Book Four and Three Quarters (standard:adventure, 42207 words)
Author: Mab	Added: Mar 24 2002	Views/Reads: 3809/3170	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A spin-off from the Harry Potter series. Harry, Ron and Hermione go to stay with Harry's uncle Sirius Black for the summer holidays - but does everything go simply? It does not.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

his little bullet-shaped body diving into Hedwig and rebounding, and 
landed breathlessly on top of Harry's bed. His fingers fumbling with 
the knots, Harry hurried to untie the letter strapped to his leg, Pig 
hooting at him affectionately all the time: scared that the noise would 
wake His Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon, Harry apologised quickly to the 
little owl before deftly snapping an elastic band round his beak and 
receiving an extremely indignant peck for his troubles. Harry ignored 
his bleeding fingers, and read the letter. 

Dear Harry, it read. Just had an owl from Sirius – he's invited us to go
and stay with him! I can't believe it. Hermione says she got one, too. 
When can you come? My mum says she'll pick you up and take us to 
wherever Sirius wants to meet us. I can't believe she agreed to it, 
especially after her reaction the last time she saw Sirius... Anyway, I 
hope you're not having too many problems with the Muggles this year – I 
told my mum we're going to have to use a caxi (sp?) to come and get you 
this time, because I don't think that your uncle approved of the floo 
powder. Fred and George want to come to fetch you too, so make sure 
that Dugley or whatever his name is stays inside. On second thoughts, 
don't: they've just invented these cool new sweets called hubble gum 
which make you blow bubbles that trap your head, and you can't get out 
of them until you use up all the oxygen. Then they burst. I don't know 
where they got the money from. Mum went mental when she tried one. I 
think she's re-writing her will to disinherit them. Anyway, send Pig 
back A.S.A.P. I can't wait to see Sirius again – and you and Hermione, 
of course. See you soon. Ron. 

Harry re-read the letter twice, glumly, and then folded it up and tucked
it into his pocket. He hated to let Ron and the others down – but what 
could he do? There had to be something... 

He looked up in shock as a shadow fell across his face and, as his eyes
finally focused on a dark shape, he realised it was another owl. It 
swooped and landed gracefully next to Pigwidgeon on the bed, who sidled 
up to it and started trying to make friends. 

Harry took the letter from the second owl's leg, and his heart grew even
heavier. This one was from Hermione. 

Dear Harry, How are you? Have you had a good summer? Have you been doing
much work? I've just finished reading the book list for next year's 
courses, they're all absolutely fascinating. And I've been brushing up 
on my – 

Harry put the letter down and gave a hollow laugh, that was echoed
eerily by Hermione's owl. On closer inspection, he saw it was in actual 
fact a parrot: wondering idly where she'd got one from, he picked the 
letter back up, skipping over the details of Hermione's homework and 
holiday ‘fun'. Hermione's idea of leisure was a library the size of 
London, and Harry had scanned through at least two thirds of the letter 
before he began to read it properly again. 

I got an owl from ‘Snuffles' (you know who!) the other day, it
continued, and he told me he's asked us to go and stay with him. Harry, 
do you think it's safe? I know he said it was, but with You-Know-Who 
around again, I'm not so sure. But if you and Ron are going I will too: 
I had an owl from Ron's mum yesterday saying that she'll pick me up and 
take us there. Do you like Herbert (the parrot)? I bought him a few 
weeks ago. He and Crookshanks don't get on particularly well, and he 
spends most of his time on our roof. Mum and Dad don't approve. They 
didn't like my teeth, either. Write back as soon as possible. Love, 
Hermione 

Harry screwed the letter up and threw it at Herbert, who was leering at
Hedwig, and felt even worse. But he was beginning to build up the 
determination to leave: images of him, Ron, Hermione and Sirius sitting 
happily out in the sun kept invading his mind and suddenly he couldn't 
bear it any longer. Grabbing up his quill and two scraps of parchment, 
he began to scribble furiously. 

Dear Ron, he wrote, blotting the ink with the oversized sleeve of one of
Dudley's hand-me-down T-shirts (that dangled inches over his hands). He 
ignored the smudges, and carried on. 

I'm going to leave, tomorrow. I don't know how, yet, but I'll think of
something. I can't stand staying cooped up here much longer. Tell 
Hermione. Ask your mum to tell the taxi (T.A.X.I., Ron – and wear 
Muggle clothing if you want the driver to let you into his car) to drop 
you at Privet Drive and I'll meet you outside. I hope Pig gets this to 
you tonight. I'll write and ask Sirius where to meet us... 

Harry suddenly stopped writing. Yet another owl, this time a long eared,
brown one with huge amber eyes had flown straight into the inkpot and 
knocked its contents everywhere. 

“Damn,” muttered Harry, knowing he'd have to somehow clear the mess up
before his Aunt or Uncle saw it. Another reason to leave soon, he 
thought. He made a swipe at the owl's leg; but this owl seemed to want 
to play, and there ensued a bizarre game of silent hide and seek as 
Harry blundered around in the dark after the flying owl, who hooted now 
and again. Pig was getting excited, and fell off the bed nearly to the 
floor before he remembered he could fly. 

Finally Harry snatched the big bird down from where it was gliding
around by the ceiling, and tore the letter off its leg. The owl glared 
at him, and he glared back. 

Harry, said the letter. I know you want to come and stay with me really
– or are the Dursleys really that nice? I didn't think so. Find a way 
to get out tomorrow and meet me at a place called Hog's Back – it's 
quite close to Surrey. Not hard to find. Bring Ron and Hermione: see 
you there tomorrow at 6 o'clock. Sirius. 

Harry suddenly broke into a grin, and patted the owl on the head. It
stabbed its beak at him, angrily, but Harry ignored it and scrawled out 
a quick note on the second piece of paper. 

Dear Sirius, Meet you at Hog's Back at 6, then. Is that really a place?
See you later. Harry, P.S. you're a much better alternative to the 
Dursleys, don't worry. 

Wrapping it tightly round the brown owl's leg using the elastic band he
had tied Pig's beak up with, Harry carried the owl bodily over to the 
window and thrust it through. The owl hooted twice and flew away, and 
Harry turned back to the letter he'd been writing to Ron. He crossed 
out the bit that said he'd write to Sirius, and said instead: 

Sirius will meet us at a place called Hog's Back at 6 o'clock, so meet
you at about 4? See you tomorrow! Can't wait either. Harry 

And suddenly things looked like they were going to improve. Harry
managed to bundle Pigwidgeon out through the window, prayed he'd make 
it all the way back to Ron's in one piece, then flung himself onto his 
bed and promptly fell asleep. 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

Next morning, Harry woke up earlier than usual – before his Aunt Petunia
could bang on his door with the skillet – and began to plan his escape. 
He needed to be outside, and he needed to have all the equipment he'd 
be taking to Hogwarts with him if he was going to go there straight 
after Sirius's. That wouldn't be too difficult, he thought ruefully: 
Uncle Vernon had made him stack it all away in the shed at the bottom 
of their garden where the spiders lived. So all he needed now was an 
excuse to be out of the house at four o'clock, ready to be picked up by 
the Weasleys. Harry didn't want to think about what might happen if Ron 
hadn't got his owl in time. He should have sent Hedwig with him. 

But try though he might to rack his brain, he couldn't think of a single
way he could get out of the house all day. It was boiling hot outside, 
and he'd give anything to be out there rather than scraping the inside 
of the oven, which was what he was presently doing. With a shock, Harry 
suddenly realised that it was already three o'clock: suddenly 
panicking, he finished cleaning the oven quickly, and walked into the 
sitting room. 

“What are you doing?” asked Dudley, not looking up from where he was
blowing up dwarfs on his Gameboy. 

“Where's Uncle Vernon?” said Harry, ignoring him. 

“I asked you a question, runt,” said Dudley, finally bringing his
pendulous jowls up to stare at Harry, a smudge of chocolate visible 
round his chubby nose. Harry tried hard to look at him without gagging. 


“And I asked you one,” retorted Harry shortly. He didn't have the time
to have a fight with Dudley. 

As if sensing his reluctance to argue, Dudley abruptly changed tack. “My
dad said your dad was a coward,” he said suddenly, and Harry, taken 
aback, was unable to speak before Dudley continued. “And a thief,” he 
added. “A coward and thief and a basta– ” 

Suddenly, Harry lunged at Dudley, and rugby tackled him to the floor. He
got in two good punches before Dudley rolled over and straddled Harry, 
his enormous weight almost squashing the air out of him.  Harry lunged 
upwards with his knee and Dudley howled in anguish – bringing Aunt 
Petunia and Uncle Vernon to the door immediately. They took in the 
scene – Dudley sat on top of a nearly hyperventilating Harry – before 
rushing over and stroking Dudley's lank fair hair. Harry didn't know 
how they could bear to touch it. 

“Poor ickle darling Dudders,” cooed Aunt Petunia. “What's wrong, my
little possum?” 

Dudley sobbed into her shoulder, massaging himself tenderly. Harry
couldn't quite suppress a grin. Uncle Vernon seized his shoulder, and 
dragged him out from underneath Dudley, bringing his face up to inches 
away from his own. 

“You leave your filthy hands off of my boy, d'you hear me?” he snarled.
“Now get out. Out. Mow the lawn – now. And when you've finished, do it 
again. If I find one single blade of grass out of place, I'll have your 
hide, boy... I'll put you in the piano, not just next to it, get it? 
Out, out, out!” By the time Uncle Vernon had finished, he was almost 
screaming in anger – but Harry didn't care. In fact, he could have 
hugged Uncle Vernon: he couldn't have arranged the situation better 
himself. 

“Fine!” he exclaimed happily. “I'd love to!” Uncle Vernon squinted at
him suspiciously, but Harry was gone from the house, sprinting down the 
to shed where – along with his Hogwarts stuff – the lawnmower was kept. 
Perfect, he thought. He forced everything into one heavy suitcase, and 
whistled for Hedwig. She came flying out through his bedroom window and 
landed on top of the shed. 

“Ready to go?” he asked her, scratching her head and trying hard to stop
the grin he was wearing from splitting his face in two. Hedwig blinked 
at him, and then he could have sworn she winked. Harry spent the most 
enjoyable hour he'd ever had mowing the lawn, and at ten to four he put 
the lawnmower back into the shed, and exchanged it for his bag. Peering 
cautiously round the corner to see if he was being watched by Aunt 
Petunia, he saw the lace curtain twitch slightly. Damn. 

Still, Harry didn't care. He could easily outrun Aunt Petunia... His
robes and suitcase in one hand, and Hedwig clinging onto the other, he 
made a sudden dash for it. Down the gravel drive, past the window... 
quick... 

“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?” Uncle Vernon's voice roared at him,
and Harry's grin grew even wider. He was nearly there, he was going to 
make it... 

“Bye!” he called cheerfully over his shoulder. “Have a nice summer!”
Hedwig decided to make things easier by flying, and Harry switched his 
suitcase over to his other hand. He could hear the sound of Uncle 
Vernon's heavy footsteps pounding after him and was surprised that his 
huge feet didn't make holes in the pavement – but he rounded the corner 
and parked there, glistening in the sunlight, was the most beautiful 
thing Harry had ever seen. A black taxi. 

“Quick!” he shouted, flinging the door open and plucking Hedwig out the
sky, shoving her in, ignoring her ruffled feathers and the reproachful 
look she threw at him. The suitcase quickly followed, and Harry caught 
a quick glimpse of six people with ginger hair, all wearing the same 
identical shocked expression, and Hermione, before he dived in himself 
and the car shot away, wheels spinning in the summer's dust. Harry 
caught a glimpse of Uncle Vernon, red faced and furious looking, 
standing there shaking a fist at the retreating vehicle, before the 
clouds of dirt enveloped him and he doubled over, choking. Beaming, 
Harry finally turned to his rescuers. 

“Hi,” he said. “Having a good summer?” 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

The entire Weasley family, it seemed – with the exception of Charlie and
Bill, who didn't live at home, and Percy, who thought such an 
enterprise below him – had come to meet Harry, and they were all still 
staring at him rather doubtfully. Then Ron spoke. 

“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “Fine.” 

Fred and George were soon speaking too. “Good to see you, Harry!” said
George. Fred pounded him on the back enthusiastically, making Harry 
choke. 

“Oh – sorry,” he said, not sounding at all apologetic. “Have a cough
sweet.” He handed Harry a paper bag and Harry, who knew only too well 
not to take anything (and especially sweets) from the Weasley twins, 
frowned at them suspiciously. 

“Er – no thanks,” he said. 

“Boys!” cried Mrs Weasley, sounding so annoyed that Harry began to
wonder if maybe Ron hadn't been right about her being about to disown 
them. “I told you to put those things away!” 

The taxi driver kept looking over his shoulder, worried. Harry grinned
at him. 

“How are you, Harry?” said Hermione, and Ginny looked at him shyly. Mr
Weasley was trying to unobtrusively investigate the interior of the car 
– which was what many of the poor taxi driver's stares were directed at 
– and Harry was amazed they didn't crash. He was also wondering how 
they'd managed to fit eight people and an owl into the back of one cab 
– but he didn't have time to ponder on it long, because he was once 
again facing a barrage of questions. 

“Are you eating enough, Harry dear? You look a bit thin.” 

“How did you manage to escape?” 

“How's Ugly Dudley's tongue? Did your uncle cut it off for him?” 

“How do you think Siri– Snuffles is?” 

“What does this thing here do?” 

The only question that Harry could find the time to answer was the last
one, which belonged to Mr Weasley. He was poking at the car alarm, and 
Harry just managed to say “No – don't,” before he poked it too hard and 
an awful noise like a siren went off. The taxi driver twisted round 
immediately, in shock, and Harry felt extremely sorry for him. The car 
pulled over onto the verge, and there was a sudden silence. 

“Right!” shrieked the cabby, jabbing a finger at the air. “That's it!
Out, all out!” He sounded remarkably like Uncle Vernon. The occupants 
of the car looked at each other, doubtfully. 

“I think he wants us to get out,” said George, sounding puzzled. 

“Can't imagine why,” added Fred. 

“OUT!” screamed the taxi driver. The Weasleys, Harry and Hermione all
got out. 

“Er, thanks,” said Mr Weasley, looking at the money he'd just dug out of
his pocket in fascination. “Harry,” he hissed. “What do I do with this? 
What do I give him?” 

“How much do we owe you?” asked Harry, who would have paid with his own
money if he hadn't known that the Weasleys wouldn't hear of it. He 
started towards the taxi driver who, to his surprise, began to back 
away. 

“N-nothing!” he stuttered. “Nothing. I don't want anything. Just get
away from my car! Please!” 

“Er – right,” said Harry, taking a step backwards. “Where are we,
exactly?” 

“About five miles away from where you want to be,” said the driver.
“It's that way.” He pointed down the road to the left. He disappeared 
into the back of the car for a minute before emerging clutching all the 
bags that were there, and clutching his thumb where Hedwig had bitten 
him. He was eyeing the white owl cautiously. 

“There you go,” he said. “Bye now. Have a nice day.” And with that, he
was back in his seat and driving away before anyone had a chance to say 
anything. 

“Well,” said Mr Weasley when the air had cleared. “Wasn't that fun.” His
eyes were gleaming. 

“Cool,” said Ron, with a marked lack of enthusiasm. “What're we gonna do
now?” 

“Well, you three can go and meet – your – your friend,” said Mrs
Weasley, managing to not look too disapproving. “And we'll just summon 
another taxi.” 

“Um,” said Harry, doubtfully. 

“Yes, dear?” 

“Well, it's just... I wouldn't use a summoning spell, if I were you,” he
said. “I'm not sure how the driver would react. I think it's best if 
you used a telephone – there's one over there...” 

No sooner had he pointed out the red box than Mr Weasley was making his
way towards it, rubbing his hands together and all but salivating. 

“Yes, yes,” he was saying. “Wonderful idea, Harry, wonderful... look at
the craftsmanship! Look! How beautiful...” 

Harry exchanged a look with Fred, and grinned. 

“Do you think he knows which bit he's got to talk into?” asked George.
His mother frowned at him, and he smiled back. 

“Only joking,” he said mildly. “Bye then Harry – see you later Ron,
Hermione.” 

He and Fred began to walk up the road. 

“Where do you think you're going?” demanded their mother. George and
Fred stopped, surprised. 

“Well, we thought it might be quicker to walk than wait for dad to call
a taxi...” said Fred. “He hasn't even opened the door yet.” Mr Weasley 
was stroking the red door frame lovingly. Ron hung his head. 

“Oh, I'll call for you, Mrs Weasley,” said Hermione, running over
towards him. Ron shook his head at Harry. Mrs Weasley suddenly became 
all mother-like. 

“Now, Harry,” she said, casting an appraising eye up and down him like
she wanted to feed him up a bit, “You will be careful, won't you? If it 
wasn't for the fact that Dumbledore sent me an owl saying that you'd be 
safe – ” 

“Dumbledore? Sent you an owl?” said Harry. “I never knew. He never sent
me one.” 

“ – Then I wouldn't be so happy at letting you go. Now, you must leave
all your things with us – that's it, we'll take Hedwig home with us, 
won't we, Hedwig?” Harry's owl seemed to have taken a liking to Ginny, 
and was trying to eat her hair. Ginny looked up at Harry, and blushed. 
Ron laughed. 

“And you'll be all right for food, will you?” Ron's mother continued.
“Your – your godfather, I suppose he does eat... um... cooked food, 
does he?” 

“Mum!” gasped Ron, blushing as red as Ginny had. “Of course he does! He
isn't a dog all the time.” 

“Hmm. Well,” said Mrs Weasley. “I suppose not. But anyway – if you need
anything, just owl us, won't you, dear? Oh, what is your father doing 
to the poor phonebox now?” she added, exasperated. Mr Weasley had taken 
his coat off, and was using it to wipe some mud from the bottom of the 
door. Hermione, inside, speaking on the telephone, was looking 
decidedly worried. 

Finally though they dragged Mr Weasley away from the telephone, and Ron,
Hermione and Harry stood ready to go. They waited until the remainder 
of the Weasley family had packed themselves into the new taxi, and 
Harry hoped that they'd have better luck with this one. They waved at 
the car until it was out of sight and then turned, grinning, to each 
other. 

“Oh, Harry!” squealed Hermione, looking the happiest Harry could
remember ever having seen her since the time she'd been given a new 
book at Christmas. “Isn't this exciting!” 

Ron rolled his eyes, but Harry could tell he was looking forward to it
just as much as Hermione was, if not more. Ron's house grew rather 
cramped at holiday times. 

“C'mon, then,” said Harry, setting off. “What are we waiting for?” 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

It was almost quarter to seven when they reached the sign that said
‘Hog's Back' (“So he wasn't joking after all! Bloody hell,” said Ron), 
but there was no sign of Sirius, either in his human or animagus form. 

“You did say six, didn't you, Harry?” asked Hermione anxiously. 

Harry nodded. 

“Well, it's almost seven now, so maybe he thought we weren't coming,”
said Ron helpfully. Hermione glared at him. 

“Well, let's wait here for a bit, then – ” she started, but was
interrupted by a playful growl behind her. Spinning round, the three of 
them found themselves face to face with an enormous black dog, its 
tongue lolling out the side of its mouth like it was grinning at them. 

“Sirius!” exclaimed Harry, happily. Sirius barked, and jumped at Harry,
almost knocking him over. Harry dropped his glasses, and the dog looked 
extremely apologetic. They followed him off of the road, and up into 
some trees that looked like they formed the edge of a forest. He led 
them up a steep hill, and they climbed in silence: by the time Sirius 
finally halted, they were all out of breath and dripping with sweat. 
The dog raised itself onto its hind legs – and all of a sudden there 
stood Sirius Black, looking healthier than they'd ever seen him before, 
like he had done in the photos Harry had of his parents' wedding. 

“Hello, Harry,” he said warmly. “Ron, Hermione – how are you all?” 

Then they were all talking at once, nineteen to the dozen; Sirius
smiled, and let them. Harry took the opportunity to tell them all about 
his escape from the Dursleys, and by the time they reached the small, 
wooden house where Sirius lived they were all in stitches – not only 
from the steep climb. 

“I wish I could have seen his face properly from the back of that
cacti,” wheezed Ron, holding his side painfully. “Or – was it a caxi, 
you said?” 

“Taxi,” said Harry and Hermione at the same time, grinning. They sat
down at a long wooden table in the first room they came to – apparently 
the kitchen. 

“Tea?” said Sirius. 

Soon they were all lounging comfortably there, lulled into drowsiness by
the warmth of Sirius's fire. Dusk was gathering fast outside: to 
Harry's shock, he realised that it was almost half past ten. He yawned. 


“Oh,” said Sirius at once. “Are you tired? I – I hope you don't mind
sharing rooms; it's not very big here, I...” 

They hastily assured him that that was fine, and he showed them into a
comfy-looking and surprisingly large room, in which three beds had been 
laid out carefully. 

“There,” he said. “I hope that's OK – Hermione, you're sure you don't
mind...” 

“It's lovely,” said Hermione. “Thanks.” She beamed at him. 

“Well then... goodnight. And I can't tell you how glad I am that you're
here... we should have a good summer.” He closed the door behind him. 

Half an hour later Harry was in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, more
contented than he could remember ever having been before. Without 
realising it, he drifted slowly off to sleep, a huge smile still 
plastered all over his face. 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

The next week passed quickly and happily. Sirius was unlike any other
grown up Harry had ever stayed with: a million miles away from Uncle 
Vernon, and infinitely more childish than Ron's parents or Mrs Figg, 
the awful old lady with an obsession with cats that the Dursleys had 
forced him to spend some of his holidays with. With Sirius, he, Ron and 
Hermione did the kind of things that Harry had always imagined ‘normal' 
people to do – they went fishing, and swimming, and sat out in the 
sunlight with bottles of butterbeer and laughed, and for that whole 
week Harry almost forgot that he was a wizard. He wished wistfully that 
he could live with Sirius forever. 

And then, at the beginning of the second week, weird things started to
happen that dragged Harry back to the reality of the situation. It was 
dark, and he was sat in the kitchen with Ron and Hermione while Sirius 
made them some food – refusing all help; he said that he wanted to make 
up for all the years he hadn't been there for Harry. Harry went quiet 
after this: the knowledge that after this school year he would have to 
go and stay with the dreaded Dursleys again was almost unbearable now 
that he'd tasted the life of freedom that Sirius had to offer. 

“Whatdoyoureckon'sfordinner?” asked Ron, through a mouthful of
Honeyduke's chocolate scavenged from Sirius's supply. 

Harry shrugged. Hermione was about to answer, when all of a sudden – 

“What was that?” demanded Ron, so shocked that he spat out his mouthful
of chocolate and stared at Harry and Hermione in terror. Sirius came 
running from the other room. 

“Harry? What happened?” he demanded. Harry was lying on the floor curled
up, clutching at his scar. 

“Harry! Stop that!” Sirius pulled Harry's hands away from his head
roughly, and peered at him. He looked worried. 

“What was that... that noise?” asked Hermione in a whisper. 

The noise had been loud, and unlike any either Harry, Ron or Hermione
had ever heard before. It was as if some inhuman being had screamed 
away the remnants of its soul: a howling that would easily outdo any 
number of banshees. If Sirius knew what had made it, he obviously 
wasn't going to tell them. 

“I – I don't know,” he said. “Here, Harry. Sit down.” He dumped a
blanket onto Harry's knees, and Harry wrapped himself up in it 
gratefully, because he was shivering so violently he thought he might 
be having some kind of fit. 

“Does your scar hurt?” asked Ron, peering at Harry's forehead. “'Cos
it's gone a funny colour.” 

Harry instantly put his hand to his head. “Yeah,” he said, and then
paused. “Why? What's happened to it?” 

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Sirius silenced him with a look and
cut across him. “Nothing,” he said. “It's fine. Look – why don't you 
three try and get some sleep? I'll... I'll just – ” 

A loud knocking at the door interrupted him. Harry tensed, and wondered
what was happening. Could Voldemort have found them, he wondered? He 
had only ever known his scar to hurt when Voldemort was close at hand. 
He looked at Hermione, and noticed that she was shaking almost as badly 
as he was. Ron was pale. 

Sirius seemed to be considering opening the door, and Harry felt an urge
to scream at him not to. It could be anyone. The knocking came again, 
and Hermione jumped. 

“Don't – ” she whispered – but it was too late. Sirius had reached the
door; his hand was on the handle, he'd opened it, and – 

“Moon – Moony?” Sirius gasped, and Harry looked curiously over his
shoulder. The only person he knew Sirius could possibly be talking to 
was Professor Lupin, his old Defence Against Dark Arts teacher, and, 
sure enough, there at the door stood Remus Lupin – wizard and werewolf. 
Harry was about to greet him enthusiastically when he stopped himself, 
as did Ron and Hermione: there was something wrong. 

Because the normally slightly scruffy professor was looking even more
dishevelled than usual, and as ill as he had done when they had first 
met him; as Harry peered closer he saw to his shock that Lupin was 
leaning heavily against the door frame, cradling his left arm in his 
right. His face was bruised and scratched, and his clothing torn and 
bloody. Harry wondered what had happened to him. The only thing about 
his appearance that was in any way improved from the last time Harry 
had seen him was his robes; they looked new, and ever so slightly too 
large for him. 

“Moony?” repeated Sirius. 

“Hello, Sirius,” replied Lupin wearily. 

It was at least a full two minutes before Sirius regained his composure
enough to remember to ask his friend in, during which time Harry, Ron 
and Hermione had each been wondering whether they ought to remind him 
of it, and Lupin had been alternately eyeing the interior of the small 
room and looking back over his shoulder into the dark anxiously. 

“Er – come in,” said Sirius hastily, as he realised he'd been standing
staring. Lupin limped forwards. 

Harry and the others watched him come. It looked as though he had been
in a fight and then dragged through several hedges backwards; a bandage 
was becoming unravelled underneath his sleeve, and he winced it seemed 
with every step he took. 

“Remus!” cried Sirius, as the smaller man stumbled slightly. “Sit down.
Whatever happened?” 

“Severus Snape,” replied Lupin, sinking down into a chair at the table
and smiling at Ron, Hermione and Harry. “How are you all?” he added. 

Ron and Harry were still gawking at the combined sight of their old
professor and mention of Snape's name, but Hermione said they were all 
fine, and would he like some tea. 

“Yes, please,” said Lupin. Sirius had re-bolted the door, and now sat
down at the table opposite his old friend. 

“What did Snape do?” he asked, and Harry shivered at the sound of his
voice. He nearly – but not quite – felt a bit sorry for Snape. Any 
sympathy he might have had, however, disappeared quickly with another 
glance at his battered ex-professor. 

Lupin shrugged himself into a more comfortable position, and looked
tired. Hermione was busy making tea, and Harry and Ron eased themselves 
quietly into seats to listen to the professor's story. 

