Disclaimer: I own naught but Fi.

A/N: Well…Here I am. I know it's been ages since I posted something…I'm aware of that--it annoys me to no end when an author waits an unreasonable amount of time to post something (SpamWarrior's allowed--her writing's brilliant), and I sincerely appreciate that, however much I look back on the first few chapters of this and just cringe at the lack of writing skill, some people are still reading this and e-mailing me, asking when the next bit would be finished. You've no idea how nice it is to know that some people are still following this. *gets all sentimental* I love you guys!

*ahem* Right, then. Sorry. Review if you like--I certainly don't mind…

Part 15 (woo-hoo!)

~ Nick Drake, 'Cello Song, from the album Five Leaves Left, 1969

Fiona put her face in her hands, bringing her knees to her chest. She was scared. Not that she'd admit it; not to anyone. But it was dark and cold and miserable, and her clothes were dirty, soaked, and torn, as well as covered in blood. That last addition to the wreckage of her sundress--the one she'd been wearing on the way back from the beach--had come when she tried to pull at her chains and merely ended up digging the bonds into her wrists, cutting them shallowly but still causing bleeding. The cuffs around her wrists were just sharp enough to keep her from pulling, and just small enough to keep her hands from slipping through.

She could hear rats scurrying around in the cell, which seriously bothered her, as she'd never been fond of the rodents. When she'd been small, she remembered visiting a friend of her mother's that lived in the poorer side of Dublin. It had been dirty there, and somewhat creepy, but the people were certainly friendly, so Fi hadn't cared. But then they passed a particularly nasty alleyway, and there were at least fifty rats scurrying about in that one area, and poor eight-year-old Fiona wanted nothing to do with it. The feeling had remained, even eight years later.

At any rate, Fi was miserable. She curled up as small as she could and let her hair fall around her face. Her throat and chest burned, and she coughed. She was scared and disoriented, and she felt sick. Most likely that sore throat she'd had the week previous to her kidnapping was the beginning of bronchitis or something equally pleasant. That would account for that lovely hacking cough she had going. Despite her fear, her temper was flaring up. She was furious with Voldemort, for so many reasons. She sat and fumed silently in the dark. She coughed again.

"Oh, I think I'm having a vision! Don't disturb my concentration…"

Fi rolled her eyes. This was the third proclamation of a "vision" that this Trelawney twit had made in the past hour. Well, Fi estimated that it had been an hour—it felt longer, but there was no watch to be had, and even if there had been, it was too dark to see. "Shut up, you."

There was an exasperated noise from the other side of the cell. "Now, is that really necessary? I might be foreseeing how we'll get out of here, so why don't you keep your negative energy to yourself so it won't interfere with my inner-light and clairvoyance!" She stated this all in a misty, wispy voice that was just barely tinted with annoyance.

Fiona, being a small-town country girl, had very little idea what this weirdo was on about. Or on. Hey, it was the seventies. Anything was possible. Fi sighed. "Look, I—"

"Will you please let me concentrate? Please?" Now she just sounded like an aggravated teenaged girl. Which is what she really was, Fi supposed. "It's important." She seemed to have realized the airy-fairy-ness of her voice had dissolved, for she cleared her throat and said, again in the misty voice, "Don't you wish to know what your future holds, my dear?"

It completely mystified Fi that this girl spoke to her as if she was a grandmother. Trelawney couldn't be more than probably seventeen. This was getting really stupid, and Fi's nerves were stretched to the breaking point as it was. "Will you shut it?" she said tiredly, working very hard to keep the anger from her voice.

There was an "Ommmm!" from the other side of the room. Fi shifted her sitting position and rolled her eyes, incredulous. What a mental case! Chains rattled and Trelawney, who had long chains clamped to her wrists and ankles, came crawling across the cell to Fiona, outline dim in the near-pitch-black room.

Fi backed up, shoulders hitting the wall and forcing a good cough out of her lungs. "What?" she managed, once the coughing fit had resided and Trelawney had settled herself, with all her tinkling bangles, in front of Fi. "What d'you want? Why can't you just keep your—your clairvoyance to yourself and stay over there!?"

Trelawney sighed. Bangles clicked. "I want to read your palm."

