Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures

Chapter Twelve: The Magic of Needs and Flames

The frescos in the high ceiling of the Old Place were greeting Remus cheerfully. He had performed a cleaning spell to free them from the soot of the years and sent up a few cold flames to illuminate them clearly.

Splashing the shimmering surface of the sea, the unicorns swam closer to him along the edge of the painting. As the purple clouds parted, the dragons appeared, circling higher in the dome.

"The painting was made three years before I was born. But the clouds were added when I was ten, and I was allowed to make some of them. Just the basic shape and colour. I hardly understood anything about the spells yet, obviously."

Remus had not considered whether he really wanted to discuss this with Rose, even though he was supposed to introduce the premises of the Merry Thespians to her. He had actually talked to himself, and to his relief she did not hurry to ask any further questions.

He nodded and smiled to the Irish Ironshield, who flapped her rusty wings fervently, in order to stay right above him. The flame emanating from her snout caused a moderate wave of heat, which arrived to wrap him tenderly.

Rose apparently felt the warmth, too. She recoiled, even though the sensation must have been pleasant in the draughty theatre hall. "What is it?" she whispered. "It's better than our photos or the muggle cinema."

"Whatever you find at the Old Place is art. Real art."

"It's a pity I never came here before, or cared to check out the Headless Queen. I heard about that pub before you told me, but..."

"Well, you've discovered these places now. At your age there should be no reason to feel sad when you do something for the first time."

Only while uttering the last phrase did Remus turn to really look at her. There was no need to avoid close contact with this young woman. On the contrary, he did not want to get absorbed in the melancholy or the ominous thoughts evoked by his own words. Without makeup and dressed in Dame Philomela's robes she looked serious but certainly like a child. This child was excited by the new things shown to her, but perhaps actually more bitter than sad that so much had been hidden from her for such a long time.

"I suppose it's my own fault," Rose said. "It just never occurred to me that some respectable witches and wizards could move in the same circles with... such creatures. And if I heard of theatre, I thought it was for those who had too much time and money to spend."

"And all the while it's been free like air... People pay only if they can and want to. One of my Uncle Francis's most brilliant ideas. People from your neighbourhood, too, could have come to the shows of the Merry Thespians. To breathe. Few wanted to. But I doubt they were ever actually invited either."

"Maybe this air was reserved for those who thought they were... the only respectable ones or - already civilised." It was hard to say if there was contempt or envy in her voice.

Remus decided to regard her comment as a statement of a fact. "I'm afraid you are right. The human members of the group and of the audience have been those who thought they deserved it, because they'd already learnt from their parents or at school. They had their shares in this treasure. What they called art. And for some it's been just eccentric entertainment. They could afford the challenge of befriending all kinds of creatures... almost all... Of course, only the members of the group knew that there was even a dark creature involved, and I never took charge of any central duties."

"But you've been an actor?"

"No, never since..."

Why had the talk turned to his person? It did not make any sense to refer to the little boy who used to enjoy climbing onto this stage. That was almost completely beyond his memory.

Rose followed him up the few steps, and he strode along the narrow space in front of the faded green curtain to the other end of the stage, then turned to look to the deserted auditorium. Both the stalls and the pit were getting shrouded in deeper and deeper shadows again, as his flames above went off one by one. Having stopped only for a moment, he continued to the steep staircase which led from the stage to the balcony. When he looked back to check that Rose was climbing behind him, he wondered if the patterns woven into the curtain could have been discerned any longer even in bright light.

It was astonishing that the Imperturbable Charm which had been performed on the fabric over forty years earlier was still intact. No sound was seeping through. Could there possibly be real creatures right behind the curtain and in the wings: in loud banter, clanking and clattering set pieces, opening their voices, stamping across the stage? It was hard for Remus not to start seriously suspecting that he had returned to his abandoned past in a dream.

Certainly nothing had existed, and an image was born of nothingness when the curtain went up. Warm light spilled out, and Remus grabbed Rose's wrist to pull her to sit down beside him on the very first seats, almost directly above the stage. He hardly glanced at her, but he could sense her excitement. His hand had to stay on hers, after all, since he was not going to spare a fragment of his mind any longer for guiding his physical movements. Still, his body was channelling this perception, too: her cold fingers slowly warming under his touch.

But his eyes were focused on the frail figure standing in the middle of the stage. Thisby was surrounded by a motley crowd of creatures, who were lying or squatting on the ground, huddled together. From the moment when she started to sing, his whole existence was pierced by the soaring sound in which words and tunes became one.

Only when Rose pulled her hand away to start clapping, did Remus realise that he should not have heard any applause yet - and that there was, indeed, someone applauding down in the pit. Reluctantly, when following Rose's example and standing up, he bent to peer down. The silver glow left no room for doubt about the guest's identity. To Remus's relief, however, Dumbledore was not looking up but, instead, had restricted his attention totally to the stage, behaving as if he held all the actors in high regard.

Robin, however, beaming beside his lead singer, gesticulated to Remus and exclaimed, "Good evening, Chief Warlock, Headmaster Dumbledore! Remus is up on the balcony, if you need to talk to him. The main staircase is right behind you. I hope it doesn't disturb you that we'll continue the rehearsal."

Saddened by the intrusion of the reality, Remus touched Rose once more, urging her to sit down. Then he walked slowly towards the curve of the balcony in order to meet Dumbledore. The guest was admittedly not uninvited, but he was early. Or perhaps the Merry Thespians were late in schedule, which would not have been surprising. Remus had no reason to deny him a warm welcome.

"Good evening, Albus," he said in a soft voice. "Welcome to my mother's theatre."

"Thank you, Remus. I'm glad to see that you have finally returned here, too."

How could he know that this was the first time in seventeen years Remus had come to the Old Place? Bracing himself to prevent his voice from cracking, Remus responded, "I regret to tell you that this was perhaps the last opportunity for me or for you to see this place."

It pleased Remus that there was evidently something Dumbledore did not know. The surprise and the curiosity expressed in the reply were mild, though. "Have you decided not to participate in the theatre?"

"I've never - after the age of five - considered taking up acting. I've returned, and I'll stay loyal to the troupe, of course, as they'll be loyal to me. However... and this is what I needed to tell you confidentially. By coincidence I was given a tip-off: the building will be destroyed tomorrow evening."

