Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures

Chapter Eighteen: Gifts of Magic, Gifts of Love

Harry,

We were still children when we truly entered the war in 1979, even though I had just turned twenty-one and regarded myself as an adult. In fact - due to my familiarity with blood and pain - I felt I was older than others recruited to the Order. How many times do we have to grow up?

Five years earlier, when at the setting of another full moon I regain my senses, I am born again not as the helpless child who hugged himself, fearing the loss of identity. I wake up as a man, revelling in the touch which is tending to my left arm. My single wound is being licked by an enormous, shaggy black dog. While the tongue continues its work, the startling phosphorous eyes meet mine.

"No dogs have grey eyes," I say. To my surprise the hoarseness of my voice is hardly noticeable.

I must have blinked. When the black head is lifted again, I see the beloved graceful features. His lips are pressed once more gently against the edge of the wound. Then he shifts and stretches his arms.

"It's not fair this doesn't cause me pain," he says.

Is there a hitch in his breath, as if he forced himself to stop sobbing?

For a moment I sense merely a numbing silence in my body. The harsh contact with the cold floor indicates my dimensions, and as usual I'm unable to move. However, the peculiar absence of heightened hurting on gashes and bruises has been my first insight into this new life. No, I do not miss even the warm caress of the trickling blood. It has not abandoned me in solitude.

No, on the contrary. Beyond the torment of its changes my body cherishes the memory of an ultimate satisfaction. At this moment, when I still cannot suspect what it means, I dare accept the subconscious, merely physical knowledge I will later try to deny. As a wolf I have reached what had hardly become a dream yet for the child I was before this night.

Undeniably Sirius has become a dog. I close my eyes and seek a vivid memory of his fur rubbing against my skin, hoping to feel it again. But I'm now furless. I cannot help trembling with cold, and he does not touch me.

He must have done it to make me stop howling. There is a proof in my soft voice. "You... the dog... it's beautiful. Did James and Peter make it, too?"

"Not yet. Or in fact Peter did, but he changed back immediately, like always."

Four weeks earlier Sirius and James witnessed Peter reaching his Animagus form three times during a single full-moon night. In the tunnel under the bolted and charmed trap door he shrank into a rat first in the shelter of almost complete darkness and then in front of their eyes, in the cold light of their wands. Only when reporting this to me, did they confess that all three of them had already spent the full moons of a couple of months from moonrise until moonset listening to my agony.

"We know you didn't want that, but we thought it would help," James explained, sitting on the edge of my bed, after Madame Pomfrey had allowed me to return to the dormitory and the effort of climbing the stairs had made me collapse on top of the coverlet.

Sirius was pacing, throwing glances at me and Peter in turn. He was almost breathless. "It works. When we feel we just... need to change."

Peter had retreated to the windowsill. "I hated... didn't like it... waiting there, outside the door, I mean," he confessed with a tremulous smile. "But I did it. I was the first to succeed."

He eyed me cautiously. Perhaps he saw the blood that had still stained one of my bandages. He folded his sleeves and rubbed his arms.

I lifted my hand wearily, wishing I could have tapped him on the shoulder, and settled with winking at him. "I'm so proud of you."

"Tell us again what it felt like," James said.

"Like... nothing," Peter replied in an astonished tone. "When I stopped wanting to be me, in this body... You know, I hated it: it was recoiling... well, you know. I leant against the wall and started chanting my incantation in my head."

"Did you start losing the physical awareness slowly in the way we have...?" Sirius asked.

"No, it was rather like... It was gone suddenly. And just for a second, so I hardly noticed it. I don't know how. I didn't even think I wanted to change. I just noticed I was falling forwards and then I felt my... front paws hit the floor. That... okay, that scared me, and then they were hands again."

"That's when I stumbled on you," James cut in.

"And I needed to show what had happened."

"We had to wait for an hour," Sirius said.

Peter looked both proud and reproachful. "You didn't believe me."

James laughed. "I still can't believe... Okay, I do. But really..."

"I know. But I knew immediately. It was me. A rat, just as I had decided."

During that month Peter changed once when alone with me in the dormitory.

Flopping onto the bed next to me unexpectedly, in order to reach a book he evidently needed to borrow for a moment, he had caught me sketching rats on the margins of my Transfiguration notes.

"Oh, you..." he breathed out. After a brief, almost awkward silence he asked, "Do you hope that next time...?"

To be honest, I could not help hoping that soon the wolf would no longer be alone. I pushed the parchment to the floor and turned to lie on my back. He must have already known that this meant I wanted to procrastinate by talking to him, perhaps say something important, too. Unless he was the interrogator, Peter disliked constant eye contact during conversations, so it had grown into a habit with me to stare at clouds or at the ceiling instead of his face.

"It must be scary to be suddenly different," I said. "When you know all the time who and what you are."

"And I'm such a small animal, not like you," he muttered, fingering the Transfiguration book.

"But you know you'll be safe just like that."

And do no harm to anyone, unlike me. That's what I felt like adding but kept to myself.

"I suppose I have to get used to it... to trust..."

"You don't need to come to my company before the others. Or before you first get used to changing and being a rat in... completely safe places."

Or at all, if you can't trust. Or perhaps that was better left unsaid. Since I still wasn't sure I could. Instead, I added, "Would you like to try and show me now?"

He did. And I was amazed at the speed and smoothness of the change. I reached out my hand to pet him, but he jumped to the floor. In a moment he appeared as a boy again, with his back against the door.

But now Sirius has learnt to turn into a dog. I open my eyes again. He's licking his lips, then lifting his hand only to touch his own cheeks.

I still take my pleasure in my voice. "And you did not... change back?"

"No," he says with an attempt at a grin. "James agreed to let me in when I almost bit his nose off. And I was in here with you all through the night."

"But it was dangerous. You could have changed..."

"No, I couldn't. You needed me to be like you. Perhaps that's why I'm a dog now whenever you need me."

Now I can see that he's flushed and his hands are trembling. Still, his grin does not falter any longer. He seems to quickly eye my naked body, but his gaze returns to my face before he starts taking off his cloak. Having spread it over me, he lies down close beside me.

"Is this all right now... I mean getting so close... now that you have no wounds or bruises all over your body? Your muscles must still be hurting."

In fact, the transformation pain now returns as an echo earlier than usual, perhaps because there's no aching of numerous wounds overshadowing it. But the pressure of his touch against my skin, even through the fabric, makes it more tolerable, and I catch myself making an instinctive attempt at moving ever closer to him.

I start focusing on his familiar talk, but I realise that now I hardly need my hearing so as to be consoled.

"This time there's no frost on the windowpane," he says, "although it's not really too warm in here, is it? But the light is still deep red like... I mean, we can stay alone for a while more."

He's taller than me, and when I've cautiously huddled against him, my face is sheltered by his neck, and my freezing feet are resting between his legs. I'm falling asleep, when he quickly disentangles himself and pulls the cloak away, too.

"James is knocking; Pomfrey's there," he whispers urgently. "I'll just hide under the bed."

He's used to taking this risk. Since the autumn he's come immediately after the moonset to try to look after me. But until this extraordinary morning I always needed to comfort him instead.

He was helpless when facing my serious injuries. Even if he had mastered healing magic, he could not have done much without raising suspicion in Madame Pomfrey, but I'm sure he would not have cared about any suspicion. He was so angry at her making me wait. Still, he resisted complaining about her habit of sleeping well past sunrise, until afterwards when the wounds had been tended. In the shack he always sat down beside me, forcing himself to speak in a soothing voice.

To my surprise I did not mind if he saw my mauled body, perhaps because, as I've told you, at these moments, oddly enough, I loved it as a regained treasure. He used to bring a quilt which I suspect he had bought for this purpose: an exceptionally warm and light one.

And I would reassure him that the pain was already passing. On those bitterly cold mornings after the long exhausting nights I drew his attention to the glorious colours of sunrise.

I first told him about the rosy light which had greeted me in my cellar room at home. This kind of detailed talk was, of course, possible for me only several hours after the transformation when my throat was less sore, so I offered it as consolation to my friends, when they looked so devastated at my bedside in the hospital wing. I tried my best to make them believe that the mornings were never too painful at all.

By the following full moon Sirius had sneaked into the shack and removed the planks from the upper half of the upstairs windows. After that I only needed to shift my eyes to that direction for a moment, and when I was too tired to look any longer, he did his best to describe the beauty of the light. The frost turning into rubies. It was his turn to repeat words I had said before.

And now I hardly need to hear them, just as he'll hardly need to read his theories on the magic of Animagi in my handwriting any longer.

He's become a dog for me. Now the miracle of changes is living in and around and between the two of us, and pain has become a pleasure.

***

Harry's face was blank, and he was sitting erect on the bench, clutching his mug of firewhiskey. Remus could not help feeling disappointed, even anguished, having forced himself to look away from the stage and across the length of the pub table.

In Harry's eyes the story of the three Animagi might not have reached any of its best climaxes yet. He was probably not highly receptive to this story told by the Merry Thespians in playful combinations of sound, movement and light, either.

Remus did his best not to stop to separate the roles of verbal language, of melodies and of visual images in the all-encompassing illusion of life. The soothing and uplifting rhythm was seeping into his body and mind.

He wished that Harry, too, could have let this art release as tears the pain of loss and fear, to give way to emerging hope. Perhaps, by the end of the performance, some consolation would have washed over him as well. At least the memory of this night would somehow compensate for what Remus had offered to the boy a couple of days ago: the images of bleeding and drowning.

Perhaps in his immobile body and in the mind which was consciously focused only on two goals - the prophesied killing, which still appeared as eventually inevitable, and the ambitious and unpredictable change of form - Harry could, after all, sense the touch of this rhythm particularly clearly. In a more startling way than someone like Tim, who did not hesitate to let the music move him physically and to sing along as soon as he started catching the recurring phrases.

This gloom will pass. We will plant, and harvest again.

Jonah, at least, was both smiling and biting his lip. At times, holding little Dolores upright on his knees, he bent his head and hid his face in her hair. His mother had clutched his arm, and her mouth was twitching.

Thisby's voice, now at its most fragile, repeated a melody, caressing every syllable of the lyrical line, then grew into an elated cry. And the embittered, suspicious woman could not help joining in the praise for the half-veela by clapping her hands to the beat of a faun's shawm.

Remus was not surprised that Alice's eyes and smile continued to respond to every twist in the performance. Even Frank's expression alternated between thoughtfulness and amazement, while his hands rested calmly over his chest, sheltering the figure of his wat.

Glancing at Neville in turn, Remus rather read on the lips than heard the question. "Harry, are you thinking what Dumbledore would say, if he knew... that we're... that you are again outside of the protection?"

Harry merely shook his head and turned his expressionless gaze more firmly towards the stage. The little half-veela stumbled into the darkness, in search for the bird of spirit, for the kind monster, for a home.

There were undeniable risks in bringing Harry - and everyone else - to Stow-on-the-Wold and in spending a whole evening together at the Headless Queen. For some reason, however, Remus had no longer hesitated to support Robin's schemes for Halloween.

Fawkes had brought a fiery message: Dumbledore wanted to hear no more rumours that Harry Potter had been seen in London. However, this pub was in the Cotswolds, and practically part of Remus's home, and celebrating with a theatre troupe was hardly dangerous, compared with what Harry had ended up getting involved in without any plans.

Harry might have not felt like commemorating the fifteenth anniversary of his parents' deaths. He had asked Remus to make sure that he would be treated simply as a friend and another member of the audience, and not forced to any role beyond that. In any case Remus was happy to show him that all these allies were eager to celebrate Voldemort's first fall.

