Chapter 10
A Bitter Homecoming

A cold October rain filled the potholes in the uneven asphalt of Charing Cross Road; the few passers-by on this unpleasant afternoon hurried along under protective umbrellas, their feet splashing through the puddles. Few of them had the eyes to see the pub that lay between a bookstore and a used record shop, and even for those who knew its fame its exterior remained a singularly uninspiring sight.

The taproom, however, had undergone a few distinct and quite obvious changes; shabby benches and tables had been replaced, and now the flames in a new, huge fireplace were reflected from shimmering, dark wood and a freshly tiled floor. The walls were newly whitewashed and decorated with copper pots, polished brass cauldrons and a few, well-chosen paintings. Above the mantelpiece hung the portrait of a blonde woman with anxious, harebell-blue eyes in a gentle, round face.

Hannah Abbott stood behind the bar, drying a beer mug with a spotless towel. Her gaze swept across the room with the honest, warm pride of a mother surveying her well-behaved offspring… Tom, the famous landlord of the Leaky Cauldron, had retired almost two years ago, and ever since she had done her best to preserve as much of the old atmosphere as possible while at the same time changing what in her opinion absolutely had to be improved. The effort had paid off. Her Yorkshire Puddings, her pork roast, and her lamb with rosemary were nearly as famous as the dark smooth ale in her casks, and her cellar even housed a few varieties of very acceptable wine.

She was startled out of her satisfied reverie when the door to the backyard opened and let in a short shower of rain and two people. One was a tall woman with hazelnut brown hair, pinned up in a loose knot; her plain face was pale and tired, and she wore her right arm in a sling. The other one...

"Neville!" Hannah abandoned mug and towel and waved until she had the young man's attention. Then she hurried over to him and ushered him and his unknown friend to one of the most comfortable tables near the fireplace. She produced a small notepad from the pocket of her green apron.

"Would you like to have a pint of ale?" She turned to Neville who smiled at her, blushing ever-so-slightly. "We also have Shepherd's Pie on the menu today."

"Yes, Hannah, thank you," he replied. "I'd like to have both."

"And you, ma'am?" Hannah addressed Neville's companion; the woman's gaze was fixed on the fireplace, and the red and golden light of the flames gave her skin some color, softening the sharp outlines. At the sound of the landlady's voice she slowly turned her head.

Hannah's first thought was that she'd never seen someone that incredibly sad… though that sadness was nothing overt; it didn't show in the angular features, not even in the tart expression of the full mouth, but it radiated from her like a thin mist. Perhaps she was in pain; Hannah's gaze rested on the sling, and when she looked up to the woman's face again, the mournfulness was so clearly visible in the slate blue eyes that she gave a short gasp of dismay.

She pulled herself together.

"May I bring you a glass of wine? Or pumpkin juice, perhaps?" Her voice was soft and hesitant, as if speaking to some extremely shy animal.

The woman took a deep breath, her mind returning from wherever it had been, and smiled.

"A glass of white wine would be lovely, thank you," she said. Her voice was a strong contrast to her simple, unobtrusive appearance; it was warm and deep, a lovely, rich alto. "And when I came to London on a more regular basis – about twenty years ago - Tom served a special kind of Cornish Pasty. Is it still served here?"

"Of course," Hannah assured her, suppressing the sudden, peculiar urge to pat the hand of this mysterious guest. "I have a tray of pasties in the oven; they'll be ready any moment."

How absurd, she thought, she must be nearly old enough to be Neville's mother. Her gaze was involuntarily drawn to the portrait above the fireplace. The stranger was nearly old enough to be her mother, too - but that was something Hannah steadfastly refused to think about. Hazel Abbott had been killed by Death Eaters in the Autumn of 1996, which had meant the sudden end of Hannah's school career. She had mourned her, trying to fill the sudden void in her father's life... not only by giving him all the love and comfort she could muster, but also by taking over the kitchen of The Fattened Goose, the small inn the Abbot family had kept in Godric's Hollow since the time of Hannah's great-great-grandmother. She was secretly relieved that her personal drama had kept her from enduring that awful last year at Hogwarts, but at the same time she had bitterly missed being a part of Dumbledore's Army. She'd constantly kept Hermione Granger's magical galleon in her pocket, like some secret talisman.