Her patience had just flown away. Fi couldn't help it. She sneered--and she tried not to do that, as it was a general personality characteristic of those in Slytherin, and she was still convinced that she was not worthy of that title. "You want to what?"

"Read your palm."

"What," Fi said, hardly able to keep a disbelieving laugh out of her voice, "no tea leaves handy?"

"Precisely." Fi just stared, unbelieving, as her left hand was taken and turned palm-up in the other girl's cold hands. A finger ran down her palm, from the web between her forefinger and thumb down to her wrist. "You have a long life line. This leads my inner-divinatory-powers to believe you will escape this. I will, too, because my palm states that I will live much longer than this."

Fi smirked. Oh, what was the point of arguing with this loon? Anyway, she needed some entertainment.

The misty voice had started again, and Fiona remained unimpressed. "And…Yes, yes, this is clear now. Even in this darkened dungeon, I can see…There's a man in your life, and—" Fi tried to pull her hand away, muttering indignantly, but Trelawney had an eerily strong grip. "—my dear, I see pain in your future. Yes, the mist of the alternate dimensions is clearing, the fog of time lifting…I can see—"

"Oh, bloody hell!" Fi jerked her hand away. "I see pain in your future, very soon, unless you get back over to your spot. Go be clairvoyant over there, away from me."

Trelawney sounded indignant. "Well, I think I will then. Don't say I didn't warn you! You will suffer!" She stretched the word "suffer" into a long, dramatic ending note of this rather ridiculous declaration. Fi rather strongly believed that one couldn't see the future if one tried, and this Trelawney was living proof. She would "suffer?" Tuh--what did Trelawney know, anyway. Truthfully, Fi was rather scared that she might be right. No, she might not die right away, but suffering in her future…It was easier to think of Trelawney as a fraud and not even consider the other possibility.

Fi shook her head, glaring in annoyance at the darkness in front of her. "You don't know what you've gotten yourself into, Irish girl!" Fi had to laugh at that, despite her worries and annoyance. It was a fairly weak insult. "You just wait! One of these days you'll—gaaaaah…" There was a choking noise from across the room. Fi wondered vaguely if she'd caught her neck in the chains. Good. Maybe she'll shut up.

But she kept making noises. Fiona sat uncomfortably on the other side of the dungeon. Well, whatever was happening, Trelawney sounded as though she was choking. This wasn't good. Fi wanted to go help her out--well, the side of her that didn't want to strangle Trelawney herself for being such a complete nutcase and for trying to impose her clairvoyant rubbish onto Fi. But the only problem with the idea of crawling over was that her chains wouldn't allow her to reach the other wall, where she could see, through the dim light coming from under the door (it was a small crack, but it was all the light they had), Trelawney had collapsed. The girl seemed to be struggling, but Fiona couldn't see what it was. Suddenly, her noises and movement stopped and everything was silent, save for some ragged breathing on Fi's part. Maybe it was some big creature they'd released into the dungeon…What if it was a snake? Fi paled, if invisibly, in the dark. She didn't like snakes. Another reason why it mystified her that she was in Slytherin.

Fi swallowed. She had to go see what it was…Plucking up her courage as best she could, she crawled across the floor towards Trelawney, feeling that she should at least see what was causing those noises—if there was a snake in here, for example, that could strangle her, she wanted to know about it (well, and she would feel guilty if the girl was choking and she hadn't done anything to help). Her chains pulled tight on her wrist, giving her no more slack. She was still a good two feet away from Trelawney. Suddenly, she cried out as the rectangle of green light that was the door opened up and a masked figure that was quite obviously Lucius Malfoy strode in, followed by a figure with slouching posture, also masked in Death Eater uniform. Fi knew from his walk that it was Snape. They both looked a little perplexed by the sight in the dungeon.

Fiona turned and saw the light hit Trelawney. The girl's eyes, magnified by the ridiculous glasses she wore, were wide open, her head slumped onto her shoulder, and her mouth was sagging open. Fi wrinkled her nose—Trelawney was drooling on her robes. Fi wondered if she'd had a spasm of some sort. The two Death Eaters at the door also looked at a loss as to what to do. Suddenly, Trelawney's body shook a little and she started talking in a horribly low, cold voice:

"The dark lord will find his end…end…in a boy…"

Fi raised her eyebrows, utterly gobsmacked. This was a prediction. She knew enough to realize that, fraud or not while conscious, this wasn't fake. She didn't know anyone who possessed the ability to control their voice in that manner.

