"Who're you?" demanded the weedy Slytherin boy who stood at the center of the little five-student tableau, frowning at the advent of an unexpected adult. "You're not one of the professors—"
"I've just arrived, as it happens." Remus kept his eyes fixed on the left side of the corridor, mentally matching the hulking boys who flanked the speaker with two of the names from his roster, the speaker himself with a third. "Professor Lupin. I'll be taking over the lower-level Defense Against the Dark Arts classes for Professor Quirrell." He glanced briefly at the other side of the corridor, at the boy and girl who stood side by side, both regarding him with some level of confusion, though the girl seemed closer to panic.
As if I didn't know why.
Or feel some of it on my own account, for that matter!
"It's getting towards curfew," he said, holding eye contact with Theodore Nott. "And you're quite a ways from your dormitory. Why don't you head back there now?"
Nott looked like he wanted to protest, but Remus raised an eyebrow and the boy lowered his gaze. "C'mon, Crabbe, Goyle," he muttered. "We were done here anyway."
Good to know the same expressions that keep Mal in line can do the same for his might-have-been Housemates…
For one instant, since the Slytherins' backs were turned and his own back was towards the other students, Remus allowed himself the smile of disbelieving joy he hadn't been able to show in Hagrid's hut, when the aspect of his dreams he'd always considered the next thing to impossible had suddenly come to full and vibrant life. A boy with the looks of the Malfoy family, but Sorted into Hufflepuff, and trading friendly teasing with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley—
Crabbe, last in line, disappeared around the far corner, and Remus pulled himself back to the present moment.
Draco Malfoy was not the only unexpected person he'd discovered at Hogwarts today.
"Hello, Neville," he said, turning back to the other two students. "And who might this be?"
"I'm Hermione Granger, Professor." The bushy-haired girl with the Ravenclaw crest on her robes spoke up immediately, her brown eyes a little brighter even than battling against the Slytherins would have accounted for. "I'm terribly sorry for doing magic in the hallways, I know we're not supposed to, but Nott was being most awfully rude to Neville—"
"I didn't see any magic being done." Remus shook his head. "You both had your wands out, certainly, but given the disadvantage in both size and numbers, I'd say that was warranted."
"But I—" Hermione turned pink and made the small eep noise that John Reynolds associated with his daughter coming to a sudden understanding. "Thank you, Professor," she said swiftly. "It's actually lucky that I ran into Neville, his toad got all the way up to the Ravenclaw common room, or at least I thought it was his toad. This is Trevor, isn't it?" she asked Neville, looking down at the squirming amphibian.
"I don't think anyone else has a toad just now." Neville crammed Trevor back into a pocket. "Not as a personal pet, anyway. Some of the clubs keep them around for special events."
"So I was right. That's good to know." Hermione's blush deepened. "I should probably get back to Ravenclaw Tower now. See you at breakfast, Neville, nice to meet you, Professor."
"Likewise, Miss Granger." Remus watched the girl hurry away around the corner, then turned to look at Neville. "Shall we walk down to your dormitory together?" he suggested. "It's been some time since I had a chance to roam around Hogwarts. I've missed it."
"Thank you, Professor." Neville glanced in the direction Hermione had gone. "She was trying to help me," he said quietly. "They took my wand away, she was just getting it back."
"I'd suspected as much, but thank you for confirming it. And I will be having a word with Severus about that." Remus let his hand rest over the grip of his own wand, feeling the power within it hum in time with his own. "Wand theft is never a trivial matter, but for someone your age, it can disrupt your magical balance considerably. You need to be confident in your wand, sure that it will do what you ask of it, before you can begin casting spells on any reliable basis."
Which is, sadly, the reason I can be almost certain that dog of Draco's isn't Sirius in disguise. As storybook an ending as that would have been. Remus summoned up his mental image of the enormous copper-colored canine, brown eyes fixed patiently on the plate of rock cakes on the table. Even if Sirius somehow got his hands on a wand, it would have been unfamiliar to him at best, antagonistic at worst. For him to conjure up a fake body that would fool the Ministry, find some way off Azkaban Island, and then disguise his fur, his eyes, even his scent, all with a wand that doesn't know him in the slightest—
Although, Remus had to admit, if any wizard he'd ever known could have pulled off such an unlikely feat, Sirius Black would have been the one.
By sheer force of stubbornness, if nothing else!
"So, why a toad?" he asked the young wizard trotting at his side. "Or was he a gift?"
"From my great-uncle Algie." Neville smiled a little. "Partly to say sorry for dropping me out the attic window, but mostly because he's happy I bounced."
