A/N: A nod to the famous Robert Ludlum, whose ingenius creative talents helped me come up with a way for Voldemort to meet with potential followers without the risk of getting himself captured or killed.
Chapter Four: 'Lift a Stone...'
The next morning, Remus was taking a walk, wandering aimlessly about the streets of London without clear purpose or direction, when the blonde-haired Death Eater of the previous night materialized behind him.
Remus recognized his telltale scent and slowed, allowing the man to catch up. Without looking at the Death Eater now striding along next to him, Remus stated, "Hello, courier. What news have you?"
The man stuck his hands in his pockets, the very picture of a civilian out for a leisurely morning stroll. His discomfort did not show on the surface. "You are to meet the Dark Lord in fifteen minutes."
"So soon?" Remus inquired. The courier opened his mouth to reply. Remus cut him off. "Yes, I understand why. I cannot meet with outside parties to inform them of this rendezvous if given such a short time frame. Where?"
The blonde-haired man faltered, blinking, thrown off balance by Remus' rapid changes of topic. He cleared his throat, buying himself time, then queried, "Are you familiar with the Muggle's church a few blocks away? St. Joseph's?"
"I am."
The messenger halted; Remus mimicked him. The man no longer smelled of uncertainty, but was completely focused on business. "Listen to me very carefully, for one misstep will get you killed. You are to go to that church in fifteen minutes. Go inside and have a seat in the third pew from the back on the left side of the aisle. Wait there for one minute. Then walk to the confessionals and enter the one farthest to the right. The Dark Lord awaits you. Greet him with these words: 'Father, lift a stone and you will find me.' He will reply with, 'Child of God, the Kingdom is within you.' If you do not hear that response, it is not the Dark Lord; something will have gone wrong, perhaps he will have scouted the place out and found something he disliked. Stay near the church; another messenger will approach you and a different meeting will be arranged with you within an hour's time."
Remus nodded to show that he understood. "'Father, lift a stone and you will find me,'" he repeated, half to himself, to make sure that he could recall the correct phrase.
"Good luck," the courier told him gravely, his sincerity surprising Remus. "Remember—St. Joseph's in fifteen minutes." He disappeared into the crowd, his plain features doing their job as Remus promptly lost sight of him.
He sighed and made an abrupt turn, apologizing as he nearly bowled a Muggle over, retracing his steps. He could reach the church in less than ten minutes if he hurried. As he walked, he wondered if he would be better off appearing early or right on time. He decided that the former left less room for doubt on Voldemort's part. It was a brilliant cover, he mused, setting up meetings in a church—the last place anyone who was hunting for someone like Voldemort would look.
St. Joseph's church came into view slowly. Remus regarded it doubtfully, for, like most places in this part of London, it had clearly seen better days. Then he shrugged. Who was he to judge? He lived in an apartment in worse shape at the moment, and he had lived in buildings hardly suited for human occupation before.
He entered the church, looking around curiously. It was a completely nondescript, unremarkable church. A faded red carpet decorated the aisle that made its slightly meandering way down the center of the building, ending in the front with an altar. He counted seven rows of pews marching stolidly down either side of the aisle. Several windows filtered streams of dirty sunlight into the church, where they gathered into pools of tarnished pale gold.
Remus walked carefully to the third pew from the back on the left and sat down. There were four other people besides him, as well as a priest. The priest watched him quizzically, glanced around to make sure that he was not needed elsewhere, and approached Remus.
"Hello, welcome to St. Joseph's," the priest greeted him. "I don't believe we've seen you here before."
"No," Remus agreed. "I'm passing through the city on the way to visit a friend in the country. Since I won't be traveling again until tomorrow, however, I decided to come pay my respects to the Lord."
The priest nodded. "It is good to see one so fervent in his faith."
Remus smiled wanly. "I try."
An awkward silence settled between them, and then the priest simply nodded once more and trundled off. Poor fellow, Remus thought. Doesn't even know why he's so bothered by me. He knew that he had unnerved the man; it was in his posture as he strode away, in the aroma he gave off: a faint mix of salt, cloves, and slightly burnt rubber that Remus had long come to associate with confusion.
Remus shrugged it off as unimportant. Why did he care what a Muggle priest thought of him? He slid a tattered Bible from the back of the pew in front him and leafed through it impatiently. The stifled atmosphere in the church irritated him. He normally enjoyed silence, but now it weighed upon him heavily. Every sound, already emphasized by his heightened sense of hearing, was amplified threefold, echoing through his mind until he thought he could no longer bear it. The priest was in the front of the church, pacing, his footsteps muffled by the carpet. A woman in the front row wheezed softly every time she inhaled. A man behind and to his right sniffled and turned a page. Another man two pews in front of him mumbled as he read, or prayed. Remus felt a low growl forming deep in his throat.
