Disclaimer: These characters all belong to J. K. Rowling. I am not making any money off of this story, so please don't sue me!
I woke to complete darkness with James' laugh still ringing in my ears. Shaking off the dream and the memories it had evoked, I blinked, disoriented. It must be night, I thought . . . but what had happened to the lights?
The compartment was no longer empty, I realized. I could hear children's voices nearby, anxious and confused.
"What's going on?"
"D'you think we've broken down?"
"What's happening?"
"No idea . . ."
"Who's that?"
"Who's that?"
I realized then that the train had stopped. We were no longer moving. What had happened?
Then I heard it--a faint yell of surprise and fear from another compartment. I sat up, suddenly completely awake.
"Quiet!" I said, in a hoarse almost-whisper. The voices in our own compartment fell silent, and I thought, We must have light. I muttered a few words quickly, hoping that I'd remembered the spell correctly, and the next second a small fire had appeared in my cupped hands. Instantly the compartment was illuminated by the flickering light of the flames, falling on the anxious faces of the students as they stared at me.
"Stay where you are," I told them, rising to my feet with an effort.
It was at that moment that the door to the compartment slid open. I heard a frightened gasp behind me as I stepped forward, shivering at the sudden chill in the air.
A tall figure stood in the doorway, enveloped from head to foot in long, black robes. Its face was hidden by its black hood, but I recognized it immediately as it glided through the doorway, stretching out a grayish, slimy, rotted hand. It was a dementor--one of the dreaded Azkaban guards.
The air was freezing cold, and my hands felt nearly numb despite the warmth of the flames I still held. All of a sudden my vision blurred, darkness hovering at the edges of my sight, and I gripped the back of a seat as the compartment, and the dementor in the doorway, were replaced by another scene--one I hadn't seen in more than a decade, but that was still horrifyingly familiar. . . .
I was standing in the middle of a street--or what remained of it. Just a few feet away, though I tried not to look at it, was the hole--a crater blasted in the center of the road, which looked like it had been bombarded by artillery fire. Rubble was strewn all along the street and on the sidewalks, and on the pavement I could see long black scorch marks.
All along the sidewalks and in the street, Muggles were standing, huddled in groups, staring at the scene of devastation. Some were crying, leaning on one another, while others spoke quietly in hushed, shocked voices. I could hear them, breaking into my own tortured thoughts, their soft words striking at me like knives.
"Three days ago . . . one second everything was normal, and then. . . ."
"That's impossible . . ."
"I'm telling you, I saw it with my own eyes . . . he pulled out this . . . this long stick, or something, and the next minute . . . blew it all to hell. . . ."
"Blood everywhere, and people screaming . . . thirteen dead, and that madman . . . he just stood there, laughing, when they took him away . . . just laughing, like it was the funniest thing in the world. . . ."
". . . that madman . . ."
". . . just stood there . . . laughing . . ."
". . . just laughing . . . funniest thing in the world . . ."
Their voices echoed in my ears, those words repeating, over and over, like a broken record, till I wanted to scream, clap my hands over my ears. Laughing . . . I could see it, in my mind's eye, though I hadn't even been there. . . .
Stop this, I told myself firmly, shutting my eyes, blocking the scene away with an effort. Swaying, clutching the back of the seat very hard for support, I opened my eyes and straightened, facing the dementor once more. Behind me, out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the students, a round-faced boy, shrink back in horror, but I knew there was only one reason the Azkaban guards would come here.
I stepped forward. "None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks," I said sharply, my voice seeming very loud in the deathlike silence that had fallen over the whole compartment. "Go."
The dementor turned its invisible face toward me again, and I struggled to concentrate, to remember how these creatures could be driven off. I had reviewed last month all the magic I had thought I'd need to teach, but I'd never imagined I'd be required to fight dementors on my first day back.
The words of the charm came to me by reflex, but that was the easy part. A happy memory . . . I had to concentrate on a happy memory. I cast about for one, with little success. Certainly nothing from the past twelve years would do. . . .
