Discovery

Chapter 6: Discovery

It was another long trip on the Underground to where Remus' friends met. The neighborhood, to my dismay, was not one of the nicer parts of London, although Remus seemed unfazed by this. I suppose it happens everywhere: neighborhoods wax and wane, once impressive homes fall out of fashion and slip into decline. Some areas manage to keep up with the times, but this one definitely had not.

"Who is it that lives where we're going?" I glanced around at the once-grand houses, which had clearly seen better days.

"It was Sirius' family home. It's empty now, and we use it to hold our meetings."

"Oh." I spotted a couple of seedy-looking men eyeing me from across the street and instinctively drew closer to Remus. If I had to be here, I reasoned, best to be with someone who possessed a magic wand. I still had no idea what all he could do with said wand, but the mere thought of it was comforting.

"I suppose it's time for me to reveal a bit more, isn't it?" Remus commented idly.

"I was wondering when you were going to get around to it," I said. So far this evening, he'd seemed disinclined to say much.

His sigh was audible. "Kailin, I'm afraid this part is going to sound rather like a bad Muggle television show."

I grinned. "Go on, I'm listening."

"Very well." Remus paused, then: "There's an evil wizard on the loose."

Had I not seen all the wonders of Diagon Alley just yesterday, I would have laughed in his face. But there was no hint of humor in his expression, and I waited patiently for him to go on.

As calmly as if he were talking about the weather, Remus told me how a boy named Tom Riddle had grown up to become evil personified, going by the name of Lord Voldemort. How Sirius Black had allegedly betrayed James and Lily Potter, leading to their deaths. How the fourth Marauder, Peter Pettigrew, had become one of Voldemort's accomplices and framed Sirius for the murders of innocent bystanders. How James and Lily's son, the infant Harry Potter, defeated Voldemort some 15 years ago.

"So Voldemort's dead?" I asked.

Remus shook his head grimly. "Initially, he was believed to have died. But it was never proven, and now he's returned to human form. Bit by bit, he's regained his strength and his supporters, and now he's as powerful as he ever was.

"The group I work with is called the Order of the Phoenix, and we're trying to prevent Voldemort from taking over. What it all boils down to is that we're in the midst of a wizarding war."

"A war?" I echoed, realizing for the first time that Remus' notion of self-defense wasn't about going for the crotch or the eyeball.

"A dangerous war." Remus glanced a warning in my direction. "You need to be aware of this, Kailin. There's a very real possibility that I could be killed, just as Sirius was killed."

"Voldemort killed him?" I gasped.

"No, not Voldemort. One of his followers. They're called Death Eaters."

Well, I thought, that title left little to the imagination.

"There's also," Remus continued, "the probability that if I am attacked at a time when you and I are together, you will be killed as well."

I felt the blood leave my face. But Remus wasn't finished yet.

"You may think that this is an internal wizarding affair that has nothing to do with Muggles. The truth is that dark wizards and their followers have always raped, tortured and killed Muggles just for the sport of it, even Muggles with absolutely no connection to the wizarding world. And not just on a small scale, either. Some of the crimes you've seen reported in the news through the years are actually the work of dark wizards."

In a sense, I found Remus' last statement to be just a tiny bit comforting. Perhaps the human race – the Muggle contingent, that is – was less violence-prone than I'd believed.

"Voldemort's primary agenda is to promote pureblood wizarding values. He wants the wizarding world purged of anyone who's not of pure stock, which means he targets Muggle-born wizards and their families. Just the other night, two Hogwarts students lost their parents in a Death Eater attack. Both parents were Muggles."

Something jogged my memory and I thought back to yesterday's newspaper article. "I read an article in the Times the other day. Two boys found their parents dead in their home. The police thought perhaps it was suicide..."

"That would be the Creeveys," Remus interrupted softly. "Colin and Dennis Creevey's parents."

I sucked in my breath, my brain scrambling to recall details from the newspaper article. "There was something about a strange green glow..."

