Running A Fowl Of the Law

Certain things could make Sirius Black nervous--such as the chance of imminent danger towards his godson Harry Potter, or even the fact that his best friend Remus Lupin could turn into a monstrous werewolf if he stayed out in the moonlight too long. But all these were things Sirius could, on some level, understand. He knew how to best fight and be wary of the dangers surrounding Harry, and he also knew how to best deal with Lupin when the attack came and he turned into a monster. Such things were remarkably easy in comparison to the newest fourth addition to their group.

Daniel Deschamps. Former forensics pathologist for Scotland Yard, oddly cheerfully melancholic and prone to drink far too much, and most certainly *not* a good influence on the charges he taught English to, was a bit of a mystery Sirius was having difficulty overcoming. It might have been because he was muggle born, and completely without magic, an affliction which Sirius couldn't help but consider more an impediment against their fight with He Who Must Not Be Named than a help. Dumbledore had insisted that Deschamps become a part of their quest, for hadn't he, though he was a simple muggle without magic, had an uncanny ability to track where He Who Must Not Be Named had been hiding within the muggle world? His methods were strange, definitely, and Sirius wasn't so sure if the migratory habits of something called a tsetse fly telling them where the death eaters were roving about wasn't some form of divination after all.

It wasn't that Deschamps was a bad person, in fact he was quite the contrary. He was charming and witty and very much at ease anywhere he went, and you instantly couldn't help but like him just a little.. He had the kind of unhurried manner often found on four hundred year old tortoises. Sirius was quite sure this sense of calm would follow Deschamps into a field of battle, where he would quietly sip coffee while all the world around him disintegrated.

No matter how unreasonable it sounded, to Sirius people like that could be annoying.

They were seated in Dumbledore's office, an opulent space where several ancient wizards from times past looked down on them from their portraits, most of them asleep and snoring loudly. It was early morning. Lupin was yet to show up, and so far he was alone, waiting for the next meeting to begin. They had drawn up several defensive strategies against the death eaters in the event of an attack on Hogwarts, but it was becoming increasingly clear, at least to Sirius, that an offensive attack would be better. He Who Must Not Be Named was relying on the fear he had cultivated to prevent an all out war against him from openly erupting. Sirius sighed and tapped long fingers on the arm of the chair he was slouched in, thinking of how the only other person who seemed to disagree was Daniel Deschamps. Even so, the man had an odd reasoning.

"It's one thing to run after him, telling him an answer out of the mouth of a canon," Daniel had said, and shrugged, and scratched the back of his head. (An irritating habit. Lupin thought some of the fleas Deschamps studied had got onto him.) "Sometimes...It's the quiet touch that works best."

Dumbledore had nodded his assent at this, but no one else, not even Snape, could understand what was so wise about it. He Who Must Not Be Named knew they were preparing for him; to strike first, and viciously, had to be the only way! Even Snape had reluctantly agreed!

Snape. Now there was another point of weirdness when it came to Deschamps. Snape, who had nothing but a scowl and a curse for the world, who had dabbled in the black arts and received the serpent's mark upon him for his troubles, who was as uneasy in this alliance as anyone could be--How was it he had become so close a friend with a non magic muggle of all things? Snape who had, for the entirety Sirius had known him, no friends at all?

As if on cue, Deschamps walked into the office. It was clear that even though it was six am, he was still getting over a drinking bout from the night before. Sirius had criticized him for this, and he could remember the last occurrence of Deschamps' bad habit vividly. He recalled it now as Deschamps sauntered around the office, getting himself a cup of steaming hot, black liquid he called coffee from the breakfast tray. He gave Sirius a smile as he sipped at it, soft brown bangs hanging before equally soft, almost understanding, dark blue eyes. The conversation from a few night's ago was fresh in Sirius' memory, and he lost himself inside of it:

"He's incompetent!" he'd shouted at Dumbledore.

He's an asset I'm not so sure we can do without," Dumbledore had replied, completely unbothered by the fact that Deschamps was currently passed out drunk on the floor of his office. He was splayed face up on the carpet like a starfish. "He is not always this way, Sirius. There have been many great wizards who have had their weaknesses, why Sir Kierdsly Bingbotto himself was known for his strange propensity for collecting sheep..."

Lupin winced, but Sirius went on. "He knows *nothing* of our world! He is a man with no powers to protect himself, and frankly I'm not sure he's quite in his right mind! Have you ever heard his lessons? This afternoon he was telling the students that an 'easy life breeds a dull, contemptuous outlook, and they ought to go searching for tragedy, if it doesn't come to them first.' Mrs. McGonagall had to stop poor Dean Charmers from purposefully getting eaten by Hagrid's griffon!"

Well," Dumbledore said, and stroked his beard, smiling just a little at the passed out form on the floor, "there is some truth to what he'd said..."

I'm not judging him by his personality," Lupin said, in defence of Sirius' concerns. "It's simply a fact, we can't have someone with us who is going to go on a drunken binge right when we need him."

