"Greentooth's a little monster, like always," Matt said, following Remus into his cottage, "but Silverear… I think Hogwarts is changing him."

That was enough to pull Remus' attention away from his mantra of You chose this, now get on with things.

"How so?" he asked.

"He's… quieter. Spends an awful lot of time doing his holiday homework in his room, while Greentooth sits on Greyback's throne and shows everyone how she can make a teacup dance." He rolled his eyes. "Debbie's eyes just about fall out every time Greentooth lifts her wan-"

"How is Debbie?" Remus asked. He propped his briefcase up against the couch, and then went to open the kitchen window. He hadn't been past his cottage in months, and the whole place smelled musty.

"Very much at home," Matt said, shrugging. He flicked his wand at the dusty armchair and then flopped down into it. "She talks to me, sometimes. Still thinks I'm in your pocket, but that's her problem, not mine." Remus pursed his lips, but he'd long ago stopped caring what Debbie thought of him.

"How long are you home for?"

"Probably just a week or two," Matt said, grimacing. "Once Greentooth goes back to school, I'll try to get rid of some of the stupider ideas she's managed to put into the others' heads."

"Are you still working at the pub?" Remus asked.

"Apparating to and from the camp is a pain, but yeah, most nights." He'd managed to get himself a job at the Leaky Cauldron, with Tom, like Remus had done when he was about the same age. The Leaky Cauldron got all sorts of patronage, and so werewolves didn't stand out there quite as much as they would in the Ministry, and knowing that a werewolf – even one as cheery as Matt – was in the vicinity, would certainly discourage fights and make people think twice about refusing to pay. A sly grin slid onto Matt's face. "Tom says I'm better than you, too."

"Of course he does," Remus said indulgently. Matt scrunched up his nose.

"He does. Says I actually talk to people, and I've taken to wearing gloves for when people pay with sickles, so..." Remus let Matt prattle on, while he cleaned the kettle with a charm, and then set it to boil. He opened the cupboards to look for teacups, and paused. Sitting innocently on the shelf, was a navy blue cup with the words D.M.L.E. Auror Division on it.

After being attacked in his bedroom almost this time last year, Remus had taken most of his things – and Dora's things, which had accumulated from the number of times she'd stayed – and moved them to Grimmauld. Clothes, books, and Remus' photographs had all been moved. Mugs hadn't been on either of their lists of priorities, so there Dora's mug sat. Remus couldn't look away from it, couldn't help thinking of the small hand that had once clasped it, think of the lips that had once sipped from it-

"-listening to me?" There was a thump, which was Matt rapping his knuckles on the coffee table.

"Tea?" Remus asked him. Matt watched him for a moment, then shook his head and made his way into Remus' tiny kitchen. In the same way as one might look for a nasty spider, he peered into the cupboard, spied the mug, then shook his head again.

"You poor sod," he said, patting Remus on the shoulder. Remus quickly grabbed two teacups – one that had been his father's, and another that had come in a ghastly floral set that his Aunt Catherine sent him for his twenty-fifth birthday – and then slammed the cupboard shut.

He didn't think about Aunt Catherine, who lived in France now. He didn't think about who else lived in France now, and he definitely didn't think about the owner of the mug's lips quirking up into a smile, or moving around her usual friendly 'wotcher' or pressing against his own.

"-make me say it, aren't you?" Matt sighed. Remus blinked and looked at him again. Matt groaned. "I'm sure this is absolutely pointless, because I reckon Sirius must have said something, but you're still here-"

"Sirius hasn't said anything about it," Remus said stiffly. "Harry's been the one on my back, oddly." Matt grinned. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't finish that sentence. I'm not in the mood to hear it."

"Fine," Matt said, putting his hands up. "Fine. Sorry I even brought it up." The pair of them drank their tea in silence. Remus – unable to help himself – spent it staring at the cupboard that held his mugs, and suspected Matt knew that, and kept quiet accordingly.

"Shall we?" Remus asked, when he'd banished their empty cups to the sink.

"Sure," Matt said, drawing his wand. "Bathroom cabinet?"

