Of Mouse And Man

******Summer Holidays, 1973*******

"See you this evening, Peter. But remember, we've got tickets to the match tomorrow: Cannons vs. Magpies."

"Sounds great! Think the Cannons have a chance?" Peter said.

"I hope so. Their new seeker is supposed to be really good. Let's--"

"All just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best," they finished together. Richard laughed and grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. "I may be a little late getting home today, but I'll make sure to get off early tomorrow afternoon."

"Sure Dad," Peter said, markedly less enthusiastic. In other words, something very important and vital to the safety of the entire world, wizarding and Muggle, will come up. Someday I'll be important, I'll be Minister of Magic or something, and he'll be sorry he didn't spend time with me.

"What's wrong?" Richard asked in a hurt tone.

"Err . . . nothing. I can't wait for the match."

"Same here. Do you think you'll go out for the Gryffindor team next year?" Richard asked awkwardly. As usual, he was having trouble conversing with his son. Having a family was very nice, and so were little children you could show off and then put down for a nap, but what in the name of Merlin were you supposed to do with them when they were home from school?

"Maybe," Peter lied. "James, y'know--my friend, is a Chaser."

"How nice," Richard said. He smiled broadly and ruffled his son's hair. Peter ducked his head and grimaced. Richard, turning away to gather his papers, didn't notice.

*****

"Peter! Could you please refrain from mussing up your robes until after the party?"

"Yes, Mum."

Ariane was, for once, enjoying herself. Somehow, a reconciliation of sorts had occurred over the past year. So Mum and Grandmother can tolerate each other. Is there some reason they can't visit while I'm at school? The one time staying with Grandmother isn't necessary, we go anyway. Richard, busy with increasing threats to the Ministry, was all too happy for his son and wife to spend the summer with his mother-in-law. If he heard another word about potion ingredients smuggling, he'd be ill. Another mention of this year's fashionable robes would produce the same effect. Unfortunately, this removed all candidates for conversation but the houself. On the bright side, he did learn quite a bit about magical first aid, though constantly punctuated with 'young sir's. Back to the present, Peter tugged on the collar of his dress robes and made a face at his reflection in the polished marble of the staircase. At least this party would be a break from the boredom.

"Selene!" Ariane had spotted one of her old school friends, and dragged Peter over to meet her. On second thought, this could be a long night.

Peter was towed around the room and introduced to half a dozen different people, the names of which he managed to forget in the approximately ten seconds. He was sure the favour was returned. Does Mum know anyone who wasn't in Slytherin? Of course, Grandmother did make the guest list.

"Lovely to see you again, Ariane," said one, oh so sincerely.

"And is this Peter? He looks like his father. Pity."

"Have you heard . . ." the voice dropped to a whisper. Ariane eagerly joined in the circle, sparing a quick glance for her son. Looks like I'm released. Having had enough of gossip, Peter retreated to the refreshment table, where he saw some guests closer to his own age.

Peter made an awkward attempt to make small talk with Lucius Malfoy, who was obviously still having difficulty with the idea that now he was out of Hogwarts, he couldn't strike fear into the hearts of lowly third years--scratch that, he could. Lucius Malfoy was scary. So scary, in fact, that Peter made a mental note to hide in the broom cupboard as soon as possible in the hopes of avoiding him.

"Err . . . what's it like working for the Ministry?"

"Marvellous," Lucius said in a bored voice, having not yet perfected the drawl.

"Your brother's head of your department, isn't he?"

Lucius glared at him. Please don't hurt me. Actually, just please don't hurt me much. With another glare, Lucius stalked off, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'the Dark Lord' and 'he won't be head much longer'. The aforementioned brother was lurking in a dark corner, which Peter was sure to give a wide berth. The house elves came from that corner, so the kitchens must be down those stairs. If I can just inch my way over there--

Peter bumped into someone. He fell backward, and looked up at tall man with dark eyes and messy black hair. "Mr Potter?" he said in disbelief. Why is he here?

He nodded, and offered his hand. Peter took it and was pulled to his feet. "You're one of Jamie's friends, aren't you? Sirius, is it? No . . . don't tell me. Peter!"

