Chapter 17: Pieces

Meli hadn't thought it unreasonable to expect not to run into anyone on her way back to Dumbledore's office, but the day had plenty of surprises yet to toss at her. Coming around the corner near her destination, she was frozen in her tracks at the sight of not one but three people abroad—and they formed the unlikeliest group she could ever have thought of.

Either Hell has frozen over, she thought in numb shock, or something further has gone catastrophically wrong.

There before her, walking side by side, where Severus Snape, Remus Lupin…and Padfoot the dog. To judge by Lupin's expression, her latter suspicion was the more likely of the two, and to go by Snape's, that was just the tip of the iceberg. She had no trouble believing that much, at least, given that Sirius Black was known by the Order to be on assignment elsewhere. Either he had returned early or he had never left, in which case he had probably remained at Hogwarts on some sort of snooping duty; in either case, it was plain that he was not meant to be recognized, since he was in his animal form.

"Good morning, sirs," she said casually. "Out for an early constitutional, I see—and you've even brought your poodle with you."

Snape had by now figured out who she was, and Lupin might have done; Padfoot was a harder read, but it was clear that he didn't much like her. She smiled sweetly at his growl, then continued, "Nasty, useless things, in my opinion, except perhaps as toilet scrubbers."

Lupin looked mildly at her. "I don't believe we've been introduced, Miss…?"

"Honeychurch," Meli answered. "Lucy Honeychurch."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "On your way to ask Professor Dumbledore for a room with a view?" he suggested sardonically.

"Something of that nature," Meli allowed with a smirk.

Lupin blinked, then looked impressed. "I don't know that I would have caught that allusion," he said approvingly.

Snape smirked slightly, but a dark tension around his eyes kept it from lightening his countenance. "Benefits of a classical education," he replied in clipped tones.

Lupin returned his attention to Meli and offered her a slight smile. "I think, Miss Honeychurch, that you'd be surprised at how useful a dog, whatever its breed, may prove to be."

Meli narrowed her eyes, then slid them over to the still-growling Padfoot. "No doubt," she said in return. "But it hardly requires an expert's eye to distinguish a helpful canine from a surly, useless cur." She arched an insulting eyebrow. "And I suppose even a cotton-headed poodle can understand my meaning."

Padfoot's eyes flashed menacingly; Lupin, by contrast, shrugged. Snape, for his part, smirked in approbation, even while his eyes warned her not to overstep. She gave him a reptilian look in return, then again addressed Lupin.

"I'd a friend once who had such a dog," she said ruminatively. "He was utterly useless and savagely vicious, but we chose to overlook it because he only growled at the people we disliked." She smiled coldly. "We ought instead to have told him to destroy the thing, but no one was more surprised than I when that brute turned on him and swallowed him whole, then tore the rest of us to pieces one by one. Even I only barely escaped." She raised her eyebrows slightly. "Beware of dogs, Professor Lupin—particularly those who are given to violent fits of irrational temper."

Padfoot seethed, but, given his present situation and the lateness of the morning hour, he could not risk transforming to rebut her. Had he known that she was comparing him to Dirk Pierce, an outright traitor to the cause, he might very well have done so anyway.

Meli smiled sweetly at Padfoot, then at Lupin, and offered a friendly smirk to Snape. "And now, gentlemen, I hope you'll excuse me, but there is the matter of the view from my casement to be settled."

"A view of the courtyard rather than of the lake?" Snape hedged, the words edged by a snicker.

"The thestral stables rather than the quidditch pitch," Meli countered, wrinkling her nose. "Have you any idea how awful thestral manure smells?"

Snape nodded sagely, and Lupin went green.

"Well," she said, with a long-suffering sigh, "I suppose it's best dealt with now rather than later." She stepped past them on Padfoot's side, and, taking advantage of the dog's having sat down to growl, planted her heel squarely on his tail and ground it down, eliciting a sharp bark of pain from the animagus.

"Cheerio!" she called cheerfully over her shoulder, then rounded the last corner between herself and the statue guarding Dumbledore's office.

ooo

It required only half an hour further to lay plans with Dumbledore, after which Meli left for her room, in hopes of squeezing in two hours of badly needed sleep.

En route from the headmaster's office, she crossed the gallery just inside the main doors to the castle, and she might have gone on her way without pausing at all had not something odd caught her eye. There on the floor, laying in just such a way as to be visible because it was far too regular against the irregularity of the stone, was a black button.

