Chapter 12: Letters and Lessons

Sirius paced around the music room on Sunday afternoon. "I suppose I should be glad they've improved," he growled. "They were only able to hang onto me for a day. It took Wormtail almost a week to escape."

Aletha carefully did not point out the differences between the two sets of circumstances, since Sirius needed no more encouragement to be in a bad mood. "At least everyone knows the truth now," she said instead. "And they'll be on the lookout for him. Parents will be checking over their children's pet rats carefully."

Sirius sighed. "I know. I just can't shake this feeling that he's going to pull something really bad, you know? Something we shouldn't let him do... except we can't stop him now that he's gone, so we should have stopped him while we had him, but it's too late to do anything now..."

"And on that note, let us change the subject," said Aletha firmly, recognizing the signs of Sirius about to work himself into one of his famous spiraling moods. "Have you written to Remus yet this week?"

"No, thank you for reminding me – I'll have to do that before tonight..." Sirius spun a chair around and straddled it, leaning on the back. "Why do we still do that, anyway?"

"I guess it's because if we stop, it's like saying they're really gone. Or maybe it's just force of habit by now." Aletha laughed a little, sadly. "It has been twelve years. Twelve years this Halloween."

Sirius rested his chin on his arms and looked at her. "Can I ask you what might sound like a strange question?"

"All right."

"Do you ever get answers to your letters to Danger? Not in real life, but... somewhere else?"

Aletha paused halfway through turning a page in her music book. "Maybe," she said carefully. "Why do you ask?"

"They had twins around the time James and Lily had Harry," said Sirius instead of answering.

Aletha nodded. "Boy and girl. Reynard and Griselda."

"Danger's taken up a new hobby in the past couple of years."

"Writing poetry. She's sent me a few, they're beautiful, but very sad."

"Wherever they are, they're well-connected on the gossip chain."

"Oh, you mean that thing about Deianara Nott and the busboy at the Leaky Cauldron? I almost broke a rib laughing over that."

Sirius shook his head. "Bizarre," he said. "I was honestly expecting you to look at me and say, 'What are you talking about?' And instead you know everything right off the top of your head..."

"I dream of getting letters," said Aletha quietly. "Letters from Danger. She answers my questions, sometimes not very clearly, but I guess she can't, or doesn't want to. She asks me some of her own, and tells me the news for the week from wherever she is. And it's all so much like her, I can almost hear her voice reading it to me."

Sirius nodded slowly. "I get mine from Moony," he said. "Makes sense, I guess, since that's who we write to."

"Why didn't you ever tell me before this?"

"I suppose I was too afraid to find out you didn't get answers and I was just making it up to make myself feel better. But if we both get them, maybe there's something to it after all..."

Aletha saw a certain hope kindling in Sirius' eyes which hadn't been there for years. As happy as she was, she couldn't help worrying.

What if we're wrong? What if it's just a bunch of coincidences, or that we think similarly, or that we're somehow linking our dreams in a way that has nothing to do with Remus and Danger?

But if she couldn't help worrying, she also couldn't help hoping.

It had been so long since she'd had any real reason to.

Ray went to bed early on Sunday night, claiming he didn't feel well.

He's just homesick, said Zelda, and he doesn't want anyone to see him cry.

"Should you be telling us this?" asked Harry, looking towards the stairs where Ray had gone.

I won't tell him I told if you won't.

Ray's bedcurtains were pulled when the other boys went to bed. Instead of leaping onto the bed as she usually did, Zelda lay down on the rug at the foot.

He really wants to be alone, she said as Ron blew out the candle.

One good crying jag must have done the trick, Harry thought, because Ray looked perfectly normal on Monday morning, even better than usual. He got as excited as everyone else over the notice on the board about flying lessons, and was as thoroughly disgusted about having them with Slytherin.

Zelda was a big help in class. She wouldn't give them answers outright (at least, not often), but she kept up a running commentary as the teachers lectured, which made things much clearer generally.

"Ray, can I see your History of Magic notes?" asked Neville on Wednesday night.

"Er, from today?"

