Chapter 7; Fear and Loathing
Remus Lupin was a good man. He was intelligent, caring and loyal, almost to a fault. Ever since he was attacked and turned into a werewolf as a young boy, his greatest fear was that he would get loose and attack some innocent soul. His fear led him to lead a very private and secluded life. He had never even had a friend until met a young James Potter on the Hogwarts express. During the full moon, he took great care to seclude himself far from human habitation. That was why he came to shrieking shack for his transformations. It was the ultimate in irony that the one night that he was able to escape his confinement, he ran immediately into the forbidden forest, where no human was likely to be and almost fulfilled his worst fears on the son of his first childhood friend.
When he woke up under the light of a full moon, changed back into his human form, he was shocked and confused. Like usual, he had only fuzzy memories of his actions. It was also the first time since he was a boy, that he was able to look on the full moon with human eyes. He was even more shocked to realize he was looking up at the spitting image of a young James Potter. When Harry collapsed, Remus checked him over for injuries. Finding none, he took stock of his surroundings.
His first sight of the unicorn standing a few feet away, nearly caused him a heart attack. Never before could he remember being so close to one, and it filled him with awe and fear. Werewolves, even in their human state, could certainly not approach a unicorn. The animals senses were far too sensitive to miss the darkness inherent in all werewolves. Even if that were not the case, Remus was was a grown man and far from a virgin. Eyeing the creature warily, he noticed the blood that marked its coat and was aghast. Obviously he had attacked the unicorn, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why he was still alive. Not only alive, but untransformed. Looking around himself, he noticed the ritual circle.
He was not overly familiar with ritual based magic, but he could decipher the runes he saw. Nothing he saw would account for his state or the presence of a unicorn. It was when he was walking the circumference of the circle that he found the body of the dead house elf. Knowing he was responsible for its death, Remus was filled with grief. Rationally, he knew he was not responsible, but that was cold comfort. It was as he was walking back toward's Harry that he heard a muffled voice coming from the edge of the clearing.
Upon investigation, he soon found a backpack on the ground. At first he wondered if the backpack contained a communication mirror, like the ones Sirius and James used to use, but then he noticed that the sound was coming from a tree to his left. It wasn't until he got closer that he noticed the painting that was lying rolled up at the base of a tree. Certainly it was a surprise to see a painting lying out in the middle of the forbidden forest, but the greatest surprise was when he turned the painting over and recognized it's occupant.
"It's about bleedin' time you ignorant whelp! I've been eatin' dirt for almost an hour!" Charlus yelled. "What the hell happened? The last thing I saw…" Whatever he was going to say, however was lost as he caught sight of his rescuer. "Remus? Remus Lupin?"
Remus was equally astounded. He'd had frequent conversations with Charlus' portrait while visiting Potter Manor. Indeed, James' uncle Charlus had been a great inspiration to the marauder's, both in the flesh before he died, and as a portrait. He, James, Sirius and Peter used to spend many hours listening to Charlus' ribald tales and keeping him informed of their exploits. He would even count him as a friend, insofar as you could be friends with an animate object. So, he was quite shocked at the next words the painting said.
"That was you! You bastard, what did you do to Harry!" Charlus screamed.
"Harry? What are you saying? Harry's dead." Remus replied, dumbfounded.
"Dead." Charlus said in a quiet, almost calm voice. "And the elf? What happened to the elf?"
Remus looked guiltily down at his feet. "I killed her. I didn't mean to."
"I see." Charlus continued. "Well, there's only one thing for it. Lupin, fetch me that backpack, please."
Not knowing what else to do, Remus grabbed up the backpack. "I've got it." He said.
"Good, now go into it and pull out that silver knife."
Remus stopped with his arm halfway in the bag. "Silver, you say? You know I can't touch silver." He said.
"I said get the knife!" Charlus roared suddenly. "And when you have it in your hand. I want you to take that knife and jam it up to the hilt in your scurvy, diseased flesh. I want you to cut until you reach your rotten, conniving, back-stabbing heart and not stop until you've cut it out. Just like you cut out the heart out of James and Lilly and every last member of a noble and once proud family. Once you've finished, I want you to lay down and die. Make sure you die on your back, mind you, so that every creature that walks by your corpse can piss in your sorry excuse for a face!"
