Harry Potter fanfic--Student Teacher at Hogwarts
by Terri Wells

Chapter Sixteen - Phoenix Reborn

July 7, 2001 Morning

Harry awoke Saturday morning to the sounds of canine whimpering and human whispering coming from his right. Pale dawn light streamed in through the windows as the young wizard turned over to find the source of the noise. A pajama-clad Sirius was half-sitting, half-reclining on the far bed -- Remus Lupin's bed. Because he was on his side, his back to Harry, he hid the werewolf from view...but even from an angle, Harry could see twitching, hairy limbs. He wasn't sure, but his godfather seemed to be massaging those limbs.

"Shh, easy Moony, breathe...I'm here. Come on, it's okay, it's almost over now...there you go..." Sirius whispered, continuing his massage. The whimpers changed to deep, gasping pants, and began to take on a distinctly human sound. The hairy limbs Harry saw also seemed to be changing, almost as if the massage was causing the shift. Hair pulled back into skin; limbs stretched, becoming longer and larger around, while muscles enlarged and shifted; and through it all, Sirius kept up his massage and his soothing whisper. After five minutes that seemed painfully long to Harry (and must have been an eternity to Sirius and Remus), the two old friends stopped, inhaled deeply together, exhaled, and collapsed on the bed.

For several moments, neither of them said anything. "Merlin," Remus groaned weakly. "When I didn't change the first night of the full moon, I'd hoped --" he trailed off, voice too shaky to continue.

"That you'd been through your last transformation," Sirius finished gently. He paused, his head bent down to Remus as if examining him closely. "This one was very rough. Let me get you some water."

As his godfather stood up to find the carafe, Harry burrowed back under his blankets and pretended he was still asleep. Maybe they'll just hear Ron's snoring and not notice I'm really awake, he hoped. He knew what he had just witnessed, of course. Remus Lupin changed back from werewolf to human with the sun. On one particularly frightening night, Harry saw the other side of the process, when Remus shifted from human to werewolf. He had not had time to feel sympathy then; Remus had forgotten to drink the Wolfsbane potion that night, and so was a life-threatening danger to every human near him.

But this was different. Remus had said that the transformations were very painful. To understand that intellectually, and to actually see it, however -- or, more precisely, hear it -- were two different things. Harry shuddered. Sirius had sat by Remus, though, and quietly, gently comforted him through it, with seemingly well-practiced ease. I don't know if I could do that, Harry thought. He felt as if he had witnessed something deeply intimate, and his stomach fluttered even worse than when he had accidently eavesdropped on a private conversation between Hagrid and Madame Maxime.

"Thank you Padfoot," said Remus as Sirius handed him a glass of water. His voice was growing stronger, more steady. Sheets and blankets rustled.

"Let me help you--" Sirius began.

"I can sit up fine," Remus insisted. "Here, hand me that glass."

The rustling paused. For several seconds, Harry heard nothing -- and dared not move. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he felt as if he were being watched. Why isn't he drinking? Harry thought.

His answer was not long in coming. "Harry's awake," said Remus simply. "I think he heard...I think I woke him."

There was a pause, then Harry heard bare feet on the stone floor moving toward his bed. He'd left his bed drapes open the previous night, so his godfather simply dropped to his knees near the head of his bed and whispered his name. For just a second more he tried to pretend he was asleep, but he sensed that he wouldn't get away with the ploy. He pushed his blankets down, and gazed into dark brown eyes filled with concern...and a hint of wariness.

"Harry?" Sirius asked gently. "How much did you see?"

"It doesn't matter," Remus interrupted, before Harry even had a chance to think about how to reply. The boy wizard looked over at his former DADA teacher, who gave him a tired, resigned smile. "Come here, Harry."

Obediently, Harry slid out of his bed and all but tip-toed over to Remus, sparing Ron a quick glance to make sure the redheaded wizard was still asleep. The werewolf set down his still-full glass of water on the bedside table, right next to the bone he had used last night. He gestured for Harry to sit down at the foot of his bed.

For a moment, the two wizards just looked at each other, and Harry could see what his godfather had meant when he said that this had been "a rough one." Naked to the waist (and with blankets covering the rest), Remus bore a river of perspiration, as if he had just run a marathon. His normally well-kept graying hair now looked as if it served as a home to several families of rats. A breeze came in through the window, and Remus shivered as goosebumps rose on his flesh. That flesh, Harry noticed, was grayer than it should have been -- and just a bit reminiscent of the wolf that Remus had been up until a few minutes ago. Even his scent, carried to Harry by the breeze, bore a musky canine undercurrent.

Remus drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Do you understand what you saw, Harry?" he asked.

"I -- think so," Harry replied hesitantly. "You were changing back from a wolf, right?"

Remus nodded. "Do you have any questions about it?"

Harry dropped his eyes, and felt his cheeks turn slightly pink. "What was Sirius -- was he -- helping you, somehow?"

Remus suddenly looked very relieved, and Harry heard the sound of somebody releasing a held breath behind him. He turned quickly; it was his godfather. "You do understand," he said, finding a spot on the bed between Harry and Remus. "I wasn't sure -- so many people --"

"Never mind that," Remus said. He waved his hand dismissively as he picked up his glass and drank half its content. "To answer your question, Harry -- yes, it does help. A lot." The werewolf locked eyes with Sirius for a moment, as if making sure that he understood that point as well. Then a thought seemed to strike him. "Have you ever had a stitch in your side, Harry?" At Harry's nod, Remus continued, "The werewolf transformation feels rather like that -- only it's not just in your side, it's in your whole body." He drank some more water. "I could explain the physiology -- muscle overload, lactic acid -- but what it boils down to is that something profoundly unnatural is happening to your body...something for which it wasn't built. You saw your godfather massaging me?" At Remus' matter of fact tone, Harry's eyes widened, but he nodded again. "That's to help with the muscle strain. And the...heavy breathing...helps get badly needed oxygen to the muscles."

Harry looked between the two men, and a puzzling thought suddenly occurred to him. "But -- Sirius doesn't have those kinds of problems when he changes," Harry wondered aloud.

Sirius looked a bit sheepish, and Remus positively smirked. "You didn't know him in school," the werewolf declared, a hint of a twinkle in his eyes.

"I've been an Animagi for a long time, Harry," Sirius explained. "The first time you transform, it's actually pretty slow."

"If you're doing it the way you're supposed to," Remus added. "If you're impulsive and in a hurry, like Padfoot --"

"I learned my lesson after the first time," Sirius cut in. He turned back to Harry. "Like anything, transforming takes practice -- and control. It's like doing exercise; you're training your whole body to be able to do something. Like ---" he hesitated a moment, groping for a comparison. "Like learning self defense," he finished. "Physical self defense, not with wands. You start out slow, then you practice until you can do the moves faster and faster, and eventually you can do them without thinking about it, because your body is trained to do it."

"And my body has no chance to train," Remus added, a miserable little smile on his face. Somehow, when Harry wasn't looking, he'd finished his water and put the empty glass back on the bedside table. "I only go through the changes six times -- from human to wolf and back -- all in the space of three days out of a month. I have no control over the speed of the transformation, and only the most limited control over the timing." He looked down at himself -- and suddenly sniffed his arms. "Phew. Your comparison is right on target, Padfoot -- I certainly smell like I've been through quite a workout!"

Sirius chuckled, and, despite his earlier unease, so did Harry. Over on the far bed, Ron began to stir and groan. "Hmnf?"

"Go back to sleep, Ron," Harry called softly over to him.

But instead of rolling over and starting to snore again, Ron rubbed his eyes and squinted over at the three wizards at the other end of the room. "Izzit some kinda party or sumthin'?" he asked muzzily.

"Yes, a pool party," Sirius responded, grinning absurdly. "The former Professor Lupin stinks, and we're going to dunk him until he's clean."

"Wha...?" The joke brought Ron fully awake. "You sure? There's no pool around here, except the lake, and that'd be freezing this early in the morning."

Oh yes there IS a pool around here! Harry suddenly remembered. He turned to Lupin and said, "Do you know when they change the passwords for the next term here?"

"I think they wait until the teacher's meeting over the summer," said Remus slowly. "At least, they did the year I taught here. It means they can enchant everything all at once, with all the teachers there, and so that when they send out the information to prefects --" he stopped, and drew his brows together. "They'll probably do that part of it differently this term; too much danger that the owls to the prefects can be intercepted."

Harry smiled, eyes twinkling with mischief. "So you don't think they would have changed any of the passwords on, say, places that only the prefects are supposed to be able to get into?"

"Well, no, but --" Remus stopped short again. He stared at Harry, eyes widening. A slow smile started on his face, making him look far younger. For just a moment, Harry could picture what he must have looked like in his Marauder days. "No," he breathed. "Not -- how did you get the password?"

"He's a Marauder's son, Moony," said Sirius, chuckling. He started to reach up to ruffle his godson's hair, but stopped, then dropped his hand. "Your dad hated that," he said, "and I'd rather not start a wrestling match this early in the morning."

Harry gave Sirius a lopsided grin. "I'm not my dad -- Padfoot," he said. Laughing, Sirius ruffled Harry's hair -- and Harry started wrestling with him anyway.

"Wait a minute, what's all this stuff about passwords and all?" Ron cut in as he joined the other three at Remus' bed.

"It's not about passwords," Sirius answered, suddenly catching Harry in a hold out of which the boy couldn't easily break. "It's about one of the most important reasons for anyone to become a Hogwarts prefect."

In a matter of minutes, Ron's question was answered in a more concrete manner. "Cor blimey!" he cried, eyes wide with shock as he gazed on the luxurious magnificence of the prefects' bathroom. "Bloody Percy was holding out on us! Say," he said, looking at Harry with suspicion, "how did you get the password to the prefects' bathroom anyway?"

Harry flushed. "Long story," he explained. Under Ron's continued gaze, he added, "I'll explain while we get cleaned up, okay?"

"Yes, let's," Remus cut in, holding the pajamas he'd hastily slipped on away from his body. "I can hardly stand to be around myself at this point!"

The four wizards filed into the bathroom and closed the door. Ron still stared around the room in wonder. The candle-filled chandelier was unlit, but soft sunlight already streamed into the room through windows covered with translucent white curtains. Clean white marble shone brightly from every surface, including what looked like an empty, rectangular swimming pool sunk into the middle of the floor. About a hundred golden taps stood all around the pool's edges, each with a different colored jewel set into its handle. Several fluffy white towels sat in a corner, and a single gold-framed painting hung on the wall. It featured a blonde mermaid fast asleep on her rock, her hair lying over her face.

Remus went over to the left side of the room, where several sinks were built into the wall, each with mirrors above and cabinets below. "Right," he mumbled, checking the cabinets, finally coming up with a toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash. "There's always spares in here."

