There were many things about Level Nine of the Ministry of Magic that did not make sense.
The way the door that led into the Department of Mysteries kept changing its position every day; the way the floor and walls seemed to swallow all sounds, putting a restless sort of quiet over the place; the way every time you were on guard duty, there was a different smell permeating the air. Today it was all sharpness and spice, the smell that lingered in the air whenever a heavy storm drew up. It was a scent that spoke of secrets, of stories long forgotten, and of dangers, many people couldn’t fathom to dream of, even in their most horrifying nightmares.
You lowered your wand, the tip of which was glowing in a blueish white, and turned away from the door that led deeper into the department, to the Room of Revolving Doors and beyond to who knew where. You had never been inside - none of the Order members had - but there were rumours. Rumours of a room called “The Love Chamber” in which one could find eternal bliss, according to some, or the remains of dead bodies, which, if you touched them, turned into the person you loved most. There was something dangerous in dwelling too long and too often on what the Department of Mysteries kept hidden from the world. Unauthorized wizards and witches who became too obsessed with wanting to find out what laid behind that simple door often suffered some kind of brain injury that made them forget who they were. Somehow, the rooms - it - had a way of knowing who was too noisy and who wasn’t.
Some things, you thought, as you walked down the length of the corridor towards the lifts, are better left alone. You walked down the row of golden gates behind which were seven lifts. They were all abandoned now. No busy goblins or Ministry workers trying to cram themselves into a lift. No paper birds flying over your head, getting in on one level and out on another. It was quiet except, nothing was moving except for the light of the torches that cast ever-changing shadows on the walls, a hypnotising dance between light and dark.
Having reached the last lift to your left, you turned around again, retracing your steps from the last few hours. Digging in your cloak pocket, you pulled out your silver pocket watch and flipping open the metal cover that protected the crystal. 4.40 am. Another two hours until Kingsley would take over. You stifled a yawn and turned down the corridor, facing the door once again. The hallway wasn’t very long and in the course of the night you must have walked its entire length what felt like at least a hundred times but you couldn’t just sit . There was a chair right next to the door but it stood directly opposite the flight of stairs that led up to Level 10 but didn’t like sitting in front of an open hole that seemed to swallow all light. You knew that the Wizengamot Court Rooms were most certainly abandoned at this time of night, but something about the entranceway made you uneasy. For months, you had been trying to convince Fudge to shut the entrance, thereby making the lifts on Level Nine the only possibility to enter the Department of Mysteries but he wouldn’t listen. As of now, there was no way to access Level 10 other than taking a lift to Level 9 and then the stairs, something Harry and Arthur had done during Harry’s hearing this summer, but Fudge wouldn’t listen. He claimed that the accused would feel more intimidated if they had to pass by the door that led to the Department of Mysteries. Fool, you thought when you recalled your numerous disagreements. You had argued that the fewer people passed that way, the more protected and guarded the Department would be but the Minister wanted to have none of it. He had kept talking about tradition and how it had always been that way.
You sighed and couldn’t block out the memory of Sirius’s voice when he had asked you - whilst drugging you with Veritaserum - whether that was what you truly wanted. Under the influence of the serum, you had told him the truth, which had left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. Saying it out loud had changed something. Before that, you had never really actively thought about whether you were happy. Your job was demanding - which you liked - and being an Auror was what you always wanted but that dream had been born out of the fantasy of getting to live it with the Marauders and Lily at your side. You had spent so many afternoons that should have been devoted to studying, dreaming about the things you’d change once James, Sirius, and you were full Aurors. Overturning the werewolf bill, creating awareness for Muggle-born witches and wizards. That dream had been crushed within one single night and you had been left to struggle on alone, determined to make that once-upon-a-time dream a reality. If they could see me now, you thought bitterly. James and Lily would call you down-right stupid for continuing to honour their name by helping to uphold an institution as rigid and corrupted as the Ministry of Magic.
In the end, you decided to sit down anyway. You were just about to try and get more comfortable when there was a scraping sound coming from the staircase in front of you. You jumped up. “Lumos Maxima!” The tip of your wand flared up like a floodlight, illuminating the hallway and staircase. You slowly crept forwards, climbing the stairs one by one.