“I was actually looking for you,” he began. “Dumbledore sent me an owl
last week telling me to get in contact with you and give you a message, 
that you were here, with Harry... It took me a while to find you, I 
must say. I have a letter, Sirius. Anyway, it was the full moon two 
nights ago,” he continued, and Sirius looked up sharply. “And of course 
now I'm no longer teaching – or doing anything else, for that matter – 
I no longer have access to the wolfsbane potion. So usually I just lock 
myself in somewhere, or go somewhere where I know there won't be many 
people about. I usually manage to avoid being seen, but this time – 
well, this time there was Snape. I think he'd been looking for me. 
Anyway, I was at the edge of a forest – I hadn't transformed yet – and 
suddenly there he was, with two other men I'd never seen before. He 
told me to follow him and he would brew me up some wolfsbane, and I 
really didn't have much choice but to follow; the men with him were 
rather like an adult version of Crabbe and Goyle, Harry. I didn't have 
much time: I only had a few minutes until the moon rose, and I didn't 
want to hurt anyone. So Snape took me to an old deserted castle and 
told me to wait in a room while he went to prepare the potion. Only he 
locked it behind him, and I realised there wouldn't be enough time for 
me to drink it, even if he made it straight away.” 

Lupin stopped for a minute, and toyed idly with a mat on the table. 

“It wasn't big,” he said after a while. “About – well, about a quarter
of the size of this room, I suppose. I ought to be grateful to Snape, 
perhaps; at least he made sure I didn't hurt anyone.” 

“He just wanted to see you tear round the room biting yourself, you
mean,” sneered Sirius, frowning. 

A strange and rather sad look flickered across Lupin's face; he didn't
contradict Sirius, and Harry knew that too much had gone on between him 
and Snape for the Potions master ever to have locked the professor in 
the room merely from the goodness of his heart. The room must have been 
tiny: the kitchen they were sat in now wouldn't have comprised of half 
the size of a normal one, and even Harry, who had spent much of his 
early life in a cupboard under the Dursleys' stairs couldn't imagine 
being locked up in something a quarter of the size of it. And for a 
werewolf – well, Harry knew it was natural instinct for werewolves to 
attack whatever there was to attack, and if there was nothing else 
there Lupin would just have bitten himself. Harry guessed that was 
where much of the blood that stained Lupin's clothes was from. 

“Which I did,” acknowledged the professor mildly. “It was just like
being back in the Shrieking Shack. Well, when I'd worn myself out I 
imagine I just curled up somewhere and laid still. I remember Snape was 
there, poking at me with a stick or something... he must have thought I 
was asleep, and...” 

“And?” prompted Sirius, as Lupin trailed off. 

“And he was wrong.” 

There was something decidedly wolfish about Professor Lupin's brief grin
as he said this, and Harry found himself almost laughing. But the smile 
faded quickly, and as Lupin took the tea Hermione offered him 
gratefully, wrapping his long fingers round the cup, Harry noticed he 
was shaking. 

“I don't think I can have bitten him,” he continued. “At least, I know
nothing tasted as unpleasant as I'd always imagined Snape would... But 
I think I tried, and that would have given Snape all the excuse he 
needed to keep me there – he probably told the men he was with that I 
was a dangerous beast, in need of ...subduing.” 

Hermione frowned. “What did they do?” she asked. 

“Subdued me,” replied Lupin lightly. “And afterwards I think I must have
been either unconscious or fallen asleep; anyway, the next time I was 
aware of anything, I was back to human and tied up, and there was Snape 
standing there looking at me.” 

He broke off, to take a long sip of tea, sighing and leaning back into
his chair as if he felt suddenly better. 

“What did he do?” asked Ron, drinking some of his own tea and grimacing;
it obviously contained more than just tealeaves. 

“He made the same mistake as he did when I was transformed,” replied
Professor Lupin. “He thought I was still asleep, and prodded me again 
with something just to make sure. Only this time I didn't move, and he 
started to untie me.” 

He drank some more tea, and Hermione leaned forward over the table
impatiently. 

“So how did you escape?” she demanded. “How did Snape let you go?” 

“I – er – I knocked him out,” said Lupin. 

“You did what?” exclaimed Ron, delighted. “Knocked him out? Excellent!” 

“It was quite satisfying,” admitted Lupin, rubbing his knuckles
absently. “I waited until he'd finished cutting the rope, then hit him. 
Unfortunately I wasn't quite up to flooring him straight away, and we 
had a bit of a scuffle – but neither of us used wands; didn't have the 
opportunity to get them out, I suppose. He was angry about something – 
really angry; I don't think it was anything to do with me. Anyway... to 
cut a long story short, I knocked him out, found to my delight that he 
conveniently had a small flask of polyjuice potion on him, tied him up, 
swapped our robes and was able to escape looking like him. Fortunately 
that wore off after a while.” 

“Thank God,” muttered Ron, under his breath. 

“So, I splinted myself up as best I could – you know me, Sirius, I was
never the best at healing charms – and found my way here. I wonder what 
Snape did when he woke up. Tried to follow me, I expect. I'd better 
leave soon – if he comes here, I don't want any of you getting into 
trouble because of me – ” 

“Don't be stupid,” said Sirius harshly. 

Hermione glanced anxiously at him, and the others exchanged worried
looks. Sirius was trying to peel back the arm of Lupin's robe to see 
what damage had been done to his arm, and Lupin was batting his hand 
away while he attempted to draw his friend's attention back to the rest 
of his news. 

“That's not important, Sirius,” he said impatiently. “I came here
looking for you to give you Dumbledore's letter. Here,” he reached a 
hand inside his robes, delved around for a while, and finally handed 
Sirius a worn-looking envelope. Sirius tore it open, and scanned 
through Dumbledore's writing, his face growing darker and darker. 

“Have you – ” he began, when suddenly for the second time that night
there was a pounding at the door. Five heads jerked up simultaneously, 
and then looked at each other in concern. 

“Who – ” started Ron, in a whisper, but Sirius waved a hand at him to be
quiet. The banging continued, and then there was a voice. 

“Black! Sirius Black,” it shouted. 

“Snape,” hissed Sirius, and leapt to his feet to wrench the door open.
He was not as quick, however, as Lupin, who anticipated this move and 
somehow contrived to place himself between the door and his friend, 
clutching a handful of Black's robes as he did so. 

“Sirius,” he said, warningly. “Snape is on our side. Remember that. He
was acting in my best interests when he locked me in that room – he 
just took it a little further than necessary, and after what happened 
at Hogwarts that time can you really blame him? We have to forget our 
differences now. We have a common goal, and fighting between ourselves 
is not going to help us achieve it.” He released his friend abruptly as 
Sirius swept him aside, and grabbed hold of the door handle. Snape, who 
had apparently been leaning against lock and listening, stumbled in. 

“Black,” he gasped, and Harry, Ron and Hermione were delighted to notice
that he had a tremendous black eye spreading across the left-hand side 
of his face. 

“Snape,” growled Sirius in return, snatching hold of his collar at the
same time. Snape looked up furiously at him, and pushed his hands away. 


“Where is Lupin?” he demanded. “Get off me, you – ” He emphasised his
words with another push at Sirius, who returned it wholeheartedly. 

Lupin stood up again from where he'd stumbled into the wall, and had
reached the fighting men in a few long strides. Grasping Black's 
shoulders, he hauled him away from Snape with a strength Harry would 
have hardly thought him capable of in his present condition, and now 
stood facing Severus Snape, hands against the man's chest, restraining 
him from going any further. Snape looked like a dog straining at a 
leash to reach Sirius, his eyes fairly bulging, and despite the 
situation Harry couldn't stop himself from laughing at the image. The 
laughter was contagious, and much to Snape's anger, Ron, Hermione and 
even Sirius joined in. 

“Shut up, Potter,” Snape snarled at him, changing the object of his
focus to Harry and forcing Lupin to quickly readjust his hold on him. 
The laughter stopped, and Sirius started towards the Potions master 
again. Harry had the distinct feeling that things would have 
deteriorated rapidly if Lupin hadn't at that moment fallen to the 
floor, clutching his injured arm, and lost his hold on Snape. Snape, 
who had been almost leaning against Lupin, fell forwards too, and the 
pair of them landed in a tangle on the floor. Lupin looked exhausted. 

“Enough,” he said, holding up his unhurt arm with a sudden degree of
authority that silenced even Snape. “Enough.” He got to his feet, 
pulling Snape up after him, who quickly snatched himself away from his 
hold. “We have work to do. There is no time for this. Severus, I 
presume you have come here for the same reason as I have?” 

“Yes,” said Snape sulkily, massaging his cheek and glowering at Harry
and the others. 

“Good,” said Lupin. “Then I suggest we get on with it. Sirius, if you
could perhaps just re-splint my arm quickly, I shall attend to it more 
seriously later. Harry, Ron, Hermione; I'm sorry for this... perhaps 
you could...” 

All of a sudden, he stopped talking, and his face screwed up in pain. 

“Sorry,” he repeated, faintly, before collapsing into Snape, and the
potions master – perhaps just out of sheer instinct – caught him before 
he fell to the floor. Looking rather confused at his own action, Snape 
promptly let him go, and there was a nasty crack as some part of Lupin 
made contact with the stone flags. Sirius glared. 

Harry exchanged an uneasy glance with Ron and Hermione. Lupin had been
the only thing as far as he could tell that was preventing Sirius and 
Snape from murdering each other, and with him unconscious... 

“Fix him up,” said Snape to Sirius, with surprisingly little rancour.
“And I'll brew him a restorative potion. We can see to this... business 
later, when he's back to normal.” 

Sirius looked as though he was about to disagree, or come up with
something to say to Snape, but with one look at Harry and the others 
standing anxiously round his friend he shrugged and started towards 
them. Snape busied himself with the fire and small cauldron, and Harry 
stood aside to let his godfather attend to Lupin. 

“Come on,” he said quietly to the others, “Let's go for a walk.” 

“Potter!” called Snape, as they reached the door. Harry turned round
slowly, his face expressionless. 

“What?” he asked. 

Snape hesitated – looking like he was about to say something really
scathing – then shrugged. “I need some dock,” he said. “And also some 
willow. See if you can find me some – if you remember what it looks 
like.” 

Harry nodded curtly, and walked out with Ron and Hermione behind him. He
was only too glad to leave the tensions that had been mounting in the 
room, albeit slightly worried about leaving Sirius there with only 
Snape and an unconscious Lupin for company. But Lupin had said Snape 
was on their side, and he knew Dumbledore trusted him... At least now 
they had a reason to be outside, and they looked for the dock and 
willow Snape had requested. Dark though it was, and even with the 
possibility of the howling thing being out there somewhere, the night 
was preferable to being in a confined space with Severus Snape. 

“I only wish I knew what was going on,” said Ron, peering at the ground
for the dock so intently Hermione had to grab him quickly back to stop 
him walking into a tree. He shook himself free, looked at her 
curiously, and went back to stooping before actually managing to walk 
into another one instead. Hermione rolled her eyes, and snapped some 
willow twigs from it. 

“I think Snuffles and Professor Lupin will tell us,” she said. 

“Stop calling him that!” exclaimed Ron. “He's not a dog now – and it's a
daft name, anyway.” 

“It is not!” retorted Hermione, indignantly. “He asked us to call him
that.” 

“It makes him sound like some old granny's lapdog,” said Ron, finally
locating the dock and uprooting it rather savagely. He poked at the 
loose soil with his toe, and shook the earth out from where it had gone 
up his sleeve. 

“That,” said Hermione icily, “Is the whole point. If someone overheard
us talking about him we don't want them thinking he is who he is, do 
we? We don't want to get him into trouble.” 

Ron it seemed couldn't think of a suitable comeback to that, and
contented himself with a despairing shake of his head. “What do you 
think it's all about, Harry?” he asked. “Hey – Harry?” 

Suddenly, he and Hermione looked about them in concern. Harry had
disappeared. 

“Er – Harry?” called Ron, anxiously. Silence. 

“Harry!” The alarm was evident in their voices, now. This was a typical
thing to have happen at such a time and they were, by now, used to it; 
but nevertheless they were still worried. 

“Er – help?” came Harry's voice faintly, from above their heads.
Startled, Ron and Hermione's heads jerked upwards – and when they saw 
Harry, they were hard put to it not to laugh. 

A rope descended from the highest branches of the tree they were stood
next to, and attached to the end of this rope, swinging gracefully from 
his left ankle, was Harry. His glasses were hanging precariously from 
one ear, and he looked rather embarrassed. 

“Wow,” said Ron, sounding impressed. “How did you get up there?” 

“I don't think that's the issue here,” said Hermione, nudging Ron in the
ribs. “I think the question is – how is he going to get down?” 

“I don't know,” said Harry, well aware that his two friends were
laughing at him. “But any suggestions are welcome... the sooner the 
better, please...” 

“It must be some kind of trap,” said Hermione to Ron. “Any ideas?” 

Ron considered. “Welllll...” he said. “I suppose I could climb up that
tree and cut him loose... worth a go, anyway...” 

Much to Harry's alarm, Ron began to swing himself up into the lower
branches and make his way over to where he could reach the rope. Harry 
wondered how he could see where to go in the dark. 

“Be careful,” he said nervously. Ron beamed at him. “Oh, I will be,
thanks,” he said. 

“Careful for me, not you!” snapped Harry. “I don't want to land on my
head, thanks.” 

“I doubt it would make much difference,” said Ron, glibly. Harry flashed
a scowl at him worthy of Severus Snape. 

“Can't you think of something else?” From where he was, the ground
seemed a very long way away, and the prospect of falling onto it was 
not at all attractive. 

“Well, if you don't want us to help, fine,” said Ron, apparently
affronted. Harry thought he was getting more and more like Fred and 
George by the minute. He really wasn't helping things much. 

Ron sat astride a large branch and squinted at Harry. 

“How did you manage to get there, really?” he said conversationally. 

“I don't know,” replied Harry, beginning to lose his patience. “One
minute I was walking along listening to you complain and the next 
minute I was up here. I must trodden in a loop of rope or something – I 
dunno. Now do you think you could please get me down?” 

But Ron seemed to enjoying every minute of it, and Harry made a mental
note to thump him when – if – he got down. However, he was saved from 
further talk with Ron by Hermione's voice drifting up to them, sounding 
very pleased with itself. 

“There's a rope down here,” she said. “Tied round the trunk. I think if
I just let it go – oops – ” 

She had, apparently, done just that, and Harry suddenly dropped a foot. 

“Ugh,” he said. “Ow.” 

“Wait a minute,” said Ron, scrambling down the tree like a monkey. “I'll
help. Hold it there, Hermione... wait – wait!” 

Harry had promptly descended another good two or three feet, and
Hermione was obviously having problems holding his weight. 

“Why didn't you wait?” asked Ron, bemused. 

“Well, you try holding him here like this for hours on end!” Hermione
exclaimed crossly. 

“Hours!” repeated Ron, and Harry could see him shaking his upside-down
head at Hermione's exaggeration. 

“Please...” Harry said weakly. 

“Oh – right – hold on, then,” said Ron. He took the rope from Hermione
and began to lower Harry slightly more slowly. 

All of a sudden a loud bang could be heard from the direction of
Sirius's house, and Ron looked back over his shoulder nervously, 
letting go of Harry as he did so. Harry fell the last two or so feet 
and lay there sprawled in an undignified heap on the ground, glasses 
crushed beneath him. 

“Oh – hello, Harry,” said Ron, looking round again. “Better now?” 

“Wonderful,” muttered Harry moodily, surveying his broken glasses with
distaste. He held them out mutely to Hermione, who stared back, 
apparently despairingly at him. 

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed. “You know we can't use magic outside Hogwarts.
Honestly. You'll have to get Sirius or Lupin to fix them.” Harry jammed 
what was left of the frames back onto his face with unnecessary vigour, 
and squinted. 

“Wonder what that noise was,” said Ron uneasily. “You don't think
Snape's trying to kill Lupin and Sirius, do you?” 

“I expect Sirius just turned him into a pickled onion. He likes them,”
said Harry. “Come on. We'd better go back.” 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

When they returned to the small hut, they realised that matters had not
improved in their absence. Remus Lupin was once again conscious, but 
only just, and was trying to make himself heard above the shouts of 
Snape and Sirius. 

“Look what you've done to him!” Sirius was yelling furiously at the
Potions master. “All because of some stupid school prank. Look at him!” 
Whilst he spoke, he was flinging his wand about the place angrily, 
causing great swathes of bandages to wrap themselves around Lupin's arm 
and left leg. 

“Sirius, I don't think – ” tried Lupin, pushing at the bandages and
getting somewhat tangled up in them. Sirius ignored him, and continued 
shouting. Harry, Ron and Hermione stood in the doorway in awe, 
unnoticed. 

“You're not helping him much yourself, are you Black?” retorted Snape,
holding a small bottle of potion in his hand and shaking it violently 
as though he wished it were Sirius or Lupin. 

“Severus, will you – ” 

Again, Lupin was ignored. The bandages were beginning to mummify him,
and Harry and the others had stuff their fists into their mouths to 
stop themselves from giggling. Apparently impatient, Lupin took his own 
wand and muttered something at the reams of white cloth, and all of a 
sudden they flew back to Sirius and Snape and began to wrap themselves 
around their mouths, creating an effective gag. Both men turned to 
stare at Lupin in astonishment. Neither could speak to summon a charm 
of any kind, and Lupin sunk down into his chair looking spent. 

“If you could both stop bickering for a while,” he said. “Thank you.
Harry, Ron, Hermione – come in, and shut the door. Now. Sirius, Severus 
– for pity's sake just shake hands and stop shouting at each other – we 
don't have the time for it... and my head aches enough as it is. 
Shake!” He shouted the last word, and to Harry's amusement both Sirius 
and Snape were startled into obeying him. Lupin grinned a crooked grin, 
and waved his wand at them. 

“Releaso,” he said. The bandages fell to the floor, and Sirius and Snape
glared at him, looking so alike that Harry wondered briefly whether 
anyone would be fool enough to point out their similarities. 
Fortunately though no one was, and Lupin continued. 

“We need to act fast,” he said. “Can you give me whatever it is you've
brewed up, please, Severus?” 

“I need some dock and willow first,” replied Snape reluctantly, and even
more reluctantly took the missing ingredients from Hermione's waiting 
hand to add them to the small bottle. He said something quietly under 
his breath to it, and steam rose through the cork. Harry and Ron looked 
at him suspiciously, but Lupin took it when Snape offered it to him and 
downed it quickly, grimacing as he did so. 

“Eugh,” he said, wincing. No one failed to notice the rather smug look
that Snape hastily buried at this response. 

“Remus,” said Sirius quietly, apparently weighing up his friend's state
of health and looking – not surprisingly, thought Harry – slightly 
doubtful, “Will you be well enough to return to Hogwarts?” 

Hogwarts! This was getting even more curious, thought Harry. What on
earth was going on? 

Professor Lupin nodded. “If you'll just bandage me up a bit, Snuffles,”
he replied, with a slight grin at Ron. “Though not quite as 
enthusiastically as last time, please.” He stood up. “I suppose we'd 
better swap robes back, Severus,” he added, shrugging painfully out of 
the thick black cloak he was wearing and handing it to Snape, who 
willingly flung the injured man's own tattered garments back at him. 

Harry couldn't quite hide his sharp intake of breath at seeing Lupin
without his robes on; Snape's clothing had had the effect of making him 
seem slightly bulkier than he actually was. Lupin was almost stick 
thin, as thin as Sirius had been the first time they'd met him after 
he'd escaped from Azkaban, and his shirt was torn and bloodstained 
beyond recognition. 

“You bastard,” hissed Sirius, before Lupin or anyone else had the chance
to stop him. “Look what you've done to him! You're meant to be on our 
side... You...” 

He was shaking with rage, and Harry suddenly sensed that the whole thing
may well blow up in a minute. Lupin was close to passing the point 
where he would be able to play the role of peacemaker any longer – and 
he shouldn't have to in the first place, Harry thought with a small 
burst of anger. He was just about to speak when Hermione stepped in 
instead. 

“Look at you both!” she shouted shrilly. “Two grown men bickering like
schoolboys when all you both really want is to get him – ” she jerked a 
thumb at Lupin, “ – better. Well why don't you just do it? He's fit to 
collapse in a moment!” 

Everyone turned to stare at her in astonishment, and she turned a little
pink. 

“Well, it's true,” she added defensively. Snape glowered at her like he
wanted to strangle her and Sirius was also apparently not particularly 
pleased at the interruption, but Harry and Ron chimed in as well. 

“Professor Lupin's going to fall over soon,” predicted Ron. “Look, see?
He just did.” 

“He's broken the teapot,” said Harry, looking. 

“And the chair,” added Hermione. 

“Yes, OK, fine,” said Sirius, hurrying to drag his friend upright –
accompanied, much to everyone's surprise, by Snape, who took the other 
arm and then slapped him gently – for Snape, at least – round the face 
to bring him round. 

“Hey – ” began Sirius, and then stopped as Lupin woke and Harry kicked
his ankles. 

“Quiet,” snapped Snape. “The potion should start to work in a moment.
Why don't you bandage your pet wolf up?” But his words lacked the 
biting edge they'd possessed earlier, and Sirius ignored him 
successfully enough. 

Sure enough, the potion did appear to be taking effect, and Lupin stood
when Sirius had finished, thanked him, and drained the rest of his tea. 


“Right,” he said. “We should be off.” 

Harry glanced round at everybody. “Er – how?” he asked, voicing the
thoughts of at least Ron and Hermione and possibly the others as well. 

“Well – er – ” hesitated Lupin, looking at Harry as though he was
weighing him up, and Harry prepared himself for some bad news. 

“Yes?” demanded Snape. 

“Well we can't apparate; at least, Harry and Ron and Hermione can't, and
anyway I think Voldemort is strong enough to sense that kind of magic 
now... He'd be onto us if we tried anything as strong as an apparating 
charm. I think the best thing we can do is to... walk.” 

For a moment there was a silence. Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but
Snape got there before him. 

“Fine,” he said gruffly. “When do we start?” 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Sirius packed what little belongings they'd had
with them in a matter of minutes. Snape and Lupin had nothing with them 
to bring; within half an hour they were tracing an all but 
indistinguishable path through the dark woods in silence. Harry wished 
someone would hurry up and explain what was happening. 

“How far is it to Hogwarts?” enquired Ron, panting slightly after a
particularly steep bit. 

Sirius looked at him. “A day – maybe two,” he answered flatly. Ron's
eyes bulged. 

“And we can't – can't apparate?” he asked wistfully. 

“You know we can't. Not with you three, anyway.” 

“Well why don't you and Professor Lupin and Snape – ” 

“Professor Snape,” hissed Snape. 

“Why don't you apparate and then send us... I don't know... a hippogriff
each or something? We'll take forever walking like this. Isn't it 
dangerous?” 

“Not as dangerous as what you're foolishly suggesting, Weasley,”
answered Snape grimly. “If we were to apparate, Voldemort would be here 
in an instant and we wouldn't be here to protect you. Though of course, 
I forgot,” he added nastily, “You think yourself above protection. You 
have no need for us – maybe I will...” 

“Don't be a fool, Severus,” said Lupin sharply from the rear. 

“Will someone tell us what's happening please?” asked Harry, eager to
divert a potential argument. Ron and Hermione nodded. Sirius turned to 
look at them. 

“Harry,” he said seriously. “We have to get to Hogwarts – now.
Dumbledore has asked me not to tell you why – and I am sure he has his 
reasons. I'm sorry... but just believe us that the situation is deadly 
serious, and trust us. Is that OK?” 

“Fine,” muttered Harry, secretly infuriated at being kept in the dark.
He could see equally dark looks on Ron and Hermione's faces. Dumbledore 
had never excluded them from business that concerned them before – so 
why was now so different? 

“But why – ” tried Ron. 

“It isn't that we don't trust you,” Sirius interrupted, ignoring Snape's
twisted smile. “Please, Ron. I'm just doing what Dumbledore wants, and 
if he thinks it's better that you don't know, then... well, I'm not 
going to tell you. He says in his letter that you will be informed as 
soon as we reach Hogwarts. I think... I think he might want to tell you 
himself. And I honestly think he's in a better position to explain than 
me. So, the sooner we get to Hogwarts, the better...” 

Ron took the hint, and started walking again. 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

That day, Professor Snape took a strange turn. Instead of his usual
snide comments Harry had expected him to furbish them all with, he was 
at first silent and then, to everyone's shock, remotely friendly. True, 
he did try and detract over seventy marks from Gryffindor before he 
realised they weren't actually at Hogwarts, but at least he didn't 
shout at them unless he was provoked. Harry wondered what could have 
happened to him. He seriously doubted that it could be remorse: 
suspiciously, Harry wondered if it wasn't some kind of trap. He said as 
much to Ron, who nodded wisely. 

“I can't think what else it could be,” he agreed, as he watched Snape
say something to Lupin without the familiar loathing they'd grown 
accustomed to the year before last. It was extremely puzzling. There 
was still a deep resentment there – certainly dislike – but not the 
bone-deep hatred there had been. Ron shook his head. 

“Mental,” he said. “He's gone mental. I bet he's just waiting 'til we
get to Hogwarts and then he'll turn back into his usual charming self.” 


They had stopped for a while, in a small clearing in the forest, which,
it seemed, stretched on forever. From what he could gather from Sirius, 
there appeared to be a direct route from it to the woods at Hogwarts... 
Harry shook his head. He had long since given up trying to work out 
what was happening. But at least there had been no sign from the 
howling thing – whatever it had been – and his scar hadn't hurt again 
since that night. 

He, Ron and Hermione were sitting to the right of Snape and Sirius –
Lupin had disappeared, he said to check on their route. It was a relief 
to sit down: Harry had never ached as much as he did now, not even 
after his most disastrous games of Quidditch. And there had been a few 
of those. Hermione had sunk deep into the muddy soil, and lay there 
muttering to herself. Ron stared at her, perplexed. 

“Who are you talking to?” he asked curiously. 

Hermione blushed. “No one,” she said, looking far more flushed in the
face than usual. Harry decided she was ill. 

“Oh,” said Ron. “I thought you were talking to yourself.” 

“Well – why would I do that?” 

“Because you're the only person that would ever listen...” 

It hadn't been funny, but after Ron had spoken a strange, high-pitched
snickering noise came from their left, and Harry felt his friend clutch 
at his forearm painfully. 

“Harry,” he said quietly, in an odd, wavery sort of way. 

“...Yes?” asked Harry, anxiously. 

“Was that my imagination, or... or did I... was it...” 

“No, no,” Harry assured him, removing his arm from his friend's grip.
“That was Snape laughing.” 

Ron looked like he might faint any minute, and Harry pushed him gently
down onto the ground. 

“There, there,” he said, unsure of how to comfort his friend. “I'm sure
it wasn't anything personal...” 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

They carried on walking again, Ron still slightly nervous and avoiding
eye contact with Snape, who seemed either oblivious to the fact or 
perfectly happy with it. Ron, as well as Harry and Hermione, was still 
having difficulties in accepting Snape's new character. 

“Maybe it isn't him at all,” suggested Ron, after a while. “Maybe its
someone drinking Polyjuice. Maybe he's like Barty Couch last year – 
y'know, when he was pretending to be Mad-Eye Moody, and everything.” 

“Maybe someone's put a spell on him,” said Hermione. 

“Maybe Lupin damaged something permanently when he knocked him out,”
said Harry hopefully. 

“I don't think so,” said Hermione, doubtfully. “He certainly looked like
he wanted to kill Sirius back at the house.” 

“Ah,” said Ron darkly. “But that could have just been an act.” 

“Question is,” said Harry, “Who would ever want to pretend to be Snape?”


They pondered the question for a while longer, before they realised that
doing so had made them drag behind and the others were waiting for them 
a good twenty yards or so ahead. They hurried to catch up. 

“Professor Lupin,” said Hermione, sidling up to him, “What have you done
to Snape?” 

