A/N: This chapter is finally up, and I really am sorry it's taken so long. It almost certainly won't ever take this long again. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday and I wish you a happy new 2006!

Lost: One Godson, Answers to Harry

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The round Gryffindor common room was thick with anxious children, the scratching of quills, and notes fluttering through the air. The end-of-year exams were breathing down the students' necks and Percy Weasley had resumed his habit of slamming detentions on anyone who disturbed the peace. But in one darkened huddle of chairs next to the fireplace, three second-years had abandoned their homework and were discussing quite a different topic.

"Please, Neville," Hermione whispered. "Please tell Professor Dumbledore about these dreams. If there's a chance he can scavenge some information from them, he has to know. This could be our only way to really help Harry."

Neville was hunched over his Herbology notes, pretending to read, but his eyes were not moving. Hermione and Ron had been trying to convince him to reveal his dreams ever since he had confided in them.

"Why don't you want Dumbledore to know?" Ron asked in exasperation.

This was what it always boiled down to. Neville was not quite sure himself why he did not want Dumbledore to know about the dreams. All he knew for certain was that if he told the Headmaster, Dumbledore would make the dreams stop, and he did not want that.

And of course, he would not explain to Neville why things had to be like that. Dumbledore never explained anything to Neville. Oh, he told him things – he told him about the Prophecy, the connection to Voldemort, the danger that was always lurking – but he never explained. Even when Neville warned the Headmaster about something he had seen in a dream, Dumbledore wouldn't explain what it was Neville was seeing. Sometimes Neville wanted to shake the old Professor and shout, "I'm not stupid! Tell me what's happening in this war!" But he didn't dare.

And now, at last, he was privy to something that Dumbledore didn't know about. At first, he had not bothered to share his dreams of Harry because unlike the other dreams, they weren't warnings, merely visions. But after a while, it was a more selfish reason. He felt he knew Harry, intimately and secretly – like an old friend. And he knew he was being selfish and stupid, but he couldn't bear the thought of losing that connection to another human being.

"Please, Neville," Hermione leaned forward and put her hand over his. "Please tell Dumbledore."

Neville looked at her soft white fingers and slowly nodded. "Alright," he whispered. "Alright. I will…and I'm sorry I've been so…so dumb."

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The door of Dumbledore's office closed with a quite snick behind Ron, Hermione and Neville, and Dumbledore listened to the three sets of footsteps disappear down the stairs before he allowed himself to sink into a chair by the fire. On his perch high at the back of the room, Fawkes gave a querying trill, but Dumbledore did not answer him.

What Neville had revealed to him disturbed him far more than he could dare to admit. He had spent years now, subduing every rumour that arose about how Neville Longbottom had survived the slaughter of his family and how he had gotten the curious scar on his forehead. Not least because he did not want anyone to treat the poor boy as some kind of celebrity, or worse, a freak – but also because he had to know exactly what it was that had happened to Neville. What the creature known as Voldemort had done; what connected Neville to Harry Potter – and what separated them.

"Why did you choose him, Tom?" Dumbledore muttered to himself. "If you knew what would result, why did you mark Neville instead of Harry? Was it because he was a pure-blood – even though you yourself are not? Was it simply convenience – because you tracked the Longbottoms down first? Or was it something else?"

And why was Voldemort sending Neville these dreams? Dumbledore knew they were no accident on the Dark Lord's part. They were too careful not to give away anything about Harry's location. Yet nor are they false visions. So what was Voldemort trying to achieve? Was he merely studying the connection he had with Neville, or were these dreams for Neville himself? What did he have to gain from them?

Fawkes gave his querying call again and Dumbledore broke out of his musing and rose to his feet.

"There are too many questions, Fawkes," Dumbledore sighed, gliding over to the phoenix's perch and running one wrinkled finger other the bird's feathered crest. "All I can do is make sure the dreams stop. I will redouble my efforts to teach Neville Occlumency." Fawkes crooned in reply, and watched as Dumbledore went over to the desk and pulled out a blank piece of parchment and a quill.

"And what am I supposed to tell Sirius?" he said aloud to himself as he took up the quill and reached for a bottle of ink. "He needs to know that Harry is still alive and well – but what will he do when I tell him I am doing everything I can to stop these dreams from continuing?"

Who knew what Sirius Black would do – Dumbledore could no longer predict how far Sirius would go to retrieve his godson. He might demand that the headmaster follow up on these dreams, even though Dumbledore already knew it would do no good. He might even come seeking Neville himself.

Or, worst of all – Dumbledore could barely conceive it as a possibility, yet he knew that it was – Sirius Black might finally snap and go to the Death Eaters.

