MissMoony16: Yay, another fellow Moony fan! Here's your update, m'luv; you want me to give Remmy a proper girlfriend? Yeah, the poor guy does deserve some love, doesn't he? Well, you'll just have to keep reading to find out...
hogwash: Ah, now, someone picked me up on this one in the last version of this fic: yes, the nicknames did come from their animagus forms, but I'm sort of using creative license in that I figured they would have an idea of what animal they were studying to turn into. It could just have been lucky coincidence that two of them were large enough to handle a werewolf, and one was small enough to get past the Whomping Willow, but you see where I coming from on this one, right? Thanks for your review, and I hope you continue to enjoy reading :)
A tip for everyone while you read this: the first little bit plays out nicely to the accompanimentof Bonny Raitt's 'Dimming of the Day', probably due to the fact that that is what it was written to (note the title of this chapter). So if you have the 'Longing in Their Hearts' album to hand (the musical influence for this fic), stick it in your CD player, put track 7 on repeat and kick back for a read. Enjoy...
Disclaimer: The wonderful world of the Marauders and Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling; the dregs left at the bottom would be mine ;)
Spoilers: PoA and OotP
Pairings: Test your grasp of subtlety and see if you can figure it out...;)
--
"Please believe me when I say I wanted to be there." She 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." He 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."
She smiled slightly.
"So you can 'keep an eye on me'?"
He laughed quietly.
"That's just it."
...
He could still hear the muffled noises of the party as he climbed the stairs; the laughter, the happy voices, the music. But his steps dragged as though his feet were made of lead, and each one seemed to be an effort - with every inch he moved up the staircase, his heart sunk a little lower in his chest.
All too soon, he was confronting the door on the landing, and the tightness in his chest grew. As he reached for the handle, he hesitated; a significant change to his life lay on the other side - did he really want to see it happen?
Steeling himself with a deep breath, he grasped the handle and turned it.
...
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...
...
He stepped across the threshold, and quietly pushed the door closed behind him. Then he smiled slightly.
"James told me you were up here."
She nodded. There was an enormous raven perched on one of the bed posts, and a piece of parchment with fold-creases lay opened on the quilt.
"You're leaving." It was more a statement than a question.
She raised her eyebrows and nodded wearily as she stooped to pick up a large carpet bag standing by her ankle.
"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. In an effort to keep his composure, he looked away for a moment, his eyes boring into the rain-slashed latticed window on the other side of the room.
"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 bag she held infront of her with two hands.
"Yes, thank you."
There was a pause. He opened his mouth to say something more; almost didn't say it as he felt his courage leave him; and then in one last effort, summoned the strength he didn't have for the final thing he needed to say.
"...I'm sorry."
Having watched him avidly, she tried to keep the smile and hide the tears as she nodded. She failed.
"Remus, me too."
...
He sat by the window, watching the rain washing down the glass, hoping for any sign of something that might be carrying a letter. It had been a whole week now, and still no word. And it was driving him mad.
He felt someone come up behind him, and glanced back over his shoulder.
"I don't think we're going to hear anything, Remus." Said Sirius. "She's in hiding; they'll have told her not to risk any kind of communication when there's a possibility it might be intercepted."
Remus breathed hard down his nose in a sigh, and turned back to the window.
"Remus, do you want her to get caught?" Sirius demanded.
"No, of course I don't!" Said Remus sharply, throwing his friend a razor-bladed look. "Don't be ridiculous, Sirius!"
Sirius sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
"I'm sorry Moony." He said quietly. "I know you don't. I just...I'm sorry - I don't know why I said that."
Remus looked out of the window again, and then tipped his head to rest against the wall of the alcove and closed his eyes. Sirius watched him soberly.
"You still never told her." He said then, smiling slightly.
Remus opened an eye and looked at him.
"Told her what?"
"That you love her."
Remus smiled and closed his eyes again.
"How many times have we been through this, Padfoot?"
