Sea. Wind. Moon. These were his companions on this peculiar journey toward an unknown country. He felt remote from them all: the black sea thousands of feet below, the roaring wind kept at bay by the bubble charm around his broomstick, and the newly-waned moon above, small and oddly insignificant this far from ground.
This morning I woke shivering under a pile of blankets in Wales, Remus thought, and now I'm shivering over the Irish Sea on a broomstick. Part of him rejoiced in the change of fortune, while another wondered whether this was a change for the better or just another opportunity for failure.
His gloved hands, already starting to cramp, gripped the handle of the broom tightly as he tried not to look down at the sea below, black and featureless since the shipping lanes of Liverpool had passed under him. Wind rushed past the invisible bubble that protected him, although the charm could not completely silence the fierce shrieking nor keep him entirely warm. Jewels shone on the queer instrument strapped to his wrist, pointing the way northward. On the horizon ahead, off to his left, he saw lights from the Isle of Man, winking faintly in the darkness as if the sea could catch stars the way it caught and reflected the lonely moon.
"Comin' up on the Isle of Man, guv'nor!"
Remus jerked out of his reverie, startled by the sudden noise, and briefly fought for control of the broomstick. Less than an hour into the journey, he already detested this so-called compass given to him by Dumbledore. Its enchanted jewels glowed, pointing him in the right direction, which was all he needed to find his way. However, the thing insisted on giving unsolicited advice and even geography lessons.
"The Isle of Man sits halfway 'tween England and Ireland, ten miles wide and twenty miles long," the compass intoned in its loud, high pitched whine. "The island is home to many unusual creatures 'cluding the tailless Manx cat, the four-horned Manx sheep, and the fire-breathing-"
"How long until we're over land again?" Remus shouted above the chattering compass and the ever-present wind.
"Another twenty minutes, guv," replied the compass smartly. "Bad news, though. Looks like we'll be headin' into a cloud bank 'afore then. Coverin' all of southern Scotland, it is."
What a shame that we won't be able to see a single landmark soon, Remus thought. He grimaced as he shifted his weight slightly, trying to get comfortable, if indeed that were possible. Flying in a cloud suited him for another reason; he would see neither the inky blackness below nor the luminous, grinning moon above.
How long had it been since he rode a broomstick? He hadn't owned one for many years, preferring to use anonymous Muggle transportation when he needed to get someplace.
Last September. He remembered how he hurried to the village, still clutching the letter from his mother's neighbor, and hastily borrowed a broomstick from Mr. Clunedd. Come quickly, the letter said, she may not have much time left. In truth, he did not remember the journey there at all, only the achingly slow flight back to the cabin, made even more isolated by her loss.
He had never liked flying. He might have avoided it altogether if not for the impromptu Quidditch games with his friends when he was at school. He was nowhere near good enough to be on the house team, but on weekends when the weather was fair, they often talked him into playing with them. He played Keeper since it involved the least amount of flying. However, he would just as soon have stayed on the ground.
James and Sirius, on the other hand, were in their element when aloft. James shot across the field like a cannon ball, and was capable of diving precisely to snare the Quaffle in the blink of an eye--a trick that often made crowds gasp in amazement during House games. Sirius, always a Beater on the Quidditch field, favored the reckless charge that sent the Bludger flying and made opponents zoom out of the way, scrambling to preserve life and limb.
Remus gripped the broom handle tighter still, remembering the skill and grace of James and Sirius, willing himself to enjoy the ride as they undoubtedly would have. It didn't help. Tears, useless tears, welled up inside and flooded his eyes, blinding him. So many that he loved were gone.
"Clouds dead ahead, guv," the compass chimed.
A wall of white reached out, insubstantial arms about to enfold him. Remus shook his head and blinked to clear his eyes. Tendrils of thick mist flowed over the enchanted bubble like the arms of a powerful squid coursing through a murky ocean. The light soon failed and heavy, turbulent darkness - only faintly lit by the jeweled compass - swallowed him.
