James stared moodily out of the window of the large dining room, trying his best to ignore the emotions swirling in the pit of his stomach. The fact that Evans had lied to him should not have come as a surprise. The fact that she might be guilty should not have disappointed him. And yet, somehow…
He tried not to dwell on what Sirius had told him, but the words repeated themselves in his mind. He hadn’t been there, but he could picture Narcissa’ Malfoy’s expression perfectly, could almost hear her voice. And the story she had told…
“James?”
James turned towards the elderly woman who entered the room. Stepping away from the window, he greeted her with a smile. “Mrs. McKinnon.”
Aurora McKinnon gave him a bright smile as she moved forward. Despite her old age, she was still full of energy, and seemed to fill up the room like a whirlwind. Her nearly jet black hair was a mass of unruly curls that framed high cheekbones and dark brown eyes, and her thin body was always covered in expensive “ and often showy “ robes.
Tonight was no exception. The dark crimson of her robes were embroidered by thin lines of gold thread, and the neckline was boarding on indecent.
“James, James, James,” she said, shaking her head and enveloping him in a quick hug. “Oh, my dear, it has been quite a while, hasn’t it? My Lena doesn’t bring you home nearly enough these days.”
James glanced over the witch’s shoulder and saw Marlene appear in the doorway, rolling her eyes. He bit back a grin “ it was common knowledge to both of them and all of their friends that Mrs. McKinnon was eager to see her daughter married to a Potter “ and answered, “I’ve been busy at work.”
Mrs. McKinnon clicked her tongue impatiently and said in a teasing tone, “That’s not excuse.”
James shook his head and wondered idly if he would ever be able to convince Marlene’s mother that he wasn’t actually the most eligible bachelor for her.
Mrs. McKinnon drew back and gazed at him, her hands resting on his shoulders. Warm brown eyes smiled benevolently at him, and then she grinned abruptly and dragged him over to the nearest chair.
“Sit down, sit down. Lena!” She raised her voice to call for her daughter, whirling around quickly, and was surprised to find the young witch already standing behind her. “Oh, darling! You nearly gave me a such a fright. Do sit down and keep James company, won’t you? Dinner will be ready in just a moment, I’m sure. Linny has quite outdone herself.”
James couldn’t keep back his broad smile at that, the McKinnon’s house elf was an amazing cook.
Marlene obediently took a seat on the sofa across from James, clearly hoping that by not sitting right next to him, she could somehow indicate to her mother that this was not a match she wanted. But James sincerely doubted that Mrs. McKinnon would notice this.
“Your father will be down shortly,” Mrs. McKinnon said to Marlene. “I am just going to slip in and check on Linny. Not that she needs to be checked on. Dinner will be quite fabulous, won’t it? Oh, you really do need to come by more often, James. Everything is just so much better when you’re around.”
And she gave Marlene a very obvious wink before rushing away.
Marlene groaned and ran a hand through her hair. “Subtlety is not one of my mother’s strengths,” she muttered.
James laughed. “So I’ve seen. She is quite… adamant.”
“I doubt she is the only one. If we got married, the pureblood community would throw a party. Lestrange might actually stop hating you,” Marlene replied.
James rolled his eyes. “I don’t anything will get him to hate me,” he countered. “Particularly not after this. He won’t forgive me for representing Evans. Not that I particularly want his forgiveness.” He rose from his seat, unable to sit still. He thought about pacing, but knew that it wouldn’t help. He needed to focus on something else, something wouldn’t remind him of Evans.
Why was he even this upset about it? It’s not like he had believed her to be completely honest before this.
“She’s just a client. It isn’t your job to care about her innocence or guilt,” Marlene said after a long pause. “You have to focus on proving Lestrange wrong. Regardless of what actually happened to Lupin, your job is have the Wizengamot acquit Evans of all charges.”
James didn’t answer. She was right, of course. From the moment he had agreed to be counsel for Evans, he had resigned himself to only one job. Setting her free. Beyond that, what did anything else matter? If he was able to obtain Evans’ acquittal, it was still unlikely that he would ever see her again. She would move on with the rest of her life, and he would move on with his, and unless she was once more accused of murder, their paths would not cross.
And Narcissa Malfoy would likely continue to wreak havoc on Evans’ life.
