A/N: ONE review?!?!?

I LOVE cliffhangers! (Unless someone else writes them, hint hint jaffacake)

Chapter 6: Rescue

Two days later, the Marauders were enjoying a rather rowdy breakfast at Gryffindor table and renewing their acquaintance with Missy, a house-elf they had known in their schooldays who possessed a characteristic unusual in house elves but particularly necessary for friends of the Marauders- a highly developed sense of humour. Although in common with the house elf collective she had a tendency to be a workaholic in the extreme, she was adept at playing pranks on students who had treated her or her friends with scorn or ridicule, a trait which had led to close affinity with the teenage Marauders and also to several highly amusing pranks. Another of her features that had further endeared her to the young Marauders was her deep hatred for Lucius Malfoy and his family, who had once owned her and her son, Dobby. This particular morning her high, squeaky laugh sounded with the humans as Minerva McGonagall described the turning of Draco Malfoy into an albino ferret and the differing reactions of Harry and his friends.

An ear-splitting screech sounded through the Great Hall as a large and very beautiful snowy owl fluttered in with an envelope attached to one leg. After a half-circuit of the watching, still laughing group, she swooped down to land on the back of Remus' chair. Minerva eyed the bird closely.

"That's Harry Potter's Hedwig, isn't it?" she enquired interestedly.

Arabella stroked the bird's neck-feathers gently. "Looks like it," she replied. "I've seen her fluttering around when I go to see Mum, and Harry's the only wizard in that area apart from me."

"She's kind of familiar," said Monique, staring intently at the owl. "You don't think…"

"Nah," said Apollo dismissively. "Lily had green eyes, even as an owl."

"Yeah, but look at those red-gold feathers around her ears!" pointed out Artemis. "Ever seen another snowy owl with those? But how…"

"I suppose… her soul… into an ordinary owl…" Erin trailed off. "That would maybe explain the eyes… and Hagrid chose her, didn't he? Hagrid adored Lily- and he guessed what she was, remember, back in seventh year, even if he never knew about the rest of us."

"Except me," put in Monique. "It would've seemed too strange if she'd done something like that without me."

Missy nodded. "You and Lily Evans was never doing anything apart, Miss!" she agreed squeakily.

"Hedwig might well have been born at the same time and near to the place Lil died. She's fairly young," nodded Arabella. "But you can't tell with magical owls, they live for about fifty years and they don't age normally. She could easily be about fourteen or fifteen, but she might easily be older or young than that, too. We'd have to do some research to see if it's possible."

Sirius shook his head. "Come on, you guys," he opposed. "What're the odds of that happening? Anyway, the owl doesn't seem to know us- and she doesn't even have Lily's trademark eye colour; it was the only definite way we could tell her apart from her own owl."

Remus, meanwhile, was scanning hastily through the note.

"It is Harry's owl," he told them. "But read this!"

Dear Professor Lupin,

I'm very sorry to bother you since I expect you're busy, but Ron and I haven't had any post from Harry since the day after the holidays started, and usually he would have written at least once by now. I hope I'm over-reacting, but Ron and I are both worried about him, and the last time he stopped sending us letters he'd been imprisoned in his room with a steel door and bars on the windows without hardly any food and water. Then Hedwig turned up today and seemed to want me to do something about it, but I'm halfway across the country from Harry so I just sent Hedwig straight to you with a note. I would have sent her to Sirius but he'd probably go mad and the last time Harry got really angry, he blew his Aunt up and he isn't even trained so I don't even want to think about what Sirius would do.

Yours Sincerely,

Hermione Granger

Rose's voice was quietly murderous as she finished examining the letter. "When did my sister lock Harry up?"

"The summer holidays following his first year," Minerva replied briskly. "Arabella was on holiday in Greece for three weeks at the time, so we didn't know until after Harry's friend Ron and his twin brothers rescued him that it had happened- her replacement was, frankly, criminally inept."

"I am so going to kill Petunia," Rose growled. "Long, slow and painful."

"A fine attitude for an ex-Auror to have," said Monique. "But to hell with Dumbledore's precautions, we're going to get Harry out of that house this morning whether the Headmaster likes it or not."

"Agreed," the rest said as one.

