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Old Friend	By : Prosperosdaughter Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3803 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: JK Rowling and her associates own Harry Potter. I make no money from my stories.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
"What will happen to your prisoners?" asked Alphard after they had seen Lupin off for the full moon to join Snape.

"The trial of the pack," said Idris, as he ate a large piece of cheese from his knife. Alphard looked from Idris to Angharad quizzically. He was sure he had never seen this in any of his textbooks.

"If'n a werewolf offends against a pack," supplied Angharad, "the pack tries that werewolf." Idris looked away from Alphard and to the crackling fire. Angharad caught the look but continued anyway; Alphard needed to know. "It happens at full moon."

"At ...?" Alphard looked from one to the other more quickly then. "At full moon? When you are all transformed?" He swallowed hard, understanding dawning on him. "So they will die ..."

"Just before the moon, we release them to run," said Angharad.

"The pack will hunt them down -" continued Idris.

"- and kill them," finished Alphard in a whisper.

"Aye," confirmed Idris, his voice a deep rumble.

Alphard wondered how the pack knew that the alien werewolves had transgressed against the pack. Then he realised that there was no way wolves who were not pack would survive being in the pack's territory at the full moon. He found it nauseated him. He would be in his Animagus form, but still have his human mind. He didn't think he could be with the pack to witness that. No doubt, in the past, only the bodies had been found and that would be how the knowledge passed down. They would not remember - but he would, and he didn't think he could watch the werewolves being torn apart and reverting back to men as they died.

Alphard looked at his hands, suddenly feeling the weight of the silence between the three of them pressing in on him – feeling the enormity of their difference for the first time.

"I can't be there ... I'm sorry," he gasped, feeling every inch a traitor.

Idris nodded curtly, got up briskly and left. Alphard went to speak but Angharad caught his hand.

"Leave him be, Alf. Just for now."

Alphard's stormy grey eyes followed Idris until he was out of sight, suddenly terrified of the offence he had caused.

But Idris was not offended – far from it. He was mortified that Alphard was clearly so repulsed.

But it was their way and it must be done. They had no courts, or judges and juries. No Dementors for that matter to mete out punishment second-hand. They had the age-old rule of the packs. Even as Idris trudged through the encampment feeling unworthy of his mate, still he knew he was worthy of his pack. He was their Alpha, and he must do what was best for the pack.

So it was that it was Alphard who sought out Idris on the afternoon of the full moon and asked him back to the tent. Usually, Idris had come to him by this time to stake his Claim on Alphard and make him safe before the transformation.

Idris had not been distant with him exactly – he had seemed more wounded. Alphard thought he understood: Idris's fear that Alphard would consider him a beast always troubled him. Alphard couldn't deny he did not want to witness the slaughter of the werewolves, even if they were enemies - but it would be true of any form of execution. It was up to him to make Idris see that he understood what Idris needed to do – and seek his pardon.

"My pardon?" breathed Idris in shock as Alphard stood before him in the tent. "What for?"

"For not standing by you during the trial like a proper mate," said Alphard softly. "I am a coward. I do not want to see such things. Forgive me."

Idris stepped forward and placed his hands on Alphard's face, stroking his thumbs across his fine cheekbones, feeling his heart pull as his mouth thinned and Alphard's gentlemanly hands wrapped around his wrists.

"Alf," he whispered. "Yer no coward." He pulled Alphard to him and kissed him, wishing he could articulate his love for this gentle man - the Healer - the kind soul that Alphard was who managed to love Idris knowing that Idris had to be what his cursed nature demanded of him, and yet chastised himself for not being the same. His own Alf.

The moon drew on him – the drive to Claim his mate before moonrise strong and demanding – and yet Idris did not succumb to the harsh call of the moon to subdue and take his mate. He made himself as soft and gentle as the man he held so close to him, reassuring him that he was a fitting mate for a gentle wizard as he took him to his bed.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Idris had secured Alphard's promise to remain in his Animagus form in case any werewolf caught his scent. Alphard had agreed, although he couldn't deny his curiosity about the possible inoculation effect that Snape seemed to have acquired. That said, Alphard was sure that it was the combination of the grievous wound that the wolf inflicted together with the Claim that had saved Snape, rather than the Claim alone. Alphard wasn't sure he wanted to gamble his life on it being otherwise.

