Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures

Chapter Twenty: Of Pain, Sharing and Change

Remus's shoes now crushed frozen leaves, as he strode eagerly down the lane. The pregnant moon was winking at him through a thin layer of clouds, whispering its promises, and its glow drew every tree, every fringe of frost on a fallen leaf in sharp lines, sharper still than on the couple of evenings he had strolled around with Peter between sunset and moonset.

Frank, too, had come along this time and now followed more slowly side by side with Peter. The two of them were, after all, the best friends, and this was a relief. By receiving the confession Remus had not become tied to attempts at rebuilding what had not worked in their youth either. Instead, he was further on his way to move on.

Both his confidence and his restlessness were strengthening together with his sight. There was still no colour for him in this world which only the moon illuminated in his eyes, but he was now reconciled with what he had regained. Perhaps someday he would be bitter for the loss. Or he would manage to share Prospero's faith. Now the clear black-and-white images heralded a fulfilment for which he had craved since his first full-moon night in a werewolf community. Even though he would still have to wait for three days, he caught himself hoping that the elderly gentleman announced by one of the new faun recruits was Paul himself coming to take him to join the pack.

Gentleman, indeed. Paul was certainly able to carry himself like one, and he might be wearing one of the new woollen cloaks Thisby had woven and taken to the barracks.

No, the figure on the lane close to the far end of the orchard looked short and slender. Could it still be another member of the pack, Adam perhaps? Although Paul had maintained that leaving the area appointed to them was too risky for solitary werewolves, Remus could not help clinging to an irrational hope - not even after he saw how, flapping in the bitter wind, the visitor's cloak gleamed in the white light, so that he had to conclude it was of some luxurious material.

He was far from happily surprised when recognising Mr Landor's wrinkled face. Indeed, the elder of Bagendon had never asked to be shown the fiery parchment and to be one of those joining Remus under the cover of Fidelius and in his rebellion. Not having seen him for quite a while, Remus had almost forgotten this, but did not expect him to ask anything like that now, either. This had to be a farewell visit, and Remus only regretted not having paid the visit to the elder, instead, so as to spare him the trouble.

"Good evening, Mr Landor. I'm so sorry I let you come all the way and wait, while I should have thought of contacting you..."

The handshake was as firm as ever, but brief. "Remus. I hear you are feeling better. But there's something I assume I got to know even before you, and this time I could not just let my Paul bring the alarming news to you."

What was he talking about? There was something urgent, but he was making Remus, too, waste time on irrelevant details. "Oh, your owl - he's got the same name as..."

"As one of your latest allies. Yes, after the steps you've taken, what remains for me to do is to inform you that the abduction has been implemented, but the Ministry is - for mysterious reasons - keeping it a secret, from the Order and the Weasley family, too."

"Abduction?"

"The abduction you at least should have known about and, if you had asked for my advice, prevented, too."

All this did not make any sense, or if it did, it was not something they should be talking about out in the open.

"Please, come in!" Remus said, drawing his wand so as to conjure the parchment.

Only after reading the charmed text and taking a few steps into the circle of protection did Mr Landor speak again, replying, "No, I am not coming farther than this. I can still feel the other magic, and I know I am not meant to enter."

He did not look at Remus, but kept staring at the light in the windows instead.

Remembering how Mr Landor had evidently enjoyed holding back information during their visit to Rose and Jonah's house, Remus had to force himself to remain patient and polite. "It's been your conscious choice not to get involved beyond interfering when it suits you. But please don't postpone telling me what I should know."

"So you maintain that they did not have your orders or permission and they haven't even told you?"

Remus could not help sighing. "And you aren't going to tell me what this is about?"

Another frustrating moment of silence followed. What a blessing it was that his eyes could again momentarily relieve his tension by reaching accurate images of any random beauty in the nature around him: now in the patterns of the bare branches against the restless sky. A glance back confirmed that the two friends were still there, although they kept a few yards' distance. Frank was crouching under an apple tree, lifting up an obviously half-rotten fruit for Wormtail to sniff at. The rat was completely visible, almost white in the moonlight.

"Luke informed me," Landor finally said. "Bud Pinchbeck first learnt about it in a nightmare early this morning."

"You mean... a hag came to tell him something?"

"Yes, the hags were bold enough to invite the press to witness they had the hostage. They actually abducted the photographer, too, but they let him go in the evening after he had taken the pictures they wanted to spread."

"Have Jenny and her sisters taken a hostage? No..."

Was this a joke? The rat, up on its hind paws, was spitting out pieces of the apple, perhaps also laughing together with its friend.

"Yes, if that's what you call the hags."

"All right... Where are they keeping him?"

"Luke says the buildings in the photographs can be identified without doubt. The hostage is pictured in front of the main barrack in the camp where the special security corps were gathered last month. Perhaps that's why Umbridge doesn't want to publicise this. She has not admitted that she lost the barracks to your allies. And she might not care if this hostage is freed or not. Mr Weasley is not on the top of her ranking list."

Arthur Weasley. What did they think they were doing?

"Excuse me. Unless you have - and want to share - more of such information I can't gather at the barracks, I'd better get there as soon as possible." Remus held out his hand, and as Mr Landor took it, looking at him questioningly, he offered by means of explanation, "It's time to thank you for everything. After all, now it's obvious we'll go our separate ways. You'll go back down the lane, and I'll descend the other slope to Mrs. Hopchin's. Goodbye."

After as warm a smile as he could muster, Remus turned away, and for a moment there was no path visible in front of him. Then there was a firm hand on his arm and three sharp-nailed paws clutching his shoulder.

***

"No, no particular news at all, after they settled in and your people started coming to help them. And no unusual traffic today, no - until this ratty company now." Anthony tilted his head and eyed Frank and Wormtail, too, with a benevolent smile. "Perhaps you are on another mysterious mission, and I'm asking no questions about this... these allies either. But if you're just crossing the wasteland to the barracks, give my regards... and this to my brave little brother." He turned to pick up a bundle from behind the counter.

Remus did not mind too much that by accepting the bundle he satisfied Anthony's curiosity with regard to his destination.

Something serious Anthony obviously could not even suspect about the state of affairs at the barracks was now Remus's overwhelming concern. It barely irritated him that Frank, with Wormtail in his hands - after the two of them had lit the way down the slope - had made the mistake to follow him through the floo network. In a different situation he could have rejoiced in another sign of recovery: Frank must have named the destination aloud, repeating Remus's words. Well, now he would be able to go back as well.

But when Remus stepped to the door to first check whether he, when alone, could see well enough or needed to risk apparating the last stretch, Frank followed him.

"I'll help you across. And after." The hoarse but clear words struck Remus speechless, and he hardly had time to register the calmness in the still handsome face before Frank added, "I want. To fight, too. If..."

In the strong hands the rat squirmed, then hung its head in submission, and finally turned to stare at Remus. The light blue in Wormtail's beady eyes flashed as the only tint of colour Remus had regained, and he could not resist - could not help believing that their destinies were irrevocably intertwined. Or more reasonably, it made some sense to conclude that both Frank and Peter were now unpredictable, and that he could watch over them best, if he allowed them to follow him.

***

He should have realised how unreliable Rose was. After greeting him and Frank, she had stepped back behind the makeshift table and was standing there erect, with her fists laid firmly on an unrolled piece of parchment - probably, if only subconsciously, attempting at an air of impressiveness.

At least she did not deny her responsibility. On the contrary, she was eager to forget to give credit to anyone else. "Jenny? Why would you talk to Jenny about it? It was my idea."

"Mine first," Simon cut in, still leaning against the doorframe in a carefree manner. "Also to make it a surprise for you."

While there was direct defiance in Rose's bold gaze, Simon's grin appeared as teasing - and this time Remus was not so sure it was only an irrational interpretation based on some similarity in his and young Sirius's looks. Frustration flared up into anger he needed to try and control so close to the full moon.

All he could do was turn his back on Simon and stride towards Rose. "What on earth did you think we could need a hostage for?"

"For ransoms, of course," Rose explained, managing to fake irritating calmness. "Yes, more than one ransom paid for one man. And you must be happy it's a man - not a child or any other fragile creature. A wizard, too. And not a civilian. We chose him carefully. So both the ministry and Dumbledore are going to pay to free him."

"Dumbledore - our Secret Keeper! And Arthur is... You haven't sent out any letters to ask for the ransoms yet, have you?"

"No, they are here - the letters. For you to sign, if you want to."

Remus reached out his left hand, for a moment aware of a wish that rage could make him produce destructive heat instead of cold blue light or healing warmth. But that was obviously not what he needed. He snatched the parchments from Rose. In an exercise of self-control he refrained from crumbling them.

As a teacher he was determined not to reinforce unwanted behaviour by giving too much attention to Rose and Simon. At the same time he could take some kind of revenge by not bothering to make it clear to them what he was going to do. He kept his tone as impassive as possible when asking, "Where is he?"

"In the hags' barrack, across the yard. They are good at keeping watch."

He marched out without another glance at Simon. Before Frank caught up with him and he spotted Wormtail's shiny head and single front paw peaking out of a pocket, he had already sensed enticing warmth emitted by a dark figure by the entrance to the opposite building. Welcoming arms were stretched out from a distance, so that he hardly needed any clarity of sight in order to find his destination.

Inside this building, however, the heat of the hags' gift of nightmares was suffocating. There were perhaps a dozen of the black-and-grey-clad sisters in there, and most of them were sitting on the dirt floor in pairs, one focusing on another: whispering into each other's mouths, moving palms or fingertips gently along each other's arms, sneaking fingers inside opening and closing fists.

Remus caught himself searching for the red of Weasley hair, and soon after remembering his defect he recognised the pale freckled face. Arthur was lying on his back, with his eyes closed. A hag was just slowly moving away from him, still keeping a hand over his heart. It was Old Peck's daughter herself: she lifted her head and, perhaps illuminated by reflections, her features shone clear - familiar and new at the same time. She had removed her balaclava, so that her wrinkles, now all visible in the corners of her eyes and mouth, appeared to Remus as provocative - as an expression of unfounded self-satisfaction, even though she possibly only meant to greet him with some reassurance.

Stopping himself from kneeling down next to Arthur, he eyed Jenny sternly from above. "How is Arthur?"

"He's surprisingly sensitive to stimuli in sleep. And you are feeling better; however..."