"the dark lord will find his end in a small…in a boy…The son of the Potters will be the downfall…The dark lord will find his end in the son…" Trelawney twitched, eyes still glazed over and partially rolled back in her head. Fi just stared, willing her to shut up. She'd gone cold all over at the mention of James' last name, and had a very good idea who the other Potter might just be, as soon as she graduated and was able to marry James…

Another spasm shot through Trelawney's somewhat limp frame. "The dark lord will find his end in the son of the Potters…"

With that, Trelawney slumped over onto the floor in what looked like a dead faint.

Fi stared, dumbstruck, at the form lying motionless on the mildew-covered floor, illuminated by the green light. Considerably less green light than there had been a moment ago—Fi turned and her eyes widened momentarily, but she didn't scream. Somehow, she'd known what she'd see.

Voldemort was standing in the doorway, looking very intrigued with what he'd apparently just witnessed. The two Death Eaters behind him, Snape and Malfoy, looked a bit confused. Voldemort grinned in a way that made the hair on the back of Fi's neck stand up. "Well. She was useful. I do believe that was her first prediction."

Trelawney's words echoed in Fi's mind: The son of the Potters will be the downfall—the dark lord will find his end in the son of the Potters…

"Now…Who is this Potter person? He's at Hogwarts, is he not?"

Malfoy's masked head turned toward Voldemort. "Yes, my lord," he said silkily. Fi snorted. What, was he Voldemort's pet? "James Potter. He's in Severus' year at Hogwarts. A Gryffindor."

"Well, obviously."

Malfoy looked embarrassed. "Yes…Obviously…" He cleared his throat. "We could kill him," he said, like one offering to make a run to the store for something.

Fi gasped. James?

Voldemort looked thoughtful. "No…He's not the only important one. It's his son we need to worry about. And his future wife."

"Yes, but…" Lucius was choosing his words carefully. "If we kill him, he can't have a son, or a wife, in the future."

"I know that," Voldemort said impatiently. "But we can't go killing him now. It would be a mistake. We don't want that Muggle-loving embarrassment of a wizard sniffing around, trying to find some sort of clue as to my whereabouts."

Lucius nodded. "Of course, my lord. Killing the Head Boy--"

Snape muttered, "Potter's Head Boy? Oh, does it ever end?"

"What was that, Severus?" Voldemort said in a deadly soft voice. Snape backed away.

"Nothing, my lord."

"Good." He shifted his weight, obviously unused to standing during such a conference. "As Lucius was saying, killing the Head Boy would cause a bit of a disruption. Just keep an eye on him. We'll deal with him after he's graduated. By then, disappearances won't be so unusual." He smiled in his awful way and Fi shuddered, making a promise that, on the off-chance that she escaped with her life, she'd warn James (and Lily) about this.

Voldemort turned, but halfway out the doorway, he spun around to face Fiona again. "Oh, and Mudblood--you will later be working with the oversized iguana in the other dungeons--we have some interesting attack plans we need communicated to the beast. I'd suggest you simply do as you're told, and then your mother will remain intact for the time being."

Fi just stared at him blankly, not wanting him to know how effective that last comment about her mother was. After a moment, the Dark Lord became bored with her silence and left with Malfoy, leaving Snape as guard with the instructions to leave the smallish barred window in the door open so as to observe any more predictions that Trelawney might have. Fi gave Snape a death-glare and turned around, facing the darkened dungeon and unconscious Trelawney, and turning her back to Snape and the green light. A cough racked her chest, burning and making an unpleasant sensation of bubbling liquid in her lungs.

"You ill?"

Fi turned halfway towards Snape, fighting down a sneer, determined to remain aloof. "What do you care?" She couldn't help allowing a little anger into her voice.

Snape sighed. "You're no good dead to him dead, you know." He fidgeted, making a grating noise with his feet on the stone floor. "He'd have to cure you if you're ill. You don't have to sit here and suffer like an idiot."

