Chapter Twenty-Three

Werewolves and Dementors

If Remus had to describe his life using a single word, his chief option would be: regret. Mistake also fit the bill, but he felt as though his word of choice encompassed all that and more.

The first significant regret he had ever experienced was perhaps a nonsensical one – yet at the same time it wasn't. After being bitten by Greyback, Remus wished he hadn't been the spawn of Lyall Lupin, wished he hadn't been bestowed such an ironic name, and definitely wished he hadn't been born at all.

Afterwards, his life had not been devoid of all hope just yet. To his family's immeasurable relief, young Remus had been allowed to attend Hogwarts, provided he spend his transformative nights off campus lest he attack someone when he wasn't quite himself. There, at school, he almost felt like a normal boy. He excelled in his classes, became prefect, and had the best friends anyone could ask for.

Until one of them tried to murder the rest.

When Remus learnt of Sirius's escape from Azkaban, he felt conflicted. Objectively, he should've been horrified. A vile mass murderer was loose in the world, and such a familiar one at that. But it was precisely due to this familiarity that Remus couldn't bring himself to aid the magical community in their manhunt for Sirius.

He was an awful person, true; he had come to terms with his selfishness long ago. But he could not bear to live as the last remaining Marauder.

So it was with some reluctance that Remus accepted Dumbledore's job offer as Hogwarts's newest Defence professor. According to his old headmaster, the previous professor was discovered to have been a fraud. Remus had thought it a stroke of good luck—long overdue—that Dumbledore had even remembered him, let alone hire him. It wasn't until he formally signed onto the position that the cunning old man revealed his ulterior motive.

"I take it you've heard the news?" Dumbledore had asked once he received Remus's signature on the scroll. It rolled itself up and drifted into the old wizard's open palm.

"You mean Black's escape," Remus concluded tiredly. He glanced at the other tables surrounding them, as though expecting to see Sirius lounging by the bar flirting with Madam Rosmerta.

Dumbledore saved his response until Rosmerta herself delivered their meals. The inn was empty for the moment save for themselves and a handful of isolated diners, and besides, how often did one get to wait on one of the greatest wizards in history?

"There you are, gentlemen," Madam Rosmerta said, smiling. "Let me know if I can get you anything else."

"We'll be sure to, my dear," acquiesced Dumbledore. Remus smiled his thanks even as Rosmerta's eyes dimmed with pity when she glanced at him.

He waited until Dumbledore lifted his utensils to do the same. Remus's roast chicken tasted as good as it smelt – just like he remembered. It was comforting to know that after all these years, some things hadn't changed.

The conversation he was having dispelled such illusions, however.

"No one has managed to escape from Azkaban prison before," continued Dumbledore. "Yet Sirius Black was able to do so completely undetected."

Remus took his time chewing and swallowing even though Dumbledore was so clearly waiting for an explanation. It's because he's an animagus, part of him wanted to confess.

Instead, he said, "He was always the most conniving out of all us."

Dumbledore levelled him with a sombre look. "It is conjectured that Sirius will seek to end what he began twelve years. The Ministry believes he will attempt to infiltrate Hogwarts sometime this year."

Remus froze as the implications sank in. Harry. James and Lily's son.

"Have the proper preventative measures been arranged?" he asked, mouth dry.

Dumbledore's expression hardened in a way Remus hadn't witnessed in years, not since the war. "The Ministry has stationed the guards of Azkaban themselves around the perimeter of Hogwarts," he said darkly.

The wrinkles in Remus's brow deepened with bewilderment. "That doesn't make any sense," he exclaimed. If Sirius could slink past a whole horde of them in Azkaban itself, who was to say he wouldn't do so again?

"It does not," agreed Dumbledore. He took a sip from his goblet, his ever-watchful eyes remaining on Remus. "Are you sure you have no idea how he was able to slip through the dementors' grasp? None at all?"

"I'm sorry." Remus lowered his gaze onto his still-full plate. "I can't help you."

