AN: Happy New Year to one and all! Thanks to my lovely reviewers and followers; your encouragement and support is always appreciated. And HaywireEagle, I'm afraid this won't end up with the pairing you want, but feel free to dream my friend! :)

Chapter Four

Access

Friday, July 19th, 1991

The Auror office was more nebulous than the Muggle underground, and had far less helpful signposting. Tonks tried to walk as purposefully as possible through a seemingly endless maze of cubicles, despite the fact she had no idea where she was going.

Since entering the Ministry, she'd had to present her wand for weighing, show her official documentation four times, and resist the urge to show her middle finger at least twice. Eventually, she was escorted to the Auror department, where a guard at the entrance repeated the entire process, before staring into her eyes for a very uncomfortable forty-three seconds.

"Says here you're a metamorphy-mogus."

Tonks bit her tongue at the mispronunciation, and tried to at least be grateful of the fact he hadn't commented on her wretched name. "Yep, I am indeed."

The guard looked her up and down. "You don't look like one."

It was becoming physically painful to avoid sarcasm. "Well," Tonks replied, in what she hoped was a sincere tone, "we all look a bit different. That's sort of the point."

The guard grunted, and gave her another once over before handing back her paperwork.

"Head down the corridor and swing a left at the statue of Tibald the Tiny. Speak to the secretary on duty; they should have your schedule."

But the reception desk was unoccupied, leading to Tonks's current state of aimlessness. She passed by dozens of cubicles, some barely large enough to accommodate the desks crammed into them, while others were more roomy, allowing for more personal items, such as plants, hat stands and bookcases. As she peered into one whose walls were covered with posters of some Muggle boyband, she heard voices nearby, and poked her head around the corner to find the source.

Four Aurors stood huddled in a small tearoom off the next row, muttering to one another. Tonks tiptoed over – or at least tried to, stubbing her toe off a filing cabinet – but they didn't seem to notice, so focused they were on whatever was on the table in front of them.

"What do you think?" a tall, Caucasian man with thinning hair was asking.

"Curious," the olive-skinned woman on his left replied, "You really don't know where it came from?"

The blonde woman beside her shook her head. "No, it was just here when we arrived this morning. No-one even knows how it was delivered."

Perhaps it was a dark object? Or some sort of clue in an on-going inquiry? Tonks was practically salivating at the thought as she tried to find a gap in the group to peer through, but to no avail. Surely it couldn't hurt to get a bit closer, just to have a peek?

She edged through the doorway of the kitchenette, wincing as she realised how bad an idea this was, creeping up behind four trained Aurors. But they didn't even notice her presence; the olive-skinned woman took out her wand, and the tall man moved slightly to the right, finally giving Tonks a good look at the dark object.

It was a basket of miniature pumpkin pasties.

"There's no name on the card," the blonde woman said, bending down to peer at the basket, "and the usual detection spells aren't revealing anything."

"Log it into evidence?" a man with a thick, ginger beard suggested.

"Suppose that's what the sender wanted?" the tall man said, "And it's actually a time-activated dark object?"

"Or a time-activated portkey?" the blonde woman said.

The other woman rolled her eyes. "What, and send the entire department somewhere else? That's ridiculous."

"Well, what's your brilliant theory?"

"What's going on in here?" a new voice said.

Tonks jumped, trying and failing to think up an excuse for her nosiness, but the new arrival – a tall, black man with an earring – wasn't even looking at her as he entered the room.

"Ah Shacklebolt," the bearded man said, "just the fellow. What do you reckon?"

Shacklebolt moved to the table, the others shifting to let him pass. He circled the table, waved his wand a few times, and then leaned in to pick up a pasty.

He sniffed it and, to the horror of the others, took a large bite. The Aurors seemed to hold a collective breath as he swallowed.

"I reckon," Shacklebolt replied, "they're rather delicious."

"Have you lost your gobstones, Shacklebolt?" the tall man asked in a choked voice, "You could have died!"

"I rather doubt that," Shacklebolt said, swallowing the remainder of the pasty, "Lupin and I were in Bakewell at four this morning and brought these back with us."

"But then why didn't you sign the card?" the blonde woman asked.

