The Reckoning
By Eline
The mixture in the flask simmered gently. It could not be allowed to over-boil--not if the potion-brewer wanted to leave the room alive and in one piece.
It was three in the morning but the torches still burned brightly in the small preparation room adjacent to Severus Snape's office. The concoction required his constant attendance and he was hardly in a mood to sleep while preparing illegal potions anyhow.
The yellowed pages of the grimoire crackled in the still air as he perused his collection of forbidden spells and potions. It had been a long time since he had first familiarised himself with these enchantments, but he had a good memory and all he had to do was to revise . . .
Ironically, he was working like the student he had been. As a youth, he had been particularly good at Potions and the Dark Arts.
And Dark Arts did not just mean vampires and werewolves in his case. There were spells to deal with vampires and werewolves. There were no spells to defend against Avada Kedavra. He had studied ancient killing curses and death hexes in the Advanced D.A.D.A. classes for his N.E.W.T.s and as a Death Eater, he had had the chance to practise them.
He only had the opportunity to experiment with his potions on creatures other than rodents when he had been a Death Eater. That had been another thing he seldom regretted. What was the *point* of having all this knowledge if it was not to put to use in some way?
As a boy, he had not suffered from high expectations. In fact, he had no expectations to live up to beyond the ones he had unconsciously imposed on himself. His grandfather had told him that knowledge was power and it had seemed rather logical to him even at that stage in his life. Knowing more put you at an advantage, after all. So, the boy Severus had put his all into learning . . .
It turned out to be the one thing he was good at after he had entered Hogwarts. That, and a flair for potions. But it was merely a matter of having a keen eye and very steady hands . . .
A soft gurgle interrupted his reverie. The vapours from the flask had condensed in the distilling apparatus set up to receive them. A Cooling Charm blanketed the array of twisted glass tubing to ensure that the steam would form the required distillate--it was lethal to breath even the slightest whiff of the vapour. Snape had a vial ready to catch the first drops of Nectar Nex, and the stopper for sealing up the precious stuff.
Just a matter of having a keen eye and very steady hands . . .
Despite his unwillingness for this task, he nevertheless enjoyed the challenge. It took his mind off the other, less pleasant aspects of his role as a double agent.
It had been two weeks since the last time Voldemort had summoned the Death Eaters. He had a deadline to meet and some serious prying to do if he was going to find anything of use. That meant going along with the next assignment and the one after that, being servile and enthusiastic as . . . as he had been once.
No--that was his just ego talking. Given a chance, he would have gone back to the fold willingly--the power had been intoxicating. He had belonged, his talents had been appreciated and damn it if the euphoria of having such power wasn't just a little heady. But that world belonged to someone else now--not the Potions Master who was such a stickler for the rules that defined his sophistic little sphere.
On the other metaphorical hand, it had been life on a knife's edge. What he had done would have earned him a life sentence in Azkaban. And this kind of potion alone was worth a heavy ten-year sentence if he remembered correctly.
Oh, and let's not forget His Nibs and his wand-happy ways. Give Voldemort an excuse--any excuse--and he'd come down on a Death Eater in a way that made Azkaban look like a pleasant walk in the park.
He had been away from Voldemort's influence for a little too long. It always made him cocky. There was nothing like a good healthy dose of gut-clenching fear to remind him that most mayflies had higher life expectancies than he did. And that had been *before* he had turned on the Dark Lord.
Did he dare remember what usually happened to Death Eaters who failed one time too many?
Death if they were lucky.
Sometimes wishing very hard for death if they were extremely unlucky.
It was never pretty. And all one could do was stand there and watch as the unfortunate Death Eater writhed, screamed, drooled, gibbered and howled before death or insanity took over.
The floodgates damming up those unwanted but very clearly recorded memories opened on their own accord.
There was the Gauntlet . . .
Whenever Voldemort was bored, or whenever he wanted a little show of cruelty, there was the Gauntlet, his own special punishment for Death Eaters who were unfit to lick his boots anymore.
Twin rows of Death Eaters, stretching out across the chamber before the Dark Lord. Watching. Waiting.
Like the metaphorical and medieval origins of this particular endeavour, it was a trial. A trial of endurance. A mockery of a trial because endurance did not mean survival.
It was simple. (In the way that escaping a man-eating tiger was simple. In theory alone.) All the Death Eater had to do was make it to the end of the Gauntlet.
If they made it to the end of the line, it would be Avada Kedavra--one, two, three and nothing more. They were the fortunate ones.
If they did not . . .
Most Death Eaters favoured the Cruciatus Curse. Or the Mordeo Charm. And there were the really ancient but still viable Excentero Hexes if you wanted some variety.
To show how enthusiastic they were, it was the Cruciatus Curse all the way for most Death Eaters unless they had some really torturous and creative hex to use. Besides, it would put the poor git out of his misery faster . . .
That's what your keep telling yourself anyway.
You didn't need to be a sadistic bastard to do this job, but it helped?
If the Death Eater did not make it, it he or she would either be out of their minds from the pain, catatonic or unconscious. Falling unconscious halfway was considered most unsporting--that meant time-out in the torture chamber before the Killing Curse if Voldemort was feeling lenient.
The Gauntlet, Snape had long ago ascertained, was Voldemort's way of ensuring that his Death Eaters never quite lost that vicious edge. They were punishing one of their own number--it sharpened the competitiveness and distrust in the ranks. No one wanted to be the one undergoing the Gauntlet--it was always better that someone else took the blame.
In retrospect, he had to admire the deviousness of it all. Voldemort had kept them all living in fear, kept them divided and neutralised most internal threats to his power. They had no qualms about using the Unforgivable Curses on other wizards, or any other human beings for that matter. Some of them had even developed a taste for cruelty. Unity in strength, the Dark Lord called it.
