Wednesday, 15 December 1993
Hogwarts
Circumstances aligned over the final week of the term to ensure that Mary entirely forgot about Black and Pettigrew's animagus forms. For one thing, even though it wasn't strictly required, many of the professors had periodic exams throughout the year, and almost all of them had decided that the last week before the holidays was a perfect time to test their students (along with assigning lengthy essays to be completed over the three-week vacation).
Secondly, after a week of giving her space, Lilian finally cornered Mary (with the help of Millicent, of all people) and demanded that she hear her out. The older girl had apologized for not telling Mary everything, and explained that all she had gotten out of it was making sure that Daphne seated them with the girls Lilian thought would make the best connections over the next few years. She really had only wanted to help Mary manage her influence on the student body, and promised not to do so from that point on, if Mary promised to make an effort to do it herself. Mary, exasperated, had quipped that perhaps Lilian and Catherine should just run her entire life between the two of them, since they obviously cared so much more than she did. She had been somewhat surprised when Lilian took her sarcastic suggestion at face value, and then had made her friend swear that she would not attempt to manipulate Mary into doing things, but just tell her what needed to be done and why.
Immediately after the girls reconciled, Lilian had begged a favor: she was about to go home for the first time since she realized exactly how her little brother had died, and she wanted Mary and Hermione to come with her, for morale. She was absolutely convinced that her parents would take one look at her, and, irrational as it was, know that she knew exactly what she had done. She was convinced that having her friends there would make the Yuletide less awkward, and pleaded with them to come.
They couldn't say no, but they did have to get permission from their respective adults.
Professor McGonagall had thrown up her hands over the whole thing, as though after having caved to Mary's request to holiday at the Grangers', she no longer had the inclination to argue further. She had decided that she would let the Grangers deal with all decisions regarding her ward's holiday excursions: Mary would be their responsibility from the time she was safely delivered into their hands until the day school resumed. The return-owl had not yet arrived from the Grangers, as the post was delayed by the first truly large storm of the season.
Thirdly, on Wednesday, only a week and a half after Hermione and Mary sent their letter to the Registry Office of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, they received a response. Hermione, specifically, received the response, and brought it to Mary and Lilian in the library, throwing it furiously on their table before disappearing into the stacks.
There were nearly five-hundred werewolves registered in Magical Britain, and apparently their names were a matter of public record. Remus John Lupin, born 10 March 1960, had been Changed at the tender age of four, and was recorded as a resident of Magical Britain, with his custos listed as Albus P.B.W. Dumbledore. The whole list was like that: So and So, born on this date, changed on that, resident or non-resident of Magical Britain, and then the name of their custos.
"What the hell does this mean?" Mary asked, skimming the list for any other familiar names. There weren't any. "'Custos'?"
"I think it's like a guardianship thing," Lilian said. "But it's kind of a weird way to say it. I mean, he's not a kid. And why's it the Headmaster?"
Mary had no good answer. "Because why wouldn't it be?" she offered, earning a snigger from the older girl.
They looked over the list carefully, but neither saw any other names that they recognized, and the short cover-letter offered no explanation of the term. The only truly interesting thing was that Remus was one of the most senior werewolves in the country: many were older, but there were only three who had been turned before he was, who were still in Britain. Over two thirds of those registered had apparently moved away. Honestly, having read and heard what she had over the past two weeks, Mary didn't blame them a bit.
Hermione returned perhaps five minutes after she stormed past them with a massive legal dictionary. Another ten minutes of skimming and muttering later (mostly to the effect that there had to be some sort of indexing charm), the older girl looked up, still furious.
"This! Here, read!" she demanded, turning the book around and pointing to a particular passage. She didn't wait for the Slytherins to do so, however. "Custodianship is – it's like sectioning someone! Or probation! I knew I'd seen custos somewhere before! It was in reference to house elves. At least there it makes sense, since they bind themselves so tightly to their families – but R-he's a fully competent adult!" Mary noted Hermione's near-slip and quick correction, and cast the muffliato charm around them. "And he hasn't done anything to earn it like a prisoner would have – it's just because he's a werewolf – and it's not as though it was even his fault! He was four for God's sake!"
"Will you let us just read it?" Lilian asked.
"Fine," the Ravenclaw huffed, but less than thirty seconds later, she started up again: "Did you get to the part about income yet? And did you catch that the designation only applies to non-citizen-eligible individuals?"
"Not there, yet. I've just got to the part about taking full responsibilities for the actions of the tutelus," Mary muttered.
"You're so slow. The relationship is called custodianship. The custos has all the power, and the tutelus has almost no rights at all. They can't own a home, they can't rent or open a Gringott's account. If they work, their wages are paid to their custos. If they commit a crime, the custos is punished as well as the tutelus. If the custos decides it's in the tutelus' best interests, they can do… basically anything to them, short of killing them. And the tutelus can't break the relationship without the custos' permission. If they run away, or their custos claims they're not obeying them, they get sent to Azkaban! It's like a combination of slavery and – and – I don't know – childcare! It's insane to apply it to fully grown adults! I can't believe they did this to him – to any of these people. You know, I didn't believe it when I read that we have some of the strictest creature-being laws in the world, but I do now!"
Mary gave up on working her way through the dense legal language, and pushed the book away, letting Lilian have it. She believed Hermione's summary, anyway.
"No wonder he moved to France," the blonde observed, closing the text with a thud.
"Is that all you have to say?!"
"Well… yeah? I mean, I dunno, what else is there to say? It's awful and inhumane, but don't you know what most people think about werewolves? A lot of people have disowned or even put down family who got turned. Once they're infected, they're not human anymore – it's only a matter of time until they show it."
"Lilian! I can't believe you just said that! Lizzie, you don't agree, do you? You can't! It's Professor Lupin!"
The youngest girl rolled her eyes and renewed her charm as Lilian defended her views: "Jeanie, you don't have to like it, but that's the way it is. Werewolves are dangerous. Even in countries where they're 'accepted' they're basically cut off in quarantine reserves."
Mary shushed her. "Of course I know it's not true about Remus. He's my friend. I know him. But like Lils said, that's what most people think, apparently, so I'm surprised the laws are even this lenient. And I'm really surprised he went to school here. I mean, a werewolf professor seems almost par for the course in Defense, but can you see parents knowing their kids were rooming with a werewolf?"
