Úlfhéðinn: A Tale of Winter by IslandPrincess1

Rating: PG13
Genres: Mystery, Suspense
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 12/03/2007
Last Updated: 08/07/2007
Status: Completed

In the winter of her Third Year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry
Potter's thirteen year old daughter is attacked in the school bathroom. Unfortunately, her
parents and many of their friends are off on a secret mission and cannot be reached. If she is to
survive she must find out who did it and why. But she is to learn in the process that some things
are not always what they seem. Change and repost of original A Tale of Winter. NOTE: NOW
COMPLETE!!!




1. Chapter One
--------------



**A/N:** *I haven't been here in a while, this I know. Unfortunately, late last year I
dropped my laptop, and am yet to have it replaced. I am truly sorry that my seventh year fic
isn't being updated but since I dropped the laptop I've lost all my notes on it and am not
sure what to do with it. Maybe wing it, will try.*

*This is a reworking and repost of my original story,* A Tale of Winter*, some minor
changes have been made to this chapter, major ones in subsequent, and from chapter three everything
will be new. I didn't like some aspects of the old story and this new plot I like much better.
Hope you enjoy and forgive me for not updating anything in so long.*

*******

*“Revenge is a course best served cold.”*

*******

**Chapter One**

One week to the end of the term, and the morning of the last Hogsmeade visit for the year,
winter finally came to Scotland.

Overnight, a light frost had settled over the castle and the surrounding area, bringing with it
a faint mist that hung amongst the trees and in the mountains above. The trees, most of them bare
from fall, stood stark, black and dark brown, their inhabitants having long deserted them. The sky
was palest grey at dawn, no other sound could be heard other than the occasional owl or the wind,
and the air was fiercely cold. As our group made its way down the main path to the village, it
swirled about us, reddening all exposed skin, piercing my nostrils and making my eyes water.

Our chaperone this morning was Padma Patil, the Transfiguration teacher, who had actually been
in the same year as my parents when they were at school. She was nice enough, but rather strict,
and since she had already been used to my father, was one of the few new teachers who didn't
spend every class singing praises of him or making me out to be something special. As we had
prepared to leave the castle this morning she had levelled each of us with a glare and said, “I
know it is cold this morning, so let's not make this difficult. If I tell you all it's time
to leave, I want you to stop what you're doing and join the line back to the castle. We're
expecting a storm some time today and I doubt that any of you would be able to find your way back
to the castle through it alone.”

And indeed this was the kind of day that one would prefer to spend indoors, buried under
blankets with hot chocolate or curled up before the fireplace. Assuredly when I awoke this morning
in my slightly freezing dorm, not one of us five girls wanted to move if just to open the curtains
round our beds. But this was the only morning we had to do our Christmas shopping, and Rigel
refused to let me stay behind.

“So Potter, what are you planning to get me this year?” he asked, when finally we began to see
the first houses of the village in the distance.

At this, some of the other Third Years nearly took off at a start, but Professor Patil quickly
herded them back, much to the amusement of the older students.

“Nothing, the usual… I actually have a list from Milo, but maybe I could get Mackenzie a
substitute Christmas jumper, she hates the ones Grandma Weasley insists on knitting every year…” I
replied absently, staring off at the mixture of dead and evergreen fir trees that lined our
path.

It was not so hard to imagine, looking at it now, that in a few days all this would be covered
in a fine layer of snow, which would progressively thicken as it got closer to Christmas. At home
in Godric's Hollow the snow would invariably appear shortly before or much after Christmas, New
Year's Eve for the latest. And no matter how little of it there was my father would always find
some way to have the first snowman on the street.

“Oh, just so we're clear,” said Rigel, jerking me out of my daze, blowing into his gloved
palms. Already his cheeks and nose were magenta, the Malfoys' usually enviable pale complexion
a curse in cold weather.

“But I did get you something, so you might just consider it.”

I arched an eyebrow and looked across at him, sceptical, “You did? You actually got me something
for Christmas?”

He shrugged, “Why shouldn't I? We've known each other since we were babies, I spend more
time at your house than Malfoy Manor, and our parents work together. I think that entitles me to
something like that…. And you better like it, when Grandmother learned I was searching about for
gifts she insisted on buying something expensive.”

“Did she know it was for Harry Potter's daughter?” I asked.

“Not a chance, the house elves know better,” he replied, and then hastily added when I fixed him
a look, “She'd take out her anger on them, not me.”

I sighed and looked away, and then asked, “So, what'd you get your cousins?”

He looked ahead of us to the two red-haired girls near the front of the group, Hortense and
Aisling Weasley. Hortense Joséphine was the daughter of Bill and Fleur Delacour, and though
fourteen, was easily the prettiest girl in the entire school. What, with her long, wavy
reddish-blonde hair, wide cobalt blue eyes, oval-shaped face, pale, clear complexion and petite
build, she looked very much like a Muggle supermodel.

Aisling Selene, on the other hand, was tall and big-boned with waist-length fiery-red hair,
bright azure blue eyes, a deeply dimpled smile and a smattering of freckles across her nose. She
could be and was considered pretty in her own right, her parents, Uncle Ron and Aunt Luna, were
good-looking people, but beside Hortense she looked rather plain.

Of course, beside Hortense everyone looked plain.

“Really nothing, Grandmother would have been suspicious, and she does not approve of the idea of
more than one girlfriend,” he replied.

“More than… but I'm not your girlfriend,” I pointed out.

He sighed and put a long woollen-clad arm around my shoulders, drawing me to him, “Again, she
doesn't know about you, and since we're not actually related, I have no qualms perpetuating
the idea that the girl she bought that really expensive gift for was my girlfriend.”

I shoved him off, trying to ignore how much I had just relished the extra warmth, “They'll
have your head when they find out.”

He laughed, (for as a rule, Malfoys do not snort) “I only have to get gifts for Hortense,
Guillaume, François, Aisling and Carl, and that can be delivered from Honeydukes at any time.
Uncles Charlie, Percy, Fred and George either do not have any children or are not speaking to us,
and doesn't have any children. And I can't get anything for Milo—horrible name for a boy by
the way, what was your father thinking?—and Mackenzie—does your mother know it means `*son* of
the wise leader'?—because I'm a Malfoy and therefore we are now blood enemies of the
Potters. You are an exception because, as I said before, we grew up together.”

It took me a moment to find the flaw in his theory, but before I could show it to him, he said,
“Ah Hogsmeade… let's go to The Three Broomsticks, I want butterbeer and the new wench minding
the bar is hotter than the chocolate they serve.”

The village of Hogsmeade, the only all-wizard village in all of magical Britain had not changed
that much since the war. Granted, according to my parents a number of the shops that had been
around in their day had closed or were burnt during and after the war, the important ones were
still there. The Three Broomsticks, Gladrags Wizard Wear, Honeydukes' Sweet Shop,
Scrivenshaft's and Madam Puddifoot's (unfortunately) were still the favourite and essential
haunts of Hogwarts students. But now they were joined by a branch of Weasley's Wizard
Wheezes—which replaced Zonko's Joke Shop—The Hostel of Ill Repute—which replaced the Hog's
Head Inn with clientele to match—and a pet shop known as Maudling's Menagerie.

The menagerie was generally avoided by students though, as from the window one could clearly see
that none of the “pets” looked too friendly or could actually be considered a legal pet.

As it was nearing Christmas, the entire village was swathed in fairy-lit and ornately decorated
wreaths, garlands and boughs. A large Christmas tree had been set up near the entrance to the
village from the school, and having been decorated with items from the stores of the main
shopkeepers, it was now joined by a group of carollers who sang to all who passed them. But the
most interesting decoration was along the main street where they had strung banners from side to
side proclaiming Christmas greetings, and, it was rumoured, someone had set up jinxed boughs of
mistletoe that trapped unsuspecting pedestrians until someone came along and kissed them free. All
the way down those with us who were not discussing what they planned to get or hoped they were
getting, were planning different ways to get trapped under or detect them.

Taking care to avoid these though, Rigel grasped my arm and dragged me off towards the pub.
Already there was a crowd gathering, tracking the muddy ice and freezing air as they went in, their
voices carrying a low murmur of conversation that rose to a roar in the small pub. The regular
patrons looked none too pleased at the noisy intrusion, but there was little to be done about it.
Before the war, The Three Broomsticks had had a reputation for being student-friendly, and since
the war that had not changed.

I had to admit I was freezing myself, and a warm butterbeer would have been wonderful, but I was
not at all keen on the idea of going in there.

I jerked my arm back, “Why don't we go to Madam Puddifoot's instead, it's crowded in
here.”

He looked at me as if I had grown a second head, and then snapped, “Are—you—*insane?*
*Madam Puddifoot's**?* It's already hard enough for my housemates to accept that
we associate with each other at all; you want them to lynch me if they get the idea that you're
my girlfriend? And another thing, Madam Puddifoot's is pink and frilly, Malfoys do not do pink
and frilly.”

“You're only half-Malfoy,” I told him, coldly.

“Yes, but the Weasley half isn't keen on it either,” he replied blandly and grasped my hand
again. “Now come on, let's get something to drink.”

It took us a full ten minutes then to get into the pub, so thick had the crowd gathered, and
then nearly ten more to get a table. The students, who had filed in before us, took up every
available seat and then some; they had even packed themselves onto some of the “presents” beneath
the Christmas tree beside the fireplace. I scanned the room beside Rigel at the door and said, “I
told you so.”

He looked across at me and sneered, “We don't have to sit.”

“I'm tired, we just walked all the way from the castle,” I protested.

“You Potters, the whole lot of you just a bunch of big babies,” he grumbled, and then stopped,
apparently realising something.

I turned to look at him ready to retort, but then stopped at his expression, “Rigel… what are
you—”

I was cut off when he snatched my arm, marched me to the best table in the pub—the one beside
the fireplace where a group of Third Year Hufflepuffs had gathered—and said, “Get up.”

They, and I, looked at him surprised, and then they scoffed, “What for?”

He pulled the cap from my head, and stood back as if presenting a priceless work of art,
“Magnolia Potter, you know her, Harry Potter's daughter, beloved first-born?”

I made to protest, the words were on the tip of my tongue… but before they could come out the
four students abruptly stood up and offered us the table.

I found my voice then, and stumbled through a protest, “Y-you don't have to… Rigel is just a
git, we'll go sit at the bar….”

“No, it's okay,” said one of the four, a girl with a head of the longest, thickest set of
curly red hair I had ever seen. (And I know the Weasleys, so that's saying something.)

“Yeah, we were just sitting around anyway… we've already had our drinks…” said another,
Anand Nagra, a boy I knew from Care of Magical Creatures. And really the only reason I remembered
him at all was because he, of the entire class, and possibly in the class' history since
Professor Hagrid took over, actually enjoyed it.

And before I could say any more they hurried away, whispering to each other. I immediately
punched Rigel in the arm.

“Hey, what was that for?” he demanded, glaring at me.

“For being a git, how could you just do that?” I hissed, while guiltily slumping into a
chair.

“Well, I couldn't very well use the Malfoy or Weasley name, could I? Malfoys are shunned
nowadays, thanks to Grandfather the name is mud, and Weasleys, well, you know the story; unless
you're Aisling or Carl it won't do you any good. *And* anyway, you should be proud of
your name,” he said, taking a seat beside me and looking around to see if there was a waiter of
some kind.

“I am,” I said, exhaling slowly. “I just don't like using it to get my way.”

“Well then I hope you don't mind if I do,” he replied, and then handing me my cap, stood
again, “Now give me a moment here to get us some drinks, unfortunately even though it would get us
a seat, your name can't get us service.”

I watched him depart with a sigh. Rigel Edmund Malfoy, the fifteen year old son of Draco Malfoy
and Ginny Weasley, though he had never met his father, nor his father known of him, in some ways
was just like him: arrogant, manipulative and thoroughly spoiled.

I unwound my scarf and then undid the first three buttons of my parka. The heat from the
fireplace was already making it feel stuffy and suffocating, and though I was sure it was
impossible, I felt quite near heatstroke.

At the bar Rigel was happily chatting up the pretty witch, no doubt seven years his senior,
while she made up our drinks. She seemed just as eager to let him, tall and broad-shouldered like
Uncle Bill and Uncle Ron, he had piercing grey eyes, high, almost chiselled cheekbones, an oval
face and sleek, fine Weasley-red hair. It was a mixture of his father's and Aunt Ginny's
features, and what a beautiful combination it had created. If it wasn't for the unfortunate
Malfoy name (something which he had only adopted when he arrived at Hogwarts), I had overheard many
girls say, he would actually be unabashedly fanciable.

He turned back to me then with a smile, and I saw the witch's expression change as her eyes
fell on me, first to distaste and then to surprise as something clicked in her mind.

That happened often.

Like Rigel had said, I was Harry Potter's daughter and I had my father's eyes. My
siblings and I had been and were kept well out of the spotlight by our family, determined that we
would not spend an eternity being gawked at, but I had been cursed with my mother's bushy hair,
though it was black, and my father's, and by default, grandmother's almond-shaped bright
green eyes. I had no scar, I wore no glasses, I had taken my features from my mother and paternal
grandmother and was clearly a girl, but somehow they still made the connection.

He made to come back to our table, she tapped him on the arm and called him back, and when he
finally sat with me again I saw that she had given him a plate of sandwiches.

He sat down with a grin, “It pays to know a Potter in this place. Look, free sandwiches.”

I couldn't complain about that.

*****

Half an hour later, we were out of The Three Broomsticks and walking briskly through Hogsmeade
village's main street. The weather had changed for the worse, the pregnant gathering clouds
above had darkened to slate and the wind blustered icily. It whipped the banners above the street
relentlessly, threatening each with forceful expulsion. But the people below were in barely less
danger as it cut across faces and through robes like particularly viciously sharp daggers. We both
wanted nothing more than to be within one of the warm shops again. We were practically running to
Honeydukes' Sweet Shop, and as we went I tried to read Milo's list.

“A packet of Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs, a blood flavoured
lollipop—clearly for a prank—the Tooth-flossing String Mints our grandparents love, one of those
new Three-Day Flavour Ten-Metre Chewing Gum Reels… why didn't he just say buy the entire shop?”
I asked, reading it over in shock. “Mum would never forgive me for this….”

Rigel looked over my shoulder at it, “He's ten, when you were ten you liked candy too,
let's go. Remember I have Christmas shopping to do there too.”

I turned to glare at him, but he looked absolutely serious, “What? You thought I was kidding?
Hortense is high-maintenance, Guillaume and François are like Milo, they only care about two
things: Quidditch and candy. Aisling's… okay, so I don't know what she likes but she spends
a lot of time with Hortense so that couldn't possibly end well, and Carl… well, he's more
like his mother innit, so I can't possibly find something weird enough for him. Candy it
is.”

“I can't wait for Christmas morning, they're going to crucify you,” I replied.

He shrugged, “I'm used to it. Uncle Ron in particular can't get past the `Malfoy' in
me. You'd swear my father had done something awful like kill the headmaster….” When I glared at
him again, he protested, “He didn't actually do it, it was that Snape bloke. The most he did
was insult your mother, fight with your father and Uncle Ron, and then hide for the war.”

I looked away as we approached Honeydukes, and again, unsurprisingly, it was packed. Through the
store window, where tantalising displays of various types of chocolate, cakes and fudge could be
seen, I could clearly count twenty students surrounding the main counter alone. There was more room
than The Three Broomsticks, but still it would take over an hour to get through to pay for what we
bought.

You would think this wasn't our third Hogsmeade visit for the term.

With the doorway free, Rigel easily marched us into the shop, took two sweeping glances about
the room, and then began to make orders to one of the attendants behind the counter. I looked at
him for a moment and then wandered off on my own. I would not get Milo everything he asked for, but
I could at least get him some of the less harmful stuff.

That is, less harmful to *me.*

But I was not alone for long. As I stood at a display peering in at a set of Gummy Worms, Bears
and Snakes that actually moved, (*“Feel them slither down your throat!”* ick, blech and yuck)
someone came up on the other side of the display and said, “Don't you find that a tad
disturbing?”

I replied at once, “Yes, those worms look a little too real. And even though I think they're
like Chocolate Frogs I think somebody could choke… if they didn't lose their lunch first….”

The person smiled, I could see it through the glass though I couldn't see their face, and
said, “I wonder though, couldn't they find something less disturbing to make?”

“You mean unlike the long-existing exploding bonbons, Canary Creams and the blood-flavoured
lollipops? Sometimes wizards come up with the weirdest things,” I said.

This time the person stepped away from the glass to reply, “But what would the vampires have?”
and I gasped, finally recognising them.

It was Connor Romulus Lupin, the son of two of my father's closest friends, Remus Lupin and
his wife, Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin (who expressly preferred for us to call her “Aunt Tonks” or just
plain “Tonks”). Connor was a Fourth Year like Rigel, but the two didn't speak much, if at all,
and we rarely saw him at the Burrow or at Godric's Hollow. As a matter of fact, though we
attended the same school and were in the same house, I only saw him on occasion in the Great
Hall.

It never really occurred to me to ask why either.

He was a tall boy and, according to some photo albums, as handsome as his father should have
been in his youth… if it wasn't for his monthly condition. His hair was shoulder length, like
most boys including Rigel wore it nowadays, and dark brown. He had a slightly muscular build, a
round face and a very disarming, dimpled smile which he only seemed to use when he called me
“Maggie”, a nickname that he and he alone, used. (Everyone else, except Rigel, calls me “Lillie”)
But his eyes, unlike both parents, were steely grey-blue, and coupled with his long dark eyelashes
and hair, he sometimes drew some of the attention Rigel craved.

Unfortunately, with his Metamorphagus mother and werewolf father, he also earned almost as much
derision as Rigel occasionally (by which I mean “rarely at school”) received for his Malfoy
name.

“Connor!” I nearly cried out, “I haven't seen you since… since Hallowe'en.”

I know it was silly, again, we were in the *same* school and the *same house*, but he
grinned at me, and said, “And you Maggie… I haven't seen you since the first Quidditch match,
Ravenclaw nearly gave us a trouncing, didn't they?”

“I know, it was embarrassing,” I replied with a slight grimace.

He laughed, “You know, you should really join the team, they need new Chasers, desperately.”

I shook my head, “I can't, I don't really like Quidditch and the prospect of getting up
on a broom just for the sake of getting hit by a Bludger doesn't appeal to me.”

“Who said you would get hit, that's what the Beaters are for. Isn't that the position
Malfoy plays?” he asked.

“I just know I'll get hit, I play like my mother… and besides Rigel is in Slytherin, it
would look rather odd if he was trying to defend me instead of his own team-mates…. Of course
there's always Milo…” I replied.

“Tell me you're joking, now he plays like your mother, and that's just chess, do you
really want to put him on a broom?” he asked, looking grim. “At this point it looks like all the
Quidditch talent in your family went to your nine year old sister.”

I paused, surprised: he knew Mackenzie's age?

“Well don't look so shocked, my father insists on sending you all cards and gifts… not to
mention your birthdays are always newsworthy to the *Daily Prophet* and *Witch Weekly*,”
he said, laughing again.

I blushed and looked to my feet, embarrassed, “Oh yeah… but it's just that… well, we
haven't seen much of you…. I didn't know you knew anything about us down there….”

He shrugged, “We live in the North, near the most forested area my parents could find…. So
anyway, what are you doing here…? I mean, apart from having a shufti?”

I was still a bit red as I said, “Shopping, well, Rigel's shopping, I'm just looking
around for now…. Milo gave me a list though, and I seriously doubt I'll buy him all the things
he wants. It's just all candy.”

“Well, I don't blame him for stocking up, Honeydukes has some of the best sweets in all
Britain and it looks very much as if we're all in for some of the worst winter weather in
years. Did you get your letter yet?” he asked.

I looked at him confused, “Letter, what letter?”

He quickly clarified, “My Mum sent me a letter this morning saying that I'm going to have to
spend the winter break at school. They've called out all their best Aurors on some top secret
special assignment, and since my Dad's… you know (I knew, goodness after the Second War the
whole of Wizarding Britain knew) then I'm going to have to stay here. She said your Dad was
among those named for the assignment.”

“Oh…” I replied, regarding his explanation for a moment. “But our Mum's an Unspeakable;
I'll probably be going home anyway…. And either way I would end up at the Burrow
eventually.”

“Oh right,” he said, as if now remembering this little fact, and curiously looking a bit
disappointed.

“Why aren't you going to the Burrow then? I know Mrs Weasley would be very happy to have
you, she's planning on taking us all in one year,” I asked.

“My mum's worried about room,” he said, clearly lying, which puzzled me. Aunt Tonks surely
knew that if Mrs Weasley wanted us to fit, we would, and comfortably. He continued, “And besides, I
want to stay at school; there are parts of it I haven't seen—”

“There you are, I was looking all over for you,” called someone suddenly, cutting him off.

I turned away from Connor to see Rigel stalking over to me waving a long roll of paper I
expected to be his receipt and sporting a triumphant grin on his face.

He had actually done it; I couldn't believe him, every one of his actual blood cousins
receiving nothing but candy. I was right about what I said earlier, he was a git.

When he saw Connor behind me though, he stopped and for a moment something dark crossed his
expression. It just as quickly disappeared, and he came over smiling, “Oh hey Connor, shopping
too?”

“Yes,” said Connor, with a false brightness that suggested he was also less than happy to see
him. “Last Hogsmeade visit before Christmas you know…. But I'd done my shopping around at the
last visit, now it's just to pick everything up.”

“Oh? Then I guess we're going to have to leave you to it, aye? Magnolia and I have only just
started, I thought we could *afford* it, you know, waiting around to last minute? But
everything's so pricey now; it's putting a strain on even lazy, spoiled rich kids. Guess
we'll take your *economical* example next year, might save us a few quid,” he replied.

My jaw dropped. I couldn't believe he, as half-Weasley, had just said what he did. I
don't think his father even, according to what I could deduce about him, would have said
something like that.

But Connor appeared to take nothing from it, and turning to me, said, “In that case… bye Maggie,
see you at lunch or something.”

I gave him a smile; he nodded to Rigel and then left. When he was out of sight and earshot I
punched Rigel in the arm again.

“Hey,” he exclaimed, “What was *that* for?”

“How could you just say that? How could you? You of all people should know better, should
never…” I hissed angrily, trying to keep my voice low in case Connor was still somewhere about.

Rigel though, continued to feign innocence, “What? Are you implying that I was trying to offend
young Lupin? My, how arrogant you've gotten. I should have never suggested that idea of using
your name to get what you want; it seems to have given you a swollen head…. But we really should
get going, maybe we should go check Gladrags, I know there's some stuff in there I want to get.
That is, seeing that you are determined to disappoint Milo then….”

“You can't possibly expect me to buy him all that candy…” I said, giving up on arguing with
him… for now.

He slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and withdrew a shrunken package, “I didn't,
that's why I did, now let's go.”

And with that, he grabbed my arm again and propelled me out of the shop.

*****

When at last it was time to go back to Hogwarts, some four hours later in the mid-afternoon,
Rigel and I were both carrying several heavy over-stuffed shopping bags and lighter purses. I had
managed to convince him that he could not possibly give his cousins candy alone, and he had ended
up forcing me into a series of impulse purchases that only stopped when a student came rushing into
Scrivenshaft's and announced, breathlessly, “Professor Patil says it's time to go back, the
storm's here!”

The cold this time was blistering. Despite the charms and Chap Stick my grandmother had sent, I
was sure I could still feel my skin drying out and my lips cracking painfully. Rigel's face was
nearly lost beneath his dark green and pale grey scarf, and each step he took seemed to take a
tremendous effort. Everyone was having difficulty moving in fact, the advancing storm's
preceding winds apparently attempting to batter all into submission before the rain came, but as
Rigel was the only one with me, it was only him I could see.

Not a moment too soon though, the gates of Hogwarts Castle appeared on the hill above us.

I wanted to run at once, but I couldn't get my legs to respond until we were finally through
them and the first semi-frozen droplets began to fall. Rigel somehow worked an arm free though,
brought it up under mine and dragged me forward until we all stood again in the covered courtyard
from which we had departed. And we nearly fell over as we came to a stop in the courtyard with the
others, just as the freezing rain came down behind us.

Inside the castle, as we had left it, it was warm and full of life and light. A few days ago the
Christmas decorations had begun to go up in earnest, after weeks of being contained to classrooms,
and now every hall boasted brightly decorated Christmas trees, boughs of holly, garlands and
wreaths. Every where one went nowadays they could hear someone humming a Christmas tune under their
breath, meals in the Great Hall began to include some Christmas favourites and students, teachers,
ghosts and house elves alike began to appear wearing some loud or ridiculous season-themed
item.

Rigel absolutely refused, saying that Malfoys didn't do silly Christmas frippery. When I
asked him where he got this information, as he seemed to have a never-ending list of “Malfoy
don'ts” he claimed there was a handbook. I have yet to see it.

Just as we got into the warm and cheerily decorated main hall then, I spied Connor walking away
in the general direction of Gryffindor Tower. He didn't look as if he had been among those who
had just rushed in, but he had clearly been outside in the last few minutes. He was wearing a thick
woollen winter cloak with something that looked like a comic book sticking out of the pocket.

I tried to call him back, not entirely sure what I was going to say when I did, but was stopped
when Rigel suddenly turned me to face him and began to unwind my scarf from my face.

“Hey, *hey*… what are you doing?” I asked, awkwardly, still clutching my purchases.

“We're indoors now, do you want to roast in this thing?” he asked, in turn.

“Well, no… but I can do this myself,” I replied.

“I want to help,” he said lazily, and continued until the scarf hung loose round my shoulders.
Then he took a moment to examine my face and grimaced slightly, wrinkling up his nose like his
Malfoy grandmother.

“What?” I asked, nervously. Whenever he made a face like that looking at me, he made me feel
very self-conscious, worse even than being stared at as Harry Potter's offspring.

“Nothing… it's just… well… the weather's not nice to you… maybe you can clear it up when
you get into your room,” he replied.

I rolled my eyes, and said, “Bye Rigel.”

He grinned at me then and replied, “Bye Potter, do look out for those stairs as you go… and the
wolf cub if you see him, he was looking a bit hungry in Honeydukes.”

I glared at him, “You disgraceful git!”

He shrugged and turned away, “What? He was in a sweet shop.”

The Fat Lady grimaced too as I finally got to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

“Oh dear, what happened to you?” she asked, dropping a ruffle of her pink frilly dress.

“*Yeti*, there's a storm out there,” I replied.

She swung open to admit me, “Well you should be careful dear, you look awful.”

I kept my grumble of protest low as I stepped through, ambled over to a sofa and sank heavily
into it. But I wasn't allowed to enjoy finally sitting down for long. As my hand dropped onto
my side something crackled in my pocket—Milo's packet of sweets—and with a sigh I rose and
headed back out the portrait hole again to the Owlery.

Halfway down the corridor I was greeted by a rather harried-looking horned owl, dripping puddles
from its perch on a suit of armour. It was Oscar, the family owl, and in his beak were the remains
of what was possibly a letter from home. As I stopped looking up at him surprised, he dropped them
at my feet, shook off his feathers and flew off. I guessed I was supposed to figure out what the
letter said on my own.

Luckily that wasn't a problem for a witch. I simply went back to the Common Room and
repaired the letter, and there read, to my horror, the same thing that Connor had told me in
Honeydukes.

*Dear Magnolia,*

*I know that you like to spend your holidays at home* *but I am afraid that this year you
can't. Your father and I have been enlisted by the Ministry for a special mission to Eastern
Europe. Your brother and Mackenzie are going to your grandparents in Nice, and since you constantly
complain about it, I thought that you might want to remain at school?*

*Mrs Weasley is in Romania, by the way.*

*Love, Mum*

But before I could wallow in my grief I was interrupted by someone else plopping down unto the
couch I had taken before the fireplace beside me. And they said as I made to move over to give them
room, “Hey Maggie, I take it you just got your letter.”

I sat up again to find Connor seated beside me, in a worn old grey jumper and his uniform
trousers. His face was now a healthy rose, warmed by the fire burning low before us, and he was
smiling. I could not see what there was to be happy about.

“Yes, I'm stuck here too,” I replied, unhappily.

“Oh it shouldn't be too bad, this is Hogwarts, and since your father rid the world of the
`almighty and immortal Dark Lord Voldemort' what could possibly happen?” he asked, still
cheery.

I shrugged, unable and unwilling to come up with an answer.

But soon enough we would all know what could.

-->



2. Chapter Two
--------------



**A/N:** *Sorry this took so long. I'm a university student with no personal computer
and research essays to write. (Writing one right now in fact.) Hope I didn't mess it up too
much, I was working on some changes and I'm not sure what to make of them. The good news is
though, it's all part of my master plan.*

**Disclaimer:** *Not mine, never was. However, I lay claim to the “Second Generation” in
this story.*

*******

**Chapter Two**

By bedtime the storm had come in earnest and after a violently stormy night, we all woke to find
that the light frost that had coated the grounds the day before was once more cold slush. And it
did not change all weekend. The rain came again at noon, looking dangerously like razor sharp
icicles pouring from the enchanted ceiling as Rigel and I sat watching some First Years play chess.
I was never happier to be stuck indoors on a rainy day; just the thought of being out there then
raised goose pimples on my flesh.

The wind howled horribly as it swept round the castle and through its grounds, on one occasion
knocking over a Christmas tree set up in the open hall before the courtyard. The rain threatened to
break through the roof, drumming incessantly on the ancient tiles before spilling noisily over the
turrets to the ground below. And the light show with its ensuing thunder… it made me wish I was
home again, safely covered in my own bed.

Where I was beginning to wonder whatever happened to Silencing Charms, and the strength of the
ones controlling the castle's infrastructure though, Rigel had other concerns. Mainly, like
trying to convince me to write a letter to my parents about spending Christmas with him and his
grandmother at Malfoy Manor.

I didn't bother; I already knew what the response to that would have been. I could
practically see their reactions now: while my mother would sit and carefully write out a detailed
explanation as to why not, my father would simply say “No” and that would be the end of that.

Not to mention that I myself was not at all too keen on getting better acquainted with the woman
who had done nothing to avert her husband's numerous attempts to prevent my existence before it
was even a dream.

But he was not one to be easily dissuaded. “We'll have fun. The manor has hundreds of rooms,
you can see some of my Dad's stuff, take it home to your father so he can get a laugh….”

“I don't think so,” I replied, trying my best to look bored and uninterested.

“Grandmother would not mind you being there,” he tried.

“You couldn't even tell her that you bought a gift for me,” I told him.

He stopped a moment as if just remembering this and then took my hands over the table, held them
palm up and smiled at me. I did not return it, but he kept smiling anyway and began to plead (which
in his way came off more like “mildly command”), “Come on… you know you want to come….”

“No, I don't,” I said, firmly.

He bent his head a little, seeking my eyes, but I wouldn't let him. Instead I turned my head
away and stared at the display of three giant wreaths going up above the entrance doors. Apparently
the house elves were really big on the Christmas cheer this year; I didn't remember anything
like that last year. Then again, considering that I never spent break at school before, I might
simply have never noticed.

The rain would slow to a heavy drizzle that would continue through the night and a Slytherin
First Year would lose his third straight game for the day to his Hufflepuff opponent before Rigel
gave up. Deciding that he would have far more success trying to improve the boy's technique, he
took the place of his opponent as they started a fourth game. Every once in a while though, he
would look away from his pieces to give me an encouraging, hopeful look… and every time he looked
my way I ignored it. Unfortunately for him I'd already had a night to sleep on the knowledge
that I would be stuck at school for the break and to steel my resolve to accept it.

But one time he looked up, his gaze went past me and his expression darkened, very much as it
had momentarily done in Honeydukes. I turned to the doorway at once and was just in time to see
Connor turning away and walking back out. And when I looked back to Rigel he quickly buried his
nose in the game.

Something was definitely up with those two, that was obvious, but I couldn't quite bring
myself to find out what. I would eventually anyway.

On Monday, the air outside threatened nosebleeds, and the ground was definitely bog. Finally
though, there was the promise of snow. Large fluffy white-grey clouds were gathering along the
horizon and a light mist and frost were coming down from the hills. I sat through History of Magic
and Ancient Runes with my eyes to the window, watching for the slightest change in the weather that
might bring the fall early. It didn't happen, but hoping that it would was far more interesting
than both classes.

After lunch we had Potions, and as Aisling and I often partnered for that class, we walked down
to the dungeons together. All the way she yawned, and all the way, I, ever being the helpful
friend, jabbed her in the side. She was so tired that the resulting glares looked increasingly like
a losing battle to keep her eyes open.

It couldn't be helped, after Saturday's Hogsmeade visit the sadistic Gryffindor
Quidditch Captain, Wayne Hadley—the new Oliver Wood according to some—had insisted that the team
meet for a remedial practice that very afternoon. His excuse was that he wanted to ensure that what
happened against Ravenclaw wouldn't again; my belief was that he just liked to see others
suffer. She was so tired when she finally stumbled through the portrait hole with her team-mates
she could barely lift her arms. And then he had them back on the field again all Sunday.

When I pointed out though, that she should report the nutter to our Head of House and Herbology
teacher, Professor Neville Longbottom, she point blank refused. She was as barmy as her father when
it came to Quidditch, and looked at me as if I'd just spoken some form of blasphemy. She'd
just have to endure my rib jabs for the rest of the day then.

But as we got to the beginning of the final corridor before the dungeons, which was several
degrees colder than the rest of the castle as usual, we were greeted by a crowd of Sixth Years on
their way up. They walked right into us, and I collided with a tall Slytherin girl who at first
simply pushed me out of the way and then stopped and said, “Oh, hey Lillie, sorry.”

I stopped as well then, and turned to look at her, along with almost everybody else. It
wasn't everyday that a Slytherin apologised to a Gryffindor, even to me. But as soon as I saw
her face I knew why. It was Camilla Longbottom, Uncle Neville's daughter.

A tall, slender girl of sixteen with a perfectly oval face, almond-shaped grey-green eyes, a
full, rouge mouth, clear, porcelain pale complexion and waist-length ebony hair, where Hortense
could be considered the prettiest girl in the school, Camilla was. Nobody could pass her by without
taking a second look and for boys that sometimes turned into a long stare that ended only when they
collided with something or someone. She made even Rigel go dreamy-eyed, and that alone was reason
for most of the other girls in school to go Slytherin green with envy and devious plans for revenge
to match.

But for all the fuss Camilla didn't seem to care. She was a prefect in the running for Head
Girl and spent much of her time in the library studying or the greenhouses with her father so that
she usually aced her classes every year. In Quidditch season she was Slytherin's star Seeker
and pity the House that sent up a hormonally-crazed male against her, that day the Snitch would be
hers. She was one of the best duellists in the restarted Duelling Club, and despatched her
opponents with a smirk that often tempted many to slap her. Smart, fast, talented and beautiful, it
was a wonder that she wasn't more popular. All the beauty and intelligence in the world, it
seemed, could make you arrogant and cold.

She didn't have any or very many friends, for she had so far dismissed any and all romantic
and platonic advances with the gentle sensitivity usually ascribed to a jagged dagger through the
chest. The only people she was actually friendly with were her father, the Weasleys, my family and
Professor McGonagall. And it was rumoured that the last was probably because she was afraid
she'd never become Head Girl if she wasn't.

I replied then as was custom, “Hi Camilla, that's okay,” and then we both turned and parted
company through the throng.

The new Potions Master wasn't new at all. By machinations we were yet to fathom, the
Ministry of Magic had been somehow convinced that instead of sending Severus Snape to Azkaban for
the Kiss my father believed he so richly deserved, that it would be fitting instead for him to
endure permanent house arrest at the school he had first sought refuge in after the First War. With
Professor McGonagall as Headmistress, surrounded by some of his former colleagues and his guilt
they must have expected him to suffer perpetually for denying them all and himself the benevolence
of Professor Dumbledore. They were wrong.

Since he had been allowed to teach again nearly fourteen years ago, Professor Snape had become,
if possible, an even more spiteful man. (Surprisingly this did nothing to his appearance, for he
was still the hook-nosed, crooked-teeth, greasy-haired old bat, or Old Greasy Bat—OGB for short—my
parents had known and despised.) It didn't take him long to settle into his old ways of
teaching, and even after many complaints he stubbornly refused to change, presenting steadily high
Potions scores in OWLS and NEWTS as evidence why he shouldn't. Luckily, I was given a wide
berth… if one could call being pointedly ignored “lucky”.

Unluckily, that didn't extend to Aisling.

No sooner than had we entered the classroom than he began, “Miss Weasley your last Potions essay
was atrocious, of all the things to inherit did you have to take your father's intellectual
capacity?”

Someone snickered softly, I glared carelessly behind me and they abruptly fell silent. But then
Snape identified them a moment later when he said, “And you Mr Finnegan, you wrote the wrong essay
altogether. Were you even awake in the last class?”

It was Eoin; a sandy-blonde-haired, blue-eyed Irish boy my mother said was the spitting image of
his father, Seamus, and currently long-time enemy of mine. I smiled at his radish-red face and
followed Aisling to our table. As we took our seats, Snape rose from his desk and walked past each
of ours dispensing red-inked essays.

“Mr Jones, this was many sentences too short… Mr Macmillan, you've now proven my point five
times over why you don't deserve to attend Hogwarts at all. Complete rubbish, a house-elf could
do better… Miss Wood how you've managed to exist in the first place never ceases to amaze me
and that's the only thing about you so far… Mr Perry, you didn't submit an essay,
detention! Miss Weasley, I've already said what I have to say on this essay, don't let me
have to again… Miss Potter… Mr Murphy, for once a coherent essay, though totally incorrect and
poorly researched….”

See?

He walked past me, black voluminous robes billowing behind him as usual, while my essay floated
down onto my desktop. That was another thing, he chose to magically send it to me rather than hand
it over like he did everyone else. I resisted the urge to turn round and glare at his back, instead
saving the energy to reel at the lack of red-ink on the paper. For a second too, I wondered if
he'd even bothered to mark it, and then I noticed the small scribble at the bottom:
*“Good”*.

My eyebrows surely vanished into my hairline: the OGB actually thought my work was good? What,
did somebody spike his pumpkin juice again?

His voice jolted me out of my astonishment from the head of the classroom.

“The ingredients are on the board, you have an hour and a half, absolutely no talking!”

I looked across to Aisling, still disbelieving, saw her busy at work gathering her ingredients
and turned my attention to my own.

By the end of his time-limit most of the class was only halfway done. This was mainly because
some of them were too busy trying to draw the heat from their fires in the freezing dungeon to warm
up. As expected, this displeased him greatly.

“Anyone who isn't finished has detention with me Saturday night!” he declared angrily. “Stop
what you're doing; get away from the tables, all of you, now!”

We did as we were told, Aisling and I backing into a pillar with Bridget Wood and Eoin who
looked very ill. One glance at his table revealed why: he clearly wasn't finished. But then
neither was I.

Snape stalked between our tables with the air of a hungry wolf. Every so often he would stop,
look over a bubbling pot and declare, “Poor”, “Atrocious”, or “Pass”. But then there were those
instances where he barked, “Detention!” and the hapless student would stifle a disappointed groan
and shuffle back to the table to clear it. Eoin kicked back at the pillar when he received the
news, but though I was clearly only halfway through the potion, he passed mine without a word. And
while I stared behind him surprised and then increasingly annoyed, he finished his inspection and
announced, “Class dismissed! Those of you who weren't finished I expect to see you here
promptly at seven.”

No one dared point out that that was usually around dinner time in the Great Hall. If you'd
escaped why mess with fate?

We left quickly and quietly, but once we were in the hall, Eoin grumbled by, “It's only
because of your Dad you get away, you know?”

I retorted as lamely as possible, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, if your Dad wasn't the Man-Who-Triumphed you'd be in there with the rest of us,
like you *deserve*!” he snapped, his voice unnaturally loud in the dark and silent hall.

I was ready this time, “What are you talking about? He hates my father and everybody knows
it!”

“Then why aren't you in detention?” he asked, stopping in front of me with his arms
folded.

I had to stop as well and replied, stammering annoyingly, “I-I-I don't know!”

“I think you do,” he said, stubbornly insisting on his point.

Suddenly, someone said behind him, “Wait a minute leprechaun, you *think*?”

What was left of the class in the hall turned round to find Rigel and a group of other Fourth
Year Slytherins blocking the exit. Almost as one they all stiffened where they stood, chins high
and Eoin said, “I wasn't talking to you, *Weasley*.”

The Slytherins bristled and one girl made to go to Eoin—who paled at the sight of her—but Rigel
held her off. “Don't, he was talking to Aisling.”

Eoin made no attempt to contradict him, and Aisling rolled her eyes. Grabbing my arm she pulled
me off behind her towards the head of the hall, saying as she went, “Let's go, if Snape finds
us here we're all getting detention.”

The Slytherins parted easily to let us pass, and Rigel surreptitiously handed me an envelope as
we went, followed by the rest of the Gryffindor class in single file. When we were clear of them we
parted ways and I opened the note. It was from Milo, my darling younger brother, “thanking” me for
the sweets.

*Lillie,*

*You did not buy the blood-flavoured lollipops. Mum says do not go into the forest while you
are at school. Dad says if you really have to make sure to take Aisling and Hortense with you, and
if you really, really have to, Rigel. Grandma is sending you a cloak, Grandpa is sending a book and
Kenzie and me the usual: nothing. Freeze to death.*

*Milo*

*Oh why doesn't your father like me? What does he think we'll do in the forest? There
are more than enough broom closets in the warm school for that. ;)*

*Rigel*

I rolled my eyes at both scribbles, pocketed the note and went off to my next class.

*******

The next morning, as luck would have it, we had Care of Magical creatures. And, even luckier,
the weather hadn't changed, as a matter of fact it had rained again the night before. But what
was a little mud in the name of education?

Forced to trek through the slippery, freezing slush then, by the time we stood before the hut
the hems of our winter cloaks were coated in mud and we were all shivering slightly. But Hagrid,
who was dressed warmly in what looked like the pelts of five different creatures (and with his
shaggy hair and beard, to transform him into a sixth) looked full of the Christmas cheer. He
greeted us all with a broad grin and said, “All righ', all righ', settle down… okay class,
I know that you're all cold, and probably wondering why I've brought yeh out of the warm
castle today. But that's because I've got a surprise… something that'll warm yeh right
up—”

He was interrupted by Eoin, significantly recovered from his mood yesterday, “Um… professor…
it's not… a Blast-Ended Skrewt… is it?”

Hagrid broke into a broad grin, “Nope, that's not until next year. But like I said, I have a
surprise for yeh, I know you've probably heard of these creatures before, but… here it is!”

He turned slightly and from behind the fence post he had been leaning against lifted a hefty
gilt birdcage. We collectively gasped when we saw what was inside: a large, beautiful scarlet and
gold bird that could only be one thing, a phoenix. And apparently it was not just any phoenix
either, for Hagrid continued, still grinning, “This, boys and girls, is Fawkes. Yeh've probably
heard of him, he belonged to the late Headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore, and, more famously,
helped yeh father, Magnolia, and yours, Aisling, through a number of scrapes over the years, yeh
can ask 'em, until the Headmaster's death…. The last we saw of him was shortly after the
war's end… and now, he's back. Have a good look!”

We did, and very eagerly too. As soon as we were given permission we practically surged forward
unto him, completely forgetting the weather and the muddy ground. We had heard about phoenixes,
studied them, but never actually seen one, and this one was extra special too….

“As yeh know,” continued Hagrid over our heads as we pushed and shoved each other out of the way
to get a better look at the bird, now proudly preening itself in the limelight, “phoenixes can live
for hundreds of years, and only one can exist at any given time. Their tears can heal and their
songs, most beautiful thing yeh'll ever hear….”

“Can it sing for us?” asked Joanne Goldstein, the daughter of another of our parents'
schoolmates, Anthony.

“How'd you get it in the cage, will it come out? Can we let it out?” asked Eoin, pressing
down those before him so that he could examine the door.

“Do you know where it's been all this time?” called Aisling beside me.

I didn't really care, and I doubt that the others did either. Another boy, Euan Richter,
after shoving his way through the crowd announced boldly, “I think it's ready to moult!”

That sent us surging forward again, and Hagrid, encouraged by our excitement, said, “One at a
time… one at a time… I'll let him out, and you'll see for yourselves….”

We stepped back for him to open the cage and then held our collective breaths as, at first, it
took two tentative steps to the door, and then two more to come out of it altogether and stand on
the fence post. There was a moment more where it stood absolutely still, as if testing wind speed
and direction, and then it spread its majestic silky wings and took to the air. And a few of us
very nearly tried to fly off after it.

Against the pale grey sky above it looked like an animated firework or even a particularly
lively kite that had just finally freed itself from the hold of a string, and we craned our necks
painfully trying to see where it would end up. When it took off in the direction of the castle we
ran after it, when it soared down to the lake we paused wondering if it would land on Professor
Dumbledore's cold white tomb, and when it changed direction for the forest, we held our
breaths, wondering if it would fly away again. But it didn't, and just as it was coming in to
land we were interrupted by someone calling from the castle, “Hagrid! Hagrid! I have to speak to
Magnolia!”

We all turned at once to find Professor Trelawney, shawls flying, hair wild, ambling comically
through the muddied lawn to us at the hut. I shrank back in horror, what on earth could she
possibly want?

Hagrid gallantly came to my rescue, “Could'n' this wait teh the end o' my
class?”

She shook her head vehemently, “I have foreseen something terrible! A portent of darkness! She
must be warned now!”

All around me I could hear my classmates beginning to snicker. I wanted to die. This time there
would be no Rigel to rescue me at the last minute, no Aisling to drag me away—she was just as
amused as the others—and they'd all completely forgotten about Fawkes. I would have to face my
public humiliation alone.

Professor Trelawney managed to make her way to the hut at last, just as the phoenix came in to
land on the fence post beside me. She stopped abruptly, and stood staring at it for such a long
time that we all began to wonder (hope) if she'd gone into catatonia, before Hagrid
interrupted, “You wanted to see Lillie?”

That brought her back to us, and she at once came to me, grasped my shoulders, dragging me
closer to her so that I could fully absorb the scent of the cooking sherry she'd been mixing
into her tea of late, and said in a low, dramatically-mournful voice, “There is a terrible danger
awaiting you child. A vengeful foe of your family's past seeks to do you harm. Beware of the
hound lover and his attendant, their secret contact fuels dark fire. That phoenix will not be able
to protect you; the time has come that you will have to watch over yourself. Beware, beware!”

It was now official, she was completely insane. All that cooking sherry, incense and tea had
finally done her in.

For a long moment I just stood trapped in her grasp staring up at her, not quite believing what
I'd just heard, and then I shook her off and backed, painfully, into the fence post.

Here Hagrid asserted his authority again and said, “All righ' that's enough, there's
no need to be giving Lillie that nonsense. I think you it's time you left professor.”

“*Nonsense?*” she screeched, outraged.

Hagrid looked upset himself, but came to her calmly and briskly began to lead her away from the
hut back up to the castle. “Lillie doesn't need to be frightened like tha' while her
parents are away.”

“*`Frightened?'* I'm warning her, there is danger coming, I have seen it in the
cards!” she raged.

Hagrid said something that we couldn't hear—they were now well past the gate and on their
way up the slope leading the castle—and she shrieked, and continued to do so all the way back
looking for all the world like a St Mungo's escapee.

We stood there all stunned silent watching her, and then Eoin broke the silence. “Perfect, now
you've got a prophecy behind you, should we all start looking out for Dark Wizards and Death
Eaters?”

“Shut up, Eoin!” snapped Aisling.

He glared at her and me when I turned to sneer at him, the stupid little git. But he was wrong;
my Dark Wizard was a friend.

-->



3. Chapter Three
----------------



**A/N***: Surprising myself, I've got this one in early. Hmm, must try to continue with
that.*

**Disclaimer:** *I don't want this stuff, I'm working on my own story, and I happen
to think it will be much cooler.*

*******

**Chapter Three**

Friday morning began badly; I got detention and was summoned to the Headmistress' office.
But compared to what would happen that afternoon it was like Uncle Ron beating Dad at Wizard's
Chess: easy breezy.

With the Hogwarts Express due to leave that evening with the students going home for the
holidays, the school was abuzz with activity as they tried to pack amidst calling goodbyes and
pulling last minute pranks. I hid my envy by going down to the Slytherin dungeons with Rigel. Most
of all I could not stand the sound of Hortense and Aisling excitedly discussing what they were
going to do for the holidays. It was bad enough that I'd had to endure two days of teasing
after the incident with Trelawney, but now all I heard about was how Hortense was going with her
mother to her grandparents in France and since Aunt Luna was now editor of *The Quibbler*;
Aisling would be at home with Carl, prospects which surprisingly excited them.

Also of late, I was troubled by my parents' Ministry assignment and the totalising effect it
had on our lives. As my father was an Auror it was understood that from time to time he would have
to go away, but since when did Unspeakables do field work? Though I have to admit that normally it
probably wouldn't have bothered me that much, the fact that they both had gone to the same
place this time, did.

Rigel, as usual, dismissed my concerns to focus on his own.

“It'll be boring in the mansion without you,” he said as we began to descend to the
dungeons, ignoring the fact that as a Gryffindor I really should not be there. But then again, it
didn't really feel that proper for anyone else. It was as dark, arctic and forbidding as usual,
with strange, unexplainable noises in dark corners and the torches burning low along the walls
casting long shadows on anything under their light. It actually turned my hair red, so that I
looked very much like Rigel's twin as we went.

“I've never gone before and you had fun, I doubt it'll be any different this time,” I
replied.

“Point taken, but I've always wanted you to come. Do you know that I missed you all those
times that I went alone?” he asked.

I sighed, “Rigel, you know my parents would never allow it. You also know that your Grandmother
would never agree to it. And most of all you know I don't want to go, at all, ever, so come off
it before I push you down the stairs.”

He grinned, “You can't do that. You're in Slytherin territory now; any attack would turn
centuries of rivalry into open war.”

I scoffed, “Over you?”

“Especially over me, didn't you see that prat Finnegan almost get torn a new one Monday?” he
asked with a satisfied reminiscent grin.

“You're a right charmer, Malfoy,” I said, rolling my eyes.

He began to laugh, but then stopped abruptly and looked straight ahead. I stopped as well and
followed his eyes to discover the OGB waiting for us at the bottom of the staircase, and he
didn't look happy. As a matter of fact, he was staring at me strangely and didn't catch
himself until Rigel asked, “Sir… do you want something…?”

He came out of his daze with a slight start and barked almost automatically, though his voice
broke and he stumbled over the words, “Detention! Miss Potter, y-you know f-full well that you are
not-not… are not allowed in the Slytherin dungeons!”

Rigel and I stood frozen looking at him confused, there was no such rule. Not to mention he was
stuttering, I never knew Snape stuttered, or could for that matter. But more than that it seemed
that his embargo on me had ended, which was a frightful prospect at best.

Before we could protest though, he continued, “The Headmistress also wants Miss Potter to come
to her office. I suggest you go immediately before I deduct points from Gryffindor for making me
search for you.”

I gave Rigel a pained look, then turned and headed back up the stairs as quickly as I could.

Having rarely made the trek to the Headmistress' office—not being the hell-raiser my father
and grandfather were—it took me a while to find the stone gargoyle. But once I was there I had a
bigger problem, I realised I didn't know the password, the OGB hadn't told me, and it was
not common knowledge. As luck would have it though, the Gryffindor ghost, Sir Nicholas de
Mimsy-Porpington, more commonly known as Nearly Headless Nick, happened along the corridor just as
I was about to turn back.

He was singing a cheery little carol while floating aimlessly between the decorations. But when
he spotted me in the middle of the corridor, he stopped immediately and asked, “To what do I owe
the pleasure of this meeting? Or has the usually law-abiding Magnolia Potter finally followed in
her father's and grandfather's infamous footsteps?”

I smiled, “Hello, Sir Nicholas. I don't think I've done anything wrong, but Professor
McGonagall sent for me.”

“Oh? Ah yes, Fawkes has returned,” he replied with a smile. “And then the Divination teacher
made another of her famous predications. Funny how the worst and true of them seem to be connected
to your family… then again, you're Harry Potter's daughter, something would be wrong if
something odd didn't happen to you, aye?”

I shrugged, and asked, “Er… you wouldn't happen to know the password, would you?”

“Oh yes, *Wronski Feint*,” he said, and almost immediately the gargoyle rolled aside.
Uninterested in that though, he continued, “Say, you wouldn't happen to be trying out for
Chaser would you, our performance at the last match was deplorable….”

“Afraid not, but thanks for the password,” I said and hurried away before he could come up with
another question. I didn't mean to be rude, but if I gave him a chance he would have me out in
the hall all morning.

The door opened before me just as I got to the top step and I entered the office to find
Professor McGonagall waiting for me. Small and thin, dressed in heavy velvet tartan robes, with her
now finally greying hair drawn into a severe bun, and her mouth set in its usual thin line, she
didn't look particularly upset. As a matter of fact she was busily scratching away with an
elegant black quill on a length of parchment. But then she never smiled, so I couldn't really
tell what she was thinking.

I announced myself, “Professor McGonagall, you sent for me, ma'am… it's me, Lillie
Potter….”

She greeted me in a neutral voice too, not even bothering to look up, “Have a seat, Miss Potter,
and a biscuit.”

I did as I was told; slipping uneasily into the leather armchair before her desk and taking a
biscuit from the tartan print biscuit tin on the edge of her desk. The room was wonderfully warm,
though through the window the pale, washed-out look of the school grounds sharply reminded me when
I looked that we were in the early days of winter. But I restrained myself from getting too
comfortable. The former Headmasters and Headmistresses in their portraits behind her, including
Professor Dumbledore, were all unabashedly staring at me, also reminding me that I had been
summoned and this was no courtesy call.

The first to speak though was Professor Dumbledore. From his portrait the kindly-looking old man
with the long white beard, twinkling blue eyes and half-moon glasses, bent forward slightly as if
to take a closer look and said, “My, Minerva, she has Harry's eyes… but her mother's
hair.”

Professor McGonagall looked up at me a moment, and replied neutrally, “Yes, she does.”

“Poor thing,” he said, and gave me a mischievous wink.

For a moment she looked as if she was going to smile, and then she said to me, “I did not ask
you here to be teased, please forgive Albus… but Miss Potter, I'm sure you know the
reason.”

“Actually… I don't,” I replied honestly.

She raised an eyebrow, “Do you know the last time we saw Fawkes?”

“The *phoenix*? Professor Hagrid said after the Second War,” I said.

“Yes, quite shortly. According to some rumours, he's the reason your father survived, and
therefore, to some extent, also the reason you exist…. When he left again we did not expect him to
come back, and yet, here he is,” she told me.

“Should I be worried then?” I asked, beginning to do just that.

“I don't think so,” she replied. “There hasn't been a Death Eater attack in years, and
of course, Hogwarts is the safest place to be, considering that your parents are off on
assignment.”

“But Professor Trelawney said…” I began to protest, not entirely sure where I was going with it.
I didn't really believe a thing that mad cow had said.

Professor McGonagall gave a long sigh, “Miss Potter… Sybill is… well….”

Professor Dumbledore came to her rescue, “What I believe the dear Headmistress is trying to say,
Miss Potter, is that for all the times that Sybill Trelawney has been right, there are twice as
many that she has been wrong. I don't think you have anything to worry about. Hogwarts happens
to be twice as secure now than it had been when your father attended, and I know for a fact that
you are being just as closely watched.”

That didn't sit well with me; I responded with a hint of insolence, “Do you know that my
parents, Uncle Ron, Aunt Ginny and Aunt Tonks have all gone away on some secret assignment?”

Maddeningly, in return he just gave a smile that made his eyes twinkle and said, “They are not
your only guardians, Magnolia. From personal experience your father can tell you that sometimes
relatives may not be enough. But as I said before, you have nothing to worry about.”

So what was the point of dragging me into the office then? I had a sneaking feeling that he
didn't believe a word of what he was saying. And if he didn't, then he was shortly given a
reason why he shouldn't have.

*******

If I hadn't waited to take my Pain-Relieving potion I would have never been in that
bathroom. I was usually more organised than that, and especially when it came to my period, the
pain was something not easily forgotten. But after I left the Headmistress' office I only just
had time to gather my cloak, scarf, and hat and hurry down to the courtyard where the students
leaving were going to the carriages. It was not long before I was rather dramatically reminded
though. As I raced down the stairs even before they'd finished rearranging themselves, the pain
cut through my lower stomach like a hot knife, and so raw it felt that my knees nearly buckled.

At once I stopped, hands in tight fists, willing the pain to subside. It eventually did, but I
knew it was only a matter of time before it returned, and in my haste, much worse. Rigel would have
to wait for the last carriage if he wanted me to see him off then, mad as he was going to be about
it. When the step locked into place I hurried back up them again looking for a bathroom. As luck
would have it the staircase had set me onto the Third Floor, and I quickly went into the girls'
bathroom there, also known as Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

She pounced on me the instant I was through the door and digging through my pockets for the
small packet of Muggle pills I had put in them earlier. (It would take longer for the effects to
set in, but at least they worked.) Having formally had a crush on my father—and then later
Rigel's—she still harboured some resentment for his apparent abandonment of her in favour of
others, and later my mother. She was not pleased to see me, not that she was ever really pleased to
see anyone, and she let me know it.

“What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be going home with all the others?” she
sneered.

“I'm sick,” I replied, hurriedly downing the pills and a large gulp of water, trying my best
to ignore her jibe. My mother told me it wasn't nice to be rude to ghosts.

“Sick? Did you catch a cold?” she asked, without a trace of any real interest or concern.

“No, I'm just sick,” I replied.

“Oh, well then, if you die you can't stay here,” she told me with a sniff.

“You can be assured,” I said, turning away from the sink that I had been gripping tightly for a
moment or so, willing the pills to work and the pain to subside, “that if I die I will not do it in
here.”

“Good, because there's only room enough for one—AAARGH! LOOK OUT!” she suddenly screamed and
pointed behind me.

Normally I wouldn't have looked, not wanting to give her the satisfaction, and knowing her
she would have been trying to trick me. But something in her transparent face conveyed real terror
and I turned.

It was too late, I barely caught a glimpse at what it was before everything went suddenly, and
painfully, black.

I remember being struck unconscious only one time before. I was four years old, and had gone
with my mother to Professor Longbottom's house. She had something to collect and wanted to see
his grandmother, he had some new plant to show her, and while they were at it I wandered out of the
house into the backyard.

Though our backyard in Godric's Hollow boasted of a wonderful, colourful garden, filled with
flowers and plants that my father and siblings and I attended to, Professor Longbottom's was
still larger. With our Muggle neighbours we could not have magical plants without using magic to
conceal them, but he could, and in addition, three large greenhouses containing even more. I was
not allowed in any of them of course; some of the plants, and insects that swarmed them too, were
very dangerous. But I was four, and at four I was fearless.

I made a beeline for the greenhouses as soon as I was outside, taking care to look out for his
batty old grandmother (who wore her stuffed vulture hat everywhere then) and the two adults. No
point in getting scolded when it could be avoided with care.

Halfway there though, I was distracted by Trevor, his old toad, hopping along a bed of
hydrangeas, seeking shade from the unrelentingly bright summer sun. I stopped and looked at it for
a moment, and then quickly changed direction deciding to catch it instead.

“Come back here Trevor, come on, I'm not going to hurt you!” I called, running wildly over
beds in a speedily heated chase. Despite his age, Trevor was hopping higher and faster than my
little feet could carry me, desperate to get away. Lucky for him it was difficult to navigate the
obstacle course the Longbottom backyard had become with my eyes on the ground. And even luckier,
the hem of my dress—which my mother had insisted I wear that day though I hated dresses in
general—kept catching on thorns and the chicken-wire Uncle Neville used to protect some of the
plant beds. It was only a matter of time before I fell and was coshed by some stray object.

I saw the vine before my foot hooked and I still ran into it. I fell quickly, feeling the impact
before I hit the stone, and then everything was black.

The next thing I was conscious of was my mother's voice as she cried over me. She was
cradling me to her chest, rocking gently in what she must have thought was a soothing motion but
was actually making me dizzy. But the one thing that stuck with me, long after I woke fully, was
run over by a series of Healing spells and taken home, was the fact that if I had been more careful
I wouldn't have fallen. If I had simply gone to the greenhouses instead of followed the stupid
toad I wouldn't have hit my head. Later I would acknowledge that if I'd listened to the
adults in the first place I wouldn't have been outside to get hurt, but again, I was four at
the time.

This time though, my fall was anything but an accident caused by my disobedience. This time it
was because of someone else's.

I awoke in a cascade and slid heavily to the cold, wet floor. Almost immediately I started
coughing, choking on the water in my throat and lungs, and vomited water and some of breakfast. And
then I was on my side, my face resting into a puddle that had no business being there. But then, I
also had no business being wet, and yet there I was.

Presently I became aware of someone—presumably my rescuer—at my side, gently shaking me. I could
not clearly see them, but I could hear them, pleading with me to wake up and then at the same time
yelling over her shoulder for help. My head was throbbing, and the sound of their calls was only
making it worse. I put a hand to the spot and groaned. Immediately, the pleading and yelling
stopped and the voice asked firmly, “Magnolia… Magnolia, are you okay? Can you breathe?”

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, reopened them and attempted to focus. At first all the
world looked black and grey, but after a time I found myself staring into the pleats and soaked hem
of a dark grey skirt, and then up at a matching jumper, green and silver-striped tie with white
collared shirt, and finally, the face of Camilla Longbottom. To say that she was the last person I
expected to see would be an understatement, but so would be saying that I expected to wake up in a
puddle of water on the floor.

I shut my eyes again, shivered now, gave a gasp of pain and tried to sit up. But I felt heavier
than before; soaked through and through my uniform and robe combined with gravity to trap me to the
ground. It took two attempts to get me sitting upright and after a moment of dizziness, to reply,
“I-I'm fine… I think-I… where am I?”

Camilla did not reply at once, I forced my eyelids apart and looked at her, and then she said,
“In the prefects' bathroom.”

“What?” I asked, and turned sharply away from her to take in my surroundings. She was not lying;
we were in the prefects' bathroom, the hallowed ground of Fifth and Sixth Years with its
swimming pool-sized bath and ornate stained-glass windows of beautiful mermaids. How I could have
possibly gotten there from Myrtle's bathroom though eluded me.

I decided to ask her. “Do you know how I got in here?”

She took a moment to reply and then said gravely, “Two girls, over there.”

I turned where she'd indicated to find the two, apparently Slytherins, slumped over beside
the door. Camilla must have stunned them as they were leaving and she coming in, but why had they
tried to drown me?

When I looked back at her with this question, she continued, “I don't know who they are—for
they're no Slytherins I know—or why they did this, but you're lucky I saw them as I was
going down. They were levitating you between them, and one was acting as if she didn't care she
might get caught—I think they may have been under the Imperius Curse though, and she was trying to
throw it off—anyway, I followed and saw them drop you in the bath. When they turned to leave I
stunned them and got you out.”

I looked back at the two girls, shuddered, and said, “Thanks.”

Camilla shook her head, “Don't, let's just get you to Madam Pomfrey.”

She rose off the floor and made to help me, but when I drew my legs up I found that I must have
hit something else before I hit the ground. My chest was sore as if I'd damaged something in
there, something that was now making it painful to breathe.

“I guess we better hurry then,” said Camilla and together we limped out of the bathroom to the
Hospital Wing. It was a long, slow, painful and embarrassing walk. All the way there we slowly
gathered a crowd from the remaining students, curious and whispering about how I had managed to be
dripping wet on a cold wintry day. I, for one, blamed Professor Trelawney, but they clearly had
some better theories from the looks they gave me as I went. And I could guess that some of them
were connected to Rigel, they always were. Thank goodness that Eoin had left earlier; he would have
made my life hell after this.

When she saw us standing in the doorway, Madam Pomfrey didn't even bat an eyelid before
quickly ushering me off to a bed. And then it was not long before I was being poked and prodded
with a wand while a series of questions rushed at me in rapid-fire succession. But the walk to the
Infirmary had left me dizzy and in the end I only vaguely registered Camilla responding to a few
while Madam Pomfrey cast a Drying Charm. My clothes felt immediately lighter, but the shivering
didn't stop, and then a vial was shoved into my hands and she commanded, “Drink!”

“What is it?” I asked, fighting off a blanket that had suddenly appeared and enveloped me.

“It's for some of the pain, you're properly bruised. I don't think the blow to your
head is going to leave a scar… but can you tell me what happened exactly?” she demanded.

I shook my head, “I'm not sure… I wish I knew myself….”

“Well, in time you might remember, until then you need to rest, so drink up and get right to
it—while this young lady here might see about getting you some fresh clothes? Oh, you're in
Slytherin…?” she said, turning to Camilla while pressing the small vial to me again.

It was not to my mouth though when I was suddenly enveloped in stiff black wool and fiery red
hair. I nearly dropped it, trying not to suffocate in the chest against my face, and not die of the
pain that shot up through my chest and head again, but I was thankfully rescued by Madam Pomfrey
going, “Rigel Weasley! Give Miss Potter some room to breathe, you'll suffocate her!”

He reluctantly relented, and I was surprised to look up and discover that it was him—how
he'd heard about it in the courtyard so fast I'll never know—and that he was looking rather
ill. Rigel usually schooled his emotions well, (rule 10: Malfoys don't show emotion) and so
much so that when he was really upset you could never tell, but today he looked mildly like
Mundungus Fletcher when my Dad caught him pilfering decorations last Christmas. He was doing his
best to cover it though, for he haughtily addressed me, ignoring her, “Are you alright, Magnolia?
What happened? Who did this to you?”

“You heard me Mr Weasley, back off,” she warned him.

He turned to her, “Madam Pomfrey my very best friend has just been hurt, I'm concerned about
her well being.”

“You're not helping by smothering her, or with your questions,” she snapped. “Now let her
drink this potion and rest, and maybe someone can get her fresh clothes….”

As if on cue, the door to the Infirmary flew open and in came Aisling and Hortense looking as
pale and worried as Rigel. They hastened to my bedside and Hortense shoved aside Rigel to ask,
“*Ma soeurette,* are you alright? This First Year came running downstairs yelling that they
were taking you to the Hospital Wing—”

She was cut off by Professor McGonagall coming quick on their heels, and demanding, “What
happened?”

Deciding that this would probably be my last chance to take it, I downed the potion in the vial
in one gulp, choked on the taste and then replied, “I-I don't know….”

“She appears to have sustained some kind of head injury, I'm assuming she fell in the bath,
but Miss Longbottom here claims that two students dragged her off to the prefects' bath and
dropped her in it,” Madam Pomfrey explained.

“I'm not `claiming' anything,” said Camilla beside her, “I saw them do it.”

Professor McGonagall was shocked into silence by this so that it was a while before she could
speak to ask, “Did you see the students, Miss Potter?”

I tried to remember what happened, but only drew a blank and shook my head.

She turned to Camilla, “Who are they?”

All business, Camilla ignored the fact that she was now being watched not only by the
Headmistress and Madam Pomfrey, but what was left of the students at the door, Rigel, Hortense and
Aisling and replied, “I don't know, I think they're prefects, they knew the password, but I
don't think they're really Slytherins. They don't look like anyone I know in my
House.”

Instead of pointing out that it would be rather difficult for her to actually know everyone in
her House, Professor McGonagall surprised us all by turning to Rigel and demanding, “Do you know
anything about this, Mr Weasley? Normally I don't care for or condone student relationships,
but is there anyone you might know who would do this?”

“Absolutely not!” declared Rigel, firmly. “No one I know is that… Hufflepuff.”

She arched an eyebrow, but said nothing to this, (even after the accused House's members
protested) and then after a moment announced, “Well in that case I want you all out of here, now!
Miss Potter needs her rest. But if you don't have a train to catch go directly to the Great
Hall, your Heads of Houses and teachers and I shall be along shortly. Go on now! All of you!”

There was a moment of grumblings and mumbled protest, but they all did as they were told. Even
Camilla, taking up her bag, which I hadn't noticed before, stuffing back in the quills, books,
rolls of paper—scribbled over with what looked like Ancient Runes homework—and comic book that were
falling out and following them out the door. Well, everyone except Aisling, Hortense and Rigel, for
they refused to go, wanting to stay with me. But Professor McGonagall would have none of it.

“You three go with them as well, Miss Potter needs to rest and I'm sure that there are
others in here that need it too,” she told them.

“But we're family,” protested Rigel.

She levelled a look at him; he took a sideways glance to Hortense and Aisling for help, received
none and said, “Figuratively speaking of course, but it still counts.”

“Not here, not now. Maybe after she's had some rest, but for now, go!” she ordered.

Reluctantly then, they all took last lingering looks at me, Rigel mouthed that he would be back
later, and left. Professor McGonagall then turned back to me and said, noticeably hesitant, “Miss
Potter, I'm going to ask you something that I think you will find a bit strange.”

She had my undivided attention.

“I ask you not to try to contact your parents,” she said.

“What? Why not?” I demanded. “I was just attacked, ironically disproving what you and Professor
Dumbledore just told me this morning by the way.”

She looked even more hesitant to continue now—not to mention a little offended at my tone—but
said firmly, “Your parents are involved in something very dangerous… and unfortunately that means
that they're currently cut off from the rest of us. If you try to contact them, you might
inadvertently put them in danger.”

“I just got coshed in the bathroom!” I protested, with a more lot volume and nerve than I would
have dared unhurt. But then again, what she was asking for was ridiculous. I'm sure that anyone
who got seriously hurt, including her, would want their parents after. I certainly did and
wasn't ashamed to admit it.

She was irritatingly calm though when next she spoke, “We don't know why this happened yet.
I suspect it has something to do with your friend, or some other innocuous thing, you might
disagree, but all the same…. I would not ask you this if it wasn't important.”

I maintained my protest, “Camilla told me that she thought the girls were bewitched, she said
one of them was acting as if she was trying to fight it!”

Still she was calm, registering no surprise at this revelation though Madam Pomfrey was forced
to stifle an audible gasp, as she said, “We won't know that for sure until we've examined
them. I'll talk to Miss Longbottom about that as soon as I leave here, but I want you to
promise me that you won't try to contact your parents. If you want to though, you can write to
Mrs Luna Weasley and Mr Remus Lupin, as I understand it they're supposed to watch over you
while your parents are gone.”

That was news to me—how come I was the last to know about things affecting me all of a
sudden?—but they'd have to do. I took a moment, looked away from her and then replied with a
resigned sigh, “Okay, I won't.”

Strangely she gave no sign of relief at this, instead saying, “Don't worry, Miss Potter,
we'll find out why this happened and then I assure you it will not again.”

I bit back “You couldn't stop it the first time”, choosing to nod quietly instead. There was
then nothing but silence and the echoing sound of her heels clicking against the stone floor, and
then I heard the door shut behind her as she left the Infirmary. Madam Pomfrey then came back again
with some fresh pyjamas she had found and another vial and said, “Put these on and take this
Sleeping Draught… a little sleep will do you good.”

I doubted it, and as I forced myself to drink a third potion in what was probably less than an
hour, I had a moment of terror at the thought that she was only knocking me out, making it easier
for my killer… and then I lay down and knew nothing more.

*******

Surprisingly, the first person I would see when I awoke was Connor. Late in the night, long
after I had slept off the Sleeping Draught, I lay in bed staring out the window at the starless
night sky. It was snowing outside, had started while I was asleep and I only noticed now for the
light coming from a nearby room in the castle flowed out into the night and illuminated the flakes
yellow-white. Then I noticed what looked like the tip of a shoe sticking out of nowhere.

Alarmed I shot upright, snatched up the first thing I could find—a bottle of Skelegro from the
next table—and demanded, “Who's there!”

There was some shuffling in the corner, a shimmering and shifting and then out from beneath the
liquid-silver of an Invisibility Cloak came Connor, grinning sheepishly, “Hi Maggie.”

I gave a relieved sigh, and asked, “You have an Invisibility Cloak?”

“Yes, don't you?” he asked in return.

I shook my head. Both brows vanished in brown hair, and when I gave him no indication that I was
joking, he shrugged and said, “Nicked it off my Mum anyway, she's so clumsy usually she just
thought she'd lost it.”

Now it was my turn to be surprised, since I could clearly see that he wasn't joking, and
then with a smile and headshake at the wonders that were boys, I lay back and returned my attention
to the window. It was all the invitation he needed to come over as close as he dared to my bed and
ask, “Do you know what happened?”

“No,” I replied, not looking at him but immediately looking away from the window. “Camilla
Longbottom—my rescuer—said that it was two girls, supposedly Slytherins though she didn't
recognise them.”

“I know, I heard,” he said. “They've been talking to the girls all afternoon in fact, but
everyone suspects Malfoy had something to do with it.”

At this I looked back to him and asked, “They still do?”

He nodded, “They think it's some jealous ex-bird, they've actually rounded up all the
girls they could and some are interviewing portraits.”

“Anyone's spoken to Moaning Myrtle?” I asked.

“Moaning Myrtle?” asked Connor, confused.

“Yeah, I remember that much, I went to the bathroom and she was there. She actually tried to
warn me about them, but you know, too late and all that,” I replied.

As I said this though, his expression became pained and he began nervously, “Maggie… are…?”

Sensing the problem, I told him, “I'm fine, I think I'm getting another headache but
I'm fine.”

He didn't look convinced and dropped to a seat on the bed beside me and asked, “Have you
sent a message to your parents yet?”

“Funny you should ask that,” I replied. “It's the strangest thing, Professor McGonagall told
me not to, said something about it being dangerous, but that I could write your Dad and Aunt
Luna.”

“Oh?” he said, “that's strange… but I can assure you that you're in good hands until you
can. My Dad won't let anything through, the Ministry sent an Auror in—I saw him as I was coming
up—and I think they've set up some kind of house elf-security guard system, if I didn't
have my Cloak I'd still be out in the hall.”

“Your Cloak got past house-elf magic?” I asked, getting worried again.

He hastened to reassure me, “Not really, but I'm in good with a few of them, they know
I'm not up to trouble. And besides, even if someone got past them they'd still have to slip
by Madam Pomfrey, a hawk that woman is. Malfoy came by with Aisling and Hortense again, trying to
sneak in, but even when she decided to let them stay, she wouldn't let them for long, no one
else can.”

“Aren't they supposed to be going home?” I asked.

“Hortense and Aisling left, I think, but Rigel stayed. As they were going out he came up and
told Professor McGonagall that he'd changed his mind and that `Grandmother' understood and
all that,” replied Connor, sounding both annoyed and disbelieving.

“I must have really frightened him,” I mumbled to myself.

“You frightened all of us; the school is nearly empty now so you can hear some of the whispers
for floors. Almost everyone's talking about how some prefects tried to drown Harry Potter's
daughter in the bathroom. The Slytherins' defence so far is that if they'd tried it
there's a perfectly good lake outside. With the ice on top they'd never find you.”

My jaw dropped, but then I said sardonically, “Glad to be the source of their
entertainment,”

His mouth formed a half-smile and he said, “Hey, at least that eliminates one group of
suspects.”

I tried to smile back but couldn't bring myself to, and then remembering again, asked, “What
about Professor Trelawney?”

He was understandably baffled, “You think the Divination teacher tried to do you in to stop
people calling her a fraud?”

I laughed, “No, I don't think that. I was just wondering what she's saying now that this
has happened.”

“Oh, surprisingly nothing. Seems she's been asleep in her office all day,” he replied, but
then suddenly fighting to suppress a grin, added, “but Professor Snape has been asking after you…
or at least was seen loitering around this floor anyway, looking anxious.”

“What?” I asked, very rightly flabbergasted.

“Yes, and he wanted to be the first to interrogate the girls too. If Professor McGonagall
hadn't pulled rank I think he would have done it, he was already talking about Veritaserum
before they'd even woke them up,” he replied.

I stopped and looked at him for a moment, and he burst out laughing, “Oh your face… the look on
your face….”

I folded my arms and frowned; “Now I'm your source of entertainment too?”

He struggled to compose himself, to throw off the shaking laughter and smile that now seemed
permanently etched onto his face, and then he said, “I'm sorry… I'm sorry, but I
couldn't resist. No he didn't really go that far, but he *has* been loitering round
this corridor all afternoon.”

I fell back on the bed and groaned, “He's probably waiting around to make sure I'm still
alive for detention tomorrow.”

Connor finally stopped laughing then, “You have detention with Professor Snape, how come?”

“Apparently Gryffindors aren't allowed in the dungeons. Whatever, he's just as barmy as
Trelawney,” I replied, and then, inspired, added, “Of course, you know, they'd make a perfect
couple those two?”