Shacklebolt grinned widely, his swinging gold hoop giving him a vaguely piratical look. "Who says we didn't?"

He waved his wand, and the card shimmied and shook and emitted a little puff of green smoke, before writing appeared in a cursive script. The woman lifted the card and read aloud in a monotone; "Gotcha nimrods! Lots of love, R and K."

The bearded man laughed raucously, while the tall man grumbled: "Have the two of you nothing better to be doing at 4am?"

"When you've spent six hours chasing a pair of trolls across the Peak District, you need to conjure yourself a bit of light relief," Shacklebolt replied, picking up another pasty. "Besides, the utter irony of a bunch of Aurors standing around a harmless box of pasties, while a stranger sneaks in behind them."

The Aurors looked puzzled, then the bearded man noticed Tonks standing in the corner and suddenly there were four wands pointed in her direction.

"Put those away," Shacklebolt said, rolling his eyes at them, before turning to her. "You must be one of the new recruits." He held out a large hand. "Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"Nice to meet you, sir. I'm Tonks." she said, shaking his hand firmly.

The man's eyebrows twitched upward, but his smile didn't falter. "Of course, Nympha -"

"It's just Tonks, sir."

Shacklebolt shrugged. "Fair enough. Well, you'd better grab a pasty – if you're about to sit through your first lecture from Moody, you'll need it."

"You think vigilance should only apply to your position here?" Moody barked, as he prowled around the room. "Better witches and wizards than you lot have lost their lives because of complacency. They allowed themselves to relax; to think they knew enough to protect themselves and their families, and you know what? They DIED!"

The six of them jumped for the third time in as many minutes. Shacklebolt hadn't been messing her around; they'd been sitting in the same room for two and a half hours, listening to Moody's various tangents about elementary wand safety, interpreting eye contact, and the importance of avoiding corners. She could feel the paranoia seeping into her psyche, making her twitchy and certain she would be looking over her shoulder forevermore. Plus, she really needed to pee.

They were seated at a round table, which may have looked cool and vaguely Arthurian, but the more likely reason for it was so that Moody could get equal access to each of them. Every now and then he would pause and breathe down the neck of the nearest recruit until they squirmed.

"And you can forget about your love lives. You know how many dark witches and wizards have tried to seduce me?"

They never got to find out; at that precise moment, the door flew open, and every recruit jumped yet again. Lupin came strolling into the room, several rolls of parchment tucked under his arm, and Tonks felt her stomach drop at the sight of him.

Ever since she'd received her letter of acceptance to the programme, she'd swung between elation and suspicion quite frequently. The elation was due to her lifelong ambition being realised, and the thought of working with the squad she had long admired. The suspicion was down to Remus Lupin's signature at the bottom of the letter, alongside those of Moody and Mimsy Pickersgill.

Why had he chosen her? Not that she wasn't grateful – she was, enormously so – but his expression at the end of her interview had suggested that would be the last time they met. So, why was she here? Had he thought it better to keep his enemies close? Or had he decided she deserved this chance – that lightning couldn't possibly strike twice? Unfortunately, the latter seemed unlikely since the Black family tree was practically a conductor.

She noticed Walden shoot up straighter in his chair too, but for an entirely different reason. It had been well-known among their year at Hogwarts that Lupin was Walden's personal hero; every mention of him in the Daily Prophet had been carefully cut out and stuck to the wall beside the younger man's bed.

"Ah, Alastor, you're just finishing up," Lupin was saying, "Lovely job."

Tonks seriously doubted Moody was anywhere near finishing, and the scowl on the older man's face seemed to back up her hypothesis.

"Far from it, Lupin. In fact, I was about to -"

"Explain the various benefits of doing your food shop in a different region every week?" Lupin nodded his approval, placing the scrolls on the desk. "I quite agree – besides the obvious security advantage, it also gives one the chance to sample the very best of fresh English produce. Do you know, they have excellent pears in one particular town in the Lake District and -"

"And an excellent opportunity for dark wizards to slip poison into your coleslaw when you're not looking!" Moody thundered at the recruits.

"I don't like coleslaw," Lupin replied, wrinkling his nose, "so I guess they'll have to find another way to get me."