Hermione's face suddenly took on a pensive cast. "That is a good point – and I bet they wouldn't be happy knowing he's a professor, either."
"Hence why we're not supposed to tell anyone," Lilian pointed out, shooting a look at Mary for her apparent breach of Slytherin House Secrecy.
"We figured it out before Parkinson," she explained shortly, thinking that if Lilian hadn't been such a bitch, she would have already known that.
"But that's the thing," Hermione said animatedly. "You all are keeping it under wraps, but we should try to figure out who all knows, just in case."
"Who knows?" Lilian raised an eyebrow, just as Mary said, "In case of what?"
"Yes. You know it's only a matter of time until people the rest of the houses start putting it together. We've all seen his boggart, and it's obvious he's ill every month."
"No," Mary insisted. "What would we do even if we did think someone knew?"
"I don't know. Talk to them, I guess? Try and convince them not to say anything?"
"It's a moot point," Lilian said, shaking her head. "No one would ever believe it. They'd think he had Mene Dromosis or something before they'd believe a werewolf was appointed professor. Half of Slytherin hardly believed it at first, and it was my brother telling us."
"What's Mene Dromosis?" Mary asked. Hermione looked equally torn between curiosity, indignant anger, and fretting on Remus' behalf.
"It's like this super rare disease where your magic syncs up with the moon and waxes and wanes along with it. It shows up in novels a lot more than real life, because it can only be cured by getting bonded to your soul mate. I think it's mostly found in people with Selkie blood? But the point is, if it gets bad enough, they can get really sick around new moon or full moon."
"Every time I think I've heard everything," the Ravenclaw muttered. "Soul mates are real?"
Mary nodded in sympathy, before she realized – "Wait, Selkies are real?"
These questions effectively changed the subject, as Lilian filled the others in on the concept of soul mates – people whose magic perfectly balanced your own in some way – and the various shape-changers she knew of – selkies, veela, and skinwalkers – until they all had to go to their next class. Seeing the look on Hermione's face as she shoved the list deep into her bag, however, Mary was ominously certain that they had not heard the last of her opinions on the way werewolves were treated in Magical Britain.
Saturday, 18 December 1993
Hogwarts
Sure enough, Hermione had continued to bring up werewolf rights, and how it was absolutely ludicrous how they were treated throughout the week, until, on Friday, Mary invited the bushy-haired crusader to spend the afternoon of the impending Hogsmeade Day with herself and Remus. This would serve several purposes, she thought: Hermione could talk to an actual werewolf about how he was treated, rather than talking Mary's ear off about it; Remus could see that there were students who supported him, regardless of his disease; and she would have one less person telling her about how absolutely bloody lovely the village looked covered in snow, which quite frankly she was already anticipating hating.
The Ravenclaw had taken her up on it, of course, electing to join her for the entire day. They spent the morning making cards for the House Elves with Dave, Alex, Nora, and Luna. Despite not having seen or talked to any of them, even Cammy, since the beginning of the year, Mary was still inclined to thank the creatures who cleaned up after her, and Hermione definitely owed the kitchen elves a card for accommodating her triple-time meal schedule. Luna had not, in fact, been invited, and no one knew how she even knew they were meeting up, but she made a jolly addition to the little group, dressed like a muggle Christmas Elf, complete with red and green striped stockings and silver bells braided into her hair.
After lunch, Luna bounced off to cheer up Ginny, who had been cursed to communicate only in Christmas Carols. The Minions wandered back toward Slytherin as Mary and Hermione climbed the stairs toward Remus' office.
The plan, such as it was, did work out relatively well, if not in the way that Mary had expected. Remus and Hermione got into such a furious debate over how werewolves ought to be dealt with that they hardly paid any attention to her at all. Remus was not, of course, in favor of the discrimination policies that made it nearly impossible for him to legally live or work in Magical Britain, but he was adamant that the Custodianship program was a good thing, because it was the only reason he had been able to come to Hogwarts as a child or a professor. He refused to see it as modern-day slavery, brutally describing the effects of the Change and atrocities committed by werewolves both within and outside of Britain, and demolishing Hermione's appeals to his personal benefit and wellbeing with a single cutting argument: "I will not let anyone accuse me of bias simply because of my affliction, and the fact remains that werewolves are inherently dangerous."
While it was somewhat amusing to watch the older girl and her book-learning be put in their place by thirty years' first-hand experience, it was deeply disturbing to imagine how Remus must see himself and his future. ("But sir, there's no logical reason to fear a werewolf outside of the full moon! And even if there was, why not take the reservation approach? Even that sounds more humane than our laws!" "In my experience, logic rarely enters into fear, Miss Granger. And the books you chose to believe and reference have an agenda every bit as much as those you dismissed as propaganda: you cannot pick and choose your references based simply on whether you agree with the author's politics! Unless he has the presence of mind to check himself into protective custody before giving in to the Curse, the average number of people a French werewolf Turns before being caught and remanded to a reservation is two. The average number they kill inadvertently is six – most of those muggles. There are very real costs to the so-called humanitarian approach!")
Despite their disagreement, the werewolf didn't really seem upset by the Ravenclaw's impertinent arguments, allowing her to carry on until other students began filtering back from Hogsmeade and into Remus' office hours around four. He even went so far as to tell her that he had enjoyed the conversation, and that she was welcome to return at another time if she wanted to continue the 'discussion.' Mary rather doubted that the older girl would take him up on the offer, though: she had hardly seen Hermione so frustrated since she was first introduced to Cammy, and realized that House Elves legitimately preferred to live in servitude. So thoroughly did the other two monopolize the conversation that Mary herself left feeling rather put out. Successful plan aside, she rather thought she preferred to keep her meetings with the professor private in the future, simply for the chance to get a word in edgewise.
It was somewhat of a relief to return to Slytherin, where Pansy was questioning Lilian closely over her intentions toward Draco. Apparently it was her "duty" as Draco's "oldest female friend" to ensure that potential social climbers like Lilian did not attempt to "ensnare him with their feminine wiles." Draco looked both furious and embarrassed. Lilian quite obviously thought the whole thing hilarious. She and Draco had gone to Hogsmeade together again, but they had both announced, independently and on more than one occasion, that they were not (and were not going to be) boyfriend and girlfriend. As soon as Lilian noticed Mary's arrival, she left Draco to Pansy's tender mercies, and dragged Mary into one of the more secluded conversation nooks.
