A/N: You should all know by now: Zarathustra and SortingHat47 helped me with all those pesky little things like punctuation (I LOVE commas) and grammar.
Disclaimer: Not JKR. Remus would have ended up alive otherwise. I mean, honestly. Who allows Sybill Trelawney to live and takes away REMUS? It defies thought AND description.
Chapter 9: Clabbert and Consciousness
Tuesday, 2 July, 1985—6:37 a.m.
Lupin paced back and forth, to and fro, tirelessly. Libertas watched him, and thought that even without the "Werewolf" placard right outside the cage, there would be no mistaking the lupine bearing. The light beard that had sprouted over the past couple of weeks was shaggier today.
"Wolf."
"Horse," was snarled in return. The pacing didn't cease.
"The full moon is today."
The man gave him a piercing stare, and then continued his pacing.
The blue eyes were clearer today than they'd been for two weeks. But did he understand what Libertas meant? The centaur wasn't sure. Did the werewolf realize that in a matter of hours, he was going to go through the excruciating transformation that would make him a beast instead of a man?
Gerry arrived only moments later with a plate full of meat, which Lupin attacked with a voracious appetite. Then Libertas heard the young man say, "Bill's coming to see you."
The werewolf went completely still then tilted his head. "I haven't done anything."
"No, you haven't. He's going to take you out of here for a bit."
Lupin gave Gerry the empty plate as well as a suspicious glance. "Where is he taking me?"
"Someplace safe — safer. It's all right. Don't worry."
"Why?"
Gerry shuffled his feet and started fumbling in his pockets for the key to the werewolf's cage. "He'll explain everything to you." He nodded to the glass of water he'd brought. "Don't forget to drink your water."
"Not thirsty."
"Better drink it anyhow, or Bill will be angry."
Libertas saw the sullen look on the werewolf's face as he sipped at the water.
"It doesn't taste right," Lupin said.
Gerry looked uneasy at this pronouncement. "It tastes as it does every day. Now, come on and drink up."
But Libertas knew what was happening. The moon was too strong in the werewolf now. The drug would never be able to touch Lupin at this point. And Lupin's awareness was rising.
The werewolf's eyes narrowed, and suddenly he turned the glass upside down, letting the water splash over the floor of his cell and his feet. "I'm not drinking that. It's not — right."
Gerry fled. There was no other word to describe it.
Libertas watched Lupin resume his pacing. "Lupin."
The werewolf shot him a glare.
"Do you understand what is happening to you?"
"I should." The werewolf's whisper was almost lost in the air between their two cells.
Suddenly he threw himself at the door of his cage, crashing against it with his shoulder. Two more times he charged at the bars. Then he sank onto the floor of the cage, where he gingerly touched a welt that had risen at the touch of flesh against silver.
The man's desperation was palpable, and Libertas could empathize with it, but could do nothing about it. "Lupin, the water…."
"I'm not drinking the water," the werewolf snapped.
"Sometimes it is better to stay hidden in the shadows than to have everything revealed by the sun," Libertas said.
The werewolf laughed bitterly. "And that is supposed to mean something to me?"
"You can do nothing against them. Drinking the water — helps."
Lupin lay back on the ground and rubbed his face with his hands. "It's all so — unclear. How can I remember things, but — not? It's as if I've been asleep, or sleepwalking, or—"
"The full moon rises soon."
The man groaned and rolled over onto his side so he was facing the centaur. Full comprehension was growing quickly. "So I've — it's been a — a month."
"Yes."
"Shit."
A tad vulgar, perhaps, but it summarized the situation well, Libertas thought.
"The water. I've been drinking the damned water." And suddenly the werewolf shuddered. "I remember he…. Oh Merlin, I remember."
Libertas waited.
"I've got to get out of here," Lupin whispered. "He's killing my mind."
He got to his feet, and padded, barefooted, to the door. He stayed several inches away from it, but he stared at the lock intently, as if that was all that required to make the thing melt away.
