A/N: Thanks and gratitude to SortingHat47 and to Zarathustra, as always…
Thanks also to remuslives23 for her constant support and wonderful stories (they're not just smut anymore!) and for those who made my day by reviewing: MahsaFF, TheMaraudersWillLiveForever, Sonoralie, MissusMoony, and Wolviesfan!
Chapter 5: Trapped
Thursday, 30 May, 1985—3:45 p.m.
Dumbledore and Remus actually used a series of Portkeys to get to Athens, and arrived there in much better time than Remus had taken to get to London. It was a much more relaxed journey as well. Dumbledore was full of interesting but little known facts about the places they travelled through. Remus had never had such a remarkable tour guide.
It was a direct contrast to what happened when he got back to the Alatzas.
Immediately upon his return, Pindar Alatza asked for a full recounting of what had happened, which Remus gave, somewhat unwillingly. Looking back on things, he knew he had been baited, and that he had lost his temper, which was never good for anyone. The merchant listened to the story and to Remus' apology for the delay in returning.
Still, Alatza didn't seem overly bothered. "You said you'd return on Thursday morning. It is now Thursday afternoon. Frankly, I feared worse when I received the message from Alastor Moody yesterday." He smiled. "I thought they'd have charged and executed you by last night."
"I wondered the same thing," Remus admitted.
The merchant looked at him thoughtfully. "You have very influential friends, Lupin."
Remus shrugged, grimacing slightly. "I suppose I do."
Alatza reached into an inner robe pocket and pulled out a piece of thick, good-quality parchment. "Do you know what this is?"
"Can't say I do, sir."
"It's a request from Albus Dumbledore that you be given two nights off every week to work with Alastor Moody. He says the two of them are going to contrive to make sure you can defend yourself from overenthusiastic Ministry workers and some werewolf hunter named —" He paused to open the letter to look for the name.
"Carmichael," Remus supplied.
"Yes, yes. That's it." Alatza tossed the letter on a nearby table. "You say you've never met him before?"
"No sir, I never have."
"Then why do you think he's so interested in you?"
"I have no idea."
"Oh, come now. Surely you have some idea…"
"No, I can honestly say I have no idea why he'd even look twice at me."
Alatza stroked his moustache thoughtfully. "I wonder if your influential friends have scared him off — or made you more appealing to him?"
Remus suppressed a shudder. That thought hadn't occurred to him, and he didn't much like it. Instantly, his mind started working out the possibilities of either scenario.
"So, do you want those two nights off to work with Alastor Moody?"
The question startled him out of his brief reverie. "Yes sir, I do. I think it might be —important."
"Alright then," the merchant said. "Tuesdays and Fridays, you'll have dinner with us, and then you can leave. I do expect you back for breakfast on Wednesday and Saturday mornings."
"Yes sir."
The older man sat back in the chair and sighed. "Now that's settled, I need to bring up something else."
By the man's tone, Remus knew something dreadful was coming.
"My brother has become aware of what you are. And I don't mean just the tutor of my children. A letter came here yesterday for you from the Greek Ministry of Magic. They had some information for you about where to go for the full moon, if necessary. My brother read it." He held up a hand to forestall the questions that were on Remus' lips. "He is calm — now — and has no problem with you remaining in the house. He did insist on telling his wife and his eldest children about it, as well as our other brother and his wife. He did not tell the younger children." Alatza looked at Remus as if now expecting a reaction.
What am I supposed to say? "I am grateful that he didn't tell the children," Remus finally managed.
"Alesia's reaction was — interesting — to say the least," the older man continued.
I can only imagine…
"She was somewhat upset that you hadn't told her. Perhaps it shouldn't have been surprising she reacted so strongly considering you two have spent so much time together, but my brother was insistent on hearing why she seemed so — overwrought."
"Oh?"
"I fear my brother was not as upset about your lycanthropy as he was at the fact that you and his daughter had been — intimate."
"Oh, shit." The words slipped out before Remus could stop them.
Alatza actually laughed. "Lupin — Remus — I have to admit, if she weren't my niece, and I was a few years younger, I'd hardly be able to keep my hands off of her. My brother has since become aware of other — relationships — she has had in the past few years. To say it baldly, yesterday was a bloody battle zone between Alesia and Thanos."
Remus waited. He was sometimes very good at waiting, especially when he wasn't certain where the conversation was going.