"Has she been doing that all day?" Mary asked, amused, as her friend cast their favorite anti-eavesdropping charm over them.
"Merlin, no, just since she spotted us walking back up, instead of getting a carriage."
"You walked back?"
"We had things we needed to talk about." Lilian looked uncharacteristically nervous.
"What kind of things?" Mary teased. "You're not really going out, are you?"
"No! Important things. You're not going to believe this. See, we were in the Three Broomsticks, practicing the Notice-Me-Not Charm and listening in on everyone else's conversations."
"As one does," Mary interjected.
Lilian smiled weakly. "Yeah. We were getting a butterbeer and warming up a bit, but then Professors Flitwick and McGonagall, and Hagrid and the bloody Minister of Magic came and sat down right next to us, in the middle of the fucking pub and started talking about Sirius Black!"
The younger girl growled slightly under her breath. "What were they saying?" It had to be important, or she knew Lilian wouldn't have mentioned it, knowing as she did how Mary felt about Black.
Lilian snorted. "Well, it started off with Madam Rosmerta, who owns the pub, complaining to the Minister about the dementors scaring off customers – apparently they've searched the village twice now, and there's no sign of him."
"I guess that's good."
"Yeah, but the Minister's convinced he's still around. And get this – he thinks Black is 'something much worse' than the dementors."
"Seriously?!"
"Yeah. But we already knew his priorities were buggered up. I mean, look at that bloody hat – he wears it in real life, too, by the way. It's… really, really green."
Every picture in the Prophet showed the Minister wearing pinstriped robes and what was always described as 'his trademark lime-green bowler hat,' which the Slytherin girls were certain reflected on his personal judgment, if not his sanity. But at the moment, Mary was more interested in what the politician had said than what he had been wearing at the time. "Get to the point, Lils," she grumbled.
"I have to tell it in order! You don't want me to forget anything, do you?"
"Fine! Just…"
"Alright, so first off, I think we need to take everything Fudge says with a grain of salt – he's obviously not the best informed. For one thing, he apparently didn't think that you knew that Black's your godfather. He was going on about how you had no idea about your dad and him being friends, and how it'd be tearing you up if you knew – and then Hagrid admitted that he'd told you years ago, and Professor McGonagall got all blustery about how she had not seen any reason to deny you a relationship with your father's last living friend, so you'd been in touch with Lupin for ages, too."
Mary snorted unhappily. "Yeah, it's not really a well-kept secret, is it? I think everyone in our year knows."
"At least in Slytherin. So, anyway, after they established that Black and your dad were like brothers – their words, not mine," Lilian added at her glare, "Fudge goes, 'the worst he did isn't widely known,' and then tells them, in the middle of the Three Broomsticks, on Hogsmeade day!"
Thus ensuring that it would be widely-known after today. Mary groaned. "What was it?"
"Apparently the house was under something called a Fidelius Charm. See, apparently Dumbledore had multiple spies in the Dark Lord's camp, and one of them told him that the Dark Lord was after your parents, and he sent them into hiding, and suggested this charm that was supposed to make a secret – some information – impossible to find. Flitwick said it's hidden inside a person called a secret keeper, and as long as they didn't talk, the Dark Lord could've had his nose pressed against their front window, and he'd never find them."
"And Black was the secret keeper?"
Lilian nodded grimly. "Professor McGonagall said Dumbledore offered to do it himself, but your dad insisted on Black, and then he turned them over less than a week later."
"So he betrayed them even more directly than I thought," Mary muttered through her shock at this latest revelation.
"Yeah, well… that's the thing. The timeline doesn't quite work out, does it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, didn't Snape tell us that you were targeted specifically because your parents disappeared, so the Dark Lord thought that Dumbledore knew the prophecy was about you specifically?"
"Yes, but –"
"But the Minister thinks that they didn't go into hiding until a week before they died. Something's fishy."
"Wait – you think, what, Dumbledore lied to the Minister? Or Professor McGonagall?"
"Either that or one of them got things mixed up somehow. I'd bet on the Minister."
Mary hummed in agreement. "I do trust Snape to have a better hold of the whole situation than some random politician. He wasn't even the Minister, then, was he?"
"No, that was 'inalienable right to party' Bagnold. Fudge was a Junior Minister in Magical Catastrophes at the time."
"How…?"
"He said so later. We're not even half done yet."
"Oh, Morgan's saggy left tit, how much more is there?"
Lilian made a face, and Mary motioned for her to continue. "Well, it turns out Hagrid was the one who took you from your parents' house after the attack. He made a huge scene, because apparently Black showed up on a flying motorbike? Instead of just apparating or something? But whatever. Hagrid was kicking himself over 'comfortin' the murderin' traitor' and basically made sure that everyone was listening in."
Mary groaned. "Of course he did. What else?"
"Okay, so after he goes on his little tear about how Black was really upset that the Dark Lord died, not your parents, Hagrid admits that he took you on Dumbledore's orders, even though Black told Hagrid he was your godfather."
"He obviously wasn't a very good one!" Mary objected. Not that Dumbledore had done much better, leaving her with the Dursleys of all people. But at least he hadn't actually murdered her parents by betraying them to the Dark Lord.
"Well, we know that now, but Hagrid didn't then – he should've handed you over!"
"If he had, I'd probably be dead, so I think I'll hold off being pissed over that one," she pointed out, relatively calmly and reasonably in her opinion.
Lilian sniffed, as though she still didn't agree, but wasn't going to argue about it at the moment. "After that, they talked about Peter Pettigrew for a bit. McGonagall made him sound like a bit of a useless numpty, tagging along after the other Marauders, hero-worshipping Black and your dad and so on."
"Really? Remus always talks about him like, well... the idea-guy, I guess. He definitely said that Peter was the one who came up with the idea for the Marauder's Map. Maybe Transfiguration just wasn't his strong suit."
"Maybe. And apparently neither was dueling."
"Yeah, I knew that. It was in the papers, back when Black first escaped, that Pettigrew was the one to chase him down, and got blown up. They ID'd him from a finger and muggle witness reports."
