This Beastly Salvation

Chapter Six

CW for blood and a brief mention of self-harm.

Author's Note: Friends! Thank you for your patience! I'm so sorry for the delay in bringing this to you. March ended up being a challenging month for me, and although I was writing, it was very slow going. I'm feeling back in the groove now, and actually working on this for Camp NaNoWriMo, so updates should go back to being very regular! :)

Thanks as always to my beta reader Jennifer, who caught me accidentally refer to Narcissa as Lucius's sister instead of wife. :') Also the formatting on FanFic is absolute trash and I can't fix it, so I'm sorry for anything that's unclear without the usual lines & stars. If you want to read this in a properly formatted way, feel free to find it on AO3.

A silver goblet flew toward Lucius's head, only missing his temple because he managed to dodge it at the last moment. His lip curled as he reached for his wand, brandishing it in front of him. Having already snuck upstairs to hide the werewolf's belongings and leave behind his mask and hood, Lucius had been feeling far more composed. Walking into the study caused his heart rate to skyrocket immediately.

"Oh look, little Luci's made it out to play!" Bellatrix cried from her position on top of a work desk, her wand held high in one hand, a bottle of fire whiskey in the other. It was still early enough that Lucius felt confident in assuming she hadn't stopped drinking since the night before.

A few Death Eaters were clustered near the large window that faced out onto the front lawns, watching Bellatrix with nervous eyes. The Dark Lord was sitting in one of the high-backed chairs on the other side of the room, Nagini sprawled across his lap. She offered Lucius a languid blink, sending a shiver down his spine.

"And what, exactly," Lucius hissed through clenched teeth, wand still raised, "were you hoping to play, dear sister?"

"The game where you tell me why you're wasting your time on that wretched creature you're hiding in the basement of the family home," Bellatrix spoke in an enraged sing-song, kicking her long skirts as she stepped along the table towards her brother-in-law.

Lucius's jaw clenched, eyes flickering over to the Dark Lord. His pale grey face was difficult to read. Perhaps in the early days after Voldemort's return, before the disaster at the Ministry, Lucius would've been able to get away with telling Bellatrix exactly what he thought: that it was his family's home, and that the only reason she was allowed inside of it was because of his wife's apparently saintlike ability to see past her sister's utter lack of decorum. The fact that the two women had received the same upbringing never ceased to amaze Lucius.

For now, the wizard chose to take a deep breath, letting his nostrils flare instead.

"You know why, sister. The Dark Lord has sanctioned it. Lupin made himself vulnerable, so we took advantage of the situation and captured a potentially valuable asset." Lucius spoke in a pinched voice. He repeated the word in his mind. Sister. A mantra to remind him not to disarm Bellatrix and cast her in ropes like the wolf.

"That's just it, brother," Bellatrix spat the word back at him as if it were poisonous, wobbling and shaking her whiskey bottle as she jumped down off the table, "there isn't anything valuable about that beast."

"Are you questioning our Lord's decisions?" Lucius narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, knuckles turning white around his wand.

"Do not bring me into this, Lucius," Voldemort wheezed from the chair, stretching his neck out and twisting it in his usual manner. "Your squabbles are beneath me."

"Even when she insults your good name, my Lord?" Lucius sputtered, turning his head just far enough to be able to see his master while still keeping Bellatrix in the corner of his vision.

"The only one who has mentioned my name, Lucius," Voldemort turned his face toward Malfoy for the first time, face devoid of all emotion, "is you."

"The very same you," Bellatrix interjected, "that let the prophecy be destroyed!"

Lucius's eyebrow twitched. "As far as I can recall, Bellatrix, I was not the one who tried to escape before the battle was done."

"Escape? You're mad!" Bellatrix cawed, taking another unsteady step toward him. "You have no idea the opportunity I created for our Lord, Malfoy. If I hadn't left, if the boy hadn't followed me, if I hadn't killed his pwecious uncle," she mimicked a toddler's speech, screwing her face up in disgust, "the Dark Lord would've never been able to show his might to the old man and the boy."

Lucius opened his mouth, raising his wand back and preparing to fire a hex at the witch before he felt Voldemort's attention settle on him, a gaze so palpable that the younger wizard almost wanted to swat him away. He could feel the tingles of attempted legilimency, futile without eye-contact but clear in its messaging. Voldemort already knew how Lucius felt about the attack. He had seen it before. Lucius's stomach turned at the memory. He cast his eyes at the ground for a moment before looking back up to Bellatrix. A pleased grin had distorted her gaunt features.

