Magic and Science

by MrsRJLupin

COMPLETE. Cecilia Frobisher continues her adventures in the wizard world with the Science and Magic Sequel. Opinions are valued, thanks for R&Ring! March 2018 The final sequel is under way: The Art of the Wize - I appreciate all reviews, rare that they are these days. Feel free to download the audio from my Youtube Playlist: MrsRJ Lupin (a space between RJ and Lupin)

13. Nest of Vipers

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review!

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She could still hear the ringing in her ears. The mocking chants as she scurried from the classroom ten minutes' early. Admittedly it wasn't all of them but she was sure they shared the same sentiment.

It had been three days, three disastrous days since she had begun to teach but Tabitha Penwright knew within the first hour that she hated being a teacher.

Sitting in her room she looked at the cover of the curriculum that Umbridge had given to her before holding her head in her hands. Why had they behaved like that? Why had all of them turned against her? She'd done everything that Umbridge had told her to do; she had been strong with them, punishing them for the slightest misdemeanour; she had illuminated passages in the book that the students were to copy. She'd clamped down on any speaking during lessons.

A noise, the sound of people chatting quietly as they passed by her room made Tabitha freeze. Probably some of the other teachers, she thought, after a moment. Not students come to taunt her again.

Without warning the calls that she had heard as she had left the muggle studies classroom echoed silently in her head…

…"Fro-bi-sher! Fro-bi-sher! Give us Frobisher!"…

Tabitha got up and hurried across the flagstone floor to her bedroom door, checking it was locked before sealing it with magic from the inside. Just to be sure, she told herself; she didn't want to be Professor Sinistra on whom girls in her dorm had played japes and pranks when she had been at school.

Shaking her head slowly Tabitha tried to put the disaster that had been her day at the front of a class and turned instead to the urgent owl that had arrived for her that afternoon. She didn't know which was worse: teaching lessons or reading the letter from Umbridge and Tabitha sighed as she scanned the page.

It was dreadful: Umbridge's tyrannical rule in absentia did not stop with just the teachers and their new curriculum and the students. She wanted Tabitha to inform Dumbledore that the ghosts had to be restrained from every part of the castle with the exception of the dungeons and in addition for each society and club that was run in the school grounds (quidditch, gobstones, wizard's chess to name but three) Tabitha was to submit the students names and ages.

Sighing deeply she folded the letter up and put it in her pocket. If this is what she had to do then she'd better get on with it, thought Tabitha dully. But she would have a hard time persuading many of the students or staff of this; to her this was what Dolores Umbridge did but on a far grander scale. She knew she had to enforce the decrees of her boss lest face a barrage of hectoring from her.

Getting up from the chair before the desk, Tabitha considered the last sentence of Umbridge's letter. Tomorrow she would visit to view one of Tabitha's lessons. She wanted to see, "how well the students had engaged with their proper method of teaching". She might as well not bother, thought Tabitha as she made her way to the bathroom; she – Tabitha – could just as well tell her that her new curriculum had gone down like a lead dragon, and not just with muggle studies. Other staff, she had noticed, seemed to be pretty much ignoring most of it save a few passing references to it; yesterday she had clearly heard a potions lesson being taught by Severus Snape, carried on the breeze of the teaching corridor, which was definitely not one prescribed for the subject.

Well, Tabitha concluded, she would just have to put some more effort in. What these children seemed to know was next to useless; what they had been taught by Cecilia Frobisher was all a great deal of nonsense which would not help them one slightest bit in their OWL examination or for their future. She had said as much to the fifth years in their first lesson and managed to acquire one detainee who had dared to argue with her. Harry Potter, she thought grimly as the face of the boy in detention ambled into her mind. He was the cause of this insidious sedition.

"Tempe Aqua," said Tabitha simply as she stood next to the edge of the sunken bath, holding her wand towards it. At once from the end of her wand warmish water began to pour, filling the vessel with it. Warm water, thought Tabitha. So that's what I'm reduced to now I'm here. Unable to do even a few of the basic spells that she could in the privacy of her own home. She had expected a few of her powers to fade or become less powerful but Tabitha hadn't counted on the degree to which her return to Hogwarts would have on her abilities.

Half an hour later she had taken the initiative of undoing the doors of her room and straying into the staff room at the end of the corridor, the room in which she had had her first introduction to the rest of the staff just over a week ago. Usually the place was deserted and Tabitha had taken to writing her daily reports to Umbridge in the quiet confines of its wood-panelling or simply just sitting there trying to convince herself that the lesson that she had just presented wasn't as bad as she had imagined. On this occasion however, as she turned the handle of the thick oak door Tabitha was rather surprised that Severus Snape was sitting in one of the armchairs reading what looked to be like bound journal.

She looked at him once or twice; when she was entering he did not look up from his reading and when she was quite sure that he was not about to speak to her she made her way to the opposite corner, sitting by the fireplace and trying to fix her mind on her task in hand and banishing all thoughts of her early morning run-in with him where he had bitten her head off in front of the third year class that she was about to teach. Not that she had bitten back, of course and it had occurred to Tabitha then that he not been expecting that. Now, no-one was around and maybe she could raise the subject of when they were to collaborate over this Universal Link.

The fire in the fireplace felt warm on her legs. Despite the day being a warm one the Tabitha had forgotten how the stone of the castle seemed to bar much of any outdoor heat in the same way that it beguiled the cold to linger. Soon she would be using the fireplace to send her daily report to Umbridge including the club and society information as well as the house-elf details and the owl tally from the –

"What are you doing here?" Snape's stone-hard voice rudely interrupted her train of thought spilling goods hither and thither into the recesses of her mind. Looking up sharply Tabitha willed herself to give him the most withering look she could manage.

"Finished teaching," she replied before looking down as the papers she had in her hand and pretending that she had more important things to do than engage him in unrewarding conversation.

"No," he replied, closing his reading matter and glaring at her steelily, "here, as in Hogwarts, a wizard school in which you have no skill or expertise. Why are you deemed fit to teach muggle studies?"

Glaring back with as much forthright confidence as she could muster Tabitha folded her hands on top of the papers she was scrutinising and leaned back a little, deliberately pausing (and gathering her thoughts at the same time).

"This is my job. I work for the ministry for the good of all wizards."

"Your lessons are appalling. I knew that you were not a teacher and that is compounded by your uselessness at even basic discipline. Your magic is awful. The chanting with which the fifth years have taken to is enough to drive my flobberworms insane. Even I could teach that subject despite its infinitesimally low status in comparison to the rest of the subjects our school offers – " he paused momentarily, " – Divination excepted."

"Then you teach it," replied Tabitha with faux confidence, burying the reference to the shameful experience that afternoon deep enough to be mourned later. "It is clear I need to develop my professional repertoire. I would be only too happy to learn from a person with more experience than myself – " The expression on Snape's face would have been enough to curdle milk. " – we are supposed to be collaborating, are we not?"

"Indeed," Snape bit back. And then he did something that Tabitha did not expect. He began to describe the teaching the students had hitherto enjoyed. Sitting diametrically opposite Severus Snape as he detailed not only the type and content but also the construction and format Tabitha listened carefully to his contemptuous discourse. On finishing he remained stony-still, his book still on his knees and were Tabitha not to know difference she might have believed she was at the beginning of the conversation, before she had heard these fantastic things.

"Are you telling me there's no limit to muggles?" said Tabitha slowly, after a time. "That they are basically like us?"

"Do you know Cecilia Frobisher?" he replied quickly.

"Only that I know she was my predecessor she was a muggle herself, wasn't she?" Despite his flint-like exterior a flicker passed momentarily over his features.

"Indeed she was," he intoned impassively. And then he opened up the book he had been reading hitherto Tabitha's presence in the staff room. Just as she assumed the conversation was over, he added with a glower, "Muggles are not what we think."

"You have come to this conclusion based on one muggle," replied Tabitha as her mind dwelt on her brother. They were all similar (even if Robert was loath to admit it) but there were many differences, not least in their point of view. At least wizards had the opportunity to see both sides even if they didn't always use it. And she had known far more muggles than Severus Snape! When she realised he was still staring at her Tabitha added, "she is only one; others may not be like her. We know this through those long and bitter years where they let us down over and over again."

"That's not how muggles interpret it."

"Of course it's not, and that's the point, isn't it?"

"What…is the point?" Snape's voice took on a threatening edge.

"We have known for decades that we need energy for magic; you only had to ask at the Ministry or us Mysteriours at any rate. And it's rather mugglish to interpret it all for their benefit, don't you think?"

"…and your work?"

"I have been instructed to work with you to rediscover what Cecilia Frobisher discovered and that was subsequently lost – " Tabitha broke off as Snape moved ominously towards her and she felt a surge of terror erupt in her stomach.

"Here." Standing over her Snape brandished what turned out to be a sheet of blank parchment. "Do you have a quill?" Wordlessly Tabitha nodded.

"Take this down." He walked away from her as a serpent might before its prey.

"Why?" she managed. He turned and stared at her, eyes narrowing.

"You need to start on the long road that the previous muggle studies teacher began. Due to a disaster on the night of the Great Battle, the details of which I am sure you are familiar as you are from the ministry," he snorted contemptuously, "we have no information. And this is apparently important to you."

"I have already spoken to Harry Potter; the information he provided for me seems most enlightening." Snape snorted again. Tabitha ignored it, before sighing as the name of Cecilia Frobisher was thrown around in her mind again by mocking students. "How do you do it? Teaching, I mean?"

"It is a common feeling, to hate teaching." From the position he had reached, opposite Tabitha and adjacent the fireplace Snape narrowed his eyes still further. "Tell me, Miss Penwright, if you were not here when, pondering the mysteries of the universe, what kind of dull and uninteresting desk job would you be doing in the Ministry?"

"Pondering the mysteries of the universe," she replied steadily, "I am a Mysteriour, after all."

"I see. So you uncover great secrets for the good of all wizardkind?"

"Something like that," nodded Tabitha.

"Then I'll make you a promise. I will tell you all there is to know about the Universal Link, how it relates to wizards and muggles and how the whole of humanity is connected, you can take it back to Dolores Umbridge and she can do what she will for it." Tabitha held her breath, waiting for Snape to continue. "I will tell you all about the Link if you tell me all there is to know about your mystery – what is it, Miss Granger?"

Tabitha jerked her head right and exhaled, staring at the student who had silently pushed open the staff room door without knocking.

"P – Professor," she began, looking back at Tabitha apprehensively before training a well-practised look on Snape. "Would it be possible to speak to you in private? Out here?" she clarified when Snape said nothing.

"Naturally your question is to do with potions, and to do with the lateness of an essay," he presumed, making his way towards the door, the book he had been reading held stiffly by his right-hand side as if a shield between him and Tabitha.

As the door clicked into place, Tabitha breathed. She sat back down by the fire before leaping back up and seizing her notes in her hand. Was she to take his offer seriously? Did he mean what he said? Was Severus Snape, the most intimidating teacher Hogwarts had to offer, about to let her in on the secret that Dumbledore had instructed Cecilia Frobisher to investigate?

She wouldn't have to wait long to find out. A few moments later, having presumably dismissed the student, Snape re-entered the staffroom, closing the oak door heavily.

"You were saying…?" prompted Tabitha, hoping she had waited long enough not to sound desperate.

"I was saying what?" asked Snape, his voice slow and deliberate, hand on the knob of the door. "Nothing of consequence, surely?" Tabitha could feel her heartbeat rising slowly and irritation that had stirred with her thinking of her brother began to stir her. She got back to her feet.

"I was granted permission by Professor Dumbledore to have full access to the work surrounding and including information of the Universal Link!"

"Well, I have none," said Snape simply, opening the door to the teachers' quarters corridor and looking down it. "And regardless of what Mr. Potter tells you neither does he."

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"Would you like a cup of tea?"

Cecilia Frobisher had nodded as she sat on the chintz-print settee that was part of a three piece suite in the living room of Number 4 Privet Drive. Mrs Dursley, who had introduced herself to Cecilia as such, had shown her into the living room and invited her to sit, explaining to Cecilia their reasons for needing a tutor, that despite her husband's assurance that the school they had sent their son to was excellent it had been noted in his school report that he was unlikely to achieve any GCSEs and that would not do and that he would be home in the evenings for a few hours each night and each weekend to enable him to focus on his studies.

"So that is where you come in, Miss Wells," Mrs Dursley concluded. "I expect nothing less than the fifteen he is expecting and from your marvellous references and experience on your CV – " momentarily Petunia Dursley's brow wrinkled as if she was trying to remember something at the very back of her memory, " – you appear to be an excellent choice."

