--1941--
She should've known he'd find her. Peter was always the one who came looking. Sometimes Edmund or Lucy would get curious – but she was supposed to look after them, not the other way around. She'd long ago figured out how to hide so that they wouldn't find her.
But she hadn't yet managed to outwit Peter. How does he always know? It was the deepest comfort Susan had, knowing that there was nowhere on this Earth she could go, without her big brother discovering where she was.
So when the door to the spare room opened, she looked up from her curl on the window-seat, and the book she'd made off with.
"Here you are."
There was no disguising the relief in his face. Remorse clawed at her. "You didn't need to worry, Peter." But I suppose you always will.
He didn't answer, crossing the room to lean beside her. The blond head turned, eyes lingering on the wardrobe. She kept her back to it.
Whatever possessed us to go after that white stag in the first place?
No longer kings and queens.
But Aslan said –
She wasn't going to think about it.
"What are you doing here?"
"Reading."
"Great Expectations?"
She handed it over. "It's not as bad as it sounds, really. I know you don't care much for Dickens, but -"
"Susan."
Dark hair hid her flinch, before fingers gently pushed it behind her ear. She knew her tears had the power to move him – and so she never let him see her cry.
"Su?"
Gulp back a sob. I want to go home! "I - I miss it. So much, Peter!"
Strong arms curled around her, but she didn't feel safe. Stranded. But at least I'm not alone . . . She had her family. She was never alone. But oh, it felt like it sometimes! How do they not feel what I feel?
"We'll get back one day. I know it."
"But how?" she protested. She wanted to believe! How, how could he be so sure? Tell me. Please. Tell me how to stop it hurting!
Peter gave her a rare, sweet smile. "How do you know the sun will rise?"
Startled from weeping, she stared at him. "But what – what does that have to do with -"
"Faith, Susan. You must believe it." Compassionate blue eyes, the only thing they shared, pierced her. The only thing they would ever share, it seemed.
A chill swept over her then, as she finally – finally! – understood. Disentangling herself from her brother's embrace, Susan stepped back. Wiped off the tears that would not go away, no matter how hard she tried. And let the chill into her heart. "But you see, that's the problem, Peter. I can't."
The door closed gently on the wardrobe. She didn't look back to see a pain echoing her own flare in her brother's heart.
"Unbelievable!" Wow! It's not Narnian, but – wow! "Come on, come on!"
Impatient glances, pleading, badgering, even pushing wouldn't get them to go any faster. He was careful not to push too hard, though. He'd seen the way Su hesitated, before finally deciding to go with them this morning. Something had happened, he could see that plain as day.
But Peter and Su aren't telling. Yet. And she agreed to take a closer look.
"Look at the lake!" Lucy cried, running forward to dip her hand in its waters. "Oh!"
"Cold, Lu?" Peter teased.
The littlest stuck her tongue out, and splashed.
"Aahhh! That's cold!"
A cheshire grin.
His damp brother gave the woods – and there was something obviously wrong about the forest from this side – a last measuring look.
"We came to see the castle," Susan said. "Let's go."
Edmund sobered. I wish Peter would tell me what was wrong. Susan had been like that all day. Abrupt, cold even. Though she would talk with them easily enough, there was a distance to her when they spoke about Narnia. But he couldn't figure out what it meant.
They came across the path soon enough, circling around past the loch toward the castle. "Hoof prints," he murmured, staring at the dirt. "Sometime since the last rain." A week or more of leeway, then. But they hadn't passed by today.
Peter crouched at his side. "Not a horse." Nor centaur, then. Fingers flitted over the dirt. "Stride's too long for a pony. Mule, maybe."
Edmund frowned. "But?"
"Shape's wrong. It's not just fancy smithing with the shoes – it's the hoof itself." Blond hair bobbed in the sun. "Look."
The toe tapered to a point, sides sleek and narrow. It had driven deeply into the ground, the edges slicing through grass and dirt. Wheeltracks smoothed the sides of the road. And there were a lot of them.
"What made it?"
Peter hauled him upward, and two hands rested near where swords had once been carried. "I guess we'll find out."
Edmund sighed. I don't know that I like this. But they still had a fair distance to go.He moved forward to talk to Su, and Peter swung Lucy on to his back, walking ahead.
"Are you alright?"
Troubled eyes turned to meet his, and he ignored the fake smile beneath. "'Course, Edmund. Why wouldn't I be?"
"You didn't want to come here," he said flatly. You didn't want us to have anything to do with this place.
"Changed my mind."
And you're tense enough for even Lu to notice. I wish you could tell me what's wrong, Susan.
But she wouldn't.
The day was warm, but summer was already fading into fall. Soon the leaves would turn, plunging them into winter snows. It had never been bad in London that he could recall, but the Mansion was much farther north. But not so far north as -
"It's big," Edmund breathed.
