Summary: Second Year - The boys are back for another year of… trying not to get expelled, trying not to fall asleep in a History of Magic and (in Remus's case) trying not to melt the cauldrons in Potions. Between detentions, Quidditch, Rita Skeeter's salacious school newsletter and Kneazlemania sweeping the school, things look like they will be even more exciting than last year. But away from Hogwarts, the darkness is rising and whispers are even starting to reach the castle. And when a mauled body is found in Hogsmeade, after the full moon, the Minister of Magic, herself, accuses the only known werewolf in the area…

Second Year

Chapter One: New Broomsticks

Not for the first time, an argument had broken out in the drawing room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Yet another teacher was having yet another conversation (which was couched in polite terms but spoken through gritted teeth) with Walburga Black about her youngest son, Regulus - and whether or not he was a wizard.

'Mrs. Black, I do appreciate this is distressing for you - but, I assure you, the book is never wrong. For over a thousand years…'

This time it was Dumbledore himself who had been dragged in, brought upstairs - shown the family tree - and lectured about the Noble and most Ancient House of Black … and how its proud lineage could not possibly have produced a squib.

'What you mean is, no one has ever before pointed out to you that the book is wrong.' Walburga Black's voice was sharp and angry - and it was clear from her tone that she was not a witch to be trifled with. 'Well, I don't give a broom's bent twig about any other mistakes it may have made over the centuries - but I will not stand by and let a mistake be made over my son.'

Hiding in the room next door, having cast an Enduring Eavesdropping Enchantment, and with his ear glued to the wall - Sirius listened in, and imagined all too clearly the look of rage that would currently be residing on his mother's face; the gleam of fury that would be burning in her eyes.

Honestly, Dumbledore was doing very well to just stand there - never mind argue back. A lesser man would have wilted like a lettuce in the face of Walburga's well bred wrath.

Professor McGonagall had been the first to visit - towards the end of July, when Reg's letter had never turned up in the owl post. She had actually brought the book itself (the first time - she had said - that it had been removed from its locked tower room since the founders of Hogwarts themselves had put it there … of course it would be for the House of Black - just to keep Walburga happy - that a millennia of tradition be overturned).

Big Macca had shown the pages to Walburga and Orion, had explained how it worked - and how, if Regulus was a wizard, his name would be on that page, with all the other witches and wizards of the same age.

But Walburga had given her short shrift, sending her away with a chizpurfle in her ear and telling her that the word of some halfblood, nobody Gryffindor would not be enough to keep a son of the Black family from taking up his rightful place at school.

Sirius had watched Professor McGonagall leave - her lips very white and thin - and, without even knowing why, he had stepped out from behind the door he had been hiding behind so that she would see him. 'I'm sorry about my mum, Professor McGonagall,' he had said to her.

Her nostrils had flared indignantly as she remembered how she had just been spoken to - but then she had bestowed a rare smile on him. 'We don't get to choose our parents, Black … that might be something yours could do with bearing in mind.'

The next teacher to try and talk reason to the angry elders of House Black had been Professor Slughorn. Perhaps the Hogwarts staff had thought a Slytherin - and a pureblood- would succeed where McGonagall had failed.

He had arrived, huffing and puffing, red in the face and his moustache bristling. His voice had boomed through the draughty old house. ''Pon my word, Walburga, I quite understand. But there's no shame in it - even the best houses produce the occasional squib. And young Sirius is a fine wizard…'

But mentioning the magical prowess of her cretinous, blood traitor, older son - especially in comparison to her golden younger child - was the worst thing Slughorn could have done. Walburga was not going to be consoled by an overgrown walrus with a daft moustache - and she yelled as much right into her old Head of House's face. And Slughorn had left - harrumphing. Sirius did not feel the need to step forward and apologise for his family to the Potions Master.

And now it was Dumbledore's turn to run the gauntlet of Walburga's fury, though he hadn't quite been pulled in by his beard, as Sirius had once predicted …

Nevertheless, as he listened in, Sirius was beginning to quite seriously regret that one moment in the locked tower room, where he had erased his brother's name from the book as a prank.