Unity in shared bloodshed was more like it. They were bound to him by the weight of those heinous deeds. With every curse uttered, they burned more bridges--there would be no turning back after so many deaths.
As for himself . . . He remembered the first time, shortly after they had received the Dark Mark as the sign of their elevation to Voldemort's inner circle. The air had been rife with tension at that particular meeting and things got to a head because the last mission had failed.
Someone had to be the example. Voldemort liked teaching by example.
"Crucio!"
A scream of pain.
Repeated over and over again until it was his turn.
He did not know this Death Eater. He did not even know his name. All he knew was that the wizard had not lived up to expectations and was not to going to live at all in a very short while.
But he had raised his wand anyway with a hand that did not shake and said the spell.
A part of him had been quaking in terror as he watched the spell take effect while the dispassionate part of his mind recorded the twitching of abused muscles and convulsions to file away for future reference.
Time usually slowed to a crawl as he anticipated the next curse. Another scream to mark the progress of the victim. And they all just stood there, counting the number of curses it took before human endurance flagged and faded away. Sometimes there was no screaming like in one particular case where the condemned had bitten his tongue out--that had been the worst. Worse than all the hopeless pleas and racking spasms put together.
It was not a dignified way to die. But no one said anything or raised a voice in protest.
We were all cowards.
And so they had killed more often with inactivity than anything else.
Voldemort knew it all too well. If he could fool his teachers at Hogwarts all those years ago while secretly setting up his own power alliances, then he had obviously been a skilled manipulator from the start.
The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts never gave any details, but banned copies of The Dark Lord Triumphant did.
The Dark Lord was oddly charismatic in his own way--he drew followers like flies to carrion. And why ever not? He was a true descendent of Salazar Slytherin and the most powerful Dark Wizard since Grindelwald. The power and influence he offered had been so very attractive . . .
A prickling sensation on the back of his neck alerted him to the first stirrings of magic. His wand was in his hand before he knew it and he was instantly alert, scanning the chamber warily.
The spell coalesced in the centre of the room. It was not a hex targeted at him, he realised after a moment as the magic took on a recognisable shape.
The spectral vulture was a foul looking beast--Snape almost expected to smell the rotten stench of death. It was normally a harbinger of ill tidings--namely Voldemort's orders--which never boded well for anyone.
But it spoke with his master's voice this time. "Severus--before you come to me at our stipulated time, you will retrieve what is mine. Bring me the Portkey that was taken--it is a loose end that I do not wish to leave lying around."
The translucent apparition spread its wings and vanished as abruptly as it had came.
Snape leaned back in his chair, cursing his overactive nerves. He was going to become as paranoid as Mad-Eye Moody at this rate.
So Voldemort needed him to play the thief this time? That Portkey in question had to be with Dumbldore--Sirius Black would have handed it over to the headmaster after that foolhardy rush into Voldemort's lair. The only consolation he had was that he would not have to deal with Black about his latest set of orders.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
It was nearing the end of August and the weather was still relatively warm as Sirius Black and Remus Lupin made their way out of the Forest and to the school grounds proper.
Dumbledore looked up from some paperwork as they entered his office.
"Good afternoon, you're just in time--I've just received some news. But first, there's the matter of the Ward Spell."
"It's not working out?" Sirius asked intelligently.
"I realised that, yes . . . that's why I'm taking you and Severus off this project--I hope you won't mind, Sirius."
"It's your decision, Professor--but I won't say I'm not relieved, big spells like this aren't my forte. I prefer getting down to duelling," Sirius said, feeling far from disappointed.
Dumbledore sighed. "It's a pity you and Severus are unable to resolve your differences, but time is *not* on our side right now. I take it that you're going out to the city today and may be meeting up with some old friends?"
"Yes, Professor," Lupin said. "Did something urgent come up?"
"Something came up, Remus--we just don't know what it is," Dumbledore said quietly. "A few burglaries here and there, seemingly unconnected. A handful of recent deaths, appearing to be accidental . . ."
"You think otherwise, sir?"
"After some consultation with some of the old guard, it does appear highly suspicious--but then again, some people would accuse us of being paranoid old men." Aye, that was the rub. The Ministry was not willing to admit the possibility of Voldemort and his Death Eaters on the loose. "I wonder how many lives must be sacrificed before the fears of paranoid old men are realised," Dumbledore said with an edge of bitterness that Sirius or Remus had never witnessed before in the spry old wizard.
"Well, that's up to us to prevent," said Sirius with forced cheer. "We've done a fair bit of investigating before."
"That's why I'm entrusting you with this information." He handed over a roll of parchment to Lupin. "I've sent the news to a few of my sources. Please convey this to your hard-to-find friends as well when you see them. We might make some sense out of all this after all if we have enough people looking at it from different angles."
Back in the lodge, Sirius read through the collected information, skipping over the theft reports and moving onto the list of recent deaths that had made Dumbledore suspicious.
"Lewis, Jerome--scholar . . . Ashford, Leopold--apothecary . . ." he read off the list. None of the names rang any bells. The causes of death were more interesting. "A perfectly healthy man falling down the stairs and breaking his neck . . . What are the odds of that happening in his own home?"
"*Anything* is possible . . ."
"Or a wizard choking to death on a crouton? This looks dodgy all right . . ." Sirius's instincts were telling him that there was more than met the eye here. "You're the Dark Arts expert--*are* there any hexes that can produce these kinds of results?"
"Unfortunately, yes," his friend said. "Very specific ones too. And it *could* be pure chance. If only we could get to the scene and sweep it like we used to do . . ."
"Looking for leftover traces of magic?" Sirius remembered that from the old days while they had done similar investigations in the course of their work.