"A frustratingly countless number of times, as I recall, Moony." Sirius replied. "But obviously still not enough it to get through that fuzzy head of yours."
"It's not like that, Sirius."
Sirius snorted.
"It is."
"It's really not."
"No, it really is."
Remus threw him an incredulous smile.
"Did you ever grow up, Padfoot?"
Sirius pointed to his chest.
"I am the original boy who never grew up, Moony. James and Peter what's-his-face just copied me."
Remus shook his head.
"It was never like that with her, Padfoot. We're friends. Good friends."
"What is that word that comes to mind?" Sirius asked himself with mock pensiveness. He folded his arms, tapped his chin with a finger and squinted outrageously at the ceiling. "Something to do with 'it was never like that'...erm...ooh, heavens...it's right there on the tip of my tongue...right there...erm...h-H-...Hogwarts!"
Remus laughed and shook his head.
"Fine. Fine! So I may have had a crush on her at Hogwarts." He shrugged. "Is that going to haunt me for the rest of my adult life?"
"It just might, Remus," Sirius smiled as he turned from the window. "It just might."
...
Now
Remus opened his eyes. Everything was pitch black, and he could feel the pillow beneath his cheek as he shifted in bed. He sighed: a dream. Of course. He rolled over onto his back and stared up into the darkness at where the canopy should have been.
For so long, he hadn't recalled any of these memories. None of them. And now, suddenly, he could remember - could think of nothing but. Over the past week, so many things had come back to him; and not just about her. About his time with Sirius and James and Peter at Hogwarts; the few happy years they shared after that, before James and Lily had died. But yes, he admitted, mostly they were about her.
Smiling at his own bewilderment, Remus tipped his head back and closed his eyes; just like all those years ago at the window.
"Oh damn it, Sirius," He sighed. "What am I going to do?"
Then he opened his eyes as the answer suddenly came to him.
"Tea." He told himself, throwing back the covers and reaching for his dressing gown.
--
The door stood ajar, light streaming out across the landing carpet. Remus, paused at the top of the stairs with a steaming mug in his hand, looked at it for a moment and then took an absent-minded sip of tea. It was Astrea's room.
There were sounds of movement from inside as he approached the door. Cautiously, after a slight hesitation, he knocked lightly on the woodwork. He cleared his throat.
"Astrea? It's Remus - can I come in?"
"Yes, of course." Came the reply from the other side.
Remus pushed open the door and stuck his head round;
'Oh dear lord...'
Astrea was straightening up from stooping over her trunk, holding a folded robe; she was clad in an old shirt, women's briefs, and not much else. Remus felt his face flush furiously and quickly ducked out again.
"Erm...maybe it's best if I don't come in." He said with a slight catch in his voice.
There was the sound of feet crossing the room, and Lupin felt the door handle pulled out of his grasp as the door was opened. Astrea gave looked out at him with a small smile, her head surrounded by a tousled halo of gold where the light from the bedroom caught in her hair. Lupin saw that she had donned a dressing gown, much to his relief.
Noticing the vivid blush that lingered in his cheeks, Astrea's eyes twinkled, and she gave a little shake of her head.
"It's alright, you can come in now - I'm respectfully dressed." She said, the corners of her mouth twitching. She indicated back into the bedroom with a jerk of her head. "I couldn't sleep, so I've been doing some more unpacking."
Lupin raised an eyebrow.
"You've been here for the best part of a week, and you still haven't fully unpacked?"
Astrea shrugged somewhat ruefully.
"I've been stuck in mostly the same place for the last fifteen years or so." She said. "I've lost the discipline."
"Ah."
Astrea drummed her fingers reminiscently on the woodwork for a moment, and then shook herself out of her reverie.
"Sorry, Remus - come in." She smiled. She reached for Remus' elbow and gently ushered him over the threshold.
