The early morning sunlight slid into the living room of Hermione and Harry's house, illuminating the carpet near the hallway door. Harry, who had finished breakfast half an hour before had decided to get a Sunday Prophet from the shop around the corner. Leafing through a paper on a Sunday was a ritual on a Sunday and, considering they were saving as much as they could for their wedding next year, a couple few sickles for a newspaper was an acceptable luxury.
Working so hard as they had been these last few months Harry valued his time on a Sunday, with his Evans grandparents; the blissful freedom of those few hours of a morning filling his mind, reading the sections, both from the Prophet which Grandfather Evans would always buy on behalf of Harry's father though James only read it out of courtesy and a non-wizard newspaper which he would read. Harry would always be given the childrens sections to look at, and often his eye would catch the non-wizard sports. But it was always quidditch which would fully hold his attention for a good half an hour until, especially when Sam was old enough to join him, he would go outside for a fly around, pretending he had been chosen for the England team.
Sitting now in their living room, the relaxed Sunday feeling pervading his body and making him feel at ease from the hectic six days Harry noticed that Hermione was taking an unusually long time up in the bedroom and it took him by surprise when she came back down fully dressed as if going out.
"Have I missed something?" he asked, as Hermione appeared in a blue suit, brushing her hair. "Did I sleep through and it's really Monday?"
"Pierre Pfimlin's floo'd, asked if I'd go over to Strasbourg for a couple of hours. You don't mind, sweetheart?"
Harry, about to protest at his fiance heading off to work on a Sunday of all days was interrupted before he had a chance to begin as she added, "it'll be triple time, and I'll be back by twelve, I promise." She sat down next to Harry, leaning close in to him.
"In any case, you're going to be seeing your mum again this morning, aren't you? Which is why you wouldn't mind?"
Mum, thought Harry, alarmed, and scrambled towards the fireplace, throwing down the paper from which he had been looking at the quidditch scores, chiding himself for forgetting that he was working with her today.
The request had been unusual. Hermione had guessed that it wouldn't take long for Cecilia to be contacted again, although she did say that she thought that it had served her right if she was left at Durmstrang forever. Harry had thought that was a little harsh, given that she had worked so well with them for so many years, and had been instrumental in several developmeents in spells, magic and potions for other wizards.
She'd never minded, Harry had noticed, never to be credited for her assistance; she worked for the enjoyment of understanding, and the thrill of the chase. Or the burden. From what he had seen of Cecilia Lupin sometimes what she did seemed more of a prison than Azkaban.
"Good to see that the propaganda machine is working fully." Hermione glanced at the now-abandoned Sunday news.
"Come on, Hermione," Harry turned from the messageless fireplace and frowned. "The trouble that conjurism causes; look at what you had to deal with in Strasbourg. Henrietta? You can't say the violence is acceptable."
"I never said conjurism is acceptable," Hermione sniffed. "My family's non-wizard, isn't it?"
"Yes, sweetheart," Harry replied. Hermione always got defensive when she felt under pressure. "But I know you don't wholly disapprove of integration."
"I just think things should be kept as they are. Non-wizards have no need to be at Hedgewards. Wizards need to have specialist education. It's always been the way; it's always worked. How else can young wizards develop their skills?"
Harry said nothing. Hermione, as ambitious as she was, keen as she was, didn't realise how this may come off to non-wizards, non-wizards like those who the "Prophet's" article was aimed towards.
"Wizards aren't stuck in the middle ages if they believe in segregation," Hermione continued, reading the words that the wizard newspaper had printed. "Nor are they brutal and power-driven. But I can see we won't agree," she added stiffly.
"I know how you feel," said Harry, as Hermione sank onto the settee. You want to prove yourself, even now, as a witch from a non-wizard family, in a way that those from a wizard family never need to. "And I'm glad you're going to work, if I have to. Mum hasn't floo'd yet, but she will soon, I expect. I'm so pleased for your promotion, Hermione. I know I didn't say much on Friday, but Dad had been called on to organise the reciprocators again and so I said I'd stay on at Grimmauld Place."
"Oh, that's where you were. I thought you were with Ron."
"He came over. But we made food for the wizards who were out. Even Molly Weasley had gone, that's how overstretched they all are. I'm a bit worried about him."
