A/N: Thanks to Zarathustra, the beta. She forgave me even though I told her this thing would only be about 15 chapters long -- and then I stretched it out further and further... And thanks to SortingHat47, who allows me to ask 'what if' and doesn't roll her eyes -- too much. Thanks to all of you who review faithfully (and those who don't but love the story anyhow!
Disclaimer: JKRowling still holds the cards, the rights, and the money. Damn it all.
Note: Just so you know, according to several sites on the internet, there have been times when the police officers in Liverpool have been referred to as "bizzies'. The origins vary.
Chapter 29: Retribution
Monday, 28 April, 1986--2:02 p.m.
Stephen Daniels was a busy man, and ran a busy warehouse. And by 'warehouse,' he meant three large buildings that were depots for one of the many shipping companies in Liverpool. He had cargo coming in from the ships, lorries going out, and at least two hundred employees on the payroll at any time. Interruptions in his ever-growing, ever-changing schedule tended to make him slightly — irritated. As a result, he sounded somewhat less than pleased when he walked down Aisle C in Warehouse 3 and yelled, "Lupin! Where are you?"
Two men paused in their work and pointed him in the right direction, and soon, Daniels spotted his quarry. "Lupin!"
The young man stopped, steadied the crate that was balanced somewhat precariously on his shoulder, and then turned. "Yes, Mr Daniels?"
Bloke's got no bloody business being so polite. "Lose the crate, and get to my office."
Lupin flipped an acknowledging wave in the manager's direction, but headed for the lorry only a few more steps away. Daniels watched him for a moment, wincing at Lupin's limp. The young man had come in on Friday, but had asked to leave early. That he was ill was obvious; he had been practically grey. When he had come in this morning, he looked marginally better, but was limping. He said he had been so sick over the weekend, he had fallen down a flight of stairs. Daniels had asked if he needed more time off. In his extensive experience, working while hurt only seemed to aggravate the injury, and then more time was required to recuperate. But, Lupin had smiled and said he'd be fine.
He's got bollocks, I'll give him that… Daniels shook his head and turned away. If he had even fifty men like young Johnny Lupin, he'd have this warehouse in perfect running order in no time.
His thoughts were interrupted by a forklift speeding past him. "Dammit, Corcoran, watch where the hell you're going!"
Muttering more curses under his breath, Daniels went back to his office and the man waiting there.
"He'll be here in a minute," he said to the visitor.
The other man nodded firmly, unsmilingly. "Thanks. I'll just wait for him right outside the door."
Daniels went back to his work, organising the next shipment to Manchester, pausing occasionally to cast curious glances through the window that looked out into the warehouse. Not in uniform, but obvious enough. Wonder what the bizzies want with Lupin?
Lupin came into view, took one look at what Daniels figured was a policeman, and halted close enough to the door that the manager could hear him. His expression was guarded, but not fearful. "Garrison?"
"Lupin. Sorry to bother you here, but…" The visitor's voice dropped so that only Lupin could hear the rest of his statement.
Whatever it was, it wasn't anything that Lupin had expected. He looked confused. "What does it matter to me if Parsons has disappeared, died, or married a hippogriff?"
A hippogriff? What the hell's a hippogriff?
The cop that Lupin had called Garrison was explaining something very quietly, and as he spoke, Lupin's face got whiter.
"Hells, Terry!" he suddenly exclaimed, running one hand over the back of his head. "What am I supposed to do? The Capture Unit will be after me the minute they —"
"No!" Garrison said firmly. "There's nothing to question you about! Besides, Moody will take care of them…"
Capture Unit? Never heard of that division. I knew that bloody Lupin was too good to be true.
The two men walked away from the office door, toward the front of the warehouse, and out of Daniels' hearing.
About ten minutes later, the manager looked up from his schedule with the sudden realisation that Lupin hadn't gone past the window — and was obviously not back to work yet. With a sigh, he got up and stepped out of his office, looking toward the front of the warehouse.
Lupin and Garrison were silhouetted within the frame of the open bay doors. Lupin had his hands behind his head, and for a moment, Daniels' heart stopped, thinking the man was being arrested. But then the young man lowered his arms and shrugged, palms up, as if he were at a complete loss to explain something.
The two men then stood silently for a moment, and Daniels saw Lupin's head jerk, and heard the younger man curse violently. Then he reached down and rubbed his left knee…
The phone suddenly rang, and Daniels went to answer it. When he came out of the office again, Lupin had a small bottle in his hand and, after saying something to the policeman, he drained its contents in one swallow.
