28 September 1997

"Dedalus, have you seen Tonks?" Petunia asked. It was afternoon, the time that everyone tended to scatter throughout the house to find their favorite spots to get the day's reading assignment done. "I wanted some girl time."

Dudley stared over his mother's shoulder at the white-haired wizard, who was half-hidden behind stacks of books. He had just seen Dedalus upstairs, snoring with an open book on his chest. If he strained, Dudley could just hear him still snoring away.

"Sorry, Petunia, I haven't. Perhaps she went out to visit her parents again," the fake Dedalus said.

Tonks and Remus were frustratingly good at avoiding the Dursleys. Dudley had caught Remus the other day in the act of turning himself invisible, which Dudley hadn't even known was possible.

Dudley gave the fake Dedalus his biggest grin. "Deadliest! Great to see you. Haven't seen you since … lunchtime, I guess. Wow, forty whole minutes. Washing up sure does make the time fly." He dragged a chair over to sit directly next to the fake Dudley. "I was hoping you could tell me more about the Catapults and that four-day game they played against the Wasps. Back in '38, was it?"

Fake Dedalus blanched. "I'd love to, Dudley. I mean, Deadly. But, duty awaits!" Fake Dedalus waved at the stacks of books. "I want to get my assignments done for the week, so I can, er…"

"Come on, Deadliest!" Dudley ruffled the Fake Dedalus' tufts of hair. "It's Sunday! Day of rest, innit? C'mon, mate… the rain's finally stopped. Let's take a walk or something. You talk about Quidditch, and I'll tell you about how I figured out the cheat codes for Doom."

The smile on Fake Dedalus' face could not have been more strained. "Sounds delightful, but…"

"Well, if you're not up for it, I understand," Dudley said. "I'm ge'in' some fresh air meself, though." He put on a thick accent that was part London, part Manchester, and fully delusional. Tonks hated it. "Lemme know 'ow yer book is la'er when oi gets back from walkies."

Then, he held up his hand. Dedalus and he, who now called each other Deadly and Deadliest, had invented a "Triple-D handshake." It included snaps, shoulder thumps, a jumping 360-degree twist, and drop-kicking whatever was to hand. Everyone in Meadowsweet Cottage hated it except for the two of them.

Tonks morphed back into her own face and upper torso and glared at him. "Enjoy the walk, Dudley. Petunia, don't you want to go out for a walk too? Have some mother-son time?"

Petunia looked out the window at the soft autumn sky. A crescent moon hung in the west, close to setting. "I've had enough tramping about in the mud for one day," she said. "You enjoy it, Diddums. I'll get some tea and biscuits for us, Tonks, and we'll have a nice long chat."

"I'm, er… feeling poorly, Petunia," she replied. "In fact, I …" she bit down on something, then spewed out a noxious green fluid. "Sorry about that," she said between heaves. "I'd best go lie down."

"Dudley used to vomit like that!" Petunia called after her. "Only his was white, not green – little lamb used to drink his milk too quickly."

Petunia clicked her teeth and whispered to Dudley, "Seven months away, and not a single toy or blanket in the house. And she hasn't even started practicing the breathing techniques. They've done no planning at all. I wish I'd thought to bring my child-rearing books with me." She glared at the vomit Tonks had left all over the sitting room and corridor. "Is Hestia in that nasty owl tower again? Go fetch her to clean this up, would you, Diddums? I'd do it, but …"

Everyone had steadfastly refused to go out to the shops. Petunia had run out of disinfectant early in their stay, as she'd scrubbed the entire house repeatedly to get rid of the tobacco and cauldron-smoke stains on the walls. Without her trusty cleaning supplies, she was less eager to do the scrubbing.

As Dudley put his boots on to head to the owl tower, the door swung open.

"We argued over the Wizarding Wireless at luncheon!" Remus called, to no one in particular. "Oh, hello, Dudley. Do you remember our argument?"

"Yeah," Dudley said. "I wanted you lot to leave the Wireless going all the time, so I could listen to it whenever I want." He hated the way the Wireless had to be turned on and adjusted with magic. No wand, no music. Dedalus had been willing to keep the Wireless on, and let Dudley take it up to the attic if it bothered anyone, but the others had insisted it was better for the machine to be turned off when not needed. They needed it to listen to the news, and that's all it would be used for, with exceptions made if Dudley got his reading done before dinner each day. Even though Dedalus was the one who'd stolen it in the first place, not them. Dudley was angry, because even though the music wasn't to his liking most of the time, it was still better than nothing. His other choices were: hooting owls, crashing Frankie, his own tinkly celestina, and the six muttering adults. Dudley liked listening to music while he read, and nowadays, he had to read nearly all the time. Between his A-levels texts and his Snape assignments, the stench of ink and paper were never far from Dudley's nose.

