o─-o─-o─-─-─-─ WITHOUT THORN THE ROSE ─-─-─-─o-─o-─o
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling.
Warnings: Slash in this chapter...if you squint.
Notes: Thank you all so much for all the reviews, favs, and follows. They really motivate me. I have been working about four hours a day on my writing now that I'm out of school for the summer, so I've just finished up the second draft for this story and I'm getting back to working on the sequel, of which I have about 2/3 of the first draft done. There are a ton of pins on my Pinterest for this chapter, so go check that out. *prods with fork*
Here's something that happened to me this week – feel free to skip to the story, but I just have to share.
Me: "Hey mom, you should post your novel on a website or something so you can get feedback. It's super easy! Here, lemma show ya some sites…"
(30 min later)
My mom: "So, the epic masterpiece you've been whining about for months is a Harry Potter fanfiction, huh?"
Me: "How the fuck did THIS happen?!"
Mom: "Remember when I had to hide those books from you, because you were reading them too much?"
Me: "Yup. That's when I started reading fanfiction. Hahaha! Ha…ha…" *facepalm*
Mom: "So, let's just see if I can find your story then."
Me: "Pish! There are 500,000 HP fanfics! You'll never catch me."
Mom: "Uh huh. 'Cause you said you just posted to it an hour ago, you told me the main characters and the genres, and I totally know your style."
Me: *remembers that hour long argument we once had about whether 'Without Thorn the Rose' was an awesome title for a story or a shitty one* "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" *throws self on ipad*
I guess what I'm trying to say is…enjoy the chapter?
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o─-─-─-─-─ 13. THE GRIM OLD PLACE ─-─-─-─-─o
Harry got his first taste of Sirius' Vow—to do nothing Remus would not approve of—at breakfast the next morning, when the Death Eater ripped into his food with his bare hands. After Remus had revived him, Sirius apologized and tried again with a knife and fork.
"Good thing you didn't make the forfeit his life," Harry observed, around bites of his own meal. He, too, was eating readily, now that his ordeal was over.
"That's one thing the article got right," Remus agreed, eyeing Sirius coolly. "He is a compulsive rule breaker."
"Article?" Sirius asked, looking up.
"You are rather infamous, you know," Harry pointed out. He fished the paper in question from the stack of old Prophets on the kitchen counter.
Sirius glanced over the article, frowning. "Lucretia Prewett," he muttered, glancing at Harry. "That's your great-grandmother." Harry nodded. "So you'll inherit the fortune someday."
Harry shrugged. "If I ever tell anyone who my mother really was."
"Speaking of Black properties…" Remus began, giving Harry a look almost as chilly as the one he had given Sirius. "Since I seem to have been saddled with the care and keeping of an escaped convict, we can't stay here much longer. I've decided to move into the Black townhouse in London. With Sirius, of course."
"Why?" Harry asked, startled.
"The wards here aren't strong enough," Remus explained. "And I can't afford to get more—or to be seen getting more."
Harry was confused. "But my Dad installed all kinds of things, for when I visit."
"Exactly. For when you visit. Those spells aren't active when you're not here."
"Oh. But I thought all the Black properties belonged to Arcturus?"
"Not all of them," Sirius replied, slathering a bit of toast with marmalade. "Just the manors and castles."
"Oh," Harry replied dryly, thinking of the sardine can that he and James lived in on Azkaban. "Just those. Well, then."
"The townhouse isn't much, but I think it will be adequate," Sirius continued, oblivious, "and I'm the only one with access to it. If my mother's barmy house elves haven't burned it down, that is."
"Elves, plural," Harry said flatly, exchanging looks with Remus, whose cold affect softened to wry sympathy for a moment.
"So we'll be going over there today to get settled in, while you have your play date," Remus put in.
Harry brightened. "Luna?"
"And Neville, yes."
Harry beamed sunnily. For once, all was well in his world.
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Just after the mantle clock had dinged two, a knock came at the front door. Remus and Sirius were in London, surveying the townhouse, so Harry answered the door himself.
"Hello, Mrs Longbottom, Luna, Neville," Harry greeted the visitors politely.
"Yes, quite," Augusta Longbottom answered coolly, glaring down her nose at Harry. "Well, have a good time."
