Chapter Twenty-Seven: Almost Beautiful
Author's Note: Hello again~ I'm back after a very busy summer of completing this book. It's now fully written and I intend to post every 1-2 weeks as I edit, maybe more frequently if I get through everything quickly. I don't have a beta reader anymore, so if you catch any huge mistakes, please feel free to let me know (kindly). Otherwise, I look forward to reading your reactions, and I hope you enjoy this chapter and everything that's to come!
October 26th, 1996
The Full Moon
Lucius adjusted the buttons on his vest, staring at himself in the mirror. It was the second-last step; his cloak was already on, boots polished and laced, wand sheath strapped to his hips, hair held back in a low tail. All that he needed now were his gloves.
"On top of your chest," Narcissa said from where she was standing behind him.
Lucius turned, tucking his thumbs into his vest pockets as he looked at her. She was nearly done dressing as well, done up in her most utilitarian outfit—tight leather leggings, a blouse and vest to match his, and a dark coat that Lucius remembered being offensively expensive, even for them.
His eyes glanced to the chest and found his gloves sitting there, as if they always had been.
"You never cease to amaze me," Lucius remarked, allowing a small amount of wonder into his voice despite the current state of their relationship. She'd known exactly what he was looking for, and exactly where they were, despite being focused on adjusting the brooch she was pinning to her blouse. And she was talking to him, despite the nature of their last interaction.
"It's not any particular aptitude—you're just terribly predictable."
Lucius let out a snort of laughter as he crossed the room and grabbed his gloves from the top of the gaudy silver chest.
"I suppose I'll have to give you that one," he muttered, turning around to look at her again as he slipped the gloves on.
She glanced at him, one perfect eyebrow arched high. "I suppose you will. Are you ready?"
Lucius raised his own brows now, surprised at her asking him an honest question. "I believe so. As I'll ever be, anyway."
"Is he?" she asked, turning so that she was facing her husband fully.
"He doesn't have a choice. It doesn't matter if he's ready or not."
Narcissa frowned, looking around the room for a moment before locating her own wand on the bed and slipping it into her pocket.
"I suppose you wouldn't know much about him after the last few days, in any case."
"No," Lucius admitted, still sounding a bit astounded by her. Narcissa had kept her distance from Lucius as the Dark Lord had sent him out on incredibly high-risk missions over those last few days, not seeming to be any more invested in his wellbeing than any of the other Death Eaters. Even the couple's decision to get ready together had been practically nonverbal; they'd glanced at each other in the hall and made the agreement. Given that context, her familiarity felt like a feral cat making its first approach.
"I'm impressed you survived it all, frankly," she continued, slipping her wand into her pocket.
"Grateful, too, I hope," Lucius ventured, offering a conciliatory, if stilted, half-smile.
"It certainly would've made things more difficult," she replied, her tone deadly serious.
Lucius wasn't sure what to say to that, so he just reached one hand for the door handle and stretched the other out to Narcissa. She took it without hesitation, but without happiness or comfort, either. The continuation of their unspoken performance: a dedicated and loyal couple, determined to enjoy the evening's festivities without incident.
Though he'd never say it out loud, Lucius knew that he'd only managed to avoid capture or life-threatening injury in the last few days due to sheer stubbornness, and he knew that he'd have to maintain that attitude to make it through the night. Never mind the growing dread in his stomach, the way his lungs felt like they were filling with icy cold water, or how small and hard Narcissa's hand felt in his own. Lucius would get his captive to the arena, he would oversee the transformation, and he would drag the wolf's spent body back to his prison as soon as it was all done. There were no other options.
Lucius stayed focused on that goal as he walked with Narcissa to the arena. At some point she wrapped her arm around his elbow instead of holding his hand, and her fingers began to drum against his arm as they crossed the large, grassy field that separated the Manor from the outbuildings.
The arena was much smaller than the Manor, closer in size to the stable, but walking through its large doors revealed that it had enough room for two rows of circular risers that arched around its central gravel "field." On one side of the risers, a special seat had been set apart for the Dark Lord, reminiscent of images Lucius had seen of the Colosseum and other Roman amphitheatres. A seat for a king to be entertained, to watch monkeys and men dance and bleed for his appeasement.
Some of the other seats in the arena were already occupied; other couples like he and Narcissa, but also dignitaries and representatives from the already compromised parts of the Ministry, and some of the loud, obnoxious crew of lowlifes that the Dark Lord had started to gather to his side in recent months as part of his spy network. There would be plenty of space left even after all of the planned guests had arrived, but Lucius could see the logic in keeping it from being overstuffed with a feral beast on the loose.
