Disclaimer: My therapist says I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, and I suppose I believe her, but I'm still not sure in the case of Tom Riddle, Oliver Wood, and, of course, Harry himself.
A/N: For those of you who are still slow: apply liberal amounts of sarcasm to the disclaimer. Thank you my wonderful reviewers! You lift me up where I belong . . . oh, wait, that's love. Never mind. But I am still very grateful. Here you go:
Cambri woke slowly, lying on her stomach and gingerly tried to raise her head, but fell back with her face on the pillow. "Head hurts," she groaned into it, and tried to remember why she was so sore. It hit her just as a male voice spoke to her right.
"Do you want some aspirin?" he asked, and she sat up quickly to see who it was. Or, rather, tried. Her plan was foiled halfway between sitting up and looking at him, causing her to jerk forward, something her head did not need. She glared at the obstruction, the ropes that tied her wrists to the bed frame. They made no response, so she sighed and turned to her other problem.
This problem took form of a man, in his mid or late thirties, although looking much too old for his years, with sandy, nondescript hair and an intelligent face. An open book lay in his lap and he looked at her calmly, as though waiting for her to say something.
She watched him carefully for a moment, then turned back to examine the ropes. It did not escape the man's keen sight that she was looking at the ropes with the same expression she'd granted him: boredom spiked with some irritation. The same look one might give a troublesome weed that needed to be uprooted.
"Magically enforced?" she asked, surprised at how hoarse she sounded. She swallowed and tried again. "The ropes-they're enforced by magic?" Better. Smoother. Colder. Exactly what she had wanted.
"Yes," he said. "You still haven't answered my question."
She blinked. "What question?" Her voice, oddly enough, made him flash on James, or maybe Sirius. Bored arrogance.
"Do you want some aspirin?" he repeated, banishing the thought.
She examined him, more closely this time, as if trying to decide if he was trying to be funny. "Who are you?" she finally asked.
"Who are you?" he countered. An unoriginal counter, yes, but it served its purpose.
"Cambri." It felt strange to share her name with someone she didn't know, sort of like sharing a secret. She shook that thought away. It was silly; her name meant nothing, not to her and certainly not to this man.
"Cambri what?" he asked, his voice still mild. But she could see that he had reacted to her name somehow.
"Cambri Terrangs," she said. "And you can do a background check if you like. They're my foster parents."
"Who are your real parents?" he asked, curious.
"What's your name?" she asked again, then cursed herself for such a stupid counter. The least she could do was come up with something more interesting, or at the very least not use his same counter.
"Remus Lupin," he replied. "And your real parents' name?"
"Wish I knew," she answered in a voice that clearly said she didn't. "Where am I?"
"Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix," he said calmly. It wouldn't do anything to give that away.
She nodded, apparently satisfied. She didn't ask anything else, and he went back to his book for awhile.
"Wandering with Werewolves?" she said suddenly, startling him. "Why are you reading that? We had marked you down as intelligent."
"I'm flattered I'm worth your master's time," he said, ignoring the jibe.
"You're not," she said flatly. "But we have files for all suspected members."
"Ah. I see." And it seemed that he did. "I'm reading this because there is nothing else," he continued. "And I'm writing down everything that I'm going to write a letter of protest about."
She looked mildly disgusted. Remus guessed that that was how she always expressed emotions: in a soft, mild way so she couldn't get carried away by them. Despite himself, he was impressed with her control. "That book-all his books-disgusted me. Anyone with half a brain could see that he made most of them up. Especially that one. The Hormorphous Charm, honestly."
"I know," said Remus, warming to the discussion. "What I don't understand is how he got anyone to believe it."
"Yes, because even someone thick would have to realize that if that charm existed, it would be close to a cure for lycanthropy, which still isn't possible," Cambri continued. She liked intelligent discussions. They took her mind off the responsibilities Voldemort had put on her. Suddenly she remembered that he was her enemy, and that she should probably be using him to get information. "The-the raid, on the Ministry, how did it . . . I mean, was anyone captured besides me?" she asked, changing the subject.
"One," said Remus, disappointed that it was over so soon. She was obviously afraid of getting into a friendly conversation with him. "But he escaped when . . ." Remus trailed off, unsure. Should her really be telling her all this?
But she looked relieved, a strange look in contrast to her normally calculating eyes. "Oh, good," she said, leaning back onto the pillows.
"You were the distraction, weren't you?" he asked.
"Yes, I was," she replied, and that was all he could get out of her about the plan.
Finally, Cambri interrupted his questioning. "I don't suppose there's any chance of me getting these ropes off, is there?"
"Not that I can see," he said, and she sighed, looking disappointed. He wondered briefly whether she ever got angry.
"Hey, Moony," said Sirius, walking into the room. "How's it going with the prisoner?"
"All right," said Remus, turning to look at his friend.
"What are you reading?" Sirius asked, pulling up a chair, and when Remus showed him, he grinned. "Why are you reading that?" he demanded.
"Because there is nothing else on that bookshelf of yours that I haven't read already," Remus said tiredly.
"His bookshelf?" Cambri asked. "Implying that he owns the bookshelf, implying that, unless you hand out bookshelves throughout the house for some obscure reason I'm sure I don't want to know about, he owns the house, implying that the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, which as you might remember you told me we were currently in, is the Black house? Number 12 Grimauld Place?"
Remus didn't know which was more appalling: the fact that she had just discovered one of the most closely guarded secrets in the Order of the Phoenix from such an innocent comment, or her run-on sentence. He sighed. This was going to be a long ordeal and it was just his luck to be caught up in it.