The applause was accompanied by shouts in Gobbledegook, when Grap and Urgy appeared on the stage in flashes of light, so as to shelter Thisby and her adopted half-breed children with their golden cloaks. Turning his head towards the most discordant cheers, Remus caught a glimpse of Mrs Porchead's arrogant face at her weakest moment. She was tapping the corners of her tiny eyes with a silk handkerchief. There was only a single simple ring on her fingers. She must have sold her jewels or at least some of them in order to buy her share in the Headless Queen, and exhibiting her sacrifice in public was obviously not beyond her.

Now the pub was in the most magically powerful hands of goblins. Shareholders included several poorer goblins from Remus's old neighbourhood, as well as the two wealthiest goblin dynasties.

The previous owner, Old Squib Hexington, would have willingly sold for a low price. The future of the pub had looked unsure, even though long traditions should have constituted an inviolable right to uphold any inter-breed relations. Since September the owner had received from the Ministry several rolls of parchment with threats of closing the pub, unless the live performances by troupes of mixed breeds were stopped, and unless all non-human waiters were dismissed.

The new company titled Creature Power and founded by the owners of Gringotts and of the mines had decided to buy the business for a more remarkable price than necessary - so as to declare that they would not agree to any restrictions. This was their act of revolt against the wizarding authorities. In one sense it could look like only a small playful step, perhaps an experiment. Yet, both its symbolic and practical significance were enhanced by the decision to invite shareholders among the wide ranks of goblins, with the striking exception of those who supported Bog Bafflegab and declared all so-called lesser magical creatures, including humans, as unworthy of any attention, and those who co-operated openly with Umbridge herself.

Creature Power had already launched into enlarging the business. The goblins respected the principle of free entrance to the performances. Instead of selling tickets they offered fan merchandise.

At the moment, too, the short plump figure of Bud Pinchbeck was gliding gracefully on the edge of the stage, and his eerie grin revealed his joy in capturing vivid images of the enchanting scenes onto magical film. The photographs would not end up only on the pages of the Quibbler. The artists had been promised a five-percent share of the profit in case they cared to scribble their signatures or at least initials on the pictures, so that fans would be more willing to pay properly for their copies.

The half-breeds whom Hexington had already hired for decades were excellent salesmen. It seemed to be in the nature of half-elves to sell only what you needed, not what you had planned to buy. On the other hand, those who were half elves, half goblins - like most of the waiters at Headless Queen - probably managed to make you feel that your needs had unexpectedly multiplied. Or that beverages, and now any fan products, were admittedly forced on you, but it was not humanly possible to refuse.

The little bearded waiter, whom Remus remembered from his visit to the pub soon after his homecoming, now popped in front of him without a warning. Having recently met unexpected reverence in the most unlikely situations, Remus had hoped that here, too, at least his wish not to buy drinks would be respected.

For a moment the combination of loud cheers and half-playful protests raised by Mr Grubber's entrance made it unnecessary for Remus to pretend not to hear the waiter press Butterbeer or some fey beverage on him. The caricature of Umbridge addressed members of the audience, urging them to join her army.

If everyone here managed to turn down her offers, Remus had to succeed in saying no to a waiter. He braced himself for stating again his principle of not drinking or eating while following a performance.

This was, of course, not the whole truth. He had to admit to himself that at occasions like this one it was still embarrassing not to have a single Knut in his pocket. Seriously, he needed to do something about that. Sales of some of the crops had already been arranged, mainly by Rose in co-operation with Mr Landor. However, Remus had not taken any of the income to his personal use, to replace the money bag he had given to Paul.

The waiter slammed the drink onto the table in front of Remus. Oddly enough, he smirked and elaborated, "This was designed especially to offer the flavour you've missed, with no alcohol - and no price. It's from the younger gentleman at that small table."

Remus could not immediately lift his gaze from the two simple glasses, both of which first seemed to contain only water. One of them was not filled to the half, and the odour, as well, started leading him to the realisation of what this priceless offer was.

He was not sure if he had managed to follow the waiter's gesticulation correctly. In the indicated company of four, closest to the opposite end of the stage, there was no one he knew personally. The leader of the banking dynasty, and two elderly goblin ladies, who could both have been either his wives or sisters, and a scrawny bearded man, who surprisingly looked like a half-human, and - even more unexpectedly - handsome in a peculiar way. This man turned his brown face towards Remus, winked and raised his glass.

Remus smiled and nodded, then tried to escape the embarrassment by focusing all attention to the glasses. He poured some water from the full glass into the other one. Indeed, the clear liquid became cloudy. And the odour was unmistakably the same he still savoured in his soothing ointment - anise, which he had perhaps tasted in a drink only once since giving up alcohol in Africa at the beginning of the 1990's.

When lifting the glass to his lips he noticed that the slanting eyes were still staring at him shamelessly. The wide mouth was unmistakably a goblin trait, but the luminous smile shone like... a memory.

Various features in this stranger reminded Remus of at least three friends he had left behind. Fortunately nobody else could know that, and perhaps it was only an illusion evoked by this substitute of the beverage which he had recommended to the last travelling companion of his drifting years. Omar, the wealthy tramp, spice merchant of Zanzibar, had become almost addicted to ouzo in Crete, even though raki was the local traditional spirit... But how could this half-goblin possibly know that Remus had craved for ouzo?

At the time of his return to Crete - to show to Omar the most exquisite magical art in the monster king's palace - Remus had already abstained, and he had merely watched the change into milky white caused by cold water, and imagined the heat spreading in his friend's veins. Himself he had, in the end, not been warmed or consoled by this relationship either. Instead, he had started longing for a chance to settle down and do something useful, perhaps to go back towards where home had once been.

In any case it had been summer 1993, and at the same time Padfoot had been motivated to his inhuman feat. Omar had read aloud the Daily Prophet article, when Remus had found it too hard to bear to see the photograph of the fugitive, and brought him urgently back to Britain on his oriental carpet, then left immediately on Remus's orders, perhaps for Paris, to meet Jean.

What was the magic of this drink? Something more harmful than alcohol? Or was it a beneficial gift like the united creatures' art?

Or perhaps the gift-giver's stare alone was leading Remus's mind astray. He had turned towards the stage again, but he was now following the characters in the story of his life, instead of those in the performance. Having seen this revised, extended version of the show in rehearsals, he could as well allow his thoughts to wander, just for a moment...to Jean, to Omar, and to the boy with a warm hue on his small face, the refugee in Thessalonica who had subsisted on his cassette tape collection of fierce nostalgia... Had Omar, indeed, financed a restaurant business for Samir, turning him eventually into an eligible bachelor in the magical society of Beirut, where he had returned by 1993?

He had to stop the pointless reminiscences. This man, perhaps the son of the leading banker of Gringotts himself, wanted something from him.

Savouring the last mouthfuls, Remus downed the drink. When he stood up, he saw the half-goblin do the same. At that moment the fairy lights went out.

In the gloom he stumbled around the tables and to the door of the men's room. Outside it they bumped into each other.

The man laughed softly, seeking his balance with the help of grabbing Remus's arms. Remus grabbed his in turn, so as to cautiously push him away. He was not much shorter than Remus, but his shoulders felt thin and bony under the fine velvety fabric. In the scarce light Remus distinguished first only the flash of a smile, then the tilt of the head.

The voice was playful. "Good evening, good Halloween, professor... Remus."

"Good Halloween to you, Mr..." Remus started, fighting his confusion and finding his own tone unsatisfactory in its tension. "Excuse me, but I'm not good at following the lives of celebrities."

"I am hardly... My uncle hasn't allowed me in public much. We haven't been in fashion until recently - half-breeds, I mean. You can call me Prospero."

"Well, thank you for the delightful gift, Prospero. How do you know I went to Greece and...?"

"I don't. The waiter told me what you'd like. He said the elves had told him."

Why would Gumby spread such trivial information? Remus could not stop himself from muttering, "There's an elf who knows me too well."

"We all need also people to whom we can volunteer insight into our hearts."

The solemn words made this sound unlike usual small talk, and in this case the idea of any kind of small talk made Remus nervous. "Do you think the two of us should negotiate on something?" he blurted out.

"I'm young for a goblin, not supposed to care about politics."

"But you do... care."

"I suppose so. I wish I had some valuable information for you. But perhaps you've all guessed it, and that adds to the fun you can poke at her."

Crashes of thunder interrupted him, and Remus was not sure about the last word or its possible meaning. A series of lightnings flashed across the ceiling and revealed clearly the slender figure, which was now leaning casually against the wall. The robes looked silvery, not golden, and that was probably not due to a trick of the illumination, since there was a warm brownish hue in the neatly-groomed beard and the shoulder-length hair.

Remus avoided the eyes, glancing above the stage. There had to be more than one reason why he did not want this encounter to be bathed in the merciless white light. "The moon will rise soon. I must..."

"It's only an illusion."

"Not every time," Remus caught himself saying pointedly.

Why was he so thrilled this man, too, seemed to enjoy the spontaneity in their exchange of ambiguous comments? In any case it was incredible that someone in his position among the goblins would care to get to know a werewolf personally. After all, the movement of peaceful resistance - or a profitable revolution - could, and would probably have to, continue without contribution from the victim who had first announced it in front of the Wizengamot. At least that was what Remus had thought when starting to yearn for a role among his own kind instead.

Now the fluorescent smoke was hovering above, changing shapes. Remus turned to see both the face and the fine garments tinted green, and he could not tell whether that was the true colour of the eyes. Robin's inspired recitation of the Death Eater's lines rose a storm of applause, but Remus moved closer to watch another expressive mouth form surprising words.

"As the half-veela says here, each part-human is different. I don't claim to know much about your plight yet. In any case the moon beats the skull," Prospero said almost cheerfully, cocking his head towards the stage. "My mother's kin have never seriously considered supporting Voldemort. But Umbridge's schemes were confusing. One reason why she ended up trying to exploit all of us must be that she's a rare case among half-goblins. Goblins seldom mess about with female humans. Her mother managed to hide it from the wizarding community, and probably encouraged hatred and prejudice in her."

This did confirm some of Remus's suspicions.

"You wanted to come and reveal Umbridge's descent to me? Thank you."

"That's not the only reason... I've been appointed the managing director of Creature Power, so I'll be in touch with Mr Bottom, too, of course. This is my first proper opportunity to have a share of the wealth. But guiding the company to make profit, so as to increase my salary and bonuses, is not my only interest, not even my main interest. Born of a goblin mother, I've had access to the wisdom of our matriarchs, and when I've been curious, I've been allowed to study the ideals of humans, too. This knowledge is my capital, and I hope I can serve the creatures."

Remus could not help smiling at the man's casual declaration of his own value. It was far from both humility and arrogance: an expression of healthy self-esteem - a fine achievement for someone who must have always been reminded of his lower position, due to the fact that without a goblin father he would never have any rights of inheriting her mother's relatives either.

What came out, however, belied Remus's admiration. "Each of us is an individual, but certain lack of humility is a typical trait in goblin culture, isn't it?"

"Whereas you are famous for your modesty," Prospero replied almost gently. "Still, I trust the two of us have enough in common." His long fingers rubbed Remus's arm, feeling the fabric of his sleeve.

In the revealing light of the enchanted moon, and certainly under this sensitive touch, it must have been evident that the fabric was cheap and already worn-out, even though these were the better robes in which Remus had dressed only when going outside of the estate. When the wall painting had made him momentarily rich, he had still chosen something second-hand, in order to save money for Harry's birthday present and for taking him to enjoy the elfish magic of images at the Windows of the Underworld restaurant.

To his surprise Remus recognised at least awe in the nuanced expression of Prospero's mouth. Perhaps a part-human with a sheltered life, despite limited rights to property, naturally assumed that for someone who had claimed his inheritance, and welcomed a large group of protégés, it was a completely voluntary choice not to make himself elegant or even warm enough.

When Remus failed to reply, the tender voice, too, continued to caress him. "As you must know, some of us learn not to want what we can't have. By the time we can have it, we've got too used to thinking it's not important, after all."

"In some cases we are right."

"Undoubtedly, in case of material possessions beyond our basic needs. However..."