Or turn into a monstrous werewolf," a dark voice said behind them.

It was Snape, an expression of both disdain and disgust for Lupin and Sirius, though it didn't seem to extend to Deschamps, passed out oblivious on the floor. He had a long, tubular glass of liquid in his hand, which, when he walked past Deschamps, he neatly overturned, sending its contents all over Deschamps' face. Deschamps instantly sputtered and woke up, throwing in a few colourful words in muggle slang that Sirius was sure weren't taught in English classes. Deschamps had looked up from his seat on the floor to see an entire room full of wizards glaring down at him in disapproval. He'd shrugged and scratched the back of his head, amazingly turning to Snape for forgiveness first.

Cor, that was a night I thankfully won't remember. Thanks for the pick up, Sev."

Sev?

His thoughts came back to the present as he looked over at Deschamps now. Though he was still his usual, rumpled self, he carried it with an air of pride few could manage. He hadn't just called Snape by his first name, he'd even shortened it to 'Sev'. It wasn't right. It had been bothering Sirius now for days. People didn't make pet names for Severus, that dark, spindly, greasy thing of a man.

Well, to be honest, he hadn't been all that greasy lately, had he? Which was another odd occurrence. Deschamps showed up on the scene and all of a sudden, Snape decided his appearance needed looking after. He still had the usual shoulder length cut to his black hair, the same clothes, but gone was that basement mustiness that had always clung to him. He was still pale as death, but every now and then Sirius could swear he saw a blush of colour on his face whenever he got into an animated argument with Deschamps. Perhaps he was worried that his own dishevellment wasn't as noble as the simple muggle's, and prejudicial pride made him alter his habits?

Deschamps took another large gulp of his coffee, and shrugged at Sirius. "I was up most of the night," he said.

Sirius glared at him as if to say he knew why.

I've got a chicken problem," Deschamps added.

Confused, Sirius knit his black brow, staring all the while rather blankly at Deschamps. He had no time for a question about the matter, however, for Lupin barged into the room, and not a few moments later was followed by Snape.

We've heard reports of death eaters gathering near Mt. Parnell," Snape said quickly, and pointed his wand towards the floor. "Cartographicus!" In a flash, a map of the area in question quickly materialized. Dots of moaning red represented the death eaters, of which there were quite a few in number advancing on a fairly well populated area between the mountains.

They're going to attack," Sirius said, and ran his hand along his jaw. "The village will have to be relocated within 24 hrs."

Dissapparating that many people will prove to be difficult," Lupin said.

We'll do it in small batches," Sirius said. "If we can get enough wizards..."

I'm not sure we'll have time for that kind of mobilization," Snape said. "The village of Poempi is not as the name suggests a mere village, but is in fact a very bustling city. There are hundreds of thousands of lives at stake. Twenty four hours--I doubt even half of their population will make it."

You don't have to tell me the odds," Sirius said, grimly. "Lupin, you tell Dumbledore, we don't have time to waste. We need an area free to place as many of them as we can away from the clutches of the death eaters, and we need more wizards to help us with the relocating."

Finding a place will be difficult as well," Snape said, thinking. He steepled his fingers, touching their tips to his long nose as he concentrated. "The isle of Wieryd may do, for now. As far as I know it's unpopulated, though it may be too small for what we need."

We'll put them in a glass bubble if that's what it takes," Lupin testily answered.

Deschamps said nothing. His eyes calmly watched as a feather fell from Snape's shoulder through the centre of the transparent map. Sirius felt his own eyes drawn to it, a tiny hole rent in the map from where it had fallen. With a wave of his wand, and a shout of "Foldupus!" Snape made the map disappear. The small white feather, however, remained.

Deschamps reached out and took something off of Snape's shoulder, and let it fall to the floor. Another white feather. He shrugged at it, and then at Snape when he was glared at. "Oh wait, there's another one," Deschamps said, and pulled another slightly larger feather out of the collar of Snape's wizard robe. Deschamps coughed, and let it also fall to the floor.

We'd better get to work," Sirius said. Everyone left and he lagged behind, his eye drawn to the three feathers on the ground. Odd, he thought. They looked like they once belonged to a chicken.

***

Snape's and Deschamps' classrooms were both located in the dungeons of Hogwarts, and also had the added friendliness of a shared door. The setting had been highly useful for Deschamps, since his letters often needed a good screening for anthrax and ebola spores, not to mention things called 'letter bombs'. Snape's students had learned well to become terrified the second they saw Deschamps politely poke his head into the classroom through the adjoining door, the tell tale white envelope of doom plainly in his hand. His classroom had been repaired twice due to a couple of letters going off, and it was only by sheer luck that no one had been there to blow up with the words "I haite u an u shuld dye write now".

