Dealing with Danger
Chapter 24: Friends and Enemies (Year 3)
By Anne B. Walsh
Chapter 24: Friends and Enemies
"...but I really must protest your intrusion into what was an orderly search for these missing young people. No one can be happier than I to see them safely returned, but would it not have been wiser to have waited for lawful authority before you ran off pell-mell to find them?"
"Lawful authority, Minister?" said a cool, female voice. "You mean, an Auror, perhaps?"
"Yes, precisely..."
Someone cleared his throat.
"Yes, well, Black, you weren’t on duty tonight, and you wouldn’t have been assigned to this project in any case, it would be a conflict of interest..."
"I think it would be a concord of interest, myself. I’d be interested in seeing the... men get what was coming to them, both as a father and as an Auror."
"Yes, but that’s precisely my point — you place those two roles in that order of importance, and as a result, one of the criminals we’ve been hunting all year has escaped, again, and the other’s whereabouts are currently unknown..."
"As a result?" said the woman’s voice crisply.
Harry opened his eyes. He was lying on his side in a bed in the hospital wing. Everything was rather fuzzy without his glasses, but he could see if he squinted, and what he saw filled him with relief. On the next bed over lay Hermione, her eyes shut but her chest rising and falling regularly. Draco lay in the bed beyond her, curled up on his side, shifting restlessly. A sliver of light entered the room from the open door into the hall, through which the voices were coming.
"You think that our actions allowed Peter Pettigrew to escape?" continued the woman’s voice, which Harry could now identify as Letha’s. "Or why don’t you be more specific — my actions, since I was the person chasing him?"
"Well..." This voice belonged to a man, not someone Harry knew, but he sounded rather uneasy. As anyone would be, faced with Letha in a mood, Harry thought.
"Don’t sugarcoat it, Minister, just say it out. Do you or do you not think that I am responsible for Pettigrew’s escape?"
Harry sat up straight, the words suddenly registering along with the speaker and the tone.
Wormtail got away?
"Er... well... Merlin’s beard, woman, what do you expect me to say? By your own admission, you were guarding him, you became distracted, he escaped. You chased him down, fought with him, and he escaped again. Those are the facts, are they not?"
"Those are some of the facts, Minister." Harry had heard Letha angry before, but never like this. Every word was sculpted from ice. "Shall I remind you of the portion of the story you seem to be leaving out?"
"Yes, by all means, do."
Harry fished for his glasses, not taking his eyes off the door. She keeps calling him Minister. Is it Fudge? I suppose it’d have to be...
"Pettigrew had taken rat form, the better to flee from me. I nonetheless was able to find him and knock him unconscious, and I was almost as close to him as I am to you now, Minister, when I was forced to turn my attention to a more immediate danger. I was being menaced by dementors."
"Dementors? My dear lady, why in heaven’s name would dementors menace you?"
"I didn’t bother to ask them. I was too busy keeping my soul in its proper place. By the time I had driven them off, Pettigrew was gone. I assume that he regained consciousness and ran off in rat form while they were trying to get to me."
Movement across the aisle caught Harry’s eye. The rest of the Pride was gathered on two beds, listening as avidly as he was himself.
"But — I — do you mean to tell me that they came onto school grounds? That they attempted to Kiss you?"
"I didn’t let any of them get that close, but I’m fairly sure that’s what they were after."
"Fairly sure, I see." There was suddenly a smug note in Fudge’s tone Harry didn’t like at all. "And you mentioned that you think two of your children may also have had a run-in with dementors?"
"They told me they had conjured a Patronus. Dementors are the only reason I can think of for them to do that."
"They told you that. Of course. And how convenient that they are currently asleep, and that you refuse to let them be awakened..."
"Are you calling my wife a liar, Minister?" asked Padfoot’s voice heatedly.
"Liar — why, no, no, that was never my intent..."
"Going to call me one too?"
"No, not at all. Let me see... you said that Lucius Malfoy used some sort of potion to render you unconscious. Harry Potter awakened you a short time later, at which point you found that your nose had been broken, and that you were still groggy from the effects of the potion. You passed out again while in Mr. Potter’s company, and awakened to see him with a corporeal Patronus — rather unusual feat for a thirteen-year-old wizard, is it not? — after which he, in his turn, passed out. You were both consequently rescued by Minerva McGonagall. Is that correct?"
"Yes. Essentially."
"So you admit that you never actually saw a dementor on Hogwarts grounds?"
Harry was on his feet, moving towards the door. He heard two or three intakes of breath from the rest of the Pride, but beyond a hurried nod, didn’t acknowledge them.
"Why would Harry have conjured a Patronus if there were no dementors?" asked Padfoot through clenched teeth.
"I honestly don’t know," said Fudge, sounding positively cheerful. "And since Mr. Potter is also asleep, there is unfortunately no way we can ask him..."
Harry pulled the door of the hospital wing open, leaning on it for support. Padfoot and Letha both noticed him immediately, but he set his hand in the signal for I’m all right and spoke up. "Have you ever seen what’s under a dementor’s hood, Minister?"
