You guys know this as well as I do…
A/N: …yadda yadda… thanks… Zarathustra and SortingHat47… et cetera, et cetera…
Disclaimer: …blah blah blah… Remus not mine, damn it all anyhow (and neither is Thewlis, sigh—I'd share him with you, Julie)… owned by JKRowling…
Thanks to all of you who have been sticking with this epic undertaking of mine: (gosh I hope I don't forget anybody) remuslives23, Liv Naravul, Wolviesfan, annacat, cherry-s-twin, PopstarJ01, allycat1186, Sonoralie and CaptainCactus.
Chapter 11: Mercy
Thursday, 29 August, 1985
Remus had chosen some of the best greens for Libertas to try to entice the centaur to eat. Libertas didn't seem to appreciate the trouble he'd gone to; only half of the greens were gone when Remus came back for the bowl.
The werewolf was now utterly and completely worried about the centaur. Libertas wasn't eating; he came back into the tent in the evening with his head hung low; and, he refused to talk.
Remus had to do something. So, as quietly as he could, he practiced flicking his fingers and muttering, "Alohomora" at his cage door, not expecting much, but hoping for the best.
Friday, 30 August—2:13 p.m.
Something was up.
Something was definitely up.
When Jack came to escort Remus to the room where the werewolf had transformed the last two times, the carnival worker attached the chains to his collar and around his arms with something close to gentleness.
Remus found it annoying. Actually, he found everything annoying and irksome right now. The moon was rising early today — in a matter of a few hours, but he wouldn't transform until later in the day, and sometimes that was even worse than changing when the moon first rose.
His skin crawled. He was by turns flushed with heat, and pale with cold. He trembled to the point his legs were unsteady. He was nervous and fidgety — he was a mess, he acknowledged. He hated the early full moons.
And Jack's — niceness — was making it worse.
Remus tripped on the chains around his ankles, swearing loudly. Jack reached out to steady him, but the werewolf shot a glare at him. Jack pulled his hand back hastily with an apology.
"What is wrong with you?" Remus snapped.
"With me?" Jack asked, looking stunned.
"You're being… nice."
Jack sighed. "It's not my place."
"What's not your place?"
"To tell you what's going on."
"So there is something…."
Jack shrugged. "Bill wants to —" And then, just like that, he stopped speaking. "Sorry. Can't say no more. Come on."
He half led, half pushed Remus across the dirt-packed carnival grounds: past the brick building Remus knew as the office; past the trailers for the carnival workers; and on to the small brick building tucked behind a weathered wooden maintenance shed. Everything was almost exactly as Remus had seen it a month ago — or from what he remembered — except one thing.
A large poster in front of the small building proclaimed, "Chance of a Lifetime! You've never seen it — You'll never forget it!" A large picture of a transformed werewolf threw itself at the bars in the foreground. At the bottom of the sign, words proclaimed: "Shows every hour!"
Remus froze. Jack grabbed his arm, trying to propel him forward, but he dug his toes into the dirt, and twisted away from the other man.
"What is this?" he asked breathlessly, staring in horror at the poster, wanting to find something familiar in the wolf's eyes — his eyes — and finding it impossible.
"It's Bill's idea," replied Jack. There was a heartbeat of silence and then the carnival worker added quietly, "I don't like it."
Remus' shock at Jack's admission broke his concentration and enabled Jack to push him into the building.
It had been magically enlarged: enough benches to seat around thirty or forty people had been placed inside. A thick blue curtain was hung in front of the bars and Jack pushed it aside to reveal the bars and the open cage door.
Remus walked willingly enough inside the enclosure and waited for Jack to take the chains from his arms. Jack gave him yet another apologetic look.
"Bill said he wants to keep those on for now." He closed the door and locked it. "I've got to go feed the animals. I'll make sure the colt's taken care of." He hesitated then said, "I don't think this is right, but it's my job, you know?"
