Happy Hour with Minerva

Chapter 3: Happy Hour with Minerva

March 19-20, 1997

Our stay at the Rembrandt was a lovely respite from our exile.

On Saturday we visited some of the tourist sites near the hotel. It was a happy reminder of our first dates when Remus had looked for low-cost ways to entertain me. I don't know if it was because Remus and I were away from Grimmauld Place or simply well-rested for a change, but our attitude did a remarkable turnabout. All in all, it was one of the nicest days I've ever known. And that night we once again enjoyed the Jacuzzi, the room service, and the king-sized bed.

Sunday morning we slept late and ate a late breakfast. I called Mr. Najib and was heartened to learn that we could expect to return to our flat in another week, provided that all went according to schedule and the contractors didn't run into any hitches. He could have left off the last part of the sentence as far as I was concerned; any qualifier probably meant we could figure on two more weeks instead of one.

And when check-out time came, we reluctantly packed our bags and returned to number twelve. At least, I reminded Remus, the end was in sight.

The old house was no more welcoming than ever, but we were both determined to preserve our newfound good mood.

It lasted until Tuesday night.

We'd decided to eat out that night for the simple reason that the larder was basically bare. Upon returning home, Remus could tell something was amiss as soon as we stepped through the door. He stopped abruptly, sniffing the air suspiciously.

"Now what?" he muttered.

I sniffed also, but could not detect anything. Another thing I've discovered after being married to a werewolf for the past seven months: Remus' sense of smell, even when he's not in wolf form, is much keener than mine.

"I don't smell anything," I began, but he was already clattering downstairs toward the kitchen.

I followed, and when Remus halted abruptly in the kitchen doorway, I had to put on the brakes to avoid running into him. Peering over his shoulder, I could see Severus Snape look up from a cauldron, a scowl on his face.

"Severus, what in the name of Merlin do you think you're doing?" Remus demanded.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Lupin? I should think it would have penetrated even your sad little wolf brain that I'm working on a potion. Or did you bother to pay any attention to that part of your education?" The Potions master's eyes flickered in my direction briefly, then he refocused his attention on the cauldron once more.

Snape may be a trusted member of the Order of the Phoenix, but he generally acts as though he approves of no one and tolerates them even less. I know that he still carries a grudge against Remus for a schoolboy incident, which automatically makes me guilty by association. I have never bothered to be anything other than coolly polite towards him, since friendly overtures are an exercise in futility. It reminds me of the old saying about trying to teach a pig to sing: it gets you nowhere and ultimately annoys the pig.

"Something wrong with your Potions dungeon at Hogwarts, that you had to come all the way to London?" Remus ignored the nasty comments.

"If you paid the least attention to the news," Snape said coldly, "you would know about the Ministry inspection."

"What inspection?"

"The Ministry inspection of Hogwarts. There are rumors circulating that some at the school are loyal to Voldemort."

"Of course there are. At least half your own house, I should say."

"Let me finish," Snape snapped. "Rumors are circulating which, if one were to believe them, would indicate that some students are being actively recruited to support the Dark Lord."

"Surely they don't expect to uncover Dark activities in the middle of the Great Hall," Remus pointed out.

"I said to let me finish," seethed Snape. "The point is that a number of parents are panicked nearly to the point of withdrawing their precious offspring from the school. The inspection is merely a show to alleviate their concerns."

"That still doesn't explain why you're here."

Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I don't need to explain myself to you, Lupin. Let's just say that I've been ordered to brew this potion for... a certain gathering. Needless to say, it would not be well-received by the new Minister were I to be discovered brewing it under Dumbledore's nose."

There was a barely perceptible pause before Remus spoke. "What do you mean, 'the new Minister'?"

"Oh," drawled Snape in mock surprise, "you didn't know? Then again, if you can't be bothered to pay attention to current events, it's little wonder that you are completely clueless."

"Who's the new Minister for Magic?" I broke in, thoroughly annoyed by Snape's habit of viciously baiting Remus at every opportunity. Not only was it rude, it was totally unwarranted. My husband read the Prophet religiously, but since returning from the Rembrandt, had failed to keep up with the daily wizarding news.

