Chapter Ten: Muddle Headed Mistakes

Bugnug Banged up!

Gruesome Goblin gets Life for Grable Killing!

The Ministry Courtrooms saw brisk business on New Year's Day, when they opened to try former Gringotts Spokesgoblin, Bugnug, for the murder of Mable Grable last Halloween night. The devious little blighter stood accused of breaking into her home, killing her, her son and pet kneazle in cold blood and then casting the so-called "Dark Mark" into the sky in order to throw the aurors off his trail.

The Minister herself, Eugenia Jenkins, put in a now rare appearance in order to head up the Wizengamot and lead proceedings. The accused goblin was not allowed to speak in his own defence, as per regulation 42 of the code of Magical Creatures' Rights and Conduct. 'A Goblin knows full well our laws,' said Amos Diggory, 25, who works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. 'They know regulation 42 means they won't speak at their own trial and so should avoid breaking the law so as not to fall foul of it.'

And it seemed the Minister was determined to ensure that the accused (and now convicted) Bugnug abided by this rule, as her chairing of the trial was perfunctory, evidence given without delay and an almost unanimous guilty verdict handed down within minutes.

Your humble reporter (Rita Skeeter, whose savage quill puts the Ministry themselves on trial) was quick to note, however, that the verdict was not - in fact - fully unanimous. Indeed, it seems that those in the Wizengamot linked to the Department of Law Enforcement all voted to acquit the murderous goblin.

'This is a disgraceful cover up and we will not be a party to it,' Endeavour Enderby, Senior Undersecretary to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, told The Daily Prophet. 'This is the Minister for Magic herself refusing to get to grips with the actual situation and scapegoating the innocent all just to save her own job.'

In a rather unprecedented move, Enderby's boss, Harold Minchum, also spoke out, criticising the head of government. 'What we are seeing is the Ministry deliberately perpetrating a gross miscarriage of justice,' he has said. 'The Department of Magical Law Enforcement will play no part in this charade, and we condemn the weakness of the current administration.'

The Minister herself was not available for comment, but her own senior undersecretary has said, 'I can assure everyone that everything is under control, Minchum and friends are a bunch of bloviating buffoons out to destabilise the running of the country but let me make it plain: justice has been served. Now go away, the Minister is very busy.'

Bugnug has been sentenced to life imprisonment and was taken to Azkaban with immediate effect.

The newspaper lay on the floor of the boys' dorm, flung there in disgust. Sirius had vowed that he wouldn't even do the crossword while it pedalled such pathetic lies - though Remus was not sure how long his will power would last once they had finished their unpacking and restlessness had set in. But for now they were all busy, putting their things away, showing Christmas presents, Sirius joyfully reuniting with his pet puffskein, John.

James' wireless was on, in readiness for the New Year's edition of "A Question of Quidditch", though at the moment a song was playing. None of them were really listening - too busy laughing and chatting, and casting the occasional disgusted look at the newspaper.

'And that was hot, new band "Royston Idlewind and the Dissimulators"... and I'm sure we'll be hearing a lot about their namesake, and the disaster of last summer's World Cup as it's now time for the yearly roundup in "A Question of Quidditch".'

The announcer said. The theme tune for the quiz show came on and James shushed everyone. 'Be quiet, you gits, it's time…' He sat on the bed, his belongings strewn about and abandoned on his covers as he stared raptly at the wireless. The others gave him amused glances and continued with their unpacking.

'I - I've had an idea, Sirius,' Peter said, after a short while.

'Oh, this should be good.'

'No - it is. I've been practising using different handwritings for my comics; I want the way my characters speak to look different… and I'm getting pretty good. Have you got your old Hogsmeade permission slip?'

'Somewhere. Why?'

'Get it for me.'

Sirius frowned and rooted through his trunk until he eventually pulled out a very crumpled and stained piece of parchment, which bore the Hogwarts crest and Big Macca's preferred green ink. 'Here it is.'

