelter. And something for you to do and to learn perhaps. That's all."

"And you expect my children and other children of heroes to run away from their duty of defending the wizard community! And to be ready to fight against the ministry on the side of half-breeds and worse..." Mrs Ditcher was leaning against the edge of the table and breathing hard.

Was this another test, or why had Mr Landor not warned Remus?

"I don't expect anything from you or your children. It must be up to you to decide whether what I offer is an alternative. I'm sorry..."

Remus was interrupted by a protest, which was of a most unexpected type, as he had - been narrow-mindedly, once again and - forgotten about the baby. A demanding lament overpowered even the sounds of the storm. Jonah jumped up first and hit his head on the ceiling but hardly noticed. While he hurried towards the corner where Mrs Ditcher had been lying earlier, Mr Landor stood up and offered his hand to her.

"Let's go together to greet your lovely baby girl."

The baby was still lying in her bed - a cardboard box lined with flowery fabric. The crying had stopped as soon as she had seen her brother's face bent close to her. Above and around the box there were tiny winged animals circling her: a tiny winged cat, a tiny winged dog and others, yes, even a tiny winged sheep which, indeed, greeted Remus with a baa when he caught its eye. That was the latest type of Developmental Magical Device to Entertain and Educate Your Baby, which he had seen advertised on Diagon Alley. This copy was probably a cheaper forgery, as the colours of the animals were far from natural or aesthetic.

"Her dad brings her lovely things like that. "Satisfaction had suddenly replaced the tension in Mrs Ditcher's voice. She was clearly glad that Remus had stared at the toy. Herself she did not pay any attention to the baby at all, and she continued, "He always brings nice things - to me, too, as you can see. Although now he comes only because of the baby, and it's better really..."

Mr Landor spoke as if to himself but without bothering to make his voice low. "He'd better bring some food or money, too."

Remus quickly turned his attention to the baby. "She is so beautiful. What's her name?"

Jonah had now picked her up. She was wrapped in shawls, and the only parts of her to be seen were a tiny white face with big brown eyes and tendrils of black curly hair - surprisingly well-grown for such a small child.

Jonah smiled to Remus for the first time, but he spoke to the baby. "Dolly you are, aren't you? And four months old yesterday."

"Her name is Dolores. The witch who helped me with her birth said it suited well, too, since I had so much pain during the delivery and for months before. She said the name means pain. But I had rather thought of Madam Umbridge when I chose it."

Dolores had started to cry again, and Jonah was pressing her against his chest, rocking her gently.

"What do you think you're doing? You make her clothes wet, too! Can't you ever learn the spell to get yours dry? I told you I'm not going to help you anymore. Your sister learnt that long ago. Not that she needs it much now that she learnt to apparate, too."

Jonah did not reply, but sat down on the carpet and lifted his little sister up on his straight arms. He moved her back and forth, until her crying turned into screams of excitement.

Remus replied, instead. "Wandless magic is not easy for everyone, is it?"

"Men! They're hopeless. Women have to get by with what they've got, even with nothing but what they were born with. But men always complain and say they need some sticks to use."

Mrs Ditcher's outburst was quickly over. As if she had consumed all she had in herself, she turned pale and sat down on a couch. It was the same she had been lying on, and she laid her head on a pillow.

At that moment the baby's bawling restarted, and Jonah promptly brought her to her mother. "She's hungry."

Without a word Mrs Ditcher took the baby beside her, but as Remus turned away, she said, "Don't go yet. Sit down here."

Remus felt a chair move to push him behind his knees, and having sat down on it, he was facing her. She had not given chairs to the others, and they had returned to the table. She had closed her eyes and hidden Dolores under her clothes. Did she even eat well enough to be able to nourish a baby?

"Have you been ill for a long time?"

What was it that made her almost smile again? "Can't remember when I wasn't. It's nothing..."

"Do you mind if I try to see what could help you? I've studied some healing, mainly healing wounds, though. And I'd need to use my wand, if you don't mind. I'm not good at doing it with simply a touch."

She opened her eyes and just looked at him for a while, without moving. "I didn't ask you to help me."

"I know that. But I hope you'll let me try."

After a hardly perceptible nod she closed her eyes again.

He took out his wand and stared at it, concentrating for a while. He had not used this spell for a long time, but had recently just mentioned it to Thisby, who had learned about different ways of examining patients. He pointed his wand at Mrs Ditcher's chest and pronounced softly but clearly, "Logos astheneion."

A fine mist encircled her and then spread towards him.

He was suddenly overwhelmed by a most familiar feeling of starvation. The disabling malnutrition, and the lack of acceptance, of a friend's touch. Not until the mist of the magic disappeared, did the ultimate fatigue and despair turn back into a memory and into an abstract notion, which he could view almost objectively. Was that all or at least a part of the reason for her weakness, or had the spell not worked at all?

He decided to be honest but to not mention every detail. "I'm not quite sure if I got it right. I have to confess I may have just reached my own experience. Anyway, I could send someone who doesn't use a wand but direct touch, to try and gradually heal you, and she can bring you a potion. I'll prepare it together with her. If you accept her. She's a half-veela."

Her mouth twitched and it was hard to guess how she felt. But she was clearly still listening, so Remus continued, "And unless the company disturbs you too much, you and Dolores are always welcome to live at the Wotton manor."

Mrs Ditcher did not open her eyes, but her voice was strong and steady. "Myself I will never plot against our Minister Fudge, or put my baby in danger. I was not older than six when I was scared with rumours about a werewolf in Bagendon. So you see I've come a long way, when I let my boy and girl face you rather than the dementors and giants. If they choose to believe in your cause rather than our Minister Fudge's. But if they choose you, we'll see what they'll face on your side."

"I'll still have to consider this, too. I'm not sure if I can accept their service, if it can turn into a sacrifice. What I really want to do to these children, and to any young creatures, is to teach them. I don't mean to take them into a battle. Myself I don't want to resort to violence either."

A distinct snort followed his words. Startled, he now realised that the quiet crack which he had heard a moment ago had been caused by something else than the storm trying to rip off the roof.

He lifted his gaze from Mrs Ditcher's face and saw another face resembling hers, with the exception of alert grey eyes. A young witch was standing at the end of the couch. She caressed her mother's hair and casually pressed her palms against her ears before speaking. "Do you think Fudge himself wants to take part in any fighting? Don't you know he buys us to serve and fight for him?" Moving her hands to her mother's temples, she whispered, "I'm home, Mum. You can sleep now."

Jonah's sister had, indeed, arrived without having got her clothes wet. Besides, the way she was dressed gave the impression that she could really get by with what she had been born with. Her thin, almost translucent robes were open and revealed the tiniest muggle dress Remus had ever seen. Standing up straight, she closed her robes and grabbed a shawl from the back of the couch. Her hairdo almost touched the ceiling, and her make-up was as excessive as her clothes were scanty. She turned to join her brother and Mr Landor at the table. Her manners were not any better than her brother's. "I'm Rose," she said without looking at Remus.

He realised that he had not done much better, either, only staring at her. Standing up to follow her, he muttered, "And I assume you know I'm Remus Lupin."

She went straight to Mr Landor, to get patted on her cheek, but her purpose had clearly not been just to greet the elder politely. She started whispering into his ear.

Remus decided to join Jonah. "I'm sorry I didn't offer to help you dry your clothes before, but your mother might have got upset. Do you know how to do it, if I lend you my wand?"

"Yes, of course. There's a wand for anyone to borrow at the White Thestral and that's what it's mostly used for, these days."

Jonah took the wand and examined it carefully before touching with it each piece of his clothing and saying in a consciously casual manner, "Siccarus."

His clothes started steaming visibly. They would not be dry immediately, but more quickly than without magic. Having got the wand back, Remus did the same to his robes. Rose had made more tea, and Mr Landor talked to her quietly for a moment more, before addressing the others.

"I'm sorry about that, Remus and Jonah. I just explained to Rose here what had been said before. So, Remus, you see now why the ministry wants these children and how the ministry is going to get them, don't you? They are more valuable than non-humans or half-breeds. They can be given wands and taught to use wands in battle, even to produce a Patronus. Or at least they can be used as signals for the presence of dementors. They can be given any other weapons for a change. They can be used as fodder to the enemy's monsters. They are cheap. Not needed for anything else. That's what the society took care of a long time ago: made sure to have a reserve, whenever those in power regard a war as a profitable option. That's what the Quibbler writes in the latest issue. I guess I should have sent a copy to you."

"I know I should have got to read it. But it didn't even occur to me to invest any of the little money I have on subscribing to a magazine. Sorry, I'm just looking for an excuse, as I'm afraid it's been really stupid of me not to read something like that. Although that is just Luke Lovegood's idea of what's going on, I guess."

"Well, who can say what the absolute truth is - if there is any. But you've just hinted at the fact that the society pushes some people aside and leaves them with no alternatives. Rose and Jonah, as a werewolf Remus has endured a lot that should help him understand your situation. But would you mind explaining to him some details of the reality of life in these quarters..."

Jonah looked at her sister, and she wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders before replying, "I now understand what you mean by a reserve. But we've just wanted to lead decent lives like any other people, to work in decent jobs..."

Her voice trailed off. Remus was not sure if he really wanted to pose his question. "May I ask you what kind of work you do? I mean... I've been through it again and again, for twenty years. Most of the time there's no chance at all to make a bare living, and if there is an opportunity, you'd do anything without being too selective."

Rose's expression was definitely closer to a smile than her mother's had been. "Well, let's say we are proud and experienced professionals in the fields of... trade and services. Mum says that at the time when she was growing up the opportunities got fewer. Maybe that's what you meant, Mr Landor. Saying that the society has taken care of producing this reserve. In the old days, daughters of poor families used to work as servants at mansions. But then rich families started having house-elves do everything. Now it's mainly that we sell what we've got... Take this crap Dolly's dad brings, for instance. There's a chance. Or maybe not. Somebody may want to buy more crap, but nobody has money. Maybe until last year some had..."

Jonah interrupted her. "It's been better to try and sell your labour to the muggles."

"It was. But since the beginning of the summer it's been almost impossible to find even temporary work in the muggle world either. If the landowners here really want to employ muggles to work on their fields instead of magical people, there's probably no problem finding labour force. Jonah and I have worked since we were nine or ten, as we never went to school. It's not always been easy - but never as difficult as this year. We had to leave the room we had rented for a couple of years, and that was just before Dolly was born. At the moment her dad is fascinated by her, so he keeps coming to visits again. Not that it helps Mum much in any way..."

Remus decided to ask for a clarification of an earlier point of hers. "I heard of the economic depression in the muggle world, and I suffered its consequences as well. But what do you mean by our landowners preferring muggle labour?"