“Revelio”, you said, swiping your wand up and down, searching for something, anything. You tightened your grip on your wand. This isn’t the first time I’m hearing noises, you tried to calm yourself. Just because I heard something doesn’t mean a Death Eater is trying to break into the Ministry. But then again, Voldemort hadn’t hesitated to send his followers after an Unspeakable...
You had reached Level 10 and turned left, down the hallway where the courtroom lay. With a flick of your wand, you sent a ball of light up in the air. You furrowed your brows. You couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary. Everything seemed as it should be. Having reached the end of the floor, you turned around again. Perhaps it had only been… what, a rat?! It’s not like the Ministry of Magic has problems with rodents, you reminded yourself.
“Revelio”, you muttered one last time but nothing came to light. No hidden door. no Death Eaters, no Dark Mark. You heaved a small sigh of relief as you walked down the stairs. It had probably been your imagination playing tricks on your mind. Kingsley would be here soon and you would tell him about the incident, but right now there was nothing more to do. You leaned against the wall and closed your eyes, trying not to think of all the things that might lurk in the dark.
You jolted awake, roused by the rattling of one of the lifts.
“I hope you didn’t spend the whole night in this state”, said a warm, albeit firm voice.
You blinked. “I- err, no”, you stuttered at the sight of Kingsley Shacklebolt walking down the floor towards you. You straightened up, putting one hand against the wall. You must have fallen asleep, judging by the tenseness at your neck and back.
“I am sorry, Kingsley. I had no intention to take a nap.” The wizard made a reassuring motion. “Don’t take it too hard. This was your… fifth night shift in a row?” You nodded. “Well, only a few to go, am I right?” Kingsley surveyed the surroundings.
“Did anything happen that I should know about before taking over?”
“No- that means, yes”, you answered, suddenly remembering the strange noises you had heard during the night.
“There were… noises. Oh, don’t look at me like that”, you said, slightly annoyed at the look he gave you. “I can’t say what it was. I went to investigate, but nothing.”
“Well, thank you for informing me anyway”, he admitted.
You nodded. “No problem. See you, Kingsley.” You pocketed your wand and made your way to the lifts. You chose the one Kingsley had come down with. “Good morning”, you greeted the attendant who gave you a polite nod.
“Level Eight, please”, you asked him and the lift set into motion. You heaved a sigh, fighting the urge to let your eyes fall shut. The last few days had been… challenging. Even though you had promised Sirius to ask Fudge for a few days off to ‘ponder’ his offer, the Minister had only reluctantly agreed and had made you promise to work at least a few days more. That had meant you’d spent the last few days working at the Auror Office during the day and having guard duty overnight. The hours of sleep you had had during the last few days could probably be counted on ten fingers. Yesterday had finally been your last day at the office and now there were only a couple more night shifts to get over with, until you could finally, finally enjoy some rest. It wouldn’t be an eventful Christmas. Arthur and Molly would go back to the Burrow and their children, as well as Harry and Hermione, would join them over the holidays. There were plans for Sirius and you to join them on Boxing Day but that already concluded your holiday activities.
The lift stopped, the golden grilles opened and you were ready to step out into the vast hall of Level Eight, when someone stepped in front of you, barring your way.
“Level One”, said a cool voice. You looked up to find Lucius Malfoy giving you a once-over.
“Lucius”, you pressed out between gritted teeth. The last thing you needed now was a run-in with a Malfoy. “I need to get out here.” But the doors were already closing and the lift set into motion at a rapid pace. You threw a furious look towards the lift attendant, but the man in the livery just raised his shoulders as if to say that he was powerless.
“I’m surprised to see you here”, began the wizard as he smoothed the front of his robes.
“Could say the same about you”, you answered. “Surely, you can’t be so bored that you started working? Are you asking Fudge for a position?” Immediately, you reproached yourself for the tone you had taken. Lucius was probably on his way to visit the Minister and as of now, you hadn’t yet accepted Fudges’s proposition. It’d been a miracle in the first place that he had offered it to you, of all people, but you knew that Mad-Eye pretty much depended on you taking the job.
“It is astounding that you, of all, should prove to be so ungrateful, given that the Malfoys have long been contributing extensive sums to the Minister’s Office. Sums, from which your not insubstantial income is paid.” His gloved fingers curled around the snakehead that sat atop his cane. You slipped a hand inside your pocket, fingering your wand.