Meli knelt, frowning, to pick it up. It was a round-topped button, covered in black cloth that she judged by its feel to be of high quality. Cloth-covered buttons were odd enough at Hogwarts, since most of the students and faculty preferred metal, plastic, or wood, and black cloth-covered buttons were even rarer. Only two people came immediately to mind who would probably have lost such a button, and both were fastidious enough that the owner would have missed it soon after its loss.

The button was quickly forgotten, however, as something else drew her attention. There, not far away from the fallen article, was a stain like spilt liquid on the stone floor, and unless she was much mistaken, it looked as if it had come to be there recently. Meli narrowed her eyes, her puzzlement growing by the moment, and turned to have a better look at it.

It wasn't pooled; it looked rather as if it had been transferred from something else to the stone when that something else had been pressed to the floor. It didn't gleam as it would have done had the liquid been fresh, and she thought that it was drying steadily, if not already completely dried. She moved a few inches closer to investigate—

And stopped, the air fleeing her lungs.

She knew the look, and she most certainly knew the smell. This was human blood, and if it had been transferred rather than spilled, it had entered Hogwarts on someone's body or clothing.

Meli stood and lit her wand, no longer trusting to the weak starlight that filtered in through the windows. A swift survey of the scene told her little more, but she no longer doubted that some kind of altercation had taken place, and she was certain that either Snape or Zarekael had been involved. The blood was not Zarekael's, but further identification of it was impossible. It did not require too much of a leap in logic to establish, however, that Lupin and Black had probably also participated in the altercation, and that that was at least one reason for their being abroad in the company of Severus Snape.

She thought back to the scene that had played out the better part of an hour before, but while she had caught no scent of blood on any of them, she could not say for certain that the stain couldn't have come from them. It might have been just a small amount on the clothing, and since she hadn't been specifically trying to catch a whiff of blood, the odds of her having smelt it were slim to none if that were the case.

She turned one last time, looking for any further clues, but none presented themselves, so she snuffed the light and went on her way, pocketing the button as she did.

She would sleep because she must, but she would be sure that she remained alert for anything else that might explain this.

Her instincts told her that whatever had taken place, it was vitally important, though she couldn't say exactly why.

ooo

Meli rose an hour before breakfast, chose a new appearance charm, and proceeded to the Great Hall, arriving with a number of early-rising teachers. Snape nodded a mute greeting, then seated himself and stared at the far end of the Hall. Vector and Flitwick offered her tight smiles, and the latter patted her arm as if in sympathy. They knew, then, or suspected that she had some involvement in the aftermath of the Dursleys' disappearance, which in turn suggested that they knew of an escapee.

It made sense, really; they would need to be told, both as Order members and as Harry's teachers.

Even Trelawney put in an appearance at breakfast, her large, buggy eyes greatly humanized by the very real tears that graced them. She managed a smile for Meli and tilted her head politely. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I don't believe I know you."

Meli couldn't bring herself in that moment to think of the other woman as ridiculous nor to treat her as such. "Sara Crewe," she replied in a low voice, meeting the Divination teacher's gaze with green-gray eyes. "You're Sibyl Trelawney?"

Trelawney nodded, but words caught in her throat, and Meli allowed her a graceful exit, marveling at the sudden humanity and seriousness of the nutty fraud of a teacher.

All of the faculty had arrived by the time the first students started trickling in, and the contrast between the two groups was marked and bitter. The teachers looked as if they were assembled for a funeral, while the students chattered and greeted one another as cheerily as might be expected of teenagers at seven in the morning. Harry Potter was absent, of course; he would be in Dumbledore's office, speaking with McGonagall and the headmaster, who alone of the teachers were missing.

Even Zarekael had come to breakfast, Meli saw, though it seemed to her that he had far rather be by himself in the dungeons' depths and that he ought to be in the hospital wing awaiting a dire prognosis. He was unusually pale for even his norm, and she had not seen him so quiet and miserable since the end of the previous term, when he had avoided everyone with such mysterious determination. His present state topped even his misery in the face of Snape's anger over the Penseive, and that was not at all reassuring under the circumstances.

He knows, she abruptly realized. Whatever happened to Vernon and Petunia Dursley, he saw it done. She swallowed. Or he did it.