He watched in bemusement as Peter took the letter from him, took out a quill and ink and then, with great concentration scribbled something on the bottom of the parchment. 'Here you go - you can go to Hogsmeade now with the rest of us.' He handed the letter back. Sirius glanced at it - saw the words:

Walburga Black

Written in curly script. 'Ha!' he barked with laughter. 'This is great. Thanks, Pete … Here, Remus,' he turned back to his trunk and took something out. 'I swiped this to show you.' He took out the silver cup, with his family crest embossed on the side, which he had snaffled after the wedding breakfast, and tossed it carelessly across to Remus. He turned back to his unpacking, just catching Remus's hands flash out and catch the cup, reflexively, out of the corner of his eye.

And then there was a terrible scream, a horrible, animal howling of pain and the sound of metal clanging on the floor, and - worst of all - the smell of burned flesh. Sirius whipped around, James had jumped off his bed and Peter was trembling by the window. And Remus… Remus was staring down at his hands, breathing raggedly, trying to stifle his whimpers of pain. His skin was burned red and raw on his palms, large blisters were already forming and traces of smoke rose from his hands.

'What happened?' Sirius was by his side in a moment.

'The cup burned -'

'It was silver, you idiot!' James bounded across the dorm, picked up the cup and wagged it in Sirius's face, as if telling him off with it. Remus shrank back from it.

'Put it away!' Sirius hissed, 'Remus - I…'

'It was my fault, I - I sh-shouldn't have caught it,' his breath caught in his throat as he tried to speak.

'Don't be soft! What was I thinking? I wasn't thinking! I'm so sorry! Remus - I'm so so sorry.'

'We need to get him to Madam Pomfrey,' Peter said. Everyone jumped - as if they had forgotten he was there. But they saw the sense in his words and, with Sirius's arm wrapped around Remus, and Remus still cradling his ruined hands, they carefully made their way down the stairs and out of the portrait hole and began to creep their way through the castle.

Remus was still in terrible pain, though he fought to keep that to himself and choked down his whimpers. The look of guilt on Sirius's face was enough to break the stoniest of hearts, and Remus could not bring himself to add to it - no matter how much he hurt, himself.

But his carefully constructed stoicism nearly crumbled and gave way to panic when they rounded a corner and bumped into no other person than Professor Malidictus.

'What are you four doing out of your dormitories?' The professor asked them, his gimlet eyes flashing over them, suspiciously.

'Going to the Hospital Wing,' James said. 'It's allowed.'

'Why?' Then his eyes roved over Remus's hands… and narrowed. 'What happened to you?'

Remus gasped a little, a mixture of pain and fear, as his mind went totally blank.

'His wand backfired,' he heard a voice say - as if from a very long way away, 'it set fire to his hands.'

He blinked, everything seemed to come back into focus, and he saw Pete - lying to Malidictus, straight faced and calm.

'Hmmm,' Malidictus's eyes were still narrow. 'Well - you had better get him to Madam Pomfrey then. Off you go.' And, gratefully, the four of them scuttled away.

…

Madam Pomfrey threw up her own hands in horror, when she saw Remus, and ushered him onto a bed, exclaiming and tutting, and then bustled off to get some essence of dittany.

'This is nasty,' she said, examining his wounds.

'You will be able to fix it, won't you?' Sirius asked her, anxiously. 'It's all my fault…'

'No it's not, I shouldn't have caught that stupid cup.'

'Well I shouldn't have thrown it at you.'

'You weren't to know!'

'That silver's deadly to werewolves? Of course I should have remembered. I'm a moron. I should be eaten alive by snakes, I should be…'

'He will survive, Mr. Black,' Madam Pomfrey interrupted him, her voice dry and more than a little amused. 'It looks bad, but it is - in fact - only a minor silver burn.'

'If this is a minor silver burn, I'd hate to ever have a major one,' Remus muttered.

