Disclaimer: I don't own the HP characters, themes, and places that are liable to make an appearance below, though a great number of them are OCs. It's still very useless to sue me; I'm no richer than the last time I wrote one of these things.
A/N: I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my Social Studies teacher, Dr. Scott for two reasons. One, I left my notebook with this story in it in his room and he ran down to the buses to give it back to me when he could've just made me wait until tomorrow to get it and also because he sort of reminds me of Lupin, he's nice and a good teacher and all that. (Briana is praising a teacher?! What is the world coming to!)
Also, as always, thanks to the reviewers, particularly Rinnington, lucidity, and Feerique-Freak. It's such a good feeling to get nice reviews from people. Now, on with the story.
Chapter 7
Discussions of Souls
Aurelia was diving through her desk, which looked like a paper factory had exploded somewhere in the vicinity.
"What is all this, anyway?" asked Alan, who had just arrived in her and Lupin's flat.
"Where the hell is my goddamn quill?" shouted Aurelia from under her mess of a desk. "I just saw—OUCH!" she had tried to stand up but her head had come in contact with the underside of the desk, causing her to swear louder than she had before.
"Aurelia?"
"WHAT?!"
She looked like she very much wanted to kick something hard, and he figured if he didn't act now it could be him. "Your quill's right here," he said, fishing it out from under a pile of parchment on the desk.
She snatched it from him and mumbled, "Thanks." Then she dove for a piece of parchment and started scribbling feverishly on it.
"Aurelia?"
"Hmm?"
"Just who're you writing to?"
"Remember those papers you snitched awhile back?" she asked, still writing.
Alan leaned casually over the desk. "I snitch a lot of things, Aurelia. You're going to have to be more specific."
She stopped writing long enough to roll her eyes then continued. "From Umbridge, dung-for-brains. The magazine."
"Ah, yes, I remember nicking that. My finest hour, if I do say so myself."
"No jokes now, Alan. The man in that article is who Remus told me to find."
Alan looked thoughtful and unnaturally serious. "Do you think Remus knew something about him?"
"I doubt it. He would've told me if he had. He probably just figured the man could help us figure out what's happening."
"He always was a smart one, wasn't he?"
"Is a smart one, Alan. Remus is a smart one," she said, finishing the letter, folding it up, and sealing it with her wand.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Lupin closed his eyes, for he did not want to look at the depressing cave walls for another moment. Escape, of course, was on his mind.
Apparating was the obvious choice. He tried, but it was like running into a brick wall. Probably an Anti-Disapparation Jinx. Not surprising.
He didn't have his wand, so dueling with Bridget was out. He supposed when she came back in here he could just slug her but with his lame legs that didn't seem a good prospect. He couldn't crawl out of the cave on his arms.
His legs scared him the most of all. Bridget had said they should get better, but it still frightened him. He sank back into his rough pillow on his equally rough cot. Now sleep was all he could think of. Curiously enough, he could feel no real fear of what lie ahead at that point. It was hard when he wasn't even sure where he was or what he was doing here. He supposed it was likely to change later but now, he sank into sleep.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Alan spent an awkward day pent up in the flat with Aurelia, who was pacing nervously, seemingly waiting for her owl to return. He tried to read a book that Remus had lent him a few days before, but that just made him think of what had happened, so he ended up staring off into space, thinking very hard. Finally, at evening time, he spoke.
"Aurelia?"
She turned from her place at the window, where she had been watching the gray clouds for some sign of the post. "Yes?"
"Do you remember that day in the woods? When we got lost?"
She seemed surprised he was talking about this, but not as surprised as he was that he had brought it up. "Of course I do. How could I forget that?"
He shook his head. "It's just that…I was four at the time."
"I know that, Alan."
"Yes, well, I was only four, so the whole thing sort of blurs together in my mind, so I was wondering…"
Aurelia watched him warily. "Alan, haven't I already told you about that night? You didn't think your incessant badgering me about the topic whenever Mum wasn't around wasn't enough to get the full story? What's wrong?"
