it's the permanently missing CHAPTER SEVEN YAAAAAAY. hooray.



Bryter Layter--Part Seven

The Joining

The candle flickered in its holder, dripping wax onto the scratched surface of the desk. Anika scribbled furiously on her parchment, stifling a yawn as she watched the spiders in their jar doing an impromptu ballet. Nothing, she thought tiredly, nothing different.

Moony Blues, who was sleeping on top of a stack of papers, sneezed and waved her paws at invisible insects.

Anika hoped Dumbledore would owl her soon. The Ministry wouldn't let her use non-arachnid test subjects, but there was no way she could properly research the resistant gene without a control subject.

"Finite Incantatem," she snapped at the spiders, and they promptly stopped dancing and collapsed, thin legs waving helplessly in the air.

She sucked thoughtfully on her quill, the ink-stained fingers of one hand drumming rhythmically against the desk as she read over the first draft of the second paragraph of her application.

...However, it has been observed that the occasional wizard, less than one in ten thousand, can completely resist the effects of the curse. The purpose of my work research is to isolate the gene and/or characteristic that permits such resistance create a sort of "vaccine" for the Imperius curse from genetic extractions isolated from these few wizards. Could such an extract be created, the threat of the curse would be entirely annulled. Unfortunately, difficulty lies in locating these rare mutated genes; without a human test subject, it seems unlikely that the research can continue any further. Professor Albus Dumbledore . . .

Now what? "Professor Albus Dumbledore apparently has one of these genes, may I please drag him to my underground lair, sample his blood, inject him with strange substances, and put one of the Unforgivable Curses on him?" She groaned aloud, banging her head against the desk. I'm nineteen years old! I should be outside right now, getting fit and tanned and beautiful. The streets should be strewn with the bodies of men shooting themselves for my sake. I should not be cursing spiders in a basement.

There came a tapping at the door. "Come in," she called, laying the quill down.

"Professor Donelan?" The door creaked open, torchlight from the hallways flooding into her dark workroom.

And another thing: no one should be calling me "Professor," she thought darkly. People should be calling me 'babe' and 'sweetheart', or at least 'Ani'. "Yes, Rinako?"

"This just came for you . . . d'you want to read it now?"

"Yes, of course," Anika said quickly, drawing herself up and reaching for the letter that her co-worker held. "Thanks."

"No problem. Say, you want something to drink? Dr. Watson went out for butterbeer for everyone, and there's a giant crate upstairs. Come up for a bit? It'd be good for you to get some fresh air."

Anika stretched hugely, yawning and feeling the bones pop in her shoulders and spine. "Yeah, I think I will. Hang on, let me read this; I'll be up in a couple minutes."

"All right." Rinako retreated, closing the door behind her.

It wasn't as though her months at the Observatory had been unhappy ones. The rent was cheap, the lab was serviceable, and if it was a bit dark, at least there was an up-to-date air circulation spell. Still, she sometimes wished she'd taken up some line of work that involved tropical climes, adventure, excitement, and perhaps a daily jog.

You didn't have to take this job, you know, she reminded herself, watching one spider scuttle up the side of its jar and then fall back into the bottom of it. You wanted to make a difference.

I didn't want to make a difference, I wanted to run away. After she and Sirius had...stumbled over one another, after Remus had left, she'd nearly broken down. It was my fault, she'd told herself. It was my fault, for trying to make friends too fast, trying to be too much to too many people. And so she'd simply stopped talking to all of them, all her Gryffindor friends.

Well, she could say "simply" now, but it had never been simple. Advanced Arithmancy had been a nightmare--they tried to talk to her, she barely replied, she left feeling like the world's biggest ungrateful failure and cried herself to sleep.

At graduation, she hadn't even said goodbye to them. She'd known she might never see any of them ever again, and she'd just...left.

She regretted it now. Often she longed to hear Sirius's vibrant laugh, to see again the way Remus's eyes seemed slanted in a certain light, to see Peter grin shyly and blush bright red the way he did when anyone complimented him--to watch James and Lily, heads bent close together, poring over some piece of unimportant piece of parchment and sneaking glances at one another when each thought the other wasn't looking.

