Snape was busily dumping a large quantity of slimy somethings into a great black cauldron, and Aurellia did not even want to guess at what the somethings were. The whole room reeked of whatever was simmering over the fire, but at least it was marginally warm in Snape's domain for once.

"Yes, I mind!" Snape snapped acidly. "I'm busy. Come back later."

"How much later?" Aurellia wondered, her excitement fading into puzzlement. He sure seemed grouchy tonight! She had thought that he might be pleased that their two-week "grounding" had finally been lifted.

"Hmm...how about in a millenium or two? That should be long enough," Snape said coldly, not even looking up from his work.

Apparently he was not. Aurellia's face fell with disappointment. She had hoped to surprise Snape with his early Christmas present, but it sure looked like he wasn't in the mood for surprises tonight.

"What are you making?" Aurellia asked lamely, hoping to get a conversation going and thereby eventually find out whether he was still mad about the grudge match, the Defense position, or the duel, or whether it was some other bone he was gnawing on tonight.

"Elf repellant," Snape replied caustically without looking up. "Apparently it isn't strong enough either," he continued, stirring his brew and pointedly ignoring Aurellia's presence.

If the odor in the air weren't already bad enough to make Aurellia's eyes water, Snape's nastiness was more than doing the job. Angry, hurt, and frustrated, Aurellia thought seriously about turning on her heel and marching back up the long stairwells, and never setting foot in the dungeons and lower floors of Hogwarts again. And maybe Hagrid would appreciate her surprise since Snape would probably just ignore the owl and mistreat it until it died from neglect.

But Aurellia was not one to leave without venting her feelings in at least one parting shot. "Do you know what your problem is, you troll-headed jerk?" she asked waspishly.

"Yes, you," came the curt reply.

"Hardly!" the elf retorted. "I came down here to offer you an olive branch, to try to make peace now that our two weeks are up and I'm out of the infirmary. I thought that this would be an opportune time to start over and maybe get it right this time, since the last time we talked you seemed to be willing to make peace. I thought since it's almost Christmas that you would be willing to make an effort to be civil and to forget the grudge match and our differences for once.

"Obviously I was wrong. Now that I'm back on my feet and in no danger of keeling over dead at any moment, you've gone back to being rude and hostile as usual, I see."

Snape said nothing, just kept stirring. He didn't even look her way.

But Aurellia wasn't done. With hurt and frustration in her voice she remarked, "You deliberately picked out the foulest recipe in your little collection of wizard cookbooks because you thought I might be coming down here tonight, didn't you?"

No reply.

Aurellia continued with even more hurt in her voice, "The least you could do would be to tell me why you're trying so hard to drive me away. I would think that you at least owe me that much!"

Still no reply.

"Fine Snape. Have it your way. I'm through trying to talk to you. Voldemort can carve you up and put you in a canning jar for all I care." And with that she turned on her heel and stomped out, carrying the owl cage in front of her now and shedding silent tears.

I'm a terrible Watcher, she thought. And he's just plain hopeless. Maybe after I tell Dumbledore about this latest snub he will finally admit to the futility of this whole Watching charade and release me from my Watcher's Vow. I'm sick of trying to work with him.

Aurellia had not gone more than fifteen or twenty paces down the hallway lost in thought when she began to get the unnerving feeling that someone was watching her. Now who on earth would be down here besides her at this time of the night? Filch, she decided, turning to look down the dark hallway behind her.

But it wasn't Filch. It was Snape.

He had followed her out of the room and into the hallway. And he was just standing there in the dim torchlight staring with the strangest expression on his face. He almost looked like he wanted to say that he was sorry, but someone had jinxed his tongue and he couldn't speak.

"What?" Aurellia asked testily. "Did you finally manage to stink yourself out of your own office? Serves you right."

Snape said nothing, merely continued to stare with that same torn look. It occurred to Aurellia that other than the night of the duel, when he was relieved that he hadn't killed her, Snape never seemed to have a kind thing to say to anyone. Even with his pet students the best he could manage was saccharine flattery and the putting down of others. Maybe his problem was that he was having trouble breaking out of an old and very well-established routine ... a routine that guaranteed a certain brand of lonely security and comfortable isolation.

"You could start by saying you're sorry for being such a jerk," Aurellia prompted coolly.

"I hate this time of year," Snape said quietly. "I much prefer Halloween ... but I guess there must be a holiday for everyone ... even idealistic dreamers."

Aurellia narrowed her eyes at the Potions master. "You sure have a funny way of apologizing," she said frowning.

"If I accept that owl that you have been trying so hard to hide from me--yes I know all about it because Hagrid has a big mouth--then there will be no turning back. I will be ... indebted, ensnared, trapped. Aure ... Miss Deveroux, I don't want to go down this road again. There is too much pain at the end of it. The last time..." he trailed off into silence, his thoughts seeming to carry him very far away.

"You monster! You beast! I hate you! And I hate Dumbledore too for not telling me! I never want to see you again...."

"Lily, wait..."

SLAM!

"The last time you got burned? Is that it?" Aurellia asked, her tone softening just a little with sympathy, now that she was finally getting past the nastiness to the cause of it.

Snape replied with a bitter sneer, "Burned?" He sniffed. "Ohhh, there was plenty of that too, and I gave as good as I took, I suppose. I am quite capable of thoroughly incinerating things when I put my mind to it. But 'burned' does not even begin to describe what happened the last time I cared ... about anything."