"Then let me go," Remus said softly.
Jack looked at him, shaking his head. "Then it's my life, understand?"
Remus said nothing. What was there to say? He went over and slumped down into a corner, letting the chains fall around the knees that he pulled tight to his chest. He shut his eyes, but all he could see was the poster of himself.
3:30 p.m
Bill's voice preceded him into the building, so Remus had a little time to prepare himself for the sight of the man. It didn't help completely: he still had to fight the urge to charge at Bill and rip the man's throat out, and taste the hot, salty blood that would….
"Hey, wolf," the carnival owner said in greeting as he pushed the curtain aside. "Jack says you saw the sign."
Remus just stared at him with eyes full of loathing. His head and every muscle in his neck and upper back ached with tension, but his legs were too quivery to stand.
"Nothing to say?" prompted Bill. "No comments about it being unfair, or not being right, or anything?"
"No." Remus finally said hoarsely. "I just hope the bars are strong enough to hold me."
"They held you before."
"There wasn't a crowd on the other side of the bars then." The werewolf leaned his aching head back against the wall, but kept his eyes on Parsons. "You know, if you wanted to kill me, you could have just slipped wolfsbane in my food or something and taped that."
"It's not going to be that bad," Bill scoffed.
"I am going to tear myself into bloody ribbons today," Remus said calmly. "You might want to warn people about the blood."
It had taken every ounce of strength and patience that was within him to talk to Parsons without screaming or snarling, so he shut his eyes and inhaled deeply.
He heard Bill's footsteps approach him quickly, purposefully, but he didn't look. He braced himself, expecting — but not receiving — a kick or some kind of blow.
"When are you going to turn?" The American's voice was loud and full of barely suppressed excitement.
"It's not an exact science, you know," Remus found enough energy to snap.
"Then give me your best effing estimate."
"Three hours," Remus said.
He said it so quickly, though, that Parsons immediately debated the truth of it. "What's the earliest estimate?"
He opened his eyes and glared at the American. "I don't know. It changes. But even if I gave you an estimate, you're not going to believe me, are you?"
Parsons was very, very quiet for a long, long minute. Then he said quietly, "Here's the way it is, wolf. Give me an early estimate of when you're turning. If I think you're lying to me, in any way — whether it's when you're going to turn, or if you're hoping to turn while no one's here — I'm going to let people start coming in now. And they can just sit here, watching you mope here in the corner. Now, do you want me to start letting them in?"
"They wouldn't be getting much of a show right now, would they?" Remus shot back.
The carnival owner laughed. "Oh, but I'm sure they will fairly soon. I've seen you on these days. Think they won't find it entertaining to watch a naked wolf-man pacing back and forth, snarling as if he's a beast already? There are women out there who'll pay just to see you naked. I'll call it the 'Ladies' Special' — and charge them five Galleons instead of ten."
Remus stared at him. "You are such a bastard."
"You have no idea how much of a bastard I can be. I'd put my own mother in here with you if I thought it'd sell tickets." Parsons began to laugh loudly, cruelly.
5:37 p.m.-6:49 p.m.
The benches were filled with curious men and women, and a few teenagers who obviously had dared each other to be there. The room darkened, and they clapped as the curtain was drawn back.
All in all, it wasn't much of a show: the werewolf hadn't transformed into its bloodthirsty state yet. Instead, he sat in the corner, unmoving, knees drawn up to his chest, face hidden by his arms, which were draped over his knees. Every once in a while, he'd shudder or groan softly.
A carnival worker went into the cage and poked at him with what appeared to be the broken off handle of a shovel or rake. The werewolf raised his head long enough to glare at him, but resisted the prodding to get him moving.
After three-quarters of an hour had passed, the carnival owner announced that since the werewolf hadn't put on much of a show, they'd be allowed to stay a little longer.
And that's when things got interesting.
The werewolf suddenly rose to his feet. It was only then that some of them saw the chains around his ankles and the collar around his neck.