Not that he was going to admit to what he had done or anything - he would get chucked out of school for sure if he told them the truth - but he did wish he had not been so impetuous.

His mother had been in a foul temper ever since Regulus's Hogwarts letter had failed to show up, and the date for him accepting his place had passed. And while it was true that Walburga was always in a foul temper around Sirius, and he had never known her to be any different, she was angry all the time right now - and it was starting to seep into the house; into the walls and the fabric of the curtains … even the decapitated house elves' heads mounted on the landing looked more grumpy than usual.

And poor Regulus … Sirius did not have much time for his idiot little brother who lapped up every self important word his parents spouted about how special they were because they were Blacks. But when he saw Regulus's sad, little face - the fear and shame in his eyes as he listened to the ongoing arguments about whether or not he was a squib - that was when he really started to regret what he had done. That was when he remembered Remus telling him it was not a joke he had played on his mother - but a cruel trick he had played on his brother … and he really felt that his friend had been right all along.

He wished Remus had been with him that night in the tower, because he would never have allowed Sirius to do something so stupid. But Sirius had not been talking to Remus at the time - and now, here he was, wishing he could take that back. (Though it was more than just his guilt over Regulus that made Sirius wish he could turn back time and have the week where he had fallen out with Remus to do over again. The memory that he had stopped being friends with Remus right when Mrs. Lupin was dying still kept him awake some nights. And though Remus said he had forgiven him - Sirius was having a harder time forgiving himself.)

His father was speaking now - and he pressed his ear harder against the wall to try and make out what he was saying. Orion Black's voice did not carry as clearly through solid objects as the stentorian tones of his wife did.

The front doorbell rang - cutting Mr. Black off mid sentence - and then came the sound of quick footsteps on the stairs. Presumably Kreacher, the house elf, had let this new visitor inside.

From his hiding place in the spare bedroom, just beside the drawing room, Sirius heard a tap on the door and then Mr. Ollivander's soft, slippery voice. 'Mrs Black, I've brought a selection like you asked - see if there isn't something here to suit the boy. Hello, Dumbledore.'

'Walburga, what is this?' Dumbledore sounded weary.

'I am going to prove to you that my son is a wizard. You are going to watch him get chosen by a wand. And then we will have no more of this nonsense and he will take up his place at Hogwarts.'

'Walburga -'

But she wasn't listening. The bell was rung for Kreacher - and then Kreacher was dispatched to fetch Regulus - and then Regulus must have arrived in the room, because everyone went quiet.

'Walburga - is this truly necessary - the poor child…' Sirius heard Dumbledore say.

But Mrs. Black cut him off - paying his words no heed. 'Ollivander, hand my son a wand.'

'Yes - well … let's get a look at him…'

Sirius couldn't see what was going on, of course, but he remembered well enough standing in the dusty wand shop in Diagon Alley, last year, and having his every dimension measured, while Ollivander flitted around the shop looking for wands he thought would make a good match.

He had been matched with his Fir and dragon heartstring wand - twelve and ¾ inches and good for defensive spells. 'Well, well,' Ollivander had said - staring at him with his large, misty eyes. 'I tried this wand on another young boy just a day ago and got nothing; it must have known you were coming, my boy, was waiting for you. Yes - yes - interesting. Of course Fir favours those of a strong mind. Determination, focus. My Grandfather, Gerbold Ollivander, used to call it "the survivor's wand" - and it is an unusually resilient wood. Those who wield it are themselves resilient - and oftentimes more than a little intimidating. You will be one to watch, young man.'

Sirius did not doubt that Ollivander would match his brother with a wand. He alone knew Regulus's name had been in the book - that he was a wizard and did have a place at Hogwarts - but he did wonder what the old wandmaker would say about what the wand which chose his brother signified.

'Let's start with English Oak and unicorn hair - a good, solid, no nonsense sort of wand,' Ollivander said. 'A lot of wizards find their match with the English Oak…'

However the silence that came from the room suggested that, although English Oak may suit many wizards, Regulus was not one of them.