Fi snorted. "Snape, he doesn't care. And personally, I druther be dead than working with you lot." Fi shivered miserably, partly from the idea of Voldemort, and partly because she was going into rather nasty hot and cold flashes. "I tried working out a deal with the dragon the other day, but he wouldn't eat me since I can speak to him."

There was a snort from the other side of the dungeon door. "McLellan, you always were a whiner, weren't you?" He shifted again, making the grating noise. "It's all about you, isn't it?."

Fi was tempted, for a fraction of a second, to respond as Sirius had when Sapphira accused him of the same affliction--thinking that the world revolved around oneself--but decided that it would not have gone over well, given the current company. "Yes? And?" was not the right answer, for the moment. Besides, she didn't want to dignify his comments with any sort of verbal response. However, if he got close enough, a physical response that would result in severe pain on Snape's part was all too acceptable, Fi thought.

After a moment of her silence, Snape sighed loudly again. "I don't know why you're fretting. Knowing Potter, he'll show up with his little troop of Gryffindor morons, and I'm sure the werewolf will carry you off into the sunset. Mind," he said, with a sneer playing about his voice so obviously she could almost see it on his greasy face, "there is the small matter of getting past the Dementors, guards, and Voldemort himself, but I'm sure they'll think of something."

Fi's lips remained sealed, however painfully. She had so many good insulting responses to everything he'd said, but she kept quiet, not wanting to have anything to do with him. After a moment, she decided she needed to say one thing: "Look, Snape, you're absolutely detestable. You always have been absolutely detestable, but now the detestability factor has gone up a considerable amount. I've no idea what possessed you to join ranks with these…monsters…but a word of advice--you're on the losing side."

"Oh?" Snape chuckled, obviously amused at this little outburst, which he'd worked so hard to get.

"Yes," Fi insisted, not facing the door, still. "It goes back as far as anyone can remember. In fairy tales, legends, and often in reality. Good triumphs over evil." Fi turned her head and glared at him over her hunched shoulder. "And you know perfectly well which side you're on right now. There's no confusion. Voldemort even knows he's evil." She raised an eyebrow. "And if Princess Tea-Leaves here is at all correct, you're going to get your arses kicked by James Potter's son." She smirked. "And I cannot wait to see that."

"Oh, can't you?" Snape asked in a strange voice.

Fi turned her back to him. "You lot are as good as done for. I may not live to see the day when you all are put into Azkaban, or whatever man-made hell they reserve for your type, but it'll happen. And you've no idea how much satisfaction the Wizarding world will get out of it."

"My guess is, the Wizarding world has no clue what they'll be dealing with." He cleared his throat. "They've no idea what they're currently dealing with. This is only the beginning. You think Annelle was the worst it's going to get? I--"

"Shut up. You're not allowed to talk to me about Annelle." Fi's voice held such frigidity that Snape did as he was told. For a moment.

"All I'm trying to say, McLellan, is that things are not headed for the better." He glanced through the small, barred window at her, eyes burning into her back. "Now that he's got Potter's name, he and Lily are dead. Guaranteed."

"Don't say such things."

Snape shrugged. "I hate to tell you this, McLellan, but this obviously isn't a fairy tale." He started to slide down the window cover, obviously sure that Trelawney wasn't going to have any more episodes. "And even if it was, James and Lily obviously aren't the heroes."

And Fiona was plunged into darkness again.

*

Darkly canopied tree branches swayed in a light wind that made soft whistling noises as it flew through the tree limbs. It was obviously nearing the end of autumn--though the trees still wore their crowns of colorful leaves, most had fallen and were carpeting the cold ground in a blanket rapidly turning from vibrant yellows, oranges, and reds to brown and black. Remus' head turned toward the sound of crunching leaves, only to discover Peter the rat scurrying through the fallen leaves toward his knapsack for sleep, having obviously just returned from a small trip to the designated latrine. Peter seemed to enjoy sleeping in his bag, as he was small enough to do so, and Remus supposed it was because he was nestled in with the Irish chocolate bars he'd managed to buy before they left to find him. Remus rolled his eyes and leaned back against his tree again, reassured that, for the time being, they were safe, even if their food supply was in jeopardy. He glanced around their "camp."