Anyone who knew Sirius well would laugh at the idea. But Dumbledore had seen what Sirius was willing to do to protect Harry. Was it so ludicrous that he would take that one step further and join Voldemort's followers, just so he could know for sure that his Godson was being taken care of? No, it was not ludicrous.

"And you do not trust me, Sirius," Dumbledore said quietly, his hand resting on the blank parchment. "You do not trust me at all. You will not believe me if I tell you it is vitally important Neville never dreams of Harry again. No – you cannot hear this news from me. You have to hear it from someone else."

Remus – he was the only one Sirius would believe. Dumbledore sighed. Remus Lupin was far away and it was too early for him to come home. So the Headmaster would have to wait to pass on this new information. Once Remus returned from his task, Dumbledore would tell him about Neville's dreams, and then he could tell Sirius.

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The enchanted windows of the Ministry of Magic filled the halls with warm evening sunlight, golden and summery. The Aurors working late with papers and investigations called cheerily to each other as one by one, they filed away folders of parchment, put on their cloaks and headed home for the night. It was now well and truly summer, and many of the Aurors were looking forward to when their children would be coming home from Hogwarts school, in only a few days' time.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was studying a report on muggle secretarial work which Arthur Weasley had written up for him. Moody had had the idea of planting an Auror in the inner circle of the muggle Prime Minister, and Kingsley had been chosen for the job. He had to admit, as he scanned through the verses of "God Save the Queen", that blending into a muggle office was going to be more difficult than he had thought. Deciding he had had quite enough details on muggle ballpoint pens to last a lifetime, he glanced at the luminous owl-shaped clock on the wall, stood up, stretched, and flicked his wand to clear his desk. Papers shot away across the room and slipped into near-invisible cracks in filing cabinets and drawers.

He was just closing his briefcase when he heard a commotion at the lifts. He looked up and saw one of the security wizards trying to prevent someone leaving the elevator.

"Look, I'm sorry, but you are not supposed to be here-" the security wizard was saying, but a strained, angry voice overrode him.

"For goodness' sake, I am running out of time, just let me through!"

Kingsley recognised the voice at once and doubled his stride. Remus Lupin was trying to push past into the office. A couple of Aurors waiting to use the lift were standing to one side, scowling.

"It's alright," Kingsley called, before a fight could break out. "He's with me, Pembroke," he added to the security wizard, who muttered darkly as he stepped back to admit Remus. The young professor was not looking healthy, even by his own standards. He was pale and panting as if he had run a long way very fast, wearing robes that were undeniably filthy and his normally tidy hair was longer than usual and sticking up in odd places. Kingsley opened his mouth to ask Remus what he was doing but Remus did not wait to be asked.

"Greyback," he gasped, seizing Kingsley's arm, and it took Kingsley a moment to realise that Remus was not calling him Greyback. "You got my message – didn't you, Kingsley? – I sent you a message saying Greyback was mustering for an attack of some kind."

"Yes, I did," Kingsley had not seen Remus for months, ever since he had gone to integrate with the fugitive werewolves, but Dumbledore had managed to pass on a few messages that he felt were important. "But you said we were looking at something that was months away…"

"I was wrong. I think they suspect I'm working for Dumbledore. They're doing it tonight," Remus babbled, and his eyes flicked to the enchanted windows, where the sun was sinking steadily towards the horizon. "You have to stop him – Kingsley, you've got maybe three hours before moonrise – at least twenty-five werewolves, they'll be in London…"

"Where?" Kingsley's voice remained calm, and he brought out his wand, already calculating which Aurors could be gathered in so short a time. The Ministry Hit Wizards could be called in as well, and perhaps a few Obliviators who were trained for combat.

"An orphanage, in town, I've got the address, I'm supposed to…I'm supposed to go with them," Remus said. The tendons of his neck were clenched. "You understand what they're going to do? They'll savage – all those children – kidnap them and take them to be raised as werewolves…I can't let them…"

Kingsley nodded. He had to pry Remus's fingers off his forearm just to step away. "Will they have noticed you have gone?" he asked as he began to send messages to all the Aurors left in the building. When Remus shook his head, Kingsley continued. "Do you think if you went back yyou could slip away before it begins?"

"Yes…yes, I think so…"

"Then you must go back. If they suspect a trap, they will come prepared to fight wizards, and not enough of us are trained to kill werewolves."

"Kill werewolves," echoed Remus dully.

"We need the element of surprise, Remus. Give me the address then go back as fast as you can."

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Three hours until moonrise, Remus had said.

