The Second Message

Chapter 3, The Second Message: Saturday, continued

My memories of Billy Mitchell were of a strong, vibrant man. Seeing him in the ICU, frail and ill and connected to the beeping telemetry equipment, was frightening even though the environment was familiar to me. I'm a nurse and I see sick people all the time, but this was my Grandpa in the bed, and right now my objectivity was gone. I was a worried family member, not a medical professional.

Remus reintroduced himself to Roger, and I was happy to see that the two were beginning to hit it off well. Remus could get along with just about anybody, and Roger was as easygoing as Billy himself. Of course, when I had envisioned taking Remus home to meet my family, it wasn't under these circumstances.

Unless Billy had blabbed, Roger had no idea that Remus was a wizard, much less a werewolf. Such a disclosure was unlikely; even with all the time I'd spent with my grandparents during my childhood, I had no idea that Marvy was a witch until last year. Billy had kept her secret well, and I trusted him to keep ours, too.

I talked to the surgeon, Dr. Stinson, and was relieved to feel an immediate connection there. He was confident instead of cocky and reassuring without being condescending. I think Roger had tipped him off that I was a nurse, because he talked to me as a fellow professional and not a bothersome relative.

Dr. Stinson assured me that Billy should have an uneventful recovery, going home four or five days from now. Even though I work in health care, I never cease to be amazed at how quickly patients are sent home. Here in the States, it's a question of cost. In Britain, it's the lengthy waiting lists for surgeries that dictate length of stay.

According to Roger, Billy had drifted in and out of consciousness most of the day. Now, at eight p.m., he was finally alert enough to realize that I was present.

"Kailin?" he mumbled.

I leaned over to kiss him on the forehead. "Hi, Grandpa. How are you doing?"

"Just dandy," he grunted. "Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital. You had bypass surgery."

"I know that. Am I in England, or are you in Rockford?"

"I'm in Rockford," I said, smiling. "I just had to come to check up on you."

"Good. I need checking up on." Billy glanced toward the window where Remus stood with Roger. "Who are you?"

"I'm Remus." Remus smiled, reaching out to squeeze Billy's hand. "It's an honor to finally meet you, Billy."

"You too, son. You'll have to forgive me if I don't get up."

We all laughed at that. For half an hour, we chatted with and around my grandfather. He soon tired, and when it became obvious that what he needed was less company and more rest, we left for the evening.

By that time, it was the wee hours of the morning in Britain, and both Remus and I were the walking dead. We'd left Hermione back at the hotel, and I assumed that she would have the good sense to climb into bed and begin catching up on her sleep. As we said good night to Roger Mitchell, my only thought was that soon Remus and I could crawl into bed ourselves.

At least that was the plan.

We had been back in our hotel room barely two minutes when there was another tapping at the window. Remus paid the owl, then unrolled the parchment and read while I began to undress.

"Arthur again?" I inquired, tugging off my shoes and tossing them in the corner. When Remus didn't answer, I looked up to find him staring at the letter in his hand. Then he began laughing, a humorless chortle that was more chilling than funny.

"What's the matter?" I was suddenly uneasy. My instincts told me that something was very wrong.

"I can't believe it. Those people at the Ministry are such imbeciles, such – such –" He broke off, apparently unable to think of any worse names at the moment. "You won't believe this, Kailin. You bloody well won't believe it!"

"Believe what?" I asked breathlessly.

"I've been banned from Britain, that's what!" he spluttered, waving the parchment in the air. "Written off. Deported!"

"What?" I blurted.

"I'm not allowed back into the country!"

"Is this a joke?" My mind groped for footing. "What do you mean you're not allowed back into the country? You can't go home? Why not?"

Remus took a deep breath and massaged the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "Because of my little altercation with Malfoy at King's Cross, it seems."

"Just because you started to pull your wand on Lucius Malfoy, they're not letting you back into Britain? What kind of crazy law is that?"

"There is no crazy law," he spat bitterly. "Malfoy reported me out of pure spite, and the Ministry jumped on it. It's a convenient excuse to get rid of people like me."

"You mean that just because you're a werewolf –"

"Of course, because I'm a werewolf. And a werewolf who's one of Dumbledore's supporters." Remus sank down onto the edge of the bed, regarding the parchment in his hands with obvious disgust. "Can you believe this? Just wait until the half-humans and the rabble-rousers leave the country, and then forbid them to come back!"

I tried to find my voice. "What are we going to do?"

"I need to get in touch with Dumbledore," Remus said, thinking aloud. He forced a sickly smile onto his face. "Ironic, isn't it? I've been trying to talk you into sitting out the war here in America, and now I'm the one who has to stay."

My mind raced to catch up. "But how did they even know you were gone?"

"There's an arrangement with the Muggle Liaison Office. The Ministry can alert the Muggles to search for people they want to track. That's what they did when Sirius escaped from Azkaban. Now they know I've left the country, and they'll know when I go back."

"Can I see the letter?" I asked.

