A Model

Chapter 5

Sufficient unto the Day is the Evil Thereof

The silence of the Hospital Wing was broken by the sound of shattering glass. Remus Lupin´s nose wrinkled as the odor of jellied worms filled the room. Poppy had dropped a beaker while attempting to brew a batch of fingernail-replacer-paint. Her supply had been completely exhausted by the entire Sixth and Seventh Year class of Slytherins´ decision to experiment with an owl-order manicure kit. The luckiest of the girls had only sprouted talons. Remus had gained a certain respect for the mediwitch after watching her calmly deal with a crowd of wailing teenage girls. She dealt with the congealed invertebrates that were spreading odiferously over the flagstones with the same admirable equanimity. Remus, for his part, had clapped a hand to his nose and scrabbled for his wand. As Madame Pomfrey bent with an irritated sigh to fix the bottle and clear up the mess, Remus surreptitiously waved his wand to open a window. The clearing of the air was worth the chilly September breeze. This close to a transformation strong smells made his head swim.

Remus was recovering slowly but steadily from his monthly ordeal. Torn muscles and twisted bones were healed and his skin had begun to feel like it fit his body again. This time was always extremely difficult for him. Other than a feeling of chronic exhaustion and a sensitive nose, he felt fully recovered. But bitter experience had taught him the price of trying to return to normal life too quickly. There were other more subtle injuries that needed time to right themselves.

The whole process was eased by the Hospital Wing´s uncharacteristic quietness. Even the beginning of the year parade of First Years with extra appendages and purple hair, garnered mostly from clumsiness in Professor Snape´s class and Charms mishaps, passed through quickly and didn´t need long stays. Luckily it was too early in the year for the Quidditch players to fill the beds.

Remus knew he needed to rest, but hated the forced inactivity. He had written a letter to anyone who would be interested in hearing from him and reread every list Atropos had sent. She hadn´t had enough faith in the security of the Hospital Wing to provide him with Pettigrew questionnaires, although he wasn´t sure if he was disappointed about that. All there was really to do was attempt to wade through A Compendium of Modeling Mages: Oneiromancers Through the Ages.

It certainly was heavy going. This book had to be the least interesting he had read on the subject so far. And that had to be an achievement since Remus was beginning to believe that the Academy guarded its secrets and past by only allowing the infuriatingly tedious to memorialize it in print. He had hoped that the Hogwarts library would have provided him with some insight into Atropos´s task and mindset. But his devoted study of the Compendium and similar texts left her plans a complete mystery. This made him feel especially anxious because she rather obviously avoided answering his questions about his footprints on the model. Remus had spent too much time studying and battling the Dark Arts to feel comfortable having someone cast a spell on him that he knew absolutely nothing about. Though, after reading about the past oneiromancers, Remus couldn´t really decide if her annoying silence on the subject came from her profession or her personality.

The life of a social pariah demanded sensitivity to others´ attitudes and requirements. This made Atropos´s behavior unsettling in the extreme. One moment she was imperiously demanding that he cut her parchment into little circles and the next she was offering to commit what amounted to fraud so he could be paid for six days more a month. Remus couldn´t decide whether gratitude or irritation was more appropriate for his dealings with her.

Well this book certainly isn´t helping, unless I ought to feel sleepy.

He looked down at the text only to see an elaborate sketch of a grouchy wizard. Some other frustrated reader had drawn it in the margin of the book next to a particularly egregious example of dreary prose. Why would anyone want to write a sentence ten lines long about grain tariffs and the Minister of Slovenia?

Deciding that no one sane would, he closed the book with a snap. Unfortunately this now allowed him to brood over Sirius´s impending arrival. He can barely hold himself together as it is. How will he survive this? Will he even agree to it?

Remus tried to steady his thoughts. Sirius was as strong as anyone and as faithful. He would be able to accept and survive because he had to. And behind his faith in his friend lay the certainty he had had since childhood. Dumbledore will make it good.

His bracing line of reasoning was broken by Poppy´s sweeping to the door. She was probably going to get more worms from Severus. As she passed through, she almost smashed into Atropos Merriman, who stepped aside with a murmured apology. Remus straightened up in his bed, glad for the interruption. Atropos had made a point of visiting him everyday. It was another act of kindness that he couldn´t quite understand.

The expression on her face as she approached his bed though, made his stomach tighten. She had a book clutched to her chest and looked as if she were in pain. Her already pale face had taken on an almost gray cast.

She offered a truly ghastly forced smile as she sat down, "How are you feeling? Better I hope?"

Remus grimaced, "I feel fine." He looked her straight in the eye refusing to allow her to look away, "When did he arrive?"