Sirius grinned. "Always careful about your priorities, eh Moony?" he said, squatting down by the swimming pool and staring at the taps as if he was trying to remember something. "Hmmm...let's see if I remember which ones will do it..." he muttered to himself, hand hesitating over several taps.

"Mmf-mmmms cmfl," Remus responded.

Sirius looked up from his task. "Good, because if you hadn't tended to that first, I'd've told Harry about the last time your breath smelled that awful." His grin widened. "It would be appropriate, too, since it started in here."

Remus spat into the sink, rinsed his mouth, and turned around. "Do that, Padfoot, and I swear I'll tell them about the time you left a lady heartbroken and expecting," he said, locking eyes with his old friend.

"What?!" Sirius was on his feet. "Never in my life have I --" he cut himself short, and his expression suddenly changed -- as if he saw something disturbing in the werewolf's expression. To Harry, the former teacher's face seemed completely deadpan -- except for a slight turning up at the corners of the mouth, and a twinkle in the eyes. "Oh," Sirius said. "That lady." He brushed back his hair uncomfortably. "Her -- condition -- was NOT my fault," he insisted.

"Blimey!" Ron cried, coming out of the spell the room had cast upon him since they entered. "You went and got some girl --"

"NO, I didn't," Sirius cut in. He looked hard at his best friend before squatting behind the faucets again. "I very nearly didn't remember that. You, Remus, are truly evil."

Remus grinned. "Only when threatened," he replied.

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You're both evil if you're going to tease me and Ron like that," he grumped.

Two pairs of eyes turned to face the boy wizard, wearing nearly identical innocent expressions. "Who, us?" asked Sirius.

"Speaking as your former DADA teacher," said Remus, "there are some things you're not quite ready to know yet."

But Harry was one step ahead of them. You called me a Marauder's son, Sirius; it's time I started acting like one. Here's hoping I don't regret it. Out loud, he said, "Really? Well, you know, I have my sources. That story you were going to tell me, Sirius -- it started in here, you said?"

"Yes, indeed," Sirius agreed. He glanced up at the picture on the wall. "Oh, and I wouldn't count on help from her," he added, looking at the still-sleeping mermaid. "I remember her from when I was here. Soundest sleeper I've ever seen...and frankly, if she were a real mermaid, I'd say she'd replaced her brains with seawater." He shook his head. "No short term memory at all...and even less long-term memory."

Harry grinned wickedly. "Who said anything about the mermaid?" he asked. "I know someone with a very long memory." Please don't make me look like a fool, Harry thought, as he took a deep breath. "Oy, Myrtle!" he sang out.

From the faucet near Sirius, the ghost of a pale young Hogwarts student spilled out so rapidly it made the Animagi fall from his squatting position back onto his buttocks. He gasped and looked at her in astonishment. "Hi, Harry," she said shyly, smiling at the boy wizard. "Come to visit me?"

"What -- who?" Sirius got out.

"May I present...er, Moaning Myrtle," Harry said awkwardly, suddenly remembering that he'd never learned her last name. She curtsied politely to both Sirius and Remus. "A, er, resident of Hogwarts these past fifty years or so...and a big help to me more than once." He hesitated over the next part; Myrtle was very touchy about being dead, and he really didn't want to start her crying again. "Myrtle, you told me once you sometimes hang out here..."

Myrtle nodded. "When I want a change of scenery," she said. "It's sooo lonely in the girl's bathroom." She started to sniffle. "But then, why shouldn't it be? No one wants to be around Moaning Myrtle..." The sniffle turned into a whimper, then the whimper began to turn into a sob...

"We do!" Harry cut in quickly, hoping to cut short the waterworks.

"You do?" Myrtle asked.

"'Course we do," Ron agreed quickly, nodding -- then added under his breath, "crikey, what am I saying?"

But Sirius was looking from Harry to Myrtle and putting two and two together. "I don't remember seeing any ghosts at our graduation party, do you, Moony?" he asked pointedly. Remus shook his head.

Myrtle giggled; a funny little giggle that came out between sniffles. "'Course you don't," she said. "Do you think we always want to be seen?" She looked from Sirius to Harry; the boy wizard could almost see her mental gears spinning. "Come to think of it," she said slowly, "there was quite a party in here that I crashed a few years back. They didn't invite me, of course -- no one ever invites Moaning Myrtle --" she almost started to cry again, but stopped herself. "It was quite a do -- and it wasn't just prefects, that's certain. Far too many students. And..." she paused, this time looking from Sirius to Remus and back again. "You know, thinking about that party now...you two look awfully familiar..."

"Okay, okay, I surrender!" said Remus, holding his hands up. He and Ron were both shaking their heads and looking at Harry with new respect. "But I'm warning you, Padfoot," Remus continued, shaking his finger at Sirius, "I get to tell the story of the Sheepdog Incident after that."

"The Sheepdog Incident?" asked Ron. "What does a sheep dog have to do with --"

"Plenty," said Sirius, turning redder than Harry or Ron had ever seen him. "Moony, go clean out your mouth again, I'll tell the first story...once we get this bathtub filled, and I ask our dear Myrtle here a few questions." He fixed her with a piercing gaze, which she returned with a confused but innocent look. "Were you at a graduation party in here, or were you just bluffing?"

"I was at several graduation parties in here," Myrtle huffed. "What, did you think yours was the only class to think of that?" Hands on hips, she glared down at the Animagi. Suddenly, her eyes widened. With an apparent gasp, she covered her mouth with one hand. "Now I know why you look familiar! You're Sirius Black!"

Four wizards froze for a split second, then started to talk all at once in an attempt to explain. Harry prayed that she didn't raise the alarm -- he didn't know what sort of defenses a Hogwarts ghost could rouse, and this was not the way he wanted to find out. But then Myrtle did something totally unexpected: she floated over to Sirius and gave him a shy little kiss on his cheek.

Sirius shivered as his face broke out in goosebumps. "Wh-wh-what was th-that for?" he stuttered, reacting to her contact.

"Corpulent Chris -- that's the Hufflepuff Friar -- explained it to all the ghosts," she said. "I just thought...well, with everyone picking on you and thinking all these awful things about you and you being so misunderstood and all..." Myrtle looked away from the Animagi, and her transparent white face started turning positively rosy.

Sirius touched the spot where Myrtle had kissed him, and managed a smile of his own. "Thank you," he said. "It's nice to have someone understand." The rosy glow began spreading from Myrtle's face to the rest of her body, and Harry could have sworn he heard her giggle. Oh great, he thought, they even do it AFTER they're dead!

After a little experimenting, Sirius figured out the combination of taps he was looking for to achieve the effect he wanted: pale green pine-scented water with long-lasting bubbles that floated in the air and gave off musical notes when they broke. He said that it was popular when he was at Hogwarts, and used to be called Pine Chime. Myrtle snickered at this, and said that none of the students used that combination anymore; something called Floating Citrus Mint Twist was now all the rage. Sirius slipped into an imitation of an old man at this point, much to the delight of Harry and Ron. The four wizards started to strip off their pajamas to get into the water, when...

"Myrtle, turn around," Harry insisted.

"But Harry," Myrtle moaned, "it's not like I haven't seen you without your --"

"TURN AROUND!" Harry insisted. "AND DON'T PEEK!" he added when she'd turned her back on him.

Three wizards watched Harry with puzzled expressions while he quickly shed his pajamas and entered the water. "You know, Moony," said Sirius slowly, rubbing his chin, "I hardly knew what I was saying when I said Harry's a Marauder's son. I'm beginning to think there's a few stories he could tell us!"

"Yours first," Harry insisted, hoping that would be enough to change the subject.

It was. After all four of them had settled into the bath, Moaning Myrtle sat down near them on the edge of the pool-sized tub, wading her see-through feet in the water. Harry wondered if she could actually feel the water, but decided it would be safer not to ask. Sirius leaned back into one of the corners, resting his arms up on the sides of the tub. With a deep breath, he clearly assumed the posture of a casual storyteller.

"Back in the days when the Marauders ran free here," he began, "there was a tradition at Hogwarts of the seventh-year students holding graduation parties shortly before graduating. These parties were very clearly students-only, specifically seventh-years only -- and very often invitation-only. Very secret affairs...which didn't entirely keep them from getting crashed by other students, and the occasional teacher if things got really out of hand. Fortunately, having a teacher crash the party was more the exception than the rule." Myrtle giggled, which earned her a strange look from Sirius. She gave him a knowing glance, and he shook his head, as if not wanting to think about it.

"More story," Ron insisted, while Harry nodded in agreement.

"Okay, okay," said Sirius, raising his hands in a mollifying gesture. "There was another reason these parties were kept secret, and that was because they coincided with the week the lower classmen would be studying for and taking their final exams. We knew the teachers would be upset if our parties disturbed that. So, naturally," he shrugged, "we couldn't hold them in the House Common rooms. Some hardy partiers have used the Quidditch locker rooms, some have used one or the other of the greenhouses, one group even tried to use Hagrid's hut --"

"What?! How?" Harry blurted.

Sirius scratched his head. "I've heard at least two versions of that one, but that's another story altogether. Anyway, we Marauders figured we had the perfect spot -- the Prefects' bathroom." He made a gesture taking in the entire room as he spoke. "Lily had been tutoring one of the Gryffindor prefects all term, and asked for the password to the Prefects' bathroom in payment. He hesitated, but he figured it was all right, since she'd already been a Prefect herself." Sirius grinned. "Lily always did have a talent for what you'd call `social engineering,' even with that temper of hers."

"No worse than yours," Remus reminded him.

"True enough," Sirius conceded. "Now, where was I? Oh yes. James and I spent nearly three weeks gathering all the supplies we'd need for the party -- food, drink, decorations, the whole nine yards. On the day of the party, we had to make several trips under the Invisibility Cloak, with the Marauder's Map at the ready ...but when we arrived at the bathroom with the last load of goodies, we discovered we weren't the only ones who thought the Prefects' bathroom was the perfect spot for a party. A bunch of Slytherins had shown up -- with their party supplies."

Harry and Ron groaned. "What did you do?" they asked, speaking at once.

Sirius snorted. "Calmer heads prevailed, thankfully," he said. "At least at that point, anyway. Moony and Mundy -- that's Mundungus Fletcher to you two--"

"The one who nearly hexed my dad?" Ron asked.

Sirius nodded. "Probably. I don't know of any other Mundungus Fletchers, and I wouldn't put it past him. Anyway, they talked us all into a truce, and we agreed to share the bathroom for the party. It even worked for a bit, until one of the Slytherins -- for the life of me, I can't remember which one --"

"Just as well," Remus cut in, shifting uncomfortably.

"-- challenged me to a drinking contest. They'd snuck in some liquor, you see, and I think they were being rather optimistic about how much they could consume."

"And probably wanted to get rid of as much of the evidence as possible," Remus added.