“I still don’t think we have the whole story. How can I defend her if I don’t know everything?” James asked bitterly.
“The same way you would defend anyone else,” Marlene replied tersely. “You do the best you can with what you are given.”
The rest of the conversation was cut off by the appearance of Marlene’s father. He was a short man, slightly pudgy with a soft-around-the-edges look. Where Mrs. McKinnon was full of energy and passion, he was laidback and good-humored, always in ready to smile, always ready to laugh. Nothing ever seemed to faze him.
He smiled, the lines in his face deepening, and extended a hand. “Good to see you, James.”
“You, too, Mr. McKinnon,” James said, shaking the man’s hand.
Charles McKinnon wrapped his daughter in a quick hug, then turned back to James and asked jovially, “And how is your work these days?”
“Good,” James answered. “Quite good.”
“Come, come, sit down,” Mrs. McKinnon called, poking her head into the parlor and beckoning them all to the dining room. “Dinner is served and Linny has made the most spectacular stuffed cabbage!”
As they hurried to take their seats around the table, the delicious smells of food making James’ mouth water, Mr. McKinnon turned towards his daughter and said, “And you? How is your work, darling?”
“The same as always,” Marlene answered dismissively.
“Is it getting monotonous, then?” Mr. McKinnon asked, throwing James an amused look.
Marlene glanced at James. “Of course not.”
“Will you give me a different answer if I ask the question when James is not in the room?”
Marlene laughed them, throwing a smile to her father. “Of course not,” she repeated.
“Although you might be changing your answer if Lestrange gives us any trouble,” James quipped.
“Lestrange? Rodolphus Lestrange?” Mr. McKinnon asked, his fork poised in midair above his plate. He stared hard at James, then switched his gaze to Marlene, and appeared not even to notice when his wife placed some of the stuffed cabbage on his plate.
“Yes. It’s this case. You know James is representing Lily Evans, right? I told you this already,” Marlene answered
“I… well, yes. I didn’t realize that Lestrange was prosecuting… although I suppose I should have expected that,” Mr. McKinnon muttered.
“Do you know him well?” James asked. “Lestrange, I mean?”
Mr. McKinnon frowned for a moment, then shrugged. “We’ve crossed paths once or twice in the past, but otherwise, I tend to avoid him and his family.” He pushed the cabbage on his plate back and forth with his fork, and then added, “The last time I really spoke to him was several years ago. Back when I worked at the Ministry. Since then… we might both be purebloods, but it doesn’t mean we run in the same circles.”
James swallowed uneasily and slanted a quick look at Marlene. She, too, was gazing at her father with apprehension. Neither of them had ever seen him this serious “ or this obviously distressed “ before. He was so often light-hearted and full of mirth, and this was quite a surprise.
Mrs. McKinnon shook her head. “Really, Charles, there is no reason to speak of this,” she chided gently, her usual exuberance held at bay.
“Speak of what?” James asked quckly.
But Mr. McKinnon shook his head. “No, my boy, Aurora is correct. Let the past stay in the past.” And with considerable effort, he forced a smile back to his features.
James said nothing. It was clear that this was an unpleasant topic for Mr. McKinnon, and he had no intention of prying out any of the details. At least not over dinner.
The rest of the meal passed comfortably enough. After a few moments of awkward silence, Mrs. McKinnon burst into a tirade against the newest fashions in robes design, and then the conversation turned to talk of Quidditch and other benign subjects. James found himself forgetting about everything else and enjoying the evening of good food and good company.
He had always liked Marlene’s parents. After his own had died while he was still at Hogwarts, he had taken to visiting hers frequently instead. After all, it wasn’t like he could spend his time with Sirius’ family, given that they would most likely call him a blood traitor and ban him from their home as they had done with their own son.
And the McKinnons had welcomed him with open arms, although he thought that perhaps some of that was due to their hopes that he would marry their daughter. He had been unable to explain to them that he viewed Marlene as a sister more than anything else, and the idea of marrying her was actually slightly disturbing.
But he did like being included in their family.
After dinner, they retired to the parlor, and Mrs. McKinnon instantly drew Marlene into a critique of the younger witch’s wardrobe, which was apparently not flamboyant enough for her mother. Marlene protested, all in vain, as Mrs. McKinnon insisted on several necessary alterations to the style of Marlene’s robes.