Atropos flinched and pulled the book closer to her, "I never seem to bring anything but bad news," she said gloomily. She sighed at his stony expression. "He´s with Dumbledore now. The Headmaster sent me to get you." Her unhappiness didn´t stop her from sounding slightly chagrined. Atropos wasn´t used to being sent places by people, even immensely powerful Headmasters. "He said that Black would want you to be there." She paused and spoke more gently, "I think he wants you to be there too."

When Remus didn´t respond immediately, she shifted uncomfortably where she stood, plainly uncertain of what to do next. She wasn´t the only one. Remus felt as if he´d been bolted to his bed.

Mentally cursing his weakness, he forced himself to at least sit up from the pillows. Oh well done. Now you´ve proven that you´re slightly less pathetic than you originally thought. I suppose the next thing to do would be to get out of this bed.

Trying to ignore his thoughts, Remus pulled his wobbly body into a standing position. He actually got himself upright but when he attempted to take a step forward he discovered again what happens when a person becomes a werewolf for a night and then spends five days in a bed. As Remus began teetering, Atropos dropped her book and made a wild grab for him. She caught him around the waist, managing to stay standing with a heroic effort. Remus leaned heavily into her and, as his legs shuddered, wondered frantically if Atropos would be able to hold him up for very long. Feeling her begin to sway, he realized that, unless he found something other than Atropos to lean on soon, they would probably both end up in a heap on the floor. Apparently coming to the same conclusion, she staggered with him to a wall. He winced as he felt her tread on one of his toes.

While he propped himself up and gingerly unwound himself from her, Remus tried not to be too aware of the fact that he just collapsed onto a woman he barely knew. Awkward doesn´t even begin to describe it.

When it became clear that he wasn´t going to fall over, Atropos had moved away as far and as fast as could be done politely. Helping Remus had been an impulse of the moment and she hadn´t really expected to end up in a clinch with him. Her efforts to behave normally resulted in several foolish questions. "Will you fall? I mean, can you stand? I mean, ..." Her voice was unnaturally high and her face was pink.

Remus had the advantage of severe exhaustion to keep his emotions from showing. It took a while for his facial muscles to catch up with his embarrassed mind. He fluttered a hand to stop the rush of words. "I´m fine. I just need a moment to steady myself." When he saw that she still looked uncomfortable, he said kindly, "You dropped your book."

Grasping at the chance to look away, Atropos quickly moved to retrieve it. While she bent to pick the book up, Remus cautiously pulled away from the wall. He was relieved to find that he could stand comfortably and move around if he watched himself.

Atropos, evidently recovered from her discomfort, frowned when she saw him moving slowly towards the door. "You´re not planning on walking there alone are you?" She said incredulously.

Remus raised his eyebrows at her, "How else would I get there?" His voice was flat, "You won´t be coming with me. I don´t think that now is the best time for Sirius to meet you."

Remus regretted his words when she winced. He really shouldn´t have allowed himself to blame her for the rotten situation.

She didn´t speak for a moment, but, oddly, when she answered, Atropos sounded almost relieved. Remus wondered if she had thought he was going to make her meet Sirius just before telling him she was temporarily ruining his life. "I know. I didn´t mean I wanted to force my way in. I just thought that you should have someone with you on the way there." She looked uncomfortable. "You´re not ... fully recovered yet."

Remus stayed silent to consider her offer and his own strength. Feeling his legs tremble he had to admit that he probably needed an escort. You´re pride isn´t worth a fall, he thought ruefully. And it´ll also keep you from brooding on the way there.

Atropos´s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. "I also have something for Mr. Black. Since I can´t really give it to him myself, I hoped you would. But I am not sure you can carry it the whole way."

He frowned at her confusedly, "Something for Sirius? And how heavy is it?"

Her lips twitched, "Oh not very heavy at all -- book sized. You just looked like you probably weren´t up to moving anything other than yourself."

Remus laughed shortly at her comment but he didn´t say anything. He sometimes found that Atropos would fill silence with useful information she might not otherwise offer.

She shuffled her feet. "If you must know, it´s the biograph I made from his model," she said in a rush.

This made him blink, "I thought it was useless."

Atropos looked mortally offended, "Not useless!" Her face took on a rather amusing sulky cast and her chin stuck out, "It didn´t work because all of my later information was wrong. But the early years are fine. I even found out he was an Animagus. I´ll bet you´re all very glad I didn´t go running with that to the Ministry!"

They both began moving out the door. "Just because the later part is nonsense doesn´t mean I flubbed the whole thing. The first section of the biograph has plenty of interesting information about Black," she continued passionately. "I was very thorough. I know about the Animagi; I know about the map thing; I know about Severus Snape´s favorite black shirt and Frink´s Pink Ink." As she paused to take a breath, Remus grabbed her arm, partly for balance and partly because something had occurred to him. Would it be in there? Does the book know what happened with Snape?

She stopped speaking and looked at him curiously.

"It covers all of the important events from our school days?" Remus´s voice was hoarse.

