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Chapter Text

Angua’s head snapped up. She’d heard a very small sound like the exhalation of a very small vole. Her werewolf senses were stronger on full moon night, but she couldn’t be sure what she’d heard. If it was a breath, no inhalation followed. A rich odor followed the sound and her hackles jumped. Newcomer. Danger. Invader. Werewolf. Werewolf male, less than half a mile away. How by all the gods had she missed him? He couldn’t have been here earlier, he was too close. Even chasing chickens with Gaspode didn’t dull her attention to her surroundings. Was he alone? She flared her nostrils, didn’t smell any more wolves, and began loping toward him.

“Miss, don’t bovver him. He could be tricking us. He’s prolly just holding his breath ready for the leap and the bite.” A smell of dead things and a privy carpet followed her. The foul grayish-brown dog, a mix of terrier and who knew what, had reached a new low tonight, with a yellow-gray mess on his ears.

She ignored Gaspode as she always did except when they were chasing chickens together. In the same place. Only at certain times—okay, yes, she was letting Gaspode follow her around on full moon nights for no reason except that he was the only canine in the area who could talk to her.

“Miss,” Gaspode whined. “Leave him alone. Werewolves are right barstards, saving your presence. He’s trouble.”

“Shut up Gaspode, and open your nose. I know you can smell it.” It was a thick, fatal, oily line of black fire which blocked all others. Except there was the weakest trail of deep purple smoke. The purple trail began to break up, and she ran full out.

Remus Lupin was dead when his body appeared on the Disc. Dead except for three or four yellow sparks flickering through his medulla oblongata like cloud to cloud lightning. Killing curses will do that. He’d felt the green explosion when the curse hit his chest. Then he felt green-gold slashes slicing through his scalp, thousands of them, which bit down through his skin and bones to his feet. There were other strokes which spun through his organs in blades of purple-red, whirlwinds meeting and passing through each other. The agony went on for—a time he could no longer measure. It seemed unnecessary since he would die anyway. But Antonin Dolohov was one of the longest-serving, most devoted and sadistic of all Voldemort’s Death Eaters. He must have decided to revel in other curses before the Unforgivable. Then even the pain disappeared.

Angua arrived at Remus’ body and sniffed him frantically. There was blood everywhere. His head lolled to one side in the neck muscles’ final collapse. He didn’t move. He was damaged beyond what she’d ever seen a werewolf survive and yet—very faintly and slowly –Lub………...Dub…………...Lub……..……….Dub…….…. a few cardiac cells struggled to form into an organ. If she could get any food to his body it would begin to heal. Her instincts took over and she began lapping at his muzzle, then nipping at it to make him open his jaws. He still didn’t move. Gaspode scurried up next to her, a tiny mouse dangling between his teeth.

“Thwat’s wight, Miss, get twhis down him and I’whill get anovver.” He spat out the mouse, and raced away, his privy carpet smell worsened by fear. He had smelt the stink of wizards on the dead wolf.

Angua could feel by her tongue that the new wolf’s jaw was broken in at least three places. How could she ever get him open it enough to eat the mouse? She licked at his muzzle faster.

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It was a million to one shot, which happens nine times out of ten—Remus had arrived in the only time and place in the multi-verse which could keep him alive: the Disc on a full moon night. His body had shifted while he was dying, and he was completely wolf by the time Angua found him. The thrumming magical field which surrounded the Disc augmented his fading supernatural healing and kept the one last spark of life from going out. Angua crushed the mouse with her jaws and licked at Remus’ muzzle, forcing drops of blood onto his teeth. Five minutes, and she was out of mouse, but then Gaspode was back with another one. Angua chomped on it without looking and went back to licking.

“Hey, miss, hav a care, I could lose a paw or sumfin.” Her heard her growl softly deep in her throat. Then he yipped in surprise and backed up a few paces. It wasn’t her growl.

Angua’s ears went flat against her skull, and she growled. It was the instinctive response of one wolf hearing another not in its pack. “Wrong wolf wrong wolf, kill now kill now!” But her heart was singing. A growl, even a tiny one like this, meant life. If she had been on two legs instead of four (and had a scientific degree in canine anatomy beside the practical one) she might have thought, “Right, that means his throat muscles have healed and his larynx cartilage has stiffened sufficiently to respond to the stimulus his recovering nerves have received from the not-quite dead brain.”

“Get me two more mice and then go get the chickens!”

Gaspode ran off in the night, thinking, “’s’not fair. Now she’ll have another man if she turfs Carrot out, while I, the hero of this piece, will not get even a sniff” and he stopped that. Angua could not hear him think but she would smell him when he came back and scent “I’m a Big Boy, I Am,” which meant he’d been thinking about her like he oughtnt’have.

By the time Gaspode had brought the three chickens, the other wolf’s noises had changed to constant muffled whines. Muffled, Gaspode realized, because he now had his jaw open part-way and Angua was nosing chunks of mouse down his throat. Gaspode whined a bit himself, because he could feel the pain radiating from the other wolf.
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Remus’ jaw had been broken in three places. Every one of his 206 human bones had, even the tiny ones in the ears. He couldn’t hear another wolf running toward him, but smell is the last thing to fade in the werewolf’s brain.
Another wolf. Female. Please don’t kill me, wolf. Then he smelled her worry and desire to help.

Remus’ jaw was broken in only one place now, and he could swallow chunks, ignoring lasting winces. Against anything he’d ever heard of, he had somehow survived being hit with a killing curse, and the torture Dolohov had dealt him before the final Avada Kedavra. Barely survived—his screaming, sliced organs had been healing themselves slowly from the time he appeared on the Disc, before Angua reached him. They had needed less energy than his shattered bones. He was able to absorb the first drops Angua had pressed against him because they had gone directly into his newly-sealed blood vessels. A raw new esophagus was needed before he could swallow any whole food, and his new, knitted together stomach could only squeeze with miniscule muscles. But compared to the red-purple messes two hours before, they were fabulous.

His heart had recovered even quicker, because living cardiac muscles throb by themselves, without nerves. Whether they get faster, slower, or skip beats depends on nerves, but even weak human heart muscles beat.

Angua changed back to human as soon as the new wolf began to swallow, because she wanted to think. To defy the change all her cells demanded had been formidable. She persevered because she wanted to live a human life, and at last succeeded. The urge to revert to wolf form was almost unendurable, and she couldn’t stay in the two-legged form for very long. But at least she could think about the problem with a different brain, as she knelt by him.

She would not be able to move him until more of his bones had healed. From what she could tell the bones big enough to have marrows had been broken several times. What about the little bones of the spine? How badly were they damaged? What could she do to help that?

“Needs bones to put on bones, missy,” her grandmother had told her. “Your uncle was fool enough to get his leg bitten off, and if I don’t give him any new bones, his old bones will have strength pulled from them while he heals.“ Angua had been a mere puppy, and in wolf form where recalling words was difficult, but she remembered these, mostly because her grandmother had given her a spoonful of the delicious bone soup she was cooking, then gently smacked her muzzle when she pawed after more. “Remember. Bones make new bones.”

It had been full dark when they found him, but it was several more hours until dawn. If he lived until then, he’d shift automatically, and she wasn’t sure he could survive the shift. He couldn’t be moved at all until his back muscles and vertebrae had come back, and she needed bones. Only one choice, and she wondered why she’d been putting it off.

“Gaspode. Go get Captain Carrot and bring him here. Make him bring a huge vat of ribs from Harga’s House of Ribs, and bring water for it.” She picked up another chunk of mouse and pinched the wolf’s muzzle again. If he died—if she couldn’t save him—she was not going to think of that.

“Miss…” whined Gaspode. “I can maybe get the boy to bring ribs but water’ll slosh out. Not sure he’ll understand me even in a panto.” He scratched his ear nervously, dislodging the refuse from the fish market. He’d acquired it to improve his smell for her, but she hadn’t said anything.

“I don’t care! Make him bring water in wineskins, wine is better, really. YOU grab some wineskins at Harga’s and bring them back. Carrot can tell him we’ll pay later. Also get a stretcher, no, a door, something hard enough so he won’t sag. He can’t even hold his head up.” Angua was now twisting the unresponsive ear nearest to her. The wolf twitched but didn’t pull away.

He sniffed. “I’ll run as fast as I can in these paws, but I fink you’d be faster and more able to communicate with the boy.” He crept closer and tried to nudge her.

“Get the most ribs you possibly can and I’ll let you have some! With the meat and sauce! NOW GO!” The growl reverberated down his spine, and there were undertones of “I’m getting angry and you don’t want to see me when I’m angry.” She reached for one the chickens, and as he watched in horror, bit its head off with her human teeth. She didn’t even seem to realize it, and tore the chicken to pieces.

He couldn’t restrain a widdle as he shivered. She was so beautiful and so glorious to run with he sometimes forgot the strength of her jaws.

As soon as his stubby legs passed the Water Gate, he began the Howl. It was the only way they’d locate Captain Armor-polish-and-soap in time. The Howl was picked up first by Lucky, a small three-legged dog with one good eye and one good ear, and broadcast as loudly as a yipping voice could. Then another, and another, and in a few minutes the sound was audible outside Ludmilla Cake’s window. Her ears pricked, and she shoved her nose into the hand of the man who lay on the bed next to her.

“I hear it too.” Her lover was human tonight. Lupine had pointed ears he hid with long hair, and had to shave three times a day, when the full moon turned him into a man. Ludmilla had found him, her man-wolf, and they got along together much better than anyone would suppose.

Lupine sat up, already fully clothed, and pulled on his boots. Ludmilla would undress when he was a wolf, and pet him the whole night while wearing only her shift, but he’d never been comfortable being naked. He felt vulnerable, worried that he wouldn’t be able to protect her if by some foul chance they were discovered. Now it meant that he could rise quickly, softly steal down the hallway, and open the door for them.

Gaspode heard the Howl reverse when Ludmilla carried it back to him. Running as fast as he could on his scabby paws, he met them at Peach Pie street.

“It’s Angua,” wheezed Gaspode. “Another werewolf—don’t—know—how—got here, almost dead—get Carrot.”

“I think he’ll be in the Mended Drum.” Lupine hesitated, then scooped up Gaspode. The little dog trembled and shook—he couldn’t run any more. Lupine could, and raced with Ludmilla to the disreputable tavern on Filigree Street.

Carrot slumped as he sat in the Drum, looking at the celebration. He wished he were asleep in his small flat. He never felt easy on full moon nights, not since he’d pulled his sword on Angua that first time. She hasn't told him she was a werewolf before they were together. She'd changed in the night as the full moon arose, but they'd been asleep. He'd never forgotten the shock of finding a golden werewolf in the bed and charging after it. Logically she should be safe—she had her collar for daytime use, and had cubbyholes with extra clothes stored in several places around the city. He would never tell her he’d thought about asking her to bite him. If he could share her whole life, he wouldn’t worry as much. It would give him another identity to balance, though—human and dwarf fought in his heart more than he showed, and even the King crept out occasionally. He would never take up the crown, wanting only to remain in the Watch, but sometimes his hidden lineage grumbled at him. Human, dwarf, king, and werewolf—it might be too much.

He sighed and returned his attention to the table. Everyone had decided to celebrate tonight. It was rare that anyone stared at the multi-vital Watch—they knew what was good for them—but Cheery had been promoted today to Sergeant, and the dwarf had celebrated with weaving multiple pink ribbons into her beard braids, pushing that 1st-female-dwarf-presentation up another notch. Commander Vimes planned to give her a lance-constable to boss as soon as the recruit had been pummeled into shape by Sergeant Detritus. The first troll in the Watch, Detritus had been a splatter in a bar like the Drum, chained to a wall.(Like a bouncer, only harder.) Carrot had knocked him out cold on their first meeting, which helped now with their Captain/Sergeant ranks. Now he ran the training facility, even if he couldn’t count beyond four. Colon, Nobby, Detritus, and Reg—human, allegedly human, troll, zombie—squashed around one small table, and another had been shoved together for him, Cheery, Dorfl the golem, and the recruit, the Klatchian Lana, human—although not that long ago many Ankh-Morpork citizens expressed doubts about Klatchians on that score. Lana was now the first. Her family had immigrated from Klatch, and were still suspiciously foreign. She didn’t drink, but she was sharp, knew the customs, and shouted for the first round.

A man and a dog erupted into the bar, and every head turned. People reached for weapons but the man tossed Gaspode to the floor, threw his hands up and rushed to the Watch table. Carrot’s hand didn’t even move because he recognized them.

Lupine gasped, “Captain Carrot, Angua needs you tonight. I’ve heard on the Howl that there’s a badly injured w—alright, alright—a man who’s nearly dead outside the Water Gate. She wants you to bring ribs from Harga’s—yes, I know—bones with meat too, and water or wine—and did she say windows?“ Lupine stopped for a second, and Carrot heard a small voice say, “Sheesh, humans, she wants a wood thingie, door, wassit, for a stretcher. Woof woof.”

Carrot bent his head down to Gaspode and scratched his ravaged ears without a shudder. “Nice little doggie. Does she need anything else? Bandages?That’s a good doggie, here’s a treat for you.”

“Woof woof, ta, thanks. It’s not a man, it’s a wolf. Woof woof.”

Gaspode turned and tried to run but was stopped when Carrot grabbed him by the scruff.

“This dog is filthy, I’m taking him outside.”

“Filthy? I don’t fink so. I worked hard for this. Don’t shake me you giant idiot.”

Once outside the tavern, Carrot’s voice was low and insistent. “Tell me about the wolf—a werewolf, right?”

“Yes, but I don’t know nuffink! She and I was chasing chickens, then poof! It was like a rain of fish, sudden like. Woof Woof Bark Bark. He’s nearly a goner and he smells like wizards, put me down!”

The entire Watch had pounded out of the Drum and half of them were on their way to Harga’s. Carrot’s yell stopped them.

“Washpot, Reg, go back to the watch house and tear up sheets for bandages! Dorfl, go find me a door. Nobby, Colon, go to Harga’s, get the ribs and meat! And—Detritus, get me a barrel of water. And a bucket, a washing size bucket, to pour it in.”

He eyes flashed to Cheery and Lana. “You’re with me.”

“Gaspode, you lead us.”

“I fink not. These paws are worn out—”

“Here, lance-constable, you carry him.”

“What in the world do we want him for?” Lana sounded disgusted.

“He’s, uh, he works for the Watch sometimes. He’s a tracker. He’ll bark and show us the way.”

Lana looked at him, revolted. Carrot remembered that Klatchians did not keep dogs because they were thought dirty. That would go triple for Gaspode, but he wasn’t going to back down. If she wanted the watch, she’d have to touch much fouler things than Gaspode.

“That’s an order, lance-constable,” he demanded as Lana’s eyes went wild at the vile-smelling dog. Her medium-brown complexion paled as much as she could, and she stared in loathing, but grimly held her arms out.

They ran.

Chapter Text

When the mail coach from Lancre pulled into the Ankh-Morpork post office yard at midnight, all was in turmoil. A large woman with hair coiled up into a shape like a snail over each ear shouted to smaller men.

“Light torches! Bring out blankets! Draw water!”

The crowd prevented Magrat from viewing more than a smidgen of what lay on the ground, but it was appallingly enough.

She thrust open the mail coach door, winced as she stretched her stiff legs, and approached the crowd. Five years ago she would have murmured, “scuse me,” but being a queen and mother had extinguished that Magrat.

“MOVE PLEASE.” The voice didn’t command as much as the leaden tones of Death, of course, but was impressive coming from a thin nondescript woman, with an unruly mass of frizz and split ends that still awaited a Good Hair Day. When the men nearest her stared, she raised a decisive eyebrow, and they scurried out of her way.

There was a woman in the mail office yard, head lolled to one side, unmoving, with arms and legs sprawled. Oddly dressed in a red leather coat which hung almost to her ankles, she was full-figured, wearing a black buttonless sweater, and…black trousers? She also wore a thick pair of boots, much heavier than Magrat's. Her face, left shoulder, and chest had a long slash across them—no, a deep burn in a wicked slice. She wasn’t breathing and her face was dull blue. Magrat had no way of knowing it, but Tonks's killer had only struck her down, not minced her as Dolohov had done to Remus. She pressed forward until she could kneel by the woman and placed her hands over the still form. Black aura, black aura, black—red! A tiny, single spark of red over her heart! It flickered, faltered, faded to a pinpoint.

“Verence!” Magrat bellowed. “Bring my bag!”

She didn’t see him, but felt the wave of his presence as he roughly shouldered away the gawking men. Five years as king had changed him as well.

Without looking up, Magrat reached out her hand for her medical bag. “Get around to the other side!” She placed her hand on the woman’s chest. It felt creaky, and she could tell ribs had been broken. She’d have to be careful, she thought grimly, but broken ribs couldn’t hold her back.

She yanked a leather device from the bag and tossed it to Verence. it was like a clown’s squeaky horn with the squeaker removed.

“She’s not completely dead—get it over her mouth, go!”

Verence was the monarch and absolutely ruler of Lancre and a very smart man. Without a word he grabbed the object and skootched over to the woman’s head. He kneeled and fitted the soft leather horn over the woman’s mouth and nose and pressed its bulb slowly. It hissed over her lips, and he adjusted it tighter, then repeated.

Magrat closed her eyes, gathering power as she inhaled. She centered her hands at the bottom edge of the sternum, away from the deep burn, closed one fist around the other, and eased them down. She and Verence had created this technique to save those nearly drowned in Lancre River. This had to be deep and firm, but not too quick, or more ribs might shatter. One, two, three, four, five—she continued up to fifteen, and then motioned for Verence to pump the horn again.

Then she positioned her hands palms-out above the body at heart level, and swept them toward head and foot. She recast the spell five more times. She and Verence copied the cycle three times more before she stopped to check the aura again. Black, black—red! A faint circle over the heart throbbed weakly, and a network of red glowed throughout the body.

It worked!, thought Magrat. She’d never tried this on a human before, but she’d saved a newborn lamb this way. Transport the blood away from the heart, and it found its own path. She thrust her left hand out to the side, palm up, not looking, and barked, “Scumble!” in the same manner that a chirurgeon might snap “Scalpel!”

The small plump figure she knew was at her side pulled up her skirt and extracted a small bottle from her interior clothes. Nanny Ogg pulled the cork out and carefully deposited the open bottle in Magrat’s hand. Magrat planted a finger over the bottle opening, inverted it, and when Verence retracted the horn, carefully traced a line of liquid below the woman’s nose. If scumble didn’t work—if they needed to do presses again, Verence would do it alone because she’d have to rummage through her bag. Had she packed the sage? The marigold, the white willow, and the foxglove? No reaction. She grimly tried another thin line, and the nostrils fluttered. “Here.” Another voice spoke from the right side. “It’s my triple distilled white mountain peach brandy. Try it on her lips.”

Good idea. Granny Weatherwax’s peach brandy was feared as a powerful stimulant. Magrat reached for this second bottle. Scumble would kick you in the teeth, but the peach brandy would march down your throat, demanding respect from each inch of tissue it passed. She held the woman’s lower lip down gently and pressed two drops there. No change, no change— Magrat deposited two more drops of peach brandy. They heard a harsh strangle. Another gulp of air, rough, shallow. Verence began to replace the horn, but Magrat gave her one more drop and the breath steadied. For a second her hair, previously a matted dull brown, flashed bright pink. Everyone startled, and Nanny Ogg and Granny narrowed their eyes. If the woman created that effect nearly dead—what was she?

The big woman with the snail hair buns murmured to Magrat. “Ma’am? What can we do? We’ve a bed ready for her inside.”

“Thank you. I’m Magrat, Queen of Lancre, and my husband here is King Verence. I must check her further before moving her. And you are—?

“Miss Iodine Maccalariat, your majesty. I’ve never seen anyone switch their hair like that. Is she a witch?” The big woman sounded horrified and a bit disgusted.

“I will let you know when she can be moved. Please bring blankets-do you have any hot water bottles? Have your workers put together a stretcher for her. And the four of us need tea.” Magrat’s expression was pleasant, but you couldn’t call it a smile. Miss Maccalariat curtsied awkwardly and backed away in a shuffle.

Granny and Nanny Ogg smirked viciously at each other. Magrat was no longer the wet hen she’d been as the third of the coven-they-did-not-have. Though she fussed about the fiddly potions she refined, and wore more magical jewelry and charms than a witch should need, she had the queening all down. Granny was the better witch because she knew the amounts of herbs and potions didn’t matter—and Magrat was the better healer because she knew they did.

“A witch, huh,” muttered Nanny as Magrat shook out a small white cloth from her bag. “Bet Magrat would like to get that spell off her. But where’d she come from? No pink-haired witches I’ve ever heard of.”

Magrat tapped her cloth with a wand (Who used a wand! That was a show-off child’s toy, Nanny and Granny agreed. Magrat was still a wet drip in some ways.) The cloth sprang into a low holding table. It sprouted out empty bottles, vials of red, blue, and amber liquids, and measuring spoons. The colors were pure Boffo, inactive floral tints. Magrat understood that belief in a potion was almost as good as the potion itself, another change from five years earlier. A mixing tray popped up, with batches of herbs tied up in red ribbons. Another tray emerged, this one lined with healing stones and crystals, including the tiny chips Magrat had reverently received from the young trolls Miss Fire Agate and Miss Blue Lace Agate. She hadn’t even looked up to see whether the Maccalariat woman had retreated.

Nanny snorted.

“Gytha Ogg, don’t you dare laugh. You’ll distract her.”

At this moment Magrat looked up from her table with a desperate expression. “Granny, Nanny, can you manage her here? I must mix the herbs correctly, and it will take a few minutes.” Twin glares lighted on Magrat, and she froze. A witch never commented on another witch’s power, and Magrat had just implied the older witches had less than she. In another circumstance this would be a horrifying mistake—she’d only made it because she was frantic to mix the potion.

Panic-stricken, she sputtered, “I mean, if you keep her alive, and she doesn’t need the herbs, I’ll, I’ll, make up my mixture and stopper it.” Her voice was agitated. “But I think she may need it, it will help her strength. Please.” Nanny was the first to move, not because she had less pride than Granny, but because she could see that the situation was unstable, touch-and-go. Nanny had taken a person from Death three times in all her years, and it had dissipated her strength for over a week every time. Magrat had restarted the breath and heart, and forced the blood to move again—no time to sit back and cackle.

She hauled herself to her feet, bustled around to the opposite side, lifted the woman’s hand and gripped it. Because Death hadn’t popped up didn’t mean he wasn’t hiding near them.

I NEVER POP. TOO HARD ON THE KNEES.

Speak of the Anthropomorphic Manifestation and he shall appear.

“Your Lordship! No place for you here, sir.” Nanny was always polite. “She’s got her heartbeat and breath, and you can leave. She’s ours. You’ve never faced all three of us at once, and we’ll give you a hard time. You’ll want Esme to readjust your back someday, and we’d appreciate it if you’d mosey away.” She reached into her bosom and pulled up a small bag. Death was amazed that the contents were not sugar cubes, of which he disapproved, but dried apple slices. Nanny shook out several and brought them to the white horse's mouth. Binky lipped them up and butted her hand for more. She stroked the velvet-soft nose.

The hooded seven-foot skeleton considered this. Certainly he could scythe the blue cord linking body to soul—it was thin and wavery. But he’d waited out the witches before, and it gave him a headache to play that many games of Cripple Mr. Onion. He could always come back. I WILL REMOVE FOR A TIME. IF I RETURN, SHE WILL COME TO ME. His eyes glowed blue.

“Thank you, your Lordship, and I have these for the cats.” He received another soft bag which crackled when he grasped it. “It’s deer heart, rubbed with bear fat and covered in chicken skin, then roasted slowly to mix the juices. Then I dried it for two weeks.”

I DID NOT KNOW BEARS LIVED HERE.

Nanny snorted. “They don’t.”

Death accepted the bag and faded from view. I HAVE AN APPOINTMENT IN KLATCH. I WILL TRY THE CURRY.

Nanny exhaled. If Death had refused the deer chips she had made, there was the dwarf bread she’d ground finely and re-baked with tiny snippets of lamb and mint. Another travel mix she created, it was good for months. When she soaked it with cider, the dwarf bread minerals would drop to the bottom of the pot and leave their grain fillers at the top with the lamb. Dwarf bread itself was nearly impossible to eat, and she didn’t think he’d break his teeth on it, but in the dry form it was only satisfying for dwarfs.

In her conversation with Death Nanny hadn’t noticed that Verence had shifted away. Esme had migrated to the girl’s head, knelt, and eased her hands around each side of the face. Nanny had seen her perform headology many times to manipulate someone’s mind, but never on an unconscious person. She didn't know whether the senior witch had ever tried it. Granny whispered as her hands cradled the deathly-ill witch’s head. Her eyes were squinted almost shut. Gytha Ogg guarded the inert form and hung onto her hand, thinking. Magrat used herbals and crystal magic, and Esme performed headology. Her specialty was that she possessed a ferocious love of life and grasped all the pleasure she could from it.

“Well, missy, I don’t know if you have a mister to go back to, but with your bosom and that hair, I don’t see why you wouldn’t." She kissed the limp hand, caressed it. "He’s probably frantic to find you, missing you somethin’ terrible, and you need to get back to him. You’ve got plenty o’ time ahead of you now that Binky and his Master have buggered off.”

AHEM

“I thought you were going for that curry, and I don’t smell it now, sir. If she’s a witch from a place with different rules, mebbe she has a wizard there and we all know what that means.” With that she launched into the infamous ditty “A Wizard’s Staff Has a Knob on the End.” She didn’t hear a sound, but the air trembled and she smelled a desert. The sands would be sparkling black, and it could go on forever. But she felt a presence withdraw and breathed deeply. No one here was passing through the dark door today.

Chapter Text

Carrot was the first to reach Angua. It would be two hours until the sun rose; whatever happened here, she needed to find clothes before then. He cursed himself that he hadn’t brought his satchel with him, as he had a uniform for her. She was sitting in front of a strange wolf, trying to push a piece of raw chicken into his mouth. The new one was laying on his side, not moving except his jaws. As Carrot gently sat down beside Angua, the wolf gulped the chicken. Angua pressed against him and whined. He needed the translator, and luckily Lana was right behind him. She braked to a stop, and dropped Gaspode.

“Hav’ a care, lady, these poor bones can’t take it." Gaspode scrambled up to his feet and glared.

“Are you sure you’re not a talking dog?” She looked desperately at Carrot for answers, but he ignored her.

“Gaspode, tell me what’s happened since you left.” Carrot scraped a clearing in the cabbage field, started a fire with a flint, and blocked in the fire pit with earth.

Lana frowned at him. Too weird by half. “Is he a werewolf too? A weredog?” she demanded. No-one looked even likely to help her; they were concentrating on the three-way conversation.

Angua whined again, then yipped.

“Cap’n, the wolf is eatin’ better. Angua’s got him wolfing his food, ha ha, wolfing, but she can’t get enuff in him. Sun’s gonna come up and he’ll shift. If he’s not better, see—” Gaspode scratched his ear, then worried a flea colony on his left flank. It was all for show. He was happy with the fleas, had collected an entire set now. "If he’s still this bad when the sun comes up, he’ll, like, die.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I can hear you talking.” Lana interrupted. Cheery put a hand on her arm, mouthed, “later.”

“No, cours’ not, dogs can’t talk. Woof Woof Bark Bark good grief. Cap’n, he needs bone soup. Ask her.”

“Angua, what do we need to do for him?” Angua jerked her head around as the rest of the Watch joined them. She pawed the huge pail, then the sack of ribs, whined. Gaspode sighed. Humans. S'good job for them he was here.

“Light a fire, crack the bones, give some to the little doggie, crush the bones to bits, then cook them. Sheesh, do I hav’ to tell humans how to make soup?”

“I know about the soup.” Carrot’s voice had an edge. “Does he need anything else?”

Reg and Washpot pushed their way to the front. “We got the bandages.” They placed a pile of cloth on the ground; it was almost two feet high. Carrot noticed that Reg had wrapped a small bandage around one of his fingers. The zombie would have to re-attach it when they got back to the Watch House.

Detritus brought the barrel of water and a two-foot wide vat to pour it in, as Nobby and Colon appeared with the ribs and bones. They were already cooked, good, this would save time, Carrot thought.
“Detritus, Angua needs the bones crushed up in little pieces—then put them in the vat.”

In five minutes the mound of bones rested in the vat in tiny chips, and Lana was much farther away from Detritus. He grinned and rumbled.

“Trolls always do dat when we catch a human in the mountains. Mak’n’ it easy for the bebby trolls, see?”