Snape shot me a look of pure dislike, and I wondered, not for the first time, why he was considered an asset to the Order.

"Amelia Bones," he announced and returned his attention to the potion he was brewing.

Remus assessed this information. "I don't suppose you're going to share any details with me?"

"I'm not your valet. Go get your own copy of the Daily Prophet and read it like everybody else."

I could almost feel the waves of dislike pulsating from my husband. "Are you going to be long here?"

"Not if you go away and let me finish. I have an early class in the morning. Gryffindor N.E.W.T. level," Snape added, in the same tone one might use to mention human waste products.

"Just make sure you clean up before you go," Remus snapped. "I don't want to come down for breakfast and find your filthy cauldrons lying about."

He walked out before Snape could retort, taking the steps with a distinctly heavy tread while I followed behind. So much for the nice relaxing hotel stay.

"Is he ever polite?" I said sarcastically as we marched upstairs.

Remus snorted. "I don't believe the word is in his vocabulary. This has gone on for years, and I suspect it always will. To Severus Snape, carrying a grudge is an art form."

"What do you think this means, about a new Minister of Magic? I wonder what happened to Fudge."

"I have no idea, although it should have happened a long time ago. Amelia's a good person. She's not in the Order, but then I doubt she's on Voldemort's side, either. Her brother was in the Order during the first war. Killed by Death Eaters."

When we reached the front parlor, I started to sit down and make myself comfortable. Remus, however, hesitated in the doorway.

"What's wrong?"

"I think I'm going to go out and try to find a copy of the Evening Prophet. See what's going on. Maybe contact someone from the Order and get their take on it."

"You'll be a while, then?" I'm accustomed to being alone when Remus is away on Order business, but while I have utter faith in my husband's wizarding skills, there's still a war raging and he's still a target. I'm not excessively fond of him being gone.

"Possibly. Look, why don't you get to bed early? You have to work in the morning."

"I might as well. It's not like I'll kill time by chatting up Snape."

"Now that would be an act of pure desperation," Remus chuckled.

"No kidding." I reached for my husband's hand. "This'll all be over soon, remember?"

"Right." He sighed audibly. "We'll be back in the flat. I just wish the rest of it was over: the war, Voldemort, all of that. I'm tired of it, Kailin. It's barely started, and I'm already tired of it. I want a normal life--well, as normal a life as I can have, given the circumstances. Children, a mortgage, holidays. The things people take for granted."

"I know."

Remus raised my hand to his lips and kissed it. "Get some sleep. I'll try not to be too long."

When I awoke early the next morning, it was to an empty bed. For a brief moment, I was seized by the sudden fear that something had happened to my husband. I ran to the bedroom door and threw it open, listening for some indication that Remus was about. It was with relief that I heard the banging of pots from the kitchen.

Unless, of course, it was Severus Snape, still usurping our living space.

I grabbed my robe and hurtled down the two flights of stairs, my concern for my husband outweighing the possible mortification of running into Snape while still clad in my dressing gown.

Remus was in the midst of lighting a burner on the evil stove, and he looked up in surprise at my abrupt entrance. "Good morning. Something wrong?"

"No," I said, heaving a sigh of relief. "I was just making sure it was you and not Snape down here."

Remus chuckled. He was dressed, I noted, but his hair was tousled from sleep and he still sported a day's growth of beard. "When I got back--it was around midnight, I think--he was already gone. Do you want breakfast first or a shower?"

"Shower," I said, and started back up the stairs at once. I showered quickly and donned my scrubs, and when I returned to the kitchen, there was a plate of scrambled eggs and sausages awaiting me.

I sat down at the table while Remus poured coffee into our cups. "So what did you find out last night?" I asked.

"Well," he began, taking his seat, "you know that people have been demanding Fudge's resignation ever since it was proven that Voldemort's back."

