A/N: Hey, this is a mothafucking TRIPLE POST. Chapters 37-39 have been posted at once, so make sure you don't miss anything!

Disclaimer: I own none of this!

Source: Rowling, J. K. (2003). Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Scholastic: New York.

January 20, 1996

MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN

As was reported by the Daily Prophet over the weekend, there has been a massive prisoner breakout from Azkaban Prison. Two nights ago, a large group of Death Eaters have done what was previously thought impossible – escape from the island prison.

There is, however, one other man who has managed to escape from Azkaban – the notorious fugitive Sirius Black, who managed to escape in June 1993 and has been at large ever since. The Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge has claimed that Black is behind this new breakout, but our sources at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement have recently placed him in Poland:

"Our search has tracked Black to the Carpathian Mountains, deep in Poland. To claim that Black could have assisted in this breakout is laughable. No matter how skilled Black may be, there's no way he could have orchestrated such a feat while thousands of miles away. No, this could only have been planned by a very dangerous Dark wizard or witch here in England," says an Auror at the Ministry, who has chosen to remain unnamed.

And so if Black isn't the mastermind behind this attack, who was? We here at The Hogwarts Times dare to point one finger – He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Though the Ministry continues to deny claims made by Headmaster Dumbledore and Harry Potter that the Dark Lord has returned, one cannot look at the recent string of disappearances and now this massive breakout without questioning the Ministry's denial. Not only have the number of disappearances and murders increased steadily since last June, when Harry Potter claims to have seen You-Know-Who resurrected, but the number of incidences of the Imperius Curse has also suddenly skyrocketed to numbers reminiscent of the beginning of the First Wizarding War.

So we must ask again: can the Ministry continue to deny these claims?

Unfortunately, it seems the Minister will continue to push off our questions. It appears that we will be forced to wait and see how these newly liberated fugitives utilize their freedom. The fugitives include Death Eaters Antonin Dolohov, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, and Augustus Rookwood. We acknowledge that any knowledge of their whereabouts are going to be few and far between here at Hogwarts, but please encourage your friends and family to keep their ears open and to exercise basic precautions.

Stay tuned for further updates here at The Hogwarts Times. Although we've had to go underground with our publication due to the most recent string of Educational Decrees, you can be sure that we will continue to give you the most recent and honest reporting in the country.

Chapter 38: Comrades

I.

It was bitterly cold, almost silently bereft of even a breeze. Remus Lupin pulled his old coat tightly around his thin form as he trudged down the icy streets of Hogsmeade for DD&B Potions.

It was the end of the second week of January, and Remus had only seen little glimmers of Rowan since Christmas. After the holiday, Dumbledore had requested that Remus conduct some extensive research regarding prophecies and curse connections, and Rowan had given him permission to leave work at the apothecary without any argument. He'd scoured every magical library throughout the country for every text he could find but was unfortunately unable to find much. Dumbledore had been displeased but understanding – one could hardly expect to find much literature on such rare phenomena.

And then the full moon had come. Remus had stopped by the apothecary the entire week approaching, as he always did, but he'd never been able to stay long, and he had the feeling Rowan wasn't entirely disappointed about it.

He'd noticed a strange sort of happy detachment in Rowan following Christmas Eve. She was just as warm and friendly as she'd ever been, but he swore that there was a certain hollowness in her gaze as she looked at him. He couldn't place his finger on it – she wasn't treating him any differently from before – but he knew that he didn't like it. He wanted to grab her and pry those deep thoughts from her, to know all of her secret thoughts – about him, about them.

Remus wasn't sure exactly how much of Rowan and Hermione's conversation he'd caught, but it'd been enough to deduce all of his worst fears and hopes – that Rowan still loved him. As soon as he'd heard the words leave her mouth, his entire body had lurched with the need to shout out with happiness. She loved him. She loved him! How was it even possible?

But she didn't say it with happiness. His joy had been quickly dampened by the sober tone of her voice, the underlying sorrow and bitterness there.

"Do you think you'll ever be with someone again?"

"I know you want me to say yes, but quite frankly, no. No, I don't think so."

Rowan's words had repeated over and over in his head over the past few weeks, echoing in the old empty libraries, over his books and ancient texts. He'd imagined the sad smile on her lips, the way her eyes had probably crinkled as she said it.

Did she mean she didn't want to be with anyone other than him? Or did she not want to be with anyone at all? Had he hurt her so much that she'd completely sworn off love forever? Was she really so bitter?