"Yes."

"Sorry, no."

"Why not?"

"I haven't written them yet."

"How can you not have written them?" asked Ron. "We had class already. Do you have a perfect memory or something?"

Ray grinned. "No, but I know somebody who does." His eyes flickered down to the low table, where Zelda was nosing through Neville's notes.

"So that's why you were taking a nap," said Harry. "You can just get the notes off Zelda later."

He claims I owe it to him because he has to do all the homework, said Zelda absently. Not that I don't help with that too... these don't look too bad, Neville, you're just missing a couple points here and here, and I can give them to you...

Thursday afternoon was clear and breezy, and Harry couldn't help but feel excited about the prospect of flying. He'd never flown before that he could recall – it had always been too difficult for Letha to manage everything that would have been necessary for a flying holiday – but he knew that his father had been fabulous on a broom, and had taken him out once or twice as a baby, to his own delight and his mother's irritation.

"That's not right, not right at all," snapped Madam Hooch, prying Ray's fingers off his broom. "Who taught you to grip that way?"

"My dad," said Ray.

"Well, you can tell him from me that he taught you entirely wrong. This is how you do it." She rearranged his hands and moved on to the next person.

Ray snickered. "No wonder Dad's not much good on a broom," he said over his shoulder to Harry.

Within a few minutes, they were taking short, practice flights, just up a few feet and back down. Harry loved it, it was everything he'd thought it would be, and his only annoyance was that he wasn't allowed to go as far, as fast, or as long as he would have liked.

"Now, split into groups of five and we'll cover some basic flying etiquette," Madam Hooch ordered. "You, you, you, you, and you. First five."

Harry had been "you" number three, Ray number four, and Neville number five. Numbers one and two were the hulking Slytherins Ray said had been trying to follow him around, Crabbe and Goyle.

"You there, Goyle, you're big, so you're at point." Madam Hooch pulled him into position. "You two, Crabbe and Malfoy, you're behind him, and Potter and Longbottom, behind them – not directly behind, spread out, make a V shape, take advantage of the wake. Now, on my whistle, take off. Point man, fly to that oak over there..." She pointed out the tree, a handsome specimen about sixty feet high. "Turn around and return. You others, stay in formation behind him. Outside men on the turn, give your partners plenty of room, inside men, turn tight. Ready?"

The whistle sounded. Five brooms rose from the grass.

It was easier taking advantage of Crabbe's wake, Harry found. He kept his eyes on Goyle to see which way he turned at the tree, so that he, Harry, would know if he were inside or outside for the formation turn...

Goyle turned to the right, Harry would be on the outside. He swung his broom slightly to the left, preparing to turn –

Crabbe turned too tightly and slammed into Ray. Neville, unable to stop in time, plowed into both of them. As if in slow motion, Harry saw Ray, unfamiliar with the new grip Madam Hooch had shown him, lose his hold on his broom and slip off, starting to fall...

Harry shot under the tangle of people just in time to grab Ray by the arm. "Hold on," he panted, and dived, slowing down well before he got to the ground, until he was hovering about six feet up, close enough for Ray to let go and drop to the grass. Then he landed, feeling his heart pounding, but with excitement, not with fear.

The most prominent thought in his mind was, I want to do that again.

"Well done, Potter," said Madam Hooch, arriving beside them. "Malfoy, are you all right?"

"Yes'm," said Ray. "Neville, can you grab my broom?" he shouted up.

"I can try." Neville had managed to stay mounted through this, and had been disentangling from Crabbe while Harry saved Ray. Now he flew over to where Ray's broom was hovering, took a hold of it, and came down in a careful spiral, landing a bit sloppily but without hurting himself about ten feet away from them.

"Thanks," said Ray, jogging over to retrieve the broom.

"Harry Potter," called a voice from the direction of the castle. Everyone turned to look.

Professor McGonagall was striding toward them. "Can you spare him for a few moments, Rolanda?" she said to Madam Hooch when she was near enough.

"Of course, Minerva. I'll take your broom, Potter..."

