Chapter Thirty One

Severus stood in Dumbledore's office - in front of the desk. He felt like he was a naughty third year called up to talk to the headmaster after a particularly bad bout of rule breaking.

The newspaper lay open on the desk in front of Dumbledore - and Severus could read the headline upside down.

...

The Hero and The Soon To Be Headless Monster.

...

And just like the last time Rita Skeeter had waxed lyrical about his supposedly noble virtues, Severus was burning with humiliation … and ready to hurl unforgivable curses at anyone who so much as looked at him funny.

But this was not the reason Dumbledore had called him up here today. The old man was reading the paper carefully. The light in his blue eyes seemed dim and his face was drawn. Severus was suddenly aware of how lined it was - how old Dumbledore really was.

...

There was silence in the room, and Severus waited tensely. At long last, Dumbledore looked up at him. 'Please explain to me why you have done this,' he said. His voice was calm, quiet … but there was something in it which spoke of grave disappointment.

Severus clenched his fists, and when he spoke it was through gritted teeth. 'I did what you asked of me, Sir.'

But Dumbledore shook his head. 'I did not ask you to do this, Severus. I would never ask you to do this.'

'It wasn't my idea!'

'You were in charge. You let it happen.'

'And it got results. it was necessary!' His voice broke out into a yell, as his anger got the better of him.

...

But it seemed he was not the only one whose temper had been holding on by a thread - and Dumbledore slammed his hands down loudly on the desk and sprung to his feet, pushing his chair back. 'It is never - never - necessary to torture a fellow human being. Not ever. There is no excuse that can ever make it right!'

'He isn't human! The halfbreed isn't human!'

But that was precisely the wrong thing to say and when Dumbledore answered him his voice was shaking in rage. 'Remus Lupin is as capable of experiencing pain, and feeling and emotion as any one of us. He has human understanding. He has human consciousness. He is entitled to human dignity . And you - Severus - you have taken that from him. You. And I shall not forget that for a very long time to come.' The light was burning in his eyes again now - but it was not the usual benign twinkle. It was a fiery rage, the like of which Severus had never seen before.

...

Severus opened his mouth to answer … and then closed it again. He considered his words very carefully before next he spoke. 'You charged me with hunting down Black, bringing him to justice - I did what was necessary. I tried to do it humanely, Merlin knows I gave him every chance … but Lupin is too loyal to Black. And he was too strong - he stood up too well against my legilimency.'

'And did that not tell you anything, Severus?' Dumbledore's voice was quiet again, now - saddened. 'Did you not see that a wizard who possesses strength enough of mind to stand against even your powers of legilimency is no animal - and therefore should not be treated as one?'

'We will have to agree to disagree on the nature of Lupin, headmaster, but - whatever he is - he is the man that killed Lily Evans. Or one of them. And I treated him as the man who killed her deserved to be treated. And when I catch him, I will treat Black no differently. And I will find Black now - thanks to what I did to the halfbreed. We would not have discovered Black was an illegal animagus without persuasion.'

...

Dumbledore sat back down again. 'Persuasion?' he asked. 'Is that what you tell yourself you did, Severus? Is that how you live with it?'

'I have to live with a great many things, headmaster, a great many unbearable things… My treatment of the wolf is not one of them. It does not trouble my conscience.'

'Perhaps it should.'

'Perhaps - if you'll forgive me…' his voice shook with suppressed rage, 'it shouldn't . Perhaps you will indulge me, Sir, in a simple thought experiment?'

Dumbledore gave a curt nod of his head.

...

'Imagine, headmaster - you are a sixteen year old boy. Imagine there are four boys in your school who make your life miserable - attack you four on one whenever they have the chance -'

'Severus -' his voice had a warning edge to it, but Severus ignored it.

'Imagine one of those boys is made a prefect - given authority, expected to monitor the good behaviour of others. And yet that boy does no such thing - and turns a blind eye to the cruel treatment his friends mete out. And suppose our first boy - the one who is all alone - suppose he notices a strange pattern of behaviour with this second boy, notices that he disappears every month … so he asks around. And the prefect's friend tells the boy how exactly to find out what is happening to the prefect … and so the boy goes to see for himself.'

'Then the boy should have minded his own business.'

'Is curiosity a sin now? A sin punishable by death? Because that is what the prefect and his friend had in mind. Because it turns out that the prefect is actually not human at all - but a werewolf - and the boy discovers this at the full moon and barely escapes with his life.'

'The whole incident was regrettable.'

