Disclaimer:...JK Rowling, people - what more need be said?
Spoilers: Huge biggy, right at the very beginning!
Pairings: Test your grasp of subtlety and see if you can figure it out...;)
--
Now
The rain fell in slender rods from the dark, brooding sky, casting resounding dimples in the puddles and tapping against the glass of glowing window panes. Trees bowed and their leaves shivered before the stern wind, but a raven, barely visible in the shadow of the inky sky, simply let himself be carried along on his outstretched wings, occasionally giving a delicate shift in his weight to turn his flight path.
Then, with a strong downbeat of his wings, he suddenly broke away from the howling current and wheeled, dropping even as he flew towards a low, sprawling abbey, crouching in the shelter of a fringe of dark fir trees that thickened as they drew back away from the house to become a forest, reaching far out beyond the curtains of sheeting grey rain. The raven's sharp eyes were fixed upon an open window in the right wing of the building, warm candlelight spilling down over the rough brown-stone walls, wavering gently as a loud rumble of thunder throbbed in the miserable heavens.
Visible through the window, a young woman clad in dark blue robes sat at a gnarled wooden table, the black quill in her hand scratching rapidly over a sheet of parchment.
Nearing the open pane, the raven pulled his wings into his body at the very last moment, and soared into the room. After circling its walls a few times he touched down on the tabletop with a hard 'clack' from his claws, and proceeded to shake the glistening rain from his glossy feathers, scattering tiny sparks as it caught the candlelight.
Her quill pausing mid-word, the young woman looked up at the raven sat at the other end of the table, her eyes lavender as they caught the wavering rays of a candleflame.
"Hello, Artemis." She smiled, and carefully laid the quill down by the parchment. "Wet?"
The Raven croaked in reply, and ambled up the table towards his mistress, his progress intermittently punctuated by a hop and a flap of his wings.
Another rumble of thunder echoed outside, this time accompanied by a brief, searing flash of forked lightning that flickered over in the West, above a ridge bristling with dark pines. Artemis blinked his deep eyes at the snake-tongue light, and then looked back down to where his mistress's fingers were removing the letter bound to his leg. Once it was done, the Raven affectionately brushed his feathered cheek against the young woman's hand, and then bounded away to settle infront of a copy of the Daily Prophet that lay on the tabletop, and immerse himself in a particularly complex article about Astronomy.
His mistress, meanwhile, was examining the script of the address, her eyes narrowing slightly as she deduced the handwriting:
'Astrea Ravenstone,
The Kitchen,
Taigan Abbey,
Spirewood'
Turning the folded parchment over in her hands, she broke the wax seal, smoothed it out with a loud crackling sound, and read.
A second later, the noise of thunder was drowned out by a shocked cry that rang through the abbey and startled Artemis, who flared his wings with a raucous 'craw'. The bird continued to shift, unsettled, from foot to foot, as the young woman bolted past him, grabbing her travelling cloak on the way out, and leaving the letter abandoned on the tabletop.
Hopping across to it, Artemis peered down at the script with his glittering black eyes and placed a scaly foot on the parchment to steady it as he read:
'Astrea -
Come to Hogwarts as soon as Artemis reaches you with this message -
Sirius Black is dead.'
--
The room was round, and dark, save only for the russet ghosts of firelight that slid and vanished and danced over the book-lined walls, over the delicate, complex silver machines that glittered on polished wooden surfaces.
The figures sat sleeping in their portraits, though they never really slept, with their venerable heads bowed, and every so often, the sound of slow breathing was punctuated by a quiet grunt or a snore.
But apart from that, and the snapping of the logs in the hearth, everything was silent.
The light from the fire began to dim, and become ever more fickle, and gradually, it was nearly eclipsed all together as a dark shape appeared amid the flames, spinning very fast at first, and then slower and slower until a honey-haired, pale woman wearing a black travelling cloak that swept the ground was stepping out of the fireplace.
Without so much as a glance at the glowing sparks of embers that showered from her robes as she brusquely crossed the study, the woman went to meet the tall old wizard standing by the dull blue, star-speckled rectangle of the window, the golden frames of his half-moon glasses flashing in the ruddy light.
