Symphony for Quartet

Chapter Nine: Of fantastic stories, scales and reunion

A soft breeze ruffled the leaves of the great oak towering over a small white house, lost in acres of smooth, square fields. The full moon was fading in the west, while a soft pink glow illuminated the dark-blue sky on the horizon; already a few early birds were awakening, and they tentatively threw one or two high-pitched notes in the still air, as if afraid of disturbing the sleepy silence laying over the white house.

A window opened on the first floor; the flaps hit the wall with a sharp clatter, frightening a couple of birds that flew off the oak, chirping indignantly. The man who had pushed the window open barely looked up when the birds flew right under his nose; he looked tired and tense as he leant forward, his hands clutching the windowsill. He stayed motionless for a few minutes, gazing at the full moon that had now almost entirely faded in the paling sky, with an expression close to hatred. Then he abruptly withdrew from the window, looking as though he had finally come to a decision.

He went round a large bed that took up most of the small room and walked to the wardrobe facing the window; opening the door, he grabbed an old, fluffy dressing gown and slipped it on his pyjamas. With a last glance at the empty bed, he snatched a thin wooden wand from the bedside table and strode out of the room.

He swiftly walked down the narrow and dark staircase leading to the kitchen, involuntarily tensing whenever a step creaked under his foot. He had to stop halfway down the stairs, and forced himself to take deep, steady breaths. Even after seven years, he couldn't get used to those nights - those sleepless nights when he waited for the morning, his anxiety growing every minute as the full moon lazily drifted in the black sky and seemed to sneer at his grief.

The kitchen was already bathed in the dull, white light of the dawn. He stood in the doorway for a few seconds before his eyes landed on a human form, crouching on the reddish tiles next to a wooden trapdoor painted in the same reddish colour so as to merge in the floor. The silhouette was shaking with sobs.

"Annie..."

At the sound of his voice, his wife's head jerked upwards and he saw the thin trails on her cheeks that were dried tears. A lump came in his throat and he felt his own eyes watering. The sight of Annie, helplessly waiting by the trapdoor, crying until she had no tears left and then shaking with dry, painful sobs, was heart wrenching. He joined her in a few quick strides and knelt beside her.

"Annie, you - you shouldn't wait here, it won't do any good... I was worried when I came back to the bedroom to find the bed empty..."

She gulped in an attempt to calm herself and wiped her cheeks with shaking hands.

"Do you really expect me to stay in bed when Remus is - is down there?" Her voice was quavering and she choked on the last words. "Do you think I'd be able to sleep or read... when my son is suffering all night because of that monster...?"

"I know, Annie," said her husband automatically, but he felt his stomach clenching at her words. He had never gotten rid of the terrible guilt that had dwelled in him since that fateful night, seven years ago. The attack on Remus had been his punishment for offending the monster - Annie never called him otherwise, and deep down he agreed with her - and thus it was entirely his fault if his quiet and shy son had to go through a terrifying nightmare once a month.

"The moon is fading," he went on in a hoarse voice. "The transformation should be over soon."

Annie merely nodded, and they both fell silent. The light was stronger now, and he could see the lines marking Annie's skin at the corner of her eyes. Her light-brown hair was tangled and messy, and he knew she had been running her hands through it and twisting strands of it between her fingers all night. He reached for her and softly stroked her cheek, in a timid gesture. She looked up at him and addressed him a watery smile.

"Stop thinking you're guilty," she said softly, sounding much calmer. "That's not true."

He shook his head.

"If I hadn't -"

"Edward, we've been through this last month," said Annie wearily, cutting across him. "And the month before, and the month before that one. You couldn't let that monster do whatever he wanted. You had no choice."

Edward Lupin fell silent again; he knew he wouldn't win an argument against Annie. He gazed in admiration at his wife, wondering how one could show so much courage. She was a Muggle, a little scared by the magical world, yet she had stayed with him when he had told her what he was; most importantly, she had stayed with him when he had had to announce her that their son was marked by the most horrible curse existing in the magical world. He remembered with painful accuracy the look on her face when he had said the word "werewolf". Poor Annie, who had always been so scared as a little girl by fantastic stories... ghost stories, dragon stories and... werewolf stories...

