“I’m sorry, Remus,” she sighed, hunching her shoulders and shuddering.

“I should be the one apologising, Chara,” Lupin pointed out, calmly watching the small group of people milling about a couple of hundred yards away near the mouth of the alleyway. “I know how ill Apparating makes you, but there wasn’t time to go by broom.”

Parr cleared her throat and stood up slowly. “Needs must,” she said simply and sighed. “My breath’s going to smell like a drunk’s bathroom the morning after a particularly vigorous night on the town, though. I wish I’d brought some mints, and so will everyone else.” She looked down as Lupin held out half a roll of Shivers’ Mouth-Scouring Spearmints to her.

“This drunk has been in that bathroom a few too many times,” he mentioned as Parr crunched up three of the mints gratefully.

She sniffed loudly as her eyes watered from the spearmint. “Well, let’s get this sorted, shall we?”

They headed over to the mouth of the alleyway.

“Has anyone been in since you found him?” Lupin asked Shacklebolt, nodding to Hestia Jones and Tonks.

“Not since I’ve been here, but as to before that…” Shacklebolt shrugged. “You’ll have to be quick. I couldn’t wait too long before sending a message to Scrimgeour, or it would’ve looked suspicious. He’s bound to bring at least one Hit Wizard with him, so whatever you’ve got to do, make it fast!”

Parr slipped past him before he’d finished speaking and made for the slumped figure that was wedged up against the brick wall in the shadowed dead-end. The others hung back, watching the surroundings nervously. This was a bad part of town, and the late hour was making it more threatening than usual. Somewhere down the main street, the silhouette of Elphias Doge stood guard against any wandering Muggles. Lupin wedged his hands up under his armpits to keep them warm as he walked slowly over to where Tonks was standing.

“You alright?”

“Better than Brunton, at least,” said Tonks with a weak smile, her breath pluming out in a pale white stream into the night air. “Great night for a murder.”

“What was he doing over in this part of town?” Lupin asked, wriggling his toes in his boots to try and keep the blood circulating in them.

Tonks shook her head and shrugged. “No idea. He lives over on the north side, and he’s not exactly one of the shady sort that hangs around here.” She gestured to the environs with a tilt of her head.

Jones and Shacklebolt were talking quietly together a few feet away. Tonks rubbed her hands together and did a funny little jig on the spot. “Fuck, it’s cold!” she complained, her hair going a bright shade of icy blue. “I think one of my toes just snapped off.”

Lupin chuckled. “I’d give you my coat, but it’s got so many holes that I doubt it’d help.”

Tonks looked sideways at him. “That’s… sweet of you, Remus,” she noted shyly, glancing away again. “I’d probably manage to put another hole in it, though!” she joked, trying to cover an awkward pause.

“Um,” said Lupin, squinting at her. He edged a little closer to her. “Listen, I was thinking–”

“Remus?” Parr’s voice floated out of the alleyway.

“Excuse me a moment,” said Lupin with a crease of frustration across his forehead and headed down the alley. Tonks looked after him with a slightly disappointed expression on her face, her hair turning a deeper shade of blue.

Lupin reached Parr just as she was draping Brunton’s cloak across his face and mangled throat. She was crouched next to the body, the hem of her coat gradually soaking up a dark, viscous puddle by her foot.

“We have to go.” She twisted her head to look up at him, her grey eyes tinged with green, and the planes of her face bowed outwards. “Now.” Straightening up from her crouch, she took Lupin by the elbow and pulled him along the alleyway.

“What is it?” Lupin asked worriedly, looking back over his shoulder at the body.

“Not here,” Parr whispered harshly, dragging him along faster, their feet hitting the cobblestones loudly. She kept her face turned to the alley floor

The three standing at the mouth of the alleyway surged towards them. “What did–” Shacklebolt began before Parr cut him off.

“Later, at the house,” she told him, mouth downturned and brows low. “Best you know nothing for now in case anyone asks.” She paused, as if deciding whether to mention what she said next. “Watch your back. I’m not entirely sure the murderer isn’t still nearby.” She lifted the hood of her coat and covered her head. “Remus, we have to go. Now. Please don’t ask me any questions yet.”