The short, plump wizard in a pinstriped cloak, carrying a lime-green bowler hat, turned towards him in surprise. "Well, no... I can’t say that I have..."
"They don’t have any eyes," said Harry, fixing his own on the Minister’s. "Their eye sockets are grown over with skin that looks like the stuff on their hands. All gray and scabby and dead. But they have mouths. It’s where a human’s mouth would be, but it’s not like that. It’s just a round hole. It sucks air in, and life, and warmth, and it breathes out death. That’s what I saw tonight. There were dementors on Hogwarts grounds." He felt a chair against the backs of his legs, and sat down without taking his eyes from Fudge’s.
"And dementors only take their hoods down when they plan on using the Kiss," said Padfoot, moving over to stand beside Harry. "I can’t think of any other way Harry would have known what’s under there."
"So now it’s your turn to explain, Minister," said Letha, drawing Fudge’s attention and holding his eyes as Harry had. She was taller than he, so that he had to look up to her. "Explain to me why the dementors you set here to keep criminals away from Hogwarts grounds, when those criminals arrived here tonight, ignored them both and instead attacked me, and my husband, and my children. Explain to me why dementors stopped me from capturing Peter Pettigrew. And then explain to me why you insist on doubting my word on this matter."
Fudge opened and closed his mouth several times. Harry fought not to laugh.
"Or, on second thought, just go away." Letha turned away from the Minister of Magic. "I don’t want to talk to you anymore."
She pushed open the other side of the double doors and entered the hospital wing. Fudge stared after her for a moment, then turned to Padfoot. "I — I hope I haven’t offended — it was never my intent..."
"Glad to hear it," said Padfoot shortly. "Come on, Harry, you should be in bed. Poppy’ll be back any minute with that chocolate she ordered, and I don’t want to get blamed if she finds you on your feet." He offered Harry his hand. Harry took it out of politeness, and discovered as he stood up that he needed it.
No, really? I just had a concussion, escaped from Death Eaters, and fought off dementors — why should I be tired?
"Thanks for the chair," he said to the shoulder and leg he could see behind the door.
"You’re welcome."
It was Ginny’s voice.
"Dumbledore!" said Fudge from the hall as Padfoot helped Harry back to his bed. Letha was sitting on the opposite bed from his with Meghan curled beside her. "Just the man I was looking for. After careful consideration, listening to all the stories and so forth, I’ve decided the dementors can’t stay here. I’ll be ordering them sent back to Azkaban immediately, tonight."
"How very kind of you, Cornelius. May I offer you some good news in return?"
"Heaven knows I need it, with Pettigrew gone and Malfoy God-only-knows-where..."
"I beg to differ on that point. I am no god, but I am perfectly cognizant of Lucius Malfoy’s current whereabouts."
"You are? Good God, Dumbledore, you don’t mean you’ve captured him?"
"I? No, the credit for this goes to two of my professors, Professors Lupin and Granger-Lupin. They pursued Mr. Malfoy back to his hideout in the Shrieking Shack — which, incidentally, had been carefully charmed tonight to be inconspicuous and forgettable — and captured him there. I arrived rather after the fact, contributing only the safe transportation and incarceration of Mr. Malfoy. He is currently housed in a broom cupboard on the fourth floor."
"Well, that’s excellent! Quite excellent! I’ll just go out and fetch a dementor in, then, it shouldn’t take long at all..."
"I beg your pardon?" said Danger’s voice.
"Ah, Cornelius, let me introduce you to Professor Granger-Lupin. This is Minister of Magic Fudge."
"How do you do," said Fudge. "My God — Dumbledore, what is that?"
"It’s a dog," said Danger flatly, causing several members of the Pride to stifle giggles as Moony slipped around the door into the hospital wing. "What were you saying about bringing in a dementor?"
"Yes, I wished to ask you about that myself, Cornelius," said Dumbledore.
Harry tuned this out in favor of watching Moony. His tail was describing ecstatic arcs in the air as he sniffed at Draco and Hermione, first one, then the other.
"Let me give you a hand with that," said Padfoot, getting up. "Better get out of the way."
Moony jumped onto Hermione’s bed and from there to Harry’s, bumping Harry gently in the shoulder with a paw. Harry pushed him back. "Gerroff."
Moony showed his teeth in a wolf-grin. Make me, he seemed to be saying.
Padfoot shoved Draco’s bed closer to Hermione’s. Everyone winced at the screeching noise made by the iron bedstead moving over the stone floor. "For heaven’s sake," said Letha. "Don’t you have your wand?"
"No. Malfoy took it."
Moony barked quietly and pointed his nose at the door.
"Danger’s got it?" asked Padfoot.
Moony nodded.
"Well, I can get it later. Can I use yours, Letha?"
"Please." Letha drew her wand and tossed it to Padfoot, who waved it around experimentally a few times, then carefully levitated Draco’s bed and set it down next to Hermione’s.
Moony jumped back across the gap, landing neatly beside Hermione’s feet. He stepped over them and lay down between the two cubs with a sigh of contentment. Harry felt like echoing it. He was safe, and so was everyone he cared about, and all he wanted was to lie down again and get some sleep...