He had so many questions but was incapable of voicing them. Sure, he loved her, but what value did that have? He'd always loved her, but it had never shielded either of them from his demons nor the cruelties of the world around them. They were older now, and though the years had given them a new brand of maturity, would things really be that different if he were try to step over that red line once more?

Remus sighed, a shiver shooting up his spine as the warm breath left his lips. It was so cold! A grateful breath escaped him as he finally caught sight of the apothecary, but it melted into a deep frown as he approached. The "CLOSED" sign was turned in the window. He reached forward to the handle and turned it tentatively. His frown deepened – it was open. The bell chimed over his head as he entered. He stepped in and realized that Rowan was indeed there, but she was not alone.

A squat man with a large tuft of mousy hair stood in the center of the shop with Rowan. His nose was turned up, eyes beady, with a wide mouth. Beneath his tiny nose was a large bushy moustache that reminded Remus very much of a walrus. He wore a long overcoat of brown fur and a vivid blue suit beneath. He stopped speaking to Rowan immediately upon Remus' entrance and turned with a critical eye, sizing him up from foot to head.

"And who is this?" the short man asked. His voice was nasally and arrogant, a sneer pulling on his lips. Remus tried to offer a polite smile but was taken aback by the angry glower on Rowan's face.

"This is my assistant Remus Lupin," she said curtly. She shot Remus a pointed look. "Remus, this is Mr. Grendel Latimer of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"Beast Division," clarified Latimer haughtily. He hopped up to Remus and sized him up again. "Mr. Remus Lupin, werewolf Number 186, registered in February 1965. Am I correct?" he asked. Remus had to forcefully keep the snarl that was building in his chest from his face.

"Yes," he bit out simply. Latimer nodded and turned back to Rowan.

"So not only are you tending to these dangerous half-breeds, but you're also employing them now?" he said. Rowan's eyes flared angrily.

"They are not dangerous if treated correctly, and yes, I do, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't use such ignorant language in my apothecary, Mr. Latimer," she said frigidly. "Remus has never attacked anyone, nor do I believe him capable of it. He's an extremely intelligent, diligent wizard, as are all of my patients, sir," she added acidly. Latimer's moustache twitched with disbelief.

"That remains to be seen," he said curtly. "I will need to see all of your patient logs and employee handbooks. I will also need a full history of your apprentice Ms. Claire Verloren's employment, as well as her patients." Rowan turned her chin up defiantly.

"If you did your proper research, you'd know that all of my patient files are confidential. I can compile both Remus and Claire's files for you, but the names of my patients are of no concern to the Ministry," she said. Latimer bristled.

"They are if they are unregistered," he retorted.

"Is your Department really so incompetent that you can't keep track of a few werewolves? It's hardly a large population," she countered coldly. Latimer's beady eyes narrowed.

"I'd show some respect if I were you," he said lowly. He pointed his quill to his clipboard. "One mark against you, and I can shut this farce of an apothecary down, and then where would you and your patients be?" he sneered.

"If you're so determined to shut me down, then go ahead," Rowan said. "But I can't imagine the population of Hogsmeade would be so pleased to hear that its beloved Potions Master was leaving."

"And then we half-breeds would be going untreated," added Remus. Latimer spun to face him. He offered a cold smile. "Imagine a group of wild werewolves on the loose every full moon. I'd imagine you'd have many more unregistered cases slip by without you knowing then," he said. Latimer's face turned a slow red, glaring angrily at Remus. His hand shook with his rage, quill quivering over the clipboard.

Finally, he turned he face down to the clipboard, nose very close to the parchment on it.

"Official – threatened – by – employee. Half-breeds – employed – in – defiance – of – Half-breed – Control – Bill," he muttered, scribbling his scathing notes down. Rowan seethed.

"Now wait just a minute! I have followed every standard set by that rubbish law! Remus is legally employed here as a stellar worker! And he did no such thing as threaten you!"

But Latimer ignored her, a cruel smirk pulling at his lips. He finished scratching on his clipboard and looked up at Rowan once more.

"I will send you a summary of my initial report. You can expect it within a couple of weeks. I will be waiting for those employee files," he said. He then eyed Remus with that haughty look again. "And we shall see how long those patient logs remain confidential," he added. He then bent low and slipped his clipboard into his blue attaché, straightening back up to meet Rowan and Remus' gazes pointedly once more.

"Good day, Master Delacroix, Mr. Lupin," he said curtly. And with one last smirk, he turned on his heel for the door. The doorbell chimed, and the squat man bounced out, leaving the two of them in the silence of the apothecary.