That started Connor laughing again and so we continued until nearly morning. Connor was rather
funny, like his father sometimes was, and though Rigel would not approve, I think I'd found a
new friend. It was nice forget with him, albeit temporarily, that there really was a threat lurking
out there in the dark snowy night, even if we couldn't see him yet.

-->



4. Chapter Four
---------------



**A/N:** *Hi there, wow is this a late update but I've had exams and no computer, and
then I'm not getting my new computer until the 19**th**, I hope and pray
and plead. Hopefully I can get another chapter up soon; I don't know how as school will be
closing soon and I don't have that much money for internet cafés. Then I'm supposed to be
spending this summer in New York so I guess I'll look for that café that is supposed to be on
42**nd* *St, anyone who knows if it's still there and can tell me I really
need. Thanks for the reviews and for sticking with me. Anyone worried that I would abandon it
should now breathe a sigh of relief, I don't plan to. I love this story.*

**Disclaimer:** *Not mine, never will be, and given my apparent inability to get going on
one original fiction story I won't be backing that boast in the last disclaimer anytime soon.
Damn.*

*******

**Chapter Four**

I must have dozed off at some point for suddenly I was waking up to the grinning faces of two
Lupins, Aunt Luna, Milo and Mackenzie. And no sooner than had I forced my surprisingly heavy
eyelids apart than did Mackenzie launch herself onto me and envelope what she could manage of my
upper body—in this case my neck—in a tight embrace. She was still scared; I could feel her
trembling slightly in my arms. I had spent the night laughing with Connor, and she and Milo had
apparently spent it scared very nearly to death.

When I looked past her thick dark red hair to the others though, they were smiling, and Aunt
Luna said, “We were wondering when you'd wake up Nollie, it's nearly noon.”

Aunt Luna always called me “Nollie”—like Connor called me “Maggie”—and had since the day I was
born. She was looking a bit plump nowadays, but with her waist-length, straggly dirty-blonde hair,
wide pale blue eyes and odd accessories, which today consisted of a pair of Lilliputian Christmas
tree earrings that actually lit up and a necklace of gold-painted popcorn, she was pretty much the
same woman my parents had known at school. And the insanely orange brooch on the left breast of her
silver velvet robes identified her as the editor of *The Quibbler* which was still managed by
her dotty father. Of course, popular opinion was currently divided on which of the two of them was
the dottiest.

“Really?” I asked, surprised. Automatically my eyes went past her to the window to discover that
it was indeed morning. The sky without was now white-grey with the snow piled halfway up the window
and still falling slowly.

Milo, who had climbed up onto the bed after Mackenzie, gave me a look that plainly said “Oh
please, Magnolia”, but Uncle Lupin replied, hoarsely as usual, “Really, and from the yawn that
greeted me when I came in this morning, I suppose that you and my son had spent most of the night…
talking?”

He gave me a mischievous look too, but it was only in his eyes and I fought a blush, “Yes,
there's nothing else to do in here.” He was over fifty now, with more natural grey hair, lined
features and respectably shabby robes, but he still had much of his boyhood roguish personality. It
was no wonder *Witch Weekly* once said that he'd run off with one of the Weird Sisters,
despite being a “dangerous beast”.

“Well you won't have to worry about that any more because Madam Pomfrey said that you could
leave as soon as you've had breakfast… or in this case, brunch,” said a voice from the other
side of the room and I turned to see Rigel coming in with a tray. “It's oatmeal porridge,
steaming hot for the cold weather—oh hey, Cousin Remus, Aunt Luna… Milo, Mackenzie…? When did you
all get here?”

He noticeably ignored Connor, but everyone else, including Uncle Lupin, greeted him warmly, and
Uncle Lupin said, “Good day Rigel. I take it that that decision's because you've been
pestering her all morning to let her out.”

He grinned guiltily, “She said yesterday that she should be fine by this morning, it's
morning and I'm bored out there by myself. Do you know there's nothing to do around here
during winter break?”

Connor spoke up then, his eyes steely, “Yes, let's not let *you* get bored, never mind
her head injury.”

Rigel was deceptively civil when he replied, “She just said she was bored too.”

Mackenzie looked up at me and rolled her eyes, then said aloud, “Mum and Daddy sent you a
letter, Milo wanted to read it so I had to hide it under your pillow”—she reached under it now and
drew it out—“But I think they just wanted you to know that they know you got hurt and that
they're going to try to come back as soon as they can.”

Happy for the distraction, I took the letter from her and asked, “You and Milo can talk to them
in France?”

Milo finally spoke up then, “No, Uncle Lupin brought it when he came to pick us up. When Grandma
and Grandpa heard you got hurt they wanted you to come home, but Kenzie explained that you had work
to do—you know, so they don't have to hear that you don't really like going to France—and
they decided to send us to see you. Of course, you don't look that bad, you're better
already.”

He was looking me over like Mum sometimes did when we were ill. He'd actually taken a lot of
things from her, including brown hair, but his eyes were green like mine, and he loved books and
learning more than I ever would. Mackenzie, by contrast, had Grandma Lily's dark red hair and
Grandpa James' hazel eyes.

I rolled my eyes and pushed his hands away from my face when he reached to touch what he thought
was the mark left by the blow. “That's why it's called `magic' you little… *boy*,
healed overnight.”

He looked unimpressed, “No scars?”

“No, I don't want any,” I replied.

“Of course you'd say that because you're boring, Dad has a cool one right on his
forehead. I wish I had one like that,” he said, more to himself than me. Clearly he didn't know
what he was saying.

Uncle Lupin laughed, noticeably awkwardly, “I've got even better ones all over.”

Milo turned to him and demanded eagerly, “Let me see!”

Once again the door to the Infirmary opened and this time Camilla came in, dressed in a
cream-coloured jumper and dark blue jeans, as usual unsmiling but heading briskly in our direction.
Uncle Lupin took the distraction as it came, turned to her and asked, “Good morning Camilla, is
your father still here?”

She stopped before my bed and replied to all, “Good morning—no, he and Professor McGonagall just
left.”

“Left?” I asked, looking up at her in surprise. “Where'd they go?”

“Father said she had something to do for the Ministry and he's off to study some rare plant
in Albania. I will have to stay here this year,” she said with a weary sigh, and then sank
unceremoniously, but prettily as ever, unto the opposite bed. “Oh wonderful.”

Uncle Lupin smiled sympathetically at her a moment before asking, “So who's in charge until
she returns?”

Halfway through a yawn, which Rigel was following closely though he made no show of it, she
replied, “Professor Snape.”

“What?” Rigel, Connor, Uncle Lupin and I asked in unison.

“He's the next most senior member of staff and Professors Flitwick and Vector have gone home
for the holidays,” she replied. “Didn't you all know that?”

I shook my head and groaned, “Now I really have detention with him tonight, he's not going
to care that someone tried to do me in yesterday.”

Uncle Lupin disagreed, “Not if I have a word with him first, as I understand it you broke no
rule.”

“And why would he listen to you?” I asked, unintentionally a bit rudely.

“Severus and I have a history, don't you know? And besides, even though it is your
aunt's and my duty to watch over you while your parents are away, it is his while you are at
school,” he explained, ignoring my tone.

“He must love that,” said Connor.

He shrugged and replied to me, “Your father made him promise on your grandmother's grave,
I'll leave it at that.”

Not in the least comforted, I asked, “So, did those two girls tell you why they attacked
me?”

The room went deathly silent in an instant. Even Milo and Mackenzie, the two who usually could
never keep their mouths shut, were. I looked at each of them becoming increasingly unnerved and
then asked, “What? What happened?”

Uncle Lupin spoke up at last, “They don't remember a thing… or at least anything after they
saw their friends off at Hogsmeade Station. Someone put them under the Imperius Curse and set them
after you. I know the Imperius Curse doesn't cause amnesia but whoever did this was smart, as
insurance they set an Obliviating Hex on them, that, in the event they were thwarted their memories
would be wiped clean. The Ministry of Magic's top Aurors and Mediwizards were attending to them
all last night and could do nothing about it.”

I suddenly had the urge to cry, but I suppressed it quickly and asked, “Did anyone see them? I
know they sent home a lot of students yesterday, probably someone on the train or at the station
noticed something…?”

Aunt Luna shook her head, “No Nollie, they've been interviewing students and villagers all
evening and well into the night. No one saw a thing. The beginnings of a new conspiracy I
suppose.”

I couldn't bring myself to ask another question after that, and wasn't really inclined
to find out about this “new conspiracy”, that was a can of worms if I ever saw one. Instead I
remained silent thinking over and over again on how close I came to death and how easily my
intended killer had slipped away. Then Nearly Headless Nick's voice floated into my head: *…
then again, you're Harry Potter's daughter, something would be wrong if something odd
didn't happen to you, aye?* I stifled a mirthless little laugh that undoubtedly would have
confused the others, how right he was.

Seeing my obvious distress, and once again—unintentionally I was sure—revealing his deep
concern, Rigel asked, “So what's the Ministry doing about this?”

Uncle Lupin cleared his throat and gave his best impression of Percy Weasley. “Seven Aurors have
been despatched at the expense of the Minister for Magic himself to ensure that Miss Magnolia
Ingrid Potter is protected from further harm. The Headmistress of Hogwarts, Professor Minerva
McGonagall, has assured us that the school is safe, as the primary attack—that of the appalling use
of an Unforgivable on two innocent students—did not occur at the school. For extra security though,
she has arranged a special group of house elves—who proved themselves invaluable during the war
effort to Miss Potter's father, Harry James Potter—to guard her at all times where possible. I
would like to take this moment to personally reassure the public and Miss Potter's family that
this shall not happen again.”

We all burst out laughing when he finished and Mackenzie clambered off of me, climbed into his
arms and once settled in his lap, called in the mocking-childish voice Mum used to use on her,
“Again! Do it again!”

“I don't think so, that was longwinded,” he said with a sheepish grin. Mackenzie's
never-ending entertainment at his expense always embarrassed him, but then she didn't know the
dangers of his being a werewolf. Not yet anyway, but I seriously doubted that that would affect her
feelings towards him when she found out.

Even Rigel looked like he had enjoyed it, but then he suddenly looked at his watch and pushed
the now slightly cooled bowl of porridge before me again. “It's nearly noon, come on and eat up
so we can get out of here.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Outside, I want to go for a sleigh ride,” he replied.

Camilla suddenly stood behind him, “It's nearly noon? I have to go.” Then she was up and
gone before anyone could respond and without so much as a “See you later”. Of course, Camilla often
came and went as she pleased and did not often speak to us so we were hardly slighted.

But then Connor stood too and said, “Oh, I have something to show you, Dad. Can you come over to
the library after you talk to Professor Snape?”

This reminded Uncle Lupin of his promise and he stood too. Aunt Luna got up as well and said to
my brother and sister, “Come on you two, maybe if we leave your sister alone she'll join us
faster for a ride in the sleigh. I never really went on sleigh rides while I was here….”

And one by one they up and left so that I was alone with Rigel and the porridge. As Aunt Luna
vanished through the doorway I heard him mumbling, “I never said anything about them going
along….”

I gave him a sympathetic half-smile and took up my spoon.

*******

Uncle Lupin and Professor Snape really did have a history. By the time he, Aunt Luna, Milo and
Mackenzie had to leave that afternoon he had indeed convinced Professor Snape to let me out of
detention. I doubt that the OGB had agreed willingly, but then I couldn't really tell given
that he'd gone back to ignoring me again. I couldn't be happier.

Shortly after they'd left me with Rigel that morning though, Madam Pomfrey arrived to check
up on my condition and quickly determined that I was well enough to leave. I barely wanted to wait
until I'd finished my porridge or listen to her warning that if I experienced any pains that I
should return to the Infirmary straight away. I'd been stuck in there the entire night and
I'd had enough. Not to mention, though I didn't to anyone, that I desperately wanted to
find the two girls who'd attacked me and interrogate them myself. With Rigel at my side I was
guaranteed to get answers, Obliviating Hexes be damned.

But Rigel made me wait until every last drop was gone, then as Madam Pomfrey listed all the
reasons why I should immediately come see her once she'd released me and then as he checked the
halls for suspicious characters before I was allowed to leave. All he found were the few remaining
curious students hoping to catch a glimpse of the ugly bruise across my forehead it was rumoured
I'd received. They were to be sorely disappointed though. As I dressed to leave, after taking
care to secure my parents' letter in my cloak pocket, I'd checked all round my head and
found nothing but a small cut that I made sure to cover with my thick hair.

Once out I hurried up the stairs to my dormitory—again waiting while Rigel seriously checked the
halls and stairs ahead—where my sole remaining roommate, Kimberly Blount, was lying on my bed
reading one of my Fifi LaFolle novels. I didn't have time to argue with her about going into my
trunk without permission—she never listened anyway, and using magic on her just made her even more
curious—or to respond to her question, “Hey… you-you're all right, aren't you…?” I just
flashed a glare at her, found my towel and fresh clothes and went off to the bathroom. Clean and
dressed after, I took up my cloak, scarf, hat and gloves and left again to find Rigel now joined by
Aunt Luna and my siblings in the hall outside the Gryffindor Common Room.

Well, I could forget talking to the girls as long as they were around. And Aunt Luna confirmed
that I wouldn't have the chance when she greeted me, “You didn't tell me that Fawkes was
here? I haven't seen that phoenix in so long, do you mind taking us up to see it?”

I looked at Rigel, he shrugged and I replied, “Um… I don't know where it is….”

“Oh that's okay, a tour of the school would be nice too,” she said and taking
Mackenzie's hand began to lead the way down the hall to the stairs. “I haven't seen the
school since I left it either, I wonder how much it's changed?”

As I fell in step with Rigel, while Milo and Mackenzie occasionally slipped glances back at us
to make sure we were still behind them and, I supposed, no one was attacking me, I asked, “Do you
know where those two girls are, the ones who attacked me yesterday?”

He gave me a wary look and said slowly, “No, they went home.”

I groaned, “Really?”

“Yes, their parents came for them late last night, worried about backlash I suppose,” he said.
“Wait, why did you want to know that?”

We had gotten to the stairs where three Ravenclaw First Year boys were coming up, all trying to
read the same comic book. Milo glanced at the cover and asked, “Is that the latest issue of
*Úlfhéðnar*?”

The boys stopped at once, staring at Milo surprised, but then shook their heads, “No, it
doesn't come out until Wednesday.”

I took the opportunity to reply, “No reason.”

Rigel mimicked Milo's earlier “Oh please” look and said, “They wouldn't have let you
near them anyway, what if the Imperius wasn't broken and tried to get you again.”

“I've got a wand,” I replied.

He said nothing to this, but instead, “Hey, let's catch up with your aunt before she gets
suspicious. She might be a bit dotty but she's no fool.”

We spent the rest of the day on this tour too, while I was unashamedly stared at by every person
we passed, be it ghost, student, teacher or animal. Peeves the Poltergeist, who somehow had managed
not to get knocked out of the school during the after-war clean up, taunted me for halls. This was
halted by Argus Filch, our beloved Squib janitor, who also took a gander at my forehead while
chasing him away with his cat, Mrs Norris, at his heels. A number of ghosts criss-crossed our path
more than once to snatch a peek, and then, while floating away disappointed, said aloud, “I thought
they said she had a scar?” I finally got fed up of it and declared, “Let's go for that sleigh
ride, I can't take this anymore!”

That was no better. Once outside those already there sometimes stopped mid-game to watch me as
we passed to where Hagrid was, helping set up the sleighs. When they noticed Milo and Mackenzie
though they started staring at them too and Mackenzie left Aunt Luna to come to me and held my hand
tightly. Milo then allowed Aunt Luna to take his and kept his head down as we walked down to the
sleighs and all the while Rigel said loudly, “What are you all looking away for? You're
Potters, let them stare, they'll never be like you and are awed by your celebrity, embrace it.”
Or at least he did until I put Mackenzie on the other side of me to kick him.

Hagrid once again proved why he apparently wasn't my appointed school guardian when we at
last got to him for he greeted me with teary eyes and said, “Oh Lillie, I was so worried abou'
you. They said someone tried ter drown you in the bathroom. Your father must be so upset abou'
tha', we'd promised him we'd keep you safe!”

He then lifted me up and nearly crushed me in his arms—making sure that now everyone had a good
reason to be staring my way—before finally, thankfully, setting me down in the first available
carriage with the front of my cloak and some of my hair soaked by his tears. Rigel thankfully
cleaned it up as he got in beside me and said, “Good day Hagrid, once around the grounds
please.”

Hagrid stiffened and said sternly, “You're a very rude boy, Mr Weasley.”

Aunt Luna, who was climbing in with Milo and Mackenzie after, rushed to his aid. “Don't mind
him Hagrid; he's just trying to be funny, to cheer up Nollie. He's just a silly boy.”

“But he can be rude,” said Hagrid, and then signalled for the Thestrals to begin the ride.

The snowfall had stopped now and as expected had left everything it touched under a blanket of
white. I could barely find the evergreen, brown and black that was usually left of trees, rocks and
mountains. Professor Dumbledore's tomb was completely lost, and where it should have been some
mischievous students had built a family of snowmen. The lake, the sturdiest frozen areas at least,
was now an ice rink for wannabe figure skaters and a twisted game of magical hockey. Safely and
warmly tucked in the carriage with Rigel, Aunt Luna and my siblings, watching all of it go by I
forced myself to forget about yesterday's horror. It was winter, it was Christmastime, it was
too lovely to look at and feel glum. And that made me think about being home where it would have
been even better, which made me wonder what my parents were up to and it started all over again. I
needed a distraction, I turned to Rigel and asked, “How do you think your grandmother reacted when
she found out you weren't coming home to her this winter?”

He stopped, thinking about it for a minute and then replied, “I'm not sure… I didn't
tell her.”

Even Aunt Luna looked at him. I asked, “You didn't tell her yet? But Connor said you told
everyone that she would understand…?”

“When she didn't see me she would figure it out,” he replied nonchalantly, though he'd
twitched slightly at the mention of Connor.

I stared at him disbelieving until I realised that he wasn't lying and said, “You prat, you
better write to her as soon as this ride is over.”

“I will, I was planning to anyway,” he replied.

When the ride ended though, it was time for the others to leave. Uncle Lupin was waiting for us
at the bottom of the stairs and said, “It's all taken care of, no detention, but I advise you
to stay out of his way for a while.”

“But of course,” I replied.

He smiled at me, then turned to Aunt Luna and said, “Are you ready to go? I'm sure it's
getting very late in Nice and it's almost time that these two should be in bed.”

Milo protested this, “I'm not a baby, I don't have a bedtime.”

Uncle Lupin pretended not to hear him, “Tell your sister goodbye and wish her a Merry Christmas,
it's time to go anyway.”

They did not refrain from bone-crushing hugs to rival Hagrid's wrench-like grip, any of
them, and Mackenzie even kissed my cheek, before giving me sad parting smiles and waves and turning
to leave. Rigel and I followed them as far as we could—or I was allowed to anyway—which was the
courtyard where a carriage was waiting to take them to Hogsmeade. But then, just as they were about
to get into it, Aunt Luna came back out with a large, flat box wrapped in plain brown paper, and
said, “I almost forgot, your father sent this.” She leaned closer to whisper in my ear, “And
don't forget the magic words. `*I solemnly swear that I am up to no good*' opens the
map, `*mischief managed*' wipes it clean. Don't tell *anyone*.” Then with a kiss
and another hug she went back to the carriage, climbed in beside Mackenzie who had the saddest look
I'd ever seen on her face, and they went away.

I walked up to the edge of the courtyard and called, “Merry Christmas!”

Just before they vanished from view they called back, “MERRY CHRISTMAS!” and I grinned. As soon
as they were out of sight, Rigel reached for the box. “Alright, what's this?”

I snatched it away from him, “Not to be opened until Christmas. Can we go back in now, I'm
hungry and you have a letter to write.”

*******

It didn't take long for me to ditch Rigel and once I was in my room, Kimberly. Alone then
and with trembling hands I went to the box not quite believing while desperately wishing that it
was what I'd surely gotten. I ripped away the paper and opened the box. It was true: my father
had sent me my grandfather's Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map.

Neatly folded the map lay above the silvery cloak in the box with a note on the top. Another
letter from my parents, I wondered why.

*Dear Lillie,*

*I promised you a long time ago that I would never lie to you. I'd been for much of my
life and I swore that I would never do the same to any of my children, and especially you.
You're the eldest, the one who's undoubtedly going to bear the brunt of a lot because of me
and the things I've done, had to do. I'm certainly not going to start now, but try to
understand when I tell you that though I'm sure that what your mother and I are involved in has
something to do with what happened to you yesterday, I can't tell you what that something
is.*

*I can tell you that it has nothing and then something to do with our past. Be assured that
Voldemort is dead, I saw it happen, I made sure of it, but you're a smart girl, you know that
most of his supporters and ideas are not. You're safest at school now, and since I have friends
in certain places, I can tell you without fear that your brother and sister are under special guard
with your grandparents and are too. Even so you know what to do. Do not leave the school grounds
without telling anyone where you're going or without friends. Do not leave unless you're
sure of where you're going and that you can find your way out when you get there. If you have
no choice then, do not go anywhere without your wand or the cloak. Tell absolutely no one that you
have the cloak or the map, even and especially Rigel. I know he's not involved with Dark
Wizards but his grandmother was married to one and can get more out of him than he'll ever
know.*

*Take care of yourself; we're going to get back to you as soon as we can.*

*Love, Dad*

*P.S. In the event that you see strange things appearing on the map know one thing, though in
the wrong hands it can be a dangerous weapon, the map* *never* *lies.*

What?

I put aside the letter and immediately opened the “map”. It was nothing but a blank parchment,
but I knew better than that. Drawing my wand, I tapped it gently and said, “I solemnly swear that I
am up to no good.”

At once an elaborate set of scribbles appeared that read, “*Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot
and Prongs present* The Marauder's Map” and then it came alive as the scribbles became lines
and halls and rooms and stairs. The more I unfolded it the more of Hogwarts Castle and its grounds
emerged and with it dots and with the dots the names of the people they represented.

I quickly found the OGB in the Headmistress' Office with, finally, Fawkes, where the phoenix
had apparently gone after all. Too bad I hadn't thought of it earlier, but then I hadn't
exactly wanted to meet him. He hadn't been very helpful yesterday, “portent of danger” my
foot.

Kimberly was in the library, in all likelihood sleeping, or reading my book for I just knew it
wasn't in my trunk. Obviously I was not going to risk putting my grandfather's cloak and
the map in there with her around, she was harmless but often unintentionally harm*ful*.

Hagrid, and his aged hound Fang, were in his hut, which appeared on the lower left hand corner
of the map just as I got down to the ground floor and the Great Hall. Most of the students were
milling about there, as well as Peeves, still being chased by Filch and Mrs Norris. And as they
were in the greatest concentration on this floor I stared on in amazement at my schoolmates
innocently going about their lives, not knowing that I could, and did, see everything they were up
to.

I found many couples in halls, near broom closets, in lonely corners, and various towers, nooks
and crannies. I saw some of the known teachers' pets, and detention veterans, on their usual
rounds close on the heels of their regular patrons. I watched, with the dirty guilt of a voyeur and
not too little curiosity at how my grandfather and his friends had managed it, as they played and
talked and studied or just wandered aimlessly about the castle. Looking down on them in fact I felt
so close to them, but in the manner of someone with the power to affect their lives with just the
wave of a wand, that I was repulsed and forced to sit up and away from the map. It was a useful
little thing, I knew it was, it had helped my father on numerous occasions, and there were limits
and dangers, for it could not tell me if someone was about to attack me, and someone else could
clearly use it to find me, but it was a horrible little invention as well.

For a time I just sat there looking at it, and then I sighed and laughed at myself a little. I
was being so silly, overanalysing everything like my mother. *I* wasn't going to use it to
do anything bad to anyone and I certainly wasn't going to let it get into the hands of someone
who could. It was just a *map*… that could, on occasions, tell me useful things that I needed
to know.

I leaned forward again and looked for Rigel. Best make sure he was going to write to his
grandmother, and there he was on his way down to the Slytherin dungeons. Judging from the length of
time that had elapsed since we parted ways he should have been there long ago. Of course, knowing
him, he'd probably been distracted by one of his many fans or was dragging his feet. He might
have loved his grandmother, she'd spoiled him since the day the court ordered Aunt Ginny to let
her see him, but he wasn't the best grandchild in the world.

I shook my head and decided to look for Connor. He hadn't been there when his father left
with Aunt Luna and I was beginning to wonder why. I knew and understood that I wasn't going to
see him everyday, Hogwarts is a large castle after all, but because of Uncle Lupin's condition
Connor very rarely saw his father. If I was in his situation I would have wanted to be around my
father every chance that I got. I still do even though I see my father almost every day at
home.

At first I couldn't find him though, and unfolding section after section turned up nothing.
He wasn't in the library, he wasn't in the Common Room and boys' dormitory (which is
another reason why this map is trouble, my goodness!) and he wasn't in the Owlery, any of the
teachers' offices or the Great Hall. I turned my attention out of the castle then and
immediately located him on the old bridge that ran along the grounds near the lake, talking to
someone named `Nike Slytherin'.

I sat up at once with the question on my lips, “Who is Nike Slytherin?” I knew the map did not
lie but it was created by pranksters so surely it could play jokes. Or maybe I was looking at it
wrong, but why would the map identify the shoes they wore and not the person he was talking to? And
why not name the Slytherin?

No matter how I turned the map about though, or prodded it with my wand, it did not change.
Connor Lupin's dot was next to Nike Slytherin's dot and they were on the old bridge
overlooking the lake apparently speaking to each other.

Well then there was only one way to solve the mystery. I at once gathered up the map, cloak and
letter, then took up my hat, cloak, scarf and gloves again, hopped off my bed and hurried out of
the room. There went my “not using it to spy on other people for personal reasons” claim, but given
that he was speaking to a stranger a day after I had been violently attacked in a bathroom I had
every right to find out who this person was.

I managed to get dressed and hide everything away by the time I was downstairs in the Great
Hall. If I had unintentionally drawn attention to myself before though, I succeeded in doing so
again quite well on my own this time as I stumbled along down the stairs, giving embarrassed yelps
when I bumped into people I had just been spying on and nearly falling because I was too distracted
putting on something. When I finally stood at the front doors I was dishevelled but otherwise
dressed and attracting stares from almost everyone. And then the door opened before my hand and
Connor stepped in alone and walked right into me.

I would have fallen over had he not grasped my shoulders and held me upright while the cold
blast of air he'd brought in with him swirled about us in the doorway. I yelped again, then
grabbed his shoulders to steady myself before finally stepping away with an embarrassed, “Sorry, oh
sorry… I wasn't looking where I was going….”

He smiled sympathetically, “I can see that. Where were you going in such a hurry? Didn't you
and Malfoy just go in, or did you forget something outside?”

Thinking quickly, knowing I had to lie, I said the first thing that came to my head, “I did,
actually.”

I should have known then, that he would have responded, “Oh, let me walk with you, two extra
eyes wouldn't hurt in that snow.”

I was going to say “No”, it was on the tip of my tongue, but instead I said, “Sure.”

He turned back to the door then and opened it for me to go out, and I did just as Camilla was
coming up the steps and going in. She passed me with a “Hi Lillie”, I responded “Hi Camilla” and
she went on past Connor without a word. But though she did not speak to him I was sure she gave him
a funny look, it was so quick that I wouldn't have noticed it if I'd blinked, but it was
there. Connor then met me on the top of the steps and asked, “So what are we looking for?”

I was stumped, what was I going to tell him? I knew that I had only been going out to see who
`Nike Slytherin' was, but I very well couldn't tell him that. Well, when in doubt fall back
on that unfailing problem of girls, or rather, earring-wearers of the world.

“I er, lost an earring,” I replied and tried—successfully given the circumstances—to look
embarrassed.

He grinned, “That shouldn't be too much trouble.”

“In all this snow, does the saying `needle in a haystack' mean anything to you?” I asked,
grinning in spite of myself.

He drew his wand and said clearly, “*Accio* Magnolia's earring!”

Uh-oh.

I couldn't look at him; I didn't dare see his face when nothing happened and for quite a
few minutes nothing did. Then, to my absolute surprise, out of a snow bank near Hagrid's hut in
the light of the pale yellow sunset it came, a tiny gold and pearl earring that landed neatly in
his outstretched black-gloved palm. I turned to him open-mouthed and he took my hand, turned it
over and dropped it in my palm.

“There. Hey, don't look so surprised it's just an ordinary Summoning Charm; you'll
be learning that in Fourth Year like everyone else,” he replied and then blushed—though it could
have been the cold—bright red. I struggled to regain my composure, closed my mouth and shoved my
hand in my pocket. And the lie came easily this time, though technically it was also the truth.

“It's not that, it's just… thanks, I'd forgotten all about it,” I said.

He blushed even more, then took a moment to compose himself too and said, “Don't mention it;
you'll give me a swelled head like Rigel.” I snorted and he laughed and said, “Well now, since
we've found your earring let's go in, I'm freezing…. That is, unless you're still
going out.”

I gave an internal sigh of relief at having dodged the bullet and replied, “Oh no, this is it
for me, it's very cold out and getting dark, I can't be out here in the dark.”

“Oh right,” he said, and then opening the door again, let me go in before him.

I was right, this map was trouble. Which was a pity, because I would soon very much need all the
help I could get.

-->



5. Chapter Five
---------------



**A/N:** *An early chapter, hurray! Maybe because it's a bit short?* *All errors
are mine, unavoidable since I'm on a roll.*

**Disclaimer:** *Not mine, I know, don't remind me.*

*******

**Chapter Five**

Wednesday morning at breakfast there was quite a commotion in the Great Hall. The owl post had
arrived, and though usually this was not something to fuss about, this morning it was: the latest
issue of the *Úlhéðnar* comic book series had arrived and with it, for some, the much
anticipated volume of the comic's first year complete with an extra unpublished issue, unused
drawings, character biographies and a biography of the elusive author Romulus Kveld-Ulf. I was not
one of those getting a copy; I didn't read comic books, but many others—including my
brother—did, so that as Rigel and I sat quietly watching them they drowned out all other sounds
save for that of their excited chatter.

The *Úlhéðnar* comic book series was nothing to sneeze at though. In the three years since
it was first published it had grown to become the most successful and popular comic book series in
recent times, or at least so said the *Daily Prophet* in a pre-Christmas profile. The story of
the creation of the werewolf—hence the name, for “úlfhéðnar” or “ulfhednar” is apparently Old Norse
for “men clad in wolf skins”—the plot claims that they were created in Scandinavia when a vengeful,
and evil, wizard turned an entire village into wolves after the men, Viking warriors, invaded and
plundered his village. However, being a merciful man he allowed that they would become human again
at the full moon and then created a series of runic riddles that would lead to a permanent cure and
scattered them, as per usual, over much of their known world. There are twelve riddles in all, so
twelve ingredients therefore leading to twelve adventures that each take a year, in our time at
least, to solve. Given that there are werewolves today, I guessed that the “merciful” wizard had
apparently double-crossed them again and the appeal is in trying to find out how. Also, in a clever
bit of marketing—though it really sounds like a lot of work—each new issue is released on the day
of the full moon, twelve or thirteen times a year.

When Dad had ordered the series for Milo it had come with an extra page that was the key to the
runes and a silver-tipped quill. This was because someone had figured that it would be more
enticing if the readers were encouraged to try to solve the riddles themselves before the answer
arrived, conveniently, in the final or penultimate issues for the year. Someone else had then
figured that the readers would also love to have various items stamped, printed and embroidered
with the *Úlhéðnar* name and symbol—a wolf looking down into a pool of water at the reflection
of a man—and just earlier this year had gained permission to merchandise. Then another still had
hit on the brilliant idea of translating the issues into other languages and shipping them off to
the Continent, Asia, the United States and South America. They were still in talks on that last
one, but the *Daily Prophet* predicted that by the end of next year the author would be a very
wealthy wizard… if only they could find out who it was.

That was where the controversy began. Uncle Dean told no one who Romulus Kveld-Ulf was, not even
Dad and even after he tried by reminding him that he was the Man-Who-Triumphed. Interviews were
conducted through questionnaires submitted to Uncle Dean, autographed copies went out the same way
and the only known image of him was the silhouette that was printed above the *Úlhéðnar*
symbol at the back of each issue. Of course, given that amount of secrecy it was understandable
that there would be rampant rumours and speculation.

Across the board they all agreed that he was a werewolf. Uncle Dean made no attempt to deny this
and neither did the author. From then the speculation ran different courses. Some believed that he
was also the writer of *Hairy Snout, Human Heart*, which Newt Scamander had identified in our
*Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them* text as a werewolf's “heartrending”
autobiography. Others disagreed on account of him probably being too old, and pointed out that the
author sometimes showed no mercy to his characters. This got the critics involved with some
protesting that the comic book's story blamed werewolves for their curse. Others denied that it
blamed the werewolves but stated that it projected a false image of them as suffering souls and
that this would encourage children to be less wary. Yet others still claimed that the werewolves in
the books were actually Muggles and so did not deserve the bother, but they abhorred the apparent
impression of wizards being responsible for the creation of werewolves.

At no point in any of this did Uncle Dean or the author actually get involved, they allowed the
arguments to play out themselves while the controversy sold the books. It was one of the reasons
why it had become so popular in such a short space of time anyway, well, that and the interactive
and entertaining story. And from the day it was learned that various famous people and their
children—like my little brother and Bulgarian star Seeker, Viktor Krum's twins, Stanislav and
Svetlana—read it, it earned fans by the legions. I had to admit that even I wanted to know who the
author was and more of the story after that; though he was only fifteen Stanislav had been once
voted number one in a poll by *Witch Weekly* on the “Unabashedly Fanciable!”

Assuredly, almost every student and a few teachers were among those being delivered packages
containing the gift-wrapped volume and issue. Some were obviously for others, but the majority were
definitely for the recipient, as evidenced by the crazed manner in which they ripped away the paper
and sat back in awe of the book. Those who were not getting any looked on with naked envy,
undoubtedly, if given the chance they'd nick the lot. I saw one go to Camilla at the Slytherin
table with a large card on the top and then was followed by three others with a flurry of cards
from admirers. The first was probably from her father though, for she ignored all others save that
one.

Connor got one too, just down from where I was seated with Rigel, (new rule, Malfoys don't
respect inter-House rivalries, they are mere trifles) but did not tear away the paper. Instead he
calmly removed it from the table and set it beside him on the bench, looked up at me staring down
at him, and smiled. I smiled back, then blushed and dragged my attention back to Rigel.

There I encountered a frown though he spoke casually, “You know, there are rumours that he's
actually the lucky bloke dating Camilla Longbottom?”

“What? Since when?” I asked, surprised.

“Didn't you know that? So they aren't true then,” he said, more to himself than I.

“Wherever did you get the idea that he and I speak that often? We don't, I just run into him
from time to time,” I replied, trying my best to downplay the situation, though I didn't know
why, and ignore the sudden seizure in my chest at his statement.

He looked at me surprised, “So where do you disappear to so often nowadays? Since Friday
you've been harder to find than Mundungus Fletcher after a tea party.”

Embarrassed, I looked away from him while my mind raced to come up with a suitable excuse. I
very well couldn't tell him that I'd actually been avoiding him because I needed the time
alone to search for a student named Nike Slytherin. After I left Connor that Saturday evening
I'd spent every available moment scanning the map, mostly in vain, and had so far come to the
conclusion that Nike was most likely a female student, in Slytherin House and was one of the
Herbology teacher's pets. That narrowed the list to less than half of one hundred and
twenty-something people.

Nor could I tell him that I'd also been using the time to sleep for I just could not during
the night, despite Kimberly being in the dorm with me and the house elves I now occasionally
spotted every day. Who could sleep easy after nearly being murdered, and especially knowing that
their attacker escaped? Also, with my actual attackers gone home and the teachers who interviewed
them out—not that they would have told me anything anyway—and the new Ministry guard that really
did patrol the school grounds about, I couldn't do anything about it on my own. As far as I
could see all avenues of investigation were closed and my only option was to follow my father's
advice.

And then there was the issue of the map. I hated not being able to tell him about it. He was my
best friend, we'd practically grown up together and even after he began spending time with Mrs
Malfoy. We knew each other better than anyone else and preferred it that way. Not telling him about
something this big, regardless of the consequences, was eating into my conscience the longer I kept
the secret. As far as I knew he'd never kept anything from me, well, except for whatever
happened between him and Connor, so why should I keep anything from him? But my father would not
have told me to keep it to myself if he didn't have a good reason. He knew Rigel too and
trusted him, Mrs Malfoy was the problem.

I said then, the first thing that came to mind. “You're crowding me. Your overprotective
shenanigans are grating on my nerves.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “`Overprotective she'—Magnolia, someone tried to kill you!”

“I know that,” I said quickly. “It's just… I just want to forget about it. My Dad's
Harry Potter, the Man-Who-Triumphed, somebody's bound to be after me because of that. It's
a fact of my life and I have to deal with it, just be more careful now that I'm older and more
available to the nutters.”

Rigel lifted other the eyebrow now. “You want to `just forget about it'? What if something
happens again? What if they try again?”

I didn't want to start an argument with him, I really didn't, but from the looks of him
he wasn't going to let this slide. Unfortunately my next response did nothing to help the
situation. “*If* they try again we'll deal with it *then*, I can't live my life
afraid of attack.”

His ears and neck were reddening; I could literally see him bristling. Apparently when it came
to me Malfoy rules didn't apply, but he was calm when he spoke. “No one expects you to do that
but you have to be realistic, there is someone out there trying to kill you. I'm just doing
what you apparently refuse to do, being reasonable and cautious.”

“*So am I!*” I hissed, trying to avoid attracting attention to our argument. “I just
don't want to overdo it. They could catch whoever it is long before he could try again, they
could have him in custody now!”

“They don't, if they had you would have known about it. Listen, they might say that Hogwarts
is the safest place to be but your father was attacked in this school *numerous times*, his
*Headmaster* was *murdered* here, do you really want to throw caution to the wind because
they *say* you're safe?” he demanded, his voice rising.

I looked around, hoping no one had noticed us, and replied, “I haven't, but believe me when
I say that I am taking precautions.”

He apparently didn't care to be overhead, saying loudly, “What precautions?”

From behind him a familiar voice came over our heads, “Mr Weasley, Miss Potter, is something
wrong?”

We turned, I with a deepening sense of dread, to find the OGB standing in the middle of the
aisle beside our table. It was amazing how, despite all the Christmas cheer going round, none of it
had affected him, leaving him as I supposed he liked to be, a dark shadow in the midst of all the
bright merriment. As a matter of fact he was more like a repellent, his voluminous black robes and
standoffish air deflecting any and all attempts to impose the season of light and joy upon him.
He'd arrived and we hadn't noticed though, and none of my Housemates had deemed it fit to
warn us either. Well, there went their Christmas gifts. But then, I was also never happier to have
him interrupt.

I hastened to reply, “No sir, nothing's wrong.”

Understandably he was sceptical, but he did not mention it when he spoke next. “Very well then,
Miss Potter I would like to speak to you.”

“Now sir?” I asked, dejected.

He did not reply but immediately began to walk away from the table. With one last despairing
look at Rigel, which was greeted by his closed one, I got up and followed the OGB as he led the way
out of the Great Hall.

I did not fail to notice though, Connor's eyes following me all the way out.

For a time we walked in silence. I had no idea what he wanted to talk about or was really
interested and he seemed intent on being as far away from prying eyes and ears as possible before
he began. But once we had cleared the Hall and were on a path that seemed to lead down to the
dungeons, he asked, “What is your younger brother's name?”

“What?” I asked, stunned. When he did not repeat or clarify though, I replied, “Milo, Milo Harry
Potter.”

“And how old is he?” he asked, making no attempt to explain why he was asking.

“Ten, he'll be eleven in October, on Hallowe'en,” I replied.

He fell silent again for a while. We'd gotten to the top of the stairs that would lead down
to the basement and dungeons and here he stopped and turned to look at me. I said nothing, intent
on supplying no more information than necessary. What he'd asked me he most certainly already
knew or could have found out from an old issue of the *Daily Prophet*. Of course, he'd
also given no reasons; I had no idea what he could possibly want with Milo.

Finally he asked, “Your father has a broom, has your little brother ever tried to fly it? I know
children of magical households sometimes take advantage of their parents' possessions; the
Ministry does not bother as long as the children don't do it in front of Muggles or away from
their parents. Has your little brother?”

I was now completely floored. What on earth did he want? But I answered still, “No, we're
not allowed. The *Firebolt* is dangerous.”

“How about his wand?” he asked, barely waiting for me to finish my response.

“No, he tried once but nothing happened,” I replied.

“Nothing happened? What about accidents, has he ever had an accident where something unusual
happened?” he asked, and again barely waiting for me to finish.

“You mean like accidental magic? No, I don't remember anything like—wait, where are you
going with this? What are you trying to say? Do you think my brother's a Squib?” I
demanded.

He did not respond at once, but then said with a slight sneer, “No, I was merely making
enquiries at the behest of another. No one who is going to or would hurt you, you are assured.”

I looked up at him and dared to scoff. “You were a Death Eater; Dad says not to trust you no
matter what you did for the war.”

In that moment he looked so angry I could have sworn that he would have hexed me, but instead he
said, “Detention! It might be the holidays but I will not allow cheek, and don't expect your
`uncle' to get you out of it this time. You are dismissed, Miss Potter.”

He stalked off then towards the dungeons and I was left staring at his greasy hair and back
before he vanished completely into the darkness. Then with a groan on realising that I'd
managed to get myself back into detention after Uncle Lupin had so graciously got me out of it, and
this time with a good reason, I turned and went back to the Great Hall. Then I groaned again, this
time internally, when I remembered that when I'd left Rigel and I had been having an
argument.

I took my time then to get back to the table. No need to rush back into an argument with him,
for though he didn't argue with anyone often he had the raging Weasley temper and that was
something to be feared, friend or foe. I soon discovered that I would have no excuses though, for
Connor had left, package and all, and so had many others including Camilla. I half-dragged my way
back then and once seated with him, said at once, “I'm sorry, but you have to understand, I
really don't need or want to think about what happened. It was horrible thing that still scares
me so please, can we not talk about it.”

He said nothing for a time, considering it (I hoped) and then, with a smile, “What do you want
to think about then?”

Relieved, I said the first thing that came to me. “Gifts, I mean, what did your grandmother get
for me anyway?”

He grinned, “What did you get for me?”

I sat up away from him and folded my arms. “I don't think so. You don't find that out
until Christmas.”

“Well then, so do you,” he replied simply and then pushed a plate with a large ham sandwich
closer to me. “Your breakfast is getting cold.”

*******

Connor had vanished. This was the conclusion I quickly came to when, sitting alone in my dorm
with the map, I couldn't find his dot anywhere. I couldn't find Nike Slytherin either, but
I absolutely couldn't find Connor and that worried me.

In fact I hadn't seen him around since breakfast, and when Rigel saw me looking about while
we wandered the school after, he said that he was probably in the library. That was the first place
I searched on the map though and came up with nothing. He wasn't in the Common Room either, the
boys' dorms, the Great Hall or outside. I even dared to check the bathrooms but came up with
nothing. He wasn't in the dungeons or any of the classrooms, the Headmistress' or any of
the teachers' offices and he wasn't in the Owlery. So where'd he go? I knew that there
were probably many hiding places in this old castle but this map seemed to show every available
space so that I was pretty sure he wasn't anywhere in them. And if he wasn't in any of them
that meant that he was either in the forest, the lake or out of school altogether, the places where
the map didn't go.

I eliminated the lake as a location immediately. Unless the Slytherins had decided to do to him
what they said they would have done to me (I shivered at the thought) he had no good reason for
being in the freezing lake. The forest was also out because though his father was a werewolf, this
was the full moon and not everyone would be on Wolfsbane. Not to mention that it was snowing
heavily again and there were Aurors patrolling, any student caught outside was guaranteed
detention, as well as an undoubtedly embarrassing Veritaserum-induced interrogation. That left out
of school altogether and I wondered.

I unfolded the map completely and looked to the fringes where Hogsmeade village was just
visible. Almost automatically I was greeted with a series of passages that led out of the castle.
Through trap doors, secret rooms and tunnels they all led to the village, which was apparently the
reason they'd been noted on the map in the first place. Two immediately caught my eye though,
one, which led into Honeydukes Sweet Shop and the other that came up into the Shrieking Shack.

I doubted he'd gone into Honeydukes, the shop was closed and if he'd gone through there
he would have no way of getting back. The shack wasn't haunted; this I knew from my father and
Uncle Lupin, but that was an impractical option considering that he'd have to go in under the
Whomping Willow. That left the other passages which meant for me that this was going to be a long
night.

I hopped off my bed and slipped on my shoes and then took up the cloak. Now that was a useful
invention, perfect for students not wanting to get House points deducted as well as detention for
the rest of the vacation. But as I headed to the door it opened before me and Kimberly slipped in
bearing a copy of the comic book, *Witch Weekly* and a broad grin.

Not noticing that I'd been on my way out, she began brightly, “Look! They've interviewed
Stanislav and his sister again, and they even have a picture of them and their father! He's got
a kind of Mohawk haircut now, all long in the back and wild up front; I wish the boys in school
would wear their hair like that…. And his eyes, oh my goodness! You've got to hear what he says
about girlfriends and your Mum imagine that, he was talking about her! Why did she ever let his
father get away? He could have been your brother!”

In the face of that torrent I knew there was no way I was leaving now. I carefully folded the
map into cloak and threw myself down unto her bed to read with her while covering both with my
body. The best place to hide things sometimes was in plain sight and she'd never noticed either
for the four days I'd so far had them. I'd just have to leave a little later to find Connor
then.

I didn't remember falling asleep but suddenly I was blinking away my dreams and sitting up
in bed still dressed in the clothes I wore the night before and with much of my lower body missing.
I quickly dragged the cloak up into my arms, looked around for the map, found it on the floor near
the bed and secured both in my trunk between my clothes. Thankfully Kimberly was still asleep; I
could only hope that she hadn't noticed the cloak in the night though for there would be no end
to her pleas to use it.

Carelessness was dangerous now, and yet there I was.

My sudden movements so shortly after waking up though left me temporarily winded and caused
various joints to ache so that I was forced to sit down again. That allowed me to remember why
I'd had the cloak and map out in the first place and I was quickly up once more and back in the
trunk looking for the map. Not bothering to go back to the bed I knelt right there and opened it,
here discovering that I'd also forgotten to wipe it clean, (very, very careless, Magnolia) and
began searching for Connor.

I found him almost immediately… sort of. For some reason his dot was almost covered by another
that read, strangely, “Remus Lupin”. That could mean one of two things and neither good, either he
was carrying his father, which was impossible given that he was an ordinary fourteen year old boy,
or… his father was carrying him.

I flew up off the ground so fast I nearly hit my head on one of the bed posts. But then I
quickly shoved the map into my pocket, found and slipped on my shoes and raced out of the room, not
even bothering to shut the door.

I barely noticed that Nike Slytherin was coming in behind them.

I didn't stop to acknowledge anyone who called out to me. I barely waited for the Fat
Lady's portrait to be open before I was through the hole and racing down the halls to the
stairs. I was then forced to spend an impatient few minutes waiting for the stairs to rearrange
themselves, and a crowd of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor First Years to pass, heads down in their new
comic books, not noticing or caring for others in their way, before I could get down to the main
corridor that led to the entrance hall of the castle. And I got there just as Rigel emerged from
the dungeons, no doubt on his way to get me for breakfast, and they came through the front
doors.

Thankfully Connor was very much alive and unhurt, for he was the one walking, but it was the
sight of Uncle Lupin that stopped me and very much everyone in the immediate vicinity cold.

He was cut up, savagely, as if some wild beast had attacked him and then tried to render him
limb from limb. There was blood everywhere, I could barely tell the colour of his robes or his
hair. And worst of all, though I wasn't sure that it could get worse, his eyes were closed. At
that moment I was very sure that he was dead.

I looked up at Connor, holding his father in his arms with the help of a Weightlessness Charm,
and found that he had been crying, for his eyes were swollen and bloodshot. He was warmly dressed
and there was still a lot of snow in his hair, apparently there was a blizzard approaching now, but
it wasn't the cold that had made him so pale. In fact he looked anxious, half-wild and afraid
and it showed in his voice when he half-yelled, voice breaking into a loud croak, “We have to get
him to the Infirmary; he'll bleed to death if we don't!”

This was apparently the signal for pandemonium for as soon as he said that the panicked,
horrified screaming began and shouts for Madam Pomfrey. No one offered aid though, though the full
moon had passed now they all knew he was a werewolf and were absolutely terrified. Quite a few were
already looking at Connor warily, wondering if somewhere under his father's blood he'd been
marked. Mercifully the OGB quickly appeared out of nowhere, conjured a stretcher and then had to
forcibly get Connor to lay him down on it. Madam Pomfrey arrived shortly after, for she'd
luckily been attending to an incident nearby, and led the way to the Infirmary. We nearly all
followed her.

Somehow through the confused and excited throng pushing up the stairs then, Rigel found me and
said, “Come on, I know another way.”

I went after him at once, but, remembering, looked back at the front doors to find that it was
swamped with students who had been outside trying to get in. I wasn't going to find Nike
Slytherin today then, but there were more important matters at hand.

There was no denying it; I wouldn't believe it no matter what they said. My attacker had
come again.

**A/N2:** *Sorry, had to be done.*

-->



6. Chapter Six
--------------



**A/N:** *Well, here at last is another chapter and I am writing to you all from New York.
Long vacation ahead of me, I have big plans but main hurdle is to work through this sudden
appearance of Writer's Block and get these chapters in. I really want to be finished before*
Deathly Hallows *is published. That shouldn't be too much of a problem though, I have my new
laptop! Yay for me! Enjoy.*

**Disclaimer:** *Not mine, but working on mine again. Toughest critic I've encountered
so far: my own mother.*

*******

**Chapter Six**

As we raced up to the Infimary, which Rigel was firmly convinced we were going to get to before
the others, he finally noticed that I was still wearing the same clothes he'd left me in the
night before. Without stopping he asked, “Run out of clean clothing, Potter?”

I looked down at myself. “It's a short story: Kimberly and *Witch Weekly*.”

He decided not to enquire further, and instead said, “I can get us inside but we're going to
have to stay in the background and out of sight.”

I suddenly wished I hadn't left the cloak in my room, and that I'd told him about it
before. He was my best friend and no fool; there was no way he'd ever tell anyone about it and
especially his grandmother. Where on earth did my parents get the idea that he would? There was
nothing to be done about that now though, so I replied, “Okay.”

We were taking a secret passageway, concealed behind a statue in the hall beside the left-hand
staircase leading to the second floor. There was another staircase here, which only led to the
floor below the Infirmary's, so that we'd have an open race to it before the others came.
And all the while we ran, Rigel had been muttering under his breath, “Why didn't he do anything
before? Treating werewolf bites is first year stuff! And even if he didn't remember that he
damned sure knows which herbs to use to treat wounds, or potions, Herbology and Potions are his two
best subjects! Why didn't he do anything...?”

Usually I would have taken the mickey out of him for talking to himself, given the rarity of the
moments when he acted like a normal person, but this was not a normal day. When I could take it no
more I asked, “What are you talking about? Who are you talking about?”

“Connor,” he replied. “He's good at Potions; *frightfully* good at Potions, and
Herbology and Defence Against the Dark Arts… he can't not know anything about treating wounds,
about treating these kinds of wounds. Why didn't he do anything last night?”

“Last night?” I asked, confused.

“Cousin Remus didn't get attacked this morning,” he replied over his shoulder.

Even more perplexed, I asked, “What?”

“Connor was with him last night and he didn't do a thing to help him after he'd been
attacked, why?”

“Connor had left the school last night?” I asked, hopelessly lost and nearly breathless now for
the length of our climbing run. Thankfully though, we had at last come to the top of the staircase,
behind a portrait, and he had barely stopped running before he was checking round it for unwanted
company. He answered, slightly irritated, “Don't be thick, did Connor look as if he just went
out? He's been out all night; he sat there all night watching his father bleed and did
nothing….”

The coast was apparently clear for he hopped out then, turned and reached a hand for me. And I
was barely standing shakily beside him before he was dragging me to the stairs and up them all the
way to the Infirmary. There, we burst in to absolute silence, which was good, it meant that they
weren't there yet and the Infirmary was empty. He quickly selected a corner that was easily
hidden from view by a screen and once we were safely behind it, turned to me and whispered, “Tell
me, did you see Connor in the Common Room last night?”

Remembering the map I shook my head, “No, I didn't see him.”

“That's what I mean. He wasn't anywhere in the castle last night, I know it. One of his
friends was looking for him and another actually had the nerve to ask me if I'd done anything
to him,” he replied.

“What did you tell him?” I asked.

“That I'd dumped his body in the lake. Anyway, since he'd come down to the dungeons to
ask I guessed that Connor must have left the school and the little git hadn't bothered to tell
anyone else how,” he replied.

“You two don't talk, why should he tell you anything?—why is that by the way? That you two
don't talk?” I asked.

He brushed my question off as if shaking off a fly, giving a headshake that fluttered the ends
of his hair into his eyes and then nodded to the door, “They're here.”

I looked up just as Madam Pomfrey, the OGB and Connor, along with the rest of the school, burst
in and surrounded the first available bed. A few gruff barks cleared the students out shortly
after, but they crushed into the doorway and against the doors so that it was clear that they
hadn't and weren't going anywhere. Madam Pomfrey ignored this though, to ask Connor, “What
did this to him?”

“Another werewolf,” he replied.

I gasped, but it was thankfully covered by the alarmed cries of the others without. The OGB
barked at them again and they hushed quickly, then he asked Connor, “Did it attack you too?”

“No sir,” said Connor, firmly. “It heard me coming and ran off.”

“Why would it do that?” asked Madam Pomfrey, absently.

The OGB cut across Connor's response to ask, “Where were you when the attack happened?”

This time Connor didn't immediately reply, halting halfway through the response he was
apparently going to give to Madam Pomfrey so that the following stumbled into a mutter and died.
Then he was silent for so long that the OGB was forced to repeat the question before he uttered, as
softly as he could, “The Shrieking Shack.”

The OGB reacted as expected, “Detention! And one hundred points from Gryffindor for leaving
school grounds!”

My Housemates audibly groaned in the hall, while Rigel beside me stifled a smile. That
immediately took out the advantage in the race to the House Cup we'd gained in the Quidditch
match. Connor gave no visible reaction to this though, just continued to silently stare down at his
father while Madam Pomfrey ran him over with a series of muttered spells and her wand.

Looking at him then, still wearing his thick cloak, hat and scarf in the unrelentingly warm
castle, covered in his father's freeze-dried blood, I could almost feel his pain; the
expression on his face spoke volumes. But the empathy-less OGB wasn't finished with him yet. He
continued as Madam Pomfrey began some frantic spell casting, first to warm up Uncle Lupin and to
seal some of the more minor wounds, “I can see that Madam Pomfrey has her work cut out for her and
we're apparently getting in her way. Come with me, we'll finish this conversation in my
office.”

Here Madam Pomfrey tried to interject, a surprising development given her history. She stopped
midway through a spell and looked the OGB directly in the eyes, “His father was just attacked and
is in grave condition, he should be here if he wants to be.”

He blankly looked back at her, and then asked Connor, “When was he attacked?”

“Last night, l-late, around ten o' clock,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion now.

The OGB turned back to Madam Pomfrey, “He spent the entire night watching him. If he expires
while we are away the boy had clearly had enough time to say what he needed to.”

Startled and understandably so, Connor looked up at him sharply. He said nothing, but I did not
miss the wild rage in his eyes, now a dark, cold grey, colder even than anything Rigel had ever
managed. It was certainly something I hoped not to be on the receiving end of. Yet when the OGB
blithely began to head to the door, he quietly fell in step behind him.

There was no time to think it over, I turned to Rigel immediately. “I have to follow them. You
stay here and watch Uncle Lupin.”

“What?” he asked, turning to me, but it was too late. I was already slipping as quietly as I
could away from him looking for a way out of the Infirmary unnoticed. It came when Madam Pomfrey
turned away to go to her storeroom for some supplies. I took the chance and raced through the doors
into the remnants of the crowd. They saw me and started, then began calling after me: “Magnolia...?
What did you see?” “Is he still alive?” “Where's Snape taking Lupin?” “Magnolia, did Connor get
bitten?”

I ignored them all. I was on a mission, I had to get to my room, get the cloak and use that and
the map to find Connor and the OGB. Once I found them, well, I didn't know, but I had to find
them. I took the steps two at a time and pushed carelessly past people to the portrait hole. I
swept up the stairs to my dormitory, snatched up the cloak not noticing or caring if I was being
seen and then sped back down and out of the tower altogether to the stairs. Later I would have to
come up with some form of excuse for my behaviour, but that was later when I wasn't hoping and
then not, that this was just a random act of violence.

How to explain the fact that it happened in the Shrieking Shack then? I was working on it.

I found them just as they got to the stairs that led down to the dungeons. Checking around
quickly, I ducked behind a pillar and slipped on the cloak, then pulled the map from my pocket and
hastily searched it for the easiest route to the dungeons. There were none, but the best chance was
down the stairs directly behind them, holding my breath where possible and moving as slowly as the
situation would allow, stifling the sound of my footfalls.

In practice this proved more difficult.

Neither the OGB nor Connor said anything to each other as they went. Footsteps echoed as they
were made, despite the crackling torches and occasional creepy noise that filled the darkness all
the way down. I was eventually forced to allow them to go all the way before attempting to follow,
using the map to track them. But that revealed a serious problem. The OGB went directly to his
office with Connor close on his heels, and just down that same corridor was Peeves taunting
Filch.

My heart leapt into my throat, either one of them discovering me then was going to lose
Gryffindor at least fifty more points. But I had to hear what they were talking about, so hoping
that Peeves was too busy with Filch and vice versa (and not to mention that Mrs Norris was miles
away) I crept down the final steps as quietly as humanly possible. It took a painful amount of
time, when I finally got to the OGB's office—sure enough finding Peeves and Filch in the midst
of a heated exchange (on Filch's part at least)—I found the him and Connor in mid-conversation.
The OGB was speaking.

“—you do anything? You let him suffer an entire night when you knew the simplest solution to end
his misery! You had the opportunity, why didn't you seize it!”

“End his misery?” I had a feeling that that wasn't good. For the fact that I knew that the
OGB and Uncle Lupin were lifelong enemies, I could be assured that he wasn't talking about
Connor coming back to school for help. Connor's response then shocked me slightly.

“He wasn't attacking me!”

“That is no excuse! You allowed him to lie there in pain while you sat there and *cried*
like a little *boy*! I taught you better than that! You have an opportunity, take it!”

Connor didn't respond then and I imagined him glaring at the OGB in a manner that suggested
“if looks could kill”. How dare he suggest what he did? Who did he think he was? What kind of
person did he think Connor was?

He continued casually, “Anyway, a werewolf you say...? Did you see anything of it?”

Just down the corridor Peeves levitated Filch's mop bucket half-filled of a slimy-looking
liquid precariously over his head. Filch suddenly looked less inclined to argue, eyeing the bucket
cautiously, but I could still feel his rage emanating off of him in waves. I willed them to
continue with each other and not notice me; I didn't and couldn't possibly come up with a
good excuse if they did.

“No, it left just as I was coming in,” Connor replied.

“You did not interact with it at all?” asked the OGB, and I could hear something like scepticism
in his voice.

“No sir,” said Connor, firmly, and then added, more than a little rudely, “you can clearly see
that I haven't been bitten.”

“Did you prearrange to meet your father last night?” asked the OGB, surprisingly ignoring
Connor's tone.

Peeves began to toy with the bucket over Filch's head, tilting it forward and then bringing
it back upright. If Filch moved it followed him, if he swore it tilted forward just a little
more.

“It was the full moon,” said Connor, continuing as insolently as before.

“Did you intend to see him anyway?”

“I'm not stupid.”

“I know that you are fascinated... no, obsessed with werewolves, as far as I can recall you have
always been.”

“My father is one. You always say that knowledge is power, if I have to live with him I should
know everything there is to know about people with his condition.”

“I distinctly recall an incident involving Rigel Weasley—”

“—That was a prank—”

“—So you say but you seemed to have—”
Peeves took just that moment to dump the bucket of slime on Filch's head, causing him to erupt
into a roar of “PEEVES!” and a string of curses that echoed through the unnaturally quiet dungeon.
I covered my left ear with my hand and pressed the other against the door. Neither Connor nor the
OGB seemed to have reacted, I wondered if they even heard a thing. But I certainly couldn't
now, their words kept coming in snatches and breaks that meant nothing out of context. I was
eventually forced to wait against the door while Filch rage and hope for it to subside.

It wasn't to be long though, for suddenly the Bloody Baron appeared, floating up the
corridor from the shadows with a distinctly displeased expression on his face. Peeves vanished so
fast I was sure he'd been banished. Filch was left to roar at the blank space in the wall where
he'd been hovering and then stalk, slimily and rather smelly, away up the stairs that led back
up to the Great Hall. The Bloody Baron went along his mournful, menacing way and I was forced to
return to the conversation just as it ended with the OGB saying to Connor, “—now go, and don't
ever leave this school again without permission. You could have been killed by that werewolf, and
then what would your father have done about his doses of Wolfsbane? My hands are no longer as
steady as they used to be and your mother is useless, and you *know* that. His life is in your
hands.”
There was a pause as Connor began to head towards the door—I began to shuffle away for safety—and
then he said something that made my heart seize, “But isn't that a good thing?”

At last it seemed that he had gone too far, the OGB's voice was nothing but cold fury as he
snapped, “I don't think your house could stand to lose more points so I shall ignore that
statement. What we do is not for my benefit, but yours, and don't you ever forget that! Now
go!”

I flattened myself against the wall as Connor emerged from the office and headed back up the
steps. The OGB remained within at his desk, and just before the door closed I spied him staring at
his hands as if they'd offended him.

Apparently they had, and how my father would have loved to hear that bit of information. The
only thing that had kept the OGB out of Azkaban really was his Potions work. I pressed on the door
gently, it gave a little and I looked in at him flexing his fingers and massaging his palms and at
once decided against telling my father. If he was going to find out about this he was going to have
to do it on his own. In the meantime I was going back up to find out what had happened with Uncle
Lupin while I was away. Somebody had to look out for him, since it appeared—and the thought
repulsed me—that his son wasn't going to.

*******

Rigel met me just as I arrived at the Infirmary floor, out of the cloak, and at once dragged me
away back downstairs. I made no attempt to resist his manhandling, he was rightly confused and
upset about the way I'd run off earlier without explanation. As soon as we were free of the
main crowd, slowed to a stroll amidst only the prying eyes and ears of the portraits and the dim
light coming through the snow-blocked windows, he demanded, “Where were you?”

“What happened with Uncle Lupin, could Madam Pomfrey do anything for him?” I asked, refusing to
answer.

“They've sent him to St Mungo's and Madam Pomfrey is trying to contact Aunt Tonks—where
were you?” he demanded, refusing to be distracted.

I relented, “Trying to eavesdrop on the OGB and Connor, it's the same thing he said before,
it was a werewolf.”

“Was there anyone else with him? Was he out there alone?” he asked, somewhat fervently.

“Should there have been?” I asked, trying to stall him, not wanting to admit that I hadn't
really heard anything useful.

He was on his guard, “Was there anyone?”

“I don't know, I didn't hear that much,” I replied.

“Did he see the werewolf?” he asked.

“Apparently not.”

“Was he going out to meet someone?”

“Snape seems to think so; said Connor's obsessed with werewolves and he thought that he was
going out to study them because it's the full moon. By the way, what happened between you and
him when you were younger? The OGB was explaining until Peeves dropped a bucket of slime of
Filch's head,” I said.

He intentionally ignored my question, “Peeves and Filch?”

“*Rigel*...” I warned.

For a second it appeared that he was going to answer, and then he said, “I think we should send
a letter to your parents about this, it might be the same person who arranged to attack you before.
He must have figured out somehow that Cousin Remus was trying to protect you.”

“I can't talk to them directly, Uncle Lupin was the contact,” I protested.

“Then how about Aunt Luna, I know she gave you something from them last week,” he replied.

The memory of the cloak flitted into my mind and I stammered, “Oh... uh... er... yeah, I
don't know what good it'll do but let's go.”
We turned around and headed to the stairs to go up to Gryffindor Tower.

For the rest of the day the school discussed the morning's events. Understandably the
Gryffindors were most upset by Connor's actions, and though some were sympathetic due to his
father's condition, others were not. One hundred points were a lot to lose in one go. My mother
had told me about the time in her first year when she, Dad and Uncle Neville had lost Gryffindor
one hundred and fifty... Connor was going to be shunned for some time to come.

The others Houses had mixed reactions. While the Slytherins were clearly joyous, to the extent
that many walked the corridors calling out “Lupin for Head Boy!” the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws
presented themselves as torn between hope for success and empathy for Connor.

I, on the other hand, preoccupied myself with pondering the little I'd overheard of Connor
and the OGB's conversation. It sounded wrong, it felt wrong, it *was* wrong, but I had no
proof of anything. At fourteen Connor couldn't possibly generate the energy needed to use the
Killing Curse, I knew that Voldemort had used it at sixteen but he was evil. Access to the more
dangerous herbs and potions ingredients was severely restricted for obvious reasons. And Connor
simply couldn't kill his father; even if he used “Diffindo” creatively he wouldn't do it.
As far as I had seen of them together, which wasn't much but more than enough anyway, he just
couldn't.

Yet what was that “isn't that a good thing” comment?

At last Rigel could take it no more and demanded, “You heard more than you told me, didn't
you? What did you hear?”

“I told you exactly what I told my parents,” I replied.

We had been wandering around the school since sending the letter off to Aunt Luna that morning.
It had been a slow and quiet walk, with both of us lost in our own thoughts, and had now come to a
stop in the corridor alongside the courtyard, where we stood watching the snowfall slowly stifle
the grounds. Someone had removed the tree that had been set up there, forever taking a beating from
the wind, but I could see Hagrid in the distance dragging a particularly large one over the grounds
to the castle. I observed it all with a sense of detachment, the stillborn Christmas spirit in me
was just about to be declared dead.

Rigel stepped into my line of sight, looked me dead in the eye and asked again, “What did you
hear?”

Not breaking his gaze I said, “I can't tell you, I'm not going to tell you. I don't
have to.”

“What were Connor and Snape talking about?” he asked.

“I told you.”

“Then it has something to do with him being out of school,” he said, looking at me carefully,
searching for the slightest hint.

I got angry, “Why can't you listen? I'm not going to tell you. I just—”

“—Magnolia Potter!” called a frightfully familiar voice.

I firmly refused to turn around, though I knew that wouldn't stop her. When she wanted to,
Professor Trelawney could be a force to be reckoned with. But Rigel decided to take a more
proactive approach to avoiding her.

Grasping my arm, he began walking us briskly towards a side exit where a group of his Housemates
were gathered talking. We both pretended that we couldn't hear her calling still, “Magnolia!
Magnolia!” as we went and the group did nothing to alert us to it. To them he was Rigel Malfoy and
no one interfered with a Malfoy in Slytherin House.

But just as we got to the exit door, an arched alcove that was really a false wall, she caught
up with us, snatched my other arm, forcing us to stop, and said gravely, “Miss Potter, I have been
looking at the cards again. Your father took heed of my warnings and I expect that you will do the
same. Be warned, actions have consequences and consequences will be delivered upon those who have
wronged! Beware of the hound lover, darkness surrounds him. Beware of the attendant, born of
madness and consuming hate, *death is her*. I have been watching you from the beginning, I was
right the first time, I am right now. Be vigilant when you walk into darkened woods.”

And with that she released my arm, straightened her battered old cloak and walked away, taking
the scent of her cooking sherry perfume with her. The others began to laugh, but with a look from
Rigel they immediately stopped.

I looked off to the corridor she'd disappeared down and then said, “I'm going to my
room.” And I did not wait for him to respond before walking away.

He quickly caught up with me. “Don't tell me you're taking that barmy woman
seriously.”

“I'm not, I'm tired, we've been walking around all day,” I lied. Actually I just
wanted to be alone but I couldn't say that.

“We can sit,” he said.

“Not here, and I don't want to be in the Great Hall, there are too many people around,” I
replied, half-heartedly now trying to get rid of him.

He stopped a moment, thinking, and then said, “Let's go to the library then.”

“Madam Pince will put us out if we start talking,” I pointed out.

“Well then we won't talk, we can sit quietly. I'll pretend to read and you can go to
sleep like everyone else does,” he replied.

I could see that he wasn't going to give up and allowed him to lead me away.

*******

Sitting in the library while Rigel read for his homework, I lay my head on a couple of books and
stared out the window at the darkening navy twilight and thickening snowfall. There really was a
blizzard coming now, and again the image of being at home in my bed flitted into my mind, away from
werewolves and murderous sons and crazy false Seers. There I would be safe, with hot chocolate and
my father whistling Christmas carols loudly, though he was awful, and my siblings trying to find
out where Mum had hidden our presents. There I wouldn't have to wonder if Connor was evil and
the OGB brainwashed him. There I wouldn't have to wonder which werewolf my father had offended
and how recently for them to come after me now. There I could just go about life as if I was just
another thirteen year old witch. I wrapped my arms round myself and closed my eyes, trying to
picture it and shut out the world.

Moments later Rigel was shaking me awake. “Get up Potter; go for a walk or something, Pince is
coming!”

I was up in an instant and wincing at a pain in my chest from the sudden movement, got off the
bench and hurried away. If she caught me sleeping on the books I would be chased from the library,
loudly, and the last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself.

I made my way deeper into the library, heading for the shelves nearest the Restricted Section,
which were usually quieter than the rest. There I could hide a bit until I felt that she had gone
and then I would go back to the table and Rigel, though I didn't really want to. I could go to
my room of course, but alone up there I was undoubtedly going to be flooded with thoughts about the
days events. Worrying about Uncle Lupin, wondering about the OGB, Connor and Professor
Trelawney's warning (she had been right the first time), and unable to sleep, I'd probably
go mad.

Then I saw something that stopped me cold. With three more shelves to go I had slowed my pace
and tried to make my movements less urgent, to appear more casual than I actually was. My
undoubtedly puffy and red eyes, imprinted skin and already hoarse voice would be a dead giveaway up
close, but from the distance I hoped to get away with it. And then I heard them.

They were between the last shelves at a desk tucked neatly into an alcove, heads together and
speaking in low voices. Connor, looking glum, was attempting to stare a hole into the table before
them. Camilla had her arm around him and her chin on his shoulder, whispering what were probably
(what I hoped were) words of encouragement into his ear. There were piles of books and papers
spread out on the table before them to give the illusion of a study session but not many would be
fooled by it. Since when did a Sixth Year Slytherin, who didn't have a reputation for kindness
in the first place, tutor a Fourth Year Gryffindor, who, from reports I'd received thus far,
didn't need it? And what could she possibly be helping him with in the first place? No, no one
would believe it, but they would certainly think something else was going on. They looked so
comfortable, so casual that I knew this wasn't the first time they must have sat like this. It
was too... intimate. I felt as if I'd walked in on something I shouldn't have seen,
shouldn't be seeing and at once turned and headed back to Rigel.

I had no idea. I didn't think it was true, I'd heard the rumours and from Rigel too, who
didn't often get into gossip, and I didn't believe them. But apparently they were. Connor
and Camilla... I'd seen the look she had given him when we'd gone out to search for my
earring. It was all true after all, Connor and Camilla....

I was forced to stop a few shelves down to clear my head with a headshake that would make anyone
looking on think I'd lost my mind. And surely I had, what was I worrying about? I was just
Connor's friend, and so was she, maybe. I hung around with Rigel and everyone always thought we
were a couple, though we weren't, it was all in the way it looked, how they perceived us. And
then Connor's father had been seriously hurt this morning, she was just doing what a good
friend would do, comforting him now that he really needed it. I was being stupid and silly and
needed a reality check, Connor and I weren't that good friends.

I took a deep breath and set off again. But when I was almost at Rigel's table I saw Madam
Pince standing nearby and without hesitating turned and left the library altogether. I had had
enough of the library for the evening; I needed to be in my room.

-->



7. Chapter Seven
----------------



**A/N***: Hi there, early chapter. Oh the joys of having a laptop at hand.... Anyway, hope
you enjoy this chapter, I've been dying to write for so long it's wonderful to have it on
paper, so-to-speak, for you. Thanks to all who have read, and review, hint, hint.*

**Disclaimer***: Not mine, but with luck someday someone else is going to be writing
fanfiction about my stuff.*

*******

**Chapter Seven**

Saturday morning after breakfast the OGB personally informed me that I was to have my detention
that very evening. As Rigel and I left the Great Hall, stuffed to lunch and off to yet another day
of aimless wandering, he approached us at the doors and said to me, “You are to meet Mr Filch this
evening at the entrance doors for your detention. I suggest you dress warmly, there's a
blizzard coming.”

He began to walk away, but Rigel spoke up, “But sir... Magnolia can't be outside after dark,
it's too dangerous. I mean, someone is trying to kill her.” Rigel was one of the few people I
knew who would openly question the OGB, one of the few remaining perks, I supposed, of having a
Malfoy for a grandmother.

The OGB stopped and turned back to us, then said stiffly, “Then your friend should have had a
better relationship with the rules. I can assure you that she will not be harmed; there are new,
extensive security measures all about the school. Not even the wind gets in without being cleared
by me.”

Rigel looked at him stunned, but the OGB simply turned and left, stalking down the corridor with
an air of menace that made many give him a wide berth. I wasn't at all surprised and said to
Rigel, “Close your mouth, you're not attractive like that.”

He looked down at me and smirked, notably half-heartedly, “You think I'm attractive? Knew
I'd win you over eventually.”

I scoffed, “It's a figure of speech.”

He continued to smirk, “Yes, they always say that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Can we just go somewhere, I've got detention this evening and I need to
prepare myself for dealing with Filch.”

I began to walk in the direction of the stairs and Rigel hurried to catch up with me. As we
began to ascend them though, he asked, “So, what did your parents say about the attack?”

There was a lot said about it actually, including the *Daily Prophet* headline,
“**Werewolf War Hero Attacked near Hogwarts! Magnolia Potter Not Harmed!**” The WWN had run a
series of reports on the incident claiming that the attack had actually happened in Hogsmeade
village. Afterwards Uncle Lupin had stumbled to the school where by chance he was spotted hanging
off the gate by his son who was out playing with his friends. I surmised that this was the official
version the OGB had had released to the press, for we all knew that Connor had sneaked out of
school the night before. Beyond that the article recounted the now very old news that Uncle Lupin
had been a werewolf since very young, had attended Hogwarts anyway through the benevolence of the
late Professor Dumbledore and married the much younger cousin of late best friend, the falsely
accused murderer, Sirius Black, Nymphadora Tonks. In the end it had been branded as a random act,
but since we refused to believe it, Rigel was very interested in my parents' thoughts.

We walked in silence for a while as I tried to come up with an answer that wouldn't reveal
anything that my father didn't want me to. He'd sent a very long letter the night before
that basically restated some of what he'd told me the last time, and reiterated his warning to
be careful, but then also something new. Like the fact that he didn't really know of too many
werewolves that had a grudge against him, for Uncle Lupin had been in charge of liaising with them
during the war after Fenrir's capture. So I said to Rigel, “Dad thinks it's too early to
say that it's the same person after me. It was probably just a random thing, and especially if
the werewolf was off Wolfsbane, he'd attack anybody. He was just... lucky... that he stumbled
upon Uncle Lupin.”

“I think Cousin Remus would strongly disagree with that,” said Rigel. “And I guess that you
don't believe that either.”

“How can I? First I get attacked in the bathroom, then Uncle Lupin in the Shrieking Shack a few
days later? That's too close to be a coincidence,” I replied.

We'd gotten to the top of the stairs and stood a while trying to decide which way to go.
We'd been everywhere, weren't interested in sitting in the Great Hall or the library, and
couldn't just stand in the hallways for the OGB had been deducting House points almost all week
for loitering. Eventually Rigel said, “Let's go find an empty classroom.”

“You know, if we're discovered it's going to be bad,” I replied, at once heading off
with him to look for one.

“What did I tell you about not caring if people think you're my girlfriend?” he said.

“But I'm *not* your girlfriend,” I told him. “*Still* not your girlfriend.”

“I don't care,” he replied with a smile, put an arm around my shoulders and propelled me up
the stairs to the classrooms.

