A/N: Er, yeah, after this chappie I've decided to work on some of my other
stories for a while. I'm going to work on the last chapters of "The Many,
Many Sayings of Fred and George Weasley" and perhaps write a few one-shot
stories (always fun!) And I've been working on one story, so perhaps I
should start posting it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: THE DARK FORTRESS
Carmen was lost in fantasies about being in the Dark Lord's inner circle while they got ready to leave.
The Death Eater directed them into a large chamber, but didn't follow.
As James walked into the gigantic hall, he reflected on just how he'd gotten here.
After running through the forest, he'd reached the lake. He wasn't the only one there. There were people in masks, people who saw him, and immediately came in for an attack.
"Hello, Potter." One of them had said, making James wonder how he knew his name.
He'd barely had time to yell out before that same masked man had brought out his wand and yelled, "Stupefy!"
After that, James didn't know what had happened. He assumed that everyone else followed his yell, tried to fight off the people in masks, and had failed. It was obvious that they'd failed.
James had woken up in a small, windowless, filthy room. The only other people in the room with him were Snape and Lily.
Lily had woken a few minutes later, looked around, then at James and said, "You got us into this mess, Potter. How are you going to get us out?" Then the door had opened and three masked people had come in, grabbed them all (Snape grunted as he was pulled rather jarringly from his slumber, making James smirk) and walked them out. James didn't have his wand. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't even hit the man who was close to pulling his arm from its socket because he was so weak. How long had he been asleep on that cold, damp floor? He didn't know.
Going through hallways (James was trying to remember which way they were turning) they caught up with a few more masked men. They had Sirius, Moony, and Wormtail in their grips. James didn't know where Harry, Ron, Hermione, or Remus were.
The hallways were cold and darker than they should have been. Torches were few and far apart. There were a few doors along the way, but not many. There were many other corridors leading off from the large one that they were being led through. The place smelled like stone. Their footsteps reverberated on the walls, clanging in James's ears. James couldn't tell where they were, had absolutely no clue besides that they were in a corridor. Or at least he hadn't been able to tell before they turned and walked along another corridor.
Half of this corridor was gone. The wall wasn't there, and it looked like it should have been. If Remus had been there he would have understood this sight. The Dark Fortress was in the middle of construction. James looked beyond this strange hole in the wall, outside. There were more turrets and towers beyond here. They were above a long patio that was built low, but higher than the ground. Perhaps they were only now working on upper levels of this huge establishment. After the patio ended below James, there was a walkway that was above it, looking down on a long dirty road. The trees and greenery around here seemed unhealthy. Everything was yellow and brown, and the trees were short and gnarled, looking like twisted old hands raised toward the gray sky. There were more masked people. Some were on battlements and some were in watch towers. The whole place seemed all at the same time, frightening, crazy, and somehow ingenious. Before James could begin to understand how all of these turrets, walkways, towers, and battlements connected, he was pushed onward, into another darker corridor.
That was when they'd found themselves here.
One look at this place made James's jaw drop.
They were in a room that might have been somewhat as large as the Great Hall. The ceiling must've been fifty feet or higher above them, as it faded away into shadows higher up. There were two chandeliers hanging twenty or so feet from the floor, silver and brimming with twinkling blue candles, which was covered in a black carpet that ran down the whole length of the hall over gray flagstones. The doors that they stepped through were tall and ornately carved, beautiful, even. The whole room was rather rectangular shaped, so that it looked somewhat like an over-sized corridor. The walls had torches hanging in silver brackets. There weren't any pictures on the walls. None at all. As they walked forward toward the other end of the hall, James looked onward, past all of the torches and the two chandeliers. He gasped, and his stomach drooped despairingly.
At the other end of the hall were two windows. The windows were as tall as the ceiling, the glass was tinted and dark. There were more blue candles in candelabrums. They were semi-circling a dais. Upon the dais was a chair. The chair was curved, not strait-backed. James couldn't see the legs, because they were covered by a black silk cover. Black silk also covered the back of the chair, and the top of the arms.
James couldn't help but feel horror at the man who was sitting in this chair.