He would try, though – if not for Dumbledore then at least for Harry. The poor boy had been robbed of so much in life. If Remus could seize Sirius for himself and demand some sorely needed answers, then that was as much closure as he was going to get.

That was provided Sirius was no longer delirious, of course. Remus had visited him in prison once, half a year after the decisive attack at Godric's Hollow. Those six months had not been kind to Remus, and less still with Sirius. His visit was moot; Sirius hadn't recognised him. The realisation hurt more than expected.

Such was the power of dementors, he supposed. Remus loathed the idea of having them haunt the school grounds where they could prey on students and staff alike — some of whom were unlikely to have even heard of the Patronus Charm, let alone know how to cast one. Dumbledore had assured the professors that the students would be carefully supervised and had asked for several of them to board the Express just in case.

Remus had volunteered, as had Professors Sprout and Flitwick. They were to be stationed intermittently throughout the train in case anything was to happen. The Ministry assured them that nothing would, of course, but only they would be fool enough to blindly trust dementors.

Sighing, Remus heaved himself out of his plush four-poster. Sleep seemed to be eluding him tonight, despite the stressful transformation last week. He needed all the rest he could get before tomorrow—the first day of term, the first day of his new job—but being in the castle was presently doing him more harm than good.

He decided on a walk to soothe his turbulent stomach. When he was younger, and his bite mark used to keep him up with its grating pain, his mother used to put together a strange concoction composed of cocoa powder, honey and a secret ingredient. She called it her own personal sleeping potion, and it never failed to offer him a restful respite despite the utter lack of magical blood in her veins.

But she was no longer of this realm, having died in the war like so many of his loved ones. Remus blamed himself and ultimately his father for her demise: had Hope Howell never met Lyall Lupin, she would have just been another nameless muggle. She would've lived a happy, long life ignorant of the convoluted world running parallel to hers. She wouldn't have had die alone after being tortured for information she didn't have.

Remus shuddered. He tried casting the Warming Charm on himself before realising it was futile – the hair on the back of his neck was still raised. The last time he had felt this way had been, why, twelve years ago.

He stopped dead in his tracks as something dark swooped past the window at the end of the hall. Feeling his heart throb in his chest, Remus sprinted outside. His dread morphed into horror as his suspicions were confirmed.

Someone had set the dementors off. Remus didn't bother contemplating who; he simply whipped out his wand and bellowed "Expecto patronum!" at the wraiths swarming the grounds.

They flinched back with an unearthly hiss that would sear itself into Remus's nightmares for a long time to come. The silvery wolf that burst from the tip of his wand snarled as it chased the last of the dementors away before dissipating like morning mist.

Remus had but a moment to catch his breath. Then he recognised the unmoving figure on the ground, and he felt his world tilt on its axis.

He felt his heart break all over again. With halting steps, Remus approached Sirius's fallen body. Before he could make sense of the tumultuous emotions raging within him, he heard a groan.

Alex woke up with a gasp. For a brief, nauseating second, she thought she was dead (again). But no, if she had died, she wouldn't be feeling like shite.

With unprecedented speed, Alex turned to the side and dry-heaved until her stomach stopped buzzing like a wasp's nest. When she went to swipe at her runny nose, she discovered her cheeks were moist with tears.

"Am I crying?" she wondered incredulously. Merlin, how lame was that?

"A natural reaction," assured a voice to her right. It belonged to a mousy man in shabby robes — he was presently bent over Sirius's prone form.

Alex flinched. She scrambled for her wand, which had fallen from her lax grip the same time her feeble shield had flickered out of existence. Her head swam as she recalled what happened right before she had passed out.

"You saved us," she realised, unsteadily pulling herself up.

"I…yes," he finally managed. He glanced at Sirius, who was definitely breathing. "Am I correct to assume you two arrived together?"

Stun him. Alex dismissed that plan of action with a slight shake of her head. Even if she hadn't just been attacked, she doubted she'd be quick enough to disarm this stranger at such close quarters. This time, she had to rely on her words and not her wand.