The rest of the Watch hadn’t budged. They all knew he was only trying to frighten her. Carrot caught Detritus’s eye and glared. It was normal for the Watch to haze a new Watch member, but not to threaten to eat them. He’d deal with Detritus later. Cheery had brought rocks, and she deposited them in the pit, making a place for the vat. In a few minutes the soup was bubbling. She examined the wolf, shook her head. “He bled all over, but it’s stopped now. I have no idea how much he lost. It’s amazing he didn’t die from that. We should wrap his legs. He may bleed again when we move him. I wish there was a way to get under him to wrap him.”

Carrot glanced at the wolf again. Angua was lying with her head pressed as close to him as possible, licking under his chin and rubbing his muzzle.

“Don’t mean nuffink, she’s just tryin’ keep him awake,” said Gaspode quickly.

The soup was ready, and Cherry put some in a bowl. The wolf tried to raise his head, but couldn’t. He whined and lay back down. Angua whined as well, and pawed at Carrot’s leg.

“I’ll spoon it into him,” said Carrot calmly. He squatted next to Angua, took the wolf’s jaw in his hand, and raised a spoon. It was lapped clean. Back and forth, back and forth went the spoon.

Remus was aware of much more by the time a troupe of strange characters rushed up to him. The female werewolf told him they were from the Watch, but she hadn’t explained why the different shapes—that one had to be a dwarf—a small sized person with a beard and helmet—but pink ribbons in a beard?

There was a very large man who seemed to be made of rock, an even larger person who looked like a myth from Eastern Europe, ceramic with glowing eyes. All the others were human, and there were no witches or wizards of any kind. Good, he thought, and tried to sleep. The female wolf, Angua, she was Angua, wouldn’t let him alone, though. When a delicious broth was placed in front of him he attempted to eat it. Too much pain in his neck, though. He wasn’t that surprised when a tall human male with red hair sat down to feed him, though he was startled when he realized his smell had been on Angua’s fur. Probably her mate, then. There were no suspicious odors radiating from him, but Angua kept glancing between them.

And I can’t explain that I’m married, because I can’t lift my head. Or used to be married—where is Tonks now? She never should have come after me. She should have been with Teddy, never been at the battle. We tried to be safe all those months. Where am I? He whined, and lapped another spoonful. What am I going to do when the sun comes up? Oh, I see, they have boards—a door? For a stretcher, to move me somewhere, and those are bandages. Enough, I hope. But my spine is on fire. Dolohov hit me with the avada kedavra, I should be dead.

After eating as much as he could swallow the first time, he lay on his side and let them wrap his legs, and start wiping blood from his fur. He whined when cuts in his skin started to bleed again, though, and they stopped.

The dwarf sat beside him, and carefully felt his spine and neck every few minutes. He knew everything was still broken, but after the first hour of soup they were possibly less tender.

Every time he closed his eyes for more than a few seconds, Angua licked or nipped him. His ears, his nose—she was relentless. She woke him up and her big mate—much larger than Remus—would bring the rich broth to his lips. It took nearly an hour before he could lift his neck up to lap by himself, and then crunch some bones. Now he felt his own shattered bones begin to close. His neck was hurting less. He cautiously arched his back. It didn't stab him with pain; probably healed enough that he could be moved. He could breathe deeper; his ribs had healed. The legs though—they were not much better. It was going to be a race against time, because when the sun broke the horizon, he would shift, and for the first time in his life he wished the night would be longer.

Also, he realized that he was sane, not a monster, and that he had no urge to lunge at anyone. The full moon had not been his enemy. This was a strange place—werewolves must have better lives. What would it be like not to fear himself? He wouldn't have needed to lock himself into the Shrieking Shack. He wouldn't have the scars of his own jaws. The Marauders shared the danger with him and made the night less lonely, but he could have eaten the rat Animagus form of Peter Pettigrew in one bite if the man hadn't been careful. He should have. The wolfsbane kept him from killing anyone, but owing his, and the world's, safety to Severus Snape hadn't been pleasant. He’d bet that Fenrir Grayback would still find a path to evil though. He always would.

They brought over the door, and the dwarf felt his spine again. It ached, but he could hold his head straight. When he wasn’t expecting it, Angua’s mate took a long strip of bandage and wrapped it around his jaws, tying them closed. Angua growled, bumped the man with her shoulder, and tried to shove him away. But Remus understood. He would do the same thing, although he wouldn’t expect a piece of cloth to restrain a wolf. One as weak as he was, though—yes, it would do. Good. He wasn’t going to bite anybody even by accident.

“Slide the door over here.” said Carrot. “Dorfl and Detritus, you move him." He looked at the horizon and the few pink clouds. "We need to be back at the Watch House in twenty-five minutes.”

“I Could Carry Him Without The Board,” the golem offered. Angua growled again much louder, and she insinuated herself between the wolf and Dorfl. Carrot reached down to her shoulder, stroked it, ran his hand quickly through her fur. "It's okay. He'll be alright. No, thank you, Dorfl. Support the spine with your hands. Keep it flat all the way down. Detritus, you have his neck and shoulders.” The other Watch coppers stood back, ready to dart forward if there was sagging. “On the board now, please. One, two, three—”

Cherry monitored him with her hands as he was scooted. His heart was beating fast, but it had been beating fast ever since she got to him. Fast but still weak.

“Twenty minutes until dawn. Pick the door up now.” Carrot instructed calmly. The soup had been poured into the water barrel, stowed on the door, tied down, as were the meat scraps, wrapped in bandages. The extra cloths themselves lay completely over the wolf to shield him from gawkers. “Fast as we can, smooth, no bumps. Go.”

The Ankh-Morpork traffic wasn’t heavy at dawn, but there could be no delays. They passed the Water Gate at the ten-minute mark. The Watch cleared a path, Carrot in front with Angua, Colon and Nobby on one side protecting Detritus, Reg and Washpot on the other, flanking Dorfl. Cheery swung her ax at the rear in case someone was terminally stupid.

Lana hadn’t finished training yet. She’d never seen werewolves before a week ago, and still had a bit of silver jewelry under her uniform, but she was beginning to understand what Commander Vimes had explained about a multi-vital force. It was an honor to serve and protect a life, no matter how unfamiliar that life was, and if she needed to break a bone to do it, she would be delighted to swing her baton. But even before the wolf had been loaded onto the stretcher, Carrot had sent her to find Commander Vimes, on the double.

They breached the door to the Watch House as the sun broke the horizon, and carried him into a cell. It was the only place wide enough for a door and attendants around it, and they laid him down carefully as his limbs began to draw together.

Sam Vimes waited impatiently, feeling grim as the sky brightened, and as soon as—they were not pallbearers, no matter what it had looked like—Dorfl and Detritus withdrew, he surged into the cell. The werewolf was thrashing, his fur was withdrawing—"Blanket!” he growled, but Carrot was already there with one. Vimes was not at all sure what he’d do with a broken man, if the man even survived his change, but he’d agreed with Carrot. It was too far to take him to the Lady Sibyl, and they had Igor.

Igor was on the other side of the stretcher. He knelt quietly, one scarred hand on the shaking body.

“D’ya need anything, Igor?” The soup and meat were well to the side, but ready for use immediately.

“No, thir. I can’t thee how much he will bleed until the thkin reappears.”

The Watch Igor had never lost his speech defect and continued to pronounce some esses.

The curled figure under the blanket continued to shiver, whining in pain, then an odd pause, and it was screaming. The man was screaming. Vimes rubbed his forehead, and wished he could leave. He had heard Angua’s quiet change this morning when she’d raced to the locker room of the watch house. She had left it closer than she usually did, but her change merely sounded like a grunt and two big slabs of meat thumping together. He couldn’t imagine, did not want to imagine, what it would be like if she had to change with wounds all over her, seconds from dying. Angua returned from the locker room, and pushed past Vimes and Igor. She kneeled and wrapped one arm around the strange wolf’s —strange man’s—upper arms. She pressed the other hand onto his bare shoulder and upper back, and squeezed it. Her intent was to keep him still and calm so he wouldn’t injure himself, Vimes saw. Her blond hair fell over her face and he couldn’t see it. He wished he knew what Carrot thought, then realized he didn’t want to know. The man himself came into the cell.

"Do I need to get his legs?," he asked. Angua nodded but didn't look up. Carrot sat down cross-legged on the other side and gripped the quivering hips with one hand. He leaned over the blanket to catch up the legs in a gentle but firm hold.

Igor moved quickly around Angua and Carrot and didn’t disturb them. He pressed packs against the belly, which seemed to be bleeding the most, and then wrapped bandages wherever he could reach. Head, ears, neck—the man would look like a mummy at this rate, and Vimes cursed, rejected the thought.

At last there was only quiet sounds, possibly sobs. Vimes jerked his head up as Colon gestured to him, and he left the cell. Carrot stood up and followed them.

Angua bent over the stranger, hand on his head, pressed a bandage there. Still so much bleeding. They had to get more food into him. She was close to panic. Even a wolf could die. The man spoke his first words, and she repeated them. They made no sense. He said something again, a garbled whisper. “Tass.” “Tnk.” “T’n.”

“What? Tell me. Talk to me.” He garbled another word with a Tsss in it. As she bent lower he said, “Mff. M’wif. Wre’s my fff.” She still could not understand. “Please, I can’t understand. What do you want?”

He opened his eyes for the first time and she saw pain that was not physical. “Where’s Tonks? My wife. Whr’s m’wife?”

Angua stilled for a moment, and only then realized how much she’d hoped for something which would never happen. She would never run free with a man—a wolf— who knew every part of her. Never run wild and howl with another wolf, and she hadn’t acknowledged to herself how much she wanted it. She never questioned her bond to Carrot when she was wolf, and he'd help her this night without any hesitation. But sitting and lying next to another werewolf for hours—saving his life—she’d never had any similar experience. The only werewolves she knew were her own family. Wolfgang had driven away any others within Uberwald, those he hadn't killed. She’d tasted this wolf—tasted Remus—no hint of the ugly grey-red hatred that swirled around Wolfgang—she licked his mouth and chin as werewolves did in greetings, pushed chunks of food to his jaws. She hadn’t smelled any other wolf on him, and while she was under the moon, that was all she’d needed to know. Time stretched oddly as a wolf. Even when he’d only been on the Disc a few hours she seemed to have known him forever, as she licked and nuzzled him. But he’d been unconscious and she’d not felt his bond to a human female until this moment.

She was a Watchman, a captain, and she already had someone who shared as much as he possibly could. Carrot was honest down to his core. She had not smelled any anger or rage while he was in the field or cell with them. Plenty of worry, even the fear his human expression didn't allow. She didn’t know the strange wolf at all, despite their physical bond as beast to beast. She'd fought for his life; that was instinctive. He had other connections long before his arrival on the Disc, minutes from death. It was pure fantasy to entertain personal thoughts. One deep breath, and she spoke to him as a professional.

“I don’t know where your wife is, but we’ll find her. We need to put bandages on you, and get some soup into you again.”

“She’s prolly dead. Bellatrix. She prolly killed her." He continued. “They killed me. I’m dead. I must be dead. It was a killing curse.”

“Who?”— The odor of fear poured off skin and the organs beneath—and the dense, green, oily smell had the undertone of octarine.

“Wizards!” she exclaimed. “He was attacked—" “Killed. We were killed.” said a sad whisper. “Killed.” Angua shook her head, turned to Vimes, who had re-entered the cell. “Wizards did this. Not ours. And he thinks—and—and he thinks they killed his wife.” She could smell the man’s grief as a deep purple-blue, and it mingled with her own grief for him.

Vimes gestured to her and she pushed herself up and walked out. The bundle under the blanket was still trembling but not crying.

“I don’t think his wife is dead, yet.”

“What? How could you?—”

“Because I got a runner two minutes ago. The Lady Sibyl has a strange woman, brought in last night by the witches. She was found in the post office coach yard, with unusual burns. They think she might be a witch; I don’t know, but they smelled it too. Wizards. And they don’t know whether she’ll live. The witches and the Igors are still working with her. She hasn’t woken up.”
Vimes studied Angua as she leaned against the door to the cell. Every muscle slumped and she seemed ready to fall. He couldn’t imagine the hours she’d spent lying in a cabbage field and wasn’t surprised when she whispered. “We can’t tell him now. He still has broken bones, he’s got to eat more soup. “

Vimes looked at her with an expression she wasn’t sure she wanted to understand. “We need to tell him now.”

She shook her head. "No. He's still in such agony."

"He thinks his wife is dead; he can have poppy syrup as soon as we tell him. Angua, it’s going to give him hope. He’ll fight for her.”

She nodded. He would never run with her. Wolves didn’t look back. She was a Watch captain with a job to do and she marched into the cell.

“Remus—I’m going to give you soup again, and I have news for you. A woman was found on the other side of the city at the same time you were. We don’t know her name yet, but she was wearing a long red coat, a black sweater, and black trousers. She is in hospital now.”

Remus’s breath stuttered, more irregular. Angua continued quickly.

“Also, she has brown hair but they tell me it flashed bright pink for a few seconds. I don’t know—” and he was breathing deeper. Tears slid from his eyes.

“Tonks, ‘s’ Tnks.”

“You think it’s your wife?”

“’S’ her. Pinkkkk h’r.” The man’s lips twitched in a tiny smile.

Angua smiled even while tears gathered in her eyes. Vimes had been right, he needed hope.

“Good, good. They’re taking care of your wife. But you need to get better before you can go to the hospital. You’re too weak. Your bones are too weak.”

The man started to nod yes and stopped from pain.

“Right then, this is what we have to do until you can sit up.”

How could she get broth down him? He couldn’t eat until he could sit up, or at least get his head up far enough on pillows. The two-legged form was very inferior.

She dragged a bowl of soup to her, careful not to spill, and sank down to sit on her heels. Worry started to pulse in her head, but this was the only way she could think of. She dipped her index finger in the soup, then slowly bent toward him, protecting it from dripping with her other hand. Some bread would help with this. They had some—she’d call for it in a moment.

“Here, open your mouth, I’ve got a drop. Just a drop. Let’s get it in there. Yes, I think bread would work. Washpot!” she yelled. “Bring me some bread.”

Remus didn’t know how long he nibbled at soup-soaked bread. When his neck hurt less and he attempted to turn to his back, green mismatched hands gently supported him and made him comfortable. He could hear a quiet discussion going on:

“I think he’th had all the broth he can take, and he needth to rest.”

“Igor, I barely got a cup down him, and he can’t crunch any bones.”

The first voice was patient but firm.

“The bone marrowth were cruthhed up, Captain Angua and that’th in the soup. It will do for now. Retht ith what he needth.”

“Well—tell me as soon as he’s awake.”

“Yeth, Captain.”

Angua and Vimes walked upstairs to the offices. Vimes was suddenly embarrassed because he remembered Angua and Carrot sleeping, and other things, in the little office they were passing. From what he’d learned from Colon, Nobby, Reg, Washpot—anyone present at the rescue site except for Carrot—Angua had been kissing this man all night long. Not actually kissing, but licking him on the mouth, they said, and nipping him.

He didn’t often think about Angua as an animal. In whatever form she took, she was his officer, working for the Watch to apprehend criminals and put the fear of—Angua—in them. He knew that she chased chickens on full moon nights, often with the horrible Gaspode, but—he’d always thought of it as though she’d been on a bender, drunk all night but pulling herself together for work the next day. This though—she’d been wolf, in close fuzzy contact with another wolf—for hours. What was time like to a wolf?

If he’d been introduced to Sybil by having to kiss her for hours, desperately trying to keep her alive, instead of desperately trying to keep her alive by rescuing her from a dragon—the threat of death would provide the same kind of intense bonding, but the kissing—that would be different. He had no idea what Angua might feel as a woman, as a wolf—fortunately that was not his responsibility.

“Get some rest for a few hours. When you wake up, you’re to stay here, liaise with him. Feed him if Igor isn’t. Keep Igor from sewing on any extra fingers or ears. Get any information that might help us.” As she opened her mouth to protest, a chilly voice spoke from the office ahead—his very own office!

“I’m afraid that Captain Angua must stay awake for a few minutes to explain the situation to me in detail.”

He should have realized Vetinari had the news by now. The Patrician had sources everywhere.

“It lacked only you to make this perfect,” he said. “I was going to report as soon as I gave orders to Angua and Carrot, and I don’t understand why you came to my Watch house instead of waiting.”

“Commander Vimes, need I remind you that in fact it is the City’s Watch house, and—” The silken voice had undertones which irritated him.

“No, my lord, you do not need to remind me of anything, and in fact I do know why you’re here. You want to see him. Well, he’s sleeping, and Igor is very strict about visitors—he wants to keep his patient quiet—”

“I can be very quiet—” Now Vetinari was mocking him.

“So I’ve heard—you have to be quiet when you scramble up drainpipes at your age—” Flexible, he mused. Vetinari must be flexible as well as quiet, with whipcord muscles he hid under those black robes. Not that he would ever have opportunity or need to find out what was under the robes. Or even wanted to find out.

“I scramble up drainpipes, Commander, as you put it, about as often as you skulk around on stormy nights checking up on your people, for the same reason—” Vetinari's voice was light.

“So you’re skulking around spying on me, is that right? How often - I don't have time now.' Vimes thought about Vetinari following him around, watching him. It wasn't a completely unwelcome idea.

At this point Angua snarled and bared her teeth. “Io’s eyeballs, please stop it!”
Angua’s voice trailed off at their combined outraged expressions, then she asserted, all in a rush,“Look, I do my best, Commander Vimes, your Lordship, not to bring my nose to work when I don’t have to, uhhhh, anyway I spent all night trying to keep someone alive when I was frightened and thought he was dying every second. I had to force myself to be human for an hour in order to think. You do not know what fresh hell that is—werewolves are not supposed to be able to do that. But I had to so I could think about what he needed, tell Gaspode, and get him to run for me.”

“I couldn’t leave this man—I had to lick his nose and nip him on the face all night, keeping him awake long enough so I could shove food into his mouth—and I didn’t have hands, so I had to use my mouth and muzzle to feed him. I didn’t know I could do that. Have never heard of a wolf doing that. With baby wolves the mothers vom—never mind, werewolves don’t do that and I wasn’t going to start. I thought about it, though. Werewolves can heal very rapidly, they heal on their own all the time, but these—these were the most horrible wounds. I’ve never seen this, never heard of anything like this. I hope to all the gods I don't believe in I never see this again. It was obscene.”

“Every single bone in his body was broken several times, plus his internal organs—you don’t need to know. You don’t want to know. I’ve fed him here in the Watch house with bread and bone soup, let him lick my fingers until Igor made me stop, and I’ve been soaked in a strange male’s—a strange man’s—anyway— a new person’s rich personal odors, for hours. I’ve been muzzle deep in a strange man’s fur and blood and musk, and humans don’t even recognize pheromones—ummm—it’s been a difficult night. The last thing I smelled from him was evil wizards. So I’m sorry to interrupt, and that’s my report, your Lordship, Mr. Vimes. Please let me know when he wakes up.”

She didn’t wait to be dismissed, and staggered down the hallway to the old office bedroom.

Vimes looked at Vetinari, puzzled. 'I have no idea what's she's on about, do you?'

Vetinari's lip twitched. 'No, I couldn't imagine what she's thinking.'

When Remus woke up, a female werewolf was in his...cell? Why would he be in a cell? She had a thick yellow mass of hair and grim lines at her mouth. Her costume—was it a costume? was very odd—a uniform of leather, with a metal breast plate, a thick leather half-skirt with heavy brown trousers—it was all too worn looking to be a costume—She reeked of fear. For him, he realized, and wondered why. Then the dark tentacles of confusion withdrew from his mind.

“You were with me all night.” He was still exhausted and wanted nothing but to let go and sleep. He forced himself to stay awake a second more. “You’re—Angua? Angua, right.”

“Yes, I’m Angua. You're Remus, right?”

Should he go with an alias? She didn’t smell like a Death Eater—no one here did (wherever here was; his mind wasn't clear on that.) She hadn’t been with them at Hogwarts, and he thought he knew every werewolf on their side, even those in Europe. He’d never heard of a blond wolf, and any woman this beautiful—could she be part Veela? everyone would know of her. But keeping secrets after the battle seemed ridiculous, and—

“I’m supposed to be dead. Dolohov hit me with a killing curse. Avada kedavra. Antonin Dolohov. "

“This person Dolohov attacked you?”

“In the battle; we were dueling. I thought I could take him, but he was too strong. I’ve practiced defensive and concealment spells for months. I’ve been hiding us, moving, haven’t kept up with offense and dueling. I wish I had.” He closed his eyes.

“Dueling. There is no dueling anywhere near Ankh-Morpork, but I don’t know what there may be in Borogrovia or Mouldavia. And spells? You’re a wizard?”

The woman ground her teeth together for a moment.

“I was the first to find you, and I’ll swear every bone I smelled was broken in several places. You had cuts all over you—they went inside you—all through you”—a sudden intense angry smell from her—"but I’ve never seen any weapons that could do that.” Her face was not changing to wolf but it suddenly looked more savage. “You smelled like wizards, but our wizards don’t do things like this. Wizards did this do you?”

He kept his mouth shut.

“What is your full name, please?” Her shoulders were hunching up, like hackles rising, but she wasn’t growling, yet.

He closed his eyes, exhausted. “Remus John Lupin.” He was inside a jail cell in unknown hands. Despite Angua’s night-long battle to save his life, she had other loyalties. He had to get Tonks away from here.

“You’re a werewolf named Lupin. Right. Great alias. And where do you live, Mr. Lupin?”

"In Scotland.”

“Scotland—never heard of it. Is it near the Agatean Empire?”

“I don’t know what the Agatean Empire is. Scotland. Britain. The UK.”

She was as insistent now as she had been last night, not letting him sleep.

“Britain, Britain…Mr. Vimes, I thought I knew every country on the Disc, but there is no Britain. I think he’s raving. And he’s talking about dueling, wizards dueling—he’s making no sense.” He could smell the fear again, and anger.

“Angua.” The new voice again, with smells of red anger and gold loyalty.

“Angua, I think I might know. I don't know how it happened, but I think he broke through—I’ll bet anything he’s from Roundworld.”

“What is that?”

With this last bit of confusion hanging in his mind, Remus fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Miss Maccalariat fluttered towards Magrat, her coiled braids a little askew. Magrat quickly tapped her wand to restore everything to her bag before she got too close.

“We have no proper bedrooms here; we can only make her a pallet. Can you move her to the Lady Sybil? They have doctors, and Igors.”

Magrat hesitated. “Not until I check her further. An empty room will be enough for now.”

She needed more ingredients; her bag held only emergencies. They wanted water to clean the burns, first. Miss Maccalariat had yelled at her helpers and they’d built up a rough bed in an empty room with leather post-bags piled high and blankets on top of them. There was no fire, and only one lantern. It was cold, even with the blankets. They did need to move the woman soon. She bathed the woman’s face and the burn slice with water the post-office workers supplied, then sliced away the sweater carefully with her bone-handled knife. Miss Maccalariat gasped at what they saw, and Nanny hurried her out of the room.

“Thank you madam, you can bring that tea now, if you would. And we’re fine in here, no need to come back.”

Magrat, Nanny, and Granny examined the woman’s wounds. The burn on her face wasn’t deep, but it had sliced viciously through the shoulder—skin and muscle lay exposed. The slice across the woman’s chest wasn’t as deep, but it had somehow carried an ugly punch as well. Behind the burns were broken ribs. Magrat palpated, felt at least four. She hesitated. If she didn’t close the burns, the muscles would be slow to heal. If she did—dirty wounds filled with pus.

The rest of the woman’s body was curiously untouched. No broken bones in the arms or legs, and the stomach was thankfully clear of wounds as well. Granny showed the blood on her hands from when she’d touched the woman’s head. “She’s been cut in the scalp and has a crack in the bone-box, but I’ve seen deeper. Her neck is sound.”

The enormity of the job before her suddenly dizzied Magrat. She’d pulled the woman back from death, restarted her breath and heartbeat, and now—people with all these injuries often died anyway. She breathed out, unhappy.

“She can’t stay here on sacks with no heat. They said there’s a hospital—let’s get her to it after she’s cleaned. “

They took cool water and wiped blood away gently from the sliced flesh and the cracked head, then lay clean cloth over them. Miss Maccalariat had flushed and excused herself, and come back in a few minutes with surprisingly ruffled strips from her petticoats.

The post office clerks harnessed the horses into a large cart, and the drivers picked up both the pallet and the bags under it for padding. The witches crouched down by their patient and held her still through the cart’s jounces. In only a few minutes they pulled up at a large two-story white-painted building. A man and…another man, not exactly human, with an asymmetric body and stitches on head and arms, waited for them.

“Hello, Igor!” called Nanny. “Glad to see you.”

Granny frowned. “When did you meet him before?” she demanded.

“Not him, but his family. They’re all Igor, right my chum?” She sidled up to Igor. “They taught me a few things, when I went to Uberwald that time, and I taught them a few.” She smiled at the crooked man in a way which would have made him blush, if he could have.

Magrat had seen Nanny flirt with many men, and even that dwarf, but—this seemed a bit outre even for her. “Nanny!” she hissed. “We have a patient.”

“O’ course, your Majesty, but it never hurts to keep in touch with old friends. Friends of friends, anyway.” She beamed at Igor again. He grinned back and nodded his sloping head.

The man—the human man—at the hospital bowed to Magrat as Granny went to supervise the transport from the cart.

“Your Majesty. Queen Magrat. I am Dr. John Lawn. You’ll find the Lady Sybil equipped with the best Ankh-Morpork has. We can take her from here”—and he stopped at the three women’s sudden fierce looks. He had been told they were witches, but it seemed that they weren’t the cackling-around-a-cauldron types. Igor bumped his shoulder, bent down.

“I told you, Thir, thethe are healerth from Lancre. They thee all kinds of thicknetheth, and injurieth. Mithreth Ogg tacked my Uncle Igor’th hand back on ath well as anyone could. “

“Ah." He breathed deeply. "Well, I’ve put her in the largest downstairs room. We’ll coordinate.”

Magrat nodded. “We will need ingredients for poultices for her wounds. I have a list.”

Dr. Lawn said, “Well, poultices can cause poor healing; I find cupping works well”—

“We like our patients to keep all their blood.” Granny said. It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. Mossy Lawn reflected on his years in Ankh-Morpork and considered. These women—witches—lay healers—rural Queens—were not going to be moved. He would have to supervise them and he couldn’t let them order everyone in the hospital around.

“Yes, well, let’s see how it goes. We do have poultice ingredients, and Igor can fetch anything you need. Do you want to stay here, ladies, your Majesty? I think the Patrician—that is, he needs to know that we have royalty here in Ankh-Morpork, and I’m sure he can give you comfortable rooms at the palace. When…you…want to rest?” It was much more tentative than he meant to be. Dammit! He was struck again with the combined torch-power stares from the older two.

The older witches could glare all they liked, thought Magrat. She was the one who’d studied all the healing she could glean in Lancre, but she’d never taken care of a person with this degree of injury. She wasn’t a doctor, didn’t like what she’d heard about bleeding—but she couldn’t bring a patient into his hospital and demand he step aside. It was his own dwelling; of course she couldn’t. She wasn’t going to leave, though. No funny business while her back was turned.

She arched her neck and looked down her nose at him while five inches shorter, an accomplishment she’d secretly practiced in her mirror. “Thank you, Dr. Lawn. That’s a generous offer that I suspect you haven’t cleared with the Patrician. I would like to stay here. In her room, or if you have one nearby?”

Nanny turned her head away and grinned. Oh, Magrat, the queening she’d learned.

After the cart drivers had transferred the woman onto a large bed, the Lancre witches removed all her clothes. Dr. Lawn insisted that he be allowed to observe, and drew his brows down when they would have objected.

“No disrespect to you, my ladies, but I must know what injuries she has, and whether she has any disease. She might have contagion that could spread to others.” He didn’t budge.

Magrat tensed. She hadn’t thought of contagion, only the terrible wounds. She didn’t like him, but he had given them a warm room with clean water and bandages. “Certainly,” she muttered, and he squeezed in next to them.

The rest of her body was clean with no sores, and she was of normal weight. On her back she had a few bruises from her fall, but none on the rest of her body.

“Seems she wasn’t a prisoner before she was killed,” said Dr. Lawn, as he peeked over their shoulders. “No other bruises or signs of mistreatment. I don’t think she was chained or tied up. Her wrists and ankles aren’t chafed.”

