Note: Only one more week to visit the poll and pick a blot bunny for the three-month commemorative one-shot! Only about an eighth of you have registered a vote. Go on: pick one! Make Stoplight glow.
Lines from 'Passtime With Good Company' written by Henry VIII. No, really.
Chapter Fifty-Three: Shared Secrets
It was drawing on to noon and Remus's tailbone was beginning to ache quite mercilessly from the contact with the unyielding edge of the stone plinth when at last the gargoyle leapt aside and the stairs began to turn. A moment later a pair of round-toed shoes appeared, and then the skirts of a school robe and a belt about a rather portly tum, and at last Peter's arms and shoulders and head. He seemed well-composed, but rather uneasy, and there was a hint of red about his little eyes.
Sirius was on his feet in an instant, arms crossed. 'Well?' he demanded. 'Has Dumbledore made you see sense at last?'
Peter nodded vigorously. 'Yes, yes he has,' he said with an exceedingly resolute note to his voice. 'I see it all now. I promise I won't tell anybody. I promise.'
'Glad to hear it,' James said approvingly. Peter smiled briefly, delighted by the validation of his idol.
'And do you agree this changes nothing?' Sirius asked, the menacing undertone still present.
Perhaps it was merely a trick of the light, but Remus could have sworn that he saw Peter's eyes shift uncomfortably. 'I agree,' he said firmly.
'Well, not nothing, of course,' said James. 'I mean, there won't be any more lies now, will there? And no more secrets. Not between the four of us, that is: I fully intend to rack up a whole conspiracy's worth to be kept from the teachers.'
Sirius nodded appreciatively. 'Secrets from one another: forbidden. Secrets with one another: certainly permissible. New group policy, agreed?'
'Agreed,' said James.
'Pettigrew?' Sirius asked.
Peter nodded.
'And Remus?'
'I promise,' Remus said softly. 'I promise not to lie to you anymore.'
Sirius bobbed is head, satisfied. 'That's all right, then,' he said. 'Well, what do you say we go and grab some grub and make up our minds what to do with the rest of the day?'
~discidium~
In the end the rest of the day passed uneventfully. They went outdoors for a while. The trees were beginning to turn colours, and the grounds had a pleasant autumnal glow. A group of first years, egged on by some of the second year Hufflepuffs, were trying to touch the trunk of the Whomping Willow. Each time the tree flailed at an attacker there was a flurry of falling leaves, which the children scampered to gather like some sort of trophy. Sirius and James laughed as a little boy was smacked in the backside by a swooping branch, but Remus looked away. He supposed there was no harm in the game, but he did not like the idea of people playing so near the entrance to his hiding place.
'You know,' Sirius said pensively as yet another firstie was forced to make an undignified retreat; 'if you told us how Pomfrey managed to make that thing freeze up we could make a packet on taking wagers that we couldn't do it.'
'No!' Remus gasped, absolutely horrified. 'You wouldn't! You mustn't! What if somebody saw how it was done and got into the tunnel? They would… I'd be…'
'Relax, Remus. He was only joking,' James said in a placating voice. 'You've known Sirius long enough to work out when he's not being serious.'
'I'm always Sirius,' the taller boy snorted. He winked at Remus. 'But I wasn't serious. It's not like you to fall for my teasing; you're too smart for that.'
Remus did not say that making light of the reality of his condition was something entirely alien to him. He had a creeping suspicion that such an admission would distress Sirius, who found ways to laugh about everything, however ghastly.
After supper they went up to the dormitory for a few rounds of chess, Peter abstaining on the flimsy excuse that he was tired of losing. Remus could not help but wonder if, despite his assurances to the contrary, Peter did not wish to have anything to do with him. He forced himself not to think about it.
By unspoken assent the four boys turned in early. Remus had not realized it, but the excitement of the past week had been wearing on his friends as well. They were all soon asleep.
On Sunday they had to go down to the Quidditch pitch, for James had a practice scheduled. The air was frosty and Remus sat in on the hard bench in the nearly empty Gryffindor box trying to look interested in the manoeuvres before him. Sirius was rapt with attentiveness, and when the team descended to talk strategy he left the box and went to join them. This left Remus and Peter alone in the box.
Peter's eyes widened as he grew cognizant of that fact and Remus, who had not exchanged two words with the smaller boy since the visit to Dumbledore's office, half expected him to bolt for the stairs. Peter did indeed look as though he would quite like to run, but he did not.
'I understand,' Remus said in a quiet attempt to fill the chasm between them. 'I understand why you're afraid. But Peter, I promise I would never want to hurt anyone. Sirius is right: I'm only dangerous when I'm transformed, and then I'm not even on school grounds. I would never hurt you, Peter. I could never live with myself if I did.'