Sapphira and Lily were sleeping against the same ancient tree trunk, which was at least six feet wide, with their heads leaning together, Lily snoring louder than her appearance would lead one to believe was possible, and Sapphira looking as though somebody had recently knocked her unconscious. It had been a very long day of walking, and both the girls were exhausted, as they had been carrying supplies and trudging through the forest all day (Sirius and James had gone ahead of the group to scout in Animagus form, and Peter had mysteriously disappeared, presumably to follow them, so the supply-carrying was handled by the girls and Remus). It was exhausting, due to their need to make as little noise as was possible--Remus knew from personal experience, but felt no need to tell the others in detail, of the dangerous creatures that made the forest their home--as they slowly progressed through the forest. Exactly where they were headed, Remus wasn't quite sure. And now he felt guilty again, leading the lot of them through dangerous territory, with only the faint idea that a dream, of all things, had given him.

Sapphira pulled her legs up to her chest, brow furrowed in her sleep, and then all was silent again, save for Lily's snoring, and the candy wrapper crinkling emanating from Peter's nest. The lot of them were exhausted--Remus had helped with supplies and such, but he had been a bit exhausted himself. During his transformations, he became nocturnal in a way, and so his energy came to him at night for a few days, thus the problems adjusting to the schedule every month at school. He had been named lookout for the night, due to the fact that he couldn't sleep.

It was their second night in a row staying in the Forbidden Forest, and though the full moon wasn't an issue as of tonight, Remus' nerves were already completely jangled, and he was very, very hungry. He didn't dare delve into their food supply; Peter had already dangerously depleted what little they had left, and so they were extremely careful about what they ate, and how much. Sirius had been the most furious with the shorter boy when it had happened--Peter had been "guarding" the camp while Remus searched for firewood (really, this time), and had decided on a little snack. The idea of a limited food supply hadn't occurred to him, and when Sirius returned from doing a bit of scouting with James to find that dinner was insufficient, he demanded to know why. A terrific row had ensued, in which Peter cringed and scurried around in a very rodent-like manner, and Sirius used a big growling voice to reprimand him. The whole affair was ended when Sapphira, thankfully, took Sirius' hand and decided that the two of them should go for a walk 'til he calmed down. Sirius agreed, and came back in considerably more cheerful spirits than when he'd left.

Remus sat up and decided to check on the food supply. They had a few apples--they'd run into a female centaur with her foal who, for some odd reason, recognized Remus, and showed them an unenchanted apple tree (you couldn't just eat whatever you wanted, when in the forbidden forest) that was safe to eat from--half a loaf of bread, which was getting depressingly stale, and a few odds and ends, including some of that fruit bread that they'd been served at the Irish pub. Remus suspected that Peter had contributed that last bit, owing to his tendency to snatch up any food he could for later. Packrat, Remus thought wryly.

The leaves really did crunch this time. Remus stood slowly, not making any noise as he did so, and for once in his life grateful of a single instinct that came with his…affliction. Fortunately, it was a large black dog and a stag that stepped into their clearing, and not an Acromantula--he'd run into those before--or, worse yet, a Lethifold…He shook his head. He'd only ever seen--well, felt--one, but it was enough for two lifetimes. He'd been lucky enough, and the thing had been stupid enough, and he'd been attacked while conscious and had fought it off as a werewolf in time to escape. Remus grimaced. He never wanted to see one again. He'd spent time convincing himself that it had been a fluke; that they were usually found in tropical areas, and there was probably just that one in the forest. After all, it went against everything in the books…But he was still uneasy…And the unpleasant sensation of a warm, suffocating presence was enough to give his human self nightmares for years after the actual attack.

Technically, there was only one record of an escape from a Lethifold attack, but given his current social status, he wasn't about to correct that. Not even to Dumbledore, as he wasn't even supposed to be in the Forest at the time, under the headmaster's strict order. He didn't want to betray his trust, after being admitted to this school. It was one of the few times he'd managed to dodge out of James and Sirius' care and wandered off by himself (as he remembered it, Peter had gotten stuck in a squirrel nest). That, if not also his worries about biting someone, kept him close to James and Sirius every time he transformed. Even his feral instincts didn't want to suffocate.