"Well, it seems neither of us are imposters," Remus said. He whisked his shoes off with a flick of his wand to set them neatly by the door. His clothes were spattered with leaves and mud, and his face shone with sweat. "Had a lovely run," he continued. "If you're going out, I'd skirt the meadow to the west, if you can." He patted his leather satchel. "Great season for fungi – I've got to get these to Dora straightaway."

As the moon had shrunk in the sky, Remus had grown more energetic. He was always running about the house and darting outside to collect weird animals and plants, nowadays. He hardly ever slept.

"Is that Lupin?" Vernon called from the top of the stairs. "Just the man I've been wanting to see." He trotted down the stairs, holding a thick, leather-bound volume called "Gaels and Picts: Dark Magic from the Dark Ages."

"Hello, Vernon," Remus said. "I've got to help my wife with some fungi and herbs I collected, and then it's my shower time."

"Hmmm," Vernon said. "Later, then. Two more books, and I'm done for the day. Dudders, how's your reading coming along?"

"Good, Dad. Just going for a quick walk to get some air while the sun's out."

"Harrumph. Seems we've all got time for outdoors excursions. Perhaps we ought to increase the quota. At this rate, we'll never find the source of that dratted tracking spell." Vernon held the book out to Dudley. "This one goes on your stack, son. He's scribbled all over it. Man like that ought to stick to television, if he can't keep his things nice."

Dudley's heart sank as he took the book from his father. "It's not fair!"

"Indeed not, son. Not fair at all." His father clapped him on the shoulder. "But war is hell, and here we are. Must do our bit, mustn't we? Here, take it on your walk. Might be nicer to read out of doors."

"But I'm having to read more than anyone else – it's ridiculous!"

The two Dursley men were blocking the staircase, and Remus awkwardly edged closer toward the stairs. "Er, well, excuse me, please. I just need to –" he gestured up the staircase.

"I could read faster if I had my music," Dudley said. "I just need batteries. And I have the money to pay for them!"

"Find the tracking spell, and we'll be able to get a lot of things for you," Remus said. "But for now – I do beg your pardon, but I must get upstairs –" Somehow, he managed to edge his way through the two bulkier men without touching them. They heard the bathroom door close.

"Find the tracking spell, Dudders," Vernon said with finality. "It's the key to everything."

"But if they just went and bought you some reading glasses – think how much faster this would go! DAD! Da-ad!"

Vernon just shook his head and headed for the sitting room.

Dudley sat on a boulder by the river, reading through ancient Pictish spells and assorted graffiti. He had to transcribe all of the scribbles into a notebook. At least he got to use his own ballpoint pens. He recorded Snape's notes, "Doesn't work except at twilight on the solstice," and "Pointless variant of the superior Knockback Jinx," were in his best printed lettering, along with the page numbers. The book was 563 pages long, and there were notes on every tenth page or so.

Dudley hated that he was the only one in the house who could decipher Snape's tiny handwriting. Vernon and Petunia claimed the writing was too small for them, and Dedalus' reading glasses didn't help either of them, being too small for Vernon's head and not the right strength for Petunia. Remus, Hestia, Tonks, and Dedalus had an even harder time – the handwriting style was evidently developed from Snape's Muggle school training, designed for pencils and ballpoint pens. Feather quills led to wizards using a different lettering style that emphasized the tall up-strokes and down-strokes, whereas Snape compressed everything into a cramped, spiky mess. Dudley hadn't realized at first that no one else would be able to figure out the writing, and he'd laughed at some of the words Snape had written in the margin of an old novel. How he regretted that. Now, every book containing Snape's notes was dumped off on Dudley for a final read-through after the typed portions were checked for tracking spells and potions.

Next to a spell for a Tooth Removal Hex were the words: "Good for werewolves?" and then, lower down, "Only at close range – too risky."

As Dudley recorded these notes, he wondered how Remus would respond. The Dursleys knew that Remus was a werewolf, but nobody knew that they knew. Tonks had pulled all the Potions books off the shelf to check herself – even though it would have been less messy to just assign shelves to each person – and was obviously looking for notes on whatever potion she'd made at the last full moon. She kept muttering things like, "what if I'd got the stirring wrong" and "maybe a finer mince," which had nothing to do with looking for a potion that could be letting the Death Eaters find the Order members anywhere outside their Fidelius Charms.

It made for lots of restrictions and awkward pauses, when Remus would clear his throat and glance at the Dursleys, eighty times a day. The secrecy meant that the Wizarding Wireless was kept under strict guard by the wizards, with the excuse that they could recognize the voices of the speakers, and that they knew all the special spell words and location. The Dursleys had sometimes managed to listen in from the attic, though, when the Wireless was on in the kitchen.

