Disclaimer: If you really are that curious about whether or not I really own any of this, go to the first chapter. Which you should have read anyway! Slacker!
"She's late," spoke a quiet voice from the shadows.
"I know," growled the man at the desk, running a hand through his graying hair. "But..." he sighed "Nothing I can do will make her come sooner."
The shadowy figure stirred slightly in its chair "How do you know she'll agree to it?"
"I have known her since she was in her third year. I have every reason to have absolute faith in her"
The figure coughed roughly, great whoops that shook their body. The man said nothing. He knew that this weakness embarrassed his guest, and to acknowledge it would only hurt them.
Finally the guest collected themselves and rasped, "Do you really think she'll come, Remus?"
He looked at the shape, but his gazed was unfocused, as though he was really gazing at something beyond it. "I think she will. But it'll take some time for her to arrive. She has... a lot standing between her and this."
The shadows chuckled, and stood. "You get to be more and more like Dumbledore every day, you know."
"Do I?" Remus Lupin said, smiling at the paper he'd turned his attention to as the figure brushed past him and out the door. "Oh, good."
He got to his feet after a moment, carrying the slip of paper with him. He examined the chair that his guest had vacated, as if looking for some trace left behind.
Of course there was nothing there. They were always very careful to leave no sign after they'd left.
Wearily, Remus Lupin sank into the chair and closed his eyes. God, he was tired. There was so much he was doing, so much he had still left to do before he could reasonably return home. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the stubble that was the result of being so wrapped up in your work that you forget basic necessities like shaving.
Lupin's stomach rumbled.
And eating.
Yes, he needed some food. But it'd have to wait.
He opened his eyes and looked down at the parchment. It was heavy, plainly of very fine make, and the handwriting was elegant and refined. And cold, a distant part of his mind mused, as much as ink can feel cold, it's cold. Disinterested, was more of the right word. Somehow the paper gave off a feeling of unconcern, as if he could oblige them or not, it made no difference to them, really.
But Lupin would oblige them. He had to. Who knew better then he that this was the opportunity that he'd been waiting for for nearly six years?
The grandfather clock in the corner chimed the half-hour softly. Lupin glanced at it, and smiled wryly. One… two…
There was a soft, hesitant knock at the door. The tiny scratches that accompanied it were so faint that only someone with very… special hearing would be able to interpret them as a sign of who their caller was.
"Come in," Lupin said softly, putting the parchment away in the pocket of his robes.
A long-faced woman with straight black hair pulled away from her face in a ponytail entered slowly, trying to smile though she was clearly as tired as he was. Well, it was just past one o'clock. He knew that this was always the last thing she did before going home on Saturdays, and that she knew how important it still was to him, after six years.
"Hey Lupin," she rasped, her hoarse voice a throwback to the Epic Struggle (always accompanied with capital letters and a slight intake of breath, just so you'd never confuse it with some lesser epic struggle unworthy of the capitalization). She'd been one of the students to join the fight then, but had ventured too close to the fire and inhaled too much smoke. Mediwizards had been able to reverse most of the damage to her lungs, but the change to her voice was irreversible. She was perversely proud of it, in a way.
"Hello, Sam. And- is there..." he couldn't help it. Hope flared in his chest, causing him to grip the sides of his desk for support, his eyes fixed on the woman's face.
She shifted awkwardly on her feet, ruffling the sheaves of paper she held absentmindedly, and swallowed slightly.
The hope that had flared so brightly died. An ignoble death that was regretful and bitter.
She saw his shoulders sag, and moved slowly over to his desk. She gently set the papers in front of him, and sat in the deep chair just opposite the desk.
"There's nothing," she said quietly, confirming what he already knew to be true. "They've moved on to Ireland now. They've covered Dublin and the towns around it, but there's no sign of him. Kingsley… he thinks he may have gone to the States. We might need to contact the Ministry over there, and see if they can help us."
Lupin nodded, looking at the papers without actually seeing them.