He, like the masked people who were standing around him, was wearing a long, black cloak, but this cloak had silver and green cuffs and hem. The body that wore this cloak was tall, skeletally thin, so that it looked painful. But not stooped. In fact, this man's frame was sitting bolt- upright on his throne, though not looking frightened or overly-excited. Just curious. His fingers curved over the arms of his chair, the fingernails were ugly, thick, pointed, and yellow. On his slightly tilted head he had long, wiry gray hair that did not in the least make him look old. His face was smoother than even James's own was. It was frightening. The face looked almost like a mask in itself, the skin so stretched and white that it looked unreal. There barely seemed to be a nose, nor any lips, just a small hole above the chin. The cheekbones were high and pointed, giving this man the look of some sort of cat. Below his slim black eyebrows were eyes that matched this cat look. His pupils were slits, running like some sort of wound between redness on either side that looked more like the blood from some kind of wound that anything else.
James had only ever heard about what Lord Voldemort looked like. Not many people had ever seen the man without being murdered. Not many people had ever lived to say what he looked like. The best description James had ever heard was–red eyes.
Voldemort looked at Snape and Wormtail and smiled slightly. He didn't regard Lily, Remus, or Sirius.
James felt a tremor go up and down his spine as Lord Voldemort's eyes turned toward him, surveilling him with a look that plainly said that in his eyes, James was already dead.
Still looking at him, Voldemort spoke in a high, cold voice to the people holding their prisoners, "Let go of them." James promptly felt his arm being released from the pincer-like grip of his captor. "I see you've met my Death Eaters, James Potter–Don't look so surprised, of course I know your name." He laughed softly, though the sound had absolutely no humor in it. James gulped. He'd just remembered something....
He and Lily had died trying to defend Harry from Voldemort. Could this be the–
No, it couldn't be when. Harry's past, James's future. Harry had been a baby.
"Or perhaps you time could be now, James." Voldemort said, and James gasped.
"How–how did you--"
"It was only plain what you were thinking James. You had that very same look on your face when you knew that you were going to die trying to defend Lily and your son fifteen years ago. No more hope, no more happiness, just a grim determination in your brave face, one that's resigned to your fate. It is very amusing to imagine what is going on in that foolish head of yours. Always brave thoughts, James, always brave thoughts." Voldemort was taunting him, trying to get some more–amusement from him (James couldn't imagine this man being amused). James wouldn't fall for it.
Voldemort smiled a sadistic smile, but before he could say anything, the Death Eater on his left turned to him and spoke, "My Lord, perhaps it isn't a good idea to do this. Perhaps they were all meant to live. Perhaps Harry Potter is the best that you can hope for. What if you kill his parents, and you are faced with an opponent more powerful and ready for you than the boy? Perhaps you shouldn't go through with what you plan on doing."
For a moment, for a single, hopeful moment, James thought that he wouldn't die–at least not today.
But then Voldemort smiled a cruel, sneering smile, whispered a few words to the Death Eater–who sidled back into his place unhappily, turned back to James and said, "If you are meant to live, Potter, then you will--"
He stood up. Only now did James realize just how tall he was. Six and a half feet at least. The man before him smiled, slipped a thin, long fingered hand into the pocket of his robes, and pulled out a wand–
–James felt a thrill of horror running through his heart like a spear–
The door behind them all opened, and a short, breathless Death Eater stumbled into the hall. He spoke a few simple words that echoed down the hallway in the silence:
"....Potter!...Gone!......Escaped--"
Voldemort raised his wand again, James felt a scream rising to his lips. But the scream didn't escape. There was no need for it, because Voldemort didn't point the wand at him. Neither did he cry out, "Crucio!" in complete fury at James. James didn't die. His heart stopped momentarily, and was now pumping, twanging against his ribs, but he wasn't dead. He wasn't even screaming in agony, rolling on the floor. No. It was the Death Eater who was screaming in agony, at the other end of the hall.
Voldemort lifted his wand, breathing furiously, turned around toward the Death Eaters, and shrieked, "WELL WHAT ARE YOU ALL STANDING HERE FOR? GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SIGHT AND FIND HIM!!"
He turned momentarily back toward James and everyone else, called over three Death Eaters and said, "Take them all back to their cells, then help to find the boy and his friends."
James felt his arm being grabbed once again. He was being led away amidst many scrambling Death Eaters here and there.
Behind them, as they reached the door, Voldemort yelled, "Until next time Lily, dear."
Dumbledore stared out the window. What if the story had been wrong? What if James and Lily...Remus....Harry was dead by now? What if he had to do something that they hadn't mentioned?
Strange to think that an old man could feel such fear, such insecurity...could be so...blind.
Everyone was depending on him. Everyone. Even Harry, whom he was depending on, was always looking toward him for guidance. How could he lead them all? How could he convince them all that he was leading them in the right direction? That was probably the hardest question of all.