The large black dog shook himself, trying to get the leaves and burrs out of his black fur, but gave up after a few minutes, obviously tired of shaking and getting nowhere. With a strangely fluid motion, he was Sirius the annoying seventeen-year-old again, and began picking seed pods, leaves, and burrs out of his matted hair with a pained expression on his face. James followed suit, however his short fur did not allow for nearly as much of a problem. He pushed his glasses up his nose and turned to Remus. "Three o'clock and all's well."

Remus nodded, sliding down the tree trunk behind him and slumping to the ground, sighing. Sirius noticed this and cleared his throat. "Don't be depressed, Moony. We'll find her."

Remus dropped his hands to his sides, idly picking up a twig and twirling it between dirty fingers. "It's been three days--two for you--and I'm beginning to wonder if I am going crackers." He offered a small, tired smile to Sirius, whose lips twitched. "Honestly…I've no idea what I'm doing anymore," Remus muttered dejectedly. "It's getting stupid."

James put a hand on his shoulder, sitting down next to him and leaning against his tree. "It's not stupid. We all want to find her."

"Well, of course…But I'm beginning to wonder just what I was thinking when I started this on the basis of a weird dream I had. I mean…" He flailed around for the words. "I mean, it seemed right at the time…But now I'm starting to have doubts." He sighed raggedly. "I just want to find her. I don't know why she's been taken, but we have to get her back."

A twig snapped to their right and all three boys turned instinctively toward it, Sirius with his wand out. The leaf carpet rustled and Peter appeared, seemingly growing out of the ground. He looked very pale and his eyes were wide. "M-Moony, I th-think you might want t-to have a look at th-this…"

Leaving James to keep watch over the girls, Sirius and Remus followed Peter quietly. The shorter boy kept looking back to make sure they were still following as he led them along a complex route through bramble bushes, thickly dense areas of trees, and even once around an old, unused hut that had been claimed by the forest over the years, leaving only the chimney and a few stone walls standing. Finally, there was a rise in the path they were on, and Remus saw light over the top of the hill they were climbing. It was oddly familiar…

Peter stopped at the top of the hill, looking terribly fearful, and Sirius, with a grim look on his face, looked at Remus and raised his eyebrows. Remus nodded and started trudging up the hill. His feet automatically avoided the fallen leaves and twigs that might make noise, making Sirius, who was quiet himself, seem loud. At the top of the hill, Remus stared down into the valley below and his breath caught in his throat.

It was the castle.

Mind, there were no windows and therefore no Fi to be seen, but it was a castle, nonetheless. White, thick, eerie fog surrounded the castle, trapped in the deep valley by the tall hills surrounding it. It was deathly cold, standing at the edge of this basin, and the fog was slowly creeping up toward them, lapping the sides of the hill like waves from some ghostly lake. It didn't fade away into the sky, as most fogs did…For some reason, it was like water. The surface was flat, engulfing the entire castle but leaving the spires of the tallest towers protruding from the top of the hazy fog-lake. Remus automatically took a step back, tripping over a small stone, which rolled down the hill toward the forest, making an avalanche's noise in the silence of the night. He looked back behind him, nerves positively electrified. The forest was quiet and dark, except for the tree trunks dimly illuminated by the moon's reflection on the strange fog.

Sirius, an incredulous expression on his face, picked up another small rock like the one that had been kicked down the hill, and tossed it gently into the fog. Unbelievably, it rippled, like water, and the stone made no noise of contact with the ground. Peter whimpered, and Sirius shot him a look. "If you don't want to stay," he muttered, but the sound of his voice was grating on their ears in the dead silence, "you can head back to camp. I remember the way back--we'll be along in a bit. Remus and I need to check this out."

Peter nodded and, in the blink of an eye, was a rat, scurrying down the rocky slope toward the trees. Remus glanced at Sirius, whose eyes followed Peter's progress, finally losing him in the brush, and then they locked eyes. Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Is this the castle?"

Remus nodded. "Yeah." He turned toward the lake of mist. "Only a lot foggier."