"Very well, if you insist. I admit the law isn’t very clear on the point, so I suppose it makes sense to abide by his wishes."
The door opened, and Fudge, Dumbledore, and Danger entered the hospital wing. Dumbledore lit the candles with a casual flick of his wand, while Danger went to Draco’s side. "I know you’re awake, fox," she murmured to him. "I’m sorry about this, but we need you to decide something."
Draco sat up slowly, looking around the room. Fudge stared at him. "It’s positively uncanny," he said to Dumbledore. "Have you noticed? Such a close likeness..."
Moony rumbled low in his chest before turning to face Fudge.
"Draco, I am afraid we must ask you to make an important decision," said Dumbledore as Hermione blinked and stretched, rubbing her eyes, then sat up. "Lucius Malfoy has been captured, and is currently in custody. By law, he may either be returned to Azkaban, or undergo the Dementor’s Kiss. As the party most closely affected, the choice is yours."
Draco stared at Dumbledore. "You mean I get to decide what happens to him?"
"Precisely."
Draco looked down at his bedspread, obviously thinking hard. After a moment, he raised his left hand to his cheek, where, Harry now saw, he had a cut — no, it was a scar, a vertical scar about an inch long.
Where did that come from?
Hermione was watching Draco closely, and as Harry moved down his bed to see his brother more clearly, he noticed that Hermione’s cheek sported an identical scar.
Something weird is going on here.
"Just send him back to Azkaban," said Draco finally, looking up. "Please. Nobody deserves to have... that... happen to them. No matter who they are, or what they were planning on." His left hand went over Moony’s back and found Hermione’s right. "I just don’t want to have to think about him anymore."
Dumbledore and the Pack-parents looked quietly approving. Fudge seemed a bit nonplussed. "Well... all right, then. I’ll arrange it with the Aurors, if you don’t need me for anything else, Dumbledore, I suppose I’ll be getting along... at least we got one of them, and Pettigrew has no reason to hang about the school... my sincerest apologies, all of you, for the dementors, I’ll find out which of them were responsible and, er, speak to them..." He plopped his hat on his head and hurried out of the room, still chattering.
"Speak to them," said Ron in disbelief. "He’s going to speak to them..."
Ginny emerged from behind the door and shut it. "Bad dementors," she scolded, sticking out her stomach and mimicking Fudge’s voice and gait admirably. "Bad dementors. No prisoners for you."
Harry snorted and Hermione giggled, and within a few seconds everyone was laughing.
From there on, Harry’s impressions of the night were incomplete and rather disconnected, but weaving through them was the solid, strong, supporting feeling of Pack and Pride, safely together once more. Madam Pomfrey arrived, distributed large amounts of chocolate to everyone, and left again. Dumbledore left as well, after talking quietly with the Pack-parents for a short while.
Hermione and Draco made everyone laugh with their newly rediscovered talent of twin-talking and the newly acquired one of silent speech, and Hermione showed off her latest achievement by changing forms and curling up next to Moony, purring loudly enough to be heard in Hogsmeade. A lot of people said, "Oh, so that’s why..." as the various stories were told. The odds-on favorite entertainment of the evening was Danger’s imitation of Malfoy’s exact actions when cornered by two extremely angry wolves.
Finally, after Madam Pomfrey had stuck her head out of her office twice and cleared her throat significantly, the Pack-parents started quieting everyone down. "You’re stuck with us for the night, Poppy," Padfoot told her. "We’ll be good and clean up after ourselves."
"You had better. Otherwise I’m sending you the bill."
"What bill? House-elves clean for free."
Madam Pomfrey humphed and went back into her office, then reemerged when Padfoot had his back turned and hit him in the back of the head with a spell. A perfectly circular patch of hair fell out at the crown of his head.
Harry lay down quickly and shoved his face into his pillow, Draco and Hermione clasped hands, and Meghan buried her face in Letha’s robes. Letha’s face was perfectly straight, Harry saw in a sidewise peek, as long as you didn’t look too closely at her lips. Ron also had his face in a pillow, while Ginny was having a coughing fit and Neville was just staring. Danger had a hand around Moony’s muzzle and another over her own mouth. Luna seemed not to have noticed.
Padfoot turned around and looked at them all. "What?"
Danger cracked first, setting Moony off, then Ginny lost control of her coughs and they turned into giggles. Luna looked confused at first, but then Padfoot turned around again to see if something funny were behind him, and she began to laugh as well. Slowly, everybody else fell prey to it, until Pack and Pride were all in fits. Letha patted the top of her head, prompting Padfoot to investigate his own head. The look on his face, unfortunately, was enough to start everyone up again, just as they were coming down from their first spike.
Life was back to normal, Harry reflected as he drifted off to sleep later, and he rather hoped it stayed that way for a while. He liked excitement, but exams were about to start...
xXxXx
"Headmaster."
"Severus, what can I do for you?"
"I have located Dudley Dursley. He was locked in a supplies cupboard in a boys’ bathroom on the ground floor of the school, and claims he has been there since yesterday afternoon, when another version of himself ambushed him and Stunned him."
"Is he lying?"
"No."
Dumbledore sighed. "Very well. Is he hurt?"