Less than a minute later, Parr was vomiting into the gutter of the street round the corner from the safe house.

“Dear God, I think I spewed up my socks,” she moaned, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She stood up straight with only a mild case of the wobbles and half dragged Lupin along to the safe house.

The front door banged shut behind Parr, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the empty house. She stood with her back against the door, her hand clamped on the handle.

Parr and Lupin stared at each other, the former grimly, the latter expectantly. Parr’s mouth was twisted into a crooked line of distaste that was only partially due to the coating of bile that was currently souring her tongue. Somewhere in the house, an old pipe groaned and gurgled, though Lupin thought it might have been Parr’s stomach judging from the amount of vomiting she’d done in the past fifteen minutes.

“Greyback,” said Parr quietly. Lupin suddenly felt like the contents of his own stomach were about to resurface.

“Are you sure?” he asked after a long pause in which the house shifted its walls incrementally, as if a shudder had gone through it.

Parr nodded once. “I’ve seen it done like this before,” she remarked flatly, pulling the hood of her coat off her head. She sneered. “I could smell the revolting bastard, even over the stench of my own puke and that poor dead sod’s bowels.” She pushed herself away from the door and walked past Lupin.

“Why didn’t you say something to the others before we left?” hissed Lupin, following Parr to the kitchen.

“If he was still hanging around and saw me there, things would’ve gone very bad,” Parr muttered, wrenching at the sink taps. Air burped out of the tarnished pipe before splashes of distinctly rust-coloured water fired out, splattering the sink. Parr let the water run until it was relatively clear before thrusting a glass under it.

“You think they’re not already very bad?” Lupin asked incredulously, clutching onto the back of one of the mismatched kitchen chairs.

“To be perfectly honest, Remus, I hope you never get to experience the level of brutality I’ve seen that monster manifest,” said Parr, her hand shaking as she lifted the glass of water to her lips. She drained the glass in three huge gulps and then rested an elbow on the edge of the sink so she could rest her head in her open hand. She remained in that position for some time as Lupin waited anxiously behind her. “Why would he do it?”

Lupin blinked a few times. “Brunton was new to the Oblivation Department,” he began, shaking his head slightly. “His position was junior… inconsequential.”

“Not inconsequential enough, it seems,” Parr pointed out, her voice echoing up from the sink. “Although I am willing to entertain the idea he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, I can’t help but think there’s more to it than that. Greyback is… unhinged. Psychotic.” She straightened and turned to face Lupin, her face pale and tinged with an ashen hue, making her silver hair seem positively warm in colour. Her face had started to recede back into its normal shape, and there was only the merest hint of green left in her eyes. “But there were times he did things for reasons I thought beyond his capabilities to understand.” She clutched the empty glass tightly in her hand. “There were moments he was so lucid that I thanked whatever god would listen that they came rarely.” She sighed, and her shoulders slumped. “I was more frightened when he was sane than when he was insane.” She put the glass down on the washboard and rubbed her face with both hands. “What will the Ministry do?” she asked, peering through her fingers.

Lupin sat down on the chair he had been clutching. “Act as if it never happened, if the last two murders are anything to go by,” he guessed. “Bad enough that there are rumours that He Who Must Not Be Named is back. Now Fudge has three deaths in suspicious circumstances of people from his own government to handle, to say nothing of the Muggle murders.” He gave a humourless smile. “I can’t imagine that he’d be willing to let word spread of what’s happening on his watch.”

Parr barked out a harsh laugh. “Politicians,” she said, making it sound like a swear word. “All the same: spineless cowards more concerned about their reputations than doing anything worthwhile. Not worth a pinch of spit.”

The silence returned as each thought their own disturbing thoughts.

“What if this is a sign?”

Lupin looked up at Parr who had voiced what he had just been turning over in his mind. “You think it’s possible he knows you’re alive?”

She nodded slightly.

“Then we’d all best watch our backs,” Lupin pronounced and realised in that moment just how badly he needed a drink.

---

“There’s a problem.”

The sandy-haired man raised his eyebrows slightly.

Trint closed his book with one finger and squinted at the man sitting opposite him. “It would appear I am not the only one looking for your mystery woman.”