Harry, irritated, ushered Mrs Longbottom to the floo, and she went on her way. He returned to the porch then, where Neville and Luna were rocking in the swinging seat.
"Oh, look, a wrackspurt," Luna said dreamily, pointing to an empty spot of air next to Harry. He squinted at the empty space, then shot an alarmed look at Neville, who hastily got up and pulled Harry aside.
"Er—is she quite all right?" Harry asked in a hushed tone.
"She's been like that ever since she had to go to Mungo's," Neville answered mournfully, watching Luna, who was now waggling her fingers at the bit of empty space. "I think her mind was injured. She's fine most of the time, though. Just, every now and then strange things pop out. Her Sight, you know…"
Harry swallowed hard. Guilt welled up in him as he remembered how selfishly he had pushed Luna to view something that he knew would be horrible.
"Luna, I'm so—so sorry," he stammered. He put his hand on the girl's shoulder and she turned her large silver eyes on him. They were still beautiful, but oddly protuberant now, as though her head were too full. "I'm really sorry this happened."
She cocked her head at him. "You're one, too," she mused.
"Er…" Harry backed up a step. The light in those eyes was unsettling. Luna followed, pushing her face close to his and peering into his eyes as though she could see into the darkness of his skull. Harry didn't like to think what she might find there.
"You're a—a draugr¹. A draugr with a little nidhogg² nibbling on him," she told him with a giggle. "And you have a pet Grim. Oh! I want to play with him!"
Harry bit back a gasp. Luna smiled fondly at him and kissed him on the cheek before running off into the yard.
"You haven't really got a Grim, have you?" Neville asked uneasily. He had been doing all right in Harry's presence so far, but he had started to turn a bit green at the thought of a Grim.
"Of course not," Harry answered, a bit too forcefully. Sirius' animagus form could easily be mistaken for one, however. Had Luna Seen Sirius? What had she been peering at in Harry's eyes? "Let's—let's just go play."
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¹ A draugr is an undead creature from Norse myth. They are animated corpses who live in graves and exist to guard treasure, wreak havoc, or get revenge. They have many magical abilities, including superhuman strength, increasing their size and weight, rising from the grave as wisps of smoke and swimming through rock, driving people and animals mad, shape-shifting, controlling weather, seeing the future, entering dreams, spreading disease, immunity to weapons, and bringing darkness during daylight.
² In Norse mythology, Níðhöggr (Malice Striker, usually anglicised as Nidhogg) is a serpent or dragon located in Niflheim, the realm of ice and cold that includes Hell, who gnaws one of the three roots of the world tree, Yggdrasil. It is sometimes believed that the root is trapping the beast from the world.
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Later, Remus returned with Sirius to bring Harry to London. Harry was impressed with their new accommodations. The townhouse was a five-story Georgian, of the same red brick as the two neighbouring houses to which it was attached. Harry thought it a bit odd that the hoity-toity Blacks would consent to share walls with common Muggles, but Sirius explained that wizards had owned the whole street in the 18th century, when the house was built. The lingering presence of the Blacks explained the street name nicely, Harry thought.
It was clear that no one had been keeping up with repairs, as the shingles were in a deplorable state, several panes of glass were broken, and browning ivy covered much of the façade. The inside of the house was no better. Once past the front door with its tarnished silver serpent knocker, they entered the front hall. Harry could see that it had once been grand. Marble steps curved up in a graceful arabesque, and above them, a domed skylight supported an ornate crystal chandelier. But the skylight was grimy, and the chandelier covered with cobwebs; the wallpaper was peeling, and the carpet was worn down and filthy.
The state of neglect was not the only foreboding detail, however. Many of the doorknobs and lights were shaped like serpents, dragons, gargoyles, and other dangerous creatures. A ghastly umbrella stand made of a hollowed-out troll's foot stood next to the door, and mounted on the wall of the staircase were the preserved heads of several house elves. A scattering of bright rectangles on the discoloured wallpaper indicated where the numerous paintings had been removed, leaving the walls empty.
The only part of the house that Remus and Sirius had cleaned thoroughly was the kitchen, so they proceeded there. Sirius rummaged in the pantry while Remus settled onto a bench at the long, rough-hewn wooden table and Harry surveyed the surroundings for souls. It was difficult to determine where one house ended and the next began.