How muggle mail somehow found its way through regular channels and into Hogwarts was a mystery Sirius was yet to solve. Deschamps didn't seem too worried, though this was one of his many failings. Deschamps wouldn't be worried if his left arm was lopped off and he was bleeding to death, slowly. He'd simply sip his coffee, or better yet go on a drunken binge, and completely forget about the fact that he was dying. He might find it odd that he couldn't hold his mug properly, but Sirius was sure Deschamps would simply force his right hand (or if that was also missing, a dexterious foot would do) to do the work instead.

Sirius, in the form of a black dog this time to avoid detection from the other students, waited patiently beside Deschamps' classroom door for Harry to be let out. He wanted to know if Harry's scar had been acting up at all lately, especially after the seriousness of the Mt. Parnell region's plight. So far they had only been able to dissapparate two thousand people out of a population of three hundred thousand. Their efforts were looking as depressing as Snape's observations had been.

The door opened and let out a student, and Sirius put out a black paw to stop the door from closing again. Deschamps was busy answering questions, though to be sure the answers were constantly a lot more cryptic than not.

What does a mug..I mean a person have to do to be a writer, sir?" one girl earnestly asked.

Hm," Deschamps said, thinking. "Well, if we look at all the authors we've been studying today, we can get a good look at what a profile of someone who is thought to be literary could be. There's Hemingway, a moody, boozing man who survived a war and then blew his brains out in a boat. There's Sylvia Plath whose cutting emotional poetry was a cry for help from a dark and disturbed soul, and who killed herself with sleeping pills. Ah yes, and Philip K. Dick. Brilliant futurist whose stories show a bleak and depressing vision of humanity's inability to get past being selfish and moronic--He followed Hemingway's example, as I recall." He gave the class a sympathetic gaze. "I suppose you have to be a depressive self and world loathing person with a proclivity for offing oneself. Oh, and drug abuse and alcoholism seem to feature prominently as well, can't forget that. Oh...You don't have to look so alarmed, not *all* writers are like that..."

The girl looked relieved.

...just the highly successful ones who end up getting studied in English courses..."

The girl's face instantly fell.

The class over, several students tripped over each other to get away from the room. Harry walked past Sirius, not noticing him at first. He was deep in conversation with Ron, and Sirius distinctly heard Ron mutter "I wonder if *he's* written any novels, then..."

Sirius barked, shocking Harry so badly that he nearly let the books fall from his hands. He saw Harry frown, and rub at a small area near his scar. So, it was hurting him. Sirius whined in sympathy and nudged at Harry's hand.

It's all right," Harry said. "It's not too bad an ache, so he might still be far enough away."

Only somewhat satisfied with this, Sirius let out a bark of appreciation and took off down the hall to search for Lupin. So far, Lupin had managed to get information to Poempi that the citizens had to relocate to the isle of Wieryd, but there were some unexpected problems concerning the fauna of Wieryd, which had a habit of being predatory. Four people already had been attacked by daisies. Dumbledore was in conference with some of the elder wizard allies from the far reaches of their world. The suggestion was to make a large, suspended platform that could be a steady replica of Poempi to hold the population, but the trouble with this was that it would only be a temporary solution, and magic that vast would take a while to create.

He bounded down the hallway, barking at the cries of surprise of the students who passed him, the occasional scratch behind his ear much appreciated. He made sure to give Draco Malfoy a disturbing growl as he passed, if only out of a favour for Harry. Draco Malfoy snarled back at him.

Something should be done about stray dogs," he said to his two cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. "Like a shot of lightning right between the eyes." He brought his wand down as if he was about to do just that, but then lifted it up and laughed. Sirius watched as they bounded down the stairs, pushing people out of the way as they passed.

Harry was right about one thing, that kid was a shocking brat. He'd never met anyone so dedicated to animosity at so young an age. If Draco Malfoy was only a fraction of the viciousness of his father's potential, Sirius felt there was little doubt to Harry's accusation that Lucius Malfoy was one of He Who Must Not Be Named's death eaters. Sirius cast him one black glance before continuing onwards, to a quieter floor, and then upwards to one quieter still. The sunlight of a cheerful, early spring afternoon was making its way down the silent hall, covering the floor in bright splotches of gold. A distinct humming could be heard, and Sirius saw that it was Peeves, looking positively miserable that this floor was so tranquil. He zoomed past Sirius without a second glance, heading for the more bustling crowds on the lower floors wherein he could wreak his havoc.

Now that he was alone, Sirius transformed once again into a man, his body smoothly gliding from the form of a black dog into a man dressed in a black, billowing cape, black trousers and black buttoned down shirt. He paused at a door with a sleepy gargoyle guarding it, and whispered the password into its ear.

Stinkbug," he said.

The gargoyle grunted, and yawned, and with a step aside the door opened, allowing Sirius in.

There were several wizards standing in a circle, their concentration on the massive map materialized before them. Above the map was a replica of Poempi, which was flickering in and out of existence. Dumbledore was shaking his head, his bushy eyebrows pursed in concentrated thought.