And then had come the night she'd felt the coin burning against her palm like a piece of smouldering coal, her call to the battle raging at Hogwarts. She'd felt so out of practice compared to the others, had scarcely survived, reduced to scrambling after the wounded and bringing them to safety. It was the night she'd seen Neville Longbottom for who he'd truly always been... not a shy, inept boy with a talent for attracting every disaster within reach, but a hero. Neville had challenged the Dark Lord and destroyed the horrible serpent that had served that evil's whim.

And after the battle, while he sat in the banquet hall enjoying the acclamation of the folk who were giddy with the stupefying victory and not too busy mourning their losses, she had made her way to the kitchens, thinking that it wasn't right for Neville to look as if he'd missed too many meals. The house-elves had needed the help. Many of them were injured, and those that weren't were busy setting things to rights. Safe in the familiar sanctuary of the hearth, she'd found herself conducting a symphony of carrots, potatoes, cream and bacon, adding the spices that her mother had taught her long ago and stirring the enormous pots and pans. She'd been the one to bring Neville hot soup and fresh bread, and his grateful smile had felt utterly right, made her ridiculously happy. The others had been glad of her offering too, and despite everything that had been lost she had come away from battle and victory with a new passion for the healing good food and comfort could bring.

Suddenly Neville's hand was on her arm, and with a start she returned to the present.

"I would like to introduce my friend Ruta to you," he gently said, a smile in his eyes. "Ruta – this is Hannah Abbott."

So this was the Ruta Neville sometimes talked about. She was rather glad that Ruta had turned out to be clearly older than Neville and herself – and not too attractive - for his enthusiastic tales about her skills in Herbology, her kindness and her humor had made Hannah more than a little nervous at times.

The woman reached out with her left hand and shot a side glance at Neville; Hannah saw her lips twitch as if something dawned on her. "How do you do?" Involuntarily her own gaze trailed down to the sling; Ruta's right hand lay limp and motionless on the table. Whatever injury had near-paralyzed that arm it was hidden with the sleeve of the burgundy dress.

"A bad accident," Ruta said calmly, but the sadness in her eyes deepened.

"Then let us hope that everything will heal soon," Hannah said with honest warmth and set out for the kitchen. The pasties were waiting in the warming oven; she put two of them on a plate with extra salad, opened a bottle of Pinot Grigio and fetched a fresh bowl and plate for Neville's shepherd's pie.

She brought the pasties and the pie to her two guests and then stepped behind the bar, to fill a mug with fresh ale. All the time her gaze was fixed on the couple near the fireplace, and her last misgivings faded; it was a deep friendship that she saw, no love affair. They talked to each other; or rather it was Neville who did the talking, gesturing with both hands while Ruta listened, her face barred and filled with laboriously restrained patience. At least she had finished one of the pasties and the first half of the second, and she drank the wine; Hannah hated good food to be wasted. That was one of the many things she cherished about Neville Longbottom; he loved her cooking, and his pie had already vanished while Ruta was still shoving the rest of the second pasty around on her plate. Hannah brought him the ale and he did it as much honor as the food, and when he asked for the bill half an hour later, she shook her head and smiled dismissively.

"Will you be staying in London today?" she asked. "I've got lamb chops planned for dinner, and you might want to give my new Merlot a try."

"No," he replied, taking Ruta's cloak from the coatrack and carefully laying it over her shoulders. He gave the fireplace a short, dismissive glance. "I'm taking Ruta up to Berwick. She's not up to the Floo Network just yet, and Apparating..."

"I'm a bit clumsy with my wand right now," Ruta interrupted, her voice tired and clear. "The Healers at St. Mungo's have shown me several exercises to train the damaged muscles in my wand arm, but they told me to be patient, and until then I will have to use my left hand… which is more difficult than I hoped first."

"Oh." Hannah stared at her, dismayed to discover so long after the war that there were still injuries which the best mediwizards couldn't mend properly. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I will get used to it," Ruta said with a small grimace. "And of course you will see Neville again this evening; all he has to do is to drop me in front of Harry Potter's door, to attend the 'Welcome back'-party that has doubtlessly been prepared for days now."

Neville shot her a slightly annoyed glance. "Don't be so sarcastic. They care for you, Ruta, and they're really looking forward to seeing you again."

"Of course, they do, my dear," she retorted. "But I'm sure Miss Abbott here will look forward to seeing you again, too. Help me to get home and then come back to London; you've only got one more evening free to spend in the company of this lovely young lady before you return to Hogwarts."