"Did you know there was 'a pile of bloodstained robes' to go with that finger?" Lilian asked triumphantly.
"No. But why should that matter?"
"Because that's what Draco and I talked about on the walk back, and neither one of us can think of a curse that would destroy the entire body except for one finger, and leave the robes behind. Not to mention blowing up a whole freaking street – the robes shouldn't have survived that. Draco agrees, and he knows a lot more curses than I do – or at least knows of them. It just doesn't make sense."
"So there's the timeline thing, and this robe thing – you think, what, there's some kind of conspiracy here?"
Lilian hummed ambivalently. "Maybe not a conspiracy, but definitely there's more to it that they're not saying. Oh! And Fudge admitted, right out in public, that the Dark Lord is still alive… 'alone and friendless,' he put it, but, you know, they're afraid that Black is going to track him down after he's done with you, but then McGonagall cut him off right when I thought it was going to get interesting."
Mary groaned loudly. "Fuck my life."
Sunday, 19 December 1993
Great Hall
New information about Black, the Dark Lord, and the timeline of events back in 1981 aside, Mary had one last thing to take care of before heading home with Hermione (aside from completing the usual business of owl-ordering small gifts of candy to exchange with her more distant friends, and learning to transfigure a jumper into a messenger-style bag so that she wouldn't have to take her entire Hogwarts trunk with her). She had been wavering on whether she actually wanted to do it, but talk of her traitorous godfather had brought it back to the front of her mind: asking Neville whether he thought it would be possible for her to visit her godmother over the holiday.
She wasn't really sure what Alice Longbottom's mental state was like – only that she was in the long-term resident ward of St. Mungo's Hospital. She might not be up for visitors at all. Mary had casually considered trying to see her back when Catherine first explained the role of godparents, but she had put off any serious planning on the basis that she ought to talk to Neville first – Alice was, after all, his mum. That had been a good enough excuse for her to avoid doing anything in the way of making plans for over four months, because until the Dueling Club kicked off, she and Neville had hardly been on speaking terms, let alone the sort of terms where she would ask him a favor. They had, however, been paired to work together in Potions as well as in Dueling Club (which was either some sort of unexplained punishment, or a very subtle compliment on her reaction times and ability to cast a shield charm), and were, after three weeks, firmly on a first-name basis.
So she really had no excuse.
But they hadn't exactly ever talked about it before, and it still seemed like it was going to be an awkward thing to ask, so she had waited until the last possible opportunity: after their last Dueling Club meeting of the term.
The meeting had been, as far as Mary was concerned, brilliant. They finally got a chance to really fight, using more than three spells (restricted only to hexes and jinxes from the ICW Approved List they could counter themselves), without the bother of trying to play Nym's game, too. Mary had beaten all of the others in her group at least once (though Ernie Macmillan disarmed her twice, and Lilian stunned her once, too), and Flitwick had allowed some of the seventh-years to show off in the demonstration period at the end.
Chauncey Bell of Gryffindor and Mitchell Meyers of Ravenclaw demonstrated double casting, using two wands at once (Bell won), and then the Head Boy and Girl matched off against Sean and Farley to demonstrate pairs forms (Slytherin won, very narrowly), and then Mitchel Abbott, who had fought the last time against the Ravenclaw with the shield charms, demonstrated staff fighting against Flint (Abbott won). Apparently this last was a specialty of Durmstrang, which one of Flint's cousins and Abbott's mother had taught them. It involved more physical contact than anything else the students had seen in any duel so far, and only very limited casting – supposedly this was easier with custom-made staves, but Mary thought the whole business looked rather insanely difficult.
All of this was, they were informed, a prelude to their learning more advanced techniques the following term. Best of all, though, was the announcement that Flitwick had arranged for them to be allowed to use 'one of the old dueling halls' for practice all weekend, every weekend when they returned to the castle, so long as at least one professor or "approved, experienced senior duelist" was present to keep an eye on things. Since this included at least a dozen sixth and seventh-years, and most of them were just as excited about the prospect as the younger students, Mary expected that there would be a schedule worked out by the end of the first week back.
Finally, after the last announcement ("If any of you have practice-swords at home, do make sure to bring them back with you after the hols!") Mary had turned to Neville and asked, rather nervously, "Could we… that is, may I speak to you a moment? In private," she added, as Weasley looked about to butt in, and Lilian hovered curiously.
"O-of course," he stuttered slightly.
"Great. I was thinking, maybe the Annex off the Entrance Hall?"
"Yeah, all right. Go on, Ron, I'll be up in a bit."
He went, with a warning for Neville to watch his back and a suspicious glare for Mary. Lilian followed them into the Entrance Hall, but then waved and made her way back toward Slytherin. Mary and Neville proceeded, silently and awkwardly, into the Annex. It was, as she had expected, abandoned.
"So, uh… what did you want to talk about?" Neville asked after a rather tense half-minute of staring at anything and everything but each other.
"Do you um… I mean… Did you know that your mum was – is – my godmother?" she blurted out.
Neville looked rather taken-aback, and she wondered fleetingly what he had expected her to ask. They had already established that he didn't want a date with her, hadn't they? "Erm, no. Why?"
"Well, I, um… let's sit," she suggested, moving to one of the small benches that lined the walls of the room. Neville followed hesitantly. "It's, well… I know – Catherine, that is, Miss Urquhart, told me that Alice, your mum, well – I mean, of course you know she's your mum – but anyway, she, Miss Urquhart, told me that she's um…"
"In hospital," Neville said quietly, putting Mary out of her misery.
"Yes. And, well, I was wondering if, you know, if she's up for visitors, and it wouldn't be too strange – could I visit, over the holiday?"
"I… sure? You um… did anyone tell you about them, my mum and dad – I mean, how they actually are?"
Mary shrugged, relieved to have so easily obtained the permission she sought. In her mind, the worst part was over, now. "No, just that, well, they had some sort of um… brain damage, from the War. They were aurors, right?"
"Yeah," Neville said softly. "They were. Bellatrix Lestrange attacked them the week after, well… after your parents died. She used the torture curse, the Cruciatus, to give them, um… do you know what a stroke is?" Mary nodded. "Yeah, overexposure causes nerve damage, in the brain, kind of like multiple strokes, but it's Dark Magic – Unforgivable magic – so it's… there's nothing they can do, the Healers. Mum… I think she recognizes me, sometimes, but dad just stares, and they can't talk, or anything." He took a shuddering breath, looking determinedly at the paneling off to their left, rather than trying to meet her eyes.