"Nothing to say to that, Luci?" she taunted, waving her bottle in front of her. Lucius had begun to suspect that it was long since empty. "You'll have to build up a lot more fight in you if you're planning on breaking that mongrel in the basement!"

Lucius looked her up and down, the corner of his mouth twitching with a snide smile. "Ah yes, it's always a pleasure to receive advice from a master interrogator such as yourself. Well known for your successes in that department."

It took Bellatrix a moment to register what Lucius was saying, but her face contorted in rage once it sank in. It had been years since her ill-fated attempt at extracting information from the Longbottoms, and she had successfully tortured many others since then, but Lucius knew very well how close that shame still was to the surface. The witch raised her bottle back and over her head and threw it toward Lucius in the blink of an eye. He knocked it off course with the tiniest flick of his wand, sending it rocketing toward the other Death Eaters by the window. One of them cast a shield spell at the last moment, leaving the bottle to fall back onto the ground with a dull thud.

"That's enough, Bellatrix."

The witch looked over to Voldemort, chest heaving with her furious hyperventilation. "But my Lord," she whined, taking a step toward him.

"If you don't believe that Remus Lupin is of any value, then you should concern yourself with something else," Voldemort reached a hand up to stroke the top of Nagini's head.

"But my Lord," Bellatrix continued to push her luck, clenching her fists and stomping one foot like a toddler, "I know this wasn't your idea. This was Malfoy, falling for the dog's ploy. He wouldn't let himself get caught if he didn't want to be, my Lord—"

"You think I don't know that?" Lucius cut in, voice shaking with bubbling rage.

"And of all the things to bring into your presence, my Lord, the man who's blighted two members of my noble family—"

"Enough!"

The Dark Lord's voice cut through the air like a blade, Lucius, Bellatrix, and the Death Eaters all turned to look at him as he brought a hand to his temples and began to massage them. "Get out," he muttered, gesturing weakly toward the door, "everyone else, leave."

The Death Eaters composed themselves and shuffled out of the room like scolded children. Lucius felt his blood run cold and wondered if he'd let his pride get the better of him, if he had pushed things too far. He turned toward his master with sagging shoulders and a lowered head, although he kept his wand gripped at his side. He could see Bellatrix shrinking, folding in on herself like a puppy tucking its tail between its legs.

"The thing in the basement is not a man, Bellatrix," Voldemort sighed, lowering his hand and looking intently at both of his servants.

"I'm sorry, my Lord, I only meant—"

"I have granted you more important tasks than you could ever know, Bellatrix. I can assure that if I thought this prisoner would be the key to my triumph over Harry, it would be you I was calling upon."

Bellatrix's demeanour changed immediately upon hearing her master's words. She leaned forward, clutching her wrist in something like a shy schoolgirl's acknowledgement of flirtation. Lucius felt bile rise in his throat, an excellent distraction from the Dark Lord's insinuation that Lupin's capture was a fool's errand.

"And in any case," Voldemort flashed his skeleton grin, "is it not benevolent of me to give Lucius one last chance at redeeming himself? I am nothing if not… generous."

Bellatrix nodded furiously.

"I trust that you will not take my generosity for granted, Lucius," Voldemort hissed, red eyes meeting Lucius's. He braced himself, waiting to have his mind invaded, but nothing came.

"N-no, my Lord," Lucius stuttered, giving his head one small shake and looking back down.

"Excellent," Voldemort sighed, looking back down to the snake curled up in his lap. "Then you are free to go."

The bedroom was dark by the time Lucius finally walked in. He stopped at the threshold, inhaling deeply, reveling in the scent of home. The whole manor used to smell like that, or at least the places that Draco and Narcissa spent most of their time. Jasmine, beeswax, starched clothing, and, here in the dark, nervous sweat.

Lucius couldn't see Narcissa sit up in the shadows, but he could hear her, the slither of satin as she lifted herself up and reached out to wave the lights on. Lucius raised a hand up to shield his eyes, grimacing as he walked into the room and dropped his long-since removed cloak onto the ground.