"What happened to make you so bitter?" Aurellia asked quietly, coming back down the hallway, closing the distance between herself and her rival.

"What happened...?" Snape repeated quietly, and just for a moment he was in another time, another place, seventeen years ago....

"Hello James and Lily, my good and dear ... friends. Quite a party you have going on here, I see."

Snape pulled back the hood of his black cloak and strode purposefully across the dance floor through the throng of merry celebrants. There were cries of recognition and fear as the crowd parted and drew back from his black gaze of fury.

"The old Hogwarts gang is all here now, I see. Although I seem to be the only one who ... misplaced my invitation...." Snape waved his wand and the lights flickered and dimmed. "That's more like it!" he sneered.

The music faltered and stopped as the band members stared in fear. The entire atmosphere in the room had taken a sudden turn from carefree and cheerful to tense and threatening.

And in the midst of all this, Lily looked more delicate and radiant than ever in her white wedding gown and cape. And there were flowers in her hair, pink and white roses, and baby's breath, and a few multi-hued snapdragons that had been de-flamed for the occasion. The snapdragons all stared venomously at Snape with glares that matched Lily's ugly expression of disgust and revulsion.

James Potter's face darkened like a developing thunderhead as he stepped in front of his bride to shield her, and he smoothly drew his wand from beneath the elegant folds of his fine navy dress robe. "You've got a lot of nerve showing up here uninvited, Severus. I don't know how you managed to get past the Aurors, Watchers and foe-glasses, but if you don't turn around and leave now, you're going to wish that you had never come here."

Snape cackled a little insanely. "Are you threatening me, Potter?" he asked with a sneer. "What will you do if I refuse to leave, hmmm?" He waved his wand again and hissed a few words, and balloons burst and streamers fell from their moorings to the shiny, polished wooden floor.

Sirius and Remus drew their wands, pushed through the crowd, and closed ranks behind Snape, cutting off his escape. Peter drew up behind the Potters and nervously fingered his wand.

Snape heard their footsteps, the swish of their robes, felt their hatred coming at him from all directions. He laughed again and his eyes glittered with malice. "Four wands to one? That's hardly fair, Potter. But then, you always did like having all the advantages, didn't you? Life has always been disgustingly kind and generous to you ... but do you care about those you've trampled on your way to the top?" Snape snorted bitterly. "No, of course not, oh blessed and valiant defender of the world against the terrible dark wizards for whom life has never had anything but scorn and reproach. You are too busy partying and having a good time with the spoils of your victory!"

"You're drunk!" Potter said with disgust, lowering the wand slightly. "Go home and sleep it off you crazy fool, before you embarrass yourself any more than you already have."

"Go away, Severus," Lily said pleadingly. "Please. Just go."

"No!" Snape roared, "I am not going anywhere until I've said what I came here to say!"

Sirius raised his wand behind Snape's back, took aim....

"Sirius, no! Don't do it!" Lily shrieked.

Snape whirled, wand raised. "Crucio!" he hissed, and Sirius toppled in a heap of twitching, gasping agony.

Snape cackled again as he lifted the spell. He held out the wand threateningly and turned in a slow, tipsy circle. "Anyone else want a taste of my new wand?" he invited with a menacing purr and a curled lip.

James' face was a mask of fury as he pointed his wand straight at Snape.

"Expelliarmus!" he snapped.

Snape's wand flew out of his hand and he stumbled back a few steps at the force of Potter's spell. Lupin quickly snuck up behind the disarmed wizard and threw him into a headlock. "Where'd you learn that spell, Snape?" he whispered. "Have you been taking lessons from You-Know-Who?"

Sirius slowly and painfully got to his feet and wobbled over to face Snape, his expression black with rage. "I could have you thrown into Azkaban for that, you snake."

He pulled back a fist and viciously punched Snape in the nose, and blood trickled down onto the captive wizard's lips.

"But you know, that was somehow more satisfying than throwing you to the Dementors," Sirius remarked, dusting his hands theatrically.

Lily made a strangled choking sound and turned away, gagging. The blood on Snape's face reminded her too much of a horrible memory....

Lupin continued to hold his captive with a painfully tight grip around his throat as Snape struggled in vain to break free. It was early evening. And it was almost time for Lupin's transformation ... in two nights, he would be camping out in the Shrieking Shack, or wherever he went to now when there was a full moon. Physically, he and Snape were currently evenly matched, and Snape was in a distinctly disadvantageous position.

Potter stalked over and stared Snape straight in the face, eyeball to eyeball. "Now you listen to me, you creep, and you listen good. I saved your life once because I felt sorry for you and because I didn't want innocent blood on my hands. But I'm sick of your venomous tongue, your snotty attitude, your malicious little pranks, and your constant interference in other peoples' business. I have no more charity left for you, and I'm out of patience after this latest stunt. I want you out of my life now and for good. I mean it, Snape. If you ever, and I mean ever, pull something like this again, you're going to be leaving the party feet-first. I won't hold back next time."

He looked at Lupin, cocked his head and said somberly, "Let him go."

The werewolf reluctantly nodded and complied. Sirius, Lupin and Potter kept Snape covered with their wands just in case he got any foolish ideas about retribution for the physical violence.

Snape looked at the ground and stuck a sable sleeve over his face to wipe away some of the blood. His nose was still bleeding, but not quite as heavily as a moment ago. Through the curtain of ebony hair now hanging over his face he shot Sirius a murderous glare out of the tops of his obsidian eyes. "I never forget an injury," he said coldly, in a voice barely above a whisper. Then his eyes turned to Potter, who was watching him cautiously. "And I never forget an insult."

