Shadowed Souls
Chapter Ten
*looks around* ooh, I've worried lots of people, haven't I?
Farewell: *dodges Arryn's ghost* please don't set the elfie on me. Please? I promise you another Elrond chapter very shortly.
FairyTale: thanks for the comments.
Pie: I get the picture. I hope I won't need a bullet proof vest.
Madkornfan: *catches the candy* humph, the dog ate my chocolate last night. Even more R/S for you.
SAP WARNING IN THIS CHAPTER *giggles*
Read on, don't give up hope yet. Chocolate werewolves to all reviewers.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Dumbledore's expression was unusually grave as he crossed the lawns with a hurried stride. He had hoped that any harm to Remus Lupin could be avoided, even though he had volunteered to go alone to the Malfoy estate when no other had been free to accompany him.
The Headmaster sighed, his breath clouding the icy air. For months, rumours had been circulating of a planned attack on Muggle London. Snape had rushed into his office late that afternoon, wild-eyed and even paler than usual, to tell him that he had overheard Draco Malfoy boasting to other Slytherins that there would be a meeting at his house that evening. The main topic for discussion would be this atrocity.
Sirius had to remain near Harry in such troubled times, and Severus could not risk destroying his fragile disguise by being discovered sneaking around the Malfoy estate when he was already excluded from the inner circle. There was no one else available but Remus Lupin, who had insisted that he must go. Dumbledore had agreed. He might dislike sending anyone into such a situation, but this was the inevitable result of Voldemort's resurrection: that all other considerations would be subsumed to the paramount need to thwart him.
Dumbledore felt exhausted by the responsibility which now lay on his shoulders, the debilitating burden.
"So it starts again," he whispered. "One by one we must fall in a desperate attempt to protect our world. We must give everything to fight Tom Riddle. And now I must tell Sirius…"
Padfoot had curled himself into a tight ball of heavy black fur, his eyes resolutely shut, dreaming of silver moonlight glimmering on his back and a wolf running beside him.
Harry was safely in Gryffindor Tower, and for these few hours he could escape into dreams. Thus, it was only reluctantly that he awoke as Dumbledore called his name.
Focusing blearily on the Headmaster, he sprang to his feet as he saw the grim expression on that ancient face, and the steeliness of those blue eyes.
" We must hurry, Sirius," he said crisply. "I shall explain later. For now, you must follow me up to the castle."
He hurried back up the passageway, under the Whomping Willow towards the school. Sirius followed at his heels, oppressed by fear even in his Animagus form.
"If it's Harry, I'll never forgive myself for resting," he swore to himself. There could be no doubt that the Headmaster in person would only summon him in the direst emergency. He railed at Dumbledore's pace, wishing that he could race through the corridors. He felt the erratic beat of his own heart, the flood of adrenaline through his veins. Time itself seemed to slow to a crawling pace.
Finally, when Sirius' temper hung by a thread, they reached the hospital wing.
"You may wish to resume your human form, Sirius," the Headmaster suggested.
The dog cocked his head quizzically.
"Oh," Dumbledore chuckled, although the sound seemed dry and weary. "Don't worry. There will be no students in here tonight. The hospital wing is strictly out of bounds for the moment. Nor will Madame Pomfrey disturb us. "
With only a slight hesitation, Sirius transformed.
"What … what is it?" he stammered, fear drenching his voice as it had the evening of the Triwizard Tournament. "Is it Harry? Is it an attack? What is it?"
Dumbledore shook his head slowly, grappling with the words to tell Sirius what had befallen.
"Is it … is it…" Sirius tried to force the words out. "Is it Remus?"
"Yes," Dumbledore's voice was deep with barely contained sorrow and unending pity. "He was captured by Death Eaters."
All colour drained from the Animagus' face, and he swayed where he stood.
"Is he dead?" he asked quietly.
"No. He's over there," Dumbledore replied, pointing to the far end of the ward. "But, Sirius…"
It was no use; Sirius was already sprinting down the room, his feet skidding on the polished floor. The old wizard followed at a more sedate pace.
Sirius looked down upon the slight figure on the bed, and felt tears begin to flow freely down his face. Remus' skin was waxen, the blue veins visible, crisscrossed by flaming red lines which seemed to cut into the flesh. His lips were a silvery blue, and his eyes moved restlessly beneath their lids. It was only that feverish flickering which reminded him that his beloved was still numbered among the living.
Sinking nervelessly into the chair set beside the bed, Sirius gazed up at the Headmaster who now stood beside him.
"What. Did. They. Do. To. Him?" he ground out between clenched teeth.
Dumbledore laid one hand on Sirius' shoulder before replying.
"It was a spell of Voldemort's own devising. It spread a fine silver powder throughout Remus' body."
A murderous flame lit in Sirius' eyes.