For a stock-still moment, the Pevensies just stared. It wasn't big – it was enormous. Dizzying towers scratched the clouds as the stone bulk of the castle sprawled out in front of them. It was ancient, browned and weathered by time. The flags flying from soaring spires were like nothing he had ever seen. Silver snakes on green fields, badgers roaring challenge from golden cloth. Eagles screamed out of blue sky, and most familiar of all, a lion rampant on red. What does it mean? He'd found himself learning heraldry in Narnia, but these symbols made no sense to him.
Nearby motion snared his gaze.
"Who's that?" Susan murmured.
A boy, no more than fourteen, was sweeping across the grass. Headed their way. Edmund braced himself.
"What kind of clothes are those?" Lucy whispered.
"Shhh!"
They were odd, Edmund decided. Sweeping lengths of cloth, almost Arabic, but made of black silk and open in the front, revealing what looked like nothing so much as a school uniform. Weird. Really weird. I did get off the train in England, right?
"Who are you?" the boy demanded. Dark hair and blue eyes, with a face that might be handsome one day. And fear and cocksure arrogance in his gaze.
Edmund blinked. And where did you leave your manners? Best to trust this one to the High King's diplomacy. He'd probably make a hash of it – he already wanted to punch the kid.
"My name is Peter." His brother stepped forward cautiously. "We walked here from beyond the forest. We were wondering if you could tell us what this castle is?"
Blue eyes darkened, the young face drawing down into a sneer. "You're Muggles. But that's not possible -"
"What's a Muggle?" Burning eyes focused on him, and in that depthless gaze, he saw the Witch.
Edmund felt himself shoved aside, as his brother's body came between them. A stick of wood in the other boy's hand, pointed at them.
"Obliviate!"
"Mr. Riddle. May I ask what you are doing out here?"
The boy shifted, and then he caught sight of something that shouldn't be. And realized why Tom Riddle was standing, back to the school, with his arms stretched carefully out to his sides.
And here I thought the boy had been taken by a fit. Though that glimpse from the threshold had been very misleading. Albus chided himself. Nonsense. Tom's much too focused to spare time for a little thing like insanity. Though his focus might one day lead him to it, arrogance notwithstanding.
He raised his own hands carefully. "My name is Albus Dumbledore," he introduced himself to the young Muggle with the wand trained unerringly on his student. "I'm the professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"Pleasure," the blond boy replied shortly. His aim never wavered, though blue eyes flickered between them both. "Ed. You all right?"
A smaller, dark-haired boy was at his shoulder. Two others, bodies completely blocked, crouched behind them both. He caught a glimpse of – skirts? "Fine, Peter."
"Good."
"You cannot use that wand, Peter," Albus said carefully. But wands were somewhat like loaded Muggle guns.
Apparently the boy recognized that. "Doesn't matter," was the short response. "As long as I have it, he doesn't."
Clever. And Albus felt himself pinned by a gaze much too old for the face around it. "Would you care to explain, Professor, why your student attacked us?"
"Tom?" His voice was sharper than he intended.
"They're Muggles," was the response. "They shouldn't even be here. I tried to use the Memory Charm on them, Professor. It didn't work." And the disgust in that tone told him that he'd find Riddle after-hours in a classroom with a basic spellbook. Practicing, and practicing, until he knew exactly what had gone wrong. Relentless didn't even begin to describe it. Though obsessive came close.
"Did you not think that perhaps this was an event the Headmaster should be informed about?"
A careless shrug. "I thought I could handle it."
"Which you clearly could not," Dumbledore said icily. No matter the front the boy put on for Dippet and the rest of the staff, he knew the pleasure Tom took in causing others pain. He felt a moment of relief that he'd paused for a breath of air. No telling what might have happened to these Muggle children if he hadn't – though they seemed to be taking the situation in stride. Most unusual. I still don't trust him.
"Perhaps next time you will consider the ramifications of any unusual events you encounter. If Muggles were able to simply walk past the protections of Hogwarts, then something more serious is amiss." Though I wouldn't put it past Grindelwald to begin using children – especially 'expendable', non-magical children – to achieve his ends.
"Peter," Dumbledore remained calm. The boy refused to waver – and they were locked in this standoff. Unless he could get Riddle out, to go for help. "I would like to trade places with my student."
"No." No give in that voice. He's of age with the fourth-year students, Dumbledore thought. Including Tom. So why do his eyes remind me of –
"Why not?" Tom was outraged. He clearly wanted to be as far from the danger and humiliation of his defeat as he could get.
"I may not trust either of you," the boy said evenly, eyes settling on Riddle. "But I trust you less."
And you won't let him out of your sights, to where he could stab you in the back. Albus was surprised by the child's instincts. The younger boy – his brother? – had half-turned, gripping a very small hand in his own. But dark eyes never stopped moving, flicking over all of them and their surroundings. The rearguard.
"Why is that?" Dumbledore asked, risking a step forward.
"Don't move." The younger boy spoke, clear and calm through a tension that tightened his shoulders and thinned his lips.
"Because while neither of you have explained yourselves or your actions to my satisfaction, at least you haven't attacked us. Yet."