Potter fingered his wand, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. "I think you had better leave now, Severus, and you had better see to it that you also never forget a warning," he said coldly. "I'll send an owl to take your wand to you in a few hours, after you've had some time to sober up and simmer down. Remember what I said. Next time I see you, I won't be holding back."

"I also never forget a favor," Snape whispered, and his eyes glittered strangely.

He took one last quick glance around the room and every eye returned his glare with unfettered malice, except for Lily Potter who had until this day been Lily Evans. She was crying softly on Pettigrew's shoulder and did not once look up to watch Snape's dejected exit.

"I hate you Potter, more than I've ever hated anyone in my life," Snape snarled over his shoulder as he slouched off to the nearest exit.

"I hate you because I can't kill you...."

"What happened..." Snape repeated bitterly as the memory faded, "is that I let myself get entangled a little too thoroughly. And then she left and found someone else ... who had more to offer. And then...she died. And so did I."

"How long ago was this?" Aurellia wondered, thinking it wiser than asking for a name, at least for now.

"Years ago," Snape replied evasively. Then he suddenly changed subjects. "I need an owl," he said flatly. "I have been getting by without one, but it would be...convenient having my own. If I accept this owl, and I won't decide on that until I have seen him, you will understand that this changes nothing between us?"

“I was hoping for at least a peaceful end to the grudge match and a cessation of open hostility, and if that's the best I can get from you then I'll take it," Aurellia said, wrinkling her nose as the odor of Snape's brewing potion was beginning to drift out into the hallway.

Snape jumped like he'd been stung by a billywig and ran back into the room. "Oh, now look at the trouble you have caused, you annoying little house-elf! It's burning!"

Aurellia followed him back into the office and cast a Purgare Ventus to clear the air a bit. "Why don't you use a self-stirring cauldron? Surely you of all wizards have one!"

Snape quickly put out the fire with his wand and tried to salvage his foul-odored potion, but from the expression on his face it was already too late. "Oh yes, I had one. Until the Weasley twins destroyed it with their little prank. The one I ordered to replace it still hasn't been delivered, shipments have been slow lately. But I would not waste a self stirring cauldron on this particular potion, even if I had one."

"So what was it, really?" Aurellia asked, trying very hard not to crack even the faintest hint of a grin.

"Gnome repellant. Guaranteed to eat through even the finest cauldrons within three batches or less. There has not been a cauldron invented that gnome repellant won't destroy."

"Ah," said Aurellia. "Must be pretty potent stuff."

"Hagrid requested that I make some because he's been having trouble with them sneaking in and raiding the orchards."

"Mhhmmm," Aurellia replied, setting the owl cage on Snape's desk. "In December?"

"Oh, I have to start making it now in order to stock up enough for spring."

Snape's timing seemed just a little too convenient for her to be convinced, but Aurellia decided to let the matter drop without further comment. "Well, maybe it'll still work even if it's a little burnt. And if it doesn't work on the gnomes, then maybe the Weasleys can find some use for it."

"Hmmm... I wonder if it would work on Weasleys. There might be a lucrative market among certain quarters of the wizarding world for this potion if it does.... Perhaps you will help me with the legal aspects of patenting my new invention, Weasley Twin Repellant."

"Gladly," Aurellia agreed with a grin. "I'll even help you distribute it. Now, are you going to come over here and meet Mister Owl, or are you going to keep fooling with that ultra-dungbomb potion all night?"

"First," Snape announced, stalking over to the desk and putting a reluctant hand on the cage cover, "this had better not be an Elf owl, or it's going straight back."

Aurellia made a ha-ha-very-amusing face and then said, "If you don't want him, Hagrid said he would be glad to take him."

Snape lifted the cover from the cage and peered through the silver bars. Piercing yellow eyes peered back out of a gray-feathered face. "Hmm..." the Potions master said, seizing up the owl with a quick, interested glance, "a Great Gray Owl. Good. A breed known for fearlessness and fierce hunting skills." He raised a finger to the bars right in front of the owl's face, and the owl tried to bite him from between the bars.

Aurellia was totally mortified, and she scolded the owl for trying to bite the hand that was, maybe, going to be feeding it, but Snape only chuckled with amusement.

"I like this owl," he announced, much to Aurellia's amazement. "He has pride, this one. Look how he holds himself and turns his head to watch my finger, and without so much as blinking. Not a thing is going to get past this one unless he lets it. And he is not about to let the bars of his cage discourage him from putting on a delightful show of aggression."

Aurellia put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. How true the old wizarding saying seemed to be in this case, she thought. Like owner like owl. Well, she had had a feeling about this owl in the store when it had tried to bite even her. Cranky, unfriendly, and untameable, she had thought, but intelligent, proud, aloof. It was just as she had suspected. This one had Severus Snape written all over it.

"I think I will call you Venator," Snape was saying to the owl. "What do you think, my feathery new familiar? Do you think that you will live up to the name?"

"What's Venator?" Aurellia asked, "Or should I ask who?"

"Oh," Snape replied, turning an amused half-grin toward Aurellia. "It is Latin. It means hunter."

"Aren't all owls hunters?" Aurellia queried, thinking that Snape's new owl ought to have no problems whatsoever living up to its name.