"Are there any creatures here?" he asked Remus.
"Like as not, the whole place is infested with gods only know what," Sirius said, returning from the pantry with a dusty bottle of fire whiskey and a tumbler. He poured himself a couple of fingers as Remus observed with pinched lips. As soon as the Death Eater lifted the tumbler to his mouth, however, he went limp and keeled over on the table.
Remus sighed. "That's the fourth time today."
Harry snorted. "Gods, Uncle Remus, you can't even let him have a drink?"
"He's bad enough sober," Remus replied, pouring the whiskey out in the sink.
Sirius came to a moment later, rubbing a lump on his forehead. He did not complain, however, which Harry thought wise; the animagus simply continued with his train of thought.
"The house-elves are gone, so we'll have to clean it ourselves until I can get some new ones," Sirius finished.
"I'm not sure Uncle Remus would approve of that," Harry answered with some amusement.
"What? The cleaning or the house-elves?"
"The house-elves," Remus supplied, returning from the pantry with a tin of tea. "I'm afraid they have a natural enmity for werewolves, and they can be rather territorial. They refused to change my sheets or do my laundry at Hogwarts."
Sirius looked startled. "You never said a word."
"You would have gone after them for it," Remus explained wearily.
"Too right I would," Sirius replied darkly. "Nasty little ankle-biters, always creeping around spying."
"You could stand to be a bit more charitable to magical beings," Remus remarked frostily, "seeing as you claim to be in love with one."
Sirius held his peace. Harry looked back and forth between the two men. Things were going as well as could be expected, he thought; neither of them sported any visible wounds, at any rate. And despite Remus' steadfastly cold façade, Harry thought his uncle seemed more alive than he had in quite some time. There was a suppressed energy seething just under the wolf's skin. Harry only hoped that nothing would be broken beyond repair when the dam burst. After that, perhaps, they could both start healing.
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Sirius and Remus had pronounced the ground floors and first floor clear of any danger, and so they left Harry to work there, while they moved on to the second floor. Remus foisted an armful of cleaning potions and brushes onto Harry, and the dark-haired boy was content to let the man think what he would. He waited until Remus was out of sight before returning the cleaning supplies to the cupboard, and then set about repairing and cleaning with his magic. He dispatched Lady on cleaning duty, too, to eradicate whatever rats might be lurking behind holes in the baseboards. For once, Harry's pernickety familiar did not protest being given orders.
Harry took his time, starting at the bottom and working his way up. He made a point to open every door and peer into each nook and cranny, constructing a mental map of the house. The lower ground floor contained the cramped servants' quarters, the cavernous kitchen with its walk-in fireplace oven and pantry attached, several utilities cupboards, and three locked vaults etched with runes. The ground floor contained the once grand entryway, a dank cloakroom complete with several mouldering cloaks and furs, and two studies with locked desks. The first floor comprised a vast drawing room and equally impressive dining room with a table that could easily seat twenty. Harry found himself wondering if Sirius' parents had eaten at opposite ends from each other.
The drawing room was majestic, with its gigantic windows curtained in dusky gold, stretching floor to ceiling, and the massive family tree tapestry, woven in silk and embroidered with thread of silver, now tarnished black. Harry traced the branch with his grandmother's name. Below Electra, however, only '1 daughter' was listed, with no name and no father indicated. The descendants of female Blacks were always omitted from the tree, Harry realized upon further inspection, unless they were designated heirs. Sirius' branch, with its lingering scorch marks not completely concealed by careful patching, told a story of its own.
The rest of the room was no less grand. There were two gold and crystal chandeliers, and a grand piano with real ivory keys. The sofas and chairs were upholstered with blood red velvet and had clawed ebony feet. The tables were of the same ebony, supported by ornately carved and gilded serpents and dragons. Sirius had warned him only to dust the antiques, for fear they would be damaged, and Harry gladly did so.