From the open-plan kitchen diagonally opposite the living room Cecilia heard Mrs Dursley clinking a few cups onto their saucers and she broke off from her racing thoughts. A tutor. They were expecting a tutor as Dumbledore had described in his now-extinct letter whose ashes were gracing the pavement outside. Cecilia gazed out of the window, her heart beginning to hammer beneath her ribs as she recalled what else the letter had instructed. Not to make any attempts to contact neither the wizard world nor her family in the muggle world. That if she was reading this note then the Order member had taken her to pre-arranged place of safety which she should not leave. And in addition the task she had to do was to tutor the child which, he believed she would do perfectly well and, as it was her cover, she should not stray from even when she realised her position of advantage.

"Biscuit?" asked Petunia Dursley, approaching Cecilia's right and proffering the tea.

Ten minutes later as Cecilia sipped the milk-ruined beverage and politely declined a Nice biscuit she listened as a concerned mother explained that though it was up to the school to teach Dudley, that was what they were paying them for after all, she could not let her son leave with no qualifications even if he was going to begin at his father's work for they were beginning to despair of his lack of application. Dudley would be home on Friday for the weekend, which should give her a chance to prepare suitable work for him, and every subsequent evening leading up to his examinations and, as a tutor, it was up to her to bring her son's hidden brilliance to the fore.

Their discussion wove on, through a second top-up and a second refusal of a biscuit and it became apparent that Dudley Dursley's parents were not under any illusions that their son would achieve highly but, as Mrs Dursley explained adoringly, it was what was inside that counted.

Then Mrs Dursley took the teacup and saucer from Cecilia and got to her feet, telling her that she must be tired having travelled such a long way from the Midlands, and that she was going to show her to her room, Dudley's second bedroom. Talking with her belongings Mrs Dursley had went on to comment as she neared the top of the staircase that her nephew sometimes used it when he was back from school and the jolt of realisation hit her as it dawned on Cecilia where she was. This was the house beside whose door where Harry Potter had been left as a year-old baby to be cared for by his uncaring aunt and uncle. Mrs Dursley opened the door to Harry's room, holding it open and Cecilia carried her large bag in, trying not to stare too pointedly at her hair.

That had been two days ago. Two days since she sat on the single bed trying not to think how strange it was to be at the Dursley's house as she massaged her head aching, most probably caused by the illicit apparition that Snape had conjured and wondering whether Remus, her beloved Remus, knew of the events that had happened at the cottage.

She had sat on Harry's bed for a long time, trying to come to terms with what had happened that afternoon, very little of which was making much sense before Mrs Dursley had called her down for supper when Mr Dursley had arrived home and had to endure an evening spent listening to how wonderful their son was interspersed with quite personal questions once Vernon Dursley had established that she had once been a scientist.

"A very clever subject," he commented, gravy from his steak and kidney pudding dripping onto his beard. "I once knew a scientist, many years ago…tell me, Miss Wells, do you still work in science?"

"Not any more," Cecilia had replied, wondering whether the Dursleys had even considered what she did if they were employing her as a tutor. "I teach."

"Ah," said Mr Dursley, pushing a large piece of pie into his mouth, "you pass the flame on…very noble." And he had stroked her shoulder, winking at Cecilia in quite a revolting way before continuing to demolish the rest of Mrs Dursley's home-cooked dinner.

…two days ago since the Snape's arrival at the cottage had replayed itself constantly though her mind and she had cried herself to sleep…

The next day Mrs Dursley had asked her to list the books she would need to buy for Dudley and when Cecilia asked to see what books he had actually got the small shelf in his room would have actually been improved in terms of educational value were each of them to have been improved. The list was long but the woman had been true to her word and acquired each and every one of them.

As Cecilia had waited for Mrs Dursley to return from town Cecilia had switched on the television, realising that it was probably going to be quite nice to watch a programme, which she hadn't done for almost a year. Another muggle advantage (as well as the lack of flying objects and people apparating into her living room and scaring the living daylights out of her) that she would easily get used to. She had felt her mind relax filling in the gap where her heightened anxiety had sat with thoughts of Petunia Dursley…Aunt Petunia, whose DNA she had seen in the form of a trace so many, many times whilst fathoming out first the Universal Link, Harry's potion and the current refinement, and whose genes betrayed rather more than the muggle exterior that she so happily displayed.

And now, waiting for Mr Dursley to arrive home again, this time with their son in tow, her stomach began to twist and turn as it had done ever since she had got to 4, Privet Drive. Her emotions were stretched with each knock at the door, at first soaring from euphoria that at last someone had come to fetch her and take her back to the cottage. Each time her elation gave way to despair as the milkman, gasman and gardener had all made an appearance. Now, minutes from her first meeting with a child she potentially had to educate for goodness' knows how long Cecilia realised she tried to squash her feeling of nausea and dizziness, focusing on the fact that she would just have to make the best of it in her role.

"You look a bit peaky, Miss Wells," replied Mrs Dursley, looking at the books, notebooks and stationary that she had spent a small fortune on and had laid out lovingly on the coffee table. Cecilia nodded and smiled weakly.

"A bit tired," she murmured, holding onto yet another cup of tea that Mrs Dursley had poured for her that day.

"We are very lucky to have someone to tutor him for all his subjects; he will be on study leave within a couple of weeks anyway, so that will give you more time with him. His teachers have predicted he will pass none of his examinations – " she laughed lightly, glancing at the exercise books that Cecilia had on her knee, "but I am sure you agree that he is misunderstood, and with your expertise he can turn this around. He wants to go to University and become a doctor," she added, passing Cecilia a plate of biscuits. Taking one and eating it slowly she had discovered meant that more were not offered to you as frequently as when you refused one altogether and she tried not to choke on the crumbs.

"So, you're not married, Miss Wells?" Mrs Dursley had asked Cecilia this each evening since she had got there, and each time she had given the same answer. It was as if Petunia Dursley could engage in small talk like the best of them but when she received the answer it did not complete the circuit back round to her ears. Cecilia tried not to sigh as she prepared to give the same answer as she had done the evening before and the one before that.

"No," she replied, nibbling on the Lincoln biscuit, "I used to be, but my husband died. I'm engaged, though. We're getting married once…"

" – once you've got a bit of money together," said Petunia presumptively, looking out of the window as a car passed before looking back at Cecilia when she realised it wasn't Mr Dursley and Dudley. "Well I never worked; Vernon provides for me you see, but I think it is admirable that you wish to contribute; so many single mothers out there that do nothing but scrounge on benefits." She reached for the teapot from the tray on the occasional table (once the smallest of the nest by the window) and topped up Cecilia's tea without bothering to ask her whether she wanted more.

"Single mothers?"

"You don't have to fool me dear," she continued, smiling a knowing smile at Cecilia. "I know these things…I did with my sister ooh!" Petunia broke off with delight from her otherwise serious conversation as she realised that now indeed her husband and son had arrived home. She scrambled to her feet, taking Cecilia's cup out of her hands and returning the tray to the kitchen before hurrying to the front door and opening it for them.

Cecilia heard Mr Dursley enter the house first, his large frame plodding onto the carpet as he strode into the living room, saying nothing to Cecilia but sitting down on the settee and Cecilia waited as Dudley Dursley entered the living room. She didn't have to wait long and she felt him before she saw him; Dudley's disgust at being brought from boarding school he took out against the door which he slammed into the back of the chair that Cecilia was sitting in. Jolting her to the expression on her face seemed to be enough for Vernon Dursley to turn on his son.

"Apologise. Now!" he ordered, gesturing towards Cecilia. "You nearly injured Miss Wells!" A younger version of Mr Dursley wearing the expression that his mother had worn when she had opened the door to Cecilia a couple of days ago glowered at her teenager-like.

"No," he refused, taking his eyes off her momentarily before scanning the contents of the coffee table critically. "I didn't ask her to come here. I should still be at school!"

"How dare you!" Mr Dursley leaped out of his seat like a scalded cat, wagging his finger at Dudley. "After what you've been up to at school…Mr. Terrell called me at work, don'tcha know! Fighting?! Bunking off?! Hanging round with the wrong sort?! And then he tells me that you have very little chance of getting any qualifications at all! What are we paying all this money for, eh? Eh?" Cecilia watched as Vernon Dursley's face became redder and redder, betraying his inner fury. Petunia Dursley meanwhile had made a bee-line to her son, standing next to him and whimpering every so often as Mr Dursley's rage grew more intense.

"I think you ought to apologise to Miss Wells, Popkin," said Mrs Dursley soothingly, gesturing an arm towards Cecilia. "She is here to help you my darling, look: she's brought you some interesting books to help you get started." Dudley turned from his mother and returned Cecilia's small smile with a glower that she would come to recognise well in the future.

"Sorry," he spat, glancing rebelliously at his father.

"Now, get yourself upstairs, sweetheart," continued Petunia as Dudley continued to scowl at his father. "There's a bath run, and I've a dinner in the oven." She looked between her husband and son. "It'll be just like when you were younger, before Smeltings," she added, a homely reminder designed to pacify.

"Yeah? Is my stupid cousin here or something?"

And from thereon in Cecilia's disguise was complete. That weekend, under the watchful eye of Mr Dursley and the simpering servitude of Mrs Dursley Dudley Dursley began his work programme as devised by Miss Wells: teacher, tutor and on-the-run muggle. It was to continue each evening, when Mr Dursley brought Dudley back from Smeltings, only to return him early the next morning and it became apparent that, while they expected Cecilia to teach him for four or five hours each evening the rest of the time was hers. And it was also painfully obvious that Miss Cecilia Wells could have been teaching their son anything, trusting her implicitly with the education for their son, a point not missed by a distraught Cecilia who was now living with a woman whose whole existence down to her very chromosomes might be the very answer she was looking for.

She wished she knew how long she was to be here…wished she could contact him, Remus…her beloved Remus. But Cecilia knew that around her were forces more powerful than she, with her solitude in the muggle world, could know or tell. She knew she had to wait it out and hope that it would be soon, so very soon that someone came.

Lying in bed so late on Sunday evening that it was Monday morning Cecilia mobilised her hopes in order to banish her longings from her mind and focused on Severus. He would tell Remus, of that she was sure. And it was better, much better to be apart from him than not to remember him for the rest of her life, as would be her fate under the Ministry.

It was Monday morning. Four, nearly five days in hiding. And hours, countless hours where she could focus on both her potion for Remus and the one for Harry. Indeed, the connection, she was sure, ran Number 4 Privet Drive's household on a daily basis and even without any materials whatsoever save "Mysterious Mythology" she could make use of the opportunity available. Besides, constructing a tuition plan for Dudley would not take more than about ten minutes so she needed to justify her time in Privet Drive and at would least take her mind of the situation.

Sitting up in bed before getting out of it, then sitting herself on a wooden chair in front of the desk Cecilia pulled open one of the drawers locating a pen and a few scraps of notebook paper.

"The Universal Link", (she wrote) "discovered by C.J. Frobisher and S.S. Snape."

She was…Cecilia Jane Frobisher, working on the refinement to Harry Potter's potion, sitting in his bedroom and cut off from the world.

She was back.

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It was Monday evening. Another detention. That made the third one since the start of term, the third one for disrupting a lesson. A third one with Penwright. And it just wasn't fair.

He sat alone in the muggle studies classroom, the evening sunlight glinting down the teaching corridor and playing mischievously on the door's window panes complementing the distant roars, groans and cheers that was the Gryffindor quidditch team practising for their forthcoming Hufflepuff match.

Gritting his teeth Harry turned back to the task in hand, namely copying copiously from numerous chapters in their thick textbook, irrelevant and useless chapters which went against everything he knew to be true of muggles…everything they all knew. However it had been Harry who had been foolish enough to say so.

On his first detention last Wednesday, their first day back, Professor Penwright had, instead of formal detention work, insisted on asking him questions about himself, his life and his work with Cecilia Frobisher. As much as he wanted to herald Mrs Frobisher's success and popularity juxtaposed to that of her own it had taken much willpower to stick to the misleading information that Snape instructed him to acquaint her with. It wasn't that difficult to withhold personal details; while Penwright could possibly find out much of the information without actually asking him, therefore negating Harry's necessity to mislead her.