"Oh yes," Snape agreed while engaging in a staring match with his new pet. "But there are hunters, and then there are venators. This owl is definitely the latter. We understand each other he and I."

Aurellia shook her head and shrugged. "It took me almost half a year to get the slightest bit of civility out of you, Snape," she remarked jokingly. "But you and this owl are best chums in less than five minutes. Maybe I should have tried to bite your finger on the day I met you and then we could have avoided that whole mort-de-kai thing."

"If you had been an owl, you would have tried to bite my finger too, I think," Snape observed. "But only if I had let you get close enough to bite me. As it was, we had quite a staring match going, as I remember. And you were as unflinching and as unyielding as Venator is. If you were an animagus, I'll bet you would be an owl."

"And if you were an animagus, you would transform into either a dragon or a moat monster."

"So, this is how you propose to make peace, is it? You bring me a gift, and then you insult me. Hmm ... shall I thank you or permanently banish you from my office?"

"A simple thank you will do for now, Snape. And an agreement. No more grudge match. Clean slate from now on, OK?"

"Very well. Agreed. And since you have insisted, thank you."

"Handshake?"

Snape looked uncomfortable for a moment. "No, not tonight. First I wish to make sure that the owl won't tear my hand off at the wrist and eat it before I decide to keep him permanently. Perhaps we will shake on the agreement later...if I still have a hand left to shake with."

Aurellia chuckled. Snape sure was touchy about being touched, she thought, just like that owl. Venator had practically tried to take her hand off when she'd tried to pet him. Yes, it must be fate, she thought, watching as Snape went back to murmuring something inaudible to his new owl. Those two were meant for each other.

"I'm glad you like him," she said with a smile as she turned to leave.

"I think he will make an excellent Venator. You have chosen remarkably well for someone who knows so little about ... about the wizarding world. I wonder if you know more than you pretend about owls and hunters."

"Call it elven intuition," Aurellia decided, waving. "Goodnight Snape and Venator. Try not to kill each other before Christmas, okay?"

"Do you want to know something, my feathery friend?" Snape said to the owl after Aurellia left and headed back to her domain. The owl did not answer, merely swiveled his head toward the doorway and then back toward his new master. "Hmm... maybe I do not need to tell you. You are an intelligent owl aren't you, Venator? You already know, don't you? You know that we are both doomed, you and I."

****

The next evening, Aurellia tentatively walked on the smooth sidewalks along Briar Rose Court in Harrow. Her packages and luggage had been magically lightened so they were no difficulty for her to carry. But far heavier than any suitcase, any package, were the troubles in her heart, the swirling thoughts and feelings in her mind.

A London black cab slowed down and swerved toward the curb as she walked, but she waved the driver on, nearly dropping several packages in the process. Despite the fact that her hands and arms were loaded with lightened luggage, Aurellia was in no hurry to get to her destination. Aurellia had purposely asked an earlier cab driver to drop her off several blocks from her parent’s home so that she could think as she walked. But her plan hadn’t worked as she had hoped. For with only one block to go, Aurellia still had no idea what she would tell them.

The air was frozen into an almost tangible stillness. The dusting of snow underfoot crunched softly under Aurellia's black loafers and her breath rose in small white puffs of vapor. The Defense teacher couldn't surpress a slight shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature. Her father…her father would be furious if he ever learned the truth, about magic and the wizarding world, about Aurellia’s true occupation, about the fact that wizards had been manipulating Muggles for years without their knowledge or consent….

Before she knew it, her slow but steady pace took her just outside of a large Tudor-style manor. A few lights on the lower floor were turned on, but Aurellia didn't see a Christmas tree or any other decorations inside. The Deverouxs had never been much for decorating for the holidays, but they had always had a small tree or wreath in past years.

Aurellia swallowed hard and opened the wrought-iron gate surrounding the house with a Mindcast "Alohamora" spell. Nearby a dog barked in a neighbor’s yard -- she knew it couldn't have been in the Deverouxs’ yard because her father detested dogs. Especially since his run-in with "Snuffles," Aurellia thought with an inward smile.

The Defense teacher's hands were shaking visibly as she pushed the buzzer with a blue-gloved hand. There were a few seconds of silence, then the sound of heavy footfalls on the oak floor. Her father's footsteps.

Justice Jeorges Deveroux opened the door and stood in the entry, surprise momentarily robbing him of speech. He was a tall, imposing man about 6 foot 3 inches in height, with black hair that was only beginning to gray at the temples. He was broad-shouldered and very strong from his days in the military and his own strict schedule of exercise. His piercing gray eyes seemed to be able to stare through a person right to their core, and he used that eagle-eyed glare quite frequently from his vantage point in the courtroom when seizing up barristers and their clients. It was rather disconcerting, Aurellia decided, to have that penetrating, courtroom glare turned on her with such intensity.

Aurellia stood at the doorway, the handles of two large suitcases looped around each arm and her arms loaded with a small duffel bag and another bag filled almost to overflowing with wrapped gifts. The elf was keenly aware that ordinarily, her father would have laughed or at least smiled at the sight of his daughter so loaded down with parcels, with her face peering out through a narrow space between two festively wrapped boxes.

But there was no laughter. Jeorges Deveroux only stared at Aurellia with a mixed look of shock, bewilderment and amazement.

"Happy Christmas, Dad," Aurellia greeted as cheerily as she could, despite the fact that she was feeling rather uncomfortable and off-balance.