"Yes, most of them, and a few unimportant ones too. I am very good at models you know. It is my job." Atropos still hadn´t quite forgiven him for the "useless" comment.

Remus was completely still. "May I see it?"

Atropos looked puzzled, "You´re in most of it. Why would you want to ... Oh!" Her eyes widened and she pulled away. "I can´t let you," she said flatly.

He sounded carefully relaxed, "Why not? You said yourself that I was involved. I have the right to know." He met her eyes, "I only want to see one thing."

Atropos´s voice became excessively dignified. "If you want to know, you should ask him. This would be spying." She deflated somewhat and bit her lip at his darkening expression, "You can´t want to find out like this," she pleaded.

"But you´ve read it?" He was breathing rapidly, trying to remain calm. He had to know why. He had thought he had understood when Sirius was arrested, but now the old question from Fifth Year needed an answer. And Remus didn´t feel capable of demanding an explanation from his starving, homeless friend. "You know more about it than I do." He caught hold of her arm again; his voice became quietly furious, "What gives you the right to know more about my friend than I do?" Atropos looked into his eyes and was startled by the anger she saw there. Remus´s normal stubborn composure hadn´t prepared her for this display of temper. His lips were pulled into a tight line.

It was suddenly very important to her that Remus understand why she was refusing. "I know a little, yes. But it isn´t even in here. Not what you want. I made the model to focus on what he would do, not why he would do it."

That served to distract him slightly. He let go of her and his eyes narrowed. Atropos rarely gave out specific information about oneiromancy. "What to you mean?" he asked harshly.

"Any model will have some sort of focus to it." Her words came out in a desperate rush, "Black´s was going to be used to capture him. The Ministry didn´t care what was motivating him so I didn´t need to make the model produce too much information about it." She laughed nervously, "Adding a "why" question to the model would have made it more expensive."

Remus stared at her. When he spoke, his voice was carefully calm, "The biograph doesn´t explain why Sirius told him?"

Atropos seemed to pull herself together. She said levelly, "It does not. But even if it did, I wouldn´t let you see it." Her eyes seemed to soften, "He´s your friend." The words hung in the air between them.

My friend.

Remus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was right. Infuriatingly so.

"Give me the biograph." She blinked at him confusedly and instinctively tightened her arms around the book. He smiled bitterly, "I won´t look in it. But I´m strong enough now to get to the office on my own and I would like to be alone."

Aware that she had just been handed a dismissal, Atropos´s eyebrows pulled together angrily. Remus´s steady gaze forestalled any protest she might have made though. She swallowed and wordlessly surrendered the black leather book.

Remus turned to continue down the corridor when her calm voice stopped him. "Are you very angry at me, Remus?" He turned around curiously and frowned at her utterly expressionless face. Her eyes were cool. She sounded politely curious.

"Not very," he finally said after a long pause. "And since I think I am being unfair, I expect it will pass soon."

Amusement flickered across her face and she nodded judiciously, "Good. I was worried." She turned about in a flurry of dark blue robes and swiftly disappeared back the way they had come. Remus shifted Sirius´s biograph awkwardly under his arm and shook his head. He started walking forward, firmly resisting his desire to pry into his friend´s past. He supposed that the present was difficult enough to deal with.

* * *

Dumbledore met Remus in front of the gargoyle. Lupin had his haggard post-transformation face on. His appearance was not improved by the expression of dread that had settled in his eyes. He was alone and carried a black book under his arm. Dumbledore was surprised to recognize a biograph. He hadn´t expected Merriman to be so generous with her work.

"I see Academic Merriman did not choose to join us. Such tact!"

Remus´s voice was dry, "I sent her away."

Albus raised his eyebrows, surprised, "And she went?" He had wondered if Academic Merriman would be tractable enough to obey his few commands.

Remus laughed shortly, "I doubt she wants to meet with Sirius now, Albus. I think she is ... almost as upset as we are by what we have to do."

Dumbledore heard the flinch in his voice and made a small gesture of acknowledgment. "He´s waiting for us now, in my office."

Lupin paled slightly. His free hand rose to hover near the wall as if seeking some support. "You haven´t told him anything yet?"

He smiled unhappily, "No. I would not even consider speaking to him until you were here. He shouldn´t hear this only from me." He fixed Lupin with a firm eye, "No one deserves to be alone with their old school headmaster when they receive news of this sort. Turtle Toffee." The last was addressed to the gargoyle. At Remus´s startled expression, Dumbledore smiled, "They are my newest vice. I seem to go through a tin a day. Frightfully unhealthy, of course."

Dumbledore had hoped that the comment would relax Lupin a little and was relieved to see a nervous smile on his face. The Headmaster knew well that his famous sweet tooth and eccentric behavior comforted his students and supporters when the situation grew too dark as much as it irritated and mystified them in their daily dealings with him. With the horrible interview so near, Dumbledore has dressed with care that morning. He was spectacularly clad in turquoise and magenta robes covered in silver suns that danced and pulled faces at anyone who passed.