Remus just stood there, his arm in the bag, with a dumbstruck look on his face. "What are you going on about?" he asked. "You know I'd never.."
"Don't tell me you couldn't control yourself, you little worm! After all James and Lilly did for you, this is how you repay them? By killing their only son?"
"But, I never…" Remus replied.
"I hope your proud of yourself!" Charlus interrupted. "You only managed to accomplish what Voldemort himself couldn't do!"
Remus literally couldn't speak. He was overcome with feelings of astonishment, guilt and confusion. However, as Charlus' words finally began to sink in, he suddenly understood.
"Am I to understand that the boy over there is Harry Potter?" he asked. "Harry James Potter?"
"Yes, you bastard! You killed James' son!"
"He's not dead?"
"Of course he's…wait…..what?" Charlus said.
"Harry Potter is not dead. Merlin's beard! Harry Potter is alive!"
So saying, Remus Lupin sprinted back towards Harry, running for all he was worth. Skidding to a stop at his side, Remus reached over and ran his hands slowly and carefully down his face and body, assuring himself that this was indeed Harry Potter and that he was alive. So overcome with glee was he, that he jumped to his feet and started dancing a jig in the middle of the clearing, completely unmindful of the unicorn standing sentinel a few yards away.
Later, when his joy had subsided to a manageable level, Remus retrieved Charlus' painting and moved it and Harry's things into the clearing. He also carried Harry over and placed him in a more comfortable position. After everyone was settled, he and Charlus talked well into the night. Charlus informed him of the circumstances that brought Harry into his care and gave him the highlights of Harry's life. He explained the purpose of the ritual and his conviction of Sirius' innocence and his suspicions about Pettigrew, as well as their plans to get Sirius out of Azkaban.
Remus was amazed at the events, especially surrounding Harry's survival and the supposed banishment of Voldemort. As removed as he was from civilized society, Remus knew that whatever happened that night, Voldemort had not been seen or heard from again. In his infrequent conversations with Dumbledore, Remus had learned of the prophecy and knew that Albus was convinced that some power within Harry had defeated the dark lord. However, everyone assumed that Harry was killed in the process.
The conversation with Charlus didn't explain, for the painting didn't know, what happened with Voldemort, but it did resolve many questions that had lingered in the back of Remus' mind.
He had always been uneasy with the thought of Sirius as a betrayer. Charlus' arguments had renewed those doubts. The evidence, however scarce it was, certainly did point to Sirius. Dumbledore himself had confirmed that Sirius was the secret keeper. Remus wasn't sure about Charlus' belief that Dumbledore was playing some deeper game, but he did concede that Sirius' was sentenced without trial and on circumstancial evidence, at best. Together, they resolved to work to uncover some of these mysteries and Remus decided that he would keep their secret. In fact, Remus was so overjoyed at Harry's reappearance, that he decided then and there that he would do anything in his power to care for and protect James and Lilly's son, be it from Voldemort, Dumbledore or all the legions of Hell.
When their discussions had ended, Remus built a fire and set himself to watch over the sleeping Harry. Despite his transformation and the subsequent fights, he was filled with energy and purpose. That in itself was noteworthy, as normally he was lethargic and sick following a transformation. Whatever power was responsible for his reprieve, Remus wasn't going to question it. Digging into Harry's pack, he pulled out Harry's wand and conjured up some blankets for Harry and some clothes for himself. Thus armed and fortified, he sat at Harry's feet and watched over his sleeping form.
When Harry started to awake, Remus was at his side in a moment. His joints were stiff and sore from sitting up all night, but all that was forgotten in his concern for Harry. He watched as Harry tried to open his eyes, and grew concerned when he saw Harry wince and shut them again a few seconds later.
Harry awoke to the sounds of a crackling fire and a string of curse words that could only come from uncle Charlus. Cracking open his eyes, he was immediately sorry because his vision swirled with a riot of colors that made no sense to his befuddled brain. Blinking rapidly did little to alleviate the problem, so he let out a groan and closed them again. Someone must have heard him, however, because soon he felt a hand on his brow.
"Harry, are you all right?" an unfamiliar voice asked.
"Who's there?" he responded. "Where am I?
"Where we are is easy to answer. We're in the forbidden forest. As to who I am, that is a little more complicated. My name is Remus Lupin. I'm an old family friend."