Mr Landor looked like an eager schoolboy requesting leave to speak. "The ministry encourages the employers to use squibs and, when possible, even muggle labour. They want a steady or increasing unemployment in the wizard world, so young people with no other alternative are available for Fudge's army. That's what Luke Lovegood writes, and gradually more people start wondering if he can be right about something. But until recently the Quibbler has not been read at the White Thestral. Nothing much is read in these quarters. And these people have the tradition of serving the ministry in times of danger, so the mothers are ready for sacrifices, while the young... You want to believe that joining the corps will give you a chance to make your life better, don't you?"

There was no reply. Jonah had his eyes fixed on his teacup, and Rose had turned to look at her sleeping mother. Maybe both brother and sister wished to keep the deepest hope untouched, so nobody would argue against them and deprive them of it. Exactly because of all that they had endured and still had to live through daily, they could not give up their dreams lightly. These dreams were for them the only warmth in the cold.

In such a way Remus, at least, relied on his dreams - in addition to his memories, as he had been fortunate in so many ways. Mr Landor, on the contrary, was perhaps able to face the cruel reality to such an extent that he did not need to believe in Remus's cause either. He enjoyed revealing the dire facts and the worst prospects, and leaving the final conclusions to others, as if he had not been involved, after all. If he had not appeared so excited, he could have been regarded as someone ready to lie down for his final rest. He still talked, but did not truly commit himself to what he said.

"You can say there's always the chance that you're not sent to fight, so you only get the benefits - being employed by the ministry and given a wand, even some training in its use, maybe getting paid enough to get out of these quarters. But Fudge already stopped paying the meagre aid to the widows and orphans of the first war in order to finance the second. How the war actually brings him gold, and where the gold goes ... Well, you'd better talk to Luke, if you're interested in that. I'm not sure I want to believe the worst."

Remus was certainly ready to believe the worst about the ministry. But in this situation the priority was to discuss his own role - from these children's perspective. Still, he could not escape the nagging suspicion that he was actually doing the same as Fudge. Could he really serve these children, or would they just end up serving in another army in more grave danger? Even if he let them leave, in case the situation got too bad, they would be punished for having joined him.

Instead of wording all that untimely, he felt like including some kind of an apology in what he said. "At the White Thestral, is there any talk about me? Sorry I'm so self-centred."

Rose now smiled, as if reassuring it was all right. "No, Mr Landor told us about you, and showed us the Quibbler, both the latest issue and the special issue of the first of September."

"Yes, I did. There is no rule forbidding talk about you. With the exception of the internal rules for the ministry employees. I'm just starting to spread the news that I have an old neighbour back, and to tell people that it is beneficial to read. Soon enough there will be talk about you. But no official announcement with your picture, I'm afraid."

Remus returned the grin before getting thoughtful. "Maybe it's better that nobody knows where the rumours started."

"Exactly. I wanted to keep this visit secret."

Mr Landor had certainly done a good job - partly hiding the meaning of the visit from Remus himself, as well. Resisting the urge to criticise the elder's mystifying and passive behaviour, Remus turned to Rose and Jonah.

"Maybe, regardless of your own decision, you'd like to tell your friends, or anybody in the neighbourhood about my offer. But don't tell anyone that you've actually met me. It's better if everyone says she or he heard it from someone else. So in case you decide to join the ministry's corps, after all, and as your mother will probably stay here in any case... I hope you won't be in any trouble because of me."

Rose had let down her hair. It had an auburn hue at least in this light, and its warm veil covered her thin shoulders and her neck, which had looked so vulnerable before. And now there was a both determinate and playful glow in her eyes. "I'll do my best to spread the news so quickly that in no time everybody knows and wants to know more, and nobody knows where it started. I'm already making copies of those articles in the Quibbler. And maybe you should let Lovegood interview you."

Remus could not help smiling, but he shook his head. "He's got a lot to write about and I, too, should read more. I trust he'll write about the young people of this neighbourhood as well, but without mentioning names."

"It'll soon be no secret that Fudge won't have me in his army. After I've got the rumours spreading, I'll come to Bagendon. How can I get to your house, if there's a Fidelius Charm?"

"When approaching, you'll be observed by some fauns and they'll call me to let you in. I hope you don't have too much against fauns. Or against a half-veela coming to tend to your mother, tomorrow if it suits you. She'll tell you more about me and the Wotton manor, and you can ask her any questions, just note that she's not exactly impartial in her opinions. Please consider everything carefully before making up your mind. But I truly appreciate it, if you're ready to spread the news now, so everyone else, too, can evaluate the offer individually." Even if her concrete question had tempted him to give a detailed reply, Remus had to be careful not to encourage any premature decisions.

But Rose had obviously been ready to make up her mind, even before Remus had known what the point of this visit would be. "Our views are quite clear. Not that I wouldn't have doubts about your ability to keep us from battles, but I've got more doubts about the benefits of Fudge's policy. And I'm not alone among my friends. My dear brother here still wishes he could have the wand. And Mum is loyal to Fudge, and admires Umbridge. But she has no strength to keep us from deciding for ourselves. Maybe if your healer can help her feel better, she'll be a more serious threat to our league."

Remus shared a smile with each of the three. "I'll take the risk."

***

Harry,

Thank you so much for writing to me. I'm sending Hedwig back to you with this letter early tomorrow morning, although I didn't have much time to share with her, or to spend on writing, during this one day she was here. Instead, I worked hard on the fields and in the evening I met some people who'll probably move to live at the Wotton estate, so we can all help each other.

Once again I've seen that some people's lives are harder than most of us can imagine, while it's easy to believe that what we are facing now is the hardest. I don't mean to belittle your worries. I really hope you don't even think about them all, as long as you must be so much on your own. What I meant was rather that I had almost forgotten how many things are fine with me nowadays - just as you kindly wished. What I've got is so much more than I need. It gives me new strength and hope. I do believe that someday people will suffer no more. That may not be in my lifetime, but surely in yours.

It does make a great difference what you learn this year, Harry. And what you teach to others. I can assure you that Rafinarisma works in real situations. But you should understand Hedwig in a lot more nuanced level than I do, for her to have been able to let you know what I achieved with her help at last full moon. Maybe I'll talk to you about it, when you come to visit me.

Yes, you must come. I'm going to ask Dumbledore to allow you and Neville to have a break from Hogwarts during this autumn. Do you think the headmaster won't agree? And did I just say that your studies are important? At least I dare hope I can make him see that it will be an excursion of some sort. Even though I doubt he and I always understand each other either. I trust your visit will be both pleasant and useful.

Until then, I'd like to advise you not to stay all alone. Even if you think homework or whatever they do is not so important, join your old friends at least when they ask you to. Maybe you'd like to spend more time with Neville, too. Give my regards to him and tell him about my plan to invite him. I'll write to him, too, when I've got Dumbledore's acceptance to the plan. Anyway, I really hope you and I can learn to understand each other better, too. Until then, I want you to know that I love you regardless.

Take good care of yourself, Harry.

Remus

***

After signing his name Remus lifted his eyes to stare at Thisby's bent head. The large oak table had been moved close to the fireplace, but her hair appeared once again as self-luminous and it bathed the books and the parchments in white light, which adopted a warm hue only occasionally, when the burning wood cracked and the flames rose higher. She was leafing through a thick volume, knitting her brows. Finding what she had been looking for, she smiled. As her lips parted to reveal the pearls of her teeth and the petal of her tongue, so that they all together could form the sensual expressions of her native language - albeit this time without voice - her quill rose upright and recorded the words without any touch of her hand.

Despite her current concentration and her by now established, evidently long-term dedication to each of her fields of learning, Remus knew that it was hard for her to keep her attention focused on a single task. His calm presence helped her study; his concentration was reflected on her mind. Or maybe directly on her eyes, which ceased to dance around, and on her fingers, which contented themselves with touching the smooth, soothing surfaces of the books.

That was why he had agreed to stay and do his own writing by the fireplace opposite to her once again. He was getting used to it. Could he even prefer it to isolating himself as much as possible? Such development in his attitudes would be beneficial, since the house would hopefully be soon more crowded. How would Thisby and Rose react to each other? How about Thisby and Jonah? Remus's urge to protect Thisby against distraction helped him control his thoughts and avoid those issues now. So far he had talked to her only about Mrs Ditcher.

The most urgent task of taking care of the mother and the baby had already been given to Thisby, after all. Remus had wanted to apologise for making a promise on her behalf. She had immediately agreed with him about the need of a quick decision, though. Besides, she had quite literally shone of gratitude for such an opportunity to learn and to start practising her new skills - as well as for the amount of trust in her. The glow was still emanating from her; it was surely not only reflection. Her devotion to the preliminary task of looking for information on relevant magic seemed to persist exceptionally well, even after Remus had stopped writing and allowed his eyes and mind to wander around her and upon her.

He had seen helping Mrs Ditcher as an opportunity for Thisby, and he was glad she had not let him down so far. Still, he now wondered why he had felt that his own skills would have been inadequate. He would have tried his best, of course, had there been no alternative. Only time would tell how Thisby would affect Mrs Ditcher's attitudes towards half-breeds. And how Thisby would succeed in treating her patient tactfully.

The brewing of the potion would have to be left for the morning. Remus felt enormous tiredness in his whole body as well as in his mind, as a result of all the work and the encounters of the day. Still, and even with so many unfinished tasks stressing his mind, his dominating emotion was peculiar contentment.

Enjoying the warmth of his own fireplace, he remembered the evenings he had spent like this, doing nothing besides writing never-ending letters, which would have to wait to be sent. But two years earlier he had done nothing else during the whole day either, before seeking the warmth of the pub, in addition to some pointless wandering, hunting for jobs which never existed for him. In a way he could have now missed those years when he had had an excuse for occupying only his mind. Now that he was finally ready to delve into his past, he was kept busy by an excess of physical labour and of vital interaction with various creatures. Still, he now had more strength left even after a day like this than ever two years earlier or during those twelve years when he had had no direction in his life.

Before he could reward himself with sleep, he would have to endure one more negotiation. But that would have to wait until Thisby was ready to join Peck and Tumble.

The two friends probably pretended to be working in the granaries, which were the best place for merrymaking with the hideous weather. Tumble had actually explained that making music and dancing all through these nights was serious work, too: practice for a show. For the first time ever Thisby had made lyrics for Peck's tune, and they were going to ask Robin to include their scene into a theatre performance prepared for the purpose of inviting creatures to join Remus.

