A/N: I have only one thing to say, and that is: thank you for your patience.  : ) Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 31.

Professor Dumbledore was a cautiously optimistic man.  He liked to believe the best of people, and always hoped for a positive outcome, even when the odds seemed against it.  He didn't see the point of pessimism, and cynicism was not really in his nature.

But now Elena had been whisked away into a world of danger and darkness, and Remus had followed her into the snake pit.  Though he was trying very hard to maintain hope for their survival, Dumbledore was losing faith with every silent minute that ticked by.

He paced his office, seeing none of his surroundings, and rubbed softly at his temples.  They had been gone so long…

A faint flapping noise from the windowsill attracted his attention, and he jerked his head around in the direction of the sound.

Fawkes settled gently onto the window frame, a scrap of paper clenched gently in his beak.

In three long strides, Dumbledore was across the room and unfolding the ragged scrap.  Inside were two words, written in a loose, shaky scrawl: "The gates."

Within minutes, the old Headmaster was crossing the lawns once more, headed for the enormous wrought iron gates that divided Hogwarts from the outside world.  He limped very slightly, but he moved with the urgent speed of a man many years his junior.  Fawkes flapped slowly above him, circling anxiously.

He made out the figure of Elena, sitting in the distance, just within the boundaries of Hogwarts.  She appeared to be cradling something in her arms.  Something large.

Dumbledore looked up, not pausing in his stride.  "Fawkes," he said quietly, "Go and fetch Madame Pomfrey.  Bring her to the gates.  Hurry."

The gorgeous bird changed direction immediately, and swooped off toward the castle.

Dumbledore was almost upon the scene before Elena looked up.  Her face was white and her eyes were swollen and red.  Her arms were wrapped tightly around Remus's upper body, and his head was resting lifelessly against her shoulder.  His eyes were closed.

Beside them on the grass lay a blood-smeared steel sword, and a single glossy black stone.

"What happened?" Dumbledore demanded, but Elena only stared at him with pained blue eyes and shook her head, unable to speak the words.

The Headmaster gazed intently at Remus's grayish face, and frowned deeply.  With brisk steps he made his way over to the sword and picked it up, examining it closely for a few moments.

Then he looked up.  "Put him down, Elena."

For a moment Elena hesitated, tightening her arms defensively around his body.

"Do as I say!"

Shock at his sharp tone as much as instinctive obedience to the old wizard prompted her to comply.  Very gently, she laid Remus's unresisting body onto the grass and backed away from him.

Dumbledore paid no more attention to her.  Still frowning in concentration, he tossed aside the sword and held out his wand.

"Lycansform," he said firmly.

For a moment there was no effect.

Then Remus's body shivered very slightly, as though a ripple had passed under his skin, and then with alarming swiftness his limbs and body writhed and morphed into a different shape altogether. 

Before Elena even fully registered what was happening, Remus was gone and in his place lay the huge, rangy wolf with the grey-black pelt and long snout she remembered from her nightmarish encounter in the abandoned shack.

Unlike Remus, who had lain still and pale in her arms, the wolf was twitching slightly.  Fresh blood tricked from the sword-wound in its spine, remoistening the dried matting of its fur.  Its claws flexed and relaxed in paroxysms of apparent pain, and its lips curled back over cruel white fangs.  It did not open its eyes.

Elena stared in bewildered horror, torn between confusion and hope.  Her gaze flicked from the wolf to Dumbledore and back again, but the Headmaster paid her no attention.  All his energies seemed focused on the creature before him.

Even as they watched, the gaping wound began to shrink.  It healed slowly at first, then faster and faster until nothing remained but a small patch of gray scar tissue, and within a few seconds even that was overtaken by proliferating fur.

The wolf stopped twitching.  Elena held her breath.  There was a taut pause.  And suddenly the wolf's eyes snapped open, glowing like yellow lamps even in the fading afternoon light.  They fixed with frightening alertness upon Elena, who was kneeling only two metres away.  A second later it was on its feet, and launching toward her.

She never found out what it had been about to do.

Dumbledore's cry of Homoform! came split-seconds before the creature reached the place where she sat.  At the sound of the old man's voice, the wolf froze, and again its skin seemed to ripple.  This time, however, it seemed to fight its transition.  An unholy keening emerged from its throat as the spell took hold, and the morphing process occurred much more slowly, much more painfully.  Its limbs twisted and its skin writhed.  The keening changed, deepening, until it was no longer the cry of an animal in pain and became the hoarse shout of a man in agony.

And then the noise stopped.

For a few moments, the silence was broken only by Elena's pounding heart and heaving ribcage, and Remus's heavy gasps as he lay trembling on the grass.  A  few more seconds passed before he shakily began to push himself up and into a sitting position.

Suddenly, a tiny strangled noise escaped from Elena's throat, and she threw herself gracelessly at the weakened man, knocking him back to the ground.  Remus winced at the impact, but did not pull away.  Instead, his arms wrapped slowly around her clinging form, and closing his eyes, he returned her fierce embrace with all the strength he could muster.

By the time Madame Pomfrey arrived on the scene, puffing and red in the face with her MediWitch kit under her arm, she found there was little for her to do.

Deep lines creased her forehead as she took in the obliviously embracing couple, the bloodied sword on the grass, and the telltale slice still visible in Remus's bloodied robes.

She looked questioningly at Dumbledore, not sure of what to say, or what questions to ask.

He saw her face, and smiled tiredly.  "Think of your folklore, Poppy," he chided gently, divining her confusion and the reasons for it in a glance, "The sword is made of steel.  Deadly to a man.  But a man in his werewolf form…  Well, you recall that only silver can kill a werewolf."

Madame Pomfrey nodded slowly, and her frown faded for a moment.  Relief that her Remus and his love were both alive and safe flooded her, but it was soon tinged with anxious apprehension for what was coming next. 

Remus and Elena were together, and for now that was enough for both of them.  But their bond had been deepened now beyond what was strictly natural.  Each had saved the other's life, not just physically, but by means of an ancient and fundamental magic.  The spell that had protected them from death by an Unforgivable curse was a powerful force.  Though they remained separate people, Remus and Elena now shared the kind of link that would destroy them both if it were ever broken.

And yet… he was still a werewolf, and she was still the Heir of Dumbledore.  Her children would be the hope of the future, but Elena would have no man but Remus.  And there was still no guarantee that Remus could even bring himself to live with the risk of tainting Elena with his curse.  Yet how could they live apart now?

There were dark times ahead, Madame Pomfrey thought sadly. 

And the problems the lovers would have to face next would surely create wounds that were beyond her powers of healing.