Chapter Twenty Six
Severus was down in his office, once more packing up his leather holdall with everything he might need to recapture Black. He took the journal back out from the cupboard and packed it. He didn't really suspect he would need it this time - but it had come in useful last time and it would be foolhardy to go on the hunt again without it.
Before he stowed it away, he took out the photograph he had taken from Black's home - of the two traitors at Slughorn's Christmas party; their arms wrapped around each other and identical grins on their faces. His lip curled in disdain at the thought of them … perhaps it was not true love after all, if Black had escaped without the wolf and abandoned it to the executioner. But nevertheless - Black's tame werewolf would be the first place Severus started his search. Lupin might know something and - as loathe as he was to go near this creature he detested so much - he could leave no stone unturned.
...
After the journal, he packed away his shrivelfigs and ragwort juice, his bezoar and his boomslang skin. He put his demiguise invisibility cloak into the bag and then finally he took the small vial of clear liquid that he had used on Walburga and old man Lupin out of the cupboard. Like the journal - he didn't suppose he would need it - but it had come in useful last time …
...
Once he was done, he left the castle - walking through the grounds towards the gates. He went through and - now officially outside of Hogwarts - he apparated to the Ministry, ready to rendezvous with the team of aurors.
Peter was just getting ready to leave for the office when there was a knock on his front door. Wondering who one earth it could be at this time of the morning, he went to open it - and discovered Rita Skeeter standing at his doorstep, her quickquotes quill in her hand.
...
'Rita!' he exclaimed in delight. 'How wonderful to see you. Come in, come in - how can I be of service this morning?'
He ushered her inside, closed the door and led her into the living room. She gave him a large and calculating smile. 'I'm here for a quote.'
'Wonderful - wonderful … happy to provide…' he beamed - and then his brow furrowed. 'A quote about what?'
'About how you feel now Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban. About how you think he did it. About what you think he will do next.'
...
Peter actually felt the colour drain from his face. He let out an involuntary squeak of fear and clapped his hand to his mouth to try and stop it.
'You hadn't heard?' She asked.
He shook his head.
'Well - we didn't hear the news until after we had already put the paper to bed. It will be in the evening edition … and I'm sure the readers would like to hear your take on it.' She smiled at him, her smile was still calculating.
...
He opened his mouth to speak. No sound came out. He closed it. He tried again. Still no sound. He took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow, and sank on to the arm of his chair, clutching at his heart.
'This seems to have come as a terrible shock,' Rita said.
'Yes,' he gasped, 'yes a terrible shock.'
The quickquotes quill came to life.
His small frame trembles as he contemplates what dark magic his erstwhile friend may have used to escape the notorious prison. 'This comes as the most terrible shock,' he says, 'truly appalling news we should all be worried about.'
'No one has managed to escape Azkaban before, have they?' she said.
'No,' he agreed - wringing out his sopping hanky and mopping his brow again.
'No one has managed such a feat - it was believed impossible, for Black to have achieved this…' He shakes his head and wipes his eyes, his hands trembling at the thought of the evil he used to be so close to.
'So how do you think he did it?'
'I …'
'One simply cannot imagine what methods he used, what tricks he learned from the Dark Lord that has allowed him to accomplish such an impossible act,' Pettigrew reports. 'All that is known is none of us are safe in our beds while Black is free.'
...
Once the sentence was written, she grabbed at her notepad, snapped it shut, put it in her bag and smiled again. 'Well thank you for your time, Peter - that will be all. I'll see myself out.'
He was barely aware of her leaving, as he sat - collapsed against his chair, his mouth open, clutching at his heart … and began to panic in earnest.
Remus lay on his mattress and stared miserably up at the ceiling. The dementors were still outside his door - but it felt for all the world like they were in his cell with him, like they were inside of him. The freezing fog, the smothering greyness, filled his head and his heart, made his chest hurt and wrapped around him like grasping fingers dragging him down ... down … down.
This was the worst it had ever been. He was getting used to unhappiness and loneliness, he had been acclimatising to only allowing himself to feel anger. Even the fear that had taken hold of him recently had not been this bad. Even the fear of death had been preferable to this.
Because he no longer feared to die. This was … if this was all he had to look forward to, if this was how it was going to be until the end, then the full moon could not come fast enough.
Kingsley sat at his desk, filing reports - and watching the small group, standing at the other side of the office, very carefully.
