Big gold star to Whippy Bird!!!! I was wondering if anyone would pick up that little comment about Remus' teacher. You are quite right! Stay tuned for explanations and elaborations in the next few chapters! And big big thanks to all reviewers! I'm glad you all enjoyed the duel scene :-D

I think this one is my favourite chapter yet!!! Hope you like.....!

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

A Moonlight Assignation

"A whole afternoon of Potions!" wailed Ron. "Where did I go wrong, that they should punish me so?"

"Stop being so theatrical," snapped Hermione, tossing her lively hair over her shoulder.

They were making their way as slowly as possible in the direction of the dungeons, for their first lesson of the year with Snape. Over six years it had become a depressing ritual - the closer they got to the dingy classroom, the gloomier they became.

"Doesn't it just smell like Slytherin?" said Hermione, wrinkling her nose as they descended into the dark, cavernous rooms below ground-level.

Harry and Ron looked at her in astonishment.

"What the hell is a Slytherin-like smell?" asked Harry, tilting his head at her scornfully.

"Well, sort of cold and foreboding - "

"That's not a smell, 'Mione."

"Oh, you two are hopeless. You know what I mean. Cold things, like lemon and snow and cress leaves - Oh, the hell with it. Ginny could explain better than I can."

"Do you and Ginny make a habit of going about sniffing Slytherins?" inquired Ron, frostily.

"That's such a Ginny thing to observe," remarked Harry, a dreamy expression lighting up his face for a brief moment.

"Hmm - no, seriously, Hermione," persisted Ron, with a frown. "How would you know how Slytherins smell?"

"It's called poetic imagery, Ron," sighed Hermione, hitching her schoolbag over her shoulder and steering him into the foggy classroom.

"Yes, but - "

"When you've quite finished - " The resounding tones of Severus Snape drifted through the murky air, ordering them to come inside and shut the door. A pair of dark eyes glittering with fevered annoyance glared at them through the fumes. Hastily, they took their seats.

"Now that Mr Potter and his fanclub have arrived, I suppose I may begin?" He glanced quizzically at Harry, as though asking his permission. Harry, immune to the mocking, sardonic humour of everybody's favourite Potions' master, merely glared back. "While we are on the subject, might I inquire as to why you are the last to arrive?"

Harry decided that Snape's arcane blackness and caustic acrimony, coupled with the drawling, indifferent slyness of Malfoy, was a compound that bred wrath like no other. The latter was smirking with his housemates in the dingiest corner of the room, obviously all set to antagonize Harry to the best of their ability.

"Let out late from last lesson, sir," he replied, making a supreme effort to be polite.

"Which was what?"

Harry frowned. Snape was a member of The Order, and knew perfectly well that Harry's business was a strict secret. How utterly typical of him to place Harry in an impossible situation.

"With Professor Dumbledore, sir," he replied, equivocally.

Snape's mocking smile, if it could be termed a smile, disappeared.

The lesson was acutely tedious, as usual, made none the better by Malfoy and his overgrown sidekicks, who, encouraged by Snape's viciousness, played the traditional game of baiting and trapping Harry as often as possible.

"You are becoming a severe pain in the rear area, did you know that?" remarked Hermione, as Snape turned to examine the overly pungent concoction of a distressed Hufflepuff girl.

Crabbe, or possibly Goyle, (it was becoming increasingly hard to tell which one was which, owing to their extraordinary girths and triple chins), made an irritating echo of her words, while Malfoy grinned wickedly.

"I aim to displease," he replied, stretching out his legs under the desk.

Hermione was forced to allow, much against her will, that he was a good-looking little spawn of Satan - in a classical sense, if nothing else.

"What, no comeback, Granger?" he gasped, pressing a hand to his heart in mock surprise.

"I was in the process of choosing which bestial phrase was most appropriate to the occasion. They all apply to you, but I'm trying to save the more gruesome ones for your Christmas present."

"Oh, how sweet of you."

"Any time."

