Hi! Another cliffhanger, another cliffhanger :) Alright, I've been analyzing, and after this chapter, I'm pretty sure that there's one more to go. Depends on how I cut it—might be two more, but at most this story shouldn't be any more than thirteen chapters. At most.
Oh, Zetta? I fixed that 'warlock wizard' thing from last chapter, as well as another small mistake I made. Thanks for pointing it out :)
Okay, this chapter was brought to you by a sugar high, because the authoress was still half asleep and not very coherent.
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The House of Wolves
The Marauders sat in the common room, glancing every two seconds at their watches or at the great grandfather clock next to the portrait entrance. It was eight forty-five, which meant that Remus was very late. Forgivably late, provided that he did the nasty with Sarky, but late nonetheless.
He'd promised them that he'd definitely get there by eight-thirty—despite Sirius pointing out that Sarky probably wasn't going to take kindly to that—so they could traipse down to McGonagall.
Sirius and James were driving Peter absolutely insane by lightly singing nasty songs about Snape in French, and relieving him somewhat when they went back to their earlier wonderings about what would happen if every commode in the school was flushed at once. Peter had the sinking feeling that he didn't want to find out, especially when Sirius cheerfully said that he'd float a candy bar down the hall and see what the girls did.
Finally, James just sighed. "We're going to have to break up the party," he said. "He'll understand. George the Smarmy, right?"
Sirius nodded, smirking. "Knowing Remus," he said, getting up, "he'll probably be sitting there discussing goblin rebellions and ancient playwrights with Niller. He's such a wuss that way."
Peter shrugged, indiscreetly slipping on the Invisibility Cloak when nobody was looking. Then Sirius and James seemingly headed out of the portrait "alone", with the portrait entrance lingering open just a bit longer than usual, and going out into the hallway. Terry called after them to be back before curfew, but sighed as he didn't think they heard—or chose to—and Largo pulled his attention back to one of the Playwizards that he "didn't have."
The trio snuck down the hallway silently, which was mostly devoid of students. Sirius and James were laughing and talking loudly about Quidditch to deceive any prying eyes, and they had Peter watch behind them from under the cloak, to see if they were being followed.
The statue was a good distance away from the common room, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the Marauders. Blotter's words became softer as they neared George the Smarmy, ears trained for any embarrassing sounds. Sirius had to fight from grinning, wondering if they were actually catch the snarky werewolf doing something nobody would have thought he would.
There was no noise whatsoever. They rounded the corner and saw the statue, whose subject wore an expression of utmost smugness, and a large stone gargoyle jutting out from the wall, leering and sneering at them like it knew something they didn't. Its mocking eyes seemed to follow them, and the wicked smile carved into the stone seemed to stretch without moving an inch.
The Marauders looked on in bewilderment. Then James pulled out their secret weapon—the Marauders map.
He hadn't taken it out before, since he'd been positive that they'd find Remus there and hadn't seen the need to pull it out. But now, his brows drawn together with puzzlement, he unfolded the map and looked around to see that they were alone before raising his right hand to his heart.
"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he said with the utmost sincerity. The parchment rippled as though water had been spilled upon it, and the swirls solidified into rooms and passages throughout the castle. A smile tugged at James' mouth as he saw two dots labeled Arthur Weasley and Molly Weatherly in the south wing.
But the small smile faded as there was no Remus to be found. No Sarky, either. James frowned at the map, wondering if it was working properly. Unless Remus and Sarky had gone to a passage that wasn't on the map—which James highly doubted; most of their previous five school years were dedicated to exploring every last inch of Hogwarts—then they should be on there.
Sirius stopped smirking, and a shadow of concern fell over his face as he read James' look of confusion, and knew immediately that Remus wasn't labeled on the parchment. He frowned, looking around, and stooped to the floor. When he spoke, his tone was grave and was devoid of the merry underlining that was usually embedded.
"We are complete blockheads," he said seriously.
James' shoulders sagged as the realization hit him also. He'd gone and done exactly what he'd feared—put one of his closest friends in danger. He quietly folded the parchment up and slid it into his pocket. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid.