There were several crude comments by the teenagers, but for the most part, everyone was captivated by the sight of the man pacing with obvious lupine grace. He glanced at the crowd occasionally, but it was without self-consciousness. Instead, there was a feral and almost calculating look in his eyes, and it sent shivers down more than one spine.
And then, it happened. It was as the poster promised: they'd never see anything like it again. The man suddenly froze, his face grimacing in pain, and a spasm shook his body violently. He went to his hands and knees, almost sobbing. And then, he began to scream.
There was the sound of cracking that could only be the sound of bone breaking, and a woman in the audience screamed. A teenager in the front row began to retch.
The man's legs and arms were changing, some bones lengthening, some becoming shorter. His back hunched, and his head shook from side to side. His face was stretching, becoming more pointed, and as it did, his screams began to deepen. Fingernails and toenails began to grow, becoming more curved, pointed, and deadly, as were his teeth. Clothing ripped as the changing body pushed the fabric beyond its limitations. The shredded cloth fell in tattered bits, littering the ground.
A man from the back of the crowd rose quickly and ran from the room, holding his hand over his mouth.
The spine was extending, creating the base of a tail. Gray fur began to sprout from it, and from the pores all over the man's body. Hands and feet changed into paws. The skull seemed to shift, the man's forehead shrinking, and the ears moving and becoming more pointed until they rose above the top of the creature's head. The chains that had once rested around the man's ankles now slipped to the floor with a metallic clanking noise.
The screams were now more like howls….
Within two minutes, it was all over, and a large, wolf-like creature stood wearily where a man once had. The wolf's head and tail hung limply, as if in exhaustion, but the nose was twitching rapidly. And then suddenly, the wolf raised its head and the lips parted, revealing sharp fangs.
With no more warning than that, the beast charged at the crowd, its clawed forelegs reaching between the bars, stretching to reach the humans closest to the cage. The teenagers yelled and scrambled to get further away from the animal. It snarled viciously, trying to wedge its head through the bars.
And in the back of the room, Bill Parsons grinned.
5:54 p.m.
"Are there any questions?" Albus Dumbledore asked. "Everyone has their duty schedule?"
The professors at Hogwarts all nodded and made noises of assent, except Fergus Kettleburn.
"Headmaster, Hagrid and I were going to one of those magical creature carnivals on Tuesday. Should we go Wednesday or could I shift my afternoon class ahead half an hour?"
Dumbledore's response was immediate. "You may move it ahead, Fergus."
"How many of those carnivals have you visited?" Minerva McGonagall asked.
"Four," Kettleburn replied. "We started with the ones that Moody thought would be the most likely to have a werewolf — the shadiest ones and the ones that move the most often. He thought those carnivals would be the most likely to try to do something as insane as to hold a werewolf."
"Indeed," Severus Snape muttered.
"How many more are on the list?" Professor Flitwick asked.
"Three. Of those three, this one we're visiting Tuesday seems to be the most likely to have Lupin," Kettleburn said. "The last carnival on the list, Bentley and Parsons', has operated within Ministry-approved standards for at least two hundred years. Neither Moody nor I can see them even wanting to deal with all the safety issues that would arise from having a werewolf, the least of which would be a proper containment area."
"I hear they have an Erumpent," Flitwick said thoughtfully. "That doesn't much speak for worrying about safety issues."
"An Erumpent can be pacified. It's not a Dark creature," Kettleburn said. "A werewolf, though…."
"Are we finished with the important things?" Snape interrupted. Merlin, if he had to sit through another minute of this conversation, he'd vomit.
Dumbledore's gaze rested upon him and he nodded. "Yes, Severus, I do believe we have finished discussing items of immediate interest to you."
The Potions master rose quickly, his robes billowing around him.
He didn't leave the room quickly enough. Before the door closed behind him, he heard Kettleburn's next comment, "Moody's worried that it may already be too late."