Breakfast at Number 4, Privet Drive, however, wasn't going nearly so smoothly. Harry, large black circles under his eyes, was attempting to eat the grapefruit slice in front of him before the Dursleys pronounced his uneating attitude 'ungrateful'. The truth was, however, that he hadn't been eating since the start of the holidays- he simply wasn't hungry and had twice been sick when he had forced food down in order to keep his aunt and uncle off his back. Petunia Dursley, far from being sympathetic when he threw up, had simply handed him the toilet cleaner and a lecture about wasting food.

A slightly thinner-than-usual Dudley was glowering at him as always from his position jammed behind the table, an expression copied by Harry's Uncle Vernon, while Aunt Petunia simply averted her eyes as though his presence was too unspeakably horrible for her to even recognise. This attitude, Harry noticed, didn't extend to household chores. He was sure he had done more work in the first fortnight of the holidays than Dudley had done all his life.

Meanwhile, the Dursleys had decided that if he couldn't write to Sirius there would be no more danger from him, so once they were sure Hedwig was out flying to Hagrid with a letter they had glued all Harry's bedroom windows shut. The owls with Monique and Sirius' letters had been clever enough to get around this by waiting until Harry was set to work in the garden to drop the letters on his head, but Harry had been unable to smuggle Hedwig in and so he had told her to fly to Hermione's to be looked after there.

Suddenly the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," grunted Uncle Vernon, easing his bulk out of his chair and leaving the room, throwing a

disgusted glance at the grapefruit half on his plate. Female voices were heard arguing, low and insistent, at the front door. Aunt Petunia dropped her teacup. The front door slammed and Uncle Vernon rushed back in, grabbing Harry roughly by the shoulder and yanking him up the stairs. A dim voice in the back of his mind told him that he should probably struggle, but lethargy caused by lack of food and sleep (he barely slept an hour a night thanks to recurring nightmares) meant all he could do was to wriggle uselessly against his uncle's iron grip as he was half-dragged, half-marched up the stairs and thrown into his room. A rope appeared in Vernon's other hand and he tied Harry hastily to the bed by one arm, using all the knots he could think of.

"Bloody psychos, thinking they can just barge in here uninvited and demand him," he muttered. "Well, he's staying here to help Petunia around the house… they should lock 'em all up, damn weirdos…" Without a word to Harry he crashed back out, slamming the iron door (a legacy of the summer after Harry's first year at Hogwarts that had recently been refitted) behind. Immediately he was gone Harry reached for the penknife he had carried everywhere since the Second Task, cursing when he realised it wasn't there- it must have fallen out from the oversized pockets as he was tugged up the stairs, and the use of a wand was a complete non-starter; he'd get thrown out of Hogwarts for sure. Voices floated in through his window, one of them oddly familiar…

"I always knew Petunia was an airhead, but this…" The speaker appeared to be shaking her head in disbelief; her voice was one of utter incredulity.

"How did she manage to live with two witches for nine years and still not know enough to realise we can get in whenever we like?" The second speaker's sharp, familiar voice nagged at him and he scoured his mind for its source.

"God knows, Tippaws, but how about we give my wretched in-laws a taste of our expertise?" This was another new voice, female like the others.

A fourth voice took over. "Never mind the jabber, let's get the job done before the Death Eaters come prowling round!" Harry started; clearly the speakers had to be witches. But what four witches would come to get him? The fourth voice muttered 'Alohomora' and the front door crashed open. Petunia screamed, and Harry tried desperately to cover his ears but was prevented by the rope. Feet hurtled up the stairs; the three locks on his bedroom door clicked as they were yanked back. The door flew open, and Professor McGonagall stood framed in the open doorway.

At least, Harry thought it was Professor McGonagall; she wore no glasses and raven hair hung loose to her waist. She also looked about twenty years younger: most of her worry-lines had vanished and she was dressed in simple navy blue robes trimmed with silver, and no pointed hat. Finally Harry spoke.

"Um… hello, Professor."

"Bloody hell," the Professor whispered, staring at him in frank disbelief. "Surely even Petunia would never do this…" She raked her fingers through her hair so that it stood up in confusion, doing some creative swearing at the same time. "Thank God Monique and Rose didn't come up, or there'd have been hell to pay."

Suddenly she reverted with an effort to her normal, collected self. "Don't call me Professor, Harry, you'll make me feel old. In the holidays, at least, I'm Minerva." Unexpectedly she grinned at the flabbergasted expression on his face. "Let's see about these ropes." She knelt at the bedside and busily began to undo the thick cords that bound him, but he struggled away.