'The whole incident was whitewashed,' Severus said harshly. 'For even though the prefect and his friend are undeniably guilty of attempted murder - it is the first boy who is brought up to the headmaster's office and sworn to secrecy. The two would-be-murderers escape with barely a detention between them and the boy himself is punished for going out of bounds - a would be murder victim - punished! And he learned then that the world was not fair - that those in power cared more for his tormentors, his attempted murderers, than they did for him. That he was nothing in their eyes…'

'That was never true, Severus.'

'So why did you not expel Black and Lupin?'

'There was never any evidence that Lupin was involved - beyond being a prop.'

'So why not expel Black?'

'How could we do that without exposing Lupin for what he really was?'

...

Severus curled his lip, 'so you admit - Lupin was more important than I was. I did not receive justice in order to protect him … anyhow,' he raised a hand. 'Back to the thought experiment. Imagine growing up knowing there were two murderers in your midst - and that no one but you cared … imagine years passing.

'Imagine a war, and loss and grief beyond comprehension … and then suddenly - imagine these two murderers exposed to the whole world - for what they are. What you always knew they were. Though no one would listen. And, this time, they have been more successful - this time they have actually killed people. And the person they have now killed is the person you love more than anything in this world. And if they had just been sent to Azkaban as children, as they so rightfully deserved - she would still be with us.

'Imagine then that you must interrogate this murderer - this thing - that has killed everything that ever mattered to you … this prefect who looked the other way as his friends tormented you, who played a joke on you that nearly killed you and got away with it, who turned spy for the Dark Lord, betrayed his friends and killed the woman you love … What would you not do to this man, if the time came when you had him in your mercy? And can you honestly - in your heart of hearts - say you would lose sleep over hurting him?'

...

Dumbledore had bowed his head. 'Perhaps I did wrong, in asking you to be the person who carried out this task, Severus. Perhaps I asked too much.' His voice was sorrowful, his expression strained.

'I assure you - it gives me great pleasure to hunt Black down.'

'But the lengths you are going to - the justifications you are making for your actions … I worry for your soul, my boy. I should never have put you in a position where you may damage that.'

'My soul will be just fine, Dumbledore.'

'I hope so. Severus, I am gravely disappointed in you. I do not wish to be so again. If you are insistent on seeing this thing through…'

'I am.'

'Then you must temper your behaviour. You must take no more steps such as this. From here on out you must run every decision past me.'

'Headmaster - there is not time!'

'That is my decision - if you will not agree to these terms, I will remove you from the case. I will not have Lupin hurt further. I will not have Black harmed either. Their punishment for their crimes is their imprisonment…' His eyes grew dim again. 'And, in Lupin's case, his death. There is no need for added cruelty on top of that. It demeans us all. A society can only be judged on how its very best treats its very worst … and looking at your treatment of Lupin, I can see very little good in this world of ours.'

...

Severus nodded. His hands were balled in rage and his teeth were clenched, but he was trying to hide his anger from the old man. Even after all this time - an imprisoned, murderer Gryffindor was still worth more to Dumbledore than a Slytherin doing his bidding. 'Will that be all, headmaster?' He asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

'Yes - yes I suppose it will. Get back to work, Severus. Do better.'

Severus bit down on his tongue to stop himself firing off a retort. He nodded again and then left the office.

Once the door had closed and he was left alone, Dumbledore got to his feet, clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace.

Once again, love was proving itself to be both the most powerful force in the world - and the most terrible. Severus was justifying doing very dark things to Lupin with his love for Lily … just as Lupin had, in turn, justified very dark things of his own with his love for Black.

...

But Dumbledore did not fool himself that the horror story in the Daily Prophet came from nothing but love. There was hatred in there too. Severus would not have treated any man but Lupin or Black that way … or James, if he was still alive. And his treatment of the young werewolf came almost entirely from his hatred for him.

Dumbledore did not fool himself that Severus had not enjoyed what he had done. No matter how he had protested it was necessary … he had revelled in his cruelty. He had rejoiced in the defeat of his enemy and - not content to see him beaten - had taken pleasure in twisting the knife in just a little more.

Yes … perhaps he had asked too much, expected too much, when he had sent Severus out to hunt down his old enemies. Perhaps he had been a fool to think the man could put aside the boy's grudges and do the job impartially. But there was no one else he could ask, no else he trusted as much … And Severus loved Lily, he would not stop until her murderers were caught. There was no one else Dumbledore could rely on to be so dogged and so thorough. For that was the power of love.

But now - whatever the young man claimed - his soul was damaged. How could it not be, when Remus Lupin lay in a cell, damaged and weakened beyond anything justice had said he deserved - and Severus was the reason for that?

...