"What I am is stupid enough to return only now - to wait for my sight to improve. My friends could have guided me back here sooner. Here they are: Frank, and his little friend. Frank, this is Jenny, the ruling elder among the hags."

To Remus's amazement Frank actually held out a hand without delay and the polite phrases flowed effortlessly. "How do you do... pleased to meet you."

Jenny stretched up a hand, which, too, was now bare: skeletal and white with black nails. But the fingers of the other hand were still clutching the wool of the sadly grey letter A on one of those jumpers Molly had undoubtedly knitted with most loving concern.

"Let Arthur go. Let go off him now! He doesn't need any more nightmares, and neither does his family."

New wrinkles appeared on Jenny's forehead. "You mean you changed your mind about this hostage?"

It was immediately Remus's turn to feel perplexed. "What do you mean? You never heard my opinion about the abduction."

"The young couple said... They let Paul and me understand that they had your orders."

"No."

The knowledge that Jenny had not meant to ignore his wishes, but to follow them, helped Remus put off expressing his increasing anger.

"No, they had not," he repeated. "But if Arthur can stay warm and sleep peacefully here - in nothing close to what his wife's magic would define as mortal peril - I'll apologise to him only in the early morning. And immediately after that you can take him back to his house in Ottery St Catchpole. He must have no role in what we are supposed to do. Now... can you send some of your sisters to watch that Rose and Simon sleep and only dream instead of doing any more harm, until I have the time to talk to them?"

"Certainly! That will be a pleasure - after they've ordered us around in your name."

"Thank you. I want to talk to Paul first, if he's here."

"He is, and... Perhaps the message hasn't reached you yet: he's expecting Hecate tomorrow after moonrise."

***

"To survival, equality and peace - against all terror," Paul said, pushing a familiar wooden goblet across the rough tabletop. "Indeed, even against any acts of terror by your followers."

Remus barely noticed the wink, as the goblet was the first thing to catch his eyes when he turned them back from the opposite corner of the hut, from the endearing scene he had got absorbed in watching. With a fine pack of cards for Exploding Snap, given to him by Neville, Frank had easily attracted Nathan's attention. When a card blew up and caused the child's house of cards to collapse on the blanket where the two of them were sitting cross-legged, Wormtail pretended to sniff at Frank's house all innocently but so incautiously that the two players were soon even again. Nathan laughed out loud.

Now Paul noticed what there was to watch, and the tenderness in his expression emphasised the difference between his and Remus's experience. Remus had just realised that he would have liked to finally learn to know this child. The weak, hardly conscious one at whose side he had felt the deepest hopelessness, then the compelling urge to act, had been replaced by a vivacious young boy with a quick smile. Despite the smile Nathan had appraised Remus carefully with wary, witty eyes, as if the two of them had never met before.

The closeness between Paul and the child was no longer unbearable to watch. Still, in this company the night appeared to Remus perilously long. The circumstances were favourable enough for Paul to easily take up some personal issues again, now that there was a mutual understanding about the abduction.

This goblet was filled with pure black current juice, and Remus could not postpone sharing the drink much longer, particularly not after the words indicating a toast for their common cause. He fiddled with the stem, then ran his finger along the shape of an elm leaf carved into the wood, and pretended to still focus on the game and the rat's antics. Perhaps he should not have bestowed such deep meaning on the gesture. However, he could not help fearing that Paul, too, would remember the way he had declined the cider at the Dewbowl Inn and interpret his drinking now as acceptance of the apology, even of the original, intended gift.

No, he had better go and wake up Rose and Simon now, instead. He did yearn to finally embrace the transformation as a blessing, but he did not want to accept it as a gift from this man - not for the child he had been thirty-three years earlier. Had the goblet not been a part of his family heirloom, he would not have erred and touched it.

At the moment when he was letting go, so as to push himself to stand, a coarse hand closed over his. "In this goblet your Thisby served the healing potion to my boy. You obviously no longer have anything against my saving him." Paul was stating all this in a clear, even voice, with repressed cheerfulness, as undeniable facts, like arguments for his case. "And you seem to have your special protégés, too."

"So?" Remus replied, feigning indifference.

He had chosen to touch this hand before, even to surrender his wand to it. Now its grip caused distress bordering on repulsion. Still, his conscious attempt to suppress anger was followed by a surprising sense of connection. The grip tightened for a moment, then the fingers relaxed and trembled. Paul, frustrated by Remus's unresponsiveness, could have been close to lashing out. But perhaps he, too, was able to hide any negative feelings, even rid himself of them.

He, too, was anticipating the challenge of keeping his mind despite the moon.

Maybe this man had more in common with Remus than any other creature did. If only he did not expect Remus to offer alliance and companionship to him as if in return for something he could be grateful for!

No, Remus did not pull his hand away, although Paul's was now resting on it only lightly. When he was still resisting the urge to look into Paul's eyes, he heard the sigh of resignation.

"All right. I'm not asking for your forgiveness."

"Of course I forgive," Remus caught himself replying promptly. He glanced up and the white light drew the scarred face in too clear lines, and gave too much glow to the anxious eyes. Closing his eyelids, he tried his best to say honestly what he meant, to figure out what he meant. "I hope I can. But it doesn't mean that I could accept what you did to Arthur Wotton and his parents. I don't. Not what you ended up doing, and not what you had intended to do."

"So you don't want to join - you still don't want my gift? Remember, I didn't ask you to serve me, on the contrary."

"I am joining... But I'm not doing it for you - not in return for any gift, even though now, after what you and all these years have done to me, I'd better accept this part of who I am and find a blessing in it. I've already joined forces with you, agreed that you may serve me, and Hecate, as you said. But I did it for Nathan, and the others. And when I join a pack, I do it for myself."

Yes, instead of doubting his selfless motives in any situation, he had finally concluded to what extent he was selfish - and declared it without shame.

***

"The gate blew up, just like that - like that card..." The younger hag kept staring past Remus, after the last one of the houses Frank had left on the floor evidently now collapsed. Her voice was subdued by incredulity, if not by indifference, or simply by the soil-scented strands of hair hanging across her face.

Remus could distinguish the black streaks against the pale skin quite clearly. Perhaps this sunrise was bringing more than the frustrating haze...

But what was this now about an explosion? After making his apologies he should have taken Arthur back to his family himself, instead of opting for the hags' services at the darkest hour, right after the moonset when they were at their swiftest to move themselves and others with them.

"And the two of them had just got to the other side of the gate," she added, "and now they were gone."

"The two...?"

Jenny stroked the young sister's face, pushing the strands aside. "There was a ministry official waiting by Arthur's gate, so my sister here let him go the last stretch alone."

An ear-shattering shree followed Jenny's explanation. The eerie features in the barn owl's heart-shaped face were perfectly recognisable even against the morning light, which spilled in by the edge of the blanket covering the window. Mr. Landor continued to take care of keeping Remus informed. Or misinformed.

"Here we can find out the official truth about what has happened," Remus said, catching the newspaper which the owl released from the talons before flying out again.

The bird's piercing call had woken up Paul. He was already at Remus's side. Without trying to distinguish the letters even in the biggest headline Remus passed the Daily Prophet to him.

"Rebel leader's terror against wizards," Paul recited dramatically. "Goblins side with the darkest creatures. Ministry official witnesses co-worker's abduction by goblin and new werewolf leader."

After turning the page he resumed reading the text aloud, transforming it into a captivating tale, as if continuing the story he had enjoyed telling at the Dewbowl Inn. "A senior ministry official and member of the acclaimed Order of the Phoenix, Arthur Weasley, was kidnapped at the gate to his house in Ottery St Catchpole. He was on his way home, accompanied by a junior official, when evidently a goblin's dark magic of explosive flames separated the two men. Mr Weasley's young co-worker merely glimpsed the goblin and another creature, who was holding a whiplike wand like those used in the Cotswolds werewolf pack - and who has been identified as the rebellious Remus Jaws Lupin. This particularly dangerous werewolf, who treacherously gained a wizard's education in his youth, has recently agitated non-human and part-human creatures to terror against our magical civilisation."

***

Remus had lived with libel before. Checking out the fortifications and greeting all the members of his pack as well as those of his brotherhood who had followed Rose kept him busy enough throughout the morning and early afternoon, until moonrise.

He did not want to think too much about Umbridge's treacherous plots. After the initial shock, soon after hearing the Prophet article, he had concluded that she, assuming that Remus would take the hostage back home, had sent someone to fake an abduction. And now she publicised it in the way she preferred. But Remus had to calmly prepare his people for the full moon. In these circumstances it seemed wiser to stay secluded here with the solitary werewolves, and he tried his best to suppress his dreams about running free with Hecate and her pack, learning from her more about controlling their minds.

In any case, he could not help focusing on the promising change in his eye-sight: all figures were unmistakably less blurred now. The cloudy day was soothing enough for his eyes, and as soon as - an hour before sunset - he sensed the rise of the waxing moon, there was nothing missing in his perception except the colours.

Could it have been only due to the lack of warm brown and golden hues that Hecate's face looked harsher than he had remembered? She did not smile when she approached him across the open space between the barracks and huts, walking towards him so slowly that he decided to resist his urge to hasten and hold her in a welcoming embrace. She had evidently first arrived in Paul's hut, while Remus had been behind a side barrack discussing alarm charms with some half-fauns.

Staring intensely at his face, she stopped and reached to grab his hands, so as to keep him at an arm's length. Disappointed - almost fearful again that her village's customs prevented her from offering him the closeness he so much needed - Remus struggled to remain patient. He turned his gaze from her cold eyes to their hands. The thorny wreath of his stigma, more visible to him than ever before, seemed to mercilessly severe him from true contact with her, while he failed to focus on his left hand, through which he had earlier felt her channel her trust and encouragement.

There was unexpected gentleness in her husky voice, when she started to speak softly, neglecting any conventional greeting. "Paul has already told me what was done to you."

Remus had hoped she would not mention it - that it would make no difference to her whether he was branded like Paul and like those who had never had any rights after becoming werewolves. He still considered saying this, when to his surprise he saw one of her graceful, slender fingers move to stroke the black scar. A gasp escaped from him, but he realised that the touch caused no pain. And another strong hand cupped his chin, then slid up across his cheek and eye-brows, sheltering his eyes for a moment.

"Don't you fear," Hecate said. "Unless you still mean to ever deny that you are a werewolf, this brand is only a badge of merit. Yet, I don't know what the problem with your sight means."