And Dumbledore was surprised by the lack of fear there. Most unusual. And for a Muggle – yes. Very unusual indeed.
"What if I gave you my word you will not be harmed?"
Blue eyes considered, weighing them both against some internal balance of factors. "Your word," he agreed. "Sworn on whatever you hold most precious in this world."
He blinked, surprised. Not a usual request, but one that would bind even a wizard. "And in return?"
"I will return your student's wand, and you will have my word that unless I or my family are provoked, I will harm no one from the castle."
Very clever. But there was a way to end this impasse at last. Good thing, because his arms were getting tired. And from the iron in those azure eyes, he doubted the excuse would hold up against the boy's scrutiny. Albus nodded. "You have my word. On the life of my brother, neither you nor any of those with you will be harmed on the grounds of Hogwarts School. Not while it is in my power to prevent it."
The boy tilted his head in acknowledgement, eyes never leaving the boy in front of him. His free fist settled over his heart. "And I swear, that unless I or my family are in danger, I will commit no violent act against a person from Hogwarts School. In Aslan's name."
Aslan. The word seemed to roll through the air, ringing in his soul. Riddle flinched back.
Peter lowered the wand slowly.
Dumbledore held out a hand, their peace still new and tenuous, but the wood was yielded to his grasp without hesitation. He tucked the wand into his robes. Tom would get this back later. After a few hours of detention. Filch had recently been complaining about the state of the trophy room.
Peter stood straighter, relaxing from what Albus now knew to be a fighter's crouch. His brother stood next to him, moving out. A flanking maneuver. At least those years playing chess were good for something.
A little girl, much too young to attend Hogwarts, slipped between them. And holding her hand, an older girl. He heard Tom's breath catch, and looked more closely. Long, dark hair, blue eyes, and a sweet face. For all she couldn't be thirteen yet, there was a strange age in her eyes as well.
"I'm Peter," the blond boy said neutrally. "My sisters, Susan and Lucy. My brother, Edmund." But he had marked Tom's sudden attention to the elder girl, and Dumbledore caught the unspoken message that flew between the two brothers. Danger. Watch this one.
"No surname?" Tom spoke up, his voice milder than Albus had heard it in years. Especially given the past few minutes. He kept the shock off his face.
"Names have power," Peter said softly. "You have not yet earned the right to ours."
Tom stiffened.
Well. We're off to a wonderful start. Hands free at last, one drifted to tug absently at his neck-long brown beard. "Welcome," he said cheerfully. "To Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
--1993--
Cool.
Not cold, not like the oceans sucking at Azkaban had been. Bone-chilling, breath-stealing cold of that water.
Crisp air against his nose. No longer summer.
Less food.
But he had made it to Hogwarts. The Forbidden Forest had been their refuge, and it was his once more. Before winter set in for certain, and he needed to find a warm hole. Maybe in Hogsmeade.
Not tonight.
Filthy black fur wriggled between roots, seeking shelter. The dog normally would never have fit, but it was sorrowfully skinny, and slipped through. Not easily, but then predators would have a hard time getting in as well.
The black dog, which could have been mistaken for a Grim had it not been so unkempt and emaciated, heaved a sigh. Freedom.
It longed for pack, for pack-play and pack-hunt. Motley pack, of wolf-scent and deer-stag and small-rat. There was not enough energy to growl at that last. Deer-stag was gone. The dog might not know past and future as clearly as the human, but it knew pain, and pack-lost. It knew pack-traitor.
He's at Hogwarts.
The dog slept.
"Hagrid!" she called. "They're coming!"
Perched on the fence, Lucy swung her heels against wooden logs. Students were arriving for their fourth Care of Magical Creatures class, and Hagrid had finally persuaded her to let him introduce them to the fantastic creatures he called 'hippogriffs'.
'I know you want the first class to be a success. But Hagrid, you want these children to love and respect the creatures you teach them about, correct?'
The great shaggy head nodded over a cup of strong tea.
'Respect has to be earned, Hagrid. Start them out small. Give yourself and them a chance to get used to the class.'
'Al righ', Miss Lucy. If yeh think that'd be best. I dun' want to be a bad teacher.'
'It's the best thing, Hagrid. And you could never be a bad teacher. You just need some experience at it. You wouldn't expect Fang to be able to catch a Nogtail on the first try, would you?'
Startled, Hagrid jerked up. Tea sloshed. 'O'course not! Why, they're fast and canny 'uns, that they are! Fang'd never catch one first time out, not until he'd practiced some -' He trailed off, brow furrowed in realization.
Lucy nodded. 'Do you understand, then, Hagrid? Give yourself time to practice as well.'
A gigantic smile was her reward. Thank goodness she'd kept her diplomacy skills fresh. She was going to need them to deal with the rock-hard fudge still sitting on her saucer.
As the Slytherins approached, she saw Draco Malfoy in their midst. The Gryffindors had already gathered by the hut, and were eyeing their fellow students with resigned dislike.
