The Wolf's Tail

by myheadsgonenumb

A Marauders Era long fic. 4 boys grow up in a Golden Age of fun, feasts and friendship. These are their glory days; white Christmases and hazy summers, stretching ahead of them for an eternity, and them the kings of their own magical castle. But outside their walls, their little world is growing more dangerous. Dark wizards are on the move - and, year by year war creeps ever closer

53. A Knarly Business

Chapter Eleven: A Knarly Business

The class was in for something of a shock, that first morning back. Although they had, of course, not forgotten about Professor Tenebris and were wondering whether or not she would be well enough to teach by now - and were thus half suspecting that a substitute may have been put in her place - the last thing they expected to see, as they pushed open the door and went inside, was Professor Dumbledore, himself, sitting at the teacher's desk.

They took their seats in absolute silence, looking slightly alarmed. For some of them, this was the closest they had ever been to the Headmaster; they had only ever heard him speak at the start of term feasts - and now, here he was, right in the classroom. Even for Remus and his friends, who had had reason to speak with Dumbledore on more than one occasion (mostly because they were in trouble) it was still a little disconcerting to find him sitting at the desk, like a normal teacher, ready to take a lesson.

If Dumbledore noticed how unnerved the students were, however, he did not let on. He simply smiled his genial smile at them all and waited until everyone was seated and still. 'I hope this morning finds you well rested and ready to learn,' he said to them, by way of greeting. 'Now - I am sure it has not escaped your notice that I am not Professor Tenebris. Unfortunately the Professor is not yet well enough to resume her duties, so - until such a time as she is back with us - I will be taking her place…'

Murmurs of surprise broke out across the classroom: whispers and shushes and nudging each other to remind each other to behave. Once again, Dumbledore waited for stillness, only speaking once he had it.

'I can only hope you will find me an adequate replacement. Now,' he clapped his hands, 'to business. Please turn to page three hundred and ninety four of your textbook.'

There was a sudden rustle of page turning, as 20 books were opened at once.

'It's a good job the book isn't Ponce's Peerage ,' James hissed. '394 - this lesson would be on King Sirius the third!'

The boy's sniggered and hushed each other … and then Remus's heart sank like a lead weight as his book fell onto the right page - and he saw the subject matter they would be dealing with today:

The Study of Werewolves

He looked up; Dumbledore was gazing out of the window, looking for all the world as if he was fascinated by the clouds … But Remus had the strangest feeling that, had he looked up just a fraction of a second earlier, he would have found the Headmaster watching him keenly.

Peter, unfortunately, was far less subtle than Dumbledore and - having seen the contents of his own book - he was now gaping open mouthed at Remus. Remus felt his ears start to burn, and was mightily relieved when Sirius kicked Peter under the table. 'Stop staring, you git,' he hissed, so only the four of them could hear. And, whether out of respect for Remus, or fear of Sirius, Peter managed to tear his eyes away and pretend nothing was wrong.

'Tomorrow night will be the first full moon of this new year,' Dumbledore told the class once they were settled (though there was no need to tell Remus this, he literally felt it in his bones). 'And while the full moon has its uses for planting and harvesting certain plants, or concocting certain potions - the magic of the moon represents a pernicious force in the lives of our werewolf brothers...'

Sitting in the second row, Ellis Stebbins made an indistinct noise through his nose. Dumbledore came to a stop and fixed his gaze on him, 'Do you have something you wish to say, Mr. Stebbins?' he asked.

For all that the headmaster's tone was courteous enough, Stebbins blanched and looked alarmed at being spoken to directly. Nevertheless he cleared his throat and managed to stutter out: 'They're … they're not our brothers - are they? Werewolves. They're animals…'

A scrunched up ball of parchment (thrown by Sirius) bounced off the back of Stebbins' head. Remus fought not to flush, and tried to ignore the pounding of blood in his ears. Dumbledore, however, merely smiled. 'You are young, Mr. Stebbins and there is much of this world you are yet to learn. I hope, by the end of this class, you will have at least learned some compassion.'

It was Stebbins' turn to flush.

'Now, the origins of werewolves date back thousands of years, to Ancient Greece,' Dumbledore told the class. 'What is myth and what is truly fact has perhaps been lost in the mists of time. The muggles tell stories of punishment by the Gods, though we believe the truth to be a little less fanciful and a little closer to earth.'

The class had been almost silent ever since they had found Dumbledore in the classroom. But, as he told his story, the silence thickened as everyone listened in keenly … and even Remus found himself forgetting his embarrassment and wanting to hear more.

'In the time of Homer, there was a dark wizard who lived on the slopes of Mount Lykaion, known as Amarokles - or Amarok the Wicked, who developed a taste for human flesh…'

Remus felt a shiver run down his spine.

'He would drape himself in the skin of a wolf and hunt muggles for his own amusement, tearing them limb from limb with his human hands. One fateful night, however, he came upon a village where a family of wizards dwelt among the ordinary folk. As he set about massacring the villagers, and feasting on their flesh, the wizarding family used their magic to cast protection spells upon the houses, keeping everyone who had not yet fallen victim safe from Amarok. Then they turned their wands on Amarok, himself, cursing him and trapping him inside the wolfskin, so he was forced to be the wolf forevermore. The magic fused wolf and wizard together - so he was neither one thing or the other, but was left in a more maddened state, made more vicious than ever before.