The Matron gave him a brief smile. 'Don't feel sorry for yourself now, Mr. Lupin, it does not become you. Here - three drops of dittany will heal the worst of it.' She dripped the potion onto the palms of his hand, they began to smoke once more, but soon the blisters healed over and the redness began to fade. 'Not quite as good as new, yet,' Madam Pomfrey said. 'But you'll get there. You'll be stiff and sore for a couple of days, have trouble holding a quill, but you'll be right as three knuts before you know it.'

'What should I tell everyone?'

'Your wand backfiring is a good cover story… of course silver burns don't look exactly like normal ones, to the trained eye there is a marked difference in the shininess of the damaged skin, the shape of the welts… But I doubt any of your fellow students will know what to look for. Especially with the worst of it healed. No one should suspect a thing…'

Remus forced a smile … but he couldn't help a feeling of dread rising in the pit of his stomach, when he thought of Professor Malidictus's narrowed eyes.

…

With the Bugnug story seeming to have run its course, now the unfortunate goblin was locked away in Azkaban forevermore, the Daily Prophet turned on a sickle and went into full attack mode against the Minister and her current administration… Well, Rita Skeeter had to get all the poison out of her quill somehow, and today it was Eugenia Jenkins' turn (once again) to take the hit.

Giant Oversights

Muggle Massacres a Result of "Muddle-Headed Mess in the Ministry"

The headlines screamed the following morning. The boys read the article (which was about the way the government had dealt with the massacre on Christmas Eve) over their porridge to find that, far from The League being the only ones trying to influence Jenkins' policy of wilful blindness, The Department for Magical Law Enforcement were no longer holding back in taking shots across the bow, and their boss - Harold Minchum - was possibly even gunning for the Minister's job, himself.

'This is now the third mass muggle killing, perpetrated by giants, within a year.' Endeavour Enderby of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement told your humble reporter (Rita Skeeter, who snoops for the scoops to keep you in the loop) 'And the Minister has still done nothing about it. It is abject cowardice and worse! It is cowardice that is resulting in the loss of human life. I would say her inaction is not only negligence but - at this point - it actually constitutes a crime.'

When asked if he believed the Knights of Walpurgis, and their leader, The Dark Lord, are correct when they say the answer to the giant problem is to overthrow the Statute of Secrecy and give giants more living space, Enderby, 32, actually snorted in disgust. 'There is no giant problem!' he says, 'or at least there wasn't until someone - a wizard - riled them up. The Knights of Walpurgis are behind this, I am confident of that. They orchestrated the attacks - just as they perpetrated the attacks on the Kneazles and Mable Grable, and The Night of the Glass Shards. It is them that is behind it all - they have manufactured a problem so that they may sell us the solution - and we at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, at least, are not falling for it.

When asked what should be done instead, Enderby was able to outline the plan as he and his boss, Harold Minchum, see fit. 'We need to recognise the Knights of Walpurgis as a terrorist organisation,' he says, 'we must disband them, investigate its members and arrest their leader. These few steps,' he goes on to warn, 'can prevent further calamity from befalling our little world.'

I went on to speak to Harold Minchum, himself, who reiterated much of what his underling had already told me. 'The year's past events can be ignored no longer,' Minchum says. 'The Ministry has got itself into a muddle, is making mistakes left, right and widdershins and is generally creating a mess through the Minister's own stubborn inaction. If she is too weak to do what must be done, then it is time for her to step down and hand over to someone who can get to grips with the situation.'

No one in the Minister's office was available to comment.

…

Just as the outside world seemed to be getting worse, more dangerous and more divided, so too was the situation becoming more tense in the corridors of the castle; with members of The League and members of the mini-knights swaggering through the halls, hexing each other at every opportunity, and the so called bystanders getting caught in the crossfire.

Following his now-infamous "Planets of Blood" speech, Septimus Selwyn had written a follow up piece, which was being furtively shared around the Slytherin common room. 'They're not ready to say it on the wireless, yet,' Mulciber told Severus, one evening. 'It would cause too much of a stir. They will say it - but not yet. For now, it's only the select few who are allowed to know. The inner circle. My father showed it to me - want to see?'