"But - couldn't they just - magic it away?" Harry asked.

Sirius and Remus looked at each other and snorted. "Somehow I don't think that occurred to them," Remus said. "By that time their judgement was already under the influence of a few drinks. So getting rid of the evidence without consuming as much of it as possible would have seemed...wasteful."

"Oy," said Harry. He exchanged a look with Ron. The young wizards felt that they could see where this was going.

"Being the proud and brave Gryffindor that I am," Sirius continued, "I was quite prepared to take up the gauntlet, until Moony here stepped forward and volunteered - VOLUNTEERED! - to take my place."

"Only because I was quicker on the draw than James," Remus said.

Harry looked wide-eyed at the werewolf, and wondered why his father would try to step forward. Remus looked from Harry to Sirius and gave his old friend a slap on the back. "Padfoot here is a mean drunk...a REALLY mean drunk. Thank Merlin that doesn't happen very often, because the only thing I've seen worse than Padfoot when he's drunk is Padfoot when he's hung over."

Sirius shifted uncomfortably, causing the water to splash and several bubbles to hit discordant notes. "Are you telling this story, or am I?" he asked. Remus nodded at Sirius, and made a submissive gesture. The Anamagi turned back to the teen wizards, who were covering their mouths to hold back laughs. "For whatever reason," Sirius emphasized, "Moony agreed to take my place. And it was a triumphant night for Gryffindor; none of us knew he had that kind of endurance. About the time the contenders were finishing off the fifth bottle of Merlin-knows-what, the Slytherin passed out and tumbled into the tub - which, fortunately, was filled at the time. James was just raising Moony's arm in victory while me and Mundungus fished out the loser...and Peter, damn that rat, saved us all."

"How so?" asked Ron.

Sirius got a sarchastic little smile. "He went over to the window and said, 'Oy, Remus, didn't you have a date to meet a certain Gryffindor under the full moon tonight?' With all our planning, we'd completely forgotten about that little timing error. So help me, I can't remember the last time I sobered up so fast."

"But you weren't competing," Harry pointed out.

"Well, no," Sirius conceded, "but in the spirit of the truce and inter-House solidarity - not to mention getting rid of the evidence - the Slytherins were sharing their spirits with us. Anyway, before Moony could get out even ONE coherent word, James got we four Gryffindor makes under his Invisibility cloak while Lily distracted the Slytherins -"

"I wish I'd been coherent enough to see that," Remus commented. "Mundy couldn't stop telling James how much he envied him after that."

"--and we all high-tailed it to the Whomping Willow," Sirius continued. "Fortunately, the moon was behind a cloud then, and didn't come out until after the three of us had managed to drag Remus under the tree and get him started through the tunnel." He looked at Remus, then at the two younger wizards. "Have you ever seen a drunken werewolf?" he asked. The two boys shook their heads, and Remus hid his head in his hands. Sirius could barely hold back a smile. "It's, um, not exactly a pretty sight," he said. "I'd always wondered what would happen if you cast Jelly-Legs on a four-legged creature--"

"Stop," said Remus, embarrassed-- though he was clearly on the verge of laughing himself.

"The worst part of it, though," Sirius continued, "was that the transformation seemed to speed up his metabolism somehow. Within about an hour of the change, he got sick. Very sick. First the drinks came back. Then the party food. Then dinner. Then lunch. Then breakfast. And I'd swear that the previous night's dinner followed that."

"Euwww," said Ron.

"Let that be a lesson to you about drinking contests," said Remus, shaking a finger at the boys.

Sirius turned to his friend. "Okay, Moony, give. I've never believed you REALLY volunteered because I'm a mean drunk."

Remus sighed under his friend's penetrating gaze. "No, you're right," he admitted. "I was -- a bit more selfish than that. I'd been hoping that being drunk would make the transformation less painful." He shook his head. "It wasn't worth it," he said emphatically.

"So you weren't joking when you swore you'd never drink liquor again?" Sirius asked.

Remus looked even more embarrassed. "I certainly wasn't at the time," he said.

"I didn't think so," Sirius agreed. He turned to the boys with a wide grin. "When someone swears `by the damned bright sun and the thrice-damned moon, by werewolf's howl and vampire's hiss, by...oh hell, how did it go?"

Remus had one hand over his face. "I don't remember," he insisted weakly.

"Ooo, but it's soo dramatic...and so creepy," Moaning Myrtle chimed in. She was actually smiling and leaning forward, wanting to hear the rest.

"Sorry," Remus said, holding out his hands and shrugging helplessly. "I fancied myself a bit of a poet at one time," he admitted to Harry and Ron. "And poetry is very much about feelings, emotions, sensations...so some part of my hazed-over brain thought that if I was going to be in that condition, I should at least try to get something out of it." He shook his head. "It definitely wasn't worth it," he emphasized.

"So now you're a storyteller instead of a poet," Harry commented, hoping Remus would remember his promise.

He did. Whatever remorse he had for his misspent youth faded from his face, and his eyes twinkled with mischief. "Yes I am," he said with relish.

"Ooo...is it scary, or disgusting?" asked Myrtle.

"Neither," said Remus. "It's very, very embarassing."

Myrtle straightened, looking fairly indignant. "I hate embarrassing stories...unless they're about someone I don't like."

Remus shook his head. "No, this one's about Sirius," he said, giving his old friend a pat on his shoulder. Sirius gave him a forced smile. He found some soap and a washcloth beside the tub, and started using them in an elaborate show of disinterest. Was it Harry's imagination, or was his godfather already beginning to look uncomfortable?

"Hmf! Well, I don't want to hear it then!" Myrtle huffed. She flew over to one of the sinks and dived down its drain.

"Woo-ha!" Ron exclaimed, splashing the water to raise more bubbles and popping them to make a sort of victory tune. "That's got to be the fastest I've ever seen anyone get rid of that silly cow!"

An echoing cry of "I HEARD THAT!" came through the pipes of one of the sinks, but Myrtle herself didn't come back.

Remus leaned back and popped a few bubbles himself. He glanced quickly over to Sirius, who was rubbing lather over his lightly tanned, glistening, muscular arms. "This story goes back a little bit further than the one about graduation...to the time when the Marauders first became most capable of marauding," Remus began.

"That would be...fifth year, right?" Harry asked. He remembered Remus saying that his father, his godfather, and Peter had all finally achieved the ability to change into animals in that year.

"Good memory," Remus said, nodding and smiling as if he was giving a lecture to a particularly bright student. "It was only the second or third month that we were all together at the full moon. We'd explored a fair bit of Hogsmeade, and we wanted to go a little further afield." He turned to Ron. "You've been to Hogsmeade several times, so you know something about how it's laid out: the main town is near foothills, and the further you get from town the more rural it gets, until -- quite suddenly -- you're in sheep farming country."

Ron nodded. "Mum sends me money sometimes to buy her yarn from Hogsmeade," he said. "She says it's better than what she can get closer to home."

"It might be at that," said Remus thoughtfully. He glanced again at Sirius, who had by now soaped up his well-developed chest and torso, and was lowering himself into the water to remove the lather. "Now Padfoot here has something of an interest in sheep--"

"Moony!" Sirius groaned, splashing the water in irritation. Several bubbles popped, chiming discordantly. "If you're going to tell the story, at least don't make me out any worse than I am!"

Remus laughed, while Harry and Ron didn't quite know whether to laugh or be shocked. "Okay, okay. Padfoot has something of an interest in particular sheep --"

"Oy, go ahead, make it worse why don't you?" Sirius grumbled.

"--that were owned by this one farmer," Remus finished. "This breed of sheep that the farmer raised was very rare -- almost extinct at the time. And the reason Padfoot was interested in them," he said, looking again at his friend, "is that they're the LAST breed of sheep left that gives enough milk to be collected -- like cows and goats."

"Crikey, I didn't even know there ever was any sheep that gave milk," Ron blurted.

"Just so," Remus nodded. "Well, none of us had ever tasted sheep's milk. The farmer sent away most of the milk because he could get better prices for it in gourmet specialty markets outside of Hogsmeade -- and, with the herd being small and every animal correspondingly precious, he guarded them jealously. We never saw him get visitors at the farm, and he and his dog chased off anyone who dared to trespass." He turned and grinned at Sirius. "As we Marauders knew all too well."

"And claiming we were taking a shortcut to mushrooms didn't help," Sirius put in. He had finished rinsing off his arms and his chest, and was now raising one sturdy leg out of the water to apply the soap.

Remus laughed. "I'd nearly forgotten that he grew the best mushrooms in the county! But then you'd know, old friend," he said, pointing suddenly to the Animagi's feet. "Hairy feet and toes -- you must have some hobbit ancestry in you somewhere."

Sirius snorted. "As if," he said. Glancing over at the younger wizards, he added, "Don't believe him."

"Of course not," scoffed Ron. "Everyone knows hobbits are just stories."

"Be that as it may," Remus continued amiably, "now that we had the ability, we figured we'd sneak onto the farm and satisfy our curiosity at last. As a dog, Sirius figured he'd be able to either sneak past the farmer's dog or cow her into submission." Remus turned to Sirius. "I always thought you were overconfident about that," he said.

"I am an awfully big dog," Sirius growled, putting his leg back in the water and starting to work on his other leg. "Bigger than that guard dog."

"The farmer was something of a traditionalist, and used a sheepdog for guarding and herding," Remus explained. "And he shared Hagrid's philosophy about naming animals: she must have been one of the nastiest guard dogs I ever encountered, and he'd named her Lady."

"WHAT?!" Harry exclaimed, his brain suddenly jumping three steps ahead of the story. He remembered the werewolf's comment about leaving a lady heartbroken and expecting...

"Oh no," Ron strangled out.

Remus grinned, letting that sink in. "The night we'd chosen for our undercover mission was a full moon, of course, so we could see everything clearly. We got onto the farmer's land, no problem, and kept our ears alert for any noise from Lady. As we crept closer, we did indeed hear noises from Lady...but they weren't like any noises we'd ever heard from her before. Thank you," he said as Sirius handed him the soap. Turning to Harry, he jabbed a finger at his old friend and continued. "So your impulsive godfather here decides to go investigate."

"I figured I could assert dominance and get her to yield," Sirius insisted as Remus washed his own arms. "I was going to do that anyway if we found out she was awake."

"Oh, she was awake all right. Wide awake," Remus continued in amusement. "And while she was certainly interested in, ahem, turning tail to Padfoot, it wasn't for the purposes Padfoot had hoped."

"She was in heat," Sirius ground out.

Remus nodded. "And to her, Padfoot looked like a heaven-sent opportunity for, eh, relief." He grinned. "Ah, the ways of nature. For Lady, it must have been love at first sight -- or at least, lust at first sight."

"You didn't!" Harry blurted.