“See that a lot, do you? said Nanny. “They hurt prisoners in the big city?”

He flinched. “Well, I see the corpses after they’re cut down from the hangings. Uh, I mean, the men in the Tanty, they’re guilty of series crimes. Murder, assault, stealing, unless the Thieves’ Guild hasn’t gotten to them first. Or spying.”

“Sooo—” Nanny snarled. “This Tanty—they tie people up an’ beat them? You take dead folks away from their families. Your Patrician has a lot to answer for. “

“Gytha,” snapped Granny. “We arn’t here to reform graverobbers.”

“No, I’m not a, a, grave—look, you don’t understand,” Dr. Lawn protested, flustered. “I’m the only doctor in Ankh Morpork who studies medicine. I learn about disorders of the organs—abnormal growths, twisted limbs, stones. The way diseases spread. I— I don’t keep them. After—afterwards we put them corpses in good wood coffins, if they have families. Or bury them in the potters’ fields, if they don’t.

“ I don’t like the Tanty, no one does.” He said. “But—thirty years ago when I came here, I was only able to treat the diseases of the Seams—er, er—anyway. Now I can treat more than the pox, and yes, I’ve learned things from dissections.” His face fell in fatigued lines. “Your woman has these strange horrible wounds, but I think they happened all at once. Quickly. The burn—I’ve only seen that in brands—I don’t control the Guilds, and yes, that happens with the Thieves’ Guild. The flayed skin here—" he gestured to the deep gashes—"looks like a sword. A sword heated in a forge might cause this, but I’ve never heard of it. She appeared in the post office yard, and you don’t know how she came there?”

Magrat breathed in deeply and shook her head. “I don’t think it matters how it happens. We can only fix what we see, and I’d liked to set up the poultice as soon as I can. Please?” She lifted her eyebrows meaningfully. He frowned. “Very well, send the girl out if you need something.” He tipped his head towards a tiny, pale, figure hidden in the corner.

“Y..Yes, sir,” the small girl whispered. “Them cuts and burns, they w..was horrible. Kin I wait outside the door?” Granny lifted herself away from the bed and held out her hand. “Come on, missy. You haven’t been at the hospital long, have you?”

“I started yesterday, and Dr. Lawn’s nurse said I’d jest be cleaning the chamber pots and sweeping. I’ve never seen—”she gestured toward the bed.

“Magrat needs sage, marigold, and white willow. She also needs a bowl to mix the herbs," Granny said. Nanny pulled out another little bag of the bear wax. “I always find this is good for mixing things, plus it’s a powerful help for the insides as well.” She twitched a lip. “You might say it’s an aid for easing things in and out.”

Magrat shook her head, unwilling to be drawn into another embarrassing Nanny tale.

“I’m talking about birthing children,” Nanny said innocently. “That’s all.”

Tonks was caught in a nightmare. She was running, running, running to find Remus. Voices called her to return, to think of Teddy, to stay safe. She had no time or breath to tell them, “I am thinking of Teddy. If we win the war, he will be safe. If we lose the war, he’ll need to be with relatives to keep him away from the Death Eaters. If we win the war, but I do not return"—she would not think of that. She was no great fighter, but she was an Auror, and every wand stroke was needed. Where was Remus? She entered the grounds of Hogwarts and fought her way to the castle. Professor McGonagall had enchanted desks and was leading them with a yell of “Charge.” Explosions and duels and curses were all around her, but her friends were unable to hear her. She raced through the corridors which moved and changed and kept her away from the battle. She could not find Remus, she could not see his grey-brown hair.

Finally she heard the scream of her aunt, the murdering Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellatrix appeared in front of her, her last foe falling at Tonks’s feet. “Kill her. Kill her,” was all Tonks could think, although she'd never dueled to kill before. She raised her wand, throwing a Protego around herself, and quickly cast a Stinging Hex, with a Knock-Back Jinx following. Bellatrix laughed and sliced them aside. Tonks tried a Stunner, and then a Backfire jinx, a Petrificus Totalis, and a Confringo. All were pushed away easily, even the last Blasting Spell. Her Incarcerous also failed to bind Bellatrix. Finally Tonks raised her wand for her very first Avada Kedavra, but before she completed it, Bellatrix screamed in triumph. Tonks was slammed to the ground by fire which ripped open her face, shoulder, and chest.

Now she was half-awake in a quiet place and warm under blankets, and the pain in her body had been dulled. Her mind was muzzy. Several soft voices were speaking. At least one person was a witch, because Tonks could feel that spells had been cast upon her. She didn’t open her eyes because she didn’t know whether they were friends, or enemies waiting for her to wake up before cursing her again. But someone had held her hand and told her to stay alive so she could see Remus. Yes, she thought. I will. Then thoughts tumbled down and she slept again.

Chapter Text

Vimes had learned about Roundworld from a previous headache which had involved bank thieves who’d never heard of the Thieves’ Guild but had pocket-sized gonnes. If the golems hadn’t been at the bank—the gonnes had chipped the golems before they reached the robbers, but they honorably captured the men instead of killing them. Then they’d been turned over to Vetinari who ignored their origins and sentenced them to the hemp fandango. Somehow the multiverse had shifted before they reached the scaffold and they’d disappeared. Roundworld, the wizards had muttered. It had to be another world. They could have disappeared only to another world, and Ponder Stibbons had calculated that, as strange as it seemed, the equations showed the world they vanished to was round.

Remus woke in the evening sensing the pain of an unusually bad shift. The new slashes and slices were more than typical, but today he felt the deep ache of broken bones also. It was strange—and then he opened his eyes and realized again why he was so disoriented. Angua was sitting patiently beside him. She handed him a rib of roast pork, its skin crackling and dripping with juice, as soon as she saw he was awake.

“Roundworld,” she muttered. “The wizards explained. They have no idea why your - world - collided with ours, but I think it's what saved you. They can’t explain why people don’t fall off, but I don’t care.” She spat. “It’s magic, and I hate it.“

The roil of anger had risen from her when she said wizards, which played badly for him. But—he was curious and if it would distract her – he'd spent weeks talking to werewolves much more likely to kill him. He was an operative, even this close to a change. He crunched down the first rib and she handed him another. He’d never had anything so delicious.

“You don’t think werewolves are magic?”

“Of course we’re not magic—we’re natural born monsters!”

“Born?” Even though he was still in deep pain as his body sewed itself together, Remus would say anything to distract her from the topic of magic. Besides, he was fascinated. Living with the curse, but in a family—it couldn’t help but be better.

“Of course born.” Her smell turned bitter. “I come from a “noble house” in Uberwald—that’s hundreds of miles here, forests and cold. I liked the forests,” she sounded wistful. “The only good thing about Uberwald are the trees and the clean air. My dear family—my father is Baron Guye von Uberwald. My mother is Lady Serafine.” Contempt poured from her. What was that all about? He spoke without thought.

“Wouldn’t a family of werewolves support each other through the full moons?”

It was what he’d always wanted—family to share the change with him. Family to understand how muscles rip and bones crunch. The Marauders had helped, for a few years, friends who gamboled with him in the forest. Friends whose illegal, unregistered, underage Animagi forms allowed them to slip from human to animal to human again without pain. He’d envied them the rapid body shifts, even as he marveled at the years they’d practiced to give him companionship. He missed those days more than he could say. As a teen, he’d never thought about what might happen when they graduated. He’d assumed they’d always be together.

Then came the betrayal by his best friend, the deaths of his three other best friends, Sirius’s imprisonment for over a decade, and then his dangerous escape. The shocking discovery of the real traitor, with Sirius still unable to prove his innocence because Peter had escaped. His best mate had been a prisoner in a dark house, and finally died when he tried to fight the Death Eaters in the Ministry. Sirius’ fall through the veil would never leave his memory. But parents who understood him and didn’t spend years dragging him to healers trying to reverse the irreversible—that had to be so much better than the alternative.

She snorted. “Not my family. But you—werewolves aren’t born on Roundworld?”

“No.” Why should he tell her about the attack—he’d done his best to forget it. On the other hand, she was the only person who might understand. “You have to be—bitten. I was a child.” He heard her gasp, and rolled over to face her.

“Gods.” She hesitated. “But then—you don’t have to live with—the one who—changed you?”

“Sometimes, if no one will take you in. You’re lucky to get away with only being changed and not killed. Feral werewolves live in packs, and some who’ve been bitten can only find places with the packs—anyway, I didn’t have to live with them. The rest of us—live as best we can in society, trying to hide it.” Now he smelled his own anger. “I was changed when I was four. I lived with my family—my father dragged me to healer after healer, legitimate and not, trying to—make me normal.”

“Huh. We have families here, but—” he could smell the twisted red-green-black of anger and pain. Angua shuddered, hesitated. “My family really are monsters. My mother is a high-society bitch, and my father spends so much time in his fur he can scarcely talk anymore.” She shut up abruptly and leaned back against the wall of his cell.

He wondered about siblings, but didn’t dare ask. She continued. “Oh, Offler’s teeth, it doesn’t matter if I tell you. You’re the only person who would understand. Carrot knows, but he can’t understand from the inside—but my brother killed my sister.”

“Ohh,” He breathed out. He started to touch her arm, stopped. His arms still ached, but also—touch meant more than words to werewolves; not good here with a woman who wasn’t his wife.

“Yes. She wasn’t a full bi-morph, you understand?” He shook his head. “You and me—we’re bimorphs, we change from human to wolf. Elsa—couldn’t change. She was stuck as a human. Wolfgang is, was, a purist—a species supremacist. He despised her and he killed her. He drove away my other brother.”

“Your other brother was always human, too?”

“No, he was the other way around. He was always a wolf. Wolfgang could have killed him, but he was satisfied to drive him away. Andrei works as a sheepdog, and I’m not even sure where he is now.”

The gold-red color of pride and anger filled her. “Wolfgang’s dead now, though. Mr. Vimes killed him.”

“Mister - ?”

“You met him—no, I think you were still in too much pain. The Commander came in and talked to me for a second. He’s the one who told me he thought you came from Roundworld. Whatever that is.”

"My world"—still hard to believe he was on another planet—"is beautiful in places, too. Scotland is cool and rainy.”

“Sounds nice.” She shifted tones again, and he realized he forgotten, dammit, she was an Auror. “So why don’t you tell me about the magic?”

Damn, damn, damn. Alright, he could buy a little time. “Why don’t you tell me about my wife?”

“I suppose that’s fair—what’s her name, anyway?”

“Dora. How is she?”

He was right, she’d decided to treat a prisoner fairly—if he was a prisoner—the door to the cell was open.

Angua stretched her back. She went on. “The woman with the pink hair is at the Lady Sybil—she’s breathing well and they’ve treated her injuries. She isn’t nearly as bad off as you are. She was unconscious when they found her, and has these really strange injuries. I was told they look like she’d been cut with a burning sword. You know what could have caused that?” He didn’t say anything.

“You’re going to have to tell us sooner or later.”

“Why? Am I a prisoner here?”

Angua was startled. “No. We brought you to the Watch House because it was the closest place with help. We put you in the cell because it was the largest place for Igor to work.” She paused, obviously considering. “Mr. Vimes isn’t keeping you a prisoner, but—see, you stink like wizards. And I could see the octarine around you. Wizards haven’t had wars here for ages, but they nearly destroyed everything. The both of you were nearly dead—"

“We were fighting a war.” His own bitterness stank. “A war with evil wizards who believed that they were the only people who mattered. They would have killed everyone, Mu—non-magical people as well as magical. We had sent away the younger students, but the oldest students insisted on fighting with us—"

“Students? You were fighting in a school? Are you a teacher, then? Weren’t there any soldiers, or at least any trained fighters?”

He laughed out loud. “Oh, we are trained fighters. My wife, for one, is better than I am—” he choked. “She shouldn’t have been there! I told her to stay safe, told her to stay with Teddy! I didn’t know she was there until I saw Bellatrix and heard her scream. I couldn’t get to her—Dolohov was on me and I couldn’t get to her in time, I couldn’t and then—" he flopped to his back. “Then Dolohov killed me; I thought he killed me. He hit me with a killing curse—I saw it coming—.” Remus struggled to explain to Angua. “He raised his wand and hit me with the type of spell that is an Unforgiveable. I saw it coming, but I couldn’t block it, and then I felt my chest explode. Then I was here,” he growled, voice twisted and grim.

“As to whether we are the evil wizards, Dora was killed—was attacked—by her own aunt, because she wasn’t a pure-blood. Bellatrix’s sister—Dora’s mother—was from one of the highest pure-blood family, but she married a Muggleborn.A wizard from a non-magical family. Dora was only a half-blood, so Bella hated her, and was even more disgusted when Dora married a werewolf. I told her I was too old, too poor, and too dangerous, but she twisted me around her finger, flashed that beautiful hair—I should not have married her.” Angua silently gave him a large rib and he ate it, eyes closed.

“Dora’s injuries were from a wand. She was dueling—I couldn’t see whether she’d landed anything on Bella. I hope she did. Yes, there are spells that burn. You only use them when you duel to kill. We were fighting for our lives, our friends’ lives, our students’ lives—they shouldn’t have been there in a war either, but they were.”

“Why were you dangerous to your wife?” Angua had inexplicably changed topic, with a voice she was trying to make mild. Woman, you haven’t interviewed many werewolves, have you? Humans can’t hear those vibrations, but I can. You are so angry you want to punch me. He was furious.

“Why was I dangerous? I’m a fucking werewolf, why do you think I’m dangerous? I couldn't get any wolfsbane - you might call it something different, but you know it's the only way. You and me, we turn into raving monsters every twenty-eight days—have to lock ourselves away so we won’t kill anyone!”

Angua was all the way out of the cell. “Stay there, Remus, or I will lock the door, and I don’t think you’re strong enough to break out yet.” She took a deep breath. “At the full, I turn to wolf and lose most of my human thinking, but I spend the night chasing chickens. That's all. I'm not - the Disc is not - I'm sorry for your world."

He caught the odor of her pity for him, and suddenly understood what she hadn't said. Merlin. How was it possible?

Werewolves on the Disc didn't have to kill people.

Chapter Text

Nanny and Granny had visited the Watch House, and reported that the wounded woman’s name was Nymphadora Tonks Lupin, known as either Tonks or Dora. Her husband the werewolf was healing better than she – at least he was conscious and coherent. The Igor treating him had reported to the Lady Sybil’s Igor that he was very weak still, no matter how he tried to say that he could go to his wife.

“All hith boneth fractured – almotht to powder, and he thinkth a few bites of thew maketh it all better. Igor won’t let him up until his thpine knitth.”

Igor shrugged massively as he relayed the information to Magrat. His muscles and skin twitched independently of each other in an earthquake of motion. The green man brought a work bench into the sick room, and prepped ingredients Magrat needed for her healing. She was too weary to help, but she analyzed his movements while she drooped in the bedside chair. He had a bulging sack of orange Calendula flowers, from which she hoped to restore her own bags. They discussed whether cream, lotion, oil, or simple poultice was the best formulation for the burns. He’d also brought arnica and showed her how he expressed sunflower seed oil to mix with it for another salve.

"I fixed a new snack for Verence, with roasted sunflower and pumpkin seeds, and also sesame seeds, almonds, oats, honey, and cranberries. He thanked me, but then I saw Hodgesarggh the falconer with it.”

Magrat had only a few hawthorn berries in her bags, and was delighted that Igor had a large box of the red berries. They decocted a heart tonic, because the ill woman’s heartbeat was still weak. Hawthorn plus minute amounts of foxglove flower – they had argued over the ratio, but Margrat went very light with the foxglove.

He also drew out vivid, yellow, dried turmeric roots. Nanny and Magrat had butted heads because Nanny wanted the rare herb for her cooking, while Magrat wanted to keep it to add to her pain potions. Nanny had acceded to her – the patient’s needs came first - but she whisked away a few pinches.

Tonks – Magrat had tried calling her Dora, but she didn’t even twitch, while with the other ridiculous appellation her pulse quickened a bit – Tonks’ wounds were clean and dry, and fresh - smelling. She had no pus, which was remarkable considering the foul injuries. But she was still deeply unconscious. Magrat’s head nodded and she jerked herself awake. Esme had refused to sleep in the hours after they’d arrived in Ankh- Morpork, and she’d commandeered a bench outside the sickroom. Magrat could hear the young aide chattering away, as she wondered out loud how people could live in such a primitive place like Lancre. Magrat thought of Granny's headology and how its seeming simplicity relied on her deep knowledge of her neighbors. She remembered the times Granny had beaten DEATH, and hoped that wouldn't be necessary here. Nanny retired to the room across the hall Dr. Lawn had provided for their party, resting or plotting, Magrat didn't know. Verence had secured a visit to the Patrician’s Palace and was to join the Patrician for lunch. He had kissed her before he left, excited about his opportunity to chat with Vetinari. “He’s the longest – lasting non-hereditary ruler on the Disc. I've always wanted to ask him how he manages it, what with so many different species here. I’ll be right back if you need me.”

The mail coach trip had wrung Magrat’s strength even before the appearance of a dying witch. The fire in the room was warm, Igor’s chopping was a pleasant patter, and her head bobbed again. This time she dozed.

Screams, yowls, and shrieks roared around her. She held her wand tightly, running along smoky corridors she’d never seen before but knew intimately. Where was her husband? She ran, dodged dueling wizards and witches, knocked down a suit of armor Granny Weatherwax - was it Granny? had set in motion, stumbled and ran on and on. Suddenly she heard the voice of her hated aunt, high, shrill, insane. “Confringo!” Hellfire ripped down her shoulder and chest. She countered with the dueling hexes and jinxes she knew best, and threw the strongest Stupefy she could. But her aunt was too strong. She was yanked down to the floor, head ringing horribly against the stone. “Avada –!” but now she was elsewhere, whirling about the heavens, across an unknowable void, tugged after her husband by the unbreakable vow of their marriage.

Magrat jerked up from the chair, staggered to her feet, and grabbed the wand she carried in her skirt to cast – what unknown spell? She’d been dreaming, but it was too real, and she felt the damage Tonks had taken. Her chest burned with deep agony; she remembered a green flare shot through with hate. She reached out to Igor to steady herself, but overbalanced. The chopping bowl flew in the air and she fell. When she struck her head, the air went black. As Igor’s unequal eyes stared in horror, the hawthorn berries splashed red against her skull.

Granny heard Magrat's scream, jerked herself fully awake, off the bench in an instant. The startled aide followed her. Nanny burst out of her room. Together they charged into the sickroom. Granny snarled at Igor, "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing, Mithreth Weatherwaxth. The large man lifted his hands, shrugging his uneven shoulders. The rows of stitiches on his face moved independently as he bobbed his head to Granny. “Thee was dreaming while I thredded the flowerth and rubbed them into the thalve." Igor stopped, his mismatched eyes fearful. "There wath lightning, like the old Mathter uthed when he revived corptheth. Thee went away a minute, but I think the'th coming around now."

Magrat's breath was even; the other witches relaxed slightly. Her eyes fluttered and she rolled to her side. Vomit splattered the floor. The aide vanished, back quickly with cool cloths to clean Magrat's face.

As her mind slowly cleared, Magrat’s eyes fluttered. When she opened them, the world was hazy. Granny squinted at her. "He was there, wasn't he? DEATH, or their Death. You saw him?"

"I didn’t see Death, but people were dead around me. Tonks was hit by a green light-a death spell. It was - I think it was a woman in her family who tried to kill her. Magrat shook her head, then winced and felt it. She’d gotten a lump from the fall. “I saw other fighting in the - I'm not sure where she was. It was a large building, long halls. Most of them - the witches and the wizards are fighting with their wands." She squeezed her eyes shut. "But it’s not all wands. Rocks, or I guess pieces of walls, are broken off. Smashed out by-they weren’t golems, but much bigger. Giants, I think, threw the rocks. The woman fighting Tonks seems to be almost the strongest of enemy witches. She's so arrogant.” Magrat squeezed her eyes shut, thinking. “This woman has protective spells, but I don’t know what type. Oh! The woman - oh gods, it's Tonks' own aunt! She's fighting her aunt Bellatrix!”

Beside them Tonks let out a soft moan, unheard. Bellatrix. She had seen the triumph on her face, her head thrown back in vicious laughter as she cast the killing curse.

"Her aunt?"said Nanny icily. "That’s bad, trying to kill family. That means they share close blood, and if the blood is close enough - couldn't that fool the death spell, Esme? Turn it back on her?:

"I don't think so. Blood never did anything to help with my sister."

"Or mirror magic - could we show how to use that to confuse the bad aunt? Make duplicates of Tonks so the aunt doesn’t know which one is real -“

"Gytha Ogg! We're not touching mirror magic again, and that's final." Granny’s voice out-iced Nanny’s. It out-iced everything on the Disc, including the Frost Giants.

"Well, Esme," Nanny said with what wasn't quite contempt but was at least scorn, "What do you think we should do to keep her from being killed?"

Even as she spoke she thought of a solution. “Wait - the old man at the post office – the Maccalariat woman told him to stay away from us so he wouldn’t explode his trousers again. He smelled like – “ Nanny was familiar with a wide number of smells, and they came to her quickly. "It was charcoal, and nitre, very niffy plus rotten eggs. Sulfur, that is. That's makes Mr. Groat’s trousers explode. Where can we get some?”

The witches were not having a fight. Definitely not a fight. Granny was skeptical. “I don’t think these Roundworld witches can be chased off by exploding trousers.” She surreptitiously tucked a few strands of fair hair back into her bun. No reason for the pins to have loosened – she hadn’t fallen asleep on the bench, just let herself lean back a little as the chit was babbling on.

“No,” Nanny said, not letting her oldest friend ruffle her. A runner had summoned Tolliver Groat and he’d been delighted to explain the health benefits of his trouser additives. Why they’d exploded was less clear to him.

“Let’s see, I mebbe added more nitre. I normally have one-half of it nitre, but I’d felt a chill and wanted to build up a bit. I think – let me see –“

The witches waited. Nanny and Granny glared at each other, but Magrat was listening carefully.

“I mixed three parts nitre, then the charcoal and sulfur. I most of the time have it the same amounts, see, but I was running a little bit low on the sulfur. So there was more charcoal. That’s when it exploded, but only a little.”

“That’s what my youngest says,” Nanny added, with the expression of one who’s been holding the trump card all along. “He says that farmer he’s apprenticed to had a cousin over in Uberwald who used to make fireworks to shoot off for festivals. Or scare the werewolves.”

Tonks let out a second soft moan. She hadn’t seen them but she knew werewolves had to be in the castle. Fenrir Greyback and his pack. Had Remus found them? Where was she?

“He put black powder in a twist of paper, then set it on fire. But his cousin used fireworks to lift stumps out of the field. He had a way to make ‘em stronger – packs more in each one, mebbbe.”

She looked at Magrat. “You said that the castle floors were being ripped apart and torn up. If she faces this aunt with the biggest fireworks, she can blow out the floor underneath her feet. Even if it doesn’t kill her, it will bounce her, maybe tip her over and make her lose concentration. The light from the fireworks will get in her eyes as well, and maybe blind her for a moment.”

“Verence might be able to assist and help us get the ingredients.” Magrat twirled her messy hair, one of the few remnants of the Magrat she had been before she was Queen.

While the discussion rolled on, the surgeon Dr. Lawn had called to consult examined Tonks, and spoke to the witches. He ignored the tension between them.

“This woman hasn’t been awake at all, has she, my good women? She has excess fluid on the brain. Trepanning will take care of that. I’d be happy to allow you to observe the procedure. You’ll find it educational. Nothing like this out in – Lank, was it?”

Three instant glares did not strike him dead.

“Well, if you don’t wish to observe, please wait outside. This can be bloody, and I know women don’t like gore.”

“We’ve birthed women, cows, and sheep, and waded through blood when ankle deep,” Granny, Nanny, and Magrat said together, instantly. It was probably the first true witches’ chant from the coven they did not have. Granny leaned on the shoulder of the surgeon. “I think you will find we can stomach plenty of gore when I pull your kidney out through your lungs.”

Magrat nodded. “A handsome sight, young man.” (He was ten years older than she, which meant he was a mewling infant in witch terms.) “Granny Weatherwax does wonderful things with kidneys.” She was suddenly gripping her white-handled knife. “I prefer ceremonial disemboweling, myself.”

No one noticed Nanny. She had grabbed the young aide for a guide and sprinted through the muddy streets.

Dr. Lawn entered the room where he’d left his consulting surgeon, saw the standoff, and bit his lip. Arthur Sugg was good with a saw, but a lump when it came to talking to people. He shouldn’t have left the man alone with witches, and now was hoping they’d both end the day upright and not croaking in a pond. The odds did not seem in their favor at the moment. He was aware that the one holding a knife to the tip of Sugg’s nose was much less dangerous than the one with a battle-general’s stare.

“Queen Magrat. Mistress Weatherwax. My esteemed colleague suggested trepanning, is that right?”

“I didn’t just suggest it, Lawn, I intend to do it. It’s the obvious answer.” The surgeon scowled. “You’re the one who called me, and I believe I am more qualified to judge the necessity for the saw than you are.”

“I thought you used a drill for trepanning. Smaller point, easier to get through, not so hard on the scalp? Didn’t you write a paper on this last year? I read it but didn’t get all the details. Why don’t you come to my office where we could discuss it?”

The surgeon gave an unimpressed look. “Saw, drill, knife, you know what I mean. Do you wish to join me? I thought these rural healers would appreciate seeing a modern procedure, but as they don’t, I’d prefer not to be interrupted.”

Dr. Lawn did not want to scrub in. Dr. Lawn suddenly wished he’d stuck to being a pox doctor. Or an apothecary. Or anything which did not require him to stand in the middle of a face-off with Art Sugg, the estimable head of the Ankh-Morpork Barber Pole association, and two enraged witches.

The older witch said, “You won’t be interrupted at all,” in a quiet, terrifying voice.

“Because you’ll be dead!” said the young one with messy hair, advancing on Sugg and forcing his head back.

“Lawn, this is ridiculous! Remove these women! “

“Sugg – ladies – if everyone would take a step back, this can all be settled peaceably, without transfiguration to another species, Sugg, if you take my meaning.”

Sugg rolled his eyes. “What? Species transfiguration, what? You think these beldames can turn us into frogs? Lawn, you credulous fool. I’m not frightened by them!”

John Lawn reached for his colleague with both arms, one second from throwing them both to the floor. It would be a shorter fall when they achieved ranine status.

“Wait!” A new voice croaked. Nanny reappeared in the doorway with a man in a tall, wheeled chair. He appeared to be a mummy wrapped in white cotton bandages which fastened him to the chair. His arms and legs were likewise fastened to supporting rests, and his neck was braced with pillows on each side. His head was not only bandaged to the top of chair, it was held still by the green hand of an Igor who controlled the chair’s slow movement with his other hand. Behind Igor, Dr. Lawn could see the tall figure of Captain Carrot, and sensed that other Watch officers were behind him.

“Wait!” the man said again. “ I don’t consent to this barbaric procedure!”

Sugg, the idiot, sneered, “Yes? And who are you?”

“I’m her husband, you idiot Muggle,” snarled Remus.

Everyone startled at a bright flash from the bed. Tonks’ hair flashed pink and her eyes flew open. Her lips twitched up and she breathed, "Remus."

Chapter Text

Rincewind slouched against the wall of Hex’s room in the HEM building, watching the other wizards debate how to send the stranded Roundworlders home.

Ponder Stibbons explained to Archchancellor Ridcully, “The flux capacitors overload when we tell Hex to scale up the Roundworld Project. Yes, he, err, it, can move small objects, Archchancellor, but nothing more than a few beachballs. The first iteration of the Roundworld project used zero as a placeholder because it was assumed Hex would let more objects be programmed in. It still thinks we want beachballs. We’re working on it.” In the background Hex emitted the ‘parp’ noise it sounded every fourteen minutes whenever beachball function was enabled.

Ridcully was silent for a moment and then said, “Have you heard the story about how to get a mule’s attention?”

“Sir?”

“It goes like this, ‘First, get a two-by-four.”

“A – what?”

“Piece of wood. Two inches thick, four inches wide. Length three, four feet.”

“You can’t hit Hex!” Ponder shrieked, having finally deciphered Ridcully’s words. “He – it’s got thousands of parts now; some of them came all the way from BhangBhangduc.”

“Thaumaturgical two-by-four, young man. Surely there’s an equivalent.”