And, eagerly, Severus grasped at the proffered parchment and began to read.

It is perhaps a fact so obvious, so blatantly staring you in the face, that you may not have ever even noticed it.

Selwyn had written.

We have, all of us, met a plethora of ghosts in our time. From our own Bloody Baron, to the sad, headless creature who haunts Gryffindor tower, to the Wailing Widow in Kent and even Hogwarts freshest denizen of the deceased: Professor Cuthbert Binns. The connection between them, which you may never have even considered, is that every last one of these apparitions was - during their mortal time on earth - a wizard.

Indeed, only wizards can become ghosts. It is impossible for a muggle to return from the dead even in shadowy form.

You may wonder why I raise this, but it is because I believe a muggle's inability to haunt the place it lived once its corporeal time has passed, poses something of an existential conundrum.

If a dead muggle cannot choose to return, could it possibly be because there is nothing which remains to come back? It is widely believed (and supported by such evidence as the ghosts can give) that when a wizard dies he is given a choice - to move on, or to return. That those of us who do not become ghosts merely travel on to another realm - one without death, or illness or loss.

It is our soul that lives on when our body is no more, and it is the imprint of a soul which returns in the form of a ghost.

My question is a simple one: if a muggle cannot become a ghost then can they also not move onto this other realm entirely? Does a muggle, once dead, simply cease to be?

I believe this to be the case and - if it is our soul which lives on, and a muggle ceases to be - does that not suggest that muggles do not have souls?

And, if muggles do not have souls, can they truly be said to be human? Animals have that native intelligence, that ability to defend themselves, to look out for their own needs, to feel pain and even affection. But they do not have souls - that spirit which elevates man above the beasts. And if muggles do not have souls - and I firmly believe they do not - then they are no more than animals, and should be afforded no more rights than which we give a dog.

And as man is master of the dog, so too is the wizard master of the muggle - and should be allowed to control and even kill muggles as the situation needs.

But if muggles are demonstrably bestial (and I firmly believe they are) what then of the muggleborn? Sprung from soulless beasts they bear their own magic, that spark which animates us. Yet how can a soul come from nothing?

It is my belief it cannot. I do not believe muggleborns have complete souls, as purebloods do. Theirs is but a half soul, enough to grant them afterlife but not enough to make them the equal of those born of wizarding blood. They are halfbreeds and - like goblins, centaurs, house elves and merpeople - should be restricted by the same laws and codes which restrict magical creatures: disallowed from bearing wands, kept within strict territories or else used to serve real wizards.

Barely a step above their animal parents, the half-souled mudblood cannot be allowed to mingle (or indeed marry) with those of us with a complete soul.

As we are divided in the afterlife, so too should we divide ourselves in the world of the living. Anything less is to choose to be one with the beasts.

'It's good isn't it?' Mulciber said. 'A neat theory.'

Severus stared at the parchment for a long moment, wondering what to say. 'Do you really believe what is written here?' he asked in the end, keeping his voice neutral.

But Mulciber only laughed. 'Who cares if we believe it? The point is: can we make other people believe it? Can we run the world as if this is true?'

'And you think we can?'

'Is it too much for you?' Mulciber's grin was more like a leer.

'No.' Severus folded the parchment and handed it back. 'It's nothing to me.'

'I thought you might not like it - on account of your muggle father.'

Severus said nothing.

'Or your Mudblood friend.'

He did not allow himself to hesitate for a second, and fought down the flush he could feel burning on his cheeks. 'Like I said,' he said coolly. 'It's nothing to me. Pass it around as much as you like.'

Mulciber leered again, and took him at his word - passing the speech onto Regulus… who read it once and then stuck it into his scrapbook.

…

But a couple of days later, when a group of seventh years found Regulus painting a Dark Mark on the wall above a hexed first year, they rounded on him, pinning him to the ground and drawing a Dark Mark on his forehead in indelible ink. They conjured ropes, lashing his arms to his sides, and then hoisted him upwards. They cast a silencing charm on him, so he couldn't call for help, and then left him dangling from the rafters, while they walked away laughing. He was not found for three hours, and the mark on his forehead took two weeks to scrub off entirely.