Remus handed it to me without comment. I took it and began to read:

Dear Mr. Lupin:

Ministry of Magic

"They can't do this," I said blankly, shaking my head.

"Well, they bloody well just did, didn't they?"

We both fell silent.

"What does it mean, 'wand activity will be monitored'?" I asked.

"If I manage to get back into Britain, the Ministry will be alerted the first time I use my wand. They'll know I'm back."

"If you manage to get back?" I felt sick. Remus and I had worked hard at building a life together. I had a job I enjoyed and wasn't eager to leave it. And he was committed to the Order of the Phoenix as long as Voldemort walked the earth. "There'll be some way, won't there?"

"I suppose..."

His half-hearted smile was not at all reassuring. I stared blankly out the window into the dark Illinois night. Remus could usually be counted on for encouragement, not hesitation. "How can we get in touch with Dumbledore?"

"Owl," he said, shrugging. "Trouble is, I have no idea how to find a wizarding post office here, so unless an owl arrives with a message for me, it's not likely that I can get in touch with him right away."

I grasped at possibilities. "What if we bought you a plane ticket under a different name? The Ministry won't know you're back as long as you don't use your wand in Britain, right?"

"Right – as long as I'm not spotted and reported by someone. I'd have to stay away from wizarding places, just as you've done. But if I have a new name, I'll need a new passport," Remus continued, thinking aloud.

I nodded wearily. I was tired, so tired. Of all the stupid things to happen. My earlier amusement at Remus' defense of my honor was now long gone. Maybe this would turn out to be a bad dream. Maybe, come morning, this would be a distant memory instead of cold reality.

There was a soft knocking on the door. "Now what?" I muttered viciously.

Remus sighed aloud and rose to his feet. Glancing through the peephole apparently revealed no one familiar, and he cautiously opened the door.

I could see a man standing there. He looked like a refugee from the tropics: his hair was bleached to a nearly white blonde; he wore sunglasses, and a tropical print shirt was tucked into bright orange shorts. A pair of orange flipflops completed the outfit.

"Hey, how's it goin'?" The man stuck out his hand at once. "You Remus Lupin?"

"Who wants to know?" Remus cautiously eyed the man's hand but made no move to shake it.

The man withdrew his hand, stuffing it into his pocket. "I'm Breckinridge, your American wizarding rep. So they kicked you out of England, huh?"

Remus was not interested. "It's very late. I suggest you come back tomorrow."

Frowning, Breckinridge pulled the sunglasses down on his nose and peered at his watch. "It's not even ten p.m. yet."

"And it's four a.m. in Britain. My wife and I have been up nearly twenty-four hours, so if you don't mind..."

"Oh, yeah, that jet lag thing. Well, I won't keep you long. May I come in?" Evidently the man was not to be dissuaded.

"Fine," Remus said listlessly. "You can have five minutes, Mr. Breckinridge."

"Five minutes is plenty. And call me Breck. Everybody does." He moved past Remus into the room and stood regarding me. "You're Mrs. Lupin?"

"Yes," I said uneasily, rising from my spot on the bed.

"Glad to meet you. So," Breck said, turning back to Remus, "why were you tossed out of Britain?"

"I don't know that it's any of your business."

"Ah, but it is my business. I work for the Relocation Office." With that, he whipped a business card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Remus. Remus glanced at it and handed it to me.

D. Breckinridge, Relocation Specialist

Office of Wizarding Relocation, a division of the American Wizarding Congress

"You're with the American Ministry of Magic?" Remus asked.

"Yeah. It's called the American Congress of Wizards here. Our office was notified this afternoon..." Breckinridge paused to pluck a slip of paper from his pocket and read it, "...by your Ministry that you have been 'officially banned from re-entering the state of Great Britain'. Furthermore, they identify you as a werewolf and a political dissident. Is that correct?"

Remus chuckled mirthlessly. "If that's what they choose to call me, it is."

Breckinridge shrugged. "Makes me no matter. I'm just here to help you get settled in the States."

Remus gave the man a withering look. "Thank you, but let me make myself plain, Mr. Breckinridge: I don't intend to settle in the States. My wife and I are here to visit her relatives, and then we'll be returning to Britain."

The man looked appraisingly at me once more. "You from here?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes," I said.

"Oh." His sunglasses were on the verge of sliding off his nose; now he pulled them off completely and perched them atop the bleached blonde hair. "Look, Mr. Lupin, just out of curiosity, how exactly do you plan to get back into Britain? They'll be watching the plane reservations, you know. Can't you just Apparate back? Oh, wait... Werewolf, you said. Takes too much energy, doesn't it? Too bad, that would be your best bet."

"You're correct about Apparating," Remus said, "but – "

Breckinridge interrupted. "Have you thought about flying into France, say, and Apparating from there? It wouldn't be as taxing."

My husband's patience was clearly being tried. "There's an Apparition ban against me as well, you see."

