Chapter Eleven: The Hogs Head Inn

I will not pretend that the hogshead inn is a favorite haunt of mine. On the contrary, I tend to avoid it when at all possible. It does not seem possible now as I make my way through the French double doors; that horrible boars head starring down at me beadily.

Strange as it may sound, that thing frightens me.

I walk, quickly as I always do to the stool placed at the corner of the bar. As usual, Aberforth takes a moment before he nods in my direction.

'Ya' look like hell,' he grunts by way of a greeting.

'Thank you.'

Coming from Aberforth Dumbledore, this is the closest thing to a compliment I have yet received.

I order my usual Butterbeer and make sure to take a long swig before asking:

'Is the Headmaster here yet?'

This receives another grunt.

''e's upstairs. Said to meet 'im in the usual room.'

I nod, take hold of my butter beer and begin to head in the direction of the stairwell.

'Albus said to let you take the drink up there,' he informs me 'I wouldn't let you normally. Jus' don't make an 'abbit out of it.'

'I'll keep that in mind.'

I begin the walk up the long and winding staircase which leads to the second floor. I leave the stairwell only to come to a long, dark and damp hallway lined with dirt encrusted rickety doors. I finally come to a halt outside of the one which reads: 212.

I knock twice in staccato, wait a moment then thump loudly on the wooden door, this is the signal.

'Come in'

A familiar voice answers me. I open the door, which is decidedly and unnervingly creaky and walk into the room.

It is not a large room by any means; in fact it reminds me of some of the draftier cupboards in Number twelve Grimmauld place. There is one bed which is moth eaten in several places; a grey and patched curtain covers one window which appears to have rusted shut, there is a table in the middle of the room.

The fine wood finish of this table and high backed velvet chair on which Dumbledore is sitting makes me suspect that he conjured these items specifically.

'Remus,' Dumbledore greets me with a warm yet seemingly tired smile. He looks much older than I have ever seen him, and extremely worn.

'Professor,' I greet him as I reach the table.

I know he sees the limp I walk with and gives it more consideration than he ought to. In the same manner, my eyes travel to his black and shriveled hand and my mind immediately begins it's over analysis.

'Nothing to worry about,' Dumbledore assures me with a casual wave of his wounded hand.

'Is it to do with Harry?'

I have never been so bold or open in my questioning of Dumbledore before. Perhaps my time among the ferals has changed my instincts in more ways than I care to acknowledge.

Dumbledore does not seem to notice my new approach. He simply nods and attempts another smile which does not quite reach his eyes.

'Does it…?'

'Perhaps another time, Remus. Let us instead proceed to the matter at hand. You will forgive the horrible pun, I assure you it was entirely unintentional.'

As Dumbledore says this, the hand in question disappears within the folds of his robes. As desperately as I beg them not to, my eyes seem intent upon following it until I hear the headmaster speak again:

'As painful as I know it will be, I'm afraid I must ask you to recount to me the events which took place leading up to the Montgomery murder.'

'Of course.'

I hear the words fall mechanically from my mouth. When I came here, I knew what he would ask. I knew that I would have to re-live, in detail, that horrifying night. I did not expect for the memory to come back with such force.

I suppose I have grown used to not having to think. These past few hours, the hours in which I was warm and cared for…loved; the hours in which you looked after me caused me to forget what had transpired, what had happened that I was landed in such a position.

I can not forget much longer. So, I clear my throat once and begin. I do my best not to hold back. With Dumbledore the smallest detail of any encounter can be of grave importance.

It does not matter how graphic the tale is, or how, as I speak I am forced to remember the most horrific acts performed in a Werewolf colony.

I tried to stop it. Dumbledore should know that. I tried to be fearless and noble, all the things a good Gryffindor should be. In the end it did nothing. In the end all I received for my efforts were sore muscles, several cuts, and a shameful memory. In the end a boy is dead and I am here.

Dumbledore listens as intently as always. I finish knowing that it is not enough, will never be enough. I should not have strayed; I should not have tried to play the hero. I knew the assignment, I knew my part in it, and I should have contented myself with that. Why, no matter what I do, where I go, am I never satisfied?

Dumbledore is silent for a long while. He presses his fingers together, the black withered hand plays ominously against the other. Finally, he looks up to me.

'Have you spoken of this to anyone else, Remus?'

I know when he asks this, he is truly asking whether or not I have confided in you. It will do no good to lie, I know that. But the truth would be impossible to divulge in one simple sentence. A compromise is what's called for.

'Not entirely. I have not revealed nearly as much as I have this evening.'

He stares directly into my eyes. No occlumency is needed to read what is written there. I have failed. I have failed Dumbledore, my mission, Vincent Montgomery…you. I know that my drive to protect you has brought you only more pain, grief and confusion. If only I had been firmer in my stance, if only I had been more dedicated, if only you were not so persistent, if only…

Dumbledore stands up from his chair and begins to pace the floor of the room.

'What progress have you made in swaying the attitudes of the werewolf's underground?'

I can not look at him as I answer.

'Very little. These are people who have been beaten down to the point that logic no longer registers. And with Greyback's hold on the colony…'

'I knew it would not be an easy task. Now I see that it is, as I feared, impossible.'

