Chapter Five: Infliction
Note: Okay. I gave Charlotte a cameo. So, sue me. 0o; She's my own created character, for Rowena's sake – the personification of myself, tossed into Hogwarts. --;; I can't help it. oo; I also put in Stephen Maturin – not that anyone knows who THAT is, or anything.
Well, that was easier than he had thought it would have been. The rat sped down the sewers. Curiously, the feelings of remorse, of regret, did not attack Peter's flimsy conscience. There was surprisingly nothing. No emotion, in that regard, whatsoever.
Peter curled his front paw to his chest tentatively. He would staunch the flow of blood once he got out of this God be damned place...
The rat ignored the memory of the screams. Despite his efforts, the shrieks of the dying rang in his ears. He shook them away, the left side of his nose twitching with an itch. He shrugged it away, in what he imagined to be an almost flawlessly rodent manner. Well, it wasn't for lack of practice.
His master was gone. Peter's nose twitched, becoming more and more rat- like with each erratic tweak. Dead? No – that wasn't possible. The Dark Lord could – WOULD defeat death. He squeaked. He would just have to keep his ears open.
Remus reached for his keys. It was still too difficult to believe, even though he had faced this monstrosity for nearly an entire day, now. He had shouldered the burden with scarce success for nigh twenty-four hours; and yet, he could not help but wonder how much longer he could possibly last.
His eyes were glazed, partially from the hangover that insisted on draining every ounce of energy he possessed. Remus shivered involuntarily. That wasn't all, 'though, he was sure – there was something wrong. He looked down at the keys in his hand. The scarred digits that wrapped about them were shaking.
The boarding house corridor was deserted – Remus figured they had all left, displeased with a particular apartment down the hall... He slid the key into the lock and twisted, an especial jerk to the right, due to the fact that it was broken. To his surprise, it was found unlocked. Peter, probably, as he particularly recalled locking the door after he had left for Knockturn. Remus faltered for a moment, felt his strength leave him for a few moments. He grimaced, and with extra force applied, he pushed the door open.
Lupin's mouth slid agape. Every chink, every crevice had been searched. The papers, usually so neat and in stacks on his desk, were sprawled across the floor; the drawers of the nightstand gaped, the contents shifted through. His amber eyes darted for some sign of the perpetrator –
A witch was gazing about the kitchen, apparently unaware of Remus's presence. The werewolf himself was surprised that she was even still there – any robber worth his salt would have been gone long since. Slowly, carefully, Lupin treaded across the wood floors towards her, left hand gripping his wand in his pocket, at the ready for even the briefest flash of danger. The picture of stealth.
The floor creaked.
"Hm?"
The witch turned about, her right heel a pivot about the kitchen tile. She found Remus staring at her from across the kitchen counter. "What are you doing here?" she questioned, blinking owlishly. A camera hung loosely from her hand.
"I think the question is what are YOU doing here," replied Remus, voice struggling to keep calm. "You are breaking and entering, miss."
The witch adjusted her spectacles on her nose and squinted to discern who this fellow was. "You live here?" Remus nodded. "Lupin?" she mused aloud. He nodded again.
"You know who I am," Remus murmured, "now, kindly tell me who YOU are."
The witch wrinkled her nose. "I'm sorry, Lupin," she said, with some difficulty. "You – you haven't heard, have you?" She peered at him questioningly.
"Heard what?" he asked cautiously. "I already know about – about the Potters." He swallowed. Acceptance. He had accepted that they were dead. Remus's eyes flicked down to his shoes.
The witch shook her head. "No – no, Lupin." She hung her head. "They caught him."
"Caught him?" Remus echoed. "What do you mean?"
"They've caught Black, Lupin."
Her words hit him like a pang. They had caught Sirius – they had captured him, which meant he had committed a crime. For the first time, he realised, despite all this while he had suspected, conspired, this was the first moment he had actually believed it. Remus felt something shatter within him. Sirius was a traitor.
"They caught him earlier today – the Department was short-handed – for the investigation, I mean." She waved a hand vaguely about the apartment. "What with all the celebrations, a lot of people didn't turn up for work. They had me come and inspect, you know – possible incentives, motives... 'Though all that was pretty clear, without my coming here, you know." She paused. "But it's protocol – I had to come check this out."