"It's really strange," she heard Hermione Granger mutter to her friends, Harry and Ron Weasley. "I saw him in the library a few days ago, and he wasn't making nasty comments with all his Slytherin friends. He had a book. And he was reading. And when he didn't find what he was looking for, he asked Madam Pince for help. Politely."
"Maybe he's sick," Ron offered.
Are House differences really that drastic? She'd seen a little of it fifty years ago, but either she hadn't been exposed to the students enough or it hadn't been as strong, because it jarred her now.
The boy was standing quietly in their midst, for once not talking at all. No sly remarks, no scathing insults designed to humiliate and hurt feelings. Edmund had only had him for a few weeks, but no one had ever said he wasn't good at what he did. And for what they feared Draco might become – her brother was the best person to stop it.
She hopped from her perch. "Good afternoon, class."
"Good afternoon, Miss Pevensie," scattered back to her.
"Hagrid should be out shortly," she told them. "In the meantime, I suggest you place your satchels against the sides of his hut. Today will be like two weeks ago – a practical class."
Excitement buzzed through the group, and Hagrid came out just as the last of them were dropping their books. "C'mon, now, get a move on! Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin' up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!"
A few moments of bustle and chatter later, Lucy was watching over the class as Hagrid moved into the forest to collect the day's lesson. Beautiful, she decided. The hindquarters and tails were of horses, but the front of the animal's body was pure giant eagle, feathered and with gleaming talons.
"Gee up, there! Hippogriffs," Hagrid explained to the class, beaming. "Beau'iful, aren' they?"
Lucy smiled at their hesitation. Perhaps that first lecture about care and responsibility had sunk in some. That, or they're wishing themselves back to cleaning the kennels they were groaning over three weeks ago.
"Now, the firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' hippogriffs is, they're proud," Hagrid was saying. Lucy scanned the children, eyes narrowing. Crabbe and Goyle, two young boys who didn't seem to have first names, were rumbling at one another in the midst of the Slytherins. Malfoy, however, was ignoring them. Edmund, she thought admiringly. What did you say to him?
"Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, 'cause it might be the last thing yeh do." Her own copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them had emphasized that, though it was in general too lacking in information to be anything other than a rough guide.
Lucy watched carefully as Hagrid talked Harry through greeting Buckbeak. Though he was bound to be nervous, he worked through it well. Seeing his success relaxed the rest of the class.
After the first week, Edmund had turned Harry, along with a few of his other students, into Peter's care. He always did the best he could for those who came to him for help, even if it meant that someone else could help them better. And quite frankly, Edmund was busy enough as it was dealing with the high-risk list - Ridiculous as that is, thinking they can determine the fate of others. Especially when they're just children – and the more delicate cases. He turned a few of the youngest over to her as well sometimes, but didn't leave her to deal with anything more than culture shock. And that was easily cured. Some time walking about the lake and talking, or playing cards or doing something 'normal'.
She saw it before it happened. Goyle, who clearly hadn't been paying attention, was snorting something to Crabbe – something nasty, from the sounds of it. Golden eyes of the beast they were ignoring narrowed.
Talons flashed – she yanked the boy out of the way. "No!"
Screaming challenge, the creature – Buckbeak – reared, slashing out with razored claws.
"Halt!"
The hippogriff quieted, dropping to its feet. Knees and head bent.
"Rise," she commanded. "Go into the Forest, and wait there."
In a flash of feathers and tail, Buckbeak had gone. Lucy turned, to find the entire class had frozen, and were now eyeing the hippogriffs near them with renewed fear.
"Detention," Hagrid snapped at Goyle. The half-giant's face was white. "Yeh weren't payin' attention. Yeh could've bin hurt."
There were curious whispers, eyes on her. But while she might not be the professor of this class, she wasn't without her own authority. "As for the rest of you," she snapped, nerves raw. "If I ever catch you insulting a hippogriff, or trying to command one, I'll make Professor Snape's detentions look like fun. I've been working with these creatures far longer than you will. So don't try it."
"Tha's enou' fer today," Hagrid called. "Class dismissed. Don' ferget to bow, now, when yeh take yer leave o' the hippogriff yeh've been workin' with!"
Careful, precise bows. They even held off running for the castle until they had all gotten out of the pen, and the gate was closed.
"Fool boy," Hagrid growled, herding the eleven remaining hippogriffs back to the Forest.
"These things happen, Hagrid," she said quietly. If I hadn't gotten there in time . . .
"Yeh were right teh wait, Miss Lucy. If that'd happened firs' lesson . . ." He had the confidence in himself now to move past it. But she knew.
"They'd be studying flobberworms for the rest of the year?"
Hagrid let out a rough chuckle. "They migh', at that."
"We have to stop meeting like this," Edmund joked, settling himself onto the horrid purple couch. "People will talk."
Remus smiled. The staffroom was almost empty, Dumbledore in the chair by the fire that Remus had been picking at. Though judicious application of a sewing spell had contained the furthest extents of the damage. It had been a difficult conversation.
