Disclaimer: Thanks to J.K. Rowling for allowing me to take her characters for a lengthy stroll through my imagination.
Thirty-Three
Improvisation
Her patience was nearing its end as she fidgeted on the sofa before the Great Toad Queen herself. Granted, Tonks always had extra stores of tolerance for her children; they were just so darned cute, even at their most obstinate. It was yet another way in which they took after their father, she noted fondly.
But when it came to adults, it was a different matter. Tonks hated time-wasters, wastrels, and long-winded bores. Life’s leeches, she called them. And that Umbridge witch was proving to be the worst of the lot -- by far. Just look at her wide body ensconced in that squashy chair as she sipped what had to be her fourth cup of tea!
Why hadn’t Ron or Hermione thought to add some cayenne pepper to the pot? Oh, right, she sighed inwardly, the rest of them might have drunk from it as well.
Severus was doing his best to keep the annoying woman off-kilter, baiting her repeatedly with his scathing form of small talk. But had she gotten the hint that she was unwelcome? Not one bit; just as clueless as ever.
Admittedly, it had been rather amusing at first. Severus’ icy sarcasm putting Dolores on the defensive more often than not. But after a few hours, even that lost its edge. Not that Severus was winding down. Oh no, the dryness in the red wine he preferred had just added tartness to his skewering remarks.
What they really needed was to skewer her literally and roast her odious hide over a roaring campfire. Now that would be satisfying!
Her stomach growled in commiseration, reminding Tonks that the supper hour was long past. The bile rising in her throat did little to whet her appetite, but the herbal tea she’d downed hours ago was pressing upon her.
“Excuse me,” Tonks interjected. “Can we have a bit of a break here? I’m sure we could all stand to stretch our muscles. As for me, I really need to visit the loo.”
Umbridge scowled at her impertinence, but her sickly sweet voice replied, “Of course, dear. It is your home, after all. Though what’s to keep you from shimming out the window when my back is turned?”
A bladder full to bursting, Tonks thought to herself, but wisely kept silent.
Luckily, Snape came to her aid, “Surely you checked that small powder room off the main foyer when you searched the house. Didn’t you, Dolores?” At her curt nod, he suggested, “There are no windows there.”
Tonks couldn’t help thinking that the tiny room was rather like the cupboard under the stairs where Harry had spent much of his childhood, but didn’t complain when Umbridge gave her the go ahead.
Glancing briefly towards the guest towels stacked neatly in the corner, her eyes were arrested by a bit of polished wood peeking out from behind. She hardly dared to breathe as she gingerly extricated her auxiliary wand from the shadows. Thank Merlin for Dobby, she exclaimed silently.
With a quick downbeat, she established a Muffliato Charm before hissing, “Dobby? Can you hear me?”
“Yes, Mistress,” came the disembodied voice. “But Dobby doesn’t venture into the powder room “ not when it’s occupied.”
Tonks couldn’t resist a small chuckle rife with relief. Lifting up her shirt tails to demonstrate she had already re-zipped her jeans, she coaxed, “I’m decent, honest.”
She turned on the water to wash her hands just as the house-elf materialized with a muffled snap at her elbow. His large eyes surveyed her face as he sat atop the small lavatory, short legs dangling before him. “Dobby is at your command,” he stressed, tilting his head to indicate the wand clutched under her arm.
Now that she could access a whole range of magic, a plan of action came to her almost immediately. So Umbridge had not been wholly satisfied with Snape’s explanation of the reconfigured Wolfsbane Potion; otherwise, she would have concluded her raid hours ago. Such single-minded determination in spite of reality could only be countered in one way. She would simply give Umbridge what she wanted “ only then would she consent to leave them blessedly alone. Sometimes the simplest solution was the best.
With instant inspiration, she proposed, “Can you make a commotion outside on the back patio?”
“Of course. But the Master suggested I remain unseen.”
“And so you should. But I need to draw the visitors’ attention to a small demonstration I’m planning.”
Dobby nodded in understanding. “Will the others be aware of your plan?”
Tonks took a moment to consider whether she should ask Dobby to relay the message, but she didn’t want to tempt fate. “Not this time. Their surprise will just make my ruse seem that much more believable.”
“Mistress is very wise and cunning,” Dobby reinforced with a conspiratorial grin.
“Just give me about a quarter hour or so to deflect suspicion. I’ll take my cues from you.”