But the fact was her manner was ineloquent and lacked the warmth of Mrs Frobisher's way and as such he had been averse to discuss anything much of consequence. What little he did share were details of the potion he had taken on the night of the Great Battle and Professor Penwright sat in awed fascination, hunched and small, fading almost into the walls and he had later discussed it with Ron and Hermione, about how his spells, once flawless, were sometimes off even now.

Ron had dismissed it as a side-effect but Hermione had taken an interest and when he discussed with them after his second evening of detention on Saturday night her interest had been elsewhere (and consequently so had his), so his need to share his concerns over a migraine that he had suffered since Wednesday and discomfort in his forehead worryingly close to his scar had to be contained. He had sought an explanation from Ron for Hermione's behaviour but he had none to offer, guessing that it was the stress of the exams.

Looking back down at the paper again he read the sentence out again as another cheer reverberated down the teaching corridor, ending with a rousing chorus of "Weasley is our King", trying to ignore it.

"A muggle can go about his or her life from birth until death without ever encountering the wizard world. Muggles are ignorant of the world unless it concerns them directly and when they do encounter the wizard world they do their very best to put it down to chance, coincidence or temporary disbelief. This is why, for the last two hundred years muggles have been considered under wizard law to have nominal existence rights and therefore are protected."

Harry shook his head dully and put down his quill in disgust. Whoever had written this nonsense clearly had never met a muggle, or at least, had never met Mrs Frobisher and he wondered vaguely whether the textbook, though claiming to be written by a A. Nonne, might actually have been written by Professor Penwright. She couldn't blame them for chanting, hoping and wishing for Mrs Frobisher to return…surely she knew how dreadful she was?

Not for the first time did Harry regret his behaviour towards Cecilia Frobisher, and further, wishing she was here to talk to. There was so much confusion, so much he had to deal with, not least in attempting to gain at least some qualifications that might lead him into a job as an Auror and he considered again whether he should write to her. Once before he had written to Cecilia Frobisher not long after she had left with Lupin but were he to write tonight his letter would conveyed more a feeling of confusion, anger and weakness, totally unlike the upbeat, confident and happy missive he had quilled to her all those months ago.

He looked down at his parchment again, still barren of information that should have been upon it and frowned. Hermione had written to her quite recently and received a reply. If she could then why not he? Okay, Snape had told her she had put Mrs Frobisher in grave danger by communing information to her but then he was always saying things like that, reminding Hermione of her decision to help Cecilia almost fatally on the night of the Great Battle. And all Hermione had done was gone last Friday to ask for his advice.

Turning back to the textbook again Harry looked in despair at the drivel he was expected to transcribe, flicking over a couple of pages before turning back to it again. Pen in hand, he began to write.

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"Now, before I begin I must first read out the apologies for those who cannot be with us this evening."

Minerva McGonagall looked resignedly at the members of the Order of the Phoenix. Five days had passed since the attack on Mrs and Miss Frobisher and the Ministry raid on Lupin's home. Five days since Cecilia Frobisher disappeared without a trace and the entire Order in turmoil, risking detection with the Ministry and disruption at Hogwarts and she had taken her concerns to Albus who had listened to her carefully before calling on her to take the Order meeting on Saturday evening before leaving the running of the school in her care as well.

"Miss – er, that is to say, Mrs Smith – " she continued as half of the wizards and witches before her frowned and whispered in perplexed confusion.

"She means Tonks," growled Moody from his position near Number 12, Grimmauld Place's fireplace. Minerva nodded at Mad-eye in thanks before returning to her apologees.

"Indeed, indeed," she confirmed. "She is temporary guardian with her husband of the muggle child Freya Mitchell, a situation – "

"So it's true!" gasped Doris Crockwood, her hand to her mouth, looking at Mrs Weasley in horror who nodded slowly.

"What?"

"They died at the hands of Death Eaters?"

"Cecilia's mother and sister?" Molly Weasley nodded.

"But there were no marks upon them from a wizard," interrupted Bathsheba loudly. "So we, and the ministry, have to assume that they were killed by a muggle or muggles unknown."

"…how awful…"

"…does Cecilia know…?" Arthur Weasley shook his head.

"…she is missing, as well we know…"

"…I think the girl should be with her…"

"…that's debateable…"

" – a situation," repeated Minerva insistently as she tried to regain control of the undercurrent of noise that had transformed into an overcurrent as many of the Order continued to discuss the issue, "that will discuss in our meeting."

"With respect Minerva," said Sturgis Podmore, his moustache wrinkling uncertainly, "Dumbledore. No-one knows where he is, do they?"

Minerva sighed. Technically what Sturgis had said was true and the consequences of his absence from Hogwarts meant she had been under pressure that weekend mainly through acting as a bulwark between many of the students and the new curriculum, via the new curriculum's ambassador Tabitha Penwright.

"She doesn't look well," whispered Sirius from his position by the staircase to Snape, who had approached him a few minutes before the Order meeting began to share information that would become common knowledge. Sirius had wondered why he had stopped him but the news Snape had broken was very serious indeed. Snape nodded in agreement before stepping away from Sirius and striding towards Minerva as she called upon him to enlighten them all.

"As you all know, as the head of our Order Dumbledore has undertaken a grave damage-limitation scheme so that the following things can take place. Many of you are aware that we are still in the process of refining the potion that Harry Potter will consume in our strategy to defeat the Dark Lord. The potion is entirely in my possession, though Mrs Frobisher will eventually recommence her contribution to – "

"Where is Cecilia, can you tell us that, Snape?" Bathsheba Braddle voiced the unspoken question of many, interrupting him abruptly. Severus Snape bathed her in distain.

"Indeed," he intoned, looking at the Order stiffly. "Mrs Frobisher, as has been previously discussed, was made wizard enemy number one. Her location was discovered last Wednesday and they found too that the Headmaster did not, as he had otherwise inferred, befuddle her. A back-up plan formulated by Professor Dumbledore was put into place and Mrs Frobisher was moved to a secure location – "

– a "crack" in the hallway indicated that other wizards had arrived and all heads with the exception of Snape turned towards the now-opening door –

" – for which I am the secret keeper – " Now Snape broke off and looked at the latecomers, one of which said nothing but stared at Snape intently as he took a chair to Snape's left. Sirius moved across to Remus Lupin, who barely acknowledged his friend.

"Do continue Severus," said Dumbledore serenely, looking between him and the seated Lupin. "We do apologise for being so late and we do need to catch up with the proceedings." Next to Minerva McGonagall Dumbledore conjured a chair into existence that looked suspiciously like the one out of his portable office and sat next to his Deputy, waiting keenly for Snape to proceed. The latter nodded to Dumbledore deferentially before continuing.

"As I was saying, the secret-keeper for Mrs Frobisher – "

"Why?" asked Bathsheba, inciting Snape's stony wrath again. He paused, waiting for the inevitable addition to the sentence that he was sure many of them were mentally adding to Bathsheba's question, but when the word "you" did not materialise he continued.

"Under the Muggle Protection Act 1956 the Ministry can't legally pursue her now. The trace on her that was originally placed will be cease to have any function under their own rules, so when she is back in muggle society – "

"We are to guess that's where she is, then, but where…?" asked Mr Weasley quietly.

"Only he knows," whispered Bathsheba quietly, "only he's not going to let on!"

"Albus," continued Arthur Weasley, looking at Dumbledore gravely. "Can you explain to us how the Ministry knew where to find her? I mean, we have all the files here, don't we?"

Pausing momentarily, Dumbledore bowed his head as he acknowledged Mr Weasley's question before rising slowly to his full height. He then slowly made eye contact with most of the Order members in front of him before he continued.

"I am afraid I don't know. The Ministry alerted me to her whereabouts and demanded I accompany them to the cottage so I could carry out the decree that was made upon me in the Wizengamot. With Merlin's luck Severus managed to get there before I did and aided her abscondment. We can only assume that there were some very dedicated people at the Ministry determined to find them."

Remus Lupin was now standing up and he appeared to be addressing both Snape and Dumbledore at the same time. His face was covered in semi-healed scars, his overall general appearance was extremely threadbare and worn and it looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Whatever he had been doing, wherever he had been, it had done very little to enhance his health.

"She chose to be out of this, she is my responsibility."

"You are not married Remus, she is her own responsibility." Dumbledore's words were kind but firm and ordinarily they would have made Remus Lupin sink back down into his chair. This time however he remained steadfast.

"Why was I not told that her safety was compromised, that the security was breached? Whose decision was it not to tell me?" His gaze rested momentarily on Snape before Dumbledore stepped forward, his blue eyes underneath his spectacles displaying the honesty and frankness of the whole world.

"It was my decision…I have the ultimate duty of care." At his words Lupin's neck failed, allowing his head to droop noticeably as he sat back down. He continued to stare at the floor and several of the Order members close to him looked at him sympathetically before their attention was drawn back to Dumbledore.

"I have her notebooks; there was very little left when the attempt to apprehend Cecilia failed. Severus retrieved them and he is using them to work out Harry's potion. There was something important in them he wishes to share with us all." He looked across at Snape, who inclined his head in a minute display of supplication before pursing his lips harshly.

"Indeed. Professor Dumbledore did not tell them of her location, of course; the Ministry never stopped looking for her and when Percy Weasley eventually hit upon her location – " there was a stifled gasp from the middle of the audience and many heads turned to see a shocked Molly Weasley turning bright pink, her hand to her mouth in horror. Next to her Arthur Weasley had his arm around her shoulders and was speaking quietly to her.

"I am afraid to say that unfortunately, Severus is correct. Percy volunteered to find her because he knew what she looked like – " Arthur Weasley's face grew grave and his own face began to pale to an ashen hue. "Fortunately Severus was able to rescue her research work in its entirety, now located securely in my office. It was too much of a risk for it to have been left, of course and Severus's study of her progress will give us the best chance in the most advantageous timeframe. Severus – " Dumbledore turned to Snape, who was waiting patiently adjacent Dumbledore, presumably for the moment he would be asked to continue.

"What I propose is Cecilia Frobisher's hypothesis on genetic variation and inheritance," he began, looking at Sirius, who nodded back at Snape. "She detailed the information to me in a letter, but where should we begin – "

"You received written correspondence from Mrs Frobisher?" Kingsley, who was propping up the staircase from the other side, suddenly stepped forward and the usually enigmatic Ministry official voiced his concern directly at Snape. The rest of the Order stared rigidly at Snape, waiting for a response. Whatever had provoked Shacklebolt's disquiet was obviously worth listening carefully to.

"…not twenty four hours before I took her to safety." Snape glanced down at the parchment in his hand, as did the twenty five other wizards. "She says – "

"Perhaps we should hear her words," stated Sturgis, looking fiercely at Snape, "rather than you parrot-phrasing them."

"Paraphrasing," corrected Dumbledore lightly. He looked across to Snape. "Severus?" The wizard nodded, pulling out and opening the parchment. Highlighting certain passages with the very tip of his wand the relevant passage the words on the page magically transformed themselves into speech expressing the tone of the writer at the time that they wrote it and this conveyed Mrs Frobisher's obvious excitement at her hypothesis. All eyes were on the hovering parchment as they concentrated on Cecilia's ethereal voice.

"…it's genetic, Severus, the continuum. There are no two compartments where people can be sorted out. You can't just pigeonhole people as wizards and muggles, it's far more complicated than that. In wizards, someone who is good at a particular spell or area of magic, their children tend to be good at it too, and why some people are better at some things than others. It's all down to their genes and DNA, which chromosomes allow which spells to be carried out the best, and which worst. Obviously it depends on practise, how often a wizard practises and to get the best results together, of course. Muggles are at the other end, unable to metabolise the energy for spells. Squibs are just on the cusp, magic influencing their lives of course but unable to utilise magic, but are still part of the magical world. Potions 17 and 19 show this to be so, but you'll have to check it with a wizard or witch at Hogwarts or in the Order as well as with Harry. Just bear in mind the continuum and the wave-particle duality of energy if you refine any more, it's not just the environment either but for all we know Petunia Dursley could have been a witch. As for your science, you are more than proficient Severus, I am very proud…"

Snape waved his wand a little too late and the Order were staring at him as the last sentence was aired, expressed in a reverential and encouraging tone. He stood silent once more, offering neither to explain what Cecilia had written or comment upon it. Instead he caught sight of Lupin's face, and the rivulets of tears on his cheeks.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly, nodding to the stone-silent Snape. "We are investigating how she was discovered."

All at once the room erupted into a din. The wizards talked loudly amongst themselves, speculating on the manner in which her discovery had come about.