Remus shook his head. "I doubt there are any traces left though. A good mopping would get rid of any traces of a jinxed stair and we can't retrieve a crouton. We better get cracking--we've got an appointment with a fireplace soon."
Conjuring up Muggle clothes to conceal under their robes was fairly simple--jeans had not gone out of style even after two decades. After a short debate over the viability of bellbottoms, they set off via Floo Powder.
One nausea-inducing trip through the Floo Network later, they arrived at a specific fireplace somewhere in the vicinity of Diagon Alley.
This other fireplace looked like one that regularly saw a great deal of traffic if the ingrained sooty footprints on the hearth were anything to go by. Stamping off the soot on the convenient hearthrug, they stepped out into an office that was unmistakably Muggle in design from the light fixtures right down to the potted plants on the windowsill.
Or maybe not. On closer appraisal, those potted plants were an exotic hybrid species of Venus Flytrap.
"Right on time," said Larissa Mau, getting up from where she was ensconced behind a large teak desk. Like her office, she appeared normal and ordinary in Muggle office-wear--probably to make the Muggles she dealt with feel more comfortable. They were utilising her fireplace for the day's excursion because her office's location. "Oh well done--I hardly recognise him."
"That was the point of feeding him a lot of chocolate to get his weight back to normal. You think it's good enough for going out in public?"
"Certainly--I doubt the Ministry would suspect this tactic. Want a cup of tea before you go?" she offered.
"Thanks but we should get going in case this shopping trip takes longer than expected . . . Ah-ha--I see you've got *that* bound and published already," Lupin remarked as he picked up a large book from a small stack the coffee table. It was Debunking the Werewolf Myth by L. S. Werner.
"That's the first run--it'll be out by next week."
Intrigued, Sirius took up another copy. "So this is the book Dimitri was talking about?"
"Yes--that's just my pen name," she said with a shrug.
Debunking the Werewolf Myth (Photographs by T. Lucas) was mainly about werewolf biology, metabolism and case studies. There was a large section on old (false) myths about lycanthropy and one whole chapter lambasting the shoddy treatment of werewolves of the past and present. All decked out in coloured photos too.
"Moony--" Sirius began after viewing a few of those pages.
"You saw . . ."
"He's on pages seven, twenty-nine, fifty-four and ninety-two," Larissa said.
Sirius could recognise his friend as a werewolf among the various pictures of other werewolves even without the aid of his Animagus' keen nose. "Well, well . . . and *someone* used to say they weren't photogenic."
"Oh, Terry says he's a *very* photogenic werewolf," Larissa said with a perfectly straight face. "Even more so with that Potion. You haven't a clue about how hard it is to get a good shot of a wolf that won't keep still."
"No doubt Terry would have more interesting stories to tell later," the werewolf in question said dryly. "But now Sirius has got to go shop for his godson's present."
"I should get him one of these books," Sirius said with a grin. "It's *educational* . . . and we can view Uncle Moony the photogenic werewolf at a safe distance all the time."
"Is he always like this?" Larissa asked after they had stopped laughing.
"Always--unfortunately."
"It's a part of my charm!" said Sirius, pretending to be wounded. "Unlike Moony here, I like to rely on more than just simple animal magnetism."
"He does get complimentary copies for being such a good sport about it," she said, handing over a wrapped package to Remus. "For tolerating all those researchers without biting any one of them."
"What, no autographed copies for good contributors?"
She made to chuck the book at his head. "Oh get out and leave an old woman to her work!"
There was no one else in the outer offices as she led them down the stairs and through the hallways to the backdoor that opened out into the wizarding section of London. "Because it's Saturday afternoon and everyone's gone to enjoy the glorious weekend," she said as she opened the door. "I was just rechecking those enrolment lists and the carpet issue."
"Flying carpets being found and used by Muggles again?"
"Hah--no such luck. We're trying to decide if ecru, taupe or mocha would look better when we re-carpet the office," she said. "So I'll see you again in . . . two hours?"
The street outside was definitely not modern day London. Wizards in coloured robes strolled past with shopping bags and broomsticks whizzed past overhead. Sirius steeled himself mentally to start walking as though nothing was wrong. It had been *years* since he had walked through the wizarding community as free man.
If he read his friend well enough, Moony was nervous about this too. But they made it to the end of the street without incident and turned into Diagon Alley.
There was no screaming yet. Witches and wizards passed him by without a second glance. Sirius began to relax. No one seemed to recognise his old face at all.
"Okay, I think we can start breathing again. No one's cowering in fear of me so far," Sirius said slowly. And maybe he could actually start living like a normal wizard again.
"Just be careful, all right? You've brought your wallet and everything?" Remus asked.
Sirius nodded. He had Remus transfer his savings into another account a few months ago. (By some stroke of unbelievable luck, the bank had not shut down his Gringotts account after all this time.)
Naturally his friend wanted to visit the bookstores, but there were hobby shops around the corner and Sirius wandered in to see what kids did for fun these days.
Meandering around the shelves of do-it-yourself-alchemy-sets and kits of stuff that were purportedly good "for hours of fun", he looked about for something that would interest a fifteen year old.
He supposed that he could look back to his own youth for inspiration--what had he wanted? He mentally crossed out the motorcycle--Mrs Weasely would have his head. Harry was already on the house Quidditch team and he could hold his own against the Slytherins pretty well. The Marauder's Map and the Invisibility Cloak had been passed on to a new generation of Gryffindors . . . So what could he get for his godson?
Besides the real family he needed--that which Sirius could not give back to him . . .
"Still looking?" Remus was back from the bookstore with a new package under his arm.
"Do you really think Harry's into any of this stuff?" he asked, waving his hand at the shelves.
