The Black Star

The Black Star with The Ninth Chapter

Bam.

Bam.

Bam!

Sean Wraith, who was in the middle of an analysis of some reports on a stolen artefact from the wizarding museum of Egypt, looked up, highly irritated at the pounding that had suddenly started to resound and didn't seem to intend to stop anytime soon. He narrowed his eyes and turned his head slowly from one side to another in order to locate the sound's origin. Sean tilted his head to the right.

BAM.

Yes, that was it. The pounding was coming from Stella's office. The question of "Where?" was hereby answered. But as to the "What?", Sean had no idea. It might have been better to go to the entrance to Stella's office, knock politely and then inquire about the sound's purpose, but not having slept for 32 hours and additionally annoyed by today's load of work, Sean resolved to go for shock-therapy and Teleported himself straight into the office of the Head of Black Star.

The first thing he heard was a startled cry and in the next second, Sean noticed a little bolt of blue light flying towards him. Proving that his master reflexes he used to gloat about were really existing, Sean deflected the bolt with a quick wave of his hand and looked up to the woman at the desk in front of him who was too surprised to speak.

CRASH!

Misdirected, the bolt had flown straight into a glass shelf and smashed it, letting all the things that had been standing there rain down like overripe plums from a tree.

Stella's surprise turned into vague annoyance mingled with amusement as Sean swore softly at the sight of the mess.

"Thanks for ruining my shelf, General," Stella remarked, drawling. "What a refreshing change from the complaining owls and death threats I usually get if somebody is not pleased with my actions. But really, couldn't you have rather gone for my desk to express your displeasure instead of my little collection of things that actually look nice?"

Sean gave her a reproachful glare. "No need to get sarcastic. And, if my short-time memory doesn't fail me completely, it was you who attacked me first."

Stella shook her head. "I didn't. You just got into the way. He was my original target."

She pointed at a poster of a dark-haired man that was hanging on the door, looking quite battered from all the blue bolts that had apparently been thrown at it. It showed a very terrified-looking face, which was, however, unable to move, on contrary to normal wizarding photos.

Petrificus Totalus on a poster? Sean mused with raised eyebrows. He knew the man on the photo; it was Fabian Cortez, the Mexican Minister of Magic, one of Black Star's most demanding, but also best-paying clients. Stella hated him with a passion.

"Now what has the poor man done again, huh?" Sean asked amusedly, stepping aside to let through his superior who was muttering Reparo-spells in the direction of the glass shelf. Having restored the fragile construction to its former appearance, Stella spun around to Sean, her eyes flashing. However, her anger wasn't directed at him.

"The `poor man', as you termed him, has torn me out of my superb relaxation session because he suspected his brothers and his sister to plot something against him, insisting that they have acted way too conspiratorially during the last two days. I had to Apparate all the way to Mexico and you know how complicated it is over such long distances... then I had to observe all his sibs and do you know what I found out?"

She was positively seething now.

"Er," Sean tried to put in something, but it had been a rhetorical question.

Stella continued, gesticulating wildly which gave a very good impression of her irritation. "They had planned a surprise birthday party for this paranoid psychopath! That's why they acted `conspiratorially'!"

"Oh," Sean remarked in lack of something clever to say.

"So not only their birthday surprise was ruined," Stella went on, picking up various `nice-looking things' that had fallen from the shelf. "The whole bloody affair disrupted my first work-free day since... dunno when."

"There, there," her friend said soothingly, reaching out to pat her shoulder. "It could have been worse. Just imagine they would have planned to kill him or something. How much more work and time would have cost you that?"

Dusting off a little Swarowski glass wolf, Stella grumbled, "None. I would have let them go on and now I would be having peace from that over-suspicious maniac."

Sean merely rolled his eyes, knowing that she didn't really mean it, and bent down to help her put the other things onto the shelf. "Did anything break?"

Stella shook her head as she picked up a box made out of malachite. "No. Pity that this didn't though." She showed Sean the green box she was holding. "I'd really like to know what's in there."

He gave her a peculiar glance. "Ever tried to open it? You know, people with less aggressive inclinations usually do Alohomora or something similar first."

Stella opened her mouth to say something indignant in response, but Sean interrupted her. "Where do you have it from, anyway?"

"It's from Uncle Aberforth," Stella explained absently, continuing to arrange the things on the shelf. "He gave it to us - that is, Sirius, Albus and me years ago for `times of great need', whatever that may mean, shortly before he disappeared. But what use is such a thing to you if you can't open it? Look!" She pointed at the sides of the box where three sets of fingertips were imprinted. "We gathered that those were for our respective right hands and they really fit, but after trying every Opening Spell we could think of and every Smashing Hex, too, we gave up. It was probably one of Aberforth's little jokes, you know how he was... always predicting something, but I've yet to find one of his `prophecies' come true."

She pulled a face, but then let it soften a little, turning to Sean who was regarding her with interest.

"Don't take me wrong, though. I liked the old man as if he had been my real uncle. He was fun to have around, too and undeniably a master where wards and Shielding Spells were concerned. He invented the Vampire Ban, for example. But he was also very eccentric, even more so than his brother, which is saying something." She grinned, a little regretfully.

"So he probably magicked this box to be opened only at a certain time and otherwise being completely resistant to whichever means of opening or destruction, right?" Sean stated thoughtfully.

"I guess. But when will that `certain time' be? I mean, we've already had `times of need' and it never worked," Stella remarked, drawing a hand through her hair in a frustrated motion, surveying the little malachite box with what verged on antipathy. "I suppose he wanted to leave something mysterious behind that would remind us of him, no matter how useful or useless it might be."

"Useless or not, I like it," Sean commented while putting a jar of sugarquills onto the shelf. "It's green."

Frowning, Stella turned to face him, not missing the sugarquill jar and sticking one quill between her lips. "Ffo?"

"Ffo?" Sean mimicked her good-naturedly and dived away as she playfully sent another of her blue bolts flying towards him. "Nothing," he said, laughing. "I just happen to like the colour. Reminds me of old days of glory, you know."

Stella gave him a well-known `Glory? What glory?' - look, finally comprehending what he was getting at. Taking the sugarquill out of her mouth, she grinned.

"Us Gryffindors were better than you lot, anyway."