Graduation hadn't been a happy day, in any event. Voldemort's constant presence, the guard of armed wizards who actually followed them to the reception to protect them from Death Eater terrorists, the conspicuous absence of at least three professors killed in battle against Voldemort...all had made the departure nothing but gloomy. And then, hardly a week later, Colleen Donelan put a bullet through her head in a dirty motel room near Leeds. She'd always had a flair for dramatics; why use a simple Avada Kedavra when one could harness the pure violent beauty of a gunshot?

Anika hadn't even gone to the funeral. She'd packed her things, caught a ferry to Shannon, and taken up work as a waitress on Achill Island, up County Mayo way. And then she'd felt the need to do something big, to help accomplish something in the world.

So I took up spider-cursing, she thought with dark humor.

Anika shook herself. The past was unimportant now; this letter could be the key to her future.

Anika slid a fingernail into the slot of the envelope and pulled out the paper inside.



Anika M. Donelan

Achill Observatory

Co. Galway, Ireland



Dear Anika,

I was greatly intrigued by your letter. The idea that a genetic abnormality might be the basis for resistance to the Imperius curse is a very interesting one, and though I would love to help you research it further, business ties me to the grey shores of England. However, should you have the time and the inclination to travel back to Hogwarts, I have a proposal for you.

Voldemort's presence has become an increasingly threatening one, and your work might be an important breakthrough in resisting him. Independently of the Ministry, an alliance has been formed which is dedicated to frustrating Voldemort's actions. Would you be willing to align yourself with us? It is a risky business; certainly, our league is not for the faint of heart. However, I do not doubt you would be up for the task. Here, you could perform your research with funding drawn directly from Hogwarts's expenses, and you would certainly have no lack of test subjects.

Will you join us?

Awaiting your answer as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore



Anika stared at the letter, amazed. An alliance, forming at Hogwarts? And Dumbledore wanted her to join? Certainly it appeared so . . . and funding drawn directly from Hogwarts's bulging vaults . . . no more waitressing at the local wizarding pub . . . and best of all, no more spiders in dark basements.

She had to clamp down hard on herself to keep from leaping for joy as she scribbled a quick note on a spare piece of parchment, heart singing.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I'll be there as soon as possible. My lab is very small, and it won't take me much time to get packed.

Thank you so much.

Anika Donelan



*

Anika felt an amazing sense of deja vu as she stepped off the train at the Hogsmeade station; this time, however, there was no Hagrid to greet her, to herd her off into a horseless carriage with all her friends. All my friends? she thought with dark humor. I had seven, tops. And that was before...

She walked briskly down the platform, Moony's cage slung over one shoulder and her trunk floating obediently behind her. Ahead of her, she could see the long line of broomsticks for rent--probably horribly expensive, she thought dismally, checking one price tag and flinching. There was only one model she could afford--a ratty old '69 Kestrel, shedding twigs like rain. With an inward shudder of apprehension, she gave her thirteen Sickles to the grinning little man behind the desk and pulled the broom off the rack, tethering her magically lightened trunk to the back of it and quickly pushing off. It gave a little rumbling moan of mechanical failure, like a dog unsuccessfully trying to mate with a goat, and nearly threw Anika off as it creaked into the air.

This won't be fun, thought Anika sadly, trying to straighten the broom out and failing miserably. She managed to touch down in one piece on the Hogwarts grounds, but the broom had a faulty braking charm which sent her pitching head over heels onto the lawn, her trunk skidding behind her. Cursing furiously, she scrambled to her feet, trying unsuccessfully to pick up the pieces of her lost dignity.

"Can I help you?" asked a calm, civil voice from behind her.

"No, thank you," said Anika as composedly as she could, fuming at the broom. "I'm f--"

She turned around, and nearly fainted.

"Sirius?!"