"It's late," Narcissa murmured through swollen lips. Her hair was pulled back into a low braid, the way she'd worn it as a child. Lucius let his eyes roam over her while he strode to his laundry hamper and peeled off his clothes. They still stunk of river bed.

"It's been a long day," Lucius grunted, pulling his undershirt off and wincing at the wound on his neck.

"When were you injured?" Narcissa's voice remained calm, but she shifted in the bed, the strap of her silk night gown slipping off her shoulder.

"This morning," Lucius said, reaching down to unbutton his trousers.

"And you've let it fester all day?" she asked, crooking one of her perfectly groomed brows. Lucius let out a gentle snort.

"You're right, dear," he cooed through pursed lips, "I should've made time for some mending in between capturing a blood traitor and trying to stop your sister from setting the bloody house on fire."

"Oh, please," Narcissa rolled her eyes, slipping out from under the thick covers and crossing back over to her own wardrobe, "she couldn't've wrecked more than the study before I stopped her."

"Is that right?" Lucius asked, pausing his undress to watch his wife rummage through her many bottles and trinkets, each carefully placed in their own compartment, until she turned to face him again. There was a small jar held triumphantly between her index finger and thumb.

"You know how friendly I am with fire," she murmured, a kind smile turning the corners of her mouth and wrinkling her eyes. Lucius smirked, reaching a hand up to sweep his long hair out of the way and turning his wound to Narcissa's hand as she approached. Their movements were a familiar routine, Lucius dipping down and tilting his shoulder toward Narcissa, her leaning against his bare chest and arm as she scooped some of the salve out onto her manicured fingertip.

"This will sting," she murmured, hesitating over the broken skin.

"It always does, Cissy," he grumbled.

She made contact and he hissed, looking away as she massaged the ointment into the cut. She hummed to him as she worked. It was the same song she used to sing to Draco when he cut himself playing with the dogs in the garden. Lucius clenched his jaw.

"There," Narcissa smiled, bringing her hands away. "You're lucky it doesn't look too dirty. Should be good as new by morning."

"A gift, considering the mess I was in," Lucius mused, turning his body to face his wife. She looked thin and fragile in the lamplight. Her eyes were wide and worried as she searched his face.

"It is a mess, isn't it?" she murmured, reaching her free hand up to Lucius's chest, letting her fingers settle in the pale hair there. He frowned, reaching one of his own hands up and resting it on her pale shoulder.

"It's not so bad, is it?" he asked, tilting his head. "I kept my promise. The Malfoys are not yet ruined."

"Of course not," Narcissa replied, letting out a small, mirthless chuckle.

"You understood what an opportunity this was this morning, Cissy. What's changed between now and then?" Lucius asked, moving his hand to her face and tilting her chin up to him, trying to catch her eye.

She swallowed, brushing his hand away and turning on her heel to head back toward her vanity. She did not speak right away, and Lucius chose not to press, turning instead to his hamper and finishing taking off his trousers. He heard her step back to the bed, noticed its telltale creak as she settled into the mattress.

"Nothing's changed, Lucius," she finally muttered as he pulled off his underpants. "I'm just tired."

"That makes two of us, dear," Lucius muttered, moving so that he could retrieve his own nightshirt from a drawer.

"I miss when you slept without that on," she nearly whispered as he turned around to look at her, pulling the thin white fabric down towards his knees.

"There are many things to miss about the way we lived before," he replied, face softening as he looked at his wife from across the room, "but we have so much to look forward to."

Narcissa's expression faltered and she looked away again. Lucius opened his mouth as if to say something more, but when he noticed her fingers fiddling with the ornate silver wedding ring on her finger, he thought better of it.

"We both need to get some rest, Narcissa," he sighed, turning and walking toward the bathroom. "I appreciate you staying up for me. It's good to see you."

"We need to talk, Lucius—" Narcissa's voice got louder, as if she'd turned to face him, but Lucius had already shut the door.

"In the morning, dear," he called through the thick wood. There was no response.

The wizard stopped, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked haggard, but not quite as bad as he had expected. He ran his tongue over his teeth and approached his reflection, expression not entirely friendly nor entirely antagonistic. He reached a hand up to the cut on his neck, twisting himself so that he could get a better look in the mirror. Narcissa's salve was already working to heal the broken skin. Watching the magic work had an unexpected effect on the wizard.