Remus stared after the now still door for a moment before turning tentatively to face Rowan. She, too, was glaring angrily at the door, hands balled up tightly and trembling. That strange rage was swirling behind her gaze once more, lips twisting and pulling as she fought at the roar that was threatening to burst.

"Rowan?" he whispered. He wanted to reach forward and touch her, but he was terrified that she might completely snap in half. Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment before opening back up, slightly duller than before. With great apparent effort, she released the tension in her arms. Her mouth slackened slowly, slowly, until she looked as if she could move it.

"They've never given a damn about what I do here," she finally said quietly. "They've always trusted my work. The old Head of Department never would have pulled this shit," she seethed. Remus' throat felt tight as he heard the tight wind of her voice still.

"What do we do now?" he asked carefully. Rowan's glower deepened.

"We give him your file and tell our patients to lay low. Latimer will be watching our patients from now on. I don't want them getting harassed because of me," she said. She gestured for the back room, and he followed.

"You think Fudge would go so far as to threaten your patients just to get to you?" he asked. She nodded, making a line for her desk.

"I know he will. He's been wary of me ever since that hag Umbridge wriggled her way into his inner circle. That bitch has been whispering nasty things about me ever since I testified against her in the legislative hearings about that idiotic bill of hers," she spat, collapsing into her seat. Remus sat next to her.

"Do you think he knows?" he asked. Rowan snorted.

"Knows what - that I'm in the Order?" she scoffed. "Everyone knows. I'm actually surprised Fudge hasn't come after me before now. Latimer's going to poke holes into anything he can. If we don't figure something out, we'll be shut down by the summer."

"Hello? Master Rowan?"

Remus jumped at the soft voice, turning towards the front room. He didn't recognize it – a customer? He looked up to see Rowan standing with a drawn but hard expression. Was she expecting this person?

"Wait here. I have someone I want you to meet," she said softly before heading out to greet this mysterious man. Remus frowned but waited patiently. He listened hard but could barely catch anything of the softs murmurs shared between them. Finally, she returned with a young man.

He was tall and well-built with tanned skin and high cheekbones. He had dark hair and dark eyes that seemed to swallow all light. Remus thought that he was a very handsome fellow with a solemn face. He had the air of a soldier with his straight back and broad shoulders.

But there was a fatigue in his features that Remus recognized, a glimmer of fear in his eyes that spoke of unfamiliarity. A few nearly-healed cuts marred his face and a large bandage was wrapped around his forearm, which he seemed to favor gingerly. Remus took in all the signs and felt his face melt into a sad grimace.

He was a newly bitten werewolf.

"Danny, this is my friend Remus Lupin. Remus, this is Danny Imran, a new patient of mine," she said. The young man's eyes widened with panic as his name fell from Rowan's lips, but she smiled gently.

"It's okay, Danny. Remus is my patient as well. In fact, he's the one Arthur Weasley was talking about at St. Mungo's," she said softly.

Danny remained tense, like a cornered animal, but as he took in the kind expression on Remus' face, he slowly began to release, settling into a calmer stance. Rowan smiled and guided him to a seat. She shot Remus a small smile that said she was sorry. He smiled back and then extended his hand to Danny.

"Nice to meet you, Danny," he said. Danny nodded slowly and took Remus' hand with a wary grip.

"Nice to meet you," he murmured, but he remained standing. Rowan smiled at the two of them brightly.

"Danny was one of the patients at St. Mungo's who shared Arthur's recovery room. He was only bitten three weeks ago," she explained. Remus nodded as the pieces fell into place. He remembered Lescos saying that he wanted Rowan to speak to someone there. This must have been that young man.

"Danny's only gone through one cycle so far, obviously, so he still has many questions. I was hoping that you might be able to answer some of them for him," she explained further. Danny looked at Remus warily with a searching look. Remus' stomach clenched at the hopeful gazes both he and Rowan aimed at him but smiled.

"Of course," he said softly. Rowan smiled with relief. His smile broadened at the sight. "Yes, you can ask me anything you like. Here, have a seat," he said.

Remus' words seemed to sink in very slowly for Danny. He seemed to roll the words over one by one until, finally, he nodded.

"Okay," he murmured, sinking into the extra chair. Rowan smiled.

"I'll make some tea while you two chat. Let me know if you need anything," she said. She then made her way to the door quietly and shut it behind her, leaving the two men alone. Remus turned back to Danny, who was now looking more nervous again without her there. Remus marveled at how calming such a small woman's presence could be.

"Can I ask you some questions first – just to get an idea of where you're coming from?" he asked. Danny gave a slight nod. Remus smiled.