"I know he can't be that enthusiastic about DIY-potions . . . Hmmm--they *do* have a lot of stuff for junior magic users these days," Remus said as he looked dubiously at self-assembled figurine kits that came complete with animation spells. "How about a book?"
He grinned. "Why did I just *know* you were going to say that?" Moony had always been a bookworm--he even read Muggle books in his copious spare time.
"I'm being serious, Padfoot--for one thing, it'll last a lot longer than a do-it-yourself-alchemy kit and it doesn't have a tendency to blow up. Just as long as you don't get the *wrong* sort of books," he added, obviously thinking of the time Sirius had made up a trick book that could and did, in fact, explode when one got to page one hundred and forty-two.
Sirius chuckled grimly. "I'm tempted to get him one of those just to irritate the Muggles."
The other wizard chose to ignore that remark. "There's a magazine section at the back--maybe you could get him a subscription or something?"
It *was* an idea. And it would keep Harry occupied during his time with the Muggles . . .
"Can I help you, sir?" asked a salesgirl from behind a counter of magazines as he walked by.
"Um, I'm looking for a present for my godson . . ."
"What does your godson like? Sports? Magical creatures? Do-it-at-home-alchemy?"
And it hit Sirius that he really didn't know all that much about his godson after all--his hobbies, whether he had a girlfriend, who his favourite Quidditch player was-- "He likes Quidditch," Sirius said, grasping at the one thing he was certain his godson was mad for. "Plays for his house team," he added proudly.
"There's Quidditch Monthly--very popular with the teenage crowd," said the salesgirl, handing him a glossy magazine with the picture of a Quidditch match in progress on the cover (Features: Victor Krum! The Wimbledon Wasps! The World's Top Ten Keepers!). "And what about a subscription for Pandora's Box? It's very educational if he's a student wizard."
Sirius flipped through the magazines dutifully--Pandora's Box looked like something Moony would have subscribed to when he was younger. Harry would probably find it a tad dry.
After some consideration and recommendations by the salesgirl, he filled in the forms for subscriptions for both Quidditch Monthly and a magazine that featured magical creatures and interesting magical findings in an easily digestible format. Harry should be getting his first issues by owl fairly soon.
Fortunately, the salesgirl did not read the subscriber's name and address too closely--Harry's name alone was still enough to cause a mild fuss and draw the attention he did not need. Sirius winked experimentally at the salesgirl before he left the counter, causing her to blush slightly. Oh, *that* still worked . . .
Feeling rather chuffed now that he had successfully navigated the rigours of shopping without being recognised, Sirius decided to visit the sweet shop to get Harry and his friends a large going-back-to school-present. "They're gong to need the cheering effects of sugar soon," he predicted solemnly as they paused outside the shop to view the sweets in the window. "It's the year they're going to face the dreaded spectre of the O.W.L.s." He pretended to shudder, but he knew that they were bright kids and would do all right.
"It might just make them hyperactive--which probably amounts to the same thing anyway. So what do you propose, Mister Padfoot?"
"Well . . . how about a case of chocolate and half a ton of Every Flavour Beans, Mister Moony?"
"And a dentist to go?"
In the end, they did get a lot of chocolate and beans because "they'll need something to see them through while they're swotting".
Retracing their steps back to the block of offices, they went back in and changed their robes for Muggle jackets for their next appointment.
"That looks like a fruitful shopping trip," Larissa said when she exited the office. She had her coat and hat on and was carrying a shoulder bag. "Ready to go? You can stash your things in the broom cupboard under the stairs for the time being."
"Is it going to be a long trip?"
"No, just a little twisty--I'm stuck with picking up dinner for a lot of people . . . Nice flares, by the way," she added before opening the front door that led to the streets on the Muggle side of London.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Such meetings were always held at night for some reason--even when they were underground. Snape found himself thinking that it was all extremely absurd as they followed Peter Pettigrew--more appropriately named Wormtail--down the gloomy corridors to where the Dark Lord waited.
He had been waiting all day for sunset and the anticipation had probably given him stomach ulcers. After meeting Slater and Bannon outside Hogsmeade with the sealed casket containing enough poison to wipe out a small city, they had found the required Portkey and were currently in the subterranean catacombs that Voldemort was using as a base.
If the long-forgotten architect of these walls had been aiming for "eldritch", he would have won prizes for it. Ditto for "dank", "gloomy" and "claustrophobic". Snape never had anything against dungeons or enclosed spaces until he had come to this place. There was nothing remotely familiar or comforting about these echoing halls at all.
The company he was in wasn't helping either. His pair of Death Eaters in-training had exhausted their store of intelligent things to say a long time ago and as for Wormtail--
He fought the urge to grind his teeth.
Wormtail--the rat had been a coward and a weakling. Now he was Voldemort's right hand wizard, elevated and rewarded for his sacrifice. It had been for the worst--Voldemort had given the little rat strength beyond his puny little dreams and the bully had emerged triumphant.
It was *ridiculous*--there were more powerful and intelligent Death Eaters than Pettigrew. Just about everybody else for instance. Even Crabbe and Goyle had more uses than the rat--though Snape had to concede the point about their debatable intelligence.
After all this time, it still rankled that a worm like Pettigrew could get ahead while everybody else grovelled and strove to make up for their negligence. The rivalries between Death Eaters were hard to shake off--it had been practically ingrained into them from the start.
Such things should not have mattered at all to him. But they did and *that* was even worse than envy. He did not want to be drawn back to into that vicious cycle again.
They passed another Death Eater just outside the last threshold. Snape recognised the haughty profile of Lucius Malfoy even in the dim light. Malfoy stalked past without a word.
Voldemort was meeting them separately now? He was already stepping up the levels of secrecy--it would be harder to speak with the other Death Eaters now.