The light in the room was coming from the serpent-shaped chandelier that hung overhead; but now that Remus' eyes had become accustomed to its contrast with the darkness, the light seemed much dimmer all of a sudden, and the candles guttered in their holders as though a pair of invisible lips were trying to blow them out. Astrea's trunk stood open at the foot of her bed, surrounded by piles of folded clothing, books and various other miscellany. Her raven, Artemis, whose arrival earlier that day had been announced by a clang of the doorbell - everyone else apart from his owner was still impressed by the intelligence of the feat - was nestled dozily amid a jumble of blankets in an open drawer. The mirror on the far wall was murmuring incoherently in its sleep.
Lupin turned his attention from the left and glanced over at the bed on his right: the covers were strewn back in a disarray, and one of the pillows still bore a deep dent from where Astrea had slept. But it wasn't that which drew his gaze: lying on the quilt, its leather cover gleaming dully in the candlelight, was Astrea's ancient, fraying and battered copy of 'Savant's Codex of Rara Avis'. Remus left Astrea's side and crossed to the bed, set down his tea on the floor, and hefted up the tome.
"Good Lord!" He exclaimed, smiling. "I remember this! I had no idea you still had it!"
"I couldn't get rid of it." Said Astrea, walking over to join him. "Too many fond memories of all the times it saved my life in Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Lupin chuckled, and set it back down on the covers.
"Speaking of DADA..."
Astrea's tone was suddenly more serious, and she settled herself on the bed. Lupin bent to pick up his tea and followed her example.
"Are you going to take up Dumbledore's offer?" She asked.
Remus took a sip from his mug and then lowered it thoughtfully.
"Well...I thought about it. I'm really not sure it's a good idea if I do."
"You should."
Lupin shook his head.
"You weren't there to see what happened last time. The whole school knows! It won't just be the students who have a problem with my appointment, either: the parents will complain, and that will get Dumbledore in trouble with the Ministry." He sighed. "I'm not prepared to put him through all that ontop of everything else he has to deal with right now."
Astrea's eyes were twinkling.
"It was Dumbledore who offered you the job in the first place, Remus." She said. "Secondly, I highly doubt that hiring you will get Dumbledore into any more trouble with the Ministry than he was before."
Lupin smiled, and then chuckled into his tea.
"I see your point."
Astrea paused for a moment, and idly fiddled with a corner of the bedclothes. "Look, I heard about that anti-werewolf bill that Umbridge drafted; Remus, at least think about taking the job."
"The only other problem, of course," Lupin persisted. "Is that I wouldn't be free to do as many errands for the Order."
"Neither would I if I were to take the job they're offering me."
"Which you should."
The toffee-haired witch thought for a moment, and then said:
"Snape's a member of the Order, isn't he?"
"Yes." Said Lupin slowly.
"Yes, and he teaches, so surely you'll be able to cope just as well as he does." Astrea glanced down almost guiltily and cast him a look from beneath her eyelashes. "Anyway, I can't pretend I wouldn't be happy about you not being able to run as many errands for the Order."
Lupin smiled and set down his tea down on the bedside cabinet.
"I'm a big boy, Rea - I can look after myself."
"And I'm sure James or Sirius would have said exactly the same if they were here now." Astrea said quietly.
She leaned over and slipped her arms around Remus in a firm hug.
"This is a war, Rea," Lupin whispered in her ear, holding her tightly to him. "People get hurt in wars, and there's nothing anyone can do to change that."
He shivered slightly as he felt her warm breath blush on his neck. She nodded into his shoulder, and drew back.
"I know."
She looked sad only for a moment longer, and then, suddenly beaming, she reached out and squeezed his arm.
"It's so good...to see you again."
Remus smiled; gently taking her hand from his arm, he took it between his own.
"You too."
--
Then
Remus settled a little further back into his armchair with a biscuit and checked his agenda sheet. It was their second prefect meeting of the term, and already the novelty of the whole thing was close to wearing off. Head boy and girl that year were Gryffindor and Slytherin seventh-years Tom Colville and Camilla-Anne Beauregard, the first of which had an arrogance unbecoming of his boot-size, and the latter of which had an unhealthy habit of regarding everyone down the length of her nose.