Harry knew it would probably be sensible to either poke, gag or hex Ron to prevent an outburst of verbal or physical violence, but he was filled with a perverse pleasure at watching Hermione give Malfoy as good as he gave. The incident on the Hogwarts Express was still in the forefront of his memory, and he knew that if Ron didn't kill him first, he himself would enjoy the privilege enormously.

"He's a stuck-up, self-obsessed, evil, malignant, depraved, hideous little demon!" muttered Hermione, as they made the long journey from the dungeons to Gryffindor Tower after the lesson.

"Anything else?" asked Harry, with a sly smile.

"Yes. He's an absolute bastard!"

"I wouldn't be surprised, actually," growled Ron, fuming. "I always thought any woman foolish enough to marry a man like Lucius Malfoy must be either insane or pregnant."

"Oh, please!"

"You started it!"

"Don't get going again, you two," begged Harry. "I'm starving hungry and it's dinnertime and I have a headache. Can we please leave?"

Hermione span round so fast that Ron stumbled into the wall.

"Headache? Is it your scar? Are you all right?"

"Yes, no, and yes," replied Harry, wearily. "In that order. All I want is some hot coffee and an enormous meal. And then my bed."

Hermione shook her head and sighed stressfully. "We've got to meet Sirius in the Gallery at half past nine," she said. "You'd forgotten, hadn't you?"

Harry glowered. "What does he want now? I thought Binns was a tedious lecturer, but Sirius wins hands down."

"Oh, for goodness' sake, weren't you paying any attention yesterday?" Hermione flounced into the lead as they approached the Fat Lady. "Evidently not! He said there are some people he wants us to meet. People who are going to be teaching us this year." She came to an abrupt and breathless stop at the portrait hole, and then moved swiftly aside. "And I am NOT saying that password. You can do it."

Harry sighed and did the deed, glaring at the Fat Lady as they passed. He knew it was terribly childish, but he couldn't resist stamping his feet as he stormed into the common room.

"Oooooh, somebody's in a bad mood tonight."

The warm, circular room was empty except for a small group of third years sitting on beanbags beside the stairs, and a disembodied head with flaming hair poking out from behind an armchair.

"So would you be if you'd just had Snape and Malfoy spitting venom at you all afternoon."

He flung himself into the armchair opposite Ginny's, crossing his arms and looking sulky.

"You have a serious attitude problem sometimes, Potter."

Harry's eyebrows rose, and he looked up at her sharply. She was smiling, and her dark eyes twinkled in the light of the fire. He relaxed at once. "So do you, Weasley."

He lazily reached behind his back under a pretence of easing an itch, drawing out the cushion he had been leaning on and hurling it at her. She squealed, and flung it back.

"Right! That does it!"

A flurry of cushions, red, gold, fat, feathered, flew through the air between them, punctuated by squeaks and shrieks of manic laughter.

"That is so juvenile - " began Hermione, her sentence cut short as a cushion hit her on the nose.

Needless to say, all four of them wandered down to the Great Hall a good while later looking distinctly dishevelled, laughing madly and loudly in the corridors and on the stairs. They attracted a certain amount of attention, both disapproving and amused, as they collapsed into their seats at the Gryffindor table.

"You're late," remarked Neville, studying them through narrowed eyes. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing," replied Harry, trying to keep a straight face. "Nothing at all, Neville, don't worry about us."

"I do," said Neville, rolling his eyes. "Pass the bread rolls, Ron."

Dinner progressed in a leisurely fashion. At least at first -

"Oh, Merlin," muttered Hermione, ducking her head slightly. "Look who it is."

They all turned their heads in the direction of the Slytherin table, where several raucous cheers had erupted. At the centre of attention, as always, was Malfoy, cocking his head haughtily and smirking.

"What's he up to now?" said Harry, curiously.

"They've just found out, I expect," said Neville, sinking his teeth into a haphazard bacon sandwich.

"Found out what?"

Neville started in surprise, and began to stutter. "Oh - um - you hadn't heard, then?"