Sirius grimaced, and tossed another rock into the fog. The ripples stretched out across the "lake," lapping against the shore that was the hill they stood on. It was strange to see a cloud behaving with the same properties as water. Sirius bit his lip, brushing his bangs out of his face. "This is dodgy, this is." He reached a hand down toward the surface of the fog and jerked it back almost immediately. "Damn, but that's cold…"

"Is it?" Remus asked vaguely, starting to get an idea of what this was. Sirius picked up a booted foot tentatively, obviously preparing to put it in the fog, but Remus grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. "Bad idea," he muttered, as Sirius glanced at him curiously.

"Why?"

Remus frowned for a moment and glanced around, looking for plant life. Oddly enough, only rocks surrounded the basin that held the castle and the freezing fog-lake. There were no plants--only gravelly substance. Not even grass. Not even weeds. He stepped down the hill a few feet, boots crunching over the gravel, and plucked up a long-stemmed weed with a small, closed flower bud on the tip.

Remus crunched back up the hill, and Sirius let out a disbelieving snort. "Picking flowers, Moony? What, you want to give them to her when we dash in and rescue her?" Remus shot him a look and, not saying anything, trudged carefully down to the edge of the fog, dipping the weed's tip into the strangely definite surface. The stem of the thing burned cold in his hand, and he nearly dropped it, but instead backed carefully up the gravelly hill, carrying the weed with him. He held it up in front of his face to show Sirius, and he gasped.

It had turned black.

The bud had completely shriveled, and the stem had curled, letting the death-blackened leaves wilt into nothing and the bud, once a nice spring-green, dangling limply from the edge of a now withered stem. Sirius' eyes widened and he swallowed roughly, eyes taking in the now-dead plant. "Well," he said hoarsely.

Remus nodded. "I wondered why there were so few guards."

"What's the need, with that fog?" Sirius said quietly, looking out over the lake of fog to the other side of the valley. More trees, and more darkness. "I'd never known how bloody big this forest is."

"Hmm." Remus said. This new information about the fog was not helping him. What if the fog was there all throughout the day, too? This stuff, whatever it was, withdrew the life from whatever touched it. If it was there twenty-four hours a day, how were they supposed to get to the castle? Somehow, Remus suspected that a Patronus wouldn't do the trick…

It was at that moment that Sirius gave a very canine yelp and started backing away, eyes on something behind Remus. Remus turned around and saw something--well, three somethings--emerging from the fog-lake. The three somethings were about nine feet tall and wore hooded robes, and seemed to glide along the ground. The cold from the fog worsened as the things came closer, but both Remus and Sirius were absolutely rooted to the spot, having neither seen nor experienced Dementors before. Finally, as the things were close enough to where they began reaching out with long, black-robed arms, Sirius bellowed, "Expecto Patronum!"

A silver dog of enormous size erupted from his wand tip, charging down the Dementors ferociously. Sirius grabbed Remus' shoulder with fear-stiffened fingers, bringing him out of the trance, and both boys ran for their lives back toward the trees, not once looking back. Burrs and sharp, prickly seed-pods caught in their hair and the thorns of nearby trees and bramble bushes scraped at them, but they were far too terrified to notice. Halfway to the camp, the cold had subsided and they stopped, having reached the deserted and ancient cabin they'd seen before. Gasping for breath, they both leaned against the chimney, shaking enough that Remus was afraid they'd cause the rickety stone structure to topple over onto their heads.

Sirius was breathing in ragged gasps, eyes wide and fearful. Remus turned to look at him, knowing that he, himself, was in a comparable condition. "You alright?"

Sirius turned very round eyes on him and shook his head rapidly in a very emphatic "no!" Swallowing, Sirius slumped down onto the ground, head leaning back against the stone. He closed his mouth, stopping the panting, but continued to breathe hard through his nose, the white around his pupils flashing as he glanced around frantically, like a scared animal. Sighing, and hoping his heart rate would return to normal before he went into cardiac arrest, Remus slumped down next to Sirius, also unable to keep from searching frantically for whatever might try to kill them next.

After a moment, Sirius stuttered (a first, as Remus had never actually seen Sirius seem remotely afraid, much less stutter), "W-well…now w-we know why it's th-the bloody Forbidden Forest, d-don't we?"

Remus smiled weakly. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. He disapprovingly realized that he was still shaking. Sirius was, too, though. "So…Er…Thanks for doing the…The Patronus." He swallowed. "I was sort of…out of it."