Where was Sirius now, he wondered. Dumbledore had given him hopeful news, more and better news than he'd heard in some time. He thought about Sirius often, trying not to remember the filthy and emaciated wreck of a man he had seen at Hogwarts, instead recalling the laughing Beater astride his broomstick or the daredevil crouched on the back of that flying motorcycle.
Dumbledore had given him much to think about concerning Sirius and other matters. As the formless mist flowed past, Remus tried to make sense of all that he had learned.
~~~~
"And you really believe that I can help you?" Remus asked as he cleared dishes from the table, directing the plates, cups, and utensils into a tub on the floor. As he waved his wand and they began washing themselves, he mused that the contents of the tub represented about a week's worth of dishes in his usual solitary existence.
Dumbledore did not answer him immediately as he searched for something inside his large purple cloak, standing stiff and upright as a tent next to the door. He emerged like a general ready to plan a campaign on the battlefield, clutching a piece of parchment and a couple of leather bundles.
"My dear boy," he said as he deposited his burdens on the table, "you were the first person to come to mind when this business came up."
Intrigued, Remus sat down and watched Dumbledore uncover one of the items, something wrapped in what looked like dragonskin. The old wizard's long, thin fingers danced over the leathery folds, moving aside to reveal a flat, reddish oval, roughly petal-shaped and about the size of a large man's hand.
With a swift glance at Dumbledore, Remus stretched out his hand and lightly ran his fingers over the surface. At first touch, it felt cool, smooth, and featureless. As his fingers lingered, he felt it grow warm and saw swirling patterns of fine lines emerge in looping whorls like the fingerprints of a giant. With a sharp intake of breath, he withdrew his hand quickly. Dumbledore said nothing, expecting him to speak.
"I am no expert," Remus began haltingly, "but this appears to be a scale from a dragon." He looked quizzically at the old wizard who nodded for him to continue. "But, Dumbledore, this is enormous!" Remus protested. "The dragons of Wales or the Hebrides, even a full grown Norwegian Ridgeback, don't have scales this big, do they?"
Dumbledore shook his head, although his blue eyes twinkled in amusement. "There are other larger dragons, do not forget. I have my suspicions as to its identity. However, I just came by this extraordinary object yesterday and have not had time to consult the library at Hogwarts." He paused thoughtfully. "And I do not wish to confer with the experts at the Ministry, not yet."
"This pattern," Remus said slowly as he touched the scale and the flowing lines came alive under his fingertips, "is quite distinctive. Can't you identify it?"
"Ah, that pattern is most interesting," Dumbledore chuckled. "However, it is unfamiliar to me, and I am afraid that I was not able to call it forth myself."
Remus stared at the scale for a minute and then got up. "Hang on," he said, "I may have a book about dragons here, although I haven't seen it in a while."
He paced in front of the bookshelves, searching the jumble of books in the fading light. Outside the sun had sunk behind the trees, leaving fence and forest in shadow, while the interior of the cabin fell rapidly into darkness. Remus strode to the desk and impatiently lit a candle with a flick of his wand. Holding the candlestick aloft, he continued his search. With a soft exclamation of triumph, he pulled out a worn volume and returned to set both book and candlestick on the table.
"This was from my mother's shop. I sold most of the books after she died, but I kept a few. This one, in particular, I seem to remember belonging to my grandfather. A Catalogue of Dragons by Magnus Cadwynddraig," he read from the cover. "I'd thought to translate it into English at some point, but haven't even got round to opening it yet."
"It might prove useful," Dumbledore mused as he turned the book over in his hands, "but it is locked." He pushed the volume toward Remus who tried in vain to make the book open with his wand, attempting a series of unsuccessful spells.
"Some books can only be opened by the right person, some by using a key." Dumbledore looked at Remus and then at the dragon's scale, softly shining in the flickering candlelight. "Or by using a particular object."
