Remus' head swam and his vision followed. Something was different. His vision, as it cleared, was normal. He didn't notice anything unusual, he didn't sense anything extraordinary. He was human once more.

"Hey, Igor!" called a voice Remus did not know. "Igor, he's waking up!"

Remus saw a couple strange faces slide into view and then bob back out. Igor's replaced them. It was clear that he had to lean over a table that was around waist high. He looked down with concern on his old friend, and Remus, for a moment, pitied the man. Igor looked terrible. His face was thin and wan. He looked recently injured or ill. There was certainly something unsettling about the way he was looking at Remus.

The look disappeared, though, and Igor smiled when he could see Remus looking back at him. "Welcome back, you gave us a bit of a scare."

"Igor," Remus said, "What? Where are we?"

"Well," Igor said, taking Remus' hand to help him sit up, "as I understand it, you escaped the Ministry - spectacularly, I might add - and ran wild through the streets of London. It was so big, the Ministry wasn't able to prevent the story from showing up in the Muggle papers. The Muggle official story was a bear escape from some traveling circus."

Remus nearly chuckled. Igor did. "Good to see you awake, and smiling, even. I guess I would be smiling, too, if I had escaped from them."

"I...I am glad to be away," Remus said, his voice shaking a little, "they did terrible things. Things I would not have thought...as the Ministry, I mean. They always seemed to claim the higher road, stuffy, and often unkind, but not so wrong."

"And...and did you...?" Igor asked slowly as Remus looked down at the thoughts.

Remus snapped his head around, looking hard at Igor. "I told them nothing," he said, scathingly. "They certainly seemed to know I had been around your friends, but had nothing but empty assumptions."

"Good lad," Igor said, clapping Remus on the back and looking around at his fellows. "I told you he'd come through for us, didn't I?"

"Yeah," one or two answered, "good show."

"Wish I'd had a chance to mess with 'em," a young looking Death Eater said. He seemed younger than Remus. It seemed to him that this young man had been a fourth year in Hogwarts when he graduated. The school taught much, and to everyone, indiscriminately.

"How'd you do it?" the same young one asked, eyes wide and excited.

Remus thought back to the events of the evening. "They gave me the tools and the chance," he began reflectively. "I just took it. They've developed a potion," he added, looking at Igor significantly, "a potion that allows a werewolf to keep his mind while he transforms. When Crouch came in with more threats and...a deal, I escaped the room. From there, you seem to know more than I remember."

"A potion to do that?" asked one of the older Death Eaters. His face was covered in skepticism. He was not one of the ones who had applauded Remus' declaration of telling the Ministry nothing. "How can we be sure of any of this story? For all we know, they let him out to make it seem more impressive."

"Would they release a wild werewolf into the Ministry itself?" Igor asked harshly. "They might if he had his mind, of course, but you would have to at least concede that he had told a truth."

"That still doesn't convince me he didn't tell them anything," the man said, stepping forward, even with Igor. "He could have been sent back to us as a spy, to report the things he sees. Remember, he brought you that Time Turner that was retaken. The night of chaos. You remember it, yes?"

"What?" Remus asked, wide-eyed. "What happened to the Turner?"

"Where were you?" the man demanded, turning on Remus.

"We have already established this, Henry," Igor answered for him. "We had at least three eyewitnesses that said he -"

"I want to hear him tell me," Henry growled, cutting off whatever Igor was about to say.

Remus answered, unblinkingly, "I returned home. The Ministry showed up and took me in. I had no time to react, and I still do not know how they found me. I was very careful."

"You see!" Igor answered. "His story corroborates those members of Dumbly."

"Dumbly?" Remus asked.

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement," one Death Eater laughed. "We thought a fitting nickname was in order." A couple of the others chuckled, one or two just looked weary.

"I still don't trust him," Henry stated, his voice dangerous.

"You don't have to," Igor said flatly. "He really didn't know enough to get anyone in trouble but me. I'm taking the risks, but he's an old friend. I trust him."

Remus pretended to stretch his legs. He didn't want to get caught in the middle of this, if he could avoid it. He didn't know these men, and could not begin to guess their connection with Igor. They could be low-level Death Eaters with no pull. On the other hand, there could be one of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's inner circle present. Nobody would care if something happened to a low-level guy. Remus didn't think he stood a chance alone against the inner circle. He was good, but they were brutal and powerful.

"The Dark Lord wants us to keep a watch for spies," Henry said, eyes narrowed towards Remus. "He wants them brought to Him, if we have any suspicions. Says He'll know."

"I'm sure He will," Igor stated, "when we find a spy, but Remus isn't one of them. I'll vouch for him."

One man, still hooded, gasped, and looked down at his arm. Several of the Death Eaters looked over at him, apprehension dawning on their faces.

