Chapter Twenty: Remus's Remorse

They stopped off just before they reached the edge of the town, and hid in a thicket of trees. Wary of more wanted posters, they wanted to try and disguise their appearance at least a little. It was bad enough that the injury to Sirius' arm matched up so precisely with his widely reported splinching - without their faces matching the photographs positioned above the promise of thousands of galleons in reward money.

Remus tackled Sirius first … he screwed his face up, waved his wand - and turned the jet black hair a pale blonde. 'Oh dear, that doesn't suit you at all.'

'What do I look like?'

'There was this little git at Hogwarts, when I was teaching; used to make fun of my robes. Draco Malfoy - he was called. I really wanted to slap him but it would have been more than my job was worth. You look uncannily like him.'

'I'm related to the Malfoys,' Sirius said gloomily.

'That's inbreeding for you…' He scrutinised Sirius' face… 'No - it's no good, looking like that, I really want to slap you. Here.' He waved his wand and conjured Sirius a blonde beard. And then with another flick, he changed the shape of his nose and gave him a smattering of freckles. 'Better.'

Then he rooted through the case and took out his shaving mirror so he could transfigure his own appearance.

'I'm sorry I can't be more help, Moony,' Sirius said, sounding even more gloomy.

'I know - but you'll get your powers back soon enough. And it's not like we would even be standing here if it wasn't for you, last night.'

The memory of the murdered vampire cut back sharply into his mind, the bloody water - and the feel of his own wand sliding through Ionut's chest like a stake, hitting the squishyness of his heart - and he flinched, just as he was about to change his hair colour. His hair stayed the same shade, but a wide gash was cut open on his cheek. 'Damn!' He examined it in the mirror.

'You should leave it,' Sirius said.

'It looks terrible - I look like I have been in a fight.'

'You've been in hundreds of fights in the past couple of weeks. But what it does is make your scars look less vivid. You can't cover cursed scars - and people might recognise the pattern from your wanted poster. But you can camouflage them with different cuts.'

He shrugged his shoulders, cut himself open down his jawline on the other side of his face and then gave himself a black eye. Both made him gasp in pain. Then he used his wand to trim his hair and turned it a shade of black so dark it was almost blue. It made his skin look pale and waxy.

'Give me some cuts as well, Moony.'

'What for?'

'So we both look like we've been in a fight. If it looks like I've been fighting, we can say that's how I hurt my arm.'

'Good thinking.'

'Well - I've got to be good for something now I'm a squib.'

'You're not a …'

'Save it.'

...

Zacaranivac was a town of square, white buildings with green shutters at the window and red tiles on the roofs. Feeling liberated under their disguises, they walked through the streets - for once not having to scurry in the shadows and keep their heads down. They stopped off for a drink at a tavern with a sign depicting a picture of a bubbling cauldron, and shared a plate of stuffed peppers for lunch. (Sirius must have got used to foreign food, by now, because he didn't even screw up his newly shaped nose when the plate arrived.) They asked the barman whether there was a healer in the town and - directions given - Remus paid and they got up to leave.

But Sirius had suddenly narrowed his eyes and was now looking at Remus suspiciously.

'What now?'

'How did you do that?'

Remus looked nonplussed. 'Do what?'

'Pay.'

'I handed the money over. It was your money - not mine. I don't have any.'

'No, Moony. That isn't what I mean. You handed sickles over - three of them. You just picked them up.' He looked even more suspicious. 'What's going on?'

'What on earth are you talking about?'

'Sickles are made of silver.'

'Oh,' he nodded in understanding. 'Yes - well, no. They're not.' He began to smirk. 'The wizards don't seem to know it, but the goblins are short changing them when it comes to coin casting.'

'You mean they're not using real silver?'

'Or they're not using pure silver. It could be mixed with something else. But a sickle definitely isn't worth a sickle - if you get my meaning. It's been happening for decades - at least since I got bit. And of course that's only the half of it - because if the sickles aren't really silver...'

'The galleons aren't real gold?'

Remus began to laugh. 'I've often thought about going public with it … bringing down the entire wizarding economy … just out of spite. I won't now, of course.'

'Why not now?'

'Because you are rich. I'd be cursing myself in the foot to make all your gold worthless just as I got you back and you were willing to share it with me. But I have been tempted over the years. Especially when Malfoy was ragging on my robes. He'd be laughing on the other side of his face if I made his father's entire bank vault worthless overnight. We'd see who dressed worse than a house elf then.'

Sirius began to laugh as well. 'You sneaky, little bastard. And the goblins - they're sneaky little bastards too.'