"Okay… First thing's first – tell me how you were bitten."

Danny Imran's story came out steadily throughout the morning. Rowan came and went from the backroom as he and Remus talked, tending to the shop's customers while also checking in on them every so often with tea and snacks. Rowan noted that Danny was still very nervous, but she wanted to say that he had begun to relax slowly as the day progressed. She could hardly expect him to open up to her and Remus completely in just one morning, but she hoped that he'd at least give a sign that he was open to their involvement.

And to her delight, her wish seemed to be coming true. By the time Danny left in the early afternoon, she'd seen a very positive change in the young man's behavior towards the two of them. He certainly wasn't warm, but he was answering questions readily and posing his own with relative ease. There were still many holes in his story – he was strangely reticent about how he was bitten – but they seemed to at least be making a connection with him, which is what really mattered.

Rowan's relationships with her patients were built upon trust. Before anything else, she wanted her patients to feel as if they could rely on her. Medical treatment was certainly a necessity, but feeling comfortable with the one providing it presented an entirely different layer of understanding. To treat her patients, she needed to know her patients, and though it was often a difficult feat – werewolves were often a wary, fearful people – she'd managed to gain the trust of most of them with time.

And Danny was the youngest she'd seen in a while. Since publishing the Wolfsbane, the numbers of newly bitten werewolves had plummeted dramatically. While there were certainly going to be accidents among the uneducated, she was proud to say that it was a majorly preventable disease now. So to see one so young – 26, as she'd discovered – was heartbreaking.

He was tall, handsome, and well-spoken. From what she'd gathered, he had a good Ministry job and came from a good family. To her sorrow, he realized that the Ministry was going to sack him once word of his condition got out, and it terrified him. Everything he'd known was going to be changed dramatically. Even his parents seemed to be unsure of how to treat him in just the three weeks that had passed. It was understandable that he was a nervous wreck, afraid of everything around him. He seemed to be grasping at every piece of his life he could hold onto before it all slipped away between his fingers.

But as he left that afternoon, he seemed to have a good handful of something to grasp – he had her and Remus. Sure, they were still mostly unknown to him, but they were kind and solid, and they were offering him help and a sympathetic ear. Rowan had the means to continue his life primarily unscathed, and Remus had the experience to guide him through the coming hardships. Together, they held a beacon of light for him, and though there was no end of the tunnel in sight, at least he had two people there to carry him through it.

As they said goodbye to Danny, he smiled back softly, and Rowan was sure Remus could hear her heart sing. She beamed and waved happily as the young man continued down the street. Remus, too, smiled broadly and looked prouder than she'd seen in a very long time – proud of both Danny and himself. She wanted to throw her arms around him and laugh.

"Thank you," she said softly as they moved inside.

"Hm?" he hummed. She smiled, head cocking affectionately.

"Thank you," she repeated, "for talking to him all morning. I'd wanted to run it by you before he got here, but I hadn't foreseen Latimer being here." Remus nodded.

"It's okay. I understand," he said softly. The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a soft smile. "I'd never thought of helping young werewolves before, but it was…" He paused thoughtfully, and the smile broadened. "Fulfilling… deeply fulfilling," he said with some surprise. Rowan beamed.

"I'm glad. I'd hoped that he'd feel some sort of camaraderie with you, but I'm happy to hear that you enjoyed it as well," she said happily. Remus smiled sheepishly.

"I'm just glad I was able to do something useful after being gone for so long and mucking up that Pick-Me-Up Potion last month," he said guiltily. Rowan laughed.

"Your brewing's been fine, but this was really incredible, Remus. No one could have done that so gracefully. I can't tell you how grateful I am to have you here," she said genuinely. Remus' ears took on a reddish tint, and he ran a nervous hand through his hair. Rowan grinned at his sheepishness.

"Well, no one knows the experience of a werewolf better than another werewolf, right?" he said. Rowan shook her head.

"Maybe, but no one can express that experience in the way you can," she said. Her smile deepened. "You've always been good with young people – must be why you're such a great teacher." She laughed again as his face screwed up with embarrassment.

"Wormtail, bring us some more wine."

Wormtail – it was all he was referred to these days, wasn't it? The round wizard supposed he had another name before, but recently, he could hardly remember it. It was Wormtail, just Wormtail. He scurried forward with a decanter of deep red wine towards his master's side.

"Here you are, my Lord," he squeaked.

The pale-faced dark wizard sat at the head of a long table of the darkest ebony wood. Wormtail poured a liberal amount of the wine into his master's goblet with a weak simper, keeping his eyes on the mouth of the goblet with rapt concentration. He would not spill wine on his master's robes, not after the lashing he'd received the last time.