Should he try to get them out now...or later? What if he came, and they were all dead? What if Harry was dead? Would this mean that their only hope of survival, their hero, would be gone? Or would it mean that Dumbledore himself would have to show the prophecy to the world, mark Neville Longbottom himself as Voldemort's equal, and pass the cup to him in Harry's stead?
Finally, after long contemplation, Dumbledore did decide on something.
There was a flash of fire in the middle of the room as Dumbledore disappeared.
He was heading toward the Order. Even if he didn't go in for the rescue now, he could prepare for it.
Ron decided for what must have been the thousandth time to trust Snape. Really! He'd suspected the man time and time again, and time and time again he'd been proven wrong.
As Hermione would say, just because he didn't like Snape, didn't mean that Snape was wrong. He'd found that out in Hermione's case, but it just wouldn't stick in his head with Snape.
But shouldn't he feel grateful? Snape had just let them out. Snape, his hated potions master, the man who never failed to make Ron and Harry look like fools every potions lesson. Snape had let them out–
–then again, they weren't exactly in a better situation. Being chased by three huffing Death Eaters (all of whom kept sending spells their way) wasn't exactly a step up from sitting quietly in a drippy dungeon room.
Harry pointed his wand over his head, shouted "Stupefy!" and they heard a shout.
They didn't stop to look back behind them.
They were about twenty feet ahead of the Death Eaters when they turned a corner. Ron felt a hand clutching his arm, looked around, and found Harry there, just next to the turn.
"When they turn--" Harry said breathlessly. Ron understood, and stood next to him, raising his wand, with Hermione on the other side of Harry.
The Death Eaters turned.
"Stupefy!" They yelled simultaneously.
The last two Death Eaters fell to the floor, crumpling.
Pause.
Ron said, "Wow!" And prodded the closest masked man with his foot. He saw Harry smile slightly, which had been his intention. Any reaction in Harry was better than none.
After another moment Harry said, "Come on. We have to find the others."
"Then we have to get out of here, right?" Ron said.
Harry smiled, "Yes."
For a moment, Ron felt some shadow of the jealousy that he had once felt. How come he couldn't be the leader of the group? Why didn't Harry ask him what to do–?
Ron knew why.
Because if Ron was the leader, they would already be dead.
James didn't know why he'd had that dream. He didn't know what it had meant. He barely even understood what had happened in the dream.
All that had happened in it were that he was in the forest. He'd known that he could go back home, but at the same time he couldn't. He'd run toward the lake, knowing that something good would happen once he got there. When he HAD gotten there, he'd woken up.
Everything in the dream was the same as it had happened in real life. Everything but the part in which something good happened when he reached the lake.
He was now back in the cell (no longer just an innocent room) with Snape and Lily. Snape was picking at his fingernails, bored. Lily was running her fingers through her hair, trying to pull the knots out of it. James wasn't doing anything. His fingernails were too short to pick at. And he liked his hair messy.
Remus felt, if it was at all possible, worse than he had felt only two nights before. Strange to think that only two nights ago, he'd gotten home. And it had been just a normal day, or, at least as normal as it could have been. Strange to think that only two days ago–no, one day!–he had been free. As free as he could have been, at least. He hadn't been hungry, hadn't been sick with cold, and hadn't yet begun to feel the moon's taunting.
Oh yes, it was coming. Tomorrow night–maybe even tonight–the moon would be full.
It was surprising that this whole ordeal had only taken a day. Yesterday, he'd met himself. Yesterday, he'd told Ron and Hermione about Harry's prophecy. Yesterday, he'd relived a memory that he'd been bottling up for the last fifteen years.
The pain was eating him from the inside out as he thought of it.
Sure, Remus might be alive. He could be whole and healthy. He could even be somewhat happy.
But at the same time he was always dying. Just like Harry was dying. That was their most common characteristic. They were both dying from pain that couldn't be healed. It was like a virus. It began at the heart, and slowly spread out to everything else. Only, like Remus, Harry wouldn't even know that he was dying until something made him realize it. He wouldn't be able to live again until he realized why he was dying, and how to live again.
Remus had realized exactly what was eating away at his heart. Even now he knew. He just didn't know how to make it stop.
A flash of memory slipped through his mind–he'd felt it only twice before. Memories of all of this happening, memories that sneaked through the barriers of the Memory Charm. Only pictures. Maybe a sound. Maybe a feeling. Nothing more. This time only a small flash in his mind, remembering a tall building, one that was only half built, before his eyes.