We were on the second floor when I saw Connor coming. He was hurrying down the stairs in a navy
blue jumper, a worn-out pair of jeans, even worse trainers, and carrying what looked like a large
sketch book and colour pencil set. I hoped that Rigel wouldn't see him, *I* hadn't
wanted to see him myself, but if Rigel did there was no way he was going to pass up the opportunity
to torment him. I tried then to pass him by without acknowledging him so as to avoid drawing
Rigel's attention. But I couldn't.

Given all that I'd overheard and seen of Connor so far for the week I couldn't resist
looking at him. Merely yards to safety our eyes met and he held my gaze until a while after
he'd passed us so that we both had to look back. And that was when Rigel noticed.

He looked over my shoulder to Connor, their expressions darkened and both turned back, with
Rigel gruffly dragging me off to the first available space, the door to my Ancient Runes classroom.
Irritated by his actions I demanded, “What the hell happened between you and Connor?”

“What's going on between *you* and Connor?” he demanded in turn.

“Nothing,” I replied, my voice unnaturally high.

He looked unconvinced. I insisted, “Nothing, we're just... we just say `hello' from time
to time.”

He lifted an eyebrow, “He spent the *entire night* at your bedside after you got attacked,
every time I have to go looking for you you're *with him* and then *that* just
now....”

I opened my mouth to answer, then quickly shut it and bit my lip. He folded his arms and looked
at me. Finally, with an exasperated sigh and my face flushing red, I replied, “We're not
anything. He's with Camilla; I saw them in the library Thursday night.”

“What?” Rigel exclaimed, shocked.

“When I'd gone off to hide from Madam Pomfrey, I saw them together. They pretended they were
studying but... any fool could see that they weren't, and especially in the way they were
sitting,” I told him.

He just continued to look at me, and for a moment I thought I saw something that looked like
disappointment in his eyes. But just as quickly as it appeared it was gone and he replied, “You do
realise that his father had been savagely attacked just that morning, don't you?”

I sighed again, “Yes, I know. But you should have seen them. Even if she was just comforting
him, anyone could have gotten the wrong impression.”

Rigel took hold of the door handle and let us into the vacant and dimly-lit classroom on account
of its snow covered windows. When it was closed behind him again, he said, “You shouldn't be
eavesdropping, Potter, it's rude.”

I looked at him and scoffed. He took a seat on a desk and said, “Now let's talk about
something else. What have you heard about Cousin Remus?”

“Nothing, as much as you know, I haven't spoken to Connor in a while. But Mum said that Aunt
Tonks might be coming back,” I replied, taking a seat on the desk facing him.

Surprised he asked, “Coming back? What about them?”

“They're still on assignment, can't, but Mum said that Aunt Tonks was supposed to be
coming back early anyway,” I told him. “Uncle Lupin getting attacked just sped up the process.”

He looked off to the window, staring out into the dazzling white glare of the snowfall in
daylight. Then he said, “Well, at least someone's going to have a good Christmas, Connor gets
his Mummy back.”

I sneered at him, “And you're just jealous that you can't have yours. Why didn't you
just go home to Grandmother?”

When he turned to glare at me I remembered something and said, “Hey wait a tick, I just told you
about `me and Connor' and you haven't told me a thing about you and Connor.”

He grunted and looked away to the window again. For a long time he was silent and then he
replied, “I'll tell you some other time, not today.”

“*I* told you about me and Connor,” I protested.

He grunted again and refused to reply. I turned to window as well, furious, and muttered,
“Git.”

He didn't respond though I knew he'd heard me. I said louder, “What could have possibly
happened between you two so that you don't speak to each other? What, you don't like that
his family's poor? You know something, so's yours. Your Mum's an Auror—who are nowhere
near the top of the wage packet, mind you—and single parent living with her aging parents in a very
nearly rundown house. All of your nice stuff comes from your grandmother.

“You don't like that he's your cousin? Well, no matter what your grandmother told you,
being a half-blood doesn't mean that he's any less related. His mother is her sister's
daughter whether she wants to admit it or not. You don't like that his father's a werewolf,
that his mother's a Metamorphagus? Too bad be—”

I saw him flinch and stopped talking immediately. He didn't notice that I'd noticed
though so I began, “That's it, isn't it? You and your pureblood Housemates can't stand
the thought of someone like him exist—”

He snapped, furious, “Don't be thick; if I cared about that stuff would I be talking to you
now? Your father is Harry-fricking-Potter and your mother's Muggle-born, to half my Housemates
that makes you the less than a human being already. I don't care that his family doesn't
have any money, I don't care about money or any of that crap Grandmother insists on buying for
me, trying to buy my affection. She won't let my mother set foot in her house, how can I care
about someone like that? And I certainly am not bothered by his being my cousin, I like Cousin
Remus, okay, I don't bloody care that he's a werewolf! That doesn't change a damned
thing! And who are you to talk to me about cousins? You have never spoken to Violet and Dudley Jr
and you met them in London when you were out with your Mum last year. Their mother didn't seem
too bothered to meet a witch and she's not even married to their father anymore!”

I looked away from him, torn between guilt and anger. He continued, but quieter now, “What's
going on between Connor and me is entirely personal, just between the two of us. It isn't
something so big that I'll chuck him from my wedding or anything, but it isn't as simple as
Slytherin versus Gryffindor. I'll just tell you about it when I'm good and ready, I'm
sure there's stuff you don't tell me about.”

Remembering the map and cloak, and at once being flooded by a wave of guilt that washed the
anger from me, I replied, “I'm sorry.”

He looked away to the window as well. “Don't be. It's really just something silly that
we haven't let go of yet, maybe when we're older and more mature.”

I snorted, “Ha! I'd like to see that happen, you? Grow up? Ha!”

More seriously than the situation required he replied, “I will, you'll see.”

One look into those grey eyes, once cold under pale blond hair now warm under fiery red,
conveyed exactly what he meant. Within hours it would almost be thwarted.

*******

For ten full minutes before I went down that evening for detention, with the sky already dark
and the wind whistling loudly as it blew around the castle and its grounds, I scanned the
Marauder's Map searching for any sign that anything was amiss. As precautions, Rigel had
promised to stand guard at the door, though inside for the OGB would never allow it, no matter how
oddly amiable he was to him, and I was taking along the Invisibility Cloak. Despite the OGB's
assurance I was taking no chances.

I should have been immediately concerned then when I didn't pick up that I was going to
share my detention with Connor Lupin and a Fifth Year Slytherin.

Like Crookshanks when he had a mouse right where he wanted it to be, and was just toying with it
until he got bored enough to kill it, Argus Filch was waiting for me at the entrance doors, warmly
dressed and holding a lantern. I descended to him making a show of putting my wand in my pocket. He
scowled slightly, I smiled brightly and said politely, “Good evening Mr Filch, the O—Professor
Snape said that I was to meet you here for my detention today?”

In the face of such a greeting, he couldn't help but reply, “Good evening you—Miss
Potter.”

I grinned at him... and then my smile faltered when I saw Connor, also warmly dressed, and the
Fifth Year, a tall, pale boy with terrible acne and buck teeth—reminding me strongly of a
walrus—coming down the corridor towards us. Connor looked as confused as I did, the question
plainly written on his face, “How'd you get detention, didn't my Dad get you out of it?” I
gave him a nervous smile and then noticed the boy openly taking note of our exchange. At once I
looked at my feet and walked down to Filch who had opened the door and was saying, “I'm going
to enjoy this... it's been years since I've headed a detention. I can't suspend you by
your ankles or fingers in the dungeons like you miscreants deserve, but I've got something
better.”

The boy said loudly, “You're a Squib, we're wizards, what could you possibly do to
us?”

Filch rounded on him, furious, “I'll be reporting you to Professor Snape, and we'll see
then exactly how much of a wizard you are!”

The boy scoffed, “He's my Head of House. It was Professor Vector who gave me detention.”

I looked at him surprised, “Professor Vector gave you detention, what did you do?”

“None of your business... *half*-blood!” he spat.

Connor made to come to my rescue but I laughed, cutting him off, “That is not an insult.”

Glowering now, the boy said, “No, maybe not, but you're half-Mudblood, and that is.”

Before I could react, Connor had thrown himself onto the boy, backing him into the wall, hard,
and was choking him while he struggled to apologise. “I... uh... I-I'm s'rry! Sorry! Uh....
uk!”

It happened so fast that I could only stand there, looking on shocked. But Filch was quick on
the draw, despite his age. He grabbed Connor by his collar and yanked him off, leaving the boy bent
over, grasping his knees as he gulped in welcome breaths of air again and rage in gasps, “You...
dirty half-breed... s-stinkin' half-blood... you don't know who you're messing
with!”

At this Connor made a second lunge but Filch held him fast and as he continued to struggle
against him, warned, “I'm going to tell Professor Snape about this, boy, you're going to be
in detention until you leave Hogwarts!”

The boy gasped out from the door, “T-that... that might be sooner... s-sooner than you think.
His Dad's a *dangerous beast*... one day he's going to bite him.”

Before Connor could start up again, I quietly drew my wand and hexed the boy. A moment later his
face was covered in a series of flapping bogies, with new ones sprouting out on his neck, arms and
basically everywhere he had skin. It was Aunt Ginny's speciality, the Bat-Bogey Hex. And now it
was his turn to rage, angrily shouting, “Take it off! Take them off!” while Connor started laughing
at him.

Filch though, had finally had enough and barked, “Out! Now! Out with the lot of yer! Trying to
stall me eh? Out!”

Silent and with heads bowed—or at least Connor and myself, the boy was forced to wait until he
found his wand to end the hex—we were forced to march out of the castle into the sharp, unrelenting
winter gale winds. The world without, in contrast to that within, was black and unwelcoming. The
wind whipped up our scarves, threatening at once to strangle us with them and rip them from our
necks. My hair went flying about my head, blinding me temporarily. Our skin reddened as the blood
was forced to the surface and our eyes watered as we forced ourselves to see in the midst of the
onslaught. But worst of all, I had to grab hold of Connor to stop myself from being blown away.

He looked down at me somewhat surprised, his cap and hair already white with snow, and he called
out to me, “Are you okay?”

I struggled to reply, “I think.... I... I think I'm going to fall!”

Not caring that Filch and the boy were looking on he put his arm around my shoulders and drew me
into him. I stood relishing it for a moment, but then I remembered the image of him and Camilla in
the library and detached myself from him and asked Filch, “So what are supposed to be doing out
here tonight? There's a blizzard coming.”

He smiled, though in the wind it looked more like a grimace, and replied, “Professor
Hagrid's left the school today, but he forgot to secure his beasts. You're going to find
all of his `magical creatures' and put them away.”

We three looked between us and said to him, “You're joking.”

He just started laughing his deep-throated, grunting laugh and lifted his lantern towards the
grounds and worsening storm. “Best get those little beasties together before the weather gets you
then... or you get each other....”

Away from the castle and out in the grounds proper, with my wand lit above my head, I struggled
through snow piled nearly two feet high to Hagrid's hut. Connor hung close behind me, ready to
support me should I fall, while our unnamed colleague stumbled on just a little to our left. I said
nothing as we went, which was easy as simply breathing was difficult enough, but I wondered if
Connor was bothered by it. He'd looked at me strangely after I separated myself from him on the
steps but had said nothing since. Of course, every time I wondered, I was reminded of him and
Camilla and I would force myself to think about how horrible it was to have detention in this
weather.

When at last we came to the hut and nearby pens, a short walk ordinarily, torture tonight, it
was to discover that there was nothing missing. As far as any one of us could see all of them were
there. But Filch's voice boomed over the grounds through a megaphone to the hut, “You'll be
looking for Thestrals and there are nine of them in all. S'mite careless of Hagrid to let them
out and not put them back before he left. Good luck!”

I looked across to Connor, “I can't look for Thestrals. They're invisible unless
you've seen death; I've never seen anyone die.”

“Me neither,” said Connor, looking hopelessly about us.

“That bloody Squib's barking.... how are we supposed to find something we can't see?”
asked the boy behind us.

Connor shrugged, “Er... bait?”

The boy stared at him for a moment and then said awkwardly, “I... do you think that old
Squib's gonna help us?”

I looked back to the castle where Filch's lantern-light appeared suspended in mid-air like a
moth-hole in a black velvet dress held up to the light. “I don't think so,” I replied.

Connor, who had been staring at the boy in turn since he had asked about Filch, said, “I
didn't mean one of us, there is a way to draw Thestrals to you... even in the midst of all this
snow.”

The boy sneered, “I know that, you've got to use blood. But where are we going to get that?
Want to open up a vein, cub?”

For a second it looked as if Connor was going to lunge at him again, but I cut in quickly.
“Connor, um... do you still have that cloak you were wearing when you came back to school Thursday
morning?”

Still angry, he looked at me slightly puzzled, and then shook his head, “Madam Pomfrey took it
away yesterday, I think she had it burned.”

“So what are we going to use as bait?” I asked, more to myself than them.

For a time we all stood looking around ourselves in the dark, cold night. Despite the whistling
wind it was hard to miss the overarching silence of winter; it presented itself as a void at the
end of each blast. The moon was waning now, and the approaching blizzard's towering storm
clouds had blotted out the sky. It was fiercely cold; my skin was so dry that under the wind it
felt raw and stung. The castle stood behind us like water being withheld from a man dying of
thirst, the forest sprawled before us, an endless span of dangerous darkness. And there was no
comfort to be sought in looking at Professor Dumbledore's tomb or the lake; both were trapped
under the ice and snow, lost and too far away. If we wished to return to the castle we'd have
to walk around all this area and possibly the forest too with fresh blood or rotting flesh,
unfortunately a tempting treat for many of its inhabitants, and retrieve nine creatures we
couldn't even see. I looked up at the sky and a cluster of snowflakes landed in my eyes. It was
going to be a long night.

At long last, the boy said, “Well, see you two at the end of this, I'm going into the hut
for the night.”

“You can't do that,” I said.

“Yes I can. That half-giant oaf isn't home,” he replied.

I glared at him, “Half-giant he may be but he's no fool, that door's locked.”

He refused to listen to me so he was forced to accept the truth when the door refused to budge
under his hands. I grinned at his back, “Told you so.”

His only reply was a scowl.

Connor suddenly spoke up behind me, so close that I could almost feel his breath, “How did you
get detention?”

“I was rude to Snape,” I replied. “Or rather, I told him the truth.”

“So he sent you to detention out here?” he asked, surprised. “You shouldn't be out here,
it's not safe.

I turned to him and said, “I know that, he knows that, but he doesn't care. So let's
just get this over with.”

He was about to answer, his mouth open and the first syllable stumbling out, when it happened.
Scotland winter cold suddenly became Antarctic, the whistling wind died to a whimper, and suddenly
I was left thinking of the day I almost died in the prefect's bath. In fact I could see myself
being dragged across the cold stone floor to the foamy water of the pool-sized bath, knowing that I
was going in there and that I couldn't do a thing about it. I could hear the girls muttering to
each other and themselves, one of them was crying, whispering over and over, “*I don't want
to... don't let me do this....*” But that was impossible, for I was unconscious when that
happened.

I looked up at Connor, scared and confused, and only caught a glimpse of his face before he
suddenly grasped me tightly to him and began dragging me off to the forest while yelling over my
head to the boy, “Run! If you want to live, run! Now! Go get help! Those are Dementors, RUN!”

I couldn't see the boy, I could barely see Connor or where we were going, and it wasn't
easy struggling through the snow, but the knowledge that we were suddenly the prey of a pack of
Dementors was terrifying enough to get me going without protest. I held onto Connor's arm
around my shoulder and said, “We're going to have to find a safe place to hide... but
where's safe in there?”

Connor didn't answer, just continued leading us off to the thick line of trees, with his
wand out, Light Spell flickering on our path. Annoyed I looked up at him to complain, and saw then
the pained expression on his face, as if someone or something had sunk claws into his back and was
slowly tearing out the flesh. Then I looked up over his shoulder and saw something that could have
only been unleashed from a Dark Wizard's darkest dream.

It looked like, at a first glance, a black, moth-eaten curtain or shredded bed-sheet a Muggle
child had turned into a Hallowe'en costume. The second revealed it to be a living creature, an
embodiment of the worst of the Dark Arts, a faceless representation of the Grim Reaper come to
collect his due. My attacker had to be one powerful wizard or at least someone high up in the
Ministry for he'd sent Dementors after me.

I stared up at it open-mouthed, completely horrified, and then down at Connor's face. It was
to discover that it was affecting him more than me, for though his face showed grim determination,
his eyes revealed pure agony. Merely feet away from a nightmare come to wraith-like life, I
realised that if I didn't do something fast Connor was going to collapse into the snow like my
father, and so many others before and after him, had done. What horrors he must have known to react
like this, until recently the worst thing that had happened to me was getting lost in number
twelve, Grimmauld Place one day as a child when my father had gone to collect something.

But Connor didn't fall. He made it all the way into the forest and deep enough that it began
to feel very lonely and terrifyingly dense before he let me go and said, “I have to do something,
they're going to come in here after us if I don't.”

“*I* should do something, they're affecting you more than me,” I told him, holding my
wand light up to his face to see him better.

“Dementors will go after anyone and anything and you're the one someone's trying to
kill,” he replied.

I scoffed, “Don't tell me you're trying to become my Knight-in-Shining-Armour; I can
take care of myself thank you.”

He looked genuinely surprised, “I'm not trying to do anything but keep us alive, the
*both* of us. But someone is trying to kill you, and if these Dementors were sent by whoever
it is, they're going to go after you first.”

I would not hear it, “You just said they will go after anyone, I'm not staying in here—which
isn't exactly a sanctuary by the way—while you run out there into their waiting
arms—cloth—folds—*whatever!* I saw your face, if you're going out there, I'm coming
with you!”

In the light of the wand his grey-blue eyes looked strangely bright, and then he said, “Fine,
but stay behind me. Since they're affecting me more than you, like you said, then I should be
irresistible.”

“Good,” I replied with satisfaction, unlike Rigel he apparently was willing to let me try to
defend myself.

Then the wind died overhead and the temperature dropped several degrees. I gasped, horrified,
and then was distracted by him saying, with a grin, “I'll have to put on some armour
though.”

Then, to my absolute amazement, his teeth grew half an inch, the canines almost to his gums on
either side like a vampire's. Long wiry hair sprouted out all over his face and neck, his
fingernails tore through the tips of his gloves as they lengthened to talons and his eyes changed
colour to an unnatural amber. I couldn't help myself, I took a step back, eyes wide, mouth
open, as he suddenly grew long, thin arms and legs and a slightly hunched back, stretching his
already battered robes to the limit. But when he spoke it was the same Connor, not a raging Dark
Creature, asking, slightly embarrassed, “Er... could you transfigure my robes into something like a
wolf-skin coat? I'm horrible at Transfiguration.”

I couldn't speak at first, but eventually I stammered, “I... I... er... b-but... but
you're a... a....”

“A Metamorphagus, yes, but I have the worst ordinary Transfiguration grades of anyone in my
class. It's kind of funny.... er, can you help me?” he asked.

“Oh, right,” I replied, and extinguishing the light, tried to picture a wolf—which was easy
given the circumstances—and transfigured his clothes into an assortment of grey, white and black
fur sewn together in patches like the Innuit dress of a childhood story book.

He looked himself over in the light and said, “Good, thanks, now remember keep behind me,
I'm going to try to clear your path to the castle. But if I tell you to do anything,
*anything*, you have to do it at once.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked, becoming worried.

“Maggie, please?” he pleaded.

I nodded, and he turned and began stalking back through the knot of trees to the castle grounds.
He looked in that moment every bit of a tame werewolf—if such a thing could exist without the
Wolfsbane potion—and now the OGB's statement began to make sense. Why else would he transform
himself into this state if he wasn't obsessed with werewolves? Anyone else would have just
drawn their wands and ran out into the pack, foolish though that idea would have been.

As soon as he stepped clear of the last tree a Dementor swooped down into his path. It appeared
so suddenly that he didn't have time to react, but I did. Hoping that it would work I aimed and
yelled, “*Impedimenta!*”

It wasn't much, but it was blasted back long enough for Connor to dive out of the way and
yell, “Come Maggie, keep close behind me!”

I dashed out of the trees at once, trying to keep up with him as he bounded across the thick
snow to the castle grounds in a wildly zigzagging fashion. It seemed that his “armour” was of some
use after all, for the Dementors, though indeed more attracted to him than me, appeared to hesitate
at the idea of getting too close to him. It was as if they couldn't tell whether he was man or
beast and therefore were torn between the desire to taste his soul and the need to be sure that
there was a soul to have in the first place. It must have been infuriating for them. Overhead I
could hear those not immediately drawn to him circling us, and occasionally one would swoop into my
path and I would be treated to the memory of turning round in the bathroom and seeing my watery
death coming.

Realising that they would soon tire of him in frustration, Connor came to my rescue. Breathing
heavily, he called over his shoulder as he ran in a circle round me, “There's a spell that
would chase them away! *Expecto Patronum*, but you have to think of something happy; something
really happy or it'll never work!”

“I can't do that spell, I'm not my father!” I protested, nearly out of breath myself and
being treated to the irritating feeling of shivers crawling up and down my spine while I
desperately tried to keep up with him. And yet ahead of us never had Hogwarts Castle seemed so far
away.

“You have no choice, try it, even if it doesn't work it might keep them away from you for a
while!” he called back.

Groaning slightly, I stopped running, stood stock still and tried to visualise something happy.
The first thought that came to mind was of seeing Mackenzie for the first time, just hours after
she was born and being truly glad that it was a girl and not another boy. With that in mind I
raised my wand and called, “*Expecto Patronum!*”

A puff of white smoke was all I could muster. I looked at the end of my wand, shocked that
I'd managed to create anything, and then took off running again just as a Dementor swooped down
above me. Connor had apparently forgotten that Dementors fed off of happy memories so failing at
the spell meant that they would come in droves. Running full tilt and swearing in frustration, I
looked across to him just in time to see him repelling the Dementors with a silvery-white otter, in
sharp contrast to his wolf-like appearance. But there was something odd about the otter, about its
movements in the snow before the Dementors. I stopped running again to look at it, and then
realised what.

Though to all appearances it was a Patronus, an otter like my mother's, this Patronus could
be used as a conduit for other spells, like a wand, and—for it did it right before my eyes—change
into a large, stunning white wolf. I completely forgot that I was supposed to be running for my
life; I just stood there looking at it in amazement until something came up behind me and harshly
swept me up into its arms.

I screamed and began to struggle, until my hands fell on shoulders and I found myself looking
into the face of the OGB. He had come out of the castle to help us and now he was racing back to
the castle through the snow with me in his arms and Connor trying to defend a pack of Dementors on
his own. I tried to draw his attention to this.

Pointing back over his shoulder I yelled frantically, “Sir, Connor! Sir, Connor's out there
alone, the Dementors! Sir!”

He did not hear me until we were at the steps and he had set me down on the last one, where
Madam Pomfrey stood waiting with a blanket. Then he turned and ran down the grounds to Connor and
set his Patronus on the Dementors who had, in the interim, managed to overpower him at last. As a
matter of fact I realised, with horror, that Connor was lying in a heap on the ground, a dark
smudge on the immaculate snow. I screamed again and tried to run out after him, but someone grabbed
me—I saw a flash of red hair, it was Rigel—and held me back. When I turned to pull myself from his
grasp it was to see someone else holding onto Camilla who had come undone, screaming at the top of
her lungs with tears in her eyes, “Connor! Connor! Help him! Somebody help him! Connor! CONNOR!
CONNOR!”

I glanced back at the OGB and Connor and found now that the Dementors were gone, banished by the
Potions Master. But Connor was still lying on the field and when the OGB approached him, nothing he
did seemed to work. Behind me I heard Camilla slump to the ground, her cries reduced to mournful
groans. I clenched my jaw at the burning at the back of my throat and eyes, but it did not stop my
vision from blurring and the hot tears that spilled over my eyes down my nearly frozen cheeks.

Madam Pomfrey herself was moaning, “No... no... no, no, no.... Poor Remus, his only son... their
only child....”

Down on the grounds the OGB conjured a stretcher and lifted Connor's limp body unto it. My
heart sunk, I could almost literally feel the sharp dive it took in my chest, and I choked back a
sob. As they came towards us, the OGB levitating the stretcher before him, my lips trembled and I
felt myself beginning to lose the battle with my tears. Rigel beside me said nothing though a
sideways glance revealed that he was utterly distressed. Though the two may not have liked each
other, like I'd told him, Connor was his second cousin through Aunt Tonks. When at last they
were standing at the steps, discovering now that the OGB had ended the spell I'd cast on
Connor's clothes and that when he lost consciousness he'd reverted to actual form, I could
take it no more and audibly cried. And very much the entire school—for they'd all come rushing
out at the commotion on the grounds—did with me.

Or at least, that was, until the OGB declared, “He's alive, just unconscious, so I suggest
you give Madam Pomfrey here room to attend to him.”

Happily surprised to the extent that I was immediately weak, unable to lift my arms even at that
moment, I took a second glance down at Connor and imagined I could see a tiny sliver of his eyes
through his thick fringe of eyelashes and the mist of his breath. Even Rigel beside me exclaimed in
a happy gasp, “What?”

Madam Pomfrey at once pounced on Connor with her wand and the OGB with her tongue.

“How dare you, Severus? *How dare you*—knowing full well that someone out there is after
Magnolia—send them out to detention in the snow? How can you hate someone so much? What has Harry
Potter ever, *ever* done to you? Nothing! *Absolutely nothing!* And his wife, what on
earth did Hermione Granger *ever* do to you other than top your classes? You could have
*killed* their child tonight! You could have had to face them, like I have to Nymphadora
Lupin, and explain why their child is dead! Or is as good as!”

Weakly, numbly, he replied, “He's not dead.”

She raged, “*But he could have been!* What kind of *monster* are you to do this to
children? What kind of man takes out his petty grudges on *children*? If Harry Potter kills
you tomorrow I shall not be sorry for it. If Mrs Lupin has you sent to Azkaban tomorrow I shall not
shed a tear! *You could have killed their children!*”

His face suddenly became a mask, blank and forbidding and he went silent. Neither speaking nor
moving, he looked on as Madam Pomfrey attended to Connor, raging all the while, *(“I know you
don't like Remus, but his* son*? He's* fourteen years old*; he doesn't know a
damned thing about you and his father!”*) and we stared at them, shocked. None of us had ever
seen Madam Pomfrey rage at anyone save for accidents that were their own fault, but here she was
deconstructing Professor Snape, feared and respected Potions Master, Second War “Hero”, as if he
was just a naughty boy. And it did not end until at last she said, exasperated, “I need to get the
boy to the Infirmary, let us through!”

The crowd of students parted at once, clearing a space down the middle that went all the way to
the stairs inside where many of the school ghosts had gathered, the portraits peering down on all.
Madam Pomfrey then took control of the stretcher and sent it in before her, while all who could on
either side craned their necks to get a good look at Connor. Camilla had to be held back again from
going after him, still crying, not caring for the looks her Housemates were giving her. But then
Madam Pomfrey, nearly to the stairs, called back slightly hoarse, “Come along, Miss Potter, you
were out in that weather too and I need to check you up as well.”

Rigel plainly refused to let me go as I turned and followed her in and no one tried to stop him.
Seeing this I took hold of Camilla's hand at the door and pulled her after me. Connor was her
boyfriend, she should be there too.

We were almost to the stairs when someone brushed past me on his way to the stairs to the
dungeons, head bent and looking for the world like something broken. It was the OGB.

-->



8. Chapter Eight
----------------



**A/N:** *Here again is a chapter produced quickly. I should warn that I'm not entirely
sure how this chapter sounds, again I am facing a problem where I'm concerned about the message
conveyed, if I did it, if I hid enough, revealed enough but not too much.... Anyway, enjoy. Maybe
the faster I post this story I can get started on my own original fic.*

**Disclaimer:** *Not mine, and I hope this does not come back to bite me in the... well,
later.*

*******

**Chapter Eight**

I awoke to the touch of a hand in my hair, knuckles gently tracing a line from my forehead to my
ear, and opened my eyes to find them staring back at me. At first I was confused, my still
half-asleep mind unable to comprehend what I was seeing. Then I blinked and caught a glint of light
on a shiny metal frame. I at once sat up into his arms, my father had come.

“Daddy!” I cried happily with a sleep-coarsened voice, hugging him tightly, almost beginning to
cry again.

Someone sat down on the bed behind me, wrapping their arms around me and Dad and breathed my
name in the midst of tears, “Lillie!” It was my mother.

My parents had come, through a blizzard bearing down relentlessly on the castle even now, at
last they had come. I wanted to pinch myself to see if I was dreaming, not at all embarrassed by
the fact that they were there and that I'd wanted them from the first day. I held tightly to my
father, then grasped my mother's fingers and then finally gently pushed them away to have a
good look at them. They were the same Harry and Hermione Potter who had left me on the Hogwarts
Express at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters just some four months earlier.

My mother had become slightly plump after three children, but she was only thirty-four and
looked it. She often wore her long, brown bushy hair in a neat chignon, no glasses yet on her
bright brown eyes—though they were wrinkling slightly at the corners—and a smile whenever she saw
one of us, unless of course we did something bad. Then she could be the disciplinarian of the
house, as was noted in a *Daily Prophet* article recently, and at work her no-nonsense dark
blue robes spoke volumes. At the moment though, she was the softest pillow in the world and I
scooted down on the bed again just to drop my head on her lap and wrap my arms around her
waist.

My father was often called, by the press, and *Witch Weekly* in particular, handsome,
selfless and honourable, repeatedly winning their “Sexiest Wizard Alive” poll, much to my
mother's amusement. But then they also lamented the fact that the Man-Who-Triumphed had married
at twenty-three after having two children (me and Milo) with my Mum who, as far as they knew,
he'd only started dating shortly after the war ended. Uncle Ron disputed this, and was often
angered at claims that she'd “trapped” my father by getting pregnant, for “any good witch worth
her potions would know one for birth-control”. Considering that she'd been dating Uncle Ron
before the war ended this surprised me, but what surprised me more were the things they said about
my mother. Though Milo and I were considered clearly Harry Potter's children, for our eyes,
Mackenzie was most whispered about and in particular for her dark red hair. With more good nature
than I thought anyone could possess though, Dad ignored them, presenting himself as the most fun
person in the world. (Almost too much fun, to the extent that Mackenzie often walked all over him.)
His lightening bolt scar, messy black hair and round-rimmed glasses which made him instantly
recognisable almost anywhere, and now along with his regulation black Auror robes, to us were just
parts of Dad. And I was never happier to see those trademark features than today, after all that
had happened since the winter break began. I stared up at him from the bed and asked, “When did you
two get here?”

“Around the same time that your Aunt Tonks, Aunt Ginny, Uncle Ron, Uncle Neville and
Headmistress did,” he replied with a grin.

I sat up so sharply I nearly bumped my head into Mum's jaw. But sure enough they were all
there. Uncle Ron and Aunt Ginny were at the foot of my bed, with her tightly squeezing her
reluctant son in a bear hug while he did all he could to half-heartedly throw her off. Uncle
Neville was engaged in a deep conversation with Camilla on the chair both speaking in low voices
but looking up now that Dad had spoken. (And never before did they appear as truly sharp contrasts
to each other.) Professor McGonagall was herself engaged in conversation, though unbroken, with
Madam Pomfrey, most certainly on the events of the night before. And on a bed not too far away,
Aunt Tonks, with navy blue hair streaked electric, sat with Connor discussing a book in his hands.
She was supporting him with an arm around his back, looking slightly weary—though she was
smiling—and a bit heavier than I remembered, but all I cared for was that Connor was sitting up
awake, and alive.

I couldn't help myself, I gushed hoarsely, “Connor, you're okay, you're awake!”

Both looked across to me and in my peripheral vision I noticed that my father's eyes had
narrowed into something that was vaguely reminiscent of displeasure. Oblivious to this, and
slightly pink in the face, Connor replied, “I'm not okay, but I am awake. It's good to see
that you are though.”

I couldn't help myself, I blushed crimson, and then annoyingly, Mum and Aunt Ginny went,
“Aww!” Aunt Ginny even released Rigel to clasp her hands under her chin and say, “Oh that is so
*cute*. I hope you're on your toes there, Harry, she's thirteen now, that's
trouble.”
I looked at my father, horrified, but it was to discover that he was laughing too, though it was
noticeably awkward. Then he said through a clenched teeth smile, “You know Connor... I killed
Voldemort with my bare hands.”

My mother immediately smacked his arm, “No you didn't!”

Rubbing his arm, he rephrased, “With my wand.”

Foolishly, I decided to interject, “It's not what you think, we're just friends. If
you're looking for something you should look at him and *Camilla*.”

I turned to look at the two of them with a bright grin, feeling rather chuffed that I'd
“exposed” them, so then was thoroughly embarrassed when Camilla said, “We're not dating.”

A little too eagerly, Rigel said, “Really?”

I went even redder than before, and looked over to see Connor shaking his head as well,
“We're not... like *that*. We're just friends, like you and Rigel.” But then he added,
with more than a little mischief, “Unless of course you two have a different kind of
friendship?”

Dad immediately swung round to glare at Rigel while the others burst out laughing.
Unnecessarily, I struggled to reply, “No, no we don't, just friends, really!”

After last night it was a wonderful bit of mirth. Remembering the Dementors still sent prickling
shivers up my spine, and the thought that my father had faced this repeatedly all through his Third
Year did not help. I didn't even want to think about what Connor must have been experienced. It
was too bad then, that it was to be abruptly ended when the OGB suddenly marched into the Infirmary
and said, “You wanted to see me, Professor McGonagall?”

At once Dad, Uncle Ron and Uncle Neville stood up stiffly and turned to face him in a united
front that would have once undoubtedly struck terror in the heart of even the steeliest Death
Eater. To the OGB though, it was mildly amusing, for he smiled, the faintest upturn of the corners
of his mouth, and said, “I see that the Wizengamot has already assembled itself.”

From the bed behind them Aunt Tonks spoke, and her voice wiped not only the smile from his face
but finally extinguished all evidence of the light-hearted morning we'd so far been having. “I
*should* have the Wizengamot on you after last night! I never really liked you, I didn't
even really know you, but I knew that you and my husband have a history. How could you *hate*
someone so much that you would try to get their child killed?”

Connor tried to stop her, shaking her arm, pleading, “Mum....” but she ignored him, continuing,
“Don't you care? Don't you realise what could have happened to Connor and Magnolia and that
boy? What would have happened to Remus when he woke up and I had to tell him that his only child
was gone? After all he'd gone through.... No one deserves that, no one, not even *you*,
and yet you almost let it happen!”

She had started crying halfway through her rant and now that she was finished completely broke
down while Connor tried to comfort her, hugging her and rubbing her back. I looked away back to the
OGB and was just in time to hear him say something that stunned us all. Very gently, most
uncharacteristic of him, he said, “I would have never allowed anything to happen to Connor...
y-your son. I was under the impression, as was everyone else, that there were Ministry Aurors out
on the grounds and therefore they would not be harmed. I have since learned that they weren't,
and given the weather, in retrospect, that this was probably not the best of ideas. Young Mr Lupin
got hurt though, because at the time my primary focus was protecting Miss Potter here. I could have
and should have attempted to assist them both, but at the time it was I against no less than twelve
Dementors. You can understand the diff—”

My father cut him off angrily, “Excuses, that's all you're making! They shouldn't
have been out there, they did nothing to you! Your grudge is against my father, Uncle Lupin and me,
not our children!”

Unlike last night though, the OGB was not prepared to take this tongue lashing.

“Regardless of my mistake, which I do acknowledge and apologise for, there are rules in this
school. Mr Lupin over there could have gotten himself killed when he left Wednesday, *on a full
moon*, to meet his father. It is fortunate that the attacker was scared off or we would not be
here this morning arguing!”

When the others said nothing, he said, “Mrs Lupin, Mrs Potter, I again apologise for my actions
as regards your children. I gave them detention for misbehaviour and miscalculated the risk by
sending them out into a storm, believing, wrongly, that we had Ministry support. It will not happen
again.”

“You're right about that,” said Uncle Ron.

My father smiled, “That's what we're here to talk to you about.” Then he turned to
Professor McGonagall and said, “Isn't that right, Headmistress?”

She herself was smiling, which unnerved me greatly, and said, “Right. To my office,
Professor.”

The OGB waited until she was with him, and then when they were flanked by my father, and uncles,
before they all moved off together out of the Infirmary. I waited until they'd vanished through
the doors to turn to my mother and ask, “Are they going to send him to Azkaban?”

Aunt Tonks shook her head. “No. The Ministry's Aurors should have been on patrol, none of
them were there last night.”

“So he's just going to get away with this?” I asked.

Aunt Ginny took the opportunity to sit on my bed, and replied, “Not exactly. He *is* going
to be punished, but considering the circumstances it's going to be a slap on the wrist.”

“What's going to happen to him then?” asked Connor from his mother's side.

“A stern reprimand, in addition to some new duties, for the Ministry” replied his mother, and
then a second later, added, “Ah!” Her hand went to her stomach and Mum, Aunt Ginny and Madam
Pomfrey moved as one, turning sharply in her direction with anxious looks on their faces. Rigel and
Camilla actually left their seats and Connor quickly sat up and away from her, noticeably using his
hand to steady himself, and asked, “Are you okay?”

There was a tense moment where she said nothing, and then she replied, with a weak smile,
“I'm fine, your little brother just doesn't want to wait to Christmas.”

“Little brother? Aunt Tonks...?” I asked, confused.

She turned to me with a wide smile, “I forgot you were asleep.” Then she moved, or rather
accidentally knocked the book from her lap and smoothed her robe over her stomach. My jaw dropped.
She was pregnant, very heavily pregnant, and from the looks of things quite likely to give birth
before New Year's Day. I looked across to Aunt Ginny and then back at Mum and asked, “Is that
why she was coming back early?”

My mother nodded, “Yes, your Aunt forgot to mention it before we went away.”

I looked back at her and she had the grace to blush. I asked, “Does Uncle Lupin know?”

She blushed even more and shook her head, “That's why I forgot to mention it. I
didn't—*couldn't* tell him and I would've been caught if I didn't go. See, me
and Wolvie, we weren't even supposed to have Connor. He thought he was too poor, too old, and
too dangerous, the Ministry agreed with him on the dangerous bit and er... we kind of....”

“... had him anyway?” I asked.

She nodded, fighting another blush, “But after that Wolvie put his foot down, said that we
couldn't risk another and I agreed. It was really hard the first few months, with him wanting
to be around all the time, and even when he was transformed. Eventually I had to send Connor to my
parents every full moon before the Ministry got involved, for no matter what Wolvie'd done for
them they wouldn't think twice about taking away his son.”

I had to ask, “Couldn't you send him to the Burrow, or our house?”

She couldn't fight the embarrassment this time, “It was an idea, and we did send him once or
twice to the Burrow, just ask Rigel. But we had to stop when Wolvie decided that he had to go see
Connor anyway. The more children in the house the more dangerous it was to have him over, and since
Wolvie insisted that he had no idea why he kept going to Connor, we decided it was safer to send
him to my parents all the time. We didn't think we could try it with more than one child, and
Connor took the place of five when he was younger.”

“So what happened here?” asked Rigel, a strange, somewhat unreadable expression on his face.

“Well,” she began, massaging her neck a moment, “I don't know. I know it isn't safe, but
when I found out about the baby I decided we were going to have it. I mean, Connor always wanted to
have a little brother and if we could keep Connor safe, we can find a way to keep this one safe
too.”

“But how come you haven't told Cousin Remus yet?” asked Rigel.

She sighed, “I know he's going to be mad, but I just couldn't tell him. He's always
so worried about Connor, and about me, and the life I could've had with someone else, he'd
think that we were just damning another life by aligning it with his. And I didn't need that at
the time. I *am* worried about that, I *do* wonder about what happens to Connor when
we're not around, but I like to think that we can actually have a normal family. I know
it's selfish of me; Connor and me, we can take care of ourselves and for the first few years of
his life this baby's going to be defenceless... but I just want his father to give him a
chance.”

No one said a word when she finished speaking, we didn't know what to say, and a few of us
felt that this conversation had crossed the line on things we needed to know. Rigel, though, looked
as if he had plenty to, Aunt Tonks being Connor's mother and an adult or not, but just
couldn't bring himself to form the words. So I turned to my mother and asked, “Are you all here
to stay as well then?”

“Unfortunately, no. We couldn't stay away after last night but we have to go back very soon.
I know you don't want to hear that but we have no choice. There is a good reason, believe me,
or else you'd have been home a long time ago,” she replied, with a sad smile.

I looked back to Aunt Tonks, “Can I come home with you then? I can help with the baby.”

Aunt Tonks looked at me surprised, and then smiled, “You could, if you like spending time in St
Mungo's because from the looks of things I'll be in and out of there for weeks.”

It was then that I asked, “How is Uncle Lupin, by the way?”

A little sparkle appeared in her eyes and she replied happily, “Oh he's fine. They should be
sending him home Monday, and from what I've gathered in such a state that he'll be at my
mercy for weeks. It's like when we first married all over again.” Curiously she had wistful
look in her eyes, I feared to find out what “at her mercy” meant.

At this Connor spoke up, “But Mum... you can't....”

She looked down at her swollen belly, patted it gently and said, “Oh don't worry about that,
Little Wolvie, I've got some time still. And with him out of it, it might make telling him a
whole lot easier.”

“But you *can't* take care of him, not like that. And when the full moon comes around
you're not supposed to be home,” he insisted.

“True, and that's why I have acquired the services of your Aunt Luna... and maybe Magnolia,
unless *you're* willing to cut short your wonderful break with friends to help us?” she
asked.

Unbelievably for a moment Connor looked torn, and then he replied, “I've actually got
something to do here... you know....”

She did not question him, she simply nodded, noticeably sadly, and then my mother spoke up, “I
don't think Magnolia should leave the school actually.”

“What?” I asked, surprised, turning to her.

She looked a bit uncomfortable, and then said awkwardly, “There's someone after you; I know
it's not your fault, but in the interest of everyone, I think you should remain here. After
last night there's no way the Ministry of Magic's going to let the Aurors off the compound,
or away from you, but this person is apparently going to stop at nothing to get to you. If he can
send Dementors into a school full of children, what's going to stop him against a pregnant
woman and an injured man?”

I looked at her open-mouthed, shocked, but Aunt Tonks said quickly then, “Well then it's
settled, I go to the Weasley house with your Aunt Luna and Aisling and Carl, and Connor can stay
here with Lillie.” And she completed her statement with a little wink.

I at once fell heavily back into the bed and pulled the pillow over my head, groaning loudly. I
wanted to die, this was completely embarrassing and they didn't even seem to care about it,
they didn't even want to forget about it, or let me. Clearly she and Uncle Lupin deserved each
other; they were both very mischievous people.

Suddenly the door to the Infirmary burst open behind us. I flew upright at once to see that it
was my father and he looked anxious. He called to my mother, “We have to go, something's
happened!”

I started up again, “Wait... what?”

Dad looked at me sadly, “We're so sorry, Lillie baby, but we have to go, now. Snape's
coming after with Neville.”

“But you just came here...” I protested. Mum gave me a sad half-smile, then bumped a kiss onto
my forehead and immediately left with Aunt Ginny. Dad watched them go and then turned back in to
mouth “I love you”; I mouthed it back and sat back on the bed feeling a mixture of disappointment
and anger. They'd just arrived and they were going already. I suddenly wished that they never
came back; the war was over, they'd done their duty, they didn't need to go after every
last one of the late Dark Lord's followers, leave that to the Ministry. Then I realised what
I'd thought and desperately tried to un-wish it.

Before Dad's head vanished on the other side of the doorway though, Camilla rose as well and
followed them out, presumably to tell her father “Goodbye”. That left me alone with Rigel, Aunt
Tonks and Connor, and Rigel began almost as soon as the door was shut again, “How could you not
tell Cousin Remus about the baby? He's got a pretty good reason to be worried, he's a
*werewolf*. He's always known that he could hurt you or Connor, or anyone else; not
telling him about this was just selfish. What if you'd gotten hurt before, how was he supposed
to feel if something had happened to the baby then?”

“Rigel!” I said, alarmed.

Connor himself looked on the verge on saying something, but Aunt Tonks put a hand over his mouth
and shook her head at me so that I'd say no more. Then she said in a slightly trembling voice,
“You don't understand, you won't unless something like this happened to you. I love your
cousin very much, but when we first were together every day felt like I was fighting against him to
be with him. He wanted people to like him, he still does, but he's always too afraid to allow
us to. Connor, I have to admit... was an accident, and so's this one, but I'm not going to
be sorry for them. He deserves a family, people who love him unconditionally, and if these things
have to be forced on him then so be it.”

Rigel refused to accept it, “But that's not fair.”

“No, it isn't,” she admitted. “But that's our life.”

At that Rigel stood and abruptly left the Infirmary. I looked at him go and then turned back to
Aunt Tonks. I could see where she was coming from but then I also understood why he was so upset.
It was dangerous, *very dangerous*, she herself had mentioned that Uncle Lupin had been drawn
to Connor when he was younger, what would make this child different? And all those times she'd
gone to work knowing that she was pregnant. She could've gotten seriously hurt and lost the
baby anyway.

I asked then, “How did you hide it? That you were having a baby?”

She took up her wand and cast a spell over her stomach, knocking over an empty vial on the night
table in the process, but her stomach immediately went flat. I gasped, and she ended the spell and
said, “A useful little thing I learned from a Death Eater during the war, she was so dedicated to
the `cause' that she ignored the obvious danger. Anyway, I just pretended that I had a head
cold for a while, and then that I was working to hard so that he wouldn't realise I was
tired.... Oh goodness, I'm an awful person aren't I?”

At last the full gravity of her actions seemed to hit her and she finally released Connor to put
her hands to her forehead and drag her hair from her face. The expression of wide-eyed horror on
her face revealed that she was thinking about it, replaying her actions over and over in her head.
Connor quickly protested then, “You're not; you'd just do anything to make Dad happy.”

Something about the way he said it made me look up at him, to discover that he was staring
directly back at me. He didn't know I'd overheard him and the OGB in the dungeons, but
something about the way he looked at me then made me feel that he had. As if, somehow, while he was
on his way out he'd seen me under the Invisibility Cloak. I stared right back at him though,
until he turned to his mother again and said, “So, what do you think about `Zoe'?”

She looked at him puzzled, for she'd still been deep in her thoughts when he spoke, he
lifted the book and she said, “Oh, er... that's a girl's name.”

“So, you could have a girl, and `Zoe' means `life', I like it,” he replied. “And since
you're allowing me to choose the name, *and* in light of last night's events....”

She tousled his hair and smiled, “No, get a boy's name, I'm sure it's a boy, and
something meaning `wolf', like... `Conan'.”

“But my name is Connor, that sounds a lot like Connor,” he protested. “And Connor means....”

Looking at them talk my mind wandered back to the night before in the snow, to the
shape-shifting Patronus that had acted like a wand, to the transformation he'd made and the way
he'd behaved, so selflessly to protect me even though it looked more dangerous for him, and I
thought maybe it was just possible that he too would do anything to protect his father. No matter
what I'd heard him saying to the OGB, which was strange enough and difficult to ignore, I had
to wonder.

Of course that still left the question then, what exactly was going on between him and the
OGB?

*******

Hours later, long after I'd been released from the Infirmary, and fought my way to my
dormitory through curious schoolmates, ghosts, portraits, and Kimberly—who wanted to know every
detail of Connor's `heroic rescue', and then show me the press' take (not much of it
good)—I lay in bed on my stomach, clutching my pillow and staring blankly up at the ceiling. The
blizzard was still blustering out the window; I could hear the winds howl as they careened round
the spires, bridges and towers of the castle. Somewhere out there the Ministry's Aurors, some
of whom were now under investigation for dereliction of duty had the unlucky job of patrolling the
grounds for signs of trouble; I wondered if my parents were going through something like this
wherever they were. But then, as it was now inescapable, I was also wondering about what was really
going in the castle around me.

I wanted to speak to Rigel, I had inkling that I knew why he and Connor had fallen out as
children, but I hadn't seen him since he left the Infirmary that morning. I hadn't bothered
to check the map though, and since I remembered it only after I'd lain down, couldn't
summon the will to rise again and go looking for it.

I also wanted to see Connor, but he had remained with his mother all day and was yet to come
back to Gryffindor Tower. When he returned though he was to have a hero's welcome, for in light
of his actions last night Professor McGonagall had awarded him one hundred and twenty points, and
our Housemates were intent on throwing him a party.

I hoped he had the stamina for it; he had still looked rather weak when I left him that
morning.

Suddenly, there was a shout from below. The blast of sound that followed indicated that the
guest of honour had finally arrived, and I reluctantly left my bed to have a look at him. I almost
crept to the door and then only opened it a little way, just enough to peer out into the hallway to
see if there was anyone around. Finding no one then I walked down to the top of the stairs and
looked down into the Common Room.

They weren't able to do much in terms of decoration (though one was ill-advised to add more
to the heavy scarlet and gold furnishings already available) but still they'd somehow managed
to procure a large banner of a wolf tearing apart a Dementor, bottles of butterbeer and trays of
sandwiches, treacle fudge and enough sweets to put Honeydukes out of business and a slew of
dentists on personal yachts. Nearly Headless Nick conducted a choir of school ghosts in a haunting
rendition of a song I guessed was named “Sons of Godric the Brave”, for which there was apparently
no clear melody. And for the guest of honour a few of the boys had turned themselves into a living
throne, hoisting him unto their shoulders and parading him about the room to the others'
excited cheers. Connor, for his part, still looked worryingly pale and leaned heavily onto them to
stay upright, but otherwise he was smiling, a bright dimpled smile that set half of the girls'
squealing in delight.

I did my best to ignore the awkward twinge in my chest, thinking instead, trying my best to feel
guilty, that I seemed to be taking my parents' abandonment rather well. I was also failing
terribly at ignoring the fact that I was just as... well, basically, I shared some of Rigel's
views on the matter of Connor and Camilla just being friends.

Down below, Kimberly was at the head of the group and when they stopped a moment before her, she
declared, “I think this show of bravery deserves a proper reward!”

The room responded as one, “Yeah!”

“But what,” she began, asserting herself as the hostess, “Shall we give him?”

At once they all began to call out various suggestions, from the completely outrageous to the
downright silly. Some suggested that they should charm all the images of the Gryffindor lion into a
wolf for a day, some suggested that they should give Connor the title of honorary prefect for a
day, with the understanding that he should let us all do as we pleased, and some still suggested
that he be waited on hand on foot for the rest of the week. Obviously this didn't sit too well
with the others, but no matter what they wanted to do; Kimberly rejected them all, until they began
to protest. And that was what she'd been waiting for, for then she raised her hands for silence
and said, “I think, no I *know* what his reward should be. Do you all want to know what it
is?”

“Yeah!” they chorused.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yeah!” they called louder.

“Well then, the perfect prize—hey, you blokes over there, put him down here, and hold him for
me. He looks like he's ready to fall over,” she said.

I looked across to the others and saw them immediately drop him onto the chair and then arrest
his movement by holding his arms and legs. Kimberly smiled devilishly at him and said, “Good, now,
as I was saying, the perfect prize for this worthy knight is—”

They all hushed, leaning closer so that they wouldn't miss it.

“—a kiss from the lady he rescued!” she declared triumphantly.

I gasped, along with the rest of the crowd, and looked down at her mortified, and then more than
a little irritated. Connor himself looked up at her shocked, but she went on smiling as the others
around her descended into a mixture of protests and agreement. Some thought the idea as silly as
the others, some thought that it wasn't too bad and some still thought that they could come up
with better ideas. Eventually though, agreement with her idea won, and she declared joyously,
“Wonderful, now who's going to fetch the fair maiden?”

I was thrilled to see half of the crowd pale at the idea, and one First Year boy said nervously,
“But she's Harry Potter's daughter... I heard he killed Voldemort with his bare hands! He
must know more magic than anybody, he'd kill us!”

This took care of the rest of the crowd until Kimberly glared at the little alarmist and said,
“Oh please, he won't. And since it seems that none of you are going to do it, I'll get
her.”

I didn't wait; I turned immediately, raced back into the dorm and locked the door. Nearly
five minutes later I heard her knocking, “Open up, Lillie! We all know you're in there, come on
out! You can't deny your gallant knight his just reward!”

I didn't respond, I was hiding in the far corner of the room under the Invisibility Cloak.
If she came in odds were pretty high that she wouldn't see me, but to increase my chances I was
also beside the bedhead.

The door suddenly opened, she entered and said, “Oh no you don't, you can't hide from
me!” She raised her wand and said, “I've been working on this since I saw Connor do it last
week, let's see if it will work for me, *Accio Magnolia!*”

I let out a scream as suddenly my feet left the floor, the cloak slipped off me and I flew right
across the room into her, knocking her, satisfyingly, to the floor. She threw me off quickly
though, we both stood up, and then she grabbed me before I could run. She began to drag me off with
her down to the stairs then, but at every turn I grasped hold of something, which resulted in a
struggle as she attempted to free my hands again. At long last we got to the stairs, and as soon as
we appeared at the top of them the whole Common Room started cheering and chanting, “Kiss! Kiss!
Kiss!”

A group of girls left the crowd and raced up to help Kimberly bring me the rest of the way down,
while I struggled and searched about for the prefects. I spotted a few too, but they were also
chanting so that I knew that if I wanted to get out of this situation I'd have to do it alone.
Then Kimberly whispered in my ear just as we got to the last step, “Oh lighten up, Lillie, it's
just a lark, a quick peck on the cheek and you're done. We're not asking you to *snog*
him.”

I stopped struggling at once, and looked across at her, still angry, but no longer resisting.
Suspecting surrender, she smiled at me and announced to the room, “Bring our knight!”

The crowd went wild, squealing delightedly while Connor, too weak to protest, was hoisted up
again and brought before me. I didn't want to and was not going to do anything, and one look at
his red face told me that he felt the same. As a matter of fact he looked worryingly ill, though
there was an also worrying determined look in his eyes. And any hopes of a last minute rescue
evaporated when one of the boys pressed Connor's head forward by the back of his neck, trying
to force him into the kiss.

It didn't exactly go as planned. Connor was stronger than he looked, try as they might his
head went nowhere, and eventually he just shrugged off the boy and pushed past the others, without
much protest, up the stairs to his dormitory. At once the crowd began to boo, but Connor pretended
not to hear them, and the final sound we heard of him was the door to his dormitory slamming
shut.

I didn't think, I just turned and ran up the stairs behind him. This earned me more than a
few catcalls, but I ignored them like Connor had until I was up the stairs to the boys'
dormitory and realised that I didn't know which room was his. Simple solution, I walked down to
the door labelled, “Fourth Years” and knocked. There was no response. I knocked again and called,
“Let me in, Connor. It's me, Magnolia, Maggie.”

At first I heard nothing, and then footsteps, and at last the door opened to reveal Connor,
still looking weak and pale, but greeting with a smile, “You know what they're going to think,
right?”

I tried to look around him, “Is there anyone else in there with you?”

He shook his head and opened the door wider. I walked into the room and looked around, then
said, “Nice.”

He walked past me to his bed, the one furthest from the door, beside the window, and said, “I
have to share it so it doesn't look that great.”

I lifted both eyebrows; his four poster bed was in the cleanest, neatest part of the room. The
bed was made; the books and clothes packed away in his trunk and on the nightstand and his shoes
were laid out in a straight line beneath the window. Drawings he'd made, caricatures,
landscapes and portraits, along with Quidditch posters and pages from the *Úlfhéðnar* comic
book were neatly arranged along the walls. I imagined that there was also a hint of some refreshing
fragrance over all, the finishing touch to a picture perfect boy's room. That was too much; I
folded my arms, suspicious, and said, “Did you just do that?”

He grinned, but shook his head, “I like being neat, I got it from Dad. Mum's too clumsy to
be neat; it would all end up on the floor anyway. Dad's going to have his hands full after the
baby is born.”

“Well then can you give me a few tips? My room's beyond repair but maybe I can salvage my
part of the dormitory,” I said, and tried not to notice the defiant gleam in his eyes. It was as if
he were daring me to agree with Rigel about him and his Mum. He wasn't in any real danger
though, after last night I could practically forgive him anything.

He'd laughed when I spoke, and then made to take a seat on his bed. His unsteady movements
unnerved me and I rushed to help him, but he sat before I got to him and said, “You wanted to talk
to me about something? Since you obviously didn't come up here for that kiss.”

I blushed and shook my head, but then found that I couldn't remember what I wanted to talk
to him about. For a moment we remained in awkward silence—I toying with the hem of my jumper, him
looking expectantly up at me—and then I asked, “That thing you did, where you transformed
yourself... that wasn't the first time you did that, was it?”

He smiled a little and shook his head. “No, I first did that when I was seven, for a
Hallowe'en party me and Mum held for Dad. It was just us and my grandparents, he said it was
the best Hallowe'en he'd had in a long time. Then when I was nine and staying with the
Weasleys at the Burrow, scared the wits out of Rigel.”

I gasped, and then smiled. “I knew it! I knew there was something between you two, he didn't
want to tell me but—”

Connor, who had been staring at me increasingly confused all the while, suddenly caught on and
said, “That's not the reason why we disagree.”

I stopped mid-celebration and looked at him, “What do you mean?”

“I don't like him because he pretends to be something he's not. Rigel *Malfoy*?
Draco and Lucius Malfoy would never have accepted him, even though he's a pureblood and their
flesh and blood. His mother's a Weasley and they interact with half-bloods, Muggle-borns and
half-breeds. The only reason he's allowed that name and spoiled by `Grandmother' is that
she can't do the same to her son and husband anymore. She hasn't changed her views towards
anything or anyone, she won't accept my mother as her niece, refuses to acknowledge me, and
would prefer to suffer in exile in that manor than go out and face the people her husband and
family hurt,” he replied.

I could say nothing, I sat down on the bed facing him and he continued. “When I was younger I
was taken to Malfoy Manor and met her. She was all smiles and sweets but the moment Rigel arrived
she refused to let us play together. I was to sit in a quiet corner until it was time to leave
while my cousin ran around the place like a spoiled child, throwing things at house elves and
breaking stuff—which he could never do at the Burrow—but Grandmother was willing to forgive as long
as he told her he loved her and ignored me. I know it sounds resentful, but the next day when I
went to the Burrow he was the sweetest little Weasley you'd ever seen, being kind to his
cousins and respectful of his family and mother. Rigel plays both sides to his benefit.”

“I don't agree,” I said. He looked at me surprised.

“Look, I know you're his best friend—”

I cut him off, “He loves his mother. The only person getting played is Grandmother. And
don't try to tell me otherwise, he's my best friend.”

He didn't, instead he just stared at me for a while and said, “Anything else you want to
talk to me about?”

“Er... actually, no,” I replied.

He shrugged and threw himself backwards unto his bed, and then immediately groaned in pain,
clutching his chest. I stood up awkwardly, wondering if I should go to him, how to help him, and
then he relaxed and said, “I should be more careful, they never mentioned bruised ribs in the
Heroes Handbook.”

I snorted and he burst out laughing.

It would only be hours later when I'd fought my way back through the crowd of my Housemates
in the Common Room to my dormitory, had a heated spat with Kimberly over her little show, and then
gone to bed wondering where my parents were and wishing they'd return that I realised
something. And when I did I sat up sharply with my mouth open, not quite believing that it had been
right in front of me and I'd allowed it to pass me by.

Connor had said that as a child he'd been taken to Malfoy Manor and met Mrs Malfoy. And also
that Mrs Malfoy refused to acknowledge him and implied that this was something that continued even
today. But that didn't make any sense. Since she refused to acknowledge him and his parents and
would not let any of them set foot in the Manor unless by force, *who* had taken Connor to
Malfoy Manor? And why?

-->



9. Chapter Nine
---------------



**A/N:** *Been away for a week, but had no choice. How has life been? Great? Well then, on
to this chapter where I try to inject more intrigue and ponder myself when I'll start giving
answers. Shouldn't be too long though, another chapter or two and then I start clearing stuff
up. Tell me what you think of it in a nice little review?*

**Disclaimer:** *Not mine, like I said before, working on my own stuff. How does the name
“Dark” sound for a fantasy/mystery/horror original novel?*

*******

**Chapter Nine**

My first impression of Susan Bones, the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, was that she
was a rather unhappy woman. She rarely ever smiled; her lessons were lacklustre, often punctuated
with Ministry-supplied maxims on the evils of anarchy and sedition, and difficult to recall when it
came to end of the year exams. In her eyes one could read the sad story of her life, as painful as
so many others, but so consuming that she had allowed them to transform her into a stoic adult.
Unmotivated, unconvinced of her usefulness and apparently unwilling to change she could not help
the transfer of her mood to her charges and it depressed us. I once asked Mum then, wondering like
my father if there was some way, some thing I could do to help her, but she told me to leave it
alone. “Not everyone can be saved, Magnolia, what's going on with her... she has to deal with
on her own.” Then she smiled brightly with sparkling eyes, kissed my forehead and gushed, “Oh
you're so like your Dad.”

I didn't agree with her on both counts but said nothing. Then later I decided to do all I
could to make Professor Bones happy during class times, even if it was just a smile. It worked well
too, for a time we were treated to the most light-hearted, interactive classes yet... and then I
received her marks on my end of the year exams and that came to an end.

The woman who charged into my dormitory early that Monday morning after the Dementor attack was
an entirely different person. She moved with confidence, marching right up to my bed to yank off my
comforter and say, “Miss Potter? Wake up, Miss Potter, wake up! You have to come with me. Your
father's requested that I teach you a few things in light of recent events and that requires an
early start, so *wake-up!*”

I groaned, protesting the sudden exposure to the cooler surrounding morning air, and said, eyes
still tightly shut, “It's still the break! It's the day before *Christmas Eve*!”

She refused to hear it. “Wake up, Miss Potter! I would've thought that you of all people
would want to learn everything they can about protecting themselves after facing a pack of
Dementors....”

I sat up at once, forcing my heavy eyelids apart in the thankfully dim room, protesting, “I do!
I do want to protect myself... but there's the whole rest of the day, after breakfast, when
I'm not so sleepy!”

At this she sat down on the bed and lifted my chin to look at me. Then she asked, “You
haven't been sleeping?”

I was sure that, given the night in the Infirmary my fatigue would not yet be obvious, but it
would only be a matter of time. I had spent so much of the night before turning about in my bed
that I'd only fallen asleep somewhere around three. Of course I wasn't going to give her
any details, and especially on the enigma that was becoming Connor Romulus Lupin.

“You try sleeping after someone tries to do you in. First in the bathroom, and then those
Dementors...” I muttered, disgruntled and looked away from her around me.

The blizzard had dumped so much snow overnight that the windows were almost completely blocked,
but the small fire burning low in the fireplace before all five beds provided the necessary light
and heat. And the heat was making shaking off sleep—my of late elusive, but once met, entrancing
companion—rather difficult. It was at the wonderful place where it wasn't too bad without a
blanket, but was even better under one. As a matter of fact, once she left I planned to do just
that, not waking up until hunger finally forced me from sleep somewhere around mid-afternoon.

She released my chin to rest her hand reassuringly on my shoulder, and say, “Don't worry,
your Dad gave me explicit instructions that I was to teach you to defend yourself by any means
necessary.”

I scoffed, “You're my Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, aren't you supposed to be
teaching me that anyway?”

She gave me a look that said clearly “Touché” and then a warning glare. “Your father said `by
any means necessary'; we're going above Third Year Defence. Meet me in my office in fifteen
minutes, don't show up and I'll come to get you.” She then rose and left, her long, blonde
braid swinging neatly behind her. I looked after her until she disappeared through the dormitory
door again and then fell back into the bed with another groan.

I wanted, no I *needed* to learn to defend myself, I knew that, but I thought I'd
handled myself well out there in the snow Saturday night.

Then I remembered the image of the Dementor over Connor's shoulder, and my blood ran
cold.

An early start never hurt anybody.

.

Professor Bones was waiting for me in her office, braid tied up in a knot behind her head,
sleeves of her robes drawn up and wand out and at the ready. And as soon as I came through the door
she called out, “*Incarcerous!*”

I did the only thing I could do; I ducked out of the way, throwing myself to the floor before
her feet. Then I cried out in protest, “*What are you trying to do?*”

“*Teach you to defend yourself!*” she responded in kind, and then coming over to help me
stand, smiling, added, “Oh Miss Potter, I just thought practical instruction would be better than
theory. You can't use theory when you're facing Dark Creatures head on.”

“I know,” I grumbled, “I just thought you would give me some kind of *warning* first. I
mean, you're not a Dark Creature, and you're trying to *teach* me, not *kill*
me.”

Suddenly she was biting her lips, looking guilty, and then she turned and went to lean against
her desk. Maybe I'd spoken too quickly about a personality change. There was a moment of
awkward silence, where she sat thinking and I nervously looked around her office—noticeably bare of
mementos, decoration or anything that would define it as hers—and then she said, “I'm sorry.
I... I really don't know how to approach this lesson. When your father sent that owl yesterday
I was so caught up with this memory of Professor Lupin in my Third Year, how good he was and I just
wanted to replicate it. It's probably the reason his son's so good, but I'm not Remus
Lupin.” She exhaled. “He wants me to teach you the Patronus Charm, Shield Charms... basically
defensive magic you should be learning in your Fourth and Fifth Years, and how to duel proactively.
He wants me to turn you into a little soldier, but I can't do that. *He* was the teacher,
he should be doing this!”

She sank her face into her hands and groaned in frustration. I looked at her at once completely
lost, genuinely confused and more than a little worried. This morning in my dorm I thought I'd
finally met Professor Susan Bones, though under less than pleasant circumstances, and now it looked
as if that was just a temporary burst of self-esteem. She was too far gone; she'd lived this
way for far too long to be helped by anything I or my father could manage.

Thinking quickly, I said, “Er... maybe we should do this later? I mean, you could use the time
to come up with something you could try... and I could have breakfast....”

To emphasise this point my stomach rumbled noisily. She looked back up at me, flushing pink, and
nodded, “Yes... yes, that might be a good idea.... But don't think I'm letting you off; you
are coming back this afternoon. I'm the teacher here, I *can* do this.”

I nodded back at her, smiled and then hurried out of the office wondering if she really believed
that.

.

Down in the Great Hall—after a thankfully brief, though unsettling walk through torch-lit halls
with long shadows and dark corners in which strange noises *did* mean that there was something
there—it was now at last breakfast, and I took my seat at the Gryffindor table amidst plates of
toast, steaming cups of hot chocolate and Connor busily scribbling away on a length of parchment.
Kimberly, who was seated facing me, whispered across, “He's been doing that since I came down,
won't say who he's writing to. Cheating on you already, huh?” When I glared at her, she
grinned and then asked, “Where were you this morning? I woke up and you were gone.”

Connor didn't look up but I did notice the awkward jerk his quill made on the paper. I
replied to Kimberly, looking at him out of the corner of my eye, “Professor Bones is back, said my
Dad told her to give me private lessons.”

He inhaled sharply, cleared his throat and began another sentence. I continued, “He's
worried that I won't know how to defend myself, since whoever this is seems intent on using the
Dark Arts....”

Kimberly, being Kimberly, said then, “What's he worried about that for? You've got
Connor here to protect you.”

I rolled my eyes and looked away to the Slytherin table. Rigel was there amidst a few members of
his usual posse, none of who I knew personally or cared to, and as I looked at them he turned to me
and smiled. I smiled back and mouthed, “Where—were—you—yesterday?”

He looked puzzled a moment, before replying, “Dorm. Sorry.”

I shook my head at him, and then turned back to Kimberly, who was saying, “... was the bravest,
sweetest thing they'd heard about in a while. Stanislav's going to have to watch his back;
he's got some stiff new competition.”

“What?” I asked, lost.

She rolled her eyes at me now and said, “Connor's been commended in *Witch Weekly* for
trying to rescue you Saturday night.”

I looked across to him at once, to find him looking up at her equally as stunned and going red
in the face. “The *Daily Prophet* also said that the Minister of Magic wants to award him a
special medal for it. Along with that Special Award for Services to the School from Professor
McGonagall this is just your year, isn't it?” she asked him with a teasing smile.

I got angry. “What for? He was trying to protect himself too! He would've done the same for
anybody else—you would have, wouldn't you?” I turned to Connor to find him still staring at
Kimberly shocked. Seeing that he was to be of no help I turned back to her and said, “It's all
just a publicity stunt, I'm sure of it. His Dad's done loads for the Wizarding world during
the war and he didn't get as much as an official mention.”

She shrugged, “That may be so, but he deserves it.”

I flushed pink, and stammered, “W-well, y-yes, he does.” Then at once turned to Connor and said,
“I never said `Thank you', I never got the chance to but... thank you, Connor, for what you
did. I don't think I'd have been able to do the same in turn, but—”

He silenced me with a smile, and said, “It's nothing. I couldn't possibly leave you out
there to get hurt, but you're welcome anyway.”

Kimberly looked between the two of us and gushed, “Aww, you two are *so* cute!”

I turned back to glare at her, and she tried to silence it by snickering into her hands but was
by no means apologetic. When I looked back to Connor, taking dramatic deep calming breaths, it was
to discover that he was writing again. Curious, I asked, “Who are you writing to?”

He didn't look up, “Pen pal, do you have one?”

“No,” I replied. “You have a pen pal? Where are they from?”

“The Continent—listen, have you seen Rigel?” he asked, stopping to look up at me. I was
surprised, taking a quick peek, to see that he wasn't writing in English.

But then I was equally so by his question, I thought he'd made it very clear that he
didn't like him yesterday, and why. I replied anyway, “He's right over there, didn't
you see him when you came in earlier?”

His eyes quickly flickered over to the Slytherin table, where Rigel was laughing heartily at a
joke from one of his female Housemates, a pretty Mulatto girl named Bijou Zabini, (the daughter of
his father's former friends, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini) then to Kimberly for a moment,
and then he put a hand on my shoulder, drawing me down to him and whispered, “Someone told Dad
about the baby. He confronted Mum about it when she got there this morning.”

I sat up away from him and folded my arms, trying to conceal the fact that the touch of his warm
breath had raised goose pimples on my neck, “Your Dad's awake? When did that happen?”

He smiled a little. “Late last night, I just got the letter this morning. But did you hear what
I sa—”

I cut him off, irritated, “Yes I heard, but don't expect me to feel sorry about that. I
understand where your Mum's coming from, I've met Uncle Lupin, but Rigel's got a
point.”

His expression was one of wearied acceptance in the face of my response, but he continued
anyway, “So you think he did it?”

“Is he mad about the baby?” I asked, in a placating tone, intentionally ignoring his
question.

“What? No.... And yes. He's worried about the baby, how it's going to be dangerous and
stuff like with me, and he is angry about what she did, keeping it a secret and going to work
anyway. But he's just as happy that everything's all right, and that he's going to be a
Dad again,” he replied.

“Oh, well then, why are you angry with Rigel? I doubt he sent that owl to your Dad, he
wouldn't do that,” I told him, trying to convince myself. “He is upset about it, that's
obvious, but he wouldn't have gotten involved, it's none of his business.”

Strangely, Connor asked, “How much do you really know about Rigel?” Stranger still it sounded
more like a statement than a question.

Angry again, I snapped, “I know more about Rigel than you think. He wouldn't do that; he
didn't send your father that owl!”

“How can you be so sure?” he demanded, his eyes now a scary charcoal grey.

“Because he wouldn't, it's not like him. Rigel would never interfere, he considers
himself above gossip and you know that!” I snapped. Feelings aside, I was not just going to sit
there and allow him to nark on Rigel when he had also done something wrong. I myself was wondering
if he'd really sent it, the evidence was overwhelming, but I was far from willing to admit
that.

Suddenly, someone said behind me, “What's going on here?” and I cringed. It was Rigel, and
he really shouldn't have been there then. He must have seen us arguing from across the room and
come to intervene, complete with entourage, but that was a mistake. Connor didn't think, he
flew up out of his seat, around me and lunged at Rigel. Surprised, but not unprepared, Rigel
grabbed hold of him and swung them both down to the floor. A moment later I was left staring down,
shocked, at an open fist-fight.

The reaction was extreme, and faintly I wondered if it had more to do with their old rivalry
than this recent infraction. Wizards settled differences with wands, Muggles used their fists, and
the only time I'd ever heard differently was from Mum recounting Dad's Fifth Year. To
actually see it happening... everyone else was too stunned to attempt to intervene.

It was inevitable then that it would be one of the teachers who would have the presence of mind
to interrupt—in this case Professor Flitwick—who arrested their movement with a wave of his wand
and said, “Detention! Mr Weasley... Mr Lupin, I am shocked at you... twenty points from Slytherin
and Gryffindor! In fact, come with me!”

He freed them and they quickly and carefully extricated themselves from each other and began to
follow him out amidst the peering eyes of the entire Hall, heads bowed in shame. Rigel was
regularly the instigator of trouble, so many were not surprised to see him, but Connor just
yesterday had been a hero. And just as they got to the door, Connor turned back to me with an
apologetic look on his face.

I looked away, refusing to accept it, refusing to feel guilty, and then, late as usual, an idea
came to me. If Rigel had sent that letter, how did he know that Uncle Lupin was awake?

There were only four people in the Infirmary that morning, Connor, Aunt Tonks, Rigel and myself,
not counting Madam Pomfrey. Rigel had stormed out angry, and that just left us, none of who would
have told. It had to be Rigel, just had to be, but how?

My train of thought was interrupted by the sound of paper being snatched and torn and I looked
up in time to catch Bijou destroying Connor's letter to his pen pal, daring all around to stop
her. I drew my wand and called, “*Accio letter!*”

The fragments flew out of her hands and landed on the table before me in a neat pile. She glared
at me, but did not touch me (evidently she too was at the mercy of Rigel's rules where I was
concerned) and stomped away with the entourage back to the Slytherin table. It was rumoured that
Narcissa Malfoy had been attempting to make them friends since they were five, if she only knew
what Rigel really thought of Bijou she would probably give up. Or try harder.

With a quick, whispered spell I repaired the letter, and then carefully looked it over to make
sure that it was truly fixed. Being unable to read or recognise the language he was writing in
Connor's privacy was assured, but it also made determining errors difficult. It looked okay
though and I was setting it aside then when something hit me.

There *was* someone who might know that Uncle Lupin was awake, or had awoken before his
wife did. This person had connections, loads of them, and would be just vicious enough to get
involved. I was suddenly glad that I hadn't told Rigel about the Invisibility Cloak, for the
person who'd most likely told Uncle Lupin about the baby was Narcissa Malfoy.

*******

No sooner than had I entered Professor Bones' office that evening—now fed and significantly
more rested than this morning—than did she attack me again. But this time it was verbal, “Did you
have anything to do with Mr Lupin and Mr Weasley's fight this morning?”

I shook my head. “They don't like each other; they've never liked each other.”

“Do you have any idea why they were fighting?” she asked.

“No,” I lied. And I was yet to speak to them to clear up matters. I was sure that Rigel had told
his grandmother about the pregnancy, she then investigated Uncle Lupin's condition and struck
gold. Before the message could get to Aunt Tonks her owl was on the way to the hospital. But he and
Connor had apparently spent the day with Professor Flitwick and I took an hours-long kip in the
people-filled Common Room before the fireplace.

Professor Bones didn't look convinced, but she did not comment, instead saying, “I've
come up with a lesson to keep you occupied for the rest of the evening. And if it works out it will
continue for the rest of the break and into the school year. It might not be fair to your
classmates, but circumstances have determined that we have no choice.”

There was something about her now, looking across at me in her office as the sun was
extinguished in blue just out her windows that recalled the confident woman of that morning. She
really had taken the time to get acquainted with her new position as personal tutor, get
comfortable in her shoes and once she was there, take charge of the situation. I was in for trouble
by the looks of her, and strangely, I didn't mind that much.

Hesitantly, (she had gotten *really* comfortable) I asked, “Er... do I get tomorrow and
Christmas day off?”

She looked at me surprised, but then smiled, “Yes, even I've got plans for Christmas; you do
in fact get until Boxing Day off. But after that I want you here with me every evening, no protest,
and I'm also going to give you something to practice on the interim. Please do try to do it,
the bulk of work requires actually facing your opponent and I've decided to borrow Professor
Lupin's idea of using a boggart. The other stuff you can do on your own.”

“Really,” I asked, halfway between relief and disappointment.