That thought did nothing at all to comfort her and, in fact, served to discompose her further. She had known only that the Dursleys were in all likelihood dead, that it wouldn't have been a pleasant end, and that Voldemort had done no magical work in it, either to torture or to kill, but with Zarekael being ordered to make the kills…

The well-remembered image of John Golden's horribly disfigured body flashed through her mind, driving away what little appetite she had managed to retain.

The Prophet's delivery owl saw to it that she was not alone in her loss of appetite, for no sooner had the students filled their plates than the newspaper arrived, bringing with it a screaming headline and just enough details of what had befallen the Dursleys to turn even the most stalwart stomach.

Meli cast a cursory glance at the front page, gleaning the basic gist of the article from key, eye-catching words and phrases long before the first reaction came from the students. The faculty sat in stony silence, until that calm should be disturbed by the need to retain disciplinary control.

The storm broke with the sound of a second-year Ravenclaw vomiting all over the table in front of her, and from there the noise level crescendoed rapidly to a roar.

It was not so much that anyone cared about the Dursleys themselves; until today almost no one had even known who they were. The questions and concerns raised by their brutal deaths came rather too close to home, however.

How dared You-Know-Who strike out at Harry Potter's family? How had he managed it? If he could reach even them, who must be heavily protected for Harry's sake, what was to stop him from reaching anyone he pleased? Was anyone truly safe anymore? Had anyone ever been?

What did it mean for Harry Potter? What did it mean for the war?

How could anyone, even You-Know-Who be so savagely brutal? Was there any hope that You-Know-Who could be overcome when he possessed such methods and the gumption to use them?

The students were permitted a full two minutes of such speculation at noise levels that qualified as pollution before Flitwick climbed atop the faculty table and blew up a loaf of bread in a spectacular, deafening explosion.

The student body fell immediately silent, and when the snowstorm of flaming breadcrumbs had finished, Flitwick cleared his throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he called out in a resonant voice. "You are all obviously aware by now of the events which transpired last night. I will not insult your intelligence by asking you to set this aside and have a happy, carefree day. What I do ask, however, is that you remain calm. Classes will go on as normal unless otherwise announced, and Headmaster Dumbledore will be addressing the student body at dinner this evening. For that reason, quidditch practices are canceled for today, but regular practice schedules will resume tomorrow. Thank you."

He climbed down and, perhaps in an attempt to start up a conversation, grimly offered Trelawney some toast. The Divination teacher refused, burst into tears, and rushed out of the Great Hall.

Meli shook her head and made a less obtrusive exit, as did, she saw from the corner of her eye, Ron and Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger.

ooo

Harry's friends were standing outside the statue guarding Dumbledore's office, running through an exhaustive list of confections, when Meli arrived.

"None of those will work," she told them softly, the sound of her voice nevertheless causing them to jump and whirl.

"Erm, no?" Hermione stammered as she came in for a landing.

"No," Meli replied. "At the advice of some of his friends, the headmaster has installed a new system of wards that keep people not meant to be in his office from gaining entry to it, even if they use the correct password."

Ron swore under his breath, and Ginny jabbed him in the ribs. "How do you know that?" she asked.

Meli smiled faintly and bowed. "Rasa, at your service," she answered, then turned to face the statue. "Papos de anjo," she said, then looked to the others. "Harry will find you as soon as he's done here."

The stairway was fully visible by now, so Meli stepped inside, leaving the threesome out in the corridor.

ooo

By the time she knocked at the headmaster's door, she had changed her glamourie again. Harry, not surprisingly, was still in the office, but she could tell that she hadn't interrupted a conversation. Dumbledore and McGonagall stood in front of the former's desk, watching Harry, who himself stood opposite the door, staring numbly at nothing in particular.

Dumbledore turned at her entrance. "Ah, I wondered when we would be seeing you, Miss—"

"Gradgrind," she finished for him, smiling at Harry as if the introduction was for his benefit only. "Louisa Gradgrind, at your service, Mr. Potter."

He mechanically shook the hand she extended. "Pleased to meet you," he mumbled.

Meli turned now to Dumbledore. "The students have taken the news about as well as can be expected," she told him. "I think they'll be glad to hear your words tonight." She glanced at Harry. "And lest you should wonder, Mr. Potter, your friends are anxious to know that you're all right."

Harry frowned in tragic confusion. "Why shouldn't I be all right?" he countered. "I wasn't exactly fond of any of them. They almost weren't even family."

She saw the lie in his eyes, though, and heard the false note in his words. He was grieved at the loss, and he was at a loss as to why. Every logical faculty in him told him that he should be, if not glad, at least relieved, basking in the freedom of a suddenly unshackled slave.