Severus wasn't quite certain why that bothered him. It was only Lupin, after all.
Saturday, 31 August—11:05 a.m.
"You have to do something!"
Remus groaned at the man's loud voice. His aching head thumped with each syllable.
"I'm doing what I can, Bill." The woman's voice, on the other hand, was quiet and comforting: as soothing as the hands that rubbed his wounds with the same kind of paste that she'd used at the beginning of July.
Bill sighed heavily. "It's going to be days before he's going to be of any help to us."
"Didn't he do enough yesterday? And last night?" Ruthie asked. Remus heard a note of bitterness in her voice on his behalf and was grateful for it.
"Everything has to do its part," Parsons reminded her.
"I understand that," she said. "But you can't expect someone to kill themselves for money — and for you."
"I own him," Bill snapped. "If I expect it, he'll do it."
Sunday, 1 September—6:26 p.m.
Libertas watched the still form of the werewolf. Lupin was lying flat on his back in the cage, breathing unevenly, and there was a hitch in every breath that told of pain, hot and deep.
The centaur knew how Lupin felt. He felt that same agony in his soul.
Monday, 2 September—8:49 a.m.
Remus sat up tentatively, flexing muscles that had been deliberately ignored for the past couple of days.
"Wolf."
"Horse," he whispered. His throat felt as if he'd swallowed sand.
"You are better." The centaur made it a statement.
He didn't know where he got the wherewithal to mutter, "Better than what?"
Libertas stamped a hoof, in either appreciation or impatience.
"What day is it?" Remus asked the centaur, glancing around his cage.
"It is the third day after the full moon."
There was a pitcher of water in the cage, and a tin cup. Should he risk drinking it? He crawled on hands and knees to where the pitcher sat on the floor beside the bars. With shaky hands, he poured some of the water into the cup and sniffed it. He couldn't detect any trace of the drug, so he took a cautious sip. The water was cool, refreshing, and completely drug-free. Two more cups helped him to feel vaguely more like himself, and he began to inspect his latest scars.
"You did not have an easy transformation," Libertas observed.
"No," he confirmed. He decided to be forthright about what happened. After all, the centaur had told him about the cart…. "He let people come in to watch me turn into the wolf. And then he let others come in to watch the wolf rip itself to bits because there were humans right on the other side of the bars that it couldn't get to."
"Do you remember any of it?" the centaur asked after a long moment.
Remus thought about it then shook his head. "Not much of it. Just some before I transformed."
"Be thankful for that," Libertas opined.
7:41 p.m.
Libertas hadn't eaten a thing. Remus watched the centaur pick at the greens in his bowl, and then finally set the bowl on the floor next to the door.
"Libertas," he said quietly.
The centaur glanced over. "Lupin."
"Please eat."
"I am not hungry."
Remus decided that maybe some honest begging might help. "Look, if you die, who am I going to talk to? I'll die of boredom in a week."
"You would acclimate yourself."
"But I'd really rather not have to do that," Remus said, finishing the last of the sausages on his own plate.
"Then die with me, Wolf."
Remus tilted his head in thought. That didn't sound like a bad idea at this point.
Tuesday, 3 September—10:51 a.m.
Jack led Libertas out of the cage. The centaur stumbled badly when his back hoof caught on one of his front ones, and he went down on his knees in the tanbark.
"Come on," Jack said impatiently, tugging at the reins attached to the harness strapped around the centaur's body.
It took several attempts for the centaur to get to his feet.
Remus closed his eyes and sank back onto his mattress, wondering how long it would be before Libertas went down — and wouldn't be able to get back up.
A few minutes later, he sat up again, and flicked his fingers at the lock on his door. "Alohomora," he muttered. Nothing happened. He hadn't expected it to. But he had to entertain himself somehow.