"Jeorges, who is it?" Aurellia heard her mother call from the kitchen. The elf caught a whiff of Christmas biscuits, no doubt generously covered with white and green icing and red sprinkles. Most likely they were destined for the annual courthouse after-hours holiday party.

Justice Deveroux did not return the greeting. He shook his head mutely, as if in disbelief of what he was seeing.

"Can I come in, Dad?" Aurellia asked, a bit crestfallen. She hadn't been sure what to expect, coming home after such a long absence, but this strange silence was so unlike her father; she didn't know what to make of it. What on earth had Remus told him?

The elder Deveroux mechanically moved to one side, as if he were still not convinced that he was quite awake. Aurellia trundled herself and her burdens into the well-lit foyer, and stamped the snow and water from her shoes.

"I would have been here earlier, except you know how the holiday traffic gets," Aurellia explained with forced lightness. "It took me nearly an hour and a half to get from Kings Cross to here. I picked up a couple things for you and mum, hope you like...."

"Aurellia," Jeorges cut in, finally finding his tongue at last. But his voice was soft, completely unlike his usual thundering baritone. "Where in God's name have you been?"

"Aurellia?" Marie Deveroux asked as she walked into the room, a similar, questioning look in her somber brown eyes. She was petite, with soft brown and gray hair that hung to her shoulders. Marie, as Aurellia had suspected, was indeed baking, as evidenced by the flour-covered red apron that she wore over her brown skirt and creme-colored turtleneck.

"But I ... didn't you get my letters?" Aurellia evaded with feigned innocence. She began unburdening herself, setting the suitcases on the floor and the gifts on the tall stand before her.

Jeorges' expression darkened. "Oh yes, we received letters. From that worthless bum Luk called his friend," he said bitterly.

"Those were my letters," Aurellia affirmed. "Written by my own hand, and I know this without having to look at them, because I trust Remus...."

"A trust that has been misplaced," Jeorges snapped.

"He lied to us, Aurellia," Marie said, her tone hurt, confused. "He lied about what happened to you, what happened...."

"He didn't lie! He...he panicked," Aurellia protested with some heat. "Remus had just found Luk and I, er, injured, and he...simply panicked."

"A man with nothing to hide has no reason to panic!" Jeorges roared out like a wounded bear. "What happened that day? I want the whole truth, not some cock and bull story! And why did you suddenly leave and drop out of sight for six months without telling us goodbye? And why...?"

Aurellia covered her face with her hands. This was going to be even harder than she had feared! Yes, Remus did have something to hide, but it wasn't about him. It was about her! He had been trying to keep her safe, trying to keep her secret.

Marie put a hand on her husband's shoulder, and he stopped in mid-tirade.

"Aurellia," she said mildly, in a somewhat strained voice. "You must be hungry. I just finished making a roast, and it will be no trouble to set a third place at the table."

Aurellia nodded silently, and began to lower her hands.

"How ... how long were you planning to stay in town?” Marie continued, while keeping a restraining hand on Jeorges’ shoulder. “Did you want to stay with us for the holidays? We still have your old room ready for you. We turned it into a guest room, but we don't have any guests right now. You can stay as long as you like."

"Thanks mum, I'd like that," Aurellia replied softly. She wiped a hand across her eyes. "I was hoping to stay through Christmas, but I need to get back to my job before New Year's."

"I'll get your bags," Jeorges decided, all the fight leaving him.

Aurellia followed her father in silence up to her old room, carrying her light duffle bag while Jeorges carried the two suitcases. The sound of their footsteps on the stairs seemed overly loud, Aurellia thought as they walked up the stairs, turned right then turned into the first room on the left. It was strange, Aurellia reflected, not to have to remember to watch out for the trick steps and shifting staircases she had grown accustomed to at Hogwarts. Nor to listen for the bell announcing the end of classes, followed by the thundering sounds of hundreds of pairs of student feet.

Much of the furnishing was just as Aurellia remembered it from her college years, but it now had the feel of a fancy hotel room: very fine, very clean, with its cherrywood four-poster bed and matching nightstand, dresser and vanity. But the room was missing something. It lacked any personal touches beyond the expected flowers in the vase on the dresser and a couple of Thomas Kinkade prints in plain black frames on the creme-colored walls. It lacked the cheery glow of Hogwarts' fireplaces, the fragrance of her miniature lilacs, the soft, burbling music of her indoor fountain, the almost indescribable feeling of magic and wonder in the atmosphere....

But this was her home for 14 years, before she had moved in with Luk and Remus! Yet nothing was the same. Nothing fit anymore.

Jeorges laid the suitcases on the floor next to the bed, and Aurellia tossed the duffel on top of the dresser. They proceeded to walk out of the room.

"I'm right glad I fixed the sink and shower in the spare bath," Jeorges announced with forced levity. "I can't imagine trying to share a bathroom with two women."

Aurellia chuckled as expected, but like the joke, it was strained. They proceeded in silence to the dining room area, where Marie was finishing the table settings.

The room itself was a large, stone great room trimmed with walnut paneling. A mounted blue marlin dominated the area over the fireplace, and various deer, elk and moose heads jutted out from the panelled walls. These were her father's trophies, for he had been fond of hunting in his younger days. He hadn't gone hunting in nearly 20 years, however, unless one counted the occasional fishing trips with co-workers or friends, Aurellia reflected.