'Never mind, never mind,' Ollivander said. 'How about this one, Hawthorn and dragon heartstring. Nine inches, Pliable. Good for healing - and paradoxically good for curses. An interesting little specimen…'

But once again there was nothing but silence from beyond the wall.

'Really is this necessary?' Dumbledore asked. 'It is doing more harm than good. If the boy has no magic…'

'The boy has no magic?' Sirius could hear the frown in Ollivander's voice. 'No, Dumbledore - that cannot be true. He may not have found his match yet but, if the child was a squib, his waving a wand around would cause it to backfire and knock him unconscious. If they are letting him wield them without incident - it is because they know a wizard when they meet one. They recognise his magic.'

'Ollivander, are you sure?'

'Quite sure, Dumbledore. I have studied wand lore most extensively - and I have never known a wand allow itself to be wielded safely by one who had no native magic of their own. Here - let's try this one for size. An usual wand to be sure. Aspen - and phoenix feather. Powerful, eleven and a half inches… unusually good for duelling. This - this is a wand for revolutionaries, for those of a strong mind - the type who will seek out for themselves a quest, overturn the natural order of things. This is a wand for a wizard who is beyond the ordinary...'

Even from the next room, Sirius could tell that the silence became tense and expectant. And then there came the sound of sparks shooting out of a wand tip, crackling in the quiet stillness of the house. And a round of applause … which Sirius imagined came from his father.

'Excellent, excellent,' Ollivander said.

When Walburga spoke, her voice was dripping with satisfaction. 'Well, you saw that for yourself, Dumbledore. My son was chosen by a wand. An unusually fine wand at that. I trust this is the end of those libellous aspersions you have been casting about the quality of my family's magic.'

'My dear, I never said anything about your magic or -'

'Save it. You will accept Regulus at school.' Even through the wall, Sirius could hear that that was very definitely a command and not a request.

'Yes - yes, I suppose I must. Though I do not understand how this can have happened. We have never had a mistake in a thousand years…'

'How unfortunate for you that your school decided to start making mistakes where my family were concerned. I'll not forget this, Dumbledore. And I can make your life very difficult if I have a mind to.'

'We shall see, Walburga. Well, I will speak to Professor McGonagall - a letter will be sent out posthaste. And I will see Regulus on the First of September - ready for his sorting.'

Sirius crept to the door and spied through the narrowest crack, as Dumbledore and Ollivander left the house. Then he breathed a sigh of relief. Reg had been accepted into school and no one had found out what he, Sirius, had done. He had got away with it. Disaster averted. And he swore to himself he would never do anything so hot headed, shortsighted or impetuous ever again.

Even if he couldn't stop himself - he would stick close to Remus, and the other boy would keep him under control.

He tiptoed out of the spare bedroom and up to his own - where he wrote a letter to James filling him in on the latest news about Reg, and a letter to Remus discussing today's crossword puzzle.

...

James was out on his family's land - flying his new broom. His dad had bought him a top of the range Silver Arrow 2.0 when the family had gone to Diagon Alley to get his new school books for the year, and he was now spending every day practising scoring with the quaffle he had got for Christmas. Gryffindor still had three chasers - and it was very rare someone as young as second year made the team anyway - but he was hoping he might at least get chosen to be a reserve. And this would be Henry Bell's final year - there would be a space on the team next year, he wanted to make sure it had his name on it.

And he hadn't spent his summer just practising Quidditch. His dad had got them tickets to some of the charity matches the teams played out of season. They had gone to watch the Falmouth Falcons play the Wimbourne Wasps in a special exhibition game that was raising money for St. Mungo's Hospital at the Dartmouth grounds at the beginning of August. (He had hoped to catch a glimpse of Sirius up in his private family box - but the windows were all dark, and James assumed the Black family were too wrapped up in the ongoing saga of Regulus's missing Hogwarts letter to watch Quidditch.)