"Heard what?" Harry knew his voice sounded aggressive, but a sudden, apalling thought had just occurred to him having seen the way Malfoy was being clapped on the back and waited upon by his adoring housemates.

"He's Head Boy, isn't he?" sighed Hermione, covering her face with her hands in despair. "Oh, dear God, what ever possessed Dumbledore?"

Ron exploded, and had to be forcibly placated before he would agree not to plunge into the midst of the Slytherin table and vent his anger.

Neville was looking thoroughly uncomfortable. "I'm so sorry, I thought you knew already. Didn't you have Potions with him today?"

Harry clenched his fists under the table. "The slimy git! How absolutely typical of him not to mention it. I can just see it now - he'd wait until we broke some rule or made a disparaging comment - the bastard!"

For once Ginny did not place a cool, calm hand on his shoulder or offer words of sweet comfort. She sat as still as a statue, her face tense. Suddenly she brushed the crumbs from her lap and rose from the table. "Got to go," she said, using Harry's shoulder as a lever to help herself over the bench.

"Where?" asked Ron, suspiciously.

"Things to do. See you tomorrow, I expect. Have fun with you-know-what!"

And she disappeared, mingling into the crowd of lower years who were ambling out of the Hall.

"Don't like the sound of that," muttered Ron.

"What? She's probably got work to do," suggested Hermione.

"It's only the third day of term!"

"Maybe she's conscientious," she replied, waspishly. "Not everyone dosses around like you do, Ron."

"Thanks!"

"Don't mention it."

"Sirius," interrupted Harry, firmly. "Now."

***

They made their way to the fourth floor, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. The corridors were emptying gradually as the evening curfew approached, and apart from the occasional fifth-year under the curious impression that the rules did not apply to them, they met no-one.

"You do realise that we're early, don't you?" inquired Ron, bitterly. "It's not even nine yet!"

"It's good to give a favourable impression," replied Hermione, promptly.

The concealed entrance to the Founders' rooms was below a statue in one of the more obscure hallways, close to the front of the castle. It was a lifesize, marble image of Godric Gryffindor himself, set on a wide plinth about five feet high, one side of which opened when the password was uttered, revealing a spiral staircase leading downwards.

"It smells of jasmine in here," said Hermione, as they slowly descended the steps.

"Oh, don't start with all that again," exclaimed Ron, pleadingly. "I don't think I can take any more!"

The stairs finished in a well-lit passageway, leading to the curious, cobbled-floored room just off the Gallery. They passed other doors as they made their way in that direction, occasionally allowing curiosity to get the better of them and peering into the unknown rooms. "I bet Sirius was peeved that the Marauders never knew about these rooms when they were at school," remarked Harry, with a wicked smile.

"He's making up for it big-time now, though," said Ron, leaning on the handle of the door to the Gallery.

"Sssh!" hissed Hermione, grabbing Ron's wrist. "Wait a minute. Listen!"

"I can't hear anything!"

"Sssssh! Let me." She pushed him aside and opened the door a tiny amount. She peered through the crack into the dark room. Not even a single brazier was alight, and it was clear that the room was deserted - except for a tall figure lurking in the shadows several feet away from the door.

Harry and Ron strained their necks to see over Hermione's head, aware of the necessity to keep quiet. Whoever was waiting in the shadows, it could not be Sirius. Something peculiar was going on. Why was the room so dark? Only the light of the full moon flooded the Gallery with its eerie, silver light.

A faint creak from the dais at the top of the hall informed them that the secret passage was opening, admitting a second person to what was obviously an arranged assignation. They watched the figure emerge, swathed in black, holding their breath in anticipation.

A casual movement in the corner caught their attention, as the original figure walked forward to greet his guest. They faced each other squarely, with quite a distance between them. The visitor removed its cowl as it stepped into a pool of moonlight.

Hermione gasped, forcing Harry to stretch out his hand and place it over her mouth to prevent a further noise that would indicate their presence.