"Of course I didn't!" Sirius exclaimed. "Merlin's beard, Harry, it would have been...bestiality!" He rolled his eyes. "I'm a convicted murderer, not a pervert!"

"So picture, if you will," Remus continued, "a huge black dog attempting to assert its dominance over a large fluffy sheepdog -- and the sheepdog practically trying to drag the other dog into a mating position. Padfoot started slinking away as soon as he realized what was going on...which was about twenty seconds after the rest of us figured it out --"

"You could have clued me in," Sirius grumped.

"--only Lady started following him. So he started going faster. And she started going faster. In less than a minute, poor Padfoot was at a full run -- the only time I've ever seen him run away from an interested female, I might add."

By this time Ron and Harry were almost in hysterics from the image. "So she chased you off the farm after all," Harry finally got out.

"And the rest of us laughed over it for days. Not very nice, I admit," Remus conceded. Looking as Sirius, he added, "But even you thought it was funny when you saw the pictures James took of the whole thing."

"He had a camera with him as an Animagi?" Ron asked, amazed. "And he had hands?"

"Yes, and no," Sirius replied. "James was quite a shutterbug, and he could change back and forth faster than any of us. With the direction the wind was blowing, and the way Remus was watching the goings-on, he took the risk of switching long enough to snap a few pictures."

"Do you still have them?" asked Harry.

"No," said Sirius.

"Yes," said Remus.

Sirius glared at his old friend. "I thought those were destroyed when Voldemort attacked James and Lily's --"

"Who do you think he trusted with the negatives?" Remus asked.

Now it was Sirius' turn to put his hand over his face. "Oy," he said.

Remus grinned while the boy wizards couldn't stop laughing. "That's not the worst of it, though. What we did to Padfoot a few months later --"

"Merlin's beard, Moony, you're not going to tell that part of it, are you?" Sirius blurted.

Remus looked at him, eyes twinkling. "It is the logical follow-up; wouldn't you tell it if it had been me?"

"Um, well--"

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" Remus barked softly, in a high-pitched, puppyish voice. Sirius, if it was possible, turned even redder than Remus had turned when it was his turn in the hot seat.

"What?!" cried Harry, his voice echoing off the walls in the bathroom. "But, wait a minute, I thought you said--"

"Wait for it," said Remus, holding up a restraining hand -- which happened to be holding the soap. Looking at the bar as if he'd completely forgotten he was holding it, he shrugged, and started cleaning his own chest. "With poor Lady left unsatisfied, well, she still needed to find a dog to mate with. And there was another male dog out prowling that night. A very large, very black dog."

"No dog we know, I'm sure," Harry commented. He knew it would have been long enough ago that any dog adult enough to mate would be dead by now.

Remus nodded. "True, but you know the dog that took his place. Another large dog -- named Fang, unless I'm terrbly mistaken."

"That horny sheepdog ran into HAGRID'S dog?" Ron exclaimed, grinning in amusement.

"Ah, love at first sight," Remus sighed. "Lady...and Killer. What a lovely pair. She, the fierce hunter-protector, and he, too sweet and friendly to resist her charms." He faked a swoon, which conveniently allowed him to lower his body into the water to rinse off.

Ron and Harry were once again reduced to helpless laughter. Even Sirius joined in this time. "Okay, so put me out of my misery, Moony," he sighed.

"Nature took its course," Remus continued, straightening up, "and Lady gave birth to a lovely litter. Now, I don't remember exactly how many, or what the mixes of colors were...except for one. One little male puppy was all black. I found this out from Hagrid, who mentioned that Killer had become a daddy. As grandaddy, Hagrid wanted to do the responsible thing -- take at least one himself, and help pay for the puppies' upkeep until he and the farmer could find homes for all of them." Remus grinned wickedly. "One day when James and Sirius were busy with Quidditch practice, I let Hagrid know I was interested in the black one."

"So that's how you did it," Sirius commented. "A Marauder taking the obvious approach rather than stealth to pull off a prank. Who would have thought of it?!"

"Padfoot's birthday was coming up," Remus explained, "so James and I decided to give him a little gift. He woke up one day to find a cute little black puppy waiting for him by his pillow."

"You make it sound so sweet," Sirius said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "You forgot to say what you did to him before you gave him to me."

"We put a red ribbon around the puppy's neck, with a jingle bell attached," Remus admitted. "Oh, and we cast a little spell on the puppy. On his bark, specifically."

"So that every time it barked," Sirius continued, "instead of barking, it cried out `Daddy!'" He glared at Remus. "That was Prongs' idea, I suppose?" At Remus' nod, Sirius sighed, and shrugged. A small smile crept onto his face. "Well, it wasn't too bad, really," he admitted reluctantly, brushing his hair away from his face. "All the girls at the school thought it was rather cute. And you did let it wear off after a few days."

Remus shrugged. "It was starting to annoy us after a while," he admitted.

"So what did you do with the puppy?" Ron asked, holding his hand out to Remus for the soap.

"Albus let us keep it at the school for the rest of the term, so long as we took care of it and didn't let it damage anything or get into trouble," Sirius explained. He rolled his eyes. "Watching after that dog actually kept us from doing more mischief that term."

"Yes, Snuffles was a real handful," Remus grinned.

Ron, who had been lathering up his chest, nearly dropped the soap. "You named the puppy Snuffles?" he exclaimed, while Harry covered a laugh.

"Actually, Lily named him Snuffles," Sirius confessed. "I wanted to call him Ladykiller." The Animagi smiled. His face grew distant, as if remembering pleasanter times. "He was a great dog, too. Good with kids, good with other dogs -- great watchdog, though. Loyal and protective almost to a fault." He came back to himself, and looked at Harry. "Right around when you were born, we found this wonderful black Belgian Sheepdog to mate him with."

"Padfoot wanted to make sure you got a puppy for Christmas," Remus explained.

"But it was your idea, Moony," Sirius insisted.

"I got a puppy for my first Christmas?" Harry said, bewildered and more than a little disappointed that he'd been too young to remember.

"Wicked!" said Ron. Having finished washing, he passed the soap to Harry, who took it as if in a dream. "I never got anything better than a rat, and that was for school."

"What happened to the puppy?" Harry suddenly asked, turning his gaze to Sirius.

"Er, well, we have pictures," Sirius said, suddenly looking as if he regretted bringing up the whole subject.

"What happened to the puppy?" Harry repeated, more emphatic now. If someone had asked him, he could not explain why it mattered to him now, but somehow it did.

Sirius lowered his gaze, not meeting Harry's eyes. Remus looked over at the Animagi, then turned his eyes to Harry. He sighed. "He was with your parents in the house, the night they were attacked," the werewolf explained. "We think he raised the alarm." He looked down for a moment, then back to Harry. "He was found with his neck broken."

Harry felt an awful sadness and horror in the pit of his stomach. So Voldemort and those Deatheaters even killed my dog! he thought. A rational voice in his head reminded him that it was long ago, that he didn't even remember the dog, that it surely should not have been so important...but somehow, it was. He'd never known he had a dog once -- indeed, he'd never had any kind of pet before Hedwig, or so he'd thought. The casual killing of a dog, on top of killing his parents...it did more than add insult to injury. Before he realized what was happening, he heard a splash: his hand had formed into a fist, and the bar of soap he'd been holding slipped through his fingers and into the water.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Remus said quietly.

The rest of the bath was rather subdued. The four wizards quickly dried off and trooped back to their room in Gryffindor Tower, where they found clean clothes, clean robes, and a note waiting for them.

"Hmm, looks like this is for all of us," Sirius commented as he picked up the note. Opening it, he quickly read the few lines, and nodded. "It's from the headmaster," he said, dropping it onto Harry's bed. "He wants us all to meet him in his office for breakfast."

"Great, I'm starved," Ron commented, pulling on his trousers.

Harry looked at his best friend in amusement. It was the first time that Harry could recall Ron not being nervous about going to Professor Dumbledore's office; apparently, the fact that the visit involved food served as a seriously mitigating factor. He picked up the note from his bed and skimmed it.

My dear students,

I would be very pleased if you would join me and one other guest in my office this morning for breakfast. We have a number of serious matters to discuss concerning the upcoming term, offers to be made, and questions to be answered.

Speaking of serious matters, you may all come as you are; my guest is well aware of the truth of certain issues.

Albus Dumbledore

"Sirius?" Harry asked, a bit puzzled. "If it's for all of us, why did he start it with `my dear students'? You and Remus aren't his students anymore!"

Pausing while putting on a chambray button-down shirt, Sirius exchanged one of those knowing looks with Remus, and both chuckled. "Neither of us ever stopped being his students," Remus explained, and Sirius nodded in agreement.

Ron and Harry exchanged identical puzzled looks. Does he mean that Professor Dumbledore is still teaching them? But how? And Sirius was in Azkaban for 12 years, how CAN he still be one of Dumbledore's students? Harry wondered. He thought it might be one of those annoying things he was supposed to understand when he was older.

After getting dressed and presentable (or as presentable as Harry could, given his hair was misbehaving with a vengeance), the four wizards quickly headed for the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. Sirius delivered the password ("Fizzing Whizbees"), and soon they were all riding the spiral staircase up to the headmaster's office.

"...perfectly organized," they heard Dumbledore saying. "The requests for interviews are in this pile, the end-of-term reports are in that pile, the letters from Fudge are over there in the trash, my breakfast is--"

A cackle cut short the headmaster's litany. "I still think you need a secretary, you old geezer," came a very familiar voice.

"Professor Moody?!" Ron exclaimed. As he and Harry entered the office, the boy wizards saw that, indeed, it was Mad-Eye Moody, looking very hale and hearty for someone who had spent ten months under the Imperio curse locked in his own trunk. He sat beside Dumbledore's desk, a plate of half-eaten scrambled eggs in front of him on top of a pile of papers; between two other piles of papers stood Moody's trademark silver drinking flask; while other piles of papers lay scattered on the desk. Harry couldn't recall ever seeing the headmaster's desk quite so untidy, but his eyes were quickly drawn from the desk to Alastor Moody, retired auror.

As always, Moody's one oversized eye spun crazily in its socket; as he turned to face the new arrivals, both his normal eye and his magic one settled on the red-haired wizard. "Good to see you, Weasley," he said gruffly, extending his hand. Meekly, Ron came forward and shook it. "Saw your dad last night -- your brother, too."

"You saw Bill?" Ron asked eagerly, excitement mingling with concern on his face.

The old wizard nodded. "He's a bit beat up, but all right otherwise. He'd let his guard down for a moment...he won't be making that mistake again. Constant vigilance!" He stamped his wooden claw foot on the floor for emphasis.