The game had been technically brilliant. But the Wasps had unveiled their brand new Beater for the team (none other than former Slytherin seventh year, Ludo Bagman) ahead of the new season - and they had ground the Falcons into the dirt.

However - for all that James had used every swear word that he knew on the day itself (while his father pretended he couldn't hear over the noise of the crowd) - he had witnessed some really exciting, breakneck speed Quidditch, as well as some moves and manoeuvres that he was determined to get to grips with. And so he had spent all summer swerving and dodging and feinting, trying to get the hang of the things he had seen the professionals do.

When he was starting to feel hungry, he brought his broom down from the dizzying heights he had been flying at into a perfectly controlled dive. He pulled up just a few feet from the ground and zipped along through the grounds of the manor, his toes skimming the grass. He hopped over the gate, into the kitchen garden and then flew his broom right through the wide open kitchen door, screeching to a halt in front of the fireplace.

'I've told you not to fly your broom inside, Jimmy,' Mrs. Potter said to him, smiling indulgently.

'I over shot,' he protested, dismounting. 'I completely meant to get off my broom outside.'

Mrs. Potter's smile grew wider and she shook her head, fondly.

'Is there anything to eat?'

'What would you like?'

'Just a sandwich will do.'

Mrs. Potter got up from her place at the kitchen table and started pulling out bread and meat and salad. By the time she was done she was handing over a towering plateful of sandwiches - filled with bacon and lettuce and tomato and brown sauce and melted cheese. Butter glistened on the crusts, where it had splurged out from between the slices of bread. 'Will that be enough?' she asked, putting the plate down and fetching him a glass of pumpkin juice.

'For now. Thanks, mum.'

'This came for you while you were out.' She reached into the pocket of her apron and took out a letter. James squinted at the envelope and recognised Sirius's elegant, curling copperplate.

'Cool - thanks.' And he gobbled up the rest of his sandwiches, polishing them off in a few minutes (which was no mean feat, considering how many of them there had been) and decided to forgo pudding in order to rush off and read what Sirius had to say.

Once in his room, he eagerly tore the envelope open and read the letter. It seemed things had finally been sorted with Regulus - and the younger Black brother would be attending Hogwarts next week with the rest of them … And Sirius's role in the debacle remained undetected, so the elder Black had not been chucked out. He hadn't got a broom though. With all the melodrama of the summer, Mrs. Black was not taking him to Diagon Alley when she went to buy the school supplies, and he doubted she would think to buy him a broom if he wasn't there to nag and sulk for one.

It's totally rubbish,

He wrote.

Remus has got a broom - he wrote and told me after he'd bought it. If Pete's got one too … If Snivellus has got one! I'm going to be the only second year without his own broom. I'll be a total laughing stock. I hate my mum. I can't wait for next week so I can get away from her.

James finished reading the letter and then scribbled off a hasty reply, assuring Sirius that, even if Snivellus did have a broom, that he was still a greasy, slimy git and that not being a cretinous creep with an abnormally large nose was much more important than owning your own broomstick.

Once he had written to Sirius, he supposed he should write to Peter. He hadn't written nearly as often as he should - only a few times over the summer. And no doubt Sirius hadn't thought to write to him at all. Though Remus would surely have written every week.

And - thinking of Remus - (he finished scrawling a loving description of his new broomstick to Peter and pulled a fresh piece of parchment towards himself) tonight was the full moon. He should make sure there was a letter waiting for Remus when he woke up tomorrow, to cheer him up after his transformation … If he had transformed. They still didn't know for sure that Remus was a werewolf.

…

Peter was up in his room when Archimedes tapped on the window. He had his comic books open on his desk and was sitting trying to draw some of the illustrations that had taken his fancy. He had made quite good copies; he was reasonably impressed with them. But he abandoned his drawing at once, to let the owl in and take the letter.

He flushed with pleasure when he saw James' scrawl on the envelope, and tore it open to read what he had to say. Then he pulled a fresh piece of parchment over and wrote back.