I nodded. I, too, had read the editorials in the Daily Prophet. The general consensus was that Cornelius Fudge was a bungling idiot whose incompetence had jeopardized the wizarding world for the better part of a year.

"On one hand," Remus continued, "booting him out of office is a good thing. But on the other hand, there hasn't been a favorite waiting in the wings. Everyone wants him replaced, but no one in their right mind would be after the job when it means tackling Voldemort and his bunch."

I knew that, too. Even the Order seemed to have no clear favorite candidate to endorse--not that they could openly endorse anybody, of course. "So what about this Bones woman?"

"Amelia's a good person, no doubt about it. But she's only taken on the position until a permanent replacement can be appointed. And that's one of the worst things that could happen."

"Think about it: if you were on Voldemort's side, which would you rather face: a solid, united front or a chaotic mess where no one wants to be in charge?"

"Good point," I said.

"I'm afraid that all the political posturing is just going to open the door for the wrong people to get into positions of power."

"Who are the wrong people?"

Remus took a sip of coffee and smiled wryly. "Anybody who's not on our side."

I thought about that while I finished my breakfast. Then a glance at my watch told me that time was running short, so I scooted back from the table and carried my dishes to the sink. Remus was rummaging in the pantry for something, and my mind was on collecting my coat and bag and heading off to work. As I turned towards the stairway, something under the table caught my eye. I bent down for a closer look.

It was a large, blackened iron spoon of some sort, evidently kicked into the shadows against one of the table legs. It seemed to be coated with a gooey substance of some sort, and I realized that it must have been part of Snape's potions paraphernalia from last night. Well, I thought, at least it hadn't drawn ants yet, although all it would take was one warm day and then they'd likely be out in force. Holding the spoon distastefully between thumb and forefinger, I carried it to the sink.

"What's that?" Remus asked, emerging from the pantry with a handful of potatoes.

"Something Snape left behind, I guess." I dropped it into the sink and turned on the faucet, just as I heard Remus shouting.

"Kailin! Wait!"

As soon as the water hit the gelatinous mass on the spoon, thick clouds of purple smoke billowed up in a rush towards the ceiling. I stumbled backwards, choking on the rancid fumes as the purple clouds spread out rapidly, seeking exit from the confines of the room.

Dropping the potatoes at once, Remus grabbed my arm and dragged me up the stairs. I coughed and gagged the entire way while my eyes began to water as if I'd been swimming in raw onions. When we reached the entrance hall, the curtains shrouding the portrait of Mrs. Black flew open and the usual caterwauling began.

"Damn it!" Remus seethed, pushing me towards the next flight of stairs. "Go on up!" he ordered. "Wash your face off with cold water. Lots of cold water!"

I turned back briefly. Remus was muttering various oaths about Snape's parentage while he wrestled with the drapes. It occurred to me that I'd heard him curse more in the past several weeks than in the entire time we'd been married.

"What was on that spoon?" I gasped.

"I'm not sure, but it obviously doesn't mix with water. Go wash your face. Now."

I didn't argue. I ran straight for the bathroom and splashed copious amounts of water on my face. It took several minutes for my eyes to stop streaming and burning, but finally I could see and breathe easily once more.

I expected to find the hall filled with the purple smoke, but there was none. When I passed the bedroom door, I discovered my husband throwing clothes from a bureau drawer into the bags we'd just unpacked from our weekend trip. I stared at him, wondering what bizarre turn my life was taking now.

"What are you doing?"

"Repacking. We're getting out of here."

"Why? Is that purple stuff toxic or something?" I envisioned my lungs being eaten up from the inside out.

"The gas has dissipated, but the house is going to stink for a good while, and if we stay here, everything we own is going to reek along with it. I tell you, Kailin, if I wasn't committed to the Order, I'd chuck the whole thing right now and Apparate us to the States. You'd like to visit your Grandad, wouldn't you?" Remus, usually the epitome of patience, had a dangerous glint in his eyes that I'd never seen before.

"You're joking, right?" I asked cautiously.

"Not by much. I've had it with this place and I'm not taking it anymore."