Sam chewed her lip for a moment, and then said softly "He doesn't want to be found, Sir." She didn't usually address him like that, since he hadn't been her teacher for a long time, but she always addressed him as such when she was preoccupied or upset. She couldn't help it.
"I know, Sam. If he had wanted to be discovered… even if in the deep parts of his mind… he'd have left something. Some trace, some hint. Or maybe he'd have gotten married, and had a child. We could have found him through the school's records. They survived the Battle, you know," she nodded "But… I think… I think he's been using his magic. Not enough to attract attention, but just enough to see that he is never found."
Sam struggled for a moment, clearly wanting to ask or say something, but not knowing how. "But… Why?"
"You were there, Sam. You saw all those people die. Did you see--" He paused, it suddenly occurring to him that he'd never asked if she had actually witnessed the climax.
Mutely, she nodded, and for a moment looked very much like the sixteen-year-old she'd been that night.
"Well, then…" Lupin stopped, and then continued in an undertone, speaking more to himself then her now. "I was just beyond the barrier he'd raised. To protect whoever was left. And I saw his face, after it was done. As he looked at all of the bodies…" Lupin sighed heavily. "He was so young. So young to have lost all of them."
"I saw him walk away," Sam said suddenly. She was staring at her hands, and gnawing fiercely at the inside of her cheek. "He walked just past where I was lying. He… He wasn't even crying. He didn't look around, or anything, he just… walked."
The silence that followed was heavy and dark. The shared recollections danced around the room eagerly, whirling around their heads and painting memories of flames and screams and the stench.
Lupin stirred himself finally, and laid his hands on the pile of paper. "Well, alright. So Dublin's out. I think they should look up to the North as well, just to be certain. He'd probably relocate in a place without too many people, though any magic he used there would be easier to pick up. Tell Shacklebolt not to contact the Ministry in the States. The less involved in the search, the better. He might want to dispatch a band that'd be familiar with the territory. We have a few Americans among our ranks, don't we?"
Sam smiled.
After a moment, so did Lupin.
"Ah, yes, of course we do. But I believe that most of our kind over there believe that he's dead. It might only upset them to be contradicted."
"So you don't think he's dead, Lupin?" She'd meant for it to sound casual, and it really had. It was the way that she clutched the hem of her turtleneck that gave away her anxiety.
"No," Lupin said lightly "I don't believe he is." He smiled now, a genuine smile. "You should get home, Sam, you look completely exhausted. Say hello to Lily for me."
"Don't stay here too late, Lupin. You need rest too."
"Just one more appointment, Sam, then I'll go home as well."
She nodded, and made her way silently out of the office. He listened to the sound of her feet moving down the long hallway, and then the sound of the door to the outside world opening, and then shutting again with a snap.
The spells preventing Apparition within the walls of the house were necessary, and everyone was very good about not being too noisy in their complaints about them. But perhaps it was more the thought of menacing robed figures materializing in the middle of the former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix than kindness that kept them silent.
There had been several raised eyebrows when he'd had to explain the block to those outside the Order who wanted to make social calls (not that there were too many of those). But he'd rather them think he was a paranoid recluse then suspect that maybe the Order wasn't so disbanded as it'd seemed.
Though the Death Eaters were all gone, there was still a surprising amount to do. It was no secret that the government had been in shambles ever since the entire Ministry of Magic building had burned down and thousands of the wizards and witches who worked there had died. The Order had seen a need, and filled it. They were the unofficial keepers of the peace, seeing to disturbances and watching the populace when the populace was too confused and upset to watch themselves. And they had been. Even so many years later, the vestiges of the damage done could be found anywhere. In any wizarding home where a loved one had been killed hung a picture, immobile and glossed over with shimmering green, a color that had become associated with all the resistance efforts and the victims of Voldemort. There was one in Lupin's bedroom. They served as memorials, but also as reminders. The two are actually very different things, Lupin mused, leaning back in his chair and scratching wearily at the back of his neck.
The house was completely silent. It was sometimes depressing to think of the house all alone in the dark, but it would have been infinitely more depressing to have had to spend his nights here. He was ever grateful to have his small flat in London, full of uncurious Muggles and kept under a false name.