Couldn't be drugs if that Garrison's a policeman, could it? Or is Garrison dodgy? Well, no matter what, it's not happening here — "Lupin!"
The employee turned his head quickly, obviously startled. "Sorry, Mr Daniels." He turned, handed the bottle back to Garrison and said something. They shook hands quickly, and then the policeman went on.
"What do the bizzies want with you?" Daniels asked, wording the question so that Lupin couldn't deny that Garrison really was a policeman.
"The biz— Oh." The younger man stuffed his hands into his pockets and tilted his head to the side. "He's by way of being a friend of mine. There was a small problem and he was just letting me know I've got nothing to worry about."
The warehouse manager peered at Lupin's scarred face carefully, looking for any trace of a lie. "Well, all right, then. But I'll tell you now: I don't want any trouble brought here."
"No, sir. There won't be."
Daniels gave him one last look over. "Good. Now get back to work."
"Yes, sir."
8:14 p.m.
Moody let himself into the house with a touch of his wand and immediately stopped. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. And dark. The wards hadn't been touched by anyone or anything suspicious, though, and nothing had attacked him when he first had come in the door, so it could mean that Lupin just wasn't home yet. But the younger man was usually home by this time…
A note on the table told Moody that Remus had gone to pick up a few things at the market. A plate of food, kept warm by charms, was waiting for the Auror next to the message. Moody sighed as he tucked into the chicken and veggies. He was going to miss this when Lupin finally found a decent flat. Though Alastor typically liked being by himself, it was nice to come home to a meal — a good one, at that — and have someone to tell about the idiots that seemed to run rampant out beyond the walls of his house.
The sound of the front door opening and closing disturbed his quiet concentration, and after a moment, Lupin walked into the kitchen, a shopping bag clutched in each hand. His limp was quite pronounced.
"That knee still bothering you?" Moody asked, forgoing a greeting at the strained look on the young man's face.
"I've been on it too long today," Remus replied, setting the bags on the table, and pulling a chair out so he could flop down into it. "And I wasn't able to use as many charms as I would have liked. Seems like there's always someone nearby." From where he was, he was able to stretch just enough to reach the icebox and snag a bottle of butterbeer for himself. "Thanks for sending that pain potion down with Terry today."
Moody nodded in acknowledgment. "I thought you'd be needing it."
Remus opened the bottle and levitated the cap into the dustbin. "Did you find Parsons?"
The question was asked almost offhandedly, a simple four-word phrase, followed by a quick sip of butterbeer. Moody knew there was nothing casual about any of it.
"No. Don't expect to, either. I think he's scarpered off to America, trying to avoid the charges."
Remus rubbed his chin with his forefinger. "I doubt Bentley will be happy about that. Is there any chance of getting him back, if he did go back to America?"
Moody shrugged. "It's the same everywhere, I think: too many criminals, not enough everything else to catch them. I don't think they're going to go out of their way to catch a man who violated a few regulations at a carnival. So, to answer your question, no, I don't think they'll catch him unless he does something stupid."
The younger man sighed. "Is this going to cause any trouble for me?"
The Auror sat back in his chair. "Why should it? You didn't have anything to do with Parsons disappearing, did you?"
"No!" the younger man exclaimed.
"I didn't think you had. The timing was all wrong."
"The timing?" Remus cocked his head to the side questioningly. "When did he disappear?"
"The evening of the twenty-fourth."
"That was the night of the full moon."
Moody nodded. "I told you the timing was wrong."
Remus started reaching into the bags and setting the items on the table with a little more force than necessary. "Unless I escaped, ran down to Cornwall, and ate the son of a bitch."
"You didn't," the Auror said firmly. "I know that."
Remus gave him a raised eyebrow.
"First of all, you almost bloody splinched yourself coming home from work because you were so sick, and it was a bloody miracle you got out to that barn by yourself. You were in no shape to Apparate down to Cornwall before that, that's for damned sure." Moody chuckled curtly, and then he sobered and admitted, "And even though I knew your wards weren't going to break, I went out to check on you around two in the morning."
The werewolf blinked slowly. "You came out to check on me?"
The Auror shrugged. "Anyhow, I doubt you'd have had the time to run all the way to Cornwall, eat the buggering bastard, and be back in the shed before I had that look-in at two, and I sure as hell don't think you would have been capable of it after that, judging by things when I came to get you out at seven Saturday morning."
