Chapter 31_ Mr. Wrong.

Saturday, July 15, 1995

Arabella and Remus dusted themselves off, and moved away from the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace. "Tom!" Arabella called brightly, spotting the old innkeeper and hurrying toward him.

Tom turned from watching Harry and the Wrights exit into muggle London, and graced the witch with one of his toothless grins. "Well as I live and breathe! Arabella Figg! It's been ages! Here, this table is free," Tom began, starting to usher her over, but Belle stopped him.

"We can't stay, Tom," she said with a slightly apologetic look on her face. "I was hoping I could get some take away."

Tom looked up and saw Remus Lupin standing slightly behind Arabella. "Sorry Remus, I didn't see you there."

"It's all right, Tom, I usually try to keep a low profile."

Tom nodded his understanding. A restrictive new law concerning werewolves had been passed by the ministry a couple of years ago. Tom, himself, was of two minds about it. On one hand, no one could deny that werewolves were frightfully dangerous creatures, and should be treated with extreme caution. On the other hand, great strides had been made in the study of lycanthropy in recent years. The Wolfsbane Potion, for example, was a triumph in that regard, and afforded some measure of control to those unfortunate enough to suffer the curse.

Tom squirmed inwardly, as he invited Remus and Arabella to follow him over to the bar so they could sit while he took their order. He had been friendly with Sirius Black and James Potter during their Hogwarts years and after, so he had gotten to know their friends as well. It always amazed him that they were so comfortable in the company of a werewolf. Especially after James married Lily, and Harry came along.

Tom remembered once when the Marauders had come to the Leaky Cauldron for dinner. Lupin had finished first, and was holding Harry so James and Lily could eat. Harry had seemed perfectly content, but Tom recalled having to squash a mad urge to snatch the baby out of the werewolf's arms, and scold the parents roundly for being so careless. It was a maddening dichotomy. He had grown to like Remus Lupin over the years, but evidently some prejudices were easier to overcome than others.

Remus and Arabella were seated now, and looking at him expectantly. Tom shook his head a little, then smiled at them. "Sorry. My mind wandered there for a minute. So, what can I get for you? The Shepherd's Pie has been very popular tonight," he offered.

Arabella glanced at Remus who shrugged amiably. Shepherd's Pie sounded fine to him. "That sounds fine, Tom. We'll take three orders, and six bottles of butterbeer," Mrs. Figg decided. "And that will be all unless you happen to have something that will do for breakfast."

"As a matter of fact, I have some lovely currant buns in the kitchen, but they're still rising. If it isn't too much trouble, you could nip 'round tomorrow."

Mrs. Figg smiled. "Yes, or I could just go shopping." At Tom's politely interested look she elaborated, "I've been away for the last couple of weeks, and desperately need to re-stock the pantry."

Tom chuckled. "Right, then," he said, disappearing into the kitchen.

The two sat in silence for a few minutes, waiting for Tom's return. Belle couldn't help but notice Remus seemed to be sniffling a little. Finally her curiosity got the better of her. "Catching a cold, Remus, or do you need a hanky?"

Lupin sniffed again, then blinked at her. "What? Oh. No. Sorry, I caught a scent that's awfully familiar, but I lost it..." Remus trailed off frowning, then shook his head. "There are to many smells in here-its confusing."

"I thought you keep a charm on your nose to block that out," Arabella said, lowering her voice so no one would overhear.

"I do right before the full moon. That's when the wolf traits are at their peak, but even then I don't completely cut off my sense of smell," Remus said with a shudder. "That would be about the same as going blind. I just tone it down to a more manageable level."

"But what about enhanced senses, and the unfair advantage the ministry was going on about?"

Remus sighed. "That's a very good example of the saying 'a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.' It's true that I'm stronger than the average person my size, my senses are sharper, and I tend to be able to pick up on others' moods. These are advantageous, yes, but what people fail to take into consideration, is my human form is nowhere near as efficient as my wolf shape.

"My sense of smell is enhanced, for example, but humans really do have a pathetic sense of smell as compared to other animals. I can identify scents, which is more than most can do, but its hard to process. Especially in an environment like this with the food, the smoke, people coming and going... Moony or Snuffles would be able to pick out the scent, identify it, determine its age, follow its trail if necessary." The werewolf tested the air again, then shook his head and shrugged dismissively. "It will come to me. This usually happens when I catch a whiff of someone I know that I haven't seen in a while."

Arabella nodded her understanding then the two settled into a comfortable silence. Smiling softly, Arabella looked around the Leaky Cauldron, reacquainting herself with its interior. It hadn't changed much since the last time she'd been in, but something seemed different. Actually, Belle noticed admiringly, the whole place was looking really nice. Rising from her seat, she turned in a slow circle, taking in the main dining area, and bar.

In the course of her inspection, her eyes fell on Tom's guest book, laying open, ready to be signed. Struck by an inspiration, she casually walked over to it. Witches and wizards often consulted the log to see if any of their friends were in the Alley, so no one would think her actions odd. A glance at the current page showed the guests from late June to the present-and Harry was not among them.

