Title: Lusus Naturae

Chapter: Eighteen

Rating: M for Mad-Eye

Warnings: Abuse, Death, Torture

"Give him more."

Timid hands uncorked a generous flask filled with a thick puce liquid and began administering a fifth dose of the vile tonic. The intended patient sat awkwardly slung across a low-backed chair at the center of a dimly lit room, emitting a low and hollow sound that one might have called laughter under different circumstances. It was more of a chuckle bereft of any tone, spilling forth like a rasp from an immobilized jaw set slightly askew. The hands clasped around the flask shook.

"Merlin's balls, give me the damned-"

Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody swiped the flask off his companion and unceremoniously drained the contents down the throat of the escaped mass-murderer Sirius Black. The aforementioned criminal spluttered and gagged as the liquid shoved its way down his throat. Mad-Eye fell onto back onto his good foot, propping his walking stick under his arm as he corked the flask and tossed it into the waiting hands of the trainee Auror accompanying him in the interrogation.

"Sirius Black," Alastor barked, kicking one of the man's lifeless limbs in hopes of rousing him.

Black groaned and laughed and writhed in his seat, straining against the bright white cords tying him in place. The movement caused a stir of filthy air in the room that sent the younger Auror into a coughing fit. Alastor's false eye whirled in its socket.

"Three days," he mumbled to himself, stomping towards the far wall of the room. "A dozen healers. Not a lick of progress."

"S-sir," the other called.

"Ministry breathing down our necks," Alastor continued. "No torture, Dumbledore says."

Mad-Eye picked up a rather severe looking device reminiscent of a collar - if not a few sizes too small for the average man's throat - and imagined all the progress he might have made with the employ of his arsenal. He had once been fond of Sirius Black when he trained under Alastor's wing at the academy. It seemed a lifetime ago. James Potter's death had put the nail in that coffin. He wasn't there to reminisce. It was only Dumbledore's insistence that Black be left unharmed to corraborate the details of the youngest Potter's story that stayed his hand. With his enchanted eye facing squarely into the back of his own head he observed the prisoner as the potion did its work.

"They'll take you back, boy," Alastor growled. "Why wouldn't they? Can't have a mad-man walking the streets, innocent or no."

"Sir!"

Alastor grinned at the featureless wall before him. When he turned Sirius Black was standing upright at the center of the room, his fists clenched at his sides. The mindless haze was still present on his features, obscuring the soul that had once inhabited the shell of a man standing before him, but this was more progress than they had seen in the last twenty-four hours.

"Ready to talk, are ye'?"

"Name," the Junior Auror demanded, with an admirable amount of authority in her voice. "Tell us your name. For the record."

Sirius hummed, lips pressing into a tight line across his face. "B-bbblack."

Alastor tapped his walking stick once on the ground and a contraption in the corner of the room began to crackle and pop as silvery light sparked to life in a round glass tube: an official Ministry recording device to notate the proceedings.

"Again," he barked. "Name."

"Sh-irius," the prisoner moaned. "Si-rius Black."

"Do you know where you are?" the Auror prompted.

"Az-" Sirius fell back into the chair behind him with a thud and a sickening crack as his head snapped back as far as it could go. "What-" He let out a hacking cough. "What did you d-do?"

"Pepper-Up," Alastor explained, stomping forward. He leaned over Black and observed the man's eyes. Pupils dilated but focused on the ceiling as he came back to reality. "Veritaserum… a few others. You're at the Ministry, boy. Standing trial. Well… sitting, I suppose."

"You stand accused of murdering twelve muggles and a wizard by the name of Peter Pettigrew, how do you plead?"

Sirius began to convulse. Tremors were not an unexpected side-effect. Mad-Eye cast a cooling charm with a tap of his stick against the cobblestones, if only to stop the man's heart from giving out. They would run out of time more quickly than he had hoped.

"Did you do it, boy," Alastor growled. "Betray the Potters? Kill Pettigrew?"