Rincewind wondered what one could do to threaten Hex. Interrupt its ant trail? Slow down the Glooper’s flow? Those could make it work slower, but Hex didn’t care about those. Ponder, he guessed, did not want to tell Ridcully it was mostly the reverse. When Hex tried to misbehave, and refused to work, Ponder typed in a string of ☹ ☹ ☹ symbols. When it solved a new problem, he typed HAVECOOKIE. Ponder was an expert now in Hex-wrangling, and when it overloaded on its first attempt and refused to try again, rejecting even cookie bribes, they had a real problem.

There was only one thing which could threaten Hex, and Rincewind didn’t have any idea whether it would work. He was afraid Hex might retaliate for the threat. He wasn’t certain Ponder would even consider the idea, as the usual outcome of removing the FTB was +++Mine!Waah+++ repeated constantly. Ponder had been stunned when a fluffy teddy bear appeared in Hex’s workings. Hex had written a letter to the Hogfather, and received its wish. This required dangerous levels of belief from Hex, a sign it was becoming more sentient.

Rincewind fingered the crooked white token in the pocket of his robe. The blond girl had given it to him once when he was lost in Howondaland.

He’d been in Howondaland for a week, and it had not stopped raining. He’d been out searching for firewood in a damp forest, and then stumbled home with a few wet pieces. As he neared the cave he planned to sleep in, a young woman sat on a rock in front of his firepit.

“Oh, hello,” she said. “I was worried that you’d been infected with wrackspurts. “

“What . . .?”

“They make people confused, and you were out in the wet a long time. Here.” She took one of his wet logs, placed it in the pit, and tapped it with a thin wooden stick. “Incendio.” Huge flames leaped up immediately.

“Thanks. Are you a witch?” Ponder wasn’t sure. He’d never seen a witch wearing layered blue skirts and radish earrings, without a hat, but she’d cast a fire spell he wished he knew. In the light from the fire he saw that she was younger than he’d thought, possibly about sixteen, but without any fear of a strange man. That probably meant she could kill him with one spell from her stick. Wand. That was a wand.

“Yes. I’ve been observing the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. They’ve almost extinct on Earth, you know.”

Seeing his confusion she added, “Wizards here call it Roundworld, although it isn’t round, of course. It’s flatter at the poles and bulges at the equator. But I suppose from the Disc you aren’t able to see that.”

“You’re from – “ Rincewind and Ponder had spent many nights drinking, while Ponder bloviated about research on theoretical Universes. He’d never imagined he’d meet anyone from such a bizarre world. Ponder had almost convinced him that gravity could bunch up in a ball, and pull people in all over a spherical world, so no one would fall off, but in the sober, hungover, light of morning they couldn’t read the equations he’d written. The paper he’d written on had been mostly obliterated by wine stains.

“Yes,” she smiled. “The Disc is filled with animals you don’t see on Earth. I’m almost certain it’s because the standing magic field on the Disc protects them, although at home they may be using disguises. Daddy thinks the Blibbering Humdinger is a symbiote secreting forgetfulness potion as an airborne defense for its carriers.”

“I’m not sure we have any Blibbering Humdingers on the Disc,” he admitted. "Or Crumpled Snorkacks.

“Crumple-Horned. That’s because of the forgetfulness potion.” Her voice was placid and light, and didn’t resemble any witches he’d met. Magrat came close, but she didn’t have a fixation on imaginary animals.

“I wanted to find hermit elephants on this trip. I’ve never seen them.” She looked disappointed.

“Oh! I know where to find some. The Palace menagerie has a few.” He sighed. “Of course, that’s back home. In Ankh Morpork, and I don’t quite know how to get back.”

“That’s okay,” she said peaceably, “I do.”

She’d pulled out what looked like an animal horn, a goat maybe, though it was squashed and crooked unlike any he’d ever seen.

“They shed them every year, you know, and I always pick up a new supply when I come back to the Disc.” She handed it to him. “Hold this and shut your eyes. Visualize the place you want to be, in as much detail as you can, and count backwards from 100.”

She held onto his arm as he imagined Unseen University, and he counted, “One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-“

Poof. He recognized the smell at once. It was the beloved scent of old paper, bananas, and primate.

“Eeek! Eeek eek oook!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he hurried to say, as he opened his eyes. “I didn’t know we’d land right next to you.”

They were not only in the Unseen University library, but standing next to the Librarian’s desk. The orangutan reached out its long arms, probably to bounce him upside down on his head for a minute or so, but stopped as he saw Luna. She smiled. “I thought we might be coming here. Do you want some peanuts?” She opened her purse and pulled out a bag larger than itself. Rincewind thought about introducing the Luggage to what must be its spiritual companion, but the purse was so tiny it might make the Luggage miss its Agatean daughter.

“How did that work? What even is this thing?,” he exclaimed, looking at the small object in his hand.

“I told you. It’s from the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. They shed their horns every year. A Crumple-Horned Snorkack has advanced homing centers in its brain. They travel from NothingFjord to the Ramtops to dig dens, and then bring the young back to the Widdershins Ocean to hunt fish on the exact same beach each year. The mother Snorkack fills up on octarine grass before it hibernates, and its milk has more magic than any other animal.”

“So the Snorkack’s horns have . . .homing magic in them? Really?”

Rincewind brooded for a moment. He’d been thrown all over the Disc, and had never even heard of the Snorkack. A horn could have brought him home in an instant. The horn was warm in his palm, and he hastily pushed it inside a pocket of his robe.

“You came to pick up new ones? The magic wears off.”

She nodded. “On Earth it does. Here, it might not. It might recharge from the high standing magic field. Is the Palace menagerie open now?”

The menagerie wasn’t open, so they breakfasted at the new Quirmian-style café on Peach Pie Street. Luna loved the beignets, and ate three of them, licking the powdered sugar from her lips. He drank two cups of the strongest coffee on the Disc, surpassing even Klatchian Red Mountain, and watched her. Maybe she was older than he thought. Who knew how people aged on Roundworld. –

“Umm, err, uh, so, I don’t know how old you are, or if you are, ah, seeing anyone? My name’s Rincewind, by the way.” He couldn’t have sounded more awkward if he’d studied for hours, but he smiled in what he hoped was a sophisticated way.

“I’m Luna Lovegood. I don’t go out with anyone, because I’m only a fourth-year, but I always carry Aquavirius Maggots.” Her smile was as sweet as it had been all day, and now it scared him a bit.

“Uh, anti-viral maggots?”

“Aquavirius Maggots. They look like tiny brains. They can be ground to a fine powder and still grow to full size. They travel to the brain and infect it, you know.”

“They . . . do?”

“Yes. If I’d thought you were the kind of person to be afraid of, I would have put some in your coffee. But I didn’t. Can we see the hermit elephants now?”

“Of course.” He had hurriedly paid, and they’d seen the hermit elephants, one of whom had just shed its protective hut for a larger one. She’d carried away a selection of long straws from the thatch, putting it into the tiny purse again.

“Goodbye, Rincewind. Maybe we’ll meet again someday.” Luna brought out her own Snorkack horn, closed her eyes, and disappeared.

He had never met Luna again, and also had never used the Snorkack horn. It had been a good-luck piece. As Professor of Cruel and Unusual Geography, he’d been kept out of unscheduled adventures for three years. He hoped the horn was staying charged in the standing magic field of the Disc and Unseen University. Before she left she told him that she went to the Unseen University of Roundworld, Hogwarts, which was in Scotland. That’s where the strange witch and wizard were from, as Archchancellor Ridcully had informed them. He wondered whether they knew Luna. If he gave them his crumpled horn, they could probably reach home quickly. But would they be back in time? They’d been on the Disc twenty-six hours now.

“Ponder, old chap, got a moment?” Ridcully had turned to discuss the situation with a couple of HEM students. Rincewind didn’t know them, but one apparently was Big Mad Drongo’s younger brother.

“See here, Turnipseed, what do you think might get Hex’s attention? We don’t have time to waste.” The student shrank under the full force of the Archchancellor's attention.

Ponder slipped away from Hex to join him.

“What’s up? I can’t leave Ridcully alone with Hex.”

“I think I can get the Roundworld couple home, back to their school, but I don’t know whether they would get there at the time they need. I went to the Lady Sybil earlier this evening. They’re in the middle of a battle, the wizard said.”

Rincewind had entered the Lady Sybil at the same time as Remus arrived. It hadn’t taken much for the surgeon to leave in a huff, once he was informed by Captain Angua that the stranger was a werewolf.

“He can gut a deer in twenty seconds. Imagine how much less time it would take for a human.” Both werewolves had smiled at the surgeon with all their teeth.

Rincewind continued, “His name is Remus Lupin, don’t ask me what his parents were thinking; apparently he died – almost died – first. His wife – wizards can marry there, oddly - is a witch. Her name is Nymphadora, and she was trying to find him when she was attacked.” He pulled out the Snorkack horn. “I met a girl from their school a few years ago. She gave me this, said it was the horn of a Crumpled Snorkack. Apparently we have them on the Disc. She said we might not see them because they have symbiotes -never mind. It pulled us from Howondaland to the library in two seconds.”

Rincewind didn’t tell Ponder that everyone in the wounded witch’s room noticed the pointy hat which proclaimed him to be a “Wizzard.” They had given furtive glances and looked away quickly. Remus had curled his lip, which Rincewind thought was quite unnecessary.

The dumpling shaped witch had reacted differently. She gave him a broad grin that should have been locked up for the sake of public decency, and winked. “I always like a young man with an independent attitude.”

He had smiled at her. She looked like someone would give him potatoes by the barrel-full, his major criterion for female attractiveness. Maybe he could tell the Archchancellor he needed to get sent to Lancre.

“Huh. You never told me about the snorkel horn.”

Rincewind pulled his wandering mind back to Ponder. “Snorkack horn. I was afraid someone would take it away. I hoped that if I got lost again, I could use it to get back. But I think they need it more. Here.” He dropped the horn into Ponder’s hand.

“Thank you. I’ll show it to Hex. I’ve got an idea, too, but Ridcully is going to think I’m bonkers.”

“He already thinks everyone in the HEM is bonkers. You know he hates research magic.”

Ponder sighed. “This is slightly more bonkers. I can’t tell him why I want to try this.”

Rincewind laughed. “Is it crazier than the FTB?”

“Umm, it’s about that. Do you remember when Commander Vimes was in the past and we got him out again? He’d been in the past for several days, and came back in less than an hour. (Ponder didn’t know of the role of the Time Monks; old men in orange robes banging drums never seem dangerous. Hex never told anyone it liked the drums and had cooperated with the narrativium.)

“Yes?”

“Hex’s maths calculated the time of his return to one decimal place. I noticed that the FTB vibrated and became warm during the calculation.”

“That’s a little strange,” Rincewind agreed. “You never told anyone?”

Ponder took off his glasses and wiped them nervously. “Uh, no. You know the Archchancellor doesn’t understand that Hex is growing more sentient. I think Ridcully’s completely wrong about wanting to threaten Hex.”

“And here I thought Ridcully had a prescient mind with deep understanding.”

They both snorted, albeit quietly.

“I thought, well, what if I gave him an incentive and told him – it - I needed a calculation to three decimal places? It could mean return back almost to the same minute.“ Ponder slipped his glasses back on.

“What did you have in mind? You told me he’s refusing cookies.”

“Don’t think me mad, but I wondered whether the FTB wanted company. It’s alone, doesn’t have any friends or family.”

“Ponder, have you been stealing the Bursar’s dried frog pills? That sounds daft.”

“Well, what have we got to lose? Come here.” Ponder ducked into a small storeroom, and opened a bag hidden on the highest shelf. He pulled out three teddy bears. A large one had a pink hair ribbon, wore a dress, and hugged two smaller ones to her arms.

Rincewind goggled at them and then put out his hand to stroke their plush fur. They were the softest thing he had ever touched, and were crafted in three different colors. The mother bear was a dark cinnamon. One of her babies was a deep charcoal black while the other was gold. He reached out reverently and took the black cub, smiling foolishly.

“You’re right. Hex will be thrilled. Do you really think he will be able to calculate better?” Rincewind cuddled the baby FTB.

“I have no idea. Could you get the Archchancellor to leave? I don’t want him to see me installing this.”

“Hmm. I’m writing another volume of the XXXX book.”

“The one with 29 volumes already?”

“That’s the one. He’s very interested in Dangerous Mammals, Reptiles, Amphibians, Birds, Fish, Jellyfish, Insects, Spiders, Crustaceans, Grasses, Trees, Mosses, and Lichens of Terror Incognita. He thought I didn’t say enough about the drop bear. I’m sure I could get him away to yell at me about it. You’re going to owe me a big one.”

Ponder nodded. “Get going then. I’m not sure how much time it will take after installation. Hex will still have to download it and get to an initiation state. The calibration is more delicate than anything I’ve ever attempted. The Roundworlders aren’t ready to go back, right?”

“No. They’re still weak. I think you might have another day. Okay, wish us luck.” Rincewind bopped Ponder’s nose playfully and they stepped out of the storeroom.

Chapter Text

Remus clutched his wand and considered his next step. He was desperately glad to be holding it again. His chances of getting out of the wheeled chair soon had improved by a magnitude. Angua had located his wand after he had described it, and rushed it to the hospital. When she delivered it to him, he couldn’t help smelling that she’d gone furry to find it, and carried it in her mouth. It would have been much faster to run on four legs than two, and she hadn’t nicked it anyway. She glowered as she saw him check it, forbidding him to say anything like “Thanks for fetching this.”

After her brief flash of consciousness Dora had closed her eyes, but it was sleep, not coma. Sleep would help her heal, as he considered how to begin work on himself.

He flicked the wand up an inch and grimaced. The metacarpals and wrist bones creaked, still half-broken. His range of movement and strength were minimal. He’d been healing himself each full since he was eleven and was used to working through the pain but it was far more than usual. He didn’t even know if his magic would work here. Maybe they had some pain potion he could take.

The messy – haired witch asked, “What are you doing with the wand? It looks like it hurts terribly.”

“If I can cast healing charms on myself and Dora, we’ll recover much faster.” At her questioning look he added, “I’ve been healing myself since I was eleven. If you’ve got something I can take for pain, I’ll be able to work faster.”

She nodded, and stretched a hand over to a bottle – filled table. He noticed her gauzy dress – it was floaty and layered, like something Luna Lovegood would wear. Luna was unimaginably far away now. He hoped she wasn’t facing dementors with her hare patronus.

Luna and Harry climbed the spiral staircase towards Ravenclaw Tower in tight, dizzying circles. She stood before the aged wood door and raised the bronze eagle knocker.

A soft musical voice said, “Which came first, the phoenix or the flame?”

“Hmm . . .what do you think, Harry?”

“What? Isn’t there just a password?”

“Oh no, you’ve got to answer a question.”

“What if you get it wrong?”

“Well, you have to wait for somebody who gets it right. That way you learn, you see.”

Her serene voice took no notice of the urgency of their need. Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem might be here, or in an unguessed location, but Luna wasn’t panicking. Her mind was clear and free of strain.

“Yeah . . .Trouble is, we can’t really afford to wait for anyone else, Luna.”

“No, I see what you mean,” she said seriously. “Well then, I think the answer is that a circle has no beginning.”

“Well reasoned,” said the voice, and the door swung open.

The messy – haired witch held a tablespoon of potion to his lips and he opened his mouth. His jaw was aching just from the few words he’d spoken, although he knew this was better than a day ago when he’d been broken almost to bits. The syrup she gave him was sweet, smelling of peppermint and other ingredients he couldn’t immediately identify. There was nothing of the nasty muck present in everything Snape brewed. He wished she could have made potions for him. He finished it, feeling the draught cool the fire in his throat and spread outward.

“This is poppy syrup. It has poppy seed powder, white willow bark, and ginger, plus the peppermint. I bind it all with honey as it cuts the bitterness, and honey itself is a natural healer.”

“Our potions master at Hogwarts could have used some help from you.”

“Hogs with warts?”

“Hogwarts, the magic school. The name’s not my idea; I don’t even know why the founders chose that.” He waited for the pain potion ease through his system.

“What’s your name, madam? I can’t remember if anyone told me.”

“Magrat,” she informed him, with a stern tone which said, “Don’t even ask why.” Then she relented, apparently because he was a stranger.

“It was supposed to be Margaret. My mother was a terrible speller, and once your name has been said, you can’t change it.”

“Hmm.” It could have been Remus Lupin, he thought, but he had had too many years of explaining that his parents had never imagined he’d be bitten when they gave him a double name for wolf. “Thank you for the syrup. If I need something again, do you have medicine without poppy? It’s going to make me too sleepy to work for long, madam. Magrat.”

The smaller dumpling – shaped witch cackled – well, probably not a cackle. It was more like a gurgle with a laugh. “She’s Queen Magrat, now, though she’s too polite to say so.”

The witch – queen narrowed her eyes at her compatriot but didn’t respond to her. “I didn’t know you needed to stay awake. If this is too strong, I can give you plain willow bark next time.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” He flicked his wrist again. Much better. He still had limited movement due to his all-over bandages, but enough to start with the closest breaks.

He twisted the wand towards his left hand. “Brackium emendo.” There was a flash of warmth, and the hand and wrist bones became whole again. He sighed with relief and the absence of pain. He could cast here! One more time, and then he could switch to his left hand.

“Brackium emendo,” and now his arm was strong, all the way up to his shoulder. He moved his wand to the left hand. “Turn me toward Dora, please. Let me see what I can do for her.”

Magrat – Queen Magrat—turned him fully towards Dora’s bed. After her brief flash of consciousness she’d closed her eyes, but it was sleep, not coma.

“That bitch Bellatrix.” He recognized the fire – rope spell Bella favored when playful. She was strong enough to use an Avada Kedavra whenever she wanted to, but she often dueled to cause pain when she could.

“Bellatrix? That’s a star name.” It was the small witch.

He snorted, though it made his ribs ache. “Her whole family is named after stars and constellations, Merlin knows why. There’s nothing heavenly about the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Bellatrix Black LeStrange is the bitch who attacked Dora. This is one of her signature spells, when she’s not using Crucio or whatever it was that she used to blow out the lights in the Great Hall. She’s actually Dora’s aunt; the family rejected Dora’s mother, Andromeda, when she married Ted Tonks, because he was Muggle – born. That means his parents weren’t magical. Andromeda’s family . . .” He yawned. A few minutes more and he’d be asleep. “Andromeda’s family expected her to make a respectable pure – blood marriage.” He snickered slightly, aware that the poppy was making him a bit silly.

“Andromeda and Ted weren’t exactly thrilled with Dora’s marriage to me, you see, although they didn’t cast her out. A werewolf is no one’s idea of a good mate. They were tortured, you know, to get information about us because we were in the Order.” He was drifting, and shook himself awake. He flexed his left hand and pointed the wand toward his chest. “Brackium Emendo.”

His pain was significantly less, ribcage almost healed, and he bent towards Dora. The fire – rope marks on her chest had been covered with a paste he didn’t recognize but he could trace them. He’d try the one on her face.

“Episkey.” Nothing happened.

“Whiskey? That’s a spell where you come from?” A gurgle again.

“Nanny, that’s not what he said. It didn’t do anything I saw, Mr. Lupin.”

“No, it didn't work. This cut is a deep curse. I hoped maybe I could reverse it a little, but I think your paste here – “ He could smell sage but didn’t recognize the other scents.

“What’s in this?”

“It’s sage, marigold, and white willow, mixed with bear fat.”

“Bear fat.” This was beyond strange. No healing lotion or cream he’d ever heard of used these ingredients. He squinted at the wounds. They had been cleaned, at least, and there was no pus at the edges. Probably the best you could expect with the fire whip. If he couldn’t use healing spells on it – maybe general strengthening. Chocolate at least. He was losing his battle with sleep.

“Give her chocolate.”

“Beg pardon?”
“What?”
The witches spoke together.

“Choc ...late. Helps heal…try it…” He slept.

Nanny and Magrat looked at each other. Even through the gravity of the situation, Nanny’s eyes twinkled. “I never thought we’d send out for sweets. I could make them my double chocolate surprise.”

“No.”

“You and Verence could eat it, when you get a chance to rest. O’course you won’t rest much, but – “

"No."

“Or I could give them some for when they get back – “

“No, Nanny. He shouldn’t sleep in the chair. Please get Igor.”

Magrat was a little bit proud of the strength of her poppy syrup, as they moved Remus carefully from the wheelchair to stretch out on a bed next to his wife. He whimpered slightly, but didn’t wake up. Igor re – tied all his bandages carefully, scarred and green hands deft and sure. Magrat wasn’t sure what to think when the werewolf described his wife’s injuries. Magical and not responding to his own wand magic. How long would they take to heal? She did have a small bottle of dittany, procured all the way from Klatch. It was worth ten times its weight in gold, and she wasn’t going to waste it if Remus didn’t think it would help. When he woke up she’d ask him.

“I’m going to rest while they do,” she announced.

“It’s not a case of what you’ll permit, Minerva McGonagall. Your time’s over. It’s us what’s in charge here now, and you’ll back me up or you’ll pay the price.”

Amycus Carrow spat in her face.

Harry pulled the Cloak off himself, raised his wand, and said, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted, “Crucio!”

The Death Eater was lifted off his feet. He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain, and then with a crunch and a shattering of glass, he smashed into the front of a bookcase and crumpled, insensible, to the floor.

“I see what Bellatrix meant,” said Harry, the blood thundering through his brain, “you need to really mean it.”

Chapter Text

“Eek eek?”

“Yes, they’ve decided to make little bombs to help the wizards in their war.” The Librarian of Unseen University had been transfigured from an insignificant faculty member into an orangutan by a strong wave of magic in a wizarding war himself. Finding he liked the form, he refused to be transformed back. These days, if someone were to point out that there was an orang-utan in the library, the wizards would probably ask the librarian if he had seen it.

“Ook eek ook?”

“Vetinari has his pet genius working on the powder for the bombs. He made it too strong at first – took the training dummy out as well as the target.”

“Eeek!”

“Yeah, so Leonard plans to reduce the amount of the black powder, and he needs a stronger shell to hold it in place so it doesn’t spread away from the target.”

“Oook eeek?”

“I thought about the coconuts you have, and maybe the husks would be strong enough. They could pack the powder in and then seal it. Do you have any I can take?”

“Oook oook eeek!”

“No, no, they only want the husks. Leonard doesn’t need the milk or the meat.”

Rincewind sighed. “They asked if the Luggage could hold the bombs, which of course it could, but I’d have to go with it. You know I would love to stay here in the library as your assistant, but – adventures keep happening to me. I can use the snorkel horn to get to Roundworld, and Ponder has given HEX a family for the FTB to encourage him – it – to calculate more decimal places. He thinks that will give HEX an incentive to get the wizards back to their families. Just going to Roundworld might not be that bad, but Ridcully wants me to throw the bombs since the wizards will be fighting with their wands. You know I’m not a fighter.”

The Egregious Professor of Cruel and Unusual Geography had been sent on many adventures, and had a great turn of speed in running away from all of them. Aside from running away, his single greatest talent was an innate gift for languages. He could scream for mercy in nineteen languages, and just scream in another forty-four.

“Eeek eeek ook ook!” the Librarian bounced up excitedly.

“You want to throw the bombs?”

For an answer, the Librarian reached below his desk and pulled out three coconuts. He opened them with a probing finger, swallowed the milk, then widened the hole and scraped away the coconut meat. After they were empty, he tossed one in the air, then two, then the third, juggling them easily with his long arms. Rincewind noted again the muscles which surrounded the rubber-sack-filled- with-water appearance of the orangutan. Deceptively mild in appearance, the Librarian became violent upon provocation. This usually involved calling him the m-word,* but he was also physically assertive in the matter of dog-ears and late returns.

“That’s fantastic! I’ll tell Ridcully. How many coconuts do you have?”

“Ook ook ook ook.”

The Librarian had something of a trollish expression in his counting, and Rincewind knew he meant, ‘one, two, three, many.’

“Bring all you can!” They’re doing tests at the archery butts beside Hide Park.”

The orangutan pulled out a net sack and stuffed it full. From the top drawer of his desk, he located the leather cord which held the badge proclaiming him a Special Constable of the Ankh-Morpork Watch. He nodded his head decisively, and the 300 pounds of orange – colored fur rose to follow Rincewind. Just as he reached the door to the library, he called out a thoughtful ‘eek ook ook,’ and hurried back to his stash of bananas. Thus fortified, the Librarian knuckled quickly after Rincewind as they hurried through the fetid streets.

Do not ever call the Librarian the word beginning with 'mo' and ending in 'ey.' He's an ape and takes strong exception to it.

Chapter Text

"Queen Magrat. Mistress Weatherwax. My esteemed colleague suggested trepanning, is that right?"

"I didn’t just suggest it, Lawn, I intend to do it. It’s the obvious answer.” The surgeon scowled. “You’re the one who called me, and I believe I am more qualified to judge the necessity for the saw than you are."

“I thought you used a drill for trepanning. Smaller point, easier to get through, not so hard on the scalp? Didn’t you write a paper on this last year? I read it but didn’t get all the details. Why don’t you come to my office where we could discuss it?”

The surgeon gave an unimpressed look. "Saw, drill, knife, you know what I mean. Do you wish to join me? I thought these rural healers would appreciate seeing a modern procedure, but as they don’t, I’d prefer not to be interrupted."

Tonks struggled against pain to comprehend the arguments around her. Her head hurt, and her face, shoulder, and chest burned.

A pompous man said something about using a saw or a knife to relieve pressure on her head. A saw? She didn’t know much Muggle medicine, but she thought their healers didn’t use saws. She knew from other Aurors that they’d been occasionally been picked up at the scenes of accidents and taken to hospitals. The Muggle healers wouldn’t have any idea what to do about curses and magical injuries, but had always been able to give infusions of water, clean and bandage wounds, and set fractures. She’d even heard that some Aurors had undergone surgery in Muggle hospitals, and it hadn’t killed them. The injured Auror would be retrieved and Apparated to St. Mungo’s as soon as possible, of course, and the doctors obliviated, but no one had ever said anything about saws.

Another man spoke in a placating voice, and then the first man said something about rural healers not interrupting and a woman’s voice retorted quickly.

“You won’t be interrupted at all.” She sounded just like Minerva McGonagall, calm and utterly terrifying.

Another woman threatened the Muggle healer, saying that he’d be dead if he tried to use the saw. Tonks agreed with this. Why couldn’t she wake up? She needed to wake up and stop them, but all she could do was moan. No one was listening to her. Another bit of the argument and the pompous doctor was saying that the women couldn’t - what? That the women couldn’t turn him into frogs?

She could, though. She could turn the man into a frog just fine; she had excellent skills in transfiguration – at least as good as Barty Crouch, Jr., who’d turned her young cousin into a ferret. Even though Draco (damn Narcissa and Lucius for infecting him with their nonsense) had joined the wrong side, he was still her cousin, and just a student when Crouch attacked him. If Crouch hadn’t been Kissed, she’d have been happy to transfigure him – wait! These were witches! Wherever she was, witches were helping her, and some Muggle doctor was trying to cut her. Pain surged all through her as she struggled up through the fog. She had to stop them, make them wait –

“Wait!”

The voice was huskier and more raw than even after full moons, but she would always recognize the man she loved.

“Wait,” Remus said hoarsely, “I don’t consent to this barbaric procedure!”

“Yes?” the utter bastard of a Muggle healer sneered. “And who are you?”

He’s my husband, she thought, my husband, and he will AK you before you can touch me, don’t test him.

“I’m her husband, you idiot Muggle!”

Her eyes flew open. He was wrapped in bandages from head to foot, and was sitting in a wheeled wooden chair while people crowded around him. What had happened to him? No matter, he was here, and they could battle their way out.

“Remus,” she breathed.

After Remus made the Muggle who wanted to cut her leave, he sagged against the wheeled chair. The witches – the one with the McGonagall voice, another one who looked like she’d enjoy a long pipe and firewhiskey at the Leaky, and a young intense woman with messy hair and fierce eyes – moved a bed next to hers and helped Remus lie down. She wondered why they did it all by hand with no wands, but it didn’t matter. He lay down on her right side, the uninjured one, and she slept again. When she awoke the next time, more aware now, she felt his comforting presence. She reached for his hand and and interlaced his fingers with hers, squeezing hard. But he surprised her by shuddering a bit.

“Easy, Tonks, it still hurts a little,” he whispered.

She was shocked. This was Remus, who did not complain about the effects after the full moon even with his new bites and clawmarks. It hadn’t even been –

“But it wasn’t the full,” she said. It hadn’t been the full, no, but – the battle – Voldemort –she remembered. He’d gone off and left her.

