Apparently no longer concerned about drawing attention to themselves, the instant they were outside the circle of the warding spells again, Sirius and Remus Apparated them to their home in Wales. It was a modest home, but not tiny, and certainly not Spartan in its furnishings. Remus, Harry remembered, liked his creature comforts when he could afford them. It was set on the outskirts of a small Muggle village, and the number of messages on the answering machine (not to mention the fact that they had a telephone and an answering machine in the first place) indicated that they’d made friends among their neighbors. Harry was glad of this; he’d feared the two men would cut themselves off from the world completely simply because certain factions of the wizarding community had their heads too far up their own arses to realize what invaluable assets they had in Remus Lupin and Sirius Black.
They’d been in the house less than an hour. Ron and Harry had collapsed on the sofa, feeling incapable of movement for at least another week; Sirius was staring into a glass of firewhisky he hadn’t so much as sipped from; Remus had slumped in a chair in the middle of his dead garden. There was a sharp pop, and Mundungus Fletcher’s head appeared in the fireplace.
“Sirius!”
Sirius jumped. “For Merlin’s sake, Gus! A little head’s up, next time.”
“I’m sorry, Sirius, but we felt it very important to get word to you. We’ve cleaned up the, er, area. There was no trouble. The man who was left is named Bartleby Bellacourt. Charlie Weasley’s working with him now.”
On the sofa, Ron groaned. “Not Charlie, too!”
The head of Mundungus Fletcher looked at him sharply. “Sirius! You were to take Ron and Harry back to Hogwarts immediately the mission was over.”
“No, Gus,” Sirius said firmly, rubbing at the corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “After what they’ve been through – what we’ve all been through – this week, they’ve earned a rest. We all have. Remus and I will take them back to Hogwarts when they feel ready – and not a moment before.”
The head of Mundungus Fletcher looked as though he were about to argue the point, but the three men in the living room must’ve looked an even more wretched sight than they realized, and he said only, “I will see how much time can be bought, Sirius, but you cannot remain here indefinitely. There are still things that must be seen to.”
Sirius nodded wearily. “Understood. Thank you, Gus.” His eyes were already drifting shut. After looking around the room one more time, the head of Mundungus Fletcher popped out of sight again.
The rest of the that day was lost to sleep. Eventually, Remus came in from the garden, but he was only awake long enough to crawl into bed and fall asleep again. Sirius joined him, muttering something to Ron and Harry about the spare room, but when Remus woke briefly in the night, he wasn’t surprised to find them sprawled across the bedroom floor. He dropped a couple of blankets over them, and neither one stirred.
When Sirius finally straggled his way out of bed late the next day, nearly tripping over Harry and Ron on his way out of the room, an entire week’s worth of post, both Muggle and owl, lay crowding the doorstep, along with their copies of “The Daily Prophet.” Discarding the old copies, Sirius opened the previous day’s paper. And was instantly racing down the hall back to the bedroom, shouting for Remus.
“Gods, Siri!” Remus groaned, pulling the covers up over his head. “I’m sleeping.”
“Not anymore, you’re not.” Yanking the blankets away from his protesting mate, Sirius shoved the paper under Remus’s nose and sat at his feet on the bed. “Read.”
Ron and Harry, roused by Sirius’s angry voice, looked around, blinking in confusion. “Wha—“
“The Daily Prophet,” Sirius said in disgust, watching Remus’s expression change from peevishness to shock, and then to fury, as he read the headline article.
“Read it to us?” Ron asked quietly, tucking his head under Harry’s chin.
“I’m not sure that’s—“ Remus looked over at the young men on his floor and sighed. Whatever they had been when the journey began, Harry and Ron were children no longer. Remus kept his voice as emotionless as possible, but still, none of them could keep from shuddering, or sometimes even crying out in protest, at certain parts of the article. “Mysterious agents of the Order...heroes to the cause...a great victory—“
Harry looked at them in shock. “Thirteen people committing suicide rather than see the truth about Voldemort, and they call it a great victory?”