Dobby Disapparated to his task just as Umbridge’s sharp rap on the bathroom door made Tonks jump and spray water all over the place.
“What’s going on in there?” the strident voice demanded.
Releasing the Muffliato, Tonks quickly secreted the wand beneath her shirt. “Sorry, shy bladder,” she answered. Then to emphasize her point, she flushed the toilet anew.
With a quick swipe at the wet mess with a fresh towel, Tonks opened the door to be confronted by Umbridge’s amphibious glower.
“Not very tidy, are you?” Umbridge remarked tartly as she directed a quick drying spell towards the walls.
Refusing to be chagrined by that vile witch, Tonks assumed her place on the sofa without a backward glance. Sending an update to Remus was just too risky, she concluded. If her Patronus was seen, it would destroy whatever chance she had of ushering the intruders towards the back gate. Best stick to the master plan Remus himself had devised; he’d just dreaded that the monster they’d need to chuck past the perimeter fence would be himself. Once past the borders of the Fidelius Charm, the estate became invisible to anyone who had not been taken into confidence by the Secret-Keeper.
“Anyone else?” Umbridge dared as she waved her wand with displeasure.
Ron and Hermione shook their heads wordlessly.
“No, thanks,” Ginny replied, deciding that she would brave a hex only if she got desperate enough.
“I’m fine,” Harry echoed as he unscrewed the seal on some bottled water. Taking a long swallow, he handed the plastic container to Ginny who passed it on to Tonks.
Better not, Tonks decided as she licked her dry lips. Thirst was preferable to other types of discomfort. She consoled herself with pressing her elbow against the familiar contours of her wand, hoping that with sufficient concentration that contact would be enough to draw forth its magic.
Even though Teddy and Phoebe had been nestled into beds of their own “ “Like right Gryffindors,” Minerva cooed to their delight “ relaxation still eluded Remus. So many thoughts tumbled through his mind that he found it difficult to sort through them with the added distraction of moonlight tickling the walls.
“Children surprise us in the most extraordinary ways,” Poppy commiserated as she handed him yet another draught.
Lost in thought, Remus downed the potion automatically only to have his eyes bulge in shock. “What’s in this ghastly concoction?” he wheezed as smoke threatened to pour from his ears. “Did you add jalapeños to a Pepperup Potion?”
“Don’t be silly,” she scoffed. “Pepperup only works with cold symptoms. I adjusted an Invigoration Draught for your body’s unique needs.”
“It got my attention,” Remus conceded as he Summoned a glass of water as a chaser. “Perhaps some tequila might make it more palatable.”
“I’ll take that under advisement for the next faculty function,” Minerva quipped as she informed him that Auror Department had been alerted. “Moody’s in charge so he’s familiar with the unique challenges presented by the Fidelius Charm.”
“Tonks will release it only when she sees fit,” Remus confirmed with a worried frown. “I wonder what’s taking her so long.”
“Perhaps she’s trying to reason with Dolores and company. A peaceful resolution is always the best.”
“If only it were anyone other than Umbridge!” Remus countered.
“Arthur says that might actually work to your advantage,” Minerva soothed. “She has no real power.”
“But at the same time, Tonks and Harry are limited in what actions they can take against a private citizen.”
“Another reason why a delay might not mean anything.”
Remus nodded. “And if that’s not enough to worry about, there’s Phoebe… This presents a whole new challenge in terms of her day-to-day care, Minerva.”
With a calming smile, the Headmistress reassured, “I’m an Animagus myself, Remus. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Gazing into the fathomless black of the Forbidden Forest just visible through the windows, Remus uttered, “In terms of predators alone, a rabbit has legion. What creature feeds on cats in modern-day Britain?”
“Discounting anything during a full moon, how about a rabid Korean chef brandishing a meat cleaver?”
“I was being serious,” Remus complained.
“I know, but you’re overreacting again,” she advised.
Returning from her rounds, Poppy whispered, “Surely you recall the Bowtruckle Incident.”
The Bowtruckle Incident, of course.
It all made perfect sense when he looked back on it now. Their explanations must have seemed dodgy to the intrepid matron but she’d kept her suspicions to herself. Her immediate concern had been to repair Peter’s shattered shinbone, a delicate procedure that had required careful re-piecing of the fragments rather like a human jigsaw puzzle.
Now that she’d piqued his curiosity, Remus couldn’t stop himself from asking, “So when did you figure it all out?”