Remus promptly forgot about it. He blinked and looked up at the dark ceiling. He pulled his cloak closer around him, trying to ward off the cold. His stomach growled with hunger. He wondered if someone would come to give him veritaserum, to get out the Order's secrets....
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: THE DARK FORTRESS
Carmen was lost in fantasies about being in the Dark Lord's inner circle while they got ready to leave.
The Death Eater directed them into a large chamber, but didn't follow.
As James walked into the gigantic hall, he reflected on just how he'd gotten here.
After running through the forest, he'd reached the lake. He wasn't the only one there. There were people in masks, people who saw him, and immediately came in for an attack.
"Hello, Potter." One of them had said, making James wonder how he knew his name.
He'd barely had time to yell out before that same masked man had brought out his wand and yelled, "Stupefy!"
After that, James didn't know what had happened. He assumed that everyone else followed his yell, tried to fight off the people in masks, and had failed. It was obvious that they'd failed.
James had woken up in a small, windowless, filthy room. The only other people in the room with him were Snape and Lily.
Lily had woken a few minutes later, looked around, then at James and said, "You got us into this mess, Potter. How are you going to get us out?" Then the door had opened and three masked people had come in, grabbed them all (Snape grunted as he was pulled rather jarringly from his slumber, making James smirk) and walked them out. James didn't have his wand. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't even hit the man who was close to pulling his arm from its socket because he was so weak. How long had he been asleep on that cold, damp floor? He didn't know.
Going through hallways (James was trying to remember which way they were turning) they caught up with a few more masked men. They had Sirius, Moony, and Wormtail in their grips. James didn't know where Harry, Ron, Hermione, or Remus were.
The hallways were cold and darker than they should have been. Torches were few and far apart. There were a few doors along the way, but not many. There were many other corridors leading off from the large one that they were being led through. The place smelled like stone. Their footsteps reverberated on the walls, clanging in James's ears. James couldn't tell where they were, had absolutely no clue besides that they were in a corridor. Or at least he hadn't been able to tell before they turned and walked along another corridor.
Half of this corridor was gone. The wall wasn't there, and it looked like it should have been. If Remus had been there he would have understood this sight. The Dark Fortress was in the middle of construction. James looked beyond this strange hole in the wall, outside. There were more turrets and towers beyond here. They were above a long patio that was built low, but higher than the ground. Perhaps they were only now working on upper levels of this huge establishment. After the patio ended below James, there was a walkway that was above it, looking down on a long dirty road. The trees and greenery around here seemed unhealthy. Everything was yellow and brown, and the trees were short and gnarled, looking like twisted old hands raised toward the gray sky. There were more masked people. Some were on battlements and some were in watch towers. The whole place seemed all at the same time, frightening, crazy, and somehow ingenious. Before James could begin to understand how all of these turrets, walkways, towers, and battlements connected, he was pushed onward, into another darker corridor.
That was when they'd found themselves here.
One look at this place made James's jaw drop.
They were in a room that might have been somewhat as large as the Great Hall. The ceiling must've been fifty feet or higher above them, as it faded away into shadows higher up. There were two chandeliers hanging twenty or so feet from the floor, silver and brimming with twinkling blue candles, which was covered in a black carpet that ran down the whole length of the hall over gray flagstones. The doors that they stepped through were tall and ornately carved, beautiful, even. The whole room was rather rectangular shaped, so that it looked somewhat like an over-sized corridor. The walls had torches hanging in silver brackets. There weren't any pictures on the walls. None at all. As they walked forward toward the other end of the hall, James looked onward, past all of the torches and the two chandeliers. He gasped, and his stomach drooped despairingly.
At the other end of the hall were two windows. The windows were as tall as the ceiling, the glass was tinted and dark. There were more blue candles in candelabrums. They were semi-circling a dais. Upon the dais was a chair. The chair was curved, not strait-backed. James couldn't see the legs, because they were covered by a black silk cover. Black silk also covered the back of the chair, and the top of the arms.
James couldn't help but feel horror at the man who was sitting in this chair.
He, like the masked people who were standing around him, was wearing a long, black cloak, but this cloak had silver and green cuffs and hem. The body that wore this cloak was tall, skeletally thin, so that it looked painful. But not stooped. In fact, this man's frame was sitting bolt- upright on his throne, though not looking frightened or overly-excited. Just curious. His fingers curved over the arms of his chair, the fingernails were ugly, thick, pointed, and yellow. On his slightly tilted head he had long, wiry gray hair that did not in the least make him look old. His face was smoother than even James's own was. It was frightening. The face looked almost like a mask in itself, the skin so stretched and white that it looked unreal. There barely seemed to be a nose, nor any lips, just a small hole above the chin. The cheekbones were high and pointed, giving this man the look of some sort of cat. Below his slim black eyebrows were eyes that matched this cat look. His pupils were slits, running like some sort of wound between redness on either side that looked more like the blood from some kind of wound that anything else.