Sean nodded earnestly. "Oh yes, indubitably." He gave her an obnoxious smirk. "You always beat us when it came down to the `Pillock of the year', the `Most pumpkin tarts eaten in a day'-award and last but not least - the `Ultimate Tally Of Own Goals' at Quidditch. You never failed to win that one."

Stella turned her head away to hide the grin that was tugging at the corners of her lips. With suppressed chuckling and feigned haughtiness, she announced smoothly, "There is nothing wrong with sportive enthusiasm, Mr. Ex-Superstar Seeker."

Sean made a mock-subsiding gesture. "Whatever you say, my dear." He flashed a dazzling smile, one of those Stella liked to make use of herself. "Whatever you say."

"Showing your teeth like this won't help you," she commented his smile with a copy on her own. "Next time you make a similar remark, I'll assign you to train young Mr. Malfoy." Her smile became evil as Sean's face transformed into a mask of disgust and pleading.

"No, please..."

"Why not? He's a Slytherin, after all," Stella said with big, innocent eyes. "You should get along perfectly fine."

"I've read his file," Sean answered dryly. "And I have no intention of instructing such a whiny, spoiled little brat."

Stella rolled her eyes and went over to her chair to stretch out on it.

"No, you'll rather leave that task to me, won't you," she told him accusingly.

Sean was unmoved. "Exactly. You decided to employ him, ergo, you're gonna teach him what he needs to know. Always remember that it's because of you that he's here."

"A fact that you will certainly remind me of until the end of our days," she replied, directing a resigned gaze to the ceiling and putting the sugarquill between her lips once again.

Sean seemed to contemplate her response for a moment. "Haven't thought of it yet, but now that you're suggesting it... seems like a good idea to me. Thanks!"

And with a wide grin, he Teleported himself away, long before the blue bolt searing out of Stella's fingertips would have reached him.

Feeling dispirited, Stella banged her head on the desk.

"I need a holiday," she murmured and noticed with irrationally great irritation that the sugarquill had fallen onto the carpet while she'd been talking to herself. "Aargh. Has everything decided to turn against me today?"

Her eyes fell on the malachite box again.

"Now where might Uncle Aberforth be at the moment?" she mused absently.

She wasn't at all sure whether he was still alive because he had missed to send her a Christmas owl for the last two years, which he used to do. Then again, maybe he had just forgotten. Or maybe there weren't many birds where he was currently residing. Aberforth Dumbledore was known for his unusual living preferences. All his residences had had one thing in common, though. They had easily belonged to the best-warded locations in the magical world, surpassing even the wards that had been put on parts of the pyramids of Gizeh.

The Black Star Headquarters were built on the ruins of a former Aberforth's residence which had been destroyed about half a century ago by the Dark wizard Grindelwald. Apparently, Aberforth's Shielding System hadn't been as good and impenetrable then as it had become later.

It was still a powerful magical site and the founders of Black Star had used those lingering effects of Aberforth's skills to make the HQ even safer. As it had already been mentioned, the HQ location had been very carefully chosen.

After the destruction of his North-West Territories residence, Aberforth had sought his luck on the South Pole. He had never really got along with other people, not counting a few exceptions and, as Stella assumed, he must have been a big fan of snow and ice. This was very likely, actually, seeing that one of his favourite pastimes had been the design of ice sculptures. His preferred motive was the goat, for some unfathomable reason, and that hobby went as far as Aberforth not being able to resist turning a real goat into an ice-sculpture one day when he had been visiting his brother Albus in Scotland. Unfortunately, the goat's owner, a very conservative Muggle, hadn't liked the change at all and it had resulted into a big scandal (those had been the times when people hadn't had to fear Voldemort yet). Aberforth had told Stella the story a few years ago and she remembered well how they had laughed heartily at his mimicking of the poor Muggle's indignation.

Stella's smile at that particular memory was a little sad, though. She didn't like the thought of Aberforth being dead. He had been rather adorable in his own way. Not to mention that somehow, he had always managed to lift her spirits, no matter how bleak the situation might have been.

***

Several men clad in black, resembling nothing more than statues wrought out of obsidian were standing in a semi-circle at an old and nearly-forgotten graveyard near the sea. The wind was howling a lonely song and the tree's whispering voices seemed to be expressing their abhorrence at the meeting that was taking place underneath the shelter of their leaves.

The shape of the hooded man who was standing outside the semi-circle began to move.

"I sense fear," Voldemort whispered in his hissing snake-like voice while walking slowly form one Death Eater to another. "It is wise of you to fear me... for I could tear your soul out of your body the same way you rid a fly of its wings. However, the cloud of dread is being penetrated by something else..." He let his burning gaze sweep over the also hooded figures, all of whom recoiled slightly.

Voldemort spoke again. "I smell the pervading odour of betrayal. I smell TREASON!"

His last word was a mere breath and yet it rippled the formation of Death Eaters almost as if it had been a gale-force wind. Voldemort was unpredictable at dealing with supposed traitors. He might or might not be lenient. No-one knew.

Severus Snape forced himself to stand upright as rigidly as before. Despite the tremor and fear he felt inside, he succeeded in displaying a reasonable state of calmness. However, he doubted that an unruffled exterior would persuade Voldemort to spare him his fury.

The Dark Lord had begun to move again and Severus awaited his inevitable fate with lowered head and half-closed eyes. He had expected to last longer than that. Hopefully Voldemort wasn't in an excessively torture-appreciating mood today.

With the certainty of his upcoming death, Severus could barely prevent himself to gasp with surprise as Voldemort didn't stop in front of him, but instead rounded on the man at his left.

"Wilkes, you fool," the Dark Lord whispered in a voice forged from quiet steel. "Did you think that your petty secret rebellion would escape my knowledge? Did you really have the impertinence to assume that you could deceive me, your Master who owns everything you are, from the last stone of your mansion to your very soul?"

The addressed Death Eater was frozen with horror and failed to answer. A piercing white bolt of light screamed from the tip of Voldemort's wand and hit Wilkes, knocking him to the ground. Snape didn't dare turning his head and continued to stare rigidly to the earth, as did the other Death Eaters.

"N-no, my Lord," Wilkes gasped, hoping against hope that his placating tone would soothe his Master.

No chance.

"And yet you betrayed me," Voldemort continued almost meditatively. Then, all of a sudden, his voice rose, dark with menace. "For this, you shall burn... burn and perish as your loyalty to me did!"

He pointed his wand at the Death Eater in an almost elegant motion and announced coldly, "Watch, Death Eaters, and let the following image burn itself into your memories, so that you will always remember what happens to those who are disloyal to me."