"Oh." That was so much worse than she had expected. "I'd… I'd still like to go, and meet them, you know, at least once. Just – just because they ended up in hospital doesn't mean that your mum isn't my godmum."
The Gryffindor nodded and sniffed. "We – my grandmother and I – usually go on Christmas Day. I can ask if she'd mind if you joined us. I'm sure she wouldn't. Mind, that is."
"I don't know if I can on Christmas proper. I'm spending the hols with Hermione Granger and her family. But I can ask, and owl you?"
"Sure. It's Longbottom Manor. If you can't come on Christmas, it's fine. You can go any time, and I'm sure the orderlies would let you in. They don't get many visitors other than Gran."
"Okay." Honestly, she thought it would be easier to go with Neville, now that the option was on the table. She would ask Emma as soon as they got back to London. "Thanks, Neville."
The boy gave her a strange look. "It's nothing."
Mary shrugged self-consciously. "Not to me. Anyway, I'll see you… around? And send you that owl as soon as I can."
"Sounds good."
She nodded farewell and hurried away before the exceedingly uncomfortable conversation could be made worse by his offering to escort her back to the Slytherin common room or something.
Monday, 20 December 1993
Hogwarts Express
For the first time ever, Slytherin House seemed to have reached the consensus that it was preferable to return home over the holidays than to stay at Hogwarts. Generally, or at least over the two previous years, more Slytherins had stayed than any other House – and those who went home were visibly more anxious and short-tempered than those who remained behind. This year, those who were leaving, forced to spend three weeks with parents they were at odds with, tedious older or younger siblings, and, from Daphne's moaning, endless society events, were not happy, but seemed to think their families the lesser evil, when compared to a draughty castle surrounded by dementors.
Some of them, of course, had made 'alternative arrangements.'
Theo had claimed to be spending the holiday at school, but really agreed to pretend to be Blaise's boyfriend to discomfit Husband Number Seven in exchange for a holiday free of both dementors and his father. Millicent was staying with Pansy for the duration, and even Nora had managed to wrangle an invitation home with one of her year-mates, international port-keys being more expensive than her family could afford twice in a year. There were almost certainly not enough students remaining to do a Yule ritual. Judging by the mob of red-heads waiting for thestral-drawn carriages, even the Weasleys were headed home. Mary could only imagine the havoc the twins would wreak without their usual winter outlet of endless snowball fights.
There was a decidedly more festive air on the holiday train than at the end of the year. Even having to pass by the dementors at the gates and the leery looks the other Slytherins gave Remus (who was headed to France from London) as he escorted Mary, Lilian, and Hermione onto the train did not fully dampen the celebratory atmosphere. Much as the Great Hall was decorated with Christmas Trees, the each compartment of the train had garlands and ribbons, baubles and fairy-lights (literally). About one in every four doorways had a mistletoe in it, and there were floating bubbles charmed to wander the corridors and sing Christmas songs.
Mary caught Ginny trying to pop one of these, obviously still sore about the caroling prank she had been subject to over the weekend, and Hermione dragged her into their compartment. She was determinedly not-mentioning werewolves in any way, shape or form (partly, of course, because there were so many potential eavesdroppers around, but mostly, Mary thought, because she was still put out that Remus was not a political activist for werewolf rights). This translated into asking everyone brightly whether they had finished their Christmas shopping, and chattering about different gifts she had been considering for her parents. Mary still thought that a dicta-type sounded like an excellent gift, but the Ravenclaw had eventually settled on a small hothouse flutterby bush for her mother, and an enchanted 'perpetual motion' sculpture for her father. (Of course, these were both far more expensive than she could afford, so really she had been trying to convince her mother to buy the sculpture for her father, and vice versa.) Dan had promised that they could go to the Mall before Christmas, so Mary was planning to find something for the Grangers there. It would be a novel experience for her, buying muggle gifts and wrapping them and such.
When Hermione began to run out of steam, Lilian, who had been sketching in a small notebook over the course of the trip, asked whether Mary had decided on a new broom yet. She had been flying a school broom in practice, and had promised Flint that she would get a 'real' replacement for the one lost in their first match of the year by the end of the hols. It would make the most sense to simply get a second Nimbus 2001, but Draco had pointed out that QQS would let broom buyers make test-flights, and it had been over a year since the 2001 came out. She was now torn between getting the one that would take the least adjustment to get used to, and trying everything on the market. Ginny (who had been appointed as the Gryffindor reserve seeker after Thorpe's 'accident') and Lilian were more than happy to discuss this topic for over an hour, at which point the Ravenclaw, apparently bored with the Quidditch talk, decided to visit other cars for a while.
Remus ducked out shortly after 'to patrol the train' (ie, because he hated flying even more than Hermione, and didn't appreciate the finer points of custom broom-making at all).
The Minions stopped by at some point offering a game of Exploding Snap, which turned into several games of Exploding Snap, until it turned out that persons unknown had altered Ginny's Snap deck so that the jokers exploded forcefully enough that both decks failed to re-constitute themselves. This led to a quarter-hour rant on all the reasons the youngest Weasley was unenthusiastic about Christmas with her family, after which the Minions 'returned to their original carriage for lunch' (ie, fled from the future Mistress of the Howler).
After lunch (the elves had sent sandwich hampers for each compartment, which Mary thought should be a thing on every trip) Hermione returned with Luna and one of the Singing Christmas Orbs in tow. Apparently the flighty blonde knew or had figured out how to make them play other songs. She led the compartment through the process of withdrawing a copy of a memory (specifically of a piece of music being played) to shove into the Orb. After every six or seven memories, they popped in a flurry of white mist and bluish sparkles, but there was no shortage of them in the corridor, so they simply grabbed another.