James had only ever heard about what Lord Voldemort looked like. Not many people had ever seen the man without being murdered. Not many people had ever lived to say what he looked like. The best description James had ever heard was–red eyes.
Voldemort looked at Snape and Wormtail and smiled slightly. He didn't regard Lily, Remus, or Sirius.
James felt a tremor go up and down his spine as Lord Voldemort's eyes turned toward him, surveilling him with a look that plainly said that in his eyes, James was already dead.
Still looking at him, Voldemort spoke in a high, cold voice to the people holding their prisoners, "Let go of them." James promptly felt his arm being released from the pincer-like grip of his captor. "I see you've met my Death Eaters, James Potter–Don't look so surprised, of course I know your name." He laughed softly, though the sound had absolutely no humor in it. James gulped. He'd just remembered something....
He and Lily had died trying to defend Harry from Voldemort. Could this be the–
No, it couldn't be when. Harry's past, James's future. Harry had been a baby.
"Or perhaps you time could be now, James." Voldemort said, and James gasped.
"How–how did you--"
"It was only plain what you were thinking James. You had that very same look on your face when you knew that you were going to die trying to defend Lily and your son fifteen years ago. No more hope, no more happiness, just a grim determination in your brave face, one that's resigned to your fate. It is very amusing to imagine what is going on in that foolish head of yours. Always brave thoughts, James, always brave thoughts." Voldemort was taunting him, trying to get some more–amusement from him (James couldn't imagine this man being amused). James wouldn't fall for it.
Voldemort smiled a sadistic smile, but before he could say anything, the Death Eater on his left turned to him and spoke, "My Lord, perhaps it isn't a good idea to do this. Perhaps they were all meant to live. Perhaps Harry Potter is the best that you can hope for. What if you kill his parents, and you are faced with an opponent more powerful and ready for you than the boy? Perhaps you shouldn't go through with what you plan on doing."
For a moment, for a single, hopeful moment, James thought that he wouldn't die–at least not today.
But then Voldemort smiled a cruel, sneering smile, whispered a few words to the Death Eater–who sidled back into his place unhappily, turned back to James and said, "If you are meant to live, Potter, then you will--"
He stood up. Only now did James realize just how tall he was. Six and a half feet at least. The man before him smiled, slipped a thin, long fingered hand into the pocket of his robes, and pulled out a wand–
–James felt a thrill of horror running through his heart like a spear–
The door behind them all opened, and a short, breathless Death Eater stumbled into the hall. He spoke a few simple words that echoed down the hallway in the silence:
"....Potter!...Gone!......Escaped--"
Voldemort raised his wand again, James felt a scream rising to his lips. But the scream didn't escape. There was no need for it, because Voldemort didn't point the wand at him. Neither did he cry out, "Crucio!" in complete fury at James. James didn't die. His heart stopped momentarily, and was now pumping, twanging against his ribs, but he wasn't dead. He wasn't even screaming in agony, rolling on the floor. No. It was the Death Eater who was screaming in agony, at the other end of the hall.
Voldemort lifted his wand, breathing furiously, turned around toward the Death Eaters, and shrieked, "WELL WHAT ARE YOU ALL STANDING HERE FOR? GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SIGHT AND FIND HIM!!"
He turned momentarily back toward James and everyone else, called over three Death Eaters and said, "Take them all back to their cells, then help to find the boy and his friends."
James felt his arm being grabbed once again. He was being led away amidst many scrambling Death Eaters here and there.
Behind them, as they reached the door, Voldemort yelled, "Until next time Lily, dear."
Dumbledore stared out the window. What if the story had been wrong? What if James and Lily...Remus....Harry was dead by now? What if he had to do something that they hadn't mentioned?
Strange to think that an old man could feel such fear, such insecurity...could be so...blind.
Everyone was depending on him. Everyone. Even Harry, whom he was depending on, was always looking toward him for guidance. How could he lead them all? How could he convince them all that he was leading them in the right direction? That was probably the hardest question of all.
Should he try to get them out now...or later? What if he came, and they were all dead? What if Harry was dead? Would this mean that their only hope of survival, their hero, would be gone? Or would it mean that Dumbledore himself would have to show the prophecy to the world, mark Neville Longbottom himself as Voldemort's equal, and pass the cup to him in Harry's stead?
