A/N: Zarathustra tells me that I don't need thousands of commas, and that sometimes I think faster than I type and make mistakes. SortingHat47 tells me that I write with a Pennsylvanian accent more than I ought and tells me when Severus Snape is not snarky enough... They're good people..
Dedicating this chapter to Wolviesfan because I'm hoping that'll make her call off the mutant crabs I'm being threatened with (Can't we boil them and dip them in butter...?)
Chapter 17: Confrontations
Thursday, September 12, 1985—5:39 p.m.
Severus Snape bit into the thick slice of warm buttered bread and chewed it thoughtfully.
"… Can already tell Blotts will fail the course if we don't get him a tutor," Flitwick was saying to McGonagall.
"He's had peer tutors before, but they haven't done him any good," McGonagall pointed out.
Severus was not going to allow this opportunity to pass without a word or two of his own. "That is because they were not talking to him about Quidditch or magical creatures. I should take this time to tell you, Filius, that he's already failed two exams in Potions."
"Why didn't his father hire someone over the summer to tutor him?" McGonagall asked with an exasperated sigh.
"He did," Flitwick protested. "Unfortunately, the boy is still only capable of performing third year charms and spells with any proficiency. He might as well have just passed over the fourth year completely."
"He should have repeated the fourth year," Snape commented.
"We discussed this last year," Minerva said sharply. "He made passing grades — barely passable, true, but passing all the same."
"Do you know anyone who would be willing to tutor him in Potions, Severus?" Filius asked.
"I have no desire to waste any student's time trying to tutor the unteachable."
"Severus!" Minerva said chidingly. "The boy is not unintelligent. He is a Ravenclaw, after all. He is merely — a little slow on the uptake, as they say."
Snape gave a derisive snort, thinking that the Sorting Hat was obviously cursed the evening that Jonathan Blotts was Sorted.
Filius sat back and speared another carrot with his fork. "I think I'm going to ask Thomas Clayton to help him with Charms."
"Clayton would be likely to teach him how to Charm the juice glasses to sing and the forks to dance," Severus muttered under his breath.
McGonagall snickered before she could stop herself. Pressing her lips firmly together, she shook her head. "Clayton is a good choice, Filius. Since he is a Gryffindor, do you want me to talk to him? Or would you prefer to do it?"
As the two professors discussed the matter, Severus allowed himself to be distracted by choosing a piece of cake for himself. He was thoroughly enjoying it when Albus Dumbledore walked in and seated himself at Snape's left.
"Severus, I wondered if I might have a word."
The Potions Master just barely stopped himself from saying, "You're the Headmaster — I don't have much choice, do I?" Instead, he took another bite of cake and raised his eyebrow at Dumbledore in question.
"Will you meet me in my office when you have finished?"
It sounded serious. Of course, most things were, when Albus Dumbledore asked a person to come to his office.
"Of course, Headmaster. I shall only be another minute or two."
"Good." Dumbledore rose and briefly laid a hand on Snape's shoulder. "I have some fine port that you will no doubt enjoy."
Severus didn't turn his head to watch the older wizard go. He was too busy trying to figure out what the issue could be. It was bad enough to be asked to come to the Headmaster's office; add a glass of wine or port, and it could mean something catastrophic.
It was with great trepidation that he approached the entrance to Dumbledore's office less than fifteen minutes later.
"Ah, Severus. Thank you for coming so quickly." The Headmaster gestured to the comfortable wing-backed chairs in front of the fireplace. "Won't you have a seat?"
Snape perched himself at the edge of the seat of his chosen chair and looked at the leaded crystal goblet that sat on the small table between the two chairs. Dumbledore noticed his hesitation and motioned to the glass.
"I visited the Flamels this summer, and when I complimented them on their fine selection of wine, they generously gave me a bottle of their finest port," Albus said, speaking in a bright tone. "I think you will find it quite delightful."
Severus wasn't fooled by the Headmaster's attempt at cheeriness. This was serious indeed. He did sip at the port, however, and allowed himself an appreciative nod. "It is very good," he admitted. "Thank you."