It came to me abruptly as I pulled out my wand--that night, in the middle of our fifth year. The first midnight meeting of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. It was the night of the full moon, and as usual I was spending the night in that ramshackle old hut the villagers had begun to refer to as the Shrieking Shack. I had no sooner completed my transformation, however, when three animals came running down the passage and into the hut with me. We had all stared at one another for the space of a few seconds--I had never seen them as animals before, nor had any of them seen me in other than human form until then. I was surprised, and at first afraid that they would be horrified at the sight of me, though they had known my secret for three years.
But after a moment, a light appeared in the eyes of the great stag which I had seen in James' many times--an unmistakable glint of mischief. The stag and the huge, bear-sized dog looked at one another with that identical glint in both their eyes, and then they turned back to me. The small gray rat scampered forward, stopping near my front paws and squeaking excitedly. We all found it hilarious, for some reason--the four of us all standing there staring at each other, unable to speak save in squeaks, barks, or growls. But for me it was more than just amusing--I was profoundly moved. For the first time in my life, during the full moon, when I was no longer myself but an inhuman monster, I was not alone. Any last lingering fears I had still harbored, that they would shun me once they saw with their own eyes what I became, were banished forever.
I lifted my muzzle to the ceiling and gave voice to my great joy in the only way I could--I howled, long and loud, a high, unearthly sound. Peter jumped several inches into the air, startled at the sound. James just looked at me with a pleased expression, his eyes laughing silently. Sirius, on the other hand, joined in with his deep, growling voice, barking and snarling ferociously at me, his tail wagging energetically.
That was the first night, the beginning of our illegal adventures, our midnight raids. We were young, then, and foolish . . . never thinking that one day . . .
But no, I couldn't think of that, I reminded myself sternly. Think only of the happy memories. I concentrated hard, not thinking of what had come after . . . thinking only of the laughter in James' eyes, of Sirius barking and wagging his tail, of Peter's tiny, excited squeaks. . . .
The dementor took a step forward. I heard a gasp from behind me, and a thud as of a body hitting the floor. I raised my wand.
"Expecto Patronum!" I said loudly, clearly, and something large and silver erupted from the end of my wand, straight at the hooded figure in the doorway. Through the mist of silver, I saw it pause. I could feel its malevolent stare, though I could not see its face. Like a scratchy old record, the voices hovered at the back of my mind, growing gradually louder . . . someone was sobbing . . . Concentrating desperately, I saw the silvery shape before me waver as all my strength seemed to leave me . . . I could feel my legs buckling . . . I wouldn't be able to keep it there for much longer . . . Then, without a sound, it turned abruptly and glided away.
The air was suddenly warm again, and I exhaled slowly, letting myself collapse weakly onto the seat. At that moment the overhead lights flickered, then came back on. There was a rumble of engines, and then I became aware of voices very near me, sounding worried. I forced myself to sit up and open my eyes, as the train began to move once more.
Two students, a boy and a girl who looked to be about thirteen, were kneeling on the floor, bending over a third who lay sprawled on the floor. I reached into a pocket of my robes, finding a foil-wrapped bar of chocolate. Some, I reflected, were more affected by dementors than others, and it was no surprise that a student, with no training to protect against them, should react in such a way. I wasn't alarmed, though--now that the creature had left, whoever it was would be all right. I unwrapped the chocolate bar, as the girl turned to look up, pleadingly, at me.
"He'll be all right," I assured her. "He's just . . ."
It was then, as she moved aside and I saw the boy's face clearly for the first time, that I received my second shock of that day.
I drew a sharp breath and fell silent, my eyes riveted to the boy lying on the floor. There was no need for me to ask who he was--even though his bangs hid the famous lightning scar, there was no mistaking his face. James' face . . . I knew, beyond any doubt, that those features and that unruly black hair could only belong to James Potter's son.
"W-what?" His eyes were open now, and I could see that they were a brilliant green. Just like his mother's . . .
"Are you okay?" one of the students inquired anxiously, as they helped him back onto a seat.
