Note: What a relief it will be to finish this story in approximately four chapters time! I'm flogging a dead horse here, that's for sure! Hopefully somebody enjoys it nevertheless...

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

22: Watching

A week on from Teddy's visit to Mr Selwyn's office and Rochelle Selwyn had yet to be found.

Rochelle lived with some distant aunt and uncle, it had been established, and yet a visit to the family in question had led the Auror Department to discover that the teenager had been missing for some days already. No mention of her disappearance had been made to either the Ministry or indeed the local muggle police, indeed her family seemed entirely unconcerned about her absence, insisting to Teddy upon being questioned that se was bound to show up eventually. She had not been seen again at the archery club, nor by any of her few friends known to her family, and her parents could not recall the last time that they had seen her. Her brother, Teddy reported at the dinner table one evening, claimed that he had not seen his sister since last Christmas.

Imogen Lupin despaired.

She spent her days contemplating the entirely incomprehensible notion of cutting such a close family member out of one's life entirely, for no discernible reason other than an accident of their genes. She imagined packing Pandora off to live with one great-aunt or another and vowing never to speak to her again...

The notion was, she felt, nothing short of evil.

Imogen had told her father that she wanted to hand in her notice and find another job, so disgusted was she by her employer's apparent attitude, but Teddy had rolled his eyes and told her not to be ridiculous.

"I don't see what's ridiculous about it!" Imogen had insisted hot-headedly as she shovelled mash potato onto her plate with such force that opposite her Carrie leant back in her chair in anticipation of being splattered.

"Don't be so ready to make such rash protest for the sake of your morals, Im. It's rarely worthwhile." Teddy told her through a mouthful of carrots, and Imogen protested:

"Nana resigned when the Ministry threatened to reform the Statute of Secrecy!"

"Indeed, but Nana herself was exceptionally rare. That afforded her substantial leverage." Teddy told her, raising an eyebrow. "And besides, Nana didn't resign, she went into hiding before they could arrest her!"

"I can't stand it there!" Imogen protested, stabbing savagely at a sausage with her fork. "I don't know how Phoenix can so much as look me in the eye! He knows all about Pandora, you know! And he still chats away to me like...like he's not some...some stuck-up, morally degenerate pureblood! He said Pandora was awfully good company, you know! Ha! I bet he doesn't think she's fit to kiss his shoes, let alone anything else!"

"I rather like him, actually." Teddy mused mildly, and his daughter shot him a look of deepest disgust. Ignoring her, Teddy turned to tell his wife: "He's been awfully helpful with things. Did you know he's offered to double his guard duty shifts?"

Imogen gave a snort.

"Guilt!" she scoffed, only for a vaguely disapproving noise to escape the back of her father's throat.

"These things are never easy, Im."

"What's not easy about loving your own flesh and blood?!"

"You'd be surprised."

"What are you saying, Dad? Am I...am I easier to love than Pan is? Is that what you're saying?!"

"Not at all, Sweetheart, you're both equally trying."
At her father's dry humour, Imogen reached to rake a frustrated hand through her hair.

"I think what Dad means, love," Carrie put in helpfully, "is that we all have certain expectations for our children, and it can be difficult when those things don't turn out as we imagined, even if it's simply a case of luck."

"Precisely," Teddy agreed, abandoning his knife and fork in favour of reaching to pour himself a tall glass of orange juice. "And there's no doubt about it, some families have a more difficult time than others."

There was without a doubt, Imogen's father informed her, a great irony in Mr Selwyn naming his firstborn Phoenix before proceeding to practically disown his second-born on the basis that she was a Squib. But no doubt despite his best efforts to distance himself from them, the great traditions and opinions of the Selwyns' pureblood heritage were so engrained that shaking them off entirely was a struggle to say the least. Some people, Teddy insisted, could not simply take such a wild leap and break free of all they knew of the world. Some people could only manage a meagre few baby steps, for that was all they had in them. And could Imogen or Teddy or indeed anyone not from a family like the Selwyns truly understand the struggle? Probably not. Teddy had been born to parents who were in some ways wildly liberal, who barely batted an eyelid at anyone from any background, blood status or walk of life. The sort of opinions passed down the generations through the Selwyn family simply would not occur as mere notions to the Lupins. And really, what hope of understanding them did they stand?

Of course, Teddy had added, an afterthought once his meaningful assessment of the situation was complete, that didn't stop Mr Selwyn being a coward and a complete and utter disgrace to wizardkind or indeed the human race at large. It simply made him a pitiful one.

And so it was that Imogen remained at work and hated every moment of it.