Tilting his head back in fear of the first tears, which threatened to roll down at any moment, he caught sight of the dragons again. Old lady Ironshield was nestled with her mate on a rocky island surrounded by purple-tinted, darkening waves. The two magnificent beasts were humming rhythmically and staring at the stage.

From the corner of his eye he saw Dumbledore sit down. In relief he collapsed on a seat as well and bent forward, leaning against the balustrade to fix his gaze on the actors. His vision was blurred. Thisby's words, however, now merely spoken but in a voice as melodious as ever, drew a shiny path across his mind.

He had to force himself to register Dumbledore's question."Can you not save it, since you know about the plot?"

"I can't be completely sure that this one is the theatre referred to... in the document accidentally seen by someone at the ministry, probably at the Magical Law Enforcement."

"Are you not going to reveal your source even to me?"

Remus did still not turn to look at Dumbledore. "I don't think it's necessary. I have no reason to doubt that these are the authentic words written in a confidential internal memorandum of the ministry. 'The theatre will be burned by some goblins this Friday.'"

"In theory it could be any magical or muggle theatre..."

Now Remus had to concentrate on conveying his ideas firmly enough, and unexpectedly it was not hard to sound more determined than Dumbledore. "Exactly. That's why I thought you might like to arrange some members of the Order to patrol at each major theatre, and to be ready to empty it urgently, if they observe something suspicious. More importantly... since I doubt Umbridge is planning anything less than harming various enemies of hers at one blow..."

"You can't prove Umbridge or anyone at the ministry is behind it..."

"Of course I can't," Remus said, mustering an almost gentle voice.

"The wording sounds suspicious, but it could be explained so that the ministry has been given a tip-off... that the goblins are truly preparing a terror attack either in Voldemort's orders or..."

Interrupting Dumbledore caused strange pleasure to Remus. His own amusement at this new obsession of rudeness took the edge off from his anxiety. "Has there been any progress in the negotiations between the Order and the goblins?"

"That's something you could have helped us achieve... but yes, Kingley's resignation from the Auror Office has made him a popular dinner guest at the mansions of the wealthiest among the goblins - the owners of the Gringotts and of the mines. Nymphadora, in turn, has taken up spending most of her leisure hours at the pubs in your old neighbourhood - and not at the one where only full human or seemingly human customers are welcome.

Pricks of conscience were about to sidetrack Remus's thoughts, when he realised he had hardly talked to Nymphadora after the beginning of the summer. But this was no moment for asking whether this new hobby of hers was actually based on orders to make contacts at the pubs.

"Can they both persuade the goblins of those different circles to accept an invitation at a short notice? To spread the invitation efficiently, too?"

"To gather at a meeting before tomorrow evening and discuss this issue, or...?" Perhaps Dumbledore was deliberately leaving the plan for Remus to word.

"Tomorrow evening. Not necessarily to discuss anything. To dance, if you feel like arranging a harvesting ball or something. You could also invite some young ministry employees - such who seldom have a chance to meet goblins because their duties are not related to these issues. For instance from the Broom Regulatory Control, or the Magical Games and Sports. These young people will be happy to explain with whom they'll have danced. And I suggest you use a guestbook, too."

"That's a lot to arrange, but you know I'll do anything for you, Remus. I expect you to be there, too, of course." The words were accompanied by a small smile.

Remus made an attempt at the same playful but sincere tone. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I think I'd prefer to take another last opportunity..."

"Be careful not to offer another bird to be killed with Umbridge's stone, Dumbledore said more seriously, "a bird she didn't expect to hit yet."

"Don't worry. I've sent the invitations to my two guests, and I'm planning to be around, even after the full moon. Can you stay to watch the rehearsal until the end?"

"I'm afraid I have to give the orders to Nymphadora and Kingsley as soon as possible."

"I trust you won't forget to remind them that nobody besides those who will actually attend the ball must know about the invitations beforehand. I haven't discussed the threat with anyone else here either."

A scene had just ended. Since according to the tradition the actors had to almost completely ignore any applause at a rehearsal, Remus moved his eyes to Rose instead. "Before you go, I'd like to introduce a young lady to you. For it's a pity the two of you never had the chance to meet at Hogwarts."

While clapping her hands Rose turned to cast a glance at Remus. He gesticulated to her, and she left her seat without hesitation and walked nimbly to Remus and Dumbledore.

"This is Miss Rose Ditcher. Rose, this is Albus Dumbledore, leader of the Order of the Phoenix."

"Headmaster of Hogwarts," Rose continued, "Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot..."

"And our Secret Keeper. If there is any emergency, you can always contact by floo the headquarters of the Order or the headmaster's office at Hogwarts."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Ditcher. And Remus is right. I will never act against your safety."

Rose did not seem to feel uncomfortable when Dumbledore kept holding her hand firmly, showing no intention to let it go. She confronted his gentle but penetrating gaze with at least a trace of her habitual suspicion. "But you and Remus are not totally committed to each other's causes either."

"Sometimes I wish I could become one of Remus's students in turn - if only to pay back some debts. You must promise to me that you will balance your dedication to what he expects from you - or perhaps rather your dedication to your common cause - by doing some mischief, too."

Finally leaving Rose's hand, Dumbledore placed his on Remus's shoulder. Remus failed to recall the last time he had done that.

"That's what this promising student used to do to me," Dumbledore said, smiling, "and that's what he continues to do."

***

Harry,

Tonight I feel like telling you stories again.

Once upon a time there was a boy who was determined to dream the life the way he wanted it to be. He had seen that anything was possible. Beyond the harsh borderline built of the first pain, there were flashes of images. Scattered and vague like anybody's earliest memories. But his belief in the power of stories was reinforced, when new worlds still appeared to him continuously in the same way. Born out of nothingness in the quiet, darkened theatre hall. An enchanted castle. A solitary fighter. A captured elf. A prince who turned the boggart into his brother. And a beggar who turned the king into a toad.

Uncle Francis asked me only once why I no longer wanted to climb onto the stage to recite any lines from the plays. At the time I was unable to explain. Now I can interpret the sensations, which have stayed vivid in my unbearably clear memory.