"The Dark Mark. Following a raid, one of the Death Eaters will cast the Morsmordre spell above the scene. It's a display of green sparks in the shape of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth."

My irreverent side wanted to comment that Death Eaters must go in big for ostentation, and I had to remind myself that this wasn't a bad Muggle television show. It was instead a headline-making reality, and it wasn't funny. Not in the least.

"Kailin, I don't say these things to frighten you. Well, maybe I do," Remus sighed once more. "Whenever someone learns about the wizarding world, the first reaction is usually a giddy excitement at the discovery. You felt it yesterday."

I had, and he'd warned me against it.

"The thing is, as in all of life, there are two sides to any coin. Yes, witches and wizards can do many marvelous things, but it comes at a price. For all the wonders, there are extremely dark alternatives. Quite frankly, the wizarding world is a dangerous place to be right now. You need to be aware of that in order to reach a decision."

"A decision?"

"In light of all this, you need to decide if you want to continue our relationship."

I laughed nervously. "You don't mince words once you get started, do you?"

"I can't sugar-coat it, Kailin," Remus said flatly. "I care too much for you to do that."

I thought about this. Right now there was a brilliant mid-summer sunset in progress, and the notion of some dark wizard running down this street to kill us seemed about as likely as winning the Lottery.

On the other hand, this new world I'd glimpsed, the one where owls delivered mail and witches flew on brooms and goblins ran banks, was still foreign to me. If those things were true, was it so hard to believe that the rest could happen?

"I'm not going to turn tail and run, Remus. I care too much for you to do that."

He chuckled mirthlessly. "Let's see how you feel at the end of the evening, shall we?"

I glanced sideways at him. "It almost sounds like you're trying to get rid of me. Do you want me to go?"

"Do I want you to go, or do I think you should go? Of course I don't want you to go. But if I were in your shoes, I'd seriously consider turning and running as fast as I could. And I wouldn't blame you in the least."

"We Yanks are a pretty tough lot. We don't scare easily."

"You haven't seen it yet," Remus said softly. "You haven't seen anything yet."

"I'm not leaving," I shrugged. "Deal with it, R.J."

"'R.J.'?" he repeated, smiling.

"I thought it was a rather fetching nickname," I said. "Do you like it?"

Remus laughed. "Coming from you, it sounds wonderful." He took my hand and we walked on into the balmy night.

One more block, then we turned onto a street called Grimmauld Place. The houses here were particularly shabby, it seemed. Remus led me to Number Eleven and paused.

"Is this it?" I asked him.

"No. We want Number Twelve, but it's heavily guarded." He gestured toward the next house. We walked a few paces toward it, then Remus stopped once more. "Here we go."

"Where?"

"Right here."

"But isn't that Number Twelve?"

"No, that's Number Thirteen."

"But---"

"Trust me." Remus cast a sideways smile at me, then took my hand. We turned to cross the small lawn between the two houses, and immediately the grass became a paved walk. My eyes widened.

The walkway, as we continued forward, suddenly became a stairway. We began to climb, and when we reached the top, a door appeared. And then, out of nowhere, an entire house materialized around the door. I stared up at it, my mouth hanging open.

"I suppose," I managed to say, "that there's no point in asking how this is possible, is there?"

Remus, chuckling at the stunned look on my face, merely winked and said, "It's magic." He turned to the door and rapped lightly.

"Of course," I muttered. Magic. Would this odd world of his ever cease to amaze me?

A smiling Molly Weasley opened the door. "Come in, come in," she urged in hushed tones.

Remus motioned for me to enter first, and I did so. The entry hall was large and dimly lit by gaslights, giving it a sad, neglected feeling. I glanced around. The stairs were in front of me: great dark, yawning chasms leading to upper and lower levels. The wall to my left was covered with the ugliest, heaviest velvet drapes I've ever seen, and all I could think was that someone must truly hate daylight to block it so viciously. All in all, the hall looked like it should have been swathed in cobwebs, though it was apparently clean. One thing I had learned through the years about large houses: they're seldom truly clean unless you have full time help. About the time you finish cleaning, the dust bunnies have already regenerated and it's time to start all over again.