Harry bit his tongue. He was one of the few people who were aware of the most recent time that Moody's constant vigilance failed him. Just before Moody was scheduled to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts during Harry's fourth year, the retired auror was kidnapped by a Deatheater who assumed Moody's identity for his and Voldemort's own nefarious purposes. Now, face to face with the real Mad-Eye Moody, Harry realized just how well the Deatheater had done his job. "Good morning, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Moody," he said, slowly extending his hand.

"Good morning, Harry," said Dumbledore, standing up. Several pieces of parchment flew off his desk when he moved.

"Good to see you too, Potter," said Moody, directing both his eyes at Harry. Just as he shook the boy's hand, he looked at a spot behind Harry, and stood up so suddenly the boy wizard feared he would fall. "Black!" he barked.

"Moody!" Sirius returned, not quite sure how to take the greeting. Dumbledore said in the note that his guest already knew, thought Harry, he wouldn't--

But before Harry had any time to think anything else, Moody stomped over to his godfather and hugged him as if he was a dear friend he feared he'd never see again. "You old dog," he growled, then pulled back to look at the younger wizard. He sighed. "Azkaban wasn't kind to you, Black," he said, "but it's a bloody miracle you lasted as long as you did. And a damn lucky one for Fudge!"

"I think Fudge would disagree with you about that," said Sirius, a bit overwhelmed by the greeting. "And I could say being an auror hasn't exactly been kind to you, either."

Moody cackled. "So we're agreed, we both look like hell. And Fudge is a fool, but you knew that." He pulled away from Sirius, and dug up some plates and silverware from a large cart laden with pastries, fruits, and other breakfast items which Harry had not noticed earlier. "Help yourselves; the house elves don't know the meaning of the word `skimp,' and we have a busy morning ahead of us."

Just then three birds flew into Dumbledore's office...all carrying red envelopes that Harry recognized at once as Howlers. "Setting a new record, Albus?" Moody asked, raising an eyebrow.

To his surprise, Harry recognized one of the birds as it flew hyperactively around the room, looking all too tiny for the message it carried. "Pig!" Ron cried as it dropped the Howler on Dumbledore's desk. The red-haired wizard grabbed the minute owl out of the air and tried to convince it to settle down. "Is that...from my mother?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes, indeed," Dumbledore observed as he picked up the Howler and examined the return address. "No doubt she has read this morning's Daily Prophet." So saying, he did a surprising thing. Rather than open the Howler at once, the headmaster dropped it into a large ornate vase sitting on a small wooden table near his desk.

Harry and Ron both covered their ears. Howlers that are not immediately opened normally explode, leaving a terrible mess. In this case, however, the explosion didn't come. Eventually, both boys uncovered their ears as the second owl presented its message. This bird also looked vaguely familiar. "Is that from who I think it's from?" Moody asked with sudden interest.

"Possibly," Dumbledore replied. "I was expecting this one as well. It's from Martha Longbottom."

"That old witch is still alive?!" Moody exclaimed.

"And kicking, apparently," Dumbledore added, dropping that Howler as well into the large vase.

The third bird was not an owl, but a large black raven. The headmaster's eyes widened. He raised his arm to let the bird perch as it delivered its message. He looked from the Howler to the bird in mild surprise. "I wasn't expecting you, however," he said. "So, what do you have to say for yourself?"

To the surprise of nearly everyone present, the raven answered. "I miss you, Bezzy," it said, in an oddly familiar voice.

"That's Snape's bird?!" Sirius blurted, having placed the voice and regained the power of speech before the rest of Dumbledore's guests.

"Not exactly," Dumbledore replied. "If you'll excuse me a moment...I think I had better tend to this particular Howler right away." So saying, the headmaster withdrew his wand from his robes and pointed it at one of the bookcases behind his desk. It slid straight out from the wall. He walked behind the bookcase, taking the Howler and the raven with him; the bookcase slid back into place behind him.

Whatever space there was behind the bookcase must have been strongly soundproofed, because the Howler sounded only as if it were pitched at a normal speaking voice, rather than magnified a hundred times. "Albus Dumbledore, how dare you send my husband on such a dangerous mission?! After all he has done for you, your school, and your cause, standing by you even though he deserves far more than he has received! He was actually looking forward to the start of this term, and teaching our daughter at Hogwarts -- but now that's all been ruined! And don't you DARE tell me you can't find someone else to do this, our family has suffered enough from the Dark Mage! How dare you throw us back into the fire!" The tirade continued in that vein.

Despite the anger behind the voice, Harry found himself fascinated -- it was a lovely voice, really, rich and feminine, deep and musical rather than shrill, with just a touch of an exotic accent that he couldn't place. "Who is that?" Harry asked, before realizing he had spoken aloud.

Moody looked hard at Harry, then at the other three wizards in the room, as if sizing them up. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, because he nodded. "Elizabeth Marie Snape," he replied. "The wife of your Potions professor."

A stifled yelp from Ron drew everyone's attention from Moody's surprising revelation. "Look at this story!" he exclaimed, pointing to a headline. It read "Chairwizard of International Association of Quidditch Found Dead."

Harry leaned over to Ron, who held the paper in between the two of them; Sirius leaned in on Harry's left side, also trying to get a glimpse. The picture seemed to be of some sort of crime scene, but several official-looking wizards looked as if they were deliberately trying to keep anyone from getting too close -- including the photographer. The article ran to more than two columns. It read:

Dateline, Egypt -- Hassan Mostafa, Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, was found dead in his home last night, along with three of his wives. While none of the bodies showed wounds of any kind, all four victims wore expressions of great pain, as if they had been tortured. Mostafa, it will be recalled, refereed the Quidditch World Cup last year. The exciting match between Bulgaria and Ireland ended in a victory for Ireland -- a victory followed by chaos among the Quidditch fans, crowned by the appearance of Deatheaters in the crowd and the mark of You-Know-Who in the night sky.

"Does it say anything about a motive, or who did it?" Remus asked, putting his breakfast plate in the headmaster's IN basket and standing up to get a look himself.

"No -- wait, hold on..." Ron said, running his finger over the paper as he read ahead.

It has long been rumored that Mostafa has ties to the Egyptian equivalent of the Department of Mysteries -- rumors which Mostafa has always vociferously denied....

"But that's not what's really queer about this!" Ron said in exasperation. He pointed to a paragraph in the second column. "Here, look at this!"

While there were few signs of an actual struggle, it is suspected that Mostafa met with a Western woman shortly before he died. At the apparent scene of the crime, investigators found several strands of long red hair and a pierced earring, apparently removed from the ear with great force.

"Cor blimey!" Ron exclaimed, his eyes widening. "What if that was Bill?"

"It was," Moody said grimly. Harry and Ron looked over at the retired auror in surprise, having almost forgotten that he was in the room.

Ron swallowed. "You said he was okay," he got out weakly.

"He is," Moody replied. "I didn't say he hadn't been hurt."

Ron turned back to the wizard newspaper. "That must have hurt," he said, shuddering.

Suddenly Sirius cried out and pointed to a spot further down in the article. "Look at this!"

Though three of Mostafa's wives were found with him, his fourth and youngest wife could not be located, nor could his three youngest children -- the only ones young enough to still be living at home. Neighbors who claimed to have heard some sort of disturbance at Mostafa's residence said they thought they saw a number of people leaving in great haste. Though there are several conflicting accounts, authorities believe that the woman and children escaped, possibly with the help of a tall person of indeterminate gender and nationality.

"That's your brother Bill, or I'm a Divination professor," said Sirius. Remus covered a chuckle at the remark, and Harry gathered that he and Ron weren't the first students to team up for writing creative Divination homework. Then Sirius ran his finger down a few more paragraphs and stopped near the end. "A-ha, now for the BS," he said grumpily.

Despite recent concerns over increased Deatheater activity, and the near certainty that at least one if not two of the Unforgiveable curses were used on the victims, a representative from the Ministry of Magic insisted that You-Know-Who himself was not involved. "He's dead, you know," said the representative, who requested not to be identified. "He's been dead for 13 years or so, ever since his encounter with the Boy Who Lived. No form of magic, Dark Arts or otherwise, can bring back someone who's dead!" When asked if this was the official Ministry stance, the representative said that this was the word from Cornelius Fudge himself. "The dead can't just come back, you know!"

"Fudge is a bigger fool than even I thought," Sirius muttered.

"Well, at least we know now why Mum sent that Howler -- ouch, cut it out, Pig!" Ron swatted at the tiny owl, who had stopped flying around the room and decided that the top of Ron's head made an excellent perch. "If you're going to do that, you birdbrain, at least don't dig in with your claws!" Pig chirped merrily in response, and seemed willing to settle down for a bit.

Harry looked at his hapless friend and covered a grin. The absurd pair brought home a truth which Harry had failed to discover until now: namely, that it is nearly impossible to look at someone with a bird on his head and keep a straight face. Even the adult wizards in the room were having difficulty. Ron rolled his eyes and groaned.

"Does this look as stupid as I think it looks?" Ron asked.

"Worse," Harry assured him, and finally lost the battle to keep from cracking up. The others joined in the laughter; even Ron managed a grin and a chuckle.

"Ah, I'm glad to see you all laughing," came Dumbledore's voice. "We will soon have less occasion for that, unfortunately." Harry looked away from Ron; the headmaster had returned from behind the bookcase, which was now sliding back into place. On his arm perched the raven, a letter tied to its leg. "Go on, return to your mistress," he said to it, giving his arm a jerk upwards. It was all the encouragement the black bird needed; it took wing and quickly left the office.

"I take it she didn't change your mind," Moody commented.

Dumbledore settled himself back in his chair with a sigh. "Quite the contrary, Alastor," he said. He noticed the plate of breakfast in his IN box. "I know our house elves are efficient, but--"

"Sorry, that's mine!" Remus exclaimed, jumping up and claiming his plate.

Dumbledore smiled patiently. "Good, now that that's settled..." His gaze took in every other person in the room, including Moody. He saved one last glance for Fawkes, his phoenix, sitting on its perch and quietly preening itself. Then he sighed. "I had hoped I would never need to do this again," he said, almost to himself. "But it cannot now be avoided. Gentlemen, as of last night, the Order of the Phoenix has been officially reactivated." Harry sensed Remus and Sirius moving forward in their seats, while Ron gave Dumbledore a bewildered look. Moody put aside his now empty breakfast plate and shifted to a more attentive posture, but it was clear that the retired auror expected this announcement.

Satisfied that he now had everyone's full attention, Dumbledore nodded and continued. "The Order of the Phoenix predates my own birth; some stories say it predates the founding of Hogwarts. To most wizards, it is known only as a legend, or even just a thread of hope. It is said that whenever there is a great evil in the land, the Order of the Phoenix will arise from the ashes of the good that is in danger of dying, to eliminate the evil and afterwards create a newer, better world."