Remus' first transformation had been trying - at the very least - for the three of them. The small five-year-old had stood in the middle of his bedroom, shock and fear written all across his small, angelic face while he watched them closing his door. Tears were rapidly swelling in his yellow eyes as he visibly struggled to understand why his parents were abandoning him. Then the lock had clicked and they had waited in the corridor.

At first Remus had been sniffing and crying feebly, out of fear and anxiety; the poor child couldn't stand to be left alone since he had been attacked and bitten by the werewolf. Then the full moon had risen.

The screams... The yells of pain they had heard behind the locked door... The repeated cry of "Mum!" between their baby's painful sobs... Annie's crying, her pleading him to let her in the bedroom so that she could comfort her little boy... And then the screams had turned to howling and fierce snarling, and they had heard thumping and ripping noises as Remus attacked the furniture of his bedroom, until Annie started to scream as well, to grip her hair in both hands and to yell she couldn't take it anymore.

Edward had been a coward then. He had used a Silencing Charm on the door, successfully muffling Remus' screams. He had taken Annie to their bedroom and given her a potion so that she would sleep for a few hours, and he had locked himself up in his study and paced the whole night there.

He hadn't let Annie see Remus the following morning, and he realised he had done the right thing when he opened the bedroom door. The curtains and the sheets were in tatters, most of the furniture - that sort of furniture made of white wood, decorated with small carvings, that are usually found in a child's room - was broken, and his little boy was lying on the carpet, crying and covered in hideous scratches and bites. He had needed a two-day-long stay at St Mungo's to recover from his injuries.

After two years, Remus had started transforming in the cellar. Edward had put cushioning spells on the walls and floor, so that Remus could only bounce off them without hurting himself, and they had filled the room with cushions. The cushions were ripped open and feathers were flying everywhere in the morning, but at least the damage was lessened. If only they could find a way to prevent him from biting himself...

Edward's thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of a small bell, hanging off the wall just above the trapdoor. Annie jumped and straightened up, hastily arranging her tousled hair, while Edward seized the heavy iron ring fixed to the trapdoor and pulled it upwards with a grunt.

The trapdoor swung open, and two small hands gripped the edge of the square hole in the floor. Next second a boy around twelve, shaking and covered in bleeding cuts, was hauled out of the cellar by his father.

***

Remus lay on his back in his bed, staring at the ceiling through half-closed eyes. The sharp pain in his arms and legs where he had bitten himself was subsiding, thanks to the potion his father had brewed for him. He sighed heavily. His mum had been crying again. She had tried to hide it, but her eyes were still red and puffy when he had come out of the trapdoor, and she was shaking all over. It always hurt him to see her like that; the aftermaths of his transformations had been considerably more enjoyable at Hogwarts, with James, Sirius and Peter.

His eyes abruptly snapped wide open. How did he dare think that? His parents loved him more than anybody in the world; they had always been there to comfort him, to tell him it would be all right... They had born the weight of his curse with him, since the very beginning. He couldn't decently think he'd rather be with his friends now, rather than with them.

And yet... The very first day James had found out about his condition, he had cried a lot, but after that he had done his best to make Remus forget about the nasty night he had spent in the Shrieking Shack. Remus smiled to himself as he remembered the races in the snow, the fights and the dangerous games... Once Sirius had decided to use McGonagall, James' condor, as a parachute: he had jumped off a window of the Owlery, clutching the claws in both hands, and the condor had barely managed to slow down the tremendous fall. Sirius had laughed until he got a stitch in the ribs. Then it had been James' turn; he was lighter than Sirius so the condor was able to carry him further, but it understandably grew tired of the game and dropped James in the cold lake.

Remus laughed aloud at the memory of the look on James' face when he had stood up, soaked to the bones and covered in mud up to the knees. Sirius had been imprudent enough to venture a smart comment, and James had lost no time in throwing at him a handful of mud; just as Professor McGonagall had dashed out of the castle, alarmed by the sight of a condor hovering in front of her window with a student hanging from it.