Peter eyed him warily, but slid a little nearer on the bench. 'That's what Professor Dumbledore said,' he mumbled. 'B-but you're a werewolf.'
It took every ounce of self-control that Remus possessed, but he did not cringe at the way the word was spat at him. 'Yes,' he whispered, looking down at his gloves. 'I am a werewolf.'
A tiny whimpering noise sounded in the little boy's throat, as if hearing the admission was harder than saying it himself. Remus could certainly empathize with that.
'I don't understand why you're allowed to come to school,' Peter confessed. There was no rancour in the words; only bewilderment. 'I asked Professor Dumbledore and all he would say was that you were a talented young wizard, and didn't you deserve a chance at an education too? B-but you're not a wizard; not a proper one. You're a half-breed. You're a Dark creature.'
Remus closed his eyes and let the hated epithets wash over him. They were spoken without loathing, and that had to count for something. He told himself that Peter was only repeating things he had heard all his life. Yet he could not refute the arguments, nor did he know how to help the other boy to see the matter from his perspective.
'Professor Dumbledore has been very good to me,' he said softly. 'No other Headmaster would have let me come to Hogwarts.'
He expected that if he had dared to raise his head he would see from Peter's expression that he believed that Dumbledore was mad for consenting to such an arrangement. The urge to argue his case further shrivelled on his tongue. Peter had consented to keep the secret. That was all that he had any right to ask.
'He says I should try to be your friend,' Peter mumbled. 'He says you need good friends around you, and that you've been a good friend to me. He says a little bit of kindness and consideration is all you would want, and if I gave you that you'd be loyal to me through thick and thin. But…'
He stopped, either unable or unwilling to finish. Remus steeled himself. Peter had been his friend, and he needed to understand that there could be no blame for this. If he was unable to continue to associate with a werewolf, he needed to know that he was free to walk away.
'I understand if you can't do it,' he said, his throat constricting and lending to his voice that hoarseness ordinarily reserved for the immediate aftermath of the transformation.
'Sirius and James won't,' Peter mumbled. 'Th-they won't be my friends anymore if I won't be friends with you. You're more important to them than me.'
In his moment of epiphany Remus forgot his misery and his shame. He looked up, his eyes finding the tormented face of Peter Pettigrew. The little boy was just like him: pathetically grateful for his friendships and terrified of losing them. And, like Remus, Peter had lost a friend this week to the revelation of the werewolf in the next bed. As he missed Peter, so Peter missed the Remus he had known: quiet, studious, sympathetic and not even remotely frightening.
'We don't need to tell them,' he said softly. 'If you can bear to be around me, to speak to me civilly where Sirius and James can hear, we can pretend we're still friends. I shan't trouble you or touch you or sit beside you in lessons, and you needn't speak to me any more than you must. I won't tell.'
Peter's eyes widened. 'Y-you'd do that?' he stammered. 'You wouldn't tell them?'
'I promise,' Remus said, though he felt sure his heart would break. Here he was, not only consenting to the end of his friendship with Peter but agreeing to collude in keeping it a secret so that the other boy would not lose his only other friends. It hurt him, and it would continue to hurt him every time the four of them were together, but it was the right thing to do.
A tiny, grateful smile took Peter's face for a moment before withering away. 'Oh,' he said. 'But Sirius says we're not to keep secrets anymore.'
'He said we couldn't keep secrets to ourselves: we had to share them,' said Remus. 'You and I are sharing this one.'
'You mean just as long as somebody knows we don't need to tell everybody?' Peter asked.
Remus nodded. 'That's the literal interpretation of the new rule,' he said solemnly.
There was a good minute and a half of silence before Peter spoke again. 'Then you promise?' he asked. 'You promise that you won't tell James or Sirius that I'm not your friend anymore?'
'I promise,' Remus whispered. He felt his shoulders slumping and his head bowing as he uttered the words.
'I suppose it's only fair,' Peter said, scooting back down to the other end of the bench and leaning forward to watch the team and their reserve players launching back into the air. 'After all, I'm keeping your secret, aren't I?'
~discidium~
That afternoon Remus wrote a long letter to his parents. It was filled with talk of his lessons and an account of James's performance in the Quidditch team trials. He made no mention of the revelation of his secret. If he had been met with wholesale acceptance he might have dared to explain it, but he knew that Father would not understand about Peter, and he could not bear to burden him at a time when his parents were living on three days' work on the quays. Last of all he added a postscript that they needn't write him back; he understood that they were busy and he knew that they loved him regardless. He meant, but did not say, that he couldn't bear to think of them trying to scrape together a few Knuts for the post.