Lucius reached a hand out to his towel, the one he used for shaving, and brought it to the cut. If he wiped the salve off now, he should still be safe from infection—but there would be a scar. The thought was enough for him. He brought the cloth up to his neck and rubbed until his skin felt raw. A scar was good. A scar could be a motivation.

True to Lucius's word, not even the smallest sliver of light made it through the stonework walls of the cellar. Remus was well and truly underground, starving, and thirsty. And then there was the pain; the aching in his throat and arms, the bruising along his rib cage, and the split in his cheek where his captor had wrenched at his face. He spent his time moving around, trying not to stay in one position for too long for fear that he might begin to swell and have trouble moving. He let himself sleep in small fits and starts and then tried to keep himself occupied the rest of the time by counting the stones in the wall and guessing what foods or spirits might've left different stains on the floor. Once or twice, he tried to speak out loud to tell his comrades how he was doing, but he found his voice raspy and broken from having his windpipe crushed, so he was forced to listen to the distant rumblings of voices and feet on the floors above.

Even with all of these distractions, it was Remus's wand that his mind kept returning to. He hadn't been without it for more than a few hours since childhood. He kept moving to cast the simplest of spells, to resolve some discomfort or disappear his waste, but finding a phantom limb at his hip instead. He could feel the wood on his fingertips, the handle rubbing against his palm, and yet when he looked, his hand remained frighteningly empty. Remus was in the midst of one such crisis, laying on his back and staring at his empty, bloodied hands as he held them over his head, when he heard the door to the cellar click open. He lowered his hands and looked toward it, not bothering to move the rest of his body.

It was Lucius, looking dishevelled. He had a messed white undershirt tucked into long, carefully tailored trousers, wand tucked into one of his pockets. He was carrying a brown paper bag and a large, empty metal dog bowl. Remus's eyebrows twitched as he rolled over onto his side to face the door.

"Nice of you to come by for a visit," he croaked. Sounds came out this time, but his voice sounded groggy and thick, like he'd been screaming. Lucius said nothing, although half of his mouth was curled up in an unpleasant sneer as he approached. He was wearing dress shoes that scuffed against the floor with each of his snipped steps.

The older wizard stopped just outside of the cell bars, his sneer deepening as he looked over Remus's cage. The hay had never come, meaning that his waste was piled in the back of the space. Lucius's eyes flickered with a sick pleasure as the visual seemed to register for him. Remus sighed, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling in silence. He refused to acknowledge the squalor he'd been forced to stay in, or give Lucius the satisfaction of knowing how curious he was about what he'd been brought.

"I've brought you food, as promised," Malfoy finally spoke, as if he'd heard Remus's thoughts. Remus blinked, glancing over to the wizard as he bent over to set the paper bag down just outside of the cell. "And a bowl, for your water. Come get them."

Remus frowned, turning back to stare up at the ceiling. "I'm alright."

Nothing. Remus allowed himself the tiniest of glances out of the corner of his eye. Lucius was standing with his index finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose, dark brows knitted together. He was slumped forward, just the tiniest amount, almost leaning on the bars in front of him. Evidently fatigue was preventing him from being quite as dangerous as he'd promised.

"What time is it?" Remus asked as he sat up and pulled a hand back through his hair. He already felt coated in grease and sweat. It was impossible to tell time in his cage, even by guessing how long the candle might take to melt, since it was enchanted to burn slowly. For all Remus knew, it could take days before it burnt all the way down.

"The sun will be rising soon," Lucius replied, attempting to wipe away the last of the exhaustion from his eyes before looking at his prisoner.

"Ah, well, that wasn't so bad for a first night," Remus smiled to himself, pushing himself upright and wincing at the pain that flared up throughout his body as he stood. He was grateful, at least, for the comfortable and warm clothing he'd been careful to wear. The cellar was cold enough without laying on its floor for hours.

Lucius stepped backwards as Remus walked forward, fists staying clenched at his sides as he watched the captive wizard bend down and grab the bag and bowl through the bars, pulling them back into his cell. "Leave the bowl there," Malfoy blurted out. "I still have to fill it."

"Alright," Remus raised the empty bowl up in a gesture of defeat before setting it down on the stone again, pain contorting his features for a moment as he moved his arms too quickly. "There's no need to be cross, Lucius."