"Thanos has not forbidden you the house. He did, however, insist that you not be left alone with Alesia."
"I suppose that's understandable," Remus admitted, "as well as generous."
"His wife was all for tossing you out on your ear," Alatza said. "But that was before Alesia admitted to sleeping with the gardener." He smiled. "Apparently, being a British tutor ranks higher than an Albanian gardener."
"How fortunate for me," mumbled the British tutor.
Alatza laughed again, but sobered quickly. "You are a guest of mine, and more importantly, a guest in my brother's home. I won't say that you are at fault with what happened with Alesia — I won't even ask. But keep in mind that anything improper from this point on will not be tolerated."
"Yes sir."
"If you have to have a woman, Lupin, please, for God's sake, find some woman in town. There are plenty, I would think, that wouldn't mind 'entertaining' a young English man such as yourself."
"Yes sir."
Alatza stood. "You have a couple of hours before dinner in which you can give my children their lessons."
Remus nodded and, hearing the dismissal in the man's words, left to go find Dominic and Isabelle — and to avoid Alesia.
Saturday, 1 June, 1985—9:41 a.m.
It wasn't possible to avoid Alesia — or her temper. He was told by Thanos Alatza that he should be thankful she only threw a vase and several glasses at him. Apparently she had thrown much heavier and deadlier things at a boyfriend who had been caught with another woman.
Still, things didn't seem to be too terribly uncomfortable. There was some tension in the air when Remus was in the room with the adult Alatzas, but he wasn't sure if that was because he was a werewolf or he had slept with Alesia. The children were told nothing about the situation and treated Remus no differently. If they wondered why Alesia didn't go with them in their daily tromps through the village, they didn't ask Remus, which suited him just fine.
As the weekend before the full moon approached, Remus started feeling more uneasy about going back to England for his transformation. He had read the letter from the Greek Ministry about the precautions they took with their few werewolves, and wasn't overly impressed. He hadn't heard anything from Moody — not that he expected to — but he would have liked to know if Carmichael had found the guilty werewolf, or if he'd moved on.
On Saturday morning, however, Pindar Alatza called him into the library and asked him to decide what he was going to do.
"We're going to have to arrange Portkeys or Floo all the way back to Britain," the merchant reminded him. "And I'm not all that anxious for you to go 'were' on me in the middle of France."
Remus smiled weakly, and made an attempt at a joke. "I'm not anxious for that to happen either, sir. I'd venture to say that would be cause for dismissal."
Alatza laughed. "True." He regarded the younger man for a moment. "Have you heard from Alastor Moody?"
"No," sighed Remus. "I don't know whether to be relieved or worried." He put his hands in his pockets and shifted his feet restlessly. The merchant was still staring at him, waiting for an answer. He had to decide. Now. He took a deep breath. "We'll go back. I'm sorry about the bother, but I'm just not comfortable trusting the Greek regulations."
"Too harsh? Or not harsh enough?"
"They're just — different," Remus replied after a moment of picking and choosing words.
"Alright, then," Alatza said. "We'll leave first chance we can on Monday. I have some things I can do at the office if we get back soon enough."
"Thank you, sir."
They discussed the children and their academic progress for a few minutes before Remus left the room, still wondering if he had made the right choice or not.
Monday, 3 June, 1985—1:25 p.m.
Pindar Alatza was familiar enough with the young man he had hired as his children's tutor to know when something was wrong. He had seen him jumpy and somewhat irritable around the full moon, but never had it been this bad. Remus couldn't seem to stand still, no matter where they happened to be, and he was constantly fidgeting with his wand, with paper, with the tableware when they stopped for lunch…. It was putting Alatza on edge as well.
"Would you calm yourself?" he hissed at Remus while they were waiting for their turn at a Floo at a large marketplace that would take them from Dover to London. They could have Apparated to the house on St. James Street, but the merchant was afraid that Remus would splinch himself. He was rather surprised when Remus had agreed.
"Sorry!" the other man snapped, tossing down the small stone that he'd been juggling from hand to hand.
Alatza sighed with relief. But almost immediately, Remus started tapping his foot. The merchant shot him a look of disgust.
"I can't —" the werewolf began. Then he stopped and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.
"Why are you so upset?" Alatza asked quietly.
Remus shook his head. "I don't know. It's just a feeling that something isn't right."
"Werewolf's intuition?" teased the older man gently, glancing around to make sure no one heard him.