She just continued smiling, “Yes, really. And we're going to start simple. The Patronus
Charm requires a lot of strength, concentration and a Dementor. Duelling, which you know, requires
two people, two wands and quick reflexes, mental and physical. From now until the day after Boxing
Day you need to practice this and I've arranged to have you tutored by Miss Camilla
Longbottom.”
“But she's the best duellist in the school!” I exclaimed.

“I *know* that, that's why I asked her,” she replied. “Back before the war your father
was often considered the best student in terms of practical studies in the school. It was your
mother's idea to start teaching us but he was the one who did it, and we benefited, greatly. If
you're going to learn something that is important to your future and have access to someone
like that, you are well-advised to take advantage of the situation.”

“I understand that, but... she's going to *destroy* me. She's the best duellist in
the *entire* school, of one thousand students, better even than *Flitwick* was, I've
heard,” I replied.

“I know that, that is why I chose her,” she said simply. Then, “Her father on the other hand....
Neville as I remember couldn't duel to save his own life, next thing I know he's a war hero
with a young daughter, being awarded medals for services to the Wizarding world. Goes to show,
sometimes people can surprise you.”

She continued after this, apparently forgetting I was there, “That Camilla.... I didn't even
know Neville had a girlfriend, at school he was just that bumbling near-Squib who spent far too
much time in the greenhouses with Professor Sprout and couldn't sit through a class without
suffering some kind of injury. The only girl I ever saw him with was that Ginny Weasley, but then
she was his date for the Yule Ball when she was *thirteen* and long before anyone thought she
was anything special. The things he must have gotten up to after Hogwarts closed... he should have
been seventeen when Camilla was born.”

I had pondered interrupting for some time, but it was at this last question that I said, “Er...
Uncle Neville adopted her.”

“What?” asked Professor Bones, apparently realising that she'd said that aloud and looking
distinctly embarrassed for it.

“Camilla,” I explained, feeling distinctly discomfited carrying on this conversation with a
teacher, “He said he adopted her. She was a war orphan; her parents were killed early on.”

“Oh?” she asked, with interest. “Is that so?” Then she smiled, “Neville is too sweet, even
though he was a bit slow he was always a really sweet, respectful person. But he bought himself
some trouble; she's such a pretty girl....”

My unease worsened, I replied unsteadily, “I guess....”

At last she said, “I'm sorry about that. Back to the lesson, we're going to duel. Assume
the position....”

“Wait, just like that? Aren't you going to teach me any new spells first?” I asked,
panicking slightly.

“Oh no, I want to see what you can do first,” she replied, and walked away to one side of the
room. Reluctantly, I walked to the other end and raised my wand.

.

As I left her office after, feeling very battered and badly bruised, I wondered if this was my
father's way of teaching me to be more vigilant. (*“See Magnolia, if you don't learn to
be just like me, you'll go to bed unable to lie in bed because you hurt all over.”*) I
didn't like it one bit. And like Professor Bones said he was the one to be teaching me all
this, but he never had. Though he never lied to me about his past, he never really attempted to
pass on more than he thought necessary for a normal witch to know when she started school
either.

To us, my siblings and I, our parents' past was ours to know. Any question, no matter how
embarrassing or silly, once asked would be answered. It was how I knew exactly how my father had
defeated Lord Voldemort, and Horcruxes and all for, as he explained to my mother, I deserved to
know that there was true evil in the world as well as good. It was how I knew about Mum and Uncle
Ron and the Relationship That Never Was, for she wanted me to understand some of the reasons for
the press' dislike of her. And it was even how I'd come to know about their lives before
they went to Hogwarts, and my father's in particular. I didn't tell Rigel but *I* was
the one who'd recognised Dudley Dursley's ex-wife and children when we met them that day in
London for just some weeks before my father had taken Milo and me out to see where they lived.

Yet when it came to magic and our education in it he hesitated. Aunt Luna had explained that
during the Second War, and in particular his last battle against Voldemort, he'd been touched
by Dark Magic, very Dark magic that he did not wish to pass on to us. As a matter of fact he'd
been so anxious about it before I was born that he'd gone to some of the most learnéd wizards
in the world to determine if it was possible. So far there was nothing wrong with me, except for
the Quidditch thing, for which I again blamed my mother, still he must not have been entirely
convinced.

Never before had I wished those learnéd wizards had managed to do their jobs.

I was on my way up to the Common Room, determined to have a bath before going down to dinner,
when I unexpectedly ran into Camilla and Connor in the hall. They did not see me and for that I was
most grateful, for they were in the middle of an argument that this time I could clearly hear.
Camilla was saying, or rather nearly yelling, “—you *do* that? Have you forgotten that you
have other things to do? You have detention and no Time-Turner; you can't do three and four
things at once!”

“I know that, I *know* that but you have to understand—”

“Understand *what?* Do you really think that Rigel could've somehow found out that your
father was awake before your mother did and send him an owl, *really?* Think Connor,
you're not stupid, you know he didn't! You just wanted to fight with him, and you know
that! Your stupid little feud is doing you more harm than anything he could ever actually do to
you!”

There was a moment of silence where Connor seemed to be considering this and then he said, “But
he must have told someone... his grandmother...?”

Well, that saved me a difficult conversation, thank you Camilla.

“And you couldn't have deduced that by yourself this morning, *before* getting yourself
detention for a month? How are you going to—?”

All of a sudden someone blew a raspberry behind my ear and sang out, “*Spying Potty? Naughty,
Naughty, what would your father say*?”

Peeves. And as I turned, horrified, pleading with him to stop it and go away, he began to sing
louder, “*LITTLE MISS POTTER, IS AN EAVESDROPPER, WHO HAS—*”

“*Langlock!*” called Connor, and I turned to him and Camilla, who had come running the
moment Peeves first began to sing, warm and red-faced with embarrassment.

Meanwhile behind me Peeves found that he was suddenly speechless and was very furious about it.
He at once darted towards Connor, intent on doing some damage, when Camilla raised her wand and
called, “*Arresto Momentum!* Be gone!”

In a flash he vanished and we three were left in the almost quiet hall, staring at each other.
And for an awkward moment too we did just that, looking from one to the other in a silence
punctuated by the crackling of the torches and the muted sounds of the floors above and below. At
last I was the first to speak, apologising, “I am so sorry, I was on my way up to Gryffindor Tower
when I saw you and I didn't want to interrupt and I couldn't go back and—”

Camilla cut me off, “It's okay, you can go. Sorry for blocking the hall.”

Connor did not look at me, or would not, and I made to go. Then remembering, I stopped and said
to Camilla, “Professor Bones said that I was to arrange with you for a time that we can have
duelling practice?”

She looked at me momentarily puzzled and then said, “Tomorrow at five, everyday at five,
I've got free time then after I've attended to Dad's plants.”

“Okay,” I replied and turned to go. Once again I stopped though and this time turned to Connor
and said, “I'm glad your Dad's okay, and I hope he goes home soon. And your Mum and the
baby too, I hope she doesn't have any problems with the baby.”

He finally looked at me, but he was not angry, just embarrassed. “Yeah, thanks. She's
actually got a month still, according to her doctor. We're going to call her `Zoe Andromeda
Lupin'.”

I lifted my eyebrows, “Really? Your mother agreed to that?”

“No, I want to call her `Zoe', *she* said `Andromeda', though I think she was
joking so it will probably be `Zoe Cecilia Lupin, for Dad's Mum,” he replied. “But if it's
a boy, she insists that we will call him Remus John Junior. Both Dad and I are hoping it's a
girl.”

I stifled a snort, and said, “I like `Zoe' too; it's a nice name, means `life'
right?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

“That's good to know, I don't know what my name means at all, and since it's a
flower, I doubt it has a meaning,” I said.

We'd forgotten that we both had somewhere else to be. Camilla didn't, but made no
attempt to remind us of this as we stood in the hall talking. As a matter of fact she just leaned
against a wall as Connor replied, “It means `Magnol's flower', it was named for a French
explorer, and as a flower it symbolises `nobility'. And your middle name, `Ingrid', means
`daughter of the hero', so it fits you quite nicely.”

“Oh really?” I asked, now blushing. “Do you know what Connor means?”

“`Hound-lover', Mum's idea of a joke. And `Romulus' to match my Dad's
`Remus'. Grandma Tonks didn't like it though because she said `Romulus' killed
`Remus' in history, but Mum just said she was being melodramatic,” he said, laughing.

“Oh, okay,” I said, and then looked at Camilla. “What does `Camilla' mean?”

“`Camilla' means `attendant' and `Tegwen' means `beautiful and blessed', but
Uncle Neville renamed her and she won't tell me what her original name was,” he said.

I looked back at Camilla, “`Camilla' is not your real name?”

She looked slightly upset. “It *is* my real name; it's just not the name I was born
with. Dad changed my name when he adopted me.”

“So what was your name?” I asked, innocently.

She did not fall for it. “Like Aunt Tonks doesn't like to be called `Nymphadora', I
don't care for my old name. That name died with my parents.”

I couldn't leave it alone, I asked, “Why wouldn't you want to be called by the name your
parents gave you? All they left you was that, wasn't it? Isn't that all you have?”

I didn't mean it as insensitively as it came out but Camilla interpreted it as such. She
said coldly, “If you knew them you'd be glad that that was all they left. I don't remember
my mother at all, and I barely remember my father, but from what I can he was... he used to treat
me like a little recruit to the Cause, a soldier-in-training towards the Dark Lord's ultimate
goal. Yes, my father, my *parents* were involved with Death Eaters; they believed in the
Cause, it was their *entire lives*. So no I don't care, and no I don't want to tell
you what my name was, because, like them, it's *dead* and *gone*.”

And with that she turned and stormed away down the hall to the stairs. I was left standing with
Connor feeling thoroughly ashamed of myself and completely embarrassed. I turned to him and tried
to apologise, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to....”

He waved it away with a smile, “Don't worry about it. I said the same thing and she slapped
me. She knows you didn't mean offence, and in my case my Mum doesn't like her name too so I
should've known better.”

I didn't believe him, and looked away to the stairs where she'd gone. He continued,
“Hey, you want to know what Rigel's name means?”

“What?” I asked.

“It's from the Arabic word for `foot',” he replied with a grin.

I laughed and then my hunger made its presence known with a low rumble. Stumbling through a
“Later”, I turned at once to head up to the dormitory, but Connor stopped me with a hand, “Hey,
where are you going? The Great Hall's this way.”

“I know,” I said. “But I've got to have a shower first, I smell like Guillaume—er, he
doesn't like to bathe... or Milo and Carl for that matter, but....”

To my surprise he suddenly leaned forward and sniffed me, inhaling deeply at my neck. My jaw
dropped, but he smiled, “No you don't. Let's go, they're serving roast.”

I was not allowed to protest; he took my arm and led me away to the stairs.

-->



10. Chapter Ten
---------------



**A/N:** *Hi there. I wrote this chapter and for some reason don't like it. I don't
know why. Maybe you will? Tell me what you think, thanks.*

*Oh, one more thing, please forgive the lamentable broomstick description. I tried, but I
suck.*

**Disclaimer:** *So yeah, not mine. Unless, I don't know, Ms Rowling decides to send me
the rights in a lovely gift-wrapped package for my twenty-first birthday in November. No, she
won't? Oh well, will have to get my own then.*

*******

**Chapter Ten**

The morning of Christmas Eve I awoke to find a sheet of paper lying on my night table. As I rose
to go to the bathroom, as reluctantly as the morning before but knowing that at this point my
bladder was going to need surgical intervention if I ignored it any longer, my gaze happened to
fall onto the tabletop. It was lying there as innocently as if belonged there, but it didn't,
when I finally fell asleep the night before all that lay there was a bit of fake mistletoe. Without
thinking I reached a hand and snatched up the paper, bended it towards the light and gasped.

It was a sketch, of me, sitting on a railing on the bridge looking out into the distance. I
nearly dropped it in shock, but then I noticed a marking at the back of the paper and flipped it
over. It read:

*“Happy Christmas! I know you probably didn't get me anything but I could not resist
getting something for you. We're friends now, aren't we?*

*Connor Lupin, with help from sister-to-be Zoe (she approved this one.)*

I smiled, staring at the sketch a moment. It was so good it looked like a photograph; Connor had
added so much detail I could see the Giant Squid splashing in the lake just over my shoulder and
two tiny spiders crawling in the arch above my head. I had never known he was so talented. But
before I could marvel at this further, I felt a stabbing pain in my lower abdomen and flew off the
bed in the direction of the bathroom.

When I returned a short while after, feeling immensely relieved and a bit angry with myself for
having that last cup of pumpkin juice, it was to find Kimberly sitting on my bed with the sketch in
her hands. I nearly ran over to her to snatch it away.

“Hey!” she protested.

“That's not yours!” I told her.

She huffed and went over to sit on her own bed, arms folded. “`Just friends', eh? My friends
don't send me sketches like that.”

I looked over the paper wondering what she meant. In the drawing I was now joined by a large
grey wolf, which would hop onto its hind legs so that I could reach down from the railing to
scratch its ears. But clear as day in the marking of its fur along the side presented I could read
his name, `Connor'. I burst out laughing, it was so cute and funny I couldn't help it.
Kimberly though, had been waiting for this. She pounced, “You certainly don't react like that
to anything Rigel's ever given you.”

“Rigel can't draw,” I said, dismissively, still looking over the drawing with a smile on my
face.

She scoffed and said, “What are you giving Connor then? He sent you a nice sketch, so what does
he get in return?” Then, with a sly smile, “Actually I have quite a few suggestions that you
might....”

I tuned her out as I realised, with some astonishment, that she was right. Even though Connor
had said that he wasn't expecting anything from me—given that we'd only just started
speaking to each other this was understandable—but after this I just had to give him something in
return. Then what should I give him? What did he like? I wasn't sure that I knew him well
enough to get something that he would.

At this point Kimberly noticed that I wasn't paying her any attention. She attempted twice
to draw me back to her, snapping her fingers before my face and then making a snatch for the sketch
again. I jerked my head back and switched hands holding the sketch and shoved it away towards my
pillow and she gave up.

I sat back on my bed staring off blankly for a long time, thinking. I'd learned quite a few
things about him in the last week and a half. I knew that he read the comic book *Úlfhéðnar*,
but he'd already gotten the volume and the last issue of the year last week, (something which
undoubtedly had set his parents back a pretty penny). I knew that he liked wolves and werewolves,
according to the OGB, but I didn't know what books on them he hadn't read and since this
was learned by underhanded means I couldn't really use it. I could get him a sketch book or art
set; he'd passed me and Rigel in the hall carrying one, but that one looked new, and now that I
thought about it, also fairly expensive. I didn't have that many Galleons left over from
Christmas shopping, but then I had to get him *something*.

I looked up out of my thoughts to find Kimberly digging through her trunk, clutching a bathrobe
round herself and asking, “Have you seen my jumper? Or can I borrow one of yours, because if
it's not here it means that they're all in the wash....”

I suddenly had an idea. Not bothering to answer—moments later she'd find her own jumper
anyway, at the bottom of her messy trunk—I dug through the drawer of my night table for a sheet of
paper and a quill. I knew what I wanted to get him, I'd seen it in Gladrags on our last
Hogsmeade weekend but it was too small for Dad and too big for Milo. It would fit Connor perfectly,
the woollen jumper striped in three different shades of grey with the white llama-fur embroidery of
a wolf pack stalking the woods on a full moon. The pattern went right around the jumper too, but
most of the pack was on the front, and there were cubs on the sleeves. If he wondered how I knew he
had an interest in wolves I'd just tell him that Rigel had told me, and since they didn't
speak, he'd never know. My only real concern was that Gladrags still had it and would be
willing to stop everything and rush it over to the school in time for Christmas. If anything I
hoped they would be swayed by my name, Rigel did have a point that it could be damned useful when
you wanted it to be.

When that letter was done, describing the jumper in detail and the urgency of the situation, I
wrote another to Flourish and Blotts in London requesting a copy of *Hairy Snout, Human
Heart*. The idea came to me as a whim while I was writing for the jumper and I couldn't let
it go. Then, both letters finished, sealed in envelopes and addressed, I hurried out of the
dormitory, still in my pyjamas, heading up to the Owlery, stinky, smelly place that it was, to find
a school owl to send them out.

I really needed to get my own owl, but since we had Oscar my parents had neglected to get me
one. They were probably concerned that they could not monitor who was sending me mail, though they
couldn't really now, but it would have at least spared me the freezing trek up to use a school
owl.

It was only when I'd sent off the owls, two large tawny ones with bright amber eyes, that I
noticed that I wasn't alone in the Owlery. Rigel was there, already dressed, in a corner with a
large eagle owl, lazily stroking its feathers while attempting to retrieve its delivery, a letter
that undoubtedly came from Grandmother. And when I stopped, surprised, to look at him he said,
“Forgot quite a few things this morning, did we? You better hurry; last minute shopping usually
means that all they have left isn't any good.”

“Not when you know where to shop,” I replied, and then looked down at myself. “Oops, that
explains a few things.”

He smiled and started over towards me, “I hope that wasn't my gift you were now sending out
for.”

“No it isn't, I've had yours for weeks, and since you can't come into the girls'
dorms, you won't find out what it is until tomorrow,” I replied, grinning smugly.

He looked intrigued, “What is it?”

“Do you really think I'd tell you that easily?” I asked.

“Well, yeah,” he replied, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

I shook my head and sighed, “You'll find out what it is tomorrow, like everybody else.”

He continued to stare at me curiously for a while and then asked, “Is it something for
Connor?”

I seized the opportunity, “Why did you tell Mrs Malfoy about Aunt Tonks' pregnancy?”

“What?” he asked trying, but failing miserably to look confused.

“You know `what'!” I snapped. “*You* told her and she found out Uncle Lupin was awake
and told him. Why did you do that? That was something Aunt Tonks alone was supposed to tell Uncle
Lupin, and in her *own time*! Who are you to interfere with that? What *right* did you
have to interfere in their family business?”

He did not answer, but then steadfastly refused to look guilty. That just made me angrier.
“Connor had every right to fight with you yesterday! I always thought that you were above that kind
of nonsense, that you were nothing like your father's family really, but I guess I was wrong.
You are just like them!”

Now it was his turn to be angry. “I'm *nothing* like my father, or Grandmother, and you
know that! How can you stand there and accuse me of something like that? I would never, ever,
*ever* go after someone without reason. Cousin Tonks endangered herself and that baby and
didn't once think about how this affects Cousin Remus. How are they going to afford another
baby, Magnolia? How are they supposed to give it all the things it will need, *need*,
Magnolia, when they can barely do that for themselves on Cousin Tonks' salary and what Cousin
Remus can scrape by whenever someone takes pity on him and gives him a job? She should have told
him!”

His raised voice awoke many of the slumbering owls in their perches around us and they sat up
screeching loudly, beating the air with their wings in protest. The noise was unimaginable, loose
feathers, straw and dust rained down on us from above, making my nose itch, but I was too engaged
in the argument to allow it to distract me.

“That is none of your business! How did they keep Connor? They'll manage, just like they did
before! You had no right to get involved, *none*, and yet you did it anyway! And you know
what; you *are* just like your father because he would have done the same thing to get back at
someone he didn't like! How could you hate your cousin so much, because he frightened you when
you were nine?”

“What?” he asked confused.

“He told me about that, he said that when you were nine he frightened you by morphing himself to
look like a wolf. That's why you're upset with him, your cousin, your blood, over that?” I
demanded.

He looked me directly in the eyes then, livid, and for the first time he managed to match his
father's cold slate grey as he said, “I don't care about what happened when we were nine. I
know he must have told you about that for it's guaranteed to get you on his side, but I've
long moved beyond that incident. If you knew Connor like I know him you would not be so quick to
take his side. If you knew him, if you really knew him, then you would understand why I'm so
concerned about Cousin Remus.”

What was with these two about me knowing them? Both insisted that I didn't really know the
other and if I did `I would understand'. What the hell?

I'd had enough. With a frustrated scream that startled Rigel so much he jerked the eagle owl
off his arm, I turned away and stormed out of the hot, noisy Owlery to the icy stairs. I wasn't
getting involved anymore, I had breakfast to get to, a shower to take, gifts to wrap and a Duelling
practice this evening to get ready for.

.

Much of Christmas Eve would go by quickly. When one spent the day out in the snow—under the
watchful eyes of two Ministry-sent Aurors and Professor Flitwick—skating on the lake, engaging in
snowball fights and building snowmen we each took turns destroying, time would fly. I almost could
not believe it when Camilla appeared on the top of the steps and called, “Hey Lillie, let's
go!”

Rigel, in the act of throwing a snowball at my head paused to ask, interestedly, “`Let's
go'? Where are you two going?”

“Duelling practice,” I replied, shaking off the snow on my robes and turning towards the
castle.

“She's teaching y—let's go, faster than that young woman!” he said, dropping the
snowball he'd been forming and coming up to me, began briskly pushing me up the three and a
half-foot deep trench our classmates had cleared on their way out earlier.

At breakfast Rigel and I had made up, which basically consisted of him coming over and saying,
“Why are you surprised I did this? You knew I was a prat when you befriended me, I was just being
true to my nature.” I replied dryly, “Yes, how could I have possibly forgotten. I don't forgive
you, that's Connor's job—have cornflakes.” He sat and soon we were speaking again as if
nothing had happened. It was the way we made up most of the time, apart from those occasions where
we simply forgot we were mad at each other, and it was aided considerably by the fact that Connor
wasn't there.

But as we got to the top of the steps we received a shock. The OGB was back, standing there with
the aforementioned Connor, and staring at us disapprovingly. Unfortunately, it would appear that my
parents hadn't needed him for long. Rigel stopped pushing me immediately.

“Professor Snape, sir... y-you're back....” he stammered looking at him, clearly unsure of
what to say.

The OGB replied flatly, “Yes, I am, and it was to learn that I was to head the detention for a
student of mine, who, given his age and House should have known better. We do not condescend to the
actions of Muggles.”

Connor looked contemptuous at his side, looking everywhere but in my direction. Rigel was silent
as well, having not responded to the OGB's scolding, but he did look across to me with an
apology in his eyes.

That drew the OGB's to me then, “Run along, Miss Potter. Miss Longbottom is waiting for you
in Professor Bones' office. I expect that you shall go there immediately?”

Like Rigel I did not reply, but at once swept past him and Connor into the castle heading for
the grand staircase. As the door closed behind me I just caught him saying to Connor and Rigel
again, “I have taught you both better than this, spoken a thousand times and yet you....”

I wasn't given time to mull over this statement though, for Camilla was awaiting me at the
top of the stairs as I came in, and said when she spotted me, “Hurry up, I only have an hour free
this afternoon.” Then she turned and left me staring at her retreating back for a moment before
following, thinking to myself as I went that it wouldn't take long before her attitude got on
my nerves.

.

Camilla awaited me in the middle of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom as if she owned
it. In a neatly pressed knee-length tweed skirt, knee-high black leather boots, an olive green
jumper and her black school robes, she sat against the teacher's desk twirling her wand in her
hand and staring, bored, out the window. In my fashionably-faded jeans and black-grey jumper I felt
rather... well, plain.

She stood up as soon as I entered and said, “Professor Bones said that you're a fine
duellist, but that you're easily distracted and have a tendency to react with your body rather
than your wand. I don't know how to break this to you gently, but you're a witch, you have
to start acting like one. If someone sends a Stinging Hex your way you respond by blocking or
deflecting it and sending them a lovely set of boils for their trouble. You don't duck unless
it's something you can't block like the Killing Curse or the Cruciatus.”

She'd said all this with the air of someone used to doing it all the time. I nodded and she
continued, “Professor Bones also said that you have a tendency to close your eyes when you attack.
Don't ever let anyone catch you doing that, your father is Harry Potter. They won't laugh
at him, they'll laugh at you.”

Embarrassed already I dropped my gaze, but she spoke sharply, “Look up!” I did as I was told,
just as she raised her wand and banished the desks across the classroom, giving us room to
practice. Then she said, “We're duelling at twenty paces, remember what I said, don't duck
if it's something you can deflect or block, don't close your eyes and do not under any
circumstances give your opponent reason to believe that you are weak. Let's go.”

As I walked to the other end of the classroom, trying my best to remember her rules at once and
also that this was serious business, I wondered who taught Camilla to duel like this. The Duelling
Club was one thing, but her father, no matter the changes he made in the war, was nowhere near
something like this. I'd never seen him duel personally, but the way he spoke sometimes, it was
easy to get the idea that he could not do it well.

At twenty paces apart we turned to face each other, bowed and stood to fight. Before I even got
the first word out Camilla sent me flying back into the door while my wand skittered away across
the floor. Thankfully I dropped before I hit the door and Camilla called from the head of the
classroom, “Too slow, Lillie!”

I glared up at her. “Too slow, I'm a Third Year, not a Sixth, what are you trying to do to
me?”

That argument was not going to work on her. She rolled her eyes, “Your father could duel better
than that in his Second. You're just lazy. Get up, get your wand and let's do this
again.”

I got up trying to suppress my annoyance, and retrieved my wand. Once we stood twenty paces
apart again she said, “On three. One... two... three! *Expelliarmus!*”

Clinging tightly to my wand I called in kind, “*Expelliarmus!*”

There was a tense moment where we both stood clutching wands that vibrated furiously, and then
she said, “Good, better than last time. But a First Year could do better than that, is your father
really Harry Potter?”

I bit back a snappy retort, we raised our wands again and before she could act I called,
“*Langlock!*”

It was a good thing I remembered that one from Connor, but to my surprise Camilla waved her wand
anyway and I was suddenly struggling against invisible binds on the ground. Then she ended the
spell on herself and freed me to say, “You're a quick learner. Good one, but you're
reacting on emotion. If you'd used that from the beginning I wouldn't have caught you just
now. Let's go again.”

Swallowing a groan I stood and walked back to my place.

.

I don't know why my legs took me to the Library after practice with Camilla, I had a raging
appetite and once again every muscle in my body was on fire, but somehow I ended up there, sitting
at a window staring out into the cold dark night. Even here there was a buzz of muted excitement,
in a few hours it would Christmas and by dawn's light we'd all be waking to our gifts,
nestled at the feet of our beds and a day of feasting and cheer. It was the best day of the year,
the best time to me personally, and for the first time that I could remember, I wasn't going to
spend it with my family. Somebody was going to have to make up for this on my birthday, big
time.

As was the story of my life for days now though, I wasn't to be alone for long.

With no small measure of surprise someone said, “Magnolia...? It's dinner time, do I have to
remind you again...? Are you alright?”

I looked up to see Connor standing there with his sketch pad and chalk and a puzzled look on his
face. I smiled, he relaxed uneasily, the slightest slackening of his furrowed brow, and I said, “I
don't know why I came in here really, I'm hungry and in need of a shower, but I can't
bring myself to do either.”

“Oh?” he said, setting down his load and sitting beside me. “Camilla didn't hurt you, did
she?”

When I turned to him baffled, he said, “She once made this Seventh Year who somehow got her to
tutor him, cry. Nearly broke his arm too in the duel, and to this day he still sends her a greeting
card every Christmas and on her birthday.”

“Really?” I asked feeling worried.

He smiled, “She's scary, but she's good. I was just—”

Fearing that he thought I couldn't hold my own in a fight, I cut in, “I won a few actually,
but she said I'm lazy and that I act like a Muggle and a coward.”

Eyebrows disappeared into fringe, “She called you a coward?”

“No, but it was implied. I'm `Harry Potter's daughter', everyone's been
reminding me, but I can't duel to save my life, can't play Quidditch with the worst of them
and now somebody's trying to kill me.” It was with surprise that I felt the emotion in my
voice, the weight of my tongue and the thickness in my throat. I cleared it, trying not to cry,
wondering why I wanted to cry, and then was further surprised when Connor suddenly put his arms
around me and drew me into him. I refused to cry now, I wasn't going to, but I made no attempt
to pull away from him and neither did he.

It was an awkward embrace really, anywhere that he touched me then was aflame and we both seemed
to want to put as much distance as possible between each other, while still hugging, but I would
not let him go. I rested my head on his shoulder and stared absently off, across the table I sat
at, to and through the shelves opposite and then to a row of books over on the other side. Connor
had rested his head on my shoulder too, but then suddenly sat up away from me and said, “Let's
go get you clean and fed.”

I arched an eyebrow, suspicious, “Wait, what? I smell worse than last night?”

He grinned, “No... let's just go, I'm hungry too.” And then without waiting for me to
answer he stood, gathered up his things, nervously scattering a few sheets, some of which had been
neatly ruled around the edges and then separated into uneven panels, and reached a hand to help me
up. I took up a stray sheet that had a comic-like drawing of a wolf on it and handed it to him, and
then followed him out of the library.

*******

Christmas morning I was awoken by an excited shriek. Well that meant that Kimberly was up and
had seen her stuff, I thought and snuggled back into my bed. And then I shot upright and looked
excitedly to the foot of my bed. It was Christmas morning and my gifts were here at last!

Like a child I immediately scampered round to the trunk where nearly twenty carefully
gift-wrapped boxes lay, spilling over to the floor, from my family, friends and a number of my
father's fans. I didn't know which one to attack first, and apparently neither did
Kimberly, who'd received a noticeably smaller pile, but was staring across at me with a bright
smile on her face.

It was her smile that made me go for my parents' gifts. Silly as it was, embarrassment would
have kept me from even looking at them if she hadn't.

My father's gift lay neatly at the top of the pile. I didn't wait to start tearing off
the paper on the long, narrow box, but when I did I was forced to stop looking at it confused. My
father, knowing full well that I wasn't very good at Quidditch and because of that didn't
need one, had sent me a broom. I blinked a few times, staring at it shocked, and even more so when
I saw the gold inscription at the top, “*Quasar Mach I*”.

It was the latest limited edition production of the company that had made my father's
Firebolt, and judging from the serial number “0001”, it was the first of the lot, delivered to my
father on request. (There had been a waiting list for well over a year now, but if Harry Potter
wanted something in magical Britain immediately, Harry Potter was going to get it.) It was called
the Quasar Mach I, for this was supposedly its maximum speed (though no one believed it because no
one would ever be crazy enough to travel that fast, or simply could) and it could accelerate to
nearly two hundred miles per hour in ten seconds. Made of ash like the Firebolt, it was fitted with
more or less the same protective charms and features, but a supposed added bonus was a special
charm that made it partly-sentient and so able to protect the rider on its own. Many who'd seen
it in action claimed that though useful the feature was probably a cheating tool, a factor that had
thus far kept it out of official Quidditch matches.

I stared at it open-mouthed for a while, and then turned to my mother's gift.

This was in a large rectangular box with holes punched in the side and on the top and had made
its presence known long before I got to it. It hooted. I nearly upended the new broom in my haste
to open it; my mother had gotten me an owl. It was like Uncle Ron's Pigwidgeon, a rusty-red and
snow white pygmy owl with bright amber eyes. And as soon as I opened the box it flew out, encircled
my head twice and then landed quietly on my shoulder and pecked at my hair. I laughed out loud,
delighted, and it nearly fell over.

Kimberly had looked across at this point, now sporting a new jacket and squeaked, “You got your
owl! Oh, oh, OH! You got a broom! *The Quasar Mach I?*”

She dashed over to inspect it, and I let her to it while I returned my attentions to my gift
pile. Grandpa and Granny had indeed sent what Milo said they would, a moss green winter cloak with
large pockets and a hood, and a mystery novel. He and Mackenzie surprised me by sending me sweets.
The Minister of Magic had sent a signed Christmas card, Grandma Weasley sent a jumper and her
children had all sent gifts that were merely upgraded versions of their usual things, clothes and
prank supplies. But it was Rigel's gift I was going for, and like he'd said it was not
cheap.

Mrs Malfoy, perhaps believing that Rigel was buying something for Bijou, had sent me a set of
three journals, expensive, carefully-aged parchment, gilt on the edges, bound in dragon-hide and
inscribed with gold. There were seven quills packed neatly with them, of the rarest eagle feather,
twelve bottles of ink, and solid gold quill stand, on which had been inscribed my name. This
alarmed me for a moment until I realised that it must have been charmed to present the name of the
owner the moment it arrived in their hands. I found myself grinning stupidly then, that was a very
clever, as well as very mean little trick. Poor Grandmother when she found out that she hadn't
bought a gift for Bijou. I would gladly give up every Galleon I had to see her face.

Kimberly was admiring it too, and said, “I take back what I said yesterday, no wonder you
don't react funny to Rigel's gifts, his stuff is better!”

I shut the box in her face. Affronted, she asked, “What did you get him?”

“Beater protective equipment, from Quality Quidditch Supplies... and he better like it because I
know Grandmother's already bought him everything he could ever want this year,” I replied, and
then took a moment to marvel to myself at the way I'd said `Grandmother'. For a moment it
sounded just the way Connor would say it.

“Oh, you're cheap, what'd you get Connor?” she asked, flopping down onto my bed, still
staring at my new broom.

“A jumper... and a book...” I replied, slowly, grimacing as I realised how it would sound.

As predicted Kimberly snorted and laughed, “You're *really* cheap!” Then she summoned
something from the bed, grinning as I glared at her, and said, handing it over, “Happy Christmas,
Lillie!”

It was a bottle of Sleekeasy's hair styling solution. I nearly hit her as I threw it back at
her head.

.

When at last I found my way down to the Common Room, my new, as yet unnamed owl neatly hidden in
my robe pockets, I looked around hoping that Connor hadn't gone down to breakfast yet. He found
me first, also coming down from the boys' dormitory for breakfast; he called across when he saw
me, “Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas, Connor!” I called, back smiling. And it was a bright one too, just as I
suspected, the jumper fit him perfectly, and just a little too well for it made his second-hand
jeans look much older than they probably were.

He came over to me with a grin, “You didn't have to get me anything, you know, and
especially not something this... well, you know....”

My embarrassment returned, and I shook my head, “No, I had to. My grandmother would be furious
if I didn't.”

He smiled, shook his head at me, and then lifted the book, “And this?”

I grinned now and said, “Well, it was a theme I was going for... wolf jumper, werewolf
book....”

“Thank you very much, Maggie,” he replied, quietly. Then noticing that we were being watched,
for the few other Gryffindors present had been observing us intently since we first called to each
other, he asked, “Do you want to go down for breakfast? Were you going?”

I nodded, “Want to see what everyone else's gotten, and I have to write my parents a
`thank-you' letter, how I'll get it to them I'll never know.”

We headed out through the portrait hole then, and once on the other side and on our way to the
stairs, Connor asked, “What'd you get from everyone else?”

I caught a hint of a mischievous smile in his eyes, and replied, “Well, after that sketch—very
nice by the way—I got a cloak from my grandmother, a mystery novel by a Muggle-born former Auror
from my grandfather, an owl, here”—I opened my cloak pocket to show him the little owl sitting
quietly in there, he looked in, surprised, and then laughed loudly—“a jumper from Mrs Weasley, the
usual from the others, sweets from my darling sibling, oh joy, and, of all things, a broom from my
father.”

He lifted both eyebrows, “A broom?”

“A Quasar Mach I, I think my Dad's forgotten I stink at Quidditch,” I replied. “What'd
you get?”

As soon as I asked I regretted it, but he answered at once, “Another art kit, the one I've
got is nearly through, and Mum says that in addition to the baby's room, they've arranged
it so I can have an actual studio in the house.”

I tried not to sound too astounded when I said, “Really?”

If he noticed he did not comment, but replied, “Yeah, and my Dad—who's home now, by the
way—gave me a book by that same author, Taliesin Rhys-Hussey?” I nodded. “Yeah, him, his first
novel, really battered, pages torn, called *Dark*. His latest is going to be called *DEATH
EATER*, all capitals. And there are rumours of my own broom; it will probably be something worse
than these wonky school brooms, so I'm trying not to get my hopes up.”

I grinned when I saw him smile, and then he asked, “So what did you get from Rigel? I noticed
you didn't mention it.”

There was a reason for that, but he didn't seem to mind, so I replied, “A journal set
purchased by Grandmother. It's so expensive I'm afraid to touch it.”

“And what did you get him?” he asked.

“Quidditch supplies,” I replied, thinking, again, that compared to his gift mine was crud.

Connor smiled though and said, “Well that's much better than what I got him: detention.”

Down in the Great Hall at last I quickly spotted Rigel among his Housemates trying out the
various pieces of equipment I'd gotten him. Doing his best to pretend that Connor wasn't
beside me, he smiled at me and mouthed, “Did—you—like—it?”

I nodded, and he went back to his Housemates. Beside him Bijou looked rather put out. Oh
well.

At the Gryffindor table I took a seat opposite Connor and exchanged greetings with those closest
to us. Under the dust-fine snowfall of the enchanted ceiling, surrounded by the many Christmas
trees, baubles, candles, bells and other festive decorations, and then the wrapping paper of
discarded gifts, people still in their sleeping clothes and excited chatter going over the tables,
I found that I didn't really miss not having my parents around as much. How could I when
everyone else was so light and cheery that they just had each other, their gifts and not a trouble
in the world? Even the OGB, one of the few teachers present including Professors Bones, Flitwick
and Trelawney, seemed brighter than usual. He turned to look my way then, just as a cloud outside
cleared out of the path of the sun and brought a shaft of light down over the Head table. It
didn't brighten his appearance, his eyes were black, not even the most fleeting hint of brown,
and I turned away back to Connor.

But at that moment something fell out of the sky and landed onto the table before me, sending
feathers, gift paper and stray crackers scattering. When its hooting and flapping settled I
realised that it was Oscar with a belated Christmas delivery.

Connor laughed over the table, “What's wrong with your owl?”

I shook my head, “Nothing, but he probably got into some eggnog. I believe Mum will have Uncles
Fred and George to thank for that.”

“You mean `kill', right?” he asked, looking over the owl, worryingly.

“Yes, actually,” I replied, and shifting the drunken bird aside, which was sporting a crown of
mistletoe, took the package from it wondering if it was another of my Dad's secret messages,
for-my-eyes-only. I already had the map and cloak, what was it this time, a Sneakoscope? At the
corner of my vision I saw the OGB lean forward, staring at me suspiciously, but Connor was asking,
“Who's it from?” and I turned to him.

I opened the package and it exploded in a blast of burning white light.

-->



11. Chapter Eleven
------------------



**A/N:** *Here's a way to get a chapter ignored, post it just after Amynoelle and
Heaven and before the story disappears from the first page. But for those who read it anyway,
please forgive the descriptions of Nice, France and the Bulgarian-English speech. I'm not JK
Rowling, and I was very distracted from the Wikipedia article on Nice today. Hopefully you
won't mind and leave a review. Hint-hint.*

**Disclaimer:** *Not mine, but oh, Jo, why do you have to come to the States when I should
be back home again? Why? WHY? *is dragged away bawling**

*******

**Chapter Eleven**

Within two hours every seedy haunt of the local dodgy wizard population was raided and thousands
detained. It took four days to screen each and every one of them and officially charge three. New
Year's Eve I was told by my father that though it was announced to the general population that
they'd captured the culprit, they were actually nowhere near the person responsible. I did not
cry, I barely even reacted, what good would that have done? I'd just spent the last four days
recuperating from serious magical burn damage at my grandparents' house in Nice, I had no idea
where or what had happened to Connor and the other five who had been injured along with me, and I
had at last come to the frightening realisation that someone was trying to kill me and there was
nothing anyone could do about it. Not Hogwarts, not the Ministry and apparently especially not my
parents.

I did not let on to this of course as I came down to breakfast on New Year's Day. In sharp
contrast to Hogwarts in Scotland, winter in Nice, France was cool, sunny and bright. Birds sang
openly in the trees just out my window, flowers bloomed in sills and in the garden around the
Granger property (clashing garishly at times with the still-up Christmas decorations), and if I so
chose I could go swimming in the sea (though it was not advised, it was still winter) just a
fifteen-minute drive from the house. Milo and Mackenzie went often, walking hand-in-hand with
Granny at their backs. I was too severely burned to leave the house at first, so I remained behind,
lying in a hammock at the back of the house, reading through Milo's *Úlfhéðnar* comics, a
get-well/peace offering that thankfully helped me pass the time.

Add that to my parents' insistence on pretending, for my, Milo and Mackenzie's sake
officially, but theirs really, that nothing out of the ordinary had happened, it was as if we'd
all taken a family vacation.

After the letter exploded in my face I and the others had been rushed to the Infirmary. But due
to the severity of our injuries, three of us—me, Connor and a girl who'd unfortunately been
sitting next to me—were transferred to St Mungo's. When I awoke a day later it was in France in
the spare bedroom that my grandparents had set aside as mine since I was a child, as my mother
gently rubbed a healing salve all over my face, neck, chest and arms—all where I'd been
burned—humming a favourite lullaby. I'd been too stiff then to cry happily as I wanted to, but
as time passed I found that I was numb, too numb to care about anything other than wonder about who
had done this to me.

My mother looked up from the table as I appeared and said, “Happy New Year's! I should go
wake your father; he's been dying to see you out of bed and walking around.”

“Happy New Year's, needed a change of scenery today,” I said.

She came over to hug me, but I faked pain and she quickly let go, saying, “I'll have to rub
you down again, Madam Pomfrey said to keep doing that as long as you hurt.”

I made no reply, but took my seat at the table and with my hands in my lap, stared listlessly
out the window. Rigel had sent me a letter just that morning from Malfoy Manor, wondering how I
felt and had liked the gift. I wrote back that I had and was using it at that moment, in actuality
it was still in the bottom of my trunk, along with the Marauder's Map and Invisibility Cloak,
at our sadly vacant home in Godric's Hollow. He would have been pleased to learn that Milo and
Mackenzie had both long disposed of their sweets, as surreptitiously as possible of course.

He'd also sent me a copy of the *Daily Prophet* announcing the arrest of the individual
the Ministry claimed was responsible. The wizard ranting mutedly at the gaggle of journalists
shouting questions to him and the Minister of Magic looked nothing like a vengeful Death Eater, and
more like any other Knockturn Alley inhabitant nowadays, some of who were too young to have been
involved in the war. No wonder my father was not convinced.

My true concern though, was Connor. I had heard almost nothing of him apart from a snippet
I'd managed to tease out of Rigel on my first day awake, through a letter I'd been forced
to dictate to Milo, stating that he'd been sent home as well, for both parents were there and
his father was walking about now and so was able to take care of him. He did not know their address
and unwilling to get my parents involved I hadn't asked them for it. Stupid really, but I just
didn't want to.

I was drawn from my thoughts by my mother sitting beside me with a bowl of cornflakes and warm
milk, a glass of juice and the healing salve. I ate one-handed while surrendering the other to her
ministrations, and therefore was trapped when she asked, “Aren't you happy to see us?”

I looked her directly in the eyes, and was more than a little surprised to see that her usually
bright brown eyes were dull and sad. I tried to reassure her, bad liar that I am, “Yes. I've
been dying for you and Dad to come back, and you're here. Why wouldn't I be happy?”

She gave me a look and I confessed, “I want to know what's happening. I want to know who it
is and being here isn't helping that. Dad's sure that it isn't the bloke they arrested
and you both are having doubts that the one you're following is connected too. So if it's
not either of them, who is it and where are they?”

Finished with the first arm, she stopped for me to give her the other, and then she replied,
“Sometimes you're too much like your father.”

When I looked back into her eyes at this, she said, “You have to recover before you do anything.
And since we're both here you can tell that your Dad isn't going to let you go back to
school until he finds out who did this. He knows that this means that the wizard we were tracking
has time to disappear, but then he's also sure that if we found him once we'll find him
again. I can only help you as far as getting you back to school, he knows I won't let you miss
one day, and at this point you might have better luck at finding the person who did this than he
will.”

Realising what she was saying, I stammered, “B-but... everyone s-says that he's Harry
Potter, the Man-Who-Triumphed, he can find anyone. I'm just `Harry Potter's daughter',
who can't play Quidditch, duel or sense dange—”

“Don't be silly!” my mother snapped, startling me. “You're Magnolia Potter, who's
smart and headstrong and can make up for whatever she doesn't have with what she does. You have
a name even if other people don't see it, or don't want to see it, and you have nothing to
prove to anyone. You don't have to learn to play Quidditch, you don't have to be the best
duellist in the world—unless of course you want to be an Auror—and your father can't sense
danger any better than anyone else. If you want to find out who's hurting you, I have full
confidence that you can and will.”

I smiled and let her hug me this time, glad that at least one of us was confident. And then we
were interrupted by the arrival of my father, siblings and grandparents. Milo came running over to
separate us, and plopped something in lap that immediately began sliding off to the floor. My
mother stemmed the flow with a hand and said, “Ah, more comic books. Aren't you being a good
little brother nowadays?”

I looked at him beside her, concurring with blatant suspicion, “Yeah, isn't he
wonderful....”

Milo though, began as innocently as ever, “This is the second year's issues. You get more
history on Faolán and his clan and then the search for the second rune. I can get you the key if
you want, I couldn't figure it out on my own before he solved it but maybe you can.”

Mackenzie came up beside him and said, “You couldn't figure it out because you're
stupid.”

“Mackenzie...” said my father, warningly, from his seat opposite us at the table.

She looked away, embarrassed at being caught, but did not apologise. Milo continued, ignoring
her, “Carl says that if you tap some of the runes with your wand you can find a secret message, he
used Aisling's but couldn't read it, so he thinks that there might be another key.”

“Really?” asked Grandpa from the head of the table, beside Dad.

“Yes, but why would you put something in the comic book that nobody else can read?” asked
Milo.

Mum looked over the comic books in my lap, each one featuring a small, adolescent wolf with
bright grey-blue eyes in various poses and settings, strongly resembling the wolf Connor had been
drawing that Christmas Eve in the library, and said, “Well, sometimes authors like to include
things in their works that only they or their friends may understand. It would make no sense to the
reader unless explained to them, but that's not the intention, it's for the author and his
friends alone.”

Mackenzie considered this for a moment and then declared, “That's silly.”

Dad and Milo concurred shortly after, but Mum replied, “Maybe, but sometimes it's just a way
for the author to put a personal touch to something he's created. I've heard it said that
when artists create works for public display they lose control of it. Officially it's theirs,
but the interpretation lies with the audience and unless they were pretty clear about what they
were doing—and sometimes when they are—the audience determines what they want of the work, and not
what was intended. So maybe, your Romulus Kveld-Ulf has an `inside joke' in that secret message
that only he and his friends know about and would understand. He put his personal touch there, but
everything else is for you.”

Mackenzie still looked as if she thought it rather silly and went over to clamber into Dad's
lap and help herself to his breakfast. It was a habit Mum had been trying to break out of her for
some time but Dad always undid all her hard work by letting Mackenzie do as she pleased. She looked
across at him disapprovingly then and he quietly lifted Mackenzie out of his lap and into her own
seat. She was about to protest when she saw Mum's face.

Milo then said, “Well anyway, when you're finished with these I have all of the third year.
Did you know that Uncle Dean accidentally gave away the title of the first issue of the fourth year
yesterday? He was giving an interview—you know, because Romulus Kveld-Ulf won't speak to
anybody face-to-face, his biography says that it's just because he doesn't want to be
recognised and not because his face is all scarred—anyway, he was speaking and he told them that
they renamed it. It was going to be “The Storm” and now it's called “The White Wolf”, and then
he said since he told them that he might as well add that they're introducing a new character.
We already knew that, but he says that they changed the character.”

“Any explanation as to why?” asked Dad, only half-interested.

“No,” said Milo, looking disappointed.

At this point Granny interrupted. “All right now, it's breakfast time, away with those
books. And afterwards, Hermione, your father and I are taking the children down to the beach,
Magnolia too. You two need some alone time.”

“`Alone time'? I have a wizard to find and dismember, I can't pretend that this is just
another family vacation,” said Dad with more venom than he probably intended.

It was Mum who insisted, “Remember we're keeping up the appearance that we're taking a
break to be with our daughter in a difficult time for our family—we are by the way, Lillie, just so
you're clear.” I nodded, she continued, “We might as well act like it.”

“Right,” said Granny. “We'll go down to the beach and you two can be alone.”

Something about that worried me and I looked up at my parents mildly alarmed, their expressions
though, were blissfully blank. Mackenzie asked innocently then, “What? Are you going back to work?
You're really still working?”

Dad shook his head and replied to her, though he was looking at my mother. “No, we're on
vacation.”

He said no more after this and I looked back at Mum and said, “I'm so worried about poor
Aunt Tonks. Once the baby's born she'll need all the *help* she can get and Uncle
Lupin *won't* be able to help her sometimes. When he's sick he can't be around
when the baby's *colicky* or Aunt Tonks is *really tired*....”

Mum gave me a look that plainly said “Nice try” and rose to wash her hands to have her
breakfast, saying, “I'm wondering about *Connor*. He seemed so *distraught* when he
heard that you were hurt, kept muttering over and over again, *if only he'd known*,
he'd *seen* the owl and he didn't realise. And poor Oscar, the vet said he'd been
Confunded.”

Milo and Mackenzie ignored that, instead catching on to her earlier statement on Connor,
“Ooooooo, Lillie's got a *boyfriend*.”

I glowered at them both, “I don't have a boyfriend.”

“But Connor likes you,” said Mackenzie, grinning, then stuck out her lips in a pout and went,
“Smooch, smooch, kissy, kissy....”

Then Milo began singing, “*Lil-*lie *and Con-*nor, *sit*ting *in a
tree....*”

Dad cut them off, “Eat up you two, you don't want to go swimming on an empty stomach.”

“You're not supposed to go swimming on a full one,” said Mackenzie.

“Yeah, but not an empty one either,” said Grandpa, who apparently shared Dad's views on the
boyfriend conversation, in that he didn't like it.

Mum came back to sit with us and smiled, “I wouldn't torment your sister if I were you two,
one day you're both going to be in the similar situations.”

Mackenzie and Milo exchanged a glance and gagged.

*******

Knowing that it was the dead of winter away at school, it was strange to stand on the sunny
beach in Nice watching people stroll casually down the white sand shore, while others chanced a
frolic in the chilly cobalt-blue sea. Feeling slightly self-conscious for the burns, which now
looked nothing more than bad sunburns against my usually pasty skin, I had walked along sticking
close to my grandparents while Milo and Mackenzie happily raced around and ahead of us. Now that we
were at the beach though, Granny and Grandpa set up a couple of beach chairs and settled into them
with their books and portable CD player, while I was set to watching the younger two as they
played.

That was probably not such a good idea, because standing there watching the two play was boring
and my mind wandered to Connor as I tried to imagine what he was doing at that very moment,
wherever he was. His last words to me constantly replayed themselves in my head, “Who's it
from?” They could have been the last thing he ever said; just sitting next to me could have gotten
him killed. Was this going to be my life from now on? That friends and innocent bystanders alike
were going to have to look out whenever I was near and someone wanted revenge for something my
father had done?

Milo and Mackenzie came running up the beach with a little bucket, apparently intent on building
a sand castle. They'd been doing that all the holiday so far and were apparently yet to tire of
it. Were they to go through the same thing I was now, too? Would they one day have to face the fact
that they could have people they don't know killed for just being in the wrong place, with
them, at the wrong time?

“Magnolia darling, why don't you go for a swim, or sit down and read or something?
You're blocking my light!” suddenly called Grandpa behind me.

I turned back to him, sneered, then snatched up the Taliesin Rhys-Hussey novel from Granny's
bag, walked a little further down from them and then flopped down on the sand with it. As soon as I
opened the book, his current best-seller, *The Living Death*, a sheet of folded paper fell
out. It was the drawing Connor had given me for Christmas. I immediately slipped it back into the
book and shut it. This wasn't going to work. I stuck the book back into the backpack, stood,
dusted off my bum and said, “I'm going for a walk. I'll be back in tick.”

Granny said, without looking up, “Don't go too far.”

“I won't,” I replied and immediately began walking off down the beach.

My grandmother had forced me into a two piece bathing suit, my father insisted that I wear a
pair of shorts and a hoodie over it, and with my sunglasses and head bowed, I trekked across the
sand, walking down the beach trying to ignore my thoughts. It wasn't difficult. Nice is a
lovely little seaside town in southern France, on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea, with a
history that dated back to the Greeks and many handsome young natives to draw the attention of even
the most discerning tourist. From the moment my mother's parents had first visited it, they
claimed, they knew that they were going to retire there someday. Winter weather was usually very
mild, as was the weather today, but it barely seemed to hamper anyone's plans as for the sea. I
passed no less than twenty groups lounging on the beach front, apparently unaware of the highway
that ran the length of the stretch of beach we were on and the cool air. At home now no one would
dare go to the sea unless they had to go out fishing or to rescue someone, and at school the lake
had been frozen under for so long and in such thick ice that I had to wonder how the inhabitants
endured it.

Mum had said once that she, Dad and Uncle Ron had come here after the war. The sun was so hot
Uncle Ron nearly died of heatstroke the first day, then couldn't be removed from the beach
unless by force for the rest of their stay. There were far more people then than there were now and
they were often at a party with someone, who, though not knowing them for who they were, would
invite them over for dinner anyway. It sounded like paradise, and when she added the bit about Dad
finally telling her that he loved her on this very beach, it became a romantic paradise to rival my
LaFolle collection.

At the time though I'd said, “Eww!” like my siblings would.

I stopped walking then and shook my head firmly to clear it. No thinking of romance, those
thoughts nowadays would end in anxious musings on Connor. But as I began to walk again, someone
said, “Hey! Hey! You girl! Can I have a vord vit you?”

Puzzled, and against parental warnings, I stopped and looked around for the owner of the heavily
accented voice. It did not take me long to find them, they were running down the beach in my
general direction, and nor did it take long for me to recognise them. My heart seized and my jaw
dropped, it was Stanislav Krum.

Just like he'd appeared in *Witch Weekly*, he was a tall, handsome boy with long black
hair that had been cut and shaved into something like a Mohawk-mullet, dark eyes and his
father's hooked nose. And in his shorts and vest, he looked stocky, slightly muscular, and
tanned, like the mythical hero of oh-so-many teenaged girls' dreams. I could not move, I could
barely breathe, and I was sure that if he touched me I would fall. And then I noticed that he
wasn't alone.

Coming up behind him, running just as quickly, was an almost equally tall girl, also with long
black hair and dark eyes, but softer features and fuller, rosy lips. She was curvy too, and wearing
a single-piece bathing suit that made sure that anyone looking on would not be able to keep their
eyes off of her for long. (Noticeably, it didn't appear that anyone was looking our way though,
obviously a bit of magic at work.) Svetlana and Stanislav were identical twins actually, of the
rare occasions when they were and a boy and a girl.

They both came to a stop directly before me and Stanislav spoke, “Are you Magnolia Potter?”

At first I couldn't speak, so shocked by what I was seeing, and then his sister came up to
him and the two carried on a hurried conversation in Bulgarian. I could not understand a word of
it, but it looked as if she was upset with him about something. What, was he not supposed to let
anyone know that they were there? Was there something wrong with speaking to me? Then she turned to
me and asked, “You are Magnolia?”

I nodded. “Good. Is Connor all right?”

Still staggered, I struggled to find my voice, “I-I-I I don't know. I
h-haven't-haven't spoken to him since—wait a tick, how do you Connor?”

“Ve vrite,” said Stanislav.

“What? I'm sorry?” I asked, not meaning to be rude but unsure of what he'd just
said.

Svetlana pushed him aside, “They vrite—on paper—you know, write—pen pals?”

Realisation dawning, I said, “Oh, oh! You're Connor's pen pal? You both...? How do you
know...?”

“Ve met through the paper, your Prophet?” he said, trying to explain.

“The *Daily Prophet*?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes,” he nodded. “Ve write and he tell me about you. He said—”

His sister immediately shushed him, and asked me, “Vas he hurt, bad? They said it was a
letter?”

I extended my arms to show them my burns. “He shouldn't have it this bad, but it was bad
enough that they took us to the hospital. He's home with his parents, I was told—I'm sorry,
you know Connor?”

Svetlana looked understandably impatient and annoyed by my question, but her brother was the
more patient and said, “Yes, ve talk, and his comic book, ve like the comics.”

“His comic book...?” I asked, puzzled now, and becoming increasingly annoyed with myself for
repeating their every question.

Svetlana cast her brother a dark look then, and replied, “*Úlfhéðnar*, ve read it too, and
talk about it together. Ven ve heard vat had happened to him ve tried to contact him but got no
answer, and ven ve heard that your father had brought you here ve begged Mama to bring us so that
ve could ask you. But you say you do not know vat has happened to him...?”

“I haven't been able to write to him myself,” I explained. “I don't have his
address.”

“Oh? Vell I can give it to you, maybe they vill let your owl through, ve use another name for
safety,” she replied.

“I don't have a pen or paper,” I replied.

“No matter, come, ve are right here,” she said and turned towards a small black and blood-red
tent near some lawn chairs on the beach. Knowledge of magic told me that it was larger than it
looked; mere common sense reminded me that I shouldn't just go up the beach with them. I
didn't follow, and eventually they stopped and she asked, “Vat is it?”

I didn't know how to begin to explain. Instead I just stood toeing the sand awkwardly, until
Stanislav caught on and said, “Don't vorry, ve are not... Death Eaters, is it? Ve are
Connor's friends.”

I looked away up the beach where Milo and Mackenzie were apparently still at play near my
grandparents, saw them still sitting blissfully as before, they hadn't missed me yet, and then
walked up behind them to their tent. When we were feet from it though, Svetlana hurried on ahead
and went inside. I stopped outside with her brother, looking about nervously still, and then she
returned a while later with two thick envelopes and a sheet of paper. These she handed to me and
said, “These are our letters; please make sure he gets them. I put in something extra for his
sister, Zoe. And this is his address; they must not know us so they do not let our letters through.
Thank you very much.”

She smiled then as she handed me the letters, and so did Stanislav so that I could not help but
respond in kind. When they said nothing more though, I realised that the conversation was over and
I should be on my way. With another smile and a, “You're welcome, both of you, it was nice to
meet you,” I turned and headed off back up the beach.

I was nearly ten feet away before I began to wonder at what had just happened. I turned back at
once and found them still standing there watching me go. Good, I hadn't been dreaming, I
thought. I smiled again, they smiled back, and I continued on my way to my grandparents.

Granny said as I finally got to their chairs, “Where have you been?”

“Walking, like I said,” I replied, and added no more having apparently unconsciously made a
decision to keep the meeting to myself.

“Took you a while there,” said Grandpa.

I went back into Granny's bag and took out my book, slipped the letters and paper inside and
said, marvelling at my serenity, “Well, it's a long beach.”

Granny laughed, “See, what did I tell you? She's fine here, safe.”

I, like Grandpa, wished that we could have believed that.

The moment we were back in the house, just in time for a late lunch, I raced up the stairs to my
bedroom, wincing as my healing-tight skin stretched with my movements. (The healing salve cleared
up the burns but only mildly eased the tightness of the healing skin.) Once I was in my room, I
barely paused to slip out of my sandals before heading to my desk there and taking out a sheet of
parchment, an envelope and a quill to write to Connor. I was so excited that I found myself
bombarded by a series of different things I wanted to tell him at once and no idea where to begin.
And it did not help that I managed to translate this to Ophelia, my little owl, for she was now
zipping about excitedly in her large birdcage beside my desk, hooting and screeching in
anticipation of finally being sent out on a delivery.

As she had been in my pocket when I opened the letter she had been spared injury. But still she
had been examined by a Magical Creature-specialist and forced to rest in her new cage—a joint-gift
from Milo and Mackenzie in light of my injuries—until now. I intended to send her out with the
letters, worryingly long though the journey was going to be and tiny as she was, for I knew that
Connor would recognise her the moment he saw her and let her through. And only when I received his
response would I dare to believe what had just happened to me up the beach, for surely I had not
just seen Stanislav and Svetlana Krum?

But before I could put the first word on the paper someone called from below, “Come down,
Magnolia! It's lunch time!”

“Er... I'm not hungry!” I called back; hoping that Granny would believe it. My mother
certainly would, but she and Dad must have left for that “alone time” already.

She didn't. “Come down, we were all out on the beach, time to eat!”

I looked back at Ophelia in her cage, then the address and two letters on the desk before me,
and called back, “Give me a minute!”

“Hurry up!” she said.

I wasted no time. Barely dipping the quill in the ink, I scrawled hastily:

*Dear Connor,*

*You've got some explaining to do. Are you okay? Haven't heard anything.
Worried.*

*Maggie*

Then I quickly folded the letter, sealed it in the envelope, copied over the address and found a
rubber band to secure the other letters. Once they were attached I released Ophelia, she hopped
lightly on my hand, pecked at my finger and I found a piece of string to attach the package to her
feet.

Granny called up again, “Lillie, come down now!”

Ignoring her, I opened the bedroom window and with a whispered, “Take care”, sent the little owl
on her way. There was a tense moment where she dropped and flew awkwardly with the package at her
feet, but then she secured her grasp and took off again, in a thankfully much steadier manner.

Granny called, anxious this time, “Lillie! Lillie?”

“Coming!” I called, and sped out of the room.

*******

That night after dinner I retreated to my bedroom with my mystery novel and Milo's comics,
wondering all the while why I hadn't told my parents about meeting Stanislav and Svetlana on
the beach. What if they'd been Polyjuiced impostors and the letter was another little bomb? But
then it would have exploded again when I touched it, wouldn't it? Or what if it required my
opening it like the last time? Had I just sent Connor his death? He was too far away now to be
warned by owl, and this house had no fireplace for me to use the Floo, had I just killed him
myself?

Someone was trying to kill me, why was I being careless? Why was I allowing things to distract
me?

I contemplated going down a moment to tell my parents—who'd returned a little before dinner
this evening all smiles and hanging off of each other, again I register awe that they could pretend
that this was a normal family holiday—but then decided that I was silly. What had happened this
morning on the beach was too strange to be a guise. They had had more than enough time to snatch
and kill me when I'd been speaking to them and no one would have noticed a thing, if they
didn't then they were never going to.

And if this was the case then Connor, how lucky was he to find Stanislav and Svetlana Krum for
friends? He deserved it too, for all the things his family had gone through and were still, he
deserved every bit of luck he had. I wonder though, if they knew that his father was a werewolf,
and how had they reacted to it? How would Kimberly react if I ever told her that I'd met them
today and they were “Connor's friends”, to quote Stanislav?

So many questions, not enough answers, or at least none that could or would be answered today.
Not to mention the most important of them all, when would this all end?

I tried to settle back into the bed then with the comic books and novel, finding the first issue
of the comic's second year, and opening it up to read. I had to admit that it was a rather
intriguing read, this comic. I usually considered comic books for children, never taking them
seriously, but this one had a charm that I could not resist. It was, for one, set in Ancient
Britain, and not Scandinavia like I'd earlier believed. The main character's name was
Faolán and the story was mostly told from his perspective. And the riddles were easy to decipher
but difficult to apply to the mysteries unless one had enough information from the story. The first
year's rune-riddle lead to the first ingredient: the remarkably tame dried lacewing flies. I
wondered if the author intended for readers to create the resulting potion, if it was a real
potion, and what would happen when they did?

I had barely finished the first page when there was a tapping at my window. I flew off the bed
and dashed to the window to let in the owl. It wasn't Ophelia, but Rigel's eagle owl,
Lucius, (Mrs Malfoy didn't know this of course, she called him Orion) and as soon as I opened
the window it hopped onto my desk and stuck out its foot for me to take Rigel's letter.

I took the letter, gave it a treat and sat down to read:

*Dear Magnolia,*

*I hope your Dad doesn't burn this letter before you get it. I know he doesn't trust
Grandmother, but I made sure that she never handled this letter or Lucius, and so I can also write
what I want. I'm not sure if you got my other letter this morning; the distance is not really
conducive to communication by owl. In that vein, firstly, how are you? I've heard that
you've been awake since Boxing Day but not much else. I hope that you have fun while it lasts,
just remember that school opens in a few days.*

*I myself am fine, personally. Grandmother was concerned about how the incident affected me
and collected me from school in the afternoon; with you gone I had no choice. Hogwarts is boring
without you. I haven't seen Connor, but his Mum's in the hospital. They think she's
going into labour early because of stress, I'll keep you updated. Mother is home as well, but
she's busy debriefing at the Ministry and it's Grandmother's turn to have me. Oh joy.
Haven't heard from Camilla, I've decided to profess my undying love and devotion but she
hasn't responded. Know that her Dad's back though, Grandmother said that `the belated Madam
Bones' granddaughter has taken an interest in your Herbology professor'. Look out for
disgusting displays of affection in the coming weeks if anything happens. Don't really care for
anyone else at school, but rumours are going round that the Dark Lord's alive. Those duffers,
they'll believe anything.*

*Now to your attacker: nice, I didn't know Voldemort was in the habit of recruiting
Muggle-born toddlers? Grandmother laughed when she read the papers this morning. I do hope your
father knows that this is just a publicity ploy. Talk to you when school opens. Happy New
Year!*

*Rigel*

*P.S. What do you want for your birthday? I've got nine days to trump your Christmas
gift.*

Same old Rigel. Full of gossip, though he would publicly deny it, and concern, though he would
never acknowledge it, not even personally. I smiled at the thought of him sitting alone in his
palatial bedroom at the manor awaiting my owl, and sat down to write my response.

*Dear Rigel,*

*I'm fine. Nice is the nicest place to recuperate in the world. Ignore the pun; it's
awful I know*....

-->



12. Chapter Twelve
------------------



**A/N:** *If you haven't read chapter eleven please do so now because you might be
confused at the beginning at this one. If you have, then for this chapter I hope that you enjoy it,
find it interesting and all that. There is some Wikipedia.org supplied info, errors are their
fault. Otherwise I worked hard; my only reward would be a nice little review at the end. :D*

**Disclaimer:** *Not mine, never will be.... *cries**

*******

**Chapter Twelve**

We would spend the last days of the holiday continuing to pretend that we were having a normal
family vacation. I read Milo's comic books in the hammock overlooking the small backyard,
exchanged letters with Rigel—Connor never responded to the one I'd sent—and went down to the
beach with my grandparents and siblings, trying my best to enjoy the warmth and sunshine while they
lasted.

I never saw Stanislav and Svetlana again so that as time passed I began to feel more and more
that it had been a happy hallucination. Thankfully the media also considered one witch's claim
that she'd seen them speaking to me on the beach as such too. Kimberly, without actual
knowledge of the location, would have Apparated directly into my bedroom to demand the truth had
they not.

My parents, meanwhile, indulged in more “alone time”, which I suspected was actually spent
sneaking back to wherever they had been all the while. One day after they returned home Mackenzie
ran up to Dad as was usual and complained loudly that his skin was “freezing cold”. My
grandparents, who'd overheard, surprisingly said nothing and that immediately confirmed my
suspicions.

Like my mother had promised though I would return to school the day before the term began. I did
not take the Express, for this was unilaterally determined to be an unwise move, but instead
arrived via Floo through the Headmistress' office, after a distressingly long trip through the
International Floo Network. I would be unpacked, with Ophelia long settled into her new place in
the Owlery, fed, for the Headmistress granted me permission to go down to the kitchens when I
arrived, and seated on my bed deep in conversation with Kimberly by the time our roommates finally
arrived with the train. And though they'd known me for two and a third years by now, I did not
(nor could anyone else) miss the very visible reactions they gave to seeing me.

Jessie McDougal, another child of one of my parents' schoolmates, Morag McDougal, would make
it all the way into the room and was unpacking her trunk when she looked up, saw me seated on the
bed and came to an abrupt and complete stop. This made Bridget Wood in the doorway look across to
her confused, but on the way to her, her eyes fell on me. She stumbled to a standstill, causing
Cassiopeia Blythe, who we all called “Cass”, who was coming in behind her to walk into her with a
shocked “Hey!” She leaned round her to protest, followed her line of sight and exclaimed in a small
voice, “Oh! Oh... Magnolia, y-you're here, back....”

Dad had warned me about them doing something like that. It was the reason I'd chosen to
remain in my room after I came back, I couldn't and wouldn't stand for all the stares and
whispering. My father had more or less endured reactions like this for most of the six years
he'd spent at Hogwarts, and nothing had changed, but I was not one to stand for it. And now the
three girls I'd thought of as my friends from our first night together now all stood staring at
me looking at once apprehensive, relieved and worried. But “Grin and bare it” my Dad had said. I
smiled as advised and said, “Hi girls, I'm back from France and you wouldn't believe the
rumour started while I was there. Some barmy woman claims she'd seen me talking to Stanislav
and Svetlana Krum. I *wish*. Eliminate the sister and say me and Stanislav snogging, now
that's a rumour I want spread.”

They didn't respond. I could actually hear the icy wind freezing and refreezing the stone
walls of Gryffindor Tower. I much preferred the sound of waves crashing on the shore, but then I
hadn't been able to hear that in Nice either. “Grin and bare it” my Dad had said, I think I
preferred “Snap, yell and shake”.

But as I was about to indulge myself in this, Kimberly, somehow sensing the danger, asked, “Is
Connor Lupin back too? And Rigel Weasley? Have you seen them yet?”

It broke the spell. They all started and then continued as before, with noted discomfiture,
walking into the room and beginning to unpack and Bridget replied, “I-I saw him on the train,
Connor. He and Rigel Malfoy were sharing a compartment.”

Kimberly and I looked across to her, stunned. “What?”

“Yes,” replied Cass. “Mrs Malfoy brought Rigel to the platform but his mother and Connor's
Dad were there to see them off. And right there before the train arrived they wigged on them for
fighting. You should have seen it; I don't think there was a person there who *didn't*
see it.”

“People on the train came off to watch,” concurred Jessie. “And when they were finished they
made them sit together for the ride, Connor's Dad put them up in the compartment and
everything. And they stayed there together too, the whole time; people kept walking up and down the
aisle trying to see if they'd started fighting. But they didn't, they just sat staring out
the window.”

“Oh?” said Kimberly, sounding disappointed. Then she added with a shrug, “Well they're
cousins, didn't you know? They have to get along.”

I sincerely doubted that, but said nothing. She turned to me. “Well?”

“Well what?” I asked, confused.

“Aren't you going to go down and see them? I know Rigel can't wait to see you, you
should have seen his face af—and Connor, Connor *really* has to see you. I mean, the way he
reacted when the....” She stopped, shook her head, obviously trying not to speak of the letter
bomb, and prodded instead, “Don't you want him to know that you're all right?”

This drew the attention of the other three. Bridget was the first to speak. “What's going on
between Magnolia and Connor Lupin?”

Kimberly smiled sagely, “I believe the proper question should be, `when did they
happen?'”

I gasped and protested, “There is no `they'—I mean `we', `us'—whatever! We're
friends, we talk.”

Kimberly scoffed, “Then what was that thing in the library Christmas Eve?” When I looked at her
alarmed, she grinned, “I saw you two, that hug was anything but friendly.”

The other three were intrigued. They all sat on their beds and looked at me expectantly, I
glared at Kimberly. “He was comforting me; do you know how depressing it is to have someone trying
to kill you, and especially when they continue to almost succeed?”

An awkward, irritating silence descended over the dormitory, I'd taken them back into that
dreaded territory. I looked at each of them becoming increasingly annoyed, and eventually with a
frustrated swear, I rose, went to my trunk and, not entirely sure why, dug out the Marauder's
Map, which I concealed in my as yet unread Rhys-Hussey novel and stormed out. Confused and more
than a little curious they all followed me out too, though keeping a reasonable distance so that I
would not notice them. It did not help then, that Connor was waiting for me at the bottom of the
girls' staircase, nor that as I appeared he made a strange, quickly aborted movement as if to
run up to meet me.

I froze, while something did a strange pirouette in my chest before taking a free-fall into my
stomach.

Burn scar-free, he looked exactly as he had Christmas morning before the letter exploded. His
face was a little flushed but his complexion clear, his grey-blue eyes sparkling under his long
brown fringe constantly falling into them, and, best of all, he was wearing the jumper I'd
bought him. Coming to a complete stop was all I could do to stop myself from running down and
throwing myself into his arms. But Connor had no such restraint; he made another aborted attempt to
come up to me, then smiled, grinned and finally outright laughed and called thoughtlessly, “Maggie!
I'm so sorry I never got to write you back, but I didn't get your letter, Dad did and he
wouldn't give it up. He and Mum insisted that I needed to rest; I couldn't even read your
book. I only got to read the letters on the train and you're right, we've got to talk,
I've got something very important I've got to tell y—”
At this the others squealed delightedly, loudly, and I gasped in horror, and turned to glare at
them. This just made them laugh and Connor confused, so that when I turned back to him feeling
rather embarrassed, he asked, “Who's up there with you?”

“Kimberly, Bridget, Cass and Jessie,” I replied, disgruntled. I had actually considered them my
friends?

He stifled another laugh, and then became awkwardly sombre as he said, “Then maybe we should go
somewhere else to talk. It's really important.”

I could tell that he was serious. I nodded and walked down to meet him, ignoring the wolf
whistles behind me. Before I was to the bottom of the staircase though he reached up and dragged me
down to him and into a hug that vaulted the internal ballet dancer back to my chest and set every
part he touched afire. The wolf whistles became catcalls, I bravely raised my arm and gestured
rudely back at them, but Connor took hold of my hand, folding my fingers down and whispered, “The
others have gone down to dinner, my dorm is empty, can you risk their harassment so that we can
talk?”

I pulled away and looked up at him, “Why, what is it you're going to tell me?”

He bent closer to me and jerked his head at nothing, “You know, about Stan and Lana....”

“Oh right,” I replied and immediately walked round him to the boys' staircase.

This was too much; Kimberly and the others started squealing and drawing attention to themselves
and us. I hurried up the stairs with Connor barely a step behind me and heard many others down in
the Common Room whistling too. I rolled my eyes and as we disappeared into the hall before the
boys' rooms, I said to Connor, “We're never going to hear the end of this, you know?”

He shrugged. “I prefer that to some of other things I've heard on my way up here, many of
which alluded to you being Rigel's girlfriend.”

“I'm not,” I said.

“I know,” he replied with a smile that made me blush while the ballet dancer free-fell
again.

The dormitory was empty as he had said, and once again he was unpacked and everything neatly
arranged as I'd seen it the last time I'd been in there. Of course, whoever had come to
collect his things when they'd sent us to St Mungo's may not have bothered to remove
anything he'd pinned to the walls in the first place. His roommates' unopened trunks lay on
their beds, and I noted again how out of place he appeared among them. He was too neat, too clean,
too polite, too... everything compared to his Housemates. Uncle Lupin's influence must have
been absolute, my mother was lucky I looked at her for that was as much she'd managed to get on
me.

Once we stood at his bed he said, “Have a seat” and then walked round to his trunk, opened it
and began digging through for something. I looked around at the two beds before tentatively taking
a seat on his, depositing my book on his night table, suddenly filled with a ridiculous thrill of
embarrassment and anticipation and not knowing why. It felt wrong though, very wrong, and when he
straightened and began coming back over to me clutching his art kit binder and a handful of papers
I stood up again and stammered, “W-what-w-*when* are your Housemates supposed to be coming
up?”

“They usually have seconds and thirds and other things to do, they won't be back for some
time. Have a seat, Maggie, please...?” he replied.

Nothing about his manner suggested that he was going to attempt anything untoward, and I sat. He
then sat before me, making sure to keep a reasonable distance between us and set his things onto
the bed. Then he turned to face me and said, nervously, “Er... I don't exactly know how to
begin this. The first time I did this was by letter....”

I tried to appear calm and earnest, but my stomach was now engaged in a fierce butterfly
invasion, my palms were already rather sweaty and I kept them firmly clenched at my sides hoping
that he wouldn't think to hold my hand. I honestly wasn't sure what I was so nervous about,
he was still giving no indication that we weren't going to do anything more than talk. And
yet....

Then he said, “Did Stan and Lana tell you how we met?”

Not trusting my voice, I nodded. He nodded to himself and continued, “Well, yeah, when I was
nine my Dad was worried that I was spending too much time drawing and reading and... basically
spending too much time by myself. I mean, I had friends and sometimes Rigel, but I was always at
home, always reading and drawing and following him around like a puppy. He didn't mind really,
he liked that I followed him around, he said, but he wanted me to have other friends and especially
around my age so he made subscribe to the *Daily Prophet* Pen Pal drive.”

“I remember that,” I spoke up, forcing my voice to be steady, hating that I was suddenly
flustered by his presence. “Dad tried to get me into it but no one bought `Ingrid Granger' of
Godric's Hollow, and then the first person I wrote to turned out to be a reporter for *Witch
Weekly*.”

“That's horrible,” he said with conviction.

I shrugged, “Comes with the territory now. If your parents are famous, then you're famous
too, and the only thing of note you've done is be born. I'm not even a Parselmouth.”