Silently, the three of them took their seats around the round walnut table and passed the plates around. Aurellia was conscious of her father staring at her the entire time with a mixed look of hurt and anger. How can I tell him? thought Aurellia. How on earth am I going to break the news to him that I am not human, and that I teach at a wizarding school, and that magic is as real as the air we breathe?

"So," Marie said, breaking the palpable silence. "You found another job? Where at again?"

"In Scotland," Aurellia replied. "Near Whitehaven. It's a private school, I'm a teacher there. I very much enjoyed teaching when I was in the States." So far, so good.

"What are you teaching?" Jeorges asked in a low voice.

"I'm teaching law to pre-university and first-year university students," Aurellia replied. This was not entirely a lie. She had been teaching the students a bit about wizarding laws along with the regular Defense course material. "At Helmer Dugan Law Academy." That was 100 percent lie, of course. But how could she ever explain a place like Hogwarts to her mundane, earth-bound father? She was fervently hoping her cheeks weren't as red as they felt.

"I've never heard of this school," Jeorges said flatly.

"It's pretty new," Aurellia elaborated quickly. "It was only established a few years ago and hasn't made a name for itself yet. We...er...focus mostly on enrichment courses and alternative law. Because of my studies in the States, I teach two courses on American law and how it differs from British law."

"Alternative law," Jeorges said skeptically, his piercing gaze never leaving his daughter's face.

Dragon eggs, werewolf codes of conduct, Apparating licenses, restricted and illegal Potions, magical pet registration...you have no idea how alternative, Aurellia thought.

"I really enjoy teaching," Aurellia said. "I've...always liked teaching, and I ... I was getting disillusioned with my job as a barrister. I didn't tell you that I wanted to quit my job because I was afraid you would be disappointed with me, and you would try to talk me out of it." Please, oh please buy it....

"I am not disappointed that you've decided to change careers," Jeorges said quietly. "I knew you fancied teaching, and I ... I suspected that you would not be happy as a barrister."

Aurellia stared at her father incredulously. "You ... you suspected...?"

Jeorges gave his daughter a sad smile. "When you came to me at 16 and said you wanted to go into law, it took everything in my power, every ounce of self-control that I possessed, to keep from talking you out of it, for you wanted to pursue law for many of the same reasons I did when I was your age. You wanted to change the world, defend the helpless, put the criminals in jail, right wrongs and all that rubbish. You have found, obviously, that the world of law is a tangled web of politics, intrigue and wheeling and dealing, and I knew you would be disappointed. If you've found a job teaching, and you are happy, I am happy for you. But," and here Jeorges' voice turned hard again. "That doesn't explain why we weren't told about you being in a hospital, much less which hospital! About why you couldn't tell us more of your new job months ago. And why in God's name no one has given us a straight answer about Luk!"

Aurellia closed her eyes. "I... I honestly don't remember a lot about that day. I just remember waking up in the hospital, with Remus there, and him telling me that it wasn't just a bad dream after all, that it really happened. That Luk was dead. That it was all real...."

"What was real?" Jeorges pressed.

"It's very hard to explain," Aurellia whispered. "I'm not sure...."

But if you want my sage advice, I would tell them the truth.

Easier said than done, Albus, Aurellia thought with an inward wince.

"You aren't sure what?" Jeorges prompted, the anger of earlier returning.

"I don't think you would understand, and I don't think now is the right time to try to explain," Aurellia said. "Just remember that Remus didn't try to harm you or me and that he was doing what he felt was best. Please don't be angry for his initial misleading, for he was hiding something, something I had told him in confidence."

Aurellia wasn't sure what to expect from her father or mother. An explosion of temper? More questions? A tirade about Remus? But she did not expect the look of bitter resignation on her father's face, the disappointment in his features. Her mother's face was inscrutable.

"Dad," Aurellia said to break the silence. "If ... if you were disgusted with the field of law, why did you continue in it? Why didn't you change careers?"

Jeorges smiled, again that sad, twisted smile. "Because it was expected of me to make something of myself, to make all that money for schooling pay off, to rise through the ranks, to retire wealthy, accomplished, and important. My father would not have it any other way, and I wanted to please him even more than I wanted to pursue my dreams. So I did what I was expected to do. I learned to live in the real world. I learned to make sacrifices, and to wheel and deal and intrigue along with the rest. And now that I have finally achieved my father's goal, I have found that it has become mine as well." He looked at Marie and placed his hand on top of hers. "And I suppose that I can say that I am as happy as I could ever have expected to be. And I wouldn't change my decisions for the world, not even to undo the disappointments, because I gained something very precious in return.

"However... I have come to realize many things in this past year," Jeorges continued, his voice taking on a husky tone. "One is that my priorities haven't always been where they should have been. I have decided to retire from the bench, Aurellia. I am stepping down in the spring. Your mother is retiring as well."

If her father's earlier candidness startled Aurellia, it was nothing compared to this news. Her fork and knife slipped from her hands, and they clattered against the white, scalloped plate.

"You are retiring?" Aurellia repeated numbly. "But you love your job! And you've always said that you never knew what you would do with your time when you were forced to retire!"

"I know what I said," Jeorges replied quietly. "But lately I've come to realize that maybe I should have loved other things more, should have invested my time more wisely. I am 68 years old, Aurellia, and I have to ask myself, what have I done in my life? What are my awards and trophies, investments and bank accounts really worth to me? And what will they be worth when I am gone?"

"Dad, you aren't that old, and you are in better health then most men half your age," Aurellia said uneasily.