First thing in the morning was worst.

Every day, as was her habit, Imogen arrived some ten minutes before the other employees in her room.

And every day Phoenix Selwyn would wordlessly bring her a cup of tea.

He'd spoken to her for the first few days; Morning Im! Hi Immy! Hello Imogen.

Good Morning, Miss Lupin.

After that he'd simply smile somewhat forlornly, setting the steaming mug down before her before frowning at his highly polished shoes and making his escape.

His persistence in befriending her, though he no doubt knew by now that such a thing was a lost cause, bemused Imogen entirely. She simply couldn't imagine quite why he cared so much...

On the eighth day, after three silent tea deliveries on the previous few days, he set her mug down a little more firmly than usual and, folding his arms across his chest, looked her straight in the eye, demanding to know:

"Do you prefer coffee?"

Imogen stared at him in confusion for a long moment, before admitting:

"No..."

He huffed, as if he might disbelieve her, before turning on his heel to stomp his way out of the room, only to pause halfway to the door. Imogen watched him turn back to face her, draw a deep breath to speak, only to hold it, visibly struggling with whatever words were fighting to form upon the tip of his tongue, only for him to mutter frustratedly and turn back to flee out of the room.

He didn't bring her tea the next morning, nor the day after, or indeed the day after that. And despite everything Imogen found that she missed their awkward morning encounters.

She still liked him, she realised furiously on the third morning as she stood in the little kitchenette down the corridor, waiting for the kettle to boil. He might have been disgrace to the name wizard and his family might be the biggest bunch of hypocrites that Imogen had ever had the misfortune to come across, but somehow she liked him. He was in all other respects a good person, he was kind and clever. He was cheerful company, he had some sort of social conscious despite everything, he worked hard and never once seemed to think such a thing below him, and despite her disastrous first impression he seemed to be willing to give Imogen a chance...

And as the kettle came to boil, Imogen found herself musing that perhaps, just perhaps, she ought to give him a chance too.

A chance to redeem himself. A chance to be the sort of man Imogen had first thought he was...

The sort of man that Imogen had been beginning to fall hopelessly in love with.

And so Imogen Lupin made Phoenix Selwyn a cup of tea and wordlessly went to set it down upon the desk in front of him.

He was in his father's office, busy keeping an eye on things whilst Mr Selwyn was away, and as she knocked feebly upon the door and half-crept into the room Imogen watched him look up from the papers his was studying. He watched her approach in silence and when the cup appear before him he stared at it.

"Morning." Imogen murmured after a sizeable pause, only to jump a little when the wizard rose abruptly to his feet. He looked a little abashed to have startled her, cleared his throat noisily and greeted:
"Good morning! Er..."

"I've made you a cup of tea." Imogen explained unnecessarily, feeling herself redden. "I um...wasn't sure about the er...sugar or...or how much milk you...you know..."

"You're very kind, thank you."

Imogen studied the papers and various writing implements littering the desk with extreme interest, wondering quite how to broach a most difficult subject, before she reached to shove her hands into the pockets of her robes. She looked up at him searchingly, dark eyes roaming over his handsome face as she asked:

"What's she like? Your...your little sister?"

Phoenix seemed entirely unsurprised by the question, though he frowned deeply in search of the answer.

"She's..." he began uncertainly, tugging self-consciously at the hem of his chocolate brown jumper. "She's...well..."

"She's what?" Imogen pressed, entirely unimpressed by his uncertainty, but then he looked her abruptly in the eye and informed her:

"She's mine. She's my sister." He leant forward a good few inches that to Imogen felt like miles in order to insist: "And I would shout that from the rooftops because I am not my father!"

"You haven't seen Rochelle since Christmas." Imogen accused, the words coming out in an awful rush that almost made her take a step backwards in anticipation of provoking him, but he merely shook his head.

"She doesn't want to see me, clearly. She doesn't want to see any of us."

"Have you tried to see her?"

Phoenix gave a huff of grim laughter

"Do you suppose I spend half my weekends frequenting Hexx for the fun of it?! I heard she'd go there with Fawley sometimes, he used to sneak her in because she's underage..." He trailed off, expression pained and Imogen saw his hands resting upon the desk balling into fists as he muttered: "Merlin, the thought of her waltzing around with him of all people! If I ever set eyes on that lowlife I swear...!" His head bowed, shoulders slumping and as he sucked in a deep, calming breath Imogen thought perhaps he might be on the verge of some sort of breakdown.

"Is...is that why you signed up for Guard Duty?" she asked hurriedly, and he shook his head.