“Not for years, I’m afraid,” Poppy admitted with just a hint of a smile. “Only when you confessed to Dumbledore that your dormitory mates had been unregistered Animagi on top of everything else.”
The morning he’d resigned his Dark Arts post, Remus grimaced to himself.
“I had a whole slew of doubts from the start, mind you,” Poppy continued. “During afternoon tea, Winnie told me all about the delegation of enraged bowtruckles that presented themselves at her door. It was all she could do to persuade them that their sacred grove had not been overrun by a band of slavering beasts.”
Professor Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank had taught Care of Magical Creatures, Remus recalled from his school years. He should’ve guessed Poppy had an inside source.
“So while the other faculty members argued whether or not Dumbledore should rightly accept your resignation, I had an epiphany of sorts,” Poppy concluded.
Remus had no desire to revisit what had been one of the most agonizing decisions of his life. Redirecting his attention to Minerva, he confirmed, “So predators know somehow?”
“Yes, it’s called the Predator Avoidance Phenomenon.”
“Does it apply to all beasts, magical or non?”
“Absolutely. Otherwise, Animagi would have been submitted to the cruelest form of torture known to wizardkind. Sad to say, that’s when the phenomenon was first observed.”
Remus shuddered at the thought of a disarmed wizard being force-fed to a predator while stranded in his Animagus form. Or that there might exist a dark arts spell that hindered one’s return to human shape. No wonder this added tidbit had been omitted from the requisite class lesson on the Animagus Transfiguration. In the back of his mind, Remus had always wondered.
The moonlight played havoc with Moody’s magical eye. On a more disconcerting level, he couldn’t help remembering how unassuming the village of Godric’s Hollow had looked that night “ over two decades past now “ when Voldemort had cut down the Potters.
It had also been a full moon then; how well his mind dredged up the tragic little details. The sharp autumn wind had danced among the stray candy wrappers from the Muggle Halloween celebrations as the Dark Lord himself walked among the innocent crowds. No one knowing that evil lurched along the quaint streets. No one giving him a second glance except to compliment him on his costume.
Tonight the soft caress of spring air played about his hair as Moody surveyed the somnolent lanes, straining to find familiar landmarks among the outlying hedgerows transformed by the Fidelius Charm.
“Where are we exactly?” Eddie Brimley whispered as they congregated in a small wooded area next to Hollyhock Lane.
“Godric’s Hollow,” Moody grumbled low in his throat as he lowered his Omnioculars. “Muggles interspersed with a few magical families; so don’t draw attention to yourselves.” At the shuffling behind him, Moody whirled to face the pasty features of Stu Savage. “Anything you have to say, you say to my face. Is that understood?”
Savage’s long-time colleague, Fenton Proudfoot, asserted, “Don’t see why you’re in charge tonight, Alastor.”
“Do you doubt I outrank the lot of you?” Moody shot back.
Speaking in his mate’s defense, Savage supplied, “A contingent of Aurors in the middle of a Muggle village, you’d better have just cause.”
“Kirby would be right put out if he knew,” Proudfoot added with a sour twist of his thin mouth. Alfonso Kirby, Kingsley’s second-in-command, had earned a reputation for maintaining strict accountability.
“Take it up with Alfie later then,” Moody snarled. “Since a tosser like me had nothing to do on a Saturday night, I answered the summons.”
With a final head count, he hesitated as they reached the curb in a sleepy residential area. “Up ahead’s the old Dumbledore house, although only Aberforth is in residence these days. The others are to meet us there.” He urged them forward in single file, taking up the rear at Proudfoot’s side.
“If you lads mind your manners,” Moody whispered lowly, “I’ll keep that little conversation out of the official report.”
Up ahead, Eddie was caught short. “Don’t just open the door, man,” he cautioned as Aberforth’s twinkling blue eyes peered around the doorjamb. “We could be anyone!”
“Not this time,” Aberforth rumbled in welcome. “Saw the lot of ye from the first floor window.”
The Aurors made an untidy phalanx amid the squashy drawing room furniture. Proudfoot and Savage shuffled from foot to foot as they avoided staring at anything in particular.
“Guides should be here shortly,” Moody announced.
“Begging you pardon, sir,” Eddie ventured, “why do we need guides?”
“We’ve been called to assist with a disturbance at an estate protected by the Fidelius Charm,” Moody explained.
“Right now, you’re like blind men stumbling in the dark,” Aberforth elaborated. “The guides have been empowered by the Secret-Keeper.”