Sirius, eyes still wide and staring straight ahead, nodded numbly. "Hey, I was going to step in that bleeding fog. Let's just make a deal never to wander around dangerous things alone, a'right? We're both such idiots; it could be dangerous." He ran a trembling hand through his hair and shuddered violently.

Remus clenched his jaw together, thinking of what could have happened if Sirius hadn't woken up and cast his Patronus. He cleared his throat. "If you don't want to come when I try to get in the castle…"

Sirius shook his head determinedly. "No…I'm coming."

Remus nodded slowly. "If you're…sure."

Sirius just kept staring straight ahead. "Yeah. But we need to keep the girls at the camp. I don't think it would be good for them to come." He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair again, making it stick up in what would have been a comical way, had the circumstances been different.

Remus smiled weakly again. "Oh, yeah, you try telling them they can't come." Sirius nodded, his mind elsewhere. Remus glanced at him. "What?"

Sirius snorted. "'What?' What d'you mean, bloody 'what?'" He gave a hoarse, mirthless laugh. "We nearly had our bloody souls sucked out through our mouths, and you say, 'what?'"

Remus shrugged. "Sorry."

Sirius shook his head apologetically. "No…I didn't mean to snap or anything--'Phira says I do that too much--but, really…" He ran a hand, still shaking, through his hair. "Bloody hell." He glanced at Remus, eyes hollow. "I always knew Dementors were bad news. But this…This was downright horrible. I don't ever want to see a Dementor again. Not for as long as I live. God…" His body took on another violent tremor and he swore quite creatively.

Remus swallowed roughly. "Never thought I'd see the day," he said quietly.

Mistake. "Look, it's not my fault I'm a little freaked out by this, okay?" Sirius said loudly, eyes blazing. "I'm lucky to still have my soul, here!"

Really tactful, there, Lupin, Remus thought, bitterly. "No, Sirius, I didn't mean to imply…"

Sirius nodded, breathing loudly through his nose and releasing his tensed muscles. "I know, I know. Sorry."

Remus stared at the ground a few feet away, tracing the lines of a leaf there with his eyes. "I was bloody scared as well," he muttered mildly. "I'm not meaning to make it sound like you shouldn't be scared. I mean, James, the ultimate Gryffindor hero-boy, would have run all the way back to camp squealing like Peter."

"Kind of like we did?" Sirius asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah, sort of." Remus muttered. "But he'd have done it in a much more manly fashion, of course."

"Of course."

It was silent for a few minutes, then Sirius started chuckling. Remus wondered vaguely if his friend had completely lost it, but Sirius brushed his hair out of his eyes and said, "I think I bloody wet myself."

Remus sniggered. "Join the club. At least we waited 'til we saw the Dementors--Peter didn't even last that long."

Sirius grinned, rather weakly, but a grin nonetheless. "Yeah, but let's not tell the girls."

It was silent for a few minutes, both boys having gone glassy-eyed in remembrance of what they'd just encountered. Finally, Sirius cleared his throat and stood up, brushing the dirt and leaves from his bramble-torn jeans. "Er…Let's head back to camp."

Remus stood up with a groan and tried to ignore the protest his muscles gave to such treatment. "Sounds good."

Suddenly, Sirius stopped, frowning in thought. "Hey…Remus…"

"Hmm?"

"What's today's date?"

Remus thought hard. He'd left on…What had it been, the twenty-seventh? That meant that today was…The thirtieth. And that meant--Oh, bugger. "As of midnight, it's been the thirty-first. The day before school starts."

"Bugger."

"Yep." Remus sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Let's just head back to camp. I don't want to think about it."

The trip through the forest was silent, both boys' eyes frantically flitting around them, searching for any other nasty surprises that might come their way. They were too busy looking for dangerous creatures and Dementors to notice the bleeding cuts on their legs and the tears in their clothing from the thorns and brambles in their path. Eventually, they found the clearing, where James had started a smallish fire and Peter was sitting next to it, poking the embers with a stick. Lily and Sapphira were awake, and Remus confusedly glanced at his watch, only to discover that it was nearly five-thirty in the morning.

They stumbled through the brush into the clearing and everyone there gasped audibly. Sapphira punctuated this with a "Holy shit! What happened to you?"