"Yes. Perhaps," murmured Remus, picking up the scale delicately with both hands barely touching the edges. He held it uncertainly for a moment and then gently set it down on top of the book.
The book began to quiver and uttered a loud snap. He removed the scale just as the book sprang open of its own accord. Pages turned, releasing puffs of dust that sparked and crackled in the candle flame, broadcasting exotic scents from far off lands. In a moment, the book lay still, open to a page of creased parchment containing a bold and flowing script written in red ink. Just how old was the book, he wondered, and was it really written by an ancestor? These questions soon left his head, however, as he began to read aloud, translating from the Latin as he went along.
The Red Dragon of Kirghiz at one time made its home in the mountains of southwestern China. This Dragon is not, as many wizards suppose, a native of that region. The wizard Yang Wang-fu was given the task of breeding a superior dragon for the Empress Wu in the seventh century. According to records kept by the monks, Yang labored for ten years in a remote monastery in the mountains, attempting many breeding experiments. His most successful crossbreed was between the Liondragon and the Ironbelly, to produce what became known thereafter as the Red Dragon. Only the monks called it Yang's Big Mistake after a Dragon landed on the roof of the monastery and crushed it. A Red Dragon was brought to the court of Empress Wu, but did not remain there long because of its fondness for devouring courtiers and its prediction that the Empress would be overthrown the following year. Wang left the Imperial Palace in disgrace and returned to the mountains where he turned loose all the Red Dragons he had bred. The monks began a ten-year prayer cycle to commemorate what was for them a joyous event.
"Simply astonishing," cried Dumbledore with delight. "I thought Red Dragons were extinct, but this turn of events suggests otherwise. Pray, continue."
The Red Dragon may be known by its scales, which are the color of burnished copper. This Dragon may be distinguished from the slightly smaller Liondragon by its claws, horns and spines, which are a deep red, such as the color of blood which flows freely, and by its snout, which is more elongated. When fully grown, the Red Dragon may attain the weight of four bulls and the length of the beast may equal five draught horses standing nose to tail. In flight, the span of a single wing is greater than forty hands.
"Well, that explains the size of the scale," Remus remarked. "And the weight would be about four tonnes, if I calculate correctly. Is this accurate? Are these dragons really so big?"
"They were said to be the largest, except perhaps for the Ukranian Ironbelly," replied Dumbledore. "Of course, there have been no reliable sightings of a Red Dragon in..." He paused as he searched his memory, "It may very well be that the last known sighting took place almost three hundred years ago in Britain. This is most curious."
Remus waited for some further explanation, but Dumbledore merely waved a hand for him to continue.
The Mongol conquests took a toll on the number of Red Dragons since many wizards sought them out for magical purposes. As with all Dragons, the blood is commonly known to be valuable. Furthermore, the eggs, claws, horns, and saliva of this beast are reputed to produce powerful effects. In the fourteenth century Chu Yuan-Chang, later the Hung Wu Emperor, was said to have conquered and subjugated all of Mongolia by the use of a carbuncle.
"A carbuncle?" Remus puzzled. "Have I translated that correctly? It is a jewel, but what has that got to do with the dragon?"
"The carbuncle," replied Dumbledore soberly, "is obtained from the brain of certain dragons and is the source of enormous power to those who know how to wield it. If taken from a living creature, the carbuncle hardens into a red gem. For this reason, a wizard must cut the head off the dragon while it lives. That is why some wizards attempt the nearly impossible feat of sneaking into a dragon's lair. And why a true carbuncle is rare. I know of only one in this century."
For a moment, Remus could only stare wordlessly at the old wizard, unable to absorb what he had heard and read because it seemed too fantastic. If it weren't for the object--apparently a dragon's scale--lying on the table between them and glowing warmly in the candlelight, he might have dismissed Dumbledore's words, the book, even the rug as absurd coincidences. Almost without thought, he put his hand out and gingerly ran his fingertips along one edge of the scale, relishing the warmth which greeted him like a lover's kiss.