Alex lowered her weapon but left it unsheathed. "I brought him here," she confessed. She maintained her calm disposition even as the man whirled to face her, eyes wide with alarm and distrust. "He's innocent – we have proof."

"What do you mean he's innocent?" he sputtered, standing up straight. "That's nonsense!"

Whoa, did this bloke know Sirius? Like, personally? He was far too hysterical otherwise.

"It's true," Alex continued evenly. "We've caught the real culprit, and we were on our way to Dumbledore when the d-dementors caught wind of us."

Whatever this man's problem was, at least it didn't obscure his rationality completely. He glanced at the sky, which was lightening in a way that signalled the night was almost over.

"We should get you inside," he decided. "The dementors mightn't return, but if they do, I'm not sure I'll be able to hold them off again."

Alex nodded jerkily. "Will he be all right?" she asked.

The wizard glanced between Alex and Sirius, his brow furrowed. To her immense relief, he flicked his wand in the motion Alex identified as the Warming Charm; he then cast a silent levicorpus. Seeing Sirius float like that was supremely unsettling.

Alex warmed herself up with her own charm as she followed the mystery man up to the castle. "Are you with the Ministry?" she asked, her eyes darting skywards. She blanched as something shifted, but it was a mere cloud.

"The only Ministry representatives here are the dementors," the man said wryly. He was oblivious to her flinch. "I'm the new Defence professor, Remus Lupin."

An unfamiliar name paired with an unfamiliar face. "Alex Fortescue. I go to school here."

Remus sighed. "I had hoped to meet my students in a less conflicting circumstance," he admitted.

It took Alex a second to register that he was joking. She smiled, her dry lips cracking slightly at the move. "Don't feel too bad. Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later, due to the curse and all."

"Curse?" Lupin asked distractedly as he guided Sirius's still form into the castle.

"Yeah." Alex felt the stiffness in her shoulders dissipate now that they were no longer outdoors. "We go through a Defence professor every year."

Lupin sighed once more. Alex had the feeling it was an action he was well accustomed with.

They reached the entrance to Dumbledore's office unencumbered. She waved to Michael the gargoyle from behind Remus as he stated his urgent need to speak with the headmaster. Michael remained still as a statue from several minutes before leaping aside.

As much as Alex wanted to extract herself from the situation to avoid any scrutiny—from Dumbledore or the Ministry—she felt like she owed to Sirius to see this thing to the end. She didn't trust the adults to deal with it appropriately either way.

"Well," said Dumbledore, his eyes darting between the haggard Lupin, the drained Alex and the comatose Sirius, "this is certainly a surprise."

The real surprise is your nightgown, thought Alex. It was a soft shade of navy, and had sheep frolicking and hopping all over the place. Alex had the same set when she was younger. Seeing one of the most revered wizards in history in such a getup was oddly soothing. Privately, she wondered if he had the matching sheep slippers.

His reaction was underwhelming to be sure. As one of the oldest living wizards in the world, Dumbledore must've witnessed more than his fair share of bizarre incidents in his life.

"Sit, sit," urged Dumbledore. He reclined in his own seat behind his table. "I'll order some hot cocoa for us all."

"Yes, please," Alex mumbled, rubbing her eyes. It was so warm and cosy in the office; she had almost forgotten what it was like to be beside a real, functioning fireplace.

They had one in the Slytherin common room, of course, but it burned green because their Founder was a drama queen. It wasn't even warm, just aesthetically pleasing. Ron and Harry had deemed it stupid after their little stint with the Polyjuice, but Alex loved their useless fireplace anyway.

Remus had just finished summarising his part of the story. They were now waiting for her side of things. Alex cleared and throat and recited the version of events she and Sirius had decided on long ago.