Voldemort raised his wand over his head and then put it down like a whip, hissing, "Incensus!"

The red-orange light hit Wilkes squarely in the chest and briefly, it seemed as if nothing was going to happen. But a few seconds later, Severus noticed with abhorrence that Wilkes himself had begun to glow. His skin was flushing as if of excitement and his eyes were shining with a strange, unnatural light. For a moment, Wilkes' face remained the mask of frozen horror which it had assumed after he had been addressed by Voldemort. However, after the time of a few heartbeats, the petrification melted into something entirely different. Face distorting, Wilkes started to scream in pain as his limbs were switching uncontrollably and smoke began to emerge from his mouth and his nose. It was a terrifying spectacle and Severus, a sick feeling in his stomach, would have readily turned away and covered his ears to evade the screaming if there hadn't been Voldemort smouldering eyes studying him closely.

Be careful of your deeds, Severus, they seemed to be saying. Or you might find yourself sharing Wilkes' fate.

Meanwhile, little flames started to protrude from Wilkes' body and his screams turned to inhuman howls as the fire within himself slowly consumed him alive. The stench of scorched flesh arose, making Severus choke and more than a little sick. As much as he was used to various forms of torture, burning other people alive had never been something he could witness with the sang-froid Voldemort did. And to tell the truth, he was glad he wasn't capable of it. It meant he had retained some shreds of humanity and Severus wanted to keep those as long as possible under the current circumstances.

At long last, the shouts subsided and the fire left nothing but a pile of ashes behind. These remnants of Wilkes' body lay still for a moment when suddenly a stronger wind came up, blowing them away into the dusk of the late evening.

The Death Eaters watched as the cinders were dissipated by the wind and the cold dread of a similar punishment which might be inflicted by their Master on themselves in the future descended on them like a heavy cloud, another layer of horror after Wilkes' death.

"Just like the wind controls Wilkes' ashes, I am controlling you," Voldemort remarked with grim satisfaction in his voice. "Never forget that."

"No, my Lord."

"We won't, Master," the Death Eaters murmured and arranged themselves again into the semi-circle which Voldemort presided.

The wind had become stronger and colder and Severus, despite being used to the coldness of the Hogwarts dungeons, shivered. The trees' whispering had intensified and now it sounded decidedly angry.

Stop it, Snape, Severus said sternly to himself. Trees do not talk. And you'd better keep a low profile around Voldemort now or else you might find yourself really hear them talk. Not to mention seeing furniture dancing tango.

One of Voldemort's favourite form of punishment was also driving his disobedient servants completely insane by performing Cruciatus on them. Most of them committed suicide eventually and those who didn't were tortured until death.

The Dark Lord's voice penetrated the mist of Severus' brooding like an arrow - it was similarly sleek and dangerous.

"Now, let's move on to the next point of our schedule. Lucius, Wormtail - I assume you have brought what I demanded?" he said, turning to the men right beside him.

"Yes, Master," they muttered in unison with heads bowed respectfully (Whether or not it was real respect was questionable, but in the current situation it was wiser to appear reverent.)

Lucius was just about to seize into a pocket of his robes when Voldemort stopped him with a gesture, spinning around to the other Death Eaters.

"I won't be needing your services tonight. Leave," he commanded and faced Lucius and Wormtail again, looking expectant.

With an inward sigh of relief, Severus Disapparated along with the other Death Eaters, very glad about not having to do Voldemort's bidding tonight, but also intrigued about what had the Dark Lord wanted Malfoy and Pettigrew to obtain. Severus knew that those two had been abroad for a few days, but as to the purpose of their trip, he had no idea. It had indubitably something to do with Voldemort's plan to get Harry Potter, whom he claimed to need for achieving immortality at last, which Snape doubted he could but naturally, he didn't voice his misgivings out loud.

Well. This would give Dumbledore and his closest supporters something to chew on until they would figure out what Voldemort had in mind. Because he, Severus, didn't intend to rack his brains over what was going on in the twisted mind of a criminally insane. It should be enough that he was undergoing the task of re-entering Voldemort's service and ergo being in constant mortal danger.

***

"Lucius," said Narcissa impatiently, addressing her husband who was pacing around in his study, lost in thoughts. "If you don't quit running around in circles like a fool at once, I'll make you. Stop it and talk to me."

"Of course, my dear, of course," Lucius Malfoy replied in a distracted sort of voice, playing absently with his snake cane that was actually a sheath for his wand.

Narcissa resisted the urge to take the cane and whack him over his head. An absent-minded Lucius was the worst that could happen to you if you wanted to extract some information out of him.

Strictly speaking, Narcissa Malfoy wasn't a Death Eater. Not that she wouldn't have readily accepted, had she been offered the honour. But the Dark Lord had chosen for her to remain unbranded by his Mark and seemingly uninvolved in Lucius' `business' in order to be less under suspicion if someone from the Enemy's side started to pry in the Malfoy family's activities. However, Narcissa still got informed about the Death Eater plans in the same measure her husband did, which meant quite a lot of information.

Her role as an arrogant aristocrat who was just spending her husband's money without caring or knowing its true origin, much less her husband's true business was widely recognized as the truth in the magical community. Of the already few people who knew for sure that Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater, even fewer had ever given only so much as a thought to the possibility that Narcissa could be involved in Lucius' Dark activities as well.

Female Death Eaters were rather uncommon, officially, there was only one currently living - Cynthia Lestrange. Narcissa didn't know how much involved the wives of the other Death Eaters were, but she doubted anyone of them would have the nerve and the ambition to engage herself into their spouses' activities. Most of them were bored and spoiled rich women with either no special abilities to speak of or no will to make use of them.

Narcissa didn't consider any of them as her equal, but then, she had yet to meet a person who would fulfil her expectations in that area. Narcissa was - as her husband never failed to remind her - unique. Or so they both thought.

Right now, she wasn't very pleased with her husband's behaviour, which wasn't the case frequently as they usually got on very well. That in itself was a little miracle, for both were self-centred, demanding and unyielding in their own thinking. But apparently their love, or respect, or ambition or whatever it was that bound them together, was strong enough to prevent them from making each other' life hell and destroy the other in the process. For Narcissa was by no means less well-versed in the Dark Arts than her husband. She had seen to that, employing her characteristic sense of self-preservation. You could never know what Lucius Malfoy would do in the future and whom he would choose to see as his enemy or ally. It was better to be prepared for all eventualities, though Narcissa highly doubted her husband would ever turn against her. After all, they needed each other in several aspects of life and they both knew it.