He seemed completely in earnest, but Tonks noticed a slight twitch of his lips. For some reason, he was dressed in full Muggle attire instead of Auror robes, and looked oddly coordinated. Tonks knew quite a bit about Muggle fashion – her dad's family were Muggles, and she had to spend most of the major holidays with them – but most wizards couldn't comprehend the cultural difference between a monkey suit and a pair of pyjamas. However, in dark-brown khakis, a light blue shirt and navy waistcoat, Lupin would have looked right at home beside her dad's first cousin, Eric.

"Erm," Walden said, just as Moody looked ready erupt, "is that – is that likely to, erm -?"

"Speak up lad!" Moody barked, looming over him.

Walden looked as though he was trying hard not to cower in his seat. "I mean, someone trying to poison us? Does that happen often?"

"Not often, no," Lupin said, throwing Moody a warning look when the Head Auror gave a loud snort. "It happened quite a bit during the war, obviously, and a handful of times since, but generally to senior Aurors who had gathered quite a few enemies in their time. And even then, very few of them actually died."

Walden did not look at all placated by this, but nodded anyway, squaring his shoulders as though readying himself.

"Anyway," Lupin said, turning back to Moody, "You should get going, sir."

Moody's magical eye – which had been darting between each recruit for the past two hours (Tonks found comfort in the fact that Moody, at least, seemed equally suspicious of them all) – now swung to join his human one in glaring at Lupin.

"And just where should I be going?

Lupin stared at him. "Level 10 – you're due to testify before the Wizenagamot in ten minutes. The Garibaldi case?"

Moody blinked twice, muttered "bollocks" and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

"So!" Lupin said, clapping his hands together and smiling down at them. "Welcome back, all of you, and congratulations for making it into the programme. That is not an easy feat, so you should all be very proud of yourselves."

Miriam flushed pink, while Grayson's expression became, if possible, even more smug. Tonks was almost certain his face was stuck that way.

"Now, before we begin, I –"

The door swung open again, and a stocky man with a thick mop of brown curls stuck his head into the room.

"Remus, do you have the notes on that seizure in Cornwall last Tuesday?"

"I gave them to Savage yesterday." Lupin glanced at the recruits and gestured to the man in the doorway. "This is Auror Dawlish, one of the senior Aurors in the department."

Dawlish gave them a brief salute, and was gone.

"As I was saying – "

There was a loud knock, and the door swung open again, to reveal the tall man from the pasty incident.

"Lupin, did you want to attend that seminar on banshee handling? It's on tomorrow evening."

"I went last year actually, Rickburn. It's very informative, but I'd advise casting a muffling charm before you attend."

Rickburn grimaced a little, and also withdrew from the room.

"Okay, now that we're –"

Another knock sounded.

"Merlin's knickers!" Lupin laughed, throwing up his hands, "Do come in!"

A slim young woman with sleek black hair and a bored expression entered, her towering heels clicking as she made her way across the wooden floor. She said nothing, only handed Lupin a note, which he read quickly, scribbled on, and handed back to her.

"Alana, could I ask a favour?"

The woman paused on her way back out, raising an impeccably-shaped eyebrow in question.

"Any chance you could keep that door closed for the next twenty minutes? We have a lot to get through here."

Alana raised a second eyebrow. "You really think there is any chance of me being able to keep the vultures away from a carcass?"

Lupin looked amused. "Who's the carcass?"

"You are, obviously."

"How charming."

"Don't be offended," Alana said, rubbing at an ink spot on the back of her hand, "it's better than being a scavenger."

"If you say so. You are disinclined to help, then?"

The secretary smirked. "Depends on what's in it for me."

Lupin crossed his arms across his chest. "I was considering making fudge this weekend. But, you know, if you're not bothered…"

Alana's eyes became so comically wide that her face seemed to be made up of little else. "What kind of fudge?"

"Strawberries and cream."

"Do you swear?"

"I do."

The secretary stuck out her little finger. "Do you swear on your first edition copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them?"

Lupin raised an eyebrow, and wrapped his pinkie finger around hers. "I swear."

That seemed good enough for Alana, as she nodded and promptly swept from the room, closing the door firmly behind her. Lupin noticed the recruits all staring at him and grinned. "Behold the power of well-made fudge. Now, where was I?" His forehead creased for a moment before he gave them a bright smile. "Ah yes; we were able to discuss something a little more mundane."