Your broom sounds amazing - and I'm sure you'll be picked to act as a reserve for the team. You're an amazing flyer. In fact - I bet Henry Bell will get rid of Morgana Murrows and choose you for chaser instead. You deserve it. And you'll have the best broom in school. He'd be nuts not to do it.

I've got a broom too - just a Comet 180 - but it's better than a school broom. It doesn't drift to the left if I go too high, which is a huge improvement! I wasn't sure my mum would let me get one - but when I told her I'd be the only kid in school without one, she agreed.

I've spent most of the summer reading my comics - and I've started trying to draw. I was pretty terrible at first but I think I'm getting better - look, this is my picture of the giant squid. I had trouble with his tentacles but overall I like how it came out (there was a squid in one of my comics and I copied that and just made it bigger - so it was our squid).

When he finished his letter, he stuffed it in an envelope along with his drawing of the giant squid and sent it back with Archimedes. Then, frowning slightly, his tongue stuck out between his teeth, he started on a new picture. He didn't have anything to copy - so he was having to use his imagination and work out where everything would go … but he thought he was getting it right. This drawing was of four young boys, with their arms all wrapped around each other.

Then, thinking it might make James laugh if he showed it to him, he started doodling a cartoon about a fifth boy - this one with a curtain of greasy hair, through which an abnormally large nose poked out.

…

Severus slid open his bedroom window, clambered out into the cool night air and shinned down the drainpipe. As usual - he found Lily waiting for him outside on the street. They sneaked out and went to the park to talk most nights. Not that they didn't spend all day together too - they did. Severus had no wish to be at home, and Lily's sister, Petunia, no longer talked to her - so they often wandered for hours avoiding their families. But they also came out after dark every night as well.

Lily smiled at him, took his hand and they walked off together. As much as he hated being at home - as much as he hated being trapped in that cramped, little house with his awful, worthless muggle father, the one thing he would miss when he got back to school next week was having Lily all to himself. She had far too many friends at Hogwarts. He had to share her with far too many girls… and he also had to pretend not to know her that well in front of Mulciber and Avery.

They wouldn't approve of his having a mudblood friend.

He didn't approve of his having a mudblood friend. But Lily was … Lily . Her blood status should not matter. Not when she had so much magic and was so pretty and kind. She was not worthless, even if her family were … but he was still not going to say that to his fellow Slytherins.

'Six more days,' Lily said. They were sitting on top of the monkey bars and their legs were dangling through. 'The longer I stay here, the less I believe it was all real. It feels like some amazing dream I had. I can't quite believe we're really going back.'

'Hogwarts isn't a dream. This place is a nightmare.'

A worried crease appeared between Lily's eyebrows. 'Is it still awful at home? Is your dad -'

'I don't want to talk about it. I don't belong here. Next week I'll be back home. I just need to hang on. And this year will be even better - I've got my own broom. You should have got one, Lily.'

'Well, my parents are muggles. They … they'd laugh if I asked for a broomstick. They still make jokes about me owning a cauldron. Anyway - it's not like I care about Quidditch. The school brooms will do me for flying lessons.'

'Now we'll all be on our brooms, you'll start getting left behind. When we fly around the pitch, it'll take you longer than everyone else.'

But Lily only shrugged. 'You seem to be failing to understand the part where I don't care about Quidditch. What's Madam Hooch going to do - dock points from Gryffindor because my broom is slow?'

'Still - it would be good if you had your own. Mines only a Cleansweep 2 … I know Mulciber has got a Shooting Star. But we couldn't afford - I mean…' his pallid face flushed. 'Well, brooms are really expensive and pure bloods all have bushels of gold. I bet Potter has got some top of the range, state of the art thing.'

Lily made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. 'Now that is one thing I'm not looking forward to when we go back - having to put up with Potter and his bloody irritating band of boy-friends. He's awful.'

Severus felt his heart skip a beat at her words - and this time his face flushed with pleasure. 'He's a self righteous arse. He thinks he's better than everyone else - that the rules don't apply to him.'

'Such an arrogant, little toerag.'

'Thinks he's way more clever than he is.'

