The Cottage

Chapter 4: The Cottage

March 20, 1997

I jerked away from the strong hands and turned to face Lucius Malfoy, tugging the edges of my coat tightly in front of me. "Don't touch me," I snapped, teeth clenched.

Anger flitted briefly across Malfoy's face, followed by a smirk that told me I was less than nothing. "Do not think for one moment," he hissed, pressing closely toward me once more, "that Muggles or Muggle-lovers will be tolerated in our world when the Dark Lord comes to power."

Looking back now, I honestly don't know what possessed me. The urge to take the moral high ground comes to me at odd times, and this was definitely one of them.

"If I were you, Mr. Malfoy, I would look for a better group of friends. You and your bigoted acquaintances are nothing more than anachronisms whose time has come and gone. Now get out of my face," I snarled.

And with that, I pushed past Malfoy and marched back down the stairs. I wasn't about to go on to my room, since the last thing I wanted was for Lucius Malfoy to know that Remus and I were staying in room five. More than anything right now, I was desperate for the safety of my husband's company.

I've never been so happy to be in a huge a crowd in my life. By the time I reached our table, my heart was pounding and my legs were shaking.

"Back so soon? I thought you were going to –" Remus broke off in mid-sentence. "What's wrong?"

"Lucius Malfoy," I gasped, and virtually fell back into my seat. "He was upstairs and I ran right into him."

"Did he recognize you?"

"He not only recognized me, he saw my scrubs and my name tag, too. So now he knows my name, he knows that I'm a Muggle, and he knows where I work."

Remus frowned. "I don't like this at all."

"It gets worse," I said miserably. "I'm afraid I smarted off to him." Resisting the urge to kick myself, I told Minerva how Malfoy had unnerved me three months earlier in Madame Malkin's shop, then described the brief encounter upstairs. By the time I finished, Minerva was gazing at me with a mixture of shock and admiration. Remus looked merely stunned.

"What a brave thing to do," McGonagall said, her eyes shining. "Are you all right, my dear?"

"Just great," I said with a ghost of a smile. "I just told a Death Eater to get out of my face. What in the world was I thinking?"

Remus raised an eyebrow. "You're lucky he didn't hex you to Bristol and back."

It wasn't a comforting thought. "He wouldn't try anything, would he? After all, he'd have to dirty his hands with a nasty Muggle."

McGonagall opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated as though struggling with herself. She smiled and reached over to pat my arm. "I'm sure he has greater enemies with which to concern himself, Kailin."

It was some consolation, although I could envision my career going straight down the tubes as I fled from job to job, hospital to hospital, stalked by a vengeful Lucius Malfoy. "Tell me, is it true that it's illegal to pose as a witch or wizard?"

Remus frowned. "True, I believe. Why do you ask?"

My heart sank. "Malfoy hinted that when I tried on a robe in Madame Malkin's, I was posing as a witch."

McGonagall snorted. "Not likely. If you actually bought a robe and a wand and tried to pass yourself off as a witch in order to be employed in the wizarding world, you could be prosecuted. He was merely trying to frighten you."

"Well, it worked. The last thing he said was that 'associating with a werewolf could be deadly.'"

"Dragged me into it, did he?" Remus chuckled mirthlessly. "How nice of him."

Eventually, the conversation moved back towards issues of the Order, but my mind remained on Malfoy and what this latest encounter might mean. Remus kept his arm firmly around my shoulder, and although I tried to relax, it was a mostly useless endeavor.

Finally, Minerva rose to go. "I shouldn't be absent from supper," she said. "I'm afraid that would be rather noticeable, what with the inspectors about."

"I appreciate you taking an hour out of your busy schedule," Remus told her. "I know it was an inconvenience for you to come all the way to London."

McGonagall held up a hand. "Nonsense. I'm just glad you and Kailin had a nice few days away from everything."

Remus offered to see her off, and so we fought our way through the press of witches and wizards to the corridor beyond. I eyed the crowd uneasily the entire way, looking for the arrogant sneer, the long blonde hair. But Lucius Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

"We're safe here, aren't we?" I asked Remus. "In our room, I mean?"

"I should think so," he reassured me. "I can't imagine otherwise."

Minerva overheard us. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay at my sister's place?"

My eyes lit up, and I turned to Remus at once. "Could we?" I pleaded. "I know we're probably safe, but I really think I'd rather not be here anymore."

Remus looked a bit distressed, and I didn't blame him. Thanks to my big mouth, we'd have to uproot ourselves once more. Besides, being cowed by something is rather unusual for me, and he had never seen me uncertain and nervous like this. There was little else he could do but humor me.