Lucius's left eye twitched as he pulled out his wand and muttered Aguamenti. A stream of water arched across the space between him and the dog bowl, splashing up onto the stone for as long as it took him to fill it. Remus watched on with a calm expression, hoping that it looked more like the face of a man watching a child play in a park than a man being given the chance to drink for the first time in twenty-four hours. When the bowl was overflowing, Lucius broke the charm and immediately slid his wand back into his pocket.

Not wanting to give Lucius the satisfaction of revealing just how thirsty he was, Remus instead chose to walk to one of the metal sheets that separated his cell from the others', leaning against it as he peeled the bag open. There were a few slices of dried bread and the ends of several blocks of cheese, along with chunks of turkey meat and several of its bones.

Lupin didn't speak, only pulled out one of the bones and began chewing on it. He heard Lucius make a sound of disgust from the other side of the bars.

"Would you prefer that I not eat it? It'll be hard to get any information from me if I'm wasting away."

Lucius quite literally stuck up his nose, looking away and crossing his arms as Remus sucked loudly on the end of the bone.

"Do you think someone will still be bringing me my hay?" Remus asked after another few moments of tense silence, eyeing the bone still in hand. It hurt to swallow, but the bone still had some of the flavours of the herbs that the bird had clearly been roasted in, and tasting anything other than his terrible breath and the dust in the cellar felt like one of life's greatest luxuries.

"I've thought twice about it," Lucius snapped, tightening his crossed arms. His movement caused the candlelight to hit him differently, leading Remus to notice the scar forming on the other wizard's neck.

"Ah," Lupin inhaled sharply, nodding as he plopped the bone back into his mouth and began gnawing at it.

"What?" Lucius snarled, pushing his chest forward.

"Nothing," Remus shrugged and shook his head, "just thinking that you may find it… increasingly unpleasant to meet me down here, without my magic to help me clean up."

"An easy fix," Lucius muttered, reaching for his wand.

"Did you not get your cut tended to?" Remus asked, refusing to outwardly show his relief as Lucius cleaned the cell with one quick charm.

The blonde wizard hesitated, furrowing his brow at his prisoner as he put his wand back in his pocket. "Of course I did," he spat. "Only one of us in this room is an animal."

"Mm," Remus raised his eyebrows, splitting the bone in two and spitting one end of it back into the bag. A sharp sting of pain flashed through his cheek. "So your wife just didn't do a very good job of it, then."

Lucius's upper lip curled. "You think I would allow my wife to be troubled by something as simple as a cut?"

"I do," Remus offered a soft, crooked smile to his captor before beginning to suck the marrow out of the turkey bone. The wizard thought that he could spot a vein popping in Lucius's forehead, even in the dim candlelight. Lupin stayed still, sucking and crunching as loudly as he could, reveling in the way Lucius's shoulders rose a little bit higher with every crack.

"Enough!" Malfoy snarled, lunging towards the bars, a crazed look in his eyes. Remus paused, crunching on the last of the spongy, nutty marrow in his mouth. He licked his lips, dropping the wet bone back into the bag and dipping down to set it on the floor. Lucius watched him with wide, furious eyes, but Remus said nothing.

"Get. Over. Here." Lucius growled, thrusting his hand down to point at the edge of the cage, just on the other side of the bars from where he stood.

Remus narrowed his eyes as he looked back and forth between Lucius and the ground in front of him. He felt his tongue run along the torn skin on the inside of his mouth and found that his hesitation was more than a game to rile Lucius up. He genuinely didn't want to be close to the other wizard.

The fog of exhaustion that seemed to have been dulling Lucius's anger and cruelty had apparently cleared. He raised his wand and aimed it at Remus's arm without a moment's hesitation, barking out a Severing incantation as if he were placing his order at a restaurant. A cut bloomed instantly on Remus's forearm, blood spattering up towards him, following the movement of the Dark wizard's wand. Remus could tell immediately that the cut was not very deep, but it smarted, stealing his focus and causing him to instinctually clutch his arm closer and place pressure on the wound.

"Come here," Lucius hissed, keeping his wand aloft. Remus stood still for a moment, trying to collect himself even as he felt his hand getting wet with his own blood. Lucius was keeping his promise to injure him every time he talked back—although Remus had not been expecting his threat to be quite so literal.