"Is there more, Remus?" Dumbledore broke the silence.
"Oh, yes." Hastily he withdrew his hand and attempted to gather his scattered thoughts. "There's a bit more."
Numerous Red Dragons inhabited the high passes of the mountains of Kirghiz for many centuries. This Dragon prefers to live in the company of others of its kind in groups of three to five. Its appetite for humans has been documented on numerous occasions, but sheep and goats form the bulk of its diet. Unlike the other eastern Dragon, the Red Dragon can communicate with its fellows over long distance without the need for speech. It is said that some wizards can understand the speech of Red Dragons, although whether this be with the aid of Dark Magic is not known.
Remus sat back in his chair, withdrew his hands into his lap, and said nothing for some moments. He shivered and realized that the fire had died out. Taking up his wand, he stood and faced the fireplace, crying softly "Incendio." With a sudden whoosh like the beating of enormous wings, the fire sprang to life and began to crackle merrily. He seemed unable to get warm as he stood facing the fire and rubbing his hands to drive out the chill.
"Is this the only evidence, then?" he asked as he turned to face Dumbledore, gesturing toward what lay on the table. "Have you actually seen a dragon?"
Dumbledore sighed. "A shepherd has seen something which frightened him, although he is not terribly articulate, I'm afraid. He has also unaccountably lost several sheep recently which I take as further evidence."
Impatiently, Remus rose and began to pace about the small cabin. He felt suddenly weary, conscious of the transformation he had undergone only that morning and wishing irrationally that Dumbledore would leave him alone. He stopped and rubbed his eyes in an attempt to drive away the numbing fatigue. Looking down in the dim light, he saw the dragons on the rug. A few hours ago, they were merely pleasant memories of childhood; now he was not sure what they meant.
"This is all very interesting, fascinating really." He shook his head and looked back toward the old wizard seated at the table. "But I still don't see what it has to do with me. It should be obvious that I'm no expert on dragons, regardless of my family history."
Dumbledore did not answer at once, but sat with hands folded before him like a steeple, his chin resting on his fingertips.
"Let us suppose for a moment," he began, "that a dragon, a Red Dragon, appeared somewhere in Britain. What would happen?"
"Well, lots of wizards would be interested. Of course, Muggles would have to be kept away, but the Ministry would do that."
"The Ministry, I'm afraid, is still riddled with Voldemort's supporters," Dumbledore sighed wearily. "You may have heard that he has been quite active in recent years and many of his former followers have gone back to his side. I suspect that more are merely waiting for him to gain the upper hand before they declare themselves openly." He gestured at the object lying before them. "This represents great power that could be delivered to Voldemort by one of his servants. Therefore, I wish to be very cautious about informing the Ministry. You are the only one who knows of this, so far."
Remus drew toward the table, eyes fixed on the scale and dumbstruck by the implications of Dumbledore's words. As he stroked the ruddy surface once again, he began to see the great danger it symbolized.
"Tell me what I can do," he said simply, meeting Dumbledore's steady gaze.
"A cup of tea will do nicely, for a start," Dumbledore declared as he sprang up, clapping his hands together with obvious glee. "Let us warm up a bit. I still have much to tell you."
Remus grinned as he made for the kettle. It was no use expecting a straightforward answer from Albus Dumbledore; he should know that by now. He got the tea things out once again. It was going to be a long and interesting night.
Dumbledore carefully wrapped the scale and put it away. When Remus returned to the table with teapot, cups, milk and sugar, he saw that Dumbledore had spread a map of Britain in the center of the table.
"It is fortunate," said Dumbledore, pointing to northern Scotland, "that the place in which I found the, er, evidence is unknown to most in our world, including you. First, I must tell you a little of its history."
Remus poured tea for them both. As he sat down, he continued to stare at the map, trying to recall anything at all about the northern Highlands to which Dumbledore pointed. He knew that Dornoch, a town on the nearby coast, was the site of the last witch burning in Scotland, in 1722. The so-called witch was accused of turning her daughter into a pony, as he recalled, and having it shod by the Devil. The things that Muggles believed truly amazed him. It was lucky that they did not know what Dark wizards were really like.
