Standard disclaimers apply. Harry Potter, all related characters, and
various media incarnations are copyright of the very talented J. K.
Rowling, Scholastic, and other international companies involved in
its creation and distribution. Will Stanton and "The Dark Is Rising"
Sequence are both copyright of the wonderful Susan Cooper.

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Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light
A Harry Potter/The Dark Is Rising Sequence Fusion
By: Gramarye

Chapter Thirty-Two - Keep Your Friends Close....

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For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

-- William Shakespeare

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Harry had more than one reason for visiting the Defence Against the
Dark Arts office that evening. He did want to talk to Remus about
what they had done that day, but he also wanted the latest news,
news that the rest of the school would only hear in a highly sanitised
version from McGonagall and the front page of the Daily Prophet.
Remus (and Sirius too, he reminded himself) wouldn't spare him the
details; certainly not after they had practically handed him over--with
their blessing--to Will Stanton's care that very morning.

However, having come from Will Stanton's care, he knew that he
had to figure out some way to compress the work of twenty-four
hours into an explanation that wouldn't send his professor and his
godfather into fits of overprotective rage.

Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours ago, he had been thinking
only of Quidditch practice and the dinner he had missed to make it
to the session on time. Twenty-four hours ago, Hermione had been
a full prefect, able to partake of all the privileges that came with the
shining badge. Twenty-four hours ago, the Lestranges had been
under lock and key in Azkaban, little more than a name that many
considered best forgotten.

Quite a lot had happened in twenty-four hours.

He turned a corner, and then another, and there was the office door.

There it was. Right there in front of him. Not going anywhere.

He realised that his palms were sweating.

Perhaps Remus would have left for dinner already. That would solve
the problem, but--

No. Unless he had taken Snuffles with him, it wouldn't do at all.
Sirius had a tendency to explode first and later, never mind the
asking questions part.

In the end, he had two possible choices--three if he included running
away and hiding under the bed all weekend as a possible choice. He
could stand outside for as long as it would take to think things through.
Or, he could knock on the door and hope for the best.

Hermione, had she been there with him, would have told him to wait.
"Nothing good ever comes of barging into things without thinking
first," she would say, and toss her head.

Hermione also took her sandwiches apart and ate the contents
separately, piece by piece.

He knocked on the door.

"It's open," he heard Remus call out.

He opened the door, but did not step into the room. Remus was
his guardian and friend, but he was still a teacher, and it felt a little
odd to enter a teacher's office without being invited.

Remus was at his desk. He had his chin propped on one hand, and
he was leafing through some papers.

"You're a bit early today," he said, not looking up. "I'll be done
in a minute. You can leave it on the table there if you'd rather not
wait." He waved a hand into the direction of the large window that
looked out onto the lake. A small round table, littered with books
and parchment, stood beneath it.

"Wait for what?" asked Harry, still hanging back.

Remus started, sitting bolt upright in his chair. When he saw Harry
in the doorway, he relaxed, and a smile warmed his wan-looking face.

"Harry!" he exclaimed. "I didn't expect...just a moment." He pushed
his chair back and leaned forward slightly, peering into the footwell
of his desk.

"You can come on out," he murmured. "It's only Harry."

There was a scuffling noise and several loud thumps, and Snuffles
poked his head round the side of Remus's desk. His ears perked
up, and he barked once, joyfully. Two more thumps echoed from
the interior of the desk.

"Control that tail of yours," Remus chided as he stood up. "You'll
knock over my inkwell again. I'm running low enough as it is." He
beckoned to Harry. "Come on in. You're not interrupting anything."

Harry closed the door just as Snuffles trotted into view, his tail held
high. Remus pointed his wand at the door and muttered a word, and
the bolt slid neatly into place.

There was a loud pop, and Sirius joined his godson and best friend in
front of the latter's desk.

"Is ev--" he started to say at the same time that Remus asked, "Have
you--?"

They stopped, and glanced at each other.

Sirius stepped back a pace, and quickly said, "You first."

Remus turned back to Harry. "Have you been with Dr Stanton all day?"

"And is everything all right?" Sirius asked before Harry could open his
mouth to reply.

"Yes, and yes," he said. "Will says thanks for sending the note."
That wasn't entirely true, but it was something Will would have said,
had he been there. Though he probably would have used longer
words and been more formal about it.

"Not at all," Remus demurred. "I thought he should know. In case
you...and he...." His smile broadened into an apologetic grin. "But
he probably knew already, didn't he?"

"Yeah. Dumbledore sent him a letter, too."

"You mean he didn't know?" Sirius looked very surprised, not all of
it mock surprise.

Harry sighed. He'd forgotten how omnipotent Will could seem at times--
most of the time, in fact. "He doesn't know everything."

"Could've fooled me," his godfather mumbled.

"So, what did you work on?" Remus said hastily, changing the subject
by putting Harry on the spot.

"Er, not much, really...just more of the usual drills and, um, what we
always do... has there been any more news?" He hoped it wasn't too
obvious that he was stalling for time. He threw in a hint of flattery,
just to be safe. "Will told us what was in Dumbledore's letter, but I
knew I had to come to you for the whole story."

Sirius smiled at him, but Remus's suddenly flinty stare made it plain
that the flattery hadn't worked on both of them.

"Let's sit down," he said, and guided Harry (with a hand that was a
little too firm) over to the fireplace.

In front of the roaring fire were three chairs, the same ones they had
occupied the last time Harry had stopped by the office. Harry took the
rickety wooden chair with its threadbare cushion, remembering just in
time to tuck his hands under the cushion and sit on them. The two men
settled into their armchairs opposite.

Remus started things off. "So we don't end up repeating ourselves,
what exactly did Dr Stanton tell you had happened?"

"The Lestranges broke out of Azkaban," Harry said, feeling for all the
world as if he was being graded on this. "They killed an Auror and stole
his wand. There's squads of Aurors looking for them, but no one's been
able to track them yet." He bit his lip, thinking. "Will thinks they probably
had help, someone waiting for them when they got to the mainland. And
he's surprised that something like this hasn't happened sooner."

Remus folded his hands in his lap, and Sirius propped one elbow on the
arm of his chair and rested his chin on his clenched fist. When Harry
didn't continue, they glanced at each other again.

Remus said, "That's all?"

"Well, he also said that he doesn't want us--the six of us--worrying
about the Lestranges. He said that it's the Ministry's job to capture
them, not ours."

"Exactly," Sirius said emphatically, giving Harry a meaningful look.

Harry returned the look, peering over the tops of his glasses for
greater effect. "Yes. Exactly."

Sirius coughed, and averted his eyes. "Right. Anyway...was that
everything?"

"Everything that Will said."

"And that's all you have to tell us?"

"Maybe." Harry dragged the word out to its fullest length.

"'Maaaaaaybe'?" Sirius chuckled, but his grin was wistful. "Just listen
to him. James to the core."

"James?" Remus shook his head. "It was Lily who was the hard-nosed
one. Did you ever try to get anything out of her?"

"Didn't have to," Sirius sniffed. "She could never resist the full force
of my charm--sheer animal magnetism, you might say." He turned
soulful, imploring eyes on Harry, apparently demonstrating said
magnetism.

"Oh, really?" Remus all but snickered. "She certainly couldn't resist
dumping half a bowl of oatmeal over your head the one time I remember
you trying it on her."

Stung, Sirius glowered at him. "And no thanks to you, I might--"

The soft chime of a clock interrupted him. Delicately, it struck the
three quarters, leaving a lingering, vaguely discordant echo in the
room.

The sound of the clock had an immediate sobering effect on the two
men. The playfully reminiscent smiles left their faces, and they composed
themselves, back to business once more.