Dumbledore waved the words of gratitude away. "I have some lemon drops here, if you'd care to try one?"
The Potions master shook his head and Albus finally came over and seated himself in the second chair near the fire.
"I know you are anxious about this visit, wondering what I could possibly want to talk to you about," the Headmaster said.
Severus said nothing.
"And, in fact, I hesitated to come to you about this."
Still, Snape remained silent.
Albus placed his own glass on the table and folded his hands together. "Something happened at St. Mungo's today —"
A warning bell sounded in the Potions master's head. He knew who this was about; now he needed to know the why.
"— As a result, I had to make a decision that I am certain is going to make you somewhat — unhappy," Dumbledore continued. His blue eyes peered intently into Snape's dark ones, waiting to see if the younger man would understand what he was implying.
It took only a moment. "You are bringing him here, aren't you?" Severus said, feeling his stomach clench.
The Headmaster's gaze was steady as he replied, "He is already here."
Snape downed the port in one swallow. "How could you do such a thing?" he demanded. "He endangered the lives of everyone here for seven years, and you want to put the students and staff in danger again?"
"Except for that one incident that involved you, I scarcely think you could say that Remus endangered anyone's life," Albus pointed out.
"But he nearly killed me!" Severus said, his voice rising in pitch and volume.
"And yet, you still went to that carnival to find him."
Dumbledore's words were like a dash of ice-cold water and the dark-haired wizard recoiled physically.
"I — I may have done that, yes, but it was not so that he could be brought here to feast on the first years."
"Even for you, Severus, that statement is unfair," the Headmaster said sternly. "Remus finds the idea of hurting anyone as abhorrent as you do."
"But it still does not change the fact that having him here is a risk to the safety of everyone at Hogwarts and in Hogsmeade."
Albus hesitated for just a moment then said, "He needs healing and he needs help, Severus. Hogwarts has always opened its doors to any student who seeks sanctuary."
"And Lupin is asking this of you?" Severus sneered.
"He is in no condition to ask."
"You pity him," Snape made no attempt to hide his derision.
"You should as well," Albus said calmly.
Fury ignited within the dark eyes. "He nearly killed me! Forgive me if I find it a little difficult to feel sorry for him!"
"He is more like you than you know, Severus. It would do you both good if you both learned to put your anger and distrust aside and —"
"I refuse to even listen to such a ridiculous idea!" Snape rose to his feet. "I am not going to sit by that – creature's bedside and hold his hand for the sake of becoming his – best mate." Scorn positively dripped from the last two words. "And how dare you even insinuate that I could be anything like – him!"
"Severus, if you would just –"
The Potions master spun on his heel and started for the door, but Dumbledore's next statement froze him in his tracks. "You will hear what I need from you, Severus."
"I have already done enough for him. You cannot ask me to do any more," the younger man said over his shoulder.
"I can, and I will."
Snape turned quickly to face the Headmaster. "You push me too far."
Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't even spoken. "You will need to make two potions every other day: one for pain, the other to promote healing. The list of ingredients and the instructions are on my desk. I know you more than likely have that information in your library, but I thought I would make it somewhat easier on you."
"Can you not find someone else to make these things for your pet werewolf?" Severus asked as viciously as he could.
"Why should I ask anyone else when I have a pet Death Eater, who happens to be a master of Potions, at my convenience?" Dumbledore countered coolly.
"Damn you," Snape whispered.
"You don't think you're the first one to say that to me, do you?" the Headmaster asked.
"He — almost — murdered — me!" Severus protested again. "And you made me keep my silence! He got the education you wanted for him, and I was forced to look at him for two more years and know what he was, what he was capable of — and now you ask me to do more?"
"What happened was not his fault," Albus reminded him. "And to his credit, he offered to leave. No, Severus. The fault lies with Sirius Black, not Remus Lupin. It is unfair to make Remus suffer further for that one terrible incident."
"You always took up for him, and Black, and Potter — and to hell with whatever I wanted or needed!"
Dumbledore sighed. "And what is it you need now, Severus? Do you need to deny Remus the help he needs? Do you need to show a lack of mercy in order to prove to him that you don't think he was punished enough all those years ago? Do you need to prove something to me?"