"Peter, would you mind filling my glass as well?"

Peter – yes, that'd been his name before. He'd normally relish the sound of it, but it'd been delivered by that stickily sweet voice, so gnawing and prying. He'd averted his gaze all night in the hopes that she would not notice him. He felt her already digging her nails into his back without even looking up, her eyes piercing into the side of his face. His hands began to tremble as he felt the stinging pain.

"Well, Wormtail? Did you not hear Bellatrix?" asked his master softly. Wormtail jumped and hurried over to the woman's side without a second thought. Fear of his master outweighed fear of this woman, and even if his skin burned at just the thought of her, he would not disobey.

"Thank you, Peter," she whispered softly. Wormtail nodded quickly and made a move to flee, but she wrapped her long fingers around his wrist like a spider. He froze in place as she bent her head to meet his gaze.

Her lips were no longer full and red as she'd once made them. The light amber of her eyes had not belonged to her, but to another. They were dark now, hooded and crazed. They widened tauntingly as they met his, and her thin lips pulled into a broad grin, revealing an expanse of browning teeth. Her skin was sallow and pale. Her hand, once soft and firm, was now cracked and aged.

"What's wrong, Peter? Do you not find me beautiful anymore?" she asked saccharinely. Wormtail couldn't find his voice. He gaped dumbly at this woman. That face he'd once worshiped came flashing back – so beautiful, so haunting. He remembered the way that beautiful face had warped and changed into this one, how her nails had scored over his skin, how he'd screamed. This mouth had pressed against his time and time again. These hands had touched him all over. His stomach convulsed as he thought of it.

She laughed.

It rang high and melodic throughout the dark dining room. A few others – deep and male – joined hers. Bellatrix brought a hand up to Wormtail's face, grabbing him roughly by the jaw. She squeezed, and he whimpered, feeling her long, cracked nails dig into his soft skin. She grinned, crazed.

"Do you not long for my touch anymore, Peter?" she asked. Her voice enunciated each syllable of his name like a timpani. Pe-ter. Each bounce of her voice prickled his skin like a needle. He whimpered as she punctuated her question with another squeeze but then released, caressing his cheek with a gentle swoop of fingers. She leaned forward slowly, and he held his breath as her lips pressed against his face. She pulled away even more slowly and gave him a slow, seductive smile.

"Oh, Peter, how I have missed the sound of your whimpers," she said leisurely. She then lowered her voice with a scandalous smile: "Though I must say your mother's were my favorite."

Wormtail's lungs heaved, eyes wide with terror. He couldn't breathe as he felt her hands run over his face once more. She grinned broadly, rotting teeth displayed proudly for him to see. He trembled, gasping for air. Wine splashed in the decanter in his hands.

"Bellatrix, that's enough tormenting of Wormtail for today," called the Dark Lord in an almost-bored voice. Her hands released him.

"Yes, my Lord," she said sweetly. Wormtail gasped and shot away as if he'd been struck. Bellatrix giggled and smiled almost flirtatiously at Wormtail as he rushed back to their master's side, hiding behind the Dark Lord's tall chair. The powerful wizard paid him no mind, instead bringing his goblet up with a broad smile.

"My Death Eaters," he said. His eyes narrowed. "My friends." All of the figures around the table stood with their goblets raised.

"Today is a great day, for we have been reunited with our own," he said, nodding to the four men closest to him and the dark-haired woman. "I should like to make a toast to you, my most faithful, my greatest defenders," he said softly. Bellatrix nodded eagerly, eyes burning with pride for her master.

"To your good fortune and health and to the great victories we shall undoubtedly conquer together – the Order of the Phoenix, Albus Dumbledore, and Harry Potter! May they fall by our hand, swiftly and heavily!"

"Long live the Dark Lord!" they all cried. His red eyes burned proudly, his pale fingers raising his goblet with a nod. He drank, as did the rest.

The ominous clatter of metal goblets echoed around the hall. At the foot of the table, slumped behind the chair of his master, Wormtail, too, raised his glass, but he did not drink. He looked into the deep red wine and thought of full, red lips – the ones that had brought him here, the ones that had not belonged to him. The soft lap of wine against his mouth was not the same as the silky caress of those lips, and the yellow glow of the moon that spilled in from the tall windows was not the same as the amber glow of the eyes that were now gone. It was not the same as candle light in firewhiskey, and the vague ache in his chest was not the same as the one he'd felt so many years before, back when he'd had a name.