Suddenly a storm of questions occurred to Harry, but he bit his tongue and tried to remember everything that had happened the previous night. His memories came to him in surreal flashes. He remembered preparing for the ritual and then brief images came to him of Tippy lying in a pool of blood and then something about a wounded unicorn. Thoughts of Tippy caused him to bolt upright.
"Tippy! Is she allright? What happened?"
As suddenly as it came, the hand on his brow disappeared and he heard a forlorn sigh. "I'm sorry, Harry. More sorry than you can ever know. Tippy's gone."
"Gone? You mean…?"
"She died of her injuries. I'm sorry."
Harry was overwhelmed with a sudden sense of grief unlike anything he had ever experienced before. But, so filled with remorse was the voice that spoke to him that he opened his eyes to get a look at the unknown person. Again, his vision was filled with bright, swirling images. Harry wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to focus on the person squatting at his side. Nothing he could see was recognizable, but he could make out a vaguely man sized shape at his side. At its center glowed a dark red ball, with black swirls that flashed in and out of view. The image niggled at the back of Harry's mind until he realized that it resembled his glimpses at his own magical core. The colors were different but he could still recognize the glowing shape as something similar.
Harry shut his eyes and tried to picture the flame in his mind. It was difficult for him as it kept being replaced with the image of Tippy's broken and battered body. Finally, he succeeded in holding it in his mind and managed to feed some of his grief into the burning flame. When he had calmed down a little, he opened his eyes.
Immediately he noticed a difference in his vision. The swirling colors from before were muted. They were still there, but it was as if they lay just under the surface.
"What happened to her? How did she…d..d..die?" he asked.
Again he heard the mournful sigh. "I'm afraid she was killed by a werewolf. If it is any comfort, I think the end was quick. She was a very brave elf."
Harry couldn't believe that Tippy had sacrificed herself for him. Oh, he knew that she would gladly do so, but he still couldn't believe it had come to pass. What made it even worse was he didn't even know she was in danger. During the ritual, he was so wrapped up in his own focus, he had let her be attacked and killed. The more Harry thought about it, the guiltier he felt. He should have done something to help her. He knew he didn't know enough magic to put up much of a fight; nothing like what Tippy was capable of, but he could have gotten himself out of harm's way. He could have climbed a tree, or something. If Tippy hadn't had to worry about him, she could have easily escaped. Instead, she had been mauled by some mangy flea-bitten mongrel. Tippy, who'd never done anything to harm anyone, who had taken care of Harry when no one else would, didn't deserve that fate.
Harry looked around him and saw Charlus' painting resting against a tree and his knapsack not far away. A small campfire was smoldering nearby and there was a suspicious lump hidden by a somber, black tarp, just on the edge of the clearing.
Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he turned and faced the man once more. The man was drawn and pale. He had sunken features and looked to be on his last legs. The main thing Harry noticed, however, was his forlorn and somber expression. Harry had little experience with grief. He knew that his mother and father had been killed when he was a baby, but he couldn't really remember it. It was just a fact that he had learned. It had no real weight. Even so, he could recognize that the man was suffering, almost as though he had lost a friend himself.
"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" The man asked.
"Yeah." Harry answered. "It's just all….you know. I can't believe it!" As Harry said this last he pounded his fists against his legs.
"I know, Harry. Believe me, I know." The man replied in a somber voice
"So who are you again?" Harry asked, wiping his tears away on his dirty sleeve.
At hearing Harry's words the man seemed to struggle with himself for a second as if steeling himself for some unwelcome task. He leaned toward Harry, his hand extended.
"I'm Remus Lupin. You probably don't remember me, you were just a babe at the time, but I was a good friend of your mother and father. I used to dandle you on my knee." He said with a sad kind of smile.
"Really! You knew mum and dad?" Harry asked with excitement, grabbing the man's hand and giving it a hesitant shake with the hint of a smile on his face. When their hands made contact, however, Harry was suddenly overwhelmed with emotions of animalistic fury and savage fierceness.
Snarling, Harry dropped his hands to the ground in a crouch. He recognized those feelings from the ritual. He wasn't sure where they came from, but he was beyond caring. The man, seeing Harry's reaction, stepped backward involuntarily. He seemed to recover himself, however, and stepped forward once more.