The werewolf in question shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think so. It's just — I don't know. I'm just —" He gave up trying to explain.
The witch in front of them disappeared into the green flames and they stepped forward.
"Maybe we should go straight to the estate," Alatza suddenly turned and suggested. "We can look things over and make sure everything's as it should be. It might calm you down some."
"It might," Remus agreed doubtfully, taking one hand out of his pocket to rub the back of his neck.
"I'll meet you at the estate, then," Alatza waited for the tutor's nod, then stepped into the Floo, calling, "Stonehurst, Reading."
As Remus waited for the flames to turn green again, he took several deep breaths to calm himself. He was rather convinced he was going to lose his lunch, what with his nervous, queasy stomach and the whirling of the Floo. The flames changed colour and with a confidence he didn't feel, he repeated the address of the estate in Reading and walked into the fire.
He nearly pitched into Pindar Alatza at the other end, and lost his balance, falling without grace of any kind to the floor. Alatza laughed and helped him to his feet.
"And here I thought you were the type to always land on your feet, Lupin."
Remus risked a nervous joke: "Wolf, not cat, remember?"
Alatza slapped him on the back, nearly putting him on the floor again. "Let's have a glass of wine."
7:24 p.m.
Hours later, they walked out to the shed, taking their time to look over the fields and the stone and hedge fences. Everything was serene and undisturbed, and Remus felt his nerves calming. Even the shed seemed welcoming and sturdy, though the younger man deliberately avoided looking at the stains on the floor. Alatza threw his considerable weight against the doors and smiled when they didn't budge. "I think that will still hold the wolf, don't you?"
Remus nodded, saying nothing.
"Are you still worried?"
"Not as much," the younger man admitted.
"Well, I'll stay here at the manor tonight, and I'll be here to get you first thing. Then we'll head back to Greece, if you're up for it." He put his hand on Remus' shoulder and looked him in the eye. "When Dumbledore recommended you, I had my reservations, but he knows I can't resist a challenge." He smiled. "You're a good tutor and a good man, Lupin. I'm not ready to lose you yet."
Alatza must have been worried, Remus figured, to say something like that. Still, it did make him feel better, and he allowed himself to smile, the first real smile he had given all day.
The older man walked around the interior of the shed, looking around without a shred of embarrassment or uneasiness. "What will you need tonight?"
"Just the usual," Remus said. "Bowl of water, a place for my wand, for sunrise to come soon…"
Alatza laughed.
Preparations went quickly, and all too soon, Alatza stood at the door with his hand on the outside latch. "Anything else?"
"No sir."
"Then, I'll be on my way. I'll be back first thing in the morning." He paused. "Good luck, Remus."
Remus nodded, and Alatza saw the impatient gleam that told him that the werewolf was anxious to be alone with his demon. He pulled the doors closed firmly.
Remus sank to the floor, listening to the chains being pulled through brackets on the doors. The moon pulled at every nerve, though he knew he still had at least an hour before the actual change. It whispered to him, promising him things it could never deliver, filling him with desires that he never wanted to satisfy. He couldn't help groaning softly: it was the only thing that could express the feeling of doubt, hopelessness, and yearning that welled up within him.
He got up and paced the length and breadth of the shed. He tried to concentrate on counting his steps, but his mind ripped coherent thought to shreds.
It's going to be bad, he realized suddenly, whimpering a little. He began to undress quickly…
Tuesday, 4 June, 1985—6:24 a.m.
Pain held him fixed to the floor, and the smell of his own blood assaulted him. He thought he could hear a man's voice dismissing the wards, and then, yes, that definitely was the chain sliding through the brackets. Weak sunlight burst into the shed, blinding him, making him gasp.
"That's him," said a rough voice.
"Bloody mess, ain't he?" said another.
"Let's go, let's go! Before Alatza gets here," growled another voice. That one was vaguely familiar.
Remus looked up, momentarily struck dumb with shock and fear.
There were four of them; three who approached him, one to stand by the door. Only one of them was familiar.
"No," he whispered, finally regaining his ability to speak. "Not going."
"You don't have a choice in the matter," Carmichael said with a smirk. "You've already been bought and paid for."
And with those mysterious words, the men reached for him with merciless hands and took him away.