Peter nodded, and saw James himself coming up behind his father. "There you are! We just got here. I've been looking for you." I'm saved. This party won't be so bad after all. I wonder if he's met Lucius . . . What are the Potters doing here, anyway? It's kind of a Slyth reunion.

"Dad's scouting for the Catapults. We're staying in the area, so your Gran invited us."

"Wow. That must be fun." Lucky. I wish my dad did something interesting. Instead, he can't even make a Quidditch match.

"Not really. Dad says it's dangerous--there's lots of fouling and cursing, and general nasty stuff. Most of the time he won't let me watch, says he doesn't want an owl from Dumbledore telling him I came up with the seven hundred and first way to foul."

"Sounds more interesting than my summer."

"Have you found anything yet? About, you-know-what?"

Peter shook his head. "Are we expecting an instruction manual? I've taken a few notes, but I can't get anywhere near the library. We'll have more luck when school starts; we should be able to legitimately get into the Restricted Section for something next year. I'm sure Sirius could think of a reason."

James grinned, and the two began a conversation about their favourite subject: the effectiveness of the Porskoff Play vs. the Woollongong Shimmy. Quite a while later, it occurred to Peter that Maybe discussing next year's Quidditch strategy isn't such a good idea right here. They'll tell Lucius (wait, now that he graduated, who'll replace him as captain?) anyway, they'll know our plans and cheat. Great, I've ruined Gryffindor's chances . . . Everyone's ignoring us, though. They've made a big deal of saying hello to Mr Potter, but after that they've returned to their little circles. Weird.

"Come on dear, there's an old friend I want you to meet," Judith interrupted the discussion, which was rapidly turning into a heated argument. She gripped Peter's shoulder hard, and he was forced to come with her, though not without the last word:

"Any decent beater would block like that," He struggled and gestured violently, showing what was either a bludger intercepting the second chaser or a bad attempt at shadow puppets

Apparently Judith has decided to 'bond'. Why now? Can't she make cookies, or charm a jumper- something normal? Peter stood while she introduced him to another crowd of people, several of whom had been on holiday in France to see the Quidditch World Cup. If only they'd talk about that instead of the wonderful Muggle control there. The conversation turned to work, and then to their grandchildren. Peter's role throughout all of this seemed to be standing and looking adorable.

"Peter doesn't play Quidditch, though, of course, he could. He spends the time with his studies. He's one of the best students in his year."

"He's in Gryffindor, isn't he?"

"Yes, but . . . "

I've got it now. Grandmother's finally decided she can't pretend I don't exist, and might as well brag. Blood's thicker than water, and all that. Judith smiled at him, and Peter grimaced back. Get me out of here!

*****

It was another breakfast in the Rabnott household, though very different from a morning two years earlier. Ariane chatted happily; Judith admonished the houself ("I wanted toast--this bread isn't even warm!" "Nerry is very sorry, and will go shut ears in the oven.") and Peter read the paper. It was a cosy family scene, marred only by the barely audible shrieks of the houself.

"Richard is very happy with his new promotion. He's hoping we can get a decent house in London, so he doesn't have to commute. The latest Apparating regulations are ridiculous, don't you think?"

"Of course, dear. I remember the good old days when every wizard learned basic Memory Charms at Hogwarts. We never had to worry about Muggles. So what is Richard doing now?"

"Oh, something secret for the Ministry. It's rather dull, but we're not supposed to talk about it."

"Dad said that he's doing stuff for the Dark Force Defence League. He's working with their Potions Master to develop some sort of potion that forces the person to tell the truth."

Ariane frowned, and looked over her shoulder, as if expecting to see a Ministry official jump out from behind the drapes. Her eyes flicked over to the (empty) fireplace. I wonder what would happen if you used Floo Powder while wearing an Invisibility cloak, Peter thought- must get James to try it. "Peter, you know we aren't allowed to talk about Daddy's Secret Project. Why it would matter, I don't know, but we mustn't break the rules."