Remus nodded – he hadn't really been paying attention. "Yeah. Where's Peter?" he asked. The Ministry witch gave him a blank stare. "Peter Pettigrew. Where is he?"
The witch bit her lip. This job was more difficult than she'd thought it would be. "Pettigrew – Pettigrew's dead, Lupin." The words took a moment to take in. Remus his jaw slacken, and his entire being felt numb. "That's why I'm here. Black killed him."
Lupin's mouth went dry. His eyes, 'though seeing, refused to filter the images to his mind. It felt as 'though everything was shutting down... Dead. Everyone was dead, and if not dead, as good as. All betrayed, or had... Remus swallowed, but there was no forgiving sweep of unconsciousness, no sudden merciful apology – "Oh, I'm sorry. I made a mistake. They're all alive. James, Lily, Peter – they're all waiting for you. Sirius never betrayed you, or anyone else." The words never came. Or even better, "Wake up. It's all been a dream."
No dream. Nothing. Suddenly, the immense weariness, the quiescent venom within, sprang to life. The werewolf felt his entire being stiffen. Not physically, really, but internally – Remus took one more deep breath before surrender was made inevitable in seconds. Thus immobilised, Remus Lupin lost everything in a single moment – friends, reason, and memory.
'Christ,' thought Charlotte. 'He looks like hell.'
Charlotte Fenwick could have sworn Lupin was going to faint – she couldn't really blame him. He looked blankly past her, or through her, his bland gaze piercing the wall just above her left shoulder. 'Has he lost it?' she considered silently. Rowena knew SHE would have, in his shoes.
"Cripes!" The witch rushed forwards and caught the wizard as his knees buckled. "Whoa – just a moment, then –" Hurriedly, she grabbed the nearest chair and scraped it across the wood panelling beneath him – if he had indeed been paying attention, he would have had a fit over this abuse of the flooring. "'Lo?" Charlotte blinked owlishly and shook him slightly by the shoulder. No answer – he was completely oblivious. She shook her head. Everything coming down about his nose – no, she couldn't blame him.
The witch considered Stunning him, or something, for a moment. Put him out for a few gracious hours of unconsciousness seemed like a charitable thing to do – the least the poor man deserved, after all he'd been put through.
Charlotte started. Pity? Pity for Remus Lupin? A sentiment she never thought she would ever have to endure. "Other ways about, more like," she muttered darkly to herself as she scrambled towards the fireplace, having ensured that the blank wizard was perfectly balanced on his own. She stuffed a hand down her robe pocket and withdrew a fistful of green powder. "'Ey!" she murmured, as loudly as she deemed able without disturbing Remus. "Croaker! Come ON, you old bat –"
The detached head of a rather peevish looking old wizard appeared in a flash of emerald flames. "Eh?" he said blandly. "Oh, Fenwick – what d'you want?" He sneezed as a jet of ash darted up one of his nostrils.
Charlotte rolled her eyes. "I need a favour. A Healer – someone – down here. Remus Lupin's here –" The witch bit her lip. "Yeah. Remus Lupin – he's had a touch of a shock." A touch? Perhaps that was putting it lightly. At least, that was what it LOOKED like. He hadn't exactly fallen over and began twitching, but... "Anyways, I don't have the ingredients for that one potion – just have Maturin do one really quick and he can put Lupin out for a couple hours."
Croaker eyed her suspiciously. "Lupin? Wasn't he in –," he gave a respectful gulp and a bow of the head, "the Potters's lot?"
Charlotte frowned. "Yes," she answered. "Yes, he was. Send Maturin down, NOW. Twenty-b, Saint James's – London, I think. I have to be off."
The head in the fireplace nodded. "Sure. Take care of y'self, missie." With a fond smile and a small pop, Croaker vanished.
The witch grimaced and trudged back towards Lupin. "Still unconscious, then," she muttered to herself disapprovingly. "Damn. Well..." She trailed off, weighing the options in her mind. She could just wait for Maturin to get there, but she really had to be going. "Peasegood'll have my head." Charlotte looked at Remus, whose amber eyes had finally closed. "Cripes. He doesn't look so good..."
Even from a distance, it was clear that Lupin was certainly not well. His skin was shining with sweat, and he was tiring from intermittent, shallow breaths. Charlotte put two fingers to his wrist. Faint pulse. She bit her lip. "Oh, damn."