'And always messing around and losing us points. Him and the Black berk he hangs out with.'

'And don't forget there's something funny about Lupin.' He looked upward, saw the full moon in the sky and frowned.

But, beside him, Lily had stopped frowning at the mere thought of James Potter and was instead frowning at Severus. 'Don't start that up again,' she said sharply. 'Lupin might have turned out to be just as bad as the rest of them - but we know where he was going when he disappeared all those times. His mother was sick. She died. And I'm not sticking my nose in there for you again.'

'Fine. Let's not argue… I wonder if Lupin got a new broom.'

Lily frowned again. 'Brooms are expensive and Lupin is - well...'

'Dirt poor.'

'Not that there's anything wrong with that,' she said quickly. 'But we're both poor - and he's even poorer than us.'

'Well - then, it'll be you and him getting left behind together in flying lessons …' And despite being proud of his new broom, he couldn't keep the note of jealousy out of his voice as he said that.

But Lily shuddered. 'I hope not. I thought he was alright at first - but he went drastically downhill when he started hanging out with that swollen headed chimpanzee. Let's change the subject. I've only got six boy free days left, I don't want to spend time thinking about them before I have to.'

'What do you mean "boy free"? You're with me aren't you?'

She threw back her head and laughed. 'I don't mean you, Sev. You know you don't count.'

He wasn't sure whether he should be pleased with that or not, so he didn't say anything. Instead, he looked back up at the moon … and wondered if the death of Mrs. Lupin really would mark the end of the mysterious disappearances of her son.

…

Remus woke up face down on the cellar floor. He ached, he was bruised, his scrapes stung and he just wanted to sleep forever. Far above his head, he heard the door open and then the sound of his dad's footsteps coming down the stairs. 'Remus - are you awake?'

'Yes.'

'Good - let's get you dressed and sort…' the footsteps came to a sudden halt. 'What happened?' Lyall Lupin's voice was suddenly sharp.

Remus didn't understand. He forced himself to sit up and looked around. 'What do you mean?...'

But then he saw for himself.

He was on the wrong side of the room. He had been chained to the wall - but now he was right over by the other side, near the stairs. There was no way he should be able to be there, his shackle did not extend that far.

He glanced down - and saw the manacle still clamped around his ankle … but the chain was dangling loose, attached to nothing. He looked at his father - and saw Lyall's face was strained, his lips had gone thin.

'I'm sorry.'

Mr. Lupin shook his head. 'It isn't your fault. I know you can't help…' but his voice trembled as he spoke. 'It's because you're getting bigger - stronger. The wolf too. The shackle isn't enough to contain you anymore. We'll - we'll just have to think of something else for next time.' He forced a smile. 'Come on - let's get you dressed and to bed. There's a good lad.'

Once he had been fixed up and given a cup of tea, Remus was handed the letters that had arrived for him that morning.

'This one comes from Mr. Potter,' Lyall said, smiling as he handed over a crumpled envelope addressed to Remus in an untidy scrawl. 'And I believe this elegant calligraphy,' he pulled out a much smarter, richer looking envelope with curling writing on the front, 'means Mr. Black is having trouble with the crossword again.'

Remus grinned as he took them. 'Will you bring me the paper, dad?'

'Alright - but don't overdo it. I want you rested.'

But the truth was, Remus did not want to rest. Having his friends' letters and wrestling with the crossword allowed him to ignore the dull ache in his heart. It was after his transformations when he missed his mum the most; missed curling up in her lap and having her soothe him. He loved his dad - but it just wasn't the same.

His eyes darted to the photograph of him and his mum that he kept on his dresser. He had meant to only look for a moment but, once he had locked eyes with Hope's photographic self, he found he could not look away. It was a muggle photo - so he and his mum were still - but he liked that about it. He liked that it was one moment frozen in time. Him and his mum, preserved forever exactly as they had been in that exact moment. Together.

'I miss you, mum,' he mumbled quietly - so there was no chance his dad might overhear.

Hope smiled back out at him - loving but lifeless.