"Well, yes, of course, Kailin."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Minerva gave us directions to Miranda McGonagall's cottage on Westwich Lane outside Gravesend, Kent, along with a spell to unlock the door, then took the Floo Network back to Hogwarts. Remus canceled our room at the Leaky Cauldron, and we headed out into the late afternoon.

* * *

It was a lengthy trip. First we had to get from Charing Cross to the train station with our bags, then endure an hour's ride to Gravesend. Once in Gravesend, we hailed a cab, and then spent the better part of an hour in the gathering dusk, hunting for a remote road. The cab driver was more than happy to dump us off in the dark middle of nowhere. We stood there in the chilly night, hungry, tired, and miserable.

I'd already realized that I had been foolish in insisting that we leave the Leaky Cauldron, that revelation occurring to me somewhere on the train ride to Kent. Remus was being terribly nice about it, considering. But now I had to contemplate getting back to London in the morning for work, and it wasn't a pleasant thought. God alone knew how I'd get back into Gravesend, what time the morning train left, or at what ungodly hour I'd have to get up in order to accomplish it all.

In short, I wanted to sit down in the middle of the road and die.

"Remember, we'll look back at this someday and laugh," Remus said carefully, apparently sensing that I was ready to explode.

My response was to burst into tears. It was that time of the month, on top of everything else.

Remus put down the suitcases and pulled me into his arms. I was pretty sure that this was one of those times when marriage vows about 'for better or worse' applied, and the thought that I'd dragged him into this fiasco made me feel even more wretched. To his credit, Remus didn't tell me to buck up or stop sniveling, but simply held me tightly, rocked me gently, and murmured soft reassurances in my ear.

"How could I have been so dumb as to smart off to Lucius Malfoy? And you could have told me how stupid I was being," I managed after several long minutes. "You should have said 'forget it, we're staying right here at the Leaky Cauldron!'"

"It doesn't matter, dearest. We're here. Let's find the cottage and get settled in, shall we?"

"But how do we know this is the right road?" I asked dubiously. There were no road signs, no indications that we were even in the correct spot.

"The sign," Remus said simply. "Look."

I looked up. There was indeed a road sign which read 'Westwich Lane', although I could have sworn it hadn't been there when we stepped out of the taxi.

"It wasn't there before," I blurted.

"It's Muggle-warded, just like the Leaky Cauldron," Remus told me as he released me from his arms.

Sure enough, the sign faded from view. I sighed.

"You people," I muttered, "can be absolutely infuriating at times, do you know that?"

Remus chuckled. "Just what we tend to say about Muggles." He hoisted the bags and started off.

In the one piece of luck we'd had all evening, the cottage was only a half-mile off the main road. It was small, constructed of stone, and if I had to guess by looks alone, probably held no more than four or five rooms.

Remus murmured the spell to unlock the front door, and we walked inside.

"Lumos," he said, and his wand-light illuminated what was evidently the parlor.

I looked around while Remus lit candles and set about starting a fire in the fireplace.

"Look at these," I said, eyeing a dozen pictures lining the fireplace mantle.

According to the photographs, Miranda McGonagall was the spitting image of her older sister. She was also a canine enthusiast, as evidenced by the fact that there was a different large dog in every picture.

This was borne out when we investigated the kitchen. There were a dozen large food and water bowls on the floor, empty now but lined up and waiting. Hefty leather leashes hung from pegs near the kitchen door, along with a variety of doggie bandanas and rain slickers. The kitchen door itself sported one of those flaps which allowed dogs free access to the outside. From the size of the flap as well as the rest of the gear, it was obvious that Miranda liked her puppies big.

"Well," said Remus, looking around at the assortment of canine accessories, "Minerva did say that Miranda was a bit dog-crazy."

"Surely she doesn't have all those dogs with her, does she?" Of course were the animals here right now, we would most certainly be on the bottom of a heap of slobbering, tail-wagging fur.

"I believe so."

"Out of the country? How?" I asked, astonished. "Aren't there quarantine laws and such?"

"Not for wizards. I mean, there are regulations regarding dangerous beasts, but not run of the mill house pets or familiars."

It figured. I wandered through the rest of the cottage, which turned out to consist of the parlor and dining room, one bedroom, and the kitchen and bath. It was smaller than our flat, and I wondered how one woman managed to share her living space with what must be an entire pack of dogs. A tickle made my nose quiver suddenly, and I erupted with a massive sneeze.