"Ron?"
"He's acting a bit strangeley. Cagey about something. I asked him about the girl next door he was seeing, and he went quiet."
"Yes, you did say, " Hermione conceded. "Maybe they've split up. It's just feel like I haven't seen you properly in ages. Yesterday, the dress fitting, and you went off to see the quidditch. And now..." she sank back into his arms. "Maybe I shouldn't go in. I just wanted to make a good impression. And ease the burden of the week by getting my head round things."
Hermione's promotion had been the big event of the last few weeks. Her work in the Strasbourg office in September had resulted in being noticed by Monsieur Pfimlin, the deputy president of Europe, working under Draco Malfoy, which led to an interview as ministerial executive last week. He was proud of her, but Harry was also apprehensive of the move. She would start at the end of November, which would give them just less than six months to save up for the wedding, whose date of 30th April they intended to announce at the party. And then, with that experience Hermione could pretty much work wherever she wanted, giving even those wizards solely educated at Durmstrang a run for their money.
"And we can really celebrate this weekend," he added, hugging her close. "I am so proud of you," he said again. "So you need to get going if you want to impress Mr. Pfimlin. I'll do lunch, and we can spend the afternoon together."
"Yes," agreed Hermione. "I'm glad you're assisting the Ministry too. The attacks that these conjurists are carrying out are mindless and dangerous. They can't be allowed to continue. I just think there's a better way of doing it than Caelius's way.
She went to the cupboard, pulling it open and looking for her shoes. I wonder how long mum will take to be in touch? Did she even say Sunday? Wondered Harry. He reached into the fireplace's floo powder, connecting first to his parents' house and then to Grimmauld Place's chimney, leaving a brief message for mum in at both.
Hermione was still looking under the stairs for her shoes when she reappeared with a pile of parchments and books.
"Found your shoes then?" Harry asked, jovially.
"Yes, and I found these. I thought I'd thrown them out. And then I thought you had too?" The deliberate pause at the end of the last question was more than just the hint of a suggestion that Hermione suspected that Harry had retrieved them, rather than disposed of them.
"So did I," Harry said, taking them from her. "They're not needed any more; mum's work I'll be talking to Cecilia about."
"See you later then," Hermione smiled, clearly satisfied.
"Yes, sweetheart," Harry nodded, stepping towards her and giving her a peck on the lips.
Engrossed in his newspaper again, and waiting for his mother to floo him back Harry did not hear the faint tinkling sound that, several minutes later, came from the under-stairs cupboard.
88888888
It wasn't long after Severus Snape arrived at St. Mungo's that Caelius Lupin was there to join him. Although bright late-autumn sunshine bathed the urban landcape of the city above little of the weather, fine or poor, reached the dark coolness of the hospital.
"You said it was important I be here." Caelius Lupin, having apparated to the stairs above directly from his office, looked every one of his fifty-one years. Snape wondered whether his beard hadn't gone bright white in the course of the last month; he didn't recall the Minister for Magic looking this old when, for example, he had visited Hedgewards to discuss Septimus.
Remus looked as good, or as bad as he had done when he had first been brought to the hospital in July; three months on and, while his body's gashes and gnarls from the vampire attack had been healed naturally, encouraged by the transfusions that the Healers had seen fit to administer (and which appeared to be helping to keep Remus stable) his outward condition was still that unconsiousness, being fed intravenously and being kept sedated.
"The Healers have kept his muscles supple by daily exercises; it has helped to keep him healthy. The Healer of the Day has said that he is well enough to be given this."
Snape held up a vial of shimmering liquid. Not a vast amount, the draught glinted in the low light. Caelius beheld its shinyness before looking at Snape, his eyes gleaming.
"You have a potion? He can be healed?" Severus Snape smiled impassively.
"It is the first in a series of experimental potions. We are most fortunate that Cecilia was able to unburden her hypothetical thoughts with regard to her husband. That she fought in her mind to work out what would be the best for his condition, this is something for which we should be extremely grateful. A key point I had not considered fully she compelled me to re-evaluate, namely the influence of the Universal Link. Jointly, and with assistance from my esteemed colleague in France I have developed this potion that should, if not cure him, ease his symptoms while we continue our search."