Meli permitted herself a tight smile; yes, she'd chosen her present identity well—who better than Louisa Gradgrind to understand that logic by itself could often be dead wrong?

"But surely, as terribly as they treated you, they didn't deserve their fate?" she suggested gently.

Harry shuddered involuntarily. "No one deserves that," he all but whispered. "Not even—" He caught himself and broke off.

Not even Voldemort, Meli finished silently. But it would seem he's not willing to go quite that far anymore. That in itself shows he had some attachment, however tenuous, to the Dursleys.

She wasn't so stupid as to think that it showed much hope for Dudley, though; she recognized cold shock when she saw it, and Harry was firmly in its grip. When the shock wore off and he saw Dudley alive and well, more customary and less amiable feelings would resurface to determine his actions.

How unfortunate that that fact made him her psychological enemy—or would do soon enough.

Dumbledore, wisely perceiving that it would be best to intervene before "Miss Gradgrind's" emotions took control of her mouth, cleared his throat. "I understand that this is difficult news, Harry," he said quietly. "You're excused from classes for the remainder of the day. I'll be calling Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shortly, and unless I'm much mistaken, one or both of them will arrive here soon after."

Harry looked up slowly, shock damping down the excitement he would probably otherwise have shown. "Will I be living with them now?" he asked. "During holidays, I mean."

Dumbledore traded sober glances with Meli and McGonagall before answering. "It's rather a complicated matter," he said evasively, "but the short answer to your question is yes."

Harry forced a smile, then took his leave, McGonagall following close behind.

Before the door had fully closed behind them, Tippy popped up on Dumbledore's desk.

"Tippy is asking Professor Dumbledore's pardon," the house elf uttered in a tangled rush, "but there is two people who is wanting to talk to Professor Dumbledore right now."

The headmaster raised his eyebrows. "What names do they give?" he inquired.

"They is the Weasleys, sir!" Tippy replied. "And Mrs. Weasley is as red as Winky's nose, sir! She is waving the Daily Prophet."

"Bring them up, Tippy," Dumbledore ordered, then sighed as the house elf disappeared again. "I would have preferred that they hear the news from me," he said wearily.

"Damned guaranteed five o'clock delivery," Meli muttered. "I'd forgotten that Hogwarts is on a delayed delivery schedule."

Dumbledore shrugged heavily. "Well, the damage is already done," he remarked philosophically. "And now we must simply hope that Molly doesn't murder us before we've said our piece."

Meli shook her head. "If I'd known I'd be dealing with a pissed-off Molly Weasley, I'd have left Louisa Gradgrind at home and come as She-Ra."

To judge by Dumbledore's neutral expression, he didn't know She-Ra from He-Man, and still less did he care. There was no time to address the topic further, however, for at that moment the door crashed open with the fury of a hurricane, and in stormed a purple-faced Molly Weasley with a worried-looking Arthur in her wake.

"ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!" Molly demanded in a voice far more suited for a Howler than for indoor conversation. She stormed across the office and came within a hair of shoving the Prophet up Dumbledore's nose. "WOULD YOU CARE TO EXPLAIN WHY WE HAD TO FIND OUT FROM THE NEWSPAPER INSTEAD OF YOU!"

Meli had melted into the shadows on the wall opposite the door, the better to observe this display without herself being dragged into it. She decided now that she had rather hear a shrieking contest between a banshee and a Ringwraith than endure the wrath of Molly.

How unfortunate that I didn't think of that earlier, she thought, wincing at Molly's ear-shattering timbre; the woman truly could be a professional glass-breaker.

"Molly, please," Arthur said quietly. "He can't answer when you're shouting."

"DON'T START WITH ME, ARTHUR!" she screamed back, then returned her scathing glare to the headmaster. "WELL!"

"My dear Molly," Dumbledore sighed, "I'm afraid I made a miscalculation. By the time I had definite information to pass on to you, it was close enough to breakfast time that it seemed silly to wake you, when an hour's delay would make little difference. I had forgotten that the Daily Prophet would already have arrived, and I apologize for not thinking of that and for the anxiety it has undoubtedly caused you."

The only sign that Molly was in any way mollified was that, instead of embarking upon another rampage, she clamped her mouth shut and settled for burning holes into the headmaster with her eyes. Arthur didn't look as though he greatly preferred this altered tactic, and he certainly didn't seem satisfied with Dumbledore's explanation, such as it was.