"Your magic took a while to manifest, I assume?" Remus let his hand rest for a moment on Neville's shoulder. "I won't tell you not to worry about it, or just to keep your chin up and it'll all come right." He met a startled stare with a smile of his own. "What I will tell you is that there's more to you than magic. There's who you are, and what you like, and what you choose to do with yourself." A little chuckle escaped him. "As easy as all of those are to figure out. But it can be done."
"Thanks, Professor." Neville twisted a bit of his robes between his fingers. "That thing you said to Mal, about the Hogwarts Music Society. How did you know—"
"That was one of my clubs while I was a student," interrupted Remus hastily. "I'm just glad to know it's still going on. Music is something we can all have in common, Muggles and wizards alike." He chuckled again. "Though perhaps not the Hogwarts school song. Assuming Professor Dumbledore still lets everyone pick their own tune?"
Neville laughed out loud. "Did he do that when you were a student too?"
"Not every year, but yes, he did." Remus lifted a tapestry and motioned for Neville to step into the secret passage thus revealed. "Albus Dumbledore seems to take a positive delight in unpredictability."
And with any luck, once we get done discussing the Headmaster, Neville won't remember that the question I answered about the Society is probably not the one he intended to ask…
XXXXX
John Reynolds, leaving his quarters to head down to the Great Hall for breakfast, paused as a soft melody caught his ear. Following the pure, clear notes, he threaded his way through a maze of hallways until he stopped near an unused classroom, its door firmly shut.
But I've always had a way with doors at Hogwarts.
He laid his hand on the knob, and it turned in his grasp. Swinging it open, he smiled at the picture thus revealed.
Streaks of rose and orange colored the sky visible through the broad-framed window, shedding a soft light on the desks and chairs with their dust covers, and on the slim brown-haired figure standing just to the window's left, gray eyes half-shut in concentration, deft fingers moving surely along the length of polished wood he held to his lips.
The 'Londonderry Air'. A classic by Muggle standards, but likely to be fresh and new to wizards who live mainly in their own little world. Stepping inside, John shut the door behind himself. Not to mention, well-suited to the performer's primary instrument and to his style of playing. Sweet and wistful, but with enough variety in range and timing that he can show off his technique.
The melody soared to its highest point, held there for a second or two, then slid smoothly back down, building to its final statement and finishing with a long-held note which died away slowly. Bowing his head, the young piper lowered the recorder to his side, breathing deeply as though trying to recenter himself in the present moment.
John applauded softly, bringing Mal back upright with a jump. "I thought I locked that," said the younger wizard in an accusatory tone, pointing to the door.
"I'm sure you did. Hogwarts often has its own ideas about such things." John nodded to his son's instrument. "As I'm glad it did today. If you play like that for your Music Society audition, I can't imagine they'd turn you down."
"That is the point." Mal slid the recorder away into the pocket on his robes which had been altered by his mother for precisely this purpose. "And speaking of the Society, did you…" He placed his hands palm to palm and pillowed his head against them. "Last night. You understand."
"I do, and I did." John beckoned for his son to follow him into the hallway. "Which means we'll have to be more careful than ever, but also reassures me somewhat. I never was happy knowing your counterparts didn't have any adults nearby who would understand how to deal with a sudden…disensoulment."
"Mom!" Mal pretended to shout in the direction of the Great Hall. "Dad's making up words again!"
"That would work better if your mother were actually at breakfast this morning." John shut the classroom door and started towards the nearest staircase. "Either of them."
For a moment, Mal frowned, but then his face cleared. "Oh, right. Sorry. Not used to thinking about her like that."
John inclined his head. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Side by side, father and son descended towards the cheerful cacophony of a Hogwarts morning.
Gigi Reynolds seated herself at a small table, regarding the slender, blonde woman who was pouring tea on its other side. "It strikes me," she said, "that this should be more awkward than it is."
"Oh?" Cecilia Snape passed a teacup to her guest, then filled one for herself. "Because of the history between us, you mean?"
"That's an awfully polite way to put it." Gigi lifted the cup, studying the delicate flowers painted on its side. "When I consider what that mad, impulsive decision of mine almost did to you…"
"The key word in that sentence is 'almost'. And if you try to take responsibility for the actions of others in response to your own, you will lose your mind quite as thoroughly as if dementors were involved." Cecy met Gigi's eyes levelly. "He is, we both are, happy in the lives that resulted from your 'mad, impulsive decision'. I would not have been able to do so much for us alone." She sighed. "As my dreams make apparent, when they touch on the topic of what might have been."