Remus felt so helpless. He wished that there was some way that he could be of use to his parents. Some way, perhaps, to earn a little money to send home to them. He had left his six Sickles on his side table at home so that Mother would find them and use them, but he wished that he might do more. He thought of what Sirius had said about making a packet in wagers on the Whomping Willow – but he refused to entertain that possibility for long. He knew what his parents would say to that. He could not endanger himself, or his secret, for any reason, least of all for money.
So there was nothing to do but worry and wonder. He knew that he was violating his promise to his father in doing so, but he could not help himself. He loved his parents and he was afraid for them, and worst of all he knew that their financial troubles were at least partly his fault. They had bought the little house in Falmouth outright upon their marriage, using a good portion of Father's inheritance to do so. But after he had been bitten, when the savings had been spent, the house had been mortgaged at Gringotts to pay for further journeys to the Continent: fruitless trips and brutal treatments and ineffectual therapies, all undertaken in the vain hope of a cure. If Remus had not been bitten, if he had obeyed his mother, if he were not a werewolf, then a few months without an income would have posed little concern.
And there was also the fact that, if he hadn't had to cope with a werewolf at home, Father might have gone far within the Ministry, as Professor Slughorn seemed to think he should have.
After he sent the letter Remus tarried in the Owlery for a while, watching the birds. James, Sirius and Peter had gone out to watch the firsties take on the Whomping Willow, but Remus was loathe to join them. The memory of yesterday still burned fresh, and in any case it was only fair to give Peter some time to be with the others without the oppressive obligation of being civil to him.
Remus was roused out of his rather dismal thoughts by a sharp peck at his elbow. He looked down and smiled. Hermes had landed on the bench beside him and was looking up expectantly. Remus reached with a crooked finger to scratch the back of the bird's neck.
'Hello, there,' he said, smiling at the bird. 'I'm sorry I didn't say hello the other night. I was rather distracted.'
Hermes shook his body haughtily and then butted against Remus's hand. The boy obediently changed position and adjusted the direction of his petting.
'You're lucky,' he said. 'To belong to Sirius, I mean. I'll bet he takes good care of you. Why don't you ever come up to the dormitory? Ronan does.'
Hermes made a noise that sounded remarkably like a disdainful sniff. Remus grinned. 'You must try to get on with Ronan, you know,' he said. 'Sirius and James won't stand for it if the two of you aren't the best of friends.
'Of course,' he added wistfully; 'I suppose you could always just pretend to put up with him while they're around. They would never know the difference.'
Hermes trilled softly and hopped onto Remus's thigh, his talons pricking delicately against the black cotton. He twisted his neck, looking upward with scrutinizing eyes. Remus sighed.
'Sometimes I think you understand every word I say,' he murmured. 'I wish you could tell me what I ought to do about it all.'
The door opened and Hermes snaked around, turning in Remus's lap to look at the intruder. Remus stiffened and buried his hand in the down feathers of the owl's back as Severus Snape came into the room. He moved hastily, furtively, like one constantly vigilant against assault. He closed the door as quickly as he could, taking care that it latched. There was a creased envelope in his hand; it looked as though it had been reused several times.
He did a swift scan of the ceiling and then jumped a little as he realized he was not alone. 'You!' he hissed, taking a wary step backward and reaching into his robes for his wand.
Remus resisted the urge to go for his own. 'Good afternoon, Severus,' he said politely, though he knew his hold on Hermes was tightening as if the owl might protect him. 'How are you today?'
'Where are your friends?' Snape demanded. 'Black and Potter? Are they hiding around here somewhere?' He scanned the round room as if looking for some place of concealment.
'I'm alone,' Remus said, trying to sound calm and at ease. 'I came up to send a letter.'
'So did I,' said Severus, a peculiar defensive note to his voice. He brandished the envelope. 'You see? I'm going to send it right now. The school owls are for everyone to use, you know.'
'I know,' Remus agreed mildly. He pointed to one of the near perches. 'That tawny one is a very reliable bird. I use her sometimes.'
Snape's eyes narrowed. 'Why d'you use school owls when you've got one of your own?' he demanded suspiciously.
'One of my…' Remus frowned, perplexed, until he realized that he did have a bird in his lap – a very elegant and costly bird, at that. 'Oh. He's not mine,' he said awkwardly. 'He belongs to Sirius.'
'Oh.' Severus looked torn between disdain and envy. 'Black's family is stinking rich, aren't they? I mean, everybody always talks about Potter's money, but Black has it too.'