There was a great roar and a surge toward the foot of the stairs; Harry was pressed back against the wall of the Room of Requirement as they ran past him, the mingled members of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore’s Army, and Harry’s old Quidditch team, all with their wands drawn, heading up into the main castle.

“Come on Luna,” Dean called as he passed, holding out his free hand; she took it and followed him back up the stairs.

The crowd was thinning: Only a little knot of people remained below in the room, and Harry joined them. Mrs. Weasley was struggling with Ginny. Around them stood Lupin, Fred, George, Bill, and Fleur.

“Yes, take it easy, missy,” the middle – aged witch said. “Igor tells me that he had every bone in his body broken.”

“Three times,” said the intense young woman. “Whatever caused it, his bones were each shattered in three places. What happened to the two of you?”

Remus tapped twice against her middle finger, softly. It was an Order of the Phoenix code. Don’t tell them.

“I’m not sure,“ she said truthfully. “Where are we?”

Remus said, “I’ve been so in and out of this that I’m not sure either,” (which was a bit of a lie, Tonks could tell from his voice.) “Explain this to me again.”

A new voice, deep and commanding, said, “Yes, let’s get some explanation here. You two are in Ankh – Morpork, and, madam, your husband didn’t know where that was. Do you know where that is?”

“No,” she whispered, “I have no idea. I’m so dry. My mouth is so dry.” She tapped back against Remus finger. I won’t tell them. Listen.

The deep voice said, “I’m Commander Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork watch. The two of you arrived outside the city – appeared from nowhere, it seems, last night. You had severe injuries. As Queen Magrat said, Mr. Lupin had every bone in his body broken several times. Igor tells me his organs were very damaged as well. You, madam – and can you tell me your name, please?”

“Tonks,” she said faintly, and she heard him snort. “Remus is my husband.”

“Mrs. Lupin, then. You have been injured in a way which looks as though you’ve been cut with a burning sword. Do you know what happened to you?”

What had happened? The battle pulled into focus a bit. She’d run straight through the castle looking for Remus – she couldn’t remember fighting anyone until she’d run into Bellatrix. Maybe she had joined others, but the only thing she remembered was dueling her mocking black-haired aunt. Bella had parried every hex and curse she’d thrown.

“Madam?” The voice continued placidly.

Remus pressed his fourth finger against hers.Stall. Stall. “I need some water. Please.”

She hadn’t the faintest idea what Remus had told – whoever this was. From what the commander had said, Bella must have used the fire rope spell. Tonks had seen Albus try it at the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, a whip of fire which wrapped around Voldemort, but he changed the flame into a serpent. It was just the sort of thing Bellatrix would love to add to her repertoire.

A girl appeared beside Tonks with a wet rag and dripped clean water into her mouth. She licked it, and opened her mouth for more. The room was silent for a few minutes while they let her have a few mouthfuls.

“Your husband told me you were fighting with students, in a school in Scotland, against evil wizards and witches. He said that you were a trained fighter and better than he was. He said that he saw you dueling with a woman he thought was your aunt.”

“Are we prisoners?” She forced as much power into her voice as she could, hearing that it was still weak. She didn’t think they were; Death Eaters wouldn’t have tried to heal them. Unless somehow they were wanted awake and aware enough to answer questions. That was a risk Remus had taken on every undercover assignment with the werewolves. She was always terrified that he’d be discovered and killed, but even more so that he’d be tortured first to give up Order secrets.

Remus tapped her index finger twice. No. Not prisoners.

“Because if we’re not prisoners, I’m –I’m too tired to talk. Everything hurts so much.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Lupin, you are not prisoners. If you were, we wouldn’t be trying to heal you. I’m trying (and Tonks could hear the anger) to find out where you were so that I can get you back home. I’d preferred to have as much information as possible to tell the wizards at Unseen University so that I can keep them from pestering you. One of my officers is taking notes of everything, and will send it all over to the university. I’d like to know as precisely as possible what happened and where you were so that we can send you back.”

Wizards, thought Tonks. They had wizards, too. Were they Death Eaters? The witches clearly weren't, but she hadn't seen any of their wizards yet.

“It’s been more than a day,” said Remus. “I think the battle may be over by now.” He sounded utterly done in, very hoarse and exhausted. She stroked his little finger, as gently as possible. I love you.

“You’d be surprised.” A pause. Tonks blinked her eyes open again and looked at the man who’d spoken. He was wearing old – fashioned armor, not a full suit of armor, but something with a breastplate, and a heavy leather kilt below it, and heavy trousers below that. He might have been older than Remus. He had about the same amount of brown-gray hair, but more wrinkles. His eyes were not threatening, even though his voice had been angry.

“A few years ago, and even the wizards don’t know why, I travelled back through time. I spent four days in the past, and when I returned it had been barely an hour.” He continued more quietly, possibly to himself. “Of course, I don’t think we could use the Time Monks here. I don’t know if they even have Time Monks on Roundworld.”

He spoke at a normal volume again, “Anyway, if we can get you back at all, you might be in time to help fight your war. Mr. Lupin, do you know what happened to your wife?”

“No.” It was the standard for interrogations. If you did have to answer, say as little as possible.

“Sergeant Angua told me that you had been fighting wizards, and that you came from Scotland. I think that’s in Roundworld. One of our wizards told me that he once met a young woman who was a witch from Roundworld. Luna Lovegood. Do you know her?”

“Yes.”

“And how do you know her, Mr. Lupin?”

“I was her teacher.”

This caused a moment’s pause. “You’re a teacher? What do you teach when you’re not fighting for your life?”

Remus gave such a small sigh Tonks could barely hear him. Was it better to drag this out? He was some kind of Muggle. Even though there were witches here, did they take classes in Defense Against the Dark Arts? The pompous surgeon had called them "rural healers," as though he thought they were hedge witches. Maybe they hadn't gone to school at all. Wait. Don’t answer unless forced, and she and Remus had both had an abundant amount of training in resisting pain. A lifetime’s worth for Remus. Having Confringo applied for training purposes had been a surprise part of learning to be an Auror. Apparently it didn’t hurt quite as much a Crucio, from those who’d experienced both, small mercy. The worst part was having to apply it to another trainee, to help them withstand pain. If they’d told her about this before she had applied to training – no, it was a dirty secret the DLME hid until you were actually accepted. She’d had to accept a geas before entering training. It was part of her oath.

“I’m sorry?” Remus was still stalling for time. The commander frowned. He’d noticed Remus avoid the question, but when none came, he went on.

“You and your wife were nearly killed, by wizards, and these – wands – were found near you. Queen Magrat uses her wand to heal, and neither Mistress Weatherwax nor Mistress Ogg use wands. I know you were in a battle, in that school in Scotland. Who were you fighting?”

“I don’t think the answer would help you at all. And I told Angua – Sergeant Angua— that we were fighting evil wizards who want to kill everyone who opposes them, whether they have magic to defend themselves or have no magic at all.”

Tonks could see the watchman’s face grow angrier, and Remus took another breath.

“Is it that you don’t wish to return us to our home because you think we are evil? You don’t have any way to check our answers. Even if you separate Dora and myself, we’re both going to swear we’re innocent.”

Tonks saw the commander fume, and abruptly decided. They were calling Earth Roundworld as though they were on another planet. Was that even possible? Were there other planets humans could live on? No matter. He'd said he was the commander of the watch. Was that something like an Auror? His presence and manner of questioning suggested some type of law enforcement, surely. She'd interrogated more Death Eaters than Remus had, and these people weren't. She ran her thumb across Remus’ palm.
Trust. Tell.

Remus rubbed her palm and said tightly. “Their leader was killed fifteen years ago, we thought, when I fought him the first time, and was resurrected to full force four years ago. He personally killed two of my best friends, and his second in command killed another of my best friends.”

“My horrible aunt,” said Tonks. “She tried to kill me; could have tried to do it painlessly, there’s this curse – never mind.” She tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t because of the pain. “That’s who these people are. They don’t just fight wizards and witches who have some training and could try to fight back. They torture Mug – non-magical people for fun. For sport. I’m an Auror, from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and I can give you bushels of statistics. The last I heard, the Death Eaters attacked a school in Surrey, killed fifteen children under age six. They’ve blown up bridges, attacked ferries, and sent giants against people who have no protection at all. Trolls too, evil things, they have trolls with them.”

“Not all trolls are evil.” The mild voice was back again, and Tonks looked at the watchman suspiciously.

“If you know trolls who are not evil, I’m happy for you. All the ones I’ve ever heard of are monsters who attack on command.”

%%%%%%%%
There was a scuffling and a great thump: Someone else had clambered out of the tunnel, overbalanced slightly and fallen.

“Am I too late? Has it started? I only just found out so I –I “

Percy spluttered into silence. Evidently he had not expected to run into most of his family. There was a long moment of astonishment, broken by Fleur turning to Lupin and saying, in a wildly transparent attempt to break the tension, “So –‘how eez leetle Teddy?”

Lupin blinked at her startled. “I—oh yes—he’s fine!” Lupin said loudly. ”Yes, Tonks is with him –at her mother’s –”

Percy and the other Weasleys were staring at one another, frozen.

“Here, I’ve got a picture!” Lupin shouted, pulling a photograph from inside his jacket and showing it to Fleur and Harry, who saw a tiny baby with a tuft of bright turquoise hair, waving fat fists at the camera.

%%%%%%%%

Remus said, “I didn’t tell Sergeant Angua before, but they have werewolves with them, and when they don't kill outright, the pack bites to Change, for terror. Fenrir Greyback and his gang lived with the Malfoys, at Malfoy Manor, when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was there.”

“Who’s –“

“The leader of the Death Eaters, the head monster. We don’t say his name, it’s been Tabooed, and if you say it, you can call his followers to you. I won’t repeat it here.”

“So some of these followers, they live in mansions?”

“Yes, the rich purebloods. The Malfoys have twenty generations of wealth behind them, and they’re not alone. Old families – the Notts, the Goyles, the Browns, and others, pour their money into supporting the Death Eaters.”

“You’re fighting nobs, then! Why didn’t you say so?” The commander snorted. “You could have lead with that.”

Tonks heard several suppressed laughs. The commander grinned wickedly at his staff and continued. “Say no more; if you’ve got magic nobs with inherited power and wealth, who support Dead Eaters killing children, we’ll try to get you back to those evil bastards fast.”

Chapter Text

Remus and Tonks were left alone after Commander Vimes questioned them. They slept for eight hours, waking late in the next morning. Igor pronounced Remus’s bones healed enough that he unwrapped the bandages carefully. The pain was minimal, which allowed Remus to sit without help. He was given a long white tunic-type shirt to wear, with new trousers and socks.

“Mithter Vimeth hath bootth for you, thir,” Igor said. “Lady Thybil hath given him many new bootth, and he hath ekththrath.”

Tonks and Remus sat together at a small square table which had been brought into their room. It was a quiet moment while they drank tea from cups with a blue flower design. Remus’s bones ached, but not any more than a normal second day after the moon. The magic of the Disc must still be helping him, he thought. Tonks was hunched over her cup, still obviously in pain.

“I think I’m well enough to cast more healing charms on you,” Remus said. “Let me try.”

“I don’t want anyone to interfere,” she murmured. “Let’s ask them to leave us alone.”

There was no one except the young aide in the room with them at the time, drowsing on a stool. The other witches had disappeared to the next room, presumably to eat their own breakfasts. Remus could hear a throaty chuckle. The watch had also disappeared, having decided that speeding them away was the best step.

“Excuse me, miss,” said Remus.

The little aide jerked awake. “Oh! Sorry I fell asleep! I’ll get Queen Magrat.”

“No, wait – “ but she’d scurried away.

“How are you this morning?” said Magrat, sweeping into the room a minute later. “Do you need to have more tea and breakfast? I wasn’t sure how much you could eat, Madame Lupin.”

“It’s just Tonks. And I’m hungry only for toast. Remus wants more steaks and ribs, right?” Remus nodded. “But we need to do – healing work for each other and we’d like privacy.”

“Healing work? What kind?” asked Magrat. She smiled, leaned forward eagerly. “I’d love to learn some of your magic, now you can both use wands again.”

“Thank you, your highness,” said Remus, not wanting to annoy her. “But it – we have to concentrate harder, since neither one of us is anywhere near full strength. We can’t take time to focus on anything else, or instruct you in these spells. Can you bring us water to drink, and some new bandages?”

“Of course,” Magrat said. Her shoulders slumped a minute. “We don’t want to bother you. The aide will bring what you need.”

“Oh, yes, and chocolate!” Remus said, “We need chocolate – “ he hesitated, seeing Magrat’s curiosity bloom. “It does help, but only if it’s easy to get.”

“Truly? I know Nanny has some special desserts with chocolate, but they don’t have an actual healing effect. It’s err, more amourous – never mind. Ankh Morpork has the finest chocolatiers on the Disc. I’ll have some here in a few minutes. How many pounds do you need?”

“One or two?” said Tonks. “I’d love to try more, but I don’t think we have time.”

After Remus was assured no one would enter, he scooted his chair next to Tonks. “Which first? Your face?”

She shook her head. “No, work on my shoulder. I can barely move it.” She winced as she tried to shrug.

Remus aimed his wand at the tip of her shoulder. The wound was much deeper than a simple “Episkey” would require, but he and Madame Pompfrey had developed others over the years. “Vulnera Sanentur” worked excellently for wounds when they were still bleeding and raw, but “Sana musculi” was better for deep wounds like this. He drew the wand around gently in circles across her deltoid, then the biceps, triceps, and brachioradialis.

“Lean forward - “ He healed the supraspinatus, and strengthened the knitting bones as well.

“If they have any more dittany, I think I can get the crusts off, but how does it feels now?”

Tonks rotated her shoulder, nodded; when she started to swing her arm overhead, she groaned. “My chest pulls too much. Do I need to lay down? What can I do for you?”

A knock sounded on the door. Magrat entered with a satisfied smile. “We have sweet chocolate and dark chocolate, in bars, in pieces with and without fillings, with nuts, without, white chocolate, violet infused, unsweetened baking chocolate, cocoa, and chocolate liqueur. I thought you might like a choice. I’m also sending you more tea, coffee, and the meat you asked for. Please let Us know if We can do more.” Remus heard the switch to the royal, so he nodded in a seated bow. The pain in his neck had nearly vanished.

“Thank you, your majesty. It’s much appreciated.”

Tonks said weakly, “How wonderful. It sounds like Honeydukes. I - we didn’t bring any bags with us.”

“Leave that to me,” the queen said. She sent the aide in to set up the delectable spread on another table.

Remus moved the table away from Tonks and got his first look at her chest wound. The healers had left her in her trousers, but removed her coat and sweater, and dressed her in a hospital gown. When he pulled the left sleeve off, letting it hang loose, he growled. A long burn sliced across her sternum, almost to her navel.

“This – is this the fire rope?”

“I can’t remember. It was too fast. Something with fire, anyway. I couldn’t block it. Can I have some cocoa? I don’t think I can eat anything yet.”

He poured her a thick mug of cocoa, and a second for him, resting for a minute. It was late morning now. The Disc watch commander had said time might not work the same when they went back. He hoped with all his heart that it was true. Was the castle still under attack?

Professor McGonagall said, “We have already placed protection around the castle, but it is unlikely to hold for very long unless we reinforce it. I must ask you, therefore, to move quickly and calmly and do as your prefects –“

But her final words were drowned as a different voice echoed throughout the Hall. It was high, cold, and clear: There was no telling from where it came; it seemed to issue from the walls themselves.

“I know that you are preparing to fight.” There were screams amongst the students, some of whom clutched each other, looking around in terror for the source of the sound. “Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood.

“Give me Harry Potter,” said Voldemort’s voice, “and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded.

“You have until midnight.”

“Andromeda will take care of Teddy, you know,” said Tonks unexpectedly. He looked at her. “If we don’t get back. She had a plan – maybe portkeys, I’m not sure, but she wasn’t going to stay at her house in case – in case. She has friends from Beauxbatons. She will get out with Teddy.”

“Even if we get back and the castle’s fallen, we might be able to get back to Hogsmeade. We can Apparate away – Grimmauld Place might still be safe,” he said, stretching. “But let’s hope we can get back to the battle. Damn, I wish you’d stayed – “

“None of that,” Tonks’ hair flashed pink as she glared. “I’m an Auror. I duel better than you do.” She brought up her wand. “You’re not leaving me behind again.”

He said, “Let me have some of those steaks and a cup of coffee, then I’m healing that mess for you. It’s bad, but – you know all my scars. I’ll take care of you,” he promised. He forced himself to smile into her eyes, hoping he could make her believe it. “Let me put this pillow to soften the chair.” He levitated it to her, thrilled to see that he could perform other spells.

“Did she really say violet infused chocolate?” Tonks suddenly looked hopeful. “I haven’t had that in years. Can you move some of that heap over? It smells wonderful.” She lifted her lips in a tiny smile of her own while she searched through the cornucopia of offerings.

Eight hours passed while Remus and Tonks slowly used healing charms on each other. The chocolate pile grew smaller. Tonks especially searched for the fruit flavored truffles, while Remus picked out the darkest of the bunch. He found some bars with nuts which were wickedly bitter. Queen Magrat concentrated on their wand movements, writing everything in her notebook. The other two witches drifted in occasionally, murmuring in quiet voices, while the doctor briskly examined them every hour.

“I wish we had Madam Pomfrey,” sighed Tonks, leaning back on her. Her eyes drifted closed. “We don’t have any healing potions and I’m so sore.”

Remus put his wand down; he didn’t want to stop healing, but she was right. Charms could only do so much. He had eaten meat constantly, as well as the chocolate; it was excellent, smoked perfectly, but he’d give anything for a blood replenishing potion. He ached everywhere. It was better than the agony when he’d arrived, yet – could he run? Fight?

“Merlin, I wish we had any pain potion.” Tonks ran her hands over her wounds, pressing gently. Remus saw her wince.

“I do have cordials for pain,” said Magrat. Remus had a bit forgotten she was there. “The poppy syrup – “

“We can’t use anything which would make us sleepy. We’ve got to fight -the battle –“

“And I also have other kinds of pain relievers,” snapped the queen. She twisted to the table beside her and pulled out two flasks. One was red – orange, while the other was green. She waggled the red flask. “This burns a bit to swallow, but the heat is good. I’ve also got white willow bark.” She frowned at the second flask. “I think I have more willow bark.” She tapped her white cloth covered box, and a drawer opened to show crumbled brown bark.

“Igor, please bring me a mortar and pestle.” Remus watched her grind the bark carefully. For a ‘rural healer,’ as the arrogant surgeon had described her, she was as skillful and deft as Severus, producing a fine powder in a matter of minutes.

“I need a cup of water, please,” she told the hovering aide. “Boil it in a clean pot as quickly as you can. It doesn’t need to cool.” Her eyes flicked to the short older witch.

“Nanny, I think I can use a few drops of scumble to mix it. Just a little, please.”

The witch called Nanny reached into her voluminous skirt again, wiggling her hand to find the right pocket, Remus thought. He hoped the bottle was clean; this didn’t seem like a very sanitary way of storing potions.

When Nanny gave the bottle to Magrat, Remus cleared his throat. “May I see that, please? We don’t have scumble at Hogwarts. How do you make it?”

“It’s made from apples,” Nanny said with a wicked grin. Magrat scowled at her, for reasons Remus didn’t know.

“Well,” Nanny modified. “Mostly apples.”

Remus eased the cork out gently, then jerked his head back, causing his neck to twinge. Salazar’s teeth, this might have started as apples in a gentle cider, but it was as concentrated as Firewhiskey or greater. There were underlying tones which might be – turnips? – potatoes? It was probably as potent as the strongest Muggle vodka.

“Ah – “ he began. “Scumble might be a bit much for us. Tonks doesn’t have the head for spirits that I do.”

Tonks pinched his arm, hard. “What Remus is trying to say is that we appreciate everything you’re doing for us. We were in the middle of a battle – we’ll be running and fighting, probably jumping. We’ve healed enough for this, but can’t take a chance of being the least bit dizzy.”

“Scumble is drunk by the thimbleful, dearie," said Nanny. "Magrat is only going to use a few drops to mix with the willow bark. It’s a strengthener.”

Magrat offered Tonks the red potion. She took it, hand trembling only slightly. Remus bit his lip. If this didn’t help – he wished irrationally for Severus. His potions always smelled fetid, like rotten cabbage with dirty, moldy leather, or worse, but they worked.

Tonks handed it to Remus. “Smell it, please.” She looked apologetically at Magrat. “If you don’t mind – excuse me – he can tell - .”

He took the flask, sniffed it. “It has turmeric, cumin, ginger; coriander, maybe, and red and black peppers - there’s the capsicum, and – something fishy.”

“Juice from pulped kraken tentacles.” Tonks and Remus stared at Magrat, mouths hanging open.

“How did you – how could you – why kraken?” demanded Tonks. “There’s a kraken in the Great Lake at Hogwarts, but – you’ve never been there. Have you?”

Magrat gave them a mysterious smile. “I’ve never been there. But I’ve heard about you. Never you mind, go ahead and drink it. The kraken will help locate your own beast.”

“We don’t eat the kraken, I - I couldn’t,” Remus stammered.

“Yes, we can” Tonks was emphatic. “We ate fried calamari at that restaurant in Muggle London, you remember? I didn’t know it was squid until the waiter brought it out and I saw the tentacles.”

Remus’s face flushed. “Well, yes, I like to try as many types of meat and fish I can. Good to know what I can eat the day after the moon.”

“I normally avoid animal products in my potions, but I need it for this one. Don't worry, it's ethically sourced," said the Queen; the phrase baffled Remus, but he nodded seriously as if he understood. Apparently potions here never needed slugs, beetle eyes, or lacewings, to say nothing of bat spleens and dragon blood. Did she even use bezoars? He shook himself and came back to the task in front of him.

"Anyway, it’s good for you,” said the queen. “Here’s another flask for you, Mrs. Lupin. Drink up.”

Tonks swallowed the red potion. Her eyes squeezed shut tightly. “Oh…” Remus thought she was in pain. Merlin, what had they done to her? Then her eyes popped open.

“Wow!” She grinned. Her hair flashed red, then yellow, then orange. “Remus, take it! It’s like Pepper-Up potion, but without the steam.”

He knocked back the red potion, feeling it burn all the way down his esophagus like the best curry. The kraken juice filled his mouth and did indeed remind him of the Muggle restaurant he’d taken Tonks to. It was the first time he’d kissed her, in the alleyway behind the eatery just before they Disapparated. Her mouth was hot on his as they spun together back to the little park opposite Grimmauld Place. She smelled deliciously of fish and triumph.

As heat rushed through him, the pain in his muscles dropped away. He grinned for the first time in – he didn’t know how long. He couldn’t help it. A flush spread through him. His pulse thudded strongly in his neck and all his nerves tingled at once. Tonks slipped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. For the first time he thought they might actually make it home.

“I know what the diadem looks like and I know where it is,” said Harry, talking fast to Ron and Hermione. “He hid it exactly where I hid my old Potions book, where everyone’s been hiding stuff for centuries. He thought he was the only one to find it. Come on.”

He lead the other two back down the staircase into the Room of Requirement. It was empty except for three women: Ginny, Tonks, and an elderly witch wearing a moth-eaten hat, whom Harry recognized immediately as Neville’s grandmother.

Harry looked at Tonks.

“I thought you were supposed to be with Teddy at your mother’s?”

“I couldn’t stand not knowing – “ Tonks looked anguished. “She’ll look after him – have you seen Remus?”

“He was planning to lead a group of fighters into the grounds –“

Without another word, Tonks sped off.

Harry watched her, wanting to call her back. He had a bad feeling about this. But he had another urgent task.

The furor of the battle died the moment Harry, Ron, and Hermione crossed the threshold to the Room of Hidden Things and closed the door behind them. All was silent. They were in a place the size of a cathedral with the appearance of a city, its towering walls of objects hidden by thousands of long-gone students.

Deeper and deeper into the labyrinth Harry went, looking for objects he recognized from his one previous trip into the room.There it was, right ahead the blistered old cupboard in which he had hidden his Potions book, and on top of it, the pockmarked stone warlock wearing a dusty old wig and what looked like ancient, discarded tiara.

He had already stretched out his hand, though he remained ten feet away, when a voice behind him said, “Hold it Potter.”

He skidded to a halt, turned, and saw Crabbe and Goyle. Through the small space between their jeering faces he saw Draco Malfoy.

“So how come you three aren’t with Voldemort?” asked Harry.

“We’re gonna be rewarded,” said Crabbe. “We ‘ung back, Potter. Decided to bring you to ‘im.”

“Harry?” Ron’s voice echoed suddenly from the other side of the wall to Harry’s right. “Are you talking to someone?”

With a whiplike movement, Crabbe pointed his wand at the fifty- foot mountain of discarded magical item. “Descendo.”

“Ron!” Harry bellowed as somewhere out of sight Hermione screamed. He heard innumerable objects crashing to the floor.

“No!”shouted Malfoy, staying Crabbe’s hand as the latter made to repeat his spell. “If you wreck the room you might bury this diadem thing!”

Harry lunged for the tiara; Crabbe’s curse missed him but hit the stone bust, which flew into the air; the diadem soared upward and then dropped out of sight in the mass of objects on which the bust had rested.

A jet of scarlet light shot past Harry by inches: Hermione had run round the corner behind him and sent a Stunning Spell straight at Crabbe’s head.

“It’s that Mudblood! Avada Kedavra!”

“Don’t kill him, DON’T KILL HIM!’ Malfoy yelled at Crabbe.

Harry yelled at Hermione, “Look for the diadem while I go and help R-“

“Harry!” she screamed.

A roaring, billowing noise behind him gave him a moment’s warning. “Like it hot, scum?” roared Crabbe as he ran.

But he seemed to have no control over what he had done. Flames of abnormal size were pursuing him, licking up the sides of the junk bulwark, which were crumbling to soot at their touch.

Now the fire was mutating, forming a giant herd of fiery horses; flaming serpents, dragons rose and fell and rose again.

Harry seized a pair of heavy-looking broomsticks from the nearest pile of junk and threw one to Ron, who pulled Hermione onto it, behind him. They soared up into the air. Below them the cursed fire was consuming the contraband of generations of hunted students, the guilty outcomes of a thousand banned experiments.

Harry heard a thin, piteous human scream from amidst the thunder of devouring flame, and he saw them. Malfoy with his arms around the unconscious Goyle, and Harry dived.

“IF WE DIE FOR THEM, I’LL KILL YOU, HARRY!" roared Ron’s voice, and as a great flaming chimaera bore down upon them he and Hermione dragged Goyle onto their broom. Malfoy clambered up behind Harry.

All around them the last few objects unburned by the devouring flames were flung into the air, as the creatures of the cursed fire cast them high in celebration: cups and shield, a sparkling necklace - and an old, discolored tiara –

“What are you doing, what are you doing, the door’s that way!” screamed Malfoy, but Harry made a hairpin swerved and dived. The diadem seemed to fall in slow motion, turning and glittering as it dropped toward the maw of a yawning serpent, and then he had it, caught it around his wrist and shot towards the door to the room.

Moments later clean air filled Harry’s lungs and they collided with the wall in the corridor beyond.

Hermione got to her feet. “Let’s stick together. I say we go – Harry, what’s that on your arm?”

“What? Oh yeah – “

He pulled the diadem from his wrist and held it up. A bloodlike substance, dark and tarry, seemed to be leaking from the diadem. Suddenly Harry felt the thing vibrate violently, then break apart in his hands, and as it did so, he thought he heard the faintest, most distant scream of pain, echoing from the diadem - the horcrux which had just fragmented in his hands.

Remus, Tonks, Rincewind, and the Librarian stood on the square marked out in in bright metal in front of the machine Hex. Each stood on a different side of the square, facing inward and holding hands. Tonks and Remus stood on opposite sides with the others between them. They’d been given new clothes – a tunic and long wool shirt to cover it, stout trousers and tough boots. They’d been offered cloaks. Remus didn’t want to wear one because it might interrupt his casting, but they’d wrapped the Librarian in two thick ones. It seemed to make him feel safer with the idea that he’d be towed along between them.