It was clear why the Wireless was kept away from them. The Wireless crackled with warnings of the dangerous renegade, Hestia Jones, and her companions, a ruthless werewolf and his wife, a half-blood ex-Auror. Dedalus Diggle was only occasionally mentioned as an old, washed-up Ravenclaw, who was probably under the Imperius Curse, and likely also a werewolf now at this point. Werewolf was the obsession of the Wizarding World, apparently. Werewolves had slaughtered several Muggles last month, and Remus was declared to be head of the pack.

Dudley and his parents were at odds over the werewolf secret.

Dudley wanted the Wireless, and he wanted it badly. It was the closest thing to normalcy he'd had since the late-July drive out to the country, when they'd been able to listen to radio. Even listening to his own CD collection in August, over and over again, had become wearying. Even if the people on the Wireless were lying, even if their music was tinkly and stupid, he'd rather get to have it than live with silence. So Dudley wanted to just get it over with – either say they'd known the whole time, or else "figure it out" by accident. It wouldn't be hard, what with Dedalus tutting over the moon, Tonks muttering about Wolfsbane, and Remus running his thumb over the big scar on his forearm whenever he was tense. Only Hestia was actually any good at giving no clue as to Remus' condition.

His parents, on the other hand, believed no good could come from a confrontation, and that they ought to keep their cards to their vests.

Maybe, Dudley thought, Snape's notes could help him out a bit. Could he fake Snape's handwriting? He'd faked his parents' signatures often enough.

He'd need a quill, though. Only a quill could make this variation of thick and thin, and the ink in Dudley's pen was the wrong kind of black.

Dedalus had a few, and he left them lying all over the bureau. He might still be taking a nap. Or, he could be downstairs or taking a walk himself at this point now. It shouldn't be too hard to steal one. He'd just have to write Lupin or maybe RL.

Dudley tucked the notebook and book under his arm and headed back to the cottage. The most recent layer of leaves crunched under his feet. The trees were losing more leaves each day, and they'd soon be bare. Dudley felt determined – he could not let the autumn keep dragging on without some access to modern life. If he had to annoy his parents and a werewolf, so be it.

As he neared the house, Dudley spotted a navy necktie hanging from the attic window. Navy meant, "Come upstairs quietly," while red meant, "Do not disturb." The wizards must be talking down in the kitchen, and Petunia or Vernon were listening in from the attic.

Dudley called hello when he re-entered the house, and Dedalus came out to greet him briefly, before disappearing back into the kitchen. It wasn't a good idea to actually sneak into a house full of jumpy Order members. Before he swung up into the attic, Dudley stopped off at his room. He took one of Dedalus' quills, and before he could change his mind, dipped it in the inkpot and wrote "Lupin?" under the werewolf notes, mimicking the spiky letters he'd come to know and hate. His stomach sank. OF COURSE Dedalus didn't use black ink. The violet ink looked ridiculous in the book margin.

Dudley wiped off the quill. He took out his own pen and tried to color the quill tip with black ink. He tested this on his notebook. Still purple. And now his fingers were stained with black and purple.

Cursing, Dudley closed the book and returned the quill to its place. That page was a lost cause – now he'd have to find another set of notes about werewolves, and who knew if Snape had ever thought twice about them? Plus, he'd have to figure out where Hestia kept her black ink.

Dudley swung up into the attic and pulled the hatch closed. Both his parents were upstairs at the listening post.

He joined them and heard the distinct crackle of the Wizarding Wireless. A man and woman were speaking.

"Yes, Madam Senior Undersecretary," said the man in a low, smooth voice. "I quite agree with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The public should in no wise confront Hestia Jones or her companions but should alert the Ministry at once."

"It's HIM," Petunia whispered. "I know it."

"Thank you, Headmaster," a woman replied. "We've received many complaints at the Ministry about the arson spree of Jones and her henchmen. This newly formed League of the Black Petunia, an offshoot from Dumbledore's vigilante group the Order of the Phoenix, are on a rampage across Britain. It's – it's completely depraved, even by their standards. Burning Pureblood residences – the Notts, the Carrows, the Avery flats. But we want to reassure our Pureblood listeners that the Ministry has things well under control. We are very, very close to apprehending them. Dementors are patrolling the countryside where Jones and henchmen have been spotted, and we have an elite corps of Snatchers dedicated to finding any trace of them. Our Pureblood listeners are encouraged to request special assistance from our DMLE team in protecting their homes, especially at the Full Moon, when Lupin is no doubt planning another attack. Mr. Yaxley, is there anything else our Pureblood listeners should know from the DMLE?"

Yaxley replied in a cold, cultured voice. "The DMLE wishes to give special protection to those deserving of it. Pureblood families are invited to request live-in assistance from the DMLE. We have our best operatives standing by to help you, particularly at the Full Moon. The Ministry will gladly pay a small stipend to those hosting our agents. Furthermore, Purebloods are requested to consider hosting some of their displaced brethren."