When Dumbledore paused, Ron hesitantly raised his hand. "Sir?" he said. "My father has this book, it has a phoenix on it--"

"Indeed he does," the headmaster agreed. "He has used it before, and I daresay he shall have use of it again." He gave Ron a serious look. "Because the Order is no myth. And what I tell you now must never leave this room." After all had nodded their understanding, Dumbledore continued. "Each member of the Order serves it in their strongest capacity -- so that we may gain the benefit of a variety of skills. Some duties may be tedious; others may be quite dangerous, and, indeed, death is far from unknown among us. Some of you have served in the Order before; others of you have heard stories of members of the Order." The headmaster sighed. "I am the head of the Order -- with everything that implies. The last time I served in that position, we faced the same foe we are facing now -- Voldemort." He gave a last look to all of them. "I cannot compel; I can only ask. You all know that the need is great. Are you willing to join the Order of the Phoenix -- to take up the fight against Voldemort, despite the risks?"

Harry felt a shiver go down his spine. He knew his answer already. He would end up fighting Voldemort one way or another, whether he wanted to or not. As he looked around the room, he saw firm nods and determined faces -- except for Ron. He looked nearly as determined as the rest, but also uncomfortable, as if he suddenly felt he was in over his head. Harry caught his eyes and gave him a confident nod. Ron managed a weak smile in return...then turned to Dumbledore, firmed his expression, and nodded. If Dumbledore is leading us, then I'm not worried, Harry thought, and gazed at the headmaster with trust in his eyes.

Then Harry heard something he'd heard only a few times in his life, but knew he would never forget -- the sound of phoenix song. Fawkes sang out one clear note, and it seemed to ease the tension in the room. He left his perch and flew to each wizard in turn. He sat for a moment on each lap, tilting his head up and stroking their cheeks with his beak. Rather than finishing with Dumbledore's lap, however, he landed on the headmaster's IN box and sang another note -- a very different note. It gave the sense of an act completed...or an act committed to the point of no return.

"Then welcome," said Dumbledore, "to the Order of the Phoenix." He sighed. "And as Alastor has already observed, we have a busy morning ahead of us." He turned first to Remus. "Remus Lupin, you have been a member before, and served with distinction. I don't need to tell you what is involved...but your duties have changed somewhat."

Remus nodded. "I'm not surprised," he said. "With Moody here, you have someone who is more knowledgeable of Defense Against the Dark Arts than I am."

"Indeed he is," Dumbledore said gently, "but he does not have -- certain experiences that make you the best candidate for the role I have in mind." As he spoke, he rummaged on his desk, gathering together a number of papers into a dark red folder that Harry had not noticed before. "You understand how and why it would be easy for certain members of our wizarding world to throw their lot in with Voldemort, believing his false promises." He handed the folder to Remus. "Your task is to seek out these marginal elements...the werewolves, the vampires, the hags, and others capable of understanding reason. Seek them out, and convince them of our need. If you cannot convince them to join us in our battle, at least convince them not to join with our enemy."

"That will be difficult," Remus conceded, accepting the folder. He looked at it without opening it. Harry noticed it bore a golden phoenix on its cover. "Voldemort's promises are highly seductive, to say the least."

"I have the utmost faith in you," said Dumbledore. "With your experience, I am certain you can convince them of the emptiness of those promises." He paused for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. "If I may concern myself with non-Phoenix business...have you reached a decision about the offer I made to you earlier? You don't need to answer me now, if you'd rather."

Remus gave the headmaster a tired smile. Harry could tell that, even after a bath and some breakfast, the transformation had left him drained. "I've chosen to accept your offer, Headmaster," Remus responded. "But with two provisos."

"Ah. And those are?" Dumbledore asked.

"My -- illness -- is now known throughout the student body. Should there be serious objections from them or their parents to my teaching here--"

"You're coming back?! Bloody wicked!" Ron exclaimed, nearly jumping out of his chair. Pig jumped off his head, fluttered around excitedly, and then settled on Fawkes' now-empty perch.

Dumbledore smiled patiently at Ron. "Your enthusiasm is most gratefully noted, Mr. Weasley, but I would like to hear what else Mr. Lupin wishes to say on the subject." Blushing, Ron settled back down in his chair and mumbled an apology. All eyes turned back to the werewolf.

Remus shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I'm not a rabble rouser," he said quietly, "and I'd rather not draw the kind of attention that ignites passions. We have enough to worry about with Voldemort."

Dumbledore steepled his hands thoughtfully. "I understand you," he said, "but I am afraid that may be unavoidable. I can present the situation in the most positive light possible, and there will still be those shouting for your resignation, your exile from the wizarding world...even for imprisonment in Azkaban." Sitting between Harry and Remus, Sirius shuddered, and moved as if to say something, but the headmaster held up one hand to still the escaped inmate. "I will stand behind you as completely as I can, and so long as I am headmaster, you are safe."

"Professor?" Harry asked.

"Yes Harry?" Dumbledore replied.

Harry hesitated a moment, but needed to know. "Um, why are you willing to do this now, when just two years ago Mr. Lupin left the school because of the uproar he expected?"

"The uproar we both expected," Dumbledore corrected. He looked over at Remus, and his next words seemed as much for the werewolf as for Harry himself. "I was not prepared then to make an open break with the Ministry of Magic," he said. "That is now a moot point." He gave Harry a sad smile. "I daresay if you keep asking those questions, you shall know a great deal more about being a headmaster than you ever wanted to know." Turning back to Remus, he continued, "I hope that answers your first proviso; it is the best I can do. What is the second proviso?"

Remus took a deep breath. "I should like to stay here even after Hagrid comes back -- at the very least, I want to continue working with Madame Pomfrey on a cure for my condition."

"Ah." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses. "I believe I can grant that, but now I have a proviso in return."

"Which is?" asked Remus.

The ghost of a smile came to Dumbledore's face. "That when you are not working with Madame Pomfrey or busy with your duties for the Order, you are working with teachers and students, assisting in the learning process." He gestured freely. "I know you are both clever and creative, so I have no doubt that you will come up with a variety of innovative ways to make yourself useful in this capacity. Do you accept my proviso?"

Remus grinned. "Completely," he said.

"Then let me be the first to welcome you back to Hogwarts, Professor Lupin," Dumbledore said. Ron and Harry cheered. "And to your new position as teacher of the subject of Care of Magical Creatures," he added after the boy wizards had settled down. "You and I shall handle the appropriate paperwork later.

"And now, back to matters at hand," Dumbledore continued, turning his gaze to Sirius Black. "You have also served in the Order of the Phoenix before, with distinction. And your duties will also be somewhat different." Rather than simply start gathering up papers by hand, the headmaster waved his wand, and many of the papers on his desk began sorting themselves into an accordian file. "You have had a great deal of experience with `covert operations' of a sort lately," said Dumbledore, unperturbed while the papers continued flying around and sorting themselves out as he spoke. "Therefore, after much consideration, I am putting you in charge of my spy network." The file finished filling, then closed and settled itself onto the Animagi's lap. Harry noticed that it, too, bore a golden phoenix.

Sirius opened the file and looked inside. "These are their records, or their reports?" he asked.

"Both," said Dumbledore. "I've condensed the files somewhat, but you will be able to make them uncondense with a simple verbal command -- you won't even need a wand, it responds to your voice." The headmaster paused. "You will be responsible for receiving our agents' reports, summarizing these reports for me, making recommendations, and, in emergencies, making and implementing quick decisions."

Sirius nodded, looking back to the files. "These are all of our spies, then?"

"All but one." Sirius looked up sharply at Dumbledore's comment, a wary, suspicious look coming into his eyes. "That particular agent is on a deep cover assignment. Because of the special nature of the assignment, we created an alternate avenue of communication." Sirius and Dumbledore locked eyes, and Harry could tell that some kind of struggle of wills was going on. Fawkes could also feel the tension, and looked speculatively between Sirius and Dumbledore. Had the bird been a dog, Harry guessed that he would have growled a warning. Finally, Dumbledore's eyes softened slightly, and the corners of his mouth quirked up. "Sirius," he sighed, "if I did not trust you, I would not have given you this task; surely I don't need to explain how security sensitive it is?"

Sirius blinked, then hung his head, a bit embarrassed. "No, you don't," he said, mollified.

The byplay confirmed what Harry suspected. The one agent that would not report to his godfather was Severus Snape. Sirius must have thought that the headmaster did not trust him -- or, at the very least, did not trust him to be, in effect, Snape's boss. Harry knew a number of reasons why Dumbledore might not trust Sirius in such a position. He felt relieved that the headmaster had come up with a totally different reason which had more to do with security issues than the personalities involved. It never occurred to Harry that Dumbledore said simply that he trusted Sirius -- not that he trusted Sirius in a position of power over the school's longtime Potions professor.

"Oh, one last thing for you." Dumbledore withdrew something from his robes and handed it to Sirius. When his godfather reached over to take it, Harry could see that it looked rather like the item Dumbledore had taken from his robes in response to some kind of chiming the previous night. "I expect you'll want to move around; I remember you were fond of working in the field yourself. With this item, our agents will always be able to contact you." The headmaster paused. "Whether you want them to or not." Another pause. "And often at the most awkward of times."

Sirius grinned. To Harry, it looked almost like a dog baring its teeth in preparation for battle. "Not to worry," he replied. "I knew the job would be dangerous when I took it."

Dumbledore nodded, then turned to Mad-Eye Moody. "If I know you, old friend, you've been speculating about what task I mean to give you all morning," he said amenably.

"I don't like surprises, Albus," Moody replied. "Never have, never will." His one ever-moving eye swiveled around to look out the back of his head as if to punctuate the point.

"Perhaps you will humor me this once," Dumbledore said, reaching for the vase in which he had deposited two Howlers. "For you to fully understand what I have in store for you, you must first listen to one of my more recent correspondents."

Harry, Ron, Sirius, and Remus covered their ears as Professor Dumbledore opened the Howler. It did little to help. The outraged voice of Neville Longbottom's grandmother, magnified 100 times, filled his office. "ALBUS DUMBLEDORE!" it shrieked. "YOU LAZY OLD GEEZER! IT'S BEEN MORE THAN A WEEK SINCE YOU-KNOW-WHO'S RETURN AND YOU STILL HAVEN'T CONTACTED ME! I'M HARDLY PAST MY PRIME, YOU KNOW -- AND A LOT YOUNGER THAN YOU ARE! AND I'M STILL OFFICIALLY IN CHARGE OF THE GUARDIANS -- DON'T EVEN TRY TO CLAIM THEY'VE BEEN SHUT DOWN BY THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC, WE BOTH KNOW FUDGE IS AN IDIOT...AND THE GUARDIANS NEVER WERE UNDER THE DIRECT CONTROL OF THE HEAD OF THE MOM ANYWAY, JUST ASK ANYONE IN THE DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES! THANKS TO THAT BLITHERING FOOL FUDGE, MOST OF MY GUARDIANS ARE OUT OF WORK -- AND READY TO HELP YOU FIGHT YOUR WAR, IF YOU'D ONLY CALL ON THEM! OR READY TO TRAIN A NEW GENERATION OF GUARDIANS, IF YOU'RE ONLY LOOKING FOR THE YOUNG. BECAUSE IF YOU EXPECT TO FIGHT THIS WAR WITHOUT TRAINED WARRIOR WIZARDS..." The Howler continued in that vein, reminding the headmaster of how he had used "her Guardians" in the past -- in particular, how he had used her "grand-niece-in-law" to protect one particular young wizard, which made Harry wince, and Ron stare at him in surprise. By the time the Howler ended, some five minutes later, Harry's ears were sore, but Dumbledore wore a beatific smile, and Mad-Eye Moody was shaking his head, chuckling.