The girls spent the rest of the trip taking turns playing anything they could remember the words to (and several things they couldn't), from Kylie Minogue, Enya, and Phil Collins to Celestina Warbeck and the Hobgoblins. By far the strangest thing any of them came up with was something Luna called "folk punk" – the muggle forerunner of Wizarding bands like the Wyrd Sisters. Even Remus, when he returned (and had gotten over his concern over the safety of meddling with the Audio Spheres) had gotten in on the act, treating them to a compilation dubbed 'the Greatest Hits of the Seventies and Eighties (but Mostly Bowie and Queen.)' Between them, Mary was certain Remus and Lilian knew Queen's entire discography. The older Slytherin had spent all of Bohemian Rhapsody bemoaning the fact that Freddy Mercury had died before she had a chance to see him in concert.
They arrived at King's Cross at six, in a very good mood, collectively, with no unscheduled stops for dementors or any other attacks on the train. There was an awkward moment perhaps an hour before they reached London, when Luna decided to play Hungry Like the Wolf, and Mary couldn't tell whether the little Ravenclaw was trying to imply that she knew about Remus' condition. If she was, no one acknowledged it. Remus took the whole incident in stride, maintaining his cool until he handed Mary and Hermione off to the Grangers (who were waving excitedly from the platform when they arrived). He wished them all a Happy Christmas before apparating away, presumably toward France. Then they waited until Sean and Aerin (with Lara Zuthe and Carter Dunsidget trailing behind) came to find Lilian.
Mary had forgotten that all of the Moon siblings had met the Grangers before, and started to awkwardly re-introduce them before Hermione reminded her.
After the (re-)introductions and greetings were complete, Emma addressed Sean. "Are your parents meeting you today? We had hoped to introduce ourselves before sending the girls off tomorrow, as well as reciprocate their kind offer to have the girls over in person – we were thinking your sisters might like to join us for Christmas dinner – you'd be most welcome as well, of course."
"Unfortunately, no," the prefect said smoothly, though the glare he shot at Lilian and her slight flush suggested that this was the first he had heard of their plans. "They are currently… out of town, and will not be returning until tomorrow evening."
"Hmmm…" Dan hummed, giving his badge a considering look. "Then I take it that you will be responsible for the girls, if they arrive tomorrow before your parents?"
"Yes, sir."
"He's a prefect, dad! And he is seventeen," Hermione interrupted. "That's an adult in the magical world."
"But it would not be polite for us to impose, Maia-bee, nor for you to interrupt the Moons' reunion with their children. Perhaps, Lilian dear, you could floo us when your parents return?"
Before Lilian could respond to the suggestion, or Hermione and Mary to the casual revelation that the Grangers had a floo, Sean answered, "It would be no imposition. We will be prepared to receive them after lunch – would two suit?"
"Well, if you're certain," Emma sighed. "And certain your parents won't mind…"
"They won't," the young man assured her. "And I rather suspect that they will be amenable to allowing the girls to have Christmas dinner at yours, as well, though I'll have to ask them when they get home."
"Of course," Dan nodded approvingly.
"We'll send the girls over at two, then, and expect them back by… ten? Or any time before then, of course," Emma suggested.
"Best say eleven, actually. Dinner tends to run late on the holidays, and we won't start until nine. The floo is 'Moon Gardens Kennels.'" The Grangers nodded their assent to the later time, and after a quick round of farewells and 'see you soon' between the girls, they parted ways.
Mary heard Sean saying scathingly, "Way to give me a heads-up, sis!" just as Hermione said, "Since when do we have a floo?!"
"Two weeks ago tomorrow," Dan grinned. "I thought it'd be a nice surprise."
"Are there other surprises?" Mary asked suspiciously. Where Emma's letters had been full of news, mostly regarding her efforts in ousting Professor Binns and later creating a muggle parent lobbying group of sorts, Dan's had been relatively close-lipped, with more information about the latest new theory he had come across in some book or another than the mysterious 'bit of work' he claimed to be doing on the house and its wards with Bill Weasley and Devon Troy. All she really knew was that the magical generator project had come to a screeching halt in the wake of the run-in with the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, for reasons that weren't entirely clear.
"Oh, a fair few." His eyes positively sparkled with mirth. "Easier to show than to tell, though! Shall we?"
He gallantly offered to take the girls' transfigured bags, and led the way to the fireplaces which served as the secondary entryway to the platform for wizards. (Portkeys were more popular for those with luggage and large groups.) He exchanged a sickle for a pinch of floo powder, and called "Quibbler Associate's Auxiliary Office," as he stepped into the green flames and vanished with a whoosh.
"I didn't know muggles could use the floo," Hermione observed, following her father, even as Mary raised an eyebrow at the floo address.
"I'll explain over dinner," Emma muttered, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed. "Watch your step."
"O...kay," Mary sniggered, following Hermione. She tripped out of what was quite obviously meant to be a decorative brazier for a patio on the other end. This was clearly not her fault – the square metal… bowl thing was not at ground level, and had a large table-like rim around it. It was fairly sturdy, not even wobbling as she fell out of it, and looked entirely out of place in the Grangers'… tiny new garden shed? (It had a chimney in the center of the ceiling, the plain walls had no windows, and the only thing Mary saw other than the fire-table was a list of floo addresses pinned to the door. It seemed, somehow, nevertheless, garden-shed-like.) How they had managed to attach it to the Floo Network (and why they hadn't just used their actual fireplace) she had no idea.
"It's Xeno," Dan was explaining to Hermione as he hauled Mary to her feet. "He has a reputation for being a madman. No one questions why Xeno Lovegood wants to attach a mobile fire-grate to the floo network."
Emma appeared, spinning in green flames, and hopped neatly off the coals. Mary, not for the first time, thought curses in the general direction of people who were good at floo-ing. Of course, it probably helped that the older woman knew exactly where and how she was going to reappear.
"What is this place?" Mary asked, taking her bag back from Dan.
"The 'Auxiliary Quibbler Offices,'" Emma sighed, looking around with vague irritation. "Come on, you lot – don't just stand there, I'm starving."
Granger Home, East Farleigh, Kent
"So let me get this straight," Hermione said, slicing asparagus into smaller and smaller pieces. "You spent three and a half months trying to get our fireplace connected to the Floo, and they refused because you're muggles, and you even got a lawyer involved, and then dad mentioned it to Luna's father, and he managed to have it done in less than a week?"
Emma rolled her eyes. "Yes, it's entirely frustrating."
"Lateral thinking at its best," Dan grinned. "We have to use the Quibbler address, but really, it's a small price to pay."