He got to his feet slowly, feeling the stiffness in his joints. God, but he felt old.
With a flick of his wand he extinguished the lamp that sat on his desk, and closed the door to his office behind him as he left the room. The other offices were closed and locked, the knobs shimmering slightly in the half-light. There weren't so many on this floor. Just Sam's beside his, Longbottom's next to hers, and Wolfgang's across from his. The rest of the floor was taken up with the kitchen, living room, and the museum at the back, in the door across from Sam's.
This was one of the biggest rooms, and was filled with the pictures of all those who'd died, with the entire story in a huge leather bound book against the far wall. The mural behind it changed every day, and if you went there often, you could see the entire history reenacted before you. Memorial and Reminder, Lupin thought as he passed all the closed doors. Memorial and Reminder.
He glanced at the clock in the kitchen. It was now two o'clock, and she was about five hours late. He wasn't concerned yet. At this point, he'd be more concerned if she did arrive then if she didn't. If she never came, then she'd probably been much too afraid to answer even the most nonspecific and simple of summons. If she did arrive, then she had been through a truly harrowing trip. And he hoped she'd been spared that. He was aware where she might have to pass to get to the house if she chose not to Apparate nearby.
He sighed, and drew a chair out from under the high counter table. He could only wait.
He had been lost in thought for a long time when he finally heard a gentle tap at the front door. Pulling himself to his feet, he limped over to the door and pulled it slowly open.
Hermione Granger stood on the other side, and Lupin let out the breath he'd been unconsciously holding.
"Hello, Professor," she said "I'm really sorry to be so late."
"Not at all, Hermione, I understand that you had a long way to come. Did you drive?"
She nodded, but didn't say anything else. She looked so tired. And so young, Lupin thought suddenly. How can I ask her to do this? "Please come in."
Lupin turned away from the door and lit one of the lamps on the wall with a flick of his wand. Hermione walked in after him, taking in the very commonplace kitchen and dining room that would have fit in in any Muggle neighborhood, if not for the very wizarding touches. There was a portrait over the dusty and unused stove that was humming to itself as it methodically skinned a rabbit. The refrigerator door was open and displayed a varied collection of brightly colored vials labeled in round lettering. The couch that was chained to the far wall bore a sign reading If you like it the shape it is- DON'T SIT! As she looked at the sign the couch seemed to shudder slightly and inch forward before it reached the end of its chain and rocked back against the wall.
Hermione grinned and turned to her companion "How've you been, Professor? I haven't had contact with anyone from the Order for a long time."
"Yes, I know. But we thought perhaps you'd appreciate less of our meddling in your life," Hermione smiled, but didn't reply. "And how is your work in Scotland?"
"It's fine," she said simply, not meeting his eyes. This was a lie. She hadn't actually been working. Well, alright, she was working, but waiting tables in a Muggle restaurant was not the job she thought she'd end up having. She was doing unofficial work researching and collecting old texts, but there wasn't so much money in that.
There was a heavy pause. Lupin watched as Hermione thought, until she suddenly looked up at him, and frowned. Lupin said nothing. She'd reached some conclusion, and, just as when she'd accused him once of being a werewolf in cahoots with a wanted murderer who was trying to kill Harry Potter, she would put it to him squarely.
But she didn't. She just looked at him shrewdly, and then looked away, tracing a pattern lightly over the design of the table.
"Hermione," he said to the top of her head "I have something I need to show you. I'm not asking for you to do anything yet. I just want you to read this, and tell me what you think."
He withdrew the piece of parchment that he'd been carrying with him ever since it had arrived the day before. Hermione took it, head cocked slightly to one side.
Lupin smiled. The misgiving he'd felt when Hermione hadn't challenged him as he'd expected her to lessened slightly. He could recognize that look. It was the face of the brightest witch of her age diving into something she didn't understand now, but would get to the bottom of, even if hordes of sinister figures stood in her way. The six years had changed her, but some things are fixed.