"Hungry, groggy, and mildly dehydrated."
"Would you mind dealing with that yourself, Severus? The hospital wing is... otherwise occupied at the moment."
Snape’s lip curled for a second. "Very well, Headmaster."
"And I will want to speak with him tomorrow. In the afternoon, if he has no examinations then."
"I will inform him."
xXxXx
"I never left any notes," said the pudgy boy, looking straight into Dumbledore’s eyes. "Why would I want to help criminals get inside Hogwarts?"
"You are being accused of nothing," Dumbledore said calmly. The boy was telling the truth, or at least he thought he was. There was a suspicious blankness and smoothness in two or three places in his mind... "It is merely odd that one of the criminals in question claimed a boy within the school had been helping them, supplying them with the materials needed to create disguising spells, and that one of them was disguised as you when he struck."
"What kind of materials do they need?" Dursley wanted to know. "Is it like that potion Professor Snape told us about, where you need a piece of the person?"
Very clever. "Yes, very much like Polyjuice Potion." The boy had almost certainly been Obliviated. That slippery texture in the mind was like nothing else. But was it without or with his consent?
"Somebody could have got one of my hairs anywhere, sir. Especially if they’re a Slytherin. Off my brush, or my pillow, or my robes... it wasn’t me, sir, it really wasn’t." Dursley’s eyes were wide and scared. "Please, sir, don’t expel me. I haven’t got anywhere else to go — my dad never wanted me to do this in the first place, he won’t pay for me to go to Muggle school, and my mum won’t do anything he doesn’t like..."
Dumbledore knew he was being manipulated, but unfortunately, what the boy said was also true. He had kept track of Harry’s family over the years, just in case there might someday be the necessity of reviving the blood magic, and he knew that Dudley Dursley’s life was not an easy one.
I only wish I could be more confident that he is not turning to Dark magic as the answer...
"You will not be expelled, Mr. Dursley. These matters seem to have been beyond your control. You may return to your common room now."
"Thank you, sir." The boy hurried out of Dumbledore’s office.
Dumbledore sat back in his chair wearily. Fawkes rustled his feathers and made a clucking sound.
"What would you suggest, then? Punish him for something that there is no proof he did?"
Fawkes flipped his feathers into place and turned his head away.
Dumbledore sighed. "Perhaps we are both growing too old," he said quietly. "A phoenix can be reborn many times, but even your kind are not immortal, my friend. How many burning days can a phoenix have before nothing arises from the ashes?"
And how many times can I help Harry Potter and his family avoid disaster before it strikes us all head-on?
xXxXx
Dudley pulled out his Charms text to do a little last-minute studying. A note fluttered to the floor.
I don’t remember putting that in there. But it was addressed to him, in his own handwriting, and a notation under it — Open this only if you don’t remember it.
Suddenly very curious, he ripped it open.
You helped Pettigrew get on the grounds in October, and both him and Malfoy in May. Malfoy Obliviated you so you wouldn’t get in trouble for it. The Death Eaters owe you, whether it paid off or not. Don’t forget it. Burn this.
Dudley read it through three times, then grinned.
I knew I couldn’t be as much of a goody-two-shoes as I was acting like in Dumbledore’s office.
He trotted out to the common room and dropped the note into the fireplace, then spun around on one stocking foot and headed back to his dorm.
He didn’t see the note catch fire only around its edges, then fall below the grate. Nor did he see the person who slipped up to the fireplace and watched the note burn, memorizing its contents as it disappeared.
xXxXx
Father kept telling me if I didn’t come up to scratch, he’d give the big jobs to someone else. I guess he meant it.
Theodore Nott stared into the flames where the piece of parchment had vanished.
Sometimes I wonder if I wouldn’t be better off somewhere else.
But where else is there?
Across the room, Blaise Zabini dipped his quill.
xXxXx
Dear Colleen,
I’m glad to hear that Hermione Granger-Lupin is all right after what happened to her. Her "twin-talk" with Draco Black sounds funny. I wish I could have heard it for myself. Thank you for passing on what Harry Potter said about the pin I sent you, but I’m happier that you like it.
Dudley Dursley’s just come back from the Headmaster’s office. He’s in no trouble for what happened. Apparently Lucius Malfoy was disguised as him all Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning, and through the Combat Club match. He may even have played around with the sentry assignments, to get the people he wanted in the place he wanted them...
xXxXx
The rest of the term was as close to perfect as Harry had ever felt. Even the weather was gorgeous, sunny almost all the time and warmer every day. Buckbeak had returned to his paddock the morning after everything had happened, showing no ill effects from the knock-out potion he’d inhaled, and the dementors were gone from around the grounds.
There was an optional lecture announced in Defense Against the Dark Arts, scheduled for the night of the first day of exams. Professor Lupin’s classes being as popular as they were, it was very well attended.
When the classroom was full, Moony enlarged a photograph with his wand and hung it on the board. "Who can tell me," he said, giving the Pride a look that said very clearly that they weren’t to answer, "what these animals are?"
Several hands went up. Moony picked Seamus Finnegan. "Wolves, sir," said Seamus. "Male and female wolves."