"I was thinking the wardrobe might be better," Remus said. "Boggarts prefer dry places."

Diary?

Please, Ginny, call me Tom, came the instant reply. Ginny wondered if it had been waiting for a response. The thought unnerved her a little, at least until she realised that it was a diary, and really, what else did it have to do but sit around and wait for her. How have you been?

That, she supposed, was a normal enough question for a diary to ask - if she discounted the oddity of a diary being able to talk - and she dipped her quill in ink and scribbled a response.

I'm good, she wrote. Thanks. After a moment of consideration, she added, What did you have to think about?

I was wondering how you came to have possession of my diary.

I'm not sure, she admitted. It came with my school things.

But you aren't a student. Ginny had the strangest sensation that the diary was amused.

No, I'm not. The diary was silent, and Ginny felt, abruptly, sorry for it, and decided to end her little game. I start next week.

Ah, came the response. Tom's response, Ginny reminded herself. Do you hope for Gryffindor, Miss Weasley?

I think so, she replied. All of my family have been there, and Harry, and Malfoy, and Hermione.

A Malfoy in Gryffindor?

I'm a girl Weasley, Ginny reminded him.

Indeed. The diary – no, Tom, Ginny thought – was blank for a few moments.

Tom Riddle lounged in his black leather armchair, staring at the writing on the pages of the diary in his lap. He wasn't sure if young Ginny was stupid, or careful, or maybe it was something else altogether driving her simple answers. Still, if she wouldn't open up easily about herself, at least she'd offered her friends' names. Tom could work with that.

"Hogwarts is safe, right?" Draco asked. Before him, rested a pensieve, which Severus was having him add his memories to. Unlike Occlumency and Legillimency, pensieve magic was simple, and also safe for children to use. Draco would be thirteen in a year, and Severus had moved on to teaching him how to separate individual memories.

"Measures have been taken after last year," Severus said, looking at his godson over the top of his lesson plans. "I assure you, you will not even be able to blow your nose without a staff member being aware of it."

"Even Potter?" Draco asked.

"Even Potter," Severus assured him. "Lupin, will, no doubt, be on the case." Draco looked troubled. "Has something happened, Draco?" Draco was silent, staring down at the pensieve. Then, he put his wand to his temple, and drew it away, murmuring the charm to extract a memory. He lowered it into the basin in front of him, and then out rose Dobby, the Malfoy's house elf.

Severus listened to the elf's warning, and the questions that echoed around him in Draco's voice, and then steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. The memory sank back into the pensieve.

"A bit fuzzy," Severus said, waving a hand at the memory. Draco ignored that.

"I wondered if Father had asked him to say that, that thinking Potter's in danger might make me stay away from him." Draco spoke lightly, almost earnestly, but Severus thought he was irritated. "But if that was the case, Dobby would have found a way to let me know, like he always does. So then I thought maybe Father didn't ask Dobby to say that, but that would mean that Potter really is-"

"It's a worrying prospect," Severus agreed. "Have you contact Potter?"

"I saw him at Diagon Alley-" Severus rolled his eyes; Draco had told him about Lucius and the Weasleys. "-but with everything happening, I didn't have a chance. I told Potter to send Kreacher, but he hasn't yet, or maybe I've been out-"

"I will contact Black," Severus said. Draco looked relieved. "And I shall speak to the Headmaster not," he added, when he saw Draco looking wary, "about details, but simply about security." Draco nodded. "I will also suggest you corner your odd little elf, and get any answers you can from him."

"Yes, sir," Draco said. He stared at the pensieve for a moment. "We wouldn't be able to stop by Potter's later, would we, sir?"

"That would depend," Severus said, "on whether or not you make suitable progress." He scratched out the second practical lesson in the first week of his plan for the fourth years; he would ease his way back into lessons with the Weasley twins, he decided. It was decidedly harder – though not impossible – for them to blow things up in a theory lesson. "Does that sound reasonable?"

Draco didn't answer; he was, it seemed, thoroughly engrossed in the pensieve, with the aim of making 'suitable progress'.