'Amarok took to only hunting wizards after that, searching for those who had cursed him - seeking out his revenge - or perhaps seeking a cure. He sought high and low and killed many wizards, but never found those that could undo the curse. It was on the night of the full moon - a particularly impressive blood moon - that he arrived in the wizarding village of Alsos Kalikantzaron (which is "Goblin's Grove" in English - but as the muggles say "It's all Greek to me"). The redness in the sky drove him wild, like a rag to a bull and, frenzied with rage, he smashed his way into a cottage and savaged the poor wizard he found there (who - legend has it - was simply minding his own business, darning his socks).

'But the witch who lived next door was very learned and skilled in the ways of magic, far more powerful than those around her. Hearing the commotion, she ran to the cottage - and saw the scene, her neighbour bleeding out on the floor (socks strewn everywhere) while Amarok gorged himself on his flesh. With a flick of her wand she sent Amarok flying through the air and then trapped him in a cage of her own conjuring. Then she set to work on her neighbour, labouring tirelessly through the night to stop the blood flow and save his life (the socks - of course - made valuable bandages).

In the end, she was successful. And the wizard became the first of Amarok's victims to survive … but survival came at a terrible price. The curse placed on Amarok had seeped into his own blood, and though the witch's ministrations spared him from being forever transformed - as Amarok was - he was still cursed from that day forward; forced to turn into a monstrous wolf every full moon - incapable of human thought or control, blood thirsty and hungry and maddened by the same rage that had driven Amarok the Wicked.

He became the first true werewolf and, in time, he bit and infected another wizard - and they bit another, and they another and so on and so on - each time spreading the blood curse and swelling their numbers. Before long, werewolves - as we now know them - had spread across all of Europe, and from there they spread to the new world … and now werewolves can be found on every continent of the earth…

'Of course,' he sat up straighter and his hushed voice became more matter of fact, 'as I said, much of that may only be legend - socks and all. But the fact remains that werewolves are real and they can be found in almost every country in the world, though they remain most populous in mainland Europe, and they do pose a threat every full moon when - like Amarok - they are forced to transform into a wolfish state. Now, our modern, English word "werewolf" comes from the Anglo-saxon word "were" meaning man. Or put literally "man wolf" …and it is the "man" aspect that, while I teach you about werewolves as dark creatures, I bid you to never lose sight of.'

His expression became serious. 'If the legends are to be believed, then Amarok was a wicked man, deserving of the punishment he was given. But his victims were precisely that - victims. And so too are modern werewolves. There is nothing inherently dark in their condition; any one of us could be afflicted at any full moon. It would not change who we are, would not twist our fundamental selves unless we let it. Nevertheless, a transformed werewolf is dangerous - and it is my job to teach you how to combat one, should the situation ever arise.'

In the back row, the four boys all glanced at each other (Remus once more trying not to blush) though - up at the front - Dumbledore was still acting as if nothing was amiss. He smiled around at the class and told them to stand up, then - with a flick of his wand - he moved all the furniture to one side and made everyone stand in a circle. He looked round at them, still smiling. 'I do not pretend that, in the event of a fully grown werewolf charging you down, you would not most likely find yourself rooted to the spot in fear. And perhaps, once you are qualified, the best way to deal with such a situation is simply to apparate away. However, there are other methods of stopping a werewolf attack - and it would be remiss of me not to teach you about them. Just in case …

'Firstly, there is the "Homorphus Charm" - this is incredibly difficult to perform and incredibly painful and dangerous for the werewolf. Done correctly, it will force the werewolf to change back to their human shape. But it is an unnatural transformation, and the werewolf will be in pain - and not quite in his right mind - until he has completed another moon cycle. It is a spell of last resort, and far beyond what any third year can manage. I tell you about it purely for knowledge's sake - and not because I believe any of you will ever be in a position to even think about using it.

'Now - you may be tempted, in the event of an attack, to use a simple spell - like a stunning spell or the freezing charm. However, I must warn you, that as with many dark beings and beasts - like giants and acromantula - a werewolf's hide is much stronger than human, almost impenetrable and, in all likelihood, such spells would simply deflect from the werewolf and bounce back onto the caster - thus leaving them a sitting crup for attack.'

Nervously, Lily raised her hand, 'what can we do, then, Professor?' she asked.

Dumbledore beamed at her. 'Miss. Evans - you take a leaf from the book of our witch in the story. You incarcerate them. Then you may - if you wish - spend all the time in the world attempting to stun them, until you get it right. To that end, today we will be learning to conjure cages - which is, by far, the most humane way of fighting a dark creature who holds "being" status and thus must not be killed. Now - Mr. Stebbins - perhaps you will aid me in a demonstration. Step into the middle of the circle, if you will.'