My body was alien to me, as if I had newly acquired it. So was my name, but I got used to that more quickly. Again and again I needed to work to relearn to know myself. I examined the wounds carefully and caressed my skin so as to become reacquainted with my dimensions after every transformation. My father and Gumby took the time to help me - on the last days of the waxing moon, too, when I would become restless. I used to cling to the thoughts of their touches at the moment before losing my mind, and those were the thoughts I sought first when my human mind emerged again, filled with pain.

Now I got carried away. That was not what I was supposed to write. I've never talked about this to anybody except... Sirius. And I've hardly mentioned his name to anybody except you since...

What I needed to explain was that I did not dare to completely indulge in physical sensations as such. There was no escape from the need to focus on my body, but I had also a need to pass the physical sensations beyond its limits. I tried my best to turn the pain into something else. Lines and colours with charcoal or paintbush. Words about hardships suffered by heroes in stories.

And I could not possibly venture to make my unstable body serve in narrating any stories. I enjoyed sitting, motionless, in the dark, watching in awe and terror when I recognised the actors in the roles. They had volunteered to change themselves - in order to mould the world into something better.

Although I preferred to take my seat in time, so as to witness the sudden appearance of enchanted life, I knew well what took place behind the curtain. It was forbidden for me to loaf around there, disturbing the preparations, just before a performance. However, sometimes it was impossible to witness the outcome of some brilliantly planned mischief, or to even carry it out, without hiding among the coulisse. Hiding as such was a feat, since the set pieces would sometimes move unpredictably.

Mr Grubber, in particular, was almost always dissatisfied with the set design - which was just one form of his general attitude. He is an extraordinary actor. Yes, he is still an active member of the Merry Thespians and one of the leading artists. During this season one of the greatest successes has been his interpretation of Umbridge.

You really should meet him when you come. I wonder if all this babbling will make any sense, but at least it's useful to warn you. Mr Grubber, indeed, bears a superficial resemblance of your previous Defence teacher. Besides, even though his grumpy nature has softened at least in my eyes, he can still appear as a rather formidable character.

He is a half-goblin, and perhaps a prouder representative of the ancient goblin culture than the owners of Gringotts are. To human audience - or at least to me - his talent and highly developed skills make a memorable impression, because in his performance we can perceive a combination of the exotic tones and of genuinely human features. His portrayals of characters achieve such rich nuances which define the human nature better than of what full humans would be aware themselves. Of course, I was not quite aware of any reasons to respect the grumpy Grubber when I was ten years old - although I had been amazed at his ability to transform into a king and into a toad.

One evening - and not just any evening but the opening night of my mother's adaptation of an old goblin folktale - I was on the stage, crouched behind an enchanted smelting furnace, observing the actors who were preparing themselves for the performance. I desperately wanted to pull a prank on someone.

A year had passed since Uncle Francis had disappeared and I had now realised that he would not return to play these games with me. During that year I had also learnt to understand - or that's what I thought - the true nature and the consequences of my condition. Only at the age of nine had I been told what I was and why it was so important that I improved my control over aggression, just as I had already been strictly guided to do as long as I could clearly remember. At home Gumby the house-elf still managed to soothe my mind, but at the theatre I felt like an alien without Uncle Francis. After I had realised that I was not a full human and not like any other creature either in this big family, Uncle Francis had done his best to show me that it did not make a difference. He was often even more restless than I was before the full moon - and he reassured me that everyone loved the two of us in any case. But soon I was alone and I couldn't help feeling that his disappearance was somehow my fault, a result of my condition, too, although such a thought made no sense.

The members of the troupe scolded at me repeatedly, and now I knew that their need to do that wasn't due to the simple fact that I was the only child among them. They were all better creatures than I was: both the part-humans and the non-humans. No one else was Dark, and I was tolerated only because of my mother. But I wanted to believe that I was as good as I had always dreamt, so I decided that, at least, some others were worse than me. It was easiest to criticise the part-humans: I could see what they lacked. Or that's what I thought.

Mr Grubber, with his squat figure, was ugly, as I could see once again, when watching him from behind the furnace. He had the wide mouth and the bushy eyebrows, but not the contrasting features of the admittedly ill-proportioned but peculiarly enchanting face of a goblin. Instead of a piercing gaze deep under the eyebrows, he had bulging eyes and no sharp lines in his broad, flabby face.

I witnessed him sending a table to the other end of the stage by only brushing his fingers over it on his way to change into his costume. Of course, I did not actually see his fingers, because just like all male full goblins I had met, he wore long sleeves to cover his hands almost up to his fingertips.

He could expose his hands when in a role on the stage, so I knew that his fingers were not inhumanly long but actually rather stubby, although he had at least some of the goblin power in them. Now it appeared to me as ridiculous and even irritating that he had to stick to that strange habit with the sleeves. It could be only inhuman - and sly, since who could know what powers these fingers were exercising when out of view. When secretly following him to the door of the dressing room, I got an idea of how to make him wear the same kind of robes as decent people.

At that time I doubted I would ever receive a wand and formal education, which were reserved for full human witches and wizards. I had started trying to develop my magic intentionally on my own - with no success. I had always regarded myself as a wizard. My parents, too, kept telling me about the first signs of magic I had shown as a little boy - and also encouraging me to learn as much and as well as possible. Remembering and understanding knowledge was never hard for me, but regardless of my parents' positive attitude I realised that my magical talent was hardly satisfying. I overheard them mention that even though my tantrums were exceptionally strong when the moon was close to full, I never accidentally caused objects to fly far in the way most magical children did. I hardly managed to make small objects shake. This ability was disappearing quickly, too, and I heard my father explain that losing it had to be a natural result of my improving control of aggression. I suppose at the age of ten I was desperate that I'd end up with no magical powers, and I envied Mr Grubber's goblin magic.

There was nothing to be proud of about my prank. Without Uncle Francis I wasn't even able to carry it out with magic. I simply used scissors to cut the sleeves of Mr Grubber's robes as soon as all the actors had left the dressing room.