"Thank you, my boy," said Dumbledore, noticing the cup of tea. He extracted two objects from a leather pouch: one looked like a large watch on a leather strap with jewels set around the central crystal; the other was a flat circle of glass about the size of a saucer. When Dumbledore laid the piece of glass on the map, Remus could see the details magnified. No, that was wrong. Looking more closely, he saw within the glass a tiny scene of snow-capped mountains surrounding a sparkling lake.
"Glen Draich." Dumbledore began. "That is a very recent name for it. I suspect that wizards have had a name for this glen for many thousands of years, for it is one of those places of power that calls to our kind. There is an ancient circle of standing stones here." A tiny red light winked next to the little lake as he said this. "However, I know only the modern history of this place." He took a sip of his tea and then clucked to himself for forgetting the milk. After pouring in a bit of milk and stirring his tea, he continued.
"Power can, of course, be used for good or for evil. Glen Draich has often attracted wizards who wished to call forth Dark Magic with some very tragic consequences. Three hundred years ago a wizard called Dugald built a castle here." Another tiny light blinked. "The ruins are still standing. It is said that Dugald tamed a dragon and used the beast to terrorize the local wizards. One clan refused to submit to him and was almost entirely destroyed. Sadly, it was some time before Dugald's crimes were discovered. The Highlands were remote and lawless in those days. I believe that it was largely on account of Dugald that the Warlock's Convention outlawed dragons in 1709. After that, he was hunted down and driven out of Glen Draich."
"I certainly never learned any of this in school," Remus remarked as he sipped his tea, noticing that it had gone stone cold.
"There is surprisingly little written about Dugald," Dumbledore replied thoughtfully. "Perhaps he was kept out of the history books because of the nature of his crimes. I don't know. I have searched many libraries, in any case, and found little. I do know that Dugald's dragon was very large and supposedly red in color." Here he paused and seemed to have difficulty choosing his words. "Coincidence seems unlikely. Dragons are, in some ways, akin to us. Perhaps they, too, can sense the power of the glen."
He shook his head and sighed. "But I am getting ahead of myself. I come into this story about fifty--no, almost sixty--years ago. A group of us were hunting a particularly nasty wizard who, like Dugald before him, had committed terrible crimes against both wizards and Muggles. At Glen Draich, I discovered he had been preparing for something even more--I shall not go into the details," Dumbledore paused and looked unusually grim, "or otherwise we will be here all night. However, he was defeated in the end."
The memory of it seemed to tire Dumbledore. He stared into his tea cup for a few moments, looking as old as he probably was. Then he managed to smile faintly and shake off the gloom.
"Where was I? Yes. It was obvious to me that Glen Draich should be watched, if not guarded, to prevent others from using its power to cause harm. But there was a war going on at the time. The Ministry had its hands full trying to keep the poor Muggles safe from those of our kind who tried to profit from the chaos of war. There were also a lot of magical creatures to be cared for, displaced from war zones in Europe and sent to England for safekeeping. With the permission of The Abernethy, Glen Draich was set aside as a kind of sanctuary for injured and endangered magical creatures."
"The Abernethy?" queried Remus.
"Dear me," answered Dumbledore, "I have not explained this properly at all. Glen Draich, indeed all of Strathdraich forest, rightly belong to The Abernethy, the only remnant of Clan Abernethy, which the wizard Dugald attempted to destroy. Perhaps even more than myself, he wished to prevent further mischief. Once the Sanctuary was created, the Ministry was willing to take some measures to conceal its existence, although not as many as I would have liked."
"And this continues?" Remus asked in fascination.
"Oh, yes. Currently, Glen Draich is home to a number of creatures from eastern Europe and Africa, put in danger by other Muggle wars. I still sit on the committee that governs the Sanctuary. I was there yesterday to look the place over. Angus was quite upset about losing so many sheep, although I could get little from him which was coherent."