Looking like he rather wished anyone but him had been picked on, Stebbins shuffled into the centre of the circle. 'Observe,' Dumbledore told the class. He raised his wand, flicked it and cried ' Decipulatem' . Immediately, iron bars began to shoot out of the ground, reaching up 8 feet, before they bent at 90 degrees and grew towards each other, forming a latticed roof. Stebbins had jumped, and given a yelp of surprise, when the cage began to materialise around him. Most of the class had flinched as well, and then began to laugh as they saw Stebbins trapped inside and staring forlornly at the bars. (Remus did not laugh, though, he was too busy trying not to think of the cage in his cellar at home, and of himself trapped inside waiting to transform - and hoping that no one, not even Sirius or James or even Dumbledore would be able to guess what he was thinking).

Inside the cage, Stebbins had flushed an angry red. 'Why are we doing this?' He asked Dumbledore. 'Why not just kill them - if it's a choice between them or us…'

'Because they're people you stupid berk,' Sirius answered before Dumbledore could. 'And anyone who wants to kill people should just sign up to Mortal Love Rodd's gang of goons.'

There were titters from some of the class, and shocked gasps from others - and Remus stared at his toes and wished he had been too ill to come to lessons today.

'Perhaps I do not agree with his wording,' Dumbledore said (though there was a twinkle in his eyes as he looked at Sirius), 'but Mr. Black's sentiment is quite correct'. He then eyed Stebbins with a look of disappointment (and no sign of a twinkle). 'As I said before, Mr. Stebbins, we should strive for compassion. Werewolves are not responsible for what they become, nor can they control what they do - and no man should be judged solely on the worst 8 hours of the month, when the rest of his time he poses no threat to anyone. Werewolves are beings, their lives are of as much value as anyone else's and as long as I am Headmaster of this school no one will be taught how to kill one. So,' he looked around at everyone else and smiled once again. 'To business - split into pairs, and practice conjuring the cage around each other.'

They divided into twos and found a space and began to practise. Not many of them had much luck to start with, though Dumbledore moved around the room, correcting wand work and giving helpful hints and words of encouragement until everyone was working with much more confidence.

'Do you wanna try first?' Peter asked Remus. Remus thought about all the time he already spent locked in cages (and - though he felt like a bad friend even to consider it - the likelihood of Pete blowing him up) and agreed to try the incantation. He flicked his wand. 'Decipulatem!' and - just as it had when Dumbledore had done it, a sturdy cage immediately sprang up around Peter, who yelped a little in surprise.

'Nice one, Remus,' Sirius said, eyeing the cage up. He flicked his own wand at James, who cast back right at the same moment. 'Decipulatem!' they both cried and were simultaneously incarcerated behind thick, iron bars …and then immediately seized the opportunity of the other being trapped to start hexing them.

'Rictusempra!'

'Tarantallegra!'

'Engorgio!'

'Reducio!'

As James' head swelled to massive proportions and Sirius's shrunk just as rapidly, Dumbledore approached Peter (clearly choosing to ignore the ridiculousness of the other two boys). 'Mr. Pettigrew - I have yet to see you cast the charm.'

Peter stared at him for a moment - and then turned to Remus and gripped his wand.

'Hold your wand a little looser than that, Mr. Pettigrew - no need to be so tense.'

Peter loosened his grip.

'Very good - now, a quick flick and say the incantation. Nice and firmly now.'

'Decipulatem!'

Remus tensed up and scrunched his eyes closed … but there was no explosion and, when he dared pry one eye open, he found himself inside a cage - with Peter on the other side, looking slightly dazed and Dumbledore looking pleased. 'Well done, Mr. Pettigrew - always remember: confidence is key.'

The Headmaster looked around the room, at where twenty students now stood trapped inside their separate cages. He beamed at them all. 'If only Mr. Filch could see you now … this would bring a happy tear to his eye. Now…' the bell rang for the end of lesson, 'homework - summarise the chapter on the origin of werewolves. Next lesson we will be looking at treating werewolf bites. Evanesco…' the cages all vanished. 'Class dismissed …Mr. Lupin, could I speak to you for a moment?'

The rest of the class filed out, and Remus sighed, shouldered his bag and went to speak with Dumbledore, feeling he already knew what this would be about.

'It must have been difficult for you in that lesson,' Dumbledore said, once the door had closed behind Tulip Khan. 'I am sorry for that.'

Remus shrugged. 'It is what it is… I'm a dark creature … no point in pretending any different.'

'I meant what I said when I put the emphasis on werewolves being men. You are a being, Remus - the same as everyone else in the room, and you have just as much value. I hope you never lose sight of that … I hope you never allow the ignorant and unkind ideas, as displayed by Mr. Stebbins, shape how you see yourself.'

Remus shrugged again. 'I'm alright.'

Dumbledore gave him a searching look, and then smiled. 'Good. You are made of strong stuff, Mr. Lupin, stronger by far than most people realise.'

'Yes, sir… Professor Dumbledore, where is Professor Tenebris? Is she alright?'

The smile on the Headmaster's face faded, and his eyes seemed to grow dim. 'Professor Tenebris has been moved to St. Mungo's. She is in excellent hands… I am told she is comfortable.'