He stood up and the sounds retreated immediately. Calmly, he strode up the aisle, turned right, and entered the confessional farthest to the right. The words came easily, though he could feel the fluttering of apprehension within his stomach, like a caged bird searching frantically for a way out.
"Father, lift a stone and you will find me."
He heard the stirrings of the figure on the other side of the curtain that divided sinner from priest. The other man's breathing was even and deliberate, his heartbeat strong. When he spoke, his voice was cold and composed. "Child of God, the Kingdom is within you." There was a pause in which Remus struggled to regain control of himself. Voldemort's scent was overpowering: a harsh, metallic aroma laced with rage and utterly inhuman. Added to the heady solidity of his anger was the conflicting sweetness of excitement. "Remus Lupin," the voice stated smoothly, leaving no room for argument. "I was uncertain whether or not I would be privileged enough to be graced with your presence."
"Why would I turn your offer down?" Remus fought to keep his voice steady. "I have nothing lose, and everything to gain."
"Indeed," Voldemort whispered. "So many of us feel that way. So many of your kind, suppressed by wizards who haven't the slightest inkling of the beauty that they restrict." Remus shuddered involuntarily, digging the fingernails of his right hand into the soft flesh of his left wrist to stop the singing call of the Hunt that rushed through his veins at Voldemort's softly spoken proclamation. The pain cleared his mind. "I can sense your agreement," Voldemort said. When Remus did not reply, he continued, "However, I have doubts about you yet, my friend, suspicions that I must lay to rest. You are in contact with Severus Snape." It was not a question.
Remus growled. "Snape sends me the Wolfsbane potion under Dumbledore's instruction," he told Voldemort honestly.
"Do you use the potion?"
"I do, for it would be dangerous not to while the Ministry of Magic continues to meddle in Muggle affairs. If I accidentally exposed myself among the Muggles, the Ministry would put me on trial like a beast—unable to defend myself in their courts according to their laws, they would appoint one of their own as my lawyer to make sure that I would lose the case. I would be caged or, far likelier, killed." Remus allowed the bitterness he felt to leak into his voice, for he spoke only truth regarding the trials of werewolves. "They do not view us as human beings."
"Regretful, to say the least," Voldemort breathed. "And they will never change, will they?"
Remus laughed quietly. Half-truths, he reminded himself. "Of course not," he snarled harshly, pretending to answer the second comment while actually replying to the first. That was the truth, for there were people within the Ministry working to change the law. Now for the lie. "They are right to consider us beasts, and indeed, I wish to join you so that I may Hunt unhindered."
There was silence behind the curtain for a long moment. Remus thought he picked up just the slightest tinge of doubt in Voldemort's scent; perhaps he was reconsidering the decision to allow werewolves into his army. Finally, the cold voice spoke once more. "I see. You and I, Remus Lupin, are not that different from one another. I sense your need for revenge, Remus, your bitterness that those who should defend you have only turned away. I too have suffered a similar betrayal. And because of this, I believe that I must trust your passion."
"Thank you, my lord," Remus whispered fervently. He felt Voldemort's satisfaction; the use of "my lord" had not been lost on the other man.
"Your hunger will be satiated very soon. In the meantime, however, you must obey me. I believe you know the punishment for treachery already."
"Yes." Remus clamped down hard on his sorrow and the memories that flooded him, trying not to reminisce on those who had paid such a heavy price for defying the man that now sat no more than three feet from him. I'm sorry, he whimpered inwardly, seeing each of their accusing faces in his mind. I'm sorry!
"Then I will tell you how you are to serve me," Voldemort was saying quietly, oblivious to Remus' struggle. Remus, knowing that his life depended on stilling the beast that was tearing him apart from within, gritted his teeth and, with great effort, suppressed the howl that was rising in his throat.
"Tell me, my lord," he demanded, hoping that the strain did not show in his voice.
"I am aware that you were part of my opposition in the First War," Voldemort stated. "Foolish, but I may be able to forgive you. I want you to rejoin the opposition. Observe well, and inform me quickly of their plans."
Remus nearly laughed aloud at this irony. The spy was being asked to spy for the one that he was spying on in the first place. "I will, my lord."
"I would also like you to find others of your kind and bring them to our side. If they refuse to comply…feel free to Hunt as you wish." A piece of folded parchment was slid under the curtain. Remus took it, and Voldemort explained, "There are a few names on that for you to begin with."
"Thank you," he murmured, placing the list in his pocket. "I will not fail you."
"I expect reports every week at the latest. If I need you, I will find you." The dismissal was clear.
"Goodbye, my lord," Remus said.
"Farewell, child of God," Voldemort breathed. The sneer of contempt in his voice set Remus' hackles on end as he gratefully exited the confessional.