"It's poisoning him."
Dumbledore nodded.
"What's the cure?"
"Sirius, there is no cure."
"Don't be bloody stupid. There must be," the Animagus exploded.
Dumbledore squeezed the younger man's shoulder sympathetically, but his words were relentless.
"Believe me, Sirius. There is no cure. Not only is the curse unknown, but no-one has thought it desirable to cure a werewolf until now."
Sirius was silent, staring miserably at Remus.
"He's going to die?" he whispered hoarsely, looking at Dumbledore with piteous eyes.
"Yes," replied the old wizard, and there could be no mistaking the great grief shining in his eyes. "It could be hours, or it could be days, but he will die."
Desolation muted the colour of Sirius' eyes.
"Will you … will you leave me alone with him for a while?" he asked.
Dumbledore nodded, and withdrew from the room.
Once more, Sirius slumped into the chair. He reached one shaking hand out and traced the austere line of Remus' jaw. His fingers tangled in the soft brown hair, and he noticed the strands of silver which spread beneath his fingers.
Even with the cruel marks cobwebbing Remus' face, Sirius could not help admiring the beauty before him: that stubborn mouth and the faint dusting of freckles across that high-bridged nose.
The realisation hit him like the end of the world, like the blind rage which had consumed him all those years in Azkaban: nothing mattered more than this.
Open-mouthed, he gaped into the far distance, enthralled by the truth he perceived by the first time.
"Remus," he murmured, "how can I not have seen this? How could I have cast you aside for a past we can't change and a future we can't know?"
His voice broke.
"Please forgive me."
His hand tangled once more in the silky hair, drawing it lovingly back from Remus' high forehead.
The werewolf stirred uneasily, and, mind still muzzy with sleep, nuzzled the hand which caressed the side of his face.
He reached up to grasp the wandering limb, pressing the callused skin against his own freezing flesh, disregarding the stabs of agony which the pressure caused.
"Remus?" Sirius asked, uncertainty catching in his voice.
With agonizing slowness, the werewolf escaped the bonds of sleep.
"Siri?"
"I'm here."
Remus released the hand as if it burned him.
"I … I apologize. I did not realise it was you."
They stared at each other across the unbridgeable chasm.
Remus broke the silence first.
"What are you doing here?" he inquired, trying to keep his tone conversational, despite the furious beating of his heart.
Affectionately, Sirius stretched out one hand to Remus.
"Dumbledore told me what had happened. How could I leave you, who I have shared so much with, alone now?"
Sirius cursed the inadequacy and clumsiness of the words almost before they left his mouth.
A spasm of pain wracked Remus' slender frame although an uncannily sweet smile graced his lips.
"Ah, I see. You pity me because I am dying."
"No. And you're not dying."
"Don't humour me, Sirius Black. I know perfectly well what's happening to me," Remus snapped. "I can feel it destroying me, cell by cell."
As if to emphasise his point, his pallid lips were gradually becoming stained with cruel scarlet blood.
"I never wanted your pity, Sirius: not for my lycanthropy, not for anything else. I wanted … I want your love for its own sake. If I can't have that…"
He trailed off, his breathing ragged, and lifted one desperately shaking hand slowly to brush away the glittering tear tracks on Sirius' cheek.
"I only want you to love me as I love you. I don't want you to sit here and hold my hand merely because you remember what there once was between us and pity my disintegration because of that," he said with a small smile, even though the effort left him gasping for breath.
"But I don't pity you. I love…" Sirius began.
"You said it yourself: that you are here because of what was," the werewolf replied heavily, bowed down by the burden of emotion. "But thank you for trying anyway."
His eyes clouded with pain, and, averting his head, he slipped once more into unconsciousness. Sirius watched him sleep, brooding.
"Well that went well, Padfoot," he muttered to himself. "Did you really expect him to fall into your arms after that lovely chat you both had last summer?"
He winced at the memory.
"'Oh, of course, Sirius, I believe you love me despite the fact that you keep changing your mind'," he mimicked. "Moron."
He cracked his head against the bedpost, then sat back, chewing his fingernails and cursing himself fluently under his breath. The guttering candles cast deep shadows across his face, reflecting in the midnight hair which fell across his furrowed forehead.
Finally, one single thought shook him from his malaise.
"He mustn't die," he whispered angrily. "I won't let him die."
He drummed his fingers restlessly on the arm of the chair.
"Ahh."
He sprang from the chair, pure determination settling across his features, and slipped from the room, forgetting entirely to resume his Animagus form. He moved stealthily through the dim corridors, his tattered black robe fading into the shadows, and headed determinedly for the depths of the dungeons. There was one person who could help. Even if he would not want to.
TBC
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
*begs for feedback*
*cackles evilly* I told you not to give up hope yet…