Tonks was entirely sure it wasn't healthy for her to be sitting at a small café in France, looking like Remus. At least, though, she wasn't deluding herself into thinking it was normal. She sighed and glanced at the small note hidden behind her newspaper.

On it, was the address of the rundown café opposite the one she was sitting at, today's date, and the time (about two minutes from now, according to Tonks' watch); she'd had to hand her Sidekick in when she left Britain, and hadn't realised how much she'd miss it, both for using it to communicate with her colleagues, and for other everyday things.

She thought the note was probably from her new program, but she didn't actually know and Mad Eye would organise a portkey to France to strangle her if he found out she'd just gone to coordinates that had been pushed under the door of her flat one night.

During her training, she'd got notes like her current one from Mad-Eye, and shown up, only to be ambushed by his rubbish bins, or stunned and told 'constant vigilance'. It was paranoid, perhaps, but she'd thought it best to arrive without fanfare, and even observe for a while.

Remus was a particularly good disguise; for one, his was a familiar shape, both because she knew him so well, but also because she'd been him, when they all thought Sirius was evil and she'd worked for Malfoy. For another, his face didn't stand out, and anyone that looked too closely would be dissuaded by the tired, grumpy expression she was wearing. And, last but most importantly, it was one of the only disguises she could do, since her hair refused to turn any other colour than the one it currently was.

She sipped her tea again, and pretended to read the paper. It was all in French, and she hadn't learned any translation spells – or better yet, learned French – and so she was really only looking at the photographs.

A fat pigeon landed on the table next to hers, and hopped to adjust its balance; clenched in its little claws, was a piece of bread crust. Tonks sighed and stirred her tea, trying not to think about whose hands she was using to do so. Instead, she looked at the other café again.

Tonks was still waiting five minutes later, when a small, olive-skinned man slipped out of the breakfast crowd and made his way over to the café. Tonks watched, interested, as he glanced at a piece of paper that Tonks was willing to bet was identical to her own, and then disappeared inside.

She waited, but he didn't re-emerge.

A hand landed on her shoulder. Tonks jumped and spilled her tea all over the newspaper, but her wand was in her hand, which was what mattered.

"Easy," said a warm voice, "we wouldn't want to frighten the muggles." Tonks swallowed and glanced up at a young, Asian man, that – given his strong resemblance to the photographs in the books and articles he'd appeared in – could only be Ken Sato.

"Sorry," she muttered, dabbing her newspaper in her tea before it could drip onto her clothes.

"Hardy or Tonks?" he asked.

"Erm, Tonks," she said, offering him her hand. "It's great to meet you, really, sir, I-"

"Have you seen the others?" he asked.

"A man-"

"Ah, so you saw Sayed," Sato said, pleased. "You might as well come in now; Anastasiya's bringing Vengerov, and if she's got him, they can track the rest down." He moved so that she could stand. The pigeon took off, almost clipping Tonks' head with its wing.

"Filthy things," Sato said, wrinkling his nose.

"Do you mind me asking… how did you find me?" Sato didn't seem to mind.

"Tracking spell," he said. "On the note with the details."

Tonks wanted to kick herself; she'd checked it for poisons, and dangerous spells, and for portkey properties, but not for tracking spells. She just followed him to the café in silence. Inside, there were a few dusty booths and a small counter, attended by a bored looking teenager.

"Colbert," Sato said, and the boy nodded, waving them through to the next room. This one was nicer. The seats were clean and looked cosy, and light streamed through a window that Tonks suspected was like the enchanted ones at the British Ministry.

"Sit, please," Sato said, putting a hand on her shoulder for just a moment, and then he was over with a man with a silver beard, who Tonks knew was Elliot Pinard.

Four seats were occupied; one by Pinard, one by the man Tonks had seen earlier, one by a pretty, dark haired woman, and one by a curvy blonde girl, who blinked a few times, then offered her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Tonks," she said, in what was clearly an American accent. She smirked. "I won't call you Nymphadora; I know you don't like that."

"Nymphadora sounds like a woman's name," the other woman said disdainfully. Her English was very good, but she had a slight accent that made Tonks think she was Italian.