"It may not cure him?" Caelius's dark eyes narrowed. "You have not a final potion to rid him of the vampirism?" He glared at the potion, as if it were a poison rather than a potential cure.
"It may not. But there is more chance of good to come from my giving it to him. It is the best chance we have immediately. We know that the vampirism has still not taken over his body. It is necessary for me to ask, as his next of kin, under wizard law, may I administer it to him?"
Under wizard law, a wizard's next of kin was the next magical person related to them who was also a wizard. As such, Cecilia didn't qualify and neither did Septimus, who was too young, not yet 17.
"Indeed! Snape, of course you may! If it has the slightest effect on his condition then you may do." Caelius held up his wand, tilted at 60° to the horizon. Snape did the same. Between their wands a thin train of smoke emanated and, like a ribbon twisted itself into a bow.
Snape then beckoned to the duty Healer who, having just replaced Remus's drip returned to his side. The woman looked at them questioningly.
"Yes?" She peered closer towards Snape, the dull light in which the ward was lit made it hard to discern faces. "Professor Snape?"
"Indeed. I have, madam, brought this evening the first in the trial for Mr. Lupin. I noticed that you had not long replaced his fluids?"
"You are correct," replied the healer. "He is doing remarkably well; in the months he has been here his cellular analyses show he has yet to succumb to the vampire virus. I do believe the Allium Satvium in the fluids itself has contained the virus, preventing it from spreading." At this, the woman pointed to Remus Lupin's neck, which was still unhealed.
"We keep it clean and sterile, but it has yet to knit together. However any infection has not, as I've said, transferred around his body." Caelius peered carefully at the side of his brother's neck.
"Can it not be cauterised? Removed? I know I am no expert Snape, but there is nothing vital in that area?"
"Indeed not," replied Snape, "however due to his body's natural immunity response to not clot and that we are replenishing his body with animal blood in order to minimise the chances of the virus taking hold, it would be a foolish move. He may bleed to death," he clarified. Snape then turned to the healer and continued.
"This potion has, I believe, the correct frequency and wavelength should inhibit the growth of the virus the intention is that he can take this orally, on his tongue, and this should dispense with the need for allium satvium in his fluids drip and the blood transfusions."
"I will continue with them for now," replied the healer. "Once it has been established that your potion will do this I will then remove them. I trust you have had consent from Mr. Lupin's next-of-kin?" Without speaking, Snape handed over his wand to the healer who examined it, saying, "it appears to be in order. Mr. Lupin...?" She looked questioningly at Snape again.
"Yes," replied Caelius, at which the healer nodded to him.
"Yes, Minister," returned the healer. "Of course." She handed back to Snape his wand.
"I will administer at the next change of fluids. My records, of course, will include observations of your brother, and whether he has made any progress."
As the healer took various readings from Remus's instruments, took his temperature and then began to manipulate first his right leg and then the other in his daily leg exercises.
"What of your progress with a legal block to "Art of the Wize"?" Caelius and Snape took a chair each next to Remus's bed and continued with business/
"There has been a Bill, which will be set before the Ministry tomorrow, intitiated by the NWRs."
Ah yes, the Newers, thought Severus Snape. They had been working hard in their own communities ever since conjurism had began to cause trouble, and recently they had begun to change tack.
"We could not stop "The Art of Wize" going on sale. It's entwined circle-in-circle motif looks vey strange in Flourish and Blotts, but we are hoping if we can fast-track the Bill, raised as a legitimate claim to libel from the NWRs. If it gets through our House then only one non-wizard representative from the non-wizard government, a member of parliament, had to vouch for the non-wizards' petition, which had already happened. It's just a pity it wasn't quick enough to get the wretched books banished sooner."
He paused, noticing Snape's face. The wizard, he knew, did not approve of appropriating cognitively-derived literature, however he knew, under such circumstances Severus Snape would make an allowance.
"The Daily Prophet yesterday, and today's Sunday Prophet have both printed, alongside their reports sympathetic to non-wizards in the attacks that have already occurred, a treatise on the reprehensible stupidity of those who pursue solely conjurism as a way of life at the exclusion of everything else. That they are not much more developed culturally than those wizards who lived many hundreds of years ago, in the Dark Ages. Any conjurist who reads it will soon be shamed and made to feel foolish."