Lupin looked at her in surprise. “Nothing,” he answered. “What makes you
ask?” 

“He's – he's being nice to Harry,” replied Hermione, backed up with
vigorous nodding from Ron. 

“And he's talking to Sirius,” he added. “And he laughed. He laughed, at
my joke.” 

“Why shouldn't he?” enquired Lupin, apparently amused. 

Ron shrugged, exasperated. “You know what he's like,” he said. “We all
do.” 

Lupin looked at him thoughtfully. “Do we?” he asked pointedly. “We all
see the side of Snape he lets us see – but everyone has more than one 
side to them – I should know.” 

Hermione and Ron fell silent at this, and Lupin continued. “Snape may
well be whatever you want to call him most of the time,” he said, “He 
may be a fool when it comes to holding grudges against the wrong 
people. And yes, I have absolutely no regrets whatsoever about knocking 
him out the other night. However,” he said, holding up a hand to stop 
Ron and Hermione from laughing – the image of Snape getting knocked 
unconscious was still too much for Ron especially to take – “However, 
he is a brave man, I don't deny it. He has done what few supporters of 
Voldemort would ever have dared to do. And he is on our side. 
Dumbledore trusts – even likes him, I think, and I for one am content 
to lean on his judgement. Watch where you're going, Ron,” he added, 
snaking out a hand and just preventing Ron in time from making the same 
mistake Harry had made earlier. A loop of rope was lying in the middle 
of the path, and Ron had just been about to step into it. He spent the 
next half hour staring fixedly at the ground. 

++++++++++++++++++++++ 

Apart from breaks to catch their breath, and for lunch, they didn't stop
until just before nightfall the next day, when the dusk had settled 
into something a little darker. It was cold, and Harry wished not for 
the first time that they were in the main hall at Hogwarts, surrounded 
by warmth and tucking into one of the school's famous feasts; there 
would be chicken legs marinated in ginger and celery, swiss rolls with 
huckleberry jam, chocolate and aubergine flavoured steamed puddings... 

“Harry?” Startled, Harry look round into Hermione's worried looking
face. 

“What?” he replied. 

“You fell asleep. Look, Sirius and Ron made a fire over there – Ron had
better luck with matches than his dad...” 

Harry couldn't help but laugh as he remembered the time Mr Weasley had
excitedly gone through seven boxes of matches in an attempt to light a 
‘Muggle' fire at the Quidditch World Cup last summer. Ron's dad had 
loved every minute of it, but Harry was glad that he didn't usually 
have access to that particular means of lighting fire – and also, as he 
watched Ron blow encouragingly at the flames, that his inaptitude with 
them wasn't hereditary. He walked towards his friend with Hermione, and 
huddled up in his robes. 

“Who's going to cook dinner, then?” asked Ron, staring rather pointedly
at Hermione. She took offence at this. 

“Typical male attitude!” she exclaimed shrilly, startling both Lupin and
Sirius, who were sitting beside her. “That is so typical! Hermione is 
female – Hermione can cook – Hermione can – ” 

Ron muttered something very quietly under his breath. It wasn't,
unfortunately, quiet enough, though: Hermione had heard. She turned 
pink with anger. 

“Ron can cook supper,” said Professor Lupin swiftly, before Hermione
could deliver her stinging retort, “With me. OK with you, Ron?” 

The prospect of cooking supper was apparently infinitely more agreeable
to Ron than hearing whatever it was Hermione had been about to say, and 
he nodded vigorously. 

“Yes,” he said quickly. “Yes, yes – fine – I was just about to offer...”


Hermione grinned triumphantly at Harry, and he gazed back, shocked. This
had obviously been well planned out. 

+++++++++++++++++++++ 

So, while Ron and Lupin tried to cook the food they had taken with them
from Sirius's house, Harry and Hermione sat by the fire and dozed. 
Sirius and Snape had disappeared (in opposite directions), and Harry 
listened vaguely to Lupin telling Ron something about one of the 
Hufflepuffs turning a Boggart into a joint of ham with eyes last year 
when he had taken a Defence Against Dark Arts lesson, that materialised 
into a spider when she had shouted “riddikulus” at it – at which point 
Ron hurriedly backed away from whatever it was they were cooking – and 
then he drifted off into a shallow, fitful sleep. 

He was woken what seemed like minutes later by a nervous looking Ron
standing above him prodding him with his toe. 

“What d'you want?” Harry mumbled sleepily at him. 

“Um – Lupin wants me to go and give Snape this?” whispered Ron, holding
a cup of tea in a shaking hand, his voice rising oddly at the end of 
his sentence. 

“Well, fine,” said Harry, wondering what this had to do with him and why
Ron had bothered to wake him up to tell him. 

“Want to come with me?” continued his friend, with a forced brightness.
“It'll be... it'll be fun...” 

Harry stared at him like he'd gone mad.  “Fun,” he repeated blankly. Ron
scowled. 

“Well OK, it won't be, but – are you coming or not?” he snapped. 

“Why do you need me? Snape isn't going to bite your head off, Ron,”
Harry replied sleepily. Ron didn't look quite so sure. 

“You're just scared of him,” he announced as Harry rolled over to go
back to sleep. “Fine then. I'll go by myself. But if – if I don't come 
back...” His voice shook a little. “If I don't come back – well, don't 
expect me to leave you anything in my will, that's all!” 

He stormed off. 

++++++++++++++++++++++ 

By the time Ron had located Snape, the tea had gone cold and he was
beginning to wonder if he was lost. But he found him at last, sat next 
to another small fire in the shelter of a hill, long nose buried deep 
in a book. 

“Er – professor?” tried Ron, tentatively. 

“What do you want?” said Snape ungraciously, then seemed to reconsider.
“Er – what... what is it?” he asked, slightly less savagely. 

Ron stared at him, curious. The first question, he'd been expecting: the
second – or rather the tone of voice of the second – threw him totally. 


“I – um – Professor Lupin made some tea,” he said finally. He put it
down on the ground in front of the Potions master. “Here you go.” 

Snape appeared to make a conscious effort to seem grateful. “Thank –
thank you, er... Ron,” he managed at last, choking the last word out. 

Ron stared for a minute longer, then backed away, slowly. Perhaps Snape
was ill. 

+++++++++++++++++++ 

Meanwhile, Harry had once again been denied sleep – this time by
Hermione, who had got bored without her usual entertainment means of 
the library. 

“Can't you all just leave me alone?” snapped Harry, well and truly
annoyed at being disturbed yet again. 

“Oh, Harry,” said Hermione, equally impatiently. “The food'll be ready
in a minute, and you're not doing much lying down there, are you? We 
ought to offer to help.” 

“Thought you were all set against female labour in the kitchen,”
retorted Harry, resignedly giving up all hope of sleep. He was 
exhausted. 

“Well – ” started Hermione, looking exasperated – but was interrupted by
a snap of twigs, and they both looked up. Ron was walking towards, 
them, looking rather dazed. 

“What on earth's the matter with you?” exclaimed Hermione anxiously. 

“Snape just – he just – ” Ron stuttered, still not having quite lost the
look of a rabbit staring the encroaching headlights of a car full on. 

“Snape just what,” growled Harry. 

“He just – just smiled at me,” said Ron, sinking into the ground. 

“Are you sure he wasn't just baring his teeth to try and bite you or
something?” asked Hermione doubtfully. 

Ron considered, but finally shook his head. “No,” he said. “That was a
definite grin. Even if it was a Snape one. Lupin was right.” 

Hermione and Harry stared at their friend cynically, then shrugged at
each other. 

“He has been under a tremendous amount of strain lately,” reasoned
Hermione. Harry nodded, sagely, and Ron frowned at them both. 

“You try being nice to him, then,” he snapped. “He was being all right
to you earlier, Harry. Why don't you go and pick him some flowers or 
something Hermione – or do you reserve that for Victor Krum?” 

Hermione spared Ron a purely evil glance, and Harry hastened to
interrupt. 

“Come on,” he said. “Let's – er – let's go and eat, shall we?” 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

The next day dragged on as slowly and painfully as the first: before
long, everyone had given up any attempts at conversation, as all their 
breath was needed for continuing in a straight line without falling 
over. 

“I – can't – take – much – more – of – this – ” panted Ron, looking
horribly red in the face. “Think I'll just fall over here, and... and 
go to sleep.” And, much to Harry's alarm, he did just that. 

“Sirius!” he yelped, panicking. “Ron just collapsed! He's – what's wrong
with him? Sirius! What's wrong with you?” 

He looked about him. Everyone seemed to be growing steadily drowsier,
their eyes drooping and knees swaying. Hermione fell to her knees with 
a crunch. 

“Hey!” said Harry. “What are you all playing at? What's the matter?” 

He ran over to where Snape was just beginning to fall asleep, his head
resting dangerously close to the edge of a small stream that they would 
have to ford if they wanted to continue in the right direction. Harry 
nudged it away with his foot. 

“Somebody!” he shouted. He fingered his wand, wondering whether it would
be safe to use magic: but he remembered Lupin's words of warning, and 
thought wildly. There had to be some other way. What was happening? 

And then something horrible happened. The stream in front of him seemed
to bubble, like hot water: something spun round, and round, and round 
in it, making Harry feel dizzy and confused. 

“What're you?” he asked in a thick voice, as a figure emerged from it.
It was a very odd-looking figure: the lower half of its body was human, 
but covered in thick, green fur: the upper half was like that of a 
horse's. And the eyes, which were now staring at Harry – the eyes were 
that of a goat's. Harry forced his brain to think, and dredged up all 
the Defence Against Dark Arts lessons he could remember – and then it 
clicked: this was a Selkie. 

“What've you done to them?” he asked angrily, gesturing at his
companions who lay, sprawled, in various uncomfortable-looking 
positions. To his relief, Ron had begun to stir again, and was now on 
his knees. 

“They are sleeping,” replied the Selkie, in a voice that sounded like
several nails being scraped down a blackboard. 

“Well yeah,” said Harry, rolling his eyes, surprised at his own daring.
“I'd noticed that. What do you – what do you want?” 

“A challenge!” said the Selkie hungrily, and Harry was suddenly reminded
of Sir Cadogan, one of the paintings at Hogwarts. 

“Oh...?” he said, uncertain quite where this was leading to. “Right...” 

Ron was now on his feet, and looking over Harry's shoulder at the
Selkie. 

“What kind of challenge?” he asked. 

“A fight,” replied the Selkie, and it grinned. This was possibly one of
the nastier things Harry had seen before: the Selkie's mouth was full 
of long, yellow fangs, and its breath smelt of decaying fish. He 
winced, and took a step back. Around him, his other friends were 
regaining their consciousness. 

“I want...” repeated the Selkie, apparently enjoying their confusion,
“... a fight.” He grinned, again. “Underwater,” he added. 

Harry looked at the resigned faces of everyone else, and had to admit
that there was no other way they could cross the stream without first 
eliminating this strange creature in front of them. 

“If only we had some gillyweed,” sighed Sirius. “Well, there's nothing
we can do – I'll have to transform, and – ” 

“No!” shouted Ron suddenly. “Wait! I've got it...” He fumbled in his
pockets, as the others watched on in fascination, and then produced a 
pack of chewing gum triumphantly. 

“Ron – ” said Lupin, starting forwards, and looking worried. 

“Chewing gum...?” said Hermione, staring at Ron as though suddenly
unsure of his sanity. 

“No!” said Ron. “Hubble gum. Remember, Harry – I told you about it in my
owl. It makes a bubble round your head – go on! Go!” And, before anyone 
could stop him, he'd shoved the whole lot into his mouth and was 
blowing with all his might. 

“Ron – no!” shouted Hermione. She stared around her helplessly. “Do
something!” she screamed. A huge, bulbous sphere was growing around 
Ron's head like a three-dimensional halo. Harry sprung forwards, but 
the Selkie was quicker. 

“Do you accept my challenge?” it asked Ron. Ron, who couldn't make his
voice heard through the bubble, nodded. The Selkie grinned maniacally, 
and began to revolve again – this time, though, taking Ron with it. The 
water sprayed the others, bursting out at them in huge waves, but Harry 
ignored it and tried to tug Ron away from the Selkie's grip. Suddenly 
there was a burning pain searing down his right forearm. The Selkie's 
teeth were imbedded in it. He heard someone scream, and with a dull 
shock realised that it had been him. 

“Harry! Get out – that can be lethal!” came Sirius's voice. 

“What about Ron?” Harry could hear himself say. He was becoming
detached, separated... he knew he was losing his conscious, fast.  He 
caught another glimpse of his best friend as the whirlpool continued, 
dragging him down with the Selkie into the depths of the 
innocent-looking stream. Someone caught hold of him, and made a grab 
for Ron as well. But all of a sudden – there was nothing. The stream 
was back to normal, and there they all stood – all except for Ron. 
Harry blinked. 

“Ron!” he shouted, finding his voice again. “Ron! Ron, no!” 

“Remus!” cried Sirius. “There's a hut up here – look! Quick – bring
Harry.” 

Harry tried to tear away from Lupin in an attempt to rush after his
friend, kicking and striking out with all his force. Ron couldn't be 
dead... he couldn't... 

“Harry we can't. It's not safe. I'll – I'll go and look for him in a
minute – we have to get to that hut now.” Harry couldn't fathom the 
sudden degree of urgency in his voice before he looked down at his 
right arm. It was swollen to twice its normal size, where the Selkie 
had bitten it, and turning white. 

“Ron,” he whispered, catching sight of Hermione's ashen face. She looked
too stunned even to cry. 

He barely noticed the horrible howling noise that started again: he
heard Snape say, as if through a mist to Lupin – “I'll take Potter. 
Granger – you come with me. Go and look for the Weasley boy.” And Harry 
was dragged off. The last thing he saw was Sirius and Snape standing 
over him looking desperately worried, and then everything went black. 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

The Selkie was closing in on Ron, whose head looked strangely distorted
inside the bubble. Harry remembered what it reminded him of: last year, 
when he and Cedric Diggory had competed in the Triwizard Tournament, 
they had had to rescue four hostages from underwater, and it was just 
the same now... Ron had turned into Cedric, he was fighting the 
Selkie... the monster closed its jaws around Ron's neck and turned into 
Lord Voldemort, then smiled, pointing his wand at Harry... and – 

“Noooo!” yelled Harry, suddenly sitting bolt upright in bed, the sweat
pouring from his forehead and soaking his pillows. He looked about him 
into the darkness, panic only slightly decreasing. 

“It's OK, Harry,” said a soothing voice to his left. He corkscrewed
round violently towards the sound, and then breathed a deep sigh of 
relief. 

Remus Lupin was sitting at his bedside with a tight, strained look on
his face, holding out a cup of something hot. Harry took it, and 
sniffed at it suspiciously. To his surprise, it was hot chocolate. 

“How are you feeling?” asked Lupin, still looking at him, concerned. He
almost absently handed Harry a bar of chocolate. 

“Mmm,” said Harry, with his mouth full. “Nightmare.” 

“I can see that,” replied Lupin wryly. “Quite a long one, it seems.” 

Harry frowned at him, puzzled. “What?” he asked. Or, at least, he made
some attempt to: the chocolate was delicious, and he only managed a 
garbled half-grunt. 

Lupin though it appeared understood. “You've been sleeping for seven
hours, shouting your head off,” he explained. “Snape's been boiling you 
up something to help but you weren't conscious to drink it and we 
didn't really think pinching your nose and pouring it down your throat 
was going to help much – Snape's suggestion, if you hadn't guessed.” 

Harry had. 

“You had a fever of some kind,” continued Lupin. “Sirius and I have been
sat here – he'll be back soon; went to get some breakfast. He hasn't 
eaten since you started shouting.” 

Harry's mind was racing. Seven hours... all sorts of things could have
happened since he fell asleep! Then he remembered: Ron. 

“Have you – have you found Ron yet?” he asked groggily, trying to fling
the bedcovers from him and get out of bed. Maybe the hot chocolate 
wasn't just hot chocolate after all. He put it down. 

“Ron came back about an hour ago,” said Lupin, smiling and pushing the
cup back into Harry's hands. “Drink it. It'll help.” 

“What is it?” Harry could have cried in relief at the news of Ron's
return. “And what happened with Ron? Where is he? Can I see him?” 

Ignoring the last few questions, Lupin said, “I have no idea, but
Professor Snape assured me it will make you feel better.” 

Harry let go of the cup at once and spat out his mouthful –
unfortunately all over Lupin's robes. The professor stood up and shook 
the liquid off. 

“Thank you, Harry,” he said wryly. “I was joking. It's only hot
chocolate.” 

“Oh,” said Harry, feeling rather silly and eyeing the spilt drink
sheepishly. “Sorry.” 

Lupin shook his head, and sat down again. “Don't worry,” he said. “I'm
sure I'd have had a very similar response. Are you feeling better now? 
I think Hermione would like to see you – and Sirius – ” 

At that moment, Harry's godfather and Hermione walked into the small,
dark room and peered anxiously at him. Lupin got up again and 
disappeared; Sirius quickly occupied his vacated seat, and Hermione 
perched on the end of the bed. 

“How are you?” they both asked at once. Harry laughed. 

“Fine – I'm fine,” he said. “Just a bad dream. Where's Ron? Is he OK?” 

The sound of cautious footsteps and a muffled curse as something was
tripped over heralded Ron's arrival, and Harry was able to let out a 
sigh of relief. For the first time since he could remember, he felt 
vaguely safe. Here he was, in bed, with no one lost or dying. What a 
change that makes, he thought to himself. 

“'Lo, Ron,” he murmured sleepily. “You're a funny colour.” And with
that, he fell fast asleep. 

+++++++++++++++++++ 

Harry was awoken the next morning by the pale morning sunlight stealing
its way across his face. Blinking, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. 

Ron was lying on a mattress on the floor by his bed, and Harry rubbed
his eyes even harder as he stared at him. He had been right, the night 
before: Ron was a funny colour – he had gone blue. 

“Ron?” hissed Harry incredulously, unsure as to whether he ought to wake
his friend and inform him of this change in complexion, or whether he 
already knew about it. 

“He'll be all right in an hour or so,” came Sirius's voice from where he
stood leaning against the door frame, his thin body silhouetted there. 
“That was just the, er, after-effects of Snape's potion. Come and have 
some breakfast?” 

Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from Ron's blue face. 

“Snape did this to him?” he said, finally looking at Sirius. “Funny
sense of humour he's got, hasn't he?” 

“If you call saving his life funny, then yes, I suppose so,” said
Harry's godfather, a slight note of warning in his voice. “Ron got 
badly bitten by a Selkie, Harry. As you know, that could have been 
life-threatening... I'm sure Ron will tell you he'd rather be blue than 
dead when he wakes up.” 

Harry wasn't so sure. The blue went horribly with Ron's ginger hair, and
whilst he hurriedly reviewed his opinion of Snape's intentions, he 
couldn't help being slightly apprehensive about Ron's reaction. 

“Does he – does he know?” he asked Sirius, who – rather unhelpfully,
Harry thought – smirked. 

“Not yet,” he replied, winking. “There aren't any mirrors round here...
none of us have told him yet, and Snape assures us it'll wear off 
sooner... or later.” 

“Oh God – it isn't permanent, is it?” exclaimed Harry, horrified at the
possibility. He could just imagine the taunts Ron would have to put up 
with from Malfoy – and everyone else, for that matter. 

“Oh, no,” said Sirius – just a touch too quickly, Harry decided. He
glared suspiciously at his godfather, but Sirius put a finger to his 
lips and nodded towards Ron. Obviously Harry's shout had woken him up. 

“Morning... What's not permanent?” he mumbled, trying in vain to flatten
his hair, which was sticking up in great ginger tufts. Harry was just 
grateful that it was dark enough inside for Ron not to see his hands. 

“Er – nothing,” he replied awkwardly. “How are you? OK? What happened?” 

A shudder flickered over Ron's face, and the blue paled to a nice,
pastel shade. 

“I don't want to talk about it,” he said darkly. He would have gone on
to say more, if at that moment Hermione hadn't rushed in, almost 
crying, and bravely hugged him, ignoring the blue. Ron looked startled 
and not a little worried: he looked to Harry and Sirius for assistance. 
He didn't receive any, however. They were both too amused to do 
anything. Ron glared at them evilly. 

“Oh, Ron!” sobbed Hermione. “You're awake. I didn't think – I thought
you – ” 

It was very unlike Hermione to be at a loss for words, and Ron blushed a
colour reminiscent of a midnight sky. 

“I'm fine,” he said, a little gruffly. “Thanks.” 

Hermione pulled herself together, and let go of Ron, choosing tactfully
to ignore the look of sheer relief that spread over his face. 

“Well,” she said. “That's OK then. Snape and Professor Lupin are cooking
breakfast.” 

“Great!” said Ron, leaping to his feet with an enthusiasm that made
Harry dizzy. “I'm starving. Come on – let's go!” And he sped from the 
room like a hare. Harry got the impression that he was trying to escape 
Hermione. Shrugging at each other, he and Sirius followed. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++ 

Breakfast did not prove to be all that exciting, although Ron began to
wolf his down readily enough. The bacon was like leather, and the toast 
was blacker than Snape's hair. No one was brave enough to comment on 
this fact, however, because Snape seemed to be daring everyone to do 
so, his eyes flashing dangerously. Harry guessed it was he who had done 
the cooking. 

“That was... wonderful, Severus,” said Lupin, bravely chewing the bacon
and hiding a grimace. “I'll er – I'll make some coffee, shall I?” 

“If you like.” Snape appeared to be sulking. 

“Um,” said Ron suddenly, and everyone looked at him, curious. He was
staring at his hands, and Harry felt his stomach lurch before he saw 
they were both, luckily, gloved. 

“Why... why am I wearing gloves?” 

“You hurt your hands when you were fighting the Selkie, Ron,” said Lupin
smoothly, as everyone else gulped nervously. “But you did the trick – 
fought it off, of course. We, er – we had to put the gloves on for you 
to keep them protected – Professor Snape made you a salve for them – we 
don't want it coming off...” 

Ron tried hard not to look too pleased at the image of him fighting off
a Selkie single-handedly, and failed. Snape sniggered, and was ignored. 


“I hope they don't hurt?” continued Lupin courteously. 

“Oh – er – no, not too much,” said Ron. “I'll live.” 

Harry exchanged a quick grin with Hermione, but Sirius and Lupin were,
commendably, keeping extraordinarily straight faces. Nobody paid any 
attention to Snape's twisted grin. 

“Inspired,” Sirius complimented Lupin quietly, as Ron bent back over his
plate to tackle his toast. Lupin shrugged modestly. 

“I try,” he replied in a whisper, aiming a quick smile at Harry and
Hermione. 

All of a sudden there was a loud clatter as Ron – who, with his gloves,
seemed to be having difficulties holding his knife and fork – knocked 
his plate onto the floor, along with the remains of his indigestible 
breakfast. 

“Oh,” he said, not trying very hard to hide the relief in his voice,
“Oh, dear. Look, I've spilt my breakfast.” 

“So you have,” hissed Snape, as Sirius and Lupin picked up the broken
china. “I wonder why?” He glared. 

“I expect it was the gloves, wasn't it, Ron?” supplied Hermione. 

“Well, yes,” said Ron – and then added truthfully, albeit somewhat
tactlessly, “But I don't mind. I've never seen toast that colour 
before.” 

“Just be grateful you got any,” snarled Snape viciously. “It's a better
colour than you, Weasley.” 

Harry lashed his foot out under the table, and from the howl of pain
Snape let out he guessed he wasn't the only one. 

“What's he talking about?” asked Ron, looking confused. 

“You're looking – er – a mite peaky there,” improvised Lupin quickly.
Harry and the others, except Snape, flashed him three congratulatory 
smiles. Lupin winked. 

“Oh,” said Ron, obviously guessing there was more to it than that. “Oh,
right. Um... did someone say something about coffee?” 

++++++++++++++++++ 

Half an hour later, when tempers had cooled sufficiently enough for
Snape, Sirius and Lupin to disappear off into a corner to discuss what 
would happen next, Harry sat down on the table and thought hard. He 
wasn't entirely sure what he was trying to think about, but he knew 
there was something in there somewhere, eluding him, and it was 
something to do with Ron. 

Since fighting the Selkie, Ron had been acting remarkably strangely –
for Ron. He had told no one about what had happened under the little 
stream with the monster; and, while Harry was tempted to put this 
unusual display of modesty down to Snape's potion, there was something 
else nagging away at his mind like a dog with a bone. Suddenly it 
clicked. 

Ron was sitting down at the table. His elbows were splayed apart and his
head was resting slumped in his hands, and he didn't appear to have 
realised that he was blue yet: he was gazing off into the distance, 
ignoring Harry and the others. Quietly, Harry slid down from his perch 
and crept over to Sirius. 

“Did – did you give me the same potion as you gave Ron?” he asked, in a
whisper. “When the Selkie bit me?” He noticed Sirius exchange a quick 
look with Lupin, who raised his eyebrows, before replying. 

“Yes – we were just discussing that...” 

“Then why haven't I turned blue?” 

“It's his complexion,” spat out Snape. He appeared to think that his
potion-making ability was being called into question. “His ginger hair. 
And he had a far more concentrated dose than Potter. I told you: this 
is just the after-effect – it will wear off soon.” 

“Have you ever known it to have this effect before?” 

“I've never given it to anyone before! How should I know? Why? Are you
implying that my – ” 

Lupin shushed him with an impatient hand. “I'm not implying anything,
Severus,” he said. “I'm just trying to work out what's wrong.” 

They were, conveniently, stopped from further conversation by a small
shriek from Hermione. 

“Whatever's the matter?” exclaimed Sirius, turning round. 

Hermione was pointing a shaking finger at Ron. Because he was clutching
at his face with his hands, devoid now of gloves, his eyes widening in 
panic. 

And from his mouth were growing long, yellow, fangs. 

+++++++++++++++++++ 

“Another after-effect of your potion, Severus?” enquired Lupin, with a
calm that made Harry blink. Here they were, in the middle of a deserted 
hut in the middle of an enchanted forest, with his best friend blue and 
developing serious dental problems. Now was possibly not, he thought 
wildly, the best time to be calm. 

“Isn't anyone going to do anything?” he shouted. “Somebody! Help Ron!” 

“Well – I would, Harry,” said Lupin in the same calm voice, “Only that
isn't Ron. I hadn't realised until a minute ago, but – well – I'm 
afraid we have a problem.” 

“I know we do!” squawked Harry, trying to pull Ron's hands away from his
mouth and giving up as his blue head turned green and horse-shaped. 

“...Selkie...” Hermione whimpered, backing into Sirius. 

“Well actually no,” replied Lupin, as though he were taking a class of
Defence Against Dark Arts at Hogwarts, talking Hermione through 
identifying a certain creature. “Not a Selkie. You see – this is, in 
actual fact, a Brollachan – a rare form of the Boggart. As you know, 
the Boggart takes on the form of whatever its victim is most scared of: 
the Brollachan adopts the shape and traits of its last... er... 
victim.” 

“... Victim...” echoed Hermione. 

Harry suddenly felt very faint round his knees. 

“You mean – you mean that isn't Ron?” he asked in disbelief. “You mean –
Ron's dead?” 