“Blimey!” Savage exclaimed. “What kind of an altercation can circumvent a Fidelius Charm?”
“A right serious one,” Moody insisted as he looked his men in the eye. “The last time we were called to this spot, it was too late to do anything but pick up the pieces. This time, things will turn out differently.”
“Are we allowed to know whose house?” Proudfoot demanded.
“The old Potter estate,” Moody replied. “And I don’t have to tell you what sorts of enemies Harry Potter has amassed throughout the years. Anyone else want to question why we’re prepared to confront dark wizards tonight?”
Amid the heavy silence, even a soft knock at the door made them start.
With a dizzying revolution of his magical eye, Moody snapped, “The Weasleys have arrived. Harry’s young wife, their sister, is barricaded within the house together with Nymphadora Tonks. That’s really all we know.”
“Say, isn’t ole Dora married to Lupin these days?” Savage posed.
“Aye,” Aberforth grunted. “And if he doesn’t object to her keeping to her maiden name, I suggest you do likewise.”
With a nervous gulp, Eddie glanced towards the round moon riding high in the sky. Tonks was married to a werewolf; all her former workmates were aware of that.
His worst fears were confirmed as Amos Diggory, newly appointed Head of the Magical Creatures Department, was ushered in along with Bill, Fred, and George Weasley.
“Kingsley Shacklebolt would be here himself had he not been drawn into an emergency session of the Wizengamot,” Amos announced. “The same goes for Percy.”
As he presented the stoic façade that was expected of his post, Eddie couldn’t help but think: what in the blazes had they gotten themselves into?
“Please tell me, Dolores; I’ve always wondered,” Snape oozed with false sincerity. “What makes you so certain about everything? Even that which you’ve never witnessed.”
“Don’t try to pass yourself off as a philosophical sot,” Umbridge snorted. “That would’ve been the surest way to a beheading at the hands of the Dark Lord himself.”
“Another wild conjecture or personal experience?” Snape taunted.
But before Umbridge could frame an adequate response, Ron snidely slid in, “Definitely personal experience. She’s just too modest to admit it.”
Umbridge wheeled on him with a venomous glare. “What do you know of anything? You’re nothing but an overgrown puppy!”
“But not a blind one,” Hermione emphasized. “The three of us witnessed a very telling bit of memory contained within one of Voldemort’s vile containers.”
“Pity you had to destroy it,” Umbridge shot back.
“I have to wonder what poor, misguided Cornelius Fudge would’ve thought if he’d known you were plotting against him.” Harry gave Umbridge a smug look as he waited for the explosion to detonate.
“Shows what you know,” she dismissed with a mere shrug. “None of you abecedarians are remotely aware of the inner workings of politics.”
Snape merely raised a dark eyebrow as he allowed the insult to roll off his back.
“Maintaining the peace is a much more complicated balancing act than outsiders would suppose,” Umbridge elaborated. “As the Minister’s Senior Undersecretary, I was often assigned to make overtures to fringe groups to establish some common ground. Help them to work with the administration, rather than oppose it. Defusing a situation before it ever escalated into a full-scale revolt.”
“Very illuminating,” Hermione replied. “Might actually fit the facts, too, if one discounted that Fudge was convinced Voldemort had died on the night he murdered Harry’s parents. A belief that he vehemently maintained until confronted by the red eyes of the maniac himself.”
“Are you suggesting, Madam Umbridge, that the Minister had you infiltrate an organization he considered to be a figment of a senile old man’s imagination?” Harry provoked.
“Cornelius’ handle on reality was rather shaky during his final days in office,” Umbridge defended.
“Obviously, or he never would have appointed a shrew like you to terrorize the students at Hogwarts!” Ginny supplied with fervor.
“Speaking of which,” Hermione put forth, “the last months of Fudge’s administration saw you miles away playing at Headmistress. When you resumed your post as Undersecretary, Rufus Scrimgeour had already been confirmed as the new Minister.”
Umbridge leveled a noxious look at Hermione, her eyes sliding to Ron and Harry as she considered her options.
“Well, well, well,” Snape drawled with élan. “Seems the rookies got the better of you, wouldn’t you say, Dolores?”
“Not much movement,” Bill confirmed as he handed the Omnioculars back to Moody. “Lights blazing from the front of the house.”
“Confirms Remus’ preliminary report that they were corralled in the living room,” Moody mused. “What of Snape and the others?”
“Can’t say for certain. There may have been a bit of movement in the kitchen area, but that window is mostly occluded by the curve of the patio wall.”