"Five points to Gryffindor," said Moony. "Yes, one of these wolves is a male, and one is a female. But there’s another difference between them. Anyone?"
A Ravenclaw seventh year raised his hand. "I think the male is a werewolf," he said.
"Why do you think so?"
"The snout’s a funny shape."
"Snout, very good. Someone else."
Other people began to raise their hands, naming off the characteristics of the werewolf, and Hermione finally volunteered when no one could get the pupils of the eyes as the last characteristic.
"Now that you can tell a werewolf from a true wolf," said Moony, waving to the picture, "does anyone have any questions before we move on?"
Fred and George Weasley’s hands went up. "Uh-oh," muttered Draco.
Looking as if he were doing it against his better judgment, Moony called on them. "We were just wondering," said Fred.
"Where’d you get the picture?" finished George.
"A Ministry of Magic employee," said Moony smoothly. "Anyone else?"
Hermione was staring at Moony. "He lied," she whispered to the boys.
"No, he didn’t," said Harry. "Padfoot works for the Ministry."
"Oh. Right." Hermione’s face cleared.
After about a half-hour of question and answer, Moony allowed the older students to play with the photograph, making the two pictured wolves do things like dance, chase their tails, and roll over. "Of course, real werewolves never do such tricks," he said. "And most true wolves don’t either, except in the wild with their packs. Never play with an animal unless you know it."
"Does that mean I can play with you?" Harry asked him later.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On whether you’re willing to be mercilessly tickled."
Harry ran for the door, dodging a Tickling Charm on the way out.
xXxXx
Harry found his exams to be a relief, something he was fairly sure he could handle. Even if he couldn’t, the only penalty was a little more time in class, not someone’s life. He passed them all, even Potions, though his favorite was Moony’s obstacle course, which he defeated without even breathing hard.
Draco had to punt a few Red Caps to make them understand he meant business, but once he was past them he did very well. Moony let Neville start again after the grindylow almost drowned him, though he warned Neville that he’d be marked down for it. Marked down was better than a zero in Neville’s opinion, and he finished the course in respectable time on his second go.
Hermione breezed through the obstacles until she reached the trunk containing the boggart. She slid inside with a cocky smile on her face, then burst back out a moment later with a horrific scream and attached herself to Moony, shuddering.
"Hermione, what on earth is the matter?" asked Moony, looking considerably worried.
Hermione gulped several times before she was able to speak. "It — it — it was you," she got out finally.
Moony’s look of worry increased.
"You — you said I’d failed everything!" Hermione wailed, and burst into noisy tears.
Neville, unfortunately for him, was the first to lose his composure and laugh. Hermione yanked out her wand and hexed him hard, dropping him to the grass with Jelly Legs. Draco and Harry took off at high speed, but Hermione got them both within a minute, knocking them flat on their faces, and was about to start in with a second round of hexes for all when Moony caught up with her.
"Why don’t we call this extra credit," he suggested, his face carefully impassive, "and you can give the boggart a try again in a few minutes, when you’re recovered?"
"When she’s recovered?" Harry said under his breath to Draco from where they lay on the grass, Harry’s legs locked together and Draco’s shoelaces in knots so complex they covered his shoes. "What about us?"
xXxXx
Ron was back to his old self a week before school let out, which meant he had enough time to take his exams after all. Thanks to Hermione’s studying with him every night, usually over his protestations, he was more or less ready, and Harry and Draco volunteered to partner him in the exams that needed them. He got only half credit for the hinkypunk portion of the Defense exam, since he fell face-first into the mud and lost his wand after remembering at the last minute not to listen to the little creature, but redeemed himself somewhat by defeating the boggart in thirteen seconds flat after Moony got his wand back for him.
The Leaving Feast was as noisy and joyful for the Gryffindors as in previous years, since Gryffindor’s Quidditch Cup victory had rocketed them to the House Cup as well. The Great Hall was hung with gold and scarlet, and Harry felt that there wasn’t any way he could possibly be happier.
Well, one way.
There had still been no news of Peter Pettigrew. Scrying spells over all of England had failed to find him. There were rumors at the Auror Office that he’d fled the country.
Good riddance, then, Padfoot’s letter that morning had said. He was never more than a passable wizard in any case — he can’t possibly do us any harm from overseas. With Malfoy safely back in Azkaban, I think we can all relax for a while and have a nice summer. By the way, the potion’s in the cauldron as we speak. It ought to be ready the afternoon of the day after you get back. Your dad would have been proud of you, Harry. I certainly am.
Harry grabbed another chicken leg and tore into it, remembering the feeling of his transfigured head — the eyes that found movement and black-and-white patterns so easy to see, the ears that picked up even the slightest rustle, and the nose that could tell things and people apart just by their smell. He’d spent a few moments registering the personal odor of each member of the Pride, making sure he’d know them in a crowd.
"Wolfing your food again?" Ginny inquired from across the table.
Harry swallowed and gave her a toothy smile. "Appropriate, don’t you think?"
"Mm-hmm." Ginny swallowed a mouthful of potatoes. "So you’re second. Wonder who’ll be third?"