The Voldemort forces are moving more quickly than expected. We've hexed their path as much as possible, but it has been quite a trial to figure out how to properly evacuate so many of Poempi. By our calculations, the death eaters will be upon Poempi in just under fifteen hours." He glanced up at Sirius through his white brows. "If you have a miracle hiding anywhere, Sirius, now would be a good time to hand it over."

The door opened, and Lupin stepped in. He looked pale, his usually cheerful disposition strained. He closed the door behind him quietly. "The problem on the isle of Weiryd has been taken care of," he said, happily. "We put some gnomes among the flaura...They're doing a great job of ripping up the poisonous daisies. A case of a common pest having a use, I suppose."

Sirius glared at the map, at the red dots that were the death eaters. At intervals, flames of blue blocked their path, slowing them down. Still, they were increasing in number, many flying and running in from the west.

What should we do now?" Lupin asked. Dumbledore gave him a gruff cough.

The only thing one can do in such situations," Dumbledore said, and walked away from the map, to a tray with sweets and a large, brown betty teapot. "Have a cup of tea, and wait."

Sirius thought about it, but right now he'd seriously consider some of the brew that knocked out Deschamps on a regular basis instead. Dumbledore had begun pouring himself a small cup of tea, only to suddenly cry out in surprise and spill a good portion of it onto the floor. Instantly, the tea rose back from its sloshing onto the carpet and leapt back into the pot. The source of Dumbledore's shock was clear, a round, white, feathery thing without a head or wings, but it had two very clearly chicken feet. It ran around the room like a...like a....

Well, like a chicken with its head off.

Dumbledore lifted his boot and brought it down on the strange creature, which then exploded into a flurry of feathers and sparks, which in turn disintegrated.

Blasted things, I've been finding them underfoot all day. An experiment of the Weasley twins, I suspect." Dumbledore stroked his white beard, thinking. "Perhaps I should give the next one I find to Hagrid. He hasn't been getting any new creatures from his usual channels lately, and has been feeling quite morose. Though, I'm not sure if a headless bird would ease his melancholy."

Sirius said nothing. He was too busy thinking about that morning, and how Deschamps had so blithely picked a few white feathers off of Snape's shoulder and out of the collar of his robe. He narrowed his eyes at the few feathers that remained. They blinked out of sight in moments.

Lupin," Sirius said, pulling him along, and out of the room. He gave Dumbledore and the rest of the wizards the barest nod of a goodbye. He whispered harshly into Lupin's ear, "We have a few things to discuss."

***

Lupin sighed and crossed his arms and on the whole was entirely bored and miserable. His eye kept wandering to the far wall, where there was a portrait of a young man in a black and white setting smashing a guitar to the ground. Every now and then he'd look up at Sirius and Lupin and curse at them in muggle slang.

We're in his room, because..?"

Sirius forced him to be quiet with an impatient wave of his hand. He crouched low, searching, and Lupin followed suit, before asking, "Just what are we looking for?"

Sirius nearly let out a cry of triumph. He grabbed Lupin's arm and pointed towards Deschamps' bedroom, the door wide open, and to Lupin's absolute shock a slew of round, feathered creatures like the one Dumbledore had stomped out of existence were running around the entrance, bumping into the frame and against the walls and each other. "Tell me something, Lupin," Sirius said, grinning. "Just what is a non magic muggle doing working magic?"

Lupin was doubtful. "How do you figure that?" he asked.

Call it instinct," Sirius said. "Or maybe it could also be because he has a feather pillow, or had one, I'll bet." He pushed a few of the headless, wingless chickens out of the way with this foot, and they rolled like fuzzy balls with feet along the floor. He walked into the bedroom, and in a note of triumph shouted, "Aha!"

He threw an empty white pillowcase at Lupin. The pillowcase slipped out of his grip and instantly spilled four more of the white feathered creatures.

That's the source of it," Sirius said. "Now...I wonder where he hid his wand.."

It wouldn't work for him," Lupin said. "Non magic muggles have no effect on wands."

Aren't you listening to me?" Sirius asked, his voice gravel, harsh. "That idiot isn't any muggle at all, he has to be a wizard, and probably a wizard spy *posing* as a muggle!"

But..."

It would explain why he hangs around with Snape," Sirius continued. Lupin was quiet a long moment, and Sirius let it pass before speaking again. "You and I both know he turned turncoat against the death eaters, who's to say he won't do it again, and this time against us?"

A 'chicken' rolled along the floor, bumping against Lupin's thigh. "I..I don't know," Lupin said uncertainly. He picked the creature up and it seemed to purr in his hands as he petted it. "Dumbledore hasn't expressed any kind of distrust for Snape, if anything it's stronger than ever."

He's blinded by it," Sirius snapped. "You know how Snape is, how he's always searched for his own answers and ends. I don't know why he turned against He Who Must Not Be Named, but I can guess it was because he realized he wasn't backing the winning side. No...I'm sure Snape's reasons were entirely selfish..."