She looked at Hannah; for a fleeting second the sadness and exhaustion vanished from her face and she looked carefree, much younger… and almost pretty.

"Good bye, Hannah," she said with a slightly mischievous smile. "You'll have him back very soon. Oh – and if you wait for him to take the first step, you might have to wait for quite a while."

Neville turned scarlet, and when Ruta opened the door with her good hand, he hastily followed her outside, casting a gaze back over his shoulder that was a wild mixture of embarrassment - and nervous hope.

vvvvv

"Are you really sure that you don't need me for the rest of this evening?"

They stood on the street in Berwick, right in front of Harry Potter's garden gate. The sky over the Eskdale was clear, the remaining light of day rapidly fading. Ruta looked up to the stars and inhaled the cold fresh air that always seemed to carry a hint of salt. The Irish Sea was barely eight miles away, and after the moldy smell of her sickroom at St. Mungo's and the unpleasant, overwhelming big-city aroma of London, every deep breath she could take here was a sheer relief.

"I am sure, Neville," she gently said. "I don't need a guardian; I will be among friends."

"I know." He stared down at his feet. "It's just… I want to be sure that you are well."

"You can't," she retorted soberly. "None of us can. I'll try to carry on as well as possible, and if I should ever need a shoulder to cry on, I will send you an owl."

"Promised?" He gave her a smile, and again it struck her that he had obviously no idea of his personal charm. Ah well… Hannah Abbott certainly did.

"I promise." He stepped close and hugged her, carefully not to touch the still overly sensitive arm. For one bittersweet moment she gave in to the unexpected comfort of his embrace, then she stepped back.

"Promise me something else," he slowly said, his hand still on her shoulder.

"What is it?"

"Normally werewolves can only try to find a safe place for themselves and everybody else when the moon is full, and then wait for the change to come and go," he said, his tone nervous but firm. "Your situation is different; you have a choice."

"What do you mean?" She stared at him.

"Oh, come on, Ruta." For the first time his tone was decidedly impatient. "You've befriended one of the most famous potion masters in England – the man that once brewed the Wolfsbane Potion for your cousin – and now you're trying to tell me that you have no idea what I'm talking about?"

Ruta paled.

"How do you…"

"Are you kidding? I knew who he was before Harry even told me! And how many other wizards have you ever heard of who can fly?"

"Fly?" Ruta stared at Neville. "He can fly?"

"Yes. He did it when he jumped out the window at Hogwarts, to get away from McGonagall and the others - only that time he was running away, and I suppose he just didn't want to have to kill them, but the night you were fighting Greyback he flew too, and this time he was coming to the battle."

"I don't remember anyone flying," Ruta said weakly.

"Well, you'd already been knocked down by then, and Harry and I couldn't do anything because poor Teddy was in the way and we weren't close enough anyway, and then down came Snape out of the night. For a minute there I thought we'd have two of them to fight, but he took on Greyback instead of us and as soon as we could tell that his Sectumsempra Spell was working, we joined in, and that did for Greyback. But yes, he flew. I wish I knew how he does that."

"You knew who he was because he flew?"

"No, I didn't think of that till later. Just like I didn't realize what he'd been doing all that last year at Hogwarts until it was too late to thank him for it. I mean, we got banged up, but none of us actually died or anything and you know that if he'd had the Carrows using Cruciatuses on us instead of each other, it would have been a lot worse, because none of us really meant it except for Crabbe and Goyle and they weren't much at magic anyway. And I did thank him when I talked to him at Dromeda's."

"But you knew who he was before then," Ruta said, a line of confusion between her eyebrows.

"Oh, yeah. I knew straight away when he started ordering me and Harry about." At Ruta's doubtful expression Neville shrugged. "I mean, his voice had changed and all, but his way of speaking hadn't. And his hands were the same – I couldn't be mistaken. It was like an old nightmare come back to life."

"Surely not, if he'd come to help."

He suddenly looked much younger, blushing and staring at his feet. "Didn't Remus ever tell you? He brought in a boggart for us to practice on and when it was my turn it looked just like Snape. I was terrified of him when I was in school, right from the first Potions class. I could never do anything right around him. I still don't know why he trusted me to take care of the Muggles."

This was like trying to get a straight story out of Teddy, Ruta decided. "Which Muggles?" she asked patiently.