If he had immunity, perhaps he could heal the sickly werewolves as they transformed but Idris refused to believe it could protect Alphard from other werewolves, even if it protected him from his mate. He might not be fully infected – but he still might be torn limb from limb!

Idris warded the roundhouse so Alphard couldn't enter until moonset, and no-one could override the Alpha's enchantments. Alphard would either have to leave the camp or transform and wait. Idris asked Alphard if he wanted to leave the camp as he re-dressed Alphard, smoothing down his robe, still holding him possessively. Alphard shook his head.

"No, I'd never leave," he whispered into Idris's neck.

The pack had gathered in the clearing and Alphard transformed and then watched as Idris's sons brought out the prisoners and unbound them.

"Go! Run for your lives!" snarled Idris.

The prisoner werewolves exchanged terrified looks with each other knowing, without wands, they could not Disapparate and they fled. Within minutes the change was upon the pack, and their moans and cries became whines and howls.

How different the change was this time! It was rapid – almost as if the curse that coursed through the veins of the pack wolves knew there was a hunt afoot. As soon as the wolves were settled, without another look at Alphard, Idris, the white wolf sprang away, snarling and slavering, and his sons and Betas followed in his wake, their powerful bodies rippling as their legs punched the ground to speed them after their prey. Within seconds, the rest of the pack followed after them, the barks and howls carrying on the wind.

Alphard sat, waiting for the terrible feral noises that would chill him to the bone, hoping that when they were caught, perhaps they would be far enough away to be out of earshot – he hoped. One by one, the sound of the triumphant howling presaging the trials carried back to him on the mountain air and he tried curling up in the tent after the last, but he could not sleep.

Part of him felt guilty to have shown dismay at the fate of the wolves; the other half could not have been party to it – could not have run with the wolves to their bloody revenge. Resting his muzzle on his forepaws, he tried to sleep, but sleep would not come. He padded out of his tent and heard the whimpering and whining of the injured in the roundhouse but was powerless to help even though his canine sense of smell caught their injuries, their spilt blood and their primeval anguish.

He itched to transform and do some work, perhaps on his notes for Snape – that would pass the time. But he knew that those in the roundhouse would smell him and probably damage themselves, even fatally, to try get to human flesh.

He trotted to the perimeter of the wards and paced them, slowly, as if on watch – almost giving himself a purpose, although he knew it was a sham to occupy his sleepless hours.

Before moonset, Alphard returned to the clearing where the pack congregated to change, and he waited there, sitting to attention in his usual place – waiting for his mate – a show of solidarity.

One by one the wolves returned, each taking their positions.

The white wolf saw Alphard first, quickly recognising his scent and nuzzled the white dog's neck giving a small whine of acknowledgement. The black she-wolf followed suit – and within minutes the change was upon them, and Alphard changed with them.

Clasping his knees and gasping for breath, Idris looked up to find Alphard. Relief washed through him to see Alphard waiting for them and he grabbed Alphard to himself, holding the back of Alphard's head with his large hand. "Alf," he rasped. "Thank you."

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Alphard and Snape's correspondence had begun in earnest within weeks of Snape's return to Hogwarts. Each passing full moon meant that Alphard could add an even greater amount of information which Snape seemed to consume greedily. Alphard in turn soaked in all Snape's information and improvements, excited by the progress they were making.

He wrote to Snape of his own interest in whether he too would have any immunity to the Lycanthropic Curse.

I have pondered this a great deal since that revelation, Snape wrote. But I think there is more to it than that one grievous wound.

First, we have the Claim: the bite of an untransformed werewolf. Does it transfer a dilute form of Lycanthropy? I believe it does. So the body of a human mate is first acclimatised to the curse – a tolerance building, perhaps.

Secondly, I was attacked by a feral vampyr once at the full moon. It punctured my neck to feed, but did not transfer its own blood to me. The fully transformed wolf (but medicated with Wolfsbane) healed the bite. This was, in fact, the first time cursed saliva was delivered directly into a wound of mine.

Lastly, there was the wound made by the claws of the fully transformed wolf with no Wolfsbane, but which was healed by that werewolf.

I don't know if you studied Muggle epidemiology and infection as part of your Healer training, but I am impatient for you to acquire a microscope!