"You order me around as if you were the Dark Lord himself," Severus snarled. "'Make a potion to do this' and 'Make a potion to do that,' all without regard to my thoughts, my feelings, my will –"
"I expect you to do it because you do have mercy within you, Severus, whether or not you want to acknowledge it. I ask it because you are the only one here who can do this and do it well."
"Why can't they make it at St. Mungo's and bring it here?" And with that question, and with the sudden flash of triumph in Dumbledore's eyes, Severus knew that he had submitted to the Headmaster's will, though he'd be damned if he'd do it gracefully.
"The potions lose their potency within forty-eight hours. St. Mungo's cannot guarantee that someone can bring the doses to Remus with any reliability. There are several people there who know of your gift and suggested that you would be the perfect solution to the problem."
"And where am I supposed to get the ingredients? I'm not using what belongs to the school, and I'm not paying for them out of my own pocket. You can't expect Lupin to: we all know that werewolves are lucky to have two Knuts to rub together."
"What you need will be provided."
Snape decided to make one last attempt to repudiate this entire plan. "And if I still refuse?"
"You will not," Dumbledore said.
The Potions master took a step toward the Headmaster. "You do realize that I can only bend so far. Someday you will ask something of me, and I will break."
Dumbledore's reply was firm and almost cold: "I think I know how far you can bend until you reach that point. You will never break over someone you pretend to loathe as much as Remus Lupin."
The man's arrogance robbed Severus of breath. So, rather than stand there, staring at the Headmaster in wordless disbelief, he started for the door again.
"Don't forget the instructions," Dumbledore said, ever so calmly behind him. "The hospital has provided enough for tonight and tomorrow morning. You will need to have tomorrow night's portion ready."
Severus snatched the parchment off the desk and slammed the door behind him.
9:16 p.m.
Remus had heard footsteps going past his room several times during the evening, so when someone actually stopped and tapped gently at his door, it startled him.
Albus Dumbledore peered in cautiously. Seeing that Remus was awake, he smiled warmly and then entered, closing the door firmly behind him. "Ah, Remus. Welcome to Hogwarts! Have you made yourself comfortable?" he asked as he settled himself into the chair next to the bed.
Remus nodded. "Yes, sir." The muscles of his back and neck had tightened at the appearance of the older wizard. While he couldn't remember even a third of what had happened this day, the memory of their last conversation at St. Mungo's was still quite clear in Remus' mind. Underestimated and distrusted; and deceptive. And yet, I'm here.
"Good. We want your stay with us to be a pleasant one." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a Chocolate Frog. "I seem to remember a certain young Gryffindor who always had at least one of these in his possession." His eyes danced with merriment.
The younger man accepted it with a lopsided smile. He was about to say that Dominic Alatza loved Chocolate Frogs and had four of Dumbledore's cards when the thought struck him: it no longer should matter to him what Dominic loved.
The Headmaster obviously had noticed some change in his expression because he asked gently, "What is it, Remus?"
"Nothing."
Dumbledore had retrieved a hard, yellow candy from his pocket and now paused in the unwrapping of it. "Shall I get Madame Pomfrey for you?"
"No," Remus replied. He sighed, realizing he'd have to give some kind of answer. Dumbledore could be relentless when he wanted to know something. "Dominic Alatza likes these."
The Headmaster nodded in understanding and popped the candy into his mouth. "How are you feeling?"
Remus shrugged. "Well enough, I suppose."
Somewhere nearby, a door slammed and the werewolf jumped.
Dumbledore motioned to the Chocolate Frog, which the younger man held clutched in his hand. "Shall I open that for you?"
"No." Remus shook his head. "I'm really not hungry right now. Could you –?" He tilted his head toward the little table next to the bed. Dumbledore took the candy from him and laid it next to the younger man's wand.
"I suppose you were more than a bit surprised to find yourself here," the Headmaster said.
"You could say that."
Albus smiled. "I did tell you that I thought you could come here when St. Mungo's had done all they could for you."