Suddenly he looked up, staring towards the front entrance. Libertas heard the footsteps a moment later.
Lupin turned his gaze on the centaur, terror evident in the bright blue eyes. "I don't want to forget again."
What could Libertas do? He couldn't help the man. He couldn't stop what was going to happen next. He couldn't stop Parsons from killing Lupin's mind or body. He couldn't even stop what Parsons was doing to him. "You will remember again," he said to Lupin.
And then he turned his back on the werewolf, and the men who were coming for him.
Lupin fought them. He fought harder and longer than Libertas would have thought possible. Perhaps Lupin gave himself over to the wolf. In the end, however, the result was what Libertas would have predicted. What Lupin himself would have predicted, the centaur thought.
He watched them drag the werewolf, torn and bloody from the cage, and drop him in the center of the aisle.
"Think he'll ever learn, Bertie?" Bill Parsons asked, seeing the centaur was watching.
Libertas raised his chin. "He has learned. The lesson, however, is not one of your teaching."
Bill looked as though he wanted to say something angry in reply, but was distracted by a groan from Lupin. The werewolf had placed his palms on the floor and was trying to push himself up.
"Let's go, boys. Moon rises early today."
Jack and Wally each hooked an arm under the werewolf's armpits and hoisted him up. Lupin inhaled sharply.
"You should be thankful, wolf! I'm going to make you a movie star!" Bill laughed.
4:45 p.m.
Lupin paced back and forth, to and fro. He limped as he moved, but something beyond the brick walls and iron bars that formed this new cage propelled him, urged him to keep going.
He could feel the moon singing to him. He groaned as it heated his blood and sharpened his senses. As always, it made him want things he'd never known: the thrill of the chase, the hunt, the kill, the blood….
He shuddered. It wouldn't be long now. He'd fought it long enough. Even though the sun was still hours from setting, the full moon had already risen, and was waiting for him to acknowledge her… to allow her to have her way with him….
He collapsed into the corner, rubbing his bruised thigh. The imprint of Wally's boot was fairly clear.
He winced as a surge of something powerful and demanding went over him, through him.… No. He wasn't going to fight it any longer. He sighed in submission. Let the wolf deal with the moon….
9:45 p.m.
The wolf paced back and forth, to and fro — tirelessly. He occasionally cast glances over his shoulder at the bright lights that had come to life as the evening had gone on.
Every once in a while, prey would appear, just on the other side of the bars, and he would charge at it.
There were three different victims. He could smell the differences between them. The fatter one, the one who was covered in fear-inspired sweat, screamed when the wolf charged at him. It was a satisfactory response, but not nearly as satisfactory as it would have been had the wolf been able to bury his teeth into the sweat-drenched flesh, and rip it from the bones, and lap at the blood….
The wolf howled, frustrated and angry. He needed to eat. He needed to feast. He needed to chew, to gnaw at bones that would snap like twigs between his powerful jaws.… He needed hot blood spurting from torn arteries….
No prey seemed to be forthcoming. But, there was something inside the wolf, something that seemed like prey, something that spoke of something… human. And so the wolf, needing to assuage his aggravation and moon-borne madness, turned on himself….
Wednesday, 3 July—10:02 a.m.
"Well, you've done a job on yourself, haven't you?"
He hated that voice. Hated that casual American drawl that grated on his sensitive British werewolf ears.
"I've got healing potions for you. You gonna sit up on your own and take them? Or do I have to come down there and stuff them down your throat?"
Remus couldn't have moved if he wanted to. He had the horrible feeling that if he moved his right arm away where it was fixed at his side, his organs would slide right out of the hole that was there.
Bill, however, either didn't realize it or didn't care, for he bent down and wrenched Remus' arm away. "Hell!" he exclaimed. "That's going to take a little more fixing than I thought. Stay there."
Where would I go? And how could I get there?
It was easier to just close his eyes and forget about it all instead of trying to figure out the answers to those two questions.