But the effects had been worthwhile. Taking advantage of the empty staffroom, Edmund had bundled Lucy out to the hallway. And then Peter had spoken quietly for many minutes, about betrayal – and forgiveness.
For the first time in years, there were people Remus Lupin counted as friends.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor had spread the next month's lesson plans on the table in front of him. He needed to adjust all the curriculums. And his arrangements for during the full moon. This month's episode had shown him just how easy it was to get behind.
And Severus didn't help any, by assigning all my students essays on werewolves, he thought sourly. At least he'd varied the length in proportion to the students' levels of education. He might just not grade them, at that.
"How are you?" Edmund asked, looking him over carefully.
"I'm fine. Looks worse than it is." But it always hurts like hell after, came the grim thought. Wolfsbane Potion can only do so much. Though at least the transformations aren't so bad now.
Brown eyes didn't buy his excuse, and he was reminded of inflexible hazel that hadn't stood for such prevarication either. Unaccustomed warmth washed his soul. "I'll be fine."
Edmund could accept that.
There were a few moments of comfortable silence, before it was broken by the door opening once more.
" – not working?" he could hear the frown in that familiar voice.
Lucy shrugged, settling down on purple cushions. "I watched some of the students, before I tried, but the silly thing didn't move. Short of shoving it off the perch -"
"And none of the other owls would deliver the letter, either?" Peter rubbed his forehead. Remus didn't know whether to laugh or sigh. The Pevensies had slipped quite easily into the Wizarding world. If not for their strange manner of dress, it would be easy to believe they had been born to it.
"No."
He'd caught some of his students making that very mistake. A good sign. Perhaps now they see that we're not so different after all.
"Maybe I'll just take it to regular post, then. The Mansion's not fifteen kilometers away, and the town just a bit beyond that."
"You'll be gone all day," Edmund pointed out.
Peter shrugged. "It's not right that we've gone all this time and not contacted Su at all."
"Who?" Curiosity killed the werewolf. But Edmund answered before he could kick himself.
"Our -" he indicated himself and Lucy, "- older sister, Susan. Peter has almost two years on her."
So there's four of them. Why hadn't he heard about this before? Don't be ridiculous, he scolded himself. There must be a reason why they're here, and she's not, close as they all are. And if they haven't spoken of it before now -
"It is a difficult road to travel," Dumbledore broke in. Remus calmed his racing heart. Sneaky. Despite the pure presence of the old man, he could be unobtrusive as a Bowtruckle if he put his mind to it. "And there are many perils along the way."
Remus's brow furrowed. What is that supposed to mean?
"I have traveled it before," Peter said evenly. But his face was strangely set, his attention leveled on the Headmaster. "And I do not fear Dementors."
Albus shook his head. "That is not what I meant, Peter."
What is he up to?
The white-haired wizard sighed. "None of the owls will take any message to Susan."
"Why?"
And why does even Lucy sound suspicious now?
"I sent your sister a letter," Dumbledore told them calmly. Remus's stomach sank. This is not going to be good . . . The headmaster's voice softened. "To keep her from coming here, and walking into danger. I told her that you had all been killed. In the Muggle train wreck that took place two weeks ago, outside London."
"You what?"
A strong hand dragged Edmund back, halting his lunge for the Headmaster. Lucy's dark eyes were large in her pale face.
"Do not make the mistake of thinking you know us, Headmaster," Edmund spat. "You have probably just hit upon the one thing that would drag Susan back to the Mansion, and into danger." He struggled uselessly against the iron grip, swore. "Let me go, Peter!"
"Edmund." The dark-haired man froze, but infuriated eyes never left Dumbledore. "Stand down."
Incredibly, he did.
Remus blinked. Peter?
"You tread a very thin line, Headmaster." He hadn't known the eldest Pevensie could get so angry. But unlike Edmund's burning fury, this was a cold rage. And all the more dangerous for it. "Do not force me to break my oath. You would not like the results."
Even Fudge would not confuse that flash of teeth with a smile.
And they were gone.
What just happened here?
I'm going to kill him.
The only thing stopping him was his oath.
The only thing. Huh!
Albus Dumbledore seemed to have forgotten. But Peter's word was his bond. He had given his oath, but by Aslan! Dumbledore may not have broken the word of his own promise, but the spirit of the agreement had been so thoroughly violated, Peter was tempted to -
For that – for what he's done to Susan –
But.
I'll not become an oath-breaker for the likes of him.
Forgiveness was something Peter had had to learn the hard way, and he'd learned it well. But he never forgot. Because if I do, it'll only come back to hurt us.
"At this point, killing Dumbledore would only cause far more problems than it would solve."
Lucy's blunt statement startled a laugh out of him. She wasn't named 'The Valiant' for nothing, he reminded himself.
Edmund only snarled.
Peter packed away his anger, to be dealt with later. For all his gentleness and ability to help and forgive others, Edmund had no tolerance for those who broke the trust granted to them. Peter pulled his thoughts away from why that might be. But add to that his quick temper, and –
"Ed."