Of all the things that had hurt in this war, of all the disappointments Dumbledore had faced - the defection of Remus Lupin: that sweet, clever, well behaved little boy who just wanted to go to school, to have friends - was one of the things that stung the most. His disappointment in Lupin - that he had fallen to what he now was - was crushing.

And yet still he could not bear the thought of him, lying alone and in pain, mutilated by Severus, in his prison cell - waiting to die. Perhaps he was going soft in his old age. Or perhaps he was right when he said you could only judge the very best by how they treated the very worst.

There was no one in all wizarding Britain that was lower than Lupin right now - but to leave him suffering the way he was demeaned every last one of his betters. They had had no right to torture him and - now the torture was done - had no right to leave him in pain.

...

He returned to his desk, picked up his quill and pulled a length of parchment towards himself - scribbling a letter to the aurors' office. Once done, he folded it, stuck it in an envelope and sent his owl straight to the Ministry.

Then he got out of his chair again, crossed to the fireplace and took out a pinch of floo powder. He cast it into the fire and watched the flames turn green, 'the infirmary' he muttered … and then after a moment called up into the chimney, 'Poppy - could you come to my office a moment? I need to speak with you.'

Yet again, Remus became aware of the sound of voices and feet coming towards his door. Like before, his awareness came in stages … and each one was vague, blurring into the next before he really had time to understand. But once again the voices and feet stopped right outside of his cell and he realised he was getting yet another visit.

He tried to stir, to get up and face whoever had come to yell at him, or torture him or insult him this time, on his feet - like a man. But he couldn't even lift his head from the pillow. His wrist had gone bad - got infected - and he was feverish now. His head was spinning, his limbs trembled and he felt sick. He was pretty sure he had a temperature - because for the first time in forever he wasn't cold. In fact he was burning up - sweat was pouring off him and soaking through his thin, prison robes … though he still shook like he was cold.

He fixed his eyes on the door though, although his vision was blurry - he would at least make sure he looked these fresh tormentors in the eye.

...

The door opened … Remus squinted, not understanding what he was looking at. Something white and tall, and pointy … he looked again as the thing - whatever it was - came closer .. and then the images seemed to rearrange and he could just about make sense of them… the white thing was Madam Pomfrey's headdress … and underneath that was her scared, white face. Her eyes were darting nervously towards the door.

Kingsley followed her into the cell, tall and serious, and cast a patronus.

Remus would assume the fever was making him hallucinate - why on earth would Madam Pomfrey be here? - but the sudden warmth from the silver lynx in the doorway told him this must be real.

...

He stirred feebly. 'Ma- Madam Pomfrey? Wha…?'

'Albus sent me,' her voice was brisk and matter of fact - now she was protected from the dementor. 'He said you might be in a bad way - and I can see he was right.'

He felt her sit down on the mattress beside him.

'What have they done to you?' And he could just about detect a note of sadness in her voice. He felt her hand pressed to his forehead as she took his temperature.

...

'What's wrong with him?' he heard Kingsley say in his measured, even tones, 'what does he need?'

'Well - some proper food and fresh robes wouldn't go amiss. He's half starved and the fever is burning him up. He's soaked these robes right through with sweat - and lying here in clammy robes is doing him no favours.'

'I will speak to the guard - see what they can do.'

'He needs to be clean - he's filthy. They shouldn't be keeping him like this.'

'Very well…'

...

Remus was vaguely aware of Kingsley leaving again - standing out in the hall and speaking with the dementor just beyond his patronus. He could hear brief snatches of what the auror was saying. 'Warm water .. and soap…' Though he never heard the dementor reply.

...

Madam Pomfrey was now dabbing at his forehead. He rolled his head on the pillow - and looked up at her. Her hands were steady … but her eyes were sad. She took out a potion in a little glass bottle and then helped him raise his head to drink it. 'This should bring down the fever…'

Then she set to working on his wrist. He gasped in shock as she used boiled water to start cleaning the wound. 'It's gone bad,' she said to him. 'I know this hurts, but if I don't do this properly you'll lose your whole hand.'

''M ...gonna lose … my whole head,' he said to her, fighting to get his words out.

She gave a sniff of disapproval. He wondered if she was disapproving of his death sentence - or him joking about it.

...

She had always sniffed in disapproval whenever he had made jokes about his injuries after a full moon, when he would spend the day in the infirmary being patched up by her. He supposed, in all her time as the Hogwarts matron, she had probably never seen one student as regularly as she had seen him. He had been her most frequent patient - and she had battled monthly to get him fit and well again and undo the worst of the damage he had inflicted on himself.