'Is she awake?'

'...No.'

'Will she … will she wake up?'

'I hope so, Remus. I truly hope so.' But his expression was troubled and Remus felt sure that his hopes were faint.

…

The full moon passed without incident, and Remus once again recuperated in the Hospital Wing reading the latest issue of Sabrina13 , which was brought to him at breaktime by James (who had read every word twice and only mentioned how annoying it was three times).

School quickly got back into the swing of things; homework piled up faster than they could complete it; Sirius got a detention for hexing Snivellus so he grew a particularly fine pair of donkey ears, and, a few weeks into January, a notice went up saying there would be another Hogsmeade weekend the following Saturday. Dumbledore continued to teach in Professor Tenebris's place, soon moving on from werewolves to vampires. James practised quidditch all hours, Sirius continued to tinker with his toaster, Pete's comic was coming along nicely and Remus had finished his book on ogres and was starting a new one on Yetis.

It was on a blustery early February evening, when the boys were gathered comfortably around the fire doing their Charms homework, that the arrival of the Evening Prophet jolted them rather rudely out of the safety of school life and reminded them once again of the growing darkness beyond their walls. It was yet another Op Ed:

The Thorns in our Midst

The headline read, followed by:

A Philosophical Musing on Which is Worse: the Mudblood or the Blood Traitor?

And was written by no less a person than Lord Voldemort, himself.

…

Down in the dungeons, Severus and his gang of friends gathered by their own fire, and eagerly read what the Dark Lord had to say (and this time it was Regulus, and not Severus, who was on the receiving end of supercilious smirks and little headshakes of pity).

A mudblood is surely the lowest form of life which makes up our world.

Lord Voldemort wrote.

Born of inferior beings and with no understanding of our own superior society, they must - of course - be allowed to hold no standing within it. And though they may strive and clamour to be treated as equals, the truth is: they are not, and must never be allowed to act so. However, the mudblood - as an interloper - has no comprehension of their status. And as their betters we should view them rather as something to be pitied. Dogs aping their masters. They know no better and no better should be expected of them… What then is the excuse of the blood traitor?

'He's got the right ideas,' Gaius Avery said, emphatically tapping the opinion piece. 'He knows where the true blame lies. Look at this bit!'

Far more pernicious is the viper we nurture within our own bosom.

(There was a little bit of sniggering over the word "bosom".)

The blood traitor comes from within our own world, perhaps from our oldest families, they are born to hold a special place in our society - have a responsibility to it, to shape it and to keep it strong in tradition. It is them we are supposed to look to, in order to see what it is we should be … And yet they neglect their duty, pour scorn on their birthright and tell us that - for all their generations of magical blood - they are no better than the mudblood or even the muggle. And what are we to make of this? And more importantly - what are we to do about it?

Our wizarding bloodlines run from Abbot to Zabini - and yet there is a thread of treachery running through our alphabet of the pure. Families like the Weasleys, the Prewetts, the Potters choose to turn their back on their heritage and embrace those newcomers to magic as if they were equal. And rest assured, when they turn their back on their own status, they turn their back on you - and your family; they say their progressive ideals are worth more than the security and prosperity of your children. And these are influential families, with good standing in the community - if we do not treat them with the disdain they deserve, turn our backs on them as they turn their backs on us, then their ideas will spread.

Indeed, they are spreading. There are blood traitors now found even within the noble and most ancient of households…

(Regulus blushed when he read that part, and pretended he hadn't understood it. He shuddered to think what his mother's reaction would be when she saw what was written, and was grateful to be safely away at school for the next few months.)

If the mudblood is an aberration, then the blood traitor is a cancer - metastasizing within our magical body politic. It is they who have the power and influence to make the real changes, to force this regressive "progress" upon us, to inflict equality with inferiors on us all against our will. Without the blood traitor, the mudblood would be quite powerless. It is the blood traitor who represents the real threat to all we hold dear and, as being our own blood, our own relations, they can have no good reason for doing so…and yet they do.

Rest assured, it is the blood traitor who seeks to destroy us - the mudblood is merely a tool for that destruction. The blood traitor is the thorn in our rose, and twice as dangerous. So, I ask again, what shall we do? And I answer: What we can do, what we must. These are not some distant "other" I speak of, but our brothers, sisters, parents and children. They are our families, and - should you find your own rose bush thorny - you must root them out, prune your own bush for the good of your kin and all wizardkind.

I have asked which is worse, the mudblood or the blood traitor? I am a fair man, and a just one, and I like to apportion blame according to culpability and intention. I flatter myself that I take into account a wizard's ability to understand his own actions. And when faced with this as my guide, it is abundantly clear that the blood traitor is far beyond any threat a mudblood poses.

The mudblood knows not what it does. The blood traitor knows only too well.

…

There was a flurry of excitement at the Gryffindor breakfast table, a couple of days later. Firstly - a flash of green among the feathers alerted the boys to an incoming missive from Walburga Black. Sure enough, a couple of seconds later, a smoking, bright scarlet envelope was dropped on the table in front of Sirius. He only just had time to say 'Oh, bollocks !' before it exploded, and his mother's magically magnified voice thundered around the Great Hall.