"I'd have signed up anyway." he said, and Imogen found that she believed him whole-heartedly.

Phoenix sighed, then, and it was such a heavy, weighted sigh that at that moment it seemed the entire weight of the world was upon his shoulders.

"Listen, Imogen," he said, without looking up at her. "I'm sure...I'm sure you must think very poorly of me for the way things are with...with Shelly. And I don't blame you for thinking like that, either. But I...I really do feel that...that well..."

"Yes?" Imogen said, finding that her heart was suddenly beginning to pound in her chest at what he might say, only for it to stop dead in anticipation when he looked up to say:

"I think perhaps that you and I are..."

There came a sharp knock upon the door and without awaiting a response it was thrown open to reveal a flustered looking Sharon Wilkins, who exclaimed in a rush:

"Master Selwyn, Mr. Brown is in reception again! Marge says he's demanding to speak to Mr Selwyn, he's causing a fuss!"

Phoenix stared at Imogen for a long moment, something seemed to twitch a little in his jaw, before he blinked and looked over her shoulder towards the door.

"I'll be there imminently, Miss Wilkins. Tell Marge not to fret and ask Mr Brown to kindly take a seat."

"Yes, Master Selwyn." Sharon said obediently, and no sooner had Phoenix turned to snatch up the immaculate robes he had left draped over the back of his chair, the witch in the doorway shot Imogen a look of the upmost distaste. She made very sure that Imogen saw her expression, before turning dramatically on her heel to sweep back out of the room again. Imogen stared after her in bemusement. Out in the corridor Imogen thought she could hear raised voices coming from the direction of the reception area, and she was just musing that it was shaping up to be an eventful morning when she jumped a little to feel a hand press against her arm.

Phoenix, having hastily shrugged into his robes and given them a brisk straighten, had reached to press a brief hand to her arm as he stepped past to head for the office door.

"Wish me luck!" he murmured, offering her a rather defeated smile, and when he withdrew his hand a fraction of a second later Imogen found that the small gesture had struck her dumb. By the time he had reached the door, however, the young witch had recovered enough to hurriedly call:

"What were you going to say? Just now, I mean, before...?"

Phoenix Selwyn paused, hand gripping the door handle, and turned to look at her. It was the sort of intense, searching look that made Imogen's mind run wild at the notion that he was about to say something Earth-shattering or at least something that might strike her dumb all over again...

"Oh..." he said, reaching to rake a hand awkwardly through his sandy hair in a manner that only increased Imogen's expectations tenfold. Then, to her utter frustration, he murmured: "It was just...well..."

"Well...?"

Phoenix huffed.

"It'll keep!" he decided, quite cowardly Imogen thought, and then he disappeared out into the corridor were the voices had grown so loud that Imogen could almost construct the furious series of syllables into audible words. She could still hear them, albeit muffled, when the door clicked shut behind him.

It was not only a frustrating day for Imogen, the young witch discovered that evening when she stepped out into Diagon Alley and went to fetch herself a newspaper on the way back home, but a frustrating day for the wizarding community at large. The Auror Department, making steady progress in rounding up former SEWs members and other people with links to Jeffrey Fawley, had thwarted not one, but two attempted arson attacks that very afternoon, but had failed to apprehend any suspects in the process.

The number of incidents linked to Pan's Army had been on the increase, though the Aurors, supported by an ever-vigilant community, had fended off the vast majority of these attacks one way or another. Though their ability to predict or spot one of Jeff's plots had grown over the days and a number of suspected accomplices had been taken into custody, it seemed to Imogen that locating Jeff himself was still proving to be difficult to say the least. The department had it's eye upon Rovena Luga each and every day, watching her like a hawk, but her comings and going remained disappointingly mundane. With Rochelle still missing and the Ministry struggling to gather any clues from the letterbomb incident, Imogen's father seemed to find the situation bleak. Pandora, though often home for meals if Teddy was around to escort her home and then away again, was still staying at Auntie Cleo's house. It was no doubt driving the teenager up the wall...

It had probably been a relief the previous day when Pandora had been deposited at Uncle Timothy's house in Moorbrook for a few days in order for Cleo to visit a cousin in York.

Imogen found herself apparating to Moorbrook late that evening, after sharing a solitary dinner with her mother, who had gone to bed shortly afterwards. Imogen, burdened by the increasingly confusing collision of her work life and love life, found that such an everyday concern was almost a relief. It seemed only right to revel in this properly, in the same way that she would have done back before the Diagon Alley explosion and the start of all the trouble.

Uncle Timothy answered the door, the soft murmur of the television drifting out from the sitting room, and Imogen consented to giving him a hug and a peck upon the cheek.