"Oh, I don't know." Gigi sipped her tea, keeping her tone casual. "You could have found ways to make it better, at least for him. People he could learn from, model himself after. Other than his birth father, I mean," she added with a small shudder. "I'm just as happy to know I'll never have to encounter him again."
"Strange how often that sentiment seems to crop up in those who knew him, even briefly." Cecy raised her teacup in a brief salute northward. "But, as you say, he is no longer any concern of ours. Shall we instead discuss what we intend to teach a certain pair of young witches over the course of this year, and what tactics we might use to keep their attention on us rather than on exploring, troublemaking, or both?"
"Trying to keep Pearl out of trouble is usually an exercise in futility, but what is magic for, if not doing the impossible?" Gigi sketched a diamond on the tabletop with her finger. "And, as it happens, we have quite a desirable reward lined up already. John and Thea are co-sponsoring a new club, to introduce a broomstick sport that's a little less demanding than Quidditch. Perfect for the younger students, or those who need some encouragement to practice their flying…"
"What's crosseball?" asked Ron, peering over the heads of the other students at the Gryffindor common room notice board.
"We've played it a couple times, when we came to visit you." Henry used his wand to trace lines of light in the air, forming a four-sided shape with its side points higher than its front and back ones. "You made a great third baseman, and you weren't bad at home plate either. Ginny was really good at fielding, but she never quite got over flinching when she was up to fling."
"Oh, I remember now! With those funny sticks that have the nets on the ends." Ron cupped one of his hands into a scoop shape. "The teams take turns trying to score, right? And you have to snag the ball with your net, fling it out to the field, and fly all the way around the bases before the fielders get it back and tag you, or else the point doesn't count."
"Well, you can stop at the bases if you need to. But only one person can be on a base at a time, and if too many of your teammates get knocked out before you have the chance to fly home, the side changes and you're left stranded." Henry nodded. "It's a little bit complicated, but no worse than Quidditch. I think people'll catch on really fast."
"Hope so. It'd be nice to have something we can play, even if we do need to use school brooms." Ron flopped down into one of the Gryffindor common room's squashy armchairs. "You'll probably be the star of the team, since you've played before."
"You might be surprised." Henry grinned. "I'm pretty good, but somebody else in the family's better…"
"Crosseballlllll!"
"And there she goes." Jean Reynolds laughed as her cousin Pearl bolted across the entrance hall and leaped onto Ron Weasley's back from behind, causing him to yelp. "I can't be sure, but I think she might be happy."
"What is she yelling about?" Padma Patil peered over the balcony at the little cluster of students below. "That new club that's starting next week, along with flying lessons?"
"That's right. It's a sport we used to play back home, in America." Jean shifted the pile of books in her arms. "You don't have to fly nearly as much, or as well, as you do for Quidditch, so it'll be easy for everyone to learn. And it won't be part of the House competitions, so Pearl can play even though she's not a student yet."
"How are they going to do teams, then?" Mandy Brocklehurst frowned. "Random draws, or something else?"
"Well, we always did it by last names when we'd have magical get-togethers over the summers. A-L would be one team, M-Z another. Except we might have to split it down farther than that, if people show a lot of interest." Jean nodded towards the stairs. "Did you want to learn more about it? Mal's got a book I can borrow, it has animated diagrams that show you both sides of gameplay, scoring and defending…"
"Got you!" Neville Longbottom scooped up his cat from within the tapestry-hidden alcove, tucking her expertly under his arm. "Remind me to write and thank Dad for thinking of that locator talisman," he said over his shoulder to Mal. "I'm not sure how I'd ever find Trixie otherwise, with all the hiding spots she knows. It's like she's been to Hogwarts herself!"
"Well, maybe she had been." Mal pulled a cat treat from the pocket of his day robes and offered it to Trixie, pulling his hand back just in time as sharp teeth snatched it out of his fingers. "How old was she when you got her?"
"Let me think." Neville tightened his hold on the skinny black feline, who growled under her breath in between devouring her snack. "I was just a baby when Mum found her hiding behind my cot one night, and she was already full-grown even then…"
"So that would make her at least eleven or twelve by now." Mal looked closely at Trixie. "Maybe older. She's awfully scrawny."
"No, she's always looked like this." Neville looped his fingers around the harness Trixie wore. "Right down to that funny white streak on her side. And that looks a bit like a spell mark, so maybe you're right. Maybe somebody who was leaving school decided they didn't want her anymore and chased her off, and that's how she ended up at our house."
Mal growled on his own account. "Some people shouldn't have pets."
"Agreed." Neville nodded firmly. "So are you going out for that new club your dad's starting with Healer Blake? Or are you going to have enough to do already with classes and Music Society?"