* Sirius had been sitting under a tree, staring at the burning pattern of sky through the leaves and thinking about nothing in particular, when he heard the broom. It was truly a horrible specimen: sounded like a '69 Kestrel to his experienced ear, and a damaged one at that. He crossed the grounds quickly; Dumbledore had told him to expect a visitor, a research scientist from Ireland here to join the Alliance, codename Ophelia. He'd been told to greet her.

As soon as he saw the broom's angle of descent, he broke into a jog. From the creaking noises, it sounded like the braking charm might be malfunctioning, and he wanted to be sure no one was hurt. Sure enough, when he was less than fifty feet away, the broom screeched to a halt in midair, and a black-robed figure hurtled over the front of it, slamming into the ground. She picked herself up quickly, muttering dire things, and turned her back to Sirius, apparently preoccupied.

Sirius cleared his throat. "Can I help you?"

Her shoulders stiffened--she obviously hadn't seen Sirius. "No, thank you, I'm f--"

She turned around, smoothing down her robes, and suddenly froze. His mouth dropped open, his brain instantly recognizing those wide gray eyes, that glowingly white skin. "Sirius?!" she managed, her whole body freezing up.

Sirius choked. "A--Ani?!" She looked so much older, so much more mature--could a year, two years, have made that much difference? He could only stare, taking her in as she, too, took him in: eyes black, twisted with violet--face full and handsome as ever, still tall and wiry, and mouth open in disbelief--

"Dumbledore didn't--" they both gasped out at the same time, staring at each other as though they could devour one another with their eyes alone. And then they both stopped, and before Anika knew what she was doing she had thrown herself onto him and was hugging him tightly, laughing into his shoulder and pounding his back excitedly. "You look so good!"

"You do too!" he fairly screamed into her hair, pressing his hands against her back, inhaling her scent like a drowning man gasping for oxygen. "Ani, you--"

"I know I didn't talk to you all through seventh year," she said seriously, pulling away from him, "and I'm sorry--but it's so amazing to see you, and I wish someone had told me, and I hope you don't think I didn't want to be friends with you, I did, but things were so strange and confusing. Can't we be friends now?"

"I don't see why not," said Sirius, grinning madly. "Oh, Ani, I can't believe it's you!" They were still clutching one another, and then Sirius was twirling his friend around in the air, her robes flying out behind her as she threw her head back and laughed and laughed.

*

Dumbledore had given Anika her own little tower workroom in the West tower, so different from the musty basement she'd been renting at the Observatory. First of all, it was always filled with sunlight from the enormous windows that took up most of the walls; secondly, it was so...comfortable-looking. There was a soft, cushiony bed in one corner, long white curtains draping the windows, an iridescent silver carpet, inches deep, on the floor. The only sign that it was a workroom at all was the desk in the corner, which had already been stocked with plenty of parchment, ink and quills. There was even a little private bathroom, with a lovely china bath at least eight feet long taking up one wall.

She surveyed it all, hands on hips, with great pleasure. Moony had already found herself a snoozing spot on the windowseat and was making admirable use of it, soaking up the sunlight like a feline sponge. Anika had changed out of her traveling robes as well, into a comfortable gray tank top and her favorite ripped jeans. It was hot, even for July, and under normal circumstances she would have put on shorts, but the fact was that she hadn't shaved her legs in at least a week, and with Sirius around...well...My vanity is just as hyperactive as it ever was, she thought with some relief. Maybe two years of spider-cursing hasn't permanently damaged me after all.

She pulled open her trunk, pulled out one of her records, and tapped it surreptitiously with her wand, her shoulders relaxing as the music flowed into the room, the sweet chime of the guitar, simple and pure, and the low, husky voice. She sang quietly along:



Know that I love you

Know that I care

Know that I see you

Know I'm not there



There was a knock on the door, and she turned, calling, "Come in!"

This door, she noted with even greater delight, didn't even squeak on its hinges as it opened and Sirius poked his shaggy black head inside. "The rest of your things came. I've lugged them all the way up the stairs--the least you could do is help me get them inside."