"Headmaster..." The young woman's voice was taut with suppressed tears, and her words were clipped. "Tell me it's not true. Please."
The old man sighed, russet light licking over his long white beard.
"I'm afraid so, my dear." He replied sadly.
"No..." The young woman shook her head, her eyes shining. "No!" She whispered, her teeth clenched. "Oh please, Headmaster, no! I don't believe it! He can't be! He's not...he can't..."
.The old wizard watched the young woman grimly as she collapsed into a nearby chair, her hand over her mouth.
"He's not!"
As her head drooped, her shoulders began to shake, and presently the tears were splashing bitterly into her lap.
"I love him! I love him! Like a brother! He's not dead! Oh please, tell me he isn't dead!"
Dumbledore quietly came to her side, placing a hand on her quaking shoulder.
Astrea's head was bowed into her hands, and she spoke in a voice no stronger than a whisper:
"How?"
"In a duel." Said Dumbledore quietly. "He went to the Department of Mysteries along with four other members of the Order and myself, after Severus Snape informed them that Sirius's godson, Harry, had gone there himself, believing Sirius to be a captive of Voldemort."
Astrea felt a sudden unbearable burning in her diaphragm as she heard the name, and she hissed angrily.
"And Sirius died." She choked bluntly. "Who killed him?"
Dumbledore sighed.
"His cousin, Bellatrix."
Astrea's throat felt as though it was on fire.
"Oh god." She cursed disgustedly on her breath, bowing her head further and gouging her fingers through her thick hair. "They were cousins!"
She forced an angry scream back down into the depths of her gut, and took a trembling breath, though the tears were still streaming down her cheeks, and showed no sign of stopping.
"I've been gone so long...Where's Harry? Did you save him?"
"Yes." Dumbledore assured her with a small smile. "Harry is safe and well, with his Aunt, Uncle and cousin in Little Whinging, where he has been residing for the past sixteen years."
"Peter Pettigrew?"
"Peter has rejoined his master, and is still alive and in Voldemort's service."
Astrea blinked hard as a face surfaced in her mind, and two large, wet tears rolled from her eyes.
"And Remus Lupin?"
"May be found at this very moment in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix."
"Oh god." Astrea gasped with a shuddering breath, suddenly overcome, her features clenching in another wave of tears as Dumbledore hunkered level with her. "Oh god! Sirius!"
And finally giving into her grief, the witch drooped forwards like a withering snowdrop, and sobbed out her heart into the old man's embrace, whose golden half-moon glasses flashed in the light of the fire.
The only light in that darkened room.
--
The only light in the darkened kitchen was that of the fire, which crackled and popped in the hearth, throwing the long shadows of black iron cookery pots suspended from ceiling racks across the cold stone floor.
A man sat alone at the long, wooden table in the centre of the room, his chin on his chest as he dozed, the surface infront of him littered with rolls of parchment, some furled and some open, a pewter goblet and a green glass bottle of dark wine.
His shabby, patched wizard's robes hung from his form in a way that suggested he may have suffered ill health recently, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, clear and apparent against his pale pallor.
Out in the shadowy hall, up a flight of flagstone steps, there were soft voices and footfalls; the sound of a bag brushing against a travelling cloak as it was shifted to an opposite hand.
Professor McGonagall made her way down into the kitchen, and smiled sympathetically at the sleeping form of Remus Lupin, sitting by the fire so that one half of him was bathed in warm, flickering light.
The witch straightened her tartan scarf as she crossed the kitchen, and placed a gentle hand on Lupin's shoulder to wake him.
Stirring, Lupin looked up, and gave her a weary smile.
"Ah, good evening, Professor McGonagall."
His old head of house inspected him critically.
"You're not looking after yourself well enough, Remus." She chided sternly, though not without affection. "You need a good few square meals and a decent night or two's sleep, by the looks of things."
Lupin chuckled.
"So I'm told - Molly's quite fond of reminding me. Erm; cup of tea?" He asked, getting to his feet and making towards the large black kettle that hung by the fire.
"No, thank you, Remus. I'm not staying." Professor McGonagall told him, smoothing down the front of her robes. "Dumbledore sent me to bring someone to the Headquarters who's to join the Order. I believe you've been introduced." She added with a slight smile.