Though his scratches and bites were not much worse than what they usually were, Remus' knee had already been swollen to twice its normal size. The werewolf had said that it was an old injury that occasionally reared its ugly head, but it resisted almost any attempts of healing. As a result, he had spent the weekend on Moody's couch, reading and reapplying cooling charms to the long strip of linen he had wrapped around his knee.
"So I've got an alibi," Remus said with a snort, looking away from the Auror, and finding a label on one of the tins very interesting.
"You do," Alastor affirmed. "Besides, you don't have a motive for doing away with him."
Remus' eyebrows shot up, and he looked at Moody in disbelief. "I don't have a motive?"
"You have to realise how some Aurors think, lad. You got money out of Bentley and Parsons. That means you won, more or less. If you turned up dead, it'd make more sense, if only because you got their money."
"You know better."
"I said 'some' Aurors."
Remus finally smiled. "Are you going to interrogate me then? Or take me down to the Ministry for questioning?"
Moody's grin was devious. "Should I? Is there anything you want to tell me?"
"Not really, no."
"Made any large payments to any mercenaries lately?"
Remus chuckled. "If I offered a mercenary everything I have in my vault at Gringotts, he'd have a bloody coronary laughing at me."
The Auror sent his plate and tableware over to the sink with an almost negligent wave of his hand. "All joking aside, there's nothing to show that there was anything queer in his disappearance. I think he's trying to avoid Azkaban."
Remus shuddered. "Can't blame him, I suppose."
A thought went through Moody's head, and he just barely refrained from sharing it, not wanting to cause Remus pain. But, for just that one fleeting moment, he wondered what would happen if Bill Parsons and Sirius Black ever crossed paths within Azkaban's walls…
Wednesday, 30 April — 7:10 a.m.
Remus swore as his bootlace snapped in two. "Alastor, do you have an extra set of laces somewhere?" he called out, pulling the boot off so he could remove the broken string.
The Auror didn't answer, and the werewolf got up and went to the doorway leading into the kitchen. "Hey, Alastor, do you have a pair of bootlaces I could have?"
Moody looked up at him, a strange look on his face. "Have you read the Prophet today?"
Remus stood there, confused, his fingers still busily tugging at the lace. "Just glanced through it. Why?"
"Says here that centaurs were spotted in Cornwall the night of the full moon."
"Oh?" Remus tossed the pieces of string into the dustbin and waited for the older man to make his point.
"There haven't been centaurs in Cornwall for at least four decades."
"Trying to bloody stay away from Bentley and —" Remus stopped abruptly, but what remained unspoken was crystal clear.
Moody folded the newspaper with great deliberation. "If I were you," he finally said, "I wouldn't admit to talking to anything in the Mersey Forest. In fact, I wouldn't admit to even seeing anything bigger than an effing hedgehog."
Remus cocked his head to one side. "Who says I was ever in the Mersey Forest to begin with?"
The Auror glared at him for a moment, but then a smile slowly appeared. "Smart lad."
Friday, 2 May — 7:25 p.m.
Remus closed the door behind him and, after hanging his jacket on his customary peg, went into the kitchen. Moody was there, ladling stew into a bowl.
"You're late," he growled.
"Sorry," Remus said. "But, I've found a flat, I think."
Moody looked at him, and there was something that flashed across his face: surprise? Regret? Remus wasn't sure. "Where?"
"Liverpool. Not far from the warehouse. One of the men I work with has an aunt who has an enormous house that she's sectioned off into three flats. One of her tenants just moved out, and so I went over to talk to her."
"Nice place?"
Remus shrugged. "A little shabby, but neat." He smiled. "Much like myself, I think. It'll do for me."
Moody grunted in acknowledgement. "How soon are you planning on moving out?"
"She said she wants to repaint the walls, so she said to give her a week or two. I'm to go back next Friday and talk to her."
Moody slid the bowl across the table to him and then reached for a glass. He didn't get out the customary butterbeer, however. Instead, he reached for a bottle of firewhiskey that was sitting on the counter. "I'm glad you found something," he said. "This calls for a drink."
But before he could give the glass to Remus, the younger man saw the reason why the Auror had the firewhiskey close at hand.
A Ministry envelope lay on the counter, and Remus' name was clearly written upon it.
Moody saw his eyes focus on it. "The owl came a couple of hours ago, but I already know what it is." He held the glass of alcohol out toward Remus as he said quietly, "The annual physicals for werewolves are the first week of June."