It suddenly occurred to Remus that Thisby was already working day and night even without her new obligation. And while full veela and fauns never got tired, a half-veela certainly needed some rest. Or how could anyone be so sure of what a half-veela needed? She hardly knew it herself, but she had to know more now than she had known before coming to live under Remus's roof. Just like in his case, the duties and the direction increased her strength instead of consuming it.

For Remus, replying to Harry's letter had been a duty. This letter had been harder to write than anything before. Should he have told Harry that he had written so much more during the previous weeks? But he was suddenly quite sure that he would soon have a chance to talk to Harry face to face. And he could allow Harry to read the autobiography rather when he would be able to watch the reactions on his face.

Envisaging Harry's face now stirred his mind in a way which he had avoided when concentrating on the task of writing - on how to disclose a part of his plans, while offering honest encouragement. Now he was simply confronted by the image of the boy and with no defence to block the painful rush of longing. It disturbed him that he was unable to analyse what the longing was based on. Was it still his grief for James and Lily, both so vividly present in their son? Or had Harry already become a son of his? But Neville had to be his son as well. And Thisby, Jonah and Rose were all to be his children.

Having looked down at the parchment for a while, Remus realised that the warm sensation, which he had felt at the moment when his thoughts had turned to children, had another source outside of his mind. He was not surprised to meet the calm green shade of Thisby's eyes. If she had ended up intruding in his mind again, he could only blame his unnecessary anguish, which had evidently distracted her.

"Thank you, Thisby. And I'm sorry I interrupted your work. Or have you finished?" Remus leant back and braced himself for hearing her ever-enchanting melodious voice.

Just as he knew he could expect these days, she launched into a verbose monologue. "It's all right. I just felt you were strangely tormented by a feeling of longing - instead of the reconciled sadness I usually feel around you. And tonight my own genuine emotion is stronger than ever, so I couldn't help channelling something to you. You know I'm still amazed that I now know how to explain what happens in my mind. I can finally find the words, like for that song, too. But now perhaps it's even harder for me to concentrate. I used to feel like rushing away from anything I was supposed to do. I wanted to listen to the sounds from afar, to look behind things, to reach for something else to touch. But now I get lost in my own mind and describing everything in words even when there's no one to hear me... No, I did not finish yet. I'd still like to check the wizard magic related to increasing strength after malnutrition. Even though maybe it's not so important, except in theory, as I could never use a wand in any case.

Reaching to turn a page back in her book, he decided to reply only to her last comments in order to save time. They would both need a rest before the tasks in the morning. "I think you'd better make a brief summary of only the idea behind that magic. Don't bother about the wand movements. But it may prove useful someday, if you read the first footnotes about the early versions developed by witches, who sometimes resorted to no wands at all. Maybe you'll want to study it more carefully later with me - or with a witch - but you can still spend a moment on it now. I'll read the newspaper, so I won't disturb you."

He reached out for the Daily Prophet at the end of the table. Mr Landor had given him the latest issue of the Quibbler, too, after they had apparated to Bagendon, but Luke Lovegood's article was likely to agitate him. Since this was not the appropriate moment for any type of agitation, he started skimming the pointless news items in the Prophet.

The front page was hardly enlightening either, although the gigantic font of the headline seemed to hint at something highly significant. Under two phrases and a photograph there was not much space for an article, and that was probably not a great loss.

FUDGE AND UMBRIDGE PROMISE: THE EVIL WILL BE DEFEATED.

The picture confirmed Remus's conclusion that he did not regret having refrained from paying a subscription fee. He had certainly not missed Umbridge's smirk or the attempted persuasiveness in Fudge's nodding. As he watched them, Umbridge elbowed the minister and stepped to the foreground and forward until her face filled the frame as a close-up. The picture had evidently been processed with skill to show her skin smooth and her eyes bright and benevolent. Still, Remus did not feel like admiring her grace, but quickly turned the page.

THE WEIRD SISTERS CANCEL A CONCERT. DONAGHAN'S A DAD.

There was a picture of eight hairy musicians and a dazzlingly smiling blond who was holding up a hairless newborn to fake play a bass guitar.

SOLITARY WEREWOLF GUILTY OF THE COTSWOLDS MURDERS

Remus closed his eyes. But he kept seeing the words. Guilty. There had to be a mistake. No, it was true. Then again no: the Prophet would not print what was true. Calm curiosity replaced the shock in a disturbing speed. Thisby was obviously too much tempted to sooth his mind again. But any apologies and thanks had to wait. He needed to read what it said in the paper. Opening his eyes, he fixed them immediately on the few lines under the headline and read quickly.

The mystery of the nine slaughtered muggles may have been solved. Found on the eastern side of the ancient stone circle known as the King's Men, above the Warwickshire village of Long Compton, the cruelly mauled bodies of four adults and five children caused a nationwide shock among the muggles. The two families with children had evidently come for a picnic to enjoy the moonrise at the famous Rollright Stones monument and met their deaths when attacked by wild beasts. Suspecting some magical monsters, the highest muggle authorities contacted the Ministry of Magic. The ministry has explained that the local pack of werewolves have not caused any harm to muggles for over a century.

However, unauthorized sources have disclosed that a solitary werewolf has recently returned to its birthplace in the Cotswolds. This individual has never belonged to the pack and is therefore exceptionally savage. Since it seems unlikely that one werewolf could have murdered nine victims, we may assume that the beast has incited some others of its kind to join in the terror attack. With the rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named all Dark creatures threaten our safety more seriously than ever.

Folding the paper, Remus looked up to meet Thisby's stare. "I hope you have finished now. I've been waiting to contact someone through floo network when you go out. We can check your notes in the morning while the potion is brewing. I suggest you get some sleep, too."

Without waiting for a reply he pushed his chair back and stood up abruptly. His voice had not faltered. On the contrary, he had heard the words ring clear and cold, determined to definitely demolish whatever closeness had prospered in the intimate circle of light.

He walked to the front door and opened it. A blast of wind threw heavy drops of rain on him and cooled down his anger so much that he did not fear his hands would shake. Against his intention he turned to look at Thisby and even reached out his hand towards her, before saying, almost ordering, though, "Just leave everything on the table."

She had stood up and started arranging the books and parchments, but now she immediately moved to his side and took his hand. Still, she left the talking for him.

"I'm sorry. It's nothing to worry about. The newspaper just wasn't a very good idea. The Prophet always makes me cross. Now move straight to the granary. No use to get yourself soaked." It was almost suffocating to feel her urge to stay with him and to make him share everything.

But at that moment a white figure emerged from the darkness. Hedwig perched on his shoulder, ruffling her feathers, on which Thisby's reinforced glow soon made the rain drops sparkle like gems. She flashed a quick smile and reached to kiss the bird and could not resist wording her request or rather her trust. "You'll take care of him until the morning."

She was gone, and he closed the door, realising that he did not even know if her magic allowed her to leave without an open door. Was he too tired to keep his thoughts focused?

"Did you catch any prey or are you hungry? Of course you did. You're an excellent hunter. There's only a small letter for you to take to Harry in the morning. Although I may add a few words. So maybe you'd like to stay at least until I'm asleep. But I can't go to bed yet."

He took a bit of floo powder from the jar on the mantelpiece and sat down close to the fire. That was where he had been sitting at the night of his homecoming, after getting rid of Dumbledore.

Maybe this had been the right time to find out about that item of news. Not too early and not too late. Dumbledore would not get the chance to scold him for not reading the paper.

But for a moment he could hardly bear the thought of witnessing again those unending self-assured demonstrations of power, so superior that there was no risk of a playful style compromising the authority. The twinkle in those eyes, the silver light. Light like Thisby's. Remus alone was a dark nameless creature.

No, he himself, at least, had to be able to resist the influence of the most blatant lies. And by himself, even without Hedwig or Thisby. If not without them - since all his friends were part of what he was now - at least without their current presence. This much he had to be able to control his self-esteem even without a constant flow of their reassurances.

"I'm glad if you want to stay, anyway."

He caressed Hedwig's head and pointed towards the table. Before he turned to throw the powder onto the flames, he saw her fly to perch on the back of a chair to face the fireplace.

"Hogwarts, headmaster's office."

Looking out of the fire, Remus knew that Dumbledore, sitting at the imposing desk, had sensed his arrival. Any uninvited communication would have been blocked with invincible magic in an instant. But for a while the silvery head remained bent and the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles fixed on whatever there was on the desk in front of him. Only when seeing a gentle smile appearing and the gaze being lifted a little, which was enough for an eye-contact with a head in the fireplace, did Remus make himself say a simple greeting.

"Good evening, Albus."

"Good evening to you, Remus. I was afraid you had completely forgotten your old headmaster. I confess I was disappointed, when you did not personally report your latest feat to me. Have you perhaps lost some of your appetite for praise recently?"

"I may have found others to feed me with praise. Besides, I doubt I was on duty for the Order, so I hardly had an obligation to report."

Remus had not managed to refrain from defiance in his tone or in the words he had chosen. Dumbledore's fake whining, followed by a hint at his knowledge of Remus's weakness, had irritated him again.

Having probably realised that, Dumbledore now looked at Remus more seriously, but it was hard to say if there was still playfulness hidden in his words. "Is that so? You sent a request for help, and even though you chose such a representative of the Order as the recipient that we ended up giving no response in addition to his personal feeble and belated attempts, you involved the Order in the issue. And in any case, you are still a member, and such contacts with another group should certainly be reported, at the latest afterwards. Otherwise we might have to rely on so-called unauthorized sources."

When Remus, suspecting another hint, searched for a trace of a grin on the face in front of him, Dumbledore only blinked, assuming an air of innocence. Remus felt trapped in a nearly rude tone. "I thought Mundungus wouldn't fail to report to you in the way he promised."

"No, he has given a detailed report, and so has that neighbour of his, the one with a funny name, not that it would not suit him..."

"Mock the faun. And you know it's just the name he uses among our kind. Anyway, this is not what I came to talk to you about."

Dumbledore rolled up the parchment in front of him, got up and walked to the golden post where his phoenix was perched. "You should pop in more often, Remus. We have too much to talk about and it's getting late."

"It is late."

"Still, I wish I could invite you for a cup..."

"I'm inviting you, if you don't mind using Fawkes's services for the sake of a mere negotiation with me."

With a wide smile Dumbledore turned back towards him, having caressed the bird for a while. "Negotiation? You make it sound serious enough for Fawkes to certainly not mind. And you hospitality has developed admirably."

"I hope so. Please come straight in. The weather is hardly better than last time you visited Bagendon."

Having pulled his head out of Hogwarts, Remus flicked his wand to arrange Thisby's work and his own letter into a pile at the far end of the table and to summon some fruits. He left the newspaper and the magazine where they were.

