Chapter Thirty Eight
Azkaban loomed suddenly out of the gloom, the great fortress seeming to rise from nowhere out of the fog. But, quivering at the bottom of the boat, sobbing and wailing, Peter did not even see it. The aurors did though - and they were perhaps the first ever people to arrive on the rocky shores of the island and feel relief: that the boat ride was finally over; that their work was almost done; that soon enough they could go home and not come back.
...
The boat bumped against the rocky shelf and came to a stop. The dementors got out, gliding in their strange and unsettling way. The aurors got to their feet.
Peter had not moved. He was still lying in the bottom of the boat, quaking and moaning.
With a quick glance at each other, Dawlish and Savage nodded and then hauled him up by the armpits. They settled him on his feet, but he was sobbing so hard that he collapsed again. The boat rocked perilously.
'Stand up you snivelling, fat, little bastard,' Dawlish snarled. Once again, they grabbed him and hauled him up. Once more, his legs buckled beneath him. He wobbled, swayed … and then with a surprised shriek, toppled over the edge of the boat and into the water with a great splash. Chained up, as he was, he plummeted straight to the bottom.
'Oh bugger it, he'll drown,' Savage said, and he whipped his wand out, pointed it at the sea and yelled: 'accio prisoner'.
...
The waves parted, right the way down to the seabed, and then a large shape hurtled upwards, zooming towards them. With a flick of his wand, Savage narrowly avoided having Peter land on top of him and send them both back under the waves. And instead, he crashed headlong onto the rocks, where he lay: drenched and gasping and sobbing and wheezing.
The aurors got out of the boat, hauled him to his feet one more time and then half dragged, half carried him towards the great, iron doors.
They opened up, as if by themselves, and then clanged shut once the small party was through. The dementors led them through the prison, down the halls - and into the rooms where the inmates were hosed down upon entry.
...
They waited; patient in a menacing, grim sort of way. Peter sobbed and wailed and wept and wrung his hands and did not seem to know what was expected of him.
'Take your clothes off, prisoner,' Dawlish snapped - considerably less patient than a dementor. They were getting a great feast from Peter's misery after all, whereas Dawlish was getting nothing and just wanted to be home.
Peter howled again, but didn't move.
'Strip - or we will strip you.'
Another howl, and even more tears. But with shaking hands he started to remove his robes. Once he stood there, naked and blubbering, his flabby flesh quivering with every sob - the dementors turned on the icy blast of water.
Peter squealed and was knocked off his feet. He lay on the ground moaning as the spray hit him.
'Get up, you bastard,' Dawlish snapped.
Still moaning, Peter fought his way to his knees and then struggled up to his feet - still shrieking as the cold water hit him.
The hose was eventually turned off - and he just stood there, left to drip dry. The water droplets ran down his soft, pudgy body and puddled on the floor at his soft, pudgy feet. He kept on crying.
...
He was handed a set of thin, grey, prison robes - which he pulled over his head and then, still covered by the aurors wands, he was led back out through the jail.
He stumbled as he walked, tripping over his feet, unable to see through his tears. He was taken along the hallway, past barred windows which - with no glass in them - let the cruel north sea winds blow straight in. He was walked past what had - until barely an hour ago - been Remus' cell. And then he was taken up into the tower, to Sirius' old cell … the one which had been especially enchanted so an animagus could not transform inside its walls.
He was shoved inside - and the door clanged shut - and, relieved, the aurors left him alone and made their way back through the prison, heading back home.
...
Inside the cell, Peter banged on the door, pounding it with his fists. 'No! Please! Don't leave me here! Don't do this! You can't do this to me! Let me out, let me out!' He sobbed and he screamed and he pounded and he pleaded, he demanded and he begged. For hours. On and on and on.
...
The dementors left him to it. They knew he would go quiet in the end. Just like all the rest.
Turning Black Into Glorious Light!
Shining hero of the hour, Sirius Black, single handedly apprehends murderer Pettigrew and prevents a grave and tragic miscarriage of justice!
...
Showered, shaved and wearing fresh robes - clean for the first time since his initial arrest - Sirius had bought himself a copy of the evening edition of the Prophet on his way back to the Ministry. And now he sat reading it as he waited for Remus' release. It was at least twice as thick as a normal edition - and contained five times the number of usual capital letters and exclamation marks … And it was being far more flattering to Sirius than it had ever been before.