“I suppose we should be grateful the reporter couldn’t figure out who’d done it,” Sirius said.
“Voldemort will surely want to know.”
Sirius nodded. “The thought had crossed my mind.”
Remus looked at the pile of his former students on the floor. “I think it’s time we were getting Ron and Harry back to Hogwarts.”
*
A hush fell over the Great Hall as the three men and the dog entered, and every eye in the place was glued to them. They were far too tired to give a damn.
“RON!”
A small red blur launched itself across the room, and Ron found himself holding a sobbing armful of Ginny. “Oh, Ron, you’re alive! You don’t know how we worried – Mum’s been frantic-“
“There, there, Ginny,” Ron said, patting her back awkwardly and looking helplessly at Harry over his sister’s head.
Harry shrugged, but any attempts he might have made to help Ron were cut off by the startling incursion of a warm mass into his own arms. “Hermione-“
“Be quiet, Harry Potter.” Hermione sniffled against his chest. “For once in your life, just be quiet.” She pulled her head back and looked up at him, then over at Ron, her eyes brimming with tears. “Ginny’s right – it’s been awful. You vanished without a word, and no one would tell us where you’d gone or what was going on.”
“Sorry,” Ron muttered, embarrassed by the attention.
“Yeah; sorry, Ginny, Mione,” Harry said absently. His attention had been dragged to the front of the Hall, where Remus stood in intense whispered conference with Dumbledore and Snape, Padfoot pacing restlessly around Remus’s feet.
Ron’s gaze locked on the Slytherin table. “Where’s Malfoy?”
Harry jerked around; he hadn’t noticed the sneering blonde’s absence.
“He’s gone.”
Both boys looked at Ginny. “What do you mean, he’s gone?” Harry asked.
“She mean’s he’s gone, you great lumps,” Hermione said testily. “Yesterday his mother’s sister showed up and called him out of Potions. They packed up Draco’s things and left two hours later. He’s finishing his schooling at Durmstrang. No one knows why, but people are saying his parents are dead.” Hermione’s eyes narrowed suddenly. “Ron – Harry – you weren’t-“
They stared at her. Then they turned to stare at each other. They hadn’t discussed cover stories; they hadn’t had the energy for such trivialities, but they should’ve been prepared for Hermione. “N-no,” Harry stammered finally. “Of...of course not.”
Hermione’s mouth opened; clearly she didn’t buy it.
“Mr Potter? Mr Weasley?”
A flurry of covert activity kicked up around the Great Hall; the other students couldn’t decide whether to look at Dumbledore, Remus, and Snape, at the Head Table looking very grim, or Ron and Harry, at the back of the room looking no better. Ron sighed and released Ginny. “I’ll be back,” he promised softly. “You might owl home and let everyone know I’m all right.” He and Harry groaned as they realized simultaneously that they would also have to get an owl to Bill at the Wishing Well – even if someone had told him that they’d survived the mission, they owed him at personal note.
“Of course, Ron,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “Right away. Only—“ She dove forward and hugged him fiercely, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I was awfully worried about you.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He looked at Hermione. “I’m really sorry.”
Harry put his hand on Ron’s sleeve. “Ron?”
Ron nodded and smiled at Harry as valiantly as he could. Briefly, he covered the hand on his arm with his own. “I’m ready.”
They walked to the front of the room.
*
PART 17: Debriefing
Professor Dumbledore led the way to his office. No one noticed Sirius transforming, but when they arrived at their destination, they were six men once more.
It was a strange group gathered in the headmaster’s office. In chairs in front of the desk sat Ron, Harry, Sirius, and Remus, grim, exhausted, and heartsick. Behind the desk, Dumbledore, Snape, and, of all people, Madam Hooch, tense with waiting. For a long moment, no one spoke. Dumbledore cleared his throat, almost apologetically, and said, “The story please, if you will.”