The werewolf looked pointedly down at his bandaged leg, which rested on a cushioning spell above the covers.
"Yes, well, obviously we had to move you out of there sooner than we thought."
Remus rubbed his chin with a long forefinger and glanced at the older man tentatively once or twice before asking, "I — I remember some of what happened today, but —" He broke off abruptly, uncertain of how to continue.
Dumbledore sucked thoughtfully at the candy. "What do you remember?"
Remus swallowed hard before answering. His heart started thumping a little faster and he struggled to keep his voice even. "They were taking photos of me. They knew — where I'd been. I told them to stop, but they wouldn't. I — hurt one of them," he added softly.
"Do you remember Alastor Moody coming in?"
The younger man closed his eyes briefly. "I know someone did. I didn't know it was him."
"Do you remember anything after that?" Dumbledore asked.
Remus massaged his forehead with his fingers. "It's all — blurry." He met the Headmaster's gaze. "Did I hurt him badly?"
"The man who was taking photos of you?"
Remus nodded.
"No, you didn't. You didn't throw him against the wall hard enough, according to Alastor." Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for him to chuckle or make a comment, but Remus wasn't sure what to do or say. After a moment, the Headmaster cleared his throat and continued in a softer tone, "You asked Alastor not to tell Bill what you had done."
The werewolf let his hand slide down to cover his eyes. I went mad. I can't remember a bloody thing because I went stark raving mad. But then another, uglier thought shot through his brain and he lowered his hand quickly. "Did I lose control completely? Did I lose myself?"
"No, Remus," Dumbledore assured him. "At no point today did we see any sign that you were anything other than a very frightened young man."
While the Headmaster's words brought him some comfort, there was still the fact that he had completely forgotten where he was and hadn't been able to recognize Moody — and Merlin only knew who else. What else had he done? Did he want to know? Now we can add mad and unpredictable to the list. Dangerous, untrustworthy, deceptive, underestimated, mad, and unpredictable.
Dumbledore was speaking again and Remus silenced his inner voice to focus on what the man was saying. "Alastor brought it to our attention that if one person recognized you, there might be others."
Remus muttered a word that the Headmaster would never have approved of.
Either the older wizard hadn't heard the curse or he chose to ignore it. "So, we thought we'd allow you to finish your recovery here, where, hopefully, there is less of a chance that you'll be disturbed."
Thinking of the crowds that had seen him that summer, Remus commented, "Children are more observant than adults. Being here might turn out to be worse."
"I can threaten the children with detentions or expulsions," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I cannot do the same with the employees at St. Mungo's."
"Is there no where else?" Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. Shouldn't have even wasted the breath on that question.
"If you can think of a place or of someone who can help, tell me. We will see what can be arranged."
No, he would have to resign himself to staying here — and hope that Dumbledore realized that the full moon was in only two weeks… "How long will I have to stay?"
"It all very much depends on how long it takes your leg to heal," the Headmaster replied.
"I'll be here for months." He made no attempt to hide his bitterness at that fact.
"Then you'll be here for Christmas. You can help Hagrid and Filius decorate the Great Hall." The Headmaster's eyes sparkled mischievously. "And while I think you should probably refrain from charming the garland to wrap itself around the Slytherins' ankles, I wouldn't mind seeing the tap-dancing reindeer again."
Remus didn't even bother to wonder how the man knew either one of those pranks were his. "Siri—" He stopped and took a breath. He was my friend. My life was tied to his for all those years. There's no shame in remembering the good times. He started again."Sirius wanted to charm the garland to wrap itself around the Slytherins' necks."
"Then I suppose I should be grateful that you were the voice of reason in that particular case."
Considering the conversation the day before, that statement, now, was as if salt was being poured into an open wound. "Of course, but that's why you made me a prefect in the first place, right?" Remus snapped. "You thought I could control Sirius and James." He chuckled bitterly. "Gods, considering how well that went, no wonder you didn't think I was capable of doing the right thing for the Order."
He almost missed the slight narrowing of Dumbledore's eyes as the man said with his usual calm: "I knew you were more than capable of carrying out whatever duties you were assigned."