He wondered what they were playing at. What their angle was. If they thought they were getting an exclusive interview with him, after the things they had printed about him and Remus, then they were barking up the wrong Whomping Willow. He wasn't Peter. He had no interest in a free pineapple upside down cake in the owl post.
He scanned through the breathless recount of his exposing Peter as the spy and began to read the final few paragraphs - which detailed what came next.
...
Following on from his daring unmasking of the real culprit behind the tragic Potter murders, Sirius Black was returned to the Ministry where he was retried and acquitted of all charges. Now fully pardoned, we can only wait to see what this dashing young buck gets up to next.
But it is not alls well that ends well - although a murderer is in prison, and an innocent man walks free. Questions need to be asked about the grave miscarriages of justice that had already been carried out and how they came to pass, and more importantly - how that affects you or I or the average wizard on the Knight Bus. Today it was Sirius Black and his pet, Remus Lupin, who were incarcerated for crimes not their own…
...
Sirius clenched his teeth. Innocent he may well be, but they were still treating Remus like an animal. That was all they would ever see him as.
...
Tomorrow it could be any one of us - and your reporter, Ruth Bluthe - top investigative journalist of the Daily Prophet - is anxious to see that protections are put in place for us all.
This paper demands an overhaul of the wizengamot. Those crusty, old codgers clearly do not know how to run a trial, or know what justice should look like. Special scrutiny should go to Madam Umbridge, who presided over the original trial and who not only prevented the noble Black from defending himself but actually called for him to be gagged. Justice is supposed to be blind - though in our country it appears merely dumb. The Daily Prophet insists that Madam Umbridge be removed from her seat in the wizengamot and that steps are taken to ensure such a travesty does not happen again.
Secondly, we demand scrutiny into the Ministry Departments charged with apprehending poor benighted Black and his creature …
...
He clenched his teeth again
...
When they fled from the injustice they knew they faced. From the Department of the Disposal of Dangerous Beast, which proved so incompetent at catching werewolves, to the aurors who failed to get the job done and then arrested the wrong men. Cruelty and viciousness appears to be at the heart of their practices and we at the Prophet demand a thorough investigation and call for the sackings of those officials found wanting.
Thirdly, we insist upon a thorough investigation as to why Ministry work was outsourced to a man barely of age who, your reporter (Ruth Bluthe - ever with a keen eye to all the hot gossip) can exclusively reveal once worked for none other than You Know Who. The Death Eater, Severus Snape, was not available to comment on why he had attempted to hunt down an innocent man not once but twice. Nor would he comment on the hypocrisy of him arresting the brave and blameless Black for nothing more than he was guilty of himself. There had been talk of awarding the foolish Snape with the Order of Merlin First Class for his efforts. Needless to say, that possibility has now been removed. Though this paper tentatively suggests he be awarded the Order of Idiots First Class in its place.
...
All right … so that last paragraph was giving him fuzzy feelings towards the Daily Prophet, he had to admit.
...
Finally - though it sickens us to mention it - we need a thorough investigation into the heavy handed way the Ministry deals with the freedom of the press. We can exclusively reveal that not only did they lean on the paper to suppress vital news from the public during their ill-advised manhunt - but that our very own Rita Skeeter is currently languishing in a Ministry dungeon, awaiting trial for printing stories they did not like. No reporter is safe as long as the Ministry has the capacity to gag us. And if the press is not free - then neither are the people.
So - as you can see - there are many lessons that need to be learned, and many changes that need to be made. And the Daily Prophet promises to be right there reporting on them all. We call on all of you to make your voices heard, along with ours, and demand better of your Ministry. We remind you it is your duty as citizens to oppose a tyrannical government and work to bring it down. Civil disobedience may be the name of the game, if we wish to keep our civil liberties.
But what next for Sirius Black, the bravest man in all of Britain? Now he has his freedom and his whole life ahead of him, who knows what he will do or where he will go? We can only hope that, whatever life has in store for him, he has received a full and heartfelt apology from the Ministry and at least 500 galleons in compensation for his trouble. Bon Voyage, Mr Black! … The werewolf will also be released later today.
...
So that was it. Gushing praise for Sirius, the hero, and Remus was a footnote. No suggestion of apologies or compensation for him. As if either were likely to be forthcoming to Sirius either…
...