It might have been minutes; it might have been hours. He didn't know. All he knew was that he suddenly became aware of gentle fingers probing his bloody side, and it hurt.
"I know, I know it hurts," said a woman's voice.
He slowly opened his eyes. The woman was kneeling next to him. She was a small woman, slightly overweight, with dark hair and too much makeup, but her fingers were nimble as she worked. She squeezed some kind of paste from a tube into a bowl, and then added some kind of a liquid from a bottle. She mixed the substances together with her wand, and then added some powder from a little tin not far from his extended left hand.
She was so engrossed in her work that, for a moment or two, she didn't realize he was watching her. "Awake, are we?" she asked gently, with a smile. It made her face brighten, and her light blue eyes sparkled with good cheer.
Still, he didn't know whether it was safe to smile at her or not, so he didn't.
"I'm going to try to heal this, but I've never had to heal anything this deep before. It might not work," she told him. She scraped the mixture off of the tip of her wand and then pointed the wand at the hole in his side. She muttered something that sounded vaguely familiar to him, and he felt the warmth in his side as the flesh around the wound began to respond and began to rejuvenate itself.
It was apparently not going fast enough to please her, however, for she muttered another spell. That time, something shifted, and Remus groaned.
"Sorry, ducky," she whispered.
'Ducky'? Who calls a bloody werewolf 'ducky'?
"Come on, Ruthie, just get him healed up already. He's already missed half a morning's work."
"Well, he's not going to be able to work the other bloody half, now, is he?" Ruthie shot back over her shoulder at the American. "Now, shut up, so I can concentrate." She saw that Remus was still looking at her, and she gave him a quick wink that Bill couldn't see.
Remus felt the left side of his mouth twitch, as if he wanted to smile in spite of himself.
"Let's try that last one again, shall we? Hold on, love." Her painted-on eyebrows met over the bridge of her nose as she concentrated and then muttered the second spell again.
There was a flare of heat this time, and Remus felt the muscles creeping closed, the skin trying to seal — and it hurt like hell. He clamped his eyes shut and bit into his bottom lip. The fingers on his right hand scrabbled at the dirt floor, his left hand reached for the wound. He couldn't breathe properly, and he felt himself panicking...
Ruthie grabbed his left hand and closed his fingers over her own thick ones. He tried to pull away, but her other hand, still clutching her wand, came down on top of his hand, holding it in place.
He hated that he hurt her, for he knew he did. He squeezed with all the strength that remained within him. But finally, the pain began to ease, and he drew in a gasping breath. "Sorry," he whispered.
"Not at all," she said back, just as quietly. She let go of his hand, and reached for the bowl. "This is a little something that my grandmum used to use. It's good for anything and everything. Spots, cuts, sprains…." She slathered the cool paste on his side, and then started on his arms.
"Ruthie, leave some of them unhealed, so the visitors can see them. They'll pay good money to see what a werewolf does to itself."
"Bill Parsons!"
"I'm telling you the same thing I told Gerry: don't go getting attached to it. Its sole purpose here is to make us money."
Ruthie shifted so she could reach a particularly nasty bite on Remus' calf. "Bill, don't you have something else you should be doing?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," he said, his tone brightening. He pushed himself away from the wall and reached into his shirt pocket. Remus shuddered. He knew what was coming. He shut his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the syringe.
1:06 p.m.
Libertas fought the urge to doze. The drug was always at its strongest during the early afternoon, and the growing warmth in the tent made it conducive for sleep. But he had to see Lupin. He didn't know why he bothered. It wasn't as if the werewolf meant anything to him. Lupin didn't have the ability to discuss the stars, or their courses, or even intelligently discuss predictions. But.…
Lupin called him Libertas.
Yes, he also called him 'horse,' but only when the centaur called him 'wolf.' Lupin, for the most part, knew how to be respectful to a centaur. In this place, it was the only respect Libertas got.
He would respect Lupin by being awake when they brought him back.
2:23 p.m.