"Pan still up?" she asked as she shuffled inside, and as Timothy reached to push the door shut behind him, the muggle said:

"No, she disappeared up to bed half an hour ago. I think perhaps Robin was talking her half to death. Tea, Immy?"

"No thanks." Imogen murmured as he followed her into the sitting room, where Auntie Natalie and Cousin Robin were sat upon the sofa before the television. At the sight of her niece, Natalie rose immediately from her seat in order to come and give the witch a hug.

"Hello, love!"

"Hi Auntie Nat, how're you?"

"Oh, I'm fine! Cuppa?"

"No thank you, Uncle Tim just offered. He says Pan went to bed?"

As she drew back from Imogen, Natalie's expression grew somewhat pained.

"That's right." she murmured as Robin offered Imogen a silent wave in greeting. "She's had a difficult day, I think..." Natalie's voice dropped to a whisper as she admitted: "She spent half the morning crying in the bathroom. Tim heard her when he got up to leave for work."

"Oh..." Imogen sighed, reaching to rake a weary hand through her hair, and Natalie sighed to, reaching to press a hand to the witch's arm.

"It's always difficult," she said, smiling sadly. "But she'll be alright with us, don't you worry."

If Pandora could be alright with anyone other than her immediate family, Imogen thought, she would be alright with Timothy and Natalie. Timothy was both Imogen and Pandora's favourite uncle. Unlike his permanent bachelor twin brother, Uncle Thomas, Timothy was not the life and soul of the party. He did not bestow upon his nieces the odd bit of pocket money on a regular basis, he didn't crack constant jokes that made them ache with laughter, he didn't tell them wild or downright scandalous tales from his youth and frankly at times he could be rather boring. But none of this mattered to Imogen and Pandora, he was still their favourite uncle by far. He had a quiet, calm voice, he knew the right things to say and precisely when to say them, he always greeted the girls with a warm, loving hug and he smelled habitually of peppermint when they buried their face in his shoulder. He was the reliable uncle, the one who would always be reasonable, the one who made it seem as if everything in life was always under control.

Auntie Natalie, also habitually quiet and reserved but in a manner that suggested that this had not always been the case, was precisely what Pandora needed right now. After all, Imogen thought, Natalie had fallen pregnant as a teenager too, she knew what it was like, she'd managed to get by and make a decent life for herself and her son...

It was a shame that the son in question had grown up to be Jackson. Merlin, what if Pan's baby grew up to be like him?!

"No Jackson?" Imogen found herself asking, managing to sound almost disappointed that her step-cousin was nowhere to be seen, for she recalled he usually visited his family on Thursdays after a pint or two in the pub down the road, and Robin told her:

"He's gone to Manchester."

Imogen hoped he'd stay there.

"I'll just check on Pan." she said, not wanting to ask Robin to elaborate in case he were to crush her hopes by indicating when his brother might return.

She took the stairs two at a time and, without bothering to knock, slipped uninvited into the spare bedroom. It was dark and still inside. Imogen crept across the carpet to the single bed in the corner.

"Budge up." she whispered to the bed's occupant, who had stirred upon hearing the door click open, and obediently Pandora shuffled back until she could feel the cool wall upon her back.

Imogen kicked off her shoes and climbed under the covers, drawing the duvet right up over their heads and for a moment the two girls lay in silence. Eventually Pandora mumbled:

"Wha' time issit?"

"About ten." Imogen whispered, shifting to get comfortable.

Pandora considered this fact groggily for a moment before wondering:

"Dad been home yet?"

"No. He's on a raid again."

Pandora sighed.

"I never see him."

"I know."

"He said he'd come and visit today. He promised."

"Nana cancelled his leave again."

Pandora scowled.

"Why doesn't she try cancelling her own leave?!" the teenager hissed, sounding as if she might be about to burst into tears. "I bet she doesn't even know he's not been home for three days straight!"

Imogen reached to rub a weary hand across her eyes.

"I'm sure she does, Pan. I'm sure she'd give him leave if she could..."

"Harry would've given him leave!"

"I doubt it. Albert Diggory's been rushed to Mungo's, Mum says. They're a man down..."

"Well I bet she hasn't seen him! I bet she hasn't a clue how...how tired he is! What does se know anyway?! Sat in that bed morning noon and night!"

"Pan..." Imogen opened her eyes and squinted through the darkness at her sister whose hot breath in the confines of their hideaway came in quick bursts upon the witch's face. Imogen reached to grasp her sister firmly by the hand. "Nana's doing her very best..."