"Thank you, and... Hardly anyone does. I've talked about this to a few friends only. Now it seems to be just about the colours, and I can't help hoping to get them back. In any case what was done to me is not as essential as what I have done."

"And what you have not done. Paul's told me about that, too."

"So you know that Arthur Weasley is safe and Umbridge is just lying again."

Hecate moved her hands away and let them hang at her sides. The sudden complete lack of her touch startled Remus, preparing him for the seriousness of her news. "Unfortunately she's doing more than lying. Ice-Stare has got your Mr Weasley. I saw him. She brought him herself. Ice-Stare welcomed Weasley as the perfect bait to lure you to the village, so as to get hold of you when you'd be trying to save him. But even though she explained how that would be nothing but an empty threat, just to make sure you'd come, I'm afraid she means it when she now declares in this special edition of her Prophet that she will destroy our village and all our lands by sending Heliopaths. She claims that there is no other way. She'd do her best to save Weasley, but the ministry can't possibly negotiate with these darkest of all creatures. Regardless of the force of her necessary attack... if Weasley should perish, it'll be the werewolves' fault."

"My fault." That was his immediate exasperated conclusion, and his only comfort was the chance to share it with Hecate.

So this was the reason for the special afternoon edition. And he - sick of the mere thought of seeing Umbridge's smirk in another flattering photograph - had ordered the owl to forward the paper immediately to Paul. Now, however, he was startled by a wish to see her face to face. Would she lead her mass-destruction army of flaming creatures herself, for the pleasure of witnessing the demise of all werewolves, or in hopes of attacking a particular enemy personally, just as she had murdered Amelia?

"I'll try to save Arthur," he said, "try to get him out of there somehow. And stop her, too, to save those in the village who joined you, and to save your lands. Because even if I retrieve Arthur and manage to make it public, she can still attack, claiming it to be retaliation for the kidnapping." While trying his best to form reasonable arguments, he kept his eyes fixed on the remaining glow under the mass of clouds in the western horizon, almost sure that the palest tint of red in it was not only a reflection of his urge to go to battle.

"It could be my task to free the prisoner," Hecate said. "Just I'm afraid Ice-Stare no longer trusts me completely. He's locked Mr Weasley behind the magic of his mind."

Not her words yet, but the warmth of her hand on his arm made him look at her again. Warmth had returned to her gaze, too - as good as any golden brown he had missed.

"I'd want to do it in any case, for myself," he said.

While trying, at least, to save what belonged to her people, he would dream that it would be his as well.

She nodded and squeezed his arm. "Still, it might make no sense to bring your people to face the inevitable peril."

"We'll need them. And this is my people's cause, too."

"But at least you won't bring any non-wolves with you, will you? I wonder whether Umbridge has considered the timing. We must do that in any case."

"Umbridge seems to often act upon an impulse, make use of an unexpected opportunity." He heard calmer confidence in his own voice now. "Perhaps believes in fate too blindly. She might also reason that it's wise to attack when the werewolves are at their weakest - just before or just after the full moon."

"According to the official news it'll be before: tomorrow evening - one sunset before the one... which you've been looking forward to, haven't you?"

Thrilled by the prospect and by the realisation that Hecate could truly understand him, Remus could not help grinning.

She smiled back and continued, "Let's make quick schemes for our strategies now, because I need to return soon in order not to cause more suspicion in Ice-Stare."

"Then let's plan so that I can be there to share it all with you."

***

A quirrell stared Remus right in the eye - too startled by his materialising abruptly to leap aside until after freezing for a moment. He twirled around and still caught glimpses of the fluffy tail like white flashes among the dark stunted pines further and further down on the slope. After the animal swiftly gained distance, the place seemed completely deserted. Having turned again, he saw the rising sun hit the high edge of the bare stone wall, but there were no sounds of birds greeting the light.

Jenny and her sisters had been scheduled to arrive a couple of hours earlier, so Remus knew he was not alone. They were supposed to all gather on the other clearing where, around the campfire, the creatures had celebrated and comforted their leader two months ago. But Remus wanted to first see this setting of the purposeful killing in which he had agreed to participate back then and to stand here on his own. Just like when, a year earlier, he had apparated to a carefully-selected spot in the wilderness well before his body got too unstable, and Sirius followed soon after, escaping the house - just like then he now carried the burden of solitude only momentarily.

Soon enough a shadow was cast on the face of the cliff by a moving shape, and shrill sounds of shawm and singing drew Remus's attention to a company travelling fast towards him above the treetops in the valley. In graceful twists and curves the carpet lost speed, and it danced on the spot for a moment, just over his head.

A heart-warming party of his friends peeked down. Behind the golden fringes shone a row of faces. Some hands were raised to cover horns, and open palms were stretched towards him in the fauns' respectful greeting. But beside Peck's and Tumble's wide grins there was not only Thisby's luminous mane flying like a flag in the wind, but also Jonah with eager eyes and other young men from the Ancient Village as well, and right next to them even Bloody with his newly trimmed beard.

"More of us are coming on another carpet," Bloody called. And yes, there was a faint hue of red on his chin. Remus could see it immediately.

He had kept regaining his sight gradually - perhaps thanks to his contact with Peter, perhaps simply due to the temporary nature of the curse. Still, he could not help regarding the return of the colours as a good sign, which helped him to question no more the wisdom in allowing everyone to join in the battle despite Hecate's wish.

In no time did the carpet lose height, too, and it was now hovering only an inch above the shrubbery in front of the steep stone wall. The motley company both in old garments and in new pieces of clothing woven of the wool from Wotton manor's sheep offered a cheerful sight in rich tones of earth colours. The whole scene borrowed its glow from the veela hair, and acquired further glory when Thisby spoke.

"The new director at the Headless Queen," she said, "he rolled out quite a fine selection of rugs when he heard we needed to get to you."

When the fauns and half-fauns jumped nimbly to the ground, a lean boy still threw himself prone on the carpet so as to get the most of the luxury of the travel. That was Adam. "Some of us who can't apparate were moved along by the hags, but the rest of us are flying, thanks to that young man..."

And Jonah's voice specified - softly, to Adam, "Managing director - Prospero, his friend."

"Can he own all these, what do you think?"

"Never you mind... Well, perhaps he's borrowed some full goblins' treasures, and for a good purpose."

The boys talked to each other for a while, but now Jonah turned to Remus, continuing, "Here we are anyway - at your service."

The carpet's landing was brought to final stop by a confident wave of Jonah's wand. Here they were, in their grand adventure, which seemed to thrill them all ever more now that the phase of lying low and preparing themselves was over.

***

A row of at least a hundred whip-like wands swayed rhythmically above the honey-coloured limestone wall on the top of a newly-built embankment. The distance from the summit where Remus's troops were arriving after him did not allow any magic contact. He could hardly hear the drums, which gave the beat to the threatening movements of Ice-Stare's army. For a while he suspected that the pounding in his head had entered through his eyes, due to the merciless sharpness of the late-autumn illumination in the lucid mountain air. Sound did travel well enough across the valley, but the drumming was still kept low and its volume increased only slightly in joyfully expectant waves.

The improvement in Ice-Stare's fortifications was impressive. In the outer corner even a barbican had been erected. There might be no aesthetic refinement in its details, but the walls of the rough towers bulged outward, and the massiveness of the structure hinted at a curved corridor leading to the inner gate. In no forceful attack - by earth-bound beasts like Heliopaths - would an enemy manage to break through with speed.

Unlike two months before there was no question of simply flying straight into the village. Remus had considered entering stealthily: Disillusioning a carpet and himself, perhaps Bloody and Mark for companions. But the heavy clouds kept close to the eastern horizon, and while the harsh north wind dispersed any warmth the low November sun could lend, this noon's surprising brightness would make the intruders cast a revealing shadow.

There were several hours left before sunset, but waiting for better conditions for making a move looked as risky as anything. Umbridge might well be as impatient as his enemies and arrive ahead of the publicised schedule.

Remus turned to watch more and more of his followers climb out from the shelter of the woods in the western slope. Full humans and others side by side. Those with hooves or horns or both, those with inhuman size and physical strength, those with fingertips itching to ignite, those close to their most vulnerable phase in the annual circle, those closer to their most painful moments in the monthly one. They had all acknowledged Ice-Stare's aspirations for power as a threat to non-wolves, as he chose to call them, as well as to any werewolves who did not agree to join his pack. Still, Remus hoped they could spare their strength for fighting Umbridge, whom he considered his - and their - main enemy.

They all approached eagerly, throwing glances and encouraging remarks to either side, to rejoice in their union, some of them treading silently, some with clinks of hooves against bare stone near the top of the ridge. But now all the sounds were overpowered by an abrupt crescendo of the drums, and together with Remus the first rows of them directed their gazes across the valley.

The outer gate of the barbican had flown open. Two stately but youthful figures appeared: a woman with bushy hair and a man with a beard stepped nimbly forward. Light capes in the colour of rust, or dried blood, flapped around them in the wind.

The man first brandished his long, pliant wand and declared in a resounding voice, "Welcome, the hour of glory! Who is the first among our awaited adversaries?"

The woman, in turn, lifted her wand and continued, "Who is the first to challenge us - who considers himself worthy of confronting our chief?"

Before Remus understood the full significance of these ceremonial questions, somewhat different from what Hecate had prepared him for, he sensed someone's breathing very close to his left temple, someone intruding his private space, and recognised Paul before hearing the husky voice.

"This fate is for me."

Staring intently at the two warriors, as if still giving a chance to the possibility that these were the ones meant to perform the opening scene for the battle, Remus heard the detached tone in his own reply. "You mean one of these initial duels Hecate talked about..."

Paul, however, explained calmly, "She doubted they'd come out with this tradition, and she certainly didn't presume he'd warp it by inviting an adversary for himself immediately. Now I understand: he implies there's nobody worthy of challenging his best warriors, only you worthy of him."

"So why do you say anything about yourself?"

The drums had resumed the dramatic beat, only to now, abruptly, fall silent. Glancing at the row of wands above the wall, Remus was surprised to see it getting thinner. The pair of young warriors, too, retreated without any further gestures, instead of remaining as attendants for their chief.

"He wants you; he's always wanted you. He didn't want me," Paul said with a mixture of bitterness, mischief and triumph in his voice. "And we are not giving him what he wants, are we?"