"The constable – and the neighbors who'd seen the fight." Suddenly Neville grinned, the boy inside the man shining through. "I charmed the bullets right out of his gun and then used Obliviate on him. And luckily only three other people had seen what had really happened, which made things easier. Snape had said to transfigure Greyback's body into something the Muggles could recognize, and then scorch it like it had been hit with the same lightning that set the tree afire, and I did that, but it was my idea to make Bernie Smithers into a hero. People need heroes, even if Harry says it's a royal pain to be one all the time. And it's a nice feeling, knowing that you've done something brave. And he would have – Smithers, I mean – except that it wouldn't have done any good, so I thought he ought to get the benefit of wanting to do the right thing."

"Hmmm..." Ruta frowned, trying to mentally work her way through the complicated maze of Neville's last sentence. "He wanted to be the hero of the day, and you gave him the chance to be just that... even though it never truly happened?"

"Exactly!" He beamed at her like a teacher pleased by a clever student. "And do you know what? Later, after I finally got to Andromeda's house, I gave Snape a report of what I had done, and we talked it through, and this time he wasn't pretending to be anyone but himself, and you know, I almost liked him." He shook his head. "He even thanked me for my assistance - can you imagine that? I was completely dumbstruck."

He blinked up at the sky and pulled his cloak closer around him, then looked at her again.

"I'm telling you all of this because he obviously cares about you, Ruta. One day I would love to hear the story how you first met him, I really would… but for now you ought not forget that he's one of the very few people who are able to brew the Wolfsbane Potion at all, and I'll bet my annual salary that if you want his help, all you have to do is to ask."

"I… well, I promise that I will keep it in mind," she said slowly.

"Good. And now you should go inside – they are waiting for you, and it's getting awfully cold." Suddenly he gave her a bright smile. "I can't wait to be at the Leaky Cauldron again. And one day I'll collect all my courage and make that first step, believe it or not. Good night, Ruta."

"Good night, Neville."

He turned around, raised his wand and with a soft Pop vanished into thin air.

vvvvv

There was a kind of "Welcome Home" party indeed, but as it turned out that, besides Harry and Ginny, the only guests were Andromeda and Teddy, for a brief moment Ruta was able to allow herself to be wrapped in embraces like warmed towels and enjoy the feeling of being home again. But after she had observed James in his cot and made all the right comments about how much he'd grown, they sat down to dinner and she felt her inner tension return. Neville had been wrong to accuse her of sarcasm earlier. It was fear - desperate fear.

She did her best to keep her eyes on her plate, lest she discovered that she was being watched too closely, terrified that if she looked up to meet their eyes they would turn away. Only Teddy seemed unselfconscious, and with him she could nearly relax, for he'd gone to a Quidditch game with Ginny while she was away and his head was full of Bludgers and Snitches and amazing impossible moves that he could certainly duplicate on a broom if only he was given a new one for Christmas.

But in the end it was Teddy who caught her out, just as he and his grandmother were bidding everyone goodnight. He came to Ruta and flung his arms around her waist.

"I'm so glad that you're back, Auntie Ruta," he said, "and I'm sure your arm will be better soon. Gran Dromeda says she'll cook for you until you can stir in a pot yourself… and she has told me that you can live with us and that she won't be afraid because you can lock yourself in your house when the moon is full – but I'm not afraid of you, not at all."

A stony silence fell over the room, and Ruta heard someone gasp in shock. This was it - the first flinch, the first carelessness, the first accidental blow. But for all the lurking fear that had haunted her, she found that she could meet it. She would not look up into the pale, horrified faces around her. She would hold herself together, and not frighten or upset this most beloved child.

"That's good to hear, sweetheart," she said in a light tone, stroking his cheek. "And you are right - there's no need to be afraid. I would never harm you… and no one else, if I may add."

Now she managed to turn to the others, and still her voice was astonishingly calm.

"Would you please excuse me? That was a long day… I'd like to lie down a bit. Thank you all for your… warm welcome."

She walked out of the parlor, across the vestibule and up the stairs until she had reached the small, candlelit guest room that Ginny had prepared for her. She closed the door behind her and sat down on the bed, blindly gazing down at her hands. She was shaking from head to toe, and now that the realization of what Teddy had said to her fully hit home, she felt the blood leave her face. She leaned down until her head was between her knees and breathed in deep, long gulps until she no longer feared that she would throw up on the carpet.

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Ruta?" Ginny's voice. "May… may I come in?"

