"You can… you can see that? Really?" was all Molly managed, once she'd caught her breath.
"Don't wizards usually… see such things?" Hagrid headed off their questions at the pass.
Arthur said nothing—only went pale.
Andrei spread his hands in silence. Molly's expression did not bode well, and words were in no particular hurry to come to him either.
"But D-Dumbledore—" Arthur said faintly. "How could he— He promised— Is it really a girl?"
Andrei nodded.
"I'll pull his beard out," Molly said quietly, and gave a small sniff—and Andrei reflexively covered the lower half of his face with both hands. "I'll smash his glasses and scratch his eyes out. Hmm. If I can reach him, that is. I'm no match for Dumbledore." She sighed, stroked her belly again, and unexpectedly smiled. "Though I've been dreaming of a girl all these years. I'll love her more than any of them."
"The great… man…" Andrei ventured, purely as a test, and was inwardly gratified: the elder Weasleys were now looking at him with sympathy, so he arranged his brows into an expression of woeful uncertainty—as well as the face allowed—and added plaintively: "Was I wrong?"
The result was that they spent the next while consoling him—having first established how exactly he had "known." Andrei lied magnificently and attributed everything to his nature, specifically Hagrid's half-giant nature, since no one had ever studied giants in sufficient detail to dispute this, and the suggestion of using one as a magical ultrasound device had certainly never been proposed to anyone. Given what they knew of Grawp, it probably never would be. Arthur and Molly even swore not to tell anyone about his apparent ability.
The Weasleys are definitely not villains, he concluded on his way back to Grimmauld. And they're reasonable people—just very trusting. Though that can be useful. I'll need to plant a couple of ideas with them. And some forest gifts—I don't mind sharing. Just think it through properly first, and probably not alone.
He had already begun forming another simple, elegant plan for deratting the Burrow—which, after a difficult but productive discussion with his household of co-conspirators, all of whom he had come to think of as exactly that, was adopted for action. Simply because no one had anything better.
He never did get to the car, or whatever else it was that required gallons of engine oil, that day. Never mind. It had been a full enough day as it was. And before what he had in mind, it would be good to rest—even better to get a couple of hours' sleep.
***
That night he returned and settled himself not far from the Burrow—the patch of woodland nearby came almost up to the house—just to watch. It was worth it.
At a quiet rustling behind him, he didn't turn. He sat exactly as he was, motionless. There was nothing here to fear, human or animal. Dry leaves gave away the approach of something cautious—an animal, by the sound of it—and at last it drew level with him, close enough that a slight shift of his eyes was all he needed.
In the moonlight, a young wolf moving stealthily would have looked rather romantic. If it had actually been stealthy. And if it hadn't startled at the garden gnomes—when one of them darted across the path, the wolf sprang straight up on all four paws at once and lunged, but its jaws snapped shut on nothing.
To be fair, the gnomes had got on Andrei's nerves considerably in the first half hour too—their movements and mannerisms were a bit too rat-like for comfort. On the positive side, he had just confirmed that a half-giant's night vision was at least as good as an owl's. So he studied the young, slightly dishevelled wolf in considerable detail. And then it struck him that this animal's behaviour didn't seem particularly human, which was precisely because it was. This was followed by another idea, which he decided to test immediately.
"Out hunting, young man?" he murmured—but for a werewolf, it was approximately the equivalent of a thunderclap on a clear night.
He had to catch him by the scruff before he could bolt—or bite. Though the wolf was snapping more from terror than aggression. And the full moon was still some time away.
The creature struggled desperately in his grip, writhing as though trying to turn itself inside out, and at last succeeded.
"Stupefy!" Andrei heard, sighed, and looked at Lupin with reproach.
"And you were a top student. I'm genuinely disappointed in you, Remus. Honestly—tsk."
Remus Lupin, doing his best to calm his wildly hammering heart, finally registered who was in front of him.
"H-Hagrid?! What are you doing here?"
"Same as you, I expect. Out hunting." Hagrid spread his hands and squinted with amusement. "Or should I say—rat hunting?"