"Don't, Profe- Minerva, you don't understand, the Dursleys, they'll kill me when they come back!"

Her usually stern face gentled, grey eyes understanding as she firmly finished untying the ropes. "Don't worry, Harry, we'll stop them. You're out of here, and if I have my way, you'll never be back. Is there anything you need in here?" Harry shook his head, sliding down from the bed.

"No, my trunk and stuff's all in the cupboard under the stairs. Err… who's 'we'?"

"Erin and Monique and me, of course. And Rose- but you don't know about her, we only sent you a story about our first year and she wasn't at Hogwarts then. Come on, we'd better get you downstairs. D'you want to use the bathroom or anything before we go?"

"Yeah, OK," Harry made his way to the door. On the landing, he looked back uncertainly.

"Did you mean what you said- about me not coming back?"

Minerva gave him the same abrupt grin she had before. "Of course I did. Now get going before Monique and Rose beat seven bells out of your Aunt and Uncle!"

Suddenly he grinned back at her, then disappeared into the bathroom.

The scene downstairs was madness and hilarious at the same time. Rose was glaring fiercely at her older sister, whom she was clearly just a fraction away from slapping; Petunia was cowering behind a quivering Vernon, a frying-pan clutched in her hand, while her husband nursed an ear boxed by Monique. All three witches wore variously coloured robes. Dudley was unable to move from his position lodged between his chair and the kitchen table, but was uttering high-pitched squeaks of fright not unlike a hamster being stepped on by a carthorse.

Suddenly Minerva appeared at the top of the stairs; Erin raised one eyebrow and her cousin answered the unspoken question, clearly fighting the urge to laugh.

"Got him," she confirmed. "Get his stuff, Erin, it's under the stairs- Alohomora should do it. We'll be down in a minute."

"Right," Erin nodded. "Dursley, get your bulk over here and gimme a hand with this!"

"How dare you," Uncle Vernon thundered suddenly. "You can't barge into my own house and demand I-" Monique cut him off.

"Don't push it, you," she ordered, pointing her wand straight at him. "I've already used up my week's supply of patience."

Dwarfed by the tiny woman, Vernon visibly gulped, and assisted Erin in dragging Harry's trunk and broom out of the cupboard. Monique stuck her head in, peering about her with an exclamation of disgust.

"Merlin's beard… You kept Harry in here?" she enquired, dangerously politely. Petunia nodded mutely. "All right then, Dursley, get in." This time Vernon looked sure to refuse, but all four women pointed their wands at him and he was forced unwillingly into the cupboard. Monique knelt and placed a Timed Locking Charm on the door.

"See how you like it," she growled. At this point all conversation was interrupted by Harry's appearance at the top of the stairs. The almost-fifteen-year-old seemed smaller than ever, looking ridiculously young for his age. He was dead white apart from the heavy black-and-blue circles under his eyes and two large rapidly purpling bruises, one on his elbow and the other on the side of his head. His bright green eyes stared straight back at them through large round glasses, then he tugged the oversized t-shirt sleeve self-consciously over the bruise on his arm.

"Umm… hello?"

"Sweet Jesus Christ," whispered Monique. "Harry…"

Erin hissed something those who heard it were sure she would never repeat in polite company. Abruptly Rose whirled about and struck Petunia on the cheek with her hand with enough force that the older woman staggered backwards as Rose began to berate her sister.

"You unholy little bitch! I didn't believe even a slimy little tart like you could treat anyone like this, but now I've got to! How could you? Just because we were both always luckier than you… Your own sister's child, Petunia!"

"Good gravy," muttered Erin. "And I thought Rose was supposed to be the calm sister…"

Unexpectedly Harry grinned. "It's not really Aunt Petunia's fault. She feeds me –kind of. I just haven't been hungry."

"She should have noticed, at the very least," pointed out Monique. "I'm Monique James, by the way, and these are Erin Seanderson and Rose Evans. Hoi, Rosie, you'll give your sister a coronary if you don't watch out, and I think that qualifies as a 'scene' even under Dumbledore's laid-back rules!"

"That's rich, coming from you," sniggered Erin. "Pot calling the kettle black if ever I saw it."

"Erm… where's Uncle Vernon?" interposed Harry. Minerva laughed, pointing at the cupboard.

"In there," she chuckled. "Blame Monique."