A stream of profanity spouted from his brother. Good thing Lu'd taken them out by the lake. He didn't need any students hearing this. Peter rubbed at the headache building up in his temples. C'mon, Lu, back me up here?
But for once, Lucy didn't chastise him. "Is that even physically possible?"
And, of course, Dumbledore's managed to enrage her as well.
"I don't know. I think the Headmaster should help us find out," Edmund snapped back. Toe met dirt, kicking up a rock. Edmund hurled it into the lake.
Lucy snickered.
At least they've calmed down some.
He tried again. "Edmund -"
"What!"
His temper, frayed and worn, snapped.
"By the Lion's Mane!"
Edmund jumped.
"Peter!" Hands pressed to Lucy's mouth in shock.
Peter never swears. He never said so, but Edmund knew his older brother thought it was distasteful. And it set a bad example. Not that he'll ever admit that he's still looking after us.
But now, Edmund could see that their sister queen's distress left the High King unmoved. And at that moment, Peter was every inch the ruler of Narnia – from the blazing fury in blue eyes to the firm, subtle fighting stance. The veneer of normalcy had cracked, and royal anger blazed bright underneath.
But there was no one here to fight.
Slowly, the anger drained away, leaving behind the man in place of the monarch.
"Sorry, Lu," he sighed.
Like Lucy, his own temper flashed and died. But Peter had always been slow to anger. Once roused, his fury burned behind every action until the source was eliminated. So that anger wasn't gone. Just banked, until it could be put to use.
And I didn't help any. "I'm sorry, Peter."
His big brother dropped to the grass next to him, rubbing at a headache. "I'm sorry too, Ed. There was no call for me to lose it like that."
"I'd say there was more than enough reason," he murmured.
The only sound in hearing, for many minutes, was the gentle lapping of the lake. When the breeze blew from the south, he caught gusts of mer-song. So strangely different from what he was used to.
"What can we do about it?" Years ago Lucy was eager for deeds over words. Time had tempered the impulsiveness. Only so far as to drag us all with her when she runs headlong into what is, more oft than not, danger. At least she pauses long enough to let us try to form a plan, now. Sometimes.
The blond head shook in the negative. "For now, there's nothing to be done. We can only hope that the rift that's grown between us these last few years is wide enough to keep Su away. At least until we can resolve this."
It was a bitter thing to admit.
"Life goes on?" his sister asked sadly.
I hate it too, Lu. No doubt Peter does most of all.
"It has to."
Something beeped. "No kidding." Edmund swore at his watch. "I'm going to be late."
He's late.
Whatever. Free time, he guessed.A part of him was honestly curious.
Doesn't matter what some stupid Mu- Muggle gets up to, he told it. He's late. I'm outta here!
"Going somewhere, Mr. Malfoy?"
Or not.
"No," he muttered.
The man checked the strange watch strapped to his wrist, and raised a brow. "You waited a whole fifteen minutes before deciding to clear out. I am impressed."
"Yeah, well." He shifted uncomfortably. It's not like Dumbledore wouldn't find out – and then Father would be really angry. His parents didn't send Howlers. It was crass to parade their disagreements out in public, and Howlers weren't exactly subtle. "You should be." But it was a little too late to save face. Muggle or not, Edmund wasn't stupid. He'd found that out really fast.
"So what's today's torture?" He tried to sound disgruntled, but he was actually starting to like these meetings. Goyle and Crabbe might be good at taking orders, but he'd yet to find anyone in Slytherin who could match him when it came to sheer cunning. It was to his House's disgrace that a Muggle could.
The smile Edmund gave him set him on edge. The man was usually very easygoing – and the switch to this caustic manner was a bad sign. "We're going outside for a bit."
He smoothly buried his excitement, following the man from his office. It wouldn't do to be caught liking any of this. It was punishment, after all. But the last of the good weather was almost gone, and -
He saw what lay ahead of them, and his feet refused to carry him any further.
"Draco, you've met my brother, Peter?"
That sword was sharp.
Draco swallowed.
I'm dead.
His father's latest letter had been one admonishing him to steer completely clear of these people. Not that I can. But the story he'd told his son – of hurling every dark curse a thirteen-year-old Lucius could think of at the irritating, and in-the-way! Mudblood, and watching them all die before even reaching the target . . . . If that wasn't enough, from what the elder and younger Malfoy could piece together, the Pevensies hadn't aged. No charms are that good. To completely hide the effects of almost twenty years? Impossible.
And he'd read about Aegis Sanguinis. Taken him a damn long time to find the books – it was magic even older than Dumbledore had hinted. Figures. From a time when there hadn't even been a division between normal and Darkmagic.
But if these people had it – and the way his curse had been swallowed up closely matched the description in the books – only a complete idiot would make an enemy of one of the Pevensies. Draco might just be a kid, but he knew danger when he landed knee-deep in it.
That last little comment of Dumbledore's hadn't helped, either.
I am so dead.
Scent-on-wind. Warm. Meaty.
Food.