"Now," Narcissa spoke up again, an imperious tinge to her voice. "Will you or will you not tell me where you've spent the last three days and what today's meeting has been about?"

With her innate grace, she rose from her chair and strode purposefully into the middle of the room, right into Lucius path.

He had to stop if he didn't want to crash into her and so he did, frowning.

"Don't worry, I wasn't with a maîtresse," he said acidly, annoyed at her interruption. However, then he decided to change his tone, mainly because he had no patience whatsoever to deal with a sulky woman. It was generally better for the Manor's atmosphere to keep Narcissa from being displeased. Her offended behaviour tended to get on Lucius' nerves. And maybe she could shed some light into Voldemort's plans that seemed very vague to him so far.

"In the past three days, I was unfortunately cursed with Wormtail as a companion," he began, using the lazy, drawling tones his son had picked up from him. "The Dark Lord sent us to the Egyptian wizarding museum to obtain an artefact, the real purpose of which he still keeps quiet. As for tonight, nothing terribly interesting has taken place, not really. He burned Wilkes for betraying him - most abominable, the curse he used, I'd have chosen something tidier - then he demanded the artefact from me and dismissed us."

Narcissa tilted her head slightly and regarded him with a gaze full of attention.

"What sort of artefact was it?" she asked.

Lucius put the silver serpent's head that was on the top of his wand sheath, under his chin. "It wasn't one of the very dangerous or really valuable ones. I couldn't tell you the Egyptian name, but it translates roughly into `Pendant of Perdition'. It's made of a metal I didn't recognize and has the shape of an arrow. Its main purpose is to bring bad luck over the bearer."

He looked at his wife thoughtfully. "I highly doubt that it's the reason Voldemort wants it for."

Narcissa shook her head. "Of course not. There must be other special powers that pendant has. Powers which are apparently known to Voldemort, but not to us. Have you tried to investigate in that matter?"

Lucius made a denying gesture. "No. There hasn't been any time for this. But I was planning to do it now. You will help me, I assume?"

Narcissa arched one eyebrow. "Only because my curiosity is piqued. Otherwise, you would be leafing through those dozens of tomes of yours by yourself."

She smiled lazily and Lucius, giving her a reflection of her smile back, put an arm around her waist and led her into his library.

"Thank you, my beautiful. I highly value your help," he said.

Narcissa just smiled again. "As well as you should, darling."

***

The first ray of the morning sun crawled slowly over the windowsill of ancient stone and made its way to Sirius, who was lying in his bed, snoring unusually peacefully. The long golden sunray finally reached his face and aimed with malicious precision its tickling finger at his nose.

All of a sudden, Sirius sneezed, hard.

And woke up, as a result. Slowly, he sat up, feeling slightly dizzy and disoriented. Squinting into the sun, he glanced toward the window and grinned involuntarily, the wonderful weather outside contributing to the lifting of his spirits which were usually low in the morning.

He slid out of the bed with a grace that would have made most women desperately jealous (not even the years in Azkaban had taken away this particular ability of his) and walked out of his room, clad only in his pyjamas. Sirius made his way down to the dining hall because his stomach was demanding filling persistently and quite loudly. The kids were apparently still asleep which didn't surprise Sirius in any way. He remembered that at their age, he had frequently slept until noon when he had got the chance.

Moony will be awake, though, he mused with light amusement. The day he wakes up later than me, I will declare myself the Emperor of Japan.

Sirius knew his friend well. Remus was already sitting at the dining table, holding an apple in one hand and the Daily Prophet in the other one.

Sirius grinned at the sight.

"How I'd love to take a photo of you like this. The big bad werewolf living off apples. Doesn't it feel a little... unsatisfying to you?" he asked good-naturedly.

"Not yet," Remus replied, picking up Sirius' light tone. "But the moon's waxing. Soon there will be only meat served. Maybe we should get that Bicorn out of the stables before I decide to prepare it as a dessert," he joked.

Sirius appreciated his friend's uncharacteristic light-heartedness and sat down next to him, peering into the newspaper Remus was holding. "Anything interesting?"

The other man shook his head. "No, unless you absolutely crave to know how our dear Minister for Magic prepares his breakfast and what sort of shoes go best with dress robes. Honestly," he commented with disapproval. "The Daily Prophet's quality is deteriorating rapidly."

Remus put it down and reached out to the pile of various newspapers and magazines his friend had ordered to know what was going on in the world, both magical and Muggle. Sirius had always liked to be up-to-date. Remus frowned at the magazine he had got hold of. It wasn't a daily one.

"The Playwizard, Sirius?" he told his friend with raised eyebrows. "That's misspent money."

Sirius became defensive immediately. "Hey, try to be a bit more understanding, okay? I've spent the past 14 years in a celibate!"

Remus laughed. "No, you misunderstood me," he said, grinning. "I already have a subscription for this. You needn't have to order yours."

"Oh. Well, better to have it two times than none at all, isn't it?" Sirius replied and tried to snatch the magazine out of Remus' hand.

But his friend held on to it and gestured towards the newspaper pile.

"I was first," he announced. "You go read something on a higher level. The International Wizarding Post, for example."

Grumbling, Sirius did so because he knew Remus was stronger than him and so he spread the newspaper on the table. "So now I'll get served murder, betrayal, catastrophes and...," he muttered, looking at the headline. "...robbery for breakfast."

Remus put his magazine down, his curiosity piqued. "Robbery? What has been stolen?"

"My Playwizard, for example," Sirius said, but then read the headline out loud. "Egyptian Wizarding Museum Reports Valuable Artefact Stolen"

"Apparently, some blokes borrowed the `Pendant of Perdition' without asking for permission first," Sirius commented dryly. "I just wonder why anyone would want to steal an artefact that's supposed to bring bad luck over its bearer."

"For giving it secretly to their enemy, perhaps?" Remus suggested, leaning over to look at the picture of the pendant. "But since most people will soon know how it looks like, chances are low that anyone would accept such a gift."

He examined the picture closely. The pendant was arrow-shaped and made of matted grey material - probably some sort of metal, Remus decided. It looked nothing special to him, but sometimes, it was the most inconspicuous things that became dangerous all of a sudden. Like certain rats, for example...