Lupin shook his head. “No,” he said. “The Selkie was the last thing the
Brollachan killed, and so he took the form and characteristics of that. 
He must have damaged Ron, I suppose, which is why he looked like him 
for a while – but he's turning back into the Selkie, Harry, which must 
mean Ron is still alive. I wondered why he was blue. I – er – I think 
maybe we ought to sort this out now,” he added, as the Brollachan made 
a dash for Snape. It stopped just short of the professor, however, and 
stared at him instead. Harry didn't envy Snape: the goat-like eyes were 
spinning horribly. There was a stifled pause, as no one dared even 
breathe, and the Potions master struggled to keep eye contact with it 
for a while. 

Then, in a sudden movement that shocked them all, Snape had leapt behind
Lupin with a surprising degree of athleticism, grabbing the startled 
man's arms and swinging him round in front of him like a shield. He 
gave him a push towards the Brollachan. 

“You're the Defence Against Dark Arts expert,” he hissed. “Nice – nice
Brollachan.” This was directed to the monster, who was still hungrily 
eyeing the Potions master. 

“Er – fine,” said Lupin. He was trying to extract himself away from
Snape's painful-looking grip, without much success. “Do you think you 
could let go of me now, please, Severus?” 

Suddenly realising who it was he was holding on to so tightly, Snape
snatched his hands away as though they burnt him, and jumped back. If 
the situation hadn't been so terrible, Harry would have been tempted to 
laugh. But, as Lupin turned to face the Brollachan, wand in his hand, 
Harry did no such thing. Nothing on earth could at that moment have 
induced him even to smile: he was trying hard to come to terms with the 
other problem they now faced. 

Because if that was a Brollachan in front of him trying to bite Lupin,
where was Ron? 

+++++++++++++++++++ 

Lupin rolled up his sleeves, and looked at the others grimly. “You'd
better go and find Ron,” he suggested, “While I deal with this. I don't 
know where he'll be... but at least, I think, we can rest assured he 
isn't dead. But he might be hurt – Severus, could you brew something up 
for him? I haven't a clue what the symptoms of fighting with a 
Brollachan would be like... you'd know better than me...” 

Snape muttered something under his breath that Harry thought sounded
distinctly like ‘flattery won't get you anywhere' but nodded curtly and 
left the room before anyone could say anything else to him. Harry 
looked at Hermione, and then at Sirius. 

“I'm going to look for Ron,” said Harry. He didn't know if Sirius would
try and stop him, but he didn't care if he did: and, from the look of 
things, Hermione didn't either. As it was, she'd reached the door 
before either Harry or Sirius had moved. 

Sirius suddenly sprung to life. “Yes,” he said, following Hermione. Then
he paused. “Moony – you'll be careful? Are you OK doing this by 
yourself?” 

Harry didn't hear Lupin's response as he joined Hermione outside. All
that was important now was finding Ron. 

He, Hermione and Sirius traced their way back down to the small stream
where Ron had accepted the Selkie's challenge, and looked around for 
any signs of him. But they found nothing; Harry didn't know whether to 
be disappointed by this, or relieved that they hadn't found a corpse. 

“What's this?” asked Hermione suddenly, stooping to the ground and
picking something up. They were now a good one or two miles away from 
the stream: they'd been searching for at least three hours, and panic 
was deepening. Harry looked at the object in Hermione's hand, and 
gasped. 

“It's the Hubble gum wrapper!” he exclaimed. “Ron – he must have dropped
it here!” And he looked around everywhere – left, right, up, and down 
for anything else that might indicate Ron's whereabouts. 

“The wind might have just blown it here,” said Sirius doubtfully. But
Harry shook his head. 

“There is no wind,” he said. “Ron must be here, somewhere...” He thumped
his hand against a tree in annoyance. 

A second later, Harry was lying flat on his back in a pit that hadn't
been there a moment ago. Startled, he peered up at Sirius and 
Hermione's astonished faces: He didn't know quite how he'd done it, but 
he appeared to have activated some form of trap. He was getting 
remarkably good at that, he thought ruefully. 

Sitting up stiffly, he began to call up to Sirius to help him out. But
the words died in his throat. 

Lying next to him, his face smudged with dirt and his eyes closed, was
Ron. 

+++++++++++++++++ 

Sirius and Hermione managed, with much difficulty and quite a lot of
accidental acrobatics, to pull both Ron and Harry to the surface again. 
Ron hadn't spoken since Harry had found him: in fact, he'd barely even 
moved, and Harry was terrified that he might be dead. But Sirius 
assured him that he was breathing, and he shouldered Ron's weight as 
though he were nothing more than a sack of potatoes and set off back to 
the hut in silence, Harry and Hermione scampering alongside Sirius 
quickly in an effort to keep up. 

It took them less than an hour to reach the wooden shack, and when they
did so they halted at the small door. Snape was stood outside it, 
listening through the keyhole to the sounds from within – a series of 
crashes and small explosions – and he twisted round so violently when 
Harry and the others approached that he lost his balance and fell into 
the door. It swung open just as something appeared to blow up inside: 
great billows of smoke flew out towards them and Harry, Hermione and 
Sirius flew inside to see what was happening – treading on various bits 
of Snape that were draped over the threshold as they did so – and came 
face to face with Professor Lupin, sitting quietly in a chair. 

Sirius put Ron down on the table. 

“Well?” he demanded. “What happened?” 

Lupin sighed. “It's gone,” he said. “Though I'm not sure if I killed
it... It disappeared just as you came in.” 

Snape had picked himself up and stood there, brushing himself down
ineffectively with his hands and glaring at everyone. 

“I'm afraid I put an end to our not using strong magic, though,” went on
Lupin. “If Voldemort can sense it then he'll be on to us in no time. 
How's Ron?” 

Everyone's attention was switched to Ron as though somebody had flicked
on a light. He had not changed since the last time they'd checked. 

“I'm not sure,” said Sirius, frowning. “He's been like that since we
found him – I'm not sure if he's just unconscious, or if he's been 
hexed.” 

Lupin also frowned. “We'll have to see what we can do – and do it as
quickly as possible,” he said. “Let's get Ron to bed, and then work out 
what needs to be done.” 

“Ha!” exclaimed Snape. “And how do we know that you are Lupin? How do we
know that you aren't the Brollachan – that you haven't killed him – and 
taken on his form?” 

Harry paused, as did everyone else. Snape had a point. Lupin – or what
looked like Lupin – smiled wryly. 

“Well, there you have me, Severus. I honestly don't know. You'll have to
just believe me – or not, I suppose... Would you imagine that a 
Brollachan takes on the form of its victims to the extent of becoming a 
werewolf?” 

He had seemed to be musing, but Snape's eyes lit up. “I wouldn't have
thought so,” he said softly. “But you know... there are ways to find 
out whether or not you're a werewolf...” 

Sirius stepped forwards, placing himself in between Snape and his
friend. 

“No,” he said firmly. “Remus has put up with enough from you... The way
you've treated him... I thought you'd have grown out of your petty 
little games by now, Snape. First you beat him nearly unconscious as a 
wolf; you haven't had the decency to speak to him civilly the whole 
time we've been travelling – even though he's stopped me from punching 
your greasy face a good few times – and now this. Of course it's Remus. 
Isn't it, Moony?” 

“Well yes, as it happens,” replied Lupin. “But I don't expect anyone to
bel– ” 

“Don't you dare threaten me,” Snape interrupted, snarling at Sirius.
“I'm acting on all our behalves here – does it even matter to you that 
by accepting his word that he isn't the Brollachan you're placing all 
our lives at risk? Or wouldn't you care? Just be exchanging one monster 
for another, I suppose.” 

Lupin winced. Sirius looked livid. 

“How dare you!” he shouted at Snape. Harry tapped his fingers nervously
against the table and looked at Ron: he hadn't moved since they'd 
brought him in, and Harry was desperately worried about him. How could 
he alert anyone's attention to him, though? Snape and Sirius looked 
just about ready to kill each other again: the tension which had, 
somehow, remarkably been contained the last two days was beginning to 
erupt again and Harry personally didn't think they could have chosen a 
worse time for it. 

Sirius was still shouting at Snape. “How dare you – you – call him a
monster?” he demanded. “Ever heard the expression ‘the pot calling the 
kettle black'?” 

Snape growled a feral growl, and lunged towards Sirius, who seemed to
welcome him gladly. 

“It was like this at school,” sighed Lupin to the others as they rolled
about on the floor, each taking every possible opportunity that 
presented itself to get in a good kick or punch, in what Harry decided 
was quite possibly the dirtiest fight he had ever witnessed. “I suggest 
that we leave them to their own devices for a while and see to Ron. I'm 
sure they'll wear each other out eventually – although maybe you don't 
believe it's me?” He took Harry and Hermione's doubtful faces, and 
grinned. “Quite understandable,” he said, as Harry shrugged 
apologetically. “It seems we shall need Snape's evidence after all...” 

And with that, he had waded into the fight and separated the two men,
gripping each by their collar like a pair of dogs. As Snape snarled at 
him, Harry decided that analogy wasn't too far off. He wondered vaguely 
what kind of animal Snape might be if he ever took it into his head to 
become an Animagus. Probably a snake, he thought. 

“If you could both kindly stop that for a moment,” Lupin was saying, as
Sirius and Snape hung from their collars, still trying to swing at each 
other, “Then we might be able to help Ron before something intractable 
happens to him. What were you going to suggest, Severus?” 

The nasty-looking glint returned to Snape's eye. It was the kind of look
Harry recognised from many of his Potions lessons: the kind of look he 
got just prior to giving out detentions. 

“Just a brief experiment,” he said smoothly. “I'm sure you know what I'm
talking about.” 

Sirius attempted another punch in his direction, but unfortunately ended
up hitting Lupin instead. Snape said nothing, and fiddled with the 
silver buttons on his robes darkly. Lupin nodded, and let go of the two 
men. 

“Fine,” he said. “Harry – why don't you and Hermione take Ron into the
next room, and put him in the bed there? We'll be through in a moment.” 


Curious, but doing as Lupin suggested, Harry put an arm underneath Ron's
shoulder, and Hermione did the same on the other side. Together, they 
hauled him upright off the table and into a standing position. His 
knees gave way; his head lolling onto Hermione's shoulder, Ron's limp 
body was carried off slowly into the next room. Harry and Hermione 
deposited him gently on the bed, and then sat down next to each other. 

“What do you think all that was about?” asked Hermione. 

Harry shrugged. “I don't know,” he said. “But Sirius didn't look too
happy, did he? I wonder how long they'll be...” 

As it happened, they were not long at all. Harry had barely finished
talking when they re-emerged from the kitchen, Snape in front, still 
playing with his silver buttons. Both Sirius and Lupin, Harry noticed, 
looked extremely pale. 

“I hope your experiment convinced you?” Sirius was saying, bitterly. 

To Harry's surprise, Snape merely nodded, and made no attempt to make
one of his usual comments. 

“Now,” he said briskly. “Let's see to the Weasley.” 

++++++++++++++++++ 

Harry and Hermione were ushered out by Snape, who sent them to look for
ingredients for his potion. Sirius accompanied them. 

“Will Ron be all right?” asked Harry, pulling a face as he picked up a
handful of slugs from underneath the shadow of a gorse bush. Sirius 
shrugged. 

“He should be,” he said shortly. Harry got the impression that Sirius
was still brooding over whatever it was that Snape had done to Lupin, 
and they finished searching for the rest of the ingredients in silence, 
returning to the little hut after two hours and giving Snape the slugs, 
three shed snake skins, eleven and a half minnows (Sirius had spent the 
better part of the time outside lying on his stomach wiggling his hand 
about in the stream) and two frogs that Hermione had been too squeamish 
to disembowel herself. Snape took them all wordlessly. 

Ron, it seemed, was making a good recovery. Although still unconscious
when Harry and the others had returned, he looked much healthier now, 
and more peaceful. Snape told them that he should wake up soon: after 
drinking the potion, he said, tossing the frog's liver into a simmering 
cauldron and wiping his hands on his robes, it would be a matter of 
hours before he was back on his feet. Harry and Hermione shared a 
heartfelt look of relief. 

Harry still wasn't quite sure what to make of Snape's rather violent
mood swings. As he had grown accustomed to nothing but difficulty with 
the Potions master over the last four years, he discovered, like Ron, 
that this sudden change of heart was intensely disturbing. One minute 
he would be the same old Snape they knew and – well, Harry wouldn't say 
loved, as such – but then the next he would be visibly trying to act 
pleasantly. 

Harry decided that this ‘nice' side of Snape only really emerged when he
was talking to him, Ron or  Hermione. The tension between Sirius was 
thick enough to be cut with a knife, and Snape also, it seemed, had not 
got around to forgiving Lupin for whatever it was he thought he'd done. 
Harry sighed. He didn't know what had happened back in the shack 
between the three men that had caused Sirius to get so angry with the 
professor, but he knew that it must have been something beyond the 
normal bickering. Oh well. Harry turned to look at Ron: his friend was 
still pale, but at least he was no longer blue; and, perhaps more 
importantly, he was most definitely still alive. Perhaps things were 
improving after all. 

Ron woke up an hour later, just in time for the tea that Sirius had
made. Harry, who had been sitting at the foot of his bed watching him, 
stared at him in concern as he raised a hand to his head and ran it 
through his hair experimentally. 

“Yesss...” he hissed. 

“Ron,” began Harry, hoping with all his might that this wasn't another
Brollachan he had to deal with. 

At his voice, Ron suddenly stared at him, unblinkingly. “Harry!” he
said. Then: “The Selkie! The – what happened? It wasn't a Selkie, 
Harry, it was a horrible thing, a – a – ” 

“A Brollachan,” supplied Harry helpfully. 

“A what? What happened to it?” 

“Lupin killed it, I think. How are you?” 

Ron sank back into his pillows and groaned. “Terrible,” he said.
“Horrible. I don't think eating all that Hubble gum was good for me...” 


“You get indigestion if you eat too much gum,” said Hermione, who had
suddenly materialised out of nowhere and was standing there next to 
Ron, peering at him with concern plastered all over her face. “It gets 
stuck in your stomach. You aren't meant to eat it.” 

Ron nodded, glumly. “I realise that now,” he said. “But what happened?
What did you do after I – after I went in the stream?” 

Harry considered, unsure of how much to tell him. “The Brollachan made
itself look like you,” he said. “We thought it was you, come back... 
only you were blue, and then you grew teeth, and then we realised it 
wasn't you after all and Lupin killed the Brollachan and we went and 
found you and brought you back here, and... well, here you are.” 

Ron looked confused. “OK...” he said. 

“I'll get Snape,” said Hermione, and hurried off. Ron's eyes widened. 

“Why's she doing that?” he asked, panicking. “What have I done? Why...?”


“Because you need to drink this.” Snape's oily voice drifted down to
them. “Out of the way, Potter... this has some peculiar 
side-effects...” 

Ron backed up against the headboard, gripping at his bed coverings with
white-knuckled hands. He looked petrified. Harry, grinning with sheer 
relief that his best friend was back to normal, walked slowly out of 
the room with Hermione to the sound of Ron's protestations and what 
were possibly soothing noises coming from Snape. Harry's smile widened. 
He was glad he wasn't in Ron's shoes. 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

“We should reach Hogwarts before lunch tomorrow,” said Sirius, over
dinner that night. “We'll leave as soon as Ron's feeling better.” 

“I'm feeling fine now,” said Ron immediately – then spoilt this
declaration by rushing out of the room to be sick. 

“Are you sure you were meant to put the minnows in, Professor?” asked
Hermione suspiciously. Snape glared at her. 

“Are you suggesting I don't possess enough knowledge of my own subject
to know the ingredients for a simple reparative potion, Miss Granger?” 
he snarled. “You ought to be grateful. If I hadn't been here, your 
friend would still be in excruciating pain.” 

Hermione looked doubtful that Ron wasn't at the moment, but wisely
decided against saying so. Harry dived into his plate of potatoes with 
a vigour that he didn't really possess: spending the last two days with 
no escape from Snape had exhausted him. He pitied any future Mrs Snape. 
How Dumbledore and the other members of staff could bear to spend each 
and every day in the man's company bewildered him: the teachers at 
Hogwarts had risen considerably in his estimation since he'd learned 
just how hard it was to put up continuously with the Potions master. 

He – and all the others, with the possible exception of Sirius – had
given up rising to the baits that Snape provided. But even this didn't 
seem to help much: Harry's Lupin-style politeness served to make 
Snape's eyes flash just as much as Sirius's short retorts to his jibes. 


It was decided that they would leave in the morning. Hogwarts was,
apparently, only four or five hours away: Harry didn't understand how 
they'd managed to walk from Surrey to his school in under three days, 
but didn't bother asking. All that mattered now was getting there in 
one piece – and then hearing whatever mysterious things it was that 
Dumbledore had to tell then. That night, he lay awake, wondering at all 
the secrecy. Why had Dumbledore told Sirius not to tell them? Did he 
not trust one of them? Could it be that serious? Harry pondered these 
thoughts long into the night, and when he finally drifted off into a 
fitful, troubled sleep, the sky had begun to lighten and the first 
tentative notes of birdsong had erupted into the sky. 

+++++++++++++++++++ 

Ron's quick recovery astonished Harry. He hadn't asked what had happened
with the Brollachan and Ron didn't volunteer any information, so Harry 
was just left with his imagination as to what had happened in the 
water: he still had the disturbing image of Cedric Diggory imprinted 
firmly in his mind, and on the whole he decided that the topic was 
probably better of being left alone. So that day they talked instead of 
how nice it would be to see Hogwarts again, and eat proper food instead 
of the rather bland supplies from Sirius's house – which had begun, at 
any rate, to now run out. 

“And the library!” said Hermione, enthusiastically. “I can't wait to
re-read the book list for next year – of course, you're going to have 
to go to Diagon Alley, aren't you, Harry, before term starts? I wonder 
if Dumbledore will take us. It's too dangerous for Sirius... Have you 
gone, yet, Ron?” 

“Yeah,” mumbled Ron, obviously hoping that Hermione didn't delve too
deeply into what exactly he'd bought: Ron's family was very poor, and 
he frequently found himself being given second-hand thises and thats 
that caused him a great deal of embarrassment. But Hermione was too 
sensitive to probe him; tactfully, she changed the subject. 

“How far do you think we are now?” she enquired. “It's almost lunch
time. We should be – Oh...” Harry and Ron looked at her, surprised, as 
she gasped. Then, following her gaze, they saw what she was looking at 
and gasped themselves: for there, in front of them, rising out of the 
midday mists was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

+++++++++++++++++++++ 

Ten minutes later saw the six of them stood at the great door, and two
minutes after that they were all making their way up to Dumbledore's 
study, each with a mouthful of out-of-season Christmas cake that had 
suddenly appeared floating on plates in front of them. Harry ate his 
with relish. He hadn't realised just how hungry he was. 

Sirius strode forwards and knocked on Dumbledore's door. 

“Headmaster?” he called. The door swung open, and there was Dumbledore,
sitting at his desk behind a large pile of books scattered with crumbs 
and a slice of Christmas cake in his hand. 

“Come in, come in,” he called jovially. “And do sit down.” He waved his
wand at the space in front of him, and all of a sudden six identical 
rocking chairs were placed neatly in two rows. Harry, Ron and Hermione 
sunk gladly into the back three. 

“Ah, Harry,” said Dumbledore, peering at him over the top of his
half-moon glasses. “How nice to see you. How nice to see all of you – I 
hope your trip was... uneventful?” From the twinkle in his eye, Harry 
guessed that Dumbledore had at least some knowledge of their disastrous 
journey: but the Headmaster's grin had disappeared before it 
customarily did, and he leaned forwards on his desk, fingers lacing 
together, looking at them seriously. 

“I know some of you, at least,” he said, glancing at Harry, Ron and
Hermione, “Will be wondering why I've called you here and cut short 
your holiday. I regret to say that it couldn't be helped. Now – ” he 
brushed some crumbs from his beard impatiently – “The reason is simple. 
Voldemort has returned – quicker than any of us had anticipated – 
quicker than we would have thought possible – and before we have had 
the time to assemble the Order of the Phoenix. I cannot do this without 
the aid of Severus, Sirius and Remus – ah, I see you've had the time to 
build up a somewhat better relationship over the last few days – ” the 
twinkle was back in his eye – “and, of course, as it is Harry that 
Voldemort is after, he cannot be left alone.” Dumbledore offered Harry 
a small, but genuine smile. 

“I believe some explanations are in order,” he went on. “Sirius, you
read my note: I ought to tell Harry, Ron and Hermione what exactly 
happened, however... I shall try to be brief. 

“I approved of you all staying with Sirius for the holidays,” he said.
“As I believed no harm would come from it. And I'm sure it came as a 
relief to you, Harry, to be able to have an enjoyable summer holiday 
for once. But then news reached me of Voldemort's rising: news that 
would undoubtedly affect you if you were left alone. So I sent Remus to 
you with a letter, deciding I had better not trust such important 
information to an owl – and then, thinking that it may not have been 
safe for him to travel alone and with a full moon approaching, I sent 
Severus after him. I trust you found each other all right?” he added 
tranquilly. 

“He found him,” said Sirius, shortly, before Lupin was given a chance to
reply, and Snape shot him a venomous glance. 

“Well, well,” carried on Dumbledore, ignoring the small interchange.
“I'm glad. So: I asked you to come here immediately, and now here you 
are.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully. 

“I can see you are still confused,” he continued. “And with good reason.
I asked Sirius not to tell you what was happening, Harry, simply 
because – as I'm sure you will have guessed – I wanted to tell you 
myself. I want you to understand that I do trust you to look after 
yourself – but you must realise that at the moment, with Voldemort 
stronger than he has been since that day he foolishly attempted to kill 
you, we are all under direct threat – and you most of all. So do not go 
anywhere alone, Harry. Don't wander off on one of your interesting 
midnight rambles – ” He grinned as Harry started guiltily and Snape 
favoured him with a glare – “At least, not without at the very least Mr 
Weasley and Miss Granger to accompany you. I don't think that Voldemort 
will dare attack Hogwarts yet: but we shall see, we shall see. Oh, by 
the way; your mother, Ron, has forwarded all your school equipment 
you'll need for next term here... You'll find it all upstairs in your 
dormitories. Now,” he clapped his hands together as if everything were 
resolved, “I imagine you are all hungry. Let us go downstairs, and see 
what there is to be eaten.” 

Harry traipsed back downstairs as if in a dream. There had to be more to
it than that: something Dumbledore had missed out. They had all known 
that Voldemort had risen again – true, not to the extent Dumbledore was 
suggesting, but all the same... Still puzzling, he walked with Ron and 
Hermione into the hall where a table was laid out for eleven people. 
There, to his delight, he saw Hagrid sitting at one of the seats – 
along with Filch, the caretaker, Professor McGonagall, and Madam 
Pomfrey, the school's matron – and they spent the entire of the meal 
talking with him, all doubts and worries forgotten. After they'd eaten, 
they went with Hagrid down to his little gamekeeper's house, and he 
made them tea. 

“So,” he boomed. “Sounds like yeh've been in a mite o' trouble, 'arry.
Tell me,” he suddenly leant forwards over the table at Ron who, taken 
by surprise, didn't manage to move his head in time, collided with 
Hagrid, and sat there stunned for a moment. Hagrid however didn't seem 
to notice. “Tell me – what were the Selkie like? Ah've always wanted to 
see one...” 

Hagrid's voice took on the wistful tone it always did when he talked of
creatures most people considered a menace and he considered potential 
pets. Ron, still blinking, didn't reply for a while. 

“I don't think you'd have liked it,” he said eventually. “Besides, it
wasn't a Selkie, it was a – a – a what was it, Harry?” 

“A Brollachan,” said Harry, and changed the subject before Ron got
upset. “So... how've things been at Hogwarts, Hagrid?” 

Hagrid, sufficiently diverted, launched into an account of everything
that had happened in their absence, and Harry and the others snuggled 
up in his enormous armchairs and snoozed, feeling more relaxed than 
they had done for a long time. Hagrid woke them up at eleven, and 
guided them through the dark back to the main castle: he took his role 
of protector seriously, and Harry was grateful to him for it. As he 
curled up in his bed in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, the familiar 
warmth stealing over him, he decided dozily that even if Voldemort was 
after him, it was worth it, just for this. 

++++++++++++++++ 

The days passed easily enough at Hogwarts: Harry, Ron and Hermione saw
little of Sirius, and had to content themselves with their own company. 
There was no homework for Hermione to do and no Slytherins to avoid; 
this made for a highly entertaining time as they decided – when no one 
was looking – to make the most of the Marauder's Map and explore the 
castle grounds. Ron, in particular, had seemed to decide that he wanted 
one up on Fred and George: now that he had access to two of the 
original Marauders, he felt that he had an advantage. 

“Where d'you think this one goes?” he asked one day, about two weeks
after their arrival. He, Harry and Hermione were lounging in the 
Gryffindor common room, plates in front of them piled high with food 
pillaged for them from the kitchens by Dobby, the house elf with an 
inordinate fondness for Harry and, since the gift of a large maroon 
jumper which he usually wore as an apron, for Ron. 

Hermione wiped a finger round her now empty plate of what had been a
delicious chocolate cake before sucking it clean, and peered over his 
shoulder. Ron was pointing a sugar quill at what looked like a tunnel: 
it led to the lower dungeons, and its entrance was marked as being – 
directly next to Snape's office. 

“I have no idea,” she replied. “And I don't want to know. Honestly, Ron.
Why pick that one? Of all the possible secret tunnels there you have to 
go and pick the most dangerous one. Typical.” 

Ron pretended to look affronted. “Scared?” he said. 

Hermione looked completely unabashed. “Of course I am,” she retorted.
“Anyone in their right mind would be. We always manage to get in enough 
trouble as it is without you going looking for it.” 

“But this is an ideal opportunity!” protested Ron, looking to Harry for
support. Harry shrugged. “I'll bet you anything you like Fred and 
George haven't ever tried this one. Who knows what could be down 
there?” 

“Fred and George have some sense, then,” muttered Hermione. “I don't
want to know what's down there, Ron. For all we know, it could be where 
Snape keeps all his frog liver. It's right next to his office. Why 
don't you just ask Sirius where it goes? Or Lupin. By the way – ” 
Hermione turned to Harry, “ – Where are they nowadays? I haven't seen 
either of them – or Snape – for days.” 

“Then Snape can't be in his office, can he?” said Ron triumphantly. “It
would be a perfect time to go and have a little snoop.” 

++++++++++++++++++ 

Harry wasn't sure how Ron had managed to persuade him, still less
Hermione, to sneak out of the Gryffindor common room, down the 
staircase and into the passageway that led to Snape's office. It 
certainly wasn't something he would have ever done out of choice: quite 
apart from the fact that it was twelve o'clock, he was tired, shivering 
and Hermione had not stopped talking about being expelled for the last 
half hour, Harry didn't even want to think about what might happen if 
Snape happened to visit his office for a late-night whatever it was 
Snape did there. They had stopped outside a horrible portrait of a 
goblin, that wouldn't stop shaking its head menacingly at them. Harry 
scowled at it. 

“Right,” said Ron, business-like. “Have you got your Invisibility Cloak,
Harry? Just in case...” 

Hermione frowned at him. “Just in case what?” she snapped in a whisper.
“Just in case we get attacked by whatever it is down there? Because 
there's bound to be something, knowing our luck.” 

Ron shrugged, looking a little bit sheepish. “What's the matter?” he
asked. “Nothing'll happen... what could go wrong? We're at Hogwarts. 
You-Know-Who can't come here – you heard Dumbledore. We might find 
something interesting.” 

