Genre: Urban - Urban fiction, also known as Street lit, is a literary genre set, as the name implies, in a city landscape; however, the genre is as much defined by the race and culture of its characters as the urban setting. The tone for urban fiction is usually dark, focusing on the underside.
Prompt: Word Of Mouth
Had anyone been around to hear it, they would have found the 'pop' sound of apparition rather misplaced in Muggle London. Remus, dressed in drab, grey – almost ash-coloured – robes, appeared out of thin air, looking none the more aware of his surroundings after a long few moments of silent contemplation. He took in the dark, damp, rather dangerous-looking sights around him. This particular part of Muggle London held a bit of a fear factor, as the dark corners and sharp turns seemed to be the beginnings of a maze headed straight to the centre of danger. He wasn't fazed by it; dusting his robes off and scratching his mousy brown hair. It was lying flat on his head, dirty and unwashed for days. The war had not been good on them, none of them… even if it was technically over. But it wasn't, not by a long shot. There was much work to do to catch the Death Eaters, clean and restore the Wizarding community; numerous tasks that would at some point have to be completed.
Remus caught himself as he nearly stumbled on a stray rock lying on the ground. Nearly thirty-six hours of no-sleep did not do one's ability to balance any good. It wasn't particularly good for concentration, either. Remus hadn't been able to sleep – or maybe he didn't want to face the nightmares that were sure to plague him – since James, Lily, and Peter were killed. Not since his closest friends had all been killed by another close friend. Sirius Black, murderer, traitor, spy, Death Eater.
Damn it, thought Remus, concentrate.
This was no place to be lost in one's own thoughts. He was here, in the deep underbelly of Muggle London, in accordance to orders that had been given to him by Dumbledore. Head of the Order of the Phoenix. Remus could hardly remember what his mission was – though the war was supposedly over, and he was supposed to have been finished with this horrible reconnaissance business – due to the exhaustion.
It was the beginning of August, late into the night between the second and third of the month. Despite the season, the air was clammy, cold, and Dark.
Ah, right! That was his mission. Dumbledore had told him that this location – one that was undisclosed – was suspected to be a hideout for the remaining Death Eaters. He was sent to put up some anti-apparition wards. Not a hard job, a fifth-year (with adequate skill, of course) could manage the spell.
He sharply turned a corner, the hem of his robes swishing softly over the mossy stone wall. It was too cold for August; too foggy, as well. He wanted to curl up into his robes, to allow himself to shiver. But now was not the time for weakness, it was time to focus on his mission, on his job.
So he stood rigidly, taking calculated steps and trying to remember the complicated map Dumbledore had shown him. It had been a partial map, one quarter of the space they had to ward. Others were in charge of warding the other areas.
Silence in this part of the city was rare – there were always muggles moving about, sirens wailing in the distance – but Remus had managed to find it. Something about the silence felt forced, too muted to be natural. Having become so used to the stifling quiet, it was a shock to hear sound, even coming from his own mouth.
He gasped as his foot made a splashing noise in something, and didn't dare investigate what liquid he had just stepped in. It could be anything from water to blood, from melted human flesh to other human secretions. The darkness was beginning to get to him. This had to be a trap. Nothing could stay so perfectly silent for such a time. He tricked himself into believing he saw movement once or twice, and pulled his wand out nervously both times. He hoped he would be quick enough, should it come to pass in reality.
The shadows he passed were too dark for his liking, and reminded him of Padfoot's dark fur.
I'll watch your back, Moony. He could almost hear Siriu – that traitor's – voice.
Thoughts of that brought him back to the incredible weight that felt as if it was sitting on his shoulders. Guilt. He couldn't shake it, no matter what he did. Granted, it had only been just over a day and a half since… since… but nothing he tried made even the smallest smidgeon of a difference. He was fated to live the rest of his days out in question.
What if he had agreed to be the Secret Keeper? Would the newly formed – with Harry as a new addition – Potter family still be alive if he had accepted? Would Sirius have continued being a spy? Would he have come to Remus?
Bloody fucking hell, if he had just paid more attention, he could have caught the traitor himself. It couldn't have been hard. But poor Remus had been looking in the wrong places – new members, unfamiliar faces.
He put up his first wards as the faint feeling of Dark magic intensified. He only had a few to put up.
There were others on this mission right now; probably all more well-rested and less stressed. In attendance right then and there were three other individuals, each working on one quadrant of this horrible stone labyrinth just as he was.
He kept his mind from straying back to dangerous thoughts, though he couldn't help the feeling that made its way through him whenever he thought of his friends' deaths.
It should have been him. As a werewolf, he wasn't expected to live a long life. He had no one and nothing to live for – no family, no romantic ties, just friends. He would do anything to just go back and change it, to save them from this horrible fate. This cruel twist of life. He deserved to die more than James, more than Lily.
And Harry, the poor child, would be thrust into the Muggle world; cared for by his relatives. But maybe 'care' was too strong a word. If they didn't abuse him, Remus would take it as a blessing. He had heard stories of Petunia and Vernon from Lily and didn't approve of Dumbledore's choice to hide the infant there. Another ward was put up, and Remus was suddenly thankful for the months of training he had in this.
Had he not been used to the magical, physical, and mental strains of casting and holding a ward, he would have collapsed by now in utter and pure fatigue.
He hardly noticed as yet more fog rolled in, making his robes cling to his body in a way that made him decidedly uncomfortable and sticky. Still, he continued with his assignment.