A heartrending howl of a solitary wolf startled them both. Remus recovered first, wondering whether the pack would ever be included in the show. He took advantage of Prospero's hesitation and switched to a formal handshake. The power in the fingers was not threatening; their shape was not too alien. They were pleasantly smooth and warm.

"Thank you again... for everything you've offered. I'll be happy, if you want to keep in touch."

"I will," Prospero said, now grinning again.

They pulled away from each other exactly when the audience erupted in cheers. Taking a few steps back simultaneously, they both started clapping their hands and shared a smile, before turning towards the stage and making their separate ways to their seats.

By the time Remus sat down, Tim among others had learnt the lyrics for the new closing song and was drumming its beat on the tabletop.

Let us share the gifts of life, gifts of magic, gifts of love.

***

Harry,

I want to give you one more piece of this story before you leave my home. You must be wondering why I haven't shown more of James's role in it. He certainly shared open-handedly his gifts - whatever he could of the talent, the confidence and the determination he had already developed to an exceptional degree before the Marauders' major projects were launched.

We were all unrelenting in our own ways, even... You know; I've told you in detailed praise about the other two Animagi. This is what made us the Marauders, invincible. Immortal. Yes, we used to joke that we would live forever as a legend at Hogwarts, and we would, indeed, continue to live, forever up to no good in the eyes of the establishment. We must have all helped each other develop this strength. But James was perhaps something else again.

At times the rest of us had to feel intimidated or envious, since James never appeared as having any doubts. To us - to me, at least - it seemed that life had never denied him anything. In Lily's case it was only a matter of time. Since few Hogwarts students at the age of fifteen or sixteen, and none of us three, had girlfriends, he could take his temporary failure lightly.

But you can hardly be more disappointed than he was when he had not reached his Animagus form by the April full moon either. Messing up his hair was not enough to compensate for that.

"All right," he said, tearing off the catkins of a willow twig, while walking briskly across the grounds.

The moon, which was just rising above the ridge beyond Hogsmeade, had wained only for a couple of nights, and my legs were still weighed down with persistent weariness, while my mind was making reckless leaps. Struggling to keep up with James's pace, I was startled only for a moment, then consoled by the snout poking me behind my knees. But the stick was ready, and James whistled. I could not help wincing whenever he treated the dog, for whom Peter had come up with the name Padfoot, as his own.

Sirius did not mind playing. He'd complained about boredom in the common room, and that was why we were out there, in the raw evening wind, to allow him to run as a dog.

He bounced off with a cheerful bark, and my mind chased after. I was amazed how vividly I could imagine burying my snout into last autumn's leaves, breathing in the new life which had been biding its time in the frozen soil and was now pushing up. He would not find the slender twig easily; I suspected James was taunting his best friend by throwing something like that as far as possible to the shadows by the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Got rid of the mutt?" That was Peter, panting just behind us.

Shorter and plumper than the rest of us, he had trudged after James as pathetically as I had. He had also needed to catch up with us after stopping a couple of times. His intention had probably been to transform, but perhaps he had no patience to stay still and alone long enough when there was no particular need for him to be a rat. Now he had learnt to control the change, but it demanded concentration he couldn't muster when he was eager to listen to James. Besides, he might have sensed that tonight James wasn't exactly happy to walk in the company of animals.

James slapped me on the shoulder, urging me forward, and repeated, "All right. They managed to stop you from gnawing your paws. But Peter says you were still restless."

Edging his way between the two of us, Peter replied on my behalf, "Oh yes. Padfoot had to wrestle him down again and again. And I went to lie down close to his snout - Moony's snout, I mean..."

"You didn't have to do that," I said, and I was startled to hear a resentful tone in my voice. "It must have been scary."

Peter turned to eye my face thoughtfully from behind his fringe. "No, you weren't threatening. You were whining, like with longing... desire..."

There was no time for this to make me feel uncomfortable before James's unexpected exclamation. "We'll let you out!"

"No!" That was not what I had been dreaming of, as far as I knew.

Yet, the gushes brought the scent of damp moss, and the pad of the dog, ever farther away, inviting me to follow. I could not help listening to James's determined words in irresponsible rapture.

"Yes. You know, I have a feeling I'll be something bigger. That's why it's taking time. It's growing."

Peter was already hopping with excitement and now he started chuckling. "Oh yes. Just like Lily's love for you is growing. Your head's swelling!"

As soon as he had blurted that out he glanced at me - as if asking whether I thought his quick tongue had gone too far.

But James was the first one to laugh. "That too. But I have good reasons to let it swell. I'll be a larger animal, I'll guard our wolf, and lead us all to expeditions."

"And we'll explore and map all this land!"

Peter's characteristic swiftness did not leave James wordless.

"Yes, exactly. But we're starting here." James turned and waved his arm towards the castle's moon-lit towers.

For a moment I stared at the two of them, alarmed by their sudden urge to roam the Hogwarts corridors with a monster.

But, of course, when James led us to focus on preparing an extraordinary map of the castle, nobody was supposed to use an animal form. Peter offered to resort to his in any case. James had to acknowledge its benefits. However, I assume his aim was to shift our attention away from the transformations, so as to gain some time to complete his.

So towards the end of our fifth year, when the studies were at their most demanding, we were all overwhelmed by more than one secret project.

James did earn his nickname before the OWL exams, as you perhaps noticed in the conversation you witnessed. Sirius preferred calling him Prongs, as well as calling Peter Wormtail, since he invented those names. But by the end of the summer term James's swollen head had carried its crown only a couple of times for few moments. Only the rat and the dog were able to keep me company in the Shack before our sixth year. Perhaps that partly explains the behaviour you needed to ask me and Sirius about...

***

This was still not exactly what Remus would have liked to give to Harry. He found it hard to concentrate, perhaps because he had decided to come to his old room - Harry's room - so as to continue writing only until the moment he could get to talk to Harry instead. There was no desk, as the four beds took up almost all the space, and Remus had knelt by Harry's bed and spread the parchment on one of the books about shapeshifting, which Harry had carelessly left lying around. Phil and Bob had been playing exploding snap, and now it sounded like they wanted to go to sleep, after exchanging a few comments and chuckles on the evening's show.

"Umbridge was the best."

"No, the daft Death Eater!"

The inhabitants of the estate had all returned home for a feast, eaten to repletion and sung and danced to their hearts' content. Yes, Remus had danced, too - the Greek tsifteteli, which he had danced only once before, with Samir, in July 1993 shortly before hearing the news which had brought him back to this country.

Now he felt he must have been worse than drunk, as the usual melancholy was taking hold of him again. No, he was still restless in a peculiar way. Partly, of course, it was due to Harry's disappearance. Bob and Phil said he had gone out with Neville after the feast, whereas Frank and Alice had retired to their partition, but Remus could not help getting worried.

Finally hearing laughter from the yard, he rushed to the window and threw it open to the raw night air. "Where have you been?"

The reply came from a large group crossing the yard. Remus recognised at least his mother's cloak on Rose's back, and Tumble's horns, in addition to the glint on the glasses under Harry's rumpled-up hair.

The first voice belonged to Tim. "We went to the granaries. It was raining. Now we can go to the woods."

"Come along!" That was Jonah. He was holding Thisby's hand, and she was beckoning as well.

Was he too old for this? His need to say good-bye to Harry served at least as an excuse. He climbed out of the window, and was welcomed with cheers.

Perhaps the young ones among the human members of the crowd were starting to get tired, too. Peck's shawm was still leading them on across the bleak, harvested fields.

Bright stars were blinking among the restless clouds, but otherwise the earth, shading the moon, was in merciful shade. Its creatures were playing with their small lights.

Among the few charms of lumos here, Jonah's must have been the most desperately jubilant. His wandtop was illuminating a fair stretch of the path in front of him, and the colour of the beams was exceptionally warm. The endearingly young face no longer looked pained and pale in Thisby's inherent glow either.

Remus found himself drawn near the two of them. Somewhere on his right Harry and Simon were cracking jokes, or at least every now and then guffawing uncontrollably.

The north wind perhaps pushed them all astray from their course. Instead of the woods they were now approaching the sheep shelters.

When Remus arrived by the largest shed, most of his friends were already huddled against the stone wall. A cigarette was passing from one to the other. Peck snatched it from Tumble's lips and held it high up, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Remus sat down at the end of one of the sturdy benches to watch the phosphorous purple smoke curl above the hoods, horns and windswept manes.

"Don't get too excited about this, children," Peck said. He barely touched the cigarette to his lips before forwarding it to Tim. "Only one drag? No, take two or three, if you can't resist it. But never again. You'll feel consoled only for a moment - more than consoled. You'll reach a shadow of a vision, but you must not continue to seek it. After a moment you know how desperately fragile this rapture is. You make one wrong move and it's shattered, and every move will be wrong sooner or later. You must have a chance to try it only once, then give it up for the search of the real thing, the real vision. You'll approach that one only when your mind is clear. When you allow others to make it only clearer. No blinding love, my children. Or blinding hatred."

The other fauns murmured in agreement, each lifting a hand to touch a horn. The boys and girls from the Ancient Village had fidgeted for a moment, but they relaxed again, when the cigarette was passed on, and Peck picked up his shawm and abandoned speeches, returning to his usual and at least seemingly light-hearted expression.

As Simon edged his way to the other side of Tumble, Harry found himself standing alone. Having glanced around, he strode purposefully to Remus.

There was a slight slur in Harry's voice. "We... don't want this night to end."

"No, and you've already felt what Peck talked about, haven't you? The fear that you'll lose it all at any moment."

Harry nodded vigorously and leant heavily against the wall. Remus had to strain his neck to look up and to his side so as to examine his face. The expression was softer than at the Headless Queen.

"What you've been drinking isn't any better than this. This or that - it's not what you need."

"You don't...?"

"I used to... never much, but a little bit was more than enough. There was a time when a regular Muggle cigarette was enough to complete the... detachment from my essential feelings. Because my body's survival demanded my whole attention and I was tempted to deny its needs, too. After that, at the latest, I cherish as full control of my mind as I can achieve, as long as I have it... the human mind, I mean."

Harry shook his head, muttering, "My mind must have gone dull - or to some other place."

"You don't know what I'm talking about," Remus said matter-of-factly, not managing to hold back a small smile of resignation.

But Harry straightened up from his slouch. "Did they... you all - did you drink a lot during the first war?"

"Well, no... not all the time. Obviously I couldn't afford it. And they... I think they found some consolation in their Animagus forms."

It had to be a good decision to take this last opportunity to talk about the magic of Animagi. No, Remus no longer feared that this aspiration was more harmful for Harry than anything else he would indulge in. "They were not able to leave their human minds behind. But I believe that as a stag, a dog, and a rat they were more focused on the concerns of the moment. During a full-moon night - and other nights when he escaped the madness of wizards, running off to the woods alone with Padfoot - your father couldn't possibly worry about the war, or his wife and son. I'm not saying you should necessarily reach an animal form soon or ever..."

"You know I want to."

"In that case I can hope you'll remember this, so you won't let your mind... go out of control. You know that apparating is hardly possible for someone who's drunk. And for this magic you need even higher awareness of your mind, at least relatively more intense attachment, perhaps something of another level. I wouldn't be able to tell."

Was there much more Remus could offer? He reached out his left hand, and Harry took it, so as to help him stand up. Harry was still holding it when he turned the palm upwards and the flames blazed up more quickly and brighter than ever, in a surprising crimson shade.

He was astonished to hear the hopeful tone in his own voice despite the words he chose. "I doubt this can guide you far, but do you want to join me for a while?"

Harry took off his glasses and turned his back to the crowd. When the two of them set off towards the deep darkness at the edge of the woods, Lily's eyes cast a trusting look at Remus. No, the boy was not exactly like James. His neck, exposed, as he did not bother to wear the hood despite the cold, was thin, and perhaps this made him appear as vulnerable.