"What about work? Are we coming back here tonight?" I began yanking things from the hangers in the wardrobe and hastily tried to fold them, doing a less than tidy job of it.

"I'll meet you at the hospital when you get off," Remus said, "and no, we're not coming back here. I'll see what accommodations I can work out while you're gone today."

I rounded up our odds and ends from the bathroom while Remus opened all the bureau drawers and checked under the bed for stray belongings. An odor was starting to penetrate the upper floors of number twelve, a stink when went beyond repulsive. If I'd been asked to imagine the stench of a dozen rotting corpses, it might have come close to what now permeated the old Black house.

Three minutes later, we were closing the front door behind us.

"How are your eyes?" Remus questioned as we hurried down the block.

"Fine, I think." I stared at my husband as if seeing him for the first time today. "You didn't shave."

"I didn't exactly take the time for it," he said, finally flashing a smile.

"I'm really sorry," I said miserably. "I saw the spoon under the table and thought I should rinse it off."

"You did what anybody would have done, Kailin."

"Do you know what he was making?"

"No. The thing is, a number of potions react to water, so it's never safe to clean something until you know for certain what you're dealing with."

"What about the bags? Do you want me to take my suitcase along to the hospital?"

"No, I'll take care of it. Morning," Remus said to the garbage man picking a trash bin off the sidewalk and emptying it into his truck.

"'Morning." The man nodded to us, then, looking a bit startled as we went past, wrinkled his nose.

"Do you suppose we smell?" I muttered.

"There's probably a bit of odor clinging to our clothes."

"Great," I said gloomily. "It must be bad if the garbage man thinks so."

"On the brighter side," Remus pointed out, "you may end up with an entire bus all to yourself this morning."

But if there was any odor left by the time I boarded my bus, nobody seemed to think it was extraordinary. And no one at work appeared to notice anything, although I still couldn't get the smell out of my mind--or my nostrils.

The day was thankfully uneventful. When I left the hospital at three-thirty, I found Remus waiting by a lamppost. The sky had turned gray and the wind had a cold edge to it, and he looked as though he'd been waiting long enough to get thoroughly chilled.

"Hi," I told him. "Been here long?"

He kissed me briefly. "About five minutes. Nasty afternoon, isn't it?"

"I should say so." I pulled my coat more tightly around me. "Where are we going?"

"I've booked us a room at the Leaky Cauldron. Minerva McGonagall is going to meet us there, by the way."

"Minerva? Why?" It was unlike the stern professor to leave Hogwarts on a school night.

"She's going to bring me up to speed on what's going on."

We arrived at the Tube station in short order, and minutes later, were on a train headed for Charing Cross and the wizarding tavern. I'd been to the Leaky Cauldron on several occasions, but had never seen it as packed as it was tonight.

"Why is it so crowded?" I practically had to speak straight into Remus' ear in order to be heard.

"Spring Equinox," he told me as we fought our way to a table. "First day of spring."

"Oh. So it's a festival or something?" One thing I'd learned so far was that witches and wizards took their change of seasons quite seriously.

"An excuse to go out and get drunk, more like," Remus replied.

It certainly seemed so. The place was loud and boisterous, and looking around at the raucous crowd, I couldn't imagine how Remus and Minerva would be able to hold a quiet conversation. "How in the world can you talk in here? Wouldn't you rather meet in our room?"

"No one would suspect us of discussing anything of worth in all this noise. Frankly, I think it would attract more suspicion if we tried to chat quietly in a corner somewhere."

We'd been sitting for a few minutes, nursing our butterbeers, when Minerva McGonagall arrived. She stood regally in the doorway, scanning the crowd as if looking over a group of unruly students to determine who deserved a detention. Apparently I wasn't alone in thinking this; quite a few patrons of the Leaky Cauldron must have been taught by her in the past, because the noise level subsided almost instantly.

"Professor McGonagall!" One of the bartenders hurried to her side, eager to please. "How are you? Such a pleasure to see you again. What can I get for you?"

Her voice carried easily in the quieted room. "I'm meeting someone, Elliot. Have you seen--ah, there he is. Could you bring me a butterbeer, please?"