4 September—3:00 a.m.
He was so close. He could feel it. He had almost done it five minutes ago, and the surprise of success had destroyed his concentration, or what there was left of it. He was so tired — but he was so close. Across the aisle, Libertas watched, knowing he was working on a spell, but not knowing which one it was.
Remus focused. He'd try one more time… He extended his hand, centered the lock of his cell door between his index and pinky fingers and hissed, "Alohomora!"
The lock clicked and slowly the door swung open.
Libertas came to the bars quickly. "You opened it!"
Remus swallowed hard. "Yes, I did." He stepped into the doorway, preventing the door from closing, and just waited. If the cages were individually warded after what had happened with the clabbert, now was the time to find out. But after several minutes of nothing happening, Remus knew he could make the assumption that maybe the tent was warded, but the cages were not. That made it a little easier….
He stepped into the center of the aisle and stood in front of the door of the centaur's cage. Then, focusing on the lock that he had framed between his fingers, just like a moment ago, he whispered the spell again.
The door of the centaur's cage shuddered and then popped open.
Almost instantly, Libertas came out of the cage. "Lupin, we must leave now." He seemed to be almost bashful as he added, "You can ride on my back, if you feel you don't have the strength to —"
But Remus was shaking his head. "I'm not going."
The centaur stared at him in disbelief. "You're not going? Are you mad?"
Remus grinned lopsidedly. "I'm sure it appears that way, but I can't. I have to take care of the creatures here. If I don't, who will? The clabbert, the hippogriff, the colt… They need me."
Libertas swished his tail angrily. "You cannot stay here. They will kill you. The last two full moons nearly have. You know if you stay, you will die."
"I know how to make myself useful, though," Remus said. "I'll do a better job of it. If you're going to go, you'd better go now."
"I can't just leave you," the centaur protested.
"You have to," Remus insisted. "Look, if you want to help me, maybe you can get in touch with the centaurs that live near Hogsmeade in Scotland. Ask them to tell someone at the Castle where I am. Maybe someone will come for me."
"Lupin, I don't feel right about this."
"I don't give a damn what you feel about this," Remus said harshly. "Now get the hell out of here before someone notices. Run. Fast. You hear me? Now GO!" And he reached out and smacked the centaur's rump.
Startled, Libertas jumped forward. He started to turn, but the werewolf snapped, "Go, damn you!"
The centaur apparently recognized the determined set of Lupin's jaw. Without another word of protest, he galloped down the aisle, through the closed tent flaps, and out into the fresh air of the night.
Remus quickly slammed the centaur's cage door shut then darted back into his cell, pulling that door shut behind him, rubbing his silver-burnt hands against his shirt. He dove under his blanket and rolled on his side, pretending to be sleeping. If the wards were active, it wouldn't be long.
Almost fifteen minutes passed before the lights came on in the tent, rousing the animals and causing several of them to growl and chirp in disgruntlement. Remus sat up, knowing he couldn't fake sleep with the rising cacophony.
It was Bill and Jack who came into the tent and began to peer in the cages to make sure all of the inmates were still accounted for. It was only a couple of minutes before they made it back to the werewolf and the empty centaur cage.
They discussed the centaur's absence in hushed tones quickly then Bill sent Jack to get Wally and another carnival worker, who Remus had once heard referred to as Nick, to start tracking the centaur. When Jack was gone, Bill came to stand beside the bars of Remus' cage.
"I thought it'd be you," Bill said in wonder.
"Thought that it'd be me to do what?" Remus asked.
"Escape."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Remus said.
"There will be another time, I'm sure," Bill said. "But for now, I want to know: how did he get out?"
"How would I know?" Remus countered.
"You're right across from him. What did you do?"
"How could I do anything? I'm locked up in here."
"Did you see anything?"
The werewolf shook his head. "No."
"Did you know he was escaping?"
"Don't you think I'd have gone with him if I had known?" Remus asked, forcing himself to sound frustrated and angry.