He snorted in disgust. Nothing would change. It never did. Rita Skeeter had been arrested, Ruth Bluthe had taken over - the lies were just the same.
Oh, they might be flattering lies about Sirius for today, but the multiple articles on what a treacherous rat little Peter was, and what an incompetent idiot Snivellus was only went to show how worthless and mercurial the lies were.
The Daily Prophet would never change. The Ministry would never change. They may occasionally attack each other - attempt to turn the public against the other - but nothing would change. This was just how the Wizarding World was - and he and Remus were better off out of it. As soon as he had Remus back, they were leaving.
...
He glanced at his watch. It shouldn't be long now … his heart began to beat faster at the thought of seeing him again.
Severus sat in front of Dumbledore's desk. He was still seething. The old man was watching him closely. 'The paper has been very unfair to you, Severus, I am sorry.'
'I don't care about that,' he spat. He preferred the insults to the flattery. It was less mortifying.
'The loss of the Order of Merlin must be hitting you hard.'
He grit his teeth. 'It's unfortunate. I did what you asked of me. It is not my fault that you asked for the wrong thing. It is unfair that I have to take the blame … but then I am used to unfairness.'
'You must be happy that Lily's real murderer is finally facing the justice he deserves. The justice she deserves.'
'I suppose.'
'Then - why the long face, Severus?'
'I just …' he clenched his fists and tried to hold it in - but it burst out of him in one long diatribe, and once he had started he could not stop. 'I don't want it to be Pettigrew who is guilty. I don't want it to be him in prison. I want it to be Black. I want it to be Lupin. I want it to be them that has to suffer. I hate them. I don't want them to be free. They don't deserve it. They tried to kill me and they never paid. I thought I had beaten them . After all they had done - I thought I had finally beaten them, that the world would see them as I did. But now they are free - they get to move on. And I never can.'
...
Dumbledore looked at him sadly. 'The power to move on exists inside of us all, Severus. It is no one's control but our own. Sirius and Remus have terrible things to put behind them, to have to move past. And I don't doubt they will. But they have no greater capacity to move on than you.
'I do not wish to diminish your feelings, or your right to them … but men are not the boys they once were. As it is true with you, Severus, so is it true with those you hate. Like them, you have your whole life ahead of you … Do not hold yourself back by hating the memories of boys that no longer exist. Bars and chains and dementors would never have been the victory you were looking for. That way you would still have never been free of them. They still take up too much space in your head … and in your heart. Let go of the past, Severus, for your own sake if not for theirs - it is only then that you can truly beat them.'
As he followed Kingsley through the corridors of the Ministry, Remus kept on rubbing his wrists - where the shackles had been - as if he still could not quite believe that they were gone, that he was free. He was more aware than ever of the eyes and the whispers following him as he walked, though at least he now knew what they were saying.
Some eyes were curious, some were hard and disgusted - he was still a werewolf after all - and one daring to walk down the hallway among normal people like he was a normal man, one of them, at that. But they at least now knew he was not what the paper had said of him, that he was not guilty and that - even if he was still in his Azkaban robes - he was not going back to prison and nor did he belong there.
But - whyever they were looking and talking - and whatever exactly it was they said - he found he did not like the scrutiny. The whole world knew what he was now, he could not hide it and he could not see how he could possibly live among them, now his secret was out. They would not want him.
...
Kingsley took him into an elevator - and pressed the button for the atrium. He slammed the grille shut and they began to move. It was later now - wizards had started to go home - and they had the lift to themselves.
There was a moment of silence - and then Kingsley cleared his throat uncomfortably. 'Remus, I wanted to say I was sorry.'
Remus felt his mouth fall open in surprise, 'for what?'
It was Kingsley's turn to look surprised. 'For believing you were a spy - for treating you the way I did.'
'You brought me clothes when I had none and came to me when I was sick and starving and got me better conditions in prison. You did all that when you thought I had killed James and Lily. I'll not forget it.'
...
Kingsley's face had blushed bright red - a dark, strawberry stain that crept up his cheeks. 'I called you "werewolf",' he mumbled - not quite meeting Remus' eyes.
Remus laughed. 'People have called me much worse.'
'Perhaps they have - but we were friends - and it was beneath me.'