"How did you know?"
"How did you?"
Lupin, struck temporarily speechless, produced something along the lines of paws and nose—those are my credentials, from which Andrei inferred the answer himself:
"You caught the scent, then."
Remus nodded.
"Biscuit?"
"Water, if you have any," he rasped.
"That too." Andrei handed him a flask, still nearly full. "Come on—let's talk."
The best place to talk was home—the gamekeeper's cottage, to which Andrei Apparated them both with his pink umbrella, causing Lupin to nearly go catatonic again. There they exchanged a fairly interesting quantity of information: Remus learned about "the visions of the concussed Hagrid" in the best traditions of the tale, from the flying accident through to the present moment—without certain details, including anything about the Blacks or Snape. And about Harry, naturally—who knew with this young wolf, he might bolt straight to the Headmaster. He'd always held Dumbledore in the highest regard, from what Andrei recalled.
Andrei, in turn, learned that the rat had found his way to the Weasley family no later than yesterday, having spent the preceding period wandering the country in a panic—fleeing Lupin, and possibly someone else besides.
And Remus knew a great deal. He knew almost everything—including who had actually been the Secret Keeper for the Potters' home. He had gone to the Ministry with that knowledge, to defend his friend. It had nearly ended very badly for him. They weren't fond of his kind there—not at all. He'd gone to the beloved Headmaster afterward, and after that he remembered nothing.
He had come back to himself stumbling down a side street off Diagon Alley, seen an Auror's robes, thrown up an Invisibility Charm, and kept walking until his strength gave out. And at the gate of a small house, he had seen and heard something: Peter Pettigrew's mother being presented with the Order of Merlin.
And probably the finger too, Andrei thought, but said nothing.
It was at that moment, Lupin said, that he had caught Pettigrew's scent from beneath a hedge—he knew it better than anyone. And he remembered. All of it came back at once. He came fully to himself. The chase had begun, and had eventually led him here. He had even witnessed Percy Weasley "acquiring" his rat—Pettigrew had made a dash for the boy, seeking protection from Lupin himself, at the moment when Arthur and his son were already heading into the Leaky Cauldron, laden with parcels.
When Lupin finally understood—truly believed—that he and Hagrid had the same objective: find the rat, hand him to the Aurors, get Sirius Black out—he exhaled with relief. The question of Dumbledore they both left alone for now. Andrei mumbled something about "well, you know, I don't really, it's like, I'm not sure about him," and Remus nodded along.
The starving young man was fed and installed on the bunk. Andrei decided not to rush introducing a werewolf to Lady Walburga. She hadn't fully made her peace with him yet—heaven knew what might happen. If something did, Snape would spend the evening hissing at everyone after reviving Gran Valya yet again. And Regulus would have things to say too. No—an introduction was probably unavoidable eventually, but better to wait.
***
The Weasley situation required quick action, taken unhurriedly. So Andrei first paid a visit to Arthur's workshop, which reminded him of his great-uncle's garage—not because the famous car was actually in it, though it was, but because it was barely visible amid the general clutter. He smiled to himself, produced the beer and crisps he'd prepared at home—they suited the decor rather well—
"This is genuine Muggle food," he announced, handing Arthur the bag.
Arthur looked at it with interest, but the half-giant was already crunching away. The sound was intriguing.
"Delicious!" Arthur declared, working his jaw with enthusiasm.
"Isn't it," Andrei agreed.
And began, gradually, word by word, to draw out what Arthur had planned for the car—and from there, to gauge what the man was actually capable of. He came to the conclusion that of all the characters in the seven books, this was the only genuinely handy man—the direct equivalent of your Uncle Vasya, the kind who can fix anything from plumbing to a television set.
"Getting thirsty…"
Andrei handed Arthur the beer. It took him a moment to come round to it, but after the salty crisps it went down well. And so, over the beer, Andrei began to share his "dreams of getting rich." The result was an agreement: Andrei would supply certain materials from the Forbidden Forest, and Arthur would produce some rather good artefacts for sale.