He smiled, then cleared his throat and said, “Right. Well, I subscribed to it and the first
person that sent me a letter was a French girl who I scared off by telling too much. I wrote that
my father was a werewolf and she never wrote back. Learned my lesson, the second person who sent a
letter got nothing but the bare facts: my Mum's an Auror, my Dad writes for various magazines
but is mostly and a house-husband and I was nine. That person told me that their Dad played
Quidditch, their mother had died when they were two, they had a twin sister and they were ten. Ten
letters later he confessed that his father was Viktor Krum with photographs to prove it. Two more I
confessed that my father was really Remus Lupin, war hero werewolf, and my mother was a
Metamorphagus also with photographs to prove it. He wrote back anyway and we've been friends
since.”

I looked at him surprised, “He didn't say anything about it, anything strange at all?”

He shook his head, “He said that his father had met a Remus Lupin during the war and said that
he was a good man, and since I hadn't run to the tabloids with the story about anything he told
me, clearly his son was too.”

I smiled, “That's really cool. And you two have been friends ever since? Have you ever met
face to face?”

“Yes. Two years ago my Dad took me with him on a trip to Bulgaria. He was writing another
freelance piece for one of the magazines and I'd been invited by Viktor Krum himself to visit
with them at their home. I spent three days with them in a castle nearly the size of Hogwarts and
after that I don't think there's ever been a doubt that we're friends. Stanislav, or
Stan, as he calls himself, goes to Durmstrang and his sister goes to Beauxbatons. Wildly disparate
places to send them really, but Viktor Krum wants the best and short of Hogwarts that's what he
considers the best,” he replied.

I sat considering this for a moment, and then asked, “And you told them about me?”

“We're friends, like Camilla and I are friends or you and Rigel, we share things, and one of
those things was about having Harry Potter and his wife as godparents and infrequent visits with
his three children. Since we've been speaking more lately I guess your name may have appeared
one too many times for them not to notice,” he said, without looking at me.

His cheeks were tinged by the faintest colour, but I could do nothing for it, I had to ask, “But
they recognised me, wearing sunglasses and a hoodie and a burnt face on a beach in Nice when we
have never met before?”

The colour in his cheeks deepened to magenta. “You were in one of the photographs I exchanged
with them once, and I may have sent them a sketch recently and plus I've written about you so
much that I... well, like I said, they couldn't help but notice.”

More than a little happy about it—I was fighting a losing battle against a blush—I decided to
spare him further embarrassment by asking, looking over to the things he'd brought from his
trunk, “So what's all this? I don't need to read your letters to them, or the ones
they've gotten from you, you're their friend, they said it first, you confirmed it....” I
allowed my sentence to trail off to silence at the look he gave me then.

He was clearly puzzled, and said slowly, “You wanted an explanation right...? The comic book
too, right...?”

Confused, I stared back at him in question. Then realisation dawned on his face and he remained
staring at me open-mouthed and somewhat horrified. My gaze flicked down to the binder and loose
papers—loose drawings actually—then I turned to the sketches on the wall, and remembered the one
he'd had in the library and the wolf he'd drawn in the sketch he'd given me and at last
what Stanislav had said on the beach: “*Yes ve talk, and his comic book, we like the comics.*”
I could have smacked myself in the head. How could I not have picked it up earlier?

Voice trembling slightly, face undeniably revealing my astonishment and awe, I exclaimed,
“You're Romulus Kveld-Ulf!”

He was now fully crimson, but he nodded sheepishly. I gasped and at once snatched the binder,
dragged it over the patched counterpane to me, flipped it open and was confronted with the proof.
It was filled with sketches. Very nearly hundreds of them including drafts, one very battered first
issue of the first year and pages of speech, some of which was not in his hand, stuffed into the
mere ten binder sleeves. It was a wonder it closed at all, though a little magic must have taken
care of that, and because of that quite possibly there was room for more. When I looked back up at
him, trying to formulate, still, a protest, he presented me with a copy of the comic book that
I'd never seen before.

A quick inspection revealed why. It wasn't one that anyone had seen before, or at least
wouldn't until the full moon in a little over two weeks time. It was the first issue of the
fourth year; the one now entitled “The White Wolf”.

Still in shock I couldn't bring myself to take it from him, or even touch it, so that he was
forced to reach forward, take my hands and put it into them. He didn't let go of my left hand
though, but I barely noticed for I was now engrossed in staring at the glossy cover where Faolán
was frolicking with a startlingly white adolescent she-wolf with bright green eyes. I'd only
begun reading the comic book over the holiday but I could tell that they were probably in his
pack's old village, notice at the same time the thunderstorm brewing overhead and that the
white wolf also sported a curiously shaped scar on her right paw. In fact, the more I looked at it,
the more I was convinced that it was shaped like a lightening bolt....

At this Connor spoke, “I didn't know... I thought they'd told you....”

I looked up at him, “We didn't speak that long....”

He averted his eyes and replied, “I created it after that day when I scared Rigel. Mrs Weasley
told my parents and though Mum laughed, Dad said that I needed to find another way to expunge my
pent-up energy. He said that since he was a werewolf I had to understand that not everyone was
going to take too kindly to my idea of a joke. People *hate* werewolves, he said, but they
*fear* their children *even more*. And the way he said it, there was no mistaking that he
meant that they thought that their children worse monsters than their parents, considering that
some didn't think they should be allowed to breed in the first place.... Plus I'm a
Metamorphagus like my mother, and since Metamorphagi are rare the chances of giving birth to one,
being one yourself, are so slim the figures are non-existent. People wouldn't look at my gift
like that, he said, they'd see it as a sign of something being wrong with me, that I was like
him.”

“But you're not a werewolf,” I said lamely. “And even if you were you're not... I
can't see you attacking anyone like some others have.”

He smiled, “I wouldn't. But they.... Rigel always taunted me when we were younger,
encouraged by Grandmother and maybe the fact that he likes my father for his own, that he wishes
`Cousin Remus' was his Dad. Ever since he first met him—don't look at me like that, I know
what I'm saying—he's liked him, I've seen it, I *know* this, and so he hates me
for being Remus Lupin's son instead of him. After I scared him though, he called me a freak and
told Grandmother that he didn't want me to come to Malfoy Manor anymore. So for people like him
who see werewolves solely as beasts, for those who don't understand that their curse isn't
their fault and maybe just to prove my father wrong, and to help him, I created it.

“I already had Faolán. When I found out that the name meant `little wolf' when I'd gone
looking for the meaning of my name I decided that the wolf man I used to amuse my father with was
going to be called that. The others are just characters from my favourite books, family members
including my parents, and friends. I didn't start out trying to create a comic book though; I
was actually hoping to write a novel like my Dad sometimes says he wants to do. But I've always
preferred to tell stories in drawings so it just turned into a comic book before the end of what
would have been my first chapter.”

I smiled at the image of Connor as a child excitedly drawing up the wolves for the comic book in
his room. He would be seated at a desk by the window with the full moon out his window, his father
prowling and howling out in the forest near his home while his mother watched, and every few
minutes he would stop to look out for him. Uncle Lupin would be looking out for him too, proud of
his son, and a warrior-like howl was permission for Connor to get back to his drawing.... He paused
when he saw the smile and dreamy look on my face and asked, “Are you still with me?”

I started and nodded, and he continued, “I was going to tell the world about werewolves, that
all of them weren't bad, so Faolán was to be a boy bitten by a werewolf who tries to help
people instead of ripping their throats at the full moon. Then I got ill, and while he was taking
care of me Dad discovered the drawings and asked me about them. I told him my plans, he thought
about it for a day and then handed me a series of books about werewolves and told me stories from
his childhood and here at school. By the end of the month I had a new plan. I was going to tell
people how the werewolf was created, but made it known that it wasn't their fault. Of course,
no one really pays attention to the fact that the wizard who turned the villagers into wolves was
evil like I'd intended, but that he supposedly did it as punishment. Oversight on my part, I
intend to fix that soon.”

He stopped speaking then and finally released my hand to pack up the binder and loose pages,
leaving the hand he'd been holding wet with sweat. I flattened the palm over my knee to dry it
and looked at him, wondering if I should say something or not. But what could you say after
something like that? For a moment I sat pondering all he'd just told me, and then I asked,
“Romulus Kveld-Ulf... *Úlfhéðnar*... where'd you come up with that?”

Still packing he replied, “`Romulus Kveld-Ulf' represents two people, me and Dad. Romulus,
of course, is my middle name. Unoriginal I know but I wanted my name on the cover, not something I
made up, but the name my parents gave me. `Kveld-Ulf' is Old Norse for `evening wolf' which
once symbolised `werewolf' and therefore represents Dad, for he helps, alot. I got it from a
book I found at my grandparents' house one full moon in London, which is also how I got the
title. Have you ever heard of the `berserker'?”

He was looking at me now, and I replied, “Er... vaguely, I think... weren't they considered
the most savage warriors in the days of the Vikings? They use the word now generally to describe
soldiers who fight like wild animals with no concern for their lives or pain.”

He wrinkled his nose, “Not like `wild animals', no, but berserkers were notorious for their
savage prowess in battle, brought on by narcotics, meditation or intensive training. Some say they
fought naked but their name `berserker' is the Nordic word for `man in bear skin' which is
what some of them wore. Others wore wolf skins and so were called `ulfhednar'. `Ulfhedinn'
is the singular form, which is what Faolán is, in a more literal sense; which is what I was that
night when I scared Rigel, and I think, what werewolves are. Men in wolf skins, not beasts. I
thought I was pretty clever when I put them together, but to date not very many critics appear to
have noticed that. I can forgive that though, because berserkers and ulfhednar were Muggles.”

I stopped, considering this a moment, and then asked, “How many people know that you write the
comic book?”

“My parents, Uncle Dean—who encouraged us to have them published after he saw my drawings one
day when he'd gone to report something in the Ministry. Mum had my `book', which was then a
bunch of loose pages tied together by bits of string on her desk, he saw it, read it and talked her
into considering it. Then there's Camilla, Stan and Lana—I told them after the first one was
published, on my birthday by the way, and Camilla found out last year when I foolishly decided
drawing out on the grounds on a windy, but sunny day would be fun—and Rigel.”

“Rigel?” I asked, surprised.

“He knew from the first day it was published. He'd seen me drawing so many times he knew
that there was only one person who could have possibly created it. Not to mention that he knew
about Faolán from the night. He put two and two together and decided that it was me, confronted me
and I confessed. If I hadn't he'd threatened to tell everybody the truth, at the time I was
smaller than him, I had no choice. Now though he wouldn't dare,” he replied, and I thought I
saw a mischievous, triumphant smile in his eyes.

I looked away from him back to the comic book in my hands, watching the wolves at play a while.
Connor was friends with Stanislav and Svetlana Krum, they were pen pals. Connor was Romulus
Kveld-Ulf, the creator of a madly popular comic book since he was nine. Rigel knew about it,
Camilla too, and the Krum twins and now me. No wonder my Dad didn't believe the Ministry had
the right person, if this had slipped by so many people....

The white wolf suddenly pounced onto a stick on the cover and I saw the strange mark again and
asked, “This might sound crazy, and arrogant like it sounds in my head but... is this wolf... the
white wolf, is that my Dad or Mum... or....”

“It's you,” he replied and I sharply looked up at him, eyes wide. “Like I said, I try to put
people from my real life into it. Your name, *her* name is `Thora'. You can keep it if you
like, the copy, I usually get a few for myself, but Mum likes to buy it from the stores because, as
she says, `Nothing is better than walking into a bookstore and seeing something your child created
on the shelf'. Stan, Lana and Camilla also purchase theirs, but only because they don't
want anyone to get suspicious.”

“Then you should keep this,” I said, handing it back to him. “If I get caught with it—”

“No one's going to think anything, your Dad's Harry Potter. If anyone can get something
before it's been officially released, it's him,” he said, refusing to take it.

“But no, I want to buy it for myself too,” I said and then, unable to help myself, smiled. “I
want to walk into a bookstore right chuffed because I know personally the author everyone's
speculating about.”

He blushed, looked away from me and then made to take the comic. His hand enclosed around my own
though, almost setting it aflame with the tingling sensation that started everywhere his palm
touched my skin and quickly spread up my arm. The butterfly invasion began again in my stomach and
I felt the strange falling in my chest, which then turned to rising with the butterflies quick on
the chase as he suddenly pulled my hand towards him, forcing me to lean forward. I knew exactly
what was going to happen, but I couldn't bring myself do anything helpful other than just sit
there and wait for it to. He leaned towards me as well, stopping only when our faces were barely an
inch apart, and my eyes automatically fluttered closed just as his lips touched mine.

There was a moment of absolute silence where the only things I could sense was the rapid beating
of my heart in my chest, the sound of the blood rushing through my veins and our intermingled
breathing. Then he pressed gently but firmly against my lips and I shifted and shocked myself by
pressing back, kissing him like he was kissing me.

It was not to last for long. Footsteps and loud voices in the hall, the sound of the door knob
rattling and then turned, and we broke apart just as the first of Connor's roommates stepped
into the dormitory. I couldn't wait around for them to see me. I flew up onto my feet, still
clutching the comic book and forgetting my novel and the map on the night table, and, barely
stopping to say “Later! Goodbye!” before I fled. Someone called my name, another asked, “Hey,
what's she doing in here?” but I did not stop to answer questions or figure out who, and in
fact did not stop running until I was back in my own dormitory and was standing before my bed,
wide-eyed and hyperventilating.

I didn't care that my roommates were looking at me terrified, curious and confused. I
didn't care for the million-and-one questions that sent flying my way once they'd recovered
from the initial shock. And I certainly didn't care for the anxious hands that sat me on my
bed, forced my head onto a shoulder or began stroking my hair and patting my back while their
owners whispered words of comfort or probed for answers. I'd just kissed Connor after all.

*******

This time my insomnia had been anything but the result of fear of murder. And when the first
light of the new day, the first day of the new term, began peeking through the window unto me and
my sleeping roommates I opened my eyes to stare blankly up at the ceiling and wonder if Connor had
slept either. Lack of sleep and the comic book none of the girls had noticed, now lying on my night
table, denied me the illusion of it having been a dream. But still I couldn't believe that it
had happened.

I had replayed the events in my mind until my head hurt, trying to see if there was some sign,
some hint, something, anything, which could have showed me beforehand that that was going to
happen. But as far as I could see there was nothing. I'd gone to his dormitory to talk to him
about Stanislav and Svetlana, learned that he was also Romulus Kveld-Ulf and then he kissed me? How
did that happen?

And now that it had happened, what was going to happen next? As far as everyone else was
concerned my attacker had been captured and I was safe. My parents, who knew better, did not
believe it but had warned me to act as if I too believed it. That did not mean that my attacker
wasn't out there planning his next assault though. And I was probably going to have to restart
my secret lessons with Professor Bones and Camilla too. Then there was the matter of Connor and
Rigel and Connor and the OGB.

I had to talk to Rigel about their fight and his use of the word `freak'; no matter the
circumstances that was completely uncalled for. But what about the OGB and Connor? How was I to
begin a conversation about what I'd overheard? Or should I even attempt it in the first
place?

There was no way I was approaching the OGB, but Connor.... My mind went back to night before in
his dormitory when his hand folded around mine and the feel of his lips on my own and I knew that
it wasn't going to happen there either. I don't think I'd be able to stand straight if
I saw him to say get a word out. Goodness if I saw him anywhere today I was probably going to
faint.

I gave a long, deep exhale and closed my eyes. I couldn't believe it; I'd just kissed
Connor and hadn't even been to my first class yet.

Of course, my fourteenth birthday was in three days, and I'd just had my first kiss. Apart
from my attacker's continued elusion of the authorities, this was possibly the makings of a
good year....

As always, I was wrong.

I was roughly shaken awake to the sound of Kimberly's shrill cry, “Wake up, Maggie!
You're going to be late for Ancient Runes! What did you do? When did you fall asleep last
night?”

I opened eyes that stung and felt dry and glared at the garishly bright light spilling into the
dormitory from the open windows. The soft morning that had greeted me earlier was replaced by a
noisy, blinding and painful one that was quick to remind me that I hadn't slept and
wouldn't go easy on me because I'm a girl. Kimberly, ever the willing co-conspirator, had
opened all the curtains round my bed and now, fully dressed, had decided to join in the torment in
revenge my refusal to respond to any of her questions from last night. I groaned and croaked, “Get
lost!”

She lifted an eyebrow, “No, get up! You have class; you're a Third Year, not a Sixth!”

Groaning once more, I shoved the covers down to my waist and rolled off the bed to go to the
bathroom. It took me a whole half hour to finally get dressed, which included the ten minutes it
took for Kimberly to plait my hair into a single braid and for me to find a suitable hiding place
for the comic book while she went to wash the styling gel from her hands. By the time we finally
left the dormitory we were running late. But as we climbed out of the portrait hole, someone
reached in and pulled me out into their arms. I would have screamed if they hadn't said then,
their gush a mixture of joy, relief and more than a little alarm, “Magnolia!”

Expensive French cologne, the touch of soft, expensive black cloth and a flash of red hair told
me that it was Rigel. I smiled into his shoulder, and breathed more than said his name, overjoyed,
“Rigel!”

He held me so tightly and for so long that I was being slowly stifled for nearly five minutes
before, at last, Kimberly tapped him on the shoulder and said, “I would love to stand here and
watch you two bond and reconnect and whatever, but she's already missed breakfast and we're
going to be late for class.”

We flew apart and I swatted Rigel on the arm, “Oh no! And so are you, we could have met at
break!”

“I had to see you, you didn't come down to dinner last night, of course I was worried,” he
replied, looking at me. “Where were you? And why haven't you had breakfast, why are you
late?”

“Oh come *on*!” Kimberly cried in frustration. Then she grabbed my arm and began to drag me
off to the stairs, “She was with Connor last night, guess. She'll see you at break to explain,
we've got to go!”

I could only give Rigel a parting half-smile, which was greeted by something that strongly
resembled shocked disappointment, before we got to the stairs and hurried down them off to
class.

-->



13. Chapter Thirteen
--------------------



**A/N:** *I can only hope I've gotten out what I intended in this chapter. Which is to
say, that I haven't completely ruined the plot... then again, maybe not. What I'm really
concerned about is whether or not you're going to believe this one. I hope you do. *crosses
fingers**

**Disclaimer:** *I read a post from someone on Nanowrimo.org, that this disclaimer is
meaningless, useless, etc. I don't think it is. The story and many of the characters are mine,
the basic elements belong to JK Rowling and company and I have no intention of trying to steal that
from her, just borrow for a bit.*

*******

**Chapter Thirteen**

I'd forgotten all about Nike Slytherin, about Fawkes, Professor Trelawney and her “warnings”
and, almost, the puzzling and slightly disturbing relationship between Connor and the OGB. That
hadn't been too difficult to manage, given all that had happened since the winter break had
begun. And then each of those things could probably be easily explained anyway, if one had the time
and the inclination to discover the truth. How fortunate then, that I had little of the former and
a lot of the latter, and then, even more so, that Nike Slytherin came to me?

Wednesday morning met me sitting up in bed staring glumly out the window at the cold white day
fast approaching. I was fourteen years old today, for fourteen years ago the *Daily Prophet*
and every single magical newspaper in Wizarding Britain had proudly declared, “**Harry Potter Has
a Daughter! Say Hello to Magnolia Ingrid Potter (5 lbs, 3 ozs)!**” and therefore it was so.

My family had already delivered their gifts. From my father I'd received a book titled
*Playing Quidditch for* *Dummies* *Magnolia*, from my mother a set of romance novels
written by *Witch Weekly* advice columnist Lavender Brown. Milo and Mackenzie had made a card,
complete with sea sand, seashells and a lovely picture of the three of us on the beach in Nice. My
grandparents had bought me a photo album and a camera, and attached a note reminding me that they
would love to see more pictures of me at school; they had had so few of my Mum.

These were lying opened on my bed, having arrived via house elf shortly after midnight. I liked
them all, really. Well, not necessarily the first, I was not made for Quidditch, Dad was barking up
the wrong tree.

I didn't expect anything from Rigel. When we'd met Monday at break as planned I made the
mistake of RWK: Rowing-While-Knackered. It was just destined to get ugly. He wanted to know what
Kimberly had meant that morning about me being with Connor the night before. I wanted to know why
he had ever used the word “freak” in relation to Connor. Neither one of us wanted to explain our
actions, firmly believing that we had the right not to, and so we would row in the middle of the
hallway until the bell rang and Kimberly and Aisling had to physically drag me off to our next
class. Rigel was left standing in middle of the corridor glowering at me, face flushed, nostrils
flaring, and that would be the last I saw of him.

So much for us being able to forget arguments in a matter of moments.

But then I wouldn't see Connor either. Not even the hem of a second-hand robe disappearing
round a corridor, and though this was the usual pattern since, well, always really, it was strange
not to see him at all, and not even at meal times. It made me wonder, worry actually, that my hasty
departure when his roommates came in might have led him to believe that I didn't like him back,
that I hadn't wanted him to kiss me in the first place. That was as far from the truth as one
could go. But each time I replayed my actions in my mind it was easy to see how he could have drawn
that conclusion. I'd acted as if his very touch burned me, so now the memory was like a
sledgehammer blow to my chest every time I thought of it.

And then there was the issue of the Marauder's Map. It had been in my Rhys-Hussey novel and
I'd left both on Connor's night table in my mad dash for the door. In turn I had his free
copy of *Úlfhéðnar*, but that wasn't exactly the same thing. He'd given me the copy, I
*needed* the map, and since I hadn't seen him and was not willing to go back to his room
to get it, I was going to have a hell of a job explaining how I'd lost it to my parents in the
event of another attack.

With a sigh I lay down on my side and wrapped my arms around myself and wondered if Connor had
gotten me anything. It would mean that he wasn't upset, that he didn't think anything of it
and that the reason I hadn't seen him was really simply that school was open again and we had
classes. My gaze went to the drawing Kimberly had somehow stolen and stuck to the wall over my bed.
That was it entirely, he was just busy and I was busy and I'd see him today, because it was my
birthday after all, and everything would be fine.

Too bad it had already begun badly. Yet again I hadn't slept, and Tuesday night I'd only
managed a few hours. I was apparently still having trouble sleeping, for though I'd rested
reasonably in Nice my fright-induced insomnia had not gone away. Which wasn't a good thing, for
Professor Bones had insisted that I continue where I'd left off with Camilla in duelling
lessons before we'd been so violently interrupted.

Yay for me.

Camilla was the proverbial evil-with-a-pretty-face brought to life. Her every action could be
described as beautiful, graceful, enticing... but she was the worst taskmaster. I would be
dead-knackered every night by the time I crawled down to dinner and still couldn't sleep after.
And then this weekend I had Professor Bones' own two-hour tutorial to look forward to, where
she hinted that my duelling skills would be of the utmost importance. Why couldn't my father
have accepted that my attacker had been captured like everyone else?

I sighed again, then yawned, rolled unto my back and sat up. Experience meant that lying here
wasn't going to do me any good. I'd fall asleep, yes, but then when I awoke I'd be more
exhausted than I was now. So I rose, found my bathrobe and slippers and quietly left the dormitory
heading for the Common Room. Maybe the couches would be more comfortable than my bed, if not, I
promised myself to go to the Infirmary after classes and demand a Sleeping Draught.

I was halfway down the stairs when I saw him, setting off the butterflies in my stomach at once.
Connor was sitting quietly at a desk in the corner of the Common Room sketching busily, three
candles burning low in a small candelabra that hovered beside him, the fire in the grates long gone
out and every curtain drawn, so that, for the moment at least, he maintained the illusion of night.
But even if they were wide open I doubted he'd notice. There was something about him bent over
the sheet of paper on the desk, colouring in something black, while his gold-washed brown hair fell
easily to his eyes that told of the seriousness with which he took to his comic book. He would risk
exposure, and punishment, by using the library and Common Room as his personal studio at times when
he should be asleep just to get it out each month on time.

Ha, I thought unsympathetically, he had no one to blame for that but himself.

I quietly turned and made to go back up then, deciding that it was best not to interrupt him. I
stopped immediately when he said, “Maggie...?” Then I heard him rise from his place in the corner
and say, “Maggie wait... wait, where are you going? You weren't interrupting, you know...?”

That wasn't the problem, I thought, but when I turned to him I replied, “Oh? W-well I
ta-thought I was....”

My voice was irritatingly shaky, and when he smiled at me a moment later I felt the butterflies
make a beeline for my throat. I resisted the urge press my hand to my chest to stem their movement
and walked down to meet him, smiling, as I said, “What are you doing out here? Have you slept?”

In the intermingled candle and early morning-light I saw him blush mildly, and shake his head,
scattering the gold flecks about. He replied, “I haven't actually, I got an idea late last
night and just had to run with it. That happens sometimes, but as long as I don't fall asleep
in the middle of an exam or something I'm not too worried.”

I had come as close as I dared, which was to stand beside the last couch before his desk, merely
feet away, and asked, “What, you have some kind of Keep-Me-Up Potion? If you do, is there an
opposite, like Knock-Me-Out-Cold? I haven't slept in *weeks*.”

As soon as I said it I regretted it. Connor's brow furrowed in concern and he asked, “You
haven't been sleeping?” He began to come towards me, “Have you seen Madam Pomfrey? Is this
because of the letter, or the Dementors....? Because I have to admit I should have run the other
way....”

I shook my head and offered him a weak smile, “It's nothing, I was planning to see Madam
Pomfrey about it actually, but I might be overreacting too. I slept like a log all the time I was
in Nice.”

“But you're not sleeping again, that's something you should absolutely go to her about,”
he insisted.

I made a non-committal sound deep in my throat, then side-stepped him and flopped down on the
couch to ask, “So what's this issue about?”

He came round to sit beside me, not too close but not as far away as I'd have liked. “Have
you read the last one?”

I grinned, embarrassed, “Er... it's in the drawer of my night table, disguised as an old
Ancient Runes textbook, I haven't got around to reading it.”

He grinned back, “That's okay, but do try to keep it hidden. When Uncle Dean found out
I'd given you a copy he nearly had a heart attack.”

“See, then I should give it back,” I replied.

“He didn't say to do that, he just hopes that you'll be very careful. I, on the other
hand, know that you won't let anything happen to it,” he said, and I felt the butterflies
practicing a waltz in my chest. They really had to stop doing that, it was quite annoying.

I shook my head at him, “I'll try. I'm actually not that careful, I left that
Rhys-Hussey novel I'd gotten for Christmas in your dorm. I was told not to—”

The book suddenly shot off the table and landed neatly in my lap, over my hands where I'd
been surreptitiously wringing my fingers from the moment he sat down. I released them though, to
pick it up and open it, allowing the Marauder's Map to drop out. Connor took it up at once and
said, “I had been carrying this around since Monday hoping to give it back to you, but school
hasn't made it easy. Then last night this fell out of it and, well I have a confession to make,
I'd also been hoping that by staying up I could see you and ask you: is this the Marauder's
Map?”

I looked at the neatly folded sheet of old parchment in his hand, which was marked by a rainbow
of colours all over the palms and his fingers with their bitten-down fingernails and tips flattened
by continuous pressure against a pencil, and asked, “Didn't you look at it?”

He shook his head. “I didn't want to if it was something else... something personal to
you.”

I lifted an eyebrow and then gave him an incredulous look, “Are you serious?”

“I wasn't going to invade your privacy,” he replied, seriously.

I shrugged, “Yes, it is. Dad sent it to me with Aunt Luna after the first attack. Since he
doesn't believe the bollocks the Ministry's spewing about capturing my attacker he told me
to keep it. I have the Invisibility Cloak too... *which* I should not have told you about
because he said not to tell anyone. Some victim I'm turning out to be.”

Connor smiled, “What? Don't you trust me?”

I refused to answer, instead saying, “Technically, though, it isn't really mine to keep. My
grandfather and your Dad created it together at school with Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, it
belongs to you too.”

To my surprise, Connor snorted, and tried to stifle a laugh. When I looked at his clearly amused
face, confused, he took a couple of deep gulps of air before replying shakily, “Your grandfather
and my Dad... that sounded so terrible....”

I rolled my eyes. “I didn't mean it like that.”

“I know,” he said, still trying not to laugh. “But it sounds so....” He lost the battle and
burst out laughing, and I couldn't help myself, I started to laugh too, wondering at the same
time how contagious his laugh was. His eyes were sparkling, his dimples deep dents in his cheeks
and I was suddenly almost completely overwhelmed by a desire to kiss him.

I crushed this quickly though, and asked, “So, do I get it back?”

He took a few moments to compose himself and nodded. “Yeah, you need it more than I do.”

“Thank you,” I replied, taking it from him, taking care not to touch him, and securing it in my
book again. “Well then, my birthday just got a bit brighter.”

He exclaimed then, “Oh right! I knew I'd forgotten something.”

I looked at him open-mouthed, “You forgot my birthday?”

He grinned, “Well we've only begun speaking to each other....”

I swatted his arm, “You forgot my birthday!”

He laughed, then turned, cupped my chin and shook his head, “No, just pulling your leg, Happy
Birthday Magnolia....” And then he leaned forward and kissed me again.

I felt the butterflies once more, and my ballet dancer on a trampoline, and his hand on my chin
and the other over my hand at my side and his lips on mine and his nose bumping against mine and,
oh my.... It was like our first kiss but only better, and since he had kissed me again there was
the promise of more. Days, weeks, months of kisses, just like this, or even better....

I wanted to melt right there, sitting on the couch kissing Connor Lupin, and I would have too,
if it wasn't for the butterflies in chest that were making it difficult for me to breathe.
Without thinking I gasped, and felt Connor do the same, his tongue bumping into mine as I swallowed
the breath he'd been holding. I forgot about breathing, and felt the ballet dancer freefall to
my navel. It would be a few minutes more before this kiss would end.

And when it did we sat back staring at each other in a mild stupor, lips swollen and breathing
heavily. I smiled at once, and was greeted by his lopsided grin. If I had weeks and months to look
forward to of kisses like that, I didn't care if my attacker made an attempt every day, I'd
greet him smiling.

As a matter of fact, I didn't want to do anything else for the rest of the day other than
kiss Connor. There was nothing that would make me happier, no gift that would suffice, no greeting,
gesture or charm that I wanted. And, emboldened by this, I made to kiss him again, leaning
forward... when I was stopped by the sound of someone at the top of the steps calling, “Who's
down there?”

I dropped my head to his chest, and heard him groan before replying, “No one.”

The person's annoyance was audible in their voice when they replied, “Is that you, Connor
Lupin?”

Connor grasped me by the arms and lifted me off of him, taking care to drop a kiss onto my
forehead, before rising and going over to his desk to pack up his things. I gathered up the book
and map in my lap and tried to look innocent as the person, a prefect, came round to us and asked,
“What are you two doing down here?”

“There's no rule against being up early... studying,” said Connor.

In the dim light I hoped the prefect couldn't see us properly, for I was sure we'd be
caught in an instant. But he just stared at us for a moment, found nothing suspicious, and then
replied, “Well... you shouldn't make a habit of it. Y-you're supposed to rest after these
classes....”

I rolled my eyes and got off the couch. “I'm going back upstairs to get ready, see you.”

Connor stopped packing to look up at me with a smile. I smiled back, blushed, then turned and
hurried back up to my dormitory.

.

When I got back down half an hour later, showered, dressed and much-harassed by my roommates and
Aisling, Connor was there waiting for me. We would leave Gryffindor Tower then, hand-in-hand.

*******

It was a lucky thing I'd unintentionally packed the Marauder's Map in with my books that
morning when I was getting ready for class, for as it so happened, it would be quite useful when
Nike Slytherin turned up.

With classes done for the day, and after a series of pleasantly odd mealtimes where Connor and I
smiled, nodded and nudged at each other playfully while holding hands under the table, and I'd
received hundreds of “Happy Birthdays” from my schoolmates, many of who I didn't know
personally, and various members of school staff, the Board of Governors, the Headmistress, a few
newspapers and the Ministry of Magic, I'd gone up to the Defence Against the Dark Arts
classroom for my usual afternoon duelling practice with Camilla. I was early by some fifteen
minutes, which was Connor's doing for once I let slip that I had practice at five he insisted
on forcing me up the stairs while reassuring that he would be spending the time doing homework
until I came back. At the thought of what my coming back could mean, after that promise I would
have walked over coals.

But getting up to the classroom early had a downside. And that was sitting there alone for
fifteen minutes, nine hundred long seconds, until Camilla finally arrived after finishing her
chores in the greenhouses with her father. So bored, I dug through my bag for something to do and
pulled out the Marauder's Map.

I couldn't remember exactly the last time I perused the map, though it must have been some
time before Uncle Lupin was attacked. After that I was much too preoccupied with other things to do
so. Now that I had nothing to do though, I unfolded the map and whispered the command. Within
moments I was staring down at my schoolmates as they settled into night after yet another long day
at school.

There were rumours that my Housemates were planning to throw me a party, but looking at the
tower revealed nothing particularly unusual. Well, if one ignored the curious number of girls in my
dormitory and the queue forming outside the portrait hole.

I shrugged and looked away to find Connor. And there he was in the library at the last table
before the Restricted Section. Like the map could be used to spy on others, it was also a wonderful
cheating detector. As long as one's significant other happened to be in the same compound, one
could keep a constant eye on their behaviour. But I couldn't, and wouldn't, do that to
Connor, no matter how tempting.

Wondering where Rigel was then, I unfolded the lower portion of the map and spent an impatient
few minutes searching anxiously until at last I spotted him also in the library at a desk with
Bijou and friends. He and I were going to have a chat if he was still there later. His birthday was
in five days and I didn't intend to ignore it as he was doing mine, we'd been friends too
long to stop speaking altogether over something silly he'd done. This days-long embargo on each
other was a blatant overreaction and I wasn't going to stand for it.

Then the OGB came walking down the hall that went by the library and went in. Ignoring his
Slytherin students, he walked directly down to where Connor was sitting and stopped, and from the
way he stood before the table it was clear that he was speaking to him. Remembering what I'd
overheard in the dungeons I looked on wishing the map had come along with a charm that allowed you
to hear what specific people were saying when you wanted to. I was forced to look on in frustration
though, as they spoke for nearly two minutes, then as Connor began moving towards him and they both
left the library together.

At once I unfolded another section of the map to check that Camilla was still in the greenhouses
so that I could continue following Connor and the OGB. Once again, there went my resolution not to
spy on people, and in this case, my... well, *boyfriend* really. But the only people in the
greenhouses were Uncle Neville and Professor Bones.

Apparently there was some truth to that rumour after all.

That was to be quickly aborted though, when I heard footsteps in the hall and realised that she
must be coming. I immediately swept my attention back up to the Defence Against the Dark Arts
classroom I was in and was stunned to discover that the person coming my way wasn't Camilla,
but in fact Nike Slytherin.

There was no one else in the hall and I was sure that I was on the right floor for I could see
my dot clearly on the inside of the room she was approaching. I stood at once, meaning to go to the
door to finally have a glimpse at her, but she would beat me to it. I was halfway to the door when
it opened before me and Camilla stepped in apologising, “I'm sorry Lillie, I know it's your
birthday and your Housemates are probably planning a party but Dad insisted that I wait until
Professor Bones came by and they had a `talk' with me. Nevertheless, you better be ready for
this lesson, just because it's your birthday doesn't mean I'm going to be
lenient....”

But the map didn't identify her as Camilla Longbottom. As a matter of fact, now that I
thought about it, I had never seen the name `Camilla Longbottom' on the map, ever, and even
when I wasn't looking for her. Instead the name I'd consistently seen, the one I was
staring at now, identifying the person before I'd always thought of as Camilla Longbottom, was
Nike Slytherin.

Before I could stop myself I said, “You're Nike Slytherin...?”

She froze.

“Oh my...” I began, but couldn't finish, and so stopped, staring at her in open-mouthed
wonder.

She still didn't move, but her frozen expression morphed into one of shock and horror. And,
annoyingly, she still managed to look rather pretty doing it. But then she shook herself a bit,
tried, and failed to gain some measure of composure before finally asking, “How did you...?”

This brought me around somewhat, just enough to stumble, with even more astonishment, “You
are... that's your real name? You're Nike Slytherin....”

She snapped, irritated, “It's pronounced `Nee-kay', not `Naik', and how did you find
that out?”

That seemed to be the shake I needed myself and I stumbled through a reply. “M-my father gave me
this—no, it belonged to my grandfather and Uncle Lupin and Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.
They'd created a map of the entire school when they were at Hogwarts, called the Marauder's
Map that would show you everyone and everything it, and then they'd lost it and Uncle Fred and
Uncle George found it and gave it to my Dad and then he gave it to me. Its magic shows you people
as they are exactly, even Polyjuice won't fool it so when I looked just now I saw you and
you're *Ni-ke* Slytherin. I've been wondering who you were for weeks... but... then...
who are you? How can you have that name? Slytherin?”

Camilla took a sad glance towards the map in my hands, then dropped her gaze to her feet and for
the first time ever I saw her confident exterior fall away. She suddenly looked small and scared
and weak, and more than a little nervous, and it was a time before she looked back up at me. And
when she did, her eyes were shining with tears.

I took a step towards her, she put up a hand to stop me and then turned and quietly shut the
door behind her. She then cast an Imperturbable Charm on the room, shut the windows and turned back
to me looking just as nervous as before, and in that moment, strangely familiar. It was as if I
knew something in that face, as if there was something about her features that I should know, I
should have *seen*, and noticing now still could not quite place.

With a deep breath she replied, “I told you and Connor that my parents were Death Eaters, but
that isn't exactly the truth.... My name is Nike Asterope Slytherin, I was born in the midst of
the Second War, at the height of the war actually, two weeks shy of your father's eighteenth
birthday. I said that my parents were Death Eaters, and that is true of my mother. She was a Death
Eater, one of his best, one of the worst.... Many say that she considered herself the Dark
Lord's right hand, his most loyal and most loved servant—”

My jaw dropped before she said it.

“—He encouraged her too, giving her a little pet name.... He used to call her `Bella'.” She
looked me right in the eyes, “My mother was Bellatrix Lestrange.”

I couldn't think of a thing to say in response. I doubted that there was anything to be
said, but if there was it surely wasn't staring back at her with my mouth open. She ignored
this though, continuing, “You would think then, that my father was her husband, Rodolphus, but he
wasn't. He probably didn't even know. By that time Mummy was no longer the doting little
wife that she'd started out her marriage as, if she had in the first place. She had long found
someone new, a handsome, ambitious older wizard with designs on world domination and
immortality.”

I gave her a look of open disbelief. She smiled grimly, “What was it your father had said when
he met me the first time? `I didn't think he'd regained *that* much of his body in my
Fourth Year....' But he had you see, Lord Voldemort....”

The stunned silence that greeted that revelation was almost triple that with which I'd
greeted the first. There was no way, absolutely no way that she was the late Dark Lord's
progeny. She was beautiful, very, very so, and smart and good and loved Uncle Neville. Lord
Voldemort had been a mad, slimy, half-snake who would have killed people like Uncle Neville in his
sleep a long time ago. As a matter of fact, her mother—strange as that was to think, I couldn't
imagine how much it took for her to say—had tortured his parents to madness. I stared at her for a
long time after she spoke then, before asking, “If... since you're.... How did Uncle Neville
adopt you?”

She gave another grim smile. “You know that Professor Severus Snape spared himself the
Dementor's Kiss by spying for the Order of the Phoenix during the war right?” I nodded. “Well
my discovery was what personally saved him. He'd noticed when Mummy disappeared and heard
rumours of her being given a special assignment, something that would assure her of the Dark
Lord's eternal gratitude. But then she returned to the same treatment she'd always received
at his hands and acted, in turn, as if she hadn't done anything special. Professor Snape
decided to investigate and stumbled upon the biggest piece of information he'd had since he
exposed the last Horcrux. By the time he got around to telling your parents and the Order though,
your father had gone off to fight Voldemort. The War ended shortly after and whatever information
he could provide then was considered useless.”

She stepped away then and began to pace the floor space before me.

“As luck would have it though, he was up for trial before the Wizengamot to explain his actions
in relation to Professor Dumbledore's murder. He had only one chance to save himself and since
your father refused to plead his case, save helping him get a closed courtroom, he confessed to
said courtroom his bit of information. Nobody trusted him, nobody really believed him, or wanted
to, but because he wasn't known for larks, they sent out Aurors, including Mrs Lupin, to
investigate. When they reported back that he was telling the truth, he got sentenced to here for
the rest of his natural life while they went and collected me from the Riddle House in Little
Hangleton. It wasn't the best location to hide something in the whole world but Daddy had set
up so many wards they would raid it several times and find nothing.”

Again with the sarcastic acknowledgment of her biological parents, and like when she'd said
“Mummy”, it was with such bitter sarcasm it was like she'd uttered a horrible curse. Then
again, having Tom Marvolo Riddle and Bellatrix Lestrange for parents was probably a really horrible
curse.

“Anyway, since Professor Snape was forced to give his information before Ministry officials, I
was to spend the next year of my life in Ministry custody, after a wonderful six safely under the
care and instruction of my father's loyal servants having my every need being immediately met.
The Ministry's place was more or less an underground prison in the Orkney Islands, but
they'd never admit to it in public, and it's also why they haven't made an attempt to
reclaim me since. Appalling way to treat a defenceless child, embarrassing, many people would lose
their jobs. Your parents and the Order spent a year searching for information on me, until your
mother found a way to strong arm the Minister himself and then went to collect me personally.”

At this she stopped and flushed red, recollecting the moment. “I have to admit to not being the
most pleasant or grateful person when she came, but she straightened me out right quick and whisked
me off to the Order Headquarters and your Dad and Ron Weasley. And the entire Order was waiting for
me, including Professor Snape, to decide what should be done about me.”

She flicked her gaze back to me, looking me directly in the eyes again, “I had been created for
a reason you know, I wasn't an accident, like Connor, or wanted just because, like you, I was
born to fulfil a specific purpose. Otherwise, what use would the Dark Lord really have for a child?
Your parents and Uncle Ron had been systematically destroying his Horcruxes and he didn't have
enough soul left to create new ones so he needed another way to survive. What better way than a
child? A child he raised specifically to his principles, to help him rule the world once he'd
seized it, and worst of all, but ultimately, become a living Horcrux itself. A child who just
happened to inherit some of his finer qualities: intelligence, confidence, and most important,
great magical power which would include the ability to speak Parseltongue. It could have gone
either way of course, I could have been weak or a Squib, but he was the Dark Lord and he often got
what he wanted and that's what he did, he got me.”

To think I'd called her before, “evil-with-a-pretty-face”.... Well, I was almost right.

“So they had to decide what they were going to do. Obviously killing me was out of the question,
as was further imprisonment and exile for the only crime I'd really committed was being born.
It was agreed that I had to be concealed and protected and specifically taught against the
principles Daddy had tried to instil. But who would take me? No one really wanted to have me;
everyone had been touched by the Dark Lord in some way or the other. They had advice and opinions
about what they should do, they often met my eyes smiling if I looked their way, but no one
outright claimed me and eventually the meeting descended into a shouting match. Then your Mum
decided that she was going to take me. You should have seen her. She stood up, they fell silent and
she said that though she and your Dad already had the three of you they could more than an afford
one more, and so they would take me home. But that was when Dad stood up and said that he would
take me.”

She smiled brilliantly this time, a smile that lit up her face and seemed to brighten the room,
though what she spoke of was anything but bright.

“Now, you know that Bellatrix Lestrange was responsible for torturing Dad's parents to
insanity, right? So everyone was really shocked when he stood up and said that he'd take me to
the extent that they turned the meeting into a shouting match. But he argued and won them out
saying that the best revenge—not that he wanted revenge—was raising the child of the people who
hurt him to love where they would have taught her to hate. Winning me over afterwards wasn't as
easy, but I love Dad now, I would do anything for him and he would do anything for me and we're
happy that way. He gave up the opportunity to have a family of his own to raise and keep me a
secret, me, the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange. I have no doubt that he loves me, dangerous though
that is... which is why I didn't want to tell Connor, and you, my real name. If either of you
let anything slip, even the smallest thing you don't think a big deal and someone found out the
truth I could be *killed*.”

She was still looking me directly in the eyes, and I imagined that she was pleading with me,
willing me to consent to the unsaid request for silence. I was still processing what she'd said
though, and could give her no reply. She continued, “In fact, your keeping this quiet is imperative
to your family's future.... It's why your parents aren't here now.”

I stared at her wide-eyed. “Your parents, Ron and Ginny Weasley, Mrs Lupin, my Dad, Professor
McGonagall, Professor Hagrid... most of the Order really, were-are away trying to keep me a secret.
A few months ago the Order learned that someone was stirring up trouble in Albania, amassing
followers with the promise of great success where Daddy had failed, with me. They're afraid
that they might try to kidnap me or something, so that's why they've been gone all this
time. I know that you and Connor... he told me that you two, well, about you two, and I know that
this is a bad way to start out in a relationship, but I'm asking you, please don't tell
Connor or Rigel or anyone else about this. Can you do that? Can you keep this to yourself?”

I looked at the earnest plea in her eyes and asked, “You know, you could just Obliviate me....”
I didn't like the idea of lying to Connor at all. Rigel was a different story altogether, but
not Connor.

She shook her head fiercely, “No, you still have the map; you could just figure it out yourself
all over again. And your Dad was going to tell you the truth anyway, once this was over and they
caught the person who was attacking you, they were going to tell you everything. Please don't
tell, please keep this a secret....”

I could not refuse. “I will, I won't tell him, I won't tell anyone.”

She sighed with relief, smiled, and then surprisingly threw her arms around me in a hug as she
said, “Thank you! Thank you so very much! Thank you!”

I barely breathed, “You're welcome,” before she released me again, and then stepped away to
compose herself. I took the opportunity to try to organise all that she'd told me in my mind,
while looking on in wonder at the secret she carried. She was the daughter, the actual biological
daughter of the Dark Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange, she had been conceived with the
intention of evil, but had been rescued and was now being taught to be a good person. Someone was
trying though; to bring her back to her Dad's ways, and my parents and the Order of the
Phoenix—which I had assumed was defunct—were trying to prevent it. And I had to keep it a secret,
or she would be killed. Like my parents had tried to keep me a secret, to no avail.

I would have to fact-check this with my parents, but otherwise I was not going to tell a soul
about this. Uncle Neville had inadvertently spared her my fate when he adopted her, for if she had
been taken in by my family they would have found out the truth in less than twelve days. I
wasn't going to tell her secret, she was going to remain Camilla Longbottom to me and everyone
else.

But this made me wonder, and I asked, “Nike Asterope Slytherin, right? Does it mean anything?
How did you get that name?”

She gave me a conspiratorial look, “You just couldn't let that one go, could you? You and
Connor have a lot in common then....” She sighed. “Daddy—Lord Voldemort couldn't just bestow
any old name on the fruit of his loins, if she was going to be associated with the most powerful
wizard in the history of mankind she had to have the name to fit the part. It was also why he had
selected Bellatrix to be my mother. She was mad as a hatter but a powerful pureblood witch of the
best stock, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and beautiful, and, most important, loyal.
But anyway, he chose Nike Asterope Slytherin because it did just that, fit. It had been long
decided that his heir wasn't going to have the name `Riddle' for that Muggle name died with
his body and your father's parents in 1981. He chose `Nike' from the Greek goddess of
victory, which is what it means, `victory'. `Asterope' means `lightening' and Professor
Dumbledore's portrait thinks that it was possibly in memory of his mother, your Dad doubts it.
`Slytherin' is for obvious reasons, as the Heir of Slytherin it was his duty to pass on the
family name, or in this case, revive it. Dad chose `Camilla Tegwen' because he liked it, not
because of the meaning, he didn't really care what it meant as long as it was the kind of name
you'd expect someone to give a `pretty seven year old'.”

She smiled her brilliant smile again, and then muttered, “Dad's just silly....”

I smiled too, and then seeking around for a change of topic, decided to ask, in the way that
people do when one relates a deep secret to another, with as much blitheness that I could muster,
“Listen, I really don't think I'm going to be able to concentrate after this... could we
not have practice today?”

She looked up at me surprised, as if that was not what she had intended at all, even after our
draining (to me at least) conversation. But then she nodded and said, “Okay, I don't think I
would be able to concentrate either, actually....”

I then asked, “And er... I was wondering... would you like to come to my party?”

Now she gave me a wide-eyed stare of her own. I continued to smile, “I know they're going to
have a party, I'm sure they are, and you can come if you want. I'd like it if you
came.”

She stared at me for a moment longer and then shook her head, “I don't think so. I'm
still a Slytherin... oh ha-ha, I *am* Slytherin, and a cold, heartless... well, you know. I
think I'm better off going back to my dormitory or trying to keep Professor Bones away from
Dad. If she thinks she's going to get her hands on him... he's better of with Ginny
Weasley; they're perfect for each other.”

I looked at her surprised; this was a side of Camilla Longbottom I'd never seen. But then,
she was a sixteen year old girl, she'd be a pretty odd one if she didn't have *some*
petty jealousies. But her mention of Aunt Ginny reminded me of something and I exclaimed, “Oh poor
Rigel!”

She was already on her way to door when I spoke and now stopped and turned back to me puzzled.
“What's wrong with Rigel?”

I looked up at her smiling though, and said, “Oh nothing, nothing at all... but since you're
Bellatrix Lestrange's daughter, that makes you his Dad's cousin through Grandmother and
therefore his cousin as well.”

“So?” she asked, and her tone suggested her usual cool arrogance. “I'm also Connor's
cousin through Mrs Lupin.”

“Yes, I know,” I replied, trying not to laugh but knowing that it was a losing battle. It was
cruel, yes, but the git was ignoring me. “But Rigel... well, he was kind of hoping you'd start
dating him someday, but you're his cousin....”

There was a moment where I thought she'd not take the joke, or say something to ruin it, but
then, like I'd hoped, and rather uncharacteristic of her, she burst out laughing.

-->



14. Chapter Fourteen
--------------------



**A/N:** *First things first. I'm not sure if I mentioned that the information on
Ulfhednar comes from Wikipedia.org, if I did then you should note that some of what appears here
also came from Wikipedia.org. As a university student we're often told not to depend too much
on the website for info, but I did. Oh, and Harry Potter Lexicon.*

*Also, I can't believe the Harry Potter video game is coming out before the book; I am so
trying to get it. I have the first one, and the one for GoF, and I hope one day in the future that
I can look back on this and laugh instead of cringe about wasting money. It's already a great
memory for the grandkids: “You know, I was around when Harry Potter came out....”*

**Disclaimer:** *Yeah, not mine. But on the bright side I hope to start writing something
that is all mine soon....*

*******

**Chapter Fourteen**

It would not be Professor Bones awaiting me in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom when
Connor walked me there for my Saturday afternoon tutorial, but the OGB. And once I had shut the
door behind me and walked forward, confused, it was to discover that he was not alone. My father,
Uncle Neville and Camilla were all there too, sitting around the teacher's desk, regarding me
strangely.

Panicked, I looked to Dad. “I didn't tell a soul, I swear. I didn't tell anyone,
anything.”

Dad smiled, “I know, Lillie, I know you didn't tell anyone, but we need to talk to you.”

Only mildly relieved, I asked, “So why are you all sitting around here like the Wizengamot? I
thought I was walking into my sentencing hearing.”

Unexpectedly, the OGB's jaw visibly clenched, and Dad and Uncle Neville exchanged an amused
smile, that became, for Uncle Neville at least, a fit of stifled chortling. I didn't mean
anything by it, but they clearly thought it was a joke and my being at his mercy every day after
this until the end of the school year seemed to mean nothing to them. It was then left to Camilla
to explain, “They want to explain what's going on. About them being away this winter break, and
how it might be affecting you.”

“But didn't you tell me that Wednesday night?” I asked.

Dad quickly retrieved some level of composure and spoke up, “I want to give a more detailed
explanation, come and have a seat.” He summoned a desk just before the table, and as I went to sit,
asked, “How was your birthday, by the way? Did you like everything you got?”

I looked up at him, surprised at his timing, but replied anyway, “I can't play Quidditch. I
can fly but don't ask me to manoeuvre a broom over a pitch with Bludgers and other
players.”

He stared at me unblinkingly for a moment, and then turned to Camilla, “Congratulations, you
have a job for the summer, after you're done teaching her to duel, you can teach her to
fly.”

Not meaning to be rude, but unable to help myself, I asked, “Why aren't you teaching me
anything? Why don't you do it?”

He did not look back at me. “Because I have to work. But Camilla has time—don't you Camilla?
And Neville, you can spare your daughter for a few hours every week?”

Neville just smiled at him, but Camilla gave no response. I demanded then, “Why can't you do
it? You and Mum have been talking about your having holiday time coming up, why can't you teach
me then if you want me to play Quidditch so much?”

He gave me a surprised look and I looked down at my hands and muttered, “Sorry.”

“Don't be,” said the OGB. We all looked up at him, and my father clearly annoyed. “Your
father is merely being cautious. Though to you they are only flying lessons, they might become
duelling practice and then magical instruction that you, innocent little one, should never, ever
face.”

There were very few people who would dare to mock my father to his face, and this was clearly
one of them. I looked back at my father, and saw the anger in his eyes, but when he noticed me it
quickly vanished and he said, “Have you at least attempted to ride your broom?”

Here the OGB spoke up again, “I don't think she had the time, young Mr Lupin keeps her quite
busy.”

I gave up all pretence of caring that he was my teacher, I openly glared at him, flushing red.
My father though, who I could spy out of the corner of my gaze at his left, had a blank expression
on his face. I would not fool myself into thinking that wasn't worrying. I hadn't quite
gotten around to telling him and Mum about me and Connor actually being a couple yet, and though
they had teased me earlier, I seriously doubted that they really liked the idea.

Thankfully then, someone remembered what we were really there to discuss, Uncle Neville
interrupted, “Harry... you have to get back and Professor Bones wants to get started with Lillie,
shouldn't we be talking about that?”

“Oh, yes, right,” said Dad, sitting up straight and clearing his throat, though his eyes never
left the back of the OGB's head.

The OGB for his part remained where he was, leant against Professor Bones' desk, looking
down at me with his arms folded. If he was aware of my Dad's gaze he didn't show it. And as
Dad began to speak I looked away from the OGB and pretended that he wasn't there.

“Wednesday night, while I was waiting for an owl from you, some form of response about your
gifts; I instead got a letter from Camilla here, explaining how you'd manage to discover her
secret. You must understand that though I've always said that it is possibly responsible for
the attacks on you, this was the worst possible news to receive. I have full confidence that you
would not let anything slip, that you will keep this a secret because you are your mother's
child... but you're also mine and I feared that, though you deserve this information, that it
was your right to know, telling you would mean you going after the person who's been after you.
That you would find some way to the truth and get yourself hurt in the process or in confronting
them. You've always been headstrong and borderline disobedient, so what would change here? It
was stupid, but I thought I was doing the right thing, by not telling you I was keeping you
safe.”

The OGB didn't have to say a thing but I could tell that somewhere inside he was laughing.
But I was distracted from this by Dad's next words, “Of course you found out anyway and here we
are. So how do I begin...? Well... Bellatrix Lestrange is not dead.”

I wanted to react, but all I could muster was to stop completely still and wonder at the week I
was having. What was the next revelation? Voldemort too had not been killed but was actually a
member of a travelling circus in the Balkans?

Unaware of my thoughts, Dad continued, “She is in Azkaban, of course, but she's been Kissed,
so it is as if she's dead. It took us years to capture her, as a matter of fact your mother
made a dramatic rescue the day we captured her, taking Camilla out of the Ministry's hands with
Bellatrix lying trapped before a line of Aurors on the beach nearby. A moment later, a day, we
could have lost her forever and ended up with the Third Wizard War on our hands. Bellatrix was
almost completely insane by that day, but her one lucid thought was of getting to the child
she'd had with the Dark Lord.”

My gaze flicked over to Nike/Camilla. Her face was impassive, calm, if this was affecting her,
like the OGB she had learned not to show it.

“In the years that it took for her to be captured though, she'd been quite a busy woman.
Voldemort had left specific instructions as to what should be done with his daughter, and even
though they no longer had her she'd been carrying out those instructions to a T. She'd gone
to his old allies on the Continent and brought word that though they'd lost the first stage of
the war; his heir was alive and well so that, with their help of course, they could win the second.
They all knew she was mad and still they listened to her, the promise of success, bribes and
stories she told were far too convincing to pass up... which brings us to now.”

He stopped talking, his eyes darkened and stormy, as memories warred with each other in his
mind, the past against the present. It was the reason he never really spoke about work much, and
why it was our mother who had to explain what happened in the Second War. After a few tense, silent
minutes though, he continued as before.

“A few months ago we learned that one of those who had listened to her, a Konstandin Rugova, had
gained ground and followers in Eastern Europe for what he called `Lady Voldemort's War'. We
have no idea if he meant mother or daughter, but that didn't matter, what did was that this
Rugova was having remarkable success and getting closer and closer to us. We had to stop him, so we
went, which, unfortunately, is why we were away for the holiday. He has many friends, and I, though
I'd gone over there at one point during the war, didn't make very many. The attacks on you,
we believe is his way of showing me that he can affect me as much as, or rather, even more than we
can affect him. Thankfully though, at the moment he is cornered, and by this afternoon he should be
captured and this will be over. This means... you won't have to worry about him again.”

“But he won't be the last,” said the OGB from his perch on the table.

“I know,” I surprised myself by replying.

Dad gave me a sad look, “It's why you have to have these extra lessons with Professor Bones.
I can't risk you being unprepared anymore. The people who would want to hurt you aren't the
typical ones everyone else has; you'll have Dark Wizards bent on proving themselves. A prophecy
made before I was even born set my life, fated me to this, but there was nothing as far as I know
about you, so you shouldn't have to face this. But you still do. And I won't be around
forever... I'm not even really around now... so you have to learn to defend yourself.”

I gave him a wide-eyed stare, which had begun somewhere around the time he mentioned “proving
themselves”, and said, “Then *you* should be teaching me now, you have firsthand experience
with Dark Wizards. Does this mean that you'll teach me now?”

“Magnolia...” he said warningly, and the fact that he did not use my nickname told that he was
serious.

I was forced to ignore it, “But Dad you *just* said that there are going to be people
trying to prove themselves by *going after* you or me, surely that means that you should teach
me now. I'm your daughter and I barely know anything beyond everybody else! So what if you saw
something scary in the Second War, I'm facing something scary *now*!”

“Magnolia Potter!” he said, shocked.

“But Dad,” I protested.

“Magnolia, I will not say it again...” he warned.

“Fine,” I said, sullenly, looking away from him, cursing him in my mind. What was he so afraid
of? After getting attacked in a bathroom, chased by Dementors and sent a letter bomb, I still could
take on the world. Did he think he was protecting me like this? Did he *really*?

I heard him sigh, then the grating sound his chair made as he stood and walked round the table
to me, where he stopped and bent to meet my eyes with a smile. I did not respond, but he kissed my
forehead and said, “I can't stop certain things from happening to you, but I'm sure as hell
not going to let anyone get away with them.”

I offered him a smile then, barely an upturn of the corners of my mouth, but he continued
apparently satisfied, “Now about this thing with Connor. I like Connor, I do, but you see—”

The OGB interrupted then, “Mr Potter, given the circumstances, I would like to volunteer myself
to be your daughter's personal tutor instead of Professor Bones.”

Everyone looked up at him and Dad with a look of obvious surprise. He explained, “As it stands
you cannot do it yourself, and Professor Bones, though willing, may be inadequate. She may be able
to teach a class full of students on an ordinary level, but as you have just said, your daughter
may face Dark Wizards, and of those Professor Bones has had little experience. Not to mention, if I
am not mistaken, the only lessons Miss Potter has received thus far is the duelling practice she
has received with Miss Longbottom. Professor Bones has had weeks to prepare and very little to show
for it, by now I would have had Miss Potter a more tasking opponent for Miss Longbottom.”

It was amazing how they all seemed to call her “Camilla” or “Miss Longbottom” knowing her real
name, every time I looked at her now I heard “Nike” or “Lady Voldemort” in my head.

With some malice, Dad said, “Still desperately pursuing the Defence Against the Dark Arts job,
are you?”

The OGB neither flinched nor took the bait, but said smoothly, “On the contrary, I have proven
myself many times more capable than Professor Bones, who I taught, as you would recall and am
merely putting my services at your disposal. Remus Lupin and his wife trust me enough to allow me
to tutor their only son, a boy they treasure more dearly than anything they can afford to possess.
Mrs Malfoy and Miss Ginny Weasley often request that I assist Rigel in any way that I can, short of
cheating, which I would never do, and he has in turn proven that he barely needs me. I know Miss
Longbottom's secret and have kept it all these years, and in fact is responsible for why she
can tutor your daughter now.... And your wife has recently sought my counsel, following on a
tradition that began in the middle of the war, surely that means that I can be trusted to instruct
this child too?”

Somehow he didn't make it sound like begging, though I thought it was and assumed Dad would
point it out. But Dad actually seemed to consider it before replying, “When did Hermione consult
you?”

“I am afraid the matter is rather confidential, and since she appears not to have informed you,
if you seek an answer you shall have to ask her,” he said. “Now, shall I instruct the girl or not?
After this I will not ask again and the offer will no longer be available.”

I didn't like the idea of the OGB teaching me beyond what he did not do in class. Just the
thought of him finally turning his attentions to me when history showed that that was not something
in my favour was frightful. And then, I remembered the way he'd looked at his hands that day in
the dungeons. Why was he offering to do something he surely couldn't? Of course, he'd also
been teaching Connor, Rigel and Camilla, and this would be a good way to find out what was going on
between him and Connor....

I spoke up, “Oh let him teach me instead, please Dad? Professor Bones is always busy and
everyone else will just think I'm getting special favours from her because of you. I know that
shouldn't matter but it's awful to be here and have people talking about you behind your
back because your Dad's Harry Potter. No one cares that I'm Magnolia Potter, everyone just
sees you. If Professor Snape teaches me, I wouldn't have to hear that and you wouldn't
believe how much better it would be to go to school here....”

He looked at me surprised, as did Camilla and Uncle Neville, and then said, slowly, “If you say
so....”

The OGB spoke up at once, “Good, the matter's settled. Miss Potter I expect you in my
classroom tonight after dinner.”

I was suddenly struck by the feeling that I'd just done something very stupid.

Uncle Neville stood then and said, “Harry, we have to go....”

“Yes, we should,” he replied. But he did not move in a hurry. Instead he drew me into a tight
embrace, I rested my head against his shoulder and he gently stroked my hair for a while, whispered
“I love you”, kissed my hair, cheeks and forehead and offered me a smile. When I smiled back he
said, “I'll see you later, I swear.”

“I know, I'll wait for your owl, I love you too,” I replied, almost automatically. It was
the way we'd parted every time he was about to go off on a particularly dangerous mission, but
each time Dad sounded so earnest it was like new.

He and Uncle Neville then left the room with the OGB behind, and I turned to see them draw
Professor Bones away from the doorway to talk. I turned back to find that I was left alone with
Camilla, we looked at each other awkwardly a moment and stood and made to leave. She stopped me
though when she sighed, “Oh great, this just means Professor Bones is going to have a whole lot
more free time with Dad. Can you talk to Rigel and get him to put in a good word with his
mother?”

I lifted both eyebrows at her, and then confessed, “Rigel and I haven't spoken in days...
I'm not sure... maybe you could do it?”

“I tried,” she said sadly. “But I don't think he heard a word I said.”

As soon as I was out the door and walking down the corridor, someone came up behind me and
grasped my hand. Alarmed, I spun round to find a grinning Connor behind me, and he did not hesitate
to give me a quick, light kiss, before asking, “Don't you have class?”

“Were you waiting around for me to come out? What if it had gone on for the full two hours?” I
asked.

“As I was leaving I saw a group of First Years hanging around down the hall, they were waiting
for your Dad to come out to ask him for his autograph. When I heard that your Dad was here I
decided to stick around, so... don't you have class?” he asked.

I smiled, “No, I may have a new teacher and new time. Professor Snape's volunteered and Dad
agreed. I have class at nine.”

Instead of the mild disappointment I'd expected, to my surprise Connor looked horrified.
Unnerved, I asked, “What? What's wrong?”

He refused to answer, and quickly rearranged his expression into a smiling one, and said, “So
now that we have all this free time, what are we supposed to do for the rest of the afternoon?”

I continued to stare at him a while before replying, “Let's go for a walk. I think there
were some people playing Gobstones in the Great Hall. Eoin stinks at it; I've wanted to see him
covered in slime since I first found out.”

His smile became genuine, and he extended his hand, “Shall we?”

But as I walked away I thought of his reaction, it worried me, in more ways than one.

*******

There was an unexpected benefit to having class with the OGB that night. His classroom was in
the dungeons, the dungeons were Slytherin territory, and therefore going down there meant that I
would run into Rigel. Which I did, and I wasted no time with this opportunity.

Not caring that he had Bijou and at least four other of his Housemates with him I marched right
over to him and said, “I want to speak to you.”

He turned to look at me, clearly surprised to find me in the dungeons without him. But it would
be one of his Housemates to speak first, “What's this? Who's a brave Gryffindor?
Wolfboy's girlfriend. You know, your Dad might be Harry Potter but that does not give you the
right to be down here outside of classes.”

I ignored him; no Slytherin would go after me as long as Rigel was present. “You heard me Rigel;
we've been friends since we've been babies, why aren't you speaking to me now? All
because of some stupid argument over Connor? Or did I do something else wrong?”

Bijou made to reply then but he cut her off, “Nothing, Magnolia. Go back to your boyfriend.”

I stared at him, stunned, for a full three minutes, before replying, “I don't believe
this... you're jealous...?”

Deceptively cool, he replied, “You wound me, I'm not jealous of that multicoloured werewolf
cub.”

His friends began to snicker, Bijou loudest before saying, “Run along to your little wolf. The
full moon's next week, don't you want to see him as much as you can before then?”

I couldn't help it, I snapped, “Shut up, you stupid cow! I was talking to Rigel.”

That was a terrible mistake; protection against attack was more or less limited to things I
didn't start. There was a moment of silence where we all stood processing what I'd just
said, and then she drew her wand and tried to hex me. I say tried, because though I too had drawn
my wand and was halfway through a particularly nasty hex I'd learned from Kimberly, Rigel
called out then, “Stop! Come on, Magnolia, we'll go talk. Let's go talk now.”

He stepped away from the group, roughly grasped my arm and dragged me away from his Housemates,
saying in a loud whisper, “What are you doing down here? What was that? Do you want Bijou to kill
you?”

“Then she better join the queue,” I said, loudly. “I'm down here for lessons with Professor
Snape, but since I saw you there I thought that we should talk. Why aren't you talking to me
anymore? Because you're jealous of me and Connor?”

He stopped walking then to give me one of Milo's famed “Oh please” looks, but it was
defeated when he said, “You're his girlfriend now; you shouldn't be speaking to me.”

I hit him at once, hard. “Don't be thick! Connor can't stop me from talking to you, no
one can!”

Rubbing his arm, he insisted on his point. “Just go to your class Magnolia, your boyfriend
wouldn't want—”

I cut him off by hitting him again, even harder. When he looked back at me, furious, I said,
“The next time's going to be a hex. I said stop saying that! Now, why aren't you speaking
to me?”

At first he didn't want to answer, and I stopped and folded my arms, taking care to show him
my wand, intent of trying out the curse I'd been thwarted in my attempt to use on Bijou. He
began, “Connor and I are mortal enemies, you're fraternising with the enemy.”

I blinked, then sucked my teeth and drew my wand. “I'm sorry I'm going to have to do
this but you're a twat and I want a straight answer....”

He reached forward and grabbed my hand, trapping my wand in an awkward position between my
fingers and said, “Leave this alone.”

“No,” I replied.

“It's none of your business or going to do anything for you. Leave it alone,” he said
firmly.

“No,” I repeated. “Why did you call Connor a `freak'? You love Uncle Lupin to death,
I've seen it myself, and yet you call his son a freak?”

He just stared at me for a moment, and then he said, “Do you know what Connor does...?”

I rolled my eyes, and dropped my voice to a whisper, “Yes, I know about the comic book! What
does that have to do with anything? What, are you jealous of that too?”

Calmly, he replied, “Because you're angry with me I'm going to ignore that, you have a
tendency to say nasty things like that when we fight.... However, I'm not jealous of my dear
cousin, with a few well-placed sentences I can expose and destroy him. I don't do it because I
don't want to see him go through the stuff his Dad does. The way Grandmother speaks about
Cousin Remus sometimes.... No, I won't do that to Connor.”

I lifted an eyebrow at him, “So what, you're *sparing* him pain? You're the
benevolent Malfoy, the one who does not harm anyone but likes to have things over people's
heads to keep them well-behaved?”

“Magnolia...” he said, warningly, an eerie impression of my father.

I stopped, and apologised, “Listen, I'm sorry, but you're being sickeningly arrogant and
it's either I mock you or I take your front teeth out. You *are* speaking about my
boyfriend after all.”

Through clenched teeth he replied, “I *know*, but apparently you don't... anything at
all....”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I demanded, confused.

“I can see that Connor didn't tell you everything about that comic book...” was all he would
say in reply, and then he turned and began to walk away, back to his Housemates.

Still confused, even more so now and getting angry again, I called after him, “Wait? What
don't I know? Tell me! I can keep a secret too you know, I've heard some things in the last
few days....”

He didn't turn round, or stop, but instead raised his hand and shook a scolding finger at
me. “I can't tell you, been sworn to secrecy and all that stuff. Just like how you found out
the other stuff you know, you're going to have to do this one on your own.”

I nearly screamed in frustration, “Just tell me, damn you!”

He stopped and turned back at me mildly surprised. Then said, “If you want to know so bad,
here's a clue... find out what's going on between him and the Old Greasy Bat. You can do
that now, like me, Connor and Camilla, you have secret special lessons with him.”

“You could save me the trouble with a few well-placed sentences,” I replied.

“What? And spare you the nightmare of being a distrustful girlfriend in danger of destroying
your relationship? What kind of `jealous' person would I be?” he said rhetorically, then turned
and left me standing in the middle of the hall once again with a mystery to solve. If this turned
out to be nothing though—not that I'd really done anything about the one about the person
trying to kill me—I was going to kill them both.

My chat with Rigel made me late by a full minute for my appointment with the OGB—Connor had
forced me down to the dungeons early, again—and, surprise, surprise, he was not happy about it.

Without looking up from his desk as I stepped into the room, he said, “Miss Potter, I said after
dinner, dinner ends at nine, it is now one minute past that time. This is a serious matter; your
life is in danger, when I give you a time I expect you to comply with it.” Before I could respond
though, he continued, “I had foolishly hoped that your mother would have acted as a buffer against
the transference of some of your father's *finer* qualities, but I appear to have been
mistaken. Arrogance, foolhardiness and obstinacy will get you only one thing in the world you are
fast growing up in, killed. Do not let this happen again.”

I stood quietly before his desk, unsure of what to say, unable to come up with anything in the
first place and unwilling to find out what he would say if I did. He looked up at me then and
asked, “I'm sure you know the finer points of duelling?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Well then forget them all, in a real wizard duel the rules are few, the niceties are not often
observed and the only objective when you're faced with a `Dark Wizard' is survival. I know
Camilla has been tutoring you, let's see how well you've absorbed what she's
taught.”

I stifled a groan, and walked down the room from his desk while he Banished the desks and
cauldrons to give us room. The confidence with which he spoke told me that I couldn't depend on
the possible unsteadiness of his hands sparing me, and given his experience he would probably sweep
the floor with me. My only hope was that I'd been spared of serious injury by his touching, and
somewhat disturbing concern for my safety.

When we both stood at opposite ends of the room, he called, “On three... one, two....”

Deciding that waiting for “three” would be a very bad idea, I called out the words of the
Babbling Curse over his last count so that he stood unable to formulate the words to any
counter-curse he thought to use. He looked visibly surprised that his mouth seemed to have taken on
a life of its own, and even more so that I was responsible for it too. The feeling was mutual, I
couldn't quite believe I'd done that, and therefore missed when he suddenly brought his
wand arm down and sent my wand shooting out of my grasp while I was thrown back across the floor to
the wall.

Stunned by his counter-attack, and sensing the wall getting closer and closer I wrapped my arms
around my head and braced myself. I would come to a stop before it though, when he suddenly called
from the front of the classroom, “*Arresto Momentum*!”
I looked up as soon as I stopped, found that I was inches from the wall and then turned to face him
walking towards me. His manner suggested strongly with every step that I was in for a world of
hurt, but his facial expression was unreadable and his voice toneless as he said, “Was that you or
Camilla?”

“Me... I think,” I replied as he extended a hand to help me up.

I took it warily and once I was on my feet again, he said, “A Dementor is a Dark Creature born
of misery. It feeds on happiness until all that is left is gloom, weakening the victim for it to
bestow its non-fatal but nevertheless deadly Kiss. To repel a Dementor one must use a Patronus,
created, unfortunately, of the same happy memories the Dementors feed upon. You are fourteen; just
one year older than your father was when he successfully used the Patronus Charm. For your sake I
hope you can do the same. Come with me.”

He turned and walked back to the front of the classroom, with me reluctantly at his heels. I was
not at all sure that I'd quite managed to escape punishment for cursing him and this did not
improve my mood.

When we once again stood before the teacher's desk he said, “Dark Magic is not limited to
Dark Creatures though. Kappas, Red Caps, Dementors, Basilisks, Banshees, Boggarts, Grindylows,
Hinkypunks, Vampires and Werewolves are Dark Creatures which can be repelled in various ways with
various spells that each requires a lot of power. Power... unfortunately, that you do not yet
possess. Professor Bones was planning to teach you to defend yourself by mimicking the methods of
another, but she herself has little understanding of Dark Magic, and even less experience save for
the Battle of Hogwarts. Also, she was working on the assumption that you are a very powerful witch
already, and that at the end of the day you would be able to defend yourself on your own
initiative.” He gazed directly into my eyes. “I do not suffer from such delusions. Intelligence, I
will grant you, you learn quickly and are able to apply that knowledge later on. Natural ability...
well that waits to be seen.”

It took all the will I could muster to prevent myself from giving a reaction I was sure to
regret.

“As I was saying though, Dark Creatures are not the only forms of Dark Magic. That letter he
sent for example contained a powder that explodes upon contact with air and burns as fire anything
it comes into contact with. Your father wishes that you be taught to defend yourself, but that is
what you're learning anyway, to defend yourself against Dark Magic in all its forms. And your
attacker has proven that he can use multiple forms of Dark Magic if he so chooses, which means that
he is well-versed in the Dark Arts. Because of this, it is my belief that these lessons are
redundant. However, since your father insists... what can you tell me about werewolves, and none of
that comic book nonsense, what have you learned?”

I stared at him for a moment, then replied, “Er... they're considered Dark Creatures for
what they become at the full moon: a wolf-like creature that can be distinguished from other wolves
by, among other things, its pupils, snout and tail. Otherwise the werewolf is a human being, though
Fenrir Greyback is known to have had partially morphed himself outside of the full moon. Muggles
consider such a person a lycanthrope, derived from the Greek word for werewolf,
*lycanthropos*. This is possibly based off of the Greek myth of Lycaon, a Muggle who was said
to have been transformed into one by his cannibalism. Many cultures of the world have their own
version of a werewolf; the French call it *loup-garou*, the Spanish, *hombre lobo*, the
Irish, *faoladh*, the Portuguese, *lobisomen* and the Italians, *lupo mannaro*. A
person becomes a werewolf through its bite for the curse is spread through the saliva. There is no
known cure, the bites have to specially treated due to the nature of the wounds, and Muggles
believe that silver is a repellent.”

His expression was blank as he replied, “Spoken like your mother, verbatim from a book. But
you're wrong about the cure, there is one: death. However I am only to teach you how to repel
one, and that's where duelling becomes handy.”

Unable to resist, I said, “I thought the only way to avoid a werewolf is to run the other
way.”

He looked at me, “The average werewolf's legs are twice the length of the average man.
You'd be dead within two strides. Now, if you're done emulating your father for the evening
we can begin. Duelling positions.”

As I began to walk back to my earlier position down the classroom he said, “And Miss
Potter...?”

I turned. “Ten points from Gryffindor for cheek.”

I stomped away wishing his hands would give out on him one day when he faced a werewolf himself.
What a terrible thing to wish, terrible, terrible, for the bad ones are often those that come
true.