"Probably Neville," said Harry. "He’s farthest along. But it could be Ron or you, or even Luna. Draco and Meghan are going to take a little longer."
"We’re probably some of the youngest people ever to do it." Ginny mashed her potatoes further with her fork. "Though it’s not really very hard, when you get right down to it. Just long, and with a lot of steps."
"And each step by itself isn’t very hard," Harry agreed. "But put together, they’re pretty tricky. And they cover just about all the basic areas of magic, so you have to either be able to do everything yourself or have friends — or parents — who’ll do some of the things for you, because if even one thing goes wrong..."
"Then you’re sunk." Ginny nodded. "But I can’t wait until I can do it all. I’ve already started writing my final incantation. I borrowed a little from Hermione’s, but not much. How about you?"
"Danger showed me hers, but it just felt too different from me. So I started pretty much from scratch. I have a couple of lines already. Basic descriptions, like dark fur and green eyes, the scar and the glasses markings — and that was hard, because there’s no Latin word for glasses, so I had to improvise."
Ginny giggled.
"But I still feel like it needs something else," Harry finished. "Something to talk about me, not just the way I look."
"Maybe it should say, ‘My body is a wolf’s, but my heart is the heart of a lion,’" suggested Ginny. "And ‘I fight fiercely for the ones I call my own, for I will not abandon those who are mine.’"
Harry put down his fork, staring at her. "Hang on," he said. "I need to write that down."
"No, you don’t," protested Ginny as Harry dug in his pockets for a quill. "I was just saying — it wasn’t important — Harry, don’t..."
Harry found a quill and a small piece of parchment. "Come on, say it again," he said, tapping the quill twice with his wand to load it. "Please? I’ve been trying to figure out how to say it right for weeks, and what you just said sounded great."
Ginny repeated the two lines quietly, staring at the table, her face growing steadily redder. Harry scribbled down the words as she said them, blew on the ink to dry it, and stuffed quill and parchment back into his pocket. "Thanks a million, Ginny. Now I just need to put it into Latin."
Ginny jerked her head up. "You’re not really going to use it, are you?"
"Of course I am. It’s perfect." Harry grinned. "Unless you were just being nice, and that’s not really how you think about me."
"No! I mean — Harry, listen. You came and rescued me and Percy from the Chamber last year. And the year before that, you went after the Sorcerer’s Stone because you thought people would die if You-Know-Who got it. And this year, you could have run away when you got free of the Body-Bind, but you didn’t. You went looking for Draco and Hermione."
Harry sighed. "Ginny, anyone would do that."
"No, anyone wouldn’t do that. This is what I mean, Harry. You’re so used to the way you are that you can’t see how amazing it is. Most people would have run away as fast as they could from any of those situations. But you didn’t. And you’re still alive to tell about it. That’s what those lines mean. That’s why they’re about you, and nobody else." Ginny dropped her fork off the edge of the table and dived down to get it.
Harry was still staring at the place where she had been when the main courses faded and desserts arrived.
xXxXx
"Congratulations, Remus," said Dumbledore the next day while they watched the students flooding down the stairs into the entrance hall, calling to friends and shouting impolite remarks at rivals. "You have just become the first Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to finish out the year with us in nearly twenty-five years."
"Don’t jinx it now, Albus. I’d like to come back if I possibly can. What is it about this post that makes it so hard to keep a teacher in it, anyway?"
Dumbledore was silent for a long moment. Remus turned to him, surprised. "You do know I was joking?"
"Will you come aside with me?" Dumbledore led the way into the small antechamber where the first years traditionally waited until they came into the Great Hall to be Sorted.
Puzzled, Remus sat down on one of the chairs lining the wall and waited.
"I have not been fully honest with you, Remus," Dumbledore said, looking up from the floor to meet Remus’ eyes. "Your remark has struck closer to the truth than you know. Do you recall your own Hogwarts days, and the Defense Against the Dark Arts post?"
"Yes, I do. We never had the same teacher two years in a row either..." Remus frowned. "That does sound like some kind of curse. But who would curse a teaching position?"
"Someone to whom I denied it," said Dumbledore quietly. "A short time before you began your schooling here, soon after I became Headmaster, another of my old students returned to Hogwarts to ask again what he had asked before. He wished to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. But he wished to teach it as it had never been taught at Hogwarts, as it never will be taught while I am Headmaster."
"From a perspective friendly to the Dark Arts, you mean."
"Precisely. And when I refused his request, he became angry and left. Since that time, no teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts has lasted more than one year. Some leave voluntarily, as Sirius and Aletha did. Some are... unable to continue."
Remus cracked a smile. "Like Quirrell and Lockhart."
Dumbledore did not seem amused. "Yes."
Remus looked more closely at the Headmaster. "You’re worried, aren’t you? You’re thinking something may happen over the summer, something that keeps me from coming back?"
"I worry for more than that," said Dumbledore, with a trace of anger in his voice. "In Merlin’s name, Remus, do you think I care more about filling a teaching post than I do about you? Nearly anything that would necessitate your leaving your position would also harm you and your family, and I can think of one possibility in particular which I greatly dislike."
"My unmasking?"