The eyebrows edged up higher.

“Let us just say that some of the more…” Trint paused and flicked a glance up at the roof of the pub. “… disreputable elements seem to be after her as well.”

“Such as?”

Trint pursed his lips and sniffed. “Hard to say.”

The raised eyebrows drew down into a line of disapproval. “Spare me the euphemisms,” said the man frostily. “Am I about to be informed of another of your glorious price hikes?”

Trint smiled in defiance of the irritated tone. “Well, when one has to compete against others for highly sought after information, there tends to be… additional expenses.”

The man tipped his head back and stared down his nose at Trint, a markedly cold glint in his hazel eyes. “Is that so?”

“Quite so,” Trint agreed pleasantly. He locked eyes with the man unabashedly, waiting for the next move—it wasn’t what he expected.

The man smiled. For the first time since Trint had known him, the lanky bastard smiled at him. He immediately realised that this wasn’t going the way he wanted it to.

“It is fortunate, then, that you are not my only source of information,” said the man, running one finger along the edge of the table between them.

Trint tried bluffing his way back into a better position. “Have you been wasting my time?” he threatened, his dark brown eyes matching the coldness opposite him. “If you’re attempting to get me to jump through hoops for your amusement–”

“You’ll do what?” the man interrupted, pulling each word out into a long line of snideness. “Raise your prices?” He stood up slowly, making Trint lean back slightly in his chair. “I don’t think so.” He took a step away from the table.

“You pay for the information I have, regardless of whether or not you want to hear it,” Trint pointed out in a voice like chilled stone sliding across splintered bone.

The man pivoted on his heel and leaned on the table, looming like a person experienced in intimidation. “Then we have an interesting dilemma, don’t we?” he pointed out, his face less than half a foot from Trint’s. “I consider extortion to be a grievous insult, the kind that requires its own form of compensation,” he hissed. “And you won’t like the price I’ll demand.” He stood upright again, a look of distaste on his face. “I’d say our business is at an end.” With that, he turned and left the pub.

Trint watched him go, a scowl on his face that he turned on the woman seated at a table near the door. She’d been watching the exchange between the two men, one tiny hand clasped around the stem of her wineglass and the other lightly holding her green shawl at the neck. She returned his look with an impassive one of her own, picked up her glass, and drained it in one gulp. Then she stood, nodded in his direction, and glided out of the pub and into the grey afternoon, the heavy chestnut braid down her back swaying with the same rhythm as her generous hips.

---

Arrogant scum, thought Snape angrily. He’d had to put up with Trint’s reprehensible penchant for blackmail for too long. This last example of carrot dangling had been more than he could stand. It had taken a great deal of restraint on Snape’s part not to clamp his hand around the man’s neck and squeeze the life out of him. It was an abominable end to what had been a teeth-grindingly frustrating day.

It had taken twice as long to purchase replacements for everything that Moody had ruined the day before, and Snape was convinced that he’d been overcharged for the glassware. Not that it really mattered, since the school was footing the bill, but it was the principle of the thing. He wondered if someone had managed to hex the word ‘mug’ into his forehead without him noticing. He’d had to deal with more disrespect over the past week than he had in the past year, and the trend appeared to be continuing unabated.

He walked along the streets, stewing in his own vexation and trying to pace out his irritation until the familiar tingle of the Polyjuice Potion wearing off began. He ducked down an alley and behind a large dumpster, out of sight.

Truth be told, he was interested to know who else had been asking around about Parr, but he wasn’t about to let Trint hold him to ransom for that information. The man was good, very good, and he knew it. However, his confidence had tipped over into an audacity that had raised Snape’s hackles. He sighed, trying to ignore the stench of rotting garbage wafting from the dumpster, and held himself as still as possible as his assumed form shifted turbulently back to his normal appearance.

Long-standing habit made him wait a few more minutes before emerging from the alley. He stared at his boots blankly, his hair falling forward off his shoulders. He really needed to end this day on some form of a high note, otherwise he’d find himself in the grip of a snit that would take a week to dissipate, and right now he was too tired to entertain that possibility as being beneficial to anyone, least of all himself.