While Tom's voice droned on in the background, Remus' eyes darted across to Astrea, seated next to her twin on the couch. She was watching Camilla-Anne brush imaginary specks of dust off her skirt with one eyebrow slightly raised and her eyes betraying an otherwise well-hidden air of reserved distaste. Caspian's thyme-coloured eyes were focused on Tom, his hands resting in his lap and his pale face characteristically sombre. Remus took a bite of his biscuit and turned his attention back to the Head boy.
"So, as we all know, the Hallowe'en Ball is coming up soon, and Dumbledore has left it to the prefects to decide what the theme ought to be." Said Tom, jerking the front of his robes straight so that his Head boy badge flashed in the light. Beside Remus, Lily rolled her eyes. "Does anyone have any suggestions?"
Everyone glanced around the room, waiting for someone else to put their hand up.
"Anyone?" Tom repeated, raising his eyebrows.
Very slowly, a Hufflepuff prefect in the corner raised their hand.
"Pendergast." Nodded Tom.
"Erm..." The Hufflepuff flushed awkwardly and adorned a sheepish smile. "Beauty and the Beast?...Or something..." She trailed off lamely as people began to snicker. She cast a nervous glance at the Slytherins; Bellatrix leant across and whispered in Lucius' ear, and they both smirked.
"I think that's a great idea." Lily stated confidently over the sniggering, smiling at the Hufflepuff prefect.
"It does have alot of possibilities for costumes and decoration." Astrea agreed slowly from the sofa. Caspian nodded.
Remus felt a sudden tightness in his throat; beauty and the beast. Perfect. Yes, that sounded right up his street...
"I agree with Lily." Everyone turned to look at him as he forced the words out of his mouth. "I think we should go for it."
The murmurs of approval gradually accumulated throughout the room, and finally Tom nodded.
"Alright, that's sorted then: Beauty and the Beast. Now, I'll need volunteers for working on the event..."
"I'd be happy to work out some sort of dress-code." Camilla-Anne drawled nasally at his elbow.
Lily glanced around and made eye-contact with Astrea.
"We could...do the décor for the Hall." She suggested. Astrea smiled at her in assent.
Caspian cleared his throat.
"I'll talk to Flitwick about lighting." He said in his quiet voice.
"Hold on," Interrupted Bellatrix, sitting forward suddenly. "That's not fair - it's all Ravenclaws and Gryffindors!"
The other Slytherins nodded and muttered their agreement.
"We should be allowed just as much input." Said Lucius coolly, lounging in his chair.
"He's right, Colville." Said Camilla-Anne, directing her colleague a stony gaze.
Remus felt eyes on him, and glanced up. Lucius was directing him a particularly nasty look across the room, his cold blue eyes narrow in his pale face.
"Alright, alright," Tom waved an impatient hand for the room to be quiet. "Malfoy - Black - you team up with Evans and Ravenstone on the decorating of the hall."
Lily and Astrea exchanged looks.
"Fine." Astrea replied, in a voice that said exactly the opposite.
As Lily settled back into her chair, Remus leaned across and patted her arm.
"Good luck." He whispered.
As they filed out of the prefect's common room, Lily edged up the stream of students and joined Astrea and Caspian near the fore of the throng.
"Hey!"
Astrea glanced back over her shoulder and stopped.
"Hey!"
"So do you have any ideas?"
Astrea gestured for Caspian - who was giving her a questioning look - to go on, and then made a thoughtful face.
"A few. Sort of..." She gestured. "Um...gothic? You know - Victorian? Late 18th Century, maybe?"
"I was thinking along the same lines." Lily smiled. "We're going to have to pass that by Malfoy and Black, though." She added, looking as though the words left a bad flavour in her mouth.
"And darling Camilla-Anne." Said Astrea with equal distaste. "She'll want to make sure that the costumes and the scenery match."