"Good point," Bill admitted. Still, he remained there, staring at the werewolf with a thoughtful expression on his face. Finally he said, "You did magic the other day."
"I told you I don't know how that happened."
"But you expected it."
"No," Remus contradicted him. "I just — did it. I wasn't thinking that I couldn't do it. It just — happened."
"I wonder what else you can do," Bill mused.
"All I can say is that if I could have opened a cage door, I'd have opened my own," Remus said. "Now, can I get back to sleep?"
Bill reached over and tugged at the silvered cage door. It remained closed. With a last thoughtful look at Remus, he walked away.
Remus lay back down and closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly. A smile tugged at his lips though and he whispered, "Go, Libertas, go."
7:20 p.m.
Remus woke up to the sound of the key in the cage door.
Bill looked angry. "Let's go," he said curtly.
Remus slowly began to untangle himself from his blanket.
It apparently wasn't fast enough for the carnival owner, because he crossed the space between them in long strides, grabbed Remus by the arm, and jerked him to his feet.
He stopped the werewolf at the storage room to attach the short chain to the collar around Remus' neck, and dragged him through the tent flaps. He seemed to be too much in a hurry to bother with chains for either Remus' legs or arms.
Wally was standing right outside and he fell into step with Bill on the other side of Remus.
"Is he still alive?" Bill asked, with the sharp, clipped tones of someone who was absolutely furious.
"Yes," Wally replied. He looked nervous.
"What's wrong?" Remus took the opportunity to ask.
Bill jerked the short chain. "Shut up. You'll find out soon enough."
They took him away from the carnival grounds to a small forested area set beyond the building that Remus transformed in. Jack was waiting at the edge of the trees.
Bill pushed the werewolf ahead of him. "Keep going."
It was difficult, trying to work his way around the underbrush and fallen logs barefooted, but somehow, Remus managed to stay on his feet until he arrived at a small clearing ringed by evergreens. There was something lying in the middle of the thick grass. Something large.
Remus stopped, a sob catching in his throat.
"Go," Bill said, giving the werewolf a shove.
Remus staggered forward a few steps, lost his balance and fell to his knees — right at Libertas' head.
"Oh, boggarts," Remus whispered.
An unfamiliar man was kneeling next to Libertas. He was pressing a bloody towel against the centaur's side.
"He's been shot," Bill said from behind Remus. "Do you know anything about bullet wounds?"
Remus barely knew anything about firearms, much less wounds caused by them. Still he had to try something. He motioned to the man with the towel. "Move."
The man leaned back, and Remus lifted the towel away from the centaur's hide. It was an incredibly small hole to have created that much damage — to have caused that much blood. The bullet must have hit a blood vessel.
He touched the centaur's shoulder. "Libertas?"
Bill muttered something about the centaur being unconscious, but Libertas' eyelids flickered and opened. "Lupin?"
"What happened?" Remus whispered harshly.
Libertas took several heartbeats to answer — heartbeats in which more blood spilled into the towel. "I didn't run fast enough."
Remus swallowed hard. "I don't know what to do for you."
The centaur's eyes met his. "Yes. You do."
"I can't —"
Libertas reached over and grabbed Remus' hand, entwining their fingers. "Mercy, wolf, mercy."
"No," the werewolf said, closing his eyes over the wetness that was forming within them. "I can't do that, Libertas."
"What are you two talking about? Can you heal him up or not, wolf?" Bill demanded behind him.
Remus opened his eyes and looked up. It was a beautiful summer morning: the azure sky was brightening with every minute, and white, puffy clouds were scudding along on the slight breeze…. This was not a day to die — or take another's life. He couldn't.
"You can't ask me to do this," he said to Libertas, his voice shaky and husky with tears.
"I can't ask anyone else," the centaur said. "Only you can help. Only you know —"
Remus finished the sentence inside his head. Only he knew what it was like to be imprisoned behind those bars — and how death seemed preferable.