"According to the Daily Prophet," he said, "the Dursleys were found several hours before press time. What else was there to tell us, other than that they were captured and brutally murdered?"

Coming from Molly in her present mood, the question might have been accusatory; Arthur managed to sound curious and appropriately concerned. Meli was impressed at his relative calm—especially since she really and truly couldn't blame Molly for her lack of it.

Dumbledore smiled wanly. "You might remember from the article that the Dursleys' son Dudley is still unaccounted for?"

Arthur's eyes went wide, and Molly stiffened. "Yes," the former replied, his tone suddenly very peculiar.

Rather than elaborating, the headmaster turned his head to face Meli, bringing with his gaze the attention of the Weasleys. She stepped silently out of the shadows, then nodded deeply, first to Arthur, then to Molly.

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," she said, "I am Rasa. You may want to sit down before I tell you why I'm here."

Even after only two months of active duty, it seemed nevertheless that she had quite the reputation. The Weasleys sat mechanically, and she saw that the wheels had begun spinning at breakneck speed behind their eyes; she had their full, undivided attention.

"As you seem already to suspect," she told them quietly, "Dudley Dursley survived and is now under my protection."

"How?" Molly asked, sounding nearly as stunned as she looked.

In answer, Meli slid from her finger the Order of the Phoenix portkey ring that she, like most of the Order's at-risk agents, wore, and she held it up for them to see. "Two Order operatives attempted to give the Dursleys portkey rings this past summer," she answered. "They only succeeded in passing one to Dudley." She paused, swallowing to counter the tightening of her throat. Only five more days—!

"There was a follow-up mission to get a ring to Petunia, as well, but—" She broke off and cleared her throat. "Well, others moved more quickly." She blinked a few times to relieve her suddenly burning eyes before continuing. "Dudley escaped, arriving at my base of operations shortly after midnight. He suffered a dreadful shock, understandably, and he was up for several hours afterward. He's now sleeping—he knows his parents are dead, but we had no further details to give him at the time."

Dumbledore watched the Weasleys carefully for a moment, then picked up where Meli had dropped off. "When Dudley wakes," he said softly, "he's going to need somewhere to go."

Arthur took a deep breath but said nothing, clearly waiting for his wife's reaction. Molly was silent a moment, then soberly met Dumbledore's eye. "He hasn't any other family…has he."

The headmaster shook his head. "I'm afraid not," he replied. "At least, no one capable of protecting him from Dark wizards."

"Oddly enough," Meli mused aloud, "I don't think he'd want to go live with his Aunt Marge."

"Is she the dog-breeder?" Arthur inquired, furrowing his brow in concern.

Meli nodded. "To our knowledge, she's the only family aside from Harry that he has left."

That did it for Molly. Her eyes blazed suddenly, and she firmly set her jaw. "There is no way I'll see him bundled off to live with that despicable, nasty, puffed-up broad!" she snapped, drawing a gasp from Arthur and raised eyebrows from Meli and Dumbledore. "I don't care if she spoils him and thinks the world of him—or says so to his parents' faces, at any rate! She plainly doesn't know the first thing about appropriately raising a child, much less taking in a boy who's been orphaned under these circumstances!" Her own words hit her suddenly, and her eyes filled with tears. "The poor boy!" she all but sniffled. "Is there any way we can take him, Albus—any way at all?"

Meli shot Dumbledore a sardonic look and shook her head. She'd been worried about convincing the Weasleys to take Dudley in, but here, with only an off-hand remark and not a shot fired, Molly had got into such a state that she would fight them tooth and nail if they told her to do anything else.

Mama-bear, indeed, she thought dryly.

Arthur was nodding his agreement with Molly, but he looked a little cautious. "What about Harry?" he asked. "We'll be taking him, too, of course, but—does he know yet?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I thought it best to give him one shock at a time," he answered. "This afternoon, when Dudley is awake and able to meet you, we'll tell Harry."

"We also thought it best if neither boy was quite alone for the meeting," Meli added.

Arthur nodded again, and while Molly didn't seem entirely happy with the arrangement, she at least did not protest, doubtless recognizing that there simply was no perfect way to go about it. It wouldn't be pretty in any case, but at least with both boys still in shock and having advocates in the same room, it stood a chance of going somewhat smoothly.