"…actually Tonks and her new husband went to visit them…" commented Bertie Wergs nodding towards Mad-eye Moody.

"…she has also had owls from other people, ourselves included," said Molly Weasley, turning to Dumbledore and trying to make herself heard.

"It could be any number of things," commented Sturgis Podmore reasonably. "Perhaps the spells cast upon the cottage were breakable in some way?"

"Yes, but it seems suspiciously coincidental that Cecilia Frobisher was discovered the day before her family were killed and that her goddaughter only just survived," replied Bathsheba sagely. From the front of the meeting Snape stood silently still. Dumbledore stood still too before eventually he put his wand to his throat.

"Silence!" he boomed, shocking the Order into the aforementioned state of affairs. Those who were standing sat back down and those already seated stared back at Dumbledore respectfully.

"The cottage in which Remus – " he looked at Remus quickly, " – and Mrs Frobisher have lived in together for the last three months has been protected by the greatest of concealment spells the world has ever seen. I know this to be true for it was in fact I who cast them." He nodded slowly around the Order.

"However any correspondence whether through owl, floo or apparition may have breached the concealment and we must only assume that this has happened – Remus – " he added as Lupin got slowly and awkwardly to his feet again, his posture somehow slumped more than usual and his eyes darting around the room as if uneasy and unrestful.

"The fact is that it could be anything that caused her to be discovered," went on Remus, his voice low as if in warning, "but the main reason that she was discovered was her working on the potion – " he looked accusingly at Snape through an untidy fringe. "How many times have you dropped in when Cecilia had been alone – did you not think to cover your tracks?"

"It was not just me I have to say, Lupin," replied Snape quickly, Remus's warning tone equalled by Snape's accusatory one. "Your prominent rise to the notice of the Ministry may have equally put Cecilia at risk; your ex-girlfriend dropping in to tell her about her happy nuptials and taking her away from the cottage for a time…all occasions where she could have been traced."

To the Order there was a moment when it looked as if Remus was going to fly at Snape from his position six feet away from him. Instead he said nothing, looking away before glancing back up and addressing the Order.

"All of you are connected with the potion and some communicating with her…why was she allowed to continue? She had resigned!" Nobody answered for a moment, and then Minerva McGonagall up and stood next to Dumbledore.

"She knew of the risks, Remus. It was her choice to go on researching the work. It is also likely that she may have initiated communication which intercepted by the Ministry also."

"…and now she is gone to goodness knows where – " he broke off, his tone raising in amplitude and pitch as he drew up to his full height.

"Effective from this moment I withdraw my allegiance to the Order. I stand down my duties and break my pledge. I stand alone now, with – " But before he could continue his forthright declaration Dumbledore raised a hand, glancing at Sirius who had also now standing up. Without saying anything Sirius put a hand on Remus's shoulder and he allowed his friend to lead him slowly upstairs.

Once they were gone the Order looked across to Dumbledore waiting for a cue. They didn't have to wait long. He nodded around them again, clasping his hands together reflectively.

"There is to be no more conjecture regarding what led to the near capture of Cecilia Frobisher last Wednesday. Sufficed to say she is safe hands with a member of the Order as secret-keeper. The potion and everything that surrounds its research is with Severus who is, I am assured, now in the position to complete the potion to its completion." At Dumbledore's conclusion Snape slid back to his seat, saying nothing and listening intently.

"Now, my whereabouts last week, I appreciate your patience and trust that you have shown over my absence. Those who held the fort here at headquarters, I thank you," Dumbledore bowed low gracefully before the Order. "The business to which I attended was, in fact, connected to our plan to overcome and defeat Lord Voldermort." A whisper, carried lightly around the room on the air, circulated as a breeze amongst the witches and wizards of the Order. Dumbledore had now got their full attention and he held it, unmatched.

"It is likely that he will strike soon; Lord Voldermort seeks a secret held in the Department of Mysteries within the Ministry of Magic. This we knew before," Dumbledore conceded, stroking his long wispy beard. "However we now know that it is something within the Department, aside from the Prophecy that he believes is something than that will empower him more than he could ever hope to imagine, something he believed to be gone forever. Alas, we have no further details; our espionage no longer penetrates within Voldermort's inner circle of followers." Few noticed him glance to one side, and fewer than even one of them noticed he had looked at Snape.

"All we can say for sure is that he will launch an attack on the Ministry, specifically the Department of Mysteries, in order to discover what Voldermort so badly wants to acquire. We must be alert and ready, not only with the potion but also ourselves. Yes, Kingsley?"

"What do you know of the Ministry's standpoint with regard to muggles?" Dumbledore watched Kingsley Shacklebolt move further forward, past some of the seated witches and wizards. "For example, the Security Act?"

"I am aware that muggles are being prevented from entering wizard premises," continued Dumbledore carefully, "including the shameful events at Diagonalley." Murmurs of agreement emanated from the Order as Kingsley nodded slowly.

"The Ministry now plans to extend the Security Act to the befuddlement of any muggle who has knowledge and contact with our world within the last two years – "

" – outrageous! – " At Molly Weasley's outburst Dumbledore nodded.

" – this would include wizards whose children are currently in attendance at Hogwarts and those who are married to muggles – "

"They can't do that!"

"Shocking!" Dumbledore held up a hand.

"It is with regret that I did not organise for us to convene earlier. Many events have unfolded over the last few days which have changed the face of our operation. We must take this opportunity now to share our findings, from our watches, our fortuitous or planned information collection. It is now vital for the defence of our plan which, when it is carried out, will negate the necessity for the Ministry to impose such legislation as well as to rid the world of the evil that is Lord Voldermort."

Half an hour later and the meeting was over. The wizards and witches mingled with one another sharing with one another conversations as well as Molly's copious refreshment. The mood appeared to have been buoyed by Dumbledore's stirring summary of their situation and around the living room bunches of two and three wizards clustered together discussing tasks, assignments and responsibilities with renewed enthusiasm.

In a quiet corner of the house, namely through the kitchen door that led to the small garden of the house two wizards stood apart from the rest, talking frankly with one another. Severus Snape held a hand out to Albus Dumbledore, uncurling it to reveal a small vial of potion.

"You are happy I take it, with the gains that have now been made?"

"Indeed," nodded Snape, folding his hand again before stowing away the vial. "There is now no need to involve Cecilia Frobisher further in this; we have what we need."

"Then you are aware of my destination these past few days?" Snape nodded slowly.

"And you have what he needs?" Snape patted his robe, saying nothing.

"Then you need to take it to him. I am concerned that he has started on a path which may cause us to lose him, and Cecilia Frobisher too. Lupin's reaction this evening was enough to tell me as much."

"He should have what I made before," said Snape emphatically, "there was enough for six months in the vial I originally provided. In addition wolfsbane is one of the prime ingredients in the potion for Mr. Potter – " he patted the outside of his robe absently, " – this could be reblended – " He stopped as Dumbledore rested a hand lightly on Snape's arm.

"I fear for his state of mind, Severus and I fear all reason has left him. It may delay our chief aim and then, other factors might do that for us…"

…upstairs, two floors up, and a conversation between two friends was continuing, not least with a more subdued defensiveness on behalf of one party to the relief of the other one.

"She recovered, Moony, because she survived the first one." Sirius was not at all happy with the way that the conversation was going but it was better than half an hour ago when he had had to put a silencing spell on the study lest the Order below heard Remus's bark of hurtful mistrust. At least now he wasn't threatening to challenge Snape to a duel or something of that vein but the information that Remus had shared with Sirius was at best worrying and at the worst very frightening indeed.

"It was like, she needed a little bit to start with, the one I stupidly gave her," he added, expecting the look of betrayal that Remus had thrown his way. "Then – "

"What was it that Snape gave her to bring her round…Padfoot: you seem to be more his friend than mine these days!" Remus snapped as Sirius paused for well-needed thought.

"He asked me to perform the spell…he needed a pureblood wizard," justified Sirius quickly, pacing around again in front of the fireplace. By contrast Remus was staring out of the window into the now-dark back garden of Number 12.

"Why?"

"It was to do with a particular type of energy, so said Snivellus at any rate," replied Sirius conciliatorily. "Look, you can stay here with me," conceded Sirius, close to the point of giving up. "You can take my room and I'll have my brother's. In any case your cottage is swarming with Ministry officials so you can't go back there, and you can't continue to hang out with a pack of wolves."

He knew he had overstepped the mark when Remus Lupin turned from the study window. Instead of arguing or vocalising his disquiet at his friend's words however he changed the subject.

"I just miss her, that's all. So very, very much." Sirius took the chance of walking over to his friend and patting him firmly on the back.

"I know Moony, but she's safe. She's – "

" – safe?" finished Remus hollowly, stepping back from Sirius. "Unless you are the secret keeper, not Snape, then how do you know? For all we know she – "

"She's got it in her mind that she can cure you," interrupted Sirius quickly before breaking off when he saw the expression on Remus's face. He was not in the right frame of mind to listen to reason, Sirius realised suddenly. He didn't want to know what she thought, only where she was and that he wasn't…couldn't be with her. A week with wild wolves in the very remotest parts of the country would probably leave him feeling like that too.

And then…

….the phenomenon was something that Dumbledore had conveyed to him barely half an hour before the meeting. Despite being the wrong time of the month for his friend to become a werewolf his wolfish traits had been elicited over the last few days through his opting to live in a wolf pack, so much so that his emotions were likely to cause a mid-month transformation, something Sirius had only ever witnessed once and even then he and James had been very lucky.

"Do you have your potion, my old friend?" Sirius made his way back to one of the wing-backed chairs that faced the study window knowing that he needed to calm Remus if he were to save him from transforming now. "Do you have it on you?" Remus said nothing and turned soundlessly back towards the window. Eventually he turned to look at Sirius, and nodded.

"Why?"

"Just wondering," he replied truthfully, folding a leg over the other so his right ankle rested upon his left knee. "Humour me Moony, especially if you are going to be here a while, have you got it with you?"

Turning back towards the window, Remus patted his outer robe pocket before letting his right arm fall limply to his side.

"No matter where she is, Lupin, she will always love you – " Sirius paused as a knock at the door interrupted his sentiment. He called out to the visitor, telling them to go away. Instead, the doorknob turned and Severus Snape entered the study.

"Go away," growled Remus, his hackles rising as Snape stood in the doorway.

"I think you should do as he says," reiterated Sirius, getting to his feet.

"Why?!" roared Remus suddenly, taking a few murderous steps towards Snape. To his credit Snape remained exactly where he was, watching Lupin stride past Sirius bearing down upon him.

"I need her to be safe," replied Snape his intonation firm and even.

"You? Considering her safety?"

"Why do you think I made the wolfsbane in the first place? I brought the potion to you because of her, Lupin," Snape spat back.

"You would do well to stop mothering her, Severus," added Sirius, a tinge of warning in his voice. Not warning him off, but warning him away. "Next you'll be saying it was Potter's fault that she was found…" At Sirius's word silence reigned momentarily. Snape shifted his weight between each foot, glancing first at Remus and then at Sirius.

"Harry's fault?" Sirius looked at Remus, whose face had become so stiff it rivalled that of Snape on a good day.

"He apparently communicated with her too."

Without saying anything Remus fixed his stare forward, marching across the landing and turning right towards Sirius's bedroom, the street lamps from the adjacent street beaming their electric sodium yellow along the passageway and illuminating his diminishing shadow. Sirius pushed past Snape and followed him, stopping dead when he heard the lock in the door click closed.

"Cosy," commented Snape next to Sirius's ear. His voice startled Sirius making him jump.

"Severus!" he gasped, turning to look at Snape. "Still peering in keyholes I see?" Snape's face remained impassive and he ignored the barb, refusing to rise to it. Defeated, Sirius turned to face Snape and turned up the corners of his mouth, which for all the world could have been interpreted as a smile.

"He'll be okay; he'll sleep it off." Sirius began to make his way back up the corridor and turned right back towards the study. Snape followed him, keeping a few steps behind him as he waited for Sirius to invite him in which he did and offered Snape a seat. He shook his head, remaining silent.

"I can understand why it had to be done," Sirius continued, producing his wand and conjuring a pot of tea. "He is devastated, though. The love of his life…gone!" Without saying a word Snape bobbed his head once in acknowledgement.

"Believe me, if there had been any other way," he added, watching Sirius stir his tea, "but…we had to act quickly. I sealed the secret-keeper pact with Dumbledore moments before I – and they – arrived. She is safe." Looking up from his char-making ritual momentarily Sirius stared at him for a brief couple of seconds before nodding back.