It aligned with reality for the most part: she had been woken up by Crookshanks, who was chasing Scabbers. To keep Hermione's new pet from murdering Ron's old one—and thereby destroying their already questionable friendship—Alex had set off after them. Crookshanks had captured Scabbers between his paws right after they burst out of the Leaky Cauldron.

"To avoid being eaten, Pettigrew shifted into his human form and lunged towards me," continued Alex, her eyes on the tabletop. "Then a dog leapt out of the shadows and landed on top of him; the dog's teeth were bared as though it wanted to rip Pettigrew's throat out. I stunned him, and then the dog turned into a man."

She bit her lip. "I almost stunned him too," she confessed, glancing at the unconscious body beside Dumbledore and Lupin. "But he had just saved me, so I figured I'd hear him out. His story made sense, and I had seen him around Diagon Alley before, so…" Alex shrugged.

Dumbledore stared at her levelly. "I'm disappointed in you, Miss Fortescue."

The shock of his statement almost had Alex slipping out of her seat. Of all the responses she had been expecting, heavy dissatisfaction hadn't been one of them. A traitorous voice in the back of her head wondered how differently the headmaster would've reacted if she were a Gryffindor instead.

"As a young witch with a keen sense of self-preservation, I had thought you would have react more sensibly when approached by a wanted mass murderer," declared Dumbledore. "Alas, we all the more in your debt for your brief lapse in judgement, for otherwise an innocent man's name would have remained besmirched while the guilty party remained free."

Alex pressed a hand to her head through the rollercoaster of emotions Dumbledore had inflicted on her. The old man didn't seem to be intent on a response, though; he moved towards Sirius and directed an rennervate his way.

Sirius shot up with surprising spryness. He glanced around wildly, his frazzled state reminding Alex of how he appeared the first time she met him. His eyes finally settled on Lupin, who was gripping the arms of his chair so tightly Alex thought he would rip them right off.

"Remus," Sirius breathed shakily. "I never thought I'd see you again."

So they did know each other. Alex watched with baited breath as Lupin jumped to his feet. Instead of tackling Sirius, or taking a swing at him, Lupin enveloped him in a large, warm hug. Alex hastily averted her gaze to provide them some semblance of privacy – an effort she realised was futile when she noticed all the nosy portraits peering at the scene with interest. She shot an especially affronted glare at the portrait of her grandfather, Headmaster Dexter Fortescue.

"I'm so sorry, Sirius," gasped Lupin as he took half a step back. "I should've known – should've fought for your case…"

Sirius shook his head, anguish twisting his features. "He fooled us both. But it's all right now; I have him with me."

It wasn't until Sirius extracted the container that Alex noticed she had been holding her breath. She reminded herself to breathe as Sirius passed the container to Remus, who handed it to Dumbledore. The ancient wizard reapplied the stunner and the animagus-proof spells without batting an eye as he accepted it.

"This calls for veritaserum," murmured Dumbledore, his eyes never leaving the box in his hands.

"I have some," offered Alex. She was still in her day robes, which meant her pockets contained her everyday necessities: money, pads, her compact, and a variety of potions.

The latter came in a small chest not unlike a jewellery box. She dug it out from her magically enhanced pockets and popped open the case. Her eyes skimmed over the thicker bottles and landed on a slim one filled with a clear liquid reminiscent of water. There.

Alex presented it to them with a triumphant smile. It slowly slid off her face when she registered the surprise on Lupin's features and the suspicion tinging Dumbledore's.

"Professor Snape never told me how skilled a brewer you are," mused Dumbledore even as he accepted the potion.

He was fishing for information, that much was obvious. In fact, Alex was mediocre at best when it came to brewing potions—the instructions were so vague, and there were countless ways of interpreting them—but she didn't want to inform them that Sirius had been the one to make them, so she offered a demure smile in response. Judging by Sirius's snort of amusement, she wasn't fooling anyone.

Oh well. They had more important things to worry about.