Remus nodded. 'He's comfortably well-off,' he said. It was impolite to discuss the finances of others, and he was not at all certain he was comfortable with the direction this conversation was taking.
Snape tucked his wand into his cracked leather belt, keeping it within easy reach as he beckoned to the tawny owl. She lowered herself onto one of the rails at eye level and held out her leg to receive the letter.
'Spinner's End,' Snape said. 'Cokeworth. Number six-ninety-six. Just push it in the letterbox, and don't let anybody see you.'
The owl bowed a little to show she understood, and then sprang into flight. Severus watched her go, craning his neck and taking several steps backward to keep his eyes upon the bird until she vanished from the patch of sky beyond the windows. Not until he lost sight of her and looked down again did he realize how near his meandering had brought him to the other boy. He looked rather like he wanted to retreat to the other side of the room again, but something changed his mind. Pride, perhaps, or the fact that Remus looked especially harmless sitting on the floor with a bird in his lap. His fingers found the handle of his wand, but he did not draw it this time.
'Where's your letter then?' he asked, the combative note still evident in his voice.
'I've already sent it,' Remus said.
'Why aren't you going, then?'
It sounded more like an accusation than a question, but Remus forced himself to respond pleasantly. 'I like to sit here sometimes,' he said. 'It's very peaceful up here.'
The thin lips twitched and Remus thought he saw a tiny flush spreading across the sallow cheeks. Abruptly he realized why Severus was so displeased to see him, and why he wanted him to be gone as quickly as possible. Remus was not the only one who found this a quiet place to sit. A safe place.
'But I ought to be going,' he said, as nonchalantly as he could. He shifted his hand to the underside of the owl's belly and urged him up. 'Off you go, now, Hermes,' he prompted.
The bird looked at him indignantly, as if to demand who he thought he was to spurn such a majestic creature, but to Remus's relief he obeyed and fluttered up to one of the rails nearest the domed ceiling. He got to his feet, his right leg dragging only a little as he stood. He brushed his palms on his robe and then smiled, offering his right hand to Severus. 'It's always a pleasure to see you,' he said.
Snape eyed him as if cognizant of some kind of trap. Remus realized that perhaps he was expecting to offer himself only to be rejected as he had last Christmas, and for a moment he wished that he might apologize for that, and offer an explanation. But of course that was impossible. Remus kept his smile kind and his arm steady, and after a moment Severus reached out and gave him the smallest and most perfunctory of handshakes.
'Goodbye,' he said, rather curtly. Remus inclined his head and slipped from the room. He was careful to close the door behind him so that it latched, preserving the other boy's sanctuary.
He was met on the stairs by Evan Rosier and a burly first-year with heavy brows and a rather thick expression on his face. 'You!' Rosier snapped. 'Lupin! Were you just up there?'
As he was coming down the stairs and there was nothing else in this particular tower, Remus found the question ridiculous. However, he had no wish to antagonize a pair of Slytherins with whom he had a history of violent altercations, and so he merely nodded meekly.
'Anybody up there?' demanded the first year.
'I'll ask the questions,' Evan told him scornfully. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Remus. 'Anybody up there?'
'Yes,' Remus said mildly. He knew he would pay for his insolence, but there was a part of him – the part that relished the mischief his friends so often wrought – that found that perhaps the wish to antagonize the Slytherins was there after all. 'There are hundreds of owls up there.'
Rosier glowered and the younger boy made a menacing noise in the back of his throat.
'I know,' Remus said sympathetically, still listening to the errant and foolhardy voice within. 'I was shocked as well. When I heard there was an Owlery up here I was expecting to find a room full of soap crates and loo roll.'
'I meant any people,' Rosier growled.
'No, no people,' said Remus, smiling. 'Only me.'
Rosier whipped out his wand, and Remus reached for his own, but the first year tugged on the bigger boy's sleeve.
'Come on,' he said. 'We've got to check the library next.'
Evan glared at him, then scowled and twitched his wand under Remus's nose. 'You're lucky I'm on business for Lestrange,' he said; 'or I'd hex you.'
Remus bit back the retort that Rosier wouldn't have dared to hex him anyhow, for fear of later reprisal. Instead he smiled courteously. 'Thank you,' he said. 'I certainly appreciate it.'
'So you should,' Rosier spat. He turned and stormed down the stairs, the first year hurrying after him. 'Cowardly little git,' Evan muttered as he went. 'Who's he think he's hiding from, anyhow? He'll only pay for it when we find 'im and he'll have to do it anyway. Stupid bloody fool…'
When the maledictions died away Remus felt his knees go weak. He lowered himself onto the steps, reaching up to clutch the bannister lest he should faint and tumble down the stairs. His foolhardy courage at once amazed and appalled him. He never would have dared to speak up to anyone like that a year ago, or even a month ago. What had possessed him?