Peter was right—Sarky must have gone on vacation, who else could it be—
Peter, still hidden under the cloak, stooped suddenly and picked something up, rising back up and wordlessly showing it to James, who didn't even flinch at the hand appearing out of thin air right beside him. His eyes were transfixed on the glistening strand of hair clenched in Peter's shaking hand, the thread glinting a fierce red in the dim light of Sirius' wand. None of them spoke for a minute.
"Evans," said Sirius, testing the name out, tasting it with disgust. "I don't believe it."
"Maybe she just passed by earlier," said Peter hopefully. He'd always liked Lily; she always showed him a decency and respect that was given to him by precious few people.
James, if possible, sagged further. "No," he said wearily. "It was Evans." He couldn't call her 'Lily'. "I saw her talking to him yesterday—she said something that rattled him. I should have made him tell me," he said bitterly. "I should have forced him to tell me what she said."
"Don't start on that self-pity crap, or I'll sock you in the face," Sirius said warningly. "We should have all seen when Evans came up earlier today—she's never interested in gossip, why'd she have wanted to know if Remus was meeting Sarky? We all should have realized, Jim, not just you."
Peter was feeling miserable, looking at the strand of incriminating evidence in his white-knuckled little fists. He was also to blame for this mess, and it was all he could do to keep his composure when he looked at James, standing there lost, shaken.
"Where'd she take him?" Peter asked.
"Lupi," Sirius said instantly. He continued before anybody could protest. "She was attacked—we all thought it was strange when she wasn't damaged, but they wouldn't want to hurt her, would they? Not when they could use her to hurt us."
Peter hesitated. "So…you really think that Lily's not…herself? She can't control herself?"
"There's plenty of charms to control someone with—"
"Then there's two lives at stake," James said suddenly, breaking into a trot, the defeat no longer evident in his voice. It was a remarkably abrupt change, like a light had suddenly been flicked on. "Once they're done with Lily, who knows what they could do…" He grabbed a hunk of the Invisibility Cloak and threw it over them all, covering them as they ran. None of them asked where the other was going; it was a unanimous, silent decision—they were going to Lupi. Sirius hung in the back, following James and Peter who had been to the entrance before.
It was a good fifteen minutes of winding down different hallways, leaping down dungeon stairs and opening secret passages before they came to a staggering halt in front of the ominous door, over which the same nasty-looking symbols were inscribed. Peter poked his head out of the Cloak and popped it right back in as the door reluctantly opened, as though it knew they shouldn't be there.
All the while, Peter's mind was racing. If Lupi was going to do something, why wasn't he told? The answer came with clarity as soon as the question did: because they knew that little Pettigrew might get cold feet when it came to injuring one of his best friends…
The door opened with some creaks that, while normally unnoticeable, rang abysmally loud to the Marauders. They slunk in under the Cloak, confident that the door's opening was going to attract attention with nobody coming out of it.
But they were able to exhale and simultaneously worry as nobody looked at the entrance. Sirius' mouth hung open at the huge, vaulted dungeon, and his gaze lingered at the dark blue-and-silver banner with the familiar outline of a wolf.
Then his attention was drawn to the cult members, and felt dread lining the pit of his stomach. Fifty boys stood with rigid attention, their chins high and lips drawn back in very canine grins. He couldn't see what they were looking at, but he knew it wasn't good.
Beside him, James was hissing in Peter's ear. "Go and get McGonagall and Dumbledore. Lead them back here. You're the only one that can open the door."
"What are you going to do?" Peter whispered worriedly.
"Hold the fort," James said grimly.
Peter looked at him. The teenager was not joking. A tsunami of doubts and fear washed over—no way could two teenaged boys take on fifty others and expect to hold out…James' mouth was set. He knew he might not survive. Sirius bore the same determined expression, eyes hard and stubborn.
Peter nodded slowly. They inched back to the entrance and Peter slipped out of the Cloak and up the winding, damp dungeon stairs, praying that he was not intercepted before he reached the Professor.