"Harry? Are you allright?" he asked.
"Who are you?" Harry snarled, still in his crouched position, like a snake coiled to strike.
The man seemed hesitant and unsure. "I told you Harry. I'm Remus Lupin. I was a…"
"I know what you said!" Harry screamed. "Now tell me who you really are! What were you doing here last night?"
"Well…you see….I…was" the man stuttered, anxious and unsure. Taking a deep breath, he looked into Harry's eyes. Instead of the childlike innocence and grief he expected to see in the young boy's eyes, what he saw was something completely different. He saw an animalistic fury in the boy's stance. His heightened senses told him that he was facing a very real threat. He didn't know what to think. He saw here a young boy, alone in the woods, torn by grief and despair. More so, he saw a living, breathing reminder of his best mate, James Potter, and the answering of his most secret prayer.
Shaking his head, he decided to ignore his senses. Little Harry Potter wasn't a threat, he decided. He was family…or as close as he would ever get, anyway. Rationally, he knew he should lie to the boy. He was far too young to understand or appreciate the truth of Remus' condition. But, looking into Harry's green eyes, so like his mother's, he couldn't bring himself to lie. Instead, he squatted down, ignoring his bruised and protesting joints.
"Harry, I was here last night because it's the safest place for me to be, due to my condition."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "What condition?"
"Well, you see….Harry…..I'm a werewolf."
"A werewolf." Harry said in a level voice. "You're a werewolf."
"Yes." Remus replied. "You see, when I was a child…"
"Last night was a full moon." Harry interrupted.
Remus swallowed. "Yes. I usually stay the night at the shrieking shack. It's normally very safe. But it is very old and hasn't really been treated kindly over the years. The wood may have rotted….I can't think why…"
"Did you kill Tippy?" Harry asked in a quiet, almost eerie voice.
"Harry, you have to understand. If there was anything I could have done or could do, I would. I would never willingly hurt someone like that. But my condition…"
"DID YOU KILL TIPPY?" Harry screamed as rage and vengeance surged through his head and his heart.
Remus didn't notice however, as he was swallowed by equally powerful feelings or guilt and despair. If he had known what was going on with Harry or if he'd paid closer attention to his own preternatural senses, he might have answered differently. But he didn't do those things. Remus knew the debt and obligation he held to the boy in front of him. He knew it to the core of his being. So instead of lying or obfuscating, he did what he thought was right. He told the truth.
"I did. But it was an accident, I promise."
Remus fully expected the backlash of anger and recrimination from Harry. He was ready to help Harry through it. He knew he might never be forgiven. He was prepared to deal with the tears and the guilt and the blame. But, he wasn't prepared for, what he never expected to see when he looked up at Harry's face were those expressive green eyes change to a malevolent and glowing amber. He didn't expect the hairs to raise on the back of his neck and arms or the sizzling, almost electric feeling in the air. He didn't know what caused this manifestation, but he did know that he was suddenly and fervently afraid.
When Harry heard Remus admit his guilt, something inside him broke free. The fury and the vengeance inside him swelled up from a burning torrent to a fiery maelstrom that was all encompassing. He had no rational thought. He knew only pain and the need to strike out. The sounds of the forest suddenly became clearer and his senses sharper and more focused. He narrowed his amber, glowing eyes at the creature in front of him, its words and explanation burned up by his rage. His fingers clawed into the dirt and his legs bunched underneath him. When the creature looked up at him, he could almost smell its fear. As it opened its mouth to speak, Harry leapt.
Flying through the air, Harry clawed and scratched at the creature, whose panic and fear only fueled the fire that burned within him. Try as he might, his fingers and feet could find no purchase. His small frame and clipped nails were not suitable weapons. They could not draw the blood of this creature. His momentum however had caught the man unaware and together they went down in a flurry of limbs. As they hit the ground, Harry on top, he seized the creatures robes in his slender hands. With strength far beyond his years, he lifted the man and slung him bodily into the ground. As soon as he landed, he was at him again. This time his hands on his throat. With all the strength he could muster he tried to squeeze the life out of him, even as the creature tried to pry him off. He could see the purpling of the man's face as he tried to draw breath. He heard but didn't recognize the words that the man was struggling to say.
"Harry….don't…" Remus wheezed.
