Thursday, November 4, 1982
Remus barely slept. His dreams were full of burning buildings and metallic masks. When he awoke it was well before his alarm was due to go off, but at some point, enough is enough. He was in the kitchen finishing his second cup of tea by the time his father came down to join him.
"You're up early," Lyall said, helping himself to a cup as though that wasn't the single most obvious statement he could have made.
"Wanted to make a good impression," Remus shrugged. "I thought I might try not looking as though I'd just rolled out of bed."
"You're a terrible liar," said Lyall. "Don't be nervous. Finch is about as harmless as they come."
If only he were the cause for concern.
Getting to London was the easiest part of the journey. Apparition really was the easiest way to travel, despite its dangerous reputation. But only those with clearance were allowed to Apparate into the Ministry directly, and they joined those travelers arriving by Floo in the Atrium beneath the ground. Most preferred to appear in their offices directly rather than have to take the lifts, but security necessitated sacrifices from all. It was a convenient way to monitor who was coming and going in a time when that information was of absolute necessity. Unfortunately for mere visitors, their arrival was not in any way nearly as convenient.
Two pops in quick succession, and another pair of bodies arrived in Diagon Alley. The sudden exposure to cold air bit at the their faces and sleepy wisps of fog rolled off of their lips, but they were not the only ones enduring the chill this morning. Some of the shop windows were dark, but even now the street was flourishing with commerce. It would only get busier as the day wore on.
Through the back door of the Leaky Cauldron and out onto the roaring London streets, the morning commute was a daily migration for thousands of people just trying to live their lives as best they could. Remus counted himself among them, but distantly so: for every similarity between the people around him, he was in a thousand ways more different than they could understand. Not the least of which was his magical blood, but walking in the shadows of skyscrapers while knowing of the world that lay beneath the Underground… sometimes walking down the street felt like a secret in its own right.
Knowing that he would be taking this route to work today, Lyall has forgone his traditional robes in favor of trousers and a shirt beneath a warm, brown jumper. For many wizards and witches, Muggle fashion was something like a foreign language: every native speaker can tell that something is not quite right, but they can ignore the faux pas if you're polite enough. So a wizard who tries to buy a newspaper from a Muggle while wearing a bright green pointed hat (which may or may not be buzzing quietly) is just written off as unusual. Lyall, though, was as fluent a speaker as his son. Marrying a Muggle has been known to fill the strange gaps in culture, and neither he nor Remus garnered the slightest look as they wove their way through the web of streets.
Left, then right. Past the newspaper stand and across a busy junction. There was a restaurant open for breakfast and the scent of fried kippers wafted across the pavement. Several besuited men and women were walking uncomfortably into the street and around scaffolding for building reconstruction, and the commuters in vehicles shook their heads at the absurdity of it all.
Farther they walked. And the farther they did, the smaller the buildings became. Fumes of traffic and coffee became those of steam vents from beneath the concrete crust, became the uncomfortably strong odor wafting from a storm drain as though something had fallen in and become trapped. The two men passed under a skyway and then just a bit further until they had reached a street with squalid-looking buildings. They were mostly offices, but there was one pub which probably saw most of its business come from right along this street, judging the way an overflowing rubbish skip crested off the whole view of the area.
For the guest entrance to the seat of government, it couldn't have been in a seedier location. And that was exactly what they wanted. No one was there to watch as two adult men headed for an aging telephone box and crammed themselves inside.
Remus yelped a little as Lyall's weight came crashing down on his toes. His elbows pushed into the glass panels on either side, and there was a heinous smell that he wanted desperately to be coming from the skip and not beneath his shoes.
"This is bigger than I remember," he said.
"It has been a while, hasn't it?" Lyall replied, not at all phased by his son's dreadful sense of humour. "You were, what, eight?"
"Nine," said Remus, and he did his best to duck so that Lyall could twist his arm overhead and reach the dials. "I'd just turned- ow -nine, I think. Mam had to care for the old woman across the road. Fell and broke her hip."
"Oh, yes." Lyall smiled as he pulled the receiver off of the mount and examined the dial. "Oh, dear, Edith is going to be so pleased to see you. You're much taller now. I daresay she won't be able to reach you. You remember her, don't you?"