Wormtail gestured sharply. "It's your turn, Snape. You two, follow me," he snapped at Slater and Bannon. "Bring that box along too."
The pair did not look disappointed in the least to miss out on an audience with their master. They had learned that much by now. Unlike certain individuals who had been eagerly anticipating their first glimpse of their new leader all those years ago.
He stepped over the threshold and immediately felt the chill that he had long associated with Voldemort's presence.
"Approach, Severus," said the black-robed figure.
The required obeisance was no less irking as it had been before. No matter how much he tried to remind himself that Voldemort's schemes had not succeeded and he could not have been all that great a wizard if a child had been able to defeat him, the habitual fear always overruled his inner dissent. Voldemort could still crush him like a fly if he chose. But at least he wasn't as awe-struck as he had been in his youth . . .
"I have brought the potions you required--"
Voldemort waved one long-fingered hand negligently. "Yes, I know. And I have faith in your abilities--you would not do anything but your best."
Praise? Snape was instantly on his guard. Voldemort never gave praise without good reason. The Dark Lord had something up his sleeve--probably another dubious plot.
If he knew that, then why did it feel so good?
"Thank you, master."
"Now what of Hogwarts and Dumbledore's plans?"
Snape summed up the school's defences and waited for any outward signs of displeasure from Voldemort when he got to the part about Dumbledore removing him from the eight who were performing the Ward Spell.
Voldemort allowed himself the barest trace of a frown. "It is to be expected. The Muggle-loving fool would want to keep it under wraps for as long as he can. What of the Portkey?"
The unpleasant feeling in his gut was past simple gastrointestinal pains now. Voldemort spoke as though those defences were no obstacle for him at all.
As for the Portkey, it was no longer in Dumbledore's possession. The headmaster had just told him that he had sent it to a safe hiding place. Snape simplified it by saying that he had not found it on the school premises.
Those red eyes had narrowed dangerously for a moment before the Dark Lord spoke again. "Then do not bother about it anymore. Do you have any news on those wizards who dared invaded my stronghold?"
"They are the acquaintances of Sirius Black and the werewolf," Snape said, trying to sort out this confusing set of orders. Voldemort had just told him to stop his search just like that?
"Have you any information on their whereabouts?" A little more impatience in his tone this time.
"No, my Lord, I have no knowledge of their activities," Snape replied truthfully. After all, he had been cooped up in Hogwarts brewing potions and chasing after wizards was hardly his area of specialisation. "Should I make an attempt to find out?"
"I think not--that would arouse suspicions about our intent. Furthermore, I have another task that falls into your area of expertise, Severus," Voldemort said.
Well, there it was--the reward for a job well done was always and unvaryingly the same: another job.
It applied to both sides of this precarious situation he had gotten himself into, observed a cynical voice in his mind.
He waited in silence as Voldemort produced a roll of parchment from one sleeve. "I want you to prepare this mixture within a month's time, Severus."
Snape scanned the instructions and the ingredients before looking up again. "I do not recognise it, master." There had been a number of rare items on the list that he had almost never seen used. What was this about then?
"You should not be able to. It is not a complete potion--it requires a few other ingredients."
At that particular tone, Snape knew better than to make another query. Voldemort expected to be obeyed with no questions asked. And he obviously did not want this potion's function to be revealed.
But there had not been a potion he had not been able to brew or discover the function of yet . . .
"Another thing, Severus--you will have enough of the Wolfsbane Potion for thirty ready by that time," Voldemort said, cutting short his ruminations. "That is all."
Snape backed out, relief and puzzlement warring for supremacy. For some reason, he had *not* incurred the Dark Lord's wrath after all despite his scanty report. And yet these new orders were confusing to say the least.
Unless . . .
Unless it was *meant* to be throw him off totally.
He knew a moment of admiration for the Dark Lord's cunning. Voldemort was keeping his plans a secret even from his Death Eaters. But that boded ill for the future unless he could solve this mystery in time . . .
* * * * * * * * * * * *
W.E.R.E.S. Interlude
Larissa Mau did have a dark blue Muggle car parked outside. It was a rather small vehicle to be sure, but it seemed quite roomy inside.
"You had it enchanted," Lupin observed. Probably by the same person who had tinkered with her tape-recorder to make it work in magic-saturated environments.
"Naturally--just because I'm a Squib doesn't mean I can't take advantage of magic once in a while," she said as she started the engine. "This old bone-shaker was all I could afford. I had it fixed up properly afterwards by one of Gerad's friends."
"Isn't this a little risky? You're still a Ministry employee."
"I'll take the chance," she said as the car backed out of its parking lot and slipped into the mainstream traffic. "And I don't drive like Alix," she said, referring to her daughter's erratic steering, "so I generally don't attract any unwanted attention from both sides."
"I heard Dimitri say that *no one* drives like Alix and we should be thankful for small mercies. Gerad and the others have found somewhere to set up camp I suppose?"
"Terry's letting us have the unused room above his studio for a while. We'll have to shift in a few weeks--can't stick around one place for too long," she informed them.
"So you're all in hiding?" Sirius asked.
"Underground," Lupin corrected. "According to the Ministry laws concerning disbanded societies/organisations, having more than eight former members hanging around constitutes an illegal gathering."
"That's a tad unfair, isn't it?"
From the driver's seat, Larissa snorted in an unladylike fashion. "You don't say?"
"But it's the best way--no one can track them when they're scattered all over the place."
"True . . . But it's more work for our Gerry." The car stopped outside an eatery. "Won't be a moment," Larissa said as she got out of the car. They repeated this several times with her popping into an Indian restaurant, a deli and Chinese restaurant for takeaway. Lupin thought that if anyone were trying to follow them, they would have been totally befuddled by now. But it paid to be cautious anyhow--they had good reason not to draw any attention to themselves.