"A wize move," nodded Snape in agreement. "But you said about the pensieves? And Hedgewards?"
"Indeed," nodded Caelius, his tone a little more subdued. "As you know, the Portable Pensieve Company owns the "Daily Prophie. In terms of revenue, we have agreed to allow the PPs to be used at school, as a means of communication, research and the like. This was made in exchange for the newspaper's debunkiing of conjurism." Snape looked at him for a moment, feeling his mouth widen.
"But, didn't you believe this was how conjurists were contacting one another en masse?"
"Indeed," nodded Caelius, "and I have every confidence in our new engineer in protecting the integrity of the service which, we have proven to the Firebolt company, belongs to the Ministry in terms of hardware whereas they provide the software. Dudley Dursley is a magnificent engineer takes after his father, but for the pensieve network."
"A good choice," Snape agreed, the meaning not lost on him. So, the pensieves could be used, but what they were being used for would be controlled by the Ministry.
"In terms of protection afforded to pensieve owners at Hedgewards there would be theis that the students have and they are afforded the edgestones."
"Of course," nodded Snape, adding that he just wouldn't publicise the reopening of the network, though he suspected that it won't be the world's greatest kept secret once the parents found out.
And perhaps now was not the best time to tell Caelius about his suspicions about Septimus's...health either. For a start, even professionally it was not his business. However, science...where did science stop and privacy begin? If it was what it seemed, then these potential facts were very private indeed...and yet...
A thought occurred to him, unwelcome though particularly insightful. He allowed it to run though his mind again. Is this why Caelius has kept you so isolated, Cecilia? Not even in our joint head of reciprocator role did he confide why he'd so desperately wanted you out of the way. What was it that he feared...? With a will of steel Severus Snape put the thoughts out of his mind, guarding them carefully against legilimency.
"Have you spoken to Septimus recently?" Caelius inquired, not giving away if he had gleaned any of Severus's thoughts. It would be unlikely, or he would press them, Severus knew.
"Indeed, Caelius, he is happy at Hedgewards. The Halloween Games has been a positive diversion, especially considering his parents..."
"He mentioned some girl by the name of Ariella who is also in his House?" Caelius raised an eyebrow.
"Ariella Blewitt?"
"Indeed? Ah, that explains it. Ann Blewitt, her mother, is an active Anti-conjurist. Septimus spoke to me yesterday, as you know Snape, and he mentioned to me that conjurists were going to attack the wizards at the Halloween Games. He wanted you to know, Severus." Snape shifted in his chair. He was aware that there were conjurist whisperings going on at the school it would be almost impossible to believe that there wouldn't be, given the nature of the world outside the school.
"My thanks, Caelius. There is little if any at the school that can be said to be conjurist in nature and if there is, it is well hidden. Heavy penalties are given to those who have been guilty in the past and this has served as an effective deterrent. Yet I cannot rule out some sort of disruption the nature of events such as they are, with visitors to the school. Too much of an opportunity to miss." Now it was Caelius's turn to look uncomfortable, but it did not last.
"I told Septimus that it was unlikely that anything serious would happen, not when most of the aurors from the ministry, and the reciprocators would be there to watch the games. That would be like a bird walking very slowly in front of a line of cats and especting to remain alive. That, and our monitoring of pensieve traffic courtesy of Dudley Dursley and we are in a very secure position. Now," he added, changing the subject and shifting a little in his seat.
"How is Septimus getting on, Severus? Is he progressing? I am always concerned because of him being at a non-wizard primary school. How's his wand work coming on?"
"Very well," nodded Snape in the darkness, noting the healer now dripping a couple of drops of potion onto Remus's tongue. "A good charmer; potions accurate and imaginitive. He has attempted voiceless spells and understands the importance of careful handling of magical plants. He can fly, of course, and play quidditch, which is impressive considering he has never had one of those before. A good all-rounder." Caelius nodded, and smiled.
"Just like his father." He looked across to Remus. "Although, I am concerned with him; he seems to have been ill at some stage. Tiredness, illness...something akin to my own symptoms."