Remus sighed again. He couldn't lie to himself; he was eager to be back at Hogwarts. Even if his transformations were the worst moments of his life, the assurance that James, Sirius and Peter would be there to cheer him up afterwards made them much more tolerable.

He suddenly wondered if they would remember that full moon had been last night.

Less than a minute after this thought had popped into his head, he heard an insistent tap-tap-tap coming from the window of his room. He sat bolt upright and his heart leapt in his chest when he saw Orion, James' owl, goggling at him with round amber eyes from the windowsill.

Remus slid down his bed and ran to the window; as soon as it was open Orion flew in and landed with a graceful pirouette on the bedpost, dropping the letter it was carrying on Remus' pillow. Remus made to the door and opened it, staring pointedly at the owl as he did so.

"The kitchen's downstairs - there should be something for you there..."

Orion hooted happily and took off again, flying right through the open door and down the stairs; as soon as it was out of the room, Remus closed the door, sat back on his bed and reached for the letter.

He broke the wax seal and unrolled a thin sheet of parchment, covered in black ink; James' writing was even messier than usual, as if he had written in a state of complete excitation.

Remus,

How did the transformation go? I wanted to send McGonagall so you could have some fun with him, and forget the whole "furry little problem", if you see what I mean... but Mum forbid me to. She's not fond of him, I think. And the fact that he's a gift from Uncle Cecil doesn't help.

So I came up with a different idea: why don't you come to my place for a week or two? I intended to invite you anyway, but I hadn't really planned when. But yesterday I discovered something and I absolutely want to tell you about it. So as things are you have two reasons to come, and I won't listen to any reason for you to stay wherever you are. Send Orion back with your answer; I'm expecting you some time tomorrow, or in the coming week. Peter's coming too, and I tried to send a word to Sirius, but I don't know if his dear old mummy will let him out of the house. Mum said she would be very glad to meet the three of you.

Oh, and I forgot the most important part: WHENEVER YOU COME, PLEASE, PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU'LL SHOW UP BETWEEN 3 AND 4. 30.

See you soon!

James

Remus raised his eyebrows, torn between amusement and perplexity. What had James discovered that made him so eager to talk to him? Why did he have to come precisely between three and half past four? He reread the letter carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration. A wide smile stretched his lips when his eyes fell upon the words "furry little problem"... James had a way of using understatements... Of his three friends, James had been the most eager to defuse his condition as a werewolf. Maybe because he was the only one who had actually heard him yelling and howling and destroying the furniture in the Shrieking Shack... Remus often wondered if Sirius and Peter had truly grasped the whole reality of his condition, or if it was no more than a terrifying, but vague concept to them.

He rolled back the parchment into a tight scroll and rose from his sitting position on the bed. He had to ask his parents permission to go to James' house. He stepped out on the landing outside his bedroom, grimacing as the sore muscles in his legs protested. He had not walked down two steps when his mother appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a worried look on her face.

"Remus! Why are you up?" she asked, her voice slightly more high-pitched than usual.

Remus took the time to walk down a few more steps before answering.

"I'm fine, Mum," he said gently. "Did you see the owl?"

"Yes, I saw it, and I gave it something to eat, but it won't go away," she answered, sounding a bit annoyed. "I suppose it's waiting for an answer of some sort. Were you the one to receive it?"

"He's my friend James Potter's owl," said Remus. "He wanted to invite me to come to his place tomorrow, and to stay there for a week or two..."

His voice trailed away hopefully but his mother was frowning, wariness written all across her young and kindly face.

"A week or two, alone in a strange house?" she said in a doubtful tone. "And so soon after your - your bad night? Remus, I don't know if -"

"But it's just James," pleaded Remus. "Just him, and maybe Sirius and Peter too. They're my friends from Hogwarts! We spent the whole year together!"

The thought that his mother could prevent him from going to James' house made his heartbeat quicken. Remus had changed a lot from the scared little boy he was last summer; at that time, he had wished he could stay hidden in his parents' house for the rest of his life, rather than going to the noisy and busy castle of Hogwarts. He still disliked crowds, disorder and noise, but his life with James, Sirius and Peter was so much more exciting than the time he spent in the little house, lost in a sea of fields, with his parents for only company...

