Secret Keeper - Chapter Five
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Professor Fensworthy's death caused shockwaves of terror throughout the school, news travelling so quickly amidst the students that soon every student in every house knew before all of the teachers had yet been alerted. More confusing was the fact that those students still in class were not permitted to leave, and instead went through their lessons with trembling hands and pale faces, exchanging frightened glances.
Remus had barely paused long enough to leave Lily at the hospital ward before taking off at a brisk pace towards the Headmaster's office. His body urged, screamed for him to run, but he knew if he gave in, panic wouldn't be far behind, and he wouldn't be able to stop. And so he forced himself to clip through the corridors as slowly as he was able, one hand swinging stiffly at his side, the other clenched around the handle of his wand hard enough that his fingers ached. The image of Professor Fensworthy's slack, unseeing face kept surfacing in his mind, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to force it out. It seemed impossible that the lifeless body on the floor had once been inhabited by the same stubborn, enthusiastic spirit he had known for so long.
And Snape . . .
Snape . . .
That's impossible, his mind shot at him, before the thought even had time to form, alright, so maybe he's a bit of a slimeball, but he wouldn't . . . he couldn't
Remus had been so deeply immersed in thought that he had nearly walked straight past the headmaster's office. His feet were propelling him forward faster than he would have liked, and it took an effort to make them stop. What he really wanted to do was keep walking -- maybe even give in and run -- right down the staircase and out of the castle, not stopping until he reached the safety of him. Some werewolf, he thought gloomily, I don't think people would find me quite as terrifying if they knew how easily I go to pieces.
He had barely raised his hand to knock when the door swung open and he found himself face to face with Professor Dumbledore.
"Good evening, Remus. I thought I might be seeing you soon." he said solemnly. His face was grave, but his eyes were kind as he stood aside. "Come in."
Feeling suddenly duck-footed, Remus could only bow his head and murmur in embarassment as he stepped hastily inside. A single high-back soft-upholstered wooden chair had been placed in front of the massive desk, and he dropped into it. He felt just as off-balance and cotton-headed as he had his first day at Hogwarts, and Albus Dumbledore suddenly seemed a hundred times more intimidating as he took his seat. The professor's long beard and hair were almost completely white now, though strands of glimmering, pale auburn still remained. He folded his long hands across the desk and looked at Remus. "What can I do for you, my boy?"
"P-Professor Fensworthy . . . " Remus began uncertainly. "I mean . . . y-you've heard?"
The headmaster sighed and closed his eyes briefly. "A great tragedy, one that happens to us all, but affects even more those we love. Ariadne's family have been notified already . . . they will want to see to her."
Relieved as he was at this, Remus found himself even more put-off by Professor Dumblefore's words. "Yes, but . . . well, we're not all m-m-m-murdered by dark wizards, are we?" There was a plaintive note to this he wish he could have swallowed, but stubbornly remained.
A trace of a smile came to Professor Dumbledore's lips as he shook his head once. "No, Remus. Not if I have anything to say about it. Nor is that the fate that met your Professor. Age, Remus." he said, before Remus could ask. He held out one long hand over the desk, candlelight catching the lines etched across his palm and skin. "Age comes to us all. I am sure you had noticed that Professor Fensworthy was far from the young lady she was when she first came to teach for us, even if she did not act like it."
For a moment, Remus didn't respond. He was thinking of the round, impossibly wrinkled face that was both kind yet stern that had prompted him to take Divination in the first place, years ago. "Then . . . then what did . . . "
"A heart attack, Remus." Professor Dumbledore bowed his head. "Wizards and witches are not above mortality. Death comes to us all, Remus, and sometimes the form it takes comes not through magical intervention . . . as we should all have the fortune to discover." He paused. "Surely you would not wish such a fate as murder on your teacher?"
"No!" Remus said, appalled. "No, of course not, Headmaster! But . . . but . . . Severus Snape . . . " He trailed off. When Professor Dumbledore only continued to look at him, waiting, he forced himself to continue. "Well, I mean . . . he came out of the classroom right before Lily, and . . . and he said . . . "
"Severus Snape could no more cause a heart attack than I could transform my desk into a gigantic lemon sweet . . . believe me, I have tried on occasion, when I find my stores depleted." For an instant, his face broke into a smile that finally dissolved some of the chill that had formed around Remus. "Ariadne Fensworthy's death was a tragedy. I am aware of the animosty your friends -- and a . . . handful of other students -- harbour towards young Severus. I am also aware that it is mutual. But in times such as these, Remus," he continued, expression once again hardening into seriousness, "you must learn to separate your true enemies from your quarrels."
"I . . . I'm sorry, Headmaster." Feeling suddenly ashamed, as though he had somehow disgraced Professor Fensworthy's memory by allowing his own differences to come into play, Remus dropped his gaze to his feet.
"My dear boy," said Professor Dumbledore, gently, "there is no need. You are one of the brightest students Hogwarts has seen in years, and you have the potential to do great things . . . great things, indeed. You, like everyone else in this school, are human," his eyes twinkled slightly, "whatever your condition might say. And that means you are prey to the same emotions we all are." Abruptly, he glanced at the hourglass on his desk and gave a small start. "You will forgive me, please, Remus, but I really must be going . . . Ariadne's family will be arriving soon."