Remus hardly knew what he started to talk about, while a forgotten dream was enticing him.

"We don't need to go far this time... You know, on the first day I took you outside the protection Dumbledore had set at the beginning of September, for you, too, as he must have foreseen my intention to invite you. Unlike you, I knew we remained in the shelter of some other magic. Now it seems they're going to show themselves to us right here."

Multi-coloured lights had started blossoming under the trees.

Harry only quickened his pace and did not avert his eyes from the glow ahead when asking, "They? Who...What is it?"

"I don't know much. I've seen this only as a very young child, on the other side of... what I call the borderline, remember?"

As if the two of them had now crossed a borderline, at the moment when it first seemed that they became surrounded by the dancing flames, they were, instead, suddenly bathed in the even, gentle glow of a summer evening. Yes, the crimson shade now repeated in the sky was reassuring: there was no threat of moonrise.

Their breaths were still forming steam in the chilly air, but under the blossoming trees frail wild flowers held their heads high, as if expecting butterflies to return to feed on them.

"These I've seen later, too," Remus murmured, only partly to Harry.

He was not surprised when two elves appeared. Gumby and Enty, the most respected one among the elves Remus had ever known, were standing among the flowers, dressed in white cloaks.

"The flowers I brought to your parents' funeral, Remus Arthur Wotton," Gumby stated solemnly but with a small smile and a wink. "Now they are for the memory of your parents, Harry James Potter."

Against Remus's expectations, Enty spoke as well. The voice of this elf, who usually contented himself with nodding or frowning, was gentle but not less awe-inspiring. "You need not pick them. They will continue to thrive. As you will, in the bloom of your youth. Your friends at Hogwarts, too, can serve you better than you think. Your enemy is less powerful than you fear."

Having got used to the house-elf at the Wotton estate acting as his friend, like any other more or less human member of Remus's brotherhood, Harry now merely stared at the two small figures. Gumby stepped forward and held his hands out, as if offering something invisible.

Remus realised that he had bent to receive the gift, and he was now holding a warm mug. For a moment he wished that the steaming drink which Harry, too, had been given, were something extraordinary, so as to guarantee an impression on Harry.

However, Enty replied to his thought."That is not what you need. Simply tea to warm you up a bit."

Sipping from his mug, Remus realised that the elf was right. Still, he was happy when Gumpy turned to Harry and said something more challenging, too.

"Have you chosen to leave the pursuit of the shadow, so as to approach what is real?"

"I... at least I'll try. Have you got it - the real vision?"

"No, it can be in nobody's possession. It can never be quite reached in this life. And you don't depend on us. But we help you, as all creatures can help each other."

Remus caught himself explaining something he had never before worded so clearly to himself either. "They soothe our minds with images - guiding us to build up our own images, helping us slowly learn to see more clearly."

Harry's response exceeded his expectations. "I remember... the restaurant. You said it was the elves' magic of images. But you showed me your own memories of that place... in Greece, right?"

"They made it vivid for me again - and possible for me to share it."

"But you've managed well enough without them. In the letters, I mean. With words and nothing else."

The two of them were alone again. Remus took another slow swig of his tea, watching the flowers now close their petals and bend their heads, while the colour of the sky faded. "We all have gifts of magic and they grow when we share them."

"You told me you learnt to paint after..."

"And became sensitive, capable of seeing the world around me in this way, yes. But it's hard to say when we receive the gifts, because it all evolves slowly. I just haven't been able to remember. Perhaps Gumby, together with my parents and everyone here, started giving it to me as soon as I was born. Perhaps I received something valuable also when I was... deprived of the childhood, the life my parents had expected me to have."

"As I received something valuable fifteen years ago when my parents were killed."

It was hard to say if there was a mocking tone in Harry's voice. Perhaps he sincerely wondered whether what he said could be true or not.

"Voldemort didn't mean to give you any treasures," Remus said almost harshly. "But he didn't manage to deprive you of all of them either."

He felt compelled to leave the topic and say something comforting, even uplifting. Touching cautiously Harry's upper arm, he guided Harry to turn and start walking back to the open farmland. "You know, Prongs came here in July after our fifth year. Surprised me, standing outside the window. Bending his head, so I could see his antlers. He showed himself to my parents, too. 'I know your son's secret, so I can let you know mine. It's a gift for him,' he said. My parents accepted it gratefully. Without telling me, he explained it to them as if we'd done it repeatedly. They let him do what he wanted during the full-moon night. That's one of my most beautiful and frightening memories. I can't have been fully transformed yet, as I can remember it... In the height of the pain I saw the cellar door open to the moonlight, and he was standing there - oddly enough, still in is human form. I struggled to get up, not to attack anyone, only to be touched by him. On the basis of his account I know that we came to the woods and, for the first time, I was running free."

The wind was now pushing them across the fields towards the house. When Remus hushed and turned to glance back, he saw a white figure approaching. Hedwig arrived and startled Harry by perching on his shoulder. She had been away for a few days, taking letters to friends at Hogwarts, and now she had a small note for Harry attached to her leg.

After glancing at the few lines Harry grinned. "Well, this night isn't going to end... not for me here. Dumbledore's thestrals are coming... to take me and Neville back in their carriage before dawn."

"In that case you must hurry to pack your things - all the books and rolls of parchment included. Tell Hermione her time will come to meet the elves here, too."

It was somehow a relief to act as if there were time only for quick farewells. On the other hand, the lingering atmosphere of mystery dictated, among the routine phrases, a wording Remus had never considered before. "And the simple core of their wisdom is that the real wealth derives from our seeking to satisfy each other's needs. Well, take good care of yourself. Thanks for the visit. And... I'm sorry for what you had to take part in - the other night, I mean." He pulled Harry to a hug and hardly dared stop to wonder which one of them was shaking and whether it was due to the cold only.

"It's all right," Harry muttered to his shoulder. "Thank you. And you...You're going back there?"

His own voice was not much more than a whisper, but it did not need to be, since they were finally so close to each other. "Yes, and not only there. I never meant you should follow. But I still mean this: I'll stay on your side, and I hope I'll still be where I can help you when you need it. Now you're the first to know... I'm leaving this place within a couple of days."

***

Standing at the edge of a large vacant plot in the heart of the denied neighbourhood, Remus tried to cherish the illusion of being completely bereft and free again. He had been anxious and reckless enough to arrive when the daylight had barely started waning. Having asked Anthony for the directions for finding his brother and the others, he had apparated from the off-license to the end of the gravel road and walked undisturbed until reaching this spot, where he simply had to wait.

The late afternoon sky looked amazingly wide and high above this piece of open land, which was scattered with ruin and rubble among patches of withered weed. The few scrawny trees in front of the surrounding windowless warehouses and stables were surrendering their last brown and yellow leaves to the strengthening gusts of wind.

During the past weeks he had - both wistfully and proudly - prepared himself for leaving behind home and more. Only this morning, however, had he realised that whatever he had built up and shared could be far from perfect in the eyes of some of the people he had regarded as satisfied, even grateful members of a brotherhood. Now it was not easy to forget that he had to return to improve the living conditions, or at least to make sure that all the creatures he had gathered at the Wotton estate would live in as much harmony as was possible in the poor conditions.

In any case he could have only this fleeting moment of detachment before tackling the serious challenge of reaching new mutual commitments.

He was bringing food. No meat, though. He could have brought some mutton, as sheep were occasionally slaughtered and some creatures, mainly humans, ate mutton at the Wotton estate. But he found it appropriate or at least amusing that in this way the ideal of pacifism would be introduced as complete with vegetarianism. Perhaps it was not too big a risk that gifts of vegetables and bread would not make an impression.

His purpose was not to show that he had much more than anyone else of his kind. Indeed, there were hardly any clothes to spare, after some had been taken to the families in the Ancient Village, too. It was barely the season for starting to shear the sheep, and despite magic the wool would not be processed in no time or without effort. The old blankets, however, were not absolutely necessary for those to keep who now slept in heated rooms.

For some reason Remus felt embarrassed about the humble gifts. He was happy to have been able to shrink them with a charm and to stuff them in the pockets of his robes. Now, however, he was feeling disturbed, as he kept forgetting that he did not have the familiar empty pockets into which to bury his hands.

He was getting impatient, looking forward to someone appearing. To something starting to happen and overwhelm him, so he could get rid of the still fresh disappointment with the response among his earlier allies to what he had accomplished and managed to offer to them.

During the day after Harry and Neville's departure Remus had quickly checked that everything and everyone at the Wotton estate was taken care of in smooth co-operation under the almost imperceptible or at least natural control by Gumby and - on another level - by Rose. This morning there had been no further instructions to be given, and only two minor issues had tempted Remus to knock on Rose and Simon's door once more.

***

Her voice had given him the permission to enter, and perhaps due to the prospects of new contacts, he was not abashed at finding the couple still in bed. The only problem was that he had come exactly in order to deprive them of their blankets. This made him only chuckle.

"When I'm no longer here intruding on your privacy, covers will be quite redundant in your bed. You can bring them to me later," he added. "I won't be leaving until afternoon."

Simon, however, glanced at Rose without a trace of a smile. "I expected at least some basic comforts. It's been like this all the time. We work for you, and what do we get?"

Rose opened her mouth, but contented herself with sighing and closing her eyes.

What had they got? Perhaps Rose felt an irresistible urge to agree with the man she had chosen for herself, and Remus, too, caught himself reluctant to start listing the comforts, the training, and the hope offered to everyone who had moved in. Not to mention Simon's particular case... He had been afraid Simon's needs had been given even too much intimate attention to.

But, of course, the gift he was now bringing to the two of them was only ridiculously useless. Nobody had asked for it. While seeking to slake his own aesthetic and emotional hunger, he had vainly thought that the painting would please someone else, too. That it would be accepted and it could actually become a real portrait, complete with movement. And no, Remus had not been thoroughly selfish. He had portrayed the two of them as a couple, allowing her to caress him.

He was still been holding the sheet of aquarelle paper behind his back, in the way he had brought it in, to be presented as a surprise. He reprimanded himself for having not looked for an opportunity to finalise the watercolour earlier. There never seemed to be enough time, or he was simply too slow and hesitant. Still, he had not thought that he would have to give up the picture in such an unfavourable situation.

Bending down, he placed the painting on the floor near the door. "This piece is unfortunately not quite finished. And not at all what you must have expected. I'm sorry. I had no idea you were so dissatisfied. In any case, this place does not truly belong to any humans or part-humans. While I'm away, too, it will give you only what you need. You know, I'm going to people who live on the street... If you can spare a blanket, you'll leave it in the kitchen by noon."

***

A gust of wind shook him out of dwelling on the rejection, and he caught himself rubbing his arms. He decided to start pacing beside the stone wall of a low building, where there was a barely distinguishable path under a carpet of crunching leaves. No signs of life could be seen or heard, but a large wooden door was open a crack. He had prepared himself for living rough by putting on all his clothes - three more or less shabby robes and even his Muggle rags underneath - but he was already cold. Without any consideration he almost instinctively sought shelter from the piercing wind and ended up slinking inside the building.

The comforting sound and warmth of several creatures' deep breathing surrounded him in the darkness. Eager to step further in, away from the draught, he held out his left palm. The flickering blue flames revealed the large shapes of couching animals in a row, like cows with peculiar spiral horns...

A hot puff of breath caressed his cheek. There was no time to react to it as a warning. His right hand was forced behind his back, and an arm snaked around his neck.

Perhaps the two of them were equally surprised that Remus had not drawn a weapon when sneaking in. He felt the clear pressure of a thin edge against his throat only for a moment. Standing as still and relaxed as possible, he did not have to wait long for his capturer to gather the curiosity and courage for moving so that they could see each other properly. First, however, the young man was staring at the flames on Remus's palm with obvious apprehension.