"No." She winced at her own tone. "I'm sorry, Ginny… but I'd rather be alone for a while."

A long pause, then Ginny's voice again, gentle and hesitant.

"You know that Teddy didn't mean any harm, don't you?"

"Of course I know." Merlin, she was so terribly tired. "He's just repeating what he's heard his Granny say. And before you ask, I know that Dromeda doesn't mean any harm either. She's just afraid, which is most understandable. Except that I would rather kill myself than hurt Teddy, and I'm much more afraid than she could ever be."

"I'm so sorry."

Of course she was sorry. Everyone was sorry for her these days. The Healers at St. Mungo's, Neville, Hannah Abbott, Dromeda, Harry, Ginny… but it didn't help.

"Listen, Ginny… I'm weary to the bones, and I really need to get some rest now. Would you mind if we discuss this tomorrow?"

"Not at all. Good night, Ruta. Sleep as long as you like… I'll have breakfast ready for you as soon as you're awake."

She heard soft steps walking away, got up from the bed and clumsily began to undress. She was honestly thankful for the Potters' hospitality; she had few illusions about how difficult it would be to fight her way through the daily routine in her own house, with only one hand and few spells. But even this bright, little chamber felt as much a prison as the room at St. Mungo's had, and she had no intention of staying any longer than she had to, no matter how pleasant the atmosphere and how soft the bed might be.

Freeing her injured, half paralyzed arm from the long trumpet sleeve proved to be more difficult than expected – somehow it had been easier to get into it, this morning at St. Mungo's. But finally Ruta managed, and first slipped out of the dress and then into her nightgown. She sank down on the bed; the pain was burning in her shoulder like fire and she bit her lip, forcefully willing herself not to cry out. Finally she blew out the candles, pulled the duvet over her body and lay in the darkness, eyes wide open and hopelessly waiting for a sleep that wouldn't come.

vvvvv

The next day dawned cold and clear. Harry rose early and was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, a plate full of scrambled eggs and the Daily Prophet when Ruta entered the room. She wore the burgundy red robe he had seen yesterday evening, but her hair was down and unbraided. She interpreted his gaze correctly and gave a small smile while he hurriedly pointed his wand at the cupboard, and an extra plate, a mug and cutlery settled down in front of her.

"I will need Ginny's help with my hair," she said, reaching out for the coffee pot with her left hand; Harry was wise enough not to offer his assistance.

"Ginny's still asleep," he said when she finally took her first sip. "Jamie was a little restless last night."

"I think I heard him once or twice. Teething again?"

"No, a particularly nasty case of wind. And he hates fennel tea with honey."

"Try chamomile," she offered, "and add a bit of maple syrup instead of honey… honey is something a child his age might have problems digesting, and it makes his stomach ache even worse."

"I'll tell her," Harry said, taking the pan and loading scrambled eggs and fresh toast on her plate. "How do you know so much about it? You've never had children of your own, but Ginny always says she needs no guidebook for parents as long as you are around."

Ruta smiled again, this time deeper and more genuine.

"Well, she could ask her mother," she gave back, "but I suppose it's a bit stressful to endure the constant advice of someone who always insists on knowing better.—And I had Teddy for practice, see? When Remus and Dora died, Dromeda was left behind with a helpless babe. Teddy had to be fed with a bottle, of course, which was probably the reason why he was colicky for months... she had breastfed Dora, and a little boy, screaming night after night, was a completely new and disturbing experience for her. When I came, I had nothing to offer but my unconditional will to help and a lot of old herbals. Our knowledge grew with the years."

"You've done a fantastic job so far," Harry said honestly, then gave her a slightly sheepish smile. "I love Molly very much, but even I have to confess that she's a bit… overwhelming at times."

They fell silent, and he watched her eat, unable to concentrate on his newspaper. He wondered how she would react if he mentioned the evening before; Dromeda had been devastated about the abrupt end of their little feast, and he felt sorry for the sudden, painful gap between two old and very close friends who were both very dear to him.

Ruta seemed to sense his unease.

"Don't worry about yesterday," she said, laying her fork down. "I know it was not your fault. It was not even Dromeda's fault – she has to get used to the situation; we all do. Perhaps things will be a bit less troublesome as soon as I'm home again… and as soon as she finds out that I won't take any chance of harming a child I love as dearly as if he were my own."