"Might as well hop on board. The more experienced players we have to start with, the better it'll run itself going forward." Mal tucked his hands into his pockets. "Besides, crosseball's fun. Not to mention…"
"It's something from your home. Something you're used to." Neville smiled a little as Mal raised an eyebrow at him. "You grew up in a place that's very different from this," he said. "I know you're here because you want to be, and your family did come with you, but it's still got to feel a little lonely now and then. Being so far away from everything you ever knew."
"It can." Mal shrugged. "But having friends helps." He checked his watch. "Almost time for dinner. Did you want help getting Trixie back to the dorm?"
"An extra set of hands never hurts." Neville winced as a set of claws sank into the side of his palm. "Maybe we should bring our Potions gloves with us next time, though. I don't think even Trixie can scratch us through dragon hide…"
Thea Blake rounded a corner and stopped short. Her husband and Severus Snape were standing on opposite sides of a corridor, hands hovering near their wand pockets. Ryan looked as furious as the time he'd discovered Henry and Mal rummaging through his writing desk, and Severus wore the look of simmering outrage Thea suspected he'd developed for dealing with the latest exploits of the Weasley twins.
"Gentlemen," she said coolly, bringing both their heads around to face her. "Miss Pearl and Miss Cassie would be most unhappy if they found out their fathers had been dueling in the hallways. Also," she continued as Ryan attempted to snarl something and Severus's face darkened, "Gigi and I promised Minerva that this would not be a problem. Do you intend to make us into liars, Ryan Alphard Blake?"
Ryan sucked a breath through his teeth, then let it out slowly and lowered his hands to his sides. Severus nodded once to Thea and stalked away down the hall, Ryan watching him go. "Do you have any idea—" Thea's husband began angrily almost as soon as the hem of Severus's robes had disappeared around the corner.
"Hush." Thea took a firm hold on Ryan's arm and towed him around the opposite corner, through an intersection of several corridors, and into the entrance of a secret passage. "Now," she said, releasing him once the illusion stone wall had reformed itself behind them. "Talk."
"Do you realize where we were? Where I found him poking around?" Ryan's hand jabbed at their surroundings. "This is the third floor, Thea! Third floor, right-hand corridor! Sound familiar at all?"
"And why shouldn't he be here?" Thea leaned against the wall, regarding her husband closely. She'd hoped that intervening years and experiences had broadened his mind when it came to the people he'd known in his previous life, but returning to familiar environments was clearly causing a certain amount of regression. "He's a Hogwarts professor, Ryan. Not only that, but he helped to safeguard the item in question. Why shouldn't he come and check on it occasionally, make sure that no one's poking around where they shouldn't be?"
"What—what—" Ryan spluttered for a second or two, then got his voice under control. "What do you mean, where they shouldn't be? He's not supposed to be here either! No one is! How do we know he's not doing exactly what he did last time, scurrying around and gathering information for Voldemort?"
"We don't. Not for certain. But I find it highly unlikely."
"Why?" Ryan flung the word into her face. "What in the name of Merlin do you think could cause Severus Snape to change that much?"
Thea drew her wand, circled it once in the air, and poked the tip into the center of that circle, concentrating on a nonverbal spell she'd learned from a source she'd never revealed to her husband, for reasons which were rapidly becoming apparent.
Three human figures materialized on the air, arranging themselves in the manner of a wizarding family portrait, a husband and wife standing side by side with their dark-haired daughter between them.
"Damn it." Ryan sagged in place. "I was afraid you were going to bring that up."
"He has more to lose this time." Thea gestured to the delicate, blonde woman who stood beside the image of Snape, her hand wrapped around his. "More to protect." Cassie smiled brightly, her blue eyes gazing out at the world unafraid. "If he were still as alone and angry as he used to be, then I'd think it was possible. That he might have been convinced, or even convinced himself, that helping Voldemort would be acceptable in terms of revenge on the people who made his life miserable for all those years. But with Cecilia and Cassandra to consider? No. A world where Voldemort had returned is a world where they'd be constantly living with danger, and he would never work towards that." She smiled. "No more than you would."
Ryan growled under his breath. "Why do you have to make so much bloody sense?" he asked irritably.
"For the same reason John does." Thea vanished the portrait. "To counterbalance your nonsense, and that of our children."
"And Gigi just stands around and laughs at all of us." Ryan shook his head, his mood lightening perceptibly with the motion. "Do you ever get the feeling she knows more than she's telling?"
"About what?"
"Us. Hogwarts. The world." Ryan's hands described ever-broadening spheres in the air in front of him. "Forty-two. Fairy cakes. Towels."
"So long, and thanks for all the fish."