-->



15. Chapter Fifteen
-------------------



**A/N:** *Ah yes, only warning, I made up two spells here. They stink, `cause technically I
didn't really make them up. One's an actual word. Anyway, enjoy.*

**Disclaimer:** *Are you kidding me? This isn't my stuff, or I'd be sitting in my
nice house in Edinburgh surfing the net to see how my fans are faring waiting for the book to come
out.*

*******

**Chapter Fifteen**

Monday morning the *Daily Prophet* broke the news first: “**The Man-Who-Triumphed Triumphs
Again! Harry Potter Crushes “Lady Voldemort's War”!**” Speculation filling the pages within
ranged from whether “Lady Voldemort” was Bellatrix Lestrange or someone else, to why Harry Potter
was not yet the head of the Auror Department. *Witch Weekly* yet again mentioned him in their
Sexiest poll and *The Quibbler* made the claim first that the long-running Rotfang Conspiracy
was involved with Lady Voldemort (Celestina Warbeck).

Apparently she had embedded messages in her music that were communiqués to her followers as well
as a form or hypnosis to her listeners. Mrs Weasley Senior was barely on speaking terms with Aunt
Luna for this.

I only cared for my father's letter that night, brought by an also excited Ophelia, which
read cheerfully, “*I've got him!*” Only then could I smile in relief.

Tuesday, Rigel's birthday, I awoke to find that he'd finally delivered my gift: a
t-shirt and collection of records from the new punk rock band AnGeVin! Their lead singer was a
French-born half-Veela, whose name just happened to be Angevin, and they'd been sweeping the
music charts of the Wizarding world for nearly two years now, almost for that alone. I couldn't
help smiling; he knew that I loved their music and loathed their lead singer. I suspected he was
having a similar reaction to the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes hamper and one month gift certificate
I'd given him disguised in a long box on which `someone' had stamped “Quasar Mach I”.

Uncles Fred and George had produced a special line of products just for him to use around Malfoy
Manor when he got bored. If he liked it, they would introduce it for public sale with his name
stamped on each product. The git would probably think it the best gift in the world based on that
alone.

Wednesday was dull save for the painful start to the morning, which this time I quickly ended by
making sure to take my Pain-Relieving Potion before I left the dormitory. Then that night Connor
and I shared a rather enthusiastic, if not adventurous, snogging session in the library that ended
only when we overheard Madam Pince scolding someone about her books three shelves over. After that
we had a futile discussion over my lessons with the OGB, in which I outright asked him about his
personal lessons with him and he refused to answer. I don't know why I let him get away with
something that I usually tormented Rigel for, but I did. If Rigel ever found out he would really
never speak to me again.

We'd barely settled down to breakfast Thursday morning when the owl post arrived by the
literal thousands, and almost every owl that came in bore a copy of *Úlfhéðnar*: “The White
Wolf”. I made sure to wait until they arrived though, before going down to the Great Hall with the
one Connor had given me. There was a moment of wild panic where I imagined that they'd changed
the cover and we'd be discovered, but when I sat down I found that it was the same and smiled a
little conspiratorial smile at Connor. He blushed, stifled a laugh and playfully put a finger to
his lips, then put something on the table that howled, transformed itself into a man, walked over
to me, turned back into a wolf and howled again. When I gasped, surprised, he whispered, “It's
the first of the new merchandising line, the action figures. Uncle Dean sent over some samples this
morning. It's yours, keep it.”

I hesitated, “You can't keep giving me stuff for free.”

He shrugged, “I want you to have it.”

Reluctant still, I took up the little wolf and watched it turn itself into a man, who looked a
bit like Connor, and back again in my palm. He looked at me worryingly a moment, and then I smiled
and slipped it into my bag. The relieved smile on his face then was a bit much, but I did not
comment, instead asking, “How's your Dad?”

His happy expression fell away, and he replied grimly, “He's fine, I think. He's all
healed up and been taking the Wolfsbane potion for years, so they don't expect any real
trouble. Plus, Professor Snape delivered his latest batch of the potion just this weekend, he said,
and he's going to spend tonight locked in the basement.”

“What about your Mum?” I asked, not liking the grim smile. Despite his upbeat words he was
clearly worried.

At the mention of his mother though, his expression brightened once more, “She had another false
alarm over the weekend, and she's going to spend all of today and some of tomorrow in St
Mungo's. They told her to come in so they could monitor her in case the stress of Dad's
condition gets to be too much.”

“Well that's good, you might be able to hold your baby brother soon,” I replied, smiling
mischievously.

He scowled, “I'm sure it's a girl, absolutely sure of it.”

“Whatever,” I smirked. “You know, I hear there are boys named Zoe.”

Friday a controversy made headlines. “**The White Wolf = Harry Potter? As a Girl?**” (The
*Daily Prophet*) “**Could Romulus Kveld-Ulf be a Hogwarts Student?**” (The *Evening
Prophet*) “**Romulus Kveld-Ulf, Fenrir Greyback's Illegitimate Son!**” (*The
Quibbler*) “**The White Wolf is Magnolia Potter! The Proof's in the Pages, say Fans!**”
(*Witch Weekly*) The WWN ran reports that summarised the rumours as thus: Upon reading the
issue known as “The White Wolf” fans noticed some strange similarities between the first meeting of
the white wolf and Faolán and the details of my first attack. Apparently Faolán had rescued Thora
from being drowned by a rival actual wolf-pack like Camilla had rescued me from the two girls under
the Imperius Curse. Add in Uncle Dean's slip about the title, and the description of the wolf,
and an official statement by the Ministry within hours of the comic book's delivery that they
wished to investigate how the author got information they hadn't released to press, and people
began to wonder if the author was a Hogwarts student or staff member.

As soon as school let out at lunch, I found and dragged Connor out of the castle to talk. We
went to the old bridge, for there weren't that many people there and I was no longer under
Ministry watch since my father's arrest of Konstandin Rugova. Once the map assured us that we
were alone, I said, “Do you think they'll find out it was you?”

He gave me a shrug, and looked away to the mountains. There was a white fog coming down again,
Kimberly told me that while I was away there had been a particularly nasty two days where no one
could leave the castle nor get their post because it was so bad. Down here the winds blew
piercingly cold, and each blast, despite heating charms, felt as a knife-slash across our faces.
Whatever was coming, it was going to be bad.

I asked, “Why'd you put me in it? I know you were going to introduce another character
anyway, but I could ruin your career and—”

He cut me off when he reached out and took my hand. Though we were both wearing gloves I felt my
hand tingling at his touch. I looked at him expectantly, he squeezed my fingers and replied,
“Don't be melodramatic; you cannot single-handedly ruin my career. And besides, if someone
finds out the truth I'm not particularly worried. Yes, it will destroy some of the
`mystique' about me, but everyone says I've got a good story, and not very many fans,
according to Uncle Dean, seem to care. They've already sent him hundreds of owls assuring him
that they won't abandon me if they knew the truth.”

“Are you sure you want to depend on that?” I asked. “That you can?”

He smiled, “I *know* I can. I've had these people for over three years now, they
won't care. And anyway I expect this rumour to die down in a few days, or maybe even by
tomorrow. I hear they've been interviewing some of the people associated with your Dad's
recent mission. The new thing is Lady Voldemort, who might she be? Why did she have followers in
Eastern Europe? Is Lord Voldemort really dead?”

My heart had seized the moment the words “Lady Voldemort” had left his lips and all the while he
joked after I'd struggled to get my heartbeat back under control. When he stopped laughing to
himself, I replied as lightly as I could manage, “Oh, what do they think? My Dad spared him and he
left town to become the Fat Lady in a travelling circus?”

Connor laughed a little harder, and said, “I'm kind of curious as to who she might be too.
Who is she, his wife? His secret illegitimate child? His sister?”

I laughed awkwardly; clearly I needed to work on my ability to keep secrets. I replied bravely
still, “Yeah, probably. I mean, if you thought the brother was bad, wait till you see the sister!
Sounds of fake screaming and people running away in terror....”

He stopped my laughter then by leaning over and kissing me lightly. I pulled away and said in
mock-exasperation, “You can't keep doing *that*. It's starting to get on my
nose—nerves! I said nerves!”

He laughed again, “Look at you all flustered, I like you flustered. Magnolia Potter, potentially
very powerful and already rather intelligent witch, famously the daughter of Harry Potter and
Hermione Granger, undone by a kiss.”

“Well,” I admitted unblushingly, “if you're the one kissing me... I can't think straight
sometimes....”

With a broad smile he kissed me again.

Saturday the *Daily Prophet* published their interview, effectively silencing the “White
Wolf” controversy, but opening up a new one that set me sending furtive, worrying looks
Camilla's way every time I was in range of her. If Connor noticed I was distracted he did not
mention it, it gave him free time to do his homework and catch up on his sketching. He was almost
finished with the new issue but would not tell me anything.

I did my best to ignore the feeling of irrational annoyance that he really *did* believe
that I could ruin his career.

That night with the OGB we reviewed werewolves and he gave me an introduction to the Dark Arts
that began, “All magic can be used to harm, the term the “Dark Arts” refers to magic though, that
is used specifically for that purpose. All Spells, Potions, Creatures and Objects that exist solely
for the physical and mental injury or death of others are classified as such. However there is a
problem with this definition. One can use the Tickling Charm like the Cruciatus Curse if one has
the will and creative imagination. Hogwarts does not teach the Dark Arts of course, but provides an
introduction to aspects of it and then teaches you to defend yourself. I will never admit to it,
and you will not say it outside of this room, but Remus Lupin had generally had the right idea when
it came to teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. In order to protect oneself effectively one
should have more than a general knowledge of what one is up against. One might say those with an
intimate knowledge of what they're going to face are best prepared, like your Charlie Weasley
lives among dragons to handle them.”

This made me nervous. I asked, “We're not going to actually meet a werewolf, vampire or Red
Cap are we?”

He actually smiled.

Sunday morning I spent with Rigel, Aisling and Hortense, though not by choice. As Connor and I
had walked down to breakfast that morning, Uncle Neville had come running over to us with a
message: Aunt Tonks had finally gone into labour overnight and demanded that Connor come to the
hospital that morning. He was so excited he nearly forgot to tell me goodbye as he hurriedly left
with Uncle Neville.

I had continued on my way to the Great Hall then, I was hungry really, but Aisling got to me
first and I soon found myself being hurried away to the library where Rigel and Hortense were
awaiting us, looking anxious. And as soon as I was seated with them, Rigel asked, “Did Connor just
get the news?”

I lifted an eyebrow, “Is it untrue?”

“No, it's true, but they haven't told us anything. We were hoping that you'd known,”
replied Rigel.

I narrowed my eyes at him, “What happened? Grandmother away at the moment?”

As blithely as usual, “They found the leak, shame. Anyway, didn't they tell him what she
had?”

I shook my head. “Uncle Neville just told him that she'd gone into labour and that she wants
him to come over.”

“Oh... I've got ten Galleons on a boy, as do Hortense and Aisling at two Galleons each, what
do you think?” asked Rigel, pulling out a sheet of parchment that revealed, on inspection, that
much of the family had made bets. Big spenders that they were, most had bet on “Boy”, but my father
had twenty Galleons on “Girl”.

I grinned and replied, “Girl, five Galleons.”

When Connor returned around mid-afternoon, the others actually went all the way to Gryffindor
Tower to shove me out to meet him first. The broad grin on his face said it all. He came running up
the stairs, tripping over himself, to tell me, “It's a girl! Her name's Zoe Faye Lupin, she
weighs half a stone, and she's got black hair and Mum's eyes. She's beautiful!”

Rigel, Hortense and Aisling's collective groan of protest behind me almost registered a
sonic boom. Startled, Connor looked round me to them and asked, his eyes smirking, “I'm
guessing they all lost the bet.”

I nodded, grinning brightly, before we both dissolved into laughter.

Monday was a dull day of school as usual. I went to classes, did homework, chatted with Kimberly
and Aisling about nothing, bantered with Rigel over his birthday gift, went to duelling practice
with Camilla and then spent an hour before bedtime with Connor.

Tuesday morning in Care of Magical Creatures, the happy illusion came to a dramatic end.

The fog was drawing closer, and on its heels a furious storm was brewing. We'd be trapped in
school for days from the looks of things, and here we were with a Quidditch match coming up soon.
The first match was going to be Slytherin versus Hufflepuff and I was going to risk being
ostracised by my Housemates to cheer Rigel, as usual. Or at least, once those three Galleons
he'd given me did not turn out to be Leprechaun gold.

He'd done that once, and though the hex I'd used had him wearing a balaclava and some of
Hortense's face powder for a week, he was nothing if not persistent.

Aisling and I walked down to Professor Hagrid's hut watching our breath mist white before us
and listening to Eoin and classmates discussing the “White Wolf”, my Dad's mission and Lady
Voldemort, and not necessarily separately. Eoin had been keeping his distance from me since the
school year began. Whether to protect himself or for fear that I would humiliate him for the way
he'd treated me before, I couldn't care less. Whatever he was thinking he thought best to
keep to himself anyway.

Professor Hagrid wasn't beside his hut when we got down to it though. As a matter of fact,
unusual for him, he was nowhere to be seen with the front door to the hut wide open. No one else
seemed to be bothered by this though, so I joined in the ranks of those wondering if he'd
popped out to track down some injured creature in the forest and was in such a hurry that he'd
forgotten the door. Then Aisling took the initiative to walk over and shut it, also taking care to
look around for him in case he'd actually fallen asleep with the door open, or maybe Fang had
left it so, and finding no one, closed the door heavily. When she came back down to me she asked,
“Do you think I should give in to the false hope that he forgot about us altogether.”

I shook my head. “Hagrid, forget us? Are you kidding? How could he ever forget his favourite
pastime: giving us reason not to date giants in future?”

She laughed and then stopped, looking past me in confusion. I turned at once, following her
gaze, just as Professor Hagrid appeared at the edge of the forest with a curiously-shaped creature.
It looked like someone had gotten mixed up while they were assigning body parts and placed the
upper torso of a hawk or eagle unto the lower torso of a horse or donkey. Then, to complete the
mutation, they'd had the audacity to add wings. The result was undeniably ugly, and not very
many could conceal their shock and slight revulsion.

Professor Hagrid though, as usual, was beaming. He greeted us brightly, “Lillie should know this
one. This, lads and lasses, is a hippogriff, which is what we're going to be studying
today.”

Well, I knew it was a hippogriff, but it sure wasn't pretty to look at up close.

He continued, “Now be careful about hippogriffs, strong as an ox and easily offended. You
mustn't approach one if yer don't know how... take yer head clean off, they would.”

We all took a collective step backwards.

“But the approach is easy to remember. You just walk on over, maintain a safe distance and bow.
If he doesn't go lunging for your head, it's safe to go closer,” he finished, still
beaming.

I took one long look at the hippogriff and decided against volunteering myself. And to ensure
that I wasn't volunteered, made sure to take an extra backwards that would set me firmly at the
back of the group and lost among the others. Professor Hagrid though, volunteered someone else,
Eoin, to be the first sacrificial victim.

“Mr Finnegan, why don't you show the others how it's done?” he called, after a moment of
searching our anxious (frightened) faces.

Eoin looked on the verge of collapse, but his friends, in the name of self-preservation, shoved
him ahead. Aisling laughed out loud, and I with her, but when he turned to glare at me he
surprisingly adopted a goofy half-smile for her. My jaw dropped immediately and then I had to cough
to stifle my laughter. I could not believe it, Eoin liked Aisling. Since when? I'd clearly
missed a lot over the winter break.

No thanks to Konstandin Rugova the berk, of course.

Ignoring the dark thoughts this usually broached, I looked again to find Eoin now giving a
nervous, awkward bow to the hippogriff. I allowed myself to picture the hippogriff suddenly running
forward and snapping him in half, but all it did was bow back. Anti-climatic that was.

Professor Hagrid began to speak, “Well then, you can feed her now.”

Though we couldn't see his face from his stance it was clear that Eoin had no such
intention. As a matter of fact it seemed that he would prefer to rejoin us looking on. I nudged
Aisling, when she looked back at me I arched an eyebrow at her and nodded in his direction. She
looked confused for a moment, then smiled and called, “Yeah Eoin, let's see you feed it!”

As if her call had startled him, he gave a funny sort of jerk and then began walking stiltedly
towards Professor Hagrid and the hippogriff. Aisling and I could barely contain our laughter, it
was cruel, but oh-so-funny, too funny, considering the way he'd treated me, and her,
before.

But Eoin, lucky for him, would not get to feed the hippogriff. Nor would we get to finish our
class. For at that moment, the world came to a standstill when someone screamed.

We all looked to the direction it had come from, and very nearly screamed as well. Something,
about the size of a child, its skin scaly yellow-green, its back a tortoise-shell, and its face
monkey-like with what looked like a bowl of water on it's head, was walking determinedly out of
the lake and towards the girl who'd screamed, a small Ravenclaw First Year. Professor Hagrid
identified it as he yelled for us to get away, “Run! Everybody get back into the castle, that's
a Kappa!”

“There are Kappas in the Black Lake?” shrieked Eoin, terrified, starting to take off at once. I
could assure him that lost him Aisling's attention, if he'd managed to seize it in the
first place.

“Don't be silly, there are no Kappas in the Black Lake!” called someone else.

“Then where did that come from?” Eoin demanded, swinging round to the person.

Without hesitation, all eyes flicked to me. I looked at them all, shaking my head, protesting,
“Dad caught the person responsible! It was that-that that Rugova person, this isn't my fault!
I'm sure of it, Dad caught the person!”

Professor Hagrid, who was already on his way down to the girl, running with more speed than we
thought it was possible for him to have, called back, “That don't matter now, get back into the
castle! Get Professor Bones and the Headmistress! Go, now! GO!”

We didn't need to be told again. We all turned and ran pell-mell back up the castle. Some
began screaming before they reached the bottom step, startling classes of Fourth and Seventh Years
in the greenhouses and causing Argus Filch, who had apparently been in the area, to peer out the
castle doors. Then Aisling caught a stitch and slowed down. I couldn't leave her, I stopped as
well and went back to help her, just catching sight of Professor Hagrid running with the girl on
his shoulder back to the castle. But the Kappa was well out of the lake and hot on their heels and
there was no one to help them anymore. The Aurors were really all gone, and given the way the OGB
had spoken of Professor Bones, I was struck with the horrifying thought that she might not be much
use.

Then Aisling stopped us altogether, tapping me urgently on the shoulder and gasping, “No, no!
Stop stop-stop! I can't run anymore, my side hurts too much!”

“This isn't the time!” I nearly yelled at her.

“I *can't* move!” she yelled back.

I watched some of the Seventh Years, Hufflepuffs, race down from the greenhouses and set up a
line to repel the Kappa, shooting off multiple brilliantly-coloured Stunners, *Reducto* and
*Impedimenta*, with barely a break between the time the spell left their wand tips and the
commands left their lips again. But nothing worked, this was a Dark Creature and therefore there
was a specific method to getting rid of it. I wracked my brain, trying to remember what was written
about them in my *Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them* textbook. Since the OGB was
insistent that we study werewolves first, we hadn't gotten round to them yet, and though
we'd gone over them with Professor Bones in class I'd been rather sleepy that day
and....

I stopped and called as loudly as I could, “You have to spill the water! You have to make it
spill the water on its head!”

No one heard me. The electric-bolt sound of their spells hitting and rebounding off of the
Kappa's unbelievably tough skin too loud for them to know that I was there. I had to tell them
though; I had to warn them, if the Kappa got hold of any one of them they'd be drowned for
sure.

Without thinking that I was just playing into the hands of my deranged killer, I side-stepped
Aisling and raced down to the Seventh Years, calling as loudly as I could, “You have to spill the
water! You have to spill the water!”

Before I was with them someone grabbed me by the waist. I screamed, and then turned to find
Rigel behind me, the Fourth Years were Slytherins. I struggled against him, calling still, “We have
to warn them, they have to spill the water from its head! If they don't get it to spill the
water on its head it'll just keep coming!”

He released my waist to grasp my shoulders firmly, “They know that, that's what they're
trying to do Magnolia! They're trying to do that!”

I turned away from him back to the Seventh Years still fighting the Kappa. “It's not
working; whatever they're doing it isn't working!”

But just then Professor Bones and the OGB came, racing out of the castle, with at least five
others, heading down to the lake edge where the Seventh Years stood losing the battle against the
Kappa. It was just within range of the smallest of the lot, a boy with strawberry-blonde hair who
stood as tall as he could before it anyway. I wanted to run down and wrench him away from its
reach, but the OGB got there first, calling out forcefully, “*Repellere! Aridisi!*”

The Kappa was knocked off its webbed feet, but as it made to rise again, the second spell hit it
and the water on its head evaporated. It didn't wait to be hit by Professor Bones' Stunner,
it immediately bolted back to the lake. She got it just before it got to the water's edge,
breaking through the ice like it'd done to come up in the first place, but its Stunned body
fell through anyway. Then within moments we saw it emerge far down the lake, in a weaker section of
the ice, and take a spectacular dive whilst the merpeople darted out of its way, sending a frantic
flurry of bubbles to the surface.

The attack was over though, and so we could all take a few minutes in absolute silence to
register what was happening. One thing being perfectly clear: Konstandin Rugova might have been
captured, but he was not responsible for the attacks on me. This was not over. And once it sunk in,
the OGB turned, spied me with Rigel, marched over to us and roughly pulled me from his grasp.

Rigel and I both protested, “Hey!”

Ignoring us, he said, leading me away, “The Headmistress is out, you're not leaving the
castle again until we speak with her.”

From our first shout of protest all eyes had fallen on us, and now I could almost literally feel
them as I was dragged, struggling feebly, to the castle steps. I couldn't go quietly though,
and rather lamely I protested, “But I have Herbology classes!”

He stopped and swung me before him, then bent slightly and said in a low, threatening voice,
“There is someone trying to kill you! Wake up! There is no Herbology, no Care of Magical Creatures,
no Quidditch, no Hogsmeade weekends, and no romantic strolls on the grounds for you until we catch
that person! If you're dead you can't have those either, can you?”

“No sir, but—” I insisted, not entirely sure why I was doing it but unable to stop myself.

“But what? What part of that don't you understand you silly little girl?” demanded the OGB,
glowering at me. “What don't you get?”

“But sir, I—” I protested still, trying to come up with an answer while doing my best to ignore
the burning round my eyes and the tightening of my throat. I was not going to break down and cry in
front of more than half the school and the OGB. I was not.

He shook me forcefully, violently, until I cried out and Professor Sprout called, alarmed,
“Severus!”

He ignored her, “Do you want to die, Miss Potter? Is that what you want to do? Face reality and
grow up! You're not a little girl anymore; your father can't protect you from everything.
He himself told you that! There is someone trying to kill you!”

At this point I couldn't control the tears. His face before me blurred as they pooled in my
eyes and raced down my cheeks, burning my wind-bruised face, and a sob escaped my lips. Yet still
he yelled.

“Is death what you want Miss Potter? Death? There is no coming back from that, none! Your breath
stops, your heart stops, your body goes cold and your soul vanishes to nothingness! Is that so
desirable to you? There is nothing that you can do when you're dead Lily! Nothing!”

He stopped suddenly and released me as if burned. I stopped crying too, and hurriedly wiped my
eyes to stare at him open-mouthed, shocked. No one else would have noticed it from the distance,
but I, up close, had heard the slight inflection that changed my name. He had never called me
“Lillie” before, never, and now that he'd said it I had a feeling I knew why. He wasn't
speaking to me.

Offering neither apology nor explanation though, he stood then, grasped my arm, gentler this
time, and marched me into the castle with him through the silent, wide-eyed stares of the others. I
looked determinedly at my shoes, until we were at the door and someone came running over and seized
me into their arms. By his scent alone, of paper, pencil shavings and curiously, of the
intermingled smells that arose in the steam of the Potions classroom, I recognised Connor and
wrapped my arms around him and allowed myself to cry again. The OGB made no attempt to separate us,
but kept us walking to the stairs, presumably on the path to the Headmistress' office anyway. I
didn't care where we were going, there was nowhere safe here that I could hide.

Rigel's words echoed in my head then: “*Listen, they might say that Hogwarts is the safest
place to be but your father was attacked in this school* numerous times*, his* Headmaster
*was* murdered *here, do you really want to throw caution to the wind because they* say
*you're safe?*”

Not anymore.

-->



16. Chapter Sixteen
-------------------



**A/N:** *Updating very quickly now. Was actually planning to finish this story before the
release of* Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows*, did not expect that it might be so much
before. But that's okay, I was actually intending this story to be a trilogy, which would
account for a number of things that I'd introduced and not used. Problem with that of course,
is that I've also been intending to start working on my original novel again so... well, yeah.
*crosses fingers so that might be able to do both**

**Disclaimer:** *After much consideration and mental deliberation, have come to the
conclusion that I do not wish to own this stuff. Belongs to JK Rowling and company and she can keep
it, she worked damned hard for it and she deserves every word.*

*******

**Chapter Sixteen**

Not caring that the OGB, Professor McGonagall, Professor Bones and the Minister for Magic were
looking on, nor that there were also a number of Aurors, Connor and the portraits of the former
Headmasters and Headmistresses present, when my parents arrived my father took five great strides
over to where I was sitting with Connor on a sofa beside the window and gathered me into his arms.
He said nothing, for I was sure that he couldn't, all he cared for anyway was that I was there,
alive and real in his arms, and not lying dead, cold and wet on a bed in the Infirmary. Beside that
words were inconsequential.

I was all cried out and he couldn't, but Mum was not. And as soon as he released me, she
took over, pressing my head to her chest and resting her chin against my hair and cried into it,
“Oh Lillie, oh my precious baby... oh Lillie....”

She could say nothing more than that and after a while fell as silent as Dad and contented
herself with holding me and rubbing my back. I held back just as tightly, comforted by the feel of
her soft body and the faint smell of the pumpkin pie she'd had for lunch.

Eventually though, they both let up and allowed me to sit again on the sofa while kneeling
before me, both grasping my hands, and Dad asked, “Are you alright? Did it touch you; did it ever
get close to you?”

I shook my head and admitted timidly, “I was actually trying to get down to it.... S-some-there
were some Seventh Years having a class nearby and when they heard the commotion they went down to
the lake to try to hold it off. What they were doing wasn't working though and since I
remembered that you have to spill the water from its head, I was trying to tell them.” At my
mother's scandalised look, I added hastily, “But Rigel held me back—he'd been having class
in the greenhouses too—when he saw me running he stopped me.... It was stupid, I know....
They're Seventh Years; of course they know how to stop a Kappa....”

Dad hushed me, shaking his head and brushing my hair back from my face, “No, Lillie, no... You
were trying to help....”

That did nothing to improve my mood. “When you say it like that it sounds really stupid....”

Mum joined him in a headshake, her eyes sparkling earnestly, and replied, “You *were*
trying to help, you didn't know it was coming for you... we'd told you that you were
safe.”

From behind us someone coughed, and my parents both jerked round, remembering the others were
there. And once Dad recognised Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister for Magic, he stood and said
bitterly, “Do you know that Rugova was remarkably surprised to hear that he'd been attacking my
family? As a matter of fact he didn't even know I was married, and the more that we
interrogated him the more I realised that he'd spent much of the last few years believing I was
still a teenaged boy. Is there something I should know?”

The Minister arched a rust-coloured eyebrow, “What ever gave you the idea that I know more about
this incident than you do? You're Harry Potter, the `Man-Who-Triumphed', you defeated their
beloved Dark Lord, and because of that you've made innumerable enemies in the war. It appears
that one of them has decided to avenge him and unfortunately for your family he has the power and
the means to succeed.”

“The war ended *sixteen* years ago, and you all claimed that you'd rounded up all of
those we hadn't captured or killed for you,” said Dad, slowly. “This suggests otherwise.”

“Well, yes, but as I understand it there are a number from our side whom we haven't found
either,” replied the Minister. “There was a war going on. Very messy things, wars.... You can lose
both friends and foes in the heat of it....”

My mother had taken a seat beside me on the chair, and as we shifted to give her room, Connor
surreptitiously took hold of my hand and squeezed it gently. Not noticing this, and attempting to
thwart the outburst from Dad that was surely coming, Mum replied mildly, “That's true, but it
is apparent now that there is someone out there that you missed, and you did tell us explicitly
that you had captured *everyone*. You can understand our being upset...?”

The Minister now looked as if he was desperately trying to keep control of his emotions. His
voice was strained as he replied, “Mrs Potter, this may just be some random person that you crossed
paths with during the war. And, if I recall correctly, Draco Malfoy, though purportedly killed by
Aurors, his body has never been found. Fenrir Greyback is still tied up in the courts over his
crimes, one Marcus Flint has managed to elude capture to this day, and Peter Pettigrew....”

He allowed his voice to trail off as my father's jaw clenched visibly, but Dad spoke
emotionlessly as he replied, “Malfoy is most likely dead, he had taken Ginny Weasley into a dark
cavern that had many passageways and was open to flooding with the tides, and Kingsley Shacklebolt
is pretty sure that he killed him. Flint wouldn't dare attack me, he was always a weak Death
Eater and is probably hiding from his old cohorts as it is, for, if I'm not mistaken, he
betrayed them like Malfoy. Fenrir Greyback would actually be a concern if I didn't know about
his preference for children—which Magnolia is not—and that he has more of a motive to go after
Remus Lupin's son than my daughter. As for Peter Pettigrew, I seriously doubt that he'd be
foolish enough to show his face. He's a wanted man throughout much of Britain and the
Continent, he even kept out of this `Lady Voldemort's War' we were just through.”

“Then we're back to that unknown who has a personal grudge,” said the Minister. “I suggest
you make a list of people known to have been Death Eaters, associated with them or supported their
cause and track them all down. It may take a few days but as it is *your* daughter's life,
I will also ensure that you have the full services of the Auror Department at your disposal...
giving way to prior duties and open cases, of course.”

Dad gave no response either way and then Connor spoke up, causing my mother to look over at him
and notice our joined hands with a smile. It fell away though, as she furrowed her brow when he
said, “Fenrir Greyback's not dead?”

It was as if they hadn't even noticed he was there, the way everyone suddenly turned to look
at Connor in varying degrees of surprise. But when they'd all entered the office he and I had
been sitting together while he tried to comfort me, my arms wrapped firmly round his waist and he
whispering words of comfort in my ear. Of course, at the time they had been too busy ignoring me,
choosing to comment on the bleak weather we'd soon be having with the fog rolling in than
facing the reality of their continued failure to protect me. Now though, the Minister looked over
to him and asked, “Who are you?”

“Connor Lupin,” he replied, standing up still holding my hand. “Fenrir Greyback is still
alive?”

It was an innocent question that promptly discomfited almost every person present, save the OGB
and the Minister, who, after studying him for a moment, asked, “Your father is that werewolf...
Remus Lupin... is he not? (His brow furrowed as he looked him over again, for Connor did not
respond.) Then that makes you Auror Nymphadora Tonks' son as well.... What a fine-looking young
man you are becoming.”

He suddenly left his seat and walked over to us, and those who were not sitting as well took
care to step out of his way, even, amazingly, Dad. This wasn't something too difficult to get
though, for the Minister was a tall, imposing man with a lion-like mane of red hair and beard and a
penetrating yellow gaze that surely instilled fear in the hearts of many. But Connor did not move,
nervous as he was under the attention, squeezing my hand so tightly that it was beginning to hurt.
I shook our joined hands to get him to loosen his grip, Dad's eyes flickered to the movement a
moment, and then he impassively looked back up at the Minister approaching Connor. The Minister
stopped just before him and asked, “There's a rumour going around that you're a
Metamorphagus too...?”

Connor wrinkled his nose and after a moment his hair turned Weasley-fiery red and his eyes icy
grey so that it was as if he'd become Rigel's younger brother. Then he shifted back to
himself and the Minister gave him a smile that did not quite reach his eyes and asked, “What year
are you in?”

“Fourth,” he replied.

“Then you should be fourteen or fifteen.... Good in classes?”

Unexpectedly, it was the OGB who replied, “He excels in Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts,
Charms, Ancient Runes and Herbology.”

The Minister gave a look of approval now, “When you're choosing subjects for your Sixth
Year, remember Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Charms, Transfiguration (another smile) and
Herbology. The Auror Department needs more like you. Work on that Transfiguration grade though, I
would think that the subject you would discover easiest.”

*What?* Had someone forgotten that they'd come here to discuss an attack on me and not
for recruiting purposes?

But instead of gratitude, or some meaningless reply, Connor said, “What about my father? He
needs a job too, and he's pretty good at teaching. Don't you have a position for him as
well? I mean he was promised one....”

The Minister stared him directly in the eyes for a moment, clearly sizing him up, and then said,
“He's fifty-four is he not? Well, as you should understand, his age is a problem when it comes
to finding a suitable position for him.”

It was rather diplomatic of him, but I couldn't help myself, “Professor Dumbledore was over
a hundred and Headmaster of Hogwarts, and everyone said that he didn't need any help in the
Department of Mysteries against Voldemort. You mean the fact that Uncle Lupin's a werewolf is a
problem.”

The Minister looked down at me, his smiles for Connor falling away in an instant as he
commented, “Like your father, you are....” There was nothing in that statement that suggested a
compliment, and I did not take it as one, and then he admitted, “Yes, and his being a werewolf is a
problem. Not with me, of course, I have seen what he can do, what he is... but there are many
others who haven't. They will hear of his condition and refuse to associate with him, and then
some of them have lost family members to werewolves during the war. They may not be so
accommodating.”

“Then I don't want your job,” said Connor. “For I am a werewolf's son, he could bite
me.”

“He wouldn't!” said my mother, sharply, and I thought, unnecessarily. “And don't you
dare say such a thing, he's always worried that he could hurt you one day. That's not
something to make light about Connor Lupin.”

Connor's face flushed red but he looked at the Minister defiantly. The Minister smiled
again, again one that did not reach his eyes, and said, “I say that I'll see what I can do, a
person with your talents should not be allowed to waste them... but don't hold out hope.” Then
he turned to me and added, “And nor should someone of your potential power.”

“I'm not better than anyone else,” I replied.

“I believe there are many who would disagree with you. Attempted drowning becomes a Dementor,
cursed letter and a Kappa, and I've heard that you almost conjured a Patronus during the
Dementor attack. Not your father, but the fact that you managed to produce anything at all, that
you seem to have the presence of mind to think as you act to defend yourself... some would have
been flustered and fallen. Auror, Unspeakable or Healer, I expect great things from you, and you
already possess many of the qualities we desire of Aurors. Just ask your father... or not, he
didn't necessarily go through the ordinary channels,” he said.

“I like the position, Minister for Magic, better. More ground to realise my true potential,” I
replied, boldly. That statement about my father sounded like an insult and no one was just going to
insult my father in front of me, not even the Minister for Magic.

The smile he gave then looked put on, “I keep saying it, and yet it is true: you are just like
your father. I wish you well, Miss Potter.” He then straightened, nodded to Connor, and turned to
the Aurors, some of who I recognised now as colleagues of Dad's, and said, “What are you all
still doing here, didn't you hear what I said? Get moving on those lists! And no one speak to
the press! If I so much as read the words “reliable sources” you'll be at desks for the rest of
your lives.”

They immediately hurried out of the office, with him behind them, leaving me, my parents, the
teachers, Headmistress, portraits and Connor. And the door had barely closed behind them before
Professor Dumbledore's portrait spoke up, “Is the young Mr Lupin still present?”

Connor looked over to the portrait, surprised at being addressed and replied, “Y-yes sir...
I'm here.”

Professor Dumbledore looked him over for a moment and then said, “My, he does look a lot like
Remus, though I must add I see a touch of Nymphadora. But I wonder if as mischievous...? It's a
trend nowadays, I've noticed, to take after one's parents. Where are the days when one
lived to defy them...?” He took a moment to embrace his nostalgia, then said, “Do not worry for
Fenrir Greyback, he cannot harm you.”

Connor nodded, “I know sir... but my father, he hurt....”

Professor Dumbledore smiled at him, “That was a long time ago; he cannot hurt your family from
the confines of Azkaban prison. I believe saying that he cannot get to you in this school is now a
moot point, having been disproved repeatedly in the past weeks. And on a few notable occasions
during the war it was also shown that it is possible for one to escape the prison, but as I
understand it, he is in no ordinary cell.”

Connor nodded again and was silent. Then Dad spoke up, indicating the door through which the
Minister and the Aurors had gone, “Well now that they're gone.... Professor McGonagall, can
Susan take Connor back to his classes, please? I want us to talk, alone, now.”

Both Professor Bones and Connor looked at him, surprised, but Professor McGonagall nodded and
said, “Susan... please...?”

Professor Bones moved at once, leaving her seat before the Headmistress' desk and walking
towards the door with Connor behind her. But Connor was still holding my hand and was pulling me
after him when Dad said, “No, Lillie stays.”

He glanced back at me with a half-smile, then released my hand at once and continued on after
Professor Bones. Once we were sure that they were gone, Dad turned back to the others around the
Headmistress' desk and asked, “Has Trelawney said anything, made any predictions, readings,
anything that I should be worried about, or just know?”

The OGB said nothing and gave no visible reaction, and Professor McGonagall looked mildly
confused, but Professor Dumbledore gave him a sympathetic smile, and said, “As far as we know
Sybill Trelawney has made no prophecies in relation to your daughter. Severus here has been
watching her closely per my request since these attacks started, and reports that she has made no
mention of Magnolia or your family... or anyone or anything else save a few warnings under the
influence of some cheap sherry. I was assured that they were useless and incoherent.”

They didn't sound that way to me, but for some reason where I was rather quick to speak
before I could not bring myself to now. Not to mention that something was niggling at the back of
my mind, something about Professor Trelawney or what she'd said that I supposed I should
remember but couldn't at the moment. I knew it was important and more than once I opened my
mouth to voice it but it just slipped away. Then Dad saved me from having to though, when he said
next, “That doesn't mean anything, does it? Nothing really, anyway. Someone else could have a
prophecy out there with my daughter's name on it.”

“Not likely, not without the Ministry having a copy once it concerns your daughter,” said the
OGB. “And card-read warnings by a notorious fraud barely register as worthy of record. After all, a
warning is only useful if it is received and adhered to by the people they are intended for.”

He gave me a pointed look then and I met it with a challenge in my own. I dared him to say
something more, I wanted him to, and then I could tell everyone about his outburst in relation to
Dad's Mum. Now I knew how Uncle Lupin had got him to relieve me of detention, and why he was so
hands-on (as disturbing as that was) in his attempts at rescuing me. He was in love with my
grandmother, the greasy bat. She'd never have him though, never, I was sure of it.

Dad exhaled heavily, slowly, then and turned back to me, looking me directly in the eyes. This
broke my wordless battle of wills with the OGB, and it was to see the internal war raging behind
Dad's eyes again and know the fear that came with it. The fear that he couldn't, despite
all his attempts and conviction, actually protect me after all. It was a scary thing to see in
one's father's eyes and especially after one has just nearly been killed.

I released Mum at once, and half-ran, half-stumbled over to him, wrapping my arms tightly around
his waist and resting my head against his chest so I could hear the oh-so-wonderful sound of his
beating heart as I said, “I know that you won't let anything that you can stop happen to me,
Dad. And nothing more is going to happen to me because we're going to find and stop this
person. You said that I was going to have Dark Wizards but they're not Voldemort and since you
got Voldemort you're going to get them. After Voldemort everyone else is just like flobberworms
in a Potions classroom.”

I heard him smile, to my relief, as his hands went round my back, and he replied, “Interesting
analogy, my brave little witch.... And how do you propose *we* stop this person when I... when
I don't even know where to begin to look? Contrary to popular belief I had a lot of dumb luck
in my favour. I didn't know all the players either but there was a wealth of information about
them, with this person all I have to go on is that they want revenge. No clues, no hints, no
warnings... that's a pretty wide field, Lillie.”

“That's easy,” I replied though my mind raced to find a way that it could be. He was right;
he had a lot of help and a narrowed field once you got down to looking at how he got involved in
some of the more notorious incidents of his past. And then it came to me.

I pulled away from him and with a hopeful look to Mum, replied, “We do... we do what every great
detective does, we-we start at the beginning. The Ministry wants to find the Death Eaters or others
who might have a grudge... w-*we're* going to look at each attack, including the one on
Uncle Lupin I think, and try to-try to-to come up with an *idea* of the person capable of
do-use-*executing* each.... And then-then we're going to look at the Ministry's lists
and see if we find a match. And-and-and if we do, then you go off and get them while I stay here
and try to be safe.”

I looked between both, anxious for their approval, hoping that I sounded smarter to them than I
did to myself, and noted out of the periphery of my vision that the OGB looked mildly impressed, as
did Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore's portrait. Mum was still thinking it over
herself, but then she was smiling and Dad prised my arms from his midsection, where I'd still
been holding onto him, and set me back a few paces to study me carefully. Then he replied, “My
sweet Lillie, have I ever told you how much you're like your mother?”

Pleasantly surprised to find that I didn't sound like a complete idiot, I grinned. He
continued, “This sounds like the plan for me, and as an Auror I should be ashamed of myself for not
thinking of it first. I will concede, only this once that Professor Snape was right when he called
me a dunderhead. Otherwise he's a git.”

Behind him I saw the OGB scowl and Professor McGonagall did not bother to contain her amusement.
Only my mother made a soft tut-tutting sound that suggested she did not approve of his undermining
the authority of a teacher to his face.

But Dad was saying still, “And when we get him, whoever he is, he's going to have a lot of
explaining to do for trying to take someone as smart and beautiful and stubborn as you away from me
first. You saved my life, you know that... I never told you, but the promise of you was the one
thing that gave me the will to fight when it came down to it in the end—”

“Hey, what about me? You know... the person partly responsible for the existence of your great
promise?” interrupted Mum, in mock offence. “And that's pretty arrogant of you, Harry Potter,
thinking I'd fallen for you so much that you could envision our unborn children.”

He smiled mischievously, ignoring her, “—as a wizard of honour, it's only fair that I repay
the debt.”

*******

It is often when one is lying in bed late in the night, when all else is dark and silent and
asleep, that one is assailed by thoughts and memories long forgotten. I'd been sleeping so well
in the days past that it was strange to find myself lying in bed and staring at the ceiling once
again, knowing that sleep would not come. I could hear the unnatural silence of the fog without,
strangely comforting after today, the odd creaks and groans of the castle around us, which sent
chills up my spine and chest each time I heard them, and the even breathing of my roommates, long
deep in sleep, who I could not join.

I wanted Mum again, I wanted her to come to my room and lie with me until I fell asleep, as she
hummed some song to herself and wrapped her arm around me more secure than any blanket I could ever
receive. But she wasn't there and so I tried to distract myself by thinking about all the
things we had discussed in the Headmistress' office after the Minister had left.

The Minister had listed all the attacks on me save the one on Uncle Lupin that I was firmly
convinced was connected, though I wasn't sure how, in the order of how they'd occurred: My
near-drowning first by the girls under the Imperius Curse, the Dementor attack during detention,
the cursed letter on Christmas Day and then the Kappa in the Black Lake today. With the inclusion
of Uncle Lupin's attack, we'd managed to work out that each attack was only spaced by a
matter of days, save for the interval from Christmas Day to today which was most likely due to my
removal to Nice for the while. This gave us a profile, for he would then have to be a werewolf,
someone well-versed in the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures and old enough to have been
affected by the events of the Second War.

As werewolf registry was still mandatory Dad had said that he would check the records for
someone who fit the profile. Mum reminded him that it was possible that this person was bitten
during the war or had not registered at all, and he insisted that it couldn't hurt to check
anyway, and then against the list the other Aurors were drawing up at the Ministry. Here the OGB
suggested that they further check the list against one of former Hogwarts students in the period
seven years immediately preceding, during and seven post, their attendance. Professor McGonagall
agreed, and Dad begrudgingly accepted the idea, while Mum announced that she was also going to
speak to Uncle Lupin. For, after all, if it was true that the attack was connected then it
wouldn't hurt to find out exactly how much he remembered and who he thought may be
responsible.

My duty in all of this, apart from giving them the idea in the first place and being rewarded
with my father's praise, was to return to classes as usual, no objections.

Classes had been suspended for the rest of the day though, and I instead spent the time with
Connor lying across the sofa before the fireplace in the Common Room while he read aloud passages
from *Hairy Snout, Human Heart* and argued with Eoin when he had the audacity to complain.
(Eoin quickly learned that he was an intimidating, if not more formidable opponent than Rigel.) And
the only other interruptions were when one or two of our classmates came over to ask if I was all
right—I wasn't, once it had sunk in the frightening reality of my situation had left me
severely depressed and though I smiled away their concern, inside I just wanted to cry—and when we
had to go down to dinner.

I had missed lunch while in the Headmistress' office so I was starving by dinner time. But
as I walked into the Great Hall I was treated to the open stares and blatant whispers of my
schoolmates. Then Kimberly showed me the cover of the *Evening Prophet* which ran a report of
the attack that morning under the headline: “**Concerned Parents Want Magnolia Potter Out of
Hogwarts until Attacker Caught! Harry Potter Refuses to Comment!**” Connor took away the paper to
prevent me from reading the story beneath, but it was still the most difficult dinner I'd had
at school since the first weeks of my First Year. Eventually I was forced to retreat to Gryffindor
Tower, having barely eaten, in tears.

Lucky thing Connor, Hortense, Aisling and Kimberly all thought to bring me food. Too bad I
hadn't thought to save some of it, for it was guaranteed to be worse in the morning.

But while they discussed and complained about my situation and my parents and the Ministry had
their designated lines of investigation to follow, to the official exclusion of myself, I had mine.
And particularly in relation to Connor and the OGB, Connor and the comic book, per Rigel's
prompting, and Professor Trelawney and her strange predictions.

Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had both trivialised Professor Trelawney's
warnings, but sometime during the day, while I lay depressed in the Common Room, the niggling
memory finally came through. My father had told me once about the prophecy that Professor Trelawney
had made about him, and so I could understand why he'd been so anxious to discover if there was
one about me. The others had insisted though, that there was none and furthermore, that anything
she said otherwise wasn't really important.

That was not entirely true. For one, they were listening to the OGB, two, she may not have made
a prophecy but she had given me a warning. A warning she'd read from her tarot under the
influence of cooking sherry, an influence that I was now firmly convinced was rather good for her,
ironically.

Her warnings had been as vague as necessary: *“There is a terrible danger awaiting you child.
A vengeful foe of your family's past seeks to do you harm. Beware of the hound lover and his
attendant, their secret contact fuels dark fire. That phoenix will not be able to protect you; the
time has come that you will have to watch over yourself. Beware, beware*.... *Be warned,
actions have consequences and consequences will be delivered upon those who have wronged! Beware of
the hound lover, darkness surrounds him. Beware of the attendant, born of madness and consuming
hate,* death is her*. I have been watching you from the beginning, I was right the first time,
I am right now. Be vigilant when you walk into darkened woods.”*

On both occasions, she'd warned me within days of an attack, the first in the bathroom and
the second with the Dementors. She hadn't been around for the letter, the attack on Uncle Lupin
or the Kappa, and she hadn't been very specific about any so that besides being careful in the
forest and knowing that Fawkes was useless, there was really not much I could do to protect
myself.

But then still that was not exactly right. On both occasions she'd also spoken of a
“hound-lover” and his “attendant” who I was to be wary of. Until now I'd no idea what or who
she could be speaking of, now I knew. I'd met them both on previous occasions, and they had
actually confessed who they were though at the time I did not make the connection.

The “hound-lover” was Connor, as the meaning of his name made clear, and the “attendant”, by
default of a name change, was Camilla. The only “darkness” that I knew of surrounding Connor was of
his mother's family history, for the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had had a reputation
for the Dark Arts and his father being a werewolf. As for “madness” and “consuming hate, death is
her”, Camilla's mother was notoriously deranged and her father hated anyone who wasn't a
pureblood—which may have included himself considering the lengths he went to achieve immortality,
including murder—and her existence would have meant death for many. But Uncle Lupin wasn't a
bad person and Camilla had clearly taken after Uncle Neville, so why should I be wary of them?

The “dark fire” fuelled by their “secret contact”—which for the preservation of my good nature
I'd rather think of solely in terms of platonic conversation—could mean anything. Though “dark”
suggested Dark Magic, the thought that either of them would be involved in that—and especially
Camilla, who was well-advised to distance herself as much as possible from anything to do with the
Dark Arts should her secret ever be discovered—was not really something I wanted to entertain. But
it was the only explanation, wasn't it? And if it was and they were dabbling in Dark Magic,
why? To what purpose would either of them want to get involved with the Dark Arts? No good could
ever come of it, none.

The chilling notion that whatever they were involved in was having an unintended side effect in
the manifestation of the attacks on me was not something that I could ignore.

But before I could puzzle this further, wondering how I could approach either of them for
answers, I found myself nodding off. I was truly tired, and with nothing else to do my body had
decided to resist my mind and shut down. I resolved then, as I rolled over and drew my comforter up
to my neck, cocooning myself for imagined safety and comfort, that I was going to get answers
tomorrow from someone. This was too important to allow them to get away with refusing, and
especially from the person I was going to for them.

As he had the first day of school, Rigel was awaiting me as soon as I stepped out of the
portrait hole to go to classes. (Connor had spared me a difficult breakfast by going down early and
bringing up a couple of sandwiches, a glass of milk and a glass of grapefruit juice.) Completely
ignoring Connor beside me though, he stepped in front of me to block my path and asked, “How are
you? What did your parents say?”

It couldn't have happened better had I planned it. Hastily side-stepping him to add effect,
I said, “Can we talk later? I'll tell you at lunch... can we meet at lunch? We're kind of
late for class....”

“I know that, your boyfriend and I have Potions this morning. But it's a simple `yes' or
`no' question, just tell me, are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, we'll talk at lunch,” I said and hurried away with Connor, hoping desperately
he'd take the bait.

He did, and even better, since he had, Connor reluctantly decided to spend the rest of lunch in
the library, catching up on his studies. Once Rigel and I were free to talk then, and because we
needed privacy, I found us an empty classroom and locked, sealed and secured the room before
rounding on him and demanding, “Tell me everything about Connor, you and that comic book and
don't leave anything out or so-help-me I will *Crucio* you myself.”

I was greeted with raised eyebrows and a slight smirk. Understandably this displeased me. “Talk,
Rigel, we've got less than half-hour left to lunch and less than that even if Connor suspects
something.”

The smirk became a snort and he said, “What's this, keeping secrets from your boyfriend? You
know, trust is very important to the survival of any relationship. Is this what you would have done
if we were—”

I snapped and drew my wand. “Rigel Edmund Weasley, start talking! You've got until I count
to t—”

He cut me off by lunging forward and snatching my wand arm, trapping my wand in my hand like
he'd done that night in the dungeons, and said, “Fine, *fine*! Stop being so bloody
melodramatic, I'll—”

He was cut off himself when I shoved him off and said, “Then talk already, you're wasting
time! Something bad is going on, something that could *kill me*, and if you know something,
anything that could help, even if you don't think it will, I need to hear it Rigel.”

Annoyingly, I was near tears when I finished and was forced to roughly push him away when he
came to comfort me. I didn't need comfort, I needed answers and he was frustrating me by being
himself. He stayed away after I pushed him though, then sighed heavily and sat down nearby and
said, “Have you ever read the comic books?”

“Yes,” I replied, wearily, unsure of where this was going.

“Okay, well have you ever noticed anything... strange in the pages? Like drawings or words or
runes...?” he asked.

I had been shaking my head firmly all the while until he said “runes”, then I looked up at him
and asked, “Runes...?”

“Yes, runes,” he replied. “I know there are runes in the story, the ones he put in for the
riddles, but have you noticed any other, strange ones not in the places they're supposed to be?
Like in issues without runes?” he asked.

I thought back to New Year's Day in Nice when we'd had a discussion about it after Milo
had brought me the second year's issues. I nodded, “Milo had mentioned there being runes in the
pages. He said that Carl or Guillaume or one of the others had discovered them, but they
couldn't understand them so they thought that it was a secret message that had another key and
Mum said it might be an in-joke.”

“It's no joke,” said Rigel. “It's how he communicates with Camilla and whoever else is
in on their little secret when dealing with something they can't talk about. Have you ever seen
him with a sheet of paper that looks like Ancient Runes homework?”

I thought back, “I'm not sure... I think I've seen Camilla with something like
that.”

He nodded, “There you go.”

“But... I don't understand, communicates with... *What* can't they talk about?” I
asked.

He sighed heavily again and said, “Well, that's where we go into the Old Greasy Bat. Found
out what's going on between them yet?”

I shook my head.

He smiled, “Guessed you couldn't get anything out of them. Bat and Camilla wouldn't
dignify your questions with a response and the cub's bound to have a way to get you to drop
it.”

My cheeks reddened, I felt the hot blush deep, but I said nothing as he continued, “About a year
after Grandmother got visitation rights from the good magistrate she'd bribed, our beloved Bat
began paying visits to Malfoy Manor. Now we both know that he didn't have the right to leave
Hogwarts castle per his house arrest sentence, but someone in authority, possibly the same good
magistrate, granted him permission to leave it once or twice each fortnight during the holidays.
Grandmother conveniently invited him to Malfoy Manor so that he'd have some place to go and he
started showing up for brunch and tea.”

I interrupted then, “You mean to tell me that someone gave permission to Severus Snape, known
ex-Death Eater, to call on Mrs Malfoy, wife and mother of known, belated Death Eaters?”

“Hey,” said Rigel, with not even a hint of offence. “You're talking about my father and
grandfather there.”

I gave him a look and he flashed a smile, and continued, “Well, yes, like I was saying, he was
allowed to visit and he came. But he didn't come alone; almost as soon as he first started
visiting at the Manor he brought my cousin along with him. Little Connor Lupin the Metamorphagus,
son of a half-blood half-breed and werewolf, `cute as a button' to Grandma Weasley but not fit
to exist to Grandmother. She never said that to his face, of course, and treated him almost as well
as she treated me, gave him gifts to go home with, toys, clothes, money, more often money, and
books. Then his parents found out about it and he stopped coming, apparently they didn't take
too kindly to some of the gifts he'd been getting.”

I had a feeling I knew why.

“Anyway, after that I started seeing him at the Burrow, and one day I asked him about his
meetings with the Bat, why was he with him and things like that, and being the good little boy that
he often is he told me. The Bat, at his mother's request or plea or whatever, was teaching him
to brew potions, with specific attention towards the Wolfsbane. She was too clumsy and afraid that
she'd poison Cousin Remus, and then afraid that something would happen to her or the Bat one
day she decided that Cousin Remus' only hope was that their son would learn how to do it. She
entrusted the life of her only child into the hands of a man her husband considered an enemy for
most of his life... there's Cousin Nymphadora for you.

“I didn't think anything of what he'd told me then, though, I thought he was lying. But
when Connor came to Hogwarts he proved that he wasn't, and that the Bat had taken advantage of
the situation to give Connor an almost unfair advantage over everyone else. He knew more magic than
most of the class and practically breezed through our First and Second Years. But it wasn't
entirely the Bat's doings. Connor really is very smart, and probably is a very powerful wizard,
more powerful than me, you and Camilla combined. I reckon with the OGB at his side he could give
your Dad and my Mum a run for their money someday.... And this is how we get to the comic
book.”

I interrupted then, “He told me that it isn't entirely his doing, the comic book. That Uncle
Lupin helps him, which is the `Kveld-Ulf' in the name.”

“Well, yes, but the main ideas of the story are and remain his. Dean Thomas and Cousin Remus are
officially in charge of the editing of the story but Connor is in charge of everything else. Do you
think he didn't know people were going to start talking about you being Thora? The comic
book's been controversial from the beginning, and he just keeps including stuff to keep the
momentum going. You were just perfect for the plot, they're reporting over a million new
subscribers and a seventy-five percent jump in sales from people dying to know how you'll fit
into the story. You're the perfect girlfriend, you know that?”

I snatched my wand up and pointed it at him, the hex on the tip of my tongue, but he smiled and
put his hands up in mock-surrender. “But I doubt he's using you for material. He's not that
stupid, he's completely in like with you... especially when he's not around Camilla.
I'm sure you have nothing to fear from that dark-eyed beauty who stirs the—”

The hex trapped his tongue to the roof of his mouth, silencing him until I got bored of his
glare and released him. I could have ignored it, Camilla, Connor and he were all second cousins,
though he didn't know that, but I didn't want to. And once I'd freed him, he continued
as if nothing had happened, “Since he's in charge of the plots, there are certain things he can
include in them when he wants to. I'm guessing that they have to purchase the comics from the
stores so he has to encrypt and include the message in them all. Other people may discover the
message, like Milo, but they can't read it, and he probably doesn't do it often, so it may
be difficult for them to attempt to decipher it. Plus the comic book may be released each full moon
but demand means that it's always being reprinted and he could include the message in a
reprint.”

“So that's the secret of Connor and the comic book? It's a means of communication?” I
asked.

“No, that's part of it. The secret is that the OGB has been tutoring Connor for years,
Connor's really smart and he's been using what he learnt for his own purposes. The OGB
doesn't know about the comic book so he doesn't know about what's going on between
Connor and Camilla,” replied Rigel.

It did not take long for me to realise the implications of this then, and I said without
thinking, “Do you think they're involved in Dark Magic?”

Rigel, understandably surprised, quirked both eyebrows, before replying, “If he's going to
these lengths to conceal it, what do you think? The OGB believes that he's the one benefiting
from this arrangement, that with Connor `under his wing' he's getting revenge for what
Cousin Remus and his friends put him through, and then maybe, has a little protégé.... Me and
Camilla, we're just for appearances, we're being taught because he's really a
`benevolent', but strict man everyone misunderstands, and Grandmother is an old friend and
asked nicely, and Uncle Neville can't give Camilla the guidance she needs.

“But I don't need his help, my mother is considered a very powerful witch in her own right
and I take more after her than my cowardly father, thank goodness. Camilla's a natural, so
she's not even in his league. And what the Bat doesn't realise is that Connor is the one
benefiting most, he may have taught and is still teaching him but he's doing a lot right under
his nose and getting away with it. Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if he actually has been
meddling in the Dark Arts.”

I sat looking at him in silent shock for a while then. I knew that Rigel didn't like Connor,
so he could say anything he wished about him, but he wasn't one to lie to me. That knowledge
more than anything I'd heard so far sent a chill down my spine. This was too outlandish for him
to make up, and though I hadn't heard everything about Connor's conversation with the OGB
what I had heard wasn't encouraging. I suppressed another chill before asking, “Should I be
worried then?”

“Oh no, I don't think so. Connor's a good person, almost too good, if he's doing
anything wrong you can be guaranteed that there's a good intention behind it,” he replied.

I shook my head, “But my mother always said that—”

“`—the path to hell is paved with good intentions, not bad ones. All men mean well'? That
Muggle quote? Voldemort certainly didn't mean well, and the guy who's after you.... I think
the better quote for this situation is `revenge is a dish best served cold', for a lot of
people are trying to get it and they're not in any hurry,” he replied.

Another long silence passed between us then. Rigel helpfully said nothing so that I could
process what he'd told me and I looked away out the window at the fog-shrouded world wondering
why I'd asked. I didn't want Connor to be a Dark Wizard-in-training, and especially given
his parents I didn't want someone like my father one day having to kill him. Uncle Lupin loved
Connor more than the air he breathed, that was a fact no one could dispute, and even Rigel had had
to acknowledge that. For Connor to become something he'd long fought against....

But Rigel had said that he was a good person. Good people didn't dabble in the Dark Arts
though, not if they were truly good. Did Connor not understand what his father suffered because
people thought of him only as a Dark Creature? Did he not know how much Uncle Lupin had had to
fight against being ascribed a monster when he'd done nothing wrong? How much he had to fight
against a part of himself each month so that he would not kill his family, or worse?

And what if these things were affecting me? The chilling notion was back and would not go away
now. Not when it seemed that my boyfriend was inadvertently killing me.

Finally I looked away from the window and asked, “What about you, are you just telling me this
because you're jealous? Don't do anything blatant to break us up, but appeal to my strict
sense of morality?”

He gave a strange smile. “Why would I want to come between you and my cousin? We've been
friends longer than you two have known each other and been... dating. I'm not worried;
it'll take more than a boyfriend to break us up. However, if you want to break up with him I
will not object, three's a crowd after all, and that would definitely offend your `moral
sensibilities'.”

Just then the bell rang, sparing him my response. Possibly suspecting that I was going to
respond, and snappily too, he stood up abruptly and said, “Well then, see you later. I'll be
looking out for you at the Quidditch match, don't try anything stupid like miss it to snog your
boyfriend. I'll tell your Dad you never got up on that *Quasar* *Mach I* he took his
hard-earned money and precious time to find for you.”

“I don't want to play, leave me alone,” I replied, rising to leave as well.

“You know, your Dad's never asked you to do anything for him, ever. But the one time he asks
you to do something you refuse. What's the big deal about getting on the broom? So he wants you
to play Seeker, surely you can just try that one thing for him?” he said.

I glared at his back as we finally left the classroom and he began heading down the hall to his
next class.

“I saw that young lady, get up on that broom. You never know, maybe you'll like it,” he said
over his shoulder. “If not I happen to know someone who could benefit greatly from a new broom. Mum
refuses to buy one and she's forbidden Grandmother on pain of going back to court.”

I rolled my eyes and walked away, willing the light-hearted parting to shove away my dark
(ha-ha) thoughts on Connor. But in time to come I would actually fly the Quasar, though under
circumstances much different from anything any of us had envisioned.

When all these things came to a head, instead of helping my House secure the Quidditch Cup I
would be flying for my life.

-->



17. Chapter Seventeen
---------------------



**A/N:** *I don't really like the first part of this chapter, but I leave it to you, as
always, to form your own opinion. If the next chapter is a bit late, don't be too concerned,
I'm planning on getting the OotP video game this weekend and looking around for an IMAX theatre
to see the movie. Somehow I better benefit from this Harry Potter obsession, or I'm going to be
really sorry. Enjoy. :D*

**Disclaimer:** *Not mine, what, you think I'd be crazy enough to try to claim anything
except the OCs? Why, and get sued for money I don't have? *blink**

*******

**Chapter Seventeen**

I would receive no news about the search for my attacker for the rest of the week. It appeared
that once they'd been set on their respective paths, my parents and the Ministry had determined
that I did not need to know anything more until they'd captured him, whoever he was. In fact,
what I did learn was from the press, and most of it was speculation on whether Dad had actually
vanquished Voldemort in the first place and more letters from concerned parents demanding my being
sent home. I could then be forgiven for their silence making me rather upset. And it did not help
that I was preoccupied with my conversation with Rigel.

The effect that it had on my relationship with Connor was immediate and irreversible.

Straight away, I found myself drawing away from his touch. When he caught up with me that lunch
just before I went off to my next class, I merely smiled at him half a hallway apart and hurried
away. I stuck close to Aisling or Kimberly between classes too, just to have an excuse to keep away
from him. Then after classes ended for the day I excused myself from spending time with him
altogether by claiming that I was really tired and needed to sleep. His reluctant acceptance of my
excuse spoke volumes.

I did not sleep that night, but instead spent the time watching him in the library and the
Common Room on the Marauder's Map. Before the night was up I knew that we could not continue
like this.

I had no proof of wrongdoing other than my own suspicions and Rigel's word, both which
counted for nothing without physical evidence. If I was to be sure of what I suspected I'd have
to find the runes in the comic book, decipher them myself and follow their trail. This wasn't
as simple as it sounded; I didn't have the key and even in the event that it turned out to be
nothing I would have already alienated Connor for life by implying it. And then still he hadn't
really done anything that would suggest “Dark Wizard”.

He loved his father, of that I was sure; I would never forget the look on his face as he stood
at the entrance doors clutching his bloodied body that morning. He'd risked severe punishment
and his life to see him on the night of a full moon, a foolish thing to do indeed, but knowing that
he was in Hogsmeade must have been a temptation too great to resist. Aunt Tonks had talked about
Uncle Lupin being drawn to his son, but from what I'd learned it was clear that the attraction
was mutual.

He was also a rather courageous person, in the vein of the “True Gryffindor” people often
claimed my father to be. Sneaking out of school was one thing, but the night the Dementors attacked
his decision to fight back was as immediate as it was unshakeable. And I was sure that, had he been
there, he might have joined the Seventh Years fighting the Kappa.

When he'd learned of his mother's deception, he quickly forgave her, knowing that the
child would be, and was most welcome. And his excitement at the birth of his little sister was
undeniably genuine. He never spoke of it, but I was sure that he took great pleasure from the
knowledge that the success of the comic book meant that his family didn't really have to worry
about his father being out of work. Why else would he throw the Minister's job offer back in
his face? Well, apart from the fact that he was also recruiting him based on his morphing abilities
alone. Otherwise, he was always respectful, polite and willing to help, and took Rigel's, and
others', torment with grace I could never hope to achieve. It was impossible that someone like
that could be evil.

But then, the same could have been said of Lord Voldemort when he was Tom Riddle, according to
Dad.

Every question I'd ever had about Connor had been answered in that one conversation with
Rigel. About Rigel's statement on his Potions ability, about his ingenuity in the Dementor
attack that allowed him to try to face them head on, about his trips to Malfoy Manor as a child and
who had taken him. I even had an idea now of why Rigel didn't like him, and it was, for all
intents and purposes, a good reason. Professor Trelawney had read her cards and seen it fit to warn
me after all.

And he had bad qualities too, for with his courage came recklessness, a very liberal view of
rules and the capacity to overlook the transgressions of others if they did not appear to harm.
Rigel was right about Aunt Tonks being wrong about lying to Uncle Lupin, no matter if I understood
her rationale.

The conversation had also provided many more questions, like what was he up to with Camilla and
whoever else he communicated with through the comic books? How far into the Dark Arts had they
already gone? To what purpose could they possibly need to? And most important, to me at least, how
many were involved?

Pondering this would give nightmares while I was still wide-awake. The most horrifying thought
I'd so far managed being that, instead of Dark Wizards trying to prove themselves by killing me
or Dad, this one was trying to get close to me. In that way he would better learn my weaknesses and
strengths before deciding to do me in. If he wanted to know—though he probably already did—despite
Camilla's best efforts and some noted improvement, I was still a long way from being a force to
be reckoned with.

I resolved to pretend then, that all was fine until I could be absolutely sure. The next day I
greeted him with a kiss and a smile and apologised profusely for leaving him the night before. His
smile lit up his whole face as he waved it off and walked down with me to breakfast. By the end of
the day I realised that this was a mistake and that I'd somehow managed to put up an invisible
wall between us.

In addition to drawing away from his touch, I began to take a greater interest in his work, so
that whenever I was with him I had to see what he was doing and whenever we were apart I would spy
on him with the map. I stuck closer to him than I would normally, and found myself more than once
overanalysing an exchange with a classmate or a teacher, or even a look across a hall. I barely
knew his friends and he barely knew mine, which I previously had attributed to our being in
different years and our relationship being so new, but now I wondered if there was a purpose behind
it. And then at one point when he outright asked why I was interrogating him over a letter he'd
been given by a Ravenclaw girl in his year, I jokingly lied that I was worried that he was cheating
on me while wishing deep that that was the case.

I realised at once that this could not go on, and my conscience at last caught up with me,
demanding answers for my behaviour. I had become the nightmarish clingy-girlfriend *Witch
Weekly* warned against. The pang guilt that followed was so unbelievably real and painful I
nearly cried.

On that stormy Hogsmeade day when I first caught his smile through the display in Honeydukes I
hadn't really felt anything towards Connor Lupin other than embarrassment that I didn't
know anything about him at all. He had known a lot about me, courtesy of his father, and was kind
enough not to point it out. But in a few short weeks, he had managed to work his way into my
consciousness so that the thought that he should do something that could break us up—as meddling in
Dark Magic definitely could—actually caused physical pain. Absurdly, I fancied it more terrifying
than having to endure another attack, but the wall was already up and until I got the truth either
way, it wasn't coming down.

I was going to lose him, and that made me hate Rigel for telling me the truth. But there I had
it, I never was one for letting things go, I just *had* to know.

To make matters worse I could not just approach him and demand answers as I would have of Rigel.
The git was right when he said that Connor had ways of getting me to drop things, and his favourite
manner was with a smile that was usually the prelude to a kiss. I didn't want those kisses now,
no matter what I felt when I was with him, but they worked every time. And then I didn't know
how to begin the conversation in the first place. I couldn't simply go to him and say, “Say
Connor, you wouldn't happen to be a Dark Wizard-in-training, would you? I wouldn't have
considered it, but after your Dad was attacked I overheard you and Snape talking and....”

This had to end. I was hurting us both, myself more than anything, and that I didn't
want.

No one ever said that Connor, and Kimberly, were fools though.

It would be Kimberly who would confront me about it first. Of course anyone finding me in the
dormitory gazing sadly out the window on a free Friday mid-afternoon would be concerned. Though it
hadn't worked the first time around I had decided to avoid him again. Knowing that I had a
boyfriend though, she marched right over to my bed and demanded, “What did he do? Is it Camilla? I
wouldn't be surprised, everyone keeps talking about the way the two of them are—”

Without turning to her I shook my head, “No. It's not Camilla... and I'm not sure that
he really did do... anything... wrong....”

I could hear the confusion and scepticism in her voice when she asked, “So why are you here when
he's down there looking up the stairs like he really is going to risk detention trying to get
up them?”

She sat down on my bed then and waited for my answer. I didn't give one at first, but just
as she was about to speak again, I confessed, “He hasn't done anything wrong, nothing I could
prove anyway and... well, I know I'm being stupid... but—”

Kimberly reached for my hand then, cutting me off, and said as sympathetically as she could
manage, “And why haven't you let your Dad and Rigel kill him yet? I mean, I know he's cute
but that doesn't mean he should get away with hurting you—”
“He hasn't hurt me. I told you he hasn't done anything wrong to *me*,” I replied.

She did not miss it. “Well if he didn't hurt you, what did he do that was so wrong that you
can't be in the same room with him? 'Cause I'll tell you, I can pretty much forgive
anything if I'm being snogged by Connor Lupin.”

I opened my mouth to answer, then shut it again, deciding it was better not to. Logic was on her
side anyway. Then, sighing, I turned and slid off the bed, and said, “You're right, he
hasn't done anything wrong to me. I'm such a goody-two-shoes thanks to Mum and Dad...
it's nothing. I should go talk to him.”

Understandably confused, Kimberly scrambled off the bed and caught up with me just before the
door. Blocking my path like Rigel had done, she said, “That's it? You're upset with him,
you come up here to hide, I ask you what's wrong, you give me *nothing*, then you decide
that you're being silly and you're going to see him again...? What did I miss here? Oh
right, you can't me *nothing*!”

“I'm sorry,” I apologised half-heartedly. “But you gave me advice anyway.”

I left her in my wake stammering and swearing in frustration.

But Connor was no less suspicious. The moment I was down the stairs he hurried over from the
sofa and said, “We need to talk.”

“About?” I asked, pretending to be confused.

He didn't buy it for a second. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”

I stifled a sigh, knowing that I was partially in the wrong, and led the way out of the Common
Room. But Connor, in a move that did not at all help his case, stopped us before the stairs when he
stepped over to a statue just down the hall from the Gryffindor Tower entrance, tapped it twice
with his wand and it rolled away to reveal a secret room. I looked in at it in surprise, I
didn't remember seeing that on the map, but then I wasn't often looking for hiding place.
He smiled encouragingly though and I followed him in.

The statue had barely slid back into place behind us again before he turned to me, nervously
running his hands through his hair and said, “Just tell me the truth... do you really like me? I
mean, you're not just... with me because I kissed you... are you?”

I looked at him stunned, and mildly offended that he would think that. Then again I *had*
resolved earlier this week to pretend to be his girlfriend as normal until I sussed out his dark
(mind the pun) secret. I replied, “I'm sorry...?”

He flushed magenta and swallowed nervously before stammering, “It-it's just that-that I...
well....” He stopped, took a deep breath and replied, “It seems that you've been avoiding me
since Wednesday. And well, I was worried that you, well, that you didn't like me anymore or you
didn't at all and you were just trying to get rid of me. Because, I could take it, you know...
you could tell me that it's over and I'd accept it.”

He appeared so genuinely anxious, the look in his eyes suggesting that he'd die if I
confirmed his fears though he tried to keep his face calm and confident, that I had to wonder how I
could have ever considered or connected him to anything evil. He stood uneasily, eyes desperately
searching my face for the smallest sign of hope while forcing his hands to his sides as if to
prevent himself from reaching out to me and, I imagined, either begging or strangling me.

I shook away the last thought and smiled. Instead of reassuring him this seemed to worsen his
fears, for now he looked truly crestfallen, and I hastily grinned and said, “Oh, no Connor, I still
do like you. It's just that... well, with all that's happened to me in the past few days...
I needed some time to myself. I know I should have said something, but....”

I allowed my sentence to trail off as he smiled brightly, relieved, and then leaned forward to
kiss me. But with his lips just a hair's breadth from mine, I put my hand to his chest and
stopped him. He immediately stepped away, confused, and understandably so, but before he could
question my actions, I plunged, “Rigel told me something... too, that might have... well, it had me
wondering.”

His face fell quickly, and I thought I caught a hint of anger in his darkening irises, but he
said nothing, allowing me to ask, “Professor Snape took you to Malfoy Manor when you were
younger?”

I hoped that it sounded purely innocent, and that he'd respond unlike the last time when
I'd asked if the OGB was giving him private lessons. He did, but not exactly as I'd hoped.
In fact he asked, clearly suspicious, “Was that why you were acting so weirdly yesterday, and then
avoiding me Wednesday and today?”

Damn he was observant, and quick. I hastened to reassure him, and cut off his train of thought
before he completely cottoned on, saying, “No! Well, not exactly, it had nothing to do with that...
he just... well, I was upset and he made it worse. (I mentally apologised to Rigel) So you and
Snape, what, is he your godfather or something?”

Still looking at me with suspicion, he replied, “My mother wanted me to learn to brew Wolfsbane,
she asked him to help me. But some days when I came to Hogwarts for his lessons he was going to the
Manor and he'd take me with him. What did Rigel tell you? That I'm some kind of fraud
because I want the life he has, and that I secretly hate my father for not being born a bigoted
pureblood bastard?”

I couldn't be sure that he meant Rigel or his father and paternal grandfather, so I replied,
“Hey!”

He refused to clarify. “I don't want his life. I'm well on my way to being able to
afford something comfortable, legitimate. I don't hate my father for being a werewolf. It's
not his fault and he doesn't go around attacking people. I only went to the Manor because I was
seven and Professor Snape can be... scary.”

For no good reason at all, I snorted, and put my hands to my mouth, mortified. “I'm sorry; I
didn't mean to do that....”

He did not look amused, lifting an eyebrow at me, but when he spoke I could hear the smile in
his voice, “You think Professor Snape being scary is funny? Or is it my choice of word...?”

I had to suppress a grin this time, and he let the smile through, and said, “I like to see you
laugh.”

He was making it very difficult for me to distrust him. And this time when he made to kiss me, I
didn't stop him.

Of course, once again he'd gotten me to drop the issue.

*******

We would never see the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw match. On account of the heavy fog alone odds
were pretty high that they would have cancelled it anyway... had my attacker not stormed Gryffindor
Tower in the middle of the night.

How he got into the castle in the first place would be explained in time to come, but when he
finally made his presence known, he did it with a bang, or rather, “BOOM!”

Still wide awake, I was startled right off the bed when I heard it, the sound that would later
be identified as that of the Fat Lady's portrait being blasted away. At the time though, I sat
upright on the ground, clutching at my comforter while stifling an “Ow!” at the shooting pains in
my bum wondering stupidly what it was. A second later I began to get frightened, aided by my
roommates all sitting up as well, alarmed and demanding, “What was that?”

Then, my breathing constricted in my chest and my heart began to skip beats, as I replied, “I-I
I don't know....”

*CRASH! BOOM! CRACK!* And then the sound of breaking glass, paper being torn and cushions
pulverised. Shortly thereafter there came the panicked and horrified screams, shrieks and shouts of
our Housemates as they were shaken awake and realised that we were under attack.

“What the hell? Has Peeves lost his mind?” demanded Kimberly, stumbling off her bed to go to the
door. In the dark bedroom, though I could not see their faces, I knew that the others weren't
thinking Peeves the culprit. And Cass confirmed it when she said, her voice trembling, “Kimberly...
Kimberly come away from the door... don't go to the—”

The loud klaxon wail that followed cut her off and someone screamed, “He's coming up the
stairs!”

Now I flew off the ground, snatched my wand and raced to the door with Kimberly. She nearly
collided with me on her way back for hers, but when she got to her bed, Bridget was waiting and
held her to it. “Don't go Kimberly, let Lillie....”

With outrage that made me feel a thrill of pride, she screamed at her, “Let me go you stupid
twat! Lillie's in trouble! I'm not going to stand here and let someone get her!”