When Harry spoke, his voice was shaky. "Yeah," he said. He looked at the door questioningly. "What happened? Where's that--that thing? Who screamed?"
I wondered what it was he had heard, or what he had seen, when the dementor came in. The other two were confused.
"No one screamed--"
"But I heard screaming--"
I broke the chocolate bar into several pieces, and they all glanced up at the noise.
"Here." I handed the chocolate to the three students. "Eat it. It'll help." What was going on? I wondered. Why were the dementors looking for Sirius on the Hogwarts Express?
"What was that thing?" Harry had turned to me, still holding the chocolate, untouched, in his hand.
"A dementor," I replied, crumpling up the foil wrapper and getting wearily to my feet. "One of the dementors of Azkaban." They were all staring at me now, as I moved to the door of the compartment. "Eat," I repeated, motioning at the forgotten chocolate still in their hands. I had to find out what was going on, I thought as I opened the door. "It'll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me . . ."
Exiting the compartment, I moved down the dimly lit corridor, which was filled with frightened, confused students. Walking quickly, I made my way toward the front of the train, muttering apologies as I bumped into several people. Seeing a taller figure, an adult, in long black robes, I caught at his sleeve.
"What's going on?" I asked. The figure wheeled, and abruptly I was face to face with Severus Snape.
Even after fifteen years, there was no mistaking his sallow features, the hooked nose and greasy, shoulder-length black hair. His black eyes flashed irritably, then narrowed as he, in turn, recognized me.
We stared at each other for an instant. "You," he said finally, and the way he said it made it sound like a curse.
"What's going on, Severus?" I repeated impatiently, growing annoyed. "What are dementors doing on this train?"
"They're looking for your friend," Snape hissed, his voice venomous. "Or hadn't you heard?"
"He's not my friend," I retorted shortly, stony-faced. I had no desire to be drawn into an argument now, especially not about Sirius.
"Oh?" he said softly, raising one eyebrow. I glared, pushing past him angrily, feeling those black eyes fixed on my back as I hurried toward the front once more.
When I finally reached the driver, he didn't appear too happy to see me. I gathered that he had received a lot of similar inquiries in the past five minutes.
"They're lookin' for that escaped prisoner, Sirius Black," he told me irritably. "Don't you read the papers?"
Not until recently, I thought to myself. "But why on earth would they look for him on the Hogwarts Express?" I demanded. "What would Sirius be doing here?"
I saw the driver's eyebrows go up at my use of Sirius' first name, but he only replied, "How should I know? All I know is I've got a whole bunch of them creatures knockin' on my door, sayin' I've got me an escaped murderer on my train an' they wants to search for 'im, so who'm I to tell 'em no? I figure they knows better'n I do where he's at, and I'd rather have them on the train for a few minutes than Sirius Black!" He finished with a glare, motioning angrily for me to leave. "Now if you'd like to leave me to my own business, professor, I'd be mighty grateful!"
I started to say something more, then thought better of it, heading back down the corridor with an inaudible sigh.
Why were they searching for Sirius here? my mind demanded yet again. Could it be that they thought he was headed for the school? The thought was not a pleasant one. After all these years, after what he'd done, I had no desire to meet Sirius Black face to face once more. It was painful enough to see his face in the Daily Prophet, to read in the article beneath all the reminders of the crimes he'd committed. . . .
But why in God's name would he go to Hogwarts, of all the places he could make for? With what I knew of his connections to Voldemort twelve years ago, I could only assume that he had broken out for the purpose of rejoining his former master. But why look for the Dark Lord here? Unless . . .
Unless he was looking for me. The thought struck me suddenly, unpleasantly. Unless for some unfathomable reason, he actually believed I would help him.
My fists clenched at my sides. He wouldn't, part of my mind protested. He's not that stupid. Why on earth would he expect that? But then, I reflected, after twelve years in Azkaban . . . it was said that people went mad in that place after only a few weeks. But if that was true, then how had he been able to break out in the first place? I wondered, confused. Stopping by the prefects' compartment, I borrowed an owl and a scrap of parchment. Pulling a quill from my pocket, I scrawled a few words.