"I hope I'm not too much of a distraction this evening," I told Molly. "I don't want to disturb your meeting."

Molly put her finger to her lips again, and I wondered why.

"Sometimes distractions can be a good thing," she murmured, glancing pointedly at Remus, who was busy relocking the front door. "Come downstairs, the two of you. We're just having a bit of a snack before the meeting starts. Not everyone is here yet."

I watched Molly head purposefully down the darkly lit stairs and wondered if witches and wizards were born with good night vision. Remus sensed my hesitation and pulled his wand out of his pants pocket.

"Lumos," he muttered, and light spilled from the tip of his wand, illuminating the way.

At the foot of the stairs, Molly threw open a door to a brightly lit kitchen, and I breathed a small sigh of relief that I'd be able to see my hand in front of my face again. More than a dozen pairs of eyes looked up to eye me curiously, reminding me of our entrance into the Leaky Cauldron yesterday. Here, however, the majority of the eyes seemed to belong to redheads.

"Everyone," she called, "Remus is here, and this is his friend, Kailin Curtis. Remus, you make the introductions, why don't you? I need to refill some of these dishes."

Molly bustled off, obviously appalled that the snack bowls had been emptied of their contents. Remus took me by the hand and led me around the table.

"Kailin, this is Arthur Weasley, Molly's husband. He works at the Ministry... Their son Bill, does curse-breaking for Gringotts, the bank I showed you yesterday... Fred and George, they're twins, as you can see.... Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley.... I think I'm finally done with Weasleys," he joked, "although you can never be too sure. Hermione Granger, Harry Potter.... Arabella Figg..... Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks, they're Aurors... Sorry, about that, Tonks. Don't ever call her Nymphadora, Kailin, unless you want to be hexed from here till Tuesday and back... Mad-Eye -- sorry, Alastor Moody.... Hestia Jones..."

My head swam with names and faces. What were Aurors, I wondered, and was this the same Harry Potter that had vanquished Voldemort the first time? And were these people relying on children as part of their defense?

There was a faint knock at the front door. One of the Weasleys got up to answer it since Molly was busy refilling snack bowls. There were footsteps on the stairs, then two more people joined the group: a stern-looking, older woman in a tall pointed hat and a scowling dark-haired man dressed in black. Remus introduced the two of them as teachers from Hogwarts, the wizarding school. Both of them regarded me with some degree of disdain, the dark-haired man being the worst: he stopped just short of sneering at me. Remus quickly ushered me back to where Arthur Weasley was waving and pointing to an empty seat.

"Remus! Let Kailin sit here. I want to talk to her."

Remus grinned and pushed me gently in that direction, but not before whispering a warning in my ear. And so I found myself seated next to Arthur Weasley and discovered in the space of thirty seconds that Remus had been correct; the man began plying me with all sorts of questions about Muggles. Someone shoved something called Butterbeer in my hand and I tried to take sips of it between explaining about computers, compact discs and DVD's. Technology isn't really my strong suit; I'm satisfied just knowing that the things work, and I leave the details up to brains larger than mine. But then someone asked what field I was in, and when I replied that I was in medicine, Arthur Weasley positively glowed with delight.

"Really! I was hospitalized last Christmas for a short spell, and my Healer was quite open-minded about alternative therapies such as Muggle medicine. We tried stitches on my wound, but they apparently don't work well on magical injuries."

I stared gracelessly at him, contemplating the fact that these people viewed modern medicine as an alternative therapy. It stoked my curiosity, and I wanted to know just what sort of medicine these people practiced, and if it worked, why couldn't it be available to the rest of the world? But before I could turn the tables and start badgering Arthur with questions, there was a sudden stirring and the room quieted.