He brushed away the tears that had sprung into his eyes and cleared his throat and went back to his letters. Sirius was stuck on eleven across: "Dances in the moonlight, causes crop circles - 8 letters."

'Mooncalf - you pillock,' Remus muttered. 'Have you even read "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them"?'

James was still rhapsodising about his new broom. Remus had a new broom of his own - and a pretty good one too. Though it was slightly second hand, and they had had to sell his mum's old car to buy it. It had hurt Remus's heart to see the middle aged muggle drive away in the Morris Minor, and know that was another part of his mum leaving that he would never get back. But she had told him - before she died - that he needed to find and cling to the happiness in every moment. And he was going back to school with a new broom he could be proud of and he wouldn't get left behind in their flying lessons.

He was actually quite good at Quidditch. He had excellent reflexes. And a new broom would only help him get even better.

Though no matter how good he got - he could never play for the team. He would miss too many practices because of his transformations; he couldn't keep his disappearances a secret if he kept letting down the whole of Gryffindor.

Not that it mattered. It wasn't like he was ever going to play professionally or anything. Not least because, since his mum had died, he had quietly abandoned the Tutshill Tornados and decorated his room in Holyhead Harpies posters, and they were an all-witch team. Hope had been a fan - even though she was a muggle - and now he would follow them for her.

His dad hadn't said anything. But when they got back from Diagon Alley with all the purchases they had bought with the car money (his broom, a brand new set of work robes from Madam Malkin's - measured to fit slightly too big so he could grow into them, a new copy of The Standard Book of Spells Grade 2 and a new set of potions ingredients, reams of parchment and quills and ink) Remus had found a parcel wrapped up in brown paper among all his other packages, which he didn't recognise. When he ripped the paper off, he had found a neatly folded Harpies scarf, which he had put carefully in his trunk - and never mentioned to his dad.

He didn't know what James would say about him supporting a girls' team … but he suspected Sirius would hit James for him, if he banged on about it too much. Sirius could always be counted on to hit James when he was suffering from chronic foot in mouth disease where Remus was concerned.

When he had finished reading his letters and drinking his tea, he snuggled back against his pillows and finally closed his eyes. He was sore after his transformation - and school started in less than a week now - he needed to heal.

When he woke up, he found his dad sitting beside his bed reading the evening edition of the paper.

'What's it say?' he asked sleepily.

Lyall looked up 'Oh - finally awake are we?' He smiled - and then frowned down at the Prophet. 'Nothing good I'm afraid.'

'Has there been another disappearance?' There had been an unprecedented number of witches and wizards going missing in the last year - and it had taken until the start of the summer for the Aurors' office to start taking them seriously. But now the whole wizarding world was talking about them in hushed and worried tones.

'Worse. There's been a - er - well - a body has turned up. In Taunton.'

'One of the missing people?'

'They don't know. It was - well it was quite badly mauled you see. Too badly mauled to recognise … last night.'

'Oh.' He flushed. He understood what his father meant. What the paper must be saying. There had been a werewolf attack - an unusually vicious one by the sound of it. And that always meant hard times ahead for Remus and his fellow werewolves. Whenever there was an attack, laws would be tightened, freedoms clamped down upon - all in an attempt to stop that sort of thing from happening again. Though they were kneejerk measures - shutting the stable door well after the hippogriff had already flown. Things were about to get worse than they already were.

'There's no need to worry yet,' Lyall said, comfortingly - though Remus knew he was worried too.

'Yeah - I know.' He forced a grin. 'The laws are already so bad - how much worse can they make them?'

'That's right … look for the silver lining.'

Though their smiles were not reaching their eyes.

'Anyway - forget about this. You need to be healing. Don't be thinking about death and disaster. Why don't you read your new book - what was it called again?'

' Where Red Caps Dwell: A Study of Britain's Bloodiest Battlefields - by Brutus Bellum.'

'Oh … well - read that. Take your mind off things.'

And, chuckling, Remus snuggled into his pillows, picked up his book - and he and his father spent the evening reading in companionable silence.