Harry couldn't be bothered to argue the definition of interesting. Ron
had been talking about this trip all day: it was as if he had the idea 
planted in his head and watered so much it had grown out of control. 
He'd become obsessed with it – and it was proving slightly worrying. 
Harry decided he would borrow one of Lupin's Defence Against Dark Arts 
books tomorrow and look up the side-effects of a fight with a 
Brollachan... just in case. 

Harry sensed that Hermione had just come along to do her best to keep
himself and Ron out of trouble, and he was grateful for it: Ron had 
also been acting strangely around Hermione lately but Harry suspected 
this was absolutely nothing to do with fighting monsters and more to do 
with growing up. One minute he was almost embarrassed to talk to her 
and the next he was busily engaged bickering with her like one half of 
a married couple: and Hermione, Harry had noticed, was acting rather 
oddly whenever he mentioned Ron to her as well. 

They had entered a long, narrow and exceedingly dark passageway. The
Marauder's Map had instructed them to tap on the left-hand eye of the 
painted goblin with a wand and it had swung open like a door: they were 
dependent on the somewhat wavery light from a candle they had borrowed 
because one of Hermione's conditions on accompanying them was that, 
beyond getting into the tunnel and the use of the Marauder's Map, 
absolutely no magic was used whatsoever (“It's the holidays, Ron! What 
would Dumbledore say?”) 

And so now they were traipsing along a corridor they would never have
even suspected existed: Harry wondered where it led. All the Marauder's 
Map had shown them was the tunnel disappearing somewhere underneath the 
dungeons that laced the lower floors of Hogwarts: descending a long 
flight of stone steps and falling painfully into Ron's back as he did 
so, Harry felt the sense of foreboding that had been lying uneasily in 
his mind grow rapidly. 

“Ron,” said Hermione suddenly, “I don't like this. I think we ought to
go back... I think...” 

But they never got to know what exactly Hermione thought. Two things
happened at once: firstly, the battery in Harry's torch faltered and 
the light flickered out pathetically; secondly, and perhaps more 
worryingly, a very, very pale figure had begun to glow in front of 
them, too faint to see any features but just visible enough to know 
that it was there. It stood facing them, hazy golden aura as dim as the 
dying sun – and then it spoke. 

Or rather, it laughed. The voice was deep and rather hollow-sounding:
the laugh, though it had been soft, resonated around the room they had 
found themselves in, bouncing off the stone walls like some haphazard, 
crazy ball the figure had thrown. One minute the voice would seem to be 
coming from behind them, the next it sounded as though it was to their 
left, and all of a sudden there it was, laughing harder than ever – 
straight in front of them. 

Harry acted quickly. He didn't know what instinct urged him to; but as
the figure – whatever it was – in front of them drew an almost silent 
breath he charged into Ron and Hermione, bringing all three of them 
crashing to the ground in a bruised heap. 

“Illuviate!” cried the voice, at the same time, and from where he now
lay on his back on the ground Harry could see a blinding flash of light 
fly over their heads and into the wall behind them. But the invisible 
owner of the spell had lost his or her advantage: Harry whipped out his 
own wand – but before he was given the chance to try a hex there was 
another flash, this time a paler, less violent one, and whatever it was 
that had been there was gone. Harry picked himself up. 

“What was that?” asked Ron, shaken. He helped Hermione to her feet, and
brushed feebly at his clothes. “And what did it say? ‘Illuviate'? 
What's that mean?” 

Harry and Hermione shook their heads. 

“Come on,” whispered Hermione. “Let's get back. We shouldn't have come
here in the first place.” 

Harry agreed, and led the way quickly back through the tunnel to the
secret entrance by Snape's office. They were so intent on not being 
caught up with whatever had been in the stone room that they hardly 
paused for breath: up the stone stairs they went, back along the 
corridor in the pitch black and somehow, finally, into the tunnel that 
led to the goblin portrait. 

But instead of carrying on, instead of running back through the painting
and up to their nice, safe Gryffindor dormitories, their eyes were 
alerted to a dull square of light that looked like it came from a 
distant doorway. Harry frowned: he hadn't noticed it before. 

“What's that?” he asked, pointing: and then, as he realised that the
others couldn't see him do this, he began to describe it. But there was 
no need. 

“I dunno,” said Ron, interrupting him. “Let's go and find out, shall
we?” 

“It's in the same direction as Snape's office...” warned Hermione,
rather nervously. “Do you think we ought to...?” 

But Ron was gone, and Harry with him. Hermione followed. 

They found themselves standing in a small room lit by one candle, and it
seemed to be an annexe of Snape's study. It was full of jars of pickled 
things (Harry didn't dare imagine what) and bats. He moved over 
curiously to one and poked it, but it didn't move, and Harry decided 
that it was stuffed. 

“Hey!” said Ron. “Look at these! Letters!” 

“Ron,” hissed Hermione. “We shouldn't be looking at his letters... they
might be personal.” But she took them, nonetheless. 

As she read down the page, her face reddened and reddened in the soft
candlelight until Harry wondered if maybe this wasn't some kind of 
trick letter of Snape's to turn her into a kind of vegetable or 
something – perhaps a beetroot – but eventually she put the letter back 
down onto Snape's desk and covered it with a heavy cauldron he 
obviously used as a paperweight. 

“Well?” asked Ron, impatiently. “What does it say? Hermione?” 

Hermione still looked embarrassed. “Let's just say it starts ‘My dearest
love'...” 

“Oh my God!” exclaimed Ron, dancing round her to try and grab them back
and being rewarded with a sharp poke in the arm from Hermione. 

“And ends '...Forever yours, Severus,'” she finished. “And I'll leave
the middle bit to your imagination.” 

“Severus. What an unromantic name,” mused Ron. Harry raised one eyebrow
at him. 

“Well – ” he began defensively, before it could suddenly occur to Harry
or Hermione to ask him what exactly he considered a ‘romantic' name – 
“I mean... Percy always signs his letters – I mean, I don't read them, 
I – ” 

The other eyebrow flew up, and so did Hermione's. Ron's shoulders
slumped in defeat. 

“OK so I do. That's not the point. The point is that he signs his to
Penny at least Perce, or sometimes ‘fluffy-bun' or ‘pink-cuddly-rabbit' 
or... what's the matter? Why are you laughing? What have I...” Ron 
trailed off as Harry and Hermione clutched at each other, helpless with 
laughter at the image of the prim and proper Percy referring to himself 
as the ‘pink-cuddly-rabbit' and trying desperately not to make too much 
noise as they did so. Ron joined in the laughter, but only after he had 
carefully detached Hermione from Harry. 

“Thing is... Snape hasn't really got a name you can shorten, has he?”
asked Harry. “I don't really think I can picture him signing a letter 
the ‘pink-fluffy-potions-master'. I mean – how can you make ‘Severus' 
easier to say?” 

“Sever,” said Ron at once, making an abrupt chopping motion with his
hand. 

“Severe,” corrected Hermione. She gave a mock and extremely severe
glare: Ron winced at the likeness. 

“Sev?” suggested Harry. 

“Sevvie!” giggled Hermione, and all three of them once again dissolved
into fits of laughter, only too pleased to let some of the tension that 
had been building up slip out. It wasn't until someone swung the 
goblin's portrait open and light flooded through to them, and they 
turned to find out who that they discovered Professor Snape was 
standing by the door, listening to every word they'd said. 

+++++++++++++++++ 

Harry tried to think of a time when he'd been anticipating getting into
trouble as much as he was now, and couldn't. Snape had simply led them 
in silence to Dumbledore's study, without having said a word, and now 
he, Ron and Hermione stood outside the door too apprehensive to say 
anything. 

Finally it swung open to reveal a solemn looking Dumbledore, and a
rather angrier looking Sirius and Snape. Harry, Hermione and Ron 
immediately launched into an account of the journey, relating every 
detail in case Dumbledore felt it necessary to ask Snape to concoct 
them a truth potion as he had done for Barty Couch (they didn't want to 
trust Snape to make them any kind of potion given the look on his face 
at the moment) – missing out only Percy's confidential aliases. 

“It was my fault,” added Ron tonelessly, when they'd finished. “I made
them come with me. It was stupid. I don't even know why I wanted to go 
so much... It just seemed like  something really important. Like 
something depended on it... and... I...” He floundered helplessly, and 
shrugged at Dumbledore. “I dunno,” he finished, quite unhelpfully. 
Dumbledore looked at him gravely. 

“You were correct, Ron: it was stupid,” he said. “But,” he added, as
Snape nodded sanctimoniously in the corner, “I'm not sure it was 
entirely your fault. There have been cases of people being lured into 
situations like you describe, and you say yourself you don't have any 
clear idea of why you wanted to go there... Tell me more about this 
figure you saw.” 

Harry repeated what he had told them earlier. 

“And he tried to cast a spell on you?” enquired Dumbledore. 

Harry, who had already told him that he had three times now, just
nodded. 

“Well what was it?” demanded Sirius. “What did he say?” 

“He said – what was it... Illuviate, I think. I  might be – ” Harry
stopped talking as Dumbledore, Snape and Sirius all exchanged a rather 
startled look with each other. 

“He said what?” demanded Sirius. 

“Illuviate...” repeated Harry, wondering why they looked so worried all
of a sudden. “Why? What's it mean?” 

“Nothing,” said Sirius shortly. “I think the Headmaster was right. I
think Voldemort may have tried to lure you down there... Maybe you all 
ought to go up to the hospital wing, Harry. Yes; I think you should.” 

Dumbledore nodded. “An extremely good idea,” he said. “Well, Harry, Ron,
Hermione: I think we'll just leave it there... We'll put this down to a 
mixture of curiosity and being led astray, but – no more wandering off, 
is that clear? I had asked you to find some less dangerous way to 
occupy yourselves before. We cannot constantly be looking out for you: 
we have dangerous enough work of our own to do. You were lucky 
Professor Snape found you when you did – although I guess from the 
looks on your faces you'd disagree with me there... well, well. Bed, I 
think. And hot chocolate. Go and ask Madam Pomfrey to make you some, 
and we will see you in the morning. Now,” he said, turning to Sirius 
and Severus, obviously drawing Harry and the others' audience to a 
close, “I trust you'll join me for a drink? Let me see...” He conjured 
three steaming cups of hot chocolate out of the air and took one with 
relish. “Ah,” he said, taking a deep sip. “Marvellous. Do help 
yourselves.” 

Sirius, after one final and doubtful look at Harry, took one of the
remaining cups and thanked Dumbledore. Snape, however, seemed to 
decline. 

“I'm going to bed,” he announced haughtily. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Severus,” answered Dumbledore, dipping a pink-iced biscuit
that hadn't been there a minute ago into his cocoa. “If you're going 
back to your rooms, I wonder if you'd be good enough to see that our 
accident-prone trio here find their way to the hospital without 
disappearing off down any more mysterious holes?” 

“Certainly,” replied Snape grimly. He stalked through the door, and
Harry, Ron and Hermione trailed after him miserably. As soon as he had 
closed it tight behind him, Snape whirled round to them furiously. 

“It's obvious that Dumbledore has allowed his misplaced favouritism to
get the better of him,” he snarled. “And his sense of judgement is 
therefore somewhat marred by it. But,” he leant his face down very 
close to Harry's, “If I ever, ever catch you somewhere you shouldn't be 
again, or doing something you shouldn't do, or saying something you 
shouldn't be saying, then I'll have you out of this school as quick as 
THAT!” He snapped his long fingers so suddenly that Harry nearly 
stumbled back in shock. 

“OK,” he said, feeling that it was too late at night to be picking a
fight with Snape when all he really wanted to be doing was sleeping. 
Snape straightened up, apparently satisfied. 

“You can find your own way to the hospital wing,” he snapped. “But I'll
be expecting you back in your dormitories by two o'clock.” 

He marched off, back straight as a poker, and Harry and the others
stared after him in a mixture of shock and apprehension before Hermione 
had the sense to look at her watch. 

“Harry!” she screamed. “It's ten to two! We've only got ten minutes
before we get expelled!” and she took off in a whirl of black robes, 
leaving the other two to follow her as best they could. 

+++++++++++++++ 

The next day, after breakfast, they returned to their common room and
talked about the previous night. It had started to rain: the weather 
deepened the depression that had stared to form after the incident with 
Snape, and all three were in a rather dejected mood as they sat curled 
up on the comfy Gryffindor sofas. 

“What I want to know is,” said Hermione, frowning, “What does Illuviate
mean? Why did Dumbledore and Sirius and Snape go all funny when we told 
them about it?” 

Ron shrugged. “I don't know,” he said. “Never heard of it before. Let's
go and – oof!” 

The ‘oof' was caused by something small and feathery cannoning into his
stomach with such a force that he was almost knocked onto the floor by 
it. 

“What...?” he began, taken by surprise. An affectionate chirruping from
somewhere around his midriff made him look down; still bewildered, he 
made a grab at whatever it was making a noise and held his hand up to 
the light. 

“Pig!” he exclaimed. Pigwidgeon nestled a fluffy head against his palm
and Ron dropped him as it tickled. “What are you doing here?” he 
demanded, grabbing the owl back again before he tried to attach himself 
to Harry or Hermione, and examining him carefully. He took a small note 
from the little bird's leg. 

“What is it?” enquired Harry curiously. 

Ron's face had turned slightly pink at the edges. “Nothing,” he said
quickly, and stuffed it into his pocket. “Just a note from mum, that's 
all. Dumbledore or... er... I think it might have been Snape sent her 
an owl about... about the other night and she was a bit – er – worried 
about us. Let's go and look in the library, shall we?” he added 
brightly, changing the subject and causing Harry and Hermione to stare 
at him in astonishment. “To see if we can find out what Illuviate 
means,” he explained. 

“You?” exclaimed Hermione, still staring at him. “You? Want to go to the
library?” 

“Well, yeah – it won't get us expelled,” replied Ron, deliberately
misunderstanding her. Standing up, he tucked Pigwidgeon into his shirt 
pocket and set off, leaving Harry to shake his head with a shared 
puzzlement at Hermione. Whatever had been in Ron's mum's letter, he 
thought that it must have been extremely embarrassing if Ron wanted to 
go to the library instead of sharing it with them. But Hermione was 
looking after Ron with a glint in her eye: it suddenly occurred to 
Harry that she might think she'd managed to convert him into a 
book-lover and, giggling at the idea, he followed his best friend. 
Perhaps the library could be quite interesting after all. 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

They caught up with Ron just before the library doors, and he was
looking like he regretted his suggestion. As they made their way to the 
chairs by the restricted books section, he kept darting his eyes left 
and right as though looking for and escape route: but there was none, 
and he sunk down into a chair and played with Pig instead. 

“Are you going to help?” enquired Hermione, arms already laden with a
great stack of books. “Or are you going to show us your letter? Is it 
really from your mother... or is it from pink-fluffy-Percy? Or a 
purple-fluffy-someone else?” 

“No,” said Ron shortly. “To both questions.” 

Hermione put the books down and produced a folded piece of paper from
her pocket. She seemed to skim through the words: his face suddenly 
alarmed, Ron made a snatch for it – but Hermione was too quick for him. 


“Hermione!” exclaimed Ron. “How did you get that?” 

“Harry wasn't the only one Fred and George taught how to pickpocket,”
she replied coyly. “Let's see now... Ooh, dear, Ron – you were right – 
your mother was a bit – er – worried about you, wasn't she? Tut tut...” 


Ron let out a resigned sigh. “OK then,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Stop reading it... give me the letter and I'll read some books.” 

Hermione handed it over, and smirked. She dumped the books she had been
carrying into Ron's hand – Harry was sure she'd chosen the heaviest she 
could find. 

“Have fun,” she said. 

+++++++++++++++ 

Eight and a half hours later and not one reference to ‘Illuviate' had
been found. Hermione was still ploughing through the rapidly 
diminishing pile of books on their table, but Ron and Harry had long 
since given up trying and were attempting to train Pigwidgeon to 
understand the word ‘shhh' – without, it must be said, much success. 

“Ooh,” said Hermione suddenly, making Harry look up at her quickly and
Ron let go of Pigwidgeon in surprise. 

“What is it?” he asked worriedly, staring at the expression on her face.
Hermione had turned almost pink with excitement. 

“I've just remembered... Illuviate... where we might find out what it
means.” 

“Where?” said both Harry and Ron, at once. 

“It's this book – ” began Hermione. 

“Impossible. We must've looked at every single book in the library,”
grouched Ron. “I haven't worked that hard since we tried to get 
Buckbeak off. And it's meant to be a holiday,” he added. 

“Well, I was doing some homework last year – ” carried on Hermione,
ignoring him. 

“Well, that makes a pleasant change,” said Ron. 

“ – And I thought I'd do a bit of extra research – ” 

“Even more unusual.” 

“ – and I spent all my lunch break in the restricted books section of
the library – ” 

“Oh, really? Now, why doesn't that surp– ” 

“And I couldn't find what I wanted.” Hermione flung an evil glare at
Ron, evidently tired of his interruptions. “So I asked Professor 
McGonagall if she knew where I could find another version of some spell 
or other – I can't remember what it was now – and she told me that 
Professor Trelawny had something that might be what I needed. So I 
borrowed this book called ‘Alternative Spells' – it's like a big 
dictionary, full of all these old spells and curses that people don't 
use very often any more. I bet Illuviate would be in there.” 

+++++++++++++++++++ 

So they set off up the huge staircase that led to Professor Trelawny's
quaint little study. Harry had the sinking feeling that they were only 
going to get into more trouble: but Hermione was oddly confident – even 
cheerful – at the prospect. 

“Oh, no, we'll be fine,” she said breezily when he voiced his concern.
Hermione had always shown an uncharacteristic lack of regard for 
Professor Trelawny, considering she was a teacher, and Harry hoped it 
hadn't developed into a foolhardiness that was going to lead them even 
further astray. Maybe, he thought in a sudden panic, maybe she had been 
‘lured' towards Trelawny's room as Ron had been to the dungeons: maybe 
she was leading them into a trap. Maybe she was... 

“Here we are,” said Hermione. She pushed open the trap door and
disappeared: Harry and Ron followed doubtfully. Reaching carefully on 
tiptoe to the top of one of the narrow shelves, Hermione selected a 
monstrous looking volume that was at least the size of Dobby and Harry 
looked at it with dislike. But Hermione did not seem to notice. She 
busied herself with the book, and Harry and Ron flopped down into the 
pastel-shaded beanbags that Professor Trelawny had spread around the 
small room, preparing themselves for a long wait. The combination of 
Hermione and a book usually required a lot of patience from anyone who 
happened to be with her at the time, and they occupied themselves by 
making little paper aeroplanes out of spare scraps of paper on 
Professor Trelawny's desk and flinging them at each other. Hermione 
spared them one superior look before settling down and ignoring them. 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

“This is interesting,” said Hermione in an odd voice, finally looking up
from the pages of the huge book. 

“Bound to be,” mumbled Ron. “What is?” 

“Well,” continued Hermione, ignoring Ron's cynical mutter, “You'll never
guess what Illuviate is another version of!” 

As she didn't seem inclined to tell them immediately, Ron snatched the
book from her hands. “Let's see,” he said. Harry peered over his 
shoulder, and read. 

Below “Illuminatus – (obsolete) a strong spelle to make ye darke ways
light – see also ‘Lumos,'” at the top of the page there was a very 
brief line that contained three words. 

“Illuviate,” it read. “See ‘Fragmento'.” 

Hermione was looking at them triumphantly, obviously expecting them to
share her excitement. Harry had the feeling that he and Ron were 
missing out on something. 

“Er – what?” he asked. Hermione gave an impatient sigh, and retrieved
the book from Ron. She stabbed at the entry with her finger. 

“This!” she exclaimed. “See Fragmento. Well?” She looked at the other
two expectantly, and they both shook their heads, still as mystified as 
they had been before. 

“It means to shatter!” screeched Hermione. “Don't you ever pay attention
in any of your lessons? Don't you ever read any of the text books?” 

Ron, commendably, held his tongue. Harry wondered why: and then noticed
that his friend was eyeing up various objects in the room with a rather 
vicious expression, as though contemplating their suitability for 
something. 

“Try it out now,” said Ron. “Try it on... Look, try it on one of her
teacups. The pink one that she made Neville super-glue back together 
last year, see?” 

“Oh, I couldn't!” said Hermione, looking at Ron in surprise. “It's still
the holidays. We aren't allowed to use magic. And it's a curse! What 
would Dumbledore say?” 

“Oh, he won't mind,” snapped Ron, waving an impatient hand at her. “Come
on! I want to see if it works.” 

Hermione snapped the book shut with a loud clang, and clouds of dust
billowed out, enveloping Harry and Ron and making them cough. 

“No,” she said. “You've got me into enough trouble as it is. We
shouldn't be up here in Professor Trelawny's study, and we didn't find 
anything useful. I'm going to go and see Crookshanks. I can't believe 
you aren't taking this seriously – don't you see – whoever was down 
there was trying to kill us!” She deposited the large volume on Ron's 
lap, making him sink even further into his beanbag, and strode off. Ron 
looked after her in astonishment. 

“Well,” he said, struggling out from underneath the book and lifting a
few pages experimentally. “It's not as if it was all my fault. She 
suggested coming here in the first place!” He shook his head. “Girls,” 
he muttered. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++ 

They had been nearly a month at Hogwarts now. Harry sighed. He never
thought he'd hear himself say this, but he almost missed the lessons – 
the bustle of the huge crowds of people – and, most of all, he missed 
Quidditch. Since the fiasco with the secret tunnel (and with the 
exception of the small excursion to Professor Trelawny's attic), he, 
Ron and Hermione had kept a decidedly low profile, especially from 
Snape. Hermione had refused to do anything even remotely exciting, and 
kept reminding them of the Illuviate curse – something Harry and Ron 
would rather have forgotten. The result of this was that they spent 
most of their time skulking in the Gryffindor common room, and Harry 
was bored with it. 

“Let's do something...” he said, one afternoon. Ron rolled over on the
couch where he'd been lounging. 

“Like what?” he asked lazily. 

“Nothing dangerous,” said Hermione at once. “Nothing that's going to get
us expelled.” It seemed that she had taken Snape's threat very 
seriously. 

Harry waved an impatient hand in the air. “No, no... nothing like that,”
he said. “What about a game of Quidditch? Ron – your mum's forwarded 
all our stuff here, hasn't she? Well – she'll have sent my Firebolt, 
then. Come on – let's go and have a game. And I could do with visiting 
Hedwig, too,” he added as an afterthought. 

“Fine.” Ron stood up, stretching, and yawned loudly. “I'd like to see
Pig. And you can get that ginger thing of yours, Hermione.” 

Hermione looked as though she were about to pick up on the ginger
comment, when her face suddenly lit up. 

“Herbert!” she exclaimed. “Ron! You haven't seen Herbert!” 

Harry hid a smile as he saw a flicker of jealousy cross Ron's face at
the mention of another male name, but when Hermione explained he was a 
parrot he brightened considerably. 

“OK then,” he said. “Off we go.” 

+++++++++++++++++ 

In the end, they decided not to bother with the Quidditch game. It would
be dark in less than two hours: Harry had no desire to play by light of 
the moon, round and bright though it would be, and instead they spent 
an enjoyable hour or so with the birds before realising that they had 
not yet eaten any lunch. 

“Let's go and see Dobby,” said Hermione, placing Herbert gently on top
of Hedwig's empty cage and leaving the two owls and the parrot to fly 
around as they left the owlery. “And Winky. I wonder how she is?” 

The last time they had seen Winky she had been drowning her sorrows of
newfound freedom in a bottle of something: Harry thought that 
Dumbledore had probably done his best to rectify the situation, and 
hoped that the little elf was happy. As they descended the stairs 
leading from the tower, they peered about them curiously. There was an 
odd lack of people – even for the holidays. 

“Where is everyone?” asked Ron. “I'd expect at least Filch to be lurking
around somewhere ready to shout at us. But I haven't even seen Mrs 
Norris: or Peeves. Is there something going on I don't know about?” 

Harry shrugged. He was about to respond when something odd caught his
eye: bending down, he snatched a scrap of paper up from the floor and 
looked at it curiously. He was sure that neither he nor the other two 
had dropped it; and, since Filch was fanatical about the state of the 
corridor, and they hadn't seen anyone else around for ages he wasn't 
really sure who had. The side he was looking at was blank: idly, he 
flicked it over – and then dropped it in shock. 

“Harry!” exclaimed Hermione. “What's wrong? What is it?” 

Harry was standing, shaking, staring at the small piece of paper where
it lay harmlessly on the floor. Hermione glanced at Ron and, obviously 
deciding that Harry was beyond speech, his best friend stooped to pick 
it up, wondering why on earth Harry was behaving so oddly. He hoped it 
wasn't another letter from Snape... 

“Oh no...” said Ron, as he saw it. Hermione snatched it from him. 

“What are you – Oh,” she finished in a dismayed whisper. “One of those.”


Because, scrawled crudely onto the paper in what looked like red ink was
a sign that the three of them had seen once before, at the Quidditch 
World Cup, sparkling in the air. Harry knew who had made it then: what 
he didn't know was who the creator of this one was. He hoped with all 
his heart that it wasn't anyone he knew in Hogwarts – but, the more he 
hoped, the less likely the possibility seemed. 

It was a Dark Mark. 

“Oh – oh,” Hermione was whimpering. “Who – why – what shall we...” 

Harry didn't hesitate. He knew where they had to go: Dumbledore's study.
Quickly. Snatching the paper from Ron's hand he sped back up along the 
corridor to Dumbledore's study: he didn't stop for breath, or for Ron 
and Hermione to catch up with him, or even for Peeves, who flew 
straight at him, bombarding him with the last remnants of the Christmas 
cake. Harry strode forwards without seeing him, and Peeves was forced 
out of the way with one last disappointed chunk of marzipan aimed at 
Harry's left ear. It missed, and fell on top of Mrs Norris. Peeves 
rapidly disappeared as Filch miraculously materialised out of nowhere 
to attack the poltergeist with one of his brooms, and Harry arrived 
outside the Headmaster's door just as a maniacal cackle announced 
Filch's victory. 

“Professor Dumbledore?” he called, knocking so hard on the wooden door
that his knuckles popped. He ignored them. “Professor!” 

“Harry?” said Dumbledore, through the door. “Come in. Oh, no; wait a
moment: I seem to have barricaded myself in... Hang on there a minute. 
What can I do for you?” There were noises of violent upheaval as 
Dumbledore apparently rearranged the furniture in his study. In spite 
of himself, Harry couldn't help but grin at the image. 

“I have something to tell you, Professor – it's urgent.” Harry had to
raise his voice above the noises of something scraping across the 
floor. 

“Fire away,” said Dumbledore, cheerfully. “I'll be through in a minute –
ah, nearly...” 

“We were just going to the – well, we were going... somewhere, when we
found this piece of paper. And it's got a – it's got a Dark Mark on 
it.” 

There was a pause. Then: “Harry,” came Dumbledore's voice, urgently,
“Listen to me carefully. I know that what I'm about to suggest may well 
sound ludicrous – but I'm afraid we have no options left now. Voldemort 
is coming: you must hide. Use the secret way you discovered last week: 
I will meet you there as soon as I may. Hurry. Now.” 