THE DARK LORD HIMSELF HAS NOTICED YOUR SHAMEFUL CONDUCT!

She screamed at him, for everyone to hear.

DON'T THINK I DIDN'T NOTICE THAT DIG IN THE PAPER - AIMED AT YOU. AIMED AT US! YOU FOUL LITTLE BLOOD TRAITOR. YOU UTTER DISGRACE TO THE NAME OF BLACK! IT'S NO WONDER YOUR FATHER'S NOT A KNIGHT, WITH YOU DRAGGING US DOWN - MAKING US ALL RIDICULOUS. YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE, DO YOU? HOW WE HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE SNIGGERS AND THE PITYING STARES. SHAME OF MY FLESH! YOU ARE MY GREATEST REGRET - BE WARNED, ONE MORE FOOT WRONG AND I WILL BLAST YOU FROM THE TAPESTRY.

The howler then burst into flames, and vanished in a puff of smoke. The echoing silence that followed was almost as deafening as Walburga's screams had been. 'Well,' Sirius said coolly, cutting his bacon and ignoring the curious stares from around the Hall, and looking for all the world as if nothing had happened (apart from a rather tell tale red flush high on his cheeks), 'sounds like mummy dearest will soon be "pruning her own bush". A bit of topiary for the Dark Lord's delectation.' Then he snorted with laughter, as James made vomiting sounds.

'That's nasty, mate.'

'So's she. Vile Hag. As if I care if she blasts me from the tapestry.'

'Well that's because you're a filthy blood traitor.'

'And proud of it.'

Across the hall, Regulus was also looking rather flushed about the cheeks - and was busy avoiding the eyes of his fellow Slytherins. But he couldn't block out the sound of their sniggers.

…

The other bit of excitement happened further down the table, where Lily was sitting with her friends. Though it was a much quieter and far less public flurry. They were just recovering from the interruption of Sirius's howler, and returning to their bacon, when not one but two owls landed beside Lily. She looked at them in surprise, and knocked her pumpkin juice over in excitement when she saw one was addressed to 'The Editor of Sabrina13' and the other to ' Dear Dianella'.

'It's finally happened!' she hissed at her friends, only just rescuing her letters from the seeping orange liquid in the nick of time. 'Someone has finally written in! I knew they would!'

But, just then, the bell rang before she could open them and - with a sigh of thwarted longing - she stuffed the letters into her bag and made her way to Herbology. She then spent the morning in a state of heightened anticipation, watching the minute hand crawl around the clock (and paying so little attention in Potions that she forgot to add the blowflies to her Babbling Beverage and so ended up with a weak purple soup, barely better than Remus's offering) until finally, the bell rang for break and she and her friends dashed up to their dorm to open the letters in private.

They started with the one addressed to "the editor". It was anonymous, written by a seventh year and offering a contribution:

While I know your magazine is a teen lifestyle one aimed at witches

The letter said

I also know you are big fans of The Kneazles - and I hope that means you stand for the same things they do. Our world is facing dark times, and The Kneazles are some of the only wizards brave enough to speak out about it. In this magazine you have a wonderful and unique platform to reach all the students of this school, and make them aware of the dangers we are facing. And I am sure that to use that platform would make Bobby and the rest very proud of you. So while I know Hair Taming Potions and Quidditch scores are your bread and butter, I humbly offer up a poem I have written - about the darkness we face - and ask you to consider publishing it, in the hope of making some of our fellow students think.

A separate piece of parchment containing the poem fell out, and Lily scanned it. 'Do we take write in contributions?' she asked her friends.

'I don't know - do you think they're right? Will it make Roger and the rest proud if we do?''

Lily handed the poem to Mary, who read it and showed it to Petra and Mandy. The three of them continued to discuss it - and whether or not it fit in with their style - while Lily opened the second envelope and began to read. After a moment, she gave a small cry - her friends abandoned their conversation, and she thrust the problem letter under their noses so they could read:

Dear Dianella,

I only started at Hogwarts this year. My whole life, I got into trouble because strange and dangerous things would happen around me and no one could explain it. When Professor McGonagall came to my house and told my parents I was magic, and I could go to magic school and I bought my magic wand, I was so proud and excited and felt sure that I was finally going to a place where I would fit in.

But since I have arrived at the castle, I have found out I am unwelcome because my parents are not magic. I get called names - and I see things written about people like my family in the paper, horrible things that some of the students around me choose to believe.

I feel so lonely here. Sometimes I don't feel safe. I miss home so much it hurts, but I didn't fit in there either. It's so hard walking past the "mudblood out" graffiti and I feel like I have no one to talk to, because none of my friends are muggleborn. They tell me they don't think that way - but it's still so hard. Sometimes I feel like giving up altogether.

What do you think I should do?

Yours

A Lonely Muggleborn.

'That's so sad,' Petra said.