"Well, here we are," Larissa said a short while after they had stopped at an Italian place to pick up some pizza because Sirius had evinced an interest in trying some Muggle cuisine with cheese in it.
The building they entered was only three storeys high and looked a little dated by Muggle standards. Terence Lucas opened the door in response to the doorbell and grinned.
"You made it--they're upstairs. I'm waiting for Trent and developing some of my stuff." Lupin could tell from the highly chemical smell pervading the first floor. "Check this out . . ."
He had developed some shots of a black dragon in what looked like the lake at Hogwarts.
"Is that Kailing?"
"In the scales, my friend," Terry said. "I was wondering--do you wizards have a name for this type of dragon?"
"Pacific Sea Dragon--black, hornless variety. Very rare," he replied as he had his first clear look at the dragon Animagus. "I wonder how many of them there are . . ."
"You can quiz her on the aspects of dragonhood some other day--she's not here today," Larissa said as they carted bags of takeaway upstairs. "Some others *are* coming back in after Gerry spread the word."
Others, Lupin knew, meant other werewolves.
"Password?" was the query that met them at the door.
"I come bearing . . . three pizzas, chicken curry, fish curry, several large submarine sandwiches and fried noodles," she said. "Now quit playing around and let us in before this lot gets cold."
"Welcome!" Gerad opened the door wide and ushered them in.
The room beyond was a bare space that had been colonised by a ragged couch, mismatched chairs and an orphaned plastic patio table. Draped over the furniture were the motley crew that made up the central committee. Edward and Dimitri were stacking a large pile of ledgers and files against one wall. A dark-haired witch he knew to be Bianca de Souza was at the table with a boxy contraption that was like a small Muggle television with a keyboard. Gerad and Caitlin were looking over her shoulder and making comments.
They were not exactly the type Remus Lupin would have wound up hanging around with . . . It seemed he had drifted into this circle by default and was, at best, a fringe member. Not that it matter.
W.E.R.E.S. was certainly . . . well, *different* from the Order and yet similar because they held to certain principles. That was why he had been drawn back in after Voldemort had been defeated and the Order disbanded.
All right, so he *had* been out of work and aimlessly searching for some direction at that time, but that didn't make much of a difference. It was always the same though--always seeking out the company of those who would have him along despite his lycanthropy.
The teaching job after he had graduated had lasted a year before someone found him out--monthly disappearances were always too obvious and some quick-witted students would notice it sooner or later. Then came the two years spent in the Order and a few months spent cleaning up after the mess Voldemort had left after he had been defeated.
Once all that was over, he had found employment in the Department of Regulation of Were-folk/Sub-humans--that was before the advent of the dreaded budget cuts--along with one Gerad Connelly, founder of W.E.R.E.S. and a bit of a radical.
He had known Gerad from the time when he had been in the Order and the other man had been one of their recruited volunteers. As it turned out, Gerad's views were very radical indeed--W.E.R.E.S. reflected that.
They were the anti-thesis of the kind of wizard attitudes found in the Ministry. Terence Lucas's presence alone said volumes about their attitude towards Muggles. When told of Sirius's innocence, they had nodded calmly and asked him when he could drop by because they all wanted to see the chap who got out of Azkaban alive and sane. And they practically jumped at the chance to attend that first skirmish against the Death Eaters last month too. No one could fault their enthusiasm.
Now they had been tasked with tracking down the location of Voldemort's lair.
"So how's the progress?" he asked after noting the lack of magical activity in the room as everyone broke off whatever they were doing to attack dinner.
Larissa grinned. "I'll show you." She led the way to another door at the other end of the room and pushed it open. "We're not equipped to handle that sort of magic right now. As you can see, they're updating and computerising the records--Gerry's giving everyone grey hairs over it as usual. I got more qualified wizards to give it a go . . ."
There were two witches and a wizard in the smaller back room. They were all fairly young and had the abstract look of people who were too deeply engrossed in whatever they were doing with compasses, maps and something that looked like an empty picture frame inscribed with weird symbols.
Larissa rapped on the doorframe and all three looked up. "Visitors!"
"Carla Coleman," said the youngest witch, smiling at them. Cheerful blue eyes topped with a cap of sandy curls looked them up and down in frank appraisement. "CeeCee if you like--I'm from the Salem Institute."
"You're ogling at wizards again," said the other dark-haired witch from where she sitting at the table. "Don't mind her--she's just incorrigible."
"This is Marita Otomo," Larissa said. "And that's Richard Crawfurd . . . I borrowed them for a little while to crack our little puzzlebox. This is Remus Lupin and Sirius Black."
All three looked up at once. Carla's eyes widened to saucers. "Cool!" she exclaimed. "We never expected to see you here! Is that a disguise?"
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Black--your escape from Azkaban really proved that the system wasn't infallible," said the young bespectacled wizard in the rumpled and creased shirt and windbreaker, leaning over to shake hands. "How did you pull it off?"
"I'm training to be a Dark Magic Detector--could you give me any pointers?"
Sirius looked at him sideways as if to say Are these people sane? Lupin shrugged. Better you than me . . . He had enough prodding from the students who had been interested in lycanthropy and human metamorphosis. These three looked like carbon copies of the kind of eager-beaver wizards Larissa Mau generally collected.
Larissa stepped smoothly in at that point. "They're deciphering the Portkey and if they succeed, it'll be a *real* breakthrough."
"How are you proposing to do that?" Lupin asked as the three youths went back to whatever they had been doing as though the interruption had never happened.
"Ley lines," said Richard, barely looking up from his survey of the maps in front of him. "We're tracing the spell's perimeters and searching for a pattern match."