Lupin actually walked back to his cell. The leg irons were back though, and shackles chained his wrists together. Libertas felt a quick stab of anger on Lupin's behalf, however, at the sight of the dog collar around the werewolf's neck. They hadn't needed to do that, the centaur knew: he could tell that Lupin had been drugged again. It was all for the sake of the — drama. So that the few people who were in the tent could recognize the danger inherent in having a werewolf in the Carnival… and how Bentley and Parsons were doing all they could to keep the dangerous creature under control.
They removed the wrist shackles, and the lead from the collar, and then shoved Lupin into his cage. He stumbled then fell heavily on his knees. Neither Wally nor Jack helped him up, but they didn't tease him as Libertas thought they might. Instead, they closed the door, locked it and went on their way without another word.
Libertas went to the bars. Lupin hadn't moved.
"Wolf."
It took a moment, but finally the werewolf turned his head. "Horse."
Satisfied that Lupin was alive, and going to remain so, Libertas decided to take his nap.
Thursday, 4 July—11:48 a.m.
The hippogriff watched the boy enter his cage and decided he'd had enough of this. At least the other one — the taller one, with blue eyes — tried to make things interesting when he threw the dead rats and ferrets. This one would just empty the bucket on the ground and leave. While the hippogriff would eat his food off of the floor if he wanted to, he just wasn't in the mood for it today.
The dark-haired boy bowed.
The hippogriff cocked his head to one side and regarded him with a fierce eye. The boy could do better! His whole demeanour said, 'I'm trying to hurry up and get this over with.' He wasn't showing proper respect at all!
The boy straightened, sighed heavily then bent again, muttering something about a "dumb bird."
The insolence! The hippogriff shrieked with rage, and reared. His front talons came down, just as the boy looked up in horror….
Lupin heard the hippogriff's cry, and then heard Gerry scream. He bolted from the nogtail's cage and ran as quickly as he could to the hippogriff's cage. Gerry was lying on the ground, blood covering his face and drenching his shirt. The hippogriff was poking at him with a taloned foot.
Swallowing hard, Lupin bowed. The hippogriff, catching the movement, tilted its head one way, then the other. Then slowly, it lowered its head in response to Lupin's obeisance.
Quickly, Lupin grabbed Gerry by the shoulders and dragged him out of the cage.
The hippogriff chirruped with confusion, and stepped towards the open door. Where were the rats? Where were the ferrets?
Lupin grabbed a rat that had fallen out of the bucket and flung it at the hippogriff. While the beast crunched it to bits, the werewolf leaned over Gerry. The boy was conscious, but just barely so. A razor-straight scratch sliced its way down his face, starting at his forehead, ending at his chin, just barely skipping over the eye socket.
Gerry's torso had received the full brunt of hippogriff anger: both forefeet had raked the boy from shoulder to belly, and blood was pumping from the wounds at a rate that even Lupin, in his somewhat fogged condition, could see might be fatal.
What was he to do? He glanced around, and as was often the case, no one else could be seen.
He threw another rat at the hippogriff, slammed the door shut, and went running towards the front of the tent. Someone had to be there — they had to.…
Wally saw Lupin come out of the tent, then pause and look around. "Ah, bleedin' hell. He's trying to escape again," he muttered, getting to his feet.
Jack looked up. "What?"
"Bloody werewolf."
They both started to run towards the tent, but Bill got there first. He had his wand lowered at Lupin, who was pointing back inside, and saying something about Gerry and the hippogriff.
It only took a second for his words to sink in, and the men ran inside; Jack made sure to grab Lupin by the arm and drag him along, too.
Monday, 8 July—6:50 p.m.
It was to be a long, slow recovery process for Gerry. Muscles had been torn that would require rest and a lot of patient coaxing back to any kind of normality.
As a result, Wally was recruited to fill Gerry's duties of both helping and directing Lupin in feeding the creatures in the Carnival. The man was not happy at being paired with the werewolf, and was even more unhappy that he was made to play "nursemaid and cook" for the creatures. Lupin soon learned that an unhappy Wally was a dangerous Wally.