"Don't worry, who would I tell? What a ridiculous thing to keep secret," Judith said. Ariane laughed uneasily. "Anyway, I'm sure Richard is quite indispensable."

"I wish he were a little less important and could spend some more time with his family, but maybe after things slow down for the Aurors."

"Yeah, Dad's going to catch this super-evil wizard. He's really bad; he kills Muggles, and has this scary looking symbol- a snake and a skull."

"Super-evil wizard?" Judith echoed as if amused.

"Peter! Don't be so dramatic. I'm not going to let you read the Daily Prophet anymore if you keep talking like that." Ariane glanced nervously at her mother. Some awful things are going on, but I wish Peter didn't have to know it. He's still a child, and shouldn't have to think about all the disappearances and murders. He doesn't seem to realise just how bad things are. No purebloods have been touched yet, thank goodness. Richard's at the Ministry all the time, and Peter should be safe here. I can't imagine coming home to see the Mark, finding my son dead . . .

*******February, 1974 *******

"Animagi: the name given to a wizard who can change his form at will into that of an animal."

"Peter, hate to tell you this, but we know that." James looked up from the large volume he was perusing.

"Since we haven't found anything in the more advanced volumes, I thought it would be helpful to go back to the basics," Peter said timidly.

Sirius quit pretending to sleep and sighed deeply. "We've read through every book in both the potions and transfiguration sections, and some stuff from the Restricted Section. I don't think we're going to find anything. Anyone up for trying random spells on each other?"

"Well, what about the history section?" Peter said, walking up to the large shelves packed with books.

"Why not?" said James with determination. "Accio book." He caught the largest, most dusty volume and began to flip through the index.

Remus, who had given up on trying to talk Madam Pince into letting him into the Restricted Section, came over with a stack of books in his arms. "I think we've been through some of these before, but there's nothing else . . . how long are we going to keep this up?"

"We will not give up," James said a little too loudly. After a Look from Madam Pince, he said in his normal tone, "Peter's been dipping into the history section, and has found some stuff. We're going to read through the whole thing." At the thought of reading through histories (to him, a synonym for boring) Sirius groaned.

"You've tried. I appreciate it, but do you really think a couple of third years could do this?"

No. I've never thought we could do this. I think it's stupid. If we do find something, I bet it'll go wrong and I'll be forced to spend the rest of my life with a tail. Finally they're realising what a bloody stupid idea this was.

But Peter just nodded when James and Sirius began protesting violently. They were going to work hard; they were going to succeed. And even if they didn't (Peter added sheepishly) some of the information was sure to come up on their O.W.L.s.

James stood up abruptly. "I've got Quidditch practise, but you guys can keep working. Hopefully you'll have found something by dinner."

"Doubt it. But thanks to your wonderful pep talk, we'll keep plodding along. Remind me to recommend you for Quidditch captain after Meg McCormack leaves."

"Really? I will." James, smiling innocently, walked away, leaving his book bag and enormous and unruly pile of notes on the table. Oddly enough, he did remember to take his notebook filled with Quidditch strategies.

Remus, the long-suffering neat freak of the group, rolled his eyes and began to systematically stuff the materials into James' book-bag. They returned to searching through books, with little to show for it.

"The potion is purple." Sirius announced.

"What?" asked Peter and Remus incredulously.

"It's from the diary of Edmund Dorny, a wizard from the 16^th century. He describes it, including what it tastes like. Have you ever had mead?"

Remus made a face. "How useful."

"But it is useful. If the potion isn't purple, we don't drink it. We slip it into Snape's pumpkin juice and wait to see what happens."

"And if it doesn't taste like a Bertie Botts bean for responsible consumers over the age of 21, not that I would know what they taste like . . . anyway, then the first unfortunate victim tells the others not to drink it?" said Peter.

"Exactly."

Remus quite forcefully plopped a book down in front of Sirius. "Could we try to get some work done. Please?"

"Laugh for once," Sirius said. "A few minutes of appreciating my unique style of studying won't make a big difference, Mooney."