“But perhaps”, continued Lucius coolly, staring ahead, “it was simply too much to expect a display of gratitude from someone like you.” You clenched your jaw. Now was not the time to throw a fit.
“You would need a lot more money to bribe someone like me ”, you echoed with a grim smile.
“It is a pity that Cornelius wasted such an opportunity on you. Junior Assistant, my, my. The Ministry is really going to the dogs.”
The lift began to slow down.
“Then I am surprised to still see you coming here so frequently”, you said with raised eyebrows.
Lucius Malfoy didn’t take the bait. “Someone has to fix…”, and here he turned to give you a pointed look, “this.” He turned and stepped out of the lift without another word.
Seething, you turned to the attendant.
“Level Eight, please .”
You knew that the man wasn’t really at fault but you hated how he had automatically followed Lucius’s orders like a grovelling servant. How he had ignored you in favour of Malfoy’s wishes.
You let out an annoyed grunt. Tired, angry, and overworked, this morning had got off to a particularly bad start and you rolled your eyes at the thought that you couldn’t directly apparate to Grimmauld Place. On top of all that, worry had started gnawing at you. Lucius had made it sound like he didn't know you hadn't accepted the offer yet. Was it because Fudge hadn't told him or because Fudge had told everyone you were going to take the job? Was he on his way to talk Fudge out of it; to replace you with someone better? With someone willing to take Lucius' money, maybe.
You stepped out into the Atrium that was brimming with witches and wizards, goblins and reporters, Aurors and busy-looking officials. You paid no heed to the crowd, only intent on getting to the fireplaces that would take you home, and from there, to Number 12.
Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, you stepped into one of the black-bricked fireplaces. You closed your eyes, opened your hand, and said your home address loud and clearly.
Seconds later you stepped out of your own fireplace and into the living room of your apartment.
As you crossed the room and entered your bedroom, you noticed how clean, how sterile everything felt. And how silent. How the few days spent in the company of the Weasley's and Sirius had already changed you.
You opened the drawer and grabbed the sweater you had forgotten when you had moved your stuff over to Number 12. After a few seconds of contemplation, you also pocketed a pair of cozy socks and a book that had been lying unread on your nightstand for months now. An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, it said on the cover which depicted a sketch of a young witch and wizard dressed in school uniform. Maybe you would have time to read it over the holidays.
You threw a last glance at your room and your surroundings, then, with your sweater and socks stuffed safely inside your pockets, you closed your eyes, picturing Grimmauld Place number 11. The familiar feeling of being pulled apart and then put back together set in and a moment later you were standing in front of numbers 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place.
It was close to half-past seven in the morning but it was still dark outside. Only on the outer edges of the horizon could you perceive the faint turn in colour, from black to ink blue to faint plum. The air felt heavy and it smelled like it would snow very soon.
Fishing Dumbledore’s note with the address of number 12 out of your pocket - you wondered yet again how many he had written, given that all Order members needed one every time they wanted to enter the house - read it, set it alight with your wand and seconds later Grimmauld Place number 12 was emerging like out of nowhere, pushing numbers 11 and 13 aside as if demanding its rightful place. You hurried towards it, up the stairs. The only thing you wanted to do was sleep. You tapped the door with your wand, impatiently waiting for the whirring and clicking sounds to set it. The door creaked open. “Thank heaven”, you murmured and pushed it open, stepping into the perpetually gloomy hallway behind. The door shut close and you leaned against it with a sigh. Tipping your head back, you shut your eyes.
A creaking floorboard. A cough.
“Sirius”, you began with your eyes still closed. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“Long night?”, asked a voice.
Your eyes flew open. The gas lamps at the wall flared up and illuminated the person standing in the middle of the hallway, casting a glow of golden light on their face.
There were some people in this world who had a pull, a natural gravitas to them. They drew others to them, they shone with a brilliance that made people flock to them even in the darkest of times. Like a lighthouse, through wind and rain, they burned brighter than any other light. People like that, you had found, were indispensable to live life to the fullest. Those who returned to them would always find a safe haven. But sometimes, when you were too far out on the open sea, with a stormy sky overhead and a violent sea underneath, lighthouses - no matter how bright they shone - were of no use. That’s when you needed an anchor. Someone who helped you stay in one place when the current of life was getting too strong. A person who grounded you, who made you believe that any storm could pass.