"Kailin." Remus appeared suddenly in the doorway, looking concerned. "Don't tell me that you're allergic to dogs."

"I'm not," I said. "I've never had a problem with animal allergies."

"Of course," Remus said, eyeing the sofa which was liberally covered with dog hair, "I doubt that you've stayed in a kennel before."

"Could be dust as well, if the place hasn't been lived in for a while."

We unpacked our bags while I sneezed and my nasal passages swelled to massive proportions. In the space of ten minutes, I was feeling miserable.

"I don't know what to do about tomorrow," I said dispiritedly. "I'll have to call in sick, I suppose – which is just as well, given that it'll probably take forever to get back into the city. I don't suppose you could just hang onto me and Apparate into London."

"Not safely," Remus said regretfully.

I sighed. "I think I'll go to bed."

"What about food? You haven't eaten anything. I found a block of cheese in the ice box."

"You go ahead. I'm not hungry." I went into the bedroom and started piling up pillows in Miranda's bed, certain that the only way I could sleep was sitting up. Remus came in moments later.

"What if," he said, "I Apparated into Gravesend and bought you something for your nose?"

I considered this. By this time, I would kill for a decongestant.

"Would you?" I said pleadingly. 'I'd really, really appreciate it."

"No problem. You know, maybe it would help if we opened some of these windows and aired the place out."

The two of us went from room to room, unlocking the windows and flinging them open. It was looking like I would have to choose between freezing and asphyxiation. Right now, freezing was the better option.

Remus regarded me sympathetically as he put his coat back on. "Tell me what you need," he said. "You mentioned a decon-something-or-another?"

"A decongestant." I named a few over the counter brands, then made sure that he had enough Muggle money.

Five minutes later, Remus was gone and I was under the covers.

* * *

I didn't expect to fall asleep, at least not before Remus returned, but somehow I did. I guess when you're tired enough, even little things like not breathing don't get in the way of dropping off.

I dreamed that I was shackled, standing in the middle of Diagon Alley while Lucius Malfoy denounced me as an impostor and demanded that I be killed. I begged him to see reason until I was blue in the face: I wasn't an impostor, I was Remus Lupin's wife, and I had every right to be in Diagon Alley with my husband. But it was too late; the crowd was jeering at me, even Remus' friends from the Order. Someone picked up a rock and threw it at me. I ducked, and the rock hit the wall of the building behind me with a resounding bang.

The bangs continued as I jolted into abrupt wakefulness. They weren't caused by rocks, I realized, but by the windows of the cottage slamming shut.

"Remus?" I called out. I'd evidently fallen asleep, and Remus must have returned and was now closing the windows. I could indeed breathe easier, but I'd still welcome whatever medicine he'd bought for me.

There was no answer.

"Remus?" I called again, louder this time.

Still no answer.

A feeling of sudden dread swept over me, and my mouth went instantly, completely dry. I forced myself to climb out of the bed, feeling my way in the blackness toward the bedroom door. I opened it, my heart pounding furiously.

"Remus?" It was more whimper than cry.

In a moment of instant clarity, I knew for a fact that I was in danger and that I had to get out of this house.

I stumbled into the parlor, not bothering to search for shoes or coat despite the fact that I was clad only in a tee-shirt and underwear. Escape was my priority. The remnants of a fire still burned in the fireplace, shedding scant amounts of light which made it easier to see. I reached the front door, turned the lock, and pulled.

The door didn't move.

Had I turned the lock in the wrong direction? At once I twisted it the opposite way, but again, the door didn't budge. Cold fingers of fear clutched at my stomach as I tried again and again, but with the results always the same.

I ran for the kitchen, back into the darkness once more. Feeling my way past the stove, I found the kitchen door and tried over and over to open it. But just as had been the case with the front door, the back door seemed sealed shut.

I was trapped.

The windows, then. Swallowing back imminent panic, I stumbled toward the kitchen window I'd seen earlier. And like the doors, the window remained as firmly closed as though it was nailed shut. I raced back to the bedroom, going from one window to the next, turning the window locks every which way with no luck at all.

And then I saw the glow from the parlor.

I opened the bedroom door once more: flames were everywhere, and I knew instantly that this was no accident. There had been a fireplace screen in place, and no hot coal had popped out to start the conflagration. I heard myself screaming then, a howl of frustration from the depths of my soul.

Maybe, I thought, just maybe I could break a window with one of the enormous, heavy dog bowls. It was a glimmer of hope, possibly the only one I had. At once I grabbed a sheet from the bed and used it to cover my mouth and nose before sprinting back into the kitchen. Smoke was spreading everywhere now and flames roared up behind me.