The adults in the room drew up the runes and wards necessary to prevent Pettigrew from escaping in either human or animal form in preparation for the interrogation. Alex probably should've been keeping a close eye on things for future reference, but it was late, and she was tired, and a tray of hot cocoa had just arrived on Dumbledore's desk. She reached for the one with no marshmallows in it and relished the warmth it provided. Alex blew on its surface to cool it down before taking a tentative sip. Her concerns were unfounded, however, as even the tiniest taste of chocolate seemed to melt away all the tension in her body.

Chocolate truly was the greatest remedy of them all. She wanted to hand one of the mugs to Sirius, who was undoubtedly still feeling the effects of the dementor attack, but he was too invested in the interrogation that was about to take place.

Pettigrew was seated on a transfigured stool in the middle of a circle of runes Dumbledore had drawn up himself. Judging by the glow it was emitting, it hadn't been constructed through ordinary means. Alex barely had time to appreciate the flawless inscriptions before Dumbledore poured a single drop of the veritaserum into Pettigrew's open mouth. He replaced the stopper on the vial and placed it behind him on his desk, out of her reach, and pointed his—frankly creepy-looking—wand at Pettigrew.

"Rennervate."

Groaning, Pettigrew began to stir. He instinctively licked his dry, cracked lips, swallowing the meagre serving of the potion in the process. Dumbledore waited for Pettigrew to take stock of his situation before beginning his interrogation, putting a stop to his impending freak-out immediately.

"What is your name?" Dumbledore asked calmly.

Pettigrew's eyes darted around the room, taking in each of their faces as he answered, "P-Peter Pettigrew."

"What have you been doing these past twelve years?"

"Hiding," he squeaked. "I disguised myself as a common rat, a pet."

"Who—or what—were you hiding from?"

"Everyone," confessed Pettigrew. He was openly sweating now. "From Sirius, from the Dark Lord and his followers, from the Order."

"And why is that?"

"Because I revealed the location of the Potters' hideout to the Dark Lord!"

There was a sharp intake of breath from Remus, followed by a snarl from Sirius. "Because you were the Secret-Keeper, weren't you, Wormtail?" demanded Sirius. He looked about a second away from tackling the traitor to the floor.

Pettigrew looked as though he wanted to stop talking, but the Truth Potion compelled him to spill what he believed to be the truth. "I was. It was initially Sirius, but to defer suspicion, it was decided that I was a subtler alternative. I'd been passing information to the Dark Lord for a year and figured this was the decisive move that would end the war once and for all," he said, almost in one breath.

Well, he was definitely right about that – just not in the way he'd been hoping. Sirius was trembling, now, as though he wanted to wrap his hands around Pettigrew's throat and strangle the life out of him himself.

Remus, on the other stand, was as still as a statue. "You were the spy," he realised with a small gasp. The lines in his face deepened with consternation. "All this time, people were suspecting me, or Sirius, but it was you."

Pettigrew nodded, whimpering.

"The potion's wearing off," declared Dumbledore. He made no move to Stun him again, perhaps concerned that an excessive application of the spell would do more harm than good. "I'll contact Cornelius immediately. Remus, if you could escort Sirius and Alexandra to the infirmary?"

"I'm fine," she and Sirius said simultaneously. Alex grimaced when she took in Sirius's dishevelled state. Was that what she looked like too?

"I've fared worse," Sirius continued, glancing at nothing and no one in particular. "Azkaban is great for developing dementor immunity."

Alex had to bite her lip from smiling at the awful joke. Sirius noticed, and seemed to unwind slightly knowing he had completed his objective.

"I'll go," she volunteered, rising. She wasn't really in the mood to meet the Minister — now or ever. "I'll nap in the Gryffindor common room."

Dumbledore didn't even bother questioning that. Emboldened, Alex asked him for a favour.

"I need to return to the Leaky Cauldron by nine," she informed him. Her watch told her it was a quarter to two, which meant she had roughly seven hours to catch some z's.

The headmaster nodded. "I'll arrange a portkey for you."

She smiled politely. "Thank you."

Sleep evaded her that night.