"Do it, boy. Do it."
Cold steel numbed Kirill's trembling hand. The gun was too heavy for him, a man's weapon. The muscles in his scrawny shoulder screamed in protest as he held the gun outstretched for ten seconds, twenty –
"For FUCK'S sake, runt. DO IT. Get it over with, it's fucking cold out here."
Kirill was seven years old and terrified. He didn't know the young man kneeling in front of him, but even a cursory glance at his mind showed that he was terrified as well. He had a wife, and two small children, but they were already dead. Greyback's pack wasted no time, and took no prisoners.
Blue eyes locked with amber, and Kirill let out a hiccupping sob. His shoulder gave out, and the gun dropped into the snow.
He didn't even try to dodge Greyback's fist. The blow knocked him to the ground and he stayed there, trembling. Not for the first time, he prayed for death.
Instead, a clawed hand grabbed him by the hair, hauling him back to his feet. He cried out in the only language he knew, well aware that it wouldn't help.
"Ya uzhe govoril vam vse, chto on znaet! Pozhaluysta…" (I already told you what he knows! Please…)
"Shut up, you little piece of Russian shit!"
Greyback shook him like a ragdoll, and Kirill felt his teeth rattle in his skull.
"You run with my pack, you play by my rules, boy," Greyback hissed, his breath hot and rancid against Kirill's face. "Got it?"
Kirill swallowed, his eyes darting from side to side as he searched for some way – ANY way – to escape. Greyback grabbed his chin with bruising force.
"You want me to tell the Dark Lord how uncooperative you've been? Hmm? You want me to pay your little bitch of a mother a visit in Auchenstein?"
Something ran cold in Kirill's veins. His icy gaze fixed on Greyback, and for a split second, he saw a hint of apprehension in the man's eyes. They could do whatever they wanted to him, but they would NEVER hurt his mother.
Kirill threw his mind recklessly, desperately, at the man in front of him. He had no idea what he was doing. All he knew was that he wanted to be free of this man, free of this nightmare. He wanted his mother, he wanted his old life back, he didn't care if he had to plant potatoes for the rest of his life if it meant seeing the farm and his father again…
He crashed against Greyback's mental shields with a force that sent tremors through them both. The man's golden eyes widened, and Kirill pressed forward, willing Greyback to put him down, to let him go – but then the feral was pinning him to the ground, and Kirill's heart sank.
"You little BASTARD! Think you can manipulate ME, think you can pull that little mind trick on ME?"
Kirill curled into a ball, covering his head in a futile attempt to shield himself from the blows Greyback was raining down upon him. And as one horrible second melted into another, Kirill's anger grew into an all-consuming flame.
He would not die a coward.
With an inhuman cry, he lashed out with his foot, catching Greyback a glancing blow on the temple. The huge man stumbled, and Kirill scrambled across the bloodstained snow towards the gun. Gasping frantically for breath, he snatched it up, gripping it tightly in both hands as he turned.
Half blinded by tears and rage, he fired.
The force of the blast knocked him backwards, and he sprawled in the cold snow, gun knocked from his hand. The shot echoed through the dark Romanian woods, and for a moment, silence reigned over the scene.
Kirill lay on his back, wide eyes staring up at the stars as he fought for breath. Those small bright lights had always comforted him in the past. They seemed so peaceful, so removed from the world. He envied them.
Slowly, painfully, Kirill sat up. He didn't want to see what he had done. He didn't want to see Greyback lying, still and bloodied like all the others – only this time at Kirill's own hand. He fought off a wave of nausea. He didn't have time to be sick, the rest of the pack was only a minute away, he needed to run, he needed to get to his mother before the Dark One found out…
"Well, what do you know? You can shoot after all."
The bottom dropped out of Kirill's stomach. He swallowed, and slowly lifted his head.
Greyback stood in front of him, hulking and unpleasant as ever. In front of him – held like a shield – was the limp body of the young man. Kirill's wild, desperate shot had caught him right in the heart.
Greyback was positively grinning. The points of his carefully filed teeth glinted in the moonlight. He tossed the young man's corpse aside, and Kirill watched numbly as the shell of a human being folded to the ground.
"Your first kill, runt. Congratulations."
Kirill's vision clouded and wavered. The dark forest faded, and he felt something – someone – in his head, pulling him deeper into… was he asleep? Was this all a dream? Oh please, let this be a dream.
The presence in his mind felt safe and warm. Kindness like he hadn't felt since they took his mother away now echoed in the emptiness she left behind. Kirill sank deeper into sleep… but his dreams followed him. As images flashed through his mind – faster and more vivid than before – the kind presence shrank back and vanished, leaving him to face his demons alone.
Villages burned before his eyes, bodies strewn upon the ground haphazardly. Agonized screams and cruel laughter blended together in a horrifying cacophony, and all the while the gun felt more and more familiar in his hand.
He was reading an old woman's mind – right before putting a bullet through her skull. He was crouching outside a town with the rest of the pack, waiting for moonrise. He was on his knees in a dungeon cell, the metallic stench of blood almost as strong as the taste of it in his mouth as he stared down at the knife in his hand. He was sprinting through the trees, running until he thought his heart would burst, and then he was fighting – kicking and biting and desperately clawing at the ones who were responsible. The ones who had turned him into this… this –
"Kirill, WAKE UP!"
Remus Lupin woke without a sound, a voice from the grave echoing through his mind. Weeks of guerilla warfare had drilled home the importance of remaining silent, no matter what nightmares plagued his sleep. The scent of tea and lemon drops placed him in Dumbledore's office, and the sound of two other heartbeats meant that he was not alone.
"But… but this is Remus we're talking about. He's a good kid."
"You know as well as I do, Sirius, that Voldemort was an expert at turning good people into monsters."
Monster.
Albus Dumbledore rose with the sun. For a few brief moments, it felt like every other day that dawned at Hogwarts. Muted light shone across his bed, the smell of late summer air wafted through the open window, and Albus smiled up at the ceiling in anticipation of the start of a new school year.
Then he remembered the young man on the other side of his bedroom door. His smile dimmed, and Albus rose swiftly and pulled on a dressing robe. With any luck, Remus would still be asleep. Albus needed some time to figure out how to approach this whole mess. Cautiously, he peeked around the edge of the door… and his blood froze.
The office was empty. The window was wide open, and the curtains fluttered in the breeze with a solemn finality. Rushing to his desk, Albus pulled out a tattered copy of the Marauder's Map – a gift from James and Sirius upon their graduation. As he scanned the document frantically, Albus's heart sank. He should have seen this coming. He should have done something. But it was too late.
Remus was gone.
End of Part 1
Author's Note: Thank you sooo much for the reviews, follows, and favorites! It really means the world to me, I'm so glad you all are enjoying this AU. Sorry it sometimes takes me a while to update, life gets in the way a bit too much. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, get ready for even more of a roller coaster :)
Thanks to ganastas for Russian translation!