"You've changed your tune!" Pandora observed, sounding quite betrayed that her sister would come to their grandmother's defence. Since their last disastrous encounter, Pandora had point blank refused to visit Dora, no matter how the rest of the family attempted to reason with her. Imogen, until now, had seemed like an ally. She had seemed angry with Dora too, Pandora had thought they understood one another...

"I...I saw her the other evening." Imogen mumbled, as if she were quite ashamed of herself. "Mum sent me over after work to...to help Grandad with chores. I...I didn't want to see her but..." Her grip upon Pandora's hand tightened. "I think she's getting better, Pan. She looked even more awful than before, but Grandad says she's getting better..."

"Grandad's a liar." Pandora accused sullenly, only to wince when Imogen's fingernails dug suddenly into her hand.

"If you were to give her the time of day for just a minute, Pandora, you'd know that's not true!"

Pandora was stubbornly silent.

"She's taking fewer potions every day, Pan. The Order are taking turns sitting with her, Grandad says. They read her all the files the Aurors send over about the Fawley case, then ask her if she has anything to say about it or any instructions. They're doing the same with Harry with all the other ongoing cases, apparently."

"I bet she doesn't say much."

"Not a whole lot, no. But it's progress, don't you think? Especially if she's coming off the potions. I think she does want to get better, Pan. I think she really is trying..." Imogen trailed off thoughtfully for a moment before recalling: "She asked after you, you know. She said to tell you she sends her love..."

"If she loved me she'd not say such horrid things to me. I bet she didn't say she was sorry! Nana Dora never says she's sorry..."

"You know, Pandora," Imogen said, beginning to lose her temper, "Nana didn't just fall out of that bed for no reason the other week, you know! You turned your back on her and se fell out trying to stand up! Don't you forget that!" Curling her legs up towards her chest, Imogen hugged her knees and muttered: "I didn't come to talk about Nana, anyway. Let's talk about something else."

When Pandora failed to offer up any new topics for discussion, Imogen suggested: "Tell me how things are here. How's it going?"

"Auntie Nat and Uncle Tim are being lovely. Robin...keeps staring at me..."

"Uncle Tim'll be pleased. He always says Robin spends too long staring at the television! It'll do him good to stare at something else!"

Despite herself, Pandora sniggered, and Imogen grinned.

"How's work?"

"Oh, dreadful!"

"Dreadful? I thought you liked it there..."

"I do...it's just..." Imogen trailed off with a sigh. After a sizeable pause she wondered: "What d'you think of him, Pan?"

"Who?"

"Phoenix."

"Oh..."

Before Pandora could voice an opinion, Imogen informed her sister:

"I think I like him. Is that wrong?"

"I like him too..." Pandora began, only for Imogen to insist:

"No, silly! I mean I like him!"

"Oh." Pandora considered this for a while, chewing upon a nail, before she decided: "Well he's better looking than Jamie was. Because, you know, Jamie had big ears..."

"What?"

"He did. They were big and they sort of...stuck out..."

"They did not!"

"Well they did. Claire saw him at our barbecue last year and she said he had cauliflower ears!"

"Cauliflower?!" Imogen exclaimed, causing her sister to dissolve into laughter, and the Squib managed to choke:

"Yes! She...she said...she said you must be vegetarian!"

The laughter swelled in their bellies until Pandora was forced to bury her face in the pillow, Imogen clamping a hand down over her mouth to smother a violent bout of giggling.

"Does he like you?" Pandora finally wondered, fidgeting in anticipation of an answer, and Imogen rolled onto her back and stared at the blackness of the duvet upon her face.

"I think so...I'm almost certain. But he won't tell me...he's...he's a coward!"

"Shy." Pandora corrected reasonably, and Imogen gave a huff.

"There's nothing shy about Phoenix Selwyn! No, he's a coward, Pan."

Pandora yawned widely.

"But you are quite scary, Im." she reasoned sleepily. "I'd be frightened to ask you out if I were him."

"If he wasn't a coward he'd have made proper amends with his sister by now." Imogen insisted, and Pandora agreed:

"That's probably true..." The teenager shifted to rest her hands upon the modest swell of her stomach before reasoning: "But he's very polite and he's got a good sense of humour. And he's rich."

"Pan!"

"What? Nana says any sensible girl wants to marry a rich boy given half the chance!"

"Well yes, but...!"

Both girls promptly dissolved into laughter again, and Imogen rolled onto her side, reaching to throw an arm around her sister.

"Shut up and go to sleep." she instructed, closing her eyes in demonstration, and as Pandora's head came to rest against her shoulder, the Squib sighed and decided:

"I think you should ask him out if he's too cowardly to ask you."