This argument - together with these sentiments - made Remus quickly choose this way out of facing Ice-Stare here in the open now, before Hecate had acted. Or had she perhaps just acted a moment ago, adjusting the timing on the basis of Ice-Stare's unexpected strategy? "He'll accept you?"

"He must, if you offer me - with your wand. And don't worry - you'll get it back: he can possibly accept me only under the condition that you'll take my place, if he should defeat me. In any case he'll be in a worse state after he's got to know again the man who used to be closer than a brother to him. This might be my last contribution to your cause, and I am grateful."

Remus had allowed the stubborn sensation of incompetence in his right hand make him move his wand to his left. And now once again Paul's intrepid grip claimed possession of the wand. They lifted it together, watching Ice-Stare stride out through the gate.

Ice-Stare with a hide around his shoulders to further emphasise his impressive carriage, and with a full grey beard, but with hardly enough hair to cover his ears. Remus hoped Paul had not forgotten the anecdote about the shearing charm. His fingers left the smooth wood to rest for a moment on Paul's arm, and he expected to share a grin as farewell.

But Paul was all focused on his old friend, with a faint, tender smile, almost like those Remus had seen directed at Nathan - yes, with an air of nostalgia and nothing short of admiration. "In the name of Remus Lupin and the creatures who have joined him, I am opening the battle against Ice-Stare," Paul declared, still turning his gaze momentarily back, towards the troops of the creatures, but evidently with his mind distracted from the phrases. "For survival, equality and peace!"

He started descending the steep slope in a determined stride. After only a couple of less sure steps he had no need to look at his feet so as to find a familiar path around the crevices. Indeed, this man was walking towards home after his exile of thirty-three years.

Ice-Stare started to march briskly forward, lifting his chin to an ever prouder angle so as to fix Remus with a stare, then turning his eyes back to the approaching opponent. His face hardly expressed any emotions caused by recognition, perhaps growing impatience. He and Paul met only a few yards from the foot of the slope and stopped to stand so close that they could have reached to touch each other's shoulders.

Both faces were hidden from Remus's view, and he could not hear any words uttered by either man. The tilt of Ice-stare's wand, partly visible above their heads, implied that they merely crossed their weapons. Then each turned ninety degrees to the right and walked... seven steps, then swirled around.

Ice-Stare was the first to choose a spell. He performed the incantation only in his mind or in a whisper. But Paul must have recognised the curse from the initial movement of the wand. He responded swiftly in an equally soundless - but to Remus unmistakable - Rafinarisma. A hot-white jet - no, an icy jet of light hardly got started on its way to hit Paul. It was splintered and turned upwards. In a moment it fell down in front of Ice-Stare, transformed into a dense veil of sparkling snowflakes.

"Our cub's pretty tricks!" Ice-Stare bellowed, brandishing his wand towards Remus, while the magic snowfall prevented him from aiming a new curse at Paul. There was some laughter in his voice, but it was mixed with irritation. "Too bad I've got no time to play with you."

"I gave up ages ago all hope of finding my old playmate in you." Paul strained his voice so as to go on and make it match Ice-Stare's, but he could not stop it from breaking from emotion, too. "That was just to show you... a part of who I am now. Still this, too..."

And he thrust the wand forward, twisting his wrist in the way Hecate had done at the moment when Remus had started his escape two months ago. The purple beam of the pack's stunning spell, Stupefactus, streaked towards his enemy.

Ice-Stare directed it back with a simple parry. "Well, it was nice to see you, as long as there was even that left of you. Goodbye, my sweet friend Swift-Tail!"

Paul merely dodged. He seemed tempted to prolong the fight, reluctant to give up the conversation. "Now you're giving that name back to me."

"Only for these seconds you've got left."

For a moment the two greyed werewolves stood quite still, gazing at each other, with their wand tips pointing down. Compared with Ice-Stare, Paul looked frail and sadly shabby, but no less proud. Perhaps they were measuring each other, trying to assess each other's strengths - perhaps committing to memory the sight of whom they had always missed in all their denial of it.

When Ice-Stare lifted his wand again, Remus thought he could see something akin to tenderness in the perfection of his threatening movements. Despite the urgency which he had not hidden earlier, and despite the disturbing noise - yes, muffled sounds of fighting from behind the embankment - which made those guarding the wall move about restlessly and further decrease in number, the chief now devoted himself to vanquishing his adversary according to the highest form of duelling art. He was voluntarily showing the respect he had denied him for years.

Another curse in the form of an icy lightning sped towards Paul. He seemed to deliberately allow it close while he completed more elaborate movements with Remus's wand than before. This could not possibly be a regular Rafinarisma spell... With the final thrust he visibly contacted Ice-Stare's magic and turned it into a swirling ball of brightness. Now he started to walk forward, pushing it on the tip of his wand.

Ice-Stare, too, took steps in the same rhythm towards his adversary - until his wand, as well, reached to touch the sphere of their combined magic. The sphere exploded into white arrows - icicles, which hit him to the ground.

Paul fell at the same time - not backwards, but on his knees so as to bend over Ice-Stare. He stretched out his hand to grab the icicle which had evidently penetrated Ice-Stare's chest. But Ice-Stare lifted his wand arm and managed to aim at Paul's head. The impact of the curse jerked the whole shabby figure back.

Ice-Stare struggled up to stand over Paul's collapsed body. His wand reached to almost touch the face and now with gentler kind of magic turned it slowly towards Remus - for him to see the open, empty eyes and the blood running between them.

The next abrupt spell picked up the wand Paul had dropped and sent it up the slope right towards its owner. Remus's left hand caught it. The residue magic in it brought a compelling sense of connection and erased the distance momentarily: he shared the urgency of Ice-Stare's challenge as well as the intensity of Paul's conflicting emotions at the time of his last breath.

There was no doubt anymore: Hecate must have started her revolt.

"You are right," Jenny said. "She declared it openly in front of Ice-Stare right after the announcement that he would enter the very first duel himself." She had slid closer to Remus like a shadow. "And our troops are ready." Now she tilted her head towards the small group next to her, indicating that she was speaking on everyone's behalf.

Bloody, Rose and Gumby had all approached Remus.

"Good. Follow our second scheme, starting as soon as I've engaged Ice-Stare in a duel: one fourth, and soon after, if needed, another fourth of each group over the embankment."

They could have attacked during the first duel, but it was no use regretting his slowness. Besides, the wall was now almost totally deserted. And, having got wounded, Ice-Stare might be less capable of sparing his attention to anyone but his immediate opponent. That depended on Remus himself, of course.

Descending the slope, he had to watch his steps, but he managed to notice that Ice-Stare was clutching his chest. By his next glance, however, all signs of weakness had disappeared - as well as all unnecessary gestures, driven away by pragmatism. Ice-Stare marched briskly to meet Remus, to meet his eyes, too, but the blankness of his face implied that any exchange of words would have been a waste of time. The sole function of the eye contact was a simple wordless confirmation of who they were to each other: opponents, one of whom had to die of the other's hand, and without delay.

Remus, too, was in a hurry - at least to get the duel started. He had to wonder why Ice-Stare found it necessary to first cross weapons. Ice-Stare tried, indeed, to do it as quickly as possible. His supple wand quivered in such an abrupt movement up and down again that Remus, too late in moving his wand from the - according to all tradition - wrong hand to the right one, missed it. This amused Remus - and obviously only him, whereas he now managed to provoke an expression, an irritated one, on Ice-Stare's face.

When Ice-Stare turned the ninety degrees and started his seven steps, Remus felt completely free to do anything else unconventional he regarded as important: at this moment to stride up to Paul's body, to kneel down briefly, to brush his hand in a caress across the face, closing the eyelids, and to unfasten his cloak so as to cover the body with it. Only after doing that did he stand up and, lifting his wand, turn to face his enemy.

Ice-Stare chose to ignore the breach of etiquette. He simply launched into the duel. And he cast a spell so quick and violent - that Remus spontaneously reacted not by using his wand but by dodging.

In his leap aside Remus found a young boy's agility. The same which had thrilled him towards the end of his first encounter with Ice-Stare. Could it be caused by the defiance against this werewolf's dominance as such? This time there had been no ointment shared yet, and no touch, apart from... Yes, the feel of Paul's cooling face still tingled on his left hand like fey power.

He moved the wand back to that hand - and responded to Ice-Stare's second spell before becoming fully aware of its nature, let alone its nuances, and nevertheless in the exact way he needed to. Perhaps for the first time ever his access to the non-human magic of need was contributing directly to his performance as an educated wizard.

A string of icicles now danced in a slowly rising spiral around Ice-Stare. Remus's spell had not refined their essence as daggers first emerged from Ice-Stare's curse, only the manner of their movement, so that they were not deadly weapons aimed straight at Ice-Stare. But in his impatience and rage Ice-Stare lashed them with his wand, disrupted their rhythm, and they did wound him.

Blood had already darkened the front of his robes, and now more stains appeared and spread on his sides and arms. Bleeding seemed to only increase his vigour. He sent curse after curse of the same type in a dense, frenzied sequence. And now he also dodged every time, so the charmed daggers found nothing to enclose in their circle, fell to the ground and melted promptly.

Indeed, Remus kept returning the curses in his exhilarating nimbleness. There was still not even a chance for him to choose an act of offensive of his own. But he knew that this hand was ready to break fully in practice his principle of peace and the one of pure defence as well. That would be his sacrifice, and he was eagerly anticipating its moment.

No questioning, no hesitation any longer. No reservation apart from refraining from the Unforgivable Curses. No self-respecting werewolf of this village, either, would resort to those - Hecate had enlightened Remus - instead of demonstrating his magic of individual, unique design.

Ice-Stare's demonstrations were getting too repetitive - and ineffective. Such an experienced chief certainly had more in store. Could Remus's uncanny quickness in deflecting the curses possibly make him fear trying anything worse?

And now it came, masterfully soon after, almost simultaneously with the previous spell. A sudden oppressive weight against Remus's wand, which had hardly stopped that last dagger curse yet, managing to turn it only upwards instead of back. The weight remained, as the left hand in all its responsiveness knew no nuances of need beyond not letting go.

Remus could only hold on fast, now with both hands, while looking straight into Ice-Stare's face along the line of their wands.

The face had paled due to loss of blood, but the features were surprisingly relaxed. And Ice-Stare's grip of the wand was light and seemingly effortless: he was balancing it on his almost open, blood-stained palm and between two straight fingers. A phenomenal trick with a wand of that length. And now Ice-Stare smiled as if fully enjoying the connection and the control of it. The wide row of teeth flashed...

