THE TALE OF THE GRIM

"I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses."

/F. Nietzsche/

I. A Rich Man

The taste of the potion was absolutely repelling, especially if the sensitivity of one's nose and taste-buds highly exceeded that of an ordinary human. Not to mention that it was almost boiling hot, and it needed to be drank quickly, so it had every chance to burn the insides of the victim's mouth to pieces.

At least, Remus assured himself, it would be soon over.

The professor hardened his grip on the edge of the table and drank; greedily and hastily, in large gulps, ignoring the stirrings of his stomach. His head felt strangely light, yet his limbs heavy – as if his entire body was revolting against the potion and its effects.

Not happy, are you, Moony? Remus smiled to himself and forced the rest of the drink down his throat without pity. You're not quite tame by nature, and you don't like to be drugged.

He shuddered in disgust one last time, clenched his teeth, and stood with one fluid motion, hand still gripping the table. He had no more time to waste on feeling sorry for himself; not now, when he had both the time and the means to prepare an enormous cup of chocolate.

Remus engaged all his gastronomical talent to make his stomach forget the recently suffered atrocities. He added only a gulp of milk to scandalous amounts of cocoa and sugar; then a scrap of ginger, lemongrass-essence, and even more sugar; then gratings of pistachio and almond (and sugar, just in case); and finally, a tiny breeze of mint. He tossed the still-steaming goblet aside (thus eliminating the acrid smell of Wolfsbane that was seeping from it) and ceremoniously conjured the largest mug he owned. Oh, he would enjoy this.

Remus was in the process of crowning the wonderful chocolate with a generous amount of cream and ground walnuts when there was a knock on his door, and none other than Lucy Dawlish entered, along with a whirlwind of rose perfume and messy blonde hair. In one hand, she was clutching a large cage veiled with a piece of wool; and her other hand held her wand. A small chest followed her, bumping slightly into the doorframe as it floated neatly in the air. Her whole countenance seemed somewhat tenser, somewhat more alert than the occasion required.

"Sorry 'bout the rush," said the witch instead of a greeting, "messy day. Here are the pixies for your rookies and the Jarvey for the fourth years, damn, they gotta enjoy it…"

Remus tilted his head slightly, forgetting how very wolfish of a gesture it was.

"Thanks… are you okay, though?"

"What?" Lucy looked at him, very sharply. "Of course, why wouldn't I be…?"

"There's no way you'd ever pull a wand on me, unless you were absolutely out of your mind. Besides, you're pale as a ghost, and you're so tense it makes me want to jump out of the window. So, I'll ask again, what happened?"

"Fine," Lucy sighed. "Really, it's nothing. It's just… I don't like the new groundkeeper team. I've never been very skilled in Charms, you know… my Patronus is pathetic, and Dementors are quite, uh, intense… no matter how hard I try…"

"You don't need to try hard," said Remus gently. "You just need a good point of focus… and fairly tolerable memories, of course."

The corners of Lucy's lips turned slightly upwards; and Remus glanced down at his cup of chocolate. Then, he handed it over with a fleeting thought of lamentation.

"Here, drink this. You'll feel better."

The witch reached out for the mug but lowered her hand almost immediately.

"You made that for yourself…"

"And I can easily make another one. Sit down! Dementors are no laughing matter. Why do you think I do such favours to my sweet tooth?"

"Because you're rich?"

Remus could have collapsed with laughter. "Me? Rich… of course."

"I mean," said Lucy as she took the offered mug, and sank into Remus's favourite armchair under the window, "you have a nice suite… the food is great, the castle is pretty – granted, you have to teach annoying whelps, but you gain money… it's a life of rich, right?"

"Not all of the whelps are annoying." Remus poured the last of the chocolate into another, somewhat smaller mug, and topped it with marshmallows. For the first time in a very long while, he suddenly felt like someone understood him… well, at least a little.

"I thought dragon training paid well," he added cautiously.

"Yeah – if you have your papers."

Remus sat still for a while, wondering if it was safe to talk – then he realised that he didn't quite care about safety. Not a day before full moon, anyway.

"I thought you were… I mean, Dumbledore always refers to you as a qualified dragon trainer. One of the best in England."

"Dumbledore doesn't give a shit about papers," Lucy smiled ruefully. "But not everyone is Dumbledore. If you must know… Well, after Hogwarts, I went to the Scamander Academy in Québec. They kicked me out in my second year, when the Headmaster discovered my pet Horntail."

"Your pet – "

"Horntail, yes. A large female Hungarian Horntail roamed the woodlands that summer, and a group of experts tracked her down. They didn't really have a choice… she took the habit of hunting dangerously close to a Muggle village. There would be deaths, and a Horntail is not the sort of beast you can tame. So, the experts did their job, and they took the dragon's egg, which was to be sent back to Britain – like, to be locked up in Gringotts, or something… You see, even experts fear Hungarian Horntails; they're the most savage dragons in existence. They're thought to be untameable… they're usually not even allowed in reserves, because they eat the other dragons… Anyway, I happened to find the confiscated egg, and I stole it. I replaced it with a fake. I didn't want the hatchling to be kept in a shadowy cell for its entire life; I couldn't look at it as the savage brute everyone believed it to be… so I took care of the baby dragon… I named him Mizzet. Of course, I couldn't keep him safe and secret forever; and when the school's staff found out what I did, they gave me the boot. I kept the dragon, though… it wasn't easy, and it will never be easy, either; but today, he's fairly tame… well, in a Horntail-fashion."