"You think?" Imogen mumbled, frowning to find a wayward strand of Pandora's hair upon her tongue.

"Why not?" Pandora mumbled back, very nearly asleep. "This isn't the Dark Ages, you know..."

It was a dull, cloudy morning and the ramshackle lane up into the woods was damp with mud and leaves from rain overnight. They squelched under her boots as she turned off the main road from the village.

Squelch, squelch, squelch...

She walked steadily halfway up the track until the cottage came into view amongst the trees, whereupon she stopped and stared. A figure was standing upon the cottage doorstep and she could just about make out the front door opening, could make out faint yet bright greetings...

"Good morning!"

"Morning Remus, sorry I'm a bit late..."

As the figure disappeared inside and the cottage door closed she stepped carefully off the lane and under the trees and began a slow, cautious creep up towards the house, stepping from tree to tree, her heart beginning to thud more urgently against her ribcage, her breathing quickening as she met the garden fence...

A window was open at the side, though the curtains remained drawn. She stood and studied it a while.

After ten minutes or so she glanced around the surrounding trees, certain that she was alone, and then she vaulted over the fence and made a beeline for the window, flattening herself against the wall beside it, listening...

"...raid commenced at six thirty-four PM and was attended by Aurors X. Pikket, R. Salter, N. Clearwater, T. Lupin and L. Spinnet..."

"Again, please."

"The raid commenced at six thirty-four PM and was attended by Aurors X. Pikket, R. Salter..."

"Who?"

There came the sound of pages turning.

"Rupert Salter?"

"Oh, yes. Right."

More page turning.

"N. Clearwater, T. Lupin and L. Spinnet, all in full Ministry uniform. Mr. Pikket acted as the senior Auror intending to make the arrest. Mr. Clearwater acted as primary look out whilst Miss Spinnet covered the back of the property. Mr. Lupin remained upon a park bench across the street, beside the duck pond..."

A heavy sigh, then:

"Again, please."

"Are you rather tired, Tonks? Perhaps we could have a cup of tea and come back to this in a bit?"

"Hm..."

A door opened and there came the rattling of china upon a tray.

"Did I hear somebody mention tea?" a new voice said as the tray was set down upon a surface, then:

"Perfect timing, Remus, I was just saying perhaps Tonks could use a rest."

"Yes, the healers have been over to fuss this morning, haven't they Dora? Got her doing all these leg exercises to build up strength...tea, darling."

"Thank you, love."

"How is the pain today, Tonks?"

"Oh...you know..."

"Sugar, Hermione?"

"No thank you..."

She could see a gap in the curtains.

She held her breath, biting her tongue in concentration as she leant forward to peer inside the bedroom...

She had but a glimpse of the pale, solemn witch upon the bed, the wizard stood sipping tea and the visitor sat upon a chair by the bedside, before a voice mumbled:

"There's quite a draft, don't you think?"

Footsteps as she glimpsed a figure approaching the window and in a flash she was sprinting back through the garden, over the fence and away into the trees...

Imogen Lupin was on a mission.

She strode down the cobbled street, head held high, grip upon the strap of the bag upon her shoulder so tight that her knuckles had grown pale.

And from countless shop windows the face of missing teenager Rochelle Selwyn watched her pass.

Imogen tried not to look at the Ministry's latest posters that had appeared all over Diagon Alley that morning, the search for Rochelle having been stepped up after a lack of leads. Imogen found the sight of them deeply troubling in more ways than one. For starters she found Rochelle's disappearance disturbing for she couldn't help but wonder if Pandora might have been snatched away in a similar fashion. Secondly, it was difficult to put her differences with Phoenix Selwyn aside when they were staring her so blatantly in the face...

She spotted the target of her purposeful stride stood just outside the doors to Silver Chalice Potions. He was holding a large piece of parchment limply in a hand, having a murmured conversation with a witch dressed in scarlet Auror robes. As she approached, she caught the end of the conversation.

"...my father will be returning in a couple of days. He...I can't speak for him, of course, but I would...I'd very much like to hear...anything..."

"We'll be sure to contact you, Mr Selwyn. If you have any questions you are welcome to write to the Auror Department at any time."

"Yes...I...who?"

"Mrs Lupin has assigned a small team to conduct further inquiries, Mr. Selwyn."

"I can write to her about it, then?"

"I would suggest you address any questions to Mr. Finn Grover. I believe he's been put in charge..."

"Is he any good?"

"We're all good, Mr. Selwyn."