Sirius voice interrupted Remus' dark brooding. "I can't imagine somebody would want to undergo such efforts as outwitting the museum guards and penetrating the wards just to acquire an artefact cursed that moderately. I mean, putting Bad Luck Curses on objects must be what? Third year of Durmstrang, I would say. Also, why would such an object be called valuable?"

"Maybe because it's old," Remus said, not really with his whole mind on the matter anymore.

Sirius shot him a reproving look. "My pyjamas are old, too, but I doubt any museum would pay me something for them or put them in an exhibition," he remarked and grinned as Remus rolled his eyes, waving a hand to signalise that as far as he was concerned, the matter was closed.

However, Sirius persisted. "I'm telling you, there's more to that pendant than meets the eye."

Remus sighed in exasperation because it began to dawn on him that he wouldn't be left in peace with the Playwizard.

"And I'm telling you `So what?'" he replied impatiently.

Sirius pulled a face. "Moony! Can't you see that I'm just trying to occupy myself with something fairly undisturbing and relatively harmless for a change?"

"So you need my assistance because...?" Remus couldn't resist to drawl, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, don't you have any ancient tomes on cursed objects lying around somewhere?" Sirius asked hopefully.

"No."

"But I bet Hogwarts Library has." Sirius gave him a significant glance, accompanied by a persuasive smile. "You could owl Madam Pince and ask for one."

Remus didn't intend to. "Owl her yourself."

"I'd really rather not. My status as an escaped convict makes borrowing books out of Hogwarts Library a little difficult. You, on the other hand, as a former Hogwarts Professor..."

"And a werewolf," Remus put in dryly.

"As a former model student..."

"And a werewolf."

"As a former favoured pupil of Madam Pince..."

"And a werewolf," Remus said for the third time.

Sirius exploded. "Hell, Moony, what does your werewolf status has to do with this?"

Remus shrugged. "Lack of likeability and trustworthiness, I suppose."

"My lack thereof among other people is in the below-zero area. You couldn't beat me if you tried," Sirius told him firmly and Summoned a quill and a bit of parchment, congratulating himself mentally on managing it without a wand.

He stretched out his hand with the quill under Remus' nose and gave him his best puppy expression. "Pretty, pretty please?"

Sighing resignedly, Remus plucked the quill out of Sirius' hand. "Any special title you want?"

"Yeah," Sirius nodded. "The best one, of course."

Shaking his head, presumably at his own softness, Remus started to write.

"But please note that as a way of returning the favour, you are responsible for the next week's lunch and dinner, Padfoot," he said calmly and hid a grin as he saw Sirius' shocked expression out of the corner of his eye.

"You are not serious!" his friend exclaimed.

"Of course not, buddy," Remus replied, overly patient. "That's your name, remember?"

He laughed as he dived under the table to avoid the red sparks that had some zooming out of Sirius' fingertips at his answer. However, Remus' laughter died away the instant he straightened himself up and saw that his letter had caught fire from the sparks and was now burning merrily. Three seconds later, there was nothing left but a tiny pile of ashes.

Remus glared reproachfully at his friend who was wearing a satisfied expression on his face. "Bloody brilliant. Now I have to start again."

Fanning at himself with the Daily Prophet in a lazy motion, Sirius said mock-regretfully, "I'm struck speechless with the tragedy of your ghastly fate, Moony my dear. Rest assured that my thoughts will be with you."

Muttering something unintelligible under his breath, Remus left the dining hall for his study to write the letter in peace. However, he couldn't resist pausing at the door and magically letting a bucketful of water rain down onto Sirius' head. Only then he left the hall, grinning and ignoring Sirius' indignant shriek and his own inner voice which was reproaching him for acting so childishly.

"Nobody is going to provoke the Master of the grand Wolf's Castle and remain unscathed," Remus told himself with dignity just as a loose stone fell from the battered ceiling and thus summoned him back into reality.

Remus sighed. "Okay, okay. The Master of the not-so-grand Wolf's Castle, then."

***

*1973*

"Do you... d'ya think he's dead?" Lily asked a little timidly - quite unlike herself.

"He doesn't seem to be breathing," Caroline observed, sounding sorrowful and glanced fearfully at Mary-Ann who was peering at the deceased being intently.

"Sorry, girls," Stella announced after throwing a glance at him. "But I think he's well and truly snuffed it."

"You don't mean..." Elizabeth began but broke off as Stella nodded affirmatively.

"Dead. Deceased. Kicked the bucket," she said. "Though I don't know whether a Flobberworm is ever in the shape of kicking something, but you get my drift."

"Fully," Mary-Ann said acidly. "But I'd appreciate if you were a little more sensitive about this. I mean, he's just died."

Lily, however, had regained her easy confidence and took Stella's point of view.

"Mary, it's just a Flobberworm. I'll buy you another one if it troubles you so much," she consoled her dorm-mate, trying and failing not to sound amused.

Mary-Ann shot her and Stella a death-glare. "This wasn't just any Flobberworm! It was a present from my boyfriend. Though of course I didn't expect you to understand anyway, since you've never had one," she said haughtily, turning her back to those two.

"Well, if my boyfriend gave me a Flobberworm as a birthday present, I'd start seriously doubting his affection towards me," Lily muttered.

"Yeah," Stella added solemnly. "And I'd certainly make him pay the funeral. I mean, a present that lasts three days must be still under some sort of guarantee..."

Laughing, she linked arms with Lily who was grinning and they left the dorm for the common room, leaving an annoyed Mary-Ann and two very awkward-feeling dorm-mates behind.

"Now, really, paying for the funeral - that was very insensitive of you," Lily chided, chuckling.

Stella feigned indignation. "You are talking, Miss `Golden necklace and no less'-Birthday Present."

"I didn't say that," Lily defended herself. "I'd be happy about a simple rose, it doesn't have to be anything expensive. But really, a Flobberworm?"

"Hey, tell that Mary's boyfriend," Stella commented, shrugging helplessly.

Down in the common room, all the second-year boys except for Daniel Patil were sitting at a table together brooding over their Potions homework. More exactly, James, Peter and Remus were and Sirius was engrossed in Intermediate Transfiguration because he didn't like Potions and therefore couldn't be bothered with the unthinkable aspect of working for that subject unless it was absolutely necessary for the end-of-year exam.