"The murdered Auror's name was Philpot," Remus said. "Jonathan
Philpot. He was at school with us, though quite a few years behind."

"First year when we were in sixth, I think," Sirius added absently.
"Sorted into Slytherin."

"There were rumours that one or two members of his family were on
the fringes of suspected Death Eater circles. An older cousin, an uncle,
something like that. No one was able to prove anything, of course."

"Trouble is, there's no reason why he should have been singled out."
Sirius heaved himself out of his chair and started to pace back and
forth, fairly quivering with held-back nervous energy. One could
almost see the tail of his Animagus form lashing from side to side.
"The Lestranges were locked up years before he joined the Ministry,
and his own record was clean as they come."

Remus nodded solemnly. "Arabella Figg swears up and down that he
was chosen for a reason, but I think he was just in the wrong place at
the wrong time."

Aren't we always, Harry thought bitterly. Aloud, he said, "So they
haven't found them yet."

"Not a trace," Remus said with a sigh.

"And it's not for lack of trying," Sirius said. "There must be at least
twenty Aurors searching the coast and the nearby towns. They've
added ten more at Azkaban alone."

"They're stretched to the limit." Remus turned his gaze to the fire.
"I even offered to stand a spell at Azkaban--they need more people
experienced in Patronus casting--but Arabella's in charge there now,
and she rejected my offer."

Sirius grunted, and quickened his pace. "She told you to get knotted,
and for once I'm in full agreement with the old bag. You're not going
near that place."

Remus waved his old friend's remark aside. "There's something I'm
forgetting...oh, yes." He rubbed his hands together, and held them
out to the fire. "The faculty will be taking all the Care of Magical
Creatures classes in turns, since Hagrid won't be back until Thursday
at the earliest."

"Where did he go?" asked Harry, intrigued.

"The Continent," said Sirius. "More specifically, Romania."

"He's got contacts there, some people he wanted to talk to," Remus
explained. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement's been
searching for replacements for the Dementors, as they've become
more trouble than they're worth. Hagrid said that he knew of a few
people who might be helpful."

"He's not going alone," Sirius added, seeing the doubtful look on
Harry's face. "Alastor Moody's going with him as far as Bucharest,
and Hagrid's promised to check in with Charlie Weasley every day
by fireplace or owl."

"He sounded very confident that his friends would be able to help,"
Remus said.

"But what about the Lestranges?" Harry said fretfully. He didn't want
Hagrid running around Europe--Moody or no Moody--when there
were two convicted Death Eaters on the loose.

"Oh, he knows all right," Remus said, turning the backs of his hands
to the blaze. "Of course Dumbledore tried to talk him out of going,
but Hagrid wouldn't hear of it. He said something along the lines
of"--his voice deepened, slipping into a very passable imitation of
Hagrid's coarse tones--"'I'm not about to let no tuppeny-ha'penny
wizard worry ME.'"

"And he topped that off with a remark about Lestrange's lady wife
that isn't suitable for young ears." Sirius interlaced his fingers and
rested his clasped hands on the back of his chair.

Harry glared at his godfather.

"And that's what WE know," Remus concluded. He leaned back in
his chair, and his eye fell on a battered teakettle hanging from a hook
near the fire. "Say, is there any water left in there?"

Sirius crossed to the fire, took up the kettle and lifted the lid. "Some.
Not enough for tea." He shook it, listening to the splash of water
against the sides. "Should I get some more?"

"Not yet," said Remus. "Save it for later. And sit down, for
pity's sake. You're making me quite giddy with all that pacing."

"Sorry." He sat.

"Thank you." Remus half-turned in his chair and extended an arm,
reaching for his desk. "Accio quill! Accio parchment!"

As the Summoned items flew across the room, Harry heard Sirius
mutter "You could've asked me to get them for you, you know,"
under his breath.

Remus caught the quill and parchment. He shifted both items to his
left hand and took out his wand. Lightly, he tapped the quill with
his wand, and it floated out of his hand, hovering in the air between
him and Harry. A tap on the parchment sent it drifting up to join the
quill.

"Antigrafo," he commanded, pointing his wand at the floating quill.

The quill shivered, then lightly wrote the word 'Antigrafo' in neat,
precise letters at the top of the parchment. Once it had dotted the
'i', it moved down a line, waiting.

"Remus Lupin. Harry Potter. Sirius Black."

The quill wrote the three names underneath the word 'Antigrafo', and
Harry was astonished to see that each name was written in a distinct,
different hand.

"So, Harry," Remus said casually, and the quill copied his words to
the letter. "Tell us about your day."

Harry took a deep breath, and started to talk about the magic he and
the others had worked on during the session. The enchanted quill
raced across the page, taking dictation faster than the human hand
could write. Every time he paused to think, the quill paused with
him.

Remus and Sirius paid no attention to the quill and parchment. They
were absorbed in Harry's tale, especially when he reached the details
of Will's experiment with the Patronus Charm.

"Let me see if I have this straight. You actually knocked him DOWN?"
Remus checked the quill and parchment to see if Harry's words were
recording properly.

"Not exactly," he said, hedging. "He said he'd be sore tomorrow,
though."

"Serves him right," Sirius said firmly, squaring his jaw. "What the
hell did he think he was playing at? Transforming into a Dementor."
He made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.

"It wasn't really a Dementor."

Sirius gave him a withering look. "You thought it was real, didn't
you?"

Harry chose to ignore the look. "He said I would have vaporised it,
if it had been a real one."

Sirius gasped. "VAPORISED it?"

"How?" Remus demanded.

"It would've been like all of us casting the Patronus spell together.
All six of us, at the same time."

Remus looked deeply sceptical. "But a Patronus can only drive back
a Dementor. It shouldn't be able to kill it."

"I'm only telling you what Will said."

"What did it feel like, when you cast it?" asked Sirius.

Harry flushed bright red.

"I...I p-panicked," he stuttered. "I saw the Demen--saw it, and I
must've panicked, and the next thing I knew it was gone and Will
was there instead, and he was coughing and choking and gasping
for air. Like I'd knocked the wind out of him."

"All right, so you vaporised a Dementor." Remus glanced at the quill
long enough to be certain that the full roll of parchment had been
magically replaced with a fresh one. "Tell me more."

The recital of the day's work continued, met with nods and affirmative
noises from the two men. They kept their questions to a minimum,
stopping him only when they wanted more details on the technical
parts of the spell casting. Harry answered as best he could.

Surprisingly enough, the part he had been dreading most caused
nowhere near the stir he had expected. Sirius and Remus made no
comments at all when they heard what Will had said about the
consequences of failure. His godfather lost a little colour, and Remus
rubbed the frayed edge of his sleeve between thumb and forefinger,
but neither spoke.

It was five minutes past the hour when he came to the end. "--and
there wasn't much else afterwards, except...oh, I almost forgot.
During lunch--'cause Dobby brought up food, and we didn't have
to leave--we were talking and--"

There was a loud knock on the door. Two fast, impatient-sounding raps.

"One moment!" Remus shouted. He plucked the quill from the air, and
said "Finite Incantatum" to the parchment. It rolled up with a snap
and fell neatly into his waiting hand. He set the writing materials aside
and walked to the door.

Harry started to stand. "Should I--"

"No, no, sit back down. This won't take a minute." Hand on the
doorknob, he turned to Sirius, and said hesitantly, "I know you
don't..."

"Never fear," Sirius said, standing as well. "He's the last person
I want to deal with right now." He winked at Harry and crossed the
room, transforming in mid-stride. With a wave of his tail, the great
black dog vanished behind the desk.

Remus allowed a moment for Snuffles to curl up in the footwell, and
then opened the door.

Professor Snape strode into the room as if he owned it. In his hands
he carried a plain goblet. He held it at arm's length, keeping clear
of the smoke billowing over the rim.