'I've always derived a great deal of pleasure - every time I was denied work or someone refused to pay me because of what I am - knowing that all those wizards are really as penniless as I am and I could bring their world crashing down overnight, if I chose to. I suppose that makes me a bad person.'

Sirius gave him a fond look. 'You could never be a bad person, Moony.'

But Remus, remembering suddenly what it felt like to stab a man right through the heart, felt the smile slide off his face …

...

They arrived outside the healer's house. There was no hospital in Zacaranivac, with it only being a small town, so the healer worked out of his home. There was a sign hanging from the side of the building that bore the symbol of a wand crossed with a bone and above it an inscription read: Ivan Karkaroff - healer.

Remus frowned. 'Wasn't Karkaroff a Death Eater?'

'That was Igor.'

'Oh - so who's Ivan?'

'Brother? Father? Second Cousin? Pure coincidence? Who knows?'

'Well - we'll go to see him as we have no choice. But stay on the alert.'

Ivan Karkaroff proved to be a tall man about twenty years older than themselves, with sleek, silver hair and a curling goatee that hid a rather weak chin. He had a fruity, unctuous voice and a smile that did not reach his eyes. He was almost definitely the brother of former Death Eater, Igor Karkaroff - the likeness was uncanny.

He took them inside his office and had Sirius remove his shirt so he could examine the wound.

Trying to keep himself from staring at the flawless, creamy beauty of Sirius' bare chest, Remus gazed around the office - looking anywhere but at the patient. There was a large cabinet in the corner, with wooden doors that had ornate carvings on them. One door was slightly ajar, and a dark light was shining out of the crack. Remus frowned and headed towards it.

'Don't look in there,' Karkaroff snapped.

Remus froze and looked around.

Karkaroff seemed to have recovered himself - for he forced the smile back on his face and when he spoke his voice was unctuous again. 'It is merely private - for work - a healer sometimes must have things that are … well that could prove dangerous. Could be misconstrued.'

Remus nodded - and stepped away, though he and Sirius exchanged a glance - neither believing for a moment that whatever was in there had anything to do with Karkaroff's work as a healer.

'So…' Karkaroff said, as he prodded the wound with his wand. 'Where are you boys headed to?'

'Albania,' Sirius told him, 'to meet an old friend.'

'Ah - a beautiful country. Though of course … a place where one must be careful.' His hard eyes gleamed as he said that.

'What do you mean?' Remus asked him.

'Surely you boys have heard the rumours? The dark spirit that lurks in the ancient beech forest in the Gashi River Valley. They say creatures die there - and men go mad. That they face their worst fears and lose themselves… Still, I am sure you will have no reason to go near there?'

'I'm sure we won't,' Remus said stiffly.

'The stories that come out of the valley are most peculiar,' Karkaroff said, and his voice sounded like he was enjoying telling them this - enjoying trying to frighten them. 'Those that survive say they have come across great graveyards of animal bones, and that they see red eyes peering at them from behind trees. They hear whispers; words of evil hissed right into their ears - cutting into their hearts and minds - but when they look around, there is no one there.'

'Have you ever been?' Sirius asked him, 'have you seen this for yourself?'

'Alas,' his cold smile took on a self-deprecating air - but his eyes remained hard. 'I am not a brave man. I have no wish to test the veracity of what I hear. I just … pass along the tales. In case those braver than me wish to see for themselves.'

'And have you passed along these tales to anyone recently?'

'There was a young man - about five years ago now. Very eager to fight the dark arts. He went to the forest on my say so … I do not know what he found there, or if he returned. He was English - like yourselves. A teacher.'

'Five years isn't very recent,' Remus said. 'How about this man?' He took out the photograph of Peter. 'In the last week or so?'

But Karkaroff's expression suddenly became a closed mask, and his voice lost its fruity quality. 'Peter Pettigrew is dead.'

'No. He isn't. And he's going to Albania. To find that dark spirit you so cheerfully tell all passing wizards about. Did you tell him about it?'

'I tell you Peter Pettigrew is dead. I have not seen him. There is no Peter Pettigrew to see. I hear there was nothing left but a finger by the time Sirius Black was done with him.'

'Yes - a lot of people heard that,' Sirius said mildly.

'So -' Karkaroff's voice became business-like. He prodded the wound with his wand again. 'How did this happen?'

'I was in a fight.' He gestured to the cuts Remus had given him.

'A fight could not cause this. This is a splinching.'

'Well - I apparated away from the fight. Must have miscalculated. Left part of myself behind.'

'Is that a fact?' And there was a gleam in his eyes that told the boys he knew all too well who else had recently been splinched. 'A nasty accident indeed.'