James glanced up briefly at his friend, shaking his head.

"Isn't that a schoolbook you're reading, buddy?" he asked Sirius with raised eyebrows.

The addressed boy just nodded, not letting himself be disturbed.

However, James persisted, putting down his quill and leaning over to his friend. "And didn't I hear you telling us on numerous occasions that you'd never read a schoolbook voluntarily?"

"Changed my mind." That was all he got back.

Dissatisfied, James reached out and snatched the book out of Sirius' hands to see what exactly made the third-year Transfiguration textbook so interesting for his friend.

"Animagism," James read and paused to make a calming motion towards Sirius who was watching his actions irritably, apparently prepared to get the book back by force. "Ah. Yeah, you always did say you'd want to be capable of transforming into an animal, didn't you?"

Sirius nodded and took the tome back. "Yeah. Very interesting, this third-year stuff. I'm looking forward to next year."

"So do I. Being an Animagus must be cool. Isn't there a description on how to become one?" James asked curiously as Remus and Peter stopped writing to listen to their friends.

"Sadly, no," Sirius said, shaking his head in a regretful manner. "It's a pity. They just say here that it's very difficult and possibly dangerous." His eyes got a wicked gleam. "Just the right thing for us, isn't it, guys?"

While James looked quite taken with the idea, Remus went back to his homework and Peter glanced at his friends sceptically.

"Well," he said. "I'd like to become an animal at will, certainly, but I've heard that your personality reflects on your Animagus form and that you can't be so sure what sort of animal you'll become. I mean, imagine putting loads of time and energy into this business and then you get to be a cockroach or a toad."

His friends snorted and Sirius announced with his typical self-confidence, "I don't think I'd be either of those."

"No," James agreed, grinning. "You'd be a parrot, most likely."

"Yeah," Remus chimed in, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Same swiftness in talking and just as annoying."

Laughing, he dived away as Sirius sent a wave of red sparks towards him, his favourite way of making his friends stop taunting him.

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Sirius told Remus superiorly, "Then you would probably be a lamb. Same shyness and just as docile."

He hadn't been quite prepared for Remus' reaction and it seemed that James and Peter hadn't been either, because they looked at him with surprise as he burst into laughter at the absurdity of Sirius' statement. He was comparing a werewolf with a lamb? Now, that was a good one.

Obviously, his friends didn't understand what Remus had found so terribly entertaining and for the first time, Remus didn't feel apprehension or guilt about their lack of knowledge, but simple amusement. He charmed a mock-serious expression on his face, somehow succeeding in not chuckling.

"Um, yeah," he said, nodding solemnly. "You are probably right."

James and Peter grinned at him making fun of Sirius, but the addressed boy just frowned slightly, not out of annoyance, like his friends assumed, but out of thoughtfulness. Why was the prospect of becoming a lamb so terribly funny for Remus?Okay, Sirius had meant it to be a joke, but it had been a lame one and he knew it. Puzzled, he returned to his book, but not without throwing his brown-haired friend a last pensive glance.

The busy silence that had descended on the four boys after their Animagi-conversation was suddenly broken by James who said abruptly, "This plant for the Wakefulness Potion we have to make has to be picked under the full moon to make the draught effective."

"You noticed," Peter said, feigning fascination. "Twenty points for Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for realizing this after an hour of doing the homework."

James merely looked at him, missing Remus' shiver at the phrase `full moon', just like Sirius and Peter did. "Very funny. I simply wanted to know when full moon is, so we'll know when to pick it."

Still caught in the memories of his full moon nights, Remus answered absently, "Tomorrow night."

His immediate reply got the attention of his friends all right.

"Thanks," James muttered with a surprised frown in Remus' direction.

Sirius, however, expressed his astonishment about Remus' suspiciously swift response more clearly. "Do you always keep track of the moon phases so closely?" he demanded, studying his friend attentively.

Remus realized he had made a mistake. His friends had already inquired about his frequent `illnesses' in the past and they had expressed their concerns about his health only yesterday when the waxing moon had begun to already have bad effects on his physical condition. If he continued to behave so conspicuously like he was doing now, they might put two and two together and...

Not being able to think of any plausible reason to keep track of the moon phases, Remus decided to improvise. He gave Sirius a surprised glance as if his friend had just announced that he couldn't stand Quidditch. "Course I do. Why not?"

It was his friend's turn to look at him, puzzled.

"Why yes?" Sirius asked with one raised eyebrow.

Think, Remus, think.

"Because," Remus replied slowly, but as he was still failing to come up with anything believable, he said the first thing that came into his mind. "I try to live my life according to the Moon calendar. You know, cutting your hair and watering plants only at certain times of a month, otherwise it won't be as effective and good as it could be and so on."

He looked at them, hoping they had bought his fairy tale and blushed slightly as they were giving him most peculiar glances.

"Oh. My. Dear." Sirius said in a final sort of voice.

James looked similarly grave. "Remus, buddy, I hope you won't start with something like... dunno, Feng-Shui soon. `Cause it began the same with my mother, also with the Moon calendar, if I recall it correctly."

Peter shook his head worriedly. "Well, Sirius, I suppose your yellow-orange bed curtains are history now," he said with faked regret.

Remus rolled his eyes as Sirius' expression became shocked.

"Those curtains emit bad vibes even if you don't analyse them by Feng-Shui," Remus announced superiorly, just as Sirius opened his mouth to defend his colour taste.

"They do not," he claimed indignantly, forgetting his thoughts about Remus' weird acting for a moment.

Having noticed that, Remus felt a wave of relief wash over him.

Very good. Keep distracting them.

"Sirius," he said, leaning forward and giving his friend a firm look. "I have to shield my eyes whenever I accidentally glance at them. I've already thought of buying myself sunglasses just because of your bloody bed."

James stared at him with feigned dismay. "Remus, are you going to tell me that you haven't got any yet? I've ordered mine the very same week we moved in here."

"Me, too," Peter chimed in, picking up James' serious tone to mock Sirius. "Remus, you really shouldn't risk your eyesight like this, you know."

The three of them grinned and Sirius leaned back in his chair, looking sour.

"How exceedingly funny. Am practically laughing myself to death." His tone became accusing. "You are trying to repress my creativity."

"Awww," they intoned in unison, patting their sulking friend on the shoulder.

"You could outlive your creativity in some other way," Peter suggested helpfully. "With Origami, for example."