What could Alphard do but buy a microscope now Snape had suggested it? How could he even resist? The opportunity to study a curse as a disease was too intriguing. He was sure it had been done before, but with access to so many werewolves as he had, or to his own and Snape's blood: wizard mates of werewolves, one medicated, the other not? He sincerely doubted it.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Alphard and Angharad had been working companionably on the fifth version of Snape's variation to the healing balm for most of the morning, although Alphard thought Angharad was a little more subdued than usual. As they worked, he saw Angharad suddenly pale and then she ran from the tent. Concerned, Alphard strode after her and heard her being sick. He approached her carefully and leant over her, casting Scourgify! to clean her clothes.

"Thanks, Alf," she said breathlessly, holding her own dark hair away from her face. "You'd think I'd be used to it after all these years."

"Used to what?" Alphard asked, confused. Angharad laughed softly.

"You may be a Healer, Alf, but you are so very sheltered." She leant on his proffered arm and smoothed down her robes. "I'm pregnant, Alf."

Alphard's eyes became huge and she smiled broadly at him. "You're pleased, I hope," she said, watching him carefully.

He laughed and wrapped her in a bear-hug. "How could I be otherwise? The world needs more Angharads."

"How do you know it won't be an Idris?"

He held out her hands from her in his own and looked. "I think it's a girl," he grinned.

"Idris has never fathered a girl."

"Then she's well overdue, wouldn't you say?" With that, he embraced her again, and led her back into the tent and sat her down, and passed her a glass of water.

"Is Idris happy?" asked Alphard, as he brought out some ingredients for a light nausea draught and began to mix them.

"Another cub? Of course, he is. He loves all his children," she said wistfully, and Alphard thought she looked quite beautiful. "Are you happy with this news, Alf?"

"Me?" Alphard laughed. "How could I not be?"

"Did you never want children of your own, Alf? With other lovers?" Angharad knew it was a forward question, but he had such a way with everyone – she couldn't help feel he would have made a wonderful father.

"You know what kind of man I am, Angharad. And I would never have married just to have children – even though my family tried to persuade me to do exactly that – to produce an heir." A shadow of sadness flickered across his face. "I thought my heirs would be my nephews and nieces, but ... well ... there it is."

"There is magic for men ..."

"Oh-ho! No!" laughed Alphard. He sat next to Angharad and gave her the nausea potion. "I had lovers who offered to take potions." Angharad drank it down and then Alphard put the glass to his side. "I didn't want that."

"You don't approve of it?"

Alphard frowned. "I think ... deep down ... I knew I didn't truly love my partners. Asking any of them to undertake such life-changing magic when I knew none was my life partner would have been wrong, I think."

Angharad felt her eyes sting with tears. Alphard was such a gentle man and it seemed to her that life had denied him those ordinary happinesses others took for granted.

"If you had found Idris when you were younger then maybe ..."

"Ah," said Alphard, with a sad smile. "I think that would have been very different. But, no matter. At my age, it is a moot point. I will be happy to be part of this child's life and I will love her as my own, if I may." He patted Angharad's hands fondly.

"We are three, Alf. You will be a da to this child too," whispered Angharad and pressed a chaste kiss on Alphard's cheek. For no reason that made sense to him, he felt himself blush and they went back to work.

After they finished, Alphard set about finalising his tabulation of his results for Snape. Snape had an incisive mind, and Alphard did his best to collate all Snape's specifications into a well-ordered form. Given the extraordinary leaps in efficacy the balm had taken since Snape had contributed to the research, Alphard considered it behoved him to take the utmost care in the presentation of results to utilise Snape's time to best effect.

He also knew that Snape was endeavouring to look into the origins of the Lycanthropic Curse and his letters were full of fragments of information that he and Lupin were unearthing. Alphard couldn't imagine such an undertaking. He had read many, many books on werewolfism when Idris was first Turned, but he had never seen anything beyond Greek mythology. He wondered how far back in the mists of time Snape would need to go.

But more than that – he wondered how Snape even had the time: he was a professor at Hogwarts, a House Master, a spy and active Apothecary. It was extraordinary really. He was sure Lupin must be very proud.

The results fully tabulated, he set about his letter to accompany it. He couldn't wait to add the news about Angharad. He wondered what Snape and Lupin would think of it. Snape was a teacher, but he never spoke of his charges in his correspondence. Alphard wondered if Snape liked his job at all and, if not, why he didn't work within the Apothecary and Spell-Casting industry where Snape's skills were clearly second to none.

IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB

Alphard had been teaching some basis charms to the young children who had each demonstrated their basic charms for him and for Idris and Angharad who had come to watch their progress.

As Alphard finished, he saw Idris lay a protective hand on Angharad's belly and the spontaneous gesture warmed Alphard through, and then a question struck him.

"How is that that the Ministry does not know of these children? After all, they know when magic is cast. Where it is cast. Why do we receive no outraged visits from the Ministry?"

"Because these are not children to the Ministry, Alf." Angharad placed her palm over her stomach.

"What do you mean?" asked Alphard, his flesh prickling at what he thought was the answer.

"There will be no Trace placed on this child, as there would be none on a house-elf or a goblin. To the Ministry, this is a beast."

IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB

Botolph had brought Snape's latest letter with further research notes. Alphard always felt a buzz of excitement to see Snape's developments and laid the notes out. At the bottom of the letter were effusive congratulations from Lupin. Alphard smiled to see the excitement, and then the rather formal addition by Snape of his own name to them. More interesting than that though was the post script asking Alphard for a clandestine meeting of great urgency.

At first, Idris refused, reluctant to let Alphard out of the camp after he had been captured by Greyback.

"Then let some werewolves accompany me," said Alphard. "He says it's important. You know the work he does."

"It's not our war," growled Idris, pulling Alphard closer. "Why can't he come here?"

"He can't, can he, Idris? He might be recognised, even if disguised," said Alphard gently, not wanting to chide Idris when he knew his objections only stemmed from worry for Alphard's own safety.

Idris's expression hardened at the thought of that weekend. He had not forgotten what he had done to Snape to injure him so he would pass muster for Riddle. He understood why Snape needed the injuries to verify his loyalty, but it had horrified Alphard. Nor had he forgotten Alphard's reaction to the violence of the trial of their prisoners.

He couldn't blame Alphard: he was not wolfkind to understand why their execution had been necessary, or why Hereward had sent news with the running wolves that the three traitors had tried to infiltrate his pack. News of their treachery had run ahead of them. They too had been tried. No Alpha wanted such Omegas in their pack, or them running renegade around the country.

That he loved Alphard with every ounce of his being, he never questioned. Sometimes he questioned whether Alphard considered him less than civilised. But Alphard always soothed him, pointing out that wizards could hardly be civilised when they sent their criminals to Azkaban where demons destroyed their minds and sapped their souls. Alphard had reassured him over and over that it was just adjustment to their ways that Alphard needed.

And now Snape needed to see Alphard – urgently, he said. And it was Idris who needed to adjust that these two wizards, each mated to wolfkind, had business to transact away from the safety of the pack – away from his own sharp eyes - when he had so nearly lost Alphard to Riddle. It was hard for Idris to relinquish control. He was Alpha, after all. After days of mild requests from Alphard, and not so mild insistence by Angharad, Idris agreed. He wanted to go with Alphard himself, but would not leave his pack. In all these years, he had never left Snowdonia. Instead, Idris put together a band of ten fighting werewolves to protect Alphard, and even then, he worried.

In the end, Snape arranged to meet Alphard at the busy Wizarding Exchange in Chester on the Welsh Marches. Alphard had been there as a young man with his father and his grandfather as they transacted business on bonds. It was still an imposing place, stuffed to its vaulted ceilings with wizards of privilege and wealth. He looked as if he fitted in, although he had little time for the way of life it upheld anymore.

Snape had chosen the ale house off the trading floor to meet Alphard saw him as soon as he entered and joined him in the booth in which he sat. His guard fanned out around them and Alphard drew the brocade curtains to give them privacy.

"Thank you for meeting me," said Snape and poured them both some ale.

"Not at all, although I confess I'm surprised that Remus isn't with you."

"He doesn't know I'm here. I haven't told him or Albus what I need to tell you."

"Oh?" Alphard was astonished that Snape was keeping secrets from both his mate and Dumbledore, but he would not judge until he knew why this was.

"If I tell them this, Remus will see it as his duty to assist and Albus will send Remus out ... well, it's taken me a long time to bring him back home. Being with the werewolves - the homeless Dark werewolves - erodes his self esteem, his – ah – gentle nature – I don't suppose I can make you understand. Idris and his pack are so very different from most werewolves. Civilised and ..."