Harry closed his eyes. He’d known, of course, that a full report would have to be made, but he’d managed to avoid thinking about actually delivering that report and reliving everything that had happened in those caves. A rough hand patted Harry’s awkwardly, and he flashed his godfather a grateful smile.
Remus began to speak, his soft voice even, emotionless. He began with their arrival at the Wishing Well, and despite the sobriety of the situation, Ron thought to be glad that Remus left out the bit with the Dursleys’ fireplace. Reluctantly, the three other men entered the storytelling, adding bits Remus had neglected, picking up when his voice seemed too tired to continue. Obviously, the almost obscene amounts of sex that had been had on the road was kept well out of the telling.
When their tale arrived at Lucius’s appearance in the cave, Ron, Harry, and Sirius looked at each other in dismay. How much should they reveal of what that smug bastard had said to Remus? Looking at the former professor, it was clear that he would not be able to tell this part of the story; his amber eyes were clouded with anger and regret, and his voice had dwindled away into the silence of far-off memories.
“Lucius said...” Sirius faltered, looking in desperation to his mate for assistance that would not be coming. “He said some incredibly hurtful things to Remus. He was attempting, of course, to anger us into making some sort of mistake.” His eyes as glittering as icicles, Sirius added, “He was not successful.”
“What did he say?” Snape demanded, leaned forward across the headmaster’s desk. The tone of his voice was heavy with resentment, as though he had had issues of his own with Lucius Malfoy.
“Severus,” Dumbledore said quietly, “nothing is gained by forcing them to relive this particular detail.” Snape stood upright again, but his dark eyes burned at Sirius as though he hoped to extract the answer he sought from the other man’s head.
Nodding his thanks to Dumbledore, Sirius picked up the tale again, and, with Ron and Harry’s help, brought it to its close.
Another long moment of silence followed, a silence that echoed twice as loudly in their ears after all the talking they had just done. Harry wondered idly how long the recounting had taken.
Dumbledore smoothed the fingers of his right hand through his long beard. “What you have told us is not much different than what we had speculated from the scene at the Death Eaters’ cell. This was a very well-organized suicide – Voldemort must not only have ordered his followers to kill themselves rather than allow themselves to be captured but also instructed them on how to do so.” He shook his head. “So much waste.”
Remus’s grip on the arms of his chair tightened.
“As for the Death Eater who was captured,” Dumbledore continued, returning to himself with a shake, “His name is Bartleby Bellacourt, and he seemed to have been a tertiary ranking member of the cell. He does not have as much information as we would have hoped to get from the entire cell – or from a higher-ranking member – but, we have him and his information, and, as this is war—“ He shrugged. “Anything is better than nothing.”
“Headmaster,” Snape cut in harshly, his hand clenched in a fist on the desktop, “I must request again that I be allowed to conclude the interview.”
Dumbledore sighed wearily. “While I appreciate your zeal, Severus, I’m afraid that is quite impossible. Bellacourt’s location is highly classified information – even I do not know where he is being held – and Charlie Weasley was trained for exactly these types of situations.”
“What ‘types of situations’?” Snape demanded. “There are no situations of this type. In the entire recorded history of the wizarding world, the Mesmer Infidelis has been properly cast six times. It is in no way possible that Charlie Weasley – or anyone else – could have been properly trained to deal with it.”
“Severus—“ Madam Hooch, her forehead creased in concern, tried to get a word in.
“I know the pain Bartleby Bellacourt is experiencing at this moment,” Snape said, his voice low and hissing. “To believe in a thing – to believe in it so entirely, with such conviction, that you are willing to lay down your life and the life of everyone dear to you if that is what is required in the service of that thing – and then to have it, with a single incantation, stripped away from you and revealed as a malicious and pathetic lie...” His arms fell limp at his sides, and he sagged a bit, leaning his hip against Dumbledore’s desk for support. “I understand that pain in a way that no one else can, and I truly believe that I would be able to get information out of Bellacourt that no one else could.”