He also examined her. She was in what he liked to call her "full-battle stance," her feet were planted firmly on the floor and her fists were balled with rage he knew was not meant for him. "I was just thinking. Me and Remus, we've had the lycanthropy for as long as we could remember, pretty much, but you…" he trailed off, still trying to sort out what he wanted to tell her, "you remember what it was like not to have it."
A very stuffy silence filled the air of the flat, and Aurelia seemed, for once in her life, to be at a loss for what to say. "I, I do. Why?"
"I was just wondering if you did, that's all. I was thinking about that night in the forest and it occurred to me that the whole bite must have been even worse for you because, well…"
"What?"
"You knew something better. I mean to say, you knew what it was like and you could remember what it was like to be, well, normal."
Aurelia sat down next to him on the couch, staring in front of her as though lost in thought. When she spoke, she sounded absentminded. "Really, Alan, being normal, could you stand it?"
"What?"
"I couldn't. I enjoy being…what's the word? Un-normal?"
He smirked, casting a sideways glance at his sister, whom he saw was smiling faintly as well. "Un-normal? First sign of insanity, isn't it? Making up words?"
"Oh, there's got to be another sign before that," she muttered.
"Whatever it is, I'm sure you've exhibited it. Remind me to ask Remus when I see him again."
She looked at him solidly now, not smiling anymore, but for once not looking angry. "I will. We'll ask him together."
"Right."
At that moment, an owl flew into the room and dropped a letter on the table in front of them. Alan made a grab for it, but Aurelia was quicker. She read it quickly, and then said, "Right, we're leaving in an hour."
"Leaving?" he asked, finally getting the parchment from her. It was written in a rather shaky hand that said simply Come at 7 o'clock tonight. We can talk and had an address.
"Aurelia, are you even sure that we can trust this, what's his name again? Oh, here it is, Billings. How do we know he isn't…"
She waved off his worries with her hand. "Don't worry, I've told him we're simply interested in what he does and that we're reporters."
His eyes widened. "Reporters? For the newspaper?"
"Something like that," said Aurelia vaguely, picking up Remus' book that Alan had set down and flipping through it. "Don't worry it'll be fine. You're likely to mess up somehow, so let me do the talking, will you?"
"Thanks so much for your vote of confidence," he mumbled.
"Anytime, anytime."
That's how it happened that Alan found himself in a stuffy sitting room, sipping on tea that tasted like it had been sitting on the shelf a fair few years and watching the quivering jowls of an old wizard who eyed them rather beadily. Alan supposed their disguise as two word-weary reporters had to be wearing thin, but Aurelia stuck to it.
"What we really wanted to ask you about," she said after listening to a ten minute tirade on the benefits Shrinking Spells versus that of a potion, "is a particular article you were quoted in several months ago. It was in Magizoology Monthly, I think I have it right…yes, here it is." She reached into her bag and pulled out the magazine. Alan wondered briefly how she had gotten it, as he hadn't given it to her, then remembered he wasn't the only one in the family with quick fingers; she had probably nicked it from his flat sometime when she was there and he wasn't. She flipped open to the page in question. The old man's white, tufty eyebrows had made a near perfect V-shape as he looked at the article, then shook his head. "Dodgy stuff, that," he pronounced finally.
"What do you mean?" prompted Aurelia. "Did you ever make any progress on it? What research did you do?"
Mr. Billings shook his head again. "No, I couldn't. It was just a theory presented to me by a colleague that I was testing out."
Alan had decided previous to this that being a magical theorist or whatever Mr. Billings called himself had to be one of the most excruciating jobs on the planet; it was just a lot of complex spell jargon and lots and lots of nothing even remotely interesting. He'd been fighting the urge to yawn throughout the entire interview. Not until Mr. Billings had mentioned the werewolf article had he really started paying attention.
"What exactly was it? The theory? The article itself is rather vague, you can see."