My memory of that performance is unusually vague. Having crept to the balcony soon after its beginning, I still stayed there when it was over and when the actors were mixing with the audience down in the pit. I kept staring up at the fresco to which I had been allowed to add some details, but I could not feel any pride in my contribution. I had simply painted some clouds, and although the artist had charmed them to move, they had now covered almost the whole vault in a heavy immobile layer and the unicorns and dragons were out of sight. You should see them... you should have... I was actually waiting and I wasn't surprised when one of the goblins came to tell me that Mr Grubber wanted to see me in the dressing room.

He was sitting in front of a mirror, holding a goblet, dressed in his regular robes - with the sleeves hardly covering his wrists. I wasn't shy to face him, but this meant that I didn't look at his face but straight at his hands instead. However, when he lifted the goblet to his lips and the purple steam of the traditional goblin drink rose towards his eyebrows, I ended up seeing his facial expression, too. His gaze was alarmingly blank. It was clear that he was in no alien role, and I realised that, as the person who he really was, he should not have exposed his hands.

I still did not understand why it was so, but I said, trying my best not to sound defiant, "I'm sorry."

"Are you?" he asked simply. There was less anger to be heard in his voice than what I was used to hearing at any time when he stumbled on something left on the stage against his idea of the set design.

He put the goblet down on the dressing table, and having followed his hand, I saw its gesture inviting me closer. I didn't hesitate to take the few steps, but I was startled when he suddenly grabbed my both hands.

"Why..." he said, continuing to speak slowly and calmly.

I started searching for the answer in my mind with the same type of urge as when my father wanted to know whether I had learnt to understand a basic process in, for instance, the general muggle history, which he found necessary to teach to me. But I could not figure out why I had harmed Mr Grubber.

However, after a pause he completed his phrase, "Why do you think we who have goblin blood cover our hands?"

I had no answer to that either. In mixed fright and delight I waited for him to explain. Glancing at his face, I saw his wide mouth twist into a wry smile.

"No, you would not understand the reason - not yet. It's not the wizards' business... But they should all be able to see that this traditional habit of ours is not harmful. Would we secretly carry weapons - made of our magic? That would harm our relations among ourselves, too. We have lived in our way among all creatures, and it did not cause any problems until the wizards started demanding everyone to follow their way as a model."

Despite my disappointment I did my best to memorise his words. However, I got sidetracked to a self-centred thought. Wasn't I, too, demanded to act against my nature? I wonder if Mr Grubber guessed that I was more interested in myself.

"Our hands are not so different..." he said.

His stubby fingers were squeezing my hands hard. I noticed that his fingers were actually not as short as I had thought: they were just not as slim as the full goblins'. My hands looked fragile in the clasp of his. I wanted to object to his words, but he was now talking about something else.

"You can pass as a full human for most of the time. And you don't have to worry about your magical abilities... Your parents are fighting for a chance to give you a wizard education."

This was such a piece of news that I had no time to stop to wonder how he knew what I had been brooding over.

He continued, "When you learn to use your wand, we shall see if you forget what we all have in common, and how we should be allowed to remain different... But let me show you something that you can play with, at least while waiting for better opportunities!" He let my right hand go and turned the palm of the left one up.

Mesmerised, I stared at it, as if I had not seen it before: the paint stains on the fingertips, a shiny scar near the wrist. I had to force myself to speak up, so as not to lose the chance to learn from him. "Can you teach me to move heavy objects with a brush of my fingers?"

"Do you think you've deserved that?" His growl made me close my eyes for a moment.

"No. I'm sorry. I haven't deserved that you even talk to me in the way you did..."

"You don't need to deserve that. Anyway... I'll try to help you see what your hand can channel without a paintbrush. You have tried to move things with your mind, haven't you? The trick is to stop trying too hard."

He waved the fingers of his free hand, and all the candles in the windowless room went off, so that we were left in complete darkness. Loosening his grip of my left hand, he still supported it. "You are not supposed to concentrate on what you need right now. You can feel it, even while you are struggling to understand and accomplish something else. Now relax for a moment. Simply focus on the palm of this hand of yours. Trust that it will give you what you need - not what you want."

My left hand. I knew it well, if only because I had been forced to learn to know it every month again. It was the first part of me I checked when regaining my consciousness after having transformed back. While wounds fascinated me, no matter how much they ached, I always wished that this hand, which I preferred for drawing and painting, would be unharmed. This hand helped me soothe my mind. Now in the darkness, when I could not discern its form at all, and Mr Grubber's touch and voice still made me feel insecure, I probably felt a need to see it. Afterwards I've wondered whether what happened was possible just because in this situation my need actually guided me to focus on this tool. Mr Grubber was certainly very clever, and he had a strange ability to hold me spellbound. My eyes kept staring at the spot in the darkness where his hand supported mine.

A flame flashed. In cold blue light, pale fingers came to the sight for a passing moment. Another flash, and I discerned the paint on the fingertips and the scar.

My hand was closed into a fist, and I was blinking in the yellow glow of the candles again. Mr Grubber was grinning, and I grinned back. I hardly understood what had happened, but I blurted out what needed to be said, "Thank you!"

That was how Mr Grubber helped me start learning to channel magic without a wand. At Hogwarts I forgot about it, and only during my drifting years did I care to learn again how to light cold flames on my palm, and even a burning spark on the nail of my thumb. Humble tricks compared to what a lot of non-humans and part-humans can do, and even some wizards and especially witches - those who have got used to living without a wand. But I dare hope I've always remembered part - if not all - of something else Mr Grubber taught me that night.

Still, I admit I made mistakes. I got carried away, excited by the endless opportunities and the brilliant as well as questionable ideas which four clever boys could come up with when combining their forces.

The Marauders ended up harming and humiliating other people, but at times I succeeded in paying attention to the consequences beforehand. Since the third year, when I was more confident about my own identity, it became my new conscious ambition to plan such mischief which other people hardly noticed. More and more of our activities were actually related to learning - but learning anything we were not supposed to learn. Only Dark magic was excluded, and particularly Sirius had both the knowledge and the will to watch that we did not even toe that line.

We learnt how to get to the kitchens at Hogwarts - simply in order to make friends with the house-elves, and with constantly available food as our ultimate goal, as far as we could understand. We learnt to know secret passageways in order to sneak out at night - and harmed only ourselves when we couldn't stay awake in the classes on the following day. My visual memory and accurate hand helped me forge teachers' signatures, so that we got books from the restricted section of the library. And from those books we learnt spells above the level of our age, and it became our passion to experiment with adaptations that nobody had invented before. I believe that at least subconsciously we only meant to make our world a better place.