And so the war raged on.

…

The first meeting of The League, in the new year, capitalised not only on the massacre at Christmas, but also the heightened tensions within the castle. Hidden under their cloak, the boys once again listened to Malidictus expound his own theories on what Voldemort was up to and what they should do to thwart him (it almost always came back to letter writing).

But, though his plans for swaying the Minister's mind seemed to lack flair or even the faintest whiff of direct action, his message for those inside the school was more hands-on. Virulently so. 'We are at a crucial point in our struggle - a fork in the road, and the path chosen will determine not only our futures but the future of our entire world,' he told the gathered crowd, not long after they had returned to school.

'We saw - on Christmas Eve - how the darkness is spreading, how nowhere and no one is safe. But I am proud to say that we are spreading that same message right back to those who support Voldemort within our castle walls. The recent hexing of Regulus Black, the stunning of Evan Rosier, the jinxing of Severus Snape - we are showing these would be Knights of Walpurgis what we think of them and letting them know their views will not be tolerated.'

Listening in, amidst the crowd, Lily wrinkled her nose at his words. 'Should he really be naming the students we stand against?' she murmured to her friends. 'Surely calling for violent insurrection against particular students isn't something a teacher should be doing?'

But her friends shook their heads and shushed her. 'You're only quibbling because he mentioned Severus , Lils. If it had been any other Slytherin…' Petra told her.

And though that seemed a fair enough point, Lily was now stuck with a niggling feeling that something was a bit off with Malidictus's message (and - worse! - a niggling feeling that Potter had already told her that). But she tried to quash her doubts and listened all the harder.

'But - while we must be ever vigilant against those who oppose us - we must continue to be vigilant against those who stand idly by, who watch and let this darkness take hold. We must remember they are our enemies too, both in the castle and in the Ministry,' Malidictus continued. 'And more - we must be vigilant of dark creatures. We must be always aware they can look like ordinary men, and we must not allow them to slip unnoticed into our company and spread their evil unobserved.'

Beneath the cloak, Remus remembered - once again - Malidictus's narrowed eyes when he saw the silver burns on Remus's hand, and felt a jolt of dread in his stomach that his teacher had perhaps recognised them for what they truly were.

…

Over the course of the following weeks, it seemed like the members of The League had really taken Malidictus's words about "bystanders" being their enemies to heart, and the four boys found themselves even more ostracised than ever. No more did girls bat their eyelashes at Sirius and try to sweet talk him into joining up. Instead they glowered in the corridors, or else stopped them in the hallways and harangued them for their supposed cowardice.

'It isn't alright, you know?' Daisy Wilcock of Hufflepuff sniffed, when they bumped into her down by the kitchens. 'We are putting ourselves at risk, standing against the Dark Lord, while you do nothing. But you'll still reap the benefits of our sacrifice. You ought to be ashamed.'

Connie Bidwell said something very similar. 'Standing at the side while others do the dirty work is hardly something to be proud of. I don't know how you look at yourselves in the mirror, right now.'

And Bettina Bagshot did not mince her words, during their late night Astronomy sessions. 'It's absolutely repulsive behaviour,' she told them. 'Standing by and letting all this happen. If we fail - if the Dark Lord wins - it will be the people like you who did nothing that let it happen. I hope you can live with that.'

James always tried to smooth things over. He would grin jauntily, flatten his hair, deepen his voice so he sounded more grownup and tried to reason with and placate their female detractors. But it never worked. The girls stared at him like he was a slug, gazed at Sirius with heartbroken disappointment, and then stalked off with their noses in the air.

The boys from The League were, if anything, even worse than the girls. They didn't harangue the four of them, or lecture them on their shortcomings, but they did shoulder barge them in the corridors, trip them up as they passed and - more than once - they found themselves getting hit by a hex that had been cast from inside a crowd of League members. As none of them had ever backed down from a duel yet, they always hexed straight back, not really caring who they hit - and so they found themselves more and more often in detention for using magic in the corridors.