Minerva wove her way around the tables toward us with practiced air. In her wake, there were murmurs of "Hello, Professor McGonagall", "Nice to see you, Professor", "Hope things are well at Hogwarts, Professor".

"Hello, Minerva." Remus rose to his feet as she approached.

"Remus, Kailin. Good to see the both of you." She sat in the chair that Remus had pulled out for her, and the noise level rose once more.

"You certainly know how to make an entrance," I commented, smiling.

"Mercy, I do, don't I?" The woman arched an eyebrow. "I had no idea that I terrified that many people," she said calmly, shedding her outer cloak and draping it over the back of her chair. "Dreadful evening, isn't it? It's hard to believe that it's spring."

I sympathized. I hadn't yet removed my coat, but had settled for draping it over my shoulders. Not only was I chilled by the walk from the Tube station, the coat also disguised the fact that I was still clad in my hospital scrubs.

The bartender arrived at our table with a Butterbeer and made a great show of wiping off the bottle and opening it for her. "Here you go, Professor."

"Thank you, Elliot," Minerva said and, as the man moved away, muttered, "Lazy little Hufflepuff, never did apply himself..."

Remus and I exchanged grins. "Thanks for coming," he told her. "I appreciate it. I'm afraid I was rather out of touch the past few days."

"It was my fault," I put in. "We'd had it with the Black place, and I suggested that we spend the weekend at a hotel."

"Good for you," Minerva said briskly. "How are repairs going on your flat?"

"I've got my fingers crossed for the end of the week."

"Excellent. After all, you two need your privacy. So, Remus, how much do you know?"

"Just what I read in the Prophet this morning," Remus said quietly. "And I talked to Arabella last night."

"The move to depose Fudge didn't reach a head until yesterday morning, and then it all happened quite quickly. It wouldn't surprise me if a lot of people still don't know about it if they don't take the paper or listen to the wireless."

We drank our butterbeer and munched on the peanuts Elliot brought around. Minerva did most of the talking, interspersing banal chatter with developments Remus needed to know about. I quickly ceased worrying about being overheard. The crowd was in a celebratory mood, and anybody trying to listen in to what was being said at our table would have had to sit on McGonagall's lap to catch any snippets of conversation.

Remus and Minerva were still talking when I drained the last of my butterbeer. It was time, I decided, to find our room and change clothes. I was tired of wearing my coat in an effort to hide my Muggleness; the room was too warm for it. "If you'll excuse me for a few minutes," I said, climbing to me feet, "I'm going slip into something more comfortable. Remus, do you have the room key?"

"You're staying here?" Minerva asked, surprised.

"There was a bit of a problem with the ventilation at Grimmauld Place this morning," Remus told her as he handed me a skeleton key bearing the number five. "We had to make alternate plans."

"You should have said something. I have a cousin who lives in Kent, outside of Gravesend. She's out of the country right now, and her cottage is empty. You could have stayed there. I wish I'd thought of it when you were first put out of your flat. You could have stayed there instead of headquarters."

I groaned inwardly. A cottage in Kent sounded a lot nicer than number twelve, although the commute would have been horrendous.

"Believe me," I said, "the next time we're forced from our home, we'll give you a call."

"Just take the stairs in the hallway," Remus said to me, nodding toward the rear entrance to the pub.

"Great. I'll be right back." I squeezed through the crowd and into a wide corridor. There were several private dining rooms here, where the celebrations were much more subdued. A large fireplace at the far end of the hall erupted with green flames at regular intervals as new arrivals came to join the party. Meanwhile, a queue was forming for people who wanted to exit via the Floo.

I spotted the stairway and headed directly for it. It was amazing, I thought: I had no idea what was legally required in Britain, but in the States, there would need to be a handicapped accessible lift in order to comply with the law. Providing it was a Muggle establishment, of course. I grinned to myself, thinking how I'd started using Britishisms such as 'lift' instead of elevator. Next thing I knew, I'd be speaking with an accent and--

I collided directly with the man as soon as I stepped off the final stair. The impact sent me staggering backward a step, and strong hands reached to grab my shoulders.