"Mooney? Did you just call me Mooney? No, anything but that. I'll tolerate Remmie. I'll take Hairy, or . . .The Amazing Wolf Boy. Just NOT Mooney! Why do I get stuck with the awful nickname? It's not like Remus is much longer than James or Peter . . . have I ever even made a Serious joke?" Remus was now bright red and showing his adherence to a certain philosophy of life: if you can't do anything else, throw a fit.

Peter tried to stifle a giggle, while Sirius burst out laughing and nearly fell off his chair. Remus just looked furious in a very amusing way. Madam Pince finally had enough and threw them out, Sirius having to be supported by a very disgruntled Remus. As hard as Sirius tried to make TAWB catch on, Mooney it was.

******* Winter Break, 1974 *******

The children huddled together on the train, being careful to stay in large groups. Several off duty hitwizards walked the compartments, a nod to the paranoia of the new minister. Few wizards had been attacked as of yet, but every one who had read about the recent massacre of a Muggle village realised the severity of this crisis. It was a grim holiday; the fear and apprehension of their elders had finally spread to the children. Hogwarts was a place of safety, but several students had family members who disappeared and the Dark Mark featured prominently in the nightmares of many, especially the Muggle-borns.

Even so, it took a lot to get down the spirits of James and the gang. The week before, Sirius had managed an interesting surprise to greet the students at breakfast involving turning everything, (including certain Slytherins) crimson and gold. They worked well as a team: the idea was Sirius', he and James did the dirty work, while Peter and Remus did the research and stood guard. It was indicative of just how bad things had become that even though the culprits were obvious (again due to Sirius' poor acting ability), there was no attempt at punishment. Even McGonagall had laughed.

"Have you heard about the Malfoys?" James asked.

"No, Mum's cancelled my Daily Prophet subscription and Dad won't tell me anything," said Peter. And now I can't even follow Quidditch. S'Mother.

"Yeah James, what?"

"Well, the older one's been killed, good riddance--maybe they can actually get some work done now--and they're saying the younger son did it."

"Lucius? But wouldn't that make him on our side?" Where does James get all this?

"No, you idiot. He didn't want a rival. The Malfoys are as evil as they come," said Sirius.

"Then why are the girls obsessed with them?" Remus said. "Is evil attractive or something? There was even a big picture of him in last week's Witch Weekly," he commented gleefully, looking at Sirius.

"That was my sister's! The stupid owl's so old it can't see well enough to tell Allie and me apart."

"Sure Sirius. Maybe you should cut your hair, it might help." Sirius sputtered, and mumbled something. Point to Remus- that's rare. Of course, Sirius has been suffering from lack of sleep while trying to come up with another plan to cheer us up. Half the time he keeps the rest of us awake: I can just imagine what my O.W.L.s will look like if he keeps this up. And we haven't even had time to work on the Animagi project.

The train came to a stop, and Peter grabbed his bags. Lining up neatly, the children quickly exited the packed compartment. A stern-looking hitwizard stood on the platform, hurrying them along. For once, no one lingered on the train.

"There you are!" Ariane rushed over to her son. Parents crowded the barrier, eager to find their children and get home as soon as possible. No children had been attacked, but . . .

Joyful reunions abounded. Sirius was hidden from view by his mum's attempt to hug all three of her children. Adhara, the dignified head girl, did not look pleased. Remus was also greeted, slightly less enthusiastically, by his parents. Peter looked around for Mr Potter, only to see James walking toward the barrier with that red-haired girl (Lily?) from their year. Muggle-born, isn't she? Wouldn't like to walk out of the warded area by myself. Mr Potter appeared through the barrier, and Peter decided he must have been mistaken.

In the holiday spirit, Peter reluctantly submitted to a hug from his mother. Pulling away as soon as possible, he noticed his grandmother. So we aren't going home for the holidays. After exchanging some meaningless expressions of holiday cheer, she pulled out a portkey, and they were whisked off. Richard was, as usual, off working overtime.

*****

"It's just going to be family this year. No one wants to travel, and it will be very nice to have a private holiday," said Judith, trying, but failing, to sound anything other than crestfallen.