Monique smirked. "Not that that's anything new. What about that time with the eighteen centaurs, a chocolate birthday cake and an extra-large pair of Snape's knickers? And that one was nothing to do with me!"

Erin snorted, acting as though the Dursleys did not exist. "All I know is that those brown smudges on your pyjamas looked an awful lot like chocolate icing and you reeked of centaur for a week afterwards!"

"Hey, I was framed!"

"Yeah, I can see your halo. Whatever, Monique."

"Hey, Harry's staring. Bet he thinks we're really weird!"

And indeed, Harry was watching the lightning-fast dialogue with wide eyes.

Erin pretended to faint with horror into Monique's arms. "Weird, moi? Wicked, wicked lies, that's all it is!"

"D'you mind, you great lump? I'm suffocating!"

Rose helped her heave Erin to her feet with exaggerated force. "Hadn't we better get moving?" the younger woman asked, studiously ignoring the bellows echoing from the direction of the cupboard and the squeaks coming from Aunt Petunia. "Hey Harry, say hi to your auntie Rose!"

"My what?"

"Your auntie, dear nephew, regretfully absent until now- on Dumbledore's orders, doncha know. Tell me I'm better looking than Marge?"

Harry had to laugh at her ridiculously put-on posh accent. "Sorry- auntie, but you can't hold a candle to her dress sense."

"I didn't know she had one- must've improved since I met her. And speaking of aunties, what animal d'you reckon for dear Petty darling? I'd say a slug, but that'd be an improvement, not a punishment."

"Is using magic a good idea? I mean, the Death Eaters-" Harry broke off.

"Since none of us is going to be coming back in a hurry, that won't be too much of a problem," said Monique. "Now you mention it, I quite like the idea of a cockroach, but that's a bit of a stereotype."

"Hmm… and a pig's been done, I believe," mused Minerva. "How about… a rat?"

Nobody could ignore the shriek from Aunt Petunia at that suggestion, but the women did their best.

Erin snapped her fingers. "Got it," she decided, sniffing the air. "How about a ferret? She smells like one." Harry was having trouble believing that this very teenager-like statement came from someone in her mid-thirties.

"That'll do," nodded Rose. "Put it on timer, Minerva- you're the best at Transfiguration."

"With pleasure," Minerva answered, pointing her wand at Petunia. "Transfiguro!"

"Harry, have you got your Invisibility Cloak?" asked Erin, taking no notice whatsoever of the irately squeaking peroxide-blonde ferret on the floor and the pig-like squeals of Dudley, who was still jammed behind the table.

"Of course," said Harry. "It's in the trunk. But how d'you know…"

"I'm a Marauder, Harry, of course I know," said Erin impatiently. "Just because I was a Ravenclaw doesn't mean I was in ignorance of the Gryffindor family heirloom- that thing's legendary, you know."

"The what family heirloom?" asked Harry, startled, but Erin seemed to feel she had said too much, for she started talking loudly to Minerva about the weather.

"Can we please get moving?" bit out Rose, looking suddenly edgy. "I don't like this- it's gone far too smooth."

"Good point," nodded Minerva. "Harry, put the Cloak on, please. The idea is to make the Death Eaters think you're still here so they won't think of looking for you elsewhere."

Harry obeyed with alacrity, and Dudley yelled as he disappeared.

"Wish we could do that to you, y'permanent great stomach," muttered Monique as she led the party out of the house. "That thing can cover nearly half a dozen thirteen-year-olds, four of 'em leggy, but it still couldn't hide you."

As she shut the front door, a pig squealed.

"What?"

The four women strolled along the road with Harry hidden under the Invisibility Cloak, using their wands indiscriminately as they looked for a safe place to Group Apparate, something that was best done in a fairly open space. Talking loudly about the 'failure' of their mission, and Harry still being at the Dursleys, they seemed to be crying out for attention, as indeed they were- from Death Eaters who they knew would be ceaselessly watching the Dursley house in case Harry left.

Alarm bells rang –literally- in Minerva's head: the necklaces the twins and Erin had invented to link the group (so that emotions and locations could be passed between them when necessary) were chiming, coming from Erin's end. The noise meant anger, a touch of irritation, and caution: a Death Eater. Clearly the former Auror had spotted one of them lurking close by, but didn't dare to get much closer since even her Animagus form, an kestrel, was too noticeable. There was a barely-audible pop and an iron- grey tabby cat loped smoothly forwards, ears twitching.

