Remus Lupin had not earned his one-year romp of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts simply because Dumbledore had felt sorry for a hapless werewolf; years of actually paying attention in school combined with the strange first-hand knowledge that comes with life as a dark creature had given him worthy experience. Yet it was only during the wars against Voldemort that the knowledge had ever been put to full practical use. Voldemort's mind was twisted with evil and only made for the darkest magic Remus could imagine; strange things had been seen over the years but the horror of seeing a victim of a Dementor could never slacken. A soulless, breathing corpse was an affront to nature. There couldn't be a fate more worse. That was serious and dark magic.
But he couldn't shake the irony that the key to the situation lay in the seven years watching the antics of James Potter and Sirius Black and their complex works of transfiguration. Animal transformation, sadly enough, came natural to Remus. The Marauders had been proud of their skills, but the familiarity should have been useful. Remus tapped lightly on the stolen bottle, watching trance-like as the potion whirled inside. Polyjuice potion, of all things. He the spell to be complicated and more than a little out of the mainstream, and the previous mess of Crouch Jr. should have stayed in the memory of those in the Order. Then again, never had polyjuice potion been used in such a way—at least Remus had never heard of an incident. The element of transformation upon something defenseless. . . the idea made Remus' skin crawl.
The sun had nearly set, and still sent its final fiery blazes along the horizon and through patches in the trees where Remus hid. A scattered few stars had already forced their way above. Soon the moon would have its strength. Another night of the full moon, another night Remus accepted with calm placidity and the fond memories of wild Marauder nights back at school. He had already drank his potion; the little village of Dragon's Tooth had nothing to fear. He didn't want to cause a ruckus by going inside; he could spend the night hypothesizing and test the results in the morning.
The first question sounded like something out of a joke: Why the juxtaposition of Dormand's soulless body and a bottle of polyjuice potion? That was answered easily enough, though with more than one answer. Someone happened to have a bottle around at the time. Bound to raise a few eyebrows, but there was nothing illegal about polyjuice potion.
But there was another question that defied all logic. Only an hour or so after leaving Percy with Dormand, Remus had actually seen the latter, perfectly alive and aware. As far as anyone knew, the Dementor's Kiss was permanent and irreversible. Of course, there was the off-chance that Remus had been wrong in his diagnosis. Normally he would have accepted that explanation. But something, some higher intuition that maybe came with being a werewolf, told him no. And so he entertained another theory, one so ridiculous it could have been a children's story, and in the beginning he was tempted to brush it away as such. But the more he thought about it, the more he liked it in the twistedly morbid taste of a hunter stalking his prey. He couldn't be sure; but as the moonlight poured over him and twisted his body, the more the absurdities appeared technical.
He lay on the ground, panting deeply, grass and dust stirring from his animal breath. The pain never seemed to lessen. Sometimes he missed the screaming, killing madness of the times before his potion's discovery. But only for a moment. The bones and flesh finally stilled, and he pushed himself up, letting the wolf eyes adjust to the darkness. A walk would open his mind, and he could think. He started forward through the trees, away from the village, enjoying his sharpened smell of the musky forest.
A few miles off the ground broke for a stream, clean water rushing over rocks toward who knew where. Remus paused for a drink, lapping it up with his tongue.
The crack of a twig caused him to lift his head, cold water still dripping from his mouth. A figure appeared downstream, human. It turned, catching the moonlight. Dormand. He stood where he was for a long time, so still a human Remus would have thought it a statue. Another figure appeared from the trees opposite the stream. It was unrecognizable, draped in a heavy cloak. It walked toward the stream and into it. There was no splash, no change in the person's movement. It hovered above the water, almost on it.
The sight was so strange that Remus half expected Dormand's frozen body to double over in a bow. But he still remained motionless.
"A mere toy," the cloaked figure said. The voice was female, heavy and clear. "A puppet with strings for me to hold."
Remus thought she was speaking to Dormand, but a third figure appeared from the woods behind the woman, a man Remus did not recognize. "I admit your toy is useful. I'd like to control it sometime."
The woman laughed, a dark rich sound that echoed through the trees. "As soon as I finish my game. A week or so, I promise. If you want one sooner, find your own."
"As soon as our enemies find them, they kill the unfortunate creatures, put them out of their misery," the man said. "Though what misery, I don't know."
"They're empty," the woman agreed. "And some of the best soldiers Lord Voldemort has found in years. I realize I say it all the time, but I love them."
"And yet the Dark Lord preferred this one was he was aware. One of his finest servants, he said. Yet the poor fool failed."
Dormand's body lost its stiffness in a sudden downward slump.
"Imperious!" the woman shrieked.
The body jerked to its former statue-like position.
"You have to do that ever so often," the man muttered.
"And yet the entire village would be better off this way. See if you can call in a Dementor or two. Some of the younger ones grow suspicious. I'm afraid one of mine will all in."
The man laughed after a subtle hesitation. "You care about them?"
"Some. I'm very fond of some; they've potential. And I don't want them mixing with the wrong crowd."
"And that may be what's keeping you from getting the Order in here. Are they not yet suspicious?"
"There is one, if you remember. He had one of the lowest ranks among us. Recruited through the Ministry. Betrayed us by warning that Weasley trash."
Remus' sharp nails bit into the soft earth.
"I've seen him around," the woman continued. "Spoke with him just this night."
"What did you tell him?"
"That's none of your concern," she hissed. She fumbled through her robes, then levitated a bottle to Dormand. "Extra, puppet. Continue your duties. Now if you don't mind, Jason, I'll be taking my leave." With a bang she apparated.
Cursing, the man Jason followed her leave.
Then, slowly, Dormand pocketed the bottle, turned, and
disappeared into the trees, leaving only a wolf standing in the moonlight near
the stream. Of all things, his theory
was correct.