And its light was switched off. A shadow fell over Ice-Stare, and he glanced up.

Remus was quick to choose his risk. This was how he took the chance to be the first and turn to his benefit whatever now - perhaps due to his latest, unsuccessful Rafinarisma - emerged above them. The risk: he relied on his weakened, branded hand to oppose alone against the power Ice-Stare was binding him with.

Yes, Remus thrust his left arm up. His left palm open to any change he needed.

This hand sensed the freezing whirlwind first, before he raised his eyes from Ice-Stare's face to see the gathering of dark clouds over their heads. He could not tell what was now his doing, what was Ice-Stare's - or whether those heavy masses had simply kept approaching from the east gradually without his noticing.

His conscious focus was still on the weight pressing at his wand. And he could still not comprehend what the evil will in it entailed. Perhaps his right hand could cope with it. Ice-Stare's strength was bound to start waning. But there was growing ache around his wrist - and now it echoed in his left shoulder.

No, this pain was not an echo, but worse. Not the worst pain he had known, but... what he had known only in his nightmare. Ice-Stair's cruellest, most intimate curse was succeeding: tearing Remus's bite wound open.

Through their wands Ice-Stare was reaching his first pain, and beyond it, reaching him as he could have received the gift. With the beauty of this wound tempting him, reminding him that Paul - Swift-Tail - with his fatal mistakes was gone. Inviting - no, ordering him to be one of the pack and more.

Guiding Remus to kill him and become a leader just like him. Or to die... But no, Ice-Stare was the one bleeding without bothering to try and stop it in time. Brilliant or mad?

And Ice-Stare fell - or was Remus just jerked up away from him? All he knew for sure: the connection was lost and a yearning for it surged through his body. But no, he was not close to fainting due to the bite; this was not about his mind escaping the spasm of pain. He was truly being carried away by the upward current in the centre of the vortex.

So rapidly that he perceived only cold, only darkness streaked with white lashes.

His left side crashed against the ground. The world was more than solid enough around him again, but changed. A napkin of snow had covered the rocks and the scarce growth of heather. He struggled to turn onto his back, and the low leaden clouds were pounding him with hail, mercifully taking a part of his attention away from the new bruises and the resurrected fatal wound. When lifting his right arm to protect his face he realised that he was still clutching his wand. That brought an absurd sense of security, while he trembled under the thundering, howling skies.

He focused on the sounds, also to try and figure out whether he could possibly be anywhere near the battle or at least near those troops of his which had stayed outside the village walls. And he heard - or he might have been imagining - someone call his name.

"Here," he breathed out too weakly. And he mustered only an intention to sit up before replying again. As soon as he moved the bent arm from his eyes, there was the familiar face framed by lank hair very close to him - and he could not escape the surreal feeling that he was reliving the moment of reliving hurtful encounters... but no, this time he did not mistake Jonah for Snape.

"I thought perhaps," Remus said as they shared a smile of relief, "the tornado took me far." Now, did he just need to stand up, perhaps get down the slope, and he would be back in the duel?

"It did. Very far. We followed Harry's bird. Miss Hedwig."

For another confused moment Remus was afraid that Harry had come and got involved in what was likely enough to turn into another massacre. But no, Hedwig must have come by herself, anticipating the full moon. He wanted to make sure. "Harry's not...?"

"No, only the bird. I saw her arrive just when the storm hit you and Ice-Stare. And before she set out after you, as I guessed, she circled above us. Asked the two of us to follow, or three. Or so I guessed, and we wanted to find you anyway."

Remus was on his right side now, trying to push himself up. "Two... or three?"

"Neville's dad is here, too."

Indeed, a tall figure emerged through what had now turned into dense snowfall. Frank was wearing a broad smile, and carrying something on his shoulder: a rolled-up carpet. "Come. The owl showed me a cave. Or something."

"What do we need..." Remus tried in vain to stretch out an arm for Jonah to grab so as to help him stand. "...a cave for?" He hardly mustered the rest of that phrase and gave up the intention to add that he just needed to get back to the battle as soon as possible.

Jonah got him on his feet. So close to him, Remus did not - in all his considerable effort to remain standing - completely miss Jonah's sudden anxiety. The boy held back a gasp by biting his lip, and the direction of his gaze made Remus glance at his left shoulder.

His robes were torn and revealed a profusely bleeding wound where during the duel he had only felt anew the touch of the teeth. So the injury was real - not just an image evoked in his mind by the curse. Perhaps it was only or partly caused by his fall against the rocks, as it was not compellingly beautiful anymore but rather harshly cut. And serious enough to make him unable to apparate.

Jonah hesitated, obviously wondering whether it should be tended right where they were. "No... perhaps it's crazy but I think Miss Hedwig knows what you need. Let's try to get you into shelter first."

Perhaps not so crazy, but quite natural for anybody to conclude. It was freezing cold.

Remus trudged through the snow, clinging to Jonah's arm. His shoes slipped and he tripped on hidden rocks. The gusts of wind whirled icy flakes across his vision, so that Frank's figure in front of him grew more blurred and slightly less blurred in turn, as if his eyesight had deteriorated back to the frightening level in the days before Peter had shown himself.

The pain in his wound was turning unreal again. When the cold pierced him and he simply kept moving, the reality of his body was left transparent and light, since carrying its weight would have been unbearable. He knew the sensation well enough to be aware of it now, on the verge of unconsciousness. At the same time he was struck by the return of another pain once turned sweet, acknowledged as his only treasure. In all those years he had never ceased to remind himself - every day, every hour, it had seemed at times - that Sirius had stopped loving him and killed their friends, because this meant he would not lose the memory of how he had first been loved. And now Dumbledore's hurtful way of letting him hear what had been regarded as the truth back then was distorted in his mind more blatantly than ever, as tender, caring words. Perhaps through the same magic which had turned the bite into a compelling invitation, and which was blinding him, leaving him with an urge to revel in sweet pain.

Finally his body was in rest and he could focus on what was here around him. There was a piece of roof over his head: a narrow jut of stone, at which his eyes were bound to be fixed as he was lying on his back. He turned his head a bit to see the veil of dizzying swirls. It was still near and kept reaching him. Under his right palm there was the smooth wood of his wand, and his fingers were spread on something fuzzy and warm. Yes, this was one of his favourites among painful sensations: the return of feeling to numb hands. He shifted his body cautiously and it obeyed, curling up in a foetus position on the right side. His cheek remembered the comforting touch of Brunnhilde's carpet sliding above the Sahara, and of Omar's, also when spread on stony ground almost as hard as this. The beauty of the painful moment when he learnt that Sirius was alive and free, albeit a traitor and murderer, now also inevitably insane.

The sacred beauty of his first wound - and now someone poking at its edges, turning it back into an aching injury.

"Be careful, don't make it start bleeding again!" Jonah, now bending or kneeling down behind him, was telling him not to move like that, or talking to someone else, who had touched the wound.

"Must close it." Frank's voice was right next to his ear.

But when he turned his eyes away from the carpet, the face he saw first and very close to his was Peter's. Despite the dim lighting, the features were comfortingly clear, albeit devoid of the new blemishes - the puckers under the eyes and the couple of deep vertical lines between the brows. And for a moment he found in this presence such a simple solace, as if Peter had still been the sincere mate, eager to earn appreciation.

Peter was evidently the only one now who showed concern for his feelings - who fixed eyes compassionately at his, not at his shoulder.

"How are you doing?" Peter asked, and the voice turned him into what was left of Remus's old mate, bringing a part of the harsh world back.

It was the same voice which had begged for understanding, presented an embellished story, never apologised. And any difference from the others to Peter's advantage in the nature of caring was based on how repulsive he found the sight of blood.

Or perhaps on curiosity, too, as Peter asked, "Tell me... I heard you mutter something in delirium. 'Too much to accept... dear boy... when we have loved... check if any mistake, misunderstanding...'"

No, Remus had needed that compassion fifteen years ago, and he did not want Peter's voice to deprive him of it by making him hear Dumbledore's real, harsh voice in his mind. He did not want to talk about that moment to Peter, revealing the real words behind the contrived memory. He closed his eyes.

He awoke to the sensation that one of the bodies pressed tightly against his had stirred. Without opening his eyes quite yet, he revelled in the solidity of the companionship, in the bliss of the warmth shared, secured and enhanced by sharing, while the cold was creeping up along his feet and from above where a weight, probably an arm, had been shifted from over his. The fabric covering him was now weightless, whereas his body, motionless, was far from that. It also had been opened up: the chill entering through the wound could reach deep into him, where there was a new emptiness. Yes, he knew that at the end of the stormy night the pregnant moon had only flashed its light upon him and now set to leave him at the darkest hour with a more intense longing.

"Remus." With a cautious whisper Jonah, behind him, chest and face against his back, was testing whether he was awake.

He opened his eyes reluctantly to see, under the edge of the stone roof, a stretch of desert sky sprinkled with stars clear enough despite the pale light of dawn. At the moment this view was desolate to him. He pressed his face against the fluff of the carpet - and was now startled by the warmth it evidently emitted.

"Why are we still here?" he muttered irritably, but without quite giving up yet his pleasure in the faint spice odours, which reminded him of a travelling companion's private little vehicle from Zanzibar. "Since we've got a flying carpet, we can fly back at the latest now when the sky is clear." The muscles in his throat contracted, making it hard for him to breathe, when he thought of a sweet return to where Ice-Stare had fallen and might still be waiting for him.

"This carpet doesn't fly no more. I don't know what's wrong with it."

"Malaka!" Remus's swearing came out in Greek.

He wanted to pull out his wand and - in case he, too, failed to make the flying charms work - stab it at the carpet, which obviously was not a complete fake like Mundungus's, but stubbornly refused to help him join whom he longed for. And now - his arm did not obey. He was unable to even try anything.

"Please don't try to move that hand. I'm sorry but my healing magic hasn't worked either. Perhaps, now that you've rested, you can try and close the wound yourself. I've heard you're good at that."

Glancing at his shoulder, from which Jonah cautiously removed the corner of a cloak, did not help. "I can't," Remus said. "I can't help wanting too badly to keep it open."