For two days, Wally criticized and cursed Lupin for being too slow. It frustrated the werewolf beyond measure. He knew he wasn't this slow naturally, but the fog that Bill forced on him kept him from thinking beyond whatever simple task he was doing at that moment, which made him appear stupid. And when Wally thought Lupin was being exceptionally stupid, he made the werewolf cognizant of it with a slap, a punch, or a kick. By the end of the second day, Lupin realized that Wally-inflicted marks outnumbered the ones left by his transformation at the full moon.
He tried to pour his water out on the third morning, but Wally caught him at it. Bill was summoned, and after the threat of dire consequences, Lupin found himself pinned to the floor and, once again, pierced with a hypodermic needle.
After that, he could do nothing to please Wally. The man even began to throw the food into bowls for the animals before Lupin could point out what was right and what wasn't.
"Straighten it out as you go," Wally snapped at him on the fourth morning following Gerry's accident, when Lupin dared to suggest that Wally was getting mixed up on what the animals were supposed to eat.
Lupin took the plate of kippers that Wally was pushing at him and went to feed the grindylow.
When he was on his way back to the food storage area, Wally was coming out of the Clabbert's cage, an empty plate in his hand. Lupin felt the first stirrings of alarm. He hadn't seen Wally chopping up any of the chicken that the Clabbert needed.
Confused, Lupin touched the carnival worker on the arm to get his attention.
"Did you give him chicken?"
"Chicken? No! Gave kippers to him, didn't I?"
"He's not supposed to have kippers," Lupin told him, feeling annoyed, which was rare in his drug-induced state.
"He's eating 'em, isn't he?"
Lupin peered in at the Clabbert, who grinned at him, revealing its pointy teeth. Well, it was too late to get the fish from the animal; he'd have to try to work faster or push harder to get Wally to listen. Maybe if he talked to Bill…. No. He wasn't going to talk to Bill. He'd have to get through to Wally on his own. Somehow.
He just hoped the kippers wouldn't disagree with the Clabbert. He had a bad feeling that if something happened to the monkey-like animal, Wally, and subsequently Bill, would somehow blame him for it.
Tuesday, 9 July—1:03 a.m.
Lupin awoke, ripped from his light slumber by a sound that wasn't — usual. But, what was it?
That thump was the sound of a hoof — either the nogtail or the hippogriff. The soft but mad muttering was the jarvey. The whistling was part of the erumpent's soft snore….
There. A whimper. A sad, pleading sound….
Lupin sat up, concentrating more fully. Yes, another noise of pain, and it sounded as if it were the Clabbert.
He cursed and went to the bars, glancing between them. All was dark, and no carnival workers were anywhere to be seen. The Clabbert cried out again, a little louder.
Lupin paced the width of his cell, thinking as quickly as his drug-laden and sleep-deprived brain would allow. How could he get to the Clabbert and help it? Should he just start yelling for someone, anyone to come? He didn't really want to disturb the other animals — he just needed help for the one.
Think. Think. What do I do? If only the door was open. If I could only get that door to open…. How do I get it open?
He stared at the door, hating it, despising its silver-barred solidity. The Clabbert whined again.
Without thinking, Lupin suddenly slammed his fists against the bars of the door, his mind concentrated on one thought: "Let me OUT!"
The door popped open.
Lupin blinked.
Yes, the door was open, but was slowly swinging closed again….
He pressed his denim-clad leg against the door, bringing it to a stop, then without stopping to consider the consequences, he slithered through the gap, and went to get the keys for the Clabbert's cage.
Keys to the cages were kept in a chest in the storage room. But how to see which key he needed? It was too dark to see clearly, and he didn't want to risk turning on any lights: the carnival workers would be more likely to Stun first, and ask questions later, and that certainly wouldn't help the Clabbert.