Pale eyes shone in the sun's last rays. The dog blinked, padded nearer in the brush. Ears perked.
Noise.
Human. Not-pack. Not-hunter. Leaving.
Food?
It knew the hut, from days when pack was young. It knew the man that lived there, too large for human, too small for giant, with mixed-scent. But the man was always kind to those of fur and claw.
Food . . .
The dog gulped at the meat, chopped small and cooked. Pale eyes never stopped roving. Savory scents were thick in the air.
Always cold and tired, now. Hard to hunt – shaking legs, no will-to-run. Sleeping meant no pangs from an empty belly. But so hard to wake up . . . . He had smelled the food, left close to the treeline for something else.
A pink tongue licked the metal plate. Food. Gone. But so was hunger-pain.
Noise.
Human, female, young. Humming a gentle tune, carrying a bowl. Liquid sloshed.
It stopped. Soft music froze.
Sees me!
The black scrap of life fled.
He drank it! I wouldn't trust Snape not to poison it!
"Harry?" She caught him coming out of Lupin's office. "What are you still doing here?" All the other students are at Hogsmeade. I know. She didn't have to say it.
"My – The Dursleys didn't sign my permission form, Miss Pevensie."
"Oh." The auburn head tilted, dark eyes looked him over searchingly. "And it'll be a bit before Ron and Hermione are back. Would you mind coming with me?" She smiled at him. "I promise it has nothing to do with class. I need some help, and I think you might be just the person I'm looking for."
What else do I have to do? "Okay."
"All right then. Come on."
She led him outside, and the windows of Hagrid's hut were bright in the light of the setting sun. "Are we going to see Hagrid?"
"Not exactly."
He followed as she went to Hagrid's door, and knocked.
Wooden hinges creaked. "Abou' that time, eh, Miss Pevensie? Ah, Harry! Come teh help us?"
He eyed the large plate, laden with browned meat. It steamed faintly in the chill evening air. "Sure, Hagrid."
"All righ', then, yeh two. I'll gee back inside. Don' wan' teh startle 'im none. Harry, you be in before dark, now, yeh hear?"
He nodded, grinning. "Sure, Hagrid."
Lucy smiled at the half-giant. "I'll leave the plate with Fang before I go, as usual."
Hagrid's shaggy head nodded, eyes twinkling. "Night, then, Harry."
"G'night, Hagrid."
"What are we going to do with that?" Harry asked as soon as the latch fell. He scurried after her in the last of the sun's light. She wasn't especially tall, but – boy, she's fast!
"Feeding a guest." Lucy set the plate down, and got busy crushing several pills in her handkerchief. The powder was buried in the meat. "Nothing harmful," she said at his wide eyes. "Essential vitamins, de-worming pills. A few extras for malnutrition." She hefted the plate. "Stay here, and crouch down behind the pumpkins."
She deposited the food much closer to the Forbidden Forest than Harry was usually willing to go. "Be very quiet," she told him. "He has very good ears."
"Who -"
A hand slipped over his mouth. "Shh!"
He followed the pointed nod. What's – ohhh.
A shadow slipped free from the darkness enveloping the trees, and crept toward them. Paws hesitated, and a doggy muzzle lifted. Sniffed. Ventured closer.
"He's a stray," breathed Lucy. "Maybe from Hogsmeade, maybe from further away. He might even have been abandoned by some upstanding wizard, but his owner is long gone."
An echo of her anger flared in him. The poor thing. It's eating like - Like he did at the Dursley's table. As if it knew the plate might be snatched from under its nose at any moment.
But he was still confused. "What makes you think he's a wizard's pet?"
He could almost hear the shrug. "To survive in the Forbidden Forest? He'd have to be." A hand squeezed his shoulder. "Harry, I want you to stand up. Slowly. Make a few noises, nothing loud. Try calling him."
What? But - "I'll scare him – he needs the food -"
"It's all right. He's eaten enough to get by until tomorrow night, and gotten the medicines down too. And he won't spook unless you move quickly, or loudly."
Harry nodded, still unsure. But if I can handle a broadsword – at least a little – I can do this.
He made a few throat-clearing noises, careful to move slowly out from behind the massive pumpkin. The dog's eyes gleamed pale in the low light, but it never stopped gulping down meat.
"Good dog," he said quietly, taking a few small, careful steps.
The animal left off eating, looking up at him. He froze. "Good dog," he breathed quietly. "Good dog, don't run away. I'm not going to hurt you. Good dog."
A black tail lifted, wagged uncertainly.
What do you do, what do you do – Harry remembered a Muggle book he had read about dogs once. It had been one of Dudley's cast-offs, but the smiling canine on the front had looked so happy that he'd slipped it out of the trash, and hidden it under his mattress in the cupboard under the stairs. Dudley obviously had never read it, because he'd taunted all the animals on the street mercilessly.
Slowly lowering himself to a crouch, Harry turned so the animal could see him in profile. He felt incredibly stupid, but if it worked . . . "Good dog," he crooned, holding out a careful hand. "Good dog . . ."