Another wizard had entered the room, an elderly man clad in ornate and richly bedecked robes. The power just seemed to ooze from him, and I knew at once that now that this man was here, the meeting would begin. Sure enough, Molly Weasley hopped to her feet and announced in no uncertain terms that the meeting was starting and those who didn't belong here needed to go. Two of the redheads stood, as did the Potter boy and the curly-haired girl next to him. I rose as well. Remus beckoned to the curly-haired girl.

"Hermione, would you take Kailin up to the front parlor?"

"Of course, Professor."

Remus squeezed my shoulder. "See you after the meeting," he said, smiling.

I followed the girl up two flights of stairs to a sitting room that felt every bit as stuffy and abandoned as the rest of the house. The other teens, I noticed, were heading on up to the next floor. One of them called to her.

"You coming, Hermione?"

"Be right there. Ginny, could you bring some magazines down for Kailin? There's absolutely nothing to do down here except read the Black family tree, and I don't think she's interested in that." Hermione turned back to me, her eyes shining conspiratorially. "I just wanted to say that we all think it's wonderful -- you and Professor Lupin, that is. He's such a nice man, and he deserves some happiness."

I wasn't quite sure how to answer that. "He is nice," I said, smiling in return. "But why do you still call him 'Professor Lupin'? He's not your teacher anymore."

"Force of habit, I suppose. He was absolutely one of the best teachers we've ever had. Knows a ton about Defense Against the Dark Arts. It's just such a shame..." Hermione's voice trailed off, leaving me wondering what was such a shame. "Anyway, I'm sure this must all be quite confusing for you. I know it would have been for me. My parents are Muggles, and I had absolutely no idea about the wizarding world until I got my Hogwarts letter."

"How do your parents feel about you being involved in this?" I asked, taking a seat on a threadbare sofa.

"In the wizarding world, you mean? They want me to do my best and make the most of my potential and all that, although I'm sure they wish I would have gone into practice with them someday. They're dentists," Hermione added by way of explanation.

"But what about this war against Voldemort? They're not worried?" It was hard to imagine any parent not being frantic with all that was apparently going on.

"Well, we're not of age yet, so we're not allowed to be part of the Order. And I haven't really told them much about the war, to be honest. I wouldn't want them to worry."

"Did you have any inkling that you were a witch before you went to Hogwarts?" I was curious to find out how magic manifested itself in children from a non-magical background.

"No, not really," Hermione told me. "I could make my bath toys zoom 'round the tub when I was tiny. I thought it was the water pushing them, though. And once I hurled a book off my desk when I was angry. That is, I was across the room from the desk when the book went flying."

"What did your parents think when your letter came? I would think it was a hoax of some sort."

"Oh, they did," the girl said, smiling. "They threw it out with the trash. But then another one came, and then Professor McGonagall came by to explain -- oh, good!"

The red-haired Weasley girl ran into the room, her arms laden with magazines. "Here you are, then. Hope you find something you like."

I took the magazines from her. "Thank you, uh---"

"Ginny," the girl volunteered.

"We'll be upstairs if you need anything, Kailin," Hermione said. "First door on the right. Just knock if you need anything. And I'll check in with you in a bit."

I thanked her. The girls disappeared back up the stairs and I settled in with my reading material. The magazines, I found, were the wizarding equivalent of Muggle teen fashion publications. Like their Muggle counterparts, they devoted countless pages to clothes, makeup, and how to attract boys. Some things were universal issues for teens everywhere, I decided, and it was a comforting thought in this odd place. I'd gone through two magazines and was just starting to read an advice column in a third ("I really like my boyfriend, but his broom is an absolute embarrassment when we go out on a date. What should I do?" ) when Hermione reappeared.

"How's it going?" she asked brightly.

"Fine. These magazines are a lot like their Muggle counterparts, aren't they?"

"I suppose. I don't read the things myself. They're Ginny's."

I laughed at the look of outright disgust on Hermione's face. "What do you read?" I asked.