They Apparated into an old barn that could have been anywhere. The smell of musty hay tickled the barely conscious werewolf's nose, and dust rose from where he landed on the floor. The men had apparently planned for this mission: one of them threw a blanket over him while another popped open a bottle that immediately started to fizz.
Roughly, they forced his mouth open and poured the liquid down his throat. Almost immediately, he felt warmth spreading through him, and knew the tingle of a healing potion.
"That bit isn't going to be enough to close up those gashes," one man commented.
"It'll slow the bleeding," Carmichael replied. "And it should be enough to get him up on his feet for now," Carmichael said. He waited a moment and then motioned to two of the men. "Let's go."
Again, Remus was hauled to his feet, and they Disapparated.
10:05 a.m.
Alastor Moody was just putting the finishing touches on a report of a robbery from Borgin & Burkes when he heard someone shouting. As far as he was concerned, if they wanted him involved, they'd call for him, so he just shrugged inwardly and continued working.
A moment later, a young Auror came charging down the aisle, skidding to a stop by his cubicle. "Moody, they're bringing someone over to see you."
"Who?"
"I think his last name's Atlanta, or Aliza, or something like that."
"Alatza?"
"That's it."
Moody felt a chill go up his spine. "What's wrong?"
"Don't know for sure. Someone's missing —"
The Auror threw down the quill and went to meet Alatza.
12:51 p.m.
Three hours later, Moody was walking through the halls of Hogwarts, resolutely ignoring the students who stopped to stare at him. As he climbed the staircase leading to the second floor, he saw Minerva McGonagall standing on the landing above him.
"Alastor? What's wrong?" she asked worriedly.
Moody shook his head. "Come with me to Dumbledore's office, and I'll tell you both what I know. You should hear this."
She hesitated for just a moment before nodding. "I have a class starting in a quarter of an hour. If I'm late, it might teach them patience."
"If they're Gryffindors, I doubt that."
"Slytherins, actually."
"Patience they've got," Moody growled. "Too much of it, sometimes. Especially when they're waiting for someone to fail."
When they entered Dumbledore's office, the Headmaster was standing beside Fawkes, the phoenix, gently stroking the bird's head with one finger.
"Alastor, I fear you are not here for a social visit."
"No, I'm not," the Auror replied. He motioned for Dumbledore to sit down, and waited for him to do so. "Remus Lupin is missing."
The older wizard leaned forward and his hands clenched the arms of the chair. "What do you mean, he's missing?"
"For Merlin's sake, Albus, how can I make it any clearer than that? The boy went missing this morning. Alatza got to the shed, the wards were down, the doors open, and there was no sign of Lupin."
"Could he have gotten out last night?"
"Or could he have done it this morning, after he changed back?" asked McGonagall, sinking into a chair next to Moody's.
The Auror shook his head. "No. When I got there this morning, I ran a tracking spell, and it seems as if there were three or four people there — besides Lupin — though I'm not certain of that. There were at least two, because there were two separate and distinctive sets of footprints that had tracked through the blood on the floor.
"Besides that, Alatza and Lupin worked on those wards together, and they've held the wolf for months. And as far as Lupin leaving this morning, there's no way he could have left that shed this morning by himself. Alatza said the boy had been nervous all day yesterday — more so than usual, even if it was a full moon day — and was worried about last night. We all know that a werewolf's transformation is more difficult and more brutal when he's stressed. By looking at the damage done and the blood left behind, it's obvious that Lupin hurt himself badly. Or the nastier possibility was that someone else hurt him."
"What else did the tracking spell tell you?" Dumbledore asked.
"Whoever it was, they Apparated into the woods near the manor, went straight to the shed, then came out and Disapparated almost immediately."
"And there's no way of knowing where they went," McGonagall said bitterly.
"No."
"So, what do we do now?" Dumbledore asked.
Moody sighed. "Not much we can do. I can't put in a missing person's report for a week."
"A week!" exclaimed McGonagall. "I thought it was two or three days!"
"For a wizard, it's typically two days. For a werewolf, it's seven days."
"But anything could happen in seven days!"
"I don't write the laws, Minerva."
"I know, but, honestly —"
Dumbledore stopped her with a raised hand. "We can notify those who were in the Order that knew him. They can help by being our eyes and ears until the Ministry steps in."