"In English, Richie--not everyone can understand you in full boffin-mode," Carla--CeeCee--said. "Heck, even I don't understand all this very well," she said good-naturedly.
"Well, it all starts with Mari over there," Richard said, gesturing vaguely at his colleague. Marita had a box in front of here and Lupin didn't need to look into it to know that it contained the Portkey that led to Voldemort's well-hidden and shielded lair. "She's sensitive to magic. Putting it simply, she's getting into the spell structure and Carla takes that information--"
"And I relay it to Richie who's got the worst job of interpreting it--not that he minds," CeeCee chipped in. "My magic leans more towards telepathy or mind-reading. Mari can 'see' spell structures--which is a really cool ability--"
"But I can't describe it at all--that's why CeeCee's here," Marita finished. "Richard's the translocation and ley line expert."
"Most wizards know ley lines, right? Especially in Britain, I expect." The young Scotsman did not wait for an answer before launching an assault on his pile of maps and dragging out a few plotted charts of ley lines, which he proceeded to wave in their faces.
Ley lines--an actual grid of 'power lines' criss-crossing the earth and visible to very few magicians. Lupin had to admit that that was a novel method of cracking the Portkey.
"I had a hypothesis about Portkeys," Richard went on as they had a look at his ley line maps. "To specify a location in a spell before imprinting it on an object, you've got to have a reference point. Ley lines would serve as the magical reference points or co-ordinates that anchor the spell. The co-ordinates should be set in the Portkey spell, so if we can find the match for the spell pattern Mari 'sees' somewhere on this planet, then we've hit the jackpot."
"The sooner we get it done, the better--that thing gives me the creeps," CeeCee added.
"It does feet a little . . . *dark*," Mari admitted. "It's like an aura--probably from the spell-caster. You think it might be *Voldemort* who enchanted it?"
"Best not think about that too much, dear," Larissa said, handing them a cardboard box. "Here's a pizza--hope you like barbecue chicken flavour. Ta now . . ."
"Interesting . . . Post-N.E.W.T. students?" Lupin asked after she had shut the door. There were more and more students who opted for private sponsorship to do further magical studies after graduation these days.
She rolled her eyes at the ceiling in an exaggerated fashion. "Oh yes--precious little buggers, aren't they? They were so keen on helping and 'getting a feel' of fighting Dark Magic . . . Don't fret, I explained everything to them and they won't go spreading the news about meeting Sirius Black and working on a Portkey touched with Dark Magic no matter how thrilling it was."
"I should've said we wanted a low profile . . ."
"Oh come on--they're not stupid or anything. They would've put two and two together in another fifteen minutes and guessed who you were!"
"So you 'borrowed' them?" Lupin asked. None of those three were over twenty as far as he could tell.
"They're all fresh out of school--I didn't *kidnap* them or anything," Larissa said, raising her left eyebrow sardonically. "I asked around for volunteers for a summer job and these wizards are the best lateral thinkers I could get a hold of. I have to admit, finding the ones with the right skills was a stroke of luck."
"Knowing you, you probably had them on file."
"Indeed--I snap them up as fast as I can," she said with crooked smile. Larissa Mau had a lot of connections amongst unconventional student researchers, some of whom *he* had met because of their interest in lycanthropy. "Now you better go see Gerry about your news before he can go off on another tangent . . ."
They returned to the outer room in time to witness an interesting scene.
"It's not like Kai to miss meetings," Gerad was saying. That was true--most of the old W.E.R.E.S. clique tended to make time for the gatherings despite the fact that they were gainfully employed elsewhere. Terence had his photography, Dimitri trapped rare creatures for Magical Menageries Inc. and Kailing was working as an assistant manager in some Muggle art gallery. Edward and Caitlin had their own quiet little medical practice in a small village somewhere near Galloway--he took care of the human patients while she took care of the non-human ones. But they weren't werewolves . . .
"Gerry, sometimes people have other obligations," Caitlin replied patiently. "Bianca knows what to do."
"Other obligations? Family business again?"
At this, Caitlin smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"I'm having this strange feeling that you're hiding something from me," Gerad said accusingly.
"Just because you're my twin doesn't mean I tell you *everything*," Caitlin retorted.
Her brother looked around with narrowed eyes. "And I'm having this other funny feeling that there's a feminine conspiracy afoot," he declared. And so it did appear that the female population of the room was smiling at him.
"My goodness, how did you know?" Caitlin asked in feigned shock.
"Male intuition--now spit it out."
"We might as well--it's not going to get any fresher," Larissa said. "In fact, it's old news . . ."
Gerad threw up his hands. "See? They're playing games with me now," he said to Edward and Dimitri. "What does it take to get a straight answer out of them?"
"I wouldn't presume to guess," Dimitri said. "Maybe if we asked them really slowly to get to the point?"
"All right--so what's up with Kailing?"
"Haven't you guessed? She's out with her boyfriend, you insensitive lump!" Caitlin berated her brother.
"Boyfriend?"
"The one she's had for five years. Not that you ever *noticed*, brother mine--you never notice anything unrelated to your work." Caitlin Connelly was going full steam now. Larissa and Bianca were fighting back smiles as they watched.
"Poor fellow," Sirius commented.
"He's on his own there," Edward said, picking up his sandwich and tucking in. "I'm not getting involved. I spent a week on the bloody sofa after the last time."
"It is not prudent to get in the way of indignant women," Dimitri added.
"Wise words indeed," Lupin said. A thought struck him suddenly. "Did you know about it any time during the past five years?"
"No," Dimitri said in a whisper. "But I won't tell if you don't. Personally, I can't wait for Kai to get back so we can rag her properly for this. Pass the curry, will you? Thanks."