The idea of selling his work did give Arthur pause, though. As did the prospect of making many identical things. Arthur was an artist by nature—repetition was anathema to him.
Ah, thought Andrei. Simple enough when you see it. Some people are like that—perfectly good mind, just pointed in a completely different direction. And so he brought Molly into the men's business.
"Molly—do you want your husband to be famous? A hero?"
"I do not. And don't you dare. Who's going to feed the children?"
"Well, from where I stand, that's generally you—"
"On what, exactly, had you thought about that?"
"It's perfectly safe. And there might even be a bonus. Of sorts."
"Of sorts, or an actual bonus?" Molly crunched into a rice biscuit with great satisfaction.
Andrei had considerable experience in getting porridge into his target audience—he and his wife had spent years experimenting on their own children: puddings, flatbreads, biscuits. Oat-based was more interesting, but you worked with what you had.
The main thing was that Weasley-mama, once she'd recovered from the news about her daughter, had marched up to Dumbledore and caused a scene in the middle of the Ministry—and without naming anyone or anything (she'd sworn an oath), she had extracted unexpected concessions. Including, specifically, the promise that her daughter would have the best husband in the world—wealthy and entirely alone. You can probably guess who was meant. Oh, and he'd be a true hero, and would break any curse. Molly found this satisfactory, and the respected Light Wizard's beard remained intact.
Andrei and Arthur each contributed their part, and mama Molly, predictably, took charge. Her dear husband's free time was scheduled if not to the minute then certainly to the hour, and since Hagrid had already brought unicorn hair, work began at once. Not because Molly was so commanding, but because Arthur was constitutionally unable to refuse his pregnant wife anything.
Andrei had one regret: he hadn't seen her shouting at Dumbledore, or the reaction of the assembled onlookers—from Molly's account, there had been quite an audience. Never mind. He tried not to react too conspicuously to Dumbledore's hasty improvisation—clearly the old man hadn't had anything better on hand—and focused instead on planting a simple idea in both Weasleys' heads: What will people think, if a poor girl latches onto a wealthy little orphan? They might even tell the orphan himself. He'll think it's all about the money, and you want something quite different—your intentions are noble! You need to handle this yourselves, properly, so everything is right and beautiful for your daughter.
He had to manoeuvre rather carefully—this sort of thing couldn't be said straight out—but judging by the way Molly's brow clouded over, followed by a few murmured reflections on what else she herself might do, her thoughts were moving in the right direction.
But the most important thing he accomplished was finding Lupin a position as Arthur's apprentice. The future employers were somewhat stunned, but they'd adjust. Why not? The lad had been top of his class, hadn't he? Let him put that head to use—with Arthur's hands alongside him, something useful might come of it. And most importantly, he'd catch the rat. As for the full moon—the forest was right there, plenty of room to run. And as for the other business with his head, that was actually treatable. Snape even knew how.
Remus resisted at first—he was uncomfortable "eating someone else's bread"—and the news that there was actually something to earn at the Weasleys, including literal bread and even a roof over his head, sent him into a fresh stupor. Briefly. Andrei had become rather good at bringing people back to themselves these past few days. Especially since he had for Remus a task of the highest importance, one that perfectly aligned with the werewolf's own interests: Pettigrew.
As it turned out, Lupin didn't even need to hunt the rat. The very next day after Hagrid's arrival, it wasn't only the adults who were waiting for him—Percy was there too. The boy reported that his new pet seemed unwell: listless, refusing to eat, hiding under the pillow and not showing his nose.
Hardly surprising, Andrei thought, suppressing a grin. When your worst childhood enemy is lurking in the yard and might spot you at any moment. And in his most solicitous tone he proposed a perfectly wonderful solution: he would take the rat with him for now, have a look at him, give him something for whatever ailed him, and bring him back in due course.
Given the choice of evils, Peter naturally chose what he considered the lesser one—and walked calmly into Hagrid's hands, settling himself comfortably in the coat pocket.