You couldn't raise an army in three hours. Kingsley glanced sideways at where he knew Emmeline Vance was standing a little way away, but he could only just make out her blurry outline against the brick wall of the orphanage. All across the front of the building, the Aurors stood in formation, wands at the ready. But only a keen eye could have picked them out; all of them were under Disillusionment charms, making them near-invisible in the fading light of the sunset.

The orphanage at their backs was an old, tottering building. None of the windows were lighted. Kingsley had sent in a number of Obliviators to quickly subdue the muggles within the building, so that they did not come running outside if they heard a commotion. It was vital the muggles stayed out of this fight.

A shiver ran down the line of Aurors as the last rays finally dimmed. The moon would be rising in minutes – less than a minute, perhaps – and none of them were really prepared for what Kingsley had said they were facing. Werewolf attacks had been rising in recent years, but they very rarely required Ministry officials to apprehend the wolf in question, since by the time the Ministry could be called, it was usually too late.

These witches and wizards simply were not experienced in fighting werewolves. Some of them had even been in bed when he had summoned them from their homes. And before the night was out, some of them could be dead –

Keep your mind on the task at hand, Kingsley thought to himself. But then his mind began to wander once more, and he thought Remus Lupin, and guilt nuzzled at him. He had sent Remus back, knowing it was necessary to keep control of the situation – but he may have sent Remus to his doom. If Greyback had discovered that Remus was reporting to the Ministry, he could already be dead. If he had managed to maintain his cover, he might still have been forced to join the other werewolves in the attack. He might well be approaching, knowing he had to escape before he transformed, or he would lose all control…

Out of the corner of his eye, Kingsley saw Emmeline Vance tense and he swept his gaze across the empty muggle street. He knew at once what she had seen. The dark shape of a man was slinking out from behind a parked car, moving slowly and quietly. Then another shape emerged about twenty feet away, and then another, and another – they were appearing out of nowhere, moving in a pack towards the front door of the orphanage.

There were at least twenty men and one or two women. Kingsley knew that most of them would be muggles, exiled from their own kind and living under Greyback's law because they did not know any better. Taught to hate those who could wield magic when they could not. Many of them were dressed in ragged, dirty clothes, their hair mangy and long, but others had found the means to keep themselves tidy. One even wore a crisp suit and brightly-shined shoes.

They had not yet seen the half-invisible Aurors, but it would only be a moment now…

"Hoy!" One of the men across the street called, raising one gnarled hand and pointing straight at Kingsley. "Lookit! There's someone there…"

Heads snapped up, and Kingsley saw noses sniff in a decidedly wolf-like manner. Growls rose in throats. One of the werewolves gave a panicked whimper, and another cried. "Greyback! It's a trap! We must…"

"No!" a low voice that seemed to reek of blood emanated from the centre of the pack. "Do not run!"

Kingsley raised his wand, swept it from side to side, and the Disillusionment charms dissolved away. Before the eyes of the snarling werewolves, thirty-six Aurors and Ministry Hit Wizards swam into existence, lined up across the pavement, on the steps of the orphanage, and even perched on the windowsills. The werewolves, knowing themselves to be outnumbered, drew closer together, raising their hands to defend themselves.

"Aurors, now! Stun them!" Kingsley called, stabbing his wand forward, and the Aurors brought their wands up and leapt towards the werewolves, already crying spells.

And over the rooftops, the moon began to rise in the deep blue sky.

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The morning light was dulled by a thin layer of cloud, and low fog drifted in wisps across the pavement. The air had a warm summer smell about it, but the ground was still cold. Through the fog came the deep growl of a motorbike, and a moment later a dark shape sped around the corner and bumped to a stop beside a concrete lamppost.

Sirius parked his motorbike as far away from Grimmauld Place as he could, cast a Disillusionment charm over it, and ran the rest of the way. He was panting by the time he reached the door of the house and tapped it with his wand to unlock it.

In his other hand was clutched a tiny scrap of parchment which had flown out of his fireplace that morning. On it, in handwriting that Sirius recognised as Remus Lupin's, were the words, Come quickly, I need your help. Nothing else, but Sirius knew that Lupin could only be at number twelve Grimmauld Place or he would have specified otherwise. That meant he was back from his stint with the werewolves – and Sirius did not need to read the headline of that day's Daily Prophet to know that that meant something bad.

He pushed the door shut after him and found the lamps were not lit in the hall. He couldn't find the switch in the darkness so he lit his wand and hurried downstairs towards the kitchen. Through a crack in the door Sirius could see that the kitchen was lit by candles and he pushed open the door without breaking his stride.