'There are worse parts for a man to leave behind,' Sirius said evenly.

Remus bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. 'Can you heal it?' he asked instead.

'Yes - of course - although…' he frowned.

'What is it?' Sirius sounded wary.

'This … in your arm, holding it together. I do not understand.'

'We landed in a muggle town,' Remus told him, 'went to see a muggle healer as there was no other option. They sort of … sewed it back together. They did the best they could. They saved his life.'

'Quite so. But still … whatever these stitches are, they will have to come out.' He tapped the wound with his wand, and the muggle stitches fell away. The wound gaped open again. 'You see - they had not cured it, they were simply holding it together.'

Both Remus and Sirius had turned away from the now gaping wound in disgust.

'Oh, come now, boys - merely a flesh wound. A little dittany and …' he picked a vial up, dripped three drops of liquid onto the injury and then watched in satisfaction as it the skin began to smoke and hiss and then knit itself back together, growing back the missing flesh as if nothing had ever happened. 'There - there will be a slight scar, you should have come to me sooner if you wanted to avoid that - but your arm should work as good as new. Though I would perhaps hold off apparating for a few days yet.'

'Alright - er -' Sirius looked uncomfortable. 'There's something else I need to ask.'

'Yes?' he raised a perfectly arched silver eyebrow.

'I lost a lot of blood, when I was splinched. And muggles don't have blood replenishing potions. So they gave me new blood, to keep me alive. Their blood. Muggle blood. And since then…'

'And since then you've lost your magic.'

Sirius flushed bright red. 'Is it permanent?' he asked, sounding anxious.

Karkaroff looked at him, regarding him curiously for a moment, and then he shook his head. 'I don't believe it should be, no. It may take time to come back - but the blood they gave you will eventually become one with you - become yours - and the magic of your own blood will work its way through.'

'How long…?'

'It depends how much they gave you. A matter of days, perhaps a few weeks. Not beyond that, I shouldn't think.'

'And will I be as powerful as I was before?'

'Yes - the power is yours, not your blood's. Although…' his eyes narrowed.

'What?' Sirius sounded anxious again.

'What was your blood status before now?'

'I'm pureblood - why? Does it make a difference?'

Karkaroff shook his head. 'Not to your magic, no. But you are no longer pureblood. You have muggle blood in your veins - same as any muggleborn. There are those that would now consider you a mudblood.'

Sirius flushed again - but this time with anger. 'That doesn't matter to me! And that's a disgusting word. There's no such thing as dirty blood - this muggle blood saved my life!'

'Quite so, quite so,' he gave his cold smile and laughed an unctuous laugh. 'But there are those who will call you that now, and you had better prepare for it.'

'There are worse things in the world than being called names,' Remus said mildly, 'how much do we owe you?'

While he and Karkaroff sorted the payment, Sirius got dressed again - still glowering after his first taste of blood prejudice aimed at himself. He would get used to it, Remus thought, though it would be nice if he didn't have to … if no one had to. Once he was ready, they headed for the door.

'You know,' Karkaroff said to them, just as they were about to leave. They turned back to look at him. His eyes were narrow, his expression was sly. 'I read in the paper that Sirius Black was supposed to be around these parts … and that he had been splinched, either him …' he raked his eyes over Remus, 'or his werewolf. That it was his arm that was injured. And now here is a former pureblood wizard with an identical wound to Black's right here in my office.'

'What's your point?' Remus asked him, his voice was cold but his heart was beating rapidly in his chest.

'I wonder what you boys would say if I called the Ministry, let them ask you a few questions … for safety purposes of course.' His eyes glinted - and he watched them both closely.

But Remus only smiled, 'of course. And then I would ask the Ministry to check what was inside your cabinet.' He indicated the wooden cabinet and the dark light. His smile became more saccharine, 'for safety purposes, of course.'

'Very well,' Karkaroff said sourly, nodding at them that they could go. Then he smiled again. 'Good luck in Albania.'

...

They hurried out of his house, down the road and left the town as quickly as they could - hoping to find a muggle town to hide in sooner rather than later. 'That dirty Death Eater,' Sirius growled, his face still angry from before. 'Threatening us with the Ministry when he's sending anyone he can down to Voldemort. What do you think was in that cabinet?'

'I don't know - but it just saved our skin. Here...' he pulled them inside the tree line and, once they were obscured from the road, took out his wand. 'Finite incantatem,' he said. Sirius' beard shrank back into his face - leaving behind the few days worth of blue stubble that was his own, his hair turned black again, his cuts healed over and his wide nose became narrow and aristocratic again - while the freckles paled away and left his skin blemishless once more.