"What's going on?" asked his father, coming out of the drawing room with his glasses low on the bridge of his nose and the Daily Prophet in his hands. "Remus, how come you're up?"

Remus felt a twinge of annoyance. He just had to rise from his bed for his parents to rush at his side and ask him what was wrong. He was not a baby!

"Remus got an invitation to go to a friend's house," his mother answered in a low voice, the sceptical expression still on her face. "For a week or two. I don't think that's wise, but he seems to really want to go."

His father slowly shook his head.

"Remus, I think your mum's right. You need to rest here for a few days before you go anywhere -"

"But I'm bored here!"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished he hadn't said them. His father was visibly hurt, he could tell from the blank look he was giving him; a look of incomprehension and even of distress. But when he saw his mother's shocked and pained expression, as if she had just received an unexpected blow, he instantly experienced a burning feeling of guilt and regret in the pit of his stomach. He opened his mouth to apologize, but before he could utter a word, his father spoke up.

"Of course."

Remus and his mother turned to face him. He was not directly looking at them; as a matter of fact, he was staring thoughtfully at the tiled floor, scratching his chin with his index finger.

"I was stupid not to foresee that. How could you enjoy staying here after spending a year at Hogwarts? That house isn't a place to raise an only child."

"I never said -" mumbled Remus, mortified, but his father didn't listen to him.

"I guess it would be a good thing for you if you got away from here for a few days... You just have to be extra careful. Your friend's parents are bound to ask you a few questions about your home and your family - that's only politeness. You don't want to reveal anything about your condition."

Remus hesitated for a split second before nodding. He wasn't sure he wanted to tell his parents that James, Sirius and Peter already knew about his being a werewolf. He was afraid his father would say they probably didn't understand the reality of his curse - after all, his mother hadn't fully understood it either at first; not until she had heard him yelling and thumping in his bedroom - and that, once they did, they would grow scared of him. That exact thought was always lurking in a corner of Remus' mind, nagging him and causing him to imagine horrible scenarios where Sirius and Peter rejected him with yells of "Monster! Monster!"

"Fine," said his mother, sounding defeated. "You can go tomorrow, if you're so eager to leave. But I'm coming with you."

"Mum, I can -"

"No, Remus," she snapped. "Even if you didn't have this - problem - I wouldn't let my twelve-year-old son go all alone in a strange house. I'm coming with you. I want to know what sort of family you're going to live with for the next days."

Remus hung his head and mumbled "Yes, Mum." His mother's face was still stern, but he could see she was struggling to keep herself from smiling at his sheepish expression. As he sent her an apologetic look, her seriousness seemed to melt away and her lips stretched in one of her wonderfully wide smiles - one of those that made Remus' father say they didn't need the sunlight as soon as his wife kept smiling. And Remus privately agreed.

"Now, what do you want for dinner?" she asked.

***

James was pacing in a very large and very untidy bedroom on the third floor of the Potter house, distractedly stepping over heaps of clothes, books and various possessions scattering the rich and thick carpet that covered a floor made of dark oak. He glanced nervously from time to time at a round alarm-clock that looked exactly like any Muggle alarm-clock, except that instead of hands it showed twelve shining stars revolving round the midnight-blue dial.

"Come on, Remus, what are you doing?" he muttered as he kicked a heavy book out of his way.

He shot another glance at the alarm-clock and groaned.

"Only thirty seconds left... twenty seconds... Remus, hurry up... five seconds..."

A clock struck three p.m. in a corridor of the first floor. James closed his eyes and let himself collapse on his unmade bed with a desperate moan. He waited, prostrate, until the clock stopped chiming; then he rose again from his bed with the expression of a convict walking to the block. He reached the door in two extremely slow strides, opened it just as slowly, and turned left in the corridor. He took all his time to walk to the wide staircase leading to the floor below, and when he finally decided to go down, he took care to pause for at least three seconds on each step.

But in spite of all his efforts he reached at last the bottom of the stairs and gloomily walked along another corridor, at the same sedate pace - something truly astonishing to witness as James Potter was known for his inability to walk normally, that is to say, without running or bouncing around.