Professor Dumbledore,
On our way to the school the Hogwarts Express was searched by dementors. This caused much distress among the students, and Harry Potter collapsed. Just what the--
I stopped, thinking that perhaps a more respectful tone might be warranted in a letter to my employer, and scratched out the last sentence.
May I respectfully inquire as to what is going on here?
R. J. Lupin
I opened a window, and the owl leapt from my outstretched hand, the note clamped firmly in his beak, wings beating as he rose above the train and shot away out of sight.
Ten minutes later we reached our destination at last, pulling into Hogsmeade Station. After several minutes of scrambling to collect luggage and get to the doors, we all finally got outside onto the tiny platform. It was raining as we disembarked, and bitterly cold; water poured from the slate-gray sky in buckets. Stumbling slightly in fatigue, I pulled my cloak more tightly around me, but found it did little good as we all made our way off the platform as quickly as possible, toward the line of stagecoaches waiting along the muddy track that led to the school.
Harry Potter and his two companions got into one, and as I watched it roll forward I heard a familiar voice calling, "Firs' years this way! All firs' years, over 'ere!" Looking up, I saw that it was none other than Rubeus Hagrid, looking even larger than I had remembered, his long black hair streaming wet and plastered against his neck. He looked toward me, and for just a second I thought I saw a look of surprise and recognition cross his face. I turned quickly away then, heading toward the nearest empty coach. It was an enormous relief to climb in out of the rain and sink back into the seat.
I didn't look up until I felt the carriage stop at the massive iron gates of Hogwarts School. They hadn't changed in fifteen years, since the last time I'd bidden them good-bye after graduation. Only today, I saw two more tall, black, hooded shapes flanking those gates. . . . So it was true, I thought. They must be sure Sirius was trying to get into Hogwarts--there was no way Albus Dumbledore would allow dementors within a hundred miles of the school, otherwise. Suddenly feeling sick, I shuddered briefly, leaning my head against the cold, rain-streaked glass of the window and closing my eyes. I didn't open them again until the coach drew up in front of the castle.
I emerged from the coach still feeling shaky and weak, and I had to lean for a few moments against the vehicle before my legs would support me. Finally I straightened up and made my way up the stone steps, moving slowly along the corridor toward the office which was now mine. I had to be at the feast in less than fifteen minutes, and I wanted to drop off my suitcase first.
No more than a few seconds later, I bumped right into none other than Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress, head of Gryffindor House, and my former Transfiguration teacher.
"Now, really," she said sharply, looking up at me with that severe frown I remembered so well, "You ought to watch where you're--" She broke off suddenly, staring up into my face, eyes wide. "Lupin?" Her voice was soft, incredulous. "It is you, isn't it? Dumbledore told me you were coming, but I never quite believed it . . . then we got your owl. . . . Oh, I've been so worried about you!" And to my astonishment she pulled me into her arms, hugging me tightly. When she stepped back, I was surprised to see that her eyes were moist.
"Well, it's good to be back," I said, not entirely sure it was the truth, but moved far more than I would have expected by her welcome.
"Remus is here?" I heard another voice coming down the hall. "Where is that boy?" And before I knew it Madam Pomfrey was hugging me too, and saying in a very sniffly voice, "Where have you been all these years, you dreadful boy? All those years I spent patching you up . . . had my hands full, I can tell you, all the scrapes you four used to get into. . . ." She sniffed, blinking furiously. "And not once did you ever come to visit, or even drop us a line to let us know you were still alive! How was I to know you hadn't run off and gotten yourself killed somewhere?" She grabbed my shoulders, holding me out at arm's length. "And just look at you! You're soaked to the skin! You haven't been taking care of yourself, I know it. . . ." She pulled me into the light from one of the lanterns on the wall, peering up at my face. I didn't trust myself to speak; for some inexplicable reason, I too was close to tears.
Professor McGonagall was squinting at me now, too, with that penetrating look in her eyes that she had given my friends and me too many times when were students.