"But I'm only a girl," said Anika helplessly, fluttering her eyelashes. "You know, the weaker sex, the Caesar-salad-eating gender. That's a job for a big strong man."

Sirius glared at her ineffectually. "Funny, I could have sworn that a second ago, when we went down to the dining hall, you were bolting down roast chicken like there was no tomorrow."

"I'm a growing girl," said Anika self-righteously. "And I happen to like chicken." She pointed imperiously at the door. "Go on, boy, fetch me my robes."

"Yes, ma'am," said Sirius teasingly, bowing his way out the door and re-entering within a moment with a huge trunk dragging behind him. He dropped it unceremoniously on the floor, dusting his hands off. "Damn! What's in there? Peter?"

"Peter," said Anika in solemn tones, "sleeping in my trunk after an enormous breakfast of drugged kippers and sausage. I was going to kidnap him and perform horribly invasive medical experiments on him, but you've foiled me. Curses. Meddling kid." She hauled the trunk to the armoire in the corner and pulled it open, unpacking piles of clothing onto the bed.

Sirius sidled up behind her, peering over her shoulder. "Dumbledore told me to tell you that he's briefing you in an hour, so be sure to come down to his office."

"I will," promised Anika, folding up a set of silver dress robes over one arm. "Bye, then."

Sirius didn't leave. "Okay."

"Right." She placed the newly-folded robes on the closet shelf, ignoring the fact that he hadn't moved.

"So," said Sirius, a trace of desperation in his voice, "what have you been doing with yourself?"

"Researching," said Anika, reaching for another article of clothing.

"Researching what?" pressed Sirius, seating himself on her bed.

"Curses," said Anika ominously. "I'm getting very good at them."

"I see," said Sirius, edging out of her reach. "Well, I'll be leaving you alone, then."

"You do that," said Anika, staggering across the room under the weight of a stack of data transcriptions.

He eased out of the room and down the stairs, wondering what Remus would do when he found out who their new ally was.

*

Anika bounded down the marble staircases, positively whistling. She loved this place, the smell of ink and strange potion ingredients, the delicious squeak of the clean stone under her feet, the sounds of Peeves bouncing about upstairs and throwing things. Oh, it was so wonderful, so thrilling and beautiful and lucky to be--

She slammed into someone, said "Oof!" and nearly twisted an ankle as she slipped down the stairs.

"Can't you watch it?" asked a voice irritably.

"Sorry," Anika said, embarrassed. She looked up, and found herself staring at a sallow, dark-haired boy her own age, who was glaring at her, obviously rather embarrassed himself. She almost choked. "Snape?"

"Donelan?" Snape stared at her, the embarrassed look wiping itself from his face and being replaced with his usual contemptuous sneer. "What are you doing here?"

"I," said Anika with dignity, "was invited. I can't imagine what you're doing here."

"None of your business," snapped Snape, pushing past her.

"I don't care anyway!" she yelled after him. Stupid git, trying to get me to feel inferior to him. How I hate him.

Her good mood spoiled, she trudged the rest of the way down the stairs towards Dumbledore's office.

The tall, blue-robed figure standing by the wall straightened at her approach, long white hair swinging out behind him as he smiled at her. "Hello, Anika! May I simply say, you look far too lovely for a research scientist. One would expect you to have as many wrinkles as I do, horn-rimmed glasses, and a perpetual smirk..."

"Too kind, Headmaster..." Anika smiled, bobbing a curtsey.

Dumbledore waved her address aside. "Pish! I won't have you calling me headmaster; you're not a first-year. You may call me Albus, and I shall call you Anika. Far simpler that way. Come along, then...we usually meet downstairs..."

Not more basements! Anika groaned inwardly, following the headmaster down the hall.

After a few metres, they reached a large tapestry hanging on the wall. Anika had seen it before: it was of an beautiful, aristocratic-looking young woman herding a flock of rather cross-looking ducks. Now, however, the woman was sitting on a rock at the edge of the tapestry, eating a box of what looked suspiciously like toffee. The ducks milled about her feet, quacking stupidly at random blades of grass.