“We could go in closer,” Fred suggested.
“Give us a feel for who’s where,” George echoed.
“Too risky,” Amos Diggory returned without hesitation. “Werewolf Capture has regulation stun guns that punch right through a Shield Charm.”
“They might come out to investigate, though,” Proudfoot commented.
“We need to find another way to lure them to the back gate,” Moody proposed. “Stick to the original plan until circumstances require that we deviate; standard procedure.”
“I’ll unlatch the gate then,” Bill volunteered. He returned moments later with a grim set to his lips. “Definitely nine persons inside the house; the results were very precise once I ventured just inside the Fidelius perimeter. From that angle, I could see two dark silhouettes in the kitchen.”
“Can you tell what they’re doing?” Moody pressed.
Bill shook his head. “The mannequins outside Purge & Dowse show more life.”
“Could be stunned,” Savage put forth.
“Or restrained in some other manner,” Bill agreed.
“Or standing sentinel,” Moody growled. “No assumptions!”
“Waiting for a clear shot,” Amos opined. “But hoping to be perceived as part of the background scenery.”
“Don’t werewolves hunt by scent as well as sight?” Eddie weighed in.
“Likely so,” Amos conceded as he warmed up to his subject. “But so little is known for certain. I’m of the opinion that they’re keenly intelligent and will use any ruse at their disposal “ even those that many attribute to wholly human adversaries.”
Eddie shuddered involuntarily even as Bill postulated, “I thought you said there was nothing out there.”
“For now,” Moody acknowledged with an unsettling smile. “But we’ll need to create some sort of diversion if we want them to come out and investigate. Any ideas?” As Moody’s magical eye took in the twins whispering among themselves, he added, “Did you lads happen to bring any toys with you?”
With a wide grin, Fred replied, “Gentlemen, it’s your lucky day --”
“”just managed to grab a few prototypes as we walked out the door,” George finished.
Tonks was only half-listening to the conversations around her as she struggled to devise a workable plan. She had only considered a portion of the details when she heard the first noises from outside. Best misdirect suspicion by waiting for someone else to raise the alarm, she decided inwardly.
“Is that rain I hear?” Umbridge groused as she glanced at the moonlight drenched lawn through the front window.
“Probably some inoffensive animal,” Snape suggested. “The house is surrounded by a strip of woodland.”
At the sound of claws running the length of the roof, Harry put forth, “Squirrels.” The deepening of his small frown emphasized that he wasn’t entirely convinced himself.
“Could be bowtruckles,” Ginny volunteered.
“Except that they’re perfectly quiet unless something disturbs their trees first,” Hermione countered.
“That would be the squirrels,” Harry insisted a bit more forcefully.
Eyes narrowing, Umbridge hissed, “Are you trying to convince me? Or yourself?”
Harry threw her a sullen glance. “Making conversation then.”
With a scornful look at her hosts, Umbridge rose to her feet and stomped over to the window, ducking behind the heavy drapes to avoid being seen. The soft rustle of silvery grass was the only movement.
“Er, I think the noises came from the back,” Ron mumbled.
Whipping around, Umbridge was glaring up at him in three quick steps. Poking his chest with her wand for emphasis, her voice was full of saccharine venom. “Why don’t we go see?”
“Blimey,” Ron swallowed noticeably, but he nevertheless escorted her towards the back door. “Out there!” He made a wide gesture with his arm to indicate the sinister silhouettes of the metal patio furniture.
“Regular tea party, I see,” Umbridge snapped. “In the mood for telling ghost stories?”
“Me?” Ron blurted nervously.
Umbridge took a deep breath to upbraid him further but never got the chance. A plaintive howl echoed from the direction of the rear fence and drew them all to the sidelights. There was no movement within the walled confines of the patio.
Once again the cry rose to the heavens, beseeching and woeful at the same time.
“Looks like the Master is returning from the hunt,” Umbridge huffed with grim satisfaction.
“Then he will likely have already fed,” Snape maintained in a tone that did nothing to dispel the tension. “Leave it to Lupin to return for a command performance; couldn’t resist the urge to preen before an audience.”
Such egotism hardly applied to Remus, Harry considered. But before he had time to protest, a flash of ghostly white beyond the enclosing wall made his hair stand on end.
Hermione threw herself into Ron’s arms as she issued in a bare whisper, “We’re being stalked.”