Remus wasn’t very fond of this wizarding – Muggle hybrid machine, or the young wizards who moved around it. They seemed more like Muggles than wizards and hadn’t cast any spells. The wizard with glasses had given his name as Ponder Stibbons, had explained that Hex had a beehive and an anthill inside, along with a Glooper and a beachball which emitted a ‘parp’ noise every fourteen minutes. It had glass tubes and wires in random patterns. For some reason, he was most proud of a group of stuffed plush bears, two large, two small, which he called the FTBs. Ponder told them that the path back to Earth would be activated when he pulled the Great Big Lever – Remus couldn’t follow his explanation after that. Somehow the energy built up in the machine would transmit to the copper beaten into the square around them and under their feet, and while they all held the crumpled horn from a snorkack, which Rincewind had received from Luna Lovegood, they would be apparated back to Hogwarts. The horn had apparently been changed into a special universe – spanning portkey.

He was more reassured that older wizards were present as well. They’d prepared a ritual to supplement Hex. Two of them would stand in each corner of the room, making eight total, with candles linking all sides of the room. Reassuring green smoke was already puffing from them while the wizards were incanting slowly, waving their staffs. More help still were the three broomsticks that the wizards had given them. Archchancellor Ridcully had explained with embarrassment that while it was traditionally only witches who used them, wizards could do so in extremis. Remus had no idea why this divide between urban wizards and rural witches existed. He had no time or desire to penetrate their culture. All he cared about was that they could have working brooms.

Remus and Tonks had searched their memories of the battle. They had each separately come in through the passage from Hogsmeade through the Room of Requirement. There was no other quick way to get into Hogwarts; the wards prevented Apparition. The new passageway from the Hogs Head Inn to Hogwarts had taken them fifteen minutes to run, the first time, and they needed to save all their strength. Remus wished that the snorkack horn could take them directly into the Battle, but he doubted it. Therefore: the brooms. He and Tonks could each ride theirs, as could Rincewind, but the orangutan Librarian – no. They decided to place a Lightening Charm on him and Levitate him between them, while Rincewind flew behind, able to catch the Librarian if he should tumble away. The ape was draped with crossed bandoliers of his small bombs. He had curled his lip at this suggestion. He’d gone sullen, and it had taken Rincewind half an hour to convince him he’d be safe – this involved Remus and Tonks demonstrating the Lightening Charm and Levitation, and pulling him gently around the High Energy Magic building for several circuits. He was finally ready, as Remus prayed to gods he did not believe in that time hadn’t run out on them.

Ponder stood in front of Hex tapping a screen repeatedly with his fingers. He’d sheepishly told Remus he didn’t know how to explain its use, except that it was similar to using runes. His assistant, Adrian Turnipseed, who’d shyly whispered to Tonks that he liked to be called Big Mad Drongo, stood beside him, feeding a long strip of paper from the screen into the inner workings of the machine. Hex whined and its tubing began to flash different colors. First it was a slow red. The wizards in the corners sped up their incantation. A new ring of candles lit in front of them, encircling the travelers. Then the light pulsed yellow, and a second ring of candles flared closer around them. The candles dribbled wax, green smoke filled more of the chamber, and then a third ring of tall candles jumped to full brilliance around the beaten copper square. Hex suddenly flashed green, while white sparks of light raced from it to the copper square, tracing faster around with each circuit. The lines shrank inward toward the group as the wizards’ voices grew louder. Finally they gave a huge roar, staffs held high. There was a blue-white flash which dazzled everyone. When they could see again the copper square was empty.

The resulting wind blew the hats off all the wizards, who scrambled to recover them. (A wizard without a hat is nothing more than a sad man with a suspicious taste in clothes.)

“Did that work?” demanded Archchancellor Ridcully hoarsely.

Ponder was still at Hex’s keyboard, watching an hourglass run down.

“I think so. They should be able to send back the signals we arranged as soon as they pass from the Discworld continuum into their own multi-verse – never mind, sir, I think it will be in -five -four-three-two-one” – a coruscating spray of red sparks shot up from the copper platform. As the fireworks rose higher, a puff of dust seemed to spring from them. Every wizard’s hair and beard pulsed a bright pink for a second; the bright colors pulled whoops of joy from every throat, the undergraduates to the Archchancellor.

Ridcully opened the secret flask compartment of his hat. He passed the flask around, letting each wizard take a solemn ritual nip to clear their gullets.

“Great work, Ponder, my boy. You give credit to our motto.” He intoned solemnly “Nunc Id Vides, Nunc ne Vides. Now you see it, now you don’t.”

Tonks felt a pressure inside her body even tighter than the normal squeeze of apparition. They traveled not in blackness but in a strange color she’d have to call a fluorescent greenish yellow-purple. The trip lasted an infinity; it lasted a second; it was cold as frost, hot as steam. Just when she felt she’d scream, the world coalesced again as she landed with knees bent correctly. There was an instant of nausea, but she didn’t vomit. She had always been excellent at apparition. She felt the stone of the street, smelt hops, malt - what was that? It could only be the distinct odors of a goat pen. She opened her eyes, saw that Remus, Rincewind, and the great orangutan were with her, bounced up to her feet with a fierce grin - and Aberforth Dumbledore was pointing a wand directly at her chest.

“Incarcerous,” he shouted. Thick ropes fell around the four of them.

“This is the second time I’ve seen you and Lupin tonight,” he said in a low growl. “I’ve never seen the other fella or the ape. I duel to kill - you have five seconds before I cast the Blasting Curse. Talk fast.”

Chapter Text

Tonks opened her eyes, saw that Remus, Rincewind, and the great orangutan were with her, bounced up to her feet with a fierce grin - and Aberforth Dumbledore was pointing a wand directly at her chest.
“Incarcerous,”he shouted. Thick ropes fell around the four of them.
“This is the second time I’ve seen you and Lupin tonight,” he said in a low growl. “I’ve never seen the other fella or the ape. I duel to kill - you have five seconds before I cast the Blasting Curse. Talk fast.”

“Protego! Stupefy! Diffindo,” Tonks yelled, and a blue shield fell around them as Aberforth tumbled backwards. The ropes binding them severed easily.

Remus stared at her. “Wandless magic? When did you? – I didn’t know -“

“Mother and I have been practicing at the full and the day afterwards,” she said grimly. “I wasn’t going to argue with you.”

“I wanted you to be safe! I thought you were resting – the last moon was on the 12th, and Teddy was born on the 14th! I never wanted you to come – “ Now that they were actually back at the battle, his anxiety reared up. “You could still go home. Apparate to Andromeda’s.”

She glowered at him, and brown hair flamed into hot pink. “I’m an Auror, Lupin. Always. I can’t go back home – we already died, yeah? So shut it. We’re in luck and haven’t set off any Caterwauling Charms yet.” She turned to Rincewind, who was holding onto his hat and looking dazed. “Let’s haul him inside, quick.”

Rincewind hesitated a moment, and the Librarian bent to the fallen man and carried him through a wooden door into the Hogshead Inn. It was lit only by a single candle, and Rincewind could barely make out a picture on the wall. It was the size and shape for a portrait, but no one was painted in it. There was only a long dark tunnel stretching away.

“Good,” said Remus. “The passage is still here.”

Rincewind had travelled around the Disc and across many countries, so he kept silent as Lupin pulled the edge of the portrait open. The painted tunnel grew larger and larger, and finally a real tunnel appeared in the wall of the inn. He tried to appear nonchalant, as if he’d often walked through pictures.

“Come on,” said Tonks, and unshrunk their broomsticks. She and Remus quickly transfigured several bandages into a cloth chair, and motioned the Librarian to sit. They slowly levitated him, and strapped him into the chair, and the chair between their brooms.

“Got your buttocks on?” Tonks smirked at Rincewind. “Keep up!”

The Roundworld witch and her husband swung their legs over their brooms in a coordinated fashion and pushed off. Rincewind mounted his with a sour mouth. He hadn’t been on a broom in years, not since he was chased by several orders of wizards in the forest of Skund. He and Twoflower had escaped on an old witch’s broomstick. They’d gone up to the stratosphere and seen the sky swept clean of stars, with only a single baleful red star ahead of them. Then their fall had been broken by a flying rock, which finally landed on top of two giant, upright slabs in the middle of a mystic stone circle. And that had barely been the beginning of his travails with the Eighth Spell inside him. Even that, though, had been better than this – that broom had had handlebars.

He’d asked Remus about it, and received a short, perplexing answer: “What do you think this is? Sirius’s motorbike?”

Now he was on a broom following two wizard speed demons. It was one thing to race across the sky, at least when there weren’t any clouds. No one had ever said you could race underground. Their passage began to slope up, and then they rounded a final curve. Tonks whooped as she took it, and was shushed ferociously by her husband. The Librarian shrieked “EEEEK EEEEK! OOOK!” and then the passage ended at a set of steps. Tonks and Remus set the Librarian down gently, but it took a minute for the ape to open his eyes and let go of the straps.

“Come on,” called Tonks, having shrunk their brooms, and already bounding up the steps. “We don’t know how much time we have before…” she stopped talking. Before they were killed, Rincewind knew. Before the whole catastrophe avalanched on them again.

He followed her into an enormous room which looked like the interior of a sumptuous tree house, or perhaps a gigantic ship’s cabin. Multicolored hammocks were strung from the ceiling and from a balcony which ran around the dark wood-paneled and windowless walls, and there were bright hanging tapestries of heraldic animals.

“Hello, Minister!’ bellowed Percy, sending a neat jinx straight at Thicknesse, who dropped his wand and clawed at the front of his robes, apparently in awful discomfort. “Did I mention I’m resigning?”

“You’re joking, Perce," shouted Fred, as the Death Eater he was battling collapsed under the weight of three separate stunning spells. "I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were – “

The air exploded. They had been grouped together, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and Percy, the two Death Eaters at their feet, one Stunned, the other Transfigured; and in that fragment of a moment, when danger seemed temporarily at bay, the world was rent apart.
Harry was half buried in the wreckage of a corridor that had been subjected to a terrible attack. Then he heard a terrible cry, that pulled at his insides, that expressed agony of a kind neither flame nor curse could cause.

As Tonks and Remus ran through the Room of Requirement, Rincewind and the Librarian loping behind them, they came to a marble staircase where Fenrir Greyback was savaging Lavender Brown. A crystal ball whooshed past Remus’ face, nearly hitting him, and impacting Fenrir’s head. He dropped Lavender’s body, but shook away the shard of the ball, and turned towards – dear Merlin, was that Sybil Trelawney who had thrown it? He’d be on her in an instant.

“Reducto!” shouted Remus at the other werewolf, who was momentarily dizzy. He shattered into pieces, then into dust, and Tonks shot a startled look at her husband. It wasn’t the Killing Curse, an Unforgivable said to be painless, but it was still lethal. This was a war, and no one’s hands would be clean tonight. She mentally shook herself and ran onward.

At that moment, the heavy wooden front doors burst open, and gigantic spiders forced their way into the hall, in a large swarm which continued to pour through the wooden fragments. Tonks reached out to the Librarian.

“Now! Get them all!” as they raced on.

“OOK, OOK, OOK,” shrieked the orangutan, his lips curled back in a savage glare. He pulled the firing pin out and lobbed them high above the screaming fighters. The first explosion caught two spiders and blasted them into flying black legs.

"Try for a bunch!” Tonks screamed. “See if you can find a big group of them!”

The Librarian nodded and his second bomb took out eight, and the third another five, and the fourth blew apart six.

“Watch out for Hagrid!” roared Remus, and Rincewind yelled back. “What’s a Hagrid?”

"The half-giant with the flowery pink umbrella!”

Rincewind shook his head, not having time to wonder why a giant needed an umbrella indoors, and grabbed the Librarian’s arm as he was about to launch a fifth volley. "The big man over there! Don’t hit him!”

Then a massive foot swung out of the darkness. A creature much taller than Hagrid, full twenty feet tall, had smashed an outside window and pulled the stone away to crash into the castle. Tonks spun to face it and braced her feet. “Stupefy!” The giant only shook himself, and Remus turned as well.

“Help me knock it down!”

“Stupefy! Reducto! Diffindo!" yelled Remus, and Tonks continued with “Confringo! Petrificus Totalis! Levicorpus!” Nothing worked; the giant did not catch fire, blow up, or have its limbs paralyzed.

Tonks bellowed "Wingardium Leviosa!,” with a racing swish and flick, and this at last lifted the giant about six feet. Then she stretched her arm high over her head, fisted her wand, and slashed downward fiercely. The giant crashed to the floor and kept going down through the stones until half-buried. While it was stunned, a smaller giant lurched around a corner of the castle. It fell upon his larger kin with yellow, half-brick-sized teeth, and they rolled together.

Remus goggled at his wife. "What was that?

“An overpowered Liberacorpus. I’ve been practicing on trees!”

Her hair was a hot magenta, flashing with purple. Remus hadn’t seen her so excited in nearly a year, and gloried in his fierce wife. He’d underestimated her, tried to cage her in the name of safety, forgotten how strong she was. For decades he'd thought no one would ever want him, and then when she did, he'd tried to push her away. "Too old, too poor, too dangerous." That was the truth, but she'd still picked him. Now there was Teddy, and werewolves never had children. He'd taken one look at the blue hair of his son, and his heart both broke and gloried. A family. His metamorphagus wife and metamorphagus son, both rare gems, and he loved them more than he would ever be able to say. He'd wanted to wrap both of them in cotton and put them behind bolted doors, keep them safe from this vile war. She'd left her mother's home to come after him. It had been warded from sub-basement to attic, and all the property around it. He didn't know half the spells Andromeda had used, and wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know. If the Black family knew anything, they knew wards, and some of them might have been lethal Dark Arts. Remus didn't deserve his wife. A beautiful young woman shouldn't risk herself for a shabby old werewolf. But - she had. She was here with him and they were fighting side by side. For each other. For Teddy. If they got through this battle alive, he'd have time to change, to become a different man, but –

“We’ve got to find Dolohov! He attacked me in the courtyard!” The four of them turned away from the entrance hall, forcing a path. Remus headed toward the courtyard, and Tonks saw him first.

“Wait! He’s battling Flitwick! Over there!”

The two fighters, mismatched in size, were near the middle of the courtyard. Dolohov’s signature purple flame spell whirled through the air, and Remus remembered the pain of its lashing. His body clenched, remembering the agony of his tortured organs. Flitwick was half the size of Dolohov, but was dueling him calmly, snapping out a curse which reduced the flame to an ashy loop. Dolohov struck him viciously with another spell which knocked over the tiny man, just as the group reached the two fighters. Tonks rushed towards Flitwick, and Dolohov sneered, switching his stance toward her.

“RUN!” Harry roared, seizing Hermione’s hand and tearing down the steps into the grounds, Ron bringing up the rear. Harry had not lost hope of finding and saving Hagrid; he ran so fast that they were halfway toward the forest before they were brought up short again.

The air around them had frozen: Harry’s breath caught and solidified in his chest. Shapes moved out in the darkness, swirling figures of concentrated blackness, moving in a great wave toward the castle, their faces hooded and their breath rattling. A silence only the dementors could bring was falling thickly through the night, and Fred was gone, and Hagrid was surely dying or already dead…he despaired and couldn’t think of a single happy thing.

Remus tried to get a clear shot at Dolohov, but screaming fighters rushed in front of him. He was pushed away from Tonks; Dolohov was going to kill his wife instead of him, the agony…

Huge orange limbs stretched out in front of him, almost gently picking up people and pushing them apart, clearing a path – but Remus fell down, knocked over in the crush. When he surged upright again, he couldn’t see Tonks or Flitwick. Before he could pick up the nearest body and heave them out of his way, defender or attacker, it made no difference, the path cleared again, and he saw the Discworld wizard, still in his silly hat, standing near Dolohov.

“No! Rincewind, get back, he’s a vicious bastard! He’s the one who killed me!”

The other man scrabbled quickly in the pockets of his shabby burgundy robe and pulled out – a sock? What? Before Remus could blink, Rincewind whirled the sock around his head. It had something heavy in it, a stone maybe, and the sock whizzed around several times, faster. With perfect accuracy, Rincewind lobbed his sock-stone into Dolohov’s head, and the man dropped. Remus reached him and saw that Dolohov’s skull was crushed; he turned the man’s neck rapidly to the side, snapping it.

“Making assurance doubly sure?” Rincewind grinned at Remus. “But the half-brick already did for him. Works a treat, a half-brick does."

“How? – do you always use? – not your staff?” – huffed Remus.

“I have my reasons,” said Rincewind. “Where’s your wife?”

Tonks had sat Flitwick up and dusted him off. He bowed his thanks quickly to them, and rushed into the courtyard, wand already swooping blocks of stone from the castle onto white-masked Death Eaters.

A hundred dementors were advancing on Harry, gliding toward him, sucking their way closer to his despair, which was like the promise of a feast . . .
And then Ron’s silver terrier burst into the air, followed by Hermione’s otter, but they were not enough. His wand trembled in his hand. A silver hare, a boar, and a fox soared past as Luna, Ernie, and Seamus cast their Patronuses onward, driving away the dementors.

With a roar and an earth-quaking tremor, another giant came lurching out of the darkness from the direction of the forest, brandishing a club taller than any of them.

“Let’s get out of range!” yelled Ron, as the giant swung its club again, and they sprinted toward the Whomping Willow. Ron couldn’t find the knothole.

"How – how’re we going to get in?" panted Ron. “I can see the place – if we just had – Crookshanks again- “

“Crookshanks?" wheezed Hermione, bent double, clutching her chest. "Are you a wizard or what?”

. . .
Snape was dying, and Harry kneeled beside him, holding a flask full of his silvery memories. Snape bade him to look into his eyes (his mother’s eyes) and then moved no more. While Harry continued to kneel by Snape’s side, he heard the high, cold voice of Voldemort again, and this time it commanded him directly.

“I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, I shall enter the fray myself, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.”

Tonks, Remus, Rincewind, and the Librarian all heard Voldemort, as did everyone else, and even though they hadn’t known the voice before, there was no mistaking its insane power.

"That’s your sorcerer, right?” said Rincewind.

Tonks and Remus glanced at him, puzzled, and Rincewind tried again. “The one you’re all fighting against? The one sending these – giants and spiders and suchlike?”

“Yes,” whispered Tonks, and her hair faded to a bone-white color Remus had never seen before. “It’s got to be him. I’ve never heard him – been on raids with other Aurors when we tackled Death Eaters, of course, but never one when he was there. He’s out in the Forbidden Forest, and I don’t know how many Death Eaters he has, or how many Dark Creatures swore to him.”

“I know most of the Death Eaters," said Remus. "Not how many of the other werewolves Fenrir brought – never got a complete count from him, and I never knew Voldemort was going to bring in the Acromantula – those giant spiders,” he explained to Rincewind. “I had no idea there were that many in the Forbidden Forest. When this is over, we’ve got to go in and destroy all the webs and nests.”

Tonks knocked her shoulders against him with a faint smile. "I like the idea. When we beat the filthy bastards we’ll come back and scour the Forest.”

Remus rested his head on hers for an instant. “Yes. When. I know most of the Death Eaters he’s got, though. We saw Pius Thicknesse back in the castle – near Fred” – his voice dropped low.

“Don’t.” said Tonks harshly. “Don’t. Fred’s gone, but we’re here, and Dolohov’s down. We’ll find Bellatrix so the bitch won’t kill me again – “

"That sounds very odd,” said Remus. "Time travel. At least we’ve made it at the right time – thanks to your wizards, Rincewind. That Hex – tell Ponder he’s a genius when you get back. What were the plush bears about?”

"Official secret." Rincewind grinned. "I like the sound of that, too. When we get back.”

“But I have no idea where Harry is,” Tonks continued, frustrated. “We could go with him, protect him if we knew. Even if – if Voldemort kills him and comes to the castle, there will be two more of us to fight him if Bellatrix doesn’t kill me.”

(They didn’t, couldn’t know about the horcruxes, the six Voldemort had created, and the one shard lodging in Harry. Didn’t know that Harry had to die to make Voldemort mortal, and if Dumbledore had ever told him, Remus swore later, he would have searched for any method to free the boy, his godson in all but name, the one he’d name Teddy’s godfather, from that curse. The old wizard had hidden too much and laid the burden on the slim shoulders of a child. Harry was something like Remus; Dumbledore had given Remus a place at Hogwarts, which Remus later realized was to have a soldier ready, a werewolf he could command. Dumbledore had played a very long game with an eleven-year old boy. With two eleven-year old boys a generation apart. He’d used Remus’s friends for the first Order of the Phoenix, and Harry’s for the second.)

“The Death Eater commanders I know of besides Thicknesse and Dolohov,” Remus said quickly, remembering that Harry had only an hour’s reprieve, “are Bellatrix, Yaxley, Macnair, Rookwood, Travers, Selwyn, Mulciber, and Malfoy. There are maybe a hundred Death Eaters total. I think he’s got dozens of imperiused wizards, but the Order has never managed to find all of those. I’m sure they’re in the Forest now. Ministry officials, as well. Where did you fight Bellatrix?”

“In the Great Hall. I don’t know if she’s there now, but that’s where we need to go.”

“And your wizards?’ said Rincewind. ‘How many have you lot got?”

“Not sure either,” said Remus over his shoulder, as they passed through the courtyard. “Shacklebolt, the other Order of the Phoenix members, Minerva Macgonagall – she sent out the suits of armor, did you see those, Tonks?”

She shook her head, and he frowned. “There were about a hundred of them. They must have gone on before you came in. We’ve got the faculty here, the older students, staff here, wizards from Hogsmeade – I think they’re going to stage more in – and I know Aberforth is holding the portrait open for them. Well, he will be holding it open again once he shakes off that Stupefy.”

“McGonagall was going to talk to the centaurs as well, I heard. I don’t know how they’ll respond. They stay away from human conflicts, keep to themselves,” Tonks explained to Rincewind. “The main one now is Bellatrix, and don’t take time to fight unless we have to protect a student. And find Harry before he gets to the forest!”

But Harry had returned to the castle, carrying Snape’s memories with him, and entered a castle gone unnaturally quiet.

“Where is everyone?” whispered Hermione. They passed into the Great Hall, and stopped in the doorway. The House tables were gone. The survivors stood in groups, and the injured were being treated upon the raised table by Madam Pomfrey and her helpers.

The dead lay in a row in the middle of the Hall. Harry could not see Fred’s body, because his family surrounded him. George was kneeling at his head; Mrs. Weasley was lying across Fred’s chest, her body shaking, Mr. Weasley stroking her hair while tears cascaded down his cheeks.

Without a word to Harry, Ron and Hermione walked away. Harry saw Hermione approach Ginny, whose face was swollen and blotchy, and hug her. Ron joined Bill, Fleur, and Percy, who flung an arm around Ron’s shoulders. As Ginny and Hermione moved closer to the rest of the family, Harry had a clear view of the bodies lying next to Fred: Remus and Tonks, pale and still and peaceful-looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark, enchanted ceiling.

He didn't see, couldn't see, the shivering of light over Remus and Tonks, as their images wavered.

Tonks and Remus were still fighting their way across the courtyard, the Librarian tossing his bomblets wherever he could find space, when Harry climbed the stairs to Dumbledore’s office. They crossed under the staircase and entered the Great Hall when he was placing Snape’s memories in the Pensieve. He saw his young mother meeting Snape; he saw his father and his father’s friends – Sirius! begin their taunting on the Hogwarts Express. The years of Snape’s life rolled on, and Harry learned that he had betrayed his parents to Voldemort. Snape’s life as a spy, and his unexpectedly changed role in Dumbledore’s death. If the Pensieve was to be believed, (and why should Pensieve memories not be believed?) Dumbledore had asked Snape to kill him, as a mercy, and to spare Draco’s soul. Harry had saved Draco not an hour ago; it seemed he took a lot of saving from himself.

Then the betrayal of everything Harry had believed about Dumbledore. About himself, about the exact reason he'd been taken from the Dursleys back in the wizarding world.

“While that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die.”
“So the boy . . .the boy must die?” asked Snape.
“And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential.”
“I thought . . .all these years . . .that we were protecting him for her. For Lily.”
“We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him,” said Dumbledore. “Meanwhile the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth. Sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself.”

“You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment? You have used me. I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter’s son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter…

FINALLY THE TRUTH.

He was never meant to survive. He was the Horcrux finding all the other Horcruxes, and the span of his life had been determined by the length of time it took him to destroy them. There was one left besides himself: Nagini. Someone else must kill her; he must get word to them. His was a different path. He swung the Invisibility Cloak over himself and left the castle. He passed Ginny, and Hagrid's hut. Companions appeared beside him - James, Sirius, Lily, neither ghost nor truly flesh. Was there another? A wavering form which didn't solidify; it might have been Lupin. He passed the Death Eaters and entered the clearing where Voldemort sat.

"No sign of him, my Lord," said Bellatrix.

In a multiverse not far away, DEATH shook Harry's hourglass. The last grains hovered in the top bulb, but they did not fall. A bluish swirl began to surround them. DEATH was reminded of Samuel Vimes, who had had so many near-death experiences he'd come to think of them of near-Vimes experiences. Now it seemed there might be another. This boy, not quite a man - DEATH couldn't smile, having only a skull and jaws, but if he could - he might be having a near-Harry experience.

"I thought he would come," said Voldemort in his high clear voice. "I expected him to come."

Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it beneath his robes.

"I was, it seems . . .mistaken," said Voldmort.

"YOU WEREN'T."

Chapter Text

Harry had a clear view of the bodies lying next to Fred: Remus and Tonks, pale and still and peaceful looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark, enchanted ceiling.
He passed unseen to Dumbledore’s office and used the Pensieve to view Snape’s memories. After an unknown time which unspooled before him, he left it to enter the Forest, knowing there was only one way to end this war – he must die.

Behind him two bodies wavered, their images growing brighter, yet shrinking, as the multiverse melded time and space. With a ‘pop’ the bodies disappeared, and Remus and Tonks fought their way towards the Great Hall.

Tonks leapt to avoid a Blasting Curse, and slashed out with her wand, casting a Cutting Curse. She hadn’t used a fatal curse often, but the Death Eater in front of her had used Avada Kedavra on a sixth-year girl by her side. She squared her shoulders, kept her balance, and sliced him open like the Auror she was. In the midst of the chaos and screaming, she kept attacking him until he fell with blood spurting from a dozen wounds. Arterial blood sprayed across her face, and she wiped it away. Behind her Remus yelled, “Duck,” and she threw herself to the floor as he bellowed, “Stupefy!”

A body fell across her, and Remus reached down and heaved it away. “Petrificus Totalis!” His eyes were pure amber as he pulled her to his side, and his grin was fierce.

“NO!” Tonks felt a pressure wave starting behind her – an Earthquake Curse, probably, which would rip the ground open and bury them. She staggered, Remus stumbled, and the stone tripped them. She fell across Remus and screamed as the newly healed wounds on her chest flared intensely.

Dust billowed up, choking her. It pushed up thickly on her eyes. She couldn’t see, and her hearing was fading. It must end now, she thought. We’re too late. We came back, but we’re too late - we’ve died again.

“NO!” It was Rincewind screaming; he seemed very far away. A whooshing sound whizzed over her, with scorching heat. Were they going to be burned as well as buried? But the earth stabilized. She rolled away from Remus and pushed herself upright. With an unsteady swipe she cleared her eyes. Rincewind stood over her and Remus, while a giant loomed over him. Another giant, she thought. It had been trying to bury them, seemed like. How many were there? This one was more than twenty feet tall, with treelike, hairy shins. It was crumpling in on itself, head bowed, arms crossed, a lacy pattern dancing up and down its body.

“What’s happening? What did you do to it?”

“Wodeley’s fluidic fractal distorter.” The Discworld wizard had thrust his staff straight in front of him, twisting it around in circles. “It forces the blood to bend and twist into tinier and tinier edges, and it gets all lacy and spongier, see? It can’t flow, and then the fractals keep going outward. Archancellor Mandelbrot created the spell as his masterpiece.”

“Okay,” she said, not understanding a word. “So the giant will end up looking like a doily?”

The wizard grinned. His face was also smeared with dirt. “No, the spell will keep going. It’s going to keep working itself out through the organs. By the time it hits the skin – well, it’s like mincemeat, see?”

“We don’t have time – Tonks, look out!” Another giant was beyond the first, as Remus screamed at her. They all turned to face it, wands and staff upraised, and then the giant seemed to have a second head. A large arm covered in orange hair covered the giant’s face and twisted. Only Remus’s Impermeable Charm kept them from the splatter, and his Cushioning Charm kept it from crushing them.

The Librarian leaped away from the dead giant, hooting triumph. The quartet reformed themselves into a unit, backs together, searching for their next targets.

A voice magically magnified crashed upon their eardrums.

“Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone.”

The Death Eaters approached the open doors of the school, Harry limp in Hagrid’s arms.

“NO!” The scream was the more terrible because it came from Professor McGonagall.