He pulled out a chair and sat down between Irene and Walden, the latter of whom looked as though all of his Christmases had come at once. Lupin waved his wand, and a scroll floated towards each of them.

"These are your timetables. Please study them carefully and memorise them, because I'm afraid missing class here is not an option – unless there are severe extenuating circumstances."

"What would those be, sir?" Walden asked, far too eagerly.

"Severe illness or death, generally."

Tonks laughed along with the others, but abruptly stopped when she realised Lupin hadn't joined in, and was instead watching them with a pleasant, yet abstemious, smile.

"Er, are you serious?" Tonks asked.

Lupin gave her an odd look – which was strange, considering it was a perfectly reasonable question in this context – before responding. "I'm afraid so. Broken Floos or missed alarms will not be tolerated by most of your teachers, and I've sadly seen more than one recruit asked to leave because of their punctuality, or lack thereof."

"Didn't know the Auror department cared so much about timekeeping," Grayson said, in a tone bordering on insolent, "Thought it was more about catching the bad guys."

Lupin seemed surprised, raising his eyebrows. "We're interested in both. Imagine being late to arrest a dark wizard who's performing the Cruciatus curse on his neighbour?"

Grayson's cheeks coloured slightly. Tonks felt a nasty sense of satisfaction at his discomfort.

"Moving on." Lupin gestured for them to open their scrolls. "You'll find a preliminary list of books and supplies you will need for your classes at the bottom of your scrolls. Unfortunately, your instructors are likely to change their minds regarding these every now and then, so I'd advise listening carefully in class to make sure you don't miss anything. Also, certain texts will be supplied by the department, but these cannot be removed from the office or taken home.

You will have nine different instructors, including yours truly. Each has their own style of teaching, and those of us who are Aurors have worked in the field for varying lengths of time –"

"Wait, not all of our instructors are Aurors?" Prewett interrupted, before spluttering, "I mean, beg pardon sir." Out of the corner of her eye, Tonks saw Miriam edge away from him, obviously remembering the last time he was nervous.

Lupin smiled at Theodore, and shook his head. "This training programme lasts for three years, and I'm afraid there are not enough Aurors in the department to cover the caseloads of those who teach, so we rotate. Six out of the nine instructors you will have this term are Aurors, and the others are Ministry personnel, each of whom are experts in their own fields. I will personally be training you twice a week, in Magical Creatures, and Magi-Physical Exertion."

"Don't you normally teach Advanced Charms in the first term instead, sir?" Miriam said, as Walden practically bounced in his seat with glee.

"Well, yes, but I -" Lupin broke off, frowning a little. "How on earth did you know that?"

Miriam shrugged. "I read."

Lupin looked puzzled, but moved on. "Magi-Physical Exertion – as its name suggests – will involve quite a lot of movement, so please dress appropriately. Stealth and Tracking – which is taught by Auror Shacklebolt – will also be a largely physical class, but much more about how you move rather than how fast or strong you are."

"Excuse me, sir," Walden said, when Lupin paused for breath, "I've just been looking over the timetable, and it seems there's a mistake on it."

"Oh, really?" Lupin said, peering into Walden's scroll.

"Well, it's written that we have Magi-Physical Exertion on Saturdays at 7am. Should that be Fridays at 7am?"

"No, I believe Saturday is correct, Walden."

Walden's dark skin went scarlet, and he looked ready to sink into the floor.

"But, Saturdays are at ze weekend, sir," Irene said.

"Very true, Ms Brisbois, and well-observed – occasionally people forget about weekends, particularly when they have to work through them." He folded his hands together. "Being an auror is not a 9-to-5 job, and the training reflects this – in fact, it probably magnifies it, and you'll be thrown in the deep end, certainly. If you choose to remain in this career, you will have to resign yourself to the fact that your social life will often be more unpredictable than your working life."

"But, Saturdays, they are at ze weekend," Irene repeated.

Lupin smiled. "I admire your tenacity, Irene. Unfortunately, it will not exempt you from class on Saturday mornings."

Irene stared at him, but he simply continued on.