Finally, after long contemplation, Dumbledore did decide on something.
There was a flash of fire in the middle of the room as Dumbledore disappeared.
He was heading toward the Order. Even if he didn't go in for the rescue now, he could prepare for it.
Ron decided for what must have been the thousandth time to trust Snape. Really! He'd suspected the man time and time again, and time and time again he'd been proven wrong.
As Hermione would say, just because he didn't like Snape, didn't mean that Snape was wrong. He'd found that out in Hermione's case, but it just wouldn't stick in his head with Snape.
But shouldn't he feel grateful? Snape had just let them out. Snape, his hated potions master, the man who never failed to make Ron and Harry look like fools every potions lesson. Snape had let them out–
–then again, they weren't exactly in a better situation. Being chased by three huffing Death Eaters (all of whom kept sending spells their way) wasn't exactly a step up from sitting quietly in a drippy dungeon room.
Harry pointed his wand over his head, shouted "Stupefy!" and they heard a shout.
They didn't stop to look back behind them.
They were about twenty feet ahead of the Death Eaters when they turned a corner. Ron felt a hand clutching his arm, looked around, and found Harry there, just next to the turn.
"When they turn--" Harry said breathlessly. Ron understood, and stood next to him, raising his wand, with Hermione on the other side of Harry.
The Death Eaters turned.
"Stupefy!" They yelled simultaneously.
The last two Death Eaters fell to the floor, crumpling.
Pause.
Ron said, "Wow!" And prodded the closest masked man with his foot. He saw Harry smile slightly, which had been his intention. Any reaction in Harry was better than none.
After another moment Harry said, "Come on. We have to find the others."
"Then we have to get out of here, right?" Ron said.
Harry smiled, "Yes."
For a moment, Ron felt some shadow of the jealousy that he had once felt. How come he couldn't be the leader of the group? Why didn't Harry ask him what to do–?
Ron knew why.
Because if Ron was the leader, they would already be dead.
James didn't know why he'd had that dream. He didn't know what it had meant. He barely even understood what had happened in the dream.
All that had happened in it were that he was in the forest. He'd known that he could go back home, but at the same time he couldn't. He'd run toward the lake, knowing that something good would happen once he got there. When he HAD gotten there, he'd woken up.
Everything in the dream was the same as it had happened in real life. Everything but the part in which something good happened when he reached the lake.
He was now back in the cell (no longer just an innocent room) with Snape and Lily. Snape was picking at his fingernails, bored. Lily was running her fingers through her hair, trying to pull the knots out of it. James wasn't doing anything. His fingernails were too short to pick at. And he liked his hair messy.
Remus felt, if it was at all possible, worse than he had felt only two nights before. Strange to think that only two nights ago, he'd gotten home. And it had been just a normal day, or, at least as normal as it could have been. Strange to think that only two days ago–no, one day!–he had been free. As free as he could have been, at least. He hadn't been hungry, hadn't been sick with cold, and hadn't yet begun to feel the moon's taunting.
Oh yes, it was coming. Tomorrow night–maybe even tonight–the moon would be full.
It was surprising that this whole ordeal had only taken a day. Yesterday, he'd met himself. Yesterday, he'd told Ron and Hermione about Harry's prophecy. Yesterday, he'd relived a memory that he'd been bottling up for the last fifteen years.
The pain was eating him from the inside out as he thought of it.
Sure, Remus might be alive. He could be whole and healthy. He could even be somewhat happy.
But at the same time he was always dying. Just like Harry was dying. That was their most common characteristic. They were both dying from pain that couldn't be healed. It was like a virus. It began at the heart, and slowly spread out to everything else. Only, like Remus, Harry wouldn't even know that he was dying until something made him realize it. He wouldn't be able to live again until he realized why he was dying, and how to live again.
Remus had realized exactly what was eating away at his heart. Even now he knew. He just didn't know how to make it stop.
A flash of memory slipped through his mind–he'd felt it only twice before. Memories of all of this happening, memories that sneaked through the barriers of the Memory Charm. Only pictures. Maybe a sound. Maybe a feeling. Nothing more. This time only a small flash in his mind, remembering a tall building, one that was only half built, before his eyes.
Remus promptly forgot about it. He blinked and looked up at the dark ceiling. He pulled his cloak closer around him, trying to ward off the cold. His stomach growled with hunger. He wondered if someone would come to give him veritaserum, to get out the Order's secrets....