Chapter Six: Inbye
Note: Sorry, Percy fans, for portraying your hero as a whiny idiot. And Peter has a fixation with France. Go figure.
Another Note: Yay. .. Things are actually turning out rather nicely. I think all the loose ends are tied up... -Claps- Huzzay.
Yet Another Note: As for this chapter's name... Well, I was looking through my dictionary, and 'inbye' is a Scottish Gaelic term for being located near to – referring to Peter's newfound state of closeness to a Wizarding family.
Sirius's voice rang throughout the hall in a vicious giggle. Peter was dead. Peter was dead. James and Lily had been avenged. He had been wrongly imprisoned, but the rat, the traitor, was gone. A few emaciated faces peered past the iron bars at stared, but Black didn't mind their intruding glances. Peter was dead – James and Lily were avenged – innocence. He was innocent. Sirius smiled to himself.
Peter was gone, at least. That was a comfort, of sorts. His own cackle echoed and returned to his own ears, his voice spreading throughout the cells of Azkaban. Peter was dead, and the deaths of James and Lily... Peter had died for it. Sirius smiled. Of course. He should have known Peter would not have been able to control a spell of that magnitude.
The Muggles that had died behind him, however... They had been innocents. Sirius clenched his fists. Peter, even in death, had a lot to answer for.
Silently, Sirius wondered what had become of little Harry. He knew James and Lily were gone, now; Hagrid had taken Harry away. Within his mind, he mused upon the possibilities, if he had been the one to take his godchild away. His face was already gaunt and pale, worn far beyond his years with a single night. Hagrid would see to it that Harry was fine. Sirius was certain of it. That, at least, brought a slight smile to his face.
The dementor's shocking grip on Sirius's shoulder tightened, and the smile faded. The knowledge that he had not committed a crime remained.
Innocent, Sirius repeated mentally. I am innocent.
"Poison," Stephen declared.
Charlotte peered at Lupin anxiously. "What kind of poison?" she asked, concern etched across her features. "Is he going to die – what?"
Maturin shook his head. "I don't know," he answered. "We need to get him to Saint Mungo's, 'though – I don't even know how much longer he'll last for." He frowned. "This reminds me of a particularly bad case of yellow fever," Stephen murmured as he studied the paling, sweating Lupin. "'Though there are some similarities to the snake venom from – Sri Lanka? I don't remember."
The wind hissed through a crack in the window's glass and breathed against Charlotte's cheek. Her brow furrowed. "I see," she said, 'though she really had no idea what her colleague was talking about.
"Right," said Maturin, clearly deep in thought. "Suggested mode of transportation...?" He gazed at her blankly. "Floo?"
The witch shrugged. "Sure," she replied. "Here –" Charlotte dug into her pocket and clenched a fistful of powder in her hand. Hastily, she shoved as much as she could without dropping any into his proffered hand. "There." With that, she started towards the door.
Stephen looked at her awkwardly. "Where are you going?" he said.
Charlotte glanced back at him, surprised, as 'though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Office. This stuff has to be recorded, you know, Mister Healer." She brandished the camera. "Job's a job, whether a former classmate has been diagnosed with an unknown killer toxin or not." The Fenwick witch shook her head. "Sorry, mate – this one's all yours. I'll check in at Mungo's as soon as I can." She glanced out the window. "I think he's just about had it – no family left, as far as I know. As for friends..."
Both diverted their gaze. "Yeah," said Charlotte faintly. "Yeah, well... I have to go."
The rat scampered down the gutter, his paw now firmly bound with some bandage he'd stolen from one of the shops up in that Hampshire town. Where to next? Peter could not help but feel a little lost. There was no one giving orders, and it was a little uncomfortable.
Pettigrew pondered it for a moment. Maybe he could take that road beneath the Channel – he'd always wanted to go to France.
Well, everyone was dead now, anyways – who was there to stop him? His master was gone, for the time being. James and Lily were already taken care of. Sirius was in Azkaban (Wormtail took a moment to snicker over this). Remus was dead – he had personally seen to that.
A twinge of regret prodded in the back of Peter's little rat brain. Or perhaps it was just his nose again... He twitched it experimentally. Yes, it was only his nose.