...
Severus Snape had arrived - ready to lead the manhunt on Black. Scrimgeour was nowhere to be seen. He was disgusted that some 21 year old potions master with no auror training and a history of working for the Dark Lord had been given the lead on this case.
Moody was out of St. Mungos but still not back at his desk. Auror numbers were not back up to full strength yet - and there were still plenty of Death Eaters to capture … and now there was one more.
Kingsley did not want to go and hunt Sirius again. It had hurt enough the first time. He wished Sirius could have stayed locked up in Azkaban - so that Kingsley did not have to think about him, or Remus. So he could forget that he had lost two more friends in the war. Lost them in a way more painful than if they had just been killed. But that was not the way it had shaken out.
...
And now he could hear the small group talking about taking a boat out to the prison - to interrogate the other prisoner. Kingsley tried to pretend that he didn't know what they really meant by "interrogate" … and tried to forget that the other prisoner was Remus.
...
'They've been apart for more than three weeks now,' Dawlish was saying. 'Realistically, I don't know that the beast can know any more than any of the rest of us.'
'Black and Lupin have been thick as thieves and worse since they were children. They know everything about each other. If Black knew how to get out of Azkaban - if he learned it somewhere - then Lupin knows it too. Oh he may not have the skill to follow, himself, Black was a …' Snape gritted his teeth as he admitted an unpleasant truth, 'unusually powerful wizard, even as a boy. But that doesn't mean the wolf doesn't know how. Or where he might go. The trouble will be breaking through his defences. Getting him to talk - he is loyal to his master, after all.'
But Dawlish and Proudfoot were both grinning. 'Don't worry,' Proudfoot said, 'we paid a visit to the Dangerous Beast lot, downstairs … we have ways to make the wolf talk.'
...
Kingsley bit his lip … and pretended he didn't know what that meant either.
...
'Well,' Snape said, checking his watch. 'We need to set out - the day is wasting. We need to act before the trail is cold.'
'Have you ever been out to Azkaban?' Dawlish asked him.
'No.'
'Brace yourself.'
They gathered their things, grabbing wands and cloaks. 'You coming?' Proudfoot asked Kingsley.
Kingsley shook his head. 'Too much paperwork. I'll stay here - get on top of that, and be command central for if there's any sightings or reports…' He held his breath and waited to see if the other auror would accept his excuse.
...
Because the truth was, he could easily afford to come - workwise. And there was no more important case to be working right now. The recapture of Black was the Ministry's top priority. He just didn't have the heart for it.
He had been to Azkaban - delivered prisoners there plenty of times - he knew what that place was. And it had been hard enough seeing Black and Lupin locked in the Ministry dungeons awaiting trial. He did not want to have to see Remus in Azkaban, to see what the dementors had done to him - what they had made of him. They would have stripped away all his humanity and left nothing but pain; a cowering animal praying for death. He didn't want to see that, did not want to have those memories - once all this was finally over.
...
He didn't lie to himself about what his former friends were. He did not pretend they did not deserve their fate … he knew that Remus and Sirius were dead to him and that Lupin and Black were not the men they had pretended to be. He had never really known them at all.
But still he did not want to see something that would look so terribly like Remus - the friend he had thought he had known - beaten and broken and chained. Did not want to see that suffering in his eyes. And he did not want to be a party to what he knew his fellow aurors were going to do. So he made his excuses to stay behind.
And after a moment, Proudfoot nodded and left him to it - and the three men left the office, leaving Kingsley behind to pretend none of this was happening.
Sirius had travelled several more miles away from the cottage, before he started looking for a place to read his paper. He certainly didn't want to settle down too close to the scene of his most recent crime, or too close to a place he knew wizards lived.
...
When he felt he was a safe distance away, he tramped his way through the grass down to the river bank and began to follow the river path upstream. It led him into some woods - the trees were now bare and the last of the dead leaves were turning to mulch on the frozen ground. While he had been in prison, Autumn had finally given way to Winter, and the woods seemed dead and still.
The path twisted upwards and he followed it along, clambering over boulders and jumping over fallen logs, until eventually he heard the loud, rushing sound of tumbling water. His ears pricked up and he padded his way towards it, following the noise - coming at last to a small waterfall; a place where the river tumbled suddenly over a jutting outcrop of mossy rocks. It was dark behind the waterfall - as if there was a small cave worn into the earth from centuries of the river's passage.