Lily nodded, and then grinned.
"I'm really looking forward to doing this with you;" Astrea beamed happily. "Do you want to meet up in the library later and discuss some ideas?"
"That'd be great. After lunch?"
Lily gave her a thumbs-up.
"Excellent. After lunch, then..."
--
Remus slung the dormitary door shut behind him, yanked his tie loose, and collapsed onto his bed.
"Oh, was it that bad?" Sirius asked. He was focusing intently on the game of Wizard's Chess he and James were playing on the floor.
"Worse." Sighed Remus, massaging his face. "They've decided the theme for the Hallowe'en Ball."
James looked up.
"Really? What?"
Remus groaned.
"Beauty and the Beast."
"Aw, you'll be able to sail that one, Moony," Sirius grinned. "What are you worried about?"
"Mmph. I don't know what I'm worried about." Remus levered himself up onto his elbows. "I suppose the thought of it just put me in a bad mood, that's all."
"Come on, Moony - look on the bright side." Encouraged Peter, who was watching James smile contentedly as his knight picked up Sirius' bishop and whirled him round by his mitre. "You have even more hope of getting Ravenstone to go with you, now."
"Wait a minute; when did I say I was even going to ask her?"
James made a pained sound and Sirius rolled his eyes.
"Just admit it, Remus - you're dying for an excuse to snog her passionately in some dark corner somewhere."
Remus flushed a deep shade of plum.
"Excuse me!"
James shrugged with a negligent expression.
"Whatever."
Remus sighed again, and let his head fall back on the bed.
"She's doing the decorations for the Hall with Lily." He said.
There was a pause.
"Evans?" James repeated in an odd voice.
"Oh dear lord..." Muttered Sirius.
After a moment's consideration, a light suddenly came into James' eyes, and a smile crept over his features.
"Gentlemen, prepare yourselves," He proclaimed in an oratorial voice. "For I, the masterful James Potter, have a plan..."
Remus lifted his head off the covers to look at Peter.
"I didn't gain much by coming back here, did I?"
--
"Colville paired you up with Malfoy and Black?"
Tryn gave Astrea a look that lingered half-way between pity and disgust. They were sat at the Gryffindor table (Astrea had never yet been picked up for it) discussing the day so far over lunch. Astrea reached across to take another sandwich.
"I know. How'd they ever make the mistake of making a Gryffindor Head boy?"
"Hey!" Tryn brandished a fork. "If you're gonna sit here, try giving a little respect, would you please?"
Astrea smiled.
"I'm meeting with Lily Evans in the library after lunch to throw some ideas around. Any thoughts?"
"Gothic?"
"Ok."
Tryn paused for a moment to swallow her mouthful of sausage.
"Is this ball open to all years?"
Astrea frowned.
"They haven't really said either way. I don't see why not, though."
"You planning on asking someone?"
Tryn received a sidelong glance.
"Why?"
McTaggart smirked.
"Leave me alone."
"As you wish."
Then Tryn sighed, and tugged at a purple forelock with her fingers.
"It still won't come out." She muttered.
Tryn's unusual hair-colour had been acquired the year before, when she had originally been a 'boring' brunette and thus tried to streak her hair during the summer holidays. The spell had backfired however, and quite by accident, she had managed to create one of the most interesting heads of hair in the whole school.
"And you've tried everything?" Astrea asked.
"Everything, A." Sighed Tryn. "Short of going bald, and I'm not in too much of a hurry to do that."
"Hey!" Astrea got to her feet suddenly, and pointed fiercely down the table at someone. "You first-years! Yes, I'm talking to you! Don't do that with your food!"
There was a sound of impish giggling as she sat down again with a barely concealed grin on her face.
"God, I'm sorry - I love this position." She laughed.
Tryn raised an eyebrow, smiling.
"I can tell."
Astrea sighed. The she reached into her robes, drew out a large, silver pocket watch and flicked up the lid. Tryn swallowed a particularly large mouthful of mashed potato with a frown.
