Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world are the creations of J.K. Rowling. I just like to play with the characters.
Author's Note: And now, the moment you've all been waiting for... what really happened to Ani Hellsing. Don't expect all the chapters to be published as promptly as this one, or to be as long—I pre-wrote part of it :-) But for now, enjoy!
---
August 1st, 1993.
Tap tap tap.
Remus groaned and tried to bury his head in the corner of the couch. No more firewhiskey celebrations for me, his fogged brain thought. Merciless sunlight was pouring through the one pitiful window the flat possessed, amplifying the already brutal headache that was now making its presence known. And something had woken him up...
Tap tap tap. What the hell was that noise? Remus turned over and struggled to crack one eye open. Through the blistering sunlight he could see a small, dark silhouette at his window. What could—oh, bloody hell... An owl was here. It was probably the reference from the Daily Prophet he'd requested as soon as he'd returned home: before he'd gotten swept away celebrating, he'd decided to update his resume, and hoped that the Prophet had forgotten just why he'd been fired in the first place.
"The one time they decide to be prompt," Remus grumbled, fighting against the quilt he'd dragged over himself sometime in the night. He pushed to his feet, somewhat unsteadily, and fumbled for his wand. He absently charmed the coffee pot to begin brewing and walked into the bedroom, digging into the moneybag under his bed for a few Knuts to give the delivery bird.
He trudged back into the main room, where the impatient owl was now using his whole head to bang on the glass. "Give yourself a concussion, you little bugger, now cut it out," Remus informed it as he opened the window. The owl hopped in, looking indignant, and extended one scaly leg to Remus. He, Remus, frowned as he removed the letter and dropped a bronze coin into the owl's money pouch. Either the Daily Prophet had become less long-winded or this letter was from a different sender—the parchment was hardly more than a scrap.
Wildly curious now, Remus carefully unfolded the parchment and was stunned to see the same, elegant handwriting that he'd seen just the day before.
"Please return to Hogwarts immediately upon receiving this owl. I need to speak with you immediately. This is a matter of great importance.—Albus Dumbledore
PS: Take caution in your method of transportation. Take the Floo Network directly into my office. Do not come through Hogsmeade."
Remus sat down heavily. It had taken less time than he'd feared: somehow, someone had let word slip that Dumbledore had brought a werewolf onto his staff. The Howlers of protesting parents were probably already flooding the castle, shrieking their protests through its halls.
"Well," he said bitterly, crumpling the parchment in his hand. "Hired and fired, all within a day of each other. That must be some kind of record."
The acrid disappointment that was flooding into his stomach had overcome the dregs of his hangover. "Best go and face the music now," Remus muttered, heading for his tiny shower, slamming the door behind him. "There's no need for Dumbledore to humor the mob any longer than he has to." He stripped off the robes he'd slept in, kicking them into a corner unceremoniously, and turned on the water.
As he waited for it to get hot enough—Remus had always preferred the shower hotter than anyone else he'd known—a foul black mood overcame him. "Nice while it lasted, I suppose," he said aloud to himself, stepping through the steam into the hot needle spray. "It's not like I really wanted to be a professor anyway."
But even as the words left his mouth, he found himself hurtling forward into a memory.
"Open it now, I can't even stand it!" Lily squealed, sliding the carefully wrapped present across the table.
"You know you didn't have to get me a birthday present," Remus said, grinning at her as he reached for it.
James, a party hat sitting at a skewed angle on his dark hair, chuckled and put his arm around his vastly pregnant wife. "It's no use, mate," he informed his friend. "No one gets away from getting a birthday present." He gave Lily a squeeze and a tender look.
She gushed, "I ordered it especially for you, Remus. Oh, I hope you like it!"
Remus shook his head with a grin and tore off the paper. He felt his heart swell as he pulled out a handsome, buttery leather briefcase. His name was stamped across it stately letters: Professor R.J. Lupin. "This is far too much, you two," Remus said, turning it over, admiring its fine finish.
"Not at all," James replied firmly.
"You're going to be a smashing teacher," Lily boasted. "You need proper equipment! Something to make them respect you!"
"Thanks so much, Lil, James," he repeated, standing to hug each of them in turn. "It's perfect."
Peter bustled through the door to Lily and James' kitchen. "We've just finished!" he exclaimed, and with a wave of his wand he turned down the lights, dimming the room to a smooth amber. "Ready!" he called back into the kitchen.