***

To his surprise, Remus wished he could have discerned the edge of the woods. The mist was shrouding him so closely that it was impossible to see anything beyond short stretches of the two furrows from which it was his current task to lift the potatoes. Regardless of the approaching noon, the heavy gloom resisted all luminosity. Threatening to seep inside him, the cold humidity reminded him of the fact that he was alone, in the end.

Why did he think about the full moon now? When he had no one to stay with him, isolated from the rest of the world, the wolf would not get to breathe in these harsh wild smells of autumn.

Instead, now when he could see - finally recognise as his equals - all those around him, he was ready to move on. The woods behind his childhood home were hardly the most frightening one of the destinations where all of them might still need to head for together. It seemed like a very long time ago when he had returned here alone and avoided facing the stage of his earliest, newly-acquired memory. Now he would have been happy to wander under the trees - as he had done, blissfully protected from the memory, all through his childhood - if he were not always too busy working on the fields or inside the house.

He had to remember that he was sharing the reassuring harvest with his new friends even when they were out of sight and... suspiciously quiet. In order to perform an advanced form of the summoning charm, he kept channelling the power of breaking through obstacles to the potatoes even deepest under the ground. When standing completely still for a moment, concentrating on the charm, he could discern faint whispering on his right. Now chuckling. And he smiled.

The new members of the brotherhood had not expressed anything close to genuine enthusiasm towards the work on the potato field in the relentless fog and rain. However, this years' hopeless employment situation had evidently not yet turned idleness into an incurable habit for them.

"Okay, let's get to work," Jonah had said promptly after finishing his breakfast. "I'm not used to this type of harvesting, either, but I guess I can learn it."

"You are not used to learning anything either," Rose had remarked in passing.

"Have you ever seen anybody teach me?"

Remus had been standing on the threshold, examining the gloom of the early morning. He had turned to look at the siblings, when he had heard in Jonah's voice a trace of resentment, unlike in his mother's presence.

But Simon had grabbed Rose on the waist and led her to the door, talking soothingly, "Hey, stop fighting each other - we have other enemies..."

Tim had punched Jonah on the side. "Yeah, we've just learnt how to turn our coats - if we ever had any - and now we'll study how to turn some soil."

This - and perhaps Simon's hug - had made Rose laugh out loud. "Forward, bold fighters and students!" she had exclaimed, gesticulating solemnly, but throwing quickly an apologising smile to his brother. "The professor will lead us to our next battle field!"

Their cheerful self-disparaging jokes must have conveyed glad acceptance of the task. That was, at least, how Remus had chosen to interpret the banter, without suspecting any serious lack of respect.

But now the silence made Remus doubt that the young witch and wizards had resisted the temptation to escape work better than the fauns and half-fauns ever did. Jonah had, after all, been supposed to stay working together with Remus in order to learn nuances of the summoning. Tim had headed for the other end of the field, after showing that he managed well, combining wandless summons and manual labour. While Simon had not exactly admitted that he needed assistance, Rose had led him immediately to the other direction, probably determined to help her boyfriend without anybody paying too much attention to any shortcomings in his skills.

Now, however, Jonah had disappeared. With a satisfied grin on his pale, soiled face he had handed the wand back to his teacher and left to check the bin to which they sent the potatoes after summoning them to gather between the furrows. Remus hoped that it was not too full yet and that his spell had moved it to the correct location, when they had once again turned at the end of the field and started back between two new furrows.

The laughter and whispering had to be a good sign. At least it was a sign. A proof of human presence. But perhaps a boss was supposed to have enough authority to keep the workers actually working, too, especially when there was not too much time before the promised lunch and a whole afternoon off - due to the fact that it was Friday, this particular Friday... the opening night of the new performance with Thisby's own songs...

A brief scream pierced the mist. It was immediately followed by both Rose's angry voice and Simon's embarrassed murmur. Or was the low restrained voice only amused? The uninhibited laughter had to belong to Jonah - surprising as it was.

Remus drew a deep breath, warmed by the mere knowledge that there were three friends near him and that the desolation had been nothing but an illusion. Jonah's merriment made him happier than anything else. Even though this quiet boy clearly enjoyed the comforts of Wotton manor, he seldom even smiled as cheerfully as he had done when holding his baby sister, about whom he now probably could not help worrying.

The voices and the laughter grew louder. Remus had hardly enough time to notice a running figure appear from the mist, before Jonah bumped right into him.

Clinging to him with cold soiled hands, the boy swung himself behind his back and said, panting and in a playful panic, "Hide me! You must protect me! They'll kill me!"

"What? No, now they'll kill me."

Remus ducked as the first potatoes flew towards him. But Rose and Simon must have heard the exchange, even though they kept scolding Jonah. Remus was actually disappointed when the bombarding stopped almost immediately and the flustered couple only rounded him, trying to catch the boy.

"What do you want from him? What has he done?" Remus asked. He kept turning around, as if he could possibly have hidden Jonah from both Rose and Simon at the same time.

"I did nothing," Jonah replied in a whining voice, which gained unmistakable cheerfulness when he continued, "Ask them what they have done! Ask them how they got their robes that muddy!"

"You sneaked on us! Oh, I hate brothers!"

"What could I do? It's not my fault you couldn't see me coming in this fog. And what if I wanted to startle you a bit? I couldn't guess that you had decided to have a little break from work..."

A new voice cut in, "Got you!" Tim had appeared from the mist and grabbed Simon's shoulder suddenly enough to make him jump. "Are you playing tag, or hide and seek? All four of you! I can see I've been the only one working here."

"Well, yes..." Remus heard his own happy voice admit. "But I think the work is almost done."

"You are right, as far as I can see in this fog: these few rows are the last ones," Tim said.

"So, let's get done with them. I think we can expect some potato soup for lunch. And we'll have to tidy ourselves up for theatre tonight..."

"So we'll all go?" Rose exclaimed. "We get to show that great place to the boys, too!"