'Much better,' Remus smiled, before changing his own hair and face back to normal.

'You look better too,' Sirius nodded.

'Well - I look normal. I don't think I ever look "better".'

Sirius shook his head and tutted.

'What?'

'Nothing - so, do you reckon he was lying about Peter?'

'Oh yes, definitely. He has seen him. Peter has been here.' They started walking again - but kept to the trees, both for the shade and to stay hidden from view. 'It's just a pity we don't know how far ahead he is. We lost a bit of time at the muggle hospital. But if he's travelling as a rat, I still think we're only a day or two behind him.'

'You know what's really annoying?' Sirius took out his wand as they walked. He swished it, flicked it and said 'wingardium leviosa.' A pebble on the floor rose several inches from the ground and floated in the air, wobbling.

'Hey!' Remus cheered, delighted.

Sirius gave him a dark look, 'don't patronise me.'

'Sorry - what's really annoying?'

'If that Death Eater, son of a bludger has seen Peter - then he knows full well that Peter is Voldemort's spy and that I'm innocent.'

'And he still threatened to set the Ministry on us.'

'Because he's a Death Eater. He wants Peter to find Voldemort. You heard him - he's too much of a coward to go himself, but he's all for sending other wizards off to help the Dark Lord rise again.'

'I doubt his brother would thank him for that. Igor sold out a lot of other Death Eaters to get himself out of prison. Hey - you know one of the people he named?'

'Was it me?' Sirius asked darkly.

'No - no one ever named you … Now I know why. It was Snape.'

Sirius whistled. 'Snivellus? Well we might have known; greasy, foul git that he is. He was always desperate to get out there and start killing people, even when we were kids. No surprise that he actually did it. How did he dodge prison then?'

'I think Dumbledore vouched for him. Said he'd swapped sides, turned spy for us.'

'And that just wiped out all the people he killed, or the muggles he tortured did it? They didn't matter any more and he didn't have to pay?'

Remus shrugged.

'So how come Dumbledore vouching for me didn't work a few weeks ago?' He scowled and kicked at a tuft of grass as he walked past. 'You know what's worse than having everyone think you're a cold blooded killer and being punished for something you never did? Knowing that there are real cold blooded killers out there who got away with it - who got their crimes swept under the rug. It doesn't matter what Snape did for our side, saving lives doesn't cancel out taking them. He should still have to pay for everything he did in Voldemort's name. Killers should have to pay.'

At his words, Remus had a sudden very vivid memory of his wand slicing through Ionut's chest, of feeling his heart pierced by the tip of it; of the vampire's eyes rolling back in his head and all the water reddening with his blood. And he found he had nothing to say in response to Sirius, and just flushed miserably and stared down at his feet.

...

They walked along for hours, covering miles. Sirius kept practising spells as he went and - maybe it was that his own magic was finally being absorbed into his muggle blood, or maybe it was that he could finally use his wand arm, or maybe it was just Karkaroff's prognosis had filled him with confidence - but he was able to master every spell he attempted. Though he was still keeping things relatively simple for now.

He picked up a stick, waved his wand and said 'diffindo' and the twig snapped in two. Then he waved his wand again and said 'reparo' and it sprung back together. He jabbed his wand at a leaf and set it on fire, and then he froze the flames with the freezing charm. He changed the colour of the petals of the wildflowers growing in the grass and engorgioed a bee which buzzed past until it was the size of a snitch.

Remus stumbled along next to him, trying to remember to make encouraging noises every so often - whenever Sirius looked at him to see if he had seen the magic - and trying not to think about Ionut lying there in a pool of bloody water. He tried to tell himself he wasn't thinking about what it was like to watch the light of life leave a man's eyes and know he was the one who had snuffed it out. He was avidly not worrying about how come he'd been so overtaken by a fog of panic so dense he had been able to commit murder without realising … And absolutely it was not crossing his mind that it might one day happen again, in other circumstances. That maybe he could one day kill someone a whole lot more innocent than Ionut.

And of course, he did not wonder for a second - not even one, what it said about him that this had happened, when it had not happened to Sirius. Sirius had remained calm, Sirius had used non fatal means to escape … but in no way was Remus thinking about what type of man this made him … or if it made him a monster after all. Absolutely not.

'Did you see that?' Sirius' delighted voice cut through all the dark thoughts that Remus was definitely not thinking - and he looked up to see that Sirius had somehow managed to transfigure a tree's branches into the waving tentacles of an octopus. They were purple, and had suckers on them and billowed eerily as if being moved around by invisible waves.

Remus stared. 'V- very good. Impressive. Pointless - but impressive.'

'You know, I think I'm starting to get the hang of this magic lark.'