With a quick glance at his companions, who each nodded, Harry turned and
led the way quickly back down the corridor to the portrait of the 
little goblin. Touching it quickly with his wand, he wasted no time in 
diving through and down the narrow, dark tunnel that led to the 
dungeons: with a flick of his wand, he murmured a quick Lumos, before 
Hermione could shout at him for using magic when he wasn't supposed to. 


But nothing happened. 

“Lumos!” he repeated, louder this time, and shaking his wand harder.
“Lumos!” 

“Lumos!” added Ron helpfully, joining in. Still nothing. “Why don't you
try, Hermione?” he asked hopefully, knowing from bitter experience that 
Hermione often had a lot more luck than they did when it came to 
spells. 

“No,” said Hermione. “If – if you can't do it, then I won't be able to.”


“Why isn't it working?” asked Harry. “What's happened? I don't get it...
D'you think it's Voldemort, putting a blocking curse on us or 
something? Just try it, Hermione. It might be only me and Ron.” 

But Hermione wouldn't. They carried on in darkness, stumbling over
everything that lay in their way, Ron furious with Hermione for not 
trying to help them and Hermione sulking as a result of this. Harry, 
who was in front, was grateful for the silence this situation provided: 
at least, with both of them refusing to talk to each other, he thought, 
they weren't bickering in their usual manner. He soon reached the door 
to the first dungeon, and they stopped. 

“Do you think it's safe?” whispered Hermione. “I mean – if none of our
wands are working, and You-Know-Who could be anywhere...” 

“If we had some light,” announced Ron – and Harry could tell from his
tone of voice that he was glaring at Hermione in the dark – “Then we 
could have a look at the Marauder's Map and find out where he is. 
Didn't Lupin say it never lies, Harry? It would show him up, wouldn't 
it?” His voice had grown excited. 

Harry agreed with him. 

“Oh... OK,” said Hermione finally. “Lumos. There. See. Nothing
happened.” Nothing had. Harry sighed. 

“We'll have to risk it,” he sighed. “Dumbledore said it was safe, so...
Here goes.” He pushed at the door, and it swung open noisily. Harry 
felt his way forwards cautiously, remembering the long flight of steps 
they had nearly missed the first time they'd come down here. 

“OK,” he whispered, as he located them with a groping toes. “The stairs
start here... Come on... What was that?” 

A noise like something getting dragged along the floor had made him stop
still where he stood, and stare back into the dark behind them, but now 
there was silence once more. Harry blinked. 

“I dunno,” said Ron, puzzled. “Maybe we just left the door open, and
there's a draught...” 

“Down here in a dungeon?” retorted Hermione. “I don't think so. How many
windy dungeons have you ever been in? How many prisoners have you ever 
heard of that died of exposure?” 

“Oh, OK, whatever,” snapped Ron. “It was just a suggestion. You think of
a better one.” 

But Hermione was to be deprived of the chance to take Ron up on his
offer, because at that moment a loud explosion caused them all to leap 
high into the air in shock. They lost all hesitation in carrying on 
further into the dark: hurtling down the stone steps, the three of them 
half-ran, half-fell downwards until at last they reached level ground. 
Harry sat up from where he'd fallen awkwardly: he felt around in the 
dark for his glasses, patting the floor with his hands and praying that 
they weren't broken. 

“Oi!” came Hermione's startled voice, and Harry withdrew his hand
hurriedly. That obviously hadn't been his glasses... Hermione sounded 
indignant. “Was that you, Ron?” 

“No it was not!” replied Ron angrily. “I'm over here trying to work out
which way is up. I'm nowhere near you. What were you yelping about 
anyway?” 

“Nothing,” muttered Hermione. Harry was, for the first time since they'd
gone down the tunnel, glad it was dark enough to hide his face as he 
blushed furiously. Finally, he found his glasses, and stood up. 

“What do you think that noise was?” he asked, slowly. He couldn't shake
off the feeling that someone – or something – was behind them, 
following them. He wished that he could see. His only consolation was 
that if he, Ron and Hermione couldn't then neither would his pursuers. 

“Not sure,” admitted Ron. “But whoever made it...” Although he didn't
finish his sentence, his implication hang heavily in the air, and Harry 
shuddered. 

“Yeah,” he said. “We'd better carry on, hadn't we...” They set off
again, Hermione keeping a tight grip on his robes and Ron behind her, 
padding quietly into the blackness. None of them spoke. They were all 
listening intently to whatever might be heard – which, at the moment, 
was a dense silence. And then, ever so softly, there was the 
unmistakable pattering of feet, growing louder by the second. 

Harry tensed in the dark, the hairs rising along the back of his neck,
and his instinct fully alert now. Half to his surprise, he no longer 
felt scared: he was simply aware that he and his friends weren't alone 
– and that something had to be done about it. Silently, he tapped at 
Ron to get his attention. 

“What is it?” asked Ron, loudly. 

Then: “Duck!” screamed Hermione, startling Ron into obeying her – which
was just as well as something whistled through the dark horizontally, 
slicing cleanly through the air where Ron's neck had been just a few 
seconds ago. 

“What the – ” began Ron, but found no time to finish his sentence as
Harry and Hermione grabbed a handful each of his robes and pulled him 
along the floor. Footsteps could be heard behind them, and all of a 
sudden, as he saw the metal bolts of the locked door glistening in 
front of them, Harry knew they had no chance of escape. 

He stopped and turned, like a stag at bay, and beside him felt Ron and
Hermione follow suit. The footsteps were coming nearer: Harry wondered 
why his pursuers weren't talking. But soon he had no time to ponder the 
question: as soon as he sensed there was someone near, he lashed out as 
hard as he could with his foot and, to his satisfaction, was rewarded 
with crushing contact with whatever it was chasing them, and a bruised 
toe. Encouraged by his success, he followed it up with a hard punch. He 
didn't dare use his wand in the dark, even if he had thought it worked, 
in case he hit Hermione or Ron by accident. 

The fight went on. Their opponents' lack of voice was proving to be
oddly disturbing: to the left and right of him, Harry could hear the 
noises made by the scuffle, and the exclamations of triumph and pain 
from his two friends. But not a squeak was uttered by their attackers. 

Harry elbowed something, hard, and jumped as he heard Ron's voice howl
in his ear. 

“Argh – hey!” There was a sound like something had been kicked, and a
satisfied grunt from Ron. 

“That showed you, didn't it, you – oof!” It seemed that, once again, Ron
had fallen victim to some form of violence – and, as Hermione muttered 
an embarrassed-sounding apology, Harry suddenly realised that it was 
only them doing the actual fighting. He had received no returning 
blows, and – 

At that moment something very large and very heavy cannoned into him,
sending him crashing to the ground, winded. A stop must be put to this, 
he decided, feeling his ribs delicately. Now. 

“H-Hermione?” he croaked on a sudden impulse, pushing in vain at the
enormous lump sprawled on top of him. It didn't budge. 

“What?” said Hermione. 

“Can you – can you remember that other version of Lumos that was in that
book we looked at? In Professor Trelawny's study? I think we should 
look...” 

“Harry!” Hermione's voice sounded scandalised. “You know as well as I do
that we aren't allowed to use magic in the holidays. I've already tried 
Lumos. Besides – the spells in that book are forbidden unless you're 
given permission. I might get expelled! I might – ” 

“You might think about rearranging your priorities,” suggested Ron,
panting. “This is no time to worry about getting expelled! Can we sort 
out the little business of not getting killed first?” 

“Well... OK...” said Hermione, sounding like the words were coming out
against her better judgement. She gave a long-suffering sigh. 

“Illuminatus,” she muttered, very quickly, and there was a blinding
flash of light that hurt Harry's eyes. “But if I get into trouble, I'm 
blaming – ” 

“Hagrid!” exclaimed Harry in amazement, finally rolling out from
underneath the dazed-looking giant. “What are you doing here? Why...?” 

Harry suddenly felt very confused. As his blinking eyes grew accustomed
to the harsh light, he saw the forms of Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and 
Severus Snape stand up and walk towards him. Not one of them spoke a 
word. 

“Wh – what's the matter?” he asked, a horrid, sick feeling settling in
the pit of his stomach. What was happening? Ron and Hermione came to 
stand next to him, facing the approach of the three men with wide eyes. 


“Say something!” hissed Ron, suddenly totally unnerved. “What's wrong
with you all?” 

All men looked equally dishevelled, and equally impatient. Sirius
pointed to his lips, and mouthed something at them. 

“Did – did he just say ‘newt farm'?” asked Ron, worried. “'Cos if he
did, I mean, Harry, I'd be – ” 

“No, silly!” interrupted Hermione, jumping up and down excitedly. “Mute
charm! Somebody's put a mute charm on them!” 

“Oh,” said Ron, relieved. “Well, hurry up and get it off, then.” 

“I can't,” said Hermione. “I don't know how.” 

Ron gaped in disbelief. “You – you don't know... you...” 

“Ssh!” said Harry. Snape, Sirius and Lupin were all trying to speak to
them, with various expressions of urgency on their faces and in various 
states of health – Harry wondered which one of them had bequeathed 
Snape the bloody nose, and hoped it had been him. But they were all 
mouthing the same word. 

“What are they saying?” asked Ron, staring intently at Snape's mouth for
a minute before shuddering and looking at Sirius's instead. He picked 
up his wand. 

“Espresso?” he said uncertainly, waving it at them. The four men looked
startled to find themselves suddenly holding a bone china cup each 
filled with strong black coffee, and Ron looked at his wand with a new 
interest. 

“Cool,” he said. Lupin drained his cup – and looked like he needed it:
Snape glared, and threw his on the floor. Hagrid looked bewildered. 

Harry could see the glimmer of understanding begin to dawn on Hermione's
face, and put a hand on her arm before she could try her luck at 
breaking the spell. He stared at each of the men in turn. 

“How do we know you're real?” he demanded. “How do we know you're not
just some trick of Voldemort's?” 

Sirius shrugged, clearly exasperated; Hagrid started trying to speak
before he realised he couldn't; Snape, looking almost rabid now with 
fury lunged forwards with his hands outstretched towards Harry's neck 
and Remus Lupin was having a hard job of restraining him. That at least 
was in keeping with their characters, thought Harry wryly. 

Lupin shoved Snape into Sirius, and pointed at Harry's pocket. Harry
stared at him blankly before he remembered the Marauder's Map: 
examining it closely for a minute, he finally gave a whistle of relief 
as he located the seven of them in one of the lower dungeons. 

“It's OK,” he said to Hermione, “It's them – go ahead.” 

“Expresso,” said Hermione, with a sideways look at Ron, who shrugged and
looked embarrassed. “I'm going to get in so much trouble,” she added. 

A sudden babble of noise erupted around Harry's head: hurried, urgent
babble. He heard his godfather's voice, and Snape's silky tones: and 
Ron, and Hermione, and Hagrid, and Lupin. But all that somehow seemed 
distant; detached – because he was still looking at the Marauder's Map 
clutched tightly in his left hand. 

And a dot labelled ‘Voldemort' was moving slowly towards them. 

+++++++++++++++++ 

Harry had a lot of trouble trying to alert his companions to this fact.
Everybody was shouting at the same time: Ron and Hermione were talking 
loudly at Hagrid; Sirius and Snape's voices were rising steadily as 
they argued over something, and Harry could see Lupin making placatory 
gestures, apparently to no avail. 

“Er,” he said. He was ignored. 

“I think we ought to go now...” he tried again – and again no one paid
the blindest bit of notice to him. 

“Voldemort,” he shrieked at last, hoping that he would finally get
someone's attention. He was right. The room went silent, and everyone 
turned to stare at him. 

“We know,” said Lupin, eventually. “He's been behind – or in front of us
– the whole time we were looking for you. We have to get out of here 
quickly, if we can.” 

Sirius seemed to notice Harry for the first time since he'd been able to
talk. Striding forwards, Harry's godfather grabbed him by his arms, 
gave him a swift hug and then, to Harry's confusion, an abrupt shake. 

“What are you doing?” shouted Sirius. “You could have got yourselves
killed! What were you thinking of, coming down here – tonight of all 
times?” 

Harry gaped at him. “But – ” he said, well aware that Sirius was angry
because he was worried, but at the same time too indignant to get the 
words out properly. Ron stepped in to rescue him. 

“Dumbledore told us to!” he exclaimed, also evidently trying to
understand the source of Sirius's fury. “He sent us down here! He said 
You-Know-Who was after us, and it was the only way, and that he'd come 
and join us as soon as he could!” 

He, Harry and Hermione waited for Sirius to shout again, but to their
surprise he gaped back at Ron. 

“What?” he demanded. 

“Dumbledore – told us to come here,” repeated Ron cautiously. Sirius
seemed to realise that his mouth was hanging open, and shut it with a 
snap. 

“No he didn't,” he said flatly. 

“Yes he – ” began Ron. 

“Dumbledore couldn't have said anything of the sort,” explained Sirius,
interrupting him and suddenly looking extremely tired. “Because he's 
been with us, all day – a hundred miles away, gathering stray members 
of the Order of the Phoenix together. We didn't return until an hour 
ago. I'm not saying I don't believe you,” he said, holding up a hand as 
three mouths were opened to argue with him, “I'm just saying: whoever 
it was you heard – it wasn't Dumbledore.” 

++++++++++++++++ 

Harry looked at the others in shock. He hadn't expected this; and yet,
he thought ruefully to himself – and yet it made sense. They hadn't 
seen Dumbledore; they'd only heard him through the door to his study. 

“How did you know to come looking for us?” he asked, as the feeling of
relief they'd all had on meeting each other dissolved and the need to 
escape became more concentrated. They started walking again, Hagrid and 
Lupin in front, then Snape, and then the rest of them scuttling along 
behind them. Hermione's illuminatus spell was being propelled along in 
front of them by her wand, but this was the only source of light they 
had; Harry stumbled over his robes in an effort to keep up with 
Sirius's long strides and hear what he had to say. 

“Well – we got back an hour ago, as I said, and only realised you were
gone when Hagrid went to fetch you from the dormitory and found you 
weren't there. Dumbledore seemed to realise that something had 
happened: he sent us after you – a hard job, I'll admit, without the 
Marauder's Map – and he should be following us now. He had something he 
had to do first. But I don't think any of us had quite anticipated this 
happening. Tell me – what are you doing down here, Harry?” 

Harry quickly filled him in on the night's events. 

“But what happened with your wands?” he asked, when he had finished.
“Who put the mute charms on you?” He stepped through a heavy black door 
and into a slightly wider tunnel, where he could walk two abreast with 
his godfather. 

Sirius sighed. “That was Voldemort,” he said. “Yes,” he added, as Harry
started at the name, “I know. We were remarkably foolish... none of us 
had guessed that he was actually in the building; Lupin and I reached 
the secret tunnel, and suddenly were confronted by Voldemort: he took 
our wands, then disappeared. I'm not sure why – maybe he heard Snape 
and Hagrid behind us. Anyway... next time we tried to talk we all found 
that we couldn't, and I'm pleased that one of you, at least – ” Harry 
could have sworn that Ron and Hermione both blushed in the dark – 
“Could read lips. I honestly don't know what Voldemort had hoped to 
achieve by silencing us rather than killing us: maybe he wants us alive 
for something. I don't know.” 

Harry shivered. Nothing was making sense at the moment. They continued
for a while in silence, and he tried to sort through his tangled 
thoughts. 

Who was it they'd heard pretending to be Dumbledore? Why hadn't his scar
hurt if had been Voldemort? Who else was there in the castle? Filch? 
Dobby? Professor McGonagall? Madam Pomfrey? Harry laughed silently to 
himself. All these seemed impossible candidates for Dumbledore 
impersonators. Had somebody been drinking Polyjuice potion? Maybe – and 
fear struck straight at Harry's heart as he thought it – maybe the 
Dumbledore they'd been seeing and speaking to since they'd arrived 
hadn't really been Dumbledore at all. He rubbed his aching head. He 
couldn't puzzle it out. 

He had been thinking so intently that he walked into Ron's back before
he realised that they'd stopped. Again, he put a hand to his head: it 
had begun to sting. Fingering his scar gingerly, he wondered vacantly 
why Ron wasn't moving. 

“What's happened?” hissed Snape's voice. “Lupin, why have we stopped?” 

There was no reply from Lupin, and Harry looked over his shoulder with a
cold dread beginning to form in his stomach. He had no doubt any more 
as to why they'd stopped. His scar was now throbbing with an intensity 
that nearly knocked him off his feet. 

Suddenly, he turned and started towards the door they'd just come
through, but it shut with a clang; thick vines began to grow quickly 
around it, groping the wood with their long tendrils and suffocating 
the lock. In despair, Harry spun round again to evaluate their chances 
of escape from the room they were in at the moment: but it seemed to be 
a dead end. He could see no other door in the place except one right at 
the top of a long set of stone steps similar to the ones at the 
beginning of the secret passage he, Ron and Hermione had fallen down 
earlier. 

The only difference in this case was that whereas the first flight had
been empty, this one had someone standing at the top looking down at 
them. 

It was Voldemort. They were trapped. 

+++++++++++++++++++ 

Something in Harry's mind, some vague half-memory he had of one of
Dudley's children's programmes told him that Voldemort reminded him 
oddly of a pirate. He wondered why. There was no eye patch, no wooden 
leg, no bottle of whiskey and Harry was certain that not many pirates 
had ever worn wizarding robes, but still... And then it clicked. There 
was a parrot sitting perched on his shoulder. 

“Argh!” shrieked Hermione, as she saw this. “Her-Herbert? Herbert?” 

Harry felt an unpleasant shock as he saw that Hermione was indeed right.
The colourful bird was sat preening itself arrogantly on Voldemort's 
arm, not even looking at them, clacking his beak into his master's ear 
and swaying gently from one foot to another. Harry had never seen 
anything so innocent-looking – or so treacherous. 

“Herbert?” repeated Voldemort, a mocking note of incredulity in his
voice. He stroked Herbert's beak. “What a pathetic name for such a 
generous creature.” 

“Suits it,” muttered Ron darkly. 

“Suits it,” mimicked Herbert at once, in exactly the same tone of voice.


Harry was thinking. “We should have known,” he said, dully. “Remember,
Hermione? In your owl you sent me... you said Crookshanks and Herbert 
didn't get on... That cat's got a better judgement of character than 
I'll ever have. It's twice now he's tried to warn us about stuff like 
that.” 

“I'll bet – ” said Ron suddenly, “I'll bet that's how the Selkie and
whatever that howling thing was knew where to find us – did you say 
anything about Sirius in your letter to Harry, Hermione?” 

“Well, I – ” Hermione looked acutely sheepish, and Harry knew that Ron
was right. 

“Never mind,” he said, feeling sorry for Hermione, who had turned a
peculiar shade of pink and wasn't looking at either of them. “It 
doesn't matter now. I think we should...” He trailed off, not being 
able to think of anything they could really do, and instead stared with 
a loathing so fierce it hurt at the wizard standing before him. 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

Voldemort looked much the same as he had done the last time Harry had
seen him, after Peter Pettigrew, the man who had betrayed his parents 
to him, had used his own and Harry's blood to transform his master from 
a hideous mockery of a baby into the full-grown man he saw now. Harry 
dug his nails into his palms so hard they drew blood, and he forced 
himself to be calm. It was the first time he had not faced his enemy 
alone – he was in the company of five other people he cared for (and 
Snape) and he had no wish to do anything that might cause them harm. 

So he waited, as everyone else was waiting, for Voldemort to speak
first. 

“Much as I enjoy your company,” he said, to Harry's surprise, “I can't
stay with you for long... at the moment. I fear I will have to leave 
you – but believe me, I will return. I have some... business I must 
attend to.” His level gaze took them all in, lingering a little longer 
on Harry and Snape. 

“But first,” he continued, obviously enjoying the six identically
resigned expressions, “I must congratulate you, Harry, on rising to my 
bait of the Dark Mark and leading your friends down here for me. Very 
nice of you.” 

“And what about Dumbledore?” asked Sirius. “Did you pretend to be him,
too? To make Harry come down here?” 

“I had no need,” replied Voldemort, smiling. “My friend here – Herbert,
as you call him – has an excellent talent for imitating voices, as I'm 
sure you're aware... He has been a most useful addition to my 
entourage.” 

Hermione clutched Harry's arm, tightly. He patted her hand, feeling
slightly awkward. 

“Not your fault,” he whispered. “Remember Scabbers.” 

Ron had overheard. “Had me fooled for years,” he said kindly. “Easy
mistake to make, isn't it?” Hermione smiled at him gratefully, and 
transferred her hand from Harry's arm to Ron's. 

“How touching,” said Voldemort, who had observed the small scene. “Your
little friend is right, Harry... It is an easy mistake to make, placing 
your trust in someone who doesn't deserve it... A pity your father 
never realised it.” 

Only Hagrid's pincer-like grip on both Harry and Sirius prevented the
pair of them from springing forwards to attack Voldemort, and the 
wizard laughed at the sight. 

“Then again,” he said, “It is always useful to have people about you
that you know will remain loyal... those who are too scared of what the 
consequences of betrayal might be. I myself have made your father's 
mistake, Harry: I placed my trust in some people who it appears did not 
merit it – isn't that right, Severus? You know what I'm talking about, 
don't you?” 

Snape didn't reply. 

Voldemort continued. “Yes,” he said, “Loyalty can often be misplaced.
All of you, now – ” he waved an expansive arm around the room that 
encompassed all its occupants – “Have you never considered that you 
might be serving the wrong side? I can assure you, when I return to 
power I will reward those who recognise my might, just as I will punish 
those who went against me.” Again, he directed another nasty look at 
Snape. “What about you?” he added, looking at Hagrid, who still had 
Harry in one hand and Sirius in the other. “Giants have traditionally 
sided with my kind... will you not join with me?” 

Hagrid looked as though he'd just bitten into the wrong end of a
Blast-Ended Skrewt. 

“I would rather,” he said with dignity, “Eat a Hungarian Horntail.”
Coming from Hagrid and all his notorious views of such animals, this 
was saying quite a lot. 

Voldemort's expression blackened. “Fool!” he cried. “Fool. One day, you
will be made to see the error of your decision... and it will not be 
pleasant. I won't bother asking the werewolf,” he added, looking now at 
Lupin with a sneer. “The self-righteous werewolf... doing all he can as 
a human to right all the wrongs he could commit as a wolf... but it 
cannot change the fact, can it? It cannot change the fact that, once a 
month, you become a Dark Creature yourself... Be very careful, 
werewolf. Be careful that your true instinct does not take over your 
façade of harmlessness; can you deny that you take pleasure in the 
thrill of the chase? In the blood of innocent creatures?” 

“No,” said Lupin, surprisingly cheerfully. 

Voldemort looked just a little bit as though the wind had been taken out
of his sails at this unexpected agreement. Harry, though, detected a 
certain look of despair as he peered closer at Lupin: some of 
Voldemort's words had obviously hit home. 

“Well,” said Voldemort. “I shall leave you... for now. As I say, I have
a little business to attend to first...” 

Odd though it seemed, Harry had stopped listening to Voldemort. He was
fingering his scar with astonishment: for the pain from it was muted 
now: it seemed to have settled into a dull throb rather than the 
piercing agony Voldemort's presence had caused to begin with. Harry 
wondered why. Maybe Voldemort was not as powerful as he had been at 
their last encounter? Harry didn't know. But the thought gave him hope. 


“... When I return, Potter,” Voldemort was saying, as he refocused on
the wizard's words. Harry stared back at him blankly. And then he was 
gone: no flash of light, no explosion – simply a nothingness that 
filled the space where he'd been standing. 

As if suddenly released by a string, the small company collapsed down
onto the stone floor and merely looked at each other: words were 
unnecessary and there was not much, Harry reflected, that could be 
said. Sirius, Snape, and Lupin looked grim: Ron and Hermione part 
scared and part furious, and Hagrid seemed to be wilting in relief. 
Harry felt the same way. 

Suddenly, he noticed that Ron and Hermione's expressions had changed,
and they were staring at him in dismay. Or rather, they were staring at 
something: as neither made eye contact, Harry couldn't possibly imagine 
what. 

“Is anything wrong?” he asked, worried at his friends' stricken faces. 

“Er – nothing,” said Ron, with the look of one who didn't want to break
bad news. 

“What?” insisted Harry, impatiently. He followed Ron's gaze to his robe
pocket just as his friend tore his gaze away from it. And Harry groaned 
aloud. 

“The Invisibility Cloak! If only I'd remembered it...” He sank down,
dejected, into the floor, welcoming its hardness. Of all the stupid 
things... they could all be safe now, if it hadn't been for his 
stupidity in forgetting about it... He groaned again, and then was 
silent. He felt horribly guilty about the whole thing: he also had no 
idea why Voldemort hadn't killed the ‘spares' – Ron, Hermione, Sirius, 
Snape and Lupin – as he had done Cedric Diggory. 

Sighing at the injustice and confusion of it all, Harry rocked backwards
and forwards on his heels, hugging his knees. What could happen? Surely 
their only hope now lay in a rescue from Dumbledore – when he'd 
finished doing whatever he had been doing, and if he knew where to look 
for them. Judging from the twists and turns they'd taken on their way 
down to the dungeons, Harry thought this possibility very unlikely. 

How long he sat like this Harry could not tell: but, when he finally
readjusted his thoughts onto the present situation, he realised to his 
surprise that some time had passed. Frustrations were evidently running 
high. Sirius and Snape were bristling whenever they looked at each 
other; it seemed all they could do to ignore the other man instead of 
attack him. 

“I wonder to what extent the blocking curse is effective,” said Snape
finally. The words were ground out: he seemed to be attempting to help 
almost in spite of himself. Sirius didn't say anything. 

“We might try something,” continued Snape, the words coming out even
more reluctantly than before. Harry could tell he was annoyed at 
Sirius's lack of response. 

“Voldemort's got my wand,” replied Harry's godfather tonelessly, as
though he hadn't really heard, or didn't think the comment worthy of a 
longer answer. 

“Voldemort didn't take my wand,” Snape reminded him. “Only yours and
Lupin's.” 

“Oh – I wonder why?” There was a distinctly nasty glint to Sirius's eye
as he spoke – but, to Harry's intense surprise, Snape did not pick up 
on the remark straight away. He looked as though he was about to speak, 
when Ron jumped in excitedly. 

“You could apparate!” he said. “And go and get Dumbledore.” 

“You can't apparate in Hogwarts,” reminded Snape disdainfully. “What I
was about to suggest was that – ” 

“He would if he could, Ron,” said Sirius grimly, completely ignoring the
Professor. “A very sensible suggestion.” 

Ron looked nervously at Snape, as the Potions master flashed both him
and Sirius an equally vindictive glare. 

“And you wouldn't, I suppose?” he retorted spitefully. “If only you had
a little patience, Black, you might be able to hear what I am 
attempting to tell you, and you might find it to your advantage. But 
then; patience was never one of your stronger points, was it? Maybe if 
you'd had a little more patience at keeping Potter's secrets then – ” 

“ENOUGH!” roared Sirius. He was shaking. “How dare you? How – ” 

“What were yeh goin' to say, Professor?” asked Hagrid, his deep rumbling
voice easily drowning out Sirius's furious shouts and surreptitiously 
flapping his hand at Lupin to get him to try and calm Sirius down. 

“Yes,” added Hermione. “It sounded very – er – interesting.” 

“Do tell,” said Lupin, but through clenched teeth: he sounded as annoyed
as Harry had ever heard him at Snape's insinuations. Sirius only 
growled. 