Treading carefully, he picked his way across the pebbly ground, climbed across the greenish boulders - glad that his four paws gave him better balance on their slipperyness - and then ducked behind the tumbling water.
...
Yes, he was in a cave - only small and shallow. But safe and hidden out of the way. With a final check to make sure he was unnoticed, he dropped the stolen paper from his mouth and then transformed back into a man.
Then he needed to sort himself out some light and heat. Of course this would be easy, if he had his wand - spells so simple a first year Hogwarts student could master them. But wandless magic would take a bit more effort. Still - his need was great enough that he needed to try.
Using some twigs that lay on the cave floor, he bundled them up - and then stared at them intently.
...
It was strange. As a child - before Hogwarts, before his wand - magic would just explode out of him. He could control it to a certain extent - though not always - but, like all magical children, he had been able to make impossible things happen just by thinking about it hard enough. It was strange how that skill left them once they were given wands and taught control.
But his need was desperate enough - and so he would have to manage. He stared at the sticks for a long time, feeling his eyes start to prickle with not blinking and then … just as he was ready to give up - he caught sight of the smallest curl of smoke rising upwards. He redoubled his efforts and within a few minutes had managed to light a blazing, cheery little fire.
It felt good, in the cold, damp air - and he warmed his hands over it for a moment before he picked up the paper again, intending to look for news on what Peter was up to.
...
He was pleased to discover that his escape had not yet made the headlines. It did not necessarily mean that the Ministry did not know, but it did mean the wider wizarding community would not yet be keeping an eye out for him. It allowed him at least a few more hours' grace, a bit more freedom to move around.
What he did notice, however, was that there was yet another semi circle up in the top corner above the price. Just like there had been in the paper he had taken from the Minister for Magic. Though the semi circle was wider now - more than half way. And underneath it, it said '6 days to go'. Before it had been ten. He wondered what on Earth ...
...
And then it hit him, and he dropped the paper and fought down the urge to be sick. That circle - getting bigger each day - it represented the moon. And the numbers underneath were declaring how long until next it was full.
But the wizarding community, as a general rule, did not care overly much about the phases of the moon. Potioneers, perhaps, because some herbs and plants needed to be picked on certain nights - but everyone else … they stopped caring about the moon when they had passed their Astronomy OWL. The Daily Prophet did not - under normal circumstances - count down to the full moon.
But this full moon wasn't a normal circumstance was it? This full moon … It wasn't actually the moon they cared about, the full they were counting down to. That was just a symbol of where their real interest lay.
...
It was Remus' execution.
They were gleefully counting down the number of days before they would put Remus down like an animal.
...
Sirius felt the anger rise up in himself - and as he did, the flames of his magical fire burned hotter, climbed higher - spitting sparks up at the low, earth ceiling. He clenched his fists and wished he had something - or someone - to thump.
And behind the anger came his disgust. At the whole wizarding world. At the whole blasted lot of them. They were ghouls, spectres at the feast; they had once had the nerve to call Moony a slavering beast and yet here they were salivating at his upcoming death. Marking the days towards it like some grisly advent calendar - only 17 more days until Christmas, kids, and only 6 days left until we can slaughter the beast … Which are you more excited for?
To publicly do a thing like this - when Remus was ten times the human any of them were. Remus was good and noble and brave and kind, and yet they would treat him like this - and then dare to act like he was the monster.
...
He grew angrier. The flames grew hotter. He felt like they were burning inside of himself and his balled hands began to tremble.
Even if he was successful, even if he found Peter, exposed him as the traitor and cleared his own and Moony's names in the next 6 days - he didn't know how there could ever be any coming back from this. He didn't know how he could ever bring himself to live among the wizards again, when they behaved like this - when they treated Remus, his Remus, like this .
He never wanted to see another wizard again.
...
He and Remus had risked their lives for the safety of the wizarding world. Had joined The Order straight out of school and had dived straight into battling dark wizards for the good of everyone else. Moony had lived among the other werewolves; homeless, and in danger every minute of the day - spying, trying to get them to abandon Voldemort, trying to get them to stop attacking innocent people.
...
