I wrote this story some… eight years ago on the turn between high school and the Uni. Gosh, that's long! But I still think it's good and time didn't hurt it. It's AU where Voldemort had won and Deat Eaters are on their killing spree. And because they are targeting muggles, muggle-born and „half-breeds", and especially any resistance, he doesn't mind. Which means it will be kind of sad nazi gothic over the top horror that I can imagine happening despite it's… bit cartoonish evil. And it's short and very narrow in the sense of characters and setting, but I will publish the chapters as I did in Czech eight years ago. I really think it's worth the translation effort.

So many days. So many days in the darkness of this pent room where fear was the reveille and despair the lullaby. Without hope for light. Without hope for help. Without hope for life.
The only solace for a long time of imprisoning and torture was the thought of his wife and son. Those he loved more than anything in the world and who were perhaps safe. He knew from the beginning he'd lead them at the margins of society, that people would persecute and hate them, but she, his beloved lady, had always had an answer for arguments like that. Her love she didn't want to forsake.
He had no idea how long had he been there. A month, two, half a year, days were blending into one long, frenzied agony that would something end soon. He hoped.

He was hungry and thirsty. His prisoners didn't care enough to give him food regularly, but he wasn't worthless enough to be killed.
Faint beams of light were reaching the gloomy, almost empty cell through a little, barred window. The sun or moon, he couldn't tell clearly now. Neither was as bright as he remembered. He hoped it would end already. He stopped to care about life because he knew it was forfeit.

He wasn't well. He felt worse and worse for several days in a row. It was recurring periodically. Every month before the full moon. His lupine instincts couldn't be discharged enough, therefore he felt that if they didn't kill him, he'd harm himself soon. With every transformation more and more. He didn't ask for mercy, he just dreaded what could happen. The werewolf curse is too dangerous and unexplored to be able to tell the consequences of the madness and fight of wolf and human parts, while the human one fades and breaks. At least, he couldn't harm anyone else. Until now.

Something sounded behind the robust door of his cell. Someone was there and spoke to him. He hadn't heard a human voice for a long time, he should be glad, but this voice wasn't pleasant nor known. Only distant, mocking and the joy of his suffering beamed of it.
"Hungry, freak?"
So nothing special. They were going to throw him a few pieces of food after a while. He stepped back from the door. If he was too close, a curse would strike and he didn't need it in such state.
But instead of a filthy bowl, someone's body fell down on the floor.
"It's gonna be the full moon soon," the unknown person grinned and the lock clicked back on its impenetrable place.

Remus stayed in place until the last sounds that could reach him faded. Then he carefully approached the body. He had no idea who it was. The sun or the moon, if it was a night, hid behind a cloud and he didn't see well even his own hands that seized the body.
Slowly and carefully, he turned it. He took a breath.
It was familiar. He recognized the smell. He used to recognize it every time when he just got closer. It embedded into his mind as indelibly as everything related to it.
Instantly, he refused to believe. He refused to believe it could happen. They couldn't find her!

The detained person moaned faintly but didn't wake up. There wasn't any doubt who it was. After Harry Potter failed, the war was lost, the Order of the Phoenix and every other resistance was routed and it's members pursued, arrested and murdered, most wizards lost their hope.
He didn't. He still had faith. Even after his seizing and imprisoning. He still believed his wife and son would make it, survive in safety and would be well because it couldn't remain forever. He didn't succumb only because of this chance.
Now he should lose it?

"Dora..."
This couldn't... his life was gone, but why hers as well! He thought he had handled the security of his family before they caught him. That he had helped them enough. But now he saw he hadn't. And now he couldn't, he couldn't help her here.
He sat beside her, held her hand and waited for her to wake up. The only thing he could.
How did they get her? Did they find their hideout? Did they do something to Teddy? Where was he? Was he even alive? And what about their other friends?

Suddenly, a lot of questions started to burn him. But he realized the answers, even if he would get some, were to no good. What was the knowledge of what's going on for? Or how were other people, if he couldn't intervene. He wouldn't see the outside world till death. Neither of them. The Death Eaters would happily make sure of that. Everything started to fall apart. His dreams were burnt, promises stamped out, life written off. Everything he wanted and desired was gone and he had nothing to look up and hope for. Lord Voldemort was exactly about this. Establish desperation and fear. And no one could resist.

Evil perhaps can't be defeated. As Dumbledore said, we can just postpone the time when we have to deal with it again.