Voices, and not exactly friendly, were filling the hallway outside Deschamps' room, and Lupin and Sirius frantically searched for a way out. They were blocked in when the front door to the living quarters was opened, and Sirius and Lupin hurriedly searched for a place to hide. Sirius began pressing his hand against bricks along the wall, looking for a secret passage, which all Hogwarts faculty bedrooms had. The voices of Deschamps and Snape were making their way into the bedroom. Lupin let out a hiss of victory and grabbed Sirius by the shoulder, lifting him off the ground and into the ceiling. In seconds they were in the rafters, and settled on a hidden wood beam, the room below clearly visible through the apparently solid ceiling.

I guess this room was never properly finished," Lupin said, breathlessly. "It's still got a single coat of Vermoni's Glass Cieling Glaze on it instead of a proper Vermoni's Glass Cieling Solidifying Primer." Lupin scratched his chin, "They probably forgot about it, I'll bet."

Sirius kept his eyes on the setting below, which while it had the usual four poster bed, and heavily ornate, baroque gold and deep mahogany walls, there was a certain plainness attached to it. The place looked as though Deschamps merely came here to sleep, and quite possibly did a lot of that, considering the mess of his bed. Usually, the beds made themselves, but for some reason the bed in this room was devoid of magic influence, and Sirius could only surmise that this was because Deschamps wasn't used to being around magic letting alone sleeping with it. Dumbledore may have assigned him this unfinished room for that reason alone.

There was a heated argument brewing between Deschamps and Snape, the words indecipherable. One of the little round feathered creatures was booted into the bedroom like a ball, quickly followed by Snape who stormed into the room. His long cloak billowed about him like a dark cloud and he was fiercely glaring back at Deschamps with small, slitted black eyes. Deschamps followed him, his usual nervous shrug given with his right shoulder.

It was an accident..." he started.

Liar!" Snape shouted at him. He pulled out his wand and shook it in the air, stray sparks from his dangerous mood flicking from its tip. "I warned you to never touch it!"

Deschamps gave the wand a guilty glance. "I just wanted to see it. You were the one who left it on the end table."

You leave muggle criminal profiles scattered on the floor, do you think I'm stupid enough to pick one of them up and read it again?" He glowered at Deschamps. "I *told* you!"

Deschamps was looking annoyed now, the shrug to his expression completely gone. He looked a little taller, Sirius thought as he looked down on them both, his blue eyes just a bit more steel. "Wands don't make people run to the bathroom to throw up," Deschamps said. "I asked you to help me get my cell phone working properly again..."

Muggle equipment doesn't work here," Snape interrupted.

I know that, Sev," Deschamps said, sighing angrily. "I wanted you to magic it enough so it could."

Wands can do far more damage than you can imagine, Daniel," Snape said to him darkly. He pocketed his wand and stomped on a round chicken thing for good measure. It exploded into tiny sparks and white feathers.

Deschamps gave up and moved to the bed, where he collapsed onto his back onto it. A few of the bloated, round chicken creatures rolled along the surface and were pushed off with the back of his hand, where they fell with a little squeak to the floor. He grabbed a pillow that hadn't been accidentally magicked and put it under his head. He was staring right up at Sirius, who of course couldn't be seen through the false opacity of the ceiling.

I'm sorry I touched your wand," Daniel said. Snape was silent, moving through the room and shuffling through the odd bits and pieces of muggle life that Daniel had brought with him. He picked up a shiny disc which instantly started hammering out a loud, noisy 'song'. He hit it against the surface of Deschamps' dresser, cracking it and effectively stopping the noise.

I've been having a hell of a time getting used to all this." Deschamps said. "It's disheartening to be a teacher, and to look at the rows of those young faces of those first year kids and know, right in the very marrow of your heart, that you've lost them." He yawned. "I hope they turn up soon. It's been two days now, and I've looked everywhere." He gave Snape a sidelong glance from his position on the bed, his arm lazily draped around the back of his head. "I never was good at teaching," he admitted. "I'm more the one who gets taught about, you know?"

Snape sighed and to Sirius' shock fell onto the bed beside Deschamps. His shoulder length black hair, if not greasy was still just as messy, tangled in stringy strands before his small, black eyes.

I hate him," he said.

Deschamps rolled his eyes. "Not this again."

Snape, moved to his side, beside Daniel, an oddly cosy pose from Sirius' perspective above in the rafters. Lupin had moved as well, to get a better view over Sirius' shoulder.

Why should he have the deferential treatment, when everyone knows how his father treated me?" Snape snarled. "Our world is on the brink of collapse, but who is the most concentrated on aspect in this entire mess? Harry Potter, the saviour of us all!" He'd said that last sentence with such vehemence and hatred, Sirius was ready to just leap from his hiding spot in the ceiling and onto Snape, where he could smash that hateful expression off his face with his fists. Lupin, however, held him back, and bid him to keep his own growling anger at a minimum lest they be discovered.