But a month ago he had believed himself teetering on the cusp of ruin. He had not known that he was capable of dragging himself up from his post-transformation bed to face the truth he had dreaded all his life. He had not understood that there were people – brave and brilliant and wonderful people – who could see past the horrible truth and accept him regardless. He had never imagined that he could say to someone who had been his friend, calmly and with dignity, that he understood that they could not continue as they had and that he was willing to put up a charade to protect someone who could hardly bear to look at him. He had not known that he had within him the capacity to be strong, if only now and then and in little ways.
Now he had stood up to a pair of Slytherins, and he had driven them away. He wished that Sirius and James could have been there to witness it – though of course if they had the encounter would have been entirely different and his own part in it surely insignificant. He supposed he could always tell them, but he was not certain that he had it in him to boast, especially as however proud he was of himself at this moment he could not be sure that the others would see it as anything special. And, he realized, he would have to admit to meeting Severus in the Owlery.
He was reluctant to do that. He did not know why Rosier was looking for Snape – under orders from Rodolphus Lestrange, no less – but it was obvious that the other boy had not wished to be found. Remus knew that whatever protection he had bought for Severus was temporary: sooner or later he would have to descend and then his housemates would catch up with him. But at least he had given Severus a little time in peace. It would be a betrayal of that gesture to discuss the encounter with James or Sirius.
When the shock and euphoria faded a little Remus got to his feet and made his way back to the Gryffindor Tower to wait for his friends – and Peter – to return to the dormitory.
~discidium~
By the end of the following week a new routine had settled upon the dormitory. Sirius and James continued as they always did: Sirius bolting out of bed first among the four, burning with enthusiasm to take on the new day. James and Remus would arise shortly thereafter, the former loud and eager and the latter quiet and unassuming. As before, James would be the one to roust Peter out of bed, and there it was that the first aberration appeared. Remus did not offer his customary 'good morning' to the flaxen-haired boy, and Peter in his turn did not solicit it. If questions about the day's timetables or the necessary textbooks arose Remus would answer them quietly and unassumingly as he always had, receiving in return a tinny 'thank you'.
The four of them would descend to the Great Hall in what was rapidly becoming a regimented order: Sirius with James on his left and Remus on his right, half a step behind, with Peter flanking James. If either of the dark-haired boys noticed that their companions never deviated from their places neither remarked upon it.
They sat together at meals, of course. Remus had discovered that if he was careful not to reach for any dish at the same time that Peter did he could avoid startling the other boy. He remained largely silent at the table, but as he ordinarily had little to say he did not think this would seem suspicious. James and Sirius were more than happy to fill in any gaps in the conversation anyhow, and Remus was content just to listen.
The seating arrangement in lessons changed a little, necessitating some migration around the four boys. This their classmates did without complaint, for Sirius and James were respected and perhaps a little feared and no one wanted to annoy them. As they had long ago fallen into the habit of pairing off according to inverse level of aptitude by subject, the question of how to avoid pairing with Peter in class never arose. James took him in Transfiguration and Sirius in Potions. The two of them traded off in Charms on the basis of who was feeling most patient. As they were studying creatures instead of jinxes in Defence there was no partner work.
Indeed, the only time the situation became awkward was when Sirius and James went off on one of their escapades, leaving Remus and Peter together in the dormitory. Then the silence was nearly suffocating, and Remus had to exert every effort to avoid meeting the other boy's eyes for fear that he would start to talk and break their pact. Once or twice at such times he thought he heard a word forming in the back of Peter's throat, but each time it died before passing his lips.
On Friday evening after supper, it was time to stake out the front doors as agreed. When Remus realized abruptly that the four of them would have to crowd together under the Invisibility Cloak he tried to beg off.
'Don't be loony,' James scoffed. 'If you're not feeling up to it we can postpone it another week. Black might writhe in an agony of curiosity, but I promise it won't kill him.'
'You have no proof of that,' Sirius retorted. 'You're just making assumptions. Perhaps I shall be driven mad with ignorance and throw myself off of the Astronomy Tower. Perhaps I shall go on a murderous rampage, disembowelling portraits. Perhaps I shall stand up in the middle of class on Monday morning and demand to know where the wretched woman skives off to every weekend.'
'You wouldn't do that!' Peter gasped, horrified. 'Why, she'd know we've been following her!'