Alright, thought Severus Snape, all his moves taken in his own mental game of chess with the errant information that he knew, under any other circumstance he would have already shared with Caelius. Now was the time...
...and yet...it was still none of his Snape's business. Was it Caelius's business...? Cecilia's...?
"I think perhaps he may have been working too hard," said Snape eventually. "He is his mother's son, after all, and gets involved with everything keenly and with a deep interest. Who's to say that the effect of non-magic on a wizard also could affect him?" Caelius nodded in half-agreement.
"I'll keep an eye, Caelius and inform you if he gets worse," continued Snape. "He was happy enough to be in touch with Cecilia this morning and I brought him to see his father shortly afterwards. It's a lot for a boy of his age to deal with." Snape looked again at Remus, still unconscious; it would take at least a day for his potion to have any effect.
"So you'll be working on Remus's potion further?" Caelius too looked across at his brother. "You said this was the first potion." Never misses anything, Snape marvelled. He knew I'd not clarified this earlier.
"I have been on this potion since he was bitten, Caelius. It is fortuitous that we are in contact with Cecilia for she has checked this batch. If it makes no difference I will then attempt to refine it. But I have every confidence that this recipe of ingredients is correct, it may just be a case of refinement in terms of ratios of those ingredients."
"But when, Severus?" Caelius, who up until now had been the consummate politician had, clearly, got to the end of his cool, the wellbeing of his brother crumbling his outward cool manner.
"Do you know what you are asking? I am in need of wolfsbane, some of which I've used in yours and Sirius's potion, and is difficult and expensive to obtain. The last batch is now useless and I've had to remake it, which takes, in all, thirty hours. I will be in a position to tell you on Tuesday whether it's successful. But, take heart, Caelius. Remus is in the best possible position at the moment. We know that the infection, parasite, vector has not spread; his body has not succumbed to vampirism yet, so we are fortunate that we can do something about it. If it had, there would be no going back."
Caelius closed his eyes, before opening them slowly.
"I saved his life once before, when he was tiny. I didn't know what I was doing, or the consequences, Severus, just that he was in danger. I wasn't going to let the dog bite him that's what I thought Fenrir Greyback was, you see, and since that day I've lived with lycanthropy, not Remus. He had a chance to live, to have a happy life. I'm so glad to have given that to my little brother and not have him suffer as I did. And then, nothing can repay you for your brilliance, Severus no, I'm going to say it," Caelius pushed away with his hand, quashing Snape's denial of his achievement. "No...you saved my life and allowed me to come to Hedgewards. From that day on I swore I would serve wizards, and allow greater understanding between all species and abilities. I wouldn't change it. But I'm not going to lose him to this, Severus."
"Then you did the right thing. You allowed Cecilia's uniqueness to help. She alone has such a different way of viewing things, such an insight that no-one else could ever have."
"Indeed."
The conversation fell to nothing as Caelius looked at his younger brother again, motionless, pallid, unconscious. Snape crept silently away, towards the big thick wooden doors at the end of the ward before, out of sight, disapparating.
88888888
In the living room of 8, Godric's Hollow, Harry and mum were enjoying a home-cooked Sunday dinner. Roast beef, vegetables and Yorkshire pudding for them both, the rest plated up and would be taken to Grimmauld Place that afternoon for James and whoever was around to enjoy them.
Mum didn't cook often, and this Sunday day was becoming, to Harry, a rerun of one from his childhood, which the Prophet that morning had initiated. Lily rarely cooked, but when she did it was worth it.
He watched her for a moment as she cooked, her expression intent. It was the first time he had visited since the attacks the previous month by possibly Conjurists; they were so pleased, Lily has told Harry, to have their home back again, the aurors and the reciprocators having helped to have rebuild the place since it was attacked. Harry could see her happiness as she cooked. Not a lot had been lost; furniture and the like. Having had to stay at Grimmauld Place was far from ideal, not least because his dad did have a tendency to volunteer for anything that was needed with the reciprocators.
"I was at Hedgwards on Friday," Harry answered his mum's question. "He is getting on really well exceeding in all of his subjects; captain of Gryffindor quidditch team; Head Boy too. Not like me at all!" Harry's little self-put-down made his mother smile. He would always be the first to admit that he was not like Sam, but he had never been, and he was proud of his little brother's achievements, even more so when he knew that an opportunity like the European Parliament internship had been offered to him Sam was more than capable of it, unlike himself; he'd never want that. He was happy working as a research wizard, helping with Reciprocation, whenever it had come about.