'G- good. Good for you.'

Sirius sighed - and turned the tentacles back to branches. 'Alright - what's up?'

'Nothing. Really. I'm happy for you. Well done.'

'Alright - you're happy for me. And you haven't spoken for the past two hours because …?'

'It's not been two hours.'

'You're right, it's been more like three. Look,' he came to a stop. 'We're going to be at the next muggle town soon. We can find somewhere safe to rest. But we should probably have it out now, where no one will overhear us.'

Remus looked at him blankly. 'Have what out?'

'The fight we're about to have.'

'Why are we going to have a fight?'

'Because you're being an idiot - and I'm going to yell at you about it - and then you're going to go right on being an idiot. But Moony you have to stop beating yourself up.'

Remus folded his arms across his chest, forming a defensive barrier. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'I'm talking about the man you killed ... Yes!' he said - as he saw the look of horror and surprise on Remus' face. 'You killed someone. I know you did. I know you feel terrible about it. That's because you're a good person, and not an evil git like Snape.'

'I - I didn't mean to kill him.'

'Well - he meant to kill you. And you did what you had to.'

'There had to be another way. I did it without thinking and … and I don't know what that says about me. In the heat of the moment, I killed someone. You didn't. You're not a killer - but I …'

'It's got nothing to do with you being a werewolf - if that's what you're thinking.' Sirius' voice was sharp. Remus just gaped at him. 'This didn't happen because you're a monster and I'm a man. You're not a monster. You're a very very good man.'

'A very good man who just killed someone.'

'In self defence. Look - they'd attacked you twice. You tried to get up and back away and he dragged you back down. They didn't attack me - I could stand there and use my wand on them because I wasn't their target yet. They wanted to get rid of you first. You were the bigger threat … Well, they were right about that. Ionut had it coming. They all did. So what if when people try to kill you, you kill them first? That doesn't make you dangerous the rest of the time. It should just be a warning to people not to try anything with you. You can take care of yourself - that's good. And you have a right to defend yourself.'

'We could have got out of there without killing anyone.'

'Maybe - but we didn't. And torturing yourself over it will change nothing. Listen, Moony - do you even realise that, when you changed your face back there to go into town, you gave yourself Ionut's face?'

Remus stared at him.

'You did - all that jet black hair, and your skin all waxy. You looked just like him.'

'I - I didn't…'

And Sirius took advantage of having both arms working to pull Remus into a tight, hug - wrapping both arms around him. 'I know you feel bad. You feel bad because you are good. Snape doesn't feel bad about the people he has killed. Peter doesn't feel bad about James and Lily or all those muggles. Karkaroff couldn't care less about whatever happened to that poor teacher he sent off into Albania looking for Voldemort five years ago. That is because they are wicked men.

'And here you are, beating yourself up over one vampire who was actively trying to kill you. Don't you see? I know it must have been awful, I know you must still be able to feel it - and I know you feel guilty - but all that proves is that the thing you're worried about - that you're not a good man - is nonsense. Only a good man would care.'

He finally released Remus. Remus bit his lip - and looked down at his feet. 'Is that enough though? That I feel bad? You said - killers should be punished. That it doesn't matter what else they do…'

'I didn't mean people who kill in self defence. I didn't mean you.'

'Alright - you make a distinction between me and Snape. Do you think anyone else would?'

'No one else will ever know what happened.'

Remus nodded slowly. 'You keep saying I did nothing wrong. And then you keep saying we'll keep it a secret. If it wasn't wrong …'

'You can go and confess to the Ministry, if you want, Remus. I'll back you up. I just think we shouldn't invite trouble - we're in enough as it is.' He took a deep breath. 'Look - we're hunting down Peter. If things go wrong - if they get out of hand … Moony, it's good that you know that when it comes down to it, if it's necessary, you can - well - take a life. Because the stakes are pretty high right now - and we couldn't afford for you to freeze up at a crucial moment. If that's what it takes.'

'What if I do freeze up? What if - after Ionut - I can't … fight again?'

Sirius gave him a swift and searching look. 'Then you're worrying about nothing. Because you will never kill again if you can't even fight. And I'll kill Peter. And believe you me, I won't be beating myself up about it afterwards. Now come on,' he gave Remus' arm a comforting squeeze, 'let's get moving.'

Remus nodded - and started to follow him … but he was still quiet. For all Sirius' brash promises to kill Peter, Remus couldn't help but remember how badly affected by killing the erklings Sirius had been - how Remus had had to kill the second one alone. And he couldn't help but feel that - should the worst happen - any and all killing would have to be left down to him … And he did not know what that said about him.