"Eliza!" said Dumbledore smartly, tapping the weaving with one hand.

The woman looked up, blinking owlishly at them. "Paffob?"

Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "Sorry?"

"Asheb, paffob! Yucam gebbim wivouba paffob."

"Eliza," said Dumbledore severely, "you know you shouldn't be eating all that sticky stuff, at your age. It does horrible things to the teeth."

The girl stuck a pale finger into her mouth, rooting around to erase all trace of the toffee, then grinned stickily at both of them, tilted her delicate head, and said shrilly, "'Ow about a password, then, 'ey? Not that I don' trust yer or nuffink, but yerd better 'ave a password or I'll call Dumbledore, I will, ey? Aaaaow! D'yer mind not tuggin' on me bloody threads?!" This last was directed at Anika, who had been poking curiously at the tapestry, but quickly withdrew her hand.

"Eliza, dear, I am Dumbledore," said Dumbledore with infinite patience. "And the password is 'Hinkypunk.'"

"Cor! You're Dumbledore hisself? I don't bloomin' Adam and Eve it!" The girl peered closer at him. "Gorblimey, so you are; it's these blasted fibers, I cain't see nuffink. All right, in yer get, then. And mind you don't hit your head!" She cackled gleefully as the tapestry rolled itself up, revealing four lines sketched into the stone wall in the outline of a door. Dumbledore pushed it; a blue mist formed for a moment around his fingers, tracing the outline of his hand, and then it faded and the door swung open.

Anika's first impression was of a painting. Everything was just so perfectly arranged--the round wooden table in the centre of the room, the black-and-white tiles geometrically arranged around the floor, the tall pillars supporting the ceiling, the portraits of the four Founders that hung round the walls. It appeared to be empty; it was very dark, except for the flickering torches in brackets around the walls.

"Come now, Anika!" Dumbledore was already walking briskly down through the room, towards the table. Anika followed, apprehensive.

Dumbledore courteously pulled out a chair for her, bowing elaborately, and then took a seat across the table, laying his wand out on the table in front of him. Anika quickly mimicked him; her wand nearly rolled off the side of the table and she had to snatch at it, feeling stupid and incompetent. Dumbledore placed the tips of his fingers together, elbows resting comfortably on the desk.

"Anika, welcome to the Circle."

Something tingled down Anika's spine at the words.

"We are an alliance pledged to the defeat of Voldemort, pledged to keep him from accomplishing his hideous goal. We know things that no one else knows about his plans, about his movements, his servants, his ultimate intents. And that is why we must stop him."

Dumbledore rose to his feet, pointed his wand at the center of the table, and muttered something. There was a brief flash of light, and then something sprang into view, hovering in midair and revolving slowly. It was a flickering image of two flat stones--an illusion, Anika reminded herself, albeit a very skillful one. He began to pace slowly back and forth, his robes swirling about his feet.

"These are called the Scyldinga Runes, Anika. Have you heard of them?"

She nodded, vaguely remembering something Professor Kenaz had mentioned during Ancient Runes. "Prophecies, weren't they? I thought they were destroyed..."

"They were," said Dumbledore grimly. "The Circle destroyed them. Our illusions are the only remaining records. Voldemort would do anything to get his hands on these."

"Why?" asked Anika, bewildered.

"Because they will tell him how to gain infinite power--not only over this world, but over every world that exists." In the light that flickered from the walls, Dumbledore looked very old, and very tired. Anika had to look away, almost feeling as though she were intruding on something private. "Voldemort's true nature is far from human. His mother was a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin, as you may have guessed. His immense power as a young boy made him an excellent vessel for powers far older than mankind...a subject I imagine you know much about, with your mother."

"I only know--Irish--prehistory, sir."

"Well, Ireland is really where it all began, isn't it? You know, then, that the balance of the worlds is governed by four powers--fire, air, earth and water?"