Tense silence reigned yet again in the office. Ron’s and Harry’s eyes widened, and they stared at Snape as though they had never seen him before. Never had they heard him speak with such fervor; such pain. And he had known that, counting their own use of it two days earlier, the Mesmer Infidelis had been performed six times. If the Marauders had been the ones to do it, then the only other person who would know would be...
“Very well, Severus,” Dumbledore said at last, turning to look at the Potions master. “You have stated your case well; you may go.” He twisted his chair until he faced Madam Hooch. “Xiomara, accompany Professor Snape back to the Slytherin dungeons and draw him a map to...wherever he needs to be going.”
The flying instructor inclined her head deferentially. “Right away, sir.” She nodded to the four men on the other side of the desk and swept out of the room, Snape on her heels. In the doorway, he paused and looked at the travelers as though he was going to say something more, but in the end he merely turned with a great flurry of robes and followed Madam Hooch down the revolving staircase.
“There are Hogwarts matters I must attend to with Mr Weasley and Mr Potter,” Dumbledore said, turning his attention to Sirius and Remus. “They will not be of great interest to you, if you would care to retire to the guest quarters. I’ve had the house elves prepare a room for you.”
The two men looked at each other, and Sirius shrugged. Finding his voice again at last, Remus said, “Thank you, Headmaster, but we’ll stay until Harry and Ron are done here.”
Dumbledore nodded, not the least bit surprised. He turned to Ron. “For your unexcused, unannounced, and unexpected departure from Hogwarts, Mr Weasley,” he said, “I’m afraid I will have to take seventy-five points from Gryffindor House.”
Ron shrugged. After everything they had been through, after having been party to the deaths of thirteen people, he could think of little that seemed less important than House standings. “That’s all right, sir.”
The headmaster watched Ron’s noninterest with great interest. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair, absently stroking the underside of Fawkes’s chin. “I’ll not belittle the enormity of what the two of you have endured this week by awarding you points for the destruction of the cell.” Harry and Ron blinked as though even the possibility of so callow an action had never occurred to them. “However,” Dumbledore continued, the merest shadow of his usual sparkling smile hovering at the corners of his mouth, “For your bravery against the river troll in Diagon Alley you should, I think, be rewarded. Twenty-five points. Each.” He smiled more broadly now. “Which leaves you down only twenty-five points. That will appear a sufficient punishment for Mr Weasley’s disappearance and still leaves you within striking distance of Ravenclaw's lead for the House Cup.”
Ron still looked monumentally unmoved, but to Harry, the Headmaster’s words were a reprieve. For the time being, at least, he was going to be allowed to continue the charade. For a little while longer, he could continue to pretend that he was still a boy, an ordinary student with no greater worries than a Herbology test, the last Quidditch match of the term, and what kind of verbal abuse Draco would heap on him this week.
Except that Draco wouldn’t be heaping any kind of verbal abuse on him anymore. They might never meet again. Or they might find themselves, on a day not too distant from this one, facing each other across a battlefield.
So much for his charade.
“That is all, for now,” Dumbledore said, pushing his chair back from the desk and standing. The four men across the desk rose as well, and the headmaster solemnly shook each of their hands. “I know you may not think so right now,” he said softly, looking each of them in the eye for a moment, “but you have done the Order a great service, and you are to be commended. I only wish we could commend you, publicly, as you deserve.”
“Thirteen people are dead because of us, Headmaster,” Remus said bitterly. “We’re no heroes.”
“Remus,” Dumbledore said, and Harry was startled by the uncertainty in the great wizard’s voice, “I am especially sorry for your loss. I know that you and Lucius were...close.”
Remus shook his head quickly. “That was several lifetimes ago, sir.”
“Still,” Dumbledore said, “I’m sorry things had to turn out this way.”
Glancing over at his companions, Remus answered, “Not half as sorry as we are.”
After that, there seemed to be nothing left to say. The four men left the Headmaster’s office without another word.
*
PART 18: All Loose Ends Must in Time Be...