"Call her Tonks," the American said helpfully, before Tonks could.

"Tonks," the dark haired woman said. She offered her hand, and Tonks leaned over to take it. "Carla Marino."

"Tarek Sayed," the olive-skinned man said, and smiled a little nervously.

"I'm Joanna," the American said.

"Wotcher," Tonks said, a little nervously, and looked at the other man to let him know he was included in her greeting. The others all looked confused, but before they could say anything, the pigeon from the café hopped in, still clutching its bread crust. Sato's lip curled, but before he could do anything, the pigeon had pecked said bread crust, and bloomed into a scrawny young woman.

"Hey," she said, and then grinned at Sato. "I'm the filthy thing-" Sato had the grace to look abashed. "-but you can call me Beth. I'm from Australia," she added unnecessarily.

"I'm Joanna, that's Tarek, and Carla, and Tonks."

"Hey," Beth said again, and flopped into the nearest chair. Tonks, who was still standing awkwardly, went and sat opposite Tarek. Joanna babbled on excitedly, and Beth chewed her fingernails while they waited for the rest to arrive. Tonks decided she should stop looking like Remus, and assumed her normal features, though she couldn't do much about the sandy hair. Tarek gaped at her.

"Polyjuice?" Carla guessed.

"I'm a metamorphmagus," Tonks said. She gave herself a pig's nose, and then a duck's bill, and then remembered that Sato and Pinard were in the room and stopped at once, embarrassed.

"We're going to get on well, I think- Tonks, was it?" Beth said, grinning. Tonks gave her a tiny smile back.

Anastasiya Orlov – the third program coordinator – arrived about ten minutes after Tonks and Sato had. With her, seemed to be the rest of the group.

Everyone stared around awkwardly for a few moments, and then Joanna spoke up, introducing all of those already there, to the newcomers.

"Eldar," she said, pointing to a tall man with white blond hair, "Luc," a red haired man with a thick beard, "Asha," a stern looking woman with dark skin, "and Wan." The last was an Asian man with an eyebrow piercing.

"Oh," the woman named Asha said, staring concentratedly at the side of Joanna's head. "A seer. How nice." Tonks watched the exchange with interest. Asha's expression twitched for just a moment, and then Joanna frowned. Seeming satisfied, Asha swept over to a chair and sat down. "Of course," she said in response to nothing, and the red haired man – Luc – smiled at her and sat as well.

"Well," Orlov said loudly from the front of the room, "if you lot would settle, we can move on, I think?"

Remus locked the door to his office at Hogwarts and then flicked his wand to open the battered briefcase in the corner. It opened, and out stepped the Boggart he and Matt had spent an hour trying to find in his semi-abandoned cottage yesterday.

Remus had expected it to look like the moon, or to be Harry or Sirius hurt or dead, or Dora dead, or- well, something else awful. The last thing he'd expected it to be, was the mug.

Dora's navy and white D.M.L.E. mug, which, Remus thought, was about as tame as a boggart could get. He could only imagine how much Sirius would tease him if he knew Remus' greatest fear was a piece of cylindrical porcelain.

Remus decided not to think about that for the time being. A quick Riddikulus and some wrestling later, the Boggart was back in the briefcase, and Remus was perched on the edge of his desk, thinking.

Maybe the Boggart's broken. He snorted. Why a mug? Does it think I really can't stand to look at something she's left behind? In fact, aside from me, it's the only thing she left behind; the rest was all packed up to go with her.

Remus went to bed still thinking on that, and when he final drifted into uneasy sleep, it was only for an hour; then, he was awake again.

"You picked this, now live with it," he said aloud, into his empty room.

Then why, a little voice in the back of his head murmured, sounding – which, at this stage, didn't surprise Remus at all – like Harry asked, is your greatest fear that that mug is the only thing you'll ever have left of her?

Hi all!

Sorry about the slight delay on this one!

Things have all settled now, with travel and what not, so thank you all for being so patient for the last month and a bit, and putting up with slow updates!

It is with pleasure, that I announce I'll be back to updating each Sunday (the way I did with Initiate).

Enjoy!

MarauderLover7.