The doors to the kitchen swung open, and two figures emerged, a huge cake held between them. Remus watched happily as the candlelight danced merrily over all their faces: James, Lily, Peter, and...
He slammed his fist against the wall and swore aloud. Who was he kidding? He'd wanted to be a professor since before Hogwarts. Now it was all ruined, thanks to a nightmare that had happened over two decades ago. It just wasn't fair.
Resigned, he tilted his face up to the spray as he finished his shower. The heat and water had eased some of the tension but none of the rage. "I just don't understand," he mused, wrapping a towel around his waist, "how they found out so quickly."
He was halfway into a clean shirt and a worn pair of jeans—why break out his good robes to be fired?—when a realization hit him with the force of a blow.
"It was Snape!" he shouted. "Who else? That bastard contacted the parents and told them I was a werewolf!"
Furious now, he jerked his socks and decrepit shoes onto his feet and grabbed his wand. He stormed for his fireplace and with a snarled spell conjured up a leaping fire. "After Dumbledore fires me," he swore, "I will march into the castle, find that greasy little bag of filth, and punch him right in his ugly, greasy nose."
He threw a dash of Floo powder into the fire and hurtled towards Hogwarts.
---
The gods always seemed to smile benignly over the town of Caprice, fifty miles from the border of southern New York. A small town of no more than five hundred year-round occupants, Caprice lay nestled contentedly between a ridge of pine-wreathed mountains and the stony shore of a deep, still lake. The very last house in Caprice, the farthest from all the others, the old McHerrin lodge, sat cooling its feet in this lake.
On this particular day in Caprice, the weather was especially fine. A few high, wispy clouds floated through a cerulean sky and an occasional birdsong trilled through the otherwise silent air. The air tasted clean and cold—as soon as the sun set, the rain would begin to fall. The surface of the lake was notably still, its waters disturbed by neither mallard nor heron. The setting was perfectly pristine.
But suddenly, from the very center of the lake, there came a great surge of water and air, and in the midst of all this tranquility there emerged a sleek, wet brown head gasping for breath.
Anne Hellsing wrenched in a gasp, filling her lungs so deeply that they ached. The heaves echoed over the water. When her body had ceased its cries for oxygen, she gave a fluttering kick to turn over and float on her back, staring up into the achingly blue sky. The game of laying as still as she could under the water until the need for air overcame her had turned from a game into a battle of wills, mind versus body. Each additional second that she could trick her body to stay beneath the water was worth the screaming of lungs and limbs. Perhaps someday she would need no air at all. The thought made her smile.
Once she felt fully strong and recovered again—which took much less time than it had when she began this game so many years ago—Anne turned once more and began the swim back to shore with long, steady strokes. She slipped through the silken water like a seal, her muscles lean and streamlined from a decade of vigorous aquatic exercise. As she reached the shallows, Anne stood and shook the excess water from her body.
She glanced at the sky: four o'clock, or thereabouts. She stretched languidly and reached for the slightly shabby towel she'd stretched over the stony shore. Sarah Michaels would soon be bringing her son Sammy up to the Lodge for Anne to examine. Hopefully she'd be able to help soothe the coughing spasms that had plagued the boy for the past two weeks. Anne had no medical license, no official practice, no office hours, but if a bone needed setting, a cough needed tending or a wound needed dressing, the people of Caprice called on Anne. More serious matters—ones that could not be handled by Anne Hellsing's herbs and remedies—were taken to the doctor in For Billingsley, about forty miles away. By and large, however, Caprice preferred Anne. She took no payment but was well rewarded by the generosity of the farmers and merchants who lived in town.
Wrapping the towel snugly around her shoulders, Anne hurried up the gentle slope to the Lodge, a handsome, medium-sized grey-stone cabin shaded by oak and elm. She wrung out the remaining water in her long, glossy curls and pushed open the door, stepping into the house.
The inside of the Lodge, open to air and sunlight, pulled her in like beckoning arms. The only things more welcoming, Anne thought with a slow smile, were the actual strong arms that pulled her against an equally strong chest as she shut the door behind her.
"Thought you'd drowned, little otter," Lucas said, smiling indulgently and nuzzling her ear. He rubbed her towel-covered arms briskly. "You're half frozen, Annie! Go put some clothes on."
"Only if you promise never to call me Annie again," Anne said as good-naturedly as possible, unable to keep a slight frown from her face. "You know I can't stand it."