He heard a muffled laugh behind him and he realized that one of the silver suns on his back was teasing Remus. At least there was some hope for the coming meeting then. It would be hard for them to be to remain completely grim when suns with their tongues hanging out were capering about all over his clothing.

When they reached the door Dumbledore had to force himself not to hesitate in turning the doorknob. Black leaped to his feet as Dumbledore and Remus entered the office, his expression taut with concern. He had been waiting for twenty minutes in a fever of anxiety. They had given him just enough time alone for him to be convinced that Harry had been kidnapped, murdered or otherwise victimized.

"Sir, I came as soon as I could! Is Harry alright?" he asked tensely.

Dumbledore laid a firm hand on his arm. "Harry is in the pink of health, Sirius." The Headmaster moved to seat himself at his desk. As he sat he smiled sadly, "His only concern is you."

Sirius shrugged uncomfortably and moved forward to greet Lupin, "Why? He has enough to think about without worrying about me."

Remus grimaced. He was plainly unhappy that his friend was dressed in a set of robes he himself would long ago have given up on and was still painfully thin. The only real improvement in his appearance was the neatly trimmed and somewhat clean hair. "Of course he worries! We are all worried. The Daily Prophet has ruined my breakfast everyday for the past week with articles about you. Fudge wants your head on a pike!"

Sirius flopped into one of Dumbledore´s chairs. Now that he knew Harry was safe, he was prepared to relax. "Or my lips on a dementor?" He said sardonically. This made Remus twitch angrily and he laughed, "I can easily keep ahead of the Aurors, they don´t know about Padfoot and they aren´t likely to. No one looks at a mangy stray and thinks of me. I´ll have more trouble with nasty Muggles throwing rocks."

Remus plainly didn´t think Sirius was taking Fudge and his soldiers seriously enough. He was beginning to look exasperated. Dumbledore spoke up smoothly to avoid an argument about the Aurors´ detection skills.

"Is Fudge exaggerating when he says that the Aurors are almost upon you?"

Sirius stared at Dumbledore and then snickered. "Albus, I haven´t seen a hostile Auror since I left you last summer. Frankly, I think they´re avoiding me." Sobering slightly at Dumbledore´s serious expression, he spoke more solemnly, "They are looking for me at attack sites. They won´t find trace of me there."

His face showing his distaste for Fudge´s willful blindness, Dumbledore tapped a finger on his desk. "Is it true that Voldemort left a dark mark at the last house?"

Sirius leaned forward, all business now that he thought he knew why he´d been called to Hogwarts. "He left the mark at the last two, sir. Fudge is trying to hide it, but Mundungus said an Auror with the Order found the residue." His lips twisted disgustedly, "I think Voldemort is starting to enjoy watching Fudge and his people scramble to clean up his Death Eaters´ attacks."

Remus looked grim. "And the attacks are only going to get worse."

Sirius nodded, "Yes." He frowned at Dumbledore, "I know you do what you can Albus, but Fudge needs to be dealt with. Without official help, its damn near impossible to predict, protect or prepare for the Death Eater assaults. There have been only a few now, but what happens when the war begins in earnest? Our people are fighting blind with one arm tied behind their back."

Dumbledore´s tapping finger stilled. Sirius had given them the opening for the topic. There could be no more avoiding it. Seeing Remus abruptly straighten in his chair, Albus knew he had noticed too.

Meeting Lupin´s eyes across the desk, Dumbledore was briefly tempted to have Remus broach the subject, but quickly brushed the thought aside as unworthy of him. This was one unpleasant responsibility that was entirely his.

Unaware of his friends´ preoccupation, Black continued, "He is crippling us, Albus. The Order members are looking over one shoulder for the Death Eaters and the other for the Ministry. This can´t go on."

He stopped when Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak. Sirius waited as the Headmaster spoke slowly, "We are taking steps to predict Voldemort´s plans, Sirius. Its actually my reason for calling you here."

Sirius frowned slightly. He sensed something ominous in Dumbledore´s tone. A glance at Remus deepened his worries. His friend´s eyes were fixed on him and his hands were clasped tightly on the armrests.

He turned his head slowly back to Dumbledore and waited. The Headmaster´s eye flickered and he smoothly reached into a drawer. "Are you familiar with the Academy of Oneiromancers, Sirius?" His hand reappeared bearing three foil-wrapped turtles.

Sirius blinked. Feeling confused, he wordlessly accepted a Turtle Toffee and tried to think of a response. "I´ve heard of them. I know a little about what they do," he finally said cautiously. His eyes suddenly sharpened, "Harry mentioned that they had sent a recruiter here."