"Or pottery," James said, not even trying to hide his laughter.

"No!" Remus interrupted enthusiastically, his eyes shining with sudden inspiration.

Three heads turned to him, two expectantly, one rather with reluctance.

"Knitting," he announced proudly and James and Peter snorted into their Potions homework while Sirius was shaking his head in a sad motion.

"It has gone downhill with you, Remus my friend." Sudden inspiration struck him as well and he continued slyly, watching his friend carefully, "Gone slightly mental, I see. Rather moonstruck, I would say."

If Sirius had hoped to find out more about Remus' dubiously big knowledge about the moon phases, he got disappointed.

Too far gone into the insanity of the moment and too affected by the waxing moon to be careful, Remus replied regally, "Oh, yes, that's me. Mr. Moony, gentlemen. You've hit the nail on the head, Sirius."

He smiled brightly at his friend, whose suspicions about Remus hiding something were allayed for now. It seemed that he was just having some sort of weird day. That's what Sirius hoped, anyway.

"O-kay...," he said slowly, eyeing Remus as if he was going to break into a mad cackle any second.

James and Peter, helpless with laughter at Remus' comedy and Sirius' reaction, took a while to become at least partly calm again.

"Moony it is," James announced. "You've earned the name alright."

Just then it dawned on Remus that it might not have been a good idea to propose that particular name for himself.

Must be more careful there, he thought, but with the naïveté of a twelve-year old he hoped that it wouldn't incite his friends to make the right conclusions.

Fortunately or not, they weren't that dim.

All of a sudden, unpleasant recollection hit Remus. He needed to go to Madam Pomfrey to drink his Pepper-up Potion that would make him appear healthier and stronger. They had agreed that he would take it in the days around full moon because the others might get too suspicious or worried if he looked ill so often. Excusing himself hastily to his friends, telling them he had to get some work done in the library, he left the common room within a few seconds.

Mistake.

"Quite some speed he had on, eh?" Peter commented absently.

Sirius, however, frowned. Being in a particularly suspicious mood today he now sensed something was wrong. He didn't know what exactly it was, but there was something about Remus' behaviour that had made the back of his neck tingle. No good sign.

"What's up with you, Sirius?" James asked good-naturedly, noticing his friend's discomfiture. "You look as if somebody had messed with your guitar."

Sirius turned his thoughtful gaze to his friend and bit his lower lip in a manner that suggested something was troubling him.

"Got a calendar?" he asked all of a sudden.

James, thrown by the unusual request, stared. "Pardon?"

"A calendar. I need a calendar," Sirius replied impatiently and nodded thanks at Peter who gave it to him, despite not knowing what Sirius needed it for. Sirius flipped through the calendar, scowling as if he was trying to remember something.

"Now what are you on, huh?" James inquired, getting impatient at his friend's weird behaviour. "Missing your period? You gonna declare that you're pregnant?"

Peter and him snickered but Sirius ignored them.

"No," he said meditatively. "It's a different periodical thing I'm concerned about."

"And what precisely may that be?" Peter said, getting weary of Sirius' cryptic acting.

"Well, think."

"Sirius, we are too tired to think," James replied, yawning. "Why don't you just tell us what you bloody found out and we can continue with our homework in peace."

"Okay, listen. I think Remus is a werewolf," Sirius said bluntly, dropping his voice, so that no-one save James and Peter could hear his words.

Peter gave him a `Yeah, sure.'-look, showing no surprised reaction whatsoever. Clearly, he thought that was one of Sirius stupid jokes again.

"I think you need a decent night's sleep, pal," he commented, turning back to his homework.

James, however, had listened up at Sirius' tone. He looked at his friend, hard. "That's a grave accusation to make, Sirius."

"It's not meant as an accusation," Sirius defended himself indignantly. "An... assertion, more like."

At that, Peter looked up to his friends. "C'mon, you can't honestly think..."

Sirius gestured him and James to come closer. "Look at this," he said, pointing out places in the calendar to them. "Those are roughly the days Remus was ill and you know he's sick often. They are all - without a single exception - around the full moon."

Peter frowned. "And you can remember all the dates so well, right? Sorry, Sirius, but I think you have some sort of an obsession there. Remus can't be a werewolf."

Sirius glared at him. "Of course I don't remember all the dates," he snapped. "Just the recent ones and those are all once per month, on that special night. And, if you recall, he's never gone with us when we had to pick plants under full moon."

"That's true," James said suddenly. "He claimed to want to go alone for some reason or other. But he did always have the plants anyway and the Potions worked, so they must have been picked under the full moon."

Sirius waved a dismissive hand. "Professor Atrox gave them to him, then. I mean, surely the staff must know about this?"

"Careful, Sirius," James replied, taking the calendar and checking out the dates by himself. They fitted. "We don't know for sure whether you're right or not."

But it seemed that Sirius had already convinced Peter. The light-haired boy looked at his two friends anxiously. "He did laugh so unnaturally much at your lamb-comment before, Sirius. Maybe you're right," he said, his shoulders tensing.

Sirius nodded. "It must have been really ridiculous for him. I mean, comparing a big bad werewolf with a weak little lamb... ." He grinned.

"That's not funny," Peter hissed forcefully. "This is very serious."

Sirius put a soothing hand on his shoulder. "And I think you are making too much fuss about it."

Even James looked doubtful at Sirius' sudden light tone. "Werewolves are Dark creatures," he pointed out cautiously.

Sirius scowled at him. "Remus is no Dark creature."

James lifted his shoulders apologetically. "Look, either you're right and then he is or you're wrong and we're troubling ourselves over nothing. One way to change that, isn't there?" he said, not being one to fear confrontations.

Sirius stood up, looking determined. "Yes. Let's go and ask our Mr. Moony."

Peter looked hesitant. "What about Daniel? Aren't we going to tell him? I mean, he sleeps too in the same dorm with... with..." He faltered, looking more than vaguely uneasy.

"He's got a name, Peter," Sirius said with a hint of menace in his voice. "Always remember that he's Remus. Our friend. Your friend. Whether I'm right now or not."

Peter's nostrils widened with suppressed irritation at being addressed in that tone, but he complied. "Okay, okay."

"We'd better leave Daniel out of this. Dunno how he would react and I suppose the less people know about this, the better," James announced and the three of them set off to the library, assuming Remus had gone there as he had told them.