As soon as I reached the kitchen, I fell to my knees and fumbled around for one of the dog bowls. My hands closed around one of them almost at once. I stumbled to my feet, got a good grip on the bowl, and hurled it in the direction of the window. The bowl simply bounced off the glass, clattered to the floor, and shattered. I stared at the intact window, stunned. Picking up another bowl, and another, and another, I threw them each in turn at the glass, and still the glass remained unbroken, while the floor became covered with pottery shards.

I sank to the floor amidst the bowl remnants and screamed out in pure rage. This was a trap, set purposefully to guarantee that I would meet my death. An image of Lucius Malfoy's smirking face came to mind. Damn him! Somehow, some way, he'd overheard when we made the arrangements with Minerva.

I huddled on the floor and sobbed. I didn't want to burn to death. Burns were the most horrific injury the body could sustain, and I had seen the physical and psychological damage, the prolonged recovery. I prayed to God that I would die of smoke inhalation before the flames reached me.

Remus. What would happen to Remus? I couldn't imagine the depth of his grief when he would return to find the cottage in flames. We had an entire future ahead of us, and now it was gone. The list of things we would never have was long: our own home, children, growing old together... I'd wanted so badly to give Remus a son some day, a little one to rock and hold while we compared body parts and wondered whose nose, whose eyes, whose toes... Why, why, why? my mind screamed silently and endlessly.

And yet, I knew why. It was because I was a Muggle.

Crying, gasping, coughing, I lay on the floor and prayed for a miracle.

God, I didn't want to die.

And then I heard it. Why the simple sound of a dog barking penetrated my hysteria, I couldn't imagine. But it did, and I opened my eyes and lifted my head and saw my miracle, in the light of the approaching flames.

Smoke was lazily curling and moving, filtering outside around the edges of the dog flap.

The dog barked once more.

Was it possible that Lucius Malfoy didn't know anything about Muggle dog doors? I lunged toward it, and amazingly, astonishingly, it opened with no resistance whatsoever. I thanked God that Minerva's sister preferred big dogs and not toy poodles.

It was a tight squeeze, and almost immediately it felt like my skin was being peeled away. I pushed with my feet and pulled with my hands, grunting, tugging, doing all in my power to get through. It seemed like an eternity until my torso cleared the door. Finally, I dragged my legs out. I was through – barely, but through.

For a long moment I lay in the cold night, gulping in the fresh air as if it were the sweetest thing I'd ever tasted. Then I remembered that pyromaniacs (the Muggle ones, at least) were known to hang around to watch the results of their handiwork and that Malfoy might be watching me even now. He was probably arrogant enough to assume that his plan couldn't fail and didn't stick around to see the results, but I wasn't willing to take the chance. Empowered by a second wind, I struggled to my feet and ran away from the burning house as fast as I could.

I wanted to look back at the cottage, yet I was terrified that when I did I would see Malfoy in pursuit. Finally, curiosity got the better of me and I threw a quick glance over my shoulder. I could spot no one behind me, but what I did see made my blood run cold: shimmering in the sky above the burning house was the hideous green outline of a skull. I'd been involved with the wizarding world long enough to know exactly what that meant.

Eventually, my second wind deserted me. By that time, I was fumbling my way through woods with no idea how long I'd run or how far. I was gasping, breathless; I could barely feel my feet, which was just as well as they were probably cut and bloodied. Finally, a stray tree root tripped me up and I fell in a heap on the ground, a sharp pain streaking through my ankle. I had to keep going, I had to get farther away, but when I tried to get to my feet, exhaustion caught up with me. I fell back down and lay there, staring at the black maze of tree branches above me. A horrible thought struck me: I'd escaped one death trap only to face death from hypothermia.

Hysterical laughter welled up from deep within me and I was helpless to stop it. How could I have been so stupid? I curled into a ball to conserve body heat as best I could, but I began to shiver almost immediately. I had to stay awake, I reminded myself. Had to sing, recite poetry, talk to the trees, whatever it took to stay conscious. Had to stay awake, had to try...

Suddenly, I heard the dog barking again, furiously and quite nearby this time. Had it followed me? If Malfoy heard the commotion and discovered me, I was done for.

"No, please," I mumbled. "Don't bark. He'll hear. You don't understand. Don't bark..."

Suddenly there was another noise, that of a person crashing through the underbrush.

It was too late. Lucius Malfoy had found me. I closed my eyes and sank into an endless blackness.