"No, he'll be needing it," said Professor McGonagall. "Come along, Potter." She set off along the wall of the castle. Harry followed, feeling a bit bemused. What would she need him to do that required a broom?

"Have you ever flown before?" she asked as they turned the corner.

"No, Professor."

Professor McGonagall let out a loud sigh. "Wonderful," she said, stopping. "All right, Potter, mount up."

Harry straddled his broom, wondering what this was all about. Professor McGonagall drew her wand and waved it in a small circle in the air. A sphere of glimmering gold, about the size of a golf ball, appeared there, and she caught it as it fell. "Do you think you can catch this?" she asked, holding it up.

Harry was trying hard not to let himself get too excited. "Yes, ma'am."

"Very well, then, do it." Professor McGonagall threw the ball high into the air.

For an older witch, she had a good arm, Harry registered as he kicked off. The ball was moving at a good clip, but even on this less than stellar broom, he knew he could get to it in plenty of time... closer... closer...

His hand closed around it about ten feet off the ground, and he returned to Professor McGonagall at that height, dropping it into her waiting palm.

"Again," she said briskly, and threw it more laterally this time, so that he had to fly faster to catch it before it hit the ground, but he still made it with five feet to spare.

"And once more." This time she threw it straight up, and Harry, feeling like showing off, flew into its path as it fell and let it carom off the stick of his broom before chasing after it and catching it.

"Was that intentional?" said Professor McGonagall sternly as he returned the ball to her and landed.

"Yes, Professor," said Harry meekly.

She shook her head. "Your father's son all over. Well, Potter, do you know Oliver Wood? At least to look at him?"

Harry nodded – Fred and George had pointed out the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team within the first two days of school.

"Introduce yourself to him at some point as the Gryffindor team's new Seeker, and ask him when practices begin."

Harry closed his mouth quickly and simply nodded.

"You have no broomstick of your own, I am sure, since that would be against the rules... but I have no doubt your godfather will be glad to, shall we say, donate a broom to the school with the intention that you use it during practices and games." She held out her hand, and Harry took it. "Congratulations, Potter. Your parents would have been proud."

She walked away, leaving Harry staring after her, hanging onto his broom for support.

"You lucky bastard!" exploded Ron in the Great Hall.

"That's great, Harry!" enthused Neville.

"And I went and fell off in front of her," grumbled Ray. "She'll never think I'm any good."

"She doesn't make the decisions about it," said Harry, taking a big bite of shepherd's pie. "Only in special cases, like this, because I'm a first year and not supposed to have a broom."

But she's going to get... your godfather to donate one, she said?

"Yes, so it won't be mine, but I can still ride it." Harry drained his goblet of pumpkin juice and refilled it.

"I wonder what kind you'll get," said Ron. "Seekers need to be really fast. Maybe you'll get a Cleansweep Seven."

"Or the new Nimbus, the Two Thousand," said Neville. "They're fantastic, from what I hear."

Ray nodded. "I'd really like a Nimbus," he said. "Mother said maybe for my next birthday."

"When is your birthday?" asked Harry curiously.

"5 June. Yours?"

"31 July. How about everyone else?"

"1 March," said Ron. "I was early."

"30 July, right before you," said Neville. "Mum likes to tell stories about being in the same hospital room with your mum."

19 September.

"Hey, that's coming up," said Ron. "We'll have to have a party."

Oh – no, please don't. Zelda ducked her head modestly. I really don't need anything like that.

"What about just a little one?" coaxed Ray. "Just the five of us, sneak down to the kitchens and cadge stuff out of the house-elves?"

"You know where the kitchens are?" asked Ron in surprise.

Ray nodded. "Right down the same hall as the Hufflepuff common room, behind a painting of a bowl of fruit. Tickle the pear, it giggles and turns into a door handle."

"Wow," said Neville, sounding deeply impressed. "How do you know so much about the castle, anyway?"

"My dad likes to know a lot about wherever he is. So he learned all about Hogwarts while he was here, and he taught me. Some of my favorite bedtime stories when I was little were about how to get places inside the castle."