"Are you all right, Lupin?" she asked, a note of concern in her voice. "You don't look so well yourself . . . were you tangling with those dementors, too?"
I waved a hand dismissively. "I'm all right," I said, my voice sounding strangely croaky. In fact, I felt near to collapsing, both from the encounter on the train and the transformation the night before, but I managed a wan smile at the worried looks they both gave me.
"Look at you," Madam Pomfrey said again, still blinking tears from her eyes. "You're shivering all over. . . ." I was indeed shaking, from the cold and from exhaustion. She took off her own cloak then, draping it over my shoulders and pulling it around me tightly. "Come with me," she commanded, taking hold of my arm and tugging me after her.
"I'm fine, really," I protested weakly as she dragged me down the corridor. "Just tired . . . had a rough day. . . ." Professor McGonagall gave a snort and seized my other arm. I lurched against her, unable to prevent myself from leaning heavily on her for support. We soon reached the hospital wing, and I sank limply into a chair, while Professor McGonagall bent over me, her face very worried now.
"Poppy, what's wrong with him?" she demanded, and at the expression on her normally severe face I had a sudden, ridiculous urge to burst into tears. It had been so long since anyone had cared.
Madam Pomfrey put her hand on my forehead, pushing me back as I tried to sit up. "Relax," she said firmly. "Don't you move." She bustled over to a cabinet and took out a large block of chocolate. "I suppose you tried to fight that thing," she said over her shoulder to me in an exasperated tone as she broke off a large piece. "Tried to drive it off by yourself . . ."
"I did drive it off," I protested indignantly, as they both looked at me.
"Of all the . . . dueling with dementors . . ." Madam Pomfrey was muttering.
"Did you collapse, too, Lupin?" Professor McGonagall asked sharply. "I want the truth, now. . . ."
"I most certainly did not!" I told her.
"He'll be all right, Minerva," Madam Pomfrey assured her. "Just a good deal of rest," she said, narrowing her eyes at me, "and he'll be fine. As long as he doesn't do anything stupid . . ." Her expression told me she didn't have very much confidence in my ability to refrain from doing stupid things, as she turned to Professor McGonagall again. "Fighting dementors is hard on anyone, but for him . . . they would affect him more than other people, I think . . . especially at this time of the month. I don't suppose you've looked at the lunar chart lately, Minerva. . . ."
At Professor McGonagall's look of swift comprehension, she turned back to me, now taking my pulse and handing me the chocolate. "Now I want you to eat all of that, you hear? There's a good boy."
I took a bite of the chocolate, and to my surprise felt warmth spreading suddenly throughout my body. I sat up.
"I really should be getting to the Great Hall," I told them, taking another bite of chocolate. "The feast will be starting any minute now, and Professor Dumbledore is expecting me . . ."
"You're staying right here," Madam Pomfrey told me sternly.
"They're expecting me . . ." I protested, but she interrupted me, stuffing a large piece of chocolate unceremoniously into my mouth. Professor McGonagall smiled at my look of consternation.
"Finish your chocolate, Lupin," she said. "You certainly can't go up to the Great Hall right now. And those robes. . . ." She shook her head, hands on her hips, looking disapprovingly at my sodden, patched garments. "You look like you've been swimming. Why didn't you have an umbrella? Honestly, you're going to catch pneumonia one of these days. . . ." She pulled out her wand and levelled it at me.
I started. "What are you doing?" I asked anxiously.
"Relax," she told me impatiently. "I'm not challenging you to a duel, I'm just going to dry out your clothes for you."
"Right," I muttered, flushing. "Sorry, Professor . . . old reflexes die hard, I guess. . . ." The last time anyone had pointed a wand at me had been when James and Sirius and Peter and I had been on the run from Lord Voldemort, and we'd all been cornered by agents of the Dark Side.
"I can see they do," she responded with a rare smile. "You don't have to call me 'professor' anymore, Lupin. You're a teacher too, now, you know." She said a few words, and suddenly my robes were dry once more. Adjusting her spectacles, she eyed me critically. "I suppose it's an improvement," she said with a marked lack of enthusiasm. "But you really ought to get yourself some new robes."