There were blue lights scattered around the space, nearly at full glow with the sun so close to disappearing, but it would be the moon that showed them their entertainment, tonight. It was already high up there, hanging in place as it waited for the sun to disappear for the night.
"Everything is ready here, Lucius."
Lucius turned his head to find Severus emerging from the shadows to his left, a serious look on his face, hands clasped behind his back. Lucius could feel Narcissa turn to watch their friend as well, her arm curling slightly tighter around his own.
"Crabbe and Gibbon know what spells to cast when, and the Dark Lord will arrive momentarily. We should go before the sun is gone entirely."
Lucius pursed his lips, nodded, and looked back to Narcissa. "I'll take my leave, then."
"Good luck," she replied, pausing to give both men a brief, meaningful look before turning and heading toward the seats. She would sit close to the Dark Lord, no doubt, hoping to be near enough to curry favour if everything went off without a hitch. Lucius watched her walk away with a slight flutter in his chest, aware of the significance of her well wishes after everything she'd said to him after the failed mission.
"Lucius?" Severus prompted, trying to recapture Lucius's attention.
"Yes," Lucius muttered, tugging at his long sleeves and striding back toward the doors. They were lined with thick, square metal bolts on the inside, clear deterrents for the werewolf once he began his rampage. There would be locks, too, and spells. The creature would be stuck—along with everyone else in the arena. Lucius had a brief vision of his comrades being Splinched as they tried to Disapparate with Lupin's teeth dug into their flesh, but Lucius shook it off as quickly as he could. There was no time for such hesitations, now, and it wasn't as if anyone would listen if he voiced them.
"You need to focus, Lucius," Severus spoke in a low, slow voice as they walked quickly together across the field, heading to the back door of the stable where the prisoner was being kept. Lucius's heart seemed to be pounding faster with each step.
"I am focused, Severus," Lucius hissed back, reaching down to get his wand. "I haven't been able to think about anything else all day."
This answer didn't seem to please Severus, but he didn't say anything in retort, only made a disgusted face and lifted a hand to cast the large doors open once they'd reached their destination.
Lucius steeled himself before entering the stable, not sure what he'd find within. The werewolf had already been in such bad shape the day before that it made his knees feel week just imagining what this might be like.
"Have you seen him like this before?" Lucius blurted out without meaning to, looking at Severus with eyes that were certainly far wider than they should've been.
Severus raised an eyebrow, pausing in the threshold.
"Yes," he spoke in his low, hesitant way.
"And?"
"It's pathetic," he answered, utterly deadpan. "Until it's not anymore."
Lucius swallowed, felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and then he nodded and looked down. "Right," he murmured. "Well, let's hope he's still pathetic, then."
"Let's," Severus sneered before taking the first step inside.
The two men walked together down the length of the room, wands ready, completely silent.
The silence allowed them to hear coughing coming from Remus's cell as they approached, and then long, shaking breaths as they got closer. Lucius felt this trepidation reach a new height, and was inwardly admitting to himself that it might, in fact, be fear, when he and Severus reached the cell door and looked inside.
Lupin was waiting for them, squatting on the floor with his back hunched. He'd already changed into the clothes that Lucius had brought him, and the short sleeves exposed his arms and the long red marks along them that suggested he'd been scratching at his own skin.
"Get up, dog," Lucius snapped. His attempts at keeping his voice steady were not entirely successful, but he was too focused on Lupin now to care very much.
The werewolf lifted his head, locking eyes with Lucius, and for a moment it seemed as though time had stopped. Severus was gone, and there was no arena full of bloodthirsty Death Eaters waiting for them. It was just Lucius and this exhausted, broken man. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, sunken into his face, and his lips looked raw, as if he'd been chewing at the skin all day.
"Please, Lucius," Lupin whispered, eyes widening. His hands were wrapped around his knees, as though he might be able to keep himself in one piece if he held tightly enough. "Please don't do this."
Lucius looked down his nose at the werewolf, watching in silence for a moment.
"It's happening whether you like it or not, mutt. Might as well do it with a bit of dignity."
Lupin took one long, shaking breath in, and it sounded as though he might be withholding a sob.
"Get a move on, mutt," Severus snarled from behind Lucius. Lupin's head cocked up at the sound, eyes briefly brightening.
"Severus?"
"You don't have time for socialising, dog. Get up," Lucius snarled, not giving Severus a chance to speak even if he'd wanted to, stepping forward to unlock the gate instead.
The werewolf finally followed this command, his eyes flickering between Lucius and Severus with just a little too much interest.