Oh, he certainly did. But oh, how he wished he didn't. Remus would have made a face, but an elbow pegged him in the ribs and he wished his father would just hurry up. He may not make it to her at this rate.
"Do you remember the number?" he pushed. He was breathing out of his mouth now, because the smell was unbearable.
"Alright, yes, yes." Lyall held out his hand and reached for the dial. "Six, two, four-er… Merlin's beard, it's been so long-alright, Remus, hold your hippogriffs! Stop moving! So that's six, two, four, then-ah, yes, another four, and… two."
As Lyall released the dial and it whirred back into place, a female voice spoke within the confines of the telephone box-but not from the receiver, still held aloft in Lyall's other hand. It came from all around, crisp and clear as though she were there with them.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," she said. "Please state your name and business."
There was a brief pause as both Lupins looked briefly at one another. It wasn't as though they had actually scheduled any of the meetings Remus would be having, not exactly.
"Please state your name and business," the voice said again, only louder this time, and somehow sterner.
"Er-Lyall Lupin, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, here with my son, Remus."
"Visitor, please state your business," the voice said.
"I'm here to speak with Auror Moody," Remus said quickly. "About an ongoing investigation. He's asked to see me."
Silence. Then, "Thank you. Visitor, please take this badge and fix it to the front of your robes."
There was a rattle and a click, and from the coin return slot a tiny metallic button emerged from within the telephone apparatus which read, Remus Lupin, Criminal Investigation . Remus pinned it to the front of his jacket with great reluctance. He made a note to cover it when he spoke to Mr. Finch.
The telephone box shuddered and gave a sudden lurch, and slowly it began to descend. The sky overhead was dim with clouds, but it was nothing compared to the darkness that swallowed them as they sank into the street. Remus took one last look at the nearby pub and the overflowing bin before the last of the light was snuffed out.
Dull grinding narrated their journey into the earth, but the female voice had not left them quite yet.
"Visitor, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, located at the far end of the Atrium."
"You remember where?" Lyall asked, and Remus nodded before he remembered that was useless in the dark, and actually said yes. But he didn't have a wand of his own the last time he was here, and he had not been without it since it was purchased. Lyall must have heard the reservation in his voice, because he added quickly, "They don't actually take it, you know."
Remus had to stop himself from sighing with relief. His shoulder ached where it was pressed against the side of the telephone box, though, and he very much wanted off this ride.
It was then, in a timely manner, golden light burst through the lowest of the glass panels to light up their shoes, rising up their bodies as they neared the end of their journey and came at last into the Atrium. Remus put a hand up to shield his eyes as the light engulfed their heads, until finally the telephone box was free-floating down to the dark, polished floor.
They had emerged into a long, sprawling hall that was practically bursting at the seams with activity. All along the walls were gilded fireplaces protruding in even increments from the dark, wooden paneling, and every few seconds a witch or wizard would emerge in a brilliant blaze of green flame and disappear into the crowd. Across the way it was the opposite: several queues stood in orderly fashion to depart. The peacock-blue ceiling was a river flowing with golden symbols and letters which constantly changed. Remus never knew what they were supposed to mean, or if they even had a purpose besides impressing those less skilled in charms. Some of the symbols were familiar, even recognizable. But they never appeared in the same order twice, and if it was a message for someone, it was a terrible way to deliver it.
"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," the female voice said at last, as the base of the telephone box touched solid ground once more. The door sprung open and Lyall emerged first, followed by Remus, who couldn't help but glance hungrily around at everything happening around him.
"It's rather impressive, don't you think?" said Lyall as he started walking, leading Remus in the direction of a set of golden gates at the end of the hall.
"It is," Remus agreed, but in a bittersweet way: as a child, he remembered feeling only pure awe at the sight. Now, though that feeling had remained, his experience with magic meant it could never be as impressive as before. And more than that, he felt naked and exposed: there were hundreds of people around him, and somewhere among them were the servants of Voldemort.
They joined the crowd moving towards the gates and passed the centerpiece of the Atrium: the Fountain of Magical Brethren. It was a group of solid gold statues: a wizard, the tallest and grandest of them, whose wand pointed straight into the air. Then a witch beside him, her wand out as well. And grouped around the pair of them, a House Elf, a centaur, and a goblin gazed with complete adoration at their human companions.