Monique bit back a yell as Minerva connected the group to what she could hear: a new development she hadn't yet been told about. Sorting through the volley of sounds that assaulted her eyes, she picked out two human voices: two Death Eaters, who had clearly been working in shifts, one older and one a fairly young man.

"Thank Merlin that's over," said the elder. "Boring just isn't the word… but three of Wormtail's old pals and the sister of the redhead (Maybe they're forbidden to say Lily's name? Minerva wondered suddenly) came to release the boy, all Mudbloods, but didn't succeed: the ones they call Knifefang, Sharpeye and Tippaws. Just like mudbloods, eh?"

Monique's fists clenched; how dare Wormtail tell the Death Eaters their old nicknames? The younger man laughed. "Aye, and talking of muggle-lovers, my Lord has a job for you at the Weasleys' house: they're all there for a few days, and our Lord wishes to –ah- dispose of them all in one swoop, for which he requires your subservience." Minerva's skin went cold.

"If my Lord calls, then of course I shall go," said the other smoothly; it was clearly a ritual response. There was a pop as he disapparated.

"Oh… fuc- for crying out loud," hissed Rose through the connection they shared. All four looked at each other.

"Let's go," commanded Monique, also through the Link. "Minerva, bring Harry. Apparitio!"

There were three simultaneous pops, then a fourth as Minerva Apparated Harry.

Monique, whose Apparating style tended to be erratic at best, hit the ground hard and rolled, then leapt to her feet.

"Molly! Arthur!" she screamed at the full pitch of impressive lungs. "Get your wands and get out! HE'S COMING!"

A mop of long red hair stuck out of a fourth floor window and Ginny Weasley stared at the four women with startled brown eyes.

"Get everyone together and get out!" Erin shrieked. "Voldemort's coming for you!" The head disappeared.

"Death Eaters at twelve o'clock!" yelled Rose. "Monique, we can't take 'em all on!"

"We're damn well gonna have to, aren't we?" returned Minerva tersely. Three masked men turned into a slug, a worm and a toad as the Transfiguration teacher displayed her particular skills. More than twenty Death Eaters kept on coming while Molly Weasley shepherded her entire brood out of the house, eyes flashing and wand at the ready as explosions from her and Arthur's wands sent anyone in their way flying.

"Ring the kids!" snapped Monique. "and watch your backs!" Feet flew as Rose launched a flurry of kicks at the Death Eater who dared to come from behind, snapping his neck and sending him thudding to the ground.

Molly took a rapid headcount and blanched. "Ron's still inside!" she whispered.

Monique took command. "Minerva, Erin, Apparate the kids- Tippaws, you take the twins, Sharpeye, you get Ginny and Harry- and get the gang, someone's stopped the necklaces from working. Bill, with me. We'll find Ron," she ordered, jaw set. "Rose, gimme a lift!"

Knowing what she wanted, Rose cupped her hands and Monique place one foot squarely into them. Rose flung her arms upwards (she was stronger than she looked) and sent Monique flying over the Death Eaters' heads. She somersaulted in mid-air, landing on the head of another attacker, dropped to the ground and flung herself into the house, while the attention focused on her mid-air antics made it child's play for Bill to slip through and get inside as well as more Marauders Apparated out of thin air to join the fight.

Inside it was eerily calm. Monique popped into her jaguar form, listening intently with her now much more acute hearing for sounds of the fourteen-year-old. A whimper, and a muffled crack; she tilted her head to identify its direction, praying to all the gods she knew (and several she had just invented) that the crack had not been the sound of Avada Kedavra.

"Directly above us," she told Bill, snapping back into human form. "Fourth or fifth floor, slightly to the left."

"Ron's room," Bill said instantly. "This way!"

They tore silently up the stairs; Bill blanched even whiter than Monique as a scream ripped the air. Ron lay on the floor, half in, half out of his room with an owl's cage in his hand containing a tiny, brown, madly-hooting puffball, while the Death Eater performing the Cruciatus curse had his back to them. There was a pop, and a new yell tore the air as Monique's claws sank deep into his shoulder, slamming him face first to the ground so that he dropped the curse, snapping her teeth next to his ears so that he yelled even more. Bill pushed past the struggling pair and straight for Ron, who sat up groggily as he held him.

"Oh my God, are you…" Bill started but never finished as Ron fainted in his arms. "Monique, leave him, let's get out!"