"They still make you carry that thing around?" She asked incredulously.
"We purebloods are old fashioned." Murmured Astrea in a distant voice. Then she snapped the lid shut again. "I'd better get up to the library. I'll see you in History."
"Yep." Smiled Tryn. "See you, A."
--
Now
There was a knock on the door. Lupin - kneeling on the floor infront of a large dresser - carefully ducked his head out of the dark cupboard, and looked back over his shoulder.
"Come in!"
Mrs Weasley entered bearing a plate of biscuits and a flask of tea.
"There you are, Remus." She set them down beside him with a warm smile. "I thought you might be wanting to spend a bit more time up here, so I made you a whole potful."
Remus sighed happily.
"You truly are a wonderful woman, Molly. Thank you."
"How are you getting on?" Asked Mrs Weasley, peering into the dark space of the dresser.
Remus had been up in the library on the third floor for most of the day, attempting to evict a scriptborer - a type of giant woodworm inexplicably drawn to places full of books. The intention had been to salvage the antique dresser once the scriptborer was banished; but the thing was so riddled through with tunnels the breadth of a side-plate that this notion was beginning to look somewhat bleak.
Lupin shook his head.
"No luck as of yet, I'm afraid." He frowned thoughtfully at the piece of furniture. "Quite extraordinary how something that size can hide itself so effectively..."
"Mind you, if we don't get to it soon, it'll be moving onto the rest of the books." Said Mrs Weasley, looking pointedly at the pile of volumes atop the dresser - it had a neat hole passing right through its centre.
Lupin nodded.
"Rest assured I'm doing my very best, Molly. If all else fails, we can always resort to taking the dresser to pieces; though it would mean losing it..." He added apologetically.
"I have complete faith in you, Remus." Smiled Mrs Weasley, patting his shoulder. "I'd better get back downstairs - Mundungus should be arriving any minute."
Just at that moment, there was a loud snap and a shriek from downstairs. Mrs Weasley sighed exasperatedly and wiped her hands on her apron.
"That'll be him. I'll be down in the kitchen if you need me, dear."
Remus nodded and watched her leave the room over his shoulder. Then he pulled out his wand, re-rolled his sleeves and confronted the dresser with a determined frown.
"One of us will have given up by the end of today," He muttered. "And it won't be me..."
A nearby mirror gave a hearty, wheezing laugh.
"You tell him, old boy, what?"
--
It was much, much later that there came a second knock on the door. Lupin straightened up to call an answer, but promptly cracked his head on the top of the cupboard, and dropped his wand with a cuss. The dresser gave out an ominious groan.
"Come in!" He managed finally, gingerly rubbing his head and retreating from the cupboard.
The door opened and Astrea looked in.
"Ah," She smiled. "I heard a clunk and an ow, and I thought: 'Remus Lupin must be in this room'."
"I resent that," Said Lupin, though he too was smiling. "I've never been that clumsy."
"No, but I felt like teasing you and the opportunity was there."
She gently closed the door, and crossed the room to join him.
"How's it going?" She asked, hunkering down.
Lupin ran a hand through his greying hair.
"It's reached siege level. I was just contemplating catapults when you came in."
Astrea shook her head.
"You wouldn't think it would be possible for such a hulking great maggot to hide in a piece of driftwood like that."
Remus chuckled.
"Oh believe me, after the day I've had, I would."
There was a lull, and Astrea seated herself on the floor and smoothed out her robes - they were a deep purple velvet, dusted with silver pentacles. Her hair was loose and fell over her face as she reached for a far crease, and Remus smiled slightly as he remembered how she'd looked when she had fallen asleep last night after their long hours of talking. Astrea felt his gaze and looked up at him with a smile; Lupin blushed and quickly averted his eyes.
'Get a hold on yourself, Lupin!'
The honey-haired witch lowered her eyes again for a moment, and then cleared her throat, attempting to clear the awkward atmosphere.