“They could come after us next!” snapped Jessie, then slapped her hands over her mouth and
hastily apologised through them, “I'm so sorry, Lillie... I....”

Kimberly finally shrugged off Bridget then and hurried over to me, saying, “Since the alarms
went off it means that it's a boy-*man* and he can't come up the stairs. If we stay up
here we're safe... but I mean, I used to walk up slides when I was little... he could do the
same thing. Maybe we can stop him before he gets up...?”

I nodded, and opened the door to run out into the hall, not caring that I was just in my pyjamas
and barefoot, but was stopped in my tracks by the sight of most of the other Gryffindor girls,
including Aisling, already there. They were running up and down the hall in the dark, the only
lights coming from the wands of the prefects and a few others, and everyone was shouting. It was a
loud confused message of: “Go back to your rooms! He *can't* come up the stairs! Come see!
Come see! He's trying to come up the stairs! Where's Magnolia! Go back! Come on!” And still
over that all was the klaxon wail and, curiously, the sound of furniture being destroyed again in
the Common Room below.

Kimberly and I quickly decided that it was best to remain in our room after all, and were
stepping back when Aisling and Hortense came struggling through the crowd, and Hortense nearly
yelled in my face, “Get back in there and lock the door! Don't come out! Go! Now!”

She began to shove her way in, with me and Kimberly in the process, when all of the girls'
dormitories were silenced by a shout from the boys'. Possibly realising that he would never
make it up the stairs without being caught, my attacker changed tack and headed up to the boys, and
most likely with the hope of finding a way in from there. Clearly this was no Hogwarts student, for
he would have known there was none.

But the shout scared me more than the klaxon wail. Connor was in the boys' dormitories.

I pushed past Aisling and Hortense at once, then through my Housemates in the hall to the
stairs. A prefect grabbed me at the top, a Sixth Year I didn't know, but not thinking clearly,
I shrugged her away and stepped—then slid all the way down into the Common Room. I was barely
standing upright when I was joined by Kimberly and many of the others, as well as the boys running
down the stairs trying to get away. All was dark and chaos, heated and loud, hands, feet, wands,
sharp and slippery debris and anxious thoughts of missing others, in other words, pandemonium.

I could never find Connor in this, I was sure of it.

Kimberly took the initiative to call for him then, but her shouts were drowned in the flurry of
others from equally-worried siblings and friends. If this was the effect my attacker had been going
for, he'd achieved it perfectly. Desperate, I looked up towards the boys' dormitories,
hoping that Connor was already down and looking for me, and contemplated the risk of quick run up
to check myself. But just then, finally, we were joined by Professor McGonagall, the other teachers
and a few of the Aurors who had been reposted to the school after the Kappa attack, as well as a
number of Ravenclaw prefects and their Housemates.

The Aurors and teachers, led by the Headmistress, came in wands drawn, there was a moment where
we all stopped looking at them and then we all attempted to shout his location at once. Somehow or
the other the OGB sussed that it was the boys' dormitories and led the Auror charge up them.
And as they went, we followed, pushing and shoving in hopes of getting to see the capture for
ourselves. One of the teachers turned round to shout us back down though, and it was at that moment
that we heard the window being blasted away.

Everyone froze. Then surged frantically ahead for the stairs once more just as a series of
colourful flashes swept past one of the Common Room windows, and someone called out, “He's
getting away! He's flying away!”

I turned to head back, now desperate to see who it was if nothing else, when someone snatched me
around the waist and spun me to face them. I screamed, at first in terror, then delight, as I
recognised Connor, smiling happily down at me, and threw my arms round his shoulders, drawing him
into a tight, but relieved embrace. I could feel his heart racing in his chest, and hear his
laboured breathing against my ear, and feel the frightened shivers that rocked his whole body and
know that he'd been just as worried about me. I didn't want to let him go ever again... but
just then the OGB came down the stairs, pushed his way through the other students and pulled us
apart.

When we looked at him confused, it was to hear Professor McGonagall's say, “Take Miss Potter
to my office, Severus, and contact her parents immediately... and the Ministry....”

The others who weren't still looking out the window at my long-gone attacker now turned back
to look at me. Their silence, more noticeable now that the attack was over, was more telling than
any words they could have used. I turned to follow the OGB out, docilely, and then Connor grasped
my hand and the OGB stopped.

“Not you, Mr Lupin. Not this time.”

I turned to Professor McGonagall, making no attempt to conceal the tears that were forming in my
eyes and were clearly audible in my voice, “Please ma'am... please...?”

She looked at me for a moment, and then nodded. The OGB marched us out of Gryffindor Tower
without further protest.

Everything that followed happened rather quickly.

Connor and I were taken to the Headmistress' office, as ordered, and left standing near the
doorway while the OGB went to Professor McGonagall's desk and wrote out two letters, one to my
parents, the other to the Ministry. A short while after he left to send them, Professor McGonagall
arrived and offered us a seat and tea and biscuits. Connor did not touch his, and I barely drank
anything, for each time I lifted my cup I found that my hands shook so badly that I just ended up
sloshing it all over myself. Connor eventually took the cup away and held both my hands in his lap,
while I stared listlessly out the window at the moonless night.

I assumed that the OGB would return with my parents, but when he did he was joined by the
Minister for Magic who said when he saw me, “Why is she not dressed? And where are her things? Her
escort is on its way.”

“What?” Professor McGonagall, Connor and I exclaimed in unison.

He looked at us each, openly annoyed, “Surely you don't think I'm going to let this girl
remain in the castle after this?”

“The Ministry has no jurisdiction over this school!” said Professor McGonagall, angrily. “If
anyone is to make any decisions as to whether or not Miss Potter remains or leaves it will be me...
and the Board of Governors of course.”

The Minister was unfazed. “I've already consulted your Board of Governors, and they in turn
should be communicating to the Potters that their daughter shall not spend another night in this
castle. Not until we have the person responsible for these attacks in custody at least.”

“What?” Professor McGonagall demanded, clearly enraged. “How dare you! How dare they....”

The Minister turned to me, ignoring her, “Miss Potter, please go and get your things. Do you
have an owl? You may wish to get that as well, I'm afraid that you're going to have to
leave Hogwarts until fur—”

“I will not!” I snapped. “You can't put me out, Professor McGonagall is Headmistress and as
long as she says I can stay, I will!”

He arched an eyebrow at me, as if surprised and amused at my response, and said, “And what about
your Housemates? Your (he looked down at my hands in Connor's) boyfriend here? I don't
believe they share similar views on your situation. As a matter of fact, I doubt you'll find
one among them who wouldn't prefer it that you were gone until this matter is over.... Save
your boyfriend, of course, but you wouldn't want to risk his safety unnecessarily, would
you?”

I remembered the way my Housemates had looked at me, and was concerned about Connor, but I
wasn't going to be bullied. I said boldly, “My father's Harry Potter, this will never be
over. What am I going to do, run away every time someone decides to come after me?”

His face suddenly went an unpleasant puce and he said angrily, “Unfortunately, this is not your
or your parents' decision to make. There are over a thousand students in this school and their
parents have to be catered to as well. If they say you have to go, like they have been saying for
days now, then you're going.”

The door to the office suddenly burst open behind us and my father charged in, took one look
around, and demanded, “What the hell is he doing here?”

Professor McGonagall replied calmly, “I'm afraid I had to call him, Mr Potter. There are
Aurors on the grounds and they would have had I not.”

She made no attempt to look ashamed of this admission, or the unspoken one. Dad nodded to her
and walked over to me, his expression softening with each step, before he said, “Are you alright,
Lillie?”

I nodded, but said shakily, “He couldn't get into the girls' dormitories.”

When he stood before me he quickly pulled me up into a hug, and then asked, “So it's a man
then? Did anyone see what he looked like?”

Professor McGonagall replied behind us, “No, it was too dark and in the panic he started when he
destroyed the Common Room, he managed to get through them unseen. He actually escaped through a
window in the boys' dormitories.”

Dad looked back to her, “I thought those couldn't be opened.”

“He destroyed it, and then flew away on a broom or something he had waiting nearby. He's
quite possibly long gone by now anyway,” said Professor McGonagall, sadly. “I've had to move
the students to the Great Hall....”

“Isn't the school warded?” asked Dad.

“He got through them,” replied the OGB.

Suspecting that he was being ignored, the Minister said then, “Mr Potter, your daughter has to
leave.”

I fully expected Dad to refuse, so then was completely stunned when he said, “She will.”

When I stepped away from him, out of his arms, to demand an answer, he said, “We have no choice,
Lillie, we can't risk the lives of the other students. This person got into Gryffindor Tower.”
But as he spoke, with his back to the Minister, the OGB and Professor McGonagall, he winked at
me.

I stared at him for a moment, and then nodded mutely.

Then he straightened and said, “Connor, why don't you take Lillie back so that she can get
some of her things... don't worry, you'll have an escort. I'll come to meet you so we
can leave.”

There was something about the way that he said “we” that made me look at him curiously, but then
Connor took my hand and began to leave the office and I quietly followed. Before the door closed
behind us I heard Dad turn to the Minister and say, “I don't like this, but you're right...
we can't risk the safety of the other children. It's just a good thing it's the
weekend, or I'd never gotten Hermione to agree....”

When we got back to Gryffindor Tower it was conspicuously and devastatingly empty. The
Headmistress' order of evacuation had been heeded immediately and absolutely, but in their wake
my Housemates had left their silence and it filled the room and me with a terrible sadness. But it
also made it easy for me to go back up to the girls' dormitories, with a female Auror at my
side of course, to pack my trunk. With no questions sent my way in rapid-fire succession, I said
nothing all the while, but found myself steadfastly biting back my tears, as I refused to give in
to my emotions and thoughts.

I didn't want to leave; it was admitting defeat to leave, it was wrong for me to leave
before the school year ended. And then how long was I supposed to stay away? What if they never
found my attacker, like they hadn't caught that Marcus Flint or Peter Pettigrew? What was I to
do then? My father wasn't teaching me anything and though my mother was willing, she
couldn't possibly give up her career to teach me magic at home. I didn't want her to do
that, I'd been at school three years now but was only just getting used to being away from
them.

Thinking of being home made me think of something else. I wouldn't be able to see Connor,
Rigel, Aisling, Hortense or Kimberly again, or at least not until breaks. My siblings and the
others would go off to school and I would be at home, put out because they couldn't find the
person after me. It was only a matter of time before they forgot about me, and Connor, who knows
what he could get up to... like get another girlfriend, and I'd been so awful to him in the
last few days....

That did it; I couldn't stop the sob that burst out, or the others that came after. The
tears flowed freely, blinding me as I packed my trunk, and eventually I had to sit back and cry a
while before I could finish. My Auror escort said nothing all the time, nor attempted to comfort
me, and for that I was most grateful. I didn't need comfort then, I needed to cry.

Once I was done I changed at once, taking care to wash my face, then donning my cloak, scarf,
hat and gloves, checked around to ensure that I had everything, and allowed her to lead me out to
the Common Room. My father was waiting for me there with Connor and the Headmistress, and once I
was with them she continued with the other Auror out into the hall. My father gave me a sad smile
and said, “We're taking the Floo home, and Connor here, has kindly asked to accompany us just
to be sure you're okay. Professor McGonagall and I see no problem with that.”

I looked over to him and smiled, then back to Dad and asked, “How long am I going to be
home?”

“Only the weekend,” he replied. “There's no way in hell someone is going to stop you from
getting your education. Besides, I haven't told your mother yet.”

Even Professor McGonagall smiled at that, and then he said, “Come on then. It's getting
late.”

Quietly, without a note to the others, or even a parting look, we went back to the
Headmistress' office and Flooed home to Godric's Hollow. And me, Dad and Connor were barely
standing in the living room, dusting the soot from our clothes, when Dad turned to Connor and said,
“Call your parents and tell them we're coming through.”

Visibly confused, Connor asked, “What?”

I took two quick glances around the lilac and cream-living room, immaculate save for Dad's
boots by the sofa and Milo's chess board on the coffee table, and asked, “Where's Mum and
Milo and Mackenzie?”

He replied to Connor, “We're going to your house. I've already spoken to Lupin and Tonks
and they should have finished with the arrangements by now.”

“Dad... you know, I don't think Mum will be *that* upset about you letting me come
home,” I said.

He smiled, “Oh she knows you're here, or rather, going there. But nobody else does.”

Both Connor and I stared at him wide-eyed, realising what they intended to do, then turned to
each other and smiled. And then while Connor went back to the fireplace to get the Floo powder, Dad
continued, “If everyone thinks you've gone home, I expect him to come flying over here to get
you. Instead he'll meet the business end of my wand and become an example to others who might
have similar ideas. And all the while you'll be safe with the Lupins. Don't know why I
didn't think of this sooner....”

As towering emerald green flames erupted from the fireplace with a deafening roar, and Connor
stepped through to lead the way to his home, I turned back to Dad and smiled. I didn't care how
long it took for him to come up with it, it was a great idea.

And a big mistake.

-->



18. Chapter Eighteen
--------------------



**A/N:** *Ridiculously long chapter ahead, but it could not be helped. Just a few chapters
away from the end now and I find myself unable to stop writing. This bodes well for you, not so
much for me. Enjoy, and please review. :D*

**Disclaimer:** *Yeah, um, are you kidding? I've been on pins and needles waiting for
the release of DH, I don't any of this.*

*******

**Chapter Eighteen**

As I stepped, dizzily, out of the fireplace into the living room of the Lupin household, I was
greeted by Aunt Tonks, sporting blonde-streaked cropped black hair, and a bright smile. And she
barely waited for me to finish dusting the soot from my clothes before rushing over to greet me
with a hug and a cheerful, “Wotcher Lillie!”

Connor, already deep in a whispered conversation with Uncle Lupin nearby, looked up at this, and
Uncle Lupin said, “Hello Magnolia, are you alright?”

I nodded, just as Dad came through with my trunk and broom, saying, “I fully expect you to
discipline her if she gets out of line. I know she hates rules but there are really only two
I'd like her to obey, stay away from the windows and don't leave the house.”

Uncle Lupin smiled, “Don't worry; I don't expect Magnolia to be much trouble. We've
got an infant in the house, goodness help the poor soul who wakes her.”

At this my eyes swept the living room, looking around for some sign of the baby, but Aunt Tonks
replied, “She's asleep upstairs, coincidentally in the room you'll be sharing. We're
going to move her into ours for the night though; unfortunately we don't have a guest room
anymore.”

“I don't mind,” I replied, quickly.

Dad had been dragging my trunk into the middle of the living room but now stopped to look back
at me, “You don't mind? And you tried to talk us out of another sibling at New Year's?”

“Well that's different, there are already three of us,” I told him. “And three's a
magical powerful number, why mess with that?”

“So is seven,” he replied, grinning mischievously. My smile fell away and they all laughed.

Uncle Lupin spoke up eventually, turning to me and extending an arm awkwardly, “As I was saying,
Magnolia, welcome to our humble abode.”

Never had a word more suited a situation. The cottage, the much of it I could see from the
living room, was small, but not in a cramped way, but... comfortable. Dad had once told me that it
belonged to Uncle Lupin's parents, and so it was a logical step for them to move into it,
considering that the Ministry regulations severely restrictions their options for something better.
Mostly it was wood, with pastel colours, black and white photographs on the walls, tartan throws
and the scent of pine. But then Aunt Tonks lived here so there were things that seemed to stand
shockingly out, like the multicoloured plastic-bead curtain to the kitchen, the pale pink fur rug
before the fireplace, the framed rock band posters on the walls, both magical and Muggle, and the
entire shelf section devoted to their various records in the left-hand corner beside a large bay
window that overlooked the cold, moonless night.

Above the fireplace was Uncle Lupin and Aunt Tonks' wedding photograph, which was decidedly
untraditional, for though the groom wore neatly pressed dress robes, the bride in his arms wore
white robes that were lined in hot pink and faded to that colour and violet at the hem. Her hair
matched her dress too, and together they must have been a wonderful sight that day, considering the
strangely shabby room around them. Next to that was a picture of Aunt Tonks lying on a sofa with a
rather large belly, glowering at the camera. Next to this she was holding a newly born Connor, and
the look on his father's face was one of intermingled pride, joy and trepidation. There was one
of Connor alone, and then on the other side of the wedding photograph, was a fairly newer one of
Connor holding Zoe. I'd never seen her myself but she looked like most newborns, shrivelled and
purple-pink.

Dad took one look at the photograph and said, “Hey, look at that, she looks just like you did
when you were born, Magnolia.”

I couldn't hide the instinctive wrinkling of my nose in protest, but Uncle Lupin laughed,
“She looks much better now, and because life has determined that I should have unusual children,
she apparently has violet eyes.”

I looked back at him, “I wish I had violet eyes.”

“Well... on account of your father no one's going to tease you,” said Uncle Lupin with
slightly more bitterness than I expected.

“Hey! Those are your grandmother's eyes, one of the only things she left me, you know,” said
Dad, glaring down at me, but his tone was light and his eyes glinting with amusement.

Aunt Tonks rolled her eyes, “Yes well, Lillie knows that. And that's why we have Connor, to
beat up those stupid enough to try to tease her.

Connor looked rather embarrassed, but then said, “Can I show Magnolia to her room?”

Dad gave him a wide-eyed stare, and then looked to Aunt Tonks and Uncle Lupin. Aunt Tonks
nodded, and Uncle Lupin after, and finally he replied, “Okay, but that's all, and leave very
quickly afterwards. She might not have an elder brother but that's why I'm here, to beat
people up too.”

Now it was my turn to look embarrassed, and roll my eyes, before allowing Connor to lead the way
out of the room. Dad barely waited for us to be out into the hall before saying, “I'm so sorry
about this, I know she's never been here before and I wish it was under better circumstances
but—”

Uncle Lupin cut him off, “That's quite alright, the Ministry doesn't want me around my
own children, they might be grateful to you but that would not stop them from hitting the roof if
they learned I'd been near yours.”

“Well if they want to know, none of them care. Mackenzie's been dying to visit since she
heard about the baby and Milo's honestly heartbroken it isn't a boy. I have a feeling he
wants a little brother. He gave me a book about a bloke and his two sons for Christmas....”

His voice trailed off to incoherent mumbling as we got to the top of the stairs and Connor
interrupted my thoughts to ask, “Are you really alright? I know that you told Dad that you are but
you were... well, you seemed so....”

I smiled, cutting him off, and nodded. “I'm fine. I just... I want this to be over really. I
want to go back to school and put it all out of my mind.”

He looked at me curiously. “All of it?”

Oh, you don't know the half of it, I thought, but said aloud, “Well, not
*every*thing.”

He smiled, and then stopped at a door midway down the corridor, “Here are we, Zoe's...
room?”

I looked at the door, someone had put up a sheet of pink Bristol board, on which both Uncle
Lupin and Aunt Tonks had written: “Zoe Faye Nympha (*Remus Lupin, so help me I* *will*
*hex you*) Andromeda (*No* *way!!!*) Selene (*Isn't that Ron Weasley's
daughter's middle name, Tonks?*) Calypso (*Calypso... I'll leave it... for now*)
(*I'm just grateful you could not find a name meaning “wolf”*) (*Oh but it was easy to
find one meaning “fairy” or “nymph”, wasn't it, don't make me remove Calypso*)
Lupin's Room!”

I turned to Connor, “I see they've changed her name.”

“I guess so... but `Calypso'?” he said, staring at it in wonder.

“I think it's lovely,” I replied. “Mum said they changed my name at least ten times after I
was born. At one point I was `Alexandra Hermione Potter', and then someone said that you
can't name a child after their mother when they look like them. Then I became `May Rose',
`Lily Alice' and `Jamie Jean Ingrid' before Granny woke up one morning and said `Call her
Magnolia, that way you can shorten it any way you like it.' Since then I've been
`Lillie', `Maggie' to you, and `Nollie' to Aunt Luna.”

He shrugged, “I've always been Connor, but Dad would only relent to add `Romulus' when
Mum... *asked* nicely. I don't even want to know what she meant by that.”

I stifled a snort and followed him into the baby's room. As it was a girl's room I had
expected at least some concession to tradition, but as was evidenced below in the living room, this
was what happened when one mixed a fun-and-rock music-loving Metamorphagus with a former childhood
prankster and added an artistic genius elder brother. This room was, strangely, painted purple,
with pastel pink and white decorations, mostly stuffed rabbits, and furniture, most of which were
rabbit-shaped, and prominently featured a set of sketches of her parents and elder brother, each
clutching or accompanied by a rabbit, along the walls. My baby room was reportedly olive green and
gold, filled with the stereotypical girls' room furniture; somehow this made me insanely
jealous.

I looked at Connor, “You did those.”

He blushed. “Dad once said something about his condition, that your grandfather used to call it
his `furry little problem' and that people used to think he had a `badly-behaved rabbit'
and I just... well, Mum allowed me to choose. See, even her crib's got bunnies on it—hey look,
she's still in here.”

I walked over to the crib and looked down at Zoe, who now looked much more like a baby, all rosy
pink and adorably chubby, dressed in a thick cotton romper and white woollen socks, and smelling
strongly of lavender baby powder. She was so small, so tiny, having to depend on others for her
very survival and innocent of their sometimes darker natures, that I said, “I don't think I
should be in here... I mean, I know your parents are going to take her over to their room,
but....”

Connor shook his head, “It's okay, no one can just walk in, she'll be fine, and so will
you.”

I wished I could be as confident, but knowing that protesting would be futile, I smiled at him
and asked, “So, where do I sleep?”

He turned away from the crib and nodded to a large white sofa, also covered in rabbits, which
had been set to a side, against the wall. “It opens out into a bed, and... well, er... I should
leave you to....”

I stared at him puzzled for a moment until I realised that he meant to give me privacy to change
again, but I said, “I don't think I'll be going to sleep tonight. I kind of... well, can
you sleep after what happened?”

To my surprise he replied, “I think I can, Dad makes the best hot chocolate and he's
probably already brewed a cup or two, guaranteed to put to sleep even the clinical insomniac.”

He'd left my trunk at the door, and really I knew I wasn't going to sleep, so I said, “I
think I better have s—”

I was cut off by a tiny wail that sounded, at first, like a cat's meow, but then speedily
became that of a newborn human waking up, clearly unhappy about it. Connor nearly ran over to the
crib, and barely came to a stop before reaching in to lift out the baby, taking care to hold up her
head. Zoe stopped crying at once, and opened her eyes to stare curiously into the face of her
brother before he settled her against his chest, bending his back awkwardly to accommodate her. I
stood watching them as he hushed her gently, bouncing her slightly in his arms, repeating the
whispered mantra, “Shh, Zoe... shhh, sorry to wake you....” And then the door opened behind me and
Aunt Tonks and Uncle Lupin entered.

“Ah, you've found it then... like it?” asked Aunt Tonks, going over to relieve her son. But
when she got to Connor he turned out of her grasp and said, “I've got her.”

She looked to Uncle Lupin, “Make him hand her over. You had Connor, this one's mine.”

Uncle Lupin folded his arms, “He's her big brother.”

She rolled her eyes, and reached around Connor to take the baby from him. He let her go easily
and said, “Can I at least help?”

Aunt Tonks carefully checked Zoe's pamper, before replying, poking his chest, “Got milk in
there?” He looked at her puzzled, “She's hungry, so which means you can't. Why don't
you and Daddy mix up some hot chocolate for Lillie and leave us girls here to chat?”

“Oh, right... er... did Uncle Harry leave already?” he asked, going to the door with Uncle
Lupin.

I turned to Uncle Lupin, “Dad's left?”

“Yes, he's still making arrangements for what he has to do around your house. And he told me
to keep you two apart, and to make sure that Magnolia went to sleep. I'm guessing that's
redundant, but whatever...” Aunt Tonks replied and began to unbutton her top.

At this Uncle Lupin gave a girlish shriek and covered Connor's eyes, “Why must you insist on
corrupting the boy?”

With a sigh and a headshake, Aunt Tonks shifted Zoe in her arms and began to breastfeed. Connor
grabbed his hands and tried to push them off, but Uncle Lupin held him fast and steered him out the
door. “We'll be back with that hot chocolate in a minute. Don't believe anything bad she
says about me.”

“I won't,” I called after him and then turned back into the room where Aunt Tonks was now
seated on a rocking recliner, tenderly stroking Zoe's baby fuzz and humming to herself. I stood
awkwardly for a moment, looking at them, wondering if this was the way Mum had sat with Mackenzie
and Milo and me, and then sat down on the sofa, and she asked, “Did anybody see who it was?”

I looked over to her sharply, at first confused, and then replied, “No, it was dark and he
destroyed the Common Room so that everyone was panicking and trying to get away. Professor
McGonagall said that even if anyone saw him they wouldn't remember his face.”

“Good tactic,” she replied, absently.

“I guess so... he used a diversion,” I said, remembering the awful sound of the Common Room
furniture being blasted to pieces and the terrified shout from the boys' dormitories. I shook
my head, trying to ignore my thoughts and looked back up at her.

She continued to stroke Zoe's hair for a while, in silence, and then asked, “Connor wrote
that he told you about the comic book, have you read it?”

I nodded, then realising that she couldn't see that, replied, “Yes. Milo's a really big
fan; I'm going to enjoy not telling him.”

She did not look up but I saw her smile, and then ask, “Then Camilla tells me you found out her
little secret?”

“I'm not going to tell that one either, not even if Rigel confesses his feelings,” I replied
solemnly, and a little mischievously. He'd made me suffer for two and a half days, wavering
between breaking up with Connor and not, unable to sleep for fear that my boyfriend could be
getting me killed, so I didn't care.

Aunt Tonks looked up now though and quirked an eyebrow, “You're going to let him get his
heart stomped on?”

“I can't tell him her secret,” I explained, staring at her slightly bewildered.

“Oh I know that, but can't you two come up with a good lie? I've had my heart stomped on
once, and it hurt,” she replied.

I looked at her disbelieving, “Who would do that to you?”

“Your Uncle Lupin,” she replied, simply. Now I was stunned, but she continued casually, “You
should come up with something, let him down easy. Cousin relationships probably wouldn't faze
the Malfoys one bit, and especially if they're both purebloods, but she's not and isn't
interested. And I know that neither you nor Rigel would like it if someone did that to you.”

I looked down at my feet, ashamed. A heavy silence descended where I could just hear the sounds
of Uncle Lupin and Connor down in the kitchen preparing the hot chocolate, and Zoe's rapid
breathing, and then she said, “On a lighter note, I've heard a very strange rumour about you
and my son.... It seems that this person is under the mistaken impression that you and Connor have
been snogging?”

My face went red-hot in an instant and I refused to look up. It didn't matter, she broke out
into a hearty laugh and said, “I remember my first boyfriend... but I'll have to tell you that
one when Remus and Connor are out. It requires absolutely no interruptions and a couple of
hours.”

I looked up at that, my curiosity piqued, but just then the door opened behind us and Connor
entered bearing two steaming cups of hot chocolate and a smile.

Contrary to Dad's instructions none of us went to sleep until around five the next morning,
and all of us slept in Zoe's bedroom. But I doubted he would be too bothered by that, compared
to the events of earlier in the night it was a happy contrast, the peaceful homeliness of the Lupin
cottage. While it lasted anyway....

*******

The next morning I was woken by Connor. Or rather I was awoken by the sound of a gentle tapping
against the frosted glass of Zoe's bedroom window, and then, as I sat up to investigate, Connor
entered holding Zoe, and said, “Oh, your owl is here... Good morning, Maggie.”

I turned away from the window to return the greeting, the tapping stopped. “Good morning,
Connor... Zoe—hello Zoe, good morning.” Automatically my voice had jumped an octave and I was
fluttering my fingers at her. She did not respond though, content instead to give me an unseeing
violet gaze and drool into her brother's jumper sleeve.

He smiled and sat down on the sofa bed beside me, taking a moment to adjust her against his
chest so that she still stared at me. “Actually it's noon, you slept half the day away. I was
going to wake you but Dad says that you deserve to rest.” When I yawned and blinked sleepily at
this news, he laughed. “And I guess you still need to.”

I shook my head, “No, I'm awake... and a bit hungry....”

“Good, Dad's made breakfast. And believe me, you want Dad to make breakfast, I mean, Mum can
cook but she's so clumsy something's bound to go wrong,” he replied, grinning.

I folded my arms and gave him a mock-glare, “You know if she heard you....”

“I'd probably be in a lot of trouble, but what Mum doesn't know, can't hurt me,” he
replied.

I could not ignore the twinge of anxiety in my stomach at that statement, but I suppressed it
well, to ask, “So, am I going to get a tour of this place or what?”

He looked down at Zoe, tilting his head to her face and then gently pried her mouth from his
t-shirt, which she had been insistently sucking for the past few minutes. “There's not much to
see... Dad can't get another place, not without a string of Ministry stipulations and on
Mum's salary... well it would be really suspicious unless I confessed who I was.”

Puzzled, I asked, “I thought you said you didn't care if someone found out?”

“I don't, but Dad does. And then he insists that the money's mine and not ours, so he
had Uncle Dean create a trust fund in Gringotts that I can't touch until I'm of age. I only
get a stipend... of about fifty Galleons every month,” he replied. “But I paid for this room, as a
belated Christmas gift to Zoe.”

He looked so proud of that admission, (as I'd rightly suspected that he would have been)
that I smiled and said, “She's one lucky little girl.”

“Thank you,” he replied, smiling again, and then added, “Now come on, your breakfast will get
cold.”

I eagerly took the hand he offered and allowed him to pull me up out of the bed.

Uncle Lupin had indeed prepared breakfast, and as we came down, greeted me with a smile, “Good
morning, Magnolia... Connor didn't wake you, did he?”

“No, it was Ophelia,” I replied.

His brow furrowed, “Ophelia?”

“My pet owl... that, I've just realised, I've left tapping at the window,” I said,
pausing on the steps and then making to go back up to let her in.

But just then Uncle Lupin reached over the table and lifted the little owl from the bread
basket, “So that's who this is? I suspect she got tired of waiting for you.”

I hurried down to reclaim her, apologising to them both, “I'm so sorry, I should've let
her in but I got distracted and—”

“Distracted?” asked Aunt Tonks coming in from the living room, trailing the faint scent of burnt
paper. “Why were you distracted?”

I reddened at once, my cheeks hot, but Connor replied for me, “We were talking, Mother. Why must
you insist on reading too much into things?”

“You're Remus Lupin's son, that alone is cause for concern,” she deadpanned.

I tried, but failed to suppress a snort, and then took a seat with Connor at the table.
“He's not that bad, Carl, Guillame, Francois and Milo have taken up with Uncles Fred and
George.”

“Really?” asked Uncle Lupin.

“Yes, they call them their `Research and Development Department', everyone else calls them
`The Four Terrors',” I explained. “And because of it Dad has been trying to limit repeating the
things you told him. It's not worked out too well, he may not tell, but Uncle Fred and Uncle
George know more than enough themselves to fill in the details, anything else, they embellish.”

Instead of frowning, Uncle Lupin smiled at that, and said, “Well then, there you have it.
Connor, you're a disappointment.”

Aunt Tonks and Connor protested at once, “Hey!” And Aunt Tonks added, “Now who's corrupting
the boy? With a father like you who needs bad influences?”

He was still smiling though, and eventually they both broke into wide grins. I looked among the
three and then down at Zoe, and said, “You have the coolest family in the world.”

Uncle Lupin's smile got wider, “Coming from Harry's daughter, that's the nicest
thing to hear, though quite possibly untrue.”

I began reaching for the toast and then asked, “Did Ophelia bring any letters... or the
newspapers...?”

Aunt Tonks tipped her head back to the living room, “Just newspapers, your parents are only
going to contact you by Floo.”

“So where are the papers?” asked Connor.

“I tripped over the living room rug and they fell into the fire,” she replied casually.

Uncle Lupin gave her a sceptical look, “You tripped?”

She glared at him, “I'm notoriously clumsy, what do you think?”

Uncle Lupin clearly did not believe her, but continued, “Well that explains the smell.... What
was the headline by the way?”

“Something about `Hogwarts under Siege' and that Harry's removed Magnolia from the
school. The problem is they've all set up camp outside the house in Godric's Hollow, which
makes it difficult but not improbable, for your Dad to catch your attacker,” she replied.

“You gleaned all of that from the headline?” he asked.

“I'm an Auror, it's my job,” she said with a smile.

Connor and I would spend the rest of the day touring the cottage, which, though small, was
filled with a wealth of information about the Lupin household. Having been persuaded—or rather,
ordered—to let Zoe down before he spoiled her, he eagerly took up the task to show me about. And he
did, everything from happy childhood pictures of his father and himself, to the bit of rug in the
hallway his mother always tripped over, and on occasion while she was pregnant with him, to the
boundary of their property, which more less vanished into the woods behind, which was apparently
warded with anti-Apparation and other wards to protect them. (Of course this meant that we'd
just broken my father's “stay away from the windows” rule.) At this point afternoon had begun
to slip into evening and in the darkening blue twilight, I noticed that a fog was rolling in.

For the first time since I arrived, I asked, “Where are we?”

Uncle Lupin, who was in the living room with us—which had unfortunately maintained the faint
scent of burning from that morning—replied, “West of Croy in North Lanarkshire, Scotland, very near
Antonine Wall. But this fog's been threatening for days, and it's snowing again.”

I looked back out the window, watching the wispy-white trees around, and suppressed a shiver.
But then I noticed something and asked, “Hey, what's that?”

I was pointing out to what looked like a stone shed near the first knot of denuded, ice-swathed
trees and Connor said, softly, “That's where Dad stays when he transforms.”

I felt, rather than saw, my cheeks redden, and I apologised, “Sorry....”

“What for?” asked Uncle Lupin, genuinely surprised. “It's a valid question. And a fact of my
life, unless I wish to have my entire family a pack of werewolves like his Faolán does.
Unfortunately this isn't Ancient Britain.”

Connor was still staring out the window and said suddenly, “I think there's a hunter out
there, I can see his fire.”

I turned to look as well and saw the tiny flicker of yellow-white flames almost at the very
fringe of the property's forest border. “In this weather?”

He shrugged, “Some of them don't care, but I think we know this one—don't we Dad? Is Mr
MacFingall still around?”

“Just saw him this morning, said that he was going to trap the fox that has been getting into
his garbage for weeks now. I don't have the heart to tell him it's just his cat,” replied
Uncle Lupin, shaking his head slightly.

I looked back out the window at the flames a moment, and then allowed Connor to distract me with
another bit of information, “Would you like to see how the comic book came to be?”

His mother, on the sofa nearby, said, “Is that just a ploy to get Lillie into your room?”

I looked up at him sharply, but also for the fact that he'd just reminded me of my failed
attempt to speak with him Friday afternoon about it and his other secret. He went red, and shook
his head, “It just so happens that that's where my stuff is. We'll leave the door
open.”

She shrugged, and said, “And you better not disturb your sister—tell him not to disturb his
sister and leave the door open, Wolvie.”

Uncle Lupin looked slightly red in the face at the nickname, but then replied, “You heard your
mother.”

With a sigh, Connor stood and said, “Shall we?”

Connor's room was nothing like I'd imagined it, or at least until I saw Zoe's
bedroom the night before. It was neat, that much I'd expected, but it was also painted a
strange shade of grey, the walls lined with rock band posters, photographs, his sketches and comic
book covers, and a set of robes of the Bulgarian Quidditch, autographed by Viktor Krum himself. It
paid well to be his children's pen pal. But that was not all. In addition to the standard
closet, chest-of-drawers and set of shelves containing many books, a small radio and CDs, his bed
was a double-deck-like creation with the mattress above and workstation below, and near the window,
like I'd daydreamed, he had another workstation that was clearly for his drawings, judging by
the art set there.

“This used to be Dad's room,” Connor explained. “Thankfully, the furniture's new.”

I smiled, continuing to examine the room. He'd so perfectly reproduced the way he kept his
bed in the Gryffindor dormitory that I found myself looking around for some sign, some hint, even
the smallest clue that would indicate that this had been hastily done this morning while I slept. I
didn't know why I wanted him to actually be a messy teenaged boy, like Rigel was irretrievably,
but I did. Inevitably finding nothing though, I walked to the window where I could see more of
their neighbour's fire burning in the distance and asked, “Does your Dad know you're
learning to brew Wolfsbane?”

He came to the window and leaned on his workstation table before replying, “Yes. He doesn't
really like it but Mum pointed out that I was also benefiting in class so he let it go.”

This was it, I took a deep breath before asking, “Does he know what else you've been up
to?”

He did not look at me, “What else...? What are you talking about?”

I turned to face him, and found that he had leaned his head against the wall, staring out the
window at the fire burning amidst the trees. “You know what I'm talking about... Professor
Snape's been teaching you potions, but you've been doing something else. Rigel told
me.”

At this he flicked his gaze over to me and stared me directly in the eyes. He made no other
movement and nothing in his manner suggested malice, but for some reason it sent a chill racing
down my spine. His tone was neutral though, when he asked, “What exactly did my cousin tell
you?”

This was a stupid idea. I was in his house, in his room, and though the door was wide open, I
didn't have my wand while his was sticking out of his back pocket. If he wanted to kill me, he
could shut the door, set a Silencing Charm and do as he pleased. But I continued bravely,
suppressing my thoughts as absolutely ridiculous, “He said that Professor Snape's taught you
more than just potions... and that you've used what you've learned and the comic book to do
something else....”

That was as much as I dared to say, not wanting to give voice, and therefore validity, to
Rigel's suspicions. I would not believe that Connor was involved in the Dark Arts until he told
me himself. But he would say nothing for quite a while, until I began to wonder in horror that
I'd finally done us in, when he said, “I don't want to involve you. Please don't ask me
to involve you in this.”

*Oh no. Oh no, no, no....*

“Connor...” I said, unable to add more and not knowing what I could say.

“Please let it go, Maggie. Please just... just don't ask me to tell you anything. I
shouldn't... I can't... please Maggie,” he pleaded, not leaving his place at the window but
imploring me with his eyes. “You don't want to be involved in this, you don't need to be...
just don't ask me anything, *please* just let it go.”

It was not in my nature to do that though. I stepped towards him, “Connor... what have you done?
What can't you tell me, what did you do?”

He suddenly stood up and side-stepped my reach, I turned to follow him and he drew his wand and
shut the door the behind us. Just as I'd imagined he then locked, sealed and warded it and the
room before turning back to me and said, again, “Please, don't ask me to tell you. Please
don't make me do this.”

My mind refused to settle upon one definitive meaning to his statement, but I insisted still,
“You have to tell me Connor. I'm your girlfriend, aren't I? We're in this together now,
so anything you do you have to share. You have to share it and trust me to keep it a secret,
and.... And-and and I will, I'll keep it secret so you have to tell me.”

He stared at me for a long while, silent, and then said with a sigh, “You might want to sit
down, have a seat.” He indicated the chair at his workstation, but I couldn't bring take it. It
felt wrong somehow, so I shook my head, “No thanks, just tell me: what have you been doing?”

Here he hesitated again and said, “You know, you may not be my girlfriend forever. We may not
always be together.”

I glared at him and folded my arms. “I'm your girlfriend *now*, and no matter what
happens I'll never tell.”

He studied me for a moment, and then went back to his place at the window, staring out at the
now blue-black night. He was silent for a time again, before at last saying, “No matter what you
may think of me after this, just know that I've done this for my father. The only reason why I
would... is because of my father.”

Puzzled, I walked back to the window to listen, but said nothing.

“He tried to protect me from it when I was younger, from his condition... but I wasn't blind
or stupid. If you kept getting sent to your grandparents' house or the Weasleys for three days
every month around the full moon without warning or explanation and then learn that no one
else's parents do that, and very much that their parents are often there when you arrive,
wouldn't you start to wonder? And then that night when he nearly got into my grandparents'
house... I actually stood at the window in the living room and watched my father, as a large grey
wolf, looking in at me with my mother behind calling him to come away.... I asked my grandmother,
and she told me the truth. `Your father's a werewolf, Connor, I know you don't know what
that means but for now just stay away from the window'. The next month they had put up blinds
and kept them down until I left with Mum.

“I'd done some research in that time though, had gone to the library and found books on
werewolves, and everything from fantasy novels to respected encyclopaedias. I was only six, but
I'd been reading on my own since I was three, and Dad always encouraged me to look up words I
didn't understand in the dictionary. It didn't take me long to figure it all out, even if
my knowledge was based in Muggle works that declared the existence of werewolves a fabrication. I
spent those three days trying to find ways of getting around the blinds, but they'd been
magically sealed, and I wasn't strong enough or old enough to control my magic. When I went
home with Mum though, I confronted the both of them with what I'd learned and demanded they
tell me what was going on. Dad didn't want to say anything, but Mum spoke for him, telling me
everything from the facts about werewolves in the magical world to Fenrir Greyback, the one
who'd bit him. She never mentioned what had happened to Greyback after he'd been captured
so I'd assumed he was dead, but of course, now we know he isn't....”

The expression on his face was pained, as if he were the victim and had just learned that his
attacker had gotten away with it. I wanted to reach out to him, if just to hold his hand, but I
didn't, I had to, I *needed* to get answers.

“After I learned what my father was once a month, they'd sometimes let me stay with them
longer or come back earlier. I think Dad had wanted me to be around all the while but before I knew
the truth he didn't want to scare me away. I wasn't scared, not for myself anyway, so that
for a while I was content with just knowing and being around him. But then I began to hear whispers
of things like `Ministry regulations', `Wolfsbane Potion' and then one day Dad took me to
the Ministry to `Werewolf Support Services' against his will but they'd called him in when
we were out that day and he didn't have time to take me home. It wasn't long before I
wondered if maybe there was a way to help him, I asked, and Mum explained why he could have been
outside the house and she with him the night of a full moon.”

“Because he'd taken the Wolfsbane potion,” I said.

“Yes, and once I knew what it was I wanted to know everything about it... which gave Mum the
idea to let me brew it. She didn't tell Dad at first, she just went ahead and asked Professor
Snape the next time she checked in on him at the school. It took her nearly twelve visits to
persuade him, and even then he didn't want to teach me, but then she took me to see him the
last time and he agreed. I still don't know why, he hated Uncle Harry as a child but he
didn't seem to—”

He was cut off by the sound of his mother screaming through the door, “Connor! CONNOR! Open the
door! CONNOR, OPEN THE DOOR! Take Lillie and get out of this house! THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE! GET
LILLIE OUTSIDE, NOW!”

For a moment we just stood looking at each other in shock, and then we both pushed his bedroom
window open and looked downstairs to find orange-yellow flames flickering in what should be the
kitchen. Then the window shattered, spraying the snow with sparkling splinters, and a thick,
choking black smoke billowed out into the night. No wonder the scent of burning hadn't left the
house all day after Aunt Tonks burned the newspapers when it should have bled off through the
fireplace hours ago, the house had been burning all this time and we didn't realise it.

I didn't want to but I knew why, my attacker was here and he was “smoking us out”.

“Oh my...” I began to say, but Connor, more composed than I, grasped me round the shoulders and
began dragging me towards the door.

“Hey!” I protested, alarmed.

“We have to get out of here, now! Do you have your wand?” he nearly yelled, now at the door and
frantically trying to open it.

“No, but wait, where's your—where's your sister?” I asked, just as he got the door open,
and we were treated to the unrestricted smoke and heat of the inferno below, making our eyes sting
and we both coughed.

But at my statement Connor paused for a moment and then ran ahead of me down the hall to
Zoe's room. When we got into it though, the room was smoke-free and silent, and of course, Zoe
was long gone. Aunt Tonks must have come to warn us at the same time that she'd come up for
her. Connor wasted no time locating my wand and shoving it into my hands, demanding at the same
time, “Where's your Invisibility Cloak?”

“Why?” I asked, stupidly, and then did not wait for him to answer before snapping open my trunk
and pulling out the cloak.

He turned to go out the door at once and said, “Stay close to me, and wear that cloak. Have you
ever used a Bubble-Head Charm?”

I shook my head. He didn't hesitate to cast one over us both and then throw the cloak over
my head. I grasped unto the back of his arm and allowed him to lead me down into what had just
yesterday been his family's living room. The smoke was so thick that I could not see Connor in
front of me, but I could still feel his hand, and the scorching heat that dried the saliva in my
mouth and the moisture from our skin as fast as we perspired. Connor quickly realised that this was
dangerous, and stopped and called through the smoke, “We're going to have to crawl out, Dad and
Mum may be trying to get help!”

It was amazing how the smoke even obscured his air bubble-encased face. I could not nod at him,
but called, back, “Okay!”

At this he took my hand and helped me down to the ground, then kneeled as well with a hand over
my back and beginning to crawl towards where he knew the door should be. I hung close to him,
dragging my elbows over the floor at the same time that I tightly gripped the sleeve of his jumper
and struggled to keep upright while crawling in a cloak. Our movement was painstakingly slow and
cumbersome, and all around us I could hear the crackle and pop of the fire raging violently through
the old wooden cottage. This house was older than Uncle Lupin, and in a matter of hours, unless
help came; it was going to be completely destroyed. I couldn't help the feeling that this was
my fault, for surely it was, and somewhere out there my attacker was waiting for me.

I had no choice but to go to him though.

The first rush of freezing air, made refreshingly cool by the heat of the flames, announced that
we had at last gotten to the door. Moments later I felt goose pimples rise all over my body as
another blast swept through my clothes as if there weren't there. Connor's hand left my
back to pat me on the shoulder so that I could rise to my feet, and once we were standing in the
doorway he quickly removed the Bubble-Head Charms, I removed the cloak, and he cast Warming Charms
over our clothes and said, “I think Mum and Dad went to Mr MacFingall's house, we'll have
to meet them there.”

I hesitated. “Your house... what about your house?”

He did not look back in, “That's okay. Some of the things have charms on them to stop them
from burning. Everything else can be replaced.”

“But it's your house!” I insisted, looking at him, my eyes burning with tears from the smoke
and my guilt.

He gave me a sad half-smile, then took my arm and after casting the Light Spell and waiting for
me to slip the cloak back on, firmly propelled us out of the house and into the foggy night. “We
should probably wait for one of them to come back but we have no choice, we'll die if we stay
here.”

We were halfway across the lawn when we realised that something was wrong.

In addition to the mystery of how the fire began in the house in the first place, now that we
were outside it was to discover that all was eerily silent and unnaturally calm. It was too silent
and calm for a normal wintry night, and especially so with the house behind us fast becoming a
flaming homing beacon. Then, though Aunt Tonks and Uncle Lupin had supposedly gone running to the
neighbour's house, which was merely metres away for I could see it just to the east of their
property, with Zoe, there was no sign of them. In fact, what slowed our pace was the realisation
that the door was open. What stopped us cold was the dark splash in the middle of a pure white snow
bank, which on closer inspection, turned out to be Aunt Tonks.

For a moment Connor was absolutely still, and then he ran, still dragging me behind him,
full-tilt to her. He came to a sudden stop and dropped to his knees at her side, and I collapsed
beside him just as he reached forward to check her pulse. A few tense seconds passed and then he
said, “She's alive... I think she's been Stunned.” Then he cast, “*Ennervate!*”

Nothing happened. I cast a Light Spell myself under the cloak, not sure if he could see it but
supposing that he could from the way he moved, and looked up at his face, made twice-pale from the
shock and cold. Determination made him attempt to wake her again, and again, and once more before
he turned to me and said, “Maybe we should do it together. All you say is *Ennervate* and it
should wake her up, right?” I ended the light spell, pulled the cloak from my shoulders and said,
“On three, one, two... three, *Ennervate*!”

But still Aunt Tonks lay unconscious. At this I turned to him and said, “Your mother's an
Auror, there's no way she was taken out by a simple Stunning Spell... and especially when
she's carrying your baby sister.”

This seemed to remind us both of something and he dragged my wand arm over Aunt Tonks' chest
where we realised, to our horror, that she did not have the baby.

“Where's Zoe?” I asked, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the cold in my
chest.

“Dad must have her,” he said, bravely. “But where's Dad?”

We both looked up from Aunt Tonks' body to the MacFingall house and its ominously open front
door. I said, “We can't leave her here.”

“No, come on,” he said, solemnly, and standing cast, “*Mobilicorpus*!”

I stood just as Aunt Tonks' body floated gently off the snow, once more pulling the cloak
over my head, and he conjured a stretcher, and levitated her onto it. Then he cast two Warming
Charms over her clothes and the stretcher, and began walking off to the house again, with it
floating quietly behind. I hurried to his side and said, trying to reassure him while convincing
myself, “She was probably coming back for us when she fell or something.... Uncle Lupin should be
fine; the door's just open so that we can find our way to it.”

He did not look at me, but muttered anyway, “Yeah.”

That illusion was abruptly dashed moments later when we heard a sharp, cat-like wail. We both
stopped and looked sharply to our left. At first there was nothing, and then out of the shadows
appeared a tall, wiry, scruffy-looking man dressed in tattered, dirty black robes and boots barely
held together by their threads. His appearance was alarming enough—the unshaven face, the amber
eyes, the matted hair—but the sight of tiny Zoe, still swathed in blankets, screaming at the top of
her lungs, was worse.

I felt my heart leap into my throat, I swallowed to force it back down, and then found that it
refused to work as before. Each beat seemed to be three ticks apart and shake my entire body,
depriving me of much needed oxygen and the ability to run for my life.

Connor made a hastily-aborted movement to run to him and seize her, and held me back from doing
the same and then hastily released my arm. I was still under the Invisibility Cloak so that unless
he somehow saw my footprints in the snow behind us in the dark or had not seen me earlier, it was
best not to draw attention to me. But something about the man's long, dirty fingernails must
have alarmed Connor too and stopped him, and so he called, “Where's my Dad?”

The man did not respond, but simply stopped and stepped aside to reveal Uncle Lupin, fighting
against invisible binds that trapped him to the snow-covered earth. Connor clenched his left hand
into a tight fist at his side and stubbornly dug his feet into the snow to stop himself from
running to him. His father had had the same idea too, for he called, “Run Connor! Take your sister
and get out of here! Run! Get your broom and get out of here!”

My heart took a swan dive for the pit of my stomach, but I had a feeling he wasn't speaking
to Connor alone. I hadn't seen a broom in Connor's room and as far as I knew he didn't
have much interest in Quidditch.

The man suddenly barked though, “Hush your hollerin' werewolf! Or I'll snap the little
bairn's body in half, I don't want to, I don't need to, but I'll do it!”

Connor yelled back, “Give me my sister! She's a baby; she hasn't done a thing to
you!”

The man looked back at Connor and smiled, revealing many crooked, widely-spaced yellow teeth,
“No she hasn't, has she? But her skrechin's gettin' on me nerves.” Then he lifted her
away from him above his head, still looking at Connor and said, “I wonder if magical babies bounce
if you drop them?”

I couldn't take it any longer; I threw the cloak over my head and ran to him, “Don't do
it! You can take me, I'm right here! Do whatever you want to me, just don't drop the baby!
Please!”

He just stared at me for a moment, and then said, with unexpected cheer, “Magnolia Potter, a
pleasure to meet you at last m'dear!”

I looked away from him to the baby now kicking her feet agitatedly in mid-air and screaming to
wake the dead in his arms, and said, “Yes, it's nice to meet you too. You've been trying to
meet me for months and now you have me. No Dad, no Aurors, no one to protect me, you can do what
you like, just don't drop the baby, please give her back to Connor!”

He shook his head and gave me a toothy smile. “I don't think so m'dear, actually I think
I will give her to you.”

“To me?” I asked, surprised. “Why would you do that? Didn't you come here for me? You
don't need the two of us, you can give her to Connor and I'll go quietly. I promise
I'll go quietly, just please don't drop her.”

“No trade, catch!” he yelled and suddenly flung Zoe from his arms.

I did not stop to think, I just threw myself forward bodily, calling at the same time,
“*Arresto Momentum*!” To my surprise, it worked, and Zoe's fall was halted feet from the
ground as I dropped heavily into the snow. My attacker made no attempt to come after me though, and
to my surprise I was even allowed to get to my feet and snatch Zoe from the air, check her over
quickly, twice, and look up to him confused, before I realised that in the meantime he had cast a
Freezing Charm over Connor. He was standing petrified, mid-way through a movement to casting a
hex.

I quickly shifted Zoe in my arms and attempted to disarm him, but at that moment he turned and
yelled, “*Expelliarmus*!”

My wand was ripped from my hand and I had to hastily wrap my arms about Zoe's body as I was
pitched backwards into the snow. Once again though, he allowed me to sit up before saying, “I'm
going to give you a head-start, and I suggest you use it wisely. You know what I am; you know what
will happen when I catch you.”

I made to go for my wand, he knocked it away, further across the lawn, and growled, “Be nice,
and maybe I'll spare the baby too, you've seen what I can do.”

I didn't want to go, Connor and his family were trapped, but I had Zoe in my arms and there
was nothing I could do unarmed. I took one last sad look to Connor and turned to the MacFingall
house and took off.

-->



19. Chapter Nineteen
--------------------



**A/N***:* *Well, this one was finished quickly, and of that I'm most proud. Now,
onto the problem: Like Hermione was scared for Harry in GoF movie, “I'm scared for this
chapter.” I hope some can say after this that they may have seen it coming, if not, I wasn't as
good as I thought it was. Or maybe I was.... And the ending, I am so* *very* *sorry.*
*Don't kill me... please?*

****runs to corner to hide* *as precaution*** *calls from corner*
Enjoy!*

**Disclaimer:** *Yeah... I would have no reason to be looking around for the $34.99 or
$20.99 or how much ever for the book in Barnes&Noble. But since I do, the world and some
characters belong to JK Rowling, everyone else, mostly the kids, are mine.*

*******

**Chapter Nineteen**

Something was wrong. As I ran towards the MacFingall house with Zoe in my arms, ever mindful of
my attacker behind me, my wand lost in the snow, the Lupin house on fire, the fact that I had no
idea where Ophelia was, and that my father didn't know that my attacker was here, all at once,
this was the one thought raging through my mind. After weeks of non-stop and increasingly violent
attacks, when he finally had me cornered, instead of doing me in immediately, my attacker suddenly
decided that he wanted to play...? Why? I couldn't get anywhere on foot, without money or my
wand. He had me at his mercy, and yet he'd just given me the baby and allowed me to escape?

Something was wrong.

The snow crunched noisily under my boots, and somewhere in the distance I thought I heard an
owl's hoot. But loudest of all was the sound of my own breathing as I ran, and the further I
got from the quartet, I was able to pick up Zoe's as well. How long until I began to hear my
attacker behind me too? How long until his breath was misting before my eyes as he uttered the last
two words I'd ever hear? How long until my cold dead body dropped into the snow not to be
discovered until Dad returned to check up on me when no one answered his owl?

I looked around me in the dark night, though not back, listening to the crackling flames of the
house now reduced to the sound of a fireplace in the distance and began to wonder.

Somehow or the other my attacker had followed us from Hogwarts and now with Uncle Lupin and his
family trapped he could do whatever he wanted for as long as he wanted, and there was no one to
stop him. At least he'd given me a head-start, one which I fully intended not to waste... and
that was the something wrong.

Based on prior incidents my attacker was not someone known for this kind of patience. The first
attack would have been successful had the two girls he'd Imperiused not been seen by Camilla.
The second, the one on the full moon, had been interrupted by Uncle Lupin and Connor, but the
Shrieking Shack led to a secret passageway into the school, and if they were not there he surely
would have gotten in. The Dementors had also been repelled by Connor, in that he'd given the
OGB enough time to come out and save us. Because the letter bomb had exploded in the large and open
Great Hall, and within metres of some of the best wizards and witches in magical Britain, the
effect was dampened by their quick actions, or so I was told. The Kappa had been held off for as
long as it took for the OGB and other teachers to arrive and chase it away. And then the attack in
the Common Room Friday night, because he didn't know about the school's Founders' set
up with the girls' dormitories, he didn't realise that he couldn't just charge in and
kill me.

*But still...**.*

At this I stopped, thinking. He wasn't known for patience, if he was going to kill me, if
he'd planned it all along he would have done it the moment Connor and I came running out of the
house. And yet he had waited for us to almost get to the neighbour's....

Then out of muggy depths of my mind something Rigel said came to me: *“`—the path to hell is
paved with good intentions, not bad ones. All men mean well'? That Muggle quote? Voldemort
certainly didn't mean well and the guy who's after you.... I think the better quote for
this situation is `revenge is a dish best served cold', for a lot of people are trying to get
it and they're not in any hurry.”*

I gasped in horror.

*“`Revenge is a dish best served cold', for a lot of people are trying to get it and
they're not in any hurry.”*

The words tumbled from my mouth, but they were barely above a whisper, “Oh... *no*....”

At once I spun round in the snow to look back at the Lupins, to find my attacker ranting wildly
amidst them, holding a macabre court before the incapacitated family.

I was wrong, we'd all been wrong. He wasn't my attacker; he wasn't after me and
never was. In fact I was just a diversion. He was after the Lupins.

If I turned each incident around in my head and applied it to a scheme where the Lupins, or at
least, Connor was the main target and not me... then: the first attack was the set-up of the
diversion. My Dad was the Man-Who-Triumphed, no one could just attack me and not expect the
Ministry of Magic to overreact, and they did. But their concerns at the time were for me and no one
else, and so, even days later he would have had the advantage of this to kill Connor's family.
No one really cared for a werewolf and his family anyway; some were still clamouring to prevent
them from getting married and having children in the first place. He was thwarted though, because
an unintended side effect of the attack meant that Uncle Lupin was watching over the school from
the Shrieking Shack, and at the time Aunt Tonks was out of the country.

Uncle Lupin had then been in the wrong place at the wrong, or right, time. Too bad he hadn't
waited around after they'd been interrupted for he would have gotten Connor then too.

The Dementors would have gone after anyone, that was sure, and Connor was more susceptible to
them than I, but I was not supposed to be having detention. The letter was addressed to me, which
complicated matters, but not if you knew that everyone usually got letters from home at breakfast,
and as Connor and I were in the same house, would probably be seated nearby. Then this could also
be another diversion, an attempt to get Connor out of the school, which it did. But he hadn't
attacked them after that, which meant that he must have somehow been unable to follow him home.
With the Kappa, Connor hadn't had a class that day, but put together with the attack in
Gryffindor Tower days later, it must have been a way to get into the castle. And that attack was
once again a diversion when he ran up the stairs of the girls' dormitories. Everyone thought he
was coming for me but he was going for Connor all along.

So maybe he'd been a Hogwarts student once after all....

I looked back up at the quartet just as he suddenly launched himself from before Uncle Lupin to
ruffle Connor's long dark hair about his head. In the glare of the fire I could only just make
out Connor's frozen face, but I knew that he was conveying all he needed to with his eyes. But
if he could see his hatred and disgust, and probably fear, he ignored to return to Uncle Lupin with
a gesture that was most certainly a taunt.

Realising all this meant nothing though, I was still in the same situation as before, unarmed
and unable to help in any other way than to get as far away as I could and hide Zoe from him. But I
could not just leave them to die, for he was surely going to kill every one of them, and maybe
still me just to take care of witnesses. I had to do something, and fast.

The first matter to attend to then was Zoe. I at once turned back and raced to the MacFingall
house, hoping all the while that he would not kill them before I could secure Zoe there. At the end
of all this she just might be the sole survivor, taken in by my parents to replace the girl they
lost....

Before I got to the house I saw the blood, and when I ran ahead anyway, I walked into a scene so
ghastly that I jerked myself out of the doorway and slammed my back into the wall trying not to
vomit. The image had already imprinted itself in my mind though, the sight of the house' owner,
the former Mr MacFingall I assumed, eviscerated and dismembered in the middle of his entrance hall.
There was blood and bits of flesh everywhere, the walls and floor bore deep slashes and scratches,
and I would never forget the sight of his disembodied hand beckoning eternally from the mat before
the door.... I swallowed to stopper the bile rising again. Even if he had put up a good fight
he'd never stood a chance.

There was no way I was going to leave Zoe in that house. I would have to risk going back to help
with her, and hope for her tiny sake that she would not cry and give me away beforehand. I turned
then, rocking her gently in my arms and, whispering as Connor had, “Shh, Zoe... shhh,” trekked a
slow but steady path back to the quartet in the shadow of the blazing house.

Connor's Warming Charm was beginning to wear off, and each step reintroduced me to the fact
that we were now in the dead of winter. My hands were very nearly numb. My jumper and thick cotton
top beneath did nothing to spare my upper body from the hypothermia-inducing cold. My feet were
thankfully still warm in my boots, but it would only be a matter of time before the frostbite got
in. As I had been running for now I could stave off the worst of it, but I had better hurry.

Zoe was luckier. Thankfully Aunt Tonks had managed to put her into her winter suit before they
raced out of the house, and with her blankets—now dirtied where she'd been held by the man—she
should be nice and toasty. But there was no telling for how long if anything happened to me.

My focus then was to get my wand. Of course, it was conveniently lying somewhere in the middle
of the lawn and I wasn't exactly sure where it had landed the second time it had been sent away
from me. Another glance to the quartet was just in time to see the man pluck Connor's wand from
his grasp as easily as one would a grape from a bunch, and then chuck it carelessly. He turned to
grin madly back at Uncle Lupin, and then leaned forward to Connor in a movement that looked, rather
strangely, as if he were sniffing him.

My mind flashed to scene in the MacFingall house, and I came to a horrifying conclusion. He was
sniffing him all right, and quite possibly in preparation to do to him what he started on with
Uncle Lupin the night of the full moon and had just done to Mr MacFingall. But that was impossible,
wasn't it? For unless he had some kind of help from a vicious wild creature or intended some
creative use of magic, there was no physical way he could do that again.

Instinctively I quickly looked around me for signs of such a vicious wild creature, not willing
to put anything past him at the moment. But I saw nothing, which was surprisingly not as comforting
as it should have been, and looked back up to find that the man had left Connor and was now leaning
rather suggestively over Aunt Tonks. Uncle Lupin shoved himself against his bonds with such fury I
was afraid for a moment that he would rip his limbs apart. Connor could do nothing though, and I
could not imagine what was going through his mind at the moment. Or rather, after my conversation
with Rigel, I could, but just didn't want to, didn't think he could possibly be strong
enough to....

I chanced a few quicker steps over the lawn to the quartet and was finally able to hear the
man's rant:

“*—on Lupin, I was just havin' a wee go at the Missus, I had to ken what it was like
seein' as you've clearly had fun! Two children now, two! How come the Ministry's not
taken yer cubs away yet? But I guess that's one o' the benefits of selling yer soul, they
give ye a bonnie wee wife and a house and let ye keep yer bairns as long as ye dinnay rock the
boat! YE SHOULD HAVE DONE MORE THOUGH! YE SHOULD HAVE HELPED EVERYONE ELSE! But ye dinnay, ye help
yerself and leave the rest of us to die! We have nothing, NOTHING! And now... neither will
ye!*”

Something about that statement made my blood run cold. He was going to do exactly what I'd
thought he was going to and it didn't matter that it wasn't the full moon and there
didn't appear to be anything to help him, *he* was going to do exactly that... and he was
going to make Uncle Lupin watch.

I decided to throw caution to the wind, this was no time to stand and watch I had to hurry. I
immediately began speed-walking across the snow to them and pressed Zoe's face gently against
my chest, taking care not to smother her, but just enough to muffle any cries she might make.
Thankfully, and worryingly, since she'd been thrown by the man she'd been mostly
silent.

The rant continued unabated.

“*I hate waitin' around like this, but there's a cloud up and I need the moonlight. I
actually planned to do this on the lad's birthday, or maybe even the full moon, but I dinnay
get the chance. Nae worries, I dinnay need the moon to be full now anymore, I just need it to be
there and visible.* *Ye remember Greyback, dee ye?* *Dinnay understand what I mean? Nae?
Well then, yer'll see very soon!*”

I was now close enough to the group that I could just see Connor's eyes frantically looking
back and forth among his mother, father and the man stalking and ranting wildly before them. I was
sure that at one point both he and Uncle Lupin noticed me, but they gave no that would indicate
that they had (and Connor couldn't). Then I stepped on something that slid and nearly toppled
me.

I hastily bent forward, holding onto Zoe for dear life while wishing with all my might that she
would remain silent. But this position allowed me to look at my feet, and to my absolute joy,
notice that I'd slipped on a wand. It wasn't mine, but it would have to do. I snatched it
up out of the snow, cast a hasty Silencing Charm on Zoe as a precaution, then conjured myself a
long shawl and tied it around my middle to secure her against me. Another spell provided a Warming
Charm and I barely allowed myself to relish the feeling of it wrapping round me like a blanket,
before I straightened and finally looked up at the quartet.

The sight that greeted me nearly ripped a scream from my throat that I had to bite my tongue to
stop. The cloud above that the man had spoken of had apparently passed, and now I understood why
he'd wanted it gone. He was a werewolf, werewolves were forced to transform by the full moon,
but somehow or the other he had managed to find a way around and right then before my eyes he was
changing into the beast. His limbs stretched and tore his robes, his hands were becoming furry paws
and claws, his head was ballooned a size and his nose, mouth and jaw suddenly elongated and—

I raised my wand and called loudly, “*Accio* Quasar Mach I!”

I didn't know what made me call for it, but quite possibly it was the realisation that if I
waited for him to fully transform he would tear us all to pieces. My broom though, was in the
burning house, and though the second floor was clearly ablaze I found myself holding to the hope
that it was one of those items charmed not to burn.

In the meantime, I turned my wand on Connor and called, “*Finite Incantatem*! *Accio*
Connor's wand!”

The moment he fell free of the Freezing Charm, I flung his wand to him and turned to Uncle
Lupin, “*Finite Incan*—”

Before I could finish the incantation I heard an inhuman howl and snapped my gaze back to the
man to discover that he was now fully a large, brown and grey werewolf, claws extended, teeth
bared, glaring right at me. I could not stifle my horrified scream this time, which started Zoe
wailing again, but I immediately began to back away from him, all the while knowing that I had no
chance of escape.

Luck was on my side. Connor, now freed, armed and once more morphed into a tall, hairy man-wolf,
seeing my situation, bounded after it, and after a swift yank on its tail to draw its attention
brought his wand down in a sharp movement that sent a purple flame erupting from its tip to strike
the werewolf directly in the shoulder. But it did not fell it, instead it stopped and gave a
blood-curdling howl, which Connor interrupted with another curse, and then began to chase him
wildly about the lawn. I stood now frozen in terror, feeling my heart pounding in my chest with
almost enough force to burst free. It was not to be a long fight though, for it had longer legs and
more experience as a predator, and shortly caught up with him. And then with one slash that sent
his blood, glittering crimson in the firelight, spraying across the immaculate snow, ended their
game.

I screamed again, feeling my heart seize painfully in my chest, while Uncle Lupin's back
seemed to bend right over as he strained against his bonds to get to his son. Blissfully unaware,
Aunt Tonks still lay quietly in the nearby snow bank.

Forgetting the danger I made a dash for Connor myself, but was halted by the sound of something
whistling in the air above, and I looked up just as it came zipping round and stopped, hovering and
humming softly, before me. It was my broom, it hadn't been burned and now it was here. I wasted
no time in hopping unto it and kicking myself, albeit unsteadily, into the air just as the werewolf
pounced into the place I'd just been. Then, as he howled in fury behind me, I took a terrifying
dive back to the snow where Connor lay, and bunching the front of his now bloodied jumper into a
fist, tried to pull him up unto the broom with me.

This, apparently, was only something that worked in fiction. Connor was a dead-weight, and felt
it, for the only thing I managed to achieve were three broken nails, a strained wrist and giving
the werewolf time to notice us. He came barrelling back; I turned the wand on Connor and yelled,
“*Mobilicorpus*!”, then barely waited for him to float off the ground before trying to fly off
again.

At that moment though the werewolf slammed into me and the broom with such force that I heard
the bone in my left arm audibly snap in half, and the cracking of my ribs in my chest as we, broom,
baby and all, were pitched sideways into the snow. But the Quasar Mach I had been built for
Quidditch players under the threat of being battered to death by a Bludger, so that instead of
staying there, it quickly bounced us up out of it again, made a dizzying roll to right itself and
then shot straight up into the freezing night air.

The stars I'd seen after the werewolf had hit me were rapidly replaced with the real things
as I took a few moments to clear my head and plan my next course of action. I had Zoe, a wand,
Connor and the broom by which we could escape, but I still needed to get us away and send back
help. Knowing that it was best to gain some stability first, I lay flat against the broom, which
brought its tip down and set us on a more controllable forward path. Then, taking care to shift Zoe
to my right side so that she wouldn't be crushed, I manoeuvred myself until I could grip onto
the handle with my underarm while holding tightly to Connor's limp body with my free right
hand.

My sigh of relief that I'd managed this without dropping him was short-lived. Connor was
still unconscious and bleeding heavily. I wanted, no, I *needed* him to wake up before he
slipped through the jumper and fell to his death below. My strained wrist was hurting badly and
with my ribs cracked in the thinner air, breathing was becoming increasingly difficult. Fortunately
the wand was trapped in my right hand and pointing at his face, and I whispered,
“*Incarcerous*!” to trap him to the broom, and then “*Ennervate*!” to wake him.

He woke with a startled gasp, and then tried to move his arms to grab the broom, but he
couldn't with the invisible binds round him. I grabbed his jumper again, he stifled a cry of
pain, as did I, and I released the spell. He immediately grabbed hold of my legs to stop his fall
and fastened his own around the tail end of the broom, just as the broom took a frightful dip under
his weight. There was a tense moment where we waited to drop out of the sky, and then he released
my legs to grapple unto the broom, then grasped my hip and used it as leverage to spin himself
upright behind me. I released a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, and he, once
settled, leaned heavily unto my back to grab the broom handle and allow me to sit back upright.

At once our forward movement—which had been taking us progressively further from his house as he
had struggled to get onto the broom—stopped and we remained hovering high in midair above a dark
and unnaturally silent forest to its sudden end. My hip throbbed painfully from where he'd
grabbed it, but it was nothing in the face of the reassurance I received from the sound his voice,
though painfully weak and punctuated with coughs, as he asked, “Are you alright? Is Zoe okay?”

I nodded and said, “I think... he broke my arm. He rammed into me while I was trying to get you
up onto the broom and he broke my arm. What happened to you? Where did he hit you?”

He did not answer, but put his other arm round me to grip the broom handle with both hands and
asked, “What about my Mum and Dad?

Thoroughly ashamed, I confessed, “I didn't have time to help them, I was trying to free your
Dad when he... well, when he finally transformed. And then when he was chasing you about, I know I
should have done something but... I froze.... I still have the wand though, so we could go back and
help—”

I was cut off by a loud, chilling screech. We both looked back to look down at where we'd
left Aunt Tonks, Uncle Lupin and the werewolf, but we were too far away and the glare of the fire
obscured our view in the yard. Connor at once turned the broom around and flew back, over the house
where I could feel the heat as a refreshing caress through my boots, to the lawn where the cold
refroze them. The werewolf was nowhere to be found, and terribly, Uncle Lupin was now completely
still, his blood forming a wide, graceful arch in the snow before his still body. Aunt Tonks looked
untouched, but there was no telling at our height. Then there was the screech again, and we looked
up above the scene to see the werewolf once more man and flying towards us with his wand in the air
and a look of purest rage on his face.

I could not see if he rode broom or beast, but I knew that we had to get out of here. I turned
to Connor, panicked, and nearly cried, “Quick, we have to get out of here! We have to get help!
What's the closest magical refuge?” Then I reached down and tried to turn the broom in his
grasp.

He put his hands over mine, staying my attempts and said, “We'll have to fly back to
Hogsmeade, but it's going to be cold!”

“I don't care!” I replied. “If he catches us you'll be a different kind of cold!”

As if to confirm this then, the bright red flash of a Stunning Spell just grazed the tip of the
broom. We at once leant forward and braced ourselves against the biting wind as the Quasar speedily
raced up over the trees, out of the lawn and northeast into the unrelenting cold, dark air. Our
pursuer was hot on our tail though, and made a point sending another Stunning Spell at our backs as
he gave chase. Connor bent the broom handle and we dove to avoid it, then he brought it back up to
send us a little higher and kicked again at the tail so that we went ahead a little faster.

The cold was unbelievable. At our speed it rendered Warming Charms obsolete, and made my skin
feel very much as if it was being repeatedly slashed with a knife. I feared for Zoe strapped
against my chest, but I could not check on her now, and nor could I determine the severity of
Connor's injury until we were safely on the ground, in the company of the Aurors. If only
nothing else happened until that time....

Suddenly Connor jerked and fell limp against my back. I half-turned to see what was going on,
and discovered that he'd been hit, I quickly cast a spell over my shoulder to trap him to the
broom again, then ducked and willed the broom to go faster. But snow-covered, foggy Scotland was
already zipping past beneath us as fast I as thought it humanly possible for it to go. Any faster
was sure to rip the hair from my head at the very least, and since I was depending heavily on my
right arm, make flying much more difficult. As it was the broom already had to compensate for
Connor's added weight.

Another spell grazed at my shoulder, and then I was treated to the shocking sight of the man
making a kamikaze-dive towards the broom. I shut my eyes, gripped the broom tighter and took a
sharp turn to the left, then soared for the stars again and continued on as before. The man let me
know that I hadn't evaded him by blasting off a few stalks from the Quasar's tail.

We would continue like this for what felt like the next hour. While I flew desperately
northeast, hoping that Hogsmeade village and Hogwarts would appear just over the next mountain, or
swoop lower to check that the village we were passing wasn't it, he would incessantly come up
with more and newer ways to get into my path or throw me off course into lakes, trees and, at one
point, the rocky ground. I was already fighting the cold, which had now dried out my face, eyes and
mouth, chafing my lips, my fears about Connor and his family and the knowledge that if I allowed
him to catch me I would surely die, I did not need to deal with employing evasive movements
too.

Playing Quidditch just to make Dad happy was increasingly looking like a brill idea.

And then I saw the seven lights coming over the hills towards me. I felt my heart sinking in my
chest again, and at the same time the shooting pains in my lower back from having to support
Connor's body, fearing that this was more trouble for me. Some of the things he'd managed
in his attempts to get to me... or rather Connor, had to involve accomplices.... But then the line
broke up into three groups, two to the right, two to the left and three straight ahead, but below
and all going directly at my attacker. There was the unearthly screech of whatever it was he rode
behind me, possibly a Thestral, and then he gave a maddened howl himself and a violent magical duel
broke out.

Though I was clearly being rescued I did not allow myself to relax, but kept on flying straight
for the hills they'd just come over. The sigh of relief that escaped my lips then was an
automatic reaction to the sight of Hogwarts Castle looming tall in a valley amidst the mountains,
the Black Lake glinting peacefully beside it and Hogsmeade village glittering like a series of
lighthouses beckoning me safely home. I went straight for the castle, then had to change course
when I discovered that I could not go there. The broom began to vibrate terrifyingly almost as soon
as it reached the fringes of its gates and I headed down to Hogsmeade village instead.

In a matter of moments I was landing in the middle of the brightly-lit main street before a
group of Aurors, a few Hogwarts teachers including the OGB and Madam Pomfrey, and my very worried
looking mother and younger siblings. And the broom had barely come to a stop before Mum broke free
of the crowd and hastened to help me, crying happily, “Oh Magnolia! Lillie!”

She would come to an abrupt halt when she saw the blood and noticed Connor's limp body and
the tears now streaming hot and freely down my cheeks. But then she was on the move again, and
almost as soon as she got to me she freed Connor from my back and with the help of the OGB and
Madam Pomfrey, conjured a stretcher and laid him out across it. Then Professor Bones and one of the
Aurors helped me off the broom, and noticing Zoe, asked, “Is she alright? Are you alright?”

In the background I noticed another group of Aurors mount their brooms and take off after the
first group that had saved me from the man. This drew my attention to Ophelia hopping casually
along the roof of one of the nearby buildings and I guessed that either Aunt Tonks or Uncle Lupin
had sent her out with a warning earlier. Too bad they hadn't gone directly to the house as soon
as they received it.

Professor Bones was asking again, “Lillie did you hear me? Are you alright? What's wrong
with the baby?”

I looked down to Zoe and realised that though she was wailing again there was no sound coming
from her mouth. I pointed the wand at her and said, “*Finite Incantatem*!”

We were immediately treated to the full blast of her agitated cries. Professor Bones at once
took her from my arms and over to where the OGB, Madam Pomfrey and a few St Mungo's Mediwizards
were gathered round Connor. And satisfied that they were being attended to, Mum returned her
attention to me and asked, “Where's Tonks and Lupin?”