Remus looked puzzled, but before he could form the question, Dumbledore continued. "Angus lives at the glen as a sort of caretaker. He's not terribly bright, but loyal and capable with animals. He had seen something, that much was obvious. As I said before, he could not tell me much more than something had taken several sheep over the course of a few weeks. In any event, I found the scale and realized what it meant. I am now convinced that a Red Dragon has taken up residence in Glen Draich, although I am at a loss to explain the reason why."
"How do you think that I can help, then?" Remus asked, struggling to keep his mind afloat amidst the flood of details washing around him, threatening to drown him.
"Isn't it obvious?" Dumbledore replied shortly, then he laughed and seemed to recollect himself. "Forgive me, Remus. The Ministry must be told of this, of course, and soon. We must confirm the identity of the dragon and, if it really is a Kirghiz Red, send someone off to central Asia to investigate."
"I don't think that I can help there," Remus protested.
"No, of course not. I had Charlie Weasley in mind for that task. While inquiries are being made, it will be necessary to safeguard the glen. I suspect that word will leak out, no matter how much the Ministry tries to keep it secret. As I have already said, I do not know whom to trust within the Ministry. But I trust you, Remus.
"I am no servant of Voldemort," he replied, smiling and running his hand through his hair, "That much is true."
"You sell yourself short," Dumbledore chortled. "You know the Dark Arts thoroughly and your warding spells are as strong as any I know. You proved that to me today."
Remus rose and wandered distractedly about the room. His gaze came to rest on the jumble of parchment rolls atop the desk, the collection of all that he knew about the Dark Arts.
"When do you want me to start?"
"The committee will meet tomorrow at Strathdraich Lodge," Dumbledore said. "I would like you there to assist me. That will mean going up tonight, I'm afraid. I trust that you are not too tired."
"I'll manage," Remus replied, heading for the tiny bedroom. "At least I'm well fed."
He took out an old leather valise and set it on the bed. From a wooden chest, he got what little clothing he owned and packed it in short order. At the bottom of the chest lay his black wizard's robes. He supposed that he would need it for the meeting of this committee. As he shook the robe, several moths fluttered out, making him realize that he had forgotten to use a preserving charm when he put it away. I'll have some mending to do tomorrow, he sighed inwardly. The last time he had worn the robe was at Hogwarts three years earlier. Some of these memories still brought him pain, although there were some pleasant recollections as well.
"Albus," he asked, standing in the doorway and hugging the folded robe to his chest, "How is Harry getting along? It's his sixth year now, isn't it?"
Dumbledore looked up from the map and a smile came to his lips. "He does manage to learn a bit each year, although his capacity for getting into trouble may exceed his father's. Potter and Weasley seem to give Mr. Filch as much trouble as Potter and Black did in your day."
"And Her-Miss Granger?"
"I expect Miss Granger will be Head Girl next year," Dumbledore clucked. "Minerva hopes she will stay on and teach."
Remus remembered the trio fondly, thinking of their courage and loyalty to one another. I hope they can remain friends for a good long while and that nothing comes between them, he thought as he stuffed the robe into the valise. There was still room left even though it contained all of his clothing. He took it to the desk, figuring that he could at least bring the hodgepodge of notes. He might actually make some progress on organizing it into a book.
"Would you have parchment and a pen?" Dumbledore asked. "I need to send off a few owls before we leave."
Remus found several clean sheets of parchment and brought these to the table with quill and ink. He picked up the book that lay there, turning it over in his hands curiously. He would bring this, too, for he might want to read more about dragons. He placed the book in the valise, closing it with a snap. There was still one question nagging him.
"Albus," he said with hesitation, "Is it really true about Sirius? That his name has been cleared, I mean. I've not heard from him in ..." He stopped, unable to continue. Dumbledore looked up and regarded him kindly.