James and Sirius watched him go, keeping a wary eye on the other boys in case they got curious as to why the door kept opening and closing when no one was there. Then slowly, silently, hardly daring to breathe, they crept around the rapt crowd. Sirius saw now that they were not watching something; but instead, waiting.
And what he did see made him sick.
A wooden structure had been constructed at the far end of the enormous dungeon. A wooden frame had been painstakingly created, a crosspiece in the center. From the constructed crosspiece hung a single rope with a loop tied at the end. Sirius had never seen one before; never really learned about it, but yet he knew what the monstrosity was, as all people have a natural knowledge of all that was foul and cruel.
It was a gallows.
The assembled boys hovered with a sick and eager anticipation, as though they were witnessing a sporting event. Their genuine grins were nauseating to see; grins that provided a disturbing outlook into their minds. They were insane. There was no other word for it.
James was experiencing a similar reaction to the wooden monster, but was scanning the crowd, not letting himself think that Peter—or even possibly himself, if he had accepted the invitation—could have been in that assembly, wearing the same foul smiles that rotted the eyes. He was looking for a particular person.
And there it was—a bobbing, red head of hair next to the gallows, the girl sitting primly in a chair, eyes staring vacantly ahead of her. James' breath caught in his throat. Lily's face bore no expression to show that she was even conscious of the happenings around her. Hands were clasped limply in her lap, like a mannequin doll whose strings had been cut. James could have danced naked in front of her and she wouldn't have even blinked.
James was never surer that that was not the Lily he knew.
The crowd's excited murmurings ceased and eased into a deathly silence, a calm before the storm that would inevitably come. The wicked sneers widened as a familiar face popped into view and ascended the wooden stage.
Daniel Vargas stood there, his face no less pleased than everybody else's.
"Brothers," he started, lifting his arms, "you know why we are here."
The boys laughed terribly, as though Vargas had said something very witty and clever. It was a knowing laugh that sent chills down James' and Sirius' spines. Vargas waited patiently for the laughter to disperse. James knew full well that this was possibly the only occasion where Vargas would let the Lupi members get away with interrupting him. This was a celebration. James' fists clenched.
"This," continued Vargas, "is a momentous occasion. Too rarely are we allowed to deal just desserts to those undeserving of life…" A roar of agreement followed that pronouncement, showing that the Lupi members only sympathized with those words too well. James' and Sirius' lips simultaneously curled.
"But now we are rewarded by our patience, and at last we have begun to cleanse our world of filth." The hidden teenager's eyes widened.
The word "filth" was obviously a cue, for at that time, the crowd began cheering madly. Several boys in the crows parted to let some burly members through, all of which were violently ushering along a fiercely struggling figure. Sirius and James didn't need confirmation before their feet swiftly stole around the perimeter and, with a feline grace, silently up the stairs leading to the gallows.
They already knew, but it was a sick confirmation when they saw Remus being dragged, bound and gagged, up to the mouth of the wooden beast. Although he could not speak, he was fighting viciously, lashing out with heavy boots at all he passed by. His wand obviously having been taken away, he could do little harm to those out of reach, but he kicked savagely at anybody he could.
He stumbled as they shoved him up the steps and tripped, falling face-first on the planks with a grunt of pain. The great big brutes that had been 'escorting' him up there kicked him hard in the stomach. From their spots, James and Sirius could see the scars on Remus' face from previous maltreatment.
A hot surge of anger sparked in the boys' blood. Blinded by fury, both wanted desperately to get up and pummel the hell out of Vargas and the boys who were kicking Remus, but a shred of common sense warned them not to make a move quite yet.
Remus managed to get up and was forced to mount the tiny precipice behind Vargas where a foreboding noose hung waiting for him. Remus fought all the harder.
Vargas watched the struggle idly, strangely ignoring the delighted jeers from the crowd. Normally he would have quieted them long before, but Vargas himself was wearing a look of hungry anticipation the mirrored the rest of Lupi's. It was not the cool, calm, and collected look of a predator, but rather a savage animal.