I sighed. "I know that, Prof--Minerva," I said. It felt very strange to call her that. I swallowed the last of the chocolate and stood up wearily. The chocolate and dry clothes did make a difference, though, I thought as I moved toward the door.
"I want you right back here as soon as that feast is over," Madam Pomfrey called after me sternly.
To my surprise, I found that I was ravenously hungry, suddenly remembering that I hadn't eaten all day. It felt strange, sitting at the front of the Great Hall at the long staff table, beside McGonagall and Dumbledore and Flitwick and all the professors who had taught me when I was at school. The only other teacher near my age was Severus Snape, who looked even more sour than usual, and kept shooting me venomous glances down the table like my presence was a personal insult to him. Dumbledore had said, I recalled, that Severus wanted the Dark Arts job, and it wasn't surprising that he would resent having me, especially, rob him of the position. However, there was something else in his expression when he looked at me, and after a moment I realized it was suspicion.
Well, I thought to myself, you've got to admit it does seem like an amazing coincidence . . . Sirius escapes, and two months later his former best friend turns up at Hogwarts. And Sirius is apparently headed this way. . . .
Why he was coming here was the question that still would not leave me alone. As soon as dinner was over and the Great Hall had nearly emptied, I accosted Professor Dumbledore on his way out the door.
"What's going on here?" I demanded without preamble, falling into step beside him. He looked up, saw me.
"Remus," he greeted me, his expression grave. "I was hoping to speak to you alone this evening." He pushed open the heavy Great Hall doors, and I followed him down the stone steps. "You've heard the news?"
"What news?" I asked, as we turned onto a dirt path leading out across the castle grounds. "I know Sirius has escaped, if that's what you mean, but no one's told me how or why. . . ." I trailed off, staring at the horizon. The sun was setting over the lake, spilling blood-red light across the sky . . . but I saw only that emaciated face from the front page of the Daily Prophet.
"There were dementors on the train, Headmaster," I said abruptly. "Terrified all the students . . . why?" I looked at him sharply. "Why would they look for him here? Why would he come here?"
Dumbledore looked very serious, almost worried, and he stroked his silver beard thoughtfully before he replied.
"I talked to Fudge--Cornelius Fudge, he's the Minister of Magic now--"
I nodded. "I read it in the papers," I said, motioning for him to go on.
"He went out to Azkaban, the night Black escaped, and talked to the guards. No one has any idea how he broke out. No one's ever done it before."
"I know that," I said.
He went on, as I watched the setting sun's light gilding the ripples on the lake. "They said he'd been talking in his sleep, before he escaped, for more than a month. Always the same words, over and over . . . 'He's at Hogwarts.' Just that. Just, 'he's at Hogwarts.'"
I felt a sudden chill which had nothing to do with the coolness of the evening air. A month before he'd escaped . . . I hadn't even known I'd be coming to Hogwarts then, so he couldn't have known it. But then who?
"Who's at Hogwarts?" I asked. "Who did he mean?"
Dumbledore stopped walking and looked at me, and his ice-blue eyes held no trace of their usual twinkle now. He looked suddenly older, and worried.
"He's after young Harry Potter," he told me solemnly. I drew a sharp breath, folding my arms, shivering as I glanced away toward the horizon. The sky to the west was the color of blood, and against it, a black silhouette, I could see the outline of the Whomping Willow. I felt a lump in my throat as I stared at that old tree, thinking of all the times the four of us had slipped past it on our midnight adventures. . . .
His own best friend's son . . . could he really do it? Kill James Potter's son? My face hardened, remembering the newspapers, the blasted street where thirteen innocent people had died. Of course he could. He'd killed Peter, and twelve Muggles besides . . . he'd betrayed James and Lily . . .
And little Harry Potter, only a year old, had defeated Voldemort and gotten Sirius sent to Azkaban. I shivered, Harry's pale face hovering before my mind's eye. Naturally, I thought, Sirius would want revenge. . . .