Remus Lupin was such a person.
“I didn’t know you were back”, you said and hated your voice for sounding so fragile with surprise. Remus didn’t move, forcing you to step closer.
It had been more than a couple of months since you last saw him but he looked exactly the same. His light-brown hair that glowed amber in the light of the gas lamps was a bit unruly, as if he had raked his fingers through it, the flecks of grey hardly visible in the half-light. The scars dissecting his face seemed softer in the warm glow of the lamps. He looked relaxed, laid-back, in his grey cardigan and with his hands in the pockets of his trousers, though the circles underneath his eyes told a different story.
“I arrived last night.”
And maybe it was because you were tired and overworked, maybe it was because of the way Remus was standing there, seemingly careless, with a twinkle in his eyes and the corners of his mouth turned up; maybe it was all that but perhaps it was just the heaviness of your stomach that had accompanied you for too long now, but at that moment you didn’t care what it was.
You threw your arms around him. For a second, you feared he wouldn’t react. But he did. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, keeping you close. It was such a little gesture, such a mundane thing, an everyday display of affection between two people, but here, right now, it was neither too small nor too insignificant. It was just right. But it was over too soon and you couldn’t have said who had been the first to let go.
“Are you going to stay?”, you asked.
“For now.”
You didn’t try to hide your smile.
“The others are in the kitchen”, said Remus and nodded towards the stairs. “Molly is making breakfast.” You suddenly realised how hungry you were. “Breakfast sounds amazing”, you said and followed Remus to the bottom of the steps and through a door leading into the basement kitchen.
It was a cavernous room with rough stone walls. Though hardly welcoming, Mrs. Weasley and Sirius had tried everything to make it more appealing. A tiny Christmas tree had been erected in one corner. Next to the heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the ceiling hung boughs of holly and some Christmas stockings. Candles had been placed on the long, wooden table that stood in the middle of the room. A fire was merrily burning in the fireplace and the whole room smelled deliciously of muffins, jam, and pancakes.
“There you are”, howled Sirius. He sat with his back to the fireplace, in front of him a plate piled high with bacon, toast, scrambled eggs, and scones.
“I was wondering what took you so long.”
“Sirius, I swear by your mother’s portrait, if I weren’t so tired…”
“Sit”, said Mrs. Weasley as she hurried toward you. “What can I get you? You look famished.” You heaved a grateful sigh and sat down on a chair next to Arthur.
“Thank you, Molly. Pancakes would be marvelous.” The witch beamed and after patting your shoulder, pulled out her wand and hurried over to the fire.
“With or without chocolate chips?”, she asked from over her shoulder.
“Without”, you and Remus said in unison.
And just like that, you were back in the kitchens in Hogwarts. Just you and Remus, messing around, making fresh pancakes on Christmas Day while outside the snow was painting the world grey and white.
You felt your ears growing hot. Sirius’s only reaction was a pair of raised eyebrows but before he could say anything, Arthur turned to you. “How was your night? Did anyone try to break into the Department of Mysteries?” He wiggled his eyebrows and despite the seriousness of the situation you had to laugh but you stopped yourself when you were reminded of this morning's run-in with Lucius Malfoy. “Not exactly”, you moaned and buried your head in your hands, the smile wiped from your face by the memory of Lucius Malfoy and his god-awful walkingstick.
“Guard duty was pretty unexciting but I ran into Lucius on my way back.”
Sirius made a retching sound.
“Thank you, Sirius”, said Remus, “for illustrating your disgust so clearly.”
Sirius shrugged. “He’s a piece of sh-”
“Here are your pancakes, dearie”, interrupted Molly and placed a plate piled high with pancakes in front of you.
“Thank you, Molly, you’re a star.” You reached for the bottle of maple syrup and proceeded to drown your pancakes in the sticky liquid.
“What did he want?”, asked Arthur, looking at you over the rim of his wired spectacles.
“Intimidate me”, you said in-between bites. “Reminding me that it was his money that fills the Ministry’s pockets.”
“He’s a bully”, came Remus’s remark from your left. “Always has been.”
“And his only business was to tell you how much he disliked you?”
“Of course, not”, you glared at Sirius. “Though he seemed to really enjoy it.
No”, you continued. “I believe he was meeting with Fudge.”
“So early in the morning?” Arthur furrowed his brow.