James paused in front of a large double door and stared at it for a good minute, as if hoping it would disappear or transform into a stonewall if he wished hard enough. Unfortunately the door seemed to be firmly determined to stay a door, so James had no choice but push it open and step inside.

The polished floor creaked under his shoes as he resignedly headed for the middle of the large and high-ceilinged room. The whole room seemed to be listening to every noise he was making, and he could feel the family portraits that hung from the walls glaring at him for his lack of enthusiasm.

James paused, staring helplessly at the large, shiny black object that sat imposingly in the very middle of the room.

A piano.

A splendid shiny grand piano.

James jumped as the mirror recessed in the wall above the fireplace suddenly emitted a high-pitched wail. Oh how James hated that noise; it was something between the hissing of a boiling kettle and the whining of nails on a blackboard. Every time he heard it, his hair stood on end on the back of his neck and he could almost hear his eardrums shrieking in pain.

"Just a minute!" James shouted angrily at the mirror. "I've only just entered the room!"

With an exasperated sigh, he seized the lid of the piano and unceremoniously lifted it, revealing a dazzlingly white keyboard. The keys were clean, dustless, spotless - almost daring James to soil them with his fingers.

"As if I wanted to," he muttered crossly.

James took a pile of scores on the piano and looked through it all until he had found the score he was looking for. Even when he had found it, he just laid it down on the floor next to him and idly ruffled through the rest of the scores - until the mirror screeched again.

"All right, all right, I'm playing!" James yelled, as he hastily put the pile of scores back on the piano.

He grudgingly opened his score and put it on the music rest. Then he tentatively sat on the rectangular stool - as black and shiny as the piano itself -, screwing up his face as he tried to figure out whether he was high enough. He decided he was sitting a bit too low and stood up, before crouching next to the stool and patiently turning the round wheel on the side of it; the seat rose a few inches, and he sat on it again to test the height.

"This time I'm really too high," he said aloud. "I will never be able to play in these conditions."

And so he dropped from his stool again and began to turn the wheel the other way.

The mirror screeched again, only this time the horrid wail lasted longer. James gritted his teeth.

"I hate that thing," he said fiercely.

He finally climbed back on his stool and laid his hands on the white keys, on the left side of the keyboard. He took a deep breath and his right thumb and his left little finger pushed on two Cs, one octave apart, at the same time.

The scale began, dull and schoolish. The notes followed one another with a monotonous regularity, pounding in James' ears - useless, pointless, boring.

"Point-less ex-er-cise point-less ex-er-cise point-less..." James sang with the notes, his high-pitched voice going slightly out of tune as his hands moved further on the right side of the keyboard.

A sharp tap sounded in the room, also coming from the mirror.

"Yes, Mum?" asked James without detaching his gaze from his fingers dancing on the black and white keys.

His mother's laughing and pleasant voice rang in the room.

"James, dear, you're going a bit too fast - start the metronome if it can help you to keep the rhythm."

"No thanks," groaned James. "I don't need that thing, I'll go slower..."

He heard the soft popping noise that meant his mother was no longer listening to him, and added in an undertone:

"And if I hear that wretched thing ticking, I'll probably go mad and throw it out of the window. Would be a blessing for everyone."

He heaved a noisy sigh. His hands had reached the top of the keyboard and started going down it again; James' foot was tapping the floor in rhythm. He stole a glance at the clock fixed to the wall on his right side - it was a quarter to four. Forty-five minutes to go...

"Remus Lupin, I'll never forgive you," muttered James through clenched teeth.

***

Margaret Potter turned another page of her book and stifled a yawn of boredom. Her friend Alicia could keep raving about that author as much as she wanted, she thought she had never read such a dull book. She only kept reading because Alicia had literally begged her to - "Meg, dear, you have to read this, or you'll feel incomplete for the rest of your life! Oh God! This young writer opened my eyes!" - but she could feel her attention slipping away, and she found herself listening to the muffled sound of James' scales, instead of focusing on the young and brave witch's frightful adventures in the forest infested with Vampires.

