harrypotter2202: That soon enough for you, m'luv? :) It's great to gain another new reader; I promise I will try and update as often as possible. I've almost finished my GCSE exams now (only two more to go! Squeeee!) and then I'm going to have just over a month of totally free time before I have to start doing things again, so hopefully that'll mean many, many more chapters! Thanks for your review!
A-is-for-Amy: Aha, time for a really long thank-you :) Firstly, it's great to hear from you again, and I'm glad you're still enjoying the story - you're putting me on author's alert? Aw, shucks! I only do that with about...well - you check out my favourites lists, and then ponder the fact that I only have two on author's alert. I'm stingy like that! ;) Astrea's not slipping into Mary-Sueishness? Thank heavens for that! Yes, OCs can be just as difficult as the canons - sometimes even more so. Alot of the moulding of Astrea's character comes from me sitting there and thinking 'now, if I was in this situation, what would I do?', so there's actually alot of me in her! -nods- Yes, I'm enjoying poor Remus' suffering, too. Not literally speaking though, of course ;) Of all the Marauders, I personally find that Moony's the most fun to see engaged in romantic plotlines: that could be because I enjoy the sweetness and gentlemanliness (truly not a real word) of his character, or it could just be because I take vindictive pleasure from seeing him squirm in all those awkward situations! Oh, didn't we all hate Kreacher? Especially after what he did to poor Sirius! Grrrr...For some reason, the black-humour side of that event came out to play when I wrote it, and I just left it that way - it never hurts to slip some entertainment-value in there for good measure, whatever the circumstances! Yes, the scriptborer was my own invention; I'm pleased you liked it :) Ah, the length of time I spent pouring over my thesaurus and my dictionary trying to come up with a name for it! Well, thanks for your kudos, m'hunni, and I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations - may your dressers never be eaten by scriptborers ;)
i lluv orli bloom: First of all, dig your penname -grin- Great to have a second new reader, and I hope you continue to enjoy it. Thank you for your review :)
AAandACFOREVER: Well, your prayers have been answered, m'luv - Astrea meets Harry in this chapter! -cheers- I'll make a deal with you: I keep posting, you keep reading and reviewing, k? ;)
TigerLily713: Oh, bless you! Well, thanks to you and the above, I have 10 reviews now :) I'm flattered you deem this phenomenal, and even better that you think the characters and the writing are well-done! Again, thank you so much for your review; it's great to have another new reader, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.
P.C.U: Oh, Lupin/OC fics are so frustratingly hard to find, aren't they? Most of the Lupin romance stories are time-turner or slash-orientated. That's a huge compliment that this one held your attention, though, and I'm glad you found what you were looking for. Yeah, flashbacks are always obvious, and I think they always will be if they're a part of this sort of plotline, but as long as you think they're working :) It's important to me that I get as much of the Marauders in there as I do scenes that will develop my fic, because everyone loves MWPP, and who would want to even consider a Marauder-era fic without being able to enjoy starring performances from the masters themselves? Well, having said that, no flashbacks in this chapter, but rest assured there will be in the next one! No exception to the rule - I really hope you continue to enjoy reading this, and that I will be hearing from you again in the future :)
Disclaimer: The Marauders and everything Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just holding them to ransom in my cellar.
Spoilers: PoA and OotP
Pairings: Test your grasp of subtlety and see if you can figure it out...;)
--
Now
"Where on earth...?"
Remus stood watching as Astrea rooted through the pocket of her robe. They were standing in the spacious porch of Taigan Abbey, confronted by a large, gnarled oak door with a silver knocker shaped like an open raven's wing. On either side of the threshold stood two hulking and very impressive monolith supports, engraved all over with odd, celtic-looking spirals and circles that seemed to change imperceivably even as Remus watched them. After staring at them for a good minute or so, he blinked hard with a shake of his head and looked elsewhere.
The Abbey itself was built of rough-hewn timbre and raw mountain stone, squat and sprawling in a wide clearing of coarse grass. All about it grew a thick pine forest, which climbed far up into the surrounding mountains and bristled along the high ridges like hair on a cat's back. The windows were low to the ground and latticed with tiny diamond-shaped panes. The roof was slate-tiled, though mostly over-grown with moss and lichen now, and sloped steeply up to a long, uneven spine, decorated with gargoyles and strange-looking stone birds at the apexes.