Lupin turned as she looked back towards the foot of the kitchen steps, and his eyes widened with shock.
Another younger witch stood holding a large bag infront of her with two hands, wrapped in a thick black cloak and a scarf, knotted and tucked into the neckline. Her eyes were shinier than a person's should be, and the faint pinkness that rimmed them suggested a recent bout of crying, but at the sight of Lupin, however, she adorned a very glad, if weary, smile.
"Astrea!" Lupin beamed, crossing to her in a few strides. "My god!"
"Remus." She laughed thickly, sniffing as she set down her bag so as bring him to her in a hug. "I've missed you so much! I'm sorry I didn't keep in touch, but..."
"I know you couldn't; it's alright." Lupin smiled warmly, drawing back, but still clasping her upper arms, so as to appraise her.
She was different from how she had been when they had last said goodbye at Lily and James's New Year's Eve party, and yet he could still see traces of the twenty one year-old girl he remembered from fifteen years ago.
A door opening; a young woman stooping over a trunk at the foot of her bed, her face drawn and her complexion weak. Dropping one last folded robe into the chest, she straightens up, heaves a sigh and shuts the lid. A wrench somewhere in his chest as the young witch whirls a travelling cloak around her shoulders and turns to face him...
Her face was now unmistakably that of a grown woman's, with gracefully defined cheekbones and elegant, cat-like, powder-mauve eyes against dark lashes. Ruddy shadows cast by the firelight accented the gentle recesses of her cheeks and throat, which were neither deeper nor gaunter than they should have been, and did not seem to indicate any signs of recent or long-term illness. In fact, she looked as healthy as she ever did, aside from her tear-paled face and pink-rimmed eyes, and that gave Lupin the impression that her years in hiding had not been spent in discomfort or difficulty, for which he was very thankful.
"You're leaving." It was more a statement than a question.
She raised her eyebrows and nodded wearily.
"Yes. We've had word through the family that the Dark Lord's going after the witches and wizards who oppose him. They want me to go back to the Abbey."
He nodded. He could feel something sinking inside of him.
"You'll be alright?" He asked, if only for the want of needing to say something.
Though tiredly, she smiled at him - nearly beamed - and hefted the large carpet back she held infront of her with two hands.
"Yes, thank you."
There was a pause. He went to say something more; thought better of it; and then said it regardless.
"...I'm sorry."
She tried to keep the smile as she nodded. She failed.
"Remus, me too."
Astrea's head was aching as Lupin held her; the last few hours of disconsolate sobbing had drained all her energy, and her eyes were sore, but this barely hindered her curiosity as she looked into the face of a man she hadn't seen for over a decade.
For one thing, Lupin's hair was comparatively greyer. Its mixed colour of grey and light brown could vaguely be likened to that of a wolf's pelt, yet the grey eyes that took her in with a touching concern were nothing if not calm and kind; just as she remembered them.
The boy smiled compassionately as she hiccoughed into the handkerchief he'd given her.
"Everyone has off-days now and then."
"I know, but..." She looked up at him. "But breaking a mirror...?"
His robes, Astrea also noticed, had grown ever more shabby and threadbare over the course of her absence, and it struck her that they were the same set, though despite having been neatly darned in several places, they were impeccably clean. She had to admit that Lupin looked as tired as she did, and it was told so by the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the premature lines on his face.
"I..." Astrea faltered, her cheeks flushing awkwardly as she looked at him hesitantly. "I'm sorry."
Lupin gave a grave nod; they both knew what she meant.
"Someone was with you when you found out? Caspian?"
Astrea sniffed, staring at the neckline of Lupin's robes.
"I haven't seen him for a while." She murmured. "I'm not even sure if he knows."
Lupin nodded again, trying to swallow the painful lump that had swollen in his throat.
"Why - why don't you come and sit down?" He suggested quietly.
Astrea nodded, biting down hard on her bottom lip as more tears threatened, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Following Lupin, the toffee-haired witch seated herself at the table while he crossed to the large black kettle and tapped it with his wand.
They both jumped as Professor McGonagall quietly cleared her throat.
"I know this probably isn't the most appropriate time to raise the subject," She said gently. "But Professor Dumbledore would also like me to inform you both that he wishes you to take up posts as staff in the new school year."