"You can also help me by giving me a list of names of his friends or relatives," Moody said. "I can't do anything officially yet, but if I happen to meet one or two of them…"
McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged glances. "I think that might be a bit more difficult — or perhaps simpler — than you'd think," the Headmaster finally said. "His parents are both dead, as are his grandparents, with the exception of one grandmother who disowned him after he was bitten. His mother's family are Muggles, and have never had much to do with him, and his father's family is so small and widespread that they have more or less forgotten he exists."
"What about his friends?" Moody asked.
"As far as I know," McGonagall said slowly, "his friends are either dead or in Azkaban."
Moody's eyes focused on Dumbledore. "I knew the boy kept to himself, but you mean to tell me he's isolated himself that much?"
"Considering how his other friendships turned out, I can't blame him," McGonagall opined.
"He's been afraid to get close to anyone again," Dumbledore said, in agreement with McGonagall. "That is one reason why I was encouraging you to teach him. Besides it being a practical thing for him to learn, I knew it might encourage him to trust someone again."
"Being friends with an Auror is not necessarily a wise choice," Moody snapped. "All it takes is one distracted moment, or one undiscovered hex, and I'm dead. And you want to do that to him?"
Dumbledore shrugged. "It was the first time in a long time I've seen him interested in working with a person."
"You sent him to Slovakia and Romania —"
"To study magical animals and creatures. He was happy doing that. He very rarely had contact with the man he was working for."
Moody glared at the Headmaster. "You know what, Dumbledore? You've fucked that boy up."
The Headmaster's eyebrows rose in surprise. "What makes you say that?"
"You've let him isolate himself. You were trying to help him, yes, but you let him push people away. You did the same thing to him in the war. You gave him tasks that only he could do, but made it impossible for him to talk about them. You isolated him from Black, Pettigrew, and the Potters — if you had allowed him to tell them what he was doing, Black wouldn't have been able to convince the Potters that Lupin was the spy, and —"
"Enough!" said Dumbledore sharply.
McGonagall jumped at the Headmaster's tone. Moody pressed his lips together tightly in a scowl.
"We all, at one time or another, have been guilty of underestimating Remus," Dumbledore finally admitted. "I honestly thought that he would tell Sirius and the Potters what he was doing. They never kept secrets from one another. I didn't realize he would keep so much hidden from them. So, yes, I suppose I helped create the situation in which he lost the Potters' trust. I will make no apologies for myself, though, Alastor. We all did what we thought was necessary at the time."
Moody grunted, though McGonagall wasn't sure if it was in agreement or not. Still, she thought it might be a good thing to change the subject. "Alastor, where are you going to look first?"
"I'm going to find out where Carmichael is. I have the feeling he's behind all this. I'll make a few enquiries, but I'll have to be very discreet. If I move too quickly, without enough evidence, I'll catch all kinds of hell. Oh, I almost forgot…" Moody suddenly rose in order to dig in a pocket of his Auror's robes. "I have these." He looked from Dumbledore to McGonagall. "I think one of you should keep them." He pulled out a small moleskin bag cinched shut with a frayed cord, and tossed it on the desk in front of the Headmaster.
Slowly, as if unsure of what he would find, Dumbledore opened it and placed his hand inside. Moody was watching him closely, so he saw the pained look appear in the older wizard's eyes.
"What is it, Albus?" asked McGonagall quietly.
Dumbledore slowly withdrew a long, slender brown wand. McGonagall gasped.
"Alatza said that and his clothes were up on the shelf they built just for that purpose," Moody said. He motioned to the bag. "His clothes are in there too." He let out a bitter chuckle. "We should have taught him how to do wandless magic months ago, Albus."
6:46 p.m.
Solid black became blurred images, dull aches became sharp pain, whispers became rough talk — but the nightmare wouldn't end. All he wanted was to rest, to sleep away the damage he had done to himself, but they wouldn't let him. When he could, he stumbled along wherever they pushed him, unaware of where he was, where he was going, and completely ignorant of the reason why. He tried to ask twice, but the resulting punches and kicks made him reconsider asking again.
Finally, hours later, he was dropped unceremoniously on the ground, and he curled into a ball, wincing.
"Good God, Carmichael! What the hell is this?"
"You wanted a werewolf. This —" The toe of a boot connected with his shoulder blade. "— is a werewolf. He'll heal with a couple of good spells."
"I hope so. I don't like paying for damaged — creatures."
"Lupin." The booted foot nudged him.
"Lupin!" the other voice repeated his name breathlessly. "Are you mad?"