It would, in fact, have been uncomfortable, almost humiliating to participate in a negotiation as a head down in a fireplace. On the other hand, the day had certainly been long enough even without this...

In a golden flash Dumbledore appeared just inside the front door, holding Fawkes's tail.

Remus hurried to greet them. "Welcome, Albus. Welcome, Fawkes. Maybe you would like to stay, Fawkes, and Hedwig here will be honoured to keep company to you, if you find it too boring to stay in our human - and half-human - company."

Hedwig flew to meet the phoenix, and they rose together to perch on a beam up in the gloom of the ceiling, where Fawkes shone like a dim sun. Only when Dumbledore spoke, did Remus realise that he had remained staring up at the glow. Startled, he spoke, too, and interrupted his guest.

"So, Harry has finally sent you a..."

"Please have a seat."

Now it occurred to him that Dumbledore might have preferred somewhere more comfortable than at the table, but he actually hoped that all the circumstances, including Fawkes's presence, would prevent the visit from being prolonged. On the other hand, he had to refrain from channelling his mood to the way he treated Dumbledore. Maybe he should not even hurry to get to the point immediately.

In any case he had to reply. "Yes, I got his letter last night. I hope everything is fine at Hogwarts in general."

"Very good, splendid... Our new teacher, Professor Pilz is a treasure. I am planning to arrange a Yule Ball again this year... But we must get together another time to talk about all that, as now it is late. You do not have to put off mentioning what you need to negotiate about. I hope you don't mind if I say you seem to be tired, while you look a lot healthier than ever since the beginning of the summer."

Dumbledore had been eyeing the front page of the folded newspaper, but he now turned his gaze to Remus, who was pushing the bowl of fruits closer to him.

"You are right. More happened today than I had expected - while I had planned to contact you tonight. So I hope you'll forgive my abruptness. The most urgent issue I had in mind was to ask for your permission to invite Harry and Neville here for a week or two."

Remus was happy to see his words came as a surprise. Dumbledore crossed his long fingers under his chin and said slowly. "So, you want to invite the children of the prophecy?"

This had not even occurred to Remus, and he smiled at his own ability to ignore premonitions.

"Honestly, I did not think about that. I'm inviting the sons of my friends - the two boys I used to know when they were babies. The two young men who might profit from an excursion, while having something to offer to this community at the Wotton manor."

"I don't think I'm narrow-minded when it comes to discussing alternative ways of implementing the curriculum. Yet, I hope the lessons they would learn here would not consist of Defence against the Dark Arts exclusively."

"You know that was never my only interest, or hardly an expertise of mine above any other. Some people believe it is, but you can't have forgotten I just accepted the only job offered to me."

"That's how the boys see you in any case, as their best Defence teacher - and they are not wrong."

Remus could not help digressing. "How is Severus doing in that job?"

"He never limited himself to one field either, and his knowledge is close to brilliance. But he can hardly be called an educator."

"So, do you have doubts about the activities Harry and Neville would be engaged in here? Do you think I'd incite them to join in some moon-gazing trips to the Rollright Stones?"

Remus had meant to refer to his knowledge of the rumours in a nonchalant fashion, but he could not help looking into Dumbledore's eyes defiantly. Yet, Dumbledore merely gave him a sad smile to accompany a hardly perceptible shake of his head. Therefore, he decided to continue.

"We can postpone their visit until after next full moon. I had planned it to take place during the next couple of weeks; as I said, it was the most urgent issue..."

"But you learnt something that changed things..." Dumbledore glanced at the paper again.

Remus almost snapped at him. "No, it was not that. I'm sorry, but... I don't think that needs to change anything. As I said, a lot of things happened today. And while I wouldn't like to postpone something I should have done years ago, since at least in Neville's case I could have always been there for him... I refuse to fear that it will be too late after a few weeks."

"Shortly after next full moon it shall be, then. You can consider this negotiation finished. I know I can trust my pupils in your care when it's temporary..."

"Thank you, Albus. I must be reconciled with what I needed to hear. But I'm a bit curious... Why only when it's temporary?"

"You can hardly expect me to trust you in the way I trust Severus."

He had, indeed, himself said to Dumbledore in July that perhaps he had not always been worthy of his trust. But this was different. Remus felt his head inclined to bend as if in shame, and he looked up instead, silently calling for Hedwig, but his gaze got fastened on the shining gold feathers of the phoenix.

Dumbledore soon broke the painful silence. "I am sorry, Remus. This was not the right moment to say that. Yet, how could you ever think I would regard you as a beast? As you said, such rumours do not change anything, at least not my trust. My trust must be conditional, since I don't expect you to act exclusively on the basis of my advice or the agenda of the Order. I don't even expect you to tell me what you will do or what you have done."

Still watching the two birds, Remus allowed the words to pour out in a relaxed stream. "You hardly ever ask any questions. You seem to know regardless. And sometimes I wish you asked, so I wouldn't have to guess from which perspective you've seen the issues. But I suppose I should be satisfied, even grateful. I just ask once more... Why did you say 'at least not'? Do you mean the rumours will change something else, if not your - conditional - trust?"

"They may just become a harder test for your followers."

Unexpectedly Remus felt like confiding and asking for encouragement. "It's already been hard enough, and you must be right, so I wonder... Not even my parents would have accepted such a nameless savage beast as their follower - much less as their leader."

"Fudge has done his best to hide the fact that you are a powerful opponent. Your name has not been mentioned in any public official document or in the Prophet. But the Quibbler writes about you - in addition to criticising what you stood up against. Fudge knows your name is famous by now in spite of his efforts. Now he's trying harder, with new tricks. Still, with the same old one: denying your person. He would not have to do it, unless your name was known and your person powerful. His trick may still turn to your advantage. You have done well when mainly unaware of his plots. No, don't try to make me believe you've been following the news constantly. You'd better follow them from now on, though. It will be amusing at least to see how Luke responds to Fudge's latest move. And good to know when Fudge gives up."

"In any case I won't give up before him. And his tricks won't change what I've been determined to do. Or how I believe it must be done. I'm taking my time. I refuse to believe it's no use educating children to live, some day, in a world of peace and justice."

"I feel this is the first time since your seventh year at Hogwarts that I see you having hope for the future."

Now Remus could not help smiling. Dumbledore's long speech and his own solemn declaration had to give way to something simple but more powerful. "No, it's not the first time. The first time was last year. Just when so many of us were close to losing hope - when Voldemort had risen and we got together again. That was the best time of my life, you know. Or is there something you didn't know? Maybe I won't mind talking to you a bit more. Whenever you feel the same, you are welcome to visit me again."

"Thank you, Remus. I won't forget your hospitality."

As soon as Dumbledore had slowly stood up, Fawkes descended and started circling just above his head. The enviable silver and golden glow flashed brighter, as Dumbledore smiled and winked. "Remus, the eleven-year-old boy whom I saw approaching this table, to welcome me - when I had come to welcome him to Hogwarts... Do you know what struck me about him? His frailty, such fatigue one seldom sees in a child? No, Remus, it was this hope shining in his eyes. The same light I see in you again."

***

Harry,

All through my school years I clung to the hope that as an adult, too, I could be a wizard just like anyone else. Seldom did I doubt that I was accepted as a boy among the other children at Hogwarts. During the first year the fear was too much to bear thinking about. I had already got used to denying even the pain, and to submitting to it - almost in peculiar pleasure - only when I was actually sensing it. Before the day I turned seventeen, almost the only crisis worth mentioning was at the beginning of my second year.

And why is this one worth mentioning? Because I want to write to you about hope. And above all about my friends. That's about the same thing.

At the end of my first summer holiday I could not resist the temptation to take charcoal and watercolours with me. I thought my friends would accept my passion, at least if I called it just a hobby. I even felt tempted to let them find out about the whole of my secret. When welcoming me as a student, Dumbledore had told me never to reveal it to anybody at school. Having spent the summer with my parents and their friends, however, I was again almost convinced that there was nothing to be ashamed of.

Still, I had just wounded myself the night before we took the Hogwarts Express to start our second year. I remember vividly how happy and healthy they all looked. How carefree and cheerful they sounded. I was overwhelmed by the blessing of being one of them. For a while I thought I would just have to sit back and watch and listen to them. At least I had to sit down. The mere effort to remain standing felt too hard, but I leaned against the doorframe and took in the radiation of fun and energy.

James had dragged us to a compartment which was already half occupied by Gryffindor girls. They were all tanned and taller than I had remembered. I'd like to show them to you, since I still have the image treasured in my mind. What would you like to see?

Lily's short sleeveless summer dress with its striking pattern and colours, which both offended my eyes and fascinated me: giant flowers, garish green and orange. Alice's bouncing short curls shining almost white, bleached by the sun. Amelia's intent gaze and shy smile. Sirius pushing through the giggling group so as to throw himself on the best window seat, questioning loudly whether it was considered decent among muggle ladies to show their bare arms. You know, respectable pureblood witches never dressed like that even in those days. Peter chuckling and elbowing James, who had frozen and was staring at the girl of his dreams, speechless for once. He even forgot to rumple up his hair, which looked wilder than ever in any case, as if he had spent the whole summer on a broomstick and never touched a comb. Now I think that at that moment James noticed something he had not yet thought of when longing to see Lily's eyes.

I wish I had painted something like that - friends together, which is so much more than each of them separately. But it was even better that I was allowed to become a part of the living group portrait. Extremely weary as I was, the hours of that trip passed for me in a blissful daze. Soon after the train had reached its destination, we were not a lovely sight to see, though.

The rain was pouring down, and we were drenched through before we got into one of the horseless carriages. Then someone came to say that the carriages would not move and we had to walk. I was freezing and I thought I would never have the strength to walk all the way to the castle.

But that's when I felt an arm on my shoulders. It was James, and he just grinned to me and took me with him, while continuing his joking with Sirius. Peter stayed on his other side, but Sirius spurted ahead of us to run and slide on the muddy road. James turned to me and whispered, "Mud fight. You on my side."

He bent and grabbed a handful of mud and slung it on Sirius's back. I followed his example and aimed at Peter, who had stopped and seemed to consider if he should laugh or not. I warned him by calling out his name and caused him to turn so that I unintentionally hit him on the face. James had started running down the road, followed by Sirius. I tried my best to catch Sirius, and Peter was after me.

That's how I made it to the castle. I actually caught up with James and Sirius easily, because they spent some time on playing in a muddy pool with the girls.

I hardly noticed that I started shivering when I stopped in front of the entrance for a moment, so as to cherish the thought of how happy I was. I had a strange feeling that I had become as strong as them; I was one of them. That's when I heard their voices in the hall.