Anika nodded, relieved to finally feel that she knew what she was doing. "Yessir" Her mother had told her long ago of the four oldest de Danaan cities--Gorias, of fire, in the east; Finias, of air, in the south; Murias, of water, in the west; and Falias, of earth, in the north.

"So, then. Voldemort--once known as Tom Riddle--was a very ambitious, and very talented, man. He hated muggles with a passion--his father, a muggle, was perhaps a less-than-admirable specimen of humanity--and so he did something very foolish: he performed an ancient ritual at the old site of Gorias, opening his body to one of the four cardinal spirits. Fire, in fact. Fickle, but very, very powerful. Precisely what Riddle wanted."

Anika knew enough about the elementals to feel her skin turn to ice at the story. So that was why Voldemort was so powerful--he was only human in body, only human in the faintest remnants of his soul, if indeed he had any soul left.

"Once he did this, he had to take on not only his own ambitions, but those of the Elemental as well. And as all fire strives for things to feed on, so too does Voldemort. If he could, he would open every worldgate that exists on Earth, letting in all the chaos and horror of the other dimensions, controlling them all.

"But he cannot. There are three other Elemental vessels, scattered over the world, and while they live Voldemort cannot possibly open these gates--the spell to open them requires the sacrificial blood of the other Vessels, and the key to finding those vessels lies in these runes--prophecies, giving their identities, and the ways to find and destroy them. Do you remember--I suppose you would have been thirteen or fourteen--there was a case of a suicide cult who murdered twenty Irish children?"

Anika nodded. She remembered it with a horrible chill; one of the young girls found vivisected on the stones at Dun Dubh had been an old babysitting client.

"That cult was called the Death Eaters, and they were followers of Voldemort before his great rise. Each of those children had great potential in one of the four elements, and Voldemort figured that slaying enough of them would equal slaying one real elemental. He only managed to open one gate, though, and the power it took killed all the cultists in an instant." Anika shuddered, but Dumbledore continued. "You surely understand now. That is why we must decipher the symbols before Voldemort does, so that we can awaken that power in the Vessels before they are sacrificed on the stones at Falias, opening the world to the ultimate destruction..." There was a moment of very loud silence. Anika's head spun; it was too much. Spiders were simpler.

"So--the Circle's just trying to delay Voldemort long enough so that we can translate these runes? Not defeat him--not until we've got the Vessels--just delay him?" Please let me be right. Please don't let him think I'm an absolute idiot, please...

Dumbledore nodded, pleased. "There, you see? I give you fifteen minutes' worth of 'briefing', and you spit it back at me in two sentences. You'll fit in perfectly here."

"Sir--" Anika smoothed back her hair. Something still niggled the back of her mind. "Do we know any of the other vessels?"

"We do know one," said Dumbledore gravely, stroking his beard. "Voldemort, unfortunately, knows about him too."

"Who--who is it?"

"Why," said Dumbledore, and the illusion floating over the table vanished, replacing itself with a floating silver tea-tray and a plate of biscuits, "why, it's me."

Anika almost fell out of her chair.

The headmaster smiled. "Cup of tea?"

*

"I should have guessed it!" said Anika furiously. Sirius watched her, amused. "I mean, it was so absolutely obvious, it was staring me right in the face, and I had to go asking stupid questions. Dumbledore probably thinks I'm an absolute idiot."

"Of course he doesn't, Ani, none of us guessed it first try..."

"And that's another thing! Who is 'us?' I only know you and Dumbledore...don't you ever have big evil-fighting meetings, so you can get to know all your fellow world-savers?"

Sirius shrugged. "Did he give you a parchment?"

"Yeah...yeah, he did, but it was blank. He said to ask you about it."

"It's codenames. The Circle members only know one another by codenames. On the rare occasions that we meet face to face, we wear masks. It makes it easier that way...we can't possibly betray each other..."

"I could betray you," said Anika, with some grim, twisted satisfaction.

"I don't think you would," said Sirius, half-smiling. "Let me see that parchment. You'll get a list of every codename...hang on, I'll show you something cool..."

Anika produced it from her sleeve. "Now what?"