Harry, Ron, and Remus sat in the guest room Hogwarts had furnished for Remus and Sirius, staring blankly at nothing in particular. Sirius had excused himself a few minutes earlier, muttering something about a shower, though the other three suspected he was just going to transform and go sulk around the lake for a while. They hadn’t tried to stop him.
“Gods,” Harry muttered, flopping down on his back on the floor. “Am I ever going to smile again?”
“Just survive the day, Harry,” Remus advised, running his fingers through the threads of a tassel on the bed curtain. “And then survive tomorrow, and then the day after that. After a while, getting through the days becomes less of a chore. Eventually, you even start enjoying it again.”
“I suppose,” he said.
“Trust me,” Remus assured him, half a smile at his lips. “I know this from experience.”
Harry sat up suddenly and regarded his former professor. He’d never been terrific with math, but suddenly he had a crystal clear understanding of just how many days there had been in the twelve years that Sirius had been incarcerated in Azkaban – and Remus had had to survive every last one of them.
“Remus,” Ron asked hesitantly, “all that stuff Snape said today—“
“Professor Snape, Ron,” Remus corrected gently.
Ron nodded. “Right. What he said in the Headmaster’s office – it was him, wasn’t it?”
“What was?” Remus asked, the tilt of his head letting them know that he knew exactly what they were talking about.
“When you cast the Mesmer Infidelis the first time. You cast it on him.”
Remus looked out of the window and into his history. “Yes, we did.”
Harry and Ron both leaned forward. “Tell us about it?” Ron asked.
Briefly, he looked as though he might actually do it. Then he shook his head. “No. That is a part of the past best kept among...” His eyes darkened. “Among those who were there.” And who remain, he thought.
“There’s something else,” Harry said tentatively. “But I didn’t think I should ask while Sirius was around...”
“You want to know if there was any truth to what Lucius said.”
Harry nodded, though, remembering the way Remus had smoothed the hair from Lucius’s lifeless face, he suspected he already knew at least part of the answer. But the what was not the why, and that was the part of the story he could not begin to comprehend on his own.
Remus sighed. “I suppose you deserve to know – deserve to understand.” He looked the young men squarely in the eyes. “It was all true – except what he said about my parents. But everything else: our musical abilities...my brother’s death...my relationship with Lucius – all of that was true.”
“But I thought werewolves—“ Ron stopped abruptly, blushing.
“Mate for life?” Remus asked, and Ron nodded. “We do. But taking a mate involves much more than just sex. It is a long and arduous process never had any chance of happening with Lucius. Our relationship, if you can call it that, lasted less than a full term at Hogwarts. We were just...two boys playing around.”
“But...why?” Harry demanded. “The way he was talking to you in the caves – he hated you.”
Remus shook his head. “Not always. What you heard in the caves was Lucius’s attempts to convince us – and himself, I suspect – that he’d always felt about me the way he did after Voldemort was through brainwashing him. The truth is that the Malfoys and the Lupins were once very close. Lucius was one of the first people to hold Romulus and myself when we were born. He showed great support of our emerging musical talents. He was among the very small handful of children still allowed to play with us after we were bitten, and he was the only one who argued, after Romulus died, that I was five years old and couldn’t possibly be expected to bear my loss with decorum. Lucius was my closest friend, and I always thought of him as an older brother. Until I hit puberty – a few years earlier than most because of my lycanthropy – and started having thoughts about him that very few men ever entertain about their brothers.”
Harry, thinking of Ron’s brothers, giggled. Ron, undoubtedly thinking of the same thing, shuddered. “He was still a Malfoy!” Ron protested, partially to change the subject.
“And a Slytherin,” Harry added.
Remus looked at them sharply. “Remember this, now,” he said, holding them with his stare. “Not every witch and wizard who sorts into Slytherin is automatically corrupt. They don’t all follow the Dark Lord. Ambition, quick thinking, a strong sense of history – these are not inherently evil qualities. Do you understand?”