"Who said it's a werewolf?"

"You're lucky in case your sorting's a wrestling match with a werewolf!" That was James's voice. He was teasing the first-years.

I stepped inside just when Sirius started acting a monster. In his muddy robes, with wet black hair stuck on his cheeks, he twisted his pure aristocratic features into a most frightening grimace. "I'm a bloody werewolf. I'll tear you to pieces!"

"Hey, you can't talk, if you're a werewolf." James said, poking him on the chest.

"Sirius rubbed his chest and put his tongue out." I can't? You must be right. I'm a bloody stupid werewolf, so I didn't notice.

"You see. It's easy to handle a werewolf. Even better if you get two. Just make them tear each other to pieces!"

James pulled Peter closer, poked Sirius again, then pushed Peter in front of him. Sirius tackled Peter, who started howling. The crowd of first-years applauded.

"That's better. There's nothing human in a werewolf," James announced, "No talk, no mind."

I had started shaking and I couldn't help protesting. "That's not true!"

Sirius let Peter go and exclaimed, chuckling, "But it is. I'm a werewolf and I'm telling you I can't even talk!"

I tried to tell myself they were just joking.

But James turned grave. "Seriously, a werewolf is never like a human. A bloodthirsty, strong beast, yes. But a wizard can always beat a mindless animal."

All my self-control managed to do was to stop me from shouting my next words. "But they are like any humans except at full moon."

"No, they can't be. They must be stupid." That was James's mockingly thoughtful voice.

But Sirius couldn't hide his exhilaration. "You must be so stupid to get bitten by a werewolf!"

"They're just like anybody. You couldn't even tell..." I was getting breathless.

And James cut in sagely, but accompanied by Peter's continuing sound effects. "No, they get more and more stupid, howling at the moon."

Now I finally started shouting. "You're wrong, and even if you're just joking, it's..."

Everyone else in the hall had hushed, and I felt they were all staring at me. Sudden panic urged me to flee and hide. I knew that the fury still raging in me was righteous. But even at that moment I realised that I had done something I should have managed to refrain from doing. According to what I'd been taught, I should have hurried to apologise. My primary obligation was to always control my anger. Besides, in this case the offence was related particularly to my condition. In all my fatigue, in my emotional state, and in the pride I had built up during that particular summer, I remembered Dumbledore's specific order to guard my secret. That memory infuriated me further, and there was no way I could have made myself back down and apologise.

But at that moment I felt trapped, above all. I should not have done that. I should not have been there.

And I turned and rushed up the stairs. Or stumbled along. I don't know how long they had to stand there watching me, but for me the flight seemed to take an unbearably long time. And it got worse as I continued my way along the corridors. Mercifully I could not think of anything but how to keep going. In Gryffindor tower I finally allowed myself to stop and lean against the wall. I realised that I couldn't get through the portrait hole, but I didn't actually care. All I wanted was to find a deserted corridor, any corner in which I could huddle up - or rather dig a hole to disappear into. But before I had gathered enough strength to start off again, the portrait hole was opened by a new prefect or by someone who had got the password from a prefect. Automatically I crawled in after him and staggered the stairs up to our dormitory.

That's why they found me in my bed. I don't know if they would have come to look for me, unless all the students had been told to go and change into dry clothes before the feast.

I had stripped to the skin and left the wet and muddy clothes in a heap next to my four-poster. Curled up under the covers, I could have finally allowed the weariness to overcome me and fallen asleep, had I not been shivering uncontrollably. At least I should have already cried, but I was still painfully just on the verge of tears, thanks to the ever rising anger. That was the first time I felt I had to disapprove of what Dumbledore had considered the right thing to do.

When I heard the door open, I almost panicked again. For a moment all other thoughts were overruled by the desperate conviction: I shouldn't be here.

But the stamping of their feet was accompanied by James's casual voice. "I'm sorry we had to argue, Remus."

After a brief silence he went on explaining that we had to change clothes quickly and hurry to the feast. Sirius and Peter did not say anything. Our trunks had obviously arrived, and I couldn't help hearing them open the latches and rummage among their possessions, although I tried to fool even myself into believing that I was asleep.

I was startled by a hand on my back. "Are you all right, Remus? Or are you ill?"

How did James know I wasn't asleep?

I tried my best to sound determined, so I dared only say, "No!"

"Should we get Pomfrey?"

"No! I meant it. I'm not ill!"

I sensed the weight on the side of my bed when he sat down. "I'm sorry..."

I had to muster a few words more. "I'm just tired, and I got cold in the rain. So I want to sleep. Just go now." I moved slightly to evade his touch.

The sleep must have come while I was still waiting for them to leave and holding back the tears.

The same touch woke me up. "Remus, I'm back. Just me. I brought you some food."

I could smell it. I still knew I should not have been there at all, but I was there and I was hungry, so I decided not to wake up completely enough to admit my embarrassment.

"Can you give me some robes? From my trunk."

I trusted James wouldn't look at anything else in the trunk. Besides, the secret was under the bed covers. I always got dressed and undressed on my bed with the hangings pulled shut. When I felt him place something near my head, I peeked out from under the covers to see him turn his back on me and step towards the window. However, I pulled the robes on under the covers.

I did not want to see the old scars or the new partially healed wounds. And still, how could I ever have forgotten that this was the body of a werewolf? Don't get me wrong. I did not always hate it. On the contrary, I was almost certain that I could have loved it. But at that moment it took all my trained self-control not to hate even its need for food.

The sight my eyes met, when I sat up, however, caught my full attention. I had to blink at the abundance of food on the bedside table. There was roast beef, lamb chops, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes and roast potatoes, treacle tarts and chocolate éclairs...

"How could you carry all that - and sneak it from the feast? Did you secretly practice some new magic during the holiday?"

James was sitting on Sirius's bed, which was between mine and the west window. "It was Dumbledore."

I had taken a plate onto my lap and I replied with my mouth full of steak. "Dumbledore? Help yourself to the puddings. Even I can't eat quite that much."

"All right, thanks. I left just after the puddings had appeared. And Dumbledore put such a shrinking charm on everything that I could carry it on the palm of one hand." He moved to sit beside me and took one plate of pudding, leaving the chocolate variety for me.

I decided to continue eating and not to comment, but I must have frowned.

He hurried to reassure me. "Don't worry. He winked at me. You know, when I was slipping some stuff onto my lap. I just glanced at the staff table to check that none of the teachers had noticed, and Dumbledore caught my eyes at once. And then after a while he stood up and walked between the tables. Said a few words to a student here and there. And he came to me just before the tables were cleared for the puddings. He asked me if you were very ill. And I said no. I said what you had told me."

I looked up from the potatoes and saw that James was anxious, satisfied with himself but a bit confused. I nodded to him, and after almost emptying the plate I finally said, "Don't you worry. It's all right. Dumbledore knows..."

"He knows what?"

James's stare at my face became almost unbearable. I changed plates and retreated with my chocolate éclairs to lean against the headboard.

As early as at that age I was painfully self-aware. I had learnt to hate inexplicable changes in my moods. And to try my best to explain as well as to control everything.

Immediately after the transformation I am always threatened by depression. On the other hand, I wonder if the waning gibbous moon is meant to save me by presenting me with new persistence in self-preservation. In the lingering fatigue of my tormented body I gradually start to feel emerging hopeful traces of strength. After the threat of aggressive outburst, which I have to fight on the days preceding the full moon, the calmness of my mind stabilises slowly. It tends to be coloured with youthful bouts of jubilance at this point of the cycle. I learnt to suppress the recklessness. For years I have denied it.

But as a schoolboy I still secretly even cherished it. I half hated my reckless defiance, having been told that it was caused by the moon. But now I wonder if I also had a vague idea - still clearer than I was to have for so many years - that this trait and this behaviour were genuine parts of who I was. And after the summer spent among defiant half-breeds and non-humans I was tempted to demand that I be accepted as the creature I was.

Licking my fingers, I finally looked at James again and couldn't help grinning at his puzzlement. "Dumbledore knows a lot of things. And he decides what to do with his knowledge. He must know what werewolves are like. And he thinks it's wise not to let everyone know."

James stared at me and he looked wary. He was undoubtedly afraid that I'd kick up a row again.

I could hear my own voice shaking, but I was enjoying myself. I was crafty enough to handle the situation. "I've told you about my parents. They believe that part-humans and non-humans must be treated decently. Those who live among full humans must all have the same rights. Not that there are many werewolves outside packs. Even in my mother's theatre group... there's only one who still lives at times with them." My heart was pounding, but James's curious expression enticed me to continue. "Dumbledore knows that solitary werewolves don't have to be different from full humans. Except for one night in four weeks. Especially if bitten as children, and brought up properly... But they don't usually get the chance to go to school even if they have the magical ability. Now Dumbledore thinks he's found the right way. He's forbidden people like me - people who know - to spread the truth about werewolves. He thinks that when people continue to believe that werewolves are mindless monsters, nobody can suspect that anyone among the students could actually be one. So that's why I got upset in the hall. I just realised that I had done what our ever-wise, all-knowing headmaster had told me not to do."

A silence followed and I wondered how much James had understood, if he had understood anything. Another clever thought occurred to me, and I couldn't resist saying it aloud, "Besides, Dumbledore is not very helpful in arranging alibis. The werewolf student must come up with an excuse for absences every month. It's not a good sign to admit being ill on the day after the full moon."

There was no more silence. Sirius and Peter's voices echoed in the stairway.

In an instant I returned to the reality of being exposed. "Don't say anything to them. Please. You know now that I mustn't talk about werewolves."

That was how I realised that, surprisingly, I trusted James more than my two other friends. He never betrayed my trust. I was never even forced to suspect he did. I guess this was a part of what I needed to tell you. Despite what you have learnt about him before, I want you to be certain that he was a wonderful man. He was about six months older than me, so at the beginning of our second year at Hogwarts he was almost thirteen. Still, I have to admire how well he was already able to take care of me. And he never failed to do that.

But do you want to read the rest of this story? Can you trust that I'm showing you what actually happened so many years ago? I feel tempted to include all the details so as to make my friends live in your mind as well as in mine, although I must question whether my memory can possibly have recorded them accurately. Is there an absolute truth, or is everything just images distorted by our senses? Distorted further by these words and by the interpretation in the reader's mind. But this is the best I can achieve. And perhaps the distortions are further value given to what happened once. The only way for us mere humans and part-humans to treasure it all.