James listened with amusement for a moment, then looked over at Mr. McKinnon, who sat by his side.
The older wizard was frowning again.
“You need to be careful, James,” he said in a firm voice. “Lestrange is ambitious. And dangerous.” He paused, then added, “And powerful. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t,” James promised, and wondered vaguely why he was receiving this warning.
Mr. McKinnon looked down at his hands which were folded stiffly in his lap, and said, “You have to understand… Aurora and I… we simply aren’t cut out for adventure. For all my wife’s exuberance, she really does enjoy the quiet of her life. As do I.”
“I can appreciate that, too,” James pointed out.
“Yes, yes,” Mr. McKinnon said absently, patting James on the shoulder. “Of course you can. But you’re young, James. And your head is filled with all these notions of… of excitement.”
James shrugged. He wasn’t sure he considered attempting to stop Lestrange from sending Evans to Azkaban “ or worse “ was really exciting, but he didn’t feel it would be right to argue with Mr. McKinnon.
“You see, this is why the rising Dark worries me so much. Aurora and I are well beyond the age when we can be of any help fighting the evils out there, but you… and Marlene… this might end up being your battle. It worries me, it really does.”
James raised an eyebrow. “The rising Dark?”
“Oh, it hasn’t reached the paper yet. I don’t think the Daily Prophet cares much to report such depressing news as this. Particularly when the mysterious deaths all seem to be happening to Muggles and Muggleborns. But the Muggle papers… they do report it. Dumbledore has…”
“Dumbledore?” James interrupted. “What does the Headmaster have to do with this?”
Mr. McKinnon drew himself up and said sternly, “Dumbledore is the most powerful wizard alive.”
“Well… yes, I know he is,” James agreed, feeling utterly bewildered by the strange turn the conversation had taken. He chanced a quick glance at Marlene and her mother, but neither were paying any attention to the two men. He sighed, and ran a hand through his already messy hair.
“Several years ago, the same things started happening,” Mr. McKinnon explained. “Muggles killed with Dark curses, werewolves and vampires encroaching on wizarding communities, attacking helpless victims. There wasn’t much of it, and I don’t think anyone really noticed. Except Dumbledore.”
Mr. McKinnon stopped, closing his eyes for a moment as though remembering everything. In the light of the fire, he seemed suddenly so much older than James had remembered. He knew Marlene’s parents were old, but this… this was different. He seemed not just physically old, but mentally old as well.
It made James wonder for the briefest of moments just how much energy it took to be constantly cheerful.
Then Mr. McKinnon said, “Dumbledore was worried. I think he suspected something, although I don’t know what it was. He didn’t share the details of his suspicions with me, but I remember… he came to visit one night. He was rattled, upset. Scared, I think. And that was what frightened me the most, because if Dumbledore was afraid…” He trailed off and did not finish the sentence, but James understood.
If Dumbledore was afraid, then the problem must have been truly horrifying.
“He asked me to speak to Lestrange. There were certain people he thought could be involved in this. People in power. Lestrange was one of them, but I don’t know who else he suspected.”
“What did he want you to speak to Lestrange about?” James asked, leaning forward eagerly. The tale was unfolding to be far more of a drama than he had expected.
“Nothing, really. Just to keep an eye on him. To see if he was acting at all… suspicious. And I tried, I really did. I found some things… bits and pieces, but nothing that could form a coherent picture. I reported it all faithfully to Dumbledore, but it made little sense to me. And then, a couple weeks after Dumbledore asked me to… investigate… Lestrange came to my office. As I said, I was still at the Ministry then, and he was there as well, so it was hardly unusual for me to see him around, but when he showed up… it was different. He was angry, threatening. He told me to back off, that he knew what I was doing and I needed to stop it. I told Dumbledore, and we decided it was best if I followed that advice. I didn’t want Lestrange to have any reason to target myself or Aurora. Or Marlene. He is powerful, James. He was powerful then, too.”
“And then what happened?” James asked breathlessly.
Mr. McKinnon shrugged. “Nothing much. The attacks died down. They still happened occasionally, but not enough to be noticeable. Not that most of the wizarding world even noticed any of it in the first place, but… Those of us who had been paying attention thought that it was over. But Dumbledore thought that whoever was behind those attacks was just waiting, biding his time.”