He stood helplessly in front of the chest, staring at the collection of keys, when suddenly a memory came to him: he was sitting on the floor, in front of a small child — a little boy, almost a baby, really — and the child was giggling at colorful balls of fire that Lupin was producing in his hands….
I did that. I remember. I did that — for Harry.
Could he do it now, though?
There had to be a spell, an incantation, right? At the very least there had to be concentration of his thoughts… He closed his eyes — thought about it — tried to remember — then held out his hand — and saw the fire form in his mind…
He slowly opened one eye, and saw blue flames dancing harmlessly in his palm.
James would have patted me on the back and said "Good show, old man!" Peter would have stared at me as if he couldn't believe I just did that. And Sirius would have…
Don't think about Sirius…
Wait. I remembered. I remembered them. All of them. Is the drug wearing off?
He'd think about this all later. Right now, he had to help the stricken Clabbert.
Remus soon found the animal lying huddled in a tight, green ball in the back of its cage. It whimpered when it saw him, but there was no disguising the look that it gave him: hope that he could help it feel better.
Its soft, fur-covered stomach was tender to the touch, and it snapped at him with its sharp teeth. He spoke soothingly to it, and stroked its back until it began to relax again. There had to be something more he could do.
He knew there was. He knew that somewhere in his mind, there was an answer to this problem: he just had to push a little further through the fog. He closed his eyes and thought about his father….
There was that Kneazle. It had gotten into poison, and Dad used — it was a powder…. The tin was red. What was on the tin? Damn it, think…. Began with an L….
And then it came to him: lobelia. In powdered form, it could be used as an emetic, and maybe it could help the Clabbert. If it wasn't too strong for the kneazle, it surely wouldn't be too harsh for the Clabbert….
The next half-hour went quickly. Remus went to the storage room and sorted through boxes and tins and bottles of every size and description until finally he found a small round tin of lobelia. He quickly mixed a few pinches of it into some water and made the Clabbert drink it. The poor little thing shuddered and shook for several minutes before finally spewing the remaining contents of its stomach all over the floor.
Remus stroked the Clabbert's head. "I'm going to get something to clean this up," he said. "I'll be right back."
But the Clabbert whined when he tried to leave, and its high-pitched squeal was disturbing the jarvey, making it curse loudly. And if the jarvey got any louder, the other animals would start getting restless….
"Shit," Remus whispered. What was he supposed to do now? If Bill showed up because of a disturbance, and found Remus anywhere but in his own cage….
"Come on." Remus scooped the monkey-like animal up and carried it back to his own cage. Merlin only knew what he was going to tell Bill in the morning about any of this. And he knew he'd have to explain it to Bill at some point.
He fell asleep worrying about it, curled around the smallish, green animal that wouldn't let go of his T-shirt.
Across the aisle, Libertas watched and wondered how long it would be until Lupin realized that he had managed to perform magic without a wand — and that he had had the perfect opportunity to escape — and hadn't taken it.
6:44 a.m.
"What's this, then?" Wally demanded loudly.
Remus' eyes shot open. He had every intention of putting his hands down and shoving himself up to a sitting position, but a small, furry body got in his way.
"What are you doing with that thing in there with you?" Wally asked.
"He was sick."
"But how'd he get in there with you?"
"It's — a long story."
"I'm getting Bill," Wally warned him, already walking away.
"I knew you would," Remus sighed.
Bill stared at him in obvious disbelief, his eyes narrowed. "The door was unlocked?"
"It opened," Remus repeated. "I assume it was unlocked. I don't know how I would have gotten out of it otherwise."
Bill turned to Wally for the third time and asked, "Are you sure you locked that door?"
And for the third time, Wally repeated, "Yes, I did! I know better than to leave a werewolf unsecured. Especially that one," he added under his breath.
Bill knelt down to inspect the lock.
The Clabbert wrapped its arms around Remus' neck and snuggled closer.
"Wally, you and the wolf start feeding the creatures," Bill ordered, his attention focused on the lock.