"Oh yes, I'm sure...only...is Mrs. Lupin still on sick leave? It's just..."

"Mrs. Lupin is sick, Mr. Selwyn. She isn't on leave." The witch reached to press a reassuring hand to Phoenix's arm, smiling faintly as she assured him: "Don't let her absence from Auror Headquarters fool you. You've nothing to worry about."

Imogen, pace slowed to an awkward shuffle, offered Auror Jasmine Wickes a nod in greeting as the scarlet-robed witch turned to head on up the street, a sheaf of Missing posters tucked into the crook of her arm.

"Morning, Imogen."

"Hi Jasmine...how's Isaac today?"

The Auror merely twitched her lips, dropped her gaze to her boots and strode on up the street.

Imogen gazed after her, a sinking sensation descending upon her stomach. The feeling only intensified when she turned back to look at Phoenix, who was gazing forlornly down at his sister's picture upon the poster in his hands. Upon finding Imogen's shadow falling across the picture, the wizard looked up, cheeks reddening.

"Oh..." he mumbled, hastily dropping his hand to his side. "Morning..." He smiled faintly at her before turning to eye the front of his father's premises in consideration, grip upon the poster tightening.

"I know a decent sticking charm, if you like..." Imogen offered, stepping up beside him, and he gave a grateful huff before reaching to press the poster to the wall, mumbling:

"I've got it, but thank you."

Imogen watched him reach awkwardly to withdraw the wand from his pocket and as he set about mumbling a incantation or two, the young witch cleared her throat.

"Listen, Phoenix," she began, finding herself suddenly awkward. "I was wondering...um..."

"Yes?" He paused, one hand still holding up a wayward corner of the poster as he looked round at her.

Imogen sucked in a deep breath, before wondering:

"I don't suppose we could...I mean if you want to...we could get coffee...sometime?"

It hadn't been the confident, non-cowardly proposal that she had intended, but she supposed it might do the job nevertheless.

Phoenix Selwyn stared at her for a moment. Then he said:

"Oh."

Imogen forced herself to shrug in an almost-casual manner and tell him:

"Only...if you want to, I mean. It would be...nice."

"Right. Yes. I mean that's...yes..." Phoenix offered the witch an abashed smile before turning his attention back to the poster. Imogen was not entirely sure how well the whole exchange had gone. The word 'yes' had been used a few times, she supposed, so perhaps it had been a success, if only a minor one...

"Great..." she concluded uncertainly. "How about...this lunchtime?"

"Yes."

"Great. Well...see you, then!"

She crouched carefully amongst the bushes and watched the elderly man shut the cottage door behind him and make his way slowly down the garden path. The garden gate whined upon it's hinges when he opened it and she watched him pause to examine the hinges, tutting, before heading on down the ramshackle path towards the village. Once he was out of sight she went back to staring at the cottage in consideration, her lips pursed together as she inhaled deeply through her nose. It had rained again overnight. The woods smelled earthy and damp, wetness clung to her nostrils...

She went through the front gate, this time, feeling bolder than before, only to dart along the side of the cottage until she reached the bedroom window. She flattened herself against the wall and dared to peer inside...

Dora Lupin stared blankly down at the tray set upon her lap, scowling somewhat accusingly at the remaining slice of toast, before sighing heavily. Reaching to dust crumbs from her fingertips, the Auror carefully set the tray down upon the bed beside her and instead reached for the sheaf of papers that her husband had left upon the bedside table some minutes earlier before he left for the shops.

The words upon the parchment seemed to blur into one as she stared dismally down at them, willing herself to read. But Dora was fast growing tired...

Dora was always tired. Mentally, at least. She tried to tell herself that physically she had been growing steadily stronger for some days now, indeed the visiting healer had told her as much just an hour previously, but it seemed to Dora that she was merely shuffling steadily up a hill when really there was a mountain to climb.

"I'll get there." she muttered to herself, giving the parchment a sharp shake as if it might all become clearer, and despite everything she thought she might just believe herself. Since falling out of bed and subsequently incurring the full force of her husband's uncharacteristically blunt resolve to see her better, Dora had started to feel steadily more optimistic. Though her days had a clear routine of healers' visits, frequent naps, half-hearted meals and the constant studying of Ministry paperwork, the monotony had lessened thanks to the myriad of different Order members coming to sit and read to her. That her friends had rallied around her with such abundant enthusiasm, each one taking an interest in the Fawley case as well as her well-being, Dora was finding herself feeling increasingly strong.

It was difficult, of course. As much of a team player as she was, Dora found her current circumstances and tasks so very personal that letting anyone else share the burden was a struggle. She felt better, yes, but she didn't quite feel like Dora...