Sirius' head craned up at them, chin drawing near to his chest as the world seemed to swim in front of his eyes - drunk on the tonic.

"No," he exhaled.

"Who?" Alastor demanded, wrenching the sod's head up with one meaty hand. "Who betrayed the Potters to the Dark Lord."

Sirius Black's eyes were perfectly clear as he raised them to Mad-Eye's own. He bared the whites of his teeth as he answered, clearly and soundly for the record to be made.

"Remus Lupin."

The Headmaster's desk was once more piled with missives to the point of toppling come Boxing Day. Summons to meetings and inquiries into his availability for proceedings that would require his attention at some point. Out of respect for the holiday, Albus Dumbledore had postponed opening any of them. He could not hope to outrun his responsibilities forever, but the Wizarding World owed him a day or two to collect his thoughts.

There were legalities to abide by in terms of reporting a death on the premises, statements that needed to be made to the Aurors that were to be sent out to conduct an official inquiry into the capture of Sirius Black, and an unsavory hearing before the Hogwarts Board of Governors was likely to come when word spread about the late Professor Lupin's lupine problem. He couldn't find the stomach for any of it. During the holidays one would think the Minister would give it a rest.

He stood in front of the fireplace in his office - as he often did when things went horribly wrong - twirling the dainty bits at the end of his long beard. He might have popped a Lemon Drop in to worry on as well, but he had over the course of the last week worried on one too many. The insides of his cheeks were over-puckered and peeling. After a moment of deliberation he plucked one of the sweets from an ornate dish sitting on the mantle. Desperate times and all that.

He was awaiting an answer to a summons of his own. Part of him questioned whether it would be answered. Severus had outright refused his request for an audience with Harry Potter in the hours that followed the attack at the Whomping Willow. While Albus had played host to Ministry officials and put in the work to downplay the severity of what had happened to the Minister himself, valuable seconds were ticking away as Harry Potter doubtlessly concocted his own version of events. Time had a nasty habit of fading the memory and Albus desperately needed an unbiased account.

The mind of Sirius Black was scarcely whole or capable of producing a memory worthy of reviewing in the Pensieve. Albus had gotten only the briefest of looks into Black's mad eyes, but it had been enough to see the patchwork of a consciousness that had seen the ministrations of one too many Dementors over the course of a life sentence in Azkaban. He was by no means a reliable witness.

Peter Pettigrew had proven less useful, if such a thing was possible. Albus had never had the misfortune of practicing Legilimency on a rodent before, but if it was anything similar to what he had experienced while exploring Pettigrew's mind he hoped to never find himself needing to again. The Animagus had spent too long in his animal form; his higher thinking had devolved into instinct and centered mainly around hunger and the fearful survival drive of a prey animal. From what Albus had uncovered, Pettigrew had seen nothing of use.

Remus Lupin had no means of defending his reputation from beyond the grave. Albus knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the man was innocent - at least of the crimes the Headmaster himself had accused the werewolf of when relaying the events to the Aurors - but there was no vain-glory in death. Albus had learned when to use that to his advantage. The dead rarely came back to life to dispute the lies told in their absence.

He had no qualms about dispersing these self-serving half-truths to others, but Albus could not abide being kept in the dark. Knowledge was power and whatever the truth was, he desperately needed to know.

From a shelf somewhere over his shoulder a device chimed alerting him to a presence at the foot of the staircase that spiraled up the tower to his office. Dumbledore made quick work of stepping sidelong behind his desk and planting himself in his arm chair. With a wave of his hand the door opposite him fell away from the jamb. He would not miss the opportunity to get a good look at Harry's eyes as he entered.

What arrived in his office as the sound of the device petered out was not a thirteen year old boy, however. Professor Minerva McGonagall shoved her way across the threshold before the closing door could lock her out. She was sprier than she looked.

"Minerva," Albus greeted. "What brings- My goodness, are you alright, my dear?"