He felt the edge in her voice and held up his hands in surrender. "Yes, ma'am," he teased, and she reached up to muss his deep blond hair. "Sarah Michaels called while you were out," he reminded her, following her as she headed upstairs to clean up. "Said she thinks Sam's getting worse... anyway, they'll be here in about half an hour."
"Let me know as soon as they get here," Anne requested. She moved into her bedroom and shed her towel and simple black bathing suit, moving eagerly for a warm shower. Lucas watched her appreciatively as she moved into the bathroom and half-shut the door. "It's been too quiet since school let out," she complained, loud enough for him to hear her. "None of the kids are sharing their germs. I'll be grateful for something to do."
She heard him chuckle. "Only you could be grateful for someone else's illness," he joked back to her.
"One man's trash," she retorted, and shrieked with laughter as he reached through the door to tickle her. She jumped into the shower and turned on the hot water, laughing and not protesting as he dashed in and crowded into the shower with her.
---
He'd barely unfolded himself from the fireplace before he started speaking.
"Professor, I know what this is about. But before you say a word, you've got to let me defend my—"
"Remus!" From behind his desk Dumbledore looked sharply at Remus, who faltered and stopped in his place. The Headmaster gestured to the armchair and the short, elderly figure in it that Remus had failed to see in his rush. "Cornelius, this is Remus Lupin, my Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Professor Lupin, I trust you know Cornelius Fudge?"
Remus' jaw dropped. They brought in the Minister of Magic to fire him?! "Of course," he said weakly, extending a hand to the portly man who had risen to his feet. "It's an honor to meet you, Minister."
Fudge grasped his hand and nodded briefly. "I'm afraid I must be going, Dumbledore, there's quite a lot that needs to be done," he said, picking up a lime green bowler hat from off the floor while Remus watched in confusion. The Minister shook his head and said, "I'll probably be buried in parchment by the time I get back to the office."
"You will let us know if you hear anything, Cornelius?" Dumbledore asked, circling his desk and clasping the much-shorter man on the shoulder.
"Yes, yes, right away," Fudge replied, moving for the door. "And as soon as I get the appropriate documents signed, I'll send over those guards."
Remus, in his absolute confusion, almost missed the dark look that moved over Dumbledore's face. "I trust you will do what you feel needs to be done, Cornelius," he replied. He watched silently as Fudge put on his traveling cloak and left the office by means of the door, then turned to face Remus.
His mind spinning, Remus slowly sank into an armchair. "So I take it this means you're not going to fire me?" he asked.
Dumbledore made an uncharacteristically impatient gesture. "Of course not," he said, going back to his desk. He sat in the chair and flicked his wand once, conjuring up a tea set. "What on earth gave you that idea?"
"Well, I—I just thought..." he mumbled, taking a proffered teacup. "And then when I saw the Minister, I just—"
Dumbledore smiled slightly. "You needn't worry about your position, Professor Lupin," he said mildly. The old man gave a great heavy sigh. "But there are other important matters which you and I need to discuss. I take it you have not seen today's Daily Prophet?"
Remus snorted. "I've been less than a faithful reader since they fired me all those years ago," he admitted wryly. He studied Dumbledore's face: the lines were more pronounced than they had been the day before, and the shadows behind his eyes were deep. "Why?" he asked, the severity of Dumbledore's expression striking him. "What's happened?"
Without a word Dumbledore pulled the newspaper off his desk and handed it to Remus. The feeling of being sucked into quicksand overcame Remus as his eyes fell in horror on the front page.
TOP SECURITY PRISONER ESCAPES AZKBAN PRISON: SIRIUS BLACK ON THE LOOSE!
A face Remus felt certain he would never see again blinked coldly up at him. The face before him, framed with long matted hair, was impassive, emaciated and bleak—but those eyes still glowed with the madness that had overtaken Sirius Black twelve years before. Remus felt weak: had he not been sitting, the need to do so would have overwhelmed him. Hands shaking he scanned the rest of the article silently. The prisoner was presumed missing since dark yesterday evening, the absence unnoticed until the midnight guard had changed. Fudge had apparently gone out there as soon as the word had reached him and had issued the statement that Black was to be considered armed and highly dangerous. Even the Muggle Prime Minister had been notified.
How did he do it? Remus thought desperately.He escaped from a maximum-security cell, on an island in the middle of the ocean, and no one knows where he's gone. How did he do it?