Hopefully.

ooo

It did not require much urging from Dumbledore to convince Arthur and Molly to spend the day with Harry. Meli did remind them not to tell him about Dudley yet, but it was almost unnecessary to do so. Once the Weasleys had departed, Meli looked to Dumbledore with an arched eyebrow.

"Headmaster," she said dryly, "I know you have a number of things on your mind, and I do hate to add one more—"

"But?" he prompted.

"But," she continued with a smirk, "what exactly will Dudley be wearing when he meets the Weasleys?"

It had been rather unpleasant, though not surprising, news when Tippy had apologetically informed her that Dudley's clothing had been damaged beyond repair by his adventures the previous evening. What had so damaged them Meli could not guess, nor did she want to, but he had looked every inch the refugee he was.

Pajamas were readily available items because Poppy kept a supply in the hospital wing. Day-wear, unfortunately, would be a little harder to come by, and when there was an escapee on the loose who was known to be of a certain age and certain measurements, one did not simply walk into the nearest Wipstich & Tatting's to buy up a new wardrobe.

Dumbledore knit his brows as he pondered the problem. "Well," he said at last, "there's only one person I know of from whom he could borrow without raising suspicion."

Meli tilted her head. "Oh?"

The headmaster nodded and looked a bit dubious. "I believe Zarekael has kept some of his clothes from his time as a student here," he replied slowly.

The mental image of Dudley traipsing about in Zarekael's Victorian suit and billowing robe was a bit more disturbing than Meli cared to admit out loud. The boy had lost significant weight in the past year, but his build was hardly optimized for the cut of Zarekael's clothing, and beyond that…well, it required a particular brand of dignity to pull off that look, and unless she was much mistaken, Dudley fell into another category entirely.

Better to have him borrow from Longbottom, she thought, but that, of course, would raise awkward questions unless she just filched the clothing outright, which she was unwilling to do.

"Well," she managed, after a very difficult moment, "I suppose if that's the best we can do, it'll have to suffice."

Dumbledore took a deep breath and raised his eyebrows a tad. "I'll talk with Zarekael during his free period."

ooo

Dudley woke shortly after lunchtime, and by then Meli had obtained and somewhat altered a set of clothes. The boy had a large meal, and then he faced the unenviable task of putting on his borrowed plumage; it did not go well.

Meli's alterations did help; she had guessed nearly right at Dudley's measurements, so the shirt and trousers fit well enough and required only minimal tweaking for a technical fit. The problem lay not so much in the substance of the clothing, however, as in its art or, more precisely, its style.

The shirt Zarekael had provided was Regency-period and appeared to have staged an escape from the wardrobe of Mr. Knightly. It had a high collar that folded forward in neat little triangles that were meant to hover in the air like misplaced wings rather than rest against the chest or shoulders. They did this very well without assistance, courtesy of a thorough starching job, but the shirt was meant to be accompanied by a cravat or tie and a high-necked jacket, the joint function of which was to appear to hold the collar in place.

If Dudley had ever seen a cravat, it had been on television; properly situating and wearing one constituted an impossible feat, and the jacket, whose presence would have diminished the need for the cravat, refused to look at all passable on him. Meli made valiant attempts with both cravat and tie, but to little avail. She at last managed to make the tie look more or less presentable, if not neat, then called it good.

The shirt was designed to be worn with some form of jacket, however, so Meli helped Dudley into one of Zarekael's old student robes, from which she had carefully removed the Slytherin badge. He would have to wear robes at Caliban, after all; he might as well start getting used to it now.

Once the process was complete, Meli and Tippy surveyed the final product and traded glances.

"Is Sir wanting a mirror?" the house elf asked, a little nervously.

Dudley looked uncertainly from Tippy to Meli and back. "I don't know," he answered carefully. "Do I?"

Meli sighed. "It's not that bad," she told him. "Go on, Tippy, bring a mirror for him."

Tippy disappeared, reappearing a few seconds later with a full-length mirror in an elaborately carved frame. Dudley surveyed his reflection, frowned thoughtfully, and turned away. "I think I'm a bit too grungy for the look," he commented, then let the subject drop.

I'm sure Carson would agree, Meli thought wryly. Still, for the moment, it's the best available, and it isn't so awful, really.

The brush lay not with her opinion of his looks, however, nor even with Dudley's opinion; Arthur and Molly would look past the awkward clothing to the wounded boy wearing it, and Dumbledore would, as well. The worry, really, was Harry Potter and not merely what he thought but what he had to say about it. Dudley was down already; he didn't need a good kick in the stomach while he was on the ground, and if Harry chose to administer one, Meli didn't trust herself not to knock out the teeth of the Boy Who Lived.