"Remus?"
"Yes?"
Astrea paused for a moment. Then in a low voice she asked:
"What's Voldemort doing?"
There was a tense silence. Lupin drew in a deep breath and sighed heavily down his nose.
"Does 'Time's Library' mean anything to you, Rea?" He asked.
Astrea cocked her head to one side and frowned.
"It comes from mythology, doesn't it?"
Lupin nodded.
"It's a place - dubbed a library, for reference's sake - where the records of the lives of everyone who has ever lived are supposed to be stored."
"Yes, I remember hearing about that once," Astrea agreed. "The books of the living are constantly being written as lives are lived, and the books of the dead are finished. Aren't the books of the living also supposed to have an infinite number of pages?"
"Yes."
Astrea narrowed her eyes slightly.
"What connection does this have with Voldemort?"
"Last year, he went to the Department of Mysteries to try and retrieve a certain prophecy." Remus paused. "You know the one I'm talking about."
Astrea nodded.
"Of course."
"Well, he was thwarted, as you know, and retreated none-the-wiser. But then, from somewhere, he found out about Time's Library..." Lupin's brow creased thoughfully. "My guess is that he aims to find out what he wants to know by searching the library, and finding the books that will provide him with the information."
"But surely, if his ultimate objective is to-" Astrea's voice lowered even further. "Is to kill Harry, then...well, logic says that by directly destroying Harry's book, he should be able to achieve that."
Remus looked at her sharply.
"Also a possibility - one that had crossed my mind." He said. "However, I would think it would take an enormous amount of power to destroy one of the books, because of the matter they are made from."
"Continuum-matter." Astrea's face took on a strained expression and she massaged her temples. "None of this is clear. None of it."
Lupin laid a hand on her arm.
"I wouldn't think about it too much," He advised gently. "Not now, at any rate. We have members of the Order monitoring Voldemort's activities; we'll know what's going on if any moves are made."
Astrea stared contemplatively at the carpet.
"I should talk to my uncle, Scabius. He's a master of mythology; he could probably tell us something useful."
"You have means of contacting him?" Asked Remus.
Astrea shook her head slowly.
"I meant his portrait; it's back in the family gallery at the Abbey."
"We have time to go there this week. By the way, Tonks, Moody and I will be going to collect Harry soon."
"When?"
"In the next few days or so. You can come along if you like." Lupin's eyes twinkled. "I expect you'll be wanting to meet him again after so long."
Astrea's face broke into a bright smile, and she opened her mouth to say something. But she cut off as something on the edge of her vision caught her eye, and she suddenly threw a pointing finger at the dresser.
"There it is!" She cried.
Remus looked round quickly. The featureless, ribbed white head of the scriptborer was protruding from one of the tunnels, flexing the tip of its face inquisitively. Seizing his wand, Lupin muttered a quick incantation under his breath, and brought his wand sharply back over his shoulder in an arched motion, as though he were reeling in a fish. Instantly, the scriptborer was jerked from its hole by its nose, and came writhing out like a huge white snake onto the carpet.
"Wartcap powder, quickly!" Cried Lupin.
Astrea grabbed the bowl on the floor next to her, and recklessly plunging her hand straight into the stuff, cast a large handful over the length of the worm. There was an unpleasant noise like fat sizzling in a frying pan, and the scriptborer shrivelled like a deflating balloon, until all that remained in its place was a limp, wrinkled white membrane about two thirds smaller than the original size.
Remus turned back to where Astrea was nursing her now brown-encrusted hand. He took hold of her wrist, and tapped his wand lightly on the scabbing, which quickly vanished to normal skin. Astrea gave him a greatful look as she took her hand back, massaging it with the fingertips of the other. Remus surveyed the shrivelled scriptborer with a disgusted face.
"Well, now that's over with," They both cast a glance back at the tunnel-riddled dresser. "What do you say to a butterbeer?"
Astrea smiled warmly.
"That would be lovely, Remus." She said.
--