"What is this?" Peter rolled around, turning towards him, pressing so close that there was no longer any space for him to rest his cheek on the carpet. He, too, must have been there all the time, his body limiting the view out to the wilderness: the back in front of Remus, the buttocks against his thighs. Once again Peter had been ignored, as if he was invisible, but now he demanded attention and an answer. "What? Is it some magic in this wound? That makes you say crazy things... about love?"

"Whatever it is, perhaps you can break the whole enchantment. Nothing will stay sweet if I discuss it with you." Remus blurted that out spontaneously and hardly managed to think about what he truly wanted. Peter's voice stabbed him with the demands of reality and urged him to try his best and regain the control of his will.

"You must close it. Like this you can't walk." That was Frank, stepping in under the jut. He huddled behind Peter. "Still frost. The sky's all clear. The day can be warm enough."

"Yes, when the sun's up and you've healed the wound, we can try to get back by walking. I don't understand this, but perhaps talk to this Animagus friend first, if you think it can help." Jonah had bent closer over Remus and eyed Peter suspiciously. He was probably confused due to the tone in their exchange and more due to this strange man's emergence - perhaps only after they had left the others, following Hedwig.

Peter's face was now so near, right opposite to Remus's, that the features were out of focus. "I've read what you wrote to Harry - everything up to the day after we babysat him together... when they went hiding and you were sent to Cornwall."

"I wanted you to read it. You needed it - so as to want to be seen and to have your story heard." Remus closed his eyes, but did not escape the sensation that the two of them were feeding each other with these words in the hags' manner of whispering into each other's mouths.

"And now you need to go on and tell me... no longer hide how it really was for you after."

A cold weight settled on Remus right palm, which was resting open next to his head. He managed to move his other hand over it to confirm: it was Peter's silver fingers. A warm hand covered Remus's left hand in turn.

"Cornwall," he said. "From Cornwall I was summoned back to join celebrations: the war was over, we were told."

Now he was restless again, unwilling to stay. He expected no compassion. No, he didn't know yet he'd need any. He was just eager to leave... this office, this man sitting behind his imposing desk who would not order him and his friends around anymore.

"I want to get to my friends to celebrate with them. How can Dumbledore actually have the time for talking to someone like me at a moment like this?

"'I was not wrong about the special role of a child,' he says. 'I assume you are happy and proud to hear that Harry Potter has defeated Voldemort. Quite miraculously, everyone says. But I was not so surprised, due to my insight into prophecies... His brave parents, however... Accept my condolences.'

"He's not saying that James... and Lily... I don't want to hear that. I don't want him to see the tears, and I cover my face with my hands, but I can see... James shakes his head and snorts at me. Or James sits down beside me, and with an arm around my shoulders he says, 'Remus is not allowed to tell you. So I'm going to do it... to introduce to you... our resident werewolf!' Or Sirius slaps him on the head. Now, again, Sirius has lost a brother, and I must be there for him. I want to go home.

"But he keeps talking, Dumbledore. 'You know we can still not be sure if someone else among you was in league with the traitor who has now been caught. But I can make the ministry ignore you - while I admit you have been one of my main suspects. I can take the responsibility, as you will continue to be under control within the beastiology experiment. And an individual like you can hardly be too much of a threat on its... his own.'

"'I want to go home,' I manage to say aloud.

"'You want... You must understand that in these circumstances you can't possibly go back at all. I've been to the flat and picked up the Potions book. I assume you have an exam ahead, and this book belongs to your college library, doesn't it? Unfortunately this is all I could bring for you. You understand that someone like you cannot claim to own anything, and you had better not draw attention to the fact that you have lived with the murderer. Everything else in the flat has already been destroyed as the murderer's personalty.'

"He is not saying...

"'You must have already heard it. I know it can be too much to accept as true. Even I am still astonished that Sirius Black did it. We never suspected him. That's why I had nothing against the choice of him as their Secret Keeper. But we must face the fact that it was a mistake to trust him - that he did betray them, and he killed Peter, too, and twelve Muggles with him. But you have nothing to fear. He's been locked up in Azkaban.'

"This... must be like when I killed Snape. It didn't happen. Some mistake. No, I'm not hearing this. I'm not replying to this, just... 'I want to go...' I say.

"'Where are you going?'

"I don't know how much time has passed - or if time has stopped. But now I hear him say again, 'Where?'

"Why does he insist? Who cares. I'm at the door, holding myself upright somehow, but he's still stopping me. I must give an answer to get away. 'Where... I used to live.'

"Someone on the other side grabs my arm.

"'Before you moved in with Black? Alastor here will see that you get there. And get settled there. I'll see what we can do about the scholarship... Of course, you can always come to me, if there is anything you need.'

"No, there isn't anything."

Remus opened his eyes and stared at their clasped hands. That was what the reality had been; this: what it was now. He had hardly shown his resentment of Dumbledore when he had been invited to serve at Hogwarts, then in the Order again; after he had learnt about Peter's guilt, he had not mustered any genuine, lasting urge for revenge. Had he forgiven Peter too easily? Peter was not likely to ever apologise. But at least he had now made Peter hear his initial anguish in its immediacy. He had claimed the right to be heard, and now he spilled out the rest of that memory.

"There was nothing," he repeated.

"I must have gone to the library. The exam... Then I walked... I walked until I found myself under the birch trees, approaching the entrance to our building, under our balcony. Then I walked away and... I must have found my way back to the room in the stinky renthouse, as I was huddled on a mattress and I slept.

"Again and again I fell deeper asleep instead of getting up, instead of bothering to try to get anything to eat. I didn't keep waking up - no, I could never wake up from the nightmare. It was there every time, I was sure, as I was still not in his bed, or on the couch, gazing at the birches through the glass or on my canvas."

And now he was suddenly enraged by how he had shared something so intimate: tainted such a detail of the wound in his heart which no one would understand in any case - referred to that painting the loss of which had completed his bereavement. He moved abruptly, wrenching his hands free, and managed to sit up before he sensed the warmth of the blood gushing out and down his arm.

Jonah was right there, supporting him, ready with a wand - no, two, and Remus grabbed his as soon as it was offered to him. Without any delay he worded - only in his mind - the spell to stem the bleeding. And again, as he had not directed, let alone stirred the wand properly. Now it worked, just in time before the effort and the loss of blood caused his clarity of mind to fail him.

Only now could he afford to become aware of the increased pain, and he reassured himself that it was mere dull pulsing ache. He braced himself, for a brief moment resting on his chest the fist which held the wand.

Focusing on where sharp stones had torn his flesh and caused the only new, real wound, he spotted the ragged line of the old scar alongside it. Nothing could remove that scar, and he no longer wished otherwise. Swift-Tail had decisively turned the course of his life with the original bite - and now recently together with others contributed to his new understanding of who he wanted to be. He did not let Ice-Stare's magic change his will further. His only urge was to return and join the battle against Umbridge.

And only now did it strike him that he was late - most probably he was fatefully late. How could it have slipped his mind that Umbridge was to attack at sunset, and that he had ended up spending the whole of the evening and the night here? Perhaps it was all over now and he could only hope that he had truly not been needed, in the end. But in case there was still something he could do, there was no time to waste, and he had to heal himself promptly the best he could.

For the benefit of his friends and allies, yes, he was able to do it: willingly distracting himself from his personal losses and hardships, he summoned all the feeling of compassion in its depth and scope. "Regenerasco," he pronounced carefully while moving the wand tip quickly along the wound and back again.

To keep the wand immobile while waiting for the regeneration of skin and flesh was the hardest part. This could not happen instantaneously, not on his level of skill, and still it was so quick that the pain surged through him and threatened to make him shake. Now he would have direly needed to be able to rely on his right wrist, and he could not. A new pang of pain seized it - but this was a firm grip to help him hold the hand steady. Glancing away from his almost completed work, he saw the silver fingers clasped around his wrist.

***

"She could have been more helpful, too," Peter said. "Could have brought someone to pick us up on another carpet." He squinted at the white figure high on the bright noon sky.

Hedwig was guiding them in a direction which also felt right for Remus. The landscape south or west of the village would have been more familiar to him, and after the wind had brought the clouds approximately from the east, it seemed reasonable to now go south-east from here in search for the battle. However, finding their way would have been very unsure without Hedwig's help.

In any case it was frustrating - albeit better than inactivity - to be making slow progress by foot when they did not even know how far they still had to go. Most of the snow had already melted, but the uneven ground was still wet and slippery. What an unfortunate band they were: while Jonah had not learnt to apparate, each of the others was more or less permanently in either no physical or no mental state to do it.

Frank's condition had miraculously improved, though. His behaviour and scarce words were now usually logical. Glancing up at his serene face, Remus could not immediately figure out how fully present his mind was at the moment. He still often appeared as detached from people near him, even so much detached from his own physical self, too, that he could not control several complex acts at the same time. But he was, indeed, striding at least as surely as Jonah or Peter, and also balancing the rolled-up carpet on his shoulder without any visible difficulty - until, without a warning, he let it slide down and stopped.

"No longer hot," he said.

"What?" Jonah had bumped into him and now sounded exasperated.

"The carpet."

"And we, instead... we've warmed up. Perhaps..." Remus fell on his knees and pushed the roll open. "Of course."

Those winter nights in the desert with Brunnhilde, later with Omar, when the temperature had dropped well below ten degrees... And the crazy solstice morning on Sirius's balcony, back in 1978, when Lily's old carpet uncannily kept them warm. Why had he not remembered that immediately? In cold weather the magic in all these carpets was supposed to change from movement into emission of warmth, so as to offer comfortable camping instead of freezing travel. No other carpet either could have worked long enough to take them away in the snow storm.

Now the fringe curled under Remus's fingers. He continued to caress it, and the carpet rippled and rose a few inches above the ground.

"Men aboard!" Hilarity entered his voice from his hopeful, responsible and reckless anticipation of battle - from his bold intention to vanquish his enemies at the last moment before a glorious change into what, too, he truly was.

***

The towers of the barbican glowed bright ochre for a moment again and were then hidden behind another cloud of black smoke. Remus could still not see anyone else here, right outside the gate, where Hedwig had guided the small band to land and where they had now waited for a moment, standing on the carpet.

Her warm weight startled him as she now came to perch on his left shoulder, pressing the softness of her feathers against his neck and ear. Or perhaps he was more startled by the realisation that he had not missed her closeness. He had known about her presence since his friends had found him, but he had not questioned the natural distance: she had flown apart from them as a scout and a guide, while he had been able to receive comfort in solid form from humans. Her momentary respite now in this intimate contact with him served to inform him that his shoulder was completely healed: its sensitiveness to touch did not feel like a weakness, on the contrary. Besides, she was bidding him farewell. Despite the imminence of the once cruel moonrise, neither of them anticipated any crucial bond between the two of them - ever again.