"What? He's a werewolf like any other."
"Except that he's Albus Dumbledore's pet!"
Large hands grabbed his arm and pulled at him until he was more or less sitting up. "Dumbledore can't get him here, and you know it. Besides, I've checked; he's got no family to worry about. He's a good choice, really."
Remus opened his eyes slowly. He was surrounded by legs — all human. Two, four, six, seven — wait, how can there be seven? Moody? No — there are eight legs — like an octopus… He looked up at the man who stood in front of him. He looked familiar. He was dressed in a dark Muggle suit and necktie and bowler hat, which gave him the appearance of a well-to-do Muggle banker or businessman. His round face was red with anger, and his moustache bristled with indignation. "You'd better be right, Carmichael. I have half a mind to demand a discount — an injured creature, one that's a little too well-known…. What in the hell were you thinking?"
"I was thinking you paid for a werewolf —"
The shouting went on, but Remus let it pour over him, though he knew he should be paying attention to what they were saying. So much for constant vigilance.
Something caught his attention finally. "Listen, Bentley, he's the best one on that list anyhow. John Lupin used to work at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Creatures, and then worked at exterminating and relocating magical creatures. He more than likely passed that knowledge on." There was another tap with the boot, this time against his hip. "Use this one to take care of the other animals you've got."
My dad used to work at the Ministry? Did he? When? He never —
"Fine, fine. I'll work it out. I can work around what I really need him for so he's not identified. For now. But, I'm telling you, Carmichael —"
"You're not telling me anything. You got your werewolf. Now I want the rest of my money."
The other man — Bentley? — sighed heavily. "All right. Fine." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Get him inside. Last cage on the right."
Remus let himself be pulled up, but they didn't allow him to find his footing. Instead, they dragged him toward a long tent, striped with vivid colours. Behind him, he heard Bentley ask if Carmichael was sure he wasn't going to die. Carmichael's voice carried easily to him: "He shouldn't. Keep throwing healing potions down his throat. But if he does, I'll get you another one. Don't worry about it."
There had been a night, six years ago, when Remus and Sirius had ended up in a Muggle jail because firstly, they were drunk (out of their minds) in a public place (in front of Westminster Cathedral), and secondly, Sirius thought it'd be fun to get arrested so they could Disapparate from their cell (just to tweak the noses of the police). Remus was now reminded of that night very clearly
Bars lined both sides of the corridor, giving it the appearance of a prison. He glanced from side to side, astounded at what he was seeing: a variety of magical creatures and beings, many of them staring at him and his captors. His sluggish mind identified a nogtail, a tank with a grindylow, and a small cage full of pixies, and he wasn't quite sure, but he thought he saw a hippogriff.
The smell of the place was nearly overwhelming to him, and the dust raised from the tanbark tickled his nose and made him sneeze. The men merely tightened their grip on his arms and kept him moving.
When they finally reached the end of the corridor, a young man, hardly older than a boy, stepped out of the cage. "In here," he said, with a sweeping gesture. "Watch the bars, they're silver."
"Hear that?" the man to his left said gleefully in his ear. "Silver bars. Not going anywhere soon, are you?"
"Me da wants these on him," said the young man, who Remus could now see had more than a passing resemblance to Bentley. He held up a set of leg irons.
"No," Remus whispered.
"Be thankful they aren't silver," the man on his left remarked.
Any resistance was taken from the werewolf with a few well-placed punches, and before he knew it, he was laying naked on his side, his ankles connected by the iron chain.
"Don't he have no clothes?" the young man asked.
"Your dad didn't pay for them," sneered one of the other men. He held the blanket in his hands. "This has his blood all over it already; guess it won't hurt to let him keep it." He gave it a toss so that it landed across Remus's waist. "There. Now he won't be offending all the dainty ladies that come through here."
"What's with all the scratches?"
"Haven't you seen what a werewolf will do to itself during full moon?"
Young Bentley swallowed hard. "No."
"Get used to it then."
"You'll want to get him some more Healing potions," someone commented.
Remus didn't know who said it. He didn't care, really. He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. The sound of clinking iron accompanied his movements, and he felt his heart constrict painfully.
The sound of the door slamming shut behind the men made him jump, and his eyes fluttered open. If anyone had been looking, they would have seen something lurking behind the blue, something fearsome that whispered over and over in Remus's mind, Trapped. Trapped. Trapped….
14