It padded closer, looking at him carefully. Harry held his breath. Come on, good dog, come on, it's all right.
A cold nose bumped his fingers, sniffing cautiously. "Good dog," he whispered. "It's all right, no one's going to hurt you."
Black fur crept closer, sniffing and sniffing. He was suddenly aware that the dog was quite big. And – teeth . . . but he leant back, just a little, and the animal flinched away. No!
But it didn't run, and Harry held the sigh of relief, letting it get close again. The animal seemed content to just sniff him. A spot of warm wetness, a brief lick to his hand. Careful, careful . . .
But the dog easily accepted his palm on its neck, so he softly stroked black fur.
Quiet steps, every move measured, approached from behind. But the dog, snuffling at Harry's sweater, didn't seem to notice.
Harry risked a name. "Miss Pevensie?"
"Looks like I was right," she smiled. "He seems quite taken with you."
Harry gently stroked the animal, moving back to the plate so the dog could eat, since it didn't seem to want to leave him. A ratty tail waved happily. Black nose bent to food once more.
"I first saw him about a month ago. He's filled out quite a lot since then, but winter's coming and I'm getting concerned."
Filled out? But he's so thin . . . Harry jerked toward her. "You think he'll die?"
Solemn eyes met his. "I think we're in for a hard winter this year, Harry. And the Forbidden Forest is not the place I'd want to spend it."
"Students can't have dogs in the dorms -" But he had Hedwig. Why would he want to keep this dog?
"My brothers and I have been given quite a lot of space to live in. There's plenty of room for one more. If you're willing to help me, that is. It will be a big responsibility, Harry."
"But – will he even come with us?" Harry said doubtfully. He never stopped petting the shaggy black fur. It was matted, nettles tangled so deeply that most would have to be cut out.
Lucy smiled at him. "Now, with the students gone for another hour, is the best time to try."
The first Quidditch match of the season!
He never managed to get near a broomstick without somehow breaking something, but that didn't mean he didn't love the sport.
Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff!
Gran wrote that this was one of the coldest and wettest Octobers in years, so he was wearing his hat, and his scarf, and he'd asked Hermione to cast some water-repelling charms on his coat, just in case.
Neville almost bounced. Ron and Hermione were next to him, and Seamus and Dean on his other side. Ginny was there too – all of them, screaming their lungs out as blurs of color whizzed past.
"Yeah! Go Fred, George! Go Harry!" Ron shouted.
Hermione shrieked in his ear as a bludger almost didn't miss the Gryffindor Keeper, Oliver Wood.
"Yeah!" Neville yelled.
A shout rose up from the stands. "Look!"
It was Diggory – they could barely see through the pelting rain, but he was zooming across the pitch, headed for something – The Snitch!
But it was suddenly cold, so cold. Inside. And Neville gasped.
Gray cloaks, nearly invisible in the rain, swarmed onto the pitch. Dementors. They were getting closer –
"Hello, Mum." Neville tried to smile, stumbled into a chair. Gran had left him, just for a few moments. To go to the ladies' loo, he thought. Wasn't sure, though. Didn't matter. "Happy Christmas." His fingers gripped the lax hand, wishing, just once, for a return squeeze. "Second year's been really great so far. P- Professor McGonagall says that if I can practice more with her after hours, I'll get above-average marks in her class."
He lifted a handkerchief, tenderly wiped the chin under her open mouth. She – she was just sleeping, he told himself.
Neville turned to his other side, scraping up a shaking smile for sightless eyes. "Dad. Professor Snape's really awful. I – I'm lucky Hermione's my – my friend. She helps me a lot. I think I'd be f-failing if she didn't." His voice broke on the confession. But the eyes didn't turn his way, didn't blink. If his father's chest wasn't rising and falling with each breath, it would be easy to think – to think that -
Neville gasped, suddenly able to breathe. Gone? They're – they're gone? What – how –
Ginny's face was bone-white, her fingers clamped to his arm.
"What – what spell was that?" Hermione, behind him. She sounded exhausted.
"Dunno." Ron's voice cracked.
And they could finally see – teachers, down on the pitch, facing off against the Dementors, who had been frightened back but still lingered, loathe to leave the feast of feeling trembling just beyond their grasp. The students were clearing out, rushing back to the safety of the castle.
"Harry!"
At Ginny's shout, Neville looked. The Gryffindor Seeker was being lifted onto a stretcher by Dumbledore, McGonagall at his side.
"He'll – he'll be alright," he heard Hermione say. Her voice was shaking. "Dumbledore's there. He has to be okay."
Neville licked dry lips. Looked back to the teachers. And stared.
"C'mon." Ron, at his side. The stands were nearly empty, but -" 'Scuze us, Neville -"
He managed a word. "Look!"
Out, in front of the grim line of teachers, stood three figures – the only ones not wearing robes.
The – the Muggles.
He squinted, aware that they were the only ones left in the stands. The wind whipped past them, carrying shreds of words and voices.
" – will – begone!"
And the Dementors fled before them.