Peter darted up the drainpipe. Poor Moony. It was a rather wretched way to die. Well, at least all he had to do was stuff it down old Lupin's throat – Peter recalled how that particular poison was supposed to be procured. Extracting it forcibly from a nasty old snake that could kill you. Yuck.
Wait. Peter's nose twitched again, his whiskers flicking upwards and down as he did so. There was but one loose end – that Potter brat. If his rodent features had allowed it, Peter would have scowled. Perhaps he shouldn't head to France just yet. It was quite possible that if the master came back... Once again, the extent of his facial expressions as a rat failed him, but he would have smiled. A way to get back into good graces, if need be.
The rat sped back towards London. Oh, goody.
The full moon.
Remus started – the full moon, already? How could that be? On top of it all, he probably wouldn't be able to get away from –
Wait. Where was he, anyway?
Lupin struggled to sit upright in his bed. A Healer, sitting at his desk across the room, heard the rustling of perhaps overtly starched sheets, and turned about in his seat. "Awake at last," he remarked offhandedly, his pale blue eyes smiling.
The Healer turned about in his chair – Muggle made, and apparently of the swivel variety – and stood up. Rather than the usual stark white robes, he was dressed a bit more casually, in a sense – his garb more resembled that of a nineteenth century gentleman. A Pensieve sat on top of the Healer's desk, the memory of the full moon fading even as he walked towards Remus, a sheaf of paper in hand.
"Mister Remus J Lupin," said the Healer absently, looking through what was obviously Remus's medical record. "Twenty-one years of age – lycanthropic –" Lupin winced. He expected some sort of accusing glare from the Healer, but received none. Instead, he continued. "– and a slight dust mite allergy. Fairly clean record, by all accounts." The Healer smiled congenially. "You gave us quite a scare."
Lupin blinked owlishly. "I beg your pardon, but where exactly am I, and who exactly are you?" He put a hand to his brow. "And why do I feel like someone dumped a sack of bricks on my head?" he added in a dark mumble.
"You, Mister Lupin, are on the second floor, Magical Bugs, Caduceus Meliflua ward, of Saint Mungo's Hospital For Magical Maladies and Injuries. I, myself, am the Healer Stephen Maturin, at your service." The Healer Stephen Maturin lowered his eerie pale gaze to look Lupin in the eye. "And you, sir, feel as 'though someone dumped a sack of bricks on your head, because you were administered an uncommon amount of a deadly toxin.
He held up a small bottle of acid orange liquid and tapped it with his finger. "To be exact, it seems to be a mixture of naga venom – that is, an ancient snake poison, the effects of which are curiously alike to that of arsenic –, an extract of the disease more commonly known as the yellow jack, and what I guess to be the alcoholic tincture of laudanum." Maturin peered at Lupin curiously. "Have you been feeling particularly drowsy of late?"
Lupin kneaded his brow. "That might be one way of putting it," he replied, not without malevolence. Stephen, however, took no notice and simply nodded, mumbling to himself and checking off something on a slip of paper.
"I thought so..." he muttered. "Anyways, Mister Lupin, I believe you'll manage to be with us for some time yet." Maturin nodded. "Yes, yes – just so long as you desist swallowing naga venom, I'm sure you'll see many more days yet."
Remus raised an eyebrow. "I didn't swallow /anything/, Mister –," Now Stephen raised a brow dubiously, "Healer Maturin," Remus corrected.
Stephen looked at Remus blankly. "Well, that's precisely how it was introduced to your system, Mister Lupin," he said blandly. "Now, I might suggest rest. That's generally the panacea for those formerly in critical condition."
Peter had made up his mind. There was a new plan involved: find a Wizarding family. Just keep an eye out for anything that might be used in his favour, JUST IN CASE. After a bit, if he gets bored... Pettigrew shrugged a bony rat shoulder. Well, there was always Paris.
Where to find a Wizarding family, 'though? That was the question. The rat ignored a shriek from a fat Muggle woman as he scrambled across the streets of London. Wizarding family, Wizarding family... That was when he caught sight of the hospital. Then it all came together.