Much better than I expected. It's not like the fact that a good portion of her old friends have openly declared their support for His Supreme Evilness has anything to do with it. No party! Judith had tried, perhaps too hard, for a traditional holiday. Ariane had rashly Floo'd over to see an old friend, while grandmother and grandson shared some quality time. They sat in front of a roaring fire, and were continually supplied with eggnog, hot chocolate, and cookies by an unseen houself. The mantle was positively dripping with evergreens and red berries, and the mansion was filled with an artificial pine scent that made Peter nauseous. The sugar cookies covered with 'edible' plants and chartreuse icing no doubt helped. Grandmother needs a new houself- one that can cook.

"It should be time for dinner soon," Judith said brightly, the thought of abusing the houself cheering her up immensely. "It's not much, but I'm planning a big one for later in the week."

Peter's face fell. "Who's coming?" Should have known she couldn't stand a holiday without a good gossip.

"Just us. Your mother's still hoping that your father will get off work."

Can I believe her on that? As for Dad coming here, let alone getting some time off--"Not too likely. We don't even know where he is."

"Really? How thoughtful of him. His family sits home, reading about all the awful things happening to Aurors, and haven't the slightest idea where he is, or when he'll owl home."

"Right." Peter said shortly, and made a dash for the toilet.

*****

Peter stared in shock at the book of advanced Charms. There's one I won't have to read huddled under James' Invisibility cloak in the middle of the night. There's some cross-referencing here to Animagi spells. Some might be helpful. Peter briefly felt guilty for forgetting about their project over the holidays, and made his second New Year's Resolution--work on The Project, and to be more assertive. Next to him, Ariane meticulously sorted through the pile of coloured paper, ribbons, and gift tags.

"It's Christmas, Ariane. Have some fun." Judith tossed a small package at her daughter, and pulled the pile away. "We do have houselves."

"Yes, Mother. Remember, it's not like we could afford one on Richard's salary," Ariane said with forced cheerfulness. No Mum, don't go there. Please- not today.

"Has he even owled you?"

Ariane picked at the fraying embroidery on the armchair. "What do you think? Of course not. I'm starting to get frightened."

"I'm sure he's perfectly fine. If the Ministry were operating around here, he would be able to stop by for an hour, and as all the attacks have been in this part of the country, it's obvious that he's somewhere else. Of course, the Aurors could be doing so poorly that they can't prevent an attack on their doorstep, in which case things are much worse than we'd thought," Judith said with a hint of a smile.

Ariane shuddered, and moved closer to the fire. "I'll take the former."

"You would think he'd send an owl, though. And," she said conspiratorially, also shifting her chair. "When was the last time he bothered to contact Peter?"

"I haven't the faintest. Not recently. I haven't heard anything more than 'I'm alive, will try to be home Monday' in months." The two women suddenly realised that Peter was sitting there, and lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Ariane turned to the discarded package on the footstool and made a production of tearing off the wrapping. She literally squealed with delight.

"Mother! These aren't--"

"The family jewellery--yes. Flip over the necklace and you'll see the family motto. I thought you might as well have them now, and with times so uncertain . . ."

"Can I see?" Peter quickly interrupted. A perfectly good holiday and they've nearly ruined it. Do they enjoy thinking about death and destruction? Grateful for the distraction, Ariane handed him the box. "Something utterly incomprehensible in Latin" he read, trying to avoid

Judith raised her chin in a stately manner and nearly began a lecture on the pride, honour and most importantly, the purebloodedness of the Rabnott family. Especially when compared to the Pettigrews--just who was Peter's paternal grandmother? Since it was Christmas, she settled for looking superior. Looking superior while bethroned upon a squashy maroon and cerulean armchair with a lap full of brightly coloured paper and a huge homemade paperweight takes talent. Judith Rabnott managed effortlessly.

Peter leafed through his book and tried to ignore the conversation. Dad cares about us, really. Won't this curse work well? Things can't be that bad around here; he wouldn't put his career over Mum and me. Ooh--the Curse of the Bogies.