The cleaning went smoothly, for the most part, but the entryway proved to be a lost cause. First, he managed to blast the troll's foot umbrella stand through a wall with a particularly forceful cleaning spell, and then he shredded the carpet beyond all repair. This turned out to be a boon, however, as the carpet revealed a beautiful and intricate stone mosaic in cobalt and turquoise. After that, Harry went on a shredding spree, uncovering bright, colourful wallpaper and floors everywhere he turned. Soon he had restored the first three stories to an era that pre-dated the Blacks' obsession with gothic décor. The furniture no longer matched, but that was well worth bringing some colour into the gloomy abode.
After a few hours, when everything but the finicky antiques had been cleaned and polished, Harry decided to explore the rest of the house. The second and third floors were given over to bedrooms, bathrooms, and dressing rooms. The master bedroom was the only one with any sign of occupation. Out of the master dressing room spilled robes, gowns, hats, and shoes that even Harry knew were drastically out of fashion. A soul belonging to some minor magical creature was lurking behind a rack of outrageous hats covered with feathers and ribbons. Harry approached cautiously, trying to read the pattern of its swirling colours, but as he stepped nearer, the soul quivered and churned rapidly in a new configuration.
"Come out of there," Harry called softly but firmly. "I won't hurt you…"
Harry's eyes nearly bugged out of his skull when Luna Lovegood crawled out from under the rack of hats.
"Help me, Harry," she cried. Tears and snot ran down her face, which was as haggard and drawn as an inmate of Azkaban. "It hurts!" she shouted, clutching her skull. Her eyes bulged grotesquely. "Why did you do this to me? Why did you make me look!"
Harry shook his head vigorously, backing into a rack of taffeta and chiffon evening gowns. He clutched at the fabric to keep himself from stumbling, but the dresses slithered from the racks and followed him to his knees.
Crack.
Luna Lovegood became James Potter. His face was flushed and twisted as it was when he'd tied on a few too many. Harry recoiled in disgust and—something deeper—what was it—
"You!" James roared, flinging an empty bottle of Ogden's at Harry's head. Harry dodged it just in time. "I wish Voldemort had killed you instead! Then I could have a real life instead of living in this miserable shithole, slaving away the best years of my life for an ungrateful little snake that isn't even mine!"
Harry knew it wasn't real. He'd been confused by Luna's face, but he knew what this was, now. The only thing he didn't understand was why he wasn't seeing his fears. A boggart was supposed to assume the form of his greatest fear. So why did Harry feel only this dull, throbbing ache in his chest?
Crack.
It was Remus, now, staring down at Harry in cold disdain. "My life isn't a toy for you to play with," he told Harry. "I was happy with my memories. But now, because of you—I have to do this."
Sirius stepped up from behind Remus, and gazed mournfully into his former lover's eyes as Remus lifted his wand to point at Sirius' heart. Sirius did not move to defend himself as Remus spoke the words.
"Avada Kedavra."
Harry cried out in shock and horror. He saw a flash of green before he squeezed his eyes shut.
In the darkness behind his eyes, the stripe of green rippled and undulated, welcoming him as a mother to her long-lost son. The familiar waves rocked him gently, while the pressure squeezed him in a comforting embrace. And at the very edge of his hearing, he could just make out whispers, laughter, birdsong, the chiming of bells. Distantly Harry felt his body go limp, and his tears cease falling. He drew a deep breath, savouring the scent of rain-soaked earth, and opened his eyes.
Nothing. Only a dead woman's wardrobe. Harry scanned in all directions as far as his soul-sight could see, but either the boggart had fled or it had been destroyed by Harry's lack of fear. Yet rather than triumph, Harry felt bitter failure as he staggered to his feet and fled the dressing room. Laughter, he reminded himself harshly. I should have been able to laugh. Yet what was there to laugh at? There was no scenario he could imagine that would make Luna's illness, James' abuse, Remus' hatred, or Sirius' death funny.
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Sirius discovered Harry, later, when the boy had recovered enough to start rummaging through the Black family's private belongings and filching a thing or two. Harry's instinct was to placate the adult with protestations of innocence, but, to his surprise, Sirius simply joined in the fun.
"Here, try this one," Sirius said with a quicksilver grin, handing a black, skull-shaped ring to Harry. The boy slipped it on, and the ring adjusted itself to his slim, child-sized finger. "It looks good on you."
