— Chapter Three —

Double-crossed

"Thank goodness you're both here—" Remus burst into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. A dozen faces crowded round the table turned at the interruption. There was an awkward moment. If Remus hadn't been so distracted by his own carelessness, he might have thought more about the feeling that he'd just walked in on a discussion about himself.

"Remus," Molly smiled, pulling up another chair for him. "We didn't expect you back so soon, after—well, you know…" She had done an admirable job of disguising her disapproval of Dumbledore's trust in a werewolf, much as she'd suffered Sirius's undesirable friends and bad—if well meaning—influence, but sometimes her reluctance to confront the issue head-on betrayed her.

"What? Oh, no—" Now that he was here, Remus wasn't entirely sure what it was he'd planned to say. "Something's happened…important…um—I need to talk to you," the last was directed at Professor Dumbledore, and the fall in tone betrayed his uneasy sense of guilt. Those present seemed to take alone for granted, and began leaving. Remus had to raise his voice to be heard over the scraping of chairs—and combined with his distraction, had to soften his initial, "Not you, Severus—" with a rather forced smile, "If you don't mind."

He waited awkwardly for the kitchen door to close behind Tonks, who was moving as slowly as she could, in the hope of overhearing something interesting. "This came to my shop two weeks ago," He pushed the book across the table. Snape gave a snort at the title. "There was a note inside—" he added quickly, suppressing the urge to lower himself to Snape's level and correct his obvious and mistaken assumptions. "I should have looked for one sooner—I didn't think to—there was the Ministry of Magic…Sirius…the full moon—and the shop—I should have checked—"

"And why didn't you?" Snape narrowed his eyes as if he was disciplining a disobedient student, not someone who, until recently, had sat beside him at the staff table.

"Where's the bird?" Remus demanded of him, gesturing at the book cover. "I though it was a joke from Sirius—" Dumbledore had to raise his hands to silence the two—and being stopped in his tracks was enough for Remus to see the full moon was fuelling his frustration.

"What did the note say?" Dumbledore asked patiently.

He took a breath—and stalled, looking away from Snape's disparaging gaze. "Here," he mumbled, producing the note instead. The headmaster examined it with polite interest; Snape's expression was more dangerous.

"Just like Potter," he spat, eyes flashing dangerously. "So wrapped up in your girlfriend you can't see what's right in front of your eyes!"

"Now now, Severus," Dumbledore cut him off. "Lets not overdo things, there's been no harm done."

"Yet—!" he countered, more angry than Remus thought he'd ever seen him.

"How do you know about her?" was all he could manage in a stunned whisper. Even Sirius had barely known the truth. Snape laughed unpleasantly.

"Don't tell me you imagine they haven't been watching?" he sneered. There was no doubt he meant Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Remus swallowed—but he was as irritated by Snape's superior attitude as he was uneasy at the thought of being shadowed by Voldemort's spies. Of course he wasn't so naïve as to think You Know Who hadn't been watching them all—but Dumbledore quickly stepped in to mediate the silent war of thunderous looks.

"We must be vigilant," he said, looking at Snape as if to say, be careful. Remus felt a silent rebuke in it for his own carelessness, and offered what seemed like a hopelessly inadequate apology. A clock chimed somewhere in the house; Snape and Dumbledore exchanged a glance. "We must continue to act as if nothing has changed," he said decisively, and rose from the table. "Our apologies, Remus, but there is work to be done. I'm sure Molly would be delighted to have you stay for dinner."

Remus was too caught up in his own thoughts to protest, smarting that Snape had known exactly how to twist the knife, and worse—that he'd let him do it so easily. He felt a fool. The last thing he wanted to do was stay to dinner, but Molly was having none of it.

"I promised I'd help Eleanor with that museum shipment," he lied.

"No!" Mrs Weasley squeaked. "I mean, don't—not tonight—it can wait till tomorrow, can't it? You look awful, Remus—and the children are back from school, Harry'll be down for dinner—you must stay and say hello to him."

"Okay, okay," he gave in, forcing a smile to cover the flood of emotion the mention of Harry brought with it—the look on Harry's face that night was frozen in his mind's eye, and he felt Sirius's death like a hammer blow every time he thought of it.

She fussed about the kitchen, preparing dinner, chatting away, oblivious to his unenthusiastic responses. Sometimes he wondered if she talked just to keep herself from having to think too much about painful subjects. He wished it was so easy.

It was Tonks that brought a genuine smile to his face, insisting, "It's alright, Molly—I haven't come to help with dinner," with a mischievous grin as she slid in beside him at the table, hinting at some fiasco he had missed out on the other night. She said, "Listen, can't stay long—working at the Ministry tonight. Here—" and pressed something into his hands. When he recognised the Gringotts key, he tried to protest. "Sirius wanted you to have it," she insisted. "Left the house and everything else to Harry, but he wanted you to have this—" she leant in to whisper, "And he said he knew you wouldn't want to take it, so I was to force it on you." She grinned, admitting, "I had a feeling you wouldn't want a fuss made." All Remus could manage was a weak, "Thank you," and she beamed.

Her smile faltered a little in sympathy for the sadness come over Remus's face as he looked down at the tiny golden key in his hand. But anything she might have said to cheer him up was cut off by the rather undignified entrance of an owl, tumbling down the chimney and onto the flagstones in front of the hearth. Remus thought it was black with soot, until it shook itself and there was no noticeable change in colour.

"I'd better tell Snape his owl's back," Tonks excused herself. "He's waiting for a signal, or something." It took a second to register with Remus, watching the raven-black owl settle itself across the room.

"S-snape? That's his owl?" He was staring at the book, still sitting on the table in front of him.

"Who else would have one as evil-looking as that?" Tonks chuckled. "Kinglsey reckons it's not really an owl at all—just a raven, trying to pass itself off. Sounds right up his street, don't you think?" But Remus wasn't listening. "I'll see you later—Remus? Where are you going?"