The blue light remained dim but grew steadier, so as to tenderly explore the gaunt face, drawing shadows under the sharp cheekbones. Remus had not lifted the flames higher than his chin, but the boy was shorter than him.

He had evidently now assessed Remus's looks, as he stated in a husky voice "You're a wizard. No wizards come here unless... You must show me the bite scar, if you want to ask for permission to stay."

It was reassuring to notice that the flames had already done what was needed. They settled to hover in mid-air for a moment. While his right wrist was still held in a firm grip, Remus's other hand was now free to push aside all the layers of worn fabric, to reveal the bare skin on his left shoulder.

"Yes, I want to be... I am one of you," he said.

Some of his friends had seen this scar and known what it was. Yet, he had never before, with the exception of his very first visit to the Werewolf Registry, shown it like this, upon a request. And he never looked at it. Perhaps this would have been the right moment to start looking, but his need to eye the boy more carefully, instead, was a good excuse.

Yes, Remus was more and more convinced that the man was very young, even though there were signs of aging in his bad posture as well as in the hollow cheeks and the dark circles around his eyes, which shone somehow too bright and big for his worn face. His hair hung in dirty strands until his chin, and he had tied as a cape around his shoulders something that looked like a sack. He now sheathed the roughly-made knife under the rope which served as his belt. The persistent grip of cold fingers on Remus's wrist felt more like a hopeful contact than hostile precaution, oddly enough almost like a handshake.

Having not planned how to introduce himself, Remus hesitated. "Perhaps you've heard Anthony or Hecate mention..."

"Oh... sorry. It's the pro... teacher now? You want to sleep?"

The abrupt change of topic confused Remus further.

"No. I mean I am... at least I'm Remus Lupin, not a professor any longer. But no, I don't..."

"This is the chance to sleep. Except for me. I must stand watch. You know..."

"No, I hardly know anything at all... I haven't been here before."

The boy drew a long hitching breath and closed his eyes momentarily. "You know, we can't get inside, normally. Like no place, I mean. These are all goblins' warehouses. And they seal them. But now they've rented this stable to some... something like half giant, half faun, I think. They don't do sealing charms, and they're careless about watch. Someone always comes for the night, soon after the sunset, sometimes before, to make sure nobody steals the rare animals, and we must go. But they think that these beasts attack anyone who tries to stay in here. They don't know that animals love werewolves. When the owners are not here, the snorkacks don't have nothing against some beggars like us warming up here for a while."

"Snorkacks? Crumple-horned snorkacks?"

"Yes. I think the giant-fauns try to sell them abroad or something. Anyway, we are lucky. As long as the animals are here, they make the only open building into a warm place. So you're sure you don't want..."

The boy had loosened his hold of Remus's wrist and gave rather the impression that he was seeking support by hanging on his arm. Now he suddenly stumbled a few steps sidewise, pulling Remus with him, and leant against one of the animals.

The deep wrinkles in the horn glinted in the blue light, as the large head turned, and heavy long-lashed lids fluttered open for a moment. Remus felt an unexpected urge to lie down beside the serene beast. He had no difficulty in sympathising with the boy, whose sleep deprivation was obviously a lot more serious than his own had been since his drifting years, and derived from no opportunities to spend nights, or much of the days either, in bearable conditions for sleeping.

"I can stand watch," he said, giving a quick squeeze to the boy's hand, as it finally released his arm.

"Promise? And wake me up first, if... when anything happens..."

Having hardly mumbled the words, the boy slid down and curled up against the side of the animal, which had closed its eyes again. He was already fast asleep.

The flames turned brighter, and Remus looked around. He was now able to distinguish a huddled figure or two lying next to each animal, taking advantage of its body heat. The boy was still shaken by a sudden shudder, and in his sleep he moved his hands to front of his mouth, so as to keep them warm with his own breath.

Remus pulled out his wand and one of the shrunken blankets. Having undone the charm, he spread the blanket over the boy.

He proceeded to check out every ragged sleeper in turn. Immediately aware of the emotional impact of what his keen mind would register and treasure, he tried to limit his thoughts to the superficial - counting the number of members in this pack.

To his relief almost every other face was not in full view, but turned against the animal's side, or partly covered with shreds of clothing. Despite the cold tint of the light, which emphasised the sickly colour of the pale and dirty skin, and despite the inevitable lack of any aesthetic consideration behind the vagrants' appearances, Remus did not need to struggle to see beauty in these images, on the contrary. He was witnessing - actually prying into - some of the best moments in hard lives.

As a community, perfectly trusting the member who had accepted the duty to warn the others of any danger, they were completely relaxed, sharing the simple and necessary blessing of rest and of their own warmth with loyal animals. The signs of malnutrition, of painful wounds and of fatal illness in their features were contrasted with blissful smiles.

Some men and women had fallen asleep stroking the snorkacks' hides. Most of them, however, slept in pairs: friends and lovers hugging each other tight, having expertly entangled their bodies in positions which allowed the best warmth and rest for each other.

Remus could not resist caressing every detail of each image with his eyes, when he knelt down to return a blanket to its original size and to pull it cautiously over a sleeper's shoulders. The stench of wild animals and of unwashed skin and tatters nauseated him, no matter how hard he tried to deny reacting to it. Gradually the succession of creatures, the existence of which nobody in the world he had come from wanted to believe in, started turning surreal.

By the time he reached the end of the row, he was almost sure that the last portrait of tenderness was a product of his imagination. He could hardly discern the outlines of the frail limbs of a child under a threadbare jacket, between a tall adult man's body and the belly of a female snorcack. The young boy's small face was almost hidden by matted hair, but the lips were still attached to one of the beast's nipples. No, the child was not a suckling - probably not ten yet, but certainly older than five. The man had, in any case, obviously guided him to take advantage of the extra nourishment available. He was clutching the young boy in a fierce gesture against his chest.

Remus closed his eyes for a moment when reaching to spread his last blanket. He had counted sixteen werewolves. Now he cast one more glance at the child's thin cheeks, then at the man's bearded face in turn - and he recoiled.

The man was Paul. And the child was in a trap... as his victim, was he not?

Paul turned his head slowly. When he opened his eyes, he was looking straight at Remus's face, and there was no sign of surprise in his gruff voice either. "Thanks," he said, "for coming, and for your gifts."

But Remus had already started backing down and he merely nodded, keeping the eye contact for a moment, though, because he definitely did not want to see the child now. One of the snorkacks shifted when he passed it, and soon they all lifted their muzzles towards the ceiling. Not knowing whether only he or Paul had caused the change in their behaviour, Remus felt compelled to hurry, in any case, to wake up the boy who was supposed to stand watch.

He fell on his knees next to the boy and grabbed his shoulders. But all the snorkacks were now shaking their bodies vigorously. The boy hardly got to his feet before everyone else, and his whistle of alarm was merely ceremonial.

Remus followed the boy the few steps to the door, where they remained, allowing everyone else to exit first, while the boy, too, was probably counting. Only some among the werewolves spared a glance at the two of them and lifted an eyebrow or grinned at the sight of a stranger. They had all picked up their new blankets, and despite their haste attached them securely around their shoulders.

"Nothing to worry about," the boy said, when Remus had counted to thirteen. "The faun-giants are almost here, so the snorkacks will be violent soon. But we'll be out in time."

That gave Remus an excuse to focus on the nearest beast, which had risen up on its hind legs and was whipping air with its spiky tail. But when he turned back to leave the stable after the boy, there was Paul, still standing at the doorway with a hand on the child's shoulder.

"Welcome to... well, my usual places, as I've called them. I wish I could have let you enjoy this one a bit longer." Even though the words expressed some regret, there was a cheerful tone in Paul's voice. He lifted his other hand probably in order to place it on Remus's back while guiding him out.

Remus pretended not to notice it and headed quickly towards the centre of the vacant plot, shoving his right hand into the emptied pocket. The flames had died, and his left hand was balled into a fist.

There was only a thin orange line glowing low in the sky. In the gloom his vision was disturbed further by swirls of leaves thrown around by frequent blasts of icy wind. All the warmth garnered during the brief respite had been banished in a moment, at least from under his clothes.

And the group had scattered. Only the boy and a couple of others were in front of Remus, and he was almost certain the rest had turned to different directions.

"Where are they going?" he asked.

The boy sounded startled, as if he had expected Remus to go his separate way, too. "Oh, they'll be around... just moving around, and checking out rubbish, looking for something to eat."

"I've brought some food."

The couple clung to each other, at least. They both stopped and turned to peer at Remus. He could hardly discern any of their features, but the first voice was female, albeit husky. "The blankets are from you, too? I think you'd better show it all to Paul. The new ones haven't usually got anything to share."

"This is the teacher..." the boy explained, "Lupin."

"Oh. We're Mark and Sue."

"And that's Adam. I wager he didn't tell you, Sue added. "Anthony's brother - if you know Anthony..."

Now the hand hit Remus's back. "Introductions, right," Paul said, chuckling. "Here's my boy..." For a moment Remus had to wonder to which one of them Paul was referring, until he continued, "Nathan - he's eight this winter. And Remus Lupin."

He forced himself to turn his face towards the child's. "Hello, Nathan. How do you mean he's yours?"

"No, I'm not the one who bit him, or his father. But I'm trying to save him."

"I assumed you'd all be trying to save each other." Now his tone must have got cold enough to have an impact on Paul.

There was a brief awkward silence, and the next words were not directed to him. "We'd better take the professor down. Just for a moment, of course, as there's no rain. Just to see if he's brought something to keep in the storage."

***

Their hideaway and best regular shelter from rain was far from a dry place. This time the grating had been left aside, and Remus eased himself down the gully-hole, after checking that the alley bordering the vacant plot was deserted. Swinging himself to the ledge, so that he did not plunge into the waist-deep sewer, was not easier than apparating. However, he preferred returning slowly enough, so as not to bump into anyone, either.

In the gloom he could not see immediately who was still down there, but he was almost sure that only Nathan had not gone out yet. A fit of hacking cough told him the child was right at his feet.

"The rain's stopped. And Mark's found some more dry scrap wood," Remus said, kneeling down and reaching out his hand.

His eyes had now got adjusted to the sparse light spilling in through the opening - the dying glow of his second sunset among his kind. He could see that Nathan, lying in the foetus position and wrapped tightly in the quilt which had once belonged to Mrs Porchead, was awake, looking at him. Venturing to brush aside the fringe, he touched the forehead tentatively with his almost numb fingers, as if it had been possible for him to assess the temperature like that.

A day before, having first reluctantly asked for Paul's permission, too, in addition to the child's, to use the Logos Astheneion spell, he had willingly lent his wand and taught Paul to confirm himself how ill his boy was. At the moment, however, the wand was being used in any unpredictable situation Paul was facing as the sole negotiator whom the hags had accepted. Remus had to be reconciled with the role of taking care of the child, for once, as well as he could.

"Come... Would you come to live in my house?" The question was almost a slip.

Paul's absence did offer a rare opportunity to hear Nathan's opinion. But there was no answer.

In the silence the nightmares threatened to return. As if the draughty tunnel had turned again into the passage to the Whomping Willow, like it had earlier in the day, in Remus's restless sleep.

Perhaps the fact that he did not have his wand made him feel so vulnerable, helpless. Paul had not exactly asked him to surrender it, just showed unexpected interest in it, as soon as he had sent back up Sue, Mark and Adam, who had assisted in sorting out and storing the new supplies.

***

Paul was a surprisingly quick learner. After asking Remus to demonstrate some magic which their people could benefit from, he had easily repeated almost everything with probably intentional peculiarities only.

"I've used borrowed - or stolen - wands before. I like yours." The tall man stood too close to him on this ledge, stooping under the low brick ceiling, on which humidity had condensed as heavy drops.