"Bloody hell," Remus whispered.
He had always resented the appointments; they were an inconvenience and were probably intended to be so, regardless of what the Ministry said. But now, fear overwhelmed him, leaving him stunned. How could he go back there, knowing what had happened last year? They had Stunned him, interrogated him, imprisoned him. They had encouraged Carmichael to —
"For Merlin's sake, boy, sit down before you fall down!" Moody ordered sharply.
Remus blinked rapidly, his head jerking involuntarily. He was suddenly aware that at least a minute or two had passed and he was leaning heavily on the back of a chair. His fingers were clutching the wood so tightly that his hands were aching. But instead of sitting down, he straightened slightly and stuffed his fists in his pockets.
Moody seemed to know exactly what he was thinking — or feeling. "It's not going to be like last year." He set the glass of firewhiskey down on the table next to the bowl of stew.
The werewolf struggled to find words — any words. None seemed to be forthcoming, however.
"Morty Higgins came to see me today." Moody continued after a moment, turning to get some flatware from the drawer.
Realising he should say something, Remus mumbled, "Aren't you the lucky bastard, then?"
Moody snorted. "I've seen him a few times since that day at Hogwarts, and he's never said much about that day — or about you. But he made a point of coming to me today to tell me about the physicals. I think he was trying to tell me to warn you the letter was coming."
The shock was wearing off; Remus actually found his brain starting to form coherent — albeit sarcastic — remarks. "For future reference, warnings seem to work better for me if I don't see the bloody letter first."
"I meant to hide it," Moody admitted.
Remus ran his fingers through his hair. "What else did he have to say?"
"Nothing, really."
"Did he tell you which werewolf hunter is going to be there this year?"
The muscle in Moody's jaw twitched at the younger man's tone. Instead of giving a reply, he tossed the letter into the middle of the table. Momentum made it slide the rest of the way across until it was stopped by the bowl sitting right in front of Remus.
"What day do you have to go?"
Remus stared at the envelope, a furrow appearing between his lowering eyebrows. "You're bloody determined to ruin my dinner, aren't you?"
Moody stared at him, speechless, for a moment. Then suddenly, with a quick movement that brought his wand into his hand and a sharp flick, the Auror barked out, "Evanesco!"
The stew vanished and Remus reared back, startled. "What the —?"
"Come on, lad. Let's head to the Leaky Cauldron. We both need to get out, and honestly, the stew wasn't any good. I burned it."
And with that, the older man Vanished the rest of the stew and started for the front door.
Remus glanced back down at the envelope that was almost taunting him. Then, with a grin, he got up and quickly followed Moody.
11:41 p.m.
Cheers erupted as Remus thumped the shot glass upside down on the table. But almost immediately, the place quieted as he regarded the glass thoughtfully.
"Come on, Lupin, you can do it," Moody muttered encouragingly.
"How the hell did I get myself into this?" the younger man asked, swaying slightly, but keeping his eyes on the glass.
"He's a bloody Hufflepuff!" Moody hissed into his ear. "You're not going to let him win, are you? Now, come on and transfigure the fucking thing!"
Remus took a deep breath and then whispered something. The glass shook for a moment, as if resisting the werewolf's will, and then suddenly a Golden Snitch appeared in its place.
Again, the people surrounding them cheered loudly and applauded. Moody clapped Remus on the shoulder roughly.
The 'bloody Hufflepuff' raised his head from the table and glared first at the Snitch and then at Remus. "Bugger."
"Your turn, Jennings!" the Hufflepuff's friend said cheerfully.
Jennings groaned. "Eff off, Hamish. Can't —" His head slumped down to the table again, bumping another Snitch.
"You have to!" Hamish insisted, shaking him. "You're not going to let a bleedin', brainless Gryffindor outdrink you, are you?"
Apparently Jennings was. With Hamish's help, the Hufflepuff got the glass to his lips and drained it, but then it slipped out of his fingers and hit the floor — just five seconds before Jennings did.
Cheers and curses filled the tavern, and money exchanged hands. A small pile of coins ended up in front of Remus, including at least six Galleons.
"Not bad, eh?" Moody said, elbowing him in the ribs and nodding toward the money.
"Good thing I won," Remus commented, stuffing the coins into his pocket. "Couldn't've covered the bets if I'd've lost." His words were definitely slurry, and Moody laughed.
"Wha's funny?"