Another ward was cast, this one spanning more area than the other two – and therefore using up more energy. It was safer to do multiple smaller wards than one big one as it provided more of a cover if one ward was disabled, but he couldn't do it.
The words his mouth whispered were automatic, his wrist movements a habit. The draining sensation on his body's energy levels had never been this drastic or noticeable. Remus worried, just a bit. Concerned he might just fall and curl up right there on the dank ground.
It was sheer will that kept him upright when his fourth ward was cast.
His eyes closed for a moment, and he idly noticed that it hardly made a difference whether or not his eyelids were open or shut. It was so dark he couldn't see anything, anyway.
When they opened, he realized – thank the directions Dumbledore had given him to get in and out quickly – was back where he'd started, more or less. He was back on the outskirts of this damnable place, and glad. Almost done.
He was almost tempted to continue walking with only his fingers against the wall to guide him, because it was truly so pitch-black that he couldn't see a thing. Closing his eyes increased his paranoia, though.
He imagined he could feel eyes staring at him, burning him in the places they searched. Marking him as a coward – he hadn't been with his friends in that last moment – and marking him as a failure. He couldn't keep his friends safe. What could he do? He wanted really badly to shiver, and a ghost of a tremor ran down his spine.
And then he heard voices. At first, he thought he was imagining them, simply remembering James or Peter or Siri-traitor.
But he realized he'd never heard those voices before. Heart pounding and adrenaline rushing, Remus struggled to urge his body into movement. He had to think about it for too long before his body could move. He moved into the shadows just in time.
Their robes – so carefully marked with the sign of the Death Eaters – reminded him of the ones he had all but betrayed, the ones who had died at the Dark Lord's hand. They reminded him of the one that had betrayed him – all of them – and suddenly he was stepping forwards. He quickly had them disarmed and tied up, but his energy was quickly waning.
"Well," said the one on the left, "Look who we have here. The werewolf, if I'm not mistaken, in the flesh. Word of mouth tells me that great fool Dumbledore sent you, but you won't succeed. You will not survive the night," He sounded detached, almost defeated. Crushed were his dreams of world-domination, yet the contempt in his facial expressions remained the same.
The one on the right was not quite so dispirited and jumped right in. `Filthy mudblood half-breed," he spat, managing to sneer even from his place on the ground. "You think you've killed him, but just you wait. He'll be back; our lord will return!"
Remus wisely ignored everything – the threats were nothing new, after weeks of apprehending and questioning Death Eaters – and spelled their sleeves up. No mark on either wrist, and couldn't sense too much darkness coming off of them, his enhanced abilities telling him they were dark, but not tainted to their very souls with the dark magic.
Not Death Eaters then, hired thugs. They didn't know what to do and had no master to call. They were alone and they knew it.
They might not be Death Eaters, and Remus might not be one usually prone to dark and dangerous spells, but in that moment, all Remus wanted to do was to torture them until they begged for death. He wanted them to feel the sorrow, the brokenness, the emptiness of death. It was their cause that had killed everyone and everything close to him.
In that instant, something shifted inside of Remus. Maybe this was why he hadn't died on the night each and every one of his closest friends had. It wasn't some kind of cruel punishment the universe had allotted to him; he was there to avenge them. Clear their names. Help their son. Make sure that no matter what, a part of them was still alive.
The two robed wizards on the ground stared at him in open disgust, and he raised his wand again, practically snarling.
He felt lightheaded, and realized belatedly that he was casting a powerful spell. Something was making them writhe on the floor, dirty their robes, scream out in anguish. Remus stopped the spell as he realized what it was.
They lay there, gasping for a long minute. However, they surprised Remus by unsheathing their wands and pointing them at him, standing up fluidly. They must have trained under Crucio.
After his recent realization that maybe he was alive for a reason, he realized that he didn't really want to die. And coming from the two wizards he'd just cursed, his demise was probably to come after what would seem a lifetime of pain.
He had struggled to come to terms with everything and everyone's deaths in recent hours, and a flash of clear thinking broke through everything else. He was worth something, he had a mission. He had to live, had to fight, had to get free or die trying.
His mental struggle was over, now came time for one that really mattered. He gathered the meager scraps of magical power he had and focused them in his head. He imagined what he wanted to take place when he pushed the power out into the world.
They pushed him to the ground as his eyes were closed – taking advantage of him when his defenses were down, like the good little Slytherin lapdogs they were – and with a start, he shot straight back up. The force of his spell sent waves of power out around him. The sheer energy of it was creating an electric feel in the air. He banished the almost-Death-Eaters to the middle of their little lair – trapped in their own maze – and managed to put up a last ward. His knees gave way and he buckled, hitting the ground with astonishing force. Remus' vision swam, and he instinctively threw up red sparks, the universal signal for help. Someone apparated to his side, whispered something, and then cradled him in their arms. He noticed he was shaking, and couldn't do anything about it.
His mind was floating, and he abruptly felt incredibly free. He had let go of much of his guilt. It wouldn't do to fuss over something that hadn't been his fault or doing.
Perhaps that wasn't entirely true; he would always place blame on himself. But now he felt ready to deal with the betrayal he and his other friends had experienced at the hands of Sirius Black. It was time to think and reassess and be rational about it all. It was time to put past friendships and relationships that had apparently meant nothing to Black aside. He needed to help the Wizarding community—.
He blacked out seconds after being squeezed, for the second time that night, through a small hole, just after he caught a glimpse of Headquarters.