"Including whatever duties I was assigned by Voldemort." The anger that underscored the comment made the Headmaster flinch slightly.
"Remus, had I known you were going to take this so badly, I would never have —"
"How else was I supposed to take it?" the werewolf demanded. "You didn't trust me! You didn't stand up for me!" He started to sit up, winced, and fell back, swearing violently.
Dumbledore's thick eyebrows rose and he shifted the candy from one the inside of one cheek to the other. "You're absolutely right. However, you need to remember how things were at that time. Things were not going as well as we hoped —"
"Things were going to all-bloody hell," Remus said. "And everyone thought I was the one sending them there."
"No. Not everyone," Dumbledore contradicted him gently. "Lily defended you up until the last."
Pressure engulfed Remus' chest and he winced at the force of it. Before he could say anything, however, the Headmaster stood and said, "I think it would be best if we left this conversation for another time."
"To give you time to come up with explanations and justifications?" Remus couldn't find the breath to snap at the older man like he wanted.
Dumbledore seemed to consider the question briefly. "Yes, in a way. I need to be able to explain myself better to you. But, mostly, tonight, I am unprepared to handle any of your self-recriminations about things that happened four years ago."
Remus lifted his startled gaze to meet the other wizard's. "Self-recrimination?"
"In the days following James' and Lily's deaths, you found more reasons to blame yourself than to blame Sirius," the Headmaster reminded him. "I doubt this conversation would be any different than the few we had in those months following the night they died."
"So I'm irrational as well as untrustworthy and mad," Remus said bitterly. "And let's not forget deceptive."
Dumbledore stood staring at him for a moment then shook his head. "Oh, Remus. You are no more any of those things than any other man. And you do have great gifts. Your loyalty to your friends knows no bounds, and you demand excellence from yourself in whatever you do. The last few months have hurt you in more ways than I know — and perhaps more than you know. Let's see you well, and then you and I can have this discussion about how dangerous truths can lead to damaging perceptions. But remember: you have proven yourself over and over to be a true Gryffindor and a true friend."
Remus had no idea what to say, but felt his eyelids prickle with tears that he refused to shed. Dumbledore leaned over and patted his shoulder gently. "We'll talk tomorrow of lesser things. Good night, Remus."
And with that, the older wizard left the room, leaving Remus to dark and disordered thoughts.
Friday, 13 September—9:32 a.m.
Alastor Moody stood on one side of Remus' bed, Terry Garrison on the other.
"I know you're still not feeling all that good, Lupin, but there are some things Garrison and I need to talk to you about."
Remus looked from one to the other, his eyes wary. "What about?"
Moody gave him a look of something akin to disbelief. "What do you think, boy? We need to talk to you about what happened to you while you were at that carnival."
The werewolf closed his eyes and suppressed a shudder. "I don't know that I can tell you much."
"Anything you tell us will help," the older Auror said. "I want to get them on as many charges as I can."
He plopped himself in the chair next to the bed and glanced at Garrison. The younger man went to the desk and conjured some parchment, ink, and a quill, nodding at his partner that he was ready to take notes.
"Does it really matter?" Remus asked. "I'm not there now."
"They stole three months of your life," Moody snapped, "as well as that job you had with Alatza. They bloody owe you something."
"I'll never get anything out of it," Remus said calmly. "I know that. You know that. So what's the point?"
"It's justice," Garrison replied before Moody could say anything else. "You have the chance to be heard; to tell what happened. You might be surprised at what could come of it. Besides," he gave the werewolf a quick grin, "it's our job."
Again, Remus tried to protest. "I really don't know how much I remember."
"Four or five years ago, you knew how to remember things that would make a difference," Moody said mercilessly. "You'll remember what you need to now."
"We'll start with the easy things first," Garrison said. "What's your full name?"
Remus sighed. "Remus John Lupin. Does Dumbledore know you're here?"
"Do you think I'd be up here if he didn't?" Moody countered.
"Mr Lupin, since this is an official interview, what is your Registration number?" Garrison continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.
Remus rattled off the numbers. "Do you want to see the tattoo, too?" he added sardonically.