"It's been a while since I've seen you this pissed."
"Need a Sobering Charm." Remus decided, now that Hamish had dragged his friend away, leaving Remus and Moody alone at the table.
"You need another butterbeer," Moody said with a devious glint in his good eye.
"No, no," Remus held up his hand and waved it while he shook his head. "Need some —" He stopped suddenly, his attention drawn to a man standing at a table off to the side. The man was familiar — tall and burly with dark hair—but Remus' alcohol-befuddled mind couldn't make the connection quick enough to say where he'd seen the man before, much less what his name was.
"You all right?" Moody was asking.
"Yeah —" Remus glanced back at the man. For some reason, Sirius' voice was in his head, saying something about the man, something —
"Well done, mate!" A friendly slap on the back accompanied the compliment. "You won me three Galleons!"
"Then buy the man a drink to thank him for your good fortune," Moody suggested to the wizard.
"I'll do that! What're you having?"
Remus ignored the question, his attention going back to the familiar-looking man. He knew Moody was speaking, telling the man to buy Remus a butterbeer, but again, it was Sirius' voice that he actually heard.
"Know thine enemies, Moony…"
The man turned his head, and Remus looked into dark, hard eyes — the eyes of a werewolf hunter.
The growl deep in Remus' throat alerted Moody only a moment before Remus leapt out of the chair, knocking it over, and charged after Bernard Carmichael.
"Bloody hell, Lup —" was all that the Auror managed to get out before he realised that Remus was gone. It only took him a heartbeat to assess the situation.
Seeing that someone was coming at him with obviously dangerous intentions, Carmichael had started to run toward the door. Remus, however, would not be kept from his prey. He shoved one man out of the way, pushed another man back into a chair and, seeing a small knot of people talking right in front of him, stepped up onto a chair then onto a table to avoid them. He leapt across to the next table, startling curses out of the people sitting there, but paid them no heed. It was a simple thing then to throw himself right onto Carmichael's back, taking the man down to the floor.
Moody was an expert at getting through crowds and around obstacles to get to where the trouble was. Remus only had a chance to slam Carmichael's face into the floor twice before the Auror reached them. With the aid of a spell or two, Moody pulled the werewolf off the other man and pushed Remus back several paces. "Lupin! Stop it!"
The younger man wasn't listening to him. His teeth were bared and he was swearing and muttering words that Moody wouldn't have suspected that Remus knew. He was trying to shove Moody aside, completely oblivious to the fact that it was Alastor, so intent was he on continuing his assault on Carmichael.
"Damn it, Remus! Be reasonable!" But reason went out the door with excessive drinking, and Remus had done a lot of that tonight. Suddenly, the drinking game with the Hufflepuff seemed like a very, very bad idea.
Desperate measures being called for, Moody jabbed his wand at Remus and muttered a Sobering Charm and then an Auror's Pacification Spell. Almost instantly, the younger man stopped fighting him, though the anger still remained in the blue eyes.
No gold in his eyes! Thank all the gods, there's no gold!
"He just attacked me!" Carmichael was saying in disbelief and anger, pressing a handkerchief to his broken and bleeding nose. "The bloody maniac just attacked me!"
"You deserved it!" yelled Remus. "You fucking deserved to have your nose broken and more for what you did to me!"
Suddenly the man's eyes widened. "Lupin!" he whispered. It was almost a whimper.
"What? You didn't recognise me when I wasn't bloody and ripped to shreds?" Remus demanded.
Moody had to stop this now before something was said that the werewolf would regret.
"All right, everyone, go back to your tables. Remus," he grabbed the younger man's bicep tightly. "Let it go. Hear me?" He leaned closer and hissed, "For Merlin's sake, boy, all he has to do is yell for the Capture Unit! Do you want that?"
There was a long, tense moment, and then Remus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "No." His shoulders slumped.
"He's dangerous! He needs to be shot! If I had my —" Moody spun around quickly and shoved his wand right into the werewolf hunter's belly.
"Do you recognise me, Carmichael? I'm an Auror — name's Moody. If I were you, I'd let this go." He leaned in a little closer so that the few people still crowding around couldn't hear him. "You're lucky he didn't rip your throat out right here and now. And not only would I have let him do it, I'd have cheered him on while he did. I've got a list of things I've been waiting to charge you with, starting with kidnapping. Now, if you don't want me to go down to the Ministry tonight and dig up my very long and very detailed list, I suggest you go back to wherever you came from and forget that you've ever seen Lupin."
