Chapter 8: Remus at the Lady Sybil

Summary:

Remus is at Tonk's bedside, still in his wheelchair. Twenty-four hours since they've arrived, late in the night after the full moon.

Notes:

Quotes are from Deathly Hallows, CH. 30, slightly paraphrased.

Chapter Text

Remus clutched his wand and considered his next step. He was desperately glad to be holding it again. His chances of getting out of the wheeled chair soon had improved by a magnitude. Angua had located his wand after he had described it, and rushed it to the hospital. When she delivered it to him, he couldn't help smelling that she'd gone furry to find it, and carried it in her mouth. It would have been much faster to run on four legs than two, and she hadn't nicked it anyway. She glowered as she saw him check it, forbidding him to say anything like "Thanks for fetching this."

After her brief flash of consciousness Dora had closed her eyes, but it was sleep, not coma. Sleep would help her heal, as he considered how to begin work on himself.

He flicked the wand up an inch and grimaced. The metacarpals and wrist bones creaked, still half-broken. His range of movement and strength were minimal. He'd been healing himself each full since he was eleven and was used to working through the pain but it was far more than usual. He didn't even know if his magic would work here. Maybe they had some pain potion he could take.

The messy – haired witch asked, "What are you doing with the wand? It looks like it hurts terribly."

"If I can cast healing charms on myself and Dora, we'll recover much faster." At her questioning look he added, "I've been healing myself since I was eleven. If you've got something I can take for pain, I'll be able to work faster."

She nodded, and stretched a hand over to a bottle – filled table. He noticed her gauzy dress – it was floaty and layered, like something Luna Lovegood would wear. Luna was unimaginably far away now. He hoped she wasn't facing dementors with her hare patronus.

Luna and Harry climbed the spiral staircase towards Ravenclaw Tower in tight, dizzying circles. She stood before the aged wood door and raised the bronze eagle knocker.

A soft musical voice said, "Which came first, the phoenix or the flame?"

"Hmm . . .what do you think, Harry?"

"What? Isn't there just a password?"

"Oh no, you've got to answer a question."

"What if you get it wrong?"

"Well, you have to wait for somebody who gets it right. That way you learn, you see."

Her serene voice took no notice of the urgency of their need. Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem might be here, or in an unguessed location, but Luna wasn't panicking. Her mind was clear and free of strain.

"Yeah . . .Trouble is, we can't really afford to wait for anyone else, Luna."

"No, I see what you mean," she said seriously. "Well then, I think the answer is that a circle has no beginning."

"Well reasoned," said the voice, and the door swung open.

The messy – haired witch held a tablespoon of potion to his lips and he opened his mouth. His jaw was aching just from the few words he'd spoken, although he knew this was better than a day ago when he'd been broken almost to bits. The syrup she gave him was sweet, smelling of peppermint and other ingredients he couldn't immediately identify. There was nothing of the nasty muck present in everything Snape brewed. He wished she could have made potions for him. He finished it, feeling the draught cool the fire in his throat and spread outward.

"This is poppy syrup. It has poppy seed powder, white willow bark, and ginger, plus the peppermint. I bind it all with honey as it cuts the bitterness, and honey itself is a natural healer."

"Our potions master at Hogwarts could have used some help from you."

"Hogs with warts?"

"Hogwarts, the magic school. The name's not my idea; I don't even know why the founders chose that." He waited for the pain potion ease through his system.

"What's your name, madam? I can't remember if anyone told me."

"Magrat," she informed him, with a stern tone which said, "Don't even ask why." Then she relented, apparently because he was a stranger.

"It was supposed to be Margaret. My mother was a terrible speller, and once your name has been said, you can't change it."

"Hmm." It could have been Remus Lupin, he thought, but he had had too many years of explaining that his parents had never imagined he'd be bitten when they gave him a double name for wolf. "Thank you for the syrup. If I need something again, do you have medicine without poppy? It's going to make me too sleepy to work for long, madam. Magrat."

The smaller dumpling – shaped witch cackled – well, probably not a cackle. It was more like a gurgle with a laugh. "She's Queen Magrat, now, though she's too polite to say so."

The witch – queen narrowed her eyes at her compatriot but didn't respond to her. "I didn't know you needed to stay awake. If this is too strong, I can give you plain willow bark next time."

"Thank you, your majesty." He flicked his wrist again. Much better. He still had limited movement due to his all-over bandages, but enough to start with the closest breaks.

