Hello, hello, hello my dears!

I know you all felt my pain when it came to Remus's transformation in the last chapter. I am dreadfully sorry about that. Your reviews as always were absolutely lovely! LOVELY I say! Thank you all so much for all your wonderful reviews, really, I will respond to all of the ones that I can.

This chapter makes me extremely nervous, because I have no idea how any of you are going to react. Hopefully you all like it. Well like is an interesting word considering the contents of this chapter. You all may be a touch angry by the end. The next couple of chapters will be much nicer, trust me, you'll like them.

Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.

As always, for Sable and Lais xxx my darlings.

(I just know Worthfull, and Henny are going to be screaming at me by the end of this chapter, just know it. Oh how I love you guys xxx)


The strong smell of ginger wafts from the piping hot cup of tea that sits on a dainty looking china plate with small cherry blossoms blowing across it.

The teacup is white with a gold trim around the rim and its thin gold handle is glinting in the light.

Sitting at the desk, staring at his teacup is a tall wizard, his hands are resting in his lap, his white beard is long and almost reaches his lap. His blue eyes are blank, glazed over, thick white eyebrows are slightly drawn together, thin pink lips hidden by his mustache and beard are pressing together. He's wearing deep purple, velvet robes with a gold sash loosely tied around his waist.

The afternoon sun is dwindling, the sky painted with bold reds, flirty pinks, startlingly yellows and warm oranges.

The wizard's desk is littered with various piles of parchment, but they are pushed to the outer perimeter of the desk, to the left in front of him is a pot of quills, and the first drawer on the right hand side of the desk is filled with ink pots.

A harsh bang sounds from the door and the wizard purses his lips as a short wizard bursts inside.

The man looks dishevelled, ginger hair rumpled, brown eyes wide as he regains his centre of gravity. He's not a tall man at five foot four, nor is he a very impressive one. His waistcoat is a smidge too tight, there are gaudy gold rings on his fingers.

"Dumbledore!" The man exclaims loudly, heavy feet thumping across the carpeted floor as he heads in Dumbledore's direction.

Dumbledore lifts his chin, a warm expression on his face, eyes twinkling.

"Mundungus, how may I help you?"

"I've bin gettin' complaints I 'ave," Mundungus says, scratching his head as he stops a few feet in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"Complaints?" Dumbledore asks curiously, as if he has no idea what Mundungus could be here for.

"Yes! 'Ad a werewolf nearly bite off me head yesterday. Claimed I sold 'im a bad batch o' Wolfsbane potion. I told 'im tha could'nt be. Tha I 'ad gotten the potion from a reliable source," Mundungus says in a distressed tone, raking a shaky hand through his hair.

"Did you tell him who your source was?" Dumbledore asks softly, expression still warm, but there's an edge of steel to his light blue eyes. Mundungus doesn't notice, too caught up in himself to notice much of anything.

"No. I never reveal my sources," Mundungus mutters absently, starting to pace back and forth in front of the desk, "I don't wan' ta deal with tha man again, whoever you got the Wolfsbane from."

"They'll be dealt with, that I can assure you, Mundungus," Dumbledore smiles warmly, eyes once more twinkling and happy. His face relaxes and he picks up his teacup-it has cooled off significantly-and he takes a long sip.

"Good. I'm glad o' it, Professor Dumbledore," Mundungus sighs in relief. Mundungus turns on his heel, clearly satisfied with their conversation and begins to head for the door.

"Oh, Mundungus," Dumbledore calls after the man, just loud enough for it to reach the other wizard's ears.

"Yes-"

Mundungus glances over his shoulder and as soon as his eyes lock on Dumbledore's, the other man raises his wand and says, "obliviate."

A few minutes later, Dumbledore is once again alone in his office. Pondering once more on the wrench that has been thrust into the works-caught in the gears, foiling his carefully constructed, intricate plans. The aforementioned wrench would be his time travelling friends, they had appeared-literally out of thin air-and everything shifted in a matter of hours. Drastically.

Mundungus's memory of Dumbledore brokering the deal needed to go.

It wasn't the most eloquent plan, but he needs to find a way back into Remus Lupin's good graces.

He would bring some Wolfsbane to Potter Manor over the next few days as a peace offering, to apologise profusely for recommending Mundungus as a supplier. Saying that he should have known better than to deal with the shady businessman.

Yes. I need to form a connection with the boy. I need him in those wolf packs, I need to know what is happening and how many of them are supporting Voldemort. Remus Lupin has a crucial role to play and I will not let a few teenagers stand in the way of that, Dumbledore thinks tiredly. He wishes that it didn't have to be this way, but they must win this war. For everyone's sake.

A world where Voldemort wins is a world devoid of love or kindness, and he will not allow that to come to pass.

Which means he needs to have every advantage, to know everything he can.

Dorea Potter will be tricky to deal with. She is no fool and she certainly doesn't like it when people meddle with her family or her affairs. Dumbledore would need to handle her gently, coax her back to his side with extreme caution. As if she was a Monarch butterfly, and he the hand that is trembling as it moves closer, awaiting for the butterfly to flutter into the air and possibly land on his finger.

Yes. His plans may have been changed and altered, but he isn't discouraged. He will find a way, the fate of Wizarding society is resting mainly on his shoulders. He cannot let Voldemort win, and he will do anything to ensure that. Anything.