"Yes…well, as I said, it is a rather dodgy topic. One that often can, um, question the morals of the theorists who bring it up."
Alan was bursting to ask if it had done so to his, but a look from Aurelia silenced him. She nodded at the old wizard to continue.
"The theory involves…well, to understand it, I suppose you need some background. You've heard of a dementor's Kiss?"
Alan felt his stomach plummet and heard Aurelia say slowly, "Yes…"
"After the Kiss is preformed on a subject, where do you think the extracted soul goes?"
That thought was so unpleasant that Alan scarcely wanted to even contemplate it. Aurelia told Mr. Billings she couldn't imagine what became of it.
"Presumably, it is digested somehow by the dementor, for that's what a dementor feeds on, of course, happiness, and even in the most glum person on the planet there are some happy memories in his or hers own soul. Our knowledge of dementors, however, is sparse at best. I mean," he grinned, "would you want to be the one to study them?"
Aurelia smiled back feebly. "N-no. Wouldn't at all."
"Well, we really don't know what becomes of a soul after the dementor's done with it, but what is up for debate is whether, if the soul was taken, it could be of use."
Aurelia raised her eyebrow, though she still felt faintly sick. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."
"Allow me too explain. If you took the soul, it has, well, essence, wouldn't you say?"
"Essence?"
"What people are made of, what they are, if you wish to put it that way. That's what your soul is, after all. If you could bottle that, what it is that people are, what gives them strength, well…" he trailed off thoughtfully. "The premise intrigued me, no less, even it does sound somewhat fanciful."
"Where do the werewolves come into it?" That had been Alan, and it surprised him, but he suddenly been taken over by an Aurelia-like furor.
Mr. Billings looked a little surprised as well. He said delicately, "Well, werewolves, themselves, are interesting creatures, as half the time they are as normal as any man yet also there's a small part of them that's…different. More fierce than a normal being in some ways. Darker, if you wish. Just a small part of them, of course. Do you know what I mean?"
Neither of them really did, but they nodded to play along.
"Well, that power, that essence, is what we were after. But it didn't work out, and it's probably best that it didn't. As I said, it's incredibly dodgy stuff."
Needless to say, after that, they both felt more confused than they had before, if that was possible.
"Funny you should be so interested in that particular article, I had another chap coming by to ask me about it as well," he said thoughtfully.
Alan had been on the verge of announcing their departure, but now he stopped. "Who?"
"No one in particular, just a younger colleague. He was very interested, actually. Bit too much, maybe. He asked for all the research I had done on the topic, and, as I had been finished with it, I gave it to him. He might have furthered on it, I don't know, bit of an odd chap, that one."
"When was this?"
"Quite a while back now, I know that article is pretty old. Merlin, I am getting old, I can barely even remember now. A year? Six months?"
"Maybe we could get his name? The man who asked about it before? We could include any information he could give us in our, um, article," said Alan. Aurelia, he saw, looked extremely upset, so he figured he should do the talking.
Mr. Billings looked questioning, but said, "Yes, of course." And he copied a name down for them. "I hope I've been of help to you."
"Oh, you have," Alan assured him, and with that, he and his sister Apparated home.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Belinda Strauss stood nervously behind the door of her boss' office, tapping her foot on the wooden floor.
She was a curvy black girl who had the quality of stuttering when she got jittery, which made the prospect of talking to her boss a very daunting one. Still, she had to try, for this had been bothering her all day.
I mean, she thought earnestly, even if he is a werewolf, we should still do something about him. She didn't know much about werewolves except what she had picked up from ghost stories at school and home, and she expected most of that had been embellished to make for something good to tell around the fire or wherever. Werewolves couldn't be pure evil, could they?
The door opened and her titchy little boss, Hermes Finkle, stood in the threshold.
"Miss Strauss," he said in a serious voice and stepped back to let her in.