Worst of all, Big Bertha, the nosy seventh year, had taken to following them around; dogging their steps wherever they went in school. 'Why are you always just behind us?' Sirius snapped at her one afternoon. 'You're like a stalker.'

She stared down her splodgy nose at him, with great disdain. 'Professor Malidictus told us to keep an eye out for strange behaviour - to not let anything out of the ordinary pass unnoticed.'

'What did we do?' he asked - almost as bewildered as he was annoyed. ' You're the one following us around. We're not the ones acting out of the ordinary.'

'I don't think it's ordinary behaviour for Gryffindors to back down from a fight. I don't think it's ordinary that you don't join The League when you say you stand against the Dark Lord. There's something funny about the lot of you, and I'm going to work it out.' And, though she spoke to all of them, much to his disquiet, her eyes lingered on Remus the longest.

…

And, if life around school wasn't bad enough at the moment, life inside Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons were becoming excruciating. Although Malidictus had seemed to take against Remus even before he had arrived at his first lesson of the year, the professor's levels of vindictiveness seemed to be rising now at a rapid pace.

He shot question after question straight at Remus and, though Remus knew the answers to almost all of them, he never awarded any points to Gryffindor or said "well done". And, if Remus stumbled, or couldn't answer, then he would jump all over him - mocking him in front of the class, docking points and assigning extra homework just to him.

'Go to McGonagall,' Sirius told him, one evening when they were back in their dorm.

'No.'

'You can't let him treat you like this.'

'I'm not giving him the satisfaction. I don't want him to know he's getting to me. If he didn't know what I was before - I think he has guessed now. It's a battle of the wills. And I won't be the one to lose.'

But, for all his determination to see this through on his own, Remus was eventually forced to go to McGonagall after he scored another zero on another piece of perfect homework and was given another detention. He would have attended, as he had done before, and not complained (apart from to his friends) however, when the detention slip arrived, it was for Monday evening … which happened to be January's full moon night.

He waited anxiously for Big Macca at the end of his Friday morning Transfiguration lesson, and showed her the slip he had received over breakfast. 'I don't know what to do, Professor,' he told her. 'Professor Malidictus is so anti-werewolf that I don't want to tell him the truth. But … I'm worried he set it for Monday to see if I turn up. I don't know what he'll do when I don't.'

Big Macca's lips were very thin, her nostrils flared and she made a disapproving "hmmp" noise. 'Leave it with me,' she told Remus.

He wasn't sure exactly what she did or said, but he suspected she must have pulled rank, as two new detention slips arrived for him that evening - one from Big Macca for Monday (folding Hospital Corners on the beds in the Infirmary, for being late for Transfiguration - "present yourself before sunset" the green ink instructed) and one from Malidictus for the Wednesday (cataloguing the professor's own academic writings… Remus could tell Malidictus was not happy about this change to his plans as, not only was the tone unusually curt, but even the handwriting looked grudging.)

…

Up in the dorm, that Friday evening, his sense of gloom was such a heavy weight on his shoulders, adding to the aches and pains he felt from the incipient full moon, that - though he hated to appear soft in front of his friends - he finally had to admit just how hard he was finding life at the moment.

'For the first time ever, I want to run away from Hogwarts,' he told them. 'With Bertha following us, always snooping, and Malidictus on my case and everyone talking about how much they hate me, even if they don't know it… I just don't want to be here anymore. I think it would be easier to give up and go home - hide away - and right now it's really tempting to do it.'

'That would be letting the bastards win, Moony,' Sirius said to him. 'You don't do that - not ever.'

But Remus shook his head wearily. 'I just don't care enough to fight anymore. I want it to be over.'

'You'll feel better after the full moon,' James said to him, looking quite serious and solemn for once. 'Once your detentions are done and you don't ache as much, everything will seem rosier - you'll see.'