“Waiting for what?” James pressed, frowning.
“I don’t know. Nothing’s happened, and it has been several years. Still… there has been an increase in Dark activity. Not much, but the same as there was all those years ago.”
“How many years? How long has it been?”
“Hm? Oh, let me see…” Mr. McKinnon’s expression grew thoughtful as he considered this, and then said, “I think this all must have been about seven years ago.”
“Mother!” Marlene’s voice, high and shrill, cut through the conversation, and James turned towards his friend. She was on her feet, and looked thoroughly disgruntled, while Mrs. McKinnon hovered in front of her with a defiant look in her eyes.
“It is important, Lena. A proper wardrobe is one of the most valuable assets any witch or wizard can have.”
“Are they still talking about clothing?” James muttered, shaking his head in amusement.
“I don’t judge people based on how they look,” Marlene said with a glower. “Why should I let others judge me?”
But Mrs. McKinnon didn’t seem at all perturbed by the implied reprimand in those words, and clicked her tongue. “Of course you judge people based on appearances, Lena. Everyone does. You are smart and you are fun and you are beautiful. You never seem to worry about hiding your brains or your personality, so why hide your beauty?”
“Mum…”
“So it is decided,” Mrs. McKinnon pressed on, clapping her hands together and completely ignoring her daughter’s horrified expression. “We will go shopping together tomorrow.” Spinning towards James, she added, “You will be able to spare my daughter for the afternoon, won’t you?”
Marlene through James a pleading glance, but James took one look at Mrs. McKinnon’s flushed face and bright eyes and decided he would much rather brave the wrath of the daughter than the wrath of the mother.
“Of course,” he said quickly. “Take all the time you need tomorrow.”
“Well, good. Then it is settled,” Mrs. McKinnon said, a note of finality in her voice. “I always knew you were someone who truly understood the importance of clothing, James.” There was no irony in her voice, so James reasoned that she must have either forgotten that every single one of his robes looked almost exactly the same, or else she was choosing to ignore that particular detail.
He smiled.
Marlene sent him a frosty glare.
Frank Longbottom glanced one more time around the small, disheveled room. It had not been touched since the removal of Remus’ body. The pieces of the shattered lamp still littered the floor, and the cabinet opposite him has not yet been repaired. The blood on the floor had hardened and the air was tinted with a foul, metallic smell. He grimaced and tried not to breath through his nose.
“Where did you go, Remus?” he murmured. “And why did you come back?”
He wasn’t expecting an answer, although he certainly would have appreciated one. While the conversation with James Potter had left him uneasy, the conversation with Lily in Azkaban had left him downright bewildered. He could not imagine that she would ever do anything to hurt Remus, and yet…
He rubbed the back of his head absently with one hand, the other clenched tightly around his wand.
A cold breeze drifted through the window, and he frowned. They had closed it tightly before they left, or, at least, Moody had said that he did. It was the only change they had made to this room, the one concession to protect what was inside from the weather. But it was partially open now, just a slight gap.
Just enough for him to catch a glimpse of a shadow moving backwards, disappearing into the dark.
He crossed to the window, half-believing it was all a trick of the light, or of his mind. Or perhaps a reporter looking for more details for his sensation article? It had been years since the last trial, but this repeat, this rematch of Lily and Lestrange, was sure to make exciting reading.
He pushed the window open a bit further.
He scrutinized the area carefully, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and tried to calm his suddenly frayed nerves. Something twisted in the pit of his stomach, and for a moment, he saw Alice’s face, her eyes wide and filled with horror. And lifeless.
And then he heard the creak of the floorboard. With Auror-trained reflexes, he spun, his wand at the ready, and silently cast the shield charm.
The spell that was cast at him had come from just beyond the door, and it collided with his shield charm in an explosion of heat. A figure came closer, body covered in a hooded cloak, obscuring any identifiable features from view. Frank darted to the left as another spell was cast and his shield crackled and crumpled under the strain of his opponent’s magic.
The Auror cast his own silent stunning spell, which was easily parried.
The cloaked figure entered the room, sliding through the shadows along the wall. Frank could not tell if it was a man or woman, but he had little time to wonder about that as a burst of fiery red light filled the room. It was a rope, he realized abruptly, a rope made entirely of flames.