Remus walked to one side of the porch, and leaned out over the barrier to squint up at the bell tower. The infamous belfry reared top-heavy and rickety towards the pale grey sky. Atop its crooked spire sat a huge raven, lazily surveying the view and preening its glinting feathers. Remus noticed how the top-half of the tower's stone girth was riddled with over-sized pigeon holes; every so often, large black shapes would emerge from them and take the air, or simply appear out of the sky and return in a flurry of black wings and raucous cries.
Lupin withdrew his head back beneath the porch roof, and turned just in time to see Astrea produce a key from her pocket with a triumphant 'ha!'. In correspondence with the door knocker, the key had an ornate bird motif and was fashioned from silver. Despite himself, Lupin felt a momentary pang of nervousness at being in such close proximity to the metal.
Astrea stooped and inserted the tiny key into a keyhole that was far too big for it. Lupin frowned.
"But..."
He trailed off as the key suddenly grew to fit the lock, expanding until the shank was as long as Astrea's index finger and its decorated head nearly filled her palm. It turned in the lock with a clunk and as the door creaked open ajar, Astrea looked up at Remus with a wry smile.
"There are lots of things about this house you'll find strange," She said. "The modifications my family made to it over the years...Rarely am I so disturbed as when I'm in my own home."
And with that, they crossed the threshold into the warm, earthy-smelling interior of the Abbey. Almost at once, there was the sound of pattering feet coming down the passage, and shortly a small, slender house-elf with huge ears and a long, pointed nose appeared infront of them with a deep bow. It wore midnight-blue velvet tailcoat with a silver brocade collar, a white jabot, and neat black breeches hemmed just below the knee. When it straightened up again, it beamed broadly and said in a high voice:
"Welcome home, Mistress A! Sprocket hoped you would be returning soon. Sprocket always keeps the kettle ready just incase."
"Thank you, Sprocket." Smiled Astrea, handing the house-elf her cloak as he held his hands out for it. Then he turned to Remus, who did the same.
"Will Mistress A and Sir be wanting tea?" Sprocket asked expectantly.
"Yes, thank you." Astrea nodded.
As the house-elf pattered back off down the hallway, the toffee-haired witch walked along a little way behind him, and then turned into another passage, long, narrow and low, so that Remus had to stoop when he followed her. Light from the opening ahead of them glanced off the cold flagstones that paved the floor and lined the walls, and once or twice Lupin felt his robes snag on the rough-hewn timbers that supported the tunnel.
When they emerged from the other end, they were in a large room with yet another low ceiling; but the floor was sunken, so that if someone walked down the steps from the passage and stood at ground-level, the room would actually be quite high. The far right-hand wall had a grand hearth set into it; all the others were lined with beautifully embroidered hangings and shelves of books; yellowing, dog-eared scrolls dripping with heavy seals; a number of hour glasses ranging in size; pots crammed full of different types of quill, from pheasant feathers to broad, inky black raven feathers; and a variety of other oddments. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, and candles burned in little alcoves in the stone walls. Astrea inspected her surroundings, and nodded approvingly.
"Sprocket's done a good job - I really do wish I could pay him sometimes." She turned to Remus. "This is the Tapestry Room. The bell tower and family gallery are through there," She indicated to the stone archway of a spiral staircase that curled away into the far wall. "I think we'll have time to see Scabius before the tea's ready."
After they had climbed the spiral stairwell, the short length of passage they met next to the gallery door proved to be even more cramped than the passage they had gone through to reach the Tapestry Room.
"Either my ancestors were very short or they had no dignity." Astrea muttered, forced into an ungainly hunch as they approached the entrance.
Looking ahead over Astrea's shoulder, Remus saw a curved panel of stone built into the masonry above the door. Carved in deep, archaic lettering that was smattered with moss were the words 'Sagesse Ancienne'.
"Ancient Wisdom?" Translated Lupin in a quiet voice.
"Family motto." Astrea replied. Then she shuffled around slightly so that she was able to look him in the face. "Remus...before we go in...look, I just wanted to warn you that...you know, my family are purebloods, and..." She shifted uncomfortably. "Well, if any of them say anything - which, to be honest, they might - really, Remus, the last thing I want is for you to be offended. You don't have to come in if you don't want to."
Remus raised an eyebrow and smiled.