You put your knife and fork aside. “He talked about trying to convince Fudge he had made a mistake in offering me the job.”
“You were offered a job?”, asked Remus.
“Oh, right, we haven’t told him yet”, teased Sirius.
You turned to Remus. “Fudge has offered me the position of Junior Assistant.”
“Oh”, was all Remus said. His voice sounded flat.
“That’s highly unusual for an Auror, being offered this position, is it not?”
You wrinkled your nose. Not quite the reaction you had expected.
“I haven’t said ‘yes’ yet”, you said haltingly.
“But Alastor wants her to”, said Molly proudly.
“It’s too great an opportunity for the Order to let it slip”, Arthur added.
Remus only attempted a half-smile.
The conversation turned to other matters - who would inform Dumbledore about the meeting between Lucius and Malfoy? - but you couldn’t help replaying the face Remus made when you had told him about the proposition.
It was decided that Sirius was going to inform Dumbledore of the meeting, even though you could have done so yourself but you suspected that Molly and Arthur were anxious to give Sirius something to do, no matter how small. You knew he was too proud to ask, but it was clear from his effusive, sometimes excessively exuberant manner, that the house arrest wasn’t doing him any good.
You yawned and took a look at the clocks hanging on the opposite wall. Arthur followed your gaze.
One of them was the Weasley clock, its nine golden hands telling the whereabouts of every member of the family. Molly’s and Arthur’s hands pointed to ‘travelling’. Apparently, the clock knew that it wasn’t in the Burrow any longer. The one with Percy’s name on it pointed to ‘work’, while the other six hands all pointed to ‘school’. It was great for knowing exactly where each Weasley was at any given time but it was utterly useless for telling the time. That’s why Sirius had put up a smaller, ordinary watch that now told you it was a quarter past eight. You rolled your eyes and got up.
“Molly, thank you so much for breakfast but I better go to bed now. I have another long night ahead of me.”
“About that”, said Mr. Weasley and motioned for you to sit down again.
“How about I cover for you tonight?”
“What? Arthur, no, it’s not your turn!”
“I know, I know, but”, he touched Molly’s hand she had put on his shoulder. “Molly and I will only stay for another two days until we go back to the Burrow and we thought, with Remus being here and all, that you three wanted to spend your first evening together.”
“I am not sure”, you began, “that’s-”
“Take it as an early Christmas present”, Molly warmly said.
You thought about what it would mean. No having to leave the house tonight. Staying up until late, reminiscing with Remus and Sirius; maybe finally getting to read that book you had brought with you.
“That-, that means a lot to me. Thank you, Arthur”, you beamed and drew the man into a hug.
“Are you sure Kingsley is going to be alright? I know it took him weeks to finalize the rota.”
“I’ll handle it”, said Arthur with a wink. “After all, it’s been quiet for so long now, what’s going to happen?”
“Thank you”, you said again, still a bit taken aback by the kindness Arthur and Molly had shown you.
“It’s nothing”, said Arthur.
“No”, you said earnestly. “You’re giving your free time away, Arthur. For me. That is everything.” You hugged him again.
“But now I really got to go to bed”, you said with a laugh.
Sirius stood up as well and walked around the table to give you a nudge.
“Sleep well. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
“Very original, thanks, Padfoot”, you said and reached up to tousle his hair. You turned around to face Remus and saw a pained expression cross his face before it disappeared again and he smiled at you encouragingly.
“Sleep well”.
“Yeah, thank you”, you muttered, slightly irritated.
You mounted the stairs, then turned right down the corridor. Even though you knew you didn’t have to be quiet anymore - thanks to Remus’ idea to put the hallway under a spell - you automatically slowed your pace to tip-toe past the long, moth-eaten curtains behind which Sirius’s mother lay in waiting. You skirted past the severed troll’s leg and started up
another set of stairs, past the heads of Kreacher’s ancestors. Your room was on the far end of the second floor. You pushed the door open and entered.
“Colloportus.” The door sealed itself. Sirius had advised you to seal the door every time you entered or left the room to prevent Kreacher from snooping around. You pointed your wand at the curtains to draw them close.
Kicking your shoes off, you hastily unbuttoned your trousers and threw your clothes in a heap on the floor. You crawled into bed, huffing at how cold the bedsheets were, and fell into a deep sleep within minutes.