"Hasn't he told you anything? The McKinnons were attacked just last week, and they're our closest neighbours. Purebloods are being killed now, and we know Peter is at an even bigger risk. The only thing Voldemort hates more than Muggles are those who protect them. There's no way he could infiltrate the Ministry, but he'd have every reason to come after us." Befuddling Hex in Three Easy Steps. Step 1--

"Don't you think that's a bit much? I'm sure if we were in any danger, Richard would have us out of here immediately," Ariane said, attempting to sound confident.

"Why are you so sure of that? He seems to have made it quite clear that his career has priority. He knows we haven't renewed the wards in years, and can never spare anyone to do it."

"I don't think . . . I just don't know. He's pulled away from us recently. I don't think he'd let anything happen to us, but he's so wrapped up in his work . . . He's never really cared for Peter." I'm not listening. Improper direction of this curse may result in the following side effects--

Judith looked at Peter pityingly out of the corners of her eyes. She fingered a small gift tag from Peter's book of charms. Peter, so happy to see something from his father, hopefully had not noticed the handwriting looked remarkably similar to that of someone other than his father. She glanced meaningfully at Ariane and shredded the gift tag. Peter did not miss any of this. He was not intended to. The conversation continued. I'm not listening; I'm not listening; I'm not listening . . .

******* Easter Holidays, 1975 *******

Sirius pulled the lid of Peter's trunk closed and sat on it. "You can't go. Do you really think we'll get some work done on The Project without you there, acting as slave driver?"

Peter scowled. "Do you think I want to spend what's s'posed to be a vacation attending some stupid Ministry function? If we do anything interesting, they'll be an alert and Dad'll cancel it. I'll spend the whole time at the hotel."

Remus and James looked from their attempt to pack, which had deteriorated into a loud argument about just how bad Remus' fashion sense was. It had begun when James merely wondered out loud why Remus hadn't burned the sweater that his grandmum had knitted him for Christmas. In response, Remus had cheerfully thrown his Advanced Potions manual across the room. Those things were heavy, as James could attest.

Rubbing his nose, James echoed Sirius' sentiments. "Maybe we could smuggle you into Remus' trunk. After he's gotten rid of that . . . thing which is offending my eyes." The sweater in question was bright magenta and tangerine. In shapes that looked like decapitated puppies. The gang had been unable to decide whether this was a personal comment (Remus considered dogs to be sell-outs--just because people fed them millions of years ago didn't mean they had to do stupid tricks now. Man's best friend--Ha!) or dear old Grandmum was just having trouble knitting something normal like snowflakes. Or puffskeins.

"I guess it is pretty awful," Remus said resignedly. He tossed the sweater over to the dustbin while James sighed with relief. "But it's too bad you can't come with us. Maybe it'll be interesting. All those Ministry officials to talk to, and all that."

"Mum's going to go shopping; the regulations aren't as strict over on the Continent. They're not as worried about Muggle-security. Either I go along with her or follow Dad around, ignoring frequent hints to go back to my room." Plus Mum and Dad aren't even talking. I don't know why she even agreed to go on this. Guess she had it out with Grandmother over something. Can't see why that has to spoil my holiday.

"At least you won't be stuck in the same house as Allie for a week," Sirius said to cheer him up. "Didn't you notice the way she was sitting in the common room when we came up the stairs?"

"Um, no." Remus said, rolling his eyes. Remus didn't understand the whole sibling rivalry thing, even though he supposedly had an older brother. Either they hated each other so much they pretended the other didn't exist and made a point never to be home at the same time (Not a bad idea--certainly works for Mum and Dad) or they got along so phenomenally well that Remus never felt the need to complain about his sibling. Even after knowing Remus for four years, Peter had no idea as to which it was.

"How couldn't you notice? Doesn't she look ominous?"

Peter dashed out on the landing compliantly. Allie was sitting by the fire, giggling loudly at something some sixth year boy had said. Peter returned to report and was forced to admit that she did not look normal. He did add that he thought it had more to do with the presence of the boy than any sinister plot.

"She's only sitting there," Peter concluded.

"But how is she sitting there?" Sirius refused to let it go. For once he had discovered his sister planning something and was bloody well not going to let it go without further investigation.

"Err . . . like normal," Peter tried to please. "Y'know, bent at the middle and the knees . . ."