She lowered her book, frowning. James was playing too fast, and a bit irregularly. The boy had already managed to start playing at half past three, instead of three - she had had to send no fewer than three warnings since he had stepped in the Piano Room - and now he was not even working properly. Mrs Potter tiredly pointed her wand at the large mirror situated above the fireplace, and in which the whole drawing room was reflected. At once, the sound of the scales grew louder and the image of the red and yellow armchairs furnishing the room faded away, to be replaced by the black piano on which James was playing.

Mrs. Potter chuckled when she saw James' expression, which wavered between gloomy resignation and supreme boredom. As soon as the mirror had transformed into a window allowing her to peer into the Piano Room, her son called out without even looking up: "Yes, Mum?"

Mrs. Potter's fond smile widened. James had not forgiven her for her insistence to make him play the piano an hour and a half every day since his return from Hogwarts. But ah - it had to be the only thing she actually forced him to do. Merlin knew how weak she was with her little boy.

"James, dear, you're going a bit too fast," she said. "Start the metronome if it can help you to keep the rhythm."

"No thanks," James answered immediately. "I don't need that thing, I'll go slower..."

Mrs. Potter nodded and waved her wand at the mirror. The image of the piano was replaced by her reflection again, though the sound of James' scales still came from the mirror - just loud enough for her to spot any mistakes or irregularity in them.

She slid her wand back in the belt that kept her richly embroidered robes closed upon her frail frame. Her eyes fell on the book still lying on the coffee table; she hadn't even reached the hundredth page, and the heroine had already fought against a pack of werewolves, half a dozen dragons and a few vampires, not to mention the dozen Dark Wizard she had vanquished single-handedly. The mere idea of going through another ten pages made her want to yawn again; well, that book would at least be of some use if she found herself incapable to sleep tonight. But for now, she would shamelessly leave the courageous teenager battling with her fifth vampire.

Mrs. Potter slammed the book shut and distractedly dropped it on the couch; a house-elf would put it back on its shelf. She lazily walked to a glass door leading to the back garden, with the vague idea of picking up a few flowers and arranging them in the various guest rooms that would soon accommodate James' friends, when the doorbell rang.

The silvery sound was almost immediately followed by the quick tap-tap-tap of a house-elf's bare feet hurrying to the front door. Mrs. Potter froze, curious to hear who had come to see her in the middle of the afternoon. She just hoped it wasn't Alicia; that woman was a dear, but she could be so tiresome.

"Can Pomy help you, Mister?" said the house-elf's shrill voice from the hallway. A boy's voice answered.

"Oh... erm... actually, I..."

Mrs. Potter mentally shook herself and hurried into the hallway to greet her unexpected visitors. On the doorway stood a boy around James' age, rather shy-looking, and holding the hand of a woman - probably his mother - who looked nothing short of panic-stricken. Her eyes were darting in all directions, sometimes staring right through Pomy or Mrs. Potter herself, apparently incapable of seeing them. Both the boy and his mother were in Muggle clothes.

"Good afternoon!" Mrs. Potter said pleasantly, dismissing Pomy with a wave of her hand. "You're one of James' friends, I suppose?"

The boy looked even more timid than before.

"Oh - yes, Madam, I'm, erm..."

"Remus," hissed the woman, who was now clinging to the boy's hand desperately. "Who are you talking to?"

Mrs. Potter suddenly understood.

"My goodness!" she exclaimed. "Is your mother a Muggle, dear?"

The boy called Remus nodded; Mrs. Potter drew her wand from her belt again and cast a quick spell on the woman standing behind her son. She shuddered and blinked once or twice, then her eyes met Mrs. Potter's and her mouth fell open in comical amazement.

"Good afternoon," said Mrs. Potter again, with a smile at the woman's obvious bewilderment. "If your son is Remus, I reckon you are Mrs. Lupin, am I right?"

Mrs. Lupin seemed to regain her composure at Mrs. Potter's kindness. She ventured a small smile in her direction, and answered in a voice that was barely more confident than her son's:

"Good afternoon to you, and yes, I am. I, well, I've only come to drop Remus, seeing that he's only twelve and I didn't want to let him go all the way to your house on his own... Maybe I should -"

"Oh, please come in," interrupted Mrs. Potter. "I would love to have tea with you. Though it's a bit early for tea," she added with a glance at the grandfather clock leaning against a wall. "I wasn't expecting you that early, I must say."