There were two strangers in the office, one a shifty eyed young man who fidgeted nervously in his seat and the other a squat smiling witch with a horrible hand-knit red vest on. Belinda knew her by sight; Madam Umbridge, Fudge's assistant. Both of the strangers were situated behind the desk with Mr. Finkle, while a chair in front of it was obviously intended for her. This made her tremble, for the scene looked suspiciously like an interrogation. Too much in fact. She shivered.
Madam Umbridge grinned a horrible grin at her. "No need to be nervous, dear. Hermes?"
Mr. Finkle, her boss, had never struck her as a man particularly used to dishing out authority, so he trembled nearly as much as Belinda had. Dolores Umbridge in his office! Belinda wondered what someone with as much influence with Fudge was doing in her dingy little corner of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Everyone knew Madam Umbridge had the Minister wrapped around her little finger. What she was doing here….
Mr. Finkle asked Belinda to sit, which she did, her nerves still not assuaged. Finkle cleared his throat. "Well, Melinda," he started, casting a sideways look at Umbridge, "we wanted to ask you about this visit you got up at the desk from two rather, um, intriguing strangers. First, allow me to introduce Madam Umbridge. She was worried when I told her of your two visitors, so she asked to sit in when I met with you. And this is Mr. Butler, her assistant." Belinda nodded to each of them in turn, not bothering to correct Mr. Finkle when he forgot her name.
From this point on, Madam Umbridge seemed to take charge of the affair. Smiling in what she must have thought was a kindly manner she stared at Belinda, as though sizing her up. Belinda was reminded strongly of the day her brother had played a joke on her by placing a slimy toad in front of her face while she woke up (actually, the toad wasn't slimy, toads aren't by nature, but it might as well have been, the way she'd screamed). Belinda trembled even harder under the toad-like gaze. "Well, dear, I suppose it begins several months ago, when a law was passed called the Werewolf Protection Act. Had you heard of it?"
Belinda shook her head.
"Basically, it was just a piece of legislation designed to bring stability and order to a small section to our society that could be considered very dangerous. Extremely dangerous. Do you understand, dear?"
She nodded mutely, wishing Madam Umbridge would stop calling her "dear."
"I and several others worked tirelessly with the Ministry for months and finally the bill was passed, and no one was more happy than I, I assure you. Many of us felt safer in bed at night because of this bill."
"B-but," interrupted Belinda, "I thought that werewolves aren't—that they aren't, I mean," she stopped, for she was stuttering. Trying to clear her thoughts, she started again slowly. "I thought that they weren't um, I mean, don't they take some sort of potion that, you know…changes them?" she finished somewhat lamely. She had heard of such a thing, but only in passing. She was surprised she had even brought it up at all, but Madam Umbridge seemed to be going in another direction with this. They didn't seem all that concerned by with this Lupin man. Not at all.
Umbridge seemed taken aback and stared at Belinda now even harder, as though she had to form an entirely new impression of her character. "Yes, well, that's true, they do have ways to treat their condition, but many of us are still worried that problems may still exist. They may choose to be lax with their treatment, for sometimes it can happen, particularly with creatures such as that, do you understand what I mean, dear?"
"I—I suppose….""
"Wonderful," she said in a sweet, falsely cheery voice. "So you'll have no problem describing for me the two who visited your desk this morning, will you?"
Belinda stared at the three people in front of her. Mr. Finkle still looked as nervous as she felt, the Mr. Butler character looked quite honestly bored with the whole proceeding, and Madam Umbridge simply stared. "I--,"
"Their names, perhaps?"
"I didn't get those," said Belinda quietly, just realizing it now as she stared into her hands. How had she expected to owl them if she didn't know their names? Stupid of her, really.
"What did they look like?" asked Madam Umbridge with a tick of impatience in her voice.
"T-they both had red hair."
Umbridge looked satisfied. A wide smile came over her face. "Brother and sister, maybe?"