"It has to be done for all out sakes…are you sure you wouldn't like a cup?" Snape eyed the teapot for a second before shaking his head. To Sirius's gesture towards the empty seat opposite Snape conceded to comfort and sat stiffly.

"You are a good friend, Bl – Sirius," commented Snape, darting glances around the study. "A wizard with such an affliction is in need of it." Reaching into his robe he pulled out the wolfsbane potion that he had agreed with Dumbledore to prepare, placing it on the table between them. "Should he need it there should be a sufficient quantity for a month." Sirius paused mid-sip of tea and looked at the vial.

"He says he has some – " replied Sirius, sipping at the tea, " – but in any case, thank you." Snape nodded briefly.

"Tell me," continued Sirius conversationally, "it must feel an awful relief to be free of Lord Voldermort's power over you." Snape shot him a look, saying nothing. Sirius smiled.

"I do beg your pardon, I only ask – " Sirius sighed and lowered his teacup. "Regulus never got that reprieve. What does it feel like?"

What does it feel like? Severus Snape's thoughts reproduced Sirius's ill-considered question as he fought to ascertain what it did feel like. Relief was one over-riding feeling…for all the irritation on the deep-ground scar that branded his left forearm it still felt somewhat odd that it did not develop into searing white-hot agony after a time. It felt like…as if a wave of water so mighty and strong, penning up energy and power behind it ready to smash onto a calm beach had suddenly been diminished to nothing, to glass-still tranquillity. The mental relief had been the hardest to cope with however, and it had caused more than one lapse in attention.

"The Dark Lord has left me forever thanks to Mrs Frobisher," replied Snape silkily. "This leaves me with ample time to complete your godson's potion. Again, thanks to Mrs Frobisher. Harry Potter and I share one thing in common and that is eternal gratitude to her for her selfless acts."

"How long will it take?" Sirius asked, glancing at the potion. "At what rate are you able to do this, given the changes you now have to make, alone?" Snape exhaled, bringing his eyes to rest on Sirius's teacup, before moving up to his dark brown, almost black eyes.

"It could take years," he admitted, "although we have narrowed it down to a small range of ingredients. The likelihood is that we, that is to say I, will have managed to reduce this significantly. One, maybe two months?"

"We don't have time," he added, looking away from Sirius," especially if what has been discussed this afternoon takes hold." Sirius turned to Snape sharply, his eyes glowing with undiminished excitement and danger. "What if I were to say if I were to tell you that Harry needn't go through any of this? Cecilia said…"

Sirius suddenly broke off and hurried towards the door, making sure it was shut before placing a sealing charm in the door.

"Cecilia told you about the continuum?" At his words Snape could see that he had lost Sirius, who paused mid-walk back to his chair. "Cecilia believes there is more to this than just heritable blood. There is a certain reason for the potion not working, something we overlooked last time. That there is a continuum, right from the most powerful wizard, to the least and that ability can be altered or abilities could be lost and gained."

Sirius looked far more interested than Snape gave him credit for and, as his old adversary pushed him for more information a shadow of suspicion rested in his mind. Snape watched Sirius carefully, as he used to when they were children, waiting for the briefest signs of betrayal.

"She believes that the extent to which you are a wizard depends not only on your parentage but also on your situation…and your emotions. Power can depend on what you believe too, something upon which Voldermort relies. How many otherwise superb wizards have lost their nerve and their ability to perform even the simplest of spells in his presence?"

"You would know," replied Sirius, matter-of-factly.

"Indeed." Snape nodded slowly. "This has happened on many occasions, when the followers of the Dark Lord were tired of muggle sport. And also," he continued, "emotional factors, choices to be made about magical ability and how one lives their lives."

For a moment, there was silence. And then Sirius continued. He sat forward in his chair and leaned towards Snape.

"Henrietta. She chose not to be a witch, Severus. She gave up that right and chose to be a muggle after her parents were killed. And for that…and because I could not accept her…Regulus took her." As the awe and wonder of his own revelation spread across Sirius's face Snape in turn nodded.

"I have further evidence, scientific evidence, to bear this out." From his robes he dug out the traces of DNA, a little crumpled around the edges but the bands clearly visible.

"You see here?" Snape leaned forward and held the traces close to Sirius, pointing to a wider band to the centre-left of the chromatogram. "In each of the wizard traces she tested, Cecilia isolated this band, which she called "W"." Sirius nodded where Snape indicated. "Now here, on her own trace, and that of Arabella Figg, no W band. " Sirius nodded in agreement again. "Now these…" Against the flickery light of the study's candelabra Snape held a further trace, and he looked across at Sirius, waiting for the confirmation.

"Which wizard is this then?" Sirius asked out of narrative discourse, examining the traces. But Snape shook his head, turning over the trace and revealing the name of the genetic donor, described in Cecilia's neat handwriting.

"But it can't be!" exclaimed Sirius, pulling the trace out of Snape's hand and looking at it on both sides. "If what you said…this can't be Petunia Dursley's; it's got that "W" band, like the others, and she's a – "

" – muggle, I know," finished Snape, nodding. "Now, look at this one." He handed Sirius a further trace, getting him to hold them both up to the window of Sirius's study so the light shone through clearly as he placed one on top of the other.

"On this one, the W band's still there, but not in the same place as the one on Petunia Dursley's," said Sirius, pointing at the band which he believed to be displaced. "Another muggle?"

"Draco Malfoy," said Snape, shaking his head and retrieving the DNA traces from Sirius's hand.

"Did Cecilia know about these?" Snape shook his head, and Sirius started to pace, rubbing his eyes and temples as he sought to take it all in.

"So what does this all mean? For the potion? And for Harry?" He watched as Snape extracted further traces from his pocket, including that of Ted Tonks and Sirius smiled to himself.

"Well firstly, they cannot remain in my possession. The witch who has replaced Cecilia under ministry orders has been further charged to uncover the Universal Link. And I'm doing my best to keep her from doing so. Which is why I need to ask if these traces can be stored here." Snape extended his hand, the rest of the Cecilia's traces bunched within his grip, and Sirius nodded, taking them.

"And the potion?"

"I have enough of an understanding through these to be getting on with it, although progress has been slow due to Tabitha Penwright."

"The ministry's muggle studies teacher?" asked Sirius, trying to keep up.

"Precisely." Snape stroked his chin before folding his arms. "However her job in the ministry was in the Department of Mysteries, so she has few talents, including teaching."

"So the kids are loving her as much as they love you," chuckled Sirius. Then his face turned ashen as he took in Snape's expression and he shot an apologetic look to Snape.

"Indeed," intoned Snape looking past Sirius, but Sirius extended a hand.

"I apologise," he said, looking as if he meant it. "Old habits," he continued, as Snape looked at him with mistrustful uncertainty for a few seconds before inclining his head in a brief nod.

"So Cecilia was pretty much on the right lines," continued Snape, taking Sirius's hand. "From this evidence it would seem that emotionally, or through willpower, just as much as blood will determine wizardly magical ability. It is a premise I am now incorporating into Harry's potion." Sirius nodded before frowning suddenly.

"You said she was an Unspeakable?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"I didn't," replied Snape, refolding his arms. "I said she worked in the department of mysteries."

"She's a Mysteriour?!" exclaimed Sirius, pacing towards the study window. "By all that's magical, they really do want to find the Universal Link then, and be sure about it."

"So what does her working at the Department of Mysteries have to do with all this?" said Snape, leaning back and looking at Sirius curiously. "And that Potter needn't go through all this – what did you mean?"

"If you are the secret-keeper, will you confide?" replied Sirius quickly, turning from the window and referring to the millennia-old tradition of sharing a secret for which you have sworn an oath to protect with to a trusted other under the same conditions as the original was sworn. Snape said nothing for a moment before turning from Sirius and making his way towards the door.

"Fine," said Sirius, realising that perhaps the twenty eight or so years of mutual hatred and mistrust could not be put aside that easily as to share this level of intimacy. "But maybe you could – " he broke off as a screaming howl reverberated around 12, Grimmauld Place and past the frozen figure of Snape Sirius strode automatically as if attuned to the hideous sound automatically, pacing past him furiously.

"What the – " began Snape, extending a hand as Sirius passed him, but Sirius shook him off.

"I have to go. It's his time, out of month," he continued, hand on the knob of the study door. "I hope to Merlin that he managed to find the potion in time."

"If only I could help," said Snape, and Sirius paused, flicking the corners of his mouth towards the imposing wizard.

"She wants to cure him," said Sirius, as he turned the knob and threw open the door and Snape hurried, shoulder to shoulder with him towards the baying howl that was coming from the end of the house. "You can help with the wolfsbane – it sounds like he hasn't taken it," he added, frowning at Snape. "Which, if I can get to him in time, means we don't need to get to the Forbidden Forest, and he won't be at risk from the Ministry." Turning left Sirius and Snape headed towards the dreadful sound that was coming from Sirius's bedroom. "She truly is a remarkable woman," Sirius added as they got to it before falling silent to the scratching sound that was coming from within before a scratching and attacking of the door itself caused wood panelling splinters to erupt from it.

"He's transformed," said Sirius as the sound of breakable ornaments being smashed emanated from around the door.

"Stay back," shouted Snape in warning as the figure of Molly Weasley appeared, her face a picture of concern at the end of the landing. He turned back to Sirius, who was trying the handle. "Does he have the potion? Will it work after the transformation?" Sirius stared at her momentarily and she held her expression firm. "Dumbledore explained everything to us." And then she turned on her heel and scurried away.

"It will soothe the effects," replied Sirius, leaping away as more of the wood panelling was ripped away from the lower frame by a large, well-claw-endowed paw.

"It's no use, I've got to try to get in there and find it. I'll be too late if I get the other one. Can you cover my back?" He turned and looked at Snape, eyes full of concern. "He's really suffering," he added sadly.

"Get on with it then," snapped Snape as more of the panelling broke away and he turned the knob of the door as Sirius in the shape of his canine alter-ego leapt to his paws and stood alert before bounding into his room. Snape followed him, wand raised. To the left and right were remnants of what had once been very expensive furniture, now very expensive firewood. The long curtains on the bed hung limply, shredded through to ribbons, some of the strands covered the bed, whose covers too were beribboned, the fabric strips lying in piles of feathers, presumably originating from the massacred mattress.

A dreadful howl reverberated around the oak panels of the room, chilling Snape to the bone as he stepped beside the dog Sirius and, gripping his wand tighter in his hand stopped himself from looking at the werewolfish Lupin cowering, it appeared, in the corner of Sirius's bedroom.

From the floor Snape followed with his eyes the trail of mangled cloth that appeared to have been once the curtains to the limp pile of ragged clothing scattered in a heap to one side which he knew to be Lupin's. Striding towards them, Snape intended to search the pockets for the wolfsbane when a low warning growl and slow movement caught his eye, and Snape jumped visibly.

Before him, Sirius was apparently defending him from the pre-attacking Lupin, his wolfish form was bent as if ready to pounce. Snape gripped his wand yet tighter still as his eyes searched the pile of clothing desperately until finally a glint of glass gleamed gloriously from one end of ragged coat pocket.

And then the following happened, which probably could not have been more co-ordinated if it had been choreographed by Agnes de Mille. Snape made a run for Lupin's clothing; at the same time Sirius began to bark furiously in Lupin's direction who had chosen that same moment to launch himself, fully befanged towards Snape who had, within seconds, reached the vial. Snape's return course was interrupted by Sirius however as he bowled into Snape causing the vial to fly out of his hands. Both wizard and dog watched the trajectory of the glass bottle as the shadow of Lupin's lupine form was cast over them. Lupin leapt and, as he did so, snapped at Snape, his jaws closing around the wolfsbane vial as, snarling, he chewed at it before landing on top of Sirius, who in turn landed on Snape.

After a few moments of struggling the consequences took effect, with the werewolf Lupin rolling back and the dog Sirius bounding off Snape as the wizard pushed him off, panting.

"Now, perhaps I will leave you," huffed Snape as he finally got to his feet. "Hmph," he exhaled painfully as he examined the scene, thinking about the words, with hindsight he perhaps shouldn't have uttered. I'll cover your back, certainly Sirius! Indeed!

Glancing between the two animals Snape nodded again, both at Remus, whose wolverine form was lying hunched, as if now lucid, blood dripping from his mouth, and Sirius who was back on his pads.