"He's coming," the man said, voice hard, deep, and terrified.

"What? Now?" Igor cried.

"Yes," answered the masked man, voice reaching a state of panic. He knelt and everyone else imitated him. Remus hardly had time to tumble off the table and rise to his knees before a series of cracks echoed in the small room.

A set of five Death Eaters, hooded and standing, surrounded the group. In the center, calm and confident stood He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Dark Lord, Voldemort. Remus had never set eyes on him before. His snake-like, pale head surveyed the present company. Remus felt those burning red eyes sweep over his own without a thought, without even a curiosity. It was pure indifference he could feel. Somehow, that felt worse than the expected hatred, it was demeaning and cruel. Voldemort was a master at it.

Spotting the hooded Death Eater, Voldemort beckoned him over. The Death Eater rose, hurried forward, and knelt at Voldemort's feet. All eyes were locked on the two, all ears were peaked and all breath was baited.

"Have you completed the task I set you?" Voldemort asked, looking down at the man with a look between hunger and malice.

"N-no, Lord," the man said, sweat beginning to drip down his neck. "I have almost completed -"

"Almost?" Voldemort asked, letting the last syllable ring out hollowly in the room. "I was not aware I set you a task that could be partially completed. Have you completed the task I set you?"

"No."

Voldemort's red eyes contracted. "I see," he said in a breathless whisper. "Failure is not tolerated; you know this."

"Yes, m..my Lord," answered the man, sweat pooling at the base of the mask. He lowered his head, resigned.

Voldemort turned to another Death Eater, stepping away from the kneeling man. He nodded. Remus thought he could almost sense the masked face smirk. A wand appeared, and the Death Eater struck, merciless from his master's order. "Avada Kedavra!" he cried as a flash of green light illuminated the darkest corners of the room, and then faded. The kneeling Death Eater crumpled.

Voldemort pointed at Henry. "It is your mission now. You have a week. Use your team however you need to."

Henry nodded, seemingly in such shock at being addressed by Voldemort that he could not speak. Remus realized that he, too was terrified. He was so scared he couldn't even move. At this instant, he remembered that this was his sworn enemy, that this terrifying man was the cause of all the trouble in the world, that it ought to be his duty to do anything he could to kill or defeat this man. He couldn't move.

His heart filled with shame at the thought of it. He who faced danger and the hatred of his own friends without hesitation, who had attacked friend and foe for what he thought was right, could do nothing. Still, no one else had made a move without Voldemort's say so. Even the dead man had slumped over and lain still, free as he was from the fear of his Dark Lord.

Voldemort spoke again to Henry, who seemed to have been implicitly promoted. "I see you have added a werewolf to your group. Often a fine choice. A pity he cannot transform for your effort."

"Yes, Lord," Henry said, bowing. "He was otherwise occupied during the full moon, and has since joined us."

Voldemort looked directly at the man a moment before laughing, a cold horrible laugh, but a laugh. "Ah," he said at last, turning towards Remus for a closer look. "so this is our little escapee, is it?"

Remus nodded dully. It was all he could do to hold himself together. Whatever he had expected, Voldemort taking a direct interest in him with no introduction was not it. His thoughts flashed back to a quiet hour with Dumbledore months – no, years now - ago.

Dumbledore and Remus sat across from each other in McGonagall's study, at the Headquarters. There was a thin mist in the air beyond the large, glass windows. It had felt so ominous that day. Dumbledore's face was wan as it often had appeared since the war started. He bore the worries of the world upon him. He confided in no one. Remus couldn't help admire and understand the pain of that, especially in retrospect.

"Remus," he had said. "As I send you on this mission, it is our hope that you will gain for us some valuable knowledge in this war. It is not the most visible mission, filled with such bravado as the Aurors face day-to-day. It may not be the kind to make your name remembered. However, it may be one of the most urgent and dangerous I have given to date. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he had replied, hardly taking in more than that Dumbledore was trusting him for something important. Dumbledore was trusting him.

"The dangers, the greatest dangers, lie within your own mind," Dumbledore continued. Seeing the look of confusion on Remus' face, he explained, "Your memories, your memories of everything, especially meetings such as this one, are the best weapons your enemies can have, and you are walking into their midst openly, expressing, at best, disdain for us.

"But, you will not march in unprotected. Before you go, I will teach you an important and difficult branch of magic. It is called Occlumency. Perhaps you have heard of it?"

Remus had, and nodded assent.

"Excellent. Shall we begin?"

For hours, Dumbledore had penetrated his mind, carefully instructing and imparting tools that could help in his defense, until Remus had mastered it. By the time he left, Dumbledore could not penetrate at all. Rather than act surprised, Dumbledore merely chuckled at being repulsed successfully the first time.

"What is funny, Professor?" Remus had asked.