"No, actually... and this is still confidential. Not even the actors know. The show will be moved to the Headless Queen. Just a simple diversion. But I want none of you to come to the Old Place at all. You can all go directly to the pub after sunset." Handing his wand to Jonah, Remus changed the topic without waiting for any response. "Tim, would you like to help Rose and Simon at the other end of their rows, if you're finished with yours?"

"Yes, of course," Tim replied promptly, but the rhythm of his speech was slower than usual, and he cast a sharp look into Remus's eyes before turning to go.

***

"A diversion? Right!" Robin's nuanced voice carried well from the stage to the entrance even in his soft question. The cadence, however, changed impressively between those simple words.

While the actor definitely did not need to resort to shouting, the latter word hit Remus like a whip and forced him to turn from peering out through the crack of the door. He leant against the wall and watched Robin stride across the theatre hall.

Almost all the artists had now left the Old Place. All the spectators, too, as they had arrived one by one or in small groups, had been guided to move directly to the Headless Queen, either by apparating or through the floo network. They had been told casually about the change in the scene of the show. Remus had checked that nobody had gone out through the entrance, gently suggesting to those few attempting it that they do a favour and use other ways of exiting. No outsider could have seen anybody at all leaving the theatre.

"Do you think someone approaching can notice that it's too quiet in here?" Remus asked, meeting Robin's eyes as calmly as he could.

The tall broad man stepped close, loyal to his habit of not allowing much private space to anyone. Due to the difference in height it was probably rather uncomfortable for everyone, except the half-giants, to talk to Robin unless he was sitting down.

Remus tilted his head back to rest it against the wall and submitted to the encounter with the round rosy face bent over him. He felt Robin's presence warm him. Only now did he become totally aware of the cold draft from outside and of the tension which had built up and started to consume the unsatisfactory amount of strength in his own body. Robin radiated heat over him: sheltered him, but also threatened him with uncompromising demands. Like the sun.

That was what Remus had called him years ago. And they had shared a name. He had called Remus the son. As if momentarily enchanted, Remus was about to ask whether Robin still remembered...

But the usual beaming joviality was now clouded. The leader of the troupe could no longer wait to be told what was happening at his theatre. "You know that someone's spying. What is this? You expect all of us to accept your diversions just like that. When you don't explain anything. You don't want the spies to realise that everyone's been sent away..."

Perhaps Remus wanted them to realise. If they knew that there would not be a house-full of victims, perhaps they would cancel the attack. "Do you think they'll notice...?"

"Why don't you tell us? Why didn't you tell me there was a real threat? I could as well have thought that you just wanted to start giving orders to us - to tell us when to move our shows, so that ministry people wouldn't come to watch them."

"No, you know..."

"Yes, I still know you well enough to see it in you. You were upset when you came to meet Dumbledore - before you talked to him." A tone of self-satisfaction overruled the resentment in Robin's expression.

Encouraged, Remus launched into explanations, "I didn't want to risk the information spreading. I hope Umbridge has got no idea that I was given a tip-off."

"You didn't accept my invitation to take part in the shows..."

"You know I never wanted to act after..."

Their exchange was turning into absurd arguing. Had Robin even listened to what Remus had started to say?

"But you didn't even come to see us - not once, except when Mr Landor called. And now you suddenly come and tell me what to do, and you answer no questions."

Why, indeed, had Remus not confided at least in Robin, now or as soon as he had heard about the threat? Was this the only way he could feel he was a real leader? Now and here was certainly not the time and place to start questioning it - or to let Robin question it.

Remus tried to talk as firmly as possible without sounding arrogant. "I decide when it's the right time to tell you. I'm telling you now. I know it was written on a ministry memorandum: 'The goblins will burn the theatre on Friday.'"

Robin hit his palm against the wall beside Remus's head and spit out, "Umbridge! You say Umbridge is behind it?"

"I don't really know anything beyond the words on a parchment someone had seen on a desk at the ministry, at Law Enforcement, I think..." But Robin's reaction had made Remus alert again. He hardly concentrated on his own uncertain statement.

Instead, he bent his head to slip under Robin's arm and went to pull the door closed, while continuing, "I reckon the Merry Thespians are still never quite punctual. But now it's the time you could have started the show here. I don't think they'll come in this way, but let's put both your charm and mine on the door. We don't want any late spectators to get into the trap."

Remus pulled out his wand and waved it towards the door. The incantation was one of those he had developed in Greece - like so many others he still regularly used. This one reminded him of those better full moons which he had not been forced to spend outside, in a deserted place, chained to a tree. "Sta heria sou!" The phrase still conveyed gratitude to people who had offered him shelter.

Now Robin had performed his charm, too, and he confronted Remus immediately again. "We are not leaving, are we? I want to try to stop them or the fire, if it's really going to happen..."

"They'd do it secretly, especially in case they have no goblins... The attic is the only possible place where..." Hurrying towards the nearest stairs leading to the balcony, Remus heard Robin follow.

He remembered well the small attic, which stretched only above the stage and the backstage area, behind the dome and with a ceiling remarkably lower than its top. On the way he checked that the theatre hall was deserted. Robin passed him before he reached the door at the front end of the balcony. They both already had their wands out.

"You don't keep anti-apparition charms over there?"

"No," Robin replied softly, pressing his ear against the door. "There's nothing... well, perhaps there is something to be stolen in there. But we all have to drop in so often to fetch something..."

"Is it like it used to be?"

"Yes, except there's a bit more stuff. You should have no trouble finding your old hiding places. But shall we make the charms now as soon as we've entered, in case there's nobody yet?"

"No, I want to catch them trying to do it..."

Remus realised he should have planned a way to get evidence against whoever arrived to set the theatre on fire. On the other hand, he was not too eager to accuse such hired burglars as those who had broken into Mrs Porchead's building. This thought made him clench his wand tight, pressing the nails on his other hand hard into the palm. He could no longer ignore the bitter hatred, which he had until now managed to bury under the melancholy. In an urge to cease being one of the victims he felt like rushing into the attic and swearing that his mother's theatre would be destroyed only over his dead body.

Robin was staring at him expectantly.