"Rea, you just made me virtually crawl on my hands and knees through two tunnels, and climb all the way up a tower that has more stairs in it than all the staircases at Hogwarts put together. I did not go through all that just to be denied the pleasure of meeting your lovely and, I'm sure, quite-charming relatives."
Astrea smiled sheepishly.
"I have a horrid feeling you may eat those words later, but..."
Turning back, she twisted the handle of the door, and let it swing open on its hinges.
The reaction, when they stepped down into the circular chamber, was instantaneous: voices burst at them from every direction in the dimness, and the blast of sound was so sudden that Remus and Astrea both started violently. Quickly leaving Lupin's side, Astrea strode out into the centre of the floor, so that she became only a dark shape to Remus' eyes, and turning her face upwards, she gave out ringing shout that rose over the other voices like a bell.
"QUIET!"
The voices immediately died to a babble, and with a softly sung note that glimmered delicately in the air, a light blossomed in the place where Astrea stood. Remus looked up: the round wall of the bell-tower was absolutely crammed full of portraits, both individual and group. The occupants of the paintings all peered down at them from above, their rich robes of dark velvets highlighted by the rays of Astrea's spell.
"Ah, welcome home Astrea." Said one of the paintings at last. The speaker was a tall silver-haired wizard with a flowing, beautifully curled beard in robes of deep blue, standing beside a seated, elegant-looking witch of the same age as him.
"Yes, welcome home, dear." Nodded the witch.
Murmurings of agreement descended from around the room. Looking up at all the eyes inspecting him, Remus suddenly felt terribly small.
"And who is this?" Asked an imperious and beautiful woman with long, black hair and a raven perched on her shoulder. Her eyes - a pale blue-mauve like Astrea's - inspected Remus with a king of condescending curiosity.
"This is Remus Lupin." Astrea replied firmly, her mouth set as she glanced over the faces of her ancestors. Remus inclined his head respectfully to the black-haired woman. The tower became filled with hushed voices and mutterings.
"The werewolf." Assessed a dark-featured young man, raising his eyebrows. "Is it wise of you to be keeping such company, I wonder?"
"Orion, you sound like Lucius Malfoy." Astrea said coldly.
The young man glared at her.
"And...muggle-born." Added another portrait somewhat stiffly, still looking down his nose at Lupin.
"He is a member of the Order." Astrea enforced sternly. "And a loyal supporter of Albus Dumbledore. I'll not have you speak ill of him, Fleance."
Remus flushed slightly at the steely note in her voice. Fleance grasped the lapels of his lustrous robes with a look of disapproval. Astrea fixed the wizard with distasteful gaze, and then began to turn a full circle, so that she could look at each of her ancestors in turn.
"Now that we've got our little prejudice tangent out of the way," She said in a loud voice, extracting dark mutterings from a few of the occupants. "Where's Scabius?"
"Away." Said the beautiful woman with the raven. "He left two days ago. Was it anything of importance?"
"Some questions I wanted to ask him." Said Astrea. "Do you know when he'll be back, Marelda?"
Marelda looked away for a moment, and ran a white hand through her long, rippling black locks.
"Duessa!" She called finally.
Astrea and Remus turned to see a fair-haired witch walk into a portrait on the opposite wall.
"Did your husband happen to tell you when he'd be back?" Marelda asked.
Duessa shook her head.
"I'm sorry, my dear, he didn't." She spoke directly to Astrea.
The toffee-haired woman sighed and frowned thoughfully.
"What about Caspian?" She asked then, looking up.
All eyes went to a huge, silver-framed painting over the door. It was empty.
"Your brother's been gone for months." Marelda said, not a little guiltily. "We haven't heard or seen anything of him."
"Did he tell you where he was going?"
Two portraits down and one to the left of Marelda's, Orion shrugged.
"You know Caspian. He hardly speaks at all."
Remus looked at Astrea - her features bore an anxious expression. Finally, she nodded.
"Alright, well...if all of you could keep an eye out for them both and send me word if you hear or see anything, I'd be grateful."
"We could pass you word to Grimmauld Place through Phineas Nigellus, if you like." Said Fleance.
"No," Lupin stepped forward, and a sudden hush fell over the portraits. This was the first time he had spoken. "No, I don't think that would be a wise idea. Perhaps you could go straight to Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts, and send the message through him, instead."
"None of us has a portrait in that office, werewolf." Orion said with a nasty sneer in his tone.
"That's not true."