Dumbledore turned his eyes down, pretending to be wholly involved with unwrapping his Turtle, "Yes, Miss Merriman or, rather, Academic Merriman. The first recruiter to come to Hogwarts since I was named Headmaster." He looked up and smiled lazily, "They don´t like me very much." Making a noise of success when the Turtle wriggled free, Dumbledore continued. "She is probably a fascinating young woman, but our reasons for discussing her lie in her last job." He bit into the Toffee and chewed slowly, "She was making a model of you. Fudge wanted to hmmm ... put your head on a pike, I think was Remus´s colorful expression."

Sirius looked back and forth between Remus and Dumbledore, "Are you warning me about her? Does she have some sort of grudge?

When he saw that Dumbledore was ready to finish his Toffee before answering, Remus jumped in. He didn´t feel fit enough to cope with one of Albus´s circuitous explanations. "She knows you´re innocent, Sirius. And she´s not really here to recruit, she´s making a model for us."

Sirius´s eyes widened. "A model of Voldemort?" He suddenly started. "Wait! She said she knows that I´m innocent? Then why ..."

Apparently already anticipating his question, Dumbledore cut in, "Fudge doesn´t wish to know who is innocent and who is guilty. He merely hopes to return the world to what it was five years ago. Luckily Merriman recognized this and came to us for ... guidance."

As Sirius struggled to assimilate the new information, Dumbledore exchanged a glance with Remus. He saw the other man stiffen as he prepared to speak. "She isn´t making a model of Voldemort. She is making one of Peter Pettigrew. Remus has been working with the oneiromancer for weeks now to help her create it."

Sirius face twisted into the usual image of fury that Pettigrew´s name brought on, but layered over that was confusion. He glanced bewilderedly at his silent friend. "Peter?" he rasped.

"Voldemort is impossible, so we take the next best option." Dumbledore settled back in his chair and spoke the last few words, "So long as Peter is presumed dead, Voldemort will keep him close. It provides the perfect window into his plans."

The words, spoken almost casually, hung in the air. Dumbledore and Remus watched as the full import of what had been said struck Black. Sirius convulsed in his seat. It seemed as if he couldn´t decide whether to leap up or collapse back. A strangled moan left his lips. Remus, never one to speak when there were no words, laid a gentle hand on his friend´s arm.

"Presumed dead." The each syllable came out in a pained gasp. Sirius gazed at him, stricken. There was no look of betrayal, only confused pain. Hoping that the explanation would give Sirius time to steady himself Dumbledore continued.

"We will need Pettigrew´s status to remain constant. There can be no official acknowledgment of his true guilt." Dumbledore looked Sirius directly in the eye. Remus was still firmly grasping Sirius´s wrist as if he feared his friend would bolt. "We need this model desperately, Sirius. We need you to remain Sirius Black, Voldemort´s follower."

"You need me to remain a courier and nothing else." Sirius´s voice was heavy with some strong emotion, whether rage or despair it was impossible to tell, "You need me to be stand down and be a fringe helper for the whole war. You need me to see my godson in caves and in secret. You need me to allow the man who sent me to Azkaban for twelve years to go free. You need ..." He seemed to run out of breath.

Dumbledore knew that Sirius was truly asking a question with his furious list. He had the look Dumbledore knew only too well. All who trusted him obeyed him with at least one hope and certainty. They had the faith that he would never ask more than they had the power to give. He would never demand a sacrifice they could not make. Even those who came prepared to lay down their lives had some secret quality they held to be sacred. Anything, Albus, but not this. Since Voldemort´s rise, too many of them were forced to eventually silently ask him why. Why he could know what their "this" was and still require it?

Upset by Black´s helpless misery, Remus had opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore raised a staying hand. He chose his words carefully. "Yes, Sirius, we need all of these things from you. I would like to say that I ask you because I know that you can and will do it. But in truth, I ask you because it cannot be done unless you do it."

Remus spoke up into the silence that followed, "It will allow us to anticipate Voldemort´s attacks on Harry. Anticipate and prepare."

Dumbledore leaned back, glad that Remus had said it and not he. He sometimes believed that Sirius had no "anything but this" where Harry was concerned but was unwilling to invoke Sirius´s godson himself. Sirius looked at his friend with narrowed eyes. Even now he could tell when he was being successfully manipulated. His face had settled into an unreadable mask but his voice was intense. "You are working with this woman, Remus?"

Lupin glanced at Dumbledore and nodded shortly.

Sirius fixed his oldest friend with a dark stare. "Will it work?" The only visible tension now was a whiteness about his lips and his tight-fisted hands on the desk.

Dumbledore tried to become as unobtrusive as possible. This was between the friends.

Remus appeared to be weighing his words carefully. His eyes did not waver from his friend´s. "Atropos will make a model that works. She is very ... capable," he finally said firmly. His lips quirked, "The one she made about you told her about Frink´s Pink Ink, Padfoot."