'But it's what it's getting like for us,' Mary told her. 'It's different for us older ones. We remember the school before all this happened. But if you only just arrived in September - and this is what you found…'

'I don't think magic school is turning out to be what our new muggleborns expected,' Lily said slowly. 'And it's not really much better for us in higher years … Connie Bidwell got pushed down the stairs, remember? It doesn't matter how old you are, it's hard not to be wanted.'

'So - what are you going to say in your reply?'

Lily thought carefully for a moment. 'I think I should do more than reply,' she said at last. 'I think we should include this poem as well. I think we should dedicate the March issue to celebrating muggleborns - and let the whole school know that Sabrina13 stands with The Kneazles and against Lord Voldemort!'

…

About a month later, when Remus was recovering from the after effects of the full moon - the door to the Hospital Wing banged open and the boys arrived, bearing the latest issue of Lily's magazine. 'Everyone's talking about it even more than usual,' James said.

'Even Dumbledore was reading it at the breakfast table - or that's what Pete said, anyway,' Sirius told him.

'That's what I saw, I swear!'

Sirius hit him around the back of the head with Sabrina13, and then handed it to Remus. 'They've gone a bit rogue.'

'Rogue? How?'

'Political.'

Remus frowned in bemusement and began to flick through - starting to understand what Sirius was talking about. Where normally there was tips for beautifying potions and the best way to wear a cloak, and Mary's insights into how she thought boys thought, this time there was an article on influential muggleborns - from Blanchette De Grey, the first muggleborn healer, in the fifteenth century, to the rather more recent Minister Nobby Leach. There was a page spread dedicated to the influence of muggle fashions on wizarding robes and a piece on how muggleborn architect, Nathanial Robertson, had built Gringotts bank based on the designs of Sir Christopher Wren.

There was a bit about great muggleborn inventions - from the very first broomstick, to Firewhisky, to the Ever Bashing Boomerang and - of course - an entire section dedicated to The Kneazles, their songs, their message and the muggle band they borrowed their music from.

As Madam Pomfrey arrived and chased the boys out, claiming Remus needed his rest and they weren't to bother him, Remus snuggled down into his blankets, broke off a bit of chocolate and read a feature called "I'm Glad I'm Muggleborn" , where the girls had interviewed every muggleborn they could find in the castle and asked them why they were glad to be of muggle heritage (and even included quotes from Professors Babbling and Kettleburn).

'I'm glad I'm muggleborn because I like going to the pictures during the hols. My dad likes James Bond films - last year we saw "Live and Let Die"...but I prefer horror movies like "The Exorcist".

- Sandy Lewis, Ravenclaw

'I'm glad I'm muggleborn because I like going to Blackpool Pleasure Beach - and seeing the circus at the Tower and the illuminations.'

- Connie Bidwell, Hufflepuff

'I'm glad I'm muggleborn because of how many different sports we get to play: football, rugby, cricket… I really miss them while I'm here.'

- Callum Brown, Gryffindor

'I'm glad I'm muggleborn because it gives me a wider understanding of the natural world - muggle and magic, and gives me a greater breadth of animals to study. I don't think anyone born into this world can truly understand the thrill of discovering - at eleven years old - that unicorns are real, or seeing a centaur for the first time. It is a unique experience, joining the magical world as a preteen, there is a wonder in it that those raised by wizards can never truly appreciate. And I would not give up the experience and memory of that wonder for the purest blood in Britain.'

- Professor Kettleburn, former Hufflepuff

It went on and on, the muggleborns being given a chance to publicly extol the virtues of the world they had been born in - from books, to plays, to places to visit, to how much they missed something called "central heating" when they were living in the draughty castle.

Remus turned the page to find the girls had expanded even further and were now accepting contributions from their readers:

It cannot have escaped anyone's attention that we are facing dark days.

The guest author had written .

I fear what lies ahead of us, and know it is only if we take action - and reject the words of this "Lord Voldemort" - that we can beat what is coming. I dedicate this to my fellow seventh years, about to enter the real world and make their mark. I hope all of you will follow your conscience, reject this easy path of hatred and blame, and help build a better future, and I write this in the hope of making you think how best to do that:

Natural

Hatred is not natural

Unlike love, it must taught

We whisper it in our children's ear

And like infection it is caught

We pass it on to our descendants

Up the garden path they're led

We share with them our baser thoughts

And airborne this disease is spread

For no babe is born hating muggles

Or those wizards born of "lesser" blood

And yet deliberate we set out to teach them:

Difference is bad, sameness is good.

Hatred is not natural

And it is peculiar to men

Beasts do not pass on prejudice

So who is truly savage then?

We make sure our children think just like us

They hate the same people we hate

We hand it down to the next gen'ration

And think not what this must generate

And yet now we see where this has led us

We see the fruit of all we've done

To the brink of collapse of all we've held dear

To the brink of war which now must be won

Hatred is not natural

And must come with too high a price

So before you spread your poison next

I beg you take heed, pause, think twice.

Can we teach our children better?

Bestow on them an open mind

Teach more in common than divides us

Teach them the strength of being kind

We have ourselves been taught to hate

And our parents taught the same in turn

Can we overthrow these years of tradition?