Did you guess I'd say that they all stopped making jokes about werewolves? They did, at least for a short while. Before the end of the term they were in full swing again. And I myself took care of keeping the jokes so absurd that anyone in his sound mind would have understood that we were ridiculing the bias. Thus we actually defied Dumbledore's rules - while for anyone seriously prejudiced it must have been impossible to suspect that one of us was actually a werewolf and the other three, knowing about it, accepted it and respected him.

Afterwards I wondered if James had been the first one to come up with the idea of jokes as a cover-up strategy. I asked him about that when, almost a week after our arrival at Hogwarts, he suggested that I talk about my secret to Sirius and Peter, too. If he had really concluded correctly the reason for my absences during the first year or just during that day, it might have been wise of him - albeit admittedly difficult - to first check that I was ready to join in on the jokes. But he merely smiled and never said more about that issue. Perhaps he did not want me to realise how vulnerable the secrecy had been while I had guarded it on my own. Thanks to Dumbledore.

I soon learnt that each of my friends had been clever enough to figure out what I was, and each of them had been loyal enough not to mention it to the others. It must have caused both anguish and disbelief in them.

Sitting on the windowsill in our dormitory on the day of my favourite moon, the waning half moon, I didn't even try to read, but the book gave me a feeling a security. The books wouldn't abandon me. I was terrified that my friends would. Even James. He might not reveal my secret to others, but he could not possibly be my friend in the same way anymore. And now I had agreed to let Sirius and Peter know. I pressed the book closed against my chest, when they entered.

James was rushing Sirius and Peter in and saying, "We've got something important to tell you." He pushed them to sit down on Sirius's bed, facing the window, and he climbed beside me. Placing his hand on my shoulder he added, "Remus has got something to tell you. But he's not allowed to tell you. So I'm going to do it." When he glanced at me, expecting me to nod my consent and encouragement, I saw that he was nervous, too.

In any case, I did not want him to do it alone. "Unless you know already," I said. "I mean I've been absent and ill a bit too regularly..."

"So it's high time to introduce to you... our resident werewolf!"

I had to close my eyes for a moment, if only to make them realise that this was not a joke. James's grip on my shoulder got hard, and when I looked down at the two faces I couldn't tell if I saw terror or pure astonishment.

Peter was the first one to speak. "You're serious?"

"No, that's me." I knew that Sirius had uttered his regular joke almost automatically. He was staring at me.

I was at a complete loss to understand how he felt. To be honest to you, I was to be at a loss for a few years, at least. I doubt he could have consciously decided to word it at that moment, but when we were fifteen, he claimed to have realised it immediately. In this revelation there was something the two of us had in common and something he wanted to have in common with me. He was a Black and he had just recently understood that they were a family of dark wizards.

That was why he said something that alarmed me at that moment. "Werewolves are dark creatures."

I didn't have to look at James to know that he was afraid I would cry and humiliate myself. But I turned to face him and, grabbing his both arms, I pushed him against the windowpane to make him loosen his grip on my shoulder. It was honestly getting painful, although the bruise I had there was almost completely healed. "Stop squeezing!" I hissed. "You're hurting me."

"I'm hurting you?"

"Yes. You know I'm sensitive."

Peter's nervous chuckle caught my ear. "You're a sensitive beast."

"I'm a wizard. It's not full moon." I've always been good at killing conversations.

But Sirius was continuing it; he was only uncharacteristically slow. "Is it possible...? I mean I noticed it was full moon every time you said your mother was ill or you..."

"You did, too?" James asked. "I was sure the two of you'd be freaked out, if you'd thought of that, so I didn't dare to..."

Peter cut in, "I didn't dare to... and... and I was just relieved when he disappeared every time well before the sunset..."

Sirius still spoke slowly. "So you really believed he was..."

I was getting uncomfortable. I wished I had not dropped the book when attacking James. They were talking among themselves about... the beast. I gave up the idea of sliding down to retrieve the book from the floor, because I would have been tempted to walk away, so I lifted my gaze again and saw that Sirius was still staring at me, and more: seeking eye contact.

"I could not believe it. In the summer I read all about werewolves and other dark creatures in our library. And you are not a dark creature, Remus. You are not."

I'm not even pretending to remember what was said after those words. That was the moment I've treasured, even if it was the hardest. Staring into Sirius's eyes, I saw sincere wonder, and I was filled with hope, although only years later did I realise that it had been partly a reflection of some surprising hope which I had evoked in him. Without knowing why, I just found it harder than at any other stage of our talk not to burst into tears.

James probably broke the enchantment of that moment by confronting Sirius about the reliability of the books in the library of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. I felt like putting off such discussions. But I confirmed James's statements, quite astonished about how enlightened his family turned out to be. He emphasised the similarity between full humans and werewolves, and I thought that one benefit of the discussion was at least the relief we gave to Peter. It must have been hard for him to hide his fears, which were based on folk tales. Instead, on the basis of what Sirius had heard about part-humans, it was no wonder he had concluded it impossible that such a beast would have been allowed to Hogwarts. Above all, he had seen no trace of darkness in me.

There were to be other discussions. Sirius was to learn about the darkness which threatened the friend he knew. But that had to wait.

It took me almost the whole of our second year to convince myself that they still saw me as a boy just like anybody else. I had to emphasise how little it meant to be a werewolf. When they got curious and finally gathered the courage to ask me about the transformations, I... I'm afraid I lied to them.

Have I cheated even myself? I think I told you that I never hid anything I was not forced to. But something forced me not to reveal to them the truth about the pain. On the other hand, I think they knew, as much as they could have known even if I had resorted to all my eloquence to describe it.

Peter may have been the first one to truly pay attention to it. Yes, I must warn you that I'm going to tell you how close the two of us were. I was never hopelessly attracted to him; I never completely relied on him. And he started being scared of me well before he had connected my disappearances to the full moon. Still, we can't deny the fact that we were exceptionally close, particularly during the first four years but actually all that time until... I'm afraid he has managed to deny a lot more than that fact, but I can't possibly know.

He was scared of pain. That's why he saw it in me so easily.

The initial embarrassment between the two of us and my eagerness to bond with Sirius led me to establish and to continuously confirm my almost leading position in the group of "one for all and all for one". However, the daily routines settled as Sirius and James versus Peter and Remus. The two of us quickly got into the habit of communicating constantly during the classes. I drew a sketch of anything funny that occurred to me on the basis of what the professors talked about or what happened in the classroom. And Peter was quicker at thinking up mocking verses than he was at scribbling them down. Maybe it was good that nobody else could read his handwriting.

The verses were even better as songs, and when we all sang them, nobody remembered it was he who had made them up. But as long as something had been shared only between Peter and me on a piece of parchment, there was a special bond which tied us together across the table in the Great Hall. James and Sirius would go on about some injustice of a teacher or stupidity of a certain Slytherin, and I would exchange a glance with Peter before one of us would offer anything to the others.

He, of course, noticed immediately when my hand was shaking, so that I could hardly write. He checked my reaction to his scribbled verses and he saw beyond my grin. His pale blue eyes returned to me the shadow of my aching weariness in the form of fear.

"You are not well," he'd whisper to me, repeating the only words in his scribble which I had ignored.

I wished I hadn't understood spoken language either.

He'd insist and raise his voice a bit as a threat so as to make me reply. "What's the matter with you? You've been ill so many times. You must tell me."

"It's nothing. I'm just tired."

I wasn't supposed to be tired yet. Maybe after an exhausting trip to see my sick mother, but not before.

"Tell me at least... Is it contagious?"

That was not the easiest question to answer.

Even after I had confirmed his suspicion - and James had helped me reassure him that there were no risks in sharing a dormitory with a werewolf, I could sense that his attitude was dominated by fear. My anxiety had eased remarkably thanks to the chance to be honest with my best friends. I was in pain only on the day before the full moon and on a few days after it, depending on how much I had wounded and bruised myself - usually only on three or four days a month. But Peter made the most out of that pain. He did not let me forget about it.

Peter was the one who inconsiderately told me to stop spoiling the day by brooding over the following night. Still, seeing the fear in his eyes made me realise that I was already shaking in anticipation. If he came to see me in the hospital wing in the morning after, he avoided looking at my wounds and at the bandages, too. I don't blame him for cowardice. He simply had excellent imagination. I suppose he could actually feel pain in his own body, when he couldn't stop trying to imagine how I felt. I was happy to know that with all his imagination he couldn't possibly reach any image close to the reality of the transformation pain.

In any case, at least during the first four years Peter was the one who was the most sensitive to whatever I felt. I was not constantly weak and ill, but even when I felt repulsion or when I was simply bored with something James and Sirius were up to, he asked me to help him with his homework instead, or to read aloud to him, or to play wizard chess. The two of us often stayed watching, when the game got really rough. He was not ashamed to remain passive, and he actually saved my pride and allowed me to take the role of having saved him from such activities which could have led him to get hurt or caught. That was how we protected each other.

***

This was the second night Remus had stayed up at his small desk too late, writing about the era of the four Marauders. Was it worthwhile to describe their relationships from the perspective of his condition? Harry needed to know more about James and about Peter as well.

Peter was not even dead yet. Remus himself needed to know more about Peter. It did not make any sense to avoid thoughts of him. But it was too easy to say that there was nothing he could do. That he could not afford getting distracted. There were others he was able to help. He needed some sleep now. There would be work to do in the morning.

What had made him stop really thinking of Peter - when they had been fifteen, or even earlier, and again twenty years later? Yes, it had been... Sirius. And when trying to escape thoughts of Sirius he had stumbled upon the memories of Peter. And why did Sirius now invade his mind, just when he was starting to take off his robes and hoping to fall asleep in a minute?

But his rest was bound to be disturbed by something else, too. A shrill sound pierced the silence, and it was followed by knocking on the front door. It was Peck imitating an amazanthine's call to its spouse. Someone had arrived at the borders to seek shelter.

Remus put off the candle and hurried down the stairs and to the door in almost complete darkness, which was easy in such familiar surroundings. In a moment he realised that apparating had not even occurred to him, because he had been reminded of his adventures at a time when he had been too young to resort to it. He was happy about the distraction, or actually about his main concerns forcing themselves back to occupy his mind and body.

He removed the latch and pulled out his wand so as to break his personal charm, which he used on the front door while the other inhabitants could enter freely from the wings through the kitchen. "Anoixe!"

Peck was standing a few steps away, facing the orchard. The waxing sickle moon was escaping the clouds, but Remus could not see who had gathered by the side of the lane close to his favourite apple tree. He hardly had time to think about the possibility that another group of fauns had just decided to drop by to read the Secret Keeper's handwriting in order to be able to enter when needed.

Without even glancing at Remus, Peck said, "Come, quickly!" With the ease of his kind Peck had already moved to join the small group.