Vargas smiled and turned back. "We are aware that this is normally a Muggle form of execution," he said. His voice was thinner and readier than normal, too, but still contained the mocking, self-possession it always did. "However, as werewolves are as much of filth as Muggles themselves, we thought it appropriate."
James frowned, although he was still seething with anger. "We?" he whispered to Sirius. "He never says that."
Sirius bared his teeth. "This is a 'momentous occasion'," he grated, echoing Vargas' previous words. "Normal rules don't apply."
Peter thundered through the halls, heart pounding against his rib cage; threatening to burst right out of his chest. But he could not stop running. He shoved haunting images of what might be happening just then out of his mind and concentrated on finding McGonagall's office.
He turned a corner and slammed headfirst into someone rounding the bend at the same time. Peter teetered but kept his balance. The other person, however, was not so lucky and toppled, falling ungracefully to the floor.
Micker Linguini glared at him balefully from his spot on the floor. "Watch where you're going, you great big oaf," he snapped, hopping up and brushing himself off. He wasn't much taller standing than he was sprawled on the floor. He puffed his chest out menacingly.
"Sorry," Peter huffed, and started to go around, but was stopped but a tiny foot lashing out. Peter couldn't stop and tripped, throwing his hands out in front of him to break the heavy fall. He grunted with pain as he made very solid contact with the stone floor. He looked angrily at Linguini for an explanation.
Micker was twirling his short, stubby wand, completely unconcerned. "Whoops," he said lazily, attempting a deep voice. "What's your hurry?" He carried a dangerous tone. Peter thought quickly while getting up and making sure his wand was in easy reach.
"Handing a late essay in," he said.
Micker squinted in what he hoped was a very intimidating manner. "Doesn't look like that."
"Of course not, I've stopped!" And with that, Peter took off running again. This time, a blue light wrapped around his legs and again Peter came crashing to the ground. His wand clattered against the stone.
"Why'd you do that?" he demanded.
Micker leaned down. "Don't want you slipping anything to the Professorhead," he said simply. "Don't want a little birdie telling him about our plans."
"What plans?" Peter asked, feigning innocence and struggling against his bonds. Micker laughed harshly.
"Don't play dumb with me, Porky. You never have to fake it." Micker paused. That would be a good line for his book. He hastily tore the notebook out and scribbled the insult in it before putting it back inside his coat. Peter stared.
"I'm not doing anything," he repeated.
"Yeah right," Micker said. "I saw you come tearing out of the entrance at warp speed." Unbeknownst to the other Lupi members, he was very fond of the Muggle show Star Trek—a face that he wisely kept hidden. "I knew exactly what you were doing."
Micker sneered and raised his wand. "Now it's your turn to have an accident, Porkchop."
With lightning reflexes that Peter didn't even know he had, he snatched up his wand and before Micker—who was even worse at dueling than Peter himself—could utter a single curse, Peter cried "Petrificus Totalus!"
Micker's body froze. His legs snapped together and his arms stuck to his side. The only things moving were his eyes that were wide with shock and anger.
Peter briefly felt a euphoric relief at having beaten him in so little time—or hell, having gotten him at all—before sharp footsteps could be heard rounding the corner that Micker had come around. Peter looked up as Professor McGonagall appeared, anger and then surprise on her face.
Peter struggled up—which was difficult, seeing as how his legs were still bound together—and said breathlessly: "Professor—you have to come. Where's the headmaster?"
Meanwhile, Vargas was pausing for good effect, for some reason, relishing the attention focused on him like never before. "It is ironic," he said musingly, "that our House symbol is a wolf, and it is a werewolf that we first eliminate. But there is a reason for that.
"Wolves are intelligent, swift, and dangerous—as are we." Many heads nodded. "We are wolves in mind, for we possess those qualities. But this half-breed, this…mutant, mutt; he is wolf also in blood. He befouls the human race with his foul stench. He is a hybrid, an unnatural bastard of sentiency and dumb beast—he cannot live. He cannot be allowed to pollute our way of living."
Behind Vargas, Remus was stone-faced, a stoic wall of no expression whatsoever. But James and Sirius could see his fists clenched, white-knuckled.