"Yes."
Remus shook his head. "Forgive me, Albus, but I can’t see how it could possibly happen. The only people who know are trustworthy — more or less, since I haven’t done anything to annoy Severus recently — or out of touch. Unless one of the cubs slips, and I don’t think they would, after that scare Harry gave us in first year. Who was it that cursed the position, anyway? You seem to be taking it very seriously."
"Few people took him lightly," said Dumbledore. "Those who did, often did not live to regret the mistake."
"Wait a minute." The back of Remus’ mind had been doing sums, and was now presenting him with a troubling total. "You said twenty-five years earlier. And then you mentioned that the curse had been laid down shortly before I started school, around the time you became Headmaster."
"Yes."
A slight chill ran down Remus’ spine. "The war started around the time I entered school. And it’s been about twenty-five years since then."
Dumbledore gave a small nod.
The sunlight streaming through the windows was not as bright as it had been a moment before. "Voldemort."
"I can think of many reasons why he wished a teaching post here at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, looking into the distance. "He hoped to learn more about the school and the Founders, certainly. To reopen the Chamber of Secrets, quite probably. But becoming a teacher would also have given him a legitimate tie to the school. A tie very like that which Meghan Black and Neville Longbottom enjoy."
"And use, for magic that would otherwise be beyond their capabilities." The chill returned and brought friends. "I think that I’m very glad you refused him."
"Even though it may have adverse effects on your own life?" Dumbledore smiled wryly. "The curse has acted before in unexpected ways, but it seems to take the path of least resistance. We both know what the public outcry would be if it were discovered that I had employed a man with your condition."
"And since we’re not willing to suffer the storm of publicity that would inevitably result from the explanation of Danger’s magic, not to mention the distinct possibility that some other werewolves might try to kidnap her and force her to help them..." Remus shivered.
"Would that be possible?" asked Dumbledore curiously. "I understand that you may not know, but what is your impression?"
"I tend to think... no. It’s the taming power that..." Remus stopped just in time, recalling that Dumbledore still didn’t know about their silent connection. "It brings us very close," he said instead. "Closer than I think most people want to get, except to that one special person."
"Some werewolves are desperate," Dumbledore reminded him quietly. "Because they cannot work, they cannot afford expensive potions like the Wolfsbane. Many of them cannot even find a proper place to live."
"I know." Remus stood up and started pacing around. "I haven’t forgotten. Living in shacks, in caves, like animals — thinking of themselves as more animal than human, acting that way — some of them even deny they’re human at all. They say werewolves ought to be considered a separate species, like centaurs and merpeople, and that they ought to hate normal wizards, see them only..." His voice sank with disgust. "Only as a food source."
"And as the reproductive pool," Dumbledore said calmly. "Since werewolves cannot reproduce as most species do."
Remus stopped dead. "Greyback," he said, and sudden hatred flooded him, hatred of a caliber he’d never felt before, not even towards Wormtail or Malfoy. He looked down at a pain in his palms and found his fingernails piercing the skin, he’d clenched his fists so tightly.
This is ridiculous. I haven’t thought of Fenrir Greyback in years, why am I reacting so strongly now?
But he knew why, with a cold and leaden certainty. When he had last had to think about Fenrir Greyback, he had been a younger man, alone in the world except for friends, and almost all his friends were adults. There were only a few children, and they were babies, carefully protected by fully capable parents. But now, he was a parent himself, a father of four, and although his children were strong and intelligent and fine witches and wizards, they were still children, and Greyback specialized in children...
And Danger.
"She would threaten him," said Dumbledore from behind Remus. "What she does for you would threaten the very foundation of Greyback’s world, which is that a transformed werewolf stops for nothing and no one. He would never believe that her power is for you and you alone, as I am sure it is. No, Fenrir Greyback would be positive that a werewolf tamer was a terrible threat to him, and to his power, which is based on having large numbers of his people ranging Britain with no controls over them save those he sets."
"He’d kill her," Remus said, still staring at his hands. "He’d hunt for her and kill her. And I don’t know if I could stop him. He’s huge, incredibly powerful, and I think because he’s so wolfish when he’s not transformed, he has more of his human cunning when he is... he certainly knows how to hide, and how to wait for the prey he prefers..."
The memory closed down around him. He was four years old, going out of the house to find his favorite book, since he knew Mummy would be angry if he left it out on the grass all night — Daddy said never go outside at night, but he wasn’t going far, just out to the little tree where he liked to sit and read...
Then there was a terrible growl beside him, and something with huge teeth and claws charged at him out of the darkness — he screamed and tried to run away, but it caught him on its third leap, and knocked him to the ground, and sank its teeth into his leg, making him scream again...
"Remus."
Jolted back to the present, Remus looked up. Danger stood before him, in her traveling robes, looking worried. "Are you all right?"
He pulled her to him and wrapped her in his arms, as though he could protect her from the world if he could just hold her tightly enough. "I won’t let it happen to you," he whispered. "Not to you or to any of the cubs, or to anyone else I love. Never again."
I know you won’t. Her fingers traced the line of his collarbone. I know.