'Another fallacious assumption,' said Sirius. 'Everyone knows she hasn't been at a single meal on a Saturday or Sunday all term. Perhaps we went to her office with a question about the course material, and found she was gone. Perfectly innocent explanation.'
'Except that only a very dim imbecile would have questions about that course work,' James said. He affected a thick approximation of a Welsh accent. 'In case of an infestation of Doxies, use a reputable brand of Doxicide. In the absence of such concoctions, a carefully-placed Stunner is usually effective. She'll be telling us how to get a whiter-than-white wash next.'
'Truly, though, Remus,' Sirius said, suddenly quite in earnest; 'if you're tired I could stand to wait until next week.'
'I'm not,' Remus said. Sirius had let up considerably on his watchfulness as his colour returned and his limp faded to the occasional twitchy shuffle, and Remus was glad. He did not want his friends thinking of him as an invalid, unable to keep pace with them. 'I just thought that it might be rather crowded, all four of us together under the Cloak.'
Peter's eyes widened as the horror of the prospect struck home. As both James and Sirius were watching Remus neither noticed, and Peter quickly schooled his features. 'It's all right,' he said stoutly. 'We'll manage. We're all friends, after all.'
Remus closed his eyes briefly, trying to convince himself that he had not heard the blatantly forced note in Peter's voice. Perhaps he had not, for Sirius grinned and clapped Peter on the shoulder.
'That's the spirit, mate,' he said. 'You come 'round slowly, but at least you make it in the end.'
Peter's grin had more than a little relief in it, and Remus once again felt guilty for thinking only of himself while the other boy was just as terrified as he had been of losing his friends. 'Of course I did,' Peter said.
'One thing, though,' James said, looking up at the latticed window that was running with water. 'We're not waiting outside. It was after midnight that time we saw her sneak off: I'm not waiting in the rain for hours on end. We'll have to make do with the Entrance Hall.'
'What?' Sirius snorted, affecting a scandalized pose. 'Stay warm and dry and wait? What kind of an adventure is that?'
'The kind that doesn't end with doses of Pepper-Up Potion and milk porridge,' James said wisely. 'We'll wait in the Hall.'
And so they did, huddled together behind an out-of-the-way pillar. Remus kept his back against the wall and his hands tucked into his sleeves, trying desperately to avoid touching or otherwise bothering Peter. Lights-out passed, and the ghosts began to meander about more freely, conversing with one another in their ethereal voices. A pair of Ravenclaw Prefects passed down the stairs on their way to check the lavatories for loiterers. Twice the four scouts almost lost their cover. The first time occurred when Sirius, bored with hours of silence, opened his mouth to tell a joke just as Peeves the Poltergeist came rocketing past, laughing maniacally. James clapped a hand over his friend's mouth in the nick of time.
The second incident occurred just before twelve, when Professor Flitwick came through on his way to bed. He was walking with a spring in his step and singing in his shrill little voice:
Youth must have some dalliance
Of good or ill some pastance.
Company methinks then best
all thoughts and fancies to digest.
For i-dle-ness
Is chief mis-tress
of vi-i-ices all…
All four of them were nearly suffocating with the effort of trying to supress their laughter by the time Flitwicks footsteps died away somewhere above.
'I've had enough of this,' Sirius said as one o'clock passed. 'She's obviously not coming, and I—'
'Hush,' Remus hissed. There were footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, a familiar voice with a Scots accent echoed in the vaulted room.
'Off again, Brynna?' asked Professor McGonagall.
Sirius and James exchanged a questioning glance and Remus nodded, mouthing it's her. They, of course, did not know the teacher's Christian name, but he had heard it from Madam Pomfrey. Peter, who had stiffened alarmingly at the sound of McGonagall's voice, covered his eyes with his hands as if by doing so he could be certain to escape detection.
'To be sure,' said Professor Meyrigg. There were another few steps taken on the stairs. 'I shall see you Monday morning.'
'I wonder you have the energy to Disapparate after sitting up so late,' McGonagall said amicably. 'Why do you not leave as soon as supper is through?'
'It scarcely seems right to leave without seeing to my duties,' Meyrigg said. 'The Headmaster has been kind enough to make allowances for my situation, and I should not want to neglect my course work. Nor, as I'm sure you'll appreciate, do I want to bring it with me.'
'That certainly seems fair,' said McGonagall. 'You will be careful, will you not? I should hate to hear you'd Splinched yourself.'
Is that a threat? James mouthed at Sirius, who grinned.
'I'll take care, Minerva. I promise.' They were at the bottom of the stairs now; Meyrigg in her travelling cloak with the small case in her hand and McGonagall, looking rather peculiar without her hat, walking beside her. Meyrigg's expression slipped from its pleasant smile into a look of quiet anguish only heightened by her customary Friday fatigue.