"Your potion, Lupin," he said, and held out the goblet, thrusting it
almost under Remus's nose.

Remus took the goblet and set it on the edge of his desk.

"Thank you, Severus," he said woodenly. "Most kind of you. I'll have
it in a moment--there's really no need for you to stay."

Watching the two professors gave Harry the odd feeling that he had
front-row centre seats for--no, that he had walked in on a drama
that had been running for many, many nights. There had been something
fake, almost practised, in Snape's entrance, stalking into the room
like an actor before the footlights. Remus's response, too, sounded
practised, but oddly flat, as if the words had been said so many times
that they had lost all meaning.

His right hand snaked into his pocket, feeling gingerly for the
warestone. He could feel the bite of the cold through the fabric,
but that was all; he couldn't detect anything more than the bitter
chill that was numbing his fingertips. It was impossible to tell
whether the stone was simply reacting to the Dark Mark, or
whether the cold held a deeper meaning. The stone could not
make that distinction.

Just as I make no distinction.

Will's voice, even colder than the stone, echoed in his mind. Harry
shivered--

--and in the next moment, he wished he hadn't, because the small
movement attracted the Potions Master's attention.

Their eyes met and locked. Snape's eyes widened, then narrowed,
and a scowl curled his upper lip.

Clearly, Harry Potter wasn't in the script.

"Potter," he said curtly, more acknowledgement than greeting.

Harry jerked his head in what was meant to be a nod but which ended
up looking--and feeling--more like a muscle spasm. "Good evening,
Professor Snape."

Snape's unfriendly gaze lingered for exactly three seconds longer than
necessary.

"Miss Weasley and Mr Creevey were not in my class this afternoon," he
announced in a voice loud enough to be heard in the very last seat of
the last row in the stalls. "Other professors at this school may turn a
blind eye on lax attendance, but I do not. Accordingly, I have taken
a total of forty points from Gryffindor."

"Yes, sir," Harry ground out through gritted teeth.

Snape continued in the same overly resonant voice. "The fourth-year
classes covered the antidote for Pustule Potion today, which as you
may or may not recall requires considerable preparation time. I have
informed Professor McGonagall that both Miss Weasley and Mr
Creevey will have extended detention with me on Mon...on this coming
Tuesday to make up the work they have missed."

He had switched dates with barely a stammer, as if he had had to
change his mind to take into account when his calendar was free.
Nevertheless, Harry allowed himself a faintly knowing smile when
he replied:

"I'll tell them, sir, if Professor McGonagall hasn't already."

Snape's eyes narrowed once more, and this time the look he gave Harry
was positively hostile.

"Will you," he said frigidly. "Then I expect to see you and your
little friends in my class Monday morning, Potter. No excuses."

"Yes, sir." He dropped the smile; provoking Snape was not as
satisfying as he had hoped it would be. "We'll be there."

At long last, Snape's gaze left him and returned to the goblet that
was sitting on Remus's desk. He glanced at Remus, then back at the
goblet. His message could not have been plainer if he had affixed a
note to the goblet with the words 'DRINK ME' printed on it.

Remus said, quite calmly, "I was just going to finish my talk with
Harry about the work he missed today. I'll have it when I'm done."

"I would rather you drank it now, Lupin," Snape said in a low voice.
"It will save me the trouble of returning to collect the goblet later."

"Then I'll stop by with it when I've finished here, Severus." The sheer
politeness of Remus's voice made Harry want to scream and tear at
his hair. "There's no need to trouble you."

"It should not be allowed to grow cold." Snape's voice, silky and
equally polite, had dropped so low that it was almost a purr. "The
Wolfsbane Potion has been known to lose some of its effectiveness
if one consumes it when it falls below a certain temperature."

Remus let out a small breath, like a little sigh. He picked up the
goblet, holding it carefully to keep the worst of the smoke out of
his eyes, and raised it to his lips.

Remus drank. Snape watched Remus. Harry watched Snape watching
Remus, and felt for the stone in his pocket.

Snape's face was expressionless. His posture was as casual as he ever
allowed it to be, arms folded across his chest and one leg slightly
forward. If it hadn't been for the fact that his cold eyes seemed to
be riveted to every movement of the werewolf's throat, one might
not have suspected that he cared one way or the other if the potion
was consumed.

Remus tipped the goblet back, swallowing the last of the liquid. His
face was twisted into a grimace as he licked his lips, trying to rid
his mouth of the foul taste.

"Thank you, Severus," he said. He handed the goblet back to its owner.

Snape took the goblet, wheeled round in a flutter of robes, and made
his exit without a glance at Harry. The door banged loudly, emphasising
his departure.

In a flash, Snuffles reappeared from under the desk. He bounded
forward, tongue lolling, but stopped short and sneezed once, then
twice. He nosed the edge of the desk where the goblet had been,
and sneezed a third time. He bared his teeth and growled deep in his
chest.

"Hush, Padfoot," Remus scolded, though only half-heartedly.

Snuffles sneezed explosively once more before transforming into his
human form and sitting down. Disdainfully, he rubbed at his nose with
one hand, as if to get rid of a foul smell that had lingered in his nostrils.

Harry didn't blame him. His own nose was itchy, tickled by the dry,
sour chemical-mildew-and-mushroom tang that was the residual scent
of Wolfsbane Potion and Severus Snape.

He shifted his weight again and slipped both hands beneath the worn
cushion. The warmth felt good on his right hand, still numbed by the
chill of the warestone.

He looked up just as Remus sat down.

"I've lost you House points, haven't I," his professor said quietly,
with a sad little smile.

"It's all right." Harry didn't like the defeated, deadened look that had
come into Remus's eyes. "It's nothing Hermione won't earn back on
Monday."

"Oh, will she?" The smile grew a little wider, but it was still sad.
"That doesn't sound exactly fair to Herm--"

A sudden fit of coughs doubled him over, cutting off the rest of the
word. He tried to draw a breath, but the coughing only worsened.
Each gasp for air shook his thin frame.

Sirius was on his feet before Harry could even think to react. He
dove for the battered kettle, yanking it off its hook, and at the same
time grabbed one of the china mugs that Remus kept on top of the
mantelpiece. Sloshing an overly generous amount of lukewarm
water into it, he whirled round and thrust the mug into Remus's
hands.

Still coughing, Remus drank greedily from the brimming mug. He
pressed a hand to his chest as he drank, and within moments the
coughing had stopped. Another gulp of water, and his face started
to regain its normal colour. He was still wheezing, but his breathing
had steadied.

"Are you all right?" Harry said worriedly as Remus drank the rest of
the water.

"Wolfsbane's...not the nicest of tastes, that's all. Doesn't really sit
well...in the stomach, either." He massaged his chest with his hand,
and sat up straight again. "I'm much better now, thanks. Now, you
were about to say something before we were interrupted?"

"Will said...." There was no way to put it that would make it sound
anything but absurd. "Will's...he's worried about Snape."

Remus's hand clenched around the empty mug. "Worried? In what
way?"

"He told us about the tests."

"That's not--" Sirius began angrily, but stopped short, as if he
couldn't think of what he had wanted to say.

"It's standard Ministry procedure, Harry," said Remus. His speech
sounded thick, and he cleared his throat. "Professor Snape agreed
to all of the examinations beforehand. It wasn't against his will."
He cleared his throat again.

"Besides," Sirius said, "anyone else would've gone through the same
thing. I don't see why Dr Stanton would be so bothered by it."

Harry had no answer for that. He tried again. "He also said that
Sna...that Professor Snape is a liability now."

Sirius laughed sourly. "And he's only just realised this?"

"Sirius!" Remus snapped.

"Face it, Moony. It was a mistake to send him crawling back to
You-Know-Who in the first place. And don't look at me like I'm
some species of blithering half-wit. I know Albus thought his position
as Head of House would be useful to--"

"But that's just it!" Harry interjected. "He's not useful." Neither adult
contradicted him, so he kept going. "The only real reason he has--
he had--for being a spy was because he thought he was doing
something useful, and that he was good at it. It was something only
he could do. And now that he's been found out, it meant that he
wasn't good enough. And if he can't do it anymore, that means...or
he thinks it means...that he's not useful anymore."

He took off his glasses and scrubbed at his eyes; the long speech had
left him light-headed. When he put them back on, he saw Sirius looking
at him with a curious sort of respect.

"Well," the older man breathed after a moment. "Never imagined anyone
could make Snape sound almost...human."

"But he is useful!" He turned to Remus, pleading. "I mean, he makes your
potion, and--"

Remus's face darkened. "He makes it because he'd rather have me half-
drugged when I transform."

Harry was taken aback. Remus had never used that tone of voice with
him. The last time he'd heard anything remotely approaching it had
been on the Hogwarts Express back in third year, and then it had been
enough to stop a Dementor in its tracks.

Remus, however, was not finished. "Frankly, I think he takes pleasure
in the fact that he's the one who has to make it and give it to me. He
comes at the same time every day. He won't let anyone else bring it.
He won't let me stop by his rooms to collect it. And he stands there
and watches me drink it, and he ENJOYS it. And why wouldn't he?
He loves knowing that I'm dependent on him for it, that he has power
over me...over the wolf."

His voice had dropped lower and lower as he spoke until the last few
words were little more than a snarl.

Into the silence that followed, Sirius said in a strangely gentle voice:

"You'll break that, in a minute."

Slowly, Remus looked down at his hands. He stared at the old china
mug caught in his crushing, white-knuckled grip as if he was seeing
it for the first time.

"I...." he began, but fell silent.

Sirius held out a hand. "Give it here. I'll put it back."

"No, no, I can--" He started to stand, but as he got to his feet
the mug slipped from his grasp. It bounced off his knee, fell to
the floor, and broke.

Harry flinched, unconsciously pulling away from the shattered mug.
He had cleared away all sorts of broken crockery in his life, and
normally his first instinct would have been to get down on the floor
and help clean things up, but he didn't move.

"Oh, damn," Remus whispered hoarsely. "I didn't...it slipped...."
Sinking to his knees on the worn flagstones, he reached for the
pieces.

"Leave it," Sirius said in the same gentle tone, but Remus didn't
seem to hear him.

"Clumsy of me. I shouldn't have...I'm sorry." Mechanically, he
began to collect the scattered shards of pottery, but his trembling
fingers made him drop more pieces than he picked up.

It was Sirius who knelt down and with great care eased his friend's
shaking hands away from the remains of the broken mug.

"Leave it for now," he said again. "It's not going anywhere."

At that moment, the clock chimed, striking the quarter-hour.

The sound of the chimes snapped Harry out of his frozen state.
Hurriedly, he got to his feet, holding up the hem of his robes to
keep it from any contact with the remains of the mug.

"I...I'd better go," he said. "Dinner'll be over soon."

Remus nodded, not moving from his kneeling position by the fire.

Helplessly, Harry cast about for something to say. "Should I get
the house elves to send up something? Dobby brought us lunch
earlier, he'd be only too happy to--"

"No!" Remus quickly tempered his outburst with a kindly--or weary--
shake of the head. "Thanks all the same, but I'm not feeling very
hungry now. The potion usually kills my appetite for a time."

That was that. "A-all right. Good night, then."

He headed for the door. To his surprise, Sirius rose and made to
follow, brushing the dust from his knees.

"Where are you going?" asked Remus sharply.

"The kitchens." Sirius tossed the words over his shoulder. "I need
food, even if you don't."

"Oh." He gathered a few more shards into his hand; his fingers
seemed steadier now. "I'll...be in my rooms. I'll leave the door
unlocked. Good night, Harry."

"Good night," Harry said. He waited until Sirius had transformed, then
opened the door and held it open until the great black dog had passed
through.

Once they were outside, Snuffles took the edge of Harry's robe in his
teeth and dragged him a little ways down the corridor, into the shadow
of doorway. Harry dug in his heels at first, but a fierce growl from the
dog was enough to make him comply with his godfather's wishes.

In the doorway, Snuffles let go of Harry's robe and resumed his human
form. The pop rang out so loudly in the corridor that Harry winced
and shrank further into the shadows, terrified that they would be
discovered.

"What are you--" he hissed.

"Listen to me," Sirius whispered, breathing the words into Harry's
ear. "He gets like that, sometimes. It's nothing you can help. It's
nothing he can help, either, but heaven knows I'm sick of trying
to tell him that. The Wolfsbane's all we've got for now, at least
until something better comes along."

It took a few seconds for Harry to understand what his godfather was
talking about. An image of Remus kneeling on the stones and scrabbling
to clean up the broken mug appeared in his mind, and suddenly he felt
ashamed.

"Does it...hurt him?" he asked, timidly.

A tiny spark of light from the nearest torch made Sirius's eyes glow
in the darkness. "Not 'hurt', exactly," he said. "He'll be fine once
the stuff's had a chance to get through his system."

"What do you mean?"

Sirius let out a breath. "It's like this. Before we came here he
didn't have access to the Wolfsbane Potion. We couldn't brew it
ourselves, and we couldn't have afforded the ingredients even if
we'd known someone competent enough to brew it. So he needed
me with him when he changed. I kept him sane, in a way. But now
that he has the potion, he needs me with him...so he'll stay sane."

Harry's confused silence lasted long enough to prompt Sirius to
continue. "He needs exercise, especially when he's in his wolf form.
If he doesn't, the potion will build up in his body. He won't get
addicted to it, but he'll build up a tolerance for it. And whoever
makes the potion for him will have to keep increasing its strength
from month to month, or it'll lose its effectiveness."

Harry inhaled sharply. "So that's why...."

"Outside the Shrieking Shack?" Irony made Sirius's voice as brittle
as glass. "Of all days to forget the dose--but I didn't find all this
out until later. Much later. And from Dumbledore, not Snape."

"Snape didn't tell him?" Once more Harry was glad of the darkness,
though for an entirely different reason. If Sirius looked as angry
as he himself felt, then he had no desire to see it.

"Damned if I know. But I do know that the dosage hasn't increased
once since I've been here. I'd be able to tell, in dog-form."

"How do you know so much about it?"

Sirius grunted. "I've spent enough time around him to know what's
what. He never had these 'mood swings' or whatever they are before
we came here. He even smells different when he's been taking the
potion."

"I wish I could help." Anything to erase the sound of Remus's voice,
thick and raw and dripping with anger gone sour. "Somehow."

"Just let me look after him," Sirius whispered. "I'm a good enough
excuse to keep him active, most of the time. It wouldn't look right
if he didn't walk his dog every day, and he has his share of the
nightly rounds. But the full moon's not far away."

Harry nodded, forgetting that Sirius couldn't see him in the dark.
"Just under a fortnight."

"Stick close to Snape, Harry. I'll keep both eyes and ears open, but
you're in class with him. You'll know if he's up to something."

Harry felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. A second later, Snuffles
was running down the corridor, nails clicking busily on the stones.

There was nothing for him to do but return to Gryffindor Tower, alone.

Ron, Colin, and Hermione were waiting for him, standing in a huddle
beneath the Fat Lady's portrait. Colin was first to see him.

"Harry, guess what, guess what!" he said excitedly, bouncing up and
down on his toes. "We were all sitting at dinner, and everyone was
talking and we'd just started eating when McGonagall came in and
she said--"

"The Quidditch match is back on," Ron cut in.

"When?" Harry asked.

Colin bounced a few more times, but stopped when Ron laid a hand
on his shoulder. "It's not tomorrow or next Saturday, but the Saturday
after," he said when he had calmed down. "First Saturday in May."

Hermione scowled. "Well, I think it's a stupid idea," she said irritably.
"If you three masterminds are anything to go by, no-one on the team--
on ANY of the teams--will get any decent revising done. And since
everyone else seems to be just as Quidditch mad as you are, I highly
doubt that...."

Ron took the opportunity to murmur in Harry's ear, "Fred told me
Dennison's re-opened the pools, so it's dead certain this time."

"Mm." Maureen Dennison, a sharp-faced Slytherin sixth-year, ran
the highly secret and highly illicit underground betting on the Quidditch
matches. If she was taking bets again, the match would certainly go
on as scheduled.

"Are you listening to me?" Hermione was getting rather red in the
face. "N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s are going to go right out the window,
and none of you could care less."

"Hermione, O.W.L.s aren't until June," Harry said patiently. "We're
not going to forget how to hold a wand if we don't live in the library
day and night for a month. Did McGonagall say anything else at
dinner?"

Hermione's mouth snapped shut.

Colin said diffidently, "She mentioned the Lestranges, but said that
it'll be in the Prophet tomorrow morning, and we should read about
it there."

"Oh, and Hagrid's gone until Friday, but we've still got class next
week," added Ron.

"Friday?" Remus had said Thursday at the latest. Did McGonagall
know something that he didn't?

"What did Professor Lupin say?" Colin asked.

"It'll take awhile. Let's find the others and talk about it upstairs."

Hermione spun around and faced the Fat Lady. "Quodpot Chasers,"
she declared, spitting the words out as if they were poison.

The portrait door opened, and the four of them went inside.

* * *

The weekend came and went uneventfully. McGonagall and Madam
Hooch had pacified the Slytherin and Ravenclaw Quidditch teams with
extra practice time and full control over the pitch on both Saturday and
Sunday, so Harry's plans for a nice long team workout on Sunday
afternoon had to be shelved.

Needless to say, he wasn't very happy about that. With all the games
moved forward by two weeks, Gryffindor's next match would have to
take place the Sunday after the Slytherin-Ravenclaw game. If Slytherin
were to beat Ravenclaw on Saturday, there was every possible risk that
the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams would have to schedule a special match
to decide that year's Quidditch Cup champion. On the other hand, if
Ravenclaw won then Gryffindor's victory was assured, but that was no
reason to slack off. They had a game against Hufflepuff and one more
against Ravenclaw, and it would be a sour winnings indeed if they won
the Cup but lost their last matches of the year.

Without Quidditch to fall back upon, he spent the weekend alternating
fits of productive work with stretches of bone idleness. He read through
Dean's vast collection of Quidditch magazines on Saturday, with two
breaks for afternoon and after-dinner naps. At Hermione's insistence
Sunday was a homework day, but after he had finished his work he
stayed up late playing gobstones with Ron and Neville. The three of
them went to bed long after their housemates had turned in.

Early Monday morning, right before he woke up, he had a very vivid
and altogether disturbing dream.

In it, he was standing in the middle of the Great Hall. He was wearing
his pyjamas, though everyone else was fully dressed. Ron and Hermione
were there, and Sirius and Remus and Professor McGonagall, and near
to them were a half-dozen other people whose faces he couldn't see,
though he knew they were all looking at him.

Ron and Hermione were talking to McGonagall as Sirius and Remus
and the other people listened. It was difficult to understand what his
friends were saying--their speech sounded garbled and fuzzy--but
after a few minutes he realised that they were talking about defeating
Voldemort, and how all their plans had to be changed at once. He
understood Hermione the most, for some reason, and as he listened he
heard her inform Ron and McGonagall that she had read in Hogwarts:
A History that the only way to defeat the Dark Lord was to Transfigure
him into a teakettle and boil water in him.

Ron, from what Harry could understand of his garbled speech, seemed
to be saying that it was Harry's job to cast the spell, and that they ought
to discuss the matter with Harry before they did anything else. But both
he and McGonagall seemed to think it was a grand idea, and the other
people in the hall nodded agreement.

In the dream, he ran up to them and tried to protest, swearing that he
wasn't THAT good at Transfiguration, and he'd had a lot of trouble
turning a tortoise into a teapot when they'd been tested on it, and they
would never be able to defeat Voldemort that way. But just then Will
appeared in the hall, and he wasn't dressed in the midnight blue robes
he always wore. Instead, he was wearing his black academical gown.
It wasn't the same gown he had worn before; this one had a wide
vertical scarlet stripe down the centre front, the colour so bright that
it hurt Harry's eyes.

Before Harry could ask Will why he was dressed that way--the black
and scarlet gown made him look rather like a Auror, though not exactly
the same--the Old One pressed something cold and metallic into his hand
and disappeared without a word. Baffled, Harry glanced down to see
what it was.

It was a tin of tea.

The tin was the last thing he saw before he jerked awake, sweating and
gasping for air. His pyjama top was almost around his neck, and his
feet were tangled in the bedclothes.

Potions was first that morning, but the lesson for the day was so
challenging that all of Harry's concentration went into the bubbling
mixture in the cauldron. Snape had paired him with Draco, which
made it doubly difficult to focus.

His friends had no better luck in their class partners. Ron had
Millicent Bulstrode, and Hermione was stuck with Pansy. Neville
had a bout of clumsiness and spilled a flask of fresh cobra's blood
all over himself, his worktable, Blaise Zabini, and Snape's shoes.
Gryffindor lost forty more points that morning, and the only sign
that Snape was acting strangely was that he didn't deduct more
from their House.

"It won't do, you know," Hermione said when Potions had ended
and they were making their way to the greenhouses for Herbology.
"We're too obvious. Snape's suspicious enough of us as it is. We
can't spy on him in class without giving ourselves away, and we
can't pay attention if we spend the entire time watching and waiting
for him to sneeze funny."

They were forced to agree with her. In the end, it was decided that
any Snape-watching would have to take place outside of class.

Monday evening's session was not what they had expected. There
was no physical activity involved. Will merely asked them to sit around
the long table and use the mental link to practise their telepathic
communication.

"What should we say?" Colin asked.

"Anything," the Old One replied. "It doesn't have to be complicated.
It doesn't even have to be interesting. This is an exercise in stamina
as much as concentration."

When his turn came, Harry chose the first thing he could think of,
which happened to be the multiplication tables. He had reached eight-
sevens-are-fifty-six and developed a hot, funny feeling behind his
eyelids by the time Will told him to stop. Fortunately, all he had
to do after that was sit quietly and listen to Hermione recite from
memory the twelve uses of dragon's blood, Colin describe the full
process by which film negatives are developed into photographic
prints, and Ron recount the final scores of every single Chudley
Cannons game from the last five years.

Other exercises in telepathy followed. Will set them word games and
puzzles, quizzed them on magical theory, forced them to concentrate.
When their energy flagged he let them rest, but he always pushed them
to work harder. They were never gladder to end a session than they
were that night.

Colin and Ginny served their detention with Snape the next evening.
Ever the believer in equal opportunity punishment, he put Ginny to
work carrying grimy crates filled with vials of unidentifiable liquids
from the farthest, dustiest storeroom to his classroom, and gave
Colin a bucket and brush and set him the task of scrubbing the
storeroom's floor the old-fashioned way, with lye soap and water.

It was a nasty, grubby task, and since it was an extended detention
it dragged for hours. By the time Snape decided that they had
suffered enough for one night, they were filthy, sore, and barely
able to stagger up the long flights of stairs to Gryffindor Tower.

Hermione took one look at the two of them as they stumbled through
the portrait hole and shooed them upstairs. She followed them, leaving
Harry and Neville to listen to Ron muttering imprecations about what
he would do to Snape the next time he saw the vicious bastard.

Wednesday brought rain. Morning drizzle led to afternoon showers
and evening downpour. Thursday's dawn was grey and cold and wet.
The rain continued, and there was no sign of it stopping. There was
also no sign of Hagrid.

Will listened patiently as they poured out their worries to him before
that evening's session began. He agreed that Hagrid's failure to return
on time was distressing, but reminded them that there were any
number of reasons for it, and only a handful were cause for concern.

"Travelling through Europe is easier than it used to be, but delays
are unavoidable. For all we know, they've caught the last cross-
Channel ferry and are setting foot in England at this moment." He
tapped his fingers on the edge of his desk. "Come now. We should
have started five minutes ago."

"I wish the rain would stop," Harry said. His tone was dangerously
close to a whine, but he didn't care.

Will raised a disapproving eyebrow. "It's been raining here in
Cambridge, too, you know. You can't blame the Dark for
everything."

Harry mumbled something that might have been an apology (but
more likely wasn't) and joined his friends around the mirror. Later
that evening, when he was safely in bed, he strongly suspected that
his near-whining might have been directly responsible for the events
that followed, but at the time he didn't think anything of it.

The children visibly relaxed when Will's first action upon entering
the room was to remove the table and chairs. Another long stretch
of telepathy would have drained them.

Once the floor space had been cleared, he asked Harry, Ron, and
Hermione to step forward. "It is time to make use of the power
you demonstrated so forcefully last Friday. Mr Potter, you and
Miss Granger will stand at either end of the room. Miss Granger
will cast a spell, and you in turn will block it using Mr Weasley's
magic."

Harry scratched his head. "But I don't remember what I did," he
said.

"You have to reach through the mental link, drawing his magic into
you. As for Mr Weasley's part, he will have to allow the magic to
pass into you. Think of it as if he were handing something to you--
as simple as passing the salt at dinner."

"What sort of blocking spell should I use?" Ron asked.

"That depends on the type of spell you think Miss Granger would
cast."

Ron gulped. "But...but...that could be ANYTHING!"

"Then cast a Shielding spell that can block anything," Will said,
rather unsympathetically.

They faced each other on opposite sides of the room: Hermione by
the fire, Harry near the door. Ron stood at Harry's right, within arm's
length. Ginny, Neville, and Colin kept to one side, flat against the
bookshelves. Will stood in the far corner, surveying them all.

Since it wasn't really a duel, he and Hermione dispensed with the
formal bowing and pacing rituals they had learned at duelling club.
They held out their wands. The link was there, waiting to be tapped.

Hermione's face tightened, and her wand flashed through the air.

"Rictusempra!"

He felt the sharp pull of magic as Ron cast a Shielding Charm, but
Hermione's spell hit him squarely in the stomach before he could
reach through the mental link. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he
clutched his stomach and hunched over, laughing uncontrollably.

Hermione hastily cast a counter-spell and ran toward him.

"Are you all right?" she said, helping him to straighten up. "I
didn't think you'd--"

"That will do, Miss Granger."

Through streaming eyes, Harry saw Will walking toward the fire.
He paused in front of the fire irons, and his hand hovered over
them for a brief moment before selecting the poker. He stirred the
coals and pulled the largest log forward, sending up a spurt of sparks.

His question, when it came, completely surprised them. "Which of
you has the slowest reflexes?"

Shocked, they stared at him.

"In your collective opinion, that is," he said. "I'm not singling you
out. Well, perhaps I am, but not with the intention of shaming
you. I'm merely curious."

Slowly, Neville held up his hand. "P-probably me, sir."

"Then would you be good enough to cast a basic defensive spell?"
Feathery grey ashes drifted onto the hearth, and he brushed them
toward the fire with the toe of his shoe.

Neville stepped away from the bookshelves, took out his wand, and
held it before his face. "Defendo Lux!"

Will nodded appreciatively as the bluish-white light coalesced around
Neville's sturdy form.

"I see you've learned not to take chances with me, Mr Longbottom," he
said. "I'll consider that a compliment."

Neville said nothing. Will stooped forward to reach with the poker.
He brought a small log to the heart of the fire, allowing it to burn
more evenly.

"The way I see it," he said reflectively, "capturing a spell is mostly a
matter of reflex. It's a kind of self-defence, just as if you were being
physically threatened. Your hand comes up to block a blow, you
duck if a ball comes flying toward you. Instinct tells you to flinch if
you see someone being hit, even if you are in no immediate danger."

Chunks and flakes of charred wood fell away from the logs as the
poker scraped through the flames. "However, that saving reflex
doesn't work nearly as well if you happen to be thinking too deeply
about what you are doing. I suggest, therefore, that the best way
to tap the necessary magic is to set your mind--to something ELSE!"

And he struck.

Faster than their eyes could follow the Old One lunged forward, three
great strides that closed the distance and not a moment's pause as the
poker whirled over his head, a blur of iron singing through the air,
and a twist of his wrist was all he needed to bring it down on Harry's
head.

There was no time for Harry to cry out, let alone back away. He
watched the poker come down, and then the whole world went
white.

When his vision returned, he noticed three things.

The first thing he noticed was the sharp end of the poker. It was
frozen in the air, the point not three inches from the centre of his
forehead. Bits of blackened wood still clung to the hooked tip.

The second thing he noticed, as his stunned gaze slid down the
length of the fire-iron, was that no one was holding the end of it.

The third thing he noticed was that he was glowing. Faintly, but
glowing. The bluish-white light that had surrounded Neville was
now surrounding him.

He looked past the poker and saw Will.

Will was smiling at him.

"I'd have to disagree with your self-analysis, Mr Longbottom," he
said, looking directly at Harry. "I don't think one could ask for
a better reaction time that that." The smile widened. "Wouldn't
you agree, Mr Potter?"

* * *

It rained all of Friday, and the thunder and lightning that began on
Friday night effectively dampened Harry's plans for Quidditch practice
that weekend.

The rain also dampened his spirits, feeding the bad mood that had
been creeping up on him all week. Ever since the strange dream he
had had the Sunday before, he hadn't been sleeping very deeply. Even
if he went to bed at a reasonable time each night he never felt rested
in the morning.

Between lack of restful sleep and the growing worry about Hagrid, his
temper was shorter than normal. Even petty irritants were liable to send
him storming about with a seemingly permanent scowl on his face. He
snapped at Colin on Saturday afternoon when the younger boy woke
him from a pre-dinner nap. He swore profusely when his second-best
quill broke in the middle of writing out his Divination homework. He
tore the bedroom apart searching for an overdue library book, and very
nearly hexed Dean for complaining about the mess he had left in their
room. By Sunday, it was no surprise that his housemates had started
to hurry in the other direction whenever they saw him coming.

He grouched his way through Monday's classes. History of Magic was
his last one that day, and he didn't even bother to take out his notes
or his quill. He put his head down on the desk and closed his eyes,
burying his face in his sleeve. Hermione, sitting next to him, nudged
him with her foot once or twice. He ignored her.

Professor Binns' voice was better than any knockout drug. The reedy
drone of the lecture and the scraping of quill nibs on parchment put
him to sleep almost immediately. When he woke to the sound of chairs
being pushed back and papers rustling, he felt more refreshed than he
had felt in days.

After his nap, dinner was a more cheery affair--savoury steak and
kidney pies were on the table that night, along with rich fluffy mountains
of potatoes and plenty of freshly baked bread. He chewed away
happily, much to the relief of his friends.

"We were starting to wonder about you," Ginny told him.

"Yeah," Ron said dryly. "Fred and George wanted to know when
you'd started taking git lessons from Snape."

After dinner, the six of them split up. Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Colin
headed in the direction of the library while Harry and Hermione went
back to Gryffindor Tower: Harry to drop off a book, Hermione to
brush her teeth. She managed to nag Harry into brushing his teeth, too.

On their way out of the portrait hole, they ran into Remus. Harry was
walking in front, and he literally ran into him, which made Hermione
back-pedal to avoid a further collision.

"Hello, you two," he said once he had regained his balance. "Off
somewhere?"

Harry, caught off guard, could only stammer. "Oh, hello, Rem--er, I
mean...."

"Good evening, Professor Lupin," said Hermione. She smiled demurely
and smoothed the front of her robes, the picture of a model student.
"We were heading to our revising session."

"We're just leaving now," Harry said uneasily. Remus looked haggard,
his face pinched and pained. The mushroom-like smell of Wolfsbane
Potion was strong in the air; it had seeped into his clothing.

"Would you mind if I walked with you?" Remus held up a small book.
"I'm on my way to the library myself."

Harry opened his mouth, ready to offer to take the book and spare
him the journey, but before he could get a word out Hermione grabbed
the professor's arm and put on her brightest smile.

"Not at all," she said, steering him away from the common room door.
"I've been meaning to ask you some questions about the origins of the
legend of the Japanese fox-spirits that we covered in class...."

She kept up a steady flow of school-related chatter until they were
out of sight of the common room, walking briskly. Only when they
had arrived at the long stretch of empty corridor leading to the library
did she break off and whisper, "What's going on?"

"I'll explain when we get there," Remus murmured without moving his
lips.

"What is it?" Harry said.

"Not yet," came the murmured reply. "Not here."

The three of them passed the library door and continued down the
corridor. Remus tucked the book under his arm. He noticed Harry
and Hermione's puzzled faces, and offered a terse explanation.

"It's mine," he said. "It happened to be a good excuse."

The fire was lit when they opened the door to the little room. One
of the others had already activated the mirror, and Will was waiting
for them on the other side.

To say that the Old One was alarmed by the sight of Remus would
have been overstating his reaction, but he did set down the newspaper
he had been holding and moved forward, approaching the mirror.

"Good evening, Dr Stanton," Remus said, nodding respectfully.

"Why, hello, Professor Lupin." Will nodded as well, the gesture
equally respectful. "I wasn't aware that you would be--"

"Forgive my intrusion, Dr. Stanton, but the Headmistress asked me
to speak with you as soon as possible." Remus's speech was clipped,
shorn of its usual calm. "She's just received word that Rubeus Hagrid's
gone missing."

Harry's heart leapt into his throat. It lodged itself firmly between his
vocal cords and the base of his tongue. His dinner, meanwhile, dove
for the pit of his stomach, forming a churning mass in his gut.

"MISSING?" Ron exclaimed. "He's not--"

"I don't know," Remus said, setting his book on the table. "We had a
letter from--"

"One moment, Professor," Will interrupted. "This will be easier on
us all if I join you."

The children performed the ritual smoothly, with less sense of
ceremony than was their usual. Remus gaped at first, dumbstruck,
but the light had not quite faded from the carved pattern around the
frame before he had recovered from his initial shock and was ready
to continue.

"Three hours ago, Albus Dumbledore received an owl from Alastor
Moody, sent from the office of our Magical Attaché at the British
Embassy in Warsaw. It was a very short message, only two lines."
He took a breath. "It said: 'Hagrid missing. Don't trust Braithwaite.'"

Will tilted his head slightly. "Braithwaite being...."

"Geoffrey Braithwaite, our man at the embassy in Bucharest. He's
only been there a month. Took over from--oh, I can't remember."
He picked up his book and rubbed his finger along the worn binding.
If he was trying to distract himself from his agitation, it wasn't working
very well.

Will saw this, and his voice held more compassion than normal when
he said, "Please, continue."

"Albus immediately contacted Warsaw, but Moody had already left.
We've no idea where he is now. He could be in Europe still, or
somewhere in England, or halfway around the world. We honestly
don't know."

"And this happened three hours ago, you said?"

"The owl came three hours ago," Remus replied. "Hagrid was supposed
to meet Moody in Bucharest this morning. They'd planned to return
together."

"Bucharest." Will's frown turned pensive. "The six o'clock newscast
this evening mentioned riots in Bucharest earlier today. A political
demonstration that got out of hand, something along those lines. They
might have needed to leave the city in a hurry."

Remus thought this over. "Hagrid can't Apparate, and Moody doesn't
trust Portkeys. If they wanted to leave fast and still remain unseen
they'd have to Floo, and outside Britain the only fireplaces that are
registered on the Floo Network are...."

"...in the office of the Magical Attaché in the British embassy," Will
finished grimly.

Remus said nothing, but the expression on his face was confirmation
enough.

For the first time that evening Will looked troubled. His gaze slid
into the vague middle-distance, staring at the opposite wall.

"Too fast," he murmured. "This is all moving too fast. And with a
political situation complicating matters...." His eyes refocused, and
he turned back to Remus. "That owl from Warsaw. I suppose it
was--"

"Authentic," Remus said, anticipating the question. "It took three
curse-breakers to disable all of the protective wards cast on the
envelope. The seal itself was Moody's personal one. I'd pity anyone
who tried to tamper with it."

"Indeed," Will mused. He pressed his fingertips together lightly.
"What of the wizarding population in Romania itself? Would they
be cooperative if the Ministry were to launch a search?"

"Hard to say, especially outside the cities. Witches and wizards
there had a thin time of it for years, at least until the last decade
or so. They don't trust authority: wizard or Muggle."

Will hissed lightly through his teeth, a dangerous sound. "I can't
say that I blame them, all things considered. But Ceausescu is one
thing, and Voldemort is another."

"The Dark Arts hold sway in that part of the world," Remus said
quietly. "They always have. And if we can't trust our own embassy
liaison, I wouldn't think much of our chances with their government."

"If Alastor Moody felt he had to cross three countries to send an
emergency owl to you, then it seems we have his opinion on the
overall situation as well," Will said. "I suppose we can only hope
that he returns soon." He half-turned, and looked to the children.
"Unless any of you are aware of something we've overlooked?"

Harry blinked. He and the others had been standing near the fire,
huddled in a tight cluster for reassurance as much as for warmth.
They had been listening for so long that they'd almost forgotten
what it was like to be spoken to directly.

"Uh..." he said at first, then coughed once or twice to stall long
enough to think of something more intelligent-sounding. "Where's
Sirius?"

"With Professor McGonagall," Remus said. "Talking to Albus and
trying to come up with a plan."

"A plan?"

"Well, anything that will help us find Moody or Hagrid. Preferably
both."

"Exactly how much does Hagrid know?" Will asked.

Remus scratched his chin. "Not as much as they'd like to imagine. I
doubt Albus would have let him leave the country at all if he knew
enough to compromise any possible plans."

"What about the Locus Spell?" Hermione said eagerly. "You'd only need
one person for that, and something of Hagrid's. We could get a scarf
or something from his hut for that."

Remus shook his head. "Too dangerous. It can reveal the location of
the caster as well as the person being looked for. We can't risk losing
anyone else over there. Plus, it would only work if he was still...." He
paused, and said huskily, "If he's still alive."

Hermione's face fell.

"Why are you here, Professor Lupin?" Will said suddenly.

Remus's eyes widened. He looked embarrassed, so embarrassed that
Harry found his own face growing warm in response. "I...well, that
is...I thought that perhaps...."

Will bowed his head.

"I'm sorry," he said in a low voice. "I cannot help you in this."

"You can't do anything?" Colin said plaintively.

"If I could have done anything to remedy the situation, or better
still prevent it, wouldn't I have done so by now?" There was no
anger or resentment in his words, only sorrow and regret. "I cannot
interfere. Not by my own choice, but because it is forbidden me."

It took all of Harry's self-control to keep from biting through his
own lip. Hagrid was missing, possibly dead, and Will couldn't help.
For a tension-filled second he almost wished that Will was lying,
that he could help and wouldn't, because then he could fly into a
blazing rage instead of having to stand around feeling empty inside.

Remus exhaled slowly, then drew himself up until he was standing very
straight with his head held high. His shabby clothing only made him
appear that much more dignified as he bowed formally, from the waist.

"Please forgive the intrusion, Dr Stanton," he said, and began to
move toward the door. "If you'll excuse me--"

Will moved faster, and blocked his path. "No, please stay for now.
You're here, you may as well participate."

"But surely--"

"No, I insist." He guided Remus away from the door. "There's
something that I've been meaning to try, but truthfully a full-grown
wizard would be better suited for it. If you have the time to spare,
we'd be happy to have your help."

The polite language masked the true command, and Remus knew it.
"If you think I can help," he said simply.

"I'm certain you can," Will replied. "What I would like you to do is
to think of a truly nasty spell. Hex or jinx or curse, anything short of
an Unforgivable will do. But I'd like you to come up with one that
these children would not know. Something not in the usual textbooks.
Something that would stump your most advanced students."

"L...let me think for a moment," Remus said weakly. He beckoned to
Will, drawing him closer. "Er, may I...?"

"By all means." He bent forward. Remus murmured something into his
ear.

"Mm," he said when the other man had finished. "Yes, that would work.
Can it be blocked?"

"Well, yes, but--"

Distant blue-grey eyes bored into nervous hazel ones. "Could you
block it?"

"Of course," Remus declared. Pride raised his chin a few inches, and
confidence set his eyes glittering with a determined light.

Will passed a hand over the table, and it and the chairs on either
side vanished in the blink of an eye. He then glanced at the Six,
and without a word they formed their circle of joined hands, Harry
standing in the centre.

"Whenever you're ready, Professor," Will said, stepping back a pace.

Remus set his book on the floor at his feet, wiped his hand on his
robes, and took out his wand. He held it up, before his eyes, and
made a curious swirling motion with it that made him look like he
was conducting a symphony orchestra. Then, he flicked the wand
and shouted:

"Infervesco!"

Remus's tenure as Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor had given
him a good deal of first-hand experience with various blocking and
shielding charms. Before he even cast the spell, he expected that the
Old One's coaching would have taught the children how to create
some kind of special defensive shield that would neatly encompass
all six of them, and would provide more protection than a normal
shielding charm. When his spell struck their circle with a flare of
reddish light, he had been fully prepared to counter the spell as it
rebounded.

What he was NOT prepared for was Harry, raising his own wand
and saying, in a hollow and strangely adult voice--

"Infervesco!"

--and recasting the exact same spell, with the exact same strength.

True to his word, Remus blocked the spell with a hoarsely shouted
word and a slash of his wand. The flare of reddish light hit his
outstretched hand and dissolved into colourful sparkles, like a
handful of fireworks.

Harry lowered his wand. He was tired, but it was a happy sort of
tired. He had seen the spell coming, and the second it had struck
the circle he opened the mental link and the magic flowed into him
like sand through a sieve. Spread out around the circle, it hadn't
hit him all at once, as it had with Neville's blocking spell. It had
worked the first time, and nothing had gone wrong, and they had
done it together, all six of them. He wanted to go to bed then and
there, just lie down on the stone floor and relish the good feeling
as he slipped into sleep.

The others dropped their hands. Colin's off-kilter grin brought to mind
the second round of Quidditch tryouts, and Neville was beaming all
over his face. They all looked as wonderfully exhausted as he felt.

"What would that have done?" he heard Ginny ask. She sounded
positively cheerful.

It wasn't Remus who answered, but Will, and his words were like a
bucket of ice water down their backs:

"It would have made your blood boil."

Harry's head shot up. Even if the tone of Will's voice had not said it
all, the fearful awe he saw in Remus's eyes was enough to make him
realise that it wasn't a figure of speech.

* * *

"Aren't you coming?"

The session was over. It was earlier than normal, since Hermione had
to do rounds that night. Remus had already left, saying that he would
speak with Sirius and McGonagall and find out if anything had been
decided upon. The mirror was reflective glass once more, the table
and chairs were back in their places, and children were about to
return to common room. Ginny, however, was still standing by the
fire, not moving.

"We'll be right there, Hermione," Ginny said. "You go on ahead."

"I can wait out here until you're done," Harry said gallantly.

She smiled at him. "No, honestly. Go back to the common room."

"Go on," Ron said. He holding the door open, and he was not smiling.
"I'm staying with her."

Hermione hesitated. "Is everything--"

"It's fine." The door banged shut, leaving Harry, Colin, Neville,
and Hermione out in the empty corridor.

"Well!" she huffed. "Of all the...I never heard such...."

Harry had been piecing things together all evening. Ron and Ginny
had been silent for much of the session, sitting close to one another
and not participating in the discussion that had followed their
demonstration. The others had offered all sorts of ideas for finding
Hagrid and getting in touch with Moody, but the Weasleys had not
spoken more than a dozen words between them. Considering the
news that Remus had brought, it did not require a stretch of the
imagination to figure out what was troubling them. And now they
were in an empty, secluded room with a fire burning, and the fire
was large enough for one person's head to fit in the flames.

"It's Charlie," he said. "He works in Romania. I'd bet anything
they're going to try and get hold of him tonight."

"But it'd be almost midnight there!" Hermione exclaimed. "Why now?"

"And what about the riots?" Colin asked. He was gnawing on the
knuckle of one hand.

"He wouldn't be near the cities," Neville said. "One of my mum's
cousins used to work with the dragons there, too, and he used to
say that where he worked you could sometimes go for months and
months without seeing another wizard. Charlie might not even know
anything's wrong."

"But Hagrid was supposed to check with him every day," Harry
countered. "He might've been the last person to see Hagrid
before...before...."

"Don't," Hermione said forcefully. "Stop it right now."

"What?" said Harry.

"You've got that look again."

He was thoroughly confused. "What look?"

"The one that says 'it's all my fault', even when it's not," Hermione
said crossly. "Honestly, what could you have done? You didn't make
Hagrid go to Romania. You didn't even know about it until last week.
What makes you think it's your fault?"

"I...." He couldn't tell her the truth. He didn't even know the truth.
The only truthful thing he could say was, "I don't know."

"I thought so," she grumbled.

Colin spoke up. "And besides, if anything was really wrong, you'd
know it, wouldn't you, Harry? With your scar?"

His hand drifted up to his forehead, tracing the thin raised ridge with
his fingertips.

"I didn't know about the Lestranges," he said. They had killed someone
then, that Philpot or whatever his name was. He hadn't known that time.

"That's different," Hermione said automatically.

His hand fell to his side. "How?"

"It just is, that's all." With that unconvincing reasoning, she spun on her
heel and began to walk down the corridor. "Now come on, I've got to
get back. I promised Lavender I'd look over her Charms homework
when I finished my rounds tonight, and I don't want to hear her grousing
if I come in late again."

"Don't worry, Harry," Neville whispered to him as they broke into
a trot. "If anyone knows how to find Hagrid, it'll be Charlie. There's
an old wizarding saying: giants are a lot like dragons--the easiest
way to find one is to keep walking until you trip over it. It's only
then that you start running."

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January 27th, 2003