His pleas fell on deaf ears. Harry's blood roared in his ears as he snarled and hissed his naked fury. So caught up was Harry in his bloodlust that he never noticed the creature's hand as it let go of Harry's grip. Neither did he notice the small stick that it pressed into his side. The last thing he heard was a whisper, faint and tremulous, like a sigh on the wind.
"stupefy.." A flash of red and then blackness.
When Harry came to, he was laying on the ground floor of Potter Manor. His had headache and he could feel tender bump on the back of his head. His memories of attacking Mr. Lupin were vague and though he remembered his actions, he couldn't understand why he reacted like that. Thinking back on it, he didn't really regret it. The man had murdered Tippy. Intellectually he knew that werewolves couldn't control their actions while transformed. He knew that such people were themselves the victims of a werewolf attack, but that didn't matter. Tippy was dead at his hands and that was that.
Getting to his feet, he looked around the house. He didn't see any signs that Mr. Lupin was in the house, but that left him in a bit of a quandary. He didn't know if the Fidelius was still active or if he could enter the basement, because Fidelius or no, it was walled up and he didn't know how to apparate. Not on purpose, anyway. Walking around the house, Harry was amazed at the strange glow that surrounded many of the objects he saw. He could only guess that those objects were magical, because they appeared much like the magic in his core. He didn't know what to make of this new ability. The colors he saw were all a little different. Each object differed in its color, shape and intensity. He couldn't make heads or tails of what any of it meant, but it was interesting nonetheless.
Making his way back to the sitting room, he still couldn't think of any way to get back in the basement. He had all but decided to go ahead and try to aparate anyway. He was hungry and his head was still pounding. Shutting his eyes, Harry pictured the living area in the basement. Gritting his teeth, he spun around, and with a loud crack…lost his balance as he smashed his leg on the end table, falling into an undignified heap on the floor.
"Bloody wonderful! Great thinking, Charlus! Make us a hideout with no way inside. Simply brilliant! Moldy old fart needs a turpentine bath, he does!" Harry muttered, rubbing his injured bum. As he was about to try again, he heard an unmistakable murmur coming from a cupboard under the stairs to his right. Harry ran over and yanked the door open and to his surprise found Charlus' painting inside.
"Charlus? What are you doing in the cupboard?" he asked.
"What indeed!" Charlus exclaimed. "Needed to use the loo and was looking for some paper. What do you think, boy? Lupin put me in here. Stupid mangy, no-good, flea bitten, back biting, shite eating pile of monkey dung…"
"Is he here then? I didn't see him." Harry asked, looking over his shoulder.
"Oh yes! He's just inside the cupboard! Thought we'd have a spot of tea followed by a good rogering! Use that lump that sits on your neck, boy. He scampered off, sorry coward, if I only had 'me wand, then I'd.."
"Uncle!" Harry yelled.
"What!" Charlus yelled back.
"We can't get back home." Harry replied.
"What? Where do you think we are, Victoria Station?" Charlus responded, waving his hands around dramatically.
Sighing to himself, Harry grabbed the painting and dragged it across the room and placed it against the wall. Facing the painting, Harry waved his arms around, mimicking his uncle's sarcasm.
"Basement….Fidelius….secret keeper…underage wizard….Ring any bells?"
"Right, right, I see." Charlus responded, nonplussed. "Well….you could always try apparating. We're well warded, so no problems there. Course if you splinch yourself it could be a wee bother. But, nothing ventured and all that rot." He replied.
"Do you think the Fidelius is still active?" he asked.
"Hmmm. Now that you mention it, it might have dissipated by now. Not really sure how long the effect lasts." Charlus replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"How can we tell?" Harry asked.
"What? Oh. Well logically…Don't give me that look boy. I'm the very paragon of logic and scholarly adeptitude." Charlus huffed.
"You made that word up!" Harry exclaimed.
"No I didn't! Why if you go to in the library and get that dictionary you're so fond of, you'll find my very picture in the definition! Made it up, he says! I'll have you know that when I was at Hogwarts, all the girls commented on my adeptitude."
"Are you sure they didn't say decrepitude? Cause that I can see. Plus, it's a real word." Harry laughed.
"Hmmph! Well I never!" Charlus replied with a look of such indignation that Harry couldn't help but laugh again at his antics.