"The Ministry has decided that for our own protection, there will dementors guarding every entrance to the grounds." Dumbledore's tone told me quite clearly that he did not approve of the measure.
"They're not going to be patrolling the grounds?" I asked, surprised.
"No dementor will be entering the grounds of this school," he replied shortly. "Not as long as I have anything to say about it."
"Are they any closer to catching him?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "Right now he could be anywhere," he said wearily. "But he won't get into the school. As soon as he tries, he'll be recaptured. H won't get past the dementors--those creatures aren't fooled by any disguises, not even Invisibility Cloaks."
His last words brought the sudden picture to my mind, not of Sirius' face, but of Sirius as he had been when he transformed. I could almost see the huge, shaggy, bearlike dog as he had run beside me through the shadows of the Forbidden Forest on those long-ago full moon nights. The image was still sharp in my memory, and now it seemed sinister . . . for a second it was not Sirius that I saw, but the legendary Grim, the dark omen of death. How appropriate, I thought with a sudden, bitter irony, that he had chosen that particular shape.
Could the dementors recognize an Animagus, when he was in animal form? I wondered. I opened my mouth to ask Dumbledore's opinion--and shut it again abruptly. Dumbledore didn't know, I thought. No one knew, not the dementors, not the Hit Wizards from the Ministry . . . Sirius could be anywhere, I realized, roaming free as a dog, and no one, Muggle or wizard, would ever recognize him. No one but us four had ever known . . . it had been our secret. . . .
Dumbledore was looking at me curiously, and I wondered with a start how much my face had revealed.
"You were going to say something?" he inquired.
I should tell him, I thought. Sirius could be wandering the Forbidden Forest as a dog right this very minute. And yet . . . how could I explain to this man, who had trusted me, who had given me a chance when no one else would, that for years I had betrayed that trust, and led three others to become Animagi illegally . . . a serious crime, by the laws of the Ministry of Magic?
Sirius must have learned all sorts of dark spells from Voldemort, I thought to myself. He probably knew Dark magic none of us had ever heard of. Surely his being able to transform into a dog had nothing to do with it. . . .
"Sirius probably knows a lot of Dark magic," I said quickly, still watching the horizon, not meeting his eyes. "He could have powers we . . . know nothing about. We . . . should take every precaution."
I hated myself as soon as I said it. Maybe he wasn't transforming in order to get in, but there was no way to rule out the possibility. What if I was wrong, and my cowardice caused Harry's death?
"We're being very careful," Dumbledore assured me, giving me a searching look. I wondered how much he suspected, but if he did he said nothing about it. "Don't worry about it," he continued. "Theyll catch him long before he gets near here, I'm sure of it." His voice was confident, but I could see lines of concern in his face. "I did want to say welcome back," he said. "I know . . . this is all very hard on you. Quite a shock on your first day back, I understand . . ." He reached out, gripped my shoulder briefly. "But I'm glad you're here."
I looked down, feeling awkward and ashamed. He trusted me absolutely, I could see it. And how had I repayed his trust?
"I don't know if I ever thanked you, sir," I said after a moment.
"For what?" he asked.
"For this job," I replied. "For . . . everything. I hope . . . I hope I can live up to your expectations."
He smiled. "I know you will," he said. He turned, and we both looked back toward the castle, outlined in deep gray against the darkening sky. "This is a rather inauspicious beginning to the year," he admitted. "But it won't disrupt the school too much, I hope. Have you seen your office yet?"
I blinked at the abrupt change of subject, and shook my head.
"Well, then," Dumbledore said, with a trace of his usual cheer, "I'll leave you to your lesson plans, then. Classes start tomorrow; I'm sure you've got a lot of preparations to make." And with a smile, he walked quickly away, his robes swishing behind him. I watched after him in the fading red light, my thoughts a turmoil of self-loathing and also a faint but unmistakable relief. Shaking my head in contempt for my own weakness, I started slowly up the dirt track toward the castle.
Tomorrow, I told myself sternly, I would tell him all about Sirius and James and Peter and me. Tomorrow, I would tell him everything, and face the consequences of my own betrayal.