A small movement in his peripheral vision lifted his eyes. He blinked, and an idea coalesced in his mind, the kind of idea that would indeed end his day on a high note. He smiled and made a grab for the star performer before it could scuttle away and out of his reach.

---

Lupin blotted the piece of parchment he’d finished before his sleeve managed to smudge it.

“Severus, I’m at somewhat of a loss as to why you’re here. Surely you can read your literature elsewhere where I don’t have to listen to you making snotty comments about whatever I’m doing.” He pulled out a fresh piece of parchment wearily. “If my company is that odious, go back to your dungeon.”

“All in good time, Lupin,” said Snape from behind his book.

Lupin squinted at him suspiciously. “What are you up to?”

Snape stared at him darkly over the top of his book. “Page ninety. Go back to your chicken scratch.”

Lupin tutted. “That’s not what I–”

There was an ear-busting shriek from upstairs.

Snape stood up abruptly, closing his book with a snap. “Goodbye.”

A loud bang in the hallway made Lupin knock his ink bottle all over his notes. “Ah, sh–”

The lounge door crashed open to reveal Parr with a face like hell’s fury, teeth bared to the molars, and her hair in disarray. She shot a pointing finger straight at Snape. “You! You evil, conniving string of black grease!”

He stared down his long nose at her. “Good evening to you, too.”

“I’m going to kick your scrawny backside into next week!” Parr bellowed, waving a clenched fist at him that had something sticking out of it at various angles.

“What the hell’s going on?” asked Lupin, mopping futilely at his now ink-ruined notes with a handkerchief.

“Someone thinks it amusing to hide a spider in my bed,” Parr hissed, eyes fixed on Snape.

“Well, do let us know when you find out who this someone is, Miss Parr,” replied Snape mildly with a bland expression. “I’m sure the revelation will be riveting.”

“Stupid git! You think I don’t know it was you?” Parr shouted, alarmingly close to apoplexy.

Snape sneered at her. “You’re mistaken. It must be your arachnophobia dropping your IQ to single digits.”

“How about I ram my single digits right down your lying trap?” Parr seethed at him.

Snape laughed humourlessly. “Keep dreaming the dream, Miss Parr.”

“Aaaaargh!” Parr shrieked insanely and launched herself at him, using the table as a platform to gain greater height. Lupin was resoundingly knocked backwards, parchments and books flying in all directions as the table tipped over.

Snape hadn’t been fast enough to dodge aside before Parr collided with him. He heard the shoulder seam of his coat tear along the stitches a fraction of a second before he hit the floor. Pain bloomed along his arm as his elbow cracked against the leg of the armchair. It was all he could do to hold Parr’s hand back from his face.

“Open wide, Professor,” she growled. “I’ve always wanted to stuff something down that acidic maw of yours, and if I have to go through your yellow teeth to do it, that’s exactly what I’ll do!”

Turning his head to the side to avoid having a dead spider jammed forcefully into his mouth, Snape tried levering his knee up into her midriff to open some distance between them. “My teeth are not yellow!

Parr put an extraordinary amount of force into getting her hand closer to his mouth. “Oh, please! Have you looked in the mirror?”

Lupin untangled himself from the shattered remains of his chair and looked forlornly at the mess that was once his painstakingly assembled research. Ink had splashed over almost every piece of parchment, rendering the past fortnight’s work illegible. He uttered a number of choice phrases that would have had a Knockturn Alley whore blushing.

“That’s rich coming from you, you troughing termagant!” Snape shouted as best he could while Parr’s free hand forced his turned head roughly onto the ratty carpet. “You have more food spilled down your front than the contents of a pig’s slop tray!” He managed to get his fist into just the right position to ram her in the sternum mercilessly. The air whooshed out of Parr’s lungs, and it gave him enough of an opportunity to shove her to one side. For one glorious yet brief moment, he thought he was going to escape. Parr grabbed the tail of his coat and dragged him backwards before he’d even risen from his knees.

“My research!” Lupin moaned, not far off sobbing in frustration, picking up an ink-sodden parchment gently. “Why can’t I just work in peace?”

Snape managed to twist around, coat strangling his torso, and propel Parr back against the wall. The woman’s eyes focussed on the tip of the wand he had pointed right in her face.