"But he attacked me! It's a sign that he's a danger to others and —"
"I didn't see him attacking anyone else other than you, and you damn well did deserve it. Now, get the hell out of here while I'm still being nice about this."
The man was silent for a moment, obviously considering his options. Finally, he shrugged. "Fine. I'll pretend this never happened." But then he smiled cruelly at Remus, and the Auror felt Lupin's tension rise. "But, if I hear he's ever done anything like this again, I will hunt him down like the animal he is."
"Get the fuck out!" Moody growled, accompanying his words with a shove. He wanted nothing more than to hex the man, to give Carmichael a tail, scales, and fins — and leave him flopping for breath on the floor. He didn't think he could explain it to his superiors' satisfaction, however; certainly not without getting Remus into trouble for attacking someone.
He turned around and saw that Lupin had already started back to their table. The younger man had stopped to apologise to the people whose tables he had run across, and Moody shook his head. Who but Lupin would apologise?
By the time they had again seated themselves at their table, Moody had a grin on his face. He waited until Remus looked at him and was certain an apology was coming. The first word had barely left Remus' mouth before Alastor interrupted him by asking, "Did you apologise to the Death Eaters you hexed?"
"What?" the younger man asked, obviously perplexed.
"You apologised to the people you shoved out of your way, you apologised to the people whose table you stepped on, you apologised to Tom for fighting in his place, you apologised to that woman for scaring the piss out of her... I'm curious now. Did you ever Stun a Death Easter and then apologise to him afterward?"
The left side of Remus' lips twitched into a half-smile. "I did apologise once. I cast a Body-Bind on a woman and she fell over and hit her head on a brick. Gave her a bloody concussion. Literally."
Moody roared with laughter. Then he eyed the bottle of butterbeer that he had been drinking from. He had left it unattended while he was pulling Lupin away from Carmichael, and anyone could have done anything to it.
Another bottle of butterbeer had arrived while they were gone: the bottle that the three-Galleon winner had bought for Remus. The werewolf was looking at it with distaste.
"You ready to leave?" Moody asked.
Lupin's relief was plain to see. "More than," he replied.
They settled their tabs with Tom and soon were walking through the streets of London. They could have Apparated home, but the cooler air was refreshing.
"I am sorry about that," Remus said, with a quick tilt of his head in the general direction from whence they'd come.
Moody shook his head. "You don't need to apologise to me. Actually, if you'd been any other man, I'd have let you pound the shit out of him."
"But I'm not any other man," Remus said with resentment.
"No, you're not," the Auror agreed.
"He could have called the Capture Unit, and I'd be dead now."
Alastor knew there was no point in denying the truth of it. "Well, maybe not yet, but you'd probably already be in Azkaban."
Remus was quiet for a moment then said lightly, "Maybe they'd put me in the same cell as Sirius."
Moody smiled. "I was thinking that it'd be interesting to see what would happen if Black and Parsons ended up together."
The younger man stumbled over an invisible rock. He rubbed the back of his head and chuckled almost nervously. "I've had dreams about him."
"Who? Black? Or Parsons?"
"Sirius." Remus stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. "He tells me that he's going to kill Parsons. If the centaurs haven't, that is."
"I told you to keep your mouth shut about that."
Remus was already waving a hand to ward off the Auror's anger. "I know, I know!"
They neared the end of the block before Moody gave him a quick glance. "You have a lot of dreams about him?"
The younger man shrugged and muttered something incoherent.
A car passed them and a teenager leaned out of the window, screaming obscenities at them.
"Bloody idiots," Moody said.
"He keeps telling me he didn't kill James and Lily," Remus suddenly volunteered.
The Auror gave him a much sharper look. "You aren't convinced?"
"It's difficult not to believe the evidence," the werewolf said slowly.
Moody pursed his lips and then nodded. "I've always told the trainees that if the evidence seems solid and the solution seems obvious, they're wrong. But, that whole thing with Black…"
They were silent for a while.
"You once asked me why Black killed them," Moody suddenly said. "Do you remember that?"
Remus' eyebrows lowered. "I think maybe…"
"When you were in St. Mungo's, and Healer Weimer was putting your hand back together."
"What did you say?"
Moody chuckled, but it was without humour. "I told you that you would know long before I would."
The werewolf sighed. "The problem is that I don't know how he could do it. I don't know how he could have fooled us all so like that."