Remus arched an eyebrow when she returned to her seat. "Anything?" he asked hopefully.

Mrs. Figg shook her head, feeling stupid for even trying. "No. I just thought perhaps..." she trailed off and sighed. "The whole thing just infuriates me," she snapped bitterly.

"What's that dear?" Tom asked conversationally, returning with their order floating gracefully before him.

Lupin and Figg exchanged a glance. They had wondered if Harry had gone to Diagon Alley before leaving. If he had, the old innkeeper was sure to know about it. However, they were on strict orders to keep quiet until Voldemort made his move, and that made them reluctant to ask. They couldn't afford word getting around that Harry's muggle relatives had relocated. Not yet, at least. Besides, they could ask Harry personally in a couple of days-provided there was anything left after Albus, Sirius, and Molly finished with him.

Forcing a smile, Arabella waved an airy hand. "I'm having some difficulty with one of my muggle neighbors," she extemporized. "Quite annoying, really, not being able to hex them properly."

Tom smiled back at her. "Temper, temper, Mrs. Figg," he teased, before becoming more brisk and businesslike. "Here's your order," he said unnecessarily, as the neatly wrapped bundles landed on the bar. "Could I get you anything else? Treacle Pudding, perhaps?" he nudged, shamelessly tempting Remus, who he knew had a fondness for the dessert. He knew he'd been successful when the man's amber eyes lit up.

"How much?" Lupin asked, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a few coins.

"For you, three Sickles," Tom waved his wand, and an additional package which had been hovering behind his back joined the others on the bar. "I took the liberty of dishing it up when I filled the rest of your order," he grinned.

"You know me too well, Tom," the werewolf said sheepishly. "I'm not sure this is a good thing."

"Nonsense! It's good business, my boy, that's all," Tom assured him. "people notice when you make an effort to recall their names and likes and dislikes. It isn't that much trouble, and it gives the Cauldron an edge over some of the larger, fancier places."

Remus smiled, and sniffed the Shepherd's Pie and Treacle Pudding appreciatively. Turning, he slanted a mischievous look at his companion, and waggled his eyebrows. "Can we have dessert first Arabella? Please?"

Belle rolled her eyes in an eloquent "Why me" gesture, then smiled and shook her head fondly, as she and Remus counted out their payment. "By the way, Tom," she said, as she picked up the pudding and the butterbeer, "I love what you've done with the place."

"Ah, yes," Tom beamed proudly. "Well I can't take all the credit for that. I hired some help for the summer, and its been one of the best decisions I ever made."

Remus picked up the Shepherds Pie as they prepared to leave, then looked hopefully at Mrs. Figg. "Is that too much for you to carry, Arabella? I could carry some more," he offered, looking pointedly at the order of dessert.

Mrs. Figg gave him an ironic look. "I'm not daft or thick, Remus Lupin. If I let you anywhere near this pudding it will be gone before we get home."

"But we're apparating!"

"I'm sure you'd manage."

Remus balanced the food on his left hand, and put his right hand over his heart. "Arabella! You wound me!"

"No, I know you, and mind you don't drop that," Belle said with a wicked smile. "Goodbye, Tom. Thanks for everything."

"Goodbye, you two. Come again soon for a proper visit," Tom chided gently as the pair took their leave.

"We will, Tom," Arabella promised as she and Remus stepped through the door leading to Diagon Alley, and Apparated back to Little Whinging.

______

Severus Snape closed his eyes against the rush of wind and color as he clutched Voldemort's portkey in one hand, and a small case containing his notes, and an assortment of potions in the other. Vaguely, he wondered where he would land.

Albus had wanted to put a small tracking charm on him, but as usual Snape had refused. Now he wondered if he might have been a bit hasty. He had been in transit an awfully long time, and had no idea where he might end up. Voldemort had been known to portkey unsuspecting victims into all sorts of unpleasant places, with results both fatal and not. The Potions Master could still remember one unfortunate who's portkey had dumped him into an active volcano. The silly sot had been flash-fried before he even realized he was in danger.

Severus didn't think he was doomed to meet the same end. Not this trip anyway. Voldemort needed him to administer the memory potion and question Wormtail. Snape shuddered in spite of himself. If the dark wizard ever found out the extent of his duplicity, Voldemort would probably take obscene pleasure in sending him back to Albus one piece at a time. Snape quickly clamped off that train of thought. No, he wouldn't speculate. He would need his wits about him when he arrived at where ever he was going, and that certainly wouldn't happen if he reduced himself to babbling hysteria. It was enough to say that his death would not be easy, or quick.

Unless he took matters into his own hands, of course. No, if things got to that point he would die on his own terms. Since taking up the mantle of spy again, Severus had begun carrying a tiny vial of one of the deadliest poisons known to wizard kind. It was odorless, tasteless, nearly instantaneous, one small dose would do the job, and there was no known antidote. He hoped it wouldn't become necessary, but it was always best to be prepared.