He was tempted to close his eyes for a moment. Instead, he returned Robin's gaze and worded his understanding in order to reassure himself, too, "Sometimes you must avoid a sacrifice... And this is no time to sacrifice ourselves. We go in quietly, and through the door... it's less risky than apparating in. And if there are more people than we can handle - or so many people arrive - then we'll disapparate. Both of us."

"All right. I can open now? Alohomora!" Robin whispered.

The evocative voice guided the door to open so inconspicuously that Remus hardly noticed when there was enough space for him to sneak into the darkness. He crouched immediately behind the chest of drawers, which was on his right, exactly where it had been twenty years earlier. Momentarily a memory distracted him, when the other man's strong body pressed against his in the small space. Forcing himself to focus, he listened, while they both stayed as still as possible. It was possible that the enemy had already noticed them and was keeping quiet, too. However, this was a tempting opportunity to take risks, since there was nothing else to be done.

"Let's creep to better hiding places, at the opposite ends of the attic," Remus whispered.

They had hardly set off, when several cracks of apparition broke the silence and made Remus retreat against the wall. His eyes were now used to the dim lightning provided by the clouded sky through the windows on the ceiling. He surveyed the attic, trying to recall the points of the sounds and to discern shapes of humans or goblins among the shadows and the clutter of set pieces.

Not far on his right a soft rasp disclosed the shuffle of tentative feet - and was followed by some less soft swearing. "What's all this bloody... whatever... There's no bloody light! I hope you brought the flash or how can you take any photos?"

"I'm not so sure I want to waste my film. It's not like I could preserve anything of the performance on film, if we only visit the attic. Did Landor say we should trust these children? That there's something important to see here?"

Remus wasn't surprised to recognise the third voice.

"We were supposed to keep quiet!" Rose hissed. "We can just hope there's nobody else here yet."

"Perhaps they aren't clever enough to think of starting the fire here..."

Tim's amused voice was interrupted by the first two male voices exclaiming, "Fire?"

"Yes, we got a tip-off that the ministry will try to burn down the theatre tonight," Rose explained.

Almost certain now that there were no aurors or goblins present, Remus cut in, astonished to hear both amusement and irritation in his own soft voice, "And you were supposed to stay away from here."

"Mr Lupin!" the first voice now exclaimed, expressing pure delight. "We haven't properly met..."

Remus stepped away from the wall, and from the shadows appeared a lean figure. The wizard's pale eyes shone in the scarce light under some colourless strands of shaggy hair.

"I hope you remember me anyway: Luke Lovegood."

"I do. Pleased to meet you."

"I wanted to be here in person, just as I was in Wizengamot... whenever you turn a page in this history of your rebellion. Too bad I missed the Rollright Stones at last full moon..."

"Well, I was not there myself either."

"Right... no, of course not... I didn't know if you'd be here either..."

Rose had slipped to stand between the two of them and she kept moving her gaze from face to face, with a satisfied smile playing on her lips. It didn't seem to occur to her to feel ashamed of having disobeyed Remus's orders. Instead, she blurted out, "Remus, you were not supposed to endanger your life. Being here is more dangerous to you, because you're more important to them..."

"We'll all disapparate as soon as there's any risk. Some of us could actually leave now."

"But we can all hide and wait," said Tim, who had now come to Remus's other side. "And Mr Pinchbeck must photograph the culprits and the fire... there will be enough light, when there's fire, right?"

"Oh yes, let me introduce my photographer..."

A short plump wizard dragged his feet towards them. The camera dangling on his chest seemed to weigh him down.

"Bud Pinchbeck."

"Pleased to meet you. I think I saw you in the atrium, after you'd taken that lovely portrait of my landlady and me... But now this ambush is turning into a cocktail party! Fortunately I have no drinks to offer, so let's get hiding now." Remus looked at each of the four to check that he had their attention, but he did not pause before continuing, "When something starts to happen, don't come out, just stun the intruder closest to you... not each other, though... and not before the fire has been started and the photos taken. And then disapparate immediately. I'll do my best to put off the fire. I know something about handling a goblin fire. Remember: you must leave it for me and disapparate. I assure you I'll follow soon, no matter what happens. Do you have any questions?"

"I can't do a stunning spell, but I can do something like petrifying wandlessly," Tim offered.

"That's fine. You and Mr Pinchbeck can come with me. Rose and Mr Lovegood, when you walk towards that end of the attic, you'll meet the leader of the troupe, Mr Bottom. He's heard our exchange and evidently been wise enough to stay hidden. He could have tried to save us, should we have been caught standing here. Now let's go to wait and see if anything will happen.

***

Mr Pinchbeck kept fiddling with his camera. Sitting between his two companions behind a curtain, which he had charmed to appear transparent from their side, Remus tried his best to stay alert, while every detail in the space he was surveying brought back memories. Tim apparently sought eye contact with Remus every now and then, but Remus was determined to avoid it. There was no chance to discuss his and Rose's disobedience now, and Remus did not want to convey any more of his ambivalent feelings than what he had already done. After a while Tim must have discovered a way to communicate silently. The photographer started to chuckle as if someone were telling him jokes.

A crack. A flash of light. Another crack.

A squat dark figure and two tall and stately ones had appeared in the middle of the attic. Remus felt almost pride in how well the goblin and the men, probably aurors, played their roles in the way he had expected. They did not waste their time. The aurors surveyed the attic superficially, not bothering to walk around, while the goblin bent down and soon found a spot where to kindle the fire, so that it would spread easily. There was evidently no need for them to exchange a word, and the mission would be completed in a couple of minutes.

The rage flared up in Remus again when he saw how easily the destruction could have been achieved - and also numerous lives endangered, an oppressed group further denigrated, the unity of the creatures hindered. Hardly resisting the urge to attack, he remembered that he needed to check how well the photographer was following the orders.

Mr Pinchbeck turned out to exceed the expectations. To Remus's awe the man no longer appeared as clumsy and careless. He was moving swiftly and soundlessly, seeking a better position and, with an eerily ecstatic grin on his flushed face, already observing the offenders through his camera. He was apparently used to - and dedicated to - capturing rare targets in secrecy. The magic of film images would allow him to take close-ups from behind the curtain. He had the flash attached, too, but he was supposed to wait, and he used his time to find the right angle so as to preserve on film the aurors and the goblin together with the fire.