"Of course, Headmaster." Remus got awkwardly to his feet and half attempted a bow before he stopped himself, face flushing.
Rising from his chair, Professor Dumbledore guided him to the door with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You are excused from classes for the rest of the day, I think . . . you may want to go and visit Miss Evans in the hospital ward, though I daresay she shall be feeling fine very soon . . . our new nurse is a wonder." he smiled. "And I have no doubt your friends Mr Potter and Mr Black are already with her . . . that wonderful map of yours."
"How did you . . . " Remus began, before he trailed off, feeling foolish. Silly to think that the Headmaster of Hogwarts would not be aware of such a magical item under his own nose. "Thank you, Headmaster."
As he turned to go, however, his steps much more controlled in the halls now, Remus realised he was still uneasy. If Snape had not had anything to do with the Professor's death, why had he not reported it?
And what's more, he thought suddenly, the notion rising unbidden out of nowhere, she didn't look as though she died of a heart attack to me. She looked as though she died of fright.
It wasn't until he was just outside the door to the hospital ward that he realised his hand was still clenched around his wand, and it took him a tremendous amount of effort to let go.
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Whatever trepidation the villagers of Hogsmeade might hold towards the Shrieking Shack, Peter Pettigrew found it quite the comforting retreat. Of course, he knew of it's origins as they didn't, and the werewolf that was the source of it was no doubt currently sitting in his Divinations class. It was quite comforting, however, to sit as a rat in the darkest corner under a faded and dillapidated sofa in the destroyed lounge, listening to his own thoughts in the silence.
Peter felt more than a little guilty for skipping his lessons. Under the pretense of returning back to Gryffindor Tower for a book, he'd parted from an usually bouyant James and Sirius on their way to Transfiguration that morning, and then simply made his way here. He had no doubt they knew where he was -- rat or no, the Marauder's Map would show Peter Pettigrew crouched right where he was -- and he supposed he would have to think up a good excuse when they found him at lunch.
The truth was, Peter had felt the need to clear his head. These days, with graduation fast approaching and the threat looming over the world, he had found himself wishing more and more for one of the Pensieves his mother had in her own rooms. Rat or no, he felt very small these days, and it often seemed as though James, Remus, and Sirius were towering above him, stronger and more assured than he would ever be. Rather than being comforted by their strength, Peter found himself increasingly dismayed by it. They had countless people in their own houses and others who would be clamouring to be their friends -- what did they need one particularily inept wizard for?
James, it seemed, was already moving on. He had laughed and smiled for as long as Peter had known him in the company of his friends, but he had never smiled like he had with Lily Evans last night. That smile had transformed his entire face, the entire way he walked, and lit up his eyes. It had, Peter thought, made him look as though he were something more than entirely human, and the glow had suffused Lily as well.
Peter felt a sudden pang of irritation towards her, and he hunched closer to the cold wooden floor. She had hardly given James the time of day the entire time they'd been at Hogwarts, where Peter, Sirius, and Remus had given him the best days of his life. What right did she have to suddenly decide she wanted a piece of his affections and shunt them all aside? What's more, why didn't Sirius and Remus seem to recognize it?
"Peter . . . "
The voice was so sudden that it startled Peter completely back into human form, smacking his head on the underside of the suddenly cramped sofa and gasping with fright. He scrambled out and looked wildly around. The room appeared empty, layered with debris and cobwebs, the furniture somehow seeming forlorn. He had nearly decided he had imagined it when he heard it again. "Peter . . . "
This time it seemed to have been whispered directly into his ear, and he gasp, whirling around and batting at the air in a mad fright. His heart thudded madly in his chest as he found himself facing a draperied window. There was nothing behind him, but he could not shake the feeling that he was not alone; voice aside, the hair was raised on his arms, and it seemed as though he could feel the weight of their gaze on his skin.
Peter hurriedly pulled his wand from his sleeve, almost dropping it in his haste. It trembled as he raised it before him. "Who's there?" he had tried for the commanding tone Sirius had managed with the Slytherins, but it instead came out in a quaver.
The draperies billowed, though the window was closed.
Peter twitched, half turning to flight before he checked himself. If all he was hearing was the wind blowing through the empty rooms, he'd never hear the end of it from Sirius. He took a hesitant step forward, hand outreached, wondering dismally how draperies could seem so smug. There could be nothing hiding behind them; they hung flat against the window.
For an instant, just before his hand touched them, something mad came awake, screaming with fright within his mind. Run! it cried. Run as fast as you can, and don't look back! Don't EVER turn back!
"Peter . . . " the room sighed again. There seemed to be considerable longing in it.
Mouth trembling, Peter's hand fisted itself in the fabric. He didn't want to open it, but he felt as though he had to. He wrenched it aside, screaming before he even saw anything, wand clattering to the floor.
The apparition on the other side of the cracked and dirty window placed one long, white hand against the glass, cowled head drawing closer. "Peter . . . " it breathed. "Are you lonely . . . ?"