"You were certainly right about the `alive and kicking' part," he said to the headmaster. "But what does this have to do with my task?"

"After you left active field service -- and even before, if I am not mistaken -- you taught Guardians," Dumbledore pointed out. Again, he waved his wand, and this time a large jumble of papers began to sort itself into a looseleaf binder. "I agree with Mrs. Longbottom's assessment -- we will need more trained Guardians if we hope to be successful." The binder closed with a snap, and landed on Moody's lap. "Your task is to work with Mrs. Longbottom in making certain the current Guardians are ready, and in training a new generation."

"With her?!" Mad-Eye Moody growled. "I'd sooner --"

"Before you say a single word, old friend," Dumbledore cut him short, "you are aware that she would no doubt feel the same way about working with you, yes?"

"That just goes to show how crazy she is!" Moody objected. He took a long swig from his silver drinking flask, then slammed it back down on the desk. "Honestly, Albus, she has to be the biggest control freak I've ever encountered this side of the Deatheaters, short of that damn fool Fudge!"

"Then you will simply have to find a way to work together," Dumbledore said. Harry heard a hint of steel behind the headmaster's mild voice. "Because I am not changing your task. You understand me?" It was not truly a question. Moody took a deep breath, softened his expression, and nodded; he seemed to realize he had crossed a line. "Good. I will, of course, allow you and Mrs. Longbottom to work out your approaches together as you both see fit -- including the choosing of your students. With two exceptions."

Moody's gaze sharpened; he had not been completely cowed. "I can't promise the best results from Guardian trainees I don't hand-pick, Albus, you know that," he said gruffly.

Dumbledore's mouth turned up again in the ghost of a smile, and his eyes twinkled with mischief. "In that case, Alastor, I will expect the best results from these particular trainees, since you hand-picked both of them." The headmaster pointed to Harry's left. "Your first one is Sirius Black. As I recall, he came very close to finishing his training before Voldemort's attack on Lily and James."

Moody looked at Sirius with both of his eyes, and smiled. "What do you say, Black?" he barked. "Fancy another go?"

Sirius looked at Dumbledore, the file in his lap...and Harry. He returned Moody's gaze. "Now more than ever," he said softly.

"That's settled, then," Moody said, rubbing his hands together. "So who's the other one I hand-picked?"

"We spoke of him last night, and this morning." Dumbledore smiled...and pointed to Harry's right.

"Me?" Ron asked, voice cracking. Harry couldn't tell whether his best friend was excited or terrified about this, and rather suspected it was both.

Moody looked him up and down, with both eyes sharply focused on the red-haired wizard. He frowned thoughtfully, while Ron fidgeted and slowly turned red. By the time Moody spoke, Ron's blush had made it all the way down to his fingertips. "A little raw," he said gruffly, "but yes, you'll do." The retired auror sighed. "In calmer times, you wouldn't start Guardian training until you'd graduated and finished auror training. And your Guardian training would last at least six months."

"That takes time, however," Dumbledore pointed out, lifting Moody's breakfast plate as he did so, "and time is suddenly a luxury in very short supply." With his free hand, the headmaster shifted the papers that had been under Moody's plate -- nearly the only papers now left on the professor's desk, Harry noticed -- and drew out a book about the size of a large trade paperback. Like the other items he had given out with various tasks, this one had a deep red cover with a golden phoenix on the front. Unlike the other items, though, this cover was merely a dust jacket. "For you, Ronald Weasley," he said, handing the book to the young wizard.

Harry saw Moody gaze at the book with his magic eye. Both of his eyes suddenly widened, and he gave Professor Dumbledore a sharp look. The headmaster merely smiled benignly and raised an eyebrow.

Ron accepted the book as if he were in a dream. He stared at the cover, but still seemed confused. "Thanks," he said. Then, "Um...what is it?"

"Take off the dust jacket," Dumbledore instructed. Ron did so. It was a training and instruction manual for Guardians, dated to about ten years ago. The young wizard looked from the book to the headmaster, still stunned. "I'm afraid that is the most recent manual the Guardian program issued," Dumbledore said, apologetic.

"And it wouldn't even be here, if Fudge had had his way," Moody added, gesturing at the book. "He ordered the program disbanded, and all the training materials destroyed." He gave the headmaster a slightly suspicious look, as if longing to ask him how he'd managed to get his hands on this copy.

Dumbledore nodded agreement. "So he did," he said amiably. Turning to Ron, he added, "Therefore, the book you are holding right now does not exist. Do you understand, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron hesitated, then nodded, and swallowed. "Yes," he said. Then, "Um, does that mean I'm supposed to, er, eat it if I'm caught with it?"

The adults in the room suppressed chuckles, with varying degrees of success. Sirius leaned over and squeezed Ron's arm. "Absolutely," he said. "I'd recommend stir frying...it's faster than trying to cook it in a pizza. Oh, and add lots of spices; you don't want to know what it tastes like raw by itself." He shuddered elaborately. This set Remus off again, while Ron blushed even redder, and Moody shook his head, still chuckling.

"Black's right about one thing," Moody said. "You should cook it if someone sees it who shouldn't. Preferably with an Incendio spell. It's a faster way to destroy the thing." He opened the book, still being held by Ron, to the table of contents. "As you can see, though," he continued, running a stiff finger down the chapter headings, "there's enough information in here that you won't want to destroy it if you can help it."

"And no, you can't use having to destroy the book as an excuse to get out of homework -- or tests, for that matter," Sirius cut in.

Moody grinned at Sirius, and nodded. "Good memory," he said.

"After those Dementors...not good enough," the Animagi complained under his breath.

"Weasley...Ron," Moody said. Ron looked up, and their eyes met. "You'll need a good memory for this -- and a lot more. There's physical training involved...the kind of physical self-defense most wizards don't bother learning, because they rely on their spells. And there's spell training, too -- spells you won't learn in Hogwarts' normal curriculum. Curses and countercurses, wards, guards, layered protections, combat...some very nasty stuff. And all the ways to hide someone or something, using Muggle techniques as well as spells, so you won't have to fight to protect what you're keeping hidden." He took a deep breath, and glanced at Dumbledore. The headmaster gave Moody a look that urged him to continue. "And on top of that," he added, "you'll learn some things that are...specific to your task. Strategy. Tactics. Psychology, even." Moody made a face as if he'd just bit into a lemon.

"Wait a minute." Ron's head was still reeling, but he seemed to have grasped something. "My task? But...if learning how to be a Guardian isn't my task, then what is?"

In response, Dumbledore looked directly at Harry Potter. "Your task, Ronald Weasley," he said, "is to be Harry Potter's Guardian."

Harry's jaw dropped. What the--? I don't NEED a Guardian! he thought, too stunned to say anything out loud. For the moment, he forgot that he's already had a Guardian for most of his life.

"And I thought I had a tough task," Sirius chimed in. Ron and Harry both stared at him. "Well," he pointed out, "have you ever tried to find someone wearing an Invisibility Cloak who doesn't want to be found? I have. It's not easy unless you've got the kind of tracking skills that don't rely on just eyesight."

Dumbledore nodded. "And that is why," he added, removing an apparently blank piece of parchment from the one remaining pile on his desk, "I'm providing you with -- a little edge." He handed the parchment to Ron. "I take it you know what this is?"

Ron grinned, and nodded. Harry recognized it at once: the Marauder's Map. Invisibility wouldn't matter: with the Marauder's Map, so long as Harry was somewhere on the grounds of Hogwarts, Ron would be able to find him. Part of Harry was very glad about this, actually; but another part felt...there was no other word for it...betrayed.

"Wait a minute...is that what I think it is?" Sirius exclaimed, leaning towards Ron again. He had a wild grin on his face, and looked as if he would burst into amazed laughter at any second.

"That depends, old friend," Remus said quietly. He, too, was smiling. "Do you solemnly swear that you are up to no good?"

"Merlin's beard!" This time Sirius did laugh, and clapped his hands as if at an excellent joke. "The Marauder's Map! After all these years..." He sobered for a moment, and his face clouded, as if remembering what had happened during those years. He shook his head and sighed. "We were so carefree, young, and innocent then..."

Harry wanted to snort at that; it was exactly what Fred and George had said about themselves when they gave Harry the map in his third year. Moody actually did snort. "I'm convinced of your innocence about some things, Black," he growled, "but I've known you too long to let you get away with saying that unchallenged."

But it seemed as if Ron hardly noticed the comments from the other wizards; he looked at Harry, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Headmaster?" he asked hesitantly. At Dumbledore's nod, he continued, "Er, it...well, it wouldn't feel right taking this map. I mean, it's really Harry's," he explained, holding out the blank parchment for the professor to take back.

"It's Harry's?" Sirius asked. He turned to his godson. "How did you manage this mischief? Was it in your vault at Gringott's?" Harry shook his head, and felt his cheeks grow warm. "Then how did you get it?" He sounds just curious, not angry, Harry thought, but if I tell him, what will happen to --

"I admit, I am rather curious myself," Dumbledore commented. He turned his gaze from Harry to Sirius and Remus. "I am also rather curious as to how four students under the age of seventeen managed to create such a sophisticated item...and how the creation of any similar such item showing Hogwarts can be prevented in the future."

Both former students looked appropriately cowed, and nodded. Moody, however, glancing between Dumbledore and the two Hogwarts alumni, looked distinctly satisfied. To him, the Marauder's Map -- or anything like it -- in the wrong hands could mean only one thing: a huge breach of security. Harry was reminded of the lecture Remus had given him not long after Snape first found Harry in possession of the map. Fortunately, the potions professor never found out what it was. Remus, however, gave Harry a talking-to about trying to get around security measures that had been put in place to protect him which Harry did not forget for quite some time.

"Harry?" The young wizard perked up at the headmaster's voice, and realized he had been lost in his own thoughts. His cheeks turned from pink to red.

"I'm sorry, Professor," he forced himself to say, "I didn't hear the question."

Dumbledore assumed a tolerant expression. "It wasn't a question, exactly," he said. "I merely stated that if you were concerned about getting someone `in trouble' by telling us how you acquired the map, I can assure you that those involved will not be penalized."