The longing for true connection was mixed with the ache in his bones. The ache's distance from his skin told him that he still had a few hours to wait. But he caught his heart beating faster as soon as he and his small band had descended among the smoke clouds, which hid the light of the early evening sky. The restless illumination from flashing flames reminded him of the bonfire he had left behind in this village two months earlier, and he was eager to enter.

But this fire, now painting only the upper part of the fortifications, had withdrawn somewhere far off - close to the horizon - after ravishing the lands around the village. The remains of the grass and heather and stunted trees still smoked. It was hard to conclude how much of the cloud derived from behind the walls. At least the outer wooden gate had been demolished, and Remus had just started to stride forward to have a closer look, when a figure of a faun emerged abruptly in front of him.

At that moment Hedwig shook his balance by launching into a flight - up against the darkness, and lit into a phoenix's glory. When he lowered his eyes to the gloom again, he found it in Peck's face, too.

"Umbridge arrived late." Peck went straight to the point, and his voice was uncharacteristically toneless. "Now these heliopaths of hers have retreated into a semicircle over there, but it looks like they still feel like attacking. They're just close enough for our sentries up on the walls to see the flames rising from under their hooves every now and then. Or rather your sentries. Hecate has ordered the non-wolves out of the village."

Remus tried to focus on what needed to be asked first. "Did Umbridge's army get in?"

"No. We doubt she has seriously tried to succeed yet. She was probably happy to let some of her enemies kill each other off for her. The fire destroyed only this gate. The curved corridor leading to the inner gate is too low and narrow for anything twice as massive as a thestral. And that gate is secured by some ingenious magic. As long as she's relied on heliopaths and unskilled wizards, there's been no real peril in the village - apart from Ice-Stare's faithful warriors."

"Hecate said they would not be too many."

She had explained to Remus that this was the simple basis for her revolt. The majority, almost everyone wanted a new rule, or rather a return to the old ways which Iron-Fang had started changing. Ice-Stare's ambition for werewolves' dominion over all other creatures had fascinated his people at first, but his failure two months ago had made them turn against him. What Bloodhead's envoy had told them about Norwegian werewolves had also reminded them of how their own pack had lived a few decades ago: they did not need to strengthen themselves by biting outsiders. Above all, the masses were quick to admire the solitary werewolf who had beaten their leader.

"You mean werewolves we needed to defeat? No, perhaps twenty, in the end. But they sent curses out of the buildings where they retreated, and they had children with them. We were not needed in big numbers. But some in the first fourth used their various skills, taking those werewolves unawares."

"And... Ice-Stare?"

"He hasn't returned to the village."

"And have you found Arthur Weasley?"

As Peck shook his head, Remus did not manage to limit his reaction to disappointment and concern for Arthur. The hostage was obviously still hidden behind the magic of Ice-Stare's mind, and this meant that Ice-Stare was still alive, therefore somewhere waiting for his peer to continue the duel.

"We who are left out here are ready to attack Umbridge's army. Do you want to lead us?"

"Yes, certainly." Remus heard a disturbingly light, absentminded tone in his own reply. He had to still set aside the desires for close contact with anyone of his kind, not to mention renewed connection with Ice-Stare. "I trust she'll be eager enough to confront us as soon as she learns that I am here." Yes, particularly when it was close enough to moonrise for her to calculate that a werewolf antagonist was severely weakened by the impending change.

"That's what Gumby said, assuring us as early as in the morning that you were almost ready for the battle. And Rose declared we must wait and ask you, instead of following Hecate's advice and hiding for safety in the mountains, or simply leaving - each of us according to the individual ability."

If those who had seen the heliopaths' fire were determined to fight, Remus wanted to cling to the hope that their combined powers could offer adequate resistance. "We can't afford more delays. Let's simply make a move. In the frontline all those creatures who can muster any magical control over fire..."

Peck raised his arm, beckoning, and Remus turned to see his troops emerge in two rows on the same summit where he had left them before the duel.

"That's how we've already arranged the troops, making sure that everyone in the first row can also move magically half-way towards the enemy line in no time." Peck pointed to the south. "That direction - where the highest flames have been spotted."

This was in accordance with their original strategy: they would appear suddenly so much closer to the enemy and provoke an attack, and they would respond in their ingenious, trained defensive magic - vital and justified, thus invincible, as they had to believe it would be. There was no need or time for speeches or orders. Remus merely lifted his wand in a greeting.

The row of goblins, half-goblins, hags, some humans and elves had stopped only a couple of yards in front of him. As if his heart, in turn, had lost its ability to see, he found himself numb to their individual identities. Perhaps it was necessary not to let himself stop and feel how much he cared - or rather how much he risked when taking them to battle. In his mind he saw clearly Umbridge alone, her self-satisfied smirk - Umbridge, who had threatened them all, and denied them their rights to existence. Yes, this is how he cared for their future: by ignoring any individual's safety at the moment, and focusing on Umbridge. By allowing them to face the peril they had chosen. And he had learnt not to undermine his friends and allies' competence.

Remus himself, of course, now needed the carpet so as to move to the frontline, and he turned and strode back and over the curling fringes, determined to fly it alone.

"No, I need a ride, too." Thisby was approaching him.

This time she was not there too close to him in an instant. She was approaching step by slow step, in the way he had once watched her stagger towards the stage. In the gloom there was a faint glow to be seen around her, but due to his mother's fine cloak very little of her skin was visible, unlike that first time she had performed in front of him, and her face was rather ashen than shiny.

"No," Peck started in an uncharacteristic frenzy - to finish in a low voice, standing still, as if in resignation, "not you, too."

"Not all of me's going to disappear from this life. But you, sweet boy..." She was now caressing Jonah's face. He turned his head so as to kiss her fingers, then quickly fell on his knees, grabbing her hips and pulling her closer to himself, onto the carpet. And right after that he stretched out his arm to run his wand along the carpet's edge.

Only when the carpet rose did Remus have the chance to pay attention to Frank, who had remained on it, too, and was pressing his cupped hands close to his heart.

***

The horizon was ablaze. But while the wall of fire grew higher, it did not draw closer. Instead, in front of it, in sharp contrast, the black figures of the rearing beasts became ever clearer and larger.

Frank had obeyed Remus's order to retreat a bit, so as to take care of the carpet, ready to use it for rescuing at least some of the wounded on it. Both Thisby and Jonah, instead, followed Remus as far ahead as where his allies were emerging, some quietly, some with cracks, and some with flashes of light.

The heliopaths were bound to sense their arrival. Not even Lovegood - father any more than daughter - had ever claimed to know much about these creatures' behaviour, or even looks, beyond the ambiguous notion of fieriness. Now there was approaching a row of more than fifty of them: shapes of astonishing darkness.

They dashed forward, then rose on their hind legs and in unison slammed their front hooves sharply against the ground, striking sparks, before advancing again. While no new major fire erupted, the momentary flashes illuminated their heads, revealing more details every time. The sparks reflected in their slanted eyes and painted red the curly hairs of the manes around the grimacing faces.

After a few more leaps up and forward, having just arrived within the reach of wand magic, the beasts all bent their heads close to the shower of sparks. In the restless lighting their facial expressions were so captivating that Remus caught himself trying to interpret them. Yes, the frowns and tilts of the heads were startlingly human... no, actually half-human. That observation led him to a crazy hope: the heliopaths might sense their enemies' half-humanity and still decide against attacking.

No, he was a fool, indeed, to still dream of avoiding violence. In any case, as blood was pounding in his ears, time seemed to slow down. The smoke was driven aside and the heavy layer of clouds cracked open. Weak beams of sunlight from the western sky met the fire, and every snout turned momentarily in that direction.

These wild and noble creatures certainly had interests of their own. Could they possibly be under Umbridge's control?

The thought of her made Remus divert his eyes from the fascinating faces - to finally register what had come to view above the bent necks. On every heliopath's back, clutching its mane, was a human rider.

And these riders were certainly not in full - if any - control of the beasts. One man pointed his wand forward, in odd stubbornness keeping his back and arm straight just at the moment when the heliopath's movements would have naturally made him seek new balance. And the woman next to him acted in exact unison with him. As far as Remus could see, all the other riders did, too. Themselves, as a group, they were tied to Umbridge's will - probably by an Imperius Curse.

These men and women, like the recruits Remus had watched die in the denied neighbourhood, waved the wands to cast their spells without particular targets. He raised his wand even before he could hear the chorused incantation, and he knew that his troops were prepared for defence, as well.

"Sectumsempra!"

"Rafinarisma!" His spell could affect only the recruit directly in front of him. He deflected the violent magic, refining it with the best intentions he could muster.

Perhaps too good ones, he assessed momentarily when becoming aware of how he toughened the man's skin, making it invulnerable, protecting it fully against any stray gashing hexes. But no, the man could no longer move his limbs at all. The disabling side-effect, inherent in every Rafinarisma, now caused the rider to fall off and remain trampled under the beasts' hooves.

Remus lost sight of him. And he just had to keep on deflecting curses without full awareness of what his intentions were, let alone what harm he was causing.

The riders directed their spells as straight forward as they could while the heliopaths were making unpredictable moves under them. Remus aimed at wand tips, but also started moving sideways to get in the path of new curses.

The heliopaths approached slowly, now treading the ground gently with their front legs and swaying their necks, tilting their heads, giving the air of curiosity and fascination - but thumping hard with hind hooves. Every time those heavier hooves hit the ground, sparks grew into flames behind them. The beasts threatened their riders a lot more severely than their enemy - with whom they seemed to be flirting.

At Remus's side Jonah had started with what he mastered: the basic Expelliarmus. But now those incantations could no longer be heard. Remus was hardly able to spare a glance to check that the boy had not fallen down wounded. No, there was no sign of him.

The power of the part-humans and non-humans was quiet. Instead of audible sounds, it swirled in restless waves of translucent colour around Remus. Was it a hallucination or did some of that magic push the human enemies back and some of it tempt the heliopaths forward? While falling into an almost clumsy monotony of repeating his defence, he was enthralled by the variety in that incomprehensible power - or rather by what little he managed to perceive of it. He could only trust that the fey magic would accomplish what it was meant to, even though his stumbling presence might disturb it.