Aguamenti! Frank thought desperately, and a jet of water spurted from the end of his wand and met with the fire in midair, producing a sizzling sound and an incredible amount of steam that turned the air hazy.
Through the fog, he saw his opponents spring forward, and he stumbled back, tripping over the tangled edge of the bedspread. He hit the ground, his arms bracing himself against the impact, and rolled on instinct, just barely getting out of the way before a jet of red light struck the floor, causing scorch marks to appear in a circular pattern.
Frank rolled over and kicked out hard with both feet, striking the other person in the legs. There was the sound of a thud, and then he and his opponents were tangled in twisted robes and flying fists, each struggling to get away from the other.
He brought his wand up sharply, a jerky movement, and said the first spell that came to mind.
“Impedimenta!”
There was a muffled curse, and then Frank was free. He scrambled to his feet, waving his hand in front of him to clear the steam that still lingered in the room like some strange, magical mist. A dark shadow stumbled away from him, but he let his guard down for a moment too long, and there was an explosion of pain in his arm.
He looked down in time to see the gash through the shredded edges of his robe’s sleeve, and watched as the blood strained his skin red.
His attacker’s wand waved once more, something Frank just barely caught sight of out of the corner of his eye, and he jumped aside. Ignoring the stinging pain in his arm, he countered with his own stunning spell, followed quickly by a disarming spell and another impediment curse.
They were all blocked, but the figure was moving backwards, towards the door. Frank darted around the bed and swung his wand through the air in a large circle, creating a gust of wind that cleared the mist and sent his opponent slamming heavily into the wall.
In the suddenly clear air, Frank caught sight of slender fingers gripped around the wand, of the faint shape of curves beneath the figure’s robes and hooded cloak.
His attacker was female.
But the shadows remained, covering part of the room in darkness, and he could not make out anything else useful.
And then came the fire.
It rushed from the witch’s wand, but then took shape. A large, snarling creature advanced on him, made of scorching hot fire. A long tail unraveled, beady eyes fixed on Frank, fiery lips parted to reveal flames in the shape of teeth… a dragon. A dragon made of living fire, fire that shed sparks every time the creature moved its massive body.
“Fiendfyre,” Frank breathed, awed and horrified at the same time. He had never seen it before, though he had heard countless tales of its destructive power. It was nearly impossible to control, and the witch who was now forcing the dragon forward, towards him, had to be incredibly powerful to keep such rule over the magical creation.
But he had no time to think of this. The fire-dragon pounced, and he was thrown backwards, sparks landing on his robes and setting them ablaze. The fire-dragon stood between him and the door, and there was no way out, no way to escape. On the other side of the fire, he could see the witch moving towards him, the light of the fire falling across her hooded face.
She laughed coolly.
The air was hot, burning, unbearable… Frank summoned water that did nothing against the fire, and the dragon moved closer and closer. It had not engulfed him yet, had not killed him even though it easily could. But the witch seemed to be playing with him, amusing herself with his fear.
He tried another spell, hoping to stun the witch through the fire. But the dragon opened its mouth and swallowed the spell, somehow stopping it, and the witch laughed harder.
He had to get out. But the anti-Apparation wards around the home, the ones meant to keep out reporters and looters and anyone else who might be interested in creeping into this place before the Aurors were completely finished with it were now keeping him trapped inside.
The dragon reared back and opened its mouth as though to roar. No sound issued forth, but the flames grew larger, and the creation was impossibly big, as though it somehow shouldn’t even fit in this room.
The fire was contained in the dragon, and although smoke filled the air and a few pieces of furniture now showed charred edges and scorch marks, the room was not ablaze. Frank noted this even as he felt his skin burn, noted the way the sparks sizzled and went out before they hit the ground, and wondered vaguely if perhaps the witch did not want to burn down Remus’ home.
Was she trying to keep it in one piece? Why?
But these were not thoughts he could waste any time on, and the question would have to remain unanswered. He had only one choice now, and he did not hesitate. Shoving the window open, he jumped through it, the cold night air striking him, leaving him breathless. The dragon burst through the window behind him, but when he hit the ground with a heavy thud, he pulled together all his strength and concentration and ran past the wards, Disapparating as soon as he could.
The last thing he heard before he disappeared completely was the witch’s laughter echoing in the night air.