Sirius´s face contorted into an odd combination of delighted sly recollection and lingering unhappiness. Dumbledore struggled to keep his own feeling of sudden fascination off his face. He found it almost alarming to learn how much these two had managed to get away with during their time at school.

The delightful memory of the happier past was evidently too much even for Sirius´s deep sense of hurt. "The model told her about that?"

Remus smiled faintly. He drew out the black book that had lain in his lap the whole time and pushed it across the table toward his friend. "Actually I get the impression that it told her a lot of what we kept to ourselves." Only Dumbledore noticed the strange flicker in Remus´s eyes when he said the last comment.

Sirius had been successfully distracted and barely heard his friend´s words. He was fascinatedly flipping through his biograph. One entry towards the middle made him blush and swiftly turn the page. Remus leaned back in his chair, pleased to see his friend at least temporarily soothed. "You may want to ignore the later sections." Sirius looked up with his eyebrows raised enquiringly. "They were made when she thought you were a homicidal madman." Lupin explained softly.

This broke Sirius away from the past the biograph had briefly enclosed around him. He quietly set the book down and stared at it intensely. Laying a hand on the cover he looked at both Remus and Dumbledore in turn. "I had no idea that this is what the oneiromancers could do," he said levelly. Each of his breaths sounded measured. "It says so much ..." He suddenly drew in a deep calming breath, "Tell me again why Voldemort isn´t the subject here?"

Dumbledore reached up to stroke his beard. "He would be if it were feasible. But it was attempted many years ago and the results were worse than useless." Sirius nodded slowly, accepting the Headmaster´s words. Part of serving Dumbledore meant believing him when you least wanted to.

Sirius rose abruptly from his seat, shrugged off Remus´s restraining hand, and walked to the window. Not turning around, he finally said, "It seems so unfair that doing what is right always involves doing what you´d rather not."

Dumbledore spoke calmly to his back. "Living always involves doing what you´d rather not, Sirius. Those who do evil are simply fleeing from that truth." His voice was dry, "We shall take some small comfort knowing that they never succeed in escaping it. I doubt Pettigrew wanted to live as a rat for twelve years. I doubt Voldemort enjoyed his time wrapped in a smelly turban." He smiled at Remus´s amused snort. "Only think how much more meaningful our sufferings are. We do what we can whether or not it is what we want," Sirius looked at him with dark blue eyes. Dumbledore finally allowed some of his own unhappiness with the situation to show. "Even when it is so difficult it breaks our hearts," he finished evenly.

A little bit of the steady strength and indestructible humor that had somehow survived Azkaban came alive in Sirius again. His lips twitched, "Are you saying this is my ... purple turban, sir?"

Albus stared at him in amazement. He felt a surge of pride for the person standing before him.

Sirius didn´t wait for his answer. He wandered back to his seat. "I will do what you ask, Albus." He closed his eyes. "I want you to know that I would give you my life if you needed it, sir." He chuckled ruefully, "But you don´t need it. You need my ... patience."

Dumbledore smiled kindly, "It was always an underrated virtue." He rose smoothly from his seat, "I also require secrecy. Voldemort will slaughter Pettigrew if he knows of our plans." Dumbledore glanced at Remus who was staring at the biograph on the desk. He looked up, surprised, when Dumbledore addressed him, "I doubt Atropos would wish to start all over again if her subject was killed."

Remus smiled thinly. "She would definitely resent the wasted effort."

Sirius cut in apprehensively, "Has anyone spoken to Harry?"

"Ron Weasley surely told him about the model." Remus sounded exhausted. He was plainly gathering his energies for the trek back to the Hospital Wing. Sirius looked confused by the mention of Ron.

Dumbledore frowned at Sirius, "I doubt Mr. Weasley understood the full implications of this model."

Sirius shrugged off the Weasley comment and addressed the true question. He sounded almost as weary as his friend. "He needs to be told." Rage entered his voice, "Pettigrew betrayed his parents. He should know why we are going to allow him to continue to go free."

"And why we are allowing you to remain unjustly persecuted," Dumbledore added softly.

Sirius waved a hand, "Yes. That too."

Remus looked caught between fond amusement and exasperation. "Yes, Sirius, that too. I think you should prepare yourself for that to be his first concern."

Sirius smiled warmly at his friend, "Thank you, Moony."

Dumbledore hid a smile as he watched Remus narrowly avoid rolling his eyes. He turned to Sirius, "I´ll summon Mr. Potter." When Remus dragged himself to his feet in protest he frowned, "I am not so old that I cannot survive a walk to Gryffindor Tower. I would advise you, Remus, to find somewhere to lie down before you end up needing to be carried to bed by the house elves."

* * *

After Dumbledore left the room, Sirius turned to Remus with sudden concern and guilt, "I cannot believe I forgot how close we were to the full moon. Do you need help?"