Dropping their eyes to the floor in embarrassment, the young men muttered, “Yes, Remus.”
Satisfied, Remus continued, “As for the Lucius’s family...gods, is our history lost this quickly? It is true: the Malfoys had long been accused of arrogance, elitism, and bias against Muggles, but even as recently as twenty-five years ago, the Dark Arts would be the last thing you would have thought of in connection with the family. They thought Lord Voldemort a rash, over-confident upstart, not to be followed, at any rate, because he was not pureblooded. But Lucius...” Remus’s voice trailed off regretfully. “What Lucius wanted, more than money, more than fame – more than anything – was power. And he determined – correctly, I’m afraid – that he could gain more power at Voldemort’s side than at Dumbledore’s or the Ministry’s. So devoted did he become to his new master, his new cause, that within less than a year and a half, he had converted his entire family, and most of Narcissa’s as well.”
Harry and Ron stared at him, wide-eyed and opened-mouthed. Ron reached up and put his hand on Remus’s knee. “I’m sorry, Remus.”
Harry squeezed Remus’s hand. “Yeah, Remus. Me too.”
Remus coughed and squeezed back. “Me too.” He let go of Harry’s hand, and Ron let go of Remus’s knee. “I trust you won’t speak of this to Sirius,” he said. “My relationship with Lucius is an area of our history which he cannot regard rationally.”
“We promise,” Ron said.
“Not a word,” Harry added.
“I’m starting to feel claustrophobic in here,” Remus said, rising from the bed and reaching for his cloak. “What do you say we go find that dog of mine?”
*
Sirius and Remus slept in the Hogwarts guest quarters that night and, to no one’s great shock, Harry and Ron slept on their floor. The house elves brought breakfast, and they ate in silence. Once, Harry knew, they would have filled the space with the small, inane, comforting talk that ran through everyone’s days, but after everything the four of them had been through together, such words were a waste of energy.
After breakfast, Remus packed the small grip he and Sirius had brought and looked at Ron and Harry. “We’ll walk you to class.”
“All right,” said Harry.
With a wry smile, Ron added, “Defense Against the Dark Arts is first.”
Remus chuckled. “I think I know the way to that room. Bring up that spell we used on our wands – it’s called Petrificus bastum - you’ll knock Evergreen’s socks off.”
Ron was thrown for a minute. Not only had he never heard anyone, even other instructors, call Professor Wink by her first name, he couldn’t imagine her getting excited enough about anything to have her socks even nudged, let alone knocked off. But the prospect of trying seemed rather appealing, and he smiled genuinely for the first time since their arrival at the caves.
Sirius and Remus seemed to cheer immensely at Ron’s smile. “Ron’s back!” Sirius crowed.
“He’s not back, Paddy,” Remus chided. “They’ve both a long way to go for that. But he’s smiling.”
“He’s also standing right here,” Ron said.
“To class!” Sirius said. The four men left the guest quarters and headed towards the DADA classroom.
Before the last bend in the hall that would take them into an area highly trafficked by students, Sirius put his hand on Harry’s arm. “This is as far as I go,” he said. “It’ll have to be Padfoot – pardon me, Snuffles - from now on. So I’ll say my good-byes.”
Harry tried to ignore the hot stinging at the back of his eyes as he stepped into his godfather’s arms. “When will I see you again?” Not ‘will I?’ He would not let this be open to debate.
“I don’t know.” Sirius shook his head. “Right now, I can’t say.”
“When Voldemort is dead, and his followers dead, and the war at an end,” Remus said, repeating Sirius’s words of nearly two weeks ago.
“Your memory terrifies me, Moony,” Sirius said, staring at him over the top of Harry’s head. “But listen, Harry: we’ll find a way to see you before that. I promise.”
Harry nodded and tried to convert his sniffle into...well, into anything that didn’t make him feel like a five-year-old locked in a cupboard under the stairs. “Good-bye, Sirius.”