"Tap it," said Sirius, leaning back in his chair, "and say, 'Sodalitas!'"

"Sodalitas!" cried Anika, tapping the parchment with her wand. It ran black for a moment, and then the black formed spidery lines and sketched across the paper.



Coriolanus

Ophelia

Mercutio

Iago

Benvolio

Romeo

Juliet

Hecate

Prospero



"Who are those?" asked Anika, surprised and admiring.

"It's every Circle member that you know by real name as well as codename," said Sirius, rather smugly. "Personalized. Isn't that impressive? James and I designed it."

"James?" asked Anika, surprised. "He's--"

"He's here too," confirmed Sirius, frowning slightly. "I guess you must know nine of the members by name...Nominatim!"

More spidery lines danced over the parchment:



Coriolanus--Severus Snape

Ophelia--Anika Donelan

Mercutio--Sirius Black

Iago--Peter Pettigrew

Benvolio--Remus Lupin

Romeo--James Potter

Juliet--Lily Whitby

Hecate--Minerva McGonagall

Prospero--Dumbledore



"Better memorize them quickly," advised Sirius, "because the parchment self-destructs in forty seconds."

"R-Remus is here?" stammered Anika through abruptly frozen lips. And Snape, she thought frantically, Snape...

"Memorize!" scolded Sirius.

Anika had already memorized; she was now trying to swim through the haze that had enveloped her mind. She hadn't spoken to Remus in two--three?--years, and now he was here...now she'd be working with him...

"Lovely codenames, aren't they?" said Sirius with some amusement. "I get stabbed, you go mad and drown, Peter backstabs his superior, James poisons himself...at least Snape gets chased out of Rome by the unwashed masses and later gets stabbed by his closest ally. That ought to be fun." He peered closer at the sheet. "It's fine for Dumbledore; he gets to be from a comedy."

Without any warning, the parchment burst into cold blue flames and, in less than a second, was nothing but a pile of glowing ash.

"I don't want to see Remus," said Anika gloomily, staring at it. "I don't know what he's going to say to me."

"He probably won't say anything," said Sirius, wondering how best to break it to her, "because he..er....he might not..."

"Tell me he's got a girlfriend," said Anika quickly, rounding on him.

"He's got a girlfriend," said Sirius, relieved. "Did I say it right?"

"Oh," said Anika, half-thrilled and half despondent. "Should--should I go visit him?"

"I don't know," said Sirius frankly.

"I think I should." She wiped her forehead with one sleeve, staring out the window at the peaceful summer grounds, thick with cricket-song and the smell of fresh-cut grass. "Where could I find him?"

"He's probably down the east wing--he's got his own office here, like you."

"Where do you live?"

Sirius shrugged. "I've an apartment up Hogsmeade way, like Lily and James."

"Are they rooming together then?" asked Anika with keen interest.

"Yup. They'll be engaged any moment now, you mark my words. Remus, Peter and I've got a bet on--I say it'll happen in August, Peter says not till November and Remus says December."

"My money for October. I'm glad they're together." Pause. "Well." She got up, finger-combing her thick black hair. "I--I should go."

"Hey." He stopped her, grabbing her elbow and forcing her to turn around. "Where are you having dinner tonight?"

"I don't know--thought I'd run down to the kitchen and pick up some salad makings." She forced herself to appear absolutely unconcerned.

"Well, if you want to you could go with Lil and James and me down to the Newt's Eye. We're meeting around seven, if you're interested..."

"I'll see if I've got time," said Anika, trying to slow down her heart.

"All right. See you round, then."

"R-right."

See Remus, she reminded herself, watching Sirius jog out the door and down the stairs. I think it's about time you got some closure in at least one of these weird-ass "relationships."

*

Remus tore off his reading glasses and tossed them aside with a quiet oath. The tiny, angular characters swam before his eyes, blurring into thousands of sneering grassblades that crisscrossed into self-satisfied smirks.

Runes don't smirk, he thought irritably. Get a hold of yourself.