The woman tittered in a thin, humorless giggle. "Thank you, Mr. Yaxley. Although, the Ministry does wish to remind our Pureblood listeners that if there is no suitable lodging found for our displaced citizens, the Ministry will provide property seized from the criminals among us. You would be shocked, Mr. Yaxley, at the frippery and finery we are discovering in the abodes of so-called Muggleborns. Rest assured, dear listeners, this stolen property will be redistributed to its rightful owners."

"Quite right, Madam Senior Undersecretary. Justice will have its day. Magic is might."

"Magic is might," she said. "And, dear Headmaster, what can you tell our Pureblood listeners about what their precious children are learning at Hogwarts to protect themselves from these fiends?"

"Yes, Madam Senior Undersecretary. As you know, Defense Against the Dark Arts is now an obligatory class for all levels. I assure you – all of you – that Professor Carrow is teaching every possible spell on how to identify, disable, and kill werewolves, from the First Year through Seventh Year."

At this, Tonks cursed loudly. Remus hushed her, as the conversation continued.

"Headmaster, we've received complaints that the Hogwarts curriculum is not only continuing Muggle Studies, but has expanded it. How do you respond?"

"Muggle Studies is essential to our defense of Magical Britain," he said. "Muggles have, as you know, managed to steal enough magic that they have posed as wizards and witches for years, living among us, learning our secrets. Still more Muggles have married wizards and witches in order to spy on us. While they have been spying on us, we have remained woefully ignorant of them. The Wizarding World," he continued, "harbors numerous myths and preconceived notions of Muggles, the most dangerous being that they are childlike simpletons who delight in harmless gadgets."

"But, Headmaster," the Senior Undersecretary simpered, "surely you aren't suggesting that Muggles are intelligent?"

"Anyone who has encountered a troll knows something needn't have intelligence to be dangerous," the Headmaster replied. "Students at Hogwarts will learn the truth about Muggles."

"There are many who would prefer to end Muggle Studies at Hogwarts altogether," the Senior Undersecretary insisted.

"The decision does not rest with me," the Headmaster responded in a quiet voice. He was nearly inaudible, and Dudley wished the wizards downstairs would turn up the volume. "Dearly as you and I might wish for the subject to be removed from our curriculum, wiser heads than I believe this subject is essential to the reformation of our society. I invite any skeptics to voice their complaints to the one with whom the ultimate decision rests."

The Senior Undersecretary gave a nervous laugh. "Well, I'm sure you have greatly improved on the chaos and Muggle-worship that I witnessed at Hogwarts in past years."

"One more thing, Madam Senior Undersecretary, if I may?"

"Please, Headmaster."

"I wish merely to reassure our listeners that, when Muggles tangle with Wizards, the Muggles lose. Every time. In their arrogance, they may think they have ensured their safety, through their gadgets, and their lies, and their deceit. They are wrong. Their insurance is … purely imaginary. Consider it cancelled. Magic is might."

The Headmaster was evidently finished speaking. After a brief pause, the Senior Undersecretary said, "Thank you, Headmaster Snape and Mr. Yaxley. We look forward to bringing Hestia Jones and her deviant henchmen to justice, as I'm sure we will. Good afternoon. Magic is might."

The Wireless switched to tinkling music, and Dudley heard Hestia say, "Ugh, turn it off. I feel quite ill, listening to that lot. And what was Umbridge going on about, this League of the Black Petunia? Dedalus, you haven't been running about with Petunia, burning down more places, have you?"

"If only!" Dedalus said. "Nasty as the messengers were, it's good news, isn't it? Somebody out there's copying me, and attacking the dear old Death Eaters, by the sound of it."

Even in the dim light of the attic, Dudley could see his mother's face had blanched, and her knuckles were white. His father's face looked grey.

"I'd like to try stopping this next werewolf attack," Remus said. "Thwarting it in advance, I mean. Maybe Dudley's right – we should listen a lot more to the Wireless. They might let something slip about Greyback's plans, in between musical numbers."

Hestia sighed. "I suppose we could all take it in shifts. Tell the Dursleys we're napping or tidying or something. It won't be easy, though. I can't stand listening to that woman. But, if you really think it'll help…"

"There's so little else we do from here," Remus said. "And I feel I ought to do something."

"We all feel that way," Tonks said. "I could try to do what Harry did – get into the Ministry in disguise."

No one seemed to like that plan. Too risky. The Ministry has ramped up security.

"Let's start by listening for a week, round the clock," Hestia said. "We'll pass it back and forth."

As the Order members made their plans, Dudley pondered what the League of the Black Petunia might be, and why his parents had looked so upset at the conversation they'd heard.