Minerva's eyes were red-rimmed and blood shot. A flush of indignation or perhaps distress sat high on her cheekbones. White hairs stuck out at odd angles from the ring of hair collected in a disheveled braid atop her head. She invited herself in with a muted glower, depositing herself in her customary armchair, which - while not strictly belonging to her - had seen more of her backside than any other over the decades of their working relationship.

"Remus-" Minerva paused, lips pursing as she gathered herself. "Remus Lupin," she said flatly, fresh tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

Albus frowned, leaning forward as if to offer condolences across the distance. "Yes, Madame Pomfrey alerted me this morning. There was nothing that we could have done."

"Nothing we could have done?" Minerva hissed. "I told you that boy did not belong here. What if it had been one of the students, Albus? He murdered a Professor!"

"In self defense," Albus retorted firmly. "While I agree, Remus Lupin did not deserve the fate bestowed upon him - and I cannot speak to the man's motives - he did attack one of our students. We should count ourselves lucky that no harm came to young Harry."

"Bollocks," Minerva said in an uncharacteristic display of vulgarity, grinding the palms of her hands together. "Remus was one of our dearest friends, Albus. An ally! You seem to have forgotten all the good that man has done for our side. The danger he put himself in. Based on the word of that… It was not fate that killed him. It was that monster!"

Albus rose to his feet, drawing upon his height perhaps in an attempt to display his authority, but mainly to view the doorway beyond.

"Your prejudices have gone on long enough," he said gravely, peering down at the distraught Professor. "Harry only defended himself. Sirius Black has corroborated his story."

"Murderer," Minerva spat. "You're so eager to believe Black now, after all these years? You are blind if you cannot see what is happening here. I've not seen such darkness in a child since You-Know-Who himself."

Albus spied movement at the door. He shuffled around the edge of the desk and placed a placating hand on the witch's shoulder.

"The truth will out," he murmured softly to her, then loudly called, "Come in, Harry."

Minerva stiffened under his hand. She was nearly to her feet when the door pushed in. Harry awkwardly stepped inside.

"You asked to see me sir?" Harry called, eyes darting between the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall. "Professor Snape said noon."

"Yes, thank you for stopping in. Lemon drop?"

Minerva saw herself from the room without being excused, brushing past Harry in a rush. She stopped only to spare the two a parting glance as she slipped out the door. Albus invited Harry to take her seat.

"Have a seat, my boy."

Harry lowered himself onto the plush upholstery with a grimace, rubbing at his chest.

"How are you feeling?" Albus asked kindly.

The boy shrugged his shoulders, pushing up the frames of his glasses as he peered around the room with interest.

"Professor Snape says I'll heal up quickly."

Albus retook his own seat and hummed. "That is good to hear. Perhaps you'll visit Madame Pomfrey on your return. She has been quite concerned about your well-being."

"Yeah," Harry said, non-commitally.

There was a drawn out pause as Albus observed the boy before him. If not for the abnormal aura pulsing from the necklace hanging beneath his shirt, his appearance was otherwise a flawless replication. Producing a full body glamour required a tremendous expenditure of power. To furthermore plant that enchantment permanently into an object was an impressive feat. That it had held under the scrutiny of the Hogwarts student body was a testament to Albus' ingenious engineering.

All that to say, it had failed at a most critical moment in its main function. Despite all of the tracking and monitoring spells inlaid into it, Albus had been given no foresight into the events that transpired. Although by design it had served to injure Remus Lupin when he attempted to remove it by force - evident by the burn on his hand - no warning bells had gone off in the Headmaster's Office to alert him to the attack. Without an excuse to take it from the boy, he was unable to confirm whether or not a record was made.

"Sir?"

Albus schooled his expression into one of patronly geniality. "I'm sure you know why I've asked you here today."

Harry nodded. "Professor Snape said you wanted to ask me about what happened."