Harry smiled a little shyly. Away from the influence of dementors, Sirius seemed less depressed. He was far from recovered, of course, but the spark of life had returned to his eyes. Harry was used to talking to an imprisoned shade of a man, however, and it was somewhat startling to be confronted with an energetic and confident Sirius.
"Reg was always trying to be cool," Sirius explained, rummaging through his brother's small jewellery box and coming up with a silver ouroboros pendant on a heavy chain. "Here."
Harry slipped the pendant on, obligingly. "Was he trying to live up to your image, do you think?"
Sirius glanced at Harry, startled. "You are a quick one, aren't you?" He shrugged. "I certainly thought so. I thought I was really something, back then. Reg practiced liked mad to get onto his house team, second year, and I swear he tried to murder me every time we played each other. Then, in fourth year, he started carrying a guitar around and making the most wretched noises. One time, he managed to get a gig with some of his mates, and James and I showed up with a bunch of rotten fruit to lob at him." He chuckled. "I wasn't a very good older brother."
Harry toyed with the pendant, thoughtful. "Does he still live in Britain?"
"I don't know. He came to see me at Azkaban once, the first year I was there. He was wearing the most ridiculous muggle disguise. Said he was going into hiding, and if I ever wanted to get in touch with him again, I could go choke on a turnip." Sirius laughed again, but his eyes retained a hint of melancholy. "Good bloke, Reg."
"He was a Death Eater, too, wasn't he?"
Sirius sighed. "Yeah. Our parents were pressuring us, and all his mates were joining up. He never had much spine, did Reg."
"Did you ever fight together?"
"On the same side, you mean? Gods, no. The Dark Lord never trusted me any further than he could spit. Had me under house-arrest almost the entire time I was joined up. Convinced I was a double agent. He used to legilimise me at regular intervals." Sirius shuddered. "That man had no finesse, I tell you. I could have taught him a thing or two, but he thought he knew everything already. That was his downfall, in the end."
"What do you mean?"
Sirius shrugged. "Well, he thought muggleborns were worthless, but it was a so-called muggleborn witch who did him in, wasn't it?"
Harry swallowed, remembering green light and the chiming of bells. "Yeah," he agreed quietly. Privately, however, he wasn't so sure anymore what had transpired on that fateful night.
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Remus looked around the library, trying to supress his natural inclination to be over-awed. The room took up the majority of the fourth floor, and the rows of dusty, glass-fronted bookshelves extended all the way to the rafters. Sirius pointed out the paintings silently, and Remus incinerated them one by one, after which he dispelled their Disillusionment charms.
"So? What was so important that I see?" Remus asked in an even tone.
"Over here," Sirius called, leading the way to a dark oak cabinet in one corner.
Glass-housed candelabra hung from the sloping ceilings, and each wick flared to life as Sirius passed under it. Remus' jaw tensed at this display of the wandless man's magic, still strong after all these years. He hadn't given Sirius his wand back. He wanted to trust Sirius' word, but if anyone could find a way around a Vow, it would be a Black. Yet he couldn't bring himself to ask Sirius to bind his powers entirely. To remove the man's magic would be tantamount to emasculating him, and, whether he liked to admit it or not, a part of Remus was still very much attached to Sirius' masculinity.
It was this part of himself that made Remus wary of being alone with his ex-lover. It was the same part of him that had wept inwardly with relief and joy when he realized that Sirius was still alive. How he wished that he could harden his heart to the man. It was as though he were caught helplessly in a dream, unable to wake—a dream that at any moment threatened to descend into nightmare.
"Here," Sirius called, opening the cabinet. A stout shelf at waist height held only a silver basin embossed with intricate runes and the images of two ravens¹. Below this were several smaller shelves, holding a multitude of flasks and vials, each containing misty silver strands of magic.
"What are all these?" Remus asked, curious despite his misgivings.
"Black family history," Sirius replied absently. "Mostly a lot of marriages and executions. Some of the old ones are fairly wild, though—probably gone funny from age. But never mind that. Can I borrow your wand?"
Remus tensed, gripping the slim length of wood tightly. "What for?"
"I Vowed not to keep anything from you that you would want to know," Sirius explained with a solemnity that Remus scarcely recognized. Azkaban had changed him.