"So, anyway. If you would be so kind, Your Adeptitudeness, could you please explain how we can tell if the charm is broken?"
Charlus fixed Harry with a baleful eye, but nevertheless scratched his beard in thought. This continued for a full minute and then he got a gleam in his eye.
"I've got it!" he exclaimed.
"And…?" Harry asked.
"Tell me where we live."
"Er...in the basement?" Harry answered.
"Yes, yes. Very astute. But where is the basement?" Charlus asked.
Harry scratched his head, confused by the question. "Umm…down there?" he said, pointing at the floor.
"And where is this floor located?" Charlus asked.
By now, Harry was good and confused, but he soldiered on. "Potter Manor?"
"Exactly! So where is the basement? Come on, Harry! Put it all together!" he encouraged.
Finally, the light of comprehension shone from his face. "The basement is located under the first floor of Potter Manor!" Harry exclaimed. "That means the Fidelius has been broken!
"Oh! Very good Harry! Your wit astounds! No, really! Why, to think in another 120 years, you'll be as smart as my painting!"
"Oh, shut it you. We still don't know how to get in."
"Good point."
"Any ideas?" Harry asked impatiently.
"We could blast our way in. Messy, sure, but definitely possible." Charlus answered.
"How do we do that?" Harry asked.
"Do you have your wand?"
Harry looked around the sitting room and found his knapsack on a chair in the corner. Searching through it, he located his wand. He grabbed it and returned to the painting. Charlus was standing in his portrait with his painted wand in his hand. He showed Harry the wand movement and incantation for a blasting curse. Harry stepped into the middle of the room and leveled his wand at the bricked over wall where he knew the doorway to be.
"Reducto!" Harry yelled, making a stabbing motion with his wand. A single spark fell impotently from the end and landed harmlessly on the floor. Harry looked at his wand in disbelief. True, he had never attempted the curse before, but felt sure that he could get a better response than that. He stood straight and tried again.
"REDUCTO!" he yelled. This time, not even a spark appeared and Harry was getting frustrated at his failure.
"Why won't it work?" Harry whined, turning to face Charlus.
His uncle appeared to be as vexed as Harry. He sat down in his chair and scratched his beard thoughtfully.
"I'm not sure." He answered. "I would have thought it would get more response than that. You did everything right as far as I could tell. Either something is wrong with your wand or your core was damaged in some way from the ritual."
Seeing the look of panic that suddenly appeared on Harry's face he quickly reassured him. "It'll be fine, Harry. We'll figure it out. Don't worry."
Harry slumped to the ground in defeat. "So what do we do now?" he asked.
"We'll just have to wait for Lupin to get back. It's all we can do at this point." Charlus replied.
"Wait! He's coming back here?" Harry exclaimed, leaping to his feet.
"Of course! You didn't think he'd leave you to fend for yourself, did you?"
"But he's a murderer. How could you let him come back after what he did to Tippy!?" Harry screamed.
Charlus put his head in his hands and sighed. Looking up at Harry with a sad and knowing look, he said, "Harry, it wasn't his fault."
Harry looked at him incredulously for a moment. After a few seconds, however, he seemed to wilt. He slumped his shoulders and sat down on the hardwood floor.
"I know." He said. "It's just…hard. I know he didn't mean to, but I don't know if I can forgive him."
"Life is often like that," Charlus replied. "It's always a struggle to do the right thing. But I want you to know, Harry that Remus is a good man. He and your father were very close and I doubt there is anything you can do that would keep him away now that he knows your alive."
"So he and dad were really close?" Harry asked.
"Oh yes! Surely you remember me telling you about the Marauders." Charlus said.
"Remus was a marauder?" Harry asked.
"He was. A real bright fellow, our Remus was. Always a little reserved, but terribly loyal and wicked with charms. He was the only one of the group that could keep up with your mum." Charlus answered.
Harry pondered that for a bit. He was torn between his loyalty to Tippy and his hunger to reclaim a little bit of his stolen past. Charlus had regaled him with many stories about the Marauders and even though he didn't want to, he felt the stirrings of a little hope at the thought of spending time with his father's friend. Gathering his courage, he decided that he would do his best to not hold the matter of Tippy's death against the man. As he sat on the floor, he fell into a meditative trance and started feeding those thoughts of blame and anger into the hungry flames.