“’Bye, Harry,” Sirius said gruffly and released him. He raised an eyebrow at Ron. “As for you—“
Ron raised an eyebrow back, amused. “Yes, Sirius?”
“I’ll be damned.” He pointed at Ron and turned to Remus. “See that, Moony? He’s not afraid of me anymore.”
“You’re not that frightening, Padfoot.”
Grumbling, Sirius extended his hand to Ron. “I won’t say I enjoyed traveling with you, because there was nothing enjoyable about what we’ve been through. But...well, I suppose I’ll say I would enjoy traveling with you again, if a chance came by.”
“Thank you, Sirius,” Ron said. Ignoring the extended hand, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the older man. “I feel the same way.” The hug broke, and Ron turned to Remus. “Professor,” he said, bowing.
“Mr Weasley,” Remus returned, laughing, and then he swept Ron into a hug. “You’ve been amazing. Truly.”
“You’re not so shabby yourself,” Ron said. “So long, Remus.”
“Good bye, Ron. And be careful of your wand – I have a feeling it’s not finished doing extraordinary things.”
Ron scowled at the wand in question. “This thing scares me.”
Remus laughed. “Just take good care of it.” At last he turned to Harry and sighed. “We’re always leaving you,” he said softly.
“It’s okay, really,” Harry said. “I have Ron, and Hermione, and at least now I know where you are.”
“And you know that anytime you need us, for any reason, you only have to owl, and we’ll be here.”
“Thank you. I will, I promise - if it ever comes to that.”
“Oh, and listen,” Sirius said reluctantly, “when Snape comes back...go a little easy on him, will you? He went through hell when we had to do that damned spell on him, and now he has to relive it all over again. That’s got to be tough – even on a wanker.”
Ron chuckled. “Consider it done, Sirius,” he promised.
“Fine. I’m out of here. In a manner of speaking. See you around.” And with a final wave, Sirius vanished, and the great black dog stood in his place, nuzzling impatiently at the palm of Remus’s hand.
“We should be on our way, then,” Remus said, wiping quickly at his eyes. “Wouldn’t want you to lose House points for being late.”
“Wink doesn’t bother with points,” Ron said as they walked on. “Thinks it’s a waste of time.”
“Professor Wink, Ron,” Remus said.
“Right.”
Around the corner, they nearly smacked into two students headed towards the DADA room. Everyone stepped back, apologizing, until— “Professor Lupin!”
Remus blinked. “Hello, Hermione.”
She looked worriedly at the group. “Did you get everything...worked out?” she asked.
Remus looked sharply at Ron and Harry, who flashed identical ‘we didn’t tell her anything’ looks. “Yes, thank you, Hermione.” Then his eyes drifted over to the young man with his fingers laced through hers. Taller than Ron and, well...built. The dark hair had turned wavy, and the eyes didn’t look nearly as vacant anymore, but there was no mistaking the boy. “Neville!” Longbottom and Hermione? Really?
Neville smiled shyly. “Hullo, Professor.”
“My goodness, look at you! I barely recognized you.” At Remus’s side, Padfoot growled.
Neville knelt beside him instantly and ruffled the fur between his ears. “What a beautiful dog!” Padfoot sneezed all over him.
“Snuffles, behave!” The simultaneous admonition from Harry, Remus, Ron, and Hermione was loud enough to draw the bewildered glances of the half dozen students left in the halls. Before helpless laughter could overtake them all at the sight of the look on Neville’s face, Hermione grabbed Harry’s sleeve and yanked him towards the open door of Professor Wink’s classroom. “We’ll be late,” she said.
“’Bye, Remus! ‘Bye, Snuffles!”
“G’bye, Professor Lupin!”
“Good-bye.” Remus closed his eyes and whispered again, “Good-bye.” If they headed for the door now, they might actually make it home before the Order decided it needed them again.
But just before they turned towards the hall that would lead them to the main gates and the road home, they heard Hermione’s startled voice asking, “Ron, is that a new wand?”
EXUENT OMNES.
FINIS.