Well - that was a laugh. Innocent people . It was beginning to seem like Sirius and Remus were the only two innocent people on the face of the planet. And for all they had done to make the world a better place, for all Remus had forced himself to endure and suffer living rough with the werewolf packs, this was how the world repaid them. A gleeful, ghoulish countdown to Remus' state sanctioned murder.
...
The anger welled up inside of him, bubbling in his chest and into his throat and suddenly he was bellowing in rage. He hadn't screamed his whole time in Azkaban. He had heard all the other prisoners howling out their pain, had forced himself to listen to Remus in agony, but Sirius, himself, had managed to keep a hold of himself - keep it all contained inside.
But now - seeing this - knowing that even if they were free there was nothing worth going back to, he couldn't control himself any longer and he screamed out, wordlessly raging at the awfulness of the world - not even stopping to care if anyone heard him.
He kept on yelling until he could yell no more … and then he took some deep breaths, great gasping lungfuls of air - and tried to get a lid on his anger. Not that he was forgiving the world, not that he was ever letting go of his disgust at every wizard who read this paper and looked at that countdown, but he had work to do.
...
He was going to rob those bastards of their execution. He was going to take it from them, if it was the last thing he ever did. He was going to save Moony - he was not giving these evil … fuckers the satisfaction of putting down the werewolf - the animal - the beast - the monster … and then patting themselves on the back at a job well done.
He needed to act.
And so - to that end - he took his deep breaths and forced himself back into a state of calm, and then picked up the paper and began to look through it: searching for the article about Peter and Harry, which he knew would be in there somewhere.
Remus still stared up at the ceiling. He wasn't dead yet. He didn't know why he wasn't dead - he felt miserable enough to die. He was wishing for it hard enough. And yet here he was - his heart was still beating in a steady rhythm, his chest still rose and fell with even breaths… his body was still stubbornly alive. It was just his soul that had shrivelled up inside of him and turned cold. Dead.
...
He could still hear the rattling outside the door to his cell, the wheezing of sour breath drawn through decaying lungs. The dementors were still guarding him closely - and he didn't know why. He had done nothing wrong … not that he knew of. He had done nothing, while he was in here, that should make them think he needed round the clock watching, extra security.
He was broken. Completely. He knew he was. He had broken long before today - he might be ashamed at how quickly he had deteriorated into a hollowed out wreck of his former self, but he didn't deny it had happened. He was a danger to no one. So why were they out there? Why were they doing this?
Time moved on. And he still wasn't dead.
...
He wasn't sure when exactly it was that he became aware of footsteps headed towards his cell. There was a time when there was nothing but misery, and then there was a time when there was a distant disturbance - noises he did not normally hear - and then there was a time when the footfalls were right the other side of his iron door … but he was not sure when he became aware of each of these changes. It was all a blur. His consciousness was too fogged to really make sense of anything that was not his pressing need to die.
But then - just as he had become aware of the footsteps, he became aware of them coming to a stop. And then he became aware of a jangle of keys - and low voices, though dementors never spoke.
People.
There were people outside his door.
...
He turned his head and looked out of the window, through the bars. It was still early in the day - not night. And even if it was night, he didn't think it was the full moon yet. Today was not his day to die. They should not be his executioners out there.
And yet someone was out there - and they were coming in.
...
The door swung open. He forced himself to sit up. He didn't have the strength in him to get to his feet, to meet whatever new enemy this would turn out to be standing proud - like the man he had once been. But he could at least force himself to look at them. Maybe he could even meet their eyes…
Two men came in. Their wands were raised, their faces were set.
He recognised them. They were two of the aurors who had arrested him, who had taken him to the Ministry and then brought him here.
...
The grey fog began to ebb a little. Now there were other people here, stronger than he was now, the dementors were taking less from him … were choosing to drain the healthy people rather than the broken wolf. And as his mind became less clouded, less suffocated in misery, he found the strength to wonder why the aurors had come back … why they would be here to see him. Surely their job was done?
...
And then a third man entered the cell - and when he stared down at Remus there was a look of such hatred and disgust on his face that Remus felt himself cower back, shrinking against the wall and hanging his head. He dropped his eyes for a moment, feeling ashamed at being seen this way by someone who had known him before - and feeling a guilt that made no real sense, as he was not actually guilty of anything. He took a deep breath and screwed up his courage and raised his head once more ... forcing himself to look back up into the glittering, cold, black eyes of Severus Snape.