"Exactly." Ryan chuckled. "I wonder if I'd technically be considered dead for tax purposes at this point. I haven't touched the family vault in years, not since that one big withdrawal to set us up in Creedsdale. We always knew it was there if we needed it, but you and John were able to get us on our feet pretty fast, financially speaking."
"And once you got into the swing of things with the Townhouse books, that put us into a very comfortable place." Thea smiled as her husband's arm slipped around her waist. "Speaking of comfort."
"Speaking wasn't really what I had in mind." Ryan's grin turned salacious. "You're not due anywhere for a while, right?"
"Well, it is almost dinnertime." Thea twined her own arms around Ryan's shoulders. "But I'd imagine, if we happened to wander into the kitchens after hours, the house-elves might be willing to feed us anyway. Only so long as we asked politely, of course…"
XXXXX
Aletha Freeman came awake with a gasp, squeezing her eyes shut fiercely and clenching her hands into fists. "Enough," she breathed, willing her racing heart to slow, her blood to stop humming with desire. "It isn't real." The familiar clutch in her throat was soothed away with an equally well-known mantra. "No matter how much I'd like it to be."
The words and the knowledge they encapsulated had carried her through the majority of her adult life, allowed her to build a home for herself and her daughter, to work and play and even, sometimes, to be content. The world she saw in her dreams hung tantalizingly out of reach, equal parts blessing and bane, its lynchpin a man who was not, had never been, what she so desired from him—
"And now he can never be anything else." Pushing back the covers, Aletha swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "Now he's dead."
Though really, he did me a favor by choosing the way he chose. She turned on her desk lamp and sat down in the office-style chair, flipping open her latest notebook and skimming her eyes down the list of potion results. If he'd never taught me that I'm the only person I can truly rely on, and that magic hurts far more than it ever could help…
"Soon," she murmured, picking up her pen and turning to a fresh page. "I'm close now. I can feel it." A terse list of ingredients and proportions, fire levels and simmering times, filled the sheet of paper as her hand moved without direction from her conscious mind. "And once I have it finished, once I'm sure it works, we'll be free from this curse, Meghan and I."
Both of you? asked a quiet voice in her thoughts. Are you going to force this choice on her?
"No, of course not." Aletha shook her head irritably. "But I'm sure she'll see the sense in it. Why wouldn't she?" She glanced towards a particular wall of her bedroom. "Given everything magic has taken away from her already, I'd think she'd be the first to say that losing it could only be for her own good."
And if she doesn't? The voice gained a touch of strength, and a tone that Aletha recognized. If she wants to remain a witch, and use her magic to help others, rather than renounce a part of herself because of the actions other people took with a similar power? People who would, most likely, have done terrible things no matter if they were magical or Muggle?
Aletha sighed and rubbed at her eyes with her free hand. "Get out of my head, Danger," she muttered. "If you care so much, why haven't you ever gotten back in touch in the real world? Not that you'd have any idea how to find me," she admitted with another sigh. "First Hogwarts, then my undercover work for the Order, and now America. I disappeared on you pretty thoroughly, didn't I?"
You did what you needed to do. The same way you always have. I don't blame you for that. Her friend's imagined mind-voice acquired a sterner aspect, similar to a teacher bringing a classroom full of students back to order, or Gigi Reynolds cutting off whining or misbehavior in the children of the Tudor Lane household. But I will blame you if you let your pain bring harm to Meghan, or to yourself. Be sure, Aletha. Be very sure.
"Oh, I am." Aletha flattened her hand against the desktop. "Those dreams are pretty enough, but dreams by themselves aren't going to change my mind. Though it might be nice if I really could draw on that Gringotts vault of his. Ingredients are awfully expensive sometimes." She laughed once, softly, with no trace of true humor in the sound. "That would be fitting, wouldn't it? To use the money that once belonged to a man who used his magic to betray me and his friends and everything he pretended to stand for, and turn it into the means of destroying magic within a human soul forever?"
Turning her attention back to her notes, she never heard the tiny sound outside her bedroom door.
Aunt Amy—
I have some questions about goblin banks, and who can access the family vaults inside them, or find out information about those vaults. Do you know somebody who might be willing to talk to me about it?
Meghan
Meghan—
I may well. We'll discuss it the next time you come over to spend the night.
AJF
P.S. Don't forget to bring your organic chemistry book with you.
(A/N: My new rule for posting chapters is that I need to have the next one finished, or almost finished, before I post the current one. I'm hoping this will keep me from getting into too many slumps. Fingers crossed.
The Londonderry Air, for anyone who doesn't know, is the melody of the song Danny Boy.)