"Sam really is OK, mum," he concluded. "He's taking it all in his stride; his work at school is going well, I spoke to Severus to check as well," he added, knowing what his little brother was like. "He's still going out with Crystallia, who seems to be a good influence on him. And on Saturday he'll fly in the quidditch tournament for Gryffindor as well as open the round of Cranium for Gryffindor too."
"You'll be seeing him on Saturday, won't you?" His mother paused as she drained the carrots through the sieve, and glancd thoughtfully out of the window.
"What?" Lily, who looked as if she had been dragged out of deep thought, looked sharply at Harry when she realised he had stopped talking.
"Oh yes, the Halloween Games. You know, Harry, it will be so good getting away with your father, to have a rest and a break." She turned to look at her eldest son. "You can't imagine what's like, your dad being on call almost permanently these days, having to organise the reciprocators night after night. It's wearing him out." She brought the bowl of vegetables to the table, putting it down on the wooden top and putting in a serving spoon. Harry had already arranged the table and served the beef and potatoes; as usual the meal looked delicious; just what you needed on a cold, October Sunday.
"And afterwards there's your and Hermione's party," she smiled, and Harry noticed how her face was careworn, crinkled in places where the lines had embedded, but no less than his mother's face.
"Yes," nodded Harry through a forkful of beef. "We've something to tell you then, tell you all..." He watched as his mother's eyes widen.
"I promised I'd wait until Saturday..." There was a pause, which could only be filled by an unshared secret. He leaned in to Lily, his head bowed, in deference to a shared intimacy. "Hermione got her promotion in Strasbourg! Which means we can set the date of the wedding!"
"Oh, Harry!" cried his mum, her face shedding its cares and replacing them with the delight that her son's news had brought. "I am so happy! Tell me, when am I buying the new robe for?"
"30th April," continued Harry, still in hushed tones. "But, not a word. Hermione is excited to tell everyone then."
"Promise, my darling," agreed Lily, and they continued the rest of the meal quietly, exchanging smiles and Harry wondered about how it was that news could change someone's mood quite so much.
As pudding was served, his mum's speciality, lemon meringue pie and cream, they talked about what it was that was worrying Lily. It was strange, Harry thought, that his mum would share her worries with him, and he noted how carefully she expessed things, but he could see that his father's dedication to the reciprocators was really draining on her. Her lightnss and abandon were all but gone; she had an undercurrent of worry about her.
"We hardly see each other; only to talk about defending wizards and non-wizards. And then there's Henrietta... " Lily put down her spoon and looked at the tablecloth. Then she looked across at her son. This time it was her turn to lower her tone.
"He has been dropped in it by Snape and by Caelius Lupin, and for what? To organise defence when they can't do it? When the non-wizard police can't? He's doing so well, Harry, but he can't keep this up; none of us can. And for Henrietta...to be a accused of being a conjurist... " She broke off, and there were tears in her eyes.
"She was exonerated," replied Harry, evenly.
"Yes, but the charge was still over her all the same she would never have traded secrets, become involved in terrorism! I miss her so much, Harry..."
"It's just too much," Lily continued, filling the silence. "I just think we need the break from defence. We can't continue as we are; we'll all be ill, then there'll be no-one to be out supporting the aurors!"
Harry got up from his chair. It wasn't much; but at least he could give his mum a big, comforting cuddle.
"Why were you at Hedgewards on Friday?" Lily asked, changing the subject as Harry magicked away the dinner and pudding and cast a washing-up spell and they moved to the living room settees, paisley-patterned and probably lovely, Harry had always thought, when his parents had bought them back in the late 1980s.
"Severus," replied Harry. Now to one of the main reasons he was here. "You know I've been doing some of the ministry work? History of Magic? Like yours about Auld Magic?" She nodded.
"It seems that Cecilia Lupin has managed to develop what Caelius wanted her too. But she neeeds assistance. I said you were busy, so I've offered to stand in and talk to her about the information she might need."