Remus needed a few more seconds to concentrate on his destination, even though - or perhaps just because - the distance was shorter than he normally ever cared to apparate. In a crack he arrived in front of Peck and four humans. As soon as he recognised Rose's face, he conjured the parchment. While it was still fiery in his hand, he glanced at the three other pale faces, hardly registering that there was blood on one cheek at least.

"Jonah, can you read this aloud, pointing at each word. Everyone else must look at the writing. After I've destroyed the parchment, you must repeat the words in your minds, thinking about how you saw them written." He shed light with his wand.

Jonah's voice was shaking at first, but it grew steadier and even solemn, before he had finished reciting the sentence. "Remus Lupin and those who join him may be found at the Wotton manor, in Bagendon of the Cotswolds."

While using his wand to burn the parchment to ashes, Remus examined a bit more carefully the two unfamiliar guests. Not their faces to evaluate whether they could be trusted, since he trusted Rose and Jonah, but to check that they were in good enough shape to walk to the house.

One of these two boys was leaning on the other, shorter one, and closing his eyes while moving his lips to concentrate on the Secret Keeper's words. When he opened his eyes and soon managed to focus his questioning gaze, Remus realised that none of them knew what to expect.

You can find my house and enter it now," he said, waving his arm. "Are you all able to walk, and do you have pursuers close after you?"

Rose glanced towards the house and flashed a quick smile, before moving closer to the apparently wounded boy and staring at him while starting to answer. "No, I don't think they know where we... And yes, let's walk." Her voice gained a trace of the urgency which she must have conveyed to Peck earlier. In the moonlight there was no warm colour in her hair, and her eyes were dark and hard.

***

Peck had added wood to the fireplace, and Remus had summoned some food from the kitchen. He first hardly stopped to pay attention to what he had got to offer - and was then startled by the pleasure in being able to feed even unexpected guests with a profuse hand. Knowing that these young people were used to going hungry, he was suddenly embarrassed. Now that he had finally even learnt to cook and bake, there was perhaps too much and he should have considered more carefully what to bring to the table, so as to avoid giving the impression of bragging. No, that did not make any sense. Besides, it was obvious that there was something else to concentrate on. Just nodding and smiling, he asked Jonah and one of the other boys to start enjoying the meal.

This boy was shorter than Remus and looked even more famished than Jonah. Perhaps the way he was dressed, only in muggle trousers and a jumper, emphasised the frailty of his figure and made him seem like a child. He actually reminded Remus of Harry.

Unlike Jonah, who still acted as shy as at their first meeting, this boy directed a stern gaze at his host from under his shaggy brown hair and then grinned. "Thank you, Mr... Lupin."

"Just Remus. I'm afraid I didn't even greet you properly. I've hurried so as to get to see how your friend is doing." He reached out his hand, and the boy shook it quickly but firmly.

"I'm Tim. Timothy Sapper."

Without any hesitation Rose had walked the taller young man to the wide bench which lined almost the whole length of the back wall, under the tapestries and bookcases. She had asked neither for permission nor for help, and her manners had implied that she wanted to be left alone with him.

He had not objected and had only turned his head back so as to grin to the others, and murmured, "It's nothing. I'm all right."

He was now lying on the velvet cushions. She was sitting beside him, with one hand on his temple, but her eyes were wandering around the walls. Only when she apparently heard Remus approaching, did she bend her head down to examine her friend's face.

"Welcome to this ancient house, Rose. I was looking forward to your arrival, and I want you to know I'm happy all four of you have come."

She lifted her head slowly, but Remus could no longer help turning his full attention to the young man, who now opened his eyes. Kneeling down beside the bench and reaching to touch the man's right hand, which was bent across his chest, Remus continued, "Although perhaps I shouldn't be, in case it wasn't a totally voluntary decision... I'm Remus."

"This is my fiancé Simon Broomster." Her voice was proud, but her eyes now fixed at Remus's only for a moment, so as to convey, if not plea, at least an understated request for reassurance. She also lifted her hand and a piece of stained cloth so as to uncover a wound, which ran from Simon's forehead until his ear.

The wound was fresh and beautiful, still bleeding, albeit not profusely. And the young man's face was beautiful. Why was Remus distracted to a passing attempt at telling himself that the features were not particularly graceful but rather rugged? The hair and the eyebrows were black against the white skin, and the eyes were grey. The painful grin was wide and appeared to him as almost... teasing.

At that moment Remus heard Peck's hooves and felt grateful, even before seeing that the faun had been perceptive and clear-headed enough to bring water in two basins. "Thank you, Peck. Rose, please wash your hands first and use the water in the other basin for cleaning the wound."

Remus tried his best to guess where Thisby had placed the soothing ointment which they had prepared a few days earlier. Thisby was not exactly organised, but Remus evidently managed to estimate the whereabouts of the jars, since one arrived obediently soon after he had uttered the summoning charm.

It had been a pleasure to brew the herbs and seeds for this ointment, and opening the lid of the jar made Remus feel nearly inexplicable joy. Was it simply due to the odour of anise, which had always appealed to him? He had grown anise on his windowsill in Mrs Porchead's building and - with little success - tried to make it grow on the gloomy backyard at Grimmauld Place. But he had seldom afforded all the ingredients for the ointment, and at Grimmauld Place he had not often even needed to heal wounds. Very few of his own and hardly any inflicted by the wolf on himself. The rare instances when an Order member had got hurt on a secret mission, and avoided going to St Mungo's, now seemed like random accidents compared to the impending danger for these people who were gathering around him.

He did not know what had happened, but interrogations had to wait. Instead, he wanted to check efficiently if closing the wound was all that this boy needed.

"Simon, may I examine your condition with a spell? It's a kind of intrusion into your privacy, but I'd like to get a confirmation that simply tending the wound will heal you."

Remus lifted his eyes to see Rose finishing her task and Simon attempting at a nod but contenting himself with closing his eyes and murmuring, "Yes..."

Despite the suspicion visible on Rose's face, Remus was, this time, more confident about the spell than he had been when using it to discover her mother's needs. "Logos astheneion!"

The mist spreading towards him, after encircling Simon, brought reassurance. No sign of further physical or magical damage, and basic tenacity.

"You'll be all right. But if you don't mind, I'm going to close the wound now before it gets inflamed. When it's fresh and clean, the spell won't feel like burning, and this ointment will prevent you from feeling even the pain of the accelerated regeneration of the flesh and skin... not so much of the flesh in this case, since on this spot the wound can't really be deep..."

He was talking too much. Moving his gaze from the wound, he saw Simon's hardly perceptible expression of consent. Disturbingly aware of his reluctance to do so, he surrendered the jar to Rose. It was her task to apply her tender fingers to this temple.

"Rub some ointment gently on the skin surrounding the wound. Simon, you'll just feel cold for a while."

Remus got up to fetch a quilt from further on the bench. Returning to spread it over Simon, he checked quickly that Rose had done her job carefully enough, just as he had trusted she would. He knelt down, and the simple joy filled him again, when he lifted his wand. Having so many times been forced to use the spell on himself, he found it delightfully effortless to channel the pure sympathy for someone else through the movement and the incantation. "Regenerasco!"

While he easily kept his hand steady and his mind focused, his eyes darted between the closing wound, Simon's relaxed features and Rose's face, which expressed concern and finally acceptance, if not admiration. She had bent close to protect Simon's shivering body. When she saw Remus put his wand away, she lifted her hand as if intending to touch the shiny scar, which could hardly be discerned, in the flickering light of the flames, against the pallid skin. Instead, she moved her fingers to caress her fiancé's cheek and kissed him on the mouth.

She was still kissing him, when Remus turned back after sending the jar and the basins to the kitchen. Peck had settled at the table to talk with Jonah and Timothy. The boys were leaning back and smiling, and Peck was filling their goblets. Finally Remus turned once again towards the couple, only in order to take hold of the bench so as to stand up and fetch something for the two of them to eat. But Rose was now facing him with a beaming smile, as if all the warmth had returned to her.

He ventured to suggest, "Would you, Rose, like to go and see if Tim and Jonah have left anything for you... the three of us? Bring here something you think Simon would like to eat and drink, so he can stay lying down for a while more."

"Thanks," she said and stood up after another quick kiss on Simon's mouth.

Remus shifted position but remained sitting on the floor. "How are you feeling?"

"Great. Thank you. I reckon you need to know what happened."

"It can wait... Or can it?"

Simon's face had gained some colour, and the grin did not appear as forced any longer. He did not actually look much older than the other boys. "I trust we're safe now. But you're the one who needs to know, aren't you?"

"I can tell him." Rose had been quick to return, levitating a tray. She left it in midair and started arranging cushions to assist Simon into a half-sitting position.

Remus could not help admiring her skill at using wandless magic so casually, without full concentration.

She, in turn, seemed to have regained some of the admiration she had shown towards Remus by the end of his visit to her home - or maybe only the concern for her fiancé had made her seem suspicious for a while - because now she asked him, "Is it all right Simon lifts his head?"

"Yes, it's fine like that. But you can all go to sleep after eating and leave for tomorrow the details of whatever has happened..."

The tray was now on the bench beside Rose and Simon, and she moved salad and pasties onto three plates, which waited in midair in front of her, until they were full and one travelled to Simon, another one to Remus. She smiled, while following the plate with her eyes so as to meet Remus's gaze. "You can't get rid of us so easily. And I'm sorry about that. I can tell you'd have needed sleep more than food, but eating is the only thing you can do while listening to us."

She was absolutely right. Remus knew he had not slept enough since... the beginning of the summer. But things were getting better, weren't they? At least there was something he could do. And eating was certainly one of the best things, while now he had decided to do it mainly in order not to make his guests feel he was watching them. He really needed to listen, too, although at that moment he doubted he was the one who could decide what had to be done about any plots of the enemies.

In any case, Rose was surprisingly relaxed and even polite enough to start with something less urgent. "We must thank you for sending the veela... girl. Thisby."

At that moment Remus felt a hand on his right shoulder. Peck was squatting beside him. "May we join you... all of us?"

"Of course. You, too, Peck. You're the one who truly doesn't need much sleep, aren't you?"

Jonah sat down on the floor on Remus's left, and Timothy settled on the bench, on the other side of Simon. Remus offered his plate to Jonah, but the boy shook his head.

"No, thanks. I've eaten too much. It's good Thisby had actually prepared us for this feast."

"She had?"

"Yes, on the second day she came to tend to Mum, she brought so much food. Thanks."

"She did? You must thank her."

Remus could honestly say he had not known. He and Thisby had prepared the potion for Mrs Ditcher together, and they had made it consist mainly of basic nutrients. He had only asked her to take portions of various vegetable purées for Dolores, such as he could remember Harry had started to be fed at the age of three or four months. He had not forgotten, since he had done some babysitting with...