They were looking at a woman. And no ordinary woman at that. She was tall and slim and youthful, dressed entirely in black except for several silver buckles and thin chains that decorated her high boots and cloak. Long, poker straight hair, the colour of deep mahogany fell below her waist like a luxurious blanket of silk. The moonlight fell upon her like liquid, shimmering mysteriously in the clandestine quality of the night. Her face was astonishingly attractive. Not beautiful - her features were too irregular to be beautiful - but Merlin, she was a striking figure of womanhood.

She smiled cryptically at her opposite, leaning her weight provocatively on one hip.

The man moved forward into the light. Harry knew his voice before he recognised the body. It was Sirius.

"Well, well, well. Truth Kristatos, back from the dead."

He was smiling too, just as cryptically. He tossed back his dark hair, crossing his arms over his chest. The girl did the same, whether consciously or unconsciously, Harry could not tell.

"Sirius Black, back from the fires of hell."

Her voice was even more astonishing than the rest of her. The words 'low' and 'velvety' were about as close as Harry could get to describing the sound, but neither did it justice. Her tones resounded richly in the large room, touched with nuances that betrayed the fact that she was not English. Harry had never heard a voice quite like it. Curiosity was burning him up like a furnace, and he could sense the same in Ron and Hermione beside him.

The girl and Sirius stood silently for a few moments, staring at each other with narrowed eyes glinting with mischief. Then Sirius laughed lowly, and relaxed his posture. The girl, still smiling, moved towards him, and Harry could now see that she was holding a coiled whip in her hand. He wasn't entirely sure what he expected to happen next, but whatever it was, it didn't happen. Sirius had started to move forward, and they met in the middle in a warm embrace, the whip falling in a clatter to the floor.

"Trust you to make such a theatrical entrance," laughed Sirius, holding her at arm's length.

She smiled thoughtfully, and ran a fingertip along his jawline.

"I never expected to see you again, Sirius," she said, softly. "I heard they reprieved you in the end."

"It's in the past," he replied, dropping his eyes to the ground between them.

"You're a brave man, Black. I knew you didn't do it."

She had crossed her arms again, and viewed him with cool calculation.

"You never told me how you got away," he said.

The girl shrugged. "It's not important. I got away and went home. It was then I heard they'd arrested you. Nobody would listen to me, and I thought - "

She broke off, her eyes shining with pain as she recalled old memories.

"You thought they were dead," finished Sirius. He shrugged. "I'd have done the same."

A distant, mournful howl rang through the air from the direction of the forest. It was hideously chilling, sending shivers up Harry's spine.

Full moon, he thought. Of course - Remus.

The girl had started at the sound, and her eyes were wide with some kind of emotion. Not fear, but surprise mingled with - something else Harry couldn't define. Sirius reached out a hand to her, and made to speak. It was then that Hermione gasped again, making Ron jump half out of his skin. The sudden movement jolted the door open, and they knew they had been discovered.

Sirius and the girl turned to the source of the disturbance immediately.

"What the hell - ?" began Sirius, pulling out his wand as swift as lightning.

"Now you've done it!" hissed Hermione, glaring at Ron.

"Go back!" ordered Harry, pushing them towards the exit. "Quickly!"

They ran as fast as they could until they were safely on the other side of Godric Gryffindor. They sank against the wall, panting for breath.

"Why did we just run?" asked Hermione, holding a stitch in her side. "We were supposed to meet Sirius, after all!"

"I didn't feel that was something we ought to have overheard," replied Harry, heading briskly towards the staircase. "Come on - Gryffindor Tower, before Sirius catches up with us."

"He'll guess it was us, surely?"

"Possibly, but I'd rather die later than sooner, if you don't mind."

They reached the common room, and found it empty. Even Ginny, who made a habit of waiting up for them when they were busy during the evenings, was nowhere to be seen.

"Who was that girl?" asked Hermione, curiously.

Ron snorted as he flopped into a chair beside the fire. "How should we know?"

"It was a rhetorical question, you fool."

"Whoever she was, she's important," said Harry, firmly. Two pairs of astonished eyes turned on him.

"What makes you say that?" asked Ron.