Sirius had been on the run, still considered a dangerous escaped murderer, when he left Hogwarts three years before. The real story of the deaths of James and Lily Potter - and the supposed death of Peter Pettigrew - was known only to himself and Dumbledore and to Harry and his friends. But the testimony of schoolchildren and a werewolf would hardly convince anyone.
Upon leaving Hogwarts, Remus had gone to Bickenham, the little village where Sirius' mother still lived, to tell all that he knew, to reassure her that her son was not a cold-blooded killer. He was already forming a plan to make for the cabin in Wales and told them so. Not long after he arrived there, he received an owl from Sirius. The message was brief but coherent, giving few details of his whereabouts lest it fall into the wrong hands.
After that, messages came sporadically. Twice Sirius appeared at the cabin. Two years earlier, he arrived sick and wounded, staying only long enough to get back on his feet because he did not want to put Remus in danger, he said. The previous summer, Sirius turned up on the eve of the full moon and for one glorious night Padfoot ran with the wolf again.
Since this last visit, Remus had received no messages. By winter he was worried. Then he happened to see a week-old copy of the Daily Prophet wrapped around a loaf of bread, bought on one of his infrequent trips to the village.
'Black Found Innocent' the headline screamed. Remus could hardly believe it. Certain facts had come to light, the article explained, causing the Ministry to re-open the case. There was a picture of Sirius taken in front of the Ministry, looking healthier than he had in a long while but unexpectedly grim. The end of the article was missing, presumably wrapped around some other loaf of bread. Later on he asked various people in the village, but each story he heard seemed to be different. In the end, Remus did not know what to believe.
"Extraordinary circumstances, really," beamed Dumbledore, "Yes, the Ministry finally knows the truth. Most of it, anyway."
"Then why haven't I heard from Sirius?" Remus cried impatiently. "Isn't he free?"
Dumbledore sighed and laid down his quill. "He was cleared of all charges, yes. But there were those in the Ministry who felt that he still might be dangerous." His bright blue eyes held a hint of sadness. "To many people, his actions fifteen years ago and even three years ago were not those of an innocent man. There are still rumors that he used Dark Magic to escape from Azkaban."
"But that is all in the past!" Remus protested, gripping the back of the empty chair for support. "And Sirius is innocent!"
"Then there was the matter," Dumbledore seemed to be choosing his words carefully, "Of his behavior at the inquiry."
"Oh, no. Don't tell me," Remus winced as he sat down roughly in the chair. "That temper of his."
"There was an unfortunate outburst..."
"Was Severus there? Did he have something to do with this?" Remus asked sharply.
"Severus gave testimony, yes. I'm afraid that Sirius found some of it, er, provocative."
"You mean slanderous?" Remus sighed deeply. "I wish I had been there."
"Perhaps you would have been able to restrain Sirius. In any case, the judgement of the board of inquiry was that he should perform service to the community. Eighteen months of probation."
"Probation? They took his wand away?" Dumbledore nodded in response. "Where is he, Albus?"
"I arranged a situation for him that will not be too unpleasant, I believe. Perhaps he will begin to heal himself as well."
"Can he receive mail? Can I write to him?" Remus asked with excitement. Dumbledore nodded and Remus, feeling happier than he had been in many months, sprang up and dragged his chair to the desk.
He was finishing his hurried letter when something thumped softly against the door. There was another thump and the sound of scratching. Remus opened the door and found two large owls, looking quite annoyed as they marched importantly into the room and hopped onto the table. Dumbledore attached his messages and sent them off. He took the letter which Remus handed him, promising to deliver it to Sirius in person.
"It is time to be off," he bustled, going to his cloak again and returning with a broomstick. Remus was no longer surprised by anything that Dumbledore produced from that great purple cloak. "I know that you are tired," he said as he handed it to Remus, "but one cannot Apparate to Strathdraich Lodge, owing to some of the magical protections we have put in place."
"Couldn't I catch a Knight Bus from the village?" Remus protested weakly.