Slipping soundlessly between the stark tree trunks was the outline of a greyish wolf. Just as it wandered deeper into the bordering strip of woods another took its place, its coat shining silver in the moonlight. Fifty paces to the left a third wraithlike figure joined them, the silhouette of its hindquarters clearly establishing it as a werewolf.
“Surely it can’t be…” Hermione muttered under her breath.
“What was that?” Umbridge demanded in a tone that was quickly becoming strident. “What do you know, girl? What is it that you aren’t telling us?”
Hermione’s lips were compressed into a thin white line as she turned to face her tormentor. “Anything I say at this point would be mere conjecture,” she warned in a frosty voice.
“Anything would be more than we know. OUT WITH IT!” Umbridge bellowed.
Beyond the patio wall, the wolves raised their elongated heads as one in response to the raised voices. The doleful lament poured forth again, calling others to the gathering.
“If I didn’t know better,” Hermione issued in a hurried whisper, “I’d think they were the ghostly spirits of werewolf ancestors. But Remus is no shaman…”
“Remus’ parents were human, not wolves,” Harry objected. “He’s spoken of them on numerous occasions.”
“Who’s to say the lineage is marked in the same manner?” Snape put forth dryly.
“Bite to bite would make more sense,” Umbridge snarled lowly. “Perfidy by perfidy. A werewolf is begat by its attacker.”
“There’s no reason to suppose such Native American beliefs are anything more than superstition,” Hermione maintained.
“Muggle superstitions have a tendency to reflect certain realities in the wizarding world,” Umbridge asserted. “Or did you fail to note that coincidence in your studies?”
Ginny decried, “Not always! Take the tale of the Princess and the Frog, for instance.”
Hermione rose to the challenge. “But if you take it allegorically --” she began.
“Do spare us the lesson in comparative literature, Miss Granger,” Snape cut across in his patented derogatory drawl. “This is hardly the time.” Before Umbridge could retort, he added, “It’s unwise to depend on unreliable comparisons. What we should be asking ourselves is whether Lupin has any mystical leanings?”
Tonks snorted at the notion. “Not his style.”
Hermione made to respond as well but Umbridge cut her off with a warning flick of her wand. “I’ve heard enough from you, missy. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you like to weave fanciful delusions just as much as Potter. I want to hear from him!” She focused her pernicious frown on Ron. “What do you know of Lupin?”
“He’s been a family friend for years,” Ron gulped as his eyes flicked nervously towards the wand which was pointed at his chin. “A fixture at holiday gatherings while I was growing up.”
“So’s the turkey!” Umbridge dismissed. “Something which pertains to this situation, please. Or does your intelligence wander just as much as your eyes?”
Caught in the crosshairs, Ron was uncertain how to respond.
Coming to his friend’s assistance, Harry prompted, “Forget that you’re standing in the man’s kitchen, mate. My name’s on that property deed as well.”
“A werewolf owns half of this estate?” Umbridge’s eyes bulged in outrage.
Coolly, Harry explained, “He was one of my parents’ closest friends. They left the property to be divided among the two of us.”
Seeing that Umbridge was still hyper-ventilating, Ginny crooned, “Why your reaction implies that such a thing is illegal.”
“Is it, Dolores?” Snape echoed dispassionately.
Umbridge shot him a poisonous look as she sniffed, “No. But it ruddy well should be!”
“Then it was clearly an oversight of yours,” Hermione defended in dulcet tones.
“Enough of you!” Umbridge warned as she stuck her stubby ringed finger in Hermione’s face. “I’m still waiting to hear from your gormless husband.”
“You’ll have to repeat the bloody question, then,” Ron answered with a stony expression.
Glancing nervously at the wolves which continued to move as silvery shadows in the distance, Umbridge reiterated, “Does Lupin strike you as having dabbled with Muggle mysticism? Any other abilities he might have kept hidden?”
Fully out of his depth, Ron reacted in the same manner as he’d done when a teacher singled him out in class. “Nothing is beyond his abilities,” he answered vaguely. “There’s always more to Remus than meets the eye.”
In a sepulchral voice, Snape confirmed, “Even when we were at school together, Lupin was always one to closely guard his secrets. I can only imagine that as a grown man, he’s become much more practiced at the art of deception.”
Deciding that it was preferable to trust Snape’s scathing commentary, Umbridge puffed her chest forward as she assumed command. “Kitchen knives,” she noted, catching sight of the butcher block table. Her head turned this way and that as she considered other options in unfamiliar surroundings. “Anything else?”