"That's not necessary," the young Auror said. "Are you currently employed?"
"No." Remus looked over at Moody. "Didn't you tell him all this? You know the answers as well as I do."
"It's all part of the official record, Lupin," Moody replied.
"Is this going to take long?"
The Auror's magical eye spun wildly in its socket. "As long as it takes."
"Last employer?"
"Oh, for — you already know this! What does this have to do with anything anyhow?" Remus asked impatiently.
"These questions aren't to your liking? Fine, then," Moody said, leaning forward. "Tell me what happened on the fourth of June. Who came to get you out of Alatza's shed?"
Remus froze, his eyes suddenly wide.
Garrison waited, his quill hovering above the parchment in dreadful anticipation.
"Don't like that question? Then tell me how many of them there were," Moody ordered. "And don't tell me you don't remember. I know of at least four times when you were at the wrong end of a cursing or a beating, and you were able to tell me exactly how many people were there and what they were wearing."
"Gods," whispered Remus. Neither Garrison nor Moody knew if it was a plea or a curse.
"Come on, Lupin, before Garrison's fingers fall asleep."
"There were four of them," Remus finally muttered. "I knew one of them."
"Who?" Moody's penetrating eyes were both focussed on Remus, unnerving the werewolf.
"Bernard Carmichael."
The Auror leaned back with a satisfied smirk on his scarred face. "That's my lad."
12:22 p.m.
Alastor Moody aimed his wand at the stone gargoyle blocking the entrance to the Headmaster's office. "Move out of my way or I'll blast you into pebbles," he growled.
The gargoyle hesitated for a moment then leaped nimbly out of the way.
Garrison looked at his partner and smiled. "You're good."
"Was there ever any doubt of that?" Moody asked.
The younger man chuckled to himself as they walked through the door and onto the moving steps. His partner had a wicked sense of humour, and it always revealed itself in outrageous displays such as this one.
Professor Dumbledore was sitting behind the massive, claw-footed desk when they entered. "Well?"
Moody sank into a chair in front of the Headmaster's desk, and pointed for Garrison to sit in the chair next to him. "Well, even after all he's been through, Lupin is still Lupin," he announced. "Stubborn bastard. Garrison and I had a talk on the way up and we're in agreement: Lupin didn't tell us everything."
Dumbledore sat back and began stroking his beard thoughtfully.
"He's been treated badly, Merlin knows," the younger Auror said. "It should be obvious to anyone – even to the Wizengamot – that he was held against his will. He's reluctant to tell us much about his time there, though. We had to fight for every word we got out of him."
"Typical Lupin," Moody muttered.
"He verified that he took care of the creatures there. He told us Bentley's son, Gerry, helped him for a while until the hippogriff attacked the boy. Then he said that one of the workers, Wally, helped him. I don't think he thought much of Wally," Garrison added in an aside to his partner.
The older man shook his head. "No. He did not."
Dumbledore caught Moody's eye, and his eyebrows rose inquiringly.
"You know how that boy is. If he doesn't like something, he'll damn it with faint praise. This time, though, he straight out said that Wally was as stupid as a hippogriff's arse."
Terry stifled a chuckle.
The Headmaster's hand paused in mid-stroke. "He used that particular phrase, Alastor?" he asked with a smile.
"Close enough," Moody said with a negligent shrug.
"He told us that sometimes the creatures were drugged to keep them calm," Garrison commented. "That would explain how they were able to safely contain an Erumpent. It makes sense they'd use it on the hippogriff, too. He even admitted they drugged a centaur that was there in order to keep it calm." His speculative tone disappeared, and he suddenly leaned forward and spoke more briskly. "I have a question though. We were all three there at the carnival. That cage across from his was marked for a centaur. So we know there had to have been one there. He admitted it. But every time we tried to talk about it, he'd change the subject. Why?"
"There is something odd about him and that centaur," Moody acknowledged. "I did ask him where it was now, and he said it was free. But I can't see either Bentley or Parsons just letting it go..."
Dumbledore leaned forward and placed his folded hands on the desktop. "The centaur is dead. I do know that."