"James said we should come at this hour, though," Remus piped up.

He blushed when Mrs. Potter looked at him enquiringly.

"I - I mean, he did write in his letter... 'Come between three and half past four'..."

Mrs. Potter had to bite back a laugh at this answer.

"I have a fairly good idea of the reason why he told you that," she said pleasantly. "Don't worry, I'm very glad to have some company for the rest of the afternoon. I have to ask you, though, not to see James before half past four. James is playing the piano," she explained at the boy's confused look. "Every day, from three to half past four. He doesn't like it, and it's very likely he'd welcome an interruption. But he has to work. I'm adamant about that."

She tempered her words with her most charming smile as she led them in the magnificent drawing room. Mrs. Lupin was now smiling almost confidently: a boy trying with all his might to escape his daily piano lesson was something she could understand and find amusing, after all.

They had just settled around the coffee table when Pomy the house-elf appeared out of thin air with a sharp cracking noise, carrying on her head a tray loaded with a kettle and three richly decorated cups with their saucers. She bustled around the table for a while, pouring tea for everyone and offering sugar in her high-pitched voice to Remus and his mother, who were both still very intimidated by this display of luxury. Remus had never seen a house-elf before, though he knew about their existence.

However, Mrs. Potter was well-versed in the art of making her visitors comfortable, and ten minutes later she and Mrs. Lupin were chattering like old friends. The Muggle woman was vivacious and witty, and Margaret Potter couldn't recall the last time she had had such an entertaining conversation. She was watching James' friend out of the corner of her eye, ready to suggest he should have a look at the many books contained in the nearby library as soon as he showed any sign of impatience. But Remus was discreetly watching all around him with round eyes, taking in the red and yellow drawing room, his gaze lingering for a few seconds on the Gryffindor crest carved in the mantelpiece.

Mrs. Lupin was just telling her hostess fascinating details about Muggle artefact, when the doorbell rang again. Mrs. Potter excused herself and went in the hallway; she didn't doubt it would be another of James' friends, and she was amused to notice that it was just ten past four. James must have told all of them to come in the middle of his piano lesson.

She opened the door herself, to find on the threshold a plump and timid-looking little boy accompanied by a formidable woman, considerably broader and taller than Mrs. Potter herself. James' mother heard her own melodic voice uttering polite words of greeting with surprising calmness, considering that the woman's odd appearance was something of a shock to her. No such woman had ever stood on her threshold before: she looked like a big farm girl - red-faced, with enormous calloused hands, and wearing a dirty apron and a bonnet on her hair.

"Good afternoon, Ma'am," said the boy shyly. "Erm... I'm Peter Pettigrew and this is Marina..."

Mrs. Potter invited them inside, but the woman called Marina shook her head and answered something in French, in such a booming voice that Mrs. Potter could have sworn the panes of glass on the front door shuddered in their frame.

"She said she had to go back and take care of my mum," explained the boy very quickly, and rapidly turning red in the face.

"Oh - that's a pity, but then, I don't want to keep you if you have other duties..." said Mrs. Potter in answer. "Please tell Mrs. Pettigrew I'm very glad to have her son in my house for a few days. He can stay here as long as he wishes to."

Peter went even redder than before; the French woman smiled a bit uncertainly, as if she hadn't quite understood Mrs. Potter, but made no comment and hugged the little boy before roughly shaking Mrs. Potter's small and white hand - which disappeared entirely, engulfed in Marina's enormous beetle-like hand - and turning away to Disapparate, a few feet from the front door.

Peter was led into the drawing room where he was offered tea; he and Remus exchanged huge smiles, but they didn't dare say anything to each other in front of the grown-ups and just sat there, looking all around them. Peter's mouth was open in awe.

At twenty past four, a fire burst into life in the chimney, so suddenly that Peter started and spilled his tea all over his front. Soon two small silhouettes appeared in the roaring fire, revolving as fast as a top amidst the high flames. Mrs. Lupin stared at the fire with a slightly frightened expression and let out a tiny squeal as two boys, black with soot, finally stepped out of the fireplace.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Potter!" said the taller boy brightly, addressing a wide smile at James' mother.