He dropped the paper and buried his head in his hands. Twelve years. Twelve years since he'd been forced to look upon the face of the traitor that had handed the Potters in to Lord Voldemort, the traitor that had murdered the grief-mad Peter Pettigrew and a dozen bystanders. Twelve years since Black had been locked in Azkaban Prison—no trial necessary, thanks to the iron hand of Bartemius Crouch—to rot until death. And now he was free—free to kill again.
Unbidden, Lily, James and Peter's faces swam before Remus' closed eyes. How many more would die at Sirius Black's hands?
"Remus." Dumbledore's voice broke the silence. He looked up, trying to bring the Headmaster's face into focus. "You must listen."
Remus nodded and cleared his throat. Dumbledore leaned forward across the desk. "I wanted to talk with you first, because of your history with Sirius Black," he said quietly, "and your history with James and Lily. Remus, the Minister thinks that Black will come to Hogwarts to try to kill Harry."
It was as if the breath had been knocked out of him. Remus gasped. "Why?" he demanded. "What does he know?"
Dumbledore sighed once more. "The guards informed Cornelius that in the past few weeks or so, Black has been talking in his sleep," he explained. "Hardly an unusual occurrence—it is usually the first sign of the descent into madness that many of Azakban's prisoners undergo. But Black was muttering, over and over, He's at Hogwarts." He shrugged. "It is thought that Black will want to kill the child who brought about his master's demise."
"And that's why Fudge is sending out guards?" Remus asked dully.
"Yes," Dumbledore answered, his face stony. "The dementors of Azkaban will be patrolling the Hogwarts' grounds until Black is recovered. As soon as you and I have finished, I will go and inform the rest of the staff." He paused, obviously choosing words carefully. "It is to my great distaste that this is to happen—I have never been fond of the dementors, and I dislike putting so many innocent children within their grasp... even if it is to protect one of them."
"I see." Remus went quiet. "Thank you for letting me know," he said, pushing to his feet. "I'll leave so you can—"
Dumbledore reached out and took his arms. "There is more," he said quietly, "that I'd like to discuss with you."
Confused, Remus sat. "What else is there?" he asked slowly.
Quietly, Dumbledore settled back in his chair, surveying Remus with steady blue eyes. "I have been in contact with all the previous members of the Order," he informed Remus. "I wanted them to know that the spy is among us once again. But more than that, I wanted to let them know because I am greatly concerned that Black, should he encounter any of them, will see them as his greatest enemies... We all were, after all, the ones who were most strongly united against Voldemort. He knows that if his master is to rise again, he must vanquish all—including Harry—who would impede him." He leveled his eyes with Remus' once more. "But there is one of the Order about whom I am particularly concerned... and that is Ani Hellsing."
Ani?
His heart dropped into his stomach. He flew to his feet and approached the desk, putting his hands on its surface and leaning forward, looking intently into Dumbledore's eyes. His heart was hammering against his ribcage, and his limbs had gone numb. "You've heard from Ani?" he asked slowly.
"No." Dumbledore spread his hands. "Not in over twelve years... since she disappeared." He glanced up at Remus. "But if you'll recall—in the beginning of the days of the Order, I made certain that I would be able to know where its members were at all time... that faculty has not left me with time."
"So you've known this whole time?" Remus whispered, aghast. "All these years, you've known where she was? Her parents were frantic, Dumbledore! They'd already lost their son years before and then, suddenly, their daughter was gone too and you said nothing? You said nothing to me? She was the only friend I had left in the world, Dumbledore!"
"Ani is an adult, and I was being respectful of her privacy," Dumbledore retorted firmly. "She wanted to leave, to not be found, I respected that. It was not my business where she was, or why she left."
"You should have made it your business!" Remus roared. "Her heart was broken and you let her suffer alone!"
Dumbledore mildly looked at Remus. "Perhaps that's so," he said, spreading his hands in acceptance. "But if you feel that's the case, I advise you to sit and allow me to finish what I am about to ask you."
Chest clenched, Remus took a deep, shaky breath and sat. "Where is she?" he demanded.
The headmaster sipped his tea. "She is in America," Dumbledore answered. "She has been there ever since she left." He cleared his throat, setting the teacup back on its saucer. "From what I can tell, she has renounced magic entirely and has been living as a Muggle these past twelve years."
A sick wave swept over Remus as he felt the color drain from his face. "Renounced magic?" he echoed quietly. The thought made him ill. To renounce magic was to renounce the deepest part of one's self, to deny a sense as essential as sight or touch.
"Yes. And that," Dumbledore continued, "is why I am so concerned for her." He sighed. "The other members of the Order—yourself included—have wands to protect them. Ani does not."