"... human?" offered Alphard, with an understanding smile. Alphard thought he could understand. Everything he had previously read about werewolves had led him to expect that Idris would become a brute upon Turning. He clearly had not. The pack had rules of society just as much as any other society. It was true that the rules took into account some of the wolfish facets of their nature but it certainly was civilised. He also knew from the extended pack werewolves that Idris's pack was unusual. He wondered how much Lupin changed that made Snape so wary.

"The Dark Lord remains furious that Greyback failed in his mission to procure Idris and his pack. Greyback also informed him that we were there – two wizards with the pack." Alphard's eyebrows shot up. "Scent apparently – we didn't smell like werewolves. Don't worry. We were not identified. He expects to have the Ministry in his hands within months," said Snape. Alphard paled. "When he does, he wants Idris's pack destroyed, together with all the Light packs who refused his order to join him – even those that are neutral."

With that, Snape produced a small scroll.

"On this parchment are the packs that refused him: Sussex, Scafell Pike, Bodmin, the Ancients of Dartmoor, Birmingham. I need you to ask Idris to send out word with the running wolves of the danger so they are prepared for what may come."

"You think it will happen then? The Ministry will fall?" asked Alphard, aghast.

"The Dark Lord had a year unchallenged in which to recruit when Fudge refused to listen to reason. He made huge strides. He has people in place in the Ministry already ..."

"... but if you know who they are, can't you tell the ones you know are not in his pocket?" cried Alphard. "I don't understand this."

"Neither do I - on so many levels. Albus is the Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot, and yet this information is not shared. He believes that Scrimgeour is just as closed-minded as Fudge was, but for different reasons." Snape sighed. "Albus has his own plans, but I am not party to them."

"Thank you for warning us, Seth. Do you have any particular instructions or things which we should be vigilant for?" asked Alphard quietly.

"Be careful of strangers. Remus is no longer recruiting. The Dark Lord may well try infiltration as a tactic as he now knows the pack has strong ancient enchantments. But if the Ministry falls, all manner of powers for the breaking of enchantments will be available to them. You must shore up your defences. If I get word, I will send my Patronus so you are not taken unawares. At least then you will know the message comes from me." What Snape said next made the hair on Alphard's neck stand on end.

"When it comes, do not ignore it – no matter what you may then think of me then ..." Alphard saw Snape struggle to finish his sentence. He recognised it. He knew it was the Fidelius. He had seen it used before.

"What do you mean?" pressed Alphard, but Snape could only shake his head. Alphard raised his hands. He should not have pressed him. He poured Snape another ale and waited for him to continue. Then, Snape recovered himself, and removed his wand, and a piece of parchment.

"We need to conceal not only our experiments, but even your existence and certainly that I know you. I need to show you an enchantment for our correspondence. I will write short notes of little import to you, but when you cast this enchantment, it will reveal my true missive."

"Like the enchantment I saw you use when I was captured?" Alphard leaned forward with interest.

"Exactly so." Snape nodded and demonstrated the wand movement.

"When do we start using this?" Alphard said, as he practised the movement.

"Immediately," said Snape, ominously. Alphard felt the strange crawl of foreboding once more.

IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB

Idris's horror at the news Alphard brought back was profound. Riddle in charge of the Ministry was too horrific to contemplate.

The three of them discussed it into the night. Idris even wondered whether they should leave the mountain that had been the pack's home for centuries, with its ancient enchantments. Perhaps cross the Irish Sea as St. Padraig had done before them and try to find a home in Ireland where no snakes could live.

In the morning, Idris called his Betas and his sons to him, and the leaders of all the satellite packs. Keeping Snape's name and connections secret, he told them he had heard the news that all the Light packs would be targeted within months. The news was to be taken at the earliest opportunity to the packs at risk so that they could all prepare for war.

IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB

The receipt of another missive with a phoenix feather from Dumbledore only seemed to ratchet up the tension that Idris felt. Dumbledore requested another meeting and Idris, now he knew why Dumbledore sought to protect the Wand of Destiny, was keen to know what plans he had made to protect it from Riddle.

They met once more that The Boar's Head, although this time, many werewolves surrounded the inn for protection.