"Secrecy is vital just now," replied Dumbledore, eyeing him sharply. "You have not forgotten how to ride a broom, I trust."
Remus sighed and shook his head as Dumbledore got out his wand.
"This compass will guide you," Dumbledore continued as he tapped the jeweled instrument on the table. He drew his wand along the map from their present location in the north of Wales to northern Scotland, leaving a glowing red trail on the parchment. He set the compass on the middle of the bright line which shrank to nothing even as the jewels of the compass began to pulse a brilliant red color.
"You're not going?" Remus asked as Dumbledore handed him the compass.
"I'm off to London tonight," Dumbledore answered, going again to the cloak to put away the map. "There are certain matters I must arrange. I will see you there tomorrow at midday, if all goes well."
Dumbledore flicked his wand and the cloak settled about his shoulders. He seemed ready to depart but stopped himself, searching inside the cloak for one final thing.
"Do dress warmly," Dumbledore said solicitously as he pulled out a pair of fuzzy purple earmuffs and handed them to Remus. "I find that these are marvelous for long flights."
~~~~
"Bloody idiot! Stupid git!" shrieked the compass. "Dive! Dive, you friggin' moron!"
The words finally made sense to Remus who realized the compass had been screaming for some time. Through the heavy fog, he saw a faint glow ahead, pulsing hypnotically and growing ominously larger.
His stomach knotted painfully, almost paralyzing him, but he managed to point the broomstick down somehow. He felt himself plummet toward earth as the light grew brighter and a dull rumble shook his entire body. A dark shape passed overhead like a leviathan in the deepest ocean.
"Pull up! Level out!" shouted the compass, which had not stopped howling at him for an instant.
When he complied and managed to right the broomstick, it fell silent at last. He gasped convulsively, his chattering teeth making it difficult to breathe. He had no idea where he was; perhaps he had dozed off in the dense darkness of the cloud.
"Wh-what was that?" he stuttered at last, exhaling raggedly.
"That was a great bloody Muggle airplane," growled the compass, "You was flyin' into the approach to bloody Glasgow friggin' airport. You been sleepin'? Dinnit you hear?"
"Yeah. I must have been sleeping," Remus replied in a considerably calmer tone. "Any more airplanes I should know about?"
"Pay 'tention this time, guv," the compass grumbled, "And you may get out alive. "
The compass proceeded to guide him through a series of maneuvers: up, down, and sideways. It seemed to know what lurked in the fog at some distance away, because Remus did not see lights again. Surprisingly, he found himself enjoying the ride. Anxiety turned to exhilaration. This isn't so bad, he thought, I still might be able to hold my own on a Quidditch field.
After a few minutes, the compass ceased barking instructions and informed him that the clouds were breaking up ahead. Soon the viscous fog grew thinner and he glimpsed dark patches of ground; wisps of clouds flowed beneath him like a swift river.
Remus remembered James on the Quidditch field again. Instead of mourning the loss, however, he thought of Harry who flew with all the courage and daring of his father. Harry would continue to play the game and someday Sirius would fly astride the Shadow once more.
As the Highlands swelled below him, he flew on. The dark sky glowed with more stars than he could ever imagine and with the baleful moon. He laughed out loud. Tonight the moon was just another decoration for the heavens. Nothing more.
~~~~
I hope you didn't mind the long digression about Sirius. Remus really wanted to know. Obviously, I have avoided explaining how Sirius Black's name is cleared. I suspect that J K Rowling will do a wonderful job of this at some point, so I didn't attempt it within this story. I hope to have more to say about Sirius in a later story, though. I am very grateful to Blaise for sharing research on Scottish history and for much, much more.
Revised 4/25/01 to update the dragon lore.
Revised 3/18/00 to correct a few minor bits.
Revised 2/14/01 to correct a few things that bothered me; note that this tale was begun long before Book 4 was released and certain parts will continue to be inconsistent with Book 4 and subsequent books. I hope you enjoy it anyway!
- CLS