No longer children, can we still learn?

For hatred is not natural

- Anon

He finished reading, and tried not to think how everyone was taught to hate him for something he couldn't help as well, and turned over to the final page of the magazine. It was "Dear Dianella" and this month it had been given over entirely to just one problem, written in by "a lonely muggleborn".

This is a hard time to be from muggle parentage.

Dianella had written back.

And my heart goes out to you that this is what you found waiting for you at school, when your hopes must have been so high. It must be a terrible disappointment. But I want you to know that, while you may feel lonely, you are not alone! There are scores of muggleborns in the school - hundreds across the wizarding world - and we all feel like you do, sometimes. Try to find other muggleborns in your year or house to connect with (many of our muggleborns appear in our feature "I'm glad I'm muggleborn" - and will give you an idea of where to start). Mixing with other people in the same situation as you will help you feel more at home and give you much needed support in the face of the growing darkness.

And, when it all seems too much, I want you to remember what it felt like to be told you were magic and you were coming to Hogwarts. I want you to hold onto that feeling, because it is yours and it is unique to those of us born in the muggle world; a special experience no half or pureblood can ever understand - and I, for one, feel sorry for them because of it. I want you to remember how it felt to discover that there was a whole secret world and you could be a part of it, and remember all the children you went to school with before - and how much they would wish they were you if they knew where you were. No amount of darkness is worth giving up our word of unicorns and fairies and magic wands. And magic chose you. Out of all the children born to muggle parents, magic chose to live inside you - you didn't inherit it, it wanted you. It wanted you for this world - and so you do belong here. Just as much as anybody else. And never let anyone - no matter how powerful they may seem - tell you any different.

We muggleborns have as much right to be here as anybody - and we are not going anywhere!

Thank you for writing in, and for having the courage to speak out about how the world is treating people like us at the moment. It is a reminder that we must band together and find community among ourselves. It is unfortunate that we must fight for our place in this world, but the fight is easier if we do it together. And as long as we muggleborns stick together - we are never alone.

Yours, in muggleborn solidarity, Dianella

…

High up in the owlery, with her heart hammering in her chest, Lily tied a copy of the latest Sabrina13 to the outstretched leg of a patient owl. But before she added her letter, she read it one last time - to make sure it was perfect (she was pretty happy with it, she had to admit):

Dear Bobby,

My name is Lily "Hellraiser" Evans, I am a Gryffindor third year, and me and my friends (Mary, Petra and Mandy) are The Kneazles' biggest fans. My favourite song is "Diagon Alley" but I really appreciated the way you dedicated "All You Need's a Wand" to the new muggleborns. I am muggleborn too - and sometimes the things I read in the paper make me feel quite down. The way you and the boys fight back is a total inspiration.

My three friends and I write a monthly magazine, at school (Sabrina 13 - the Monthly Mag, for the Modern, Magic Miss) and this month we have written it as a celebration of all things muggleborn, to show everyone in school that we stand against the rising darkness and the ridiculous Mortal Love Rodd.

I have enclosed a copy, so you can see how you are helping incite a muggleborn revolution among the younger generation - and so you can see how much your message means to us. I hope you enjoy it.

Yours Sincerely,

Lily Evans, Editor of Sabrina13 (aged 14… I was 13 when we started it)

P.S. I am also "Dear Dianella".

Once she was sure she had said everything that needed saying (and that she had hit just that right note of adult sophistication … she had almost signed it "love" before she had realised that was too childish) she stuffed the letter in an envelope, addressed it - and then sent the owl out of the window. Bobby would get her letter in the morning… it was too late to have second thoughts now.

…

The following Tuesday was a blustery one. The sun shone brightly but was weak, and the little warmth it offered did nothing to offset the biting wind. Remus chuckled to himself when, after Charms, he took himself up to the snug fourth floor for prep while the others went to spend a raw morning on the exposed front lawn of the castle studying Care of Magical Creatures.

'Gather round gather round,' Professor Kettleburn called to the class, making them form a circle around a small enclosure he had erected not far from Hagrid's hut. 'We're going to be studying knarls today.'

'We couldn't have been studying fire salamanders,' Sirius muttered gloomily, blowing onto his hands in a vain attempt to keep them warm (his fingers had already turned bright red, and were starting to tingle).

'As you can see - a knarl greatly resembles a hedgehog,' Professor Kettleburn told them. 'And indeed muggles will confuse the two - to their own peril. You see, while a hedgehog delights in being given food - and will gladly eat any offering a human leaves in their garden, a knarl is a more suspicious creature by nature. Leave them a gift of a tasty morsel, and they will assume you are attempting to entrap them and savage your garden plants in revenge.'

Sirius grew tired of blowing on his hands, he glanced around and - with a quick fluid moment that no one (least of all Peter) saw coming - lifted the back of Peter's robes and buried his hands inside Pete's vest. Peter shrieked, as Sirius's block of ice fingers touched his bare, unsuspecting flesh, and jumped forward, crashing into the knarl enclosure.