A memory suddenly insinuated itself among his thoughts: his father finding a mortally wounded deer, and quickly muttering a spell to end its suffering….
"I can't," Remus repeated, tears suddenly spilling from his eyes.
"Are you going to do something or not, wolf?" Bill yelled.
"Please." The centaur's lips moved, but no sound emerged.
Remus reached out with his other hand and stroked the smooth, chestnut hide. Then he twisted his fingers, as he remembered his father doing…. His tears made everything blurry, and the lump in his throat made it nearly impossible to say, "Clementia Bestia."
Libertas gasped and stiffened, but his eyes never left Remus' face. The werewolf met his gaze, saw the centaur's eyes widen with the knowledge of what was happening — and then, suddenly, unbelievably, Remus saw — peace. It settled over the centaur's features, and there was something similar to a smile on his face when his eyes dulled. Remus felt Libertas' fingers spasm against his, and he tightened the grip. He wasn't letting go until he was sure the centaur was gone.
"What did you do?" Bill's ugly drawl interrupted his thoughts. The American's voice was dangerously quiet.
"Mercy," Remus whispered, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I gave him mercy."
"Mercy?" Bill repeated incredulously. "You killed him!"
Remus stroked Libertas' equine shoulder one last time then stood. "He was dying. I couldn't do anything else."
Bill stared at him then repeated, "You killed him."
Remus sighed heavily. "Yes."
"With magic." Bill said.
Oh, shit. "Yes."
He barely remembered how he got back into his cage. He remembered a lot of shoving, and hitting and punching, and Bill shoved him deliberately against the silver bars, pinning the werewolf there for several minutes while he snapped out directions to his men.
Jack came in, holding silver chains with thick cuffs to go around his ankles.
He fought them, Bill and Wally, mainly, while Jack stood nearby, silver cuffs open, just waiting for the right moment….
But then, Remus got lucky. He somehow managed to elbow Wally in the face, and as the fatter man wheeled backwards, blood gushing from his nose, Remus started to turn towards the open cage door. But Jack dropped the chains and grabbed his arm, swinging him around….
Bill was waiting. His fist connected with Remus' cheekbone and the werewolf crashed against the silver bars.
Snarling, Remus turned and saw a silver flash….
The knife in Bill's hand slashed across Remus' belly, but the werewolf didn't stop to see if it had actually pierced skin. He threw himself at Bill, managing to punch the man in the stomach, winding him. He turned again for the door, but Jack was already there, swinging the door shut. The clanging sound sent chills down Remus' spine, and he moaned with grief.
Any chance of freedom was lost.
And then his body let him know, in no uncertain terms, that the knife had done damage. Fire blazed through his belly and he glanced down to see the broad line of blood bisecting his torso.
He staggered backwards, his left arm tightly clamped across the wound, gasping at the pain.
Hands were suddenly all over him, pushing him down to the ground, and Remus again heard the clinking of the silver chains.
"No!" he yelled.
Bill cursed in his ear, and he tried to jerk away from the man.
"Grab his legs, Wally!" Jack was shouting. Wally released Remus' right arm to reach across to pin the werewolf's left leg down.
Remus didn't think about it — he just knew he had to get away from these men, and the threat of the silver. His right hand swung up, his fingers already twisting as he knew his wand had when he had fought the Death Eaters, and Jack was sent flying backwards across the cell to crash against the bars.
"Can't do magic, eh?" Bill screamed. "I'll damn well fix that!"
He grabbed Remus' right arm, pinned it to the floor, and yelled something to Jack, who dizzily rose from the ground and, after fumbling with the keys and the lock, left the cell.
Remus squirmed and twisted, but Bill viciously punched him in the gut, right below the bloody line. Remus was still sobbing with the agony of it when Jack returned and handed something to Bill….
The carnival owner then proceeded to smash the bones in Remus' hand with a hammer.
(I'm not here. I'm hiding.)