"So what have you been talking about in here that has you so worked up?" she asked when he let her go. "You must tell me, Albus. I can almost never get him this excited at home." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
Dumbledore laughed. "For such a good cause, I must contribute." His tone became serious. "We were discussing the possibility of Remus’ condition becoming public. Time presses, so you will forgive me if I do not explain fully. Remus can finish the explanations later."
"Not a problem," said Danger, sitting down.
Don’t forget, he doesn’t know about this, Remus told her urgently.
"I’ll just fill in the blanks when I have the chance," Danger finished smoothly. "So. From the way you look, you’ve thought of something we haven’t. Not an unusual occurrence."
"First, I would like to know what you think would happen in this instance."
"I suppose I’d have to resign," said Remus sadly. "And I don’t want to. I love it here. I love the castle, and the kids, and watching them light up when they finally understand — I’ve spent some of the happiest times of my life at Hogwarts, as a student and as a teacher. I was terribly jealous when you asked Sirius and Letha to take the teaching post last year, and it was only later that it dawned on me that the only reason for me to be jealous would be if I wanted it myself."
"You make a terrific teacher," said Danger. "And it’s certainly some of the happiest I’ve seen you. We had some good times back in London, and in Devon, but you were always just working to bring home a little money, and for something to do. Here, you love your work just as much as you love being home with us and the cubs. I’d be so happy if you could stay at Hogwarts."
"But as Albus was just pointing out to me, the position seems to be cursed," said Remus. "Since before I was a student here, there’s never been a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who’s stayed more than a year."
"We have very occasionally had professors return," said Dumbledore, "but never one who could remain for two consecutive years. But this is all beside the point I wish to make. Yes, your condition becoming public would practically force your resignation. What would it do to your life at home?"
"Our life at home?" Remus laughed. "Nothing — at least, I don’t think it would..."
The same thought occurred to him and Danger simultaneously. "Draco," she said quietly. "His adoption contract — you signed it. In blood. Making it magically binding — but if it’s not legal for you to adopt in the first place..."
"Then such a contract would be legally null and void," said Dumbledore. "For the purposes of future converse, however, I do not remember the details of this contract from Sirius’ trial, nor have I ever heard from you how many of you signed it."
He’s got a point. We’ll have to fix that as soon as we can.
If we can. And there’s another problem. "You may not remember it," said Remus aloud. "But I think Draco mentioned at the trial that all — I mean, how many of us had signed it. And there was a Court Scribe present, I remember her, so there’s bound to be records of the trial somewhere."
"You may well be able to rectify that situation yourself," said Dumbledore. "I believe you keep in contact with a Muggle friend of yours who testified at the trial, a Mrs. Robertson?"
"Sue? Yes, I still hear from her — why?"
"The Scribe at that trial was her daughter. And all official Scribes have access to the files where records are kept."
I believe Albus Dumbledore is advising us to break the law.
I believe you’re right. "If I may ask, Albus," said Danger. "Why the sudden recurrence of things you either don’t remember or aren’t telling us?"
Dumbledore rose and came across the room to them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "Because I have come to care for you very much, and I would rather not see you hurt." He smiled at them, and Remus suddenly got a glimpse of what it must be like to be so old and so experienced, to have seen so much, and to watch the young rush heedlessly into danger and trouble, never listening to advice, and come to grief through their own folly...
"Excuse me?" said Hermione from behind them. "I’m sorry to interrupt, Professors, but it’s almost eleven. Most of the carriages have gone."
"You should not miss the train," said Dumbledore, taking his hands away and shaking first Remus’, then Danger’s hand instead. "I wish you a good summer, and it is my fervent hope to see you both return with the children in the fall."
"Our hope as well, Albus," said Remus. "Will we see you at all this summer?"
"Quite likely. I may even invite Harry to take tea with myself and an old friend, with your permission, of course."
"Of course," said Danger. "Just let us know when."
They turned and left the antechamber. Hermione and Draco were waiting for them in the entrance hall. Remus hugged Hermione briefly around the shoulders and ruffled Draco’s hair.
"Let’s go home," he said. "All of us."
xXxXx
He had thought it was impossible to become more miserable than he was. But he had been wrong.
"I will take you back," he’d said on his first night in captivity, but it had become such a worn refrain that he was beginning to doubt it himself.
"In your dreams," his son had sneered at him. "There’s only one reason I’d come back to you. If I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that someone I loved would get something they needed out of it. Got that? Good. Get out of my head." And abruptly he had been awake again, and no amount of trying had enabled him to reclaim that dream.
His fine robes had lost all the magic he had used to patch and restore them, and were once again tattered, filthy rags. He was filthy again himself, covered in dirt and vermin. And the place where the bitch-wolf had bitten him never stopped hurting, throbbing with every beat of his heart, sending shooting pains through his leg when he tried to pace, aching when he sat still.
Then he began to be ill.
He slept more than he usually did, and when he was awake, he had no energy. The food revolted him, even more so than usual. His joints began to ache and his temper to be so foul that he struck at himself, since he had no one and nothing else to attack.
He was convinced that nothing could ever be worse than this.
He was soon to be proven wrong.
Author Notes: