Probably as a result of years of being a professional nomad, Amelia was something of a 'morning person'. She had woken early from a peaceful sleep, extricated herself from the limbs of her slumbering lover and bounced into the shower. By the time she had finished, Remus, too, was awake, and he blithely watched her bounce around the room, singing along to something Muggle and energetic.

"I should start calling you 'bounce'," he threatened, sleepily, a warm smile playing across his mouth. She turned her bright smile away from 'Bob' the-evil-cactus and onto him.

"In which case, I'll have to start calling you Wolfy McWolferson again*," and the smile turned into an evil grin. "You may have noticed: I have little in the way of shame these days."

"Anything but that!" he chuckled, capitulating happily and pulling her into a sleepy hug. Remus wasn't so much a 'morning person' as a 'mid-day person', but he mostly woke up feeling mellow and cheerful these days.

"Do you want to Floo in or Apparate and walk?" Amelia asked, bustling off towards the kitchen.

Remus eyed her gas fire with slight distaste; while it was technically big enough to Floo, he suspected that getting back would be slightly more problematic.

"Let's walk," he said. "We've got plenty of time, and the wireless said that the weather won't be too bad up there today."

Amelia came back out of the kitchen with a grimace.

"I'll skip breakfast then."

Amelia had learned to Apparate shortly before disappearing off to the trenches and still found it a little disconcerting. She had told Hermione (and the few friends that she counted as family) that it was rather like being turned inside out and back again – a full-body-sneeze, as Penny had dubbed it – and the only recommendations she could make for it were that it was free and over with quickly.

Not nearly quickly enough, she mused, as she shoved a notebook and a camera into her bag; the walk from Hogsmeade up to the Castle was beautiful, after all.

Several of her colleagues had remarked (along with her good friends Molly and Arthur Weasley) that it was unusual to find someone living so happily and completely in both the magical and Muggle worlds simultaneously. This didn't bother her particularly; she was, after all, quite an unusual person.

0o0o0o0

Severus Snape was emphatically not a 'morning person'. He needed at least an hour to fully wake up of a morning, which, ironically, made him an early riser.

Today however, he had no intention of being awake before ten o'clock; what promised to be an interminable staff meeting didn't start until noon, and he'd been up until four in the morning finishing a particularly good book that Minerva had leant him, along with rather a good bottle of whiskey.

He moved amiably around his gloomy house at Spinner's End, collecting his mind, and picking up the book from where he had left it the evening before. Minerva would be wanting it back.

All too soon he would be leaving this haven of peace behind for another chaotic year at Hogwarts, teaching hordes of faintly ridiculous schoolchildren the fine art of potion brewing.

Or as much as their feather-stuffed heads can cope with, he mused.

He did have a few students with talent, and not all of them Slytherin: there had been Penelope Clearwater, a Ravenclaw particularly gifted when it came to brewing. But, alas, she had left the school in the previous year. Duncan Crowe, now entering his fifth year, wasn't appalling, and was beginning to develop something of a flair for it… Then, there was Granger.

Hermione Granger, Gryffindor golden-girl and all-round goody-two-shoes was a competent witch when it came to most things, Severus had recently discovered, only excepting flying and the choosing of friends.

Amelia, who was Hermione's cousin and the closest thing that Severus had had to a best friend in his adult life would have shaken her head and clicked her tongue at him for that, he supposed, but he simply couldn't bring himself to like the Potter boy – he was far too much like his father. And yet…

There were moments when Severus could see his dear Lily shining out – moments when the boy laughed, or helped his friends out of a tight spot… Or, Gods help him, tried to be polite…

Moments, he reflected, best not dwelt upon.

No, they weren't all bad, he thought, pulling himself together as he pulled on his cloak. Though for every Hermione Granger there would always be a Neville Longbottom, whose ability to melt cauldrons had not enamoured him to the Potions Master… or a Seamus Finnegan, who had spent most of his school career bereft of his eyebrows… or a Vincent Crabbe, who had nearly turned Pansy Parkinson's hair a permanent lurid green four months ago… or a Gregory Goyle, who was probably better not left to his own devices…

Severus met the eyes of his reflection in the mirror and smirked: no matter what he said – and even after all these years – he still looked forward to it all.

0o0o0o0

After a pleasant morning's walk through the sunlit forest, Remus and Amelia came upon Filius Flitwick, Poppy Pomfrey and Pomona Sprout in the Entrance Hall to the school, having just met up with one another after the long, summer's break.

Filius was bouncing up and down excitedly and telling the women about his sister's daughter, who had just given birth to twin boys.

"Both strapping young things!" he squeaked, happily. "Half my size already! I can't wait to teach them all the things their mother used to drive us mad with," he beamed. "Revenge is sweet."

Pomona gave a hearty guffaw and leaned down to smack the diminutive Professor on the back, nearly knocking clean over.

"Just you wait, she chortled. "They'll try it on you too – mark my words. Then, before you know it, they'll be here, driving us all mad!"

"Pomona, surely you aren't saying that Filius's great-nephews will be as bad as Fred and George Weasley?" Poppy asked, amused.

"Worse!" grinned Pomona. "They'll have been trained by Filius!"

Filius flashed her a wicked grin.

Not for the first time, Amelia wondered whether there was something going on between the two of them. Filius Flitwick and Pomona Sprout together represented a large part of all mischief perpetrated by the staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – though the rest had been known to give them a run for their money. With Filius's Charms prowess and Pomona's expertise at Herbology they could easily bring the school to its knees – usually shaking with laughter.

Poppy Pomfrey, School Matron, was their confidante, offering advice but never taking an active role in their mayhem in case she ended up treating the result.

Spotting Remus and Amelia, she smiled warmly at them.

"And how are our two resident love-birds?" she called, causing Amelia to roll her eyes and Remus to colour slightly. The staff at Hogwarts had once been his teachers, after all.

Since Remus had proposed to Amelia over the summer at a fairly public party that had just reached the appreciably tipsy stage, his colleagues hadn't yet had proper opportunity to take the piss.

"Not bad," he replied, a little self-consciously. "How's your son? Still documenting medieval remedies in Cambridge?"

"Oh, yes, he's having a whale of a time!" she replied, happily. "These college dons are more like wizards than anything else, so he's fitting in nicely – been making friends with some very nice young gentlemen, too," she added, approvingly.

"So," began Pomona, putting an arm around Amelia in a possessive fashion. "Have you decided when to make an honest wizard of him yet?"

"Honestly, Pomona, when have we had time?" said Amelia, a little exasperated. "Between learning to Apparate, digging down in Suffolk and settling Sirius in, I've barely seen him."

Filius had dragged Remus off, presumably to have a similar conversation – it appeared that Pomona and Filius were dividing and conquering again.

"Alright, alright, it's not like we're rushing you," said Pomona.

"We're just happy that you're together," added Poppy. "Besides, if there's the possibility of a wedding, old birds like us tend to get excited."

After quelling Amelia's attempt at denying their age, Pomona asked, almost tentatively: "And how is Sirius doing?"

Pomona had started teaching only two years before the Marauders had left Hogwarts to make something of themselves, and had, along with most of the staff, been extremely relieved to discover Sirius's innocence. They had been equally dismayed to learn of Peter's betrayal, but after the war they had all become very good at concentrating on the positive things in life.

Amelia told them about his cottage, Harry's visits, her Aunt Beatrice's attempts to fatten him up and the dreaded return of his energy.

She was relating the story of how Sirius and Remus had arrived, drunk as badgers** at her flat a couple of days after he had been given his reprieve, when Rubeus Hagrid lumbered cheerfully up the path from his cottage and treated her to a rib-cracking hug.

Laughing, and surreptitiously massaging her bruised ribs, Amelia turned to see Minerva McGonagall strode out of the Great Hall and informed the party that, since it was such a pleasant day, the meeting had been moved outside to the Transfiguration Courtyard, where the House Elves had set out a 'light' lunch.

This, Amelia highly doubted: the House Elves at Hogwarts loved to serve their masters, something that had taken Amelia a while to get her head around. As expected, the 'light' lunch turned out to be something much closer to a small banquet.

There were a few staff members milling around already, filling plates and exchanging pleasantries. Amelia narrowed her eyes and nudged her fiancé in the ribs.

"It is just me, or are there a few too many chairs out?"

Remus nodded thoughtfully. Amelia had a knack for noticing things, and not much went on in Hogwarts went on without its Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, knowing about it. If there were too many chairs, then something was afoot.

"Amelia dear!" cried a hearty wizard propping up one end of the banquet table. "How was your dig?"

Professor Dockrill was everything you would expect of a wizard, tall, stocky, bearded – with a mischievous sense of humour and a bit of a thing for battleaxes. Amelia had studied archaeology at some Muggle university with his brother, and an instant bond had formed between the two. Remus wondered idly whether archaeologists shared some kind of telepathic link… knowing Amelia and her extraordinary friends, it wouldn't surprise him.

As they chatted happily about 'steelies' and trenches and mosaics, Remus surveyed his colleagues. They were much as he remembered them from his schooldays: collectively they were impressive, mildly intimidating and mad as a box of spanners. A few of them, he noted, were also slightly agitated, though whether from anxiety or excitement he couldn't be sure.

Several of the Professors kept glancing at the extra chairs and frowning, as if unable to account for the aberration from normality. But they weren't all oblivious, he observed: Argus Filch had on his moth-eaten tailcoat, and Minerva was keeping a close eye on the archway leading to Dumbledore's office, presumably watching for signs of movement.

Something was most certainly brewing.

"Lupin," acknowledged a cool, calculating voice from behind him. Remus smiled.

"Severus," he greeted, turning to his friend. "How was your summer?"

"Quiet, relaxing, the usual sort of thing." Severus eyed his one-time enemy with a wry smile. "I imagine that yours was more… eventful than you are accustomed to?"

"Somewhat chaotic," Remus agreed, as the two Professors filled their plates. "I'm getting used to it, though."

Severus nodded, giving him something of a sideways glance.

"You realise the two of you are the talk of the Castle?" he asked. "You'll be in for the ribbing of the century from that lot," he nodded at the gaggle of his colleagues that were surrounding Amelia. "Not to mention Minerva and out dear Headmaster – you remember what they were like last year…"

Remus gave him a grim smile.

"I spent part of the summer with Amelia's Aunt Beatrice and a throng of archaeologists. I'll be fine," he said, firmly. "Anyway, a few of them have started asking questions about your private life now… and a particular red-headed friend of Amelia's."

Severus went pale.

Well – paler. He was about to deliver a withering reply when their aforementioned Headmaster ambled into the courtyard, followed by some new – but not necessarily welcome – faces.

As one man, Remus and Severus each seized one of Amelia's arms and steered her to seats as far away from the visitors as physically possible.

"Wha-" she began, but she was cut off in stereo.

"Shh!"

She tried to argue, but one look at their identical, stony expressions silenced her: Severus was gripping the arms of his chair so hard that his knuckles were white. On her other side, Remus appeared to be attempting to disappear into his chair.

What on earth is going on? she wondered, following their gaze.

"If you could all settle down," Dumbledore began, gesturing for the assembled wizardry to be seated. "I trust you've all had restful summers?" he continued over the scraping of chairs and rustling of cloaks. "Good, good. I'd like to welcome several guests to our meeting. You all know Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic," he began. A small but portly wizard removed his lime green bowler hat and smiled warmly around at everyone.

"Barty Crouch," Dumbledore continued, indicating a second gentleman.

This one reminded Amelia of one of her old school teachers: he was upright, tall, neat and elderly. Every line on the man was crisp and straight. She wouldn't have been surprised to discover that he shaved with a ruler. She immediately disliked him, though she couldn't quite think why.

She felt a hot surge of anger from Remus, and not a little fear; she gave him a sideways glance: outwardly, he looked calm and placid, the tight set of his jaw the only clue to the fury within. Amelia wondered whether she would have noticed if she hadn't known him as well as she did. Remus was such a kind, patient man: there were very few things that could have elicited this level of hatred. She rested her hand lightly on his, and he flinched, before glancing in her direction and lacing his fingers between hers. She gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze, which he returned, before breaking away.

"Ludo Bagman," the Headmaster went on, gesturing at a middle aged man, who had the look of an athlete who had recently discovered, to his horror, that old age comes with beer bellies and baldness. He grinned at them all, striking Amelia as being much more agreeable than Mr Crouch.

"- and Alastor Moody." Moody was quite possibly the gnarliest man Amelia had ever seen: his face and arms were covered in deep, jagged scars, one of his legs was missing – there was a mechanical leg in its place – and an eye had been replaced with what Amelia could only assume passed for a glass eye in the wizarding world. It was rocketing around at high speed and had a tiny, black pupil set in a sphere of lurid electric blue. It looked rather like it had been bolted into his skull.

This was clearly the man that Severus had issues with; the two men were eyeing one another with an intense dislike that looked as though it might devolve into homicide at any moment. Waves of sickening fear washed over Severus and through her mind.

It was going to be a trying meeting.

"As the senior staff will be aware," Dumbledore was saying. "We've rather an exciting year lined up. After a considerable amount of negotiation, Barty and Ludo have managed to convince Durmstrang and Beauxbatons to join us in a little game of skill."

A couple of the less senior staff sat up at this; clearly something terribly wizardy and interesting was occurring, though Amelia was none the wiser. Even Remus looked suddenly less tense. Some of her confusion must have shown on her face.

"They are other Wizarding schools, Amelia – in Bulgaria and France." Dumbledore half turned to his guests. "Amelia has not been a part of our world for very long gentlemen."

Bagman smiled at her, while Crouch merely raised an eyebrow. Feeling a lot like something that had inadvertently crawled under a particularly popular microscope, she smiled back, embarrassed.

She couldn't help but notice that Moody's magical eye was fixed upon her – even though the other one was apparently still looking at Dumbledore. Increasingly uncomfortable, she squirmed in her seat. Remus touched her hand – it could simply have been an accidental graze, but she knew better – and Moody hadn't failed to notice it. His magical eye returned to its sporadic survey of the courtyard.

"This year will see the return of the Triwizard Tournament – I'm sure someone can fill you in later," he twinkled at Amelia, perhaps sensing her embarrassment, and she smiled back, comforted. This pronouncement created quite a stir amongst the staff.

"As per usual, a champion from each school will be selected – though to comply with more stringent and very sensible health and safety rules these days, only those students who are of age will be able to compete. The Tournament can, as you know, be quite dangerous. Since Hogwarts is hosting the Tournament this year, accommodation will need to be made for visiting students in certain lessons – they are, I believe, managing their own sleeping arrangements. There will also be three tasks to arrange – the basics of which Ludo will fill you all in on in a moment." He peered around at them over the top of his half moon spectacles. "It goes without saying, of course, that hosting this Tournament is a great honour for our school, and I have no doubt that you will all behave to the highest standards of professionalism –" His gaze flicked, just for a moment, to Sybill Trelawny, the resident Seer, who was generally in possession of at least two bottles of cooking sherry at any one time. "– and welcome our guests to our home in the finest traditions of wizarding hospitality. In short, ladies and gentlemen," he continued, and this time he looked rather pointedly at Pomona and Filius, who were doing their best to look innocent. "No playing silly buggers for the duration, do I make myself clear?"

Amelia caught Minerva's eye and hid a smirk.

"Ludo?" Dumbledore asked, and the ageing athlete stood.

The meeting continued for some time, Ludo explaining the three tasks and the various obstacles involved, Minerva explaining what these would mean in terms of work load. She went into great detail over the educational requirements of the visiting students, and all around the courtyard quills scribbled notes.

It all sounded terribly exciting, and yet…

"I don't think I'd be too happy letting Hermione compete," Amelia remarked to Poppy, during a short break. "Seventeen or not… Has anyone actually died during this competition?"

"Oh, loads of people," Martin broke in, cheerfully. "But that was hundreds of years ago. Much safer now." His last few words became indistinct as he resumed chewing his roast beef sandwich.

"On a relative scale," Amelia scoffed. "I hardly think letting a nesting mother dragon loose on a bunch of unsuspecting students could ever be called 'safe'. Or 'responsible', for that matter."

Poppy nodded, sympathetically.

"True, but all sports are dangerous, dear," she said. "Just think of Quidditch – or that rugby game that you were telling me about."

Amelia looked around at her colleagues incredulously; she was definitely in a different world.

"Rugby balls don't have metre-long teeth and claws," she insisted. "And opposing teams don't literally breathe fire! I don't think that the two even graze similarity."

Poppy was about to answer her when a gravelly, matter-of-fact voice interrupted from behind them; they turned to find Alastor Moody surveying them thoughtfully.

"Couldn't agree more," he said. "Damned fool idea, all of this."

Close up, Moody looked like he'd been carved from stone, and not by a particularly skilled mason.

"Putting people in harm's way for the sake of a bloody game," he grumbled; his eye was currently focussed on something behind him – Amelia glanced across to see Dumbledore taking Remus to one side.

"You would be Amelia?" Moody asked, gruffly, bringing her attention back to him.

"Professor Brown," she said, extending a hand. "Muggle Studies."

"Oh yes," said Moody, shaking her proffered hand with the very tips of his fingers, as if he were afraid she might suddenly turn into a manticore. Her mind flared as they touched: the man was all white-hot tension and suspicion; she could tell though, that underneath it all he was a good man. "And how is it you've come so late to magic, Professor Brown?"

His manner suggested that despite the genial setting, this was very much an interrogation. Startled, Amelia stuttered.

"W-well my mother was a bit –" she began, but Poppy cut her off.

"Oh, leave her alone, Alastor," she chided. "He's always suspicious, Amelia, it goes with the profession I'm afraid. He's an ex-Auror. Don't you take any notice." She glared at Moody, who seemed not to have noticed her tone.

"Oh," said Amelia, still feeling somewhat small and out-of-place. "I expect you'll be handling security then?"

Moody looked her up and down.

"To an extent," he growled, and with that, stomped off – his leg clunking erratically – with the apparent intention of harassing Severus.

"Well," said Amelia, flustered.

"Don't mind him," Poppy reassured her. "His heart's in the right place."

"Where does he keep it?" Amelia asked, before she could stop herself. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, going a little pink. "That one was supposed to have stayed a thought…"

Poppy chuckled.

"I've missed your sense of humour dear," she said, fondly, steering her back towards their seats.

0o0o0o0

Remus was quiet on the walk back to Hogsmeade; he appeared to be thinking something over.

Amelia let him be – if there was something that she needed to know, he would tell her.

"Made your mind up about the World Cup?" she asked, hoping to talk him out of his funk.

"Hmm? Oh, I don't think I'll go," he said, giving her a distracted smile. "Not really my thing. Padfoot's still up for it though – are your girls still wanting to go?"

"Yeah. Well, they'd better be," she said, with a grimace. "The amount of forms I had to fill out at the Ministry. Honestly, what does it matter that a couple of archaeologists find out about the magical community? Nobody takes us seriously anyway – and it's not like they're about to hold some sort of anti-magic revolution, or broadcast it across Britain. I mean, who'd believe them?"

Remus chuckled, and Amelia was happy to see the cheerful twinkle was back in his warm, grey eyes.

"Well, we know that," he allowed. "But it's understandable that the Ministry would be apprehensive – as a community we've been underground for nearly five centuries, after all."

They paused by a break in the trees to take in the view.

The Castle was still visible, almost glowing in the golden light of a summer evening. A distant glint provided a suggestion of the Lake in the distance.

"It seems really dangerous, this Triwizard thing," said Amelia, frowning.

Remus rested his head on her shoulder, arms comfortably about her waist.

"They're really pulling out all the stops on the safety side of things," he said, into her hair. "They wouldn't have been able to do it at all, if they hadn't. Ruling out anyone who isn't of age is a good start – anyone who enters should at least be capable."

"Hmm," said Amelia, not particularly convinced.

They stood in thoughtful silence for a few minutes, enjoying the evening light, and one another's company.

"That's what Dumbledore wanted to talk to me about," said Remus, eventually.

Amelia tried to remember what they had been talking about.

"The varied abilities of Triwizard Tournament contestants?"

"No… and yes, I suppose…"

She waited a few moments for him to continue, and when he didn't, she turned to face him: his face was tight again, and he was frowning deeply.

Amelia's heart plummeted.

"He's not kicking you out?!" she demanded. "Not to save face in front of the other schools!"

"No, nothing like that," he said, and paused. "Well, not as such…" he wasn't meeting her eyes. Amelia sighed and led him over to a handy boulder, deciding to reserve judgement until she had the full story.

"Not as such," she repeated, as they both sat down.

"He made a point of telling me that he definitely wasn't firing me," he said, quietly – and not a little sadly, Amelia was unhappy to note. "Since security is so important he needs to introduce someone that he trusts to the staff – a specialist, of sorts. Not that he doesn't trust the rest of the staff, but he needs someone who's used to spotting things that other people overlook."

"Alastor Moody?" Amelia asked, shrewdly.

"Yes." He glanced at her. "Oh, don't look like that – Mad-Eye's alright once he gets to know you, he's just had to learn not to trust people, and it doesn't come easy to him anymore…"

"How did he lose his eye?"

"Taking down a whole room full of dark wizards during the war. He doesn't like to talk about it," he said, dismissively. "Anyway, Dumbledore wants him to teach some of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classes."

Amelia frowned; Remus was an exceptional teacher, and despite his best efforts he'd probably spend the entire year hating the imposition.

"Mostly defence against other wizards – duelling and the like," he continued. "I'll still be doing the dark creatures stuff, and latent curses and such…" he trailed off, frowning.

He didn't like to talk about it, but she knew from Sirius that her fiancé was a duellist to be reckoned with.

"I don't think he wants rid of you," she said, laying a hand on his arm.

"No, I know that," Remus said, taking her hand in his. He looked out across the Forbidden Forest, as if seeing something in the distant hills. Brief pangs of something close to pain flared across her mind as he tried to find an adequate explanation for his mood. "It just… feels like the beginning of the end –" he stopped himself. "I know I'm being pessimistic, but these things seem to follow a certain trend." He sighed. "I love teaching. Particularly here, and particularly with you… I've been happier this year than I have been in nearly a decade. I suppose I'm just afraid that all this happiness will disappear again."

"You know very well that I'm not going anywhere," she said, matter-of-factly. And Dumbledore recognises a damn' good teacher when he meets one – and a damn' good man, for that matter."

Remus nodded, slowly.

"It's not like I know much about personal defence and Auror training anyway," he said, but Amelia dismissed this as modesty. "This partnership with Moody might prove to be great for the students – you know, providing several dimensions of Defence all at once…"

Amelia looked at him, and he met her eyes.

"I suppose I don't really know how to feel about it yet," he said, taking her in.

She smiled at him, fondly.

"Well, when you figure it out, let me know and I'll give you a hug or whatever."

He smiled back, and she felt her cheeks turn a little pink; she hadn't meant to sound quite so saccharine.

"Come on, let's get back," she said. "We can open a bottle of wine, you can patronise me about my inferior Apparation skills, I can read some more Ellis Peters…"

"Alright, alright," he chuckled. "I'll cheer up."

They continued down the path a way in companionable silence, though both of them were still thinking about Remus's sudden change of circumstances.

"Anyway, you're not that bad at Apparation," Remus said, as they reached the tall iron gates that marked the edge of Hogwarts property. "You've even stopped turning green."

0o0o0o0

*See Dreams and False Alarms – it's a long story.

**No really, they get drunk on fermented fruit and have hangovers on my Mum's lawn. It's bizarrely entertaining.