Lupin was standing in front of the oven, warming his hands on a smouldering fire. He turned as he heard the door open. Sirius had to fight not to growl. Lupin was looking very rough. His hair was longer than usual, and looked as if it had not seem a comb or brush for days. There were new patches on his robes, the hemline of which was caked in mud. But his face was a mess. Scratches formed red welts across his cheeks and neck, and a bruise was blossoming on his temple. He also had what Sirius immediately identified as canine tooth marks on his chin.

It had been a full moon last night, and a few scratches were not unusual if Lupin had not been taking Wolfsbane – but he couldn't bite his own chin. Another werewolf had done this.

"Hello," Lupin croaked, limping over to Sirius. As he did so, he glanced sideways at his pack that had been dropped in the corner of the room under a pile of blankets.

"You're a mess," said Sirius, grabbing Lupin's arm and pulling him into a quick hug.

Lupin nodded. He wasn't smiling: in fact, he looked on the verge of tears.

"What's happened?" Sirius asked, pushing Lupin down onto a chair and pulling up another for himself. "You said you needed help."

"Yes, I…" Lupin shook his head as if trying to remember. "I only just got away at the last minute. Kingsley…Kingsley couldn't see me in the crowd…once we were werewolves, he would have…would have killed me with the others…"

Sirius had only glanced at the Daily Prophet article, so all he knew was that a muggle Orphanage had been attacked by werewolves and the Aurors had driven them back. Two wizards were dead and five times that many of the werewolves. Most of the rest had been arrested, but the Ministry was still searching for Fenrir Greyback, who had been seen escaping into London, badly wounded by a battle with Emmeline Vance.

"You might want those scratches looked at," said Sirius. "St Mungo's? I've got my bike…"

Lupin shook his head. He still looked dazed and confused. Sirius wondered if the bruise on his temple might be the result of a concussion.

"Come on, Moony," he insisted. "You're in a bad way. Let's get out of here and get you patched up. You're not going back undercover."

Lupin shook his head again and put his face in his hands. Then Sirius heard a strange noise, a sort of snarling groan. It was coming from Lupin's pack in the corner of the room. Lupin was on his feet at once and hurried across to kneel beside the pack, which shuddering, groaned again, wriggled…

It was not a pack at all.

Before Sirius could open his mouth to speak, there was a low roaring as the fire in the oven flared green. A moment later, a shape appeared, revolving very fast, and a lean figure climbed out of the fire, shaking her mousy-brown hair so that soot fell out of it in clouds. She raised her head, and saw Sirius first.

"Tonks?"

"Where is he?" his young cousin wailed. She was clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet in one hand and her face was streaking with tears. Her eyes were so red and puffy that Sirius was surprised she had managed to get as far as the fireplace without walking into something.

"Tonks…" Sirius began.

Tonk threw the newspaper down on the table where the headline TEN WEREWOLVES KILLED IN THWARTED ATTACK lay upright in stark black letters and collapsed onto the chair which Lupin had just vacated. Her shoulders were shaking and her hair was limp and flat. "He's d-dead," she sobbed. "I s-saw the newpaper and I just knew…"

"Tonks, I'm right here," said Lupin, and he sounded relieved for the first time that morning. Tonks' head whipped around to look at him, and she rubbed her eyes to clear her vision, the misery melting away from her face as she saw Lupin alive and well.

And then her eyes saw what he was holding and her brows tightened in a bewildered sort of way.

The blankets had fallen away from the lumpy thing which Sirius had thought was a pack. It was not – it was a girl, not older than twenty, wearing a dirty grey dress, her feet bare and scabby, her hair a brownish tangle pulled into what might once have been a single plait. She had a square, muddy face, twisted into a bitter, ugly expression, her teeth bared and her eyes narrowed. Her nose was wide and lumpy, as if it had been broken at least once, and there was a bit of dried blood on her upper lip. Her thin, knobbly hands were clutching the front of Lupin's robes in a fierce grip and she was leaning against him.

Lupin was helping her to her feet, with his arms around her.

Tonks stared at the girl. The girl stared back, her face still pressed to Lupin's chest, looking both hostile and terrified.

"Erm," said Lupin, clearing his throat. "Sirius – Tonks – this is Maud."

"Oh," said Tonks in a surprised sort of voice.

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TBC

A/N: Um…yes. Questions welcome. Although might I first say that I think everything is relevant in this chapter, just in case that was your question.

So thank you everyone:

Erinne, illachi, CrimsonReality, Cruciatus88, Phyre's child13, hermione1208, sephiroth's sword, Elle's Bells, crazy4thesun, LittleCrazy1, EsScaper, sami1010220, SBR

Next chapter I am hoping to introduce Umbridge and make everyone hate her (even more than they do already). Or I may do another Harry chapter. I have to work out how far we have to go until the two plots merge.

Cheers!