Remus was unmoved by the grandeur of it all. In fact, he despised the fountain, and yet he appreciated the message. Not every government was so brazen about their narcissistic and authoritarian policies, but the Ministry managed it well. After all, it wasn't as though there were any centaurs, goblins, or House Elves around to correct them on their assumptions.
At the base of the fountain, the pool of water was speckled with Knuts and Sickels, and even a Galleon or two. There was a sign explaining that the proceeds were given to St. Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and as they walked by Lyall tossed in a few coins into the pool beneath it. Remus didn't have to ask why.
To the left of the golden gates was a hanging SECURITY notice, and Remus and Lyall departed from the main flow of bodies towards the bland-looking desk just under it. There was a man in blue robes sitting at the desk, and as the pair of men approached him he put down his copy of the Daily Prophet to fix them with an accusing stare.
"Yes?" he huffed.
"I'm escorting my son," Lyall replied. "He needs to check in."
The man looked at Remus, then back to Lyall, as if the resemblance wasn't clear in their height, hair colour, and similarly stressed expressions. "Step over here," he said, sighing as he was forced to produce a thin, gold rod the width of a pen and passed it over Remus' front and back. He frowned, placing the instrument back onto his desk.
"Wand," he grunted, holding out his hand expectantly.
Remus withdrew it from his pocket, handing over it handle-first. The security wizard scrutinized it for a moment before dropping it onto what looked like a brass scale, but with only one plate. It began to vibrate, and the wand rattled against the dish. Remus fought to keep his hands firmly at his sides. When a slip of parchment shot out of a slot at the base of the machine, the security wizard read it aloud.
"Cypress, unicorn core, 10 ¼", been in use eleven years." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he glanced to Remus, who nodded. "Right, I'll put this on file, and you-" he thrust the wand back at Remus, point-first, "-can have that."
"Thank you," said Remus. He put his wand back into his pocket, vowing to never let it go again.
"Sorry about Douglas," Lyall murmured as they left the security check-in behind and rejoined the throngs headed for the golden gates. "I think he's just bored."
"Mm," Remus replied, pausing to allow a mustachioed man with a smoking crate to scurry by with a look of panic on his face. "I would be, too, working for security for the seat of government in Britain. It must be so dull."
Lyall smiled, but he did his best to keep that from his son. Remus would have to make a good impression today, and if he let himself become too relaxed then he could become careless and actually speak his mind. Not that Remus was prone to sharing his true thoughts, something Lyall could attest to after years of what felt like pulling teeth the Muggle way-but Remus was also proud, and his tongue was sharp when he wanted it to be. He could easily spark a fire when those around him were as dry as a tinderbox.
Through the gates, the crowd passed into another, smaller chamber bordered with perhaps twenty or so smaller archways: wrought gold grilles blocking access to a series of lifts, which opened up like the mouths of whales to consume tiny masses of plankton that flocked inside. After only a short wait, Remus and Lyall were packed inside one of the lifts. As it began to ascend, soft music played from somewhere up above, barely audible over the low chatter of the sleepy-eyed day workers.
"Nathan," Lyall said suddenly, "you're up late. What are you still doing here?"
Remus looked past his father to see who he was talking to. Nearby, a pale, skinny fellow gave a weak wave. He was fairly easy to spot since the crowd gave him a wide berth. When he smiled, a pair of fangs could be seen protruding from his gums.
"I had to write up some documents," he sighed. "A man has asked the Office if it is legal to enchant his neighbor's dog's… you know ," he said quietly, so that Lyall had to lean forward to hear him, "-to chase after the poor beast because he is tired of his lawn being used as a disposal site."
Remus made a noise that was halfway between a cry and a choke. He coughed, turning away quickly as both of the other men looked at him.
"Level Seven: Department of Magical Games and Sports," said the female voice from before. The lift doors rattled open and one or two people pushed out, replaced by a group of owls who perched on a special railing overhead. The crowd below them shuffled so as not to be directly underneath them.
"Do you know what the worst part is?" Nathan went on, squeezing in next to Lyall and Remus as the people shuffled around them. "I wanted to tell him that no, it was not legal or moral to scare a poor animal like that, but-but it is not ill egal. As long as he does not do it in front of a Muggle, you know?"