His pacing ceases and I can see a very dim heaviness settle about him. I feel my old urge to comfort, to reassure, come to the forefront of my mind.

'It's not impossible. Information on a pivotal death eater strong hold must hold some merit. And there are those in the colony who seem…willing to listen. If I could just go back there for-'

'No Remus.'

Dumbledore speaks with such assurance and rapidity that I am stunned to speechlessness.

'We have learned all we can from the underground. And, in light of what's happened, I do not think it wise to endanger you any longer.'

'But what about…'

'If there are those who have heard your message and desire protection, I assume they know how to contact us?'

'I-yes sir.'

I could lie. I could say that I have not yet relayed certain information to the pack, that I will need time to do so.

However, I recognize that even one lie told to Dumbledore is one too many. In these trying times we must trust each other. Besides, using the camps, risking the stability of the entire Order simply to keep my distance from you seems incredibly selfish.

Dumbledore is right, there is no reason to return. I will simply have to find another way…

'In the mean time, Remus, I believe rest is what is in order.'

Though, my bones still ache to stand and my head still throbs in places, I believe I have had all the rest I can stand in these past two days.

'Sir-'

'That is not a request.'

Dumbledore speaks quietly yet the authority in his voice is unmistakable. I simply nod to show my understanding.

'You will stay here to night; tomorrow we will arrange to have your things sent back to Grimmauld Place.'

Again, this is not a request. It feels very foolish to explain that I truly do not want to live in that house, not alone, not after…

'The Order will be informed of the new situation of course.'

I have no answer, not even a nod for this. My throat begins to tighten. I know what you will do with this information. There is no way of avoiding you now.

'Remus,' Dumbledore drops his business like demeanor.

'As you know, I do not make a habit of interfering in the personal lives of my colleagues'

Colleague. Though he refers to me as such, I can tell by the mere tenure of his voice that I am once again the misbehaving student reprimanded by my wise headmaster.

'I still do not intend to make a nuisance of myself. Molly and Arthur have all ready, I am sure, made their positions known to you on this.'

I can feel my palms beginning to sweat. I know he means to speak to me about you. I want to say something to stop him. I want to change the subject; I want to run for the door, I want to throw myself out the window, anything to avoid…

'I will however allow myself to voice the opinion that, while the road you walk may be dangerous it is always best to have those you love walk along it with you.'

'Even if it is more dangerous to them than it is to you?'

I have dropped pretense all together. It is no use feigning ignorance.

'Remus, if I may say so, you give yourself entirely too much credit.'

It appears Dumbledore has dropped all pretenses as well. He is now smiling at me, a student in one of his worldly lessons.

'There are many who live lives more dangerous and set apart from the world than yours. Even they have managed to find solace in the love of others.'

I have never before doubted Dumbledore's word. I have always trusted him completely and utterly but now…how can I expect him to understand? How can I expect anyone to understand? I did not choose this life of danger; I did not choose to be outcast; I was cursed. It is an affliction which I want no part of, yet will always carry with me no matter how I try to shake it. Not even Dumbledore, the greatest Wizard in the world could possibly understand such a burden.

I turn away from him and face the window. I pray that my silence will speak for me. The sigh I hear from Dumbledore tells me that it has. There will be no more discussion of love or danger tonight.

'Sleep well Remus,'

I remain facing the window as I hear the swish of his wand and I know instinctively that the table and chairs have been removed from the room.

'Good night sir,' I say without removing my eyes from the window. In the reflection of the glass, Dumbledore gives a slight bow at the door before exiting. I stand at the window for a moment longer.

The sky is purple and orange with only the faintest hint of a yellow sun disappearing behind the mountains. The feral caves.

I should take comfort in the fact that I will not be returning. I should, by all rights, be thrilled that I will no longer have to live on the edge, starving and killing and dying. I have been given a gift; I have the chance to live freely, to feel human once more.

Yet, a small voice, always present in the backward corners of my mind, whispers that I will never be free. That I will never be…human. Not really.

No matter how I try to delude myself, no matter how many others I have convinced with my façade, it can not erase what I have done, what I am.

If Dumbledore knew all that I have done in his name, without the comfort of his presence, surely he would not have spoken so gently to me, his voice laced with sympathy.

If you only knew what I surrendered, how I compromised in the name of your protection. If you had seen the blood, heard the cries of Mothers of children…I am certain you would not have rushed to my arms with such enthusiasm, with such hope.

I remember the dreams, they still come to me. Not every night, but nearly. I am powerless to stop them. They have changed now since…

I never met Vincent Montgomery, Never saw him; the little I know of him I learned afterward. He was six years old.

I can not explain how or why, but I see him now in my dreams. He has your eyes. Your natural dark brown eyes.

I recognize the sparkle in them a moment before I transform. I register his look of shock and horror I see the sparkle leave his eyes…your eyes, before the scene is lost in a sea of blood.

My stomach churns at the memory. I failed him, and in doing so, I have failed you.

I turn from the window, walk toward the bed and sink into it. It is here, in this dark, dingy mouse trap of a room, that for the first time in so many months, I place my face in my hands and cry.