Remus waited for Wally to leave the cell first, then followed, making sure he stayed as far away from Bill as he could as he went past.
"Wally!" Bill suddenly snapped.
"Yeah?"
The carnival owner glanced back at Remus. "You told him not to feed that thing fish, right?"
Remus nodded.
Bill nodded then said, "Wally, you let Lupin take care of things. Just — keep an eye on him."
Wally started, "But —"
Bill looked at him sharply. "He knows what he's doing."
"What about his water?" Wally asked in a little softer tone. "And the Torpeus Draught?"
Bill fiddled with the lock for a moment before answering. "Leave his water clean. I need him clear-headed to deal with the animals."
2:53 p.m.
Jack and another carnival worker whom Remus had seen, but didn't really know, showed up at his cage with a handcart full of equipment, including a Muggle television set.
He watched as they mounted the television set on a solid platform fastened to the bars of his cage, right at what might be eye level for a typical teenager.
Jack gave Remus a broad grin as they began hooking the electrical wire from the TV to the electrical boxes that ran the length of the tent, powering the long fluorescent lights. "Bill's going to make you a star, Wolf," he said.
"How?" Remus asked, dreading the answer.
"Just wait. You'll see."
About an hour later, Bill and Jack stood outside Remus' cage, looking at the television, obviously waiting for something to happen. There was a click, then the sound of static… Suddenly, Bill whooped. "There it is!"
Jack motioned to Remus. "You should let him watch. I'll bet he's never seen it."
Bill laughed. "You're right! Come here, Lupin. You've got to see this!"
"This" was something that Remus would never have expected, even though Bill had implied it more than once. "This" was a video of Remus transforming — and the wolf tearing himself to shreds. It had been cut and spliced to show the most dramatic parts of the transformation and of the night following; it was designed to shock and horrify and prove beyond all shadow of a doubt that werewolves were dangerous.
Remus could barely keep himself from throwing up. No, he had never seen himself transforming like this; he had never wanted to. And as far as the wolf was concerned, the Marauders had told him many times what he looked like, and he had no reason to doubt them. And he did not want to watch himself chewing himself to pieces.
He took a step backwards, preparing to go around Jack and back into his cage, but Bill caught him by the arm. "What's wrong, Wolf?"
The werewolf's blue eyes were bright with anger. "You had no right."
Bill's eyebrows rose. "I had no right?"
"No," Remus snapped. "You had no right to take something so, so personal, and put it on display like this."
"Oh, no," Bill said quietly. "You're wrong. I had every right. I own you, Wolf. You belong to me. And if I want to invite people in at every full moon to watch you go through this, I can. And there's not a damned thing you can do about it."
Remus hated the tape. He hated the wolf that howled, snarled, and whimpered all through it. He hated knowing it was his screams during the transformations into and out of the wolf form. And he hated the people who came by, watched the tape, and then looked at him and said, "You'd never know just by looking at him, would you?" And he hated that the tape was designed to play over and over….
Libertas said nothing, but Remus knew that the centaur was as annoyed by the tape as he was. He stomped and flicked his tail every time the transformation happened, and stayed in the back of his cage, as if trying to get as far away from the snarls as he could. And the only respite they got was at night, when someone would come back and turn the television set off. Both werewolf and centaur would breathe deep sighs of relief, and then attempt to sleep. Just remembering the howls and screams kept them both on edge and anxious, however, and prevented them from resting well.
Remus wasn't sure which of them was going to go mad first.
Thursday, 11 July—2:43 p.m.
Remus paced anxiously, his hand massaging the back of his neck. It was coming up to his least favourite part on the tape, when the wolf ripped its side open, and then fell to the ground with a cry that was almost human. Immediately following that, the tape was cut to show the transformation of wolf back to man. Remus cringed to think of it.
Libertas shifted almost nervously in his cell. "Wolf, is there nothing you can do about —it?"
"Don't you think I'd have done something about it already if I could?" Remus snapped.