"I'm dreadfully sorry," I began.

"In a hurry, are we?"

I caught my breath as I stared into steely gray eyes in a pale face, framed by long blond hair.

My brain works wonderfully fast in a medical emergency. I function on autopilot when a patient's heart stops, anticipating the orders flying from all directions as doctors try to resuscitate him or her. It's something on which I pride myself. However, give me a social situation where I am at a disadvantage in almost every possible way, and my mind draws the biggest blank you could ever hope to see. And that's what my brain was doing as I found myself looking into Lucius Malfoy's arrogantly aristocratic face. Maybe, I thought wildly, he wouldn't remember me from the brief encounter at Madam Malkin's.

That hope died when Malfoy's eyes lit with recognition. "Well, well," he drawled. "I believe we've met before."

"Excuse me?" I tried to play innocent, but already my heart was thumping so hard I could feel it.

"We've met before," he repeated silkily.

"Have we?" I managed, absolutely hating the fact that I'd been caught off-guard. We hadn't exactly met, and he knew it. He'd merely seen me in Madam Malkin's shop at Christmastime. Had, without saying a word, flat-out undressed me with his eyes from twelve feet away. Had made it quite clear what he wanted of me without even opening his mouth. I didn't even know his identity until I'd described him later to Remus.

"Diagon Alley, during the holidays."

"Oh, yes," was the best I could come up with, along with the faintest shred of a polite smile. "Nice to see you. Now if you could excuse me--"

"I assure you," Malfoy continued, not swayed by my attempted escape, "that I would never forget a woman as beautiful as yourself. I don't believe we were properly introduced. Lucius Malfoy."

I stared at the extended hand, knowing he expected me to take it and act grateful for the gesture, all the while thinking that it had been responsible for the deaths of Hermione Granger's parents. Finally, just before my hesitation turned into blatant rudeness, I tentatively took his hand.

The effort dislodged the coat draped over my shoulders, and it fell to the floor. Immediately, Malfoy played the gentleman and retrieved it for me. As he straightened up, his eyes raked over me, taking in the scrubs, the trainers, the hospital ID badge.

"What's this? Kailin... Lupin," Malfoy read, making the two words convey a sense of menace so great that I wanted to deny my own name. "You are... a Muggle?"

I was sure that he intended to wash his hand at the earliest opportunity. "I am," I answered pleasantly, as though he'd just bestowed a vast compliment upon me.

"I see." The lofty, superior smile tightened perceptibly. "Lupin... Where do I know... Ah, yes. The werewolf that Dumbledore inflicted upon those poor children at Hogwarts."

"Remus Lupin is my husband," I said, not knowing how much information to volunteer. This was a very powerful man, and saying the wrong thing could make matters much worse.

An eyebrow arched. "You're an American," he mused softly. "An American and a Muggle, married to a werewolf. What a fascinating combination."

"If you say so."

"So," Malfoy continued, "you are a Muggle, and yet as I recall, at Madam Malkin's you were dressed as a witch."

"It was a very pretty robe," I said in my own defense. "I thought I would try it on."

"Posing as a witch or wizard is illegal, Mrs. Lupin. Did you know that?"

"I was a customer, Mr. Malfoy. I wasn't posing as anything."

The gray eyes were studying me, calculating, plotting. Then Malfoy glanced down at my coat, which he still had not offered to me.

"Could I have my coat, please?" I asked nervously.

"Of course. Please," he held up a hand, "allow me." Malfoy held up the coat, obviously intending that I should take advantage of his assistance. I wasn't particularly happy about the idea. It meant turning my back on him.

"Thank you." My voice was barely above a whisper.

I turned away from him, and Malfoy lifted the garment slightly to ease it onto my shoulders.

Suddenly, strong hands gripped my upper arms and I was pulled back tightly against him. A voice whispered in my ear.

"You should be very careful, my dear. Associating with werewolves can be... deadly."