“I was merely going to suggest,” said Snape coolly, “That I tried a
summoning spell. We know that some spells work and others do not: it 
would appear that obscure forms of the more common charms have some 
effect. I don't see why we shouldn't try it.” 

“And what would you summon?” asked Sirius, apparently calm again. 

“I am open to suggestions,” said Snape. 

The only thing Harry could think of that he really wanted was, at that
precise moment in time, a bed – but Snape had a point. It was worth a 
go. 

“Try something simple first,” suggested Lupin. “And see if it works.” 

Snape nodded, and waved his wand. Nothing happened. He tried again,
concentrating so hard that his face went almost white – but to no 
avail. Snape stormed away into a corner. The summoning charm would not 
work, and Harry could not think of another way they could possibly get 
out of this one... Utterly dejected, he looked at Ron and Hermione 
where they sat by Hagrid. Both seemed as miserable as he did: 
Hermione's face had gone blank, a sure sign that her mind was elsewhere 
– probably trying to think of more spells, thought Harry – and Ron's 
forehead was furrowed into deep lines of worry. 

Harry sighed, and turned his scrutiny towards Lupin. He was looking ill
again. In fact... 

“Oh, no,” moaned Hermione, suddenly looking up as though reading his
mind. “You know what tonight is...” 

Lupin's tired, shadowed eyes turned to look at them. “Yes,” he said. “I
had hoped that we would be back in safety by now, but finding you 
proved to be slightly more difficult than we'd envisaged... And I 
haven't taken the potion, either. Sirius, you'll have to do 
something... A pity there's not an extra room here.” 

Sirius nodded. “I know,” he agreed. “And there's no way you can
apparate?” 

Lupin shook his head, miserably. “Voldemort has my wand,” he reminded
him. “And besides, quite apart from no one being able to apparate or 
disapparate at Hogwarts – he's obviously done something to stop us from 
using any kind of strong magic: Severus couldn't summon anything just 
now, could he? I'm sorry,” he added to Harry, who was listening, “That 
you'll have to see me transform. It isn't a pleasant sight.” 

Snape suddenly reappeared from out of nowhere, looking smugly at Lupin. 

“Having problems?” he asked silkily, grinning a predatory grin. Harry
looked at him with distaste. 

“No, thank you, Severus,” said Lupin mildly. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Quite sure,” growled Sirius. 

Snape didn't quite lose his smile, despite the undisguised hostility of
Sirius's reply. 

“Ah,” he said. “Because I would have thought that – it being the night
of a full moon – I would have thought that you might be having a few 
technical difficulties. Obviously I was wrong. Might I enquire, 
however, how exactly you intend to restrain the wolf – how you intend 
to stop him attacking us all?” 

“No,” said Sirius. “Not really.” He was frowning: he looked as though he
were trying to work it out himself. 

“I only ask,” continued Snape sweetly, “Because I seem to recall that
you don't have a wand with you. Furthermore, as we have established, I 
believe there is some kind of blocking charm at work here... Still; if 
you're sure you have the situation under control, I'll leave you to 
it.” 

“Severus!” called Lupin, as he turned away. “Wait – please.” The look on
Snape's face at this request was an odd combination of hunger and 
pleasure, and Harry wondered why. Perhaps Snape enjoyed people talking 
to him politely and as though they actually needed him, or perhaps he 
merely liked the position he had of Lupin asking him a favour. As Lupin 
was nearly always polite to him, Harry suspected the latter of the two 
options. 

“Yes?” he enquired lazily. Sirius was frowning at both men, and Harry
looked between the three of them nervously. 

“Could you lend Sirius your wand? So he can stop me from attacking you
all when I transform?” Lupin looked terribly guilty already, as though 
anticipating the prospect. Harry sympathised. He didn't really want to 
be locked in a small room with a hungry and unrestrained werewolf. 

“No,” said Snape. 

“God's sake, man!” exploded Sirius. “Do you want him to savage you?” 

Snape regarded him coldly. “Like you'd care if he did,” he said. “I
wouldn't trust you to secure him properly – not with your past history. 
I wouldn't put it past you to turn him on us – while you remain safe in 
your dog form. No. I won't lend you my wand.” 

Sirius's eyes had widened incredulously and Harry realised that he was
genuinely too angry to speak, or even attack Snape. 

“You'd sacrifice your own life – and everyone else's – just to prove a
point?” asked Lupin, quietly. “Very well. Harry – will you lend Sirius 
your wand?” 

It obviously hadn't occurred to Snape that they might resort to this
option, because he lost a little of the smug look he'd carried, and 
said quickly: 

“There is no need for that. I was about to offer to do it myself: Then
at least I can make sure it's done properly. I doubt Potter or anyone 
else has the necessary knowledge to perform the task – ” He frowned so 
savagely at Hermione as she opened her mouth to disagree that she 
subsided quite quickly – “And, as I've said – even if Black does borrow 
Potter's wand, I shan't be satisfied until I have added my own 
restrictions.” 

“Fine,” said Lupin. “But let me suggest that you do it quickly: it must
be nearly dark by now. The moon will rise soon. Do you know any charm 
that won't be affected by blocking curse?” 

Sirius was snapped out of his trance at Lupin's mention of the time, and
forced himself to look at Snape. 

“Well?” he snarled. “Do you?” 

Snape shrugged. “I'm sure that the normal charm will work. If Weasley
can conjur coffee out of thin air then I'm sure we can accomplish 
something as simple as a few chains. I think it's just stronger magic 
that has been blocked. Why don't we find out?” 

Sirius looked at him for a moment, then shrugged back. “Fine,” he said. 

Snape stared about him. “Let's see...” he said softly, his gaze
alighting on the dungeon's walls, and a coil of metals chains affixed 
to one of them. “Yes... that should do... Well, if you're ready, Black? 
Lupin?” 

Harry turned away to talk to Ron and Hermione, who were still sitting
hunched up and miserable with Hagrid. He didn't want to embarrass Lupin 
by watching him be humiliated by Snape – which had obviously been the 
Potions master's intent – and instead joined in the others' silence, 
which was just as depressing. Several times Harry opened his mouth to 
speak, but on each occasion he closed it again before any words ensued. 
He couldn't think of anything appropriate to say. 

“Harry?” called Sirius, with a hint of laughter in his voice. Harry
twisted round to behold the rather bizarre sight of Snape and Lupin 
swathed in the chains, and stared blankly at his godfather. 

“What happened?” he enquired. 

“Snape got a bit too enthusiastic. Can I borrow your wand? He still
won't let me have his – but I'd better get him out of there, I suppose 
– Moony'll be transforming soon...” 

Harry handed him his wand. It seemed that even a simple spell like the
one Snape was trying to accomplish was not easy. 

Soon the Potions master was detached from the chains and glaring at
Sirius as though it was his fault he had ever been entangled with them 
in the first place. 

“Shall we continue?” he spat, turning to Lupin and giving an annoyed
flick of his hand. A chain wound its way round Lupin's thin body, and 
soon it was joined by many more. Sirius watched the entire procedure 
with a frown and an air of impatience; but, more for Lupin's sake than 
his own, Harry suspected, he said nothing to Snape. When he was 
apparently satisfied, Snape gave the soon-to-be wolf a long look up and 
down, allowed a thin smile to grace his lips and moved away to sit 
down. When he had gone, Lupin smiled at the other two. 

“What time is it?” he asked. Sirius looked at his watch. 

“Almost nine, now,” he replied. 

“Well, Harry, it seems that I'll be in an ideal position to give you a
practical lesson on werewolves, in about half an hour, I'd say. I won't 
hold it against you if you choose not to attend...” 

Harry laughed. They stayed with Lupin for another five minutes that
seemed to drag on into eternity, and then Lupin made to look at his own 
watch. Moving his wrist to his face, he suddenly jumped in surprise – 
and so, too, did Harry and Sirius: for the chains had snapped, and a 
kind of despair covered Lupin's face. 

“We need something a little stronger,” he said, as the rest of the
chains disintegrated. “Or I don't like to think what could happen.” 

Neither did Harry. Leaving it to Snape and Sirius to sort out, he
rejoined his other friends – who, apparently fed up with their quiet, 
were now listening to Hagrid telling them about his hopes for next 
year's Care of Magical Creatures classes and the possibility of rearing 
a species of pygmy dragons. Morosely, Harry wondered if they would even 
face a next year, and he sat down a little way away from them, 
expression bleak. 

Sirius came to sit down next to him. 

“Did you fix the chains?” asked Harry, more for the chance of
conversation than because he really wanted to know. 

“Snape's dealing with it,” was all Sirius said, and then abruptly
changed the subject. “Harry – I don't know why Voldemort hasn't killed 
the rest of us, if all he wants is you. All I can guess is that he 
intends to use us for something. But you must promise me now – that you 
won't do anything foolish – ” 

Harry laughed, darkly. “Foolish,” he repeated. “Well, I'll try...” 

“You know what I mean,” said Sirius. His face was deadly serious.
“Voldemort will be back – I'm guessing tonight – I don't think he plans 
to starve us to death... But he can't be in his full power yet or he 
wouldn't have gone to all these lengths. And we would all – and 
especially you – certainly be dead by now. If only Dumbledore were here 
– ” He broke off, distractedly, and gazed around as though he expected 
the Headmaster to appear out of nowhere. But there was nothing. 

Harry looked moodily around him. He had caught the gist of what Sirius
was saying: in his own way, his godfather was urging him to do whatever 
was necessary – do what only Harry would have the strength to do – 
against Voldemort – and not worry about the consequences. Not worry 
about what might happen to himself, or Ron or Hermione, or Hagrid, or 
Lupin – or even Snape. Harry frowned as he considered the last name. 
Would he feel guilty if Voldemort did anything to Snape? After all, he 
had been a Death Eater... 

Had been a Death Eater, repeated Harry to himself. Had been. Wasn't any
more. Yes, he'd feel bad if Voldemort decided to harm the Professor in 
any way... Harry wouldn't wish his parents' fate on anyone. The screams 
and shouts he had heard the year before last, when he'd been anywhere 
near a Dementor... Harry shuddered as he recalled them. They were still 
too vivid: his mother begging Voldemort to take her instead of Harry, 
his father trying to protect them both – and then the laugh of 
Voldemort as he ignored them. No. Harry did not want that to happen to 
Snape. 

The Professor just couldn't seem to get the measure of his attitude
towards them right. One minute he was amiable enough: the next, he was 
busy chaining up Remus Lupin and enjoying every minute of doing so. 
Cornelius Fudge had been right that time, thought Harry, when he had 
helped Sirius escape and Snape had all but had an epileptic fit as a 
result. The man must be unbalanced. 

“Why's he have to look like he's having such a good time?” said Ron,
suddenly there beside him, scowling at Snape as he conjured chains from 
the end of his wand. “I'd have thought after all we've been through, 
surely he'd have stopped trying to get at him all the time?” 

Sirius shook his head sadly. 

“I don't know,” he said. “I sometimes wonder, if Snape could only see
what Remus has to go through when he transforms, he wouldn't treat him 
like... like he does. It's terrible, Ron. Takes years off your life 
just to watch it...” He stood up, and shook himself, abruptly. 

“Come on,” he said. “We ought to give him some privacy... he always
hated being watched when he transformed. I'll change myself when he's 
finished – I should keep him company, make it better for him.” 

Ron and Harry were only too glad to go and join Hermione and Hagrid
instead. They had no wish to witness Lupin transform. Sirius sat with 
them for a while, distracting them while, in the background, they heard 
the first wolf-like sounds coming from their old professor. 

“I think I'll transform now,” said Sirius. “Try and calm him down... I
shouldn't imagine he'll be too happy when he finds he's tied up like 
that.” He frowned to himself, and then froze. Scowling even more, Harry 
watched curiously as he obviously battled with something. 

“ – Damn – ” Sirius looked like he was struggling very hard. Finally he
seemed to give up. “Can't even do that,” he growled – and although this 
sound was suspiciously canine, Harry admitted he wasn't even remotely 
resembling the big black dog he was used to seeing. Sirius gazed 
miserably at where his friend was now fully-fledged wolf, and Snape was 
adding the finishing touches to his restraints. 

“There,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “That should hold.” And he
retired to his corner and ignored them. 

++++++++++++++++++ 

The next few hours passed as a monotonous and incredibly noisy blur for
Harry. He was exhausted but he couldn't sleep: resolutely determined 
not to look at Lupin as a wolf in case it affected the way he saw him 
as a man, Harry had his back to the creature. But this did not stop the 
howls from penetrating his ears: the anguished sound did nothing to 
ease the apprehension that seemed to fill every square inch of Harry's 
body, and combined with the now familiar throb in his temple they 
caused him to feel slightly nauseous. He needed a distraction. 

“Why didn't You-Know-Who take our wands?” mused Ron loudly, over the
noise. “Did he forget?” 

“I doubt it,” said Sirius glumly. “I don't think he needs to. He's done
something the field of magic down here... the strongest thing we've 
been able to do is chain Moony up – you couldn't even get light except 
by using a non-standard spell, could you? I'm not quite sure, to be 
honest, Ron. I don't pretend to even begin to understand how 
Voldemort's mind works. And we're probably better off not knowing.” 

Harry fervently agreed. He dozed off into a semi-conscious slumber for
perhaps an hour: more out of the desire to avoid conversation with any 
of his friends than anything else, and partially also to try and block 
out the howls coming from the wolf. It didn't work: they sunk into his 
subconsciousness and turned themselves into a siren in his hazy dreams. 
Number Four Privet Drive was on fire, and the engines' were screaming 
their way to the rescue... But they weren't in time. The house was 
engulfed in flames. Harry stared at it numbly. His family – even family 
such as it had been – all gone, now. All dead. All because of him. 

++++++++++++++++ 

He woke with a start before he could see the outcome of his dream and
was a little surprised by the sheer relief that swamped him on finding 
that his aunt, uncle and cousin were (as far as he knew) still alive 
and well. How odd, thought Harry. He turned to look at his companions. 

Hermione had slumped onto Ron's shoulder and looked asleep: Ron was
awake and seemed highly uncomfortable with the situation, as one 
shoulder was now considerably lower than the other and he was having to 
shrug the other one higher and higher to compensate for this. But he 
did not wake Hermione, and, as he caught Harry's eye, he winked. Harry 
felt something die inside him. What if his friends were killed? he 
thought. And perhaps they worst thing was that he knew if they were 
they wouldn't blame him. It wasn't fair. 

Sirius was resting against one of the walls talking in a low voice to
Hagrid. Harry couldn't hear what they were saying – but he didn't try 
to listen, because at that moment his attention was distracted by 
Snape. The Potions master was sitting with his back leant against the 
wall and his head resting on his knees, looking at least as bad as 
Harry felt. He watched him curiously. 

The man kept sneaking little half-glances up at Lupin, and wincing every
time he howled. Harry felt vaguely surprised by the distress on his 
face. At each howl, an extra notch of desperation was added to his 
countenance: it seemed as though any minute he would – 

“Silence!” he roared suddenly, glaring at the wolf with curiously wide
eyes, and waking Hermione from her slumber. 

“'E can't hear yeh, Professor,” said Hagrid, regarding Lupin's wolf-form
fondly. “'E's a wolf.” 

Snape turned to the gamekeeper savagely. “He isn't a wolf,” he snarled.
“He's a monster. And he will stop that howling...” He took a step 
towards the chained wolf. Hagrid's expression changed in an instant. 

“Wolves howl, Professor. It's what they do,” said Hermione nervously.
“Even werewolves. It's natural.” 

“You'd howl if you were chained up there like that,” added Ron – but
very quietly. 

“But he's not natural!” shouted Snape, taking another stride forwards,
quite oblivious to both Hagrid and Sirius's rapidly darkening faces. He 
drew his wand, and pointed it at Lupin. “A muzzle...” he said. Sparks 
flew from the stick he held in his hand, but no muzzle appeared: 
Lupin's howls grew deeper at this and quite suddenly Snape hurled the 
wand from him, striking the animal just above its lip. This resulted in 
a very surprised looking wolf: for a moment, the howls ceased, to be 
replaced by a quiet little whimper and a reproachful glare from the big 
yellow eyes – and then Hagrid was there. He charged at Snape, his huge 
hands clasped round the man's throat, and the Potions master clucked 
and scrabbled at his neck, obviously asphyxiating. 

“Leave 'im alone!” the giant roared. “Sweet little wolf – 'e ain't done
anything to yeh – ” 

Quickly, Sirius snatched Hermione's wand from out of her hand and
pointed it at Hagrid, just before he squeezed Snape's neck too hard. 

“Stupefy!” he roared, and Hagrid slumped to the floor like a two tonne
sack of frog liver. Snape collapsed at the same time, fingers clutching 
feverishly at his throat as he apparently tried to reassure himself 
that it was still there, and croaking: no one moved to help him. Sirius 
looked sadly down at Hagrid. 

“Sorry,” he said apologetically. “But I'd hate to see you get into
trouble because of him.” He spat the last word out. Pointing Hermione's 
wand at Hagrid, he gave a flick of his wrist. “Mobilicorpus,” he said. 

But instead of getting up, as Harry and the others had expected him to,
Hagrid stayed where he was: after looking at Hermione's wand in alarm 
for a second, Sirius swiftly knelt down and rolled the giant onto his 
side, examining his head. After two minutes almost static with worry, 
he looked back up again, relieved. 

“He's OK,” he said. “Must've knocked himself out on the floor. He'll
come round in a minute. Maybe it would – er – best to leave him for a 
moment... just in case he decides to defend Remus again...” 

Harry had to agree. Like Sirius, he didn't want Snape making life hard
for Hagrid when – if – they ever escaped from the dungeon. 

“What about him?” asked Ron, waving at Snape. The Potions master was
still recumbent on the ground, having difficulties breathing. He seemed 
winded. “Hadn't we better – y'know – do something?” He flapped a vague 
hand. 

For a moment, Sirius looked inclined to say no, but then stepped
forwards reluctantly. However, he didn't reach the prone man: a soft 
groan alerted the four members of the company that still remained 
upright that Lupin was returning to his human form. The hair on his 
face and arms grew less: soon he was back in his recognisable – albeit 
more scruffy-looking than usual – form, and was looking about him in 
mild astonishment. 

“...Been busy...?” he said weakly. 

Sirius explained briefly about Snape's aversion to werewolf howls and
his attempts to stop them – and Hagrid's intervention. Lupin raised his 
eyebrows. 

“I'll admit,” he said, rubbing his jaw against his shoulder where Snape
had thumped him, and looking down at Hagrid's unconscious form, “That's 
the first time I've been called sweet before. Hagrid has an – er – 
unusual taste in animals, I remember.” 

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. They knew only too well how
far Hagrid's ‘unusual taste' stretched – it had got them into enough 
trouble in the past. By Hagrid's standards, a werewolf was positively 
cute. 

Snape was stuttering almost incoherently as he finally managed to stand
up. “Mangy – flea-bitten – ” 

“I am not mangy, or flea-bitten!” replied Lupin, with the nearest Harry
had ever heard him come to indignation. He laughed, and Lupin winked at 
him. Harry had a feeling that Lupin was trying to lighten up the 
atmosphere a bit; and it had obviously worked, because Hermione was 
starting to giggle, glad for the excuse to let out some of the tension 
that had been creeping up – and if it was at Snape's expense, well, all 
the better. The nightmare-like feeling of the last few hours had begun 
to dissolve. 

“You were looking a tad pasty, actually, Moony,” grinned Sirius, playing
along. Lupin gave a grunt of mock disgust. 

“You'd be looking pasty if you'd been chained up here like this for the
last seven hours,” he retorted.  “Speaking of which, Padfoot, do you 
think you could – ” Suddenly, Lupin broke off in mid-sentence. He was 
looking over their shoulders and, as everyone's backs were turned to 
whatever it was he could see, there was a puzzled pause while the small 
company tried to fathom why Lupin's face had suddenly lost a great deal 
of what little colour it had. 

But when Harry turned round, it didn't take him long to work it out.
Voldemort had returned. 

++++++++++++++++ 

He was standing at the top of the long flight of stairs that led down to
their prison, and he seemed to be sniffing. Harry felt something flung 
over him and, not knowing what it was, he panicked, and kicked out at 
the nearest thing. Unfortunately that was Snape, and Harry felt a hand 
reach out and smack him none too gently on the back of his head. 

“Silence!” hissed Snape. Twisting to look at him, Harry realised to his
amazement that the professor had actually had the presence of mind to 
envelope himself and Harry – along with Ron – in the Invisibility 
Cloak. Harry's heart soared. There might be some hope left: Voldemort 
couldn't see them! 

Voldemort began his descent, eyes flickering around the dungeon and
taking in Hagrid, Hermione, Sirius and Lupin: any worry Harry had had 
that he could see through the Invisibility Cloak vanished as he missed 
the silent threesome completely and settled instead on the chains that 
held Remus Lupin, and Hermione, who had been about to try and release 
them. 

“Expelliarmus,” he said, casually, and Hermione's wand flew out of her
hand towards him. Evidently the blocking curse did not apply to his own 
magic. He tucked it into his belt, along with Sirius and Lupin's. He 
smiled. “And where is Harry?” he asked, almost paternally. 

No one answered. 

“I see there are a few of our company missing,” Voldemort observed,
stepping forwards. “Potter... his red-haired friend... my faithful Mr 
Snape...” There was a bitter rise in his voice at the last word, and 
Harry surprised himself by feeling rather glad that Snape wasn't 
exposed to Voldemort's anger. Automatically, he put a hand to his 
forehead – no fever, though... He shook himself. Maybe he had just 
subconsciously began to re-evaluate his and Snape's relationship. 
Maybe, he thought suddenly and hopefully, he was dreaming. 

“So,” continued Voldemort, stopping opposite Lupin and Hermione, “What I
would like to know is – where are they?” He splayed his hands in front 
of him, still smiling pleasantly. “You see, I can't very well kill him 
if I don't know where he is.” 

Sirius, Hermione and Lupin remained silent: Hagrid had not stirred from
his stupor, and Voldemort took yet another step towards Hermione and 
Lupin, still hanging from his chains. Sirius made as if to move towards 
him, and with a sudden snaking movement Voldemort had him covered with 
his wand – he muttered something quietly, and Sirius could no longer 
move his feet. The momentum he'd had carried him forwards just enough 
to drag him to the ground; Voldemort laughed as he overbalanced and 
toppled painfully to his knees. 

“Would either of you like to tell me where Harry is?” Voldemort asked
Hermione and Lupin mildly. “Do go on,” he prompted, as neither of them 
answered. “Mr Lupin?” 

“I don't know,” said Lupin. 

“Come now. Surely you don't expect me to believe that? Would Harry
Potter, the great Harry Potter run and abandon his friends? Would he 
leave, without telling them where he had gone?” 

Lupin shrugged, as best he could whilst encumbered by the heavy chains.
“I don't know,” he repeated. Voldemort sighed in mock sorrow. 

“But it's such a simple question. I'm sure a man – sorry, werewolf – of
your credited intelligence can have no problems in understanding it. 
I've asked you twice: Now, I suggest you answer me, before I lose my 
temper. Where is Harry Potter hiding?” 

“I don't know,” said Lupin, again. In an instant, all pretence at
joviality had vanished from Voldemort's countenance as he struck Lupin 
hard across the face and directed his wand at him. Sirius strained 
against the invisible chains about his feet. Hermione looked fit to 
faint. 

Lupin raised his head back up from where it had cracked back onto the
stone wall. 

“Where – is – Potter?” snarled Voldemort again, leaning even closer to
him. The prisoner stared back at him without blinking, almost making 
Ron almost laugh when he moved his head away slightly as though the 
smell of Voldemort's breath was distasteful to him. 

“I've told you,” he said calmly, for the fourth time since Harry had
been watching, “I have no idea. I'm afraid you can't make me tell you 
what I don't know.” 

Harry winced as Voldemort flung his wand at him in irritation and red
sparks flew at Lupin's body like fire – then started in horror as the 
wizard moved on to Hermione. She looked terrified. 

“...Though I'm sure,” continued Lupin as he saw this, “ That my saying
so won't stop you from enjoying every minute of trying.” 

He had managed to successfully divert Voldemort's attention back onto
himself, and Harry saw Hermione almost crumple in relief. Voldemort hit 
Lupin again and Harry had to admit that Lupin appeared to be right: he 
did look like he was enjoying himself. Sirius took the opportunity of 
the distraction Lupin had provided to yank Hermione away – she had 
seemed frozen to the spot, dazed with terror, and Harry couldn't blame 
her; he watched in a silence that was proving harder to keep by the 
second as she buried her head into a surprised-looking Sirius's 
shoulder and sobbed loudly. 

“Silence!” roared Voldemort, spinning round. “You – ” he pointed his
wand at Hermione, “Come here. Now.” 

As though moving against her will, Hermione pulled herself away from
Sirius and stepped forwards stiffly. Harry had to stifle a warning cry 
with his fist: Ron was fidgeting next to him, and Snape clamped a hand 
over both their mouths. Harry fought the urge to bite him; his skin 
tasted horrible. 

“So, little girl... since the werewolf won't talk, perhaps you would
oblige me?” He reached out and touched her cheek with a horrible 
gentleness. Hermione shuddered, but seemed unable to do anything to 
stop him. Harry gagged. 

“Leave her alone,” said Sirius quietly, still trying desperately to move
his feet and falling over as he did so. “Get your hands off her.” 

Voldemort looked at him, amused. “How touching,” he replied. “But I
hardly think so...” Suddenly, his hand pinched Hermione's chin so hard 
she squealed, and he forced her head up to look at him. Harry and 
obviously Ron – who was clenching and unclenching his fists so hard 
Harry was sure they must be bleeding by now – couldn't take any more of 
it. Before he got a chance to move, however, Remus Lupin and Sirius 
both acted at the same time: Sirius, who was just within reaching 
distance of Hermione from where he lay prone on the floor grabbed her 
back by her robes, and she fell, heavily, to the floor. At the same 
time Lupin lashed out with his foot and caught Voldemort in the small 
of his back, causing the wizard to cry out in pain and wheel round 
furiously. 

Harry could no longer stand by and watch his friends be attacked like
this by Voldemort. If it was him he was after, then he'd get him... 
Flinging the Invisibility Cloak from him whilst at the same time being 
careful not to let it slip from Ron and Snape, he charged at Voldemort 
and skidded to a halt just in front of Lupin. Hermione let out a little 
shriek. 

“So...” hissed Voldemort, disturbingly unperturbed by Harry's dramatic
entrance. “The prodigal hero returns. How nice of you to grace us with 
your company. Now: if you would like to go and stand over there, 
quietly, by your godfather... You will remain silent, Harry. You will 
not utter a single word until you are spoken to, or you shall be guilty 
of causing a great deal of pain to one of your friends. Believe me – I 
have no scruples in killing them in order to retain your obedience.” 

Harry stared at him, incomprehension spread across his face. Why wasn't
Voldemort trying to kill him? Why hadn't he even disarmed him? He could 
easily – 

“And I would not try to use any magic on me, Harry,” added Voldemort as
though he could read his mind. “Because I can break any one of your 
friends' scrawny little necks with a single click of my fingers. Yes – 
even the two who are too shy to visit me...” He suddenly reached out 
and whisked the Invisibility Cloak away from Ron and Snape – and Ron's 
face melted into disbelief as Snape shoved him roughly behind his own 
black robes. 