'We are friends. But I understand you weren't my friend at the time - even though you still acted like one. You thought I was a murderer, you thought I was a traitor … If the circumstances were reversed, I'm sure I would have thought just as badly of you.'
'You couldn't have used what I am against me though, the way I did to you. That was unforgivable.'
Remus looked at him, 'and I forgive you for it wholeheartedly. It's all over now - there is nothing to be gained from dwelling on things that cannot be changed.'
Kingsley finally smiled, 'you sound like Dumbledore.'
'Well - I just spoke to him for a really long time, he sort of rubs off on you. Ever noticed that?'
...
The elevator arrived in the atrium, Kingsley hauled back the grille and they stepped out. Remus looked around at all the grand and imposing fireplaces which lined the wall. 'How do I get out?'
'It's not time for you to leave yet,' Kingsley said - and his smile was becoming more of a grin. 'There's still one more person who wants to see you,' - and he took hold of Remus' sleeve and towed him towards a door.
The door opened and, bemused, Remus stepped inside. It was a small room - and mostly taken up by a large edition of the Evening Prophet. But then the paper rustled - and was put down - revealing Sirius had been behind it the whole time. He got to his feet - his face lighting up when he saw Remus standing there.
...
For just a moment, Remus was very aware of how clean and handsome Sirius looked - and how he must look in comparison, in the three day old prison robes - all crumpled and unkempt. But then Sirius' arms were thrown around him - and he was overwhelmed with the suddenness of Sirius really being there, that they were really together and were really free … and nothing else in the world mattered.
A moment later, Sirius' hand had snaked up into Remus' hair, his arms tightened around Remus' neck … and then their lips were pressed together. Time seemed to stand still.
...
There was a distant, quiet click - and Remus registered it as the sound of the door closing, of Kingsley leaving them in private … and he felt one quick stab of gratitude towards the auror and then poured all his concentration into returning Sirius' kisses.
...
Their lips and hands were hungry - after all this time apart - after believing they would never see each other again … and several minutes passed before they came up for air. When they finally pulled apart, arms still tightly wrapped around each other, Sirius' eyes were shining and his whole face was lit up in a smile of elation … and Remus knew his own must be the same.
'I didn't think we would ever…'
'I said I would keep you safe. I said I wouldn't let anything happen to you…' There was another swift kiss, 'didn't you believe me?'
'This is why you escaped - you did all this?'
'I wouldn't have left you alone in that place for any other reason.'
They kissed again.
Their arms fell from around each other - and their fingers intertwined instead. They stood there - just holding hands and beaming at each other.
...
'Oh,' Sirius said after a moment, dropping hands and rooting in his pocket. 'I nearly forgot - I got you … this.'
He pulled out a chocolate bar. It was wrapped in purple foil and had the words "Dairy Milk" written on it. It was the same muggle chocolate he had bought after the full moon.
Remus grinned and took the chocolate bar from him. 'Thanks - I'm starving.'
'Thought you might be.'
He ripped off the foil, broke off a piece, and popped it in his mouth. His eyes closed for a moment as he felt the velvety creaminess explode over his tongue. Nothing had tasted like this in Azkaban. Then he broke off another piece and handed it to Sirius.
...
'Thanks.' But as Sirius took it, and Remus' arms dropped back to his side, Sirius seemed to catch sight of something. His expression dimmed and his brow furrowed.
'What is it?' Remus asked.
He took hold of Remus' arm and lifted it, pushing back the sleeve…and stared sadly at the ugly, raised, red welt that circled Remus' skin. 'This is where they …?'
'I would never have told them about you being an animagus without it. I didn't mean to.'
'I know.' He was still staring at the mark. There was heartbreak in his eyes.
'It looked worse before,' Remus said, trying to keep his voice light. 'Though Madam Pomfrey says it will never heal properly. I'll always have a scar.' He smiled wryly. 'Aren't you going to tell me this one is beautiful?' His attempt at lightness failed, and even he could hear the bitterness in his voice now.
But Sirius shook his head. 'No - this one isn't beautiful. This one is hideous and it's cruel.' He raised Remus' wrist to his lips and gently kissed the scar. 'But you are no less beautiful for having it.'
...