"Surely you're not still looking for a friend in him, dog," Lucius scoffed as Lupin dragged himself toward his keeper. He already had the collar around his neck, and it took Lucius mere seconds to secure the leash he'd had in his pocket. He'd charmed it earlier in the day to strengthen it, ensuring that the werewolf wouldn't be able to snap it in a rage.
"No," Lupin shook his head, voice still sounding weak and terrified. "Not a friend."
"Get moving," Severus pressed on, whirling around and beginning to stride back down the main aisle of the room without acknowledging Lupin's words.
Lucius glanced at the wolf, watched him hunch in on himself for a moment, looking almost like a cat who was on the verge of coughing up a hairball. Outside, the sound of voices from the arena got louder, and Lucius was suddenly struck by a renewed sense of urgency.
"Let's go," he snapped, and then he started to walk forward, pulling Lupin along behind him.
Remus could already feel himself beginning to slip away. The world was turning too harsh, all-or-nothing, splitting between moments of violent intensity and moments of grogginess and fatigue so profound that he wondered if the entire night had already passed and he was just starting to wake up.
Lucius's frame seemed to shake and stutter in front of him, like a figure breaking in and out of static on an improperly tuned television. A few steps ahead, Severus had become a shivering black form, although at times Remus found himself overcome by the details in the fabric of his old schoolmate's cloak and the way he smelled of all the ingredients required for a specific potion that Remus couldn't remember the name of.
It hadn't been a friend that Remus had been looking for, but rather a saviour—a voice of reason, someone who had seen exactly what kind of damage Remus could wreak, given the opportunity. Severus showed no sign of such an intention. He was laser-focused on guiding them forward, straight for the arena.
"Do you think the Dark Lord has arrived?"
It was Lucius's voice, jumping in and out of clarity just ahead of Remus.
"Yes. It's down to you two, now," Severus replied, and Remus could hear his voice as though Snape had put his mouth up to Remus's ear. He flinched at the thought.
"To him," Lucius retorted; Remus could smell a sudden release of stress hormones from the blonde wizard's pores. "I have nothing to do with it."
"Of course not," Severus sniffed. He did not sound convinced.
There was a break in conversation, and it gave Remus long enough to smell the gravel covering the arena floor, the freshly cut wood, and the metal of the locks ready to reinforce the one point of entry and egress that Remus could see just ahead of them, now.
The final seconds before he was doomed.
"Please, both of you, you don't—" Remus started up, trying to stop them from getting him into the arena.
"Don't," Lucius hissed over his shoulder at his captive.
The glance at Lucius's face came in a moment of clarity, and Remus was momentarily mesmerised. The wrinkles around the Death Eater's mouth, the way his irises caught the moonlight, how he held tension in his jaw… there was conflict in him. Fear and loathing, but also a barely concealed desire to stop this from happening.
For a moment, it made Remus feel slightly less alone.
"Just focus on getting in there," Lucius snarled, lip curling before he turned his back on Remus again.
"Don't get distracted, Lucius," Severus spoke again, but Remus couldn't make the man out in his now-blurred vision. "Get him in and get out."
Lucius grunted some acknowledgement—and then the three of them entered the arena.
The roar of a jeering, bloodthirsty crowd set Remus's teeth on edge, making it feel like his very bones were vibrating inside of his body. He could feel the thin shirt Lucius had given him clinging to his skin, sopping wet with his sweat, and he looked up to try and find his captor, something to ground him in the overwhelming intensity of the space.
Lucius was standing at the ready, wand in one hand, leash aloft in the other, like a police officer ready to command its dog to attack. The sight set some part of Remus's mind spinning, so that he staggered backward, tripping over his own feet—only, he could feel the gravel under them now, and perhaps they were not feet anymore but paws.
"Go," he growled, focusing on Lucius, feeling his spine begin to crunch under his skin.
Lucius hesitated, eyes flickering to the leash. He was worried about the leash at a time like this.
"Leave it!" Remus roared, reaching his hands up to his collar and scratching at the skin there, suddenly sharply aware of how the leather seemed to burn him every time his body moved an inch.
"Let him go, Lucius!"
Remus would've known that bellow anywhere. Voldemort. A glance up, even through reddening and widening vision, showed the Dark Lord in a raised alcove, looking down at the scene as Wormtail cowered beside him. Narcissa and Bellatrix were sitting next to him in the regular seats, and there were dozens of other spectators, roaring and rattling from their perches.
The Dark Lord looked hungry, starving, yearning for a long-awaited feast to begin.
Remus looked back to Lucius, internally begging him to listen to his master, just this once.
Lucius took a half step back, letting go of the leash, right at the moment that Remus let out an agonised scream, hunching over and clutching his hands to his chest as his nails were violently pushed out of place by bloody claws.