"Did Lupin tell you that?" Moody asked sharply.
"He was… distressed when Severus first found him. He apparently told Severus he wanted to 'go with Libertas.' When I got there, Severus mentioned the name 'Libertas,' and Remus got rather… agitated." He paused. "I didn't use Legilimency on him, but the images coming from him were so strong it couldn't be helped."
"Why the hell didn't he tell us that?" Moody huffed in frustration. "Why can't he get it through his thick skull that it makes things so much more difficult when he hides things? I should go right back down there and kick him in the tail until he —"
"Alastor." The Headmaster held up his hand to stop the Auror's ranting. "No." He sighed softly. "I think — no, I know — that Remus has taken the centaur's death to heart: to the point that he feels somehow responsible for it. I don't know what happened, exactly, but he did say to me that he 'didn't want to do it.'"
Moody sat back, tension flowing through every line of his scarred body. "Damn it, Albus! That makes it sounds as if Lupin killed the creature!"
"If he did," the Headmaster said quietly, "it was because he had no choice. Remus is not a killer by nature."
"He is once a month," the young Auror muttered.
The two older men looked at him sharply.
"Sorry." He shrugged.
The Headmaster plucked a stray thread from the sleeve of his robe and twirled it between his fingers. "You know Remus as well as I do, Alastor. Has he ever taken a life without balancing it against his own soul?"
Terry Garrison stared at his partner, waiting nearly breathlessly for the reply.
The older Auror's shoulders slumped. "You're right. But I still don't like it. If someone mentions the death of the centaur to the Ministry —" He broke off, shaking his head.
"It would be classified as killing a beast, not a being," Garrison pointed out.
The two older men stared at him with varying shades of disbelief.
He shrugged. "It doesn't have the penalties attached with killing a person."
Dumbledore and Moody continued staring at him until he began to squirm inwardly – and just a tad bit outwardly as well.
The older Auror finally huffed impatiently and turned his attention back to Dumbledore. "Of course, we shouldn't be looking for trouble when there isn't any. He may not have done a thing to the centaur."
"True," Albus agreed, sitting back in his chair and resuming the stroking of his beard. "So what else did you discover?"
"Going back to the Torpeus Draught for a moment: I had to ask him several times if he'd been drugged," Moody said. "If you hadn't told me, Albus, I wouldn't have known he had been, by what he said. It wasn't until I told him I knew about it before he finally admitted it."
"He was quite upset about it, though," Terry reported.
"Not that I blame him," the older Auror commented. "It would be hell to know you don't remember days of your life: what you'd done, what was done to you…"
"It is a bitter thing, to know all control and all memory has been taken from you," Dumbledore said softly. "Especially for Remus, who finds it a constant struggle to control himself."
"It wasn't his fault, though," Alastor insisted. "Why can't he see that the use of the Torpeus Draught proves beyond a doubt that he'd been kept there against his will? We can use that information to charge Parsons with kidnapping! Or at least with unlawful imprisonment!"
Dumbledore sighed. "Alastor, what is one of the biggest concerns Remus has?"
"The bloody full moon," Moody answered quickly and almost dismissively.
"More than anything, he fears being considered an animal and not a human being," the Headmaster corrected him. "Now, think about what others were given the Torpeus Draught: the Erumpent, the hippogriff, the Re'em…" He waited for Moody to reach the same conclusion he had.
It only took a couple of seconds. "He can't possibly think we'd think of him as an animal. Could he?"
It was rare that the Auror seemed even slightly unsure of himself, and Dumbledore smiled in spite of everything. "I believe that is exactly what he started thinking of himself," he said. "We both know, Alastor, that if someone is repeatedly told something, especially if it's something he already fears to be true, he will believe it. Why would Remus be any different?"
"And so, it took only three months to make a smart boy like that one believe he's an animal," Moody said acerbically.
"Exactly," the Headmaster agreed sadly.
A new school year just started, and I had 17 kindergartners in my classroom. I've already chewed four fingernails down to where it's painful. A review just might save a fingernail -- and my sanity... Please?