Zelda's birthday came and went, with the party in the kitchens being a great success, and October was on them before they knew it. Oliver Wood had been skeptical about Professor McGonagall's decision to add a first year to the Gryffindor Quidditch team, until he saw Harry fly. "Practices are Monday, Thursday, and Saturday at seven," was all he'd said when Harry landed. "Don't be late, and don't skip."

One evening early in October, Ray yawned ostentatiously. "Blimey, I'm tired," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "I think I'll turn in early. Don't tromp around like a herd of erumpents when you come to bed, all right?"

"It's not even seven o'clock," said Harry in surprise. "And you're nowhere near done with the reading for Charms."

"I'll finish it in bed, then. Come on, Zelda."

No, I think I want to stay up tonight.

"Fine, be that way," said Ray in mock-offense. "Good night, everyone."

"Good night," rippled around the small group as Ray ran up the stairs.

"He doesn't look too tired right now," said Ron, dipping his quill. "Neville, what were those things we looked at in Herbology called again?"

"Which ones, the ones that scream or the ones that pinch?"

Dear friends,

Irony is rampant in our world. My work suggests the last item I search for may be closer to you than it is to me. I have kept you up to date on the progress I make, so you will know what it is I seek. Any assistance you can render would be greatly appreciated.

'Mithrandir'

Zelda turned human again that Saturday, and the boys spent most of the day in their dorm with her.

"Things taste different," she said, sucking on a piece of Chocolate Frog. "When I'm human, I like sweeter things than I do when I'm a wolf. And I eat some things when I'm a wolf that I would probably never eat when I'm human."

"Like what?" asked Neville.

Zelda grinned. "Raw meat."

"Gross!" said Ron.

"It's actually really good. A little slimy, but so's pudding, and I've seen you eat that."

Ron looked disgusted at the thought that pudding could be compared to raw meat.

"So are you just going to keep doing this all through school?" asked Harry. "Turning human once a month, and being the wolf all the rest of the time?"

"Unless someone finds a way to take the curse off, I have to do it for the rest of my life," said Zelda sadly.

Neville looked up from his Bertie Bott's beans and frowned. "Zelda, don't you usually wear a collar when you're the wolf?"

"Yes. Usually."

"Where did it go? Does it disappear when you turn human?"

"No, Ray takes it off me."

Ray reached behind him, under his bed, and produced a strap of green leather. "It itches when she's human," he said. "Besides, it doesn't look right. Humans shouldn't wear collars."

"Your bracelet looks just like that," said Harry, pointing to Ray's right wrist. "Does it mean something?"

Ron frowned. "I've seen bracelet and collar sets like that before," he said. "Charlie said once he wished he had one that would work on dragons... they're for controlling dangerous animals!"

Ray held up his hands, Zelda's collar still dangling from one. "Hold on. Yes, that's what they're for, but that's not how I use them. I swear."

"So how do you use them?" asked Harry, since Ron still looked mad enough to bite something.

"My father got them for us," said Ray, looking at the collar with distaste. "Because people can't know Zel's human, they think she's dangerous. So they look to see if I have one of these, and when they see I do, they let her come in places, because they think I have her under control so she won't hurt people or destroy things."

"So it's an act," said Neville. "So you can go places, Zelda."

Zelda nodded.

Ron scowled. "I still don't like it," he said.

"Nor do I," said Zelda in a flash of temper, "but it's that or not being allowed to stay at Hogwarts, and I know which one I choose!"

"And you're the one who has to wear it." Neville nodded. "So what you say, goes."

"When you do use them on animals," said Harry, looking at the bracelet again, "could anyone wear the bracelet and control the animal?"

"Usually," said Ray. "Sometimes they're sealed to one person, and only he can give other people permission to wear it. Usually only the person who wears the bracelet can do anything with the collar, either. Like loosen it, or take it off. I'd give Zel the bracelet so she could control it herself and get a fake one for me, only she won't take it."