"I'll leave you two gentlemen for your moonlit stroll," continued Snape, smoothing down his robes as he continued to look between them. "Good talking to you, Sirius."

As Snape closed the ruined door to Sirius Black's bedroom, limping and dishevelled, he merely nodded to the group of Order members – Arthur Weasley, Bathsheba Braddle and Kingsley Shacklebolt amongst them – who were standing clustered at the top of the stairs and, as one, were looking at him with deep concern.

Saying nothing, Snape reached into the folds of his robes as began to descend the stairs and he began to turn the few tufts of sandy-coloured wolf-hair around his fingers.

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Draco's second week at Smeltings was not going well. For a start, there was the work, which was a very big part of his life there. His tack of ignoring most of the things that were going on around him in lessons had turned out to be quite a good strategy but his problems did not lie intrinsically with the work. Teachers would allow him to do as much as he could, which in some cases was not a great deal but it was when he was with the other lads, at dinner; during prep; during free time. Despite his social isolation from these muggles some of them reminded him of himself: rich and arrogant and were they to have magical ability he might have been in their awe.

His connection to the muggle boys here was incidental to the work he was undertaking. Draco had been most concerned with collecting the science that he needed to furnish his father with what the Dark Lord required but how was he supposed to discover what he needed when he barely understood any of the lessons? How was he supposed to know what was relevant?

Draco supposed that he would need to find a brainbox like that mudblood Granger, the muggle equivalent, who would be able to explain it all to him. But above all this, Draco was dreadfully unhappy. All that was keeping him at the wretched place was the displeasure his father would display were he to fail, and that kind of displeasure was not very healthy. And besides, he told himself sharply, it was actually an honour to do the Dark Lord's bidding, knowing that one day the scourge of the world, the magicless muggles, would eventually be done away with.

Lying on his back, school lessons going on in the buildings a few hundred yards away and with the warm summer sun irradiating him most pleasantly Draco Malfoy reflected on how difficult it actually was not to do magic in the muggle world. He had nearly got discovered when he had involved himself in Big D's fight, restraining himself in time and reminding himself that he would get discovered and lose everything if the ministry sent him an underage wizard caution.

Magic had almost got Darren Malloy into hot water when, during a maths lesson which he was surprisingly able to follow, he alikened the Fibonacci series to the number of players and balls in a game of Quidditch. Fortunately the boys had taken no notice and the teacher, though frowning a little, did not ask him to repeat his analogy.

Draco put his hands behind his head and raised it a few inches from off the ground, looking for others who were likely to join him shortly. From his vantage point lying flat down on the soft, dry grass, he was undetectable from all angles courtesy of the landscape contours. Not that he had worked that one out for himself, indeed: those who were also seeking to amuse themselves in ways that involved anything other than academic pursuits were those whose company he was expecting. Outcasts. The spat-upon. The geeks. Yes, they were muggles, but their bad attitude towards everyone and everything was the glue that held their weird world together.

It hadn't been like that at the start of the week before, thought Draco, lying back down on the grass and becoming geographically invisible. The first few days had been the worst and the already well-established muggle fifth years had wasted no time in testing their new classmate. Many had been far from kind in their acceptance of him in their lives and a range of misfortunes had befallen Darren Malloy. These included teasing about his accent and derision for his disinterest of all things sporty which, to their incredulous amazement, he claimed never to have heard of before. That was one mistake he wouldn't make again, and the masochistic side of his mind reminded him of the conversation that he was having with three other muggle boys who had cornered him one evening. It had taken a lot of willpower not to turn on them with his wand.

"You can't be serious!" one of them declared, standing a good four inches taller than him.

"I am telling you, I don't know what football is!" he had repeated firmly.

Had it not been for Dudley Dursley who had wandered past a few moments later then he was sure he would have been on the receiving end of a rather hard muggle punch. Dudley had said nothing much, just glowered at the boys who had seemed to interpret it as a threat. That had prompted Draco to intervene in the fight of the year at the park.

And that had somehow sealed a kind of strange allegiance. In his own mind Draco refused to call it friendship but it was better than his association with Crabbe and Goyle, who followed him around with dumb admiration and awe and hadn't a brain between them. With Big-D there was a kind of equivalence.

Draco looked up again from behind the rock checking for people approaching and sure enough two figures were ambling towards him. From the look of them they were Elrick and Chree. He smiled as he considered the other two members of their non-group.

Chree was a goth whose real name was Jane and who didn't sleep in a coffin but at the local girls' independent school, Weavers. She was barely ever there choosing to spend much of her time at Smeltings in the company of Elrick Bruce, a dweeb by proud reputation (he even had the T-shirt) who would have made the entire under 18 population of computer geeks look like the in-crowd.

Fighting every instinctive urge in his body to reduce the pair to mere shadows of the shadows of themselves instead Draco narrowed his eyes and instead focused his anger on the wizards who had put him in this situation. Many, many times since he had arrived at Smeltings Draco had been dreaming of the moment he would be leaving, even being taken to task about daydreaming in lessons over plans of liberty.

Sticking a hand above the geographical feature (which was theoretically aiding and abetting his skiving) and waving to the two muggles before pulling down his arm promptly. As he watched his two tickets to freedom wave back in greeting Draco smiled. Things were getting better and better.

88888888

Things had gone from bad to worse and now, at the end of her second week at Hogwarts Tabitha Penwright dreaded her lessons. Classes would line up outside the muggle studies classroom in stony silence heads bowed, turning away from her, staring at the ceiling or straight at her unblinkingly. In she would see and seat them swishing her wrist as they began to sit enchanting the books over to them and opening them up onto the correct page indicating to the students that they were required to copy it out before answering the short end-of-section questions. But what Tabitha could not understand was the resentment that these pupils displayed even though she was carrying out each task as thoroughly as she could, according to the prescribed practice of Dolores Umbridge.

Sitting on her bed and gazing into the low fireglow Tabitha's mind fell upon the incident that had taken place that very afternoon. The fourth year students had been swiftly replaced by the fifth years, books had been distributed and quills extracted somewhat reluctantly as usual from robes in order to complete an hour of copying and recall. The murmuring and muttering of disobedient children began half an hour in, breaking the silence and causing Tabitha's attention to be called to the class.

Getting to her feet she had employed the classroom management technique of emitting sparks from her wand which her classes knew as a signal for attention. However her ineptitude to pull off this fundamentally easy spell had resulted in titters and sniggers, erupting from behind shielded mouths as the sparks puffed out in small points of smoke.

Shame and embarrassment had flooded Tabitha which she had turned into a raised voice telling the class to continue with their work. But the hubbub continued and soon Tabitha had found herself knee-deep in the unreserved talking of the class.

"What is the problem?!" she had demanded, eventually getting (voice loud spell) to take effect and silence had descended upon the room.

"Professor Penwright," began Hermione Granger forthrightly, "the problem seems to be in these three chapters here – "

"I DID not ASK for you to TELL me!" declared Tabitha forcefully. An uneasy silence fell around the classroom.

"Professor Penwright." A raised hand, like a lonely tree stood proud of the throng. Harry Potter was staring at her.

"Mr. Potter?" Harry put his hand down and glanced around his peers.

"We…er, we are just a bit confused about something in the textbook," he ventured carefully.

"Oh yes? And what might that be?" Harry looked at Ron next to him as one or two mutters behind him formed a backdrop to his proto-query.

"Well," he continued, consulting the text book, "it says here that muggles are not educated in a school and instead the parents teach what is necessary for basic survival. It says that it is the deep-rooted desire of every muggle to undermine everything in our world. And later on it says that muggles are ignorant of anything magical, choosing to ignore it."

"And?" All eyes were on Hermione Granger, whose own hand was now raised and she looked at Tabitha as if to clarify Harry's meaning. "Miss Granger?"

"What Harry means to say is that, regardless of the fact that the first statement is entirely incorrect, there are contradictions in the book itself. If muggles are ignorant of magic, how can they want to undermine government?"

This time Tabitha fell silent. Her mind recalled the proper procedure for dealing with a student with bold and audacious opinions. Around her, her class too fell silent, waiting uncomfortably.

"Everything in the book is a fact and you will not question it. Miss Granger I will see you in the staffroom at six o'clock this evening."

She had not felt at all at ease in issuing any of her pupils to copy using the quill with which Umbridge had bestowed upon her; despite the Undersecretary's insistence that it was entirely the best method for preventing repeat performances of unruly behaviour Tabitha just could not conceive of her making a student use one. There were other punishments though that she could use and once she had conveyed Hermione Granger that her spare time would be spent assisting the house elves around the castle a silent, if perturbed, atmosphere descended upon the muggle studies classroom as she set them to further copying out.

Getting slowly to her feet Tabitha scrolled her mental timeline forward to the message that had been left for her in her fireplace that evening. Umbridge. She was to visit her that weekend to discuss her role at Hogwarts. Dolores had not said when but she didn't care: at least she had not come on a weekday to see her teach…to see the unwilling compliance and overhear the chanting…

…Fro-bi-sher…

…pallid, pasty Penwright…

Well, that gave her less than a day. Tomorrow it was Saturday and no lessons at all. She could perhaps make some headway with the Universal Link in the morning.

Making her way to the desk Tabitha shook her head as if to quieten the taunts. A less painful thought crossed her mind, which was: if Dolores Umbridge was coming to see her that weekend then she would expect progress to have been made with Snape. And that would be made a lot easier if he could actually be found. Other than when he was teaching Severus Snape could not be found. As for Harry, when he was not on the Quidditch pitch (his participation, McGonagall had explained as Tabitha had attempted to prevent him from practising again was vital to his health and wellbeing) the information that he had imparted over the last week had been almost incomprehensible and despite reverting to a less authoritative approach Tabitha was none the wiser.

Perhaps if she wrote down what she already knew, that would – no! It was no use! Screwing up the parchment that she had pulled from a pile on the table before her and throwing her quill into the drawer from which she had extracted it Tabitha threw her chair back. It was ten o'clock: Harry Potter would surely be free from his sporting pursuits now, besides Umbridge had decreed that all secrets and information pertaining to the Universal Link be revealed to her. It obviously needed some coaxing.

Pulling on her lightweight robe she brushed some lint from the beige fabric, pulling it around her shoulders before stepping out –

– not stepping out. Stepping out of the door of her room had been her intention but the voices of students heading down the opposite passageway, presumably from the staffroom had stayed her step. She waited for them to pass by and a sinking feeling of dread began to hurtle like a lift with a broken cable to the ground floor of a block of flats.

"…I think she's vile…I mean, making out that the work is right. We know it's all a load of Hippogriff-shit and she makes us copy it out over and over again!" Tabitha held her breath.

"Pasty Penwright," agreed another voice and Tabitha felt her face flush with shame at her student-perpetuated nickname. "There's more colour in Binns than in her. In fact Binns could teach muggle studies better than she could, and he's a dead ghost of a wizard!"

"Right. She's so strict. I mean, Snape is strict, but at least we get results. Is she doing it deliberately or is she really that thick that she thinks we're going to fall for the stuff…"

Stepping back Tabitha closed the door and leaned against it, tears coursing down her face as she clenched her fists to help prevent herself from shaking too much.

She wanted to leave. She could leave all this behind her, go back to the office and see Vincento. If she ran away from here she wouldn't be able to go back to the Ministry. The longing in her stomach for her job and her mystery wove into her mind, soothing her injured feelings. She would be there soon enough, once this job was done, once this was all over. It was all that she had ever wanted to do, not specifically in the ministry, but anywhere, just getting on. She was not brilliant, not like her brother. When her brother did anything he made it sing in perfect luminosity. The most Tabitha had achieved was going to Hogwarts and doing badly there, and then working in a government position unravelling mysteries.

A few minutes later, tears well stemmed and kneeling before the fire she was speaking to her mother again. As expected her brother Robert had worked a minor miracle vocationally and had been promoted. His wife had given birth to a baby girl whom they had christened Isabel and they had just moved house, renovating the previous one and sent Bobby, Isabel's older brother, off to Eton.

"But that's all going to change now Labour's in!" The scorn in her mother's voice cut through four hundred miles of geography and the ethereal floo. "They'll destroy everything that's good about the country and leave it in ruins!" Despite herself Tabitha felt herself nodding slowly as she recalled what her mother considered good about the country. Hanging and the cane in schools were amongst two of them. Single mothers and anyone who immigrated to Britain since the 1950s were another two.

"You lot don't get to vote, do you?" Tabitha shook her head. "Pity…" Mrs Penwright shook her head in disappointment and proceeded to describe the events surrounding the election of a Tony Blair as muggle Prime Minister.