And then of course there was the one still-open wound that simply refused to heal, the one dismal thought that wouldn't leave her mind, the one single fact that persistently knocked the cheer and optimism straight out of her in a split second.

She couldn't remember how many times she had asked Remus if he thought perhaps Pandora might venture over to visit her, but she did remember precisely what the answer to this question inevitably was.

Nor could Dora remember just how many notes and letters she had started, abandoned, thrown away or indeed torn up in frustration, but she did remember that as of yet she had not had the nerve to send a single note to attempt to make amends with her granddaughter. The words simply didn't seem to come out right, for one thing, and for another...well...

What if Pandora didn't believe her? What if the damage was done and that was that?

It was an easy enough assumption to make, Dora realised, especially when more positive assumptions were frequently beyond her these days.

She reached to rub a weary hand to her forehead and shifted against her pillows.

Concentrate, she told herself firmly, squinting at the parchment...

Something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, a slight movement, perhaps, or...

Dora blinked and looked over towards the window.

The garden outside was rich with the shades of healthy green that adorned the countryside after a fair amount of rain. Beyond the garden fence the woodland was still, save for the light gusts of wind leaving the leaves to rustle softly, a bird flitting between branches. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary at all.

Dora went back to her reading. She was midway through discovering that Jasmine had been up half the night pasting Missing posters all over Diagon Alley, which seemed odd given that Dora had specifically instructed that the task ought be assigned to any enthusiastic volunteer not currently on guard duty, when she heard the distinct sound of movement coming from just outside the window.

The Auror sucked in a deep, considering breath, eyes slowly turning to peer sideways towards the sound, the rest of her remaining stock still.

There was nothing there...

She heard the sound again. It was a...rustling, she decided. Like...material brushed against a hard surface...like brick.

Dora carefully set the papers aside and staring blankly down towards the end of the bed. She yawned widely, then reached to stretch an absent-minded arm, flexing her wrist a little until the joint gave an ugly click...

There came a thud from inside the cottage and the watcher jumped ever so slightly as within the blink of an eye the bed-ridden witch had slammed her outstretched hand down onto the bedside table and snatched up her wand, the tip pointing keenly towards the window. The watcher caught but a glimpse before she had thrown herself back against the wall out of sight, sucking in a deep breath and holding it as a sharp voice from inside the house demanded:

"Who's there?!"

For a mad moment she thought she might call back in reply, and her face contorted painfully as in response to the notion she promptly bit her tongue so hard that she could taste blood in her mouth.

"I might be a cripple," the voice pointed out bluntly, "but I'm not blind and I'm not bloody deaf, either!"

She ought make a run for it, she realised, she ought run towards the front door and round the other side of the cottage, well out of view from the window, make off into the woods before the wizard returned or worse...

And yet something was holding her, she realised. Something was stopping her from moving...

Sneaking around had never been her strong point, she thought bitterly, which was disappointing because she seemed to be doing an awful lot of sneaking around lately...

"I can wait all day for you to move, if you like." the voice suggested, cutting into her thoughts. "I'm certainly not going anywhere. If you've a sensible bone in your body, though, you'll get going any moment now!"

She wanted to laugh, then. She'd never had a sensible bone in her body and that was a fact. If she had done, she realised bleakly, she wouldn't be in this mess...

Inside the bedroom, Dora gritted her teeth in frustration, heart pounding in her chest. Next ought come the part where she threatened to count to three, only she knew full well that as she was, immobile and not in the least bit sure of who she was making threats to, she was in no position to start a game like that...

She felt afraid, she realised with no small amount of humiliation, she felt...vulnerable...

"There're enough protective wards on this cottage to keep you busy a good while!" she decided, knowing full well she could probably count upon one hand the number of protective spells Remus had taken to casting over the house these days, at least half of which were to keep muggles away. "The only quick way in is straight through this window...and I reckon I've got that covered...what d'you think?"

There was no response. Dora leant forward a little in bed searchingly, mumbling: "Of course it's always more polite to go and knock on the front door..."

Bang!

An explosion of dusty darkness as black as ink suddenly exploded below the window and as she reached to clamp a sleeve to her mouth to stifle a cough Dora squinted desperately at the darkness, only to find it absolute...

And then she heard the pounding footsteps upon damp grass and the crash of a gate being flung clear off its hinges as the watcher sprinted away into the trees.

By the time the Instant Darkness Powder had dispersed enough into the air to allow Dora a grey-tinged view of the world outside the window everything in the garden was once again quiet and still.