He lost track of whether the sounds of tearing and shredding in his ears was coming from his borrowed clothes or his skin.
He wasn't him, anymore. He was pain and bloodlust and rage, and he had never hated anything so much as the body that contained him.
Lucius knew that he had to move. He had known it since the minute they'd walked into the arena and Severus had headed straight for the risers, leaving Lucius alone with his charge. He had managed to follow Voldemort's orders in letting Lupin go, dropping the leash and taking a half-step back, but he was frozen to the spot now, unable to drag his eyes away from the gruesome display in front of him.
The werewolf was already long past human. Its body had distorted, twisted, changed colour and shape, a long snout replacing the face that had become so familiar to Lucius over the last month. The creature's hesitancy had gone, too. Cheered on by the crowd, the werewolf was ripping at its own clothes, tearing at its own skin, clawed hand reaching up and scratching a deep, bloody wound across its chest.
The blood that came out was still red. The same blood that Lucius himself had drawn only a few weeks ago.
The idea thrust him into action, and he shifted his stance so that he was properly grounded as he brandished his wand at the werewolf, suddenly remembering that he would die by those very same claws if he was too slow to Disapparate. The brandishing seemed to backfire, though, as it caught the creature's attention. It stopped, turning its head and tilting it as it stared at the Death Eater.
Lucius willed the werewolf not to move, to stay back. Instead, the beast leaned forward, sniffing at the air. Several audience members laughed mockingly, as if the wolf were playing games, pretending as though he didn't see Lucius right in front of him.
Lucius dug his feet into the gravel and clutched his wand more tightly. He would be an idiot to try to make it to the stands now—he would be the one Splinched, torn apart by the werewolf's grip.
In that moment, the thing that was once Remus lunged forward, roaring, and the sound threatened to split Lucius's ear drums. Spittle flew from its gaping maw and made contact with the Death Eater's exposed face.
"Flipendo!" Lucius shouted, surprised by the volume of his own voice. A crack of light shot out of his wand and struck the wolf, throwing it backward. It didn't move with quite the same velocity that a human might've, and it wasn't thrown onto its back, but it was enough that it began to growl in anger and discomfort, thrashing its arms against the empty air as if it were being swept away by a current.
The crowd roared in excitement and rage. Lucius couldn't tell from the sound whether they were glad to see him fighting the wolf, or angered that Lucius wasn't already dead.
The wolf, for its part, remained locked in battle with the jinx for a moment, and Lucius realised that it looked like the werewolf might've had the wind knocked out of its lungs. The creature stopped for a moment, hunching forward, heaving out great, violent breaths, staring straight down his snout at Lucius.
This was Lucius's moment. He could make the jump and Disapparate. He knew that, the same way he knew that he should've been feeling abject horror and fear. His flight instinct should've kicked in.
Instead, Lucius found himself mesmerised.
The wolf, still catching its breath, was staring Lucius right in the eye. Lucius knew that it was a challenge, the same way a true wolf would try to establish dominance, but he wasn't compelled to hold it out of a desire for power. He didn't want to look away, because for all of its wretchedness, the wolf was almost… beautiful.
"Move!"
Narcissa's voice.
The wolf's head snapped up to identify the sound, and the broken eye contact was enough to force Lucius into action. He Disapparated in an instant, rocketing himself through space to his wife's side. The crowd was roaring even louder when he reappeared in the stands.
Lucius glanced out of the corner of his eye as he caught his breath. Narcissa didn't touch him, but she was right there, and her cheeks were bright red, her knuckles were white around each other. Her wedding ring flashed in the moonlight.
And there was the Dark Lord, just beyond her in his raised box, staring at Lucius with a twisted grin. Their gazes only met for a second, but it was long enough to send a more terrible chill through Lucius's body than the werewolf had at any point.
Lucius only let himself relax into his seat once the Dark Lord had turned his attention back to the werewolf. Even then, Lucius didn't let himself bend forward and hold his head in his hands like he wanted to. Weakness was not an option. Instead, he brushed some loosened hair off of his face and wiped a fleck of spit that had yet to dry from his cheek.
The werewolf roared below, running full tilt at the doors to the arena, slamming its shoulder into them and screaming in pain when the metal bolts tore its flesh. The doors didn't budge, no matter how many times the wolf ran at it. The Death Eaters began to bombard and taunt the werewolf with spells as soon as it gave up on the doors and began searching for some other means of escape. Their delighted cheers echoed in Lucius's mind.
By the end of the night, the wolf lay naked and twitching on the ground, beaten down by one too many jinxes.
A perfect show.