Astrea looked at Professor McGonagall with a tired sort of amazement, while Lupin nearly dropped the kettle as he lifted it off the bracket.
"Are...Is he really sure that's a good idea?" He spluttered.
"Obviously." Professor McGonagall replied. "Otherwise he wouldn't have considered it."
"But - but the parents-"
"Will be informed that all possible precautions will be taken, and that for the other twenty-nine days of the month, you are perfectly human."
Astrea watched quietly from her chair, fairly certain of what was going through Lupin's mind at that moment.
"As for you, Miss Ravenstone," Professor McGonagall continued. "Professor Dumbledore would like you to take up the post of Choir Mistress, as our resident director was..." The dark-haired woman hesitated. "Most unfortunately killed in a Death Eater attack on her home two months ago, and, as I'm sure you'll appreciate, Professor Dumbledore has had some difficulty in finding a replacement."
Astrea nodded dumbly; she wasn't really taking any of this in.
"Well, give it some thought," Professor McGonagall said. "But whatever your answers, the Headmaster must recieve your replies by no later than August 1st."
Walking forward, she took a handful of glittering green powder from a shallow bowl in the mantelpiece, and pausing, turned to look back at them.
"Get some rest, both of you." She advised. "Nymphadora Tonks, Mundungus Fletcher and Kingsley Shacklebolt should be arriving shortly."
Then she showered the emerald dust into the fire, stepped into the hearth, enunciated very clearly "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry", and was gone in a whorl of flame and cloak, leaving Astrea and Lupin alone in the dark and silent house.
Astrea started as a loud whistle and a rush of steam suddenly issued from the spout of the iron kettle; Lupin had gone back to making tea, and was presently summoning a pair of teabags from across the room and dropping them into two mugs on the table.
"You came straight from Hogwarts, I take it?" He asked.
"From the Abbey, actually." Astrea added. "But I went to Hogwarts first, to see Dumbledore. He sent me a letter abo-"
She swallowed the word as her throat began to ache. Lupin regarded her sympathetically as he handed her a mug of tea across the tabletop.
"About Sirius." Astrea finished with a kind of subdued determination, clutching the steaming drink, with both hands, into her chest. "Dumbledore told me how he died; I couldn't stop crying."
Lupin sat down opposite her, silent.
"Did...did the Ministry clear his name? When they found out the truth?"
"You knew he was innocent?"
"Espionage and reconnaissance, Remus," Astrea said, smiling without much conviction. "Going into hiding with absolutely no news from the outside world would have had me climbing the walls."
Lupin sighed, and took a sip of tea.
"I don't know. I believe Dumbledore's trying to persuade them to, but whether or not it'll happen is..."
The young woman nodded.
"Pride, that's what it is - Fudge wouldn't want to admit that they'd been chasing after the wrong man for all these years. Clearing Sirius's name would mean he'd have to announce that publicly, and Voldemort's return has already been a slap in the face. Nothing less than the puffed-up git deserved..."
Lupin chuckled, though he felt hollow, and took another sip of tea.
They sat in silence for a moment.
"So how has life been treating you?" Astrea asked. "And my goodness, that was an insensitive question."
"No it wasn't." Said Lupin. "As well as could be expected under the circumstances, I suppose. Yourself?"
"Oh, you know," Astrea gave something of a mock smile as she set down her mug. "Little rich girl; sheltered and protected, perfectly safe and comfortable in the ancestoral home while all my old school mates die in the outside world."
Lupin studied his tea.
"Please believe me when I say I wanted to be there." Astrea said, leaning forward suddenly in the eagerness of her pleading. "I wanted to be there, fighting on the front line with everyone else! I really did!"
"Sirius was just the same." Lupin shook his head ruefully. "Confined to the house, wishing he could be out there with the rest of us, doing things for the Order." He sighed. "In a way, it makes me all the more glad you're here now."
Astrea smiled slightly.
"So you can 'keep an eye on me'?"
Lupin laughed quietly.
"That's just it."
More silence.
Astrea bit her lower lip as she sniffed, and wiped away the fresh tears with her cuff. Lupin looked up at the sound, startled to see that she was crying again.
"Oh, Rea..." He said quietly, fishing into his pocket and producing a handkerchief.