"Well, she has been acting suspicious lately," Sirius said, daring anyone to contradict him.

"What do you mean? I haven't even seen her around the common room lately. I doubt we'll know she's there," said James, who got along rather well with both of Sirius' siblings.

"But why has she been disappearing lately?" said Sirius spookily. "She's plotting something. I know it." Allie had a brief but nearly legendary reign as queen of pranksters until her little brother started at Hogwarts. Still, some considered quality better than quantity, so Sirius was determined to do something that would make him the undisputed the king of pranksters--forever.

He had yet to be successful; though charming the Slytherin Quidditch uniforms to broadcast rude slogans (in crimson and gold thread) across the players' backs had come rather close. Even better, he'd done it during the final match for the Cup, and somehow the Slyths didn't notice until after Lydda Fawcett (of Gryffindor, naturally) had caught the Snitch. It took longer than usual, as she nearly fell off her broom from laughing. The Gryffindors in the stands had also been perilously close to disaster; the stands were shaking from students falling over in hysterics. All in all, it was a great game.

"So she's plotting something. Do you think we can't handle it?" said James. Peter looked even glummer--he could be missing the practical joke war of a lifetime.

"She's been working really hard on a Divination project. She and Mum are going to be intolerable." Sirius kicked at a defenceless hedgehog that was supposed to be his Transfiguration project.

Caitriona Black, a very gifted astrologer, was ecstatic that one of her children had a clear Inner Eye. Among other things, it meant she could more easily keep an Eye on her; Mrs Black spent quite a bit of her spare time trying to keep up with her brood's schemes and spats. Her husband, violating the usual stereotypes, was the absent minded, impractical one who spent so much time thinking about the future. He was an astronomer--which may be why their marriage worked out so well. Maybe if Mum was as into the Ministry like Dad is . . . Peter thought. Wonder what government obsessed people name their kids?

"Allie's only a year older than us. If she has any talent at seeing the future, it wouldn't be focused enough yet," Remus said calmly.

"Ah well, see what I get for not paying attention in class? Then what's all the stuff we've been doing with tea leaves and star charts?"

Remus went into teacher mode, and began explaining in a Patient and Friendly Manner, "We've been learning to recognise omens and interpret. That crystal ball nonsense--theoretically it can be done, but only by a very powerful Seer. You need years of training to open the Inner Eye, and half the time it's damaged beyond repair just in training. And the ones who get that far have tons of talent." Remus finished sulkily. Apparently he was having trouble accepting that he couldn't be brilliant at something just by study. All those hours in the Shrieking Shack waiting for the change paid off.

Sirius brightened, but quickly grew depressed again. "But they can sense if you have talent. Mum probably wants to do some exercises--the rest of us haven't shown any aptitude and she's so happy to have someone who can join in with her prophesy stuff. If we're lucky, they'll go off to visit the centaurs. Dad's going to be the only sane one at home, hope you don't mind," he groaned. But it was an affectionate groan.

They returned to the packing, and except for the occasional 'it's just too bad Peter can't come', they were silent. Peter quietly and efficiently packed his trunk, and returned to moping. It's not fair. I'm going to have an awful time while my friends all get to spend the holidays together. Maybe if I whine enough Mum and Dad will let me come back to school early.

******* Summer, 1975 *******

Peter chewed on his quill and tried not to look at the large roll of mostly blank parchment in front of him. Just like Binns to give homework over the holiday. Well, now I have a cheap cure for insomnia--wonder if there's a way to market it? Might as well get something for all this work.

"Out of my study, Peter. I've got work to do." When doesn't he have work to do?

"Yes, Dad. I'm sorry."

Richard picked up Peter's books and parchment. With an exasperated look, he dumped the mess outside the door, nearly spilling ink all over the hallway. Sitting in the hallway amid his ruined essay, Peter pulled a notebook from his pocket and made a tick mark. That makes a grand total of five hours spent with the family in the last week, including meals. And Mum and Dad weren't speaking for two of them. What a wonderful summer.