A young-looking witch with long, honey-blonde hair and lovely grey eyes had suddenly appeared in the empty portrait over the door. Her skin was pale and flawless, and she wore beautiful robes of silver, embellished with beading and heavy brocade. She couldn't have been older than mid to late thirties, and Remus felt his breath catch slightly in his chest as he looked into her face: she was the spitting image of her daughter, Astrea.
"Mother," Astrea smiled up at the portrait.
"The occasional, less-than-accurate proclamation from your great uncle." Phaedria cast Orion an arch look. The dark young man flushed. "Don't worry - if we hear anything, I'll send your father to pass it on to Dumbledore. He'll get word to you quickly."
"Thank you." Said Astrea.
Phaedria looked fondly at her daughter and then turned her gaze to Lupin.
"You've grown up, young man." She observed with a wry smile.
Remus laughed.
"Hardly young anymore, I'm afraid, Mrs Ravenstone."
Phaedria's lovely face suddenly became grim.
"I was sorry to hear news of Sirius Black's death." She said solemnly. "My condolences."
"Thank you." Lupin nodded.
From somewhere in the Abbey, there came the faint, distant chiming of a clock, and above them there was a sudden flurry of wings and hoarse croaks, and a few feathers floated to the flagstone floor like long, black snowflakes.
"Astrea?" Lupin gently touched the woman's arm. "Come on - we have to be getting back soon."
Astrea nodded, and cast a final glance at the portrait where her mother stood.
"I hope they're alright." She murmured.
--
"Snobby bunch, aren't they?"
They were back down in the Tapestry Room, helping Sprocket to clear the last of the tea-things. Remus gave Astrea a small smile.
"I've met worse." He said.
Astrea straightened up and looked around.
"We used to have a family tree, like the one in Grimmauld Place, you know. But I put it away somewhere one time while I was in hiding here, and I'm afraid to say that I lost it."
She glanced at the shelf-lined walls with a half-hopeful, half-sheepish expression.
"All my ancestors were Ravenclaws.Well," She interrupted herself thoughtfully. "Unless you count Orion, I suppose. He was a Ravenclaw too, and so was his mother, Marelda - you met them both back there; Marelda's my great grandmother's sister - but she married Cirrus Lestrange. Orion was really the first Ravenstone to carry Slytherin blood; also the first of the Lestrange branch of our family, so I don't directly count him as one of my relatives."
Lupin stayed quiet: he didn't want to tread on what might well be a delicate subject. Astrea frowned up at the ceiling.
"So if Marelda was the first Ravenstone to marry into the Lestrange line...that would make Orion...Rodolphus'...great uncle. Like he is to me. Thank god we're only related by marriage..." She concluded with a dark shudder.
Lupin cleared his throat.
"I notice that all your family have dark hair." He said, shifting the course of the discussion a little. "Apart from you, Caspian and your mother."
Astrea smiled.
"It's my father, Belarius, who's the Ravenstone stock in the marriage." She explained. "He's got the characteristic eye colour and dark hair. My mother, on the other hand, was from a French-rooted pureblood family whose name was 'De-lys'."
"'De-lys' as in 'fleur-de-lys'?" Asked Lupin.
"Yes. So my mother had the De-lys fair hair and the grey eyes, but my father has the Ravenstone dark hair and the mauve eyes." "Ah, I see." Remus nodded.
Astrea looked at him, and smiled somewhat disbelievingly.
"I can't believe you weren't bored for even a second there." She said incredulously.
"On the contrary, your family history is positively fascinating." Lupin smiled back.
Astrea raised an eyebrow.
"Are you playing with me?"
Lupin kept his expression mild.
"Maybe."
"On your head be it," Shrugged Astrea, crossing the room to a sort of minature wardrobe that stood by the opposite wall. "It was you who steered me onto the subject in the first place."
"Very observant of you, Rea."
Astrea bent to open one of the little doors. Inside the wardrobe was a rack of perfectly proportioned, scaled-down robes, mostly of the same quality and style as the ones which the occupants of the family gallery had been wearing. The honey-haired witch reached in and slipped one of them off its hanger, and as she lifted it out of the wardrobe, it suddenly expanded to full size, just as the front door key had done for the lock. The robe was a magnificent patchwork of different cloths and shades of blue and purple: a square of dark violet satin here set off a square of ultramarine brocade there, and the tiny silver stars embroidered into that piece of cornflower dupioni silk flashed like the curling treble clefs in the mallard-blue velvet above it. The back and front trailed long, plaited ties of silver-threaded ribbons, and the burnished celtic-knot clasps clinked as Astrea hefted it into her arms. From the slightly strained expression on her face, Lupin gathered the garment was rather heavy.