What was the matter with him? He was thinking about baby food, and even if that as such was still perhaps actually the most important thing...

"How are Mrs Ditcher and Dolores?"

While posing the abrupt question, Remus had not looked up at anyone. But his uneasy, tired thoughts started fading in a manner which vaguely reminded him of something long-forgotten, when Jonah beside him spoke again and he realised that he was sitting in a company of friends.

"Dolly's fine, and Mum's better, a bit better with Dolly, too. I mean... But I'd still like to go to see her... Dolly, I mean. And Mum, too..."

Rose cut in, "I can do it. I can just apparate home any time."

"And Thisby's going to the Ancient Village regularly," Remus said.

"She asked Jonah and me about other families she could visit... she asked Mum, but Mum hasn't really been in touch with anyone for a long time. I'm surprised Mum could accept anybody besides me. I almost thought Thisby used some seductive magic ... Sorry. She really acted so wonderfully. She hid her white hair under the hood, so Mum wasn't freaked out and I hardly noticed anything weird about her. Except in the way her touch affected Mum, but I reckon I can't complain about that..."

Remus couldn't help smiling, partly because Rose's words reminded him of how Thisby herself had talked about goblins, when he had first met her. And because he was proud of his student. "Thisby's skill is not all innate power but also result of her determined learning. And she's eager to put it in practice. I bet she'll be angry to find out I didn't wake her up to help with Simon."

While saying that, he realised how good it was that Thisby had not been there to compete about a role in healing the wound. In any case, he had directed the conversation back to whatever it was that Simon had already been ready to tell him. He turned his eyes to Simon, who was just putting his plate aside, and nodded and stared at him meaningfully.

Simon returned his gaze with another grin but, somehow disappointing him, said only, "Tim must start and tell you what happened tonight."

The scrawny boy had continued to eat from the tray but had apparently waited for this topic to come up, because he now launched into telling the story eagerly, before his mouth was empty. "You know, I went to the White Thestral in the evening... like every evening really, but this time I went to get to do my job."

"Simon and I had finished copying the Quibbler articles," Rose cut in, as if determined to keep her promise to explain. "We'd dealt out most of the copies to our friends, so they could spread the message in the village and further. Now we gave Tim his share..."

Tim was obviously not going to surrender the role of a reporter to Rose. He clearly enjoyed the attention and, having shifted impatiently for a moment, he played his trump card in order to make his own account into a performance and thus more engaging than Rose's. He stood up from the bench and lifted his jumper to reveal a greying undershirt and a stack of paper shoved under the waistband of his trousers. He took it out and handed a sheet to each Remus and Peck.

"Read this. It's something that concerns the lives of all of us," he said, winking. "As you can see, I never got to spread these copies, because..."

He paused for the dramatic effect, while returning the stack to its hiding place, but Rose took the opportunity again. "This one is not really a copy, but a summary. And for all of these we use paper. You get it cheaper than parchment, from muggles - for free when you know where to look."

Remus skimmed the brief phrases written in clear block letters on the thin, crumpled paper.

REFUSE TO BE CANNON FODDER!

FUDGE BUYS YOU FOR A SONG. THEY USE YOU WHEN THEY NEED YOU. UMBRIDGE WANTS TO KILL YOU OFF LIKE HALF-BREEDS AND NON-HUMANS.

YOUR ENEMIES: THE DARK LORD AND THE MINISTRY.

JOIN US WHO FIGHT BOTH - JOIN THE REBELS IN BAGENDON!

This would certainly convey the message - even to those not used to written language - more easily than Lovegood's longwinded explanations and almost incomprehensible paragraphs ever would. Glancing up, Remus realised that Rose was watching him expectantly. He did not feel like starting to discuss the style or the contents of the leaflets now. Nothing that could have been regarded as shortcomings was probably due to Rose's - or perhaps Simon's - lack of language skills or of understanding of the nuances of politics. Instead, it was almost certainly based on how well they knew their audience.

Still, did they not know the risk well enough - or were they still, regardless of their hard lives, young enough to be reckless and ignore it? Or desperate enough? Remus could not help frowning, but he did his best to express approval with a nod, before turning to Tim.

The boy had waited for his reaction, too, and now continued immediately. "You know I wanted to go out with the leaflets, but then I noticed a couple of those recruiters just at the door. And you see I'd told them before that I was interested, and later that I wasn't sure, so I knew they wouldn't leave me alone. So I went to the men's room and planned to stay there, until I could get out without passing them. And I went into a cubicle, you know, just to wait for a while, so they would get to talk to someone else further in the pub. But can you imagine: I heard them swearing loud and entering the men's room, before I had time to close the cubicle door properly. I could see them enter. The same blokes who'd talked to me last week: one tall with broad shoulders and the other rather fat, in those shiny black robes with gold in the hem and cuffs. I first thought they were after me. They could see that there was nobody in there - or so they thought, when both cubicle doors were a crack open. They didn't check. So I knew they had not come in looking for me. Just to fix their hair and makeup, I reckon..."

Tim parted the shaggy hair on his forehead and smoothed it carefully with his both hands, then rubbed his eyebrows, cheeks and lips with his fingertips. Peck burst into laughter, and Remus could not help chuckling. Nobody seemed to mind the excessive details in Tim's story, on the contrary. Even Rose looked relaxed, and she levitated slices of apple pie to everyone in the company.

Tim caught his slice, took a bite of it and continued with his mouth full. "Yeah, there they're standing in front of the mirror, admiring themselves. I can't see them any longer, but I've really seen enough of them. And it's fun to hear how they talk when they're alone - or that's what they think... They curse their boring jobs and us - stubborn pieces of filth. And then... I know it's the tall one's voice that says, 'My boss has got some more exciting work, too. It's top-secret, of course.' 'Oh yeah?' says the fat one. 'Yeah, I shouldn't talk about it...'"

Pausing for a moment, Tim eyed his audience. "And then I hear the hoarse whisper of the tall one, 'I saw this parchment on his desk and it said: The theatre will be burned by some goblins this Friday evening...' 'So what's so great about that bloody goblin business?' says the fat one. And I hear this voice and footsteps approaching me. At the moment when he starts opening the cubicle door... I quickly flush the toilet! The fat bloke stares at me, and I don't have to fake being startled, but I fake closing my trousers. But I can see that the tall one is more startled than me or his friend. 'What d'you think you're doing!' he shouts. 'Shitting there with the door open! Eavesdropping... what did you hear?' He pushes the fat one aside and grabs my shoulders. But I have no time to say anything, because now Simon rushes in!"

As Tim paused abruptly and sat down on the bench, everyone turned to look at Simon beside him.

Simon was now sitting almost straight, with a grim smile. After Tim's animated talk, his voice sounded low and calculated. "I'd seen them all go in. So when neither Tim nor the recruiters had come out after quite a while, I got worried about him. Especially because of our leaflets. And when I got to the door and heard the questioning, I realised that they had not seen the stack of papers yet - and that they might see it, if they laid hands on him. And that's when he would be in trouble, if he wasn't already after whatever he had overheard. I had no time to think if I should pretend I came in by coincidence. When I entered, one of them was shaking Tim by the shoulders and the other one was pulling out his wand and saying. 'If that goblin stuff was so bloody top-secret, let's just use the Obliviate...'"

Seizing the right moment, Tim cut in, "Yeah, and that's when Simon rushes in, and the tall one, who's shaking me, flings me back into the cubicle, against the toilet and swears. 'Bugger!' he says - and worse than that, lady and gentlemen. 'Can't you shut up! Now we've got two...' But the fat one stays calm. 'Yeah, two. So what? We'll jinx them both and while they're even more nuts than usual, we can drag them with us and be done with today's recruiting.' The tall one's now got his wand out, too, and he pulls me out of the cubicle again, so I can see Simon - and the fat one's wandpoint under his chin."

A brief silence followed and was broken by Simon speaking first slowly, as if trying to comprehend what had happened and why. "I felt we had to try to escape. Just retreat. There was no chance in an attack against those two, who were armed. So even though I knew that Tim couldn't possibly get out without a fight, I took a few steps back. Maybe that's why the fat bloke thought I would offer no resistance, so his concentration on me flagged, when the other one did something unexpected... And what he did made me just... react aggressively, without any further thought."

"He means how the tall guy almost ripped my jumper when pulling me up again - and noticed there was something under it."

"I just grabbed the fat bloke's wrist and aimed a kick at his groin, and he swore, and something erupted from his wand and it hit my head."

Tim was standing again and continued, "I didn't really see it. But I heard his wand explode and then how it clattered onto the floor. And I was free, when the tall man rushed to catch the wand, too. They both rushed for the wand, so we wouldn't get it. But I ran for the door and I pulled Simon with me. When we closed the door, we both put our charms on it."

Rose offered an explanation, "We do it without wands. One of the first things even boys learn. To try their best to be safe."

"They could break it," Simon said, "but not so quickly, because it was two different charms. So we thought there was enough time to tell Rose we had to escape. Jonah was with her, and I think it was him..."

"Yes, it was my idea. 'Let's all go now...' I said, 'you know where.' Only after speaking did Jonah lift his gaze, but he turned to Remus and continued to smile while Tim finished the story.

"Simon had some floo powder, and the two of us went first. Rose and Jonah followed. To Hopchin's house in Bagendon, as Landor had advised them. We walked uphill from there, except Rose. She apparated closer to your place to look for the faun."

Remus returned Jonah's smile and chose simple words, repeating what he had said to Rose, "I'm happy you have all come. And it's good you told me all that in detail. Do you think anybody knows you are here?"

Rose shook her head. "No, we didn't say anything to Mrs Hopchin either. I understood that she and Mr Landor have agreed that... she'd better never know the reasons why people need to pass through her floo or stay in refuge for a while. She feigns to be senile, doesn't she?"

"Perhaps. Some people also prefer to believe that this is the same war as... when I was young. But now we must go to find beds for all of you to sleep... In the west wing I suppose, or what do you think, Peck? Unless you are injured, too, Tim."

"No, it wasn't a big deal. Not a real fight at all."

"My wound, too, was really my fault," Simon said.

"No. The recruiter's wand would not have hurt you without his intention."

These children had been told that the ministry's intention was to serve them - to give them better opportunities. To give them the chance to serve the wizard community, too.

But at the Wotton manor there was no chance to determine who would serve whom and how - at least not during that night, which was almost over when everyone else had finally settled to sleep and Remus returned to his loft. Perhaps all there was for them to do was to share whatever they had got to offer and whatever they needed to suffer.