Huddled against the wall, Nathan remained quiet, chewing slowly on the piece of bread Paul had given to him. The spell had already undeniably revealed to the two of them that swallowing and even breathing was hard for the child. He still seemed to enjoy the feel and taste of food in his mouth. Closing his eyes, he almost smiled.

Both Remus and Paul caught themselves and each other watching him. After turning around in the middle of the vacant plot, so as to head for the entrance to the sewers, Paul had for quite a while not said anything about the child to Remus. It had been both relieving and unnerving that Paul had refrained from referring to anything personal and from making any further attempts at casual touches, even after the three of them had remained alone.

Paul forced again his gaze from his boy to as much distance as there was - to the filthy water, on which the light of Remus's wand twinkled in his inspired variation of the conventional Lumos spell. The vaulted tunnel did not lead far, since the sewerage had never been completed in this neighbourhood.

"Perhaps you can give me this wand," Paul said in a determinate tone, which undid any concessions in the phrasing. "Just for tomorrow's mission. And my boy is... he's yours, too. We're all yours. I said we'd follow you. But the hags want only me in this negotiation."

Remus found it hard to focus on any talk about negotiations and strategies or even on planning what to teach. "I'll take him... home. I can't... I'm afraid nobody can heal him otherwise. Even though I've already brought some potions which can help in various throat and lung diseases... The humid air is perhaps a bit easier to breathe, but there must be some poisonous gas down here. As you say we can't light any real fires in the tunnel. And the draught is too chilling."

Without replying, Paul told Nathan that it was time for a feast by a fire, up among the ruins. And soon they all gathered in the middle of the plot and feasted on the better half of the food Remus had brought.

***

Most of the night and the morning, until the outbreak of the storm, was now a haze in Remus's mind. His eyes and throat smarting with the smoke. Heat flaring up from a rusty barrel. Hands reaching to warm up close to the flames, reaching to grab food, to pass it to other hands - and reaching to clasp his hands, but with a reverence, letting go after the introductions had been made. Cheerful chatting, contented smiles. Ragged figures in seemingly constant motion around the fire, turning hugs into playful wrestling or into moments of snuggling.

He hardly ate anything, and perhaps he was the only one not getting a moment of sleep, too. It seemed to him that he kept stalking Paul, repeating a single plea, while Paul was eager to develop the wider plans and to get to act upon them.

At Paul's request, however, he immediately started the exercises of Rafinarisma with Mark and a couple of others who had working one-size-fits-all wands. After the first steps of success, he ventured to clap his pupils on their backs, before walking them again towards the barrel, to pick up some spoons and bowls transfigured from sticks and pieces of cardboard.

That was when he noticed Paul setting Nathan to rest against Adam, who was dozing off as close to the fire as possible. Still holding his wand, he rushed to pull on Paul's sleeve, whispering once again, "He can go and stay in my house. The others will have to accept him. He's only a child."

The flames flashed in the eyes, as Paul merely glanced up, nudging Adam and pushing a cup of soup into his hands, indicating that he should try to make Nathan eat. "No, he'll be more than that in less than two weeks' time. I wish you could... I know what he needs, but it wouldn't be safe. We've been ordered to remain here, and marked. Outside this neighbourhood anyone can recognise us - and kill one of us without any fear of consequences. Until we take the matters in our hands..."

At that point Paul straightened up abruptly and grabbed Remus's right wrist. "You've already done it. The time has come for us to do the same under your lead. You should tell them now. Give them a speech!"

"I don't know... about speeches..."

"You spoke to the Wizengamot. You're feeding us; don't miss the chance to say a few words!"

Remus jerked his wand-arm up to free it from Paul's grip. "Let go!"

For a while he felt genuinely irritated, but at that moment it turned into amusement, based on surprising confidence, which did not rely on blatant demonstrations of supremacy or on solemn declarations. He did not needed to ask for attention so as to formally launch into a speech.

The whole pack was gathered close enough to notice immediately the increased tension in the voices and gestures. And the two joined hands were lifted above their heads. For added effectiveness all the threadbare sleeves slipped down and exposed the bare skin of the two scarred arms to the raw air of dawn.

Remus continued in a stage whisper. "This must be the other way round." He wrenched his hand free, quickly forced the wand into Paul's hand and grabbed his wrist in turn. "You'll carry this wand of mine when meeting our new allies today. Today... the time has come... we'll join forces with everyone who wants to oppose all terror - to fight against Voldemort, against Umbridge, against..."

Only at that moment did he turn his gaze from Paul's expectant smile to the circle of curious faces. He still did not know about the prospects of the meeting, which had hardly been mentioned to him - or what these werewolves hoped he would do. But he felt compelled to make clear with whom he could not possibly align. "Ice-Stare. Against all terror. Not for supremacy. For survival, equality and peace."

He did not know what else to say. Ready to let Paul's wrist free, he looked up once more and saw the first rosy light of the sunrise colour the tip of his wand.

***

Now he could not even remember whether Paul had added something before the crowd had started stamping and clapping. At least Remus's few words, too, had contributed to making some feet and hands a bit warmer.

At the moment, however, bending over the apathetic child in the draughty tunnel, he could not comprehend how any fighting could possibly bring adequate help soon enough.

Nathan was perhaps just reluctant to risk getting cold air to touch the sheltered parts of his body. Or he was not totally conscious.

"Come on. Let me help you get up at least. They're lighting a fire again. It's not too far - by the nearest ruin."

He kept caressing the boy's head, and caught himself warming up his own hands by burying them in the hair and under the worn-out wool. Paul had wrapped the scarf up over the boy's ears with concern before setting off and leaving them in the only shelter available.

***

Before any warmth of the morning sun had got tangible, the sky had become overcast. There was nothing left to burn in the barrel, and after the fitful wind had strengthened in earnest, so that the low boulders of stone hardly offered any protection in the middle of the open space, the group began to scatter. The rain, however, almost immediately made them all escape underground. Someone reported that the snorcack stable had become crowded with foreign beast merchants.

"I'm afraid they'll stay until everything is sold and exported. All creatures know it's time to grab what they can..."

Paul was evidently excited about these eventful days, but after he had left, the others settled for a leisurely afternoon. For once, there was, after all, no urgent need to look for food, and it was wiser to avoid getting drenched in the prolonged cloudburst. The sound of water streaming in torrents down through the gratings, except this closest one, which had been positioned unfavourably high on the alley - or favourably for them - so it let down only a small trickle, signalled to them that there was nowhere to hurry.

On the ledge there was really no space for anything but huddling close to each other, and Remus had expected everyone to try to sleep - or just to feel miserable. Instead, as soon as he had accepted Adam's invitation and sat down on the corner of his blanket, he noticed a bottle going around.

"What is that... Martha?"

The woman on his other side - the middle-aged witch with some missing front teeth - nodded at the correctly-remembered name. After freeing her chapped hands from the tangles of her tattered shawls, she rubbed the bottle with her fingertips and both palms while replying in a playful tone. "Anything you can make it, unless you like what I made it... Actually just water, of course. Rainwater, clean. We have a good reserve, and we aren't running out of it."

"Most of us can charm it into something tasty, and sparkly," Nick cut in, the oldest of those Remus had been teaching, "and hot, at least. Hey, let me add some bubbles with my wand! And let the teach... Remus taste it next!"

Remus cradled the surprisingly warm bottle. "Thanks. Can you promise it won't make me tipsy?"

Martha grinned. "Of course not. I mean it won't, not really. It's just an illusion - of getting drunk, too."

The liquid caressed his mouth, almost burning. "Quite convincing," he said, smiling but unable to hide all traces of bitterness. "I used to turn water into an illusion of soup."

"Not so much fun at all, is it?" another new student of his rasped, the one with a red beard - the one who insisted on being called Bloody, according to his official name.

Perhaps Remus's tone got closer to wistfulness. "You need a pack so as to have fun with plain water."

"And we must all admit that having fun is easier after some real soup," Sue pointed out.

Turning to see her pale pretty face shining closest to the light of Mark's lumos spell, Remus witnessed her finger tenderly scrub off some dried remnants of food in the corner of Mark's mouth before a kiss.

Remus looked away for a while, not focusing on or addressing anyone in particular. "In fact, I'm tempted to add a real ingredient into this. No, not alcohol. Something healthy. And nobody will stop me, if you really want me as your leader. I can decide when we consume our juice supplies. Mark, can you take out the small goatskin bottle, and use a warming charm on it, as well."

Having got the big bottle back, too, Remus poured in as much juice as there was space for. The sparkles turned deep purple, and the steam acquired a rich scent.

Martha let out a blissful sigh. "Oh, it's..."

"Black currant. It's meant to be diluted, and there's more for another rainy day, but the rest of this here is for Nathan."

Remus handed both bottles to Adam. Nathan opened his eyes at the mention of his name, but obviously drifted to sleep again.

"Now stories!" Nick ordered. "Let's give Remus one example, and then it's his turn!"

"Adam can start. He's great, especially when he's almost asleep."

Sue's suggestion probably pleased the young man. He grinned and shook himself, making his filthy hair fly around his face, then covered his head again with the sack while starting to talk. "All right, I'm waking up, so I can start falling asleep. Just give me another swig first... A werewolf, a snorcack and a minister walked into a bar... or was it to be tried at the bar? Anyway... "If I were you, I'd look for something to wear, or at least I'd act as if I were a wolf," the snorcack said to the werewolf. "Oh, and if I were you, I wouldn't bother to pretend I existed," the minister said to the snorcack. Okay... The werewolf - he stuck out his bare behind, and well, there were no more ministers in that fine bar. The reek, you know, and the minister's delicate nose."

After some chortle Remus was urged to make his contribution. "I don't know if this will make no sense or make you laugh or both. Well... Once upon a time in a faraway land there was a poor pack. So much poorer than us."

The laughter had started as early as at that point. Drawing a deep breath, Remus was assaulted by the stench, which had been partly covered by the odours of the enchanted beverage. Perhaps on a warmer day they could heat a lot of water and wash themselves properly. When going back for more food - for some meat, too, at least for the child - he would remember that some soap would not be too embarrassing a gift either.

The draught in the tunnel reminded him of the chilling night wind over the barren land beyond Brünnhilde's school. He had never tried to cross that land - never dared to go looking for the local werewolves, whom he had heard rumors about. "They had no proper shelter and no proper clothes, and they were freezing every night. They hardly found anything to eat, and they had nothing at all to drink. In their land it never rained, and they had no water."

Afterwards he was not sure whether he had reached the happy end he had intended for the story. Perhaps the snorcack or the minister had interfered to make it even better. In any case he trusted there had been enough laughter for some consolation.

But he had finally curled up to doze off between Adam and Martha, and the draught had strengthened further in the dreams which followed each other in his broken sleep. He had kept waking up, to someone huddling closer to him or rubbing his limbs. From a vivid nightmare each time.

***

He caught himself shivering and now decided to lie down close to Nathan, determined to let him stay just for a moment more, until they would both feel safe and warm enough to get up and go to join the others. But it was hard to shake off the dreams which had carved unusually persistent marks in his conscious mind - perhaps also because they were actually repressed memories.

***

His body rigid against cold ground. His own half-human whimpers swallowed by the suffocating tunnel. Why was he transforming here, outside the Shack? The human mind was unrelenting tonight: it clung to a hope, waiting. Yes, he had been restless, come downstairs to wait by the door, pushed it and found it open, for once. Had they already come?

Sirius had insisted on coming early, even though Remus had said he did not want anyone to watch the atrocious change. Had he come, opened the door and left again?

The convulsions made it impossible to get up or to even crawl back into the room.

Now the footfalls in the tunnel. His friends would see him like this. When it hurt so much that he was curled into a twitching ball. Not James, of course not. There was no space for the stag in the tunnel, so he would not come now - if he knew that the door was open.

So it had to be Sirius. He strained his neck to look. It was Sirius's face approaching in the light of his wand, framed by the black hair. No, no it was not... The widened eyes, the look of disgust, disbelief, fear... How could... No!