"Something she said, or something Sirius said, I can't remember. It was about the night Sirius was arrested. The night - my parents died." Harry broke off. He didn't often speak of that particular subject, and it surprised him that the words came so freely.

"What did she say?"

Hermione snapped her fingers as though a thought had suddenly struck her. "Of course! She said that she got away and went home, and then she found out Sirius had been arrested! She must have been in danger too, like - your parents."

"Which means she must have belonged to The Order," said Harry, choosing not to wallow in the wave of regret that customarily flooded him whenever his parents were mentioned.

"Evidently she still does, otherwise she wouldn't be here."

Ron held up a hand. "Hang on a minute, I'm confused. What is she here for?"

"Perhaps she's on a mission," suggested Hermione, thoughtfully. "She's obviously not British, so maybe - "

"Excuse me? How did you arrive at that conclusion?"

"Oh, Ron, pull yourself together! Isn't it obvious? We've met all the members of The Order already, remember? I've read up about it, and The Order of the Phoenix is not confined to the British population, but it extends all over the world. Apparently, according to A History of Wizarding Governments, The Order was originally a small group of very powerful wizards with particular strengths and gifts - sort of an elitist sect. The purpose of this group was to educate and refine their talents for use in battle with the Dark Arts, but they acquired a rather unfavourable reputation in the 600s AD. People started to believe that their special powers made them perfect candidates for Dark Magic themselves, and they were soon mistrusted and had to disband. Dumbledore reformed The Order thirty years ago, and it has become an enormous organisation which - "

" - Extends all over the world - yes, your powers of research are truly incredible, 'Mione, but you were explaining how you know the girl we saw tonight is not British - "

"Aside from the fact that we've never seen her before, and nobody has mentioned her, she is clearly from a Mediterranean country, perhaps Turkey, but she has lived in Britain for most of her life, hence the excellent English she speaks - "

Ron was speechless, which left Harry to proceed uninterrupted.

"You noticed her accent too?" he said.

Hermione nodded. "It was a very unusual voice, I thought. And her name as well - Truth. That's such a beautiful name! I wonder if we'll get to meet her - " She tailed off with a dreamy expression on her face.

"Well, whether we do or not, I suggest we don't mention to Sirius the fact that we've seen her before and know what we know."

Hermione agreed, and was about to open her mouth to say more when the portrait hole swung open, admitting a flustered-looking Ginny. She halted when she saw them.

"Where have you been?" demanded Ron, instantly. "It's almost curfew!"

"Had things to do," she replied, evasively. A hot flush was reddening her cheeks, and she did not meet anyone's eyes.

"What things?"

"Just things. I'm back now, don't worry. See you tomorrow!"

She fled up the stairs and disappeared, leaving the three in a state of bewilderment.

"Right - that does it - " began Ron, rolling up his sleeves as if preparing for a fight. Hermione caught his arm as he passed her.

"Leave her alone," she said, firmly. "She doesn't want to talk about it."

"How would you know?"

"I'm a girl, Ron, remember?"

"So?"

"So I can empathise."

"So where the hell has she been, Miss Telepathy?"

"How should I know?"

"You said you did!"

"No, I didn't!"

"You did! You said she doesn't want to talk about it, thereby implying you knew what 'it' was!"

"I don't know, Ron, but I can guess."

"Then illuminate me, because being a mere man, I can't see the utterly obscure!"

"Don't try and be clever, Ron."

"Why not? If you can get away with it, why shouldn't I? Anyway - stick to the point! Where do you suppose she has been?"

"Oh, you're impossible!" Hermione turned on her heels and stalked towards the stairs. "If you're so bothered about it, ask her yourself. I'd hate to be wrong and have you kill her for no reason!"

Ron turned to Harry, opening and closing his mouth incredulously.

"Did you understand a word of that?" he gaped.

Harry didn't answer. He also was a mere man, but he had a pretty shrewd idea what Hermione was thinking, and he didn't like it much. Tousled hair, blushing, eager to get away - embarrassed, perhaps? Her behaviour had the words 'romantic liaison' written all over it!