"I thought maybe you had forgotten something…."
There was the cry from the tape, and Remus shuddered. Without thinking about it, he threw one hand in the direction of the television set, and snarled, "Silencio!"
The thing instantly went quiet.
Libertas and Remus exchanged looks.
"Is it still playing?" Remus asked after a moment, his voice shaky.
Libertas nodded.
The werewolf sat down heavily on the floor. "I silenced it."
"You did," Libertas agreed.
Horror began to rise in the bright blue eyes. "Bill will find out. And he'll bloody kill me!"
"Can you reverse it?" The centaur asked.
"I don't know if —"
"Try."
Remus pointed a trembling finger at the television and muttered, "Finite incantatem."
Instantly, the sound of the tape could be heard again.
Tentatively, Remus whispered, "Silencio."
Again, the howls were muted.
"I did it," Remus said, in a tone full of wonder. "Without a wand. I did it."
James would have been jumping up and down, yelling that it was brilliant. Peter would have probably fainted. Sirius would have screamed something like "I knew you could do it, Moony!" and….
Don't think of Sirius.
Suddenly, Remus wondered: if he could do this, what else could he do without a wand? He settled back on his straw-stuffed mattress to consider it, and how he could use this all to his advantage….
Thursday, 18 July—4:02 p.m.
Moody got off the lift and headed for his cubicle. He could see Pindar Alatza standing near his desk.
"Alatza," he said, nodding in greeting.
"Mr Moody." The man looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Can we go somewhere and talk?"
Moody's heart sank into his stomach. He had a feeling he knew what was coming. He had been expecting it. Didn't make it any better, though.
"This way," he said, motioning on down the hallway, and then into a small interview room that was hardly bigger than a broom closet.
The two men sat down on opposite sides of a small table. Alatza leaned both forearms on the table and laid his hands flat.
"Has there been any more progress?"
The Auror sighed. Right to the heart of the matter. "No. I tried to talk to Winning one more time, but he got suspicious. I went back last week, and he was gone. No one knows where he's gone."
"Did you get anything else out of him?"
"No." Moody cursed. "I didn't get the chance to offer him any more money, either, before he disappeared."
Alatza sat back in the chair. "So, that's it, then. There's no way you'll be able to track Lupin down."
"There were other men there besides Winning and Carmichael. They're still out there somewhere. I just have to find them."
Alatza paused then asked, "Do you think he's dead?"
Moody shook his head. "I can't let myself think he is."
"How long will you keep looking for him?"
"Until I find him," the Auror said quietly but firmly.
The merchant nodded, and then squirmed as if he were a Hogwarts fourth-year just caught in the Prefects' bathroom. "I want to believe he's still alive."
"You don't think he is?" Moody asked.
"I don't know. The problem is, Mr Moody, is that, well…."
"You didn't think it would take so long to find him."
"No, I didn't." The man squared his shoulders. "It's been a month and a half, and it seems as if we're no closer to finding him now than what we were."
Moody just barely refrained from saying that sometimes these things took several months.
"I'm not giving up on the reward. I will still honour the reward that I offered," Alatza said. "But, Mr Moody, my children need a tutor."
Damn it, there goes the boy's job. "I understand, Alatza. You need to get on with your lives."
"Don't condemn me, Moody, for doing what's best for my children."
"I'm not," the Auror said. "I said that I understand." He stood up. "I'll let you know if there's any news — if you have to provide any of that reward money, that is."
"There is one thing, before I go —"
"Yes?"
Alatza wouldn't look him in the eye. "His clothes and books … Who… What should I do with them? Is there someone…?"
"I'll be by tomorrow night to pick them up."
The merchant nodded then stood up. "I can't tell you how sorry I am about this."
"I can tell you that Remus will be even more sorry about it," Moody said, not even attempting to soften his tone. He walked out of the room before Alatza, not bothering to see if the man found his way out.
Okay, I'm groveling for a review. Just a tiny one. Please?