"Idris and Alphard. I have a request to make of you," said Dumbledore after greetings were exchanged. "You will probably have surmised that my time grows short."

Alphard nodded. There was no denying that Dumbledore's pallor was less healthy. He was sure the curse would break Snape's bonds soon enough. Even so, that Dumbledore still lived after all these months was a testament to Dumbledore's strength as well as Snape's undoubted magical skill. Idris knew because there was the faintest scent of incipient death. The curse was working free, he knew. Dumbledore smiled faintly, resting back against the high-backed bench as he stroked his long beard thoughtfully.

"It may be that my demise will not be as you might expect. I cannot tell more than: all will not be as it seems," said Dumbledore after a while. Alphard and Idris looked at him quizzically and Idris was about to tell him to stop talking in riddles when Dumbledore held his hand up gently.

"I wish to entrust a testament to your care for me. It is not something I can reveal to you now as to do so would compromise decades of planning but I need to make provision." Dumbledore pulled an ornate crystal phial from his robe.

"What is it?" asked Idris, as Alphard carefully took the phial in which a silver substance was suspended, neither liquid nor gas.

"A memory," said Alphard.

"An enhanced memory," nodded Dumbledore. "Quite clever magic," he chuckled, but then he became serious.

"Wills, as you know are not private. They are filed with the Ministry and may be inspected by its officials. If my worst fears come to pass, the contents of this testament must not be known to the Ministry – until it is time."

"Time for what? And how will we know when it is time?" asked Alphard, his frown of incomprehension deepening.

"There is a conditional charm on it. Difficult to work, even for me, but certain events will activate it. I can tell you no more, but I hope it will be useful for what is to come and to ask you to tell no-one of this until that time comes."

"That's rather enigmatic, isn't it," said Alphard, rather disgruntled to receive so little information.

"I'm sorry I cannot be more forthcoming. To do so would endanger carefully laid plans. And lives. But I cannot think of two more trustworthy guardians for this task. Please accept it."

Alphard and Idris looked at each other. How could they do otherwise, when it was Dumbledore who had brought them back together. They both agreed. Dumbledore sat forward then, his piercing blue eyes fixing Idris.

"There is one other thing to which I need to attend with you," he said. "It is about your father's house."

"Plas du?" blurted Idris, confused by the turn in conversation.

"You may be aware that I knew your father – we served together on the Wizengamot. I found out from Alphard here what had happened to you, and then I discovered that Vereticus had registered your death with the Ministry." Idris looked away quickly, feeling the hurt well up inside, even after all this time. Alphard's hand wrapped over his own. He smiled weakly at Alphard and returned his attention to Dumbledore.

"Go on," he said softly.

"I bought Plas du from Vereticus's estate after his death. I had hoped to find you, keep you in school and restore your home to you when you were of age. Well, we know I failed in that. I would at least like to restore your home to you now. Will you accept it? If so, I'd like to transfer it before my death so the Ministry does not enquire into it too closely."

"I knew there was a charm on it," murmured Idris to himself and then inhaled deeply to collect himself. "I will never set foot in that place again. I don't want it." Idris did not want a reminder of his father's rejection of him. Not a physical reminder. "Do what you will with it."

Dumbledore nodded sadly, but did not argue. "Very well," he said.

If Dumbledore was offended by Idris's gruffness, he didn't show it, but Idris felt a pang of shame for his ungrateful reaction and more than a little curiosity.

"Why did you do such a thing for a werewolf?"

"Were you not the same boy you had always been?" asked Dumbledore mildly.

"Aye," Idris said softly, "aye, I was." But he couldn't help wondering cynically if Dumbledore had factored into his decision that he was the boy who heard Wandsong. He considered asking, but Dumbledore made ready to depart.

"Afore ye go ..." said Idris urgently as Dumbledore pulled on his travelling cloak. "The Death Stick ... is it protected from Riddle?"

"I have taken care of it, but I can say no more than that. Please trust me on this, Idris. Now then ... there is much I have to do. Many things must be arranged before my death or the consequences will be difficult to juggle for those I leave behind." He stood. "I am sorry I have not had longer to spend in your company. I should have enjoyed getting to know more about your way of life." His countenance became soft. "I am pleased Remus and Severus have found allies in you and your pack. There are hard times ahead for them - hard times indeed."
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