Astrea flushed awkwardly as she felt his eyes on her, and quickly knocked the wardrobe door shut again. She seemed embarrassed at the amount of finery hung inside.
"Spellsinger robe. One of the other things I wanted to come back for." She kept her eyes averted, her cheeks still glowing. "I had to pack quickly..."
"Rea," Lupin smiled sympathetically. "You don't have to get embarrassed everytime your family's circumstances come up. I don't get work very often; it shows." He plucked at his patched robes and shrugged. "That's not your fault."
"I don't like the topic of pureblood wealth." Said Astrea, a little fiercely. "It's wrong."
"Alright," Soothed Lupin. "Alright - we don't have to talk about it."
Astrea seemed to relax a little, and cast him an apologetic glance.
"I'm sorry." She sighed, examining the robe. "I don't know why it gets me so irritated...It's because of families like the Malfoys; people judge quickly. I don't want them to get the wrong idea."
"I know exactly how you feel." Said Lupin quietly.
Astrea's eyes were comprehending in the ensuing silence.
"We'd better get back to Grimmauld Place." She said eventually. "The others will be wondering where we've got to."
--
On their way out, there was an emotional fairwell from Sprocket who waylaid them to return their cloaks. He watched his mistress prepare to leave again with a sort of obedient sadness that was almost heartbreaking, and as Lupin turned for the door, a sudden thought occurred to him. Turning back again, he surveyed the elf thoughtfully, and then looked at his old schoolmate.
"Astrea?"
"Yes?"
The woman paused with her hand on the doorhandle. Lupin tried to stop himself shuddering as he noticed that this too was fashioned from burnished silver.
"Might I ask how you would feel about Sprocket coming to work at Grimmauld Place?"
Astrea did a double-take.
"I'm sorry?"
"Well, now that Kreacher has reached his..." Remus cleared his throat. "Unfortunate demise, the house is bereft of a house-elf. Kreacher never really did any work to begin with, but I think Molly struggles with the maintenance."
He raised his eyebrows questioningly at her. Astrea regarded the startled-looking Sprocket over her shoulder.
"That's not such a bad idea." She said.
"But who will look after the Abbey if Sprocket goes with Mistress A and Sir?" Queried the elf in his high voice.
Remus frowned.
"Ah - I hadn't thought of that. You don't have to agree if it's inconvenient."
Astrea shook her head slowly.
"No, no - I think we'll be alright." She made deliberate eye-contact with Sprocket. "The house is a small matter."
Lupin didn't know exactly what was being said, but something about the way Astrea emphasised her last few words told him that this last statement had been significant. Sprocket's eyes widened in realisation.
"Of course, Mistress A." He nodded, his huge, violet-coloured gaze never leaving hers.
Astrea winked at him, and then gave Lupin a secretive smile.
"You're coming with us, Sprocket." She turned the silver handle and pushed the front door open as she gave the order. Sprocket executed a deep bow, and then scurried after her into the fresh air, leaving Lupin to follow nonplussed.
They left the porch and walked a way out into the clearing, so that when they faced the Abbey, the whole structure fitted within their field of vision. Then, a little uncertainly, Astrea took two steps forward and making a curious gesture in the air with her fingers, sang in a high, imperious voice:
"Abbatia deportus!"
Nothing seemed to happen. Then, ever so gradually - slow at first, but gaining speed - the Abbey itself began to shrink before their very eyes. It quite literally sank and compressed, as though they were moving away from it at great speed and seeing it from an ever-increasing distance. Lupin stared at the spectacle infront of them with a kind of shocked fascination; even Astrea herself looked more than a little disquieted.
After about a minute, when the house seemed to have reached its final size, the honey-haired woman walked towards it, her expression slightly faint, and stooped. The entire thing was now small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. Very carefully, she picked it up, and slipped it into the pocket of her robe. Then she turned back to Lupin and Sprocket, and shook her head weakly.
"My family are disturbing."