“There’s all manner of cooking utensils in the cabinets,” Tonks provided.
“Were you planning on showering Lupin’s return with crockery?” Snape mocked.
“This is no joking matter!” Umbridge bristled. “Any long range weapons?” At the blank looks turned in her direction, she elaborated urgently, “Rifles, bows and arrows, a crossbow would be ideal. Sports equipment in a pinch.”
So much for a friendly inspection, Harry thought bitterly, as the implications became all too clear. “There might be a tired Quidditch set in the attic crawlspace,” he replied with careful enunciation. He didn’t dare look at Ginny as he clutched her hand for comfort.
“Singularly unhelpful!” Umbridge spat as the howls drew nearer.
“Didn’t your assistants bring any weapons?” Hermione remarked as she considered the slumped forms of Crabbe and Goyle.
“Revive them!” Umbridge ordered. “Only you two know how the proper counter-spells.”
Snape took the initiative, “Perhaps a more universal antidote is called for. With your permission?” He waited until Umbridge gave a sharp nod of consent. “Aquamenti!” he intoned with relish as he pointed his wand towards the two faces illuminated vividly white in the moonlight.
Sputtering and damp, Crabbe and Goyle blinked uncertainly at their surroundings. They scurried to their feet as Umbridge fixed them with a piercing look. At the metallic rattle of the iron patio gate, their training resurfaced.
“Everyone stay back!” Goyle barked with sudden authority. “I’m going out to investigate. Cover me!”
“Stay as far away from the windows as possible,” Crabbe warned as he surveyed the dark yard with misgivings. “I need a clear line of sight. Anyone gets between this stun gun and the target is in for an illuminating experience.”
“Make no mistake,” Umbridge confided with glee. “The charge needed to stop a werewolf will seize an ordinary man’s heart. Only once the beasts are properly placated can the Incarcerous Charm immobilize them.”
“What’s to keep a werewolf from chewing through ropes?” Ron asked more to Hermione than anyone else.
With a sharp slap to his belt, Crabbe replied, “We muzzle them before the voltage wears off.”
Ginny buried her eyes in Harry’s shoulder, but a look in the other direction showed Tonks with a grim set to her lips.
“There again!” Snape pointed to an indistinct shadow just beyond the patio wall.
Goyle glanced over his shoulder towards the house as he eased his way past the patio gate and into the woods beyond. A rough track wound through a dark ribbon of tightly packed trees before reaching the perimeter fence.
“How are you going to cover him when he’s out of sight?” Nerves had rendered Ron’s voice higher pitched than usual.
“Never you mind,” Crabbe retorted. “Nothing’s setting foot on this patio.”
What’s to keep a werewolf from simply scaling the enclosing wall? Harry considered with rising fear.
The sound of footsteps traversed the roof only to stop immediately above the kitchen area.
“Douse all the lights!” Umbridge ordered as a quick wand movement plunged them into darkness.
“Werewolves are fully adapted to night vision,” Hermione returned. “It will take a few minutes for the rest of us to adjust.”
“Quiet, you silly girl!” Umbridge issued. “Werewolves can’t navigate very well around furniture and other domestic obstacles.”
Harry was close enough to catch Tonks’ expression which seemed to convey the same thought as his: this is Remus’ home. With escalating panic, it hit him: Remus was still at Hogwarts. Something else was out there!
Through drowsy eyelashes, Remus surveyed the glistening outlines of the metal bed frames that ran the length of the Hospital Wing. Awash in the moon’s silvery song, the purity of the linens contrasted sharply with the darker shadows that pooled beneath. Amid this monochromatic landscape, a ragged bird hopped from one metal frame to another, flapping crookedly as it favored one wing over the other.
Poppy’s hand was a gentle brush as she checked Remus’ pulse. “So pleased you’re able to relax a bit,” she crooned. “Your body’s responding well to the Invigoration Draught. Now if you’ll just indulge me: some Blood-Replenishing Potion will have your energy levels back to normal.”
He looked up into eyes that shone just as brightly as ever despite the tracing of fine lines at the corners. She angled the pillows behind him in a familiar fashion to allow him to sit up more comfortably. It took him a few moments to recall that he was no longer a school boy recovering from him monthly bouts with his particular strain of lunacy, but a grown man with a wife and family.
“Any word from Godric’s Hollow?” Remus urged.
“Nothing yet. Dolores is being her bull-headed self, I’m afraid.”