Tonks surged towards the doors, pushing until she could see him. The Boy Who Lived was dead. Her hair sagged downward in a defeated brown. Remus caught up to her and slipped his arms around her. “We’ll keep on. It’s not over yet.” But his tears fell damp on her face as he kissed her.

Someone had broken free of the crowd and charged at Voldemort. Harry saw the figure hit the ground, Disarmed, Voldemort throwing the challenger's wand aside and laughing.

“And who is this?” he said in his soft snake’s hiss.

“Merlin, it’s Neville,” groaned Remus. “He’s going to get himself killed!”

They all watched in horror as Voldemort taunted and tormented the boy.

“He’s no fighter – Remus, we have to do something!”

But Remus shook his head, eyes still wet. There were too many Death Eaters before them, wands raised.

Voldemort pulled the Sorting Hat to him, forced it down over Neville’s head, and set it on fire.

Screams split the dawn, and Neville was aflame, rooted to the spot, unable to move, and Harry could not bear it. He must act –

Rincewind yelled, “Look!– “ and Tonks saw hundreds of people swarming over the walls, heard the hooves and twangs of bows. In the surprise, Neville acted too.

In one swift, fluid motion Neville broke free of the Body-Bind Curse. The Sorting Hat fell and he drew from its depths something silver, with a glittering, rubied handle -

With a single stroke he sliced off the great snake’s head, which spun high in the air, and the snake’s body thudded to the ground.

The battle fell into even more chaos. The four of them became separated, and Tonks could barely keep track of her targets. Even more fighters came to the aid of the castle – the centaurs were charging the Death Eaters, there were flying figures – thestrals - and was that a hippogriff? House elves armed with carving knives and cleavers.

“Goblins? You have goblins fighting for you!” Rincewind was close to Tonks again, this time swinging his staff directly at a werewolf. He smashed it to the ground, and the two of them wrenched away from it.

“No – house – elves,” panted Tonks. “There’s Bellatrix!”

Bellatrix was dueling three at once: Hermione, Ginny, and Luna, and a Killing Curse missed Ginny by an inch.

“NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!”

“No, no, no!” Tonks knew that Molly Weasley couldn’t duel. She’d never practiced with the Order of the Phoenix, she wasn’t an Auror.

“Get the Librarian to throw a bomb at her!” Remus was behind Tonks now, yelling.

Rincewind screamed, “EEK! EEK! EEK!” and people shrank away from him. On the other side of the Hall they heard a deep answering “OOK!”

Bellatrix and Mrs. Weasley faced each other, lights flying from both wands.

A small explosion landed behind Bellatrix and cracked the ground; she stumbled but was upright again in an instant.

;“What will happen to your children when I’ve killed you?” taunted Bellatrix. “When Mummy’s gone the same way as Freddie?”

“You – will – never – touch – our children – again!”

But Molly was faltering. The Librarian tossed another tiny bomblet, and it again hit behind Bellatrix.

Harry had been hiding under the Invisibility Cloak, casting shields and protecting fighters, and he saw it all.

Bellatrix laughed, the same exhilarated laugh her cousin Sirius had given as he toppled backwards through the veil, and suddenly Harry knew what was going to happen before it did.

The small explosion – and where had that come from? – made Bellatrix arch her back just high enough. Molly’s curse soared beneath Bellatrix’s outstretched arm and hit her squarely in the chest, directly over her heart.

Everyone screamed, and then Voldemort raised his arm and directed it at Molly Weasley.

“PROTEGO!” Harry pulled off his Invisibility Cloak at last.

He and Voldemort circled each other and began taunts.

“Fuck!” Tonks whisper-shouted into her hands. “Stop talking and kill him! Do it!”

But Harry was going on and on about Dumbledore being the better wizard, and Snape being Dumbledore’s agent all along, and then Voldemort was taunting Harry –

“I killed Severus Snape three hours ago and the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny is truly mine! Dumbledore’s last plan went wrong, Harry Potter!”

“What the hell is the Elder Wand?” muttered Remus. “I thought that was only a myth.”

“Remus, we can take him,” hissed Tonks. “Get us up to the front of the circle and I can kill Voldemort. Then I’m going to kill Harry for monologuing!”

She did not know, she could not know, the prophecy “neither could live while the other survives,” and if she had known it, and all the risks Dumbledore had put Harry in, so he would be the Horcrux killing all the other Horcruxes, with no help except fellow students, she would have smashed Dumbledore’s portrait from the wall.

“So it all comes down to this, doesn’t it? whispered Harry. "Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does . . .I am the true master of the Elder Wand.”

“NOW!” Remus and Tonks forced their way past everyone, and reached the edge of the circle.

“We’ve got plenty of room. Let’s cast together so we won’t miss the bastard,” growled Remus.

“On three – one, two –”

“Avada Kedavra!” And it wasn’t their curse.

“Expelliarmus!”

“Harry, you idiot! A first year spell! Three –” her hand slashed up in the first movement of the Killing Curse, the curse with the same stroke as the lightning bolt scar on Harry’s forehead.

“Wait!”

Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy’s shell.

“It’s a damn good thing that worked,” yelled Tonks, racing across the dueling space. “Because if it hadn’t worked, I would have killed you myself!”

The sounds of battle had ceased. Tonks, Remus, and Harry sat apart on a little bench, Harry between them.

“You were dead. I saw both of you lying in the hall when I went to the forest.”

“There’s a lot of that going around tonight, Harry Potter. You were dead yourself, and we saw your body.” Tonks’s hair was in the brightest pink it had ever been, candy floss swirling over her head in an aureole.

“I – it’s hard to explain. Did you wind up in King’s Cross like I did?”

“No.” Remus reached his hand up to caress the back of Harry’s head. “We were – someplace else, and it took us three days to come back.”

“Three? – “

“Never mind. Time for this later.”

Harry hugged them both. “I’m so glad, so so glad. I was thinking about Teddy as well as everyone else when I went out to – to the forest. I thought – ‘he’ll never know his parents.’”

“And if you had died, he’d have never known his godfather.”

“Godfather?”

“Yes,” said Remus. “We hadn’t asked you yet – has been only a couple of weeks, but you’re the one. You’ve been the one we want. Always.”

Tonks heard Luna Lovegood speak to Harry.

“I’d want some peace and quiet, if it were me.”

“I’d love some.”

“I’ll distract them all,” and then she cried out. “Look, a Blibbering Humdinger!”

Harry left them to search out Ron and Hermione.

Tonks nudged Remus. “I want some peace and quiet too, but Teddy – I need to see if he’s alright.”

“We can’t apparate inside Hogwarts and I’m honestly too tired to get back to Hogsmeade. These bones – almost weren’t strong enough. I wish we had some of Angua’s bone soup.”

And because a certain kind of magic belongs to Hogwarts itself, steaming bowls with a rich meaty smell appeared on the bench beside them.

When Rincewind and the Librarian joined them after the battle, Remus and Tonks offered to have them stay at Andromeda’s until they could sort out how to send them home.

“I think we’ll visit Madam Pince,” said Rincewind.

“Why do you want to see her?” said Tonks. “Does she have books on the Discworld?”

Rincewind looked shifty. “Not as such. There’s L-space. All libraries are interconnected everywhere. I couldn’t begin to explain it,” as their mouths dropped open.

“So – we could have come back through the library? Why didn’t you ever say so?” whimpered Tonks. “That whole ritual, and it hurt like a hundred Apparitions, why? –“

“It’s not exactly like that,” said Rincewind hastily. “It gets a bit quantum, see, but Roundworld is uphill from the Disc. On top of a gravity well, the Archchancellor said, although I don’t know why you’d find gravity in a well – anyway, it’s at the top, and the Disc is at the bottom. I don’t know how to explain it any better.”

“Alright,” said Tonks, and Remus said suddenly, “We’ll walk you to the library.”

The four of them found Madam Pince working furiously with her wand to right toppled shelves and put books back in place, and she was delighted to see Rincewind. Remus pulled Tonks away before she could quite notice them.

“Where are we going? I’m exhausted.”

“Where do you think?” Remus smiled. It was probably supposed to be a rakish grin, but didn’t quite reach that far.

“Not the – are you serious? You can’t mean the Restricted Section!”

“Yes, I do, and in fact - “ they had reached the area of the library famous for hiding canoodling students for hundreds of years.

Remus made a turn Tonks didn’t quite remember taking, and slipped between two shelves she’d never seen before.

“What’s this?”

“A little nook the Marauders found. It’s not big enough for a hidden passage, and at first we ignored it. But then we realized the possibilities.”

He raised his wand, tapped in it a rhythmic pattern on the bookshelf, and a three-foot wide section of books pivoted outwards.

“You created a hidden room!”

“Indeed we did. I checked it a few years ago when I had the DADA position, and updated the amenities. Lumos.”

They were in an eight-by-ten-foot room with a soft carpet and a large squashy sofa. Two large squashy chairs faced it, with an endtable between them. Remus crossed to the endtable, opened it, and pulled out two large pillows and several soft blankets. Rummaging below them, he came up with two bottles.

“Elf-made wine or Old Ogden’s?”

“I’ve never had elf-made wine.”

“No time like the present.” He fished to the bottom of the little storage space and pulled out two dusty glasses. “Scourgify.”

They eased down onto the couch, using the pillows to prompt themselves. “I bet with all those pranks the Marauders used to hide in here a lot.”

“Um. It’s chilly in the winter, and this room backs right up against the castle wall.”

“Bet it was snug enough whenever you smuggled a girl in here.”

“Or a boy,” he thought. “A bright shining star. That's done and dusted, and I'm so glad to have her.”

“Hmm, well, that’s a long time ago. Can’t remember. Here’s your wine, m’dear.”

They sipped the wine and Tonks relaxed against Remus. Presently he took their cups and set them on the table.

They kissed slowly, exploring all the places where the healing hadn’t quite finished. Remus’s bones ached throughout his body, and Tonks still felt the slash across her chest. But the couch was soft, and it responded quite nicely to an Extension Charm.

Remus pulled off Tonk’s shirt slowly, and hissed as he saw how much of Bellatrix's damage remained. She pulled off his shirt and discovered why he’d groaned when she hugged him too hard. Injured, damaged, battered. But that would change, would mend. They lay facing each other, legs tangled. Remus took the tip of his finger and traced the shell of her ear, then around to her earlobe and onto her neck. She shivered. He bent down and repeated the action with his tongue, giving the tiniest nip to her earlobe. Then he kissed her neck, down to her collarbone, avoiding the red scar across it. He came back and captured her mouth; she opened to his tongue. They moved gently, carefully, as two people can who have nearly died and then helped save the world.

Tonks’s tongue found its way into Remus’s with a lick along his lips and then inside with a warm push. He reached behind her and unfastened her bra, exposing her breasts, then cupped one and bent to the nipple. She squeaked and he moved to the other side.

“I would kill Bellatrix again, happily, just to keep her from damaging you.”

“Hmm . . .shhh.” Tonks reached for Remus’s belt and undid it slowly. She slipped her hand inside and stroked him.

“I want to – “ they spoke at the same time, and then she whispered what she wanted to do, and he whispered his desires. She took over, sliding down to lay her cheek over his trousers, and stripped him bare.

They had time. They had all the time in the world, now. Memories and ghosts would rise to haunt them, probably, thought Tonks, and each would comfort the other. But at this moment, secure in this hidden room, they were safe and could give and take pleasure as they willed.

Chapter Text

Carrot slumped over his lager watching the patrons of the Bucket, and took special notice of the groups who'd sent the visitors home. The witches, wizards, and watchpeople sat at different tables, and he could catch snatches from each of them. It didn't take much concentration to tune in to the witches, since there were fewer of them and sat closer to him. Granny Weatherwax sat straight upright with a small glass of a clear liquid, squinting suspiciously at everyone. A little while ago she'd driven away Archchancellor Ridcully with a tart smile. There was probably a story there, but if it didn't breach the King's Peace he didn't have to know about it.

The small, dumpling-shaped witch handled a tankard of ale successfully - it wasn't her first tankard either, and addressed the youngest woman.

Carrot had learned that this messy-haired and slightly anxious-looking woman was actually the queen of Lancre, and her comfortably dressed companion, who sat peaceably slightly back from the women, was the king. Neither was dressed in anything resembling royal costume. The dumpling-shaped witch had asked the queen a question.

"That was some lovely work you did with the healing. I'm glad we didn't have Binky's master come back." DEATH'S white horse had been named by its original owner's three-year old child. Nanny was glad that the horse's owner had not returned, because she preferred not to play so many games of Cripple Mr. Onion. (The traditional game with DEATH was chess, but Nanny had her own rules.)

"Thank you."

"Those herbs of yours worked better than I thought they would."

Magrat narrowed her eyes. She'd learned, in the way that a person learns something that everyone knows, that it was said that Magrat was considered the better healer, because she knew the exact kinds and measurements of herbs mattered, and Granny was the better witch because she knew they didn't. This was not a proper endorsement of her methods. She smiled briefly. "You're too kind."

Wheedling, and a little annoyed at Magrat's tone, Nanny said, "The way Verence used that clown's horn - was that from when he was a Fool?"

During the time before Verence ascended the throne he'd had been an unhappy Fool. He and Magrat had found true love, although they'd never done anything about it until Granny Weatherwax sent him a letter while the witches were abroad. Verence had started planning a wedding without Magrat, and though everything had worked out, she still wasn't entirely pleased to have been managed by the older witches. As such, she didn't appreciate remarks about Verence's past in public - she was fairly sure the tall red-haired watchman was listening to them - and didn't see why she needed to give an answer. This was one of the changes from five years of queening.

"No, it's something we worked out together. We normally used it for people who are drowning in Lancre River." She put a hand over her mouth and yawned a little. "My goodness, I'm tired. Verence, do you think the tyrant has extra beds in the castle?"

Verence surfaced from his pleasant daydreaming. "He's the Patrician, and yes, I'm sure he has extra space. Do you want to send a message?"

"No, it's a nice evening. We can go to the palace, and then walk in the garden, perhaps. You said he had a large garden."

Verence held out his arm for Magrat and they proceeded graciously from the noisy tavern. It was a long trip to Lancre, and she'd tell them eventually, but it did no harm to leave them curious. She didn't want to explain just yet how she'd learned this newer style of healing and magic. Besides, she didn't want to tell all of it until she'd had time to read Goodie's books again. She'd always been more literate and curious than other witches, who sometimes didn't read at all, and her success as a healer was increased by the books Goodie Whemper had left behind. It may be that when a witch's cottage is empty, the witch will appear who can best use that cottage. Certainly by having any books at all, Goodie was extremely unusual. One shelf was given over to a very old set of seven books. The expensive-looking binding was intact but worn, and the pages were yellow and cracked with age. The magic was unknown to the Disc, either by witch or wizard, and frustratingly, nothing was described in great detail. If she didn't know better, she'd say these were pure fictional tales.

Witches and wizards went to the same school in these stories, and the instructors were also both wizards and witches. What an astonishing idea! The books seemed to be quest-type rather than instruction tools, and it was gratifying that of the three main students in these quests, one was a girl said to be "the brightest witch of her age."

She'd borrowed some of the ideas from the books, and was surprised and gratified when they worked. She'd created a wand for herself - although she knew Nanny and Granny considered them child's toys, they seemed essential to this magic. It had not been child's play to create wands. The method of wand manufacture wasn't given in detail, and she had no idea how to get wand "cores" of the three main types. Unicorn hair - she shuddered - the only one she knew was wild, and Granny was the only witch who could control it. Dragon heartstring - the only noble dragon ever known was the one which had attacked Ankh Morpork and then disappeared. Possibly Duchess Ramkin would give her one when one of her little dragons died? But those were very weak dragons and exploded frequently; they didn't sound like they'd be strong enough for a wand. She'd never heard of a phoenix anywhere.

In the end, she borrowed from the strongest magic she knew - the standing stones which loved metal. They'd trapped elves, and could attract nails, bridles, and some bits of armor she'd tried. She chipped a tiny bit from each stone, not enough to weaken its magic, and then packed it into a stick of sapient pearwood, traded in all the way from the same areas which produced wizards' staffs. Even a queen developed a housewife's thriftiness, and she ended up with three of them, with more pearwood and stone chips in storage. She'd needed several trial wands, not having the more than two thousand years’ experience crafting them like the wand shop in the books. She finally found the right balance.

Then with her new wands she set out to see what she could learn. Her most significant use so far was the folded table. It had taken multiple steps - first to enchant a bag to expand and lighten the weight of what it held, then multiple attempts to reduce items and re-expand them, and finally to keep potions and cordials in glass vials and safely reduce and expand those. Creating all this had taken every minute of free time she had, and it had been worth it. Five years later and she had stuffed her bag with everything she could think of. And, again with thriftiness, she kept multiple vials and checked them frequently. She'd learned some things from Granny, especially that the elder witch was so effective because she wasn't prepared to accept failure. Sometimes it took days for Granny to recover from what she'd needed to do, or weeks when she defied DEATH, but she never wavered in her belief. Magrat wasn't nearly as strong as Granny in many ways, but there was no witch on the Disc who practiced her kind of magic.

That was why she'd been so amazed to learn just whom the injured witch and wizard were. Remus Lupin and 'Don't call me Nymphadora' Tonks were in her books. They'd had various separate adventures, and a romance she sighed over. "Too old, too poor, too dangerous." If Verence had said those things, she would have married him anyway. At the end of the last book they'd had a child and then - they came separately to the final battle, and were later seen dead, with injuries the same as they'd had here. It was too strange to think that these old books had possibly called them here, in some type of time spell, and she and the Igors had healed them to send back to their battle. Would she ever know? She shut off her wandering mind. She would find out or she wouldn't, and it didn't make any different in the tasks she had.

Carrot turned his attention towards the wizards. They were a louder bunch and seemed to have consumed both ale and stronger liquids. If they'd been ordinary men, he'd have watched them more carefully for signs of violence. As it was, the average wizard weighed about fifty pounds more than the average man, and they were as a group too elderly and too eccentric to fight. The Archchancellor spoke only in a shout and kept repeating his exploits shooting birds with a crossbow and catching legendary fish, but these feats all predated his return to UU. He had, Carrot had learned, ruthlessly dispatched other wizards who thought they could ruthlessly dispatch him (the University's means of promotion known as Dead Man's Shoes). It wasn't Mustrum Ridcully's fault that they'd all pictured him as the sort of countryside wizard who talks to birds in soft voices, wears brown and reveres Mother Nature.

Still, he wasn't breaching any peace. All the lethal rivalry at UU had stayed inside its boundaries, like the Assassins' Guild, and Carrot had long ago learned to leave this type of death alone.

The wizard who'd gone to Roundworld came slowly through the doors of the Bucket, and was welcomed with shouts by his fellows. They gestured him to sit near the head of the table, but he shook them off, seating himself next to the odd wizard (even odder wizard), Ponder Stibbons, who ran the magic machine Hex.

"How are you? We didn't have to do a ritual to get you back - Ridcully said you'd know about the library."

"Yes, I came through L-space. It's a bit of a hike, but not difficult. It's all downhill."

Here the two wizards jawed at each other for a few minutes about the mechanics of Rincewind's return, and Carrot tuned them out.

"So you visited the library at their university? To check out their librarian?"

Rincewind rolled his eyes. "You know better than that. Madam Pince needed help getting things in better shape. I'm not sure exactly what caused the damage, but the books were all scattered on the floor, and the shelves fallen over. It might have been vibrations from the giants."

"They had giants?"

"Or the enormous spiders, those were a real treat."

"Enormous spiders! Did they have Rodents of Unusual Size, also?"

"Not that I saw, but there were some centaurs, some werewolves, some -"

"Stop." The research wizard put his hand on Rincewind's arm. "I'm not letting you go off on any adventures again."

"You think I go all over the Disc on purpose?”

"I know it's not on purpose, but you have the worst luck of anyone."

"You could say that the only good luck I have is how quickly I escape my bad luck." Rincewind looked into his drink. It was gone. He'd just got here, why was his drink gone? Possibly there had been even more than one drink, to keep him from remembering what he didn't want to remember.

"Well," Ponder lifted his hand from Rincewind's arm and began to pleat his napkin into a fan, which flopped apart, "There could be other ways of getting good luck."

"Yes?" Rincewind couldn't see Ponder's eyes and wasn't at all sure what he meant. He said so.

"I was thinking that we've adjusted several components of Hex since you left. The FTBs worked, but I think I have to reposition them a bit. They now seem to want rocking chairs and beds. Adrian figured it out."

"Oh. Is Adrian working on it now?" Rincewind wanted to escape the general noise of the tavern and go lie down with a cool washcloth. Crossing dimensions took it out of a person, even if it was downhill. There was the funny bit where one's stomach turned inside out, which was followed by the rest of the organs seeming to turn inside out as well. Everything righted itself in a few seconds, but it was debilitating.

"No, he left. Said something about drums and guitars."

"They're not trying to bring back Music with Rocks In!"

"If I don't hear the noise, I don't have to discipline them for it. Meanwhile, Hex is mostly quiet this time of night." He arched an eyebrow at Rincewind.

"Ponder, did you just ask me to come up and see your machine?" Rincewind said, sounding puzzled.

"Might have done." The other wizard replied in what he hoped was an insouciant manner, but then saw Rincewind had missed any implication. His gaze had become distracted and sad.

"I keep remembering - this was pretty bad. The Librarian had to use many of his bombs. So many people died, fifty or more, some of them were kids. The wizards fighting us had horrible bony masks, I could smell the evil on them, and there were kids, and -"

Ponder put his hand on Rincewind's shoulder. "Stop. Come up and you can sit in a cushy chair and just be quiet. I'll bring you a quilt and the FTBs. They don't seem to work as well unless we take them out and cuddle them. I'm working on an algorithm which will let me know exactly how long in between - "

The two young wizards left the bar, not quite sneaking away from their fellows, but not shouting their goodbyes either.

"Hey." Angua swung herself into the seat besides Carrot. He smiled. She smelled amazing, he thought, and then he realized it was the scent of freshly baked bread. Nothing in Ankh-Morpork matched the crunchy (most would say iron-hard) dwarf bread, but he'd grown to enjoy the city's soft types as well.

"That's not from here, is it? I don't trust snacks from the Bucket."

"No, I smuggled it in from the new bakery. It's Check."

"Check?"

"That's what the lady said. They have these rolls with sausages inside them, and some square ones with fruit in the center, or a cream icing, or fruit with a cream icing. These just came out of the oven and I brought them straight over."

"Do they have any rat?"

"Carrot..."

Although he'd branched out in every direction from his childhood taste palette, and would eat curry, samosas, goat kebabs, pork ribs, suspicious meat in sandwiches, pizza - a new addition to Ankh-Morpork - even fried octopus, he still held a longing for a dwarf's favorite home-cooked meat. Angua was not picky about any meat when she was under the moon's influence, but when not, she was almost vegetarian. Almost meaning she wouldn't order any meat but would steal bites from his plate. Except rat. He was on his own there.

"...No Carrot, no rat today. They're new to the city." She sighed quietly. "Maybe they'll add some later to expand into the dwarf market." She gave him a sausage roll, which was quite spicy. It tingled in his throat, and he drank more lager.

"The wizards say that the Roundworld people got home alright," he said after a few minutes.

"Yes, Ponder stopped at the Watch House to tell us on his way here."

"Rincewind was here a minute ago, and I heard him talking to Stibbons. It sounded like a very dangerous battle - giants, centaurs, enormous spiders. I couldn't hear everything. But there were children fighting as well."

"No!"

"That's what Rincewind said."

"Did Rincewind say what happened to Remus and Tonks?" She snorted. "'Tonks.' Although I believe she said 'It's Do-Not-Call-Me-Nymphadora' Tonks."

"Her husband kept calling her Dora."

"Not my problem. I think Tonks will get her way. She's still just getting over having a baby. You know their child is less than three weeks old? I can't imagine having to go to a war less than a month - anyway - " and she veered away from the subject of children once again.

"Rincewind didn't say much, just that they were okay. They came to the library with him - he went to their library to help clean it up - and then disappeared into the back corners. He didn't go hunt them out before he left."

"So he was visiting their librarian?"

"No, not that. In fact - " and Carrot related the tale of how Ponder took Rincewind off to see Hex and hold a teddy bear.

"That's interesting." Angua looked up from her meal. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Carrot had become sophisticated enough that he didn't have a dwarf's typical embarrassment at a possibly-sex-related-comment. "No, he means sitting quietly. Rincewind was very disturbed by the battle."

Carrot had in fact progressed a lot in his thinking - he thought mostly as a human these days, but in musing about whether he would ever ask Angua to bite him, he'd gotten as far as these steps.

1.I would like to share all parts of her life.

2.That would not be a responsible thing to do. It could cause problems if we were both absent at the full moon.

Sometime later he arrived at the next thought, which was:

3....NAKED?

Angua was often naked unexpectedly, and had told him that the successful female werewolf was adept at fashioning clothes out of any nearby fabric. But - he still couldn't do that because of the next reason.

4. He was a dwarf. He wasn't belligerent or aggressive about being a dwarf, he was just fundamentally a dwarf, just as a tree was fundamentally a tree. Maybe part of his insistence on this was because others so often questioned him because of his height.

And dwarfs didn't deal much with the undead.

He'd gotten over that prejudice in loving Angua, but he'd seen it when Cheery was new and kept blathering on about how much she hated werewolves, until Angua had had to rescue her, and gotten a mouthful of silver. The other dwarf had been wearing a silver vest, and the sores stayed around Angua's mouth for a week. Angua was undead, but she was the person he loved. He could get past that. But he'd never get past becoming undead himself, and so he'd have to let her go, accompanied only by the horrible Gaspode. Gaspode did not know that Carrot knew that Gaspode wanted to romance Angua, and tried in the ineptest ways. It made him laugh. Mostly. The little smelly dog was ridiculous. But the other werewolf might have not been bad looking, if he hadn't been broken and minced. There were already a couple of other werewolves in the city. Although Angua didn't mix with them, he knew she ran into them at Biers, the undead bar. He remembered her wolf friend Gavin (well, his name wasn't Gavin, but he'd once eaten someone by that name. Not all of him, just enough to prevent him from setting wolf traps.) Gavin had died protecting him from Angua's vicious brother Wolfgang. If she met a werewolf who looked like him, with bright amber eyes and a fast gallop - would she decide to enjoy his company on those nights?

Angua could tell that Carrot was brooding. He was intensely private and said little about what he felt personally. She might have resented that more if she weren't intensely private herself. He'd looked at Remus, though, with something in his mind, after she'd been nursing Remus all night and frantic about his survival. She had needed to lick him, push food into his mouth so that he could heal. Yes, she'd thought for a few hours of how satisfying it would be to know another werewolf, someone who could understand why having to interview a witness at the abattoir near a full moon was difficult. Blood tricked the nose and tried to block the human inside her. She suppressed those instincts and left the blood alone because of course she did. She was a Watchman. It would have been a relief to know someone she didn't have to explain things to.

But he came from another world, and needed to go back to it. Even if he could stay, he was married. She wasn't going to waste time wishing things were different - wolves never looked back. She had an excellent man next to her whose only defects were too much enthusiasm for rat snacks and dwarf bread. Sometimes he tried out that simple nature that wasn't simple at all, but she was on to him, and these days he rarely tried to hide his intelligence from her. He was faithful, loyal, handsome, and so easy to tease. If he hadn't developed a good tan since he left the mines of his childhood, she would have made him blush ten or twenty times a day. Now his cheeks merely grew dark for an instant. Quite disappointing. She didn't want to tease now. This was important, so of course she couldn't say it. She turned to him, stretched up, and kissed his cheek. His smiled and captured her hand, clasping it and interweaving their fingers. An outside observer would have been disappointed in their seeming lack of intimacy. The outside observer would never know that they were broadcasting "Mine. Now. Forever. Love. Love. Love."

Chapter Text

“Edward Remus Lupin, where are you!”

“Victoire Weasley, it is now time to be in the tent!”

Teddy and Victoire didn’t hear their mothers calling. They had sneaked away from the VIP tents to explore the colorful hills of the Patagonian Desert near their site. Beyond the flat desert plains where the Quidditch World Cup Final stadium was situated stretched bands of orange, red, pink, and yellow hills and they’d flown their broomsticks out for a good look. The exotic beauty was nothing like they’d ever seen before, a landscape from another world, and they’d gaped at the huge formations as they flew. Each turn lead to another breath-taking view, the rippled colors intensifying as the sun headed for the horizon. It was brilliant.