"I had a feeling, and - if I do say so - I am often right with feelings, that you would have no trouble with Occlumency. After years of holding back and hiding your greatest secrets, your mind is all too ready for it. It is for this reason, more so than others, that I have asked this of you. You have a more closed mind than any I have met. You will need this if Voldemort confronts you."

Here he was. After so long, what Dumbledore had foreseen had come to pass. Instinctively, Remus locked so many doors, doors well selected in his many hours of preparation during his isolation. Voldemort entered. Remus nearly shuddered, but kept a straight face. It didn't feel much like Dumbledore's attacks. This was more like a terrible snake slithering through the corridors of his mind. Many of the locked doors felt a tug, intentional or not, and Remus redoubled his concentration. The doors remained closed. Voldemort saw the history he wanted him to see.

Remus could never be quite sure how long the attack had lasted, but when Voldemort retreated, looking down at him curiously, he was sure he heard the fading sounds of whispering among the Death Eaters assembled. Voldemort turned and walked back towards the center of the room. With a wave he called the group he traveled with, and they Disapparated. The cracks rung slow and long in the room.

Everyone still alive breathed a long sigh of relief. Remus nearly chuckled at the thought that Death Eaters were as terrified as he was of Voldemort. Yet, he felt a sense of triumph. He had done the unthinkable. He had held the truth from the seeking mind of Voldemort. He had defied his search for any indication of a tie to the Order of the Phoenix. Few had dared to keep anything from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and survived. Fewer still could have ever suggested they had succeeded.

Remus felt such a high, that he smiled appreciatively when Igor spoke to Henry saying, "You see! The Dark Lord has seen him! Is that not enough proof for you?"

"I've never seen him scrutinize anyone that much," another said to the room at large. "I would have fainted at that sort of attention."

"You're tougher than you look, kid," Henry admitted. "Perhaps you can help us in this mission. That is...if you don't have any objections?"

"None at all."

"Excellent," Igor cried. "Two old buddies fighting side-by-side!"

Remus laughed, but his mind was diverted by this. Was this the reason Igor wanted him around? Was he trying to reclaim something long lost? It had been so long, what with his parents' move and all, between when they had lost contact and when they had become reacquainted. Perhaps, in trying to bring Remus into his group, he was trying to relive a bit of those mischievous days of youth.

For a moment, Remus pitied the man once more. Whatever Remus had faced, Igor had not had an easy life, it seemed. Whatever it was that had drawn him into this organization had to have hurt him. Remus had always wondered how that fun-loving, sweet kid next door could turn into a follower of the Darkest of Wizards. This statement made Remus wonder if he were drawing closer to the truth.

He had no time for such considerations now, however. Henry called him and a Death Eater named Stanley over. "Take care of the body," he said, voice unnecessarily harsh. "The usual way," he added to Stanley.

Stanley flicked his wand and the Death Eater body rose into the air, as though held by strings and walked out of the room. Remus followed in his wake. They crossed into an alley that had no windows. Remus recognized it and nearly tripped on a barrel. This was Dark Alley! They had brought him to Dark Alley, the scene of one of his most risky adventures.

In the middle of the street, Stanley kept the body suspended, still. Turning his head towards Remus he said, "Light him ablaze."

"What?" Remus asked, incredulous.

"Light him on fire."

"I...but he's dead," Remus asked, appalled. "Shouldn't he be buried or..."

"It is our way," Stanley answered as though he were talking about a manner of serving soup. "Would you prefer we left him in an alleyway to rot?"

Remus could see his point. At least, at least with this there was some resemblance to the old funeral pyres of old. With that thought in mind, he waved his wand in a complicated flourish and flames encircled the floating body, burning brilliantly and serenely. The air itself began to glow with a warmth and energy that Remus had created. He would make this unlike any other funeral the Death Eaters had given.

Stanley stood back, barely managing to keep his wand raised and the body aloft, as Remus moved fluidly before him, playing the fire powerfully in the air. His pendant shown through his shirt, a burning fire of its own upon his chest. The body was not visible now, the fire was too great. Every crevice of the alley was alive with the light, and now colors, dazzling in array, filled the space. This all occurred soundlessly but for the shuffle of Remus' footsteps as he moved about. The fire did not crackle or rush. It simply was.

Turning his back to it with one last wave of his wand, Remus finished it. The light and flame faded and nothing was left of the body. He – whatever horrible things he may have done – was now dissolved into dusts that had scattered into the winds. A hero could but want such a send off. Remus did not know this man's faults. He did not know the good – if any – there had been in him. All he knew was that he would not feel right doing it any other way.

Following a shocked, silent Stanley back into the building, Remus reflected on the losses he had seen, and wondered at the ones he might yet live to see. The door shut behind them, and the alley was dead and dark again. Its most beautiful moment witnessed by none but these two.