A short while later, Gerad escaped the haranguing at last to get his dinner. "Trust my dear sister to turn a simple reminder into a lecture . . . So I'll admit I'm a little out of touch, but I don't keep tabs on all of you--"
"And we're glad for the space, Gerad," Dimitri said. "It's hard to keep track of everyone when we only meet up once a month . . ."
"Tell that to my sister . . . Hey Remus--you've seen our collection of specialists? Dead keen, aren't they? They're Larissa's, really--so she's got to feed them and clean up after them. Well, what was it you wanted to see us about besides the Portkey?" he asked without taking a breath in between. As usual, Gerad liked to get right down to the point as soon as possible.
Lupin handed over the rolled up list. "We're trying to find a connection here with all these events."
"And rooting around for fishy business," Sirius added. "Dumbledore's got his suspicions and so have we."
"All right," said Gerad through a mouthful of noodles, "we'll get right on it. It's right up our alley anyway. We're networking and pulling up as may favours as we can. Owl post, faxing, even electronic-mail while we're at it." He looked over to where Bianca was with the laptop computer. "I still wish Kailing was here though--she was the one who set it up--"
"I can handle it!" Bianca was heard to say--a little indistinctly because of the pizza she was chewing on--from behind the small machine. But she knew better than to take offence--Gerad was blunt to a fault and people got used to it fairly quickly because there was not a malicious bone in his body.
"Bianca can handle data entry--have a little more faith, Gerry," Caitlin chided him. "You just concentrate on what you're good at--getting organised and getting us started on it."
"Right . . . No point worrying about the old ledgers now--they're all going to dust anyway." Gerad picked up the parchment again and scanned the list. "Hmmm . . . very random indeed. Someone nicked a couple of items from the Nottingham Historical Museum of Magic . . . a couple of antique collections around the country here and there. Even one right here in London . . ."
"We're wondering how that ties in with Voldemort's activities . . . The accidental deaths looked more likely--he tried that sort of thing before he started being open about terrorising the community the last time," Lupin pointed out.
"Yeah, but we can't leave any stone unturned--could be red herrings for all we know. Maybe old Moldywarts is trying to be subtle this time?"
"Subtle? Complicated plots maybe, but subtle?" Sirius said sceptically. "He used to leave Dark Marks in the air as *calling cards* . . ."
"True, but calling cards might change . . . Mind if I make a copy of this?" At Lupin's nod, Gerad took out his wand and said, "Imitorari!" A few more copies of the parchment appeared beside it. "He loves that trick--says it better than Xerox any day," Caitlin said as her brother passed the copies out.
"Umm--Dimitri and Lupin can get cracking on the nature of the missing items," he said, prodding the list with his fork. They nodded--Lupin knew that he could tackle the research aspect best and Dimitri's hobby was wizard artefacts. "Larissa, could you spare the time to check for any links between the recent deaths and the missing articles? I know it's getting to your usual busy patch with term about to start and all that, but you've got the best connections."
She nodded wordlessly. Working at the Ministry made her the ideal choice for sorting through the incidents.
"Cait and Eddie have their own assignments. We'll settle the rest later . . . I say, did anyone bring the beer?"
"I don't think we brought any--"
"But I did." The newcomer at the door was a younger copy of his older brother Terence. Lupin knew Trent Lucas quite well actually and was not all that surprised to see him here.
"Bless you, Trent! And where's Terry?" Gerad asked.
"Oh he had to go--the wife's dragging him off for some dinner with the in-laws. Poor sod . . ."
"Pity . . . oh well--come on in. Trent, this is Sirius Black. Sirius, this accommodating chap's Trent Lucas--"
"The only reason why Terence puts up with us, I suspect," Caitlin chipped in.
"Because I'm a werewolf," Trent finished as they shook hands.
It was *still* disconcerting to hear someone say that so cheerfully. But Trent was a Muggle and Muggles didn't quite see it the same way as wizards did. He insisted on confessing his condition at the first opportunity to avoid any future misunderstandings.
"Remus--I hear you ran into a rough spot last month. You all right?"
"'Rough' doesn't quite describe it, but I survived," he replied. He was able to think about the last full moon without wincing anymore. "How was your last cycle?"
"Not half as eventful as yours, that's for sure . . . but I've got news for you guys. Some people have been trying to make contact with werewolves 'round here."
"Oh really?" Everyone was looking thoughtful now. This was just what they had been looking out for.
"Yeah, but our people aren't giving anything away," Trent said reassuringly. "I got word from some of them--they're coming down to help, Gerad. Don't you worry--we're sticking together through this."
"A reunion at last." Gerad raised his bottle. "To old friends who will be joining us soon . . ."
"More werewolves, Moony?" Sirius asked with raised brows.
"Hopefully the ones who'll be on our side . . ."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Notes:
Advanced classes: For the GCE 'A' Levels, there were special classes for more advanced Chemistry, Biology, Maths C, etc, etc for anyone who could take the extra torture--I mean the extra challenge of the Special Papers--so I figured that there would be advanced classes for magic subjects at N.E.W.T. level.
Order: Refers to "Order of the Phoenix". My guess is that it was some organisation that Dumbledore referred to as the "old crowd" in GoF.
Thanks goes to my beta-reader Earthwalk--her advice and comments are as welcome as her corrections.
The author mumbles: Well, it doesn't look like a pure Snapefic anymore, does it? It became a post-GoF Snapefic and Siriusfic with Lupin-subplots in it somehow . . . Oh well, I blame it my tendency to digress. More Snape in the next bit. Feel free to yell at me if he gets OOC and please give me feedback?
HP characters belong to J. K. Rowling but W.E.R.E.S. is mine. Larissa Mau belongs to Andrea L. C. (Mooky D.) and Eline.