'Ten points from Gryffindor,' Professor Kettleburn said, without even breaking stride. 'Now - I want you to get into groups of three. I'm going to give you a selection of knarls and hedgehogs and some dry cat food and it is up to you to devise an experiment which will allow you to separate one from the other. Off you go.'

'There was no need for that, Sirius,' Peter said, as the three of them broke away from the group, taking a selection of erinaceidae with them.

'Yes there was, my hands are bloody freezing.'

'Well then you should have worn some mittens.'

'Pete - gimme your mittens.'

'No.'

'Git.'

The three of them set about offering the cat food to the creatures and then creating two groups - those that ate the food, and those that tried to attack them. 'This is easy,' James said after a while. 'I'm bored.'

Sirius looked up from where he had been hand feeding a hedgehog (he was actually quite enjoying himself, if he ignored how bloody cold it was). James looked petulant.

'Here - this should liven things up,' he offered,' and he handed the hedgehog to Pete, expertly picked up a rather more vicious knarl, and sprinted across to where Ellis Stebbins was crouched low on the ground trying to entice one of the animals (whichever it was) to eat a slug.

In a matter of moments, Sirius had reached him, pulled on the neck of his robes, dropped the knarl down his back and then run away again, laughing. Much as Peter had done, Stebbins jumped around, shrieking.

'Black!' Kettleburn yelled at him. 'That's a further ten points to Gryffindor and a detention.' Up at the castle, the bell rang for break time. 'Alright - I want everyone to read the chapter on knarls in "Fantastic Beasts", and summarise the magical properties of their quills ready for tomorrow's lesson. Class dismissed - except Black. You can stay behind and put the knarls away for messing around.'

Sirius swore under his breath. Everyone else straggled their way up to the castle. 'I can't wait to get inside,' James said. 'I know we should have stayed and helped Sirius but - nah - too cold.'

They were grateful to reach the front door, (and grateful Sirius wasn't with them - as they passed Regulus coming out as they were going in, and Sirius's mood always blackened whenever he saw his brother) and though the entrance hall was large and draughty, it was much better than being out in the elements. They raced each other back to the common room, and Remus - and the fire.

Meanwhile - still swearing copiously - Sirius collected in all the knarls and carried them back to the hutches at the back of Hagrid's hut. He dropped them inside, tucked the bedding around them as it was so cold, and then locked up.

'Finally!' Blowing on his hands once more, he headed back to the castle. He ran into Snivellus on the front steps (his hands were too cold to mess around with his wand, so he just threw a punch instead). Then he followed in James' footsteps and went up to Gryffindor Tower to thaw out in front of the fire. It seemed a pitifully short amount of time before he was due in Arithmancy.

Snape was in there, glowering at him (his nose still looking a bit swollen, though it was hard to tell on a conk that size) but he waited until Astronomy, that night, before he got his revenge.

It wasn't much of a revenge (but then Snivellus, the great git, wasn't much of a human - so it was only to be expected). He simply waited until Professor Azimuth wasn't looking and then cast a spell which caused Sirius's telescope to fall heavily on his foot. It broke a couple of toes, and Sirius swore and hopped around a lot while people sniggered, and it meant that he had to go to the Hospital Wing to get his bones mended while everyone else went to bed.

Sirius got his own back, though, the very next day - when he and James threw fire crackers at the flames under Snape's cauldron, causing his Paralysis Potion to explode upwards, like a volcano, before crashing downwards like a waterfall, drenching Snape and leaving him frozen like a statue in the rather shocked and undignified position he had been in when his cauldron had suddenly erupted.

The frozen Snape was stretchered off to the Hospital Wing, while the boys howled with laughter. And then it was time for Muggle Studies, before they kipped their way through History of Magic (being a ghost had done nothing to liven Professor Binns up, and his lessons were still interminable).

After lunch it was time for Care of Magical Creatures again. Clutching their summaries on knarl quills (and fully decked out in mittens today) the three boys left Remus in prep and headed out to the front lawn.

'Gather round, gather round,' Professor Kettleburn called to them all, once again. He had the hutch out on the lawn and they formed a circle around it. 'Now - I trust you have all done the reading, who can tell me some of the magical properties of a knarl's quills?'

Sirius raised a mittened hand. 'They can be used in potions - usually as a catalyst, they're ever so slightly poisonous and can be used to create the desired effect in Pustule Potions and Puking Potions, things like that.'

'Very good - five points, anyone else?'

Erwin MacNulty of Hufflepuff offered that - when properly crushed - they were a vital ingredient in floo powder.

'Excellent, excellent - now, today, I will be teaching you how to properly extract a knarl's quill, without hurting it or causing it to attack, so that you may use that quill for a magical purpose. Please watch carefully.'

He tapped the hutch with his wand, so that it unlocked and sprang open… and then paused in confusion as there was a sudden, shocked intaking of breath and some stifled screams from the students. He peered around, so he could see inside - and pulled up short… The walls of the hutch were spattered with blood, the bedding was soaked red and, huddled together - as if for a protection that had not worked - lay the tiny, dead, savaged bodies of all of Professor Kettleburn's knarls.