Here was Thisby, suddenly in front of him. Not fully facing the enemy, unlike the hags next to her, not stretching her arms towards the row of heliopaths. No, twisting her slender body in a peculiar dance.

Her luminous hair now glowed in a shade of green. Reflecting Unforgivable Curses? Or was she emitting this light? And was it destructive? No, how could it be? Its flow from her lit up a path of spring with scent of young leaves warmed by the sun. And it enchanted the heliopaths opposite to her. They had already leapt closer, so close that Remus could see their nostrils widen.

But he did not see soon enough the wand directed at her. Red spurted over her, and she fell like a tree dressed in the brown of withered leaves.

The heat hit Remus as he was repeating his defence spell once more just in case. The line of fire was reaching them, and his first fear was that what now looked like a heap of dry leaves would erupt into flames. He simply raised his left palm towards the approaching heliopaths. Did he truly sense or only dream a connection to the hags' and goblins' magic of fire?

He was about to pocket his wand so as to join fully in their power - when the beast closest to him stopped and stared straight into his eyes. It had no rider on its back, but instead of a wand, its braid-like tail lifted and swayed. Was it a sign - and perhaps to someone else, too? Remus responded by lifting his wand, and the braid opened into several strands. They formed a fan and kept moving in a soothing rhythm. Or had he lost his mind? It had to be meant as a menace.

Then the heliopath stepped aside and the wall of fire behind it parted as well. Another beast was galloping through. This one, too, had raised and unbraided its tail, but the fan of it was imperfect, as some of the strands were wrapped around a human rider. No, a half-goblin rider - Dolores Umbridge!

Remus and his nemesis would be closed alone in the circle of flames. He could only spare a last thought for his friends and allies, trusting that they were either retreating or easily defeating what - besides these animals gathering around the two of them - was left of the ridiculously non-functional troops.

Perhaps the short scream which Remus had heard a moment earlier had echoed from somewhere else. Umbridge was squeezing her wide mouth shut tight, just as she was pressing her short, bare legs against either side of the heliopath's neck. The heels of her stilettos were directed towards her enemy like knights' lances, so perhaps the position, albeit unbecoming, had been chosen for a purpose. And the strands of tail obviously served her by making it easier for her to stay mounted.

Indeed, when the heliopath came to a sudden halt a few yards in front of Remus and loosened the binding, Umbridge slid down. She would have ended up head first to the ground, had the beast not knelt for a moment.

Having pulled the hem of her robes down, she struggled to stand straight, seeking support against the heliopath's legs. She actually slapped the beast when placing her hand on its thigh. But this did not hide the trembling of her hands.

"You must have been..." she said slowly, as if trying to sound calmly menacing - in her sweet manner, of course - while she was also still catching her breath, "waiting to see me, Jaws Lupin." She cocked her head to one side, then to the other.

The heliopath made a half-hearted, perhaps an impish attempt at rising on its hind legs, and the front hooves struck a shower of sparks. While she managed to keep her balance and stay standing, Umbridge lost a big part of her remaining calm. She was now visibly trembling all over.

"Silly animal, now no more moves I haven't ordered!" Her voice was even higher than usual.

Remus found it surprisingly easy to breathe. A circle of heliopaths around them was fanning with their tails, driving the smoke away. But the flames were threateningly near, and he hoped Umbridge would not realise that. At the moment when she would admit to herself that she was scared of the fire - if not of the creatures which were quite possibly the ones truly in control of the situation - she would simply disapparate.

"Yes," he said sincerely, "I've longed for this opportunity." So as not to waste time, he brandished his wand while talking, and signalled a suggestion by lifting his eyebrows.

But Umbridge did not seem to notice. She had taken a step aside from the heliopath and started twirling her wand in both hands. "I'm sure you want to ask me, so as to learn the truth about what I have done. Quite wise, after basing those ridiculous theatre shows on rumours."

Remus could not repress a sigh, and he took a step towards her with his wand now pointed at her.

But she simpered. "No, you won't - I know." She was sure he would always limit himself to defence. "Instead, I never hesitate. I am ready to sacrifice anything for the greater good, even to compromise the beauty and harmony I've built up around me in my private life. I can do the dirty work myself, and I can bear the picture of me with all its details as I alone can see it: myself doing ugly things which needed to be done. My integrity is intact and better than ever on another level. I have taken crucial steps to save what is valuable in the magical world. The most important measures are not ordered with Minister Fudge's confirming signature, or recorded in any official documents. These goals would never be achieved without me: getting all resources in the full control of magical people who are worth it; getting rid of useless, potentially harmful groups; getting rid of fools who protect them. I wanted to deal with you myself, as I did with Bones, and I wanted to first offer to you all the details about that necessary and genius deed. But these animals here are more co-operative than some sub-humans. They don't need to be framed. They can really do it, so I'd rather hurry off, as I'm irreplaceable in other tasks, serving the wizarding world. It was good to see you at this moment in any case..."

"Petrificus Totalus!" Nothing worse than that, but he was startled by the bad intention channelled in his voice.

Good intention, too. There was the necessity to stop her from disapparating, from getting out of here - and continuing to serve her greater good.

Completely rigid, she swayed on the spot for a brief moment, then fell on her back - slowed down by the tail, which the heliopath had extended towards her just in time. And he caught himself maliciously rejoicing in how she would be forced to see what would follow. Yes, this was why he had chosen not to stun her: so that she would have a cruel end. Or would she be saved by the creature she at least wanted to believe she controlled?

The heliopath met Remus's gaze, blinked and then lifted its head. The golden glow in its mane was fading.

Remus glanced all around. The circle of fire was low, dying. Instead, the tips of the raised tails were catching another dying light from the west. Slowly, quietly, all the heliopaths started moving in that direction.

The beasts walked carefully around Remus, some coming very near to either greet him with a nod or to brush their furry sides against his shoulders. Their closeness was warm and reassuring. He found himself shivering and aching, and nauseated while he was not sure if he kept truly seeing glimpses of Umbridge's body, even of her open, terrified eyes, through the passing herd, or if he was conjuring the images. Images of hooves treading on her, striking sparks...

The herd grew less dense and now allowed him a full view. Indeed, he was relieved to know for sure that she had not escaped, and he stared in calm satisfaction at the dark pool of blood next to her chest. And as another heliopath stepped on her, bright flames erupted. The roar of the brief and intense fire filled his ears, and he was taken unawares by the sight of someone who had leapt down from the heliopath's back.

In a moment Ice-Stare's wand was whipping the ashes that remained of Umbridge. Then he turned a beaming face to Remus and gestured towards the departing beasts, which had left the two of them alone, yes, completely alone, since there was no sign of Remus's troops. "Stallions of the sun, they escape to the west," he said in a solemn voice, but grinning, "when we, bound to the sister, Selene, rejoice in her arrival in full glory." He spread his arms, as if for an embrace.

Or perhaps it was for balance. He started a staggering walk forward.

In the receding light his face glowed white. A breeze rose - soothingly cold against Remus's neck and through his robes, too, and he realised that a pain was burning somewhere close to his skin. And the breeze opened Ice-Stare's robes where the fabric had been cut down his chest, revealing bandages just as white as his face, but white only on the edges - while mostly smeared dark. Startled by the enchantment in the smell of blood, Remus moved to meet him, to save him the last painful steps.

At that moment Ice-Stare pointed the wand at him. Unable to wish anything worse or better for Ice-Stare, Remus chose to simply return the silent spell, whatever it was. And he was quick enough: he felt no effect on himself, whereas Ice-Stare...

Naked, covered in freely running blood, with his robes and bandages ripped off and fallen at his feet, he took one more faltering step towards Remus, and managed to wave his wand once more. Instead of attempting any defence, this time, Remus rushed forward and caught him against his chest.

And just when darkness fell Remus found himself naked as well, with the tall and once strong, now mortally wounded body pressed against his. In this closeness there was no space left for his pain.

The moon rose. He received its blessing willingly. His skin welcomed the shared softness of fur. His face in its radical change found solace and recognition, resting on a shoulder which changed as well. His limbs grew strong and eager, and standing firmly on his hind legs, he squeezed his companion with his paws, then fell down over him.

His mind was not closed by the concern, but for these moments it was fully focused on this contact. He heard the weak breathing and he felt the feebleness of the wounded body, which had not managed to acquire any of its canine strength. He tasted the blood, licking one of the wounds slowly, resignedly, until the irregular, warm current of air stopped tickling his ears, and the heart under his head became completely still.

Without looking down, he got up and walked aside. His snout turned towards the silver disk now fully visible on the horizon and he howled in honour of the death and in praise of the glory of the change the two of them had shared. Ready to explore the night and to search for others with whom to share it, he glanced back at the body.

Ice-Stare's empty eyes stared at him from the pale face framed by the grey beard and short hair. The whole human body was back, its wounds revealed more horrendously than before, but those meant nothing now. And no, this change back was not upsetting. Startling, yes, a surprise - but a reassuring one. Ice-Stare's humanity. He did not stop to ponder it. Perhaps for a moment to register the human scent, but that made no difference, either.

He started to the north, towards the village. Yes, he could remember everything, but without complex worries, he now focused on what would contribute to happiness at the moment. His pack within the walls.

His other friends and allies were nowhere near to be heard or smelled or seen, except... The sight of the carpet spread on the ground made his heart leap. The carpet could fly a wolf, too, over any fortifications. At least with help from...

His nostrils caught the scent of the familiar rat, who was finally again right there: first invisible, now silver-white, bathed in the rays of his glorious moon. He slowed down, tilted his head and showed his teeth in a grin, wagging his tail, so as to reassure his old friend.

But a sound of heavy footsteps threw Wormtail into a state of alarm - and he was not afraid of the approaching man, but quite sure that the man was in danger. The rat's squeaks made Frank stop and stand still, not far behind the carpet, looking straight at the wolf.

He stretched his neck, reached out his curious snout, unsure himself, too, for a moment, waiting for another gust of northern breeze. He had not forgotten what he had always been told. But the scent of a human body awoke no aggression in him. No envy, no longing either, under this moon.

When he had stepped onto the carpet and curled up close to Wormtail, Frank joined the two of them without further hesitation. And the wand Frank picked up near Wormtail's front paw, so as to charm the carpet to rise, was of smooth elm: Remus's.

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