"First and foremost, I would like to extend my deepest apologies that any manner of harm came to you at the hands of one of our Professors," Albus offered. "I'm afraid I may have been blinded to Professor Lupin's true motives in accepting my offer to teach Defense by our shared history."

Seeing that Harry had nothing to say on the matter, he continued, "I would like to hear from you, exactly what went on, that we might better understand how to prevent it in the future - but first I would like to show you something."

Albus waved a hand and from one of the nearest cabinets the Pensieve summoned itself to the center of the room. Harry watched its progress as the mercurial basin floated to the Headmaster's desk with wide, apprehensive eyes.

"Do you know what this is?"

Harry shook his head, craning to peer into the rippling surface.

"This is a Pensieve," Albus explained. "It is a rare and powerful magical item. It can be used to store and review memories."

"I'm not sure I understand, sir."

"Memories are a fickle thing, Harry. They tend to float away or fade with time. You will see that upon viewing a memory through the lens of a Pensieve the finer details are easier to recall."

Albus retrieved his wand from the folds of his robes and rounded the desk to join Harry on the other side.

"I want you to think about what happened. Picture it clearly in your mind and I will use my wand to extract the memory so that we may view it together," he instructed.

Harry pulled away from him as he approached. "You're going to take my memory, sir?"

"Only a copy, my boy," Albus chuckled. "Close your eyes and remember. I will do the rest."

The boy hesitated for the briefest of moments before closing his false-green eyes. Albus held the sigh of relief, trepidatiously raising his wand to Harry's temple.

"Relax," Albus said softly. "Remember."

In the space between the tip of his wand and Harry's skin the faintest arc of white mist formed. Albus' hand shook as he pulled the wisp out further, careful not to rush the delicate process. He had barely retracted his arm when Harry jerked.

"Wait," Harry yelped.

"It's alright," Albus asserted. "Relax."

The wisp retreated a hair's width. Albus focused on maintaining the delicate thread.

"Stop."

He felt the pull retract further. Instinctively he placed a hand on the boy's head to hold him still. Harry tried to wrench himself away, slapping a hand to his forehead.

"It hurts!"

There was no time to explain that it couldn't hurt. Whether the boy was being dramatic or desperately trying to hide something, Albus couldn't say. He pulled harder, the thread winding tighter between his wand and its source.

"It's almost over," Albus offered, soothingly. "Just another-"

"Stop!"

The command did not come from Harry. Albus let his wand falter and his hands fell away from the boy. He barely registered Severus storming towards them. He watched the wisp vanish in the air, feeling gutted by the disappointment.

"I am truly sorry, Harry," he muttered, wand falling to his side.

Severus pulled Harry from the chair. The boy was clutching the sides of his head, groaning his displeasure. The Potions Professor did not bother with an admonishment. He glared at Albus with a furious tightness in his expression.

"Are you alright?" Severus asked, placing a hand on the boy's back.

Harry shook his head. "Hurts," he mumbled. "Behind my eyes."

"Come with me. To Madame Pomfrey."

"I do apologize, Severus," Albus offered. "Had I expected this reaction, I would never have-"

"Don't," Severus snapped as he led Harry from the room. "Don't bother."

Albus realized then, sitting alone in the shambles of his good intentions, that he had made yet another glaring mistake; A mistake that could cost them the war. Harry Potter was meant to have no one and nothing. He was meant to be malleable and open to Dumbledore's instructions. If they were to have any hope of fulfilling the prophecy, he would need to be all that and more. Albus now knew there was something of a wall standing between them. It was his own fault. He had accidentally given Severus Snape something to care about.

He added it to the growing list of his failures and moved to the fireplace. With any luck, Alastor had secured the correct statement from Sirius Black. There was little hope for the Wizarding World if the Boy-Who-Lived wound up in Azkaban for murder.

"Ministry of Magic," Albus intoned, casting a handful of floo powder into the flames.

A/N: Hold please, I'm trying to locate the plot.