She shook her head, the bottoms of her eyes sparkling in the dim light.
"Why Sirius?" She asked hopelessly.
Lupin gazed at her sympathetically, and gently squeezed her arm as she took the handkerchief from him.
"Why any of them?" He replied.
Astrea nodded, and studied the white cloth for a long while. Then, with a shivering breath, she anchored her fingers in her hair, and bowed her head to weep.
--
Lupin yawned hugely, and glanced down at his watch, but the reflection of the embers off its face hid the hands; he lost interest and re-folded his arms. The fire in the hearth had begun to sink from the brilliance of its last stoking, so that the further parts of the kitchen were in almost total darkness. Lupin felt a slight shiver pass down his spine, and sighed: if only Sirius were there. He remembered their talks late into the night while they had been at Grimmault Place; and he'd have loved to have seen Astrea again.
Rea...Lupin's thoughts turned to the woman sleeping upstairs and he heaved another sigh. If he closed his eyes, he could still see her face, burned clear and sharp into his mind: her pale face all tear-streaked; her sore, shiny thyme-flower eyes; her long, honey-coloured hair...Lord knew, a decade and a half only looked like four or five years on her, compared to what it had done to him. Then he remembered the edge of bitterness in her tone when she had spoken of her comfortable circumstances; being "Daddy's little rich girl", as she jokingly referred to herself, had always made her uncomfortable whenever the subject came up. Astrea was the second daughter of Belarius and Phaedria Ravenstone, a wizard and witch of strong and ancient pureblood stock, whose ancestry tied them to the Malfoys, the Blacks, the Weasleys, and to most any other pureblood family. Astrea's older sister, Venera, had married a Malfoy - Altairus - a few years after she had left Hogwarts, and Remus recalled that despite the two women rarely ever having seen eye to eye, from that time on they had talked very little. Astrea's twin brother, on the other hand - Caspian - Remus, or anyone else outside the family for that matter, barely knew. Like his uncle Scabius, Caspian spent much of his time away from the rest of his family in recluse, travelling around the world and schooling in different forms of magic and lore; or so Astrea had told them. She mentioned him almost as little as she did Venera.
But by saying that the Ravenstones were a rich and powerful pureblood family was by no mean saying that they were as bad as the Malfoys or the Blacks. Venera had always had some slightly strange ideas about blood superiority, but Belarius and Phaedria were decent people, and Caspian had been a grave and taciturn boy at Hogwarts, making Ravenclaw prefect like his twin.
Their ancestral home had been Taigan Abbey - and from what Astrea had said earlier, Remus gathered it still was. It was a large, expansive structure of raw stone and timber, dating from early medieval times, with a low, squat profile, stretching wings and tall, steep roofs that reached almost down to the ground. It also had a quirky, lopsided bell-tower, the apex of which was saved for the family's trademark ravens, which they used in place of owls. Remus had only been there once or twice, but it was a difficult place to forget or find the likeness of elsewhere, and thus he recalled it fairly well.
A voice pulled him from his musings, and he stirred.
"Remus, you should go to bed. It's two in the morning!"
He looked up: Tonks was standing infront of him with a concerned look on her face. Her hair was shoulder-length and lime green. Lupin nodded and stretched.
"You - you are alright, aren't you? You weren't..." Tonks faltered.
Remus looked at her.
"No. Did you see anything worth reporting?"
Tonks shook her head.
"No." Then she frowned. "I saw another cloak in the hallway. Is someone here?"
Lupin nodded.
"Astrea Ravenstone."
His answer was met with a silent 'oh'.
"Really? When'd she come?"
"A few hours ago. She's joining the Order, so she'll be here for a while."
"Wasn't she in hiding?"
"Yes, but Dumbledore feels she can do something to help the effort."
Tonks opened her mouth, but a slight hesitation came before she spoke.
"Is he going to keep her here?"
Like Sirius. They were both silent for a moment.
"I don't know." Said Remus quietly, studying the dying fire.
Tonks gazed at the flagstones, and then murmured under her breath:
"I miss him, Remus. I really, really miss him."
Lupin closed his eyes, and breathed deeply.
"So do I, Tonks. And there's not one damn thing we can do to change it."
--