'Did you hear?' she murmured, her eyes searching McGonagall's face for something. 'They found Neil.'
The older woman nodded. 'I shall be writing to his mother to express my condolences, and asking as many of his classmates and his colleagues at St Mungo's as I can reach to do the same. Poor woman: I don't know how they'll explain it to her.'
'Minerva, would you… could you tell her it was quick? That he didn't suffer?' There was such piteous imploring in Meyrigg's ordinarily bright eyes that Remus felt his stomach wrench.
'I cannot lie to her,' McGonagall whispered. She sounded rather like she was trying very hard not to cry. 'I can tell her he died a hero. I pray that is enough.'
'It will have to be,' Meyrigg said, sighing heavily. 'If I had any idea who turned them on him…'
'We have our suspicions, and it would do you no good to act upon them,' McGonagall said firmly. 'You have responsibilities elsewhere and a job to do here. Goodness knows after last year the children need someone with a little sense. I was beginning to fear for our fifth years.'
'They're back on track now,' Meyrigg said, her smile returning without its prior strength. 'I'll see you have a flock of Exceeds Expectations to boast about.' She took out a silver pocket-watch and consulted it. 'I really must be going, Minerva. It would never do to be late.'
'I suppose it would not,' McGonagall said, a queer wry note to her voice. 'Monday morning, then.'
'Monday morning,' Meyrigg said firmly. She paused with her hand on the door and turned, winking roguishly. 'I promise.'
A moment later she was gone into the rain. McGonagall stood for a while, staring at the closed door. Then she sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose just above the place where her glasses sat, and trudged wearily up the stairs.
When they were certain she was gone, James and Sirius turned so that all four boys were facing inward in a tight circle under the cloak.
'What was all that about?' asked James. 'Who's Neil?'
Remus had to moisten his lips before he trusted himself to speak. 'I'm not sure,' he said. 'But I think… I think perhaps…' He screwed his eyes tightly shut, trying not to see a drawn young face hovering over his bed in the middle of the night. Trying not to hear an angry voice decrying the slandering of patients within their earshot. Trying not to feel capable hands that did not recoil as they checked his dressings. 'There was a Healer called Neil Ferrinby,' he said. 'A Muggle-born. He disappeared last winter. It sounds as if… as if they found him at last.'
James and Peter wore twin masks of horror. Sirius was frowning, his eyes dark with anger. 'Found what's left of him, you mean,' he snarled. 'Where'd he disappear from?'
'London,' James said hollowly. 'Where else? There've been dozens of disappearances this year.'
'It's those mad murdering blood-purists,' Sirius muttered. His hands were balled into fists. 'First seventeen Muggles – poor Muggles, too, so that nobody makes a fuss – and now this? I… I just…'
He gestured so expansively that he nearly knocked the glasses off of James's face. His mouth contorted horribly and he seemed to be searching for something to say, but he could find nothing. With a noise of rage and disgust he ducked out from under the Invisibility Cloak and too off at a loping run.
James stared for a moment, slack-jawed, and then turned to Remus. 'Would you go after him?' he asked. 'I know he won't talk to me when he's in this kind of a strop, but maybe you…'
Remus nodded resolutely and was about to slip out of the cover of the Cloak when James whisked it off all three of them and balled it up. 'Take it,' he said. 'No telling how long you'll be gone. Peter and I can find our way back without it.'
Peter did not look quite so certain of this, but he said nothing. Remus took the Cloak and bolted, taking off in the direction Sirius had gone. He swiftly realized that there was no hope of finding his friend this way. Sirius had too much of a lead, and was a far swifter runner anyhow. Halting to lean against a suit of armour, Remus tried to think where his friend might have gone. Not the Owlery: that was his haven, not Sirius's. Not Gryffindor Tower, of course. Somewhere hidden, somewhere unobtrusive, somewhere he would not be easily found.
Or, Remus thought abruptly, somewhere he knew only one person would look. Sirius had made enough overtures in times of trouble for Remus to know that he was his friend's chosen confidant in moments of distress. He understood: James did not. Sirius valued that understanding and if he did want someone to talk to he would have found a place where Remus would know to look for him.
It had been over a year since he'd visited that particular corner of the castle, and the way looked different in the dark, but Remus found his way at last to the broom cupboard where Sirius had taken refuge after an ugly argument with James at the beginning of the previous year. He was not at all certain that his deductions were correct, or even if Sirius wanted him to follow, but he rapped on the door anyhow.
'Remus?' A muffled voice came from within. 'Is that you?'