Harry Potter..." Deschamps said, yawning. "I think I know that kid. Blond hair, pissy attitude, worships his father in a way that I'm convinced will backfire by the time he's eighteen when he finds out he's not the demi god he thought, and thus, fronts a punk or gangster rap band and drops dead of a cocaine overdose by the time he's twenty-five..?"

No," Snape replied, looking thoroughly chagrined. "That's Draco Malfoy."

I think you're being childish," Deschamps said to Snape. "Just because his dad was a bad lot doesn't mean his kid is too, you know."

His father nearly murdered me in a prank," Snape said. His mouth was a curled snarl, an expression that would have sent many of his students screaming away in terror. Deschamps, however, was clearly immune to it.

You're still alive, aren't you?" Deschamps said, dryly. "Look, Sev, the guys at the precinct were vicious pranksters. I can give you plenty of examples of crap they did to each other in the name of good fun, it happens to everybody. At least your friends knew when to call it off."

Snape was silent a long moment. He buried his face a little closer to Deschamps' shoulder, and when he spoke next his voice was muffled and Sirius had to strain to hear it.

I wasn't their friend," Snape said. "They made my life at this school hell. Not a day went by that they didn't taunt me in some way, put some humiliating spell on me, or goaded an entire classroom into their games. I tried to keep to myself, but they always somehow found me, they always had something to pick at me about. 'Friends'. I've never had any of those, Daniel."

Deschamps gave Snape a strangely understanding look mixed with puzzlement.

*You* were the cootie kid?" he asked.

Snape frowned. "The what?"

The cootie kid," Deschamps replied. "There's one in every school. Usually the little skinny greasy kid who's quiet and smart and gets upset easy when people pick on him." Deschamps gave Snape a sad grin. "The whole phenomenon is an epidemic in muggle life, Sev. It's all about someone, or a group, placing themselves in a position above another person whose already so downtrodden by circumstance they can't possibly fight back. An easy target, you understand? It's about the weak finding someone weaker to attack, and often those who are different are translated in the uneducated mind as 'weak'." He bent both of his arms upwards and around the surface of the pillow, clasping his hands on the top of his head, his expression thoughtful. "I would have thought that a place running on magic would have fewer occasions to entertain prejudice. Unfortunately, I keep finding more proof of it than ever." He looked over at Snape, who was laying beside him. "You're not the cootie kid anymore, Sev. You're in a position of respect and are well known and your expertise trusted. Remember, while you may have not had any friends in the past..."

He reached out, then, and to both Sirius and Lupin's shock, he pinched Snape's chin playfully between his forefinger and thumb. Deschamps grinned at Snape, who made no move to shake off the touch."*I* like you. So get the hell over it, all right?"

Silence prevailed, both Sirius and Lupin holding their breath while Deschamps actually, his lips actually....

Something cut into the silence. A buzzing noise, like a large insect. Deschamps swore and took out a small rectangular box covered in little black squares. "Damn this thing," he said to it, and hit it against the side of his palm. Sparks flew from it, along with a few strange looking bugs which scurried out of the black squares and began flying around the room. "There's goes the electronic components as usual," Deschamps groaned.

Snape tore the muggle contraption from his grasp. "You don't listen to a thing!" he shouted. "Bringing muggle equipment here is very dangerous! Who knows what this has turned into!"

A bunch of transistor roaches by the look of it," Deschamps observed. He shrugged resignedly at Snape's glare. "Fine, fine. Get rid of it."

I will," Snape said. He got up off the bed, Deschamps groaning and then following him as though he was made of lead weights. "We should stop by Dumbledore's office before the next classes start," Snape said. "I want to see what's happening in Poempi."

Sirius could hear the front door of Deschamps' quarters open and then close. He and Lupin were finally alone in the muggle's bedroom, but they remained where they were in the rafters, still too stunned to move.

He.."

I know," Sirius answered.

Lupin opened his mouth and then closed it again.

I guess that explains why he never got that upset when we teased him about not having a girlfriend," Sirius said.

Hm."

There was a long period of silence between them as they digested this new information. The ever familiar pangs of guilt welled up inside of Sirius as he thought about some of the things Snape had said. He cast a glance in Lupin's direction, a half grin forming. "We weren't that bad to him, were we?"

Lupin was unsmiling. "We were awful," he said without hesitation.

Sirius shook his head, thinking about it, and about how strange certain things could turn out. He slid off the support beam and fell onto Daniel Deschamps' bed with a springy thud. Lupin soon followed suit. He picked at the feathers of the round chicken creatures that lay scattered on the unmade bed and blew on them, making them run circles in the air.

I never meant to ruin anybody's life," Sirius said. "Do you think what Deschamps' said was true? That we were weak and just wanted someone to beat up on and make ourselves bigger because of it?"

Maybe," Lupin said.