He smeared at his eyes with one thin hand, exhaling wearily. It was only maybe four or five o'clock--he almost imagined he could hear birds, chirping cheerily outside the walls. Of course you can't hear birds, he told himself firmly. There are three feet of stone between you and anything that chirps.

He regarded his parchment of notes with nothing short of disgust. Trying to translate two entire tablets of incomprehensible runes when your only clue to what they mean is four lines in ancient Greek is far from easy or rewarding.

"Gah," said Remus, and he meant it.

A shadow fell across the glass pane at the door of his office. Someone knocked.

"'Min," he muttered, pushing the rune sheets aside.

"Remus?" came a low, familiar voice, trembling.

He looked up, and what should have been a tender reunion moment was somewhat ruined by the fact that he hadn't got his glasses on. A tall, black-haired blur wobbled in front of him. "It's been a long time..." it said, making vague, nebulous motions with one appendage.

"Er," he said, scrabbling for his glasses. "Er--do I--oh."

"Oh, indeed," said Anika, trying to smile at him. "Hello, Benvolio."

"Ophelia?" he whispered, shocked. Anika, Anika Donelan, Anika Donelan that had haunted his memories and his dreams for three years...she was the mysterious Ophelia, the researcher Dumbledore had told them about?

"I suppose so," she said awkwardly, pulling at one sleeve with her hand. "Yes. Yes, that's me."

She didn't look the way he remembered. At night, he sometimes dreamed that he was at her funeral, and everyone circled round the coffin, burning him with their eyes...you killed her...you did this...

In the dreams, she was so perfect. In his memories, her hair was smooth and silky, her lips full and smooth, her skin flawlessly white, her eyes as deep and swirling as a midsummer storm. Looking at her now, he realized with clinical detachment that her hair actually fuzzed and snapped around her face in the humidity, that she was covered in freckles, that her mouth was rather too wide for beauty and her face too pointed for perfect femininity. It was rather a shock. She was also sweating slightly, something that she had never done in his dreams.

Well, perhaps she had in some of them.

"I--I've missed you." Remus wanted to say something meaningful, something important and great, but the words refused to come.

"Yeah," she whispered, unable to look at him. "Yeah, I've missed you too."

They watched each other, she twisting her robe anxiously between long thin hands, his throat clogged by the awkward thickness-of-air that occurs between ex-lovers in close proximity.

"You didn't used to wear glasses," she said softly.

"I haven't had a chance to get my eyes fixed," he replied, feeling like an bumbling teenager, feeling like he was dreaming. "You know, ocular magic..bit sketchy...you can't be too careful...I...er...yes."

"Yes," she echoed, staring at the floor. "Well."

"Well."

There was silence for some time.

"Are you happy?" she asked suddenly, looking up.

"I don't know." He was so taken aback by the question that he told the truth without thinking.

"I was hoping you were happy," she said softly. "I guess it's a bit much to ask."

He snorted. "Well, yes, mostly I've been honing my Brooding Skills. But when I get time between spells of heartache, I've been working. It keeps me busy."

"It shouldn't have to," said Anika sadly, taking in the scattered papers, the ink-stained desk, so much like her own back at the observatory. "But I just wanted to say hello. I...I'll go." She turned to the door, her small frame silhouetted against the torchlight in the corridor, and then turned back. "Hey--if you want to talk--I've got an office upstairs. I hear you've got a girlfriend..." The ghost of a smile crossed her face.

"You couldn't expect me to beat myself up over you forever, could you?" he retorted, a tiny smile tinging his own lips. "Well, actually, I suppose you could."

"Silly way to behave," said Anika firmly. "I'm sure she's lovely."

He shrugged.

Her smile grew, just the slightest bit. "Good to see you, Moony."

"Yeah." And he realized what was different about her--those eyes didn't make his breath catch anymore, the grace of her movements didn't clog his throat the way it had at sixteen. Maybe they could be...friends.

Friends.

She closed the door softly behind her, and he looked back down at his papers, unable to stop smiling to himself.