'It's me,' Remus said, at once apprehensive and relieved. 'May I come in?'
'Course.'
The broom cupboard was dark. Remus drew the door closed and lit his wand before settling on the floor next to Sirius. The other boy had pressed himself into a corner, his knees drawn up to his chest. He blinked in the glow of the wandlight as if he had never seen such a thing before. Then his eyes adjusted and he smiled a little, lopsidedly.
'How'd you find me?' he asked.
'Portraits?' Remus quipped. Sirius made a snort something like a laugh. 'Are you all right?'
'I should be asking you the same thing,' Sirius said. 'I mean, you knew him, didn't you? That missing Healer?'
Remus nodded. Once again the realisation that he could tell the truth struck him with a wave of wondrous relief. 'Last winter at New Year's I wounded myself badly. Too badly for my father to fix it. We had to go to St Mungo's, and Healer Ferrinby looked after me. He helped discharge me when the other Healer wouldn't let me leave. He disappeared later in January.'
Sirius sighed. 'A Muggle-born who's kind to werewolves,' he said. 'I'm with Meyrigg on that one: I wonder who shopped him.'
'Shopped him to whom?' asked Remus.
'To those nutters. The Death Eaters.' Sirius buried his head in his hands. 'Remus, can you keep a secret?'
'I thought we weren't meant to have any secrets anymore,' Remus said.
'That's why I want to tell someone,' Sirius said miserably. 'We agreed secrets had to be shared, didn't we? Not that we had to share them with everybody.'
Remus thought back to his own remarks on that very ambiguity. He reached out and touched Sirius's knee. 'That's right,' he said softly. 'We did. Of course I can keep a secret.'
Sirius peeked from between his fingers. 'Of course you can. I forgot who I was talking to.' Then he tucked his fists into his armpits and forced himself to look Remus in the eye. 'It's my parents,' he said. 'Well, my dad and grandfather, anyhow. They've had those sort of people 'round at the house.'
'What sort of people?' Remus asked. 'Death Eaters?'
'Well, maybe not Death Eaters,' Sirius said. 'Blood supremacists, anyway. The kind who don't just talk, but who want action. My grandfather's given gold to that…' His voice dropped very low. 'That zealot in Croydon.'
'The one James was talking about,' said Remus softly. 'The one the Death Eaters are "inspired by".'
Sirius nodded. 'His name's Lord Voldemort – tell me that isn't pretentious. He says… he says that Muggles are there for wizards to conquer. And he says we oughtn't to let the Muggle-borns have any positions of power. That they shouldn't be things like Healers or Aurors or Ministry officials. I think… I mean, you met my family. They agree with him.'
The shame in his voice was terrible to hear. Sirius fixed pleading eyes on Remus. 'I'm not like that,' he said wretchedly. 'I'm not like them. Please, you have to believe me. I love Muggles: I think they're really clever. I'd never, ever…'
'I know,' Remus whispered, finding Sirius's hand and squeezing it. 'You're nothing like your parents. I've always known that. And they might not even have anything to do with this. James only said he thinks this Voldemort person is working with the people doing the killing. Maybe they're just off on their own, doing mad things like those Muggles in Ireland. Maybe Voldemort's just as ashamed of them as you are. And even if he isn't, he should be.'
Sirius let out a heavy puff of air. 'I knew you'd understand,' he said, his tremendous relief belying his words. 'Y-you won't tell James? If he knew my parents even thought about this sort of thing he'd be off again, and I don't know that I could take much of it just at present.'
'Of course I won't tell,' Remus said. 'But oughtn't you to take your own advice? You said I could trust James: can't you?'
'I can,' Sirius said. 'But I don't… I just don't want him thinking of me that way, all right? It would change things.'
This, too, Remus understood. James's knowledge of the werewolf had changed things, though perhaps not irreparably. He could not blame Sirius for wanting to avoid that. He was surprised when, without further ado, the taller boy got to his feet, tugging Remus after him by his grasping arm.
'Let's get back to the dormitory,' he said. He shook his head. 'Funny, but I don't much feel like speculating about Meyrigg anymore.'
Neither did Remus, but as he hurried off after Sirius he could not help but reflect that at least his friend's distress had distracted him from his own agony. Now that it was gone, hidden once more beneath the merry, lazy mask of Sirius Black, Remus was left to face the horror of what he had learned tonight. Healer Ferrinby was dead, and it had not been quick. He had been missing for nine months, and they had only found him now. And if Sirius's speculations were only half true this would not be the end of the troubles. Remus felt his stomach churning, and he knew that he would dream tonight – and that the nightmares would have nothing to do with wolves.