"I like nonfiction as well as historical novels, although I really don't have much time to read for pleasure. We've just finished O.W.L.'s, and next year it's N.E.W.T.'s, so I spend most of my time studying."

I assumed that Owls and Newts were tests of some sort. It was clear to see where Hermione's priorities lay. "What do you want to do when you finish at Hogwarts?"

"I'd like to do something that'll really make a difference. The wizarding world is so far behind the Muggle world when it comes to social justice issues. But I may have to go to Muggle university for that, I'm afraid. None of the wizarding ones in Britain has a decent program of that sort."

Hermione was a girl of strong convictions, it seemed. "Social justice issues? Like what?"

"Well, there's a terrible amount of prejudice among wizards, you see. There's all that pure-blood business, of course. And the way they treat other magical creatures is absolutely horrible. You would think that wizards, being in the minority in the world, would stick together, but they seem hell-bent on divisiveness. Year before last I tried to form an organization to support house-elf rights, and the way people reacted, you'd think I had asked them to break their wands in two or something."

"What are house-elves?"

"They're creatures that do housekeeping for the wealthy. And they're at large institutions, such as Hogwarts, to do the cooking and cleaning."

A house-elf sounded like a fine idea, I thought, and wondered how wealthy you had to be in order to acquire one. By this point in the evening, I was feeling pleasantly warm and comfortable, relaxed by the Butterbeer and bored by the magazines to the point where I was quite drowsy. Hermione was continuing her diatribe, and since my knowledge of the wizarding world was limited to my experiences of the past two days, I wasn't paying a whole lot of attention. It was when she said, "Take Professor Lupin, for example", that I sat up straighter and listened more attentively.

"...ridiculous that a man that capable and talented is discriminated against simply because he's a werewolf. It's a disgrace that---"

Exactly what was a disgrace, I didn't catch. Hermione's mouth was moving, but I couldn't hear her: there was a strange roaring in my ears that began with the word 'werewolf'. Time seemed to have slowed to a crawl. Finally, it appeared to dawn on Hermione that I was no longer paying attention to her.

"Kailin? Are you all right?"

"I'm sorry." My voice didn't sound like my own. "You said... werewolf?"

"Of course." Hermione frowned, then her eyes grew huge and her face contorted into a stricken expression. "You didn't know?" she gasped.

Werewolf. I tried to speak, but no sound emerged. I tried to inhale, but my diaphragm was failing to cooperate. The man I loved, Remus Lupin. Werewolf.

I found myself climbing to my feet, then moving toward the doorway. Behind me, Hermione was asking in a squeaky voice if I was all right. All right? Of course I wasn't all right. I had to talk to Remus, and to hell with their meeting. Was this what he meant when he said things were 'complicated'?

And then I was stumbling down the dark stairway toward the entrance hall. When I came to the last two steps, however, I misjudged them in the dim light and found myself sprawling toward the floor. I landed flat on my face, hitting my forehead with a loud thump. I groaned aloud and climbed up to all fours. At once the ugly velvet curtains I'd seen upon our arrival sprang open and a screeching female voice filled the hall.

"Filthy traitors! Think you can stop the Dark Lord! Get out of my house, you vermin, you scum---"

I staggered to my feet and tried to focus my eyes on the source of the noise. A painting was behind the drapes, not a window. And the subject of that painting, a dour, scowling woman in black was standing with her arms akimbo. She caught sight of me, let out a blood-curdling shriek, and pointed a bony finger at me.

"Muggle! A Muggle! Get it out of my house! You filth, you vermin! You are not worthy to set foot in this house!"

Prior to yesterday, the sight of a moving, talking painting would have shocked me. At the present time, however, I was beyond the ability to be shocked any longer. I stumbled backwards several paces; already off-balance, I found myself tumbling sideways into a large hall table topped with a marble slab. My head struck the edge of the marble and another pain seared through my head.

Hope it's not a head wound, I thought briefly. I'll bleed like a stuck pig. My last conscious thought was that the cool floor felt very, very good.