"In terms of grading, you will receive marks for both practical and written work. A large part of an Auror's job involves filing motions, logging evidence, obtaining warrants and so on. I advise you not to allow your practical training to interfere with the more, shall we say, tedious parts of the programme. It doesn't matter how good you are in the field; falling behind in your paperwork can, and often will, result in serious consequences."

Noting their stunned looks, he smiled. "I assure you, I have to do my fair share of paperwork, as do Auror Moody and all the senior and junior Aurors. Absolutely none of us are immune to it."

Lupin paused for a moment before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"I think you all know that this will be a long and demanding programme, just as being an Auror will be a challenging career. So, if you want my two Knuts' worth on how to survive your training - "

The recruits all leaned forward so eagerly that Lupin chuckled.

"Help each other. Working as an Auror is like participating in a team sport, only the stakes are much, much higher. You cannot survive on your own. And those who try to will fail, every time."

Running a hand through his grey-flecked hair, Lupin looked suddenly weary behind his smile. "Well, any questions?"

"Sir, I was wondering –"

Whatever Prewett had been wondering was interrupted by the door crashing open, as Auror Dawlish came striding into the room. Or, rather, he tried to – Alana was firmly attached to his waist, her heels screeching and scraping across the floor and as she, in vain, attempted to drag him back.

"Remus, I believe you are to blame for this?" Dawlish said.

Lupin looked as though he was in agony from the effort of not laughing. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

Dawlish snorted and rolled his eyes as Lupin coaxed the secretary into letting go with the assurance of a brick of fudge on Monday morning.

"Shacklebolt wants you in Interview Five," Dawlish said, as Alana glared at him on her way out. "Kit's been brought in; the usual charges, with a bit of a twist this time."

"Fabulous." Lupin sighed and got to his feet. "Have you time to take our new recruits on a tour of the department?"

Dawlish looked entirely unenthused by the idea, but shrugged anyway. "Why not; I could use a break from watching Higgins and Allicante throw mopey looks at one another." He turned to the recruits. "Rule number one - never dip your nib in the office ink."

Lupin cleared his throat loudly as Irene giggled. "Well, have a lovely weekend everyone," he said, before offering them a mischievous smile. "You'll soon stop seeing the distinction between it and the rest of the week, so you may as well enjoy it while you can."

Lupin moved to leave, and as he walked past Tonks's chair, her eyes met his, and she felt a strange burst of warmth through her body that somehow made her shiver. Being so close, she could see every hint of colour threaded through his eyes; flecks of burnt orange and faded yellow stood out against the light brown, and startling hints of silver made his eyes twinkle even more as they caught the light.

And behind all that there was some emotion she couldn't quite identify. She felt herself unconsciously lean towards him, just a little, wanting to look even deeper.

But then he looked away to nod at Dawlish, and vanished from the room, and she wondered if she had imagined it all. She shook her head, trying to dispel the weird feeling in her stomach, which quickly gave way to annoyance. Lupin had been trying to confuse or intimidate her by staring her down (and possibly casting some kind of weird eye charm); that was all. Well, she wasn't going to let him, not for all the chocolate in Honeydukes!

She scrambled from her chair to follow the rest of the recruits, who had descended on Auror Dawlish and were trotting after him down the corridor, chattering like a gaggle of wild geese.

"Who's Kit?"

"Is he a dark wizard?"

"Did he kill someone?"

"Is he being interrogated?"

"Can we watch?"

"Can you lot just shut up!" Dawlish bellowed.

From her desk in the corner, Alana sniggered.

Remus had never liked Interview Room Five; it held too many bad memories. It was also unbearably warm, and while that may have done wonders in making suspects uncomfortable, it often made Remus feel as though he were suffocating. He took a deep breath before entering the room.

"Christopher, to what do I owe the pleasure this time?"

The young man raised his head from where it had been resting on the table and gave a lopsided grin. His restraints chinked off the desk as he sat up, pushing a mop of black curls from his eyes.

"Was missing you, R.J. What's with the Muggle gear?"

"Spent the night chasing trolls around the countryside, and it ruined my good robes." He closed the door behind him. "And if you were missing me so much, why not just send a postcard?"

Kit rolled his eyes. Remus nodded to the Holding Wizard standing guard in the corner and unrolled the arrest scroll Kingsley had given him, before activating the Recorder Orb floating above the table with a flick of his wand.