The trip ended with characteristic suddenness. Snape felt his feet slam into the ground, and fought to keep his balance. Portkey travelers, more often than not, overbalanced when they arrived at their destination, and ended up sprawled on the ground in an ungainly heap. It might seem silly to some, but dignity was very important to the Potion Master.

When he regained his equilibrium, he looked around and found himself in a rather ramshackle cottage. Strange. He had expected to land at the manor house Voldemort had been using as headquarters, but no matter. Voldemort was sitting in a comfortable-looking chair by the fire, and Wormtail was squeezed into a corner, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

"Welcome, Severus," Voldemort said, his red eyes bright with anticipation.

Obediently, Snape knelt at his "master's" feet. "My lord," he replied simply.

"I trust your delay was justified," the dark wizard prodded, making the fine hairs on Severus's neck stand on end. "I do not appreciate being kept waiting."

"Yes, my lord. I had an opportunity to test the potion on another animagus."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at Snape's bowed head. "And you exploited this opportunity, I trust?"

"I observed the effects of the potion, and composed some questions that may be useful for getting the information you desire in the shortest possible time, Master."

"Ah, Severus, always the scholar," Voldemort said in a disappointed tone, lifting his wand in a threatening manner. "You had a witch or wizard helpless before you! Did it not occur to you to determine if they had any useful knowledge?"

Snape was sure his "master" was about two seconds from punishing him with the Cruciatus Curse. At times like this he missed Albus more than he could express. "It did, my lord, but I was in a meeting in the headmaster's office," he said hastily, hoping to deflect Voldemort's anger. "It came up completely by chance, due to a random twist of conversation. I could not question him as I wished with so many witnesses, and it would have taken even more time if I'd tried to get him alone."

Voldemort was silent for a time, obviously trying to find fault with what Snape reported. Finally, he lowered his wand, and laid it across his lap. "Very well, but know I expect better from you in the future. Rise, Severus. Let us begin."

"Yes, my lord," Snape replied, standing in a swirl of black robes, and smoothing his windblown hair. Turning to the other wizard in the room, he nodded curtly, "Wormtail."

Reluctantly, Peter Pettigrew came forward. "Snape," he responded in kind.

"May I transfigure some chairs, Master?" Snape remembered to ask, just as he had been about to Accio some pieces of firewood over for that purpose. At Voldemort's lofty wave of permission, he pointed his wand at the woodpile, and summoned three pieces of kindling over. Soon, he and Peter were seated in two rather utilitarian chairs with a sturdy table between them. He allowed himself a second to sneer at the memory of James Potter. Whatever else the man was, he was excellent at Transfiguration. He would have conjured up a furniture grouping that looked like it was taken straight from Buckingham Palace just to show that he could.

Bah! James Potter is the least of your worries, Severus. If you want to live through this war you'd do well to remember that. Snape counseled himself, reaching for his case, and lining up his potion bottles on the table.

"Drink this," he ordered without preamble, holding out a dose of the orange memory potion.

Peter gingerly took the vial and looked at it mistrustfully. His reaction was so similar to Black's, that Snape found himself fighting to keep a straight face. Even after all these years, the members of Potter's little gang still acted like they expected him to poison them given any opportunity.

Inwardly, Severus squirmed a little. Fifteen or twenty years ago their fears wouldn't have been groundless. He'd been an angry, misunderstood, and tormented youth. Given the chance, he would have force fed the lot of them the vilest poison he could find, and laughed while they died in agony.

"Are you waiting for any particular occasion, Wormtail," Voldemort asked impatiently, startling the two wizards at the table.

"I have no guarantees that this potion is safe, my lord. Snape has always hated me." Peter protested in an uncharacteristically bold manner. Rat's survival instinct, the potion master supposed, wondering not for the first time how Pettigrew had managed to befriend Black, Potter, and Lupin.

"Severus does not have permission to kill you," Voldemort said, dismissing Pettigrew's concerns, and interrupting Snape's musings. When Pettigrew still hesitated, he growled, "Although that could change."

The Dark Lord's threat was not lost on the former marauder. Peter grasped the vial in his new silver hand, and quickly drank the contents down.

Snape observed clinically as the potion began to take effect. Initially, Pettigrew closed his eyes, and swayed slightly in his seat as Black had done, but that's where the similarities ended. When Black had been firmly under the potion's power, his face had lit up with awe and wonder. Traces of anger, sadness, and regret could be seen occasionally, but on the whole he had been calm, as though he was comforted by the memories of his more carefree days. Perhaps he still had difficulty remembering the good times prior to the Potters' murder, and Azkaban.

Pettigrew by contrast, looked pained and regretful. Frowning, Snape watched warily as the other wizard broke into a cold sweat and began to shake his head and mutter denials. "Damn," he muttered furiously, even as his fingers automatically sought out a vial of Calming Potion. Why can't anything ever be easy? he snarled irritably, roughly prying Peter's clenched teeth apart, and pouring the potion down his throat.

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