“We left them at the house,” I began to cry at once. “I couldn't help them and Connor was
hurt, and then the man—he's a werewolf—came flying behind us and we had to get away. I tried to
help them, I really did, but he ran into me and I....”

By this point I was nearly completely incoherent, my words reduced to wild mumbling between
sobs, and Mum drew me into her arms and said, “It's okay Lillie, I'm sure they're
alright... it's okay....”

I pulled away from her protesting, as clearly as I could manage, “No it's *not* okay.
It isn't at all. He's a werewolf who can transform himself whenever he wants to. They had a
neighbour named Mr MacFingall... he tore him to pieces....”

Mum's jaw dropped and her eyes widened in horror at this revelation before she demanded,
“Did you see it happen...? Lillie, tell me, did you see it...?”

I shook my head. “I was trying to hide Zoe in his house but when I got to the front door I found
it open and he was... all over the front hall....”

Mum at once pulled me back into another embrace, but I hastily pulled away, crying out in pain
as her action had agitated my arm. A Mediwitch hastened over to inspect it, and said, “We're
going to have to reset the bone, it will only take a few minutes and it will hurt, so Mummy... if
you'd like to....”

She gestured to me, and Mum took me back into her arms again, pressing my head against her chest
and away from the Mediwitch and my arm. When I screamed as the spell the Mediwitch cast began to
shift the bone, Mum held me tighter and kissed my head, whispering encouragingly, “I'm sorry; I
know it hurts but it'll be fine, I'm so sorry... I know it hurts....”

And then just as she said, the movement stopped, the bone was set and healed, and the pain
ceased immediately. The Mediwitch swept her wand over me again and discovering the cracked ribs,
said, “That's going to require a potion, give me a minute.”

She then disappeared to the others with Connor just as Milo and Mackenzie finally got clear and
raced over to Mum and me, and nearly knocked us over as they launched themselves at us for a
jubilant hug. I winced and they slackened slightly, but continued to anxiously express their joy at
having me back. The feeling was mutual, after the grim cold of the scene I'd just left, the
familiar warmth of Hogsmeade was most welcome. And speaking of family... I asked Mum, “Where's
Dad?”

“He went with the first line of Aurors, didn't you see him?” she replied.

I shook my head, and then looked over to the others and Connor, wondering how badly he'd
been hurt. But the OGB suddenly appeared before me and said, “You said that your attacker was a
werewolf that can transform outside of the full moon? Did it bite you or him?”

“I don't think he bit Connor, but he did hit him, I saw blood,” I replied.

At this Mackenzie and Milo pulled away from me and said as one, “And you! You-You're covered
in blood!”

The OGB turned me to face him, going over me himself with a series of spells, and then said, “It
cut his arm, deep. If he wasn't Stunned he would have eventually lost conscious and died from
the blood loss.” I gasped and tried to look around him to Connor, but he wasn't finished, “Did
you recognise your attacker at all, see his face?”

I shook my head, “No, I didn't really. I was dark out and I was under the Invisibility Cloak
and couldn't light my wand or he would have seen me... but he wasn't after me. He was after
Connor and his family.”

As one the OGB and Mum exclaimed at this, “What?” And they'd said it so loudly that almost
everyone else stopped what they were doing to look at us. Well, everyone except the Mediwizards and
Madam Pomfrey with Connor, of course.

I repeated, “He wasn't after me. It looked like he was, he'd trapped Aunt Tonks and
Uncle Lupin and was holding Zoe, but when Connor and me came he threw her away. He let me catch
her, disarmed me and then told me that he was giving me a head-start. But as I was running I
wondered why and turned around and realised that he wasn't talking to me. He didn't want me
and never had, he wanted them.”

The OGB looked up to my mother and asked, “I wonder what your husband will say when he learns
this? That someone would dare to use his daughter as a diversion to get to someone else?”

Mum at once pulled me from the OGB's grasp and replied neutrally, “It comes with the
territory. We all angered a lot of people during the war, any one of us and our children are fair
game.”

He arched an eyebrow at her, just as Professor Bones returned with Zoe and handed her over to
Mum. “They said that she's fine, just hungry and tired.”

At this I said, “We tried to wake Aunt Tonks but we couldn't. I don't know what spell
the man used but Connor said that she was still alive.”

The OGB then turned away from us and stalked back to where Connor was and asked, “Can he be
woken?”

“Oh yes, we were just going to do so in fact,” replied one of the Mediwizards. Then he pointed
his wand at Connor's face and said, “*Ennervate*!”

He awoke with a gasp and then started upright and after a moment where he looked around him
confusedly, he called, “Maggie! Maggie where are you?” I disentangled myself from Mum and pushed
through the others to him, forgetting his wounds he at once pulled me into his arms, hugging me
tightly. “Oh Maggie, I thought he would kill you!”

The OGB interrupted our happy reunion rather quickly. “Mr Lupin, Connor, do you know who your
attacker was?”

Connor looked up at him without releasing me and said, “He didn't give his name, but Dad was
trying to remember who he was. He kept saying over and over again that he was going to tear me to
pieces, that that was Dad's punishment. But I don't know what he meant bec—”

He was interrupted by Mum's gasp, “Fenrir Greyback sent him!”

“Nonsense!” said someone behind her. We turned to discover that it was the Minister for Magic,
who must have just come in from the fact that I hadn't seen him earlier and the others were all
looking rather surprised. He continued, “Mr Greyback is in the custody of the Ministry of Magic,
being watched over by no less than thirty Aurors—”

Mum began to protest, “—I reckon that the Lupins and that man, whoever he was, may have a
problem with that—”

“—He has had and is allowed no contact with anyone outside of those who watch over him—”

“—that hasn't stopped him from arranging this attack—”

“—if he is involved it clearly began before he was captured, he has had *no*
contact—”
“Enough!” bellowed the OGB. “When we have him then you will have it from his mouth who sent him and
then—”

He was cut off by a loud, frightfully close howl, and we all swung round and looked up to see
that somehow the man had eluded the Aurors and Dad to come upon us in Hogsmeade. It was like in
those movies I used to watch with Milo and Grandpa, where the villain in an action film everyone
thought had been killed would suddenly reappear for a second chance. He stood, as bloodied and
battered as he'd left Connor and me, hackles raised and teeth bared, growling softly. But this
was no movie. And then, before we could react, he bounded down the main street towards us.

The OGB ran from the side where we'd gathered round Connor and tried to block him, drawing
his wand and attempting to Stun him. His heroic run would come all to nought though, when he
discovered that he couldn't hold his wand steady. One or two of the others had drawn their
wands and were beginning to fire curses in the werewolf's direction, and the OGB stood alone
trying to stabilise his cramping hand with the other, but it was too late. The werewolf knocked him
aside with a backhand swipe and quite a few others before pouncing upon Milo, and sending Mackenzie
tumbling in the dirt towards Madam Puddifoot's front door in the process.

She was rescued by Professor Bones just before she collided with it.

The scream in my head almost matched Mum's one of horror as pushed the others apart to go to
him, wand drawn. The werewolf ignored her, and as Milo screamed bit down on his right leg like a
vice and began shaking him furiously. Mum froze, halfway through a Stunning Spell, the words dying
in her throat at the sight. The others kept up the fight, but still their curses bounced harmlessly
off of his fur-covered back, he was fully transformed, and he'd just bitten my little
brother....

He couldn't block every spell though, and certainly not the enraged “*Avada Kedavra*!”
that suddenly broke through them all and knocked him clear off Milo, nearly taking his leg off
completely in the process. It would drop limply from its mouth as his lifeless body slumped into
the dirt, and Milo passed out from the shock beside him.

But the first we would all turn to look at was the caster, Dad, who in turn stood looking
shell-shocked and somewhat spent back at his handiwork. No one spoke, no one moved, no one made a
sound. For all those who'd never seen him in action, this display of my father's might have
looked rather unremarkable compared to the stories they'd heard and told. But then looking at
him as a man whose son's life had just been cursed forever and some of them with children of
their own, their shock quickly became grim satisfaction. Like in the movies, now it was over.

Mum was the first person to move at last, with an anguished cry in Dad's direction she ran
to Milo lying bleeding in the middle of the main street and pulled him into her arms, screaming,
“Oh Milo, oh no, Milo! My boy, my little boy!”

Connor let me slip out of his arms and I joined her shortly thereafter, along with Mackenzie,
the Mediwizards and the Minister. And the first Mediwizard there, after a quick inspection replied,
“We're going to have to take the boy to the hospital. This was a bad bite... I'm sorry, Mrs
Potter.”

Mum didn't appear to hear him though; she was looking back to Dad who was still staring at
her looking shocked. And still no one else was saying a word; it was almost as if they were afraid
to breathe. The Mediwizard insisted, “Mrs Potter, we're going to have to get him to the
hospital immediately and set up a strict regimen of Wolfsbane, it's not the full moon but
that's a fully transformed werewolf... there's no telling what—”

Dad spoke at last, “Go Hermione, take them and go on ahead. The others are supposed to be taking
Lupin and Tonks there as well....”

“Daddy you have to come too!” squealed Mackenzie, pushing through the others to go to him.

Dad looked pained as he replied, “I will, but go with your mother now... he's still.... I
have to stay here... I just—”

“No, go Mr Potter. I can assure you that no one can arrest you for this... you were obviously
trying to protect your son,” said the Minister suddenly. “Come, quickly now, I'm assuming
you'll be taking the Floo to St Mungo's?”

Dad looked surprised now, but allowed Mackenzie to drag him back to us, where the Mediwizards
had finally convinced Mum to let Milo unto a stretcher, as they'd also placed the OGB, and were
beginning to head to the Three Broomsticks. Presumably they were going to use the fireplace there,
and as we walked I couldn't help but notice the way the crowd parted to let us through. They
were all looking at Dad with an expression of sympathy in their eyes, but if he noticed he
didn't react, instead staring blankly ahead at Milo on the stretcher and Mum, who kept glancing
backwards at him.

Connor slipped his hand into my own and squeezed it, and then whispered, “I'm sorry.”

“Why?” I asked, looking up at him.

He nodded to Milo, “I'm sorry for this, I'm sorry this happened to him.... It should
have been me he bit... not your little brother.”

I sharply pulled my hand from his and rounded on him, “What, did you have something to do with
this? Did you do something to cause this to happen?”

The others stopped and turned back to us and we both reddened slightly in embarrassment, but
Connor replied, bravely, “It should have been me he bit, not your little brother.”

I looked at him incredulous, “What? Why? What good would that have done? I don't think
anyone should've gotten bitten. Would his biting you make it right or something? Do you think
it would make us all feel better if you'd got bitten instead?” He did not reply, but I
continued through clenched teeth, “Because it wouldn't.”

He dropped his eyes now to his feet, red with embarrassment, and I went to him and wrapped my
arms around his waist. Automatically he draped an arm over my shoulders to secure me against him
and we walked quietly into the pub with the others.

It had and was going to be a long night; I couldn't handle him falling apart now. Not now,
when my brother's life had just been cursed forever.

For this, I feared, was the one time being Harry Potter's child could not spare you the
worst of it.

-->



20. Chapter Twenty
------------------



**A/N:** *One more chapter to go, thank God! I love writing, I love creating stories and I
especially love ending them. I'm smiling from ear to ear and, again, I still have one more
chapter to write, and then there's the second part of the trilogy to plan and my original novel
to begin and Deathly Hallows to read.... I'm really, really happy right now.*

*At the end of the last chapter I'll give the title of the next “book” and do desperately
hope that Ms Rowling hasn't made it all completely AU, like, you* *know* *killing or
not putting together Harry and Hermione or something. *crosses fingers**

*Oh and one more thing, borrowed a* *clichéd* *line of my favourite Remus/Tonks
fanfics. I'm such a Wotcher Wolvie shipper of late.*

*All errors, as always are entirely mine.*

**Disclaimer:** *Not mine* *or I would know how Deathly Hallows ended... but then, I
would have put together Harry and Hermione in the Half-Blood Prince and never allowed someone to
call my fans “delusional”**. They'r**e my fans and he'**s* *nobody, so
I'd never allow him to alienate them.*

*******

**Chapter Twenty**

As soon as we got to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the Mediwizards
and Healers rushed us all up to the First Floor, Creature-Induced Injuries, and there we were
separated, Milo to the “Dangerous” Dai Llewellyn Ward, the OGB and Connor to a general ward and I
was simply attended to in the first available private room while Mum was left screaming and crying
in Dad's arms in the middle of the hall. I did not cry aloud, but I could not stop the tears
from flowing or the blood rushing in my ears like a kettle whistling at full boil each time she
screamed. Mackenzie, who the Healer-in-Charge, Augustus Pye, had allowed to come in with me, was
frightfully silent all the while, holding her hands over her ears with her eyes tightly shut until
one of the Healers had the presence of mind to cast a Silencing Charm over the room and offered her
a set of spare lime green Healer's robes to play with.

I was undressed, made to shower and then force-fed three different potions, one for the pain,
one to attend to my damaged bones and the last, the Draught of Peace, to settle my nerves. The calm
that settled over me was immediate and absolute, and for the rest of the time while they attended
to my wounds, and then went out to speak to Mum and Dad, I found myself observing them as if I was
simply going through an interactive class. At one point I even found myself smiling at a cheesy
joke one of the Healers made, and when I did, Mackenzie smiled as well, hopped off her seat and ran
to wrap her arms around my waist, comforted that I appeared to be all right after all.

It was wonderful to be in outside of the blistering cold, though being inside meant that we were
in a pleasantly warm and clinically white hospital room.

The door opened and Healer Pye came in with a smile, “Well this is wonderful. I was just about
to let your parents in and I was worried that you would be a bundle of nerves, but instead
they're going to meet you smiling. How do you feel?”

I looked over myself, now dressed in a set of St Mungo's patients' robes and my cleaned
and repaired jumper, and said, “I think... I feel very good, actually. But my little sister... do
you think you could give her some of that Draught of Peace?”

He nodded, “I don't see why not, but just a little—right, Healer Gale?”

He was speaking to a plump young woman with strawberry blonde hair and full pink cheeks. She at
once turned to my night table, poured out a tablespoon of the thick pastel pink potion, and popped
it into Mackenzie's mouth. After a silent moment, Mackenzie licked her lips and asked, “May I
have some more?”

Healer Pye laughed now and said, “I don't think so, but I'm going to let your parents in
and I suspect that that should be as if you'd gotten a full dose.”

He opened the door for them, but instead of coming in we were treated to their retreating backs,
while the Healer they'd been speaking to, Cho Chang—who I knew only because Aunt Ginny had
mentioned her being Dad's former girlfriend—came to the door and said, “My, you two are very
pretty girls.... They've gone to see your brother; he's awake now and asking for them.
He's going to be alright.”

“Can we see him too?” asked Mackenzie.

She smiled but shook her head, “Not yet, they're still attending to him so your parents are
the only ones allowed. However, (she turned back to the door and beckoned someone over) I believe
there's someone here to see you.”

She then stepped out of the doorway to reveal Connor, carrying his baby sister, who wasted no
time rushing over to my bed and greeting me with firm, warm hug and a gentle kiss on my cheek. When
he released me he said, “My parents are dying to see you, you saved us.”

I blushed and looked away from him, but he laughed, “Come on... well, if you can leave...?”

He looked around to the other Healers still present, who all nodded, and Healer Pye replied, “Is
this your girlfriend... my, don't they grow up fast? Well, I don't see why not, we're
keeping you all overnight for observation anyway. Don't go anywhere else though, because
I've heard rumours that the press is here and they're going to stop at nothing for
information... and I don't think you want your picture on the front page tomorrow in those
robes.”

We all nodded, even Mackenzie, and so with a nod to Healer Chang, who was still in the doorway,
we left to find Aunt Tonks and Uncle Lupin.

When we got to their room, which was actually across the hall from the one Connor had been in,
but shared with the OGB and two others who were apparently fast asleep, Aunt Tonks nearly ran into
Connor with her hug and anxious kisses. Uncle Lupin was even more thrilled, and no sooner than had
Aunt Tonks released him, taking care to relieve him of Zoe in the process, he firmly embraced his
son as a drowning man rescued would gasp for air. Then he turned to me to do the same, saying, “Oh
thank goodness for Magnolia Potter! My little heroine, you saved my son, you saved my family!”

I went beet red, completely embarrassed and shook my head as modestly as I could, replying with
some difficulty, “No... I just got lucky....”

He smiled, then pointed to the bandages swathed round his neck and disappearing into his
patients' robes, and said, “I believe we're the ones who are lucky, if it hadn't been
for you we would have all died.”

I shook my head firmly this time, “No... I must have brought that man right to you... I was a
diversion. I figured that out, you know, I brought him to you, and I got lucky.”

Uncle Lupin still looked as if he strongly disagreed, but said, “Well then I'm just grateful
that no one got seriously hurt.”

Before I could, Mackenzie replied, “Milo was bitten by the werewolf.”

I'd never seen anyone's mood change so fast. Uncle Lupin released me at once, horrified,
and backed away until he nearly toppled into the bed, repeating softly, “Oh no... no... not his
son... no.... Oh poor Harry, Hermione... I'm so sorry....”

Whatever power the Draught of Peace had over me seemed to temporarily undergo a moment of
strain, as I was filled with a feeling of deep sadness, before I replied calmly, “They're
giving him Wolfsbane and Healer Chang said he's going to be fine. It wasn't the full moon
though, so I'm thinking that he shouldn't become a werewolf, like Uncle Bill isn't one
and Fenrir Greyback had scratched and bitten his face.”

“Fenrir Greyback wasn't fully transformed, this man was,” said Connor.

I insisted, “It wasn't the full moon, so he should be fine.”

I wasn't sure of this but for some reason my mind had firmly latched itself around this idea
and now stubbornly refused to let it go. I suspected that had I not been under the influence of a
potion I would be near hysterically trying to convince them of it, but I wasn't and so must
have looked simply stubborn and not distraught as I felt.

Uncle Lupin ended this though, when he said, “It's not the same, if he was fully transformed
as you say... the curse is in the saliva, the bite. Oh poor Milo... he's just a boy....”

I changed tack then, needing reassurance in the face of defeat, “But you were a boy when you
were bitten, and you're fine. You have a life, and Aunt Tonks and Connor and Zoe—”

Uncle Lupin, apparently realising my state of mind, refused to lie, “I *suffered*,
Magnolia, I almost didn't go to Hogwarts.... Your father may spare him from the worst of it
but.... He should not have to face what I did... he should not be suffering for my—”

Then Mackenzie spoke up, “You're a werewolf too? But you're not a monster.” No one ever
said she wasn't perceptive. We all turned to look at her, and she continued, “The thing that
bit Milo is a monster, but you're Uncle Lupin, you're not a monster. You haven't bitten
anyone, have you...?”

Clearly a tablespoon of the Draught of Peace wasn't enough. I hastened to apologise,
“I'm sorry, she doesn't understand—”

She cut me off, her voice rising, “You're not a monster and neither is Milo. He's not
going to become a werewolf; he's going to be fine!”

“I am so sorry, Mackenzie,” Uncle Lupin began to apologise, going towards her with his hands out
in a genuine gesture of pleading.

But she turned away from him to me, grabbing my hands and pleading, “Tell them Milo's going
to be fine! Tell them that he's going to be fine! Tell them, Magnolia!”

I felt the power of the Draught of Peace weaken as my eyes welled up and she blurred before me,
dark red hair melding into the khaki of her parka, wide hazel eyes vanishing into a pale, pink
face, but I could not give her what she wanted. I wasn't sure of what was going to happen to
Milo myself, and when she realised this, she turned and fled, slamming the door behind her.

In the silence that followed I took the time to wipe my eyes, take two calming deep breaths,
which allowed the potion to take hold of my emotions again, and then said, “I'm sorry, she
doesn't mean that... anything by that... she doesn't understand....”

Uncle Lupin sighed, “She has every right to be upset. Wolfsbane may preserve his mind, make the
transformations less traumatic, but his life has been ruined.”

I looked up at him, but it would be Aunt Tonks who spoke, “And what is this that you have here?
You have a wife and children... I don't understand how could it be ruined?”

Uncle Lupin would not look at her, but his face took on a closed expression, “I can barely get a
steady job, our children face humiliation, our home... oh our home.... Don't you remember how
difficult it was for us when we tried to get another? Don't you know how difficult it will be
now? To even attempt to rebuild the Ministry will have to get involved, `supervising',
`advising' and having the final say on our plans.... Milo at least has the advantage of being
Harry's son, and his future is provided for, but for how long? Not very many want to associate
with werewolves. I was lucky to have you, but how many other witches out there will so kindly take
to his condition? Even those attracted to the name `Potter', like to his father, won't want
to deal with that.”

“But you have a life, so isn't that hope for Milo?” I reasoned. “You're an example to a
lot of people of what can happen.”

He looked up at me, sadly, “I'm afraid I'm no example to go by. You know well that some
at the Ministry, particularly those in power, are more in favour of stricter regulations on
werewolves, and that many who have suffered at the paws of my less... humane counterparts, may be
less than open to the idea of better treatment. Being a werewolf carries a stigma in the Wizarding
world and one that is more overtly upheld than blood purity nowadays.”

“Mum and Dad will get the laws changed,” I replied.

He gave a wearied sigh this time, then pinched the bridge of his nose with his eyes tightly shut
a moment, as if thinking, and then said, “They can try, but they, *we* all have been trying
for longer than you have had life to change things. They may succeed this time, I don't know,
your little brother is the only son of the Man-Who-Triumphed. But that is not the only problem, for
how do you deal with someone who's already suffered because of the regulations but not come out
as rosy as I appear to have to you? Like the individual who nearly killed us, for example? That
man... his name is—”

“—was,” supplied Connor.

Uncle Lupin arched an eyebrow at him, “—*was* Artie MacNicol. I didn't remember him
until just now, and your parents wouldn't know him because had he gone he would have been at
school with Nymphadora, and Charlie Weasley. He was bitten at seven, he'd told me—”

“—he told you that earlier?” I asked.

Uncle Lupin shook his head, “I met him before... during the Second War, before Albus Dumbledore
was killed. The Order—you know of the Order?—well because of my... `advantage' in that
particular area, I'd been given a mission by Professor Dumbledore to infiltrate and convince
the werewolves who followed Greyback and Voldemort that supporting the Order would be a better
idea. I cannot say that at the time we had the means of providing the opportunities I promised to
those I spoke with, but the alternative of Voldemort turning them into his tools... well, it was
not acceptable. Artie was the first of the pack I'd met, and he followed me practically every
day after I arrived. I think, even, that he may have been one of the few willing to believe
me.”

He stopped and was silent for a time, lost in his memories. Then he exhaled, and continued, “You
see, he told me his entire life story shortly after we first met. He'd grown up in the
Highlands, the son of a Curse-Breaker and an Unspeakable, and had always been a bit of a rebellious
child. He blamed this on his parents, their careers being secretive and adventurous to him,
spurring his imagination to the point that he liked to pretend that he was both and an Auror too.
They and his many babysitters may not agree with this assessment of the situation but... well, his
is the one that matters here. And one night, while he and his friends were out after bedtime
pretending at being Aurors and Dark Wizards, he was attacked by a werewolf. `It changed his
life,' he liked to say, but he never clarified whether for the better or worse.

“After he'd been bitten his parents did their best to help him, they took many of the same
precautions my parents did to protect him from himself and others, like building a secure room for
him to transform in and setting up chains to restrict his movement when he was transformed. They
went to the Ministry for advice, which at the time wasn't much, they sought out Professor
Dumbledore to get him into Hogwarts, and after he got his letter even arranged for him to have a
tour of the measures they were taking, but he took one look at it all and, ever the rebel, ran
away. He firmly believed that he wouldn't find friends at school or that he'd be forced out
by their frightened parents. It took him two months to run into Greyback and be adopted by the pack
after that, and he'd been with them ever since.

“But I saw an opening when we first met, he looked lonely and clearly missed his parents the way
he spoke of them sometimes, wishing he could see them but afraid of what Greyback might do... and
so I told him my story. I told of my family, of going to school, being the reason he had those
precautions in the first place, and making friends who did not reject me. I think I gave him
hope.... Then Professor Dumbledore died, Greyback was caught and, well, while I managed to convince
a few of them including him to join the Order against Voldemort, the others largely ignored us.
Many were killed... and though MacNicol helped, you know my situation. Like I said your parents and
I have fought the Ministry for years for change, but MacNicol, among others, had hoped for
immediate reconsideration. It never came and coming now, it may be too late.”

“Then we should do *nothing*?” I asked looking at him surprised.

He shook his head, “I'm not saying that but....” He fell silent, pondering what he'd
just told me for a moment himself, then replied, “It's just.... He told me tonight how he's
suffered since then... I should have done more.”

He said nothing more after that, so that we were left to absorb his story, and understand his
reasoning ourselves. I didn't get it, and I was sure that I never would, but then he asked,
“What happened to him tonight? Connor made me change my tense because...?”

I looked to Connor and replied, “Dad killed him after he bit Milo. He wasn't going to let
him go and nothing else was working... so Dad killed him.”

For a moment Uncle Lupin looked at me shocked, then he and Aunt Tonks exchanged a look, and Aunt
Tonks asked, “Did they take him into custody?”

“Who, Dad?” I shook my head. “The Minister said that he did it in self-defence.”

“The Minister? For Magic?” asked Aunt Tonks, wide-eyed.

I shrugged, “He was there. But I don't think they'd arrest Dad anyway. Do you want to
take in the Man-Who-Triumphed for murder? He was defending Milo, everyone saw that.”

Uncle Lupin gave a sad smile, “We're not meaning to imply that he should have been
arrested.... It's just that your father would have probably surrendered himself regardless.
Even though MacNicol attacked his family repeatedly... Harry was adamant that he be taken in and
sent to Azkaban. Your father must be taking this rather hard and—”

“Oh no, I'm fine,” said Dad from the doorway. We all looked around, we hadn't heard him
come in, but he continued nonchalantly, “It was either him or my son... you would have made the
same.”

Uncle Lupin did not deny it, and studied him for a moment before asking, “Are you really
alright?”

Dad confessed immediately, “No, but I love my son and I would do anything for him. And that
should hold me until I am.”

At this Uncle Lupin asked, “How is Milo?”

Dad looked anxiously to me and replied, “He nearly lost his leg in the attack, but this is the
magical world so they've fixed that right quick and are attending to the main bite. He's so
brave, much better than I'd have been... he even joked just now that he should write to Romulus
Kveld-Ulf and ask to be written into the story like his sister.”

I could not help a surreptitious glance to Connor. He gave no visible reaction, but took hold of
my hand and squeezed it.

Dad continued, “I would be with him now but all he wants is his Mum and she's the only one
they're letting in, no matter what I say. So I decided to find Magnolia and Mackenzie, and then
see how you're doing. Apparently you're all fine... Tonks...?”

She smiled, morphed her hair hot pink, but still cropped short, and said, “Yes, Wolvie's
only got some rope burns, Zoe's starving and Connor's... well, he's upright so I guess
he's okay.”

To my surprise, Connor morphed his hair blue, going from navy at the roots to electric blue at
the spiked tips, then back again, and chimed, “Yes, I'm okay. We're all okay, and it's
all thanks to Maggie.”

I blushed and looked to Dad, “Is Mackenzie okay, she kind of ran out... upset.”

He nudged the door open a little wider with his hip to reveal my little sister wrapped tightly
round his left arm. “She was sitting quietly in the hall, but as I got to the door I suddenly grew
another appendage. I think I'll keep her though, she's cute.” He then turned and swung her
up into his arms, kissed her forehead and cheeks and said, “You heard me right, your little
brother's going to be alright and no, Uncle Lupin is not a monster.”

Uncle Lupin smiled and told her, “I didn't wish for you to find out this way, but... no,
I'm not a monster, only on the full moon each month, and thanks to that potion they're
giving your brother, I'm usually pretty tame then. In fact, I believe a scarier monster once a
month would be your Aunt Tonks.”

Aunt Tonks' jaw dropped and she stared at him in shock for a few seconds, and then she
smacked his arm. He grinned at her, and returned to Mackenzie, “He'll get a little hairier than
normal around the full moon, and he may get a bit hoarse after. You may not be able to be around
him for about the three days around that time either, but he can't turn you into a werewolf
unless he bites you as a wolf on the night of the full moon. I know the man who bit him was one and
the moon's not full, but he apparently has been able to morph himself outside of it. This is
highly unusual, not unheard of, but thankfully not something that can just happen. It'll take
years and the Dark Arts, which you may not understand but that's what werewolves are classified
under, and to give in to that... madness within is to dabble in them.... I'm sorry Milo got
bitten, that he'll have to live like me but—”

He was interrupted by Mackenzie asking quietly, “When it's the full moon and he's a
wolf, are you going to be with him? He's going to be scared if we can't be with him, so
will you?”

Uncle Lupin looked at her in shock for a long while, and then turned to Dad. Dad in turn looked
down at Mackenzie whispered something in her ear, she nodded, and then he looked up at Uncle Lupin
smiling, “If you want to you could.... I mean, Hermione and me, we'd both really appreciate it
if you could be there... since we can't.”

Uncle Lupin then turned to look back at Aunt Tonks and Connor, and Connor said, “I know I'd
want you to be there... if it was me.”

Uncle Lupin replied then, “I'd have to speak to Milo....”

Aunt Tonks glared up at him, looking for a moment like a very annoyed sprite, “I don't see
the boy disagreeing with this idea, he likes you a lot.”

With this Uncle Lupin nodded at last. “I don't see why I shouldn't; I certainly wished I
had someone around sometimes when I was younger.... Before I earned myself some pretty good
friends.”

Mackenzie smiled, then jumped out of Dad's arms and ran to him. When he looked down at her
smiling, she tugged on his sleeve and pointed up, so that he would lift her up into his arms. And
once he was holding her, she wrapped her own about his neck, kissed him and said, “Thank you.”

When he blushed in embarrassment, Aunt Tonks shifted Zoe in her arms and said, “I'll have
you know Miss Potter, that I saw him first.”

We all laughed.

*******

Half an hour later we were interrupted by two Aurors who came to inform us that we were to be
interviewed individually on what had happened at the Lupin cottage and in Hogsmeade village that
night. They were not, as the Minister had said, going to arrest Dad, but they needed to have an
accurate and complete recount of events for an official report. Through their questions I was able
to piece together what had happened earlier.

The attack on Gryffindor Tower must have been another diversion for after he was “chased” away
by the teachers and Aurors, the man formerly known as my attacker, Artie, or Arthur MacNicol, had
flown directly southwest to my parents' house in Godric's Hollow. Whether he had suspected
this to be the final straw for those who wanted me out of Hogwarts or not, we'll never know,
but he went directly there and was therefore able to overhear Connor's address when he, Dad and
I arrived. We took the Floo to the Lupin cottage, but while we'd all been sitting casually in
Zoe's room, having hot chocolate and chatting, he flew nearly all night to join us, arriving
only in the very early morning and “boarding” with Mr MacFingall. There was no need for him to
hurry, with everyone else busy at work with Dad trying to set up an ambush at our home, he had all
the time in the world to set the final part of his plan into action.

The next day he went out and set the fires, all magical, all around the Lupin property, and it
was just his luck that Uncle Lupin had heard their neighbour complaining about a fox in his things.
He was then able to return to the MacFingall house and await the moonrise with his “host”, while
the fire did the work for him. That work was to spawn Ashwinders, the red-eyed, grey-skinned snakes
whose eggs were an ingredient of many potions, but also had the tendency to set buildings on fire
if not found and frozen in time. The Ashwinders of his fire slithered directly to the nearest warm
building, which unfortunately turned out to be the Lupin cottage, and lay eggs all around the first
floor and in the cellar. The smell of burning we'd noticed all day then wasn't the
newspapers, but the house as the eggs caught fire.

Aunt Tonks was the first to notice them as she went down to the cellar, and at once ran back up
to get Zoe and us, while Uncle Lupin sent Ophelia off with a warning to Dad. Luckily MacNicol
hadn't seen her flying away or he would have surely killed her. With us warned and Zoe
retrieved, Aunt Tonks then decided to go to Mr MacFingall to wait for help, while Uncle Lupin stood
waiting for us to come down. MacNicol wasted no time in incapacitating Aunt Tonks before that,
petrifying her first and then forcing her to drink the Draught of Living Death. It was why Connor
and I hadn't been able to revive her later. As the name said she was in a state of living
death, in a sleep so deep that had he succeeded MacNicol could have done anything he wanted while
Uncle Lupin watched helpless. But then, that was the idea I guess.

Uncle Lupin hadn't been there when Connor and I came down though, but that was because
MacNicol had drawn him away by shaking Zoe until she cried. That this could have killed her did not
concern him, he who had spent weeks nearly killing me to get to them. When Uncle Lupin went out to
see what was the matter, he was instead greeted with a magical net that trapped him to the ground
and a few minutes worth of silent torture with the Cruciatus Curse before we arrived.

MacNicol had clearly planned every moment of this beforehand. But if Uncle Lupin had been right
about him he had had nearly sixteen years to do it and therefore had no excuses for being rash at
the last minute.

Since it had taken MacFingall nearly all night to get to us I wondered how Ophelia had managed
to get to Godric's Hollow so fast, but she hadn't, she'd instead gone to Hogwarts and
Professor McGonagall. My Headmistress then warned Dad through the Floo, Dad moved his ambush to
Hogsmeade, as they were all unfamiliar with the Lupin property and couldn't just Apparate, and
they flew to us from there. Just before he left though, Dad had called Mum at the Burrow, and she
had decided to bring Milo and Mackenzie to meet me, believing that it would be a good idea for me
to see them as soon as I arrived. I knew she was regretting that decision now, the look on her face
after her interview said it all.

After my escape and Dad had begun the chase that would take us to Hogsmeade, the other Aurors
had gone on ahead to see what had happened at the cottage. There they met Uncle Lupin and Aunt
Tonks out in the snow and their home nearly completely gutted. Mercifully a number of things had
been spared, including most of Connor's stuff, Zoe's crib and my school trunk, but the
house was uninhabitable. When I met Connor again, if it were not for the Draught of Peace I would
have surely begun crying. My family still had a home to go to once we left St Mungo's but his
were reduced to the charity Grandma Weasley once said Uncle Lupin steadfastly disliked receiving.
They would have no choice but to go to the Burrow now. Knowing Grandma Weasley when she arrived
there was no way he was going to get away with refusing.

We had just finished up our interviews and were filing into Milo's room to see him, once
again in one piece, cleaned, bandaged and relishing in the advantages of the Draught of Peace, with
Mum to his right and Dad perched on the foot of the bed, when she arrived. Or rather, Rigel, with
his mother and two grandmothers in tow, bursting into the private room as if he owned the place (as
usual) and, after a moment of nodding to everyone else, he drew me into a bone-crushing embrace as
if he hadn't seen me in days. But then he hadn't, when last we'd laid eyes on each
other it was Friday evening at dinner.

Connor exhaled heavily, annoyed, but said nothing and did not release my hand, which he had been
holding since I walked into the room. Grandmother Malfoy's and Grandma Weasley's eyes
darted to our joined hands for a moment, and then quietly flicked back up to everyone else while I
said, “Okay, okay, enough Rigel, it's just been two days, we've gone a week without seeing
each other at school.”

He mumbled into my hair, “Yeah, but you were in school, not being chased by a madman.”

I conceded that point, “Okay, true, but I'm fine... and Milo....”

He released me at once then, and he turned to the others, “Hi, goodnight, or good morning.
How's Milo?”

Milo, looking flushed, and picking at the bandages on his left leg, looked up at Rigel's
question and said, “I'm right here. Why does everybody run to Magnolia first? She didn't do
anything special, I got *mauled*!”

From the look on Mum's face it was clear that she thought that the Draught of Peace was
working a little too well.

Rigel smiled at him and walked over to the bed, as Aunt Ginny, Grandma Weasley, looking for all
the world as if someone had died, her eyes puffy and red and her red hair falling out of her
coiffure, and Grandmother Malfoy, ever the martyr with her expression of mock-sympathy, stepped
further into the room, closing the door behind them, and Grandmother Malfoy said, “Good
morning.”

Everyone else stopped and looked to her, surprised, as if they hadn't noticed her before.
But then they probably hadn't, no one was expecting her to actually come in. And it did not
help that though she was wearing what looked like her simplest navy blue winter cloak, and her
sleek white-blonde hair was a bit more mussed than Grandma Weasley's, and the slight bags under
her deep blue eyes revealed her exhaustion, which made me wonder, she still exuded a sense of
detachment. She was not welcome here, this she knew, but she had come in and determinedly appeared
as though she had every right to.

Rigel, oblivious, continued to Milo, sat down on the bed beside him and asked, “How's your
leg?”

“They gave me a potion so it stopped hurting, but they said it isn't going to heal for a
while. Mum's worried because the full moon's in two weeks, but I'm not, Uncle Lupin is
going with me,” Milo replied with a grin, looking up at Uncle Lupin.

At this Dad asked, “So everyone knows what happened to Milo?”

Rigel nodded, “They were whispering it all over the school before I left, and at least three
reporters asked the same question as we were coming up. They all know, but some are insisting that
they're not going to print anything until you and Aunt Hermione want to. It's too late
though, it was all over Hogsmeade and that's how it got into the school, people were sending
owls back and forth.”

Mum and Dad exchanged a look, and then Mum said, “We'll tell them later... it's not like
we have a choice, I mean, he's—he's probably... he's going to have to go to school
there next year, they have a right to know.”

Dad arched an eyebrow at her, “But Lupin's parents didn't say anything.”

Uncle Lupin cut in, “Well, no... but they had the advantage of no one else knowing I'd been
bitten beyond Professor Dumbledore and Fenrir Greyback.”

Dad turned to look directly at Grandmother Malfoy as he said, “Right... and Fenrir Greyback...
whose days of clear thought and soulless scheming for revenge are going to come to an abrupt end
now. Endangering the lives of a minors, attempted murder, murder, destruction of property and
trespassing... he's been quite a busy man. And since his tool—I wouldn't go as far as to
call that man his accomplice—is unfortunately no longer with us, he'll have to assume the
charges. With friends like these....”

Grandmother Malfoy, for her part, remained expressionless as she stared back at him.

Rigel, who had turned to look at his grandmother with him, cleared his throat noisily then and
said to Milo, “I've got you something. It's a comic book like your *Úlfhéðnar*, but
it's Father's old stuff, *The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle*. Have you
ever read it?”

I looked to Grandmother Malfoy again, but if she was upset by Rigel's choice of gift, like
Dad's pointed words, she did not show it. Aunt Ginny and Grandma Weasley though, looked as if
they were both desperately trying not to laugh.

Rigel was a right prat, I didn't really care for Grandmother Malfoy but that was a bit
cruel.

Milo meanwhile, when I looked back to him, was shaking his head, replying, “No... but isn't
that really old?”

Rigel smiled, “Yes, but they still make them, and I don't read them anymore so you can have
them.” Then he reached into his cloak and withdrew a copy of the colourfully decorated copy book
and handed it to Milo. “There's a whole lot more where that came from and I'm sure I can
get you the rest.”

Automatically then, and unnecessarily, Mum prompted, “What do you say?”

Milo looked as if he were desperately trying not to roll his eyes, but said, “Thank you, Rigel.”
Then he reached over to hug him, which earned a series of surprised looks all around, for Rigel and
Milo were not really friends. And after he released him, he turned to Grandmother Malfoy and said,
“Thank you, Mrs Malfoy.”

She gave him a tight smile, and then said, “I'll be back later, Rigel. If you need to see me
I'll be visiting with Severus.”

Then she turned and left without another word. No sooner had the door shut behind her though,
than did Dad ask Rigel, “Did your grandmother know that you were going to give Milo Draco's
comic book collection?”

“No, she suggested it,” replied Rigel, casually.

“What?” Mum asked, surprised and clearly concerned.

“Yes. When I found out that he was here, I wanted to bring something but I had nothing at
school. I sent her an owl and she met us downstairs with the comic book... don't worry, Mum
checked it before we brought it up,” he replied.

Aunt Ginny nodded. “There was no way I trust her to give your son a gift, there has to be a
catch.”

At this Milo, who had been flipping through the comic book while we spoke, looked up and said,
“You know, I would really like it if I got written into a comic book like Magnolia did. That would
make me feel loads better.”

Once again Mum glanced to the bottle of potion on the night table. I shook my head, “And how do
you know that's me in *Úlfhéðnar*?”

He gave me one of his looks again, “Everyone says it's you, and you're my sister, I
*know* it's you. And since I got bit you should write to Romulus Kveld-Ulf and ask him to
write me in like he did you, because it's only fair.”

I tried not to look at Connor as I replied, doing my best to sound casual, “I'll see what I
can do.”

The door burst open again then, and in walked the rest of the Weasleys, my mother's parents
and Professor McGonagall, all trying to deliver greetings, ask after Milo's condition and
question if it was really Mrs Malfoy they'd seen walking down the hall from the room at once.
But they weren't there long before the Healers returned to deliver doses of Sleeping Draught,
sending us back to our respective wards and ushering them out to give us all time to rest.

After I bid my parents and Rigel goodbye for the night though, I slipped out of my room to
Connor's ward, dragged him back with me, and blushing deep crimson, but not caring for I needed
the comfort, we both climbed into my bed, drank our doses and fell asleep facing each other, our
hands clasped between us.

At long last it was over.

Or rather, this was just the beginning.

-->



21. Chapter Twenty-One
----------------------



**A/N:** *D**espite my euphoria last time, I have to admit I am sad to see this story
end. I mean, there is relief, and now I can focus on those Neil Gaiman novels I've been dying
to read and my own novel which is suddenly very scary to begin writing, but I am sorry to see it
go. I had a lot of fun writing this, as well as moments of hair-pulling frustration when I got
stuck or was worried about a chapter and all that. Writing is* *such awful and sweet*
*torture.*

*Without further ado, h**ere's the final chapter of this story. I hope you enjoy it
as much as you have all the others.* *Heck, maybe think about this story if* Deathly
Hallows *doesn't go the way we want it? Or maybe not, there are some depressing
themes.*

*Thanks anyway.*

**Disclaimer:** *Not mine, and since I watched that Jonathan Ross episode... *abandons all
pretence of composure and semblance of dignity, gets down on knees and begs* Please Jo, please
don't have killed Harry and Hermione, please let them get together in the end and have twelve
children while Hermione becomes Minister for Magic and Harry retires to become a house-husband!
Please!*

*******

**Chapter Twenty-One**

I'd never before been afraid of going to school as I was that Monday morning. My first day
at Hogwarts I'd been thrilled at the prospect of at last going to the place I'd heard so
many glowing reports about. The shoving and shouting reporters, unabashed stares of my new
schoolmates and their parents, and looks of concern on the faces of my family did not faze me. That
I was to share almost a year with people I did not know, that I was going away on my own for the
first time, and that there were many hopes and expectations for my future that I could not begin
imagine had been furthest from my mind. I had my new school uniform, school books, a wand and Rigel
as a guide, what was there to be afraid of?

Things were different now.

Monday afternoon—which the entire school had off in lieu of the invasion Friday night—I sat on
what appeared to be a perpetually mobile bedstead on the upper level of the Knight Bus with Connor,
Rigel and three Aurors, and looked to the fast approaching gates of Hogwarts Castle with
trepidation. My younger brother had been bitten by a werewolf. Now every month for the rest of his
life he was going to become one, transform from a little human into a large animal, and there was
nothing he could do about it. He'd been rather brave about it so far, and even after the
Draught of Peace finally wore off and we were sent home, but I, and very much everyone else, was
still scared.

I couldn't forget the things Uncle Lupin had said, and especially the other things he'd
told us that Sunday when he finally had a chance to sit down with Milo and explain what was to
come.

With their home gone, my parents had invited the Lupins to stay with us in Godric's Hollow
until they found a new one. Grandma Weasley was only just about to invite them to stay with her and
Aunt Ginny and Rigel at the Burrow, and she did, but a well-timed argument by Connor and Rigel
almost immediately swayed their decision in our favour. Before they came home though, we all took a
portkey ride back to their house and I was left staring horrified at the blackened ruin of what had
just yesterday been their lovely little cottage.

I hadn't been in it long enough to know all the things they would miss, but all that I'd
seen of Connor's tour came rushing back to mind and I couldn't hold back the overwhelming
wave of grief that flooded me then. The baby's room Connor had insisted on paying for, the
memories of his father's parents and childhood so cruelly snatched by Fenrir Greyback, the
memories of his life and childhood that could never be replaced, it was the only home they could
get given the Ministry's restrictions.... Compounded by the sight of Connor, carrying his baby
sister, while Milo on a crutch hobbled alongside through the salvaged stuff the Aurors had packed
on the lawn, which included my school trunk, it was too much and I at once began to cry.

Uncle Lupin took one look at my face and said, “They said they took out what they could, which
is everything here, so we can go now and then Tonks and I can come back tomorrow to sort through
what we lost.”

He'd tilted his chin towards me as he said this, and Dad followed his gaze, saw me and at
once came over to envelope me in a toasty, comforting hug. I looked down at my feet, feeling at
once embarrassed and ashamed, and he lifted my chin so that I could look at him before he kissed my
forehead and whispered, “It's not your fault. This... all of this, has nothing to do with you,
any of you. I'm sorry that you had to see this, that you had to go through all of this, but
it's not going to happen again. We're going to finish what we started, properly.” Then he
looked up and said to the others, “Let's go, the longer we stay away from the house the bigger
the crowd is going to get.”

We then took another dizzying portkey ride directly into the less-snow covered backyard of our
home. And while we stood trying to gather our bearings (me, Milo and Connor) or casually discussing
the advantages of being able to Apparate (our parents), Mackenzie peered round the side of the
house to the front yard and said, “There are a lot of people out there. But they don't all look
like reporters.”

I followed her to look myself, and indeed found that some were our neighbours, curious as to
what was going on, while the rest I did not know. And the reporters, all wizards, didn't seem
to mind too much that there were Muggles among them as they stood around talking amongst
themselves. Dad came and pulled us away from the wall, “Inside you two, it's freezing.”

It was a frenzied half-hour after that before we could all sit down and discuss Milo's
situation. Once we were all in and the house sealed, there was a spot inspection of all the rooms
and then Uncle Lupin and Aunt Tonks were given the guest bedroom, Zoe got the old nursery and
Connor was set to share with Milo. This seemed to please my younger brother to no end, and Dad
sighed heavily when they came down the stairs together after Milo showed Connor his room and said
to Mum, “I think he's hinting again.”

Mum looked to two, thought about it for a minute and then replied, “How about we get him a
pet?”

Then Grandma Weasley and Aunt Ginny brought lunch, along with the other Weasleys and their
children, as well as a list of emergency items for the Lupins which including loads and loads of
clothing. By the time they left that evening it was as if she'd single-handedly replaced almost
every item that had been lost in the fire, and then some, like the calendar, kitchen clock and a
frog-shaped cookie jar. She had also gotten Uncle Bill to bring along a list of flats and homes for
sale, Percy, begrudgingly through the Floo, to promise that he'd see about the Ministry
restrictions or loopholes so they could buy one, and Dad, unnecessarily really, to do his best to
ensure that it happened. It was scary... but not as scary as Uncle Lupin's discussion over
dinner.

The words “pain”, “bloodlust”, “self-injury” and “precautions” featured prominently and
repeatedly. The kettle-whistle screaming that the Draught of Peace had stopped returned with a
vengeance.

The next day my parents released a statement in the *Daily Prophet* as promised, for the
papers had all maintained their respectful embargo reporting on the incident, and then Connor,
Rigel and I were sent back to school. I wished they'd had better timing; my little brother
being a werewolf was not something my schoolmates were just going to shrug their shoulders at and
ignore, and especially when they hadn't had a night to sleep on it.

In contrast to my restless mood, the path to Hogwarts was beautifully calm. Under an ice-blue
sky, with the fog lifted and fresh snow having fallen overnight, adding yet another faintly
sparkling layer to the feet-deep spread already coating everything in sight and much of what
wasn't, Hogsmeade in winter looked like the utopian setting of a holiday greeting card. The
buildings of the village, which I hadn't really noticed in my anxiety the other night, actually
looked vaguely homely and welcoming, and this included Maudling's Menagerie and the Hostel of
Ill-Repute. Of the few people who were walking about, who all looked like animated multicoloured
church bells, everyone seemed to want to and greeted each other cheerily as they passed, even the
drunks, as if they'd all been hit by Cheering Charms sometime overnight. It amazed me how life
could go on so blissfully when my world had been shattered forever, and this time I wasn't
being melodramatic.

Then I was jolted from my thoughts when a wizard who'd been leering at me for the past hour
from a bed across from mine, said loudly, “You're Magnolia Potter... well, bless my lucky
stars! Yer a little hero like yer Dad, I read, saved that werewolf teacher's family, I hear! An
honour and a pleasure to meet you, Miss Potter!”

He made no attempt to reach across to shake my hand, as I feared he would have done, but tipped
his hat and then promptly fell back and went to sleep. I looked to Rigel surprised; he shrugged and
went back to quietly glaring at Connor. But Connor when I turned to him was smiling faintly and
whispered, “You see, it will alright... hero.”

Not at all in the mood to contradict him, I just nodded and turned back out the window. Milo
seemed all right, and though Mum and Dad were more than a little nervous about his every breath
since he was released, and Mackenzie would not leave him alone unless forced, he had two weeks to
the full moon. If anything went wrong Uncle Lupin would be there, if he didn't transform, like
I'd been desperately hoping still, we would all breathe a sigh of relief and go back to our
lives as normal. Everything would be fine.

I hoped.

The Knight Bus came to a stop with a painful lurch at the gates of Hogwarts and our
crimson-robed guardians at once stood and went out ahead to check around. Connor helped me with my
trunk and Rigel, not wanting to be left out, took Ophelia's little gilt cage and went first. I
looked back to Connor and grinned, he shook his head and whispered, “Let the boy have his
delusions... and besides, it's odd to see Weasley behaving like a normal human being.”

I swatted his arm and followed Rigel out.

Though the winter landscape was beautiful the air around the castle was as blisteringly cold as
it had been that Saturday in Hogsmeade. I at once winced as I stepped out the large purple bus and
adjusted my scarf to cover my mouth. Connor merely wrinkled his nose and said, “If we hurry we
won't have to worry about it for long.”

The head Auror seemed to agree, “Come on you three, the sooner you're through the gates, the
safer you'll be.”

As the Knight Bus vanished with a “CRACK!” behind us, another of the Aurors unlocked the gates.
Then we were hurriedly ushered in and set on a difficult jog up to the castle. I suspected our
guardians were not too keen on this assignment, the danger on me being past, and just wanted to be
rid of us as soon as possible. I would slow everyone up though, once we'd crested the small
rise in the foreground of the castle, when I saw most of our schoolmates engaged in a fierce and
wildly fun snowball-fight.

It was a while before the Aurors noticed, and when they did they were not happy. The leader
rounded on me in an instant, “What are you doing, Miss Potter?”

I did not hesitate to ask, “Can we stay out here with them?”

They looked over to the snowball fight, just as a tall girl got struck in the face with two
large ones, and Rigel scoffed, “Malfoys do not do snowball fights... at least not without
magically-fortified snow banks and snowballs.”

“Then *Malfoy* you can go up to the castle with her trunk,” said Connor, and then turning
to the others, asked, “Can we stay?”

The head Auror still looked upset, “Miss Potter my orders were to take you to the castle and
make sure that you're settled in.”

“She knows that,” said Connor. “But we're through the gates now and the bad guy's gone,
so can we stay and play? Please?”

For some reason the puppy-eyed pleading look on his face seemed exaggerated, as if he'd
morphed his features somehow to add to the effect, but they worked. After a moment's internal
debate the head Auror sighed and said, “We're not bellboys. Who is going to attend to your
luggage?”

Rigel lazily drew his wand and banished my trunk to the top of the steps before the entrance
doors, then released Ophelia from her cage and banished that too, resting it neatly atop the trunk.
Then he turned back to me, and said, “Well that's done; come here Potter, let's teach these
plebeians how one properly wins a snowball fight.”

And before I had a chance to protest, or Connor to intervene, he grasped my arm and firmly
dragged me off towards the others.

The Aurors were left to stalk back to the castle gates, annoyed and alone.

We'd been out in the snow for ten full minutes, in which time Rigel and I had argued more
about the ethical issues surrounding partially transfiguring small rocks into snowballs than
playing, while Connor sat on a nearby boulder looking on, clearly upset that my attentions had been
seized by Rigel, when we noticed that it was rather quiet. It was too quiet, even for winter, and
especially with more than half the school out on the grounds playing in the snow. We looked up,
confused, and discovered that almost everyone else had stopped playing and were now just staring at
the three of us in silence.

We three stopped moving ourselves, and the silence became protracted. I could hear the calls of
owls leaving and returning with the mail, the strange noises of the forest and the still frozen
lake nearby, and Rigel's breathing as it misted before his slightly opened mouth beside me, but
no one moved. All eyes were on us. Some of them had comically frozen in mid-action to look back on
the three of us, some had turned right around with their hands awkwardly straight at their sides,
and others still stood nervously looking at and then away from us to their neighbours. They were
clearly waiting for one of us to make the first move. I had no idea what that move might be though;
I had expected something like this but hadn't gotten around to the part about what I would do
when it did. And still they waited.

At last, Rigel, unable to stand the attention, and particularly as it wasn't entirely on
him, said, “Come on Potter, maybe you should get your trunk upstairs and—”

He was cut off when a snowball hit him squarely in the back of the head and smashed
spectacularly, showering him and me with the tiny white flakes. For a moment he froze, and then he
whipped around on Connor, who was doubled over with laughter, and knocked him flat off the rock
with a large one of his own.

“Hey!” we both exclaimed, but I as I ran to his side and Connor in protest.

Rigel glowered at him, “You don't hit me, cub!”

At that moment he received a double-hit, another in the head and one between the shoulder
blades. And when he turned back to see who it was, he was barely in time to duck the wave-like
onslaught.

I forgot all about helping Connor to laugh, until someone got my chin and I hastily rolled up
one and threw it back. When Rigel and Connor proceeded to do the same we suddenly found ourselves
in the middle of hearty snowball fight by the end of which we would all be shivering, wet, missing
various items of protective clothing and laughing so hard our sides hurt and we could barely
breathe properly.

Connor was right; it was going to be all right.

*

Dinner that evening had its moment of tension when I entered with Connor. Once again we were
treated to silence and stares, but here the Headmistress intervened by saying, “And that's
everyone, dinner is served!” At once a delicious feast materialised atop every table and hunger did
the rest, distracting the attention and allowing us to take our seats quietly. I looked at her at
the head table until she looked back at me, and then I mouthed, “Thank you.” To my pleasant
surprise, she smiled.

Going up to Gryffindor tower at last proved a bit more difficult. I had done my best to avoid
doing that since I arrived by visiting with Professor Hagrid for tea in his hut after the snowball
fight, but with classes beginning early the next day I had no choice. I still really didn't
want to, and in the end had to be pulled along by Kimberly and Aisling, eyes tightly shut and
dragging my feet, with Connor chuckling behind. It was wonderful to have Kimberly on my side, and
she'd begun chatting with me at dinner almost as soon as I sat down as if we'd all merely
been through a bad weekend. But I worried about my housemates, and I worried about the tower, and I
worried about being back in a dormitory with the same girls who'd been so apprehensive when I
returned at the start of term. Hortense and Aisling were obliged by our family's closeness to
be nice to me, but no one else was.

When we got to the tower I had my hands forcibly removed from my eyes, and was pinched until I
opened them. The Fat Lady had been returned to her rightful place as the tower guardian, in an all
new painting in which she relaxed on a settee in a sun-filled room overlooking some form of
Sub-tropical Ocean. She greeted me with a grin, “Well hello... notice anything different?”

I smiled, “It looks lovely... and sunny... it makes me wish it was summer.”

She grinned brighter, “Alas, not everyone can be as fortunate.... Password?”

Connor replied behind us, “Adonis.”

Her grin was replaced by a flirtatious smile, “Indeed you are....” Then she swung open to admit
us and I was shoved through into the newly restored Common Room and gasped, but in pleasant
surprise.

Whatever hadn't been completely destroyed had been repaired, the portraits, tapestry and
some furniture, and what couldn't be repaired had been replaced. There was a new couch before
the fireplace, new tables in the corner beside the window and new curtains on the windows. The rugs
crunched wonderfully beneath my boots, there was a new candelabrum above our heads and it seemed to
glow brighter than the last and over all was the scent of hundreds of years of sweat and old books
and inhabitation had been replaced with a newness that made me smile. It still looked like the old
Gryffindor Common Room, complete with our lion symbol over the fireplace, but somehow it felt
better.

To complete the effect, Nearly Headless Nick and a number of ghosts were floating about above
inspecting everything with varying degrees of approval and displeasure, and I overheard him telling
another then, “Chintz? *Chintz?* Gryffindors don't do chintz! Silk or brocade maybe... but
not chintz!”

My Housemates below had looked up as we entered, apparently expecting us, and their silence at
last drew my attention and his. He turned and smiled broadly, before saying, “Magnolia Potter! What
did I say, like father like daughter, eh?” He tipped his hat—and head—at me and continued, “I was
just telling them how I spotted it in you the first day you set foot in this castle. Gryffindor
through and through!”

I smiled nervously, embarrassed, and apparently satisfied with this he casually went back to his
conversation on the restored furnishings.

But my Housemates still had not moved, and I was on the brink of rolling my eyes and storming
off up to the dormitories when the first one began to clap. That stopped me in my tracks, and just
as, one by one, the others joined in until the tower was filled with their thunderous applause,
cheers, whoops and calls of, “Way to go, Potter!” “Lil-lie! Lil-lie! Lil-lie!” and “For she's a
jolly good... Gryffindor! For she's a jolly good....”

Red-faced with embarrassment I allowed myself a sigh of relief, and repeated Connor's words
in my head like a mantra, “It will be alright. It will be alright. It will be alright....” It was
already looking up anyway.

*

Classes proved to be marginally better, but at first with the help of some of the teachers.
Having been welcomed back twice the day before, and everyone having had a night to sleep on my
renewed presence, there wasn't silence when I entered a classroom, but whispers and
half-smiles. Then the teachers distracted us all with lessons as usual, reminding us that the end
of year exams were still on and that we had a lot to learn before that.

Eoin stated then that maybe I should have held out a little longer so that they would have been
and Kimberly gave him twitchy ears for the rest of the class.

The only teachers I could not count on for help turned out to be Professor Hagrid, who could not
help but greet me with a broad grin and a pat on the back that nearly felled me face-first into the
snow Tuesday morning, and the OGB, who'd gone back to his old routine of pretending I
didn't exist. But this was not until he'd managed to inform the entire class that I was to
have “remedial” Defence lessons with him over the weekend.

I gave him my sweetest smile then and reminded myself to learn a good hair care spell or
something similar before that. As he passed my desk later, inspecting potions, he whispered, “Five
points from Gryffindor for cheek, you know what I'm talking about.”

Wondering how on earth he'd known what I was thinking I gritted my teeth and muttered my
mantra like a curse, “It will be alright. It will be alright....”

And by Friday it was. Everything had more or less gone back to the way it was before my last
Hogsmeade visit at Christmas. I had classes and homework, I was harassed by Eoin—who really did
seem to have a crush on Aisling, weird and unnatural as that was—Rigel strutted about the school as
if he owned the place, and Kimberly gossiped at bedtime about various people we knew and stole my
romance novels from my trunk. Of course now I also had a much better relationship with Connor, and
Camilla, who though as aloof as before, had a new familiarity with me that was most likely wholly
engineered by my knowledge of her secret.

Out of school, Ophelia brought letters from home in which my parents informed me of Milo's
condition and reassured that he was fine. There was some fuss in the paper about the Ministry
attempting to refuse a war hero a new home just because he was a werewolf, which started a
difficult and at times outright offensive debate in the editorial section of the *Prophets*,
which then died down to nothing when the Minister announced that there was no law stating that
Uncle Lupin could not buy a new home. Fenrir Greyback had a list of new charges tacked to his
already long list and put to the head of those to receive the Dementor's Kiss. And then Dad and
Uncle Lupin were photographed attending the funeral of the man who attacked us, and quoted
demanding that this never happen again.

The universe had been righted, and all that held my attention now was the Ravenclaw-Slytherin
match that weekend and the hope for another spectacular Slytherin-Gryffindor face-off for the
Quidditch Cup.

And then, true to form, I destabilised it again.

*******

I'd all but completely forgotten about the conversation I'd been having with Connor the
evening of the attack at his parents' house. But given the events that interrupted us and my
anxiety over the transition back to school after that this was understandable. Having to listen to
Kimberly's heavily embellished version of those events to our dorm-mates Friday night quickly
reminded me though. She had begun to get a little too carried away with the details of what Connor
and I had been doing before the fire, and I interrupted her to protest, and then remembered what
we'd been talking about. He hadn't quite gotten around to explaining what had happened
between him and the OGB after he began his private lessons with him.

Very early the next morning I slipped out of the dormitory to catch him alone before breakfast.
As usual he was busily sketching at a desk in the corner, and looked up with a smile the moment I
stepped down into the Common Room as if he'd been expecting me. Maybe he had been, for we
hadn't had any time alone since that night in St Mungo's which had been rather dramatically
interrupted by my father the next morning. My ears still rang slightly from his rant.

I smiled back, and then hurried over to his side, but before he could kiss me in greeting I
said, “You know we never finished our conversation.”

He stepped away from me at once, at first puzzled, and then said, “No. We didn't.”

I could tell that he was less than thrilled that I'd decided to bring it up again, but I
said still, “I need to know, Connor. I trust you, I do, but this... it's important to me...
it's important that I know what's going on.”

“Is it really?” he asked, quietly.
“I'm your girlfriend, aren't I? I want to trust you but something about this... it worries
me, so I need the truth,” I replied honestly.

He sighed, and after a long moment said, “We can't talk in here... come on.” He at once
began walking towards the portrait hole without waiting for me to follow or bothering to cover his
work. Less confident that one of our Housemates wouldn't decide this the perfect day to be up
early, I quickly tried to cover everything with a binder and a book, checked it twice to make sure
nothing looked suspicious, and followed him out.

He was waiting for me just out the portrait hole and asked, “What were you doing?”

“You left everything uncovered; don't you care that someone would notice?” I asked.

“They wouldn't,” he replied simply then turned and led me back to the same hidden room
behind the statue down the hall. And the moment the statue closed in behind us, said, “A long story
short, I've been trying to find a cure for the werewolf curse.”

I stared at him, wide-eyed.

He stared back.

I did not move, just stared.

He started to get uneasy, rubbing the back of his neck and flicking his gaze to his feet and
back again to me a few times. Then I blinked, cleared my throat and asked, “What?”

He exhaled slowly and began to explain, “Remember what I told you about finding out about my
Dad?” I nodded. “Well, during the time that I was being tutored by Professor Snape, I'm not
even sure when, but one day I just wondered whether there was a way to cure the curse. If you can
find a way to tame it, then surely you can find a way to cure it altogether. But Professor Snape
was less than enamoured with my idea. He said `greater wizards than I have attempted and failed to
find a cure, do not presume that you, a nine year old boy, can do better'. Well I'm the boy
who decided to create a comic book to try to stop people judging a werewolf by their curse, so I
thought that working my way to a cure was nothing.”

I started shaking my head at him, still shocked by his declaration. “B-but... it took them years
to get to Wolfsbane... and even then they say it was partially an accident....”

He smiled, “I was nine and given the big responsibility of learning to brew a difficult potion
my Dad is supposed to take every month for the rest of his life. I thought I was invincible.”

I couldn't help but return his smile, but then asked, “How's it worked so far?”

He exhaled slowly, “What do you think?”

I gave him my best look of sympathy, hoping desperately that it did not appear as patronising as
it felt, and then something came to me. “How... `invincible' did you feel?”

At this he walked away from me to the furthest corner of the room, and staring directly at the
corner, replied, “Enough to the point that....” He stopped, exhaled heavily, and then continued,
“Do you remember that I told you that I'd gone to visit Stan and Lana in Bulgaria once? Well
last spring when my father went to Romania on a mission for the Order I went with him and visited
them again. Of course they were both at school, but their father got me into Durmstrang to see Stan
and we... I took advantage of the situation to peruse their library.”

Then he turned to face me, with a certain anxiety and silent plea in his expression that made me
puzzle over his statement in my head. He went with his father on a mission, left him to visit his
friend and while there decided to “peruse” his friend's school's library? The Durmstrang
Institute was a magical school for boys, with barely any difference to Hogwarts except for the
somewhat menacing appearance and horror stories that seemed to surround it, despite and as a part
of its renown, and the fact that it taught the Dark Arts where we....

I stopped. Then stared. Then my jaw dropped as what he'd implied fully hit me.

He started to plead immediately, “Please understand, I would never, ever do anything to harm
anyone else. I just thought that if ordinary magic didn't have anything that could help, then
maybe... maybe it would. The students of the Durmstrang Institute are taught the Dark Arts and as
far as we know not very many of them have gone on to become Dark Wizards. And some of the books had
more information than we have here; werewolves are considered Dark Creatures after all.”

I shook my head at him fervently, “They're considered Dark Creatures more for their
uncontrollable actions, for the fact that they can and will kill *indiscriminately* and spread
their curse in their bite. You should know that, you're the one who created a comic book to
help *end* the stereotypes. Oh goodness, please tell me you just read the books...?”

He looked away from me at once, “They gave me ideas. Since the cure would obviously have to be
in the form of some kind of potion, there were things I found that suggested certain ingredients.
Ingredients I could find in Diagon Alley or... Knockturn Alley, or could barter or something from
someone with access to them. I hit a dead-end pretty early on though, so I decided to stop...
un-until I got more information....”

I could barely believe my ears, and enraged, I at once demanded, “How could you do this? How
could you do something like this? Do you know what they would do to your family if anyone ever
found out? They may teach the students at Durmstrang the Dark Arts but it's banned here and in
many other places for a reason! Your mother's an *Auror* and a Metamorphagus, who, though
they're not considered evil would most certainly be distrusted after that, and your
father's a werewolf! They would take your baby sister away just to start!”

“I know, I *know*, but it was worth a try!” he replied, looking back to me. “Nothing else
was working and I thought that it could help me. And besides, we have been really careful so far,
no one else knows anything.”

“Rigel knows,” I said, “or at least suspects for he's the one who set me on this. And
who's `we'?”

At the mention of Rigel he gave me a look of wide-eyed surprise, clearly he didn't know
that. But then I had asked another question, so he replied, “`We' are Stanislav, Camilla and I,
we're the only ones involved and I'm keeping it that way so if we're ever found out you
and... you and Rigel can deny everything under Veritaserum and you wouldn't be lying.”

I was still reeling from the fact that Camilla was involved. The same Camilla whom I believed
would definitely know better than to get involved in anything to do with the Dark Arts given her
genealogy. Where they would separate and imprison at varying lengths Connor's family, Camilla
would most certainly be Kissed, and even if she hadn't actually done anything. But Connor did
not know this, and I decided that the reason she hadn't come up with some excuse not to get
involved was because of that. I asked then, “How did you arrange it? How do you... do what you do
secretly?”

He sighed, “The comic book. There are runes in the pages that—”

“—no one else can read,” I completed for him. This earned me another look of surprise, but I
continued, “Do you know that some of your fans have noticed them? Milo told me about them while we
were in Nice, said that Carl found them in the book when he used his sister's wand on the
pages.”

He shrugged, “They don't have the key so they can't read them, and the keys are like
snowflakes, no two are alike. They change every time to a new set of runes that I send the key for
disguised as an ordinary letter or note or message, and charmed, thanks to a helpful textbook via
Camilla, for our eyes only.”

Once again I was treated to an example of his brilliance and was left standing in awe. He really
was a very smart, *scary* smart boy, able to come up with the most ingenious schemes and
execute them in a manner that would certainly earn the respect and befuddlement of the Wizengamot
when they brought him to trial. I just stared at him then, unable to think of an intelligent
response and wondering if I was capable of one to someone like him. Then at last I asked, “Do you
honestly think you're going to get away with this? I mean, I'm not going to tell... I
promised, so I won't... but do you honestly believe that you're not going to get caught and
sent to Azkaban for the rest of your life for this?” I felt a sharp pain in my chest at this, and
the beginnings of tears in my eyes, but I suppressed both with a sharp, deep breath and asked,
“Even if you do find a cure, if you used Dark Magic to get it they won't welcome you with open
arms. What do you think they're going to do to you?”

He didn't look scared, he just replied, “I'm trying to help my father. You heard what he
said, but I got to see it, I grew up with it. After I found out about his curse I noticed, I saw
everything. The pain, the exhaustion, the fear, the self-loathing in his eyes... that's my Dad,
he and Mum are trying to be brave and strong for me but I heard him tell her once that he sometimes
wished for death rather than go on like this. Wolfsbane may tame their minds, but it hurts still to
transform and then though you're tame you're still contagious so they have to lock you up,
and to do that for every month for the rest of your life.... I wanted to stop it.... Don't you
want the same for Milo?”

Glaring, I said, “Don't bring Milo into this. Don't try to use that to—”

He took a step towards me, his voice low, and almost angry, “I would never, ever try to
blackmail you into-into anything. I'm not Rigel.”

Unconsciously I took a step back, then gritted my teeth, stepped forward again and protested,
“Rigel is not—”

He cut me off, “Why did he tell you this? Is there something that you're gaining by knowing
about this? I didn't want you to know so that if I was ever caught you wouldn't get into
trouble! He told you, if he knows as much as you're implying, he told you just because he knows
that you-that it will make you... stay away from me....”

The tears came now, blurring his face before me as they raced down my cheeks, but I shook my
head vehemently at his statement and said, “He didn't tell me anything for any personal reason
you may think he has... I made him tell me because I was beginning to wonder myself!”

He looked up at me surprised and disbelieving, but I continued, “The day Uncle Lupin was
attacked in the Shrieking Shack, when you came back to the castle with him and Professor Snape took
you down to the dungeons, I took my Dad's Invisibility Cloak and followed you. And there I
heard you speaking, and he was scolding you for what you'd done, and some of the things you
said... it made me wonder. As the attacks continued I wondered if you'd somehow had something
to do with them... not intentionally, but.... I wondered what you'd done and I made Rigel tell
me.”

He stood staring at me silently a moment, his own eyes almost as teary as mine, and then he
said, “I'm only doing this to help my Dad. So that he wouldn't have to suffer for any
longer than he already has.... What you overheard with Snape... three months into my lessons with
him he began talking about me having to learn to defend myself. I was just a little boy and
couldn't quite control my magic but with the right guidance, his guidance, I could do anything.
After all, I may have to kill my father one day... to protect myself and my family if all else
fails.” I gasped, looking at him in horror. He gave a grim smile, “Like I said, it was rather
strange that after one meeting, the usually distant Severus Snape is willing to give me lessons,
me, the son of one of the four men who tortured him throughout his childhood. He didn't even
care for my mother, so why teach me? But she needed me to learn the potion and he repeated those
words like a mantra every time he saw her until he wore her down. And then the first extra lesson
with me he said, `You must understand that your father may one day... slip in his potion, and
should he you must know how to defend yourself. You must not give him the chance to kill you
first.'”

That explained quite a few things. I asked, “Why didn't you tell your Mum?”

He shook his head, “I couldn't. She might have believed me but what good would that do for
Dad?”

“But why tell you those things, why not just mix poisons in with his next dose of Wolfsbane?” I
asked.

Again he shook his head, “They would trace it right back to him. And he takes pride in his
potions, so he won't do that. No, he has a different kind of poison; he would turn me against
my father by giving me books and recounts of the experiences of others with werewolves. He
didn't care for being subtle but he wasn't entirely overt, and knowing that I was probably
too scared to talk anyway.... And then he would contradict himself, like what you heard in the
dungeons. If I ever dared to go along with his ideas, to give voice and simple sentences to the
things he'd been teaching me all along he would take offence, say that I was being insolent and
that I was spoiled. It makes me wonder sometimes why he did it, why he wouldn't just poison my
Dad and be done with it like he clearly wants. But those are the times when I think Rigel is right,
that he just likes the idea of me being under his wing, like a thorn in Dad's side for all the
things he and his friends put him through. He'll be rather disappointed if he ever found out
that I don't care for him as much as he'd like to believe.”

Silence fell in the hidden room after that, to the point that the only other sound was that of
our breathing as I tried to process everything he'd just told me. Rigel was right, Connor had
meddled with the Dark Arts and from what he said I could assume h was going to do it again. But
there was a good reason, as always, it was for his Dad, who his teacher was secretly trying to
poison him against.

*The path to hell is paved with good intentions, not bad* *ones**. All men mean
well.* Voldemort didn't, Arthur MacNicol didn't, but this one did. What right did he
have to do this to himself though? It should not have been his responsibility to try to take care
of his whole family. His family shouldn't be in this situation in the first place.

I wished I'd never asked. But I wouldn't be me if I hadn't. At length I said, “I
don't forgive you for this... I can't, but I won't tell.”

For a moment relief flooded his eyes, but then the anxiety and apprehension returned and he
asked, “A-a-are you going to leave me? Because I understand-I would understand... I know that I
have done something terrible to you and everyone else, but I have.... So... you know... is it
over?”

Once again my heart seized painfully, and I had to swallow to stop another rush of tears, as I
replied, “I don't know. I only came here intending that no matter what it was you told me I was
going to keep it a secret, but beyond that I don't know.... You're playing a dangerous
game, and if you don't get caught first, you could be killed.” I stopped and swallowed the urge
to cry again, then replied, “I can't deal with that. I care about you too much to be able to...
and I'm just fourteen, I can barely deal with the fact that people who want revenge on my
parents could come after me, and you want me to face the reality of watching you hauled before the
Wizengamot and imprisoned for the rest of your life? I can't deal with that, I just
can't.”

I then turned and walked away to the statue door of the secret room. It swung open immediately,
and with a groan that echoed frightfully throughout the silent hall. But as I began to walk out I
heard what I thought was a sob, and turned around to find Connor slumped against a wall, his knees
drawn up to his chest and his head in his hands.

I wanted to say something, I guessed that I should, but I knew that I couldn't. My family
and many others had suffered because of Dark Magic, and that was not something I could just forgive
or ignore.

So without a word I turned again and went back to Gryffindor tower, which was thankfully still
deserted, and quietly returned to the girls' dormitories. In there it appeared that everyone
else was still sleeping, and for that I was grateful for I knew that one look at my face would
bring questions and sympathetic Connor-bashing that was unwarranted and unwelcome. I walked to my
bed, climbed in under my counterpane, and curled up into myself facing the window.

The sky had brightened to a gentle grey-blue so that I could now define the mountains that
surrounded us and the flags on the Quidditch stand flapping in an early wind in anticipation of the
match today. Somewhere in the dungeons Rigel was anticipating it too, and more so than normal for
Ravenclaw, in a display of questionable intelligence, had decided to send up a new Seeker against
them, a twelve year old Second Year boy. Most certainly they were hoping that his age would make
him to be insusceptible to Camilla's charms on the field. Too bad Hufflepuff had made the same
unfortunate mistake against them last year.

I wished I could join him in that excitement again like I had been at the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor
match, back when I was innocent of so many things. Before I had known Connor, and despite the
embarrassment I'd faced at not knowing personally the child someone my family often counted as
a friend. But then, Aisling and Hortense and I were not exactly close.

I knew far too much now.

I sighed and did my best to dry my face on a fold of the counterpane and looked out the window
again. Then paused and sat upright sharply at the sight of a large scarlet and gold bird flying off
towards the western horizon. It was Fawkes, of that I was sure, but where was he going? And
especially before he'd done whatever it was he was supposed to do in relation to me like the
Headmistress and Professor Dumbledore believed he had come to? Or maybe he had come to someone
else?

It was just as well; I'd had more than I could take already, and pretending that everything
was fine until I found some way to get over or forgive Connor was already unbelievably difficult as
it was. So I lay back down, shut my eyes, and though it was now late January, wished for
spring.

*Fin.*

**A/N2:** *The second story of the trilogy may not appear for some time, but I kind of want
to read* Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows *before beginning that. I'm too nervous and
anxious to do anything else now. For answers to all those things I left hanging* *in this
story though**, I hope to see you for the second part:* Úlfhéðinn: Milo Potter, age 10,
Squib.

*But don't feel too bad about the wait, it's for a good cause. Maybe one day
you'll see my original novel,* Dark*, about an albino girl and a haunted school—which will
be much better than it sounds now**, trust me**—in a bookstore near you**. For
n**ow I go and take a nice long nap.* *Cheers.*

*Review please.*

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