--
Privet Drive was quiet in the dusk of late evening, and the air was chill and earthy with the smell of recent rain. Harry sat by his open window, the burning sensation of expectation growing in his diaphragm with every passing second. He glanced over Hedwig in her cage, his Firebolt and his packed trunk for the hundredth time, and then re-read the letter he was clutching tightly in his hands:
Dear Harry,
I hope this finds you in good health, and that our presents reached you in time for your birthday,
Harry thought happily of the assortment of gifts from Lupin (a magical almanac), the Weasleys (a snitch collectively, the usual large box of Berty Bott's Every Flavour Beans from Ron, and a wide array of products from the twins' joke shop), Hermione (a very expensive-looking and high-quality quill set) and the others all stowed away in his luggage.
I also hope that the Dursleys have been treating you well. Since you haven't mentioned anything, I assume they are.
We will be coming to collect you on my opposite night. Have your things packed and be ready to leave soon after we arrive.
Until then, look after yourself, and I look forward to seeing you again soon.
Moony
When he had first received it, it had taken Harry a little while to understand the disguised messages within the letter. Lupin always signed his letters with his old nickname incase they were intercepted - that had needed no figuring-out to fathom. The bit about 'my opposite night', however, had been a slightly different matter. It had eventually been resolved when Harry had checked his lunar chart as a last, desperate resort for any sort of clue, and found that the new moon of that month fell on the Saturday of the week the letter had arrived. So there he was: half-past ten on Saturday night, trunk packed, sitting by his window, ready to escape the Dursleys for another school year.
The letters he had had from his friends over the summer holidays had been a little fewer than he would have liked, but there had still been more than there were last year, and Ron's and Hermione's and Lupin's had all been full of concern and questions about how he was doing, and promises that they would be getting him away from the Dursleys as soon as was magically or humanly possible.
And yet, for all the support they had given him, nothing seemed to be able to fill the awful, aching emptiness that had stayed with him all summer. The emptiness in his life that Sirius had once filled: no letters; no wondering where his godfather was and whether he was ok; no fatherly advice when he felt uneasy - Lupin was no less caring, but it simply wasn't the same - and no daydreams that perhaps, just maybe, at the end of this year, he might be escaping the Dursleys once and for all, and going to live with Sirius. So many times he had lain awake just thinking about it - Sirius' seemingly eternal backwards arc through the tattered, black veil playing over and over in his head, refusing to be shut out - and suddenly found himself weeping bitterly up at the ceiling. Sometimes, he even whispered his godfather's name out loud, in the ridiculous hope that it might summon him back to comfort Harry, and then everything would be alright again. More than once, he thought about how he had smashed the two-way mirror Sirius had given him when it had failed to work, and a searing regretfulness had swollen in his throat. So many things; so many things; all the little things; all the stupid, silly, beautiful little things that Sirius had added to his life were suddenly wrenched from his grasp, and held out of his reach forever. As many times as Harry had wished aloud for Sirius to come back, he had sworn furiously that Bellatrix Lestrange was going to die, and that he would be the one who saw to it.
Harry turned back to the window, wiping his face dry on his sleeve. The crisp, rain-smelling breeze cooled his skin, and the pavements and road glistened, pitted with glassy puddles; Privet Drive was still empty.
Harry looked down at the letter again, his previous excitement gradually beginning to deflate. What if Lupin hadn't meant tonight at all? What if he, Harry, had got it wrong, and they were going to collect him some other evening? The sinking sensation in his chest had gathered speed now, sliding down towards his stomach. Wouldn't it just be his luck if that were the case.
Harry moved away from the window and threw himself down on his bed, letting Lupin's letter be plucked from his grasp by the air, and drift slowly to the floor. From her cage atop his trunk, Hedwig gave out a doleful hoot.
"Sorry, girl." Harry said quietly, staring up at the ceiling. "Looks like we're going to be stuck here for a while longer."
--
The quartet of witches and wizards stood looking up at the glowing upstairs window of No. 4 from the dewy front lawn.
"He's spent...the whole of sixteen years...living here?" Astrea was staring at the house with a very ruffled expression. "What was Dumbledore trying to do? Drain all the magic out of him?"
"No, but that was his Aunt and Uncle's general idea." Growled Moody.
"Poor chap." Said Tonks, her spiky, bubblegum-pink hair glowing in the streetlamps.
Lupin checked his watch.
"Come on, we'd better go and get him. He'll have started to think we're not coming at all."