That made Remus snort. 'Yeah - until next month… and the month after that… and the month after that… and every month until I finally just give up the ghost and croak.'

The other three boys glanced at each other worriedly, and Remus sighed. 'I know, I know,' he said, 'complaining gets me nowhere, I shouldn't be maudlin. Plenty of people have it worse than me. You're right James - I'll … I'll be more cheerful after the moon.'

'We could help you be more cheerful now,' Peter said.

Remus snorted again, 'What are you going to do? Sing a song? Do a dance?'

'No… I was thinking we could cast a cheering charm on you. It might at least take the edge off…' And before Remus could tell him not to bother, Pete had thrust his wand in his face and said 'Lenio'.

There was a horrifying moment, where Remus thought Peter's wand might explode (the way it so often did), and then all of a sudden all his fears and worries seemed to melt away and seem ridiculous. A sense of utter peace settled over him, the weight on his shoulders seemed to dissipate.

'That's not a cheering charm you daft sod,' he heard Sirius say, as if from a great distance. 'That was a calming charm.'

'Oh bugger - here…'

'Don't cast another charm on him!' both Sirius and James yelled at once (Remus was far too tranquil to feel any of their disquiet, and just watched it all as if he was a third party not involved at all, like he was watching a play, and not like someone having experimental charms cast on him by an inexpert wizard.)

But the warnings were too late to stop Peter, and - before the boys had even finished yelling - he had brandished his wand again and proclaimed 'Laetio.'

And - just as suddenly as the peace had descended on him - Remus was hit with an overwhelming sense of contentment, the sort of deep joy that burned down in his belly and made him feel like all was well with the world. At the same time, he was still floating on a sea of calm.

He began to giggle. He fell back onto his bed and lay there, cackling softly to himself and noting - without worry - that his toes and nose had gone completely numb. He was vaguely aware of his friends peering down at him. 'What did you do?'

'He's gone loopy.'

'Why are his eyes all glazed over like that?'

But their voices echoed, and their faces swam in front of him and he felt like they were a million miles away and he was drifting off with the clouds. All his aches and pains had left him, his thoughts were rambling and incoherent and that didn't matter, and he couldn't remember a time when he had felt this well or this good.

…

The come down was slow. Inch by inch the pain seeped back into his bones, the pleasant tingling left him, and the weight seemed to settle down on him as heavy as it had been before. His thoughts were sober and gloomy again and, though he could not say he was happy about it, they made sense once more.

That weekend, with the worry of The League and Malidictus and Bertha, his upcoming detentions, his piling homework, and the aches and pains he was trying to pretend he could not feel, the whole world seemed dim, grim and unbearable to deal with.

And - though he did not admit this to his friends - he sneaked up to his dorm a few times over the next couple of days, closed the door, cast the cheering and calming charms on himself once again, and allowed himself to drift off to a world without worry.

…

The night of the full moon, Endeavour Enderby, Senior Undersecretary to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Harold Minchum, sat in his home study going over some papers which needed to be made ready for Minchum to sign, in the morning, giving more powers to the Aurors to allow them to deal more effectively with the growing problem of the Knights of Walpurgis.

His wife was in the nursery, rocking their baby to sleep. If he strained his ears he could just hear her sweet voice singing a lullaby.

Wave a wand and cast a spell

Make stars and sparks and charms as well

Shining in the dark so bright

Let your magic spread its light

Wave a wand and cast a spell

Make stars and sparks and charms as well

He smiled, and allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment. It was getting late, and he was tired, but listening to his wife sing and knowing that their child was sleeping soundly was the reason he was working so hard - working to ensure the continuation of a world where they could be safe.

The sound of breaking glass made his eyes fly open, and his wife's sudden screams made him jump to his feet. He grabbed his wand and thundered down the hall until he reached the baby's room. The door burst open magically as he approached, but he could already smell the iron tang of blood on the air… and hear the snarls… and knew, in his heart, he was too late.

He froze in the doorway, seeing fur and fangs and yellow glowing eyes… and his beloved family lying savaged on the ground.