The bloodied wizard took a shallow breath and walked forward, still holding his wounded arm close. He paused two steps away from his captor, the metal drinking bowl flashing on the ground between the two of them.

Lucius clenched his jaw and tightened his thin lips into a straight line as he stepped forward, gripping the bars with his right hand, leaving his wand hand free. His eyes flickered between Remus's face and the hidden cut.

"Drink."

Remus twitched his head, confused. "What?"

"Get down on your knees and drink," Lucius growled, waving his wand in one sharp strike toward the bowl.

"I'm not—"

"Diffendo," Lucius raised his wand and aimed it at Remus again. Without looking, the spell just missed him, making a small cut in his pant leg instead of his flesh. Still, the message was clear. Remus took another half step forward, glancing up to Lucius's face before moving again—his grey eyes were sparkling, cheeks looking the tiniest bit flushed.

Remus lowered himself to his knees as told, not trying to hide his pain as he went. He had to stop holding his arm to keep his balance, and despite everything he'd been through, he still found himself feeling a bit woozy when he saw the skin and cut jacket fabric slick with blood. He wiped his hand on his dark trousers as he rested on his knees, taking another quick breath before reaching out for the bowl. He grimaced when he noticed the small tremor in his hands.

"Put your hands down, Lupin," Lucius snarled. Remus froze, looking back up at his captor, eyes wide with question.

"How am I supposed to drink, then?" Remus asked, eyes narrowing, doing his best to keep his voice innocent rather than acidic.

"You are a beast," Lucius growled, "and so you will drink like one. Walk on your hands and knees and drink it like the dog you are, or I'll cut with something far more powerful than a Severing Charm."

A vision of a frail body, hemorrhaging on a snowy street, flashed across Remus's memory. He flinched and dropped down to his hands without any further protest, shuffling forward until he was perched just behind the bowl. His limbs screamed out in pain with every movement, but he kept his breathing low and slow, focusing his mind on the water in front of him. A few cuts and wounds from a brawl were nothing in comparison to the pain he'd suffered during transformations past. He could handle this.

"What are you waiting for?" Lucius taunted. "Aren't you thirsty?"

Thirst. Yes. That was something else that Remus could focus on. He bit his lip, gazing down at the water and briefly considering the logistics of what he could accomplish now. He could attempt to lap at the water like the dog Lucius imagined him to be, but he knew it was a virtually useless act. Blast it. He could sustain another cut if he got it.

His lips met the water and he sucked in, doing his best to suck up the water as if he had a straw. Remus felt a rush of relief as the water hit his throat, despite the circumstances. It was fresh and cool and felt like a healing tonic, and he let his eyes close for a moment as he slurped. His head bobbed too far forward and his nose made contact with the water, causing him to inhale a bit of it. He coughed into the water, throwing his head backwards, hacking up water as he used a sleeve to wipe off his face.

When his eyes were cleared, he looked up to find his captor completely still at the edge of the cage. Remus had forgotten the impending threat of the cut, but he wasn't at any risk. The wizard had lowered his wand, watching Remus with cold eyes. His eyebrow twitched when Remus looked up at him.

"Was that so difficult, mutt?" Lucius growled, reaching his wand up again. Remus's left hand began to reach instinctively for his wounded arm, but he stopped himself, resting his clenched fists on his knees and straightening his back.

"I asked you a question," Lucius paused, seeking out Remus's eyes. Their gazes met. Remus noticed that Lucius's breaths were slow, controlled. He blinked.

"No," Remus finally replied, voice still raspy from his earlier injuries and his recent coughing fit.

Lucius's lips quirked up in a tight-lipped half-smile. "Perhaps there's some hope for you yet, then."

Remus said nothing, looking down at his clenched hands and wondering what his companions, friends, might be thinking on the other end of the line.

"Episkey."

The spell landed on the cut on his arm. It felt warm and almost pinched, as though a pixie's fingers were pulling his skin back together. He squeezed his eyes shut until the discomfort subsided, and then let his eyes open the tiniest amount to peek down at the wound. It was healed, leaving behind nothing but a thin pink scar. Another for the collection.

"Drink more," Lucius gestured back at the bowl again. "I've always preferred to refill the water bowl before I leave the dogs for the day."

Remus wanted to send some sharp retort back at his captor, but stopped himself as he loomed over the bowl, wiping his mouth. This was a step. And he was still thirsty.