Having walked quickly as he usually did, Remus had managed to get into the Infirmary, drink the Pepper-up Potion and be halfway back at the moment his friends stepped out of the common room.

After crossing two corridors, they wanted to turn towards the library when they noticed Remus coming up from the opposite direction.

Sirius addressed him, talking in what seemed an odd sort of voice to Remus. "Didn't you say you wanted to go to the library, Moony?"

Remus opened his mouth to say something, but got interrupted by Peter.

"Why do you even bother asking him, Sirius?" he said with a shrill undertone in his voice. "He will probably lie anyway."

Remus' heart, which had appeared to stop for a moment, started to beat painfully fast as fear washed over him like a wave of icy water.

No! They couldn't know. They didn't...

But his hopes were in vain.

James opened a door at his right and found a deserted room. Gesturing them to step in, he announced calmly, "We need to talk, Remus."

Had Remus felt sick and weak with anxiety before, it was nothing compared to the nausea that washed over him now. The confrontation he'd feared since his first day here was going to take place and he was completely unprepared. Briefly, Remus regretted he couldn't perform memory charms. But then, there had been enough of lies and disguise already.

Closing the door behind him, he faced his three soon-to-be ex-friends resignedly. "Well?"

James spoke up for his friends as he often did and asked with his typical directness, "Are you a werewolf, Remus?"

Wow. That was pretty straightforward, Remus thought dryly. Usually, people tended to beat about the bush, hoping they might be mistaken by their assumption. Such a question deserved an equally direct answer.

"Yes," Remus said simply, watching their expressions as he did so.

James looked thoughtful and Sirius a little smug (Remus suspected he'd been the one who had actually found out. It was a Sirius thing to accomplish.). Peter, however, recoiled slightly and gave Remus the well-known look of mistrust mingled with fear. As much as Remus might have been used to it by now, it still hurt him that one of his best friends reacted like this. It hurt him and that made him angry, the energy of the nearly-full moon contributing to the weakening of his self-control.

"Now what?" he snapped, crossing his arms in front of him. "You going to reproach me about all my lies to you concerning illnesses and such? You going to hex me for what I am or are you just going to stare at me like I'm filth? All's been there already, but I trust you to be a bit more creative in your indignation."

His voice had turned bitter at the end of the last sentence and Remus lowered his head so as not to see the disgust and disdain which would certainly appear on their faces soon.

Remus tensed all of a sudden, as somebody put a hand on his left shoulder. He looked up and gazed into Sirius' dark eyes that miraculously didn't contain any of the emotions Remus had expected they would. Instead, he saw sympathy and - typically for Sirius - a gleam of mischief.

"So you want creativity, eh?" Sirius said a little meditatively, letting a grin flash across his face. "Well, I bet nobody has ever told you `What about biting Snape?' after they found out, did they?"

"Er...," Remus tried to answer, but the fact that Sirius was taking this grave matter so easily had thrown him.

He was even more surprised when another hand was put on his right shoulder and James spoke up, "I doubt they did since I don't think Snape has a Britain-wide popularity. I hope, at least." He frowned slightly, but went back to his usual cheerful self in the next second. "But don't listen to Sirius trying to land you in trouble, Moony. He's done that often enough in the past, after all."

Their camaraderie and easy behaviour thoroughly startled Remus. "Are you saying you... you don't mind?" he asked, amazed.

"Yes, that was exactly what I was going to ask, too," came Peter's voice from behind Sirius' and James' backs who turned to him abruptly.

"And I was going to say that I don't mind, in fact," James said serenely, but there was a hint of warning in his voice, directed at Peter to stop him from behaving so intolerantly.

Sirius scowled at the blond boy. "You do remember the conversation we had outside, Peter, don't you?" he asked quietly, but in a tone that suggested he wouldn't tolerate Peter to be unfriendly towards Remus because of what he was.

Peter got the message quite clearly and under the warning glances of Sirius and James, he subsided and muttered reluctantly, "No, I don't mind."

Remus could well imagine what was going on in Peter's head now and so he explained soothingly, "I'm not dangerous to any of you, except for the full moon nights and on those, I'm kept away from human beings altogether." He didn't think that mentioning Stella would be such a good idea and so he refrained from it.

Peter seemed to be a little more assured of his safety. Remus had always a calming effect on people if he wanted to, despite being a werewolf.

"Where are you kept, anyway?" Sirius inquired curiously and Remus was confronted with three pairs of eyes that were gazing at him expectantly.

So he launched into explaining and told them about the safety precautions that had been made for him, how he had got bitten and a few facts about werewolves in general.

"So you're saying werewolves are dangerous only to humans in human form," James mused and then grinned as he saw Remus nodding. "Does it ring a bell, Sirius?"

Sirius frowned at his messy-haired friend, not getting his drift immediately. But suddenly, he beamed. "Animagi!"

Remus looked at them dubiously. "What do you mean?"

"They want to become Animagi," Peter said tonelessly, but Sirius patted his shoulder enthusiastically.

"Not `they', buddy, we!" he called, beaming like the star he was called after. "We are going to be Animagi and Remus gets company!"

James seemed to be taken by the idea as well, but he still had objections. "It will be difficult. We will have to get the instructions and all the stuff needed and keep it all strictly quiet and everything...," he pointed out.

"Hey," Sirius turned to him. "Nothing is too difficult if it's for Remus. Okay?"

James held up his hands in mock-resignation. He hadn't really meant to not become Animagus, anyway. "Okay."

Peter sighed. "I don't want to be a cockroach."

His friends grinned.

"Don't worry, Peter, you won't," James told him reassuringly. "We'll see to that."

"Yeah, we'll help you," Sirius added, feeling generous and Peter smiled gratefully.

His friends would help him. Everything was going to be alright.

"Okay," Peter said and even raised his head to smile at Remus who grinned back in return.

Remus had to pinch himself to assure he wasn't dreaming. How could one's life change that rapidly within a quarter of an hour? How come they didn't detest him like they were supposed to?

He was dazed from surprise and happiness. His friends hadn't turned against him. More than that, they had decided to become Animagi for him!

Remus didn't know it yet, but whenever he would need to conjure a Patronus in the future, this particular memory would always be the one to create one of the strongest Patroni. The happiness of that special moment was always going to lighten up his mood, even in his darkest hours and it was also going to become one of the reasons why years later, Remus wasn't going to bring it over himself to reveal Sirius' secret to the Ministry, despite considering him guilty.

***