"Are you, actually, you know… an auxiliary Quibbler writer?" Mary asked, raising an eyebrow at Dan.
"I… may have written a few things for the Naturalism column." Both doctors Granger sniggered.
"Daddy," Hermione said reprovingly. "Really?"
"What?"
"The naturalism pages are the sex advice column, Lizzie," the older girl explained, making a face. "The Crumple-Horned Snorkack is a euphemism."
"Oh… Merlin… do you think Luna knows?"
"Definitely. The better question is whether Mr. Lovegood knows that Luna knows."
Dan was laughing hard enough that he started choking. When he finally recovered, he said, "No. No, he doesn't."
The ladies contemplated this statement for a moment, then all apparently decided not to touch the issue at once. "So, any other changes around the house?" Mary asked, as Hermione said, "Love the Christmas decorations, mum," and Emma ordered Dan to go check on the pudding.
When he returned, he had an obviously hand-made model of the house with him, apparently to demonstrate the work he had done.
"Why is there a hamster ball attacking the kitchen?" Hermione asked suspiciously. The yellow ball did, in fact, enclose the model kitchen, the bedroom above it, which Mary generally occupied, and a not-insubstantial part of the yard.
"After many attempts to find a ward scheme that would not be affected by the creation of electric currents strong enough to power, well, anything more than a single lightbulb, within it, Devon finally suggested that we create a null-field within the larger ward-field, taking advantage of the Kasen Insulation Effect. Then we decided that if we're going to do that, we might as well reduce the overlap, and thereby increase the effective area for blanket wards, like the anti-portkey shield. So the area inside the ball has electricity – there's a generator outside the kitchen and we re-wired the house so that we could just shut off the rest of it at the fuse-box. It's not really as though we used the electricity for much else, anyway."
Hermione's mouth was gaping open. Mary was looking around, astonished that she had become so accustomed to Hogwarts 'normal' that she hadn't even noticed that they were eating by candlelight.
"You don't use the electricity?! What about the lights?! I thought you were just being cute with the candles! What about the telephone?! The computer, and the television?! The floo-shed is one thing, but this – this is absurd!"
"Calm down, Hermione," Emma said soothingly. "We moved the computer and the television up to the spare room – that's the entertainment center, now, and replaced the record-player in the den with the magical equivalent. There are obviously candles in here, and we're using oil lamps in the bedrooms and bathrooms, now."
"And the phone?"
"Oh! Devon and Bill came up with really a very clever bit of shielding, which allows the wires to pass from the kitchen phone through the defenses right here." Dan pointed at the spot where the yellow plastic of the ball met a white line painted around the miniature house. "So long as we don't talk for more than half an hour or so at a go, everything seems to work just fine."
"And, um… where will I be sleeping?" Mary asked hesitantly, as Hermione's mouth worked silently. "If the spare room's now the… entertainment center?"
"We're still working on re-modeling the study to be the new spare bedroom," Dan said blithely. "So we've put both beds in Hermione's room for the moment."
"Oh, don't give us that look, Jeanie!" Emma chided her daughter. "You have a roommate at school, and you can't tell us you get on better with Padma than Beth!"
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Hermione led the way upstairs after dinner in a state of obvious shock. Mary felt rather bad about forcing her to share her room, and even worse about trying to fall asleep sharing a room with someone herself for the first time she could ever remember. She lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling and the bookshelves, wondering how, exactly, the other girl's breathing could possibly be so loud.
Hogwarts Grounds
Sirius
Sirius, Padfoot – he was starting to lose track of which was which, anymore – watched with a heavy heart as the students made their way to the carriages, and out the gates. He didn't dare get close enough to try to scent the Traitor – Moony was here – he had seen him going to the carriages, too, with the students. It took all his concentration to remember that Moony wasn't a friend anymore – he thought Sirius was the traitor – but he wasn't a friend, and he could have told Dumbledore about Padfoot. The Professors. Anyone. Everyone. So Padfoot had to stay away from all the people. Couldn't come close. Couldn't be seen.
It was hard. Harder than it should be. He missed people, even now, even though they were hunting him, and even though he had found other company. The Remoran Wolves – smarter, more human, at the moment, than he was, by far – the Pack had found him, cold and alone, and they had taken him in, let him hunt with them (but not stags – never stags!), but they weren't human, no matter how intelligent they were, and he missed humans.
Humans helped him remember that he was Sirius, and not just Padfoot.
They drew him in, like the Quidditch match – so many people, out on the grounds. He had been curious. He hadn't been able to stop himself creeping close, even so soon after his attempt to reach the Rat in the Tower, and then, when he realized what was going on – when he heard the Announcer shout Potter, he couldn't drag himself back to the Forest.
He could hardly see the action, and the rain transformed the players to faceless blurs, but even so, it had been almost too easy to forget that he wasn't still in school, that it wasn't Jamie out in the air – but the robes were green, not red, and if Jamie was flying, he would have been, too, and he wasn't in school and everything was wrong, not only because he couldn't think straight, lost in memories of better times long forgotten, but because there was something wrong with the little Fawn, even before the dementors came and everything went even more wrong.
Something was wrong before she fell and he couldn't get to her, couldn't help her, because he had to run, run, run, because he couldn't protect her if the dementors caught Padfoot. He stole a wand and ran to London, let himself be seen, far, far away so they would stop looking for him in Hogsmeade – went to Gringotts and signed the things they made him sign and ordered his goblin to order her a broom to say sorry for not being there, sorry for not saving you, again (the guilt and the shame were eating him alive, as surely as the dementors) – but he couldn't stay away, not knowing that she was there, really, and not safe, with the Traitor still alive and it didn't matter, being seen in London, or maybe the muggles who saw him didn't call it in, but there were still dementors everywhere.
He heard himself whine involuntarily as Padfoot grew anxious. It was okay, he reminded himself. He was okay. He could do this, even if they made it hard to think in straight lines and he couldn't tell the difference anymore between Sirius and Padfoot and it was cold and he was hungry. There was fresh air and he could run and he was free. He was fine. But the little Fawn, she wasn't fine.