Remus waved an irritated hand. He hated people hovering over him as if he were an invalid. But he regretted his impatience when he saw Sirius flinch. Tiredness was again making him unkind. "Wait here for Harry, Sirius," he said quietly, "I can get where I need to go." He summoned up a smile from some hidden reserve of energy and tapped the leather-bound biograph. "You can read over the life story of Evil Sirius Black while you wait."

Sirius relaxed somewhat, though the edge of concern didn´t leave his eyes. "Or I can relive the experience of releasing strobe-mice into the Astronomy Tower. People were still finding them months later."

Remus laughed, "That was James´s idea," he said slowly.

Sirius looked at his hands, "Well, a lot of the best ideas were." He glanced up again, "I´ll come see you before I leave, Remus."

It was times like this where Remus most regretted the years they had lost. Sirius´s expression, so easily read when they were boys, was a blank to him. Perhaps we all learn to hide when we grow up.

Pushing aside the feeling of loss he merely said, "I can stay if you want."

Sirius shrugged, "Its best if I talk to Harry alone."

Remus reached out and clasped his friend´s shoulder, "We will talk when you´re finished speaking with Harry," he said firmly.

A surprisingly wide grin flashed across Sirius´s face. Remus started. "You sounded like Professor Tredair just then. Are you certain you only taught school for a year, Moony?"

Remus grimaced at him and began opening the door. "A year was enough to give me a healthy dose of sympathy for our teachers, my friend."

It heartened him to hear Sirius chuckling softly as he left the room.

* * *

Macnair scowled as he shook raindrops from his cloak and raised a hand to knock on the door. He shifted his burden to another arm and grimaced as water dripped down his neck. He sometimes wondered if Crowlet had arranged for a private rain cloud to hover over his house eternally. Macnair had never visited the house without being soaked first by a cold drizzle.

A deferential house elf answered the door and ushered him inside. It took his cloak and softly informed him that Mr. Crowlet was in the back room. Lucius had provided the elf to allow Crowlet to spend all of his energies on the model. And they also make excellent spies. When the elf tried to relieve him of the bottle he snarled at it. It shied away and began leading him down a passage. Macnair was not in sympathy with any of Lucius´s possessions that day.

He had arrived at Voldemort´s manor filthy and fresh from an execution. The Dark Lord was sitting at table with Malfoy, who was sulking and immaculately dressed. The only thing that saved the interview from being totally frustrating was Nagini´s absence.

A large jug of something was set at the on the dining table and it was clear that Voldemort and Lucius had had some sort of disagreement. Ignoring the blood and feathers stuck all over Macnair´s clothes, Voldemort ordered him to sit. Lucius´s nose wrinkled delicately at the sight of him. The Dark Lord´s next comment completed his discomfort.

"Lucius believes I am foolish to allow the oneiromancer at Hogwarts to continue there." His soft voice became innocently curious, "Since you are here and brought up disposing of her when we first spoke, I was wondering what you thought on the subject, Walden."

Macnair had to actively restrain himself from glaring at Malfoy. Lucius had the luxury of long acquaintance and great wealth to protect him from their master´s more violent tendencies. Macnair could tell when he had been dropped into a quarrel he wasn´t capable of taking part in safely. He also knew he needed to come up with an answer quickly. "She is certainly working against you, Lord," he temporized.

Voldemort´s smile showed more teeth than Walden liked seeing. "Do you think I am a coward for allowing Fudge to promulgate this fiction about Sirius Black?"

That was a question Macnair wasn´t going to touch with a fifty-foot pole. He tried to look innocently confused and not gut-wrenchingly terrified.

Voldemort laughed, "Of course you do not. You are wise enough to know that I allow the story to exist in order to gather my support." He fixed Macnair with glittering red eyes, "All I need now is terror. This early it does not matter who they fear so long as they fear."

Lucius twisted in his seat. Macnair assumed he had heard all of this already. Voldemort stared at the ceiling, "The Academy knows I live, you know. The sly bastards always knew more than they should. Because they remained untouched the last time, they believe it will be the same now." His voice became heavy with disgust, "The arrogant fool, Bertand, sits at the Head of the Counsel. He would never become involved in outside concerns." Voldemort dropped his fork with a clatter, his voice rose with each word. He was glaring at Malfoy. "But. You expect me to be so colossally stupid as to attack an oneiromancer and bring the Academy into the fight when my Death Eaters are so weak and useless that they cannot even see what I am planning? When my most loyal followers are trapped in Azkaban? When she is capable of only the most minor of annoyances?" Voldemort was roaring now. Macnair felt ready to hide under the table.

Lucius had never lacked for courage. "If she is making a model of you, Lord, she could be ..."

Voldemort answered levelly, "I will not tell you again, Lucius. Her model of me is no danger." He grinned suddenly at Macnair, "I am too great to be held by chalk and parchment."