"I've changed jobs," said Tabitha eventually when a suitable gap in the conversation arose.

"What, you've given up at that wretched school?" Her mother's face creased with uncertainty, through the flickering flames.

"Yes," declared Tabitha resolutely, "well no," she conceded feeling confused. "I'm still teaching at my old school but I'm here for the ministry collecting information for the Department of Mysteries." She stopped, waiting for her mother to give her inevitable forceful opinion.

"I know Sturgis is your father's cousin…I know he's one of them, but he put his neck out to get you that job, after you being here and wasting your life – " she broke off and Tabitha maintained the silence, "…well as long as powers don't go again an you shame yourself," she added helpfully, "you don't want to be seen to be ineffectual, even if you are."

And thus Ivy Penwright continued and, as a usual Tabitha listened. She tried not to let the pain show on her face. Since she could remember she always played second fiddle to her brother, even when her magical abilities began to show. Even when she got her letter to go to Hogwarts; it didn't impress her parents. They insisted on calling magic "it", "their world" or "her world; Tabitha had long ago gave up wondering whether her mother did it on purpose but she had to admit that Robert was brilliant at everything he touched whereas she, Tabitha, Robert's younger sister, had to work like a demon just to get by.

"Well, I hope that my work here will help to solve a large problem in the wizard world. Wizards are trying to sort it out and get rid of the threat, mum," she continued when her mother had finished. "There's also some danger to the m- the non magic community and there's some good but misguided wizards who have some information that could be useful. Sturgis is working there too," she added hopefully.

"That's interesting dear," her mother nodded, pursing her lips. "You know, Serina has just taken up needlepoint? She's such a dear sweet girl; Robert was very lucky to find her…I was showing her how she could add some detail to Isabel's clothing…"

And so it went on for another five minutes, until the telephone rang and Tabitha's mother excused herself from the conversation. Kneeling back on her heels, she watched the embers die to nothing before returning to their flame-orange colour.

Well, that was excellent, she thought to herself, annoyed. Very productive. Well, she thought as she got slowly up to her feet there was nothing else for it: time for Florence Branch's brand of elf help.

88888888

"Good morning, my dear!"

Vernon Dursley was sitting at the breakfast table when Cecilia made her way tentatively into it. Her heart sank as the large frame of the man wobbled heartily at his booming greeting. Smiling nervously and nodding she sat obediently at the chair that Mr Dursley was patting and she glanced across to Petunia Dursley whose back was away from the dining table cooking the breakfast.

"I'll be bringing Dudley home this morning, about eleven o'clock, so you will be able to start that tuition programme that you've devised." Cecilia nodded, saying nothing. Each morning that week had been the same and she realised that the best way to disengage from a long, drawn-out conversation about the intricate negotiations that the purchasing of drill bits from the Far East entailed was to nod politely and say nothing.

"So, what do you have in store for my son then? A little bit of – " he waved his hands over his steaming cup of tea " – chemistry, eh? Some – BOOM – physics?" He leaned over and nudged her in the arm and waggled his caterpillar eyebrows, chuckling, "biology…?"

"Hm-hm!" Mrs Dursley stood at Mr Dursley's left hand side, clearing her throat and frowning at her husband as she placed the toast rack and his breakfast plate firmly onto the table.

"Petunia, my darling," Mr Dursley replied, beaming a wide smile back to her. "Aren't you just as happy as I am that we have found ourselves such a treasure to teach our little Duddiekins?" He then irradiated Cecilia with the same oily smile like a strong flashlight in the dark. Petunia Dursley nodded slowly.

"Miss Wells, I have taken the liberty of returning your tutorial plan Dudley's work area over there." Petunia Dursley leaned forward and spoke to Cecilia, pointing to the pile of books that Dursley junior had thrown into a pile next to the television. "Mr Dursley was intrigued by the detail and sophistication of your work and he is convinced that our son will achieve what we expect of him." She glanced at her husband before making her way back to the kitchen. "A cup of tea, and toast?" Petunia asked over her shoulder.

"Thank you," Cecilia nodded before looking back at the table, and then across to Dudley's books. With luck, Mr Dursley would eat his breakfast in peace and then leave for work without talking to her again. Sadly, her luck was out and Mr Dursley began to speak to her on an obscure topic about plants that had been on the television the previous evening.

"But then Dudley'll be able to explain all of this to me very soon!" He looked across at Cecilia and winked. "It's all down to the teacher you know, Petunia. He's making progress now we've got a bit of life in the house…"

"Excuse me, Miss Wells," interrupted Mrs Dursley, sitting herself down at the table and buttering some toast for herself from the overflowing toast rack. "A package arrived for you with this morning's post." Vernon Dursley harrumphed like a deflating balloon as Cecilia excused herself from the table and, commenting that the last of her belongings had arrived made her way swiftly into the hall closing the living room door behind her. Relief. Relief to be away from the creepy, over-friendly interest of Mr Dursley and she sat on the bottom step of the stairs and looked at the brown paper package tied up with string.

The week had been long and Cecilia had had to bite her tongue on more than one occasion when Mrs Dursley spoke to her, which happened rarely, dreaming of the careers that her beloved Duddie-poos would be able to choose from after he had gained his qualifications. Not that it mattered to Cecilia what the results of her teachings would be for the reason she was here was not primarily to teach Dudley Dursley but professional pride would not allow her to make a bad job of it. So she had nodded in agreement as words like "not on a cold day in hell" sprang to mind when –

– the realisation of the addressee's hand registered in her mind and Cecilia dived towards the brown paper, forcing the string from around the inner objects shredding most of the outer wrapping in the process.

And then, then she was staring at her own things! Her belongings! The glorious originals that had made the last weeks' attempts to recreate some of it pale by the wayside. She flopped down onto the stairs looking at her latest two notebooks and her original copy of the scientists' encyclopaedia that she had left at Hogwarts when she left.

"Everything all right out there, Miss Wells?" Mr Dursley called through from the dining room as Cecilia held her belongings to her chest.

"Yes," she called back. "Thank you. I'm just going to – "

Turning quickly Cecilia made her way upstairs and stowed away her belongings as a swell of anger swirled in her stomach. Snape. He sent her her things. There was no note, from what she could tell, nothing to indicate why he had sent them, or when she might be returning to her home and to her Remus. Was she to presume that he needed her help?

Half an hour later and Cecilia willed herself to leave her bedroom (it was too disturbing to think of as Harry's). She made her way downstairs to prepare the work for Dudley who was just about to return with his father. As she sat down she smiled at Petunia Dursley who had washed up and was cleaning the kitchen. She didn't expect one in return: whereas Mr Dursley engaged her in unwelcome conversation Mrs Dursley barely spoke to her at all. She was polite and friendly but not very talkative and it wasn't just to her: the milkman, her neighbours, even her friend to whom she had introduced Cecilia on Wednesday when she stopped by to visit Petunia.

"Is everything to your satisfaction, Miss Wells?" asked Petunia suddenly, as Cecilia sat at the dining room table reading for the fifth time through her notes, many of which had to be amended to accommodate Dudley's ability (which, it had to be said, was a little on the scant side).

"Certainly, Mrs Dursley," Cecilia replied politely. "Is my tuition to your satisfaction?" Petunia Dursley paused in her cleaning of the oven, nodding before returning to the task in hand.

"I do hope so; I believe you did the right thing in correcting any underdeveloped areas of his education through tuition. I am sure he will make you proud." Petunia stopped again before nodding once more. Cecilia looked back to her work. It was clear that she wasn't going to get much out of her and she continued to look through a topic on homeostasis that would be accessible to Dudley Dursley although if he was as unco-operative as he had been the previous weekend he might just have got the concept by Christmas.

"I never got the chance to go to the school I wanted to," said Petunia suddenly. Cecilia looked up and realised she was standing right next to her. Sitting stiffly in a dining chair opposite Cecilia Petunia looked across at the books in front of Cecilia. "I could have worked hard enough but – " she broke off. "I don't remember learning much about all of this when I was there."

"If you would like to," ventured Cecilia, "you could learn with Dudley. I'm sure he'd enjoy it if you did." Petunia Dursley fixed her with a look for a second before glancing down and shaking her head.

"No, I'm far too old to be bothering with things like that. What do I need to learn that for now? The skills I have to be a mother…and a wife…" she stopped. "No. Thank you for your kind offer, Miss Wells. I do think that you need to concentrate your fullest efforts on Dudley." And with that she made her way back to the kitchen and continued to clean the cooker.

And then, before she knew it (and before she had a chance to return to her books that Snape had sent her) Dudley himself had returned home, storming immediately upstairs as soon as he had got through the door and throwing himself behind his bedroom door, sitting with his back to it. His father chased after him and spent a half an hour remonstrating with Dudley until he finally extracted him from his room.

With many a moan and groan and under the watchful eye of his parents who were keeping an eye on his tuition from the living room (Mr Dursley reading a newspaper and Mrs Dursley embroidering) Dudley began to listen to Cecilia and follow the programme laid out for him. She had abandoned the homeostasis and instead had opted for reactivity and she had set him a game that she would usually set for year 9 as part of their SATs revision.

As he worked Cecilia's mind drifted to her work upstairs, whether she had missed a note that Severus might have sent her, perhaps sandwiched in a couple of pages and then her thoughts drifted onto the cure that she had been working on for Remus. It had been on her mind a lot for the last few days and the longer she thought about the task the closer she felt to him.

A hormone balance, or imbalance might be a factor in his work. The moon and its influence on water too. Could there be a link there?

"Dad," said Dudley after a time. Cecilia blinked and returned to reality, looking at the teenager who was looking at his father. "There are some bits on here I don't understand, can I use the Internet?"

"Yes, certainly," replied Vernon Dursley, looking up from his newspaper and smiling lasciviously at Cecilia. "Only with Miss Wells's supervision, though. I don't want you to be playing games on there when you should be studying."

Dudley was out of his chair faster than Cecilia had ever seen him move and he headed into the hall. She followed and found the back end of Dudley attempting to squeeze into the cupboard under the stairs wherein a computer and desk had been placed. Returning to the kitchen Cecilia took one of the counter stools and sat in the hallway next to Dudley who barely fitted into the space and watched for the next hour as he extracted and printed off information.

To be honest, Dudley was not unintelligent. On the contrary he had the ability to do really well in his work, or rather he had had the ability. Sixteen years of molly-coddling by his mother had put pay to many social and thinking skills, some of which were beginning to stir from dormancy (others such as the ability to do as he was told regardless of whether he liked it or not were certainly absent, as evidenced by Dudley's tantrum on returning home).

"Wow!" said Dudley suddenly, glancing at Cecilia and pointing to the photograph of a displacement reaction on the screen. "Is that all silver?"

Cecilia looked at the screen. It showed what looked like a coiled copper wire over which some sort of silver solution had been poured. According to the caption it was silver nitrate and, of course, the copper was more reactive so it forced the silver out of its compound causing it to collect on the outside of the coil giving the effect of a very furred-up element inside a kettle.

"So, how does that happen, Dudley?" she asked. Dudley looked at her in disbelief, as much as to say, 'do you really expect me to work now I'm on the computer?'

"What do you know about reactions?" she insisted.

"Well, the metals swap places," said Dudley, giving a barely adequate answer for a child two years his junior.

"Yes?" prompted Cecilia. And then Dudley did something that she hadn't expected. He thought for himself, giving her a near perfect answer and explanation. Cecilia felt her inner teacher's torch of knowledge flare a little brighter knowing that she had actually taught him something and she smiled aloud as Dudley went back to collecting relevant information from the Internet and printing it out.

Ten minutes later and Mr and Mrs Dursley came out of the living room and instructed Dudley to turn the computer off. They were going round to the Fosters for lunch, Mr Foster was Mr Dursley's business partner, and Vernon Dursley wanted to know whether Dudley had done sufficient work to be granted some time away from his studies. With genuine recount Cecilia agreed that he had he was clucked over by his mother for a few minutes before shooing him upstairs to change into something smart.

It was a relief when the Dursley family had left. They had told Cecilia they would be back later that afternoon and Dudley could recommence his work. There was some food in the refrigerator, Mrs Dursley had told her, which she could have to keep up her strength.

As she made her way upstairs to her room with a sandwich Cecilia wondered why it was that Mrs Dursley always wanted to feed her up. Clearly it was something she had done all her life with her son and husband so perhaps she didn't know any better.