The claws bored into his arms. They would reach out for the human face, and there was no escape, not for this boy, no! All reason was leaving him right now. Beyond, under the control of a merciless beast, some strength unknown to him would ravage and destroy, and his mind would return only to cry.

It hurt, it hurt, and this time the slow trickle of blood was no consolation. He was covered with blood, and... Was it someone else's? And he knew whose. The body had to be here in the darkness. Dead, or... There was no better alternative.

He did not want to see... Good, there was no light. And he was unable to move, so he would not accidentally touch it, like he had touched the rat once... He had not hurt the rat, so... But no, this was a human. A boy... Snape was dead now, or at least was not going to be human any longer. Because of him, a monster.

***

The child stirred in his arms. He had clutched the frail boy too hard, and how could he let anyone feel safe when he was shaking?

"We're getting up. Just one more..." He sat up, leaning against the wall and pulling Nathan to his lap. The goatskin bottle now came to his view, and he reached to grab it. "Just one more story," he said.

With his arms crossed over the thin chest, he held the opened bottle tight in his left hand. Its weight told him that Nathan had drunk only a little, and he was glad he had at least not diluted the nutritious juice.

To his surprise and almost joy, he felt steam rising out of the bottle's mouth. He had managed to heat up the contents.

Soon after coming underground for the first time he had noticed that he had become unable to conjure cold flames on his palm. Perhaps, without any conscious choice of his, in the dire need for warmth, his left hand had given up the ability to emit light. Instead, the palm could offer to others some warmth for a moment.

Having moved the bottle to the other hand, he could even feel a trace of this warmth in the air around. Warmth he could never achieve when freezing alone, never only for himself.

He rubbed the palm against Nathan's chest under the quilt while lifting the bottle for him to drink from. "Careful... Is it not too hot now?" he whispered, pressing the bottle to the boy's lips.

There was a weak shake of head, and he was not sure what it meant. But, bending to check the face, he saw that Nathan held a mouthful for a moment, then swallowed with an effort, and the expression was closer to smiling than flinching.

He kept tilting the bottle in a slow rhythm and talked, mainly to keep himself calm. "Once upon a time there was... a werewolf who was so rich that he was tired of carrying everything he had. He had to carry it all on his head and his shoulders... He had all the love left behind by people who were long gone. He walked the endless paths, sometimes wishing to simply let it all drop. Wishing to disappear completely. He could not very well do that, but he would not have resisted, if it had all slipped away. But no, he had to carry the love as a burden, until he sat down, spread it out, and started sharing it."

Remus still had to fight the desperation; bitter thoughts were surfacing again together with creeping fatigue. The warmth was being surrendered from the waning strength of his own body, so it would not work for long. Fine source of wealth, indeed - vain attempts at satisfying each other's needs.

Some kind of anger - perhaps irritation caused by the weakness of his faith - finally jerked him from inactivity. "Come on! No use staying down here any longer. There's a fire out there."

Indeed, the warm-coloured illumination, which now flickered on Nathan's face, revealing that the juice had somewhat invigorated him, had to derive from flames. The sky was almost black.

And Mark was already there, calling their names, now blocking the opening. "Hurry up. Paul's back, and he wants to see the two of you. Let me help with a levitation charm."

Remus had to be grateful. Nathan was hardly strong enough to climb up alone with the help of the rope. Instead, he would not have been too heavy a load to carry from the alley to the nearest ruin. Remus encouraged him to walk, though, so as to limber himself up a bit.

Paul welcomed them to the circle around the barrel, opening his arms for Nathan. He obviously hardly managed not to embrace Remus, too.

With a wide grin he handed the wand to Remus, and went straight to the point, without greetings or introductions. "The wand worked well - gave your regards to the hags. They believe that we are led by a powerful wizard. Now they are in your troops. You can get back to work. Teach, and lead us."

Remus needed to know a lot more about the hags. But there was quite a basic question to deal with first. "Lead you... to survive? I have to ask for your help to figure out how. How do you make it through the winter every year?"

Paul shook his head. "Haven't you heard yet that... until this autumn we had a better place? The barracks. Umbridge took them over for her corps. Parts of them are only illusion on top of ruin. But there were some sheltered corners, and there's usually been at least someone among us who has some kind of a wand or strong enough wandless magic, so that we can enlarge them to fit us all."

Remus was surprised by the power of something like a simple revelation when he heard himself say calmly, "We'll take them back."

"I was going to suggest that," Paul said, grinning, in turn, "for our first attack."

So this was where a revolt would start in earnest. "A revolt..." Remus worded aloud.

Paul did not seem to mind starting the discussion on this and letting it evolve, regardless of who happened to pay attention, and how carefully, to what they were saying. He appeared as excited and confident. At the same time, however, he was perhaps doing his best to refrain from declaring his plans before it was obvious that the two of them agreed - or rather that there was only one solution. But he could not resist saying, "It must start. And soon."

Remus spelled out the reason - or was it merely an excuse? "Because you need the shelter, urgently."

"Yes..." Now Paul forced himself to hush, then left Nathan to the nearest witch's care, and beckoning to Remus to follow, stepped aside from the circle, before adding in a low voice, "Why do you think after all these years I want to stand up for our rights now - why does it matter so much? Because I don't want my boy to live like this."

"And you want him to live," Remus said, not avoiding the keen eyes and not backing down any longer.

Paul looked older and more ill again. It was obviously an effort to him not to emphasise his words with a touch. "This boy won't... I won't let him die."

Remus lifted his left hand and placed it firmly on Paul's upper arm. "No. We'll take back the barracks, and we'll take more..."

***

James shook his head and snorted at him. "No, you're not coming. People like you seem to get other kinds of missions from Dumbledore or..."

He had to fight back tears. He turned his face aside and watched Sirius, now not an Auror trainee yet... no, hardly more than a child, leaning against the door, hugging himself. The lips were blue, and the words were scarcely intelligible.

"Can I stay?"

"Silly boy! Of course he could stay, Mrs. Potter said, and now she was not Emma; she jerked her head and the flames of Lily's hair burnt Remus's chest. "Silly boy, if he had to run away at Christmas night, why did he walk the frozen streets for a whole night and day before coming to his new home. As if he'd been all alone in the world. As if everyone who loved him had died. But now we are all dead, and you must lie still. Lie still. If you move, it'll hurt more."

She was gone, and Remus, lying on the hard ground, defied her order only by turning his head again, in despair. No, she would not return. This was not any ordinary nightmare. This was the one from which he could never wake. They were dead.

Now came the new one. Sirius was smaller than ever, huddled in the corner. A skeletal hand parted the veil of his hair, and it was not completely black anymore.

"Is this frost, or has your head greyed, too?"

There was no answer. The eyes were closed. The lips were parted, but a kiss would only take more than the rest of the life away.

A flash of harsh light on half-moon spectacles. "You can't stay with him. He won't leave his cell, and you are sent out there, again and again."

What was it that made the briefcase so heavy? This had to be far enough. He stumbled around the pines and to the edge of the grove, dropped the case and fell on his knees in the sand. The beach and the sea in front of him were painted red by the setting sun.

He took off the jumper and the trousers, then the t-shirt and the underpants, in haste but as cautiously as possible, so as not to rip the worn-out fabric any further. When he grabbed the chains, his fingers brushed the picture of the two puppies, in his ritual gesture of farewell. Perhaps this was the last time and he should have, for once, opened the photo album. But no, it was too late.

How many times had he woken up in a pool of blood, trembling and sick, and dragged himself back where he had left his clothes. Here around the most solitary tree, the sand was soft. In the morning it would be soaked, but still, perhaps he would finally not make the effort... Just let the pain wash over him, surrender his mind and what was left of his body, and no longer bother to take them back.

***

If only the ground had not become hard again. The heavy weight on his chest was warm and strangely comforting, while his extremities were aching, on the verge of numbness, and he could not move them. He was unable to move at all. He could breathe no longer. This could have been a relief. It would have been during all those years. Now in despair he forced his eyes open so as to see the end, to treasure the last moment and all his memories of love and pain in it.

He saw a human glimpse of a face close to him, as if it had been the last blessing. But now a puff of steam escaped his mouth, he drew in the smell of soil and decay in the frigid air, and he knew that life would go on.

Yes, here he was, lying on his back among the weed and rubble, not far from the circle of his new friends. A gust of wind brought Adam's babbling and Martha's laughter as the promise of safety, almost like home. The light was cold and scarce. Obviously the flames had died, and the morning had hardly broken.

Someone had been sitting on his chest, and this person now lifted the weight a bit and shifted forward, apparently placing knees on his either side. A grey worn-out mitten filled the field of his vision for a moment. Then he felt bony fingers through thin, smooth wool touch his cheek while the head bent ever closer.

Not much more than a pair of dark eyes was exposed by the shabby black balaclava, but the wrinkles in the corners of these eyes disclosed a smile. "I'm Jenny, Old Peg's daughter," a gentle voice murmured. "Why are you so startled? We were not far yesterday, and you knew we'd come and join you. And you must know how hags serve. We bring you the nightmares. Deal with them; that's how you harvest. We wander by the water's edge - in the margin. We carry our food with us - ripened with salt, eaten sparingly. In winter we who stop around London are used to seeking shelter near these wretched packs. You need nightmares more than any other creatures do."

All right, he did not deny his fears and worst memories. But how could he possibly dwell on them now? "I'm not..."

The mitten-covered hands rubbed his arms, then grabbed them firmly. Before he had time to fully recover from his surprise, to even become convinced that he was truly awake and alive, he was standing up and seeking balance in the hag's embrace, and her solemn litany went on.

"You thought you didn't belong to the pack. You've tried to live as a mere wizard. But you've had your share. Of the blessing of nightmares, too. After them you are grateful for each breath again. Relieved to face the simple hardships."

"And a new challenge," he managed to say, while his teeth were chattering. "I suppose there's a lot I have to thank you for."

Her breath was hot against his neck. She would probably have been as tall as him, had she not preferred standing with a stoop. "Thank us when we are all in proper shelter."

"I'm thanking you now... Jenny, Old Peg's daughter, you and your sisters, and I'll thank you again. Soon, I hope. I'm afraid we're getting only weaker, if we stay like this any longer."

"All right," she said, tilting her head. She moved one hand from his waist, so as to adjust her balaclava to expose better her softly green-tinted grin. "No more babbling now. When do you suggest we make our move?"

"According to Anthony there're no new recruits in the barracks yet. The perfect time would be... right now."

"We can set off before sunrise. Everyone else is ready."

"I am..."

"You're hungry. And you need to talk to me." She had started walking him towards the others. One of her long arms was wrapped around his shoulders and the palm reached back to press over his heart, and she had enveloped him in the warmth of her soil-scented cape.

Most of the other werewolves, too, had evidently been approached in the same unabashed manner. The allies were standing in pairs and threesomes around the faintly glowing remnants of a fire. Paul, however, stepped to Remus alone, offering a mug to him.

The soup was not too hot or too thick, so he would drink it up quickly. His nose was running and he had to wipe it with the back of his hand, and the skin on his knuckles was chapped to the point of bleeding. He could not help wishing someone had offered him more to eat, and despite Jenny's hug he was numb with cold. His feet were freezing, and he doubted that this time even getting on the move would make him feel much better.

He had got out of a rut, and he should not have expected himself to bear this even as well as in his younger days. Just like back then, his mind was filled with his body's discomfort, and the only verbalised thought left was that he wanted to go home.

He had to lead these people home. If they said it meant the barracks, he had to take them there. Only after whatever fight was required, could he try to provide them with more supplies. Yes, he would get them what they needed. He now had wealthy allies, too, after all. Someone like Prospero. After honestly admitting to himself how miserable, how far from a bold leader he felt, he could now see both the hope and the necessary and only possible way to act.