“Well, well, well, isn’t this interesting?” he hissed nastily at her, sandwiching her between his body and the wall. “You’re not the only one with a wish list, Miss Parr. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve wanted to stopper up that smart mouth of yours with something. I think Silencio is particularly appropriate right now!” He pulled the wand away just in time before Parr’s teeth snapped the end off it.

“You’re over-reliance on that stick is nothing short of astounding, Professor!” Parr replied, laughing rudely at him. “You’re about to find out what it feels like to have it jammed where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Snape narrowed his eyes, and smirked openly, pointing the wand straight at her mouth. “Silencio.”

Parr guffawed at him and punched him hard in the stomach.

His impact with the floor was nothing compared with the jolt of surprise he received at the complete ineffectuality of the spell he’d just cast. He stared stupidly at Parr from his position on the floor.

“Dear God, this is going to be fun!” Parr vowed with glee, advancing on him, dead spider clutched in her hand.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Snape tried, scooting back awkwardly, wand pointed directly at Parr. He watched in horror as the spell fell dead the second it touched her.

“I don’t think third time will be lucky, Professor,” she mentioned with the kind of glint in her eye that suggested he was about to get skewered like a prawn.

Snape scrambled to his feet, knocking Lupin backwards, and slipping on the inky parchments. He couldn’t believe it! Parr was immune to magic. Why hadn’t anyone told him this?!

A hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head backwards.

“Lupin, forget your damned research and help me!” Snape hissed, kicking his foot back to try and connect it with Parr’s shin. His neck was starting to hurt from the angle Parr had pulled his head back at.

“You made your bed, Severus, you can lie in it,” Lupin muttered, gathering up the pathetic remnants of his study.

“Why didn’t you ever mention she’s immune to magic?!” Snape yelled, arms pin-wheeling to stop himself from tipping backwards.

Lupin picked up the empty ink bottle. “It must have slipped my mind,” he sighed, feeling terribly exhausted all of a sudden. He narrowly avoided getting hit in the face as Snape’s wand went flying across the room and clattered against the window. The gossamer-thin tendrils linking his patience to his temper broke. “That’s it! I’ve had enough, Chara! If you can’t resolve the issue with even pretence at restraint, take it outside while I clean this mess up!”

“Certainly, Remus,” Parr replied and jammed her hand up the back of Snape’s coat to grab hold of the waistband of his trousers. She propelled him forcefully out of the lounge room and straight into the wall below the banister of the stairs, her other hand still gripping his hair. Snape swung his arm around and caught her in the temple with his elbow. It unbalanced her enough to release her hold and to allow him to sweep her feet out from under her and push her face first into the carpet. Planting one knee squarely between her shoulder blades, he wrenched her left arm back, his grip on her wrist not as sure as it could have been due to the bandage she had wrapped around it. The dead spider’s legs sprouted from between the fingers of her clenched fist, its podgy body mangled beyond recognition.

“I do believe we’ve been here before, Miss Parr,” Snape panted in her ear. “I don’t need magic to truss you up by the feet, you know.”

Parr laughed derisively at him. “And I need less than ten seconds to cut every scrap of clothing off you and whip you down the street, Professor. Play time is over!” Using her free hand as a lever to push herself up and backwards, Parr slowly raised herself up off the floor like a leviathan from the deep, dislodging his knee from her back. Twisting her shoulder, she pulled her wrist out of his grasp and spun on her heel to face him.

The complete and utter certitude on her face decided it for him. Snape reached out his hand towards the lounge room.

“Accio wand!” The length of wood clipped Lupin on the ear on its way out, making the man squawk in pain. Snape caught the wand out of the air effortlessly and backed away.

Parr’s eyes widened in outraged incredulity. “Don’t you d–”

Lupin heard the crack as Snape Apparated from the house, which was closely followed by Parr’s shriek of rage as she threw the dead spider at the wall. The crushed carcass plopped ludicrously to the floor.

Lupin waited a few moments for the dust to settle. He pushed a piece of splintered table with the toe of his boot and sighed.

“Are we still going out to eat, then?” asked Parr innocently, fussily refolding the cuffs of her jacket.