"Interview between Senior Auror R.J. Lupin and Christopher 'Kit' Bingley, commencing at 2:40pm, July 19th, 1991."

"Before we begin, I just want to say that I didn't do it," Kit said, poking out his bottom lip and making it quiver.

Remus sighed. "You were caught carrying counterfeit Polyjuice Potion, Kit. Seventeen flagons of it."

"I wasn't selling nought," Kit said. "I found 'em and was planning on passing them along to the appropriate agent of the law."

He waggled his eyebrows at Remus, who gave a huff of amusement as he sat down on the other side of the table.

"One of your better excuses Kit, but unfortunately you've used that one before."

The young man's forehead crinkled. "What?"

"Two years ago – the Mandrake root bulbs? Almost verbatim, really."

Kit tried to cross his arms, but the restraints kept his wrists together. "Trust you to bloody remember that."

"Well, you should try to be a little more inventive." Remus placed the scroll onto the table. "Or, you could just get out of the game entirely."

"I'm not in any game."

"Right."

Kit fidgeted with the restraints, before shaking them. "You think you could take these off? I'm hardly going to attack you, am I?"

Remus considered him for a minute, before gesturing to the Holding Wizard to remove them.

"So," he said, as Kit rubbed at his wrists and stuck his tongue out at the guard, "You're currently looking at possession of a controlled potion, possession with intent to distribute, wilful deceit, and a slew of other charges I'm sure the prosecutor will think of."

"Boys will be boys?" Kit suggested, looking a little more subdued.

Remus didn't laugh. "You're looking at a year in Azkaban, at the very least."

Kit's pale face lost its remaining colour. "What? NO! No way! No way can you lock me up for this for a YEAR – there's no proof, you-you-you can't prove I was going to sell those or-or-or…" He broke off, his breath coming out in ragged heaves. Remus wished he'd thought to bring a Calming Draught with him.

"You're a repeat offender Kit," he said, softly, "and this is the third time you have been caught with counterfeit goods. Furthermore, since Polyjuice Potion is a controlled substance, the sentence will be heavier than any of your previous ones." He paused. "I'll arrange for a Legal Aid Wizard to be assigned to you, and you he or she will advise you on your defence before you're taken down to central booking. Would you like to say anything else to me now?"

Kit said nothing, a single tear sliding down his face as he shivered in his seat. Remus felt a wave of irrational guilt as he flicked his wand at the Recorder Orb again. "Very well. Interview suspended at 2:49pm." Once the orb went dark, he laced his fingers together, leaning his forearms on the table. "Would you like me to call your grandmother?"

Kit shook his head, still staring into space. Remus watched him silently for a moment, before pushing back his own chair.

"Okay, I'll see you downstairs then."

"WAIT!"

Hands shot out and gripped Remus's wrists as he started to rise. They were yanked away a second later when the holding wizard threw Kit back into his chair none too gently.

"It's alright," Remus said, as the wizard made to reapply the restraints. He sat back down, trying to catch the gaze of the young man who was now jerkily wiping away tears.

"Kit, it'll be alright."

"No, it won't. I can't stay in that p-p-place."

Remus tried desperately not to feel sorry for him, but failed utterly. "I've told you before Kit, where all this would lead you. I've helped you all I can up until now but - "

Kit wasn't listening. "Information!" he said, eyes wide and glistening. "I'll give you information! Anything I've given you in the past has been good, hasn't it?"

Remus hesitated, before acknowledging, "It has, yes."

"So, how about it? I can tell you where the next drop of potions will be?"

Remus sighed. "I'll need more than that to recommend a reduced sentence, Kit."

"Next three deliveries? That's all I know, I swear, but I can give you names of some of th-th-the delivery boys and – and where they hang out."

"And what about your supplier?"

Kit swallowed hard, but nodded. "I can give you her name too, but I don't know where she lives. I always meet her down in Knockturn, at The White Wyvern."

Remus leaned back in his chair. It was a tempting offer; over the past year a wave of counterfeit potions had flooded the black market in wizarding London. Many passed through Knockturn Alley, but by the time they were discovered, the trail leading back to them had gone cold. Several groups within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had investigated, but none had ever come close to uncovering the persons behind it. Anyone dealing in dark potions was unlikely to report the fake ones, and a few lost galleons were better than incriminating yourself to law enforcement.