"So what do you want to do?" Remus asked quietly. "I thought she was an adult, capable of making her own decisions."
"Be that as it may," Dumbledore said coolly, ignoring Remus' bitterness, "the circumstances have changed. We have seen what Sirius Black is capable of. I would hate to see harm befall Ms. Hellsing simply because she was undefended. And I thought—as her friend—you might want to know of her whereabouts, should anything arise."
Remus slumped. "I'm sorry," he said gruffly. "I'm just a bit... just a bit overwhelmed, is all." He stood up and paced to the window. Dumbledore watched in silence.
This could not be happening: Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban prison and Dumbledore had told him how to find Ani Hellsing. Ani. God, he'd never in a thousand years thought he'd see her again. And now... He shook his head and turned back to Dumbledore. "Do you really think she might be in danger? All the way in America?" he asked quietly.
"I fear she may be."
Remus' hands started to shake. "Tell me how to find her?" he asked finally.
Dumbledore nodded. "Of course."
---
"Here's to a good prognosis for little Sam Michaels," Anne smiled, clinking her wine glass against Lucas'.
"Here's to a brilliant diagnosis by the lovely Anne Hellsing," he countered, and they laughed and took a long, slow sip of wine.
They fell silent, each contentedly full from the steak Lucas had prepared earlier and pleasantly warm and drowsy from the wine. They watched as storm clouds rushed over the horizon, obscuring the million of stars overhead. "Looks like a big one," Lucas beamed and Anne smiled at his enthusiasm. Lucas loved little more than a good storm.
The thunder in the distance was now getting clearer and the wind had picked up. Anne was about to suggest that they move back indoors to prepare for the storm, but before she could speak Lucas had put down his wine glass and was leveling his eyes with hers. "I was serious earlier, Annie..."
"Lucas," she warned.
"Alright, alright, Anne," he amended. "You did well. I'm willing to bet anyone else would have put Sam's cough off to simple allergies. I mean, whoever heard of whooping cough in the summertime? How'd you do it?"
She shrugged. "It wasn't that difficult. Allergic coughs sound different," she explained simply. "The way he was rasping... I could just tell. The herbs I gave him should help, but I'm glad she's taking him to Fort Billingsley to see a real doctor."
"You could be a real doctor, Anne," Lucas replied, and Anne had to work hard to repress a sigh. Not this again, she thought. "I just wish you'd give it a little more thought," he went on, draining his wine glass. "Healing is something you're good at, Anne, I just think you could make a living off of it."
"But I don't want that, Lucas," she reminded him, less forcibly than she might have liked. "Think of all it would involve. Years and years of medical school—" And the fact that they'd want to know about my previous schooling...
"For a good purpose," he interjected.
"—not to mention all the money it would cost—" And I don't have much of the kind they'd want...
"I could help you, Anne, and there are all kinds of loans you could get."
"—and I'd have to leave Caprice, and that's just not something I'm willing to do right now," she finished, irritated with his interruptions.
Lucas groaned and rolled his head back. "Don't get me wrong, babe," he said, and Anne stifled a wave of irritation. "What you do here is fantastic, it really is... but you could do so much more. And these excuses you keep coming up with won't last forever."
Wanting to end the conversation, Anne attempted lightly, "Money is something that will always be a reasonable excuse, Lucas."
He shook his head. "Not really. I mean, you could always sell the lodge—" She stiffened as he went on "—and I could sell my house in town... We could get an apartment in the city, so you could go to school... And I'd still be there."
Carefully she put down her wine glass. She would not be so easily coerced. "I was lucky to find this place in the first place," she reminded him. "It's been my home for ten years, and I don't plan on giving it up any time soon. And you can't tell me you're honestly that eager to leave all of this." She spread a hand towards the darkening sky and the lake below it.
"I'm not," he agreed, stretching, and Anne knew with relief that the discussion was concluding. "I just want you to be able to make a profession doing what you really love... there are very few people who get that chance, Anne, and I think it's a waste not to take it."
"I'm content where I am," Anne replied and squeezed his hand, "and whom I'm with."
He smiled. "Well, at least you know how to shut me up," Lucas joked.
She smiled back, her anger fading. "Years of practice."
Lucas laughed, and the rich rumble mixed with the approaching thunder. "Let's go inside, little otter," he said, pushing to his feet in a fluid motion. He extended a hand and she saw his eyes twinkle in the dark. "We'll see if you can't find a better way to keep me quiet."