“Playing the hero does not become you, Severus,” said Voldemort. “You
know as well as I do that I could kill Mr Weasley just as easily with 
you in front of him as without. But, I suppose the gesture counts in 
some ways... That was always your problem, you see, Severus. You never 
truly knew where you belonged. Too nice to be liked by the bad, and too 
bad to be liked by the nice... Well: you certainly seem to have found 
your role in life now. Protecting little boys. How sweet. Perhaps you 
need a little reminder of where your real loyalties lie?” 

There was a split second of dead silence while Voldemort pointed his
wand at Snape, and then a heart-wrenching howl as the Potions master 
fell to his knees, clutching at his left wrist as though it was alight. 
Harry suddenly remembered the mark of the death-eaters, the black sign 
emblazoned onto Voldemort's followers' forearms to bind them to him – 
and that Snape had chosen to reject. Snape's eyes were blazing with a 
hatred that surpassed even that he reserved for Harry and the two 
surviving Marauders. He staggered back up to his feet, and stared 
Voldemort in the eye. 

“You are nothing,” he spat. “By yourself, alone – you are nothing.” 

“Ah,” said Voldemort. “But I am not alone. My faithful servant will be
joining me presently – and old friend of yours, Mr Black, Mr Lupin, I 
believe.” 

As he spoke, he wove an intricate pattern into the air with his wand,
slashing the space above his head as though he were conducting an 
orchestra. As Harry gazed, fascinated, the air began to glow gold: it 
lengthened to four or five feet, and stretched down to the ground. 
Voldemort finished his muttered incantation with a flick of his wand, 
and a figure stepped out from the golden haze, surrounded by a light 
almost too bright to look upon. 

It was Peter Pettigrew. 

“Wormtail!” cried Sirius, trying to run forwards again and only escaping
another fall to the ground as Harry and Ron grabbed an arm each and 
hauled him back up again. Pettigrew laughed at him. 

“Hello, Padfoot,” he replied. “How... nice to see you. Not so big and
brave now, are we? Not so clever?” 

“You little rodent...” Sirius was squeezing his hands together,
obviously desiring Pettigrew's neck to be in between them. “Wait until 
I get my hands on you...” 

Peter sniggered uncontrollably, as though Sirius had just made some
wonderful joke. “It won't be your hands you'll have to worry about, 
Sirius,” he said, apparently in stitches. “My hands are the only hands 
to concern any of you... or to be precise: this hand.” He held up his 
right arm, and Harry saw again the silver limb that Voldemort had given 
him in reward for sacrificing his previous body-part. He wondered what 
Pettigrew could be talking about. 

“Yes,” Peter was saying. “I didn't realise at first... I didn't know...
But my master, my glorious master – he gave me this for a purpose. For 
revenge. I, the tag-along, the little fat boy you never really liked – 
who you only let follow you around because you felt sorry for him – I 
can claim my revenge!” 

“Mental,” Ron was muttering. “Never did like Scabbers... always thought
there was something wrong with him...” 

But Harry knew this was not true, and knew Ron still ached with the
betrayal. However, he had no time to offer his friend comfort, because 
Scabbers, or Wormtail, or Peter Pettigrew was still explaining to 
Sirius what he was talking about, and Harry listened. 

“It tasted sweet,” he was saying. “Revenge tasted sweet when James and
Lily died. The first of the Marauders, and his goody-goody little 
wife...” Sirius, Harry, and Ron dived forwards at this, and Peter 
ginned happily as they were all rebounded by a shake of Voldemort's 
wand. 

“And then I thought I'd dealt with you – big, brave, handsome, funny
Sirius – I thought you were tucked away safely in Azkaban – I thought 
it wouldn't be soon before you given a nice little kiss, and then there 
would be two Marauders out the way. But that didn't work out.” He 
sounded sulky. “And I thought that soon it would only be me and Moony. 
Me and – and that thing.” He waved his silver arm again. 

“So now you understand just how brilliant my master is,” he said, and
now he was walking towards Remus Lupin, too far away to listen to what 
he was saying. “You understand his beautiful, subtle plans... how 
appropriate, how fitting it should be that I could taste revenge and at 
the same time serve his plans... How much I will enjoy this.” 

He had stopped, and was staring at the wall with a curious mixture of
loathing and fear on his face. Harry's mind raced wildly as he 
struggled to understand what the relevance of Peter's speech was, or 
whether he had, as Ron said, simply gone mad. 

But Peter was no longer paying them any attention: his eyes were riveted
to the same, one spot on the dungeon wall. He was staring at Remus 
Lupin. 

++++++++++++++++ 

Lupin, now he was back in his human form, had been looking increasingly
uncomfortable chained up against the wall even before his short 
interrogation by Voldemort: Harry thought that his arms must have lost 
their circulation a long time ago, and the chains designed to hold him 
tight when he'd been a wolf were cutting into his skin. He glanced up 
as Peter approached. 

“Hello, Peter,” he said, in a friendly enough tone of voice considering
the situation. Peter sneered at him, and Lupin's eyes widened as he saw 
the silver arm. 

“Oh,” he said. He looked strangely resigned. 

Peter stopped just short of him, and stared him up and down,
appraisingly. 

“Remus,” he said at last. Lupin said nothing, and gazed back evenly,
holding his old friend's eye for a long time before Pettigrew finally 
tore his look away with an angry sneer: holding his silver hand high in 
front of him, he moved even closer. 

“You should blame yourself,” he spat at Lupin. “You should blame
yourself for James's death – for my betrayal of him. I thank you – for 
forcing me to find better friends... a better master. And I plan to 
thank you properly, Remus; I plan to thank you properly.” 

Harry blinked at the odd exchange, still highly confused. He wondered
what Peter could possibly be talking about. Beside him, Ron was staring 
at his ex-pet with such loathing that Harry could feel it radiating 
from him: he noticed Hermione had her hand grasped tightly round his 
wrist to prevent him from doing anything stupid. Good, thought Harry. 
Matters were complicated enough without Ron making them worse. 

Lupin had still said nothing, and Peter carried on. “It was your fault,”
he said. “I just thought you should know, before I kill you. If James 
and Sirius and I hadn't ever become Animagi then none of this would 
ever have happened... if they hadn't felt so noble, if they hadn't felt 
sorry for you – then I would never have been discovered by my Lord 
Voldemort.” 

“Then why do you want to kill me?” asked Lupin. “I'd have thought that
that's hardly the way to prove your loyalty to Voldemort... killing the 
man you say caused him to find you. I'd be careful, if I were you, 
Wormtail. You sound as though you'd rather he hadn't.” 

Pettigrew looked like he was struggling hard with himself not to punch
Lupin. However, he mastered himself, and carried on. 

“That isn't true,” he snarled. “I know it, and my master knows it. I
just want to make sure you're aware of your responsibility for James 
and Lily's deaths. If you hadn't been a werewolf – a freak – in the 
first place they'd still be alive now.” 

To Harry's dismay, Lupin seemed to accept these words. An  expression of
self-disgust had surfaced on his tired face, and Peter smiled 
exultantly. He brought his silver hand up close to Lupin's face, and 
touched him gently on the cheek. 

Harry was not prepared for the result of this action. Lupin's head
snapped sideways as though someone the size of Hagrid had struck him, 
and a deep purple graze blossomed across his cheekbone. Peter laughed 
hysterically, and tapped him again. 

“What's he doing?” gasped Ron. “Why's he – what's wrong with – ” 

“It's silver,” came Hermione's glum whisper. “Silver – werewolves are...
they're allergic to it. A traditional ‘cure' for a werewolf is a silver 
bullet. They can't bear the touch of it. I remember reading it when 
Snape set us that essay to do. Remember, back at the hut, when you were 
ill, Ron? Snape's experiment? He wouldn't stop fiddling with his 
buttons – they were silver.” 

Harry could only stare in horror as Peter continued to touch Lupin with
his silver hand: for such a gentle action to have such a hideous effect 
was terrible to watch. Lupin was all but unconscious: Harry winced in 
sympathy as Pettigrew suddenly thumped him round the face as hard as he 
could – which, noted Harry, was a rather pathetic attempt – and his 
head whacked back hard against the stone wall. 

“STOP IT!” he shouted, unable to contain himself any longer. Pettigrew
jumped, but Voldemort turned to him, amused. 

“I thought I told you to be quiet?” he said mildly. “Dear, dear,
Potter... it seems I shall have to ask Peter to give you some lessons 
in obedience, as well as our tame werewolf there. Did you know, Harry, 
I could easily destroy him just like that?” He gave an elegant flick of 
his wrist and Harry heard Lupin gasp in agony. “But I won't,” smiled 
Voldemort cheerfully. “I could kill any of your little friends, Potter. 
The wolf, the dog – ” Sirius's body was flung upwards from the floor 
with another wave of Voldemort's wand –  “My old, faithful, spy – ” 
Snape gave such a howl of pain as he clutched at his left wrist that 
Harry's insides lurched at the sound. 

Voldemort was still talking. “The gentle giant who was foolish enough
not to take up my offer of employment,” he continued, and Hagrid, 
though still unconscious, began to moan aloud. “Or your special 
friends, perhaps... the little witch has potential – perhaps I should 
recruit her...” Hermione, to Harry's surprise and admiration, spat at 
Voldemort and then let out a strangled choke as he pointed at her with 
his wand. 

“No!” yelled Ron wildly, jumping in front of her, violently pulling his
own wand from his robes and pointing it shakily at Voldemort. “Don't 
touch her.” 

“No?” said Voldemort, raising an amused eyebrow. “Very well. Maybe the
ginger brat? Maybe you would like to see your best friend – now what 
would be amusing... maybe you would like to see your overprotective 
little best friend try and kill me? I'm sure he'd be delighted to... it 
could be quite interesting to observe...” He raised his wand hand to 
shoulder height, and pointed it at Ron, who stared defiantly back and 
looked very much as though he would dearly love to do exactly as 
Voldemort had suggested. 

Harry clenched his fists at his sides. “Don't you dare,” he said in a
loud, clear voice. Voldemort laughed, and lowered his wand. 

“Ah,” he said. “I didn't think you'd like it. You see, Harry, I could
kill each one of them... I could easily do that. But I'd like you to 
realise just how kind I can be, when the mood takes me... Now, I think 
the time has come for you and I to strike a little deal. Just how far 
are you prepared to go to save your companions' lives? How hard a 
bargain will you push? I have a proposition for you... See if it sounds 
attractive. I am willing to forego killing your friends in exchange for 
you. Give yourself up, Harry. Give yourself up like your noble, foolish 
parents did and I swear your friends will walk free. One life in 
exchange for six. Now, I can't say fairer than that.” 

Harry stared at him, the room spinning round his head. One life in
exchange for six... yes... the odds were more than even: how easy it 
would be, just to give himself up with the knowledge that the others 
would live. Hardly realising what he was doing, he took a step towards 
Voldemort. 

“Harry NO!” He stopped short at the sound of Ron's horrified shout. 

“Stop!” That was Hermione, dragging herself up from the ground and
lunging towards him as though to pull him back. 

A choked cry came from Hagrid, evidently awake now: “Don't take another
step, 'arry – don't move...” 

“You're the only person who can stop Voldemort,” said Sirius. “No one
else has ever been able to. If he kills you – we're all lost.” 

“Do you really think he'd let us go, just like that?” added Remus Lupin
hoarsely, despite Peter's attempts to quieten him. 

Voldemort sneered at them all. “Think it over, Potter,” he said.
“Remember what I can do...” Again, he flicked his wand over Harry's 
crowd of friends and each one cried out loudly. 

“Harry.” Harry started in disbelief as Snape spoke. He couldn't remember
ever having been addressed by his first name by the Potions master 
before in his life. “Harry – don't be so foolish,” Snape gasped. “If 
it's a choice between us, and the rest of humanity... Don't be 
selfish.” 

Harry stood still, and thought. Don't be selfish... would he be classed
selfish, in sacrificing himself, he wondered? What would be more 
selfish, saving his friends by dying; or saving the world – as everyone 
seemed to believe him capable of doing – by living? Harry let out a 
short and mirthless bark of laughter. The Boy who Lived. That was his 
job. He knew what he had to do – knew he had to give his friends' death 
sentence – knew he would hate himself for the rest of his life by doing 
so – 

“Harry?” said Ron quietly. “It isn't worth it. Destroying Voldemort is
more important than my life: don't do it – don't kill yourself. We need 
you. I'd rather die knowing Voldemort wasn't going to kill my family 
than walk out of here alive with you dead and him in power. Please, 
Harry. Don't do it.” 

“Ron's right, Harry,” said Hermione. “This is more important than
anything else. I don't mind – honestly I don't. None of us do. 
Please... please, don't do it.” 

Harry's face was screwed up in pain. What could he do... what could he
do... 

Voldemort, he suddenly realised, was looking just a little bit worried.
Did he really think he couldn't kill Harry? He'd failed twice, but 
surely with his new power... Still. He couldn't do what the others were 
asking of him. Harry opened his mouth to offer himself, but somehow the 
words stuck in his throat, and he walked forwards again instead. He 
wouldn't be able to live with himself if he knew that he had murdered 
his friends. That would make him as bad as Voldemort himself. Voldemort 
grinned maniacally as he approached. 

And then, suddenly: “HARRY! STOP!” Sirius it seemed had decided to make
Harry's decision for him. Somehow managing to free his feet and 
throwing himself forwards, he landed in front of Harry, blocking his 
way to Voldemort. With a roar of anger, the dark wizard pointed his 
wand at him. 

“Think of your promise,” reminded Sirius mockingly. “His life for
ours... if you kill me, it won't stand. So go on: do it. Kill me.” 

“No!” said Harry, thrusting his way in front of his godfather. This was
growing farcical. Ron and Hermione had run to join them: and Snape, and 
Hagrid. Voldemort was looking confused. 

“You'll have to kill us before you kill him,” announced Ron,
determinedly. “D'you hear me? You'll have to kill us first.” 

Harry's head swam. It was happening again. His parents had given their
lives to protect him, and now his friends were going to do it. No. This 
couldn't be happening. It wasn't right. 

“Your logic seems to be slightly flawed,” came Remus Lupin's voice. 

“Shut up!” snarled Peter. There was a thump, a hiss from Lupin, followed
by another thump and a cry of pain – this time from Pettigrew – and 
then Lupin continued, slightly breathlessly. 

“It would work,” he said, “If Harry was prepared to give himself up for
us. Which he obviously is. But it won't work if we're all equally 
prepared to die for him.” 

“Which we are,” added Sirius. “You don't seem to have the measure of
human emotion very well covered, Voldemort.” 

“Nonsense!” bellowed Voldemort, enraged. “I'll kill you – I'll kill you
all!” 

“Now then,” said a voice that hadn't been there a second before. “That
would not be a very wise move.” 

Albus Dumbledore walked into the room smiling, and his wand was pointing
straight at Voldemort. 

++++++++++++++++++ 

“You,” hissed Voldemort, some of the angry colour draining from his
face. 

“Professor!” cried Harry. Thank God, he thought. 

Dumbledore acknowledged them all with a pleasant nod. “Glad to see
you're all... safe,” he said. Harry thought he had been about to say 
‘well', but the Headmaster had obviously taken in the sight of the 
various injuries the little company had received. Ron's eyes were 
goggling: it seemed that his definition of the word ‘safe' differed 
quite considerably from Dumbledore's. Harry was inclined to agree with 
him. 

“Well,” said Dumbledore, his hand never wavering as it held the wand at
Voldemort, “I must say I agree with Sirius on this one. You don't 
appear to have a very good grip on human emotions, Tom. But then, 
that's hardly surprising considering your relationship with your 
parents, I suppose. Well; never mind.” 

Harry winced at the look of hatred on Voldemort's face. Peter Pettigrew
had crawled over to his master, whimpering, and cowered back at the 
sight of Dumbledore. He had a huge bruise spreading across the top of 
his balding head where Lupin had apparently decided to fight back. 

“Are you going to kill him now?” enquired Ron, hopefully. 

“Oh, no, I couldn't do that,” replied Dumbledore calmly. “Unfortunately,
Ron, that time has not yet come. But, if he knows what is good for him 
– ” 

Voldemort, it seemed, did not. He had raised his wand and it pointed at
Harry. 

“Harry,” instructed Dumbledore calmly, “Draw your wand. And then do as I
say.” 

Trembling, Harry groped for his wand and finally withdrew it from inside
his robes, waiting for Dumbledore to tell him what to do next and 
breathing heavily. He had not the faintest idea what was going to 
happen.  Voldemort was concentrating on him so hard that he could 
almost feel the malevolent glare penetrate him, and he was shivering 
uncontrollably. Everyone else had their eyes riveted to the three 
figures stood there: Dumbledore, Voldemort and himself. 

“Now,” said Dumbledore, “I believe Tom will try the Avada Kevadra curse,
Harry: you must be ready for it. With any luck, it should – ” 

He was interrupted by a flash of blinding blue electric light from
Voldemort's wand. Harry gasped, and flung up his wand hand to give a 
counter-curse: but, to his surprise, it was not directed at him. The 
blue flew towards the rest of the room: aimed at Ron, and Hermione; at 
Sirius, Snape, Hagrid and Lupin; at Dumbledore himself – but not at 
Harry. Voldemort smiled triumphantly as his spell reached out towards 
Harry's friends, and Harry watched in terror, his mouth open in a 
silent scream. 

And then something odd happened. 

Almost as if it had hit a mirror, the blue light suddenly reflected back
before it had the chance to reach any of Harry's seven companions. It 
rebounded like rubber, and fled back to one, central point: Voldemort's 
wand. The wizard's eyes were widened in some unidentifiable emotion: he 
shook his hand, trying to free it of his wand; he let out a scream that 
reached Harry's bones, a scream that contained such incredible pain it 
was almost unbearable to listen to. Then there was a loud explosion: 
Harry was knocked from his feet along with all the others. When he 
looked up, Voldemort and Pettigrew were gone. 

Slowly, he picked himself up and watched cautiously as the others did
the same. He felt suddenly empty, as though drained of all his energy. 
It was over. 

“Tom miscalculated human feeling far more seriously than I thought,” was
all Dumbledore said, a twinkle in his eye. 

“What happened to him?” 

“He didn't pay attention to Sirius's warning,” said Dumbledore. “He made
the same mistake he made thirteen years ago, Harry, when he murdered 
your parents and tried to murder you. He failed to take into account 
the fact that someone could die for someone else – or, in your case, 
several people would die. Your friends' willingness to give themselves 
up for you confounded him: he sought to place them under a curse – not 
a death curse, you understand: not even Voldemort would be foolish 
enough to do that while he isn't yet in his full power – but it 
malfunctioned. It reversed. It undid him – for a while.” 

“You mean, he's not dead?” asked Harry, disappointed. To his vast
surprise, Dumbledore threw back his head and laughed. 

“Dead! Dear me, no. I'm sorry, Harry, but we have a long way to go
before we achieve that goal. But – ” he suddenly stopped laughing, and 
looked seriously at Harry. “But we're getting there. We have people 
willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to destroy him, and we have you, 
Harry: and I think that that is an extremely good start, don't you?” 

Sirius limped up to put an arm round Harry's shoulders, and Harry
smiled, as he pondered Dumbledore's words. Yes, he thought. That was 
good enough – for now. 

“Eh – Mr Dumbledore,” boomed Hagrid, his huge frame suddenly appearing
beside Harry's godfather and dwarfing him considerably, “Ah don' know 
about you lot – but ah think ah'd like to be goin' now... an' I think 
Mr Lupin o'er there's lookin' a mite peaky...” 

Remus Lupin did indeed appear to be slightly the worse for wear. His
altercation with Peter Pettigrew had left him decidedly the worse off, 
on top of his transformation, and with a sudden panic Harry wondered if 
he was even still alive: he ran towards where he was chained, his head 
drooping onto his chest, and let out a sigh of relief as he saw that he 
was breathing – albeit shallowly. 

Dumbledore clapped his hands together. “I believe Hagrid is right,” he
said. “We ought to be going. Sirius, if you could assist Hagrid in 
unchaining Remus, then I think I should be able to see Harry and the 
others back to – ” 

Harry swayed. The exhaustion of the last few days finally caught up with
him: he caught a glimpse of Ron's face frowning at him in concern as he 
went dizzy and the room span, and then, almost delirious with relief, 
Harry Potter fainted. 

++++++++++++++++ 

When Harry woke up again he was in the infirmary – a room almost as
familiar to him now as his own dormitory. He'd spent many hours in here 
during his previous four years at Hogwarts, and doubted anything would 
change soon. Staring up at the ceiling, he wondered how the others 
were. Ron he could see, in the bed next to him: various empty chocolate 
wrappers were sprinkled over his duvet, and a half-melted chocolate 
frog was trying to raise its head up from his pillow in vain. Harry 
gave it a sympathetic grimace. 

Hermione he imagined would also be there somewhere – Madam Pomfrey never
missed an opportunity to drag students into a hospital bed if she 
thought there was the slightest chance they needed medical care. And 
Lupin, too; Harry wondered what the motherly matron would make of all 
the wolf bites on his arms. But then, he reminded himself, she would 
have known of his condition when he'd been at Hogwarts himself. Harry 
wondered how old Madam Pomfrey was. 

He was considering whether it was worth trying to go back to sleep, when
– to Harry's surprise and slight alarm – the door burst open and 
Professor Snape, with a nicely bandaged arm, was propelled through it 
as though someone had pushed him. He certainly looked rather reluctant 
to be there. 

“Professor Snape,” greeted Madam Pomfrey, cordially. 

“Good morning, Poppy,” growled Snape, his black eyes flickering around
him. There was a silence of perhaps two minutes, during which Snape and 
the matron both appeared to be trying to think of something to say. 
Then Madam Pomfrey rolled up her sleeves. 

“Well, if that's all...” she said. Snape shook himself, and looked like
he was racking his brain furiously. His mouth was working, Harry noted, 
but obviously not in time with brain, because no words were 
forthcoming. 

“How... how is the werew – how is pr... how's Lupin?” he got out at
last, the effort to enquire after Lupin's health in a polite manner 
obviously causing him some disturbance. The matron looked slightly 
alarmed at Snape's question. 

“Well... broken arm, leg and ribs... bruising, laceration, bite
marks...” she reeled off. “But he'll live.” 

“Oh,” said Snape, not sounding quite as disappointed as he might have
done once. “And... the Potter boy? Weasley? Granger?” 

Madam Pomfrey consulted a clipboard. “They're all fine, Professor,” she
said. “Just in need of some rest. Thank you for your... concern.” 

Snape looked at her balefully then swept away in a billow of black
robes. Madam Pomfrey tutted, and turned back to Harry, who had been 
pretending to be asleep and concentrating on not laughing at Snape's 
visit. Truth be told, he was rather shocked that the Potions master had 
come to see them: he had a suspicion that Dumbledore had had a hand in 
it. 

“You can stop pretending to snore, now, Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey.
“He's gone. And you, Weasley.” 

Ron and Harry sat up and looked at each other, grinning. 

“All right?” they both asked at the same time. 

Madam Pomfrey bustled around, checking temperatures and supplying them
with chocolate. Ron was still grinning weakly as he withstood a barrage 
of gentle scolding, while Madam Pomfrey scraped what was left of the 
decomposing frog from his bed. 

“How many times will you have to be told, Mr Weasley...” she began, and
Harry drifted off as the familiar voice lulled him into a gentle doze. 

And then he sat bolt upright. 

“Sirius!” he said. His godfather had entered unobtrusively and was
sitting at the foot of his bed, eating Harry's chocolate and laughing 
silently at Ron's pathetic attempts to salvage his own food supply. He 
threw him a pepper imp and Ron stuffed it furtively into his mouth 
before Madam Pomfrey could stop him. 

“Ron!” she exclaimed. Then, at seeing Sirius, “No visitors! No – wait a
moment. Sirius Black? You, again? Good Lord...” She disappeared 
hurriedly out of sight with Ron's dirty pillowcase. 

“What was all that about?” asked Harry, bemused. Sirius shrugged. 

“I have no idea,” he replied modestly. “But I remember I always did have
a similar effect on her... I must have spent as much time visiting 
Remus in here when I was at Hogwarts myself as I do you, now, Harry. I 
think perhaps she got rather tired at my... er... sense of humour, 
eventually.” 

Harry could imagine. 

“How is Professor Lupin?” he asked. 

“Fine,” said Sirius shortly. “Nothing he can't handle. He'll be fine.” 

“Good.” Harry sank back into his warm pillows, and looked through the
window as he mused. He didn't want to have to ask the next question, 
but he had to know the answer. 

“Sirius...” he said finally. 

“Mmm?” 

“You know... you know you're my family – kind of...” 

“Yes.” Was it Harry, or did Sirius suddenly hide a little grin of pride?


“Welllll... you know I came to stay at your house for the holidays this
year?” 

“Yes...” 

“Well can I come again next year as well? Can't I leave the Dursleys?
Won't the protection work just as well with you as with them? Can't I – 
” 

“Oh, Harry.” Sirius's tired voice stopped Harry in mid-flow, and he
looked up uncertainly. “You know I'd like nothing more than to have you 
live with me,” continued his godfather – and it was his turn to stare 
out through the window now. “But it's just not safe. It was foolish of 
me not too realise that this year... Firstly, I'm a convicted murderer 
– the Ministry of Magic is still searching high and low for me – and 
what kind of environment is that to bring someone up in? I can't risk 
that, Harry. I owe it to your father, and I owe it to you. I couldn't 
place you in danger just because I'm too selfish not to realise what's 
for your own good.” 

Harry was tempted to point out that very few things could possibly be as
dangerous as living with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon – not to mention 
Dudley – but he waited patiently instead for Sirius to finish. 

“And secondly,” he was saying, “This whole business with Voldemort... I
don't have to tell you how serious it is, Harry. Work must be done now: 
The Order of the Phoenix must be reassembled; Voldemort has to be 
destroyed and I – we – have to place that before any of our personal 
wishes. Please understand me. But Harry,” he said, taking Harry's chin 
and tilting it towards him, ignoring the tears that threatened to burst 
forth any minute and looking into his eyes, “Harry, if – no. When this 
is all over, when Voldemort is defeated, and this little business of me 
having murdered your parents is cleared up, then I promise you we will 
live together. We'll buy a house and have Ron and Hermione to stay 
every summer and Christmas and any other time you want, and it will all 
be all right. Honestly.” 

And suddenly he enveloped Harry in a hug – tentative to start with and
then rocking him back and forth as he finally let go of his emotions 
and did something he'd never, ever done before. 

The Boy who Lived cried. 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

Much, much later, when Sirius had been shooed out by Madam Pomfrey and
everyone else was sleeping, their snores reassuring in the darkness, 
Harry was still awake. He re-lived every word of the conversation he'd 
had with Sirius earlier, and nodded to himself. 

It will all be all right. 

Well – Harry wasn't so sure, at the moment, but if Sirius said it would
be then he had to at least hope that he was right. Voldemort would be 
back, he was certain of it: but then, he thought, more cheerful than 
he'd felt for a long time, but then they'd already dealt with him once 
– and he hadn't won yet. They'd already faced the enemy: they'd 
withstood his attempts to destroy them – again – and they were all 
still alive as the living proof of it. They even – and this seemed the 
strangest and most bizarre achievement of all – appeared to have 
reached some kind of truce with Professor Snape. 

And all this before the school term had even started, thought Harry
ruefully. Despite himself, he grinned. It was going to be an 
interesting year. 

The End.


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