Crookshanks – he liked the Crookshanks – best familiar he'd ever had, that cat – the Crookshanks had told him (well, thought/memory-shared at him) that the girl who had fallen (the cat knew her as the one made of quick, deft, unobtrusive movements, and long, strong fingers, smelling of wariness but not fear) had been up and giving the best ear-scratches just days later, but there had to be something wrong, even before that, because the family magic of the godfather bond, the magic that tied them together, couldn't find her.
He couldn't remember how it worked – he couldn't think – couldn't human clearly, most days – not around the dementors – it was better here than Azkaban, but making Padfoot think human thoughts was hard, and it was too cold to be Sirius even if Sirius wasn't being hunted – but where was he?
Something was wrong with his goddaughter, no matter what the Crookshanks said – thought – whatever. He (Pad– no, Sirius) knew that when he felt for it, he should be able to find her, should be able to feel where she was. She was his only family anymore, the only bond – it wasn't broken, so he knew she was alive, but he didn't know if she was headed for the train with Moony and the Crookshanks' girl (too-soft petting and cooing at him, always surrounded by the scent of books, striding boldly, everywhere at once), or hidden away in the Castle. He hadn't expected her to be at the Quidditch match, flying like Jamie. He couldn't find her when he got away from there. He thought she was safe, behind strong wards somewhere, but she wasn't – she was right there, and he hadn't known.
This was bad – so bad he couldn't think of anything else. He couldn't concentrate on hunting the Traitor to keep her safe because he knew, knew that the only kind of magic that could stop him finding her, stop Family Magic – was dark. Very, very dark. Someone was casting dark, illegal spells on his goddaughter, and he didn't know who. Not Dumbledore – he would never let someone use that kind of magic on a child. Snivellus? Some other Death Eater? The traitor? (No, he wasn't good enough to cast that sort of spell.)
And why?
What purpose did it serve to hide the bond between them? It couldn't be to keep her from him. It was already in place – the spell – before he escaped. It was the very first thing he did, before he even made his way ashore, tried to find her, seeking some direction. When he hadn't been able to sense her location, hadn't known instinctively where she was, when he was getting closer to her, he had thought she must be hidden away, in a safe place, maybe behind a Fidelius. He had been relieved, thinking she was safe – that he could hunt the Traitor without worrying about her.
But she wasn't safe – she was here, at Hogwarts, where he had only expected to find the Rat.
Or maybe not. She might be back on the train right now, or the Rat might be, without her. He couldn't sense her, so he didn't know if she was buried in the depths of the Castle, or moving away, on the train.
The Crookshanks was with his girl, almost beyond the range of the Familiar bond – far too far to talk/share memories. Too far to know if the cat could scent the Rat on the train, or if he was protecting the Fawn, as Sirius/Padfoot had asked him to do.
He huffed, hot breath forming a small cloud before him, as he tried to figure out how long the students would be gone. Time was strange, passing in great chunks when he couldn't make Padfoot pay enough attention to days and moons – and paying attention was hard. It was still very cold, and after the Quidditch match, it had taken him days to get to London – to find the wand, and robes and apparate to Knockturn under glamour, and then weeks to get back without the wand. What had he done with the wand? Oh, it hadn't liked him enough to stay with Padfoot – he remembered, now – so he had left it at the bank with the goblins. He had come back to the Forest and met up with the Wolves… It hadn't been more than one full moon, he thought. (Even Padfoot was still aware of that night, after all these years.) So all that meant that this had to be the Yule break – almost a whole month.
A month was far too long to go not knowing what was happening in the Castle, not knowing where his Mary was, or the Rat, for sure.
He might have given himself away, attacking like he had, so many weeks ago.
The Rat might not even be there, anymore. The Crookshanks had seen him… not long ago, not very long. But he could have run, could be sneaking to London on the train, on his way to vanish from Sirius' life forever – and that was the best possible thing he could imagine – the least awful of the possibilities chasing each other in circles around his head. What if the Rat was with the Fawn, just waiting for the right moment to strike? What if he had pushed him into attacking her, by scaring the Traitor over Samhain? What if, what if, what if?
He had to find out.
He had to think of a way to figure out where his goddaughter was. And then he had to find out if the Rat was anywhere near her. The Traitor could not be allowed to hurt the Fawn!
He had to get into the Castle.
He needed to plan.
Padfoot's paws carried him back into the Forest, deeper into the trees, even as he decided this, moving instinctively toward the cave, the Den. That was right – that was good. He could plan in the warm. It would be better, easier to think, if he wasn't cold and hungry and tired.
The alpha-female, the mother-wolf, was awake when he returned. He licked at her jaw like a youngling, showing his submission. She was smaller than him – not even half his size – but she made him feel like a pup, accepting him into the pack when she saw his need of it. She was safety and welcome and home in a way that his own mother (Sirius' mother) never had been. She reminded him of Dorea, a strangely sad-happy sort of memory, of her sitting by his bed and petting his hair when she thought he was asleep after that first, horrible meeting with the mind-healer after he ran away and… everything.
He whined at the memory, and the mother-wolf nipped him sharply on the flank as she made her way toward the cave entrance. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
He sighed, and lay down, watching two of the younger wolves tussle in play. The elder, a male, four or five years old, would be leaving the pack, soon, to find a mate and start his own family. The younger, a female from the last litter, abandoned the game with her tail tucked low, and curled up beside him, eyeing her brother warily. The animagus felt his eyes grow heavy. The little wolf burrowed her head under his front leg, stealing every possible bit of warmth from him, and the male came to join them after a few minutes, lying along his other side.
He could sleep, he decided. Sleep now, until it was time to hunt – until the entire Pack roamed the Forest, and he would find a hare or the Pack would take down a deer (not a stag), and they would feast. He would think better on a full stomach. He would find a way to find the Fawn, find a way to find keep her safe. The yearling female squirmed free and jumped on top of him, finding her way to the warm space between himself and her brother (who huffed irritably, but didn't move), where she finally settled, one paw dangerously close to his right ear, and another digging into his lower ribs. It was not as uncomfortable as it should have been, being used as her pillow.
Sirius closed his eyes and let his conscious, human worries wash away in a flood of animal warmth and comfort and trust and family.
When the Pack roused itself at nightfall to hunt, Padfoot joined them. Sirius remained asleep, the human need to plot of no concern to his canine mind, and protection less immediate than the hunt and the food and the too-full sleepiness that followed, and the easy acceptance of the Pack.