"Yes, most likely. The woman was very upset, because…." She stared into her lap; she was afraid if she looked in front she might lose her nerve. "Apparently her friend had disappeared and she was coming to report it. Remus Lupin was his name. I remember that, for the Werewolf Registry had a file on him and I picked that up. It's all in that note I left you there, Mr. Finkle."
Umbridge's cold smile still didn't leave her face. "Yes, I expected that. Mr. Lupin has applied for a travel pass to be abroad. He had to do so very specifically, for as a werewolf he is not allowed to travel without Ministry notification."
"That's a raw deal," said Belinda abruptly, surprising herself. "What if he wants to go on a holiday or something? He has to ask you permission? What is he, on probation? Has he committed a crime?" She wondered vaguely why she was arguing on the behalf of a man she had never met.
Umbridge now looked offended. "Not necessarily. Those procedures, like the one involving the werewolf travel pass, are set up in my bill for your safety, Miss Strauss, from dangerous beasts who--." She stopped, closed her eyes and took a deep breath as to collect herself.
Belinda turned to her boss now, demanding reason. "The woman who stopped by today, she said there's no way Lupin could be in Lithuania."
"Armenia."
"Whatever. They seemed quite adamant he wasn't there, though."
Mr. Finkle looked even more nervous. "I'm sure Madam Umbridge knows what she's doing, dealing with the werewolves who came in this morning. Perhaps you could be a little more cooperative."
Belinda started. It hadn't occurred to her that the two she had met that morning were werewolves. It intrigued her, for she had never met one before. They didn't seem hideous beasts to her. That woman had been a little fiery, but she seemed extremely upset as well. Genuinely upset, too upset to be lying. This Lupin fellow was probably her husband or brother or something and now no one would help her just because she was a werewolf. What was going on here she could only guess. "You don't think it's worth finding out, maybe just looking into, what these two people said. Even if they are werewolves."
All throughout Belinda's small outburst, Hermes Finkle had been cringing in his seat. He could only imagine what this girl small bit of recklessness was going to cost him. Finally, he stood. "Well, Melinda, your information had been thoroughly enlightening, I'm sure you'd like to get home, it's getting late."
Belinda, after her small flare-up of disbelief had fled, had gone back in her introverted shell. She nodded, and with another look at Umbridge, she left the office.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Bridget had nothing to do that night at dinner, for both of the male occupants of the cave were asleep and she thought it best to let them be. She didn't know what kind of moon the werewolf would be in when he woke up. She did know what kind of mood the Speaker would be in, so she let him be, so she let him be. They were both still tired from the events of the previous night, she knew. She wandered aimlessly through the stone corridors of the cave, wishing that Dalen was here or that the Lupin man would wake up so she would have someone to talk to. Not that she and Dalen ever had had really thought-provoking conversations, she knew he found her immeasurably odd. She also knew that the only conversation she could have with Mr. Lupin would be another hopelessly awkward one. Why she desired another one was unknown to her.
Eventually she came to the entrance of the cave, which by this late in the evening was soaked in moonlight. The clouds had gone, leaving blankets of heavy snow in their wake. And the quiet. God, that deathly quiet was all around, the wind did not even blow, and she was too high up on the mountain and too far away from the village to hear any remote sounds of life. She hated the quiet, for when it got quiet she thought very hard. She got very analytical.
Despite the open entrance, it never got cold in the cave because of the Insulating Charm Tom had placed on it years ago before he had left. He had done so because he knew how much she hated the cold yet loved the snow. "Now," he had told her, "you can be warm and stare out at the snow all you want, if you'd like." And she did, often, but it was not the same. She had not left the cave in a number of years, so she had not touched the snow in many, many years. It was not the same, she thought. She could not leave the mountain and touch the snow.
It was funny how much the small things could matter. Things like the moon, which was now just a little less than full. A little thing like that tiny sliver of moon meant the world to Mr. Lupin, didn't it? A tiny feeling like cold snow beneath her fingers just one more time meant so much to her. Funny how that was.
It was far too quiet around here, she decided. Her mind thought these odd things when it was too quiet.