Turning his head, he noted that the bird had worked its way closer. It perched uncertainly atop the iron footboard of the next bed and fixed him with its tiny eye.
“I know I’ve lost a lot of blood,” Remus beseeched as he licked his lips anxiously, “but please tell me if I’m hallucinating into the bargain.”
Following his line of sight, Poppy started involuntarily. “Are you seeing a bird?”
Remus nodded submissively. “A bit torn around the edges as if it flew through a barrage of arrows.”
“A very apt description for one that’s had to ease its way past a Fidelius Charm. Don’t you remember how Hestia’s flamingo practically limped in to advise us that Harry had been poisoned by Voldemort’s ring?”
“Only now that you mention it. I was in a fog of pain that night.” Wordlessly, Remus acknowledged that Voldemort’s defeat seemed a lifetime ago.
Poppy pressed a finger to her lips as she drew a chair up to be at eye level with the Patronus messenger. “Chances are it will fade almost immediately,” she cautioned softly.
With a strangely familiar expression in its beady eye, the Patronus’ gaze washed over both of them in turn. Convinced of their undivided attention, its beak issued forth in Snape’s unmistakable baritone, “Leave it to Lupin to return for a command performance; couldn’t resist the urge to preen before an audience.” Having uttered the last syllable, the smoky edges of the eagle bled into nothingness.
The dark outline of Goyle returned panting and full of concern. “The double gate at the back of the grounds is hanging open,” he hissed to Umbridge.
“Didn’t you check it as part of the reconnaissance?” she remonstrated. “Before we knocked on the front door.”
“I did,” Crabbe attested. “It was securely bolted. Didn’t respond to a basic Alohamora, either.”
“As far as I could tell, the chain hasn’t been cut or anything,” Goyle added after a bit of careful consideration.
“Does it surprise you that Lupin has a key to his own backdoor?” Dolores dismissed with a contemptuous wave of her ringed fingers.
“Except that werewolf paws can’t manipulate keys and locks,” Ginny mouthed into Harry’s ear.
He squeezed her hand in reassurance as he struggled to keep his face impassive. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? It couldn’t be Remus at all; the estate would remain invisible to him until the charm was lifted in the morning. The same held true for any other types of predators. Anyone able to unlock the gate must have been given the location by the Secret-Keeper. More likely than not, it was a friend not an enemy.
And according to the master plan, they were to herd Umbridge and company beyond the borders of the Fidelius magic. Surely Remus “ or Minerva, even “ would’ve called for reinforcements by now.
“It’s clearly a message of some sort,” Minerva concurred as she belted her dressing gown more tightly.
“By the tone, I’d say it was issued under duress,” Poppy opined as the three of them huddled under a hasty Imperturbable Charm.
In the next beds, the small bodies of Teddy and Phoebe were relaxed in carefree slumber. Only the occasional sigh issued forth as they repositioned their limbs without waking.
Tearing his eyes from his children, Remus concurred, “If you ignore the sarcasm, I think he’s asking me to do just that. Show up to convince Umbridge that her raid was pointless.”
“If that’s what you wanted, why didn’t you just confront her in the first place?” Minerva cried. “You’ll be walking right into the arms of Werewolf Capture. Severus can’t be thinking clearly!”
“What if it’s the only way?” Remus considered despite various misgivings that stirred within him. “If I promise to stay on the far side of the fence, it shouldn’t be too dangerous.”
“You’ll be ringed by Aurors then,” Minerva considered.
“Absolutely,” Remus reassured them. “I’m not about to walk into an ambush alone.”
“If there’s no backup, you’ll turn back?” Minerva prompted.
“I’ll round up Aberforth and we’ll call for assistance,” Remus promised.
“I won’t allow it!” Poppy insisted. “What’s to keep him from swooning into some stranger’s Floo all over again?”
Remus attempted to rise to his feet to show her otherwise only to be betrayed by his damnable knees. He slumped into a sitting position at the foot of the bed.
Wordlessly, Poppy pressed another dosage of Blood-Replenisher into his hand.
“I have another idea,” Minerva whispered as she fairly sprinted past the main doors and into the deserted corridor. Before the double doors swung shut, she had assumed Animagus form and was bounding down the main staircase on silent paws.
“Let’s hope she doesn’t encounter Filch on his rounds,” Remus added with a wry chuckle.
“Mrs. Norris might never recover,” Poppy concurred with an indulgent shake of her head.