In a final attempt to save her marriage, Ariane had insisted on renting a flat in Muggle London to be near Richard. This meant Peter slept in what a generous person would call a closet ("Daddy needs a study. That way, he can do some work from home.") and they had to be very careful about using magic. Richard did work from home, but that was about all he did there. Owls were, of course, forbidden.

"Quit making noise, I'm busy."

"Fine," Peter snarled. The sound of a quill on parchment is so noisy; I don't know why the neighbours aren't complaining. I give it another week until Mum decides she's had enough and it's off to Grandmother for the rest of the week. If I asked nicely, I wonder if Mr Potter would adopt me?

"For the last time, go . . . go out and play or something. Go to the playground."

"Dad, I'm fourteen."

"So go to the pub. Just get out of the house. I'm filing Auror reports, trying to find a link between the latest incidents and I need QUIET!" Richard yelled. Maybe the neighbours did hear that one. Serves Dad right to have to deal with them. Peter deliberately rustled his papers as he got to his feet.

"Aren't you leaving for your grandmother's soon?" Richard glanced at his filled desk calendar and turned to Peter hopefully.

"Next week." Actually, two weeks, but Mum's not going to last that long. "And if you're looking for connections between the attacks, all of them have been in that area. Makes sense, the killer giants who've joined the Dark Side live around there."

"Really? That's great. I may have to go up there with a team next month."

What? The most dangerous place in the country won't even go there without a guard, and he sends his wife and son. Thanks Dad. Love you too.

Ariane's voice came from the kitchen. It sounded like she had been having more trouble with the Muggle method of food preparation. "Peter, tell your father that if he deigns to join us, dinner is ready."

"Mum said that if you deign to join us--"

"Tell her that I've got reports to finish. I've got to go back to the office, and will eat there." Richard slammed the door, and Peter could hear him scribbling furiously.

"Mum, Dad says he's too busy for us, and will eat when he goes back to the office. He's probably going to spend the night there again. Why he even bothers to come home, I don't know." Peter glared at the closed door, and went into the kitchen. He sat down and looked at the casserole Ariane proudly put on the table. He poked his fork into the greyish mass on his plate and then decided the vegetables were safer; at least he could identify them.

Ariane cleared her throat. "Peter, what do you think about going to Grandmother's a little earlier than we had planned?"

Surprising. Oh well, anything to get out of here. "Really Mum? Sounds great." Then a thought struck him. "Have you been reading the papers lately?"

After he prodded and poked what could be loosely classified as food around his plate for half and hour, Ariane finally relented and allowed Peter to go to his broom closet-turned-bedroom. He wrote a letter to Remus, and picked up a stack of similar letters to the rest of the gang. There's no way Dad'll actually mail them, but it can't hurt to ask. Anyway, might as well go annoy him. Maybe he'll turn purple like he did last night.

Peter pushed the letters under the door, and braced himself for the explosion. This might not be the greatest idea. Well, he deserves it. Nothing happened. Cautiously, Peter opened the door a crack. He's already left. Why does he bother coming home? Feeling both rebellious and bored, he put the stack of letters on the desk, just in case. He would have left, but a small leather-bound book caught his eye. Unlike Richard's usual reading material, this work was small and fat, with an intricate embossed design on the cover. Intrigued, Peter picked it up.

"Animagi: Official Ministry Guide" CONFIDENTIAL was stamped in large letters across the cover. They changed colour at regular intervals, causing Peter to jump. He looked guiltily at the half-closed door and settled into the chair, only to jump up when it squeaked. Laughing nervously at himself, Peter sat down again, careful to position himself where he couldn't be seen from the doorway. Apprehensively, he opened the book.

Is this what I think it is? And Dad has it on his desk why? This could be what we need. It seems a little too easy. Flipping through the book, Peter realised that, yes, it was too good to be true. There was a brief description of the process (involving a complicated mixture of spells and a potion) but nothing specific enough to be helpful. Oh well. It might be useful. Peter pocketed the book, along with a small pamphlet put out by the Dark Arts press. Richard had presumably confiscated them from whoever was under investigation this week, and in his current state of preoccupation would never miss them.