Mrs. Potter suddenly recognised the boy who was boldly standing in front of her, his expression completely lacking in the shyness normally visible on the face of any twelve-year-old, when standing in presence of an elderly lady that he barely knew.

But after all, Sirius Black could hardly be considered as an average twelve-year-old. Mrs. Potter remembered vividly how he and James had sneaked out of the Black House to play Quidditch, in the middle of a party given for young Sirius himself.

"Good afternoon, Sirius," she answered in her laughing voice. "You brought your little brother along, I can see."

"Yes," said the boy with a grimace, holding up his hand which seemed glued to Regulus Black's small one. "Mum even put a sticking spell on our hands... Please, could you..."

"Oh, of course," Margaret Potter said hastily; she drew her wand from her belt again and whispered the counter-curse on the two boys' linked hands. Sirius immediately let go of his little brother, who crossed his arms over his chest with a sulky expression.

The two newcomers were taken to the hallway where Pomy the house-elf helped them to remove the soot covering their clothes and faces. Then they were led into the drawing room again, and had just sat down and accepted a glass of pumpkin juice when the clock in the hallway chimed.

"It's half past four," said Mrs. Potter softly. "We should expect -"

She stopped talking quite abruptly, and everyone immediately understood why. The faint sound of piano that had been coming from the mirror for the past forty-five minutes had stopped, and now they could all hear someone noisily hurtling down the stairs and running along a corridor; next second the door burst open and James came in, panting and exclaiming:

"Has none of them arrived y-"

He stopped dead and watched the four boys sitting around the coffee table with bulging eyes.

"You're all here?" he said incredulously.

"Well, yes," said his mother sweetly. "They've been here for some time now."

James' puzzled expression turned to disbelief.

"And you let me play those stupid scales all this time?" he questioned indignantly.

"James," snapped his mother.

James looked unsettled by his mother's dry tone, and seemed to shrink a little on the spot. "Yes, Mum?" he asked, almost humbly.

"You just came running here, without even saying hello to Mrs. Lupin," Mrs. Potter went on, managing to keep her voice as cold as before, though she had to fight back a smile at the sudden change in James' attitude. "And you're speaking to me in a very disrespectful tone. Is that your way to greet your guests?"

James instantly walked up to Mrs. Lupin and took her hand in his small one; but instead of shaking it he bowed lightly over it, murmuring words of greeting. Mrs. Potter didn't look surprised, nor did any of the Black boys, who were used to that kind of formality. On the other hand, Peter and Remus exchanged bewildered glances, their eyebrows raised, and Mrs. Lupin looked a bit confused for a minute or so.

"That's better, James," said Mrs. Potter appreciatively. "Now you may go and show your friends their bedrooms, so that they can drop their bags. Pomy will ring the bell when dinner's ready."

The boys didn't need to be told twice, and after Remus had said goodbye to his mother, James dragged all three of them out of the drawing room and up the stairs. Regulus followed, looking even sulkier than when he had first arrived.

"Why did you bring him along?" James asked Sirius as he spotted the little boy, who was hurrying after them with his face screwed up as if he was about to burst into tears.

"Long story," sighed Sirius. "I had to battle with my dear old mummy for hours to get her permission, and in the end we were both shouting so loudly that my dad came and said that if we didn't come quickly to an agreement, he would have to use a Silencing Charm on the pair of us. Finally she let me go at the only condition that I would take Regulus with me. She probably wants him to spy on me."

"And why were your hands glued together?" Peter asked curiously.

"Because she knew I would try to throw Regulus out of the first chimney I saw when taking the Floo network," Sirius answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

James and Peter burst out laughing and Regulus sniffed angrily behind them. James was now leading them up a second staircase, and Remus' legs started to ache again. His transformation was only two days away, after all.

"In your letter you said you had discovered something and you wanted to tell us about it," he panted, tugging on James' shirt to draw his attention. "So what is it?"

James turned to face him; his eyes were shining with excitation, and he spoke in a very low voice, so that Regulus, who was lagging behind, couldn't catch his words.

"That's precisely what I'm going to show you."