"If you still don't know after all this time, chances are you're not ever going to know," Moody commented.
"Were we wrong — was I wrong — in not pushing for a trial?" Remus wondered aloud after a moment. "I know the Ministry would never have listened to me, but should I have gone to Dumbledore and demand he do it?"
"You did, but we told you what would have happened. If he had gone to trial with the evidence that we had, he would have been found guilty and then executed. Because he was automatically sentenced based on the evidence, he's still alive."
"I'm not sure Sirius would think it's any better though," Remus said quietly. "Life in Azkaban isn't much of a life."
"No, it isn't. But some day, if he does happen to get himself released, he can thank you for not pushing for the trial — and the guilty verdict that we know he'd have got."
"Honestly, Alastor, what are the chances he will ever be released?"
"Someday, once Potter's grown, if he wants to make a plea for clemency —"
"A plea for mercy." Remus shuddered.
Passing beneath a street lamp, Remus noticed that Moody looked startled at the younger man's wording.
"Could Harry ask for a trial?" Remus asked, ignoring the Auror's shock.
Moody nodded. "He could."
They walked for a block or two silently.
"When Harry gets to Hogwarts, will Dumbledore tell him about what happened to James and Lily?" Remus asked.
"I don't know what Albus' plans are," Moody admitted. "Whenever I've asked him about the boy, he's politely told me to bugger off."
"Do you think —" Remus took a deep breath. "Do you think he'll ever let me see Harry?"
"I'd think that there will come a time when Potter'll be curious about his parents, and you'll be the only one with most of the answers."
"He'll be curious about Sirius, too, but I won't have those answers."
"But what you say will probably influence the way he feels about Black," Moody pointed out.
"Do you think so?"
"I do. You can talk almost anyone around to anything — you did it enough when we were fighting Voldemort. If you can persuade a few people into not joining Voldemort, you can bloody well talk a kid into accepting Black's guilt —"
"Or his innocence," breathed Remus.
"I was going to say 'or your doubts about his guilt.'" Moody's magical eye seemed riveted to the werewolf. "You think he's innocent, don't you? Even though you said the evidence doesn't support that, you think he's innocent."
Remus hesitated. "I don't know."
"Are you prone to having visions? Is there a seer in the Lupin line somewhere?"
"No," Remus said immediately. "There isn't. It's just — instinct."
"The wolf doesn't want to believe his pack mate's a traitor?" Moody seemed to be deliberately sneering at him.
The werewolf drew in a sharp breath. "It just doesn't make sense to me. You saw James and Sirius together. You know how Sirius was. He never pretended to be anything that he wasn't. He wouldn't even attempt to get back into his family's good graces to get information for the Order."
Moody nodded slowly. "I know," he admitted.
"But that fact isn't enough. My doubts aren't enough. The only chance Sirius has for a trial is Harry."
"Wait a minute." Moody put a hand out and grabbed Remus' arm. "Are you saying that you're going to try to talk Potter into pushing to ask for a trial for Black? It might bloody well get Black killed! You're better off making Potter feel sorry for Black and have the boy ask for clemency."
Remus shook his head. "No. A trial would tell whether Sirius was guilty or innocent. And he'll get the chance to tell his side of the story."
"You're going to put Black's life right into that boy's hands! Do you want Black's death on Potter's shoulders?"
"Do you think his father would forgive me if I didn't?" Remus shot back. "If Sirius is innocent, he shouldn't be there. If he's guilty, he deserves death. Either way, he won't be suffering any more."
"And neither will you," Moody said with a sudden clarity. "Is this what it's all about? Settling things for your sake?"
The younger man exhaled heavily then said quietly. "He was my friend, Alastor. He was one of my best friends for years. He became my friend, trusted me — he loved me, Alastor, and I loved him. Not that way — but he'd have done anything for me at one time. I know that. He deserves something — something for all that he did for me." He smiled sadly. "He deserves mercy, Alastor. Either the mercy I gave Libertas, or the mercy that Snape and the centaurs gave me."
Well, come on! You know he had to have been wondering about it before he went face-to-face with Sirius in the Shrieking Shack, right? There's no way the man (brilliant as he may be) could have put all those pieces together and come up with the fact that Sirius was innocent and Peter was the murderer in just one mad, crazed, panicked run from his office to the Shack. I know it, and you know it too!
Unless, of course, he knows Legilimency.... But that's another can of worms completely... And it doesn't fit into the context of my story.