cxlii. the madman cometh
When the final student departed, eager for dinner and a respite from lectures, Remus breathed a heavy, lingering sigh of relief.
"Thank Merlin," he muttered to the empty room, dropping into the cushioned chair behind his desk. A wave of his wand cleaned the blackboard, leaving white streaks behind, and Remus sighed again, louder, propping his head on the chair's back. He could still read the odd word here and there in the streaks—words like "devilry," "fire," and "inquisition." Grimacing, he made an effort to clean the board once more, then set his wand on the desk, allowing his eyes to close.
I'll just rest here for the moment….
The day had been just as long for Remus as it had been for his pupils—if not longer, his thoughts dominated by the slow rise of the lunar sphere and his curse's coming encumbrance. He had revisions to teach, homework to grade, essays to read, and yet Remus had the energy for none of it. If he drank anymore Revitalizing Solution, he'd most likely boil his liver.
Something collided with the office door, noisy paws scratching at the wood. Remus' eyes popped open.
"For Merlin's sake, Padfoot," he hissed under his breath. "Just come in!"
The scratching ceased, silence pervading before a small click sounded, and a black nose nudged the door inward, admitting the silver-eyed Grim. Sirius padded closer to the desk, and Remus suppressed the reflex to reach out and run his hand over the dog's mussed fur. They weren't that familiar with each other. Not anymore.
The dog went to the window Remus visited not a minute before, and he looked out upon the grounds, probably not seeing much of anything from his lower vantage. He turned to him, and Remus could practically feel his desire to change forms, like an itch prickling under the skin, needing to be released. Sirius wagged his tail in agitation.
"You're going to have to wait until tomorrow to talk," Remus said in an undertone, conscious of the portraits on the far wall and the ghosts that could come haring through whenever they chose. "There isn't much time left in the day, and I'm unfortunately knackered."
Sirius huffed, then huffed again, a low, grating growl of irritation—or maybe impatience. For a man who'd spent twelve years in Azkaban, biding his time, Sirius had little patience now that he was out and close to his goal.
"Don't look at me like that."
He sat, growled again.
"We have time," Remus reiterated, tapping his finger on the armrest of his chair. "Time enough to formulate our plans properly. If we fail to find him before the term ends—we'll not stop searching. He'll have nowhere else to go but back with the Weasleys if he means to stay kept and relatively in the know. He won't stay here—no, the risk of discovery is too great around wizards of Dumbledore's caliber, and there isn't a reliable source of news, not like he could find with a Wizarding family." Remus stopped tapping and instead rubbed at his tired, lined face. "I could, perhaps, make a house call during the summer. I never knew Molly and Arthur Weasley well, but they were connected to the Order, and being a professor to several of their children could grant me the leeway to arrange a visit. If we can ascertain Peter's presence."
Sirius' lip curled over sharp, white teeth.
"No, I don't like it either." Remus tipped his head back again, the ribbed ceiling above dark and gloomy where the final light of day couldn't reach. "It's dangerous. He's dangerous—strange, how all these years later I can see it for the first time." Peter had been a boy of average talent and middling personality, but what Remus and the others had mistaken for loyalty was nothing more than sycophancy. He'd related to him the most in their school days—both unpopular children clinging to the magnanimous friendships of their charismatic peers—but Peter had been quick to cut contact with Remus after school, after the war heated up and the werewolf ceased to have relevance in his limited social sphere.
At the time, Remus had thought the fault lay with him; that Pettigrew had grown wise, had seen the monster finally, and decided he wanted nothing to do with him, but no. It was nothing quite so personal. Remus simply ceased to have a purpose for Pettigrew, and so he was cut free like so much unneeded ballast.
"We could wait until after the summer," Remus mused, Sirius already shaking his head. "There is the chance that he'd run, yes, but we can't allow ourselves to act rashly. He'll hurt the Weasleys—or anyone, really—if it suits his needs."
Sirius nodded, snorted, and lowered his muzzle.
Tired and sore, Remus let his mind wander over various ideas and strategies until the door into his classroom sailed open a few minutes later. He expected to see the dark, looming shape of the Potions Master—and if he'd retained an iota of common sense, he would have sent Sirius back to his quarters, Merlin forbid he and Snivellous ever met again—but the person stepping inside wasn't Snape. It was Hermione Granger.
"Miss Granger? Did you forget something—?" Remus' voice failed him when he looked at his student and found her disheveled, out of breath, and bloodied. She had leaves in her wild hair and dirt upon her torn stockings. He rose from his chair. "Hermione, are you all right?!"
Hermione's tongue flashed across her lower lip as she gathered her thoughts, her hand still pressed to the open door. "Professor—you must come quickly to the Sundial Garden."
"What—?"
"It's Harriet!" For the briefest of instances, he imagined her brown eyes had darted toward Sirius, who stood frozen at the window. "It's Harriet; she's in danger. Really, you must come quickly, Professor Lupin! Someone's taken her—!"
The girl had just enough time to throw herself out of the way as the enormous black dog went barreling past her, Remus jolting forward in horror, his chest tight. "Padfoot, no!" he yelled, but he'd gone on ahead, and Remus had no choice but to sprint after him, snatching hold of his wand from the desk a bare second before he ran by Miss Granger. He expected her to follow, though when he glanced behind himself, he didn't see the young Slytherin witch, and so assumed she'd gone to get the Headmaster. He didn't know. He didn't understand what was happening—only that he needed to stop Sirius before he did something stupid.