Remus felt the moment stretching, when the goblin knelt on the floor and threw his arms up. His face was dark and wrinkled and his eyes were hardly visible under bushy silvery brows, but Remus's attention was soon entirely focused on his hands. As the sleeves slid down, the slim wrists and arms were bared, too, and shone white in the scarce light. But the long fingers acquired a warmer glow.

Fierce red erupted from the palms and now bathed the whole attic, spilled through the curtain, and Remus could not escape it. The colour of the bloody sunsets heralding the worst full moons.

The goblin dropped his hands with palms downwards, and at the same moment the camera started clicking in a fervent sequence. Yellow flames rose high in front of the goblin.

All three culprits jerked back, and Remus suspected they were to escape. But they apparently wanted to see that the fire really spread, while they were alarmed by the unexpected sound. One of the aurors pointed his wand at the door. Before managing to speak any incantation he fell down petrified.

Now the other auror had located the sound of the camera and swirled around to direct his wand towards the curtain. But at the same moment the goblin grabbed the curtain, and it turned into a wall of fire.

This actually protected those hiding behind it, at least for a moment. They retreated against the wall in their trap.

"Disapparate!" Remus ordered, and when Tim and Mr Pinchbeck hesitated, he added, almost choked by the smoke,"Now! To save the pictures. And Tim, no more..."

"Stupefy!"

Robin's voice was followed by a thud. It rather surprised Remus that his friends at the other end of the attic had not acted earlier.

Noticing that the photographer had now, indeed, disappeared, Remus nudged Tim. "Are you able to do it?"

The boy nodded and closed his eyes. Remus hardly heard the crack from the roar of the fire.

Now it was time for Remus to concentrate. He did not know if the goblin or anybody else was there anymore, but he had to focus on the fire. It might have already become too much for him to control. On the other hand, the fire remained as a wall in front of him, as if the curtain had not been consumed by it at all. The goblin seemed to have decided to stop the fire from spreading too quickly, perhaps in order to save the aurors. In fact, if the others managed to stun the goblin, the fire would become more hopelessly uncontrollable. No wand magic would put down a goblin fire.

Remus's own power could be based only on his need. His need to breathe and push away the unbearable heat. But was it enough? He still also had the option of apparating to the other end of the attic, so as to check that Rose, Robin and Lovegood had left and to then escape, leaving the theatre to burn down.

Just for a moment he would still cherish the hope. Close his mind from everything except the need to breathe. To breathe the air of freedom here, under the warm breath of the dragons, who had watched over him as long as he could remember.

He had folded his arms to protect his face, turning the palms towards the wall of fire, so as to ask for what he needed. And gradually he sensed a gentle breeze caressing his skin. Opening his eyes, he saw the flames die down in front of him.

In the middle of the attic, where the goblin had first kindled it, the fire had burned a large circle. It was hard to believe that everything had happened too quickly for the flames to spread further. There must have been sparks transferring the fire effectively at the beginning. However, it was all magically connected to its centre, and it was all tamed by... another almost incomprehensible connection. At the same moment when the last flames died, Remus became fully aware of two pairs of hands stretched towards him across the space.

He must have shared with Rose and Robin the expression of amazement and relief, too. The two turned to grin to each other, and Remus noticed that Mr Lovegood had not left either. He had apparently tried to follow the order to stun each culprit but had only now cornered the goblin.

Remus pulled his wand out so as to prevent the goblin from moving magically or from using his hands for anything else. "Tylixe!"

When his sleeves wrapped themselves around his hands and tied them behind his back, the goblin jerked his gloomy face towards Remus.

"We all know more than anybody thought we did... about how to fight goblin magic," Remus said lightly. A wink at Rose and Robin belied his confusion.

This young woman was obviously exceptionally talented and experienced in wandless magic. And the long-time member and leader of the Merry Thespians naturally knew quite a lot about goblins. Remus had been stupid enough not to rely on their help, and not to trust the goblin and the half-goblin members of the troupe to even know about the tip-off. Still, once again, co-operation had saved him from destroying himself, while he still did not quite understand what had happened.

***

Robin and Lovegood levitated the aurors, one stunned and the other petrified, to the street. Forcing the goblin across the theatre hall, Remus took the opportunity to interrogate him.

Without much hope for any answers he chose to speak casually, as if to himself. "Why would a goblin work for Fudge and his aurors, who persecute goblins..."

Throwing a glance at Remus, the goblin muttered, "Do you think we give a damn..."

"About Fudge, or about your people?"

"Some of us are above all that. Like Dolores Umbridge."

The goblin would certainly not volunteer to say anything less ambiguous. Or perhaps his pride would make him reveal one detail.

"Of course, the ministry hires poor creatures to do dirty work like this," Remus said.

"Don't try to suggest that I am a lousy hired arsonist. A descendant of a king would not act without his own reasons to support..." The eyes flashed like tiny flames in the dark face, and the wide mouth twisted into a smirk before the goblin continued, "I'm not going to reveal anything more. You would not torture anyone, would you?"

In fact, there was a piece of information in those words. Umbridge and her goblin supporters apparently knew well that Remus avoided resorting to a beast's or even to a human's violence. No, he would not force the goblin to speak. The three culprits were simply taken out of the theatre.

Robin returned in for a moment so as to now perform the anti-apparition charms to secure the whole building. On the threshold he stopped, smiling. "The owner of the Headless Queen should be grateful to Umbridge. I reckon he's made a good profit while the audience has waited for me. Let's go now... Yes, Luke, you must come and hear our Thisby's songs."

He soon joined the others in the alley from where they could all disapparate. Passers-by focused all their attention to the aurors and the goblin, who did not condescend to explain anything or to ask for help. Nobody would pay attention to Rose, doubting that she had an apparition license, although she looked younger than ever.

She had walked a bit further to be able to admire the dome above the darkened honey-colour of the limestone walls, which now shone bright in the light of the lanterns. The cracks indicating that Robin and Lovegood had headed for the pub made Rose turn towards Remus. Her expression gained only a slight trace of concern. "Do you think we should learn to follow your orders better?"

For a moment Remus suppressed the smile and made her wait. "Yes, you should. For I trust I've now learnt to give you better orders - to order you to help me."