"But what did you do when you got expelled…?!" Remus didn't quite decide whether he was scandalized, amazed or downright smitten.

"Oh, I flew Mizzet to Romania. Harghita, to be exact… it's deep in Transylvania. There's a dragon reserve nearby, the largest one in Europe. The Master there was somewhat impressed with Mizzet, I guess, so he allowed us both to stay and learn – and work for him, of course. I'm still not a qualified expert to this day, though."

"But you havea pet Horntail," Remus repeated, savouring the word.

"I think he'd like you. You're not as stupid as other people." Lucy took a large sip of the chocolate and smiled at the wizard above the mug. "This is divine, by the way."

"Thanks, I did my best."

They both leaned back in their armchairs for a while, enjoying the sudden feeling of camaraderie that welled between them.

"Did you hear about Hagrid and his Hippogriff?" Lucy suddenly asked, as if speaking against her will.

Remus nodded. "What do you think?"

"You're a professor, Remus… uh, Mr Lupin. The language I would use to give my two cents on that is quite…"

"Just Remus is okay." The wizard smiled quizzically. "Being called a mister makes me feel terribly old. Besides, I think we share the same sentiment."

They grinned at each other.

"Do you think Hagrid can get Buckbeak out of this?" Lucy pressed.

"If the Ministry respects its own laws, then yes."

"And since when does the Ministry do that?"

The bitter sigh that escaped Remus turned into a soft, genuine chuckle, somewhere on the way. "I'm a DADA professor, Lucy, not a Seer – although you may not need to possess supernatural powers to find out that the answer is since never."

They shared a rueful smile and spoke of lighter things; and it seemed to Remus that their mugs were emptied quite quickly. Then, too soon – way too soon – came a moment when Lucy had no further reason to tarry; so she stood, expressed her thanks for the best chocolate she'd ever drunk, and said goodbye. She was already in the doorway when Remus saw her become tense, entirely tense; and she turned back with a determined flare in her eyes that made her very pretty.

"We could grab a beer sometime," she declared.

"Yeah," said Remus, against reality and common sense. "We could."

"How about tomorrow evening…?"

A thousand needles of alarm pierced into Remus's stomach. "That, is, uh, not quite the best. How about… well, next week?"

"It's now or never," said Lucy. There was a dramatical edge to her voice. "By next week, I will be dead, as I have recently been foretold."

"You've met Sybill Trelawney, haven't you?"

"Oh yeah." The witch was openly grinning now. "Ever since I was thirteen, she always had these great declarations of upcoming death in store for me. Now, she's convinced that I'm being chased by the Grim. Not that I really believe in omens, but, you know, just in case…"

"Tomorrow, then," Remus said, fairly certain that he had finally become mad. "Afternoon."

"Not one for moonlight strolls, Professor?"

It was just a playful question, it really was; but it made his stomach curl and his legs weaken.

"…not in February, anyway," he countered, nonchalant exterior completely unbroken by the raging storm beyond the veil.

"Yeah, you're saying something!" Lucy winked at him, quite shamelessly. She was still very pretty. Next thing he knew, she was nowhere, though.

You're a coward, Remus scolded himself afterwards. And a procastrinator. You should have told her – one day, you must, anyway. The truth, or something else. The sooner the better.

He would tell her tomorrow, of course. Part of the truth. She deserved that much… The when and the how did not matter – he could just storm inside the Three Broomsticks, bang his fist on the table and say –

What would he say?

Hi, I'm a werewolf? Or…? Uh… Lucy? Sorry I've never mentioned this before, but once a month I turn into a savage beast that eats people. In fact (here, he would look at his watch), this unfortunate event occurs in exactly five hours from now, so, uh, let's get to the butterbeer, then!

A bitter chuckle escaped his throat. No, there were smoother ways to sort the matter out. He would just sit down – not the way he did that one time, not with large, open eyes that welled with tears, and definitely not with anything akin with hope –, and he would tell her everything, from beginning to end, with a nonchalant wave of his hand and an apologetic smile. Sorry I've never told you before, he'd say, over and over again. I didn't know how. I wanted you to know… I've always wanted to tell you, but it never quite came out.

Yeah, that would work. It should work with Dumbledore, too – once he's done with Lucy, and he suffered the darkening of her face, and the pity, or – worse – the disgust in the depths of her eyes (oh, he could picture that!) he'll go right back to the castle, climb those thrice-damned stairs, and decipher whatever mazy password opens the doors of Dumbledore's office this week. Then, he'll tell him everything, everything about Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs and their escapades… as he'd tried so many times before, as he tried the night Sirius Black broke in for the first time, then the second time…

There was no excuse for his hesitation now. There was no way he could keep his secrets – they were no longer his to keep.

He would tell Lucy tomorrow what he is – and he would tell Dumbledore what Sirius Black is.

Merlin, he would.

(to be continued)


Author's Notes

There is a Harry Potter plot I've been sitting on for over a decade, then one day, I decided to write it...

...and lo, it becometh The Operation Sequestrum series. To check out the "Table of Contents", please visit my profile and/or sequestrumdotgportaldothu (I've been trying to devise a way to show a link since forever... sorry about the clumsiness).

Lucy Dawlish is an OC who has gone through quite a number of changes over the years. As of now, she is the daughter of the Auror John Dawlish. She started Hogwarts in the same year as Bill Weasley and Myron Wagtail.