Remus handed over his wand grudgingly, and Sirius put the tip to his forehead. In truth, Remus was not sure he wanted to see any of what Sirius might want to show him, but he trusted the Vow—for the moment.
"Do you want me to go in with you?" Sirius asked, after placing his memories in the pensieve.
Remus shook his head and took a deep breath, steeling himself.
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¹ In Norse mythology, Huginn (Old Norse "thought") and Muninn (Old Norse "memory" or "mind") are a pair of ravens that fly all over the world and bring information to the god Odin.
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Remus surfaced from the sea of memories with a gasp, and fell to his knees, clutching the shelf and panting. It felt like he had been under for hours, and his head was still water-logged with a phantasmagoria of horror.
Nude corpses, robbed of all dignity, heaped like a pile of spare doll parts in a corner—cages of children, who simply stared like zombies that had forgotten the sound of human speech—a man, chained to a dissection table, with his ribcage cut open and spread in two wings, whose eyes flickered open and begged for death—
A hand touched Remus' shoulder, offering warmth and sympathy, and he snapped, shoving Sirius away violently. Ever since he had touched Sirius' face the night before, the deep waters of Remus' heart had been in turmoil. The calm tides of his inner life had been shaken from their normal pattern. His gently lapping waves had been pulled out to sea, gathering themselves in a dark, roiling undertow, and now, as inevitably as gravity, they were thundering back to shore, in a tidal wave of rage and bitterness. The wave was cresting, and Remus was swept forward along with it.
"No!" Remus' voice was ragged and frenzied. "Just—just don't."
The Black stumbled back, tripped over a chair, and landed on his arse, staring up at Remus with wide eyes. "Are you all right, Remus?" he asked in a tone of concern.
Remus shook his head. "What did you think—that I was going to forgive you, if I saw how bad it was? How dare you—how dare you try to justify yourself with that—that"—he couldn't find a word bad enough. "Just because you loved a werewolf once doesn't give you the right to declare yourself some kind of"—he gesticulated wildly—"some kind of bloody crusader. You can't fight fire with fiendfyre, you bloody fool!"
Sirius was frozen, silent.
"Do you even know what happened to all those werewolves you tried to rescue?" Remus' voice was growing hoarse. "You wanted me to watch your horror story—well, you can damn well hear mine! Because I was there that day. Do you know why that employee who got away didn't turn you in?"
Sirius' eyes glinted with dark interest.
Remus nodded. "That's right. That's just the beginning of what you don't know. He was covering his arse. He went after those poor wretches that you abandoned in the Atrium—so that you could get back to your vengeance, I don't doubt—and he Imperiused them. They turned on the crowd and tore them apart." He smacked his own chest in emphasis. "I was there! I saw it all! The Aurors put them down like dogs, children and all."
Remus held a hand to his eyes, and the remembered smell of blood overwhelmed his nostrils. His wave of towering pathos had crashed, and was rushing out again, leaving him only with gut-wrenching grief that forced him to his knees.
"It makes me sick—sick—to think I played any part in it, even if it was only in your mind."
Remus looked up between his hands, which were splayed over his face, desperate for any hint of regret on Sirius' gaunt face. But the man merely gazed back at him impassively.
"Gods damn it, Sirius! Say something!" Remus cried. It felt as though he were throwing stones into a bottomless well.
Sirius closed his eyes. His voice was infuriatingly calm. "What do you want me to say?" He lifted his shoulders and dropped them. "I fucked up? Do you really think I don't know that? I had nothing else to think about for ten years, Remus. I can't cry over it any more. I ran out of tears a long time ago."
"At least tell me you regret it. At least tell me you're sorry," Remus pleaded.
Sirius was silent, and Remus looked imploringly at the man he'd once loved more than the whole world. Sirius simply gazed back flatly. His silence said all he needed to.
"You're not sorry," Remus said wonderingly, his hands falling to his lap limply. "You'd do it again."
"I'd do it better," Sirius replied evenly, continuing to meet Remus' eyes steadily.
Remus felt something beneath him break away, and he was falling. Where was the boy he had known? The boy who had healed every scrape on Remus' wolf-ravaged body and shed tears over each one? The boy who had spirited away the mouse he'd been given to transfigure, and set it free? Had he always been nothing more than a chrysalis for this cold, hard creature?