"Stupefy! Good idea," she nodded breathlessly, picking up the cage holding the minute owl. "Let's take the obvious: the front door, it might surprise 'em."

Dropping low so that they could not be seen through the windows, they made their way to the front door. Monique stepped in front and moved to open the door, but someone else got there first: the door crashed open, and a Death Eater stood framed in the doorway, his wand pointing straight at a now blearily-conscious Ron.

The knife flew from Erin's hand like chain lightning, thudding into his shoulder; Monique kicked his legs out from under him and sent him flying backwards, choking.

"I haven't killed him," Erin said matter-of-factly, as the three rejoined the ever-growing circle. "I don't throw to kill."

"Although you may want to make an exception," snarled Artemis suddenly, pointing at a Death Eater with a flash of silver showing where his hand should have been. "Wormtail!"

"Where's Remus?" asked Monique abruptly, looking around for him.

Erin shrugged. "Dunno," she said. "I saw him Apparate a minute ago, so he's definitely here somewhere."

Apollo's face at Artemis' side drained of all colour "Pettigrew's got a silver hand…" he muttered.

His twin's face went cheese white as she completed "And silver kills werewolves… oh God, surely he wouldn't-!"

"He would," said Sirius grimly. "Let's get moving!" He turned to a shaken-looking Minerva. "Don't worry Min, we'll find him," he assured her. "It's probably just us leaping to false conclusions- Remus could handle that little pipsqueak any day."

"Is Ron OK?" asked Minerva, changing the subject as a way of trying to a keep a firm hold on her fears.

"Yeah, but he's only just conscious," replied Bill, ducking hastily to allow an Avada Kedavra curse to whistle past his shoulder. "Can you Group Apparate him to Saint Mungo's?"

"What do you think?" she enquired. "Give him here." Bill handed the just-conscious Ron to her and she held his gangly form with difficulty. "Never, ever tell anyone I did this, Weasley, or you'll find yourself in a whole heap of detention."

Ron managed a watery smile. "I won't if you don't."

"Bargain. Don't worry Molly, he'll be fine. And Sirius?"

"Yeah?"

"Find Remus. Apparitio con uno!" The air cracked sharply as she disappeared.

As soon as she had gone, Sirius began directing operations. "Artemis, Apollo, transform and go to the right. Erin and I'll take the left, and Monique and Rose go straight ahead. Mundungus, go round the back. Arabella, can you and Milo raise whatever's stopping the necklaces from working?"

"Give us time," she replied. "Now GO!"

Sirius saluted as he transformed, then shot off to follow the others who had already set off.

The enormous, iron-eyed tiger slunk round the corner, ears flickering as she reached for the sounds that she did and did not want to hear, for it would mean both that Remus would be alive, and that he would likely be in trouble: laboured breathing, or a shout of fear or rage, or a scream of pain. A few steps behind her, her brother trotted, nose twitching for the same smells as the sounds she listened for.

Cat-sister, anything? he whispered into her brain, for Apollo and Artemis Westhaven, by virtue of their twinship and also of their magic, could speak to each other by thought alone, with or without the necklaces; in fact the powers of those necklets had been based upon their own.

No. Nothing, she replied, growling involuntarily deep down in her throat. I don't like this, wolf-brother.

Nor I, admitted Apollo. This stinks of a trap.

His sister laughed somewhere deep inside his mind, recklessly- far too recklessly for a Ravenclaw, his brain screamed. You're telling me. But if they've hurt Remus, I'll kill 'em, trap or no. The unrequited attraction she felt for the man was Artemis' one –and very near only- vulnerable spot.

Don't be hasty, he growled, intentionally making the sound throb in her brain. Like as not, that's just what they'll be expecting you to try to do.

She broke the contact so sharply, he felt a crack of pain sear through his mind like a red-hot wire.

If you're being so touchy for that one comment- he started, but was cut off by an impatient snarl. Suddenly his nose picked up what her alert ears had gripped first; the sound and smell of fear mingled with the unmistakeable tang of Remus. They loped round the next corner at a sprint.

Remus sat helplessly on the ground, gagged and wriggling ineffectually against his bonds, his eyes wild with unreasoning fear and his hands clenched to hide his pain, nails digging in so hard they made his palms bleed. He was shackled hand and foot with silver, his already shabby robes torn in a dozen places, and menaced by at least half a dozen Death Eaters. One of them had a silver hand.