Harry let out a sigh of relief; that thought had crossed his mind. "I got it from Fred and George," he said softly.

Ron started. "Crikey! My own twin brothers gave you this map?" he exclaimed, turning to face Harry. "You, and not...me?" Ron lowered his hand and held the map in his lap. He no longer showed any desire to give it back to the headmaster.

"It was two years ago! Back when I couldn't go to Hogwarts with everyone else, remember?" Harry pointed out. "They said they didn't need it anymore, but they figured I did, so --"

"Then how did they get it?" Sirius asked.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "They stole it," he whispered, looking down at his lap.

"Speak up Harry," Sirius requested. "They what?"

"They stole it," Harry said, louder, and looked at his godfather to avoid looking at the headmaster. "They told me that Mr. Filch took them into his office for letting off a Dungbomb, and they spotted this drawer in one of his filing cabinets labeled `Confiscated and Highly Dangerous,' and so they dropped another Dungbomb for a diversion and grabbed the first thing out of that drawer they could...which was the map." He said it all in a rush, hoping to get it over with quickly. Finally, he dared to look at the headmaster, who wore an unreadable expression. "Er...they won't get into trouble, will they?" he asked. I won't get into trouble...will I?

Dumbledore sighed, steepled his fingers, and looked thoughtfully at Harry. "As I promised, no one will be penalized for this," he said. The young wizard dared to breathe again. "As to not getting `into trouble' for this...I am afraid I cannot make that promise." His gaze shifted from Harry to Sirius. "Particularly if you are thinking what I believe you are thinking."

Sirius grinned. "That we can use a sharp duo with those kinds of talents? Oh yes." He nodded, then turned to Ron. "Your mum will have my hide, I don't doubt, but I can't let them go to waste. Unless they turn me down, of course, but..." Sirius' grin grew wider. "I doubt they'll turn down a chance to gather information and create mayhem in a good cause."

"Which brings us to your task, Harry." The young wizard's eyes widened with surprise. After hearing that Ron would be protecting him, he had somehow thought that he wouldn't be assigned any task at all...or that his task would be to stay out of trouble.

Somehow, seeing Dumbledore's expression, he now thought it would not be that simple. The headmaster stood up and paced around to the front of the desk, so that he was standing right in front of Harry. He was strangely reminded of the time Snape had sat him in a chair and stood in front of him...towering over him, yelling at him and glowering, all in a (relatively) unsuccessful attempt at intimidation. But Dumbledore was clearly not trying to intimidate him; indeed, leaning back against the front of his desk, Dumbledore looked sad, grim, determined, even old...but not intimidating.

"I am very much afraid, Harry," he said, "that your task will be the most difficult of all." As he spoke, Fawkes sang one soft note and flew over to Harry, settling in his lap. Harry gently stroked the phoenix, but did not take his eyes off the headmaster. "You have proven capable of spying on Voldemort through your dreams. Unintentionally, it is true, but successfully nonetheless. Your task --" here he waved his wand, and yet another set of papers brought themselves together, this time into -- of all things -- a shoebox "--is to attempt to do so intentionally. I've assembled a list of references and resources that should be helpful to you, including contact information for some wizards I know whose personal studies cross into this area." He looked apologetic. "Unfortunately, you will have to conduct your own research...so I'm also giving you this to facilitate your studies." He held a small glowing yellow card out to Harry.

"An Unrestricted Library Card!" Sirius exclaimed. "I didn't get mine until midway through my seventh year!"

"Look again, Padfoot," Remus urged. "That's an Unrestricted Professor's Library Card." His gaze caught Harry's. "You'll be able to get into parts of the library even seventh year students aren't allowed to see."

"Cor blimey!" Ron laughed. "Hermione is going to be jealous!"

For his part, though, Harry felt rather like his cousin would have felt if he had just been given the task to scale Mount Everest all by himself. True, the headmaster warned that some of the tasks he planned to assign would be dangerous, and in some cases highly undesirable; hadn't Mad-Eye Moody just protested his own assigned task of working with Neville's grandmother on reinvigorating and recreating the Guardians? Harry had never wanted to dream about Voldemort, had even once tried to deny his scar hurting after waking up from one such dream which he could not remember clearly. And lately, he'd been all too glad to accept Victoria Figg's potions -- not just because they relieved his emotional pain, but also because they prevented him from dreaming at all.

But now, with this task, he would have to seek out dreams -- no, nightmares. He would probably have to see Cedric die over and over again, relive the horror of Voldemort's rebirth and his involuntary role, feel Voldemort looming over him once again, sneering at him, challenging him, toying with him...no. It was too much, he couldn't do it. How could he make them understand? They look at me and they see the Boy Who Lived. They say I defeated Voldemort four times. But the first time it wasn't really me, it was my mother's sacrifice, the second time he was no more than a shell, the third time he was no more than a memory in a diary, and the fourth time... Harry couldn't keep himself from shuddering. The fourth time I `won' because I ran away, and I had help. How can they expect me to --

Before he could continue the thought, he heard Fawkes start singing again. And with his phoenix song, parts of that memory which he had forgotten floated back to him. He saw his parents. He heard the words of encouragement to him from Voldemort's last five victims, including his own mother and father. He remembered the feeling of reaching down inside himself and finding the strength of will to "push" the spell that held his and Voldemort's wands locked in battle. It was the same strength of will that same night that led him to leave his hiding place behind a tombstone; he was resolved that he wouldn't die hiding like a coward, but standing up and facing his foe. He remembered, too, the blissful feeling of not thinking, of just floating, that was brought on by the Imperio -- and the strong voice that came from the back of his head, refusing to beg Voldemort not to cast the Cruciatus on him again. Am I still that strong? Harry wondered. He looked down at Fawkes -- at eyes that understood more than their owner could ever convey, except in his song. The phoenix finally ended his song on a soft, lilting high note...the whisper of a mountain scaled.

Harry finally looked up to see that everyone in the room was staring at him. Fawkes nipped his finger affectionately, then flew back to his perch, elaborately displacing Pig when he landed. The young wizard shook his head, feeling jarred at coming back to the here and now. He looked up to Dumbledore, who was now holding the library card in one hand, and the shoebox in the other. Though his whole being still screamed against it, he held out his hands for the items. "I'll do it," he said hoarsely.

Dumbledore nodded once, satisfied, and returned behind his desk. He opened his mouth to speak -- then sighed, and waved his wand at Pig, who had insisted on circling around his hat, nearly bumping it off his head. The minute owl suddenly flapped desperately a few times, then fell straight toward the headmaster's desk. Dumbledore caught him, and quickly checked to see that the bird had come to no harm. "I wouldn't try to fly for the next half hour or so if I were you," he said to Pig, and gently placed the owl in his IN box.

"Well, then," Dumbledore began, "you should all be made aware that Arthur Weasley is also a member of the Order of the Phoenix." The only one in the room who seemed at all surprised was Ron. "He agreed to head up our, ah, `subversion' efforts in the Ministry of Magic and take charge of our safe house system -- though I think he may delegate that task to Molly." As the headmaster finished speaking, another owl entered the room, carrying several pieces of mail. He dropped them in Dumbledore's IN box, causing Pig to hoot excitedly while he dodged the mail. As the wizard picked up the new messages, the owl left the room.

But rather than looking at the mail right away, the headmaster turned to Moody, a smile quirking up the corners of his mouth. "Didn't I tell you that my desk was perfectly organized?" he asked. Harry clearly saw the reason for his amusement; the desk, which had looked like the survivor of a blizzard when the meeting had started, was now as neat as a pin. He needed only to glance at his fellow Phoenix members, and their respective papers, to see why.

Moody snorted. "That doesn't change my opinion, Albus," he said. "You're back to an all-out war, and you can't run a war and a school without help. Oh, I know Professor McGonagall is the best deputy headmistress a headmaster could want -- Merlin knows you tell me that often enough! But I still say you need a secretary."

"And I agree with you." Dumbledore's smile widened as he watched his old friend goggle at that simple statement. "In fact," he continued, "I have at least one very good candidate for the position; if the weather has been kind, there should be a letter from her in this mail delivery."

Harry wondered idly what sort of person Professor Dumbledore might hire as a secretary, and if the new person would prevent him from seeing the headmaster when he really needed to -- as Snape had done at least once out of nothing more than spite. Then he remembered that Fleur Delacour, the Beuxbatons champion for the Triwizard Tournament, had spoken of trying to get a job at Hogwarts to improve her English. Wow...I bet Ron would try to invent reasons to end up in the headmaster's office if she became the secretary here, Harry thought. He considered trying to invent a few himself. He remembered Fleur's long, straight, gorgeous white hair -- but when he tried to summon a mental image of her hair, it insisted on coming out black...or brown and bushy.

A sigh from Professor Dumbledore interrupted his thought. "Ah, Randall, he hasn't give up yet," he said, holding an unopened letter and gazing at the address.

"Oh?" asked Moody, his magical eye focusing on the letter. "Hasn't given up what?"

The headmaster shook his head. "Every year, right after school lets out for the summer, Randall the Rational and I engage in a sort of ritual argument." Dumbledore glanced over at Sirius. "I think you would like Randall; you both share the same opinion of Divination as a magical science, and Divination teachers in general.:

"And one in particular, too, I'd bet," Ron said under his breath. Harry stifled a chuckle while his godfather grinned in response to Dumbledore's comment.

"I take it he has very little patience for either," Sirius observed.

"You take it correctly," Dumbledore replied with a nod. "In fact, this American wizard has spent decades revealing that the skills of various Divination practitioners leave rather a lot to be desired." The headmaster sighed, and held up the letter. "He has spent nearly as long trying to convince me that it is a disgrace that Divination is being taught as a serious area of magical study at Hogwarts -- a stain on the record of an otherwise honored and venerable institution."

"I take it you don't agree?" Remus asked.

Dumbledore turned to the werewolf. "Whether or not I agree, there is little I can do about it. When Hogwarts was founded, it was written into the charter that certain subjects would always be taught. Divination is one of them." The headmaster turned back to the surprised faces of Ron and Harry. "That particular bylaw was written by Godric Gryffindor. It is said that he knew a true seer, and knew what she went through to be believed, even after her predictions came to pass. He apparently wished to save others from the same suffering." Then the headmaster stirred himself, as if trying to find his place. "But never mind. I'm sure you want to enjoy the beautiful day, or perhaps start on your tasks." He glanced over at Sirius again. "If you could stay for a just a few minutes? I need to ask you some questions concerning a certain Egyptologist in your family."

Sirius looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded. "Anything I can do to help." Then he turned to Harry. "You go on and enjoy the day; I'll see you shortly." Then he grinned wickedly. "Meet you on the Quidditch pitch!"