"Why?" Remus whispered.
Sirius clasped his hands and stared at them pensively. "I know what you think I should have done. That I should have gotten evidence, shown it to the right people, spread the word. But that's because—forgive me, Remus—you have always been so terribly naïve about the true nature of our world."
Remus drew in a sharp breath, ready to protest, but Sirius continued.
"I suppose it's because your parents were muggleborn. Or perhaps you simply have an optimistic nature. You see the fear and hatred that wizard-kind have for werewolves and other creatures as something like the muggles' petty prejudices, which could be combatted with greater understanding and equality. But they aren't like that. Wizards do understand werewolves, and that's precisely why they fear them."
Remus looked away, hurt, and hated himself for still being so affected by such a small thing, after all the scorn he had suffered for what he was.
"They know that running in your veins is a wild magic that they can't comprehend and can't hope to match. Whatever guilt they might feel over your suffering at their hands is more than overcome by the relief of being reassured that your darkness can never touch them. This is what you—and Dumbledore, too, for that matter—always failed to comprehend. You won't win your rights by rolling over and showing your belly, because they can always see your teeth. The only way you can ever hope to gain a place for yourself in our world is to seize it from their grasp and defend it to the death. Thus it has ever been amongst wizards."
"Just because it's always been that way, doesn't mean it always has to be," Remus argued stubbornly. "The wizarding world is changing. There are more muggleborns than ever, and they have different ideas about what's right."
Sirius nodded. "It's changing, I grant you that. But those muggleborns? There are no more muggleborns than there ever have been. It's just that, a thousand years ago—even a hundred—their magic would have been considered too weak to bother training. But now, with fewer children being born to wizards every year, if the standards hadn't been dropped, Hogwarts wouldn't have enough students to remain open. Most muggleborns never do accidental magic before attending Hogwarts, and never achieve enough skill to gain any real influence in our society.
"It's the same everywhere you turn. The magic is going out of things. The great trees sicken, the sacred circles crumble, and wizards rely ever more on their wands, turning away from the old rituals and magics. The Dark Lord may have gotten a lot wrong—but at least he saw what's happening. Dumbledore and the Ministry are too obsessed with gold and politics to even look around. They would still be arguing over laws even when there were no more wizards to follow them."
Remus wrapped his arms around his knees. "None of that justifies his atrocities," he answered quietly. "Voldemort and his Death Eaters—you—did more to destroy our world than the Ministry ever did."
Sirius sighed. "I know it. But just because the world's changing doesn't mean that it will ever welcome werewolves. If anything, it's getting worse for you. As the magical power that the average wizard has decreases, the amount of threat they perceive from dark creatures increases. You said I tried to fight fire with fiendfyre? You're right. Only, the way I see it, I was teaching them a lesson about what happens when you try to keep fire in a cage. I'm sorry I couldn't save any of their victims. But I don't regret cleansing the earth of those scum. Please don't ask me to."
Remus felt exhausted suddenly. It felt like forever that he had been fighting the same never-ending battle. "Maybe you're right," he murmured forlornly. "Maybe there is no place in this world for someone like me."
"That makes two of us," Sirius answered.
A hand touched his knee softly, and this time Remus allowed it. The fight had deserted him for the moment. Sirius drew his former lover into his arms, wrapping him tightly in a warm embrace. Remus did not return the gesture, but, for a long time, the werewolf simply soaked in that achingly familiar warmth and intoxicating scent, remembering days gone by.
─-─-─-─-─o─-─-─-─-─
By the time Harry returned to Azkaban, Grimmauld Place was fit for habitation once more. He sensed that something had changed between Remus and Sirius, too. Remus was no longer giving Sirius the cold shoulder, but neither did he respond to the man's jokes and teasing. Sirius' melancholy seemed to have passed into Remus, and Harry was frustrated by his inability to cheer his uncle up or understand the source of his malaise.
Remus had Sirius to care for him, but not all of Harry's relatives were so fortunate. Back on the island, Harry's first act was to visit Rab. The man had been increasingly unstable of late, and Harry was worried for him. When he reached the top of the tower, however, Harry was greeted with an empty cell.
Rabastan Lestrange was missing.