Sirius ran far faster on four legs than Remus did on two, and he thanked small mercies for it being dinner time, no one lingering about to see the black Grim bounding through the school's corridors. Remus clutched a stitch in his side as he took the stairs two at a time, knees protesting, his body a solid, exhausted ache begging to be put out of its misery—and yet still he ran, feet pounding along the stone passages as he grit his teeth and bore the pain of it. He didn't take the route leading toward the entrance hall, instead opting to use the rear exit opening onto the shaded courtyard. The cold slammed into his heaving lungs, and nascent rain touched his sweating face.
Ahead of him, Sirius scaled the path leading to the cliffs and the covered bridge, a flash of black fur in the drab, wilted grass.
"Padfoot, stop!"
Remus vaulted the courtyard's barrier, catching himself on the rocks, the overgrown hedges snagging and tearing at his worn teaching robes. Grunting, Remus let the foliage have them, yanking his arms free of the cloth so he could keep running. His heart felt fit to burst as he ascended the hill, chasing the paw prints pressed into the clay and mud. He slipped, slamming his knee into the earth, swallowing the howl building in his throat. It threatened to give out on him, and still, Remus persevered. He made it across the bridge.
"Harriet!" someone yelled.
"Harriet, where are you?!"
Remus stopped, clutching at the end of the wooden railing as he choked and wheezed. "Miss—Miss Granger?!" he shouted.
It couldn't be, and yet there she was, standing with Elara among the dolmens and ancient plinths, her clothing in good repair once more, her face unbloodied, if pale and frightened. They had their wands in hand.
Something wasn't right.
Miss Granger couldn't have overcome him; Remus may not be a star Quidditch athlete, but the idea of a thirteen-year-old witch passing him at a flat sprint wasn't feasible, which meant the girl in his classroom—the one who'd sent him and Sirius out here with her carefully worded plea—wasn't Hermione Granger. Dread prickled the hair on the back of Remus' neck.
Polyjuice? Imperius?
"Professor!" Hermione cried, rushing over to him, her school satchel resting forgotten in the weeds. Elara's had been dropped next to it—and a third was thrown aside as if left in a hurry. "Professor, Harriet's gone missing! And a dog just—."
"Yes—you came to tell me that, just now, in my classroom," he replied, swallowing the need to cough, to argue. He needed to find the Headmaster—no! He needed to find Harriet. Where was Harriet? "What on earth are you three doing out here at this time of day? It's not safe!"
"What?" Elara demanded, the tight constraints of her hair coming undone in the rising wind. "What do you mean she told you? Hermione, what is going on?"
Hermione chewed on her lower lip. "I—I don't know!"
"You're the one who told us to come out here! And now Harriet's gone!"
"I don't know!" she sobbed. "This isn't—this isn't how it's supposed to work! There's never meant to be any contact! No influence! Why is this happening? Why would I do this?!"
"We need to get you back to the castle," Remus said, ignoring the bewildering comment for now. This situation did not sit right with him, a strange conundrum of coincidences better left to more capable wizards to solve. Goddamn it, Sirius, he thought, scanning the area for signs of the Animagus, but Sirius had taken flight into the Forbidden Forest.
"No!" Miss Granger blurted. "Harriet was just here! Sitting right there! She didn't just dissolve into midair! Someone—someone must have taken her!"
Remus' heart jumped into his throat. Pettigrew? No, no, don't let it be him—.
"Listen to me. You both must return to the castle—."
Elara yanked herself from his reaching hand, his fingers grazing her sleeve. Scowling, she dashed for the tree line. "Elara, stop!" She heard him, of course, but took no heed of his words, vanishing into the woods with Miss Granger quick to chase after her. "Come back!"
His voice echoed in cruel irony—come back, come back, come back—as Remus ran into the underbrush, his trembling hands slick with perspiration and mud. "Elara!"
Elara, Elara, Elara.
Neither girl appeared, both already consumed by the swelling copse of shadow and night, the smell of broken pine in his nose, burning in his wet eyes. He could hear their voices still, tumbling like the low thunder of the spring storm, Harriet, Harriet, Harriet!
Did Pettigrew have her? Had Sirius reached them?
Left without recourse, Remus steeled himself and plunged into the dark.
x X x
Not ten minutes after man and dog sprinted from the classroom, Severus Snape stepped inside, cradling a smoking goblet between his pale hands.
He paused when he spotted no one waiting for him, then exhaled a short, noisy breath through his hooked nose. He approached the office's entrance, intent on bludgeoning his knuckles against the wood barrier until Lupin accounted for himself—when a single sheet of unfurled parchment upon the desk caught his attention, the red lettering large and glinting in the final sprigs of daylight coming through the open window. The ink was as fresh as newly spilled blood.
LUPIN AT SUNDIAL GARDEN. STUDENTS IN DANGER. COME IMMEDIATELY.
His breath left his lungs in a low, broken hiss, his fingers tightening around the silver goblet. The liquid quivered, ripples like fault-lines growing and growing as black eyes widened and desperate fury mounted.
It didn't matter where the note had come from. It didn't matter who had known Snape would come, or that he would see the hasty, familiar writing. All that mattered was the undrunk libation of Wolfsbane Potion clutched in his grip and the threatening rise of the full moon making for its celestial summit.
That fucking fool!
Snape turned heel—and ran.
x X x
Monstrous feet beat against the cold earth, the trees trembling beneath his weight. Already he felt the moon upon his, golden eyes glinting in the silver light pouring between the black branches overhead. Soon, soon.
The wind shifted, and he inhaled a new scent.
Too many teeth, like broken glass from a shattered window, gleamed in the dark, and he smiled, the adulation of a mad, slavering beast.
It's been so long since I've tasted young flesh.
x X x
Somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, Harriet Potter woke with a startled, terrified gasp.