"Oh." Breck looked nonplussed. "Bummer. Say, you all have a mess over there with some dark wizard, don't you? A real piece of work, from what I hear. They pop up every so often, don't they? You folks involved with that?"

"I am," Remus said quietly. "Involved with opposing him, that is."

Breck rested his hands on his hips and stared at the two of us intently. "So if you're trying to get rid of the guy, how come they tossed you out? Seems like the powers that be would welcome all the help they can get."

"The powers that be don't know which end is up right now," Remus retorted, his expression grim. "The Ministry spent a year denying that Voldemort was back, and now that they know the truth, things are in chaos. There's not much confidence in the new Minister, so there's no telling what will happen next."

Breckinridge shook his head. "And I thought our politics sucked big time."

"I think politics are politics no matter where you're from," I put in.

"You a witch, Mrs. Lupin?"

"No," I said, wondering if he would ask me to leave the room now that he knew. Rather lamely, I added, "But my grandmother was."

"She from the Chicago area?" Breckinridge wanted to know.

"No, Britain. But she came here after she married." My curiosity was piqued. "Are there many wizards in this area?"

"Quite a few, although we always keep a pretty low profile. Other than that curse on the Cubs, there aren't a lot of security breaches."

"Cubs?" Remus frowned.

Breck grinned. "Boy," he said, pulling a handful of brochures out of his lurid floral pocket, "you really aren't from here, are you? Look, here's the information you'll need about settling down in this area: wizarding businesses, neighborhoods with other wizarding families, job opportunities, that kind of thing."

Remus made no move to take the pamphlets. "I told you. We're not staying."

"Well, even if you don't stay, they could be helpful while you're here."

A sideways glance at my husband showed that he still wasn't keen on the idea. I held out my hand, a polite smile on my face. "I'll take them."

Breck seemed pleased that I was cooperating, even if Remus was not. "There's some good information in there," he said as he handed me the brochures. "You'll get a lot out of it."

"I'm sure we will. Thank you."

There was a brief silence. I'd expected Breck to turn for the door, but he hadn't budged. And Remus now had a scowl on his face.

For the first time, Breckinridge looked uncomfortable. "Hell, I really hate this, because you all seem like nice people. The thing is, I'm not just here to introduce myself and help you get settled in."

I started to ask what his true purpose was, but Remus interrupted me.

"Would you be looking for this, by any chance?" he asked coldly, holding out his wand.

"Yeah, I'm afraid I would." Almost regretfully, Breck took the wand and pocketed it.

I blinked, confused by this last chain of events. "Why do you need his wand?"

"They're not stupid, Kailin," Remus said quietly. "I've been tossed out because I'm supposedly a danger to society. They're not going to allow me to wreak havoc here."

"But – but – "

"I'm really sorry," Breck said, and he looked like he meant it. If it's any consolation, we'll return your wand in six months if you keep your nose clean."

"What's to stop him from buying a new wand?" I blurted.

"He'll be identified in all the wand shops."

"What's to stop me from buying him a new wand?"

Breck was already shaking his head. "I don't know of any place that would sell a wand to a Muggle."

I wasn't ready to give up the fight. "We have a young witch with us, a student. Couldn't she buy one?"

"How old?"

"How old is Hermione?" I turned to Remus. "Sixteen, right?"

Remus was nodding, but at the same time, Breckinridge was shaking his head. "She has to have parental consent."

"But her parents are dead."

"Are you her legal guardians?"

"Well, no, but –"

"I'm sorry," Breck repeated unhappily. "Really, I am. I know you don't want to hear this, folks, but your best bet is to stay here for six months, let the hotheads in your Ministry chill out for a bit, and then get your wand back and head home somehow."

Remus looked utterly frustrated. "Look, Breck," he said, stressing the nickname the man insisted we use, "we can't stay here for six months. I have friends who are depending on me to help in the battle. My wife has a job that she needs to get back to. And we have a minor traveling with us who needs to be back at school on September first."

"This is a free country, Mr. Lupin. We're rather fond of allowing political dissension here, and nobody cares if you're a werewolf as long as you take your Wolfsbane and stay indoors on the full moon. You just can't have your wand back for six months, okay?"

"Fine," Remus said dully. "I'll look over your information, and I'm truly pleased to hear that Americans are so enlightened when it comes to their werewolves. It's just that come Friday, my wife and I will be returning to Britain one way or another."

With that, Breck spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Okay, I give up. Have it your way. But if you end up staying here longer than you think, give me a call. My number's on the card your wife's holding."

I glanced at the business card atop the pile of brochures. "Is this your office phone?" I asked.

"Cell. You can reach me anytime, anywhere. I'm the rep for the greater Chicago area," the man said, standing. Remus and I stood up as well.

I re-read the card: D. Breckinridge. "What does the 'D' stand for?"

The man turned pink. "Dillard," he said in a low voice, as though he was afraid the walls might hear. "That's why I go by 'Breck'. 'Dillard' just doesn't quite match my image, you know?"

I would have laughed, but my sense of humor had fled.