When everyone woke up around here, she resolved to find a way to make some more noise.
When Mr. Lupin wakes up, perhaps, she thought, and left to make something to eat.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
A young woman sat in a corner in a desk in the Magical Law Library in the Ministry, engrossed in a very heavy leather bound book. Embossed on the cover were the words Wizengamot Rulings, Vol. CXCXXXI. The lamp on her desk was the sole source of light in the dark library. When done, she stood up and took out her wand to put the book away back on the shelf, stretching her arms out wide as she did so.
It was late, well past ten o'clock and most people would have gone home by now. The amount of solitude she was sure to have relieved her, as she knew that she didn't want others to see what she planned to do, particularly Madam Umbridge. Her jaw set, as though she had finally found the nerve to act, she headed upstairs.
According to the bill she had just read, upstairs there should be a register she could read that would tell her the names and residences of all werewolves in Britain. She had a desire to talk to the two who had visited her this morning. They could explain to her what had happened to their friend and maybe help her make some sense of what had happened today in Mr. Finkle's office.
Her friend Peter was the only one working in the office of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and gave her the werewolf register when she requested it. Then he returned to the work at his desk, which appeared to be overflowing with parchment.
"Are you sure you're allowed to give this to me?" she asked uncertainly, holding the thick file folder he had handed and skimming it. "This has their names and all their information and everything."
Peter was far too overworked to care much about possible miscarriages of justice going on in his office. He shrugged. "They just tell me to give it to anyone who requests it."
"Hmm." She frowned, but took the folder to a safe corner where she was sure she would not be bothered.
There were twelve little tabs with names on them arranged alphabetically. Unsure of where to start, she took out the papers under "Lupin, Remus J."
A picture was attached of a worn-looking man whose hair was turning prematurely gray. He did not look, she noticed, excessively vicious, just tired and thin. Not a frightening werewolf at all.
The man lived in a flat in London with one Aurelia Callard, who was stated on the form as "significant other." A girlfriend, just what Belinda had been looking for. Sure enough, "Callard, Aurelia R." was listed along with "Callard, Alan D." on the registry. She copied down both of their addresses on a scrap of paper she'd ripped off Lupin's papers, because, she reflected grimly, if he was in Armenia he'd have no need of them.
Anyone walking by her corner right then would've thought that she was up to no good, that she was poring over illicit imformation she'd nicked from top-secret Ministry file. In reality, what she was doing was perfectly legal, she knew. Why she felt so jumpy, as if someone was following her, she couldn't explain.
She stood finally, tucking the scrap of paper into her robes, and taking a final look at the file stamped WEREWOLF REGISTRY across its front in black, heavy letters. There were only twelve or so names in it, something Belinda had to laugh at. Umbridge's whole "Werewolf Protection Act" had been formed as a vendetta against less than a dozen people. Sort of funny when you thought about it. Umbridge was a real minimalist, wasn't she? Or a bitch, it depends on your point of view.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
It was close to freezing that night, something Dalen Butler could tell you very well, as he was sitting in a cold car in the middle of it. Damn Umbridge had told him to rent a car and stake out Lupin's flat. Nothing flashy or suspicious that would attract unwanted attention, just something to hide out in. She had been adamant, however, that he not turn it on, lest the werewolves notice. I'm going to spend the entire morning tomorrow thawing myself out and does she give a damn?, he thought, grimacing. He had been nuts to do any of this in the first place, he thought. It was stupid and was not getting anywhere. That damn old man would stall as long as he could, for what? The Speaker didn't need any of the money that was going to come from the venture, that was painfully clear. What did an immortal old man need with thousands of Galleons? And that Bridget was even worse, with those creepy pale eyes that would stare you down if you gave them the time of day. It had been asinine to take up the entire convoluted plot in the first place, he knew that now. But it was too late to back out now. It was all or nothing from this point on. He realized that now and knew Umbridge had realized it too. They were in this until the end, whenever that may come.