Wanting to take advantage of the brief window of good mood the Dark Lord was offering, Walden spoke up cautiously. "You summoned me for something, Lord?"

Voldemort chuckled. He pointed to the center of the table. "You are always so commendably direct, Walden! I have a gift for Crowlet. Lucius just lead a raid against a Muggle bank. He collected the ingredient Selim needed."

Macnair slowly lifted the jug from the table. His nostrils twitched as the unmistakable smell of blood rose from it uncapped top. He had thought he was tired of playing errand boy for Crowlet but now felt grateful for the excuse to escape.

He hefted the bottle and waited. Experience had taught him never to leave Voldemort´s presence unless ordered to do so. The Dark Lord lifted his fork again. "You may leave. Lucius too. I am weary of the both of you." He smiled, "But first, summon Wormtail to attend me."

Macanir watched Lucius warily from the corner of his eye as they left the room. He knew his nervousness was justified when Lucius stopped him at the end of the hall and out of earshot from the dining room. "We both know that this oneiromancer needs killing. The Dark Lord would probably have it done if he wasn´t busy with Azkaban and Keziah Mason´s plan."

Macnair tried to quell Malfoy´s suggestion before it was made. "He specifically said to wait, Lucius."

Lucius´s pale eyes glittered, "Because he doesn´t wish to be blamed. I think it can be done with all hands pointing elsewhere. There is a way." He smiled strangely, "Perhaps he is even testing our ingenuity."

Walden couldn´t deny that Voldemort had deliberately sent them away together. But he wasn´t certain yet if it was his obedience or his initiative that was being tested. What he did realize was that Lucius had decided to move forward with whatever the plan was. With a sinking stomach he also saw that at this moment Malfoy´s dislike, because he needed no followers and no support, was more dangerous than Voldemort´s displeasure. Lucius had nothing to lose by killing him but the Dark Lord was desperate for followers.

He swallowed hard and nodded reluctantly. Lucius smiled with satisfaction, "Excellent. I will come to see you later, Macnair. To explain what I want to have done." He stopped walking. "You can probably take your bottle to Crowlet now. It doesn´t need two people to flush the rat out of his hole."

Walden had Apparated away cursing Lucius Malfoy in the strongest of terms.

Which was how he found himself in a hallway, clutching a bottle of blood, and waiting to be received into the modeling room.

The house elf softly tapped on the door and than vanished. Walden´s eyebrows rose. He was surprised by the abrupt departure. The door opened suddenly and Crowlet greeted him smiling. "I am sorry you were abandoned by Dooly. I don´t allow him to see what I am doing," he said to Walden´s still startled expression. "If Lucius wants to know how I work, he can come see for himself."

Walden entered, sternly reminding himself that Selim Crowlet had once been one of the most perceptive oneiromancers of his time. Just because he behaved like a sniveling fool didn´t mean he actually was one.

When Crowlet saw the jug, he beamed. "Is that what I think it is?"

Walden proffered the bottle. "Collected at a Muggle bank last evening." He glanced over at the model and then glanced at a desk piled high with papers.

Crowlet waved a hand and carefully carried the bottle to one end of the room. "You are welcome to investigate the model. Just don´t touch it or the questionnaires on my desk."

Macnair grimaced. He had discovered that Selim´s sense of inferiority faded where the model was concerned. In this room he was in his element and even being a half-blooded failure did not crush him.

It had taken a lot of the fun out of their meetings.

He had to admit though that the model was interesting. Seven blocks of wood had chalk pictures on them of unknown significance, but Selim had added more items since he had last visited. A bundle of cords with odd metal teeth at one end and made of some smooth black substance were wrapped around a serving spoon on one side. There was a chalk line connecting these to an acid pop and a singing rattle among other things, which in turn had their own lines radiating from them. It was all very curious.

His perusal was interrupted by Selim´s voice. "This relative is a little more distant than I would like. Is there any chance of getting a sample from the subject?"

Macnair turned to look at him. He was levitating a vat of what looked like mud across the room. The executioner realized that the blood had been used to form a sort of clay. "If we get that much blood from him, don´t you think that making a model is a tad superfluous?" He said dryly.

Selim smirked, "I only need a small sample. Something to make the substitute work more smoothly."

"I didn´t know that this was a common practice in model making," Macnair said slowly.

Crowlet´s smile widened, "Its not. But you´ve read Triumph Over the Will. This is one of my innovations and expansions of the art."

Walden frowned at him. I liked you better when you were a cringing nonentity. "It will improve the model?"

Crowlet began placing little daubs of clay on one of the lines on the floor. "Most definitely."

Macnair sighed. He would need to contact Goyle. "Then we will get you a sample."

He had known he would regret Voldemort´s promise to provide Crowlet with any needed ingredient or service.