Jeorges laughed bitterly. "They say that you are only as old as you feel, and if that is so, then I am much older than you think I am. And furthermore, these past several months have aged me considerably. For the first time in my life, Aurellia, I feel old. I want to take advantage of what time I have left by spending more time with my family. And I want to get to know my daughter better. I know I'm long overdue in that department, and I want to change that. Aurellia, you have been my daughter now for 16 years, yet I feel I scarcely know you any better now than when you were 8, when you first came home with us."

Aurellia closed her eyes and looked down. Dad, she thought. You have no idea what you are saying. And your timing is dreadful. When she opened her eyes again and went to pick up her fork, she noticed her hands were visibly shaking.

"I ... bought one of those recreational vehicles," Jeorges finally said to break the heavy silence. "I wanted to do some traveling when your mother retires in the summer, and I thought ... if you can get some time off from your new job, perhaps you can join us? We never ... never spent much time together as a family."

"I don't think I can, dad," Aurellia replied quickly, perhaps too quickly. "You know how the first year goes. You don't get much vacation time, and they keep you busy learning new things, and I know this summer...." Yes, this summer, we may be at war. "I don't think I'll be able to get away for a while."

Jeorges' features fell, and his eyes clouded with pain. "I understand, Aurellia," he stated quietly. "I see that I have waited too long to get involved, and now it is too late. I have lost both you and Luk. Yes, I understand all too well." He rose from the table, threw his napkin on the plate and marched out of the room.

Marie stared at her daughter in sorrow.

"Aurellia," she said tentitavely. Aurellia looked up. "I'm ... I'm glad you came, even if ...." Marie broke off. She got up from the table and started to clear the dishes.

"Mom, here, let me help," Aurellia said as she, too, rose.

"No, no," Marie replied as she picked up Aurellia's now empty plate. "I've got it, there isn't much." She looked at her daughter again and raised her hand, as if to brush away Aurellia's tears. Then she quickly lowered her hand and looked away, as if embarrassed. Marie picked up the remaining plates and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Aurellia alone with her thoughts.


****

Marie later found Jeorges exactly where she thought she would find him: seated on a stool in their attached garage, polishing and waxing the new recreational vehicle.

She stared silently at her husband for several minutes, wishing for what felt like the hundredth time that she could go back in time and regain the man she once knew – the bold, idealistic dreamer that she had first fallen in love with.

Marie still loved her husband, more than anyone else in the world. But the years had changed him so much….

She would never forget the first time they met. She was 18 and walking home with friends from a local girls’ finishing school, where she was learning to type, file and assume the role of a proper lady. He was 22, and managed to attract her attention by throwing a pebble into their path about four feet in front of them. She had looked up to see the most mischevious gray eyes twinkling at her. The young Jeorges then doffed his cap, made a mock bow and introduced himself. Her friends were a bit alarmed by his rather raggamuffin appearance, but Marie remembered only being amused. From then on, he made a game of trying to catch her eye every afternoon when she was walking home. He followed her further and further until one day they actually reached her house.

Of course, Marie’s parents at first wanted nothing to do with Jeorges. While the upper middle class Deveroux family was considered nominally good enough to associate with the rich, aristrocratic Bourquins, Jeorges himself was considered a scapegrace. He had hung out with some mostly-lower class hoodlums in his later school years until they were all arrested for throwing cherry bombs into empty stores. Jeorges, on pain of being disowned, stopped hanging around with them and received nothing more than a stern reprimand from the sitting justice due to some quick talking from Jeorges’ father and Reverand Harper, who also was a close family friend. The rest of Jeorges’ former associates hadn’t been so lucky – they were sentenced to two weeks’ community service.

Then the Korean conflict emerged and Jeorges, anxious to prove himself to the Bourquins, enlisted in the army. He served in Korea for two years in the Duke of Wellington’s Regiment, where he advanced to the rank of Colonel. He was honorably discharged after being badly wounded in the Third Battle for the Hook in May 1953, two months before the end of the war. He returned home with the Queen’s Korea Medal – honor enough for the Bourquins to allow him to openly associate with Marie, although they were still very strict about where they went and how much time they spent together. The idea of marriage was still out of the question.

Once he had healed, Jeorges decided to become a barrister, partly to impress her parents and partly to help the cause of true justice. While overseas, he told her, he realized it was wrong that his former friends had received stiffer penalties and he got off – only because he was upper class.

Then, he had fire, the strong urge to change the inequities he had seen in the halls of justice, Marie reflected sadly. But as the years went by, she saw that instead of Jeorges changing the institution, the institution changed him. It chipped away at his beliefs, his spirit, his dream until he became another well-oiled cog in the political machine. Even before her parents had consented to their marriage after he became a solicitor, she could see the slow change, but by then, she loved him deeply. Two years later, he received his barrister’s license, and the transformation from Jeorges the Crusader to Jeorges the Bitterly Compliant was almost complete. Marie sometimes suspected that Jeorges ran for and became judge not because of a burning desire – although even then he felt there was still some hope that he could do good – but because it was expected. Of course, he would have denied emphatically that he was unhappy with his job, but Marie noticed he talked about his work like he talked about his two years in Korea: discussing the general benefits, but never offering details. Not that she would have ever questioned his decisions. Marie knew instinctively she had nothing to fear from her husband, for he had never lain a hand on her out of anger and never would. But her parents had taught her to never question her husband, keep a clean house and never become emotional, for such nonsense served no purpose.