The Polyjuice Potion Kit had been caught with had the same signature as the others – an extra half measure of bicorn horn – and so had probably been made by the same potionmaker. How Kit had become involved with this particular group was intriguing to say the least; he usually dealt with minor, solitary dealers. And while delivery boys generally weren't entrusted with a lot of information, every tidbit he knew could be important.

"You're guaranteeing me the names of three couriers of these potions, one supplier, and any and all information you know about these people?"

Kit nodded frantically. "Yeah, yes, absolutely. It's good, I promise," he added, as Remus gave him a considering look.

After a long moment, Remus nodded. "Alright. If your information proves to be reliable, I will recommend - "

"Just one moment," another voice said.

Rufus Scrimgeour had appeared in the doorway. Remus had been so distracted he had never even heard the other man enter.

"I don't think that the names of a few minor players are sufficient for a reduced Azkaban sentence," Scrimgeour said.

"What?" Kit yelped, "How's it any of your business?"

Remus got to his feet. "Christopher, this is Auror Scrimgeour, Deputy Head of the Auror Squad."

"I'm sure he knows who I am," Scrimgeour said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "After all, know thy enemy."

Kit blinked and glanced at Remus, who felt suddenly wary. Scrimgeour had never interrupted any of his interrogations before.

"Any information in this matter would be useful, sir," he said, evenly, "and Christopher has given us reliable information in the past."

"I'm sure when it comes to saving his own skin, he sings like a bird," Scrimgeour replied, barely sparing Kit a glance. "What we really need is a reliable stream of information on a regular basis."

"How would you get that?" Kit asked, bemused.

Remus, unfortunately, knew where this was going.

"Sir, a word in private?" he said.

Scrimgeour nodded, following him outside. Once the door closed behind them, Remus said, "You want Kit to be an informant for us?"

"You were the one who suggested that we needed one," Scrimgeour replied, "At last week's meeting?"

"Yes, but I meant an undercover agent – someone who is trained and knows how to collect information without getting themselves killed." Remus glanced back at the door. "I doubt Christopher is the right person for such a mission."

"Plenty of U.A.'s have died on the job," Scrimgeour said, raising a tawny eyebrow. "Rank is no guarantee of your safety."

"Exactly," Remus said. "Sometimes training isn't even enough. You can't go sending the kid in without any kind of preparation."

"You forget Mr Bingley is the same age as our new recruits, and we won't be asking him to infiltrate the inner circle." Scrimgeour gave a wry smile. "I highly doubt him capable of that. We simply need a way in, a means to a greater volume of information."

A means to an end, Remus thought, but instead said, "We would be forcing a man who's barely of age into a potentially life-threatening situation, without any ally or backup."

Scrimgeour's yellow eyes flashed, and Remus clenched his jaw, steeling himself for a fight.

"No force will be applied," Scrimgeour said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The boy has a choice: do his time in Azkaban, or do something useful for a change."

Remus had to bite back a sarcastic response. With Scrimgeour, it was best to be honest, but careful about it. "I understand that. But given the choice, sir, would you willingly choose Azkaban over any other option?"

Scrimgeour seemed amused by the question. "Those who follow the law don't have to make that sort of decision, Lupin." After a glance at his pocket watch, his manner became more businesslike. "An opportunity has been presented to us and we should not ignore it. This is the only offer that you will be authorised to make to Mr Bingley; he may take it or leave it. The choice is his, and I'm sure you will let him know exactly what either decision will entail for his future."

Scrimgeour began to move away, but turned back, an odd expression on his face that looked almost - almost - like sympathy. "You've tried to help the boy before, Remus. Now it's time to do your job, without pity or compassion." His smile was grim. "It's all we can ever do."

Remus watched his boss round the corner before leaning back against the door, dreading the moment when Kit would accept the offer, as he surely would. After all, who would choose Azkaban?

Eventually, he turned the door handle and re-entered a room which was now more suffocating than ever.

AN: Thanks for reading guys! Please drop a review - they brighten my day so much :)