"Uuuuh... Wait. How did I end up with him, again?"
These were the thoughts racing through Charlotte Fenwick's mind as she bodily dragged a bawling five year old Percy Weasley through the streets of London. Or, as Percy was constant to remind, Charlotte Fenwick bodily dragged the bawling five years and three hundred sixty four days old Percy Weasley through the streets of London. Charlotte winced as the brat gave a particularly high-pitched shriek. She would have probably uttered a few choice words just then, if it were not for the fact that he would have only rebuked her, then continued at an even higher volume.
"This is why I don't do favours," she muttered to herself as she nodded her apologies to a couple of businessmen. This was essentially a lie, as despite everything, Charlotte seemed to end up in people's debt, just the same. Or so they claimed. Well, she couldn't deny Arthur Weasley much – he was an overall nice guy. A bit touched in the head, sure, but a nice guy. A nice, POOR guy. The witch sighed. That made it even harder.
"'Just a few hours,' he said. 'Just for a bit, 'til Molly can get back from Dublin.' Tosh." Charlotte snorted. "He KNEW I had things to do..." Percy wailed louder.
"YES, Percy, I /know/ it's your birthday tomorrow," said Charlotte for the umpteenth time. "Yes, I /know/ you want your mum... Sorry," she added to a pair of sinister shopping grandmothers. "Uh huh, Percy," Charlotte said absently as she peered about, looking for the hospital's entrance. At long last, she found the department store and sighed with relief. "Come on, Percy..."
The witch glanced about for a moment over her shoulder, finally deciding it best just to ignore the Weasley kid's screeches, and leaned forward towards the window with the mannequin. "We're here t'see Remus Lupin," she whispered towards the dummy.
No answer. Charlotte wrinkled her nose. "We're here to see Remus Lupin," she repeated, rather louder and firmer.
The mannequin shook it's head.
"What?!" Charlotte stared, aghast. "'Ey, what's up?"
Inconspicuously, 'though clear enough for Charlotte, who stood directly in front of it, the dummy pointed towards Percy and shook it's head again. Charlotte seethed. "Oh, for the love of –"
Percy gasped at the following profanities and began to scold. Charlotte rolled her eyes. 'I have Arthur Weasley's kid tagging about, a mannequin who won't let me into Saint Mungo's, and a load of paperwork back at the office.' Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated these things. 'Where did I go wrong?'
With a sigh and a silent prayer towards the heavens, Charlotte bent down on one knee and looked Percy in the eye. "What can I do to make you stop whinging?" she asked flatly.
Percy blinked. "Mum," he answered, just as bluntly.
Charlotte sighed. "Other than your mum."
Percy paused and thought about it. "Present. Birthday present." These words sounded a bit cute, in a demented way, mostly due to his lisp. Charlotte blinked owlishly.
"A present?" she echoed, and Percy nodded fervently. "Er..." She checked her pockets. Her wand, a pair of gloves, and a handkerchief. "Want a handkerchief?" Charlotte offered weakly, but was instantly shot down by the five year old.
"Er..." Time was ticking. She needed that talk with Lupin about the whole Black thing, or she'd be getting another long talk, resulting in her being sacked. Not good. Furthermore, Maturin would only let her come in for so long after visiting hours...
Squeak.
Charlotte looked down. As she knelt, a common garden rat had hopped onto her shoe. "What the –" she began, but quickly trailed off. "Here," she said, thrusting the rat towards Percy. "Happy birthday. Are you finished?"
Percy looked blankly at the rat in his hands, then switched his bland gaze towards Charlotte, who was tapping her foot expectantly. "Yes," he said, lisp strengthening. "Yes, thank you."
Charlotte rolled her eyes and glanced at the mannequin. "NOW?" she asked exasperatedly. The dummy nodded. "Thank you," Charlotte muttered, not sounding grateful in the least. "Come on, then, Percy." With that, the witch strode through the glass, with a podgy five year old and his new rat in tow.
This may be, more or less, the last chapter. x.x I don't really know - it depends on further inspiration. 'Though this might basically just turn into a Remus fic, as Sirius and Peter are just about finished. oo;