Dalen reached for his wand, thinking of conjuring up a fire. Screw Umbridge, he was freezing, he needed warmth. Before he got there, however, something stirred in the alley between the buildings. It was too dark to see anything distinct, but it was someone, he could just make out, wearing wizards' robes. He leaned forward on the dash, narrowing his eyes. The person was walking quickly and was briefly illuminated by the street lamp. Dalen saw a black woman with delicate bones in her face and a nervous step. He recognized her with a trace of surprised. A trace, hell, he was really surprised. Belinda Strauss was shrouded in darkness until she reached the buzzers to the flats. Quickly she pressed one and staged a hurried conversation with whoever answered. Even in the darkness and across the street, Dalen could almost feel the nervousness radiating off her. Finally, with a swish of the robes, she went up the stairs to the flat.
Dalen lay back in the seat, letting the his fire warm him, wondering what the woman wanted with two werewolves and the whole lot of trouble they were about to find themselves in.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Belinda did not leave Lupin and Aurelia's flat until around midnight after she had had a long talk with it's two occupants. She told them all about the meeting in Mr. Finkle's office earlier that evening and Umbridge's insistence that Lupin was abroad.
"It's utter bilge, of course," Aurelia told her. "There's no way Remus would go to Latvia."
"Armenia," said Belinda and Alan together.
"Whatever! The point is it doesn't make sense because the day they say he left was a full moon. What werewolf in their right mind would travel on a full moon?"
Belinda nodded. "Well, that's what I figured. I checked the lunar chart."
Alan looked at her, impressed. "You sure did your homework, didn't you? How did you find us anyway? Aurelia wouldn't let me tell you our names."
Belinda only felt hurt for about a second, then explained about reading up in the library about Umbridge's werewolf bill and the subsequent search for the registry. Alan looked even more impressed. "And here I thought that damn thing could only cause trouble. That was...studious of you." He paused, thinking. "I don't mean to sound rude asking you this, Belinda, but..."
"Why are you here?" Aurelia finished for him, examining the other woman with biting mistrust. Belinda stared at her lap, something she did a lot of.
"I--I don't know. I just thought it was unfair they weren't doing anything and weren't planning on doing anything. My mother used to say 'an injustice anywhere is injustice everywhere,' or something like that. I'm not sure who said it originally, some American Muggle, but at any rate, that sounded incredibly stupid, what I just said, didn't it? But it's true and, well…" she trailed of, hoping to find some common ground. "That Umbridge woman seemed an incorrigible bitch, I suppose is what it was. That bill is utter dung, I thought, once I read it. What's she got against werewolves, anyway?"
Aurelia shrugged, but said, "I think it's got something to do with why he was taken."
Belinda didn't have to ask whom she meant. "Do you know why he was taken? Have you found out?"
Aurelia shook her head just a little too quickly and cast a warning look at Alan. "Not an inkling."
Belinda had a fairly acute internal polygraph; she was quite good at picking out liars. Nevertheless, she did not question the Callards on their reasons for withholding what they knew. She supposed they had ample reason not to trust her, she did work for the Ministry. In time they would, she supposed. Not now. Graciously, she took her leave, promising them to return soon with any information she could find.
Aurelia continued staring at the spot the young woman had Apparated from some time after she had left.
"What do you reckon?" Alan asked her finally.
She shrugged. "She seems genuine enough, I suppose. She doesn't seem to have the nerve to be a spy, really. But she could help us."
Alan grinned. "Besides," he pointed out, "what have we got to lose?"
NEXT CHAPTER: Lupin and Bridget have a long talk while Alan and Aurelia become fugitives from the law.
A/N: You know what would be incredibly nice of you? Reviewing, that's what! I plan to have a sort of explanation next chapter, worry not all persons reading this. And eventually it will tie in, sort of, with what happened in "Chamber of Secrets." Have I intrigued you yet into reading more of a story I've been working really hard on? Speaking of reading, how 'bout reviewing?