"People might want to test yours to see if it's real or not," said Zelda. They had obviously had this argument before. "And I haven't got anywhere to hide it, it won't go into holding like my clothes do – be sensible, Ray, the way we have it is the only way it works."

"I know." Ray put the collar back under his bed. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

He walked through the house as light-footed as any cat, moving surely and swiftly to his destination, where he knelt and unfastened the catch, avoiding all the traps set around it for the unwary. Unwary was something he could not afford to be.

Many items resided in the cache he uncovered, but he was interested in only one.

It's wonderfully ridiculous, this. He thought it would be safe here. He thought it would be so safe, he felt free to brag about it. And now, thanks to a few kindnesses shown...

He lifted it out and summoned his accomplice, who quickly cleaned away all traces he might have left on the items in the cache, physical or magical. No one would be able to trace the theft of this object to him.

He closed the lid again and slipped out of the room, leaving his friend to finish the eradication of their tracks. There was one thing he needed to make sure of before he could go through with this.

She was lounging in a chair in the library, immersed in a book, but looked up at his approach. "You have it?"

He held it up. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, sitting down beside her. "You know you'll be ill for at least a week. More likely two."

She gave him one of those looks that he sometimes told her she should patent. "You paid pretty heavily for a week or so after that night I needed mine, and I don't recall hearing you complain. Why should you expect me to?"

He sighed. "I don't. I just wanted to be sure."

She smiled. "Always trying to protect me. I think it's why I love you."

"All right. Let's get you back to our room before I do this."

"That sounds like a good idea."

"I'm glad you think so."

She squealed as he lifted her out of the chair and carried her down the hallway.

Returning to their room was a good idea for a number of reasons. The obvious, of course, but it would be quite bad for them if they were discovered elsewhere than where they ought to be. As well, it might expose one of their allies, and that would never do.

It made them laugh, sometimes, to think of how different the household's true structure was from the one that outsiders perceived.

Ray sat up straight for a second, then got up and went to get parchment and quill.

"What are you doing?" asked Harry.

"I just had an idea," said Ray absently. "I want to write it down before it gets away..."

Zelda came to peer over his shoulder, leaning on him trustingly. Ron bit the head off a Chocolate Frog card by mistake, watching them.

"There, done." Ray blew on the ink to dry it. "'Scuse me, everyone, I need to run upstairs for a minute." He folded the parchment, scribbled two words on the outside of it, and slipped out of the door, closing it carefully behind himself.

"Where's he going?" asked Ron. "What's upstairs from here?"

"Not much," said Harry, thinking about the castle. "Only a few of the towers are taller than this, and there's not many classrooms up this high..."

"There's the Owlery," said Neville. "That looked like a letter."

"It's none of your business," said Zelda reprovingly as she came to sit back down with them.

"Oh, and it is yours?" asked Ron.

"Yes, as it happens, it is!"

Ron looked like he wanted to say something rude, but Harry glared at him, and he shut up.

Dear sir,

Mission accomplished. The item is no longer in any way intact. Still, be on your guard. There has been much talk about 'Grima' here lately, and may even have been correspondence. A possibility of the items' owner returning has been broached. Take good care of 'Arthur'.

Your friends in low places

Dear Mother,

Everything continues fine here. Yes, I am getting plenty of fresh air. We go outside almost every evening, and stay out until eight o'clock, which is when we must be back in the castle. We often have to run to make curfew. We play by the Forbidden Forest, though never in it, since that is both dangerous and against the rules.

Classes go well. Professor Snape compliments my brewing nearly every Friday, and Professor McGonagall is very fair, occasionally more fair than I would like her to be.

Tell Calpurnia that I am being sure to eat my vegetables. Give my regards to her and Caesar both, and to you, of course. Zelda sends her best also.

Your son

(A/N: So, understanding yet? Never mind, you will... because action starts next chapter for sure, and soon after action starts, all becomes clear... :sighs in happiness at the thought of the delighted/amazed squeals when she unveils the truth:

LwoD, as I said, sometime this weekend. Maybe as early as tomorrow, depending on what else I get done. Free spans of time are wonderful. Please don't forget to review! I need your love!)