Wouldn't that be a splendid headline, she reflected darkly. I can see it now: "HARRY POTTER MAIMED BY FACELESS ROGUE AGENT!"

She shook off the thought and gave Dudley an encouraging smile. "It's only for now," she told him. "We'll get you proper clothes soon enough."

The boy managed a smile in return, and without a further word passing between them, they left his guest rooms and made their way to Dumbledore's office.

ooo

By specific arrangement, Meli and Dudley arrived shortly after the Weasleys and Harry Potter did. At Dumbledore's request, only Arthur and Molly would be coming with Harry, leaving the two boys to face one another without one having a private army at his back, which, the headmaster knew, was precisely what Hermione, Ginny, and especially Ron would become.

Dumbledore, in typical fashion, had set up tea, and when Meli and Dudley arrived at his office, Molly, Arthur, and Harry were sipping at cups of Earl Grey and listening to a litany of any number of food options, ranging from poppy-seed cake to chocolate chip scones to cucumber sandwiches and nearly everything in between. It was, Meli thought as she stepped out of the fireplace and brushed herself off, probably the best he could do in the way of setting everyone at ease before throwing it all into turmoil again.

She had just enough time to nod in silent greeting to the foursome already in the office and then to step aside before the fire swirled green again and Dudley stepped out behind her. Harry, who had followed the Weasleys' lead in standing to greet her, was on his feet and turning toward the fireplace when Dudley arrived, and he was therefore standing with his face fully to his cousin before he even realized who it was.

Both boys went deathly pale at the sight of one another, but Dudley, who had at least had some warning, managed a polite, if awkward, nod. Harry, by contrast, had gone stiff, and it was all he could do to turn his head and look to Dumbledore in numb shock.

"As I was about to tell you," the headmaster said quietly, evidently resuming an earlier train of conversation, "the ring of which I have just reminded you did as it was intended to do. Dudley had the presence of mind to activate it and escaped to an Order safe-house, which is how he came to be here."

Harry heard the explanation with all of the apparent attentiveness of a stone pillar; Dumbledore's words had no visible effect on him whatsoever, and, in fact, it seemed to Meli that some part of him hardened further. He did not appear angry, nor did it look as though he was intentionally shutting himself down, and she permitted herself the cautious hope that this was a shocked reaction rather than a bitter one.

What he says next will show the truth of it, she thought. Either he's trying to process the information that Dudley's alive and well, or he's working it out that Dumbledore's known all day and only now got 'round to telling him.

Harry furrowed his brow, breaking the marble of his forehead as he turned back to face Dudley. "I'm…glad you're okay," he said in a bewildered voice.

Meli resisted the urge to arch an eyebrow. I think that means he's in shock, she mused, but I would never have expected that comment, no matter how off-guard he was taken. She hesitated to feel reassured on account of Harry's words, but she was not disheartened.

"Thanks," Dudley mumbled in a similar tone. "How, um…how are you?"

Harry managed a shrug. "All right, I guess," he answered. "You?"

Now Dudley furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure, really," he replied. "Okay, more or less."

Harry turned back to Dumbledore, his eyes betraying signs that some of his bewilderment was dissipating in the wake of slowly reawakening logical faculties. "How long…?"

Meli cleared her throat, drawing his attention to her and away from the headmaster. She knew that Harry didn't worship Dumbledore the way Zarekael seemed to do, but she was well aware that he, too, lived under the impression that the old wizard was somehow more than human. With everything else that had happened, Harry didn't need to see his mentor's pedestal topple, too; it might very well produce a bad reaction, and since he probably couldn't bring himself to fire directly at Dumbledore, she wouldn't put it past him to take it out on Dudley instead.

"I took Dudley into protective custody early this morning," she told him coolly, "and he has remained under my protection since that time. This delay in telling you was at my request."

Harry frowned. "Why?"

She nodded once in acknowledgment of a fair question. "There was no chance of you seeing your cousin sooner," she replied, "and I thought it would be best for you to take one shock at a time. Had it been possible for the two of you to meet sooner, that would have been another matter."

If Dumbledore wished to speak up and correct the record, he apparently thought it wiser to remain silent for the moment. Whether or not he saw that she had spoken to deflect any blame from him was, of course, an open question, but he seemed content, at least for now, to hold his peace.