"Absurd," Lyall said seriously. "Can you tell me anything about the dog?"
Nathan shook his head. "No, just that it is a terrier of some sort."
Lyall was silent for a moment, and only the sounds of the music and the chains that carried the lift skywards could be heard. Then: "Is it-that is to say, does the dog have any magical blood?"
"I cannot say," Nathan said, his thick brows coming together. "But why does it matter?"
("Level Six: Department of Magical Transport." )
"Oh, it doesn't," Lyall said slowly. "It doesn't. Except that, it's a terrier, you say? Hm. Did you ever read about the gnome hunts? Oh, sorry—you actually remember them, I suppose? Either way, they're banned, now, of course, but, well, I wonder if the dog could be part Crup?"
Nathan pursed his lips thoughtfully. And then, he smiled. "An investigation is in order."
Lyall nodded. "The owner would need proper licensing and all that for any part-Crup, you understand, and I don't want to send out a false accusation before we fully grasp the situation. And we would be very thorough. Very thorough. Could take quite a long time. But if the dog has some sort of magical blood, even slightly, it could be considered, er, protected . By the law. And I for one would hate to see any magical beast abused. Don't you agree?"
"I will inform the man at once," said Nathan, standing a bit taller and looking much more at ease.
"I'm glad to have been of help," Lyall said quietly, and he tugged contentedly on the front of his jumper.
"So am I," Nathan nodded. His black fringe dipped down into his eyes, and he brushed it out of his face. Perhaps it was his pale complexion or the (relative) lateness of the hour, but he had dark rings under his eyes like he hadn't slept in days.
"Oh," said Lyall quickly, and he wrapped an arm around Remus and pulled him close, "I forgot-Nathan, this is my son, Remus."
"Pleasure," Remus said. Nathan's hand was like ice when he shook it, but in the moment their skin met an odd expression passed over Nathan's face.
"The pleasure is mine," the vampire said right away, returning to his former pleasant demeanor so quickly that Remus questioned whether it had changed at all. "I have enjoyed working alongside your father for the past eighteen years, and I will be sad to see him go when the time comes."
"Not for a while," Lyall chuckled. "I'm not going anywhere. I have too much work to do as it is!"
("Level Five: Department for International Magical Cooperation." )
"How long have you been working for the Ministry?" Remus asked.
It was an innocent enough question, and for a man who appeared to be no older than thirty Remus expected an innocent enough answer. But when Nathan sighed thoughtfully and actually began to count to himself, it was clear that that was not the case.
"Well," Nathan said slowly after the pause, "two weeks into my starting, a centaur tried to assassinate the Minister. That was in… oh, eighteen eighty… one? Two?"
"Oh my God," Remus said before he could stop himself. But he knew with painful accuracy who Nathan was talking about: Minister Faris "Spout-Hole" Spavin was one of Remus' least favorite historical figures that he had ever been required to write about. In order to write his essays, he had actually imagined himself yelling passionately about the incalculable number of illogical decisions Minister Spavin had made, like some sort of Vulcan. He didn't bother explaining his method to the others when they asked: none of them had television growing up. But then, James had no problem with his own essay, not when this was the Minister who oversaw the arrival of Stooging Penalty and changed the game of Quidditch forever.
Remus apologized quickly for his outburst, but Nathan shook his head.
"To me it has not seemed like such a long time," he said, and there was a quiet, but undeniably youthful air in the way he tried to shrug it off. "I suppose I consider time in a different manner these days."
Remus would have replied, but the lift had groaned to a stop again.
"Level Four ," said the mysterious voice. " Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. "
"This is my stop," Lyall said, smiling apologetically to Remus. He squeezed his son's shoulder quickly before he had to join the disembarking crowd. "Come and find me when you've finished. Tell me the good news."
He nodded to Nathan and stepped off of the lift and onto the marble floor just as the wrought gold gates slammed behind him, closing him from view.
Remus sighed. Good news. Right.
There was still a fair number of people in the elevator, though it was much quieter now than it had been. Remus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand uncomfortably, as he was certain somehow that over the heinous music he was being listened to. Now that his father was gone Remus felt more exposed than ever before, something which made him both uncomfortable to realize, and strengthen his grip on his pocketed wand. None of the other people paid any attention.