There. He'd said it. And he would do it, too. He just wanted his mum to be OK about it, and there was a chance that she might not be, given the nature of his and Cecilia's relationship.
"You're going to speak to her? About my work?" Harry nodded.
"Well, yes," he added. "Because Caelius has begun contacting her again. She needs our help, to do her bit." He waited. With any luck his brief explanation would be enough to prompt mum into positive action. He felt the tension between them momentarily as Lily Pottetr looked around her, her expression frozen as if her mind was working something out. At last she sagged, her face transforming quickly into one of happy agreeableness.
"Of course, of course you may have my work, my darling. And I'm so glad you asked me. We are all working for the same thing, after all." Lily got to her feet quickly. "Come on," she continued, pushing the coffee table to one side, "we'll go and get them now."
88888888
Tabitha hung onto the cloud's outer perimeter as best as one can to a nebulous gas ball. The accumulation of energy from the waveform that had been produced had passed, but it seemed to be affecting the movement of the other cloud-memories in the process. How long, Tabitha wondered, would it be until the untruth was discovered? Despite it being a lie, Tabitha thought, it would be resolved at some stage, and the ripple effect caused by how the untruth conflicted with the truth would cancel one another out.
The safest thing she could do would be to -
Tabitha paused. On what might be called the horizon she saw...thought she saw...
No. She clung on tighter as she squinted her eyes together. Was it a person?
It had certainly looked like that; the clouds did change shape, but in general they kept to their globular, indefinite shape. Only a good amount of coincidence would induce the shape to be humanoid. Tabitha blinked a couple more times, staring out to where she probably saw it, which was rather accurate given where she was.
Dismissing the thought as another wave of energy passed near to where she was, Tabitha descended into the cloud-memory she was currently trying not to fall off.
A picnic. She had been to many of these. A lot of people stored this type of memory: azure sky with sun high – it was mid-summer; a picnic on some grass, a field somewhere. Classic, if predictable checked tablecloth and wicker basket.
And, thought Tabitha as glanced nonchalantly at the basket's contents, a good range of sandwiches and drinks. It used to be notable in her mind that it was only when she was inside memories that such banal survival instincts such as sleep and hunger wer made apparent, the former causing her embarrassment in another memory where she hadn't quite been so careful in choosing a "just right" bed, the owner not being a baby bear but a very large, middle aged lady.
A sandwich, thought Tabitha, as she congratulated herself on a good choice of memory in which to temporarily inhabit, until the turbulence had ceased. Delightfully sunny and hot, with just the right amount of breeze. A fresh picnic. They wouldn't miss a sandwich.
88888888
At the same time that Lily was explaining enthusiastically to Harry all that she had been working on for the last three years at the ministry another Sunday lunchtime was being shared, albeit from the connection made from pensieve to fireplace.
"How is Fraser?" Ann Blewitt peered into the flame and smiled at her lovely daughter. "Is he getting on all right with his studies, Ariella? I do worry about him."
"I think he's fine, mum. He's working on his scholarship exams. You'll see him on Saturday, won't you?" Back into the embers of the fireplace, the younger Blewitt child smiled back at her mother.
"Yes," nodded back Ann. "The Halloween Games. We can only make the game, your father and I. He's busy that evening. But we are spending Halloween day together."
"That's brilliant," replied Ariella. "'cos I've got some news, mum. I've got some recruits for us."
"How many? A lot?"
"Four," Ariella conceded, her face falling. "Fraser keeps following me; I know he knows what I'm doing. Well, technically five. But I'm not sure about Rufus Lestrange."
"That is marvellous, my darling. The more people we know who can oppose the conjurists, the more we can show their faults, the better for everyone. Five is a good number. They'll take it in, and they'll tell others, just you see."
"Mum," replied Ariella, after a pause. "Can't you try with Dad? Only, what he's doing is con-...is opposite to us!"
"I never would" protested Ann, firmly. "He has to do what he believes in; he knows I have to do the same. I wouldn't love and respect him if not."
"But we will be there, poppet. We wouldn't miss your first school competition for anything".
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The weather for the time of year on the little island off the coast of Norway which housed Durmstrang school was unusually warm. Cecilia, who had been working on the idea of the vampire potion for most of the night had, after a sleep, found that she was in the mood to write to Septimus. She remembered the weather last year, where she had been made to endure nearly four hours in sub-zero temperatures the Halloween tournament for the school.