Fortunately, Harry did not look inclined to lay blame at anyone's feet. He merely nodded, then looked back to his cousin. "So…will you be staying at Hogwarts?" he asked.

Dudley glanced first at Meli, then at Dumbledore, clearly inviting either of them to give an answer.

"Arrangements have been made for Dudley to stay with the Weasleys," Dumbledore told Harry.

That Harry did no more than nod again gave testimony to his still being in the grips of shock. He remained silent, and Meli judged that he didn't consider that anything particularly needed saying at the moment. Dudley, who hadn't been at all surprised at meeting Harry, was closer to the surface of reality, enough so that he let out an almost inaudible sigh of relief at his cousin's lack of protest.

Give it a week, and Harry will have enough to say that it would take volumes to record, Meli thought sardonically. Fortunately, though, you won't have to be around for it, and we can always hope that he'll have it mostly out of his system by Christmas holiday.

That hope, of course, was a long shot, but it was a nice idea to kick around for a minute or so.

The interview ended shortly afterward, and the Weasleys left with Harry. They planned to stay until dinner, after which they would return home, accompanied by Dudley. Meli would go to Caliban the following morning, carrying a letter from Dumbledore to the headmaster there (who, she gathered, was in some way related to Dumbledore), at which time she would process the necessary paperwork for Dudley's enrollment there.

He couldn't keep his name, of course, but she had already seen to that part of his disappearance. At Dudley's own request, he had been given a name that had absolutely nothing to do with his father's side of the family, and by Meli's arrangement, it could only be tied to his mother's side of the family with a great deal of trouble and research—so much trouble, in fact, that she thought it highly unlikely that even Lucius Malfoy would bother with it.

ooo

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Brownie points go to anyone who can identify the Alan Rickman quote in this chapter (including what Alan Rickman character said it, and what movie it's from; hint: if you get the character, the movie should quickly follow).

Also, Omaha Werewolf- I'm glad you liked the A/N. Between having had very long conversations with Snarky about characterization issues and having been the college roommate of a literature major, I've put a lot of thought into thinking out characters and what they'd do when and why. So, thank you for the praise, but I must share it with my dear friends Janson and Snarky.
As far as the thing with calling Zarekael a "boy"…Here we run into the contrast between perception rather than reality. You make a very good point: Zarekael is twenty years old, considered an adult, and, moreover, eight to ten inches taller than Snape. However, Snape has known him since he was (for purposes of the story up to this point) eleven years old, and while Zarekael has always been more mature than others his age, he was still a youth, Snape's student, and Snape's son, and if Snape's even remotely like my parents, he hasn't quite adjusted to Zarekael being an adult just yet. For reasons that will become apparent in later chapters, that's an overly simplistic answer, but fortunately, it's not the only one.
There's also the fact that Zarekael, even though he's twenty, can sometimes resemble a young boy when he knows he's done something wrong or when he's in a very unfamiliar situation. That's one reason Meli all but considers him a little brother, even though he's a perfectly capable and mature adult. So, while Snape does see him as an adult, when Zarekael's in disgrace, he reverts back to the little-boy-standing-in-the-corner look, which would make it difficult for Snape to remember that he's a grown-up. I was trying to convey that impression in Chapter 15, but I suppose it went a bit awry. You have my solemn word that I would never intentionally demean Zarekael; I save that for characters for whom I haven't any respect—like James Potter and Sirius Black, for instance insert evil grin .
Besides, Voldemort does plenty of demeaning of both Snape and Zarekael; he doesn't need any help from me, even if I was inclined to give it.
As always, thanks for your review!
AE

ADDITIONAL NOTICE (6 JULY 2005): Chapter 18, which was briefly posted, has been temporarily removed pending a thorough overhaul. Those of you who read the original version, I congratulate you: you are in possession of information that Meli herself will not have for a few more months, and in the meantime, you persevered through an excessively boring bit of what is soon to be completely unnecessary Sherlockian deduction. Once Snarky and I have done with the revamping, which should be completed in no more than a few days, I will happily re-post the chapter in all of its glory and (hopefully) none of its ennui.
And I apologize if I sound like I just jumped out of the nineteenth century; I'm reading Dracula again, and it's starting to affect my diction. I can hardly wait 'til my roommate gets home and tries to engage me in normal conversation!
In the meantime, thank you for your patience.
AE