"You look nervous," said a voice, and Remus remembered that he was not technically alone. By way of conversation, he was now linked to Nathan. He wanted to scoff. What kind of a vampire name is Nathan ?
"I-", Remus started. "I suppose I am." There wasn't much of a point in hiding it. But he didn't have to like it.
"That is unfortunate. I hope you are not in danger."
The way Nathan had chosen this as his word of choice brought Remus' eyes up. Nathan was looking at him, and he seemed a wholly different man than before. The tired rings beneath his eyes gave them a piercing, haunted look. They betrayed him as an old man trapped in a body that did not match the painful experiences of his spirit. They pinned Remus to the floor, and within them he saw the unmistakable sorrow of recognizing another's plight; of a most unfortunate kinship.
Remus' stomach contracted sharply. "I don't-"
"You have nothing to fear from me," Nathan said quietly. "As I said, I have known your father for many years. We were not as well acquainted then, but I remember when he disappeared for a short time after his family suffered a terrible tragedy."
Remus couldn't speak. His eyes darted to the other commuters waiting to depart, but none of them gave the slightest indication of having overheard. Still, that did not stop his heart lodging itself painfully inside his throat. Remus swallowed, trying to find the space for words he couldn't form.
"I hope you will not consider me too forward," Nathan went on beside him. "I have been accused of becoming tawdry over the years. But as I have come to know your father, I have gained much respect for him. And for how he treats those around him. I have seen good people suffer for reasons that are wholly ungood. I do not know what is different about you, but when I shook your hand I could feel that you are not like the people here."
Remus' voice had nearly failed him. "...How?" he asked.
"It is nothing you did, of course," Nathan said carefully. "When I shook your hand, I could feel it: there is something within your blood. And it makes you sick. You would taste terrible."
If Remus hadn't been so shaken, he may have been almost offended. Or terrified. "Oh?" he said, and his voice cracked like a teen.
Nathan smiled. And then he laughed. "Yes," he said, and once again he had somehow softened into the man of youth. "I cannot explain it. It is as though you are anaemic. I suppose that is something useful to know if you are like me."
Remus nodded slowly. "I suppose…"
"I am sorry to have startled you, Remus," Nathan said. "May I call you by your first name?" Remus nodded, so Nathan went on: "I have great respect for your father. And I hope you will consider me an ally here at the Ministry, where they are in painfully short supply."
"Level Two ," said the female voice. " Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
Already? Remus blinked, and cleared his throat. "This is me," he said stupidly, adding, "My stop. This is my stop."
"I can see that," Nathan smiled. "And mine as well. Though for different reasons."
Remus found that he couldn't think, and chose the diplomatic response of silence. Nathan did not appear to mind. He stepped off of the lift and waited for Remus to follow.
"Please give your father my thanks," he said, resting his hands in his pockets.
Remus shifted. "I will."
"I admit, I have some concerns over how to word my letter to the gentleman. I can be tactless, and it is rather late."
"I don't think he has any either, asking the Ministry for permission to do something like that."
"True," said Nathan, chuckling quietly. "Well, I had better be going, then. Good luck with your criminal investigation."
He waved goodbye as he disappeared into one of the crisscrossing hallways, and it was only after the sounds of his footsteps disappeared that Remus realized with a jolt what he meant. He grabbed the front of his jacket and tucked it so that the visitors pin was inside, facing his chest. It couldn't have said anything worse.
As the lift closed and continued upwards without him, Remus suddenly realized how alone he was. The dark halls were empty now except for him, and his footsteps echoed loudly as he took each cautious step forward. He had no idea where to go, and he regretted not asking Nathan for directions.
But then, he didn't know what to think about him, either. Or any of this. He was ready to go back home, to his bed.
There was a signpost that pointed with moving hands to Auror Headquarters when he asked, and Remus followed the hallway into the deep recesses of the Ministry. He thought he could hear the rumble of a train go by in the distance, its passengers completely unaware of the offices they were surrounded by. The chandeliers above him gave the slightest swivel.
Remus came to a black wooden door, and mounted on the wall beside it was a golden plaque that read Auror Headquarters. He took hold of the golden doorknob and turned.