And every time he had ended up under her care, and missing classes, he would make jokes - whenever the opportunity arose - find a way to poke fun at the situation. And she would sniff disapprovingly, as if having all his bones broken twice in one night as he transformed into a wolf and back again and spending hours biting and scratching and attacking himself was no laughing matter. But that always made him laugh at the situation more … it hurt less to make jokes about it than it did to wallow in the unbearable truth of just how awful his condition was.

And that was what he was doing now … and she was still sniffing at him … and everything suddenly felt like it was a long time ago and he was back in a happier and simpler time.

...

He watched her take out her wand and start to vanish the ragged shreds of skin that hung down from his wound. The potion must be starting to take effect, because his head was no longer spinning and he could focus his eyes better.

She wrapped something around the welt - and immediately he felt a cooling, soothing sensation seep through his skin and go right through to his bones.

'What is that?' he asked.

'Hipworth's Healing Tincture - I soaked the bandage in it. You should drink some as well.'

He nodded, trying not to remember Sirius giving him this same medicine after the last full moon.

...

'This is a nasty wound,' she said to him. 'I've done all I can - you won't lose your arm now … provided you don't do anything stupid...' There was a tartness to her voice that suggested to Remus that - just for moment - she had forgotten she was talking to him as a fully grown man, locked in a prison cell, where opportunities for stupidity were limited - to say the least - and was talking to him as boy in her infirmary, who had just injured himself messing around and breaking the rules with his friends.

'... But a bad silver burn like that will always leave a mark. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about the scar.'

'It's alright, Madam Pomfrey. I think my dead body's rapid decomposition will get rid of the worst of it.'

Another sniff of disapproval. 'Well - I can see you're feeling more like yourself. Good.' She helped him sit up and handed him some of the healing tincture to drink. And - just as it had immediately soothed his wrist - he felt all the rest of him start to heal immediately, the aches and pains seeping away.

He looked up - and saw her watching him sadly. 'What?'

'How did you let yourself become this, Remus? How did you end up in this dreadful place? Out of everyone … you …'

...

He didn't know what to say. If he told her … She would never believe him, if he told her the truth. She would just think he was lying - be disgusted with him. And this was the first kindness he had been shown since before his trial … he couldn't bring himself to make her angry with him - even by telling her the truth.

He just stared at her… and then the moment was broken by Kingsley returning with a plate of food and a jug of water. 'Here,' the auror said, putting it down in front of Remus.

...

There were some chicken legs on the plate, a bread roll and some cheese and an apple. Remus dived on them, picking up the chicken in his bare hands and gnawing away at it - taking great, carnivorous bites.

As he wolfed them down, he became aware of Madam Pomfrey freezing beside him - shifting away from him … and of Kingsley likewise frozen where he stood. He realised they were shocked - watching him eat like that - so desperate, so animal, so ravenous. He tried to slow himself down, take smaller bites, act more civilised ... but he was too hungry.

He couldn't meet their eyes once he was done, though.

...

'The dementors will be along shortly to get you cleaned up,' Kingsley told him. 'Here-' and he flicked his wand and conjured a towel and a bar of soap.

Remus glanced down at his arm. 'My wrist - I probably shouldn't get the wound wet.'

Madam Pomfrey took his arm, tapped his wrist with her wand and said: 'impervius! There - that's waterproofed it. You can get the rest of yourself wet without worrying now. Get clean.'

'Thank you. For … for everything, I mean.' He looked up, 'and you too, Kingsley. Thank you.'

...

But Kingsley's face had changed shade - and his expression was pained, as if hearing Remus speak to him like they were still friends was causing him actual physical hurt. 'I didn't do it to be kind,' he said through gritted teeth. 'I did it because it is your right to humane treatment and that right was not being met.'

'That isn't what everyone else has been saying.'

'Everyone else is wrong - but don't for a moment think that just because I won't stand by and watch your rights be violated means that I'm any less disgusted by you than anyone else, werewolf.'

...

There was a tense and uncomfortable silence, following Kingsley's outburst. Remus fought with himself to not show any emotion. 'Right,' he said, struggling - but succeeding - to keep his voice calm. 'Still - thank you. Whatever your reason for helping me, I won't forget that you did. It means a lot.'

'We should go,' Madam Pomfrey said quietly. 'The dementors cannot come in to get you cleaned up until the patronus is gone. Are you sure you're feeling better? Is there anything else you need?'

'A stay of execution?'

Her lips thinned at his final joke. 'Goodbye, Remus. I am sorry about how things turned out.' She got to her feet, and she and Kingsley left. The patronus flickered and died - and Remus was alone again. But at least he was now healthy … and with any luck would be getting a wash soon.