She blinked rapidly, but she regained her composure before he could see any tears, wiped her mouth with a napkin and got up rather quickly.

"And now, if you allow me… I could use a bit of fresh air."

"Why don't you wait until Ginny's up?" he asked. "I thought you wanted her help with your braid."

She stood in the door.

"No... no, it's not important," she said softly. "I have more important things to think about. And I want to go home long enough to see my garden. I've missed it badly."

"Do you think you'll manage?" Harry asked. "You've only just left the hospital."

"It was my arm that was hurt, Harry; my legs are working perfectly. And it's only a few miles. After four weeks of the same walls around me I'm starved for green hills and open skies." She sighed and braced herself. "I need some time, that's all. And I'd rather face Fionnula sooner rather than later. If I go now I can talk to her before the shop opens and she has customers to deal with."

And with that she left the kitchen and was gone.

vvvvv

Ginny came down barely fifteen minutes later, fully dressed. She gave him a kiss that tasted of tooth paste and tenderness, sat down and had reached for the coffee pot when she noticed the second, abandoned plate.

"Did Ruta have breakfast already?" She frowned. "And where is she? Her room is empty."

"She went for a walk," Harry said, folding the newspaper. "She said she wants to talk to Fionnula Flannagan; given the injuries to her arm and shoulder, she'll hardly be able to work for the next few weeks."

"Or months," Ginny added, a steep fold between her eyebrows. "Too bad werewolf bites can't be really healed by using magic. And she should be a bit careful of exactly what she tells Fionnula."

Harry took a sip of coffee. "Why is that?"

"Don't be silly, love," Ginny retorted, giving him look between pity and amusement. "The Muggle newspapers only wrote about a wolf that escaped from a private zoo and had to be shot. Ruta might tell Fionnula about some severe accident, but even if she is smart enough to conceal what really happened to her, and if Fionnula doesn't realize the truth… the moment Ruta mentions the fact that she will be forced to take a few days off every time the moon is full, that woman will certainly smell a rat. She's not stupid. - Will she come straight back when she's done?"

"No… she told me she wanted to walk home and see her garden."

Ginny shook her head. "All on her own? Stubborn woman."

Harry sighed. "I can't blame her. She certainly has a lot to think about." How to survive as a werewolf -- especially if she loses her job over it.

The doorbell startled them both. Harry got up, went to the entrance and opened; a tall, dark figure stood waiting under the porch, face shadowed by a big hood.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter."

For a second or two Harry stood disbelieving and frozen until he found his voice again.

"Professor Sn… sorry. Mr. Seeker. What… what are you doing here?"

"Paying a visit," his former headmaster, potions teacher and personal Nemesis retorted dryly. "Though it's not exactly you I want to see. I'd like to visit Miss Lupin."

"Who told you that she's here?" Harry asked, unable to hold back.

"I have my sources," Stephen Seeker replied placidly. "I was informed that Miss Lupin was released from St. Mungo's yesterday, and that Mr. Longbottom accompanied her to this house. And although we can certainly continue discussing this matter on your doorstep, I think it would be far more convenient to move inside."

"Oh." Harry cleared his throat. "Of course. Please, do come in."

He closed the door and followed his unexpected visitor into the kitchen. Ginny – who still sat at the table – raised her gaze from Harry's abandoned Daily Prophet, and her eyes went wide. But when she spoke, her voice was calm and casual, and Harry felt a sudden twinge of loving pride.

"Mr. Seeker. Welcome to Berwick – your first visit, I believe?"

"Indeed, Mrs. Potter." Stephen Seeker bowed with formal courtesy. "My pleasure. But I must confess that I didn't come to see you… I should like to have a few words with Ruta Lupin. Is she here?"

"You just missed her," Ginny replied, eying him inquisitorially. "She left about fifteen minutes ago, to see her employer."

"What for?" Seeker asked, his tone slightly sharp.

Ginny hesitated, then visibly decided to trust him with more information.

"To inform her that she won't return to work any time soon, I think," she slowly said. "The wounds are not properly healed, and she's still unable to move her right hand."

Stephen Seeker opened his mouth, but what ever threatened to escape, it remained unsaid when he firmly closed it again. He took a deep breath, then crossed his arms and gave a frustrated sigh.