Maybe it was the sunshine, beaming its last from the south and reflecting the blue-grey of the jagged flint rocks that had inspired her, or the top-up of vitamin D. Nevertheless, she was feeling positive about her work, and about Septimus.
It wouldn't be long till she saw him again, this she knew. It wouldn't be long until she never had to be here, and she could remember the good things about the place, rather than the oppressive captivity that she had endured the months previously.
Cecilia made her way down the tower that was built at the end of the south wing of the castle, adjoining all of the floors, its spiral stairs leading to the small platform of rocks at the bottom of the school and from where she could go down further, either inside, or out, to the owlery, which was, very cleverly, built into the side of the precipice face.
She paused when she got to ground-floor level of the school, the cold wind nipping past her from around the edge and Cecilia shivered. Not quite the summer day that the brilliant sunshine had beguiled her to believe. She pulled her jumper closer around her body and held it close to her as she examined the way down. The outer steps made for a quick access to the owls, rather than the meandering inner tunnels which often took more than half an hour inside the cliff and she put her foot on the first, making sure she leaned in towards the cliff-face as she held on to the flimsy chain that was fixed deep into the rock.
Septimus, she thought, glancing down at the letter in her hand and thought of the words therein. I do hope you're well, and you're working hard at school, as well as making new friends...
Further down, at the bottom of the long, winding cliff-stairs were the school sailing boats, enchanted to take the passenger anywhere and, once aboard, became invisible to everyone, except the passenger, until they reached their destination.
"I went home to find your father, and you," thought Cecilia. "Perhaps it was the wrong way to go about it. But I miss you both so very, very much." The wind whipped again as she climbed, and Cecilia noticed the sails below flapping backwards and forwards, and she tightened her grip on the iron chain.
As she did so, Cecilia's outer foot caught something sharp and she gripped on tighter still, this time reaching with her left hand, so as to catch her balance.
Dammit! Above her, in the swirling zephyrs Cecilia's letter to Septimus danced, gaining height as the wind whistled again. She would have to go back up, and figure out a way to get it back. It would land somewhere.
Turning to climb, Cecilia pushed her way determinedly back up; she had made her way nearly all the way down and she needed to get to the level ground above. When she arrived Cecilia looked where the letter might have got to.
High above her, the letter had flown and, as she watched it, Cecilia was beginning to resign herself to going back into her room and trying again.
The wind fell slightly, and so did the letter, drifting down to the craggy outcrops that was part of the mountain above the cliff that the owls we housed. It wasn't far above her, Cecilia could see. Just a few steps' climb and she would have it.
Pushing herself up to the rock face at shoulder height Cecilia could see it would take no more than a couple more feet and she could retrieve it, go back inside and have her tea, before she puzzled over lessons that she must deliver tomorrow. What could she do to make them just right for her students? They had been getting restless of late. What could she do to make th classroom more harmonious? And then Snape would be flooing, and perhaps -
Cecilia didn't know exactly how she'd done it, missed her footing as she reached out for Septimus's letter. But she had, and now she was scrabbling to find a hand hold before she fell in to the swirling sea far below. She grabbed away frantically, clamping the letter between her lips as she did so, but no reprieve came. Gravity pulled and -
- and Cecilia fell...down...down...
"Immobilus-s-s-s-s!" The word echoed from the cliffs around Cecilia as she immediately succumbed to the spell. She looked up, panic and fear coursing around her body now as her kidneys secreted adrenaline. Above her, she could see nothing. She was not falling but, she was not doing anything.
Below her the waves threatened as they collided with the sharp, dagger-like rocks. Cecilia searched frantically above now – what was going on?
Then, as quickly as the first spell had come, as second, declared as loudly as the first echoed again.
"Ascendo-o-o-o-o!"
An aeon passed, or so it seemed to Cecilia. Her body rose, defying Newton's first law of motion until it became level with the cliff again. It took a few moments, as she came to a stop, for her to realise the wizard who had saved her life. Smiling, with just a tiny hint of mirth, Lindvald Halen put out his hand to pull her back to safety.