Marie always thought it strange that she would pick someone as extroverted as Jeorges, who thought the Bourquin’s unwritten laws about keeping a constant stiff-upper-lip and not bucking the system were complete nonsense. Still more ironic, Marie thought, was that Jeorges had come to do just that.

Adopting Luk and Aurellia had brought some of that old spark back – at first, Marie remembered. It had been the most impulsive thing he had ever done, and she was taken aback at first, but she went along with it. It was what her husband wanted to do, and it wasn’t her place to question it. She learned to become fond of the two, who were little trouble in their early years. In fact, they had seemed content to raise themselves – or were they? Marie wondered about this now, and knew it tormented her husband. Should they have tried to be more involved? They would never know, now.

Marie sighed and shook her head.

"I don't think your new toy will get any cleaner, Jeorges," she said in an attempt to lighten the mood. "How many cans of wax have you used?"

Jeorges, however, would not be cheered. He dropped his polishing rag and stared listlessly at the finely burnished side of the dark blue and silver vehicle.

"It's not fair, Marie," Jeorges complained. "I've been visited by the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future, but unlike Ebeneezer Scrooge, I will not wake up tomorrow with everything right again. No matter how much I want to change the past, to make amends, my son will still be gone and my daughter will remain a beautiful, intelligent stranger. Second chances can only be found in fanciful tales and storybooks. I was a fool to expect a miracle."

Marie went over and softly put a hand on her husband's shoulder, and Jeorges covered it with his own hand.

"Where did I go wrong?" Jeorges said. "Was I such a horrible father that my own daughter can't talk to me, tell me the truth? What is she so afraid of? What is she hiding, and why? Marie, was I a fool eighteen years ago? Did I do the right thing for the wrong reasons?"

"Do you regret adopting Luk and Aurellia?" Marie asked in surprise.

"No," Jeorges said quickly. "I don't. At least, not for my sake. But was it the right thing for them? I always wondered why, after years of not having children of our own and deciding to remain childless, why I was compelled to adopt them, and I can't find a concrete answer. It was as if a spell had been cast on me when I saw those two in the orphanage."

"Perhaps there is no concrete explanation," Marie said. "Maybe that was your miracle that just moments ago you said didn't exist."

Jeorges laughed harshly. "Yes, and I've made a right muck-up of my one chance, haven't I?" Jeorges stood up and dropped his hand from Marie's. "But what is she hiding? Has that no-good, skinny, pan-handling rotter gotten her into some sort of trouble? Is she involved in something, or knows something, and is trying to protect him? Is that why she made up that cock and bull story about that Helmet Digger or whatever-it-was-called Academy? Because I have the feeling that it doesn't even exist! And what I would really like to know more than anything else is this: was that low-life Remus Lupin responsible in some way for what happened to my son?"

"You know what Aurellia and Remus have both said," Marie said.

"Well, I don't believe it!" Jeorges shouted, rising to his feet. The stool he had been sitting on fell over with a clatter. "I can't believe it. Luk had no reason...no reason...." he dropped his head into his hands. Marie hugged Jeorges and they stood silently together.

"The last few times we were together," Jeorges whispered. "The last few times, we exchanged some harsh words, mostly over that blasted Lupin. Luk was always so naive, so trusting. Never could talk any sense into him. He always wanted to believe people can change. But they never do. They never do."

A few more moments of silence passed, with Jeorges still hiding his face in his hands and Marie hugging him closely. Tears flowed freely from her eyes now, but she made no sound.

Jeorges finally looked up. "I don't like that Lupin, and I don't care what Aurellia says. There's something about him that doesn't add up. He's too bright, too intelligent. He could really go places if he would just apply himself and stop being such a mooch and a hypochondriac. What's he hiding? What's his game? Shifty-eyed, cagey, quiet observers like him are always up to something. I'd just like to know what…."

"Jeorges," Marie interrupted quietly. "Why do you hate him so? Maybe the poor man is only a victim of circumstance as Aurellia says."

"He didn't even have the decency to attend the funeral!" Jeorges said venemously. "Didn't have the nerve to come to Luk's wake! I know that for whatever reason you were fond of the boy, but even you have to admit, that is inexcusable for someone who was supposed to be Luk's best friend!"

Marie looked away, her face clouded with uncertainty.

Jeorges grunted irritably and continued. "I've seen so many people like that in my courtroom. They have so much potential, and yet they waste it. Waste it on a life of negligence, of apathy, of dishonesty, of preying on the public. Wasting one's life should be illegal, although .... " and here he laughed bitterly. "I suppose, in some ways, that makes me a criminal as well. But," the judge clenched his fists. "But if I ever find out that that freeloader had something to do with what happened to Luk, he will wish he had never been born. I'll make him pay, with my bare hands if I have to, I swear it! I know he's up to something, him and that cursed mutt! If only I could find out what secret that dog of his is guarding..."

"Jeorges," Marie said quietly. "It's almost Christmas, and Aurellia is with us, even if we don't know where she's been or what has happened over the last six months. She's here and she's safe. Let's try to concentrate on that. Try to be happy and don't press her with questions she doesn't want to answer. You can do your investigating later, but after the holidays. After she’s left. All right?"

Jeorges smiled, but his eyes were sad, haunted. "You are right, Marie. I guess we'll have to take what we can get and be grateful. But I will get to the bottom of this. I swear this on my son’s grave, I will find out what’s going on." He picked up the polishing towel off the floor and threw it into a bucket with several other rags before going back inside with Marie.

*************