They swept across the lawn, the hems of their cloaks stained dark by the wet grass, and crowded into the front porch. Moody's magical eye whizzed and spun in all directions as he reached up with one gnarled old hand and rapped the brass knocker on the door.
"Do Harry's family know we're coming to collect him?" Astrea asked Remus in a low, curious tone.
Lupin looked at her.
"Yes."
"But their reactions are bound to be entertaining all the same." Said Tonks, her dark eyes twinkling.
There was a long pause and a silence, and then someone very cautiously, very tentatively, came to answer the door. It moved open ajar, and a large, beady-eyed, purple face peered through the gap at them.
"Evening, Dursley." Moody snarled in an ominous voice.
The man's eyes widened, and he licked his lips nervously.
"They're here, Petunia." He called out. Astrea almost had to admire the amount of effort he was putting into attempting to keep his voice down the octave.
The door opened to its full extent somewhat jerkily, and the four passed over the threshold. As they trooped through the narrow entrance hall, Vernon Dursley eyed the fresh scars on Lupin's mild face with some degree of horror. Lupin noticed him looking, and merely flashed him a pleasant smile.
They moved slowly through into what proved to be an ajoined sitting room and kitchen, where a thin, horse-faced woman was clutching a massively-built, blonde-haired boy protectively to her chest like a giant baby, as far away from the witches and wizards as they could get. As Astrea glanced at them, she saw their terrified gazes slide from Tonk's neon-pink hair to her startling mauve eyes. For no other reason than she had taken an instant dislike to these people, and wanted to further their suffering in any way possible, Astrea granted them a beautiful smile, and winked. So much blood drained from the dark-haired woman's face that it appeared quite likely she was going to faint.
"Rea, that's not nice."
Lupin's twitching mouth contradicted the reproachfulness of his tone.
"And while they don't deserve it right now, they're owed sixteen years of not-niceness from me." Astrea muttered darkly.
Lupin smiled.
"Whatever you say, dear."
"Thank you, darling."
--
"Boy!"
Harry lifted his head off the covers at the bidding of sudden curiosity: Uncle Vernon's voice sounded more than a little shaken as it came up the stairs. And he was sure he'd heard the sound of the front door opening...
"Boy!"
"What?" Harry demanded, trying to keep the rising hope out of his voice.
His bedroom door opened. Uncle Vernon stood out on the landing, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his brow, and his usually-purple face several shades paler than normal.
"Some of...your lot. Downstairs. Come to get you." He said in a slightly strangled voice.
Harry could have shouted for joy. Volting off his bed, he barrelled past Uncle Vernon and took the stairs two at a time. The entrance hall was a blur, and then suddenly he was skidding to a halt in the living room, and beaming into the faces of three of the people he'd been waiting to see all summer.
"Hi!" He greeted them rather breathlessly.
"Hello, Harry."
Lupin smiled warmly and stepped forward to give Harry's hand a firm shake, followed by Moody who did the same. Tonks promptly enveloped him in a tight hug once he was free again, and then stepped back to grin at him.
"Wotcher, Harry! Have a good birthday?"
"Yeah, not bad." Said Harry, throwing a deliberate glance at the Dursleys, who were cowering in the corner. "Thanks for all the presents - they were great."
And it was only then, as his eyes strayed momentarily over Tonks' shoulder, that he suddenly noticed there was a seventh person in the room: a lovely witch with long, honey-blonde hair and pale blue-mauve eyes who stood quietly off to one side of the others. She was staring at him with a rather faint expression, and her right hand was gripping the edge of the kitchen counter so hard that her knuckles had turned white. Harry shifted awkwardly beneath her gaze and looked away. Noticing the young man's discomfort, Lupin glanced to its source and seemed to understand instantly.
"Harry," He said, crossing to the new witch. "This is Astrea Ravenstone - she's new to the Order. She was in our year at Hogwarts."
Harry's eyes snapped round to look at her again. If she had been in their year at Hogwarts, then that must have meant...The witch smiled, as thought she had read his thoughts.
"Yes, I knew them." She nodded. Glancing over Harry's messy black hair and green eyes, she added with a chuckle: "I bet you're sick of hearing how much you look like them; but you do."
Harry grinned. The witch's face softened to a smile again, and she came forward to shake the hand he offered out to her, the colour beginning to return to her cheeks.
"It's a pleasure to see you again at last, Harry." She said, her thyme-flower eyes sparkling. "Looks like you and I have quite a bit of catching up to do."
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