It was Victoire who noticed how late the hour was getting, and she grabbed Teddy’s coat as he peeked over the edge of a rainbow-banded hill.

“It’s late – look, the sun is going down! Maman will be looking for me!”

Teddy turned around and could barely see the fifty-thousand seat stadium.

“Bugger! I didn’t know it was so late! Let’s get out of here!”

They turned their brooms around and realized that the wind had shifted and was blowing directly against them. It was like a gale, Teddy thought. At least forty miles an hour – a gust knocked him sidewise. No, more like sixty.

“Merlin, Dad’s going to kill me!” But the wind whipped away his words and stole his breath. There was nothing to do but grit their teeth and keep the bucking brooms from crashing. A mile from camp, Victoire lost her balance. She screamed as the wind tipped her broom over, and her grasp loosened. She began to fall, but Teddy fought the shifting blasts to get to her. He pulled her from her broom to straddle behind him and she put her arms around his waist with shaking hands. Their flight was slowed by the extra weight, and twilight was fading when they finally made it back to the camp. At the entrance to the VIP area Teddy pointed the broom down, and when it landed, they tumbled off in exhaustion.

Tonks found them first and screamed for the rest of the family. In no time Remus and Tonks, Victoire and Bill, all the other Weasley parents, and even Teddy’s godfather surrounded them. They yelled, shrieked, and scolded as the miscreants were separated and marched to separate tents. Teddy’s legs trembled and his arms quivered with muscle strain. His eyes felt seared by the wind, and his mouth was as dry as the desert. Dust covered every bit of his clothes, his skin, his hair, and no one had given him water. He wouldn’t mention any of it to his parents even if he were threatened with a Cruciatus.

After he stumbled into his tent, his mother finally let him drink something, and clean up and change clothes. When he peeked his head out of the bedroom, his mother and father stood next to each other, arms crossed, with identical scowls. Even though the moon was in the last quarter and waning, Remus’ eyes were dangerously yellow, and his voice was a deep growl.

“Did you know that those hills were named “Las colinas de la muerte”?

Teddy’s hair had been streaked in orange, red, and pink bands like the hills, and at his father’s scowl he pulled the color back to match his father’s sandy brown. It was best to be inconspicuous when his father was in a rage, and also best to answer in the fewest words possible.

“No sir.”

“That means “the death hills.”

“Oh.”

“It’s forbidden to fly a broomstick over them. Did you see the warning signs?” Remus’ voice was so low and rough Teddy could barely hear him.

“No sir.”

He hadn’t, because he wasn’t looking for any signs, he was looking at Victoire, at the way the wind pulled her neat braid into a golden-blond river, and how her blue eyes sparkled with mischief as they crept away from the camp. All he’d wanted to do was get away from the babies and cousins and be alone with her for a bit. The hills he could barely see seemed like a small adventure. He was sixteen, a sixth-year student, and she was fourteen and the other children they were shoved together with were much younger. James was nine, Albus, Rose, and his little second cousin Scorpius were seven. Lily and Hugo were five. Dominique was a bratty ten and Louis was seven. They weren’t even in Hogwarts yet, and were always questioning him about it.

Teddy couldn’t keep up with the rest of the Weasleys and all their progeny, but every time he went to the Burrow, there seemed to be another one. They climbed him like a tree, wanted him to wrestle, play Quidditch with them, or play-duel. Victoire often was roped into braiding hair and pestered to cast bubbles and flowers with her wand. She was constantly asked to show off the netting spells she’d created. With a flick of her wand she could send out a net to catch something – a apple from a tree, a rogue bludger, an escaping child, and drag it to her. Everyone wanted to see his Metamorphagus talents, his new faces and hair color changes. He was tired of being a spectacle all the time and having people gawk at him.

While he loved all of them, a massive cloud of children surrounded him and Victoire at family dinners and it was annoying. He knew he shouldn’t say any of that.

“No sir. We were taking the brooms out to fly around the camp, and I saw them. I didn’t know how far away they were. Sorry, sir.”

Tonks and Remus put their heads together and murmured. Teddy wondered how they’d punish him here. At home he got extra chores, such as cleaning their magical martial arts center.

After the war, Remus and Tonks retired. Neither one had any desire to stay in the DMLE or in the Order of the Phoenix – they had had enough of chasing evil wizards.
Remus’ strength had always been in his teaching, and Tonks’ strength had always been in dueling, both offensive and defense.

They decided to open the “Constant Vigilance Centre,” a school teaching dueling, for anyone who wanted to sharpen their skills. The world didn’t stop having dark wizards when Voldemort was defeated. One major difference in their school was that it emphasized nonverbal spells and wandless spells. They also taught how to use multiple spells in a row and unleash them while moving to a safer position, and how to use the ground or an environment to their advantage.

Keeping a wand safe so they did not get disarmed was a premier goal. Remus insisted on wand holsters, and made the students experiment with various kinds. They devised thigh holsters, spelled shut; sleeve holsters with a leather thong around the wrist, and also always having an extra wand. The Prophet screeched at them, and Tonks giggled that the oldest purebloods must have taken to their fainting couches. Single wands had been the tradition of wizardry for centuries, and the belief was that it weakened the blood to do otherwise. But when Kingsley Shacklebolt, now Minister of Magic, gave his blessing, the grumbling died down. Tonks’ Auror friends whispered to her that their instructors were beginning to add wand safety to their training.

Remus and Tonks had also learned Muggle martial arts from a retired Muggleborn Auror, whose Muggle sister had practiced since childhood. The Prophet ran front page articles decrying it as unbecoming, cheating, unworthy, and attacking them personally for degrading the wizarding world. It called for a boycott on their business. Enrollment boomed and they had to create a waiting list.

Younger wizards loved the center. They learned how to move – leaping, jumping, rolling, hiding. Elbow strikes (which were safer than fists, which can get broken.) Knee strikes, head butt, backwards or forwards, kicking where it would do the most good - anything to give a disarmed wizard time to escape or hide.

Remus had expanded the spells he’d taught in DADA, mostly by increasing their strength. Aguamenti became Aqua Eructo, for a jet of water. A fast wandless series of spells such as Petrificus Totalis, Incarcerous, Levicorpus, Glacius Tria, Aqua Eructo, Lumos Maximus, and Avis should result in opponent being petrified, bound with ropes, yanked into the air, surrounded in pounding ice, blinded by extremely bright light, and attacked by birds. A Finger—removing jinx would also maximize defeat. Nothing lethal, or that dangerous, singly, but in combination with shield charms for the caster, likely to succeed and draw first blood in a duel.

Their students drilled constantly on improving disillusionment charms, and constantly working on Protego and defensive spells. Tonks always grinned when she yanked students upside down and kept them bobbing, demanding they produce a shield.

They forbade and did not teach severe curses like the Entrail- expelling curse, or Fiendfyre, but did use Bombarda Maximus – explosion to remove walls, cascading Jinx for multiple opponents at once, and Confringo. Each level the students achieved won them a differently colored scarf.

It wasn’t a designated pre-Auror academy, but an individual applying to the DMLE was given higher scores if they’d trained there.

The school was open six days a week, and Remus and Tonks alternated days so that they could stay with Teddy. After he was four, when he could talk well, he came to the centre with them. Several students were hired as his babysitters, and their tuition fees were reduced. Remus loved seeing his son drawing pictures, making up stories for his caretakers to write down, and learning elementary defensive skills. His young caretakers taught him how to run and hide under the little bed he napped on if an ‘invader’ came to the play area, and stay in place until he was told he could come out. He learned to kick and punch, and became a whirling tornado, smashing a nose or two of unprepared students.

It had been better than they could ever imagined when they retreated from the Battle, wounded in body and heart. Remus had had struggles, of course, because he was a known werewolf and had to absent himself for the full moons. But his Order of Merlin, First Class, ensured his constant access to the wolfsbane potion, which continued to be improved. Having all the food he needed, and constant exercise, his stamina was greater than it had been a decade earlier. Tonks approved and they romped together at night.

For Teddy, Constant Vigilance had been a great place to grow up; it also had plenty of opportunities for his parents to assign chores. Besides equipment to store properly, and changing rooms to clean, his mother and father had put in an inexpensive small drinks area, a few benches where students and visitors could order tea, water, pumpkin and apple juices, and butterbeer, which created even more rubbish. They employed cleaners, of course, but Teddy had been assigned extra chores to help them many times. If his parents were really angry at him, they wouldn’t allow him to use magic for it. Here at the World Cup though, what could they do to him? More importantly, what could Victoire’s parents do to her? Despite the retribution that would fall, it had been worth it. They’d seen unearthly beauty – could store it in Pensieves to review forever – and they’d faced danger together.

“What were you thinking? You could have been killed. Victoire could have been killed. You idiot. Do you think you’re immortal? That you’re made of adamantium? What on earth was so important that you had to run away without telling anyone? You’re lucky we got you away from Bill. He wanted to kill you.”

That was his mother. This was bad. His mother didn’t usually yell at him. Tonks’ hair was like his now – flat and brown and miserable-looking.

He suddenly wanted to explain himself.

“We just wanted to go somewhere by ourselves – “

“You’re sixteen. I know why you want to go someplace by yourselves.” Remus scowled.

“No! I haven’t even thought, well, I’ve thought, but we haven’t. She hasn’t ever - ask her if you don’t believe me.” He sighed. Snogging Victoire – well, it was a goal, but not one he’d reached yet. He dreamed about it – she was beautiful, and sweet, and had the loveliest voice, the most beautiful hair – but he definitely wasn’t doing anything with her now.

His legs unexpectedly went out from under him and he fell down on his butt, then pulled his knees to him and buried his face. This also hid his groin, which was just as well.

“We wanted to be away from the babies! They – pester me all the time, and Victoire too. They want me to – “he couldn’t think of the words to explain how he hated being a constant plaything, but he tried.

“They want me to change. My hair, my face. You know. All the time. Even when I don’t want to. I hate it – hate being a spectacle. All the time, Mum. All the time.”

After a pause Tonks spoke with a softer voice. “Remus. I know what he means about being a spectacle. Remember how I used to change my nose and do faces? It was the first thing I ever did, so that I could get it out of the way.” She touched Teddy’s head briefly.

“I thought you like doing the faces. You always did them whenever we had the kids at the Order meetings – Harry, Ron, Hermione, the others.” Now Remus was quieter, almost questioning.

At least she understands, Teddy thought. Maybe they’d stop thinking about punishing him.

“Remus?” Tonks asked suddenly. “Did you know that the hills where Teddy and Victoire were flying were that dangerous? Because I didn’t. I heard about them, and thought they sounded beautiful. I had thought maybe we could all go look at them tomorrow before the game. Play tourist a bit.”

Ugh. Please no more being tourists, please.

His mother and father had dragged him around for two days when they first landed in Argentina. He barely remembered that his Lupin grandfather had been Welsh, and certainly had never heard that any of his relatives had emigrated so far away from Wales. But they had. And being wizards themselves, here they still were, 150 years later, babbling at him.

“Did you know, in the 19th century, Welsh settlers arrived in Chubut and established the colony Y Wladfa in the valley of the Chubut river?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Today, the Welsh language and Welsh tea houses are common in several towns, many of which have Welsh names. Dolavon and Trelew are examples of Welsh towns.”

“Okay.”

“On 28 July, there was a celebration honoring the 150th anniversary of the Welsh migrations. The First Wizard of Wales, Carwyn Jones, attended the ceremony.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Your family is friends with that Triwizard champion, Fleur Delacour, right?”

“She’s sort of uh, my step-aunt.” My girlfriend’s mum.

“Well! I didn’t know you were that close. Did you know the dragon she faced was the Common Welsh Dragon?”

“Uh, no, I didn’t.”

Kill me now, please, Teddy groaned mentally. If he had to learn one more fact about the Argentinian Welsh colony, he’d be able to pass an OWL in it. Maybe he could write a few feet for an extra credit paper.

“…this particular breed is described as not as dangerous, preferring to feed on sheep rather than humans, not like the Hungarian Horntail Harry Potter faced – you know Harry Potter, too, don’t you?”

“He’s my godfather,” said Teddy, pulled momentarily back into the conversation. Harry was the best godfather ever.

“My goodness, you do have friends in high places, young man! Now, the common Welsh dragon isn’t as dangerous as other dragons, but the nesting mothers can be, can’t think what the organizers of the Tournament had in mind –”

Chopping my godfather up into parts to bring Voldemort back, but nobody believed him for another year, did you?

“Anyway, I think young Fleur didn’t know that type of dragon mostly wanted to eat sheep, ha ha –“

Too bad they don’t eat people – I can think of a few I’d like to volunteer. Stop now, please.

It hadn’t helped that the tea houses were pretty and he liked the food, not when they had discovered that the tea houses all played Celestina Warbeck songs. Because of course the most famous (and constantly overplayed) singer of the Wizarding World would be Welsh. None of them had known, or cared about this.

“If I never hear ‘Cauldron of Hot Strong Love’ again it will be too soon,” groaned Teddy’s mother. “Remus, I hope you’re satisfied, because I have done as much of the heritage circuit I can stand.”

Yes!

“I think you’re right. I’ll say good-bye to Uncle Rhys by myself, shall I?”

“Thank you, darling.”

Teddy’s dad didn’t see Teddy’s mum roll her eyes, but he did.

“Slayer. Megadeth. That’s real music, Teddy, I’m going to dig out all the metal I’ve got, find out some way to play vinyl, I swear. Or cassette tapes.”

“CD’s Mum? MP3s?”

“...sure.”

It was her “sure” of nonchalance, where she pretended to know what he meant.

Muggle-magic conversions were spreading throughout the wizarding world, helped by Uncle George’s new shop. The younger muggle-born witches and wizards at Hogwarts pouted loudly that they had nowhere to play their video games. When Uncle George visited them and first got his hands on a controller, he put Ron in charge of the Diagon shop and rented another one closer to Muggle London. He’d worked out the technique in a year of intense research, and now beeps, whistles, and music blatted out from screens in Hogwarts common rooms. Professors had sniffed, but finally decided to allow the ekeltronic games. Chess and gobstones fell by the wayside, which alarmed the clubs’ champions. Nobody cared except a few nerds.

Other changes, however, were coming along slowly, because television’s various connections and magical conversion were even more complicated than game consoles. Older wizards and witches like his parents – well – probably they didn’t keep up.

“DVDs?” he said, pushing it.

“Sounds good. Can you find a DVD I can play real music on?”

“Yes, Mum. You do have to remember to rewind it though.”

“You can show me again.” Now that was Tonks’ voice of suspicion, when she had the intuition he was winding her up but couldn’t prove it.

“Can’t beat Incantation Records. Witchita Banana’s rather good.” Remus smirked.

Teddy hadn’t heard his father come back, but his mother pretended to vomit.

“Wings and Abba aren’t too bad,” Remus mused, pretending he didn’t see Tonks continue to fake-vomit. “Or there’s Led Zeppelin - Stairway to Heaven’s nice, isn’t it?”

“You monster,” said his mother, punching his father in the ribs.

“Quite. Can we Apparate to the stadium now?” his dad said, rubbing his chin on his mother’s hair, which was now spiky and gelled green.

They’d apparated to the stadium, and then he and Victoire had endured a day and a half of elder-cousin duties. It was to escape these that Teddy had persuaded Victoire to the hill investigation trip.

His father pulled him back into the present with another growl.

“Your mother and I have talked it over. We thought about restricting you from some of the Cup events, like the opening ceremony, but we’re here for what may be a unique lifetime experience, and decided against it. We also discussed the way the small children annoyed you and Victoire, and will talk to everyone about how to change that. We should have brought more sitters. I thought the parents had rotating schedules set up, but didn't realize the children were importuning you despite that.”

Yes, because you have no idea what it's like to be the oldest of the post-war baby boom, do you? (He was technically a few weeks older than the end of the war, but it counted.) One of the parents is always baby-sitting, yes, but Victoire and I are stuck here too, and they always pester us.

“Fortunately, the Cup’s organizers thought of everything. They have vetted babysitters they can bring in for outrageous prices – “Dad harrumphed, and Tonks jabbed him in the ribs.

“Anyway, the others can get sitters, and you and Victoire can take only a couple of hours of babysitting duty. We’ll pay you the same ludicrous -“

“Remus –“

“Anyway, the same price as the sitters here. But you are both grounded from the family barbecue tonight."

“Okay.” He would be sorry to miss the family barbecue. His dad and Uncle Bill had sourced the best meat, as always, and they’d have many types to try tonight. Beef was famous here, they’d said, and they’d acquired pork, lamb, fish from the local streams, and game birds.

“We’ll bring back dinner, of course, but you’re going to wait awhile. I have some apples and oranges in my pack,” said his mother. She also would have shortbread, to which she’d developed an almost fatal attraction, raisins, scones, and whatever she’d bought from the fruit and vegetable market the Welsh relatives had shown her. There would be plenty. He wouldn’t starve, he just wouldn’t get the first dripping slices. Uncle Bill’s barbecue was the best he’d ever tasted. His mouth watered and his stomach growled. Definitely a punishment.

After his mother and father left, Teddy waited another fifteen minutes to be sure they’d really gone, then sent a charmed paper note flying to Victoire’s tent.

“Are you alone?”

“Toi idiot! Par bonne chance, oui!” her vanilla-scented note replied. She always spoke French when she was annoyed. He was getting better at it.

“Don’t be mad. Do you have the mirror?” He sent another flying memo.

“Bien sur, j’ai le mirroir!”

But she hadn’t sent a note, she was speaking through one of the enchanted two-way mirrors he’d acquired. His parents didn’t know he had them. He’d heard how his Uncle Harry’s father and his best mate Sirius Black had had a pair. (There was a little sadness in Harry’s voice for some reason whenever he mentioned them.) Once Teddy knew such a thing existed, he’d spent hours scouring Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade’s second-hand stores, and finally found a set he could afford. He and Victoire spent many hours talking on them every night, until one of them would fall asleep.

“Wotcher Harry!” Tonks waved at Harry where he was waiting for them in the VIP boxes. He’d been in St. Mungo’s recently after a nasty curse during an Auror raid on a smuggler of contaminated potions ingredients, with the skin of his left ankle hexed off for six inches square. As the Head Auror, he normally didn’t lead raids, but this was a beastly affair, someone they’d tried to catch for two years who’d already landed three other Aurors in hospital. He was limping a little, but grinned as he met her.

“Wotcher Tonks! So you did the big heritage culture tour and met Remus’ extended family, I hear?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, very extended. He’d never met any of them. I thought I’d nod off listening to the history lessons, not my thing. I had to keep alert for Teddy’s sake, though.”

“Perils of parenting, Tonks, having to be a good example. So he and Victoire – eh, that sounded a right mess.”

“I didn’t have any idea they’d taken off – I thought they were with their cousins. They were damn lucky not to be killed – Bill’s furious about it. “

“Well, he could be furious because they were sneaking off into every dark corner to snog, which is where they were last night according to Rita Skeeter.”

“Ugh! They were grounded to stay in the tents; that’s why she couldn’t see them anywhere. You and Hermione should have squashed her when you had the chance.”

Hermione’s capture of the illegal animagus after the third task in the Triwizard Tournament was legendary. The woman was a beetle, and she’d used her inconspicuous nature to spy on many conversations. Hermione had captured her and forced her to write a truthful article for the Quibbler. It had been an effective strategy for the short term, but her last article about the tournament discredited Harry and allowed the Ministry to start the smear campaign about Harry’s claim that Voldemort had returned.

“Tonks! That wasn’t me, it was Hermione, and that’s a terrible idea.”

“Wait until James turns eighteen and she’s planting slander about his kissing Hugo.”

“He's his first cousin!”

“Do you think that would stop her?” Tonks sneered. “I hate her articles on Remus – whenever we get another award, they always begin “Registered werewolf Remus Lupin,” or if I’ve yelled at her recently, “Remus Lupin, Order of Merlin First Class and registered werewolf.”

“She and Ginny are both doing commentary today – that should be fun. It’s time for the opening ceremonies.” Harry turned back to his seat. The VIP boxes were crammed with what Rita Skeeter was calling the Dumbledore Army Reunion. Harry had invited all the Weasleys, Tonks and Remus, Neville and Hannah, and Luna and Rolf. Tonks was pleased that Harry had such a huge family around him now.

Rita Skeeter did not disappoint.

Ginny announced, “The red-haired curipiras with their back-to-front feet, are tumbling, performing acrobatics, stealing hats from fans, and generally creating mayhem – the stadium is greatly enjoying their antics.”

While Rita noted, “It is always enchanting to see young people enjoy the culture of other wizarding nations. Unfortunately Mr. Teddy Lupin and Ms Victoire Weasley seem far more interested in what they are saying to each other. I take that back. In what some may see as a belated show of parental authority, Mr. Bill Weasley has swapped places with his now very sulky-looking daughter, and directed her attention to the pitch.”

Tonks glared at Teddy, who now sat outside her. “Rita is going to go after you and Victoire the entire afternoon. Stop embarrassing yourselves.”

Teddy nodded, dutifully watching the game for a few minutes. The older reporter continued to be hostile to his family.

“All the Potter family is wearing the red for Bulgaria, except for middle child Albus, who is sporting the Brazilian green. What message is young Albus sending us all by choosing to support a team other than his father’s? A team, lest we forget, that is competing against his father’s ex-rival, now friend, Viktor Krum. Are we witnessing a very public, very ugly display of father-son rivalry?”

Teddy snorted. Al loved Goncalo Flores, the Brazilian Chaser, more than any other Quidditch player ever, and of course Harry didn’t demand that his children follow his every preference. It was one of the best things about him. Al was only seven and did not deserve to be singled out. Therefore, it was his step-cousinly duty to distract Skeeter. He slipped over the back of his seat and, half-crouching, sneaked toward Victoire. Victoire’s father was on his feet already, yelling for Bulgaria to block the Quaffle, and didn’t see him.

“Vic!”

She turned around and saw him, and pointed to the other end of their row. He kept scooting along behind his clan, crouched over, while Victoire used dainty manners to excuse herself, stepping smoothly in front of them. They met up at the end, twenty seats away from Bill, and Victoire quickly pointed to the stairs a half level above. In less than a minute, they were walking around the corner to the concession stand, which had no customers. He picked out a red ice gelato for her, and a defiant green one for him, and then they sneaked back the other way. Just as they turned to go back into the stadium, he pulled her into a small alcove and kissed her cheek. She giggled.

“Let’s get back to the side with your parents, so they can see we are there.”

Tonks had just noticed that Teddy was missing when he showed up again, gallantly letting Victoire go ahead to sit by his mother. The two kids ate their gelatos while a few more minutes of the game passed, and then Ginny Weasley’s voice soared:

“An excellent interception by Bulgarian Chaser Levski, and Bulgaria are streaking toward the goal -thrown to Vassileva – ouch! Even the Brazilians are wincing in sympathy there as a Bludger hit Vassileva hard in the throat. She drops the Quaffle, which is caught by Flores. Brazil are back in possession!”

Teddy whooped loudly for Albus’ favorite, making sure the entire clan saw him where he was supposed to be. Victoire was hiding again, headed back to the concession stand.

So it went the entire afternoon. Victoire showed up near her father cheering for Bulgaria, making sure he saw her, while Teddy was on the other side yelling for Brazil, equally conspicuous. Then they would race away for a quick kiss, picking up a souvenir or concession treat as the excuse when they returned to the stands. Teddy got a green Brazil cap for Albus and pushed it down over his eyes, laughing and showing Brazilian green hair when Albus turned around; Victoire got a plush Snitch for Louis. The golden color and flapping silver wings kept him from whining, and Fleur smiled thankfully at her. They bought packages of smoking red nuts, and others of green wiggling jelly worms, and passed them out to all the other children. The parents stopped trying to keep track of Teddy and Victoire, noting only occasionally that they popped up here and there, innocently separate or helpfully together. Almost all the parents. At one point Victoire sat next to Tonks, and jumped up screaming as Ginny Potter yelled.

“Bogomil Levski breaks through the Brazilian defense and equalizes! Ten all!”

When the girl plopped back down, the souvenir pendant she’d bought started flashing red.

“You’re not fooling me, you know,” Tonks commented, looking straight ahead. “I can see what you and Teddy are up to.”

“Mais non, we are up to nothing! We are enjoying the game, visiting everyone. Regardez, Teddy is talking to Harry.”

Indeed, Teddy appeared deep in conversation with Harry, frowning seriously.

“For the last thirty seconds. You two were missing for a few minutes before that.”

“Oui, buying jouets for les infants.” Victoire’s shoulders shook, containing laughter, as she watched the game for a moment.

“Just don’t let Bill catch Teddy doing something stupid. I’ll be very unhappy with you.”

“Merci, Tante Tonks,” said Victoire, and she was gone when Tonks turned her head.

They did manage to kiss for ten whole minutes once, and then luckily turned up at the two hour and twenty minutes mark when there was a time out. Viktor Krum had been hit in the back of the skull by Beater Rafael Santos, but it was ruled an accident, and Krum returned to play. Teddy had planned to sneak away from his parents, since he and Victoire were together on their side for once, but only a few minutes later the Snitch was sighted. The Brazilian Silva had seen the Snitch first, and rocketed straight up towards it, with Krum streaking after him, only four feet behind. Teddy started chanting, “Go Silva! Go Silva!” and waving the green cap he’d purchased. Then he clonked Victoire with it, which of course was the moment Rita Skeeter noticed them again.

“Teddy Lupin has accidentally punched his girlfriend on the nose as he gesticulates – are we about to witness a breakup, live at the Quidditch World Cup?”

Teddy’s mother swore under her breath, but not quietly enough, because he and Victoire both heard her. Victoire had tears of laughter running down her cheeks in the last few minutes, and Teddy put his arms around her.

Ginny Potter: 2:43 hours. “Krum and Silva neck and neck!”

Rita Skeeter: 2:44 hours. “Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley are cuddled up together again. Don’t they care about Quidditch at all? Should they be taking up valuable space in this stadium, when all eyes ought to be glued on the pitch? When so many witches and wizards would simply love to be here?”

Ginny Potter: 2:45 hours. “KRUM’S GOT THE SNITCH! BULGARIA HAVE WON!”

Teddy looked anxiously over to Albus, worried that he would be disappointed. But the little boy was clapping and didn’t look sad, possibly because the Brazil Seeker was embracing Krum, in outstanding good sportsmanship.

Skeeter put it differently.

“Young Albus is applauding, doubtless at the prompting of his publicity-hungry father – my colleague Ginny Potter is approaching me, no doubt for another tedious correc – “

Ginny Potter: “Rita Skeeter has been taken unaccountably ill with what some are calling a jinx to the solar plexus. . .”

The assorted Weasleys, Potters, Lupins, Longbottoms, and Scamanders screamed with laughter, making Ginny look up at them and wave. Teddy and Victoire vanished one more time, unseen by anyone, and settled in a broom closet quickly enough that even an ex-Marauder might approve, if he weren’t a responsible father now.

If Rita had seen them she might (accurately for once, and enraging both Remus and Bill) have written, “The good news is that the lanky, blue-haired, half-werewolf and the beautiful blond part-Veela seemed to have invented a method of breathing through their ears. I can think of no other reason why they have survived such a prolonged period of what, in my young day, was called snogging.”

But either the gelatos had been imbued with Felix Felicis, or fate smiled on two young people who truly had helped their young relatives stay engaged and peaceable during the hectic Cup final, because their mothers found them first, quickly did cleaning charms on their faces, and tidied their hair.

“We will not tell Bill or Remus,” Fleur said sternly, “but tu dois rester près de la maison, ah, you must stay near the house when you visit Victoire, Teddy, and ta mère parlera à vous deux.”

“Talk to us?” said Teddy. “Mum’s right here, she can talk to us now. And we weren’t doing anything bad.”

Tonks nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I know you’re both good kids, but I still need to give you 'The Talk.'”

“The talk?” said Victoire, puzzled.

“No, Mum, no!” protested Teddy, who’d already sat through a version of the sex talk three years earlier. “Not again!”

” Tonks grinned. “Be glad I won’t tell Remus to do it. He’d use diagrams. And illustrations.”

Teddy considered the likelihood of his father using three-dimensional floating diagrams of detached genitals, and his hair turned completely white.

“Yes Mum.”

“Oui Maman.”

The young people looked at each other glumly, and then Teddy switched his hair to Victoire’s sleek blond, with a matching and immaculate French braid, making everyone laugh.

Tonks straightened up after threatening the teens, feeling a slight pull in her chest muscles as she sometimes did. But her scars had not pained her in sixteen years. All was well.