Tilting the mug so as to empty it, he glanced at Jenny's face. She had closed her eyes but not removed her protective palm. Was she controlling or at least surveying his emotions? To his surprise the suspicion did not bother him seriously. Thisby had, after all, done no harm to him.

"No," she said, opening her eyes, and winking immediately. "My intrusion is limited to the dreams. Now before you call your troops to follow, tell me... That man in his cell."

Her uncompromising grip of his heart left him with no alternative to spelling out the truth. "He died in June."

"And you?"

"Me... I missed him. I loved him."

"You do."

"Yes, I still do. I still miss him. And love him."

She nodded and smiled. "Now we're all ready."

***

Jenny did not mention Sirius again. The tangible presence of bereavement was sustained only in the echo of the words she had enticed from Remus, while she did remain by his side on their march to the barracks. With her hand on his shoulder, with all these ragged followers stumbling close behind along the murky alleys - he was alone. Yet, he was drawing new strength from a crystallised memory.

"You'll take this light of yours to others," the slurring voice still whispered in his mind.

The silver of oceans in those mesmerising eyes had shone bright like before any betrayal. For a wild warm moment he had believed that nothing was only reflection.

Then Sirius had hung his head, so that it had been hard to ignore the bald spot, and turned all his attention back to the bottle, as if Remus had not been standing there, trembling of cold and of yearning. As if he had not rushed in and down the stairs to the kitchen to feel the heat of the hearth and a soothing touch on his skin. As if he had not spent lonely weeks in the icy drizzle of the Orkney islands in meaningless watch for insurgence among dubious shoals of merpeople, who had hardly surfaced and obviously remained perfectly unconcerned about any wizards' wars. As if he had not been able to bear another exile only by clinging to the dream that someday the two of them together...

Too late had he realised that all those missions as well as the confinement had served in making the two of them harmless. Remus's presence had inspired Sirius to sudden attempts at demagoguery - loud demands for equality to all creatures with conscious minds, or detailed plans for renewal of administration - regardless of who else had been listening. Towards the spring, after each long absence Remus had found a quieter man deeper among the shadows of the house. Even in his dog form Sirius had appeared more concerned, less reckless than Remus had wished, and the sparks had risen to a flaring flame only at the last moment.

This part of the loss was hardest to face. It had not been a coincidence. Sirius must have felt the fall approaching - or rather never having been properly discontinued. Perhaps the hope, the spirit of rebellion had derived from both of them, but Sirius had known that only Remus would remain to carry on. He had to face and surpass the grief.

And now he alone had to be a Marauder again.

But when he reached the beginning of the gravel road, he lifted his hand with three fingers up, without glancing back, as if he had been sure that the three friends marching closest behind would understand his gesture. Mark, Nick and Bloody all came up by his side. He could almost taste the pungent flavour of enchanted intoxication in their breaths, while he kept peering across the open wasteland at the faint outline of the main barrack.

"From here Bloody and I will take one half of us to the back entrance," he said.

The first rosy glow lit up in the horizon under the rim of dark clouds, revealing the shape of the building a bit more clearly, at the moment when he had to shift his attention to the gaunt faces. And the warm colour turned the smiles into explosions of hope and vigour. Bloody's teeth gleamed surprisingly clean among the scraggly red beard; soundless laughter deepened Nick's wrinkles; Mark's lopsided grin widened further when Sue stole to brush his wand arm.

She clung to her man, and Remus could not help the unfair feeling that she was a stubborn recent intruder. He wished he could have sent her on another task, to take the news about their move to Anthony or all the way to Mrs Hopchin.

"Nick and Mark - and Sue," he added, "you'll lead the rest to approach slowly. Follow those ditches; take cover among the bushes."

He now knew that Sue or the youngest and weakest members would not have been much safer, if sent any further away from the site of the attack - and also understood why Adam could not sleep at his brother's off-license, and why Nathan could not be taken to Bagendon. Paul, astonished by his ignorance, had explained to him how all the officially solitary werewolves had been marked not by the Ministry's registry but by the fey creatures whose territory they were shown to or had always - even before having been bitten - lived in.

Goblins, who kept the denied neighbourhood under their control, sent regular squads after the settings of full moons to check that all those found recovering from transformation had stigmas branded on their skin. Having looked at the identical marks like thorny wreaths around his new friends' wrists, Remus was willing to see each unique bite mark rather as a dear souvenir.

Only in September had Umbridge decreed that anyone presenting, outside of this neighbourhood, a corpse marked as a werewolf's would be rewarded, without any interrogation on the death. Now that wide circles of goblins were turning against Umbridge, it was bound to harm her that she had given such significance to a mark which a goblin's fingers could burn on anyone. Still, Umbridge had managed to make Paul's and his pack's lives ever harder, so it was not surprising he had got interested in Remus's and Hecate's causes.

Remus had already asked one of Jenny's sisters to let Hecate know what was now happening here. As a mere afterthought he had mentioned that one hag could take the news to his people in Bagendon, too. Just for their information.

It would be up to them - to Gumby and Rose - to decide whether to get involved in any way. Remus wanted to believe that the barracks would not be hard to take over. There were still perhaps only six members of Umbridge's troops here, certainly not more than the werewolves' and hags' own numbers. Defending the place could turn out a lot more difficult for his band, too, than seizing it, but he could not expect his earlier allies to be eager to help these ones.

Coming here with Harry, Jonah and Kostas had been foolhardy enough. In that company Remus had risked their exposure by reckless chatting, while they had at least been sheltered by the darkest night. Now sunrise was imminent.

With a heavy heart Remus watched the other half continue their way first and Paul bring up the rear, supporting Nathan. Perhaps, particularly if the attack was bound to fail, after all, this child was not meant to remain to suffer. And it was an unbearable thought that such a young boy would have already ended up tasting blood and losing his immortal soul in the same way Paul had.

Why should a promise to Paul stop Remus from giving up, from almost inviting failure? He remained standing, postponing the effort of setting off again. Then a squeeze of his shoulder almost miraculously revived another promise: the hope once shared with Sirius.

And the image from beyond the borderline, from his childhood adventures with Gumby, was now suddenly vivid again like on the morning of his homecoming. This sunrise was to be painted red only to herald better times. There were no banners or purple robes, no shining armour, but these were his soldiers. This dark figure, stooping in the gloom, hardly visible, but a warm presence despite the darkness in her eyes, was his partner on this mission.

"Thank you again," he said to Jenny, touching her mittened hand on his shoulder. "Let's go. After I've Disillusioned each of us - just in case."

***

Remus led the way across the wasteland on a path which wound around random rocks and shrubs. It was both endearing and uplifting that they had to walk in a chain, holding hands, so as to be sure not to get too far from each other despite the Disillusionment Charm. Remus had given his left hand to Jenny, keeping his wand ready in his right, and she was followed by Bloody and another hag.

This time there was no light in the windows. It would have been hard to distinguish any figures in front of the building. There was no sound either. No, there was nobody at all where the patrol had gathered at the time of Kostas's return. Nobody where rain had turned the ground into a mass of mud after all the vegetation had been worn out by treading feet. It seemed Jenny had been right saying that sunrise was the best moment to take the defenders unawares. The hags had observed the barracks and seen that the guard usually gave up his duty when the others started to get up.

At the end of the barrack there was no door or window. There was some shelter from the chilly wind, instead, as well as shade from the growing light of dawn, and Remus stepped closer to this wall, hardly resisting the temptation to lean against it and move no further. The plastering was peeling off, and the uneven surface of stone beneath seemed to be crumpling, holding together only due to spells.

"We're all here," Martha whispered in his ear.

Remus peeked around the corner only to see that the back door was firmly closed, and all the space around a couple of smaller barracks and huts, too, looked deserted. It struck him that he actually had scarce first-hand experience of invading any buildings. In the first war Dumbledore had not even suggested that Remus participate in any missions which could have forced him to resort to violence. Did he have any idea of what to do?

Only a few days earlier, instead, had he watched pointless bloodshedding. Could he honestly expect this operation to end any better? But this was no time or place to wonder if he should have not only limited himself to as non-violent defence as possible, but also refrained from any active rebellion. Now he was part of this, and it was possible that creatures on both sides would get killed. Perhaps this would be the moment of his sacrifice.

How much hope would he have in any case - unless he became a recluse, and responsible for all the suffering he could have tried to alleviate - not to have lost his soul by the end, losing his chance to gain, on the other side, the joy he had once known and something unimaginably better? He had chosen the risk a long time ago, again and again, as naturally as he had gratefully accepted his mind and body back every time. As for a soul, he could only have faith that one still resided in him, and that if he should lose something, it was meant to happen.

In any case at this point his inertia and anxiety had to give way to action. They were so near their destination, and he could hardly see anything preventing them from reaching it - there was such a small step to take that he would take it without realising that he had stopped thinking. He would simply lead them to break in.

Now there was some warm, flickering light spilling out in two thin strips onto the tramped grass on this side of the door. Some muffled sounds, too: calm, sleepy murmur of voices, something dragged across the floor - perhaps mattresses - and something laid down with small clinks and thuds. The windowpane was obviously either broken or completely missing, and the opening had been covered - almost from edge to edge - with a blanket.

The remaining members of the corps here perhaps all gathered to spend their nights in this room, and it seemed that during their morning chores they were so vulnerable that maybe a mere threat from an invading group would make them leave the place without a fight. And in case they had any chances to keep themselves clean, perhaps the smell alone would make them escape Remus's army.

These recruits were not likely to have any strong magic or mechanism in their makeshift shutter. Remus turned back so as to order Bloody to follow him and check whether they could easily attack through the window.

But his followers seemed to have taken action on their own. At the moment when Remus looked back he was dazzled by a flood of light.

And this bright light was undoing the effect of the Disillusionment Charm. The fringes of Martha's shawl sparkled around a dark figure of her small frame, and then she was suddenly in full view, clutching a sharp edge in the middle of the wall. Yes, in an eerie silence the wall was breaking in two. Was her magic making it open, perhaps without her conscious intention, due to her need to reach the shelter?

No, the light was not hers. It was charging on her and the others through a widening gap in the wall. She had gained her balance and managed to back off. Looking in from an angle, Remus could now see men lurking in the room and he could aim at them without risking hits at his own people. He perceived no intention for hexes, no lifted wand, but he did not wait.

"Stupefy!" He repeated it as calmly as possible, willing another opponent to collapse softly, avoiding serious injury, "Stupefy."

A hoarse voice near him echoed the incantation - twice, three times. Otherwise the scene remained quiet, unearthly. Could it be that they had truly not been in any danger at all? Perhaps the recruits did not even have wands, or the orders had been to remain passive, to become victims.

Remus stepped closer to see the centre of the room. The light was dimmer now. Indeed, there was a single candle lit among some rough dishes on a board which was supported by piles of bricks. But the shadows... No, the candle was not the source of all light. The source was near, right next to him. Its warmth made the skin on his hands prickle.

And it burnt. In his pain it flashed white, then started filling with blood-red in tormenting slow pulse. He had dropped on his knees, and a scorching grip circled his right wrist, forcing his hand up.

He should have been able to bear the pain, but he had failed. He was useless. He could not feel the fingers in this hand, and he must have let the wand fall.

A scornful laughter confirmed his failure. It pierced his mind together with the sight of two small intense flames below arcs of silver.

On the edges of his vision some dark cloth flapped past him. Like a cool stream it washed his eyes and he saw his friends. Jenny and some of her sisters had leaped forward. They stretched their arms deep into the room, reached other recruits, perhaps all the rest of them, wrapped them into the traps of their embrace and pushed them against the floor.

When he focused on the face in front of him, he saw it clearly - dark and wrinkled - and recognised it. And managed to catch a twitch in those tiny eyes. A sign of surprise, concern, perhaps? That was just a suggestion by his hopeful mind. There was only the wide smirk left. Only the pain.

"This time I'm not to burn the building - just you."