Sirius nodded at this. He got off the bed and walked determinedly to the front door. Lupin waved a wand over his cloak as well as Sirius', making sure none of the tell tale white feathers were on either of them. "At least he's found a 'friend', so to speak, now," Lupin said. "You've seen the way Snape's been looking lately. He's probably good for him."

I don't know about that," Sirius replied. He checked the hallway to make sure no one was coming, and then both he and Lupin left Deschamps' quarters, their steps quick and their instincts attuned to anyone travelling the empty corridor. "Deschamps is pure muggle, which isn't wrong in and of itself, but there's little he has in common with Snape. He's not exactly a responsible person, is he? His classroom was blown up twice and he gets a massive load of hate mail once a week from unknown sources, not to mention his drunken habits." Sirius was grim. "He's a charmer, but that's about it."

I don't get what you're saying," Lupin said. "Snape actually seems kind of sort of 'happy' with him."

No," Sirius said, his words harsh. "He's the sort that could destroy Snape a lot more than a prank ever could. Utterly and horribly." His hand met his jaw, which he rubbed, fingers roughly moving over an unshaven face. "We have a duty to Snape, Lupin," he said. "I won't let some flippant bastard charmer ruin his life anew. I couldn't bear it if I just stood by and did nothing while I watched that happen. It would be us being evil brats to him all over again, you understand?"

He watched for comprehension from Lupin, but found only the barest hint of support. "He's a grown man who can make his own decisions," Lupin said. "But if you want to keep an eye out for his well being, I'm not going to stop you."

Good," Sirius said. "Because I have a few plans to ensure it."

***

Dumbledore's office was packed solid with wizards from all corners of their world. Both Lupin and Sirius kept to the sidelines, while Deschamps made his way towards the tea caddy, many apologies expressed as he accidentally stepped on long, white beards, and the occasional oversized wizard foot. Snape remained silent in the background, not looking in Deschamps' direction at all.

We have less than six thousand people on the isle of Wieryd," Dumbledore said, stroking his bushy eyebrow with his fingers. The portraits on the walls looked down on them all with intensely worried expressions. "The death eaters have gained even more ground, and some have managed to break past the mountain barrier, and are advancing quickly into Poempi. Our so called six hour reprieve has now dwindled to minutes as they've regrouped. We have done all we can, but there is no way we can move any faster." His voice was uneven, betraying for one of the few times in his life the measure of his great age. "I suggest we bow in respect for the lives and people of Poempi, and remember her great, gleaming city, the beauty of her crystal waterfalls that sang, and the air that shone a brilliant emerald green on the fairest of sunny days."

Sirius felt, as no doubt many in the room did, an intense and overpowering sorrow. He'd spent some of his exile in Poempi, and knew the city well. His anger over what was happening was competing with the sorrow of happy days spent and forever gone. He bowed his head, thinking of Poempi's friendly people. He could feel his eyes smarting with unshed tears.

A low ringing broke the respectful silence, and Sirius, along with the roomful of wizards, looked reproachfully at Snape. Snape's small, black eyes widened at their scrutiny, and he fumbled through the pockets of his robe, and then took out the small rectangular box of muggle technology that was the culprit. He banged it on the side of his palm like he had seen Deschamps do earlier, but the insistent ringing refused to abate. Deschamps hurried to his side, stepping on a few more beards and toes and earning a few promised hexes in return. He ignored them all, and grabbed the contraption from Snape's now panicking grip.

To answer a cell phone," Deschamps said in a fairly loud whisper, "you just press this button, here."

He pressed his thumb on a small square near the top of the little metal box.

Suddenly, the room was awash in a warm, golden glow. It lit up the map with shocking clarity, streams of lighting white shooting through it and into the city of Poempi. The wizards gathered around the map watched on in horror, convinced that they were witnessing the city's end. And certainly, when the blinding light finally cleared, their worst fears were realized.

Poempi was no longer on the map.

Deschamps' phone stopped ringing, and then, a different tone arose from it, staggered, and almost in the form of a tune. Deschamps stared at it in wonder.

Well, that's the first time it's worked properly since I came here," he said.

He answered it, tentatively, clearly more than a little intimidated by the murderous glares the roomful of wizards were giving him, Snape included.

H-Hello?" he asked. "Oh? Really? Yes, yes quite. He's right here."

He coughed, shrugged, and then to everyone's shock handed the phone to Dumbledore.

It's for you," he said. "I believe they said it's Poempi..."

***

The atmosphere at Hogwarts was considerably happier and lighter than it had been for weeks. Sirius, in dog form, trotted cheerfully down the busy halls, searching out Harry. He let out a loud bark when he saw him approach, and Harry gave him a wide grin back. He crouched down beside Sirius and gave him the latest news.

Professor Deschamps finally found his first year class," Harry said. "Can you believe they'd somehow been transported to Poempi by cell phone? Remind me to never try and borrow any of Dudley's stupid video games, I'd hate to think what Grand Theft Auto might do to this place!"