"We are this world's future," said Vargas, raising his hands once more. His voice took on a squeaky pitch that James had never heard before—a tone of excitement. "We are truly the elite; we will own the future and purge the undeserving." His hands shook fervently. The mass hung onto every word, hungry, craving for more.
"We shall wash away the filth and foul-blooded."
The crowd roared.
"We are the strong, the bold. We will kill anyone who stands in our way. We will be great. We shall hang the bloodied corpses of our enemies for all to see, starting with this mongrel." He pointed at Remus. Lupi bellowed, and several threw rotten foods that they had kept in anticipation for this event.
James tried to tear his eyes away for just one second, but he couldn't. It was horrifying; it was sick and wrong, but he just couldn't not look. It was like a bad accident—terrible, tragic, but fascinating. He was sick to his stomach and were he not torn between horror and trying to find a way to get Remus out, he would most certainly have thrown up. He could see no blood, but it was easily the goriest scene he had ever witnessed—this went beyond calling someone a Mud Blood; it was racism and hatred to the extreme, a brutal look at the most basic human savagery.
They were lynching a teenage boy.
The wild, blood-shot eyes waiting for the life to be squeezed out of the werewolf's face, the leering, snarling lips stretched in feral grins, was something that James, for as long as he would live, would never forget. It was the putrid stench of evil, and it filled his nostrils and overwhelmed his senses until it became ingrained in his memory and forced hot tears from his eyes. Beside him, Sirius was much the same. Neither boy could believe what they were witnessing and both were repulsed.
Vargas stepped up to Remus, who tried to kick but received a severe blow in the ribs, and easily slid the noose around Remus' neck. The boy tried desperately to fight, willing magic to come even with the absence of his wand, and managed to seriously burn Vargas' hand, but could not stop the thick, coarse rope from snaking around his throat and tightening. He was beyond fear; it didn't occur to him to be afraid, all he knew was that he had to take the bastard down with him…
James and Sirius slunk up behind the scaffold, only a few inches from Remus. Sirius leaned over and whispered into the boy's ear.
"We're here for you, buddy," he hissed. James worked furiously at the knot binding Remus' hands, and slipped him a wand that he'd swiped from a swaying Lupi member they'd passed. A smile passed over Remus' face as he heard the words and felt circulation returning to his fingers, and the smooth wand gliding into his hand.
Vargas frowned at the smile. "Come to accept your fate, have you?"
Remus smiled more widely. "More than you know," he said, as he felt the noose being carefully untied. Then the knot was undone, but it was at an angle where none other than the Marauders could notice.
Remus spoke again. "You know," he said amicably, "you guys should really wash this dungeon more often. I have a sensitive nose."
And with those parting words, James and Sirius quickly threw the Cloak over Remus.
Everyone gasped in shock and anger as their prize disappeared right in front of them. Vargas groped wildly at the spot where their captive had been, but his hands only caught fistfuls of air.
The Marauders couldn't help themselves—on the count of three, they unleashed swift and powerful kicks into Vargas' family jewels. The Lupi leader doubled over in pain, hands grasping the injured area. Then the Marauders beat it out of there, away from the hands that tried to grab at the seemingly empty air.
"Get to the exit!" Vargas choked out.
The trio ran full out, the Cloak just barely covering them all, and were just to the door when ten members blocked their way. One member stepped on a corner of the Cloak and it fell off, revealing James, Sirius, and Remus.
The room was deathly silent.
The Marauders took out their wands and held them steadily.
Vargas stormed up through the silent crowd, fuming and still in pain. His eyes flashed with anger, a tangible wave of fury directed mostly at James. A malicious smile spread wickedly. "So we kill three birds with one stone," he said. The Marauders stood back to back, ready to fight.
Vargas' eyes narrowed. "Kill th—"
Before he could even finish his words, the three began fighting, Stunning and rendering unconscious at least a dozen boys in the blink of an eye, all in less than a second. More surged on them, quickly recovering from the sudden shock, and unleashed every nasty curse they knew, trying desperately to kill them.