Remus felt his eyes blur with tears. He sniffed - and looked around the room - trying to think of something to say. But Sirius wasn't talking. He kissed Remus' wrist again, and then the palm of his hand - and then pulled him closer, wrapped his arms around him and pressed their lips together in their fiercest, hungriest and most passionate kiss yet.
...
Remus had no idea how long they just stood there, warm and safe - in each other's arms once again - kissing. He had never known it was possible to kiss for this long or to feel this happy or to be this loved.
Eventually, they broke apart again - and he cleared his throat. 'So - er - what do we do now?'
Petunia Dursley craned her long neck as she peered out of the kitchen window. A removal van had just pulled up outside number six. 'Vernon,' she hissed, 'Vernon - the new neighbours have arrived. Go out and see what they're like.'
Vernon put down his copy of the Daily Mail, heaved his bulk out of his chair and abandoned his breakfast to go outside and get a look at the people moving in next door. He walked past the two high chairs, ruffled Dudders' hair and chuckled 'little tyke,' and then aimed a disappointed squint at his nephew. Scrawny little thing, Harry was - half the size of Dudley.
...
He went out into the street - and soon his loud, booming voice could be heard from out in the driveway. Petunia craned her neck even further, to try and see what was happening. She did hope these new ones would turn out to be better than the ones who had just left. They had only been renters, and they hadn't got rid of their Christmas tree until yesterday, even though it was mid January. It had just sat out in the garden, turning brown and dropping needles and making the whole street look scruffy. She sniffed disapprovingly at the memory.
The front door slammed - Vernon had returned - and she scurried out into the hallway to meet him, 'well?'
...
His face was the bright red of a beetroot and his moustache bristled dangerously. 'They seem right weirdos. Got weird names. Not our sort at all … and they're…' he looked around, his eyes shifting and he lowered his voice as if embarrassed to be overheard. 'They're two men.'
'What?'
'Two men - together.'
'In Little Whinging?' She wrung her hands together - maybe it would be better if the renters came back - dying Christmas tree and all. At least they wouldn't be a … peculiar influence on Dudley.
'Well - I better be off to work. Drills don't make themselves.'
She gripped his arm, 'you can't leave me here with … them.'
Vernon looked uneasy. 'They'll be busy unpacking - just don't go near them. Don't say "hello". And don't let Dudley out in the garden.'
...
He kissed her goodbye and set off down the garden path towards his car. The two new neighbours were unloading boxes from a van. The very handsome one spotted him and waved.
Vernon grit his teeth - and waved back. Their kind. Right here in Little Whinging. Who would have ever believed … He didn't know what the world was coming to.
...
He got into his car, as the two men disappeared inside their new home. He could hear snatches of their conversation: 'I'll put the kettle on - where did you put the milk?'
'In the big, cold cupboard - you know the one that hums?'
'The fridge,' the very handsome one said.
'What?'
'That's what they call it - the fridge.'
'Oh - I didn't know that.'
Vernon shook his head - fancy not knowing what a fridge was! He was right, they were freaks and weirdos. He put the car in reverse and pulled out of the drive. Once in the middle of the road, manoeuvring, he had a clear line of sight right into their living room.
...
And there they were.
Kissing!
Right in the window.
Two men. Right in the window. Bringing the whole neighbourhood down with their … shenanigans. He shook his head again, turning his car. Shameless - that's what it was. Shameless. Little Whinging did not go in for that kind of carry on, no it did not. No funny business - nothing out of the ordinary. These … men would have to keep their heads down and their hands to themselves if they wanted to fit in.
...
He put his car into first gear and began to roll slowly down the street, looking back at number six in his rearview mirror the whole time.
Still, he thought to himself comfortingly as he drove off, two men of that persuasion would have no need to ever talk to him and Petunia. Their sort would have no interest in the goings on of number four or any of the inhabitants. He had heard the type of things their sort got up to - there was nothing in number four to interest them.
...
He had no way of knowing, as he drove away on the cold January morning, of just how much interest his new neighbours had in the goings on of number four, and in one of its inhabitants in particular. He had no way of knowing - as he flicked on his indicator and turned into Magnolia Crescent - just what sort of influence these men would have on his nephew, or how they would turn his life upside down. And he had no way of knowing - and perhaps it was kindest for now that he did not - as he pulled out of the estate and headed into town, that the last two Marauders had just moved into Privet Drive.
Mischief Managed