Hermione held the paper first, weighing it lightly in one hand. It was smooth, and heavy. High-quality paper, the sort you find as invitations or important letters. It had been handled heavily, probably by Professor Lupin (in her mind, he would always be 'Professor').
Well, she couldn't put it off forever. She gently eased it open, and looked at the immaculately formed writing that covered most of the page.
To Our Charming Friends at the Order,
As you are no doubt aware, we have made little contact with you or the rest of the wizarding world for just over six years. We felt it in our better interests and in those of our families as a whole to retreat after the fall of the Dark Lord, and it has become too late to revoke this decision.
It was not so long ago that we shared the community with you, and we can still remember that time. Of course, our retreat was necessary. You know as well as we do that we could easily have been killed in the turmoil that followed the Dark Lord's death. Many of those who did not come with us perished. But despite this necessity, we do regret the reputed ongoing hostility towards our small community, and so have written this missive to remedy this.
We would request that you send to us one of your own, as a token of our good faith. When we say 'one of your own', we must request that it is not one of the actual members of the Order of the Phoenix. Though we are not enemies, there may be some among our number who harbor harsh feelings towards your society, and could harm this emissary.
We do not wish for this. Our purpose in this message is to show the public that, though our names will probably never be purified, we can be trusted as allies and friends in the future. We put out faith in you, that things can be put right, and returned to the way they were years ago.
And honestly, it's cold here. We are sick of hiding, and plainly sick of each other.
Please return your answer within the week. We understand you must think this over, and that you must have some serious misgivings, but we must ask you again to believe our pledge of honor and good faith.
Most Respectfully,
The King's Rebels
Hermione finished the letter, and put it down on the table.
"I can't think why they're sending this now. They've been hiding in parts unknown up in Greenland for years, haven't they? And…" she paused, looking pensively at Lupin. "… and they've never made any contact. No one's come out, though apparently they go in."
Lupin said nothing, examining the fingernails of his right hand. Hermione continued.
"The ones that survived the battle and the aftermath just vanished. Maybe they had cause and maybe not, but no one's heard anything from them since. And-" she said, changing direction suddenly and covering the paper with one hand. "-and what's this 'Kings' Rebels' rubbish? They think that 'Death Eaters' sounds just a little too politically incorrect?"
Lupin smiled. "Oh, I've missed you, Hermione."
Hermione beamed at him.
Lupin stood up, and conjured a pot of tea and two cups. "Now, I have a huge favor to ask you. And understand that you are under no obligation whatever to accept this, as I know that you've tried to distance yourself from us lately-" He hadn't meant to sound accusatory, but Hermione blushed hotly and looked away. Lupin pressed on as if he hadn't noticed, pouring a cup for each of them, "… Also, I must warn you that there will be danger…" He took a deep breath, and spread his hands open on the table top "… Hermione…"
"You want me to go as the emissary."
"Will you-" he stopped, and digested what she'd just said "-What?"
"I mean, it makes sense. I haven't spoken to anyone from the Order for a long time, or anyone from the Ministry for that matter. They can't suspect me of working for you, though I was close to all of you before that last fight. And some of them might remember me as- as Harry and Ron's friend," he had to give her credit; the hitch in her voice was almost unnoticeable "- But not a lot them would even know that. My name wasn't really mentioned as connected to the fight, except in passing."
She paused, and took a sip of her tea. Lupin smiled, immensely relieved while at the same time becoming far more anxious then he'd been.
When it looked as though she'd exhausted herself, he spoke quietly, leaning in closer to her.
"Hermione, you have to know the risks. If anything should happen, we might not be able to get help to you in time. And should you be discovered as connected to us in any way other then the way they've requested, you could be killed." She wasn't looking at him, eyes intent on the spindly tea cup before her.
"Hermione, listen to me. You could die."
She did look at him, and shook her head. "I'm not afraid to die, Professor," Her tone was almost surprised, as if it was odd that Lupin should ever think to warn her. "I've been… I'm glad to help, I honestly am."