Sitting on the candlewick bedspread Cecilia pulled out her notebooks from the bottom drawer of the desk next to it. She bit through the bread and cheese in the sandwich before putting the plate on the desktop as she flicked through the books. Nothing seemed to have been added either to the content or between the pages and Cecilia pondered the reason he had sent the books back to her.

It was such a risk, she knew that Snape knew that too and although the outer brown paper had the appearance of coming through the post the grubby fingerprints on the back suggested a more magical (and less hygienic) means. So why, if there was not instructions about what he wanted her to do with them, had he returned them?

Closing the cover of the second (and latest) notebook Cecilia picked up her own notes, those she had constructed over the last ten days and added them to the back. That night she would go through them again and synthesise what she had. If Snape wasn't going to tell her what he wanted her to do after abducting her (for her own safety, she conceded) from the cottage to Harry's aunt and uncle's house then she would jolly well do as she pleased.

She opened the bottom drawer of the desk again and replaced the notebooks, her eyes coming to rest on the dictionary of scientists that had also come in the package. Well, that might come in useful she concluded, picking up the hardback and pulling it onto the bed. Perhaps Dudley could –

But whatever Dudley might have been able to do with the book was lost as a few sheets of parchment fell out from the back of the book. Cecilia stared at them for a few moments, waiting for the jolt of shock to pass so that she could take in the genuine signal that was passing from her eyes to her optic nerve to her cerebral cortex.

The werewolf notes. All of them. In their entirety.

They had not been in the back of that book for her hardback copy of the scientists' encyclopaedia she had left at Hogwarts, more precisely in the muggle studies classroom. When she had last seen the notes she had bundled them up with everything else and Snape had disapparated the lot.

In fact there was more information than she remembered for, at the bottom of one of the pages in Snape's distinctive handwriting, had been added a note which had not been there before. It told Cecilia that silver had adverse effects on werewolves and that were a werewolf to bite a muggle the muggle would die, they would not become a werewolf.

Cecilia stood up and paced over to the window of her room, looking down onto the beautifully manicured lawn. So, that was it. Whether by accident or design (and she suspected the latter: why else would he take the trouble to send them and add some more detail?) Severus had sent her the werewolf information. Was she to take it then that he wanted her to continue with it?

She returned to the desk, picking up the encyclopaedia from the bed and folding out the parchments onto the desktop. It was all there. Now all she had to do was –

Her mind leapt tangentially to her notebooks in the bottom drawer. Hadn't she tried a sublimation on the wolfsbane at some stage…? And…hadn't the agent that had worked been…silver nitrate…?

Taking the parchment with her Cecilia raced back downstairs, pacing in No. 4 Privet Drive's hallway as she waited for the computer to load up. She sat on the chair where Dudley had sat earlier and connected to the dial-up, feeling her heart beat heavily behind her ribs.

She found a search engine and typed in "silver". A few hundred thousand pages came up, mainly advertising jewellery. "Silver salts" she tried next and, as she waited for the hourglass to change back to the arrow cursor her mind recalled a memory, sudden and fleeting but Cecilia managed to catch hold of it.

In her mind's eye she recalled Remus helping her with the potion…he had left for work that morning and had commented that the solution he had been using the night before had affected him…made him feel weak…he had been using –

– silver nitrate. On the first page for her second search Cecilia read the name of the solution. It had been the one she had used for Harry's potion and in her lycanthropy research. She had used it because it had been to hand. Returning to the search page again she typed in the words "silver nitrate". Three hundred thousand pages. She clicked on the first.

It detailed the history of the compound which, in solution was a good chelating agent. It detailed other salts too, and the development of the inorganics industry as well as the common names and their use in complementary and alternative medicines.

Cecilia shuddered. As a chemist she hated common names. There was little to be discerned from knowing them, other than something about their discovery or use and hailed from an era where chemistry was more like biology and it was necessary to remember countless facts about the substances with which you were working, a very time consuming process and often irrelevant.

She continued to scroll down and she felt her pulse quicken when she came across a link which sent her to a histories page. Ignoring the spelling mistakes and seemingly random use of punctuation it informed the reader that, "regardless of how well modern medicine has been researched there is still room for error. If you blindly follow the pharmaceutical giants and line their pockets with gold you will overlook the natural remedies that have served our ancestors for centuries. Lunar caustic was once used in natural remedies as a ward to infectious diseases, becoming expensive when in competition with photographers of the nineteenth century, but fell out of use." At the bottom of the page was a footnote that informed the reader of the webpage that the modern name for lunar caustic was…

…silver nitrate…

Silver nitrate. This had to be the key, surely? Cecilia knew that it could convert some base protein isomers into their other geometric forms in its aquefied state…

…but that never happened in the body…

Rubbing her face with her hands Cecilia looked back at the common name for silver nitrate. Lunar caustic. A caustic solution could cause the build-up of water in certain areas, forcing it to coalesce. What if a similar effect caused pooling of water which…

…if silver nitrate were present…

…that affected proteins…

…and proteins of course, made up DNA…

…which, when altered in wizards caused transformations in form…

…through the "W" gene…

…which controlled the feedback mechanism in homeostasis (as determined in the Universal Link)…

…and, of course, the full moon affected water causing polarisation and tides…

The turning of the key in the door lock shook Cecilia from her train of thought and she leaned down and pulled the plug out of the wall before hurrying out of the cupboard and closing the door. The Dursley family were back.

That afternoon, while teaching Dudley about pressure and forces Cecilia's mind was not on teaching. As she hastily wrote down the fragments of thoughts that floated around her enlivened mind she longed to be with Severus Snape to discuss her astonishing revelation.

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In the cold light of early morning many months since the event an uncomfortable feeling sat in Ron Weasley's stomach like a solid block of stone. It was the same feeling he had had when he had broken his mother's hourglass that she used for casseroles when he was eight; the same feeling when he had realised that Scabbers was in fact not his life-long rodentine pet but the murderer of his friend's parents. And now it was the same feeling that he was experiencing staring at the few stolen pages from the now ex-notebooks that had once belonged to Cecilia Frobisher.

To be honest even to himself Ron could not possibly say why he had taken them, not as a rational thought either but now, standing with the smoking gun in his hands in front of his Weaslier elder brothers who had vastly more experience than he did for evading trouble (and thus knew all the tricks) he had to come up with something. In an effort to gain himself thinking time he looked at both Fred and George wordlessly.

"I think if it's a case of theft then we should be only right to report this theft to Professor McGonagall – " began George, looking at his brother.

" – or Dumbledore," added Fred glancing at Ron sharply. Unlike their usual manner Ron had only ever seen the twins so grave and remonstrative before and that had been to do with the aforementioned hourglass incident. "They might be important things that Mrs Frobisher needs Ron, for the potion. What if you've stopped it from working because you have the information they need?"

Ron felt his shoulders shrug. They were right, of course. But it had been an irresistible urge to have something of hers, taken a couple of days before the Great Battle, that had led him to borrow Harry's invisibility cloak without permission and stolen them for his own. He looked down at his hands, at the folded pages and a part of him cursed his brothers for being around at the same time he was when he couldn't sleep and wanted to look at them again.

"And we thought you were going out with Hermione," continued Fred, shaking his head. "She'll be devastated to know that you've got a thing for Mrs Frobisher still."

"You're not going to tell her, are you?" asked Ron in alarm. His twin brothers shook their heads synchronistically.

"No," conceded George, "that is, once you've given them to us for safekeeping, your conscience will be clear and there will be nothing to tell her."

Instinctively Ron held onto the pages a little tighter. They'd been his companions on nights when he couldn't sleep, when he had been thinking odd little thoughts about Hermione which he hadn't been able to decipher. They had reminded and drawn him into the muggle world, from the point of view of a muggle and it had fascinated him. He looked back at Fred and George, who looked at one another.

Too late Ron recognised the look, but before he could move out of the way of a low tackle from one of them he found himself wrestled to the becarpeted common room floor by both. Conceding (because both of his brothers together were quite weighty) he let go of the pages and George whipped them up.

"Don't tear it," moaned Ron as he clambered back up to his feet watching his brothers, now sitting on one of the settees, unfold the pages between themselves and stare at the content. Moments later both looked back at their immobile younger brother who was waiting for them to say something to him.

"What is it?" asked Fred eventually, holding up one of the pages for Ron to see. "They haven't even got any writing on at all." Ron sighed and walked nearer, pushing his brothers apart and sitting in the gap between them. Sometimes he was a martyr to his brothers' ignorance.

"Mrs Frobisher's drawings," he said as if that explained it and while his still-bemused brothers exchanged a confused glance he seized the pages from Fred's undefended grip.

"Oi!"

"Look!" replied Ron quickly in an effort to avoid another Weasley twin attack. "Here," he added, his tone less defensive and he pointed at the diagram that began the wordless train of thought.

"I once heard her say that Snape had said to her that muggles were like apes…that they could be trained to do the same things wizards did but they weren't superior."

"That's awful," commented George.

"Git," nodded Fred in agreement.

"I mean, I know we all think it deep down," added Ron nodding sagely, "because of the fact that we can do magic…anyway…" He pointed to the first drawing. I think she was probably getting back at him by drawing the ape at that typewriter-thingy, and there – " he pointed to another one of an ape standing up in front of a few rows of smaller apes holding what looked to be a piece of chalk. Behind the ape indecipherable words were scrawled on the blackboard, " – and there – " Ron indicated the drawing on the next page of numerous pieces of glass that were being used for potion-like goings on.

"It's quite funny in a sad sort of way," Ron concluded as he handed the pages, now purged of their secrets, back to Fred. "It's like she's saying, 'well, you might think of me like this, but look at what I can do'. And here," he took the pages from Fred's hand again, turning to the second page and pointing to the drawings of apes carrying out a variety of muggle tasks, "these can't even be her, so she's saying, 'look what we can do." There was a long pause, punctuated only by a look between the twins. And then, just as Ron was beginning to think that neither of them had heard him, George spoke.

"That is incredible," he said, smiling at Ron.

"You think so?" Ron beamed back; it was unusual to say the least when his twin brothers praised him for something.

"Absolutely. Incredible," concurred Fred. "Amazing." Ron's smile broke into a small laugh combining relief with liberation. His brothers understood and that was amazing.

"So incredible that our younger brother could be so stupid!" declared Fred, clipping Ron round the ear in unison with George. Both of them laughed as Ron howled in dismay and sprang to his feet.

"Well, Mrs Frobisher did draw them, and as you can see there's nothing about the potion," he shouted hotly, "so if you both don't mind I'll keep hold of these while I try and find out who the secret keeper is and then I'll send them to her. Maybe they'll cheer her up!" Turning on his heel Ron snatched up the pages, holding onto them tightly and was amazed to find that his transition between settee and stairs to the dormitories was being impeded by two large hands, one on each shoulder.

"Hold up," said Fred, letting Ron turn round. "We didn't know you felt that way about it."

"Well, I do," he retorted stiffly. Fred and George smiled and, arms under Ron's armpits they wizard-handled him back to the settee, sitting him between them as they had been moments before.

"That's actually quite a good idea, given the circumstances," said Fred, his voice barren of comedy or wit, instead a small measure of seriousness taking its place. "And, as it so happens we've been planning something of our own," he continued, tapping his nose and winking at George."

"Oh, really?" asked Ron defensively.

"Well, we couldn't leave the best teacher we've ever had alone out there in her own world, wherever she is, without letting her know she is still part of this one too." George leaned forward and smiled genuinely at his younger brother.

"So what's your plan?" asked Ron in anticipation.

"We've joined the Order," said Fred, tapping his nose again.

"First meeting was Monday."

"And…we know who the secret keeper is…"

"…who is it…?" prompted Ron quietly.

"A secret," confirmed George firmly.

"McGonagall," he prompted. The twins sat motionless and said nothing.

"Sirius…? Moody…?"

"Can't tell you, little bro," said Fred, shaking his head sadly.

"We have to stick to the rules that we swore to," continued George, patting Ron's shoulder.

"That'll be a first," said Ron cheekily, holding out the pages to Fred who glanced at George as a plan began to form wordlessly between them.

"Keep 'em," said Fred, pushing away his hand, "we were only kidding; you don't have to part with them if they mean something to you."

"I've got Hermione," said Ron, declaring it openly to his brothers and a roomful of pigmented ex-Gryffindors. "Though I do admire Mrs Frobisher. And if you can do something for her with this then…bloody brilliant!"

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A/N: Please tell me your views.