"Mrs. Potter... I'm absolutely aware of the fact that you have known Miss Lupin much longer – and probably better – than I have. But I have reasons to come to certain… erh… conclusions about her character. She is a very honorable woman, astonishingly loyal… and unfortunately very devoted to the truth. What do you think will she tell the lady in question – Mrs. Flannagan?"

"That she won't be able to work," Ginny gave back. "Nothing more, I hope… to say anything more would be incredibly foolish."

"Not foolish," Seeker answered. "Only overcredulous. I have reason to believe that Miss Lupin tends to think the best of those around her… at least those to whom she has given her trust."

She trusted you, Harry thought, thankful that Seeker didn't bother to look at him in this moment. And surprisingly enough she was right.

"If Miss Lupin decides to tell the truth, what do you think will happen?" Seeker softly asked.

"It will be a disaster," Harry suddenly heard himself say. "Even Andromeda can't help being afraid of her, and they have been very close friends for more than eight years."

He paused, the sound of his last words like ashes on his tongue. "I don't believe so, of course. And I also believe in her ability to keep a dangerous secret – when she came to Hogwarts, she knew about the fact that Remus was a werewolf. But she told no one. I only found out that she had known all the time when that damned book by Rita Skeeter came out… and that was more than twenty years later."

"Try to think, Mr. Potter, for goodness sake," Seeker impatiently replied, "Miss Lupin's astonishing resolution to protect those she counts among her friends won't help her keeping her own secret in this instance. If Mrs. Flannagan is not blind and deaf to the simple facts, she will figure out the truth anyway, sooner or later."

For a moment he was silent.

"And now examine your heart," he finally continued, his voice very soft. "If you put your mulish loyalty aside for just a moment - do you really blame Andromeda Tonks for her fear? You have a son now, I believe; would you leave him in Ruta's care without thinking twice?"

"Of course!" Harry angrily retorted. He had a queasy feeling in his stomach, and suddenly a great wave of pity for Ruta Lupin washed over him. "She would never…"

"Remus Lupin would never have hurt you, or Mr. Weasley or Miss Granger. Not deliberately." Seeker's eyes brought back the old memory. "But once the moon touched him, deliberation was beyond him. Only the interference of your godfather kept you safe that night."

Silence fell between them again, heavy with frightening images never really forgotten. When Seeker continued, Harry was honestly relieved.

"This is why I have come to offer my assistance; if Miss Lupin trusts me to brew the Wolfsbane Potion for her; she will be able to live through the change without doing harm to herself or to anyone else, and to keep her senses clear… which is the most that can be done, given the curse that has befallen her."

A small, mirthless smile curled his lips.

"I have the suspicion that her unfortunate sense of consideration might keep her from asking for my help. Therefore I have decided not to wait for her – doubtlessly very heroic and selfless – decision to spare me the trouble." He turned back to Ginny. "When did she leave?"

"Fifteen minutes ago," Ginny said. "But it's not very far from here… only a short walk down the street."

"Then I'd best hurry," Seeker said, pulling his hood up again and nodding to Ginny and Harry as he made ready to leave. "Mrs. Potter. Mr. Potter."

Harry cleared his throat. "Wait."

Within a minute he was out of the door and back again, handing his former teacher a shimmering bundle. Seeker unfolded it, touching the priceless, magical fabric with a kind of wondering reverence. Their eyes met, and Harry saw that the emotions he so vividly remembered – bitterness, cold hate and unforgiving repulsion – had vanished without a trace, leaving behind nothing than the unease and deep concern for Ruta he felt himself.

"There are too many people in Berwick who might know you and try to stop you along the way," Harry said, his mouth dry. "And I'm fresh out of Polyjuice Potion. Just bring it back when you and Ruta don't need it anymore."

"I will. Thank you, Mr. Potter." Seeker wrapped the cloak around his tall figure and vanished; Harry felt his wife coming to his side; her fingers entwined with his. Together they listened to the steps of the invisible man and to the opening and closing of the front door. It was Ginny who spoke first.

"Come along, Harry," she said. "Let's have another cup of coffee."

He gazed into the familiar, pretty face.

"Do you think he… and does she…"

"It doesn't matter what I think, my love, or even you," she said with a smile. "Whatever was past is past, and you know that very well, dearheart." Her smile deepened, and for a second Harry could see Molly in her eyes... lover, warrior and mother at the same time. "Why else would you have lent him the cloak? He always did deserve trust, but now he has earned it as well. And for all that we both might want to help her, too, I think Ruta could choose no better ally."