He twisted the wand towards his left hand. "Brackium emendo." There was a flash of warmth, and the hand and wrist bones became whole again. He sighed with relief and the absence of pain. He could cast here! One more time, and then he could switch to his left hand.

"Brackium emendo," and now his arm was strong, all the way up to his shoulder. He moved his wand to the left hand. "Turn me toward Dora, please. Let me see what I can do for her."

Magrat – Queen Magrat—turned him fully towards Dora's bed. After her brief flash of consciousness she'd closed her eyes, but it was sleep, not coma.

"That bitch Bellatrix." He recognized the fire – rope spell Bella favored when playful. She was strong enough to use an Avada Kedavra whenever she wanted to, but she often dueled to cause pain when she could.

"Bellatrix? That's a star name." It was the small witch.

He snorted, though it made his ribs ache. "Her whole family is named after stars and constellations, Merlin knows why. There's nothing heavenly about the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Bellatrix Black LeStrange is the bitch who attacked Dora. This is one of her signature spells, when she's not using Crucio or whatever it was that she used to blow out the lights in the Great Hall. She's actually Dora's aunt; the family rejected Dora's mother, Andromeda, when she married Ted Tonks, because he was Muggle – born. That means his parents weren't magical. Andromeda's family . . ." He yawned. A few minutes more and he'd be asleep. "Andromeda's family expected her to make a respectable pure – blood marriage." He snickered slightly, aware that the poppy was making him a bit silly.

"Andromeda and Ted weren't exactly thrilled with Dora's marriage to me, you see, although they didn't cast her out. A werewolf is no one's idea of a good mate. They were tortured, you know, to get information about us because we were in the Order." He was drifting, and shook himself awake. He flexed his left hand and pointed the wand toward his chest. "Brackium Emendo."

His pain was significantly less, ribcage almost healed, and he bent towards Dora. The fire – rope marks on her chest had been covered with a paste he didn't recognize but he could trace them. He'd try the one on her face.

"Episkey." Nothing happened.

"Whiskey? That's a spell where you come from?" A gurgle again.

"Nanny, that's not what he said. It didn't do anything I saw, Mr. Lupin."

"No, it didn't work. This cut is a deep curse. I hoped maybe I could reverse it a little, but I think your paste here – " He could smell sage but didn't recognize the other scents.

"What's in this?"

"It's sage, marigold, and white willow, mixed with bear fat."

"Bear fat." This was beyond strange. No healing lotion or cream he'd ever heard of used these ingredients. He squinted at the wounds. They had been cleaned, at least, and there was no pus at the edges. Probably the best you could expect with the fire whip. If he couldn't use healing spells on it – maybe general strengthening. Chocolate at least. He was losing his battle with sleep.

"Give her chocolate."

"Beg pardon?"

"What?"

The witches spoke together.

"Choc ...late. Helps heal…try it…" He slept.

Nanny and Magrat looked at each other. Even through the gravity of the situation, Nanny's eyes twinkled. "I never thought we'd send out for sweets. I could make them my double chocolate surprise."

"No."

"You and Verence could eat it, when you get a chance to rest. O'course you won't rest much, but – "

"No."

"Or I could give them some for when they get back – "

"No, Nanny. He shouldn't sleep in the chair. Please get Igor."

Magrat was a little bit proud of the strength of her poppy syrup, as they moved Remus carefully from the wheelchair to stretch out on a bed next to his wife. He whimpered slightly, but didn't wake up. Igor re – tied all his bandages carefully, scarred and green hands deft and sure. Magrat wasn't sure what to think when the werewolf described his wife's injuries. Magical and not responding to his own wand magic. How long would they take to heal? She did have a small bottle of dittany, procured all the way from Klatch. It was worth ten times its weight in gold, and she wasn't going to waste it if Remus didn't think it would help. When he woke up she'd ask him.

"I'm going to rest while they do," she announced.

"It's not a case of what you'll permit, Minerva McGonagall. Your time's over. It's us what's in charge here now, and you'll back me up or you'll pay the price."

Amycus Carrow spat in her face.

Harry pulled the Cloak off himself, raised his wand, and said, "You shouldn't have done that."

As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted, "Crucio!"

The Death Eater was lifted off his feet. He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain, and then with a crunch and a shattering of glass, he smashed into the front of a bookcase and crumpled, insensible, to the floor.

"I see what Bellatrix meant," said Harry, the blood thundering through his brain, "you need to really mean it."