Instead, in their fervor, their shots rebounded off of each other. Six boys dropped dead of fire from their own peers.
Vargas managed to get a clear shot at James, who was physically fighting off two burly boys trying to wrestle his wand away. He viciously kicked them and looked up to see Vargas scream the words "Avada Kedavra!" An acid green light lanced out from his wand. James, reflexes honed and sharpened by years of Quidditch, ducked. The light struck one of the boys he'd been fighting square between the eyes. The boy fell in a heap, dead before he could even register surprise. He wasn't any more than fourteen years old.
James couldn't allow himself to feel horror before whipping his wand up, so fast it was a blur, and shouting out "Avadra Ked— "
He stopped as Lily Evans planted herself between his wand and Daniel Vargas. He paid dearly for his sudden hesitation as a blow rocked his head. He saw stars, and something trickled into his eyes. Blood.
Vargas laughed. He laughed, and his words could be heard over the roaring crowd. "It's called the Dementor Curse," he called, raising his wand enough to hover it above Lily's shoulder; the coward he was, using her as his human shield. "It's was invented by Lupi's very founder. Very useful!"
And again, Vargas yelled the Killing Curse.
But he made the mistake of looking over Lily's shoulder. Faster than the blink of an eye, James' wand snapped up and he yelled "Reverso!"
A shimmering shield enveloped his wand, and the curse hit it and bounced off, James straining with effort to keep the immensely difficult spell up, sweat shining on his face and neck. Vargas was unsuccessful in shoving Lily back in front of his person, but did manage to duck. The beam hit Darby Magar and the boy fell listlessly down to the ground. Shiloh Shanks was nowhere to be seen—was he among the already fallen?
Vargas and Lily disappeared behind a veritable wall of human flesh, pressing in on the Marauders, who were still back to back fighting to the death. They yelled curses and physically fought off attacks, coughing up blood when particularly hard blows struck them.
James knew with absolute certainty that he was going to die. But he would take the bastards down with him.
Blow after blow, curse after curse rained down on him. James could feel his brain shutting down. It was dying. His injured arm would no longer move at all. It was not severed again—his brain was, it wasn't functioning anymore…
He could feel his heart slowing down, the beats farther and farther apart. Shadow demons invaded his vision. He kept fighting.
Beside him, Sirius and Remus were also weakening, although their brains were still alive, still alert, still searching for a way out…
James staggered. He looked dully up where a boy had his wand leveled with James' eyes. In his dying mind, James remembered who it was…Richard Lox. A Ravenclaw. He'd been in Arithmancy with this boy…had laughed with him…
But now Richard's eyes were cold. He opened his mouth.
And a bright light surged through the room, blinding those that were still alive. Richard was knocked to the ground. James looked blearily, with double-vision, as a vaguely familiar form was silhouetted in the light…the comforting light…James stumbled again. His heart slowed some more.
The man yelled something, and every boy there dropped his wand. James dimly felt his own slipping out of his hand as though an unseen hand had yanked it from his grasp, and settled with a heavy weight to the floor. James sort of stared at it, beyond pain, eyes clouding.
The wizard said more words, and a tangible shield formed itself around the battered Marauders. James barely saw it. It was sort of pretty. Why couldn't he fall? He wanted to…to lay down…and sleep…he was so tired…
Through hazy vision he looked up again, everything going darker. In the shadows he saw the boys he'd been fighting silently pick up their wands. They had lost. There was an impregnable shield around the Marauders and around the wizard himself. Lupi was gone, done for.
Without a word, each member pointed their wands at their throats grimly. The wizard hissed sharply, realizing what they were doing, telling them to stop, but before he could knock their wands away again, the boys said in a quiet, monotonous voice, each one in harmony with the others:
"Avadra Kedavra."
And together, they crumpled to the ground, except for Lily, who blinked as though coming awake from a deep sleep, looking in bewilderment and dawning horror around the room full of bodies.
James managed a smile before his last shred of life was cut and he too, sank to the ground.
Last chapter next.