With a tiny weight settled on her heart, Anne returned his smile and put her hand in his. She'd avoided another incident and, as usual, it had exhausted her. She hoped the next confrontation was far, far away: better to not have to answer the seemingly simple questions as to why Anne Hellsing never wanted to leave Caprice, never wanted to venture out of Eden, never wanted to stop hiding.
---
The crack! made by his appearance was masked by the almighty roar of thunder above. Instantly he was soaked through to the skin with drenching sheets of rain. Oblivious to the tempest that squalled around him, Remus focused instead all his energy on the house that sat before him. The windows were dark and not a sound came from within, but he knew with al his being that he was in the right place. He could feel her inside.
With a buzzing mind and unsteady hands, he made up his mind and marched up the porch steps and knocked purposefully on the door.
---
"D'you hear that?"
Anne woke instantly. Lucas was no longer pressed against the gentle curve of her back. He'd always teased her about her strange habit to only be able to sleep with her back to him—Anne had never had the heart to tell him that it was too restrictive, laying in his arms. But now she felt his absence from her skin and longed for it back.
She sat up and looked at him struggling into his clothes in the dark. She glanced at the bedside clock: three AM. "Hear what?" she asked in a half whisper.
"Knocking," Lucas replied, and tossed her the overlarge T-shirt that she'd shed hours before. "Someone's at the door."
"Yeah," she said after a moment's pause. "I do hear it." Instantly she was on her feet and at his side. "I hope no one's been hurt in this storm," she said, following Lucas as he treaded heavily towards the door, gripping the railing so as not to stumble sleepily down the stairs.
The knocking increased in volume, as if the visitor had given up on politeness and had settled on desperation, pounding with his whole fist to be heard over the storm. "Probably a stranded motorist," Lucas commented, fumbling at the key-rack on the wall for the door key. "Well, we'll know in a minute, won't we?"
Anne's heart thudded behind her ribs as she watched Lucas reach for the door handle. He swung the door open to reveal a tall, gaunt figure before them, plastered with rain. For some inexplicable reason, Anne's heart gave another painful jump. "Can we help you?" Lucas asked politely, and flipped on the hall light.
She opened her mouth to cry out but no sound emerged. Oh, it had been long—twelve terrible years!—but she would know that face anywhere. Time had been crueler to the man in the rain than it had been to her: there were lines etched across his face that had no business on the visage of a man of thirty-three. Remus Lupin slowly shifted his eyes from Lucas' face to Anne's gaze, and every tear Anne had cried in the past twelve years seemed to resurrect themselves in her eyes.
"Remus?" she choked, and Lucas shot her a look of undisguised shock.
"Ani," he said, his voice trembling. He took a step towards her. The light spilled onto his face, chasing some of the shadows away.
That name! The sound of it jolted her back to her senses. She took a step back and the tears burned away. "No," she said, and the front in her voice chilled even her. "It's Anne, actually."
A sad smile with so many piercing memories moved over Lupin's lips. "Either way," he said gently, as though he were expecting this reaction, "it's short for Andromeda, isn't it?"
"Excuse me?" Lucas demanded, but Lupin ignored him.
"Andromeda Hellsing, also called Ani," Lupin said, his voice thick with a layer of intensity. His lips twitched. "Or is the last name different too?" He flicked his eyes to Lucas, regarded him coolly for a moment, then looking back at Ani with that same, unwavering, penetrating stare.
Whatever emotion had swamped her at first sight of Lupin had shriveled like a salted slug. Thick rage pushed up within her instead. "It's still Hellsing," she responded. "The only thing you've got wrong is the Anne part."
He shrugged, lifting one shoulder carelessly, and looked around the hall where the three of them stood. A wry look moved over his face and he said lightly, "Anne, then... It doesn't matter. What you call yourself cannot take away from what you are, Ani."
"Stop saying that name!" Ani—no! Anne!—screamed, and the raw nerves and tears in her voice jolted Lucas out of his stunned silence.
"Hey, get out of here before I call the police," he ordered aggressively and gripped Lupin's upper arm in a vice-like hand. "I don't know who you are but you've got no business barging in here in the middle of the night. Now why don't you just—"
He never saw it coming. Neither did Anne, for that matter. But Lupin, his eyes narrowed in a cool, contemptuous glare that he'd learned from another, pulled a long wand out from the folds of his traveling cloak. He said, almost lazily, "Petrificus Totalus!"
Lucas went stiff as a board and topped over onto the floor.