Sirius barked a cheerful assent. Harry bit his bottom lip and looked around warily before talking to his godfather again. "My scar hasn't been acting up lately," he said. "I hope that means good news."

Good news was an understatement. Somehow, Deschamps' smuggled in 'cell phone' had managed to transport an entire city of four hundred thousand people onto the small isle of Weiryd. Dumbledore and the other ancient wizards were looking over the contraption in an attempt to figure out how it happened. Deschamps had also received a serious reprimand for not reporting his first year class had gone missing. They'd spent the last few days in terror of the death eaters attacking Poempi, and were significantly happier to be back in the comfort of Hogwarts, even if they did have to sometimes suffer the rather banal blathering of suicidal English poets.

Sirius licked Harry's hand in assurance and then let out another cheerful bark. Harry smiled, and got up. Ron rushed past him, and grabbed his arm, hauling him down the stairs. "You've got to come on, Harry! We have to get to Deschamps' classroom before poor Dean Charmers does and gets another stupid idea planted in his head. Just yesterday, he took the lecture to heart and tried to smoke fartweed to see if it would give him an expanded consciousness." Ron made a face. "It expanded something all right, but it's hardly a place a person should be known for thinking from."

He watched them as they left, Harry looking over his shoulder once to give Sirius a happy wave. He padded off, in the opposite direction towards Dumbledore's office. When the bustle had quieted, he shook off his dog form and became a man once again. Lupin, who had been waiting for him, gave him a wide smile and a hearty wave.

I was wondering when you were going to get here," he said. "I just saw him heading down the express stairs to the dungeons." His grin faltered just a little, as though he was uncertain. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Of course it is," Sirius said, pulling his close friend and associate along. The arrived at the massive staircase which, at this hour, was heading at a breakneck pace into the dungeons of Hogwarts, where Snape's potions class was already in progress. With a quick hop onto the steps, they slid down into the depths, the ride a tad too fast and queasy, but nevertheless effective. They'd arrived before the other students, who rarely took the express stairs to this floor. No one was ever in a hurry to see Snape.

Deschamps was already visible, his brow frowning over a white envelope in his hand. He was heading for his classroom, and no doubt also for Snape and his newly discovered expertise in checking for bomb materials in muggle mail.

Mr. Deschamps!" Sirius shouted. Deschamps stopped and looked up, dark blue eyes lazily viewing Sirius and Lupin through soft brown bangs. He gave them a half smile, as though the effort to make a full one was too much trouble.

Hello," he said. "Interesting day, isn't it?"

Yes," Lupin agreed. "I suppose you're happy to have your first year class back?"

Definitely," Deschamps said, frowning. "Cor, I felt terrible when I realized I was supposed to report it. I thought this kind of thing happened all the time at this place." He tapped the edge of the possibly lethal envelope against his chin. "I honestly thought they'd disappeared en masse so they wouldn't have to come to class. I was kind of relieved, I'm ashamed to say."

Sirius gave him a warm laugh, and then walked up to him, embracing Deschamps around one shoulder. Lupin laughed as well and caught him on the other one, thus both of the wizards flanking a rather squished Deschamps in the middle.

That's the thing about Hogwarts, there's so many, many unexpected dangers," Sirius said.

Yes," Lupin agreed, laughing, "one never knows what's going to pop out and kill a person."

It could be a nasty letter with a bomb in it," Deschamps said in equal cheerfulness.

Yes," Sirius said, laughing though mirth didn't quite meet the darkness tingeing the expression of his face, "Or it could be a very irate faculty member who might get angry over how you treat their friends. Like say, oh, Snape for example.."

Definitely," Lupin said, squeezing Deschamps' shoulder just a little too hard, "we wouldn't want anything bad to happen to Snape because of someone's rather...blase attitude. Am I right Sirius?"

I agree," Sirius said, and also squeezed Deschamps' shoulder, this time so hard he could feel Deschamps flinch under the pressure. "It would be terrible, for instance, if someone's drinking problems got in the way of a good friend's happiness."

Like Snape, for example," Lupin cheerfully said, smiling widely.

One has to take to heart a person's feelings," Sirius said, thoughtfully. "There might be very serious, albeit fatal, ramifications to someone oh, breaking someone else's heart. Especially in a place like this." He winked at Deschamps whose own smile was a tad strained, though this might have been because he was so squished between Sirius and Lupin on either side of him his ribs were about to be crushed. "Hogwarts is a wonderful place," Sirius said, and then he and Lupin let go of Deschamps so quickly he nearly fell to the floor. "And it can also be hell, depending on your perspective. I suggest you remember that."

Deschamps looked on, all the while smoothing away the wrinkles out of his muggle suit. He was still smiling as Lupin and Sirius left him. "I guess Professor Snape has a lot more friends than one might think," Deschamps confidently shouted after them.

Sirius stopped, and then looked over his shoulder at Deschamps. Lupin paused with him.

Yes," Sirius said, mulling over that irony. "I guess he does."

END