He took the paper from in front of her, and slid it back into his robes. Her face was impassive, and she matched him glare for glare. Finally, Lupin sighed and slumped back against his chair.
"Very well. I wish I didn't have to ask you, Hermione, but I do. But you should know that you won't be completely isolated. We're going to send you with Hannah Abbot."
He saw Hermione start, and smiled.
"Yes, Hannah Abbot. She's been working with us for nearly two years now. You already know each other, and she can protect you, or," he remedied thoughtfully "you can protect her. I also can give you this."
He pulled a notebook from another pocket in his robes and handed it to her. It was the sort of book usually used as a diary, small and square, with a design of three smiling puppies rolling over each other in a flowery field. One of the puppies batted the ear of another as she watched, and turned watery brown eyes on her as if to say "Aren't I adorable?"
"Thank you, Professor," she laughed. "But, you know, I didn't get you anything."
He grinned, and shook his head. Then he pulled an identical book and a quill from a different pocket. He flipped it open to the first page, and wrote something quickly down. Hermione watched, interested but perplexed.
"Now open yours." Lupin instructed, closing the notebook and gesturing to the volume in her hands.
She obeyed, and saw a thin line of writing on the first line of the previously blank page.
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, and vice sometime's by action dignified.
"Romeo and Juliet?" Hermione asked, smiling broadly.
"Not my favorite play, but one of my favorite lines." Lupin said "Now reply."
Hermione took Lupin's proffered quill, and wrote just underneath the quote "three can keep a secret if two of them are dead."
Lupin looked at his book, and nodded, smiling slightly.
"What did I write, Professor?"
Lupin repeated it perfectly, and slid his book into his pocket.
Hermione ran a hand over the two lines of handwriting. "This is amazing, Professor. I've never seen anything like it. It must be a combination of at least three different charms, or else a whole new creation. This must've taken months to develop!"
"I've given the inventor the rest of the year off," Lupin laughed softly. "And now we can contact each other at any time. I want you to contact us at least once a week, and if you know beforehand that this won't be possible, tell me as soon as you can. Everything you see should be recorded, even if it seems hopelessly mundane."
Lupin paused, apparently weighing something in his mind. Then he spoke. "There is a chance that the books won't work once you cross over. There are undoubtedly some very powerful spells on the place, and we haven't been able to test these from country to country. But we might be able to receive from you, even if you can't from us. And should there be problems, I'll bring our brilliant inventor out of retirement to fix them. We'll be in contact, one way or another."
Lupin got to his feet, and the pot of tea and cups vanished.
"I'll send the reply now, so that you won't have to wait for long. I'd pack for a long trip; they haven't said how long you'll stay there. Be prepared to leave at any time. They probably won't tell us beforehand."
Hermione got to her feet as well, sliding the book into the inside pocket of her sweater. "Professor…" she began jerkily "… I want… to thank you. I mean," she said hurriedly, to cut off his expression of contradiction "I haven't been doing anything, and I… I want to be of use to you, and to the Order. For… for them."
They both had no illusions as to who 'they' were. The ones who'd died or vanished for the side of the right and the good. Lupin could feel the names flashing in between them, and nodded slowly.
Without another word, Hermione left the suburban house and walked to the white car that was parked before it. Lupin watched her drive away before he slowly walked to the museum room.
He stood in the middle of the broad room, looking around at all the portraits that looked curiously down at him and at the mural that today depicted a shadowy cloaked figure advancing on a small baby boy.
"I hope that this is the right thing to do." he whispered to the high ceiling, arms open as if trying to receive some message from the frames that lined the room from floor to ceiling.
He stood there for a long time, but no message was forthcoming.
With a final sigh, he turned and left, leaving the door unlocked behind him.
A/N: Well, here I am, in the wonderful world of HP fiction. I have two things to say: one- that the chapter lengths are probably going to be pretty erratic. Sorry. But not all that much. Two- I had meant to write more of this before posting it, but there's only a year until the last one comes out! Man… that's depressing. So I figured I'd start posting, just for my own piece of mind. Bear with me. It might get a little messy.